The Life of Lord Byron

But the impediments were not to be surmounted; in less than a week it was formally reported to Byron that Missolonghi could not furnish the means of undertaking the siege of Lepanto, upon which his Lordship proposed that Lepanto should be only blockaded by two thousand men. Before any actual step was, however, taken, two spies came in with a report that the Albanians in garrison at Lepanto had seized the citadel, and were determined to surrender it to his Lordship. Still the expedition lingered; at last, on the 14th of February, six weeks after Byron’s arrival at Missolonghi, it was determined that an advanced guard of three hundred soldiers, under the command of Count Gamba, should march for Lepanto, and that Lord Byron, with the main body, should follow. The Suliotes were, however, still exorbitant, calling for fresh contributions for themselves and their families. His troubles were increasing, and every new rush of the angry tide rose nearer and nearer his heart; still his fortitude enabled him to preserve an outward show of equanimity. But, on the very day after the determination had been adopted, to send forward the advanced guard, his constitution gave way.

He was sitting in Colonel Stanhope’s room, talking jestingly, according to his wonted manner, with Captain Parry, when his eyes and forehead occasionally discovered that he was agitated by strong feelings. On a sudden he complained of a weakness in one of his legs; he rose, but finding himself unable to walk, called for assistance; he then fell into a violent nervous convulsion, and was placed upon a bed: while the fit lasted, his face was hideously distorted; but in the course of a few minutes the convulsion ceased, and he began to recover his senses: his speech returned, and he soon rose, apparently well. During the struggle his strength was preternaturally augmented, and when it was over, he behaved with his usual firmness. “I conceive,” says Colonel Stanhope, “that this fit was occasioned by over-excitement. The mind of Byron is like a volcano; it is full of fire, wrath, and combustibles, and when this matter comes to be strongly agitated, the explosion is dreadful. With respect to the causes which produced the excess of feeling, they are beyond my reach, except one great cause, the provoking conduct of the Suliotes.”

A few days after this distressing incident, a new occurrence arose, which materially disturbed the tranquillity of Byron. A Suliote, accompanied by the son, a little boy, of Marco Botzaris, with another man, walked into the Seraglio, a kind of citadel, which had been used as a barrack for the Suliotes, and out of which they had been ejected with difficulty, when it was required for the reception of stores and the establishment of a laboratory. The sentinel ordered them back, but the Suliote advanced. The sergeant of the guard, a German, pushed him back. The Suliote struck the sergeant; they closed and struggled. The Suliote drew his pistol; the German wrenched it from him, and emptied the pan. At this moment a Swedish adventurer, Captain Sass, seeing the quarrel, ordered the Suliote to be taken to the guard-room. The Suliote would have departed, but the German still held him. The Swede drew his sabre; the Suliote his other pistol. The Swede struck him with the flat of his sword; the Suliote unsheathed his ataghan, and nearly cut off the left arm of his antagonist, and then shot him through the head. The other Suliotes would not deliver up their comrade, for he was celebrated among them for distinguished bravery. The workmen in the laboratory refused to work: they required to be sent home to England, declaring, they had come out to labour peaceably, and not to be exposed to assassination. These untoward occurrences deeply vexed Byron, and there was no mind of sufficient energy with him to control the increasing disorders. But, though convinced, as indeed he had been persuaded from the beginning in his own mind, that he could not render any assistance to the cause beyond mitigating the ferocious spirit in which the war was conducted, his pride and honour would not allow him to quit Greece.

In a letter written soon after his first attack, he says, “I am a good deal better, though of course weakly. The leeches took too much blood from my temples the day after, and there was some difficulty in stopping it; but I have been up daily, and out in boats or on horseback. To-day I have taken a warm bath, and live as temperately as can well be, without any liquid but water, and without any animal food”; then adverting to the turbulences of the Suliotes, he adds, “but I still hope better things, and will stand by the cause as long as my health and circumstances will permit me to be supposed useful.” Subsequently, when pressed to leave the marshy and deleterious air of Missolonghi, he replied, still more forcibly, “I cannot quit Greece while there is a chance of my being of (even supposed) utility. There is a stake worth millions such as I am, and while I can stand at all I must stand by the cause. While I say this, I am aware of the difficulties, and dissensions, and defects of the Greeks themselves; but allowance must be made for them by all reasonable people.”

