After Byron by Norman Beim

Author:Norman Beim
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781579624170
Publisher: The Permanent Press
Published: 2015-03-05T00:00:00+00:00

NOTES FOR A MEMOIR

I may not live to complete this volume. However, I want it clearly understood . . . THIS WORK IS NOT TO BE DESTROYED. If it is not completed at the time of my death it is to be stored at the University Library at Cambridge and made available to those to whom it may prove of interest.

I shall never forgive that prude, John Murray, for destroying dear Byron’s memoirs . . . and Hobhouse and Moore. They took it upon themselves to tear his precious manuscript apart and toss it into the fire. How could they betray their old friend like that!? Well, Hobhouse was always a prig. I told Byron so time and time again, and Murray . . . a toad and a hypocrite. The world has thus been deprived of what could possibly have been our dear friend’s greatest work. And why? Didn’t they realize that by hiding the truth they just added fuel to the flames?

There are as many social mores as there are societies, and Byron refused to be restricted by the morality that was currently in fashion. In some civilizations incest was, and is, acceptable, nay encouraged, and love between men regarded as the highest form of love. Byron was a passionate lover and those women and men who were privileged to be blessed, as I was, by his ardent devotion will be forever grateful.

I have often been asked what I think of women, as if I were some sort of connoisseur, which, I assure you, dear reader, I am not. Not that I haven’t received the benefit of tender devotion, an incomparable experience. Not that I haven’t been the victim of feminine rage, a frightening, indescribable experience. Experience however can often prove contradictory. My standard answer to the question has always been, “I don’t think of them at all.” To think about a woman is to destroy her, her charm, her aura. A woman must be met on her own grounds, that of instinct and emotion. I have never yet met a woman that could withstand close mental scrutiny.

For one thing women, as a species, are humorless. In addition to that they are no more capable of being faithful than is a rose of not smelling sweet. That’s not to say that they cannot be loyal. I once bedded a married woman who spent half the night boring me with how wonderful her husband was. She even called me by her husband’s name at the height of our passion. That, I would say, is carrying loyalty too far.

If I am lascivious, and I have been labeled so by some, it’s only because the world has seen fit to encourage that side of my nature. My true nature, if there is such a thing, is that of a scholar. My deepest passion is reserved for books. I have never abused a book. I have treated every volume I’ve encountered, good, bad or indifferent, with the greatest respect, with love, with tenderness.

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