'/

 
 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE
 
 BYRON: 
 THE LAST PHASE 
 
 BY RICHARD EDGCUMBE 
 
 NEW YORK 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 153-157 FIFTH AVENUE 
 1909
 
 UJMIVERSITY OF ( ALIf ORNIA 
 SANTA BARBARA 
 
 TO 
 
 MRS. CHARLES CALL, 
 
 DAUGHTER OF EDWARD TRELAWNY, BYRON'S 
 COMPANION IN GREECE, 
 
 I DEDICATE THIS WORK AS A MARK OF AFFECTION 
 AND ESTEEM
 
 PREFACE 
 
 This book has no pretensions ; it is merely a record 
 of events and impressions which nearly forty years of 
 close study have accumulated. There seems to be a 
 general agreement that the closing scenes of Byron's 
 short life have not been adequately depicted by his 
 biographers. From the time of Byron's departure 
 from Ravenna, in the autumn of 1821, his disposition 
 and conduct underwent a transformation so complete 
 that it would have been difficult to recognize, in the 
 genial, unselfish personality who played so effective a 
 role at Missolonghi, the gloomy misanthrope of 181 1, 
 or the reckless libertine of the following decade. 
 
 The conduct of Byron in Greece seems to have 
 come as a revelation to his contemporaries, and his 
 direction of complex affairs, in peculiarly trying 
 circumstances, certainly deserves more attention than 
 it has received. Records made on the spot by men 
 whose works are now, for the most part, out of print 
 have greatly simplified my task, and I hope that the 
 following pages may be acceptable to those who have 
 not had an opportunity of studying that picturesque 
 phase of Byron's career. I should have much pre- 
 ferred to preserve silence on the subject of his separa- 
 tion from his wife. Unfortunately, the late Lord 
 Lovelace, in giving his sanction to the baseless and
 
 viii PREFACE 
 
 forgotten slanders of a bygone age, has recently 
 assailed the memory of Byron's half-sister, and has 
 set a mark of infamy upon her which cannot be erased 
 without referring to matters which ought never to 
 have been mentioned. 
 
 In order to traverse statements made in ' Astarte,' it 
 was necessary to reveal an incident which, during 
 Byron's lifetime, was known only by those who 
 were pledged to silence. With fuller knowledge 
 of things hidden from Byron's contemporaries, we may 
 realize the cruelty of those futile persecutions to 
 which Mrs. Leigh was subjected by Lady Byron and 
 her advisers, under the impression that they could 
 extract the confession of a crime which existed only 
 in their prurient imaginations. Mrs. Leigh, in one of 
 her letters to Hobhouse, says, * I have made it a rule to 
 be silent— that is to say. As Long As I Can.' Although 
 the strain must have been almost insupportable she 
 died with her secret unrevealed, and the mystery 
 which Byron declared ' too simple to be easily found 
 out ' has hitherto remained unsolved. I regret being 
 unable more precisely to indicate the source of in- 
 formation embodied in the concluding portions of this 
 work. The reader may test the value of my state- 
 ments by the light of citations which seem amply to 
 confirm them. At all events, I claim to have shown 
 by analogy that Lord Lovelace's accusation against 
 Mrs. Leigh is groundless, and therefore his contention, 
 that Byron's memoirs were destroyed because they 
 implicated Mrs. Leigh, is absolutely untenable. Those 
 memoirs were destroyed, as we now know, because 
 both Hobhouse and Mrs. Leigh feared possible revela- 
 tions concerning another person, whose feelings and 
 interests formed the paramount consideration of those
 
 PREFACE ix 
 
 who were parties to the deed. Lord John Russell, 
 who had read the memoirs, stated in 1869 that 
 Mrs. Leigh was not implicated in them, a fact which 
 proves that they were not burned for the purpose of 
 shielding her. 
 
 Lord Lovelace tells us that Sir Walter Scott, who 
 had heard full particulars from Thomas Moore, 
 remarked, ' It is a pity, but there tvas a reason — premai 
 nox alta.' Facts which they hoped deep oblivion 
 would hide have come to the surface at last, and I 
 deeply regret that circumstances should have imposed 
 upon me a duty which is repugnant both to my 
 inclination and instincts. After all is said, the 
 blame rightly belongs to Lady Byron's grandson, 
 who, heedless of consequences, stirred the depths of 
 a muddy pool. He tells us, in 'Astarte,' (i) that the 
 papers concerning Byron's marriage have been care- 
 fully preserved ; (2) that the}'' form a complete record 
 of all the causes of separation ; and (3) that they contain 
 full information on every paii of the subject. 
 
 In those circumstances it is strange that, with the 
 whole of Lady Byron's papers before him. Lord 
 Lovelace should have published only documents of 
 secondary importance which do not prove his case. 
 After saying, ' It should be distinctly understood that 
 no misfortunes, blunders, or malpractices, have swept 
 away Lady Byron's papers, or those belonging to 
 the executors of Lord Byron,' he leaves the essential 
 records to the imagination of his readers, and feeds 
 us on hints and suggestions which are not borne 
 out by extracts provided as samples of the rest. It 
 is impossible not to suspect that Lord Lovelace, 
 in arranging the papers committed to his charge, 
 discarded some that would have told in favour of
 
 X PREFACE 
 
 Mrs. Leigh, and selected others which colourably 
 supported his peculiar views. 
 
 In matters of this kind everything depends upon 
 the qualifications of the accuser and the reliability 
 of the witness. Lord Lovelace in a dual capacity 
 certainly evinced an active imagination. 
 
 As an example, 'Astarte,' which was designed to 
 blast the fair fame of Mrs. Leigh, was used by him to 
 insult the memory of the late Mr. Murray (who he 
 admits showed him many acts of kindness), and to 
 repudiate promises which he undoubtedly made, 
 to edit his grandfather's works. Rambling statements 
 are made with design to discredit both Mr. Gifford, 
 the editor of the Quarterly, and Mr. Murray, the 
 friend of Lord Byron. Even personal defects are 
 dragged in to prejudice the reader and embitter the 
 venom of irrelevant abuse. It was as if Plutarch, in 
 order to enhance the glory of Antony, had named 
 ' the Last of the Romans ' Cassius the Short-sighted. 
 Fortunately, written proofs were in existence to 
 controvert Lord Lovelace's assertions — proofs which 
 were used with crushing effect — otherwise Mr. 
 Murray might have found himself in a position 
 quite as helpless as that of poor Mrs. Leigh her- 
 self. So unscrupulous a use of documents in that 
 case suggests the possibility that a similar process 
 may have been adopted in reference to Mrs. Leigh. 
 It is indeed unfortunate that Lady Byron's papers 
 cannot be inspected by some unprejudiced person, for 
 we have nothing at present beyond Lord Lovelace's 
 vague assertions. Were those papers thoroughly 
 sifted they would surely acquit Mrs. Leigh of the 
 crime that has been so cruelly laid to her charge. 
 Meanwhile I venture to think that the following
 
 PREFACE xi 
 
 pages help to clear the air of much of that mystery 
 which surrounds the liv^es of Lord Byron and his 
 sister. 
 
 In conclusion, I desire to record my personal 
 obligation to the latest edition of the ' Poems,' edited 
 by Mr. Ernest Hartley Coleridge ; and of the * Letters 
 and Journals,' edited by Mr. Rowland Prothero, 
 volumes which together form the most comprehen- 
 sive and scholarly record of Byron's life and poetry 
 
 that has ever been issued, 
 
 R. E. 
 
 August, 1909.
 
 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 PART I 
 
 * . . . Le cose ti fien conte, 
 Quando noi fermerem li nostri passi 
 Sulla trista riviera d' Acheronle.' 
 
 Inferno, Canto III., 76-78.
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 ' A LARGE disagreeable city, almost without inhabi- 
 tants ' — such was the poet Shelley's description of 
 Pisa in 1821. The Arno was yellow and muddy, the 
 streets were empty, and there was altogether an air 
 of poverty and wretchedness in the town. The con- 
 victs, who were very numerous, worked in the streets 
 in gangs, cleaning and sweeping them. They were 
 dressed in red, and were chained together by the 
 leg in pairs. All day long one heard the slow clank- 
 ing of their chains, and the rumbling of the carts 
 they were forced to drag from place to place like so 
 many beasts of burden. A spectator could not but 
 be struck by the appearance of helpless misery 
 stamped on their yellow cheeks and emaciated 
 forms. 
 
 On the Lung' Arno Mediceo, east of the Ponte di 
 Mezzo, stands the Palazzo Lanfranchi, which is sup- 
 posed to have been built by Michael Angelo. Here, 
 on November 2, 1821, Lord Byron arrived, with his 
 servants, his horses, his monkey, bulldog, mastiff, 
 cats, peafowl, hens, and other live stock, which he 
 had brought with him from Ravenna. In another 
 quarter of the city resided Count Rugiero Gamba, 
 his son Pietro, and his daughter Countess Teresa 
 
 ;? I — 2
 
 4 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 Guiccioli. On the other side of the Arno, nearly 
 opposite to Byron's residence, lived the poet Shelley, 
 with his wife and their friends Edward and Jane 
 
 Williams. 
 
 In the middle of November, Captain Thomas 
 Medwin, a relative of Shelley's, arrived at Pisa ; and 
 on January 14, 1822, came Edward John Trelawny, 
 who was destined to play so important a part in the 
 last scenes of the lives of both Shelley and Byron. 
 
 Byron was at this time in his thirty-third year. 
 Medwin thus describes his personal appearance : 
 
 'I saw a man of about five feet seven or eight, 
 apparently forty years of age. As was said of Milton, 
 Lord Byron barely escaped being short and thick. 
 His face was fine, and the lower part symmetrically 
 moulded ; for the lips and chin had that curved and 
 definite outline that distinguishes Grecian beauty. 
 His forehead was high, and his temples broad ; and he 
 had a paleness in his complexion almost to wanness. 
 His hair, thin and fine, had almost become grey, and 
 waved in natural and graceful curls over his head, 
 that was assimilating itself fast to the "bald first 
 Caesar's." He allowed it to grow longer behind than 
 it is accustomed to be worn, and at that time had 
 mustachios which were not sufficiently dark to be 
 becoming. In criticizing his features, it might, 
 
 Eerhaps, be said that his eyes were placed too near 
 is nose, and that one was rather smaller than the 
 other. They were of a greyish -brown, but of a 
 peculiar clearness, and when animated possessed a 
 fire which seemed to look through and penetrate the 
 thoughts of others, while they marked the inspirations 
 of his own. His teeth were small, regular, and white. 
 I expected to discover that he had a club-foot ; but it 
 would have been difficult to have distinguished one 
 from the other, either in size or in form. On the 
 whole, his figure was manly, and his countenance 
 handsome and prepossessing, and very expressive. 
 The familiar ease of his conversation soon made me 
 perfectly at home in his society.'
 
 BYRON'S PERSONAL APPEARANCE 5 
 
 Trelawny's description is as follows : 
 
 ' In external appearance Byron realized that ideal 
 standard with which imagination adorns genius. He 
 was in the prime of life, thirty-four ; of middle height, 
 five feet eight and a half inches ; regular features, 
 without a stain or furrow on his pallid skin ; his 
 shoulders broad, chest open, body and limbs finely 
 proportioned. His small highly - finished head and 
 curly hair had an airy and graceful appearance from 
 the massiveness and length of his throat ; you saw his 
 genius in his eyes and lips,' 
 
 Trelawny could find no peculiarity in his dress, 
 which was adapted to the climate. Byron wore : 
 
 ' a tartan jacket braided — he said it was the Gordon 
 pattern, and that his mother was of that race — a blue 
 velvet cap with a gold band, and very loose nankin 
 trousers, strapped down so as to cover his feet. His 
 throat was not bare, as represented in drawings.' 
 
 Lady Blessington, who first saw Byron in April of 
 the following year, thus describes him : 
 
 ' The impression of the first few minutes dis- 
 appointed me, as I had, both from the portraits and 
 descriptions given, conceived a diff'erent idea of him. 
 I had fancied him taller, with a more dignified and 
 commanding air; and I looked in vain for the hero- 
 looking sort of person, with whom I had so long 
 identified him in imagination. His appearance is, 
 however, highly prepossessing. His head is finely 
 shaped, and his forehead open, high, and noble ; his 
 eyes are grey and full of expression, but one is visibly 
 larger than the other. The nose is large and well 
 shaped, but, from being a little too thick, it looks better 
 in profile than in front-face ; his mouth is the most 
 remarkable feature in his face, the upper lip of Grecian 
 shortness, and the corners descending; the lips full, 
 and finely cut. 
 
 * In speaking, he shows his teeth very much, and 
 they are white and even ; but I observed that even in 
 his smile — and he smiles frequently — there is some- 
 thing of a scornful expression in his mouth, that is
 
 6 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 evidently natural, and not, as many suppose, affected. 
 This particularly struck me. His chin is large and 
 well shaped, and finishes well the oval of his face. 
 He is extremely thin— indeed, so much so that his 
 figure has almost a boyish air. His face is peculiarly 
 pale, but not the paleness of ill-health, as its character 
 is that of fairness, the fairness of a dark-haired person ; 
 and his hair (which is getting rapidly grey) is of a 
 very dark brown, and curls naturally : he uses a good 
 deal of oil in it, which makes it look still darker. His 
 countenance is full of expression, and changes with 
 the subject of conversation ; it gains on the beholder 
 the more it is seen, and leaves an agreeable impres- 
 sion. . . . His whole appearance is remarkably gentle- 
 manlike, and he owes nothing of this to his toilet, as 
 his coat appears to have been many years made, is 
 much too large — and all his garments convey the idea 
 of having been purchased ready-made, so ill do they 
 fit him. There is 3. gaucherie in his movements, which 
 evidently proceeds from the perpetual consciousness 
 of his lameness, that appears to haunt him ; for he 
 tries to conceal his foot when seated, and when walk- 
 ing has a nervous rapidity in his manner. He is very 
 slightly lame, and the deformity of his foot is so little 
 remarkable, that I am not now aware which foot it is. 
 ' His voice and accent are peculiarly agreeable, but 
 effeminate — clear, harmonious, and so distinct, that 
 though his general tone in speaking is rather low 
 than high, not a word is lost. His manners are as 
 unlike my preconceived notions of them as is his 
 appearance. I had expected to find him a dignified, 
 cold, reserved, and haughty person, but nothing can 
 be more different; for were I to point out the 
 prominent defect of Lord Byron, I should say it was 
 flippancy, and a total want of that natural self-posses- 
 sion and dignity, which ought to characterize a man of 
 birth and education.' 
 
 Medwin tells us, in his 'Journal of the Conversa- 
 tions of Lord Byron,' that Byron's voice had a flexi- 
 bility, a variety in its tones, a power and pathos, 
 beyond any he ever heard ; and his countenance was 
 capable of expressing the tenderest as well as the
 
 BYRON'S LAMENESS 7 
 
 strongest emotions, which would perhaps have made 
 him the finest actor in the world. 
 
 The Countess Guiccioli, who had a longer acquaint- 
 ance with Byron than any of those who have attempted 
 to portray him, says : 
 
 * Lord Byron's eyes, though of a light grey, were 
 capable of all extremes of expression, from the most 
 joyous hilarity to the deepest sadness, from the very 
 sunshine of benevolence to the most concentrated 
 scorn or rage. But it was in the mouth and chin that 
 the great beauty as well as expression of his fine 
 countenance lay. His head was remarkably small, so 
 much so as to be rather out of proportion to his face. 
 The forehead, though a little too narrow, was high, 
 and appeared more so from his having his hair (to 
 preserve it, as he said) shaved over the temples. 
 Still, the glossy dark brown curls, clustering over his 
 head, gave the finish to its beauty. When to this is 
 added that his nose, though handsomely, was rather 
 thickly shaped, that his teeth were white and regular, 
 and his complexion colourless, as good an idea, perhaps, 
 as it is in the power of mere words to convey may be 
 conceived of his features. In height he was five feet 
 eight inches and a half. His hands were very white, 
 and, according to his own notions of the size of hands 
 as indicating birth, aristocratically small. . . . No 
 defect existed in the formation of his limbs ; his slight 
 infirmity was nothing but the result of weakness of 
 one of his ankles. His habit of ever being on horse- 
 back had brought on the emaciation of his legs, as 
 evinced by the post-mortem examination ; the best 
 proof of this is the testimony of William Swift, boot- 
 maker at Southwell, who had the honour of working 
 for Lord Byron from 1805 to 1807.' 
 
 It appears that Mrs. Wildman (the widow of the 
 Colonel who had bought Newstead from Byron) not 
 long before her death presented to the Naturalist 
 Society of Nottingham several objects which had 
 belonged to Lord Byron, and amongst others his
 
 8 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 boot and shoe trees. These trees are about nine 
 inches long, narrow, and generally of a symmetrical 
 form. They were accompanied by the following 
 statement : 
 
 ' William Swift, bootmaker at Southwell, Notting- 
 hamshire, having had the honour of working for Lord 
 Byron when residing at Southwell from 1805 to 1807, 
 asserts that these were the trees upon which his 
 lordship's boots and shoes were made, and that the 
 last pair delivered was on the loth May, 1807. He 
 moreover affirms that his lordship had not a club 
 foot, as has been said, but that both his feet were 
 equally well formed, one, however, being an inch and 
 a half shorter than the other.* The defect was not in 
 the foot, but in the ankle, which, being weak, caused 
 the foot to turn out too much. To remedy this, his 
 lordship wore a very light and thin boot, which was 
 tightly laced just under the sole, and, when a boy, he 
 was made to wear a piece of iron with a joint at the 
 ankle, which passed behind the leg and was tied behind 
 the shoe. The calf of this leg was weaker than the 
 other, and it was the left leg. 
 
 '(Signed) William Swift.' 
 
 'This, then,' says Countess Guiccioli, *is the extent 
 of the defect of which so much has been said, and 
 which has been called a deformity. As to its being 
 visible, all those who knew him assert that it was so 
 little evident, that it was even impossible to discover 
 in which of the legs or feet the fault existed.' 
 
 Byron's alleged sensitiveness on the subject of his 
 lameness seems to have been exaggerated. 
 
 'When he did show it,' continues Countess Guic- 
 cioli, ' which was never but to a very modest 
 extent, it was only because, physically speaking, he 
 suffered from it. Under the sole of the weak foot he 
 at times experienced a painful sensation, especially 
 
 * Medwin, in his book ' Tlie Angler in Wales,' vol. ii., p. 211, says : 
 The right foot, as everyone knows, being twisted inwards, so as to 
 amount to what is generally known as a club-foot.'
 
 PORTRAITS OF BYRON 9 
 
 after long walks. Once, at Genoa, Byron walked 
 down the hill from Albaro to the seashore with me 
 by a rugged and rough path. When we had reached 
 the shore he was very well and lively. But it was an 
 exceedingly hot day, and the return home fatigued him 
 greatly. When home, I told him that I thought he 
 looked ill. "Yes," said he, "I suffer greatly from my 
 foot ; it can hardly be conceived how much I suffer at 
 times from that pain ;" and he continued to speak to 
 me about this defect with great simplicity and in- 
 difference.' 
 
 We have been particular to set before the reader the 
 impression which Byron's personal appearance made 
 upon those who saw him at this time, because none of 
 the busts or portraits seem to convey anything like an 
 accurate semblance of this extraordinary personality. 
 Had the reader seen Byron in his various moods, he 
 would doubtless have exclaimed, with Sir Walter 
 Scott, that ' no picture is like him.' 
 
 The portrait by Saunders represents Byron with 
 thick lips, whereas 'his lips were harmoniously 
 perfect,' says Countess Guiccioli. Holmes almost 
 gives him a large instead of his well-proportioned 
 head. In Phillips's picture the expression is one ot 
 haughtiness and affected dignity, which Countess 
 Guiccioli assures us was never visible to those who 
 saw him in life. The worst portrait of Lord Byron, 
 according to Countess Guiccioli, and which surpasses 
 all others in ugliness, was done by Mr. West, an 
 American, ' an excellent man, but a very bad painter.' 
 This portrait, which some of Byron's American 
 admirers requested to have taken, and which Byron 
 consented to sit for, was begun at Montenero, near 
 Leghorn. Byron seems only to have sat two or three 
 times for it, and it was finished from memory. 
 Countess Guiccioli describes it as * a frightful carica-
 
 10 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 tare, which his family or friends ought to destroy.' 
 As regards busts, she says : 
 
 'Thorwaldsen alone has, in his marble bust of 
 Byron, been able to blend the regular beauty of his 
 features with the sublime expression of his counte- 
 nance.' 
 
 On January 22, 1822, Byron's mother-in-law, Lady 
 Noel, died at the age of seventy. 
 
 ' I am distressed for poor Lady Byron,' said the 
 poet to Medwin : 'she must be in great affliction, for 
 she adored her mother! The world will think that 
 I am pleased at this event, but they are much mistaken. 
 I never wished for an accession of fortune ; I have 
 enough without the Wentworth property. I have 
 written a letter of condolence to Lady Byron — you 
 may suppose in the kindest terms. If we are not 
 reconciled, it is not my fault.' 
 
 There is no trace of this letter, and it is ignored by 
 Lord Lovelace in 'Astarte.' It may be well here to 
 point out how erroneous was the belief that Miss 
 Milbanke was an heiress. Byron on his marriage 
 settled ;^6o,ooo on his wife, and Miss Milbanke was to 
 have brought ;^2o,ooo into settlement ; but the money 
 was not paid. Sir Ralph Milbanke's property was 
 at that time heavily encumbered. Miss Milbanke had 
 some expectations through her mother and her uncle, 
 Lord Wentworth ; but those prospects were not men- 
 tioned in the settlements. Both Lord Wentworth and 
 Sir Ralph Milbanke were free to leave their money 
 as they chose. When Lord Wentworth died, in April 
 181 5, he left his property to Lady Milbanke for her 
 life, and at her death to her daughter, Lady Byron. 
 Therefore, at Lady Noel's death Byron inherited the 
 whole property by right of his wife. But one of the 
 terms of the separation provided that this property
 
 SOCIETY OF THE SHELLEYS ii 
 
 should be divided by arbitrators. Lord Dacre was 
 arbitrator for Lady Byron, and Sir F. Burdett for 
 Byron. Under this arrangement half the income was 
 allotted to the wife and half to the husband. In the 
 London Gazette dated 'Whitehall, March 2, 1822,' royal 
 licence is given to Lord Byron and his wife that 
 they may * take and use the surname of Noel only, 
 and also bear the arms of Noel only ; and that the 
 said George Gordon, Baron Byron, may subscribe the 
 said surname of Noel before all titles of honour.' 
 Henceforward the poet signed all his letters either 
 with the initials N. B. or with ' Noel Byron ' in full. 
 
 Byron was at this time in excellent health and 
 spirits, and the society of the Shelleys made life 
 unusually pleasant to him, Ravenna, with its gloomy 
 forebodings, its limited social intercourse, to say 
 nothing of its proscriptions — for nearly all Byron's 
 friends had been exiled — was a thing of the past. 
 The last phase had dawned, and Byron was about to 
 show another side of his character. Medwin tells us 
 that Byron's disposition was eminently sociable, how- 
 ever great the pains which he took to hide it from the 
 world. On Wednesdays there was always a dinner 
 at the Palazzo Lanfranchi, to which the convives were 
 cordially welcomed. When alone Byron's table was 
 frugal, not to say abstemious. But on these occasions 
 every sort of wine, every luxury of the season, and 
 every English delicacy, were displayed. Medwin says 
 he never knew any man do the honours of his house 
 with greater kindness and hospitality. On one occasion, 
 after dinner, the conversation turned on the lyrical 
 poetry of the day, and a question arose as to which 
 was the most perfect ode that had been produced. 
 Shelley contended for Coleridge's on Switzerland
 
 12 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 beginning, ' Ye clouds,' etc. ; others named some of 
 Moore's 'Irish Melodies' and Campbell's ' Hohen- 
 linden '; and, had Lord Byron not been present, his 
 own Invocation to Manfred, or Ode to Napoleon, 
 or on Prometheus, might have been cited. ' Like 
 Gray,' said Byron, ' Campbell smells too much of the 
 oil : he is never satisfied with what he does ; his finest 
 things have been spoiled by over-polish— the sharp- 
 ness of the outline is worn off. Like paintings, poems 
 may be too highly finished. The great art is effect, 
 no matter how produced.' 
 
 And then, rising from the table, he left the room, and 
 presently returned with a magazine, from which he 
 read 'The Burial of Sir John Moore ' with the deepest 
 feeling. It was at that time generally believed that 
 Byron was the author of these admirable stanzas; 
 and Medwin says : ' I am corroborated in this opinion 
 lately (1824) by a lady, whose brother received them 
 many years ago from Lord Byron, in his lordship's 
 own handwriting.' 
 
 These festive gatherings were not pleasing to 
 Shelley, who, with his abstemious tastes and modest, 
 retiring disposition, disliked the glare and surfeit 
 of it all. But Shelley's unselfish nature overcame 
 his antipathy, and for the sake of others he sacrificed 
 himself In writing to his friend Horace Smith, 
 he marks his repugnance for these dinners, 'when 
 my nerves are generally shaken to pieces by sitting 
 up, contemplating the rest of the company making 
 themselves vats of claret, etc., till three o'clock 
 in the morning.' Nevertheless, companionship with 
 Byron seemed for a time, to Shelley and Mary, to 
 be like 'companionship with a demiurge who could 
 create rolling worlds at pleasure in the void of space.'
 
 SHELLEY NO INFLUENCE OVER BYRON 13 
 
 Shelley's admiration for the poetic achievements of 
 Byron is well known : 
 
 * Space wondered less at the swift and fair creations 
 of God when he grew weary of vacancy, than I at the 
 late works of this spirit of an angel in the mortal 
 paradise of a decaying body. So I think — let the 
 world envy, while it admires as it may.'* 
 
 And again : * What think you of Lord Byron's last 
 volume ? In my opinion it contains finer poetry than 
 has appeared in England since the publication of 
 *' Paradise Regained." " Cain " is apocalyptic ; it is a 
 revelation not before communicated to man.' 
 
 Byron recognized Shelley's frankness, courage, and 
 hardihood of opinion, but was not influenced by him 
 so much as was at that time supposed by his friends 
 in England. In writing to Horace Smith (April 11, 
 1822), Shelley begs him to assure Moore that he had 
 not the smallest influence over Byron's religious 
 opinions. 
 
 * If I had, I certainly should employ it to eradicate 
 from his great mind the delusions of Christianit3'', 
 which, in spite of his reason, seem perpetually to 
 recur, and to lay in ambush for the hours of sickness 
 and distress. ** Cain " was cojtceived many years ago, 
 and begun before I saw him last year at Ravenna. 
 How happy should I not be to attribute to myself, 
 however indirectly, any participation in that immortal 
 work !' 
 
 ' Byron,' says Professor Dowden in his ' Life of 
 Shelley,' ' on his own part protested that his dramatis 
 personce uttered their own opinions and sentiments, 
 not his.' 
 
 Byron undoubtedly had a deep-seated reverence for 
 religion, and had a strong leaning towards the Roman 
 
 * Letter to Mr. Gisborne, January 12, 1822. Professor Dowden's 
 ' Life of Shelley,' vol. ii., p. 447.
 
 14 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 Catholic doctrines. Writing to Moore (March 4, 1822), 
 
 he says : 
 
 ' I am no enemy to religion, but the contrary. As a 
 proof, I am educating my natural daughter a strict 
 Catholic in a convent of Romagna ; for I think people 
 can never have enough of religion, if they are to have 
 any ... As to poor Shelley, who is another bug- 
 bear to you and the world, he is, to my knowledge, 
 the least selfish and the mildest of men— a man who 
 has made more sacrifices of his fortune and feelings 
 for others than any I ever heard of. With his specu- 
 lative opinions I have nothing in common, nor desire 
 to have. 
 
 Countess Guiccioli, a woman of no ordinary intuitive 
 perceptions, with ample opportunities for judging the 
 characters of both Shelley and Byron, makes a clear 
 statement on this point : 
 
 ' In Shelley's heart the dominant wish was to see 
 society entirely reorganized. The sight of human 
 miseries and infirmities distressed him to the greatest 
 degree ; but, too modest himself to believe that he 
 was called upon to take the initiative, and inaugurate 
 a new era of good government and fresh laws for the 
 benefit of humanity, he would have been pleased to 
 see such a genius as Byron take the initiative in this 
 undertaking. Shelley therefore did his best to in- 
 fluence Byron. But the latter hated discussions. He 
 could not bear entering into philosophical speculation 
 at times when his soul craved the consolations of 
 friendship, and his mind a little rest. He was quite 
 insensible to reasonings, which often appear sublime 
 because they are clothed in words incomprehensible 
 to those who have not sought to understand their 
 meaning. But he made an exception in favour of 
 Shelley. He knew that he could not shake his faith 
 in a doctrine founded upon illusions, by his in- 
 credulity; but he listened to him with pleasure, not 
 only on account of Shelley's good faith and sincerity, 
 but also because he argued upon false data, with such 
 talent and originality, that he was both interested and
 
 SHELLEY'S METAPHYSICS 15 
 
 amused. Lord Byron had examined every form of 
 philosophy by the light of common sense, and by the 
 uistinct of his genius. Pantheism in particular was 
 odious to him. He drew no distinction between 
 absolute Pantheism which mixes up that which is 
 infinite with that which is finite, and that form of 
 Pantheism which struggles in vain to keep clear of 
 Atheism. Shelley's views, clothed in a veil of 
 spiritualism, were the most likely to interest Byron, 
 but they did not fix him. Byron could never consent 
 to lose his individuality, deny his own freedom of 
 will, or abandon the hope of a future existence. As a 
 matter of fact, Byron attributed all Shelley's views to 
 the aberrations of a mind which is happier when it 
 dreams than when it denies.' 
 
 * Shelley appears to me to be mad with his meta- 
 physics,' said 3yron on one occasion to Count Gamba. 
 * What trash in all these systems ! say what they will, 
 mystery for mystery, I still find that of the Creation 
 the most reasonable of any.' 
 
 Thus it will be seen that the opinions of Lord Byron 
 on matters of religion were far more catholic than those 
 of his friend Shelley, who could not have influenced 
 Byron in the manner generally supposed. That a 
 change came over the spirit of Byron's poetry after 
 meeting Shelley on the Lake of Geneva is unques- 
 tionable ; but the surface of the waters may be 
 roughened by a breeze without disturbing the depths 
 below. Like all true poets, Byron was highly sus- 
 ceptible to passing influences, and there can be no 
 doubt that Shelley impressed him deeply. 
 
 The evident sincerity in the life and doctrines of 
 Shelley — his unworldliness ; the manner in which 
 he had been treated by the world, and even by his 
 own family, aroused the sympathy of Byron, at a 
 time when he himself was for a different cause smart- 
 ing under somewhat similar treatment. Although
 
 i6 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 Byron and Shelley differed fundamentally on some 
 subjects they concurred in the principles of others. 
 Byron had no fixed religious opinions— that was the 
 string upon which Shelley played— but there is a 
 wide difference between doubt and denial. Gamba, 
 after Byron's death, wrote thus to Dr. Kennedy : 
 
 ' My belief is that Byron's religious opinions were 
 not fixed. I mean that he was not more inclined 
 towards one than towards another of the Christian 
 sects ; but that his feelings were thoroughly religious, 
 and that he entertained the highest respect for the 
 doctrines of Christ, which he considered to be the 
 source of virtue and of goodness. As for the incorn- 
 prehensible mysteries of religion, his mind floated in 
 doubts which he wished most earnestly to dispel, as 
 they oppressed him, and that is why he never avoided 
 a conversation on the subject, as you are well aware. 
 I have often had an opportunity of observing him at 
 times when the soul involuntarily expresses its most 
 sincere convictions ; in the midst of dangers, both at 
 sea and on land ; in the quiet contemplation of a calm 
 and beautiful night, in the deepest solitude. On these 
 occasions I remarked that Lord Byron's thoughts were 
 always imbued with a religious sentiment. The first 
 time I ever had a conversation with him on that 
 subject was at Ravenna, my native place, a little more 
 than four years ago. We were riding together in the 
 Pineta on a beautiful spring day. " How," said Byron, 
 " when we raise our eyes to heaven, or direct them to 
 the earth, can we doubt of the existence of God ? or 
 how, turning them inwards, can we doubt that there 
 is something within us, more noble and more durable 
 than the clay of which we are formed ? Those who 
 do not hear, or are unwilling to listen to these feelings, 
 must necessarily be of a vile nature." I answered him 
 with all those reasons which the superficial philosophy 
 of Helvetius, his disciples and his masters, have taught. 
 Byron replied with very strong arguments and pro- 
 found eloquence, and I perceived that obstinate con- 
 tradiction on this subject, which forced him to reason 
 upon it, gave him pain. This incident made a deep
 
 GAMBA'S LETTER TO KENNEDY 17 
 
 impression upon me. . . . Last year, at Genoa, when 
 we were preparing for our journey to Greece, Byron 
 used to converse with me alone for two or three hours 
 every evening, seated on the terrace of his residence 
 at Albaro in the fine evenings of spring, whence there 
 opened a magnificent view of the superb city and the 
 adjoining sea. Our conversation turned almost always 
 on Greece, for which we were so soon to depart, or on 
 religious subjects. In various ways I heard him con- 
 firm the sentiments which I have already mentioned 
 to you. " Why, then," said I to him, ** have you 
 earned for yourself the name of impious, and enemy 
 of all religious belief, from your writings ?" He 
 answered, "They are not understood, and are wrongly 
 interpreted by the malevolent. My object is only to 
 combat hypocrisy, which I abhor in everything, and 
 particularly in religion, and which now unfortunately 
 appears to me to be prevalent, and for this alone do 
 those to whom you allude wish to render me odious, 
 and make me out worse than I am.'*' 
 
 We have quoted only a portion of Pietro Gamba's 
 letter, but sufficient to show that Byron has been, like 
 his friend Shelley, ' brutally misunderstood.' There 
 was no one better qualified than Count Gamba to 
 express an opinion on the subject, for he was in the 
 closest intimacy with Byron up to the time of the 
 latter's death. There was no attempt on Byron's part 
 to mystify his young friend, who had no epistolary 
 intercourse with those credulous people in England 
 whom Byron so loved to 'gull' The desire to blacken 
 his own character was reserved for those occasions 
 when, as he well knew, there would be most publicity. 
 Trelawny says : 
 
 * Byron's intimates smiled at his vaunting of his 
 vices, but comparative strangers stared, and noted his 
 sayings to retail to their friends, and that is the way 
 many scandals got abroad.' 
 
 According to the same authority, George IV. made
 
 i8 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 the sport known as ' equivocation ' the fashion ; the 
 men about town were ashamed of being thought 
 virtuous, and bragged of their profligacy. ' In com- 
 pany,' says Trelawny, ' Byron talked in Don Juan's 
 vein ; with a companion with whom he was familiar, 
 he thought aloud.' 
 
 Among the accusations made against Byron by those 
 who knew him least was that of intemperance— in- 
 temperance not in meat and drink only, but in every- 
 thing. It must be admitted that Byron was to blame 
 for this ; he vaunted his propensity for the bottle, 
 and even attributed his poetic inspirations to its aid. 
 Trelawny, who had observed him closely, says: 
 
 *0f all his vauntings, it was, luckily for him, the 
 emptiest. From all that I heard or witnessed of his 
 habits abroad, he was and had been exceedingly 
 abstemious in eating and drinking. When alone, he 
 drank a glass or two of small claret or hock, and when 
 utterly exhausted at night, a single glass of grog; 
 which, when I mixed it for him, I lowered to what 
 sailors call " water bewitched," and he never made 
 any remark. I once, to try him, omitted the alcohol ; 
 he then said, " Tre, have you not forgotten the creature 
 comfort ?" I then put in two spoonfuls, and he was 
 satisfied. This does not look like an habitual toper. 
 Byron had not damaged his body by strong drinks, but 
 his terror of getting fat was so great that he reduced 
 his diet to the point of absolute starvation. He was 
 the only human being I ever met with who had suffi- 
 cient self-restraint and resolution to resist this prone- 
 ness to fatten. He did so; and at Genoa, where he 
 was last weighed, he was ten stone and nine pounds, 
 and looked much less. This was not from vanity of 
 his personal appearance, but from a better motive, 
 and, as he was always hungry, his merit was the 
 greater. Whenever he relaxed his vigilance he swelled 
 apace. He would exist on biscuits and soda-water for 
 days together; then, to allay the eternal hunger gnaw- 
 ing at his vitals, he would make up a horrid mess of
 
 BYRON'S WEIGHT 
 
 19 
 
 cold potatoes, rice, fish, or greens, deluged in vinegar, 
 and swallow it like a famished dog. Either of these 
 unsavoury dishes, with a biscuit and a glass or two of 
 Rhine wine, he cared not how sour, he called feasting 
 sumptuously. Byron was of that soft, lymphatic tem- 
 perament which it is almost impossible to keep within 
 a moderate compass, particularly as in his case his 
 lameness prevented his taking exercise. When he 
 added to his weight, even standing was painful, so he 
 resolved to keep down to eleven stone.' 
 
 While on this subject, it is not uninteresting to 
 contrast the effects of Byron's regimen of abstinence 
 by the light of a record kept by the celebrated wine- 
 merchants, Messrs. Berry, of St. James's Street. This 
 register of weights has been kept on their premises 
 for the convenience of their customers since 1765, and 
 contains over twenty thousand names. The following 
 extract was made by the present writer on Novem- 
 ber 2, 1897 •* 
 
 Date. 
 
 January 4, 1806 (boots, no hat) 
 
 July 8, 1807 (shoes) 
 
 July 23, 1807 (shoes, no hat) 
 August 13, 1807 (shoes, no hat) 
 January 13, 1808 (see Moore's ' Life') 
 May 27, 1808 (Messrs. Berry") ... 
 June 10, 1809 (Messrs. Berry) ... 
 July 15, 1811 (Messrs. Berry) ... 
 (Circa) June, 1823 (see Trelawny) 
 
 It will be seen at a glance that between the ages 
 of eighteen and thirty-five Byron had reduced his 
 weight by three stone and three pounds. The fluc- 
 tuations between the ages of nineteen and thirty-five 
 are not remarkable. This record marks the con- 
 sistency of a heroic self-denial under what must often 
 have been a strong temptation to appease the pangs 
 
 Stone. 
 
 lbs. 
 
 Age. 
 
 13 
 
 12 
 
 .. 18 
 
 10 
 
 13 
 
 .. 19 
 
 II 
 
 
 
 .. 19 
 
 10 
 
 114 
 
 .. 19 
 
 10 
 
 7 
 
 20 
 
 II 
 
 I 
 
 — 
 
 II 
 
 5f 
 
 21 
 
 9 
 
 114 
 
 .. 23 
 
 10 
 
 9 
 
 •• 35 
 
 of hunger. 
 
 Lord Byron.'
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 Byron's life at Pisa, as afterwards at Genoa, was what 
 most people would call a humdrum, dull existence. 
 He rose late. 
 
 * Billiards, conversation, or reading, filled up the 
 intervals,' says Medwin, ' till it was time to take our 
 evening drive, ride, and pistol-practice. On our 
 return, which was always in the same direction, we 
 frequently met the Countess Guiccioli, with whom he 
 stopped to converse a few minutes. He dined at half 
 an hour after sunset, then drove to Count Gamba's, 
 the Countess Guiccioli's father, passed several hours 
 in their society, returned to his palace, and either read 
 or wrote till two or three in the morning ; occasionally 
 drinking spirits diluted with water as a medicine, 
 from a dread of a nephritic complaint, to which he 
 was, or fancied himself, subject.' 
 
 On Sunday, March 24, 1822, while Byron, Shelley, 
 Trelawny, Captain Hay, Count Pietro Gamba, and an 
 Irish gentleman named Taaffe, were returning from 
 their evening ride, and had nearly reached the Porta 
 alle Piagge at the eastern end of the Lung' Arno, 
 Sergeant-Major Masi, belonging to a dragoon regiment, 
 being apparently in a great hurry to get back to 
 barracks, pushed his way unceremoniously through 
 the group of riders in front of him, and somewhat 
 severely jostled Mr. Taaffe. This gentleman appealed 
 
 20
 
 THE AFFRAY AT PISA 21 
 
 to Byron, and the latter demanded an apology from 
 the sergeant, whom he at first mistook for an officer. 
 The sergeant lost his temper, and called out the 
 guard at the gateway. Byron and Gamba dashed 
 through, however, and before the others could follow 
 there was some ' dom'd cutting and slashing '; Shelley 
 was knocked off his horse, and Captain Hay received 
 a wound in his face. Masi in alarm fled, and on the 
 Lung' Arno met Byron returning to the scene of 
 the fray : an altercation took place, and one of Byron's 
 servants, who thought that Masi had wounded his 
 master, struck at him with a pitchfork, and tumbled 
 the poor fellow off his horse. There was a tremendous 
 hubbub about this, and the legal proceedings which 
 followed occupied two months, with much bluster, 
 false swearing, and injustice, as a natural consequence. 
 The court eventually came to the conclusion that there 
 was no evidence for criminal proceedings against any 
 of Byron's domestics, but, in consideration of Giovanni 
 Battista Falcieri — one of Byron's servants — having a 
 black beard, he was condemned to be escorted by the 
 police to the frontier and banished from the grand- 
 duchy of Tuscany. 
 
 At the same time the Gambas (who had nothing 
 whatever to do with the affair) were told that their 
 presence at Pisa was disagreeable to the Government. 
 In consequence of the hint, Byron and the Gambas 
 hired the Villa Dupuy, at Montenero, near Leghorn. 
 Here, on June 28, 1822, a scuffle took place in the 
 gardens of the villa between the servants of Count 
 Gamba and of Byron, in which Byron's coachman and 
 his cook took part. Knives were drawn as usual. 
 Byron appeared on the balcony with his pistols, 
 and threatened to shoot the whole party if they did
 
 22 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 not drop their knives, and the police had to be called 
 in to quell the disturbance. The Government, who 
 were anxious to be rid of Byron, took advantage of 
 this riot at the Villa Dupuy. Byron's courier and 
 Gamba's valet were sent over the frontier of the grand- 
 duchy under police escort, and the Gambas were 
 warned that, unless they left the country within three 
 days, formal sentence of banishment would be passed 
 upon them. As soon as Byron heard the news, he 
 wrote a letter to the Governor of Leghorn, and 
 asked for a respite for his friends. A few days grace 
 were granted to the Gambas, and on July 8 they took 
 passports for Genoa, intending to go first to the Baths 
 of Lucca, where they hoped to obtain permission to 
 return to Pisa. While negotiations were proceeding 
 Byron returned to the Palazzo Lanfranchi.* 
 
 On April 20, 1822, there died at Bagnacavallo, not far 
 from Ravenna, Byron's natural daughter Allegra, 
 whose mother, Claire Clairmont, had joined the 
 Shelleys at Pisa five days previously. The whole 
 story is a sad one, and shall be impartially given in 
 these pages. 
 
 When Shelley left Ravenna in August, 1821, he 
 understood that Byron had determined that Allegra 
 should not be left behind, alone and friendless, in the 
 Convent of Bagnacavallo, and Shelley hoped that an 
 arrangement would be made by which Claire might 
 have the happiness of seeing her child once more. 
 When Byron arrived at Pisa in November, and 
 Allegra was not with him, Claire Clairmont's anxiety 
 was so great that she wrote twice to Byron, pro- 
 testing against leaving her child in so unhealthy a place, 
 
 * 'Letters and Journals of Lord Byron,' edited by Rowland 
 Prothero, vol. vi., appendix iii.
 
 DEATH OF ALLEGRA 23 
 
 and entreated him to place Allegra with some respect- 
 able family in Pisa, or Florance, or Lucca. She 
 promised not to go near the child, if such was his wish, 
 nor should Mary or Shelley do so without Byron's 
 consent. Byron, it appears, took no notice of these 
 letters. The Shelleys, while strongly of opinion that 
 Allegra should in some way be taken out of Byron's 
 hands, thought it prudent to temporize and watch for 
 a favourable opportunity. Claire held wild schemes 
 for carrying off the child, schemes which were under 
 the circumstances impolitic, even if practicable. Both 
 Mary and Shelley did their utmost to dissuade Claire 
 from any violent attempts, and Mary, in a letter 
 written at this time, assures Claire that her anxiety for 
 Allegra's health was to a great degree unfounded. 
 After carefully considering the affair she had come to 
 the conclusion that Allegra was well taken care of by 
 the nuns in the convent, that she was in good health, 
 and would in all probability continue so. 
 
 On April 15 Claire Clairmont arrived at Pisa on 
 a visit to the Shelleys, and a few days later started 
 with the Williamses for Spezzia, to search for houses 
 on the bay. Professor Dowden says :* 
 
 'They cannot have been many hours on their 
 journey, when Shelley and Mary received tidings of 
 sorrowful import, which Mary chronicles in her 
 journal with the words " Evil news." Allegra was 
 dead. Typhus fever had raged in the Romagna, but 
 no one wrote to inform her parents with the fact.' 
 
 Lord Byron felt the loss bitterly at first. 
 
 * His conduct towards this child,' says Countess 
 Guiccioli, *was always that of a fond father. He was 
 dreadfully agitated by the first intelligence of her 
 
 * ' Life of Shelley,' vol. ii., p. 494.
 
 24 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 illness ; and when afterwards that of her death arrived, 
 I was obliged to fulfil the melancholy^ task of com- 
 municating it to him. The memory of that frightful 
 moment is stamped indelibly on my mind. A mortal 
 paleness spread itself over his face, his strength failed 
 him, and he sank into a seat. His look was fixed, and 
 the expression such that I began to fear for his reason ; 
 he did not shed a tear; and his countenance manifested 
 so hopeless, so profound, so sublime a sorrow, that at 
 the moment he appeared a being of a nature superior 
 to humanity. He remained immovable in the same 
 attitude for an hour, and no consolation which I 
 endeavoured to afford him seemed to reach his ears, 
 far less his heart.' 
 
 Writing to Shelley on April 23, 1822, Byron says : 
 
 ' I do not know that I have anything to reproach in 
 my conduct, and certainly nothing in my feelings and 
 intentions towards the dead. But it is a moment when 
 we are apt to think that, if this or that had been done, 
 such events might have been prevented, though every 
 day and hour shows us that they are the most natural 
 and inevitable. I suppose that Time will do his usual 
 work. Death has done his.' 
 
 Whatever may be thought of Byron's conduct in 
 the matter of Miss Claire Clairmont — conduct which 
 Allegra's mother invariabl}'- painted in the darkest 
 colours — the fact remains as clear as day, that Byron 
 always behaved well and kindly towards the poor 
 little child whose death gave him such intense pain. 
 The evidence of the Hoppners at Venice, of Countess 
 Guiccioli at Ravenna, and of the Shelleys, all point in 
 the same direction ; and if any doubt existed, a close 
 study of the wild and wayward character of Claire 
 Clairmont would show where the truth in the matter 
 lay. Byron was pestered by appeals from Allegra's 
 mother, indirectly on her own behalf, and directly on 
 behalf of the child. Claire never understood that, by
 
 BYRON'S ANTIPATHY TO CLAIRE 25 
 
 reason of Byron's antipathy to her, the surest way of 
 not getting what she wanted was to ask for it ; and, 
 with appalling persistency, she even persuaded Shelley 
 to risk his undoubted influence over Byron by inter- 
 cessions on her behalf, until Byron's opinion of 
 Shelley's judgment was shaken. After making full 
 allowance for the maternal feeling, so strong in all 
 women, it was exceedingly foolish of Claire not to 
 perceive that Byron, by taking upon himself the 
 adoption of the child, had shielded her from scandal ; 
 and that, having surrendered Allegra to his care, Claire 
 could not pretend to any claim or responsibility in the 
 matter. It should also be pointed out that, in sending 
 Allegra to the convent at Bagnacavallo, Byron had no 
 intention of leaving her there for any length of time. 
 It was merely a provisional step, and, at Hoppner's 
 suggestion, Byron thought of sending the child to a 
 good institution in Switzerland. In his will he had 
 bequeathed to the child the sum of ^5,000, which was 
 to be paid to her either on her marriage or on her 
 attaining the age of twenty-one years (according as the 
 one or the other should happen first), with the proviso 
 that she should not marry with a native of Great 
 Britain. Byron was anxious to keep her out of 
 England, because he thought that his natural daughter 
 would be under great disadvantage in that country, 
 and would have a far better chance abroad.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 On April 26, 1822, the Shelleys left Pisa for Lerici, 
 and on May i they took up their abode in the Casa 
 Magni, situated near the fishing-village of San Terenzo. 
 Towards the close of May, Byron moved to his new 
 residence at Montenero, near Leghorn. 
 
 Leigh Hunt's arrival, at the end of June, added con- 
 siderably to Byron's perplexities. The poet had not 
 seen Hunt since they parted in England six years 
 before, and many things had happened to both of 
 them since then. Byron, never satisfied that his 
 promise to contribute poetry to a joint stock literary 
 periodical was wise, disliked the idea more and more 
 as time went on, and Shelley foresaw considerable 
 difficulties in the way of keeping Byron up to the 
 mark in this respect. Hunt had brought over by sea 
 a sick wife and several children, and opened the ball 
 by asking Byron for a loan of money to meet current 
 expenses. Byron now discovered that Leigh Hunt 
 had ceased to be editor of the Examiner, and, being 
 absolutely without any source of income, had no 
 prospect save the money he hoped to get from a 
 journal not yet in existence. He ought, of course, to 
 have told both Byron and Shelley that in coming to 
 Italy with his family— a wife and six children— he 
 
 26
 
 HUNT'S IMPECUNIOSITY 27 
 
 would naturally expect one or both of his friends to 
 provide the necessary funds. This information Hunt 
 withheld, and although both Byron and Shelley knew 
 him to be in pecuniary embarrassment, and had every 
 wish to assist him, they were both under the impres- 
 sion that Hunt had some small income from the 
 Examiner. Byron was astonished to hear that his 
 proposed coadjutor in a literary venture had not 
 enough money in his pockets even for one month's 
 current expenses. He was not inclined to submit 
 tamely to Hunt's arrangements for sucking money 
 out of him. 
 
 Beginning as he meant to go on, Byron from the 
 first showed Hunt that he had no intention of being 
 imposed upon, and the social intercourse between 
 them was, to say the least of it, somewhat strained. 
 Byron and Shelley betv/een them had furnished the 
 ground-floor of the Palazzo Lanfranchi for the Hunt 
 family, and had Shelley lived he would, presumably, 
 have impoverished himself by disbursements in their 
 favour; but his death placed the Hunts in a false 
 position. Had Shelley lived, his influence over Byron 
 would have diminished the friction between Byron 
 and his tactless guest. The amount of money spent 
 by Byron on the Hunt family was not great, but, 
 considering the comparative cheapness of living in 
 Italy at that time, and the difference in the value 
 of money, Byron's contribution was not niggardly. 
 After paying for the furniture of their rooms in his 
 palace, and sending £200 for the cost of their voyage 
 to Italy, Byron gave Leigh Hunt £70 while he was 
 at Pisa, defrayed the cost of their journey from 
 Pisa to Genoa, and supplied them with another £T)0 
 to enable them to travel to Florence. There was
 
 28 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 really no occasion for Byron to make Hunt a present 
 of ^500, which he seems to have done, except Hunt's 
 absolute incapacity to make both ends meet, which 
 was his perpetual weakness. From the manner in 
 which Hunt treats his pecuniary transactions with 
 the wide-awake Byron, it is evident that the sum 
 would have risen to thousands if Byron had not turned 
 a deaf ear to the ' insatiable applicant' at his elbow. 
 
 On the first visit which Trelawny paid to Byron at 
 the Palazzo Lanfranchi after Hunt's arrival, he found 
 Mrs. Hunt was confined to her room, as she generally 
 was, from bad health. Trelawny says : 
 
 ' Hunt, too, was in delicate health — a hypochondriac ; 
 and the seven children, untamed, the eldest a little 
 more than ten, and the youngest a yearling, were 
 scattered about playing on the large marble staircase 
 and in the hall. Hunt's theory and practice were 
 that children should be unrestrained until they were of 
 an age to be reasoned with. If they kept out of his 
 way he was satisfied. On my entering the poet's 
 study, I said to him, "The Hunts have effected a 
 lodgment in your palace;" and I was thinking how 
 different must have been his emotion on the arrival of 
 the Hunts from that triumphant morning after the 
 publication of *' Childe Harold " when he "awoke and 
 found himself famous." ' 
 
 Truth told, the Hunts' lodgment in his palace must 
 have been a terrible infliction to the sensitive Byron. 
 His letters to friends in England at this time are full 
 of allusions to the prevailing discomfort. Trelawny 
 tells us that 
 
 ' Byron could not realize, till the actual experiment 
 was tried, the nuisance of having a man with a sick 
 wife and seven disorderly children interrupting his 
 solitude and his ordinary customs— especially as Hunt 
 did not conceal that his estimate of Byron's poetry was 
 not exalted. At that time Hunt thought highly of his
 
 BYRON'S RECEPTION OF MRS. HUNT 29 
 
 own poetry and underestimated all other. Leigh Hunt 
 thought that Shelley would have made a great poet if 
 he had written on intelligible subjects. Shelley soared 
 too high for him, and Byron flew too near the ground. 
 There was not a single subject on which Byron and 
 Hunt could agree.' 
 
 After Shelley and his friend Williams had established 
 the Hunts in Lord Byron's palace at Pisa, they returned 
 to Leghorn, Shelley ' in a mournful mood, depressed 
 by a recent interview with Byron,' says Trelawny. 
 
 It was evident to all who knew Byron that he 
 bitterly repented having pledged himself to embark on 
 the literary venture which, unfortunately, he himself had 
 initiated. At their last interview Shelley found Byron 
 irritable whilst talking with him on the fulfilment 
 of his promises with regard to Leigh Hunt. Byron, 
 like a lion caught in a trap, could only grind his teeth 
 and bear it. Unfortunately, it w^as not in Byron's 
 nature to bear things becomingly ; he could not restrain 
 the exhibition of his inner mind. On these occasions 
 he was not at his best, and forgot the courtesy due 
 even to the most unwelcome guest. Williams appears 
 to have been much impressed by Byron's reception of 
 Mrs. Hunt, and, writing to his wife from Leghorn, 
 says : 
 
 * Lord Byron's reception of Mrs. Hunt was most 
 shameful. She came into his house sick and ex- 
 hausted, and he scarcely deigned to notice her; was 
 silent, and scarcely bowed. This conduct cut Hunt 
 to the soul. But the way in which he received our 
 friend Roberts, at Dunn's door,* shall be described 
 when we meet : it must be acted.' 
 
 Shelley and Edward Williams, two days after that 
 letter had been written — on Monday, July 8, 1822, at 
 
 * Henry Dunn kept a British shop at Leghorn.
 
 30 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 three o'clock in the afternoon— set sail on the Ariel 
 for their home on the Gulf of Spezzia. The story is 
 well known, thanks to the graphic pen of Edward 
 Trelawny, and we need only allude to the deaths of 
 Shelley and Williams, and the sailor lad Charles 
 Vivian, in so far as it comes into our picture of Byron 
 at this period. 
 
 Byron attended the cremation of the bodies ol 
 Shelley and Williams, and showed his deep sympathy 
 with Mary Shelley and Jane Williams in various ways. 
 
 Writing to John Murray from Pisa on August 3, 
 1822, he says : 
 
 ' I presume you have heard that Mr. Shelley and 
 Captain Williams were lost on the 7th ultimo in their 
 passage from Leghorn to Spezzia, in their own open 
 boat. You may imagine the state of their families : 
 I never saw such a scene, nor wish to see another. 
 You were all brutally mistaken about Shelley, who 
 was, without exception, the best and least selfish man 
 I ever knew. I never knew one who was not a beast 
 in comparison.'* 
 
 Writing August 8, 1822, to Thomas Moore, Byron 
 says in allusion to Shelley's death : 
 
 'There is thus another man gone, about whom the 
 world was ill-naturedly, and ignorantly, and brutally 
 mistaken. It will, perhaps, do him justice now, when 
 he can be no better for it' 
 
 In another letter, written December 25, 1822, Byron 
 says : 
 
 ' You are all mistaken about Shelley. You do not 
 know how mild, how tolerant, how good he was in 
 society ; and as perfect a gentleman as ever crossed a 
 drawmg-room, when he liked, and where he liked.' 
 
 * For Byron's opinion of Shelley's poetry, see appendix to ' The 
 Two Foscari ' : ' I highly admire the poetry of " Queen Mab " and 
 Shelley's other publications.'
 
 THE 'LIBERAL' A BAD BUSINESS 31 
 
 Byron's opinion of Leigh Hunt, and his own con- 
 nection with that ill-fated venture known as The 
 Liberal, is concisely given by Byron himself in a 
 letter to Murray. The Liberal, published October 15, 
 1822, was fiercely attacked in the Literary Gazette and 
 other periodicals. The Courier for October 26, 1822, 
 calls it a ' scoundrel-like publication.' Byron writes : 
 
 * I am afraid the journal is a bad business, and won't 
 do ; but in it I am sacrificing myself ior others — I can 
 have no advantage in it. I believe the brothers Hunt 
 to be honest men ; I am sure they are poor ones. 
 They have not a rap : they pressed me to engage in 
 this work, and in an evil hour I consented ; still, I 
 shall not repent, if I can do them the least service. I 
 have done all I can for Leigh Hunt since he came 
 here; but it is almost useless. His wife is ill, his six 
 children not very tractable, and in the affairs of the 
 world he himself is a child. The death of Shelley left 
 them totally aground ; and I could not see them in 
 such a state without using the common feelings of 
 humanity, and what means were in my power to set 
 them afloat again.' 
 
 In another letter to Murray (December 25, 1822) 
 Byron says : 
 
 * Had their [the Hunts'] journal gone on well, and I 
 could have aided to make it better for them, I should 
 then have left them, after my safe pilotage off a lee- 
 shore, to make a prosperous voyage by themselves. 
 As it is, I can't, and would not if I could, leave them 
 amidst the breakers. As to any community of feeling, 
 
 1 thought, or opinion between Leigh Hunt and me, 
 
 there is little or none. We meet rarely, hardly ever ; 
 but I think him a good-principled and able man, and 
 must do as I would be done by. I do not know what 
 world he has lived in, but I have lived in three or 
 four ; and none of them like his Keats and Kangaroo 
 terra incognita. Alas ! poor Shelley ! how he would 
 have laughed had he lived, and how we used to laugh 
 now and then, at various things, which are grave in 
 the Suburbs !'
 
 32 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 It is perhaps not generally known that Shelley 
 bequeathed a legacy of i:2,ooo to Byron. Byron's 
 renunciation of this token of friendship is ignored 
 by Professor Dowden in his life of Shelley. Writing 
 to Leigh Hunt on June 28, 1823, Byron says : 
 
 'There was something about a legacy of two 
 thousand pounds which he [Shelley] has left me. 
 This, of course, I declined, and the more so that I hear 
 that his will is admitted valid; and I state this dis- 
 tinctly that, in case of anything happening to me, my 
 heirs may be instructed not 10 claim it.' 
 
 Towards the end of September, 1822, Byron and the 
 Countess Guiccioli left the Palazzo Lanfranchi, and 
 moved from Pisa to Albaro, a suburb of Genoa. At 
 the Villa Saluzzo, where the poet resided until his 
 departure for Greece, dwelt also Count Gamba and 
 his son Pietro, who occupied one part of that large 
 house, while Byron occupied another part, and their 
 establishments were quite separate. The first number 
 of The Liberal which had been printed in London, 
 reached Byron's hands at this time. The birth of that 
 unlucky publication was soon followed by its death, 
 as anyone knowing the circumstances attending its 
 conception might have foreseen. Shelley's death may 
 be said to have destroyed the enterprise and energy 
 of the survivors of that small coterie, who, in the 
 absence of that vital force, the fine spirit that had 
 animated and held them together, * degenerated apace,' 
 as Trelawny tells us. Byron 'exhausted himself in 
 planning, projecting, beginning, wishing, intending, 
 postponing, regretting, and doing nothing. The un- 
 ready are fertile in excuses, and his were inexhaustible.' 
 
 In December, 1822, Trelawny laid up Byron's yacht, 
 The Bolivar, paid off the crew, and started on horse-
 
 LOSS OF THE 'BOLIVAR' 3s 
 
 back for Rome. The Bolivar was eventually sold 
 by Byron to Lord Blessington for 400 guineas. Four 
 or five years after Byron's death this excellent little 
 sea-boat, with Captain Roberts (who planned her for 
 Byron) on board, struck on the iron-bound coast of 
 the Adriatic and foundered. Not a plank of her was 
 saved. 
 
 * Never,' said Captain Roberts in narrating the 
 circumstance many years afterwards, * was there a 
 better sea-boat, or one that made less lee-way than 
 the dear little Bolivar, but she could not walk in the 
 wind's eye. I dared not venture to put her about in 
 that gale for fear of getting into the trough of the sea 
 and being swamped. To take in sail was impossible, 
 so all we had left for it was to luff her up in the lulls, 
 and trust to Providence for the rest. ISfight came on 
 dark and cold, for it was November, and as the sea 
 boiled and foamed in her wake, it shone through the 
 pitchy darkness with a phosphoric efflorescence. The 
 last thing I heard was my companion's exclamation, 
 " Breakers ahead !" and almost at the same instant 
 The Bolivar struck : the crash was awful ; a watery 
 column fell upon her bodily like an avalanche, and all 
 that I remember was, that I was struggling with the 
 waves. I am a strong swimmer, and have often 
 contested with Byron in his own element, so after 
 battling long with the billows, covered with bruises, 
 and more dead than alive, I succeeded in scrambling 
 up the rocks, and found myself in the evergreen pine- 
 forest of Ravenna, some miles from any house. But 
 at last I sheltered myself in a forester's hut. Death 
 and I had a hard struggle that bout.'* 
 
 On April i, 1823, Lord and Lady Blessington 
 called on Byron at the Casa Saluzzo. Lady Blessing- 
 ton assures us that, in speaking of his wife, Byron 
 declared that he was totally unconscious of the cause 
 of her leaving him. He said that he left no means 
 
 * ' The Angler in Wales,' by Thomas Medwin, vol. ii., pp. 144-146. 
 
 3
 
 34 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 untried to effect a reconciliation, and added with bitter- 
 ness : ' A day will arrive when I shall be avenged. I 
 feel that I shall not live long, and when the grave has 
 closed over me, what must she feel !' 
 
 In speaking of his sister, Byron always spoke with 
 strong affection, and said that she was the most faultless 
 person he had ever known, and that she was his only 
 source of consolation in his troubles during the separa- 
 tion business. 
 
 ' Byron,' says Lady Blessington, ' has remarkable 
 penetration in discovering the characters of those 
 around him, and piques himself on it. He also thinks 
 that he has fathomed the recesses of his own mind ; 
 but he is mistaken. With much that is little (which he 
 suspects) in his character, there is much that is great 
 that he does not give himself credit for. His first 
 impulses are always good, but his temper, which is 
 impatient, prevents his acting on the cool dictates of 
 reason. He mistakes temper for character, and takes 
 the ebullitions of the first for the indications of the 
 nature of the second.' 
 
 Lady Blessington seems to have made a most 
 searching examination of Byron's character, and very 
 little escaped her vigilance during the two months of 
 their intimate intercourse. She tells us that Byron 
 talked for effect, and liked to excite astonishment. 
 It was difficult to know when he was serious, or when 
 he was merely 'bamming' his aquaintances. He 
 admitted that he liked to hoax people, in order that 
 they might give contradictory accounts of him and of 
 his opinions. He spoke very highly of Countess 
 Guiccioli, whom he had passionately loved and deeply 
 respected. Lady Blessington says : * In his praises 
 of Madame Guiccioli it is quite evident that he is 
 sincere.'
 
 BYRON'S OPINION OF SHELLEY 35 
 
 Byron confessed that he was not happy, but admitted 
 that it was his own fault, as the Countess Guiccioli, 
 the only object of his love, had all the qualities to 
 render a reasonable being happy. In speaking of 
 Allegra, Byron said that while she lived her existence 
 never seemed necessary to his happiness ; but no 
 sooner did he lose her than it appeared to him as 
 though he could not exist without her. It is note- 
 worthy that, one evening, while Byron was speaking to 
 Lady Blessington at her hotel at Genoa, he pointed 
 out to her a boat at anchor in the harbour, and said : 
 * That is the boat in which my friend Shelley went 
 down — the sight of it makes me ill. You should have 
 known Shelley to feel how much I must regret him. 
 He was the most gentle, most amiable, and least 
 worldly-minded person I ever met ; full of delicacy, 
 disinterested beyond all other men, and possessing a 
 degree of genius, joined to a simplicity, as rare as it is 
 admirable. He had formed to himself a beaii-ideal of 
 all that is fine, high-minded, and noble, and he acted 
 up to this ideal even to the very letter. He had a 
 most brilliant imagination, but a total want of worldly 
 wisdom. I have seen nothing like him, and never 
 shall again, I am certain.' 
 
 We may, upon the evidence before us, take it for 
 certain that Byron only admired two of his contem- 
 poraries — Sir Walter Scott and Shelley. He liked 
 Hobhouse, and they had travelled together without 
 a serious quarrel, which is a proof of friendship ; but 
 he felt that Hobhouse undervalued him, and, as 
 Byron had a good deal of the spoiled child about him, 
 he resented the friendly admonitions which, it seems, 
 Hobhouse unsparingly administered whenever they 
 were together. Tom Moore was a ' croney ' — a man 
 
 3—2
 
 36 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 to laugh and sit through the night with— but there 
 was nothing, either in his genius or his conduct, 
 which Byron could fall down and worship, as he 
 seemed capable of doing in the case of Shelley and 
 Scott. 
 
 It is evident that Lady Byron occupied his thoughts 
 continually ; he constantly mentioned her in conversa- 
 tion, and often spoke of the brief period during which 
 they lived together. He told Lady Blessington that, 
 though not regularly handh:ome, he liked her looks. 
 He said that when he reflected on the whole tenor 
 of her conduct — the refusing any explanation, never 
 answering his letters, or holding out any hopes that in 
 future years their child might form a bond of union 
 between them — he felt exasperated against her, and 
 vented this feeling in his writings. The mystery of 
 Lady Byron's silence piqued him and kept alive his 
 interest in her. It was evident to those who knew 
 Byron during the last year of his life that he anxiously 
 desired a reconciliation with her. He seemed to think 
 that, had his pecuniary affairs been in a less ruinous 
 state, his temper would not have been excited as it 
 constantly was, during the brief period of their union, 
 by demands of insolent creditors whom he was unable 
 to satisfy, and who drove him nearly out of his senses, 
 until he lost all command of himself, and so forfeited 
 his wife's affection. Byron felt himself to blame for 
 such conduct, and bitterly repented of it. But he 
 never could divest himself of the idea that his wife 
 still took a deep interest in him, and said that Ada 
 must always be a bond of union between them, though 
 perchance they were parted for ever. 
 
 ' I am sure,' said Lady Blessington, * that if ten 
 nidividuals undertook the task of describing Byron,
 
 RELATIONS WITH COUNTESS GUICCIOLI 37 
 
 no two of the ten would agree in their verdict respect- 
 ing him, or convey any portrait that resembled the 
 other, and yet the description of each might be correct, 
 according to individual opinion. The truth is, that 
 the chameleon-like character or manner of Byron 
 renders it difficult to portray him ; and the pleasure 
 he seems to take in misleading his associates in their 
 estimation of him increases the difficulty of the task.' 
 
 On one occasion Byron lifted the veil, and showed 
 his inmost thoughts by words which were carefully 
 noted at the time. He spoke on this occasion from 
 the depth of his heart as follows : 
 
 * Can I reflect on my present position without bitter 
 feelings ? Exiled from my country by a species of 
 ostracism — the most humiliating to a proud mind, 
 when daggers and not shells were used to ballot, 
 inflicting mental wounds more deadly and difficult to 
 be healed than all that the body could suffer. Then 
 the notoriety that follows me precludes the privacy I 
 desire, and renders me an object of curiosity, which is 
 a continual source of irritation to my feelings. I am 
 bound by the indissoluble ties of marriage to 07ie who 
 will not live with me, and live with one to w^hom I 
 cannot give a legal right to be my companion, and 
 who, wanting that right, is placed in a position humili- 
 ating to her and most painful to me. Were the 
 Countess Guiccioli and I married, we should, I am 
 sure, be cited as an examble of conjugal happiness, 
 and the domestic and retired life we lead would entitle 
 us to respect. But our union, wanting the legal and 
 religious part of the ceremony of marriage, draws on 
 us both censure and blame. She is formed to make a 
 good wife to any man to whom she attaches herself. 
 She is fond of retirement, is of a most affectionate 
 disposition, and noble-minded and disinterested to the 
 highest degree. Judge then how mortifying it must 
 be to me to be the cause of placing her in a false 
 position. All this is not thought of when people are 
 blinded by passion, but when passion is replaced by 
 better feelings — those of affection, friendship, and 
 confidence — when, in short, the liaison has all of
 
 38 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 marriage but its forms, then it is that we wish to give 
 it the respectability of wedlock. I feel this keenly, 
 reckless as I appear, though there are few to whom I 
 would avow it, and certainly not to a man.' 
 
 There is much in this statement which it is necessary 
 for those who wish to understand Byron's position at 
 the close of his life to bear in mind. We may accept 
 it unreservedly, for it coincides in every particular 
 with conclusions independently arrived at by the 
 present writer, after a long and patient study of all 
 circumstances relating to the life of this extra- 
 ordinary man. At the period of which we write — the 
 last phase in Byron's brief career — the poet was, 
 morally, ascending. 
 
 His character, through the fire of suffering, had 
 been purified. Even his pride — so assertive in public 
 — had been humbled, and he was gradually and in- 
 sensibly preparing himself for a higher destiny, un- 
 concious of the fact that the hand of Death was upon 
 him. ' Wait,' he said, ' and you will see me one day 
 become all that I ought to be. I have reflected 
 seriously on all my faults, and that is the first step 
 towards amendment.'
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 Certain it is, that in proportion to the admiration 
 which Byron's poetic genius excited, was the severity 
 of the censure which his fellow-countrymen bestowed 
 on his defects as a man. The humour of the situation 
 no doubt appealed to Byron's acute sense of propor- 
 tion, and induced him to feed the calumnies against 
 himself, by painting his own portrait in the darkest 
 colours. Unfortunately, the effects of such conduct 
 long survived him ; for the world is prone to take a 
 man at his own valuation, and * hypocrisy reversed ' 
 does not enter into human calculations. It is un- 
 fortunate for the fame of Byron that his whole conduct 
 after the separation was a glaring blunder, for which 
 no subsequent act of his, no proof of his genius, could 
 by any possibility atone. 
 
 Truth told, the obloquy which Byron had to endure, 
 after Lady Byron left him, was such as might well 
 have changed his whole nature. It must indeed have 
 been galling to that proud spirit, after having been 
 humbly asked everywhere, to be ostentatiously asked 
 nowhere. The injustice he suffered at the hands of 
 those who were fed on baseless calumnies raised in his 
 breast a feeling of profound contempt for his fellow- 
 creatures — a contempt which led him into many 
 
 39
 
 40 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 follies; thus, instead of standing up against the storm 
 and meeting his detractors face to face, as he was both 
 capable of and justified in doing, he chose to leave 
 England under a cloud, and, by a system of mystifica- 
 tion, to encourage the belief that he thoroughly 
 deserved the humiliation which had been cast upon him. 
 As a consequence, to employ the words of Macaulay, 
 
 'all those creeping things that riot in the decay of 
 nobler natures hastened to their repast; and they 
 were right ; they did after their kind. It is not every 
 day that the savage envy of aspiring dunces is grati- 
 fied by the agonies of such a spirit, and the degrada- 
 tion of such a name.' 
 
 Lady Blessington tells us that Byron had an 
 excellent heart, but that it was running to waste for 
 want of being allowed to expend itself on his fellow- 
 creatures. His heart teemed with affection, but his 
 past experiences had checked its course, and left it to 
 prey on the aching void in his breast. He could 
 never forget his sorrows, which in a certain sense 
 had unhinged his mind, and caused him to deny to 
 others the justice that had been denied to himself. 
 He affected to disbelieve in either love or friendship, 
 and yet was capable of making great sacrifices for 
 both. 
 
 ' He has an unaccountable passion for misrepresent- 
 ing his own feelings and motives, and exaggerates his 
 defects more than an enemy could do ; and is often 
 angry because we do not believe all he says against 
 himself If Byron were not a great poet, the char- 
 latanism of affecting to be a Satanic character, in this 
 our matter-of-fact nineteenth century, would be very 
 amusing: but when the genius of the man is taken 
 into account, it appears too ridiculous, and one feels 
 mortified that he should attempt to pass for some- 
 thing that all who know him rejoice that he is not. If
 
 BYRON'S CONTEMPT FOR LUXURIES 41 
 
 Byron knew his own power, he would disdain such 
 unworthy means of attracting attention, and trust to 
 his merit for commanding it.' 
 
 As Lady Blessington remarks in her ' Conversations 
 of Lord Byron,' from which we have largely quoted, 
 Byron's pre-eminence as a poet gives an interest to 
 details which otherwise would not be worth mention- 
 ing. She tells us, for instance, that one of the 
 strongest anomalies in Byron was the exquisite taste 
 displayed in his descriptive poetry, and the total want 
 of it that was so apparent in his modes of life. 
 
 ' Fine scenery seemed to have no effect upon him, 
 though his descriptions are so glowing, and the 
 elegancies and comforts of refined life Byron appeared 
 to as little understand as value.' 
 
 Byron appeared to be wholly ignorant of what in 
 his class of life constituted its ordinary luxuries. 
 
 * I have seen him,' says Lady Blessington, ' ap- 
 parently delighted with the luxurious inventions in 
 furniture, equipages, plate, etc., common to all persons 
 of a certain station or fortune, and yet after an inquiry 
 as to their prices^an inquiry so seldom made by 
 persons of his rank — shrink back alarmed at the 
 thought of the expense, though there was nothing 
 alarming in it, and congratulate himself that he had 
 no such luxuries, or did not require them. I should 
 say that a bad and vulgar taste predominated in all 
 Byron's equipments, whether in dress or in furniture. 
 I saw his bed at Genoa, when I passed through in 
 1826, and it certainly was the most vulgarly gaudy 
 thing I ever saw ; the curtains in the worst taste, and 
 the cornice having his family motto of " Crede Byron " 
 surmounted by baronial coronets. His carriages and 
 his liveries were in the same bad taste, having an 
 affectation of finery, but fnesquin in the details, and 
 tawdry in the ensemble. It was evident that he piqued 
 himself on them, by the complacency with which they 
 were referred to.'
 
 42 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 In one of Byron's expansive moods— and these were 
 rare with men, though frequent in the society of Lady 
 Blessington— Byron, speaking of his wife, said : 
 
 ' I am certain that Lady Byron's first idea is, what 
 is due to herself; I mean that it is the undeviating 
 rule of her conduct. I wish she had thought a little 
 more of what is due to others. Now, my besetting sin 
 is a want of that self-respect which she has in excess ; 
 and that want has produced much unhappiness to us 
 both. But though I accuse Lady Byron of an excess 
 of self-respect, I must in candour admit, that if any 
 person ever had an excuse for an extraordinary 
 portion of it, she has ; as in all her thoughts, words, 
 and deeds, she is the most decorous woman that ever 
 existed, and must appear a perfect and refined gentle- 
 woman even to her femme-de-chamhre. This extra- 
 ordinary degree of self-command in Lady Byron 
 produced an opposite eff'ect on me. When I have 
 broken out, on slight provocations, into one of my 
 ungovernable fits of rage, her calmness piqued, and 
 seemed to reproach me ; it gave her an air of superi- 
 ority, that vexed and increased my wrath. I am now 
 older and wiser, and should know how to appreciate 
 her conduct as it deserved, as I look on self-command 
 as a positive virtue, though it is one I have not the 
 courage to adopt' 
 
 In speaking of his sister, shortly before his de- 
 parture for Greece, Byron maintained that he owed 
 the little good which he could boast, to her influence 
 over his wayward nature. He regretted that he had 
 not known her earlier, as it might have influenced his 
 destiny. 
 
 * To me she was, in the hour of need, as a tower 
 of strength. Her affection was my last rallying point, 
 and is now the only bright spot that the horizon of 
 England offers to my view.' 'Augusta,' said Byron, 
 ' knew all my weaknesses, but she had love enough to 
 bear with them. She has given me such good advice, 
 and yet, finding me incapable of following it, loved
 
 A PROPHECY FULFILLED 43 
 
 and pitied me the more, because I was erring. This 
 is true affection, and, above all, true Christian feeling.' 
 
 But we should not be writing about Byron and his 
 foibles eighty-four years after his death, if he had not 
 been wholly different to other men in his views of life. 
 Shortly after his marriage, for no sufficient, or at least 
 for no apparent reason, Byron chose to immolate him- 
 self, and took a sort of Tarpeian leap, passing the 
 remainder of his existence in bemoaning his bruises, 
 and reviling the spectators who were not responsible 
 for his fall. One of the main results of this conduct 
 was his separation from his child, for whom he seems 
 to have felt the deepest affection. We find him, at the 
 close of his life, constantly speaking of Ada, * sole 
 daughter of his heart and house,' and prophesying the 
 advent of a love whose consolations he could never 
 feel. 
 
 ' I often, in imagination, pass over a long lapse of 
 years,' said Byron, ' and console myself for present 
 privations, in anticipating the time when my daughter 
 will know me by reading my works ; for, though the 
 hand of prejudice may conceal my portrait from her 
 eyes,* it cannot hereafter conceal my thoughts and 
 feelings, which will talk to her when he to whom they 
 belonged has ceased to exist. The triumph will then 
 be mine ; and the tears that my child will drop over 
 expressions wrung from me by mental agony — the 
 certainty that she will enter into the sentiments which 
 dictated the various allusions to her and to myself in 
 my works — consoles me in many a gloomy hour.' 
 
 This prophecy was amply fulfilled. It appears that, 
 after Ada's marriage to Lord King, Colonel Wildman 
 
 * Lady Noel left by her will to the trustees a portrait of Byron, 
 with directions that it was not to be shown to his daughter Ada till 
 she attained the age of twenty-one ; but that if her mother were still 
 living, it was not to be so delivered without Lady Byron's consent.
 
 44 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 met her in London, and invited her to pay him a visit 
 at Newstead Abbey. One morning, while Ada was in 
 the library, Colonel Wildman took down a book of 
 poems. Ada asked the name of the author of these 
 poems, and when shown the portrait of her father — 
 Phillips's well-known portrait — which hung upon the 
 wall, Ada remained for a moment spell-bound, and then 
 remarked ingenuously : ' Please do not think that it is 
 affectation on my part when I declare to you that I 
 have been brought up in complete ignorance of all 
 that concerns my father.' Never until that moment 
 had Ada seen the handwriting of her father, and, as we 
 know, even his portrait had been hidden from her. 
 When Byron's genius was revealed to his daughter, 
 an enthusiasm for his memory filled her soul. She 
 shut herself up for hours in the rooms which Byron 
 had used, absorbed in all the glory of one whose 
 tenderness for her had been so sedulously concealed 
 by her mother. On her death-bed she dictated a letter 
 to Colonel Wildman, begging that she might be buried 
 at Hucknall-Torkard, in the same vault as her illus- 
 trious father. And there they sleep the long sleep 
 side by side— separated during life, united in death — 
 the prophecy of i8r6 fulfilled in 1852 : 
 
 ' Yet, though dull Hate as duty should be taught, 
 I know that thou wilt love me ; though my name 
 Should be shut from thee, as a spell still fraught 
 With desolation, and a broken claim : 
 Though the grave closed between us,— 'twere the same, 
 I know that thou wilt love me ; though to drain 
 My blood from out thy being were an aim 
 And an attainment, — all would be in vain,— 
 Still thou wouldst love me, still that more than life retain.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 There is no doubt that Byron had a craving for 
 celebrity in one form or another. In the last year of 
 his life his thoughts turned with something like apathy 
 from the fame which his pen had brought him* towards 
 that wider and nobler fame which might be attained 
 by the sword. In the spirit of an exalted poet who 
 has lately passed from us, if such prescience were 
 possible, Byron might have applied these stirring lines 
 to himself: 
 
 ' Up, then, and act ! Rise up and undertake 
 The duties of to-day. Thy courage wake ! 
 Spend not Hfe's strength in idleness, for life 
 Should not be wasted in Care's useless strife. 
 No slothful doubt let work's place occupy, 
 But labour ! Labour for posterity ! 
 
 ' Up, then, and sing ! Rise up and bare the sword 
 With which to combat suffering and wrong. 
 Console all those that suffer with thy word. 
 Defend Man's heritage with sword and song ! 
 Combat intrigue, injustice, tyranny, 
 And in thine efforts God will be with thee.' 
 
 ' I have made as many sacrifices to liberty,' said 
 Byron, * as most people of my age ; and the one I am 
 about to undertake is not the least, though probably 
 
 * It was at this time that Byron endeavoured to suppress the fact 
 that he had written ' The Age of Bronze.' 
 
 45
 
 46 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 it will be the last ; for with my broken health, and the 
 chances of war, Greece will most likely terminate my 
 career. I like Italy, its climate, its customs, and, above 
 all, its freedom from cant of every kind ; therefore it is 
 no slight sacrifice of comfort to give up the tranquil 
 life I lead here, and break through the ties I have 
 formed, to engage in a cause, for the successful result 
 of which I have no very sanguine hopes. I have a 
 presentiment that I shall die in Greece. I hope it may 
 be in action, for that would be a good finish to a very 
 /m^t? existence, and I have a horror of death-bed scenes ; 
 but as I have not been famous for my luck in life, most 
 probably I shall not have more in the manner of my 
 death.' 
 
 It was towards the close of May, 1823, that Byron 
 received a letter telling him that he had been elected 
 a member of the Committee which sat in London to 
 further the Greek cause. B^'-ron willingly accepted 
 the appointment, and from that moment turned his 
 thoughts towards Greece, without exactly knowing in 
 what manner he could best serve her cause. He 
 experienced alternations of confidence and despon- 
 dency certainly, but he never abandoned the notion 
 that he might be of use, if only he could see his way 
 clearly through the conflicting opinions and advice 
 which reached him from all sides. 
 
 The presentiment that he would end his daj^s 
 in Greece, weighed so heavily on his mind, that 
 he felt a most intense desire to revisit his native 
 country before finally throwing in his lot with 
 the Greeks. He seems to have vaguely felt that 
 all chances of reconciliation with Lady Byron were 
 not dead. He would have liked to say farewell to her 
 without bitterness, and he longed to embrace his child. 
 But the objections to a return to England were so 
 formidable that he was compelled to abandon the idea.
 
 BYRON EMBARKS FOR GREECE 47 
 
 His proud nature could not face the chance of a cold 
 reception, and a revival of that roar of calumny which 
 had driven him from our shores. He told Lady 
 Blessington that he could laugh at those attacks with 
 the sea between him and his traducers ; but that on 
 the spot, and feeling- the effect which each libel pro- 
 duced upon the minds of his too sensitive friends, he 
 could not stand the strain. Byron felt sure that his 
 enemies would misinterpret his motives, and that no 
 good would come of it. 
 
 After Byron had made up his mind to visit Greece 
 in person, he does not appear ever to have seriousl}'' 
 thought of drawing back. On June 15, 1823, he 
 informed Trelawny, who was at Rome, that he was 
 determined to go to Greece, and asked him to join the 
 expedition. Seven days later Byron had hired a 
 vessel to transport himself, his companions, his 
 servants, and his horses, to Cephalonia, 
 
 On July 13, Byron, with Edward Trelawny, 
 Count Pietro Gamba, and a young medical student,* 
 with eight servants, embarked at Genoa on the English 
 brig Hercules^ commanded by Captain Scott. At 
 the last moment a passage was offered to a Greek 
 named Schilitzy, and to Mr. Hamilton Browne. 
 Gamba tells us that five horses were shipped, besides 
 arms, ammunition, and two one-pounder guns which 
 had belonged to The Bolivar. Byron carried with 
 him 10,000 Spanish dollars in ready-money, with 
 bills of exchange for 40,000 more. 
 
 Passing within sight of Elba, Corsica, the Lipari 
 Islands (including Stromboli,) Sicily, Italy, etc., on 
 August 2, the Hercules lay between Zante and Cepha- 
 lonia ; and the next day she cast anchor in Argostoli, 
 
 * Dr. Bruno.
 
 48 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 the principal port of Cephalonia. The Resident, 
 Colonel Napier, was at that time absent from the 
 island. Shortly after Byron's arrival, Captain Kennedy, 
 Colonel Napier's secretary, came on board, and in- 
 formed him that little was known of the internal 
 affairs of Greece. The Turks appeared to have been 
 in force at sea, while the Greeks remained inactive at 
 Hydra, Spezia, and Ipsara. It was supposed that 
 Mr. Blaquiere had gone to Corfu, while the famous 
 Marco Botzari, to whom Byron had been especially 
 recommended, was at Missolonghi. Before taking any 
 definite step, Byron judged it best to send messengers 
 to Corfu and Missolonghi, to collect information as to 
 the state of affairs in the Morea. To pass the time, 
 Byron and some of his companions made an excur- 
 sion to Ithaca. The first opportunity of showing his 
 sympathy towards the victims of barbarism and 
 tyranny occurred at this period. Many poor families 
 had taken refuge at Ithaca, from Scio, Patras, and 
 other parts of Greece. Byron handed 3,000 piastres 
 to the Commandant for their relief, and transported a 
 family, in absolute poverty, to Cephalonia, where he 
 provided them with a house and gave them a monthly 
 allowance. 
 
 The following narrative, written by a gentleman 
 who was travelling in Ithaca at that time, seems to be 
 worthy of reproduction in these pages : 
 
 'It was in the island of Ithaca, in the month of 
 August, 1823, that I was shown into the dining-room 
 of the Resident Governor, where Lord Byron, Count 
 Gamba, Dr. Bruno, Mr. Trelawny, and Mr. Hamilton 
 Browne, were seated after dinner, with some of the 
 English officers and principal inhabitants of the place, 
 I had been informed of Lord Byron's presence, but 
 had no means of finding him out, except by recollec-
 
 BYRON BECOMES COMMUNICATIVE 49 
 
 tion of his portraits ; and I am not ashamed to confess 
 that I was puzzled, in my examination of the various 
 countenances before me, where to fix upon "the man." 
 I at one time almost settled upon Trelawny, from the 
 interest which he seemed to take in the schooner in 
 which I had just arrived ; but on ascending to the 
 drawing-room I was most agreeably undeceived by 
 finding myself close to the side of the great object 
 of my curiosity, and engaged in easy conversation 
 with him, without presentation or introduction of any 
 kind. 
 
 ' He was handling and remarking upon the books in 
 some small open shelves, and fairly spoke to me in 
 such a manner that not to have replied would have 
 been boorish. "'Pope's Homer's Odyssey' — hum! — 
 that is well placed here, undoubtedly ; * Hume's 
 Essays,' — ' Tales of my Landlord ;' there you are, 
 Watty! Are you recently from England, sir?" I 
 answered that I had not been there for two years. 
 " Then you can bring us no news of the Greek Com- 
 mittee ? Here we are all waiting orders, and no 
 orders seem likely to come. Ha! ha!" "I have not 
 changed my opinion of the Greeks," he said. " I know 
 them as well as most people" (a favourite phrase), 
 " but we must not look always too closely at the men 
 who are to benefit by our exertions in a good cause, 
 or God knows we shall seldom do much good in this 
 world. There is Trelawny thinks he has fallen in 
 with an angel in Prince Mavrocordato, and little 
 Bruno would willingly sacrifice his life for the cause, 
 as he calls it. I must say he has shown some sincerity 
 in his devotion, in consenting to join it for the little 
 matter he makes of me." I ventured to say that, in 
 all probability, the being joined with him in any cause 
 was inducement enough for any man of moderate 
 pretensions. He noticed the compliment only by an 
 indifferent smile. " I find but one opinion," he con- 
 tinued, " among all people whom I have met since I 
 came here, that no good is to be done for these rascally 
 Greeks ; that I am sure to be deceived, disgusted, and 
 all the rest of it. It may be so ; but it is chiefly to 
 satisfy myself upon these very points that I am going. 
 I go prepared for anything, expecting a deal of roguery 
 and imposition, but hoping to do some good." 
 
 4
 
 50 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 '"Have you read any of the late publications on 
 Greece ?" I asked. 
 
 * " I never read any accounts of a country to which 
 I can myself go," said he. " The Committee have sent 
 me some of their ' Crown and Anchor ' reports, but 
 I can make nothing of them." 
 
 'The conversation continued in the same familiar 
 flow. To my increased amazement, he led it to his 
 works, to Lady Byron, and to his daughter. The 
 former was suggested by a volume of " Childe Harold " 
 which was on the table ; it was the ugly square little 
 German edition, and I made free to characterize it as 
 execrable. He turned over the leaves, and said : 
 
 ' Yes, it was very bad ; but it was better than one 
 that he had seen in French prose in Switzerland. " I 
 know not what my friend Mr. Murray will say to it all. 
 Kinnaird writes to me that he is wroth about many 
 things ; let them do what they like with the book — 
 they have been abusive enough of the author. The 
 Quarterly is trying to make amends, however, and 
 Blackwood's people will suffer none to attack me but 
 themselves. Milman was, 1 believe, at the bottom of 
 the personalities, but they all sink before an American 
 reviewer, who describes me as a kind of fiend, and 
 says that the deformities of my mind are only to be 
 equalled by those of my body ; it is well that anyone 
 can see them, at least." Our hostess, Mrs. Knox, 
 advanced to us about this moment, and his lordship 
 continued, smiling: " Does not your Gordon blood rise 
 at such abuse of a clansman ? The gallant Gordons 
 ' bruik nae slight.' Are you true to your name, 
 Mrs. Knox ?" The lady was loud in her reprobation of 
 the atrocious abuse that had recently been heaped 
 upon the noble lord, and joined in his assumed 
 clannish regard for their mutual name. " Lady Byron 
 and you would agree," he said, laughing, " though I 
 could not, you are thinking ; you may say so, I assure 
 you. I dare say it will turn out that I have been 
 terribly in the wrong, but I always want to know what 
 I did.'' I had not courage to touch upon this delicate 
 topic, and Mrs. Knox seemed to wish it passed over till 
 a less public occasion. He spoke of Ada exactly as 
 any parent might have done of a beloved absent child, 
 and betrayed not the slightest confusion, or conscious-
 
 THE FOUNTAIN OF ARETHUSA 51 
 
 ness of a sore subject, throughout the whole conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 ' I now learnt from him that he had arrived in the 
 island from Cephalonia onl}^ that morning, and that it 
 was his purpose (as it was mine) to visit its antiquities 
 and localities. A ride to the Fountain of Arethusa 
 had been planned for the next day, and I had the 
 happiness of being invited to join it. Pope's " Homer " 
 was taken up for a description of the place, and it led 
 to the following remarks : 
 
 ** Yes, the very best translation that ever was, or 
 ever will be ; there is nothing like it in the world, be 
 assured. It is quite delightful to find Pope's character 
 coming round again ; I forgive Gifford everything for 
 that. Puritan as he is, he has too much good sense 
 not to know that, even if all the lies about Pope were 
 truths, his character is one of the best among literary 
 men. There is nobody now like him, except Watty,* 
 and he is as nearly faultless as ever human being 
 was." 
 
 * The remainder of the evening was passed in 
 arranging the plan of proceeding on the morrow's 
 excursion, in the course of which his lordship 
 occasionally interjected a facetious remark of some 
 general nature ; but in such fascinating tones, and 
 with such a degree of amiability and familiarity, that, 
 of all the libels of which I well knew the public press 
 to be guilty, that of describing Lord Byron as in- 
 accessible, morose, and repulsive in manner and 
 language, seemed to me the most false and atrocious. 
 I found I was to be accommodated for the night 
 under the same roof with his lordship, and I retired, 
 satisfied in my own mind that favouring chance had 
 that day made me the intimate (almost confidential) 
 friend of the greatest literary man of modern times. 
 
