THE AMIABLE AND INGENIOUS AUTHOR OF THE

CALAMITIES AND QUARRELS OF AUTHORS> THIS

ADDITIONNAL QUARREL AND CALAMITY

Is inscribed by ONE OFTHE NUMBER

Ravenna, March. 15, 4820.

« The life of a writer » has been said, by Pope, I believe, to be « a warfare upon earth, » As far as my own expérience has gone, I bave nothing to say against the proposition, and, like the rest, having once plunged into this state of hostiiity, must, however reluctantly, £arry it on. An article has appeared in a periodical work, entitled « Remarks on Don Juan, » which has been so full of this spirit, on the part of the writer, as to require some observations on mine.

In the first place, I am not aware by what right the wri-

tor assumes this wurk, wbich is anonymous, to be my production. He will answer, that there is interaal évidence; that is to say , that there are passages which appear to be written in my name, or in my manner. But might nut this bave been done on purpose by another? He will sav, wbv not then denv it? To tbis I could answer, that of ail the tbings attributed to me within tbe last ûyb years, — Pilgri mages to Jérusalem, Deaths uponPale Horses, Odesto the Land of tbe Gaul, Adieus to England, Songs to Madame La Valette, Odes to Saint-Helena, Vampires, and what not,— of which, God knows I never composed nor read a syllable beyond their titles in advertiseroents, — I never thougt it w orth while to disavow any, except om which came linked whith an account of my « résidence in the Isle of Mitylene, » w hère I never resided, and appeared to be carrying the amusement of those persons, w ho think my name can be of any useto them, a little too far.

I should hardly, therefore, if I did not take the trouble to (lisavow thèse things published in my name, and yet not mine, go out of my way to deny an anonymous work, which might appear an act of supererogation. With regard to Don Juan, I neither deny nor admit it to be mine, everybody may form their own opinion; but, if there be any who now, or in the progress of that poem, if it isto be continued, feel, or should feel themselves so aggrieved as to require a more [explicit answer, privately and personally, they shall bave it.

I bave never shrunk from the responsibility of what

I hâve written, and bave more than once incurred obloquy by neglecting to disavow what was attributed to my pen witliout foundation.

The greater part, however, of the « Remarks on Don

Juan » contain but Utile onthe work itself, which reçoives an eitraordinary portion of praise as a composition. With the exception ofsome quotations, and a fesv incidental remarks^ the rest of the article is neither more nor less than a Personal attack upon the imputed author. It is not the (irst in the sarne publication : for I recollect to hâve read, some time ago, gimilar remarks upon « Beppo » (said to hâve been written by a celebrated northern preacher) ; in which the conclusion drawn was^ that a Çhilde Harold, Byron, and the Count in Bepp0| were one and the same person, » thereby making me turn out to be, as Mrs. Malaprop says, « like CerberuSy three gentlemen at once* )> That article was signed « Presbyter Anglicanus; » which, I présume, being interpreted, means Scotch Presbyterian* I must hère observe, and it Is at once ludtcrous and vexations to be compellcd so frequently to re* peat the same thing, -^ that my case, as an author, is peculiarly hard, in being everlastingly taken, or mistaken, for my own protagonist. It is unjust and particular. I never heard that my friend. Moore was set down for a fire-worghipper on account of his Guebre; that Scott was identified with Roderick Dhu, or with Balfour of Burley; or that, notwitbstanding ail the magicians in Thalaba, anybody bas ever taken Mr. Southey for a conjurer; whereas I bave had some difficulty in extricating me even from Manfred, who, as Mr. Soothey sliiy observes in one of his articles in the Quar-» terly, « met the devil on the lungfrau, and bullied him : » and I answer Mr. Southey, who has apparently, in his poetical life, not been so successful against the greatenemy, that, in this, Manfred exactly folio wed the sacred precept, — « Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. » — I shall bave more to say on the subject of this person * not the devil, but his

most humble servant Mr. Soutbey — before I conclude; but, for the présent, I must return to the article in the Ëdinburgh Magazine.

In the course of this article, amidst some extraordinary observations, there occur the foUowing words : — a II appears, in short, as if this misérable man, having exhausted every species of sensual gratification, — having drained the cup of sin even to its bitterest dregs, were resolved to show us that he is no longer a human being even in his irailties, but a cool, unconcernedfiend, laughing with a détestable glee over the whole of the better and worse éléments of which human llfe is composed. » In another place there appears, a the lurking-place of his selfish and polluted exile. » — « By my troth, thèse be bitter words ! » — With regard to the first sentence, I shall content myself with observing, that it appears to bave been composed for Sardanapalus, Tiberius, the Régent Duke of Orléans, or Louis XV; and that I bave copied it with as much indifi'erence as I would a passage from Suetonius, or from any of the private memoirs of theregen* cy, conceiving it to be amply refuted by the terms in which it is expressed, and to be utterly inapplicable to any private individual. On the words, « lurking-place, » and « selfish and

polluted exile, » I bave something more to say.— How far the capital city of a government, which survived the vicissitudes of thirteen hundred years, and might stîll hâve existed but for the treachery of Buonaparte, and the iniquity ofhis imi^ tators, — a city, which was the emporium of Europe when London and Ëdinburgh were dens of barbarians, — may be termed a « lurking-placç, » I leave td those who hâve seen or heard of Venice to .décide. How far my exile may bave been « polluted, » it is not for me to say, because the word

is a wide one, and, with some of its branches, may chance overshadow the actions of most men ; but that it has been c( selfish » I deny. If, to the extent of my means and my power, and my information of thëir calamities, to hâve assisted many misérable beings, reduced by the decay of the place of their birth and their conséquent loss of substance — if to haye never rejected an application which appeared founded on truth — if to hâve expended in this manner sums far out of proportion to my fortune, there and elsewhere, be selfish, then hâve I been selfish. To hâve done such things I do not deem much; but it is hard indeed to be compelled to recapitulate them in my own defence, by such accusations as that before me, like a panel before a jury calling testimonies to his character, or a soldier recording his services to obtain his discharge. If the person who has made the charge of « selfishness » wishes to inform himself further on the sub- ' ject, he may acquire, not what he would wish to find, but what will silence and shame him, by applying to the ConsuI-General of our nation, résident in the place, who will be in the case either to confirm or deny what I hâve asserted.

I neither make, nor hâve ever made, pretensions to sanctity of demeanoiir, nor regularity of conduct, but my means hâve been expended principally on my own gratification, neither now nor heretofore, neither in England nor out of it ; and it wants but a word from me, if I thought that word décent or necessary, to call forth the most willing witnesses, and at once witnesses and proofs, in England itself, to show that there are those who bave derived not the more temporary relief of a wretched boon, but the means which led them to immédiate happiness and ultimate independence, by r^^'

194 LES DRRNIËRES ANNEES

wbant of that very « selfishness », as grossl}i; as falsely now imputed to my conduct.

Had I been a selfisb man — bad I been a grasping man — bad I been, in tbe worldly sensé of tbe word, even a prudent man, — I sbould not be wbere I now am ; I sbould not bave taken tbe step whicb \vas tbe first that led to tbe events whicb bave sunk and swoln a gulf between me and mine; but in this respect tbe trutb will one day be made known : in tbe mean time, as Durandearte says, in tbe Cave of Mon* tesinos, « Patience, and sbuffle tbe cards* »

I bitterly feel tbe ostentation of tbis statement, tbe first of tbe kind I bave ever made : I feel tbe dégradation of being compelled to make it; but I also feel its truth^ and I trust to feel it on my death-bed, sbould it be my lot to die tbere. I am not less sensible of tbe egotism of ail tbis; but, alasl who liavo made me tbus egotistical in my own defence, if not tbey, who, by perversely persisting in referring fiction to trutb, and tracing poelry to life, and regarding cbaracters of ima-* gination as créatures of existence, bave made me personally responsible for almost every poetical delineation wbich fancy, and a particular bias of tbought, may bave tended to produce?

