We are able, through the courtesy of General Skey Muir, the son of Byron’s friend at Cephalonia, to give extracts from a letter which Mr. Charles Hancock wrote to Dr. Muir on June 1, 1824. During Byron’s residence at Metaxata, Dr. Muir was the principal medical officer at Cephalonia, and it was in his house that some of the conversations on religion between Dr. Kennedy and Byron were held. Mr. Charles Hancock writes:
‘The day before Byron left the island I happened to receive a copy of “Quentin Durward,” which I put into his hands, knowing that he had not seen it, and that he wished to obtain the perusal of it. Lord Byron was very fond of Scott’s novels – you will have observed they were always scattered about his rooms at Metaxata. He immediately shut himself in his room, and, in his eagerness to indulge in it, refused to dine with the officers of the 8th Regiment at their mess, or even to join us at table, but merely came out once or twice to say how much he was entertained, returning to his chamber with a plate of figs in his hand. He was exceedingly delighted with “Quentin Durward” – said it was excellent, especially the first volume and part of the second, but that it fell off towards the conclusion, like all the more recent of these novels: it might be, he added, owing to the extreme rapidity with which they were written – admirably conceived, and as well executed at the outset, but hastily finished off…
‘I will close these remarks with the mention of the period when we took our final leave of him. It was on the 29th December last that, after a slight repast, you and I accompanied him in a boat, gay and animated at finding himself embarked once more on the element he loved; and we put him on board the little vessel that conveyed him to Zante and Missolonghi. He mentioned the poetic feeling with which the sea always inspired him, rallied you on your grave and thoughtful looks, me on my bad steering; quizzed Dr. Bruno, but added in English (which the doctor did not understand), “He is the most sincere Italian I ever met with”; and laughed at Fletcher, who was getting well ducked by the spray that broke over the bows of the boat. The vessel was lying sheltered from the wind in the little creek that is surmounted by the Convent of San Constantino, but it was not till she had stood out and caught the breeze that we parted from him, to see him no more.’
The wind becoming fair, on December 28, at 3 p.m., the vessels got under way, Byron in the mistico, Pietro Gamba in the larger vessel. On the morning of the 29th they were at Zante, and spent the day in transacting business with Mr. Barff and shipping a considerable sum of money. Byron declined the Commandant’s invitation to his residence, as his time was fully occupied with the business in hand. At about six in the evening they sailed for Missolonghi, without the slightest suspicion that the Turkish fleet was on the lookout for prizes. They knew that the Greek fleet was lying before Missolonghi, and they expected to sight a convoy sent out to meet them. Gamba says:
‘We sailed together till after ten at night, with a fair wind and a clear sky; the air was fresh but not sharp. Our sailors sang patriotic songs, monotonous indeed, but to persons in our situation extremely touching. We were all, Lord Byron particularly, in excellent spirits. His vessel sailed the fastest. Then the waves parted us, and our voices could no longer reach each other. We made signals by firing pistols and carabines, and shouted, “To morrow we meet at Missolonghi – to morrow!”
‘Thus, full of confidence and spirit, we sailed along. At midnight we were out of sight.’
At 6.30 a.m. the vessel which bore Gamba along gaily approached the rocks which border the shallows of Missolonghi. They saw a large vessel bearing down upon them, which they at first took for one of the Greek fleet; in appearance it seemed superior to a Turkish man-of-war. But as Gamba’s vessel hoisted the Ionian flag, to their dismay the stranger hoisted the Ottoman ensign. The Turkish commander ordered Gamba’s captain to come on board, and the poor fellow gave himself up for lost. They could think of no excuse which would have any weight with their captors, and were in some trepidation as to Byron’s fate, he having money, arms, and some Greeks, with him.
Writing from Missolonghi on January 5, 1824, Colonel Stanhope says:
‘Count Gamba has just arrived here, with all the articles belonging to the Committee. He was taken early in the morning by a Turkish ship. The captain thereof ordered the master on board. The moment he came on deck, the captain drew his dazzling sabre and placed himself in an attitude as if to cut his head off, and at the same time asked him where he was bound. The frightened Greek said, to Missolonghi. They gazed at each other, and all at once the Turk recognized in his prisoner one who, on a former occasion, had saved his life. They embraced. Next came Count Gamba’s turn. He declared – swore that he was bound to Calamata, and that the master had told a lie through fear, and that his bill of lading would bear him out. They were both taken to the castle of the Morea, were well treated, and after three days released.’
