An announcement

An announcement

To cel­e­brate the bicen­te­nary of the first pub­li­ca­tion of Byron’s “Don Juan” on 15 July 1819, I’ll be releas­ing an anno­tat­ed and nar­rat­ed ver­sion of Can­tos I + II on 27 June, 2019.

The Anno­tat­ed text com­pris­es some 120 pages of Byron’s poet­ry with notes that you can view in any PDF read­er. The nar­ra­tion com­pris­es about 3:20 hours of audio that will play in any audio play­er, includ­ing your web-brows­er (stream­ing from

The notes com­prise tid­bits of Byron­ic biog­ra­phy, as you might have guessed; expla­na­tions of some of his jokes and jibes, where the tar­gets are no longer obvi­ous; occa­sion­al com­ments on the poet­ry, and; some back­ground on the poi­so­nous pol­i­tics of the sec­ond decade of the nine­teenth cen­tu­ry. The illus­tra­tions are no raci­er than the poet­ry; but no more inno­cent than they need to be.

Over the next few days, I’ll pro­vide some more details of the pub­li­ca­tion and how you can get a copy.

Don Juan: who needs it, who reads it?

In a pre­vi­ous arti­cle I lament­ed that Byron’s great com­ic poem Don Juan is not read as wide­ly as it deserves. As the great­est com­ic poem in the lan­guage, Don Juan should have a much wider audi­ence among Eng­lish-speak­ers every­where.

That’s more than a bil­lion peo­ple who could be hap­pi­er, wis­er and… yes, wealth­i­er (if you believe Byron):

Love, war, a tem­pest — sure­ly there’s vari­ety;
Also a sea­son­ing slight of lucubra­tion;
A bird’s-eye view, too, of that wild, Soci­ety;
A slight glance thrown on men of every sta­tion.
If you have nought else, here’s at least sati­ety
Both in per­for­mance and in prepa­ra­tion;
And though these lines should only line port­man­teaus,
Trade will be all the bet­ter for these Can­tos.
[14, XIV]

Still its fans want to know why the poem is ‘lin­ing port­man­teaus’ rather than lying dog-eared on the top of ten mil­lion bed­side tables.

One rea­son is, prob­a­bly, “Byron”. He is still a celebri­ty: the “Byron meme” remains strong almost two hun­dred years after his death. But his great­est poem, *Don Juan* is just not need­ed to make it work.

The short­er poems are much bet­ter known because of a sort of hap­py pub­lish­ing “acci­dent” that recon­struct­ed Byron’s lega­cy in the late 19th cen­tu­ry that lift­ed his short­er poet­ry to the top of the Roman­tic lit­er­ary canon, at the expense of his great­est poem.

Then the way we con­sume lit­er­a­ture today makes *Don Juan* hard­er to con­sume than it used to be. It is already a long poem. But for most mod­ern read­ers it will seem even longer.

Byron’s un-literary celebrity

Byron’s celebri­ty is much more mod­est than it was in his life­time: for exam­ple in his 20s when fasion­able Lon­don ‘lionised’ him and (final­ly) tore him to bits. But it is still sol­id and, these days, it over-shad­ows his great­est work.

Byron built for him­self a strik­ing image with por­traits that he com­mis­sioned. For exam­ple: the George Saun­ders 1807-09 full-length por­trait stand­ing beside a beached-dinghey in a navy-blue suit and loose cra­vat; some minia­tures also by Saun­ders; the ide­alised West­all pro­file that many sub­se­quent por­traits imi­tat­ed (not shown), and; two care­ful­ly posed por­traits by Thomas Phillips. Although sec­ond-rate as por­traits — com­pared, for exam­ple, to the busts Thor­wald­sen or Bar­toli­ni made of him — these roman­tic-clas­si­cal images were pop­u­lar for good rea­son. They per­fect­ly fit his high-flown pre-1816 verse, his slight­ly aris­to­crat­ic dis­dain (dis­tant gazes off) and his evi­dent beau­ty.

From Left to Right Sanders(1808), Phillip (1813), Phillips (1813–1835), Thor­vald­sen (1817)

Then, there’s the great trag­ic jew­el of Byron’s post-mortem celebri­ty: the youth he feared he’d lost when he turned thir­ty made eter­nal by his ear­ly death in a pop­u­lar lib­er­al cause.

These assets have helped sus­tain the Byron of pop­u­lar cul­ture but… It’s a rep­u­ta­tion now more louche than lit­er­ary. Byron as a dan­ger­ous, unsta­ble lover; Byron as a rake; Byron as vam­pire; Byron as the ser­vant-vic­tim of vam­pires; of Byron as a ted­dy-bear; Byron as a vam­pire ted­dy-bear (just kid­ding). The promi­nence of this Byron­ic “meme” makes it pos­si­ble, even like­ly, that mod­ern read­ers will know him by rep­u­ta­tion with­out know­ing any­thing of his poet­ic achieve­ment or his great­est poem.

Users of the Byron meme don’t need to know *any­thing* of his poet­ry to extract all the mean­ing they need from “Lord Byron”. Alas…

Thomas Arnold’s adverse selection

The “acci­dent” that pro­mot­ed the pop­u­lar­i­ty of Byron’s short­er poet­ry above that of his longer poems was an influ­en­tial 1881 edi­tion of Byron’s “*select­ed*” poet­ry edit­ed by Matthew Arnold, poet, crit­ic and Pro­fes­sor of Poet­ry at Oxford Uni­ver­si­ty.

Arnold’s earnest praise — plac­ing Byron and Wordsworth at the fore­front of Eng­lish Roman­tic poet­ry — was a bless­ing that restored Byron’s rep­u­ta­tion; until then under-cut by Vic­to­ri­an prissi­ness. (I have giv­en a more detailed account of Arnold’s crit­i­cism else­where

Arnold decid­ed that it would aid Byron’s fame — and, inci­den­tal­ly suit Arnold’s pub­lish­ing project — to make only selec­tions from “the mass of poet­ry [Byron] poured forth”. Along with scores of Byron’s short­er verse, most from before 1816, he includ­ed just 15 brief pas­sages from Don Juan to which he gave sug­ges­tive abstract titles. He explained that this edi­to­r­i­al approach reflect­ed his sim­i­lar treat­ment of Wordsworth in an ear­li­er.

But Arnold’s selec­tive approach was lit­er­ary butch­ery; deeply unfair to Byron whose greast works, unlike Wordsworth, are long poems. Then, no one would sug­gest that because Dicken’s nov­els are uneven they could be bet­ter appre­ci­at­ed in selec­tion. If lit­er­a­ture were reduced to the “Cliff Notes” ver­sions there would be lit­tle point in hav­ing the “Notes” at all. Alfred Austin — a jour­nal­ist, crit­ic and unhap­py “Poet Lau­re­ate” who was a con­tem­po­rary of Arnold — mocked the idea:

Mr. Arnold has done Byron injus­tice by mak­ing selec­tions from his works, and assert­ing that selec­tions are bet­ter than the whole of the works from which they are select­ed. You might as well select from a moun­tain.

