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Lord Byron and his Times: http://lordbyron.org
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“I
” said
often think,that I inherit my violence and
bad temper from my poor
”
He indulges a morbid feeling on this subject that is extraordinary, and
that leads me to think it has had a powerful effect in forming his character. As
I have observed, that, in conversation, some trifling remark has often led him into long disquisitions, evidently elicited by it; and so prolific is his imagination, that the slightest spark can warm it.
published
book, that is in the hands of all England?
ruses have not succeeded, and is like a spoiled child who finds out that he
cannot have everything his manquée as I called them.
I observed that when, in our rides, we came to any point of view, An
acquaintance of mine (said
” Recurring to fine
scenery, That as artists filled their
sketch-books with studies from Nature, to be made use of on after occasions,
”
so he laid up a collection of images in his mind, as a store to draw on, when he required
them, and he found the pictures much more vivid in recollection, when he had not exhausted
his admiration in expressions, but concentrated his powers in fixing them in memory. The
end and aim of his life is to render himself celebrated: hitherto his pen has been the
instrument to cut his road to renown, and it has traced a brilliant path; this, he thinks,
has lost some of its point, and he is about to change it for the sword, to carve a new road
to fame. Military exploits occupy much of his conversation, and still more of his
attention; but even on this subject there is never the slightest
élan, and it appears extraordinary to see a man about to
engage in a chivalrous, and, according to the opinion of many, a Utopian undertaking, for
which his habits peculiarly unfit him, without any indication of the enthusiasm that lead
men to embark in such careers. Perhaps he thinks with
There is something so exciting in the idea of the greatest poet of his day
sacrificing his fortune, his occupations, his enjoyments,—in short, offering up to the
altar of Liberty all the immense advantages that station, fortune, and genius can bestow,
that it is impossible to reflect on it without admiration; but when one hears this same
person calmly talk of the worthlessness of the people he proposes to make those sacrifices
for, the loans he means to advance, the uniforms he intends to wear, entering into petty
details, and always with perfect sang froid,
one’s admiration evaporates, and the action loses all its charms, though the real
merit of it still remains. Perhaps
Well, Miladi, after this hoax, never accuse me any more of mystifying;
you did take me in until you laughed.
” Nothing gratifies him so much as being
told that he grows thin. This fancy of his is pushed to an almost childish extent; and he
frequently asks—“Don’t you think I am getting thinner?
”
or—“Did you ever see any one so thin as I am, who was not ill?
” He
says he is sure no one could recollect him were he to go to England at present, and seems
to enjoy this thought very much.
I noticed
Talking of marriage, If people like each other so well
(said he) as not to be able to live asunder, this is the only tie that can insure
happiness all others entail misery. I put religion and morals out of the question,
though of course the misery will be increased tenfold by the influence of both; but,
admitting persons to have neither, (and many such are, by the good-natured world,
supposed to exist), still
” He had no sooner repeated the first line than I recollected
having the verses in my possession, having been allowed to copy them by liaisons, that are not cemented by
marriage, must produce unhappiness, when there is refinement of mind, and that
honourable
fierté which accompanies it. The humiliations and
vexations a woman, under such circumstances, is exposed to, cannot fail to have a
certain effect on her temper and spirits, which robs her of the charms that won
affection; it renders her susceptible and suspicious: her self-esteem being diminished,
she becomes doubly jealous of that of him for whom she lost it, and on whom she
depends; and if he has feeling to conciliate her, he must submit to a slavery much more
severe than that of marriage, without its respectability. Women become
Composed Dec.1, 1819.
CouldLove for everRun like a river, And Time’s endeavour Be tried in vain; No other pleasure With this could measure; And as a treasure We'd hug the chain. But since our sighing Ends not in dying, And, formed for flying, Love plumes his wing; Then, for this reason, Let’s love a season; But let that season be only Spring. When lovers parted Feel broken-hearted, And, all hopes thwarted, Expect to die; A few years older, Ah! how much colder They might behold her For whom they sigh. When linked together, Through every weather, We pluck Love’s feather From out his wing, He’ll sadly shiver, And droop for ever, Without the plumage that sped his spring. [ orShorn of the plumage which sped his spring.] Like Chiefs of Faction His life is action,— A formal paction, Which curbs his reign, Obscures his glory, Despot no more, he Such territory Quits with disdain. Still, still advancing, With banners glancing, His powers enhancing, He must march on: Repose but cloys him, Retreat destroys him; Love brooks not a degraded throne! Wait not, fond lover! Till years are over, And then recover As from a dream; While each bewailing The other’s failing, With wrath and railing All hideous seem; While first decreasing, Yet not quite ceasing, Pause not till teazing All passion blight: If once diminished, His reign is finished,— One last embrace then, and bid good night! So shall Affection To recollection The dear connexion Bring back with joy; You have not waited Till, tired and hated, All passion sated, Began to cloy. Your last embraces Leave no cold traces,— The same fond faces As through the past; And eyes, the mirrors Of your sweet errors, Reflect but rapture; not least, though last! True separations Ask more than patience; What desperations From such have risen! And yet remaining What is’t but chaining Hearts which, once waning, Beat ’gainst their prison? Time can but cloy love, And use destroy love: The winged boy, Love, Is but for boys; You’ll find it torture, Though sharper, shorter, To wean, and not wear out your joys.