 ' The next morning, about nine o'clock, the party for 
 the Fountain of Arethusa assembled in the parlour of 
 Captain Knox; but Lord Byron was missing. Trelawny, 
 who had slept in the room adjoining his lordship's, 
 told us that he feared he had been ill during the night, 
 but that he had gone out in a boat very early in the 
 morning. At this moment I happened to be standing 
 at the window, and saw the object of our anxiety in 
 
 * Byron's sobriquet for Walter Scott. 
 
 4—2
 
 52 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 the act of landing on the beach, about ten or a dozen 
 yards from the house, to which he walked slo\yly up. 
 I never saw and could not conceive the possibility of 
 such a change in the appearance of a human being as 
 had taken place since the previous night. He looked 
 like a man under sentence of death, or returning from 
 the funeral of all that he held dear on earth. His 
 person seemed shrunk, his face was pale, and his eyes 
 languid and fixed on the ground. He was leaning 
 upon a stick, and had changed his dark camlet-caped 
 surtout of the preceding evening for a nankeen 
 jacket embroidered like a hussar's— an attempt at 
 dandyism, or dash, to which the look and demeanour 
 of the wearer formed a sad contrast. On entering the 
 room, his lordship made the usual salutations ; and, 
 after some preliminary arrangements, the party moved 
 off, on horses and mules, to the place of destination 
 for the day. 
 
 ' I was so struck with the difference of appearance in 
 Lord Byron that the determination to which I had 
 come, to try to monopolize him, if possible, to myself, 
 without regard to appearances or bienseance, almost 
 entirely gave way under the terror of a freezing 
 repulse. I advanced to him under the influence of 
 this feeling, but I had scarcely received his answer 
 when all uneasiness about my reception vanished, and 
 I stuck as close to him as the road permitted our 
 animals to go. His voice sounded timidly and quiver- 
 ingly at first ; but as the conversation proceeded, 
 it became steady and firm. The beautiful country 
 in which we were travelling naturally formed a 
 prominent topic, as well as the character of the 
 people and of the Government. Of the latter, I found 
 him (to my amazement) an admirer. "There is a deal 
 of fine stuff about that old Maitland," he said; "he 
 knows the Greeks well. Do you know if it be true 
 that he ordered one of their brigs to be blown out of 
 the water if she stayed ten minutes longer in Corfu 
 Roads ?" I happened to know, and told him that it 
 was true. " Well, of all follies, that of daring to say 
 what one cannot dare to do is the least to be pitied. 
 Do you think Sir Tom would have really executed 
 his threat ?" I told his lordship that I believed he 
 certainly would, and that this knowledge of his being
 
 AUTHORSHIP OF 'WAVERLEY NOVELS' 53 
 
 in earnest in everything he said was the cause, not 
 only of the quiet termination of that affair, but of the 
 order and subordination in the whole of the countries 
 under his government. 
 
 * The conversation again insensibly reverted to Sir 
 Walter Scott, and Lord Byron repeated to me the 
 anecdote of the interview in Murray's shop, as con- 
 clusive evidence of his being the author of the 
 ** Waverley Novels." He was a little but not durably 
 staggered by the equally well-known anecdote of Sir 
 Walter having, with some solemnity, denied the 
 authorship to Mr. Wilson Croker, in the presence of 
 George IV., the Duke of York, and the late Lord 
 Canterbury. He agreed that an author wishing to 
 conceal his authorship had a right to give any answer 
 whatever that succeeded in convincing an inquirer that 
 he was wrong in his suppositions. 
 
 * When we came within sight of the object of our 
 excursion, there happened to be an old shepherd in 
 the act of coming down from the fountain. His lord- 
 ship at once fixed upon him for Eumseus, and invited 
 him back with us to "fill up the picture." Having 
 drunk of the fountain, and eaten of our less classical 
 repast of cold fowls, etc., his lordship again became 
 lively, and full of pleasant conceits. To detail the 
 conversation (which was general and varied as the 
 individuals that partook of it) is now impossible, and 
 certainly not desirable if it were possible. I wish to 
 observe, however, that on this and one very similar 
 occasion, it was very unlike the kind of conversation 
 which Lord Byron is described as holding with various 
 individuals who have written about him. Still more 
 unlike was it to what one would have supposed his 
 conversation to be ; it was exactly that of nine-tenths 
 of the cultivated class of English gentlemen, careless 
 and unconscious of everything but the present moment. 
 Lord Byron ceased to be more than one of the party, 
 and stood some sharp jokes, practical and verbal, with 
 more good nature than would have done many of the 
 ciphers whom one is doomed to tolerate in society. 
 
 ' We returned as we went, but no opportunity pre- 
 sented itself of introducing any subject of interest 
 beyond that of the place and time. His lordship 
 seemed quite restored by the excursion, and in the
 
 54 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 evening came to the Resident's, bearing himself 
 towards everybody in the same easy, gentlemanly 
 way that rendered him the delight and ornament of 
 every society in which he chose to unbend himself 
 
 'The Resident was as absolute a monarch as Ulysses, 
 and I dare say much more hospitable and obliging. 
 He found quarters for the whole Anglo-Italian party, 
 in the best houses of the town, and received them on 
 the following morning at the most luxurious of break- 
 fasts, consisting, among other native productions, of 
 fresh-gathered grapes, just ripened, but which were 
 pronounced of some danger to be eaten, as not having 
 had the " first rain." This is worthy of note, as having 
 been apparently a ground of their being taken by Lord 
 Byron in preference to the riper and safer figs and 
 nectarines ; but he deemed it a fair reason for an 
 apology to the worthy doctor of the 8th Regiment 
 (Dr. Scott), who had cautioned the company against 
 the fruit. 
 
 '" I take them, doctor," said his lordship, " as I take 
 other prohibited things — in order to accustom myself 
 to any and all things that a man may be compelled to 
 take where I am going — in the same way that I abstain 
 from all superfluities, even salt to my eggs or butter 
 to my bread ; and I take tea, Mrs. Knox, without sugar 
 or cream. But tea itself is, really, the most super- 
 fluous of superfluities, though I am never without it." 
 
 * I heard these observations as they were made to 
 Dr. Scott, next to whom I was sitting, towards the end 
 of the table; but I could not hear the animated con- 
 versation that was going on between his lordship 
 and Mrs. Knox, beyond the occasional mention of 
 " Penelope," and, when one of her children came in to 
 her, " Telemachus "—names too obviously a propos of 
 the place and persons to be omitted in any incidental 
 conversation in Ithaca. 
 
 •The excursion to the "School of Homer" (why so 
 called nobody seemed to know) was to be made by 
 water; and the party of the preceding day, except the 
 lady, embarked in an elegant country boat with four 
 rowers, and sundry packages and jars of eatables and 
 drmkables. As soon as we were seated under the 
 awnmg— Lord Byron in the centre seat, with his face 
 to the stern— Trelawny took charge of the tiller. The
 
 DAVID HUME'S ESSAYS 55 
 
 other passengers being seated on the side, the usual 
 small ilying general conversation began. Lord Byron 
 seemed in a mood calculated to make the company 
 think he meant something more formal than ordinary 
 talk. Of course there could not be anything said in 
 the nature of a dialogue, which, to be honest, was the 
 kind of conversation that I had at heart. He began 
 by informing us that he had just been reading, with 
 renewed pleasure, David Hume's Essays. He con- 
 sidered Hume to be by far the most profound thinker 
 and clearest reasoner of the many philosophers and 
 metaphysicians of the last century. " There is," said 
 he, "no refuting him, and for simplicity and clearness 
 of style he is unmatched, and is utterly unanswer- 
 able." He referred particularly to the Essay on 
 Miracles. It was remarked to him, that it had 
 nevertheless been specifically answered, and, some 
 people thought, refuted, by a Presbyterian divine, 
 Dr. Campbell of Aberdeen. I could not hear whether 
 his lordship knew of the author, but the remark did 
 not affect his opinion ; it merely turned the conversa- 
 tion to Aberdeen and "poor John Scott," the most 
 promising and most unfortunate literary man of the 
 day, whom he knew well, and who, said he, knew him 
 (Lord Byron) as a schoolboy. Scotland, Walter Scott 
 (or, as his lordship always called him, "Watty"), the 
 " Waverley Novels," the " Rejected Addresses," and 
 the English aristocracy (which he reviled most bitterly), 
 were the prominent objects of nearly an hour's con- 
 versation. It was varied, towards the end of the 
 voyage, in this original fashion : " But come, gentle- 
 men, we must have some inspiration. Here, Tita, 
 I'Hippocrena !" 
 
 'This brought from the bows of the boat a huge 
 Venetian gondolier, with a musket slung diagonally 
 across his back, a stone jar of two gallons of what 
 turned out to be English gin, another porous one of 
 water, and a quart pitcher, into which the gondolier 
 poured the spirit, and laid the whole, with two or three 
 large tumblers, at the feet of his expectant lord, who 
 quickly uncorked the jar, and began to pour its contents 
 into the smaller vessel. 
 
 ' " Now, gentlemen, drink deep, or taste not the 
 Pierian spring ; it is the true poetic source. I'm
 
 56 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 a rogue if I have drunk to-day. Come" (handing 
 tumblers round to us), "this is the way;" and he 
 nearly half filled a tumbler, and then poured from the 
 height of his arm out of the water-jar, till the tumbler 
 sparkled in the sun like soda-water, and drunk it 
 off while effervescing, glorious gin-swizzle, a most 
 tempting beverage, of which everyone on board took 
 his share, munching after it a biscuit out of a huge 
 tin case of them. This certainly exhilarated us, till 
 we landed within some fifty or sixty yards of the 
 house to which we were directed. 
 
 *0n our way we learned that the Regent of the 
 island — that is, the native Governor, as Captain Knox 
 was the protecting Power's Governor (Viceroy over 
 the King!) — had forwarded the materials of a sub- 
 stantial feast to the occupant (his brother); for the 
 nobili Inglesi, who were to honour his premises. In 
 mentioning this act of the Regent to Lord Byron, his 
 remark was a repetition of the satirical line in the 
 imitation address of the poet Fitzgerald, " God bless 
 the Regent !" and as I mentioned the relationship to 
 our approaching host, he added, with a laugh, "and 
 the Duke of York !" 
 
 * On entering the mansion, we were received by the 
 whole family, commencing with the mother of the 
 Princes — a venerable lady of at least seventy, dressed 
 in pure Greek costume, to whom Lord Byron went up 
 with some formality, and, with a slight bend of the 
 knee, took her hand, and kissed it reverently. We 
 then moved into the adjoining sala, or saloon, where 
 there was a profusion of English comestibles, in the 
 shape of cold sirloin of beef, fowls, ham, etc., to which 
 we did such honour as a sea appetite generally 
 produces. It was rather distressing that not one of 
 the entertainers touched any of these luxuries, it being 
 the Greek Second or Panagia Lent, but fed entirely on 
 some cold fish fried in oil, and green salad, of which 
 last Lord Byron, in adherence to his rule of accustom- 
 ing himself to eat anything eatable, partook, though 
 with an obvious effort— as well as of the various wines 
 that were on the table, particularly Ithaca, which is 
 exactly port as made and drunk in the country of its 
 growth. 
 
 ' I was not antiquary enough to know to what object
 
 THE RETURN TO VATHI 57 
 
 of antiquity our visit was made, but I saw Lord 63^011 
 in earnest conversation with a very antique old Greek 
 monk in full clerical habit. He was a Bishop, sitting 
 on a stone of the ruined wall close by, and he turned 
 out to be the Esprit fort mentioned in a note at the end 
 of the second canto of ** Childe Harold " — a freethinker, 
 at least a freespeaker, when he called the sacrifice of 
 the Maso una Coglioncria. 
 
 ' When we embarked on our return to Vathi, Lord 
 Byron seemed moody and sullen, but brightened up 
 as he saw a ripple on the water, a mast and sail raised 
 in the cutter, and Trelawny seated in the stern with 
 the tiller in hand. In a few minutes we were scudding, 
 gunwale under, in a position infinitely more beautiful 
 than agreeable to landsmen, and Lord Byron obviously 
 enjoying the not improbable idea of a swim for life. 
 His motions, as he sat, tended to increase the impulse 
 of the breeze, and tended also to sway the boat to 
 leeward. " I don't know," he said, *' if you all swim, 
 gentlemen ; but if 3^ou do, you will have fifty fathoms 
 of blue water to support you ; and if you do not, you will 
 have it over you. But as you may not all be prepared, 
 starboard, Trelawny — bring her up. There ! she is 
 trim ; and now let us have a glass of grog after the 
 gale. Tita^ i fiaschi T This was followed by a repro- 
 duction of the gin-and-water jars, and a round of the 
 immortal swizzle. To my very great surprise, it was 
 new to the company that the liquor which they were 
 enjoying was the product of Scotland, in the shape of 
 what is called "low-wines," or semi-distilled whisky 
 — chiefly from the distillery of mine ancient friend, 
 James Haig of Lochrin; but the communication seemed 
 to gratify the noble drinker, and led to the recitation 
 by one of the company, in pure lowland Scotch, of 
 Burns's Petition to the House of Commons in behalf of 
 the national liquor. The last stanza, beginning 
 
 * " Scotland, my aulcl respeckit mither," 
 
 very much pleased Lord Byron, who said that he too 
 was more than half a Scotchman. 
 
 ' The conversation again turned on the " Waverley 
 Novels," and on this occasion Lord Byron spoke of 
 " The Bride of Lammermoor," and cited the passage 
 where the mother of the cooper's wife tells her
 
 58 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 husband (the cooper) that she " kent naething aboot 
 what he might do to his wife ; but the deil a finger 
 shall ye lay on my dochter, and that ye may foond 
 upony Shortly afterwards, the conversation having 
 turned upon poetry, his lordship mentioned the famous 
 ode on the death of Sir John Moore as the finest piece 
 of poetry in any language. He recited some lines of 
 it. One of the company, with more presumption than 
 wisdom, took him up, as his memory seemed to lag, 
 by filling in the line : 
 
 ' " And he looked like a warrior taking his rest, 
 With his martial cloaiv around him." 
 
 ' Lord Byron, with a look at the interloper that spoke 
 as if death were in it, and no death was sufficiently 
 cruel for him, shouted, " He lay — he lay like a 
 warrior, not he looked." The pretender was struck 
 dumb, but, with reference to his lordship's laudation 
 of the piece, he ventured half to whisper that the 
 " Gladiator " was superior to it, as it is to any poetical 
 picture ever painted in words. The reply was a 
 benign look, and a flattering recognition, by a little 
 applausive tapping of his tobacco-box on the board on 
 which he sat. 
 
 ' On arriving at Vathi, we repaired to our several 
 rooms in the worthy citizens' houses where w^e were 
 billeted, to read and meditate, and write and converse, 
 as we might meet, indoors or out ; and much profound 
 lucubration took place among us, on the characteristics 
 and disposition of the very eminent personage with 
 whom we were for the time associated. Dr. Scott, the 
 assistant-surgeon of the 8th Foot, who had heard of, 
 though he may not have witnessed, any of the pecu- 
 liarities of the great poet, accounted for them, and 
 even for the sublimities of his poetry, by an abnormal 
 construction or chronic derangement of the digestive 
 organs — a theory which experience and observation of 
 other people than poets afford many reasons to 
 support : 
 
 ' " Is it not strange now — ten times strange — to think, 
 And is it not enough one's faith to shatter, 
 That right or wrong direction of a drink, 
 A plus or mimis of a yellow matter,
 
 CONTRADICTORY ACCOUNTS OF BYRON 59 
 
 One half the world should elevate or sink 
 
 To bliss or woe (most commonly the latter) — 
 That human happiness is well-formed chj^le, 
 And human misery redundant bile !" 
 
 ' The next morning the accounts we heard of Lord 
 Byron were contradictory : Trelawny, who slept in 
 the next room to him, stating- that he had been writing 
 the greater part of the night, and he alleged it was the 
 sixteenth canto of " Don Juan "; and Dr. Bruno, who 
 visited him at intervals, and was many hours in 
 personal attendance at his bedside, asserting that he 
 had been seriously ill, and had been saved only by 
 those benedette pillule which so often had had that 
 effect. His lordship again appeared rowing in from 
 his bath at the Lazzaretto, a course of proceeding 
 (bathing and boating) which caused Dr. Bruno to 
 wring his hands and tear his hair with alarm and 
 vexation. 
 
 ' It was, however, the day fixed for our return to 
 Cephalonia, and, having gladly assented to the propo- 
 sition to join the suite, we all mounted ponies to cross 
 the island to a small harbour on the south side, where 
 a boat was waiting to bear us to Santa Eufemia, a 
 Custom-house station on the coast of Cephalonia, about 
 half an hour's passage from Ithaca, which we accord- 
 ingly passed, and arrived at the collector's mansion 
 about two o'clock. 
 
 ' During the journey across the smaller island, I made 
 a bold push, and succeeded in securing, with my small 
 pony, the side-berth of Lord Byron's large brown 
 steed, and held by him in the narrow path, to the 
 exclusion of companions better entitled to the post. 
 His conversation was not merely free — it was familiar 
 and intimate, as if we were schoolboys meeting after 
 a long separation. I happened to be " up " in the 
 "Waverley Novels," had seen several letters of Sir 
 Walter Scott's about his pedigree for his baronetage, 
 could repeat almost every one of the ** Rejected 
 Addresses," and knew something of the London 
 Magazine contributors, who were then in the zenith 
 of their reputation — Hazlitt, Charles Lamb, Talfourd, 
 Browning, Allan Cunningham, Reynolds, Darley, etc. 
 But his lordship pointed at the higher game of
 
 6o BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 Southey, Gifford (whom he all but worshipped), 
 Jeffrey of the Edinburgh Review, John Wilson, and 
 other Blackwoodites. He said they were all infidels, 
 as every man has a right to be ; that Edinburgh was 
 understood to be the seat of all infidelity, and he men- 
 tioned names (Dr. Chalmers and Andrew Thomson, 
 for examples) among the clergy as being of the 
 categor}^ This I never could admit. He was par- 
 ticularly bitter against Southey, sneered at Words- 
 worth, admired Thomas Campbell, classing his " Battle 
 of the Baltic" with the very highest of lyric produc- 
 tions. "Nothing finer," he said, "was ever written 
 
 than — 
 
 ' " There was silence deep as death, 
 
 And the boldest held his breath 
 For a time." 
 
 ' We arrived at one of the beautiful bays that encircle 
 the island, like a wavy wreath of silver sand studded 
 with gold and emerald in a field of hquid pearl, and 
 embarked in the collector's boat for the opposite shore 
 of Santa Eufemia, where, on arrival, we were received 
 by its courteous chief, Mr. Toole, in a sort of state — 
 with his whole establishment, French and English, 
 uncovered and bowing. He had had notice of the 
 illustrious poet's expected arrival, and had prepared 
 one of the usual luxurious feasts in his honour — feasts 
 which Lord Byron said " pla3'^ed the devil " with him, 
 for he could not abstain when good eating was within 
 his reach. The apartment assigned to us was small, 
 and the table could not accommodate the whole party. 
 There were, accordingly, small side or " children's 
 tables," for such guests as might choose to be willing 
 to take seats at them. "Ha!" said Lord Byron, 
 " England all over — places for Tommy and Billy, and 
 
 Lizzie and Molly, if there were any. Mr. " 
 
 (addressing me), " will you be my Tommy ?" — point- 
 ing to the two vacant seats at a small side-table, close 
 to the chair of our host. Down I sat, delighted, 
 opposite to my companion, and had a tete-a-tete dinner 
 apart from the head-table, from which, as usual, we 
 were profusely helped to the most recherche portions. 
 " Verily," said his lordship, " I cannot abstain." His 
 conversation, however, was directed chiefly to his
 
 MONASTERY ON THE HILL OF SAMOS 6i 
 
 host, from whom he received much local information, 
 and had his admiration of Sir Thomas Maitland in- 
 creased by some particulars of his system of govern- 
 ment. There were no vacant apartments within the 
 station, but we learned that quarters had been provided 
 for us at a monastery on the hill of Samos, across the 
 bay. Thither we were all transported at twilight, and 
 ascended to the large venerable abode of some dozen 
 of friars, who were prepared for our arrival and 
 accommodation. Outside the walls of the building 
 there were some open sarcophagi and some pieces of 
 carved frieze and fragments of pottery. 
 
 ' I walked with his lordship and Count Gamba to 
 examine them, speculating philosophically on their 
 quondam contents. Something to our surprise. Lord 
 Byron clambered over into the deepest, and lay in the 
 bottom at full length on his back, muttering some 
 English lines. I may have been wrong, or idly and 
 unjustifiably curious, but I leaned over to hear what 
 the lines might be. I found they were unconnected 
 fragments of the scene in " Hamlet," where he moralizes 
 with Horatio on the skull : 
 
 ' " Imperious Cassar, dead and turned to clay, 
 Might stop a hole to keep the wind away ; 
 O, that that earth, which held the world in awe, 
 Should patch a wall to expel the winter's flaw !" 
 
 * As he sprang out and rejoined us, he said : 
 " Hamlet, as a whole, is original ; but I do not admire 
 him to the extent of the common opinion. More than 
 all, he requires the very best acting. Kean did not 
 understand the part, and one could not look at him 
 after having seen John Kemble, whose squeaking 
 voice was lost in his noble carriage and thorough 
 right conception of the character. Rogers told me 
 that Kemble used to be almost always hissed in the 
 beginning of his career. * The best actor on the 
 stage,' he said, ' is Charles Young, His Pierre was 
 never equalled, and never will be.' " Amid such flying 
 desultory conversation we entered the monastery, and 
 took coffee for lack of anything else, while our 
 servants were preparing our beds. Lord Byron 
 retired almost immediately from the sala. Shortly
 
 62 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 afterwards we were astonished and alarmed by the 
 entry of Dr. Bruno, wringing his hands and tearing 
 his hair— a practice much too frequent with him — and 
 ejaculating : " O Maria, santissima Maria, se non e gia 
 morto—cielo, percJie non son morto to /" It appeared 
 that Lord Byron was seized with violent spasms in 
 the stomach and liver, and his brain was excited to 
 dangerous excess, so that he would not tolerate the 
 presence of any person in his room. He refused all 
 medicine, and stamped and tore all his clothes and 
 bedding like a maniac. We could hear him rattling 
 and ejaculating. Poor Dr. Bruno stood lamenting in 
 agony of mind, in anticipation of the most dire results 
 if immediate relief were not obtained by powerful 
 cathartics, but Lord Byron had expelled him from the 
 room by main force. He now implored one or more 
 of the company to go to his lordship and induce him, 
 if possible, to save his life by taking the necessary 
 medicine. Trelawny at once proceeded to the room, 
 but soon returned, saying that it would require ten 
 such as he to hold his lordship for a minute, adding 
 that Lord Byron would not leave an unbroken article 
 in the room. The doctor again essayed an entrance, 
 but without success. The monks were becoming 
 alarmed, and so, in truth, were all present. The 
 doctor asked me to try to bring his lordship to 
 reason; " he will thank you when he is well," he said, 
 " but get him to take this one pill, and he will be safe." 
 It seemed a very easy undertaking, and I went. 
 There being no lock on the door, entry was obtained 
 in spite of a barricade of chairs and a table within. 
 His lordship was half undressed, standing in a far 
 corner like a hunted animal at bay. As I looked 
 determined to advance in spite of his imprecations of 
 "Back! out, out of my sight! fiends, can I have no 
 peace, no relief from this hell ! Leave me, I say !" and 
 he lifted the chair nearest to him, and hurled it 
 direct at my head ; I escaped as I best could, and 
 returned to the sala. The matter was obviously 
 serious, and we all counselled force and such coercive 
 measures as might be necessary to make him swallow 
 the curative medicine. Mr. Hamilton Browne, one of 
 our party, now volunteered an attempt, and the silence 
 that succeeded his entrance augured well for his
 
 OVER THE BLACK MOUNTAIN 63 
 
 success. He returned much sooner than expected, 
 telling the doctor that he might go to sleep ; Lord 
 Byron had taken both the pills, and had lain down on 
 my mattress and bedding, prepared for him by my 
 servant, the only regular bed in the company, the 
 others being trunks and portable tressels, with such 
 softening as might be procured for the occasion. 
 Lord Byron's beautiful and most commodious patent 
 portmanteau bed, with every appliance that profusion 
 of money could provide, was mine for the night. 
 
 * On the following morning Lord Byron was all 
 dejection and penitence, not expressed in words, but 
 amply in looks and movements, till something tend- 
 ing to the jocular occurred to enliven him and us. 
 Wandering from room to room, from porch to balcony, 
 it so happened that Lord Byron stumbled upon their 
 occupants in the act of writing accounts, journals, 
 private letters, or memoranda. He thus came upon 
 me on an outer roof of a part of the building, while 
 writing, as far as I recollect, these very notes of his 
 conversation and conduct. What occurred, however, 
 was not of much consequence — or none — and turned 
 upon the fact that so many people were writing, when 
 he, the great voluminous writer, so supposed, was 
 not writing at all. The journey of the day was to be 
 over the Black Mountain to Argostoli, the capital of 
 Cephalonia. We set out about noon, struggling as 
 we best could over moor, marsh ground, and watery 
 wastes. Lord Byron revived ; and, lively on horse- 
 back, sang, at the pitch of his voice, many of Moore's 
 melodies and stray snatches of popular songs of the 
 time in the common style of the streets. There was 
 nothing remarkable in the conversation. On arrival 
 at Argostoli, the party separated — Lord Byron and 
 Trelawny to the brig of the former, lying in the offing, 
 the rest to their several quarters in the town.'
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 After an absence of eight days the party returned to 
 Argostoli, and went on board the Hercules. The 
 messenger whom Byron had sent to Corfu brought 
 the unwelcome intelh'gence that Mr. Blaquiere had 
 sailed for England, without leaving any letters for 
 Byron's guidance. News also reached him that the 
 Greeks were split up into factions, and more intent 
 on persecuting and calumniating each other than on 
 securing the independence of their country. This 
 was depressing news for a man who had sacrificed so 
 much, and would have damped the enthusiasm of 
 most people in Byron's position ; but it neither 
 deceived nor disheartened him. He was, and had 
 always been, prepared for the worst. He made up 
 his mind not to enter personally into the arena of con- 
 tending factions, but to await further developments at 
 Cephalonia, hoping to acquire an influence which 
 might eventually be employed in settling their internal 
 discords. As he himself remarked, ' I came not here 
 to join a faction, but a nation. I must be circumspect.' 
 Trelawny, in his valuable record of events at this time, 
 is hard on Byron. He mistook Byron's motives, and 
 thought that he was 'shilly-shallying and doing 
 nothing.' But Trelawny, though mistaken, was 
 sincere. He was in every sense of the word a man of 
 
 64
 
 BYRON MOVES TO METAXATA 65 
 
 action, and full of a wild enthusiasm for the Greek 
 cause. It was not in his nature to await events, but 
 rather to create them, and Byron's wise decision made 
 him restive. He determined to proceed to the Morea, 
 and induced Hamilton Browne to go with him. Byron 
 gave them letters to the Greek Government, if they 
 could find any such authority, expressing his readiness 
 to serve them when they had satisfied him how he 
 could do so. 
 
 Gamba takes a calmer view of Byron's hesitation. 
 He says that Byron well knew that prudence had 
 never been in the catalogue of his virtues ; that he 
 knew the necessity of such a virtue in his present 
 situation, and was determined to attain it. He care- 
 fully avoided every appearance of ostentation, and 
 dreaded being suspected of being a mere hunter after 
 adventures. 
 
 ' By perseverance and discernment,' says Gamba, 
 ' Byron hoped to assist in the liberation of Greece. To 
 know and to be known was consequently, from the 
 outset, his principal object.' 
 
 How far he succeeded we shall see later. From 
 the time of B3'-ron's arrival at Argostoli until Septem- 
 ber 6 he lived on board the Hercules. Colonel Napier 
 had frequently begged him to take up his quarters 
 with him, but Byron declined the hospitality; mainly 
 because he feared that he might thereby embroil 
 the British authorities on the island with their own 
 Government, whose dispositions were yet unknown. 
 Early in September Byron removed with Gamba to 
 a village named Metaxata, in a healthy situation and 
 amidst magnificent scenery. A month later letters 
 arrived from Edward Trelawny, saying that things 
 were not so bad as had been reported. It was evident 
 
 5
 
 66 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 that great apathy and total disorganization prevailed 
 among those who had got the upper hand, but that 
 the mass of the people— well disposed towards the 
 revolution— was beginning to take an interest in 
 the war. A general determination of never again 
 submitting to the Turkish yoke had taken deep root. 
 The existing Greek Government sent pressing letters 
 to Byron inviting him to set out immediately, but 
 Byron still thought it wiser not to move; for the 
 reasons which had governed his conduct hitherto still 
 prevailed. He was determined neither to waste his 
 services nor his money on furthering the greed of 
 some particular chieftain, or at best of some faction. 
 Letters arrived from the Greek Committee in London, 
 informing Byron that arrangements had been made 
 for the floating of a Greek loan. Meanwhile Mavro- 
 cordato wrote to Byron from Hydra, whither he had 
 fled, inviting him to that island. Lord Byron replied 
 that so long as the dissensions between the factions 
 continued he would remain a mere spectator, as he 
 was resolved not to be mixed up in quarrels whose 
 effects were so disastrous to the cause. He at the 
 same time begged Mavrocordato to expedite the de- 
 parture of the fleet, and to send the Greek deputies 
 to London. The Turkish fleet meanwhile had sailed 
 for the Dardanelles, leaving a squadron of fourteen 
 vessels for the blockade of Missolonghi, and for the 
 protection of a fortress in the gulf, which was still in 
 the hands of the Turks. 
 
 The gallant Marco Botzari had been killed in action, 
 and Missolonghi was in a state of siege. Its Governor 
 wrote and implored Byron to come there ; but as the 
 place was in no danger, either from famine or from 
 assault, he declined the proposal.
 
 DEPARTURE OF THE GREEK DEPUTIES 67 
 
 In the middle of November, 1823, Mr. Hamilton 
 Browne and the deputies arrived at Cephalonia. 
 They brought letters from the Greek Government 
 asking Byron to advance £<S,qoo (30,000 dollars) for 
 the payment of the Greek fleet An assurance was 
 offered by the legislative body that, upon payment of 
 this money, a Greek squadron would immediately put 
 to sea. Byron consented to advance ;^4,ooo, and gave 
 the deputies letters for London. In allusion to the 
 loan about to be raised in England, he thus addressed 
 them : 
 
 ' Everyone believes that a loan will be the salvation 
 of Greece, both as to its internal disunion and external 
 enemies. But I shall refrain from insisting much on 
 this point, for fear that I should be suspected of 
 interested views, and of wishing to repay myself the 
 loan of money which I have advanced to your Govern- 
 ment' 
 
 On December 17, 1823, while Byron was at Metaxata, 
 awaiting definite information as to the progress of 
 events, he resumed his journal, which had been 
 abruptly discontinued in consequence of news having 
 reached him that his daughter was ill. 
 
 ' I know not,' he wrote, * why I resume it even now, 
 except that, standing at the window of my apartment 
 in this beautiful village, the calm though cool serenity 
 of a beautiful and transparent moonlight, showing 
 the islands, the mountains, the sea, with a distant out- 
 line of the Morea traced between the double azure 
 of the waves and skies, has quieted me enough to be 
 able to write, which (however difficult it may seem for 
 one who has written so much publicly to refrain) is, 
 and always has been, to me a task, and a painful one. 
 I could summon testimonies were it necessary ; but 
 my handwriting is sufficient. It is that of one who 
 thinks much, rapidly, perhaps deeply, but rarely with 
 pleasure.' 
 
 5—2
 
 68 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 The Greeks were still quarrelling among themselves, 
 and Byron almost despaired of being able to unite the 
 factions in one common interest. Mavrocordato and 
 the squadron from Hydra, for whose coming Byron had 
 bargained when he advanced i;4,ooo» had at length 
 arrived after the inglorious capture of a small Turkish 
 vessel with 50,000 dollars on board. This prize having 
 been captured within the bounds of neutrality, on the 
 coast of Ithaca, Byron naturally foresaw that it would 
 bring the Greeks into trouble with the British author- 
 ities. Meanwhile, news from London confirmed the 
 accounts of an increasing interest in the Greek cause, 
 and gave good promise of a successful floating of the 
 loan. 
 
 In the middle of November Colonel Leicester Stan- 
 hope arrived at Cephalonia. He had been deputed by 
 the London Committee to act with Lord Byron. 
 News also came from Greece that the Pasha of 
 Scutari had abandoned Anatolico, and that the Turkish 
 army had been put to flight. But the Greek factions, 
 whose jealous dissensions promised to wreck the 
 cause of Greek independence, had come to blows in 
 the Morea. 
 
 As Byron had been recognized as a representative of 
 the English and German Committees interested in the 
 Greek cause, he was advised to write a public remon- 
 strance to the general Government of Greece, pointing 
 out that their dissensions would be fatal to the cause 
 which it was presumed they all had at heart. Byron 
 disliked to take so prominent a step, but he was 
 eventually persuaded that such a letter might do a 
 great deal of good. Gamba cites the following extract 
 from Byron's appeal to the executive and legislative 
 bodies of the Greek nation :
 
 A REMONSTRANCE 69 
 
 ' Cephalonia, 
 
 ' November 20, 1823. 
 
 ' The affair of the loan, the expectation so long and 
 vainly indulged of the arrival of the Greek fleet, and 
 the danger to which Missolonghi is still exposed, have 
 detained me here, and vv^ill still detain me till some of 
 them are removed. But when the money shall be 
 advanced for the fleet, I will start for the Morea, not 
 knowing, however, of what use my presence can be in the 
 present state of things. We have heard some rumours 
 of new dissensions — nay, of the existence of a civil war. 
 With all my heart, I pray that these reports may be 
 false or exaggerated, for I can imagine no calamity 
 more serious than this ; and I must frankly confess, 
 that unless union and order are established, all hopes 
 of a loan will be vain. All the assistance which the 
 Greeks could expect from abroad — an assistance 
 neither trifling nor worthless — will be suspended or 
 destroyed. And, what is worse, the Great Powers of 
 Europe, of whom no one is an enemy to Greece, 
 but seems to favour her establishment of an independent 
 power, will be persuaded that the Greeks are unable to 
 govern themselves, and will, perhaps, themselves 
 undertake to settle your disorders in such a way 
 as to blast the hopes of yourselves and of your friends. 
 
 ' And allow me to add once for all — I desire the well- 
 being of Greece, and nothing else, I will do all 1 can 
 to secure it. But I cannot consent, I never will 
 consent, that the English public or English indi- 
 viduals should be deceived as to the real state of 
 Greek affairs. The rest, gentlemen, depends on you. 
 You have fought gloriously ; act honourably towards 
 your fellow-citizens and towards the world. Then it 
 will no more be said, as it has been said for two 
 thousand years, with the Roman historian, that Philo- 
 poemen was the last of the Grecians. Let not calumny 
 itself (and it is difficult, I own, to guard against it in so 
 arduous a struggle) compare the patriot Greek, when 
 resting from his labours, to the Turkish Pacha, whom 
 his victories have exterminated. 
 
 * I pray you to accept these my sentiments as a 
 sincere proof of my attachment to your real interests ; 
 and to believe that I am, and always shall be, 
 
 ' Your, etc., 
 
 ' Noel Byron.'
 
 70 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 Byron at the same time wrote to Prince Mavrocor- 
 dato, and sent the letter by Colonel Leicester Stanhope. 
 He tells the Prince that he is very uneasy at the news 
 about the dissensions among the Greek chieftains, and 
 warns him that Greece must prepare herself for three 
 alternatives. She must either reconquer her liberty 
 by united action, or become a Dependence of the 
 Sovereigns of Europe ; or, failing in either direction, 
 she would revert to her position as a mere province of 
 Turkey. There was no other choice open to her. 
 Civil war was nothing short of ruin. 
 
 * If Greece desires the fate of Walachia and the 
 Crimea,' says Byron, ' she may obtain it to-morrow ; if 
 that of Italy, the day after ; but if she wishes to 
 become truly Greece, free and independent, she must 
 resolve to-day, or she will never again have the 
 opportunity.' 
 
 Byron, in his journal dated December 17, 1823, says: 
 
 ' The Turks have retired from before Missolonghi — 
 nobody knows why — since they left provisions and 
 ammunition behind them in quantities, and the garri- 
 son made no sallies, or none to any purpose. They 
 never invested Missolonghi this year, but bombarded 
 Anatoliko, near the Achelous.' 
 
 Finlay, in his 'History of Greece,' states that the 
 Turks made no effort to capture the place, and after a 
 harmless bombardment the siege was raised, and the 
 Turkish forces retired into Epirus. 
 
 The following extract from a letter, which Byron 
 wrote to his sister* conveys an unimpeachable record 
 of his feelings and motives in coming to Greece : 
 
 You ask me why I came up amongst the Greeks. 
 It was stated to me that my doing so might tend to 
 
 * ' Letters and Journals of Lord Byron,' edited by Rowland 
 Prothero, vol. vi., p. 259.
 
 BYRON'S LETTER TO HIS SISTER n 
 
 their advantage in some measure, in their present 
 struggle for independence, both as an individual and 
 as a member for the Committee now in England. 
 How far this may be realized I cannot pretend to 
 anticipate, but I am willing to do what I can. They 
 have at length found leisure to quarrel amongst them- 
 selves, after repelling their other enemies, and it is 
 no very easy part that I may have to play to avoid 
 appearing partial to one or other of their factions. . . . 
 I have written to their Government at Tripolizza and 
 Salamis, and am waiting for instructions where to 
 proceed, for things are in such a state amongst them, 
 that it is difficult to conjecture where one could be 
 useful to them, if at all. However, I have some hopes 
 that they will see their own interest sufficiently not to 
 quarrel till they have received their national indepen- 
 dence, and then they can fight it out among them in a 
 domestic manner — and welcome. You may suppose 
 that I have something to think of at least, for you can 
 have no idea what an intriguing, cunning, unquiet 
 generation they are ; and as emissaries of all parties 
 come to me at present, and I must act impartially, it 
 makes me exclaim, as Julian did at his military exer- 
 cises, "Oh ! Plato, what a task for a Philosopher!'"
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 It was during the time that Byron was in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Cephalonia that Dr. Kennedy, a Scottish 
 medical man, methodistically inclined, undertook the 
 so-called ' conversion ' of the poet. Gamba tells us 
 that their disputes on religious matters sometimes 
 lasted five or six hours. * The Bible was so familiar 
 to Byron that he frequently corrected the citations of 
 the theological doctor.' 
 
 Byron, in the letter from which we have quoted, 
 says : 
 
 'There is a clever but eccentric man here, a 
 Dr. Kennedy, who is very pious and tries in good 
 earnest to make converts ; but his Christianity is a 
 queer one, for he says that the priesthood of the 
 Church of England are no more Christians than 
 " Mahound or Termagant " are. ... I like what I 
 have seen of him. He says that the dozen shocks of 
 an earthquake we had the other day are a sign of his 
 doctrine, or a judgment on his audience, but this 
 opinion has not acquired proselytes.' 
 
 As disputants, Byron and Kennedy stood far as the 
 poles asunder. The former, while beheving firmly in 
 the existence and supreme attributes of God, doubted, 
 but never denied, manifestations that could not be 
 tested or demonstrated by positive proof. The latter, 
 through blind unquestioning faith, believed in every- 
 thing which an inspired Bible had revealed to man^- 
 
 72
 
 BYRON AND DR. KENNEDY n 
 
 kind. Thus both were believers up to a certain point, 
 and both were equally well-meaning and sincere. The 
 intensity of their faith had its limitations. They did 
 not agree, and never could have agreed, in their views 
 of religion. They moved on parallel lines that might 
 have been extended indefinitely, but could never meet. 
 Kennedy discouraged the unlimited use of reason, and 
 preferred an absolute reliance on the traditional teach- 
 ing of his Church. To Byron the exercise of reason 
 was an absolute necessity. He would not admit that 
 God had given us minds, and had denied us the right 
 to use them intelligently ; or that the Almighty desired 
 us to sacrifice reason to faith, ' It is useless,' said 
 Byron, 'to tell me that I am to believe, and not to 
 reason ; you might as well say to a man : " Wake not, 
 but sleep." ' While Byron profoundly disbelieved in 
 eternal punishments, Kennedy would have mankind 
 kept straight by fear of them. Kennedy, though 
 versed in the Bible, was, as events proved, hardly a 
 match for Byron. 
 
 Hodgson, an old friend of Byron's, has left a record 
 that a Bible presented to him ' by that better angel of 
 his life,' his beloved sister, was among the books which 
 Byron always kept near him. The following lines, 
 taken from Scott, were inserted by Byron on the 
 fly-leaf : 
 
 * Within this awful volume lies 
 The Mystery of Mysteries. 
 Oh ! happiest they of human race 
 To whom our God has given grace 
 To hear, to read, to fear, to pray, 
 To lift the latch, and force the way ; 
 But better had he ne'er been born 
 Who reads to doubt, or reads to scorn !'* 
 
 * * Memoir of Rev. F. Hodgson,' vol. ii., p. 150.
 
 74 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 During the discussions which took place, Kennedy 
 was forced to admit that Byron was well versed in 
 the Bible ; but he maintained that prayer was neces- 
 sary in order to understand its message. Byron said 
 that, in his opinion, prayer does not consist in the act 
 of kneeling, or of repeating certain words in a solemn 
 manner, as devotion is the affection of the heart. 
 
 * When I look at the marvels of the creation,' said 
 he, * I bow before the Majesty of Heaven ; and when 
 I experience the delights of life, health, and happiness, 
 then my heart dilates in gratitude towards God for all 
 His blessings.' 
 
 Kennedy maintained that this was not sufficient; it 
 must be an earnest supplication for grace and humility. 
 In Kennedy's opinion Byron had not sufficient humility 
 to understand the truths of the Gospel. At this time, 
 certainly, Byron was not prepared to believe implicitly 
 in the Divinity of Christ. He lacked the necessary 
 faith to do so, but he did not reject the doctrine. 
 
 * I have not the slightest desire,' he said, ' to reject 
 a doctrine without having investigated it. Quite the 
 contrary ; I wish to believe, because I feel extremely 
 unhappy in a state of uncertainty as to what I am to 
 believe.' 
 
 He wanted proofs — as so many others have before 
 and since — and without it conviction was impossible. 
 
 ' Byron,' said Countess Guiccioli, 'would never have 
 contested absolutely the truth of any mystery, but 
 have merely stated that, so long as the testimony of 
 its truth was hidden in obscurity, such a mystery must 
 be liable to be questioned.' 
 
 Byron had been brought up by his mother in very 
 strict religious principles, and in his youth had read 
 many theological works. He told Dr. Kennedy that
 
 CONVERSATIONS ON RELIGION 75 
 
 he was in no sense an unbeliever who denied the 
 Scriptures, or was content to grope in atheism, 
 but, on the contrary, that it was his earnest wish to 
 increase his belief, as half- convictions made him 
 wretched. He declared that, with the best will in 
 the world, he could not understand the Scriptures. 
 Kennedy, on the other hand, took the Bible to be the 
 salvation of mankind, and was strong in his condemna- 
 tion of the Catholic Church. He objected to the 
 Roman Communion as strongly as he repudiated and 
 despised Deism and Socinianism. 
 
 Byron had at this time a decided leaning towards 
 the Roman Communion, and, while deploring hypoc- 
 risies and superstitions, deeply respected those who 
 believed conscientiously, whatever that belief might 
 be. He loathed hypocrites of all kinds, and especially 
 hypocrites in religion. 
 
 ' I do not reject the doctrines of Christianity,' he 
 said ; * I only ask a few more proofs to profess them 
 sincerely. I do not believe myself to be the vile 
 Christian which so many assert that I am.' 
 
 Kennedy advised Byron to put aside all difficult 
 subjects — such as the origin of sin, the fall of man, the 
 nature of the Trinity, the doctrine of predestination, 
 and kindred mysteries — and to study Christianity by 
 the light of the Bible alone, which contains the only 
 means of salvation. We give Byron's answer in full 
 on Dr. Kennedy's authority : 
 
 *You recommend what is very difficult; for how is 
 it possible for one who is acquainted with ecclesias- 
 tical history, as well as with the writings of the most 
 renowned theologians, with all the difficult questions 
 which have agitated the minds of the most learned, 
 and who sees the divisions and sects which abound in 
 Christianity, and the bitter language which is often
 
 ye BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 used by the one against the other; how is it possible, 
 I ask, for such a one not to inquire into the nature of 
 the doctrines which have given rise to so much dis- 
 cussion ? One Council has pronounced against another; 
 Popes have belied their predecessors, books have been 
 written against other books, and sects have risen to 
 replace other sects. The Pope has opposed the Protes- 
 tants, and the Protestants the Pope. We have heard 
 of Arianism, Socinianism, Methodism, Quakerism, and 
 numberless other sects. Why have these existed ? It 
 is a puzzle for the brain ; and does it not, after all, 
 seem safer to say: " Let us be neutral: let those fight 
 who will, and when they have settled which is the 
 best religion, then shall we also begin to study it." I 
 like your way of thinking, in many respects ; you make 
 short work of decrees and Councils, you reject all which 
 is not in harmony with the Scriptures. You do not 
 admit of theological works filled with Latin and Greek, 
 of both High and Low Church ; you would even sup- 
 press many abuses which have crept into the Church, 
 and you are right ; but I question whether the Arch- 
 bishop of Canterbury or the Scotch Presbyterians 
 would consider you their ally.' 
 
 Kennedy, in reply, alluded to the differences which 
 existed in religious opinions, and expressed regret at 
 this, but pleaded indulgence for those sects which do 
 not attack the fundamental doctrines of Christianity. 
 He strongly condemned Arianism, Socinianism, and 
 Swedenborgianism, which were anathema to him. 
 
 ' You seem to hate the Socinians greatly,' said Byron, 
 'but is this charitable? Why exclude a Socinian, 
 who believes honestly, from any hope of salvation? 
 Does he not also found his belief upon the Bible ? It 
 is a religion which gains ground daily. Lady Byron 
 is much in favour with its followers. We were wont 
 to discuss religious matters together, and many of our 
 misunderstandings have arisen from that. Yet, on 
 the whole, I think her religion and mine were much 
 alike.'
 
 LADY BYRON ON CALVINISM ^^ 
 
 Whether Byron was justified in this opinion or not 
 may be see from a letter which Lady Byron wrote to 
 Mr. Crabb Robinson* in reference to Dr. Kennedy's 
 book : v\ 
 
 'Strange as it may seem, Dr. Kennedy is most 
 faithful where you doubt his being so. Not merely 
 from casual expressions, but from the whole tenor of 
 Lord Byron's feelings, I could not but conclude he 
 was a believer in the inspiration of the Bible, and had 
 the gloomiest Calvinistic tenets. To that unhappy 
 view of the relation of the creature to the Creator, I 
 have always ascribed the misery of his life. ... It is 
 enough for me to remember, that he who thinks his 
 transgressions beyond forgiveness (and such was his 
 own deepest feeling) has righteousness beyond that of 
 the self-satisfied sinner; or, perhaps, of the half 
 awakened. It was impossible for me to doubt, that, 
 could he have been at once assured of pardon, his 
 living faith in a moral duty and love of virtue (" I love 
 the virtues which I cannot claim ") would have con- 
 quered every temptation. Judge, then, how I must 
 hate the Creed which made him see God as an Avenger, 
 not a Father. My own impressions were just the 
 reverse, but could have little weight, and it was in 
 vain to seek to turn his thoughts for long from that 
 idee fixe, with which he connected his physical pecu- 
 liarity as a stamp. Instead of being made happier by 
 any apparent good, he felt convinced that every bless- 
 ing would be " turned into a curse " for him. Who, 
 possessed of such ideas, could lead a life of love and 
 service to God or man ? They must in a measure 
 realize themselves. " The worst of it is I do believe," 
 he said. I, like all connected with him, was broken 
 against the rock of Predestination.* 
 
 Lady Byron writes from her own personal experience 
 of a time when tender affection or sympathy formed no 
 part of Byron's nature; of a time when he had no 
 regard for the interests or the happiness of others ; 
 
 * ' Diary,' vol. iii., pp. 435, 436.
 
 78 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 when he lived according to his own humours, and 
 when his will was his law. Byron's earlier poetry 
 amply supports Lady Byron's view of so miserable a 
 state of mind. But there is reason to hope — nay, we 
 might say to believe — that, in the last years of his life, 
 Byron began to realize that a merciful God would be 
 wholly incapable of such manifest injustice as to con- 
 demn His creatures to suffer for crimes which they 
 were powerless to resist and predestined to commit. 
 He believed in God and in the immortality of the 
 soul, and has publicly declared that all punishment 
 which is to revenge, rather than to correct, must be 
 morally wrong. * Human passions,' wrote Byron, 
 ' have probably disfigured the Divine doctrines here : 
 but the whole thing is inscrutable.' 
 
 Countess Guiccioli tells us that, whatever may have 
 been Byron's opinions with regard to certain points of 
 religious doctrine, sects, and modes of worship, in 
 essential matters his mind never seriously doubted. 
 Matthews in his Cambridge days, and Shelley towards 
 the close of life, moved him not at all. Between the 
 commencement of Byron's career and its close, his 
 mind passed successively through different phases 
 before arriving at the last result. Leicester Stanhope, 
 who was at Missolonghi with Byron, and who knew 
 him well latterly, says : 
 
 ' Most persons assume a virtuous character. Lord 
 Byron's ambition, on the contrary, was to make the 
 world imagine that he was a sort of Satan, though 
 occasionally influenced by lofty sentiments to the 
 performance of great actions. Fortunately for his 
 fame, he possessed another quality, by which he stood 
 completely unmasked. He was the most ingenuous of 
 men, and his nature, in the main good, always 
 triumphed over his acting.'
 
 BYRON DID NOT FEAR DEATH 79 
 
 Parry, who stood at Byron's bedside when he died 
 at Missolonghi, tells us that Byron died fearless and 
 resigned. Could there be a better proof than these 
 words, spoken by Byron a few hours before he passed 
 away ? — 
 
 ' Eternity and space are before me ; but on this 
 subject, thank God, I am happy and at ease. The 
 thought of living eternally, of again reviving, is a 
 great pleasure. Christianity is the purest and most 
 liberal religion in the world ; but the numerous 
 teachers who are eternally worrying mankind with 
 their denunciations and their doctrines are the 
 greatest enemies of religion. I have read, with more 
 attention than half of them, the Book of Christianity, 
 and I admire the liberal and truly charitable principles 
 which Christ has laid down. There are questions 
 connected with this subject which none but Almighty 
 God can solve. Time and Space, who can conceive? 
 None but God : on Him I rely.' 
 
 During the time that Byron lived at Metaxata, in 
 Cephalonia, he seldom saw anyone in the evening 
 except Dr. Stravolemo, one of the most estimable men 
 in the island, who lived in that village. He had been 
 first physician to Ali Pacha. He was an entertaining 
 man, and afforded Byron much amusement by dis- 
 puting with Dr. Bruno on medical questions. 
 
 ' Lord Byron,' says Gamba, ' had generally three or 
 four books lying before him, of which he read first one, 
 then the other, and used to contrive to foment those 
 friendly contentions, which, however, never exceeded 
 the proper bounds. Lord Byron's favourite reading 
 consisted of Greek history, of memoirs, and of 
 romances. Never a day passed without his reading 
 some pages of Scott's novels. His admiration of 
 Walter Scott, both as a writer and as a companion, 
 was unbounded. Speaking of him to his English 
 friends, he used to say : " You should know Scott ; you 
 would like him so much ; he is the most delightful
 
 80 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 man in a room ; no affectation, no nonsense ; and, 
 what I like above all things, nothing of the author 
 about him.' 
 
 One evening Colonel Napier, the British Resident, 
 arrived at Byron's house at a gallop, and asked for 
 Drs. Bruno and Stravolemo. He said that a party 
 of peasants who were road-making had, in excavating 
 a high bank, fallen under a landslide and were in 
 danger of their lives. There were at least a dozen 
 persons entombed. Colonel Napier happened to 
 be passing at the moment when the catastrophe 
 occurred ; help was urgently needed. Byron sent 
 Dr. Bruno to their assistance, while he and Gamba 
 followed as soon as their horses could be saddled. 
 
 ' When we came to the place,' says Gamba, * we saw 
 a lamentable spectacle indeed. A crowd of women 
 and children were assembled round the ruins, and 
 filled the air with their cries. Three or four of the 
 peasants who had been extricated were carried before 
 us half dead to the neighbouring cottages ; and we 
 found Mr. Hill, a friend of Lord Byron, and the super- 
 intendent of the w^orks, in a state of the utmost con- 
 sternation. Although an immense crowd continued 
 flocking to the place, and it was thought that there 
 were still some other workmen under the fallen mass 
 of earth, no one would make any further efforts. The 
 Greeks stood looking on without moving, as if totally 
 indifferent to the catastrophe, and despaired of doing 
 any good. This enraged Lord Byron; he seized a 
 spade, and began to work as hard as he could ; but it 
 was not until the peasants had been threatened with 
 the horsewhip that they followed his example. Some 
 shoes and hats were found, but no human beings. 
 Lord Byron never could be an idle spectator of any 
 calamity. He was peculiarly alive to the distress of 
 others, and was perhaps a little too easily imposed 
 upon by every tale of woe, however clumsily con- 
 trived. The slightest appearance of injustice or cruelty, 
 not only to his own species, but to animals, roused
 
 GREEK SQUADRON AT MISSOLONGHI 8i 
 
 his indignation and compelled his interference, and 
 personal consequences never for one moment entered 
 into his calculations.' 
 
 In the month of December the Greek squadron 
 anchored off Missolonghi, where Prince Mavrocordato 
 was received with enthusiasm. He was given full 
 powers to organize Western Greece. The Turkish 
 squadron was at this time shut up in the Gulf of 
 Lepanto. 
 
 Byron sent to inform Mavrocordato that the loan 
 which he had promised to the Government was ready, 
 and that he was prepared either to go on board some 
 vessel belonging to the Greek fleet, or to come to 
 Missolonghi and confer with him. Mavrocordato and 
 Colonel Leicester Stanhope wrote to beg Byron to 
 come as soon as possible to Missolonghi, where his 
 presence would be of great service to the cause. In 
 the first place money to pay the fleet was much 
 wanted ; the sailors were on the verge of mutiny. 
 Mavrocordato was in a state of anxiety, the Greek 
 Admiral looked gloomy, and the sailors grumbled aloud. 
 
 ' It is right and necessary to tell you,' wrote Stan- 
 hope, 'that a great deal is expected of you, both in the 
 way of counsel and money. If the money does not 
 arrive soon, I expect that the remaining five ships (the 
 others are off) will soon make sail for Spezia. All are 
 eager to see you. They calculate on your aiding them 
 with resources for their expedition against Lepanto, 
 and hope that you will take about 1,500 Suliotes into 
 your pay for two or three months. Missolonghi is 
 swarming with soldiers, and the Government has 
 neither quarters nor provisions for them. I walked 
 along the street this evening, and the people asked me 
 after Lord Byron. Your further delay in coming will 
 be attended with serious consequences.' 
 
 Byron at the same time received a letter from the 
 Legislative Council, begging him to co-operate with 
 
 6
 
 82 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 Mavrocordato in the organization of Western Greece. 
 It was now December 26, 1823. Byron chartered a 
 vessel for part of the baggage ; a mistico, or light fast- 
 sailing vessel, for himself and his suite ; and a larger 
 vessel for the horses, baggage, and munitions of war. 
 The weather was unfavourable and squally, the vessels 
 could not get under-weigh, and the whole party were 
 detained for two days, during which time Byron 
 lodged with his banker, Mr. Charles Hancock, and 
 passed the greater part of the day in the society of the 
 British authorities of the island. 
 
 We are able, through the courtesy of General Skey 
 Muir, the son of Byron's friend at Cephalonia, to give 
 extracts from a letter which Mr. Charles Hancock 
 wrote to Dr Muir on June i, 1824. During Byron's 
 residence at Metaxata, Dr. Muir was the principal 
 medical officer at Cephalonia, and it was in his house 
 that some of the conversations on religion between 
 Dr. Kennedy and Byron were held. Mr. Charles 
 Hancock writes : 
 
 * The day before Byron left the island I happened to 
 receive a copy of" Quentin Durward," which I put into 
 his hands, knowing that he had not seen it, and that 
 he wished to obtain the perusal of it. Lord Byron 
 was very fond of Scott's novels — you will have 
 observed they were always scattered about his rooms 
 at Metaxata. He immediately shut himself in his 
 roorn, and, in his eagerness to indulge in it, refused 
 to dine with the officers of the 8th Regiment at their 
 mess, or even to join us at table, but merely came out 
 once or twice to say how much he was entertained, 
 returning to his chamber with a plate of figs in his 
 hand. He was exceedingly delighted with "Quentin 
 Durward " — said it was excellent, especially the first 
 volume and part of the second, but that it fell off 
 towards the conclusion, like all the more recent of 
 these novels : it might be, he added, owing to the
 
 ZANTE TO MISSOLONGHI 83 
 
 extreme rapidity with which they were written — 
 admirably conceived, and as well executed at the out- 
 set, but hastil}^ finished off. . . . 
 
 ' I will close these remarks with the mention of the 
 period when we took our final leave of him. It was 
 on the 29th December last that, after a slight repast, 
 you and I accompanied him in a boat, gay and animated 
 at finding himself embarked once more on the element 
 he loved ; and we put him on board the little vessel 
 that conveyed him to Zante and Missolonghi. He 
 mentioned the poetic feeling with which the sea 
 always inspired him, rallied you on your grave and 
 thoughtful looks, me on my bad steering ; quizzed 
 Dr. Bruno, but added in English (which the doctor 
 did not understand), " He is the most sincere Italian 
 I ever met with "; and laughed at Fletcher, who was 
 getting well ducked by the spray that broke over the 
 bows of the boat. The vessel was lying sheltered 
 from the wind in the little creek that is surmounted 
 by the Convent of San Constantino, but it was not till 
 she had stood out and caught the breeze that we 
 parted from him, to see him no more.' 
 
 The wind becoming fair, on December 28, at 3 p.m., 
 the vessels got under way, Byron in the mistico, 
 Pietro Gamba in the larger vessel. On the morning 
 of the 29th they were at Zante, and spent the day in 
 transacting business with Mr. Bartf and shipping a 
 considerable sum of money. Byron declined the 
 Commandant's invitation to his residence, as his time 
 was fully occupied with the business in hand. At 
 about six in the evening they sailed for Missolonghi, 
 without the slightest suspicion that the Turkish fleet 
 was on the lookout for prizes. They knew that the 
 Greek fleet was lying before Missolonghi, and they 
 expected to sight a convoy sent out to meet them. 
 Gamba says : 
 
 * We sailed together till after ten at night, with a 
 fair wind and a clear sky ; the air was fresh but not 
 sharp. Our sailors sang patriotic songs, monotonous 
 
 6—2
 
 84 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 indeed, but to persons in our situation extremely 
 touching. We were all, Lord Byron particularly, in 
 excellent spirits. His vessel sailed the fastest. Then 
 the waves parted us, and our voices could no longer 
 reach each other. We made signals by firing pistols 
 and carabines, and shouted, *' To morrow we meet at 
 Missolonghi — to morrow !" 
 
 ' Thus, full of confidence and spirit, we sailed along. 
 At midnight we were out of sight.' 
 
 At 6.30 a.m. the vessel which bore Gamba along 
 gaily approached the rocks which border the shallows 
 of Missolonghi. They saw a large vessel bearing 
 down upon them, which they at first took for one of 
 the Greek fleet ; in appearance it seemed superior to a 
 Turkish man-of-war. But as Gamba's vessel hoisted 
 the Ionian flag, to their dismay the stranger hoisted 
 the Ottoman ensign. The Turkish commander ordered 
 Gamba's captain to come on board, and the poor 
 fellow gave himself up for lost. They could think of 
 no excuse which would have any weight with their 
 captors, and were in some trepidation as to Byron's 
 fate, he having money, arms, and some Greeks, 
 with him. 
 
 Writing from Missolonghi on January 5, 1824, 
 Colonel Stanhope says : 
 
 * Count Gamba has just arrived here, with all the 
 articles belonging to the Committee. He was taken 
 earl^' in the morning by a Turkish ship. The captain 
 thereof ordered the master on board. The moment 
 he came on deck, the captain drew his dazzling sabre 
 and placed himself in an attitude as if to cut his head 
 off, and at the same time asked him where he was 
 bound. The frightened Greek said, to Missolonghi. 
 They gazed at each other, and all at once the Turk 
 recognized in his prisoner one who, on a former 
 occasion, had saved his life. They embraced. Next 
 came Count Gamba's turn. He declared — swore that 
 he was bound to Calamata, and that the master had
 
 ARRIVAL AT MISSOLONGHI 85 
 
 told a lie through fear, and that his bill of lading- 
 would bear him out. They were both taken to the 
 castle of the Morea, were well treated, and after three 
 days released.' 
 
 On January 5, 1824, Byron arrived at Missolonghi. 
 He was received with military honours and popular 
 applause. 
 
 ' He landed,' says Gamba, * in a Speziot boat, dressed 
 in a red uniform. He was in excellent health, and 
 appeared moved by the scene. I met him as he dis- 
 embarked, and in a few minutes we entered the house 
 prepared for him — the same in which Colonel Stanhope 
 resided. The Colonel and Prince Mavrocordato, with 
 a long suite of Greek and European officers, received 
 him at the door. I cannot describe the emotions 
 which such a scene excited. Crowds of soldiery and 
 citizens of every rank, sex, and age, were assembled 
 to testify their delight. Hope and content were 
 pictured on every countenance.' 
 
 Byron seems to have escaped from perils quite as 
 great, though differing in nature, from those through 
 which Gamba had passed. His vessel passed close to 
 the Turkish frigate, but under favour of the night, and 
 by preserving complete silence, the master ran her 
 close under the rocks of the Scrofes, whither the Turk 
 dared not follow her. Byron saw Gamba's vessel 
 taken and conducted to Patras. Byron, thinking it 
 wiser not to make straight for Missolonghi steered for 
 Petala ; but finding that port open and unsafe, his 
 vessel was taken to Dragomestri, a small town on the 
 coast of Acarnania. On his arrival there, Byron was 
 visited by the Primates and officers of the place, who 
 offered him their good offices. From this place Byron 
 sent messengers both to Zante and Missolonghi. On 
 receipt of Byron's letter, Mavrocordato sent five gun- 
 boats and a brig-of-war to escort him to Missolonghi.
 
 S6 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 On January 4, the flotilla was caught in a violent 
 storm, which threw Byron's vessel in dangerous 
 proximity to the rocks on that inhospitable coast. 
 The sailors at first behaved remarkably well, and got 
 the vessel off the rocks ; but a second squall burst 
 upon them with great violence, and drove the Mistico 
 into dangerous waters, causing the sailors to lose all 
 hope of saving her. They abandoned the vessel to 
 her fate, and thought only of their own safety. But 
 Byron persuaded them to remain ; and by his firm- 
 ness, and no small share of nautical skill, not only got 
 the crew out of danger, but also saved the vessel, 
 several lives, and 25,000 dollars, the greater part of 
 which was in hard cash. Byron does not seem to 
 have pulled off his clothes since leaving Cephalonia. 
 
 It was an adventurous voyage — appropriately so — 
 for it was his last journey in this world.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 At the beginning of the war, Missolonghi consisted 
 of about 800 scattered houses, built close to the seaside 
 on a muddy and most unhealthy site, scarcely above 
 the level of the waters, 'which a few centuries ago 
 must have covered the spot, as may be judged from 
 the nature of the soil, consisting of decomposed sea- 
 weed and dried mud.' The population was exceed- 
 ingly poor, and amounted to nearly 3,000 souls. The 
 town had a most uninviting appearance ; the streets 
 were narrow and badly paved. But, says Millingen, 
 what most revolted a stranger was the practice of 
 having the buildings so constructed that the most 
 loathsome substances were emptied into the streets. 
 The inhabitants were so accustomed to this abomin- 
 able state of things that they ridiculed the complaints 
 of strangers, and even swore at people who ventured 
 to suggest reform. Missolonghi must indeed have 
 been a wretched place even for a strong man in his 
 full powers and vitality — for Byron it was nothing 
 short of Death ! Trelawny tells us that this place is 
 situated on the verge of a dismal swamp. The marvel 
 to him was that Byron, who was always liable to 
 fevers, should have consented to live three months on 
 this mud-bank, shut in by a circle of stagnant pools 
 
 87
 
 88 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 'which might be called the belt of death.' When 
 Trelawny arrived in the early spring, he found most 
 of the strangers suffering from gastric fevers. He 
 waded through the streets, ' between wind and water,' 
 to the house where Byron had lived — a detached 
 building on the margin of the shallow, slimy sea- 
 waters. 
 
 Such, then, was the residence which was destined to 
 be the last home of the author of ' Childe Harold !' 
 
 Byron had scarcely reached the modest apartment 
 which had been assigned to him, when he was greeted 
 by the tumultuous visits of the Primates and chiefs. 
 All the chieftains of Western Greece — that :s to say, 
 the mountainous districts occupied by the Greeks — 
 were now collected at Missolonghi in a general 
 assembly, together with many of the Primates of the 
 same districts, Mavrocordato, at that time Governor- 
 General of the province, was President of the Assembly, 
 with a bodyguard of 5,000 armed men. The first 
 object of this assembly, says Gamba, was to organize 
 the military forces, the assignment of the soldiers' pay, 
 and the establishment of the national constitution and 
 some regular form of government for Western Greece. 
 The chieftains were not all of them well disposed 
 towards Mavrocordato ; the soldiers were badly paid — 
 in fact, hardly paid at all ; and so great was the fear of 
 disturbances, quarrels, and even of a civil war, that 
 without the influence of Prince Mavrocordato, and the 
 presence of Byron with his money, there could have 
 been no harmony. 
 
 After the departure of the Turks, who had blockaded 
 Missolonghi, there was a general feeling of security, 
 and no one expected them to return before the spring. 
 The Peloponnesus, with exception of the castles of
 
 AN ACT OF GRACE 89 
 
 the Morea and of Patras, of Modon and of Covon, was 
 in the hands of the Greeks. The northern shore of 
 the Gulf of Lepanto, with the exception of the two 
 castles, were also in Greek hands. They swayed 
 Boeotia and Attica, together with the whole isthmus 
 of Corinth. 
 
 Such was the state of affairs when Byron arrived on 
 that dismal swamp. The position in which he found 
 himself required much skill and tact ; for the dissen- 
 sion among the various leaders in other parts of 
 Greece was in its bitterest phase, and public opinion 
 everywhere was dead against the executive body. It 
 would have been fatal to the prestige of Byron if, in a 
 moment of impetuosity, he had cast in his lot with 
 some particular faction. It was his fixed intention, as 
 it was clearly his best policy, to reconcile differences, 
 and to bring the contending factions closer together. 
 His influence amongst all parties was daily increasing, 
 and everyone believed that Byron would eventually 
 be able to bring discordant voices into harmony, and 
 pave the way for the formation of a strong, patriotic 
 Government. He faced the situation bravely, and 
 closed his ears to the unworthy squabbles of ambitious 
 cliques. He made arrangements, with the best assist- 
 ance at hand, to turn the expected loan from England 
 to the best account, in order to insure the freedom 
 and independence of Greece. 
 
 The first day of his arrival at Missolonghi was 
 signalized by an act of grace. A Turk, who had 
 fallen into the hands of some Greek sailors, was 
 released by Byron's orders, and, having been clothed 
 and fed at his own expense, was given quarters at 
 Byron's house until an opportunity occurred of sending 
 him in freedom to Patras. About a fortnight later,
 
 90 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 hearing that four Turkish prisoners were at Misso- 
 longhi in a state of destitution, Byron caused them to 
 be set at liberty, and sent them to Usouff Pacha at 
 Patras, with a letter which, though it has been often 
 printed, deserves a place in this narrative : 
 
 ' Highness ! 
 
 ' A vessel, in which a friend and some domestics 
 of mine were embarked, was detained a few days ago, 
 and released by order of your Highness. I have now 
 to thank you, not for liberating the vessel, which as 
 carrying a neutral flag, and being under British pro- 
 tection, no one had a right to detain, but for having 
 treated my friends with so much kindness while they 
 were in your hands. 
 
 * In the hope that it may not be altogether displeasing 
 to your Highness, I have requested the Governor of 
 this place to release four Turkish prisoners, and he 
 has humanely consented to do so. I lose no time, 
 therefore, in sending them back, in order to make as 
 early a return as I could, for your courtesy on the late 
 occasion. These prisoners are liberated without any 
 conditions ; but should the circumstance find a place 
 in your recollection, I venture to beg that your High- 
 ness will treat such Greeks as may henceforth fall 
 into your hands, with humanity ; more especially as 
 the horrors of war are sufficiently great in themselves, 
 vvithout being aggravated by wanton cruelties on 
 either side. 
 
 ' Noel Byron. 
 
 ' MiSSOLONGHI, 
 
 '■January 23, 1824.' 
 
 This letter was the keynote of Byron's policy during 
 the remainder of his life. The horrors of war were 
 sufficient in themselves without that unnecessary 
 cruelty so often exhibited by Eastern nations in their 
 treatment of prisoners of war. 
 
 The following account of an incident connected with 
 Byron's clemency to a prisoner pictures the state of 
 things at Missolonghi.
 
 PREPARATIONS AGAINST LEPANTO 91 
 
 ' This evening,' says Gamba, ' whilst Mavrocordato 
 was with Lord Byron, two sailors belonging to the 
 privateer which had taken the Turk came into the 
 room, demanding in an insolent tone that their prisoner 
 should be delivered up to them. Lord Byron refused ; 
 their importunity became more violent, and they refused 
 to leave the room without their Turk (such was their 
 expression) on which Lord Byron, presenting a pistol 
 at the intruders, threatened to proceed to extremities 
 unless they instantly retired. The sailors withdrew, 
 but Byron complained to Mavrocordato of his want of 
 authority, and said to him : " If your Government can- 
 not protect me in my own house, I will find means to 
 protect myself." From that time Lord Byron retained 
 a Suliote guard in his house,' 
 
 During the winter preparations were being made 
 for an expedition against Lepanto, a fortress which, 
 if captured by the Greeks, would facilitate the siege of 
 Patras. Its fortifications were constructed on the 
 slope of a hill, forming a triangle, the base of which 
 was close to the sea. Its walls were of Venetian 
 construction, but without ditches. As portions of its 
 walls were commanded by a neighbouring hill, its 
 siege would have proved a very arduous undertaking 
 even with regular troops ; but with raw Greek levies 
 its reduction, except by famine, would have been almost 
 impossible. On January 14, 1824, Colonel Stanhope 
 writes to Mr. Bowring in the following terms : * Lord 
 Byron has taken 500 Suliotes into pay. He burns with 
 military ardour and chivalry, and will proceed with 
 the expedition to Lepanto.' Circumstances were, how- 
 ever, against this expedition from the very beginning. 
 Great hopes had been entertained by Lord Byron and 
 by Colonel Stanhope that the Suliotes would conform 
 to discipline, and that Mr. Parry, who had been sent 
 out by the Greek Committee with stores and ammuni- 
 tion, would on his arrival organize the artillery, and
 
 92 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 manufacture Congreve rockets — a projectile of which 
 the Turks were said to be in great awe. 
 
 Parry arrived at Missolonghi early in February, on 
 board the brig Anna, which had been chartered by the 
 London Greek Committee. He brought cannons, 
 ammunition, printing-presses, medicines, and all the 
 apparatus necessary for the establishment of a military 
 laboratory. Several English mechanics came with 
 him, and some English, German, and Swedish gentle- 
 men, who wished to serve the Greek cause. 
 
 Mr. (or, as he was afterwards called) Major, Parry 
 was a peculiar person in every way. He had at one 
 time served as a shipwright, then as Firemaster in the 
 King's service, and won favour with Byron through 
 his buffoonery and plain speaking — two very useful 
 qualifications in environments of stress and duplicity. 
 When Byron appointed him Major in the Artillery 
 Brigade, the best officers in the brigade tendered their 
 resignations, stating that, while they would be proud 
 to serve under Lord Byron, neither their honour nor 
 the interests of the service would allow them to serve 
 under a man who had no practical experience of 
 military evolutions. The German officers also, who 
 had previously served in the Prussian army, appealed 
 against Parry's appointment, and offered proofs of his 
 ignorance of artillery. But Byron would not listen to 
 complaints, which he attributed partly to jealousy and 
 partly to German notions of etiquette, which seemed 
 to him to be wholly out of place in a country where 
 merit rather than former titles should regulate such 
 appointments. 
 
 In supporting Parry against these officers, Byron 
 was in a measure influenced by the recommendations 
 of both the Greek Committee who sent him out, and
 
 MAJOR PARRY 93 
 
 of Colonel Leicester Stanhope, who at that time con- 
 sidered Parry to be an exceedingly capable officer. 
 Perhaps, if Parry had not appeared on parade in 
 an apron, brandishing a hammer, and if he had not 
 asserted himself so extravagantly, he might possibly 
 have passed muster. But tact and modesty were not 
 in Parry's line; and having boasted to the London 
 Committee that he was acquainted with almost every 
 branch of military mechanics, he bullied its members 
 into a belief that his pretentions were well founded. 
 As a matter of fact. Parry proved to be unsuited for 
 high command, although it must be admitted that he 
 worked indefatigably. He made plans for the erection 
 of a laboratory, and presided over the works. He 
 paved the yard of the Seraglio, repaired the batteries, 
 instructed the troops in musketry and gunnery ; he 
 gave lessons with the broadsword, inspected the forti- 
 fications, and directed the operations of Cocchini, the 
 chief engineer. He repaired gun-carriages, and put 
 his hand to anything wanted, so that it appeared as 
 if really nothing could be done without him. In one 
 thing only did Parry seem to fall short of general 
 expectation. He had boasted that he knew the com- 
 position of * Congreve rockets.' With this mighty 
 instrument of mischief he prophesied that the Greeks 
 would be able to paralyze all the efforts of their enemy, 
 both by land and sea. The Turkish cavalry, the only 
 arm against which the Greeks were impotent, would 
 be rendered useless, and the Turkish vessels, by the 
 same means, would be easily destroyed. 
 
 Unfortunately, the manufacture of these rockets was 
 impossible without the assistance of the English 
 mechanics whom he had brought with him, and these 
 men were unable to work without materials, which were
 
 94 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 not obtainable. Thus the principal part of Parry's 
 ' stock-in-trade ' — his rockets, incendiary kites, and 
 improved Grecian fires — were not forthcoming. 
 
 For a long time the roads in the neighbourhood of 
 Missolonghi were so broken up by incessant rain that 
 Byron could not ride or take any outdoor exercise. 
 This affected his health. His only means of getting a 
 little fresh air was by paddling through the murky 
 waters in a sort of canoe. During these expeditions, 
 says Gamba, who always accompanied him, he spoke 
 often of his anxiety to begin the campaign. He had 
 not much hope of success, but felt that something 
 must be done during these tedious months, if only to 
 employ the troops and keep them from creating dis- 
 turbances in the town. 
 
 * I am not come here in search of adventures,' said 
 Byron, 'but to assist the regeneration of a nation, whose 
 very debasement makes it more honourable to become 
 their friend. Regular troops are certainly necessary, 
 but not in great num.bers : regular troops alone would 
 not succeed in a country like Greece ; and irregular 
 troops alone are only just better than nothing. Only 
 let the loan be raised; and in the meantime let us 
 try to form a strong national Government, ready to 
 apply our pecuniary resources, when they arrive, to 
 the organization of troops, the establishment of 
 internal civilization, and the preparations for acting 
 defensively now, and on the offensive next winter. 
 Nothing is so insupportable to me as all these minute 
 details and these repeated delays. But patience is in- 
 dispensable, and that I find the most difficult of all 
 attainments.' 
 
 It was Byron's custom to spend his evenings in 
 Colonel Stanhope's room, with his English comrades. 
 Sometimes the Germans would join the party, play on 
 their flutes, and sing their national airs to the accom-
 
 A PRACTICAL JOKE 95 
 
 paniment of a guitar. Byron was fond of music in 
 general, and was especially partial to German music, 
 particularly to their national songs. 
 
 Millingen tells us that in the evening all the 
 English who had not, with Colonel Stanhope, turned 
 Odysseans assembled at Byron's house, and enjoyed 
 the charm of his conversation till late at night. 
 Byron's character, says Millingen, 
 
 'differed so much from what I had been induced to 
 imagine from the relations of travellers, that either 
 their reports must have been inaccurate, or his 
 character must have totally changed after his de- 
 parture from Genoa. It would be difficult, indeed 
 impossible, to convey an idea of the pleasure his con- 
 versation afforded. Among his works, that which 
 may perhaps be more particularly regarded as exhibit- 
 ing the mirror of his conversation, and the spirit 
 which animated it, is " Don Juan." He was indeed too 
 open, and too indiscreet in respect to the reminiscences 
 of his early days. Sometimes, when his vein of 
 humour flowed more copiously than usual, he would 
 play tricks on individuals. Fletcher's boundless 
 credulity afforded him an ever-ready fund of amuse- 
 ment, and he one evening planned a farce, which was 
 as well executed and as laughable as any ever exhibited 
 on the stage. Having observed how nervous Parry 
 had been, a few days before, during an earthquake, he 
 felt desirous of renewing the ludicrous sight which 
 the fat, horror-struck figure of the Major had exhibited 
 on that occasion. He placed, therefore, fifty of his 
 Suliotes in the room above that w^here Parry slept, and 
 towards midnight ordered them to shake the house, so 
 as to imitate that phenomenon. He himself at the 
 same time banged the doors, and rushed downstairs, 
 delighted to see the almost distracted Major imploring 
 tremblingly the mercy of heaven.' 
 
 Lord Byron was very much taken with Parry, 
 whose drolleries relieved the tedium and constant 
 vexations incidental to the situation at Missolonghi.
 
 96 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 The Major appears to have been an excellent mimic, and 
 possessed a fund of quaint expressions that made up for 
 the deficiency of real wit. Millingen says that he could 
 tell, in his coarse language, a good story, and could 
 play Falstaff's, or the part of a clown very naturally. 
 He ranted Richard HI.'s or Hamlet's soliloquies in a 
 mock-tragic manner like a player at Bartholomew Fair, 
 which made everyone laugh, and beguiled the length 
 of many a rainy evening. 
 
 On January 21, 1824, Missolonghi was blockaded 
 by the Turkish fleet. There were neither guns nor 
 even sailors fit to man the gunboats ; the only chance 
 was to make a night attack upon the Turks in boats 
 manned by the European volunteers then residing at 
 Missolonghi. Byron took the matter in hand, and 
 insisted on joining personally in the expedition. He 
 was so determined on this project that Mavrocordato 
 and others, realizing the folly of exposing so valuable 
 a life on so desperate an enterprise, dissuaded Byron 
 from risking his valuable life in a business for which 
 there were already sufficient volunteers. As things 
 turned out, it did not much matter, for the Turkish 
 fleet suddenly abandoned the blockade and returned 
 to the gulf. 
 
 On January 22, while Colonel Stanhope and some 
 friends were assembled, Byron came from his bedroom 
 and said, with a smile : ' You were complaining the 
 other day that I never write any poetry now : this is 
 my birthday, and I have just finished something, 
 which, I think, is better than what I usually write.* He 
 then produced those affecting verses on his own 
 birthday which were afterwards found written in his 
 journal, with the following introduction : * January 22 : 
 on this day I complete my thirty-sixth year.'
 
 A PRESENTIMENT OF DEATH 97 
 
 ' We perceived from these lines,' says Gamba, * as 
 well as from his daily conversations, that his ambition 
 and his hope were irrevocably fixed upon the glorious 
 objects of his expedition to Greece, and that he had 
 made up his mind to " return victorious, or return no 
 more." Indeed, he often said to me, " Others may do 
 as they please — they may go — but I stay here, that is 
 certain." 
 
 This resolution was accompanied with the natural 
 presentiment that he should never leave Greece 
 alive. He one day asked his faithful servant Tita 
 whether he thought of returning to Italy. * Yes,' 
 said Tita; 'if your lordship goes, I go.' Lord Byron 
 smiled, and said : ' No, Tita, I shall never go back from 
 Greece ; either the Turks, or the Greeks, or the 
 climate, will prevent that.' 
 
 Parry tells us that Byron's mind on this point was 
 irrevocably fixed. 
 
 ' My future intentions,' he said, ' may be explained 
 in a few words. I will remain here in Greece till she 
 is secure against the Turks, or till she has fallen 
 under her power. All my income shall be spent in 
 her service ; but, unless driven by some great necessity, 
 I will not touch a farthing of the sum intended for my 
 sister's children. Whatever I can accomplish with 
 my income, and my personal exertions, shall be cheer- 
 fully done. When Greece is secure against external 
 enemies, I will leave the Greeks to settle their 
 government as they like. One service more, and an 
 eminent service it will be, I think I may perform for 
 them. You shall have a schooner built for me, or I 
 will buy a vessel ; the Greeks shall invest me with 
 the character of their Ambassador or agent ; I will 
 go to the United States, and procure that free and 
 enlightened Government, to set the example of recog- 
 nizing the Federation of Greece, as an independent 
 State. This done, England must follow the example, 
 and then the fate of Greece will be permanently 
 fixed, and she will enter into all her rights, as a
 
 98 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 member of the great commonwealth of Christian 
 Europe. . . . 
 
 The cause of Greece naturally excites our sympathy. 
 Her people are Christians contending against Turks, 
 and slaves struggling to be free. There never was a 
 cause which had such strong claims on the sympathy 
 of the people of Europe, and particularly of the people 
 of England.'* 
 
 The following extract from a letter written by 
 Mr. George Finlay in June, 1824, seems worthy of 
 production in this place: 
 
 * I arrived at Missolonghi at the latter end ot 
 February. During my stay there, in the forenoon I 
 rode out with Lord Byron ; and generally Mr. Fowke 
 and myself spent the evenings in his room. 
 
 * In our rides, the state of Greece was the usual 
 subject of our conversation ; and at times he ex- 
 pressed a strong wish to revisit Athens. I mentioned 
 the great cheapness of property in Attica, and the 
 possibility of my purchasing some of the villas near 
 the city. He said that, if I could find any eligible 
 property, he would have no objections to purchase 
 likewise, as he wished to have some real property in 
 Greece ; and he authorized me to treat for him. I 
 always urged him to make Corinth his headquarters. 
 Sometimes he appeared inclined to do so, and re- 
 marked, that it would be a strange coincidence if, after 
 writing an unsuccessful defence of Corinth, he should 
 himself make a successful one. An event so fortunate, 
 I said, would leave him no more to ask from fortune, 
 and reminded him how very much of fame depends on 
 mere accident. Caesar's conquests and his works 
 would not have raised his fame so high, but for the 
 manner of his death. 
 
 ' In the evenings Lord Byron was generally ex- 
 tremely communicative, and talked much of his youth- 
 ful scenes at Cambridge, Brighton, and London ; 
 spoke very often of his friends, Mr. Hobhouse and 
 Mr. Scrope B. Davies — told many anecdotes of him- 
 self which are well known, and many which were 
 
 * Parry, p. 170.
 
 EVENINGS AT MISSOLONGHI 99 
 
 amusing from his narration, but which would lose 
 their interest from another; but what astonished me 
 the most was the ease with which he spoke of all 
 those reports which were spread by his enemies — he 
 gave his denials and explanations with the frankness 
 of an unconcerned person. 
 
 * I often spoke to him about Newstead Abbey, which 
 I had visited in 1821, a few months before leaving 
 England. On informing him of the repairs and im- 
 provements which were then going on, he said, if he 
 had been rich enough, he should have liked to have 
 kept it as the old abbey ; but he enjoyed the excellent 
 bargain he had made at the sale. A solicitor sent 
 him a very long bill, and, on his grumbling at the 
 amount, he said he was silenced by a letter, remind- 
 ing him that he had received ;^20,ooo forfeit-money 
 from the first purchaser. I mentioned the picture of 
 his bear in the cottage near the lodge — the Newfound- 
 land dog and the verses on its tomb. He said, New- 
 foundland dogs had twice saved his life, and that he 
 could not live without one. 
 
 ' He spoke frequently of the time he lived at 
 Aberdeen. Their house was near the college. He 
 described the place, but I have forgotten it. He said 
 his mother's "lassack" used to put him to bed at a 
 very early hour, and then go to converse with her 
 lover; he had heard the house was haunted, and 
 sometimes used to get out of bed and run along the 
 lobby in his shirt, till he saw a light, and there remain 
 standing till he was so cold he was forced to go to 
 bed again. One night the servant returning, he grew 
 frightened and ran towards his room ; the maid saw 
 him, and fled more frightened than he ; she declared 
 she had seen a ghost. Lord Byron said, he was so 
 frightened at the maid, he kept the secret till she was 
 turned away ; and, he added, he never since kept a 
 secret half so long. The first passion he ever felt 
 was for a young lady who was on a visit to his 
 mother while they lived in Scotland ; he was at the 
 time about six years old, and the young lady about 
 nine, yet he was almost ill on her leaving his mother's 
 house to return home. He told me, if I should ever 
 meet the lady (giving me her address), to ask her if 
 she remembers him. On some conversation about the 
 
 7—2
 
 loo BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 " English Bards and Scotch Reviewers," he gave as a 
 reason for his attacking many of the persons included, 
 that he was informed, some time before the publica- 
 tion of the review, that the next number was to 
 contain an article on his poems which had been read 
 at Holland House. "Judge of my fever ; was it not a 
 pleasant situation for a young author ?" 
 
 Tn conversation he used to deliver very different 
 opinions on many authors from those contained in his 
 works ; in the one case he might be guided more by 
 his judgment, and in the other submit entirely to his 
 own particular taste. I have quoted his writings in 
 opposition to his words, and he replied, " Never mind 
 what I print ; that is not what I think." He certainly 
 did not consider much of the poetry of the present 
 day as " possessing buoyancy enough to float down 
 the stream of time." I remarked, he ought really to 
 alter the passage in the preface of " Marino Faliero," 
 on living dramatic talent; he exclaimed, laughing, 
 " Do you mean me to erase the name of moral me .?" 
 In this manner he constantly distinguished Milman, 
 alluding to some nonsense in the Quarterly Review. 
 He was extremely amused with Blackwood's Magazine, 
 and read it whenever he could get a number ; he 
 has frequently repeated to me passages of Ensign 
 O'Doherty's poetry, which I had not read, and ex- 
 pressed great astonishment at the ability displayed by 
 the author. 
 
 *On a gentleman present once asking his opinion of 
 the works of a female author of some note, he said, 
 " A bad imitation of me — all pause and start." 
 
 * On my borrowing Mitford's "History of Greece" 
 from him, and saying I had read it once, and intended 
 commencing it again in Greece, he said, " I hate the 
 book ; it makes you too well acquainted with the 
 ancient Greeks, and robs antiquity of all its charms. 
 History in his hands, has no poetry." 
 
 * I was in the habit of praising Sir William Cell's 
 Itineraries to Lord B., and he, on the other hand, 
 took every opportunity of attacking his Argolis, 
 though his attacks were chiefly directed against the 
 drawings, and particularly the view of the bay. He 
 told me he was the author of the article on Sir 
 W. Gell's Argolis in the Monthly Review, and said he
 
 BYRON'S OPINION OF SHAKESPEARE loi 
 
 had written two other articles in this work ; but I 
 have forgotten them.* 
 
 ' Whenever the drama was mentioned, he defended 
 the unities most eagerly, and usually attacked Shak- 
 speare. A gentleman present, on hearing his anti- 
 Shakspearean opinions, rushed out of the room, and 
 afterwards entered his protest most anxiously against 
 such doctrines. Lord B. was quite delighted with 
 this, and redoubled the severity of his criticism. I 
 had heard that Shelley once said to Lord B, in his 
 extraordinary way, " B., you are a most wonderful 
 man." " How ?" ** You are envious of Shakspeare." 
 I, therefore, never expressed the smallest astonishment 
 at hearing Shakspeare abused ; but remarked, it was 
 curious that Lord B. was so strangely conversant in 
 an author of such inferior merit, and that he should so 
 continually have the most melodious lines of Shak- 
 speare in his mouth as examples of blank verse. He 
 said once, when we were alone, " I like to astonish 
 Englishmen : they come abroad full of Shakspeare, 
 and contempt for the dramatic literature of other 
 nations ; they think it blasphemy to find a fault in his 
 writings, which are full of them. People talk of the 
 tendency of my writings, and yet read the sonnets to 
 Master Hughes." Lord B. certainly did not admire 
 the French tragedians enthusiastically. I said to him, 
 " There is a subject for the Drama which, I believe, 
 has never been touched, and which, I think, affords 
 the greatest possible scope for the representation of 
 all that is sublime in human character — but then it 
 would require an abandonment of the unities — the 
 attack of Maurice of Saxony on Charles V., which 
 saved the Protestant religion ; it is a subject of more 
 than national interest." He said it was certainly a fine 
 subject; but he held that the drama could not exist 
 without a strict adherence to the unities ; and besides, 
 he knew well he had failed in his dramatic attempts, 
 and that he intended to make no more. He said he 
 thought " Sardanapalus " his best tragedy. 
 
 'The memory of Lord B. was very extraordinary; 
 it was not the mere mechanical memory which can 
 
 * Byron wrote a review of Wordsworth's ' Poems ' in Monthly 
 Literary Recreations for July, 1807, and a review of Gell's ' Geography 
 of Ithaca' in the Montlily Review for August, 181 1.
 
 I02 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 repeat the advertisements of a newspaper and such 
 nonsense; but of all the innumerable novels which he 
 had read, he seemed to recollect perfectly the story 
 and every scene of merit. 
 
 ' Once I had a bet with Mr. Fowke that Maurice of 
 Orange was not the grandson of Maurice of Saxony, 
 as it ran in my head that Maurice was a son of Count 
 Horn's sister. On applying for a decision of our bet 
 to Lord B., he immediately told me I was wrong, that 
 William of Orange was thrice married, and that he 
 had Maurice by a daughter of Maurice of Saxony : he 
 repeated the names of all the children. I said, "This is 
 the most extraordinary instance of your memory I 
 ever heard." He replied, " It's not very extraordinary 
 — I read it all a few days ago in Watson's " Philip H.," 
 and you will find it in a note at the bottom of the last 
 page but one" (I think he said) "of the second volume." 
 He went to his bedroom and brought the book, in 
 which we found the note he had repeated. It seemed 
 to me wonderful enough that such a man could 
 recollect the names of William of Orange's children 
 and their families even for ten minutes. 
 
 * Once, on receiving some newspapers, in reading the 
 advertisements of new publications aloud, I read the 
 name of Sir Aubrey de Vere Hunt ; Lord B. instantly 
 said, " Sir Aubrey was at Harrow, I remember, but he 
 was younger than me. He was an excellent swimmer, 
 and once saved a boy's life ; nobody would venture in, 
 and the boy was nearl}^ drowned, when Sir Aubrey 
 was called. The boy's name was M'Kinnon, and he 
 went afterwards to India." I think B. said he died 
 there. 
 
 ' " It is strange," I replied ; " I heard this very 
 circumstance from Sir Aubrey de Vere Hunt, who 
 inquired if I knew the boy, who must now be a man, 
 but said, I think, that his name was Mackenzie." 
 " Depend upon it, I am right," said Byron. 
 
 ' Lord B. said he had kept a very exact journal of 
 every circumstance of his life, and many of his 
 thoughts while young, that he had let Mr. Hobhouse 
 see it in Albania, and that he at last persuaded 
 him to burn it. He said Hobhouse had robbed the 
 world of a treat. He used to say that many of his 
 acquaintances, particularly his female ones, while he
 
 MOTTO FOR THE 'GREEK TELEGRAPH' 103 
 
 was in London, did not like Mr. Hobhouse, " for they 
 thought he kept me within bounds." 
 