The writer continues : — a Those who are acquainted, as who is not ? with tbe main incidents of tbe private life of Lord B., etc. ». Assuredly, whoever maybe acquainted with thèse « main incidents, » tbe writer of the « Remarks on Don Juan » is not, or be would use a very différent language. That which I believe be alludes to as a « main incident, » iiap* pened to be a very subordinate one, and tbe natural and almost inévitable conséquence of events and circumstances long prior to the period at which it occurred. It is tho last drop which makes the cup run over, and mine was already

full. — But, to return tho this man's charge : he accuses Lord B. of « an elaborate satire on the character and manners of his wife. » From what parts oi' Don Juan the writer has inferred this he himself best knows. As far as I recoliect of the female characters in that production, there is but one who is depicted in ridiculous colours, orthatcould beinter-' preted as a satire upon any body. But hère my poetical sins are again revisited upon me, supposing that the poem be mine. If I depict a corsair, a misanthrope, a libertine, a chief of insurgents, or an infidel, he is set down to the author; and if, in a poem by no means ascertained to be my production, there appears a disagreeable, casuistical, and by no means respectable female pédant, it is set down for my wife. Is there any resemblance? If there be, it is in those who make it : I can see none. In my writings I hâve rarely described any character under a fictitious name : those of whom I hâve spoken hâve had their own -^ in many cases a stronger satire in itself than any which could be appended to it. But of real circumstances I hâve availed myself plen« tifully, both in the serions and the ludicrous — they are to poetry what landscapes are to the painler; but my figures are not portraits. It may even hâve happened, that I hâve seized on Bome events that hâve occurred under my own observation, or in my own family, as I would paint a view from my grounds, did it harmonise with my picturej but I never would introduce the likenesses of its living mcmbers, unless their features could bemade as favourableto themselves as to the effect; which, in the above instance, would by extremely difficult.

My learned brother proceeds to observe that a it is in vain for Lord B. to attempt in any way to justify his own h

viour in that affair; and now that he has so openly and auda' cUmsly invited inquiry and reproach, we do not see any good reason why he should not be plainly told so by the voice of bis counlrymen. » How far tbe « openness » of an anonymous poem, and the « audacity » of an imaginary character, which the writer supposes to be meant for Lady B., may be deemed to merit this formidable denunciation from their « most sweet voices », I neither know nor care; but when he tells me that I cannot « in any way justify my own behaviour in that affair, » I acquiesce, because no mah can « justify » himself until he knows of what he is accused; and I bave never had — and, God knows, my whole désire has ever been to obtain it — any spécifie charge, in a tangible shape, submitted to me by the adversary, nor by others, unless the atrocities of public rumour and the mysterious silence of the lady's légal advisers may be deemed such. But is not the writer content with what has been already said and donc? Has not a the gênerai voice of bis countrymen » long ago pronounced upon the subject — sentence without ti'ial, and condamnation without a charge? Hâve I not been exiled by ostracism, except that the shells which proscribed me were anonymous ? Is the writer ignorant of the public opinion and the public conduct upon that occasion? If he is, I am not : the public will forget both, long before I shall cease to l'emember either.

The man who is exiled by a faction has the consolation of thinking that he is a martyr ; he is upheld by hope and the dignity of his cause, real or imaginary : he who withdraws from the pressure of debt may indulge in the thought that time and prudence will retrie ve his circumstances : he who is condemned by the law has a term to his banishment, or

a dream of its abbreviation ; or, il may be, Ihe knowledge or the belief of some injustice of the law, or of its administration in his own particular; but he who is outlawed by gênerai opinion, without the intervention of hostile politics, illégal judgment, or embarrassed circumstances, whether he be innocent or guilty, must undergo ail the bitterness of exile, without hope, without pride, without alleviation. This case was mine. Upon what grounds the public founded their opinion, I am not aware; but it was gênerai, and it was décisive. Of me or of mine they knew little, except that I had written what is called poetr^', was a nobleman, had married, became a father, and was involved in différences with my wife and her relatives, no one knew why, because the persons complaining refused to State their grievances. The fashix)nable world was divided into parties, mine consisting of a very small minority : the reasonable world wasnaturally on the stronger side, which happened to be the lady's, as was most proper and polite. The press was active and scurrilous ; and such was the rage of the day, that the unfortunate publication of two copies of verses, rather complimentary than otherwise to the subjects of both, was tortured into a species of crime, or constructive petty treason. I was accused of every monstrous vice by public rumour and private rancour : my name, which had been a knightly or a noble one since my fathers helped to conquer the kingdom for William the Norman, was tainted. I felt. that, if what was whispered, and muttered, and murmured, was true, I was unfit for England; if false, England was unfit for me. I withdrew : but this was not enough. In other countries, in Switzerland, in the shadow of the Alps, and by the blue depth of the lakes, I was pursui

hreathed upon by the same blight. I crossed the mountains, but it was the same; so I went a little farther, and settled myself by the waves of the Adriatic, like the stag at bay, >vho betakes him to the waters.

If I may judge dy the statements of the few friends who gathered round me, the outcry of the period to which I allude was beyond ail précèdent, ail parallel, even in those cases where political motives hâve sharpened slander and doubled enmity. I was advised not to go to the théâtres, lest I should be hissed, nor to my duty in parliament, lest I should bft insulted by the way ; even on the day of my departufe, iny most intimate friend told me afterwards, that he was under appréhensions of violence from the people who might be assembled at the door of the carriage. However, I was not deterred by thèse counsels from seeing Kean in his best characters, nor from voting according to my principles; and with regard to the third and last appréhension of my friends, I could not share in them, not bcing made acquainted with their extent till some time after I had crossed the Channel, Even if I had been so, I am not of a nature to be much affected by men's anger, though I may feel hurt by their aversion. Against ail individual outrage, I coud protect or redress myself; and against that of a crowd, I should probably hâve been enabled to défend myself, with the assistance of others, as bas been done on similar occasions.

I retired from the country, perceiving that I was the object of gênerai obloquy ; I did not indeed imagine, like Jean- Jacques Rousseau, that ail mankind was in a conspiracy against me, though I had perhaps as good grounds for such a chimera as ever he had : but I perceived that I had to a great extent become personally obnoxious in England, per-

haps through my own fâult, but the fact was indisputablc : the public in gênerai would hardly bave been so mucb excited against a more popular character, without at least an accusation or a charge ofso me kind actually expressed or substantiated, forl can hardly conceive that the common and everyday occurrence of a séparation between man and wife could in itself produce so greata ferment. I shall say nothing of the complaints of « being prejudged, » « condemned unheard, » « unfairness, » « partiality », and so forth, the usual changes rung by parties who bave had, or are to bave, a trial; but I was a little surprised to fmd myself condemned without being favoured with the act of accusation, and to perceive in the absence of this portentous charge or charges, whatever it or they were to be, that every possible or impossible crime was rumoured to supply its place, and taken for granted. This could only occur in the case of a person very mucb disliked , and I knew no' remedy, having already used to their extent whatever little powers I might possess of pleasing in Society. I had no party in fashion, though I was afterwards told that there was one — but is was not of my formation, nor did I then know of its existence — nonc in literature ; and in politics I had voted with the Whigs, with precisely that importance which a Whig vote possesses in thèse Tory days, and withsuch personal acquaintance with the leaders in both bouses as the society in which I lived sanctioned, but without claim or expectation of any thing like friendship from any one, except a few young men of my own âge and standing, and a few others more advanced in life, which last it had been my fortune to serve in circumstances of difQculty. This was, in fact, to stand alone : and I recollect, some time after, Madame da Staël said to me in Switzerland, « You

Bliould not hâve warred with the world — it will no do — it is too strong always forany individual: I myself once tried it in early life, but it will not do. » I perfectiy acquiesce in the truth of this remarck ; but the world had done me the honour to begin the war ; and, assuredly, if peace is only to he ohtained by courting aad paying tribute to it, I am not qnalified to obtain its countenance. I thought, in the words of Campbell,

« Then wed thce to an exiled lot, And if the world halh loved thee not, Its absence mav be borne. »

I recollect, however, that, having been much hurt by Romilly's conduct (he, having a gênerai retainer for me, had acted as adviser to the adversary, alleging, on being reminded of bis retainer, thad he had forgotten it, as his clerk had so many), I observed that some of those who were now eagerly laying the axe to my roof-tree, might see their own shaken, and feel a portion of what they had inflicted. ^His fell, and crushed him.