After this attack of epilepsy Lord Byron because disinclined to pursue his scheme against Lepanto. Indeed, it may be said that in his circumstances it was impracticable; for although the Suliotes repented of their insubordination, they yet had an objection to the service, and said “they would not fight against stone walls.” All thought of the expedition was in consequence abandoned, and the destinies of poor Byron were hastening to their consummation. He began to complain!

In speaking to Parry one day of the Greek Committee in London, he said, “I have been grossly ill-treated by the Committee. In Italy Mr Blaquiere, their agent, informed me that every requisite supply would be forwarded with all despatch. I was disposed to come to Greece, but I hastened my departure in consequence of earnest solicitations. No time was to be lost, I was told, and Mr Blaquiere, instead of waiting on me at his return from Greece, left a paltry note, which gave me no information whatever. If ever I meet with him, I shall not fail to mention my surprise at his conduct; but it has been all of a piece. I wish the acting Committee had had some of the trouble which has fallen on me since my arrival here: they would have been more prompt in their proceedings, and would have known better what the country stood in need of. They would not have delayed the supplies a day nor have sent out German officers, poor fellows, to starve at Missolonghi, but for my assistance. I am a plain man, and cannot comprehend the use of printing-presses to a people who do not read. Here the Committee have sent supplies of maps. I suppose that I may teach the young mountaineers geography. Here are bugle-horns without bugle-men, and it is a chance if we can find anybody in Greece to blow them. Books are sent to people who want guns; they ask for swords, and the Committee give them the lever of a printing-press.

“My future intentions,” continued his Lordship, “as to Greece, may be explained in a few words. I will remain here until she is secure against the Turks, or till she has fallen under their power. All my income shall be spent in her service; but, unless driven by some great necessity, I will not touch a farthing of the sum intended for my sister’s children. Whatever I can accomplish with my income, and my personal exertions, shall be cheerfully done. When Greece is secure against external enemies, I will leave the Greeks to settle their government as they like. One service more, and an eminent service it will be, I think I may perform for them. You, Parry, shall have a schooner built for me, or I will buy a vessel; the Greeks shall invest me with the character of their ambassador, or agent: I will go to the United States, and procure that free and enlightened government to set the example of recognising the federation of Greece as an independent state. This done, England must follow the example, and then the fate of Greece will be permanently fixed, and she will enter into all her rights as a member of the great commonwealth of Christian Europe.”

This intention will, to all who have ever looked at the effects of fortune on individuals, sufficiently show that Byron’s part in the world was nearly done. Had he lived, and recovered health, it might have proved that he was then only in another lunation: his first was when he passed from poesy to heroism. But as it was, it has only served to show that his mind had suffered by the decadency of his circumstances, and how much the idea of self-exaltation weakly entered into all his plans. The business was secondary to the style in which it should be performed. Building a vessel! why think of the conveyance at all? as if the means of going to America were so scarce that there might be difficulty in finding them. But his mind was passing from him. The intention was unsound – a fantasy – a dream of bravery in old age – begotten of the erroneous supposition that the cabinets of Christendom would remain unconcerned spectators of the triumph of the Greeks, or even of any very long procrastination of their struggle.

CHAPTER XLVII

The last Illness and Death of Lord Byron—His last Poem

Although in common parlance it may be said, that after the attack of epilepsy Lord Byron’s general health did not appear to have been essentially impaired, the appearance was fallacious; his constitution had received a vital shock, and the exciting causes, vexation and confusion, continued to exasperate his irritation.

On the 1st of March he complained of frequent vertigoes, which made him feel as though he were intoxicated; but no effectual means were taken to remove these portentous symptoms; and he regularly enjoyed his daily exercise, sometimes in boats, but oftener on horseback. His physician thought him convalescent; his mind, however, was in constant excitement; it rested not even during sleep.

