Millingen says:
‘Before we proceeded to embalm the body, we could not refrain from pausing to contemplate the lifeless clay of one who, but a few days before, was the hope of a whole nation, and the admiration of the civilized world. We could not but admire the perfect symmetry of his body. Nothing could surpass the beauty of his forehead; its height was extraordinary, and the protuberances under which the nobler intellectual faculties are supposed to reside were strongly pronounced. His hair, which curled naturally, was quite grey; the mustachios light-coloured. His physiognomy had suffered little alteration, and still preserved the sarcastic, haughty expression which habitually characterized it. The chest was broad, high-vaulted; the waist very small; the muscular system well pronounced; the skin delicate and white; and the habit of the body plump. The only blemish of his body, which might otherwise have vied with that of Apollo himself, was the congenital malconformation of his left foot and leg. The foot was deformed and turned inwards, and the leg was smaller and shorter than the sound one.’25
Trelawny arrived at Missolonghi on April 24, after the body had been embalmed. He states that Byron’s right leg was shorter than the other, and the right foot was the most distorted, being twisted inwards, so that only the edge could have touched the ground. The discrepancy between Trelawny’s statement and that of Millingen is probably due to the fact that nearly thirty-four years had passed before Trelawny’s book was written.
Trelawny wrote, from Fletcher’s dictation, full particulars of Byron’s last illness and death. It is presumably from these notes that Trelawny drafted his letter to Colonel Stanhope, dated April 28, 1814. In reference to that letter, Gamba says:
‘The details there given of Lord Byron’s last illness and death are not quite correct. But where Mr. Trelawny speaks of the general impression produced by that lamentable event, he pathetically describes what is recognized for truth by all those who were witnesses of the melancholy scene.’
As Trelawny was not present during the illness and death of Byron, he cannot be held responsible for any inaccuracies that may appear in his ‘Records.’ He merely wrote from Fletcher’s dictation, without adding one word of his own.
On Fletcher’s return to England, he gave the following evidence:
‘My master continued his usual custom of riding daily, when the weather would permit, until the 9th of April. But on that ill-fated day he got very wet, and on his return home his lordship changed the whole of his dress; but he had been too long in his wet clothes, and the cold, of which he had complained more or less ever since we left Cephalonia, made this attack be more severely felt. Though rather feverish during the night, his lordship slept pretty well, but complained in the morning of a pain in his bones and a headache: this did not, however, prevent him from taking a ride in the afternoon, which, I grieve to say, was his last. On his return, my master said that the saddle was not perfectly dry, from being so wet the day before, and observed that he thought it had made him worse. His lordship was again visited by the same slow fever, and I was sorry to perceive, on the next morning, that his illness appeared to be increasing. He was very low, and complained of not having had any sleep during the night. His lordship’s appetite was also quite gone. I prepared a little arrowroot, of which he took three or four spoonfuls, saying it was very good, but could take no more. It was not till the third day, the 12th, that I began to be alarmed for my master. In all his former colds he always slept well, and was never affected by this slow fever. I therefore went to Dr. Bruno and Mr. Millingen, the two medical attendants, and inquired minutely into every circumstance connected with my master’s present illness: both replied that there was no danger, and I might make myself perfectly easy on the subject, for all would be well in a few days. This was on the 13th. On the following day I found my master in such a state, that I could not feel happy without supplicating that he would send to Zante for Dr. Thomas. After expressing my fears lest his lordship should get worse, he desired me to consult the doctors; which I did, and was told there was no occasion for calling in any person, as they hoped all would be well in a few days. Here I should remark that his lordship repeatedly said, in the course of the day, he was sure the doctors did not understand his disease; to which I answered, “Then, my lord, have other advice, by all means.” “They tell me,” said his lordship, “that it is only a common cold, which, you know, I have had a thousand times.” “I am sure, my lord,” said I, “that you never had one of so serious a nature.” “I think I never had,” was his lordship’s answer. I repeated my supplications that Dr. Thomas should be sent for on the 15th, and was again assured that my master would be better in two or three days. After these confident assurances, I did not renew my entreaties until it was too late.
