The Works Of Lord Byron, Letters and Journals, Vol. 1 by Lord Byron, Edited by Rowland E. Prothero

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145.--To his Mother.

Athens, July 27, 1810.

Dear Mother,--I write again in case you have not received my letters.
To-day I go into the Morea, which will, I trust, be colder than this
place, where I have tarried in the expectation of obtaining rest.
Sligo has very kindly proposed a union of our forces for the occasion,
which will be perhaps as uncomfortable to him as to myself, judging
from previous experience, which, however, may be explained by my own
irritability and hurry.

At Constantinople I visited the Mosques, plains, and grandees of that
place, which, in my opinion, cannot be compared with Athens and its
neighbourhood; indeed I know of no Turkish scenery to equal this,
which would be civilised and Celtic enough with a little alteration in
situation and inhabitants. An usual custom here, as at Cadiz, is to
part with wives, daughters, etc., for a trifling present of gold or
English arms (which the Greeks set a high value upon). The women are
generally of the middle height, with Turkish eyes, straight hair, and
clear olive complexion, but are not nearly so amorous as the Spanish
belles, whom I have described to you in former letters. I have some
feats to boast of when I return, which is undesired and undesirable--I
always except you from my complaints, and hope you will expect me with
the same delight that I anticipate meeting you. You can have no
conception of Lord S.'s ecstasy when I informed him of my probable
movements. The man is well enough and sensible enough by himself; but
the swarm of attendants, Turks, Greeks, Englishmen that he carries
with him, makes his society, or rather theirs, an intolerable
annoyance. If you will read this letter to----, you may imagine in
what capacity I believe you excel.

Before I left England I promised to give my silver-mounted whip (in
your chamber) to Charles. Present it to him, poor boy, for I should
not like him to suppose me as unfaithful as his _amante_, who, by the
way is no better than she should be, and no great loss to himself or
his family. Hobhouse is silent, and has, I suppose, not yet returned;
indeed, like myself, he appears to love the world better than England,
and the Devil more than either, who I regret is not present to be
informed of this. Do not fail, if you see him (Hobhouse, I mean), to
repeat it, and the assurance that I am to him, with yourself,

Ever affectionately,

BYRON.

146.--To his Mother.

Patras, July 30, 1810.

DEAR MADAM,--In four days from Constantinople, with a favourable wind,
I arrived in the frigate at the island of Teos, from whence I took a
boat to Athens, where I met my friend the Marquis of Sligo, who
expressed a wish to proceed with me as far as Corinth. At Corinth we
separated, he for Tripolitza, I for Patras, where I had some business
with the consul, Mr. Strané, in whose house I now write. He has
rendered me every service in his power since I quitted Malta on my way
to Constantinople, whence I have written to you twice or thrice. In a
few days I visit the Pacha[1] at Tripolitza, make the tour of the
Morea, and return again to Athens, which at present is my
head-quarters. The heat is at present intense. In England, if it
reaches 98° you are all on fire: the other day, in travelling between
Athens and Megara, the thermometer was at 125°!!! Yet I feel no
inconvenience; of course I am much bronzed, but I live temperately,
and never enjoyed better health.

Before I left Constantinople, I saw the Sultan (with Mr. Adair), and
the interior of the mosques, things which rarely happen to travellers.
Mr. Hobhouse is gone to England: I am in no hurry to return, but have
no particular communications for your country, except my surprise at
Mr. Hanson's silence, and my desire that he will remit regularly. I
suppose some arrangement has been made with regard to Wymondham and
Rochdale. Malta is my post-office, or to Mr. Strané, consul-general,
Patras, Morea. You complain of my silence--I have written twenty or
thirty times within the last year: never less than twice a month, and
often more. If my letters do not arrive, you must not conclude that we
are eaten, or that there is war, or a pestilence, or famine: neither
must you credit silly reports, which I dare say you have in Notts., as
usual. I am very well, and neither more nor less happy than I usually
am; except that I am very glad to be once more alone, for I was sick
of my companion,--not that he was a bad one, but because my nature
leads me to solitude, and that every day adds to this disposition. If
I chose, here are many men who would wish to join me--one wants me to
go to Egypt, another to Asia, of which I have seen enough. The greater
part of Greece is already my own, so that I shall only go over my old
ground, and look upon my old seas and mountains, the only
acquaintances I ever found improve upon me.

