Lord Byron. year, all that remained of her wealth. 311 Byron's early years were spent in Aberdeen, where the house in which his mother lived is still pointed out to visitors. He was unfortunate in both his parents. His father was a reckless blackguard; his mother a foolish, proud, violent-tempered woman, who at one time spoiled her son by over-indulgence, at another time provoked his sensitive and irritable nature almost to madness by her taunts about his lameness (a sore point with him throughout life). These facts should be taken into account in estimating Byron's character. A man of such antecedents who had turned out blameless and beneficent would have been a singular phenomenon. But While studying at the Aberdeen Grammar School, Byron was recalled to England, having, when little more than ten, succeeded to his grand-uncle's estate and title. After studying for some time at Nottingham and Dulwich, he was sent to Harrow, where he remained for two years. While there, his character was that of a clever, idle, impetuous, generous boy; one whom, as the head-master declared, it was easier to lead by a silken string than by a cable. In 1805 he entered Trinity College, Cambridge, where he led the frivolous, unprofitable, half-dissipated, half-foolish sort of life common to many young patricians during their university career. already his poetical genius was beginning to dawn, and in 1807 he published his first volume, "Hours of Idleness," a collection of verses from which it would have required a very shrewd critic indeed to infer that a new star had arisen on the poetic horizon. A severe and contemptuous critique, by, it is said, Lord Brougham, of "Hours of Idleness" in the Edinburgh Review, had the effect of putting the young poet on his mettle, and of showing that he possessed powers which none of the readers of his first volume could have supposed to belong to him. He replied to his critic in the stinging and vindictive satire "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers" (1809), in which, in his blind indignation, he ran amuck not only of those who had given him real cause for offence, but of all the writers who happened to be popular favourites. Spirited and well adapted for its purpose though "English Bards" be, it is not a poem of a high order. The depths of passion and feeling which lay in Byron's nature were first shown by the publication, in 1812, of the two first cantoes of "Childe Harold," written during a two years' tour through Portugal, Spain, Greece, and Turkey. The poem was received with intense enthusiasm. In the author's own words, "he awoke one morning and found himself famous." "At twenty-four," writes Macaulay, "he found himself on the highest pinnacle of literary fame, with Scott, Wordsworth, Southey, and a crowd of other distinguished writers beneath his feet. There is scarcely an instance in literary history of so sudden a rise to so dizzy an eminence. Everything that could stimulate and everything that could gratify the strongest propensities of our nature, the gaze of a hundred drawing-rooms, the acclamations of the whole nation, the applause of applauded men, the love of lovely women, all this world and all the glory of it were at once offered to a youth to whom Nature had given violent passions, and whom education had never taught to control them. He lived as many men live who have no similar excuse to plead for their faults. But his countrymen and his countrywomen would love him and admire him. They were resolved to see in his excesses only the flash and outbreak of that same fiery mind which glowed in his poetry. He attacked religion, yet in religious circles his name was mentioned with fondness, and in many religious publications his works were censured with singular tenderness. He lampooned the Prince Regent, yet he could not alienate the Tories. Everything it seemed was to be forgiven to youth, rank, and genius." 66 While still a London literary lion, admired and sought after by all, Byron maintained his fame by producing in 1813 the Giaour" and the "Bride of Abydos;" and in 1814 the “Corsair” and “Lara.” In 1814 occurred his unfortunate union to Miss Millbanke. The ill-assorted pair lived together only twelve months; in 1815 Lady Byron left him for ever, for what exact causes has never been clearly explained. About this time a loud cry of indignation against Byron began to Byron and the Greek War. 313 arise; he was lampooned in newspapers; fabulous stories of his debauchery were whispered from ear to ear; society frowned on him; with a genius almost divine, it was said and thought, he united a character diabolic in its wickedness. Burdened by debt, full of that ennui which a long course of dissipation never fails to bring at last, feeling that his lie was sick and an error, indignant at the world and at himself, Byron determined to bid farewell to England. The "Siege of Corinth" and "Parisina," written about this time, bear testimony to the bitter feelings which were gnawing at his heart. In 1816 he left England, never to return alive. After visiting Paris and Brussels, Byron went to Geneva, where the third canto of "Childe Harold" and the "Prisoner of Chillon" were written in six months. Visiting Italy, he wrote "Manfred" and the "Lament of Tasso" in 1817. At Venice, and afterwards at Ravenna, he resided till 1821, writing