‘With respect to the medicines that were given to my master, I could not persuade myself that those of a strong purgative nature were the best adapted for his complaint, concluding that, as he had nothing on his stomach, the only effect would be to create pain: indeed, this must have been the case with a person in perfect health. The whole nourishment taken by my master, for the last eight days, consisted of a small quantity of broth at two or three different times, and two spoonfuls of arrowroot on the 18th, the day before his death. The first time I heard of there being any intention of bleeding his lordship was on the 15th, when it was proposed by Dr. Bruno, but objected to at first by my master, who asked Mr. Millingen if there was any very great reason for taking blood. The latter replied that it might be of service, but added that it could be deferred till the next day; and accordingly my master was bled in the right arm on the evening of the 16th, and a pound of blood was taken. I observed at the time that it had a most inflamed appearance. Dr. Bruno now began to say he had frequently urged my master to be bled, but that he always refused. A long dispute now arose about the time that had been lost, and the necessity of sending for medical assistance to Zante; upon which I was informed, for the first time, that it would be of no use, as my master would be better, or no more, before the arrival of Dr. Thomas. His lordship continued to get worse: but Dr. Bruno said he thought letting blood again would save his life; and I lost no time in telling my master how necessary it was to comply with the doctor’s wishes. To this he replied by saying he feared they knew nothing about his disorder; and then, stretching out his arm, said, “Here, take my arm, and do whatever you like.” His lordship continued to get weaker; and on the 17th he was bled twice in the morning, and at two o’clock in the afternoon. The bleeding at both times was followed by fainting fits, and he would have fallen down more than once had I not caught him in my arms. In order to prevent such an accident, I took care not to let his lordship stir without supporting him. On this day my master said to me twice, “I cannot sleep, and you well know I have not been able to sleep for more than a week: I know,” added his lordship, “that a man can only be a certain time without sleep, and then he must go mad, without anyone being able to save him; and I would ten times sooner shoot myself than be mad, for I am not afraid of dying – I am more fit to die than people think.” I do not, however, believe that his lordship had any apprehension of his fate till the day after, the 18th, when he said, “I fear you and Tita will be ill by sitting up constantly night and day.” I answered, “We shall never leave your lordship till you are better.” As my master had a slight fit of delirium on the 16th, I took care to remove the pistols and stiletto which had hitherto been kept at his bedside in the night. On the 18th his lordship addressed me frequently, and seemed to be very much dissatisfied with his medical treatment. I then said, “Do allow me to send for Dr. Thomas,” to which he answered, “Do so, but be quick. I am sorry I did not let you do so before, as I am sure they have mistaken my disease. Write yourself, for I know they would not like to see other doctors here.”
‘I did not lose a moment in obeying my master’s orders; and on informing Dr. Bruno and Mr. Millingen of it, they said it was very right, as they now began to be afraid themselves. On returning to my master’s room, his first words were, “Have you sent?” “I have, my lord,” was my answer; upon which he said, “You have done right, for I should like to know what is the matter with me.” Although his lordship did not appear to think his dissolution was so near, I could perceive he was getting weaker every hour, and he even began to have occasional fits of delirium. He afterwards said, “I now begin to think I am seriously ill; and, in case I should be taken off suddenly, I wish to give you several directions, which I hope you will be particular in seeing executed.” I answered I would, in case such an event came to pass, but expressed a hope that he would live many years to execute them much better himself than I could. To this my master replied, “No, it is now nearly over,” and then added, “I must tell you all without losing a moment.” I then said, “Shall I go, my lord, and fetch pen, ink, and paper?” “Oh, my God! no, you will lose too much time; and I have it not to spare, for my time is now short,” said his Lordship; and immediately after, “Now, pay attention.” His lordship commenced by saying, “You will be provided for.” I begged him, however, to proceed with things of more consequence. He then continued, “Oh, my poor dear child! – my dear Ada! My God! could I but have seen her! Give her my blessing – and my dear sister Augusta and her children; – and you will go to Lady Byron, and say – tell her everything; – you are friends with her.” His lordship appeared to be greatly affected at this moment. Here my master’s voice failed him, so that I could only catch a word at intervals; but he kept muttering something very seriously for some time, and would often raise his voice and say, “Fletcher, now, if you do not execute every order which I have given you, I will torment you hereafter if possible.” Here I told his lordship, in a state of the greatest perplexity, that I had not understood a word of what he said; to which he replied, “Oh, my God! then all is lost, for it is now too late! Can it be possible you have not understood me?” “No, my lord,” said I, “but I pray you to try and inform me once more.” “How can I?” rejoined my master; “it is now too late, and all is over!” I said, “Not our will, but God’s be done!” and he answered, “Yes, not mine be done – but I will try.” His lordship did indeed make several efforts to speak, but could only repeat two or three words at a time, such as “My wife! my child! my sister! You know all – you must say all – you know my wishes.” The rest was quite unintelligible.
‘A consultation was now held about noon, when it was determined to administer some Peruvian bark and wine. My master had now been nine days without any sustenance whatever, except what I have already mentioned. With the exception of a few words which can only interest those to whom they were addressed, and which, if required, I shall communicate to themselves, it was impossible to understand anything his lordship said after taking the bark. He expressed a wish to sleep. I at one time asked whether I should call Mr. Parry; to which he replied, “Yes, you may call him.” Mr. Parry desired him to compose himself. He shed tears, and apparently sunk into a slumber. Mr. Parry went away, expecting to find him refreshed on his return; but it was the commencement of the lethargy preceding his death. The last words I heard my master utter were at six o’clock on the evening of the 18th, when he said, “I must sleep now”; upon which he laid down never to rise again! – for he did not move hand or foot during the following twenty-four hours. His lordship appeared, however, to be in a state of suffocation at intervals, and had a frequent rattling in the throat. On these occasions I called Tita to assist me in raising his head, and I thought he seemed to get quite stiff. The rattling and choking in the throat took place every half-hour; and we continued to raise his head whenever the fit came on, till six o’clock in the evening of the 19th, when I saw my master open his eyes and then shut them, but without showing any symptom of pain, or moving hand or foot. “Oh, my God!” I exclaimed, “I fear his lordship is gone.” The doctors then felt his pulse, and said, “You are right – he is gone.”’