I bave heard of, and believe, that there are human beings so constituted as to be insensible to injuries; but I believe that the best mode to avoid taking vengeance is to get out of the way of temptation. I hope that I may never hâve the opportunîty, for I am not quite sure that I could resist it, having derived from my mother something of the « perfervidum ingenium Scotorum )). I bave not sought, and shall not seek it, and perhaps it may never come in my path. I do not in this allude to the party, Ji\'ho might be right or wrong; but to many who made her cause the pretext of their ownbitterness. She, indeed, must bave long avenged me in her own

feelings ; for whatever her reasons may hâve been (and she never adduced them to mjB at least), she probably neither contemplated nor conceived to what she became the means of conducting the father of her child, and the husband of her choice.

So much for « the gênerai voice of his countrymen. » I will now speak of some in particular.

In the beginning of the year 1817, an article appeared in the Quarterly Review, written, I believe, ly Walter Scott, doing great honour to him, and no disgrâce to me, though both poetically and personally more than sufficiently favourable to the work and the author of whom it treated. It was written at a time when a selfish man would not, and a timid one dared not, hâve said a word in favour of either ; it was written by one to whom temporary public opinion had elevated me to the rank of a rival — a proud distinction and unmerited ; but which bas not prevented me from feeling as a friend, nor him from more than corresponding to that sentiment. The article in question was written upon the Third Canto of Childe Harold; and after many observations, which it would as ill become me to repeat as to forget, concluded with « a hope thati might yet return to England ». How this expression was received in England itself I am not acquainted, but it gave great offence at Rome to the respectable ten or twenty thousand English travellers then and there assembled. . I did not visit Rome till some time after; so that I had no opportunity of knowing the fact ; but I was informed, long afterwards, that the greatest indignation had been manifested in the enlightened Anglo-circle of that year, which happened to comprise within it — amidst a considérable leaven of Welbeck Street and Devonshire Place, broken

loose upon their travels — several really well-born and wellbred familles, who did not the less participate in the feeling of the hour. « Why shoiild he return lo England ? » was the gênerai exclamation. — I answer why*t II is a question I hâve occasionally asked myself, and I never yet could give it a satisfactory reply . I had then no thought of returning, and if I havcany now, they are of business, and not of pleasure. Amidst the ties that hâve been dashed to pièces, there are links yet en tire, though the chain itself be broken. There are duties, and connections, which may one day require my présence and I am a father. I havc still some friends whom I wish to meetagain, and it may be, an enemy. Thèse things, and those minuter détails of business, which time accumulâtes during absence, in every man's affairs and property, may, and probably will, recaH me to England; but I shall return with the same feelings with which I lefl it, in respect to itself, though altered with regard to individuals, as I hâve been more or less informed of their conduct since my departure; for it was only a considérable time after it that I was made acquainted with the real facts and full estent of some of their proceedings and language, My friends, like other friends, from conciliatory motives, withheld from me much that they could, and some things which they shoutd bave unfolded; hôwever, that which is deferred is not lestbut it bas been no fault of mine that it bas been deferred at ail.

I bave alluded to what is said to bave passed at Rome mère* ly to show that the sentiment which I bave described wa» not confmed to the English in England, and as forming part of my answer to the reproach cast upon what bas been called my « selfish exile, » and my « voluntary exile. » « Vo-

luntary )» it has been ; for who would dwell among a people entertaining strong hostility against him? How far it has been « selfîsh d has bcen already explained.

I hâve now arrived at a passage describing me as having vented my <( spleen against the lofty-minded and virtuous men, » men «whosevirtuesfewindèedcanequal^wmeaning, I humbly présume, the notorious triumviratc known by the name of « Lake Poets » in thcir aggregate capacity, and by Southey, Wordsworth, and Coleridge, when taken singly. I wish to say a -svord or two upon the virtues of one of those persons public and private, forreasons which will soon appear.

When 1 lefl England in April, 1816, ill in mind, in body, and ^ in circumstances, I took up my résidence at Colo[gny, by the /, lake of Geneva. The sole companion of my 'journey was a young physician, who had to make bis way in the world, and having seenveryliltleof it, wasnaturally and laudably desirous of seeing more society than suited my présent habits or my past expérience. I therefore presented him to those gentlemen of Geneva for whom I had letters of introduction ; and having thus seen him in a situation to make his own way retired formy own part cntirely from society, with the exception of one English family, living at about a quarter of a mile's distance from Diodati, and w ilh the further exception of some occasional intercourse withCoppetat the wish of Madame de Staël. The English family to whish I allude consisted of two ladies, a gentleman and his son, a boy ofayear old.

« One of a thèse lofty-minded and virtuous men, » in the words of the Edinburgh-Magazine, made, I understand, about this time, or soon afler, a tour in Switzcrland. On his return to Ëngland, he circulated— and, for anything I know, învenied— a report, that the gentleman to whom I bave alla-

ded and myself were living in promiscuous intercourse with two sisters, « having formed a league of incest « (I quote the words as they were stated to me), and indulged himself on tbe natural comment supon such a conjunction, in^hich are said to hâve been repeated pubiicly, with great complacency, by another of that poetical fraternity, of whom I shall say only, that even h ad the story been true, he should not hâve repeated it, as far as it regarded myself, except in sorrow. The taie itself requires but a word in answer-the ladies were 7iot sisters, nor in any degree connected, except by the second mariage of their respective parents, a widower with a widow, both being the ofTspring of former marri âges; neither of them were, in 1816, nineteen yearsold. « Promiscuous intercoure » could hardly bave disgusted the great patron of pantisocracy, (does Mr. Son they remember such a sheme?) but there was none.

How far this man, who, as author of Wat Tyler, has been proclaimedby the Lord Chancellorguilty of atreasonable and blasphémons libel, and denounced in the House of Gommons, by the upright and able member for Norwich, as a « rancorous renegado » be fit for sitting as a judge upon others, let others judge. He has said that for this expression « he brands William Smith on the forehead as acalumniator, » and that « the mark will outlast bis epitaph. » How long William Smith 's epitaph will last, and in what words it will be wTitten, I know not, but William Sl^ith's words form the epitaph itself of Robert Southey. He has written Wat Tyler and taken the office of poet lauréate— he has, in the lifc of Henri Kirke White denominated reviewing <c the ungentle craft, » and has become a reviewer — he was one of the projectors of a scheme, called <!i p^ivU^^çx^si^^^^ for having ail

tliings, including women, in common {query, common women?) and he sets up as a moralist — he denounced the battle of Blenheim, and he praised the battle of Waterloo — he loved Mary Wollstoncraft, and he tried to blast the character of Jier daughter (one of the young famales mentioned) — he wTote treason, and serves the king — he was the butt of the Antijacobin, and he is the prop of the Quarterly Review; licking the hands that smote him, eating the bread of his enemies, and internally writhing beneath his own contempt, — he would fain conceal, under anonymous bluster and a vain endeavour to obtain the estem of others, after having for ever lost his own, his leprous sensé of his own dégradation. What is there in such a man to « envy? » Who ever envied the envions? Is it his birth, his name, his famé, or his vhlues, that I am to « envy ?» I was born of the aristocracy, which he abhorred ; and am sprung, by my mother, from the kings who preceded those whom he bas hired himseif to sing. It cannot, then, be his birth. As a poet, I bave, for the past eight years, had nothing to apprehend from a compétition ; and for the future, « that life to come in every poet's creed, » it is open to ali. I wili only remind Mr. Southey, in the words of a critic, who, if still living, would bave annihilated Southey's literary existence now and hereafter, as the sworn foe of charlatans and impostors, from Macpherson downwards, that « those dreams were Settle's once and Ogilby's;» and, for my own part, I assure him, that wheiiever he and his sect are remembered, I shall be proud to bc « forgot. » That he his not content wit his success as a poet may reasonably be believed— he has been the nine-pin of reviews; the Edinburgh knocked him down, and the Quarterly set him up; the government found him useful in the periodi-

cal line, aud made a point of recommending bis works to purchasers, so that lie is occasîonally bought, (I mean bis books, as well as tlie author), and may be found onthe same shelf, if not upon the table, of most of the gentlemen employed in the différent offices. With regard to bis privatc virtues, I know nothing — of bis principles, I bave heard enougb. As far as baving been, to the best of my power, benevolent to others, I do not fear the comparison; and for the errors of the passions, was Mr. South ey always so tranquil and stainless? Did be never covet his neighbour*s wife's daughter, the oflfspring of her he çoveted ? So much for the apostle of pantisocracy.

