The Works of Lord Byron: Letters and Journals Volume II Part 18

'The _worst_ good man with the _best_ natured Muse.'

His Muse being all Sentiment and Sago and Sugar, while he himself is a venomous talker. I say 'worst good man' because he is (perhaps) a 'good' man; at least he does good now and then, as well he may, to purchase himself a s.h.i.+lling's worth of salvation for his slanders.

They are so 'little', too--small talk--and old Womanny, and he is malignant too--and envious--and--he be d.a.m.ned!"

In a ma.n.u.script note to these pa.s.sages Sir Walter Scott writes,

"I never heard Rogers say a single word against Byron, which is rather odd too. Byron wrote a bitter and undeserved satire on Rogers. This conduct must have been motived by something or other."

Speaking of Rogers and Sheridan, he says,

"He certainly took pennyworths out of his friend's character. I sat three hours for my picture to Sir Thomas Lawrence, during which the whole conversation was filled up by Rogers with stories of Sheridan, for the least of which, if true, he deserved the gallows. One respected his committing a rape on his sister-in-law on the day of her husband's funeral. Others were worse."

In politics Rogers was a Whig, in religion a Presbyterian. But he meddled little with either. In private life he was as kindly in action as he was caustic in speech. A sensitive man himself, he studied to be satirical to others. When Ward condemned 'Columbus'

in the 'Quarterly Review', Rogers repaid his critic in the stinging epigram:

"Ward has no heart, they say; but I deny it; He has a heart, and gets his speeches by it."

Byron warmly admired Rogers's poetry. To him he dedicated 'The Giaour', in

"admiration for his genius, respect for his character, and grat.i.tude for his friends.h.i.+p."

The 'Quarterly Review', in an article on 'The Corsair' and 'Lara', mentions

"the highly refined, but somewhat insipid, pastoral tale of 'Jacqueline'."

Byron, on reading the review, said to Lady Byron,

"The man's a fool. 'Jacqueline' is as superior to 'Lara' as Rogers is to me"

('Table-Talk of Samuel Rogers', p. 154, 'note').

"The 'Pleasures of Memory'," he said (Lady Blessington's 'Conversations', p. 153), "is a very beautiful poem, harmonious, finished, and chaste; it contains not a single meretricious ornament.

If Rogers has not fixed himself in the higher fields of Parna.s.sus, he has, at least, cultivated a very pretty flower-garden at its base."

But he goes on to speak of the poem (p. 354) as "a 'hortus siccus' of pretty flowers," and an ill.u.s.tration of "the difference between inspiration and versification."

If Rogers ever saw Byron's 'Question and Answer' (1818), he was generous enough to forget the satire. In 'Italy' he paid a n.o.ble tribute to the genius of the dead poet:

"He is now at rest; And praise and blame fall on his ear alike, Now dull in death. Yes, Byron, thou art gone, Gone like a star that through the firmament Shot and was lost, in its eccentric course Dazzling, perplexing. Yet thy heart, methinks, Was generous, n.o.ble--n.o.ble in its scorn Of all things low or little; nothing there Sordid or servile. If imagined wrongs Pursued thee, urging thee sometimes to do Things long regretted, oft, as many know, None more than I, thy grat.i.tude would build On slight foundations; and, if in thy life Not happy, in thy death thou surely wert, Thy wish accomplished; dying in the land Where thy young mind had caught ethereal fire, Dying in Greece, and in a cause so glorious!

They in thy train--ah, little did they think, As round we went, that they so soon should sit Mourning beside thee, while a Nation mourned, Changing her festal for her funeral song; That they so soon should hear the minute-gun, As morning gleamed on what remained of thee, Roll o'er the sea, the mountains, numbering Thy years of joy and sorrow.

Thou art gone; And he who would a.s.sail thee in thy grave, Oh, let him pause! For who among us all, Tried as thou wert--even from thy earliest years, When wandering, yet unspoilt, a Highland boy-- Tried as thou wert, and with thy soul of flame; Pleasure, while yet the down was on thy cheek, Uplifting, pressing, and to lips like thine, Her charmed cup--ah, who among us all Could say he had not erred as much, and more?"]

208.--To Francis Hodgson.

8, St. James's Street, November 17, 1811.

Dear Hodgson,--I have been waiting for the letter [1] which was to have been sent by you _immediately_, and must again jog your memory on the subject. I believe I wrote you a full and true account of poor--'s proceedings. Since his reunion to--, [2] I have heard nothing further from him. What a pity! a man of talent, past the heyday of life, and a clergyman, to fall into such imbecility. I have heard from Hobhouse, who has at last sent more copy to Cawthorn for his _Travels_. I franked an enormous cover for you yesterday, seemingly to convey at least twelve cantos on any given subject. I fear the I aspect of it was too _epic_ for the post. From this and other coincidences I augur a publication on your part, but what, or when, or how much, you must disclose immediately.

I don't know what to say about coming down to Cambridge at present, but live in hopes. I am so completely superannuated there, and besides feel it something brazen in me to wear my magisterial habit, after all my buffooneries, that I hardly think I shall venture again. And being now an [Greek: ariston men hydor] disciple I won't come within wine-shot of such determined topers as your collegiates. I have not yet subscribed to Bowen. I mean to cut Harrow "_enim unquam_" as somebody cla.s.sically said for a farewell sentence. I am superannuated there too, and, in short, as old at twenty-three as many men at seventy.

Do write and send this letter that hath been so long in your custody. It is important that Moore should be certain that I never received it, if it be _his_. Are you drowned in a bottle of Port? or a Kilderkin of Ale?

that I have never heard from you, or are you fallen into a fit of perplexity? Cawthorn has declined, and the MS. is returned to him. This is all at present from yours in the faith,

[Greek: Mpairon].

[Footnote 1: On November 17, 1811, Hodgson writes to Byron:

"I enclose you the long-delayed letter, which, from the similarity of hands alone, Davies and I will go shares in a bet of ten to one is the cartel in question."]

[Footnote 2: The names are carefully erased by Hodgson.]

209.--To Francis Hodgson.

8, St. James's Street, December 4, 1811.

MY DEAR HODGSON,--I have seen Miller, [1]

who will see Bland, [2] but I have no great hopes of his obtaining the translation from the crowd of candidates. Yesterday I wrote to Harness, who will probably tell you what I said on the subject. Hobhouse has sent me my Romaic MS., and I shall require your aid in correcting the press, as your Greek eye is more correct than mine. But these will not come to type this month, I dare say. I have put some soft lines on ye Scotch in the 'Curse of Minerva'; take them;

"Yet Caledonia claims some native worth," etc. [3]

If you are not content now, I must say with the Irish drummer to the deserter who called out,

"Flog high, flog low"