 ' When he was asked for a motto for the Greek 
 Telegraph, by Gamba, during the time he felt averse 
 to the publication of a European newspaper in Greece, 
 he gave, "To the Greeks foolishness" — in allusion to 
 the publication in languages which the natives gener- 
 ally do not understand. 
 
 ' On a discussion in his presence concerning the 
 resemblance of character between the ancient and 
 modern Greeks, he said : "At least we have St. Paul's 
 authority that they had their present character in his 
 time ; for he says there is no difference between the 
 Jew and the Greek." 
 
 *A few days before I left Missolonghi, riding out 
 together, he told me that he had received a letter from 
 his sister, in which she mentioned that one of the 
 family had displayed some poetical talent, but that 
 she would not tell him who, as she hoped she should 
 hear no more of it. I said " That is a strange wish from 
 the sister of such a poet." He replied that he believed 
 the poetical talent was always a source of pain, and 
 that he certainly would have been happier had he 
 never written a line. 
 
 'Those only who were personally acquainted with 
 him can be aware of the influence which every passing 
 event had over his mind, or know the innumerable 
 modifications under which his character was daily 
 presenting itself; even his writings took a shade of 
 colouring from those around him. His passions and 
 feelings were so lively that each occurrence made a 
 strong impression, and his conduct became so entirely 
 governed by impulse that he immediately and vehe- 
 mently declared his sentiments. It is not wonderful, 
 therefore, that instances of his inconsistency should 
 be found ; though in the most important actions of his 
 life he has acted with no common consistency, and his 
 death attests his sincerity. To attempt by scattered 
 facts to illustrate his character is really useless. A 
 hundred could be immediately told to prove him a 
 miser ; as many to prove him the most generous of 
 men; an equal number, perhaps, to show he was 
 nervously alive to the distresses of others, or heart- 
 lessly unfeeling; at times that he indulged in every
 
 I04 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 desire ; at others, that he pursued the most determined 
 system of self-denial ; that he ridiculed his friends, or 
 defended them with the greatest anxiety. At one time 
 he was all enthusiasm ; at another perfect indifference 
 on the very same subject. All this would be true, and 
 yet our inference most probably incorrect. Such hearts 
 as Lord B.'s must become old at an early age, from 
 the continual excitement to which they are exposed, 
 and those only can judge fairly of him, even from his 
 personal acquaintance, who knew him from his youth, 
 when his feelings were warmer than they could be 
 latterly. From some of those who have seen the 
 whole course of his wonderful existence, we may, 
 indeed, expect information ; and it is information, not 
 scandal, that will be sought for.'
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 MiLLiNGEN tells US that Byron, even before his arrival 
 in Greece, was a favourite among the people and 
 soldiers. Popular imagination had been kindled by 
 reports of his genius, his wealth, and his rank. Every- 
 thing that a man could perform was expected of 
 him ; and many a hardship and grievance was borne 
 patiently, in hope that on Byron's arrival everything 
 would be set right. The people were not disap- 
 pointed ; his conduct towards them after he had 
 landed soon made him a popular idol. It was per- 
 ceived that Byron was not a theoretical, but a practical, 
 friend to Greece ; and his repeated acts of kindness 
 and charity in relieving the poor and distressed, the 
 heavy expenses he daily incurred for the furtherance 
 of every plan, and every institution which he deemed 
 worthy of support, showed the people of Missolonghi 
 that Byron was not less alive to their private than he 
 was to their public interests. But there were some 
 people, of course, who felt a slight attack of that 
 pernicious malady known euphuistically as * the green- 
 eyed monster.' Mavrocordato, the Governor-General 
 of Western Greece, was, according to Millingen, 
 slightly afflicted with envy. He had imagined, when 
 using every means during Byron's stay at Cephalonia 
 
 105
 
 io6 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 to induce him to come to Missolonghi, that he was 
 preparing for himself a powerful instrument to execute 
 his own designs, and that, by placing Byron in a 
 prominent position which would require far more 
 knowledge of the state of things than Byron could 
 possibly possess, he would helplessly drift, and 
 eventually fall entirely under his own guidance. But 
 in this Mavrocordato was entirely mistaken, for Byron 
 had long made up his mind as to the course which he 
 meant to steer, and by sheer honesty of purpose 
 and by the glamour of his fame his authority daily 
 increased, while that of Mavrocordato fell in propor- 
 tion, until his high-sounding title was little better 
 than an empty phrase. The people of Missolonghi 
 were fascinated by the personality of a man who had 
 practically thrown his whole fortune at their feet. 
 They openly spoke of the advantages that would 
 be derived by Western Greece were Byron to be 
 appointed its Governor-General. 
 
 * Ambitious and suspicious by nature,' says Millingen, 
 ' Mavrocordato felt his authority aimed at. He began 
 by seconding his supposed rival's measures in a luke- 
 warm manner, whilst he endeavoured in secret to 
 thwart them. He was looked upon as the cause of 
 the rupture between the Suliotes and Lord Byron, 
 fearing that the latter might, with such soldiers, 
 become too powerful.' 
 
 Byron perceived the change in Mavrocordato's con- 
 duct, and from that moment lost much of the confidence 
 which he had at first felt in him. 
 
 ' The plain, undisguised manner in which Byron 
 expressed himself on this subject, and the haughty 
 manner in which he received Mavrocordato, tended 
 to confirm the latter's opinion that Byron sought to 
 supplant him.'
 
 BYRON AND LEICESTER STANHOPE 107 
 
 Mavrocordato thus laboured under a delusion. Far 
 from having ambitious views, Byron would, in Millin- 
 gen's opinion, have refused, if the offer had been made 
 to him, ever to take a part in civil administration. He 
 knew too well how little his impetuous character fitted 
 him for the tedious and intricate details of Greek affairs. 
 * He had come to Greece to assist her sacred cause 
 with his wealth, his talents, his courage ; and the only 
 reward he sought was a soldier's grave.' 
 
 Had Lord Byron lived, says Millingen, the mis- 
 understanding between these two distinguished indi- 
 viduals would have been merely temporary. Their 
 principles and love of order were the same, as also the 
 ends they proposed to attain. However different were 
 the roads upon which they marched, they would have 
 been sure to meet at last. 
 
 ' Lord Byron,' wrote Colonel Stanhope, ' possesses 
 all the means of playing a great part in the glorious 
 revolution of Greece. He has talent ; he professes 
 liberal principles ; he has money ; and is inspired with 
 fervent and chivalrous feelings.' 
 
 Colonel Leicester Stanhope was himself deserving 
 of the praise which he thus bestows on Byron, the 
 item ' money ' being equally discarded. Colonel Stan- 
 hope was a chivalrous gentleman, and devoted himself 
 heart and soul to the regeneration of Greece. But 
 his views were not those of Byron. He was all for 
 printing-presses, freedom of the press, and schools. 
 Byron was all for fighting and organization in a 
 military sense. Their aims were the same, but their 
 methods entirely different. Byron recognized the 
 virtues of Stanhope, and never seriously opposed any 
 of his schemes. Stanhope was absolutely boiling over 
 with enthusiasm regarding the advantages of publish-
 
 io8 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 ing a newspaper. His paramount policy, as he states 
 himself in a letter to Mr. Bowring, was ' to strive to 
 offend no one, but, on the contrary, to make all friendly 
 to the press.' He contended for the absolute liberty 
 of the press, and for publicity in every shape ! It would 
 be difficult to match such a contention applied to such 
 a period and such a people. In forwarding the third 
 number of the Greek Chronicle to Mr. Bowring, Stan- 
 hope writes: 'The last article in the Chronicle is on 
 Mr. Bentham. Its object is to dispose the people to 
 read and contemplate his works. Conviction follows.' 
 Byron had a peculiar antipathy to Mr. Bentham 
 and all his works, but he provided money to support 
 the Chronicle. On January 24 Colonel Stanhope 
 wrote to Mr. Bowring a letter which explains the 
 position exactly ; and a very peculiar position it was. 
 After asking Byron whether he will subscribe ;^5o 
 for the support of the Greek Chronicle, which Byron 
 cheerfully agreed to do. Colonel Stanhope proceeds 
 to ' heckle ' him. The conversation is well worth 
 transcribing : 
 
 ' Stanhope {loquitur) : " Your lordship stated yester- 
 day evening that you had said to Prince Mavrocordato 
 that, ' were you in his place (as Governor-General of 
 Western Greece), you would have placed the press 
 under a censor,' and that he replied, ' No ; the liberty 
 of the press is guaranteed by the Constitution.' Now, 
 I wish to know whether your lordship was serious 
 when you made the observation, or whether you only 
 said so to provoke me ? If your lordship was serious, 
 I shall consider it my duty to communicate this affair 
 to the Committee in England, in order to show them 
 how difficult a task I have to fulfil in promoting the 
 liberties of Greece, if your lordship is to throw the 
 weight of your vast talents into the opposite scale on 
 a question of such vital importance." 
 
 ' Byron, in reply, said that he was an ardent friend of
 
 BYRON AND JEREMY BENTHAM 109 
 
 publicity and the press ; but he feared that it was not 
 apphcable to this society in its present combustible 
 state. Stanhope replied that he thought it applicable 
 to all countries, and essential in Greece, in order to 
 put an end to the state of anarchy which then pre- 
 vailed. Byron said that he was afraid of libels and 
 licentiousness. Stanhope maintained that the object 
 of a free press was to check public licentiousness and 
 to expose libellers to odium.' 
 
 In a subsequent letter to Mr. Bowring, Colonel 
 Stanhope repeats a conversation with Byron on the 
 subject of Mr. Bentham. One does not know whether 
 to laugh or cry ; there is both humour and pathos in 
 the incident. 
 
 'His lordship,' writes Stanhope, 'began, according 
 to custom, to attack Mr. Bentham. I said that it was 
 highly illiberal to make personal attacks on Mr. 
 Bentham before a friend who held him in high estima- 
 tion. He said that he only attacked his public 
 principles, which were mere theories, but dangerous — 
 injurious to Spain and calculated to do great mischief 
 in Greece. I did not object to his lordship's attacking 
 Mr. Bentham's principles ; what I objected to were his 
 personalities. His lordship never reasoned on any of 
 Mr. Bentham's writings, but merely made sport of 
 them. I therefore asked him what it was that he 
 objected to. Lord Byron mentioned his "Panopticon" 
 as visionary. I said that experience in Pennsylvania, 
 at Milbank, etc., had proved it otherwise. I said that 
 Bentham had a truly British heart ; but that Lord 
 Byron, after professing liberal principles from his boy- 
 hood, had, when called upon to act, proved himself 
 a Turk. 
 
 * Lord Byron asked what proofs I had of this. 
 
 'I replied : " Your conduct in endeavouring to crush 
 the press, by declaiming against it to Mavrocordato, and 
 your general abuse of Liberal principles." Lord Byron 
 said that if he had held up his finger he could have 
 crushed the press. 1 replied : " With all this power, 
 which, by the way, you never possessed, you went to 
 the Prince and poisoned his ear."
 
 no BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 ' Lord Byron declaimed against the Liberals whom 
 he knew. 
 
 ' " But what Liberals ?" I asked. Did he borrow his 
 notions of free men from the Itahans ? Lord Byron 
 said : " No ; from the Hunts, Cartwrights, etc." " And 
 still," said 1, " you presented Cartwright's Reform 
 Bill, and aided Hunt by praising his poetry and giving 
 him the sale of your works." 
 
 ' Lord Byron exclaimed : " You are worse than 
 Wilson,* and should quit the army." I replied that I 
 was a mere soldier, but never would abandon my 
 principles. Our principles,' continues Stanhope, ' are 
 diametrically opposite. It Lord Byron acts up to his 
 professions, he will be the greatest — if not, the meanest 
 — of mankind. He said he hoped his character did not 
 depend on my assertions. ** No," said I, '* your genius 
 has immortalized you. The worst could not deprive 
 you of fame." 
 
 ' Lord Byron replied : " Well, you shall see ; judge 
 me by my acts." 
 
 ' When he wished me good-night, I took up the light 
 
 * General Sir Robert Wilson (1777- 1849), commonly known as 
 ' Jaffa Wilson,' entered Parliament in 1818. Having held Napoleon 
 up to horror and execration for his cruelty at Jaffa, Wilson subse- 
 quently became one of his strongest eulogists. Being by nature a 
 demagogue, he posed as a champion in the cause of freedom and 
 civil government ; he accused England of injustice and tyranny 
 towards other nations, and prophesied her speedy fall. He warmly 
 espoused the cause of Queen Caroline, and was present at the riot 
 in Hyde Park on the occasion of her funeral, wlien there was a 
 collision between the Horse Guards and the mob. For his conduct 
 on that occasion, despite a long record of gallant service in the field, 
 Wilson was dismissed the Army in 1821, but was reinstated on the 
 accession of William IV. He appears to have been both foolish and 
 vain, and fond of creating effect. He was constantly brooding over 
 services which he conceived to have been overlooked, and merits 
 which he fancied were neglected. He attached himself to the ultra- 
 radicals, and puffed himself into notoriety by swimming against the 
 stream. A writer in the Quarterly Review (Vol. xix,, July, 1818) says: 
 ' The obliquity of his (Wilson's) perceptions make his talents worse 
 than useless as a politician, and form, even in his own profession, a 
 serious drawback to energy however great, and to bravery however 
 distinguished.'
 
 STANHOPE NO SENSE OF HUMOUR in 
 
 to conduct him to the passage, but he said: "What! 
 hold up a hght to a Turk !" ' 
 
 It would be difficult indeed to find anything in the 
 wide range of literature dealing with that period which 
 would throw a stronger light upon both these men. 
 Imagine the agent appointed by the London Com- 
 mittee wasting his precious time in writing such a 
 letter as this for the information of its chairman. 
 Stanhope meant no harm, we feel sure of that; but 
 such a letter was little calculated to advance either his 
 own reputation or Byron's, and it was above all things 
 necessary for the London Committee to have a good 
 opinion of both. But Stanhope was decidedly im- 
 petuous, and lacked all sense of humour. 
 
 Millingen tells us that it soon became evident that 
 little co-operation could be expected between Byron 
 and Colonel Stanhope. Byron was fully persuaded 
 that, in the degraded state of the Greek nation, a 
 republican form of Government was totally unsuited, 
 as well as incompatible with her situation, in respect 
 to the neighbouring States of Europe. Colonel Stan- 
 hope, whose enthusiasm for the cause was extreme, 
 supposed the Greeks to be endowed with the same 
 virtue which their ancestors displayed. We, who live 
 in the twentieth century, are able by the light of sub- 
 quent events to decide which of these two men held 
 the sounder view ; and we can honestly deplore that 
 a mere matter of opinion should have caused any 
 disagreements between two men who had sacrificed 
 so much in a common cause. 
 
 Gamba, who seems to have been present during the 
 altercation above alluded to, says that Colonel Stan- 
 hope, in accusing Lord Byron of being an enemy to 
 the press, laid himself open to a rejoinder which is
 
 112 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 not recorded in the report of these proceedings. 
 Byron's reply was to the point : ' And yet, without 
 my money, where would your Greek newspaper be ?' 
 And he concluded the sentence, 'Judge me by my 
 actions,' cited by Stanhope, with, ' not by my words' 
 
 Colonel Stanhope could not understand Byron's 
 bantering moods. They seemed to him to be entirely 
 out of place. The more Byron laughed and joked, the 
 more serious Stanhope became, and their discussions 
 seldom ended without a strong reproof, which irritated 
 Byron for the moment. But so far from leaving any 
 unfavourable impression on Byron's mind, it increased 
 his regard for an antagonist of such evident sincerity : 
 
 ' When parting from him one evening, after a dis- 
 cussion of this nature, Lord Byron went up to him, and 
 exclaimed : " Give me that honest right hand." Two 
 such men were worthy of being friends, and it is to be 
 regretted that an injudicious champion of the one 
 should, by a partial detail of their trifling differences, 
 try to raise him at the expense of the other.' 
 
 With the money provided by Byron, Colonel Stan- 
 hope's pet scheme, the Greek Chronicle, printed in 
 Greek type, came into being. Its editor, ' a hot- 
 headed republican ' named Jean Jacques Meyer, who 
 had been a Swiss doctor, was particularly unfitted for 
 the post, and soon came to loggerheads with Byron 
 for publishing a violent attack on the Austrian 
 Government. In a letter to Samuel Barff, Byron 
 says : 
 
 * From the very first I foretold to Colonel Stanhope 
 and to Prince Mavrocordato that a Greek newspaper 
 (as indeed any other), in the present state of Greece, 
 might and probably would lead to much mischief and 
 misconstruction, unless under some restrictions ; nor 
 have I ever had anything to do with it, as a writer or
 
 MEYER'S ATTACK ON MONARCHY 113 
 
 otherwise, except as a pecuniary contributor to its 
 support in the outset, which I could not refuse to the 
 earnest request of the projectors. Colonel Stanhope 
 and myself had considerable differences of opinion on 
 this subject, and (what will appear laughable enough) 
 to such a degree that he charged me with despotic 
 principles, and I ///mwith ultra-radicalism. Dr. Meyer, 
 the Editor, with his unrestrained freedom of the 
 press, and who has the freedom to exercise an un- 
 limited discretion — not allowing any articles but his 
 own and those like them to appear — and in declaiming 
 against restrictions, cuts, carves, and restricts, at his 
 own will and pleasure. He is the author of an article 
 against Monarchy, of which he may have the advantage 
 and fame — but they (the Editors) will get themselves 
 into a scrape, if they do not take care. Of all petty 
 tyrants, he (Meyer) is one of the pettiest, as are most 
 demagogues that ever I knew. He is a Swiss by 
 birth, and a Greek by assumption, having married a 
 wife and changed his religion. 
 
 On the appearance of Meyer's stupid attack on 
 monarchy, Byron immediately suppressed the whole 
 edition. 
 
 Early in March the prospectus of a polyglot news- 
 paper, entitled the Greek Telegraphy was published at 
 Missolonghi. Millingen says : 
 
 ' The sentiments imprudently advocated in this 
 prospectus induced the British authorities in the 
 Ionian Islands to entertain so unfavourable an impres- 
 sion of the spirit which would guide its conductors, 
 that its admission into the heptarchy was interdicted 
 under severe penalties. The same took place in the 
 Austrian States, where they began to look upon 
 Greece as " the city of refuge," as it were, for the 
 Carbonari and discontented English reformers. The 
 first number appeared on 20th March ; but it was 
 written in a tone so opposite to what had been 
 expected, that it might, in some degree, be considered 
 as a protest against its prospectus. Lord Byron was 
 the cause of this change. More than ever convinced 
 that nothing could be more useless, and even more 
 
 8
 
 114 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 dangerous, to the interests of Greece, both at home 
 and abroad, than an unlimited freedom of the press, 
 he insisted on Count Gamba becoming Editor. Byron 
 cautioned him to restrict the paper to a sirnple narrative 
 of events as they occurred, and an unprejudiced state- 
 ment of opinions in respect to poHtical relations and 
 wants, so as to make them subjects of interest to the 
 friends of Greece in the western parts of Europe.' 
 
 Gamba says : 
 
 ' Lord Byron's view of the politics of Greece was, 
 that this revolution had iittle or nothing in common 
 with the great struggles with which Europe had been 
 for thirty years distracted, and that it would be most 
 foolish tor the friends of Greece to mix up their cause 
 with that of other nations, who had attempted to change 
 their form of government, and by so doing to draw 
 down the hatred and opposition of one of the two great 
 parties that at present divide the civilized world. 
 Lord Byron's wish was to show that the contest was 
 simply one between barbarism and civilization — 
 between Christianity and Islamism — and that the 
 struggle was on behalf of the descendants of those 
 to whom we are indebted for the first principles of 
 science and the most perfect models of literature and 
 art. For such a cause he hoped that all politicians of 
 all parties, in every European State, might fairly be 
 expected to unite.' 
 
 Byron believed that the moment had arrived for 
 uniting the Greeks ; the approach of danger and 
 the chance of succour seemed favourable to his 
 designs. 
 
 * To be in time to defend ourselves,' said Byron, * we 
 have only to put in action and unite all the means the 
 Greeks possess ; with money we have experienced the 
 facility of raising troops. I cannot calculate to what 
 a height Greece may rise. 
 
 * Hitherto it has been a subject for the hymns and 
 elegies of fanatics and enthusiasts ; but now it will 
 draw the attention of the politician.'
 
 DEATH OF SIR THOMAS MAITLAND 115 
 
 Early in February, 1824, Colonel Stanhope proposed 
 to go into the Morea, in order to co-operate in the 
 great work of appeasing the discords of that country. 
 Prince Mavrocordato wrote privately to Sir Thomas 
 Maitland * in the hope of averting trouble consequent 
 upon the infraction of the neutrality of the Ionian 
 territory at Ithaca, Lord Byron forwarded his letter to 
 Lord Sidney Osborne,t with the following explanation: 
 
 ' Enclosed is a private communication from Prince 
 Mavrocordato to Sir Thomas Maitland, which you will 
 oblige me much by delivering. Sir Thomas can take 
 as much or as little of it as he pleases ; but I hope 
 and believe that it is rather calculated to conciliate 
 than to irritate on the subject of the late event near 
 Ithaca and Sta Mauro, which there is every disposition 
 on the part of the Government here to disavow ; and 
 they are also disposed to give every satisfaction in 
 their power. You must all be persuaded how difficult 
 it is, under existing circumstances, for the Greeks to 
 keep up discipline, however they may all be disposed 
 to do so. I am doing all I can to convince them of the 
 necessity of the strictest observance of the regulations 
 of the island, and, I trust, with some effect. I was 
 received here with every possible public and private 
 mark of respect. If you write to any of our friends, 
 you can say that I am in good health and spirits ; and 
 that I shall stick by the cause as long as a man of honour 
 can, without sparing purse, and (I hope, if need be) 
 person.' 
 
 This letter is dated from Missolonghi, February 9, 
 1824. On February 11 Byron heard the news of the 
 death of Sir Thomas Maitland. Parry says : 
 
 * The news certainly caused considerable satisfaction 
 among the Greeks, and among some of the English. 
 He was generally looked on by them as the great 
 enemy of their cause ; but there is no proof of this. I 
 
 * High Commissioner of the Ionian Islands, 
 t Acting as Secretary to High Commissioner. 
 
 8—2
 
 ii6 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 know that his government has been very much cen- 
 sured in England, and far be it from me to approve of 
 the arbitrary or despotic measures of any man ; but 
 those who know anything of the people he had to deal 
 with will find, in their character, an excuse for his 
 conduct. I believe, in general, his government was 
 well calculated for his subjects.' 
 
 Parry throws light upon Byron's attitude towards 
 Mavrocordato, to which we alluded in a previous 
 chapter. 
 
 ' I took an opportunity, one evening, of asking Lord 
 Byron what he thought of Prince Mavrocordato. He 
 replied he considered him an honest man and a man 
 of talent. He had shown his devotion to his country's 
 service by expending his private fortune in its cause, 
 and was probably the most capable and trustworthy 
 of all the Greek chieftains. Lord Byron said that he 
 agreed with Mavrocordato, that Missolonghi and its 
 dependencies were of the greatest importance to 
 Greece ; and as long as the Prince acted as he had done, 
 he would give him all the support in his power. Lord 
 Byron seemed, at the same time, to suppose that a 
 little more energy and industry in the Prince, with a 
 disposition to make fewer promises, would tend much 
 to his advantage.' 
 
 The following incident, related by Parry, seems to 
 fall naturally into this part of our narrative : 
 
 'When the Turkish fleet was blockading Misso- 
 longhi, I was one day ordered by Lord Byron to 
 accompany him to the mouth of the harbour to inspect 
 the fortifications, in order to make a report of the state 
 they were in. He and I were in his own punt, a httle 
 boat which he had, rowed by a boy ; and in a large boat, 
 accompanying us, were Prince Mavrocordato and his 
 attendants. As I was viewing, on one hand, the Turkish 
 fleet attentively, and reflecting on its powers, and our 
 means of defence ; and looking, on the other, at Prince 
 Mavrocordato and his attendants, perfectly uncon- 
 cerned, smoking their pipes and gossiping, as if Greece 
 were liberated and at peace, and Missolonghi in a
 
 BYRON'S ABHORRENCE OF DUPLICITY 117 
 
 state of perfect security, I could not help giving vent 
 to a feeling of contempt and indignation. 
 
 ' " What is the matter ?" said Lord Byron, appearing 
 to be very serious ; " what makes you so angry, 
 Parry ?" 
 
 * " I am not angry, my lord," I replied, " but some- 
 what indignant. The Turks, if they were not the 
 most stupid wretches breathing, might take the fort of 
 Vasaladi, by means of two pinnaces, any night they 
 pleased ; they have only to approach it with muffled 
 oars, they would not be heard, I will answer for their 
 not being seen, and they may storm it in a few 
 minutes. With eight gunboats properly armed with 
 24-pounders, they might batter both Missolonghi and 
 Anatolica to the ground. And there sits the old 
 gentlewoman, Prince Mavrocordato and his troop, to 
 whom I applied an epithet I will not here repeat, as if 
 they were all perfectly safe. They know that their 
 means of defence are inadequate, and they have no 
 means of improving them. If I were in their place, I 
 should be in a fever at the thought of my own in- 
 capacity and ignorance, and I should burn with 
 impatience to attempt the destruction of those stupid 
 Turkish rascals. The Greeks and the Turks are 
 opponents, worthy by their imbecility of each other." 
 
 * I had scarcely explained myself fully, when Lord 
 Byron ordered our boat to be placed alongside the 
 other, and actually related our whole conversation to 
 the Prince. In doing it, however, he took upon him- 
 self the task of pacifying both the Prince and me, and 
 though I was at first very angry, and the Prince, I 
 believe, very much annoyed, he succeeded. It was, in 
 fact, only Lord Byron's manner of reproving us both. 
 It taught me to be prudent and discreet. To the 
 Prince and the Greeks it probably conveyed a lesson, 
 which Lord Byron could have found no better means 
 of giving them.' 
 
 Byron was remarkably sincere and frank in all 
 his words and actions. Parry says that he never 
 harboured a thought concerning another man that he 
 did not express to his face ; neither could he bear 
 duplicity in others. If one person were to speak
 
 ii8 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 against a third party, in Byron's presence, he would 
 be sure to repeat it the first time the two opponents 
 were in presence of one another. This was a habit, 
 says Parry, of which his acquaintance were well 
 aware, and it spared Byron the trouble of listening to 
 many idle and degrading calumnies. He probably 
 expected thereby to teach others a sincerity which he 
 so highly prized ; but it must be added that he derived 
 pleasure from witnessing the confusion of the person 
 thus exposed. We recognize Byron in this trait, as 
 none of his biographers have omitted to mention the 
 extraordinary indiscretion of his confidences ; but 
 never before was his habit of 'blabbing' turned to a 
 better use. 
 
 It is generally admitted that the Greeks were supine 
 to the last degree. Little or nothing had been done 
 to repair the losses resulting from the late campaign, 
 nor had adequate preparations been made for the 
 struggle in prospect. Through their improvidence, 
 the Greeks had neither money nor materials. Neither 
 in the Morea nor in Western Greece had any steps 
 been taken to meet an assault by the enemy. The 
 fortifications, that had suffered in the previous 
 campaign, were left in statu quo. The Greek fleet was 
 practically non-existent, owing to the insufficiency of 
 money wherewith to pay the crews. In addition to 
 internal dissensions, which might at any moment give 
 rise to a civil war, the French and English Govern- 
 ments were continually demanding satisfaction for 
 breaches of neutrality, or for acts of piracy com- 
 mitted by vessels of the Greek fleet, under a singular 
 misapprehension of the game of war. In the midst of 
 all these depressing conditions Byron kept his intense 
 enthusiasm for the cause, and whatever may have
 
 MAVROCORDATO AND STANHOPE 119 
 
 been the errors in his policy, everyone acknowledged 
 the purity of his motives and the intensity of his zeal. 
 Prince Mavrocordato and Colonel Stanhope were 
 not on very good terms. The Colonel had no con- 
 fidence in the Prince, and, indeed, openly defied and 
 opposed him. His hostility to Mavrocordato became 
 so marked that both Greeks and English were per- 
 suaded that he was endeavouring to break up the 
 establishment at Missolonghi, and to remove all the 
 stores, belonging to the Committee, to Athens. 
 
 ' This report,' says Parry, ' was conveyed to Lord 
 Byron, who had not parted with Colonel Stanhope on 
 very good terms, and caused him much annoyance. 
 He had before attributed both neglect and deceit to 
 the Greek Committee or some of its agents ; and this 
 report of the proceedings of their special and chosen 
 messenger made him, in the irritation of the moment, 
 regard them as acting even treacherously towards 
 himself. " By the cant of religious pretenders," he 
 said, " I have already deeply suffered, and now I know 
 what the cant of pretended reformers and philan- 
 thropists amounts to."* 
 
 Byron was much displeased by the neglect which 
 he had experienced at the hands of the London Com- 
 mittee, who, instead of sending supplies that would 
 have been of some use, sent printing-presses, maps, 
 and bugles. Books and Bibles were sent to a people 
 who wanted guns, and when they asked for a sword 
 they sent the lever of a printing-press. The only 
 wonder was that they did not send out a pack of 
 beagles. Colonel Stanhope, who might perhaps 
 have been of some use in a military capacity, began 
 organizing the whole country in accordance with 
 Mr. Bentham's views of morality and justice. In this 
 he acted entirely on his own responsibility, and rarely 
 consulted Byron or Mavrocordato before carrying his
 
 120 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 wild schemes into execution. Byron said of him, in a 
 moment of exasperation : 
 
 ' He is a mere schemer and talker, more of a saint 
 than a soldier; and, with a great deal of pretended 
 plainness, a mere politician, and no patriot. I thought 
 Colonel Stanhope, being a soldier, would have 
 shown himself differently. He ought to know what 
 a nation like Greece needs for its defence ; and should 
 have told the Committee that arms, and the materials 
 jfor carrying on war, were what the Greeks required.' 
 
 Byron placed practice before precept, and was 
 content to wait until the Turks had been driven out 
 of Greece before entering upon any scheme for the 
 cultivation of the soil and the development of com- 
 merce. He always maintained that Colonel Stanhope 
 began at the wrong end, and was foolish to expect, by 
 introducing some signs of wealth and knowledge, to 
 make the people of Greece both rich and intelligent. 
 
 ' I hear,' said Byron, in a conversation with Parry, 
 * that missionaries are to be introduced before the 
 country is cleared of the enemy, and religious disputes 
 are to be added to the other sources of discord. How 
 very improper are such proceedings ! nothing could be 
 more impolitic ; it will cause ill blood throughout the 
 country, and very possibly be the means of again 
 bringing Greece under the Turkish yoke. Can it be 
 supposed that the Greek Priesthood, who have great 
 influence, and even power, will tamely submit to see 
 interested self-opinionated foreigners interfere with 
 their flocks? I say again, clear the country, teach 
 the people to read and write, and the labouring people 
 will judge for themselves.' 
 
 The vexations to which Byron was daily subjected 
 during his stay at Missolonghi, and the insufficiency 
 of the diet which he prescribed for himself against the 
 advice of his medical attendant, so affected his nervous
 
 SIEGE OF LEPANTO ABANDONED 121 
 
 system, which by nature was highly irritable, that at 
 last he broke down. Count Gamba says : 
 
 * Lord Byron was exceedingly vexed at the necessary 
 abandonment of his project against Lepanto, at a time 
 when success seemed so probable. He had not been 
 able to ride that day, nor for some days, on account 
 of the rain. He had been extremely annoyed at the 
 vexations caused by the Suliotes, as also with the 
 various other interruptions from petitions, demands, 
 and remonstrances, which never left him a moment's 
 peace at any hour of the day. At seven in the evening 
 I went into his room on some business, and found him 
 lying on the sofa : he was not asleep, and, seeing me 
 enter, called out, " I am not asleep — come in — I am 
 not well." At eight o'clock he went downstairs to 
 visit Colonel Stanhope. The conversation turned 
 upon our newspaper. We agreed that it was not 
 calculated to give foreigners the necessary intelligence 
 of what was passing in Greece ; because, being written 
 in Romaic, it was not intelligible, except to a few 
 strangers. We resolved to publish another, in several 
 languages, and Lord Byron promised to furnish some 
 articles himself When I left the room, he was laugh- 
 ing and joking with Parry and the Colonel ; he was 
 drinking some cider.' 
 
 '& 
 
 As Gamba is no longer a witness of what actually 
 happened, we refer the reader to the statement of 
 Parry himself : 
 
 ' Lord Byron's quarters were on the second-floor of 
 the house, and Colonel Stanhope lived on the first- 
 floor. In the evening, about eight o'clock. Lord 
 Byron came downstairs into the Colonel's room 
 where I was. He seated himself on a cane settee, 
 and began talking with me on various subjects. 
 Colonel Stanhope, who was employed in a neighbour- 
 ing apartment, fitting up printing-presses, and Count 
 Gamba, both came into the room for a short time, 
 and some conversation ensued about the newspaper, 
 which was never to Lord Byron a pleasant topic, as 
 he disagreed with his friends about it. After a little 
 time they went their several ways, and more agreeable
 
 122 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 subjects were introduced. Lord Byron began joking 
 with me about Colonel Stanhope's occupations, and 
 said he thought the author would have his brigade of 
 artillery ready before the soldier got his printing- 
 press fixed. There was then nobody in the room 
 but his lordship, Mr. Hesketh, and myself. There 
 was evidently a constrained manner about Lord 
 Byron, and he complained of thirst. He ordered his 
 servant to bring him some cider, which I entreated 
 him not to drink in that state. There was a flush in 
 his countenance, which seemed to indicate great 
 nervous agitation ; and as I thought Lord Byron had 
 been much agitated and harassed for several da3^s 
 past, I recommended him, at least, to qualify his cider 
 with some brandy. He said he had frequently drunk 
 cider, and felt no bad consequences from it, and he 
 accordingly drank it off. He had scarcely drunk the 
 cider, when he complained of a very strange sensation, 
 and I noticed a great change in his countenance. He 
 rose from his seat, but could not walk, staggered a step 
 or two, and fell into my arms. 
 
 • 1 had no other stimulant than brandy at hand, and 
 having before seen it administered in similar cases 
 with considerable benefit, I succeeded in making him 
 swallow a small quantity. In another minute his teeth 
 were closed, his speech and senses gone, and he was 
 in strong convulsions. I laid him down on the settee, 
 and with the assistance of his servant kept him quiet. 
 
 'When he fell into my arms, his countenance was 
 very much distorted, his mouth being drawn on one 
 side. After a short time his medical attendant came, 
 and he speedily recovered his senses and his speech. 
 He asked for Colonel Stanhope, as he had something 
 particular to say to him, should there be a probability 
 of his not recovering. Colonel Stanhope came from 
 the next room. On recovering his senses, Lord 
 Byron's countenance assumed its ordinary appear- 
 ance, except that it was pale and haggard. No other 
 effect remained visible except great weakness.' 
 
 According to Gamba : 
 
 ' Lord Byron was carried upstairs to his own bed, 
 and complained only of weakness. He asked whether 
 his attack was likely to prove fatal. " Let me know,"
 
 A FALSE ALARM 123 
 
 he said. " Do not think I am afraid to die — I am 
 not." He told me that when he lost his speech he 
 did not lose his senses ; that he had suffered great 
 pain, and that he believed, if the convulsion had 
 lasted a minute longer, he must have died.' 
 
 The attack had been brought on by the vexations 
 which he had long suffered in silence, and borne 
 heroically. But his mode of living was a contributory 
 cause. He ate nothing but fish, cheese, and vege- 
 tables — having regulated his table, says Gamba, so as 
 not to cost more than 45 paras. This he did to show 
 that he could live on fare as simple as that of the 
 Greek soldiers. 
 
 Byron had scarcely recovered consciousness, when 
 a false alarm was brought to him that the Suliotes had 
 risen, and were about to attack the building where the 
 arms were stored. 
 
 * We ran to our arsenal,' says Gamba, ' Parr}^ 
 ordered the artillerymen under arms : our cannon 
 were loaded and pointed on the approaches to the 
 gates ; the sentries were doubled. This alarm had 
 originated with two Germans, who, having taken too 
 much wine, and seeing a body of soldiers with their 
 guns in their hands proceeding towards the Seraglio, 
 thought that a revolution had broken out, and spread 
 an alarm over the whole town. As a matter of fact, 
 these troops were merely changing their quarters. 
 These Germans were so inconsiderate, that during 
 our absence at the arsenal they forced their way into 
 Byron's bedroom, swearing that they had come to 
 defend him and his house. Fortunately, we were not 
 present, for, as this was only half an hour after 
 Byron's attack, we should have been tempted to fling 
 the intruders out of the window. On the following 
 day B3^ron was better, and got up at noon ; but he 
 was very pale and weak, and complained of a sensa- 
 tion of weight in his head. The doctor applied eight 
 leeches to his temples, and the blood flowed copiously ; 
 it was stopped with difficulty, and he fainted.'
 
 124 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 Dr. Millingen says that Dr. Bruno had at first 
 proposed opening a vein ; but finding it impossible to 
 obtain Byron's consent, he applied leeches to the 
 temples, which bled so copiously as almost to bring 
 on syncope. Byron, alarmed to see the difficulty 
 Dr. Bruno had in stopping the haemorrhage, sent for 
 Millingen, who, by the application of lunar caustic, 
 succeeded in stopping the flow of blood. 
 
 In Millingen's opinion, Byron was never the same 
 man after this ; a change took place in his mental and 
 bodily functions. 
 
 * That wonderful elasticity of disposition, that con- 
 tinual flow of wit, that facility of jest by which his 
 conversation had been so distinguished, returned only 
 at distant intervals,' says Millingen : * from this time 
 Byron fell into a state of melancholy from which none 
 of our arguments could relieve him. He felt certain 
 that his constitution had been ruined ; that he was a 
 worn-out man ; and that his muscular power was 
 gone. Flashes before his eyes, palpitations and 
 anxieties, hourly afflicted him ; and at times such a 
 sense of faintness would overpower him, that, fearing 
 to be attacked by similar convulsions, he would send 
 in great haste for medical assistance. His nervous 
 system was, in fact, in a continual state of erethism, 
 which was certainly augmented by the low, debilitating 
 diet which Dr. Bruno had recommended.' 
 
 On one occasion Byron said to Dr. Millingen that 
 he did not wish for life ; it had ceased to have any 
 attraction for him. 
 
 * But,' said Byron, ' the fear of two things now 
 haunt me. I picture myself slowly expiring on a bed 
 of torture, or ending my days like Swift — a grinning 
 idiot ! Would to Heaven the day were arrived in 
 which, rushing, sword in hand, on a body of Turks, 
 and fighting like one weary of existence, I shall meet 
 immediate, painless death— the object of my wishes.'
 
 BYRON'S PERPLEXITIES 125 
 
 Two days after this seizure Byron made the follow- 
 ing entry in his journal : 
 
 * With regard to the presumed causes of this attack, 
 so far as I know, there might be several. The state of 
 the place and the weather permit little exercise at 
 present. I have been violently agitated with more 
 than one passion recently, and amidst conflicting 
 parties, politics, and (as far as regards public matters) 
 circumstances. I have also been in an anxious state 
 with regard to things which may be only interesting 
 to my own private feelings, and, perhaps, not uniformly 
 so temperate as I may generally affirm that I was wont 
 to be. How far any or all of these may have acted on 
 the mind or body of one who had already undergone 
 many previous changes of place and passion during 
 a life of thirty-six years, I cannot tell' 
 
 The following note, which is entered by Mr. Row- 
 land Prothero in the new edition of Lord Byron's 
 'Letters and Journals,'* was dashed off by Byron in 
 pencil, on the day of his seizure, February 15, 1824: 
 
 ' Having tried in vain at great expense, considerable 
 trouble, and some danger, to unite the Suliotes for the 
 good of Greece — and their own — I have come to the 
 following resolution : 
 
 * I will have nothing more to do with the Suliotes. 
 They may go to the Turks, or the Devil, — they may 
 cut me into more pieces than they have dissensions 
 among themselves, — sooner than change my resolution. 
 
 * For the rest, I hold my means and person at the 
 disposal of the Greek nation and Government the 
 same as before.' 
 
 No better proof could be given of the perplexities 
 which worried him at that particular time. But the 
 surrounding gloom was lightened now and then by 
 some of Parry's stories. The following anecdote 
 about Jeremy Bentham was an especial favourite with 
 
 * Vol. vi., p. 326.
 
 126 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 Byron; Parry's sea -terms and drollery doubtless 
 heightened its effect : 
 
 ' Shortly before I left London for Greece, Mr. Bow- 
 ring, the honorary secretary to the Greek Committee, 
 informed me that Mr. Jeremy Bentham wished to see 
 the stores and materials, preparing for the Greeks, and 
 that he had done me the honour of asking me to break- 
 fast with him some day, that I might afterwards conduct 
 him to see the guns, etc. 
 
 * " Who the devil is Mr. Bentham ?" was my rough 
 reply ; " I never heard of him before." Many of my 
 readers may still be in the same state of ignorance, 
 and it will be acceptable to them, I hope, to hear of 
 the philosopher. 
 
 '"Mr. Bentham," said Mr. Bowring, "is one of the 
 greatest men of the age, and for the honour now 
 offered to you, I waited impatiently many a long day — 
 I believe for more than two years." 
 
 ' " Great or little, I never heard of him before ; but 
 if he wants to see me, why I'll go." 
 
 ' It was accordingly arranged that I should visit 
 Mr. Bentham, and that Mr. Bowring should see him 
 to fix the time, and then inform me. In a day or two 
 afterwards, I received a note from the honorary secre- 
 tary to say I was to breakfast with Mr. Bentham on 
 Saturday. It happened that I lived at a distance from 
 town, and having heard something of the primitive 
 manner of living and early hours of philosophers, I 
 arranged with my wife overnight that I would get up 
 very early on the Saturday morning, that I might not 
 keep Mr. Bentham waiting. Accordingly, I rose with 
 the dawn, dressed myself in haste, and brushed off 
 for Queen's Square, Westminster, as hard as my legs 
 could carry me. On reaching the Strand, fearing I 
 might be late, being rather corpulent, and not being- 
 willing to go into the presence of so very great a man, 
 as I understood Mr. Jeremy Bentham to be, puffing 
 and blowing, I took a hackney-coach and drove up 
 to his door about eight o'clock. I found a servant 
 girl afoot, and told her I came to breakfast with 
 Mr. Bentham by appointment. 
 
 'She ushered me in, and introduced me to two 
 young men, who looked no more like philosophers,
 
 JEREMY BENTHAM'S CRUISE 127 
 
 however, than my own children. I thought they 
 might be Mr. Bentham's sons, but this, I understood, 
 was a mistake. I showed them the note I had received 
 from Mr. Bowring, and they told me Mr. Bentham did 
 not breakfast till three o'clock. This surprised me 
 much, but they told me I might breakfast with them, 
 which I did, though 1 was not much flattered by the 
 honour of sitting down with Mr. Bentham's clerks, 
 when I was invited by their master. Poor Mr. Bow- 
 ring! thought I, he must be a meek-spirited young 
 man if it was for this he waited so impatiently. I 
 supposed the philosopher himself did not get up till 
 noon, as he did not breakfast till so late, but in this 
 I was also mistaken. About ten o'clock I was sum- 
 moned to his presence, and mustered up all my courage 
 and all my ideas for the meeting. His appearance 
 struck me forcibly. His thin white locks, cut straight 
 in the fashion of the Quakers, and hanging, or rather 
 floating, on his shoulders ; his garments something of 
 Quaker colour and cut, and his frame rather square 
 and muscular, with no exuberance of flesh, made up a 
 singular-looking and not an inelegant old man. He 
 welcomed me with a few hurried words, but without 
 any ceremony, and then conducted me into several 
 rooms to show me his ammunition and materials of 
 war. One very large room was nearly filled with 
 books, and another with unbound works, which, I 
 understood, were the philosopher's own composition. 
 The former, he said, furnished him his supplies ; and 
 there was a great deal of labour required to read so 
 many volumes. I said inadvertently, " I suppose you 
 have quite forgotten what is said in the first before 
 you read the last." Mr. Bentham, however, took this 
 m good part, and, taking hold of my arm, said we 
 would proceed on our journey. Accordingly, off we 
 set, accompanied by one of his young men carrying 
 a portfolio, to keep, I suppose, a log of our proceedings. 
 ' We went through a small garden, and, passing out 
 of a gate, I found we were in St. James's Park. Here 
 I noticed that Mr. Bentham had a very snug dwelling, 
 with many accommodations, and such a garden as 
 belongs in London only to the first nobility. But for 
 his neighbours, I thought — for he has a barrack of 
 soldiers on one side of his premises — I should envy
 
 128 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 him his garden more than his great reputation. On 
 looking at him, I could but admire his nale, and even 
 venerable, appearance. I understood he was seventy- 
 three years of age, and therefore I concluded we 
 should have a quiet, comfortable walk. Very much to 
 my surprise, however, we had scarcely got into the 
 Park, when he let go my arm, and set off trotting like 
 a Highland messenger. The Park was crowded, and 
 the people one and all seemed to stare at the old 
 man ; but, heedless of all this, he trotted on, his white 
 locks floating in the wind, as if he were not seen by a 
 single human being. 
 
 As soon as I could recover from my surprise, I 
 asked the young man, " Is Mr. Bentham flighty ?" 
 pointing to my head. " Oh no, it's his way," was the 
 hurried answer ; " he thinks it good for his health. 
 But I must run after him ;" and off set the youth in 
 chase of the philosopher. I must not lose my com- 
 panions, thought I, and off I set also. Of course the 
 eyes of every human being in the Park were fixed on 
 the running veteran and his pursuers. There was 
 Jerry ahead, then came his clerk and his portfolio, 
 and I, being a heavier sailer than either, was bringing 
 up the rear. 
 
 * What the people might think, I don't know; but it 
 seemed to me a very strange scene, and I was not 
 much delighted at being made such an object of 
 attraction. Mr. Bentham's activity surprised me, and 
 I never overtook him or came near him till we reached 
 the Horse Guards, where his speed was checked by 
 the Blues drawn up in array. Here we threaded in 
 amongst horses and men till we escaped at the other 
 gate into Whitehall. I now thought the crowded 
 streets would prevent any more racing ; but several 
 times he escaped from us, and trotted off, compelling 
 us to trot after him till we reached Mr. Galloway's 
 manufactory in Smithfield. Here he exulted in his 
 activity, and inquired particularly if I had ever seen a 
 man at his time of life so active. I could not possibly 
 answer no, while I was almost breathless with the 
 exertion of following him through the crowded streets. 
 After seeing at Mr. Galloway's manufactory, not only 
 the things which had been prepared for the Greeks, 
 but his other engines and machines, we proceeded to
 
 JEREMY BENTHAM'S CRUISE 129 
 
 another manufactory at the foot of Southwark Bridge, 
 where our brigade of guns stood ready mounted. 
 When Mr. Bentham had satisfied his curiosity here 
 also, and I had given him every information in my 
 power, we set off to return to his house, that he might 
 breakfast ; I endeavoured to persuade him to take 
 a hackney-coach, but in vain. We got on tolerably 
 well, and without any adventures, tragical or comical, 
 till we arrived at Fleet Street. We crossed from 
 Fleet Market over towards Mr. Waithman's shop, and 
 here, letting go my arm, he quitted the foot pavement, 
 and set off again in one of his vagaries up Fleet Street. 
 His clerk again set off after him, and I again followed. 
 The race here excited universal attention. The per- 
 ambulating ladies, who are always in great numbers 
 about that part of the town, and ready to laugh at any 
 kind of oddity, and catch hold of every simpleton, 
 stood and stared at or followed the venerable philos- 
 opher. One of them, well known to all the neighbour- 
 hood by the appellation of the City Barge, given to 
 her on account of her extraordinary bulk, was coming 
 with a consort full sail down Fleet Street, but when- 
 ever they saw the flight of Mr. Jeremy Bentham they 
 hove to, tacked, and followed to witness the fun or 
 share the prize. I was heartily ashamed of partici- 
 pating in this scene, and supposed that everybody 
 would take me for a mad doctor, the young man 
 for my assistant, and Mr. Bentham for my patient, just 
 broke adrift from his keepers. 
 
 'Fortunately the chase did not continue long. Mr. 
 Bentham hove to abreast of Carlisle's shop, and stood 
 for a little time to admire the books and portraits 
 hanging in the window. At length one of them 
 arrested his attention more particularly. " Ah, ah," 
 said he, in a hurried indistinct tone, " there it is, there 
 it is !" pointing to a portrait which I afterwards found 
 was that of the illustrious Jeremy himself. 
 
 'Soon after this, I invented an excuse to quit Mr. 
 Bentham and his man, promising to go to Queen's 
 Square to dine. I was not, however, to be again 
 taken in by the philosopher's meal hours ; so, laying 
 in a stock of provisions, I went at his dining hour, 
 half-past ten o'clock, and supped with him. We had 
 a great deal of conversation, particularly about
 
 I30 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 mechanical subjects and the art of war. I found the 
 old gentleman as lively with his tongue as with his 
 feet, and passed a very pleasant evening ; which ended 
 by my pointing out, at his request, a plan for playing his 
 organ by the steam of his tea-kettle. 
 
 ' This little story,' says Parry, ' gave Byron a great 
 deal of pleasure. ' He very often laughed as I told it ; 
 he laughed much at its conclusion. He declared, 
 when he had fished out every little circumstance, that 
 he would not have lost it for i,ooo guineas. Lord Byron 
 frequently asked me to repeat what he called : Jerry 
 Bentham's Cruise.' 
 
 Parry tells us that Byron took a great interest in all 
 that concerned the welfare of the working classes, and 
 particularly of the artisans. 
 
 ' I have lately read,' said Byron on one occasion, ' of 
 an institution lately established in London for the 
 instruction of mechanics. I highly approve of this, 
 and intend to subscribe ^50 to it; but I shall at the 
 same time write and give my opinion on the subject. 
 I am always afraid that schemes of this kind are 
 intended to deceive people; and, unless all the offices 
 in such an institution are filled with real practical 
 mechanics, the working classes will soon find them- 
 selves deceived. If they permit any but mechanics 
 to have the direction of their affairs, they will only 
 become the tools of others. The real working man 
 will soon be ousted, and his more cunning pretended 
 friends will take possession and reap all the benefits. 
 It gives me pleasure to think what a mass of natural 
 intellect this will call into action. If the plan succeeds, 
 and I hope it may, the ancient aristocracy of England 
 will be secure for ages to come. The most useful and 
 numerous body of people in the nation will then judge 
 for themselves, and, when properly informed, will 
 judge correctly. There is not on earth a more honour- 
 able body of men than the English nobility ; and there 
 is no system of government under which life and 
 property are better secured than under the British 
 constitution. 
 
 ' The mechanics and working classes who can main- 
 tain their families are, in my opinion, the happiest
 
 BYRON'S VIEWS ON AMERICA 131 
 
 body of men. Poverty is wretchedness ; but it is 
 perhaps to be preferred to the heartless, unmeaning 
 dissipation of the higher orders. I am thankful that I 
 am now entirely clear of this, and my resolution to 
 remain clear of it for the rest of my life is immutable.' 
 
 Parry remarks that it would be folly to attribute to 
 Byron any love for democracy, as the term was then 
 understood. Although the bent of his mind was more 
 Liberal than Conservative, he was not a party man in 
 its narrow sense. He was a sworn foe to injustice, 
 cruelty, and oppression ; such was the alpha and 
 omega of his political prejudices. He would be an 
 inveterate enemy to any Government which oppressed 
 one class for the benefit of another class, and which did 
 not allow its subjects to be free and happy. 
 
 In speaking of America, Byron said : 
 
 ' I have always thought the mode in w^hich the 
 Americans separated from Great Britain was un- 
 fortunate for them. It made them despise or regret 
 everything English. They disinherited themselves of 
 all the historical glory of England ; there was nothing 
 left for them to admire or venerate but their own 
 immediate success, and they became egotists, like 
 savages, from wanting a history. The spirit of 
 jealousy and animosity excited by the contests 
 between England and America is now subsiding. 
 Should peace continue, prejudices on both sides will 
 gradually decrease. Already the Americans are 
 beginning, I think, to cultivate the antiquities of 
 England, and, as they extend their inquiries, they will 
 find other objects of admiration besides themselves. 
 It was of some importance, both for them and for us, 
 that they did not reject our language with our govern- 
 ment. Time, I should hope, will approximate the 
 institutions of both countries to one another ; and the 
 use of the same language will do more to unite the 
 two nations than if they both had only one King.' 
 
 I'M^^iue
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 According to Gamba's journal, on the day following 
 the seizure to which we have referred, Byron followed 
 up his former efforts to inculcate the principles and 
 practice of humanity into both the nations engaged in 
 the war. There were twenty-four Turks, including 
 women and children, who had suffered all the rigours 
 of captivity at Missolonghi since the beginning of the 
 revolution. Byron caused them to be released, and 
 sent at his own cost to Prevesa. The following letter, 
 which he addressed to the English Consul at that port, 
 deserves a place in this record : 
 
 ' Sir, 
 
 Coming to Greece, one of my principal objects 
 was to alleviate as much as possible the miseries 
 incident to a warfare so cruel as the present. When 
 the dictates of humanity are in question, I know no 
 difference between Turks and Greeks. It is enough 
 that those who want assistance are men, in order to 
 claim the pity and protection of the meanest pretender 
 to humane feelings. I have found here twenty-four 
 Turks, including women and children, who have long- 
 pined in distress, far from the means of support and 
 the consolations of their home. The Government has 
 consigned them to me : I transmit them to Prevesa, 
 whither they desire to be sent. I hope you will not 
 object to take care that they may be restored to a place 
 of safety, and that the Governor of your town may 
 accept of my present. The best recompense I can 
 hope for would be to find that I had inspired the 
 
 132
 
 THE RELEASE OF PRISONERS 133 
 
 Ottoman commanders with the same sentiments 
 towards those unhappy Greeks who may hereafter 
 fall into their hands. 
 
 ' I beg you to believe me, etc., 
 
 * Noel Byron.' 
 
 The details of this incident have hitherto passed 
 almost unnoticed. The whole story is full of pathos, 
 and affords a view of Byron's real character. 
 
 In June, 182 1, when Missolonghi and Anatolico 
 proclaimed themselves parts of independent Greece, 
 all Turkish residents were arrested. The males were 
 cruelly put to death, and their wives and families 
 were handed over to the Greek householders as 
 slaves. The miseries these defenceless people endured 
 while Death stared them daily in the face are in- 
 describable. Millingen says : 
 
 * One day, as I entered the dispensary, I found the 
 wife of one of the Turkish inhabitants of Missolonghi 
 who had fled to Patras. The poor woman came to 
 implore my pity, and begged me to allow her to take 
 shelter under my roof from the brutality and cruelty 
 of the Greeks. They had murdered all her relations, 
 and two of her boys ; and the marks remained on 
 the angle of the wall against which, a few weeks pre- 
 viously, they had dashed the brains of the youngest, 
 only five years of age. A little girl, nine years old, 
 remained to be the only companion of her misery. 
 Like a timid lamb, she stood by her mother, naked 
 and shivering, drawing closer and closer to her side. 
 Her little hands were folded like a suppliant's, and 
 her large, beautiful eyes — so accustomed to see acts 
 of horror and cruelty — looked at me now and then, 
 hardly daring to implore pity. " Take us," said the 
 mother ; " we will serve you and be your slaves ; or 
 you will be responsible before God for whatever 
 may happen to us." 
 
 ' I could not see so eloquent a picture of distress 
 unmoved, and from that day I treated them as 
 relatives. Some weeks after, I happened to mention
 
 134 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 before Lord Byron some circumstances relative to 
 these individuals, and spoke with so much admiration 
 of the noble fortitude displayed by the mother in the 
 midst of her calamities ; of the courage with which 
 maternal love inspired her on several occasions ; of 
 the dignified manner in which she replied to the 
 insults of her persecutors, that he expressed a wish 
 to see the mother and child. On doing so, he became 
 so struck by Hataje's beauty, the naivete of her 
 answers, and the spiritedness of her observations on 
 the murderers of her brethren, that he decided on 
 adopting her. " Banish fear for ever from your mind," 
 said he to the mother ; '* your child shall henceforth 
 be mine. I have a daughter in England. To her I 
 will send the child. They are both of the same age ; 
 and as she is alone, she will, no doubt, like a com- 
 
 E anion who may, at times, talk to her of her father. 
 >o not shudder at the idea of changing your religion, 
 for I insist on your professing none other but the 
 Musulman." 
 
 'She seized his hand, kissed it with energy, and 
 raising her eyes to heaven, eyes now filled with tears, 
 she repeated the familiar words : " Allah is great !" 
 Byron ordered costly dresses to be made for them, 
 and sent to Hataje a necklace of sequins. He desired 
 me to send them twice a week to his house. He would 
 then take the little child on his knees, and caress her 
 with all the fondness of a father. 
 
 * From the moment I received the mother and child 
 into my house, the other unfortunate Turkish women, 
 who had miraculously escaped the general slaughter, 
 seeing how different were the feelings and treatment 
 of the English towards their nation and sex from those 
 of the Greeks, began to feel more hopeful of their lot in 
 life. They daily called at my lodgings, and by means 
 of my servant, a Suliote who spoke Turkish fluently, 
 narrated their misfortunes, and the numberless horrors 
 of which they had been spectators. One woman said: 
 " Our fears are not yet over; we are kept as victims 
 for future sacrifices, hourly expecting our doom. An 
 unpleasant piece of news, a drunken party, a fit of ill- 
 humour or of caprice, may decide our fate. We are 
 then hunted down the streets like wild beasts, till 
 some one of us, or of our children, is immolated to 
 
 I
 
 HATAJ£ 135 
 
 their insatiable cruelty. Our only hope centres in 
 you. One word of yours to Lord Byron can save 
 many lives. Can you refuse to speak for us. Let 
 Lord Byron send us to any part of Turkey. We are 
 women and children ; can the Greeks fear us ?" 
 
 ' I hastened to give Lord Byron a faithful picture of 
 the position of these wretched people. Knowing and 
 relieving the distressed were, with him, simultaneous 
 actions. A few days later notice was given to every 
 Turkish woman to prepare for departure. All, a few 
 excepted, embarked and were conveyed at Byron's 
 expense to Prevesa. They amounted to twenty-two. 
 A few days previously four Turkish prisoners had 
 been sent by him to Patras. Repeated examples of 
 humanity like these were for the Greeks more useful 
 and appropriate lessons than the finest compositions 
 which all the printing-presses could have spread 
 amongst them.* 
 
 Hataj^ ! and what became of little Hataj^ ? On 
 February 23 Byron wrote to his sister : 
 
 * I have been obtaining the release of about nine-and- 
 twenty Turkish prisoners — men, women, and children 
 — and have sent them home to their friends ; but one, 
 a pretty little girl of nine years of age named Hato or 
 Hatagee, has expressed a strong wish to remain with 
 me, or under my care, and I have nearly determined 
 to adopt her. If I thought that Lady B. would 
 let her come to England as a companion to Ada (they 
 are about the same age), and we could easily provide 
 for her ; if not, I can send her to Italy for education. 
 She is very lively and quick, and with great black 
 Oriental eyes and Asiatic features. All her brothers 
 were killed in the Revolution ; her mother wishes to 
 return to her husband, but says that she would rather 
 entrust the child to me, in the present state of the 
 country. Her extreme youth and sex have hitherto 
 saved her life, but there is no saying what might 
 occur in the course of the war (and of such a war), and 
 I shall probably commit her to the charge of some 
 English lady in the islands for the present. The 
 child herself has the same wish, and seems to have a
 
 136 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 decided character for her age. You can mention this 
 matter if you think it worth while. I merely wish 
 her to be respectably educated and treated, and, if 
 my years and all things be considered, I presume it 
 would be difficult to conceive me to have any other 
 views.' 
 
 Meanwhile, Byron, wishing to remove the child 
 from Missolonghi, seems to have proposed to Dr. 
 Kennedy at Cephalonia that Mrs. Kennedy should 
 take temporary charge of her. Writing to Kennedy 
 on March 4, 1824, Byron says : 
 
 ' Your future convert Hato, or Hatag^e, appears to 
 me lively, intelligent, and promising; she possesses 
 an interesting countenance. With regard to her dis- 
 position I can say little, but Millingen speaks well of 
 both mother and daughter, and he is to be relied on. 
 As far as I know, I have only seen the child a few 
 times with her mother, and what I have seen is 
 favourable, or I should not take so much interest in 
 her behalf. If she turns out well, my idea would be 
 to send her to my daughter in England (if not to 
 respectable persons in Italy), and so to provide for 
 her as to enable her to live with reputation either 
 singly or in marriage, if she arrive at maturity. I 
 will make proper arrangements about her expenses 
 through Messrs. Barff and Hancock, and the rest I 
 leave to your discretion, and to Mrs. K.'s, with a great 
 sense of obligation for your kindness in undertaking 
 her temporary superintendence.' 
 
 This arrangement fell through, and was never 
 carried out. The child remained at Missolonghi 
 with her mother until Byron's death. Then, by 
 the irony of fate, they departed in the Florida — 
 the vessel that bore the dead body of their pro- 
 tector to the inhospitable lazaretto at Zante. With 
 wonderful prophetic instinct, Byron, long before his 
 vo^^age to Greece, gave to the world the vision of
 
 hatajIl is sent to PATRAS 137 
 
 another Hataje, rescued from death on the field of 
 
 battle : 
 
 ' The Moslem orphan went with her protector, 
 
 For she was homeless, houseless, helpless; all 
 Her friends, like the sad family of Hector, 
 
 Had perished in the lield or by the wall : 
 Her very place of birth was but a spectre 
 
 Of what it had been ; there the Muezzin's call 
 To prayer was heard no more — and Juan wept. 
 
 And made a vow to shield her, which he kept.' 
 
 Blaquiere, who was at Zante when the Florida was 
 placed in quarantine, says : 
 
 ' The child, whom I have frequently seen in the 
 lazaretto, is extremely interesting, and about eight 
 years of age. She came over with Byron's body, 
 under her mother's care. They had not been here 
 man}^ days, before an application came from Usouff 
 Pacha, to give them up. It being customary, when- 
 ever claims of this kind are made, to consult the 
 parties themselves, both the mother and her child 
 were questioned as to their wishes on the subject. 
 The latter, with tears in her eyes, said that, had his 
 lordship lived, she would always have considered 
 him as a father; but as he was no more, she preferred 
 going back to her own country. The mother having 
 expressed the same wish, they were sent to Patras.' 
 
 According to Millingen, when Hataje and her 
 mother arrived at Patras, the child's father received 
 them in a transport of joy. ' I thought you slaves,' 
 said the father in embracing them, ' and, lo ! you 
 return to me decked like brides.' 
 
 And that is all that we know — all, we suppose, that 
 can be known — of little Hataje ! She may still be 
 alive, the last survivor of those who had spoken to 
 Byron ! If, in her ninety-third year, she still recalls 
 the events of 1824, she will hold up the torch with 
 modest pride, while the present writer commemorates
 
 138 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 one, out of many, of the noble actions performed by 
 the poet Byron. 
 
 ' This special honour was conferred, because 
 
 He had behaved with courage and humanity — 
 Which last men Hke, when they have time to pause 
 
 From their ferocities produced by vanity. 
 His little captive gained him some applause 
 
 For saving her amidst the wild insanity 
 Of carnage — and I think he was more glad in her 
 Safety, than his new order of St. Vladimir.' 
 
 Don Juan, Canto VHI., CXL.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 On February 17 there was great excitement at Misso- 
 longhi on account of a Turkish brig-of-vvar, which had 
 run ashore on a sand-bank about seven miles from the 
 city. 
 
 Byron sent for Parry, and accosted him in his 
 livehest manner : 
 
 ' Now's the day, Parry, and now's the hour ; now 
 for your rockets, your fire-kites, and red-hot shots ; 
 now, Parry, for your Grecian fires. Onward, death or 
 victory !' 
 
 Byron was still so weak that he could not rise from 
 the sofa ; but all the available soldiers manned the 
 Greek boats, and set off in the hope of plunder. 
 Parry and some other European officers went out to 
 reconnoitre the brig, and discovered a broad and long 
 neck of land, which separated the shallows from the 
 sea, upon which it would be easy to plant a couple of 
 guns and make an attack upon the brig. Parry sa3'^s 
 that he had only two guns fit for immediate service — 
 a long three-pounder and a howitzer. The attack 
 was to be made on the following day, and Byron 
 gave orders that, in the event of any prisoners being 
 taken, their lives were, if possible, to be spared. He 
 offered to pay two dollars a head for each prisoner 
 saved, to pay something more for officers, and have 
 them cared for at Missolonghi at his own expense. He 
 
 139
 
 140 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 also gave strict orders that the artillery brigade 
 should be kept in reserve, so as to relieve and protect 
 the Turkish prisoners. Early on the following day 
 the guns were shipped, but, unfortunately, the boats 
 ran aground, and much valuable time was lost. Mean- 
 while three Turkish brigs came to the rescue, and 
 got into position so as to enfilade the beach. They 
 manned their boats and tried to haul the brig into 
 deep water, but without success ; and seeing the 
 Greeks preparing to attack, they thought it better to 
 sheer off. But before doing so they managed to 
 remove all the men, and as many of the brig's stores 
 as they could save, and then set the vessel on fire. 
 Although Byron was disappointed in not having 
 captured a prize, he was glad to hear that the brig 
 had been burnt to the water's edge. It was estimated 
 that the loss of that vessel to the enemy would 
 amount to nearly 20,000 dollars, and the little 
 garrison of Missolonghi was highly elated at so 
 important an achievement. 
 
 On February 19 a serious event occurred, which 
 caused something like a revolution at Missolonghi, 
 and might have been attended with more serious con- 
 sequences if Byron had not shown a firm hand. It is 
 thus related by Millingen : 
 
 ' A sentry had been placed at the gate of the 
 Seraglio to prevent anyone who did not belong to 
 the laboratory from entering. A Suliote named Toti, 
 presented himself, and, without paying the slightest 
 attention to the prohibition, boldly walked in. Lieu- 
 tenant Sass, a Swede, informed of this, came up to the 
 Suliote, and, pushing him roughly, ordered him to go 
 out. On his refusal the officer drew his sword and 
 struck him with its flat side. Incensed at this, the 
 Suliote, who was of Herculean strength, cut the 
 Swede's left arm almost entirely off with one stroke
 
 DEATH OF LIEUTENANT SASS 141 
 
 of his yataghan, and immediately after shot him 
 through the head. The soldiers belonging to the 
 artillery brigade shut the gate, and after inflicting 
 several wounds on Toti, who continued to defend 
 himself, succeeded in securing him. His country- 
 men, with whom he was a favourite, being informed 
 of the accident, hastened to the Seraglio, and would 
 have proceeded to acts of violence, had not their 
 comrade been delivered into their hands. The next 
 morning Lieutenant Sass was buried with military 
 honours. The Suliotes attended the funeral ; and thus 
 terminated the temporary misunderstanding between 
 them and the Franks.' 
 
 It appears, from Gamba's account of this unfortunate 
 affair, that Lieutenant Sass was universally esteemed 
 as one of the best and bravest of the foreigners in the 
 service of Greece. The Suliote chiefs laid all the 
 blame of this affray on Sass himself, whose impru- 
 dence in striking one of the proud and warlike race 
 cannot be justified. 
 
 The Suliotes had already given many proofs ot 
 lawless insubordination, and several skirmishes had 
 previously taken place between them and the people 
 of Missolonghi. This last affair brought matters to 
 a head, and Byron agreed, with the Primates and 
 Mavrocordato, that these lawless troops must, at any 
 cost, be got rid of. 
 
 Not only did their presence at Missolonghi alarm 
 its inhabitants, but their fighting value had diminished, 
 owing to their determination not to take any part in 
 the projected siege of Lepanto, alleging as a reason 
 that they were not disposed to fight against stone 
 walls. Thear dismissal was, however, not an easy 
 matter, for they were practically masters of the city, 
 and claimed 3,000 dollars as arrears of pay. The 
 Primates, being applied to by Byron, declared that
 
 142 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 they had no money. Under these circumstances it 
 became absolutely necessary for Byron to find the 
 money himself, which he did on the understanding 
 that the Primates bound themselves to clear the town 
 of this turbulent band. Upon payment of this money 
 the Suliotes packed up their effects, and departed for 
 Arta, thus putting an end to all Byron's hopes of 
 capturing the fortress of Lepanto. A report was at 
 this time circulated in Missolonghi that the Turkish 
 authorities had set a price on the lives of all Europeans 
 engaged in the Greek service. This rumour added 
 enormously to the difficulties of the situation ; for the 
 artificers, whom Parry had brought out from England 
 to work in the arsenal, struck work, and applied to 
 Byron for permission to return home. They said 
 that they had bargained to be conducted into a place 
 of safety. Byron tried, says Gamba, to persuade 
 them that the affray had been accidental, that, after 
 the departure of the Suliotes, nothing of the kind 
 would happen again, and so long as he himself 
 remained there could not be any serious danger. 
 But all arguments were useless ; the men were 
 thoroughly demoralized, and went from Byron's 
 presence unshaken in their resolve to return to their 
 native land. 
 
 B3'ron, writing to Kennedy on March lo, says with 
 his usual good-nature : 
 
 * The mechanics were all pretty much of the same 
 mind. Perhaps they are less to blame than is imagined, 
 since Colonel Stanhope is said to have told them that 
 he could not positively say their lives were safe. I should 
 like to know zvhere our life is safe, either here or any- 
 where else ? With regard to a place of safety, at 
 least such hermetically sealed safety as these persons 
 appeared to desiderate, it is not to be found in Greece,
 
 ENGLISH ARTIFICERS LEAVE 143 
 
 at any rate ; but Missolonghi was supposed to be the 
 place where they would be useful, and their risk was 
 no greater than that of others.' 
 
 In a letter to Barff, some days later, Byron once 
 more alludes to these artificers, whose absence began 
 to be seriously felt at the arsenal : 
 
 * Captain Parry will write to you himself on the 
 subject of the artificers' wages, but, with all due allow- 
 ance for their situation, I cannot see a great deal to 
 pity in their circumstances. They were well paid, 
 housed and fed, expenses granted of every kind, and 
 they marched off at the first alarm. Were they more 
 exposed than the rest ? or so much ? Neither are they 
 very much embarrassed, for Captain Parry says that 
 he knows all of them have money, and one in par- 
 ticular a considerable sum.' 
 
 These are the men in whose interests Byron had 
 written to Barff : 
 
 ' Six Englishmen will soon be in quarantine at 
 Zante ; they are artificers, and have had enough of 
 Greece in fourteen days ; if you could recommend 
 them to a passage home, I would thank you ; they are 
 good men enough, but do not quite understand the 
 little discrepancies in these countries, and are not 
 used to see shooting and slashing in a domestic quiet 
 way, or (as it forms here) a part of housekeeping. If 
 they should want anything during their quarantine, 
 you can advance them not more than a dollar a day 
 (amongst them) for that period, to purchase them some 
 little extras as comforts (as they are quite out of their 
 element). I cannot afford them more at present. I'he 
 Committee pays their passage.' 
 
 Byron was exceedingly vexed by these proceedings, 
 and began to lose all hope of being of any real service 
 to the Greeks. He told Gamba that he had lost time, 
 money, patience, and even health, only to meet with 
 deception, calumny, and ingratitude. Gamba begged
 
 144 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 Byron to visit Athens, partly for the benefit of his 
 health, and partly to be quit for a time from the 
 daily annoyances to which he was subjected. But he 
 refused, and determined to remain in that dismal 
 swamp until he saw what turn things would take in 
 the Morea, and until he received news of the success 
 of the loan from London. He resolved meanwhile to 
 fortify Missolonghi and Anatolico, and to drill the 
 Greek troops into something like discipline. 
 
 In order to reorganize the artillery brigade, Byron 
 agreed to furnish money which would encourage the 
 Greeks to enlist. Artillery was the only arm that it 
 was possible to form, as there were no muskets 
 with bayonets suitable for infantry regiments, and the 
 artillery was deficient both in officers and men. With 
 great difficulty Parry succeeded in collecting some 
 Greek artificers, and made some slight progress with 
 his laboratory. 
 
 The weather improved, and Byron was able to take 
 long rides, which had an excellent effect on his health 
 and spirits. Artillery recruits came in faster than 
 was expected, and were regularly trained for efficient 
 service. It seemed as though the tide had turned. 
 At about this time Byron received a letter from 
 Mr. Barff, strongly urging his return to Zante for 
 the purpose of regaining his usual health, which it 
 was feared he would not attain at Missolonghi. Byron 
 was touched by this mark of friendship, but would not 
 grasp the hand that might have saved his life, 
 
 * I am extremely obliged by your offer of your 
 country house (as for all other kindness), in case that 
 m}^ health should require any removal ; but I cannot 
 quit Greece while there is a chance of my being 
 of (even supposed) utility. There is a stake worth 
 millions such as I am, and while I can stand at all. 
 
 <M.
 
 BYRON'S SULIOTE GUARD 145 
 
 I must stand by the cause. While I say this, I am 
 aware of the difficulties, dissensions, and defects of 
 the Greeks themselves ; but allowances must be made 
 for them by all reasonable people.' 
 
 It may seem strange, but it is nevertheless certain, 
 that Byron found more pleasure in the society of 
 Parry, that 'rough, burly fellow,' than he did in the 
 companionship of anyone else at Missolonghi. He 
 thoroughly trusted the man, and even confided in him 
 without reserve. Parry appreciated the honour of 
 Byron's intimacy, and his evidence of what passed 
 during the last few weeks of Byron's life is, so far as 
 we are able to judge, quite reliable. He tells us that 
 Byron had taken a small body of Suliotes into his 
 own pay, and kept them about his person as a body- 
 guard. They consisted altogether of fifty-six men, 
 and of these a certain number were always on duty. 
 A large outer room in Byron's house was used by 
 them, and their carbines were hung upon its walls. 
 
 ' In this room,' says Parry, ' and among these rude 
 soldiers. Lord Byron was accustomed to walk a great 
 deal, especially in wet weather. On these occasions 
 he was almost always accompanied by his favourite 
 dog, Lion, who was perhaps his dearest and most 
 affectionate friend. They were, indeed, very seldom 
 separated. Riding or walking, sitting or standing, 
 Lion was his constant attendant. He can scarcely be 
 said to have forsaken him even in sleep. Every 
 evening Lion went to see that his master was safe 
 before he lay down himself, and then he took his 
 station close to his door, a guard certainly as faithful 
 as Lord Byron's Suliotes. 
 
 * With Lion Lord Byron was accustomed, not only 
 to associate, but to commune very much. His most 
 usual phrase was, " Lion, you are no rogue. Lion "; or, 
 '* Lion, thou art an honest fellow. Lion." The dog's 
 eyes sparkled, and his tail swept the floor, as he sat 
 with haunches on the ground. " Thou art more faith- 
 
 10
 
 146 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 ful than men, Lion ; I trust thee more." Lion sprang 
 up, and barked, and bounded round his master, as 
 much as to say, " You may trust me ; 1 will watch 
 actively on every side." Then Byron would fondle 
 the dog, and say, " Lion, I love thee ; thou art my 
 faithful dog!" and Lion jumped and kissed his master's 
 hand, by way of acknowledgment. In this manner, 
 when in the dog's company, Byron passed a good deal 
 of time, and seemed more contented and happy than 
 at any other hour during the day. This valuable and 
 affectionate animal was, after Byron's death, brought 
 to England and placed under the care of Mrs. Leigh, 
 his lordship's sister.' 
 
 Parry gives a graphic description of the state of 
 Missolonghi during this period, which compelled 
 Byron to take a circuitous route whenever the state of 
 the weather permitted him to ride. The pavements 
 and condition of the streets were so bad that it was 
 impossible to ride through them without the risk of 
 breaking one's neck. 
 
 ' Lord Byron's horses were therefore generally led 
 to the gate of the town, while his lordship, in a small 
 punt, was rowed along the harbour, and up what is 
 called the Military Canal. This terminates not far 
 from the gate; here he would land, and mount his 
 horse.' 
 
 The Suliote guard always attended Byron during 
 his rides ; and, though on foot, it was surprising to 
 see their swiftness, says Parry. With carbines 
 carried at the trail in their right hands, these agile 
 mountaineers kept pace with the horses, even when 
 Byron went at a gallop. It was a matter of honour 
 with these Suliotes never to desert their chief; for 
 they considered themselves responsible both to Greece 
 and to England for his safety. Parry says : 
 
 ' They were tall men, and remarkably well formed. 
 Perhaps, taken all together, no Sovereign in Europe
 
 BYRON ATTENDS PARADES 147 
 
 could boast of having a finer set of men for his body- 
 guard.' 
 
 Byron while in Greece abandoned his habit of 
 spending the whole morning in bed, as was his custom 
 in Italy. He rose at nine o'clock, and breakfasted at 
 ten. This meal consisted of tea without either milk or 
 sugar, dry toast, and water-cresses. 
 
 ' During his breakfast,' says Parry, * I generally 
 waited on him to make the necessary reports, and to 
 take his orders for the work of the day. When this 
 business was settled, I retired to give the orders 
 which I had received, and returned to Lord Byron by 
 eleven o'clock at latest. His lordship would then 
 inspect the accounts, and, with the assistance of his 
 secretary, checked every item in a business - like 
 manner. If the weather permitted, he afterwards 
 rode out; if it did not, he used to amuse himself by 
 shooting at a mark with pistols. Though his hand 
 trembled much, his aim was sure, and he could hit an 
 egg four times out of five at a distance often or twelve 
 yards.' 
 
 After an early dinner, composed of dried toast, 
 vegetables, and cheese, with a very small quantity of 
 wine or cider (Parry assures us that he never drank 
 any spirituous liquors during any part of the day or 
 night). Byron would attend the drilling of the officers 
 of his corps, in an outer apartment of his own dwell- 
 ing, and went through all the exercises which it was 
 proper for them to learn. When this was finished he 
 very often played a bout of singlestick, or underwent 
 some other severe muscular exertion. He then retired 
 for the evening, to spin yarns with his friends or to 
 study military tactics. Parry says : 
 
 ' At eleven o'clock I left him, and I was generally 
 the last person he saw, except his servants. He then 
 retired, not to sleep, but to study. Till nearly four 
 
 10—2
 
 148 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 o'clock every morning Byron was continually engaged 
 reading or writing, and rarely slept more than five 
 hours. In this manner did he pass nearly every day 
 of the time I had the pleasure of knowing him.' 
 
 It was at the end of February that Mr. George 
 Finlay, who afterwards wrote a ' History of Greece,' 
 arrived at Missolonghi. He brought a message 
 from Odysseus, and also from Edward Trelawny, 
 inviting both Byron and Mavrocordato to a Con- 
 ference at Salona. Gamba, writing on February 28, 
 1824, says : 
 
 * We had news from the Morea that their discords 
 were almost at an end. The Government was daily 
 acquiring credit. . . . On the whole, Greek affairs 
 appeared to take as favourable an aspect as we could 
 well desire. . . . My Lord and Prince Mavrocordato 
 have settled to go to Salona in a fortnight.' 
 
 On the following day Gamba wrote in his journal 
 these ominous words : 
 
 * Lord Byron is indisposed. He complained to me 
 that he was often attacked by vertigoes, which made 
 him feel as if intoxicated. He had also very disagree- 
 able nervous sensations, which he said resembled the 
 feeling of fear, although he knew there was no cause 
 for alarm. The weather got worse, and he could not 
 ride on horseback.' 
 
 On March 13 all the shops in the town of Missolonghi 
 were shut, owing to a report that there was a case of the 
 plague there. It seems that a Greek merchant who 
 came from Gastuni was attacked with violent sickness 
 and died within a few hours. After death several 
 black pustules appeared on his face, arms, and back. 
 The doctors were undecided as to whether it was a 
 case of poisoning or of plague. It was ascertained
 
 A SCARE OF PLAGUE 149 
 
 that great mortality prevailed at Gastuni, but whether 
 the plague or a fever was not known. Every possible 
 precaution was taken to prevent infection, and the 
 greatest alarm prevailed in the town. Everyone 
 walked with a stick, to keep off the passer-by. It was 
 realized by the doctors that, in a country so devoid o 
 cleanliness, the plague would make alarming strides. 
 Byron sent an express to Zante to communicate the 
 intelligence to the Resident, and began to make plans 
 for going into the mountains if the plague broke out. 
 On the following day news arrived from Gastuni that 
 there were no cases of the plague there. This intelli- 
 gence restored a general confidence, and business was 
 resumed as usual. Meanwhile, says Gamba, 
 
 * the drilling of our company made great progress, and 
 in three or four weeks we should have been ready to 
 take the field. We exercised the brigade in all sorts 
 of movements. Lord Byron joined us, and practised 
 with us at the sabre and foil : notwithstanding his 
 lameness, he was very adroit.* 
 
 The following anecdote, which is given on the 
 authority of Parry, will show the respect in which 
 Byron was held by the peasants in Greece : 
 
 ' Byron one day returned from his ride more than 
 usually pleased. An interesting country-woman, with 
 a fine family, had come out of her cottage and pre- 
 sented him with a curd cheese and some honey, and 
 could not be persuaded to accept payment for it. 
 
 '" I have felt," he said, " more pleasure this day, and 
 at this circumstance, than for a long time past." Then, 
 describing to me where he had seen her, he ordered 
 me to find her out, and make her a present in return. 
 "The peasantry," he said, "are by far the most kind, 
 humane, and honest part of the population ; they 
 redeem the character of their countrymen. The other 
 classes are so debased by slavery — accustomed, like 
 all slaves, never to speak truth, but only what will
 
 ISO BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 please their masters — that they cannot be trusted. 
 Greece would not be worth saving but for the 
 peasantry." 
 
 * Lord Byron then sat down to his cheese, and 
 insisted on our partaking of his fare. A bottle of 
 porter was sent for and broached, that we might join 
 Byron in drinking health and happiness to the kind 
 family, which had procured him so great a pleasure.'
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 It has been suggested by Byron's enemies that he 
 flattered himself with the notion of some day becoming 
 King of Greece, and that his conduct during the 
 latter part of his life was influenced by ambition. 
 The idea is, of course, absurd. No one knew better 
 than Byron that the Greek leaders were not disposed 
 to accept a King at that time. He also knew that, in 
 order to attain that position, it would have been 
 necessary to have recourse to measures which were 
 utterly repugnant to his deep sense of humanity and 
 justice. That Byron may have been sounded by some of 
 the intriguing chieftains with some such suggestion is 
 more than probable, but he was far too honest to walk 
 into the snare. One day he said to Parry : 
 
 * I have experienced, since my arrival at Missolonghi, 
 offers that would surprise you, were I to tell you of 
 them, and which would turn the head of any man less 
 satiated than I am, and more desirous of possessing 
 power than of contributing to freedom and happiness. 
 To all these offers, and to every application made to 
 me, which had a tendency to provoke disputes or 
 increase discord, I have always replied : " I came here 
 to serve Greece ; agree among yourselves for the 
 good of your country, and whatever is your imited 
 resolve, and whatever the Government commands, I 
 shall be ready to support with my fortune and my 
 sword." We who came here to fight for Greece have 
 no right to meddle with its internal affairs, or dictate 
 to the people or Government' 
 
 151
 
 152 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 That Byron, if he had lived, and if he had chosen to 
 usurp power, could have made himself a Dictator 
 admits of no doubt. In the then state of that distracted 
 country, and the well-known mercenary disposition of 
 the Greeks, he might with his dollars have raised an 
 army which would have made him supreme in Greece. 
 
 ' No single chieftain,' Parry says, ' could have re- 
 sisted ; and all of them would have been compelled — 
 because they would not trust one another — to join 
 their forces with Byron's. The whole of the Suliotes 
 were at his beck and call. He could have procured 
 the assassination of any man in Greece for a sum too 
 trifling to mention.' 
 
 But Byron had no such views ; he never wished to 
 possess political power in Greece. He had come to 
 serve the Greeks on their own conditions, and nothing 
 could have made him swerve from that intention. 
 
 Byron's talk with Trelawny at Cephalonia on 
 this subject was not serious, and it took place before 
 he had mastered all the perplexing problems connected 
 with Greece. 
 
 It is to Byron's lasting credit that, with so many 
 opportunities for self-aggrandizement, he should have 
 proved himself so unselfish and high-minded. 
 
 What might have happened if he had been able to 
 attend the Congress at Salona we shall never know. 
 But we feel confident, from a long and close study of 
 Byron's character, that, even if the Government and 
 the chieftains had offered him the throne of Greece, 
 he would have refused it. Not only would such a 
 throne have been, figuratively, poised in air, swayed 
 by every breath which the rival chieftains would have 
 blown upon it, but Byron himself would have been 
 accused, throughout the length and breadth of Europe, 
 of exploiting the sufferings of Greece for his own
 
 TROUBLES IN THE MOREA 153 
 
 personal aggrandizement. While we are discussing 
 this question, it is well to understand the position of 
 affairs at the time when the proposal to hold a 
 Congress at Salona was made. 
 
 The ostensible object of the Congress was to shake 
 hands all round, to let bygones be bygones, and to 
 unite all available forces in a spirit of amity. It was 
 high time. The Moreawas troubled by the hostilities 
 between Colocotroni's men and Government factions. 
 Colocotroni* himself was shut up in Tripolitza, and his 
 son Pano in Napoli di Romagna. Eastern Greece was 
 more or less tranquil. Odysseus f was at Negropont, 
 from whence seven hundred Albanians had lately 
 absconded. The passes of Thermopylae were insecure. 
 Although Western Greece was for the moment tranquil, 
 life in Missolonghi was not worth an hour's purchase ; 
 and there was a serious split between the so-called 
 Odysseans and the party of Mavrocordato, skilfully 
 fostered by both Colonel Stanhope and Odysseus. 
 Though Candia was subdued, the peasantry threatened 
 a rising in the mountains ; the Albanians were dis- 
 contented ; and, finally, the Government itself was not 
 sleeping on a bed of roses, for it had most of the great 
 military chiefs dead against it. 
 
 There were, in fact, at that time two Governments — 
 one at Argos and one at Tripolitza — and both hostile 
 
 * One of the turbulent capitani who was playing for his own hand. 
 He was at one time a member of the Executive Body, and was 
 afterwards proclaimed by the Legislative Assembly as an enemy of 
 the State. 
 
 t A leader of Greek insurgents — Byron calls him Ulysses — who 
 broke away from Government control to form an independent party 
 in opposition to Mavrocordato, with whose views Byron sympathized. 
 Trelawny and Colonel Stanhope believed in Odysseus, who after 
 having acquired great influence in Eastern Greece was proclaimed 
 by the Government, imprisoned, and murdered while in captivity.
 
 154 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 to each other. The Primates were in favour of a 
 Turkish form of government, and they had great 
 influence in the Morea. The chiefs, on the contrary, 
 while professing democratic principles, were really in 
 favour of frank terrorism and plunder. Some of them 
 were personally brave; others were the offspring of 
 heroes, whom the Turks had never been able to 
 subdue, and who held a sort of feudal tenure over 
 lands which they had kept by the sword. The people 
 of the Peloponnesus were under the influence of the 
 civil and military oligarchs; those of Eastern and 
 Western Greece were chiefly under the captains. Of 
 these, Odysseus and Mavrocordato were the most 
 influential. The islands Hydra and Spezzia were 
 under the influence of some rich oligarchs ; while 
 Ipsara was purely democratic. The only virtue to 
 be found in Greece was monopolized by the peasantry, 
 who had passed through a long period of Turkish 
 oppression without being tainted by that corruption 
 which was so prevalent in the towns. Indeed, the 
 peasants and some of the islanders were the finest 
 examples of the 'national' party, which had never 
 been subdued by military or civil tyrants. When we 
 consider the mercenary character of the Greeks, their 
 real or assumed poverty, their insatiable demands for 
 Byron's money ; when one realizes the hopeless tangle 
 into which greed and ambition had thrown the affairs 
 of Greece (the open hostility of the capitanis to any 
 settled form of government), it is evident that the 
 supreme management of such a circus would have 
 been no sinecure. No one believed that Greece, 
 under the conditions then prevailing, would have found 
 repose under a foreign King. Nothing short of a cruel, 
 unflinching despotism would have quieted the country.
 
 ANDREA LONDOS i5S 
 
 It is, of course, possible that the chiefs assembled at 
 Salona would have offered to Byron the general direc- 
 tion of affairs in the western continent. Gamba says 
 that he had heard rumours to the effect that in a short 
 time the general government of Greece would have 
 been placed in Byron's hands. * Considering,' he says, 
 ' the vast addition to his authority which the arrival 
 of the moneys from England would have insured to 
 Byron, such an idea is by no means chimerical.' 
 
 Writing to Barff on March 22, Byron says : 
 
 * In a few days Prince Mavrocordato and myself 
 intend to proceed to Salona at the request of Odysseus 
 and the chiefs of Eastern Greece, to concert, if possible, 
 a plan of union between Western and Eastern Greece, 
 and to take measures, offensive and defensive, for the 
 ensuing campaign, Mavrocordato is almost recalled 
 by the new Government to the Morea (to take the 
 lead, I rather think), and they have written to propose 
 to me to go either to the Morea with him, or to take 
 the general direction of affairs in this quarter with 
 General Londos, and any other I may choose, to form 
 a Council. Andrea Londos is my old friend and 
 acquaintance, since we were lads in Greece together. 
 It would be difficult to give a positive answer till the 
 Salona meeting is over ; but I am willing to serve 
 them in any capacity they please, either commanding 
 or commanded — it is much the same to me, as long as 
 I can be of any presumed use to them.'
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 On March 22 news reached Missolonghi that the 
 Greek loan had been successfully raised in London. 
 Byron sent this welcome intelligence to the Greek 
 Government, with a request that no time should be lost 
 in fitting out the fleet at the different islands. The 
 artillery corps at Missolonghi was augmented by one 
 hundred regular troops under the command of Lambro, 
 a brave Suliote chief, for the better protection of the 
 guns stationed in the mountains. Unfortunately, the 
 weather, upon which Byron so much depended for 
 exercise, could not possibly have been worse. In- 
 cessant rain and impassable roads confined him to the 
 house until his health was seriously affected. He 
 constantly complained of oppression on his chest, and 
 was altogether in a depressed condition of mind. 
 
 On the day fixed for his departure for Salona, the 
 River Phidari was so swollen as not to be fordable, and 
 the roads in every direction were impassable. For 
 many days the rain poured down in torrents, until, to 
 employ Byron's quaint phrase, ' The dykes of Holland, 
 when broken down, would be the deserts of Arabia 
 for dryness, in comparison.' 
 
 On March 28 an event occurred to which Byron has 
 alluded in his published correspondence. It was a 
 trifling matter enough, but might have had serious 
 consequences if Byron had not shown great firmness. 
 
 156
 
 A DUEL PREVENTED 157 
 
 One of the artillerymen, an Italian, had robbed a 
 poor peasant in the market-place of 25 piastres. The 
 man was in due course arrested, tried by court- 
 martial, and convicted. There was no doubt as to his 
 guilt, but a serious dispute arose among the officers 
 as to his punishment. The Germans were for the 
 bastinado ; but that was contrary to the French military 
 code, under which the man was tried, and Byron 
 strongly opposed its infliction. He declared that, so 
 far as he was concerned, no barbarous usages should 
 be introduced into Greece, especially as such a mode 
 of punishment would disgust rather than reform. He 
 proposed that, instead of corporal punishment, the 
 offender should have his uniform stripped off his back, 
 and be marched through the streets, bearing a label 
 describing the nature of his offence. He was then to 
 be handed over to the regular police and imprisoned 
 for a time. This example of severity, tempered by 
 humanity, produced an excellent effect upon the 
 soldiers and the citizens of Missolonghi. In the course 
 of the evening some high words passed on the subject 
 between three Englishmen, two of them being officers 
 of the brigade, cards were exchanged, and two duels 
 were to be fought the next morning. Byron did not 
 hear of this until late at night. He then ordered 
 Gamba to arrest the whole party. When they were 
 afterwards brought before Byron, he with some 
 difficulty prevailed upon them to shake hands, and thus 
 averted a serious scandal. Gamba, w^riting on March 30, 
 says that the Primates of Missolonghi on that day 
 presented Byron with the freedom of their town. 
 
