That such
was his _genuine sentiment_, we can never bring ourselves to
believe; and whatever standing is possessed by us in the world,
should willingly be staked upon this point. As a romance of the
pen, and not as a pure narrative of facts, we trust the following
will be received; for, as such alone is it presented to our
readers.]
Lord Byron during his stay at Athens, lodged at the Capuchin Convent. The
Reverend Father Paul had found favour in the sight of this surprising
genius;--his age, his profession, his gentleness, had gained him the
affection of that nobleman in such a manner, that he devoted himself to
him with all the caprice of his character. Wearied with everything,
_oppressed by his familiar demon_, Byron came one day to find Father
Paul, and request his hospitality.
The monk on seeing him reminded him of the words of the last conversation
they had had together--"_You cannot convince me, I am still an
Atheist_." Instead of replying, Byron requested the Father to permit
him to inhabit a cell, and relieve him from the ennui which poisoned his
life. "While uttering these words," said Father Paul, "he pressed my
hands, and called me his father; the locks of his hair, dripping with
perspiration, covered his forehead; his face was pale, his lips trembled:
dared I to ask him the cause of his melancholy?"--"My father, all
_your_ days are like each other; as for _me_, I shall always be
a traveller.
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