Book: The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction, No. 474
V >>
Various >> The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction, No. 474
* * * * *
"The day before I left Rome I saw three robbers guillotined. The
ceremony--including the _masqued_ priests; the half-naked executioners;
the bandaged criminals; the black Christ and his banner; the scaffold; the
soldiery; the slow procession, and the quick rattle and heavy fall of the
axe; the splash of the blood, and the ghastliness of the exposed heads--is
altogether more impressive than the vulgar and ungentlemanly dirty 'new
drop,' and dog-like agony of infliction upon the sufferers of the English
sentence. Two of these men behaved calmly enough, but the first of the
three died with great terror and reluctance. What was very horrible, he
would not lie down; then his neck was too large for the aperture, and the
priest was obliged to drown his exclamations by still louder exhortations.
The head was off before the eye could trace the blow; but from an attempt
to draw back the head, notwithstanding it was held forward by the hair,
the first head was cut off close to the ears: the other two were taken off
more cleanly. It is better than the oriental way, and (I should think)
than the axe of our ancestors. The pain seems little, and yet the effect
to the spectator, and the preparation to the criminal, is very striking
and chilling. The first turned me quite hot and thirsty, and made me shake
so that I could hardly hold the opera-glass, (I was close, but was
determined to see, as one should see every thing, once, with attention;)
the second and third (which shows how dreadfully soon things grow
indifferent,) I am ashamed to say, had no effect on me as a horror, though
I would have saved them if I could.
"Yours, &c."
PORSON.
"I remember to have seen Porson at Cambridge, in the hall of our college,
and in private parties, but not frequently; and I never can recollect him
except as drunk or brutal, and generally both: I mean in an evening, for
in the hall, he dined at the Dean's table, and I at the Vice-master's, so
that I was not near him; and he then and there appeared sober in his
demeanour, nor did I ever hear of excess or outrage on his part in
public,--commons, college, or chapel; but I have seen him in a private
party of under-graduates, many of them freshmen and strangers, take up a
poker to one of them, and heard him use language as blackguard as his
action. I have seen Sheridan drunk, too, with all the world; but his
intoxication was that of Bacchus, and Porson's that of Silenus. Of all the
disgusting brutes, sulky, abusive, and intolerable, Porson was the most
bestial, as far as the few times that I saw him went which were only at
William Bankes's (the Nubian discoverer's) rooms. I saw him once go away
in a rage, because nobody knew the name of the 'Cobbler of Messina,'
insulting their ignorance with the most vulgar terms of reprobation. He
was tolerated in this state amongst the young men for his talents, as the
Turks think a madman inspired, and bear with him. He used to recite, or
rather vomit pages of all languages, and could hiccup Greek like a Helot;
and certainly Sparta never shocked her children with a grosser exhibition
than this man's intoxication.
"I perceive, in the book you sent me, a long account of him, which is very
savage. I cannot judge, as I never saw him sober, except in _hall_ or
combination room; and then I was never near enough to hear, and hardly to
see him. Of his drunken deportment, I can be sure, because I saw it."
THE COUNTESS GUICCIOLI.
It was about the time (1819) when the foregoing letter was written, and
when, like the first return of reason after intoxication, a full
consciousness of some of the evils of his late libertine course of life
had broken upon him, that an attachment differing altogether, both in
duration and devotion, from any of those that, since the dream of his
boyhood, had inspired him, gained an influence over his mind which lasted
through his few remaining years; and, undeniably wrong and immoral (even
allowing for the Italian estimate of such frailties) as was the nature of
the connexion to which this attachment led, we can hardly perhaps,--taking
into account the far worse wrong from which it rescued and preserved
him,--consider it otherwise than an event fortunate both for his
reputation and happiness.
The fair object of this last, and (with one signal exception) only _real_
love of his whole life, was a young Romagnese lady, the daughter of Count
Gamba, of Ravenna, and married, but a short time before Lord Byron first
met with her, to an old and wealthy widower, of the same city, Count
Guiccioli. Her husband had in early life been the friend of Alfieri, and
had distinguished himself by his zeal in promoting the establishment of a
National Theatre, in which the talents of Alfieri and his own wealth were
to be combined. Notwithstanding his age, and a character, as it appears,
by no means reputable, his great opulence rendered him an object of
ambition among the mothers of Ravenna, who, according to the too frequent
maternal practice, were seen vying with each other in attracting so rich a
purchaser for their daughters, and the young Teresa Gamba, then only
eighteen, and just emancipated from a convent, was the selected victim.