From “Wordsworth and Byron” in the Quar­ter­ly Review, Vol 154, 1882

Still, Arnold’s choice pre­vailed. His approach, backed by his new “con­ve­nient” edi­tion arbi­trat­ed the future for Byron’s fame. Today, Byron’s poet­ic impact is reduced to eight or ten part­ly-under­stood rhymes (“So we’ll go no more a-rov­ing…”, “Remem­ber thee…”, “She walks in beau­ty…”, “The Assyr­i­an came down like the wolf on the fold…”)

Byron’s long poems are growing longer

Yet things are get­ting worse, damnit. As we approach the third cen­tu­ry of the poem, *Don Juan* is effec­tive­ly grow­ing even *longer* and, for most peo­ple, less acces­si­ble.

The strug­gle for pop­u­lar atten­tion takes many forms but the most suc­cess­ful pro­duc­tions, now, are visu­al and aur­al: short videos and “pod­casts”. If this is a sign of a post-lit­er­ate cul­ture, then it’s a bad omen for the ency­clopaedic genius of Byron.

To be fair, the pop­u­lar­i­ty of stream­ing media also reflects the time and loca­tion most peo­ple have avail­able for con­sump­tion. We choose to read or lis­ten to music (or play games) in the hours we spend on train, or bus, in their car, at the gym etc. for good rea­son. This “inter­sti­tal” time has a low­er oppor­tu­ni­ty-cost; if you’re stuck with the com­mute any­way, it’s a good time for recre­ation. Video and audio do not demand the degree of focus that text demands, so they are much bet­ter suit­ed to these occa­sions.

Then, long texts — specif­i­cal­ly a 20,000-line poem — won’t fit com­fort­ably on the screens of smart-phones that are by far the most com­mon device for dig­i­tal con­sump­tion at those times.

Prose text can ‘reflow’ on screen to fit the avail­able width. But verse must retain its for­mat to keep the length, rythm and rhyme of each line. If the line is too long for the width of the screen, ebook read­ers won’t help by “wrap­ping” it.

The lines of Don Juan are for­mat­ted by syl­la­bles, not by char­ac­ters. Many lines that are only a stan­dard ten or eleven syl­la­bles are incon­ve­nient­ly long for a small screen (the longest is 193 char­ac­ters). Unless a tiny font is used, the line must be bro­ken to pre­vent hor­i­zon­tal scrolling, mak­ing it hard­er to read.

Also, a read­er can­not ‘scan’ the text of a verse in the way expe­ri­enced read­ers scan prose. You can’t skim across the lines pick­ing up key words and phras­es. Verse is inher­ent­ly hard­er. It takes more effort to nav­i­gate the lines and, usu­al­ly, sub-vocal­i­sa­tion to hear the scan­sion and rhyme.

Byron’s longer poems are fight­ing an up-hill bat­tle for the pop­u­lar acclaim they once had and — more than ever — deserve. In the next post, I’ll sug­gest some ways to redress the bal­ance and to ele­vate Don Juan to the sum­mit it deserves.

Skin in the Game

Lob­by Loungers (Drury Lane The­atre — Cruik­shank): Byron and oth­er men of fash­ion ogle pret­ty actress­es or cour­te­sans, who stand in a group, as if on show. Byron (left), head in pro­file to the right, wears a dou­ble-breast­ed blue coat (with a star) but­toned to the waist and with tails, a high col­lar and stock, and loose trousers. His loose­ly curl­ing hair part­ed at the side is in con­trast with the ugly shock-head­ed appear­ance of the oth­er men. In his pock­et is a paper: ‘Cor­sair [1814] Farewell &c by Lord Byron’. He gazes fixed­ly at Mrs. Mar­dyn, a hand­some woman, hold­ing a large muff.

Byron found his most inno­v­a­tive and bril­liant form in the dis­cur­sive, com­ic, first-per­son “per­for­mance” of Don Juan. Here and there it roamed the out­er lim­its of satire and of taste, as he knew; his verse turned the knife as it ripped into “cant”. He thought he could rely on his read­ers’ accep­tance of his ener­getic vul­gar­i­ties and skep­ti­cal jokes because they were true-to-life. When Mur­ray, in March 1819, said that his ‘court’ of advi­sors “ [deplored] that a Man of your genius will not occu­py some Six or Eight years in the com­po­si­tion of a Work & Sub­ject wor­thy of you – “ Byron shot back:

– is Childe Harold noth­ing? you have so many “divine” poems, is it noth­ing to have writ­ten a Human one? with­out any of your worn out machin­ery.

If read­ers did not accept his poet­ry, he haugh­ti­ly insist­ed he did not care:

– – As to the Esti­ma­tion of the Eng­lish which you talk of, <have> let them cal­cu­late what it is worth before they insult me with their inso­lent con­de­scen­sion. – – I have not writ­ten for their plea­sure; – if they are pleased – it is that they chose to be so, – I have nev­er flat­tered their opin­ions – nor their pride – nor will I. – Nei­ther will I make “Ladies books” “al dilet­tar le fem­ine e la plebe” – I have writ­ten from the full­ness of my mind, from pas­sion – from impulse – from many motives – but not for their “sweet voic­es.” – I know the pre­cise worth of pop­u­lar applause – for few Scrib­blers have had more of it – and if I chose to swerve into their paths – I could retain it or resume it – or increase it – but I nei­ther love ye – nor fear ye – and though I buy with ye – and sell with ye – and talk with ye – I will nei­ther eat with ye – drink with ye – nor pray with ye.  – – – [Byron to Mur­ray, 6 April 1819; the last sen­tence echo­ing Shy­lock in Shakespeare’s Mer­chant of Venice]

He did care, of course, deeply; Don Juan is filled with rumi­na­tions on fame, lit­er­ary and oth­er­wise. Exile was escape from the mark of sin: Fame would be his jus­ti­fi­ca­tion. Still, unluck­i­ly for Byron, his poem reached the pub­lic just at the moment when pop­u­lar taste was about to become much less tol­er­ant of pre­cise­ly the sort of Regency “loose­ness” that Don Juan and Byron’s own rep­u­ta­tion rep­re­sent­ed.

Murray’s pleas to Byron to drop the most “offen­sive” pas­sages in Can­tos I & II are often attrib­uted to his squea­mish­ness and to the par­son-pow­ered⁠ 1 ‘syn­od’ (Byron’s term) who advised him, par­tic­u­lar­ly the Edi­tor of the Quar­ter­ly Review and oth­er Mur­ray pub­li­ca­tions, William Gif­ford.

