or a consultation; and proposed calling in, without delay, Dr.
Freiber, the medical assistant of Mr. Millingen, and Luca Vaya, a
Greek, the physician of Mavrocordato. On hea[r]ing this, Lord Byron
at first refused to see them; but being informed that Mavrocordato
advised it, he said,--"Very well, let them come; but let them look at
me and say nothing." This they promised, and were admitted; but when
one of them, on feeling his pulse, showed a wish to
speak--"Recollect," he said, "your promise, and go away."

It was after this consultation of the physicians[1], that, as it
appeared to Count Gamba, Lord Byron was, for the first time, aware of
his approaching end. Mr. Millingen, Fletcher, and Tita had been
standing round his bed; but the two first, unable to restrain their
tears, left the room. Tita also wept; but, as Byron held his hand,
could not retire. He, however, turned away his face; while Byron,
looking at him steadily, said, half smiling, "Oh questa e una bella
scena!" He then seemed to reflect a moment, and exclaimed, "Call
Parry." Almost immediately afterwards, a fit of delirium ensued; and
he began to talk wildly, as if he were mounting a breach in an
assault,--calling out, half in English, half in Italian,
"Forwards--forwards--courage--follow my example," &c. &c.

[Footnote 1: For Mr. Millingen's account of this consultation, see
Appendix.]

On coming again to himself, he asked Fletcher, who had then returned
into the room, "whether he had sent for Dr. Thomas, as he desired?"
and the servant answering in the affirmative, he replied, "You have
done right, for I should like to know what is the matter with me." He
had, a short time before, with that kind consideration for those
about him which was one of the great sources of their lasting
attachment to him, said to Fletcher, "I am afraid you and Tita will
be ill with sitting up night and day." It was now evident that he
knew he was dying; and between his anxiety to make his servant
understand his last wishes, and the rapid failure of his powers of
utterance, a most painful scene ensued. On Fletcher asking whether he
should bring pen and paper to take down his words--"Oh no," he
replied--"there is no time--it is now nearly over. Go to my
sister--tell her--go to Lady Byron--you will see her, and say ----"
Here his voice faltered, and became gradually indistinct;
notwithstanding which he continued still to mutter to himself, for
nearly twenty minutes, with much