On January 5, 1824, Byron arrived at Missolonghi. He was received with military honours and popular applause.
‘He landed,’ says Gamba, ‘in a Speziot boat, dressed in a red uniform. He was in excellent health, and appeared moved by the scene. I met him as he disembarked, and in a few minutes we entered the house prepared for him – the same in which Colonel Stanhope resided. The Colonel and Prince Mavrocordato, with a long suite of Greek and European officers, received him at the door. I cannot describe the emotions which such a scene excited. Crowds of soldiery and citizens of every rank, sex, and age, were assembled to testify their delight. Hope and content were pictured on every countenance.’
Byron seems to have escaped from perils quite as great, though differing in nature, from those through which Gamba had passed. His vessel passed close to the Turkish frigate, but under favour of the night, and by preserving complete silence, the master ran her close under the rocks of the Scrofes, whither the Turk dared not follow her. Byron saw Gamba’s vessel taken and conducted to Patras. Byron, thinking it wiser not to make straight for Missolonghi steered for Petala; but finding that port open and unsafe, his vessel was taken to Dragomestri, a small town on the coast of Acarnania. On his arrival there, Byron was visited by the Primates and officers of the place, who offered him their good offices. From this place Byron sent messengers both to Zante and Missolonghi. On receipt of Byron’s letter, Mavrocordato sent five gunboats and a brig-of-war to escort him to Missolonghi. On January 4, the flotilla was caught in a violent storm, which threw Byron’s vessel in dangerous proximity to the rocks on that inhospitable coast. The sailors at first behaved remarkably well, and got the vessel off the rocks; but a second squall burst upon them with great violence, and drove the Mistico into dangerous waters, causing the sailors to lose all hope of saving her. They abandoned the vessel to her fate, and thought only of their own safety. But Byron persuaded them to remain; and by his firmness, and no small share of nautical skill, not only got the crew out of danger, but also saved the vessel, several lives, and 25,000 dollars, the greater part of which was in hard cash. Byron does not seem to have pulled off his clothes since leaving Cephalonia.
It was an adventurous voyage – appropriately so – for it was his last journey in this world.
CHAPTER VIII
At the beginning of the war, Missolonghi consisted of about 800 scattered houses, built close to the seaside on a muddy and most unhealthy site, scarcely above the level of the waters, ‘which a few centuries ago must have covered the spot, as may be judged from the nature of the soil, consisting of decomposed seaweed and dried mud.’ The population was exceedingly poor, and amounted to nearly 3,000 souls. The town had a most uninviting appearance; the streets were narrow and badly paved. But, says Millingen, what most revolted a stranger was the practice of having the buildings so constructed that the most loathsome substances were emptied into the streets. The inhabitants were so accustomed to this abominable state of things that they ridiculed the complaints of strangers, and even swore at people who ventured to suggest reform. Missolonghi must indeed have been a wretched place even for a strong man in his full powers and vitality – for Byron it was nothing short of Death! Trelawny tells us that this place is situated on the verge of a dismal swamp. The marvel to him was that Byron, who was always liable to fevers, should have consented to live three months on this mud-bank, shut in by a circle of stagnant pools ‘which might be called the belt of death.’ When Trelawny arrived in the early spring, he found most of the strangers suffering from gastric fevers. He waded through the streets, ‘between wind and water,’ to the house where Byron had lived – a detached building on the margin of the shallow, slimy sea-waters.
Such, then, was the residence which was destined to be the last home of the author of ‘Childe Harold!’