But Murray’s rec­om­men­da­tions deserve more respect as evi­dence of the pub­lish­ing envi­ron­ment and not just of his own dis­po­si­tion. After all, he had “skin in the game”. Byron was his most promi­nent “prop­er­ty”: his own rep­tu­a­tion and prof­it had been direct­ly linked to Byron’s lit­er­ary pop­u­lar­i­ty and poet­ic renown for a decade. What­ev­er we think — look­ing back from two cen­turies lat­er — of the timer­ous­ness of his sug­gest­ed changes to Don Juan, we still should take seri­ous­ly his claims about Byron’s like­ly recep­tion in 1819.

A publisher’s rela­tions with a bril­lant but brit­tle-tem­pered celebri­ty author (one of the first and great­est of this genre), self-exiled to the oth­er end of a two-or-three-week cor­re­spon­dence delay were nev­er like­ly to be easy. Byron’s cor­re­spon­dence is rapid, un-restrained — often thought­less or, at best, care­less about oth­ers’ inter­ests — and impa­tient. Murry’s replies are late, incom­plete and patient to the point of grov­el­ling to His Lordship’s pecu­liar­i­ties. But he had his lim­its. Pub­lish­ers must be ready, some­times, to lead pub­lic taste; but not by too far if they want to stay in busi­ness. John Mur­ray had the added chal­lenge of launch­ing this new, con­fronting work from Byron into a unique­ly dif­fi­cult envi­ron­ment.

Although Byron’s attacks on the poli­cies and the per­son­al­i­ties of the Liv­er­pool gov­ern­ment might have con­sort­ed with some rad­i­cal, Whig and even pop­u­lar opin­ion, the “moral­i­ty” of the poem was more dif­fi­cult to sell. Lit­er­ary read­ers such as Cro­ker and Crabbe were not much dis­turbed by the events such as the bed­room farce or can­ni­bal­ism or sex-on-the-sand in the nar­ra­tive of the first two Can­tos of Don Juan. But Mur­ray rea­son­ably feared that his wider mar­ket would be less for­giv­ing of Byron’s dis­dain for Church (if not for reli­gion) and his jokes about sex­u­al mis­be­hav­ior and ref­er­ences to his own rep­u­ta­tion, after 1815, for mar­i­tal infi­deli­ty (and worse).

The upheaval in British pol­i­tics and soci­ety over the years of 1819–1820 saw mid­dle-class val­ues and expec­ta­tions con­front­ed by the repres­sive behav­ior of a Gov­ern­ment los­ing legit­i­ma­cy and a lazy, prof­li­gate, adul­ter­ous King. Reac­tion to the first helped build a plat­form for reform of the par­lia­men­tary ‘con­sti­tu­tion’ in the fol­low­ing decade. The sec­ond tend­ed to con­sol­i­date sup­port for, at first, “feminst” val­ues of respect for mar­riage and the still sub­or­di­nate rights of women. A new mid­dle class ‘respectibilty’ installed itself some­time around the 1820s and set­tled, even­tu­al­ly, into the con­ser­v­a­tive, prud­ish, stuffy domes­tic­i­ty that we call ‘Vic­to­ri­an’ taste and that Matthew Arnold would describe, forty years lat­er, as “philis­tin­ism”.

The dis­com­fort Mur­ray and his cir­cle expressed with Don Juan from the out­set — and his refusal to pub­lish any more after 1822 — reveal more than just “pris­sy” indi­vid­ual val­ues. Events in Eng­land had made it dif­fi­cult to sep­a­rate Byron’s satire, “blas­phemies” and attacks on the gov­ern­ment and the (for­mer) King from a polit­i­cal plat­form nei­ther he nor Mur­ray endorsed. More­over, the bour­geois lit­er­ary mar­ket that Mur­ray increasin­ly served had lit­tle tol­er­ance for the kinds of per­son­al license in maters of reli­gion, fam­i­ly or (sex­u­al) behav­ior that Byron, and mem­bers of his class, had indulged a decade ear­li­er.

Don Juan sells despite Murray’s fears

A cartoon from 1823 of Byron in Venice, inspired by a small devil sitting on his shoulder, "scratching up ideas" for his poems.
“A noble poet, scratch­ing up his ideas” (1823): Byron sits at a table writ­ing on a sheet head­ed Il Lib­erale; he looks up for inspi­ra­tion, scratch­ing his head; this is also scratched by a web-winged, goat-legged Dev­il (‘Old Scratch’) who perch­es on the back of his chair, his left talons on the poet’s shoul­der. Byron, not car­i­ca­tured, is direct­ed to the left and wears a flow­ered dress­ing-gown with ungartered stock­ings. One of his many dogs (of spaniel type), its col­lar inscribed [By]ron., lies look­ing up at him, also scratch­ing its head, one paw on a vol­ume of Don Juan. The table is in a wide-open win­dow, through which is seen a com­pos­ite view of Venice

When Can­tos I and II of Don Juan were being pre­pared for the press, it was chiefly Murray’s advis­ers — espe­cial­ly Gif­ford — who kept up the lament about “so much beau­ty, so wan­ton­ly & per­verse­ly dis­fig­ured” by vers­es such as 129 and 130 of Can­to I that make jokes about cow-pox and syphilis and the par­o­dy of the Ten Com­mand­ments in Stan­zas 205–206 of Can­to I.

Every one laments there­fore in a ten­fold degree the few pas­sages which mere­ly in kind­ness to your friends it was hoped you would have suf­fered to be replaced by oth­ers in which you would have excit­ed delight only… Do me the favour to make every improve­ment that you can upon the two first Can­tos of Don Juan & let me bring out the new Edi­tion in great force in the win­ter – In the opin­ion of the best Crit­ics the larg­er por­tion of them sur­pass all that you have writ­ten & the rest is deserv­ing there­fore of re-cast­ing or at least of re-con­sid­er­a­tion” (Mur­ray to Byron, 23 July 1819)

Mur­ray plead­ed with Byron to autho­rise cuts that could be incor­po­rat­ed in the re-issued edi­tions, which he pre­sum­ably had intend­ed to pub­lish under Byron’s name in his own imprint. But Byron would have none of it:

You are right – Gif­ford is right – Crabbe is right – Hob­house is right – you are all right – and I am all wrong – but do pray let me have that plea­sure. – Cut me up root and branch; quar­ter me in the Quar­ter­ly – send round my “dis­jec­ti mem­bra poet­ae” like those of the Levite’s Con­cu­bine – make me – if you will – a spec­ta­cle to men and angels – but don’t ask me to alter for I can’t – I am obsti­nate and lazy – and there’s the truth. – – – (Byron to Mur­ray, 12 August, 1819)

By late 1819 the fears in Murray’s office about the crit­i­cal response were begin­ing to sound more plau­si­ble. In August, Black­woods Mag­a­zine (known in the indus­try as “Black­guards..” accord­ing to Mur­ray) pub­lished an hys­ter­i­cal hatch­et-job on the Can­tos:

…in the com­po­si­tion of which there unques­tion­ably a more thor­ough intense infu­sion of genius and vice, pow­er and profli­ga­cy, than in any which had ever before been writ­ten the Eng­lish or indeed in any mod­ern lan­guage… Love, hon­our, patri­o­tism, reli­gion are men­tioned only to be scoffed at and derid­ed as if their sole rest­ing place were or ought to be in the bosoms of fools. It appears in short as if this mis­er­able man hav­ing exhaust­ed every species of sen­su­al grat­i­fi­ca­tion hav­ing drained the cup of sin even to its bit­ter­est dregs, were resolved to shew us that he is no longer a human being even in his frail­ties but a cool uncon­cerned fiend, laugh­ing with a detestable glee over the whole of the bet­ter and worse ele­ments of which human life is com­posed…” (Black­woods Mag­a­zine, August 1819)

Tak­ing the actu­al verse only as a point of depar­ture, the review dreged-up a ver­sion of the rumors that had sur­round­ed the Byron sep­a­ra­tion three years ear­li­er, exag­ger­at­ed into melo­dra­ma:

…It would not be an easy mat­ter to per­suade any Man who has any knowl­edge of the nature of Woman, that a female such as Lord Byron has him­self described his wife to be, would rash­ly or hasti­ly or light­ly sep­a­rate her­self from the love which she had once been inspired for such a man as he is, or was. Had he not heaped insult upon insult and scorn upon scorn — had he not forced the iron of his con­tempt into her very soul — there is no woman of del­i­ca­cy and virtue as he admit­ted Lady Byron to be who would not have hoped all things and suf­fered all things from one, her love of whom must been inwo­ven with so many exalt­ing ele­ments of deli­cious pride and deli­cious humil­i­ty. To offend the love of such a woman was wrong but might be for­giv­en; to desert her unman­ly — but he might have and wiped for ever from her eyes the tears of her deser­tion; but to injure and to desert and then to turn back and wound her wid­owed pri­va­cy with unhal­lowed strains of cold-blood­ed mock­ery — was bru­tal­ly fiendish­ly mean.” (Ibid.)

It was only the ear­li­est and most intem­per­ate of many sim­i­lar crit­i­cisms of the close asso­ci­a­tion of poet­ic beau­ty (”genius”) and vice in the verse that fol­lowed over the next few years in the lit­er­ary press. From Raven­na, Byron dashed off sev­er­al pages of injured and some­what spe­cious rebut­tal, assort­ed with renewed attack on Southey the Lak­ers, but even­tu­al­ly decid­ed not to respond.

It really is a mistaken notion…”

Mur­ray tried to jol­ly Bry­on along, not­ing that the poem sold well own­ing to its “genius”, despite the crti­cism

It real­ly is a mis­tak­en notion that Don Juan has not been well received – the Sale has been less­ened by an out­ra­geous out­cry against some parts of it but its esti­ma­tion in point of Genius car­ries your Lord­ship high­er than ever & its cir­cu­la­tion will be every day increas­ing.” (Mur­ray to Byron on 16 Novem­ber, 1819)

Although Mur­ray — no doubt to his sur­prise — even­tu­al­ly won an injunc­tion against the pirates, he did not press it to enforce his copy­right over Don Juan. The rea­son he gave is that he would have to reaveal the name of the author: which hard­ly seems a dra­mat­ic rev­e­la­tion giv­en that Byron’s author­ship was an open secret.

The stronger rea­sons were, no doubt, com­mer­cial. Mur­ray admit­ted that he could still make a tidy prof­it by bring­ing out a more afford­able qua­si-autho­rized edi­tion, even if he had to throw in a “Glass of Gin” with every pur­chase. Still, it’s clear he was not keen to release them under his own imprint because he remained uncom­for­t­at­ble with their con­tent. He refused Byron’s offer to return the mon­ey he had paid for the copy­right and asked for more Can­tos, too (Byron had com­plet­ed Can­tos III and IV in Novem­ber 1819).

I admire the poem beyond all mea­sure & am sup­port­ed in this esti­ma­tion by every man of judg­ment in the king­dom – who wish for a few alter­ations mere­ly to give wings to the rest & so far am I indis­posed to receive back the Copy Mon­ey – that I would not take dou­ble the sum if it were offered to me – the pirate edi­tion is not coun­te­nanced by the book­sellers & if it were or had any impor­tant sale I would sell mine for noth­ing & give every pur­chas­er a Glass of Gin into the bar­gain… my process [enforc­ing the injunc­tion against the rad­i­cal pub­lish­ers] was aban­doned the moment I found that the authors name must be giv­en up – wch is rather absurd for this puts an end to all anony­mous writ­ing – if a ras­cal choos­es to print Waver­ley for instance – the book­seller <ca> or pro­pri­etor can have no redress unless he dis­close the name of the Author [ie. Sir Wal­ter Scott]. I have print­ed Don in 8 vo to match the oth­er Poems & again in a Small­er form – the lat­ter not yet pub­lished – of the Octa­vo I have sold 3000 Copies so you see we have cir­cu­la­tion in us – I want noth­ing so much as a third & fourth Can­to which I entreat you to com­pleat for me as pro­gres­sive to the remain­ing Twelve… there­fore Moore – I pray you Moore – “it is the uni­ver­sal deci­sion that in beau­ties Don Juan sur­pass­es all that has pre­ced­ed it” – Can you keep up to this?” (Mur­ray to Byron 24 Jan 1820)

Two years lat­er, how­ev­er, Murray’s enthu­si­asm for Don Juan had evap­o­rat­ed. When in 1821 he final­ly, reluc­tant­ly released Can­tos III-V — with many errors in the text — he again includ­ed only the printer’s name, refus­ing the “coun­te­nance” of his own name.

Byron was angry about the delay, the errors and the “dis­par­age­ment”.

Mur­ray – you are an excel­lent fel­low –a lit­tle vari­able – & some­what of the opin­ion of every body you talk with – (par­tic­u­lar­ly the last per­son you see) but a good fel­low for all that – yet nev­er­the­less – I can’t tell you that I think you have act­ed very gal­lant­ly by that per­se­cut­ed book – which has made it’s way entire­ly by itself – with­out the light of your coun­te­nance – or any kind of encour­age­ment – crit­i­cal – or bib­liopo­lar. – You dis­par­aged the last three can­tos to me – & kept them back {above} a year – but I have heard from Eng­land – that (notwith­stand­ing the errors of the press) they are well thought of -“ (Byron to Mur­ray, 3 Novem­ber 1821)

With­in a year Byron had moved to anoth­er pub­lish­er.