Of the (( lofty-minded, virtuous » Wordsworth, one anecdote wiil suffice to speak his sincerity. In a conversation with Mr.~upon poetry,he concluded with « afler ail I would not give five shillings for ail that Southey bas ever written. » Perhaps this calculation might rather show his esteem for five shiUings than hislow estimate ofDr. Southey; but consideringtliat when he was in his need, and Southey bad a shilling, Wordsworth is said to bave bad generally six pence out of it, it bas an awkward sound in the wayof valuation* This anecdote was told me by persôns w ho, if quoted by name, would prove that its genealogy is poetical as well as true. I can glve my authority for this ; and am ready to adduce it also for Mr. Southev's circulation of the falsehood. before mentioned.

Of Coleridge, I shall say nothing — whyy he may divine.

I bave said more of thèse people than I intended in this place, being somewbat stirred by the remarks whicb induced me to commence upon the topie. I see nothing in thèse men, sls poets, or as individuals — Uttle in their talents, and

less in their characters, to prevent honest men from expressing for them considérable contempt, in prose or rhyme, as it may happen. Mr. Southey has the Quarterly for his field of rejoinder, and Mr. Wordsworth his postcripls to « Lyrical Ballads », where the two great instances of the sublime are taken from himself and Milton. a Over her own sweet voice the stockdoYC broods » ; that is to say, she has the pleasure of listening to herself , in common with Mr. Wordsworth upon most of his public appearances. (( What divinity doth hedge» thèse persons, that we should respect them ? Is it Apollo ? Are theynotofthosewhocalledDryden's Odea adrunken song?» who hâve discovered that Gray's Elegy is full of faults, (see Coleridge's Life, vol. 1. Note, for Wordsworth's kindness in pointing t^is out to him and hâve published what is allowed to be the very worst prose that ever was written to, prove that Pope was no poet, and that William Wordsworth is ?

In other points, are they respectable, or respected? Is it on the open avowal of apostasy, on the patronage of govern* ment, that their claim is founded? Who is there who esteems those parricides of their ownprinciples? They are, in fact, well awarethattherewardof their change has been anythingbut honour. Thetimes bave preserved a respect for political consistency, and, eventhoughchangeable, honour the unchanged. Look at Moore : it will be long ère Southey meets with such a triumph in London as Moore met with in Dublin, even if the government subscribe for it, and set the money down to secret service. It wasnot less to the man than to the poet, to thetempted but unshaken patriot, to the'not opulent but incorruptible fellow- citizen, that the warm-hearted ïrish paid the proudest of tributes. Mr. Southey may applaud himself to the world, but he has his owu l\<i«k.T\\ft,%X ^<^\v\&\S!l^\.\

and the fury with which he foams against ail who stand in the phalanx which he forsook, is, as William Smith described it, « the rancour of the renegado, » the bad language of the prostitute who stands at the corner of the street, and showers her slang upon ail, except those who may hâve bestowed upon her her « little shilling ».

Hence his quarterly OYerflowings, political and literary, in what he bas himself termed a the ungentle craft », and his especial wrath against Mr. Leigh Hunt, notwithstanding that Hunl hasdone more for Wordsworth's réputation, as a poet (such as it is), than ail the Lakers could in their interchange of self-praises for the last twenty-five years.

And hère I wish to say a few words on the présent state of English poetry. That this is the âge of the décline of English poetry will be doubled by few who bave calmly considered the subject. That there are men of genius among the présent poets makes little against the fact, because it bas been well said, that a next to him who forms the taste of his country, the greatest genius is he who corrupts.it. » No one bas ever denied genius to Marino, who corrupted not merely the taste of Italy, but that of ail Europe for nearly a century. The great cause of the présent déplorable state of English poetry is to be attributed to that absurd and systematic dépréciation of Pope, in which, for the last few years, there bas been a kind of epidemical concurrence. Men of the most opposite opinions bave united upon this topic. Warton and Churchill began it, having borrowed the hint probably from the heroes of the Dunciad, and their own internai conviction that their proper réputation can be as notliingtillthe most perfect and harmonious of poets— he who, having no fault, bas had reason made his reproach — was

RE LORD BYROX 209

reduced to what they conceived to be his level ; but even they dared not dégrade him below Dryden. Goldsmith, and Rogers, and Campbell, his most successful disciples; and Hayley, who, however feeble, bas left oue poem « that will not be wilUngly let die » (Ihe Triumphs of Temper), kept up the réputation of that pure and perfect style; and Crabbe, the first of living poets, bas almost equalled the master. Then came Darwin, who was put downby a single poem in the Antijacobin; and the Cruscans, from Merry to Jerningham, who were annihilated (if Nothing can be said to be annihilated) by Gifford, the last of the wholesome satirists. At the same time Mr. Southey was favouring the public with Wat Tyler and Joan of Arc, to the great glory of the Drama and Epos. I beg pardon, Wat Tyler, with Peter Bell, was still in MS.; and it was not till after Mr. Southey had received his Malmsey butt, and Mr. Wordsworth became qualiûed to gauge it, that the great revolutionary tragedy came before the public and the Court of Chancery. Wordsworth was peddling his lyrical ballads, and brooding a préface, to be succeeded in due course by a postscript; both couched in such prose as must give peculiar delight to those who bave read the préfaces, of Pope and Dryden; scarcely less celebrated, for the beauty of their prose, than for the charms of the verse. Wordsworth is the reverse of Molière 's gentleman who had been « talking prose ail his life without knowing it; » for he thinks that he bas been ail his life writing both prose and verse, and neither of what he conceives to be such can be properly said to be either one or the other. Mr. Culeridge, the future vates, poet and seer of the Morning Post (an honour also clairmed by Mr. Fitzgerald of the « Rejected Addresses, ») who ultima-

tely prophesied the downfall of Buonaparte, to which be himself mainly contributed, by giving him the nickname of « the Corsican », was then employed in predicating the damnation of Mr. Pitt, and the désolation of England, in the two very best copies of verses he ever wrote : to wit, the infernal cclogue of a Pire, Famine, and Slaughter » and the «Ode to the departing Year. »

Thèse three personages, Southey, Wordsworth, and Goleridge, had ail of them a very natural antipathy to Pope; and I respect them for it, as the only original feeling or principle >vhich they bave contrived to préserve. But they hâve been joined in it by those who havejoined them in nothing else : by the Edinburgh Reviewers, by the whole heteregoneous mass of living English poets, excepting Crabbe, Rogers, Gifford, and Campbell, w ho, both by precept and practice bave provcd their adhérence ; ànd by me, who bave shamefully deviated in practice, but bave ever loved and honoured Pope's poetry with my whole soûl, and hope to do so till my dying day. I would rather see ail I bave ever written lining the same trunk in which I actually read the eleventh book of a modem epic poem at Malta, in 1811, (I opened it to take out a change after the paroxysm of a tertian, in the absence of my servant, andiound it lined with the name of the maker, Eyre, Cockspur Street, andwith the epic poetry alluded to,) than sacrifice what I firmly believe in as the Christianity of English poetry, the poetry of Pope.