Byron had scarcely reached the modest apartment which had been assigned to him, when he was greeted by the tumultuous visits of the Primates and chiefs. All the chieftains of Western Greece – that is to say, the mountainous districts occupied by the Greeks – were now collected at Missolonghi in a general assembly, together with many of the Primates of the same districts. Mavrocordato, at that time Governor-General of the province, was President of the Assembly, with a bodyguard of 5,000 armed men. The first object of this assembly, says Gamba, was to organize the military forces, the assignment of the soldiers’ pay, and the establishment of the national constitution and some regular form of government for Western Greece. The chieftains were not all of them well disposed towards Mavrocordato; the soldiers were badly paid – in fact, hardly paid at all; and so great was the fear of disturbances, quarrels, and even of a civil war, that without the influence of Prince Mavrocordato, and the presence of Byron with his money, there could have been no harmony.
After the departure of the Turks, who had blockaded Missolonghi, there was a general feeling of security, and no one expected them to return before the spring. The Peloponnesus, with exception of the castles of the Morea and of Patras, of Modon and of Covon, was in the hands of the Greeks. The northern shore of the Gulf of Lepanto, with the exception of the two castles, were also in Greek hands. They swayed Bœotia and Attica, together with the whole isthmus of Corinth.
Such was the state of affairs when Byron arrived on that dismal swamp. The position in which he found himself required much skill and tact; for the dissension among the various leaders in other parts of Greece was in its bitterest phase, and public opinion everywhere was dead against the executive body. It would have been fatal to the prestige of Byron if, in a moment of impetuosity, he had cast in his lot with some particular faction. It was his fixed intention, as it was clearly his best policy, to reconcile differences, and to bring the contending factions closer together. His influence amongst all parties was daily increasing, and everyone believed that Byron would eventually be able to bring discordant voices into harmony, and pave the way for the formation of a strong, patriotic Government. He faced the situation bravely, and closed his ears to the unworthy squabbles of ambitious cliques. He made arrangements, with the best assistance at hand, to turn the expected loan from England to the best account, in order to insure the freedom and independence of Greece.
The first day of his arrival at Missolonghi was signalized by an act of grace. A Turk, who had fallen into the hands of some Greek sailors, was released by Byron’s orders, and, having been clothed and fed at his own expense, was given quarters at Byron’s house until an opportunity occurred of sending him in freedom to Patras. About a fortnight later, hearing that four Turkish prisoners were at Missolonghi in a state of destitution, Byron caused them to be set at liberty, and sent them to Usouff Pacha at Patras, with a letter which, though it has been often printed, deserves a place in this narrative:
‘Highness!
‘A vessel, in which a friend and some domestics of mine were embarked, was detained a few days ago, and released by order of your Highness. I have now to thank you, not for liberating the vessel, which as carrying a neutral flag, and being under British protection, no one had a right to detain, but for having treated my friends with so much kindness while they were in your hands.
‘In the hope that it may not be altogether displeasing to your Highness, I have requested the Governor of this place to release four Turkish prisoners, and he has humanely consented to do so. I lose no time, therefore, in sending them back, in order to make as early a return as I could, for your courtesy on the late occasion. These prisoners are liberated without any conditions; but should the circumstance find a place in your recollection, I venture to beg that your Highness will treat such Greeks as may henceforth fall into your hands, with humanity; more especially as the horrors of war are sufficiently great in themselves, without being aggravated by wanton cruelties on either side.
‘Noel Byron.
‘Missolonghi,
‘January 23, 1824.’
This letter was the keynote of Byron’s policy during the remainder of his life. The horrors of war were sufficient in themselves without that unnecessary cruelty so often exhibited by Eastern nations in their treatment of prisoners of war.
The following account of an incident connected with Byron’s clemency to a prisoner pictures the state of things at Missolonghi.
‘This evening,’ says Gamba, ‘whilst Mavrocordato was with Lord Byron, two sailors belonging to the privateer which had taken the Turk came into the room, demanding in an insolent tone that their prisoner should be delivered up to them. Lord Byron refused; their importunity became more violent, and they refused to leave the room without their Turk (such was their expression) on which Lord Byron, presenting a pistol at the intruders, threatened to proceed to extremities unless they instantly retired. The sailors withdrew, but Byron complained to Mavrocordato of his want of authority, and said to him: “If your Government cannot protect me in my own house, I will find means to protect myself.” From that time Lord Byron retained a Suliote guard in his house.’