Early reception of Don Juan

My Wife!” George IV, in the title role of Mozart’s opera sur­prised by the sud­den arrival of his wife, Car­o­line, as Don­na Anna, late­ly returned from Italy, dur­ing the wed­ding feast scene, at which a num­ber of bare breast­ed women are present; on the left, Lord Castlereagh, play­ing the role of Lep­orel­lo, holds a long list of the King’s female con­quests. Click for a larg­er size.

When the first two Can­tos of Don Juan appeared on 15 July, 1819, read­ers imme­di­ate­ly guessed — many had antic­i­pat­ed — the the author­ship. The next day, the Morn­ing Post car­ried a brief arti­cle sub-titled “Lord Byron’s New Poem of ‘Don Juan’”.

Still, the anonymi­ty of Murray’s pub­li­ca­tion and the increas­ing sever­i­ty of gov­ern­ment cen­sor­ship implied the pub­lish­er knew the poem, if not sup­pressed, might be found blas­phe­mous or pos­si­bly sedi­tious and denied copy­right. A recent bizarre Court deci­sion on Southey’s pirat­ed “Wat Tyler” (a rev­o­lu­tion­ary dra­ma from Southey’s rad­i­cal youth) con­firmed that such mate­r­i­al would not be pro­tect­ed by the Courts or dig­ni­fied by copy­right. Such offend­ing works were, con­se­quent­ly, liable to wide­spread dis­tri­b­u­tion in cheap “pirat­ed” edi­tions; pre­cise­ly the oppo­site of the Crown’s inten­tion. 

With­in a week the Rad­i­cal press had tak­en notice. William Hone, a well known pam­phle­teer, rushed out a tract high­light­ing the blas­phe­my and immor­tal­i­ty of the verse — with exam­ples — while enlist­ing Byron’s its pub­li­ca­tion in his own, thus far suc­cess­ful, attacks on censorship.The first com­plete rip-offs of Don Juan prob­a­bly appeared (they are undat­ed) with­in a month or so: the first an edi­tion by Onwhyn, a rad­i­cal pub­lish­er that, at four shillings in Octa­vo for­mat, was one-eighth the price of Murray’s Quar­to edi­tion.1 By Octo­ber 1819, Mur­ray was oblig­ed to fol­low suit with an Octa­vo ver­sion at nine shillings and six­pence in order to hold onto the con­tin­u­ing strong mar­ket for Byron. 

The ear­ly crit­i­cal reac­tion to the poems — like the fist reac­tions of Byron’s friends — was marked by enthu­si­asm and admi­ra­tion, only mod­er­ate­ly qual­i­fied by admis­sions of moral ‘license’. The Morn­ing Post arti­cle men­tioned above offered a pre-emp­tive defence of the poem that antic­i­pat­ed with remark­able accu­ra­cy the attacks that would fol­low; set­ting its read­ers’ minds at ease while coy­ly, how­ev­er, not rec­om­mend­ing the pur­chase of the book:

The great­est anx­i­ety hav­ing been excit­ed with respect to the appear­ance of this Poem, we shall lay a few stan­zas before our read­ers, mere­ly observ­ing that, what­ev­er its char­ac­ter, report has been com­plete­ly erro­neous respect­ing it. If it is not (and truth com­pels us to admit it is not) the most moral pro­duc­tion in the world, but more in the “Bep­po” style, yet is there noth­ing of the sort which Scan­dal with her hun­dred toungues whis­pered abroad, and malig­ni­ty joy­ful­ly believed and repeat­ed, con­tained in it. ’Tis sim­ply a tale and right mer­rie con­ceit, flighty, wild, extrav­a­gant — immoral too, it must be con­fessed; but no arrows are lev­elled at inno­cent bosoms, no sacred fam­i­ly peace invad­ed; and they must have a strange self-con­scious­ness who can dis­cov­er their own por­tait in any part of it. Thus much, though we can­not advo­cate the book, truth and jus­tice ordain us to declare…” (The Morn­ing Post, Fri­day 16 July, 1819)

The con­ser­v­a­tive cir­itc, par­lia­men­tar­i­an and Admi­ral­ty Sec­re­tary, John Wil­son Cro­ker — whose mean review in the Quar­ter­ly Review of Keats’ Endymion was held by Shel­ley, at least, to have has­tened the poet’s death — wrote to Mur­ray, three days after the first pub­li­ca­tion

I am agree­ably dis­ap­point­ed at find­ing ‘Don Juan’ very lit­tle offen­sive. It is by no means worse than ‘Childe Harold,’ which it resem­bles as com­e­dy does tragedy. There is a prodi­gious pow­er of ver­si­fi­ca­tion in it, and a great deal of very good pleas­antry. There is also some mag­nif­i­cent poet­ry, and the ship­wreck, though too long, and in parts very dis­gust­ing, is on the whole fine­ly described. In short, I think it will not lose him any char­ac­ter as a poet, and, on the score of moral­i­ty, I con­fess it seems a more inno­cent pro­duc­tion than ‘Childe Harold’”

Two days after pub­li­ca­tion, in the con­ser­v­a­tive Lit­er­ary Gazette, William Jer­dan declared Don Juan to be “an exceed­ing­ly clever and enter­tain­ing poem,” that was “wit­ty if a lit­tle licen­tious, and delight­ful if not very moral,”. He con­clud­ed that Byron’s “defence of the moral­i­ty of his work is so good-humoured that we must wish it more sound, and after all for­give him.”

The Exam­in­er, a reform news­pa­per start­ed by the the broth­ers John and Leigh Hunt (lat­er pub­lish­ers of Can­tos V-XVI) print­ed a lengthy review three months after the pub­li­ca­tion — when the work was already being pirat­ed. Poss­bi­ly writ­ten by Leigh Hunt, it offered high praise and a psy­cho­log­i­cal inter­pre­ta­tion of the nov­el style of the poem.

Some per­sons con­sid­er this the finest work of Lord Byron, or at least that in which he dis­plays most pow­er. It is at all events the most extra­or­di­nary that he has yet pub­lished. …The ground-work (if we may so speak of a stile) is the satir­i­cal and humor­ous; but you are some­times sur­prised and moved by a touch­ing piece of human nature, and again star­tled and pained by the sud­den tran­si­tion from love­li­ness or grandeur to ridicule or the mock-hero­ic…. 