Dr. Bruno’s answer to the above statement will be found in the Appendix.
CHAPTER XVI
Several days passed after the requiem service held in the Church of S. Spiridion. Meanwhile the necessary preparations were made for transporting the body to Zante. On May 2 the coffin was carried down to the seaside on the shoulders of four military chiefs, and attended in the same order as before. The guns of the fortress saluted until the moment of embarkation. The vessel which bore the body reached the island of Zante on the third day after leaving Missolonghi, having, as Gamba says, taken the same course exactly as on the voyage out. The vessel, owing to head-winds, was brought to anchor close to the same rocks where Byron had sought shelter from the Turkish frigate.
‘On the evening of the 4th May,’ says Gamba, ‘we made the port of Zante, and heard that Lord Sidney Osborne had arrived, but, not finding us in that island, had sailed for Missolonghi.’
Blaquière, who was at Zante at the time, says:
‘The vessel was recognized at a considerable distance, owing to her flag being at half-mast. She entered the mole towards sunset. The body was accompanied by the whole of his lordship’s attendants, who conveyed it to the lazaretto on the following morning.’
During the time that the body of Lord Byron was detained at the lazaretto, a discussion arose as to the final disposal of the remains, Colonel Stanhope and others being of opinion that they should be interred in the Parthenon at Athens. It would seem that such a course would have met with Byron’s approval; but, in deference to what were then supposed to have been the wishes of the poet’s family, it was finally arranged to charter the brig Florida, which had lately arrived at Zante with the first instalment of the Greek loan. In this connection, the last entry in Gamba’s journal may be quoted in full:
‘A few days after our arrival at Zante, Colonel Stanhope came from the Morea. He had already written to inform us that the Greek chieftains of Athens had expressed their desire that Lord Byron should be buried in the Temple of Theseus. The citizens of Missolonghi had made a similar request for their town; and we thought it advisable to accede to their wishes so far as to leave with them, for interment, one of the vessels containing a portion of the honoured remains. As he had not expressed any wishes on the subject,26 we thought the most becoming course was to convey him to his native country. Accordingly, the ship that had brought us the specie was engaged for that purpose. Colonel Stanhope kindly took charge; and on the 25th May the Florida, having on board the remains of Lord Byron, set sail for England from the port of Zante.’
The following tribute to Byron from the pen of Blaquière, written on May 24, 1824, must here be given:
‘Every letter of Byron’s, in which any allusion was made to the Greek cause, proved how judiciously he viewed that great question, while it displayed a thorough knowledge of the people he had come to assist. This latter circumstance, which made him more cautious in avoiding every interference calculated to wound the self-love of the Greeks, who, though fallen, are still remarkable for their pride, accounts for the great popularity he had acquired.
‘It may be truly said that no foreigner who has hitherto espoused the cause made greater allowance for the errors inseparable from it than did Lord Byron.
‘With respect to his opinion as to the best mode of bringing the contest to a triumphant close, and healing those differences which have been created by party spirit or faction, there is reason to believe that the subject occupied his particular attention, and he was even more than once heard to say that “no person had as yet hit upon the right plan for securing the independence of Greece.”
‘While sedulously employed in reconciling jarring interests and promoting a spirit of union, the grand maxim which he laboured to instil into the Greeks was that of making every other object secondary and subservient to the paramount one of driving out the Turks.’
At six o’clock on the evening of that day, Blaquière added the following words:
‘I have this instant returned on shore, after having performed the melancholy duty of towing the remains of Lord Byron alongside the Florida.
‘I should add that, in consequence of there being no means of procuring lead for the coffin at Zante, it was arranged that the tin case prepared at Missolonghi should be enclosed in wood; so that there is now no fear that the body will not reach England in perfect preservation. The only mark of respect shown to-day was displayed by the merchant vessels in the bay and mole. The whole of these, whether English or foreign, had their flags at half-mast, and many of them fired guns. The Florida fired minute-guns from the time of our leaving the lazaretto until we got alongside, when the body was taken on board, and placed in a space prepared for that purpose. The whole is painted black, and, thanks to the foresight of my friend Robinson, an escutcheon very well executed designates the mournful receptacle. Although no honours have been paid to the remains of our immortal poet here, we look forward with melancholy satisfaction to those which await him in the land of his birth.
‘However bitterly his pen may have lashed the vices and follies of his day, it is not the least honourable trait in our national character that neither personal dislike nor those prejudices which arise from literary jealousy and political animosity prevent us from duly appreciating departed worth, and even forgetting those aberrations to which all are more or less liable in this state of imperfection and fallibility.’