But tbe Edinburgh Reviewers, and the Lakers, and Hunt and bis school, and every body else with their school, and even Moore without a school, and dilettanti lecturers at institutions, and elderly gentlemen Avho translate and imitate, and young ladies who listen and repeat, baronets who draM*

indiffèrent frontispieces for bad poets, and noblemen who let them dinewith them in the country, the small body of the wits and the great body of the blues^ bave latterly united in a dépréciation, of which their fathers would bave been as much ashamed as their children will be. In the mean time, what bave we got instead ? The Lake scbool, which began with an epic poem, « written in six weeks, » (so Joan of Arc proclaimed herself), and flnished with a ballad composed in twenty years, as « Peter Bell's » creator takes care to inform the few who will inquire. What bave we got instead? A déluge of flimsy and unintelligible romances itnitated from Scott and myself) who bave both made the best of our bad materials and erroneous System. What bave we got instead? MadoG, wich is néither an epic nor any thing else ; Thalaba, Kehatna^ Gebir, and such gibberish, written in ail mètres and in no language. Hunt, who bad powers to baye made « the Story of Rimini » as perfect as a fable of Dryden, has thoughtfit to sacriii<;e bis genius and bis tàste tosome unintelligible notions of Wordsworth , which I defy him to explain. Moore has —But why continue? — AU, with the exception ofCrabbe, Rogers, and Campbell, who may be considered as having taken their station, will, by the blessing of Qod, survive thein own réputation, without attaining any very extraordinary period of lohgevity. Of course there must be a still further exception in favour of those who, having never obtained any réputation as ail, unlets it be among provincial literati, and their own familles, bave none to lose ; and of Moore, who as the Burns of Ireland, possesses a famc which cannot be lost.

The greater part of the poets mentloned, hovewer, bave been able to gather together a few MV^vc^t^. k \;^^^^\ ^\

the Connaisseur says, that a it is observed by the French, that a cat, a priest, and an old woman are sufQcient to constitute a religions sect in England. » The same number of animais, with some différence in kind, will suffice for a poetical one. If we take sir George Beaumont instead of the priest, and Mr. Wordsworth for the old woman, we shall ncarly complète the quota required; but I fear that Mr. Southey will but indifferently represent the Cat, having shown himself but too distinctly to be of a species to which that noble créature is peculiarly hostile.

Nevertheless, I will not go so far as Wordsworth in his postscript, who prétends that no great poet ever had immédiate famé ; which being interpreted, means that William Wordsworth is not quite so much read by his contemporaries as mjght be désirable. This assertion is as false as it is foolish. Homer's glory depended upon his présent popularity : he recited,— and without the strongest impression of the moment, who would bave gotten the Iliad by heart, and given it to tradition? Ennius, Terence, Plautus, Lucretius, Horace, Virgil .^schylus, Sophocles, Euripides, Sappho, Anacreon, Theocritus, ail the great poets of antiquity, were the delight oi their contemporaries. Thevery existence of a poet, previous to the invention of printing, depended upon his présent popularity ; and how often bas it impaired his future famé ? Hardly ever. History informs us, that the besthave come down to us. The reason is évident; the mostpopular found the greatest number of transcribers for their MSS., and that the taste of their contemporaries was corrupt can hardly be avouched by the modems, the mightiest of whom bave but barely approached them. Dante, Petrarch, Ariosto, and Tasso, were ail the darlings of the contemporary reader. Dante *s

poem was celebrated long before his death ; and, not long after it, States negotiated for his ashes, and disputed for the sites of the composition of the Divina Çommedia. Petrarch was crowned in the Capitol. Ariosto was permitted to pass free by the public robber who had read the Orlando Furioso. I would not recommend Mr. Wordsworth to try the same experiment with his Smugglers. Tasso, notwithstanding the criticisms of the Cruscanti, would bave been crowned in the Capitol, but for his death.

It is easy to prove the immédiate popularity of the chief poets of the only modem nation in Europe that bas a poetical language, the Italian. In our own, Shakspeare, Spenser, Jonson, Waller, Dryden. Congreve, Pope, Young, Shenstone, Thomson, Johnson, Goldsmith, Gray, were ail as popular in their lives as since. Gray's Elegy pleased instantly and eternally. His Odes did not , nor yet do they, please likehis Elegy. Milton's politics kept him down. But the Epigramof Dryden, and the very sale of his work, in proportion to the less reading time of its publication, prove him to hâve been honoured by his contemporaries. I will venture to assert, that the sale of the Paradise Lost was greater in the first four years after its publication, than that of « The Excursion » in the same number, with ihe différence of nearly a century and a half between them of time, and of thousands in point, of gênerai readers. Notwithstanding Mr. Wordsworth's having pressed Milton into his service as one of those not presently popular, to favour his own purpose of proving that our grandchildren will read him (the said William Words worth), I would recommend him to begin first with our grandmothers. But he need not be alarmed ; he may yet live to see ail the envies pass away, as Darwin aiivd Sç,\\^vd^^wi

Hoole, and Hole, and Hoyle hâve passed away ; but their declension will not be bis ascension ; be is essentially a bad writer, and ail the failures of others can never strengthen liim. He may bave a sect, but be will never bave a public; and « bis audience » will always be « few » without being « fit y » — except for Bedlam.

It may be asked, wby, baving tbis opinion of the présent

State of poetry in England, and baving bad it long, as my

friends and otbers well knew — possessipg, or baving possessed .

too, as a writer, the ear of tbe public for tbe time being — I

bave not adopted a différent plan in my own compositions, and

endeavoured to correct rather tban encourage tbe taste of

tbe day. To tbis I would answer, that if, is easier to perceive

the wrong tban to pursue tbe right, and that I bave never

contemplated tbe prospect » of filling (with Peter Bell, see

its Préface) permanently a station in the literature of the

country. » ïhose who know me best, know this, and that

1 bave been considerably astonished at the temporary success

of my Works, baving flattered no person and no party, and

expressed opinions which are not those of the gênerai

reader. Could I hâve anticipated the degree of attention

which bad been accorded me, assuredly I would bave stu-

died more to deserve it. But I bave lived m far countries

abroad, or in the agitating world at home, which was not

favourable to study or reflection ; so that almost ail . I bave

written has been mère passion, — passion, it is true, of

différent kinds, but always passion : for in me (if it be not

an Irishism to say so) my indifférence was a kind of passion,

the resuit of expérience, and not the philosophy of nature.

Writing grows a habit, like a woman's gallantry ; there are

women who bave had no intrigue, but few who bave had *

but une only; so Ihere are millions of men who hâve nevcr written a book, but few who hâve written only onc. And thus, having written once, I wrote on; encouraged no doubt by- the success of Ihe moment, yet by no means anticipating its ducation, and I will venture to say, scarcely even wishing it. But then I did other things besides write, which by no means contributed either to improve my writings or my prosperity.

I hâve thus expressed publicly upon the poetry of the day the opinion I hâve long entertained and expressed of it to ail who hâve asked it, and to some who would rather not hâve heard it : as I told Moore not very long ago, « we are ail wrong exccpt Rogers, Çrabbe, and Campbell. » Without being old in years, I am old in days, and do not feel the adéquate spirit within me to attempt a work which should show what I think right in poetry, and must content myself with having denounced what is wrong. There are, I trust, younger spirits rising up in England, who, escaping the contagion which bas swept away poetry from our literature, will recall it to their country, such as it once was and may still be.