The first time Lord Byron had ever seen this lady was in the autumn of
1818, when she made her appearance, soon after her marriage, at the house
of the Countess Albrizzi, in all the gaiety of bridal array, and the first
delight of exchanging a convent for the world. At this time, however, no
acquaintance ensued between them;--it was not till the spring of the
present year that, at an evening party of Madame Benzoni's, they were
introduced to each other. The love that sprung out of this meeting was
instantaneous and mutual,--though with the usual disproportion of
sacrifice between the parties; such an event being, to the man, but one of
the many scenes of life, while, with woman, it generally constitutes the
whole drama. The young Italian found herself suddenly inspired with a
passion, of which, till that moment, her mind could not have formed the
least idea;--she had thought of love but as an amusement, and now became
its slave. If at the outset, too, less slow to be won than an Englishwoman,
no sooner did she begin to understand the full despotism of the passion
than her heart shrunk from it as something terrible, and she would have
escaped, but that the chain was already around her.
No words, however, can describe so simply and feelingly as her own, the
strong impression which their first meeting left upon her mind:--
"I became acquainted," says Madame Guiccioli, "with Lord Byron in the
April of 1819:--he was introduced to me at Venice, by the Countess Benzoni,
at one of that lady's parties. This introduction, which had so much
influence over the lives of us both, took place contrary to our wishes,
and had been permitted by us only from courtesy. For myself, more fatigued
than usual that evening on account of the late hours they keep at Venice,
I went with great repugnance to this party, and purely in obedience to
Count Guiccioli. Lord Byron, too, who was averse to forming new
acquaintances,--alleging that he had entirely renounced all attachments,
and was unwilling any more to expose himself to their consequences,--on
being requested by the Countess Benzoni to allow himself to be presented
to me, refused, and, at last, only assented from a desire to oblige her.
"His noble and exquisitely beautiful countenance, the tone of his voice,
his manners, the thousand enchantments that surrounded him, rendered him
so different and so superior a being to any whom I had hitherto seen, that
it was impossible he should not have left the most profound impression
upon me. From that evening, during the whole of my subsequent stay at
Venice, we met every day."
* * * * *
About the middle of April, Madame Guiccioli had been obliged to quit
Venice with her husband. Having several houses on the road from Venice to
Ravenna, it was his habit to stop at these mansions, one after the other,
in his journeys between the two cities; and from all these places the
enamoured young Countess now wrote to her lover, expressing, in the most
passionate and pathetic terms, her despair at leaving him. So utterly,
indeed, did this feeling overpower her, that three times, in the course of
her first day's journey, she was seized with fainting-fits. In one of her
letters, which I saw when at Venice, dated, if I recollect right, from "Ca
Zen, Cavanella di Po," she tells him that the solitude of this place,
which she had before found irksome, was, now that one sole idea occupied
her mind, become dear and welcome to her, and promises that, as soon as
she arrives at Ravenna, "she will, according to his wish, avoid all
general society, and devote herself to reading, music, domestic
occupations, riding on horseback,--every thing, in short, that she knew he
would most like." What a change for a young and simple girl, who, but a
few weeks before, had thought only of society and the world, but who now
saw no other happiness but in the hope of becoming worthy, by seclusion
and self-instruction, of the illustrious object of her love!
On leaving this place, she was attacked with a dangerous illness on the
road, and arrived half dead at Ravenna; nor was it found possible to
revive or comfort her till an assurance was received from Lord Byron,
expressed with all the fervour of real passion, that, in the course of the
ensuing month, he would pay her a visit. Symptoms of consumption, brought
on by her state of mind, had already shown themselves; and, in addition to
the pain which this separation had caused her, she was also suffering much
grief from the loss of her mother, who, at this time, died in giving birth
to her twentieth child. Towards the latter end of May she wrote to
acquaint Lord Byron that, having prepared all her relatives and friends to
expect him, he might now, she thought, venture to make his appearance at
Ravenna. Though, on the lady's account, hesitating as to the prudence of
such a step, he, in obedience to her wishes, on the 2nd of June, set out
from La Mira (at which place he had again taken a villa for the summer),
and proceeded towards Romagna.
