Lord Byron - Part 3
By Jovan Stipić
Since the last chapter, I've heard feedback suggesting more focus on Lord Byron and less on myself. I wasn't keen on the idea, but those who support my writing remind me that sharing my thoughts with you, dear reader, is perfectly okay. I have to give them credit - they're truly fantastic.
Let's time-travel to 1806, when a financially strapped Lord Byron bid farewell to Cambridge and set his sights on London, fueled by loans from his half-sister, Augusta. It was here that he embarked on an ambitious endeavor to consolidate his diverse array of poetry into one cohesive collection, with dreams of publishing them.
Fast-forward a year to 1807, Byron, a mere 19 years old, realized his grand vision. He successfully launched his debut poetry collection, a testament to his emotional journey and personal tribulations, eloquently woven into a magnificent tapestry of words. He christened this literary masterpiece "Hours of Idleness."
Regrettably, the contemporary critics did not share this positive view. They were ruthlessly harsh on the young Byron, branding him a mediocrity and likening his poetic talent to a heap of manure.
In the face of such denunciation, from high-profile newspapers to lesser-known publications, all using Byron's name as a byword for mockery, it wouldn't have been surprising if he had decided to abandon writing. Yet, Byron, true to his indomitable spirit, never entertained the idea of surrender.
During the winter of 1807 and 1808, Byron set out to write what one would today call a “diss track,” or some such, named “English Bards and Scotch Reviewers.” It was published in 1809, and the world of Poetry would never be the same.
The result was a personal rebuttal, directly addressing each individual who had denigrated his initial work. But it was more than just a retort; it was an outstanding piece of writing. This time, his fame did not blossom instantly. Byron had poured into his quill and ink all the injustices he had suffered to that point.
Emerging from the shadow of his earlier criticisms, Byron transformed. The once perceived 'noble fool', following his previous poetry collection, shed that image to emerge as a notoriously witty poet. He was now armed with a biting wit and an eloquent tongue, garnering both notoriety and admiration.
Suddenly, everyone wanted to learn more about him. But Byron did the exact opposite.
He wanted to travel the Mediterranean with his best friend, John Hobhouse. From his letters we see that no matter how much he loved both the fame and the infamy that came with success, Byron still cherished the peaceful times in his life. After all, he seldom had that luxury.
We mentioned his love of men before, right? Back in England, that was illegal and punishable by death. Sure, he would seduce the women he wanted, but he was less likely to get shot by doing that than by sleeping around with men.
Thus, he traveled to Greece, where sleeping with the same sex wasn’t as damaging to your life as in puritanical England. He famously said about England, “the vices in fashion are whoring and drinking, in Turkey sodomy and smoking.”
But that is not to say that sleeping around was all he did. He saw how the Greeks had suffered under the Ottoman rule and that unrest was just about at the boiling point. Their desire for liberation struck a chord with him that he could not shake. The months he spent there would shape the rest of his poetry and the rest of his life. One that ended far too soon.
But that, dear reader, is a story for another time. For now, we leave Byron at the height of his first success and his true discovery of freedom. Such things in life seldom last more than a changing of the seasons, so let us not rush. Summertime is nearing, all is well in Denmark, and Byron has not shot anybody… yet.
I bid you adieu.