 'This new honour,' he says, 'did but entail upon 
 Lord Byron the necessity for greater sacrifices. The 
 poverty of the Government and the town became daily
 
 158 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 more apparent. They could not furnish the soldiers' 
 rations nor pay their arrears ; nor was there forthcom- 
 ing a single piastre of the 1,500 dollars which the 
 Primates had agreed to furnish for the fortifications. 
 Thus the whole charge fell upon Lord Byron.' 
 
 On the following night a Greek came with tears 
 rolling down his cheeks, and complained that one of 
 Byron's soldiers had, in a drunken frenzy, broken 
 open his door and with drawn sword alarmed his 
 whole family. He appealed to Byron for protection. 
 Without a moment's hesitation Byron sent an officer 
 with a file of men to arrest the delinquent. He was a 
 Russian who had lately arrived and enlisted in the 
 artillery brigade. The man vowed that the charge 
 was false ; that he had lodged in that house for several 
 days, and that he only broke the door open because 
 the Greek would not admit him, and kept him outside 
 in the rain. He moreover complained of the time and 
 manner of his arrest, and sent a letter to Byron 
 accusing the officer who had arrested him. Byron's 
 reply was as follows : 
 
 'April I, 1824. 
 
 •Sir, 
 
 * I have the honour to reply to your letter of this 
 day. In consequence of an urgent and, to all appear- 
 ances, a well-founded complaint, made to me yesterday 
 evening, I gave orders to Mr. Hesketh to proceed to 
 your quarters with the soldiers of his guard, and to 
 remove you from your house to .ihe Seraglio, because 
 the owner of your house declared himself and his 
 family to be in immediate danger from your conduct ; 
 and added that that was not the first time that you had 
 placed them in similar circumstances. Neither Mr. 
 Hesketh nor myself could imagine that you were in 
 bed, as we had been assured to the contrary ; and 
 certainly such a situation was not contemplated. But 
 Mr. Hesketh had positive orders to conduct you from 
 your quarters to those of the artillery brigade ; at the
 
 CARIASCACHI CREATES DISTURBANCE 159 
 
 same time being desired to use no violence; nor does 
 it appear that any was had recourse to. This measure 
 was adopted because your landlord assured me, when 
 I proposed to put off the inquiry until the next day, that 
 he could not return to his house without a guard for 
 his protection, and that he had left his wife and 
 daughter, and family, in the greatest alarm ; on that 
 account putting them under our immediate protection ; 
 the case admitted of no delay. As I am not aware 
 that Mr. Hesketh exceeded his orders, I cannot take 
 any measures to punish him ; but I have no objection 
 to examine minutely into his conduct. You ought to 
 recollect that entering into the auxiliary Greek Corps, 
 now under my orders, at your own sole request and 
 positive desire, you incurred the obligation of obeying 
 the laws of the country, as well as those of the service. 
 * I have the honour to be, etc., 
 
 'N. B.' 
 
 It is doubtful whether any other commanding officer 
 would, in similar circumstances, have taken the trouble 
 to write such a letter to a private in his regiment. We 
 merely allude to the incident in order to show that 
 even in trivial matters Byron performed his duty 
 towards those under his command, taking especial 
 interest in each case, so that breaches of discipline 
 might not be too harshly treated by his subordinates. 
 
 On April 3 the whole town of Missolonghi was 
 thrown into a panic of alarm. A rumour quickly 
 spread that a body of troops had disembarked at 
 Chioneri, a village on the southern shore of the city. 
 At two o'clock in the afternoon about one hundred and 
 fifty men, belonging to the chief Cariascachi, landed, 
 and demanded reparation for an injury which had been 
 inflicted on his nephew by some boatmen belonging to 
 Missolonghi. Meanwhile the man who wounded the 
 young man had absconded ; and the soldiers, unable to 
 wreak their vengeance upon them, arrested two of the 
 Primates, and sent them to Cariascachi as hostages.
 
 i6o BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 They then seized the fort at Vasiladi, a small mud 
 island commanding the flats, which on the sea side 
 afford an impenetrable defence to the town, Carias- 
 cachi further declared that he would neither give up 
 the Primates nor Vasiladi until the men who had 
 wounded his nephew were delivered into his hands. 
 On the same day seven Turkish vessels anchored off 
 Vasiladi. Cariascachi had long been suspected of 
 a treasonable correspondence with the Turks, and 
 Mavrocordato was quick to perceive that his conduct 
 on this occasion, coinciding as it did with the move- 
 ments of the enemy, was part of a conspiracy against 
 his authority in Western Greece. He expected every 
 moment to hear that the Turks had taken possession 
 of Vasiladi, and guessed that the soldiers sent by 
 Cariascachi, ostensibly to avenge a private injury, had 
 really come to open the gates to the Turks. It was a 
 critical moment indeed. All the disposable troops 
 were in the provinces ; the Suliotes were marching to 
 Arta, and some of them had already accepted service 
 under Cariascachi himself 
 
 Byron, with wonderful self-command, concealed his 
 indignation at such evidence of treason, and urged 
 Mavrocordato to dismiss his fears, and to display all 
 possible energy in order to defeat Cariascachi's designs. 
 He offered his own services, that of the artillery 
 brigade, and of the three hundred Suliotes who formed 
 his guard. Gunboats were sent to Vasiladi with orders 
 to dislodge the rebels, and Byron resolved that the 
 suspected treason of this Greek chieftain should be 
 severely punished. The batteries of Missolonghi were 
 immediately secured by the artillerymen, and several 
 of their guns were pointed towards the town, so as to 
 prevent a surprise.
 
 ALLEGED TREASON i6i 
 
 At the approach of the gunboats the rebels pre- 
 cipitately fled, and, perceiving the resolute bearing 
 assumed by Byron's troops, they immediately sur- 
 rendered the Primates, and humbly asked permission 
 to retire unmolested. This was of course granted, 
 but Cariascachi was subsequently tried by court- 
 martial, and found guilty of holding treasonable com- 
 munications with the enemy. 
 
 According to Millingen, who was at Missolonghi at 
 that time, it was not proved against Cariascachi that he 
 had ever proposed to deliver up Vasiladi and Misso- 
 longhi to the Turks ; but appearances were certainly 
 against him, and his subsequent flight to Agraffa 
 seems to have given evidence of a guilty conscience. 
 Byron was deeply mortified by this example of treason 
 on the part of a Greek chieftain. He had not been 
 prepared to meet with black-hearted treachery, or 
 to see Greeks conspiring against their own country, 
 courting the chains of their former masters, and bar- 
 gaining the liberties and very existence of their own 
 fellow-countrymen. 
 
 ' Ignorant at first,' says Millingen, ' how far the 
 ramifications of this conspiracy might extend, he 
 trembled to think of the consequences. Personal 
 fear never entered his mind, although most of the 
 Suliotes who composed his guard, as soon as they 
 heard that their compatriots at Anatolico sided with 
 Cariascachi, declared openly that they would not act 
 against their countrymen. The hopes that Byron 
 had formed for the future of Greece were for a 
 moment obscured. He feared lest the news of a 
 civil war in the Peloponnesus, and of a conspiracy 
 to introduce the Turks into Western Greece, would, 
 on reaching England, ruin the Greek credit, and 
 preclude all hope of obtaining a loan, which to 
 him appeared indispensable to the salvation of her 
 liberty.' 
 
 II
 
 i62 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 While absorbed by the gloomy reflections to which 
 this incident gave rise, a spy was discovered under 
 Byron's own roof. A man named Constantine Volpiotti, 
 it was asserted, had had several conferences with 
 Cariascachi at Anatolico. Letters found upon him 
 confirmed the worst suspicions, and he was handed 
 over by Byron's orders to the tender mercies of the 
 town guard. A military commission subsequently 
 examined minutely into the whole affair. It appears 
 that the incriminating letters found in Volpiotti's 
 clothes were those written by Mavrocordato and other 
 patriots to Cariascachi, reproaching him for his 
 treachery and connivance with the enemy. These 
 Volpiotti was to show to Omer Pacha as certificates to 
 prove how faithful Cariascachi had ever been to his 
 engagements with him. 
 
 * It resulted, from the examination which Volpiotti 
 underwent, that he had been charged to ask Omer 
 Pacha for a Bouyourte, appointing Cariascachi Capitano 
 of the province of Agraffa. Cariascachi engaged in 
 return to co-operate with Vernakiotti in the reduction 
 of Western Greece, and to draw over to his party 
 several of the chiefs who had hitherto most faithfully 
 adhered to the Greek Government.' 
 
 Under these circumstances it was not wise, even if 
 it were politic, to allow Cariascachi to escape. Byron 
 felt this keenly, and foresaw what actually happened. 
 Cariascachi was no sooner clear of Anatolico than he 
 placed himself at the head of his followers, and, assisted 
 by Andrea Isco, of Macrinoro, he again made Agraffa 
 and its adjoining provinces the scene of his depre- 
 dations and daily sanguinary encounters. 
 
 * At no time in his life,' says Millingen, ' did Lord 
 Byron find himself in circumstances more calculated 
 to render him unhappy. The cup of health had
 
 BYRON NERVOUS AND IRRITABLE 163 
 
 dropped from his lips, and constant anxiety and suffer- 
 ing operated powerfully on his mind, already a prey 
 to melancholy apprehensions, and disappointment, 
 increased by disgust. Continually haunted by a dread 
 of epilepsy or palsy, he fell into the lowest state of 
 hypochondriasis, and vented his sorrows in language 
 which, though sometimes sublime, was at others as 
 peevish and capricious as that of an unruly and 
 quarrelsome child.' 
 
 Gamba tells us that Byron, after the events above 
 mentioned, became nervous and irritable. He had 
 not been on horseback for some days on account of the 
 weather, but on April 9, though the weather was 
 threatening, he determined to ride. Three miles from 
 the town he and Gamba were caught in a heavy down- 
 pour of rain, and they returned to the town walls wet 
 through and in a violent perspiration. Gamba says : 
 
 ' I have before mentioned that it was our practice to 
 dismount at the walls, and return to our house in a 
 boat. This day, however, I entreated Byron to return 
 home on horseback the whole way, as it would be 
 dangerous, hot as he was, to remain exposed to the 
 rain in a boat for half an hour. But he would not 
 listen to me, and said : " I should make a pretty soldier 
 indeed, if I were to care for such a trifle." Accordingly 
 we dismounted, and got into the boat as usual. Two 
 hours after his return home, he was seized with a 
 shuddering : he complained of fever and rheumatic 
 pains. At eight in the evening I entered his rooms ; 
 he was lying on a sofa, restless and melancholy.' 
 
 Byron said that he suffered a great deal of pain, 
 and in consequence Dr. Bruno proposed to bleed him. 
 Bruno seems to have considered the lancet as a 
 sovereign remedy for all the ills of life. 
 
 ' Have you no other remedy than bleeding ? There 
 are many more die of the lancet than the lance,' said 
 Byron, as he declined his doctor's proposal. On the 
 
 II — 2
 
 i64 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 following day he was perpetually shuddering, but he 
 got up at his usual hour and transacted business. He 
 did not, however, leave the house. On April 1 1 Byron 
 resolved to ride out an hour before his usual time, 
 fearing that, if he waited, he would be prevented by 
 the rain. 
 
 ' We rode for a long time in the olive woods,' says 
 Gamba. ' Lambro, a Suliote officer, accompanied by 
 a numerous suite, attended Byron, who spoke much 
 and appeared to be in good spirits. 
 
 'The next day he kept his bed with an attack of 
 rheumatic fever. It was thought that his saddle was 
 wet ; but it is more probable that he was really suffer- 
 ing from his previous exposure to the rain, which 
 perhaps affected him the more readily on account of 
 his over-abstemious mode of life.' 
 
 The dates to which Gamba refers in the statement 
 we have quoted were April ii and 12. It is important 
 to remark that in Fletcher's account, published in the 
 Westtninster Review, it is stated that the last time Byron 
 rode out was on April 10. According to Parry, who 
 supports Fletcher's opinion, Byron was very unwell on 
 April II, and did not leave his house. He had shiver- 
 ing fits, and complained of pains, particularly in his 
 bones and head. 
 
 ' He talked a great deal,' says Parry, * and I thought 
 in rather a wandering manner. I became alarmed for 
 his safety, and earnestly begged him to try a change of 
 air and scene at Zante.' 
 
 Gamba, in his journal, says that Byron rose from 
 his bed on April 13, but did not leave the house. The 
 fever appeared to be diminished, but the pains in his 
 head and bones continued. He was melancholy and 
 irritable. He had not slept since his attack, and could 
 take no other nourishment than a little broth and a
 
 LAST ILLNESS 165 
 
 spoonful or two of arrowroot. On the 14th he got out 
 of bed at noon ; he was calmer. The fever had appar- 
 ently diminished, but he was very weak, and still 
 complained of pains in his head. It was with the 
 greatest difficulty, says Gamba, that the physicians 
 dissuaded him from going out riding, which, in spite 
 of the threatening weather, he desired to do. There 
 seems at that time to have been no suspicion of danger, 
 and it was even supposed by his doctors that the 
 malady was under control. Byron himself said that 
 he was rather glad of his fever, as it might cure him 
 of his tendency to epilepsy. He attended to his 
 correspondence as usual. Gamba says : 
 
 • I think it was on this day that, as I was sitting 
 near him on his sofa, he said to me, " I was afraid I 
 was losing my memory, and, in order to try, I attempted 
 to repeat some Latin verses with the English transla- 
 tion, which I have not tried to recollect since I was at 
 school. I remembered them all except the last word 
 of one of the hexameters.'" 
 
 On April 15 the fever was still upon him, says 
 Gamba, but all pain had ceased. He was easier, and 
 expressed a wish to ride out, but the weather would 
 not permit. He transacted business, and received, 
 among others, a letter from the Turkish Governor to 
 whom he had sent the prisoners he had liberated. 
 The Turk thanked Byron for his courtesy, and asked 
 for a repetition of this favour. ' The letter pleased 
 him much,' says Gamba. 
 
 According to Fletcher, it appears that both on that 
 day and the day previous Byron had a suspicion that 
 his complaint was not understood by his doctors. 
 
 Parry says that on April 15 the doctors thought 
 there was no danger, and said so, openly. He paid
 
 i66 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 Byron a visit, and remained at his bedside from 7 p.m. 
 until 10 o'clock. 
 
 ' Lord Byron spoke of death with great composure,' 
 says Parry; 'and though he did not think that his end 
 was so very near, there was something about him so 
 serious and so firm, so resigned and composed, so 
 different from an3'thing I had ever before seen in him, 
 that my mind misgave me.' 
 
 Byron then spoke of the sadness of being ill in such 
 a place as Missolonghi, and seemed to have imagined 
 the possibility of a reconciliation with his wife. 
 
 ' When I left Italy,' said Byron, ' I had time on 
 board the brig to give full scope to memory and reflec- 
 tion. I am convinced of the happiness of domestic 
 life. No man on earth respects a virtuous woman 
 more than I do, and the prospect of retirement in 
 England with my wife and daughter gives me an idea 
 of happiness I have never before experienced. Retire- 
 ment will be everything for me, for heretofore my life 
 has been like the ocean in a storm.' 
 
 Byron then spoke of Tita (and Fletcher also, doubt- 
 less, though Parry does not mention that honest and 
 faithful servant), and said that Bruno was an excellent 
 young man and very skilful, but too much agitated. 
 He hoped that Parry would come to him as often as 
 possible, as he was jaded to death by the worrying 
 of his doctors, and the evident anxiety of all those who 
 wished him well. On a wretched fever-stricken swamp, 
 in a house barely weather-tight, in a miserable room, 
 far from all those whom he loved on earth, lay the 
 ' pilgrim of eternity,' his life, so full of promise, 
 slowly flickering out. The pestilent sirocco was 
 blowing a hurricane, and the rain was falling with 
 almost tropical violence. Gamba had met with an 
 accident which confined him to his quarters in another
 
 BYRON DELIRIOUS 167 
 
 part of the town, a circumstance which deprived Byron 
 of a loyal friend in the hour of his direst need. Under 
 these circumstances, Parry was a godsend to Byron, 
 and he seems to have done everything possible to 
 cheer him in his moments of depression. 
 
 On April 16 Byron was alarmingly ill, and, according 
 to Parry, almost constantly delirious. He spoke alter- 
 nately in English and Italian, and his thoughts 
 wandered. The doctors were not alarmed, and told 
 Parry that Byron would certainly recover. According 
 to Millingen's account. Dr. Bruno called him in for a 
 consultation on the 15th, and we shall see what 
 Millingen thought of his patient's condition when we 
 lay his narrative before the reader. 
 
 When Parry visited Byron on the morning of 
 the 17th, he was at times delirious. He appeared 
 to be much worse than on the day before. The 
 doctors succeeded in bleeding him twice, and both 
 times he fainted. 
 
 ' His debility was excessive. He complained bitterly 
 of the want of sleep, as delirious patients do complain, 
 in a wild, rambling manner. He said he had not slept 
 for more than a week, when, in fact, he had repeatedly 
 slept at short intervals, disturbedly indeed, but still it 
 was sleep. He had now ceased to think or talk of 
 death ; he had probably no idea that death was no near 
 at hand, for his senses were in such a state that they 
 rarely allowed him to form a correct idea of anything.' 
 
 On the 17th Gamba managed to get to Byron's room, 
 and was struck by the change in his appearance. 
 
 ' He was very calm,' says Gamba, ' and talked to me 
 in the kindest manner about my having sprained my 
 ankle. In a hollow, sepulchral tone, he said : " Take 
 care of your foot. I know by experience how painful 
 it must be." I could not stay near his bed : a flood of 
 tears rushed into my eyes, and I was obliged to with-
 
 i68 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 draw. This was the first day that the medical men 
 seemed to entertain serious apprehensions.' 
 
 On this day Gamba heard that Dr. Thomas, of Zante, 
 had been sent for. It is unfortunate that this was not 
 done sooner ; but Byron had forbidden Fletcher to 
 send for that excellent medical man, when he pro- 
 posed it two days previously. During the night of 
 the 17th Byron became delirious, and wandered in his 
 speech ; he fancied himself at the head of his Suliotes, 
 assailing the walls of Lepanto — a wish that had lain 
 very close to his heart for many and many a day. It 
 was his dream of a soldier's glory, to die fighting, 
 sword in hand. On the morning of the i8th Drs. Mil- 
 lingen and Bruno were alarmed by symptoms of an 
 inflammation of the brain, and proposed another bleed- 
 ing, to which Byron consented, but soon ordered the 
 vein to be closed. 
 
 ' At noon,' says Gamba, ' I came to his bedside. He 
 asked me if there were any letters for him. There 
 was one from the Archbishop Ignatius to him, which 
 told Byron that the Sultan had proclaimed him, in full 
 divan, an enemy of the Porte. I thought it best not 
 to let him know of the arrival of that letter. A few 
 hours afterwards other letters arrived from England 
 from his most intimate friends, full of good news, and 
 most consolatory in every way, particularly one from 
 Mr. Hobhouse, and another from Douglas Kinnaird ; 
 but he had then become unconscious — it was too late !' 
 
 April 18, 1824, was Easter Day, a holiday through- 
 out the length and breadth of Greece, and a noisy 
 one, too. It is the day on which the Greeks at Misso- 
 longhi were accustomed to discharge their firearms 
 and great guns. Prince Mavrocordato gave orders 
 that Parry should march his artillery brigade and 
 Suliotes to some distance from the town, in order
 
 CONSULTATION AMONG PHYSICIANS 169 
 
 to attract the populace from the vicinity of Byron's 
 house. At the same time the town guard patrolled 
 the streets, and informed people of Byron's danger, 
 begging them to make as little noise as possible. The 
 plan succeeded admirably ; Byron was not disturbed, 
 and at three o'clock in the afternoon he rose, and, 
 leaning on the arm of Tita, went into the next room. 
 When seated, he told Tita to bring him a book, 
 mentioning it by name. About this time Dr. Bruno 
 entreated him, with tears in his eyes, to be again bled. 
 
 ' No,' said Byron ; ' if my hour is come, I shall die 
 whether I lose my blood or keep it.' 
 
 After reading a few minutes he became faint, and, 
 leaning on Tita's arm, he tottered into the next room 
 and returned to bed. 
 
 At half-past three. Dr. Bruno and Dr. Millingen, 
 becoming more alarmed, wished to call in two other 
 physicians, a Dr. Freiber, a German, and a Greek 
 named Luca Vaya, the most distinguished of his 
 profession in the town, and physician to Mavrocordato. 
 Lord Byron at first refused to see them ; but being 
 told that Mavrocordato advised it, he said : * Very 
 well, let them come ; but let them look at me and say 
 nothing.' They promised this, and were admitted. 
 When about him and feeling his pulse, one of them 
 wished to speak. * Recollect your promise,' said 
 Byron, * and go away.' 
 
 In order to form some idea of the state of things 
 while Byron's life was slowly ebbing away, we will 
 quote a passage from Parry's book, which was pub- 
 lished soon after the poet's death : 
 
 ' Dr. Bruno I believe to be a very good young man, 
 but he was certainly inadequate to his situation. I do 
 not allude to his medical knowledge, of which I cannot
 
 I70 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 pretend to be a judge; but he lacked firmness, and was 
 so much agitated that he was incapable of bringing 
 whatever knowledge he might possess into use. Tita 
 was kind and attentive, and by far the most teachable 
 and useful of all the persons about Lord Byron. As 
 there was nobody invested with any authority over 
 his household after he fell ill, there was neither 
 method, order, nor quiet, in his apartments. A clever, 
 skilful English surgeon, possessing the confidence of 
 his patient, would have put all this in train ; but 
 Dr. Bruno had no idea of doing any such thing. There 
 was also a want of many comforts which, to the sick, 
 may be called necessaries, and there was a dreadful 
 confusion of tongues. In his agitation Dr. Bruno's 
 English, and he spoke but imperfectly, was unintel- 
 legible ; Fletcher's Italian was equally bad. I speak 
 nothing but English ; Tita then spoke nothing but 
 Italian ; and the ordinary Greek domestics were in- 
 comprehensible to us all. In all the attendants there 
 was the officiousness of zeal ; but, owing to their 
 ignorance of each other's language, their zeal only 
 added to the confusion. This circumstance, and the 
 absence of common necessaries, made Lord Byron's 
 apartment such a picture of distress, and even anguish, 
 during the two or three last days of his life, as I never 
 before beheld, and wish never again to witness.' 
 
 At four o'clock on April i8, according to Gamba, 
 Byron seemed to be aware of his approaching end. 
 Dr. Millingen, Fletcher, and Tita, were at his bedside. 
 Strange though it may seem to us in these far-off days, 
 with our experience of medical men, Dr. Millingen, 
 unable to restrain his tears, walked out of the room. 
 Tita also wept profusely, and would have retired if 
 Byron had not held his hand. Byron looked at him 
 steadily, and said, half smiling, in Italian : ' Oh, questa 
 e una bella scena.' He then seemed to reflect a 
 moment, and exclaimed, ' Call Parry.' 
 
 ' Almost immediately afterwards,' says Gamba, * a 
 fit of delirium ensued, and he began to talk wildly, as
 
 'MY SISTER— MY CHILD' 171 
 
 if he were mounting a breach in an assault. He called 
 out, half in English, half in Italian : "Forwards — forwards 
 — courage — follow my example — don't be afraid !" ' 
 
 When he came to himself Fletcher was with him. 
 He then knew that he was dying, and seemed very 
 anxious to make his servant understand his wishes. 
 He was very considerate about his servants, and said 
 that he was afraid they would suffer from sitting up 
 so long in attendance upon him. Byron said, ' I wish 
 to do something for Tita and Luca.' ' My lord,' said 
 Fletcher, * for God's sake never mind that now, but 
 talk of something of more importance.' But he 
 returned to the same topic, and, taking Fletcher by 
 the hand, continued : * You will be provided for — and 
 now hear my last wishes.' 
 
 Fletcher begged that he might bring pen and paper 
 to take down his words. * No,' replied Lord Byron, 
 ' there is no time — mind you execute my orders. Go 
 to my sister — tell her — go to Lady Byron — you will 
 
 see her, and say ' Here his voice faltered, and 
 
 gradually became indistinct ; but still he continued 
 muttering something in a very earnest manner for 
 nearly twenty minutes, though in such a tone that only 
 a few words could be distinguished. These were only 
 names: 'Augusta,* 'Ada,' ' Hobhouse,' ' Kinnaird.' 
 He then said : ' Now I have told you all.' 
 
 ' My lord,' replied Fletcher, ' I have not understood 
 a word your lordship has been saying.' Byron looked 
 most distressed at this, and said, 'Not understand me? 
 What a pity! Then it is too late — all is over.' *I 
 hope not,' answered Fletcher ; ' but the Lord's will be 
 done.' Byron continued, 'Yes, not mine.' He then 
 tried to utter a few words, of which none were intelli- 
 gible except, ' My sister — my child.' The doctors
 
 172 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 began to concur in an opinion which one might have 
 thought sufficiently obvious from the first, namely, 
 that the principal danger to the patient v^as his extreme 
 weakness, and now agreed to administer restoratives. 
 Dr. Bruno, however, thought otherwise, but agreed to 
 administer a dose of claret, bark, and opium, and to 
 apply blisters to the soles of Byron's feet. He took 
 the draught readily, but for some time refused the 
 blisters. At last they were applied, and Byron fell 
 asleep. 
 
 Gamba says : * He awoke in half an hour. I wished 
 to go to him, but I had not the heart. Parry went ; 
 Byron knew him, and squeezed his hand.' 
 
 Parry says : 
 
 ' When Lord Byron took my hand, I found his hands 
 were deadly cold. With Tita's assistance, I en- 
 deavoured gently to create a little warmth in them, 
 and I also loosened the bandage which was tied round 
 his head. Till this was done, he seemed in great pain 
 — clenched his hands at times, and gnashed his teeth. 
 He bore the loosening of the band passively; and 
 after it was loosened, he shed tears. I encouraged 
 him to weep, and said : "My lord, I thank God, I hope 
 you will now be better ; shed as many tears as you 
 can; you will sleep and find ease." He replied faintly, 
 " Yes, the pain is gone ; I shall sleep now." He took 
 my hand, uttered a faint "Good-night," and dropped to 
 sleep. My heart ached, but I thought then his suffer- 
 ings were over, and that he would wake no more. He 
 did wake again, however, and I went to him ; he knew 
 me, though scarcely. He was less distracted than I 
 had seen him for some time before ; there was the 
 calmness of resignation, but there was also the stupor 
 of death. He tried to utter his wishes, but he was 
 not able to do so. He said something about re- 
 warding Tita, and uttered several incoherent words. 
 There was either no meaning in what he said, or it 
 was such a meaning as we could not expect at that 
 moment. His eyes continued open only a short time.
 
 THE DEATH OF BYRON 173 
 
 and then, at about six o'clock in the evening of the i8th 
 April, he sank into a slumber, or rather, I should say, a 
 stupor, and woke and knew no more.' 
 
 It must be borne in mind that the details given above 
 were written by a man who asserts that he was present 
 during the period of which he gives an account. 
 Gamba, as we have seen, was not present, and the 
 details which he gives are avowedly gathered from 
 those who happened to be in the room. 
 
 * From those about him,' says Gamba, ' I collected 
 that, either at this time or in his former interval of 
 reason, Byron could be understood to say, " Poor 
 Greece ! Poor town ! My poor servants !" Also, 
 ' Why was I not aware of this sooner ?" and, " My 
 hour is come ! I do not care for death. But why did 
 I not go home before I came here ?" At another time 
 he said : " There are things which make the world 
 dear to me."' 
 
 He said this in Italian, and Parry may of course not 
 have understood him. * lo lascio qualche cosa di caro 
 nel mondo.' He also said : ' I am content to die.' In 
 speaking of Greece, he said : * I have given her my 
 time, my means, my health, and now I give her my 
 life ! What could I do more ?" 
 
 Byron remained insensible, immovable, for twenty- 
 four hours. There were occasional symptoms of 
 suffocation, and a rattling in the throat, which induced 
 his servants occasionally to raise his head. Gamba 
 says : 
 
 ' Means were taken to rouse him from his lethargy, 
 but in vain. A great many leeches were applied to his 
 temples, and the blood flowed copiously all night. It 
 was exactly a quarter past six on the next day, the 19th 
 April, that he was seen to open his eyes, and immediately 
 close them again. The doctors felt his pulse — he was 
 gone 1'
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 It matters little what we now think of Byron as a 
 man. After eighty-four years, his personality is of 
 less public interest than his achievements, while our 
 capacity for forming an adequate judgment of his 
 character is necessarily dependent on second-hand 
 evidence, some of which is false, and much tainted by 
 prejudice. But what did those hard men of action 
 who stood at his side in those terrible days in Greece — 
 Stanhope, Parry, Finlay, Blaquiere, Millingen, Tre- 
 lawny — what did they think of Byron ? 
 
 Stanhope, who was at Salona, wrote to Bowring on 
 April 30 : 
 
 *A courier has just arrived from the chief Scalza. 
 Alas ! all our fears are realized. The soul of Byron 
 has taken its last flight. England has lost her brightest 
 genius — Greece her noblest friend. To console them for 
 the loss, he has left behind the emanationsof his splendid 
 mind. If Byron had faults, he had redeeming virtues 
 too — he sacrificed his comfort, fortune, health, and life, 
 to the cause of an oppressed nation. Honoured be 
 his memory ! Had I the disposal of his ashes, I would 
 place them in the Temple of Theseus, or in the Par- 
 thenon at Athens.' 
 
 Three days later Stanhope wrote again to Bowring : 
 
 ' Byron would not refuse to an entire people the 
 benefit of his virtues ; he condescended to display them 
 wherever Humanity beckoned him to her aid. This 
 single object of devotion to the well-being of a pfeople 
 
 174
 
 PANEGYRICS i75 
 
 has raised him to a distinguished pitch of glory among 
 characters dignified b}'- their virtues, of which the 
 illustrious British nation can make so ample a display, 
 and of whom Greece hopes to behold many co-oper- 
 ating in her regeneration. Having here paid the tribute 
 of admiration due to the virtues of Lord Byron, eternal 
 may his memory remain with the world !' 
 
 Parry says : 
 
 * Thus died the truest and greatest poet England 
 has lately given birth to, the warmest-hearted of her 
 philanthropists, the least selfish of her patriots. That 
 the disappointment of his ardent hopes w^as the primary 
 cause of his illness and death cannot, I think, be 
 doubted. The weight of that disappointment was 
 augmented by the numerous difficulties he met with. 
 He was fretted and annoyed, but he disdained to 
 complain. As soon as it was known that Lord Byron 
 was dead, sorrow and grief were generally felt in 
 Greece. They spread from his own apartments over 
 the town of Missolonghi, through the whole of Greece, 
 and over every part of civilized Europe. No persons, 
 perhaps, after his domestics and personal friends, felt 
 his loss more acutely than the poor citizens of Misso- 
 longhi. His residence among them procured them 
 food, and insured their protection. But for him they 
 would have been first plundered by the unpaid Suliotes, 
 and then left a prey to the Turks. Not only were the 
 Primates and Mavrocordato affected on the occasion, 
 but the poorest citizen felt that he had lost a friend. 
 Mavrocordato spoke of Lord Byron as the best friend 
 of Greece, and said that his conduct was admirable. 
 " Nobody knows," he was heard to say, " except perhaps 
 myself, the loss Greece has suffered. Her safety even 
 depended on his life. His presence at Missolonghi 
 has checked intrigues which will now have uncon- 
 trolled sway. By his aid alone have I been able to 
 preserve this city ; and now I know that every assist- 
 ance I derived from and through him will be with- 
 drawn." 
 
 'At other cities and places of Greece — at Salona, 
 where the Congress had just assembled ; at Athens — 
 the grief was equally sincere. Lord Byron was
 
 176 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 mourned as the best benefactor to Greece. Orations 
 were pronounced by the priests, and the same honours 
 were paid to his memory as to the memory of one of 
 their own revered chiefs.' 
 
 After Byron's death Finlay wrote these words : 
 
 ' Lord Byron's death has shed a lustre on both his 
 writings and his actions ; they are in accordance. His 
 life was sacrificed in the cause for which he had early 
 written, and which he constantly supported. His 
 merit would not have been greater had he breathed 
 his last on the isthmus of Corinth at the conclusion of 
 a baffled siege. Yet such a death would certainly have 
 been more fortunate; for it would have recalled his 
 name oftener to the memory, at least, of those who 
 have no souls. Time will put an end to all undue 
 admiration and malicious cant, and the world will 
 ultimately form an estimate of Byron's character from 
 his writings and his public conduct. It will then be 
 possible to form a just estimate of the greatness of his 
 genius and his mind, and the real extent of his faults. 
 The ridiculous calumnies which have found a moment's 
 credit will then be utterly forgotten. Nor will it be 
 from the cursory memoirs or anecdotes of his con- 
 temporaries that his character can be drawn.' 
 
 Blaquiere, who had brought out the first instalment 
 of the Greek loan, arrived at Zante on April 24, and 
 was there informed of Byron's death. He had been 
 among the first to urge Byron to hasten his projected 
 visit to Greece, and had held a long conversation with 
 him at Genoa on the state of affairs in the Morea. 
 The following extract is taken from a letter which he 
 wrote to a friend in Enarland : 
 
 ^^b' 
 
 ' Thus terminated the life of Lord Byron, at a moment 
 the most glorious for his own fame, but the most 
 unfortunate for Greece ; since there is no doubt but, 
 had he lived, many calamities would have been avoided, 
 while his personal credit and guarantee would have 
 prevented the ruinous delay which has taken place
 
 CONSTERNATION AT MISSOLONGHI 177 
 
 with regard to transferring the loan. In thus devoting 
 his hfe and fortune to the cause of religion and humanity, 
 when he might have continued to enjoy the enthusiastic 
 praises of his contemporaries, he has raised the best 
 monument to his own fame, and has furnished the 
 most conclusive reply to calumny and detraction. 
 When all he had done, and was about to do for the 
 cause, is considered, no wonder that Lord Byron's 
 death should have produced such an effect. It was, 
 in fact, regarded not only as a national calamity, but 
 as an irreparable loss to every individual in the town 
 of Missolonghi, and the English volunteers state that 
 hundreds of the Greeks were seen to shed tears when 
 the event was announced. 
 
 ' With respect to Prince Mavrocordato, to whom 
 Lord Byron had rendered the most important services, 
 both as a personal friend and in his capacity of Governor- 
 General of Western Greece, it is unnecessary to say 
 that he could not have received a severer blow. When 
 I saw Lord Byron at Genoa last year, I well remember 
 with what enthusiasm he spoke of his intended visit, 
 and how much he regretted not having joined the 
 standard of freedom long before. When once in 
 Greece, he espoused her most sacred cause with zeal. 
 Up to the time of his fatal illness he had not advanced 
 less than fifty thousand dollars, and there is no doubt 
 but he intended to devote the whole of his private 
 income to the service of the confederation.' 
 
 Millingen says : 
 
 * The most dreadful public calamity could not have 
 spread more general consternation, or more profound 
 and sincere grief, than the unexpected news of Lord 
 Byron's death. During the few months he had lived 
 among the people of Missolonghi, he had given so 
 many proofs of the sincerity and extent of his zeal for 
 the advancement of their best interests. He had, with 
 so much generosity, sacrificed considerable sums to 
 that purpose ; he had relieved the distress of so many 
 unfortunate persons, that everyone looked upon him as 
 a father and public benefactor. These titles were not, 
 as they mostly are, the incense of adulation, but the 
 spontaneous tribute of overflowing gratitude. He had 
 
 12
 
 178 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 succeeded in inspiring the soldiers with the brightest 
 and most sanguine expectations. Full of confidence 
 in a chief they loved, they would have followed him 
 in the boldest enterprises. To-day they must follow 
 the corpse of him whom they received but yesterday 
 with the liveliest acclamations.' 
 
 Trelawny, who arrived at Missolonghi four days 
 after Byron's death, thus writes to Stanhope at Salona : 
 
 ' Lord Byron is dead. With all his faults, I loved 
 him truly ; he is connected with every event of the 
 most interesting years of my wandering life. His 
 everyday companion, we lived in ships, boats, and 
 in houses, together; we had no secrets, no reserve, 
 and though we often differed in opinion, we never 
 quarrelled. It gave me pain witnessing his frailties ; 
 he only wanted a little excitement to awaken and put 
 forth virtues that redeemed them all. . . . This is no 
 private grief; the world has lost its greatest man, I 
 my best friend.' 
 
 On April 28 Trelawny wrote again to Stanhope : 
 
 ' I think Byron's name was the great means of getting 
 the loan. A Mr. Marshall with ^^'8,000 per annum was 
 as far as Corfu, and turned back on hearing of Byron's 
 death. . . . The greatest man in the world has 
 resigned his mortality in favour of this sublime cause ; 
 for had he remained in Italy he had lived !' 
 
 Such was Trelawny's opinion of Byron in April, 
 1824. From all that the present writer has been able 
 to gather, both from Trelawny's lips and from his 
 • Recollections,' published thirty-four years after 
 Byron's death, such was his real opinion to the last. 
 
 Mrs. Julian Marshall, having called attention* to the 
 fact that, four months after Byron's death, Trelawny, 
 in a letter to Mary Shelley, spoke in contemptuous 
 
 * ' Life and Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley,' edited by 
 Mrs. Julian Marshall.
 
 TRELAWNY AND MAVROCORDATO 179 
 
 terms of Byron, we feel bound to refer to it here. It 
 must be remembered that the letter in question was of 
 a strictly private nature. In making it public, Mrs. 
 Marshall unintentionally dealt a severe blow at Tre- 
 lawny, which, in justice to his memory, we will 
 endeavour to soften. 
 
 To anyone acquainted with the character of this 
 remarkable man — the fearless soul of honour — such a 
 volte-face seems absurd, except on the hypothesis that 
 something had transpired, since Byron's death, suffi- 
 cient to destroy a long-tried friendship. The fact is 
 that during those four months the whole situation had 
 changed. Trelawny, no longer a free - lance, was 
 practically a prisoner in a cave on Mount Parnassus. 
 His friend Odysseus went about in daily fear of 
 assassination, and was persecuted by the active 
 hostility of a Government which both Odysseus and 
 Trelawny thought was inspired by Mavrocordato. 
 Trelawny's opinion of the latter, whose cause Byron 
 had espoused, maybe gathered from his letter to Mary 
 Shelley : 
 
 * A word as to your wooden god Mavrocordato. He 
 is a miserable Jew, and I hope ere long to see his 
 head removed from his worthless and heartless body. 
 He is a mere shuffling soldier, an aristocratic brute — 
 wants Kings and Congresses — a poor, weak, shuffling, 
 intriguing, cowardly fellow ; so no more about him.' 
 
 It will be seen that Trelawny, when fairly warmed 
 up, did not mince his words. It is indeed a pity that 
 these heated adjectives were served up to the public. 
 It was only because Byron had consistently supported 
 Mavrocordato as the Governor of Western Greece that 
 Trelawny, in his indiscriminative manner, assailed his 
 memory. But his letter was evidently only the peevish 
 
 12 — 2
 
 i8o BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 outburst of an angry man, and closed with these 
 words : 
 
 ' I would do much to see and talk to you, but, as I 
 am now too much irritated to disclose the real state of 
 things, I will not mislead you by false statements.' 
 
 The state of things at the time may be gathered from 
 a letter addressed to Colonel Stanhope by Captain 
 Humphreys, who was then serving the Greek cause as 
 a volunteer. 
 
 ' I write, not from a land of liberty and freedom, but 
 from a country at present a prey to anarchy and con- 
 fusion, with the dismal prospect of future tyranny, . . . 
 Odysseus is at his fortress of Parnassus ; bribery, 
 assassination, and every provocation, have been em- 
 ployed against him. An English officer. Captain 
 Fenton, who is with Odysseus, as well as Trelawny, 
 has been twice attempted to be assassinated, after 
 refusing to accept a bribe of 10,000 dollars, to deliver 
 up the fortress. Mavrocordatd's agents principally in- 
 fluence the Government ; the executive body remains 
 stationary ; and part of the loan has been employed to 
 secure their re-election! 
 
 There is enough in this letter to account for Tre- 
 lawny's irritation ; but he was entirely wrong in 
 thinking that Byron was in any sense subservient to 
 the man whom he then regarded as the real author of 
 his misfortunes. Trelawny had made the mistake of 
 joining the faction of Odysseus, but Byron was never 
 connected with any faction whatever. Odysseus 
 seems to have persuaded Trelawny that Byron had 
 become a mere tool of Mavrocordato, and it was under 
 that erroneous impression that his letter to Mary 
 Shelley was written. 
 
 If, as Mrs. Julian Marshall says, * Trelawny's mercu- 
 rial and impulsive temperament — ever in extremes — 
 was liable to the most sudden revulsion of feeling,' it 
 
 i
 
 PRINCE MAVROCORDATO i8i 
 
 would surely have been wiser, and certainly fairer, to 
 have withheld the publication of opinions which were 
 not intended for publication, and which he had, in later 
 life, openly disavowed. In his estimate of the character 
 and policy of Mavrocordato, he was also mistaken. It 
 would be quite easy to show that Mavrocordato was 
 perhaps the only man of his nation, then in Greece, 
 who united in an eminent degree unadulterated 
 patriotism with the talents which form a statesman. 
 Millingen, who knew him well, tells us that it was 
 fortunate for Greece that Mavrocordato was so well 
 acquainted with the character of those with whom he 
 had to deal. That knowledge preserved Missolonghi, 
 until the arrival of reinforcements enabled it to hold 
 out against Omer Pacha's assault. Mavrocordato, he 
 tells us, never pursued any other object than the good 
 of his country, and never sacrificed her interests to 
 his own ambition. He alone was capable of organizing 
 a civil administration ; in fact, he created a stable form 
 of government from the ashes of chaos. So far from 
 his having been a coward, as Trelawny asserts, 
 Mavrocordato, in his intense desire to serve his coun- 
 try, often placed himself at the head of troops and 
 fought bravely. Having held the position of Governor- 
 General of Western Greece in very trying times, he 
 relinquished his command in 1825, in compliance with 
 the orders of his Government, which recalled him to 
 Anapli, there to fill the post of Secretary of State. He 
 sacrificed the whole of his fortune in the service of 
 Greece. According to Millingen, he was occasionally 
 so distressed for money as to be unable to provide for 
 his daily expenses. 
 
 Enough has been said to show that Trelawny's 
 abuse of Byron must not be taken too seriously, and
 
 i82 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 that his opinion of Mavrocordato was not endorsed 
 by those whose opportunities for judging the Prince's 
 conduct were far greater than Trelawny's. 
 
 Let us dismiss from our minds the recollection of 
 hasty words written in anger^ and let us remember 
 those truer and deeper sentiments which Trelawny 
 expressed in his old age : 
 
 * I withdrew the black pall and the white shroud, 
 and beheld the body of the Pilgrim — more beautiful 
 in death than in life. The contraction of the muscles 
 and skin had effaced every line that Time or Passion 
 had ever traced upon it. Few marble busts would 
 have matched its stainless white, the harmony of its 
 proportions, and perfect finish. And yet he had been 
 dissatisfied with that body, and longed to cast its 
 slough ! He was jealous of the genius of Shake- 
 speare — that might well be — but where had he seen 
 the face or the form worthy to excite his envy ?'
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 The news of Byron's death spread like wildfire through 
 the streets and bazaars of Missolonghi. The whole 
 city seemed stunned by the unexpected blow. Byron's 
 illness had been known, but no one dreamed that it 
 would end so fatally. As Gamba has well said : *He 
 died in a strange land, and amongst strangers ; but 
 more loved, more sincerely wept, he could never have 
 been wherever he had breathed his last.' 
 
 On the day of Byron's death, Ma^rocordato issued 
 the following proclamation, which forms a real and 
 enduring tribute to the memory of one who, in the 
 prime of life, died in a great cause : 
 
 Provisional Government of Western Greece. 
 
 The present day of festivity and rejoicing is turned 
 into one of sorrow and mourning. 
 
 The Lord Noel Byron departed this life at eleven 
 o'clock last night, after an illness of ten days, his 
 death being caused by an inflammatory fever. Such 
 was the effect of his lordship's illness on the public 
 mind, that all classes had forgotten their usual recrea- 
 tions of Easter, even before the afflicting end was 
 apprehended. 
 
 The loss of this illustrious individual is undoubtedly 
 to be deplored by all Greece ; but it must be more 
 especially a subject of lamentation at Missolonghi, 
 where his generosity has been so conspicuously dis- 
 played, and of which he had even become a citizen, 
 with the ulterior determination of participating in all 
 the dangers of the war. 
 
 183
 
 i84 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 Everybody is acquainted with the beneficent acts of 
 his lordship, and none can cease to hail his name as 
 that of a real benefactor. 
 
 Until, therefore, the final determination of the 
 National Government be known, and by virtue of the 
 powers with which it has been pleased to invest me, 
 I hereby decree : 
 
 I St. To-morrow morning at daylight, 37 minute- 
 guns shall be fired from the grand battery, being the 
 number which corresponds with the age of the illus- 
 trious deceased. 
 
 2nd. All the public offices, even to the tribunals, 
 are to remain closed for three successive days. 
 
 3rd. All the shops, except those in which provisions 
 or medicines are sold, will also be shut ; and it is 
 strictly enjoined, that every species of public amuse- 
 ment and other demonstrations of festivity at Easter 
 may be suspended. 
 
 4th. A general mourning will be observed for 
 twenty-one days. 
 
 5th. Prayers and a funeral service are to be offered 
 up in all the churches. 
 
 {Signed) A. Mavrocordato. 
 GiORGius Praidis, 
 
 Secretary. 
 
 Given at Missolonghi, 
 
 this 19th day of April, 1824. 
 
 At sunrise, on the day following Byron's death, 
 thirty-seven minute-guns were fired from the prin- 
 cipal battery; and one of the batteries belonging to 
 the corps immediately under his orders fired a gun 
 every half-hour during the day. We take the follow- 
 ing from Gamba's journal : 
 
 ^ April 21. — For the remainder of this day and the 
 next, a silence, like that of the grave, prevailed over 
 the city. We had intended to perform the funeral 
 ceremony on the 21st, but the continued rain pre- 
 vented us. On the 22nd, however, we acquitted our- 
 selves of that sad duty, so far as our humble means 
 would permit. In the midst of his own brigade, of the 
 Government troops, and of the whole population, on
 
 A FUNERAL ORATION 185 
 
 the shoulders of his own officers, the most precious 
 portion of his honoured remains was carried to the 
 church, where He the bodies of Marco Bozzari and of 
 General Normann. There we laid them down. The 
 coffin was a rude, ill-constructed chest of wood ; a 
 black mantle served for a pall ; and over it we placed 
 a helmet and sword, with a crown of laurels. No 
 funeral pomp could have left the impression, nor 
 spoken the feelings, of this simple ceremony. The 
 wretchedness and desolation of the place itself; the 
 wild, half-civilized warriors around us ; their deep, 
 unaffected grief; the fond recollections and disap- 
 pointed hopes ; the anxieties and sad presentiments 
 depicted on every countenance, contributed to form a 
 scene more moving, more truly affecting, than perhaps 
 was ever before witnessed round the coffin of a great 
 man.' 
 
 Spiridion Tricoupi, a son of one of the Primates of 
 Missolonghi, pronounced the funeral oration in the 
 following words, translated from the modern Greek by 
 an inhabitant of Missolonghi : 
 
 * Unlooked-for event ! Deplorable misfortune ! But 
 a short time has elapsed since the people of this deeply 
 suffering country welcomed, with unfeigned joy and 
 open arms, this celebrated individual to their bosoms. 
 To-day, overwhelmed with grief and despair, they 
 bathe his funeral couch with tears of bitterness, and 
 mourn over it with inconsolable affliction. On Easter 
 Sunday, the happy salutation of the day, " Christ is 
 risen," remained but half spoken on the lips of every 
 Greek ; and as they met, before even congratulating 
 one another on the return of that joyous day, the 
 universal question was, " How is Lord Byron ?" 
 Thousands assembled in the spacious plain outside 
 the city, to commemorate the sacred day, appeared 
 as if they had assembled for the sole purpose of implor- 
 ing the Saviour of the world to restore to health him 
 who was a partaker with us in our present struggle 
 for the deliverance of our native land. And how is it 
 possible that any heart should remain unmoved, any 
 lip closed, upon the present occasion ? Was ever
 
 i86 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 Greece in greater want of assistance than when Lord 
 Byron, at the peril of his life, crossed over to Misso- 
 longhi ? Then, and ever since he has been with us, 
 his liberal hand has been opened to our necessities — 
 necessities which our own poverty would have other- 
 wise rendered irremediable. How many and much 
 greater benefits did we not expect from him ! And 
 to-day, alas ! to-day, the unrelenting grave closes over 
 him and all our hopes. 
 
 * Residing out of Greece, and enjoying all the 
 pleasures and luxuries of Europe, he might have 
 contributed materially to the success of our cause 
 without coming personally amongst us ; and this 
 would have been sufficient for us, for the well-proved 
 ability and profound judgment of our Governor, the 
 President of the Senate, would have insured our 
 safety with the means so supplied. But if this was 
 sufficient for us, it was not so for Lord Byron. 
 Destined by Nature to uphold the rights of man 
 whenever he saw them trampled upon ; born in a free 
 and enlightened country ; early taught, by reading the 
 works of our ancestors, which teach all who can read 
 them, not only what man is, but what he ought to 
 be, and what he may be, he saw the persecuted and 
 enslaved Greek determined to break the heavy chains 
 with which he was bound, and to convert the iron into 
 sharp-edged swords, that he might regain by force 
 what force had torn from him. He came to share our 
 sufferings ; assisting us, not only with his wealth, of 
 which he was profuse ; not only with his judgment, 
 of which he has given us so many salutary examples ; 
 but with his sword, which he was preparing to un- 
 sheath against our barbarous and tyrannical oppressors. 
 He came — according to the testimony of those who 
 were intimate with him — with a determination to die 
 in Greece and for Greece. How, therefore, can we do 
 otherwise than lament with deep sorrow the loss of 
 such a man ! How can we do otherwise than bewail 
 it as the loss of the whole Greek nation ! Thus far, 
 my friends, you have seen him liberal, generous, 
 courageous, a true Philhellenist ; and you have seen 
 him as your benefactor. This is indeed a sufficient 
 cause for your tears, but it is not sufficient for his 
 honour. It is not sufficient for the greatness of the
 
 A FUNERAL ORATION 187 
 
 undertaking in which he had engaged. He, whose 
 death we are now so deeply deploring, was a man 
 who, in one great branch of literature, gave his name 
 to the age in which we live : the vastness of his genius 
 and the richness of his fancy did not permit him to 
 follow the splendid though beaten track of the literary 
 fame of the ancients ; he chose a new road — a road 
 which ancient prejudice had endeavoured, and was 
 still endeavouring, to shut against the learned of 
 Europe : but as long as his writings live, and they 
 must live as long as the world exists, this road will 
 remain always open ; for it is, as well as the other, a 
 sure road to true knowledge. I will not detain you at 
 the present time by expressing all the respect and 
 enthusiasm with which the perusal of his writings has 
 always inspired me, and which, indeed, I feel much 
 more powerfully now than at any other period. The 
 learned men of all Europe celebrate him, and have 
 celebrated him ; and all ages will celebrate the poet of 
 our age, for he was born for all Europe and for all ages. 
 'One consideration occurs to me, as striking and 
 true as it is applicable to the present state of our 
 country : listen to it, my friends, with attention, that 
 you may make it your own, and that it may become 
 a generally acknowledged truth. There have been 
 many great and splendid nations in the world, but 
 few have been the epochs of their true glory : one 
 phenomenon, I am inclined to believe, is wanting in 
 the history of these nations, and one the possibility 
 of the appearance of which the all-considering mind of 
 the philosopher has much doubted. Almost all the 
 nations of the world have fallen from the hands of 
 one master into those of another ; some have been 
 benefited, others have been injured by the change; 
 but the eye of the historian has not yet seen a nation 
 enslaved by barbarians, and more particularly by bar- 
 barians rooted for ages in their soil — has not yet seen, 
 I say, such a people throw off their slavery unassisted 
 and alone. This is the phenomenon ; and now, for the 
 first time in the history of the world, we witness it 
 in Greece — yes, in Greece alone ! The philosopher 
 beholds it from afar, and his doubts are dissipated ; 
 the historian sees it, and prepares his citation of it as 
 a new event in the fortunes of nations ; the statesman
 
 i88 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 sees it, and becomes more observant and more on his 
 guard. Such is the extraordinary time in which we 
 live. My friends, the insurrection of Greece is not an 
 epoch of our nation alone ; it is an epoch of all nations : 
 for, as I before observed, it is a phenomenon which 
 stands alone in the political history of nations. 
 
 * The great mind of the highly gifted and much 
 lamented Byron observed this phenomenon, and he 
 wished to unite his name with our glory. Other 
 revolutions have happened in his time, but he did 
 not enter into any of them — he did not assist any of 
 them ; for their character and nature were totally 
 different : the cause of Greece alone was a cause 
 worthy of him whom all the learned men of Europe 
 celebrate. Consider then, my friends, consider the 
 time in which you live — in what a struggle you are 
 engaged ; consider that the glory of past ages admits 
 not of comparison with yours : the friends of liberty, 
 the philanthropists, the philosophers of all nations, 
 and especially of the enlightened and generous English 
 nation, congratulate you, and from afar rejoice with 
 you ; all animate you ; and the poet of our age, already 
 crowned with immortality, emulous of your glory, 
 came personally to your shores, that he might, together 
 with yourselves, wash out with his blood the marks of 
 tyranny from our polluted soil. 
 
 ' Born in the great capital of England, his descent 
 noble on the side of both his father and his mother, 
 what unfeigned joy did his Philhellenic heart feel 
 when our poor city, in token of our gratitude, inscribed 
 his name among the number of her citizens ! In the 
 agonies of death — yes, at the moment when eternity 
 appeared before him ; as he was lingering on the brink 
 of mortal and immortal life; when all the material 
 world appeared but as a speck in the great works of 
 the Divine Omnipotence ; in that awful hour, but two 
 names dwelt upon the lips of this illustrious individual, 
 leaving all the world besides — the names of his only 
 and much-beloved daughter, and of Greece : these two 
 names, deeply engraven on his heart, even the moment 
 of death could not efface. " My daughter !" he said ; 
 " Greece !" he exclaimed ; and his spirit passed away. 
 What Grecian heart will not be deeply affected as 
 often as it recalls this moment ?
 
 A FUNERAL ORATION 189 
 
 ' Our tears, my friends, will be grateful, very grateful, 
 to his shade, for they are the tears of sincere affec- 
 tion ; but much more grateful will be our deeds in the 
 cause of our country, which, though removed from us, 
 he will observe from the heavens, of which his virtues 
 have doubtless opened to him the gates. This return 
 alone does he require from us for all his munificence ; 
 this reward for his love towards us ; this consolation 
 for his sufferings in our cause ; and this inheritance 
 for the loss of his invaluable life. When your exer- 
 tions, my friends, shall have liberated us from the 
 hands which have so long held us down in chains ; 
 from the hands which have torn from our arms, our 
 propert;^, our brothers, our children — then will his 
 spirit rejoice, then will his shade be satisfied. Yes, in 
 that blessed hour of our freedom the Archbishop will 
 extend his sacred and free hand, and pronounce a 
 blessing over his venerated tomb ; the young warrior 
 sheathing his sword, red with the blood of his tyran- 
 nical oppressors, will strew it with laurel ; the states- 
 man will consecrate it with his oratory ; and the poet, 
 resting upon the marble, will become doubly inspired ; 
 the virgins of Greece (whose beauty our illustrious 
 fellow-citizen Byron has celebrated in many of his 
 poems), without any longer fearing contamination from 
 the rapacious hands of our oppressors, crowning their 
 heads with garlands, will dance round it, and sing of 
 the beauty of our land, which the poet of our age has 
 already commemorated with such grace and truth. 
 But what sorrowful thought now presses upon my 
 mind ! My fancy has carried me away ; I had pictured 
 to myself all that my heart could have desired ; I had 
 imagined the blessing of our Bishops, the hymns, and 
 laurel crowns, and the dance of the virgins of Greece 
 round the tomb of the benefactor of Greece ; — but this 
 tomb will not contain his precious remains ; the tomb 
 will remain void ; but a few days more will his body 
 remain on the face of our land — of his new chosen 
 country; it cannot be given over to our arms ; it must 
 be borne to his own native land, which is honoured by 
 his birth. 
 
 * Oh daughter ! most dearly beloved by him, your 
 arms will receive him ; your tears will bathe the tomb 
 which shall contain his body; and the tears of the
 
 190 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 orphans of Greece will be shed over the urn contain- 
 ing his precious heart, and over all the land of Greece, 
 for all the land of Greece is his tomb. As in the last 
 moments of his life you and Greece were alone in his 
 heart and upon his lips, it was but just that she (Greece) 
 should retain a share of the precious remains. Mis- 
 solonghi, his country, will ever watch over and protect 
 with all her strength the urn containing his venerated 
 heart, as a symbol of his love towards us. All Greece, 
 clothed in mourning and inconsolable, accompanies the 
 procession in which it is borne ; all ecclesiastical, civil, 
 and military honours attend it ; all his fellow-citizens 
 of Missolonghi and fellow-countrymen of Greece follow 
 it, crowning it with their gratitude and bedewing it 
 with their tears ; it is blessed by the pious benedic- 
 tions and prayers of our Archbishop, Bishop, and all 
 our clergy. Learn, noble lady, learn that chieftains 
 bore it on their shoulders, and carried it to the church ; 
 thousands of Greek soldiers lined the way through 
 which it passed, with the muzzles of their muskets, 
 which had destroyed so many tyrants, pointed towards 
 the ground, as though they would war against that 
 earth which was to deprive them for ever of the sight 
 of their benefactor; — all this crowd of soldiers, ready 
 at a moment to march against the implacable enemy 
 of Christ and man, surrounded the funeral couch, and 
 swore never to forget the sacrifices made by your 
 father for us, and never to allow the spot where his 
 heart is placed to be trampled upon by barbarous and 
 tyrannical feet. Thousands of Christian voices were 
 in a moment heard, and the temple of the Almighty 
 resounded with supplications and prayers that his 
 venerated remains might be safely conveyed to his 
 native land, and that his soul might repose where the 
 righteous alone find rest' 
 
 'When the funeral service was over,' says Gamba, 
 * we left the bier in the middle of the church, where it 
 remained until the evening of the next day, guarded 
 by a detachment of his own brigade. The church was 
 crowded without cessation by those who came to 
 honour and to regret the benefactor of Greece. 
 
 ' On the evening of the 23rd the bier was privately 
 carried back by Byron's officers to his own house. 
 The coffin was not closed until the 29th April.
 
 MILLINGEN AND TRELAWNY 191 
 
 ' Immediately after death Byron's countenance had 
 an air of calmness, mingled with a severity that seemed 
 gradually to soften. When I took a last look at him, 
 the expression, at least to my eyes, was truly sublime.' 
 
 Soon after death, Byron's body was embalmed, and 
 a report of the autopsy will be found in the Appendix. 
 
 Millingen says : 
 
 ' Before we proceeded to embalm the body, we 
 could not refrain from pausing to contemplate the 
 lifeless clay of one who, but a few days before, 
 was the hope of a whole nation, and the admiration 
 of the civilized world. We could not but admire 
 the perfect symmetry of his body. Nothing could 
 surpass the beaut}'^ of his forehead ; its height was 
 extraordinary, and the protuberances under which the 
 nobler intellectual faculties are supposed to reside were 
 strongly pronounced. His hair, which curled naturally, 
 was quite grey ; the mustachios light-coloured. His 
 physiognomy had suffered little alteration, and still 
 preserved the sarcastic, haughty expression which 
 habitually characterized it. The chest was broad, 
 high -vaulted ; the waist very small; the muscular 
 system well pronounced ; the skin delicate and white ; 
 and the habit of the body plump. The only blemish 
 of his body, which might otherwise have vied with 
 that of Apollo himself, was the congenital malconfor- 
 mation of his left foot and leg. The foot was deformed 
 and turned inwards, and the leg was smaller and shorter 
 than the sound one.'* 
 
 Trelawny arrived at Missolonghi on April 24, after 
 the body had been embalmed. He states that Byron's 
 right leg was shorter than the other, and the right foot 
 was the most distorted, being twisted inwards, so that 
 only the edge could have touched the ground. The 
 discrepancy between Trelawny's statement and that 
 of Millingen is probably due to the fact that nearly 
 
 * For further evidence on this point, see ' Letters of Lord Byron,' 
 edited by Rowland Prothero, vol. i., pp. 9-1 1.
 
 192 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 thirty-four years had passed before Trelawny's book 
 was written. 
 
 Trelawny wrote, from Fletcher's dictation, full par- 
 ticulars of Byron's last illness and death. It is pre- 
 sumably from these notes that Trelawny drafted 
 his letter to Colonel Stanhope, dated April 28, 1814. 
 In reference to that letter, Gamba says : 
 
 * The details there given of Lord Byron's last illness 
 and death are not quite correct. But where Mr. 
 Trelawny speaks of the general impression produced 
 by that lamentable event, he pathetically describes 
 what is recognized for truth by all those who were 
 witnesses of the melancholy scene.' 
 
 As Trelawny was not present during the illness 
 and death of Byron, he cannot be held responsible for 
 any inaccuracies that may appear in his ' Records.' 
 He merely wrote from Fletcher's dictation, without 
 adding one word of his own. 
 
 On Fletcher's return to England, he gave the follow- 
 ing evidence : 
 
 'My master continued his usual custom of riding 
 daily, when the weather would permit, until the 9th 
 of April. But on that ill-fated day he got very wet, 
 and on his return home his lordship changed the whole 
 of his dress ; but he had been too long in his wet 
 clothes, and the cold, of which he had complained more 
 or less ever since we left Cephalonia, made this attack 
 be more severely felt. Though rather feverish during 
 the night, his lordship slept pretty well, but complained 
 in the morning of a pain in his bones and a headache: 
 this did not, however, prevent him from taking a ride 
 in the afternoon, which, I grieve to say, was his last. 
 On his return, my master said that the saddle was not 
 perfectly dry, from being so wet the day before, and 
 observed that he thought it had made him worse. 
 His lordship was again visited by the same slow fever, 
 and I was sorry to perceive, on the next morning, that 
 his illness appeared to be increasing. He was very 
 
 I
 
 FLETCHER'S EVIDENCE 193 
 
 low, and complained of not having had any sleep 
 during the night. His lordship's appetite was also 
 quite gone. I prepared a little arrowroot, of which he 
 took three or four spoonfuls, saying it was very good, 
 but could take no more. It was not till the third day, 
 the 1 2th, that I began to be alarmed for my master. 
 In all his former colds he always slept well, and was 
 never affected by this slow fever. I therefore went to 
 Dr. Bruno and Mr. Millingen, the two medical atten- 
 dants, and inquired minutely into every circumstance 
 connected with my master's present illness : both 
 replied that there was no danger, and I might make 
 myself perfectly easy on the subject, for all would be 
 well in a few days. This was on the 13th. On the 
 following day I found my master in such a state, that 
 I could not feel happy without supplicating that he 
 would send to Zante for Dr. Thomas. After express- 
 ing my fears lest his lordship should get worse, he 
 desired me to consult the doctors; which I did, and 
 was told there was no occasion for calling in any 
 person, as they hoped all would be well in a few days. 
 Here I should remark that his lordship repeatedly 
 said, in the course of the day, he was sure the doctors 
 did not understand his disease; to which I answered, 
 "Then, my lord, have other advice, by all means." 
 "They tell me," said his lordship, "that it is only a 
 common cold, which, you know, I have had a thousand 
 times." " I am sure, my lord," said I, " that you never 
 had one of so serious a nature." " I think I never 
 had," was his lordship's answer. I repeated my sup- 
 plications that Dr. Thomas should be sent for on the 
 15th, and was again assured that my master would be 
 better in two or three days. After these confident 
 assurances, I did not renew my entreaties until it was 
 too late. 
 
 * With respect to the medicines that were given to 
 my master, I could not persuade myself that those of 
 a strong purgative nature were the best adapted for 
 his complaint, concluding that, as he had nothing on 
 his stomach, the only effect would be to create pain : 
 indeed, this must have been the case with a person in 
 perfect health. The whole nourishment taken by my 
 master, for the last eight days, consisted of a small 
 quantity of broth at two or three different times, and 
 
 13
 
 194 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 two spoonfuls of arrowroot on the i8th, the day before 
 his death. The first time I heard of there being any 
 intention of bleeding his lordship was on the 15th, 
 when it was proposed by Dr. Bruno, but objected to at 
 first by my master, who asked Mr. Millingen if there 
 was any very great reason for taking blood. The 
 latter replied that it might be of service, but added 
 that it could be deferred till the next day ; and accord- 
 ingly my master was bled in the right arm on the 
 evening of the i6th, and a pound of blood was taken. 
 I observed at the time that it had a most inflamed 
 appearance. Dr. Bruno now began to say he had 
 frequently urged my master to be bled, but that he 
 always refused. A long dispute now arose about the 
 time that had been lost, and the necessity of sending 
 for medical assistance to Zante ; upon which I was 
 informed, for the first time, that it would be of no use, 
 as my master would be better, or no more, before the 
 arrival of Dr. Thomas. His lordship continued to get 
 worse : but Dr. Bruno said he thought letting blood 
 again would save his life ; and I lost no time in telling 
 my master how necessary it was to comply with the 
 doctor's wishes. To this he replied by saying he 
 feared they knew nothing about his disorder ; and 
 then, stretching out his arm, said, " Here, take my 
 arm, and do whatever you like." His lordship con- 
 tinued to get weaker; and on the 17th he was bled 
 twice in the morning, and at two o'clock in the after- 
 noon. The bleeding at both times was followed by 
 fainting fits, and he would have fallen down more than 
 once had I not caught him in my arms. In order to 
 prevent such an accident, I took care not to let his 
 lordship stir without supporting him. On this day my 
 master said to me twice, " I cannot sleep, and you well 
 know I have not been able to sleep for more than 
 a week : I know," added his lordship, " that a man can 
 only be a certain time without sleep, and then he must 
 go mad, without anyone being able to save him ; and I 
 would ten times sooner shoot myself than be mad, for 
 I am not afraid of dying — I am more fit to die than 
 people think." I do not, however, believe that his 
 lordship had any apprehension of his fate till the day 
 after, the i8th, when he said, " I fear you and Tita 
 will be ill by sitting up constantly night and day." I 
 
 I
 
 THE CLOSING SCENE 195 
 
 answered, " We shall never leave your lordship till 
 you are better." As my master had a slight fit of 
 delirium on the i6th, I took care to remove the pistols 
 and stiletto which had hitherto been kept at his bed- 
 side in the night. On the i8th his lordship addressed 
 me frequently, and seemed to be very much dissatisfied 
 with his medical treatment. I then said, " Do allow 
 me to send for Dr. Thomas," to which he answered, 
 " Do so, but be quick. I am sorry I did not let you do 
 so before, as I am sure they have mistaken my disease. 
 Write yourself, for I know they would not like to see 
 other doctors here," 
 
 * I did not lose a moment in obeying my master's 
 orders ; and on informing Dr. Bruno and Mr. Miilingen 
 of it, they said it was very right, as they now began to 
 be afraid themselves. On returning to my master's 
 room, his first words were, " Have you sent ?" " I have, 
 my lord," was my answer; upon which he said, "You 
 have done right, for I should like to know what is 
 the matter with me." Although his lordship did not 
 appear to think his dissolution was so near, I could 
 perceive he was getting weaker every hour, and he 
 even began to have occasional fits of delirium. He 
 afterwards said, " I now begin to think I am seriously 
 ill ; and, in case I should be taken off" suddenly, I wish 
 to give you several directions, which I hope you will 
 be particular in seeing executed." I answered I would, 
 in case such an event came to pass, but expressed a 
 hope that he would live many years to execute them 
 much better himself than I could. To this my master 
 replied, "No, it is now nearly over," and then added, 
 " I must tell you all without losing a moment." I then 
 said, " Shall I go, my lord, and fetch pen, ink, and 
 paper ?" " Oh, my God ! no, you will lose too much 
 time ; and I have it not to spare, for my time is now 
 short," said his Lordship ; and immediately after, 
 " Now, pay attention." His lordship commenced by 
 saying, " You will be provided for." I begged him, 
 however, to proceed with things of more consequence. 
 He then continued, "Oh, my poor dear child! — my 
 dear Ada ! My God ! could I but have seen her ! 
 Give her my blessing — and my dear sister Augusta 
 and her children; — and you will goto Lady Byron, and 
 say — tell her everything ; — you are friends with her." 
 
 13—2
 
 196 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 His lordship appeared to be greatly affected at this 
 moment. Here my master's voice failed him, so that 
 1 could only catch a word at intervals ; but he kept 
 muttering something very seriously for some time, 
 and would often raise his voice and say, " Fletcher, 
 now, if you do not execute every order which I have 
 given you, I will torment you hereafter if possible." 
 Here I told his lordship, in a state of the greatest 
 perplexity, that I had not understood a word of what 
 he said ; to which he replied, " Oh, my God ! then all 
 is lost, for it is now too late ! Can it be possible you 
 have not understood me ?" " No, my lord," said I, 
 " but I pray you to try and inform me once more." 
 '* How can I ?" rejoined my master ; " it is now too late, 
 and all is over !" I said, " Not our will, but God's be 
 done !" and he answered, " Yes, not mine be done — but 
 I will try." His lordship did indeed make several 
 efforts to speak, but could only repeat two or three 
 words at a time, such as "My wife! my child! my 
 sister ! You know all — you must say all — you know 
 my wishes." The rest was quite unintelligible. 
 
 *A consultation was now held about noon, when it 
 was determined to administer some Peruvian bark and 
 wine. My master had now been nine days without 
 any sustenance whatever, except what I have already 
 mentioned. With the exception of a few words which 
 can only interest those to whom they were addressed, 
 and which, if required, I shall communicate to them- 
 selves, it was impossible to understand anything his 
 lordship said after taking the bark. He expressed a 
 wish to sleep. I at one time asked whether I should 
 call Mr. Parry; to which he replied, "Yes, you may 
 call him." Mr. Parry desired him to compose himself 
 He shed tears, and apparently sunk into a slumber. 
 Mr. Parry went away, expecting to find him refreshed 
 on his return ; but it was the commencement of the 
 lethargy preceding his death. The last words I heard 
 my master utter were at six o'clock on the evening of 
 the i8th, when he said, "I must sleep now"; upon 
 which he laid down never to rise again ! — for he did not 
 move hand or foot during the following twenty-four 
 hours. His lordship appeared, however, to be in a 
 state of suffocation at intervals, and had a frequent 
 rattling in the throat. On these occasions I called
 
 DEATH 197 
 
 Tita to assist me in raising his head, and I thought he 
 seemed to get quite stiff. The ratthng and choking 
 in the throat took place every half-hour; and we con- 
 tinued to raise his head whenever the fit came on, till 
 six o'clock in the evening of the 19th, when I saw my 
 master open his eyes and then shut them, but without 
 showing any symptom of pain, or moving hand or foot. 
 "Oh, my God!" 1 exclaimed, "I fear his lordship is 
 gone." The doctors then felt his pulse, and said, " You 
 are right — he is gone." ' 
 
 Dr. Bruno's answer to the above statement will be 
 found in the Appendix.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 Several days passed after the requiem service held in 
 the Church of S. Spiridion. Meanwhile the necessary 
 preparations were made for transporting the body to 
 Zante. On May 2 the coffin was carried down to the 
 seaside on the shoulders of four military chiefs, and 
 attended in the same order as before. The guns of 
 the fortress saluted until the moment of embarkation. 
 The vessel which bore the body reached the island of 
 Zante on the third day after leaving Missolonghi, 
 having, as Gamba says, taken the same course exactly 
 as on the voyage out. The vessel, owing to head-winds, 
 was brought to anchor close to the same rocks where 
 Byron had sought shelter from the Turkish frigate. 
 
 ' On the evening of the 4th May,' says Gamba, ' we 
 made the port of Zante, and heard that Lord Sidney 
 Osborne had arrived, but, not finding us in that island, 
 had sailed for Missolonghi.' 
 
 Blaquiere, who was at Zante at the time, says : 
 
 * The vessel was recognized at a considerable 
 distance, owing to her flag being at half-mast. She 
 entered the mole towards sunset. The body was 
 accompanied by the whole of his lordship's attendants, 
 who conveyed it to the lazaretto on the following 
 morning.' 
 
 During the time that the body of Lord Byron was 
 detained at the lazaretto, a discussion arose as to the 
 
 198
 
 BLAQUIERE'S TRIBUTE 199 
 
 final disposal of the remains, Colonel Stanhope and 
 others being of opinion that they should be interred in 
 the Parthenon at Athens. It would seem that such a 
 course would have met with Byron's approval ; but, in 
 deference to what were then supposed to have been 
 the wishes of the poet's family, it was finally arranged 
 to charter the brig Florida, which had lately arrived 
 at Zante with the first instalment of the Greek loan. 
 In this connection, the last entry in Gamba's journal 
 may be quoted in full : 
 
 'A few days after our arrival at Zante, Colonel 
 Stanhope came from the Morea. He had already 
 written to inform us that the Greek chieftains of 
 Athens had expressed their desire that Lord Byron 
 should be buried in the Temple of Theseus. The 
 citizens of Missolonghi had made a similar request for 
 their town ; and we thought it advisable to accede 
 to their wishes so far as to leave with them, for inter- 
 ment, one of the vessels containing a portion of the 
 honoured remains. As he had not expressed any 
 wishes on the subject,* we thought the most becoming 
 course was to convey him to his native country. 
 Accordingly, the ship that had brought us the specie 
 was engaged for that purpose. Colonel Stanhope 
 kindly took charge; and on the 25th May the Florida, 
 having on board the remains of Lord Byron, set sail 
 for England from the port of Zante.' 
 
 The following tribute to Byron from the pen of 
 Blaquiere, written on May 24, 1824, must here be 
 given : 
 
 ' Every letter of Byron's, in which any allusion was 
 made to the Greek cause, proved how judiciously 
 he viewed that great question, while it displayed a 
 thorough knowledge of the people he had come to 
 assist. This latter circumstance, which made him more 
 cautious in avoiding every interference calculated to 
 
 * It is difficult to reconcile this with Millingen's statement.
 
 200 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 wound the self-love of the Greeks, who, though fallen, 
 are still remarkable for their pride, accounts for the 
 great popularity he had acquired. 
 
 * It may be truly said that no foreigner who has 
 hitherto espoused the cause made greater allowance 
 for the errors inseparable from it than did Lord 
 Byron. 
 
 ' With respect to his opinion as to the best mode of 
 bringing the contest to a triumphant close, and healing 
 those differences which have been created by party 
 spirit or faction, there is reason to believe that the 
 subject occupied his particular attention, and he was 
 even more than once heard to say that " no person had 
 as yet hit upon the right plan for securing the independ- 
 ence of Greece." 
 
 ' While sedulously employed in reconciling jarring 
 interests and promoting a spirit of union, the grand 
 maxim which he laboured to instil into the Greeks 
 was that of making every other object secondary and 
 subservient to the paramount one of driving out the 
 Turks.' 
 
 At six o'clock on the evening of that day, Blaquiere 
 added the following words : 
 
 ' I have this instant returned on shore, after having 
 performed the melancholy duty of towing the remains 
 of Lord Byron alongside the Florida. 
 
 ' I should add that, in consequence of there being no 
 means of procuring lead for the coffin at Zante, it was 
 arranged that the tin case prepared at Missolonghi 
 should be enclosed in wood ; so that there is now no 
 fear that the body will not reach England in perfect 
 preservation. The only mark of respect shown to-day 
 was displayed by the merchant vessels in the bay and 
 mole. The whole of these, whether English or foreign, 
 had their flags at half-mast, and many of them fired 
 guns. The Florida fired minute-guns from the time of 
 our leaving the lazaretto until we got alongside, when 
 the body was taken on board, and placed in a space 
 prepared for that purpose. The whole is painted 
 black, and, thanks to the foresight of my friend Robin- 
 son, an escutcheon very well executed designates the 
 mournful receptacle. Although no honours have been
 
 HOBHOUSE'S OPINION OF BYRON 201 
 
 paid to the remains of our immortal poet here, we look 
 forward with melancholy satisfaction to those which 
 await him in the land of his birth. 
 
 * However bitterly his pen may have lashed the vices 
 and follies of his day, it is not the least honourable 
 trait in our national character that neither personal 
 dislike nor those prejudices which arise from literary 
 jealousy and political animosity prevent us from duly 
 appreciating departed worth, and even forgetting those 
 aberrations to which all are more or less liable in this 
 state of imperfection and fallibility.' 
 
 The following extracts are taken from Lord 
 Broughton's 'Recollections of a Long Life,' a work 
 that was printed, but not published, in 1865. As the 
 opinions of Byron's life-long friend, John Cam Hob- 
 house, they cannot fail to interest the reader :* 
 
 ' How much soever the Greeks of that day may have 
 differed on other topics, there was no difference of 
 opinion in regard to the loss they had sustained by the 
 death of Byron. Those who have read Colonel 
 Leicester Stanhope's interesting volume, " Greece in 
 1823 and 1824," and more particularly Colonel Stan- 
 hope's "Sketch" and Mr. Finlay's "Reminiscences" of 
 Byron, will have seen him just as he appeared to me 
 during our long intimacy. I liked him a great deal too 
 well to be an impartial judge of his character ; but I 
 can confidently appeal to the impressions he made 
 upon the two above-mentioned witnesses of his con- 
 duct, under very trying circumstances, for a justifica- 
 tion of my strong affection for him — an affection not 
 weakened by the forty years of a busy and chequered 
 life that have passed over me since I saw him laid in 
 his grave. 
 
 * The influence he had acquired in Greece was un- 
 bounded, and he had exerted it in a manner most 
 useful to her cause. Lord Sidney Osborne, writing 
 to Mrs. Leigh, said that, if Byron had never written a 
 line in his life, he had done enough, during the last six 
 months in Greece, to immortalize his name. He added 
 
 * Edinburgh Review, April, 1871, pp. 294-298.
 
 202 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 that no one unacquainted with the circumstances of 
 the case could have any idea of the difficulties he had 
 overcome. He had reconciled the contending parties, 
 and had given a character of humanity and civilization 
 to the warfare in which they were engaged, besides 
 contriving to prevent them from offending their power- 
 ful neighbours in the Ionian Islands. 
 
 ' I heard that Sir F. Adam,* in a despatch to Lord 
 Bathurst, bore testimony to his great qualities, and 
 lamented his death as depriving the Ionian Govern- 
 ment of the only man with whom they could act with 
 safety. Mavrocordato, in his letter to Dr. Bowring, 
 called him " a great man," and confessed that he was 
 almost ignorant how to act when deprived of such a 
 coadjutor. . . . On Thursday, July i, I heard that the 
 Florida^ with the remains of Byron, had arrived in the 
 Downs, and I went the same evening to Rochester. 
 The next morning I went to Standgate Creek, and, 
 taking a boat, went on board the vessel. There I 
 found Colonel Leicester Stanhope, Dr. Bruno, Fletcher, 
 Byron's valet, with three others of his servants. Three 
 dogs that had belonged to my friend were playing about 
 the deck. I could hardly bring myself to look at them. 
 The vessel had got under-weigh, and we beat up the 
 river to Gravesend. I cannot describe what I felt 
 during the five or six hours of our passage. I was 
 the last person who shook hands with Byron when he 
 left England in 1816. I recollected his waving his cap 
 to me as the packet bounded off on a curling wave 
 from the pier-head at Dover, and here I was now 
 coming back to England with his corpse. 
 
 ' Poor Fletcher burst into tears when he first saw 
 me, and wept bitterly when he told me the particulars 
 of my friend's last illness. These have been frequently 
 made public, and need not be repeated here. I heard, 
 however, on undoubted authority, that until he became 
 delirious he was perfectly calm ; and I called to mind 
 how often I had heard him say that he was not app)re- 
 hensive as to death itself, but as to how, from physical 
 infirmity, he might behave at that inevitable hour. On 
 one occasion he said to me, " Let no one come near me 
 
 * He succeeded Sir Thomas Maitland as High Commissioner of 
 the Ionian Islands.
 
 BYRON AND WESTMINSTER ABBEY 203 
 
 when I am dying, if you can help it, and we happen to 
 be together at the time." 
 
 * The Florida anchored at Gravesend, and I returned 
 to London ; Colonel Stanhope accompanied me. This 
 was on Friday, July 2. On the following Monday I 
 went to Doctors' Commons and proved Byron's will. 
 Mr. Hanson did so likewise. Thence I went to London 
 Bridge, got into a boat, and went to London Docks 
 Buoy, where the Florida was anchored. I found Mr. 
 Woodeson, the undertaker, on board, employed in 
 emptying the spirit from the large barrel containing 
 the box that held the corpse. This box was removed, 
 and placed on deck by the side of a leaden coffin. I 
 sta3^ed whilst the iron hoops were knocked off the 
 box ; but I could not bear to see the remainder of the 
 operation, and went into the cabin. Whilst there I 
 looked over the sealed packet of papers belonging to 
 Byron, which he had deposited at Cephalonia, and 
 which had not been opened since he left them there. 
 Captain Hodgson of the Florida, the captain's father, 
 and Fletcher, were with me ; we examined every paper, 
 and did not find any will. Those present signed a 
 document to that effect. 
 
 'After the removal of the corpse into the coffin, and 
 the arrival of the order from the Custom-house, I 
 accompanied the undertaker in the barge with the 
 coffin. There were many boats round the ship at the 
 time, and the shore was crowded with spectators. We 
 passed quietly up the river, and landed at Palace Yard 
 stairs. Thence the coffin and the small chest contain- 
 ing the heart were carried to the house in George 
 Street, and deposited in the room prepared for their 
 reception. The room was decently hung with black, 
 but there was no other decoration than an escutcheon 
 of the Byron arms, roughly daubed on a deal board. 
 
 *On reaching my rooms at the Albany, I found a 
 note from Mr. Murray, telling me that he had received 
 a letter from Dr. Ireland, politely declining to allow 
 the burial of Byron in Westminster Abbey; but it 
 was not until the next day that, to my great surprise, 
 I learnt, on reading the doctor's note, that Mr. Murray 
 had made the request to the Dean in my name. I 
 thought that it had been settled that Mr. Gifford should 
 sound the Dean of Westminster previously to any
 
 204 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 formal request being made. I wrote to Mr. Murray, 
 asking him to inform the Dean that I had not made 
 the request. Whether he did so, I never inquired. 
 
 ' I ascertained from Mrs. Leigh that it was wished 
 the interment should take place at the family vault at 
 Hucknall in Nottinghamshire. The utmost eagerness 
 was shown, both publicly and privately, to get sight 
 of anything connected with Byron. Lafayette was at 
 that time on his way to America, and a young French- 
 man came over from the General at Havre, and wrote 
 me a note requesting a sight of the deceased poet. 
 The coffin had been closed, and his wishes could not 
 be complied with. A young man came on board the 
 Florida^ and in very moving terms besought me to 
 allow him to take one look at him. I was sorry to be 
 obliged to refuse, as I did not know the young man, 
 and there were many round the vessel who would 
 have made the same request. He was bitterly dis- 
 appointed ; and when I gave him a piece of the cotton 
 in which the corpse had been wrapped, he took it 
 with much devotion, and placed it in his pocket-book. 
 Mr. Phillips, the Academician, applied for permission 
 to take a likeness, but I heard from Mrs. Leigh that 
 the features of her brother had been so disfigured by 
 the means used to preserve his remains, that she 
 scarcely recognized them. This was the fact ; for I 
 had summoned courage enough to look at my dead 
 friend ; so completely was he altered, that the sight 
 did not affect me so much as looking at his hand- 
 writing, or anything that I knew had belonged to him.' 
 
 The following account by Colonel Leicester Stan- 
 hope, probably outlined during his voyage home with 
 Byron's body, is well worth reading. It unveils the 
 personality of Byron as he appeared during those 
 trying times at Missolonghi, when, tortured by illness 
 and worried by dissensions among his coadjutors, he 
 gave his life to Greece. Stanhope's sketch conveys 
 the honest opinion of a man whose political views, 
 differing fundamentally from those of Byron, brought 
 them often in collision. But for this reason, perhaps,
 
 LEICESTER STANHOPE ON BYRON 205 
 
 this record is the more valuable. It is written without 
 prejudice, with considerable perspicuity, and with 
 unquestionable sincerity. Its peculiar value lies in the 
 approval which, as we have seen, it received from 
 Mr. Hobhouse, who undoubtedly was better acquainted 
 with the character of Byron than any of his con- 
 temporaries. 
 
 ' In much of what certain authors have lately said in 
 praise of Lord Byron I concur. The public are in- 
 debted to them for useful information concerning that 
 extraordinary man's biography. I do not, however, 
 think that any of them have given of him a full and 
 masterly description. It would require a person of his 
 own wonderful capacity to draw his character, and 
 even he could not perform this task otherwise than by 
 continuing the history of what passed in his mind ; for 
 his character was as versatile as his genius. From his 
 writings, therefore, he must be judged, and from them 
 can he alone be understood. His character was, indeed, 
 poetic, like his works, and he partook of the virtues 
 and vices of the heroes of his imagination. Lord 
 Byron was original and eccentric in all things, and his 
 conduct and his writings were unlike those of other 
 men. He might have said with Rousseau : " Moi seul. 
 Je sens mon coeur et je connois les hommes. Je ne 
 suis fait comme aucun de ceux qui existent. Si je ne 
 vaux pas mieux, au moins, je suis autre. Si la nature 
 a bien ou mal fait de briser le moule dans lequel elle 
 m'a jette, c'est dont on ne pent juger qu'apres m'avoir 
 lu." All that can be hoped is, that, after a number of 
 the ephemeral sketches of Lord Byron have been pub- 
 lished, and ample information concerning him obtained, 
 some master-hand will undertake the task of drawing 
 his portrait. If anything like justice be done to Lord 
 Byron, his character will appear far more extraordinary 
 than any his imagination has produced, and not less 
 wonderful than those sublime and inimitable sketches 
 created and painted by the fanciful pen of Shakespeare. 
 
 ' There were two circumstances which appear to me 
 to have had a powerful influence on Byron's conduct. 
 I allude to his lameness and his marriage. The de-
 
 2o6 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 formity of his foot constantly preyed on his spirits and 
 soured his temper. It is extraordinary, however, and 
 contrary, I believe, to the conduct of the generality of 
 lame persons, that he pitied, sympathized, and be- 
 friended, those who laboured under similar defects. 
 
 ' With respect to Lady B3^ron, her image appeared 
 to be rooted in his mind. She had wounded Lord 
 Byron's pride by having refused his first offer of 
 marriage ; by having separated herself from him whom 
 others assiduously courted ; and by having resisted all 
 the efforts of his genius to compel her again to yield 
 to his dominion. Had Lady Byron been submissive, 
 could she have stooped to become a caressing slave, 
 like other ingenious slaves, she might have governed 
 her lord and master. But no, she had a mind too 
 great, and was too much of an Englishwoman to bow 
 so low. These contrarieties set Lord Byron's heart 
 on fire, roused all his passions, gave birth, no doubt, 
 to many of his sublimest thoughts, and impelled him 
 impetuously forward in his zigzag career. When 
 angry or humorous, she became the subject of his wild 
 sport ; at other times she seemed, though he loved 
 her not, to be the mistress of his feelings, and one 
 whom he in vain attempted to cast from his thoughts. 
 Thus, in a frolicsome tone, I have heard him sketch 
 characters, and, speaking of a certain acquaintance, say, 
 " With the exception of Southey and Lady Byron, 
 there is no one 1 hate so much." This was a noisy 
 shot — a sort of a feu de joie, that inflicted no wound, 
 and left no scar behind. Lord Byron was in reality a 
 good-natured man, and it was a violence to his nature, 
 which he seldom practised, either to conceal what he 
 thought or to harbour revenge. In one conversation 
 which I had with Lord Byron, he dwelt much upon 
 the acquirements and virtues of Lady Byron, and even 
 said she had committed no fault but that of having 
 married him. The truth is, that he was not formed 
 for marriage. His riotous genius could not bear re- 
 straint. No woman could have lived with him but one 
 devoid of, or of subdued, feelings — an Asiatic slave. 
 Lord Byron, it is well known, was passionately fond 
 of his child ; of this he gave me the following proof. 
 He showed me a miniature of Ada, as also a clever 
 description of her character, drawn by her mother, and
 
 BYRON FIRM AS A ROCK 207 
 
 forwarded to him by the person he most esteemed, his 
 amiable sister. After I had examined the letter, while 
 reflecting on its contents, I gazed intently on the 
 picture ; Lord Byron, observing me in deep meditation, 
 impatiently said, "Well, well, what do you think of 
 Ada ?" I replied, " If these are true representations 
 of Ada, and are not drawn to flatter your vanity, you 
 have engrafted on her your virtues and your failings. 
 She is in mind and feature the very image of her 
 father." Never did I see man feel more pleasure than 
 Lord Byron felt at this remark; his eyes lightened 
 with ecstasy. 
 
 ' Lord Byron's mental and personal courage was 
 unlike that of other men. To the superficial observer 
 his conduct seemed to be quite unsettled ; this was 
 really the case to a certain extent. His genius was 
 boundless and excursive, and in conversation his 
 tongue went rioting on 
 
 ' " From grave to gay, from lively to severe." 
 
 'Still, upon the whole, no man was more constant, 
 and, I may almost say, more obstinate in the pursuit 
 of some great objects. For example, in religion and 
 politics he seemed firm as a rock, though like a rock 
 he was subjected to occasional rude shocks, the con- 
 vulsions of agitated nature. 
 
 ' The assertions I have ventured to make of Lord 
 Byron having fixed opinions on certain material ques- 
 tions are not according to his own judgment. From 
 what fell from his own lips, 1 could draw no such 
 conclusions, for, in conversing with me on government 
 and religion, and after going wildly over these subjects, 
 sometimes in a grave and philosophical, and sometimes 
 in a laughing and humorous strain, he would say : 
 *' The more I think, the more I doubt; I am a perfect 
 sceptic." In contradiction to this assertion, I set Lord 
 Byron's recorded sentiments, and his actions from the 
 period of his bo3^hood to that of his death ; and I con- 
 tend that although he occasionally veered about, yet 
 he always returned to certain fixed opinions ; and that 
 he felt a constant attachment to liberty, according to 
 our notions of liberty, and that, although no Christian, 
 he was a firm believer in the existence of a God. It 
 is, therefore, equally remote from truth to represent
 
 2o8 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 him as either an atheist or a Christian : he was, as he 
 has often told me, a confirmed deist. 
 
 ' Lord Byron was no party politician. Lord Clare 
 was the person whom he liked best, because he was 
 his old school acquaintance. Mr. John Cam Hobhouse 
 was his long-tried, his esteemed, and valued literary 
 and personal friend. Death has severed these, but 
 there is a soul in friendship that can never die. No man 
 ever chose a nobler friend. Mr. Hobhouse has given 
 many proofs of this, and among others, I saw him, 
 from motives of high honour, destroy a beautiful poem 
 of Lord Byron's, and, perhaps, the last he ever com- 
 posed. The same reason that induced Mr. H. to tear 
 this fine manuscript will, of course, prevent him or 
 me from ever divulging its contents. Mr. Douglas 
 Kinnaird was another for whom Lord Byron enter- 
 tained the sincerest esteem : no less on account of his 
 high social qualities, than as a clear-sighted man of 
 business, on whose discretion he could implicitly rely. 
 Sir Francis Burdett was the politician whom he most 
 admired. He used to say, " Burdett is an Englishman 
 of the old school." He compared the Baronet to the 
 statesmen of Charles I.'s time, whom he considered 
 the sternest and loftiest spirits that Britain had pro- 
 duced. Lord Byron entertained high aristocratic 
 notions, and had much family pride. He admired, 
 notwithstanding, the American institutions, but did not 
 consider them of so democratic a nature as is generally 
 imagined. He found, he said, many Englishmen and 
 English writers more imbued with liberal notions than 
 those Americans and American authors with whom he 
 was acquainted. 
 