I have a tolerable suite, a Tartar, two Albanians, an interpreter,
besides Fletcher; but in this country these are easily maintained.
Adair received me wonderfully well, and indeed I have no complaints
against any one. Hospitality here is necessary, for inns are not. I
have lived in the houses of Greeks, Turks, Italians, and
English--to-day in a palace, to-morrow in a cow-house; this day with a
Pacha, the next with a shepherd. I shall continue to write briefly,
but frequently, and am glad to hear from you; but you fill your
letters with things from the papers, as if English papers were not
found all over the world. I have at this moment a dozen before me.
Pray take care of my books, and believe me, my dear mother,

Yours very faithfully,

BYRON.

[Footnote 1: For Veli Pasha, see page 248 [Letter 131], [Foot]note 1
[2].]

147.--To his Mother.

Patras, October 2, 1810.

DEAR MADAM,--It is now several months since I have received any
communication from you; but at this I am not surprised, nor indeed
have I any complaint to make, since you have written frequently, for
which I thank you; but I very much condemn Mr. Hanson, who has not
taken the smallest notice of my many letters, nor of my request before
I left England, which I sailed from on this very day _fifteen_ months
ago. Thus one year and a quarter have passed away, without my
receiving the least intelligence on the state of my affairs, and they
were not in a posture to admit of neglect; and I do conceive and
declare that Mr. Hanson has acted negligently and culpably in not
apprising me of his proceedings; I will also add uncivilly. His
letters, were there any, could not easily miscarry; the communications
with the Levant are slow, but tolerably secure, at least as far as
Malta, and there I left directions which I know would be observed.

I have written to you several times from Constantinople and Smyrna.
You will perceive by my date I am returned into the Morea,[1] of which
I have been making the tour, and visiting the Pacha, who gave me a
fine horse, and paid me all possible honours and attention. I have now
seen a good portion of Turkey in Europe, and Asia Minor, and shall
remain at Athens, and in the vicinity, till I hear from England.

I have punctually obeyed your injunctions of writing frequently, but I
shall not pretend to describe countries which have been already amply
treated of. I believe before this time Mr. Hobhouse will have arrived
in England, and he brings letters from me, written at Constantinople.
In these I mention having seen the Sultan and the mosques, and that I
swam from Sestos to Abydos, an exploit of which I take care to boast.

I am here on business at present, but Athens is my head-quarters,
where I am very pleasantly situated in a Franciscan convent. Believe
me to be, with great sincerity, yours very affectionately,

BYRON.

P.S.--Fletcher is well, and discontented as usual; his wife don't
write, at least her scrawls have not arrived. You will address to
Malta. Pray have you never received my picture in oil from Sanders,
Vigo Lane, London?

[Footnote 1: In a note upon the Advertisement prefixed to his 'Siege of
Corinth', Byron says,

"I visited all three (Tripolitza, Napoli, and Argos) in 1810-11, and,
in the course of journeying through the country, from my first arrival
in 1809, I crossed the Isthmus eight times in my way from Attica to
the Morea, over the mountains, or in the other direction, when passing
from the Gulf of Athens to that of Lepanto."]

148.--To Francis Hodgson.

Patras, Morea, October 3, 1810.

As I have just escaped from a physician and a fever, which confined me
five days to bed, you won't expect much _allegrezza_ in the ensuing
letter. In this place there is an indigenous distemper, which when the
wind blows from the Gulf of Corinth (as it does five months out of
six), attacks great and small, and makes woful work with visiters.
Here be also two physicians, one of whom trusts to his genius (never
having studied)--the other to a campaign of eighteen months against
the sick of Otranto, which he made in his youth with great effect.

When I was seized with my disorder, I protested against both these
assassins;--but what can a helpless, feverish, toast-and-watered poor
wretch do? In spite of my teeth and tongue, the English consul, my
Tartar, Albanians, dragoman, forced a physician upon me, and in three
days vomited and glystered me to the last gasp. In this state I made
my epitaph--take it:--

Youth, Nature, and relenting Jove,
To keep my lamp _in_ strongly strove:
But Romanelli was so stout,
He beat all three--and _blew_ it _out_.

But Nature and Jove, being piqued at my doubts, did, in fact, at last,
beat Romanelli, and here I am, well but weakly, at your service.

Since I left Constantinople, I have made a tour of the Morea, and
visited Veley Pacha, who paid me great honours, and gave me a pretty
stallion. H. is doubtless in England before even the date of this
letter:--he bears a despatch from me to your bardship. He writes to me
from Malta, and requests my journal, if I keep one. I have none, or he
should have it; but I have replied in a consolatory and exhortatory
epistle, praying him to abate three and sixpence in the price of his
next boke, seeing that half a guinea is a price not to be given for
any thing save an opera ticket.

