Alternately the idol and the horror of his contemporaries, Byron was, during his life, feared and respected as “the grand Napoleon of the realms of rhyme.”  His works were the events of the literary world.  The chief among them were translated into French, German, Italian, Danish, Polish, Russian, Spanish.  On the publication of Moore’s Life, Lord Macaulay had no hesitation in referring to Byron as “the most celebrated Englishman of the nineteenth century.”  Nor have we now; but in the interval between 1840-1870, it was the fashion to talk of him as a sentimentalist, a romancer, a shallow wit, a nine days’ wonder, a poet for “green unknowing youth.”  It was a reaction, such as leads us to disestablish the heroes of our crude imaginations till we learn that to admire nothing is as sure a sign of immaturity as to admire everything.

The weariness, if not disgust, induced by a throng of more than usually absurd imitators, enabled Carlyle, the poet’s successor in literary influence (followed with even greater unfairness by Thackeray), more effectively to lead the counter-revolt.  “In my mind,” writes the former, in 1839, “Byron has been sinking at an accelerated rate for the last ten years, and has now reached a very low level....  His fame has been very great, but I do not see how it is to endure; neither does that make him great.  No genuine productive thought was ever revealed by him to mankind.  He taught me nothing that I had not again to forgot.”  The refrain of Carlyle’s advice during the most active years of his criticism was, “Close thy Byron, open thy Goethe.”  We do so, and find that the refrain of Goethe’s advice in reference to Byron is—­“nocturna versate manu, versate diurna.”  He urged Eckermann to study English that he might read him; remarking, “A character of such eminence has never existed before, and probably will never come again.  The beauty of Cain is such as we shall not see a second time in the world....  Byron issues from the sea-waves ever fresh.  In Helena, I could not make use of any man as the representative of the modern poetic era except him, who is undoubtedly the greatest genius[1] of our century.”  Again:  “Tasso’s epic has maintained its fame, but Byron is the burning bush, which reduces the cedar of Lebanon to ashes....  The English may think of him as they please; this is certain, they can show no (living) poet who is comparable to him....  But he is too worldly.  Contrast Macbeth, and Beppo, where you are in a nefarious empirical world.”  On Eckermann’s doubting “whether there is a gain for pure culture in Byron’s work,” Goethe conclusively replies, “There I must contradict you.  The audacity and grandeur of Byron must certainly tend towards culture.  We should take care not to be always looking for it in the decidedly pure and moral.  Everything that is great promotes cultivation, as soon as we are aware of it.”

    [Footnote 1:  Mr. Arnold wrongly objects to this translation of the
    German “talent.”]