My Recollections of Lord Byron
"_after all, his misfortunes lay in the choice he had made of a wife,
which he_ (Moore) _had never approved_."
Lord Byron hastened to reply that he was wrong, and that Lady Byron's
conduct while with him had not deserved the smallest reproach, giving
her, at the same time, great praise. But this answer, which, according
to Moore, _forces admiration for the generous candor of him who wrote it
while adding to the sadness and strangeness of the whole affair_--this
answer, of such extraordinary generosity, will better find its place
elsewhere. It contains expressions that show his real state of soul
under the cruel circumstances:--
"I have to battle with all kinds of unpleasantness, including private
and pecuniary difficulties, etc.
" ...It is nothing to bear the _privations_ of adversity, or, more
properly, ill-fortune, but my pride recoils from its _indignities_.
However, I have no quarrel with that same pride, which will, I think, be
my buckler through every thing. If my heart could have been broken it
would have been so years ago, and by events more afflicting than
these.... Do you remember the lines I sent you early last year? I don't
wish to claim the character of 'Vates' the prophet, but were they not a
little prophetic? I mean those beginning: 'There's not a joy the world
can,' etc. They were the truest, though the most melancholy, I ever
wrote."
To this letter Moore answered immediately:--
"I had certainly no right to say any thing about the _unluckiness of
your choice_, though I rejoice now that I did, as it has drawn from you
a tribute which, however unaccountable and mysterious it renders the
whole affair, is highly honorable to both parties. What I meant in
hinting a doubt with respect to the object of your selection, did not
imply the least impeachment of that perfect amiableness which the world,
I find, by common consent, allows to her. I only feared that she might
have been too perfect, too _precisely_ excellent, _too matter-of-fact a
paragon for you to coalesce with comfortably_, ... and that a person
whose perfection hung in more easy folds about her, whose brightness was
softened down by some of 'those fair defects which best conciliate
love,' would, by appealing more dependently to your protection, have
stood a much better chance with your good-nature. All these
suppositions, however, I have been led into by my intense anxiety to
acquit you of any thing like a capricious abandonment of your wife; and,
totally in the dark as I am with respect to all but the fact of your
separation, you can not conceive the solicitude--the fearful
solicitude--with which I look forward to a history of the transaction
from your own lips when we meet--a history in which I am sure of at
least one virtue, manly candor."
Those who knew Lord Byron, gifted as he was with so much that seemed to
render it impossible for any woman to resign herself to the loss of his
love; with so much to make a wife proud of bearing his name; may well
ask what strange sort of nature Lady Byron could have possessed to act
as she did toward him; and whether, if she really married out of vanity
(as Lord Byron one day told Medwin, at Pisa), and her heart being full
of pride only, she found some greater satisfaction for her vanity in the
courage and perseverance she fancied displayed in deserting him. But, in
order to view her inexplicable conduct with any sort of indulgence, we
must say that Lady Byron was an only and a spoilt child, a slave to
rule, to habits and ideas as unchanging and inflexible as the figures
she loved to study; that, being accustomed to the comforts of a rich
house, where she was idolized, she could not do without her regular
comforts, so generally appreciated and considered necessary by English
people. But it was no easy matter to satisfy all her tastes with
mathematical regularity, to let her keep up all her habits, and, above
all, to make Lord Byron share them in their married life. In the first
place, Lord Byron, who was naturally un-English in taste, had, moreover,
through his long stay abroad, given up the peculiarities of English
habits. He did not dine every day, and when he did it was a cenobite's
meal, little suited to the taste of a true Englishman. He breakfasted on
a cup of green tea, without sugar, and the yolk of an egg, which was
swallowed standing. The comfortable fireside, the indispensable
roast-beef, and the regular evening tea, were not appreciated by him;
and, indeed, it was a real pain to him to see women eat at all. Not one
of his young wife's habits was shared by him. He did not think his soul
lost by going to bed at dawn, for he liked to write at night; or by
doing other things at what she called irregular hours; and he must have
been at least astonished on hearing himself asked, three weeks after
marriage, _when he intended giving up his versifying habits_?
But he did not give them up; nor could he have done so had he wished it.
Lady Byron must have flattered herself with the idea of ruling him, of
showing the world her power over her husband. As long as their resources
sufficed for a life of luxury, both parties might have cherished
illusion, and put off reflection. But when creditors, attracted by the
name of the wealthy heiress--who in reality had only brought her
expectations with her--began to pour in, and that pecuniary
embarrassment and humiliations were added to home incompatibilities,
then, perhaps, Lord Byron became irritable sometimes, and Lady Byron
must have felt more than ever the painful absence of those comforts
whose enjoyment cause many other annoyances to be forgotten. She must
often have compared her life then, full of mortifications, and, perhaps,
of solitude, with the one so comfortable and agreeable (for her) she
formerly led at Kirby Mallory, in the midst of her relatives. Indeed,
they had spent two months there, both saying they were happy; for at
this period of the honey-moon, Lord Byron, kind as he was, doubtless
yielded to all the caprices and habits of his hosts. Nevertheless,
through the veil of his customary jests and assurances to Moore that he
was quite satisfied, it is easy to see how tired he was, and how little
the life at Seaham was suited to him.
