373—to Thomas Moore
December 8, 1813.
Your letter, like all the best, and even kindest things in this world, is both painful and pleasing. But, first, to what sits nearest. Do you know I was actually about to dedicate to you,—not in a formal inscription, as to one's
elders
,—but through a short prefatory letter, in which I boasted myself your intimate, and held forth the prospect of
your
poem; when, lo! the recollection of your strict injunctions of secrecy as to the said poem, more than
once
repeated by word and letter, flashed upon me, and marred my intents. I could have no motive for repressing my own desire of alluding to you (and not a day passes that I do not think and talk of you), but an idea that you might, yourself, dislike it. You cannot doubt my sincere admiration, waving personal friendship for the present, which, by the by, is not less sincere and deep rooted. I have you by rote and by heart; of which
ecce signum!
When I was at Aston, on my first visit, I have a habit, in passing my time a good deal alone, of—I won't call it singing, for that I never attempt except to myself—but of uttering, to what I think tunes, your "Oh breathe not," "When the last glimpse," and "When he who adores thee," with others of the same minstrel;—they are my matins and vespers. I assuredly did not intend them to be overheard, but, one morning, in comes, not
La Donna
, but
Il Marito
, with a very grave face, saying, "Byron, I must request you won't sing any more, at least of those songs." I stared, and said, "Certainly, but why?"—"To tell you the truth," quoth he, "they make my wife
cry
, and so melancholy, that I wish her to hear no more of them."
Now, my dear M., the effect must have been from your words, and certainly not my music. I merely mention this foolish story to show you how much I am indebted to you for even your pastimes. A man may praise and praise, but no one recollects but that which pleases—at least, in composition. Though I think no one equal to you in that department, or in satire,—and surely no one was ever so popular in both,—I certainly am of opinion that you have not yet done all
you
can do, though more than enough for any one else. I want, and the world expects, a longer work from you; and I see in you what I never saw in poet before, a strange diffidence of your own powers, which I cannot account for, and which must be unaccountable, when a
Cossac
like me can appal a
cuirassier
. Your story I did not, could not, know,—I thought only of a Peri. I
wish
you had confided in me, not for your sake, but mine, and to prevent the world from losing a much better poem than my own, but which, I yet hope, this
clashing
will not even now deprive them of
.
Mine is the work of a week, written,
why
I have partly told you, and partly I cannot tell you by letter—some day I will.
Go on—I shall really be very unhappy if I at all interfere with you. The success of mine is yet problematical; though the public will probably purchase a certain quantity, on the presumption of their own propensity for
The Giaour
and such "horrid mysteries." The only advantage I have is being on the spot; and that merely amounts to saving me the trouble of turning over books which I had better read again. If
your chamber
was furnished in the same way, you have no need to
go there
to describe—I mean only as to
accuracy
—because I drew it from recollection.
This last thing of mine
may
have the same fate, and I assure you I have great doubts about it. But, even if not, its little day will be over before you are ready and willing.
Come
out—"screw your courage to the sticking-place."
Except the
Post Bag
(and surely you cannot complain of a want of success there), you have not been
regularly
out for some years. No man stands higher,—whatever you may think on a rainy day, in your provincial retreat.
"Aucun homme, dans aucune langue, n'a été, peut-être, plus complètement le poëte du coeur et le poëte des femmes. Les critiques lui reprochent de n'avoir représenté le monde ní tel qu'il est, ni tel qu'il doit être; mais les femmes répondent qu'il l'a représenté tel qu'elles le désirent."
I
should
have thought Sismondi
had written this for you instead of Metastasio.
Write to me, and tell me of
yourself
. Do you remember what Rousseau said to some one—"Have we quarrelled? you have talked to me often, and never once mentioned yourself."
P. S.—The last sentence is an indirect apology for my egotism,—but I believe in letters it is allowed. I wish it was
mutual
. I
have
met with an odd reflection in Grimm; it shall not—at least the bad part—be applied to you or me, though
one
of us has certainly an indifferent name—but this it is:—"Many people have the reputation of being wicked, with whom we should be too happy to pass our lives." I need not add it is a woman's saying—a Mademoiselle de Sommery's
.
Footnote 1:
"Among the stories intended to be introduced into Lalla Rookh, which I had begun, but, from various causes, never finished, there was one which I had made some progress in, at the time of the appearance of The Bride, and which, on reading that poem, I found to contain such singular coincidences with it, not only in locality and costume, but in plot and characters, that I immediately gave up my story altogether, and began another on an entirely new subject—the Fire-worshippers. To this circumstance, which I immediately communicated to him, Lord Byron alludes in this letter. In my hero (to whom I had even given the name of 'Zelim,' and who was a descendant of Ali, outlawed, with all his followers, by the reigning Caliph) it was my intention to shadow out, as I did afterwards in another form, the national cause of Ireland. To quote the words of my letter to Lord Byron on the subject: 'I chose this story because one writes best about what one feels most, and I thought the parallel with Ireland would enable me to infuse some vigour into my hero's character. But to aim at vigour and strong feeling after you is hopeless;—that region "was made for Cæsar."'"
(Moore).
Footnote 2:
Macbeth
, act i. sc. 7.
Footnote 3:
De la Littérature du Midi de l'Europe
, ed. 1813, tom. ii. p. 436.
Footnote 4:
Grimm (
Correspondance Littéraire
, ed. 1813, part iii. tom ii. p. 126) says of Mlle. de Sommery, who died of apoplexy in 1790,
"Que de gens ont la réputation d'être méchans, avec lesquels on serait trop heureux de passer sa vie."
The
Biographie Universelle
says of her,
"Elle avait du talent pour écrire; mais elle ne l'exerça que fort tard .... Le premier livre qu'elle publia, n'étant plus très jeune, fut un recueil de pensées détachées, dédié aux mânes de Saurin, qu'elle intitula Doutes sur differentes Opinions reçues dans la Societé. Ce recueil eut un véritable succés."
Mlle. de Sommery also published, besides the
Doutes
(1782),
Lettres de Madame la Comtesse de L. à M. le Comte de R
. (1785);
Lettres de Mlle. de Tourville à Madame la Comtesse de Lénoncourt
(1788);
L'Oreille, conte Asiatique
(1789).