 * Lord Byron was chivalrous even to Quixotism. 
 This might have lowered him in the estimation of the 
 wise, had he not given some extraordinary proofs of 
 the noblest courage. For example, the moment he 
 recovered from that alarming fit which took place in 
 my room, he inquired again and again, with the utmost 
 composure, whether he was in danger. If in danger, 
 he desired the physician honestly to apprise him of 
 it, for he feared not death. Soon after this dreadful 
 paroxysm, when Lord Byron, faint with overbleeding, 
 was lying on his sick-bed, with his whole nervous 
 system completely shaken, the mutinous Suliotes,
 
 A SUBLIME SCENE 209 
 
 covered with dirt and splendid attires, broke into his 
 apartment, brandishing their costly arms, and loudly 
 demanding their wild rights. Lord Byron, electrified 
 by this unexpected act, seemed to recover from his 
 sickness ; and the more the Suliotes raged, the more 
 his calm courage triumphed. The scene was truly 
 sublime. 
 
 * At times Lord Byron would become disgusted 
 with the Greeks, on account of their horrid cruelties, 
 their delays, their importuning him for money, and their 
 not fulfilling their promises. That he should feel thus 
 was very natural, although all this is just what might be 
 anticipated from a people breaking loose from ages of 
 bondage. We are too apt to expect the same conduct 
 from men educated as slaves (and here be it remem- 
 bered that the Greeks were the Helots of slaves) that 
 we find in those who have, from their infancy, breathed 
 the wholesome atmosphere of liberty. 
 
 * Most persons assume a virtuous character. Lord 
 Byron's ambition, on the contrary, was to make the 
 world imagine that he was a sort of ** Satan," though 
 occasionally influenced by lofty sentiments to the per- 
 formance of great actions. Fortunately for his fame, 
 he possessed another quality, by which he stood com- 
 pletely unmasked, tie was the most ingenuous of 
 men, and his nature, in the main good, always 
 triumphed over his acting. 
 
 * There was nothing that he detested more than to 
 be thought merely a great poet, though he did not 
 wish to be esteemed inferior as a dramatist to Shak- 
 speare. Like Voltaire, he was unconsciously jealous 
 of, and for that reason abused, our immortal bard. 
 His mind was absorbed in detecting Shakspeare's 
 glaring defects, instead of being overpowered by his 
 wonderful creative and redeeming genius. He assured 
 me that he was so far from being a " heaven-born 
 poet " that he was not conscious of possessing any 
 talent in that way when a boy. This gift had burst 
 upon his mind unexpectedly, as if by inspiration, and 
 had excited his wonder. He also declared that he had 
 no love or enthusiasm for poetry. I shook my head 
 doubtingly, and said to him that, although he had dis- 
 played a piercing sagacity in reading and developing 
 the characters of others, he knew but little of his own. 
 
 14
 
 2IO BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 He replied : " Often have I told you that I am a perfect 
 sceptic. I have no fixed opinions ; that is my character. 
 Like others, I am not in love with what I possess, but 
 with that which I do not possess, and which is difficult 
 to obtain." Lord Byron was for shining as a hero of 
 the first order. He wished to take an active part in 
 the civil and military government of Greece.* On this 
 subject he consulted me; I condemned the direct 
 assumption of command by a foreigner, fearing that 
 it would expose him to envy and danger without pro- 
 moting the cause. I wished him, by a career of perfect 
 disinterestedness, to preserve a commanding influence 
 over the Greeks, and to act as their great mediator. 
 Lord Byron listened to me with unusual and courteous 
 politeness, for he suspected my motives — he thought 
 me envious — jealous of his increasing power; and 
 though he did not disregard, did not altogether follow 
 my advice. I was not, however, to be disarmed either 
 by politeness or suspicions ; they touched me not, for 
 my mind was occupied with loftier thoughts. The 
 attack was renewed the next day in a mild tone. The 
 collision, however, of Lord Byron's arguments, spark- 
 ling with jests, and mine, regardless of his brilliancy 
 and satire, all earnestness, ended as usual in a storm. 
 Though most anxious to assume high power. Lord 
 Byron was still modest. He said to me, laughing, 
 that if Napier came, he would supersede himself, as 
 Governor and Commander of Western Greece, in 
 favour of that distinguished officer. I laughed at this 
 whimsical expression till I made Lord Byron laugh, 
 too, and repeat over again that he would " supersede 
 himself." 
 
 ' The mind of Lord Byron was like a volcano, full of 
 fire and wealth, sometimes calm, often dazzling and 
 playful, but ever threatening. It ran swift as the 
 lightning from one subject to another, and occasionally 
 burst forth in passionate throes of intellect, nearly 
 allied to madness. A striking instance of this sort of 
 eruption I shall mention. Lord Byron's apartments 
 were immediately over mine at Missolonghi. In the 
 dead of the night I was frequently startled from my 
 sleep by the thunders of his lordship's voice, either 
 
 * This must be taken cum 'Jvano salts.
 
 CHARACTERISTICS OF BYRON 211 
 
 raging with anger or roaring with laughter, and rousing 
 friends, servants, and, indeed, all the inmates of the 
 dwelling, from their repose. Even when in the utmost 
 danger, Lord Byron contemplated death with calm 
 philosophy. He was, however, superstitious, and 
 dreadfully alarmed at the idea of going mad, which he 
 predicted would be his sad destiny. 
 
 'As a companion, no one could be more amusing; 
 he had neither pedantry nor affectation about him, but 
 was natural and playful as a boy. His conversation 
 resembled a stream, sometimes smooth, sometimes 
 rapid, and sometimes rushing down in cataracts ; it 
 was a mixture of philosophy and slang — of everything 
 — like his " Don Juan." He was a patient and, in 
 general, a very attentive listener. When, however, 
 he did engage with earnestness in conversation, his 
 ideas succeeded each other with such uncommon 
 rapidity that he could not control them. They burst 
 from him impetuously ; and although he both at- 
 tended to and noticed the remarks of others, yet he 
 did not allow these to check his discourse for an 
 instant. 
 
 ' Lord Byron professed a deep-rooted antipathy to 
 the English, though he was always surrounded by 
 Englishmen, and, in reality, preferred them (as he did 
 Italian women) to all others. I one day accused him 
 of ingratitude to his countrymen. For many years, I 
 observed, he had been, in spite of his faults, and 
 although he had shocked all her prejudices, the pride, 
 and I might almost say the idol, of Britain. He said 
 they must be a stupid race to worship such an idol, 
 but he had at last cured their superstition, as far as 
 his divinity was concerned, by the publication of his 
 " Cain." It was true, I replied, that he had now lost 
 their favour. This remark stung him to the soul, for 
 he wished not only to occupy the public mind, but to 
 command, by his genius, public esteem. 
 
 ' This extraordinary person, whom everybody was 
 as anxious to see, and to know, as if he had been a 
 Napoleon, the conqueror of the world, had a notion 
 that he was hated, and avoided like one who had 
 broken quarantine. He used often to mention to me 
 the kindness of this or that insignificant individual, for 
 having given him a good and friendly reception. In 
 
 14 — 2
 
 213 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 this particular Lord Byron was capricious, for at 
 Genoa he would scarcely see anyone but those who 
 lived in his own family ; whereas at Cephalonia 
 he was to everyone and at all times accessible. At 
 Genoa he acted the misanthropist ; at Cephalonia he 
 appeared in his genuine character, doing good, and 
 rather courting than shunning society. 
 
 * Lord Byron conceived that he possessed a profound 
 knowledge of mankind, and of the working of their 
 passions. In this he judged right. He could fathom 
 every mind and heart but his own, the extreme depths 
 of which none ever reached. On my arrival Irom 
 England at Cephalonia, his lordship asked me what 
 new publications I had brought out. Among others I 
 mentioned " The Springs of Action." " Springs of 
 Action !" said Lord Byron, stamping with rage with 
 his lame foot, and then turning sharply on his heel, " I 
 don't require to be taught on this head. I know well 
 what are the springs of action." Some time after- 
 wards, while speaking on another subject, he desired 
 me to lend him " The Springs of Action." He 
 then suddenly changed the conversation to some 
 humorous remarks for the purpose of diverting my 
 attention. I could not, however, forbear remind- 
 ing him of his former observations and his furious 
 stamp. 
 
 ' Avarice and great generosity were among Lord 
 Byron's qualities ; these contrarieties are said not un- 
 frequently to be united in the same person. As an 
 instance of Lord Byron's parsimony, he was constantly 
 attacking Count Gamba, sometimes, indeed, playfully, 
 but more often with the bitterest satire, for having 
 purchased for the use of his family, while in Greece, 
 500 dollars' worth of cloth. This he used to mention 
 as an instance of the Count's imprudence and extrav- 
 agance. Lord Byron told me one day, with a tone 
 of great gravity, that this 500 dollars would have 
 been most serviceable in promoting the siege of 
 Lepanto ; and that he never would, to the last moment 
 of his existence, forgive Gamba for having squan- 
 dered away his money in the purchase of cloth. No 
 one will suppose that Lord Byron could be serious 
 in such a denunciation ; he entertained, in reality, the 
 highest opinion of Count Gamba, who both on account
 
 BYRON'S GENEROSITY 213 
 
 of his talents and devotedness to his friend merited 
 his lordship's esteem. 
 
 * Lord Byron's generosity is before the world ; he 
 promised to devote his large income to the cause of 
 Greece, and he honestly acted up to his pledge. It 
 was impossible for Lord Byron to have made a more 
 useful, and therefore a more noble, sacrifice of his 
 wealth, than by devoting it, ivith discretion, to the 
 Greek cause. He set a bright example to the million- 
 aires of his ovv'n country, who certainly show but little 
 public spirit. Most of them expend their fortunes in 
 acts of ostentation or selfishness. Few there are of 
 this class who will devote, perchance, the hundredth 
 part of their large incomes to acts of benevolence or 
 bettering the condition of their fellow-men. None of 
 our millionaires, with all their pride and their boasting 
 have had the public virtue, like Lord Byron, to sacrifice 
 their incomes or their lives in aid of a people struggling 
 for liberty, 
 
 * Lord Byron's reading was desultory, but extensive ; 
 his memory was retentive to an extraordinary extent. 
 He was partial to the Italian poets, and is said to have 
 borrowed from them. Their fine thoughts he certainly 
 associated with his own, but with such skill that he 
 could not be accused of plagiarism. Lord Byron 
 possessed, indeed, a genius absolutely boundless, and 
 could create with such facihty that it would have been 
 irksome to him to have become a servile imitator. 
 He was original in all things, but especially as a 
 poet. 
 
 ' The study of voyages and travels was that in which 
 he most delighted ; their details he seemed actually to 
 devour. He would sit up all night reading them. 
 His whole soul was absorbed in these adventures, and 
 he appeared to personify the traveller. Lord Byron 
 had a particular aversion to business ; his familiar 
 letters were scrawled out at a great rate, and resembled 
 his conversations. Rapid as were his tongue and his 
 pen, neither could keep pace with the quick succession 
 of ideas that flashed across his mind. He hated nothing 
 more than writing formal official letters ; this drudgery 
 he would generally put off from day to day, and finish 
 by desiring Count Gamba, or some other friend, to 
 perform the task. No wonder that Lord Byron should
 
 214 BYRON : THE LAST PHASE 
 
 dislike this dry antipoetic work, and which he, in 
 reality, performed with so much difficulty. Lord 
 Byron's arduous yet unsuccessful labours in this 
 barren field put me in mind of the difficulty which one 
 of the biographers of Addison describes this politician 
 to have experienced, when attempting to compose 
 an official paragraph for the Gazette announcing the 
 death of the Queen. This duty, after a long and 
 ineffectual attempt, the Minister, in despair, handed 
 over to a clerk, who (not being a genius, but a man of 
 business) performed it in an instant. 
 
 * Not less was Lord Byron's aversion to reading than 
 to writing official documents ; these he used to hand 
 over to me, pretending, spite of all my protestations to 
 the contrary, that I had a passion for documents. When 
 once Lord Byron had taken any whim into his head, he 
 listened not to contradiction, but went on laughing and 
 satirizing till his joke had triumphed over argument 
 and fact. Thus I, for the sake of peace, was sometimes 
 silent, and suffered him to good-naturedly bully me 
 into reading over, or, rather, yawning over, a mass of 
 documents dull and uninteresting. 
 
 * Lord Byron once told me, in a humorous tone, 
 but apparently quite in earnest, that he never could 
 acquire a competent knowledge of arithmetic. Addition 
 and subtraction he said he could, though with 
 some difficulty, accomplish. The mechanism of the 
 rule of three pleased him, but then division was a 
 puzzle he could not muster up sufficient courage to 
 unravel. I mention this to show of how low a cast 
 Lord Byron's capacity was in some commonplace 
 matters, where he could not command attention. The 
 reverse was the case on subjects of a higher order, and 
 in those trifling ones, too, that pleased his fancj'-. Moved 
 by such themes, the impulses of his genius shot forth, 
 by day and night, from his troubled brain, electric 
 sparks or streams of light, like blazing meteors. 
 
 * Lord Byron loved Greece. Her climate and her 
 scenery, her history, her struggles, her great men and 
 her antiquities, he admired. He declared that he had 
 no mastery over his own thoughts. In early youth he 
 was no poet, nor was he now, except when the fit was 
 upon him, and he felt his mind agitated and feverish. 
 These attacks, he continued, scarcely ever visited him
 
 THE FUNERAL PROCESSION 215 
 
 anywhere but in Greece ; there he felt himself ex- 
 hilarated — metamorphosed into another person, and 
 with another soul — in short, never had he, but in 
 Greece, written one good line of poetry. This is a fact 
 exaggerated, as facts often are, by the impulses of strong 
 feelings. It is not on that account less calculated to 
 convey to others the character of Lord Byron's mind, 
 or to impress it the less upon their recollections. 
 
 * Once established at Missolonghi, it required some 
 great impetus to move Lord Byron from that unhealthy 
 swamp. On one occasion, when irritated by the Suliotes 
 and the constant applications for money, he intimated 
 his intention to depart. The citizens of Missolonghi 
 and the soldiers grumbled, and communicated to me, 
 through Dr. Meyer, their discontent. I repeated what 
 I had heard to 'Lord Byron. He replied, calmly, that 
 he would rather be cut to pieces than imprisoned, for 
 he came to aid the Greeks in their struggle for liberty, 
 and not to be their slave. No wonder that the " Hel- 
 lenists" endeavoured to impede Lord Byron's departure, 
 for even I, a mere soldier, could not escape from Mis- 
 solonghi, Athens, Corinth, or Salona, without consider- 
 able difficulty. Some time previous to Lord Byron's 
 death, he began to feel a restlessness and a wish to 
 remove to Athens or to Zante.' 
 
 On Monday, July 12, at eleven o'clock in the morn- 
 ing, the funeral procession, attended by a great number 
 of carriages and by crowds of people, left No. 20, Great 
 George Street, Westminster, and, passing the Abbey, 
 moved slowly to St. Pancras Gate. Here a halt was 
 made ; the carriages returned, and the hearse proceeded 
 by slow stages to Nottingham. 
 
 The Mayor and Corporation of Nottingham now 
 joined the funeral procession. Mr. Hobhouse, who 
 attended, tells us that the cortege extended about 
 a quarter of a mile, and, moving very slowly, was five 
 hours on the road to Hucknall-Torkard. 
 
 'The view of it as it wound through the villages 
 of Papplewick and Lindlay excited sensations in me
 
 2i6 BYRON: THE LAST PHASE 
 
 which will never be forgotten. As we passed under 
 the Hill of Annesley, "crowned with the peculiar 
 diadem of trees " immortalized by Byron, I called to 
 mind a thousand particulars of my first visit to New- 
 stead. It was dining at Annesley Park that I saw the 
 first interview of Byron, after a long interval, with his 
 early love, Mary Anne Chaworth. 
 
 * The churchyard and the little church of Hucknall 
 were so crowded that it was with difficulty we could 
 follow the coffin up the aisle. The contrast between 
 the gorgeous decorations of the coffin and the urn, 
 and the humble village church, was very striking. I 
 was told afterwards that the place was crowded until 
 a late hour in the evening, and that the vault was not 
 closed until the next morning. 
 
 ' I should mention that I thought Lady Byron ought 
 to be consulted respecting the funeral of her husband ; 
 and I advised Mrs. Leigh to write to her, and ask what 
 her wishes might be. Her answer was, if the deceased 
 had left no instructions, she thought the matter might 
 be left to the judgment of Mr. Hobhouse. There was 
 a postscript, saying, " If you like you may show this." ' 
 
 Hobhouse concludes his account with these words : 
 
 ' I was present at the marriage of this lady with my 
 friend, and handed her into the carriage which took 
 the bride and bridegroom away. Shaking hands with 
 Lady Byron, I wished her all happiness. Her answer 
 was : " If I am not happy, it will be my own fault." '
 
 PART II 
 
 WHAT THE POEMS rAVeAL 
 
 ' Intesi, che a cosi fatto tormento 
 Enno dannati i peccator carnali 
 Che la ragion sommettono al talento.' 
 
 Inferno, Canto V., 37-39.
 
 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 ' Every author in some degree portrays himself in his works, even 
 be it against his will.' — Goethe. 
 
 Lady Byron has expressed her opinion that almost 
 every incident in Byron's poems was drawn from his 
 personal experience. In a letter to Lady Anne Bar- 
 nard, written two years after the separation, she says : 
 
 ' In regard to [Byron's] poetry, egotism is the vital 
 principle of his imagination, which it is difficult for 
 him to kindle on any subject with which his own 
 character and interests are not identified ; but by the 
 introduction of fictitious incidents, by change of scene 
 or time, he has enveloped his poetical disclosures in a 
 system impenetrable except to a very few.' 
 
 Byron himself has told us in 'Don Juan' that his 
 music 'has some mystic diapasons, with much which 
 could not be appreciated in any manner by the 
 uninitiated.' In a letter to John Murray (August 23, 
 1 821), he says: 'Almost all "Don Juan" is real life, 
 either my own or from people I knew.' 
 
 It is no exaggeration to say that in Byron's poems 
 some of the mysterious incidents in his life are plainly 
 revealed. For example, ' Childe Harold,' ' The Giaour,' 
 'The Bride of Abydos,' 'The Corsair,' 'Lara,' 'The 
 Dream,' ' Manfred,' ' Don Juan,' and several of the 
 smaller pieces, all disclose episodes connected with his 
 own personal experience. In the so-called ' Fugitive 
 Pieces ' we get a glimpse of his school life and friend- 
 
 219
 
 220 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 ships; his pursuits during the time that he resided 
 with his mother at Southwell ; and his introduction to 
 Cambridge. In the * Hours of Idleness ' we are intro- 
 duced to Mary Chaworth, after her marriage and the 
 ruin of his hopes. 
 
 In the verse * Remembrance ' we realize that the 
 dawn of his life is overcast. We see, from some verses 
 written in 1808, how, three years after that marriage, 
 he was still the victim of a fatal infatuation : 
 
 ' I deem'd that Time, I deem'd that Pride, 
 Had quench'd at length my boyish flame ; 
 Nor knew, till seated by thy side. 
 
 My heart in all — save hope — the same.' 
 
 After lingering for three months in the neighbour- 
 hood of the woman whom he so unwisely loved, he 
 finally resolved to break the chain : 
 
 ' In flight I shall be surely wise. 
 
 Escaping from temptation's snare ; 
 I cannot view my Paradise 
 Without the wish of dwelling there.' 
 
 When about to leave England, in vain pursuit of the 
 happiness he had lost, he addresses passionate verses 
 to Mary Chaworth : 
 
 ' And I must from this land be gone. 
 Because I cannot love but one.' 
 
 He tells her that he has had love passages with 
 another woman, in the vain hope of destroying the 
 love of his life : 
 
 * But some unconquerable spell 
 Forbade my bleeding breast to own 
 A kindred care for aught but one.' 
 
 He wished to say farewell, but dared not trust him- 
 self. In the cantos of ' Childe Harold,' written during
 
 THE 'THYRZA' POEMS 221 
 
 his absence, he recurs to the subject nearest to his 
 heart. He says that before leaving Newstead — 
 
 ' Oft-times in his maddest mirthful mood 
 Strange pangs would flash along Childe Harold's brow, 
 As if the memory of some deadly fetid 
 Or disappointed passion lurked below : 
 But this none knew, nor haply cared to know.' 
 
 He mentions his mother, from whom he dreaded to 
 part, and his sister Augusta, whom he loved, but had 
 not seen for some time. After his return to England 
 in 181 1, he wrote the ' Thyrza ' poems, and added some 
 stanzas to * Childe Harold,' wherein he expresses 
 a hope that the separation between himself and Mary 
 Chaworth may not be eternal. He then pours out the 
 sorrows of his heart to B'rancis Hodgson. We cannot 
 doubt that the * Lines written beneath a Picture,' 
 composed at Athens in January, 181 1, 
 
 * Dear object of defeated care ! 
 Though now of Love and thee bereft,' 
 
 referred to Mary Chaworth, for he mentions the death- 
 blow of his hope. In the ' Epistle to a Friend,' Byron 
 mentions the effect which a chance meeting with Mary 
 had upon him, causing him to realize that ' Time had 
 not made him love the less.' 
 
 The poems that have puzzled the commentator most 
 were those which Byron addressed to ' Thyrza ' — 
 a mysterious personage, whose identity has not 
 hitherto been discovered. The present writer proposes 
 to enter fully, and, he hopes, impartially, into the 
 subject, trusting that the conclusions at which he 
 has arrived may ultimately be endorsed by others 
 who have given their serious attention to the question 
 at issue. 
 
 In any attempt to unravel the mystery of the
 
 222 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 ' Thyrza ' poems, it will be necessary to consider, not 
 only the circumstances in which they were written, 
 but also those associations of Byron's youth which 
 inspired a love that endured throughout his life. 
 
 Byron's attachment to his distant cousin, Mary Anne 
 Chaworth, is well known. We know that his boyish 
 love was not returned, and that the young heiress of 
 Annesley married, in 1805, Mr. John Musters, of 
 Colwick, in the neighbourhood of Nottingham. In 
 order to account for these love-poems, it has been 
 suggested that, subsequent to this marriage, Byron 
 fell in love with some incognita, whose identity has 
 never been established, and who died soon after his 
 return to England in 181 1. 
 
 We are unable to concur with so simple a solution 
 of the mystery, for the following reasons : It will 
 be remembered that shortly after Mary Chaworth's 
 marriage Byron entered Trinity College, Cambridge, 
 where he formed a romantic attachment to a young 
 chorister, named Edleston, whose life he had saved 
 from drowning. Writing to Miss Elizabeth Pigot on 
 June 30, 1807, Byron says : 
 
 * I quit Cambridge with very little regret, because 
 our set are vanished, and my musical protege (Edleston), 
 before mentioned, has left the choir, and is stationed 
 in a mercantile house of considerable eminence in the 
 Metropolis. You may have heard me observe he is, 
 exactly to an hour, two years younger than myself. 
 I found him grown considerably, and, as you may 
 suppose, very glad to see his former Patron* He is 
 nearly my height, very thin, very fair complexion, dark 
 eyes, and light locks. 
 
 ' My opinion of his mind you already know ; I hope 
 I shall never have occasion to change it.' 
 
 * They appear to have met accidentally in Trinity Walks a few 
 days earlier. Edleston did not at first recognize Byron, who had 
 grown so thin.
 
 FRIENDSHIP WITH EDLESTON 223 
 
 On July 5, 1807, Byron again wrote to Miss Pigot : 
 
 ' At this moment I write witli a bottle of claret in 
 my head and tears in my eyes ; for I have just parted 
 with my "Cornelian,"* who spent the evening with 
 me. As it was our last interview, I postponed my 
 engagement to devote the hours of the Sabbath to 
 friendship : Edleston and I have separated for the 
 present, and my mind is a chaos of hope and sorrow. 
 ... I rejoice to hear 3^ou are interested in vc^y protege ; 
 he has been ray almost constant ^ssocmiQ since October, 
 1805, when I entered Trinity College. His voice first 
 attracted my attention, his countenance fixed it, and his 
 manner attached me to him for ever. He departs for 
 a mercantile house in Town in October, and we shall 
 probably not meet till the expiration of my minority, 
 when I shall leave to his decision, either entering as 
 a partner through my interest, or residing with me 
 altogether. Of course he would, in his present frame 
 of mind, prefer the latter, but he may alter his opinion 
 previous to that period ; however, he shall have his 
 choice. I certainly love him more than any human 
 being, and neither time nor distance have had the least 
 effect on my (in general) changeable disposition. In 
 short, we shall put Lady E. Butler and Miss Ponsonby 
 (the " Ladies of Llangollen," as they were called) to 
 the blush, Pylades and Orestes out of countenance, 
 and want nothing but a catastrophe like Nisus and 
 Euryalus, to give Jonathan and David the "go by." 
 He certainly is perhaps more attached to me than even 
 I am in return. During the whole of my residence at 
 Cambridge we met every day, summer and winter, 
 without passing one tiresome moment, and separated 
 each time with increasing reluctance, I hope you 
 will one day see us together. He is the only being I 
 esteem, though I like many.' 
 
 This letter shows the depth of the boyish affection that 
 had sprung up between two lads with little experience 
 of life. The attachment on both sides was sincere, but 
 not more so than many similar boy friendships, which, 
 
 * Edleston, who some time previously had given Byron a 'Cor- 
 nelian ' as a parting gift on leaving Cambridge for the vacation.
 
 224 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 alas ! fade away under the chilling influences of time 
 and circumstance. In this case the 'Cornelian Heart' 
 that had sparkled with the tears of Edleston, and which, 
 in the fervour of his feelings, Byron had suspended 
 round his neck, was, not long afterwards, transferred 
 to Miss Elizabeth Pigot. 
 
 A vague notion seems to prevail that the inspiration 
 of these ' Thyrza ' poems is in some way connected with 
 Edleston. This idea seems to have arisen from Byron's 
 allusion to a pledge of affection given in better days : 
 
 ' Thou bitter pledge ! thou mournful token !' 
 
 We cannot accept this theory, being of opinion, not 
 lightly formed, that the ' bitter pledge ' referred to had 
 a far deeper and a more lasting significance than ever 
 could have belonged to ' the Cornelian heart that was 
 broken.' 
 
 In later years, it will be remembered, Byron told 
 Medwin that, shortly after his arrival at Cambridge, 
 he fell into habits of dissipation, in order to drown the 
 remembrance of a hopeless passion for Mary Chaworth. 
 That Mary Chaworth held his affections at that time 
 is beyond question. She also had given Byron * a 
 token,' which was still in his possession when the 
 ' Thyrza ' poems were written ; whereas Edleston's gift 
 had passed to other hands. The following anecdote, 
 related by the Countess Guiccioli, may be accepted on 
 Byron's authority : 
 
 'One day (while Byron and Musters were bathing 
 in the Trent — a river that runs through the grounds 
 of Colwick) Mr, Musters perceived a ring among Lord 
 Byron's clothes, left on the bank. To see and take 
 possession of it was the affair of a moment. Musters 
 had recognized it as having belonged to Miss Chaworth. 
 Lord Byron claimed it, but Musters would not restore 
 the ring. High words were exchanged. On returning
 
 THE 'THYRZA' POEMS 225 
 
 to the house, Musters jumped on a horse, and galloped 
 off to ask an explanation from Miss Chaworth, who, 
 being forced to confess that Lord Byron wore the 
 ring with her consent, felt obliged to make amends 
 to Musters, by promising to declare immediately her 
 engagement with him.' 
 
 It is therefore probable that the 'dear simple gift,' 
 of the first draft, was the ring which Mary Chaworth 
 had given to her boy lover in 1804, and that the words 
 we have quoted had no connection whatever with 
 young Edleston. 
 
 Assuming that the ' Thyrza ' poems were addressed 
 to a woman — and there is abundant proof of this — it is 
 remarkable that, neither in the whole course of his 
 correspondence with his friends, nor from any source 
 whatever, can any traces be found of any other serious 
 attachment which would account for the poems in 
 question. Between the date of the marriage, in 1805, 
 and the autumn of 1808, Byron and Mary Chaworth 
 had not met. It will be remembered that in the autumn 
 — only eight months before he left England with Hob- 
 house — Byron met Mary Chaworth at dinner in her 
 own home. The effect of that meeting, which he has 
 himself described, shows the depth of his feelings, and 
 precludes the idea that he could at that time have 
 been deeply interested in anyone else. After that 
 meeting Byron remained three months in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Annesley ; and it may be inferred that an 
 intimacy sprang up between them, which was broken 
 off somewhat abruptly by Mary's husband. There are 
 traces of this in * Lara.' 
 
 At the end of November, 1808, Byron writes from 
 Newstead to his sister : 
 
 ' I am living here alone, which suits my inclination 
 better than society of any kind. ... I am a very 
 
 15
 
 226 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 unlucky fellow, for I think I had naturally not a bad 
 heart ; but it has been so bent, twisted, and trampled 
 on, that it has now become as hard as a Highlander's 
 heelpiece.' 
 
 A fortnight later he writes to Hanson, his agent, 
 and talks of either marrying for money or blowing 
 his brains out. It was then that he wrote those verses 
 addressed to Mary Chaworth : 
 
 ' When man, expell'd from Eden's bowers, 
 A moment linger'd near the gate, 
 Each scene recall'd the vanish'd hours, 
 And bade him curse his future fate. 
 
 ' In flight I shall be surely wise, 
 
 Escaping from temptation's snare ; 
 I cannot view my Paradise 
 Without the wish of dwelling there.' 
 
 On January 25, 1809, Byron returned to London. 
 It is hard to believe that during those three months 
 Byron did not often meet the lady of his love. It is 
 more than probable that the old friendship between 
 them had been renewed, since there is evidence to 
 prove that, after Byron had taken his seat in the 
 House of Lords on March 13, 1809, he confided his 
 Parliamentary robes to Mary Chaworth's safe-keeping, 
 a circumstance which suggests a certain amount of 
 neighbourly friendship. 
 
 In May, Byron again visited Newstead, where he 
 entertained Matthews and some of his college friends. 
 That serenade indiscrete^ 
 
 ' 'Tis done — and shivering in the gale,' 
 
 which was addressed to Mary Chaworth from Fal- 
 mouth on, or about, June 22, shows the state of his 
 feelings towards her; but she does not seem to have 
 given him any encouragement, and there was no cor-
 
 I 
 
 DEATH OF MRS. BYRON 227 
 
 respondence between them during Byron's absence 
 from England. Between July 2, 1809, and July 15, 
 181 1, Byron's thoughts were fully occupied in other 
 directions. His distractions, which may be traced in 
 his writings, were, however, not sufficient to crush 
 out the remembrance of that fatal infatuation. When, 
 in 181 1, he returned to England, it was without pleasure, 
 and without the faintest hope of any renewal of an 
 intimacy which Mary Chaworth had broken off for 
 both their sakes. He was in no hurry to visit New- 
 stead, where his mother anxiously awaited him, and 
 dawdled about town, under various pretexts, until the 
 first week in August, when he heard of his mother's 
 serious illness. Before Byron reached Newstead his 
 mother had died. He seems to have heard of her 
 illness one day, and of her death on the day following. 
 Although there had long been a certain estrangement 
 between them, all was now forgotten, and Byron felt 
 his mother's death acutely. 
 
 It was at this time that he wrote to his friend Scrope 
 Davies : 
 
 ' Some curse hangs over me and mine. My mother 
 lies a corpse in this house ; one of my best friends 
 (Charles Skinner Matthews) is drowned in a ditch. 
 What can I say, or think, or do ? I received a letter 
 from him the day before yesterday. . . . Come to me, 
 Scrope; I am almost desolate — left almost alone in the 
 world.' 
 
 In that gloomy frame of mind, in the solitude of a 
 ruin — for Newstead at that time was but little better 
 than a ruin — Byron, on August 12, drew up some 
 directions for his will, in which he desired to be buried 
 in the garden at Newstead, by the side of his favourite 
 dog Boatswain. 
 
 On the same day he wrote to Dallas, who was 
 
 15—2
 
 228 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 superintending the printing of the first and second 
 cantos of ' Childe Harold ': 
 
 * Peace be with the dead ! Regret cannot wake 
 them. With a sigh to the departed, let us resume the 
 dull business of life, in the certainty that we also shall 
 have our repose. Besides her who gave me being, I 
 have lost more than one who made that being tolerable. 
 Matthews, a man of the first talents, and also not the 
 worst of my narrow circle, has perished miserably in 
 the muddy waves of the Cam, always fatal to genius ; 
 my poor schoolfellow, Wingfield, at Coimbra — within 
 a month; and whilst I had heard from all three^ but not 
 seen one. . . . But let this pass ; we shall all one day 
 pass along with the rest. The world is too full of such 
 things, and our very sorrow is selfish. ... I am 
 already too familiar with the dead. It is strange that 
 I look on the skulls which stand beside me (I have 
 always had four in my study) without emotion, but I 
 cannot strip the features of those I have known of 
 their fleshy covering, even in idea, without a hideous 
 sensation ; but the worms are less ceremonious. 
 Surely, the Romans did well when they burned the 
 dead.' 
 
 The writer of this letter was in his twenty-fourth 
 year! 
 
 Ten days later Byron writes to Hodgson : 
 
 * Indeed the blows followed each other so rapidly 
 that I am yet stupid from the shock ; and though I do 
 eat, and drink, and talk, and even laugh at times, yet I 
 can hardly persuade myself that I am awake, did not 
 every morning convince me mournfully to the contrary. 
 I shall now waive the subject, the dead are at rest, and 
 none but the dead can be so. . . . I am solitary, and 
 I never felt solitude irksome before.' 
 
 At about the same date, in a letter to Dallas, Byron 
 writes : 
 
 ' At three-and-twenty I am left alone, and what more 
 can we be at seventy ? It is true I am young enough 
 to begin again, but with whom can I retrace the laugh-
 
 HAUNTING MEMORIES 229 
 
 ing part of my life? It is odd how few of my friends 
 have died a quiet death — I mean, in their beds ! 
 
 ' I cannot settle to anything, and my days pass, with 
 the exception of bodily exercise to some extent, with 
 uniform mdolence and idle insipidity.' 
 
 The verses, ' Oh ! banish care,' etc., were written at 
 this time. 
 
 In the following lines we see that his grief at the 
 losses he had sustained was deepened by the haunting 
 memory of Mary Chaworth : 
 
 ' I've seen my bride another's bride — 
 Have seen her seated by his side — 
 Have seen the infant which she bore 
 Wear the sweet smile the mother wore, 
 When she and I in youth have smiled 
 As fond and faultless as her child ; 
 Have seen her e3'es, in cold disdain, 
 Ask if I felt no secret pain. 
 And I have acted well my part, 
 And made my cheek belie my heart. 
 Returned the freezing glance she gave, 
 Yet felt the while that woman's slave ; 
 Have kissed, as if without design. 
 The babe which ought to have been mine. 
 And showed, alas ! in each caress 
 Time had not made me love the less.' 
 
 Moore, who knew more of the inner workings of 
 Byron's mind in later years than anyone else, has told 
 us that the poems addressed to * Thyrza ' were merely 
 * the abstract spirit of many griefs,' and that the pseu- 
 donym was given to an ' object of affection ' to whom 
 he poured out the sorrows of his heart. 
 
 'All these recollections,' says Moore, 'of the young 
 and dead now came to mingle themselves in his mind 
 with the image of her who, though livings was for him 
 as much lost as they, and diffused that general feeling 
 of sadness and fondness through his soul, which found 
 a vent in these poems. No friendship, however warm,
 
 230 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 could have inspired sorrow so passionate ; as no love, 
 however pure, could have kept passion so chastened. 
 
 ' It was the blending of the two affections in his 
 memory and imagination that thus gave birth to an 
 ideal object combining the best features of both, and 
 drew from him these saddest and tenderest of love- 
 poems, in which we find all the depth and intensity of 
 real feeling, touched over with such a light as no reality 
 ever wore.' 
 
 Moore here expresses himself guardedly. He was 
 one of the very few who knew the whole story of 
 Mary Chaworth's associations with Byron. He could 
 not, of course, betray his full knowledge ; but he has 
 made it sufficiently clear that Byron, in writing the 
 ' Thyrza ' group of poems, was merely strewing the 
 flowers of poetry on the grave of his love for Mary 
 Chaworth. 
 
 The first of these poems was written on the day on 
 which he heard of the death of Edleston. In a letter 
 to Dallas he says : 
 
 * I have been again shocked by a death, and have lost 
 one very dear to me in happier times. I have become 
 callous, nor have I a tear left for an event which, five 
 years ago, would have bowed down my head to the 
 earth. It seems as though I were to experience in my 
 youth the greatest misery of age. My friends fall 
 around me, and I shall be left a lonely tree before I 
 am withered. Other men can always take refuge in 
 their families ; I have no resource but my own reflec- 
 tions, and they present no prospect here or hereafter, 
 except the selfish satisfaction of surviving my betters. 
 I am indeed very wretched, and you will excuse 
 my saying so, as you know I am not apt to cant of 
 sensibility.'* 
 
 Shortly after this letter was written Byron visited 
 Cambridge, where, among the many memories which 
 
 * Edleston had died five months before Byron heard the sad 
 news.
 
 THE CORNELIAN HEART 231 
 
 that place awakened, a remembrance of the young 
 
 chorister and their ardent friendship was most vivid. 
 
 Byron recollected the Cornelian that Edleston gave 
 
 him as a token of friendship, and, now that the giver 
 
 had passed away for ever, he regretted that he had 
 
 parted with it. The following letter to Mrs. Pigot 
 
 explains itself: 
 
 ' Cambridge, 
 
 'Odober 28, 1811. 
 ' Dear Madam, 
 
 ' I am about to write to you on a silly subject, 
 and yet I cannot well do otherwise. You may remem- 
 ber a coriielian which some years ago I consigned to 
 Miss Pigot — indeed I gave to her — and now I am 
 going to make the most selfish and rude of requests. 
 The person who gave it to me, when I was very 
 young, is dead, and though a long time has elapsed 
 since we met, as it was the only memorial I possessed 
 of that person (in whom I was very much interested), 
 it has acquired a value by this event I could have 
 wished it never to have borne in my eyes. If, there- 
 fore. Miss Pigot should have preserved it, I must, 
 under these circumstances, beg her to excuse my re- 
 questing it to be transmitted to me at No. 8, St. James' 
 Street, London, and I will replace it by something she 
 may remember me by equally well. As she was 
 always so kind as to feel interested in the fate of 
 him that formed the subject of our conversation, you 
 may tell her that the giver of that cornelian died in 
 May last of a consumption at the age of twenty-one, 
 making the sixth, within four months, of friends and 
 relatives that I have lost between May and the end of 
 August. 
 
 ' Believe me, dear madam, 
 
 ' Yours very sincerely, 
 
 ' Byron.* 
 
 The cornelian when found, was returned to Byron, 
 but apparently in a broken condition. 
 
 ' Ill-fated Heart ! and can it be, 
 That thou shouldst thus be rent in twain ?'
 
 232 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 It was through the depressing influence of solitude 
 that the idea entered Byron's mind to depict his (pos- 
 sibly eternal) separation from Mary Chaworth in terms 
 synonymous with death. With a deep feeling of deso- 
 lation he recalled every incident of his boyish love. 
 We have seen how the image of his lost Mary, now 
 the wife of his rival, deepened the gloom caused by 
 the sudden death of his mother, and of some of his 
 college friends. It was to Mary, whom he dared not 
 name, that he cried in his agony : 
 
 ' By many a shore and many a sea 
 Divided, yet beloved in vain ; 
 The Past, the Future fled to thee, 
 To bid us meet — no, ne'er again I' 
 
 Her absence from Annesley, where he had hoped to 
 find her on his return home, was a great disappoint- 
 ment to him. 
 
 ' Thou too art gone, thou loved and lovely one ! 
 Whom Youth and Youth's affections bound to me ; 
 Who did for me what none beside have done. 
 Nor shrank from one albeit unworthy thee. 
 What is my Being ! thou hast ceased to be ! 
 Nor staid to welcome here thy wanderer home. 
 Who mourns o'er hours which we no more shall see — 
 Would they had never been, or were to come ! 
 Would he had ne'er returned to find fresh cause to roam ! 
 
 ' Oh ! ever loving, lovely, and beloved ! 
 How selfish Sorrow ponders on the past, 
 And clings to thoughts now better far removed ! 
 But Time shall tear thy shadow from me last. 
 All thou couldst have of mine, stern Death ! thou hast ; 
 The Parent, Friend, and now the more than Friend : 
 Ne'er yet for one thine arrows flew so fast, 
 And grief with grief continuing still to blend. 
 Hath snatch'd the little joy that Life hath yet to lend.
 
 THE WANDERER RETURNS 233 
 
 What is the worst of woes that wait on Age ? 
 What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow ? 
 To view each loved one blotted from Life's page, 
 And be alone on earth, as I am now. 
 Before the Chastener humbly let me bow, 
 O'er Hearts divided and o'er Hopes destroyed : 
 Roll on, vain days ! full reckless may ye flow. 
 Since Time hath reft whate'er my soul enjoyed, 
 And with the ills of Eld mine earlier years alloyed.' 
 
 These stanzas were attached to the second canto of 
 'Childe Harold,' after that poem was in the press. 
 Mr. Ernest Hartley Coleridge, who so ably edited the 
 latest edition of the poetry of Byron, states that they 
 were sent to Dallas on the same day that Byron 
 composed the poem * To Thyrza.' This is significant, 
 as also his attempt to mystify Dallas by telling him 
 that he had again (October 11, 181 1) been shocked by 
 a death. This was true enough, for he had on that 
 day heard of the death of Edleston ; but it was not true 
 that the stanzas we have quoted had any connection 
 with that event. Mr. Coleridge in a note says : 
 
 * In connection with this subject, it may be noted 
 that the lines 6 and 7 of Stanza XCV., 
 
 ' " Nor staid to welcome here thy wanderer home, 
 
 Who mourns o'er hours which we no more shall see," 
 
 do not bear out Byron's contention to Dallas (Letters, 
 October 14 and 31, 18 11) that in these three m memoriam 
 stanzas (IX., XCV., XCVI.) he is bewailing an event 
 which took place after he returned to Newstead.* The 
 *' more than friend " had " ceased to be " before the 
 " wanderer " returned. It is evident that Byron did 
 not take Dallas into his confidence.' 
 
 Assuredly he did not. The ' more than friend ' was 
 not dead ; she had merely absented herself, and did not 
 
 * ' I think it proper to state to you that this stanza alludes to an 
 event: which has taken place since my arrival here, and not to the 
 death of any male friend.' — Lord Byron to Mr. Dallas.
 
 234 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 stay to welcome the ' wanderer ' on his return from 
 his travels. She was, however, dead to him in a sense 
 far deeper than mere absence at such a time. 
 
 ' The absent are the dead — for they are cold, 
 And ne'er can be what once we did behold.'* 
 
 Mary Chaworth's presence would have consoled him 
 at a time when he felt alone in the world. He feared 
 that she was lost to him for ever. He knew her too 
 well to suppose that she could ever be more to him 
 than a friend ; and yet it was just that female sympathy 
 and friendship for which he so ardently yearned. In 
 his unreasonableness, he was both hurt and dis- 
 appointed that this companion of his earlier days 
 should have kept away from her home at that par- 
 ticular time, and of course misconstrued the cause. 
 With the feeling that this parting must be eternal, he 
 wished that they could have met once more. 
 
 ' Could this have been — a word, a look, 
 That softly said, " We part in peace," 
 Had taught my bosom how to brook. 
 With fainter sighs, thy soul's release." ' 
 
 In the bitterness of his desolation he recalled the 
 
 days when they were at Newstead together — probably 
 
 stolen interviews, which find no place in history — 
 
 when 
 
 ' many a day 
 In these, to me, deserted towers. 
 Ere called but for a time away, 
 Affection's mingling tears were ours ? 
 
 * That this Thyrza was no passing fancy is proved by Lord Love- 
 lace's statement in ' Astarte' (p. 138) : ' He had occasionally spoken 
 of Thyrza to Lady Byron, at Seaham and afterwards in London, 
 always with slrong but contained emotion. He once showed his wife 
 a beautiful tress of Thyrza's hair, but never mentioned her real 
 name.
 
 MRS. GEORGE LAMB 235 
 
 Ours, too, the glance none saw beside ; 
 The smile none else might understand ; 
 The whispered thought ; the walks aside ; 
 The pressure of the thrilling hand ; 
 The kiss so guiltless and refined. 
 That Love each warmer wish forbore ; 
 Those eyes proclaimed so pure a mind, 
 Ev'n Passion blushed to plead for more. 
 The tone that taught me to rejoice, 
 When prone, unlike thee, to repine ; 
 The song, celestial from thy voice, 
 But sweet to me from none but thine ; 
 The pledge we wore — / wear it still, 
 But where is thine ? Ah ! where art thou ? 
 Oft have I borne the weight of ill. 
 But never bent beneath till now !' 
 
 Six days after these lines were written Byron left 
 Newstead. Writing to Hodgson from his lodgings in 
 St. James's Street, he enclosed some stanzas which he 
 had written a day or two before, ' on hearing a song of 
 former days.' The lady, whose singing now so deeply 
 impressed Byron, was the Hon. Mrs. George Lamb, 
 whom he had met at Melbourne House. 
 
 In this, the second of the ' Thyrza' poems, the allusions 
 
 to Mary Chaworth are even more marked. Byron 
 
 says the songs of Mrs. George Lamb ' speak to him of 
 
 brighter days,' and that he hopes to hear those strains 
 
 no more : 
 
 ' For now, alas ! 
 
 I must not think, I may not gaze. 
 On what I am — on what I was. 
 
 The voice that made those sounds more sweet 
 Is hush'd, and all their charms are fled. 
 
 ***** 
 ' On my ear 
 The well-remembered echoes thrill ; 
 
 I hear a voice I would not hear, 
 A voice that now might well be still. 
 
 *****
 
 236 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 ' Sweet Thyrza ! waking as in sleep, 
 
 Thou art but nowia lovely dream ; 
 A Star that trembled o'er the deep, 
 
 Then turned from earth its tender beam. 
 But he who through Life's dreary way 
 
 Must pass, when Heaven is veiled in wrath, 
 Will long lament the vanished ray 
 
 That scattered gladness o'er his path.' 
 
 In Byron's imagination Mary Chaworth was always 
 hovering over him like a star. She was the ' starlight 
 of his boyhood,' the * star of his destiny,' and three 
 years later the poet, in his unpublished fragment 
 * Harmodia,' speaks of Mary as his 
 
 ' melancholy star 
 Whose tearful beam shoots trembling from afar.' 
 
 The third and last of the ' Thyrza * poems must have 
 been written at about the same time as the other two. 
 It appeared with ' Childe Harold' in 1812. Byron, 
 weary of the gloom of solitude, and tortured by 'pangs 
 that rent his heart in twain,' now determined to break 
 away and seek inspiration for that mental energy which 
 formed part of his nature. Man, he says, was not 
 made to live alone. 
 
 ' I'll be that light unmeaning thing 
 
 That smiles with all, and weeps with none. 
 
 It was not thus in days more dear, 
 It never would have been, but thou 
 
 Hast fled, and left me lonely here.' 
 
 Byron's thoughts went back to the days when he 
 was sailing over the bright waters of the blue ^Egean, 
 in the Salsette frigate, commanded by 'good old 
 Bathurst '* — those halcyon days when he was weaving 
 his visions into stanzas for * Childe Harold.' 
 
 * Captain (afterwards Commodore) Walter Bathurst was mortally 
 wounded at the Battle of Navai-ino, on October 20, 1827. — ' Battles of 
 the British Navy,' Joseph Allen, vol. ii., p. 518.
 
 WHEN LOVE AND LIFE WERE NEW 237 
 
 ' On many a lone and lovely night 
 
 It soothed to gaze upon the sky ; 
 For then I deemed the heavenly light 
 
 Shone sweetly on thy pensive eye : 
 And oft I thought at Cynthia's noon, 
 
 When sailing o'er the -^Egean wave, 
 " Now Thyrza gazes on that moon" — 
 
 Alas ! it gleamed upon her grave ! 
 
 ' When stretched on Fever's sleepless bed, 
 
 And sickness shrunk my throbbing veins, 
 " 'Tis comfort still," I faintly said, 
 
 "That Thyrza cannot know my pains." 
 Like freedom to the timeworn slave — 
 
 A boon 'tis idle then to give — 
 Relenting Nature vainly gave 
 
 My life, when Thyrza ceased to live ! 
 
 ' My Thyrza's pledge in better days, 
 
 When Love and Life alike were new ! 
 How different now thou meet'st my gaze ! 
 
 How tinged by time with Sorrow's hue ! 
 The heart that gave itself with thee 
 
 Is silent — ah, were mine as still ! 
 Though cold as e'en the dead can be, 
 
 It feels, it sickens with the chill.' 
 
 Byron here suggests that the pledge in question was 
 given with the giver's heart. Lovers are apt to inter- 
 pret such gifts as ' love-tokens,' without suspicion that 
 they may possibly have been due to a feeling far less 
 flattering to their hopes. 
 
 ' Thou bitter pledge ! thou mournful token ! 
 Though painful, welcome to my breast ! 
 Still, still, preserve that love unbroken, 
 
 Or break the heart to which thou'rt pressed. 
 Time tempers Love, but not removes, 
 More hallowed when its Hope is fied.' 
 
 These three pieces comprise the so-called ' Thyrza ' 
 poems, and, in the absence of proof to the contrary, 
 we may reasonably suppose that their subject was 
 Mary Chaworth. This is the more likely because the
 
 238 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 original manuscripts were the property of Byron's 
 sister, to whom they were probably given by Mary 
 Chaworth, when, in later years, she destroyed or parted 
 with all the letters and documents which she had re- 
 ceived from Byron since the days of their childhood. 
 
 Byron did not give up the hope of winning Mary 
 Chaworth's love until her marriage in 1805. Two 
 months later he entered Trinity College, Cambridge, 
 and from that time, until his departure with Hobhouse 
 on his first foreign tour, those who were in constant 
 intercourse with him never mentioned any other 
 object of adoration who might fit in with the Thyrza 
 of the poems. If such a person had really existed, 
 Byron would certainly, either in conversation or in 
 writing, have disclosed her identity. Moore makes 
 it clear that the one passion of Byron's life was Mary 
 Chaworth. He tells us that there were many fleeting 
 love-episodes, but only one passion strong enough to 
 have inspired the poems in question. If Byron's heart, 
 during the two years that he passed abroad, had been 
 overflowing with love for some incognita, it was not in 
 his nature to have kept silence. From his well-known 
 effusiveness, reticence under such circumstances is 
 inconceivable. 
 
 Finally, as there were no poems, no letters, and no 
 allusion to any such person in the firs^ draft of 'Childe 
 Harold,' we may confidently assume that the poet, in 
 the loneliness of his heart, appealed to the only woman 
 whom he ever really loved, and that the legendary 
 Thyrza was a myth. 
 
 It will be remembered that the ninth stanza in the 
 second canto of 'Childe Harold' was interpolated long 
 after the manuscript had been given to Dallas. It was 
 forwarded for that purpose, three days after the date
 
 ' A PERIOD OF DESOLATION 239 
 
 of the poem 'To Thyrza,' and essentially belongs to 
 that period of desolation which inspired those poems : 
 
 ' There, Thou ! whose Love and Life, together fied, 
 Have left me here to love and live in vain — 
 Twined with my heart, and can I deem thee dead, 
 When busy Memory flashes on my brain ? 
 Well — / will dream that we may meet again, 
 And woo the vision to my vacant breast : 
 If aught of young Remembrance then remain, 
 Be as it may Futurity's behest. 
 Or seeing tliee no more, to sink to sullen rest.'* 
 
 It is difficult to believe that this stanza was inspired 
 by a memory of the dead. Are we not told that ' Love 
 and Life together fled' — in other words, when Mary 
 withdrew her love, she was dead to him ? 
 
 He tells her that in abandoning him she has left 
 him to love and live in vain. And yet he will not give 
 up the hope of meeting her again some day ; this is 
 now his sole consolation. Memory of the past (pos- 
 sibly those meetings which took place by stealth, 
 shortly before his departure from England in 1809) 
 feeds the hope that now sustains him. But he will 
 leave everything to chance, and if fate decides that 
 they shall be parted for ever, then will he sink to 
 sullen apathy. 
 
 We may remind the reader that at this period (181 1) 
 Byron had no belief in any existence after death. 
 
 ' I will have nothing to do with your immortality,' 
 he writes to Hodgson in September ; * we are miser- 
 able enough in this life, without the absurdity of 
 speculating upon another. If men are to live, why die 
 at all ? and if they die, why disturb the sweet and 
 sound sleep that " knows no waking " ? 
 
 * " Post mortem nihil est, ipsaque Mors nihil . . . 
 (quaeris quo jaceas post obitum loco ? Quo non Nata 
 jacent." ' 
 
 * The last line was in the first draft.
 
 240 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 Even when, in later years, Byron somewhat modified 
 the views of his youth, he expressed an opinion that 
 
 ' A material resurrection seems strange, and even 
 absurd, except for purposes of punishment, and all 
 punishment which is to revenge Ta.ther than correcimxist 
 be morally wrong.'' 
 
 It is therefore tolerably certain that, on the day 
 when he expressed a hope that he might meet his 
 lady-love again, the meeting was to have been in this 
 world, and not in that ' land of souls beyond the sable 
 shore.' It must also be remembered that the eighth 
 stanza in the second canto of ' Childe Harold ' was 
 substituted for one in which Byron deliberately stated 
 that he did not look for Life, where life may never be. 
 The revise was written to please Dallas, and does not 
 pretend to be a confession of belief in immortality, but 
 merely an admission that, on a subject where ' nothing 
 can be known,' no final decision is possible. 
 
 In the summer of 1813 Byron underwent grave 
 vicissitudes, mental, moral, and financial. His letters 
 and journals teem with allusions to some catastrophe. 
 It seemed as though he were threatened with impend- 
 ing ruin. In his depressed state of mind he found 
 relief only, as he tells us, in the composition of poetry. 
 It was at this time that he wrote in swift succession 
 ' The Giaour,' * The Bride of Abydos,' and ' The Cor- 
 sair.' It is clear that Byron's dejection was the result 
 of a hopeless attachment. Mr. Hartley Coleridge 
 assumes that Byron's innamorata was Lady Frances 
 Wedderburn Webster. But that bright star did not 
 long shine in Byron's orbit — certainly not after Octo- 
 ber, 1 81 3 — and it is doubtful whether they were ever 
 on terms of close intimacy. Her husband had long 
 been Byron's friend. Byron had lent him money, and
 
 LADY FRANCES WEBSTER 241 
 
 had given him advice, which he seems to have sorely 
 needed. It is difficult to understand why Lady Frances 
 Webster should have been especially regarded as 
 Byron's Calypso. There is nothing to show that she 
 ever seriousl}' occupied his thoughts. Writing to 
 Moore on September 27, 18 13, Byron says : 
 
 * I stayed a week with the Websters, and behaved 
 very well, though the lady of the house is young, 
 religious, and pretty, and the master is my particular 
 friend. I felt no wish for anything but a poodle dog, 
 which they kindly gave me.' 
 
 So little does Byron seem to have been attracted by 
 Lady Frances, that he only once more visited the 
 Websters, and then only for a few days, on his way to 
 Newstead, between October 3 and 10, 181 3. 
 
 On June 3 of that year Byron wrote to Mr. John 
 Hanson, his solicitor, a letter which shows the state 
 of his mind at that time He tells Hanson that he is 
 about to visit Salt Hill, near Maidenhead, and that he 
 will be absent for one week. He is determined to go 
 abroad. The prospective lawsuit with Mr, Claughton 
 (about the sale of Newstead) is to be dropped, if it 
 cannot be carried on in Byron's absence. At all 
 hazards, at all losses, he is determined that nothing 
 shall prevent him from leaving the country. 
 
 * If utter ruin were or is before me on the one hand, 
 and wealth at home on the other, I have made my 
 choice, and go I will' 
 
 The pictures, and every movable that could be con- 
 verted into cash, were, by Byron's orders, to be sold. 
 'All I want is a few thousand pounds, and then, 
 Adieu. You shan't be troubled with me these ten 
 years, if ever.' Clearly, there must have been some- 
 thing more than a passing fancy which could have 
 
 16
 
 242 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 induced Byron to sacrifice his chances of selling 
 Newstead, for the sake of a few thousand pounds of 
 ready-money. It had been his intention to accompany 
 Lord and Lady Oxford on their travels, but this 
 project was abandoned. After three weeks — spent in 
 running backwards and forwards between Salt Hill 
 and London — Byron confided his troubles to Augusta. 
 She was always his rock of refuge in all his deeper 
 troubles. Augusta Leigh thought that absence might 
 mend matters, and tried hard to keep her brother up 
 to his resolve of going abroad ; she even volunteered 
 to accompany him. But Lady Melbourne — who must 
 have had a prurient mind — persuaded Byron that the 
 gossips about town would not consider it ' proper* for 
 him and his sister to travel alone ! As Byron was 
 at that time under the influence of an irresistible 
 infatuation. Lady Melbourne's warning turned the 
 scale, and the project fell through. Meanwhile the 
 plot thickened. Something — he told Moore — had ruined 
 all his prospects of matrimony. His financial circum- 
 stances, he said, were mending; 'and were not my 
 other prospects blackening, I would take a wife.' 
 
 In July he still wishes to get out of England. ' They 
 had better let me go,' he says ; * one can die anywhere.' 
 
 On August 22, after another visit to Salt Hill, Byron 
 writes to Moore : 
 
 * I have said nothing of the brilliant sex ; but the 
 fact is, I am at this moment in a far more serious, and 
 entirely new, scrape, than any of the last twelve.months, 
 and that is saying a good deal. It is unlucky we can 
 neither live with nor without these women.' 
 
 A week later he wrote again to Moore : 
 
 ' I would incorporate with any woman of decent 
 demeanour to-morrow — that is, I would a month ago, 
 but at present . . .'
 
 A HOPELESS ATTACHMENT 243 
 
 Moore suggested that Byron's case was similar to 
 that of the youth apostrophized by Horace in his 
 twenty-seventh ode, and invited his confidence : 
 
 ' Come, whisper it — the tender truth — 
 
 To safe and friendly ears ! 
 What ! Her ? O miserable youth ! 
 
 Oh 1 doomed to grief and tears 1 
 In what a whirlpool are you tost, 
 Your rudder broke, your pilot lost I' 
 
 Recent research has convinced the present writer 
 that the incident which affected Byron so profoundly 
 at this time — about eighteen months before his marriage 
 — indirectly brought about the separation between 
 Lord and Lady Byron in 1816. A careful student of 
 Byron's character could not fail to notice, among all 
 the contradictions and inconsistencies of his life, one 
 point upon which he was resolute — namely, a con- 
 sistent reticence on the subject of the intimacy which 
 sprang up between himself and Mary Chaworth in the 
 summer of 181 3. The strongest impulse of his life — 
 even to the last — was a steadfast, unwavering, hope- 
 less attachment to that lady. Throughout his turbu- 
 lent youth, in his early as in his later days, the same 
 theme floats through the chords of his melodious verse, 
 a deathless love and a deep remorse. Even at the last, 
 when the shadow of Death was creeping slowly over 
 the flats at Missolonghi, the same wild, despairing note 
 found involuntary expression, and the last words that 
 Byron ever wrote tell the sad story with a distinctness 
 which might well open the eyes even of the blind. 
 
 When he first met his fate, he was a schoolboy of 
 sixteen — precocious, pugnacious, probably a prig, and 
 by no means handsome. He must have appeared to 
 Mary much as we see him in his portrait by Sanders. 
 Mary was two years older, and already in love with 
 
 16 — 2
 
 244 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 a fox-hunting squire of good family. ' Love dwells not 
 in our will,' and a nature like Byron's, once under its 
 spell, was sure to feel its force acutely. There was 
 romance, too, in the situation ; and the poetic tempera- 
 ment — always precocious — responded to an impulse 
 on the gossamer chance of achieving the impossible. 
 Mary was probably half amused and half flattered by 
 the adoration of a boy of whose destiny she divined 
 nothing. 
 
 There is no reason to suppose that there was any 
 meeting between Byron and Mary Chaworth after the 
 spring of 1809, until the summer of 181 3. Their sepa- 
 ration seemed destined to be final. Although Byron, 
 in after-years, wished it to be believed that they had 
 not met since 1808, it is certain that a meeting took 
 place in the summer of 18 13. Although Byron took, 
 as we shall see presently, great pains to conceal that 
 fact from the public, he did not attempt to deceive 
 either Moore, Hobhouse, or Hodgson. In his letter 
 to Monsieur Coulmann, written in July, 1823, we have 
 ♦^he version which Byron wished the public to believe. 
 
 * I had not seen her [Mary Chaworth] for many years. 
 When an occasion offered, I was upon the point, with 
 her consent, of paying her a visit, when my sister, who 
 has always had more influence over me than anyone 
 else, persuaded me not to do it. "For," said she, "if 
 you go, you will fall in love again, and then there will 
 be a scene ; one step will lead to another, et cela fera 
 un eclat" etc. I was guided by these reasons, and 
 shortly after I married. . . . Mrs. Chaworth some 
 time after, being separated from her husband, became 
 insane ; but she has since recovered her reason, and 
 is, I believe, reconciled to her husband.' 
 
 At about the same time Byron told Medwin that, 
 after Mary's separation from her husband, she pro- 
 posed an interview with him — a suggestion which
 
 MARY CHAWORTH 245 
 
 Byron, by the advice of Mrs. Leigh, declined. He 
 also said to Medwin : 
 
 ' She [Mary Chaworth] was the beau-ideal of all that 
 my youthful fancy could paint of beautiful ; and 1 have 
 taken all my fables about the celestial nature of women 
 from the perfection my imagination created in her — I 
 say created, for 1 found her, like the rest of her sex, any- 
 thing but angelic.^ 
 
 It is difficult to see how Byron could have arrived 
 at so unflattering an estimate of a woman whom he 
 had only once seen since her marriage — at a dinner- 
 party, when, as he has told us, he was overcome by 
 shyness and a feeling of awkwardness ! But let that 
 pass. Byron wished the world to believe (i) that 
 Mary Chaworth, after the separation from her husband 
 in 181 3, proposed a meeting with Byron; (2) that he 
 declined to meet her ; (3) that, after his unfortunate 
 marriage, Mary became insane ; and (4) that he found 
 her, ' like the rest of her sex, anything but angelic' 
 
 It is quite possible, of course, that Byron may have 
 at first refused to meet the only woman on earth whom 
 he sincerely loved, and more than likely that Mrs. 
 Leigh did her utmost to dissuade him from so rash 
 a proceeding. But it is on record that Byron in- 
 cautiously admitted to Medwin that he did meet Mary 
 Chaworth after his return from Greece.^ It will be 
 remembered that he returned from Greece in 181 1. 
 Their intimacy had long before been broken off by 
 Mr. John Musters ; and, as we have seen, Mary, faithful 
 to a promise which she had made to her husband, 
 kept away from Annesley during the period (181 1) 
 when the ' Thyrza ' poems were written. It is doubtful 
 whether they would ever again have met if her husband 
 had shown any consideration for her feelings. But he 
 * Medwin (edition of 1824), p. 63.
 
 246 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 showed her none. When, nearly forty years ago, the 
 present writer visited Annesley, there were several 
 people living who remembered both Mary Chaworth 
 and her husband. These people stated that their 
 married life, so full of grief and bitterness, was a 
 constant source of comment both at Annesley and 
 Newstead. The trouble was attributed to the harsh 
 and capricious conduct, and the well-known infidelities, 
 of one to whose kindness and affection Mary had a 
 sacred claim. She seems to have been left for long 
 periods at Annesley with only one companion. Miss 
 Anne Radford, who had been brought up with her 
 from childhood. This state of things eventually broke 
 down, and when, in the early part of 1813, Mary could 
 stand the strain no longer, a separation took place by 
 mutual consent. 
 
 In the summer of that year Byron and this unhappy 
 woman were thrown together by the merest accident, 
 and, unfortunately for both, renewed their dangerous 
 friendship. 
 
 Byron's friend and biographer, Thomas Moore, took 
 great pains to suppress every allusion to Mary 
 Chaworth in Byron's memoranda and letters. He 
 faithfully kept the secret. There is nothing in Byron's 
 letters or journals, as revised by Moore, to show that 
 they ever met after 1808, and yet they undoubtedly did 
 meet in 18 13, after Mary's estrangement from her hus- 
 band. That they were in constant correspondence in 
 November of that year may be gathered from Byron's 
 journal, where Mary's name is veiled by asterisks. 
 
 On November 24 he writes : 
 
 ' I am tremendously in arrear with my letters, except 
 to ****, and to her my thoughts overpower me : my 
 words never compass them.'
 
 THE 'MORNING STAR OF ANNESLEY' 247 
 
 'I have been pondering,' he writes on the 26th, 'on 
 the miseries of separation, that — oh ! how seldom we 
 see those we love ! Yet we live ages in moments 
 when meV 
 
 Then follows, on the 27th, a clue : 
 
 * I believe, with Clym o' the Clow, or Robin Hood, 
 
 ' " By our Mary (dear name !) thou art both Mother and May, 
 I think it never was a man's lot to die before his day." ' 
 
 It is attested, by all those who were acquainted with 
 Mary Chaworth, that she always bore an exemplary 
 character. It was well known that her marriage was 
 an unhappy one, and that she had been for some time 
 deserted by her husband. In June, 1813, when she 
 fell under the fatal spell of Byron, then the most 
 fascinating man in society,* she was living in deep 
 dejection, parted from her lawful protector, with 
 whom she had a serious disagreement. He had 
 neglected her, and she well knew that she had a rival 
 in his affections at that time. 
 
 It was in these distressing circumstances that 
 Byron, with the world at his feet, came to worship 
 her in great humility. As he looked back upon the 
 past, he realized that this neglected woman had always 
 been the light of his life, the lodestar of his destiny. 
 And now that he beheld his ' Morning Star of 
 Annesley' shedding ineffectual rays upon the dead 
 embers of a lost love, the old feeling returned to him 
 with resistless force. 
 
 ' We met — we gazed — I saw, and sighed ; 
 She did not speak, and yet replied ; 
 There are ten thousand tones and signs 
 We hear and see, but none defines — 
 
 * ' A power of fascination rarely, if ever, possessed by any man of 
 his age ' (' Recollections of a Long Life/ by Lord Broughton, vol. ii., 
 p. 196).
 
 248 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 Involuntary sparks of thought, 
 
 Which strike from out the heart o'erwrought, 
 
 And form a strange intelligence, 
 
 Alike mysterious and intense, 
 
 Which link the burning chain that binds. 
 
 Without their will, young hearts and minds. 
 
 I saw, and sighed — in silence wept, 
 
 And still reluctant distance kept, 
 
 Until I was made known to her. 
 
 And we might then and there confer 
 
 Without suspicion — then, even then, 
 
 I longed, and was resolved to speak ; 
 But on my lips they died again, 
 
 The accents tremulous and weak, 
 Until one hour . . . 
 
 ***** 
 ' I would have given 
 
 My life but to have called her mine 
 In the full view of Earth and Heaven; 
 
 For I did oft and long repine 
 That we could only meet by stealth.' 
 
 In the remorseful words of Manfred, 
 
 ' Her faults were mine — her virtues were her own — 
 I loved her, and destroyed her ! . . . 
 Not with my hand, but heart — which broke her heart — 
 It gazed on mine and withered.' 
 
 Without attempting to excuse Byron's conduct — 
 indeed, that were useless — it must be remembered that 
 he was only twenty-five years of age, and Mary was 
 very unhappy. After all hope of meeting her again 
 had been abandoned, the force of destiny, so to speak, 
 had unexpectedly restored his lost Thyrza — the 
 Theresa of * Mazeppa.' 
 
 ' I loved her then, I love her still ; 
 And such as I am, love indeed 
 In fierce extremes — in good and ill — 
 But still we love. . . . 
 Haunted to our very age 
 With the vain shadow of the past.'
 
 REMORSE 249 
 
 Byron's punishment was in this world. The remorse 
 which followed endured throughout the remaining 
 portion of his life. It wrecked what might have 
 proved a happy marriage, and drove him, from stone 
 to stone, along life's causeway, to that * Sea Sodom ' 
 where, for many months, he tried to destroy the 
 memory of his crime by reckless profligacy. 
 
 Mary Chaworth no sooner realized her awful danger 
 — the madness of an impulse which not even love 
 could excuse — than she recoiled from the precipice 
 which yawned before her. She had been momentarily 
 blinded by the irresistible fascination of one who, 
 after all, really and truly loved her. But she was 
 a good woman in spite of this one episode, and to the 
 last hour of her existence she never swerved from that 
 narrow path which led to an honoured grave. 
 
 Although it was too late for happiness, too late to 
 evade the consequences of her weakness, there was 
 still time for repentance. The secret was kept inviolate 
 by the very few to whom it was confided, and the 
 present writer deeply regrets that circumstances have 
 compelled him to break the seal. 
 
 If ' Astarte ' had not been written, there would have 
 been no need to lift the veil. Lord Lovelace has 
 besmirched the good name of Mrs. Leigh, and it is 
 but an act of simple justice to defend her. 
 
 When Mary Chaworth escaped from Byron's fatal 
 influence, he reproached her for leaving him, and tried 
 to shake her resolution with heart-rending appeals. 
 Happily for both, they fell upon deaf ears. 
 
 ' Astarte ! my beloved ! speak to me ; 
 Say that thou loath'st me not — that I do bear 
 This punishment for both.' 
 
 The depth and sincerity of Byron's love for Mary
 
 250 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 Chaworth cannot be questioned. Moore, who knew 
 him well, says : 
 
 ' The all-absorbing and unsuccessful (unsatisfied) 
 love for Mary Chaworth was the agony, without being 
 the death, of an unsated desire which lived on through 
 life, filled his poetry with the very soul of tender- 
 ness, lent the colouring of its light to even those un- 
 worthy ties which vanity or passion led him afterwards 
 to form, and was the last aspiration of his fervid 
 spirit, in those stanzas written but a few months before 
 his death.' 
 
 It was, in fact, a love of such unreasonableness and 
 persistence as might be termed, without exaggeration, 
 a madness of the heart. 
 
 Although Mary escaped for ever from that baneful 
 infatuation, which in an unguarded moment had 
 destroyed her peace of mind, her separation from 
 Byron was not complete until he married. Not only 
 did they correspond frequently, but they also met 
 occasionally. In the following January (1814) Byron 
 introduced Mary to Augusta Leigh. From that event- 
 ful meeting, when probable contingencies were provided 
 for, until Mary's death in 1832, these two women, who 
 had suffered so much through Byron, continued in the 
 closest intimacy; and in November, 1819, Augusta 
 stood sponsor for Mary's youngest daughter. 
 
 In a poem which must have been written in 1813, 
 an apostrophe ' To Time,' Byron refers to Mary's 
 resolutions. 
 
 ' In Joy I've sighed to think thy flight 
 
 Would soon subside from swift to slow ; 
 Thy cloud could overcast the light, 
 
 But could not add a night to Woe ; 
 For then, however drear and dark, 
 
 My soul was suited to thy sky ; 
 One star alone shot forth a spark 
 
 To prove thee — not Eternity. 
 Thai beam liath sunk.'
 
 MARY CHAWORTH AND MRS. LEIGH 251 
 
 It is of course true that matters were not, and could 
 never again be, on the same footing as in July of that 
 year; but Mary Chaworth was constancy itself, in a 
 higher and a nobler sense than Byron attached to it, 
 when he reproached her for broken vows. 
 
 ' Thy vows are all broken, 
 And light is thy fame : 
 I hear thy name spoken, 
 And share in its shame.' 
 
 During the remainder of Byron's life, Mary took a 
 deep interest in everything that affected him. In 18 14, 
 believing that marriage would be his salvation, she 
 used her influence in that direction. We know that 
 she did not approve of the choice which Byron so 
 recklessly made, and she certainly had ample cause to 
 deplore its results. Through her close intimacy with 
 Augusta Leigh — an intimacy which has not hitherto 
 been suspected — she became acquainted with every 
 phase in Byron's subsequent career. She could read 
 ' between the lines,' and solve the mysteries to be 
 found in such poems as ' Lara,' ' Mazeppa,' ' Manfred,' 
 and ' Don Juan.' 
 
 We believe that Byron's love for Mary was the 
 main cause of the indifference he felt towards his 
 wife. In order to shield Mary from the possible 
 consequences of a public investigation into conduct 
 prior to his marriage, Byron, in 18 16, consented to a 
 separation from his wife. 
 
 After Byron had left England Mary broke down 
 under the strain she had borne so bravely, and her 
 mind gave way. When at last, in April, 1817, a recon- 
 ciliation took place between Mary and her husband, 
 it was apparent to everyone that she had, during those 
 four anxious years, become a changed woman. She
 
 252 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 never entirely regained either health or spirits. Her 
 mind * had acquired a tinge of religious melancholy, 
 which never afterwards left it' Sorrow and dis- 
 appointment had subdued a naturally buoyant nature, 
 and 'melancholy marked her for its own.' Shortly 
 before her death, in 1832, she destroyed every letter 
 she had received from Byron since those distant 
 fateful years when, as boy and girl, they had 
 wandered on the Hills of Annesley. For eight sad 
 3'-ears Mary Chaworth survived the lover of her youth. 
 Shortly before her death, in a letter to one of her 
 daughters, she drew her own character, which might 
 fitly form her epitaph : * Soon led, easily pleased, very 
 hasty, and very relenting, with a heart moulded in a 
 warm and affectionate fashion.' 
 
 Such was the woman who, though parted by fate, 
 maintained through sunshine and storm an ascendancy 
 over the heart of Byron which neither time nor absence 
 could impair, and which endured to the end of his 
 earthly existence. We may well believe that those 
 inarticulate words which the dying poet murmured 
 to the bewildered Fletcher — those broken sentences 
 which ended with, ' Tell her everything ; you are 
 friends with her' — may have referred, not to Lady 
 Byron, as policy suggested, but to Mary Chaworth, 
 with whom Fletcher had been acquainted since his 
 youth. 
 
 We have incontestable proof that, only two months 
 before he died, Byron's thoughts were occupied with 
 one whom he had named ' the starlight of his boy- 
 hood.' How deeply Byron thought about Mary 
 Chaworth at the last is proved by the poem which 
 was found among his papers at Missolonghi. In six 
 stanzas the poet revealed the story that he would fain
 
 A POETICAL SCHERZO 253 
 
 have hidden. A note in his handwriting states that 
 
 they were addressed * to no one in particular,' and 
 
 that they were merely ' a poetical scherzo.' There is, 
 
 however, no room for doubt that the poem bears a 
 
 deep significance. 
 
 I. 
 
 ' I watched thee when the foe was at our side, 
 Ready to strike at him — or thee and me 
 Were safety hopeless — rather than divide 
 Aught with one loved, save love and liberty.' 
 
 We have here a glimpse of that turbulent scene 
 when Mary's husband, in a fit of jealousy, put an end 
 to their dangerous intimacy. 
 
 II. 
 
 ' I watched thee on the breakers, when the rock 
 
 Received our prow, and all was storm and fear, 
 And bade thee cling to me through every shock ; 
 This arm would be thy bark, or breast thy bier.' 
 
 This brings us to that period of suspense and fear, 
 in 1814, which preceded the birth of Medora. In a 
 letter which Byron at that time wrote to Miss Milbanke, 
 we find these words : 
 
 * I am at present a little feverish — I mean mentally — 
 and, as usual, on the brink of something or other, which 
 will probably crush me at last, and cut our correspondence 
 short, with everything else.' 
 
 Twelve days later (March 3, 1814), Byron tells Moore 
 that he is 'uncomfortable,' and that he has 'no lack 
 of argument to ponder upon of the most gloomy 
 description.' 
 
 ' Some day or other,' he writes, * when we are 
 veterans, I may tell you a tale of present and past times ; 
 and it is not from want of confidence that I do not 
 now. ... All this wordd be very well if I had no heart; 
 but, unluckily, I have found that there is such a thing
 
 254 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 still about me, though in no very good repair, and also 
 that it has a habit of attaching itself to one^ whether I 
 will or no. Divide et impera, I begin to think, will only 
 do for politics.' 
 
 When Moore, who was puzzled, asked Byron to 
 explain himself more clearly, he replied : * Guess 
 darkly, and you will seldom err.' 
 
 Thirty-four days later Medora was born, April 15, 
 
 1 8 14. 
 
 III. 
 
 ' I watched thee when the fever glazed thine eyes, 
 
 Yielding my couch, and stretched me on the ground, 
 When overworn with watching, ne'er to rise 
 From thence if thou an early grave had found.' 
 
 Here we see Byron's agony of remorse. Like Herod, 
 he lamented for Mariamne : 
 
 ' And mine's the guilt, and mine the hell, 
 This bosom's desolation dooming ; 
 And I have earned those tortures well 
 Which unconsumed are still consuming !' 
 
 In ' Manfred ' we find a note of remembrance in the 
 deprecating words : 
 
 ' Oh 1 no, no, no I 
 My injuries came down on those who loved me — 
 On those whom I best loved : I never quelled 
 An enem}', save in my just defence — 
 But my embrace was fatal.' 
 
 IV. 
 
 ' The earthquake came, and rocked the quivering wall, 
 And men and Nature reeled as if with wine : 
 Whom did I seek around the tottering hall ? 
 
 For thee. Whose safety first provide for ? Thine.' 
 
 We now see Byron, at the supreme crisis of his life, 
 standing in solitude on his hearth, with all his house- 
 hold gods shivered around him. We perceive that not 
 least among his troubles at that time was the ever- 
 haunting fear lest the secret of Medora's birth should
 
 •LOVE DWELLS NOT IN OUR WILL' 255 
 
 be disclosed. His greatest anxiety was for Mary's 
 safety, and this could only be secured by keeping his 
 matrimonial squabbles out of a court of law. It was, 
 in fact, by agreeing to sign the deed of separation that 
 the whole situation was saved. The loyalty of Augusta 
 Leigh on this occasion was never forgotten : 
 
 ' There was soft Remembrance and sweet Trust 
 In one fond breast.' 
 
 ' That love was pure — and, far above disguise, 
 Had stood the test of mortal enmities 
 Still undivided, and cemented more 
 By peril, dreaded most in female eyes, 
 But this was firm.' 
 
 In the fifth stanza we see Byron, eight years later, 
 at Missolonghi, struck down by that attack of epilepsy 
 which preceded his death by only two months : 
 
 V. 
 
 ' And when convulsive throes denied my breath 
 The faintest utterance to my fading thought, 
 To thee — to thee — e'en in the gasp of death 
 My spirit turned, oh ! oftener than it ought.' 
 
 In the sixth and final stanza, probably the last lines 
 that Byron ever wrote, we find him reiterating, with 
 all a lover's persistency, a belief that Mary could never 
 have loved him, otherwise she would not have left him. 
 
 VI. 
 
 ' Thus much and more ; and yet thou lov'st me not. 
 And never wilt ! Love dwells not in our will. 
 Nor can I blame thee, though it be my lot 
 To strongly, wrongly, vainly love thee still.' 
 
 The reproaches of lovers are often unjust. Byron 
 either could not, or perhaps would not, see that in 
 abandoning him Mary had been actuated by the 
 highest, the purest motives, and that the renunciation 
 must have afforded her deep pain — a sacrifice, not
 
 256 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 lightly made, for Byron's sake quite as much as for her 
 own. That Byron for a time resented her conduct in 
 this respect is evident from a remark made in a letter 
 to Miss Milbanke, dated November 29, 1813. After 
 saying that he once thought that Mary Chaworth could 
 have made him happy, he added, * but subsequent events 
 have proved that my expectations might not have been 
 fulfilled had I ever proposed to and received my idol.'* 
 What those 'subsequent events' were may be 
 guessed from reproaches which at this period appear 
 among his poems : 
 
 ' The wholly false the heart despises, 
 
 And spurns deceiver and deceit ; 
 But she who not a thought disguises, 
 
 Whose love is as sincere as sweet — 
 When she can change, who loved so truly, 
 It feels what mine ha.?, felt so newly.' 
 
 In the letter written five years after their final 
 separation, Byron again reproaches Mary Chaworth, 
 but this time without a tinge of bitterness : 
 
 * My own, we may have been very wrong, but I 
 repent of nothing except that cursed marriage, and 
 your refusing to continue to love me as you had loved 
 me, I can neither forget nor quite forgive you for that 
 precious piece of reformation. But I can never be 
 other than I have been, and whenever I love anything, 
 it is because it reminds me in some way or other of 
 yourself.' 
 
 * The Giaour ' was begun in May and finished in 
 November, 1813. Those parts which relate to Mary 
 Chaworth were added to that poem in July and August: 
 
 ' She was a form of Life and Light, 
 That, seen, became a part of sight ; 
 And rose, where'er I turned mine eye, 
 The Morning-Star of Memory !' 
 
 * ' Letters and Journals of Byron,' vol. iii., p. 406, edited by 
 Rowland E. Prothero.
 
 BYRON'S CONSTANCY 257 
 
 Byron says that, like the bird that sings within the 
 brake, like the swan that swims upon the waters, he 
 can only have one mate. He despises those who sneer 
 at constancy. He does not envy them their fickle- 
 ness, and regards such heartless men as lower in the 
 scale of creation than the solitary swan. 
 
 ' Such shame at least was never mine — 
 Leila ! each thought was only thine ! 
 My good, my guilt, my weal, my woe, 
 My hope on high — my all below. 
 Earth holds no other like to thee, 
 Or, if it doth, in vain for me : 
 
 . . . Thou wert, thou art, 
 The cherished madness of my heart !' 
 
 ' Yes, Love indeed is light from heaven ; 
 
 A spark of that immortal fire 
 With angels shared, by Alia given. 
 
 To lift from earth our low desire. 
 I grant my love imperfect, all 
 That mortals by the name miscall ; 
 Then deem it evil, what thou wilt ; 
 But say, oh say, hers was not Guilt 1 
 And she was lost — and yet I breathed, 
 
 But not the breath of human life : 
 A serpent round my heart was wreathed. 
 
 And stung my every thought to strife.' 
 
 Who can doubt that the friend ' of earlier days,' 
 whose memory the Giaour wishes to bless before he 
 dies, but whom he dares not bless lest Heaven should 
 'mark the vain attempt ' of guilt praying for the guilt- 
 less, was Mary Chaworth. He bids the friar tell that 
 friend 
 
 ' What thou didst behold : 
 The withered frame — the ruined mind. 
 The wreck that Passion leaves behind — 
 The shrivelled and discoloured leaf, 
 Seared by the Autumn blast of Grief.' 
 
 He wonders whether that friend is still his friend, 
 as in those earlier days, when hearts were blended in 
 
 17
 
 258 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 that sweet land where bloom his native valley's bowers. 
 To that friend he sends a ring, which was the memorial 
 of a youthful vow : 
 
 ' Tell him — unheeding as I was, 
 Through many a busy bitter scene 
 Of all our golden youth hath been, 
 In pain, my faltering tongue had tried 
 To bless his memory — ere I died ; 
 I do not ask him not to blame, 
 Too gentle he to wound my name ; 
 I do not ask him not to mourn. 
 Such cold request might sound like scorn. 
 But bear this ring, his own of old. 
 And tell him what thou dost behold !' 
 
 The motto chosen by Byron for ' The Giaour ' is in 
 
 itself suggestive : 
 
 ' One fatal remembrance — one sorrow that throws 
 Its bleak shade alike o'er our Joys and our Woes — 
 To which Life nothing darker nor brighter can bring, 
 For which Joy hath no balm — and affliction no sting.' 
 
 On October lo, 1813, Byron arrived at Newstead, 
 where he stayed for a month. Mary Chaworth was 
 at Annesley during that time. On his return to town 
 he wrote (November 8) to his sister: 
 
 ' My dearest Augusta, 
 
 ' I have only time to say that my long silence 
 has been occasioned by a thousand things (with which 
 you are not concerned). It is not Lady Caroline, nor 
 Lady Oxford ; but perhaps you may guess, and if you 
 do, do not tell. You do not know what mischief your 
 being with me might have prevented. You shall hear 
 from me to-morrow ; in the meantime don't be alarmed. 
 I am in Tto immediate peril. 
 
 ' Believe me, ever yours, 
 
 'B.' 
 On November 30 Byron wrote to Moore : 
 
 * We were once very near neighbours this autumn ;* 
 
 * Moore had rented a cottage in Nottinghamshire, not very remote 
 from Newstead Abbey.
 
 'MOTHER AND MAY' 259 
 
 and a good and bad neighbourhood it has proved to 
 me. Suffice it to say that your French quotation (Si 
 je recommen^ais ma carriere, je ferais tout ce que j'ai 
 fait) was confoundedly to the purpose, — though very 
 unexpectedly pertinent, as you may imagine by what I 
 said before, and my silence since. However, " Richard's 
 himself again," and, except all night and some part of 
 the morning, I don't think very much about the matter. 
 All convulsions end with me in rhyme ; and to solace 
 my midnights I have scribbled another Turkish story 
 [' The Bride of Abydos '] which you will receive 
 soon after this. , . . I have written this, and published 
 it, for the sake of employment — to wring my thoughts 
 from reality, and take refuge in "imaginings," how- 
 ever " horrible." . . . This is the work of a week. . . .' 
 
 In order the more effectually to dispose of the theory 
 that Lady Frances Wedderburn Webster was the 
 cause of Byron's disquietude, we insert an extract 
 from his journal, dated a fortnight earlier (November 
 14, 1813): 
 
 ' Last night I finished " Zuleika " [the name was 
 afterwards changed to ' The Bride of Abydos '], my 
 second Turkish tale. I believe the composition of it 
 kept me alive — for it was written to drive my thoughts 
 from the recollection of **** " Dear sacred name, rest 
 ever unrevealed." At least, even here, my hand would 
 tremble to write it. . . . I have some idea of expec- 
 torating a romance, but what romance could equal the 
 events 
 
 ' " . . . quaeque ipse . . . vidi, 
 Et quorum pars magna f ui " ?' 
 
 Surely the name that Byron dared not write, even 
 in his own journal, was not that of Lady Frances 
 Webster, whose name appears often in his correspon- 
 dence. The * sacred name ' was that of one of whom 
 he afterwards wrote, 'Thou art both Mother and 
 May.' 
 
 During October, November, and December, 181 3, 
 
 17—2
 
 26o WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 Byron's mind was in a perturbed condition. We 
 gather, from a letter which he wrote to Moore on 
 November 30, that his thoughts were centred on a lady 
 living in Nottinghamshire*, and that the scrape, which 
 he mentions in his letter to Augusta on November 8, 
 referred to that lady and the dreaded prospects of 
 maternity. 
 
 Mr. Coleridge believes that the verses, * Remember 
 him, whom Passion's power,' were addressed to Lady 
 Frances Wedderburn Webster. There is nothing, so 
 far as the present writer knows, to support that 
 opinion. There is no evidence to show the month in 
 which they were written ; and, in view of the statement 
 that the lady in question had lived in comparative 
 retirement, ' Thy soul from long seclusion pure,' 
 and that she had, because of his presumption, banished 
 the poet in 1813, it could not well have been Lady 
 Frances Webster, who in September of that year had 
 asked Byron to be godfather to her child, and in 
 October had invited him to her house. It is note- 
 worthy that Byron expressly forbade Murray to pub- 
 lish those verses with ' The Corsair,' where, it must be 
 owned, they would have been sadly out of place. 
 * Farewell, if ever fondest prayer,' was decidedly more 
 appropriate to the state of things existing at that time. 
 
 The motto chosen for his * Bride of Abydos * is taken 
 from Burns : 
 
 ' Had we never loved sae kindly, 
 Had we never loved sae blindly, 
 Never met — or never parted, 
 We had ne'er been broken-hearted.' 
 
 The poem was written early in November, 1813. 
 Byron has told us that it was written to divert his 
 
 ■**• See ' Letters and Journals of Lord Byron,' edited by Rowland 
 Prothero, vol. ii., pp. 267, 269, 278, 292.
 
 •THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS' 261 
 
 mind,* * to wring his thoughts from reality to imagina- 
 tion, from selfish regrets to vivid recollections '; to 
 'distract his thoughts from the recollection of **** 
 " Dear sacred name, rest ever unrevealed," ' and 
 in a letter to John Gait (December 11, 1813) he 
 says that parts of the poem were drawn * from exist- 
 ence.' He had been staying at Newstead, in close 
 proximity to Annesley, from October 10 to November 8, 
 during which time, as he says, he regretted the absence 
 of his sister Augusta, 'who might have saved him much 
 trouble.' He says, 'All convulsions end with me in 
 rhyme,' and that 'The Bride of Abydos' was 'the work 
 of a week.' In speaking of a ' dear sacred name, rest 
 ever unrevealed,' he says : ' At least even here my 
 hand would tremble to write it'; and on November 30 
 he writes to Moore : ' Since I last wrote' (October 2), 
 ' much has happened to me.' On November 27 he 
 writes in his journal : ' Mary — dear name — thou art 
 both Mother and May.'f At the end of November, 
 after he had returned to town, he writes in his journal : 
 
 ***** is distant, and will be at * * * *, still more distant, 
 till the spring. No one else, except Augusta, cares 
 for me. ... I am tremendously in arrears with my 
 letters, except to ****, and to her my thoughts over- 
 power me — my words never compass them.' 
 
 On November 14 Byron sends a device for the seals 
 of himself and ****; the seal in question is at present 
 in the possession of the Chaworth-Musters family. On 
 December 10, we find from one of Byron's letters that 
 
 * ' Had I not written " The Bride " (in four nights), I must have 
 gone mad by eating my own heart — bitter diet.' — 'Journals and 
 Letters,' vol. ii., p. 321. 
 
 t ' Hail be you, Mary, mother and May, 
 Mild, and meek, and merciable !' 
 
 An Ancient Hymn to the Virgin.
 
 262 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 he had thoughts of committing suicide, and was 
 deterred by the idea that * it would annoy Augusta, 
 and perhaps ****,' 
 
 Byron seems to have put into the mouth of Zuleika 
 words which conveyed his own thoughts : 
 
 ' Think' st thou that I could bear to part 
 With thee, and learn to halve my heart ? 
 Ah ! were I severed from thy side, 
 Where were thy friend — and who my guide ? 
 Years have not seen, Time shall not see, 
 The hour that tears my soul from thee : 
 Ev'n Azrael, from his deadly quiver 
 
 When flies that shaft, and fly it must, 
 That parts all else, shall doom for ever 
 
 Our hearts to undivided dust ! 
 
 ***** 
 What other can she seek to see 
 Than thee, companion of her bower. 
 The partner of her infancy ? 
 These cherished thoughts with life begun, 
 Say, why must I no more avow ?' 
 
 Selim suggests that Zuleika should brave the world 
 and fly with him : 
 
 ' But be the Star that guides the wanderer, Thou ! 
 Thou, my Zuleika, share and bless my bark ; 
 The Dove of peace and promise to mine ark ! 
 Or, since that hope denied in worlds of strife, 
 Be thou the rainbow to the storms of life ! 
 The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, 
 And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray ! 
 ***** 
 Not blind to Fate, I see, where'er I rove. 
 Unnumbered perils, — but one only love ! 
 Yet well my toils shall that fond breast repay, 
 Though Fortune frown, or falser friends betray.' 
 
 Zuleika, we are told, was the ' last of Giaffir's race.'* 
 
 * Mary was ' the last of a time-honoured race.' The line of the 
 Chaworths ended with her.
 
 'THE CORSAIR' 263 
 
 Selim tells her that 'life is hazard at the best,' and 
 there is much to fear : 
 
 ' Yes, fear ! the doubt, the dread of losing thee. 
 That dread shall vanish with the favouring gale ; 
 Which Love to-night has promised to my sail. 
 No danger daunts the pair his smile hath blest, 
 Their steps still roving, but their hearts at rest. 
 With thee all toils are sweet, each clime hath charms ; 
 Earth — Sea alike — our world within our arms !' 
 
