LORD  BYRON  and  his  TIMES
Documents Biography Criticism

The Autobiography of William Jerdan
Bryan Waller Procter, “Letter to Madam Fanny Bias,” 1818

Vol. I. Front Matter
Ch. 1: Introductory
Ch. 2: Childhood
Ch. 3: Boyhood
Ch. 4: London
Ch. 5: Companions
Ch. 6: The Cypher
Ch. 7: Edinburgh
Ch. 8: Edinburgh
Ch. 9: Excursion
Ch. 10: Naval Services
Ch. 11: Periodical Press
Ch. 12: Periodical Press
Ch. 13: Past Times
Ch. 14: Past Times
Ch. 15: Literary
Ch. 16: War & Jubilees
Ch. 17: The Criminal
Ch. 18: Mr. Perceval
Ch. 19: Poets
Ch. 20: The Sun
Ch. 21: Sun Anecdotes
Ch. 22: Paris in 1814
Ch. 23: Paris in 1814
Ch. 24: Byron
Vol. I. Appendices
Scott Anecdote
Burns Anecdote
Life of Thomson
John Stuart Jerdan
Scottish Lawyers
Sleepless Woman
Canning Anecdote
Southey in The Sun
Hood’s Lamia
Murder of Perceval
Vol. II. Front Matter
Ch. 1: Literary
Ch. 2: Mr. Canning
Ch. 3: The Sun
Ch. 4: Amusements
Ch. 5: Misfortune
Ch. 6: Shreds & Patches
Ch. 7: A Character
Ch. 8: Varieties
Ch. 9: Ingratitude
Ch. 10: Robert Burns
Ch. 11: Canning
Ch. 12: Litigation
Ch. 13: The Sun
Ch. 14: Literary Gazette
Ch. 15: Literary Gazette
Ch. 16: John Trotter
Ch. 17: Contributors
Ch. 18: Poets
Ch 19: Peter Pindar
Ch 20: Lord Munster
Ch 21: My Writings
Vol. II. Appendices
The Satirist.
Authors and Artists.
The Treasury
Morning Chronicle
Chevalier Taylor
Foreign Journals
Vol. III. Front Matter
Ch. 1: Literary Pursuits
Ch. 2: Literary Labour
Ch. 3: Poetry
Ch. 4: Coleridge
Ch 5: Criticisms
Ch. 6: Wm Gifford
Ch. 7: W. H. Pyne
Ch. 8: Bernard Barton
Ch. 9: Insanity
Ch. 10: The R.S.L.
Ch. 11: The R.S.L.
Ch. 12: L.E.L.
Ch. 13: L.E.L.
Ch. 14: The Past
Ch. 15: Literati
Ch. 16: A. Conway
Ch. 17: Wellesleys
Ch. 18: Literary Gazette
Ch. 19: James Perry
Ch. 20: Personal Affairs
Vol. III. Appendices
Literary Poverty
Ismael Fitzadam
Mr. Tompkisson
Mrs. Hemans
A New Review
Debrett’s Peerage
Procter’s Poems
Poems by Others
Poems by Jerdan
Vol. IV. Front Matter
Ch. 1: Critical Glances
Ch. 2: Personal Notes
Ch. 3: Fresh Start
Ch. 4: Thomas Hunt
Ch. 5: On Life
Ch. 6: Periodical Press
Ch. 7: Quarterly Review
Ch. 8: My Own Life
Ch. 9: Mr. Canning
Ch. 10: Anecdotes
Ch. 11: Bulwer-Lytton
Ch. 12: G. P. R. James
Ch. 13: Finance
Ch. 14: Private Life
Ch. 15: Learned Societies
Ch. 16: British Association
Ch. 17: Literary Characters
Ch. 18: Literary List
Ch. 19: Club Law
Ch. 20: Conclusion
Vol. IV. Appendix
Gerald Griffin
W. H. Ainsworth
James Weddell
The Last Bottle
N. T. Carrington
The Literary Fund
Letter from L.E.L.
Geographical Society
Baby, a Memoir
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“The following is a free translation from the French, a little imperfect I must confess; for a waggish friend of mine maltreated the commencement of it (as far as the chasm) after I had parted with the original composition, and I was consequently obliged to patch his alterations and the remaining fragment together as well as I could.