They are so unworthy of the author, that they are merely given as proof
that the greatest genius can sometimes write bad verses; as even Recollect, the lines were written nearly four years ago; and
we grow wiser as we grow older: but mind, I still say, that I only approve marriage
when the persons are so much attached as not to be able to live asunder, which ought
always to be tried by a year’s absence, before the irrevocable knot was formed.
The truest picture of the misery un-
”
liaisons produce (said morale
in that book than in all she ever wrote; and that it ought always to be given to every
young woman who had read bothering, and producing a
confusion of ideas, that left one little able or willing to continue an argument with
her. I liked her
One day that
The next day, when we met, I assure you (said he), I often
”
Talking one day on the difference between men’s actions and
thoughts, a subject to which he often referred, he observed, that it frequently happened
that a man who was capable of superior powers of reflection and reasoning when alone, was
trifling and commonplace in society. “On this point (said he) I speak feelingly,
for I have remarked it of myself, and have often longed to know if other people had the
same defect, or the same consciousness of it, which is, that while in solitude my mind
was occupied in serious and elevated reflections, in society it sinks into a trifling
levity of tone, that in another would have called forth my disapprobation and disgust.
Another defect of mine is, that I am so little fastidious in the selection, or rather
want of selection, of associates, that the most stupid men satisfy me quite as well,
nay perhaps better than the most brilliant, and yet all the time they are with me I
feel, even while descending to their level, that they are unworthy of me, and what is
worse, that we seem in point of conversation so nearly on an equality, that the effort
of letting myself down to them costs me nothing, though my pride is hurt that they do
not seem more sensible of the condescension. When I have sought what is called good
society, it was more from a sense of propriety and keeping my station in the world,
than from any pleasure it gave me, for I have been always disappointed, even in the
most brilliant and clever of my acquaintances, by discovering some trait of egotism, or
futility, that I was too egotistical and futile to pardon, as I find that we are least
disposed to overlook the defects we are most prone to. Do you think as I do on this
point?
” (said That as a
clear and spotless mirror reflects the brightest images, so is goodness ever most prone
to see good in others; and as a sullied mirror shows its own defects in all that it
reflects, so does an impure mind tinge all that passes through it.
”
That thought of yours is pretty,
and just, which all pretty thoughts are not, and I shall pop it into my next poem. But
how do you account for this tendency of mine to trifling and levity in conversation,
when in solitude my mind is really occupied in serious reflections?
” I
answered, “That this was the very cause—the bow cannot remain always bent; the
thoughts suggested to him in society were the reaction of a mind strained to its bent,
and reposing itself after exertion; as also that, feeling the inferiority of the
persons he mixed with, the great powers were not excited, but lay dormant and supine,
collecting their force for solitude.
” This opinion pleased him, and when I
added that great writers were rarely good talkers, and vice
versâ, he was still more gratified. He said that he disliked every-day topics
of conversation, he thought it a waste of time; but that if he met a person with whom he
could, as he said, think aloud, and give utterance to his thoughts on I like to go home with a new idea
(said
” Here he laughed at his
own antithesis, and added, “
tête-à-tête. I felt the advantage of this in
my rides with
By Jove, it is true; you know how people abuse or quiz each other in England, the moment one is absent: each is afraid to go away before the other, knowing that, as is said in the”School for Scandal , he leaves his character behind. It is this certainty that excuses me to myself, for abusing my friends and acquaintances in their absence. I was once accused of this by an, to whom some devilish good-natured person had repeated what I had said of him; I had nothing for it but to plead guilty, adding, you know you have done the same by me fifty times, and yet you see I never was affronted, or liked you the less for it; on which he laughed, and we were as good friends as ever. Mind you (a favourite phrase ofami intime Byron’s ) I never heard that he had abused me, but I took it for granted, and was right. So much for friends.
