["I liked the Dandies: they were always very civil to me; though, in general, they disliked literary people, and persecuted and mystified Madame de Stael, Lewis, Horace Twiss, and the like. The truth is, that though I gave up the business early, I had a tinge of Dandyism in my minority, and probably retained enough of it to conciliate the great ones at four and twenty."- Byron Diary, 1821.] 2 ["When Brummell was obliged to retire to France, he knew no French, and having obtained a grammar for the purpose of study, our friend Scrope Davies was asked what progress Brummell had made in French: he responded, ' that Brummell had been stopped, like Buonaparte in Russia, by the elements. I have put this pun into Beppo, which is a fair This story slips for ever through my fingers, Because, just as the stanza likes to make it, It needs must be and so it rather lingers; This form of verse began, I can't well break it, But must keep time and tune like public singers; But if I once get through my present measure, I'll take another when I'm next at leisure. LXIV. They went to the Ridotto ('t is a place To which I mean to go myself to-morrow, 4 Just to divert my thoughts a little space, Because I'm rather hippish, and may borrow Some spirits, guessing at what kind of face May lurk beneath each mask; and as my sorrow Slackens its pace sometimes, I'll make, or find, Something shall leave it half an hour behind.) exchange and no robbery;' for Scrope made his fortune at several dinners (as he owned himself), by repeating occasionally, as his own, some of the buffooneries with which I had encountered him in the morning."- Byron Diary 1821.] ["Like Sylla, I have always believed that all things depend upon Fortune, and nothing upon ourselves. I am not aware of any one thought or action, worthy of being called good to myself or others, which is not to be attributed to the good goddess-Fortune !"-Byron Diary, 1821.] [In the margin of the original MS. Lord Byron has written January 19th, 1818. To-morrow will be a Sunday, and full Ridotto."] LXIX. While Laura thus was seen and seeing, smiling, LXX. He was a Turk, the colour of mahogany; And Laura saw him, and at first was glad, Poor woman, whom they purchase like a pad : LXXI. They lock them up, and veil, and guard them daily, So that their moments do not pass so gaily As is supposed the case with northern nations; LXXII. They cannot read, and so don't lisp in criticism; Have no romances, sermons, plays, reviews, In harams learning soon would make a pretty schism! LXXIII. No solemn, antique gentleman of rhyme, Who having angled all his life for fame, Still fussily keeps fishing on, the same Of female wits, boy bards — in short, a fool! LXXIV. A stalking oracle of awful phrase, LXXVI. Of these same we see several, and of others, LXXVII. The poor dear Mussulwomen whom I mention I think 't would almost be worth while to pension Our Christian usage of the parts of speech. LXXVIII. No chemistry for them unfolds her gasses, Religious novels, moral tales, and strictures No exhibition glares with annual pictures; Why I thank God for that is no great matter, I fear I have a little turn for satire, And yet methinks the older that one grows Inclines us more to laugh than scold, though laughter Leaves us so doubly serious shortly after. Our Laura's Turk still kept his eyes upon her, The approving" Good!" (by no means GOOD in law) Could staring win a woman, this had won her, The bluest of bluebottles you e'er saw, LXXV. One hates an author that's all author, fellows Of coxcombry's worst coxcombs e'en the pink These unquench'd snuffings of the midnight taper. But Laura could not thus be led astray; LXXXII. The morning now was on the point of breaking, [Nothing can be cleverer than this caustic little diatribe, introduced a propos of the life of Turkish ladies in their harams. JEFFREY.] LXXXIII To see what lady best stood out the season; The name of this Aurora I'll not mention, Although I might, for she was nought to me Laura, who knew it would not do at all To meet the daylight after seven hours' sitting Among three thousand people at a ball, To make her curtsy thought it right and fitting: The Count was at her elbow with her shawl, And they the room were on the point of quitting, When lo those cursed gondoliers had got Just in the very place where they should not. LXXXVI. In this they're like our coachmen, and the cause They make a never intermitting bawling. The Count and Laura found their boat at last, The dancers and their