In the mcan time, the best sign of amendment will be re^ pentance, and new and fréquent éditions of Pope and Dryden*

There will be found as comforiable metaphysics, and ten times more poetry in the « Essay on Man, » than in the « Excursion. » If you search for passion, where is it to be found stronger than in the epistle from Eloisa to Abelard, or in Palamon and Arcite? Do you wish for invention, imagination, sublimity, character? seek them in the Rapt of the Lock, the Fables of Dryden, the Ode of Saint Cecilia's Day, and Absalom and Achitophel : you will discover in thèse two

îilG LES DERNIERES ANNEES

poets ouly, ail for which you must ransack innumerable mètres, and God only knows how many writers of the day, without finding a little of the same qualities, — with the addition, too, of wit, of \vhich the latter hâve nohe. I hâve not, however, forgotten Thomas Brown the Younger, nor the FudgeFamily, nor Whistlecraft; but that is not wit — it is humour. I will say nothing of the harmony of Pope, and Drj'den in comparison, for there is not a hving poet (except Rogers, Gifford, Campbell, and Crabbe,) who can write an heroic couplet. The fact is, that the exquisite beauty of tlieir versification has withdrawn the public attention from their other excellences, as the vulgar eye will rest more upon the splendour of the uniform than the quality of the troops. It is tliis very harmony, particularly in Pope, which has raised the vulgar and atrocious cant against him : — because his versification is perfect, it is assumed that it is his only perfection; because his truths are so clear, it is asserted that he has no invention : and because he is always intelligible, it is taken for granted that he has no genius. We are sneeringly told that he is the « Poet of Reason, » as if this was a reason for his being no poet. Taking passage for passage, I will undertake to cite more lines teeming with imagination from Pope than from any two living poets, he they who they may. To take an instance at random from a species of composition not very favourable to imagination— Satire : set down the characterof Sporus, with ail the wonderful play of fancy which is scattered over it, and place by its side an equal number of verses , from any two existing poets,' of the sartie power and the same variety — where will you findthem?

I merely mention one instance of many, in reply to tlie

injustice done to the memory of him who harmonised our poetical language. The attorney's clerks, and other self-educated genii, found it easier ta distort themselves to the new models, than to toil after the symmetry of him who had enchanted their fathers. They were besides smitten by being told that the new school were to revive the language of Queen Elizabeth, the true English, as every body in the reign of Queen Anne wrote no better than French, by a species of literary treason.

Blank verse, which, unless in the drama, no one except Milton ever wrote who could rhyme, became the orderof the day, — or else such rhyme as looked still blank er than the verse without it. I am aware that Johnson has said, after some hésitation, that he could not « prevail upon himself to wish that Milton had been a rhymer. » The opinions of that triily great man, whom it is also the présent fashion to decry, will ever be received by me with that déférence which time will restore to him from ail ; but, with ail humility, I am not persuaded that the Paradise Lost would not hâve been more nobly conveyed to posterity, not perhaps in heroic couplets, although even they could sustain the subject if well balanced, but in the Btanza of Spenser or of Tasso, or in the terza rima of Dante, which the powers of Milton could easily hâve grafted on our language. Tiie Seasons of Thomson would hâve been J)etter in rhyme, although still inferior to his Castle of Indolence; and Mr. Southey's Joan of Arc no worse, although it might hâve taken ^p six months instead of weeks in the composition. I recommend also to ihe lovers of lyrics the perusal of the présent laureate's Odes by the side of Dryden's on Saint CeciUa, but let him be dure to l'ead first those of Mr. Southey.

To the heaven-born genii and inspired young scriveners of the day much of this will appear paradox : it will appear 80 even to tlie higher order of our critics; but it was a truism twenty years ago, and it will be a re-acknowledged truth in ten more. In the mean time, I will conclude with two quotations, both intended for some of my old classical friends wlio hâve stili enough of Cambridge about them to ttiink ttiemselves honoured by having had John Dryden as a predecessor in their collège, and to recollect that their earliest English poetical pleasures wera drawn from the « little nightingale » of Twickenham. The first is from the notes to the Poem of the « Friends. »

« It is only within the last twenty or thirty years that those notable discoveries in criticism hâve been made which bave taught our récent versifiers to undervalue this energetic, melodious, and moral poet. The conséquences of this want of due esteem for a writer whom the good sensé of our predecessors had raised to his proper station hâve been numerous and degrading enough. This is not the place to enter into the subject, even as far as it affects our poetical numhers alone, and there is matter of more importance that requires présent reflection. »

The second is from the volume of a young person learning to Write poetry, and beginning by teaching the art. Hear him :

« Bot ye were dead Tu ^hings ye knew not of — were closely wed To musty laws lined oui with wretched rule And compass vile; so that ye taught a schooi Of doits to smooth, inlay, and chip and fit^ Till, like the certain wands of Jacob's wit, Their verses tallied, Easy wa^ the tasf; :

A thousaud hapdicraftsme^ vyore the mask

Of poesy. lU-fated, impious race,

That blasphemed the bright lyrist to his face,

And did nol know it; no, they went about

Holding a poor décrépit standard out

Mark'd with most flinisy mpltos, and in large

The name pf one Boileau ! tu

A liltle befere, the manner of Pope is termed,

< Ascismj Nuptured by foppery and barbarism, Made great ApjUo blush for this his land. »

I thought « foppery » was a conséquence of refinement ; but n'importe.

The above will suffice to show the notions entertained by the new performers on the English lyre of him who made it most tuneable, and the great improvements of their own a variazioni. »

The writer of this is a tadpole of the Lajtes, a young disciple of the six or seven new schools, in which he bas learnt to Write such lines and such sentiments as the above. He says « easy was the task » of imitating Pope, or it may be of equalling him, I présume. I recpmmend him to try before he is so positive on the subject, and them compare what he will bave then written and what he bas now written with the humblest and earliest compositions of Pope, produced in years still more youthful than those of Mr. Kea^s when he invented his new « Essay on Criticism, » entitled « Sleep and Poetry » (an ominous title), from whence the above canons are taken. Pope's was written at nineteen, and published at twenty-two.

Such are the triumphs of the new schools, and such their scholars. The disciples of Pope were Johnson, Golds-

mith, Rogers, Campbell, Crabbe, Gifford, Matthias, Hayley, and the authorv of the|Paradise of Coquettes; to whom may be added Richards, Heber, Wrangham, Bland, Hodgson, Merivale, and others who bave not had their fuli famé, because « the race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, » and because there is a fortune in famé as in ail other things, Now, of ail the new schools — I say ail for, a like Légion, they are many » — bas there appeared a single scholar who bas not ma de bis ipaster ashamed of him? unless it be 3otheby, who bas imitated everybody, and occasionally surpassed bis models . Scott found peculiar favour and imitation among the fair sei : there was Miss Holford and Miss Mitford, and Miss Francis; but, with the greatest respect be it spoken, none of bis imitators did much honour to the original, except Hogg, the Ettrick shepherd, until the appearance of « The Bridai of Triermain. » and « Harold the Dauntless , » which in the opinion of sonie equalledif not surpassed him; and lo! after three or four years they turned out to be the Master's own compositions. Hâve Southey, or Coleridge or 'tother fellow, made a follower of renownî Wilson never did well till be set up for himself in the « City of the Plague. » Has Moore, or any other living writer of réputation, had a tolerable imitaior, or rather disciple? Now, it is remarkable, that almost ail the foUowers of Pope, whom I hâve named, hâve produced beautiful and standard works; and it was not the number of his imitators who finally hurt his famé, but the despair of imitation, and the ease of not imitating him sufficiently. This, and the same reason which induced the Athenian burgher to vote for the banishment of Aristides, « because he was tired of always hearing him called the

Just, )> hâve produced the temporary exile of Pope from the State of literature. But the term of his ostracism will expire, and the sooner the better, not for him, but for those who banished him, and for the coming génération, who

Will blush to find their fathers were his focs. •

I will now return to the writer of the article which has drawn forth thèse remarks, whom I honestly tàke to be John Wilson, a man of great powers and acquirements, well known to the public as the author of the « City of the Plague, » « Isle of Faims, » and other productions. I takethe liberty of naming him, by the same species of courtesy which has induced him to designate me as the author of Don Juan. Upon the score of the Lake Poets, he may perhaps recall to mind that I merely express an opinion long ago entertained and specified in a letter to Mr. James Hogg, which he the said James Hogg, somewhat contrary to the law of pens, showed to Mr. John Wilson, in the year 1814, as he himself informed me in his answer, telling me by way of apology that « he'd be d-d if he could help it ; » and I am not conscious of any thing like a envy » or « exacerbation » at this moment which induces me to think better or worse of Southey, Wordsworth, andColeridge as poets than I do now, although I do know one or two things more which hâve, added to my contempt for them as individuals.

