Los padres de Byron

[Robert Chambers (1802-71) describes an engagement of Mrs. Siddons at he Theatre Royal, Edinburgh, in May 1784, and the night she played Isabella in Southerne’s tragedy, The Fatal Marriage.]

People came from distant places, even from Newcastle, to witness what all spoke of with wonder. There were one day applications for 2,557 places, while there were only 630 of that kind in the house. Posters and servants had to bivouac for a night in the streets, on mats and palliasses, in order that they moight get an early chance of admission to the box-office next day. At he more thrilling parts of the perfomance, the audience were agitated to a degree unprecedented in this cool latitude. Many ladies fainted. This was particularly the case on the evening when Isabella, or the Fatal Marriage, was performed. The personator of Isabella has to exhibit the distress of a wife, on finding, after second marriage, that her first and beloved husband, Biron, is still alive. Mrs. Siddons was left at the close in such an exhausted state, that some minutes elapsed before she could be carried off the stage. A young heiress, Miss Gordon of Gight, in Aberdeenshire, was caried out of her box in hysterics, screaming loudly the words caught from the great actress: ‘Oh, my Biron! my Biron!’ A strange tale was therewith connected. A gentleman, whom she had not at this time seen or heard of, the Honourable John Biron, next year met, paid his addresses, and married her. It was to her a fatal marriage in several respects, although it gave to the world the poet Lord Byron.

James Sutherland, The Oxford Book of Literay Anecdotes.

Más sobre Byron en la wikipedia.

¡Qué rápido discurre todo!

Claude Monet, Interior de la estación Saint-Lazare.

In times past, when people wandered the world on foot, rode on horseback, or sailed in ships, the journey itself accustomed them to the change. Images of the earth passed ever so slowly before their eyes, the stage revolved in a barely perceptible way. The voyage lasted weeks, months. The traveler had time to grow used to another environment, a different landscape. The climate, too, changed gradually. Before the traveler arrived from a cool Europe to the burning Equator, he already had left behind the pleasant warmth of Las Palmas, the heat of Al-Mahara, and the hell of the Cape Verde Islands

Ryszard Kapuscinski, The shadow of the sun.

Ahora tenemos Jet lag y un cacao mental de órdago. Viajes por Europa en una semana, aprendizajes de idiomas en tres, madurez en dos telediarios, intoxicación de información… demasiado.