On the 9th of April, while sailing, he was overtaken by the rain, and got very wet: on his return home, he changed the whole of his dress; but he had been too long in his wet clothes, and the stamina of his constitution being shaken could not withstand the effects. In little more than two hours he was seized with rigors, fever, and rheumatic pains. During the night, however, he slept in his accustomed manner, but in the morning he complained of pains and headache; still this did not prevent him from going out on horseback in the afternoon – it was for the last time.

On returning home, he observed to one of the servants that the saddle was not perfectly dry, from having been so wet the day before, and that he thought it had made him worse. He soon after became affected with almost constant shivering; sudorific medicines were administered, and blood-letting proposed; but though he took the drugs, he objected to the bleeding. Another physician was in consequence called in to see if the rheumatic fever could be appeased without the loss of blood. This doctor approved of the medicines prescribed, and was not opposed to the opinion that bleeding was necessary, but said it might be deferred till the next day.

On the 11th he seemed rather better, but the medicines had produced no effect.

On the 12th he was confined to bed with fever, and his illness appeared to be increasing; he was very low, and complained of not having had any sleep during the night; but the medical gentlemen saw no cause for alarm. Dr Bruno, his own physician, again proposed bleeding; the stranger still, however, thought it might be deferred, and Byron himself was opposed to it. “You will die,” said Dr Bruno, “if you do not allow yourself to be bled.” “You wish to get the reputation of curing my disease,” replied his Lordship, “that is why you tell me it is so serious; but I will not permit you to bleed me.”

On the 13th he sat up for some time, after a sleepless night, and still complained of pain in his bones and head.

On the 14th he also left his bed. The fever was less, but the debility greater, and the pain in his head was undiminished. His valet became alarmed, and, doubtful of the skill of the doctors around him, entreated permission to send to Zante for an English physician of greater reputation. His Lordship desired him to consult the others, which he did, and they told him there was no occasion to call in any person, as they hoped all would be well in a few days.

His Lordship now began to doubt if his disease was understood, and remarked repeatedly in the course of this day, that he was sure the doctors did not understand it. “Then, my Lord,” said Fletcher, his valet, “have other advice.” “They tell me,” rejoined his Lordship, “that it is only a common cold, which you know I have had a thousand times.”

“I am sure you never had one of so serious a nature.”

“I think I never had.”

Fletcher then went again to the physicians, and repeated his solicitations that the doctor in Zante might be sent for; but was again assured that his master would be better in two or three days.

At length, the doctor who had too easily consented to the postponement of the bleeding, seeing the prognostications of Dr Bruno more and more confirmed, urged the necessity of bleeding, and of no longer delay. This convinced Byron, who was himself greatly averse to the operation, that they did not understand his case.

On the 15th his Lordship felt the pains abated, insomuch that he was able to transact some business.

On the 16th he wrote a letter, but towards the evening he became worse, and a pound of blood was taken from him. Still the disease was making progress, but Dr Bruno did not yet seem much alarmed; on the contrary, he thought were more blood removed his recovery was certain. Fletcher immediately told his master, urging him to comply with the doctor’s wishes. “I fear,” said his Lordship, “they know nothing about my disorder, but” – and he stretched out his arm – “here, take my arm and do whatever you like.”

On the 17th his countenance was changed; during the night he had become weaker, and a slight degree of delirium, in which he raved of fighting, had come on. In the course of the day he was bled twice; in the morning, and at two in the afternoon. The bleeding, on both occasions, was followed by fainting fits. On this day he said to Fletcher, “I cannot sleep, and you well know I have not been able to sleep for more than a week. I know that a man can only be a certain time without sleep, and then he must go mad, without anyone being able to save him; and I would ten times sooner shoot myself than be mad, for I am not afraid of dying – I am more fit to die than people think.”

On the 18th his Lordship first began to dread that his fate was inevitable. “I fear,” said he to Fletcher, “you and Tita will be ill by sitting up constantly, night and day”; and he appeared much dissatisfied with his medical treatment. Fletcher again entreated permission to send for Dr Thomas, at Zante: “Do so, but be quick,” said his Lordship, “I am sorry I did not let you do so before, as I am sure they have mistaken my disease; write yourself, for I know they would not like to see other doctors here.”