“The writing came into my hands in the following manner:—As I was taking my chop in Sweetings-alley the other day, I observed that my next neighbour was in some distress, and that it appeared to arise from a pamphlet which he held in his hand. The person was about four feet and-a-half high, had a foreign aspect, and wore a small hat, almost receding to a point at the top, and which seemed altogether supported by the profusion of black, shaggy hair that adorned his head, and the whiskers that adorned his sallow cheeks. After having made a temperate meal off a kidney and a pint of beer (which circumstance I should have attributed to poverty had I not perceived a multitude of gold and silver rings on all his fingers), he wiped his eyes and addressed me. He said that he had the honour of being a Frenchman—that he had experienced the most profound and invincible attachment to Mademoiselle Bias for some years—that he was overwhelmed with sorrow at reading the statements made in M. Waters’ Pamphlet—that although he was penetrated with respect for M. Waters (who, as the head of an establishment wherein ‘artists’ from Italy and France were exclusively employed, must be a gentleman of the first taste), yet he must, it was with regret, but he must, as a native of the Great Nation, do something to wipe off the stigma that would attach to it, if the statements contained in the Pamphlet remained uncontradicted. Those statements he must at present presume arose from mistake, especially those which referred to Mademoiselle
Fanny Bias. He showed, and, indeed, lent me a letter that he had written to her in an idle hour. I turned the commencement of it into rhyme: it has suffered a little, as I stated before.

“I am, Sir,
“Your most obedient servant,

“X. X. X.”
Fanny Bias as Flora—dear creature! you’d swear,
When her delicate feet in the dance twinkle round,
That her steps are of light, and her home is the air,
And she only par complaisance touches the ground.”—
Oh! Med’moiselle Fanny!—Ah, ah! is it so?
Faith, and “His to some tune” you’d be turning your toe—
Methinks you have left your ethereal tent,
Where you dwelt like a nymph—nay, I’m forced to lament
That—Miss Bias—(though still may be lofty her bound)
No longer, “par complaisance, touches the ground;”
But, that when her bright presence she deigns to unfold
To us mortals—we mortals must pay her “in gold.”
But I jest
Oh! my Fanny—and was it for thee,
(The queen of the dance and the Flora of show)
To be like the D——s, or the craving Miss G.
Or that great, bouncing dancing-girl, Madame Le Gros.
Let V—— (who sings like a lord) still disclaim
All “haggling” forsooth, ’cause ’twill sully his fame—
Let the “Buffo, B. C.” in his impudence ask
Fourteen covers” to fatten him fit for his task—
Let the Milanese Miss, and the Lady at Turin
Provoke one, with eight stipulations alluring—
The other with five—but such five—by my life!
It tempts one to wish for Miss T. for a wife.
Away with these o’er-reaching wretches, but you
To mix with the paltry, exorbitant crew!!
I feel “au desespoir:” you were all my delight,
I loved you—I thought you a daughter of light—
Oh! come forward, my love, and the slander deny,
Or begone, like an angel, at once to the sky;
And if you ne’er drop from your dwelling again,
I shall know it was envy that drove you from men.
Till I hear from you, Fanny, I’ll never believe
That I could be cosened, or you could deceive—
Let me hear! and ’till then you shall live in my heart
As tho’, like my destiny, never to part.
If you’re silent I’ll think that you’ve wander’d above,
And there, too, shall wander Pontarlier’s love.
My good wishes shall follow you, darling afar,
And should in the heaven, some beautiful star
Ever flash its pale lustre alone upon me,*
I shall know ’tis the home, sweet, allotted to thee.
Signed, “Louis, Cæsar, Jean, Hector, Pythagore de Pontarlier.”