Byron as Swimmer and Feaster
by Edwin Watts Chubb
In 1858 Trelawney published his Recollections of the Last Days of
Shelley and Byron. In many ways this is a remarkable book. It is the
one source of information as to the last days of Shelley; concerning
Byron's, others have furnished material. Trelawney is suspected of
mingling some fiction with his truth, but the general tendency
nowadays is to place confidence in these Recollections. He may not
always give us a literal report, but he has likely reproduced the
spirit. He is much more sympathetic in his treatment of Shelley than
he is in his account of Byron. Trelawney himself was a remarkable
character. He lived far into the time of a new generation, dying in
his eighty-ninth year in 1881. Mary Shelley, in a letter to Maria
Gisborne, February, 1822, describes him as "A kind of half-Arab
Englishman.... He is clever: for his moral qualities I am yet in the
dark. He is a strange web which I am endeavoring to unravel."
In the Recollections occurs this interesting account of Byron:
Byron has been accused of drinking deeply. Our universities,
certainly, did turn out more famous drinkers than scholars. In the
good old times, to drink lustily was the characteristic of all
Englishmen, just as tuft-hunting is now. Eternal swilling, and the
rank habits and braggadocio manners which it engendered, came to a
climax in George IV's reign. Since then, excessive drinking has gone
out of fashion, but an elaborate style of gastronomy has come in to
fill the void; so there is not much gained. Byron used to boast of the
quantity of wine he had drunk. He said, "We young Whigs imbibed
claret, and so saved our constitutions: the Tories stuck to port, and
destroyed theirs and their country's."
From the portrait by T. Phillips
He bragged, too, of his prowess in riding, boxing, fencing, and even
walking; but to excel in these things feet are as necessary as hands.
It was difficult to avoid smiling at his boasting and
self-glorification. In the water a fin is better than a foot, and in
that element he did well; he was built for floating,—with a flexible
body, open chest, broad beam, and round limbs. If the sea was smooth
and warm, he would stay in it for hours; but as he seldom indulged in
this sport, and when he did, over-exerted himself, he suffered
severely; which observing, and knowing how deeply he would be
mortified at being beaten, I had the magnanimity when contending with
him to give in.
He had a misgiving in his mind that I was trifling with him; and one
day as we were on the shore, and the Bolivar at anchor, about three
miles off, he insisted on our trying conclusions; we were to swim to
the yacht, dine in the sea alongside of her, treading water the while,
and then to return to the shore. It was calm and hot, and seeing he
would not be fobbed off, we started. I reached the boat a long time
before he did; ordered the edibles to be ready, and floated until he
arrived. We ate our fare leisurely, from off a grating that floated
alongside, drank a bottle of ale, and I smoked a cigar, which he tried
to extinguish,—as he never smoked. We then put about, and struck off
towards the shore. We had not got a hundred yards on our passage, when
he retched violently, and, as that is often followed by cramp, I urged
him to put his hand on my shoulder that I might tow him back to the
"Keep off, you villain, don't touch me. I'll drown ere I give in."
I answered as Iago did to Roderigo:
"'A fig for drowning! drown cats and blind puppies.' I shall go on
board and try the effects of a glass of grog to stay my stomach."
"Come on," he shouted, "I am always better after vomiting."
With difficulty I deluded him back; I went on board, and he sat on the
steps of the accommodation-ladder, with his feet in the water. I
handed him a wineglass of brandy, and screened him from the burning
sun. He was in a sullen mood, but after a time resumed his usual tone.
Nothing could induce him to be landed in the schooner's boat, though I
protested I had had enough of the water.
"You may do as you like," he called out, and plumped in, and we swam
He never afterwards alluded to this event, nor to his prowess in
swimming, to me, except in the past tense. He was ill, and kept to his
bed for two days afterwards.
To return to his drinking propensities, after this digression about
his gymnastic prowess: I must say, that of all his vauntings, it was,
luckily for him, the emptiest—that is, after he left England and his
boon companions, as I know nothing of what he did there. From all that
I heard or witnessed of his habits abroad, he was and had been
exceedingly abstemious in eating and drinking. When alone, he drank a
glass or two of small claret or hock, and when utterly exhausted at
night, a single glass of grog; which when I mixed it for him I lowered
to what sailors call "water bewitched," and he never made any remark.