While he was lingering irresolute at Bologna, the Countess Guiccioli had
been attacked with an intermittent fever, the violence of which combining
with the absence of a confidential person to whom she had been in the
habit of intrusting her letters, prevented her from communicating with him.
At length, anxious to spare him the disappointment of finding her so ill
on his arrival, she had begun a letter, requesting that he would remain at
Bologna till the visit to which she looked forward should bring her there
also; and was in the act of writing, when a friend came in to announce the
arrival of an English lord in Ravenna. She could not doubt for an instant
that it was her noble lover; and he had, in fact, notwithstanding his
declaration to Mr. Hoppner that it was his intention to return to Venice
immediately, wholly altered this resolution before the letter announcing
it was despatched,--the following words being written on the outside
cover:--"I am just setting off for Ravenna, June 8, 1819.--I changed my
mind this morning, and decided to go on."
The reader, however, shall have Madame Guiccioli's own account of these
events, which, fortunately for the interest of my narration, I am enabled
to communicate:--
On my departure from Venice, he had promised to come and see me at Ravenna.
Dante's tomb, the classical pine wood, the relics of antiquity which are
to be found in that place, afforded a sufficient pretext for me to invite
him to come, and for him to accept my invitation. He came, in fact, in the
month of June, arriving at Ravenna on the day of the festival of the
Corpus Domini; while, I attacked by a consumptive complaint, which had its
origin from the moment of my quitting Venice, appeared on the point of
death. The arrival of a distinguished foreigner at Ravenna, a town so
remote from the routes ordinarily followed by travellers, was an event
which gave rise to a good deal of conversation. His motives for such a
visit became the subject of discussion, and these he himself afterwards
involuntarily divulged; for having made some inquiries with a view to
paying me a visit, and being told that it was unlikely that he would ever
see me again, as I was at the point of death, he replied, if such were the
case, he hoped that he should die also; which circumstance, being repeated
revealed the object of his journey. Count Guiccioli, having been
acquainted with Lord Byron at Venice, went to visit him now, and in the
hope that his presence might amuse, and be of some use to me in the state
in which I then found myself, invited him to call upon me. He came the day
following. It is impossible to describe the anxiety he showed,--the
delicate attentions that he paid me. For a long time he had perpetually
medical books in his hands; and not trusting my physicians, he obtained
permission from Count Guiccioli to send for a very clever physician, a
friend of his, in whom he placed great confidence. The attentions of the
Professor Aglietti (for so this celebrated Italian was called), together
with tranquillity, and the inexpressible happiness which I experienced in
Lord Byron's society, had so good an effect on my health, that only two
months afterwards I was able to accompany my husband in a tour he was
obliged to make to visit his various estates.
* * * * *
In the separation that had now taken place (1820) between Count Guiccioli
and his wife, it was one of the conditions that the lady should, in future,
reside under the paternal roof:--in consequence of which, Madame Guiccioli,
on the 16th of July, left Ravenna and retired to a villa belonging to
Count Gamba, about fifteen miles distant from that city. Here Lord Byron
occasionally visited her--about once or twice, perhaps, in the
month--passing the rest of his time in perfect solitude. To a mind like
his, whose world was within itself, such a mode of life could have been
neither new nor unwelcome; but to the woman, young and admired, whose
acquaintance with the world and its pleasures had but just begun, this
change was, it must be confessed, most sudden and trying. Count Guiccioli
was rich, and, as a young wife, she had gained absolute power over him.
She was proud, and his station placed her among the highest in Ravenna.
They had talked of travelling to Naples, Florence, Paris,--and every
luxury, in short, that wealth could command was at her disposal.
All this she now voluntarily and determinedly sacrificed for Byron. Her
splendid home abandoned--her relations all openly at war with her--her
kind father but tolerating, from fondness, what he could not approve--she
was now, upon a pittance of 200_l_. a year, living apart from the world,
her sole occupation the task of educating herself for her illustrious
lover, and her sole reward the few brief glimpses of him which their now
restricted intercourse allowed. Of the man who could inspire and keep
alive so devoted a feeling, it may be pronounced with confidence that he
could _not_ have been such as, in the freaks of his own wayward humour, he
represented himself; while, on the lady's side, the whole history of her
attachment goes to prove how completely an Italian woman, whether by
nature or from her social position, is led to invert the usual course of
such frailties among ourselves, and, weak in resisting the first impulses
of passion, to reserve the whole strength of her character for a display
of constancy and devotedness afterwards.