The following extracts are taken from Lord Broughton’s ‘Recollections of a Long Life,’ a work that was printed, but not published, in 1865. As the opinions of Byron’s life-long friend, John Cam Hobhouse, they cannot fail to interest the reader:27
‘How much soever the Greeks of that day may have differed on other topics, there was no difference of opinion in regard to the loss they had sustained by the death of Byron. Those who have read Colonel Leicester Stanhope’s interesting volume, “Greece in 1823 and 1824,” and more particularly Colonel Stanhope’s “Sketch” and Mr. Finlay’s “Reminiscences” of Byron, will have seen him just as he appeared to me during our long intimacy. I liked him a great deal too well to be an impartial judge of his character; but I can confidently appeal to the impressions he made upon the two above-mentioned witnesses of his conduct, under very trying circumstances, for a justification of my strong affection for him – an affection not weakened by the forty years of a busy and chequered life that have passed over me since I saw him laid in his grave.
‘The influence he had acquired in Greece was unbounded, and he had exerted it in a manner most useful to her cause. Lord Sidney Osborne, writing to Mrs. Leigh, said that, if Byron had never written a line in his life, he had done enough, during the last six months in Greece, to immortalize his name. He added that no one unacquainted with the circumstances of the case could have any idea of the difficulties he had overcome. He had reconciled the contending parties, and had given a character of humanity and civilization to the warfare in which they were engaged, besides contriving to prevent them from offending their powerful neighbours in the Ionian Islands.
‘I heard that Sir F. Adam,28 in a despatch to Lord Bathurst, bore testimony to his great qualities, and lamented his death as depriving the Ionian Government of the only man with whom they could act with safety. Mavrocordato, in his letter to Dr. Bowring, called him “a great man,” and confessed that he was almost ignorant how to act when deprived of such a coadjutor… On Thursday, July 1, I heard that the Florida, with the remains of Byron, had arrived in the Downs, and I went the same evening to Rochester. The next morning I went to Standgate Creek, and, taking a boat, went on board the vessel. There I found Colonel Leicester Stanhope, Dr. Bruno, Fletcher, Byron’s valet, with three others of his servants. Three dogs that had belonged to my friend were playing about the deck. I could hardly bring myself to look at them. The vessel had got under-weigh, and we beat up the river to Gravesend. I cannot describe what I felt during the five or six hours of our passage. I was the last person who shook hands with Byron when he left England in 1816. I recollected his waving his cap to me as the packet bounded off on a curling wave from the pier-head at Dover, and here I was now coming back to England with his corpse.
‘Poor Fletcher burst into tears when he first saw me, and wept bitterly when he told me the particulars of my friend’s last illness. These have been frequently made public, and need not be repeated here. I heard, however, on undoubted authority, that until he became delirious he was perfectly calm; and I called to mind how often I had heard him say that he was not apprehensive as to death itself, but as to how, from physical infirmity, he might behave at that inevitable hour. On one occasion he said to me, “Let no one come near me when I am dying, if you can help it, and we happen to be together at the time.”
‘The Florida anchored at Gravesend, and I returned to London; Colonel Stanhope accompanied me. This was on Friday, July 2. On the following Monday I went to Doctors’ Commons and proved Byron’s will. Mr. Hanson did so likewise. Thence I went to London Bridge, got into a boat, and went to London Docks Buoy, where the Florida was anchored. I found Mr. Woodeson, the undertaker, on board, employed in emptying the spirit from the large barrel containing the box that held the corpse. This box was removed, and placed on deck by the side of a leaden coffin. I stayed whilst the iron hoops were knocked off the box; but I could not bear to see the remainder of the operation, and went into the cabin. Whilst there I looked over the sealed packet of papers belonging to Byron, which he had deposited at Cephalonia, and which had not been opened since he left them there. Captain Hodgson of the Florida, the captain’s father, and Fletcher, were with me; we examined every paper, and did not find any will. Those present signed a document to that effect.
‘After the removal of the corpse into the coffin, and the arrival of the order from the Custom-house, I accompanied the undertaker in the barge with the coffin. There were many boats round the ship at the time, and the shore was crowded with spectators. We passed quietly up the river, and landed at Palace Yard stairs. Thence the coffin and the small chest containing the heart were carried to the house in George Street, and deposited in the room prepared for their reception. The room was decently hung with black, but there was no other decoration than an escutcheon of the Byron arms, roughly daubed on a deal board.
‘On reaching my rooms at the Albany, I found a note from Mr. Murray, telling me that he had received a letter from Dr. Ireland, politely declining to allow the burial of Byron in Westminster Abbey; but it was not until the next day that, to my great surprise, I learnt, on reading the doctor’s note, that Mr. Murray had made the request to the Dean in my name. I thought that it had been settled that Mr. Gifford should sound the Dean of Westminster previously to any formal request being made. I wrote to Mr. Murray, asking him to inform the Dean that I had not made the request. Whether he did so, I never inquired.