 'The Corsair' was written between December 18, 
 1813, and January 11, 1814. While it was passing 
 through the press, Byron was at Newstead. He gives 
 a little of his own spirit to Conrad, and all Mary's 
 virtues to Medora — a name which was afterwards 
 given to his child. Conrad 
 
 ' Knew himself a villain — but he deemed 
 The rest no better than the thing he seemed ; 
 And scorned the best as hypocrites who hid 
 Those deeds the bolder spirit plainly did. 
 Lone, wild, and strange, he stood alike exempt 
 From all affection and from all contempt. 
 None are all evil — quickening round his heart. 
 One softer feeHng would not yet depart. 
 Yet 'gainst that passion vainly still he strove, 
 And even in him it asks the name of Love ! 
 Yes, it was Love — unchangeable — unchanged. 
 Felt but for one from whom he never ranged. 
 Yes — it was Love — if thoughts of tenderness, 
 Tried in temptation, strengthened by distress, 
 Unmoved by absence, firm in every clime. 
 And yet — oh ! more than all ! untired by Time. 
 If there be Love in mortals — this was Love ! 
 He was a villain — aye, reproaches shower 
 On him — but not the Passion, nor its power, 
 Which only proved — all other virtues gone — 
 Not Guilt itself could quench this earliest one !' 
 
 The following verses are full of meaning for the 
 initiated :
 
 264 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 ' Deep in my soul that tender secret dwells, 
 
 Lonely and lost to light for evermore, 
 Save when to thine my heart responsive swells, 
 Then trembles into silence as before. 
 
 II. 
 
 ' There, in its centre, a sepulchral lamp 
 
 Burns the slow flame, eternal — but unseen ; 
 Which not the darkness of Despair can damp, 
 Though vain its ray as it had never been. 
 
 III. 
 
 ' Remember me — oh ! pass not thou my grave 
 
 Without one thought whose relics there recline : 
 The only pang my bosom dare not brave 
 Must be to find forgetfulness in thine. 
 
 IV. 
 
 ' My fondest — faintest — latest accents hear — 
 Grief for the dead not Virtue can reprove ; 
 Then give me all I ever asked — a tear. 
 
 The first — last — sole reward of so much love !' 
 
 Conrad and Medora part, to meet no more in life 
 
 ' But she is nothing — wherefore is he here ? . . . 
 By the first glance on that still, marble brow — 
 It was enough — she died — what recked it how ? 
 The love of youth, the hope of better years, 
 The source of softest wishes, tenderest fears, 
 The only living thing he could not hate, 
 Was reft at once — and he deserved his fate, 
 But did not feel it less.' 
 
 The blow he feared the most had fallen at last. 
 The only woman whom he loved had withdrawn her 
 society from him, and his heart, 
 
 ' Formed for softness — warped to wrong. 
 Betrayed too early, and beguiled too long,' 
 
 was petrified at last
 
 A POETIC TRILOGY 265 
 
 Yet tempests wear, and lightning cleaves the rock ; 
 
 If such his heart, so shattered it the shock. 
 
 There grew one flower beneath its rugged brow, 
 
 Though dark the shade — it sheltered — saved till now. 
 
 The thunder came — that bolt hath blasted both, 
 
 The Granite's firmness, and the Lily's growth : 
 
 The gentle plant hath left no leaf to tell 
 
 Its tale, but shrunk and withered where it fell ; 
 
 And of its cold protector, blacken round 
 
 But shivered fragments on the barren ground !' 
 
 In moments of deep emotion, even the most reticent 
 of men may sometimes reveal themselves. 'The 
 Giaour,' 'The Bride of Ab3^dos,' and 'The Corsair,' 
 formed a trilogy, through which the tragedy of Byron's 
 life swept like a musical theme. Those poems acted 
 like a recording instrument which, by registering his 
 transient moods, was destined ultimately to betra}' 
 a secret which he had been at so much pains to hide. 
 In ' The Giaour ' we see remorse for a crime, which he 
 was at first willing to expiate in sorrow and repent- 
 ance. In ' The Bride of Abydos ' we find him, in an 
 access of madness and passion, proposing to share the 
 fate of his victim, if she will but consent to fly with 
 him. Happily for both, Mary would never have con- 
 sented to an act of social suicide. In 'The Corsair' 
 we behold his dreams dispelled by the death of his 
 Love and the hope of better years. 
 
 ' He asked no question — all were answered now !' 
 
 With the dramatic fate of Medora the curtain falls, 
 and the poet, in whom 
 
 ' I suoi pensieri in lui dormir non ponno,' 
 
 crosses the threshold of a new life. He reappears 
 later on the scene of all his woes, a broken, friendless 
 stranger, in the person of Lara — that last phase, in 
 which the poet discloses his identity with character-
 
 266 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 istic insouciance, brings the tragedy abruptly to a 
 close.* 
 
 On January 6, 1814, Byron wrote a remarkable letter 
 to Moore, at that time in Nottinghamshire : 
 
 * ... I have a confidence for you — a perplexing one 
 to me, and just at present in a state of abeyance in 
 itself. . . . [Here probably follows the disclosure.] 
 However, we shall see. In the meantime you may 
 amuse yourself with my suspense, and put all the 
 justices of peace in requisition, in case I come into 
 your county [Nottinghamshire] with hackbut bent.f 
 Seriously, whether I am to hear from her or him, it is 
 a pause, which I can fill up with as few thoughts of 
 my own as I can borrow from other people. Anything 
 is better than stagnation ; and now, m the interregnum 
 of my autumn and a strange summer adventure, which 
 I don't like to think of . . . Of course you will keep 
 my secret, and don't even talk in your sleep of it. 
 Happen what may, your dedication is ensured, being 
 already written ; and I shall copy it out fair to-night, in 
 case business or amusement — Amant alterna Camoence! 
 
 Byron here refers to ' The Corsair,* which he dedi- 
 cated to Thomas Moore. In order to understand this 
 letter, it may be inferred that one of the letters he had 
 written to his lady-love had remained so long un- 
 answered that Byron feared it might have fallen into 
 her husband's hands. Writing to Moore on the follow- 
 ing day, Byron says : 
 
 ' My last epistle would probably put you in a fidget. 
 But the devil, who ought to be civil on such occasions, 
 
 * It will be remembered that Byron had announced ' The Corsair ' 
 as ' the last production with wliich he should trespass on public 
 patience for some years.' With the loss of Mary's love his inspiration 
 was gone. 
 
 t ' With hackbut bent, my secret stand, 
 Dark as the purposed deed, I chose, 
 And mark'd where, mingling in his band, 
 Trooped Scottish pikes and English bows.' 
 
 Sir Walter Scott : Cadyow Castle.
 
 A LETTER FROM MRS. CHAWORTH 267 
 
 proved so, and took my letter to the right place. . . . 
 Is it not odd ? the very fate I said she had escaped from 
 **** she has now undergone from the worthy ****.' 
 
 An undated letter from Mary Chaworth, preserved 
 among the Byron letters in Mr. Murray's possession, 
 seems to belong to this period : 
 
 * Your kind letter, my dear friend, relieved me much, 
 and came yesterday, when I was by no means well, 
 and was a most agreeable remedy, for I fancied a 
 thousand things. ... I shall set great value by your 
 seal, and, if you come down to Newstead before we 
 leave Annesley, see no reason why you should not 
 call on us and bring it. . . .* I have lately suffered 
 from a pain in my side, which has alarmed me ; but I 
 will not, in return for your charming epistle, fill mine 
 with complaints. ... I am surprised you have not 
 seen Mr. Chaworth, as I hear of him going about a 
 good deal. We [herself and Miss Radford] are now 
 visiting very near Nottingham, but return to Annesley 
 to-morrow, I trust, where I have left all my little dears 
 except the eldest, whomj^ow saw, and who is with me. 
 We are very anxious to see you, and yet know not how 
 we shall feel on the occasion— /or;;;«/, I dare say, at 
 \hQ first ; but our meeting must be confined to our trio, 
 and then 1 think we shall be more at our ease. Do 
 write me, and make a sacrifice to friendship, which I 
 shall consider 3^our visit. You may always address 
 your letters to Annesley perfectly safe. 
 
 * Your sincere friend, 
 
 * Mary ' 
 
 On or about January 7, 1814, Byron writes to his 
 sister Augusta in reference to Mary Chaworth : 
 
 ' I shall write to-morrow, but did not go to Lady M.'s 
 [Melbourne] twelfth cake banquet. M. [Mary] has 
 written again — all friendship — and really very simple 
 and pathetic — bad usage — paleness — ill-health — old 
 friendship — once — good motive — virtue — and so forth.' 
 
 * Mary's allusion to the seal is explained by an entry in Byron's 
 journal, November 14, 1813. The seal is treasured as a memento of 
 Byron by the Musters family.
 
 268 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 Five days later Byron again writes to Augusta 
 Leigh : 
 
 'On Sunday or Monday next, with leave of your 
 lord and president, you will be well and ready to 
 accompany me to Newstead, which you should see, 
 and I will endeavour to render as comfortable as I can, 
 for both our sakes. . . . Claughton is, I believe, 
 inclined to settle. . . . More news from Mrs. 
 [Chaworth], all friendship ; you shall see her.' 
 
 Medora was born on or about April 15, 18 14. 
 'Lara' was written between May 4 and 14. The 
 opening lines, which would have set every tongue 
 wagging, were withheld from publication until January, 
 1887. They were written in London early in May, 
 and were addressed to the mother of Medora : 
 
 ' When thou art gone — the loved, the lost — the one 
 Whose smile hath gladdened, though perchance undone — 
 Whose name too dearly cherished to impart 
 Dies on the lip, but trembles in the heart ; 
 Whose sudden mention can almost convulse, 
 And lightens through the ungovernable pulse — 
 Till the heart leaps so keenly to the word 
 We fear that throb can hardly beat unheard — * 
 Then sinks at once beneath that sickly chill 
 That follows when we find her absent still. 
 When thou art gone — too far again to bless — 
 Oh ! God — how slowly comes Forgetfulness ! 
 Let none complain how faithless and how brief 
 The brain's remembrance, or the bosom's grief, 
 Or ere they thus forbid us to forget 
 Let Mercy strip the memory of regret ; 
 Yet — seliish still — we would not be forgot, 
 W^hat lip dare say — " My Love — remember not " ? 
 
 * No one, we presume, will question the identity of the person 
 
 mentioned in ' The Dream' : 
 
 ' Upon a tone, 
 A touch of hers, his blood would ebb and flow, 
 And his cheek change tempestuously — his heart 
 Unknowing of its cause of agony.'
 
 ' MAGDALEN ' 269 
 
 Oh ! best — and dearest ! Thou whose thrilling name 
 My heart adores too deeply to proclaim — 
 My memory, almost ceasing to repine, 
 Would mount to Hope if once secure of thine. 
 Meantime the tale I weave must mournful be — 
 As absence to the heart that lives on thee !' 
 
 Lord Lovelace has told us that * nothing is too 
 stupid for belief,' We are disposed to agree with him, 
 especially as he produces these lines in support of his 
 accusation against Augusta Leigh. The absurdity of 
 supposing that they were addressed to Byron's sister 
 appears to us to be so evident that it seems unneces- 
 sary to waste words in disputation. There is abundant 
 proof that during this period Mrs. Leigh and Byron 
 were in constant correspondence, and that he visited 
 her almost daily during her simulated confinement 
 and convalescence. When Murray sent her some 
 books to while away the time, Byron wrote (April 9) 
 on her behalf to thank him. And finally, as Augusta 
 Leigh had no intention whatever of leaving London, 
 she could in no sense have been * the lost one ' whose 
 prospective departure filled Byron with despair. The 
 poet and his sister — whom he was accustomed to 
 address as * Goose '* — were then, and always, on most 
 familiar terms. The ' mention of her name ' (which 
 was often on his lips) would certainly not have con- 
 vulsed him, nor have caused his heart to beat so loudly 
 that he feared lest others should hear it I The woman 
 to whom those lines were addressed was Mary Cha- 
 worth, whose condition induced him, on April 18, to 
 begin a fragment entitled ' Magdalen ' — she of whom 
 he wrote on May 4 : 
 
 ' I speak not — I trace not — I breathe not thy name — 
 There is Love in the sound — there is Guilt in the fame.' 
 
 * ' Astarte,' p. 134.
 
 270 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 Lord Lovelace, in his impetuosity, and with very 
 imperfect knowledge of Byron's life-story, ties every 
 doubtful scrap of his grandfather's poetry into his 
 bundle of proofs against Augusta Leigh, without per- 
 ceiving any discrepancy in the nature of his evidence. 
 A moment's reflection might have convinced him that 
 the lines we have quoted could not, by any possi- 
 bility, have applied to one whom he subsequently 
 addressed as : 
 
 ' My sister ! my sweet sister ! if a name 
 Dearer and purer were, it should be thine ; 
 ***** 
 Had I but sooner learnt the crowd to shun, 
 I had been better than I now can be ; 
 The passions which have torn me would have slept ; 
 / had not suffered, and thou hadst not wept' 
 
 It must be admitted that Byron, through indiscreet 
 confidences and reckless mystifications, was partly the 
 cause of the suspicions which afterwards fell upon his 
 sister. Lady Byron has left it on record that Byron 
 early in 1814 — before the birth of Medora — told Lady 
 Caroline Lamb that a woman he passionately loved 
 was with child by him, and that if a daughter was 
 born it should be called Medora.* At about the same 
 time 'he advanced, at Holland House, the most extra- 
 ordinary theories about the relations of brother and 
 sister, which originated the reports about Mrs. Leigh.* 
 
 That, after ninety years, such nonsense should be 
 regarded as evidence against a woman so well known 
 in the society of her day as was Mrs. Leigh, justifies 
 
 * Lady Caroline Lamb also asserted that Byron showed her some 
 
 letters which contained some such expression as this : " Oh ! B , 
 
 if we loved one another as we did in childhood — then it was innocent." 
 The reader may judge whether such a remark would be more natural 
 from Augusta, or from Mary Chaworth.
 
 THE MYSTERY IN 'LARA' 271 
 
 our concurrence with Lord Lovelace's opinion that 
 ' nothing is too stupid for belief.' 
 
 It appears that one day Lady Byron was talking to 
 her husband about ' Lara,' which seemed to her to 
 be Mike the darkness in which one fears to behold 
 spectres.' This bait was evidently too tempting for 
 Byron to resist. He replied : * " Lara" — there's more in 
 that than in any of them.' As he spoke he shuddered, 
 and turned his eyes to the ground. 
 
 Before we examine that poem to see how much it 
 may contain of illuminating matter, we will touch 
 upon a remark Byron made to his wife, which Lord 
 Lovelace quotes without perceiving its depth and 
 meaning. We will quote 'Astarte': 
 
 * He told Lady Byron that if she had married him 
 when he first proposed, he should not have written 
 any of the poems which followed [the first and second 
 Cantos] "Childe Harold."' 
 
 This is perfectly true. Byron proposed to Miss 
 Milbanke in 1812. If she had married him then, he 
 would not have renewed his intimacy with Mary 
 Chaworth in June, 1813. There would have been no 
 heart-hunger, no misery, no remorse, and, in short, no 
 inspiration for 'The Giaour," The Bride,' 'The Corsair,' 
 and 'Lara.' Miss Milbanke's refusal of his offer of 
 marriage in 1812 rankled long in Byron's mind, and 
 provoked those ungenerous reproaches which have 
 been, with more or less exaggeration, reported by 
 persons in Lady Byron's confidence. The mischief 
 was done between the date of Miss Milbanke's refusal 
 and her acceptance of his offer, which occurred after 
 the fury of his passion for Mary Chaworth had burnt 
 itself out. No blame attaches to Lady Byron for this 
 misfortune. When Byron first proposed, her affiec-
 
 272 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 tions were elsewhere engaged ; she could not, there- 
 fore, dispose of her heart to him. When she at last 
 accepted him, it was too late for happiness. 
 
 In a letter which Byron wrote to Miss Milbanke 
 previous to his marriage,* he unconsciously prophesied 
 the worst : 
 
 * The truth is that could I have foreseen that your life 
 was to be linked to mine — had I even possessed a dis- 
 tinct hope, however distant — I would have been a dif- 
 ferent and better being. As it is, 1 have sometimes 
 doubts, even if I should not disappoint the future, nor 
 act hereafter unworthily of you, whether the past ought 
 not to make you still regret me — even that portion of 
 it with which you are not unacquainted. I did not 
 believe such a woman existed — at least for me — and I 
 sometimes fear I ought to wish that she had not! 
 
 When Byron said that he had doubts whether the 
 past would not eventually reflect injuriously upon his 
 future wife, he referred, not to Augusta Leigh, but 
 to his fatal intercourse with Mary Chaworth. The 
 following sentences taken from Mrs. Leigh's letters 
 to Francis Hodgson, who knew the truth, prove that 
 the mystery only incidentally affected Augusta. The 
 letters were written February, 1816. 
 
 ' From what passed [between Captain Byron and 
 Mrs. Clermont] now^ ii they choose it, it must come 
 into court 1 God alone knows the consequences.' 
 
 ' It strikes me that, if their pecuniary proposals are 
 favourable, Byron will be too happy to escape the 
 exposure. He must be anxious. It is impossible he 
 should not in some degree.' 
 
 These are the expressions, not of a person con- 
 nected with a tragedy, but rather of one who was 
 a spectator of it. Every impartial person m.ust see 
 that. When, on another occasion, Byron told his wife 
 
 * October 14, 1814.
 
 LARA 273 
 
 that he wished he had gone abroad — as he had 
 intended — in June, 181 3, he undoubtedl}'' implied that 
 the fatal intimacy with Mary Chaworth would have 
 been avoided. This seems so clear to us that we are 
 surprised that Byron's statement on the subject of his 
 poems should have made no impression on the mind 
 of Lord Lovelace, and should have elicited nothing 
 from him in 'Astarte,' except the banale suggestion 
 that Byron's literary activity must have been accidental ! 
 Lara, like Conrad, is a portion of Byron himself, and 
 the poem opens with his return to Newstead after 
 some bitter experiences, at which he darkly hints : 
 
 ' Short was the course his restlessness had run, 
 But long enough to leave him half undone.' 
 
 He tells us that ' Another chief consoled his destined 
 bride.' 'One is absent that most might decorate that 
 gloomy pile.' 
 
 ' Why slept he not when others were at rest ? 
 Why heard no music, and received no guest ? 
 All was not well, they deemed — but where the wrong? 
 Some knew perchance.' 
 
 In stanzas 17, 18, and 19, Byron draws a picture 
 of himself, so like that his sister remarked upon it 
 in a letter to Hodgson. After telling us that 'his 
 heart was not by nature hard,' he says that 
 
 ' His blood in temperate seeming now would flow : 
 Ah ! happier if it ne'er with guilt had glowed, 
 But ever in that icy smoothness flowed !' 
 
 The poet tells us that after Lara's death he was 
 mourned by one whose quiet grief endured for long. 
 
 ' Vain was all question asked her of the past, 
 And vain e'en menace — silent to the last.' 
 
 ' Why did she love him ? Curious fool ! — be still — 
 Is human love the growth of human will ? 
 
 18
 
 274 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 To her he might be gentleness ; the stern 
 Have deeper thoughts than your dull eyes discern, 
 And when they love, your smilers guess not how 
 Beats the strong heart, though less the lips avow. 
 They were not common links, that formed the chain 
 That bound to Lara Kaled's heart and brain ; 
 But that wild tale she brooked not to unfold, 
 And sealed is now each lip that could have told. 
 ***** 
 
 ' The tempest of his heart in scorn had gazed 
 On that the feebler Elements hath raised. 
 The Rapture of his Heart had looked on high. 
 And asked if greater dwelt beyond the sky : 
 Chained to excess, the slave of each extreme, 
 How woke he from the wildness of that dream! 
 Alas ! he told not — but he did awake 
 To curse the withered heart that would not break.' 
 
 On September 8, 1814, four months after Byron had 
 finished * Lara,' while he was at Newstead with his 
 sister and her children — the little Medora among 
 them — he wrote his fragment * Harmodia.' The 
 rough draft was given after his marriage to Lady 
 Byron, who had no idea to what it could possibly 
 refer. When the scandal about Augusta was at its 
 height, this fragment was impounded among other 
 incriminating documents, and eventually saw the 
 light in 'Astarte.' Lord Lovelace was firmly con- 
 vinced that it was addressed to Augusta Leigh ! 
 
 Between September 7 and 15 Byron and Mary 
 Chaworth were considering the desirability of marriage 
 for Byron, and letters were passing between the dis- 
 tracted poet and two young ladies — Miss Milbanke 
 and another — with that object in view. Although 
 Byron was still in love with Mary Chaworth, he had 
 come to understand that her determination to break 
 the dangerous intimacy was irrevocable, so he resolved 
 to follow her advice and marry. The tone of his letter
 
 'HARMODIA' 275 
 
 to Moore, written on September 15, shows that he 
 was not very keen about wedlock. He was making 
 plans for a journey to Italy in the event of his pro- 
 posal being rejected. 
 
 It is possible that, in a conversation between Mary 
 and himself, the former may have spoken of the risks 
 they had incurred in the past, and of her resolve never 
 to transgress again. To which Byron replied : 
 
 Harmodia. 
 
 ' The things that were — and what and whence are they ? 
 Those clouds and rainbows of thy yesterday ? 
 Their path has vanish'd from th' eternal sky, 
 And now its hues are of a different dye. 
 Thus speeds from day to day, and Pole to Pole, 
 The change of parts, the sameness of the whole ; 
 And all we snatch, amidst the breathing strife, 
 But gives to Memory what it takes from Life : 
 Despoils a substance to adorn a shade — 
 And that frail shadow lengthens but to fade. 
 Sun of the sleepless ! Melancholy Star ! 
 Whose tearful beam shoots trembling from afar — 
 That chang'st the darkness thou canst not dispel — 
 How like art thou to Joy, remembered well ! 
 Such is the past — the light of other days 
 That shines, but warms not with its powerless rays — 
 A moonbeam Sorrow watcheth to behold, 
 Distinct, but distant — clear, but dcaih-likc cold. 
 
 ' Oh ! as full thought comes rushing o'er the Mind 
 Of all we saw before — to leave behind — 
 Of all ! — but words, what are they ? Can they give 
 A trace of truth to thoughts while yet they live ? 
 No — Passion — Feeling speak not — or in vain — 
 The tear for Grief — the Groan must speak for Pain — 
 Joy hath its smile — and Love its blush and sigh — 
 Despair her silence — Hate her lip and eye — 
 These their interpreters, where deeply lurk — 
 The Soul's despoilers warring as they work — 
 The strife once o'er — then words may find their way, 
 Yet how enfeebled from the forced delay ! 
 
 18—2
 
 276 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 ' But who could paint the progress of the wreck — 
 Himself still clinging to the dangerous deck? 
 Safe on the shore the artist first must stand, 
 And then the pencil trembles in his hand.' 
 
 When, four years later, Byron was writing the 
 first canto of ' Don Juan,' with feelings chastened by 
 suffering and time, he recurred to that period — never 
 effaced from his memory — the time when he wrote : 
 
 ' When thou art gone — the loved — the lost — the one 
 Whose smile hath gladdened — though, perchance, undone !' 
 
 Time could not change the feelings of his youth, nor 
 keep his thoughts for long from the object of his early 
 love. 
 
 ' They tell me 'tis decided j'^ou depart : 
 
 'Tis wise — 'tis well, but not the less a pain ; 
 
 I have no further claim on your young heart, 
 Mine is the victim, and would be again : 
 
 To love too much has been the only art 
 
 I used.' 
 
 ' I loved, I love you, for this love have lost 
 
 State, station. Heaven, Mankind's, my own esteem. 
 
 And yet can not regret what it hath cost. 
 So dear is still the memory of that dream ; 
 
 Yet, if I name my guilt, 'tis not to boast. 
 
 None can deem harshlier of me than I deem.' 
 
 ' All is o'er 
 For me on earth, except some years to hide 
 
 My shame and sorrow deep in my heart's core : 
 These I could bear, but cannot cast aside 
 
 The passion which still rages as before — 
 And so farewell — forgive me, love me — No, 
 That word is idle now — but let it go.' 
 
 ' My heart is feminine, nor can forget — 
 To all, except one image, madly blind ; 
 So shakes the needle, and so stands the pole, 
 As vibrates my fond heart to my fixed soul.' 
 
 ■
 
 FAREWELL 277 
 
 It was early in 18 14 that Byron also wrote his fare- 
 well verses to Mary Chaworth, which appeared in the 
 second edition of 'The Corsair': 
 
 I. 
 
 ' Farewell ! if ever fondest prayer 
 
 For other's weal availed on high, 
 Mine will not all be lost m air, 
 
 But waft thy name beyond the sky. 
 'Twere vain to speak — to weep — to sigh : 
 
 Oh ! more than tears of blood can tell, 
 When wrung from Guilt's expiring eye, 
 
 Are in that word — Farewell ! Farewell ! 
 
 II. 
 
 ' These lips are mute, these eyes are dry ; 
 
 But in my breast, and in my brain, 
 Awake the pangs that pass not by, 
 
 The thought that ne'er shall sleep again. 
 My soul nor deigns nor dares complain, 
 
 Though Grief and Passion there rebel : 
 I only know we loved in vain — 
 
 I only feel — Farewell ! Farewell !' 
 
 Even in the ' Hebrew Melodies,' which were prob- 
 ably begun in the autumn of 18 14, and finished after 
 Byron's marriage in January, 1815, there are traces 
 of that deathless remorse and love, whose expression 
 could not be altogether repressed. We select some 
 examples at random. In the poem 'Oh, snatched 
 away in Beauty's bloom,' the poet had added two 
 verses which were subsequently suppressed : 
 
 ' Nor need I write to tell the tale, 
 
 My pen were doubly weak. 
 Oh ! what can idle words avail. 
 Unless my heart could speak ? 
 
 ' By day or night, in weal or woe, 
 
 That heart, no longer free, 
 Must bear the love it cannot show. 
 And silent turn for thee.'
 
 278 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 In * Herod's Lament for Mariamne ' we find : 
 
 ' She's gone, who shared my diadem ; 
 
 She sunk, with her my joys entombing; 
 I swept that flower from Judah's stem. 
 
 Whose leaves for me alone were blooming ; 
 And mine's the guilt, and mine the Hell, 
 
 This bosom's desolation dooming ; 
 And I have earned those tortures well, 
 
 Which unconsumed are still consuming !' 
 
 While admitting that Byron's avowed object was to 
 portray the remorse of Herod, we suspect that the 
 haunting image of one so dear to him — one who had 
 suffered through guilt which he so frequently deplored 
 in verse — must have been in the poet's mind when 
 these lines were written. 
 
 On January 17, 18 14, Byron went to Newstead with 
 Augusta Leigh, and stayed there one month. 
 
 ' A busy month and pleasant, at least three weeks of 
 it. . . . "The Corsair" has been conceived, written, 
 published, etc., since I took up this journal. They 
 tell me it has great success ; it was written con amore^ 
 and much from existence.' 
 
 On the following day Byron wrote to his friend 
 Wedderburn Webster : 
 
 * I am on my way to the country on rather a melan- 
 choly expedition. A very old and earl}^ connexion 
 [Mary Chaworth], or rather friend of mine, has desired 
 to see me ; and, as now we can never be more than 
 friends, I have no objection. She is certainly unhappy 
 and, I fear, ill ; and the length and circumstances 
 attending our acquaintance render her request and 
 my visit neither singular nor improper.' 
 
 This strange apology for what might have been con- 
 sidered a very natural act of neighbourly friendship, 
 inevitably reminds us of a French proverb. Qui s excuse 
 s' accuse. It is worthy of note that, after Byron had been 
 
 d
 
 DEPRESSED BY ANXIETIES 279 
 
 ten days at Newstead with his sister, he wrote to his 
 lawyer — who must have been surprised at the irrele- 
 vant information — to say that Augusta Leigh was ' in 
 the family way.' The significance of this communica- 
 tion has hitherto passed unnoticed. We gather from 
 Byron's letters that he was much depressed by Mary 
 Chaworth's state of health, involving all the risks of 
 discovery. 
 
 * My rhyming propensity is quite gone,' he writes, 
 
 * and I feel much as I did at Patras on recovering 
 from my fever — weak, but in health, and only afraid 
 of a relapse.' 
 
 Soon after his return to London Byron wrote to 
 Moore : ' Seriously, I am in what the learned call a 
 dilemma, and the vulgar, a scrape. . . .' 
 
 Moore took care, with his asterisks, that we should 
 not know the nature of that scrape, which certainly 
 had nothing to do with his ' Lines to a Lady Weep- 
 ing' which appeared in the first edition of 'The 
 Corsair.' If the reader has any doubts on this point, 
 let him refer to Byron's letters to Murray, notably to 
 that one in which the angry poet protests against the 
 suppression of those lines in the second edition of 
 
 * The Corsair ': 
 
 'You have played the devil by that injudicious sup- 
 pression^ which you did totally without my consent. 
 . . . Now, I do not, and will not be supposed to shrink, 
 although myself and everything belonging to me were 
 to perish with my memory.' 
 
 Moore's asterisks veiled the record of a deeper 
 scrape, as Byron's letter to him, written three weeks 
 later, plainly show. 
 
 On April 10, 1814, Byron wrote in his journal : 
 
 * I do not know that I am happiest when alone ; but 
 this I am sure of, that I am never long in the society
 
 28o WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 even of her I love (God knows too well, and the Devil 
 probably too), without a yearning for the company of 
 my lamp, and my utterly confused and tumbled-over 
 library.' 
 
 The latter portion of the journal at this period is 
 much mutilated. There is a gap between April lo 
 and 19, when, four days after the birth of Medora, he 
 writes in deep dejection : 
 
 ' There is ice at both poles, north and south — all 
 extremes are the same — misery belongs to the highest 
 and the lowest, only ... I will keep no further 
 journal . . . and, to prevent me from returning, like a 
 dog, to the vomit of memory, I tear out the remaining 
 leaves of this volume. ... " O I fool ! I shall go 
 mad." ' 
 
 It was at this time that Byron wrote the following 
 lines, in which he tells Mary Chaworth that all danger 
 of the discovery of their secret is over : 
 
 ' There is no more for me to hope, 
 
 There is no more for thee to fear ; 
 - ■ And, if I give my sorrow scope, 
 
 -^ l^i J, J That sorrow thou shalt never hear. 
 
 Why did I hold thy love so dear ? 
 Why shed for such a heart one tear ? 
 Let deep and dreary silence be 
 My only memory of thee ! 
 When all are fled who flatter now, 
 
 Save thoughts which will not flatter then ; 
 And thou recall'st the broken vow 
 
 To him who must not love again — 
 Each hour of noiv forgotten years 
 Thou, then, shalt number with thy tears ; 
 And every drop of grief shall be 
 A vain remembrancer of me !' 
 
 On May 4, 1814, Byron sent to Moore the following 
 verses. We quote from Lady Byron's manuscript : 
 
 ' I speak not — I trace not — I breathe not thy name — 
 There is love in the sound — there is Guilt in the fame —
 
 ATTEMPTS TO SUPPRESS HIS POEMS 281 
 
 But the tear which now burns on my cheek may impart 
 The deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart. 
 
 ' Too brief for our passion — too long for our peace — 
 Was that hour — can its hope — can its memory cease ? 
 We repent — we abjure — we will break from our chain : 
 We must part — we must fly to — unite it again ! 
 
 ' Oh ! thine be the gladness — and mine be the Guilt ! 
 Forgive me — adored one — forsake if thou wilt — 
 But the heart which is thine shall expire undebased, 
 And Man shall not break it whatever thou mayst. 
 
 ' Oh ! proud to the mighty — but humble to thee 
 This soul in its bitterest moment shall be, 
 And our days glide as swift — and our moments more sweet 
 With thee at my side — than the world at my feet. 
 
 ' One tear of thy sorrow — one smile of thy love — 
 Shall turn me or fix — shall reward or reprove — 
 And the heartless may wonder at all I resign : 
 Thy lip shall reply — not to them — but to mine.' 
 
 These verses were not published until Byron had 
 been five years in his grave. They tell the story 
 plainly, and the manuscript in Mr. Murray's possession 
 speaks plainer still. Before Byron gave the manu- 
 script to his wife, he erased the following lines : 
 
 ' We have loved — and oh ! still, my adored one, we love !' 
 ' Oh ! the moment is past when that passion might cease.' 
 ' But I cannot repent what we ne'er can recall.' 
 
 After Medora's birth Byron became more and more 
 dejected, and on April 29 he wrote a remarkable letter 
 to Murray, enclosing a draft to redeem the copyrights 
 of his poems, and releasing Murray from his engage- 
 ment to pay ^1,000, agreed on for 'The Giaour' and 
 ' The Bride of Abydos.' Byron was evidently afraid 
 that Mr. Chaworth Musters would discover the truth, 
 and that a duel and disgrace would be the inevitable 
 consequence.
 
 282 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 ' If any accident occurs to 7ne, you may do then as you 
 please ; but, with the exception of two copies of each 
 ior yourself ox\\y, I expect and request that the adver- 
 tisements be withdrawn, and the remaining copies of 
 all destroyed ; and any expense so incurred I will be 
 glad to defray. For all this it may be well to assign 
 some reason, I have none to give except my own 
 caprice, and I do not consider the circumstance of 
 consequence enough to require explanation. Of course, 
 I need hardly assure you that they never shall be 
 published with my consent, directly or indirectly, by 
 any other person whatsoever, and that I am perfectly 
 satisfied, and have every reason so to be, with your 
 conduct in all transactions between us, as publisher 
 and author. It will give me great pleasure to preserve 
 your acquaintance, and to consider you as my friend.' 
 
 Two days later Byron seems to have conquered his 
 immediate apprehensions, and, in reply to an appeal 
 from Murray, writes : 
 
 'If your present note is serious, and it really would 
 be inconvenient, there is an end of the matter; tear 
 my draft, and go on as usual : in that case we will 
 recur to our former basis. That / was perfectly 
 serious in wishing to suppress all future publication 
 is true ; but certainly not to interfere with the con- 
 venience of others, and more particularly your own. 
 Some day I will tell you the reason of this apparently 
 strange resolution.'' 
 
 It had evidently dawned on Byron's mind that a 
 sudden suppression of his poems would have aroused 
 public curiosity, and that a motive for his action would 
 either have been found or invented. This would have 
 been fatal to all concerned. If trouble were to come, 
 it would be wiser not to meet it halfway. Happily, 
 the birth of Medora passed unnoticed. 
 
 As time wore on, Byron's hopes that Mary would 
 relent grew apace. But he was doomed to disappoint- 
 ment. Mary Chaworth had the courage and the wisdom
 
 LAST MEETING WITH THYRZA 283 
 
 to crush a love so disastrous to both. Byron in his 
 blindness reproached her : 
 
 ' Thou art not false, but thou art fickle.' 
 
 He tells her that he would despise her if she were 
 false ; but he knows that her love is sincere : 
 
 * When she can change who loved so truly !' 
 
 * Ah ! sure such grief is Fancy's scheming, 
 And all the Change can be but dreaming !' 
 
 He could not believe that her resolve was serious. 
 Time taught him better. Love died, and friendship 
 took its place. The same love that tempted her to 
 sin was that true love that works out its redemp- 
 tion. 
 
 Between April 15 and 21, 1816, before signing the 
 deed of separation, Byron went into the country to 
 take leave of Mary Chaworth. It was their last meet- 
 ing, and the parting must have been a sad one. The 
 hopes that Mary had formed for his peace and happi- 
 ness in marriage had suddenly been dashed to the 
 ground. And now he was about to leave England 
 under a cloud, which threatened for a time to over- 
 whelm them both. A terrible anxiety as to the issue 
 of investigations, which were being made into his 
 conduct previous to and during his marriage, op- 
 pressed her with the gravest apprehension. Every- 
 thing seemed to depend upon the silence both of 
 Byron and Augusta. Under this awful strain the 
 mind of Mary Chaworth was flickering towards col- 
 lapse. By the following verses, which must have 
 been written soon after their final meeting, we find 
 
 Byron, 
 
 ' Seared in heart — and lone — and blighted,' 
 
 reproaching, with a lover's injustice, the woman he
 
 284 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 adored, for that act of renunciation which, under 
 happier auspices, might have proved his own salva- 
 tion : 
 
 I. 
 
 • When we two parted 
 
 In silence and tears, 
 Half broken-hearted 
 
 To sever for years, 
 Pale grew thy cheek and cold, 
 
 Colder thy kiss ; 
 Truly that hour foretold 
 
 Sorrow to this. 
 
 II. 
 
 ' The dew of the morning 
 
 Sunk chill on my brow — 
 It felt like the warning 
 
 Of what I feel now. 
 Thy vows are all broken, 
 
 And light is thy fame : 
 I hear thy name spoken, 
 
 And share in its shame. 
 
 III. 
 ' They name thee before me, 
 
 A knell to mine ear ; 
 A shudder comes o'er me — 
 Why wert thou so dear ? 
 They know not I knew thee. 
 Who knew thee too well : 
 Long, long shall I rue thee, 
 Too deeply to tell. 
 
 IV. 
 
 ' In secret we met — 
 
 In silence I grieve, 
 That thy heart could forget, 
 
 Thy spirit deceive. 
 If I should meet thee 
 
 After long years, 
 How should I greet thee? 
 
 With silence and tears.'
 
 IF LADY BYRON HAD KNOWN 285 
 
 In the first draft Byron had written, after the second 
 verse, the following words : 
 
 * Our secret lies hidden, 
 But never forgot.' 
 
 In 'Fare Thee Well,' written on March 17, 1816, 
 there are only four lines which have any bearing on 
 the point under consideration. 
 
 Byron tells his wife that if she really knew the truth, 
 if every inmost thought of his breast were bared before 
 her, she would not have forsaken him. 
 
 That is true. Lady Byron might, in time, have 
 forgiven everything if the doctors had been able to 
 declare that her husband was not wholly accountable 
 for his actions. But when they pronounced him to be 
 of sound mind, and, as will be seen presently, she 
 subsequently convinced herself that he had committed, 
 and might even then be committing adultery with his 
 sister under her own roof, she resolved never again 
 to place herself in his power. If, in the early stages 
 of disagreement, without betraying Mary Chaworth, 
 it could have been avowed that Mrs. Leigh was not 
 the mother of Medora, Lady Byron might not have 
 seen in her husband's strange conduct towards her- 
 self ' signs of a deep remorse.' She would certainly 
 have been far more patient under suffering, and the 
 separation might have been avoided. But this avowal 
 was impracticable. Augusta had committed herself 
 too far for that, and the idle gossip of her servants 
 subsequently convinced Lady Byron that Byron was 
 the father of Augusta's child. It is clear that neither 
 Augusta nor Byron made any attempts to remove 
 those suspicions ; in fact, they acted in a manner 
 most certain to confirm them. Whether the secret, 
 which they had pledged themselves to keep, could
 
 
 TV:. 286 
 
 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 
 
 long have been withheld from Lady Byron, if matters 
 ^ had been patched up, is doubtful. Meanwhile, as 
 everything depended on premat nox alta, they dared 
 not risk even a partial avowal of the truth. 
 
 The separation was inevitable, and in this case it 
 was eternal. It is hard to believe that there had ever 
 been any real love on either side. Under these cir- 
 cumstances we feel sure that any attempts at reconcilia- 
 tion would have ended disastrously for both. Byron's 
 love for Mary Chaworth was strong as death. Many 
 waters could not have quenched it, ' neither could the 
 floods drown it.' ' ■. '\^ C\^ «^.«4-0 "^ 
 
 The last verses written by Byron before he left 
 England for ever were addressed to his sister. The 
 deed of separation had been signed, and Augusta 
 Leigh, who had stood at his side in those dark hours 
 when all the world had forsaken him, was about to 
 le^ve London. 
 
 "^ 
 
 li'"^^ 
 
 ' When all around grew drear and dark, 
 
 And Reason half withheld her ray — 
 And Hope but shed a dying spark 
 
 Which more misled my lonely way ; 
 When Fortune changed, and Love fled far, 
 
 And Hatred's shafts flew thick and fast, 
 Thou wert the solitary star 
 
 Which rose, and set not to the last. * 
 
 And when the cloud upon us came 
 
 Which strove to blacken o'er thy ray — 
 Then purer spread its gentle flame 
 
 And dashed the darkness all away. 
 Still may thy Spirit dwell on mine, '^ 
 
 And teach it what to brave or brook — 
 There's more in one soft word of thine 
 
 Than in the world's defied rebuke. 
 ***** 
 Then let the ties of baffled love 
 Be broken — thine will never break ; 
 Thy heart can feel.' 
 
 -i 
 
 ^ 
 
 i^O 
 
 1!f it
 
 BYRON TRUSTS AUGUSTA 287 
 
 These ingenuous words show that Byron's affection 
 for his sister, and his gratitude for her loyalty, were 
 both deep and sincere. If, as Lord Lovelace asserts, 
 Byron had been her lover, we know enough of his 
 character to be certain that he would never have 
 written these lines. He was not a hypocrite — far from 
 it — and it was foreign to his naturally combative nature 
 to attempt to conciliate public opinion. These lines 
 were written currente calamo, and are only interesting 
 to us on account of the light they cast upon the situa- 
 tion at the time of the separation. Evidently Byron 
 had heard a rumour of the baseless charge that was 
 afterwards openly made. He reminds Augusta that a 
 cloud threatened to darken her existence, but the bright 
 rays of her purity dispelled it. He hopes that even in 
 absence she will guide and direct him as in the past ; 
 and he compliments her by saying that one word from 
 her had more influence over him than the whole 
 world's censure. Although his love-episode with 
 Mary was over, yet so long as Augusta loves him he 
 will still have something to live for, as she alone can 
 feel for him and understand his position. 
 
 In speaking of his sister, in the third canto of 
 * Childe Harold,' he says : 
 
 ' For there was soft Remembrance, and sweet Trust 
 In one fond breast, to which his own would melt.' 
 
 ' And he had learned to love — I know not why, 
 For this in such as him seems strange of mood — 
 The helpless looks of blooming Infancy, 
 Even in its earliest nurture ; what subdued, 
 To change like this, a mind so far imbued 
 With scorn of man, it little boots to know ; 
 But thus it was ; and though in solitude 
 Small power the nipped affections have to grow, 
 In him this glowed when all beside had ceased to glow.'
 
 288 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 If these words bear any significance, Byron must 
 mean that, since the preceding canto of 'Childe Harold' 
 was written, he had formed (learned to love) a strong 
 attachment to some child, and, in spite of absence, this 
 affection still glowed. That child may possibly have 
 been Ada, as the opening lines seem to suggest. But 
 this is not quite certain. According to Lord Lovelace, 
 Byron never saw his child after January 3, 18 16, when 
 the babe was only twenty-four days old. Byron him- 
 self states that it was not granted to him * to watch 
 her dawn of little joys, or hold her lightly on his knee, 
 and print on her soft cheek a parent's kiss.' All this, 
 he tells us, 'was in his nature,' but was denied to him. 
 His sole consolation was the hope that some day Ada 
 would learn to love him. On the other hand, the child 
 mentioned in ' Childe Harold ' had won his love by 
 means which ' it little boots to know.' If Byron had 
 alluded to his daughter Ada, there need have been no 
 ambiguity. Possibly the child here indicated may 
 have been little Medora, then three years old, with 
 whom he had often played, and who was then living 
 with that sister of 'Soft Remembrance and sweet Trust.' 
 
 If that conjecture be correct, this is the only allusion 
 to Medora in Byron's poetry. But she is indicated in 
 prose. In reference to the death of one of Moore's 
 children, Byron wrote (February 2, 1818) : 
 
 * I know how to feel with you, because I am quite 
 wrapped up in my own children. Besides my little 
 legitimate, I have made unto myself an illegitimate 
 since, to say nothing of one before ; and I look forward 
 to one of them as the pillar of my old age, supposing 
 that I ever reach, as I hope I never shall, that desolat- 
 ing period.' 
 
 In the one before Moore will have recognized Medora. 
 In spite of the * scarlet cloak and double figure,' Moore
 
 'THE DREAM' 289 
 
 had no belief in the story that Byron became a father 
 while at Harrow School ! 
 
 'The Dream,' which was written in July, i8i6, is 
 perhaps more widely known than any of Byron's 
 poems. Its theme is the remembrance of a hope- 
 less passion, which neither Time nor Reason could 
 extinguish. Similar notes of lamentation permeate 
 most of his poems, but in * The Dream ' Byron, for 
 the first time, takes the world into his confidence, and 
 tells his tale of woe with such distinctness that we 
 realize its truth, its passion, and its calamity. The 
 publication of that poem was an indiscretion which 
 must have been very disconcerting to his sister. 
 Fortunately, it had no disastrous consequences. It 
 apparently awakened no suspicions, and its sole effect 
 was to incense Mary Chaworth's husband, who, in 
 order to stop all prattle, caused the ' peculiar diadem 
 of trees ' to be cut down. In Byron's early poems we 
 see how deeply Mary Chaworth's marriage affected 
 him ; but this was known only to a small circle of 
 Southwell friends. In * The Dream ' we realize that 
 she was in fact a portion of his life, and that his own 
 marriage had not in the least affected his feelings 
 towards her. He had tried hard to forget her, but in 
 vain; she was his destiny. Whether Byron, when he 
 wrote this poem, had any idea of publishing it to 
 the world is not known. It may possibly have been 
 written to relieve his overburdened mind, and would 
 not have seen the light but for Lady Byron's treatment 
 of Mrs. Leigh on the memorable occasion when she 
 extracted, under promise of secrecy, the so-called 
 * Confession,' to which we shall allude presently. In 
 any case, Byron became aware of what had happened 
 in September, 1816. In some lines addressed to his 
 
 19
 
 290 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 wife, he tells her that she bought others' grief at any 
 
 price, adding : 
 
 ' The means were worthy, and the end is won ; 
 I would not do by thee as ihou hast done.' 
 
 Possibly, Byron may have thought that the publica- 
 tion of this poem would act as a barb, and would 
 wound Lady Byron's stubborn pride. Its appear- 
 ance in the circumstances was certainly contra bonos 
 mores, but we must remember that ' men in rage often 
 strike those who wish them best.' Whatever may 
 have been Byron's intention, * The Dream ' affords a 
 proof that Mary Chaworth was never long absent 
 from his thoughts. At this time, when he felt a deep 
 remorse for his conduct towards Mary Chaworth, he 
 asks himself: 
 
 ' What is this Death ? a quiet of the heart ? 
 The whole of that of which we are a part ? 
 For Life is but a vision — what I see 
 Of all which Hves alone is Life to mc, 
 And being so — the absent are the dead 
 Who haunt us from tranquillity, and spread 
 A dreary shroud around us, and invest 
 With sad remembrancers our hours of rest. 
 The absent are the dead — for they are cold, 
 And ne'er can be what once we did behold; 
 And they are changed, and cheerless, — or if yet 
 The unforgotten do not all forget, 
 Since thus divided — equal must it be 
 If the deep barrier be of earth, or sea ; 
 It may be both — but one day end it must 
 In the dark union of insensate dust.' 
 
 It was at this time also that Byron wrote his 
 * Stanzas to Augusta,' which show his complete con- 
 fidence in her loyalty : 
 
 ' Though human, thou didst not deceive me, 
 
 Though woman, thou didst not forsake, 
 Though loved, thou forborest to grieve me, 
 Though tempted, thou never couldst shake ;
 
 'MANFRED' 291 
 
 Though trusted, thou didst not betray me, 
 
 Though parted, it was not to fly, 
 Though watchful, 'twas not to defame mc, 
 
 Nor, mute, that the world might belie' 
 
 Byron's remorse also found expression in * Manfred,' 
 where contrition is but slightly veiled by words of 
 mysterious import, breathed in an atmosphere of 
 mountains, magic, and ghost-lore. People in society, 
 whose ears had been poisoned by insinuations against 
 Mrs. Leigh, and who knew nothing of Byron's inter- 
 course with Mary Chaworth, came to the conclusion 
 that * Manfred ' revealed a criminal attachment between 
 Byron and his sister. Byron was aware of this, and, 
 conscious of his innocence, held his head in proud 
 defiance, and laughed his enemies to scorn. He did 
 not deign to defend himself; and the public — forgetful 
 of the maxim that where there is a sense of guilt there 
 is a jealousy of drawing attention to it — believed the 
 worst. When a critique of ' Manfred,' giving an 
 account of the supposed origin of the story, was sent 
 to Byron, he wrote to Murray : 
 
 'The conjecturer is out, and knows nothing of the 
 matter. I had a better origin than he can devise or 
 divine for the soul of him.' 
 
 That was the simple truth. The cruel allegation 
 against Mrs. Leigh seemed to be beneath contempt. 
 As Sir Egerton Brydges pointed out at the time, 
 Byron, being of a strong temperament, did not reply 
 to the injuries heaped upon him by whining com- 
 plaints and cowardly protestations of innocence; he 
 became desperate, and broke out into indignation, 
 sarcasm, and exposure of his opponents, in a manner 
 so severe as to seem inexcusably cruel to those who 
 did not realize the provocation. It was 'war to the 
 knife,' and Byron had the best of it. 
 
 19 — 2
 
 292 
 
 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 
 We propose to examine * Manfred ' closely, to see 
 whether Astarte in any degree resembles the descrip- 
 tion which Lord Lovelace has given of Augusta Leigh. 
 
 Manfred tells us that his slumbers are ' a continuance 
 of enduring thought,' since that 'all-nameless hour' 
 when he committed the crime for which he suffers. 
 He asks ' Forgetfulness of that which is within him — 
 a crime which he cannot utter.' When told by the 
 Seven Spirits that he cannot have self-oblivion, Man- 
 fred asks if Death would give it to him ; and receives 
 * the sad reply that, being immortal, the spirit after 
 death cannot forget the past. 
 
 Eventually the Seventh Spirit — typifying, possibly, 
 a Magdalen — appears before Manfred, in the shape of 
 a beautiful woman. 
 
 ' Manfred. Oh God ! if it be thus, and thou 
 Art not a madness and a mockery, 
 I yet might be most happy.' 
 
 When the figure vanishes, Manfred falls senseless. 
 In the second act, Manfred, in reply to the chamois- 
 ^- hunter, who offers him a cup of wine, says : 
 
 r 
 
 *v 
 
 :i 
 
 ' Away, away ! there's blood upon the brim ! 
 Will it then never — never sink in the earth ? 
 
 'Tis blood — my blood ! the pure warm stream 
 Which ran in the veins of my fathers, and in ours 
 When we were in our youth, and had one heart, 
 And loved each other as we should not love, 
 And tliis was shed : but still it rises up. 
 Colouring the clouds that shut me out from Heaven.' 
 
 One may well wonder what all this has to do with 
 Augusta. The blood that ran in Byron's veins also 
 ran in the veins of Mary Chaworth, and that blood, ^ 
 shed by Byron's kinsman, had caused a feud, which 
 was not broken until Byron came upon the scene, and 
 fell hopelessly in love with ' the last of a time-honoured 

 
 'THE DUEL' 293 
 
 race.' Byron from his boyhood always believed that 
 there was a blood-curse upon him. 
 
 When, two years later, he wrote * The Duel ' 
 (December, 1818), he again alludes to the subject : 
 
 ' I loved thee — I will not say how, ' '^SaJL OM*'*^ t^'-vC^j 
 
 Since things like these are best forgot : J^,^ ^jUA^jr.%. ^ 
 
 Perhaps thou mayst imagine now ' ' 
 
 Who loved thee and who loved thee not. 
 And thou wert wedded to another, 
 
 And I at last another wedded : 
 I am a father, thou a mother, 
 
 To strangers vowed, with strangers bedded. 
 
 ' Many a bar, and many a feud. 
 Though never told, well understood. 
 Rolled like a river wide between — 
 And then there -d'as the curse of blood, 
 Which even my Heart's can not remove. 
 
 ***** 
 ' I've seen the sword that slew him ; he, 
 The slain, stood in a like degree 
 To thee, as he, the Slayer stood 
 (Oh, had it been but other blood !) 
 In Kin and Chieftainship to me. 
 Thus came the Heritage to thee.' 
 
 Clearly, then, the Spirit, which appeared to Manfred 
 in the form of a beautiful female figure, was Mary 
 Chaworth; the crime for which he suffered was his 
 conduct towards her; and the blood, which his fancy 
 beheld on the cup's brim, was the blood of William 
 Chaworth, which his predecessor. Lord Byron, had 
 shed. When asked by the chamois-hunter whether 
 he had wreaked revenge upon his enemies, Manfred 
 replies : 
 
 ' No, no, no ! 
 My injuries came down on those who loved me — 
 On those whom I best loved : I never quelled 
 An enemy, save in my just defence — 
 But my embrace was fatal.'
 
 294 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 In speaking of the * core of his heart's grief/ Manfred 
 
 says : 
 
 ' Yet there was One — 
 She was Hke me in lineaments — her eyes — 
 Her hair — her features — all, to the very tone 
 Even of her voice, they said were like to mine ; 
 But softened all, and tempered into beauty : 
 She had the same lone thoughts and wanderings,* 
 The quest of hidden knowledge, and a mind 
 To comprehend the Universe : nor these 
 Alone, but with them gentler powers than mine, 
 Pity, and smiles, and tears — which I had not ; 
 And tenderness — but that I had for her ; 
 Humility — and that I never had. 
 Her faults were mine — her virtues were her own — 
 I loved her, and destroyed her ! 
 Not with my hand, but heart, which broke her heart j 
 It gazed on mine, and withered.' 
 
 In order to appreciate the absurdity of connecting 
 this description with Augusta, we will quote her noble 
 accuser, Lord Lovelace : 
 
 'The character of Augusta is seen in her letters and 
 actions. She was a woman of that great family which 
 is vague about facts, unconscious of duties, impulsive 
 in conduct. The course of her life could not be other- 
 wise explained, by those who had looked into it with 
 close intimacy, than by a kind of moral idiotcy from 
 birth. She was of a sanguine and buoyant disposition, 
 childishly fond and playful, ready to laugh at anything, 
 loving to talk nonsense.' 
 
 In fact, 
 
 ' She had the same lone thoughts and wanderings, 
 The quest of liiddcn knowledge, and a mind 
 To comprehend the Universe.' 
 
 Lord Lovelace further tells us that Augusta Leigh 
 'had a refined species of comic talent'; that she was 
 
 * See the poem ' Remember Him ' : ' Thy soul from long seclusion 
 pure.'
 
 'MANFRED' 295 
 
 ' strangely insensible to the nature and magnitude of 
 the offence in question [incest] even as an imputation ;' 
 and that ' there was apparently an absence of all deep 
 feeling in her mind, of everything on which a strong 
 impression could be made.' We are also told that 
 * Byron, after his marriage, generally spoke of Augusta 
 as "a fool," with equal contempt of her understanding 
 and principles.' 
 
 In short, Byron's description of the woman, whom 
 he had * destroyed,' resembles Augusta Leigh about as 
 much as a mountain resembles a haystack. How closely 
 Manfred's description resembles Mary Chaworth will 
 be seen presently. Augusta Leigh had told Byron 
 that, in consequence of his conduct, Mary Chaworth 
 was out of her mind. 
 
 Manfred says that if he had never lived, that which 
 he loved had still been living : 
 
 ' . . . Had I never loved, 
 That which I love would still be beautiful, 
 Happy, and giving happiness. What is she ? 
 What is she now? A sufferer for my sins — 
 A thing I dare not think upon — or nothing.' 
 
 When Nemesis asks Manfred whom he would ' un- 
 charnel,' he replies : 
 
 ' One without a tomb — 
 Call up Astarte.' 
 
 The name, of course, suggests a star. As we have 
 seen, Byron often employed that metaphor in allusion 
 to Mary Chaworth. 
 
 When the phantom of Astarte rises, Manfred ex- 
 claims : 
 
 ' Can this be death ? there's bloom upon her cheek ; 
 But now I see it is no living hue, 
 But a strange hectic'
 
 296 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 He is afraid to look upon her ; he cannot speak to 
 her, and implores Nemesis to intercede : 
 
 ' Bid her speak — 
 Forgive me, or condemn me.' 
 
 Nemesis tells him that she has no authority over 
 Astarte : 
 
 ' She is not of our order, but belongs 
 To the other powers.'* 
 
 The fine appeal of Manfred cannot have been 
 addressed by Byron to his sister : 
 
 ' Hear me, hear me — 
 Astarte ! my beloved ! speak to me : 
 I have so much endured — so much endure — 
 Look on me ! the grave hath not changed thee more 
 Than I am changed for thee. Thou lovedst me 
 Too much, as I loved thee : we were not made 
 To torture thus each other — though it were 
 The deadliest sin to love as we have loved. 
 Say that thou loath'st me not — that I do bear 
 This punishment for both — that thou wilt be 
 One of the blessed — and that I shall die. 
 
 ***** 
 ' I cannot rest. 
 I know not what I ask, nor what I seek : 
 I feel but what thou art, and what I am; 
 And I would hear yet once before I perish 
 The voice which was my music f — speak to me ! 
 
 ***** 
 Speak to me ! I have wandered o'er the earth, 
 And never found thy likeness.' 
 
 When Manfred implores Astarte to forgive him, 
 she is silent. It is not a matter for forgiveness. He 
 entreats her to speak to him, so that he may once 
 more hear that sweet voice, even though it be for 
 
 * ' Ophelia. O heavenly powers, restore him !' 
 
 Hamlet, Act III., Scene i. 
 f ' The song, celestial from thy voice, 
 Rut sweet to me from none but thine.' 
 
 Poetry of Byron, vol. iv. : 'To Thyrza.' 
 
 m.^
 
 ' LAMENT OF TASSO ' 297 
 
 the last time. The silence is broken by the word 
 ' Farewell !' Manfred, whose doom is sealed, cries in 
 agony : 
 
 ' What I have done is done ; I bear within 
 A torture which could nothing gain (from others). 
 The Mind, which is immortal, makes itself 
 Requital for its good or evil thoughts, — 
 Is its own origin of ill and end — 
 And its own place and time : 
 I was my own destroyer, and will be 
 My own hereafter. . . . 
 The hand of Death is on me. . . . 
 All things swim around me, and the Earth 
 Heaves, as it were, beneath me. Fare thee well !' 
 
 So far as we know, there is nothing in the whole 
 length of this poem to suggest anything abnormal ; 
 and it is hard to understand what resemblance Byron's 
 contemporaries could have discovered between the 
 Astarte of * Manfred ' and Augusta Leigh ! Enough 
 has been quoted to show that Byron was not thinking 
 of his sister when he wrote * Manfred,' but of her 
 whose life he had blasted, and whose ' sacred name ' 
 he trembled to reveal. 
 
 In April, 181 7, Byron was informed by Mrs. Leigh 
 that Mary Chaworth and her husband had made up 
 their differences. The ' Lament of Tasso ' was written 
 in that month, and Byron's thoughts were occupied, as 
 usual, with the theme of all his misery. 
 
 ' That thou wert beautiful, and I not blind, 
 Hath been the sin that shuts me from mankind ; 
 But let them go, or torture as they will, 
 My heart can multiply thine image still ; 
 Successful Love may sate itself away ; 
 
 The wretched are the faithful ; 'tis their fate 
 To have all feehng, save the one, decay. 
 
 And every passion into one dilate, 
 As rapid rivers into Ocean pour ; 
 But ours is fathomless, and hath no shore.'
 
 298 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 In 'Mazeppa' Byron tells how he met 'Theresa' in 
 that month of June, and how * through his brain the 
 thought did pass that there was something in her air 
 which would not doom him to despair.' This incident 
 is again referred to in ' Don Juan.' The Count Palatine 
 is, probably, intended as a sketch of Mary's husband. 
 
 'The Duel,' which was written in December, 1818, 
 is addressed to Mary Chaworth : 
 
 ' I loved thee — I will not say how, 
 Since things like these are best forgot.' 
 
 Byron alludes to * the curse of blood,' with, ' many 
 a bar and many a feud,' which ' rolled like a wide river 
 between them ' : 
 
 ' Alas I how many things have been 
 Since we were friends ; for I alone 
 Feel more for thee than can be shown.' 
 
 In the so-called 'Stanzas to the Po,' we find the 
 same prolonged note of suffering. Writing to Murray 
 (May 8, 1820), Byron says : 
 
 ' I sent a copy of verses to Mr. Kinnaird (they were 
 written last year on crossing the Po) which must not 
 be published. Pray recollect this, as they were mere 
 verses of society, and written from private feelings 
 and passions.' 
 
 In view of the secrecy which Byron consistently 
 observed, respecting his later intimacy with Mary 
 Chaworth, the publication of these verses would have 
 been highly indiscreet. They were written in June, 
 1819, after Mary had for some time been reconciled 
 to her husband. She was then living with him at 
 Colwick Hall, near Nottingham. 
 
 Ostensibly these stanzas form an apostrophe to the 
 River Po, and the ' lady of the land ' was, of course, the 
 Guiccioli. Medwin, to whom Byron gave the poem,
 
 STANZAS TO THE PC 299 
 
 believed that the river apostrophized by the poet was 
 
 the River Po, whose ' deep and ample stream ' was ' the 
 
 mirror of his heart.' But it seems perfectly clear that, ' 
 
 if this poem referred only to the Countess Guiccioli, 
 
 there could have been no objection to its publication "~p^o £^ 
 
 in England, The reading public in those days knew '. 
 
 nothing of Byron's liaisons abroad, and his mystic 
 
 allusion to foreign rivers and foreign ladies would 
 
 have left the British public cold. 
 
 ^ A scrutiny of these perplexing stanzas suggests 
 
 that they were adapted, from a fragment written in 
 
 early life, to meet the conditions of 18 19. Evidently 
 
 Mary Chaworth was once more ' the ocean to the river 
 
 of his thoughts,' and the stream indicated in the 
 
 opening stanza was not the Po, but the River Trent, 
 
 which flows close to the ancient walls of Colwick, 
 
 where * the lady of his love ' was then residing. To j 
 
 assist the reader, we insert the poem, having merely 
 
 transposed three stanzas to make its purport clearer 
 
 ' River, that rollest by the ancient walls, 
 
 Where dwells the Lady of my love, when she 
 Walks by thy brink, and there perchance recalls 
 A faint and fleeting memory of me : 
 
 II. 
 
 ' She will look on thee — I have looked on thee. 
 
 Full of that thought : and from that moment ne'er 
 Thy waters could I dream of, name, or see 
 Without the inseparable sigh for her ! 
 
 III. 
 
 ' But that which keepeth us apart is not 
 
 Distance, nor depth of wave, nor space of earth, 
 But the distraction of a various lot, 
 As various as the climates of our birth. 
 
 Wt^-N.
 
 300 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 IV. 
 
 ' What if thy deep and ample stream should be 
 
 A mirror of my heart, where she may read 
 The thousand thoughts / now betray to thee, 
 Wild as thy wave, and headlong as thy speed ! 
 
 V. 
 
 ' What do I say — a mirror of my heart ? 
 
 Are not thy waters sweeping, dark, and strong ? 
 Such as my feelings were and are, thou art ; 
 And such as thou art were my passions long. 
 
 VI. 
 
 ' Time may have somewhat tamed them — not for ever; 
 Thou overflowest thy banks, and not for aye 
 Thy bosom overboils, congenial river ! 
 
 Thy floods subside, and mine have sunk away : 
 
 VII. 
 
 ' But left long wrecks behind, and now again. 
 
 Borne on our old unchanged career, we move : 
 Thou tendest wildly onwards to the main, 
 And I, — to loving one I should not love. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 ' My blood is all meridian ; were it not, 
 I had not left my clime, nor should I be. 
 In spite of tortures, ne'er to be forgot, 
 A slave again to Love — at least of thee. 
 
 IX. 
 
 ' The current I behold will sweep beneath 
 Her native walls,* and murmur at her feet ; 
 Her eyes will look on thee, when she shall breathe 
 The twilight air, unharmed by summer's heat. 
 
 X. 
 
 ' Her bright eyes will be imaged in thy stream. 
 Yes, they will meet the wave I gaze on now : 
 Mine cannot witness, even in a dream. 
 That happy wave repass me in its flow ! 
 
 * ' Siede la terra, dove nata fui, 
 
 Su la marina dove il Po discende.' 
 
 Inferno, Canto V,, 97, 98.
 
 STANZAS TO THE PO' 301 
 
 XI. 
 
 ' The wave that bears my tears returns no more : 
 
 Will she return by whom that wave shall sweep ?■■ 
 Both tread thy banks, both wander on thy shore, 
 I near thy source, she by the dark-blue deep.* 
 
 XII. 
 
 ' A stranger loves the Lady of the land, 
 
 Born far beyond the mountains, but his blood 
 Is all meridian, as if never fanned 
 By the bleak wind that chills the polar flood. 
 
 ' 'Tis vain to struggle — let me perish young — 
 Live as I lived, and love as I have loved ; 
 To dust if I return, from dust I sprung, 
 
 And then, at least, my heart can ne'er be moved.' 
 
 In the first stanza, Byron says that when his lady- 
 love walks by the river's brink ' she may perchance 
 recall a faint and fleeting memory' of him. Those 
 words, which might have been applicable to Mary 
 Chaworth, whom he had not seen for at least three 
 years, could not possibly refer to a woman from whom 
 he had been parted but two short months, and with 
 whom he had since been in constant correspondence. 
 Only a few days before these verses were written, 
 Countess Guiccioli had told him by letter that she had 
 prepared all her relatives and friends to expect him at 
 Ravenna. There must surely have been something 
 more than 'a faint and fleeting' memory of Byron 
 in the mind of the ardent Guiccioli. In the second 
 
 * Although not near the source of the Po itself, Byron, at Ferrara, 
 was not very far from the point where the Po di Primaro breaks 
 away from the Po, and, becoming an independent river, flows into 
 the dark blue Adriatic, about midway between Coraachio and 
 Ravenna. 
 
 /
 
 302 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 stanza, Byron, in allusion to the river he had in his 
 thoughts, says : 
 
 ' She will look on thee — 1 have looked on thee, full of 
 that thought : mid from that 7iwnient ne'er thy waters 
 could I dream of, name, or see, without the inseparable 
 sigh for her.' 
 
 Now, while there was nothing whatever to connect 
 the River Po with tender recollections, there was 
 Byron's association in childhood with the River Trent, 
 a memory inseparable from his boyish love for Mary 
 Chaworth. 
 
 ' But in his native stream, the Guadalquivir, 
 Juan to lave his youthful limbs was wont ; 
 And having learnt to swim in that sweet river 
 Had often turned the art to some account,' 
 
 In the fourth stanza we perceive that the poet, while 
 thinking of the Trent, 'betrays his thoughts' to the 
 Po, a river as wild and as swift as his native stream. 
 
 The ninth stanza has puzzled commentators ex- 
 ceedingly. It has been pointed out that the River Po 
 does not sweep beneath the walls of Ravenna. That 
 is, of course, indisputable. But Byron, in all proba- 
 bility, did not then know the exact course of that 
 river, and blindly followed Dante's geographical de- 
 scription, and almost used his very words : 
 
 * Siede la terra, dove iiafa fiii, 
 Su la marina dove il Po discende, 
 Per aver pace co' seguaci sui.' 
 
 It is, of course, well known that the Po branches off 
 into two streams to the north-west of Ferrara, and 
 flows both northward and southward of that city. 
 The southern portion — the Po di Primaro — is fed by 
 four affluents — the Rheno, the Savena, the Santerno, 
 and the Lamone — and flows into the Adriatic south
 
 'THE EPISODE OF FRANCESCA' 303 
 
 of Comachio, about midway between that place and 
 Ravenna. It was obviously to the Po di Primaro that 
 Dante referred when he wrote seguaci sui. 
 
 Unless Francesca was born close to the mouth ol 
 the Po, which is not impossible, Byron erred in good 
 company. In any case, we may fairly plead poetic 
 licence. That Byron crossed the Po di Primaro as 
 well as the main river admits of no doubt. 
 
 In the eleventh stanza Byron is wondering what 
 will be the result of his journey ? Will the Guiccioli 
 return to him ? Will all be well with the lovers, or 
 will he return to Venice alone ? In his fancy they 
 are both wandering on the banks of that river. He is 
 near its source, where the Po di Primaro branches ofif 
 near Pontelagascuro, while she was on the shore of 
 the Adriatic. 
 
 The twelfth stanza would perhaps have been clearer 
 if the first and second lines had been, 
 
 ' A stranger, born far beyond the mountains, 
 Loves the Lady of the land,' 
 
 which was Byron's meaning. The poet excuses him- 
 self for his fickleness on the plea that ' his blood is 
 all meridian' — in short, that he cannot help loving 
 someone. But we plainly see that his love for Mary 
 Chaworth was still paramount. ' In spite of tortures 
 ne'er to be forgot ' — tortures of which we had a glimpse 
 in ' Manfred ' — he was still her slave. Finally, Byron 
 tells us that it was useless to struggle against the 
 misery his heart endured, and that all his hopes were 
 centred on an early death. 
 
 The episode of Francesca and Paolo had made a 
 deep impression on Byron. He likened it to his 
 unfortunate adventure with Mary Chaworth in June 
 and July, 1813. In ' The Corsair' — written after their
 
 304 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 intimacy had been broken off — Byron prefixes to each 
 canto a motto from * The Inferno ' which seemed to be 
 appropriate to his own case. In the first canto we 
 find: 
 
 ' Nessun maggior dolore, 
 Che ricordarsi del tempo felice 
 Nella miseria.' 
 
 In the second canto : 
 
 ' Conoscesti i dubbiosi desire ?' 
 
 In the third canto : 
 
 ' Come vedi — ancor non m' abbandona.' 
 
 That Byron had Francesca in his mind when he 
 wrote the stanzas to the Po seems likely ; and in the 
 letter which he wrote to Mary from Venice, in the 
 previous month, he compares their misfortunes with 
 those of Paolo and Francesca in plain words.* 
 
 * Don Juan ' was begun in the autumn of 1818. That 
 poem, Byron tells us, was inspired almost entirely by 
 his own personal experience. Perhaps he drew a 
 portrait of Mary Chaworth when he described Julia : 
 
 ' And she 
 Was married, charming, chaste, and twenty-three.' 
 
 When they parted in 1809, that was exactly Mary's 
 age. 
 
 ' Her eye was large and dark, suppressing half its 
 fire until she spoke. Her glossy hair was clustered 
 over a brow bright with intelligence. Her cheek was 
 purple with the beam of youth, mounting at times to a 
 transparent glow; and she had an uncommon grace of 
 manner. She was tall of stature. Her husband was 
 a good-looking man, neither much loved nor disliked. 
 He was of a jealous nature, though he did not show it. 
 
 * Shortly afterwards he translated 'The Episode of Francesca,' 
 line for line, into English verse.
 
 •ELLE VOUS SUIT PARTOUT* 305 
 
 They lived together, as most people do, suffering each 
 other's foibles.' 
 
 On a summer's eve in the month of June, Juan and 
 Julia met : 
 
 ' How beautiful she looked ! her conscious heart 
 Glowed in her cheek, and yet she felt no wrong.' 
 
 For her husband she had honour, virtue, truth, and 
 love. The sun had set, and the yellow moon arose 
 high in the heavens : 
 
 ' There is a dangerous silence in that hour, 
 A stillness which leaves room for the full soul.' 
 
 Several weeks had passed away : 
 
 ' Julia, in fact, had tolerable grounds, — 
 Alfonso's loves with Inez were well known.' 
 
 Then came the parting note : 
 
 ' They tell me 'tis decided you depart : 
 
 'Tis wise — 'tis well, but not the less a pain ; 
 
 I have no further claim on your young heart, 
 Mine is the victim, and would be again : 
 
 To love too much has been the only art 
 
 I used.' 
 
 Julia tells Juan that she loved him, and still loves 
 him tenderly : 
 
 ' I loved, I love you, for this love have lost 
 
 State, station, Heaven, mankind's, my own esteem, 
 And yet cannot regret what it hath cost, 
 So dear is still the memory of that dream.' 
 
 ' All is o'er 
 For me on earth, except some years to hide 
 My shame and sorrow deep in my heart's core.' 
 
 The seal to this letter was a sunflower — Elle vous 
 suit partout. It may be mentioned here that Byron 
 had a seal bearing this motto. 
 
 20
 
 3o6 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 When Juan realized that the parting was final, he 
 exclaims : 
 
 ' No more — no more — oh ! never more, my heart, 
 Canst thou be my sole world, my universe ! 
 
 Once all in all, but now a thing apart, 
 Thou canst not be my blessing or my curse : 
 
 The illusion's gone for ever.' 
 
 In the third canto we have a hint of Byron's feelings 
 after his wife had left him : 
 
 ' He entered in the house no more his home, 
 A thing to human feelings the most trying, 
 
 And harder for the heart to overcome, 
 
 Perhaps, than even the mental pangs of dying ; 
 
 To find our hearthstone turned into a tomb, 
 And round its once warm precincts palely lying 
 
 The ashes of our hopes.' 
 
 * But whatsoe'er he had of love reposed 
 On that beloved daughter ; she had been 
 
 The only thing which kept his heart unclosed 
 Amidst the savage deeds he had done and seen, 
 
 A lonely pure affection unopposed : 
 
 There wanted but the loss of this to wean 
 
 His feelings from all milk of human kindness, 
 
 And turn him like the Cyclops mad with blindness.' 
 
 In the fourth canto we are introduced to Haidee, 
 who resembled Lambro in features and stature, even to 
 the delicacy of their hands. We are told that owing 
 to the violence of emotion and the agitation of her 
 mind she broke a bloodvessel, and lay unconscious on 
 her couch for days. Like Astarte in ' Manfred,' ' her 
 blood was shed : I saw, but could not stanch it ': 
 
 ' She looked on many a face with vacant eye. 
 On many a token without knowing what : 
 She saw them watch her without asking why, 
 And recked not who around her pillow sat. 
 
 :|s 4= 4= ^ H<
 
 DON JUAN 307 
 
 ' Anon her thin wan fingers beat the wall 
 
 In time to the harper's tune : he changed the theme 
 
 And sang of Love ; the fierce name struck through all 
 Her recollection; on her flashed the dream 
 
 Of what she was, and is, if ye could call 
 To be so being ; in a gushing stream 
 
 The tears rushed forth from her o'erclouded brain, 
 
 Like mountain mists at length dissolved in rain.' 
 
 ' Short solace, vain relief ! Thought came too quick, 
 And whirled her brain to madness.' 
 
 ' She died, but not alone ; she held within, 
 A second principle of Life, which might 
 Have dawned a fair and sinless child of sin ; 
 But closed its little being without light.' 
 
 ' Thus lived — thus died she ; never more on her 
 Shall Sorrow light, or Shame.' 
 
 In the fifth canto, written in 1820, after the 'Stanzas 
 to the Po,' we find Byron once more in a confidential 
 
 mood : 
 
 ' I have a passion for the name of " Mary," 
 
 For once it was a magic sound to me ; 
 And still it half calls up the realms of Fairy, 
 
 Where I beheld what never was to be ; 
 All feelings changed, but this was last to vary 
 
 A spell from which even yet I am not quite free.' 
 
 And there is a sigh for Mary Chaworth in the follow- 
 ing lines : 
 
 ' To pay my court, I 
 Gave what I had — a heart ; as the world went, I 
 Gave what was worth a world ; for worlds could never 
 Restore me those pure feelings, gone for ever. 
 'Twas the boy's mite, and like the widow's may 
 
 Perhaps be weighed hereafter, if not now ; 
 But whether such things do or do not weigh, 
 All who have loved, or love, will still allow 
 Life has naught hke it.' 
 
 Early in 1823, little more than a year before his 
 death, Byron refers to 'the fair most fatal Juan ever 
 
 20 — 2
 
 3o8 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 met.' Under the name of the Lady Adeline, this most 
 fatal fair one is introduced to the reader : 
 
 ' Although she was not evil nor meant ill, 
 Both Destiny and Passion spread the net 
 And caught them,' 
 
 ' Chaste she was, to Detraction's desperation, 
 And wedded unto one she had loved well.' 
 
 ' The World could tell 
 Nought against either, and both seemed secure — 
 She in her virtue, he in his hauteur.' 
 
 Here we have a minute description of Newstead 
 
 Abbey, the home of the 'noble pair,' where Juan came 
 
 as a visitor : 
 
 ' What I throw off is ideal — 
 Lowered, leavened, like a history of Freemasons, 
 Which bears the same relation to the real 
 
 As Captain Parry's Voyage may do to Jason's. 
 The grand Arcanum's not for men to see all ; 
 
 My music has some mystic diapasons ; 
 And there is much which could not be appreciated 
 In any manner by the uninitiated.' 
 
 Adeline, we are told, came out at sixteen : 
 
 ' At eighteen, though below her feet still panted 
 A Hecatomb of suitors with devotion, 
 She had consented to create again 
 That Adam called " The happiest of Men." ' 
 
 It will be remembered that when Mary Chaworth 
 married she was exactly eighteen. Her husband was: 
 
 * Tall, stately, formed to lead the courtly van 
 On birthdays. The model of a chamberlain.' 
 
 ' But there was something wanting on the whole — 
 I don't know what, and therefore cannot tell — 
 Which pretty women — the sweet souls ! — call Soul. 
 
 Certes it was not body ; he was well 
 Proportioned, as a poplar or a pole, 
 A handsome man.'
 
 DON JUAN 309 
 
 This description would answer equally well for 
 ' handsome Jack Musters,' who married Mary Cha- 
 worth. Adeline, we are told, took Juan in hand when 
 she was about seven-and-twenty. That was Mary's 
 age in 1813. But this may have been a mere coin- 
 cidence. 
 
 'She had one defect,' says Byron, in speaking of 
 Adeline : ' her heart was vacant. Her conduct had 
 been perfectly correct. She loved her lord, or thought 
 so ; but that love cost her an effort. She had nothing 
 to complain of — no bickerings, no connubial turmoil. 
 Their union was a model to behold — serene and noble, 
 conjugal, but cold. There was no great disparity in 
 years, though much in temper. But they never 
 clashed. They moved, so to speak, apart.' 
 
 Now, when once Adeline had taken an interest in 
 anything, her impressions grew, and gathered as they 
 ran, like growing water, upon her mind. The more 
 so, perhaps, because she was not at first too readily 
 impressed. She did not know her own heart : 
 
 ' I think not she was then in love with Juan : 
 
 If so, she would have had the strength to fly 
 The wild sensation, unto her a new one : 
 
 She merely felt a common sympathy 
 In him.' 
 
 ' She was, or thought she was, his friend— and this 
 Without the farce of Friendship, or romance 
 Of Platonism.' 
 
 * Few of the soft sex,' says Byron, ' are very stable 
 in their resolves.' She had heard some parts of Juan's 
 history ; * but women hear with more good humour 
 such aberrations than we men of rigour ': 
 
 ' Adeline, in all her growing sense 
 Of Juan's merits and his situation, 
 Felt on the whole an interest intense — 
 Partly perhaps because a fresh sensation,
 
 3IO WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 Or that he had an air of innocence, 
 
 Which is for Innocence a sad temptation — 
 As Women hate half-measures, on the whole. 
 She 'gan to ponder how to save his soul.' 
 
 After a deal of thought, * she seriously advised him 
 to get married.' 
 
 ' There was Miss Millpond, smooth as summer's sea, 
 
 That usual paragon, an only daughter, 
 Who seemed the cream of Equanimity, 
 
 Till skimmed — and then there was some milk and water, 
 With a slight shade of blue too, it might be 
 
 Beneath the surface.' 
 
 The mention of Aurora Rab}'', to whom Juan in the 
 first instance proposed, and by whom he was refused, 
 suggests an incident in his life which is well known. 
 Aurora was very young, and knew but little of the 
 world's ways. In her indifference she confounded 
 him with the crowd of flatterers by whom she was 
 surrounded. Her mind appears to have been of a 
 serious caste ; with poetic vision she ' saw worlds 
 beyond this world's perplexing waste,' and 
 
 * those worlds 
 Had more of her existence ; for in her 
 There was a depth of feeling to embrace 
 Thoughts, boundless, deep, but silent too as Space.' 
 
 She had * a pure and placid mien '; her colour was 
 'never high,' 
 
 ' Though sometimes faintly flushed — and always clear 
 As deep seas in a sunny atmosphere.' 
 
 We cannot be positive, but perhaps Byron had 
 Aurora Raby in his mind when he wrote : 
 
 ' I've seen some balls and revels in my time, 
 And stayed them over for some silly reason, 
 And then I looked (I hope it was no crime) 
 To see what lady best stood out the season ;
 
 MISS MERCER ELPHINSTONE 311 
 
 And though I've seen some thousands in their prime 
 Lovely and pleasing, and who still may please on, 
 I never saw but one (the stars withdrawn) 
 Whose bloom could after dancing dare the Dawn.' * 
 
 Perhaps Aurora Raby may have been drawn from 
 his recollection of Miss Mercer Elphinstone, who 
 afterwards married Auguste Charles Joseph, Comte de 
 Flahaut de la Billarderie, one of Napoleon's Aides-de- 
 Camp, then an exile in England. This young lady 
 was particularly gracious to Byron at Lady Jersey's 
 party, when others gave him a cold reception. We 
 wonder how matters would have shaped themselves 
 if she had accepted the proposal of marriage which 
 Byron made to her in 1814! But it was not to be. 
 That charming woman passed out of his orbit, and as 
 he waited upon the shore, gazing at the dim outline 
 of the coast of France, the curtain fell upon the first 
 phase of Byron's existence. The Pilgrim of Eternity 
 stood on the threshold of a new life : 
 
 ' Between two worlds life hovers like a star, 
 
 'Twixt Night and Morn, upon the horizon's verge. 
 
 How little do we know that which \vc are ! 
 
 How less what we may be ! The eternal surge 
 
 Of Time and Tide rolls on and bears afar 
 Our bubbles ; as the old burst, new emerge, 
 
 Lashed from the foam of Ages.' 
 
 And after eight years of exile, in his * Last Words 
 
 on Greece,' written in those closing days at Misso- 
 
 longhi, with the shadow of Death upon him, his mind 
 
 reverts to one whom, in 1816, he had called 'Soul of 
 
 my thought ' : 
 
 ' What are to me those honours or renown 
 Past or to come, a new-born people's cry ? 
 Albeit for such I could despise a crown 
 Of aught save laurel, or for such could die. 
 
 * ' Beppo,' stanza 8"?.
 
 312 WHAT THE POEMS REVEAL 
 
 I am a fool of passion, and a frown 
 Of thine to me is as an adder's eye — 
 
 To the poor bird whose pinion fluttering down 
 Wafts unto death the breast it bore so high — 
 
 Such is this maddening fascination grown, 
 So strong thy magic or so weak am I ' 
 
 ' The flowers and fruits of Love are gone ; the worm. 
 The canker, and the grief, are mine alone !' 
 
 U<. 
 
 
 '\ 
 
 

 
 I 
 
 PART III 
 'ASTARTE' 
 
 ' The evil that men do lives after them ; 
 The good is oft interred with their bones.' 
 
 Shakespeare : Julius Cctsar.
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 From the moment when Lord Byron left England 
 until the hour of his death, the question of his separa- 
 tion from his wife was never long out of his thoughts. 
 He was remarkably communicative on the subject, and 
 spoke of it constantly, not only to Madame de Stael, 
 Hobhouse, Lady Blessington, and Trelawny, but, as 
 we have seen, even in casual conversation with com- 
 parative strangers. There is no doubt that he felt 
 himself aggrieved, and bitterly resented a verdict which 
 he knew to be unjust. In a pamphlet which was sub- 
 sequently suppressed, written while he was at Ravenna, 
 Byron sums up his own case. In justice to one who 
 can no longer plead his own cause, we feel bound to 
 transcribe a portion of his reply to strictures on his 
 matrimonial conduct, which appeared in Blackwood's 
 Magazine : 
 
 ' The man who is exiled by a faction has the conso- 
 lation of thinking that he is a martyr; he is upheld by 
 hope and the dignity of his cause, real or imaginary : 
 he who withdraws from the pressure of debt may 
 indulge in the thought that time and prudence will 
 retrieve his circumstances : he who is condemned by 
 the law has a term to his banishment, or a dream of 
 its abbreviation ; or, it may be, the knowledge or the 
 belief of some injustice of the law, or of its administra- 
 tion in his own particular : but he who is outlawed by 
 general opinion, without the intervention of hostile 
 
 315
 
 3i6 'ASTARTE' 
 
 politics, illegal judgment, or embarrassed circum- 
 stances, whether he be innocent or guilty, must 
 undergo all the bitterness of exile, without hope, 
 without pride, without alleviation. This case was 
 mine. Upon what grounds the public founded their 
 opinion, I am not aware ; but it was general, and it 
 was decisive. Of me or of mine they knew little, 
 except that I had written what is called poetry, was 
 a nobleman, had married, become a father, and was 
 involved in differences with my wife and her relatives, 
 no one knew why, because the persons complaining 
 refused to state their grievances. The fashionable 
 world was divided into parties, mine consisting of 
 a very small minority : the reasonable world was 
 naturally on the stronger side, which happened to 
 be the lady's, as was most proper and polite. The 
 press was active and scurrilous ; and such was the 
 rage of the day, that the unfortunate publication of 
 two copies of verses, rather complimentary than other- 
 wise to the subjects of both, was tortured into a species 
 of crime, or constructive petty treason. I was accused 
 of every monstrous vice by public rumour and private 
 rancour ; my name, which had been a knightly or a 
 noble one since my fathers helped to conquer the 
 kingdom for William the Norman, was tainted. I 
 felt that, if what was whispered, and muttered, and 
 murmured, was true, I was unfit for England ; if false, 
 England was unfit for me. I withdrew ; but this was 
 not enough. In other countries, in Switzerland, in 
 the shadow of the Alps, and by the blue depths of the 
 lakes, I was pursued and breathed upon by the same 
 blight. I crossed the mountains, but it was the same : 
 so I went a little farther, and settled myself by the 
 waves of the Adriatic, like the stag at bay, who betakes 
 him to the waters. ... I have heard of, and believe, 
 that there are human beings so constituted as to be 
 insensible to injuries ; but 1 believe that the best mode 
 to avoid taking vengeance is to get out of the way of 
 temptation. I do not in this allude to the party, who 
 might be right or wrong; but to many who made her 
 cause the pretext of their own bitterness. She, indeed, 
 must have long avenged me in her own feelings, for 
 whatever her reasons may have been (and she never 
 adduced them, to me at least), she probably neither
 
 LADY CAROLINE LAMB 317 
 
 contemplated nor conceived to what she became the 
 means of conducting the father of her child, and the 
 husband of her choice.' 
 
 Byron knew of the charge that had been whispered 
 against his sister and himself, and, knowing it to be 
 false, it stung him to the heart. And yet he dared not 
 speak, because a solution of the mystery that sur- 
 rounded the separation from his wife would have 
 involved the betrayal of one whom he designated as 
 the soul of his thousfht : 
 
 *&' 
 
 ' Invisible but gazing, as I glow 
 Mixed with thy spirit, blended with thy birth, 
 And feeling still with thee in my crush'd feelings dearth.' 
 
 Augusta Leigh, the selfless martyr, the most loyal 
 friend that Byron ever possessed, his * tower of strength 
 in the hour of need,' assisted her brother, so to speak, 
 to place the pack on a false scent, and the whole field 
 blindly followed. There never was a nobler example 
 of self-immolation than that of the sister who bravely 
 endured the odium of a scandal in which she had no 
 part. For Byron's sake she was content to suffer 
 intensely during her lifetime ; and after she had ceased 
 to feel, her name was branded by Lady Byron and 
 her descendants with the mark of infamy. 
 
 A curious feature in the case is that, with few excep- 
 tions, those who knew Byron and Mrs. Leigh inti- 
 mately came gradually to accept the story which Lady 
 Caroline Lamb had insidiously whispered, a libel 
 which flourished exceedingly in the noxious vapours of 
 a scandal-loving age. As Nature is said to abhor a 
 vacuum, so falsehood rushed in to fill the void which 
 silence caused. 
 
 It is with a deep searching of heart and with great 
 reluctance that we re-open this painful subject.
 
 3i8 'ASTARTE' 
 
 The entire responsibility must rest with the late 
 Lord Lovelace, whose loud accusation against Byron's 
 devoted sister deprives us of any choice in the matter. 
 
 In order to understand the full absurdity of the 
 accusation brought against Augusta Leigh, we have 
 but to contrast the evidence brought against her in 
 ' Astarte ' with allusions to her in Byron's poems, and 
 with the esteem in which she was held by men and 
 women well known in society at the time of the 
 separation. 
 
 Lord Stanhope, the historian, in a private letter 
 written at the time of the Beecher Stowe scandals, 
 says: 
 
 * I was very well acquainted with Mrs. Leigh about 
 forty years ago, and used to call upon her at St. 
 James's Palace to hear her speak about Lord Byron, 
 as she was very fond of doing. That fact itself is 
 a presumption against what is alleged, since, on such 
 a supposition, the subject would surely be felt as 
 painful and avoided. She was extremely unpre- 
 possessing in her person and appearance — more like a 
 nun than anything — and never can have had the least 
 pretension to beauty. I thought her shy and sensitive 
 to a fault in her mind and character, and, from what I 
 saw and knew of her, I hold her to have been utterly 
 incapable of such a crime as Mrs. Beecher Stowe is so 
 unwarrantably seeking to cast upon her memory.' 
 
 Frances, Lady Shelley, a woman of large experience, 
 penetration, and sagacity, whose husband was a 
 personal friend of the Prince Regent, stated in a letter 
 to the Times that Mrs. Leigh was like a mother to 
 Byron, and when she knew her intimately — at the 
 time of the separation — was * not at all an attractive 
 person.' Her husband was very fond of her, and had 
 a high opinion of her. 
 
 These impressions are confirmed by all those friends
 
 AUGUSTA LEIGH 319 
 
 and acquaintances of Mrs. Leigh who were still living 
 in 1869. 
 
 In 1 8 16 Augusta Leigh was a married woman of 
 thirty-two years of age, and the mother of four 
 children. She had long been attached to the Court, 
 moved in good society, and was much liked by 
 those who knew her intimately. Since her marriage 
 in 1807 she had been more of a mother than a sister 
 to Byron, and her affection for him was deep and 
 sincere. She made allowances for his frailties, bore 
 his uncertain temper with patience, and was never 
 afraid of giving him good advice. In June, 18 13, she 
 tried to save him from the catastrophe which she 
 foresaw ; and having failed, she made the supreme 
 sacrifice of her life, by adopting his natural child, thus 
 saving the reputation of a woman whom her brother 
 sincerely loved. Henceforward, under suspicions 
 which must have been galling to her pride, she faced 
 the world's ' speechless obloquy,' heedless of conse- 
 quences. In the after-years, when great trouble fell 
 upon her through the misconduct of that adopted child, 
 she bore her sorrows in silence. Among those who 
 were connected with Byron's life, Hobhouse, Hodgson, 
 and Harness — three men of unimpeachable character — 
 respected and admired her to the last. 
 
 Such, then, was the woman who was persecuted 
 during her lifetime and slandered in her grave. Her 
 traducers at first whispered, and afterwards openly 
 stated, not only that she had committed incest with 
 her brother, but that she had employed her influence 
 over him to make a reconciliation with his wife im- 
 possible. 
 
 If that were so, it is simply inconceivable that 
 Hobhouse should have remained her lifelong friend.
 
 320 ' ASTARTE ' 
 
 His character is well known. Not only his public 
 but much of his private life is an open book. As a 
 gentleman and a man of honour he was above sus- 
 picion. From his long and close intimacy with Byron, 
 there were but few secrets between them ; and Hob- 
 house undoubtedly knew the whole truth of the 
 matter between Byron and his sister. He was Byron's 
 most trusted friend during life, and executor at his 
 death. 
 
