Lastly, his mockeries were all directed against the vice he most abhorred--_hypocrisy_; for he looked upon that as a gangrene to the soul, the cause of most of the evils that afflict society, and certainly of all his own misfortunes. As long as he was obliged to bear it, under the depressing influence of England"s misty atmosphere, he felt by turns saddened and indignant. But when he reached Italy, his soul caught the bright rays that emanate from a southern sky, and he preferred to combat hypocrisy with the lighter weapons of pleasantry. But whichsoever arm he wielded, he always pursued the enemy remorselessly, following into every fastness, of which none knew better than himself each winding and each resource. For hypocrisy had been the bane of his life; it had rendered useless for happiness that combination he possessed of Heaven"s choicest gifts; the plenitude of affections, numberless qualities most charming in domestic life, for he had been exiled from the family circle. Hypocrisy had _forced_ him to despise a country also that could act toward him like an unnatural parent, rather than a true mother, wounding him with calumnies, and obstinately depreciating him, solely because she allowed hypocrisy to reign on her soil. Such, then, were the virtues which he permitted himself to mock at.
"_We must not make out a ridicule where none exists_," says La Bruyere; but it is well to see that which has a being, and to draw it forth gracefully, in a manner that may both please and instruct.
As to true, holy, pure, undeniable virtues, no one more than he admired and respected them. "Any trait of virtue or courage," says one of his biographers, "caused him deep emotion, and would draw tears from his eyes, provided always he were convinced that it had not been actuated by a desire of shining or producing effect."
"A generous action," says another, "the remembrance of patriotism, personal sacrifice, disinterestedness, would cause in him the most sublime emotions, the most brilliant thoughts." The more his opinion as to the rarity of virtue appeared to him well-founded, the more did he render homage when he met with it. The more he felt the difficulty of overcoming pa.s.sions, the more did a victory gained over them excite his admiration.
"Pray make my respects to Mrs. Hoppner, and a.s.sure her of my unalterable reverence for the singular goodness of her disposition, which is not without its reward even in this world. For those who are no great believers in human virtues would discover enough in her to give them a better opinion of their fellow-creatures, and--what is still more difficult--of themselves, as being of the same species, however inferior in approaching its n.o.bler models."
At Coppet he was more touched by the conjugal affection of the young d.u.c.h.esse de Broglie for her husband, than he was attracted by the genius even of her mother, Madame de Stael. "Nothing," says he in his memoranda, "was more agreeable than to see the manifestation of domestic tenderness in this young woman." When he received at Pisa the posthumous message sent by a beautiful, angelic young creature, who had caught a glimpse of him but once, and who, nevertheless, in the solemn hours of her agony, thought of him, and prayed to G.o.d for him, it made a deep impression on his mind.
"In the evening," says Madame G----, "he spoke to me at great length of this piety and touching virtue."
Mr. Stendhall, who knew him during his stay at Milan in 1816, says:--"I pa.s.sed almost all my evenings with Lord B. Whenever this singular man was excited and spoke with enthusiasm, his sentiments were n.o.ble, great, and generous; in short, worthy of his genius."
And then when Mr. Stendhall speaks of walking alone with him in the large green-room at La Scala, he adds:--
"Lord Byron made his appearance for half an hour every evening, holding the most delightful conversation it was ever my good-fortune to hear. A volume of new ideas and generous sentiments came pouring out in such novel form, that one fancied one"s self enjoying them for the first time. The rest of the evening the great man lapsed into the English n.o.ble."
Even biographers most hostile to Lord Byron render justice to his sensibility and respect for real virtue, for all that is true and estimable. And if we seek proofs of the same in his poems and correspondence, we shall find it at every page, not excepting "Don Juan,"--the satire that most exposed him to the anger and calumny of _cant_. This is why I shall confine myself to borrowing quotations from this poem. For instance, in speaking of military glory, he says:--
"The drying up a single tear has more Of honest fame, than shedding seas of gore.
"And why?--because it brings self-approbation; Whereas the other, after all its glare, Shouts, bridges, arches, pensions from a nation, * * * * * * *
Are nothing but a child of Murder"s rattles."[158]
And then again:--
"_One_ life saved ...
... is a thing to recollect Far sweeter than the greenest laurels sprung From the manure of human clay, though deck"d With all the praises ever said or sung; Though hymn"d by every harp, unless within Your heart join chorus, Fame is but a din."[159]
When he speaks of Souvaroff, who, with a hand still reeking from the ma.s.sacre of 40,000 combatants, began his dispatch to the Autocrat in these words:--
"Glory to _G.o.d_ and to the Empress [Catharine]! Ismail"s ours!"
Lord Byron exclaims:--
"Powers Eternal! such names mingled!
"Methinks these are the most tremendous words Since "Mene, Mene, Tekel," and "Upharsin,"
Which hands or pens have ever traced of swords.
Heaven help me! I"m but little of a parson: What Daniel read was short-hand of the Lord"s, Severe, sublime; the prophet wrote no farce on The fate of nations;--but this Russ so witty Could rhyme, like Nero, o"er a burning city.
"He wrote this Polar melody, and set it, Duly accompanied by shrieks and groans, Which few will sing, I trust, but none forget it-- For I will teach, if possible, the stones To rise against earth"s tyrant"s."[160]
And then when he speaks of truly virtuous men--the Washingtons and Franklins--those who preferred a quiet, retired life; so as better to walk in the paths of justice and goodness, like the ancient heroes of Sparta, one feels that his words come really from the heart. But if I wished to make extracts of all the proofs contained in his works, of respect and enthusiasm for true virtue, a volume of quotations would be requisite. Thus I have only chosen some at hazard, selecting them princ.i.p.ally from that admirable satire of "Don Juan," which combines more deep philosophy and true morality than is to be found in the works of many moralists; and I may likewise say more wit, and knowledge of the human heart, more kindness and indulgence, than ever before were united in a volume of verse or prose, and more, perhaps, than ever will be.