I once, to try him, omitted the alcohol; he then said, "Tre, have you
not forgotten the creature comfort?" I then put in two spoonfuls, and
he was satisfied. This does not look like an habitual toper. His
English acquaintances in Italy were, he said in derision, all
milksops. On the rare occasion of any of his former friends visiting
him, he would urge them to have a carouse with him, but they had grown
wiser. He used to say that little Tommy Moore was the only man he knew
who stuck to the bottle and put him on his mettle, adding, "But he is
a native of the damp isle, where men subsist by suction."
Byron had not damaged his body by strong drinks, but his terror of
getting fat was so great that he reduced his diet to the point of
absolute starvation. He was of that soft, lymphatic temperament which
it is almost impossible to keep within moderate compass, particularly
as in his case his lameness prevented his taking exercise. When he
added to his weight, even standing was painful, so he resolved to keep
down to eleven stone, or shoot himself. He said everything he
swallowed was instantly converted into tallow and deposited on his
He was the only human being I ever met with who had sufficient
self-restraint and resolution to resist this proneness to fatten: he
did so, and at Genoa, where he was last weighed, he was ten stone and
nine pounds, and looked much less. This was not from vanity about his
personal appearance, but from a better motive; and as, like Justice
Greedy, he was always hungry, his merit was the greater. Occasionally
he relaxed his vigilance, when he swelled apace.
I remember one of his old friends saying, "Byron, how well you are
looking!" If he had stopped there it had been well, but when he added,
"You are getting fat," Byron's brow reddened, and his eyes
flashed—"Do you call getting fat looking well, as if I were a hog?"
and, turning to me, he muttered, "The beast, I can hardly keep my
hands off him." The man who thus offended him was the husband of the
lady addressed as "Genevra," and the original of his "Zuleika," in the
Bride of Abydos. I don't think he had much appetite for his dinner
that day, or for many days, and never forgave the man who, so far from
wishing to offend, intended to pay him a compliment.
Byron said he had tried all sorts of experiments to stay his hunger,
without adding to his bulk. "I swelled," he said, "at one time to
fourteen stone, so I clapped the muzzle to my jaws, and, like the
hibernating animals, consumed my own fat."
He would exist on biscuits and soda-water for days together, then, to
allay the eternal hunger gnawing at his vitals, he would make up a
horrid mess of cold potatoes, rice, fish, or greens, deluged in
vinegar, and gobble it up like a famished dog. On either of these
unsavory dishes, with a biscuit and a glass or two of Rhine wine, he
cared not how sour, he called feasting sumptuously. Upon my observing
he might as well have fresh fish and vegetables, instead of stale, he
laughed and answered:
"I have an advantage over you, I have no palate; one thing is as good
as another to me."
"Nothing," I said, "disagrees with the natural man; he fasts and
gorges, his nerves and brain don't bother him; but if you wish to
"Who wants to live?" he replied, "not I. The Byrons are a short-lived
race on both sides, father and mother; longevity is hereditary: I am
nearly at the end of my tether. I don't care for death a ——; it is
her sting! I can't bear pain."
His habits and want of exercise damaged him, not drink. It must be
borne in mind, moreover, that his brain was always working at high
pressure. The consequences resulting from his way of life were low or
intermittent fevers; these last had fastened on him in his early
travels in the Levant; and there is this peculiarity in malarial
fevers, that if you have once had them, you are ever afterwards
susceptible to a renewal of their attacks if within their reach, and
Byron was hardly ever out of it. Venice and Ravenna are belted in with
swamps, and fevers are rife in the autumn. By starving his body Byron
kept his brains clear; no man had brighter eyes or a clearer voice;
and his resolute bearing and prompt replies, when excited, gave to
his body an appearance of muscular power that imposed on strangers. I
never doubted, for he was indifferent to life, and prouder than
Lucifer, that if he had drawn his sword in Greece, or elsewhere, he
would have thrown away the scabbard.