My Recollections of Lord Byron
toward himself; and though he only harmed himself by his want of
prudence, yet was he cruelly punished for it by sorrows, regrets, and
even by a fatally premature death.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 131: Letter 68, to Dallas, 17th September, 1811.]
[Footnote 132: Dallas, Letter 45.]
[Footnote 133: Lord Byron to Dallas, Letter 66; Moore, vol. ii.]
[Footnote 134: See Moore, Letter 456.]
[Footnote 135: See Moore, Letter 456 (Ravenna, 24th September, 1821).]
[Footnote 136: See his "Life in Italy."]
[Footnote 137: Letter 436, Moore.]
CHAPTER XXII.
LORD BYRON'S MARRIAGE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.
Lord Byron's marriage exercised such a deplorable influence over his
destiny, that it is impossible to speak of it succinctly, and without
entering into details; for this one great misfortune proved the fruitful
source of all others.
If we were permitted to believe that Providence sometimes abandons men
here below to the influence of an evil genius, we might well conceive
this baneful intervention in the case of Lord Byron's conjugal union,
and all the circumstances that led to it.
It was but a few months after having returned from his travels in the
East, that Lord Byron published his first cantos of "Childe Harold," and
obtained triumphs as an orator in the House of Lords. Presenting himself
thus for the first time to the public, surrounded by all the prestige
belonging to a handsome person, rank, and youth,--in a word, with such
an assemblage of qualities as are seldom if ever found united in one
person--he immediately became the idol of England. The enemies created
by his boyish satire, and augmented by the jealousy his success could
not fail to cause, now hid themselves like those vile insects that slink
back into their holes on the first appearance of the sun's rays, ready
to creep out again when fogs and darkness return. Living then in the
midst of the great world, in the closest intimacy with many of the fair
sex, and witnessing the small amount of wedded happiness enjoyed by
aristocratic couples within his observation, intending also to wing his
flight eventually toward climes more in unison with his tastes, he no
longer felt that attraction for marriage which he had experienced in
boyhood (like most youths), and he said, quite seriously, that if his
cousin, George Byron, would marry, he, on his part, would willingly
engage not to enter into wedlock. But his friends saw with regret that
his eyes were still seeking through English clouds the blue skies of the
East; and that he was kept in perpetual agitation by the fair ones who
would cast themselves athwart his path, throwing themselves at his head
when not at his feet. Vainly did he distort himself, give himself out to
the public as a true "Childe Harold," malign himself; his friends knew
that his heart was overflowing with tenderness, and they could not thus
be duped. If he had wished to cull some flowers idly, for the sake of
scattering their leaves to the breeze, as youth so often does, this sort
of amusement would have been difficult for him, for the fine ladies of
his choice, if once they succeeded in inspiring him with some kind of
tender feeling, fastened themselves upon him in such a passionate way
that his freedom became greatly shackled, and they generally ended by
making the public the confidante of their secret.
Lord Byron had some adventures that brought him annoyance and grief.
They made him fall into low spirits,--a sort of moral apathy and
indifference for every thing. His best friends, and the wisest among
them, thought that the surest way of settling him in England, and
getting him out of the scrapes into which he was being dragged by female
enthusiasm, would be for him to marry, and they advised him to it
pertinaciously. Lord Byron, ever docile to the voice of affection, did
not repel the counsels given, but he made them well understand that he
should marry from reason rather than choice; and the letter he wrote,
when Moore insisted on his choosing a certain beautiful girl of noble
birth,[138] well explains his whole state of mind at this time:--
"I believe," said he, "that you think I have not been quite fair with
that Alpha and Omega of beauty with whom you would willingly have
united me. Had Lady ---- appeared to wish it, I would have gone on, and
very possibly married with the same indifference which has frozen over
the Black Sea of almost all my passions. It is that very indifference
which makes me so uncertain and apparently capricious. It is not
eagerness of new pursuits, but that nothing impresses me _sufficiently_
to fix. I do not feel disgusted, but simply indifferent to almost all
excitements; and the proof of this is that obstacles, the slightest
even, stop me. This can hardly be timidity, for I have done some
imprudent things, too, in my time; and in almost all cases opposition is
a stimulus. In this circumstance it is not; if a straw were in my way I
could not stoop to pick it up. I have sent you this long tirade, because
I would not have you suppose that I have been trifling designedly with
you or others. If you think so, in the name of St. Hubert (the patron of
antlers and hunters) _let me be married out of hand, I don't care to
whom_, so it amuses any body else, and don't interfere with me much in
the daytime."
But that to which Lord Byron most aspired was always to wing his flight
to brighter skies.
"Your climate kills me," he wrote to Hodgson, directly after his return
from the East. And then again, "My inclinations and my health make me
wish to leave England; neither my habits nor constitution are improved
by your customs or your climate. I shall find employment in making
myself a good Oriental scholar. I shall buy a mansion in one of the
fairest islands, and describe, at intervals, the most interesting
portions of the East."