During the winter preparations were being made for an expedition against Lepanto, a fortress which, if captured by the Greeks, would facilitate the siege of Patras. Its fortifications were constructed on the slope of a hill, forming a triangle, the base of which was close to the sea. Its walls were of Venetian construction, but without ditches. As portions of its walls were commanded by a neighbouring hill, its siege would have proved a very arduous undertaking even with regular troops; but with raw Greek levies its reduction, except by famine, would have been almost impossible. On January 14, 1824, Colonel Stanhope writes to Mr. Bowring in the following terms: ‘Lord Byron has taken 500 Suliotes into pay. He burns with military ardour and chivalry, and will proceed with the expedition to Lepanto.’ Circumstances were, however, against this expedition from the very beginning. Great hopes had been entertained by Lord Byron and by Colonel Stanhope that the Suliotes would conform to discipline, and that Mr. Parry, who had been sent out by the Greek Committee with stores and ammunition, would on his arrival organize the artillery, and manufacture Congreve rockets – a projectile of which the Turks were said to be in great awe.
Parry arrived at Missolonghi early in February, on board the brig Anna, which had been chartered by the London Greek Committee. He brought cannons, ammunition, printing-presses, medicines, and all the apparatus necessary for the establishment of a military laboratory. Several English mechanics came with him, and some English, German, and Swedish gentlemen, who wished to serve the Greek cause.
Mr. (or, as he was afterwards called) Major, Parry was a peculiar person in every way. He had at one time served as a shipwright, then as Firemaster in the King’s service, and won favour with Byron through his buffoonery and plain speaking – two very useful qualifications in environments of stress and duplicity. When Byron appointed him Major in the Artillery Brigade, the best officers in the brigade tendered their resignations, stating that, while they would be proud to serve under Lord Byron, neither their honour nor the interests of the service would allow them to serve under a man who had no practical experience of military evolutions. The German officers also, who had previously served in the Prussian army, appealed against Parry’s appointment, and offered proofs of his ignorance of artillery. But Byron would not listen to complaints, which he attributed partly to jealousy and partly to German notions of etiquette, which seemed to him to be wholly out of place in a country where merit rather than former titles should regulate such appointments.
In supporting Parry against these officers, Byron was in a measure influenced by the recommendations of both the Greek Committee who sent him out, and of Colonel Leicester Stanhope, who at that time considered Parry to be an exceedingly capable officer. Perhaps, if Parry had not appeared on parade in an apron, brandishing a hammer, and if he had not asserted himself so extravagantly, he might possibly have passed muster. But tact and modesty were not in Parry’s line; and having boasted to the London Committee that he was acquainted with almost every branch of military mechanics, he bullied its members into a belief that his pretentions were well founded. As a matter of fact, Parry proved to be unsuited for high command, although it must be admitted that he worked indefatigably. He made plans for the erection of a laboratory, and presided over the works. He paved the yard of the Seraglio, repaired the batteries, instructed the troops in musketry and gunnery; he gave lessons with the broadsword, inspected the fortifications, and directed the operations of Cocchini, the chief engineer. He repaired gun-carriages, and put his hand to anything wanted, so that it appeared as if really nothing could be done without him. In one thing only did Parry seem to fall short of general expectation. He had boasted that he knew the composition of ‘Congreve rockets.’ With this mighty instrument of mischief he prophesied that the Greeks would be able to paralyze all the efforts of their enemy, both by land and sea. The Turkish cavalry, the only arm against which the Greeks were impotent, would be rendered useless, and the Turkish vessels, by the same means, would be easily destroyed.
Unfortunately, the manufacture of these rockets was impossible without the assistance of the English mechanics whom he had brought with him, and these men were unable to work without materials, which were not obtainable. Thus the principal part of Parry’s ‘stock-in-trade’ – his rockets, incendiary kites, and improved Grecian fires – were not forthcoming.
For a long time the roads in the neighbourhood of Missolonghi were so broken up by incessant rain that Byron could not ride or take any outdoor exercise. This affected his health. His only means of getting a little fresh air was by paddling through the murky waters in a sort of canoe. During these expeditions, says Gamba, who always accompanied him, he spoke often of his anxiety to begin the campaign. He had not much hope of success, but felt that something must be done during these tedious months, if only to employ the troops and keep them from creating disturbances in the town.