Not a moment was lost in executing the order, and on Fletcher informing the doctors what he had done, they said it was right, as they now began to be afraid themselves. “Have you sent?” said his Lordship, when Fletcher returned to him. – “I have, my Lord.”

“You have done well, for I should like to know what is the matter with me.”

From that time his Lordship grew every hour weaker and weaker; and he had occasional flights of delirium. In the intervals he was, however, quite self-possessed, and said to Fletcher, “I now begin to think I am seriously ill; and in case I should be taken off suddenly, I wish to give you several directions, which I hope you will be particular in seeing executed.” Fletcher in reply expressed his hope that he would live many years, and execute them himself. “No, it is now nearly over; I must tell you all without losing a moment.”

“Shall I go, my Lord, and fetch pen, ink, and paper.

“Oh, my God! no, you will lose too much time, and I have it not to spare, for my time is now short. Now pay attention – you will be provided for.”

“I beseech you, my Lord, to proceed with things of more consequence.”

His Lordship then added,

“Oh, my poor dear child! – my dear Ada! – My God! could I have but seen her – give her my blessing – and my dear sister Augusta, and her children – and you will go to Lady Byron and say – tell her everything – you are friends with her.”

He appeared to be greatly affected at this moment. His voice failed, and only words could be caught at intervals; but he kept muttering something very seriously for some time, and after raising his voice, said,

“Fletcher, now if you do not execute every order which I have given you, I will torment you hereafter, if possible.”

This little speech is the last characteristic expression which escaped from the dying man. He knew Fletcher’s superstitious tendency, and it cannot be questioned that the threat was the last feeble flash of his prankfulness. The faithful valet replied in consternation that he had not understood one word of what his Lordship had been saying.

“Oh! my God!” was the reply, “then all is lost, for it is now too late! Can it be possible you have not understood me!”

“No, my Lord; but I pray you to try and inform me once more.”

“How can I? it is now too late, and all is over.”

“Not our will, but God’s be done,” said Fletcher, and his Lordship made another effort, saying,

“Yes, not mine be done – but I will try” – and he made several attempts to speak, but could only repeat two or three words at a time; such as,

“My wife! my child – my sister – you know all – you must say all – you know my wishes” – The rest was unintelligible.

A consultation with three other doctors, in addition to the two physicians in regular attendance, was now held; and they appeared to think the disease was changing from inflammatory diathesis to languid, and ordered stimulants to be administered. Dr Bruno opposed this with the greatest warmth; and pointed out that the symptoms were those, not of an alteration in the disease, but of a fever flying to the brain, which was violently attacked by it; and, that the stimulants they proposed would kill more speedily than the disease itself. While, on the other hand, by copious bleeding, and the medicines that had been taken before, he might still be saved. The other physicians, however, were of a different opinion; and then Dr Bruno declared he would risk no farther responsibility. Peruvian bark and wine were then administered. After taking these stimulants, his Lordship expressed a wish to sleep. His last words were, “I must sleep now”; and he composed himself accordingly, but never awoke again.

For four-and-twenty hours he continued in a state of lethargy, with the rattles occasionally in his throat. At six o’clock in the morning of the 19th, Fletcher, who was watching by his bed-side, saw him open his eyes and then shut them, apparently without pain or moving hand or foot. “My God!” exclaimed the faithful valet, “I fear his Lordship is gone.” The doctors felt his pulse – it was so.

After life’s fitful fever he sleeps well.

But the fittest dirge is his own last lay, written on the day he completed his thirty-sixth year, soon after his arrival at Missolonghi, when his hopes of obtaining distinction in the Greek cause were, perhaps, brightest; and yet it breathes of dejection almost to boding.