* * * * *
MEETING OF LORD BYRON AND MR. MOORE AT VENICE.
It was my good fortune, at this period, (1819) in the course of a short
and hasty tour through the north of Italy, to pass five or six days with
Lord Byron at Venice. I had written to him on my way thither to announce
my coming, and to say how happy it would make me could I tempt him to
accompany me as far as Rome.
Having parted, at Milan, with Lord John Russell, whom I had accompanied
from England, and whom I was to rejoin, after a short visit to Rome, at
Genoa, I made purchase of a small and (as it soon proved) crazy travelling
carriage, and proceeded alone on my way to Venice. My time being limited,
I stopped no longer at the intervening places than was sufficient to hurry
over their respective wonders, and, leaving Padua at noon on the 8th of
October, I found myself, about two o'clock, at the door of my friend's
villa, at La Mira. He was but just up, and in his bath; but the servant
having announced my arrival, he returned a message that, if I would wait
till he was dressed, he would accompany me to Venice. The interval I
employed in conversing with my old acquaintance, Fletcher, and in viewing,
under his guidance, some of the apartments of the villa.
It was not long before Lord Byron himself made his appearance, and the
delight I felt in meeting him once more, after a separation of so many
years, was not a little heightened by observing that his pleasure was, to
the full, as great, while it was rendered doubly touching by the evident
rarity of such meetings to him of late, and the frank outbreak of
cordiality and gaiety with which he gave way to his feelings. It would be
impossible, indeed, to convey to those who have not, at some time or other,
felt the charm of his manner, any idea of what it could be when under the
influence of such pleasurable excitement as it was most flatteringly
evident he experienced at this moment.
I was a good deal struck, however, by the alteration that had taken place
in his personal appearance. He had grown fatter both in person and face,
and the latter had most suffered by the change, having lost, by the
enlargement of the features, some of that refined and spiritualized look
that had, in other times, distinguished it. The addition of whiskers, too,
which he had not long before been induced to adopt, from hearing that some
one had said he had a "faccia di musico," as well as the length to which
his hair grew down on his neck, and the rather foreign air of his coat and
cap,--all combined to produce that dissimilarity to his former self I had
observed in him. He was still, however, eminently handsome; and, in
exchange for whatever his features might have lost of their high, romantic
character, they had become more fitted for the expression of that arch,
waggish wisdom, that Epicurean play of humour, which he had shown to be
equally inherent in his various and prodigally gifted nature; while, by
the somewhat increased roundness of the contours, the resemblance of his
finely formed mouth and chin to those of the Belvedere Apollo had become
still more striking.
His breakfast, which I found he rarely took before three or four o'clock
in the afternoon, was speedily despatched,--his habit being to eat it
standing, and the meal in general consisting of one or two raw eggs, a cup
of tea without either milk or sugar, and a bit of dry biscuit. Before we
took our departure, he presented me to the Countess Guiccioli, who was at
this time living under the same roof with him at La Mira; and who, with a
style of beauty singular in an Italian, as being fair-complexioned and
delicate, left an impression upon my mind, during this our first short
interview, of intelligence and amiableness such as all that I have since
known or heard of her has but served to confirm.
We now started together, Lord Byron and myself, in my little Milanese
vehicle, for Fusina,--his portly gondolier Tita, in a rich livery and most
redundant mustachios, having seated himself on the front of the carriage,
to the no small trial of its strength, which had already once given way,
even under my own weight, between Verona and Vicenza. On our arrival at
Fusina, my noble friend, from his familiarity with all the details of the
place, had it in his power to save me both trouble and expense in the
different arrangements relative to the custom-house, remise, &c. and the
good-natured assiduity with which he bustled about in despatching these
matters gave me an opportunity of observing, in his use of the infirm limb,
a much greater degree of activity than I had ever before, except in
sparring, witnessed.
