"Depend upon it, of all the arts it is the most artificial and unnatural, and that by which the folly of mankind is most imposed upon. I never yet saw the picture or the statue which came a league within my conception or expectation: but I have seen many mountains, and seas, and rivers, and views, and two or three women, who went as far beyond it."
But, then, what enthusiasm, whenever he did meet with truth in art! When visiting the Manfrini Gallery at Venice, which is so rich in chefs-d'œuvre, he admits the charm of painting, and exclaims:—
"Among them there is a portrait of Ariosto by Titian, surpassing all my anticipation of the power of painting or human expression; it is the poetry of portrait and the portrait of poetry. Here was also a portrait of a lady of the olden times, celebrated for her talents, whose name I forget, but whose features must always be remembered. I never saw greater beauty or sweetness, or wisdom; it is the kind of face to go mad about, because it can not detach itself from its frame."
Our readers are aware with what obstinate determination the public voice proclaimed Lord Byron a skeptic, and still does. Nor will we here examine whether that epithet is merited, because a soul has been sometimes visited by the malady always more or less afflicting great minds; we will not ask if disquietude—which constitutes the dignity of our nature; if the torture caused by doubts and universal uncertainty, by the impossibility of explaining what is, or of comprehending what will be, if all this deserve to be called skepticism. It is not necessary to enter into the subject here, because we have already examined in another chapter[202] with what foundation such a name was applied to Lord Byron.
Now, we will content ourselves with adding that it was his love of truth and his delicacy of conscience which caused, in a great measure, what has been called his skepticism. For these sentiments would not allow him to affirm things that many others perhaps affirm, without believing more in them. Moreover, he appears sometimes to have been persuaded that doubt was the feeling least removed from truth.
THIS QUALITY RISES TO A VIRTUE.
If Lord Byron's passion for truth had simply remained within the limits already described, it would have given earnest of a noble soul, more gifted than others, with instincts of a higher order; it would have lighted up his social character, given the charm of that frankness so delightful in his manners, conversation, style; so attractive in the expression of his fine countenance; but still it would only have been a natural quality, without any more right to the name of virtue than all the other beautiful instincts he had received from Heaven; but, when ceasing to be purely natural, it became a distinguishing characteristic of the author, then it went far beyond these limits. In his writings it raised him above all calculations of interest, made him despise all considerations of ambition or of ease, exposed him to terrible party warfare, to slander, and revenge; spurred him on to attack the great and powerful whenever they turned aside from the path of virtue, justice, or simplicity, and made him forget his nationality, that he might better remember his humanity.
Meanwhile he never once yielded to any interest; and thus this innate faculty, which might have been a virtue easily practiced, became one of heroic merit.
We may safely assert that all his griefs through life owed their origin to this rare quality; for perhaps he did not know sufficiently how to reconcile it with a certain amount of that social virtue called prudence; whose office it is to keep silence when advisable, and not to utter dangerous truths.
Certainly Lord Byron never showed that wisdom for himself which he knew well how to practice for others; witness his conduct in Greece, where, according to the account given by all who lived with him there at that time, he displayed the utmost prudence, moderation, and ability.[203]