many of his most important works-the first five cantos of "Don Juan," "Mazeppa," and the dramas "Marino Faliero," "Sardanapalus," the "Two Foscari," "Werner," "Cain," &c. The last mentioned is, from a psychological point of view, one of the most remarkable of Byron's works, showing his attitude towards theological dogmas. In it "we see," said Goethe to Eckermann in 1824, "how the inadequate dogmas of the Church work upon a free mind like Byron's, and how he struggled to get rid of a doctrine which has been forced upon him. The English clergy will not thank him; but I shall be surprised if he does not go on treating biblical subjects of similar import, and if he lets slip a subject like Sodom and Gomorrah." "Don Juan," which, cynical and unpleasant in tone as much of it is, most judicious critics will agree in thinking Byron's most genuine poem, ultimately extended to sixteen cantos. It was preceded by "Beppo," written in 1817, a poem conceived in a similar bantering vein. When, in 1822, the Greeks began their struggle for liberty, Byron threw his whole heart into their cause, and made a noble effort to redeem by his energy in its behalf the errors of his wild and wasted life. In June 1823 he set sail for Greece, and, on his arrival at Missolonghi in December, did much by his vigour and good sense to organise and discipline the army, and to check the abuses which everywhere prevailed. Had life been granted him, there is every reason to believe that he might have risen to eminence as a soldier and politician. But the end was near. A fever, brought on by exertion and exposure, proved fatal in April 1824, and thus, "at thirty-six, the most celebrated Englishman of the nineteenth century closed his brilliant and miserable career.” "In my mind," wrote Carlyle to Macvey Napier in 1832, "Byron has been sinking at an accelerated rate for the last ten years, and has now reached a very low level; I should say too low, were there not an Hibernicism involved in the expres sion. His fame has been very great, but I see not how it is to endure, neither does that make him great. No genuine productive thought was ever revealed by him to mankind; indeed, no clear undistorted vision into anything, or picture of anything, but all had a certain falsehood, a brawling theatrical insincere character. The man's moral nature, too, was bad; his demeanour as a man was bad. What was he, in short, but a large sulky dandy; of giant dimensions, to be sure, yet still a dandy, who sulked, as poor Mrs. Hunt expressed it, ‘like a schoolboy that had got a plain bun given him instead of a plum one'? His bun was nevertheless God's universe, with what tasks are there, and it had served better men than he. I love him not; I owe him nothing; only pity and forgiveness; he taught me nothing that I had not again to forget." So far as Byron's personal character is concerned, this seems to us thoroughly sound and good. What he might have become, had he lived, it is vain to conjecture; possibly time and strenuous action might have ameliorated his character; but it is only too plain that he was sensual, cynical, vindictive, unamiable, and disposed to disbelieve in the existence of virtue because he himself was not virtuous. The best proof of the radically bad character of his temperament is that he inspired none of his friends with a sincere love for him; many admired him and liked his company in his agreeable moods, Byron's Writings. 315 but we doubt very much if any regarded him with deep affection. Byron was a man of great genius, but his many serious faults and vices ought not on that account to be glossed over "Tis too absurd, 'tis weakness shame, This low prostration before fame, Life's purest, holiest decencies, To be careered o'er as they please." 1 Byron's work as a poet is intensely personal; he loved to portray his own dark and stormy feelings in those of his characters. Hence it is not singular that many of his writings should belong to what Goethe called the "literature of despair;" echoes of the old lament, "Vanity of vanities, all is vanity!" Much of the gloom and bitterness of heart, and wearied satiety of life and its pleasures, which we find in "Childe Harold," was mere affectation. Byron liked to pose before the world as a defiant, cynical, melancholy man, who had tasted all the world's joys and found them to bring nothing. but vexation of spirit, and whom the world's censure or applause was powerless to affect. All the while, however, he was childishly sensitive to opinion, and writhed as much beneath the lash of some petty critic as the smallest poetaster could have done. As he grew older, he became more sincere ; if there is something of affectation even in the mocking laughter of "Don Juan," it is at all events a welcome contrast to the gloomy misanthropy of "Childe Harold." But Byron's faults as a writer and a man should not blind us to his transcendent merits. The fire and passion, the lofty imagination, the power and strength, the impetuous rush and glow which characterise his verse, give him quite a distinctive position among the poets of his age. Adhering in theory to the school of Pope, he was in reality thoroughly under the influence of the new era, and all his best work breathes its spirit. During his lifetime the vast majority of people considered him the greatest 1 Moore. |