As for England, it is long since I have heard from it. Every one at
all connected with my concerns is asleep, and you are my only
correspondent, agents excepted. I have really no friends in the world;
though all my old school companions are gone forth into that world,
and walk about there in monstrous disguises, in the garb of guardsmen,
lawyers, parsons, fine gentlemen, and such other masquerade dresses.
So, I here shake hands and cut with all these busy people, none of
whom write to me. Indeed I ask it not;--and here I am, a poor
traveller and heathenish philosopher, who hath perambulated the
greatest part of the Levant, and seen a great quantity of very
improvable land and sea, and, after all, am no better than when I set
out--Lord help me!

I have been out fifteen months this very day, and I believe my
concerns will draw me to England soon; but of this I will apprise you
regularly from Malta. On all points Hobhouse will inform you, if you
are curious as to our adventures. [1] I have seen some old English
papers up to the 15th of May. I see the _Lady of the Lake_[2]
advertised. Of course it is in his old ballad style, and pretty. After
all, Scott is the best of them. The end of all scribblement is to
amuse, and he certainly succeeds there. I long to read his new
romance.

And how does _Sir Edgar_? and your friend Bland? I suppose you are
involved in some literary squabble. The only way is to despise all
brothers of the quill. I suppose you won't allow me to be an author,
but I contemn you all, you dogs!--I do.

You don't know Dallas, do you? He had a farce [3] ready for the stage
before I left England, and asked me for a prologue, which I promised,
but sailed in such a hurry I never penned a couplet. I am afraid to
ask after his drama, for fear it should be damned--Lord forgive me for
using such a word! but the pit, Sir, you know the pit--they will do
those things in spite of merit. I remember this farce from a curious
circumstance. When Drury Lane [4] was burnt to the ground, by which
accident Sheridan and his son lost the few remaining shillings they
were worth, what doth my friend Dallas do? Why, before the fire was
out, he writes a note to Tom Sheridan, [5] the manager of this
combustible concern, to inquire whether this farce was not converted
into fuel with about two thousand other unactable manuscripts, which
of course were in great peril, if not actually consumed. Now was not
this characteristic?--the ruling passions of Pope are nothing to it.
Whilst the poor distracted manager was bewailing the loss of a
building only worth £300,000., together with some twenty thousand
pounds of rags and tinsel in the tiring rooms, Bluebeard's elephants,
[6] and all that--in comes a note from a scorching author, requiring
at his hands two acts and odd scenes of a farce!!

Dear H., remind Drury that I am his well-wisher, and let Scrope Davies
be well affected towards me. I look forward to meeting you at
Newstead, and renewing our old champagne evenings with all the glee of
anticipation. I have written by every opportunity, and expect
responses as regular as those of the liturgy, and somewhat longer. As
it is impossible for a man in his senses to hope for happy days, let
us at least look forward to merry ones, which come nearest to the
other in appearance, if not in reality; and in such expectations I
remain, etc.

[Footnote 1: Hobhouse, writing to Byron from Malta, July 31, 1810, says,

"Mrs. Bruce picked out a pretty picture of a woman in a fashionable
dress in Ackerman's 'Repository', and observed it was vastly like Lord
Byron. I give you warning of this, for fear you should make another
conquest and return to England without a curl upon your head. Surely
the ladies copy Delilah when they crop their lovers after this fashion.

'Successful youth! why mourn thy ravish'd hair,
Since each lost lock bespeaks a conquer'd fair,
And young and old conspire to make thee bare?'

This makes me think of my poor 'Miscellany', which is quite dead, if
indeed that can be said to be dead which was never alive; not a soul
knows, or knowing will speak of it." Again, July 15, 1811, he writes:
"The 'Miscellany' is so damned that my friends make it a point of
politeness not to mention it ever to me."]

[Footnote 2: 'The Lady of the Lake' was published in May, 1810.]

[Footnote 3: For Dallas, see page 168 [Letter 87], [Foot]note 1. His
farce, entitled, 'Not at Home', was acted at the Lyceum, by the Drury
Lane Company, in November, 1809. It was afterwards printed, with a
prologue (intended to have been spoken) written by Walter Rodwell
Wright, author of 'Horae Ionicae'.]

[Footnote 4: Drury Lane Theatre, burned down in 1791, and reopened in
1794, was again destroyed by fire on February 24, 1809.]