I remarked to few he had confided in, consequently his opinion must be
founded on self-knowledge. This amused him, and he said that he
verily believed that his knowledge of human nature, on which he had hitherto prided
himself, was the criterion by which I judged so unfavourably of him, as he was sure I
attributed his bad opinion of mankind to his perfect knowledge of self. When in good spirits, he liked badinage very much, and nothing seemed to
please him more than being considered as a mauvais
sujet; he disclaimed the being so with an air that showed he was far
from being offended at the suspicion. Of love he had strange notions: he said that most
people had
A poet, therefore (said” Talking of the difference between love in early youth and in maturity,Byron ), endows the person he loves with all the charms with which his mind is stored, and has noneed of actual beauty to fill up the picture. Hence he should select a woman, who is rather good-looking than beautiful, leaving the latter for those who, having no imagination, require actual beauty to satisfy their tastes. And after all (said he), where is the actual beauty that can come up to the bright ‘imaginings’ of the poet? where can one see women that equal the visions, half-mortal, half-angelic, that people his fancy? Love, who is painted blind (an allegory that proves the uselessness of beauty), can supply all deficiencies with his aid; we can invest her whom we admire with all the attributes of loveliness, and though time may steal the roses from her cheek, and the lustre from her eye, still the original beau idealremains, filling the mind and intoxicating the soul with the overpowering presence of loveliness. I flatter myself that myLeila ,Zuleika ,Gulnare ,Medora , andHaidee will always vouch for my taste in beauty: these are the bright creations of my fancy, with rounded forms, and delicacy of limbs, nearly so incompatible as to be rarely if ever united; for where, with some rare exceptions, do we see roundness of contour accompanied by lightness, and those fairy hands and feet that are at once the type of beauty and refinement. I like to shut myself up, close my eyes, and fancy one of the creatures of my imagination, with taper and rose-tipped fingers, playing with my hair, touching my cheek, or resting its little snowy-dimpled hand on mine. I like to fancy the fairy foot, round and pulpy, but small to diminutiveness, peeping from beneath the drapery that half conceals it, or moving in the mazes of the dance. I detest thin women; and unfortunately all, or nearly all plump women, have clumsy hands and feet, so that I am obliged to have recourse to imagination for my beauties, and there I always find them. I can so well understand the lover leaving his mistress that he might write to her, I should leave mine, not to write to, but to think of her, to dress her up in the habiliments of my ideal beauty, investing her with all the charms of the latter, and then adoring the idol I had formed. You must have observed that I give my heroines extreme refinement, joined to great simplicity and want of education. Now, refinement and want of education are incompatible, at least I have ever found them so: so here again, you see, I am forced to have recourse to imagination; and certainly it furnishes me with creatures as unlike the sophisticated beings of civilized existence, as they are to the still less tempting, coarse realities of vulgar life. In short, I am of opinion that poets do not require great beauty in the objects of their affection; all that is necessary for them is a strong and devoted attachment from the object, and where this exists, joined to health and good temper, little more is required, at least in early youth, though with advancing years, men become more.exigeants
that, like the measles, love was most dangerous when it came late in life.”
Let authors do, say, or think what they
please, they are never considered as men of fashion in the circles of
” If men of fashion were
praised, haut ton, to which their literary reputations have
given them an
repartie or joke against himself, and after a few
minutes’ reflection, got angry at it, but was always soon appeased by a civil
apology, though it was clear that he disliked anything like ridicule, as do most people who
are addicted to play it off on others; and he certainly delighted in quizzing and
ridiculing his associates. The translation of his works into different languages, however
it might have flattered his
(instead of“Il traditore! Il traditore!”
Of his own works, with some exceptions, he always spoke in derision,
saying he could write much better, but that he wrote to suit the false taste of the day,
and that if now and then a gleam of true feeling or poetry was visible in his productions,
it was sure to be followed by the ridicule he could not suppress.
I do not recollect ever having met I
must admit that I could not have left a very agreeable impression on her mind. With my
irascible temper, worked upon by the constant attacks of duns, no wonder that I became
gloomy, violent, and I fear, often personally uncivil, if no worse, and so disgusted
her; though, had she really loved me, she would have borne with my infirmities, and
made allowance for my provocations. I have written to her repeatedly, and am still in
the habit of writing long letters to her, many of which I have sent, but without ever
receiving an answer, and others that I did not send, because I despaired of their doing
any good. I will show you some of them, as they may serve to throw a light on my
feelings.
” The next day want mental courage, than from the existence of the quality itself.
This operated also on his actions as well as his writings; he was the creature of impulse;
never reflected on the possible or probable results of his conduct, until that conduct had
drawn down censure and calumny on him, when he shrunk with dismay, “frightened at
the sounds himself had made.
”
This sensitiveness was visible on all occasions, and extended to all his
relations with others; did his friends or associates become the objects of public attack,
he shrunk from the association, or at least from any public display of it, disclaimed the
existence of any particular intimacy, though in secret he felt good will to the persons. I
have witnessed many examples of this, and became convinced that his friendship was much
more likely to be retained by those who stood well in the world’s opinion, than by
those who had even undeservedly forfeited it. I once made an observation to him on this
point, which was elicited by something he had said of persons with whom I knew he had once
been on terms of intimacy, and which he wished to disclaim; his reply was, “What
the deuce good can I do them against public opinion? I shall only injure myself, and do
them no service.
” I ventured to tell him, that this was precisely the system
of the English whom he decried; and that self-respect, if no better feeling operated, ought
to make us support in adversity those whom we had led to believe we felt interested in. He
blushed, and allowed I was right; “Though (added he) you are
” singular in both senses of the word, in your opinion, as I have had proofs;
for at the moment when I was assailed by all the vituperation of
the press in England at the separation, a friend of mine, who had written a
complimentary passage to me, either by way of dedication or episode (I forget which he
said), suppressed it on finding public opinion running hard against me; he will
probably produce it if he finds he quicksilver of the barometer of my reputation mounts
to beau fixe; while it remains, as at
present, at variable, it will never see the light, save and except I die in Greece,
with a sort of demi-poetic and demi-heroic