It is not dif­fi­cult to account for this het­ero­ge­neous mix­ture, for the bard has fur­nished us with the key to his own mind. His ear­ly hopes were blight­ed; and his dis­ap­point­ment vents itself in sat­i­riz­ing absur­di­ties which rouse his indig­na­tion… But his genius is not nat­u­ral­ly satyri­cal; he breaks out there­fore into those fre­quent veins of pas­sion and true feel­ing of which we have just giv­en spec­i­mens… and it is to get rid of such painful and “thick com­ing” rec­ol­lec­tions that he dash­es away and relieves him­self by get­ting into anoth­er train of ideas, how­ev­er incon­gru­ous or vio­lent­ly con­trast­ed with the for­mer…

The Exam­in­er defend­ed what had been called “immoral­i­ty” as an accu­rate depic­tion of life rather than mod­els of behv­ior:

Don Juan is accused of being en a “immoral work” which we can­not at all dis­cov­er… If stu­pid and self­ish par­ents will make up match­es between per­sons whom dif­fer­ence of age or dis­po­si­tion dis­qual­i­fies for mutu­al affec­tion, they must take the con­se­quences:- but we do not think it fair that a poet should be exclaimed against as a pro­mot­er of nup­tial infi­deli­ty because he tells them what those con­se­quences are….  Which then, we would ask, are the immoral writ­ings — those which, by mis­rep­re­sen­ta­tion of the laws of nature, lead to false views of moral­i­ty and con­se­quent licen­tious­ness, or those, which ridicule and point out the effects of absurd con­tra­dic­tion of human feel­ings and pas­sions, and help to bring about a ref­or­ma­tion of such prac­tis­es? 

The Quar­ter­ly Review, pub­lished by Mur­ray and edit­ed by the cen­so­ri­ous William Gif­ford remained mute, as did the Whig­gish (lib­er­al) Edin­burgh Review.

Next: Sales of the Can­tos I & II

Publication of Cantos I & II

The oak of Eng­land, weighed down by George IV and his mis­tress­es swing­ing on its branch­es, being under­mined by dev­ils (and by the Liv­er­pool Min­istry), watched by an appalled John Bull. Sep­tem­ber 1820 Hand-coloured etch­ing

The path to the first pub­li­ca­tion of Can­tos I & II of Don Juan was unlike that of any of Byron’s ear­li­er verse. It is worth our atten­tion because it reminds us — who now see only its nov­el tone, bril­liant verse, sar­casm and fun — that this new poem had explo­sive poten­tial dur­ing a year of rapid dete­ri­o­ra­tion in the foetid pol­i­tics of late Regency Eng­land. The tra­vails of pub­li­ca­tion recall the dif­fi­cult per­son­al­i­ties and mixed inter­ests of Byron, his pub­lish­er and his Lon­don friends. They also explain much about the expec­ta­tions and ambi­tions Byron had for his great­est poem as he con­tin­ued work­ing on it over the next four years.  

When they first saw the man­u­script of Can­to I, Byron’s friends — John Cam Hob­house, Scrope Davies and John Hookham Frere — had, accord­ing to Hob­house, been struck with admi­ra­tion for “the Car­rav­ag­gio tal­ent dis­played through­out…”. It’s a good metaphor for the pol­ished, high-con­trast, man­nered but ener­getic and earthy voice of the first Can­to. Nor did they think, at first, that Mur­ray, whose busi­ness had thrived on Byron’s poet­ry and dra­ma, would object to the robust tone:

 “– You shall hear all in a day or two. Mur­ray, I believe, would pub­lish a Fan­ny Hill or an Age of Rea­son of your’s – The Hitch will not come thence – so be tran­quil –”  (Hob­house to Byron on 29 Dec. 1818 on receipt of Don Juan Can­to I man­u­script.)

Dou­glas Kin­naird, a friend and lat­er busi­ness man­ag­er, was also com­pli­men­ta­ry and attuned to the poltics of pub­lish­ing, although ready to ‘clip’:

… I have read your Poems Don Juan is exquis­ite – It must be cut for the Syphilis – When we have pound­ed Mur­ray I will not fail to write by the same Post – Your def­i­n­i­tion of May is a great truth … I think your Poem is just­ly bit­ter & exquis­ite­ly humor­ous – You will have the world on your side – The rev­o­lu­tion is com­ing – Rely on it –” (Kin­naird to Byron, 29 Decem­ber, 1818)

But with­in a month Hob­house and crew — Kin­naird less so — had changed their tune: they now advised strong­ly against pub­li­ca­tion. Hob­house was apre­hen­sive about the orig­i­nal mot­to of Can­to I (“Domes­ti­ca Fac­ta”) that he took to be a dec­la­ra­tion that the poem was, as they con­vinced them­selves, an attack on Annabel­la and per­haps her moth­er and advi­sors. They were all appalled, said Hob­house, by

the licen­tious­ness and in some cas­es down­right inde­cen­cy of many stan­zas and of the whole turn of the poem – from the flings at reli­gion – and from the slash­ing right and left at oth­er wor­thy writ­ers of the day”.

They were mys­ti­fied by the swing­ing attacks on Southey, and Lak­er Poets in the Ded­i­ca­tion which, they said, attrib­uted these minor poets an crit­i­cal impor­tance they did not (then) enjoy. 

What had hap­pened in ear­ly 1819 to hard­en them against pub­lish­ing the poem that sev­er­al includ­ing Mur­ray thought was Byron’s great­est “in some parts?” It may have been fears about the wors­en­ing polit­i­cal cli­mate at the end of 1818 to which the Prince Regent’s speech (above) referred. Kinnaird’s remark that “the rev­o­lu­tion is com­ing…” would have been seen by Byron’s oth­er friends as a chill­ing, if dis­tant, prospect. Per­haps it was also some­thing clos­er to home, at least for Hob­house.

In his Jan­u­ary 1819 let­ter, Hob­house couched his strong rec­om­men­da­tion for “total sup­pres­sion” in terms that sug­gest his great­est con­cern was not Byron’s rep­u­ta­tion as a poet but his own polti­cial car­reer:

I have now gone through the objec­tions which appear <to so> so mixed up with the whole work espe­cial­ly to those who are in the secret of the domes­ti­ca fac­ta that I know not any any ampu­ta­tion will save it: more par­tic­u­lar­ly as the objec­tion­able parts are in point of wit humour & poet­ry the very best beyond all doubt of the whole poem – This con­sid­er­a­tion, there­fore, makes me sum up with stren­u­ous­ly advis­ing a total sup­pres­sion of Don Juan – I shall take advan­tage of the kind per­mis­sion you give me to keep back the pub­li­ca­tion until after the elec­tion in Feb­ru­ary: and this delay will allow time for your answer and deci­sion” (Hob­house to Byron, 5 Jan­u­ary, 1819).

Byron was in no posi­tion, from Venice, to deny Hobhouse’s pre­sump­tion of his “kind per­mis­sion”. In any case, the pro­posed delay gave him the oppor­tu­ni­ty to add some more vers­es to Can­to I and to com­plete Can­to II of Don Juan. By May of 1819, how­ev­er, he was becom­ing fed up with the wheedling on from his Lon­don friends on the texts. He agreed to mak­ing cuts in the Ded­i­ca­tion but… 

You sha’n’t make Can­ti­cles of my Can­tos. The poem will please if it is live­ly – if it is stu­pid it will fail but I will have none of your damned cut­ting & slash­ing. – If you please you may pub­lish anony­mous­ly it will per­haps be bet­ter; – but I will bat­tle my way against them all – like a Por­cu­pine.” (Byron to Mur­ray, 6 April 1819 from Venice)

He was rest­less; feel­ing uncom­fort­able about his dis­solute life in grub­by Venice. He was wor­ried that ser­ven­tism to a young, bare­ly-mar­ried woman — Tere­sa Guic­ci­oli — was hope­less and a bit déclassé. Nev­er keen on cor­rect­ing proofs or mak­ing fair-copies — which he found bor­ing work — he declined to receive any fur­ther proofs of Don Juan after June and pressed Mur­ray to pub­lish. 