dresses, too, beside; (As to their palace stairs the rowers glide) "Sir," said the Count, with brow exceeding grave, "Your unexpected presence here will make It necessary for myself to crave "You ask me," says Lord Byron, in a letter written in 1820, for a volume of Manners, &c. on Italy. Perhaps I am in the case to know more of them than most Englishmen, because I have lived among the natives, and in parts of the country where Englishmen never resided before (I speak of Romagna and this place particularly); but there are many reasons why I do not choose to treat in print on such a subject. Their moral is not your moral; their life is not your life; you would not understand it: it is not English, nor French, nor German, which you would all understand. The conventual education, the cavalier servitude, the habits of thought and living, are so entirely different, and the difference becomes so much more striking the more you live intimately with them, that I know not how to make you comprehend a people who are at once temperate and profligate, serious in their characters and buffoons in their amusements, capable of impressions and passions, which are at once sudden and durable (what you find in no other nation), and who actually have no society (what we would call so), as you may see by their comedies; they have no real comedy, not even in Goldoni, and that is because they have no society to draw it from. Their conversazioni are not society at all. They go to the theatre to talk, and into company to hold their tongues. The women sit in a circle, and the men gather into groups, or they play at dreary faro, or lotto reale," for small sums. Their academie are concerts like our own, with better music and more form. Their best things are the carnival balls and masquerades, when every body runs mad for six weeks. After their dinners and suppers they make extempore verses and buffoon one another; but it is in a humour which you would not enter into, ye of the north. - In their houses it is better. As for the women, from the fisherman's wife up to the nobil dama, their system has its rules, and its fitnesses, and its decorums, so as to be reduced to a kind of discipline or game at hearts, which admits few deviations, unless you wish to lose it. They are extremely tenacious, and jealous as furies, not permitting their lovers even to marry if they can help it, and keeping them always close to them in public as in private, whenever they can. short, they transfer marriage to adultery, and strike the not out of that commandment. The reason is, that they marry for their parents, and love for themselves. They exact fidelity from a lover as a debt of honour, while they pay the husband as a tradesman, that is, not at all. You hear a person's character, male or female, canvassed, not as depending on their conduct to their husbands or wives, but to their mistress or lover. If I wrote a quarto, I don't know that I could do more than amplify what I have here noted."] in 2 [This extremely clever and amusing performance affords a very curious and complete specimen of a kind of diction and composition of which our English literature has hitherto presented very few examples. It is, in itself, absolutely a thing of nothing-without story, characters, sentiments, or palatinat de Podolie: il avait été élevé page de Jean Casimir, et avait pris à sa cour quelque teinture des belles-lettres. Une intrigue qu'il eut dans sa jeunesse avec la femme d'un gentilhomme Polonais ayant été a sort intelligible object; -a mere piece of lively and loquacious prattling, in short, upon all kinds of frivolous subjects, of gay and desultory babbling about Italy and England, Turks, balls, literature, and fish sauces. But still there is something very engaging in the uniform gaiety, politeness, and good humour of the author, and something still more striking and admirable in the matchless facility with which he has cast into regular, and even difficult, versification the unmingled, unconstrained, and unselected language of the most light, familiar, and ordinary conversation. With great skill and felicity, he has furnished us with an example of about one hundred stanzas of good verse, entirely composed of common words, in their common places; never presenting us with one sprig of what is called poetical diction, or even making use of a single inversion, either to raise the style or assist the rhyme, but running on in an inexhaustible series of good easy colloquial phrases, and finding them fall into verse by some