‘I am not come here in search of adventures,’ said Byron, ‘but to assist the regeneration of a nation, whose very debasement makes it more honourable to become their friend. Regular troops are certainly necessary, but not in great numbers: regular troops alone would not succeed in a country like Greece; and irregular troops alone are only just better than nothing. Only let the loan be raised; and in the meantime let us try to form a strong national Government, ready to apply our pecuniary resources, when they arrive, to the organization of troops, the establishment of internal civilization, and the preparations for acting defensively now, and on the offensive next winter. Nothing is so insupportable to me as all these minute details and these repeated delays. But patience is indispensable, and that I find the most difficult of all attainments.’
It was Byron’s custom to spend his evenings in Colonel Stanhope’s room, with his English comrades. Sometimes the Germans would join the party, play on their flutes, and sing their national airs to the accompaniment of a guitar. Byron was fond of music in general, and was especially partial to German music, particularly to their national songs.
Millingen tells us that in the evening all the English who had not, with Colonel Stanhope, turned Odysseans assembled at Byron’s house, and enjoyed the charm of his conversation till late at night. Byron’s character, says Millingen,
‘differed so much from what I had been induced to imagine from the relations of travellers, that either their reports must have been inaccurate, or his character must have totally changed after his departure from Genoa. It would be difficult, indeed impossible, to convey an idea of the pleasure his conversation afforded. Among his works, that which may perhaps be more particularly regarded as exhibiting the mirror of his conversation, and the spirit which animated it, is “Don Juan.” He was indeed too open, and too indiscreet in respect to the reminiscences of his early days. Sometimes, when his vein of humour flowed more copiously than usual, he would play tricks on individuals. Fletcher’s boundless credulity afforded him an ever-ready fund of amusement, and he one evening planned a farce, which was as well executed and as laughable as any ever exhibited on the stage. Having observed how nervous Parry had been, a few days before, during an earthquake, he felt desirous of renewing the ludicrous sight which the fat, horror-struck figure of the Major had exhibited on that occasion. He placed, therefore, fifty of his Suliotes in the room above that where Parry slept, and towards midnight ordered them to shake the house, so as to imitate that phenomenon. He himself at the same time banged the doors, and rushed downstairs, delighted to see the almost distracted Major imploring tremblingly the mercy of heaven.’
Lord Byron was very much taken with Parry, whose drolleries relieved the tedium and constant vexations incidental to the situation at Missolonghi. The Major appears to have been an excellent mimic, and possessed a fund of quaint expressions that made up for the deficiency of real wit. Millingen says that he could tell, in his coarse language, a good story, and could play Falstaff’s, or the part of a clown very naturally. He ranted Richard III.’s or Hamlet’s soliloquies in a mock-tragic manner like a player at Bartholomew Fair, which made everyone laugh, and beguiled the length of many a rainy evening.
On January 21, 1824, Missolonghi was blockaded by the Turkish fleet. There were neither guns nor even sailors fit to man the gunboats; the only chance was to make a night attack upon the Turks in boats manned by the European volunteers then residing at Missolonghi. Byron took the matter in hand, and insisted on joining personally in the expedition. He was so determined on this project that Mavrocordato and others, realizing the folly of exposing so valuable a life on so desperate an enterprise, dissuaded Byron from risking his valuable life in a business for which there were already sufficient volunteers. As things turned out, it did not much matter, for the Turkish fleet suddenly abandoned the blockade and returned to the gulf.
On January 22, while Colonel Stanhope and some friends were assembled, Byron came from his bedroom and said, with a smile: ‘You were complaining the other day that I never write any poetry now: this is my birthday, and I have just finished something, which, I think, is better than what I usually write.’ He then produced those affecting verses on his own birthday which were afterwards found written in his journal, with the following introduction: ‘January 22: on this day I complete my thirty-sixth year.’