‘I ascertained from Mrs. Leigh that it was wished the interment should take place at the family vault at Hucknall in Nottinghamshire. The utmost eagerness was shown, both publicly and privately, to get sight of anything connected with Byron. Lafayette was at that time on his way to America, and a young Frenchman came over from the General at Havre, and wrote me a note requesting a sight of the deceased poet. The coffin had been closed, and his wishes could not be complied with. A young man came on board the Florida, and in very moving terms besought me to allow him to take one look at him. I was sorry to be obliged to refuse, as I did not know the young man, and there were many round the vessel who would have made the same request. He was bitterly disappointed; and when I gave him a piece of the cotton in which the corpse had been wrapped, he took it with much devotion, and placed it in his pocket-book. Mr. Phillips, the Academician, applied for permission to take a likeness, but I heard from Mrs. Leigh that the features of her brother had been so disfigured by the means used to preserve his remains, that she scarcely recognized them. This was the fact; for I had summoned courage enough to look at my dead friend; so completely was he altered, that the sight did not affect me so much as looking at his handwriting, or anything that I knew had belonged to him.’
The following account by Colonel Leicester Stanhope, probably outlined during his voyage home with Byron’s body, is well worth reading. It unveils the personality of Byron as he appeared during those trying times at Missolonghi, when, tortured by illness and worried by dissensions among his coadjutors, he gave his life to Greece. Stanhope’s sketch conveys the honest opinion of a man whose political views, differing fundamentally from those of Byron, brought them often in collision. But for this reason, perhaps, this record is the more valuable. It is written without prejudice, with considerable perspicuity, and with unquestionable sincerity. Its peculiar value lies in the approval which, as we have seen, it received from Mr. Hobhouse, who undoubtedly was better acquainted with the character of Byron than any of his contemporaries.
‘In much of what certain authors have lately said in praise of Lord Byron I concur. The public are indebted to them for useful information concerning that extraordinary man’s biography. I do not, however, think that any of them have given of him a full and masterly description. It would require a person of his own wonderful capacity to draw his character, and even he could not perform this task otherwise than by continuing the history of what passed in his mind; for his character was as versatile as his genius. From his writings, therefore, he must be judged, and from them can he alone be understood. His character was, indeed, poetic, like his works, and he partook of the virtues and vices of the heroes of his imagination. Lord Byron was original and eccentric in all things, and his conduct and his writings were unlike those of other men. He might have said with Rousseau: “Moi seul. Je sens mon cœur et je connois les hommes. Je ne suis fait comme aucun de ceux qui existent. Si je ne vaux pas mieux, au moins, je suis autre. Si la nature a bien ou mal fait de briser le moule dans lequel elle m’a jetté, c’est dont on ne peut juger qu’après m’avoir lu.” All that can be hoped is, that, after a number of the ephemeral sketches of Lord Byron have been published, and ample information concerning him obtained, some master-hand will undertake the task of drawing his portrait. If anything like justice be done to Lord Byron, his character will appear far more extraordinary than any his imagination has produced, and not less wonderful than those sublime and inimitable sketches created and painted by the fanciful pen of Shakespeare.
‘There were two circumstances which appear to me to have had a powerful influence on Byron’s conduct. I allude to his lameness and his marriage. The deformity of his foot constantly preyed on his spirits and soured his temper. It is extraordinary, however, and contrary, I believe, to the conduct of the generality of lame persons, that he pitied, sympathized, and befriended, those who laboured under similar defects.
‘With respect to Lady Byron, her image appeared to be rooted in his mind. She had wounded Lord Byron’s pride by having refused his first offer of marriage; by having separated herself from him whom others assiduously courted; and by having resisted all the efforts of his genius to compel her again to yield to his dominion. Had Lady Byron been submissive, could she have stooped to become a caressing slave, like other ingenious slaves, she might have governed her lord and master. But no, she had a mind too great, and was too much of an Englishwoman to bow so low. These contrarieties set Lord Byron’s heart on fire, roused all his passions, gave birth, no doubt, to many of his sublimest thoughts, and impelled him impetuously forward in his zigzag career. When angry or humorous, she became the subject of his wild sport; at other times she seemed, though he loved her not, to be the mistress of his feelings, and one whom he in vain attempted to cast from his thoughts. Thus, in a frolicsome tone, I have heard him sketch characters, and, speaking of a certain acquaintance, say, “With the exception of Southey and Lady Byron, there is no one I hate so much.” This was a noisy shot – a sort of a feu de joie, that inflicted no wound, and left no scar behind. Lord Byron was in reality a good-natured man, and it was a violence to his nature, which he seldom practised, either to conceal what he thought or to harbour revenge. In one conversation which I had with Lord Byron, he dwelt much upon the acquirements and virtues of Lady Byron, and even said she had committed no fault but that of having married him. The truth is, that he was not formed for marriage. His riotous genius could not bear restraint. No woman could have lived with him but one devoid of, or of subdued, feelings – an Asiatic slave. Lord Byron, it is well known, was passionately fond of his child; of this he gave me the following proof. He showed me a miniature of Ada, as also a clever description of her character, drawn by her mother, and forwarded to him by the person he most esteemed, his amiable sister. After I had examined the letter, while reflecting on its contents, I gazed intently on the picture; Lord Byron, observing me in deep meditation, impatiently said, “Well, well, what do you think of Ada?” I replied, “If these are true representations of Ada, and are not drawn to flatter your vanity, you have engrafted on her your virtues and your failings. She is in mind and feature the very image of her father.” Never did I see man feel more pleasure than Lord Byron felt at this remark; his eyes lightened with ecstasy.
