The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1880-02-14
Byron and Shelley.
Trelawny's Gossip Concerning His Poet
Friends.
London Whitehall Review.l

room, the grand old man, who has been so long
before Europe as to have become historical,
still shows traces in his fine features which JUS
tify the assertion that he Lord Byron, and
Count d'Orsay were considered the three hand
soonest men of their time. Then, as he begins
talking to you in voice that seems issuing
from some deep cavern, his prodigious memory
and singular power of expression make the past
present.
Shelley seems to be the only mortal who ev-
er touched that proud, rebel spirit with a feel
ing akin to hero-worship. When he speaks of
the poet there is something like tenderness in
his accents, something verging on reverence in
his looks The customary formulas Of social
intercourse are an abom'nation in his sight.
Wo to you, if on first seeing him, you should
unfortunately say. "How do you do Mr.. Tre-
lawny?" He will, if not rebuke, merely grunt
out reply and look as if he thought you fool.
He gives no small change of conversation; ev-
cry word he utters is stamped with his own
personality-a personality so powerful that it
overtops everything he can say or do.
He will begin speaking quite abruptly as if
only continuing aloud some previous train of
thought. "What," he growled, sis all that
rubbish that Symonds writes about Shelley be-
ing too beautiful to paint? Too beautiful to
paint, indeed! When he Yves quite young he
might have had the beauty that we admire in
children or young girls, but he had no manly
beauty. He was narrow-chested and he stopped
like scholar. You could see that from child,
almost a baby he had been bending over books.
He had the smallest head of any man 1 ever
knew. Byron's came next. His eyes were
slightly prominent and there was hardly any
of the white visible. To see him in a crowd
was like seeing stag in the midst of herd OF
deer. The deer has timid way of looking at
the ground, but the stag walks with lifted head
and shining eyes, His were like stars. Now
Byron was handsome. The upper part of his
figure was nobly proportioned and his throat
was like column. He had most beautiful
eyes. well set in his head; they were like cats
changing continually in color, now brown, now
golden, then green, full of ever-varying ex-
preston
s'What do you think of their genius respec-
tivey?"
''Shelley had the divine madness which
alone makes man write great poetry. But
he appealed to the intellect, while Byron's
poetry appealed to the passions of mankind.
All men have passions; therefore they under
stood him. But Shelley was great metaphy-
sician, a logician, a poet whom people Stunned
IN his day. No one read his writings; and
when l went to get one of his poems from
Ollier, his publisher, he pretended not to have
a copy, till, being informed that was Shell
ley's friend, he fetched it from a secret
drawer. This was the universal feeling con-
cerning him. No one understood him-not
Hogg-not Peacock; and the former, though
he often calls him divine poet, did not be-
ljeye ANYTHING of the kind; on the contrary,
he thought it all nonsense, and was laughing
in his sleeve when he used such expressions" !"
''But what was the bond between them,
then?"
"Why, they were both excellent scholars.
Shelley was an enthusiastic student Of the
Greek poets, and greatly influenced by the IN,
especially in his latter years No one who is
ignorant of the classics can thoroughly appre-
ciate him. That is partly the reason why
Swinburne understands him so we'll; he has
written better things concerning him than any
one else. But he, too, has some of the divine
madness. Nothing great can ever be done
without it. Here is another man who was also
full of it"
Mr. Treawny was pacing up and down the
room while uttering these sentences in his
deep, leonine voice. He now brought me a
portrait of John Brown, the American martyr,
of whom he spoke with kindling eye.
.'Do you know what was his answer to the
rebels when they threatened to hang him?
DO said lie, L wish for nothing better, fol-
then my name will become flag for tn e
North to rally round. Enthusiasts and fanat-
les are the men that move the world. There
is Blake now; I consider him a true poet
also; what he writes is full of aspiration
tod nf ln lnnc
manner of quoting poetry is peculiarly impress
sive, almost oracular; it seems that Shelley
was very fond of it. Once hearing him de-
claim
Time hath, my lord, wallet at his back,
In which he puts aims for oblivion,
the poet was so taken with the passage, which
he did not appear to know, that he clapped his
hands with delight, and could not hear it Otter
enough. Something being said TO him about
his 'Rosalind. and Helen," he laughed anC
shouted, "That's going into Times wallet, you
know"
s'Was Shelley's voice really as loud anG
piercing as is generally asserted?"
"Of course all the Shelley biographers must
90 ON repeating Hoggs assertion about the
harsh shrilness of the pt cts tones. No doub
he was habitually hoarse in this climate. Yol
always find that Italians lose their voice OF
coming to England, while that of the English
gets sweeter in Italy. Shelley's voice was sof
and pleasant--at any rate, when knew him.
"Did Shelley ever shut himself up to write
it?"
"Shut himself up!" shouted Mr.. Trelawn,
Indignantly "Never! He wrote his poems il
the open air; ON the sea-shore; in the pint
woods; and like shepherd, he could tell thu
time of day exactly by the light. He neve
| had watch And think Byron never had
| but if the latter had one, lie never wore 1t.
(which of all Byrons works do you your
| self prefer"
"'Childe Harold He at one time intende'
| introducing me either into that poem or int
| Don juan; he did not know which. His in
| tention was to have written fifth canto Q
| 'Childe Harold the scene OF which was to b
laid at Naples. But he said he must see Maple
| before writing about it; he could not writ
| about things he had not seen.
.fSouthey on his return from tour in Ita J.
| was asked by friend whether he considered
| Shelley or Byron at the head of the Satani
school sOuthey PGnting poi to Ms feet sa
| chuckled sardonically, and he repeated tn
| Joke at intervals as if he enjoyed it.
| "That accounts, l suppose, for the author @
| The Vision of Judgment imposing poo
Southey in the pillory OF his imperishabl
! satre?''
"Yes, Moore, who used to sugar over hi
spite and malice with the diamond-dust of wit
lost no time in repeating the saying to his no
| BILE friend"
Mr.. Trelawny informed me that Ger6me, tn
| French artist, ha begun picture OF the burn
ing of Shelley's body. The idea evidently graf
fled him. He referred to it repeatedly, pictul
ing the scene, which apparently increased i
| vividness while he described it, till /, toe
seemed to see with him the long sweep of sant
the smoothly rippling waters of the bay, tn
| long, dark line OF the pine forest skirting tn
| shore.
.'Gerome," he said, "ought to introduce tn
pines in his picture. They are characteristic
of Shelley and of the place. Their tall, straigh
stems, 40 feet high, rose at equal distances on
from the other, and, although the sun neve
penetrated through their interlacing bough.
it would cast red light on the trunks below.
Il wish NJ. Gerome could hear your descriE
zion; someone ought, certainly, to send thes
details to him."
"Iwill send letter to Rossetti; he can CON
municate with the artist if he thinks proper
Byron and myself were the only persons on TIA
| SPOT besides three coast-guards. Leigh Hun
remained in his carriage on tine edge of til
pine forest. Italian peasant-folk had also com
] to witness the spectacle, but with hereditar
good breeding, did not press near, and RENAME
patiently watching in their gigs, carts and ott
| er vehicles. As L was pouring the incense
wine and oil upon the flames, muttered, ha
| 10 myself: L restore to nature, through fire
| The elements of which this man was compose
| earth, air and water; everything is change
| out not annihilated. He is now q portion q
that which he worshiped-.' l continued fc
some time in this vein, when l suddenly fe