‘We perceived from these lines,’ says Gamba, ‘as well as from his daily conversations, that his ambition and his hope were irrevocably fixed upon the glorious objects of his expedition to Greece, and that he had made up his mind to “return victorious, or return no more.” Indeed, he often said to me, “Others may do as they please – they may go – but I stay here, that is certain.”’
This resolution was accompanied with the natural presentiment that he should never leave Greece alive. He one day asked his faithful servant Tita whether he thought of returning to Italy. ‘Yes,’ said Tita; ‘if your lordship goes, I go.’ Lord Byron smiled, and said: ‘No, Tita, I shall never go back from Greece; either the Turks, or the Greeks, or the climate, will prevent that.’
Parry tells us that Byron’s mind on this point was irrevocably fixed.
‘My future intentions,’ he said, ‘may be explained in a few words. I will remain here in Greece till she is secure against the Turks, or till she has fallen under her power. All my income shall be spent in her service; but, unless driven by some great necessity, I will not touch a farthing of the sum intended for my sister’s children. Whatever I can accomplish with my income, and my personal exertions, shall be cheerfully done. When Greece is secure against external enemies, I will leave the Greeks to settle their government as they like. One service more, and an eminent service it will be, I think I may perform for them. You shall have a schooner built for me, or I will buy a vessel; the Greeks shall invest me with the character of their Ambassador or agent; I will go to the United States, and procure that free and enlightened Government, to set the example of recognizing the Federation of Greece, as an independent State. This done, England must follow the example, and then the fate of Greece will be permanently fixed, and she will enter into all her rights, as a member of the great commonwealth of Christian Europe…
‘The cause of Greece naturally excites our sympathy. Her people are Christians contending against Turks, and slaves struggling to be free. There never was a cause which had such strong claims on the sympathy of the people of Europe, and particularly of the people of England.’16
The following extract from a letter written by Mr. George Finlay in June, 1824, seems worthy of production in this place:
‘I arrived at Missolonghi at the latter end of February. During my stay there, in the forenoon I rode out with Lord Byron; and generally Mr. Fowke and myself spent the evenings in his room.
‘In our rides, the state of Greece was the usual subject of our conversation; and at times he expressed a strong wish to revisit Athens. I mentioned the great cheapness of property in Attica, and the possibility of my purchasing some of the villas near the city. He said that, if I could find any eligible property, he would have no objections to purchase likewise, as he wished to have some real property in Greece; and he authorized me to treat for him. I always urged him to make Corinth his headquarters. Sometimes he appeared inclined to do so, and remarked, that it would be a strange coincidence if, after writing an unsuccessful defence of Corinth, he should himself make a successful one. An event so fortunate, I said, would leave him no more to ask from fortune, and reminded him how very much of fame depends on mere accident. Cæsar’s conquests and his works would not have raised his fame so high, but for the manner of his death.
‘In the evenings Lord Byron was generally extremely communicative, and talked much of his youthful scenes at Cambridge, Brighton, and London; spoke very often of his friends, Mr. Hobhouse and Mr. Scrope B. Davies – told many anecdotes of himself which are well known, and many which were amusing from his narration, but which would lose their interest from another; but what astonished me the most was the ease with which he spoke of all those reports which were spread by his enemies – he gave his denials and explanations with the frankness of an unconcerned person.
‘I often spoke to him about Newstead Abbey, which I had visited in 1821, a few months before leaving England. On informing him of the repairs and improvements which were then going on, he said, if he had been rich enough, he should have liked to have kept it as the old abbey; but he enjoyed the excellent bargain he had made at the sale. A solicitor sent him a very long bill, and, on his grumbling at the amount, he said he was silenced by a letter, reminding him that he had received £20,000 forfeit-money from the first purchaser. I mentioned the picture of his bear in the cottage near the lodge – the Newfoundland dog and the verses on its tomb. He said, Newfoundland dogs had twice saved his life, and that he could not live without one.