And in return for Mr. Wilson's invective, I shall content myself with asking one question : Did he neyer compose, recite, or sing any parody or parodies upon the Fsalms (of what nature this déponent saith not), in certain jovial meetings of the youth of Edinburgh? li is not that I think any great harm if he did; because it seems to me that ail

dépends upon the intention of such a parody. If it be meant to throw ridicule on the sacred original, it is a sin; if it be intended to burlesque the profane subject, or to incukate a moral truth, it is none.

If it were, the Unbelievers creed, the many political parodies of various part of the Scriptures and liturgy, particularly a celebrated one of the Lord's Prayer, and the beautiful moral parable in favour of toleration by Francklin, which has often been taken for a real extract from Genesis, would ail be sins of a damning nature. But I wish to know if Mr. Wilson ever has done this, and if he kas, why he should be so very angry with similar portions of Don Juan? — Did no « parody profane » appear in any of the earlier numbers of Blackwood 's magazine?

I will now conclu de this long answer to a short article, repenting of having said so much in my own defence, and so little on the « crying left-hand fallings off and national défection » of the poetry of the présent day. Having said this, I can hardly be expected to défend Don Juan, or any other « living » poetry, and shall not make the attempt. And although I do not think that Mr. John Wilson has in this instance treated me with candour or considération, I trust that the tone I hâve used in speaking of him personally will provc ihat I bear him as little malice as I really believe at the bottom ofhis heart he bears towards me ; but the duties of an editor, like those of a tax-gatherer, are paramount and peremptory. I hâve done.

Btron.

OBSERVATIONS SUR LE REFUS D ADMETTRE LORD BYRON DANS l'abbaye DE WESTMINSTER (1844)

Lord Byron est mort à Missolonghi, dans la Grèce occidentale, le 19 avril 1824. Ses restes ont été rapportés à Londres au mois de juillet suivant; et le bruit courut alors qu'une demande formelle avait été adressée au doyen et au chapitre de Westminster par ses exécuteurs testamentaires afin d'obtenir la permission de l'enterrer à Westminster, dans le coin des poètes. Mais aucune demande de ce genre n'avait été faite. On s'informa, il est vrai, au docteur Ireland, doyen de Westminster, mais sans instructions des exécuteurs testamentaires, si, la permission étant demandée, elle serait accordée, et la réponse fût négative. Lord Byron a été enterré, comme chacun sait, dans l'église de Hucknall, près de Nevirstead-Abbey, comté de Nottingham, dans le même caveau que sa mère et d'autres membres de sa famille, et aucune tentative n'a été faite pour retirer le corps de cet humble lieu de repos.

Peu après sa mort, un des exécuteurs testamentaires s'adressa à quelques-uns de ses amis et à d'autres personnes qui consentirent à souscrire et à se réunir en comité pour élever une statue à sa mémoire. Mais un certain temps s'écoula avant que la souscription fût publiquement anno^'

et ce fut en 1828 seulement que le comité s'occupa activement de la faire marcher. La somme souscrite était trop faible pour s'assurer le concours d'un artiste anglais de quelque talent; mais M. Thorwaldsen ayant offert de se charger Îu travail pour mille livres sterling, le comité accepta la roposition généreuse de l'illustre sculpteur. Ceci se passait à la fin de 1829; mais la statue ne partit pour l'Angleterre et n'arriva à Londres qu'en 1834.

En décembre de cette année, le comité se réunit pour examiner le lieu où il conviendrait de placer la statue, et résolut de demander la permission de la placer dans l'abbaye de Westminster. En conséquence, le secrétaire du comité, feù M. Murray, adressa la lettre suivante au docteur Ireland :

I Âlbemarle street, 9 décembre 1834,

» Mon cher monsieur,

» Conformément à la résolution ci-jointe du comité de souscription au monument de Lord Byron, qui s'est réuni hier chez moi, et dont je suis le secrétaire, je prends la liberté de yous demander à quelles conditions la statue, aujourd'hui achevée, pourrait être placée dans un endroit convenable de l'abbaye de Westminster. Je joins également ici la liste des souscripteurs.

« Je suis, etc.

» John Murray. »

» Au doyen de Westminster, »

Le doyen lui adressa cette réponse :

« Doyenné de Westminster, 17 décembre 1834.

» Cher monsieur, )) Je n'ai pas trouvé l'occasion avant ce matin de consulter

le chapitre au sujet de votre lettre. Quand vous vous êtes adressé précédemment à moi pour obtenir la permission d'enterrer Lord Byron dans Tabbaye, je vous ai fait connaître les raisons qui nous obligeaient, comme ecclésiastiques, de refuser cette demande. L'érection d'un monument à sa mémoire, que vous sollicitez maintenant, est, toute proportion gardée, sujette aux mêmes objections. Je désirerais vivement avoir pour notre abbaye un ouvrage de Thorwaldsen ; mais un devoir ne saurait être sacrifié à un goût.

» Présentez mes respectueux compliments au comité et

croyez-moi votre dévoué,

» John Ireland. »

Cette lettre fut transmise à Sir John HobhousjJ qui avait été nommé président permanent du sous-comité avec pouvoir d'agir de la manière qu'il jugerait la plus propre à remplir les intentions des souscripteurs, à savoir, de faire placer la statue dans l'abbaye de Westminster. Persuadé que telles étaient les intentions du comité et des souscripteurs et qu'il devait persévérer dans ses efforts pour atteindre ce but, sir John Hobhouse résolut d'attendre le moment oii il pourrait s'adresser aux autorités compétentes avec de meilleures chances de succès. Le docteur Ireland a vécu plus qu'une vie d'homme ordinaire. Il n'est mort qu'en septembre 1842. Il se passa donc plusieurs années avant qu'il fût possible de faire une nouvelle démarche, et dans cet intervalle de nombreuses plaintes s'élevèrent contre l'apparente négligence qui avait fait laisser la statue du grand poète en consignation dans les magasins de la douane. Mais la raison de ces délais était évidente pour ceux qui étaient instruits des faits, et ce ne fut qu'à l'avènement d'un nouveau doyen que les

Lord Byron purent songer à renouveler leur tentative de faire placer la statue dans l'abbaye. A partir de ce moment, on s'occupa de s'assurer si une nouvelle demande serait favorablement accueillie, et le résultat de ces informations fut communiqué à une assemblée de souscripteurs qui eut lieu le 29 juillet 1844. La communication faite à l'assemblée lui donna la conviction qu'une nouvelle demande adressée au doyen et au chapitre éprouverait un nouveau refus ^ , et il fut décidé en conséquence qu'elle n'aurait pas lieu.

Le fils accompli d'un père accompli a proposé dernièrement^, d'exclure de l'abbaye tous les monuments qui n'auraient pas un caractère purement ecclésiastique, et de les placer dans un édifice spécialement consacré à la mémoire des hommes éminents. Mais on peut objecter que les personnages qui ne sont pas dignes d'être offerts à l'estime publique dans une église ne sont pas dignes d'obtenir cette distinction ailleurs. Si c'est l'exemple qui peut devenir pernicieux, l'effet sera également produit, que le monument soit placé dans une galerie publique ou dans une église ; et il est difficile de concevoir quelle autre crainte que celle du mauvais exemple peut faire désirer aux autorités ecclésiastiques cette exclusion. Elles n'ont ni assez le goût de la vengeance pour aspirer à punir, — à punir les vivants pour les offenses des morts, ni assez de présomption pour penser que le seul désir d'obtenir une niche dans l'abbaye de Westminster rendra un écrivain plus circonspect.

J'ajoute que, tant que le projet de M. Westmacott ne sera pas adopté, une tombe dans l'abbaye de Westminster conti-

1 . Sir John Hobhouse sonda sir Robert Peel à ce sujet, et il reçut une réponse dans le sens qui vient d'être dit.