After receiv­ing the manuscript(s) of Can­to II, Mur­ray was able to see the poem at some­thing clos­er to its prop­er scale — more than 400 stan­zas — and was a lit­tle mol­li­fied that the naughty and revolt­ing bits were much less promi­nent than the pas­sages he found “exceed­ing­ly good”: 

I think you may mod­i­fy or sub­sti­tute oth­ers for, the lines on Romil­ly whose death should save him – – the verse in the Ship­wreck – LXXXI the Mas­ters Mates dis­ease – I pray you oblit­ter­ate as well the sup­pres­sion of Urine – these Ladies may not read — the Ship­wreck is a lit­tle too par­tic­u­lar & out of pro­por­tion to the rest of the pic­ture – but if you do any thing it must be with extreme cau­tion – for it is exceed­ing­ly good – & the pow­er with which you alter­nate­ly make our blood thrill & our Sides Shake is very great – noth­ing in all poet­ry is fin­er than your descrip­tion of the two females in Can­to II – it is nature speak­ing in the most exquis­ite poet­ry – but think of the effects of such seduc­tive poet­ry? (Mur­ray to Byron, 28 May, 1819)

Byron, despite doubts about the wis­dom of the jour­ney, was on the road to Raven­na, where Tere­sa lay ill, in his high-wheeled Napoleon­ic coach. From Bologna he sent Mur­ray a rude reply:

It will there­fore be idle in him [Hob­house] or you to wait for any fur­ther answers – or returns of proofs from Venice – as I have direct­ed that no Eng­lish let­ters be sent after me. – The pub­li­ca­tion can be pro­ceed­ed in with­out, and I am already sick of your remarks – to which I think not the least atten­tion ought to be paid. – – – (Byron to Mur­ray, 7 June 1819).

Mur­ray gave up. In con­cert with Hob­house, he dropped the Ded­i­ca­tion alto­geth­er — Byron had final­ly agreed to that — and two stan­zas of Can­to I that Byron had not agreed to drop. The first was stan­za 15 on the sui­cide of Sir Samuel Romi­ly — whose West­min­ster seat in Par­lia­ment Hob­house was then about to con­test; the sec­ond — now stan­za 131 — on syphilis. He also cen­sored with aster­isks two good jokes about the his­to­ry of “the pox” in stan­zas 129 and 130.

The removal of the “Romil­ly” verse sketched the bat­tle-lines already being drawn between the poet, his friends and his pub­lish­er. For Byron, the five lines he insert­ed on Romilly’s sui­cide was a sav­age thrill: the lawmaker’s sui­cide by cut­throat razor had been an act of Neme­sis, he claimed. In con­text, they fit with the char­ac­ter­i­za­tion of Inez, but it was noneth­less bloody-mind­ed. Byron knew from reli­able sources that Romil­ly had act­ed in igno­rance, not dis­hon­or­ably, in agree­ing at first to advise his wife, Annabel­la, on their sep­a­ra­tion. Some­one who had more insight into him­self and his anger than Byron might have dropped it with­out, as Byron’s friends said, dam­ag­ing the poem. Still, if Don Juan was to be issued anony­mous­ly, why should his editors/advisors be so par­tic­u­lar about these lines? The plau­si­ble rea­son Hob­house offered to Byron — in a let­ter writ­ten on the day of pub­li­ca­tion — was that it might hurt Romilly’s fam­i­ly: 

The man has left chil­dren whom I know you did not mean to annoy; and though we must both of us think that he has been bepuffed at a ter­ri­ble rate yet the death of both father and moth­er has left six poor crea­tures and three or four of them grown up with lit­tle sup­port except their father’s rep­u­ta­tion; and whether that rep­u­ta­tion be over­rat­ed or not, I am con­vinced that at this moment you would not wish to impair the lega­cy as far as they are con­cerned” (Hob­house to Byron on 15 July, 1819.)

But Hob­house was not being can­did — as Byron must have known. Drop­ping the stan­za attack­ing Romil­ly served his inter­ests as an elec­toral can­di­date as much as any oth­er. He had failed in his first, Feb­ru­ary 1819, bid to win Romilly’s Par­lia­men­tary seat of West­min­ster on behalf of ‘rad­i­cal’ reform. But he had come a cred­itable sec­ond in the bal­lot and planned to try again. It would look bad for him to be asso­ci­at­ed — as he would be — with Byron’s attack on the once-dis­tin­guished for­mer Mem­ber for that con­stituen­cy. Hob­house was a rad­i­cal who — like Byron who decid­ed­ly was not  — want­ed no over­turn­ing of the social order that pro­tect­ed Romilly’s name and saved him from a suicide’s unhal­lowed grave. 

England in 1819–20

A sec­tion of the pref­ace to my Anno­tat­ed Can­tos I & II (with audio nar­ra­tion) planned for the bi-cen­te­nary of Don Juan in 2019.

The first two can­tos of Don Juan were pub­lished in July, 1819, at the start of an 18-month peri­od of polit­i­cal upheaval that led, even­tu­al­ly, to con­sti­tu­tion­al reform in Britain.

In some ways, these two years marked the end of the Regency soci­ety that once lionised Byron, but that he had fled three years ear­li­er. Now, pop­u­lar out­rage erupt­ed at the repres­sive and cor­rupt Liv­er­pool gov­ern­ment and at the adul­ter­ous, undig­ni­fied Prince Regent (soon to be George IV) who sought a hyp­o­crit­i­cal bill of “Pains and Penal­ties” from Par­lia­ment to deny his estranged wife Car­o­line a crown.

A satyri­cal print pub­lished by the rad­i­cal print­er (pornog­ra­ph­er and pirate of Don Juan), William Ben­bow, in Decem­ber 1820. It shows a gouty George IV, horned and with wings which are spread to pro­tect his sup­port­ers hold­ing a bot­tle labeled Peo­ples Tears, squat­ting with his mis­tress Lady Conyn­g­ham (“Care-away Cun­ning­ham”). In the back­ground on the left the cav­al­ry who charged at Peter­loo, at cen­tre-top Bri­tan­nia hides her face in shame, and on the right, beneath gath­er­ing storm-clouds “The Peo­ple”.