‘He spoke frequently of the time he lived at Aberdeen. Their house was near the college. He described the place, but I have forgotten it. He said his mother’s “lassack” used to put him to bed at a very early hour, and then go to converse with her lover; he had heard the house was haunted, and sometimes used to get out of bed and run along the lobby in his shirt, till he saw a light, and there remain standing till he was so cold he was forced to go to bed again. One night the servant returning, he grew frightened and ran towards his room; the maid saw him, and fled more frightened than he; she declared she had seen a ghost. Lord Byron said, he was so frightened at the maid, he kept the secret till she was turned away; and, he added, he never since kept a secret half so long. The first passion he ever felt was for a young lady who was on a visit to his mother while they lived in Scotland; he was at the time about six years old, and the young lady about nine, yet he was almost ill on her leaving his mother’s house to return home. He told me, if I should ever meet the lady (giving me her address), to ask her if she remembers him. On some conversation about the “English Bards and Scotch Reviewers,” he gave as a reason for his attacking many of the persons included, that he was informed, some time before the publication of the review, that the next number was to contain an article on his poems which had been read at Holland House. “Judge of my fever; was it not a pleasant situation for a young author?”
‘In conversation he used to deliver very different opinions on many authors from those contained in his works; in the one case he might be guided more by his judgment, and in the other submit entirely to his own particular taste. I have quoted his writings in opposition to his words, and he replied, “Never mind what I print; that is not what I think.” He certainly did not consider much of the poetry of the present day as “possessing buoyancy enough to float down the stream of time.” I remarked, he ought really to alter the passage in the preface of “Marino Faliero,” on living dramatic talent; he exclaimed, laughing, “Do you mean me to erase the name of moral me?” In this manner he constantly distinguished Milman, alluding to some nonsense in the Quarterly Review. He was extremely amused with Blackwood’s Magazine, and read it whenever he could get a number; he has frequently repeated to me passages of Ensign O’Doherty’s poetry, which I had not read, and expressed great astonishment at the ability displayed by the author.
‘On a gentleman present once asking his opinion of the works of a female author of some note, he said, “A bad imitation of me – all pause and start.”
‘On my borrowing Mitford’s “History of Greece” from him, and saying I had read it once, and intended commencing it again in Greece, he said, “I hate the book; it makes you too well acquainted with the ancient Greeks, and robs antiquity of all its charms. History in his hands, has no poetry.”
‘I was in the habit of praising Sir William Gell’s Itineraries to Lord B., and he, on the other hand, took every opportunity of attacking his Argolis though his attacks were chiefly directed against the drawings, and particularly the view of the bay. He told me he was the author of the article on Sir W. Gell’s Argolis in the Monthly Review, and said he had written two other articles in this work; but I have forgotten them.17
‘Whenever the drama was mentioned, he defended the unities most eagerly, and usually attacked Shakspeare. A gentleman present, on hearing his anti-Shakspearean opinions, rushed out of the room, and afterwards entered his protest most anxiously against such doctrines. Lord B. was quite delighted with this, and redoubled the severity of his criticism. I had heard that Shelley once said to Lord B. in his extraordinary way, “B., you are a most wonderful man.” “How?” “You are envious of Shakspeare.” I, therefore, never expressed the smallest astonishment at hearing Shakspeare abused; but remarked, it was curious that Lord B. was so strangely conversant in an author of such inferior merit, and that he should so continually have the most melodious lines of Shakspeare in his mouth as examples of blank verse. He said once, when we were alone, “I like to astonish Englishmen: they come abroad full of Shakspeare, and contempt for the dramatic literature of other nations; they think it blasphemy to find a fault in his writings, which are full of them. People talk of the tendency of my writings, and yet read the sonnets to Master Hughes.” Lord B. certainly did not admire the French tragedians enthusiastically. I said to him, “There is a subject for the Drama which, I believe, has never been touched, and which, I think, affords the greatest possible scope for the representation of all that is sublime in human character – but then it would require an abandonment of the unities – the attack of Maurice of Saxony on Charles V., which saved the Protestant religion; it is a subject of more than national interest.” He said it was certainly a fine subject; but he held that the drama could not exist without a strict adherence to the unities; and besides, he knew well he had failed in his dramatic attempts, and that he intended to make no more. He said he thought “Sardanapalus” his best tragedy.