 It has never been disputed that, at the time of the 
 separation, Hobhouse demanded from Lady Byron's 
 representative a formal disavowal of that monstrous 
 charge ; otherwise the whole matter would be taken 
 into a court of law. He would allow no equivocation. 
 The charge must either be withdrawn, then and there, 
 or substantiated in open court. When Lady Byron, 
 through her representative, unreservedly disavowed 
 the imputation, Byron was satisfied, and consented to 
 sign the deed of separation. 
 
 Six months after Byron left England, Hobhouse 
 visited him in Switzerland ; and on September 9, 
 1 8 16, he wrote as follows to Augusta Leigh : 
 
 ' It would be a great injustice to suppose that [Byron] 
 has dismissed the subject from his thoughts, or indeed 
 from his conversation, upon any other motive than that 
 which the most bitter of his enemies would commend. 
 The uniformly tranquil and guarded manner shows 
 the effect which it is meant to hide. ... I trust the 
 news from your Lowestoft correspondent [Lady Byron] 
 will not be so bad as it was when I last saw you. 
 Pardon me, dear Mrs. Leigh, if I venture to advise the 
 strictest confinement to very common topics in all you 
 say in that quarter. Repay kindness in any other way 
 than by confidence. I say this, not in reference to the 
 lady's character, but as a maxim to serve for all cases. 
 * Ever most faithfully yours, 
 
 'J. C. Hobhouse.' 
 
 I
 
 MRS. LEIGH CROSS-EXAMINED 321 
 
 This letter shows, not only that the writer was 
 firmly convinced of Mrs. Leigh's innocence, but that 
 he was afraid lest Lady Byron would worm the real 
 secret out of Byron's sister, by appealing, through 
 acts of kindness, to her sense of gratitude. He knew 
 that Mrs. Leigh had a very difficult part to perform. 
 Her loyalty to Byron and Mary Chaworth had already 
 borne a severe test, and he wished her to realize how 
 much depended on her discretion. 
 
 The task of keeping in touch with Lady Byron, 
 without dispelling her illusions, was so trying to 
 Augusta Leigh's naturally frank nature as almost 
 to drive her to despair. Lady Byron, knowing that 
 Byron was in constant correspondence with his sister, 
 asked permission to read his letters, and it was difficult, 
 without plausible excuse, to withhold them. Byron's 
 correspondence was never characterized by reticence. 
 He invariably unburdened his mind, heedless of the 
 effect which his words might have upon those to whom 
 his letters were shown. In these circumstances Mrs. 
 Leigh was kept in a fever of apprehension as to what 
 Lady Byron might glean, even from the winnowed 
 portions which, from time to time, were submitted for 
 her perusal. 
 
 It has since transpired that, without Augusta's know- 
 ledge, Lady Byron kept a copy of everything that was 
 shown to her. 
 
 It appears from ' Astarte ' that, in the early part of 
 September, 18 16, Augusta Leigh underwent a rigorous 
 cross-examination — not only from Lady Byron, but 
 from inquisitive acquaintances, who were determined 
 to extract from her replies proofs of her guilt. 
 
 Lord Lovelace, on Lady Byron's authority, states 
 that between August 31 and September 14 (the precise 
 
 21
 
 322 'ASTARTE' 
 
 date is not given) Augusta confessed to Lady Byron 
 
 that she had committed incest with her hrother previoi^is 
 
 to his marriage. This strange admission, which we 
 
 are told had been long expected, seems to have com- 
 
 ^j^^ r^ pletely satisfied Lady Byron. After having promised 
 
 ' ^ to keep her secret inviolate^ she wrote to several of her 
 
 ' ^ friends, and told them that Augusta had made 'a full 
 
 ^:^ • confession of her guilt,' There had been no witnesses 
 
 ^ r '"^ at the meeting between these two ladies, and the 
 
 incriminating letters, which Lord Lovelace says Mrs. 
 
 ^% 
 
 C" 
 
 ;S»>». '^ -- Leigh wrote to Lady Byron, are not given in ' Astarte' ! 
 
 ^^ But in 1817 Lady Byron, referring to these meetings, 
 
 v^ says : * She acknowledged that the verses, " I speak 
 
 r ^" •.• not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name,"' were 
 
 «\. fj ^^ addressed to her.' 
 
 < r Augusta was certainly in an awkward predicament. 
 
 ^^ . By adopting Medora she had, at considerable personal 
 
 risk, saved the reputation of Mary Chaworth. If she 
 
 had now told the whole truth — namely, that Medora 
 
 was merely her daughter by adoption — she would have 
 
 been pressed to prove it by divulging the identity of 
 
 that child's mother. This was of course impossible. 
 
 Not only would she have mortally offended Byron, 
 
 ■^^^^ r^ ^ and have betrayed his trust in her, but the fortune 
 
 r* %^^^ which by his will would devolve upon her children 
 
 ^ ' must have passed into other hands. For those reasons 
 
 it was indispensable that the truth should be veiled. 
 
 As to Mrs. Leigh's alleged statement that the lines, 
 
 ' I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name,' — 
 
 were addressed to her, we say nothing. By that 
 
 portion of her so-called ' confession ' we may gauge 
 
 ^ the value of the rest. That Lady Byron should have 
 
 been thus deceived affords a strong proof of her 
 
 gullibility. There is nothing to show exactly what 
 
 < -i^
 
 LADY BYRON NEVER KNEW THE TRUTH 323 
 
 passed at these remarkable interviews. We know 
 that Augusta's statements, made orally, were subse- 
 quently written down from memory ; because Lady 
 Byron told one of her friends that she had sent the 
 said 'confession' to the Lord Chancellor (Eldon), 'as 
 a bar to any future proceedings that might be taken 
 by Lord Byron to obtain the custody of Ada.' 
 
 It is clear that Mrs. Leigh's communication would 
 never have been made except under a promise of 
 secrecy. She did not suspect the treachery which 
 Lady Byron contemplated, and thought that she might 
 safely encourage her delusions. Perhaps she divined 
 that Lady Byron had already convinced herself that 
 Medora was Byron's child. At any rate, she knew 
 enough of Lady Byron to be certain that there would 
 be no peace until that lady had satisfied herself that 
 her suspicions were well founded. Unhappily for 
 Mrs. Leigh, Hobhouse's warning arrived too late ; her 
 ruse failed, and her reputation suffered during life. 
 Although she was destined to bear the stigma of a 
 crime of which she was innocent, she never wavered, 
 and died with her secret unrevealed. Lady Byron, 
 with all her ingenuity, never divined the truth. To- 
 wards the close of her life she became uneasy in her 
 mind, and died under the impression that 'Augusta 
 had made a fool of her.' 
 
 Immediately after Mrs. Leigh's interviews with Lady 
 Byron she wrote to Byron, and revealed the state of 
 affairs. That, at the same time, she reproached him 
 for the troubles he had brought upon her is evident 
 from Byron's journal of September 29 : 
 
 ' I am past reproaches, and there is a time for all 
 things. I am past the wish of vengeance, and I know 
 of none like what I have suffered ; but the hour will 
 
 21 — 2
 
 324 • ASTARTE ' 
 
 come when what I feel must be felt, and the [truth 
 will out?] — but enough.' 
 
 It was at this time, also, that Byron thought that the 
 ' Epistle to Augusta ' — sent to Murray on August 28 — 
 had better not be published. It did not, in fact, see 
 the light until 1830. Lady Byron's conduct in this 
 business affected him profoundly, and his feelings 
 towards her changed completely. He was also angry 
 with Augusta for a time, and told her that it was 
 
 'on her account principally that he had given way 
 at all and signed the separation, for he thought they 
 would endeavour to drag her into it, although they 
 had no business with anything previous to his mar- 
 riage with that infernal fiend, whose destruction he 
 should yet see.'* 
 
 In spite of Lady Byron's prejudice against Mrs. 
 Leigh, as time went on she gradually realized that 
 her sister-in-law's so-called ' confession ' was not con- 
 sistent either with her known disposition, her reputa- 
 tion in society, or with her general conduct. In order 
 to satisfy her conscience, Lady Byron, in April, 1851, 
 arranged a meeting with Mrs. Leigh at Reigate. 
 Clearly, it was Lady Byron's purpose to obtain a full 
 confession from Mrs. Leigh of the crime which she 
 had long suspected. Lady Byron came to Reigate 
 accompanied by the Rev. Frederick Robertson of 
 Brighton, who happened then to be her spiritual 
 adviser. This time Augusta Leigh's 'confession' was 
 to be made before an unimpeachable witness, who 
 would keep a record of what passed. It deeply mor- 
 tified Lady Byron to find that Mrs. Leigh — far from 
 making any * confession ' — appeared before her in * all 
 the pride of innocence,' and, after saying that she had 
 
 * ' Astarte,' p. 166.
 
 THE OPINION OF HOBHOUSE 
 
 325 
 
 always been loyal to Byron and his wife, and had 
 never tried to keep them apart, told Lady Byron that 
 Hobhouse — who was still living — had expressed his 
 opinion that Lady Byron had every reason to be 
 grateful to Mrs. Leigh ; for she not only risked the 
 loss of property, but what was much dearer to her, 
 Byron's affection.* 
 
 Alas, the bubble had burst ! The confession, upon 
 which the peace of Lady Byron's conscience de- 
 pended, was transformed into an avowal of inno- 
 cence, which no threats could shake, no arguments 
 could weaken, and no reproaches divert. 
 
 * Lady Byi-on and Rev. F. Robertson drew up a memorandum of 
 this conversation, April 8, 185 1. 
 
 
 
 y 
 
 < 
 
 
 iU^i^ <Y^K\^X
 
 II 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 It is because * Astarte' is a pretentious and plausible 
 record of fallacies that the present writer feels bound 
 to take note of its arguments. 
 
 In order to avoid circumlocution and tedious excur- 
 sions over debatable ground, we will assume that the 
 reader is tolerably well acquainted with literature 
 relating to the separation of Lord and Lady Byron. 
 
 It would certainly have been better if the details 
 of Byron's quarrel with his wife had been ignored. 
 Prior to the publication of Mrs. Beecher Stowe's 
 articles, in 1869, the greatest tenderness had been 
 shown towards Lady Byron by all writers upon 
 Byron's career and poetry, and by all those who 
 alluded to his unhappy marriage. Everyone respected 
 Lady Byron's excellent qualities, and no one accused 
 her of any breach of faith in her conduct towards 
 either her husband or his sister. Lady Byron was 
 generally regarded as a virtuous and high-minded 
 woman, with a hard and cold disposition, but nothing 
 worse was said or thought of her, and the world really 
 sympathized with her sorrows. 
 
 But when her self-imposed silence was broken by 
 Mrs. Beecher Stowe, and Byron stood publicly accused 
 on Lady Byron's authority of an odious crime which 
 she had never attempted to prove during the poet's 

 
 THE FALLACIES IN 'ASTARTE' 327 
 
 lifetime, there arose a revulsion of feeling against her 
 memory. It was generally felt, after the suffering and 
 the patience of a lifetime, that Lady Byron might well 
 have evinced a deeper Christian spirit at its close. 
 
 As time went on, the memory of this untoward 
 incident gradually faded away, and the present genera- 
 tion thought little of the rights or wrongs of a con- 
 troversy which had moved their forefathers so deeply. 
 The dead, so to speak, had buried their dead, and all 
 would soon have been forgotten. Unfortunately, the 
 late Lord Lovelace, a grandson of Lady Byron, goaded 
 by perusal of the attacks made upon Lady Byron's 
 memory, after Mrs. Beecher Stowe's revelations in 1869, 
 was induced in 1905 to circulate among 'those who, 
 for special reasons, ought to have the means of ac- 
 quainting themselves with the true position of Lord 
 and Lady Byron,' a work entitled * Astarte,' which is 
 mainly a compilation of letters and data, skilfully 
 selected for the purpose of defaming his grandfather. 
 
 After informing the reader that * the public of this 
 age would do well to pay no attention to voluminous 
 complications and caricatures of Lord Byron,' Lord 
 Lovelace gaily proceeds, on the flimsiest of evidence, 
 to blast, not only Byron's name, but also the reputation 
 of the poet's half-sister, Augusta Leigh. 
 
 After telling the world that Byron 'after his death 
 was less honoured than an outcast,' Lord Lovelace 
 endeavours to justify the public neglect to honour the 
 remains of a great national poet by accusing Byron of 
 incest. Lord Lovelace's claim to have been the sole 
 depositary of so damning a secret is really comical, 
 because, as a matter of fact, he never knew the truth 
 at all. He thought that he had only, like Pandora, to 
 open his box for all the evil to fly out, forgetting that
 
 328 • ASTARTE ' 
 
 Truth has an awkward habit of lying at the bottom. 
 He seems, however, to have had some inkling of this, 
 for he is careful to remind us that ' Truth comes in 
 the last, and very late, limping along on the arm of 
 Time.' 
 
 In support of a theory which is supposed to be 
 revealed by his papers, Lord Lovelace declares that 
 a solution of Byron's mystery may be found in his 
 poems, and he fixes on ' Manfred ' for the key. The 
 haunting remorse of Manfred is once more trotted 
 out to prove that Byron committed incest. There is 
 nothing new in this * nightmare of folly,' for Byron 
 himself was well aware of the interpretation placed 
 upon that poem by his contemporaries. 
 
 Manfred is certainly the revelation of deep remorse, 
 but the crime for which he suffers had no connection 
 with Augusta Leigh. Lord Lovelace says that ' the 
 germ of this nightmare in blank verse was in the actual 
 letters of the living Astarte.' The statement may be 
 true ; but he was certainly not in a position to prove 
 it, for he knew not, to the last hour of his life, who 
 the living Astarte was. 
 
 It is a sad story that should never have been told, 
 and the present writer regrets that circumstances 
 should have compelled him to save the reputation of 
 one good woman by revealing matters affecting the 
 misfortunes of another. But the blame must lie with 
 those inconsiderate, ignorant, and prejudiced persons 
 who, in an attempt to justify Lady Byron's conduct, 
 cruell}' assailed the memory of one who 
 
 When fortune changed — and love fled far, 
 And hatred's shafts flew thick and fast,' 
 
 was the solitary star which rose, and set not to the 
 last.
 
 LADY ANNE BARNARD 329 
 
 On January 2, 181 5, Lord and Lady Byron were 
 married at Seaham. The little that is known of their 
 married life may be found in letters and memoranda 
 of people who were in actual correspondence with 
 them, and the details which we now give from various 
 sources are necessary to a better understanding of the 
 causes which led to a separation between husband 
 and wife in January, 18 16. 
 
 According to a statement made by Lady Byron to 
 her friend Lady Anne Barnard, shortly after a rumour 
 of the separation spread in London, there never was 
 any real love on either side. The following passages 
 are taken from some private family memoirs written 
 by Lady Anne herself: 
 
 ' I heard of Lady Byron's distress, and entreated her 
 to come and let me see and hear her, if she conceived 
 my sympathy or counsel could be any comfort to her. 
 She came, but what a tale was unfolded by this in- 
 teresting young creature, who had so fondly hoped 
 to have made [Byron] happy ! They had not been an 
 hour in the carriage . . . when Byron, breaking into 
 a malignant sneer, said : " Oh, what a dupe 3^ou have 
 been to 3^our imagination I How is it possible a 
 woman of your sense could form the wild hope of 
 reforming me ? Many are the tears you will have to 
 shed ere that plan is accomplished. It is enough for 
 me that you are my wife for me to hate you ; if you 
 were the wife of any other man, I own you might 
 have charms," etc. 
 
 * I listened in astonishment,' writes Lady Anne. 
 "'How could you go on after this, my dear!" said L 
 " Why did you not return to your father's ?" 
 
 ' " Because I had not a conception he was in earnest ; 
 because I reckoned it a bad jest, and told him so — that 
 my opinion of him was very different from his of 
 himself, otherwise he would not find me by his side. 
 He laughed it over when he saw me appear hurt, and 
 I forgot what had passed till forced to remember it. 
 I believe he was pleased with me, too, for a little
 
 330 ' ASTARTE ' 
 
 while. I suppose it had escaped his memory that I 
 was his wife." 
 
 * But,' says Lady Anne, * she described the happiness 
 they enjoyed to have been unequal and perturbed. 
 Her situation in a short time might have entitled her 
 to some tenderness, but she made no claim on him for 
 any. He sometimes reproached her for the motives 
 that had induced her to marry him — " all was vanit}^, the 
 vanity of Miss Milbanke carrying the point of reforming 
 Lord Byron ! He always knew her inducements ; her 
 pride shut her eyes to his ; he wished to build up his 
 character and his fortunes ; both were somewhat de- 
 ranged ; she had a high name, and would have a 
 fortune worth his attention — let her look to that for 
 his motives !" 
 
 *"0h, Byron, Byron," she said, "how you desolate 
 me !" He would then accuse himself of being mad, 
 and throw himself on the ground in a frenzy, which 
 Lady Byron believed was affected to conceal the cold- 
 ness and malignity of his heart — an affectation which 
 at that time never failed to meet with the tenderest 
 commiseration. . . . Lady Byron saw the precipice 
 on which she stood, and kept his sister with her as 
 much as possible. He returned in the evenings from 
 the haunts of vice, where he made her understand 
 he had been, with manners so profligate. 
 
 "* Oh, wretch!" said L "And had he no moments 
 of remorse ?" " Sometimes he appeared to have them," 
 replied Lady Byron. " One night, coming home from 
 one of his lawless parties, he saw me so indignantly 
 collected, bearing all with such determined calmness, 
 that a rush of remorse seemed to come over him ; he 
 called himself a monster, though his sister was present, 
 and threw himself in agony at my feet. He said 
 that I could not — no, I could not forgive him such 
 injuries. He was sure that he had lost me for ever ! 
 Astonished at the return of virtue, my tears, I believe, 
 flowed over his face, and I said : * Byron, all is for- 
 gotten ; never, never shall you hear of it more!' He 
 started up, and, folding his arms while he looked at 
 me, burst into laughter. 'What do you mean ?' said 
 L 'Only a philosophical experiment, that's all,' said 
 he. ' I wished to ascertain the value of your resolu- 
 tions.' "
 
 TEMPERAMENT OF BYRON 331 
 
 * I need not say more of this prince of duplicity,' 
 continues Lady Anne Barnard, ' except that varied 
 were his methods of rendering her wretched, even 
 to the last.' 
 
 There is enough evidence in the above statement to 
 show that a separation between Lord and Lady Byron 
 was inevitable. Byron's temper, always capricious, 
 became ungovernable under the vexatious exigencies 
 of his financial affairs. Several executions had taken 
 place in their house during the year, and it is said that 
 even the beds upon which they slept Vv^ere in the pos- 
 session of the bailiffs. 
 
 It has been shown by those who knew Byron well 
 that he was never suited to the married state. His 
 temperament was an obstacle to happiness in marriage. 
 He lacked the power of self-command, and the irrita- 
 tion produced by the shattered state of his fortune 
 drove him at times to explosions, which were very 
 like madness. We have an example of this in his 
 conduct one night in Ithaca, when his companions 
 were afraid to enter his room. Lady Byron could 
 not meet these explosions in any effectual manner. 
 The more fiercely he vented his exasperation, the 
 colder she became. Lady Byron, like her husband, 
 was a spoilt child who set her own self-will against 
 his. If she had possessed more tact and deeper affec- 
 tions, she might possibly have managed him. We 
 frankly admit that Byron's conduct during this period 
 was not calculated to win the love and respect of any 
 woman. During his mad moods he did his utmost to 
 blacken his own character, and it is not surprising 
 that Lady Byron, who had heard much of his conduct 
 before marriage, implicitly believed him. His so-called 
 'mystifications' were all taken seriously. She was.
 
 332 'ASTARTE' 
 
 moreover, of a jealous nature, and Byron delighted to 
 
 torment her by suggestions of immorality which had 
 
 no foundation in fact. In such a character as Lady 
 
 Byron's, a hint was enough to awaken the darkest 
 
 suspicions, and when an impression had been stamped 
 
 on her mind it was impossible to remove it. Byron, 
 
 of course, fanned the flame, for he was bored to death 
 
 in the bonds of wedlock, and we are inclined to believe 
 
 that he did many outrageous things in order to drive 
 
 his wife on the road to a separation. When the moment 
 
 came he was sorry, but he certainly brought matters 
 
 designedly to a crisis. His sister Augusta was much 
 
 in favour of his marriage, and had strong hopes that 
 
 happiness was in store for them, as the following letter 
 
 will show : 
 
 'Six Mile Bottom, 
 
 'February 15, 1815. 
 ' My dear Mr. Hodgson, 
 
 * You could not have gratified me more than by 
 giving me an opportunity of writing on my favourite 
 subject to one so truly worthy of it as you are ; indeed, 
 I have repeatedly wished of late that I could com- 
 municate with you. Most thankful do I feel that I 
 have so much to say that will delight you. I have 
 every reason to think that my beloved B. is very 
 happy and comfortable. I hear constantly from him 
 and /lis Rib. They are now at Seaham, and not in- 
 clined to return to Halnaby, because all the world were 
 preparing to visit them there, and at Seaham they are 
 free from this torment, no trifling one in B.'s estima- 
 tion, as you know. From my own observations on 
 their epistles, and knowledge of B.'s disposition and 
 ways, I really hope most confidently that all will turn 
 out very happily. It appears to me that Lady Byron 
 seis aboui making him happy quite in the right way. 
 It is true I judge at a distance, and we generally hope 
 as we wish; but I assure you I don't conclude hastily 
 on this subject, and will own to you, what I would 
 not scarcely to any other person, that I had many 
 fears and much anxiety founded upon many causes and
 
 BYRON AS A MARRIED MAN 333 
 
 circmnstances of which 1 cannot write. Thank God ! 
 that they do not appear likely to be realized. In short, 
 there seems to me to be but one drawback to all our 
 felicity, and that, alas ! is the disposal of dear New- 
 stead, which I am afraid is irrevocably decreed. I 
 received the fatal communication from Lady Byron 
 ten days ago, and will own to you that it was not only 
 grief, but disappointment ; for I flattered myself such 
 a sacrifice would not be made. From my representa- 
 tions she had said and urged all she could in favour of 
 keeping it. Mr. Hobhouse the same, and I believe that 
 he was deputed to make inquiries and researches, and 
 I knew that he wrote to B. suggesting the propriety 
 and expediency of at least delaying the sale. This 
 most excellent advice created so much disturbance in 
 Byron's mind that Lady B. wrote me word, " He had 
 such a fit of vexation he could not appear at dinner, or 
 leave his room. . . ." B.'s spirits had improved at the 
 prospect of a release from the embarrassments which 
 interfered so much with his comfort, and I suppose I 
 ou^ht to be satisfied with this. , . . May the future 
 brmg peace and comfort to my dearest B. ! that is 
 always one of my first wishes ; and I am convinced it 
 is my duty to endeavour to be resigned to the loss of 
 this dear Abbey from our family, as well as all other 
 griefs which are sent by Him who knows what is good 
 for us. . . . I do not know what are B.'s plans. Lady 
 Byron says nothing can be decided upon till their 
 affairs are in some degree arranged. They have been 
 anxious to procure a temporary habitation in my 
 neighbourhood, which would be convenient to him 
 and delightful to me, if his presence is required in 
 Town upon this sad Newstead business. But I am 
 sorry to say I cannot hear of any likely to suit them ; 
 and our house is so very small, I could scarcely con- 
 trive to take them in. Lady B. is extremely kind to 
 me, for which I am most grateful, and to my dearest B., 
 for I am w^ell aware how much I am indebted to his 
 partiality and affection for her good opinion. I will 
 not give up the hope of seeing them on their way to 
 Town, whenever they do go, as for a few nights they 
 would, perhaps, tolerate the innumerable inconveni- 
 ences attending the best arrangements I could make for 
 them. . . . My babes are all quite well ; Medoramore
 
 334 ' ASTARTE ' 
 
 beautiful than ever. . . . Lady B. writes me word 
 she never saw her father and mother so happy : that 
 she beheves the latter would go to the bottom of the 
 sea herself to find fish for B.'s dinner, and that Byron 
 owns at last that he is very happy and comfortable at 
 Seaham, though he had predetermined to be very miser- 
 able. In some of her letters she mentions his health 
 not being very good, though he seldom complains, but 
 says that his spirits have been improved by some 
 daily walks she had prevailed on him to take ; and 
 attributes much of his languor in the morning and 
 feverish feels at night to his long fasts, succeeded by too 
 hearty meals for any weak and empty stomach to bear at 
 one time, waking by night and sleeping by day. I flatter 
 myself her influence will prevail over these bad habits.' 
 
 On March i8, i8i 5, Augusta Leigh again writes to 
 Byron's friend, the Rev. Francis Hodgson, from Six 
 Mile Bottom : 
 
 ' B. and Lady Byron arrived here last Sunday on 
 their way from the North to London, where they have 
 taken a very good house of the Duke of Devonshire in 
 Piccadilly. I hope they will stay some days longer 
 with me, and I shall regret their departure, whenever 
 it takes place, as much as I now delight in their 
 society. Byron is looking remarkably well, and of 
 Lady B. I scarcely know how to write, for I have a 
 sad trick of being struck dumb when I am most happy 
 and pleased. The expectations I had formed could 
 not be exceeded, but at least they are fully answered. 
 
 ' I think I never saw or heard or read of a more 
 perfect being in mortal mould than she appears to be, 
 and scarcely dared flatter myself such a one would fall 
 to the lot of my dear B. He seems quite sensible of 
 her value, and as happy as the present alarming state 
 of public and the tormenting uncertainties of his own 
 private affairs will admit of. Colonel Leigh is in the 
 North.' 
 
 On March 31, 181 5, Mrs. Leigh again writes to 
 Hodgson : 
 
 ' Byron and Lady B. left me on Tuesday for London. 
 B. will probably write to you immediately. He talked
 
 BYRON NERVOUS AND IRRITABLE 335 
 
 of it while here after I received your last letter, which 
 was the cause of ni)> being silent. ... I am sorry to 
 say his nerves and spirits are very far from what I 
 wish them, but don't speak of this to him on any 
 account. 
 
 ' I think the uncomfortable state of his affairs is the 
 cause ; at least, I can discern no other. He has every 
 outward blessing this world can bestow. I trust that 
 the Almighty will be graciously pleased to grant him 
 those mzvard feelings of peace and calm which are now 
 unfortunately wanting. This is a subject which I can- 
 not dwell upon, but in which I feel and have felt all you 
 express. I think Lady Byron very judiciously abstains 
 from pressing the consideration of it upon him at the 
 present moment. In short, the more I see of her the 
 more I love and esteem her, and feel how grateful I 
 am, and ought to be, for the blessing of such a wife for 
 my dear, darling Byron.' 
 
 Augusta's next letter is written from 13, Piccadilly 
 Terrace, on April 29, 181 5, about three weeks after 
 her arrival there on a visit to the Byrons. It also is 
 addressed to Hodgson, and conveys the following- 
 message from Byron : 
 
 ' I am desired to add : Lady B. is , and that 
 
 Lord Wentworth has left all to her mother, and then 
 to Lady Byron and children ; but Byron is, lie says, " a 
 very miserable dog for all that."' 
 
 At the end of June, 181 5, Augusta Leigh ended her 
 visit, and returned to Six Mile Bottom. There seems 
 to have been some unpleasantness between Augusta 
 and Lady Byron during those ten weeks. 
 
 Two months later, on September 4, 181 5, Augusta 
 Leigh writes again to Hodgson : 
 
 'Your letter reached me at a time of much hurry 
 and confusion, which has been succeeded by many 
 events of an afQicting nature, and compelled me often 
 to neglect those to whom I feel most pleasure in 
 writing. . . . My brother has just left me, having
 
 336 ' ASTARTE ' 
 
 been here since last Wednesday, when he arrived 
 very unexpectedly. I never saw him so well, and he 
 is in the best spirits, and desired me to add his con- 
 gratulations to mine upon your marriage.' 
 
 On November 15, 181 5, Augusta Leigh arrived at 
 13, Piccadilly Terrace, on a long visit. 
 
 It cannot have been a pleasant experience for 
 Augusta Leigh, this wretched period which culminated 
 in a dire catastrophe for all concerned. Lord Lovelace 
 tells us that, when Mrs. Leigh came to stay with them 
 in November, Byron * seemed much alienated from his 
 sister, and was entirely occupied with women at the 
 theatre.' And yet 
 
 * the impressions of Mrs. LeigJis miilt had been forced 
 into Lady Byron's mind chiefly by incidents and con- 
 versations ivhich occurred zvhile they were all under one 
 roof 
 
 What may have given rise to these suspicions is 
 not recorded — probably Byron's mystifications, which 
 were all taken seriously. But there is no attempt to 
 deny the fact that, during this painful time. Lady 
 Byron owed deep gratitude to Mrs. Leigh, who had 
 faithfully striven to protect her when ill and in need 
 of sympathy. It was during this period that Lady 
 Byron wrote the following cryptic note to Byron's 
 sister : 
 
 ' You will think me ver3'^ foolish, but I have tried 
 two or three times, and cannot talk to you of your 
 departure with a decent visage ; so let me say one 
 word in this way to spare my philosophy. With the 
 expectations which I have, I never will nor can ask 
 you to stay one moment longer than you are inclined 
 to do. It would be the worst return for all I ever 
 received from you. But, in this at least, I am " truth 
 itself" when I say that, whatever the situation may be, 
 there is no one whose society is dearer to me, or can
 
 THE BIRTH OF ADA 337 
 
 contribute more to my happiness. These feelings will 
 not change under any circumstances, and I should be 
 grieved if you did not understand them. 
 
 * Should you hereafter condemn me, I shall not love 
 you less. I will sa}'^ no more. Judge for yourself 
 about going or staying. I wish you to consider your- 
 self, if you could be wise enough to do that for the 
 first time in your life.' 
 
 On December 10, 181 5, Lady Byron gave birth to a 
 daughter. Lord Lovelace says : 
 
 ' About three weeks after Lady Byron's confinement, 
 the aversion Byron had already at times displayed 
 towards her struck everyone in the house as more 
 formidable than ever. Augusta, George Byron, and 
 Mrs. Clermont, were then all staying in the house, and 
 were very uneasy at his unaccountable manner and 
 talk. He assumed a more threatening aspect towards 
 Lady Byron. There were paroxysms of frenzy, but a 
 still stronger impression was created by the frequent 
 hints he gave of some suppressed and bitter deter- 
 mination. He often spoke of his conduct and intentions 
 about women of the theatre, particularly on January 3, 
 1 8 16, when he came to Lady Byron's room and talked 
 on that subject with considerable violence. After that 
 he did not go any more to see her or the child, but 
 three days later sent her the following note : 
 
 ^''January 6, 1816. 
 
 * " When you are disposed to leave London, it would 
 be convenient that a day should be fixed — and (if pos- 
 sible) not a very remote one for that purpose. Of 
 my opinion upon that subject you are sufficiently in 
 possession, and of the circumstances which have led 
 to it, as also to my plans — or, rather, intentions — for 
 the future. When in the country I will write to you 
 more fully — as Lady Noel has asked you to Kirkby ; 
 there you can be for the present, unless you prefer 
 Seaham, 
 
 *"As the dismissal of the present establishment is 
 of importance to me, the sooner you can fix on the 
 day the better — though, of course, your convenience 
 and inclination shall be first consulted. 
 
 22
 
 338 ' ASTARTE ' 
 
 * " The child will, of course, accompany you : there 
 is a more easy and safer carriage than the chariot 
 (unless you prefer it) which I mentioned before — on 
 that you can do as you please.'" 
 
 The next day Lady Byron replied in writing as 
 follows : * I shall obey your wishes, and fix the earliest 
 day that circumstances will admit for leaving London.' 
 
 Consequently she quitted London on January 15, 
 1 8 16. Soon after Lady Byron's arrival at Kirkby, her 
 mother drew from her some of the circumstances of 
 her misery. Lady Byron then told her mother that 
 she believed her life would be endangered by a return 
 to her husband. She expressed an opinion that Byron 
 was out of his mind, although he seemed competent 
 to transact matters connected with his business affairs. 
 Lady Noel, naturally, took her daughter's part entirely, 
 and went to London to seek legal advice. During her 
 stay in London, Lady Noel saw Augusta Leigh and 
 George Byron, who agreed with her that every 
 endeavour should be made to induce Byron to agree 
 to a separation. She also consulted Sir Samuel 
 Romilly, Sergeant Heywood, Dr. Lushington, and 
 Colonel Francis Doyle, an old friend of the Milbanke 
 family. They all agreed that a separation was 
 necessary. It was perhaps a very natural view to 
 take of a marriage which had run its short course so 
 tempestuously, but there were no grounds other than 
 incompatibility of temperament upon which to base 
 that conclusion. 
 
 'Nothing had been said at this time,' says Lord 
 Lovelace, * by Lady Byron of her suspicions about 
 Augusta, except, apparently, a few incoherent words to 
 Lady Noel, when telling her that Lord Byron had 
 threatened to take the child away from her and commit 
 it to Augusta's charge.'
 
 BYRON WISHES TO MAKE PEACE 339 
 
 Byron, says Lord Lovelace,* ' was very changeable 
 at this time, sometimes speaking kindly of his wife — 
 though never appearing to wish her to return — and 
 the next hour he would say that the sooner Lady 
 Byron's friends arranged a separation, the better.' 
 
 This statement is a fair example of the manner in 
 which Lord Lovelace handles his facts and documents. 
 Mr. Hobhouse, who was in a position to know the 
 truth, has recently shown that Byron was very anxious 
 for his wife's return, was indeed prepared to make 
 great sacrifices to attain that object, and resolutely 
 opposed the wishes of those persons who tried to 
 arrange a legal separation. It was not until Lady 
 Byron herself reminded him of a promise which he had 
 once made to her that, ' when convinced her conduct 
 had not been influenced by others, he should not 
 oppose her wishes,' that he consented to sign the deed 
 of separation. He had done enough to show that he 
 was not afraid of any exposure which might have 
 affected his honour, and was willing, if necessary, to 
 go into a court of law, but he could not resist the 
 petition of his wife.t It is also extremely improbable 
 that Byron should, * towards the end of January, have 
 spoken of proposing a separation himself,' in view of 
 the letters which he wrote to his wife on February 5, 
 and February 8 following.! 
 
 On February 2 Sir Ralph Noel, under legal advice, 
 
 wrote a stiff letter requiring a separation. Byron at 
 
 that time positively refused to accept these terms. 
 
 The whole affair then became publicly known. Every 
 
 kind of report was spread about him, and especially 
 
 * ' Astarte,' p. 137. 
 
 t ' Recollections of a Long Life,' by Lord Broughton, vol. ii., 
 p. 297. 
 
 X Ibid., vol. ii., pp. 219, 239. 
 
 22 — 2
 
 340 • ASTARTE ' 
 
 the scandal about Augusta was noised abroad by Lady 
 Caroline Lamb and Mr. Brougham. There can be no 
 doubt whatever that Byron heard of this report, and 
 paid very little attention to it. He found out then, or 
 soon afterwards, how the scandal arose. 
 
 Lady Byron's relations were bent on arranging an 
 amicable separation. Should Byron persist in his 
 refusal, it was intended to institute a suit in the 
 Ecclesiastical Court to obtain a divorce on the plea of 
 adultery and cruelty. There is reason to believe that 
 a charge of adultery could not have been substantiated 
 at that time. 
 
 Meanwhile, Lady Byron, who had lately acquired 
 some documents, which were unknown to her when 
 she left her husband on January 15,* came to London 
 on February 22, and had a long private conversation 
 with Dr. Lushington. She then showed him two 
 packets of letters which Mrs. Clermont had abstracted 
 from Byron's writing-desk. Lady Byron received 
 those letters some time between February 14 and 
 22, 1 8 16, One packet contained missives from a 
 married lady, with whom Byron had been intimate 
 previous to his marriage. It appears that Lady 
 Byron — whose notions of the ordinary code ot 
 honour were peculiar — sent those letters to that 
 lady's husband, who, like a sensible man, threw them 
 into the fire. Of the other packet we cannot speak so 
 positively. It probably comprised letters from Augusta 
 Leigh, referring to the child Medora.f Such expres- 
 
 * * Lady Byron said that she founded her determination [to part 
 from her husband] on some communication from London.' — ' Recol- 
 lections of a Long Life,' vol. ii., p. 255. 
 
 + 'There is reason to believe that Lord Chief Justice Cockburn 
 privately saw letters [in 1869] of 1813 and 1814 which proved the 
 fact of incest, and the overwhelming effect of the evidence therein 
 contained.' — ' Astarte,' p. 54.
 
 MRS. CLERMONT'S TREACHERY 341 
 
 sions as 'our child' or 'your child' would have fallen 
 quite naturally from her pen under the circumstances. 
 It is easy to imagine the effect of some such words 
 upon the suspicious mind of Lady Byron. By Mrs. 
 Clermont's masterful stroke of treachery, strong pre- 
 sumptive evidence was thus brought against Augusta 
 Leigh. The letters undoubtedly convinced Dr. Lushing- 
 ton that incest had taken place, and he warned Lady 
 Byron against any personal intercourse with Mrs. 
 Leigh. He at the same time advised her to keep her 
 lips closed until Augusta had of her own free will 
 confessed ; and pointed out to Lady Byron that, 
 • while proofs and impressions were such as left no 
 doubt on her mind, they were decidedly not such as coidd 
 have been brought forward to establish a charge of incest, 
 in the event of Lady Byron being challenged to bring 
 forward the grounds of her imputation^* 
 
 From that moment all Lady Byron's wiles were 
 employed to extract a confession from Augusta Leigh, 
 which would have gone far to justify Lady Byron's 
 conduct in leaving her husband. Soon after this 
 momentous interview with Dr. Lushington, an ugly 
 rumour was spread about town affecting Mrs. Leigh's 
 character. 
 
 Lord Lovelace says : 
 
 'When Augusta's friends vehemently and indig- 
 nantly resented such a calumny, they were met with 
 the argument that Lady Byron's refusal to assign a 
 reason for her separation confirmed the report, and that 
 no one but Augusta could deny it with any effect.' 
 
 This, by the nature of her agreement with Byron, 
 was impossible, and Mrs. Clermont's treachery held 
 her in a vice. 
 
 * ' Astartc,' p. 77.
 
 342 ' ASTARTE ' 
 
 During January and February, 1816, Lady Byron, 
 who strongly suspected Mrs. Leigh's conduct to have 
 been disloyal to herself, wrote the most affectionate 
 letters to that lady. 
 
 'KiRKBY MaLLORY. 
 
 'My dearest A., 
 
 * It is my great comfort that you are in Picca- 
 dilly.' 
 
 'KiRKBY MaLLORY, 
 
 ' January 23, 1816. 
 
 ' Dearest A,, 
 
 ' I know you feel for me as I do for you, and 
 perhaps I am better understood than I think. You 
 have been, ever since I knew you, my best comforter, 
 and will so remain, unless you grow tired of the office, 
 which may well be.' 
 
 'January 25, 1816, 
 
 'My dearest Augusta, 
 
 * Shall I still be your sister ? I must resign my 
 rights to be so considered ; but I don't think that will 
 make any difference in the kindness 1 have so uniformly 
 experienced from you.' 
 
 ' KiRKBY MaLLORY, 
 
 ' February 3, 1816. 
 
 ' My dearest Augusta, 
 
 ' You are desired by your brother to ask if my 
 father has acted with my concurrence in proposing 
 a separation. He has. It cannot be supposed that, 
 in my present distressing situation, I am capable of 
 stating, in a detailed manner, the reasons which will 
 not only justify this measure, but compel me to take 
 it ; and it never can be my wish to remember unneces- 
 sarily those injuries for which, however deep, I feel 
 no resentment. I will now only recall to Lord Byron's 
 mind his avowed and insurmountable aversion to the 
 married state, and the desire and determination he 
 has expressed ever since its commencement to free 
 himself from that bondage, as finding it quite insup- 
 portable, though candidly acknowledging that no 
 effort of duty or affection has been wanting on my 
 part. He has too painfully convinced me that all
 
 LADY BYRON'S LETTERS 343 
 
 these attempts to contribute towards his happiness 
 were wholly useless, and most unwelcome to him. I 
 enclose this letter to my father, wishing it to receive 
 his sanction. 
 
 * Ever yours most affectionately, 
 
 ' A. I. Byron.' 
 
 'February 4, 1816. 
 
 * I hope, my dear A., that you would on no account 
 withhold from your brother the letter which I sent 
 yesterday, in answer to yours written by his desire ; 
 particularly as one which I have received from himself 
 to-day renders it still more important that he should 
 know the contents of that addressed to you. I am, in 
 haste and not very well, 
 
 * Yours most affectionately, 
 
 ' A. I. Byron.' 
 
 'KiRKBY MaLLORY, 
 
 'February 14, 1816. 
 
 ' The present sufferings of all may yet be repaid in 
 blessings. Do not despair absolutely, dearest ; and 
 leave me but enough of your interest to afford you 
 any consolation, by partaking of that sorrow which I 
 am most unhappy to cause thus unintentionally. 
 
 ' You zvtll be of my opinion hereafter, and at present 
 your bitterest reproach would be forgiven ; though 
 Heaven knows you have considered me more than a 
 thousand would have done — more than anything but 
 my affection for B., one most dear to you, could 
 deserve. I must not remember these feelings. Fare- 
 well ! God bless you, from the bottom of my heart. 
 
 • A. L B.' 
 
 It is only fair to remind the reader that, when these 
 letters were written, Lady Byron had not consulted 
 Dr. Lushington. We are inclined to think that the 
 last letter was written on the day when she received 
 Mrs. Clermont's ' proofs.' Meanwhile, Augusta, un- 
 conscious that an avalanche of scandal threatened to
 
 344 ' ASTARTE ' 
 
 sweep her reputation into an abyss, was catching at 
 every straw that might avert a catastrophe. Her 
 thoughts turned to Hodgson, whose noble character, 
 sound common-sense, and affection for Byron, were 
 undoubted. It was possible, she thought, that the 
 ruin and destruction which she dreaded for her brother 
 might be averted through the advice and assistance of 
 an honourable man of the world. In that wild hope 
 the following letters were written : 
 
 ' 13, Piccadilly Terrace, 
 
 ' Wednesday, February 7, 1816. 
 
 * Dear Mr. Hodgson, 
 
 ' Can you by any means contrive to come up to 
 Town ? Were it only for a day, it might be of the 
 most essential service to a friend I know you love and 
 value. There is too much fear of a separation between 
 him and his wife. No time is to be lost, but even if 
 you are too late to prevent that happening decidedly^ yet 
 it would be the greatest comfort and relief to me to 
 confide other circumstances to you, and consult you ; 
 and so if possible oblige me, if only for twenty-four 
 hours. Say not a word of my summons, but attribute 
 your coming, if you come, to business of your own or 
 chance. Excuse brevity ; I am so perfectly wretched I 
 can only say, 
 
 * Ever yours most truly, 
 
 ' Augusta Leigh. 
 
 * It is probable I may be obliged to go home next 
 week. If my scheme appears wild, pray attribute it 
 to the state of mind I am in. Alas ! I see only ruin 
 and destruction in every shape to one most dear to me.' 
 
 Hodgson at once responded to this appeal by taking 
 the first stage-coach to London, where the next letter 
 was addressed to him at his lodgings near Piccadilly : 
 
 * How very good of you, dear Mr. Hodgson ! I 
 intend showing the letter to B., as I think he will 
 jump at seeing you just now, but I must see you first ;
 
 LETTERS TO HODGSON 345 
 
 and how? I am now going to Mr. Hanson's from B. 
 I'm afraid of your meeting people here who do no good, 
 and would counteract yours ; but will you call about 
 two, or after that, and ask for me first? I shall be 
 home, I hope, and must see you. If I'm out ask for 
 Capt. B. 
 
 ' Yours sincerely, 
 
 'A. L.' 
 
 ' Friday evening, g o'clock. 
 
 * Dear Mr. Hodgson, 
 
 ' I've been unable to write to you till this 
 moment. Mr. H.* stayed till a late hour, and is now 
 here again. B. dined with me, and after I left the 
 room I sent your note in, thinking him in better spirits 
 and more free from irritations. He has only just 
 mentioned it to me : " Oh, by-the-by, I've had a note 
 from H., Augusta, whom you must write to, and say 
 I'm so full of domestic calamities that I can't see any- 
 body." Still, I think he will see you if he hears you 
 are here, or that even it would be better, if the worst 
 came to the worst, to let the servant announce you 
 and walk in. Can you call here about eleven to- 
 morrow morning, when he will not be up, or scarcely 
 awake, and Capt. B., you, and I, can hold a council on 
 what is best to be done ? The fact is, he is now a/raid 
 of everybody who would tell him the truth. It is a 
 most dreadful situation, dear Mr. H. ! The worst is, 
 that if 3^ou said you have done so-and-so, etc., he 
 would deny it ; and I see he is afraid of your despair, 
 as he terms it, when you hear of his situation, and, in 
 short, of your telling him the truth. He can only bear 
 to see those who flatter him and encourage him to all 
 that is wrong. I've not mentioned having seen you, 
 because I wish him to suppose your opinions un- 
 prejudiced. You must see him ; and pray see me and 
 George B. to-morrow morning, when we will consult 
 upon the best means. You are the only comfort I've 
 had this long time. I'm quite of your opinion on all 
 that is to be feared. 
 
 ' Ever yours truly, 
 
 *A. L.' 
 
 * Hanson.
 
 346 'ASTARTE' 
 
 ' Piccadilly Terrace. 
 ' Dear Mr. H., 
 
 * About three you will be sure of finding me, if 
 not sooner. I've sent in your letter ; he said in return 
 I was to do what I pleased about it. I think and hope 
 he will find comfort in seeing you. 
 
 ' Yours truly, 
 
 'A. L.' 
 
 ' Saturday. 
 
 • Dear Mr. H., 
 
 * B. will see you. I saw him open your note, 
 and said I had given his message this morning, when 
 I had seen you and talked generally on the subject of 
 his present situation, of which you had before heard. 
 He replied, " Oh, then, tell him I will see him, certainly; 
 my reason for not was the fear of distressing him." 
 You had better call towards three, and wait if he is 
 not yet out of his room. Mr. Hanson has sent for me 
 in consequence (probably) of your interview. I'm 
 going to him about three with Capt. B., but have said 
 nothing to B. of this. 
 
 * Ever yours, 
 
 'A. L.' 
 
 Immediately after the interview, which took place 
 on the day after the last note was written, Hodgson, 
 feeling that nothing could be lost and that much might 
 be gained by judicious remonstrance, resolved to 
 hazard an appeal to Lady Byron's feelings — with what 
 success will be seen from her ladyship's reply. It is 
 impossible to over-estimate the combined tact and zeal 
 displayed by Hodgson in this most delicate and diffi- 
 cult matter. 
 
 ' Whether I am outstepping the bounds of prudence 
 in this address to your ladyship I cannot feel assured ; 
 and yet there is so much at stake in a quarter so loved 
 and valuable that I cannot forbear running the risk, 
 and making one effort more to plead a cause which 
 your ladyship's own heart must plead with a power so 
 
 m
 
 AN APPEAL TO LADY BYRON" 347 
 
 superior to all other voices. If, then, a word that is 
 here said only adds to the pain of this unhappy con- 
 flict between affection and views of duty, without 
 lending any weight of reason to the object it seeks, I 
 would earnestly implore that it may be forgiven ; and, 
 above all, the interference itself, which nothing but its 
 obvious motive and the present awful circumstance 
 could in any way justify. 
 
 • After a long and most confidential conversation 
 with my friend (whom I have known thoroughly, I 
 believe, for many trying years), I am convinced that 
 the deep and rooted feeling in his heart is regret and 
 sorrow for the occurrences which have so deeply 
 wounded you; and the most unmixed admiration of 
 your conduct in all its particulars, and the warmest 
 affection. But may I be allowed to state to Lady 
 Byron that Lord B., after his general acknowledgment 
 of having frequently been very wrong, and, from 
 various causes, in a painful state of irritation, yet 
 declares himself ignorant of the specific things which 
 have given the principal offence, and that he wishes 
 to hear of them ; that he may, if extenuation or atone- 
 ment be possible, endeavour to make some reply ; or, 
 at all events, may understand the fulness of those 
 reasons which have now, and as unexpectedly as 
 afflictingly, driven your ladyship to the step you have 
 taken ? 
 
 ' It would be waste of words and idle presumption 
 for me, however your ladyship's goodness might be 
 led to excuse it, to observe how very extreme, how 
 decidedly irreconcilable, such a case should be, before 
 the last measure is resorted to. But it may not be 
 quite so improper to urge, from my deep conviction 
 of their truth and importance, the following reflections. 
 I entreat your ladyship's indulgence to them. What 
 can be the consequence, to a man so peculiarly con- 
 stituted, of such an event ? If I may give vent to my 
 fear, my thorough certaint}', nothing short of absolute 
 and utter destruction. I turn from the idea ; but no 
 being except your ladyship can prevent this. None, I 
 am thoroughly convinced, ever could have done so, 
 notwithstanding the unhappy appearances to the con- 
 trary. Whatever, then, may be against it, whatever 
 restraining remembrances or anticipations, to a person
 
 348 ' ASTARTE ' 
 
 who was not already qualified by sad experience to 
 teach this very truth, I would say that there is a claim 
 paramount to all others — that of attempting to save 
 the human beings nearest and dearest to us from the 
 most comprehensive ruin that can be suffered by 
 them, at the expense of any suffering to ourselves. 
 
 ' If I have not gone too far, I would add that so 
 suddenly and at once to shut every avenue to return- 
 ing comfort must, when looked back upon, appear a 
 strong measure ; and, if it proceeds (pray pardon the 
 suggestion) from the unfortunate notion of the very 
 person to whom my friend now looks for consolation 
 being unable to administer it, that notion I would 
 combat with all the energy of conviction ; and assert, 
 that whatever unguarded and unjustifiable words, and 
 even actions, may have inculcated this idea, it is the 
 very rock on which the peace of both would, as un- 
 necessarily as wretchedly, be sacrificed. But God 
 Almighty forbid that there should be any sacrifice. 
 Be all that is right called out into action, all that is 
 wrong suppressed (and by your only instrumentality. 
 Lady Byron, as by yours only it can be) in my dear 
 friend. May you both yet be what God intended you 
 for : the support, the watchful correction, and improve- 
 ment, of each other ! Of yourself, Lord B. from his 
 heart declares that he would wish nothing altered — 
 nothing but that sudden, surely sudden, determination 
 which must for ever destroy one of you, and perhaps 
 even both. God bless both ! 
 
 ' I am, with deep regard, 
 
 'Your ladyship's faithful servant, 
 
 ' Francis Hodgson,' 
 
 Lady Byron's answer was as follows : 
 
 ' KiRKBY, 
 
 ' February 15, 1816, 
 
 * Dear Sir, 
 
 * I feel most sensibly the kindness of a remon- 
 strance which equally proves your friendship for Lord 
 Byron and consideration for me. I have declined all 
 discussion of this subject with others, but my know- 
 ledge of your principles induces me to justify my own;
 
 LADY BYRON'S ANSWER 349 
 
 and yet 1 would forbear to accuse as much as pos- 
 sible. 
 
 ' I married Lord B. determined to endure everj^thing 
 whilst there was any chance of my contributing to his 
 welfare. I remained with him under trials of the 
 severest nature. In leaving him, which, however, I 
 can scarcely call a voluntary measure, I probably saved 
 him from the bitterest remorse. I may give you a 
 general idea of what I have experienced by saying 
 that he married me with the deepest determination of 
 Revenge, avowed on the day of my marriage, and 
 executed ever since with systematic and increasing 
 cruelty, which no affection could change. . . . My 
 security depended on the total abandonment of every 
 moral and religious principle, against which (though 1 
 trust they were never obtruded) his hatred and en- 
 deavours were uniformly directed. . . . The circum- 
 stances, which are of too convincing a nature, shall 
 not be generally known whilst Lord B. allows me to 
 spare him. It is not unkindness that can always 
 change affection. 
 
 * With you I may consider this subject in a less 
 worldly point of view. Is the present injury to his 
 reputation to be put in competition with the danger of 
 unchecked success to this wicked pride ? and may not 
 his actual sufTerings (in which, be assured, that affec- 
 tion for me has very little share) expiate a future 
 account ? I know him too well to dread the fatal 
 event which he so often mysteriously threatens. I 
 have acquired my knowledge of him bitterly indeed, 
 and it was long before I learned to mistrust the appar- 
 ent candour by which he deceives all but himself 
 He does know— too well— what he affects to inquire. 
 You reason with me as I have reasoned with myself, 
 and I therefore derive from your letter an additional 
 and melancholy confidence in the rectitude of this 
 determination, which has been deliberated on the 
 grounds that you would approve. It was not sug- 
 gested, and has not been enforced, by others ; though 
 it is sanctioned by my parents. 
 
 'You will continue Lord Byron's friend, and the 
 time may yet come when he will receive from that 
 friendship such benefits as he now rejects. I will even 
 indulge the consolatory thought that the remembrance
 
 350 'ASTARTE' 
 
 of me, when time has softened the irritation created 
 by my presence, may contribute to the same end. May 
 I hope that you will still retain any value for the 
 regard with which I am, 
 
 * Your most obliged and faithful servant, 
 
 'A. I. Byron.' 
 
 ' I must add that Lord Byron had been fully, 
 earnestly, and affectionately warned of the unhappy 
 consequences of his conduct.' 
 
 It is most unfortunate that the second letter which 
 Hodgson wrote on this most distressing occasion is 
 lost, but some clue to its contents may be gathered 
 from Lady Byron's reply : 
 
 'February 24, 1816. 
 
 ' Dear Sir, 
 
 * I have received your second letter. First let 
 me thank you for the charity with which you consider 
 my motives ; and now of the principal subject. 
 
 * I eagerly adopted the belief on insanity as a con- 
 solation ; and though such malady has been found 
 insufficient to prevent his responsibility with man, 
 I will still trust that it may latently exist, so as to 
 acquit him towards God. This no human being can 
 judge. It certainly does not destroy the powers of 
 self-control, or impair the knowledge of moral good 
 and evil. Considering the case upon the supposition 
 of derangement, 3'ou may have heard, what every 
 medical adviser would confirm, that it is in the nature 
 of such malady to reverse the affections, and to make 
 those who would naturally be dearest, the greatest 
 objects of aversion, the most exposed to acts of violence, 
 and the least capable of alleviating the malady. Upon 
 such grounds my absence from Lord B. was medically 
 advised before I left Town. But the advisers had not 
 then seen him, and since Mr. Le Mann has had oppor- 
 tunities of personal observation, it has been found that 
 the supposed physical causes do not exist so as to 
 render him not an accountable agent. 
 
 * I believe the nature of Lord B.'s mind to be most 
 benevolent. But there may have been circumstances
 
 A FRAIL SECURITY 351 
 
 (I would hope the consequences^ not the causes, of 
 mental disorder) which would render an original 
 tenderness of conscience the motive of desperation — 
 even of guilt — when self-esteem had been forfeited 
 too far. No external motive can be so strong. Good- 
 ness of heart — when there are impetuous passions 
 and no principles — is a frail security. 
 
 * Every possible means have been employed to effect 
 a private and amicable arrangement; and I would sacri- 
 fice such advantages in terms as, I believe, the law 
 would insure to me, to avoid this dreadful necessity. 
 Yet I must have some security, and Lord B. refuses to 
 afford any. If you could persuade him to the agree- 
 ment, you would save me from what I most deprecate, 
 I have now applied to Lord Holland for that end. 
 
 ' If you wish to answer — and I shall always be 
 happy to hear from you — I must request 3^ou to 
 enclose your letter to my father. Sir Ralph Noel, 
 Mivart's Hotel, Lower Brook Street, London, as I am 
 not sure where I may be at that time. My considera- 
 tions of duty are of a very complicated nature ; for my 
 duty as a mother seems to point out the same conduct 
 as I pursue upon other principles that I have partly 
 explained. 
 
 * I must observe upon one passage of j^our letter 
 that I had {sic) expectations of personal violence, 
 though I was too miserable to have feelings of fear, 
 and those expectations would now be still stronger. 
 
 ' In regard to any change which the future state of 
 Lord B.'s mind might justify in my intentions, an 
 amicable arrangement would not destroy the opening 
 for reconciliation. Pray endeavour to promote the 
 dispositions to such an arrangement ; there is every 
 reason to desire it. 
 
 ' Yours very truly, 
 
 *A. I. Byron.' 
 
 It is worthy of note that Lady Byron, two days after 
 her interview with Lnshington, here states that, in the 
 event of ' an amicable arrangement ' (an amicable 
 separation) being arrived at, it would not destroy the 
 opening for reconciliation. This is an extraordinary
 
 352 'ASTARTE' 
 
 statement, because, as we have seen, Dr. Lushington 
 absolutely declined to be a party to any such step. 
 On March 14 Lady Byron signed a declaration, 
 giving her reasons for the separation, as will be seen 
 presently. 
 
 On March 16 Augusta Leigh returned to her apart- 
 ments in St. James's Palace, and on the following day 
 Byron consented to a separation from his wife. On 
 April 8 Lady Jersey gave a party in honour of Byron, 
 and to show her sympathy for him in his matrimonial 
 troubles. Both Byron and Augusta were present, but 
 it was a cold and spiritless affair, and nothing came of 
 this attempt to stem the tide of prejudice. 
 
 On April 14 Augusta parted for ever from her 
 brother, and retired into the country, her health 
 broken down by the worry and anxiety of the past 
 three months. On April 21 and 22, 18 16, the deed 
 of separation was signed by both Lord and Lady 
 Byron. On April 23 Byron left London, and travelled 
 to Dover accompanied by his friends Hobhouse and 
 Scrope-Davies. On the 25th he embarked for Ostend, 
 unable to face the consequences of his quarrel with 
 his wife. 
 
 ' To his susceptible temperament and generous 
 feelings,' says his schoolfellow Harness, ' the reproach 
 of having ill-used a woman must have been poignant 
 in the extreme. It was repulsive to his chivalrous 
 character as a gentleman ; it belied all he had written 
 of the devoted fervour of his attachments; and rather 
 than meet the frowns and sneers which awaited him 
 in the world, as many a less sensitive man might have 
 done, he turned his back on them and fled.'
 
 « 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 The publication of ' Astarte' has had one good result ; 
 it has placed beyond question the precise nature of 
 Lady Byron's complaints against her husband. On 
 March 14, 1816, Lady Byron was induced by Dr. 
 Lushington to draw up and sign a statement which 
 would be useful if her conduct should at any future 
 time be criticized. 
 
 We place the entire document before the reader, 
 just as it appears in Lord Lovelace's book : 
 
 'STATEMENT.— A. L. 
 
 ' In case of my death to be given to Colonel Doyle. 
 
 A. I. Byron, 
 Thursday, March 14, 1816.' 
 
 'During the year that Lady Byron lived under the 
 same roof with Lord B. certain circumstances occurred, 
 and some intimations were made, which excited a sus- 
 picion in Lady B.'s mind that an improper connection 
 had at one time, and might even still, subsist between 
 
 Lord B. and Mrs. L .* The causes, however, of this 
 
 suspicion did not amount to proof, and Lady Byron 
 did not consider herself justified in acting upon these 
 suspicions by immediately quitting Lord B.'s house, 
 for the following reasons : 
 
 * First and principally, because the causes of suspicion, 
 though they made a strong impression upon her mind, 
 
 * Leigh. 
 
 353 23
 
 354 'ASTARTE' 
 
 did not amount to positive proof, and Lady B. con- 
 sidered, that whilst a possibility of innocence existed, 
 every principle of duty and humanity forbad her to 
 act as if Mrs. Leigh was actually guilty, more especially 
 as any intimation of so heinous a crime, even if not dis- 
 tinctly proved, must have seriously affected Mrs. L.'s 
 character and happiness. 
 
 ' Secondly, Lady B. had it not in her power to pursue 
 a middle course ; it was utterly impossible for her to 
 remove Mrs. L. from the society and roof of Lord B. 
 except by a direct accusation. 
 
 ' Thirdly, because Mrs. L, had from her first acquaint- 
 ance with Lady B. always manifested towards her the 
 utmost kindness and attention, endeavouring as far as 
 laid in her power to mitigate the violence and cruelty 
 of Lord B. 
 
 ' Fourthly, because Mrs. L. at times exhibited signs 
 of a deep remorse ; at least so Lady B. interpreted 
 them to be, though she does not mean to aver that the 
 feelings Mrs. L. then showed were signs of remorse 
 for the commission of the crime alluded to, or any 
 other of so dark a description. 
 
 * And, lastly, because Lady B. conceived it possible 
 that the crime, if committed, might not only be deeply 
 repented of, but never have been perpetrated since 
 her marriage with Lord B. 
 
 * It was from these motives, and strongly inclining 
 to a charitable interpretation of all that passed, that 
 Lady B. never during her living with Lord B. inti- 
 mated a suspicion of this nature. Since Lady B.'s 
 separation from Lord B. the report has become current 
 in the world of such a connection having subsisted. 
 This report was not spread nor sanctioned by Lady B. 
 Mrs. L.'s character has, however, been to some extent 
 affected thereby. Lady B. cannot divest her mind of 
 the impressions before stated ; but anxious to avoid 
 all possibility of doing injury to Mrs. L., and not by 
 any conduct of her own to throw any suspicion upon 
 Mrs. L., and it being intimated that Mrs. L. s character 
 can never be so effectually preserved as by a renewal 
 of intercourse with Lady B., she does for the motives 
 and reasons before mentioned consent to renew that 
 intercourse. 
 
 ' Now, this statement is made in order to justify 
 
 i
 
 'BE KIND TO AUGUSTA' 355 
 
 Lady B. in the line of conduct she has now determined 
 to adopt, and in order to prevent all misconstruction 
 of her motives in case Mrs. L. should be proved here- 
 after to be guilty ; and, if any circumstances should 
 compel or render it necessary for Lady B. to prefer 
 the charge, in order that Lady B. may be at full liberty 
 so to do without being prejudiced by her present 
 conduct. 
 
 ' It is to be observed that this paper does not contain 
 nor pretends to contain any of the grounds which gave 
 rise to the suspicion which has existed and still con- 
 tinues to exist in Lady B.'s mind. 
 
 'We whose names are hereunto subscribed are of 
 opinion, that under all the circumstances above stated, 
 and also from our knowledge of what has passed 
 respecting the conduct of all parties mentioned, that 
 the line now adopted by Lady B. is strictly right 
 and honourable, as well as just towards Mrs. L., and 
 Lady B. ought not, whatever may hereafter occur, to 
 be prejudiced thereby. 
 
 ' RoBT. John Wilmot. 
 F. H. Doyle. 
 Stephen Lushington. 
 {Signed by each.) 
 
 ' London, 
 
 March 14, 18 16.' 
 
 One month later, on April 14, Byron writes a letter 
 to his wife, who was staying at an hotel in London, in 
 which he says that he has just parted from Augusta : 
 
 'Almost the last being you had left me to part with, 
 and the only unshattered tie of my existence. ... If 
 any accident occurs to me — be kind to her, — if she is 
 then nothing — to her children. Some time ago I in- 
 formed you that, with the knowledge that any child of 
 ours was already provided for by other and better 
 means, I had made m}^ will in favour of her and her 
 children — as prior to my marriage ; this was not done 
 in prejudice to you, for we had not then differed — and 
 even this is useless during your life by the settlements. 
 I say, therefore, be kind to her and hers, for never has 
 she acted or spoken otherwise towards you. She has 
 
 23—2
 
 356 'ASTARTE' 
 
 ever been your friend ; this may seem valueless to one 
 who has now so many. Be kind to her, however, and 
 recollect that, though it may be an advantage to you 
 to have lost your husband, it is sorrow to her to have 
 the waters now, or the earth hereafter, between her 
 and her brother. She is gone. I need hardly add 
 that of this request she knows nothing.' 
 
 There are two points in this letter which deserve 
 notice. In the first place Byron intimates that he has 
 made a will in favour of Augusta and her children, as 
 prior to his marriage. This would insure that Medora 
 would be amply provided for. In addition to this, 
 Byron had already given his sister j^3,ooo in May, 
 1814, within one month of Medora's birth. In reply to 
 her scruples, Byron writes : ' Consider the children, 
 and my Georgina in particular — in short, I need say 
 no more.' 
 
 In the second place, we appeal to any unprejudiced 
 person whether it is likely that Byron would have 
 made to his wife an especial appeal on behalf of 
 Augusta, if he had not had a clear conscience as to his 
 relations with her ? That he had a clear conscience 
 cannot be doubted, and Augusta never hesitated in 
 private intercourse with Lady Byron to speak on that 
 painful subject. To quote Lord Lovelace : 
 
 ' On all these occasions, one subject, uppermost in 
 the thoughts of both, had been virtually ignored, 
 except that Augusta had had the audacity to name the 
 reports about herself " with the pride of innocence," as 
 it is called.' 
 
 Augusta tried to make Lady Byron speak out, and 
 say that she did not believe the reports against her, 
 but in vain. Lady Byron, having once conceived a 
 notion of Augusta's guilt, would not change her 
 opinion, and was far too honest to dissemble. She 
 
 fli
 
 MRS. VILLIERS AND WILMOT 357 
 
 found refuge in flight, not daring to show to Augusta 
 the letters which had been abstracted from Byron's 
 desk by Mrs. Clermont. In vain Mrs. Villiers and 
 Wilmot urged Lady Byron to avow to Augusta the 
 information of which they were in possession. Lady 
 Byron would not produce her so-called 'proofs,' and 
 said that 'she would experience pain in throwing off a 
 person she had loved, and from whom she had re- 
 ceived kindness.' 
 
 But Lady Byron, conscious of her false position, had 
 recourse to her pen, and wrote a letter to Augusta 
 telling her all that she knew. We are told that 
 Augusta did not attempt to deny the accusation, and 
 admitted everything in her letters of June, July, and 
 August, 1 8 16. 
 
 Lord Lovelace coolly says : 
 
 ' It is unnecessary to produce these letters here, as 
 their contents are confirmed and made sufficiently 
 clear by the correspondence of 18 19, given in another 
 chapter.' 
 
 We are further told in a footnote (p. 155) that the 
 late Sir Leslie Stephen said it made him quite uncom- 
 fortable to read Mrs. Leigh's letters of humiliation 
 dated 18 16. One would have supposed, after such a 
 flourish of trumpets, that Lord Lovelace would have 
 produced those letters ! He does nothing of the kind, 
 and expects posterity to accept his ex-partc statements 
 without reserve. Lord Lovelace bids us to believe 
 that it was ' from the best and kindest motives, and 
 long habit of silence, that Dr. Lushington's influence 
 was exerted in 1869, to prevent, or at least postpone, 
 revelation.' The fact is, of course, he kept silence 
 because he well knew that there was nothing in those 
 letters (1813 and 1814) to fix guilt upon Mrs. Leigh.
 
 358 'ASTARTE' 
 
 Lady Byron herself has told us that ' the causes of her 
 suspicion did not amount to proofs and Lady Byron did 
 not consider herself justified in acting upon these 
 suspicions.' She further states that ' the possibility of 
 innocence existed^ but that 
 
 ' Mrs. Leigh, at times, exhibited signs of deep remorse ; 
 at least so Lady Byron interpreted them to be, though she 
 does not mean to aver that the feelings Mrs. Leigh 
 then showed were signs of remorse for the commission 
 of the crime alluded to, or any other of so dark a 
 description.' 
 
 But Lady Byron, under Lushington's skilful hand, 
 protects herself against the possibility of legal pro- 
 ceedings for defamation of character by these words : 
 
 ' This paper does not contain, nor pretend to contain, 
 any of the grounds which give rise to the suspicion 
 which has existed, and still continues to exist, in 
 Lady Byron's mind. Her statement is made in order 
 to justify Lady Byron . . . in case Mrs. Leigh should 
 be proved herccifter to be guilty.^ 
 
 As this statement was made after Lady Byron's 
 interview with Dr. Lushington (when he decided to 
 take no part in any attempt at reconciliation), it is 
 perfectly clear that the alleged incriminating letters 
 were not considered as conclusive evidence against 
 Mrs. Leigh. Although they were sufficient to detach 
 Lushington from the party of reconciliation, it was 
 not considered wise to produce them as evidence in 
 1869, at a time when a strong revulsion of feeling had 
 set in against Lady Byron. 
 
 The clear legal brain of Sir Alexander Cockburn, 
 trained to appraise evidence, saw through the flimsy 
 pretext which had deceived an equally great lawyer. 
 Time instructs us, and much has come to light in this
 
 LADY BYRON FEARS TO LOSE ADA 359 
 
 so-called ' Byron mystery,' since Lady Byron beguiled 
 Lushington. Among other things, we now know, on 
 Lord Lovelace's authority, that Lady Byron was afraid 
 that her child would be taken from her by Byron, and 
 placed under the care of Mrs. Leigh. We also know, 
 on the authority of Hobhouse,* that Lady Byron's 
 representatives distinctly disavowed, on Lady Byron's 
 behalf, having spread any rumours injurious to Lord 
 Byron's character in that respect, and also stated that 
 a charge of incest would not have been made part of 
 her allegations if she had come into court. This dis- 
 avowal was signed by Lady Byron herself, and was 
 witnessed by Mr. Wilmot. It is certain that Lord 
 Byron would have gone into a court of law to meet 
 that charge, and that he refused to agree to a separa- 
 tion until that assurance had been given. This grave 
 charge was still in abeyance in 1816; it was not safe 
 to speak of it until after Byron's death, and then only 
 under the seal of secrecy. 
 
 ' Upon one contingency onl}^' wrote Sir Francis 
 Doyle in 1830 — ' namely, the taking from Lady Byron 
 of her child, and placing her under the care of Mrs. 
 Leigh — would the disclosure have been made of Lady 
 Byron's grounds for suspecting Mrs. Leigh's guilt.' 
 
 It was evident that Lady Byron was clutching at 
 straws to save her child from Mrs. Leigh, and to 
 prevent this it was essential to prove Mrs. Leigh's 
 unworthiness. In her maternal anxiety she stuck at 
 nothing, and for a time she triumphed. Her private 
 correspondence was drenched with the theme that 
 had impressed Lushington so strongly. 
 
 A fortnight after signing her * statement,' Lady 
 
 * ' Recollections of a Long Life,' vol. ii., p. 303.
 
 36o 'ASTARTE' 
 
 Byron writes to Mrs. George Lamb, in reference to 
 Mrs. Leigh : 
 
 ' I am glad tliat you think of her with the feelings of 
 pity which prevail in my mind, and surely if in mine 
 there must be some cause for them. I never was, nor 
 ever can be, so mercilessly virtuous as to admit no 
 excuse for even the worst of errors.' 
 
 Such letters go perilously near that charge which 
 Lady Byron's representatives had repudiated in the 
 presence of Hobhouse. But Lady Byron was desperate, 
 and her whole case depended on a general belief in that 
 foul accusation. What could not be done openly could 
 be done secretly, and she poisoned the air to save her 
 child. 
 
 Colonel Doyle, who seems to have been one of the 
 few on Lady Byron's side who kept his head, wrote to 
 her on July 9, 1816: 
 
 ' I see the possibility of a contingency under which 
 the fullest explanation of the motives and grounds of 
 your conduct may be necessary; I therefore implore 
 of you to suffer no delicacy to interfere with your 
 endeavouring to obtain the fullest admission 01 the 
 fact. If you obtain an acknowledgment of the facts 
 and that your motives be, as you seem to think, 
 properly appreciated, I think on the whole we shall 
 nave reason to rejoice that you have acted as you have 
 done, but I shall be very anxious to have a more detailed 
 knowledge of what has passed, and particularly of the 
 state in which you leave it. The step you have taken 
 was attended with great risk, and 1 could not, con- 
 templating the danger to which it might have exposed 
 you, have originally advised it. 
 
 ' If, however, your correspondence has produced an 
 acknowledgment of the fact even previous to your 
 marriage, I shall be most happy tnat it has taken 
 place.' 
 
 Colonel Doyle, by no means easy in his own mind, 
 again writes to Lady Byron on July 18, 1816:
 
 ATTEMPT TO INVEIGLE AUGUSTA 361 
 
 * I must recommend you to act as if a time might 
 possibl}'' arise when it would be necessary for you to 
 justify yourself, though nothing short of an absolute 
 necessity so imperative as to be irresistible could ever 
 authorize your advertence to your present communi- 
 cations. Still, I cannot dismiss from my mind the 
 experience we have had, nor so far forget the very 
 serious embarrassment we were under from the effects 
 of your too confiding disposition, as not to implore 
 you to bear in mind the importance of securing your- 
 self from eventual danger. 
 
 'This is my first object, and if that be attained, I shall 
 approve and applaud all the kindness you can show 
 [to Mrs. Leigh].' 
 
 Here, then, we have a picture of the state of affairs 
 limned by a man who was an accomplice of Lady 
 Byron's, and who was fully awake to the danger of 
 their position in the event of Byron turning round 
 upon them. The husband might insist upon Lady 
 Byron explaining the grounds of her conduct. In 
 order to make their position secure, it would be, above 
 all things, necessary to obtain a full confession from 
 Mrs. Leigh of her criminal intercourse with Byron. 
 With this end in view, Lady Byron opened a corre- 
 spondence with Augusta Leigh, and tried to inveigle 
 her into making an admission of her guilt. It was 
 not an easy matter to open the subject, but Lady 
 Byron was not abashed, and, under cover of sundry 
 acts of kindness, tried hard to gain her point. In this 
 game of foils Augusta showed remarkable skill, and 
 seems to have eventually fooled Lady Byron to the 
 top of her bent. No wonder, then, that Mrs. Leigh, 
 accused of an abominable crime by her sister-in-law, 
 should have written to a friend : 
 
 * None can know how nmch I have suffered from this 
 unhappy business — and, indeed, I have never known 
 a moment's peace, and begin to despair for the future.'
 
 362 • ASTARTE ' 
 
 Lady Byron and her friends plied Mrs. Leigh 
 with questions, hoping to gain a confession which 
 would justify their conduct. Lady Noel strongly and 
 repeatedly warned Lady Byron against Mrs. Leigh, 
 who, like a wounded animal, was dangerous. ' Take 
 care of Augusta,' she wrote September 7, 1816. ' If I 
 know anything of human nature, she docs and must 
 hateyou.^ 
 
 As a matter of fact, Augusta, while pretending con- 
 trition for imaginary sins, revenged herself upon Lady 
 Byron by heightening her jealousy, and encouraging 
 her in the belief that Byron had not only been her 
 lover, but was still appealing to her from abroad. She 
 even went so far as to pretend that she was going to 
 join him, which nearly frightened Mrs. Villiers out 
 of her wits. They lied to Augusta profusely, these 
 immaculate people, and had the meanness to tell her 
 that Byron had betrayed her in writing to two or 
 three women. They probably wished to cause a 
 breach between brother and sister, but Augusta, who 
 pretended to be alarmed by this intelligence, laughed 
 in her sleeve. She knew the truth, and saw through 
 these manoeuvres ; it was part of her plan to keep 
 Lady Byron on a false scent. ' I cannot believe my 
 brother to have been so dishonourable,' was her meek 
 rejoinder, meaning, of course, that it would have been 
 dishonourable for Byron to have defamed one who, 
 having taken his child under her protection, had saved 
 the honour of the woman whom he loved. But Lady 
 Byron regarded Mrs. Leigh's answer as an admission 
 of guilt, and trumpeted the news to all her friends. 
 Lord Lovelace tells us that Augusta, on August 5, 
 1816, wrote to Lady Byron a letter, in which she 
 asserted most solemnly that Byron had not been her
 
 'A MOST WRETCHED BUSINESS' 363 
 
 friend, and that, though there were difficulties in 
 writing to him, she was determined never to see him 
 again in the way she had done. It is remarkable that 
 the letter to which Lord Lovelace refers is not given 
 in ' Astarte,' where one would naturally expect to find 
 it. In order to gauge the impression made upon 
 Augusta's mind, the reader will do well to consult the 
 letters which she wrote a little later to the Rev. 
 Francis Hodgson, in which she speaks of Byron with 
 the greatest affection. 
 
 'And now for our old subject, dear B. I wonder 
 whether you have heard from him ? The last to me 
 was from Geneva, sending me a short but most inter- 
 esting journal of an excursion to the Bernese Alps. 
 He speaks of his health as very good, but, alas ! his 
 spirits appear wofuUy the contrary. I believe, how- 
 ever, that he does not write in that strain to others. 
 Sometimes I venture to indulge a hope that what I 
 wish most earnestly for him may be working its way 
 in his mind. Heaven grant it !' 
 
 In another letter to Hodgson she speaks of Ada, and 
 says : 
 
 ' The bulletins of the poor child's health, by Byron's 
 desire, pass through me, and I'm very sorry for it, and 
 that I ever had any concern in this most wretched 
 business. I can't, however, explain all my reasons at 
 this distance, and must console myself by the con- 
 sciousness of having done my duty, and, to the best of 
 my judgment, all I could for the happiness oi both' 
 
 At a time when Byron was accused of having 'be- 
 trayed his sister in writing to two or three women,' 
 he was writing that well-known stanza in ' Childe 
 Harold ' : 
 
 ' But there was one soft breast, as hath been said, 
 Which unto his was bound by stronger ties 
 Than the Church links withal; and though unwed, 
 Yet it was pure — and, far above disguise,
 
 364 ' ASTARTE ' 
 
 Had stood the test of mortal enmities 
 Still undivided, and cemented more 
 By peril, dreaded most in female eyes ; 
 But this was firm, and from a foreign shore 
 Well to that heart might his these absent greetings pour.' 
 
 And it was in July, 18 16, that Augusta's loyalty to him 
 and to Mary Chaworth moved Byron to write his 
 celebrated * Stanzas to Augusta ' : 
 
 ' Though ihy soul with my grief was acquainted, 
 
 It shrunk not to share it with me. 
 And the Love which my spirit hath painted 
 It never hath found but in Thee.' 
 
 ' Though human, thou didst not betray me ; 
 Though tempted, thou never couldst shake.' 
 
 Lord Lovelace claims to have found the key ot the 
 Byron mystery in ' Manfred,' and employs it as a 
 damning proof against Augusta, with what justice we 
 have seen. 
 
 At the time when ' Manfred ' was begun Mary 
 Chaworth was temporarily insane. The anxiety which 
 she had undergone at the time of Byron's matrimonial 
 quarrels, when she feared that a public inquiry might 
 disclose her own secret, affected her health. She bore 
 up bravely until after Byron's departure from England ; 
 then, the strain relieved, her mind gave way, and she 
 lived for some time in London, under the care of a 
 doctor. Her illness was kept as secret as possible, 
 but Augusta, who was constantly at her side, in- 
 formed Byron of her condition.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 There has of late years been a disposition on the part 
 of Byron's biographers unduly to disparage Moore's 
 'Life of Byron.' Tastes have changed, and Moore's 
 patronizing style of reference to ' his noble friend the 
 noble poet ' does not appeal to the democratic senti- 
 ment now prevailing. But, after allowance has been 
 made for Moore's manner, it cannot be denied that, in 
 consequence of his personal intimacy with Byron, his 
 work must always have a peculiar value and authority. 
 There are, for instance, portions of Moore's ' Life ' 
 which are indispensable to those who seek to fathom 
 the depths of Byron's mind. Moore says that Byron 
 was born with strong affections and ardent passions, 
 and that his life was 
 
 ' one continued struggle between that instinct of genius, 
 which was for ever drawing him back into the lonely 
 laboratory of self, and those impulses of passion, 
 ambition, and vanity, which again hurried him off into 
 the crowd, and entangled him in its interests.' 
 
 Moore assures us that most of Byron's so-called 
 love-affairs were as transitory as the imaginings that 
 gave them birth. 
 
 * It may be questioned,' says Moore, 'whether his 
 heart had ever much share in such passions. Actual 
 objects there were, in but too great number, who, as 
 
 365
 
 366 ' ASTARTE ' 
 
 long as the illusion continued, kindled up his thoughts 
 and were the themes of his song. But theywere little 
 more than mere dreams of the hour. There zvas but 
 one love that lived unquenched through air — Byron's love 
 for Mary Chaworth. 
 
 Every other attachment faded away, but that endured 
 to the end of his stormy life. 
 
 In speaking of Byron's affection for his sister, Moore, 
 who knew all that had been said against Augusta 
 Leigh and Byron, and had read the * Memoirs,' re- 
 marked : 
 
 * In a mind sensitive and versatile as [Byron's], long 
 habits of family intercourse might have estranged, or 
 at least dulled, his natural affection for his sister ; but 
 their separation during youth left this feeling fresh 
 and untired. That he was himself fully aware of this 
 appears from a passage in one of his letters : " My 
 sister is in Town, which is a great comfort ; for, never 
 having been much together, we are naturally more 
 attached to each other." His very inexperience in 
 such ties made the smile of a sister no less a novelty 
 than a charm to him ; and before the first gloss of this 
 newly awakened sentiment had time to wear off, they 
 were again separated, and for ever.' 
 
 When the parting came it was bitter indeed, for she 
 was, says Moore, 
 
 'almost the only person from whom he then parted 
 with regret. Those beautiful and tender verses, 
 " Though the day of my destiny's over," were now his 
 parting tribute to her who, through all this bitter trial, 
 had been his sole consolation.' 
 
 Enough has been said to show what kind of woman 
 Augusta was, and it is difficult to understand by what 
 process of reasoning Lord Lovelace persuaded himself 
 that she could have been guilty of the atrocious crime 
 which he lays to her charge. We entirely concur
 
 AUGUSTA THE VICTIM OF A PLOT 367 
 
 with Mrs. Villiers, when she wrote to Augusta Leigh 
 (in September, 1816): 'I consider you the victim to 
 the most infernal plot that has ever entered the heart 
 of man to conceive,' 
 
 We must at the same time frankly admit that 
 Augusta, in order to screen Mary Chaworth, did all 
 she could do to keep Lady Byron under a false im- 
 pression. She seems to have felt so secure in the 
 knowledge of her own innocence that she might afford 
 to allow Lady Byron to think as ill of her as she 
 pleased. 
 
 Unfortunately, Augusta, having once entered upon 
 a course of duplicity, was obliged to keep it up by 
 equivocations of all kinds. She went so far as even 
 to show portions of letters addressed to her care, and 
 pretended that they had been written to herself. She 
 seems to have felt no compunction for the sufferings 
 of Lady Byron. She may even have exulted in the 
 pain she inflicted upon that credulous lady, having 
 herself suffered intensely through the false suspicions, 
 and the studied insults heaped upon her by many of 
 Lady Byron's adherents. 
 
 Byron, who was informed of what had been said 
 against his sister by Lady Byron and others, told the 
 world in * Marino Faliero ' that he * had only one fount 
 of quiet left, and that they poisoned.' But he was 
 powerless to interfere. 
 
 Writing to Moore (September 19, 18 18) he said : 
 
 ' I could have forgiven the dagger or the bowl — any- 
 thing but the deliberate desolation piled upon me, 
 when I stood alone upon my hearth, with my house- 
 hold gods shivered around me. Do you suppose I 
 have forgotten it ? It has, comparatively, swallowed 
 up in me every other feeling, and I am only a spectator 
 upon earth till a tenfold opportunity offers.'
 
 368 ' ASTARTE ' 
 
 It may be that Augusta avenged her brother tenfold 
 without his knowledge. But she suffered in the pro- 
 cess. Lord Lovelace lays great stress upon what he 
 calls * the correspondence of 1819/ in order to show us 
 that Augusta had confessed to the crime of incest. 
 That correspondence is very interesting, not as show- 
 ing the guilt of Augusta Leigh, but as an example of 
 feminine duplicity in which she was an adept. Augusta 
 was hard pressed indeed for some weapon of offence 
 when she pretended, on June 25, 1819, that she had 
 received the following letter from her brother. She 
 must have been some time in making up her mind to 
 send it, as the letter in question had been in her hands 
 three weeks, having arrived in London on June 4. It 
 may be as well to state that all letters written by 
 Byron to Mary Chaworth passed through Mrs. Leigh's 
 hands, and were delivered with circumspection. 
 
 'Venice, 
 
 'May 17, 1819.* 
 
 ' My dearest Love, 
 
 * I have been negligent in not writing, but what 
 can I say? Three years' absence — and the total change 
 of scene and habit make such a difference that we 
 have never nothing in common but our affections and 
 our relationship. But I have never ceased nor can 
 cease to feel for a moment that perfect and boundless 
 attachment which bound and binds me to you — which 
 renders me utterly incapable of real love for any other 
 human being — for what could they be to me after you ? 
 My own . . .f we may have been very wrong — but I 
 repent of nothing except that cursed marriage — and 
 your refusing to continue to love me as you had loved 
 me. I can neither forget nor quite forgive you for that 
 precious piece of reformation, but I can never be other 
 than I have been — and whenever I love anything it is 
 
 * A fortnight before writing ' Stanzas to the Po.' 
 
 + ' Short name of three or four letters obliterated.' — ' Astarte,' p. 180.
 
 A LETTER TO 'THYRZA' 369 
 
 because it reminds me in some way or other of your- 
 self. For instance, I not long ago attached myself to 
 a Venetian for no earthly reason (although a pretty 
 woman) but because she was called . . .* and she often 
 remarked (without knowing the reason) how fond I 
 was of the name.f It is heart-breaking to think of our 
 long separation — and I am sure more than punishment 
 enough for all our sins. Dante is more humane in his 
 " Hell," for he places his unfortunate lovers — Fran- 
 cesca of Rimini and Paolo — whose case fell a good 
 deal short of ours, though sufficiently naughty) in com- 
 
 fany ; and though they suffer, it is at least together, 
 f ever I return to England it will be to see you ; and 
 recollect that in all time, and place, and feelings, I 
 have never ceased to be the same to you in heart. 
 Circumstances may have ruffled my manner and 
 hardened my spirit ; you may have seen me harsh and 
 exasperated with all things around me ; grieved and 
 tortured with your new resolution, and the soon after 
 persecution of that infamous fiend t who drove me from 
 my country, and conspired against my life — by en- 
 deavouring to deprive me of all that could render it 
 precious § — but remember that even then you were the 
 sole object that cost me a tear ; and what tears ! Do 
 you remember our parting ? I have not spirits now 
 to write to you upon other subjects. I am well in 
 health, and have no cause of grief but the reflection 
 that we are not together. When you write to me 
 speak to me of yourself, and say that you love me ; 
 never mind common-place people and topics which 
 can be in no degree interesting to me who see nothing 
 in England but the country which holds you, or around 
 it but the sea which divides us. They say absence 
 destroys weak passions, and confirms strong ones. 
 Alas ! mine for you is the union of all passions and of all 
 affections — has strengthened itself, but will destroy 
 me ; I do not speak of physical destruction, for I have 
 endured, and can endure, much ; but the annihilation 
 of all thoughts, feelings, or hopes, which have not 
 
 * Short name of three or four letters obliterated. 
 
 + Marianna (AngUce : Mary Anne). 
 \ Lady Byron (see ' Astarte,' p. i66). 
 § His sister's society. 
 
 24
 
 370 ' ASTARTE ' 
 
 more or less a reference, to you and to our recol- 
 lections. 
 
 * Ever, dearest,' 
 
 [Signature erased]. 
 
 The terms of this letter, which Lord Lovelace pro- 
 duces as conclusive evidence against Augusta Leigh, 
 deserve attention. At first sight they seem to confirm 
 Lady Byron's belief that a criminal intercourse had 
 existed between her husband and his sister. But 
 close examination shows that the letter was not 
 written to Mrs. Leigh at all, but to Mary Chaworth. 
 
 On the day it was written Byron was at Venice, 
 where he had recently made the acquaintance of the 
 Countess Guiccioli, whom, as * Lady of the land,' he 
 followed to Ravenna a fortnight later. It will be 
 noticed that the date synchronizes with the period 
 when the ' Stanzas to the Po ' were written. Both 
 letter and poem dwell upon the memory of an unsatis- 
 fied passion. The letter bears neither superscription 
 nor signature, both having been erased by Mrs. 
 Leigh before the document reached Lady Byron's 
 hands. The writer excuses himself for not having 
 written to his correspondent {a) because three years' 
 absence, {b) total change of scene, and (c) because there 
 is nothing in common between them, except mutual 
 affections and their relationship. Byron could not 
 have excused himself in that manner to a sister, who 
 had much in common with him, and to whom he had 
 written, on an average, twice in every month since he 
 left England. His letters to Augusta entered minutely 
 into all his feelings and actions, and the common bond 
 between them was Ada, whose disposition, appear- 
 ance, and health, occupied a considerable space in their 
 correspondence.
 
 MARIANNA 371 
 
 Nor would Byron have written in that amatory 
 strain to his dear ' Goose,' In the letter which pre- 
 ceded the one we have quoted, Byron begins, ' Dearest 
 Augusta,' and ends, * I am in health, and yours, B.' In 
 that which followed it there is nothing in the least 
 effusive. It begins, * Dearest Augusta,' and ends, 
 ' Yours ever, and very truly, B.' There are not many 
 of Byron's letters to Augusta extant. All those 
 which mentioned Medora were either mutilated or 
 suppressed. 
 
 For Byron to have given ' three years' absence, and 
 a total change of scene,' as reasons for not having 
 written to his sister for a month or so would have 
 been absurd. But when he said that he had nothing 
 in common with Mary Chaworth, except 'our affec- 
 tions and our relationship,' his meaning was — their 
 mutual affections, their kinship, and their common 
 relationship to Medora. 
 
 We invite any unprejudiced person to say whether 
 Byron would have been likely to write to a sister, who 
 knew his mind thoroughly, * I have never ceased — 
 nor can cease to feel for a moment that perfect and 
 boundless attachment which bound and binds me to 
 you.' Did not Augusta know very well that he loved and 
 admired her, and that Byron was under the strongest 
 obligations to her for her loyalty at a trying time ? 
 
 Then, there was the erasure of * a short name of 
 three or four letters,' which might have opened Lady 
 Byron's eyes to the trick that was being played upon 
 her. Those four letters spelt the name of Mary, and 
 the ' pretty woman ' to whom Byron had ' not long 
 ago' attached himself was the Venetian Marianna 
 (Anglice : Mary Anne) Segati, with whom he formed 
 a liaison from November, 18 16, to February 1818. 
 
 24 — 2
 
 372 ' ASTARTE ' 
 
 Augusta would certainly not have understood the 
 allusion. 
 
 In this illuminating letter Byron reproaches Mary 
 Chaworth for breaking off her fatal intimacy with him, 
 and for having persuaded him to marry — 'that in- 
 famous fiend who drove me from my country, and 
 conspired against my life — by endeavouring to deprive 
 me of all that could render it precious.' As the person 
 here referred to was, obviously, Augusta herself, this 
 remark could not have been made to her. In speaking 
 of their long separation as a punishment for their sins, 
 he tells Mary Chaworth that, if he ever returns to 
 England, it will be to see her, and that his feelings 
 have undergone no change. It will be observed that 
 Byron begs his correspondent to speak to him only of 
 herself and to say that she loves him ! It is scarcely 
 necessary to remind the reader that Augusta was the 
 intermediary between Byron and his wife — his confi- 
 dential agent in purely private affairs. It was to her 
 that he wrote on all matters relating to business trans- 
 actions with his wife, and from whom he received 
 intelligence of the health and happiness of his daughter. 
 Under those circumstances how could Byron ask 
 Augusta to speak to him of nothing but her love 
 for him ? 
 
 To show the absurdity of Lord Lovelace's conten- 
 tion, we insert the letter which Byron wrote to his 
 sister seven months later. Many letters had passed 
 between them during the interval, but we have not 
 been allowed to see them ; 
 
 ' Bologna, 
 
 ' December 23, 1819. 
 ' Dearest Augusta, 
 
 'The health of my daughter Allegra, the cold 
 season, and the length of the journey, induce me to
 
 A LOCK OF HAIR 373 
 
 postpone for some time a purpose (never very willing 
 on my part) to revisit Great Britain. 
 
 * You can address to me at Venice as usual. Wher- 
 ever I may be in Italy, the letter will be forwarded. 
 I enclose to you all that long hair on account of 
 which you would not go to see my picture. You 
 will see that it was not so very long. I curtailed it 
 yesterday, my head and hair being weakly after my 
 tertian. 
 