Lord Byron wrote this before he had attained great celebrity, but this
did not change either his sentiments or his tastes. Notwithstanding the
embarrassments arising from the legacy left him by his great uncle, and
which were principally caused by the action brought against him on
account of the illegal sale of the Rochdale mines (a suit which Lord
Byron gained, but the expenses of which were ruinous), he was
nevertheless sufficiently rich to live at ease, to let his needy friends
enjoy the profits arising from his works, and to allow himself acts of
beneficence and generosity that were the joy of his heart. And when he
had done all that, he still found that he could not spend the surplus
in England according to his tastes. After the death of his mother, no
longer bound by his promise to her of not selling Newstead, he resolved
on effecting the sale so as to settle his affairs definitively. The sale
having failed, the forfeit brought him in L25,000; and he wrote to
Moore, in September, 1814:--
"I shall know to-morrow whether a circumstance, of importance enough to
change all my plans, will occur or not.[139] If it does not, I am off
for Italy next month.
"I have a few thousand pounds which I can't spend after my own heart in
this climate, and so I shall go back to the south. Hobhouse, I think and
hope, will go with me; but whether he will or not, I shall. I want to
see Venice and the Alps, and Parmesan cheeses, and look at the coasts of
Greece, or rather Epirus, from Italy as I once did, or fancied I did,
that of Italy, when off Corfu."
A few days before writing this letter, his evil destiny had led him to
take a step fatal to all his future happiness.
A person, for whom he entertained both affection and deference,
observing one day how unsettled he appeared in his state of mind and
projects for the future, again reiterated, with more earnestness than
ever, the advice to marry.
After long discussions Lord Byron promised to do so. But who should be
the object of his choice? A young lady was named who seemed to possess
all the qualities requisite for giving happiness in marriage. Lord
Byron, on his side, suggested Miss Milbank, with whom he was then in
correspondence. She was a niece of Lady Melbourne, who had thought of
this union a year before; a circumstance which probably decided Lord
Byron's preference, for he liked Lady Melbourne very much.
On hearing Miss Milbank's name his friend protested with great energy,
begging him to remark, among other things, that Miss Milbank had no
actual fortune, that his affairs were too much embarrassed for him to be
able to marry a woman without money, and moreover that Miss Milbank was
a learned lady, a _blue-stocking_, who could not possibly suit him. Ever
docile to the voice of friendship, Lord Byron yielded, and allowed his
friend to write a proposal to the other lady. Soon after a negative
answer arrived, one morning, that the two friends were together.
"You see," said Lord Byron, "that after all it is Miss Milbank I am to
marry; I shall write to her!" He did so immediately; and when the letter
was finished, his friend feeling more and more opposed to such a choice,
took it from him. After having read it, he exclaimed:--
"Truly, this letter is so charming that it is a pity for it not to go. I
never read a better effusion." "Then go it shall," replied Lord Byron,
who sealed and sent it off, thus signing his own misfortune!
We have said that he was in correspondence with Miss Milbank. This is
how he had made her acquaintance.
Two years previously, at a London _soiree_, he saw sitting in the corner
of a sofa a young girl whose simplicity of dress made her look as if she
belonged to a less elevated position than most of the other girls in the
room; Moore told him, however, that she was a rich heiress, Miss
Milbank, and that if he would marry her she might help him to restore
the old Abbey of Newstead. Her modest look, in striking contrast with
the stiffness and formality common to the aristocracy, interested Lord
Byron. He had himself introduced, and some time after ended by asking
her to marry him. His proposal, from motives that could not wound him,
was not accepted then. But a year later Miss Milbank testified the
desire of entering into correspondence with him. Thus the ground was
prepared. When he sent his letter with a fresh proposal, it was accepted
all the more eagerly that a report had been spread of his wishing to
marry a young and beautiful Irish girl, which did not please Miss
Milbank. Her answer was couched in very flattering terms, and the fatal
marriage was thus decided on. This was perhaps the only time in his life
that Lord Byron did not follow the counsels of friendship. It would
indeed seem as if an evil genius had taken possession of his will.
Warnings were not wanting; but he refused to listen to them. "If you
have any thing to say against my decision," wrote he to Moore, in his
usual jesting way, after the marriage had been agreed on, "I beg you to
say it. My resolve is taken, so positively, fixed, and irrevocably,
that I can very well listen to reason, since now it can do me no more
harm."
And so he married Miss Milbank three months afterward. During the
interval between the promise exchanged and the ceremony concluded, Lord
Byron saw his betrothed frequently. Had he no warning, no inspiration
from his good genius during all that time? Had he no fear of such
perfection? Did he not feel that a faultless coat of mail, like hers,
might so have pressed upon her heart that no pulse would be left giving
earnest of life? Might not tenderness, piety, indulgence, forbearance,
the most amiable and sublime virtues belonging to a Christian woman,
have their place filled in the breast of this perfect creature by
another kind of sublimity? and was it not very possible that she would
increase by one the number of those chaste wives who judge, condemn,