‘The memory of Lord B. was very extraordinary; it was not the mere mechanical memory which can repeat the advertisements of a newspaper and such nonsense; but of all the innumerable novels which he had read, he seemed to recollect perfectly the story and every scene of merit.
‘Once I had a bet with Mr. Fowke that Maurice of Orange was not the grandson of Maurice of Saxony, as it ran in my head that Maurice was a son of Count Horn’s sister. On applying for a decision of our bet to Lord B., he immediately told me I was wrong, that William of Orange was thrice married, and that he had Maurice by a daughter of Maurice of Saxony: he repeated the names of all the children. I said, “This is the most extraordinary instance of your memory I ever heard.” He replied, “It’s not very extraordinary – I read it all a few days ago in Watson’s “Philip II.,” and you will find it in a note at the bottom of the last page but one” (I think he said) “of the second volume.” He went to his bedroom and brought the book, in which we found the note he had repeated. It seemed to me wonderful enough that such a man could recollect the names of William of Orange’s children and their families even for ten minutes.
‘Once, on receiving some newspapers, in reading the advertisements of new publications aloud, I read the name of Sir Aubrey de Vere Hunt; Lord B. instantly said, “Sir Aubrey was at Harrow, I remember, but he was younger than me. He was an excellent swimmer, and once saved a boy’s life; nobody would venture in, and the boy was nearly drowned, when Sir Aubrey was called. The boy’s name was M’Kinnon, and he went afterwards to India.” I think B. said he died there.
‘“It is strange,” I replied; “I heard this very circumstance from Sir Aubrey de Vere Hunt, who inquired if I knew the boy, who must now be a man, but said, I think, that his name was Mackenzie.” “Depend upon it, I am right,” said Byron.
‘Lord B. said he had kept a very exact journal of every circumstance of his life, and many of his thoughts while young, that he had let Mr. Hobhouse see it in Albania, and that he at last persuaded him to burn it. He said Hobhouse had robbed the world of a treat. He used to say that many of his acquaintances, particularly his female ones, while he was in London, did not like Mr. Hobhouse, “for they thought he kept me within bounds.”
‘When he was asked for a motto for the Greek Telegraph, by Gamba, during the time he felt averse to the publication of a European newspaper in Greece, he gave, “To the Greeks foolishness” – in allusion to the publication in languages which the natives generally do not understand.
‘On a discussion in his presence concerning the resemblance of character between the ancient and modern Greeks, he said: “At least we have St. Paul’s authority that they had their present character in his time; for he says there is no difference between the Jew and the Greek.”
‘A few days before I left Missolonghi, riding out together, he told me that he had received a letter from his sister, in which she mentioned that one of the family had displayed some poetical talent, but that she would not tell him who, as she hoped she should hear no more of it. I said “That is a strange wish from the sister of such a poet.” He replied that he believed the poetical talent was always a source of pain, and that he certainly would have been happier had he never written a line.
‘Those only who were personally acquainted with him can be aware of the influence which every passing event had over his mind, or know the innumerable modifications under which his character was daily presenting itself; even his writings took a shade of colouring from those around him. His passions and feelings were so lively that each occurrence made a strong impression, and his conduct became so entirely governed by impulse that he immediately and vehemently declared his sentiments. It is not wonderful, therefore, that instances of his inconsistency should be found; though in the most important actions of his life he has acted with no common consistency, and his death attests his sincerity. To attempt by scattered facts to illustrate his character is really useless. A hundred could be immediately told to prove him a miser; as many to prove him the most generous of men; an equal number, perhaps, to show he was nervously alive to the distresses of others, or heartlessly unfeeling; at times that he indulged in every desire; at others, that he pursued the most determined system of self-denial; that he ridiculed his friends, or defended them with the greatest anxiety. At one time he was all enthusiasm; at another perfect indifference on the very same subject. All this would be true, and yet our inference most probably incorrect. Such hearts as Lord B.’s must become old at an early age, from the continual excitement to which they are exposed, and those only can judge fairly of him, even from his personal acquaintance, who knew him from his youth, when his feelings were warmer than they could be latterly. From some of those who have seen the whole course of his wonderful existence, we may, indeed, expect information; and it is information, not scandal, that will be sought for.’