The Works of Lord Byron: Letters and Journals Volume II Part 91

My unfortunate paradoxes had entirely dried up that source of comfort.

I could neither read nor write with satisfaction; for excellence in another was my aversion, and writing was my trade.'"]

[Footnote 6: From Boileau ('Imitations, etc.', by J.C. Hobhouse):

"With what delight rhymes on the scribbling dunce.

He's ne'er perplex'd to choose, but right at once; With rapture hails each work as soon as done, And wonders so much wit was all his own."]

[Footnote 7: At Sotheby's house, Miss Jane Porter, author of 'The Scottish Chiefs', etc., etc., met Byron. She made the following note of his appearance, and after his death sent it to his sister:

"I once had the gratification of Seeing Lord Byron. He was at Evening party at the Poet Sotheby's. I was not aware of his being in the room, or even that he had been invited, when I was arrested from listening to the person conversing with me by the Sounds of the most melodious Speaking Voice I had ever heard. It was gentle and beautifully modulated. I turned round to look for the Speaker, and then saw a Gentleman in black of an Elegant form (for nothing of his lameness could be discovered), and with a face I never shall forget. The features of the finest proportions. The Eye deep set, but mildly l.u.s.trous; and the Complexion what I at the time described to my Sister as a Sort of moonlight paleness. It was so pale, yet with all so Softly brilliant.

"I instantly asked my Companion who that Gentleman was. He replied, 'Lord Byron.' I was astonished, for there was no Scorn, no disdain, nothing in that n.o.ble Countenance _then_ of the proud Spirit which has since soared to Heaven, illuminating the Horizon far and wide."]

[Footnote 8: Probably the Berrys.]

[Footnote 9: Miss Lydia White, the "Miss Diddle" of Byron's 'Blues', of whom Ticknor speaks ('Life', vol. i. p. 176) as "the fashionable blue-stocking," was a wealthy Irishwoman, well known for her dinners and conversaziones

"in all the capitals of Europe. At one of her dinners in Park Street (all the company except herself being Whigs), the desperate prospects of the Whig party were discussed. Yes,' said Sydney Smith, who was present, 'we are in a most deplorable condition; we must do something to help ourselves. I think,' said he, looking at Lydia White, 'we had better sacrifice a Tory Virgin'"

(Lady Morgan's 'Memoirs', vol. ii. p. 236). Miss Berry, in her 'Journal'

(vol. iii. p. 49, May 8, 1815), says,

"Lord and Lady Byron persuaded me to go with them to Miss White. Never have I seen a more imposing convocation of ladies arranged in a circle than when we entered, taking William Spencer with us. Lord Byron brought me home. He stayed to supper."

Miss White's last years were pa.s.sed in bad health. Moore called upon Rogers, May 7, 1826:

"Found him in high good humour. In talking of Miss White, he said, 'How wonderfully she does hold out! They may say what they will, but Miss White and 'Miss'olongi are the most remarkable things going"

('Memoirs, etc.', vol. v. p. 62). Lydia White died in February, 1827.]

[Footnote 10: Barberina Ogle (1768-1854), daughter of Sir Chaloner Ogle, widow of Valentia Wilmot, married, in 1819, Lord Dacre. Her tragedy, 'Ina', was produced at Drury Lane, April 22, 1815. Her literary work was, for the most part, privately printed: 'Dramas, Translations, and Occasional Poems' (1821); 'Translations from the Italian' (1836). She also edited her daughter's 'Recollections of a Chaperon' (1831), and 'Tales of the Peerage and Peasantry' (1835).]

[Footnote 11: Margaret Willes, granddaughter of Chief Justice Willes, married, in 1778, Sir George Beaumont, Bart. (1753-1827), the landscape-painter, art critic, and picture-collector, who founded the National Gallery, was a friend of Sir Joshua Reynolds, of Dr. Johnson, and of Wordsworth, and is mentioned by Byron in the 'Blues':

"Sir George thinks exactly with Lady Bluebottle."]

[Footnote 12: Francis William Caulfield, who succeeded his father, in 1799, as second Earl of Charlemont, married, in 1802, Anne, daughter of William Bermingham, of Ross Hill, co. Galway. She died in 1876. Of Lady Charlemont's beauty Byron was an enthusiastic admirer. In his 'Letter on the Rev. W.L. Bowles's Strictures on Pope' (February 7, 1821) he says,

"The head of Lady Charlemont (when I first saw her, nine years ago) seemed to possess all that sculpture could require for its ideal."

Moore ('Journals, etc.', vol. iii. p. 78) has the following entry in his Diary for November 21, 1819:

"Called upon Lady Charlemont, and sat with her some time. Lady Mansfield told me that the effect she produces here with her beauty is wonderful; last night, at the Comtesse d'Albany's, the Italians were ready to fall down and worship her."

For the two quotations, see Horace, 'Odes', I. iii. 1, and 'The Rape of the Lock', ii. 18.]

Nov. 23.

Ward--I like Ward. By Mahomet! I begin to think I like every body;--a disposition not to be encouraged;--a sort of social gluttony that swallows every thing set before it. But I like Ward. He is _piquant_; and, in my opinion, will stand very _high_ in the House, and every where else, if he applies _regularly_. By the by, I dine with him to-morrow, which may have some influence on my opinion. It is as well not to trust one's grat.i.tude _after_ dinner. I have heard many a host libelled by his guests, with his burgundy yet reeking on their rascally lips.

