rent upon the continent, that it may be questioned whether the real flesh and blood' hero of these pages, the social, practical-minded, and, with all his faults and eccentricities, English Lord Byron,-may not, to the over-exalted imaginations of most of his foreign admirers, appear but an ordinary, unromantic, and prosaic personage. 'GOETHE ON MANFRED. 'Byron's tragedy, Manfred, was to me a wonderful phenomenon, and one that closely touched me. This ' singular intellectual poet has taken my Faustus to 'himself, and extracted from it the strongest nourish'ment for his hypochondriac humour. He has made use of the impelling principles in his own way, for 'his own purposes, so that no one of them remains 'the same; and it is particularly on this account that 'I cannot enough admire his genius. The whole is in this way so completely formed anew, that it would 'be an interesting task for the critic to point out not only the alterations he has made, but their degree of resemblance with, or dissimilarity to, the original: in the course of which I cannot deny that 'the gloomy heat of an unbounded and exuberant despair becomes at last oppressive to us. Yet is the 'dissatisfaction we feel always connected with esteem ' and admiration. 'We find thus in this tragedy the quintessence of 'the most astonishing talent born to be its own tormentor. The character of Lord Byron's life and poetry hardly permits a just and equitable appre'ciation. He has often enough confessed what it is that torments him. He has repeatedly pour trayed it; and scarcely any one feels compassion for 'this intolerable suffering, over which he is ever labo'riously ruminating. There are, properly speaking, 'two females whose phantoms for ever haunt him, and which, in this piece also, perform principal 'parts-one under the name of Astarte, the other 'without form or actual presence, and merely a voice. 'Of the horrid occurrence which took place with the 'former, the following is related. When a bold and ' enterprising young man, he won the affections of a 'Florentine lady. Her husband discovered the amour, ' and murdered his wife; but the murderer was the 'same night found dead in the street, and there was no one on whom any suspicion could be attached. 'Lord Byron removed from Florence, and these spirits 'haunted him all his life after. 6 This romantic incident is rendered highly probable by innumerable allusions to it in his poems. As, for instance, when turning his sad contempla'tions inwards, he applies to himself the fatal history ' of the king of Sparta. It is as follows:-Pausanias, a Lacedemonian general, acquires glory by the important victory at Platæa, but afterwards forfeits the confidence of his countrymen through his arrogance, obstinacy, and secret intrigues with the enemies of his country. This man draws upon himself the heavy guilt of innocent blood, which attends him to his end; for, while commanding the fleet of the allied 'Greeks, in the Black Sea, he is inflamed with a vio'lent passion for a Byzantine maiden. After long ' resistance, he at length obtains her from her parents, and she is to be delivered up to him at night. She 'modestly desires the servant to put out the lamp, and, 'while groping her way in the dark, she overturns it. 'Pausanias is awakened from his sleep-apprehensive of an attack from murderers, he seizes his sword, and destroys his mistress. The horrid sight never leaves him. Her shade pursues him unceasingly, ' and he implores for aid in vain from the gods and 'the exorcising priests. That poet must have a lacerated heart who selects 'such a scene from antiquity, appropriates it to him'self, and burthens his tragic image with it. The following soliloquy, which is overladen with gloom ' and a weariness of life, is, by this remark, rendered intelligible. We recommend it as an exercise to all 'friends of declamation. Hamlet's soliloquy appears improved upon here*.' LETTER 378. TO MR. MOORE. Ravenna, June 9th, 1820. 'Galignani has just sent me the Paris edition of your works (which I wrote to order), and I am glad to see my old friends with a French face. I have 'been skimming and dipping, in and over them, like 'a swallow, and as pleased as one. It is the first time that I had seen the Melodies without music; and, 'I don't know how, but I can't read in a music-book -the crotchets confound the words in my head, though I recollect them perfectly when sung. Music 'assists my memory through the ear, not through the ( eye; I mean, that her quavers perplex me upon paper, but they are a help when heard. And thus I 'was glad to see the words without their borrowed 'robes;-to my mind they look none the worse for 'their nudity. The biographer has made a botch of your life The critic here subjoins the soliloquy from Manfred, beginning 'We are the fools of time and terror,' in which the allusion to Pausanias occurs. 'calling your father "a venerable old gentleman," and "prattling of "Addison," and " dowager countesses." If that damned fellow was to write my life, I would certainly take his. And then, at the Dublin dinner, 'you have "made a speech" (do you recollect, at Douglas K.'s, "Sir, he made me a speech?") too ' complimentary to the "living poets," and somewhat 'redolent of universal praise. I am but too well ' off in it, but * * *. You have not sent me any poetical or personal 'news of yourself. Why don't you complete an 'Italian Tour of the Fudges? I have just been turning over Little, which I knew by heart in 1803, being then in my fifteenth summer. Heigho! I believe all the mischief I have ever done, or sung, has 'been owing to that confounded book of yours. In my last I told you of a cargo of "Poeshie," 'which I had sent to M. at his own impatient desire; —and, now he has got it, he don't like it, and demurs. Perhaps he is right. I have no great opinion ' of any of my last shipment, except a translation from Pulci, which is word for word, and verse for verse. 'I am in the Third Act of a Tragedy; but whether 'it will be finished or not, I know not: I have, at 'this present, too many passions of my own on hand to do justice to those of the dead. Besides the vexa'tions mentioned in my last, I have incurred a quarrel 'with the Pope's carabiniers, or gens d'armerie, who have petitioned the Cardinal against my liveries, as ' resembling too nearly their own lousy uniform. They particularly object to the epaulettes, which all the world with us have on upon gala days. My 'liveries are of the colours conforming to my arms, ' and have been the family hue since the year 1066. 'I have sent a tranchant reply, as you may suppose; ' and have given to understand that, if any soldados of 'that respectable corps insult my servants, I will do 'likewise by their gallant commanders; and I have 'directed my ragamuffins, six in number, who are 'tolerably savage, to defend themselves, in case of aggression; and, on holidays and gaudy days, I shall arm the whole set, including myself, in case of acci'dents or treachery. I used to play pretty well at 'the broad-sword, once upon a time, at Angelo's; but 'I should like the pistol, our national buccaneer weapon, better, though I am out of practice at pre'sent. However, I can "wink and hold out mine. 'iron." It makes me think (the whole thing does) of Romeo and Juliet-"now, Gregory, remember thy swashing blow." 'All these feuds, however, with the Cavalier for his wife, and the troopers for my liveries, are very tire'some to a quiet man, who does his best to please all 'the world, and longs for fellowship and good will. Pray write. 'I am yours, &c.' LETTER 379. TO MR. MOORE. Ravenna, July 13th, 1820. 'To remove or increase your Irish anxiety about my being "in a wisp*," I answer your letter forth'with; premising that, as I am a "Will of the wisp," 'I may chance to flit out of it. But, first, a word on 'the Memoir;-I have no objection, nay, I would rather that one correct copy was taken and deposited in honourable hands, in case of accidents happening 'to the original; for you know that I have none, and ' have never even re-read, nor, indeed, read at all, * An Irish phrase for being in a scrape. |