My Recollections of Lord Byron Part 38

And then he adds, nevertheless, that into whatsoever error Lord Byron fell, whatsoever his sin (on account of the beginning of "Don Juan"), he did not long continue to mix his pure gold with base metal, but ceased to sully his lyre by degrees as he progressed with the poem.

Whether Dallas be right or not in speaking thus of "Don Juan," we do not wish here to examine. In quoting his words, my sole desire is to declare that, until the appearance of this poem, Lord Byron's muse had been, even for a Dallas, the _chaste muse of Albion_. This avowal from such a man is worthy of note, and renders unnecessary any other quotation.

We must not, however, pa.s.s over in silence Mr. Galt's very remarkable opinion on this subject:--

"Certainly," says he, "there are some very fine compositions on love in Lord Byron's works, but there is not a _single line_ among the thousand he wrote which shows a _s.e.xual_ sentiment. With him, all breathes the _purest_ voluptuousness. All is vague as regards love, and _without material pa.s.sion_, except in the delicious rhythm of his verses."

And elsewhere he says:--

"It is most singular that, with all his tender, pa.s.sionate apostrophes to love, Lord Byron _should not once have a.s.sociated it with sensual images_. Not even in 'Don Juan,' where he has described voluptuous beauties with so much elegance."

Then, quoting from "Hebrew Melodies,"----

SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY.

She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impair'd the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!

"Behold in these charming lines," continues Galt, "a perfect sample of his _ethereal admiration_, his _immaterial_ enthusiasm.

"The sentiment contained in this fine poetry," says he, "beyond all doubt belongs to the highest order of intellectual beauty;" and it seemed proved to him that love, in Lord Byron, was rather a metaphysical conception than a sensual pa.s.sion. He remarked that even when Lord Byron recalls the precocious feelings of his childhood toward his little cousins--feelings so strong as to make him lose sleep, appet.i.te, peace; when he describes them, still unable to explain them--we feel that they were pa.s.sions much more ethereal with him than with children in general.

"It should be duly remarked," says Galt, "that there is not a single circ.u.mstance in his souvenirs which shows, despite the strength of their natural sympathy, the smallest influence of any particular attraction.

He recollects well the color of her hair, the shade of her eyes, even the dress she wore, but he remembers his little Mary as if she were a Peri, a pure spirit; and it does not appear that his torments and his wakefulness haunted with the thought of his little cousin, were in any way produced by jealousy, or doubt, or fears, or any other consequence of pa.s.sion."

And when Galt speaks of "Ta.s.so's Lament," he expresses the same opinion, namely, that in his writings Lord Byron treats of love as of a metaphysical conception, and that the fine verses he has put into the mouth of Ta.s.so would still better become himself:--

"It is no marvel--from my very birth My soul was drunk with love, which did pervade And mingle with whate'er I saw on earth: Of objects all inanimate I made Idols, and out of wild and lonely flowers, And rocks, whereby they grew, a Paradise, Where I did lay me down within the shade Of waving trees, and dream'd uncounted hours."

"The truth is," adds Galt, by way of conclusion, "that no poet has ever described love better than Lord Byron in that particular _ethereal_ shade:----

"'His love was pa.s.sion's essence:--as a tree On fire by lightning, with ethereal flame Kindled he was, and blasted; for to be Thus, and enamor'd, were in him the same.

But his was not the love of living dame, Nor of the dead who rise upon our dreams, But of ideal beauty, which became In him existence, and o'erflowing teems Along his burning page, distemper'd though it seems.'"

"_Childe Harold_," canto iii. stanza 78.

And even if it should be denied that love, in Lord Byron's writings, as indeed in himself, was purely metaphysical, it must, at least, be acknowledged that it was chaste. This would be more easily recognizable if the letters dictated by his heart, if his _love-letters,_ were known.

But since we can not open these intimate treasures of his heart to the public, we will speak of those given us in his writings, and we will thence draw our conclusions: firstly, in regard to the characters he gives to all his heroines; secondly, as to the pictures he makes of love in pa.s.sages where he speaks seriously, and in his own name.

LORD BYRON'S FEMALE CHARACTERS.

What poet of energy has ever painted woman more chaste, more gentle and sweet, than Lord Byron?

"One of the distinguis.h.i.+ng excellences of Lord Byron," says one of his best critics, "is that which may be found in all his productions, whether romantic, cla.s.sical, or fantastical, an intense sentiment of the loveliness of woman, and the faculty, not only of drawing individual forms, but likewise of infusing into the very atmosphere surrounding them, the essence of beauty and love. A soft roseate hue, that seems to penetrate down to the bottom of the soul, is spread over them."