[Footnote 5: Thomas Sheridan (1775-1817), originally in the army, was at
this time assisting his father, Richard Brinsley Sheridan, as manager of
Drury Lane Theatre. His 'Bonduca' was played at Covent Garden in May,
1808. He married, in 1805, Caroline Henrietta Callender, who was "more
beautiful than anybody but her daughters," afterwards Mrs. Norton, the
Duchess of Somerset, and Lady Dufferin. He died at the Cape of Good Hope
in 1817. "Tom Sheridan and his beautiful wife" were at Gibraltar in
1809, when Byron and Hobhouse landed on the Rock, and, as Galt states
('Life of Byron', p. 58), brought the news to Lady Westmorland of their
arrival. (See 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers', lines 572, 573, and
note 1.)]

[Footnote 6: 'Bluebeard, or Female Curiosity', by George Colman the
Younger (1762-1836), was being acted at Drury Lane in January, 1809.
"Bluebeard's elephants" were wicker-work constructions. It was at Covent
Garden that the first live elephant was introduced two years later.
Johnstone, the machinist employed at Drury Lane, famous for the
construction of wooden children, wicker-work lions, and paste-board
swans, was present with a friend.

"Among the attractions of this Christmas foolery, a _real_ elephant
was introduced.... The friend, who sat close to Johnstone, jogged his
elbow, whispering, 'This is a bitter bad job for Drury! Why, the
elephant's _alive_! He'll carry all before him, and beat you hollow.
What do you think on't, eh?' 'Think on't?' said Johnstone, in a tone
of utmost contempt, 'I should be very sorry if I couldn't make a much
better elephant than that, at any time'"

(George Colman the Younger, 'Random Records', vol. i. pp. 228, 229).]

149.--To John Cam Hobhouse.

Patras, Morea, October 4th, 1810.

MY Dear Hobhouse,--I wrote to you two days ago, but the weather and my
friend Strané's conversation being much the same, and my ally Nicola
[1] in bed with a fever, I think I may as well talk to you, the
rather, as you can't answer me, and excite my wrath with impertinent
observations, at least for three months to come.

I will try not to say the same things I have set down in my other
letter of the 2nd, but I can't promise, as my poor head is still giddy
with my late fever.

I saw the Lady Hesther Stanhope [2] at Athens, and do not admire "that
dangerous thing a female wit." She told me (take her own words) that
she had given you a good set-down at Malta, in some disputation about
the Navy; from this, of course, I readily inferred the contrary, or in
the words of an _acquaintance_ of ours, that "you had the best of it."

She evinced a similar disposition to _argufy_ with me, which I avoided
by either laughing or yielding. I despise the sex too much to squabble
with them, and I rather wonder you should allow a woman to draw you
into a contest, in which, however, I am sure you had the advantage,
she abuses you so bitterly.

I have seen too little of the Lady to form any decisive opinion, but I
have discovered nothing different from other she-things, except a
great disregard of received notions in her conversation as well as
conduct. I don't know whether this will recommend her to our sex, but
I am sure it won't to her own. She is going on to Constantinople.

Ali Pacha is in a scrape. Ibrahim Pacha and the Pacha of Scutari have
come down upon him with 20,000 Gegdes and Albanians, retaken Berat,
and threaten Tepaleni. Adam Bey is dead, Vely Pacha was on his way to
the Danube, but has gone off suddenly to Yanina, and all Albania is in
an uproar.

The mountains we crossed last year are the scene of warfare, and there
is nothing but carnage and cutting of throats. In my other letter I
mentioned that Vely had given me a fine horse. On my late visit he
received me with great pomp, standing, conducted me to the door with
his arm round my waist, and a variety of civilities, invited me to
meet him at Larissa and see his army, which I should have accepted,
had not this rupture with Ibrahim taken place. Sultan Mahmout is in a
phrenzy because Vely has not joined the army. We have a report here,
that the Russians have beaten the Turks and taken Muchtar Pacha
prisoner, but it is a Greek Bazaar rumour and not to be believed.

I have now treated you with a dish of Turkish politics. You have by
this time gotten into England, and your ears and mouth are full of
"Reform Burdett, Gale Jones, [3] minority, last night's division,
dissolution of Parliament, battle in Portugal," and all the cream of
forty newspapers.

In my t'other letter, to which I am perpetually obliged to refer, I
have offered some moving topics on the head of your _Miscellany_, the
neglect of which I attribute to the half guinea annexed as the
indispensable equivalent for the said volume.