I have taken Lord Salisbury's box at Covent Garden for the season; and now I must go and prepare to join Lady Holland and party, in theirs, at Drury Lane, _questa sera_.

Holland doesn't think the man is _Junius_; but that the yet unpublished journal throws great light on the obscurities of that part of George the Second's reign.--What is this to George the Third's? I don't know what to think. Why should Junius be yet dead? If suddenly apoplexed, would he rest in his grave without sending his [Greek: eidolon] to shout in the ears of posterity, "Junius was X.Y.Z., Esq., buried in the parish of ----. Repair his monument, ye churchwardens! Print a new edition of his Letters, ye booksellers!" Impossible,--the man must be alive, and will never die without the disclosure. I like him;--he was a good hater.

Came home unwell and went to bed,--not so sleepy as might be desirable.

Tuesday morning. I awoke from a dream!--well! and have not others dreamed?--Such a dream!--but she did not overtake me. I wish the dead would rest, however. Ugh! how my blood chilled,--and I could not wake--and--and--heigho!

"Shadows to-night Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard, Than could the substance of ten thousand----s, Arm'd all in proof, and led by shallow----." [1]

I do not like this dream,--I hate its "foregone conclusion." And am I to be shaken by shadows? Ay, when they remind us of--no matter--but, if I dream thus again, I will try whether _all_ sleep has the like visions.

Since I rose, I've been in considerable bodily pain also; but it is gone, and now, like Lord Ogleby [2], I am wound up for the day.

A note from Mountnorris [3]--I dine with Ward;--Canning is to be there, Frere [4] and Sharpe [5], perhaps Gifford. I am to be one of "the five"

(or rather six), as Lady----said a little sneeringly yesterday. They are all good to meet, particularly Canning, and--Ward, when he likes. I wish I may be well enough to listen to these intellectuals.

No letters to-day;--so much the better,--there are no answers. I must not dream again;--it spoils even reality. I will go out of doors, and see what the fog will do for me. Jackson has been here: the boxing world much as usual;--but the club increases. I shall dine at Crib's [6]

to-morrow. I like energy--even animal energy--of all kinds; and I have need of both mental and corporeal. I have not dined out, nor, indeed, _at all_, lately: have heard no music--have seen n.o.body. Now for a _plunge_--high life and low life. _Amant_ alterna _Camoenae!_ [7].

I have burnt my _Roman_--as I did the first scenes and sketch of my comedy--and, for aught I see, the pleasure of burning is quite as great as that of printing. These two last would not have done. I ran into _realities_ more than ever; and some would have been recognised and others guessed at.

Redde the _Ruminator_--a collection of Essays, by a strange, but able, old man [Sir Egerton Brydges] [8], and a half-wild young one, author of a poem on the Highlands, called _Childe Alarique_ [9].

The word "sensibility" (always my aversion) occurs a thousand times in these Essays; and, it seems, is to be an excuse for all kinds of discontent. This young man can know nothing of life; and, if he cherishes the disposition which runs through his papers, will become useless, and, perhaps, not even a poet, after all, which he seems determined to be. G.o.d help him! no one should be a rhymer who could be any thing better. And this is what annoys one, to see Scott and Moore, and Campbell and Rogers, who might have all been agents and leaders, now mere spectators. For, though they may have other ostensible avocations, these last are reduced to a secondary consideration.----, too, frittering away his time among dowagers and unmarried girls. If it advanced any _serious_ affair, it were some excuse; but, with the unmarried, that is a hazardous speculation, and tiresome enough, too; and, with the veterans, it is not much worth trying, unless, perhaps, one in a thousand.

If I had any views in this country, they would probably be parliamentary [10].

But I have no ambition; at least, if any, it would be _aut Caesar aut nihil_. My hopes are limited to the arrangement of my affairs, and settling either in Italy or the East (rather the last), and drinking deep of the languages and literature of both. Past events have unnerved me; and all I can now do is to make life an amus.e.m.e.nt, and look on while others play. After all, even the highest game of crowns and sceptres, what is it? _Vide_ Napoleon's last twelvemonth. It has completely upset my system of fatalism. I thought, if crushed, he would have fallen, when _fractus illabitur orbis_, [11] and not have been pared away to gradual insignificance; that all this was not a mere _jeu_ of the G.o.ds, but a prelude to greater changes and mightier events. But men never advance beyond a certain point; and here we are, retrograding, to the dull, stupid old system,--balance of Europe--poising straws upon kings' noses, instead of wringing them off! Give me a republic, or a despotism of one, rather than the mixed government of one, two, three. A republic!--look in the history of the Earth--Rome, Greece, Venice, France, Holland, America, our short (_eheu!_) Commonwealth, and compare it with what they did under masters. The Asiatics are not qualified to be republicans, but they have the liberty of demolishing despots, which is the next thing to it. To be the first man--not the Dictator--not the Sylla, but the Washington or the Aristides--the leader in talent and truth--is next to the Divinity! Franklin, Penn, and, next to these, either Brutus or Ca.s.sius--even Mirabeau--or St. Just. I shall never be any thing, or rather always be nothing. The most I can hope is, that some will say, "He might, perhaps, if he would."