‘Lord Byron’s mental and personal courage was unlike that of other men. To the superficial observer his conduct seemed to be quite unsettled; this was really the case to a certain extent. His genius was boundless and excursive, and in conversation his tongue went rioting on
‘“From grave to gay, from lively to severe.”
‘Still, upon the whole, no man was more constant, and, I may almost say, more obstinate in the pursuit of some great objects. For example, in religion and politics he seemed firm as a rock, though like a rock he was subjected to occasional rude shocks, the convulsions of agitated nature.
‘The assertions I have ventured to make of Lord Byron having fixed opinions on certain material questions are not according to his own judgment. From what fell from his own lips, I could draw no such conclusions, for, in conversing with me on government and religion, and after going wildly over these subjects, sometimes in a grave and philosophical, and sometimes in a laughing and humorous strain, he would say: “The more I think, the more I doubt; I am a perfect sceptic.” In contradiction to this assertion, I set Lord Byron’s recorded sentiments, and his actions from the period of his boyhood to that of his death; and I contend that although he occasionally veered about, yet he always returned to certain fixed opinions; and that he felt a constant attachment to liberty, according to our notions of liberty, and that, although no Christian, he was a firm believer in the existence of a God. It is, therefore, equally remote from truth to represent him as either an atheist or a Christian: he was, as he has often told me, a confirmed deist.
‘Lord Byron was no party politician. Lord Clare was the person whom he liked best, because he was his old school acquaintance. Mr. John Cam Hobhouse was his long-tried, his esteemed, and valued literary and personal friend. Death has severed these, but there is a soul in friendship that can never die. No man ever chose a nobler friend. Mr. Hobhouse has given many proofs of this, and among others, I saw him, from motives of high honour, destroy a beautiful poem of Lord Byron’s, and, perhaps, the last he ever composed. The same reason that induced Mr. H. to tear this fine manuscript will, of course, prevent him or me from ever divulging its contents. Mr. Douglas Kinnaird was another for whom Lord Byron entertained the sincerest esteem: no less on account of his high social qualities, than as a clear-sighted man of business, on whose discretion he could implicitly rely. Sir Francis Burdett was the politician whom he most admired. He used to say, “Burdett is an Englishman of the old school.” He compared the Baronet to the statesmen of Charles I.’s time, whom he considered the sternest and loftiest spirits that Britain had produced. Lord Byron entertained high aristocratic notions, and had much family pride. He admired, notwithstanding, the American institutions, but did not consider them of so democratic a nature as is generally imagined. He found, he said, many Englishmen and English writers more imbued with liberal notions than those Americans and American authors with whom he was acquainted.
‘Lord Byron was chivalrous even to Quixotism. This might have lowered him in the estimation of the wise, had he not given some extraordinary proofs of the noblest courage. For example, the moment he recovered from that alarming fit which took place in my room, he inquired again and again, with the utmost composure, whether he was in danger. If in danger, he desired the physician honestly to apprise him of it, for he feared not death. Soon after this dreadful paroxysm, when Lord Byron, faint with overbleeding, was lying on his sick-bed, with his whole nervous system completely shaken, the mutinous Suliotes, covered with dirt and splendid attires, broke into his apartment, brandishing their costly arms, and loudly demanding their wild rights. Lord Byron, electrified by this unexpected act, seemed to recover from his sickness; and the more the Suliotes raged, the more his calm courage triumphed. The scene was truly sublime.
‘At times Lord Byron would become disgusted with the Greeks, on account of their horrid cruelties, their delays, their importuning him for money, and their not fulfilling their promises. That he should feel thus was very natural, although all this is just what might be anticipated from a people breaking loose from ages of bondage. We are too apt to expect the same conduct from men educated as slaves (and here be it remembered that the Greeks were the Helots of slaves) that we find in those who have, from their infancy, breathed the wholesome atmosphere of liberty.
‘Most persons assume a virtuous character. Lord Byron’s ambition, on the contrary, was to make the world imagine that he was a sort of “Satan,” though occasionally influenced by lofty sentiments to the performance of great actions. Fortunately for his fame, he possessed another quality, by which he stood completely unmasked. He was the most ingenuous of men, and his nature, in the main good, always triumphed over his acting.