unaccountable and happy fatality. In this great and characteristic quality it is almost invariably excellent. In some other respects, it is more unequal. About one half is as good as possible, in the style to which it belongs; the other half bears, perhaps, too many marks of that haste with which such a work must necessarily be written. Some passages are rather too snappish, and some run too much on the cheap and rather plebeian humour of out-of-the-way rhymes, and strange-sounding words and epithets. But the greater part is extremely pleasant, amiable, and gentlemanlike. - JEFFREY.] The following "lively, spirited, and pleasant tale," as Mr. Gifford calls it, on the margin of the MS., was written in the autumn of 1818, at Ravenna. We extract the following from a reviewal of the time:-"MAZEPPA is a very fine and spirited sketch of a very noble story, and is every way worthy of its author. The story is a well-known one; namely, that of the young Pole, who, being bound naked on the back of a wild horse, on account of an intrigue with the lady of a certain great noble of his country, was carried by his steed into the heart of the Ukraine, and being there picked up by some Cossacks, in a state apparently of utter hopelessness and exhaustion, recovered, and lived to be long after the prince and leader of the nation among whom he had arrived in this extraordinary manner. Lord Byron has represented the strange and wild incidents of this adventure, as being related in a half serious, half sportive way, by Mazeppa himself, to no less a person than Charles the Twelfth of Sweden, in some of whose last campaigns the Cossack Hetinan took a distinguished part. He tells it during the desolate bivouack of Charles and the few friends who fled with him towards Turkey, after the bloody overthrow of Pultowa. There is not a little of beauty and gracefulness in this way of setting the picture; the age of Mazeppa-the calm, practised indifference with which he now submits to the worst of fortune's deeds the heroic, unthinking coldness of the royal découverte, le mari le fit lier tout nu sur un cheval farouche, et le laissa aller en cet état. Le cheval, qui était du pays de l'Ukraine, y retourna, et y porta Mazeppa, demi-mort de fatigue et de faim. Quelques paysans le secoururent: il resta long-tems parmi eux, et se signala dans plusieurs courses contre les Tartares. La supériorité de ses lumières lui donna une grande considération parmi les Cosaques : sa réputation s'augmentant de jour en jour, obligea le Czar à le faire Prince de l'Ukraine."-VOLTAIRE, Hist. de Charles XII. p. 196. "Le roi fuyant, et poursuivi, eut son cheval tué sous lui; le Colonel Gieta, blessé, et perdant tout son sang, lui donna le sien. Ainsi on remit deux fois à cheval, dans la fuite, ce conquérant qui n'avait pu y monter pendant la bataille."—p. 216. "Le roi alla par un autre chemin avec quelques cavaliers. Le carrosse où il était rompit dans la marche; on le remit à cheval. Pour comble de disgrace, il s'égara pendant la nuit dans un bois; là, son courage ne pouvant plus suppléer à ses forces épuisées, les douleurs de sa blessure devenues plus insupportables par la fatigue, son cheval étant tombé de lassitude, il se coucha quelques heures au pied d'un arbre, en danger d'être surpris à tout moment par les vainqueurs, qui le cherchaient de tous côtés." -p. 218. 1 Mazeppa. I. 'Twas after dread Pultowa's day, When fortune left the royal Swede. Around a slaughter'd army lay, No more to combat and to bleed. The power and glory of the war, Faithless as their vain votaries, men, Had pass'd to the triumphant Czar, And Moscow's walls were safe again, Until a day more dark and drear, And a more memorable year, Should give to slaughter and to shame A mightier host and haughtier name; A greater wreck, a deeper fall, A shock to one-a thunderbolt to all. This too sinks after many a league In outworn nature's agony; His wounds were stiff-his limbs were stark — A transient slumber's fitful aid: III A band of chiefs!-alas! how few, And all are fellows in their need. And smooth'd his fetlocks and his mane, And slack'd his girth, and stripp'd his rein, And joy'd to see how well he fed ; For until now he had the dread IV. This done, Mazeppa spread his cloak, And flints unloosen'd kept their lock than the account of the love the guilty love-the fruits of which had been so miraculous."] For some authentic and interesting particulars concerning the Hetman Mazeppa, see Barrow's " Memoir of the Life of Peter the Great.". ! |