Labor unrest in the indus­tri­al Mid­lands and north of Eng­land, unem­ploy­ment among for­mer sol­diers, and deep­en­ing rur­al pover­ty raised alarm­ing prospects of revolt and even rev­o­lu­tion in Eng­land. The old “jacobin” Jere­my Ben­tham waged a pop­u­lar cam­paign against waste and cor­rup­tion in gov­ern­ment and for uni­ver­sal (male) suf­frage. The rad­i­cal pub­lish­er William Cob­bett — whose twopen­ny Polit­i­cal Reg­is­ter had a cir­cu­la­tion of 40,000 when he fled to the Unit­ed States in 1817 — returned in 1819 to begin his rur­al rides cam­paign in which he con­doned machine break­ing and hay-rick burn­ing. The gen­er­al out­cry in the British press and at many pop­u­lar meet­ings against the “Peter­loo Mas­sacre” had fright­ened the Cab­i­net into over-reac­tion, sup­press­ing pub­lic meet­ings and civ­il rights.

So ner­vous were the author­i­ties — and so sen­si­tive to crit­i­cism —  that in mid-Decem­ber 1819, even the “reac­tionary chau­vin­ist” Cam Hob­house was arrest­ed on the order of Par­lia­ment for pub­lish­ing a brochure that the Com­mons declared a breech of par­lia­men­tary priv­i­lege and spent ten weeks in New­gate prison. Still, his release from jail was a “get into Par­lia­ment” card since the sen­tence all but guar­an­teed his suc­cess at the next bal­lot for the seat of West­min­ster.

A satire (George Cruikshank) on the defeat of Hobhouse by Lamb at the Westminster Election. The Rump, or remnant of Reformers, is represented by the hind-quarters of a cart-horse, with its hoofs in the air, carried on a knacker's cart, the front of which is formed by a guillotine. The procession is headed by Mister John Ketch, Esqr., the hangman.A satire (George Cruik­shank) on the defeat of Hob­house by Lamb at the West­min­ster Elec­tion. The Rump, or rem­nant of Reform­ers, is rep­re­sent­ed by the hind-quar­ters of a cart-horse, with its hoofs in the air, car­ried on a knacker’s cart, the front of which is formed by a guil­lo­tine. The pro­ces­sion is head­ed by Mis­ter John Ketch, Esqr., the hang­man. [Click for a larg­er ver­sion]

Fears — or, for some, hopes — that gov­ern­ment insti­tu­tions were under attack were appar­ent­ly con­firmed when, in Feb­ru­ary, 1820, the Bow Street Run­ners arrest­ed thir­teen so-called “Cato Street Con­spir­a­tors” at a small sta­bles in cen­tral Lon­don. They were plot­ting to blow up the Liv­er­pool Cab­i­net at a din­ner meet­ing in Grosvenor Square, take over the Roy­al Exchange and emp­ty the cof­fers of the Bank of Eng­land into the hands of the poor.

But the ser­vices of the Liv­er­pool gov­ern­ment had, in fact, known of the plot for months. A gov­ern­ment spy had joined, and even became deputy-leader of, the group. Although the Court dis­al­lowed the spy’s tes­ti­mo­ny in their tri­al, the tes­ti­mo­ny of two of the con­spir­a­tors against the oth­ers sent five of them to a grue­some and well-attend­ed pub­lic exe­cu­tion for trea­son. Their posthu­mous behead­ing was round­ly booed. The seri­al­ly-adul­ter­ous Duke of Welling­ton men­tioned to one of his girl­friends an unlike­ly report that Hob­house — in jail when the plot was dis­cov­ered — had been offered the lead­er­ship of the coun­try by the con­spir­a­tors, should their plot have suc­ceed­ed, and had accept­ed.1

Then the affair of Queen Car­o­line riv­et­ted pub­lic atten­tion for four months from her retun to Eng­land in July 1820 — seek­ing coro­na­tion as Queen when the Prince Regent assumed his father’s crown — through the fail­ure, in Par­lia­ment in Novem­ber, of King George IV’s attempt to divorce her on the grounds of adul­tery. Despite plau­si­ble evi­dence of Caroline’s affair with her Ital­ian ‘Sec­re­tary’, many in both the mid­dle and work­ing class­es were shocked by the King’s hypocrisy and ‘ungentle­man­ly’ behav­iour to his wife.2 Let­ters, pam­phlets, car­toons, pub­lic demon­stra­tions mock­ing the King and par­tic­i­pants in the Par­lia­men­tary dra­ma demon­strat­ed over­whelm­ing dis­ap­proval of, and embar­rass­ment at, the King’s extrav­a­gant, self­ish and dis­solute behav­iour. Mid­dle-class women, too, formed large pub­lic asso­ci­a­tions that issued “Loy­al Address­es” sup­port­ing the Queen and received replies from her con­firm­ing her sense of injury to her role as a moth­er and wife.3

The British mid­dle class did not sus­tain its sup­port for the Queen after the Gov­ern­ment allowed the pros­e­cu­tion to lapse: her affairs, too, were an embar­rass­ment. By good for­tune or ‘genius’ the British assim­i­lat­ed the tur­moil with­out any fun­da­men­tal rifts in soci­ety and went about the nec­es­sary polit­i­cal reforms.4 Still, the attach­ment to “fam­i­ly val­ues” of domes­tic­i­ty and pro­pri­ety that lay behind the out­cry over the Car­o­line affair was sus­tained into the Vic­to­ri­an age that fol­lowed.

In the 1820s the expand­ing mid­dle-class of a rel­a­tive­ly wealthy Britain sent their chil­dren to gram­mar schools that were now broad­en­ing their cur­ricu­lum away from clas­sic lit­er­a­ture toward more mun­dane and com­mer­cial­ly use­ful stud­ies with the sup­port and pro­mo­tion of reform-mind­ed lumi­nar­ies such as J.S.Mill, Fran­cis Place and Jere­my Ben­tham. Thomas Arnold (Matthew’s father) began a pro­gram to lift the moral tone and edu­ca­tion­al stan­dards of the pub­lic schools, too, with the aim of pro­duc­ing “Chris­t­ian Gen­tle­man” such as the squeaky, earnest “Tom Brown”.

The new “pro­pri­etors” dis­ap­proved of the rau­cous, lib­er­al, even lib­er­tine man­ners and tastes of the late 18th cen­tu­ry and the ear­ly Regency, exem­pli­fied by some of the authors whom Byron cit­ed in his defence of his alleged ‘excess­es’. The decade of the 1820s saw the emer­gence of what we now think of as Vic­to­ri­an taste: overt pro­pri­ety in lan­guage and behav­iour; respect for com­merce; sen­ti­men­tal taste for uplift­ing or at least moral­ly-didac­tic art and lit­er­a­ture, and; pious adher­ence to estab­lished insti­tu­tions such as the Monar­chy and (except for the trou­ble­some Irish and the “new” dis­senters, espe­cial­ly Methodists) the Church.