Now I do hope, notwithstanding that exorbitant demand, that on your
return you will find it selling, or, what is better, sold, in
consequence of which you will be able to face the public with your new
volume, if that intention still subsists.

My journal, did I keep one, should be yours. As it is I can only offer
my sincere wishes for your success, if you will believe it possible
for a brother scribbler to be sincere on such an occasion.

Will you execute a commission for me? Lord Sligo tells me it was the
intention of Miller [4] in Albemarle Street to send by him a letter to
me, which he stated to be of consequence. Now I have no concern with
Mr. M. except a bill which I hope is paid before this time; will you
visit the said M. and if it be a pecuniary matter, refer him to
Hanson, and if not, tell me what he means, or forward his letter.

I have just received an epistle from Galt, [5] with a Candist poem,
which it seems I am to forward to you. This I would willingly do, but
it is too large for a letter, and too small for a parcel, and besides
appears to be damned nonsense, from all which considerations I will
deliver it in person. It is entitled the "Fair Shepherdess," or rather
"Herdswoman;" if you don't like the translation take the original
title "[Greek (transliterated): hae boskopoula]." Galt also writes
something not very intelligible about a "Spartan State paper" which by
his account is everything but Laconic. Now the said Sparta having some
years ceased to be a state, what the devil does he mean by a paper? he
also adds mysteriously that the _affair_ not being concluded, he
cannot at present apply for it.

Now, Hobhouse, are you mad? or is he? Are these documents for Longman
& Co.? Spartan state papers! and Cretan rhymes! indeed these
circumstances super-added to his house at Mycone (whither I am
invited) and his Levant wines, make me suspect his sanity. Athens is
at present infested with English people, but they are moving, _Dio
bendetto!_ I am returning to pass a month or two; I think the spring
will see me in England, but do not let this transpire, nor cease to
urge the most dilatory of mortals, Hanson. I have some idea of
purchasing the Island of Ithaca; I suppose you will add me to the
Levant lunatics. I shall be glad to hear from your Signoria of your
welfare, politics, and literature.

Your last letter closes pathetically with a postscript about a
nosegay; [6] I advise you to introduce that into your next sentimental
novel. I am sure I did not suspect you of any fine feelings, and I
believe you were laughing, but you are welcome.

_Vale_; "I can no more," like Lord Grizzle. [7]

Yours,

[Greek (transliterated): Mpair_on]

[Footnote 1: Nicolo Giraud, from whom Byron was learning Italian.]

[Footnote 2: Hobhouse had written to Byron, speaking of Lady Hester
Stanhope "as the most superior woman, as Bruce says, of all the world."
The daughter of Pitt's favourite sister, Lady Hester (1776-1839) was her
uncle's constant companion (1803-6). In character she resembled her
grandfather far more than her uncle, who owed his cool judgment to the
Grenville blood. Lady Hester inherited the overweening pride,
generosity, courage, and fervent heat of the "Great Commoner," as well
as his indomitable will. Like him, she despised difficulties, and
ignored the word "impossibility." Her romantic ideas were also combined
with keen insight into character, and much practical sagacity. These
were the qualities which made her for many years a power among the wild
tribes of Lebanon, with whom she was in 1810 proceeding to take up her
abode (1813-39).]

[Footnote 3: Sir Francis Burdett (1770-1844), a lifelong friend of Lady
Hester Stanhope, was afterwards Hobhouse's colleague as M.P. for
Westminster (1820-33). He was committed to the Tower in 1810 for
publishing a speech which he delivered in the House of Commons in
defence of John Gale Jones, whom the House (February, 1810) had sent to
Newgate for a breach of privilege. Sir Francis refused to obey the
warrant, and told the sergeant-at-arms that he would not go unless taken
by force. His refusal led to riots near his house (77, Piccadilly), in
which the Horse Guards, or "Oxford Blues" as they were called, gained
the name of "Piccadilly Butchers" (Lord Albemarle's 'Recollections',
vol. i. pp. 317, 318).]

[Footnote 4: See page 319, 'note 2.']

[Footnote 5: John Galt (1779-1839), the novelist, was at this time
endeavouring to establish a place of business at Mycone, in the Greek
Archipelago. He published in 1812 his 'Voyages and Travels in the Years'
1809, 1810, 1811. (For his meeting with Byron at Gibraltar, see page
243 [Letter 130], [Foot]note 1.)]

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