‘There was nothing that he detested more than to be thought merely a great poet, though he did not wish to be esteemed inferior as a dramatist to Shakspeare. Like Voltaire, he was unconsciously jealous of, and for that reason abused, our immortal bard. His mind was absorbed in detecting Shakspeare’s glaring defects, instead of being overpowered by his wonderful creative and redeeming genius. He assured me that he was so far from being a “heaven-born poet” that he was not conscious of possessing any talent in that way when a boy. This gift had burst upon his mind unexpectedly, as if by inspiration, and had excited his wonder. He also declared that he had no love or enthusiasm for poetry. I shook my head doubtingly, and said to him that, although he had displayed a piercing sagacity in reading and developing the characters of others, he knew but little of his own. He replied: “Often have I told you that I am a perfect sceptic. I have no fixed opinions; that is my character. Like others, I am not in love with what I possess, but with that which I do not possess, and which is difficult to obtain.” Lord Byron was for shining as a hero of the first order. He wished to take an active part in the civil and military government of Greece.29 On this subject he consulted me; I condemned the direct assumption of command by a foreigner, fearing that it would expose him to envy and danger without promoting the cause. I wished him, by a career of perfect disinterestedness, to preserve a commanding influence over the Greeks, and to act as their great mediator. Lord Byron listened to me with unusual and courteous politeness, for he suspected my motives – he thought me envious – jealous of his increasing power; and though he did not disregard, did not altogether follow my advice. I was not, however, to be disarmed either by politeness or suspicions; they touched me not, for my mind was occupied with loftier thoughts. The attack was renewed the next day in a mild tone. The collision, however, of Lord Byron’s arguments, sparkling with jests, and mine, regardless of his brilliancy and satire, all earnestness, ended as usual in a storm. Though most anxious to assume high power, Lord Byron was still modest. He said to me, laughing, that if Napier came, he would supersede himself, as Governor and Commander of Western Greece, in favour of that distinguished officer. I laughed at this whimsical expression till I made Lord Byron laugh, too, and repeat over again that he would “supersede himself.”
‘The mind of Lord Byron was like a volcano, full of fire and wealth, sometimes calm, often dazzling and playful, but ever threatening. It ran swift as the lightning from one subject to another, and occasionally burst forth in passionate throes of intellect, nearly allied to madness. A striking instance of this sort of eruption I shall mention. Lord Byron’s apartments were immediately over mine at Missolonghi. In the dead of the night I was frequently startled from my sleep by the thunders of his lordship’s voice, either raging with anger or roaring with laughter, and rousing friends, servants, and, indeed, all the inmates of the dwelling, from their repose. Even when in the utmost danger, Lord Byron contemplated death with calm philosophy. He was, however, superstitious, and dreadfully alarmed at the idea of going mad, which he predicted would be his sad destiny.
‘As a companion, no one could be more amusing; he had neither pedantry nor affectation about him, but was natural and playful as a boy. His conversation resembled a stream, sometimes smooth, sometimes rapid, and sometimes rushing down in cataracts; it was a mixture of philosophy and slang – of everything – like his “Don Juan.” He was a patient and, in general, a very attentive listener. When, however, he did engage with earnestness in conversation, his ideas succeeded each other with such uncommon rapidity that he could not control them. They burst from him impetuously; and although he both attended to and noticed the remarks of others, yet he did not allow these to check his discourse for an instant.
‘Lord Byron professed a deep-rooted antipathy to the English, though he was always surrounded by Englishmen, and, in reality, preferred them (as he did Italian women) to all others. I one day accused him of ingratitude to his countrymen. For many years, I observed, he had been, in spite of his faults, and although he had shocked all her prejudices, the pride, and I might almost say the idol, of Britain. He said they must be a stupid race to worship such an idol, but he had at last cured their superstition, as far as his divinity was concerned, by the publication of his “Cain.” It was true, I replied, that he had now lost their favour. This remark stung him to the soul, for he wished not only to occupy the public mind, but to command, by his genius, public esteem.
‘This extraordinary person, whom everybody was as anxious to see, and to know, as if he had been a Napoleon, the conqueror of the world, had a notion that he was hated, and avoided like one who had broken quarantine. He used often to mention to me the kindness of this or that insignificant individual, for having given him a good and friendly reception. In this particular Lord Byron was capricious, for at Genoa he would scarcely see anyone but those who lived in his own family; whereas at Cephalonia he was to everyone and at all times accessible. At Genoa he acted the misanthropist; at Cephalonia he appeared in his genuine character, doing good, and rather courting than shunning society.
‘Lord Byron conceived that he possessed a profound knowledge of mankind, and of the working of their passions. In this he judged right. He could fathom every mind and heart but his own, the extreme depths of which none ever reached. On my arrival from England at Cephalonia, his lordship asked me what new publications I had brought out. Among others I mentioned “The Springs of Action.” “Springs of Action!” said Lord Byron, stamping with rage with his lame foot, and then turning sharply on his heel, “I don’t require to be taught on this head. I know well what are the springs of action.” Some time afterwards, while speaking on another subject, he desired me to lend him “The Springs of Action.” He then suddenly changed the conversation to some humorous remarks for the purpose of diverting my attention. I could not, however, forbear reminding him of his former observations and his furious stamp.
‘Avarice and great generosity were among Lord Byron’s qualities; these contrarieties are said not unfrequently to be united in the same person. As an instance of Lord Byron’s parsimony, he was constantly attacking Count Gamba, sometimes, indeed, playfully, but more often with the bitterest satire, for having purchased for the use of his family, while in Greece, 500 dollars’ worth of cloth. This he used to mention as an instance of the Count’s imprudence and extravagance. Lord Byron told me one day, with a tone of great gravity, that this 500 dollars would have been most serviceable in promoting the siege of Lepanto; and that he never would, to the last moment of his existence, forgive Gamba for having squandered away his money in the purchase of cloth. No one will suppose that Lord Byron could be serious in such a denunciation; he entertained, in reality, the highest opinion of Count Gamba, who both on account of his talents and devotedness to his friend merited his lordship’s esteem.