As we proceeded across the Lagoon in his gondola, the sun was just setting,
and it was an evening such as Romance would have chosen for a first sight
of Venice, rising "with her tiara of bright towers" above the wave; while
to complete, as might be imagined, the solemn interest of the scene, I
beheld it in company with him who had lately given a new life to its
glories, and sung of that fair City of the Sea thus grandly:
"I stood in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs;
A palace and a prison on each hand:
I saw from out the wave her structures rise
As from the stroke of the enchanters wand:
A thousand years their cloudy wings expand
Around me, and a dying glory smiles
O'er the far times, when many a subject land
Look'd to the winged lion's marble piles,
Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles."
But whatever emotions the first sight of such a scene might, under other
circumstances, have inspired me with, the mood of mind in which I now
viewed it was altogether the very reverse of what might have been expected.
The exuberant gaiety of my companion, and the recollections,--any thing
but romantic,--into which our conversation wandered, put at once
completely to flight all poetical and historical associations; and our
course was, I am almost ashamed to say, one of uninterrupted merriment and
laughter till we found ourselves at the steps of my friend's palazzo on
the Grand Canal. All that had ever happened, of gay or ridiculous, during
our London life together,--his scrapes and my lecturings,--our joint
adventures with the Bores and Blues, the two great enemies, as he always
called them, of London happiness,--our joyous nights together at Watier's,
Kinnaird's, &c. and "that d--d supper of Rancliffe's which _ought_ to have
been a dinner,"--all was passed rapidly in review between us, and with a
flow of humour and hilarity, on his side, of which it would have been
difficult, even for persons far graver than I can pretend to be, not to
have caught the contagion.
LORD BYRON'S PARSIMONY.
It is, indeed, certain, that he had at this time (1819) taken up the whim
(for it hardly deserves a more serious name) of minute and constant
watchfulness over his expenditure; and, as most usually happens, it was
with the increase of his means that this increased sense of the value of
money came. The first symptom I saw of this new fancy of his was the
exceeding joy which he manifested on my presenting to him a rouleau of
twenty Napoleons, which Lord K----d, to whom he had, on some occasion,
lent that sum, had entrusted me with, at Milan, to deliver into his hands.
With the most joyous and diverting eagerness, he tore open the paper, and,
in counting over the sum, stopped frequently to congratulate himself on
the recovery of it.
Of his household frugalities I speak but on the authority of others; but
it is not difficult to conceive that, with a restless spirit like his,
which delighted always in having something to contend with, and which, but
a short time before, "for want," as he said, "of something craggy to break
upon," had tortured itself with the study of the Armenian language, he
should, in default of all better excitement, find a sort of stir and
amusement in the task of contesting, inch by inch, every encroachment of
expense, and endeavouring to suppress what he himself calls
"That climax of all earthly ills,
The inflammation of our weekly bills."
In truth, his constant recurrence to the praise of avarice in Don Juan,
and the humorous zest with which he delights to dwell on it, shows how
new-fangled, as well as far from serious, was his adoption of this "good
old-gentlemanly vice." In the same spirit he had, a short time before my
arrival at Venice, established a hoarding-box, with a slit in the lid,
into which he occasionally put sequins, and, at stated periods, opened it
to contemplate his treasures. His own ascetic style of living enabled him,
as far as himself was concerned, to gratify this taste for enonomy in no
ordinary degree,--his daily bill of fare, when the Margarita was his
companion, consisting, I have been assured, of but four beccafichi of
which the Fornarina eat three leaving even him hungry.
HIS MEMOIRS.
(1819)--A short time before dinner he left the room, and in a minute or
two returned, carrying in his hand a white leather bag. "Look here," he
said, holding it up,--"this would be worth something to Murray, though
_you_, I dare say, would not give sixpence for it." "What is it?" I
asked.--"My Life and Adventures," he answered. On hearing this, I raised
my hands in a gesture of wonder. "It is not a thing," he continued, "that
can be published during my lifetime, but you may have it if you
like--there, do whatever you please with it." In taking the bag, and
thanking him most warmly, I added, "This will make a nice legacy for my
little Tom, who shall astonish the latter days of the nineteenth century
with it." He then added, "You may show it to any of our friends you may
think worthy of it:"--and this is nearly word for word, the whole of what
passed between us on the subject.