"I am in such a state of sameness and stagnation, and so totally
occupied in consuming the fruits, and sauntering, and playing dull games
at cards, and yawning, and trying to read old 'Annual Registers' and the
daily papers, and gathering shells on the shore, and watching the growth
of stunted gooseberry bushes in the garden, that I have neither time nor
sense to say more than yours ever,
BYRON."
And then another time he wrote,--
"I have been very comfortable here, listening to that d----d monologue
which elderly gentlemen call conversation, and in which my pious
father-in-law repeats himself every evening, except when he plays upon
the fiddle. However, they have been very kind and hospitable, and I like
them and the place vastly."
Again, feeling his thought in bondage at Seaham, when it would fain have
wandered free beneath some sunny sky, he wrote to Moore, "By the way,
don't engage yourself in any travelling expedition, as I have a plan of
travel into Italy, which we will discuss. And then, think of the poesy
wherewithal we should overflow from Venice to Vesuvius, to say nothing
of Greece, through all which--God willing--we might perambulate."
But on quitting Seaham to return home, without preventing Lady Byron
from continuing to follow her own tastes, it is likely that he wished to
resume his old habits: his beloved solitude, so necessary to him, his
fasts, his hours for study and rest, very different from those of
Seaham. And then she must have found it troublesome to have a husband,
who was not only indifferent to English comforts, but who even disliked
to see women eat! who, despite his embarrassments, continued to refuse
appropriating for his own use the money given and offered by his
publisher, making it over instead to the poor, and even borrowing to
help his friends and indigent authors.[142] She could not have known how
he would ever get disentangled. Being _extremely jealous_, she became
the easy dupe of malicious persons; and under the influence of that
wicked woman, Mrs. Claremont, allowed herself to be persuaded that her
husband committed grave faults, though in reality they were but slight
or even imaginary ones. She forced open his writing-desk, and found in
it several proofs of intrigues that had taken place _previous_ to his
marriage. In the frenzy of her jealousy, Lady Byron sent these letters
to the husband of the lady compromised, but he had the good sense to
take no notice of them. Such a revolting proceeding on the part of Lady
Byron requires no commentary: it can not be justified. Meanwhile the
conjugal abode was given up to bailiffs, and desolation reigned in Lord
Byron's soul. He had lately become a father. This was the moment that
his wife chose for leaving him; and the first proof of love she gave
their daughter, as soon as she set foot in her own home, was to abandon
that child's father and the house where she could no longer find the
mode of life to which she had been accustomed. At Kirby Mallory, the
vindictive Lady Noel, who detested Lord Byron, doubtless did the rest,
together with the governess. And the young heiress, just enriched by a
legacy inherited from an uncle, thus newly restored to wealth, had not
courage to leave it and them all again. With the kind of nature she
possessed, she must have taken pride in a sort of exaggerated firmness;
thus seeking to gain strength for trampling under foot all
heart-emotions, as if they were so many weaknesses, incompatible with
the stern principles that she considered virtues. By assuming the point
of view proper to some minds, it is easy to conceive all this,
especially when one knows England.
But was it really for the purpose of allowing her to give such a
spectacle to the world, and to secure for herself the comforts of life,
that God had given to her keeping Lord Byron's noble spirit? Did she
forget that it was not simply a good, honest, ordinary man, like the
generality of husbands, that she had married; but that Heaven, having
crowned his brow with the rays of genius, imposed far other obligations
on his companion? Did she forget that she was responsible before God and
before that country whose pride he was about to become? Ought she to
have preferred an easy life to the honor of being his wife; of
sustaining him in his weaknesses; of consoling and forgiving him, if
necessary; in short, of being his guardian angel? If she aspired to the
reputation of a virtuous woman, could true virtue have done otherwise?
Ere this God has judged her above; but, here below, can those possessing
hearts have any indulgence for her?
We hear constantly repeated--because it was once said--that men of great
genius are less capable than ordinary individuals of experiencing calm
affections and of settling down into those easy habits which help to
cement domestic life. By dint of repeating this it has become an axiom.
But on what grounds is it founded? Because these privileged beings give
themselves to studies requiring solitude, in order to abstract and
concentrate their thoughts; because, their mental riches being greater,
they are more independent of the outer world and the intellectual
resources of their fellow-creatures; because, through the abundance of
their own resources, their mind acquires a certain refinement, likely to
make them deem the society of ordinary persons tiresome; does it
therefore necessarily follow that the goodness and sensibility of their
hearts are blunted, and that there may not be, amid the great variety of
women, hearts and minds worthy of comprehending them, and of making it