2, M. Weslmacott n'a pas publié sa brochure.

nuera d'être une marque de distinction, et que la récente admission de Campbell et du traducteur du Dante enlève à Texclusion de Lord Byron Texcuse suggérée par M. Westmacott.

On sait que le doyen et le chapitre peuvent à cet égard agir comme il leur plaît; mais il doit être encore permis d'examiner la valeur de l'objection qui, à ce qu'il semble, a fait exclure jusqu'à présent de l'abbaye et fera^probablement exclure dans l'avenir la statue de Lord Byron. Comme on Ta vu, le docteur Ireland n'a pas donné par écrit les raisons de son refus, mais il s'est référé à des conversations antérieures entre lui et M. Murray, conversations qui n'ont jamais été rapportées au comité. Ces raisons, toutefois, étaient bien connues, et, si quelque doute avait pu exister quant à leur nature, le discours dernièrement prononcé par l'évêque de Londres, à la Chambre des Lords, l'aurait dissipé. Nous donnons ci-dessous ce discours tel que le Times et le Chronicle l'opt rapporté*; et en résumé, les assertions et la con-

l, L'évêque de Londres « espérait que le doyen et le chapitre ne permettraient jamais qu'un tel monument parût dans l'abbaye. La justice envers le doyen et le chapitre l'obligeait à exprimer son approbation de leur conduite. Le doyen et le chapitre avaient à se préoccuper d'intérêts plus prochains et plus élevés que le goût national, d'intérêts liés à la religion nationale. Si Lord Byron a, dans ses ouvrages, attaqué le fondateur de notre religion, si, par la beauté de sa poésie, il a été l'un des plus dangereux conseillers de la jeunesse, sa statue ne mérite pas une place dans le temple de notre Dieu. Il lui était pénible de le dire ; mais il pouvait citer dans les œuvres de Lord Byron des passages qui lui ôtaient le droit d'avoir une statue dans ce lieu sacré. Son noble et savant ami (Lord Brougham) pensait que le génie donnait droit à Lord Byron d'avoir une statue dans l'abbaye ; mais, quoiqu'il ait été un grand poëte, placer sa statue à Westminster serait

clusion de l'évêque ont été que Lord Byron ayant été un écrivain contraire au christianisme n'était pas digne d'avoir un monument dans une église chrétienne. Telle est, dit

d'un exemple injurieux à notre religion. Il était impossible de comparer Lord Byron et Shakespeare. Au nom de l'Église, il exprimait au doyen et au chapitre son entière et cordiale approbation de leur refus, et il espérait qu'ils y persisteraient. Ce n'était pas le génie et le talent qu'on refusait d'admettre ; mais le devoir du doyen ettlu chapitre, comme fonctionnaires de l'Église établie et obligés de protéger la religion établie, était de ne pas accorder une distinction qui s'accordait à des chrétiens morts, à un ennemi du christianisme. » — (Times, samedi 15 juin).

Le Chronicle rapporta le discours de la manière suivante :

L'évêque de Londres : « En toute justice et sincérité, il devait exprimer son approbation de la conduite du doyen et du chapitre. Ils ont compris qu'il y avait ici en jeu un intérêt plus élevé que le goût national; ils ont compris que la religion nationale était en jeu. Ils n'ont pas procédé à une enquête captieuse sur la religion de Lord Byron ; ils s'en sont rapporté aux témoignages que le noble Lord a consignés dans ses ouvrages, destinés à saper les fondements de toute religion par ces sophismes propres à égarer le jugement des personnes qui n'en sont pas à l'épreuve. Un des plus grands ennemis de la religion a été le savant historien de VEmpire Romain, mais les insinuations de Lord Byron ne sont pas moins dangereuses et lui ôtent toute qualité pour avoir une place dans le temple de Dieu. Peut-on blâmer les autorités de Westminster d'avoir refusé d'admettre dans le sanctuaire un homme qui a passé sa vie à réprouver la religion? Il était sûr que le noble et savant Lord, quand il réclamait le droit de placer la statue dans la maison de prière, ne trouvait pas à Byj'on le même droit qu'aux amis de la religion et des vertus publiques, qui, dans leurs écrits, n'avaient jamais laissé échapper une phrase contraire à la religion. Il était sûr que le noble Lord ne le mettait pas sur la même ligne que Miltonet que Shakespeare. Il exprimait de nouveau son approbation du refus fait

l'évêque, pour être sincère et juste envers les autorités ecclésiastiques, la raison qu'elles avaient à donner pour l'exclusion. Nous verrons tout à l'heure ce qu'il faut penser de la sincérité de l'évêque. Poussé un peu plus loin, ce sentiment, quelque nom qu'on veuille lui donner, irait jusqu'à refuser au poëte la sépulture chrétienne. Nous savons qu'un zèle assez semblable à celui de l'évêque a fait refuser la sépulture chrétienne aux maîtres de cet art auquel la poésie doit sa plus grande popularité et son plus grand attrait. Les raisons données par le clergé de Paris pour fermer la porte de ses églises aux artistes dramatiques sont fondées sur le caractère profane de leur profession. Mais il faut avouer que jusqu'ici le clergé de Westminster a été plus tolérant à cet égard que ses confrères de France. Les restes de madame Oldfield ont été traités avec plus de respect que ceux de mademoiselle Lecouvreur. Cette célèbre actrice anglaise est morte le 23 octobre 1730. « Le corps, élégamment vêtu, a été porté, le mardi suivant, de sa maison, rue de Grosvenor, à la chambre de Jérusalem pour y être exposé, et le soir, vers onze heures, il a été conduit à l'abbaye, les coins du poêle étant portés par lord Delaware, lord Hervey, le très-honorable G. B. Doddington, Charles Hedges, Esq., Walter Carey, Esq., et le capitaine Elliot; son fils aîné, Arthur

par le doyen et le chapitre ; il espérait qu'ils y persisteraient, et qu'ils n'admettraient jamais dans le sanctuaire la statue de cet homme éminent. II ne mettait pas ici en question son génie de poëte ou ses talents ; il exprimait simplement ce sentiment qu'exerçant de hautes fonctions dans l'Église établie, ils ne devaient pas concourir à accorder les plus grands honneurs qu'on pût décerner à un chrétien après sa mort, à un homme qui avait été si loin d'être chrétien. »

Mainwaring, conduisant le deuil, et le service étant célébré par le plus ancien chanoine alors résidant. )> Tel est .le récit qui nous est fait des funérailles de madame Oldfield *, Et qui conduisait le deuil? Son fils naturel ; qui portait les coins du poêle ? ses amants, probablement ; car cette actrice admirable et cette femme si bienveillante en avait eu plusieurs.

En fait, et en supposant même que l'assertion de Tévêque de Londres en ce qui regarde Lord Byron fût fondée (ce qu'on peut nier avec assurance), sa seigneurie, si elle réussissait dans sa récente tentative, établirait une règle nouvelle. Car, à regard de nos auteurs célèbres, on ne s'est jamais préoccupé jusqu'ici, pour juger leurs titres aux honneurs d'une sépulture et d'un monument à Westminster, de la tendance générale de leurs écrits, pas plus qu'on ne s'est enquis de la moralité privée de nos grands hommes d'État ou de guerre avant de les enterrer à Westminster ou à Saint-Paul. Les monuments de Westminster même sont là pour le prouver. Prenez ceux des auteurs qui se voient dans la partie proprement appelée le coin des poètes, distinct des tombes du transept sud. Ce sont les monuments de Dryden, de Spenser, de Ben Jonson, de Drayton, Butler, Milton et Gray, Mason, Shadwell, Prior, Phillips, Saint-Evremond et Anstey. De ces auteurs, la moitié au moins a écrit des ouvrages qu'aucune personne prudente ne mettrait entre les mains d'un jeune homme. Mais auquel a-t-on refusé une place à cause de la tendance de ses écrits ? A un seul, à Milton. Son nom, pendant plus de cinquante ans après sa mort, a été exclu de l'abbaye; et le docteur Johnson nous raconte à ce sujet une singulière his-