‘Lord Byron’s generosity is before the world; he promised to devote his large income to the cause of Greece, and he honestly acted up to his pledge. It was impossible for Lord Byron to have made a more useful, and therefore a more noble, sacrifice of his wealth, than by devoting it, with discretion, to the Greek cause. He set a bright example to the millionaires of his own country, who certainly show but little public spirit. Most of them expend their fortunes in acts of ostentation or selfishness. Few there are of this class who will devote, perchance, the hundredth part of their large incomes to acts of benevolence or bettering the condition of their fellow-men. None of our millionaires, with all their pride and their boasting have had the public virtue, like Lord Byron, to sacrifice their incomes or their lives in aid of a people struggling for liberty.
‘Lord Byron’s reading was desultory, but extensive; his memory was retentive to an extraordinary extent. He was partial to the Italian poets, and is said to have borrowed from them. Their fine thoughts he certainly associated with his own, but with such skill that he could not be accused of plagiarism. Lord Byron possessed, indeed, a genius absolutely boundless, and could create with such facility that it would have been irksome to him to have become a servile imitator. He was original in all things, but especially as a poet.
‘The study of voyages and travels was that in which he most delighted; their details he seemed actually to devour. He would sit up all night reading them. His whole soul was absorbed in these adventures, and he appeared to personify the traveller. Lord Byron had a particular aversion to business; his familiar letters were scrawled out at a great rate, and resembled his conversations. Rapid as were his tongue and his pen, neither could keep pace with the quick succession of ideas that flashed across his mind. He hated nothing more than writing formal official letters; this drudgery he would generally put off from day to day, and finish by desiring Count Gamba, or some other friend, to perform the task. No wonder that Lord Byron should dislike this dry antipoetic work, and which he, in reality, performed with so much difficulty. Lord Byron’s arduous yet unsuccessful labours in this barren field put me in mind of the difficulty which one of the biographers of Addison describes this politician to have experienced, when attempting to compose an official paragraph for the Gazette announcing the death of the Queen. This duty, after a long and ineffectual attempt, the Minister, in despair, handed over to a clerk, who (not being a genius, but a man of business) performed it in an instant.
‘Not less was Lord Byron’s aversion to reading than to writing official documents; these he used to hand over to me, pretending, spite of all my protestations to the contrary, that I had a passion for documents. When once Lord Byron had taken any whim into his head, he listened not to contradiction, but went on laughing and satirizing till his joke had triumphed over argument and fact. Thus I, for the sake of peace, was sometimes silent, and suffered him to good-naturedly bully me into reading over, or, rather, yawning over, a mass of documents dull and uninteresting.
‘Lord Byron once told me, in a humorous tone, but apparently quite in earnest, that he never could acquire a competent knowledge of arithmetic. Addition and subtraction he said he could, though with some difficulty, accomplish. The mechanism of the rule of three pleased him, but then division was a puzzle he could not muster up sufficient courage to unravel. I mention this to show of how low a cast Lord Byron’s capacity was in some commonplace matters, where he could not command attention. The reverse was the case on subjects of a higher order, and in those trifling ones, too, that pleased his fancy. Moved by such themes, the impulses of his genius shot forth, by day and night, from his troubled brain, electric sparks or streams of light, like blazing meteors.
‘Lord Byron loved Greece. Her climate and her scenery, her history, her struggles, her great men and her antiquities, he admired. He declared that he had no mastery over his own thoughts. In early youth he was no poet, nor was he now, except when the fit was upon him, and he felt his mind agitated and feverish. These attacks, he continued, scarcely ever visited him anywhere but in Greece; there he felt himself exhilarated – metamorphosed into another person, and with another soul – in short, never had he, but in Greece, written one good line of poetry. This is a fact exaggerated, as facts often are, by the impulses of strong feelings. It is not on that account less calculated to convey to others the character of Lord Byron’s mind, or to impress it the less upon their recollections.
‘Once established at Missolonghi, it required some great impetus to move Lord Byron from that unhealthy swamp. On one occasion, when irritated by the Suliotes and the constant applications for money, he intimated his intention to depart. The citizens of Missolonghi and the soldiers grumbled, and communicated to me, through Dr. Meyer, their discontent. I repeated what I had heard to Lord Byron. He replied, calmly, that he would rather be cut to pieces than imprisoned, for he came to aid the Greeks in their struggle for liberty, and not to be their slave. No wonder that the “Hellenists” endeavoured to impede Lord Byron’s departure, for even I, a mere soldier, could not escape from Missolonghi, Athens, Corinth, or Salona, without considerable difficulty. Some time previous to Lord Byron’s death, he began to feel a restlessness and a wish to remove to Athens or to Zante.’
On Monday, July 12, at eleven o’clock in the morning, the funeral procession, attended by a great number of carriages and by crowds of people, left No. 20, Great George Street, Westminster, and, passing the Abbey, moved slowly to St. Pancras Gate. Here a halt was made; the carriages returned, and the hearse proceeded by slow stages to Nottingham.