’Tis time this heart should be unmovedSince others it has ceased to move,Yet though I cannot be belovedStill let me love.My days are in the yellow leaf,The flowers and fruits of love are gone,The worm, the canker, and the griefAre mine alone.The fire that in my bosom preysIs like to some volcanic isle,No torch is kindled at its blaze —A funeral pile.The hope, the fears, the jealous care,Th’ exalted portion of the pain,And power of love I cannot share,But wear the chain.But ’tis not here – it is not here —Such thoughts should shake my soul; nor nowWhere glory seals the hero’s bier,Or binds his brow.The sword, the banner, and the field,Glory and Greece around us see;The Spartan borne upon his shieldWas not more free.Awake! not Greece – she is awake —Awake my spirit! think through whomMy life-blood tastes its parent lake,And then strike home!I tread reviving passions down,Unworthy manhood! Unto theeIndifferent should the smile or frownOf beauty be.If thou regrett’st thy youth, why live?The land of honourable deathIs here, up to the field and giveAway thy breath.Seek out – less often sought than found —A soldier’s grave – for thee the bestThen look around, and choose thy ground,And take thy rest.

CHAPTER XLVIII

The funeral Preparations and final Obsequies

The death of Lord Byron was felt by all Greece as a national misfortune. From the moment it was known that fears were entertained for his life, the progress of the disease was watched with the deepest anxiety and sorrow. On Easter Sunday, the day on which he expired, thousands of the inhabitants of Missolonghi had assembled on the spacious plain on the outside of the city, according to an ancient custom, to exchange the salutations of the morning; but on this occasion it was remarked, that instead of the wonted congratulations, “Christ is risen,” they inquired first, “How is Lord Byron?”

On the event being made known, the Provisional Government assembled, and a proclamation, of which the following is a translation, was issued

“Provisional Government of Western Greece.

“The day of festivity and rejoicing is turned into one of sorrow and morning.

“The Lord Noel Byron departed this life at eleven 7 o’clock last night, after an illness of ten days. His death was caused by an inflammatory fever. Such was the effect of his Lordship’s illness on the public mind, that all classes had forgotten their usual recreations of Easter, even before the afflicting event was apprehended.

“The loss of this illustrious individual is undoubtedly to be deplored by all Greece; but it must be more especially a subject of lamentation at Missolonghi, where his generosity has been so conspicuously displayed, and of which he had become a citizen, with the ulterior determination of participating in all the dangers of the war.

“Everybody is acquainted with the beneficent acts of his Lordship, and none can cease to hail his name as that of a real benefactor.

“Until, therefore, the final determination of the national Government be known, and by virtue of the powers with which it has been pleased to invest me, I hereby decree:

“1st. To-morrow morning, at daylight, thirty-seven minute-guns shall be fired from the grand battery, being the number which corresponds with the age of the illustrious deceased.

“2nd. All the public offices, even to the tribunals, are to remain closed for three successive days.

“3rd. All the shops, except those in which provisions or medicines are sold, will also be shut; and it is strictly enjoined that every species of public amusement and other demonstrations of festivity at Easter may be suspended.

“4th. A general mourning will be observed for twenty-one days.

“5th. Prayers and a funeral service are to be offered up in all the churches.

“A. MAVROCORDATOS.

“GEORGIS PRAIDIS, Secretary.

“Given at Missolonghi, this 19th of April, 1824.”

The funeral oration was written and delivered on the occasion, by Spiridion Tricoupi, and ordered by the government to be published. No token of respect that reverence could suggest, or custom and religion sanction, was omitted by the public authorities, nor by the people.

Lord Byron having omitted to give directions for the disposal of his body, some difficulty arose about fixing the place of interment. But after being embalmed it was sent, on the 2nd of May, to Zante, where it was met by Lord Sidney Osborne, a relation of Lord Byron, by marriage – the secretary of the senate at Corfu.

It was the wish of Lord Sidney Osborne, and others, that the interment should be in Zante; but the English opposed the proposition in the most decided manner. It was then suggested that it should be conveyed to Athens, and deposited in the temple of Theseus, or in the Parthenon – Ulysses Odysseus, the Governor of Athens, having sent an express to Missolonghi, to solicit the remains for that city; but, before it arrived, they were already in Zante, and a vessel engaged to carry them to London, in the expectation that they would be deposited in Westminster Abbey or St Paul’s.