Yet, despite of all this, the independence, boldness, and above all, the true state of things revealed in "Don Juan," excited great anger throughout the political, religious, and moral world of England; indeed, pa.s.sion went so far in distorting, that the tendency and moral bearing of the poem were quite misunderstood. With regard to France, where this satire is only known through a prose translation, which mars half its cleverness, "Don Juan" serves, however, the purpose of an inexhaustible reservoir, whence writers unwittingly draw much they deem their own.
Besides, from a.n.a.logy of race, he is, perhaps, better appreciated in France than in his own country; for few English do understand what true justice he rendered himself when he said,--that, in point of fact, his character was far too lenient, the greatest proof of his muse"s discontent being a smile.
But if, despite all this evidence, people should still persist, as is very possible, in a.s.serting that Lord Byron ridiculed, satirized, and denied the existence of real virtues, at least we would ask to have these virtues named, so as to be able to answer. What are the virtues so insulted? Is it truth, piety, generosity, firmness, abnegation, devotedness, independence, patriotism, humanity, heroism? But if he denied not one of these, if he only ridiculed and satirized their semblances, their hypocritical shadows, then let critics and envious minds--the ignorant, or the would-be ignorant--let them cease, in the name of justice, thus to offer lying insult to a great spirit no longer able to defend himself.
Perhaps he did not render sufficient homage to that great and respectable virtue of his country--conjugal fidelity; but he has told us why. It appeared to him that this virtue, supposed to stamp society, was, in truth, more a pretense than a reality among the higher cla.s.ses in England; and, if he examined his own heart, this virtue wore a name for him that had been the martyrdom of his whole life.
I may say, farther, that when he saw a truth shining at the expense of some hypocrisy, he did not _shut it up in his casket of precious things_, to carry them with him to the grave, nor did he only name them in a low voice to his secretaries, because by _speaking aloud he might have done some harm to himself_ (as, however, the great Goethe did and _acknowledged_). Lord Byron, without thinking of the consequences that might ensue to himself, deemed, on the contrary, that truth ought to be courageously unveiled: and to the heroism of deeds he added the heroism of words.
It must not be forgotten, either, that there existed a certain kind of timidity among the other elements of his character, and that jesting often helps to season a tiresome conversation, rendering it less difficult, besides enabling us to hide our real sentiments.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 149: Galt, p. 218.]
[Footnote 150: Kennedy, p. 301.]
[Footnote 151: See Galt, with regard to Hunt.]
[Footnote 152: Moore, Letter 468.]
[Footnote 153: See chapter on "Religion."]
[Footnote 154: Ibid.]
[Footnote 155: "Don Juan," canto xiv.]
[Footnote 156: See Lord Byron"s letter to Mrs. Sh.e.l.ley.]
[Footnote 157: See his "Life in Italy."]
[Footnote 158: "Don Juan," canto viii.]
[Footnote 159: "Don Juan," canto ix.]
[Footnote 160: Ibid. canto viii.]
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE MELANCHOLY OF LORD BYRON.
"To know the real cause of our sadness is near akin to knowing what we are worth."--PARADOL, _Study on Moralists_.
From all that we have said, and judging from that natural tendency of his mind to look at even serious things on the ridiculous, laughable side, would it be correct to infer that Lord Byron was always gay, and never melancholy? Those maintaining such an opinion, would have to bear too many contradictions. Physiology, psychology, and history, would together protest against such an a.s.sertion. We affirm, on the contrary, that Lord Byron was often melancholy; but that, in order to judge well the nature and shades of his melancholy, it is necessary to a.n.a.lyze and observe it, not only in his writings, but also in his conduct through life. Whence arose his melancholy? Was it one of those moral infirmities, incurable and causeless, commencing from the cradle, like that of Rene, whose childhood was morose, and whose youth disdainful; who, ere he had known life, seemed to bend beneath its mysteries; who knowing not how to be young, will no more know how to be old; who in all things wanted order, proportion, harmony, truth; who had nothing to produce equilibrium between the power of genius and the indolence of will? This kind of melancholy is fatal to the practice of any virtue, and seems like a sacrifice of heart on the altar of pride. Was it a melancholy like Werther"s, whose senses, stimulated by pa.s.sion, of which society opposed the development, carried perturbation also into the moral regions? Was it the deep mysterious ailment of Hamlet, at once both meek and full of logic? or the sickness of that "masculine breast with feeble arms;" "of that philosopher who only wanted strength to become a saint;" "of that bird without wings," said a woman of genius, "that exhales its calm melancholy plaint on the sh.o.r.es whence vessels depart, and where only shivered remnants return;" the melancholy of an Obermann, whose goodness and almost ascetic virtues are palsied for want of equilibrium, and whose discouragement and ennui were only calculated to exercise a baneful influence over the individual, and over humanity?
No; the _striking_ characteristics that exist in all these sorts of melancholy are utterly wanting to Lord Byron"s. His was not a melancholy that had become chronic, like Rene"s, ere arriving at life"s maturity.
For, whereas, the child Rene was gloomy and wearied, the child Byron was pa.s.sionate and sensitive, but gay, amusing, and frolicsome. His fits of melancholy were only developed under the action of thought, reflection, and circ.u.mstances. Nor was it Werther"s kind of melancholy; for, even at intensest height of pa.s.sion, reason never abandoned its sway over Lord Byron"s energetic soul; with himself, if not with his heroes, personal sacrifice always took, or wished to take, the place of satisfied pa.s.sion.