harmony into discord as conversely discord into harmony. In so far, then, Byron, both in the real and the metaphorical sense, belongs to those who, as Shakespeare says, have music in themselves; and of the good qualities which are spoken in the praise of such, he possessed one of the best and fairest—a good and tender heart. Even Dallas' admits, that though his pen was sometimes malignant and godless, yet his heart was good and gentle. In his youth he was obliging, capable of attachment, craving to love and to be loved, and grateful for every act of kindness shown to him. To his servants he was always a kind master, and without exception they loved and revered him. His goodness of heart bordered on feminine tenderness, and he often assumed a tone of irony and bitterness to shield him from a weakness, which might have exposed him to mockery. Having once wounded an eaglet at the Gulf of Lepanto, whose life he in vain endeavoured to save, he vowed from that moment never again to kill an animal; and in fact we do not hear that he ever indulged in field sports; he preferred to exercise his skill in shooting at inanimate objects. Angling, also, he condemned as cruel: And angling too, that solitary vice, The quaint old cruel coxcomb in his gullet Should have a hook and a small trout to pull it.2 He who felt thus towards the animal world, could not, in spite of all his selfishness and his misanthropy, be hard and cruel to his fellow-men. Warm and helpful sympathy with the distress of others accompanied him through life. Misfortune was sacred in his eyes,' says Lady Blessington, and seemed to be the last link of the 1 iii. 84. 36 2 Don Juan, canto xiii. 166. 3 Conversations, &c., p. 235, cf. p. 299. His chain which connected him with his fellow-men.' sympathies did not even grow cold, where misfortune was the consequence of misconduct. Those who have lost,' he said, 'the right to pity, in losing reputation and selfrespect, are the persons who stand most in need of commiseration-for they have the reproaches of conscience to embitter their draught-this it is that makes me pity the guilty and respect the unfortunate.'1 His actions in this respect corresponded with his words. As early as the year 1813, he relieved, by a not insignificant sum (1507.), an applicant whose unworthiness he himself did not deny." On the occasion of the separation, he was vehemently attacked in the press by Mr. John Scott, a former school companion at Aberdeen. After the sudden death of this gentleman, Byron not only spoke respectfully of him, but contributed also, without giving his name, to the support of his widow. How Byron, when he was himself in straitened circumstances, never closed his hand: how he exercised an almost princely munificence in Italy, has already been fully related. He had an especial sympathy for the maimed and deformed; his favourite beggar at Ravenna was a cripple. But the inconsistencies and contradictions of his nature failed not to manifest themselves even in money matters-for inconsistency was a destiny from which he could not escape. In Italy he learned to know the value of money, and an undeniable niggardliness acted as the counterpoise to his munificence. That Hunt should complain of this does not prove much; for precisely in money matters Hunt was not a trustworthy judge. But the fact is corroborated on all sides, and Byron often accused himself of avarice; he even expressed his joy that he had arrived at this 'good old-gentlemanly vice,'3 while 1 Conversations, &c., p. 237. 3 Don Juan, canto i. 216. 2 Moore's Life, ii. 336. he hoped that now his other vices would take their leave.' His youthful resolve to receive no honorarium for his literary works he had long renounced, and learnt to drive a hard bargain with Murray. An estimate from Mr. Murray's account shows that he had received from him not less than 19,3401. It forms a strange contrast with this, that in Italy when Byron dined alone, the cost of his dinner should have amounted to only a few pauls. This can of course form no subject of blame, where his own person merely was concerned; but he extended this niggardliness to others, and as it appears, there was associated with it a fear and distrust of being defrauded by his people-which, indeed, might not seldom have been the case. This meanness went so far, that at the sale of his yacht, before his voyage to Greece, he did not allow the sailors serving in it to keep the jackets which he had provided. Still more injurious to his memory is the omission, discussed in a previous chapter, with which he may be charged in respect to a provision for the Countess Guiccioli. To Shelley's widow he also behaved shabbily -as Trelawny asserts, inasmuch as instead of assisting her, he did not even repay the many advances which had been made by Shelley. Such are the traits of the man Byron, which inevitably blend with those of the poet, although in a higher degree than other poets he had, as it were, two states of existence, of which he was quite conscious. One state of existence,' he says to Lady Blessington, is purely con 1 Don Juan, v. 143. Compare note to the English Bards, &c.,' vii. 235. 3 Medwin's Conversations, p. 421. • Recollections, &c., p. 152. [Let those who choose, believe this on the authority of Mr. Trelawny: the translator cannot.] templative, during which the crimes, faults, and follies of mankind are laid open to my view; and the other active, when I play my part in the drama of life, as if impelled by some power over which I have no control, though the consciousness of doing wrong remains.'1 Still more clearly and vigorously he writes to Moore: 'A man's poetry is a distinct faculty or soul, and has no more to do with the every day individual than the inspiration with the Pythoness when removed from her tripod.' Certainly this is more applicable to him than to most other poets. In virtue of his characteristic faculty of improvisation his life and poetry went side by side, each unaffected by the other. His poetry bears the same relation to his life as his own Apollo-like head to his Satyr-like feet. We know, alas! far too much of his life, and indeed through his own fault; of Shakespeare's we know far too little; but it would be to Byron's advantage, if the story of his life overladen with petty details could be exchanged for the almost blank page on which all we know of Shake speare is written. If we possessed of him nothing but his works, even without his introductory remarks, posterity would doubtless form a far brighter and nobler idea of his life and character than truth would warrant. He is a giant so long as he floats in the æther of his poetry, but he becomes a dwarf-the very converse of Antæus-as soon as he touches the earth. The more attentively we trace the development of his character, which, spite of its undeniably finer qualities, has been shown to be so inconsistent, vain, embittered, petty, unmanly, egotistical, often insincere and distrustful, the more shall we be convinced of the truth of the expression of Walter Scott: After all, c'est du génie mal logé, and that's all that can be said 2 Moore's Life, v. 285. 1 Conversations, &c., p. 119. about it; yet Walter Scott is among the sincerest of Byron's friends, and always unreservedly and joyously recognised the nobler elements of his character. Goethe,2 also a kind and partial judge, admits, that Byron's mode of life and the character of his poetry scarcely admit of a judgment in accordance with strict right and reason. This opinion requires to be modified, for it must not be overlooked, in how unusual a measure the development of Byron's character from youth upwards was subjected to the influence of social and domestic relations the most unpromising and adverse, and how undeniably he was a victim of them. His main offence ultimately amounts to this, that he did not fight his way to victory through the faults with which he was born, and in which he had been trained; he was too weak for the evil circumstances in which destiny had placed him. We cannot but think that the portraiture of his youth makes a purer and happier impression than that of his latter years. We possess, indeed, for the first part of his life scarcely any other source than that which Moore, with his flatteries and embellishments, is pleased to give, and it may be questioned whether our judgment of his youthful character would not undergo a change, if our command of materials concerning it were as copious as those concerning his manhood. Much also of essential importance to the true delineation of his life and character is still withheld. However this may be, his unhappy marriage, and the shameful charge brought against him at the separation from his wife, produced a lasting and baneful effect on him, and this fact must never be left out of consideration when we form our estimate of him. The embittered 1 Letter to Mr. Morrit (May, 1816), Lockhart's Life, v. 140. Edin. 1856. 2 On 'Manfred,' Sämmt. Werke, xxvi. 428. |