Microsoft Word Byron and Scott 1809-1824

122: Johnson, The Idler, final number (April 5th 1760). 
123: Scott treats CHP IV as if it were just a travelogue, and does not mention its autobiographical details. 
124: The Prisoner of Chillon, ll.362-3. 
125: Shakespeare, Henry IV II III ii, final speech (“fancies and good-nights”). 

---

reverse of the imitator. He plunges into the stream of public opinion even when its tide is running 
strongest, crosses its direction, and bears his crown of laurel as Caesar did his imperial mantle, 
triumphant above the waves. Such a phenomenon [p.217] seldom fails at first to divide and at length to 
alter the reigning taste of the period, and if the bold adventurer has successfully buffeted the ebbing 
tide which bore up his competitor, he soon has the benefit of the flood in his own favour. 
In applying these general remarks to Lord Byron’s gravest and most serious performance, we must 
recall to the reader’s recollection that since the time of Cowper he has been the first poet who, either in 
his own person, or covered by no very thick disguise, has directly appeared before the public, an actual 
living man expressing his own sentiments, thoughts, hopes and fears. Almost all the poets of our day, 
who have possessed a considerable portion of public attention, are personally little known to the reader, 
and can only be judged from the passions and feelings assigned by them to persons totally fictitious. 
Childe Harold appeared—we must not say in the character of the author—but certainly in that of a real 
existing person, with whose feelings as such the public were disposed to associate those of Lord Byron. 
Whether the reader acted right or otherwise in persisting to neglect the shades of distinction which the 
author endeavoured to point out betwixt his pilgrim and himself, it is certain that no little power over 
the public attention was gained from their being identified. Childe Harold may not be, nor do we 
believe he is, Lord Byron’s very self, but he is Lord Byron’s picture, sketched by Lord Byron himself, 
arrayed in a fancy dress, and disguised perhaps by some extrinsic attributes, but still bearing a 
sufficient resemblance to the original to warrant the conclusion that we have drawn. This identity is so 
far acknowledged in the preface to the Canto now before us, where Lord Byron thus expresses himself. 
‘The poem also, or the pilgrim, or both, have accompanied me from first to last; and perhaps it may be 
pardonable vanity which induces me to reflect with complacency on a composition which in some degree connects 
me with the spot where it was produced, and the objects it would fain describe; and however unworthy it may be 
deemed of those magical and memorable abodes, however short it may fall of our distant conceptions and 
immediate impressions, yet as a mark of respect for what is venerable, and of feeling for what is glorious, it has 
been to me a source of pleasure in the production, and I part with it with a kind of regret, which I hardly suspected 
that events could have left me for imaginary objects.’—pp.vi, vii. 
But besides the pleasing novelty of a traveller and a poet, throwing before the reader his reflections 
and opinions, his loves and his hates, his raptures and his sorrows; besides the novelty and pride which 
the public felt, upon being called as it were into familiarity with a mind so powerful, and invited to 
witness and partake of its deep [p.218] emotions; the feelings themselves were of a character which 
struck with awe those to whom the noble pilgrim thus exposed the sanctuary of his bosom. They were 
introduced into no Teian
126
paradise of lutes and maidens, were placed in no hall resounding with 
music and dazzling with many-coloured lights, and called upon to gaze on those gay forms that flutter 
in the muse’s beam. The banquet had ceased, and it was the pleasure of its melancholy lord that his 
guests should witness that gloominess, which seems most dismal when it succeeds to exuberant and 
unrestrained gaiety. The emptied wine-cup lay on the ground, the withered garland was flung aside and 
trodden under foot, the instruments of music were silent, or waked but those few and emphatic chords 
which express sorrow; while, amid the ruins of what had once been the palace of pleasure, the stern 
pilgrim stalked from desolation to desolation, spurning from him the implements of former luxury, and 
repelling with equal scorn the more valuable substitutes which wisdom and philosophy offered to 
supply their place. The reader felt as it were in the presence of a superior being, when, instead of his 
judgment being consulted, his imagination excited or soothed, his taste flattered or conciliated in order 
to bespeak his applause, he was told, in strains of the most sublime poetry, that neither he, the 
courteous reader, nor aught the earth had to shew, was worthy the attention of the noble traveller.—All 
countries he traversed with a heart for entertaining the beauties of nature, and an eye for observing the 
crimes and follies of mankind; and from all he drew subjects of sorrow, of indignation, of contempt. 
From Dan to Beersheba
127
all was barrenness. To despise the ordinary sources of happiness, to turn 
with scorn from the pleasures which captivate others, and to endure, as it were voluntarily, evils which 
others are most anxious to shun, is a path to ambition; for the monarch is scarcely more respected for 
possessing, than the anchoret for contemning the means of power and of pleasure. A mind like that of 
Harold, apparently indifferent to the usual enjoyments of life, and which entertains, or at least exhibits, 
such contempt for its usual pursuits, has the same ready road to the respect of the mass of mankind, 
who judge that to be superior to humanity which can look down upon its common habits, tastes, and 
pleasures.