More than any other genius, Lord Byron had the magic power of conjuring up before our imagination the ideal image of his subject. He was not at all perplexed how to clothe his ideas. That quality, so sought after by other writers, and so necessary for hiding faults, was quite natural to him. When he describes women, a few rapid strokes suffice to engrave an indelible image on the mind of the reader. Let us take for examples:----

Leila, in the "Giaour."

Zuleika, in the "Bride of Abydos."

Medora, in the "Corsair."

Theresa, in "Mazeppa."

Haidee, in "Don Juan."

Adah, in "Cain."

The gentle Medora, ensconced within the solitary tower where she awaits her Conrad, is fully portrayed in the melancholy song stealing on the strings of her guitar, and in the tender, chaste words with which she greets her lover.

Zuleika, the lovely, innocent, and pure bride of Selim, has her image graven in the following fine lines:--

"Fair, as the first that fell of womankind, When on that dread yet lovely serpent smiling, Whose image then was stamp'd upon her mind-- But once beguiled--and evermore beguiling; Dazzling, as that, oh! too transcendent vision To Sorrow's phantom-peopled slumber given, When heart meets heart again in dreams Elysian, And paints the lost on Earth revived in Heaven; Soft as the memory of buried love; Pure, as the prayer which Childhood wafts above, Was she--the daughter of that rude old Chief, Who met the maid with tears--but not of grief.

"Who hath not proved how freely words essay To fix one spark of Beauty's heavenly ray?

Who doth not feel, until his failing sight Faints into dimness with its own delight, His changing cheek, his sinking heart confess The might, the majesty of Loveliness?

Such was Zuleika, such around her shone The nameless charms unmark'd by her alone-- The light of love, the purity of grace, The mind, the Music breathing from her face, The heart whose softness harmonized the whole, And, oh! that eye was in itself a Soul!

Her graceful arms in meekness bending Across her gently-budding breast; At one kind word those arms extending To clasp the neck of him who blest His child, caressing and carest."[48]

THERESA.

Theresa's form-- Methinks it glides before me now, Between me and yon chestnut's bough, The memory is so quick and warm; And yet I find no words to tell The shape of her I loved so well; She had the Asiatic eye, Such as our Turkish neighborhood Hath mingled with our Polish blood, Dark as above us is the sky; But through it stole a tender light, Like the first moonrise of midnight; Large, dark, and swimming in the stream, Which seem'd to melt to its own beam; All love, half languor, and half fire, Like saints that at the stake expire, And lift their raptured looks on high, As though it were a joy to die.

A brow like a midsummer lake, Transparent with the sun therein When waves no murmur dare to make, And heaven beholds her face within.

A cheek and lip--but why proceed?

I loved her then, I love her still; And such as I am, love indeed In fierce extremes--in good and ill.

LEILA.

Her eye's dark charm 'twere vain to tell, But gaze on that of the Gazelle, It will a.s.sist thy fancy well; As large, as languis.h.i.+ngly dark, But Soul beam'd forth in every spark That darted from beneath the lid, Bright as the jewel of Giamschid.

Yea, _Soul_, and should our Prophet say That form was naught but breathing clay, By Allah! I would answer nay; Though on Al-Sirat's arch I stood, Which totters o'er the fiery flood, With Paradise within my view, And all his Houris beckoning through.

Oh! who young Leila's glance could read And keep that portion of his creed Which saith that woman is but dust, A soulless toy for tyrant's l.u.s.t?

On her might Muftis gaze, and own That through her eye the Immortal shone; On her fair cheek's unfading hue The young pomegranate's blossoms strew Their bloom in blushes ever new; Her hair in hyacinthine flow, When left to roll its folds below, As midst her handmaids in the hall She stood superior to them all, Hath swept the marble where her feet Gleam'd whiter than the mountain sleet Ere from the cloud that gave it birth It fell, and caught one stain of earth.

The cygnet n.o.bly walks the water; So moved on earth Circa.s.sia's daughter-- The loveliest bird of Franguestan!

As rears her crest the ruffled Swan, And spurns the waves with wings of pride, When pa.s.s the steps of stranger man Along the banks that bound her tide; Thus rose fair Leila's whiter neck:-- Thus arm'd with beauty would she check Intrusion's glance, till Folly's gaze Shrunk from the charms it meant to praise.

Thus high and graceful was her gait; Her heart as tender to her mate; Her mate--stern Ha.s.san, who was he?

Alas! that name was not for thee!

ADAH.

Adah is the wife of Cain. It is especially as the drama develops itself that Lord Byron brings out the full charm of Adah's beautiful nature--a nature at once primitive, tender, generous, and Biblical.

CAIN.

_Lucifer._ Approach the things of earth most beautiful, And judge their beauty near.