 ' I wrote to you not very long ago, and, as I do not 
 know that I could add anything satisfactory to that 
 letter, I may as well finish this. In a letter to Murray 
 I requested him to apprise you that my journey 
 was postponed; but here, there, and everywhere, 
 know me 
 
 * Yours ever and very truly, 
 
 •b; 
 
 It is ridiculous to suppose that these two letters 
 were addressed to the same person. In the one we 
 find the expression of an imperishable attachment, in 
 the other merely commonplace statements. In the 
 first letter Byron says, if ever he returns to England, 
 it will be to see the person to whom he is writing, 
 and that absence has the more deeply confirmed his 
 passion. In the second he tells the lady that he has 
 had his hair cut, and that he was never very willing 
 to revisit Great Britain! And yet, in spite of these 
 inconsistencies, Lady Byron walked into the snare 
 which Augusta had so artfully prepared. In forward- 
 ing the amatory epistle to Lady Byron, Augusta tells 
 her to burn it, and says that her brother 'must surely 
 be considered a maniac' for having written it, adding, 
 with adroit mystification : 
 
 */ do not believe any feelings expressed are by 
 any means permanent — only occasioned by the pass- 
 ing and present reflection and occupation of writing 
 to the unfortunate Being to whom they are addressed!
 
 374 ' ASTARTE ' 
 
 Augusta did not tell Lady Byron that ' the un- 
 fortunate Being ' was Mary Chaworth, now reconciled 
 to her husband, and that she had withheld Byron's 
 letter from her, lest her mind should be unsettled by 
 its perusal. 
 
 Mrs. Leigh had two excellent reasons for this be- 
 trayal of trust. In the first place, she wished Lady 
 Byron to believe that her brother was still making 
 love to her, and that she was keeping her promise in 
 not encouraging his advances. In the second place, 
 she knew that the terms of Byron's letter would 
 deeply wound Lady Byron's pride — and revenge is 
 sometimes sweet ! 
 
 Lady Byron, who was no match for her sister-in- 
 law, had failed to realize the wisdom of her mother's 
 warning : * Beware of Augusta, for she must hate you.' 
 She received this proof of Augusta's return to virtue 
 with gratitude, thanked her sincerely, and acknow- 
 ledged that the terms of Byron's letter * afforded ample 
 testimony that she had not encouraged his tenderness.' 
 Poor Lady Byron 1 She deserves the pity of posterity. 
 But she was possessed of common sense, and knew 
 how to play her own hand fairly well. She wrote to 
 Augusta in the following terms : 
 
 ' This letter is a proof of the prior " reformation," 
 which was sufficiently evidenced to me by your own 
 assertion, and the agreement of circumstances with it. 
 But, in case of a more unequivocal disclosure on his part 
 than has yet been made, this letter would confute those 
 false accusations to which you would undoubtedly be 
 subjected from others.' 
 
 In suggesting a more open disclosure on Byron's 
 part, Lady Byron angled for further confidences, so 
 that her evidence against her husband might be over-
 
 LADY BYRON ADVISES AUGUSTA 375 
 
 whelming. She hoped that his repentant sister might 
 be able to show incriminating letters, which would 
 support the clue found in those missives which Mrs. 
 Clermont had ' conveyed.' How little did she under- 
 stand Augusta Leigh ! Never would she have assisted 
 Lady Byron to prejudice the world against her brother, 
 nor would she have furnished Lady Byron with a 
 weapon which might at any moment have been turned 
 against herself. 
 
 With the object of proving Augusta's guilt, the 
 whole correspondence between her and Lady Byron 
 from June 27, 18 19, to the end of the following January 
 has been printed in ' Astarte.' 
 
 We have carefully examined it without finding any- 
 thing that could convict Augusta and Byron. It seems 
 clear that Mrs. Leigh began this correspondence with 
 an ulterior object in view. She wished to win back 
 Lady Byron's confidence, and to induce her to make 
 some arrangement by which the Leigh children would 
 benefit at Lady Byron's death, in the event of Byron 
 altering the will he had already made in their favour. 
 She began by asking Lady Byron's advice as to how 
 she was to answer the * Dearest Love ' letter. Lady 
 Byron gave her two alternatives. Either she must 
 tell her brother that, so long as his idea of her was 
 associated with the most guilty feelings, it was her 
 duty to break off all communication ; or, if Augusta 
 did not approve of that plan, then it was her duty to 
 treat Byron's letter with the silence of contempt. To 
 this excellent advice Augusta humbly replied that, if 
 she were to reprove her brother for the warmth of his 
 letter, he might be mortally offended, in which case 
 her children, otherwise unprovided for, would fare 
 badly. But Mrs. Leigh was too diplomatic to convey
 
 376 ' ASTARTE ' 
 
 that meaning in plain language. Writing June 28, 
 1819, she says : 
 
 ' I will tell you what nozv passes in my mind. As to 
 the gentler expedient you propose, I certainly lean to 
 it, as the least offensive ; but, supposing he suspects 
 the motive, and is piqued to answer : *' I wrote you 
 such a letter of such a date : did you receive it ?" 
 What then is to be done ? I could not reply falsely — 
 and might not that line of conduct, acknowledged, 
 irritate ? This consideration would lead me, perhaps 
 preferably, to adopt the other, as most open and honest 
 (certainly to any other character but his), but query 
 whether it might not be most judicious as to its effects ; 
 and at the same time acknowledging that his victim 
 was wholly in his power, as to temporal good,* and 
 leaving it to his generosity whether to use that power 
 or not. There seem so many reasons why he should 
 for his own sake dihstdiXn for the present horn gratifying 
 his revenge, that one can scarcely think he would do 
 so — unless insane. It would surely be ruin to all his 
 prospects, and those of a pecuniary nature are not 
 indifferent if others are become so. 
 
 ' If really and truly he feels, or fancies he feels, that 
 passion he professes, I have constantly imagined he 
 might suppose, from his experience of the weakness of 
 disposition of the unfortunate object, that, driven from 
 every other hope or earthly prospect, she might fly to 
 him! and that as long as he was impressed with that 
 idea he would persevere in his projects. But, if he 
 considered that hopeless, he might desist, for otherwise 
 he must lose everything but his revenge^ and what 
 good would that do him ? 
 
 ' After all, my dearest A., if you cannot calculate the 
 probable consequences, how should I presume to do 
 so ! To be sure, the gentler expedient might be the 
 safest, with so violent and irritable a disposition, and 
 at least for a time act as a palliative — and who knows 
 what changes a little time might produce or how Pro- 
 vidence might graciously interpose ! With so many 
 reasons to wish to avoid extremities (I mean for the 
 
 * In case Byron altered his will.
 
 MRS. LEIGH'S DUPLICITY 377 
 
 sake of others), one leans to what appears the safest, 
 and one is a coward. 
 
 ' But the other at the same time has something 
 gratifying to one's feelings — and I think might be said 
 and done — so that, if he showed the letters, it would 
 be no evidence against the person; and worded with 
 that kindness, and appearance of real affectionate con- 
 cern for him as well as the other person concerned, 
 that it might possibl}^ touch him. Pray think of what 
 I have thought^ and write me a line, not to decide, for 
 that I cannot expect, but to tell me if 1 deceived myself 
 in the ideas I have expressed to you. I shall not, 
 cannot answer till the latest post-day this week. 
 
 * 1 know you will forgive me for this infliction, and 
 may God bless you for that, and every other kindness.' 
 
 We do not remember ever to have read a letter 
 more frankly disingenuous than this. The duplicity 
 lurking in every line shows why the cause of the 
 separation between Lord and Lady Byron has been 
 for so long a mystery. Lady B3^ron herself was 
 mystified by Augusta Leigh. It certainly was not 
 easy for Lady Byron to gauge the deep deception 
 practised upon her by both her husband and Mrs. 
 Leigh ; and yet it is surprising that Lady Byron 
 should not have suspected, in Augusta's self-depre- 
 ciation, an element of fraud. Was it likely that 
 Augusta, who had good reason to hate Lady Byron, 
 would have provided her with such damning proofs 
 against her brother and herself, if she had' not pos- 
 sessed a clear conscience in the matter? She relied 
 implicitly upon Byron's letter being destroyed, and 
 so worded her own that it would be extremely difficult 
 for anyone but Lady Byron to understand what she 
 was writing about. It will be noticed that no names 
 are mentioned in any of her missives. People are 
 referred to either as 'maniacs,' 'victims,' 'unfortunate 
 objects,' or as ' that most detestable woman, your rela-
 
 378 ' ASTARTE ' 
 
 tion by marriage,' which, in a confidential communica- 
 tion to a sister-in-law, would be superfluous caution 
 were she really sincere. But, after the separation 
 period, Mrs. Leigh was never sincere in her inter- 
 course with Lady Byron. Through that lady's un- 
 flattering suspicions, Augusta had suffered ' too much 
 to be forgiven.' Lady Byron, on the other hand, with 
 very imperfect understanding of her sister-in-law's 
 character, was entirely at her mercy. To employ a 
 colloquialism, the whole thing was a * blind,' devised 
 to support Augusta's role as a repentant Magdalen ; to 
 attract compassion, perhaps even pecuniary assistance ; 
 and, above all, to shield the mother of Medora. The 
 ruse was successful. Lady Byron saw a chance of 
 eventually procuring, in the handwriting of her hus- 
 band, conclusive evidence of his crime. In her letter 
 of June 27, 1 8 19, to Mrs. Leigh, she conveyed a hint 
 that Byron might be lured to make 'a more unequivocal 
 disclosure than has yet been made.' 
 
 Lady Byron, it must be remembered, craved inces- 
 santly for documentary proofs, which might be pro- 
 duced, if necessary, to justify her conduct. It is 
 significant that at the time of writing she possessed no 
 evidence, except the letters which Mrs. Clermont had 
 purloined from Byron's writing-desk, and these were 
 pronounced b}^ Lushington to be far from conclusive. 
 
 Mrs. Leigh seems to have enjoyed the wrigglings 
 of her victim on the hook. * Decision was never my 
 forte,' she writes to Lady Byron : ' one ought to act 
 right, and leave the issue to Providence.' 
 
 The whole episode would be intensely comical were 
 it not so pathetic. As might have been expected. Lady 
 Byron eventually suffered far more than the woman 
 she had so cruelly wounded. Augusta seems coolly to
 
 MRS. LEIGH'S DUPLICITY 379 
 
 suggest that her brother might 'out of revenge' 
 (because his sister acted virtuously?) publish to the 
 world his incestuous intercourse with her ! Could 
 anyone in his senses believe such nonsense ? Augusta 
 hints that then Lady Byron would be able to procure 
 a divorce ; and, as Lady Noel was still alive, Byron 
 would not be able to participate in that lady's fortune 
 at her death. 
 
 The words, ' There seem so many reasons why he 
 should for his own sake abstain for the present from 
 gratifying his revenge ... it would surely be ruin to 
 all his prospects,' are plain enough. Even if there 
 had been anything to disclose, Byron would never 
 have wounded that sister who stood at his side at the 
 darkest hour of his life, who had sacrificed herself in 
 order to screen his love for Mary Chaworth, and who 
 was his sole rock of refuge in this stormy world. But 
 it was necessary to show Lady Byron that she was 
 standing on the brink ' of a precipice.' 
 
 * On the subject of the mortgage,' writes Augusta, 
 * 1 mean to decline that wholly ; and pray do me the 
 justice to believe that one thought of the interests of 
 my children, as far as that channel is concerned, never 
 crosses my mind, I have entreated — I believe more 
 than once — that the will might be altered. [Oh, 
 Augusta !] But if it is not — as far as I understand 
 the matter — there is not the slightest probability of 
 their ever deriving any benefit. Whatever my feelings, 
 dear A., I assure you, never in my life have I looked 
 to advantage of that sort. I do not mean that I have 
 any merit in not doing it — but that I have no inclina- 
 tion, therefore nothing to struggle with. I trust my 
 babes to Providence, and, provided they are good, I 
 think, perhaps, too little of the rest.' 
 
 It is plain that Augusta was getting nervous about 
 her brother's attachment to the Guiccioli, a liaison
 
 380 ' ASTARTE ' 
 
 which might end in trouble ; and if that lady was 
 avaricious (which she was not) Byron might be in- 
 duced to alter his will (made in 1815), by which he 
 left all his share in the property to Augusta's children. 
 With a mother's keen eye to their ultimate advantage, 
 she tried hard to make their position secure, so that, 
 in the event of Byron changing his mind. Lady Byron 
 might make suitable provision for them. It was a 
 prize worth playing for, and she played the game for 
 all it was worth. * Leaving her babes to Providence * 
 was just the kind of sentiment most likely to appeal 
 to Lady Byron who did, in a measure, respond to 
 Augusta's hints. In a letter (December 23, 18 19) 
 Lady Byron writes : 
 
 ' With regard to your pecuniary interests ... I am 
 aware that the interests of your children may rightly 
 influence your conduct when guilt is not incurred by 
 consulting them. However, your children cannot, I 
 trust, under any circumstances, be left destitute, for 
 reasons which I will hereafter communicate.' 
 
 There was at this time a strong probability of 
 Byron's return to England. Lady Byron tried to 
 extract from Augusta a promise that she would not 
 see him. Augusta fenced with the question, until, 
 when driven into a corner, she was compelled to 
 admit that it would be unnatural to close the door 
 against her brother. Lady Byron was furious : 
 
 ' I do not consider you bound to me in any way,' 
 she writes. ' I told you what I knew, because I 
 thought that measure would enable me to befriend 
 you — and chiefly by representing the objections to a 
 renewal of personal communication between you and 
 him. . . . We must, according to your present inten- 
 tions, act independently of each other. On my part it 
 will still be with every possible consideration for you 
 and your children, and should I, by your reception of
 
 PLAYING WITH FIRE 381 
 
 him, be obliged to relinquish my intercourse with 
 you, I will do so in such manner as shall be least 
 prejudicial to your interests. I shall most earnestly 
 wish that the results of your conduct may tend to 
 establish your peace, instead of aggravating 3^our re- 
 morse. But, entertaining these views of your duty 
 and my own, could I in honesty, or in friendship, 
 suppress them ?' 
 
 It might have been supposed that Lady Byron, in 
 1816, after Augusta's so-called 'confession,' would 
 have kept her secret inviolate. That had been a con- 
 dition precedent ; without it Augusta would not have 
 ventured to deceive even Lady Byron. It appears 
 from the following note, written by Lady Byron to 
 Mrs. Villiers, that Augusta's secret had been confided 
 to the tender mercies of that lady. On January 26, 
 1820, Lady Byron writes : 
 
 ' I am reluctant to give you my impression of what 
 has passed between Augusta and me, respecting her 
 conduct in case of his return ; but I should like to 
 know whether your unbiassed opinion, formed from 
 the statement of facts, coincided with it.' 
 
 Verily, Augusta had been playing with fire !
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 On December 31, 1819, Byron wrote a letter to his 
 wife. Tlie following is an extract : 
 
 ' Augusta can tell you all about me and mine, if you 
 think either worth the inquiry. The object of my 
 writing is to come. It is this : I saw Moore three 
 months ago, and gave to his care a long Memoir, 
 written up to the summer of 18 16, of my life, which I 
 had been writing since I left England. It will not be 
 published till after my death ; and, in fact, it is a 
 Memoir, and not " Confessions." I have omitted the 
 most important and decisive events and passions of 
 my existence, not to compromise others. But it is not 
 so with the part you occupy, which is long and 
 minute ; and I could wish you to see, read, and mark 
 any part or parts that do not appear to coincide with 
 the truth. The truth I have always stated — but there 
 are two ways of looking at it, and your way may be 
 not mine. I have never revised the papers since they 
 were written. You may read them and mark what 
 you please. I wish you to know what I think and say 
 of you and yours. You will find nothing to flatter 
 you ; nothing to lead you to the most remote suppo- 
 sition that we could ever have been — or be happy 
 together. But I do not choose to give to another 
 generation statements which we cannot arise from the 
 dust to prove or disprove, without letting you see 
 fairly and fully what I look upon you to have been, 
 and what I depict you as being. If, seeing this, you 
 can detect what is false, or answer what is charged, do 
 so ; your mark shall not be erased. You will perhaps 
 
 382
 
 LADY BYRON AND THE MEMOIRS 383 
 
 say, Why write my life ? Alas ! I say so too. But they 
 who have traduced it, and blasted it, and branded me, 
 should know that it is they, and not I, are the cause. It 
 is no great pleasure to have lived, and less to live over 
 again the details of existence ; but the last becomes 
 sometimes a necessity, and even a duty. If you 
 choose to see this, you may ; if you do not, you have 
 at least had the option.' 
 
 The receipt of this letter gave Lady Byron the 
 deepest concern, and, in the impulse of a moment, she 
 drafted a reply full of bitterness and defiance. But 
 Dr. Lushington persuaded her — not without a deal 
 of trouble — to send an answer the terms of which, 
 after considerable delay, were arranged between 
 them. The letter in question has already appeared in 
 Mr. Prothero's * Letters and Journals of Lord Byron,'* 
 together with Byron's spirited rejoinder of April 3, 
 1820. 
 
 Lord Lovelace throws much light upon the inner 
 workings of Lady Byron's mind at this period. That 
 she should have objected to the publication of Byron's 
 memoirs was natural ; but, instead of saying this in a 
 few dignified sentences. Lady Byron parades her 
 wrongs, and utters dark hints as to the possible com- 
 plicity of Augusta Leigh in Byron's mysterious scheme 
 of revenge. Dr. Lushington at first thought that it 
 would be wiser and more diplomatic to beg Byron's 
 sister to dissuade him from pubHshing his memoirs, 
 but Lady Byron scented danger in that course. 
 
 ' I foresee,' she wrote to Colonel Doyle, * from the 
 transmission of such a letter . . . this consequence : 
 that an unreserved disclosure from Mrs. Leigh to 
 him being necessitated, they would combine together 
 against me, he being actuated by revenge, she by fear ; 
 
 * Vol. v., p. I.
 
 384 'ASTARTE' 
 
 whereas, from her never having dared to inform him 
 that she has already admitted his guilt to me with her 
 own, they have hitherto been prevented from acting in 
 concert' 
 
 Byron was, of course, well acquainted with what 
 had passed between his wife and Augusta Leigh, It 
 could not have been kept from him, even if there had 
 been any reason for secrecy. He knew that his sister 
 had been driven to admit that Medora was his child, 
 thus implying the crime of which she had been sus- 
 pected. There was nothing, therefore, for Augusta to 
 fear from him. She dreaded a public scandal, not so 
 much on her own account as ' for the sake of others.' 
 For that reason she tried to dissuade her brother from 
 inviting a public discussion on family matters. There 
 was no reason why Augusta should ' combine ' with 
 Byron against his hapless wife I 
 
 The weakness of Lady Byron's position is admitted 
 by herself in a letter dated January 29, 1820: 
 
 * My information previous to my separation was 
 derived either directly from Lord Byron, or from my 
 observations on that part of his conduct which he 
 exposed to my view. The infatuation of pride may 
 have blinded him to the conclusions which must in- 
 evitably be established by a long series of circum- 
 stantial evidences.' 
 
 Oh, the pity of it all ! There was something 
 demoniacal in Byron's treatment of this excellent 
 woman. Perhaps it was all very natural under the 
 circumstances. Lady Byron seemed to invite attack 
 at every conceivable moment, and did not realize that 
 a wounded tiger is always dangerous. This is the 
 way in which she spoke of Augusta to Colonel Doyle : 
 
 * Reluctant as I have ever been to bring my domestic 
 concerns before the public, and anxious as I have felt
 
 AUGUSTA'S LITTLE PLAN 385 
 
 to save from ruin a near connection of his, I shall feel 
 myself compelled by duties of primary importance, if 
 he perseveres in accumulating injuries upon me, to 
 make a disclosure of the past in the most authentic form.' 
 
 Lady Byron's grandiloquent phrase had no deeper 
 meaning than this : that she was willing to accuse 
 Augusta Leigh on the strength of 'a long series of 
 circumstantial evidences.' We leave it for lawyers to 
 say whether that charge could have been substantiated 
 in the event of Mrs. Leigh's absolute denial, and her 
 disclosure of all the circumstances relating to the birth 
 of Medora. 
 
 In the course of the same year (1820) Augusta, 
 having failed to induce Lady Byron to make a definite 
 statement as to her intentions with regard to the 
 Leigh children, urged Byron to intercede with his 
 wife in their interests. He accordingly wrote several 
 times to Lady Byron, asking her to be kind to 
 Augusta — in other words, to make some provision 
 for her children. It seemed, under all circumstances, 
 a strange request to make, but Byron's reasons were 
 sound. In accordance with the restrictions imposed 
 by his marriage settlement, the available portion of 
 the funds would revert to Lady Byron in the event 
 of his predeceasing her. Lady Byron at first made 
 no promise to befriend Augusta's children ; but later 
 she wrote to say that the past would not prevent her 
 from befriending Augusta Leigh and her children 
 ' in any future circumstances which may call for my 
 assistance.' 
 
 In thanking Lady Byron for this promise, Byron 
 writes : 
 
 'As to Augusta ****, whatever she is, or may have 
 been, you have never had reason to complain of her; 
 
 25
 
 386 'ASTARTE' 
 
 on the contrary, you are not aware of the obligations 
 under which you have been to her. Her life and 
 mine — and yours and mine — were two things per- 
 fectly distinct from each other ; when one ceased the 
 other began, and now both are closed.' 
 
 Lord Lovelace seeks to make much out of that state- 
 ment, and says in * Astarte ': 
 
 * It is evident, from the allusion in this letter, that 
 Byron had become thoroughly aware of the extent of 
 Lady Byron's information, and did not wish that she 
 should be misled. He probably may have heard from 
 Augusta herself that she had admitted her own guilt, 
 together with his, to Lady Byron.' 
 
 What naivete! Byron's meaning is perfectly clear. 
 Whatever she was, or may have been — whatever her 
 virtues or her sins — she had never wronged Lady 
 Byron. On the contrary, she had, at considerable risk 
 to herself, interceded for her with her brother, when 
 the crisis came into their married life. Byron's inter- 
 course with his sister had never borne any connection 
 with his relations towards his wife — it was a thing 
 apart — and at the time of writing was closed perhaps 
 for ever. He plainly repudiates Lady Byron's cruel 
 suspicions of a criminal intercourse having taken place 
 during the brief period of their married existence. 
 He could not have spoken in plainer language without 
 indelicacy, and yet, so persistent was Lady Byron in 
 her evil opinion of both, these simple straightforward 
 words were wholly misconstrued. Malignant casuistry 
 could of course find a dark hint in the sentence, 
 ' When one ceased, the other began '; but the mind 
 must indeed be prurient that could place the worst 
 construction upon the expression of so palpable a fact. 
 It was not Lady Byron's intention to complain of 
 things that had taken place previous to her marriage ;
 
 LORD CHIEF JUSTICE COCKBURN 387 
 
 her contention had always been that she separated 
 from her husband in consequence of his conduct while 
 under her own roof When, in 1869, all the documen- 
 tary evidence upon which she relied was shown to 
 Lord Chief Justice Cockburn, that great lawyer thus 
 expressed his opinion of their value : 
 
 ' Lady Byron had an ill-conditioned mind, preying 
 upon itself, till morbid delusion was the result. If 
 not, she was an accomplished hypocrite, regardless of 
 truth, and to whose statements no credit whatever 
 ought to be attached.' 
 
 Lord Lovelace tells us that all the charges made 
 against Lady Byron in 1869 (when the Beecher Stowe 
 ' Revelations ' were published) would have collapsed 
 * if all her papers had then been accessible and avail- 
 able '; and that Dr. Lushington, who was then alive, 
 ' from the best and kindest motives, and long habit of 
 silence,' exerted his influence over the other trustees 
 to suppress them ! Why, we may ask, was this ? The 
 answer suggests itself. It was because he well knew 
 that there was nothing in those papers to fix guilt 
 upon Mrs. Leigh. It must not be forgotten that Dr. 
 Lushington, in 1816, expressed his deliberate opinion 
 that the proofs were wholly insufficient to sustain a 
 charge of incest. In this connection Lady Byron's 
 written statement, dated March 14, 1816, is most 
 valuable. 
 
 'The causes of this suspicion,' she writes, 'did not 
 amount to proof . . . and I considered that, whilst a 
 possibility of innocence existed, every principle of 
 duty and humanity forbade me to act as ii Mrs. Leigh 
 was actually guilty, more especially as any intimation 
 of so heinous a crime, even if not distinctly proved, 
 must have seriously affected Mrs. Leigh's character 
 and happiness.' 
 
 25 — 2
 
 388 ' ASTARTE ' 
 
 Exactly one month after Lady Byron had written 
 those words, her husband addressed her in the follow- 
 ing terms : 
 
 * I have just parted from Augusta — almost the last 
 being you had left me to part with, and the only un- 
 shattered tie of my existence. Wherever I may go, 
 and I am going far, you and I can never meet again in 
 this world, nor in the next. Let this content or atone. 
 If any accident occurs to me, be kind to her ; if she is 
 then nothing, to her children,' 
 
 It was, as we have seen, five years before Lady 
 Byron could bring herself to make any reply to this 
 appeal. How far she fulfilled the promise then made, 
 ' to befriend Augusta Leigh and her children in any 
 future circumstances which might call for her assist- 
 ance,' may be left to the imagination of the reader. 
 We can find no evidence of it in * Astarte ' or in the 
 ' Revelations ' of Mrs. Beecher Stowe.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 In order to meet the charges which the late Lord 
 Lovelace brought against Mrs. Leigh in 'Astarte,' we 
 have been compelled to quote rather extensively from 
 its pages. In the chapter entitled ' Manfred ' will be 
 found selections from a mass of correspondence which, 
 without qualification or comment, might go far to con- 
 vince the reader. Lord Lovelace was evidently * a 
 good hater,' and he detested the very name of Augusta 
 Leigh with all his heart and soul. There was some 
 reason for this. She had, in Lord Lovelace's opinion, 
 ' substituted herselffor Lord Byron's right heirs' ('Astarte,' 
 p. 125). It was evidently a sore point that Augusta 
 should have benefited by Lord Byron's will. Lord 
 Lovelace forgot that Lady Byron had approved of the 
 terms of her husband's will, and that Lady Byron's 
 conduct had not been such as to deserve any pecuniary 
 consideration at Lord Byron's death. But impartiality 
 does not seem to have been Lord Lovelace's forte. 
 Having made up his mind that Mrs. Leigh was guilty, 
 he selected from his papers whatever might appear 
 most likely to convict her. But the violence of his 
 antagonism has impaired the value of his contention ; 
 and the effect of his arguments is very different from 
 that which he intended. Having satisfied himself that 
 Mrs. Leigh (though liked and respected by her con- 
 
 389
 
 390 ' ASTARTE ' 
 
 temporaries) was an abandoned woman, Lord Lovelace 
 says : 
 
 *A real reformation, according to Christian ideals, 
 would not merely have driven Byron and Augusta 
 apart from each other, but expelled them from the 
 world of wickedness, consigned them for the rest of 
 their lives to strict expiation and holiness. But this 
 could never be; and in the long-run her flight to an 
 outcast life would have been a lesser evil than the 
 consequences of preventing it. The fall of Mrs. Leigh 
 would have been a definite catastrophe, affecting a small 
 number of people for a time in a startling manner. The 
 disaster would have been obvious, but partial, imme- 
 diately over and ended. . . . She would have lived 
 in open revolt against the Christian standard, not in 
 secret disobedience and unrepentant hypocrisy.' 
 
 Poor Mrs. Leigh ! and was it so bad as all that ? 
 Had she committed incest with her brother after the 
 separation of 1816? Did she follow Byron abroad 'in 
 the dress of a page,' as stated by some lying chronicler 
 from the banks of the Lake of Geneva ? Did Byron 
 come to England in secret at some period between 
 1816 and 1824? If not, what on earth is the meaning 
 of this mysterious homily ? Does Lord Lovelace, in 
 the book that survives him, wish the world to believe 
 that Lady Byron prevented Augusta from deserting 
 her husband and children, and flying into Byron's 
 arms in a ' far countree ' ? If that was the author's 
 intention, he has signally failed. There never was a 
 moment, since the trip abroad was abandoned in 181 3, 
 when Augusta had the mind to join her brother in his 
 travels. There is not a hint of any such wish in any 
 document published up to the present time. Augusta, 
 who was undoubtedly innocent, had suffered enough 
 from the lying reports that had been spread about 
 town by Lady Caroline Lamb, ever to wish for another
 
 PERILOUS DOCTRINES 391 
 
 dose of scandal. If the Lovelace papers contain any 
 hint of that nature, the author of ' Astarte ' would most 
 assuredly have set it forth in Double Pica, It is a 
 baseless calumny. 
 
 In Lord Lovelace's opinion, 
 
 'judged by the light of nature, a heroism and sin- 
 cerity of united fates and doom would have seemed, 
 beyond all comparison, purer and nobler than what 
 they actually drifted into. By the social code, sin 
 between man and woman can never be blotted out, 
 as assuredly it is the most irreversible of facts. Never- 
 theless, societies secretly respect, though they excom- 
 municate, those rebel lovers who sacrifice everything 
 else, but observe a law of their own, and make a 
 religion out of sin itself, by living it through with 
 constancy.' 
 
 These be perilous doctrines, surely ! But how do 
 those reflections apply to the case of B3Ton and his 
 sister? The hypothesis maybe something like this: 
 Byron and his sister commit a deadly sin. They are 
 found out, but their secret is kept by a select circle of 
 their friends. They part, and never meet again in this 
 world. The sin might have been forgiven, or at least 
 condoned, if they had ' observed a law of their own ' — 
 in other words, 'gone on sinning.' Why? because 
 
 * societies secretly respect rebel lovers.' But these 
 wretches had not the courage of their profligacy ; 
 they parted and sinned no more, therefore they were 
 
 * unrepentant hypocrites.' The ' heroism and sincerity 
 of united fates and doom ' was denied to them, and 
 no one would ever have suspected them of such a 
 crime, if Lady Byron and Lord Lovelace had not 
 betrayed them. What pestilential rubbish ! One 
 wonders how a man of Lord Lovelace's undoubted 
 ability could have sunk to bathos of that kind.
 
 392 ' ASTARTE ' 
 
 ' Byron,' he tells us, ' was ready to sacrifice every- 
 thing for Augusta, and to defy the world with her. 
 If this had not been prevented [the italics are ours], he 
 would have been a more poetical figure in history than as 
 the author of " Manfred." ' 
 
 It is clear, then, that in Lord Lovelace's opinion 
 Byron and Augusta were prevented by someone from 
 becoming poetical figures. Who was that guardian 
 angel ? Lady Byron, of course ! 
 
 Now, what are the facts ? Byron parted from his 
 sister on April 14, 18 16, Jiine days prior to his own 
 departure from London. They never met again. There 
 was nothing to * prevent ' them from being together 
 up to the last moment if they had felt so disposed. 
 Byron never disguised his deep and lasting affection 
 for Augusta, whom in private he called his ' Dear 
 Goose,' and in public his 'Sweet Sister.' There was 
 no hypocrisy on either side — nothing, in short, except 
 the prurient imagination of a distracted wife, aided 
 and abetted by a circle of fawning gossips. 
 
 It is a lamentable example of how public opinion 
 may be misdirected by evidence, which Horace would 
 have called Parthis mendacior. 
 
 Lord Lovelace comforts himself by the reflection 
 that Auffusta 
 
 *fc>' 
 
 'was not spared misery or degradation by being 
 preserved from flagrant acts ; for nothing could be 
 more wretched than her subsequent existence ; and 
 far from growing virtuous, she went farther down 
 without end temporally and spiritually.' 
 
 Now, that is very strange ! How could Augusta 
 have gone farther down spiritually after Byron's de- 
 parture ? According to Lord Lovelace, ' Character 
 regained was the consummation of Mrs. Leigh's ruin !'
 
 A CRYPTIC UTTERANCE 393 
 
 Mrs. Leigh must have been totally unlike anyone 
 else, if character regained proved her ruin. There 
 must be some mistake. No, there it is in black and 
 white. * Her return to outward respectability was an 
 unmixed misfortune to the third person through whose 
 protection it was possible.' 
 
 This cryptic utterance implies that Mrs. Leigh's 
 respectability was injurious to Lady Byron. Why ? 
 
 ' If Augusta had fled to Byron in exile, and was 
 seen with him as et soror et conjiix^ the victory re- 
 mained with Lady Byron, solid and final. This was 
 the solution hoped for by Lady Byron's friends^ Lushington 
 and Doyle, as well as Lady Noel.' 
 
 So the cat is out of the bag at last ! It having 
 been impossible for Lady Byron to bring any proof 
 against Byron and his sister which would have 
 held water in a law-court, her friends and her legal 
 adviser hoped that Augusta would desert her husband 
 and children, and thus furnish them with evidence 
 which would justify their conduct before the world. 
 But Augusta was sorry not to be able to oblige 
 them. This was a pity, because, according to Lord 
 Lovelace, who was the most ingenuous of men : 
 * Their triumph and Lady Byron's justification would 
 have been complete, and great would have been their 
 rejoicing.' 
 
 Well, they made up for it afterwards, when Byron 
 and Augusta were dead ; after those memoirs had 
 been destroyed which, in Byron's words, 'will be a 
 kind of guide-post in case of death, and prevent some 
 of the lies which would otherwise be told, and destro}' 
 some which have been told already.' 
 
 In allusion to the meetings between Lady Byron
 
 394 • ASTARTE ' 
 
 and Augusta immediately after the separation, we are 
 told in ' Astarte ' that 
 
 ' on all these occasions, one subject — uppermost in the 
 thoughts of both — had been virtually ignored, except 
 that Augusta had had the audacity to name the reports 
 about herself with all the pride of innocence. Inter- 
 cotirse could not continue on that footings for Augusta 
 probably aimed at a positive guarantee of her inno- 
 cence, and at committing Lady Byron irretrievably to 
 that' 
 
 This was great presumption on Mrs. Leigh's part, 
 after all the pains they had taken to make her uncom- 
 fortable. Lady Byron, we are told by Lord Lovelace, 
 could no longer bear the false position, and 'before 
 leaving London she went to the Hon. Mrs. Villiers — a 
 most intimate friend of Augusta's' — and deliberately 
 poisoned her mind. That which she told Mrs. Villiers 
 is not stated ; but we infer that Lady Byron retailed 
 some of the gossip that had reached her through one 
 of Mrs. Leigh's servants who had overheard part of a 
 a conversation between Augusta and Byron shortly 
 after Medora's birth. After the child had been taken 
 to St. James's Palace, Byron often went there. It is 
 likely that Augusta had been overheard jesting with 
 Byron about his child. We cannot be sure of this ; 
 but, at any rate, some such expression, if whispered 
 in Lady Byron's ears, would be sufficient to confirm 
 her erroneous belief. 
 
 Mrs. Villiers, we are told, began from this time to 
 be slightly prejudiced against Augusta. She believed 
 her to be absolutely pure, but with lax notions of 
 morality. This sounds like a contradiction in terms, 
 but so it was ; and through the wilful misrepre- 
 sentation of Lady Byron and her coterie, Augusta's
 
 AUGUSTA PERSECUTED 395 
 
 best friend was lured from her allegiance. Mrs. Villiers 
 was also informed of something else by Wilmot- 
 Horton, another friend of Lady Byron's. The plot 
 thickened, and, without any attempt being made to 
 arrive at the truth, Augusta's life became almost un- 
 bearable. No wonder the poor woman said in her 
 agony : ' None can know how much I have suffered 
 from this unhappy business, and, indeed, I have never 
 known a moment's peace, and begin to despair for the 
 future.' 
 
 The ' unhappy business * was, of course, her unwise 
 adoption of Medora. Through that error of judgment 
 she was doomed to plod her way to the grave, sus- 
 pected by even her dearest friend, and persecuted by 
 the Byron family. Mrs. Villiers was a good woman 
 and scented treason. She boldly urged Lady Byron 
 to avow to Augusta the information of which she was 
 in possession. But Lady Byron was at first afraid to 
 run the risk. She knew very well the value of ser- 
 vants' gossip, and feared the open hostility of Augusta 
 if she made common cause with Byron, This much 
 she ingenuously avowed in a letter to Dr. Lushington. 
 But, upon being further pressed, she consented to 
 write to Augusta and announce what she had been 
 told. We have no doubt that the letter was written 
 with great care, after consultation with Colonel Doyle 
 and Lushington, and that the gossip was retailed with 
 every outward consideration for Augusta's feelings. 
 Whatever was said, and there is no evidence of it in 
 * Astarte,' we are there told that ' Augusta did not 
 attempt to deny it, and, in fact, admitted everything 
 in subsequent letters to Lady Byron during the summer 
 of 1816.' Lord Lovelace ingenuously adds : ' It is un- 
 necessary to produce them here, as their contents are
 
 396 ' ASTARTE ' 
 
 confirmed and made sufficiently clear by the corre- 
 spondence of 1819, in another chapter.' 
 
 It is very strange that Lord Lovelace, who is not 
 thrifty in his selections, should have withheld the only 
 positive proof of Augusta's confession known to be in 
 existence. His reference to the letters of 18 19, which 
 he publishes, is a poor substitute for the letters them- 
 selves. The only letter which affords any clue to the 
 mystery is the 'Dearest Love' letter, dated May 17, 
 1819, which we have quoted in a previous chapter. 
 The value of that letter, as evidence against Augusta, 
 we have already shown. When compared with the 
 letter which Byron wrote to his sister on June 3, 1817 
 — a year after he had parted from her — the conclu- 
 sion that the incriminating letter is not addressed to 
 Augusta at all, forces itself irresistibly upon the mind. 
 As an example of varying moods, it is worth quoting : 
 
 ' For the life of me I can't make out whether your 
 disorder is a broken heart or ear-ache — or whether it 
 is you that have been ill or the children — or what your 
 melancholy and mysterious apprehensions tend to — or 
 refer to — whether to Caroline Lamb's novels — Mrs. 
 Clermont's evidence — Lady Byron's magnanimity, or 
 any other piece of imposture.' 
 
 It is really laughable to suppose that the writer of 
 the above extract could have written to the same lady 
 two years later in the following strain : 
 
 ' My dearest love, I have never ceased, nor can cease, 
 to feel for a moment that perfect and boundless attach- 
 ment which bound and binds me to you — which renders 
 me utterly incapable of 7'eal love for any other human 
 being — for what could they be to me after jfow ? My 
 own **** we may have been very wrong,' etc. 
 
 But Lord Lovelace found no difficulty in believing 
 that the letter in question sealed the fate of Augusta
 
 NO EVIDENCE TO BRING INTO COURT 397 
 
 Leigh. In the face of such a document, Lord Lovelace 
 thought that a direct confession in Augusta's hand- 
 writing would be superfluous, and Sir Leslie Stephen 
 had warned him against superfluity ! 
 
 Colonel Doyle, an intimate friend of Lady Byron, 
 seems to have been the only man on her side of the 
 question — not even excepting Lushington — who 
 showed anything approaching to common sense. He 
 perceived that Lady Byron, by avowing the grounds 
 of her suspicions to Mrs. Leigh, had placed herself in 
 an awkward position. He foresaw that this avowal 
 would turn Mrs. Leigh into an enemy, who must 
 sooner or later avenge the insults heaped upon her. 
 On July 9, 1 8 16, Colonel Doyle wrote to Lady Byron : 
 
 ' Your feelings I perfectly understand ; I will even 
 whisper to you t approve. But you must remember 
 that your position is very extraordinary, and though, 
 when we have sufficiently deliberated and decided, we 
 should pursue our course without embarrassing our- 
 selves with the consequences ; yet we should not 
 neglect the means of fully justifying ourselves if the neces- 
 sity be ever imposed upon us.' 
 
 We have quoted enough to show that, five months 
 after the separation was formally proposed to Lord Byron, 
 they had not sufficient evidence to bring into a court 
 of law. Under those depressing circumstances Lady 
 Byron was urged to induce Augusta to ' confess '; the 
 conspirators would have been grateful even for an 
 admission of guilt as prior to Lord Byron's marriage ! 
 
 Colonel Doyle, as a man of honour, did not wish 
 Lady Byron to rely upon * confessions ' made under 
 the seal of secrecy. They had, apparently, been duped 
 on a previous occasion ; and, in case Mrs. Leigh were 
 to bring an action against Lady Byron for defamation 
 of character, it would not be advisable to rely, for her
 
 398 * ASTARTE ' 
 
 defence, upon letters which were strictly private and 
 confidential. As to Augusta's 'admissions,' made 
 orally and without witnesses, they were absolutely 
 valueless — especially as the conditions under which 
 they were made could not in honour be broken. 
 
 Augusta through all this worry fell into a state of 
 deep dejection. She had been accused of a crime 
 which (though innocent) she had tacitly admitted. 
 Her friends were beginning to look coldly upon her, 
 and consequently her position became tenfold more 
 difficult and * extraordinary' than that of her accuser. 
 Perhaps she came to realize the truth of Dryden's lines : 
 
 ' Smooth the descent and easy is the way ; 
 But to return, and view the cheerful skies, 
 In this the task and mighty labour lies.' 
 
 Equivocation is a dangerous game. 
 
 Lord Lovelace tells us that all the papers concern- 
 ing the marriage of Lord and Lady Byron have been 
 carefully preserved. ' They are a complete record of 
 all the causes of separation, and contain full informa- 
 tion on every part of the subject' 
 
 We can only say that it is a pity Lord Lovelace 
 should have withheld those which were most likely to 
 prove his case — for example, the letters which Mrs. 
 Leigh wrote to Lady Byron in the summer of 1816. 
 The public have a right to demand from an accuser 
 the grounds of his accusation. Lord Lovelace gives 
 us none. He bids us listen to what he deigns to tell 
 us, and to ask for nothing more. That his case is 
 built upon Lady Byron's surmises, and upon no 
 more solid foundation, is shown by the following 
 illuminating extract from ' Astarte ' : 
 
 * When a woman is placed as Lady Byron was, her 
 mind works involuntarily, almost unconsciously, and
 
 LADY BYRON RESISTS THE LIGHT 399 
 
 conclusions force their way into it. She has not 
 meant to think so and so, and she has thought it ; the 
 dreadful idea is repelled then, and to the last, with the 
 whole force of her will, but when once conceived it 
 cannot be banished. The distinctive features of a true 
 hypothesis, when once in the mind, are a precise con- 
 formity to facts already known, and an adaptability to 
 fresh developments, which allow us not to throw it 
 aside at pleasure. Lady Byron's agony of doubt could 
 only end in the still greater agony of certainty ; but 
 this was no result of ingenuity or inquiry, as she 
 sought not for information.' 
 
 If Lady Byron did not seek for information when 
 she plied Augusta with questions, and encouraged her 
 friends to do the same, she must have derived pleasure 
 from torturing her supposed rival. But that is absurd. 
 
 ' Women,' says Lord Lovelace, ' are said to excel in 
 piecing together scattered insignificant fragments of 
 conversations and circumstances, and fitting them all 
 into their right places amongst what they know 
 already, and thus reconstruct a whole that is very 
 close to the complete truth. But Lady Byron's whole 
 effort was to resist the light, or rather the darkness, 
 that would flow into her mind.' 
 
 In her effort to resist the light. Lady Byron seems 
 to have admirably succeeded. But, in spite of her 
 grandson's statement, that she employed any great 
 effort to resist the darkness that flowed into her mind 
 we entirely disbelieve. We are rather inclined to 
 think that, in her search for evidence to convict Mrs. 
 Leigh, she would have been very grateful for a farthing 
 rushlight. 
 
 We now leave * Astarte ' to the judgment of posterity, 
 for whom, in a peculiarly cruel sense, it was originally 
 intended. If in a court of law counsel for the prose- 
 cution were to declaim loudly and frequently about
 
 400 ' ASTARTE ' 
 
 evidence which he does not — perhaps dares not — pro- 
 duce, his harangues would make an unfavourable im- 
 pression on a British jury. We have no wish to speak 
 ill of the dead, but, in justice to Mrs. Leigh, we feel 
 bound to say that the author of ' Astarte,' with all his 
 talk about evidence against Byron and Augusta Leigh, 
 has not produced a scrap of evidence which would 
 have any weight with an impartial jury of their 
 countrymen. 
 
 But we will not end upon a jarring note. Let us 
 remember that Lord Lovelace, as Ada's son, felt an 
 affectionate regard for the memory of Lady Byron. 
 It was his misfortune to imbibe a false tradition, and, 
 while groping his way through the darkness, his sole 
 guide was a packet of collected papers by which his 
 grandmother hoped to justify her conduct in leaving 
 her husband. If Lady Byron had deigned to read 
 Byron's * Memoirs,' she might have been spared those 
 painful delusions by which her mind was obsessed in 
 later years. That she had ample grounds, in Byron's 
 extraordinary conduct during the brief period of their 
 intercourse, to separate herself from him is not dis- 
 puted ; but her premises were wrong, and her vain 
 attempt to justify herself by unsupported accusations 
 against Mrs. Leigh has failed. 
 
 Her daughter Ada, the mother of Lord Lovelace, 
 had learnt enough of the family history to come to the 
 conclusion (which she decidedly expressed to Mr. 
 Fonblanque) that the sole cause of the separation was 
 incompatibility. There let it rest. The Byron of the 
 last phase was a very different man from the poet of 
 * The Dream.' 
 
 On the day that Byron was buried at Hucknall- 
 Torkard the great Goethe, in allusion to a letter which 
 
 I
 
 GOETHE'S TRIBUTE 401 
 
 Byron, on the eve of his departure for Greece, had 
 written to him, says : 
 
 ' What emotions of joy and hope did not that paper 
 once excite ! But now it has become, b}^ the premature 
 death of its noble writer, an inestimable relic and a 
 source of unspeakable regret ; for it aggravates, to a 
 peculiar degree in me, the mourning and melancholy 
 that pervade the moral and poetic world. In me, who 
 looked forward (after the success of his great efforts) 
 to the prospect of being blessed with the sight of this 
 master-spirit of the age, this friend so fortunately 
 acquired ; and of having to welcome on his return the 
 most humane of conquerors. 
 
 ' But I am consoled by the conviction that his 
 country will at once awake, and shake off, like a 
 troubled dream, the partialities, the prejudices, the 
 injuries, and the calumnies, with which he has been 
 assailed ; and that these will subside and sink into 
 oblivion ; and that she will at length acknowledge that 
 his frailties, whether the effect of temperament, or the 
 defect of the times in which he lived (against which 
 even the best of mortals wrestle painfully), were only 
 momentary, fleeting, and transitory ; whilst the im- 
 perishable greatness to which he has raised her, now 
 and for ever remains, and will remain, illimitable in its 
 glory and incalculable in its consequences. Certain 
 it is that a nation, who may well pride herself on so 
 many great sons, will place Byron, all radiant as he is, 
 by the side of those who have done most honour to 
 her name.' 
 
 With these just words it is fitting to draw our 
 subject to a close. The poetic fame of Byron has 
 passed through several phases, and will probably 
 pass through another before his exact position in the 
 poetical hierarchy is determined. But the world's 
 interest in the man who cheerfully gave his life to 
 the cause of Greek Independence has not declined. 
 Eighty-five 3^ears have passed, and Time has gradually 
 
 26
 
 402 
 
 ASTARTE 
 
 fulfilled the prophecy which inspiration wrung from 
 the anguish of his heart : 
 
 * But I have lived, and have not lived in vain : 
 My mind may lose its force, my blood its fire, 
 And my frame perish even in conquering pain ; 
 But there is that within me which shall tire 
 Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire ; 
 Something unearthly, which they deem not of, 
 Like the remembered tone of a mute lyre, 
 Shall on their softened spirits sink, and move 
 In hearts all rocky now the late remorse of Love.'
 
 APPENDIX 
 
 DR. BRUNO'S REPLY TO FLETCHER'S STATEMENT 
 
 The following remarks appeared in the Westiui)ister 
 Review, and gave great annoyance to Dr. Millingen, 
 who thought that he had been accused of having 
 caused the death of Byron by putting off, during four 
 successive days, the operation of bleeding : 
 
 Mr. Fletcher has omitted to state that on the second day of 
 Lord Byron's illness his physician, Dr. Bruno, seeing the 
 sudorific medicines had no effect, proposed blood-letting, and 
 that his lordship refused to allow it, and caused Mr. Millingen 
 to be sent for in order to consult with his physician, and see if 
 the rheumatic fever could not be cured without the loss of blood. 
 
 Mr. Millingen approved of the medicines previously pre- 
 scribed by Dr. Bruno, and was not opposed to the opinion that 
 bleeding was necessary ; but he said to his lordship that it 
 might be deferred till the next day. He held this language for 
 three successive days, while the other physician (Dr. Bruno) 
 every day threatened Lord Byron that he would die by his 
 obstinacy in not allowing himself to be bled. His lordship 
 always answered : ' You wish to get the reputation of curing 
 my disease, that is why you tell me it is so serious ; but I will 
 not permit you to bleed me.' 
 
 After the first consultation with Mr. Millingen, the domestic 
 Fletcher asked Dr. Bruno how his lordship's complaint was 
 going on. The physician replied that, if he would allow the 
 bleeding, he would be cured in a few days. But the surgeon 
 Mr. Millingen, assured Lord Byron from day to day that it 
 could wait till to-morrow; and thus four days slipped away, 
 
 403 26—2
 
 404 APPENDIX 
 
 during which the disease, for want of blood-letting, grew much 
 worse. At length Mr. Millingen, seeing that the prognostica- 
 tions which Dr. Bruno had made respecting Lord Byron's 
 malady were more and more confirmed, urged the necessity of 
 bleeding, and of no longer delaying it a moment. This caused 
 Lord Byron, disgusted at finding that he could not be cured 
 without loss of blood, to say that it seemed to him that the 
 doctors did not understand his malady. He then had a man 
 sent to Zante to fetch Dr. Thomas. Mr. Fletcher having 
 mentioned this to Dr. Bruno, the latter observed that, if his 
 lordship would consent to lose as much blood as was necessary, 
 he would answer for his cure ; but that if he delayed any 
 longer, or did not entirely follow his advice, Dr. Thomas would 
 not arrive in time : in fact, when Dr. Thomas was ready to set 
 out from Zante, Lord Byron was dead. 
 
 The pistols and stiletto were removed from his lordship's 
 bed — not by Fletcher, but by the servant Tita, who was the 
 only person that constantly waited on Lord Byron in his illness, 
 and who had been advised to take this precaution by Dr. 
 Bruno, the latter having perceived that my lord had moments 
 of delirium. 
 
 Two days before the death a consultation was held with 
 three other doctors, who appeared to think that his lordship's 
 disease was changing from inflammatory diathesis to languid, 
 and they ordered china,* opium, and ammonia. 
 
 Dr. Bruno opposed this with the greatest warmth, and 
 pointed out to them that the symptoms were those, not of an 
 alteration in the disease, but of a fever flying to the brain, 
 which was violently attacked by it ; and that the wine, the 
 china, and the stimulants, would kill Lord Byron more speedily 
 than the complaint itself could ; while, on the other hand, by 
 copious bleedings and the medicines that had been taken before 
 he might yet be saved. The other physicians, however, were 
 of a different opinion ; and it was then that Dr. Bruno declared 
 to his colleagues that he would have no further responsibility 
 for the loss of Lord Byron, which he pronounced inevitable if 
 the china were given him. In effect, after my lord had taken 
 the tincture, with some grains of carbonate of ammonia, he was 
 * Tinct. chinas corticis ; tinct. cinchonae.
 
 APPENDIX 405 
 
 seized by convulsions. Soon afterwards they gave him a cup of 
 very strong decoction of china, with some drops of laudanum. 
 He instantly fell into a deep lethargic sleep, from which he 
 never rose. 
 
 The opening of the body discovered the brain in a state of 
 the highest inflammation ; and all the six physicians who were 
 present at that opening were convinced that my lord would 
 have been saved by the bleeding, which his physician, Dr. 
 Bruno, had advised from the beginning with the most pressing 
 urgency and the greatest firmness. 
 
 F. B. 
 
 DR. MILLINGEN'S ACCOUNT 
 
 Mr, Finlay and myself called upon him in the evening, when 
 we found him lying on a sofa, complaining of a slight fever and 
 of pains in the articulations. He was at first more gay than 
 usual ; but on a sudden he became pensive, and, after remaining 
 some few minutes in silence, he said that during the whole day 
 he had reflected a great deal on a prediction which had been 
 made to him, when a boy, by a famed fortune-teller in Scotland. 
 His mother, who firmly believed in cheiromancy and astrology, 
 had sent for this person, and desired him to inform her what 
 would be the future destiny of her son. Having examined 
 attentively the palm of his hand, the man looked at him for 
 a while steadfastly, and then with a solenm voice exclaimed : 
 ' Beware of your thirty-seventh year, my young lord — beware !' 
 
 He had entered on his thirty-seventh year on the 22nd of 
 January ; and it was evident, from the emotion with which he 
 related this circumstance, that the caution of the palmist had 
 produced a deep impression on his mind, which in many respects 
 was so superstitious that we thought proper to accuse him of 
 superstition. ' To say the truth,' answered his lordship, ' I find it 
 equally difficult to know what to believe in this world and what 
 not to believe. There are as many plausible reasons for in- 
 ducing me to die a bigot as there have been to make me 
 hitherto live a freethinker. You will, I know, ridicule my 
 belief in lucky and unlucky days ; but no consideration can now 
 induce me to undertake anything either on a Friday or a 
 Sunday. 1 am positive it would terminate unfortunately.
 
 406 APPENDIX 
 
 Every one of my misfortunes — and God knows I have had my 
 share — have happened to me on one of those days.' 
 
 Considering myself on this occasion, not a medical man, but 
 a visitor, and being questioned neither by his physician nor 
 himself, I did not even feel Lord Byron's pulse. I was in- 
 formed next morning that during the night he had taken 
 diaphoretic infusions, and that he felt himself better. The next 
 day Dr. Bruno administered a purgative, and kept up its 
 effects by a solution of cream of tartar, which the Italians call 
 ' imperial lemonade.' In the evening the fever augmented, 
 and as on the 14th, although the pains in the articulations 
 had diminished, the feverish symptons were equally strong, 
 Dr. Bruno strongly recommended him to be blooded ; but as 
 the patient entertained a deep-rooted prejudice against bleed- 
 ing, his physician could obtain no influence whatever over him, 
 and his lordship obstinately persevered in refusing to submit to 
 the operation. 
 
 On the 15th, towards noon, Fletcher called upon me and in- 
 formed me that his master desired to see me, in order to con- 
 sult with Dr. Bruno on the state of his health. Dr. Bruno 
 informed me that his patient laboured under a rheumatic fever 
 — 4hat, as at first the symptoms had been of a mild character, 
 he had trusted chiefly to sudorifics ; but during the last two 
 days the fever had so much increased that he had repeatedly 
 proposed bleeding, but that he could not overcome his lord- 
 ship's antipathy to that mode of treatment. Convinced, by an 
 examination of the patient, that bleeding was absolutely neces- 
 sary, I endeavoured, as mildly and as gently as possible, to 
 persuade him ; but, in spite of all my caution, his temper was 
 so morbidly irritable that he refused in a manner excessively 
 peevish. He observed that, of all his prejudices, the strongest 
 was against phlebotomy. * Besides,' said his lordship, ' does 
 not Dr. Reid observe in his Essays that less slaughter has been 
 efiected by the warrior's lance than by the physician's lancet ? 
 It is, in fact, a minute instrument of mighty mischief.' On my 
 observing that this remark related to the treatment of nervous 
 disorders, not of inflammatory ones, he angrily replied : ' Who 
 is nervous, if I am not ? Do not these words, besides, apply 
 to my case ? Drav/ing blood from a nervous patient is like
 
 APPENDIX 407 
 
 loosening the chords of a musical instrument, the tones of 
 which are already defective for want of sufficient tension. 
 Before I became ill, you know yourself how weak and irritable 
 I had become. Bleeding, by increasing this state, will inevit- 
 ably kill me. Do with me whatever else you please, but bleed 
 me you shall not. I have had several inflammatory fevers 
 during my life, and at an age when I was much more robust 
 and plethoric than I am now ; yet I got through them without 
 bleeding. This time also I will take my chance.' 
 
 After much reasoning and entreaty, however, I at length 
 succeeded in obtaining a promise that, should his fever increase 
 at night, he would allow Bruno to bleed him, Happy to 
 inform the doctor of this partial victory, I left the room, and, 
 with a view of lowering the impetus of the circulatory system, 
 and determining to the skin, I recommended the administration 
 of an ounce of a solution of half a grain of tartarized antimony 
 and two drachms of nitre in twelve ounces of water. 
 
 Early the next morning I called on the patient, who told me 
 that, having passed a better night than he had expected, he 
 had not requested Dr. Bruno to bleed him. Chagrined at this, 
 I laid aside all consideration for his feelings, and solemnly 
 assured him how deeply I lamented to see him trifle with his 
 life in this manner. I told him that his pertinacious refusal to 
 be bled had caused a precious opportunity to be lost ; that a 
 few hours of hope yet remained ; but that, unless he would 
 submit immediately to be bled, neither Dr. Bruno nor myself 
 could answer for the consequences. He might not care for 
 life, it was true ; but who could assure him, unless he changed 
 his resolution, the disease might not operate such disorganiza- 
 tion in his cerebral and nervous system as entirely to deprive 
 him of his reason ? I had now touched the sensible chord, for, 
 partly annoyed by our unceasing importunities, and partly 
 convinced, casting at us both the fiercest glance of vexation, 
 he threw out his arm, and said in the most angry tone : ' Come ; 
 
 you are, I see, a d d set of butchers. Take away as much 
 
 blood as you will, but have done with it.' 
 
 We seized the moment, and drew about twenty ounces. On 
 coagulating, the blood presented a strong buffy coat. Yet the 
 relief obtained did not correspond to the hopes we had antici-
 
 408 APPENDIX 
 
 pated, and during the night the fever became stronger than it 
 had been hitherto. The restlessness and agitation increased, 
 and the patient spoke several times in an incoherent manner. 
 The next morning (17th) the bleeding was repeated; for, 
 although the rheumatic symptoms had completely disappeared, 
 the cerebral ones were hourly increasing, and this continuing 
 all day, we opened the vein for the third time in the afternoon. 
 Cold applications were from the beginning constantly kept on 
 the head ; blisters were also proposed. When on the point of 
 applying them, Lord Byron asked me whether it would answer 
 the same purpose to apply both on the same leg. Guessing 
 the motive that led him to ask this question, I told him I 
 would place them above the knees, on the inside of the thighs. 
 ' Do so,' said he ; ' for as long as I live I will not allow anyone 
 to see my lame foot.' 
 
 In spite of our endeavours, the danger hourly increased ; the 
 different signs of strong nervous affection succeeded each other 
 with surprising rapidity ; twitchings and involuntary motions 
 of the tendons began to manifest themselves in the night ; and, 
 more frequently than before, the patient muttered to himself 
 and talked incoherently. 
 
 In the morning (i8th) a consultation was proposed, to which 
 Dr. Lucca Vaga and Dr. Freiber, my assistant, were invited. 
 Our opinions were divided. Bruno and Lucca proposed having 
 recourse to antispasmodics and other remedies employed in 
 the last stage of typhus. Freiber and I maintained that such 
 remedies could only hasten the fatal termination ; that nothing 
 could be more empirical than flying from one extreme to the 
 other ; that if, as we all thought, the complaint was owing 
 to the metastasis of rheumatic inflammation, the existing 
 symptoms only depended on the rapid and extensive progress 
 it had made in an organ previously so weakened and irritable. 
 Antiphlogistic means could never prove hurtful in this case ; 
 they would become useless only if disorganization were already 
 operated; but then, when all hopes were fled, what means 
 would not prove superfluous ? 
 
 We recommended the application of numerous leeches to the 
 temples, behind the ears, and along the course of the jugular 
 vein, a large blister between the shoulders, and sinapisms to the 
 
 I
 
 APPENDIX 409 
 
 feet. These we considered to be the only means Hkely to 
 succeed. Dr. Bruno, however, being the patient's physician, 
 had, of course, the casting vote, and he prepared, in conse- 
 quence, the antispasmodic potion which he and Dr. Lucca had 
 agreed upon. It was a strong infusion of valerian with ether, 
 etc. After its administration the convulsive movements and 
 the delirium increased ; yet, notwithstanding my earnest 
 representations, a second dose was administered half an hour 
 after ; when, after articulating confusedly a few broken phrases, 
 our patient sank into a comatose sleep, which the next day 
 terminated in death. 
 
 Lord Byron expired on the 19th of April, at six o'clock in the 
 afternoon. Interestingas every circumstance relative to the death 
 of so celebrated a person may prove to some, I should, never- 
 theless, have hesitated in obtruding so much medical detail on 
 the patience of the reader, had not the accounts published by 
 Dr. Bruno in the Westminster Review, and many of the news- 
 papers, rendered it necessary that I should disabuse the friends 
 of the deceased ; and at the same time vindicate my own 
 professional character, on which the imputation has been laid of 
 my having been the cause of Lord Byron's death by putting off, 
 during four successive days, the operation of bleeding. 
 
 I must first observe that, not knowing a syllable of English, 
 although present at the conversation I had with Lord Byron, 
 Dr. Bruno could neither understand the force of the language 
 I employed to surmount his lordship's deep-rooted prejudice 
 and aversion for bleeding, nor the positive refusals he repeatedly 
 made before I could obtain his promise to consent to the opera- 
 tion. Yet he boldly states that I spoke to Lord Byron in 
 a very undecided manner of the benefits of such an operation, 
 and that I even ventured to recommend procrastination ; and 
 these, he says, are the reasons that induced him to consent to 
 the delay — as ii he were himself indifferent to such treatment, or 
 as if a few words from me were sufficient to determine him ! 
 Conduct like this it is not difficult to appreciate : I shall 
 therefore forbear abandoning myself to the indignation such 
 a falsehood might naturally excite ; nor shall I repel his un- 
 warrantable accusation by relating the causes of that deep- 
 rooted jealousy which Dr. Bruno entertained against me from
 
 410 APPENDIX 
 
 the day he perceived the preference which Lord Byron indicated 
 in favour of English physicians. This narrow-minded, envious 
 feeling, as I could prove, prevented him from insisting on 
 immediately calling me, or other medical men at Missolonghi* 
 to a consultation. Had he done so, he would have exonerated 
 himself from every responsibility ; but his vanity made him 
 forget the duty he owed to his patient, and even to himself- 
 For I did not see Lord Byron (medically) till I was sent for by 
 his lordship himself, without any participation on the part of 
 Dr. Bruno. I can refute Dr. Bruno's calumnies, not only from 
 the testimony of others, but even from his own. For the 
 following extract from the article published in the Telegraplio 
 Greco, announcing the death of Lord Byron, was at the request 
 of Count Gamba (himself a witness of whatever took place 
 during the fatal illness of his friend) composed by the doctor • 
 
 ' Notwithstanding the most urgent entreaties and representa- 
 tions of the imminent danger attending his complaint made to 
 him from the onset of his illness, both by his private physician 
 and the medical man sent by the Greek Committee, it was 
 impossible to surmount the great aversion and prejudice he 
 entertained against bleeding, although he lay under imperious 
 want of it ' (Vide Telegrapho Greco, il di 24 Aprile, 1824). 
 
 As to the assertion confidently made by Dr. Bruno, that, had 
 his patient submitted at the onset of his malady to phlebotomy, 
 he would have infallibly recovered, I believe every medical 
 man who maturely considers the subject will be led to esteem 
 this assertion as being founded rather on presumption than on 
 reason. Positive language, which is in general so misplaced in 
 medical science, becomes in the present case even ridiculous ; 
 for, if different authors be consulted, it will appear that the very 
 remedy which is proclaimed by some as the anchor of salvation, 
 is by others condemned as the instrument of ruin. Bleeding 
 (as many will be found to assert) favours metastasis in rheu- 
 matic fevers ; and, in confirmation of this opinion, they will 
 remark that in this case, as soon as the lancet was employed, 
 the cerebral symptoms manifested themselves on the disappear- 
 ance of the rheumatic ; while those who incline to Dr. Reid's 
 and Dr. Heberden's opinion will observe that, after each 
 successive phlebotomy, the cerebral symptoms not only did not
 
 eft 
 
 APPENDIX 411 
 
 remain at the same degree, but that they hourly went on 
 increasing. In this dilemmatic position it is evident that, what- 
 ever treatment might have been adopted, detractors could not 
 fail to have some grounds for laying the blame on the medical 
 attendants. The more I consider this difficult question, how- 
 ever, the more I feel convinced that, whatsoever method of cure 
 had been adopted, there is every reason to believe that a fatal 
 termination was inevitable ; and here I may be permitted to 
 observe, that it must have been the lot of every medical man 
 to observe how frequently the fear of death produces it, and 
 how seldom a patient, who persuades himself that he must die, j ^vvfi.*^ , 
 is mistaken. The prediction of the Scotch fortune-teller was 
 ever present to Lord Byron, and, like an insidious poison, 
 destroyed that moral energy which is so useful to keep up 
 the patient in dangerous complaints. ' Did I not tell you,' said 
 he repeatedly to me, ' that I should die at thirty-seven ?' 
 
 There is an entry in Millingen's ' Memoirs of Greece' 
 which has not received the attention it deserves — 
 namely, a request made by Byron on the day before 
 his death. It is given by Millingen in the following 
 words : 
 
 * One request let me make to you. Let not my body 
 be hacked, or be sent to England. Here let my bones 
 moulder. Lay me in the first corner without pomp or 
 nonsense.' '■ ' * ■■ ' ' 
 
 After Byron's death Millingen informed Gamba of 
 this request, but it was thought that it would be a 
 sacrilege to leave his remains in a place ' where they 
 might some day become the sport of insulting bar- 
 barians.'
 
 INDEX 
 
 Adam, Sir F., High Commis- 
 sioner of the Ionian islands : his 
 tribute to Byron's character, 202 
 
 Agraifa, the scene of Cariasca- 
 chi's depredations, 162 
 
 Allegra,ByTon's natural daughter : 
 her life and death, 22 ; Byron's 
 feelings for, 35 
 
 Americans, Byron on, 131 
 
 Anatoliko, Turkish abandonment 
 of, 68 
 
 Argostoli, BjTon arrives at, 63 
 
 Astarfe, by Earl of Lovelace. See 
 Lovelace 
 
 Augusta, Stanzas and Epistle to, 
 29O' 324- 364 
 
 Barnard, Lady Anne, on Byron's 
 married life, 329 ct seq. 
 
 Beecher Stowe scandals, 318, 326 
 
 Bentham, Jeremy, and Byron, 
 108 et scq., 119 ; amusing anec- 
 dote about, 126 et scq. 
 
 Berry, Messrs., Byron's wine 
 merchants: register of Byron's 
 weight, 19 
 
 Bible, The, Scott's hnes on, 73 
 
 Blackwood's Magazine on Byron, 
 50, 100, 315, 316 
 
 Blaquiere, Captain, 48 ; sails for 
 England, 64 ; describes the 
 return of Hatajeto her parents, 
 137 ; eulogy on Byron, 176, 
 if 77, 199 ct seq. 
 
 Blessington, Lady, Conversations of 
 Lord Byron : describes Byron, 5, 
 6 ; character and reminiscences 
 of BjTon, 34 et scq., 40, 41 
 
 Bolivar, The, Byron's j^acht, sold to 
 Lord Blessington, 32 ; her end, 33 
 
 Botzari, Marco, 48 ; his death, 66 
 
 Bowring, Mr., hon. secretary to 
 the Greek Committee, 126 
 
 Bride of Abydos, The : what the 
 poem reveals, 240, 259, 260, 262, 
 265 
 
 Brougham, Mr., spreads the 
 scandal, 340 
 
 Broughton, Lord (see Hobhouse. 
 John Cam), Recollections of a 
 Long Life, 201, 247 n., 339 n., 
 340 n., 359 n. 
 
 Browne, Hamilton, goes with 
 Byron to Greece, 47, 48 ; 
 Byron's illness, 62 ; arrives at 
 Cephalonia, 67 
 
 Bruno, Dr., travels with Byron to 
 Greece, 47, 48 ; Byron's illness, 
 59, 62 ; medical discussions 
 with Dr. Stravolemo, 79 ; his 
 medical treatment of Byron, 
 124, 163, 166, 168, 169, 193 et 
 seq.; accompanies B3Ton's body 
 to England, 202 ; reply to 
 Fletcher's statement, 403 etseq.; 
 Dr. Millingen on, 405 et seq. 
 
 Brydges, Sir Egerton, 291 
 
 Burdett, Sir Francis, 11, 208 
 
 B}Ton, George Gordon (sixth 
 Lord) : arrival and habits of life 
 at Pisa, 3, II, 20-22 ; personal 
 appearance, 4-7 ; evidence as 
 to his lameness, 7, 8, 191 ; por- 
 traits of, 9, 10 ; inherits the 
 Noel property on death of 
 Lady Noel, 10, 11 ; the society 
 and influence of the Shelleys, 
 IX et seq. ; discussion on the 
 most perfect ode produced, 11^ 
 12, 58 ; religion, 13 ct seq. • 
 
 412
 
 INDEX 
 
 413 
 
 habit of vaunting his vices, 17, 
 18,78; abstinence, 18; weight 
 register, 19 ; fracas at Pisa and 
 Montenero, 21, 22 ; his natural 
 daughter Allegra, 22 d seq. ; 
 effect of Allegra's death on, 24 ; 
 dealings with Leigh Hunt, 26 
 et scq. ; death of Shelley and 
 Williams, 29, 30 ; refuses Shel- 
 ley's legacy of ;({^2,ooo, 32 ; 
 leaves Pisa with Countess Guic- 
 cioH and goes to Albaro, 32 ; 
 sells his yacht Tlic Bolwar, 33 ; 
 feelings on his own position, 
 and desire for reconciliation 
 with his wife, 33 d scq. ; admi- 
 ration for Sir Walter Scott and 
 Shelley, 35 ; liaison with Coun- 
 tess Guiccioli, 37, 379, 380 ; 
 conduct after separation from 
 his wife, 39 d scq. ; Lady Bles- 
 sington on, 40 ; anomalies, 41 ; 
 opinion of his wife, 42 ; ad- 
 miration for his sister, 42 ; 
 affection for his child Ada, 43 ; 
 craving for celebrity, 45 ; takes 
 up the Greek cause, 46 ; travels 
 to Greece with money, arms, 
 and retinue, 47 ; arrives at 
 Argostoli, 47, 65 ; practical 
 sympathy, 48, 67 ; an interest- 
 ing interview with, 48 d scq. ; 
 visits the Fonuiain of Ardhiisa, 
 51-53 ; attacks of illness, 51,52, 
 59, 62, 63 ; excursion to the 
 Scliool of Homer, 54-57 ; on the 
 IVavcrlcy Novels, 57 ; at Vathi, 
 58 ; admiration for Southey, 
 Gifford, and others, 59, 60 ; 
 reception at Santa Eufemia, 
 60 ; on actors, 61 ; journey 
 over the Black Mountain to 
 Argostoli, 63 ; action with regard 
 to dissensions in Greece, 64 et 
 seq. ; resides at Metaxata, 67 ; 
 advances ;!{^4,ooo to the Greeks, 
 67 ei seq. ; appeal to the Greek 
 nation, 69 ; motives in coming 
 to Greece, 70, 71, 94; discus- 
 sions with Dr. Kennedy on re- 
 ligion, 72 t'/sf 9.; favourite books, 
 79, 82, 100 ; helps to rescue work- 
 men, 80 ; sails with money from 
 Zante for Missolonghi to join 
 
 and Iieip the Greek fleet, 81. 
 82 ; adventurous voyage, 83-86 ; 
 reception at Missolonghi, 88 ; 
 releases Turkish prisoners, 89, 
 90, 132 ; preparations against 
 Lepanto, 91 ; takes 50x3 Suliotes 
 into his pay, 91 ; and Major 
 Parry, 92 d scq., 143 ; Turks 
 blockade Missolonghi, 96 ; 
 verses on his birthday, 96 ; 
 presentiment that he "would 
 never leave Greece, and his 
 intentions, 97 ; some reminis- 
 cences of, 98 d scq. ; wonderful 
 memory, 102 ; a popular idol 
 in Greece, 105 ; relations with 
 Mavrocordato, 106, 116; and 
 Colonel Stanhope, 107 d seq., 
 120, 121, 122 ; Jeremy Hentham, 
 108 ; dealings with the press, 
 112, 113 ; views of the politics 
 of Greece, 114 ; effective mode 
 of reproof, 117 ; on the useless 
 supplies sent by the London 
 Committee, 119 ; abandonment 
 of the Lepanto project, 121 ; 
 illness and feelings as to death, 
 122-125 ; dismisses the Suhotes, 
 125, 142 ; anecdote of /erry 
 BcntJiavi's Cruise, 126 d seq. ; 
 interest in the working classes, 
 130 ; his politics, 131 ; on Amer- 
 ica, 131 ; the story of Hataj^, 
 133 cf seq.; Turkish brig ashore, 
 139 ; hrmness and tact in difli- 
 culties, 140, 156 c( scq.; de- 
 sertion of the English artificers, 
 142, 143 ; improvement in his 
 health, 144 ; favourite dogs, 
 145, 227 ; daily life, 145, 147 ; 
 the unhealthy state of Misso- 
 longhi, 146 ; bodyguard, 146 ; 
 indisposition of, 148 ; peasants' 
 respect for, 149 ; no desire for 
 selt -aggrandizement in Greece, 
 151 d scq. ; Greek loan raised 
 in London, 156 ; receives the 
 freedom of Missolonghi, 157 ; 
 Cariascachi's treachery, 159 d 
 seq. ; detailed accounts of his 
 last illness, and death, 163 d 
 seq., 192 et seq., 403 et seq. ; 
 eulogies on, 174 d scq., 201, 
 205 ; Trelawny's opinion of,
 
 414 
 
 INDEX 
 
 178 et seq. ; effect of his death 
 on Greece, 183 ei seq., 201 ; the 
 funeral oration, 185 ; body con- 
 veyed to Zante, and thence to 
 England, 198 ei seq. ; arrival of 
 the body in England, 202-204 > 
 character sketch by Colonel 
 Stanhope, 205 ct seq. ; funeral 
 procession and burial at 
 Hucknall - Torkard, 215, 216 ; 
 what the poems reveal, 219 
 ei seq. ; infatuation for Mary 
 Chaworth, 220 ei seq. ; mystery 
 of the Thvrza poems, 221 ei 
 seq. ; romantic attachment to 
 Edleston, 222, 223, 230, 231 ; 
 anecdote of Mary Chaworth's 
 gift, 224 ; his mother's death, 
 227; on death of his friends, 227, 
 228; Childe Harold, 233, 236, 
 238, 287, 363 ; and the Hon. Mrs. 
 George Lamb, 235 ; disbelief 
 in existence after death, 239, 
 240 ; in great dejection writes 
 The Giaour, The Bride of A bydos, 
 and Tlie Corsair, 240, 256 ci 
 seq., 277, 278, 281, 303 ; and 
 Lady Webster, 240, 241, 259 ; 
 persuaded to give up going 
 abroad, 241, 242 ; what he 
 wishes the world to believe 
 about Mary Chaworth, 244, 
 245 ; their meetings after her 
 separation from her husband, 
 246, 258 ei seq. ; remorse and 
 parting, 249 ; suspense and 
 fear preceding the birth of 
 Medora, 253, 260 ; reason of 
 separation from his wife, 255 ; 
 reproaches Mary Chaworth, 
 256, 257 ; device for a seal, 
 261, 267 ; remarkable letter to 
 Moore, 266 ; birth of Medora, 
 268 ; Lara, 268, 271, 273 ; 
 partly the cause of the scandal 
 about Mrs. Leigh, 270 ; effect 
 of Miss Milbanke's first refusal, 
 271 eiscq.; Harmodia, 274, 275 ; 
 Don Juan, 276, 304 ei seq. ; 
 Hebrew Melodies, 277 ; Herod's 
 Lament for Mariamne, 278 ; his 
 significant communication to 
 his lawyer, 279 ; verses to Mary 
 Chaworth, 280, 281 ; fear of 
 
 disgrace, 281 ; important cor- 
 respondence with Murray, 282, 
 283 ; last meeting with Mary 
 Chaworth, 283 ; how the secret 
 was kept, 285 ; verses to his 
 sister, 286, 287 ; The Dream, 
 
 289, 290; Stanzas to Augusta, 
 
 290, 364 ; Manfred, 291 ei 
 seq., 328, 364 ; his treatment of 
 the scandal, 291, 317, 320 ; 
 The Duel, 293, 298 ; The Lament 
 of Tasso, 297 ; Stanzas to the 
 Po, 298 et seq., 370 ; Last Words 
 on Greece, 311 ; on his separa- 
 tion from his wife, 315 et seq. ; 
 Mrs. Leigh's so-called confes- 
 sion, 319 et seq., 356 et seq., 
 368 ; Epistle to Augusta, 324 ; 
 story of his married life, 
 329 et seq. ; Sir Ralph Noel 
 requires a separation, 339 ; 
 Lady Jersey's party, 352 ; parts 
 for the last time from his 
 sister, 352, 366, 392 ; consents 
 to separation from his wife, 
 352 ; Lady Byron's written 
 statement of complaints, 353 ; 
 letter to Lady Byron as to 
 his will, 355 ; Moore's life of, 
 365 et seq. ; writes to Moore 
 about the scandal, 367 ; letter 
 supposed to be written to Mary 
 Chaworth, 368 et seq. ; letter 
 compared with one to his 
 sister, 372 ; writes to Lady 
 Byi^on as to the memoir of his 
 life, 382 ; asks Lady Byron to 
 make provision for Mrs. Leigh's 
 children, 385, 388 ; Goethe on, 
 400, 401 
 
 Byron, Lord : Letters and Journals 
 of, by Rowland Prothero, 70 n., 
 256 n., 260 n. ; Life of, by Tom 
 Moore, 365 ; Reminiscences of, 
 by G. Finlay, 201 ; Sketch of 
 by Colonel Stanhope, 201 
 
 Byron, Captain George (after- 
 wards seventh Lord), 337, 338 
 
 Byron, Hon. Augusta. See Leigh, 
 Hon. Mrs. Augusta 
 
 Byron, Hon. Augusta Ada (after- 
 wards Lady King and Countess 
 of Lovelace), Byron's daughter : 
 separation from her father, 43,
 
 INDEX 
 
 415 
 
 44, 288 ; Hobhouse's opinion 
 of, 206, 207 ; her health, 363 
 BjTon, Lady (formerly Miss 
 Milbanke) : property and settle- 
 ments on marriage, 10 ; married 
 life, 36, 329 et scq. ; her hus- 
 band's desire for reconciliation, 
 36, 46, 206 ; on Byron's re- 
 ligion, 77, 78 ; the result of 
 first refusal of Byron, 206, 272 ; 
 // / am not happy, it will be 
 my own fault, 216 ; on Byron's 
 poetry, 219 ; on his indiscreet 
 confidences, 270 ; her conduct 
 after the birth of Medora, 285, 
 289, 321 d seq. ; interview with 
 Mrs. Leigh at Reigate, 324 ; 
 Mrs. Leigh's long visit to, 336 ; 
 birth of a daughter, and her 
 husband's treatment, 337 ; steps 
 for a separation talcen, 338, 
 
 34i> 351. 352, 357> 358 ; her 
 treatment of the abstracted 
 letters, 340, 357 ; attempts to 
 extract a confession from Mrs. 
 Leigh, 322, 324, 341, 357, 
 361 et scq. ; letters to Mrs. 
 Leigh, 342, 343, 357; Hodgson's 
 appeal to, 346 ci scq. ; text of 
 the signed statement of her 
 conduct, 353 ct seq. ; Colonel 
 Doyle's advice, 360 ; her hus- 
 band's letter to Mary Chaworth, 
 368 et scq. ; and the prospects 
 of Mrs. Leigh's children, 380, 
 385 ; confides in Mrs. Villiers, 
 381 ; letter from Byron, 382 ; 
 the weakness of her position, 
 383, 384 ; Cockburn's opinion 
 of, 387 ; Lord Lovelace on, 389 
 et scq. 
 
 Campbell, Dr., Presbyterian 
 divine, 55 
 
 Campbell, Thomas, Battle of tlic 
 Baltic, 60 
 
 Cariascachi, a Greek chieftain, 
 his treachery, 159 et seq. 
 
 Chaworth, Mary (afterwards Mrs. 
 John Musters) : Byron's infatua- 
 tion for, and references in his 
 poems to, 220 et seq. ; unhappy 
 married life and separation, 
 243 et scq. ; weakness and re- 
 
 pentance, 245 ct scq.; break- 
 down of health, and recon- 
 ciliation with her husband, 251 ; 
 describes her own character, 
 252 ; birth of Medora, 254, 
 268 ; how the secret was kept 
 by Mrs. Leigh, 255, 285, 287, 
 317, 321, 362 et scq. ; letters to 
 Byron, 267, 368 ct scq.; last 
 parting with Byron, 283 
 
 Childc Harold, what the poem 
 reveals, 228, 229, 232 et scq., 
 287, 363 
 
 Clairmont, Claire : her anxiety 
 about her daughter Allegra, 
 22, 23 ; her conduct to Byron, 
 
 24.25 
 Clare, Lord, and Byron, 208 
 Clermont, Mrs., 337 ; her ab- 
 straction of Byron's letters, 
 
 340 et scq., 378 
 Cockburn, Sir Alexander, Lord 
 
 Chief Justice, and the Byron 
 
 mystery, 358 ; his opinion of 
 
 Lady Byron, 387 
 Coleridge, Ernest Hartley, on 
 
 identity of Byron's infatuation, 
 
 233, 240, 260 
 Colocotroni, one of the turbulent 
 
 capitani, 153 
 Con gr eve rockets, 92, 93 
 Corsair, The, what the poem 
 
 reveals, 240, 262 et seq., 277, 279 
 
 Dacre, Lord, 11 
 
 Davies, Scrope B., 98, 352 ; 
 Byron's letter to, 227 
 
 Don Juan, what the poem re- 
 veals, 219, 276, 304 et scq. 
 
 Dowden, Professor, Life of Shelley : 
 on Byron, 13 ; the death of 
 Allegra, 23 
 
 Doyle, Colonel PYancis : con- 
 sulted by Lady Byron as to a 
 separation, 338 ; signs Lady 
 Byron's statement of her con- 
 duct, 355 ; advises Lady Byron 
 to obtain a confession from 
 Mrs. Leigh, 360, 361, 397 
 
 Dragomestri, Byron's visit to, 85 
 
 Dream, The, what the poem re- 
 veals, 289, 290 
 
 Duel, The, the poem's application 
 to Mary Chaworth, 298
 
 4i6 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Edleston, a chorister at Cam- 
 bridge : Byron saves his life 
 and forms a romantic attach- 
 ment to, 222 ; his death, 230, 
 231 
 
 Elphinstone, Miss Mercer, and 
 Byron, 311 
 
 Fenton, Captain, 180 
 
 Finlay, George, History of Greece : 
 the siege of Missolonghi, yo ; 
 Byron's mode of hfe at Misso- 
 longhi, 98 et seq., 148 ; on 
 Byron, 176 ; Reminiscences of 
 Byron, 201 ; Byron's last ill- 
 ness, 405 
 
 Fletcher, Byron's valet : Byron's 
 last ride, 164 ; ignorance of the 
 doctors, 165, 166 ; Byron's last 
 illness and death, 170, 171, 252 ; 
 his statement, 192 et seq. ; ac- 
 companies Byron's body to 
 England, 202 ; Dr. Bruno's 
 reply to the statement, 403 
 et seq.; Dr. Millingen's account 
 of Byron's last illness, 405 et seq. 
 
 Florida, the brig, brings the loan 
 to Greece, and conveys back 
 Byron's body, 199 et seq. 
 
 Freiber, Dr., German physician, 
 attends Byron, 169 
 
 Gamba, Count Pietro : on Byron's 
 religious opinions, 16, 17 ; 
 fracas at Pisa, 20 ; goes to 
 Albaro, 32 ; travels v^ith Byron 
 to Greece, 47, 48 ; on Byron's 
 perseverance and discernment, 
 65 ; on Byron's favourite read- 
 ing, 79 ; Byron's practical 
 sympathy, 80 ; accompanies 
 Byron to Missolonghi, 83 ; 
 taken prisoner by the Turks, 
 84 ; release and arrival at 
 Missolonghi, 85 ; the General 
 Assembly at Missolonghi, 88 ; 
 Byron's interview with the two 
 privateer sailors, 91 ; becomes 
 editor of the Greek Telegraph, 
 114; By);on's illness, 121, 143, 
 148, 163 et seq. ; arrest of 
 English officers, 157 ; Byron's 
 funeral, 184; conveys Byron's 
 body to Zante, 198 
 
 Gamba, Count Ruggiero, Byron's 
 neighbour at Pisa, 3 ; leaves 
 Pisa and goes to Montenero, 21 ; 
 ordered to leave Montenero, 
 22 ; goes to Albaro, 32 ; and 
 Byron, 212 
 
 Gamba, Teresa. See Guiccioli, 
 Countess 
 
 Gell, Sir William, his writings, 
 100, loi n. 
 
 George IV. makes ' equivoca- 
 tion ' the fashion, 17, 18 ; and 
 Sir Walter Scott, 53 
 
 Giaour, The, what the poem 
 reveals, 240, 256, 257, 265 
 
 Gifford, William, Byron's opinion 
 of, 51, 60 
 
 Greece : Byron sails for, 47 ; 
 state of the country and army, 
 64, 87 et seq., 118, 180; Byron 
 advances ;^4,ooo, 67 ; Byron's 
 appeal to the nation, 69, 70 ; 
 preparations against Lepanto, 
 91 ; honours offered to Byron, 
 151, 152 ; Congress at Salona, 
 153 ; Greek loan raised in 
 London, 156 ; effect of Byron's 
 death on, 175 et seq. 
 
 Greece, History of by G. Finlay, 
 70; by Mitford, 100 
 
 Greek Cltronicle: Byron's support, 
 108; suppression of, 112, 113 
 
 Greek Telegraph, 103, 113 
 
 Guiccioli, Countess, daughter 
 of Count Ruggiero Gamba : 
 Byron's neighbour at Pisa, 3, 
 4, 20 ; describes Byron, 7 et 
 seq. ; on the characters of 
 Shelley and Byron, 14, 15 ; on 
 Byron's conduct towards 
 Allegra, 23 ; on Byron's re- 
 ligion, 74, 78 ; anecdote about 
 Mary Chaworth's ring, 224 ; 
 Lady of the Land, 298, 301, 370 ; 
 and Mrs. Leigh, 379 
 
 Hancock, Charles, Byron's 
 
 banker, 82 
 Hanson, John, Byron's solicitor, 
 
 241. 34S> 346 
 Harinodia, 274, 275 
 Hataj^, Byron's kindness to, 133 
 
 et seq. 
 Hay, Captain, fracas at Pisa, 20, 21
 
 INDEX 
 
 417 
 
 Hebrew Melodies, 277 
 
 Hercules, the, an English brig : 
 Byron and his suite sail to 
 Greece in it, 47 ; Byron lives on 
 board, 64, 65 
 
 Herod's Lament for Mariamne, 278 
 
 Hesketh, Mr., 158, 159 
 
 Hey wood. Sergeant, consulted 
 by Lady Byron, 338 
 
 Hobhouse, John Cam (afterwards 
 Lord Broughton) : and Byron, 
 35 ; persuades Byron to burn 
 his journal, 102 ; destroys one 
 of Byron's poems, 208 ; Byron's 
 funeral, 215, 216 ; and Lady 
 Byron, 2 16, 320 ; life-long friend 
 of Mrs. Leigh, 319. See also 
 Broughton, Lord 
 
 Hodgson, captain of the Florida, 
 203 
 
 Hodgson, Rev. Francis : con- 
 sulted by Mrs. Leigh, 344 et scq.; 
 appeals to Lady Byron, 346 
 et seq. 
 
 Hodgson, Rev. F., Memoir of, 73 n. 
 
 Holmes, Mr. James, his portrait 
 of Byron, 9 
 
 Hours of Idleness, what the poem 
 reveals, 220 
 
 Hucknall-Torkard, Byron's burial 
 place, 44 
 
 Humphreys, Captain, on state of 
 Greece, 180 
 
 Hunt, Sir Aubrey de Vere, 102 
 
 Hunt, Leigh: the story of his 
 literar}' and money relations 
 with Byron, 26 et seq.; Byron's 
 opinion of, 31 
 
 Ireland, Dr., Dean of West- 
 minster, refuses burial of Byron 
 in Westminster Abbey, 203 
 
 Jersey, Countess of, her party in 
 honour of Byron, 352 
 
 Kean, Edmund, actor, Byron's 
 
 opinion of, 61 
 Kemble, John, actor, Byron's 
 
 opinion of, 61 
 Kennedy, Dr., Scottish medical 
 
 man : tries to ' convert ' Byron, 
 
 72 et scq. ; and Hataje, 136 ; 
 
 Lady Byron on, 77 
 
 King, Lady. See Byron, Hon. 
 
 Augusta Ada 
 Kinnaird, the Hon. Douglas, 
 
 Byron's opinion of, 208 
 Knox, Captain, 51 
 Knox, Mrs., 50, 54 
 
 Lamb, Hon. Mrs. George, and 
 
 Byron, 235 
 Lamb, Lady Caroline, spreads 
 
 the Byron scandal, 270, 317, 
 
 340. 390 
 Lambro, a Suliote chief, 156, 164 
 Lara, what the poem reveals, 268, 
 
 271, 273 
 Leigh, Hon. Mrs. Augusta, half- 
 sister of Lord Byron : influence 
 over her brother, 42, 73, 245, 
 261 ; and his poetry, 103 ; 
 wishes him to go abroad, 242 ; 
 first introduction to, and close 
 intimacy with, Mary Chawortli, 
 250 ; loyalty to her brother and 
 Mary Chaworth, 255, 287, 317, 
 321 ; letters from lier brother 
 about Mary Chaworth, 258, 
 267, 268 ; simulated confine- 
 ment and convalescence, 269 ; 
 her brother's conduct gives 
 colour to the scandal, 270, 
 279, 285 ; letters to Hodgson 
 on the secret, 272, 344 et scq. ; 
 spends a month at Newstead 
 with her brother, 279 ; the diffi- 
 culties of keeping the secret, 
 285, 317, 362 et scq.; lines in 
 Childe Harold referring to, 287 ; 
 the so-called confession, 289, 
 322, 324, 325, 341, 357, 361 ct 
 scq.; Stanzas to Augusta, 290, 
 364 ; Lord Lovelace's opinion 
 of her character, 294, 295 ; the 
 accusation dealt with in detail, 
 318 £/ scq.; Lord Stanhope and 
 Frances, Lady Shelley on, 318 ; 
 the story of her life, 319 ; Hob- 
 house's advice to, 320 ; difficult 
 position with Lady Byron, 
 321, 341, 362, 367 ; her pre- 
 dicament owing to the adop- 
 tion of Medora, 322 ; Epistle 
 to Augusta, 324 ; letters to 
 Hodgson on her brother's 
 marriage, 332 ct seq.; a long 
 
 27
 
 4i8 
 
 INDEX 
 
 visit to her brother and Lady 
 Byron, 336 ; Lady Byron's feel- 
 ings towards her, 336, 337, 342, 
 343) 360 ; Lady Byron's confine- 
 ment, 337 ; Mrs. Clermont's 
 treachery, 341 ; Lady Jersey's 
 party, 352 ; parts for ever from 
 her brother, 352 ; Lady Byron's 
 written statement, 353 et seq.; 
 letters to Hodgson on her 
 brother, 362 ; her Une of con- 
 duct to Lady B3Ton, 362 ci seq. ; 
 Moore on Byron's feelings 
 towards her, 366 ; pretends 
 that her brother's letter to 
 Mary Chaworth was written 
 to herself, 368 et seq. ; a genu- 
 ine letter, 372 ; reply to Lady 
 Byron's advice, 375 et seq.; her 
 children's prospects discussed 
 with Lad}' Byron, 380, 385 ; 
 Lady Byron's request, 380 ; 
 Lord Lovelace on, 389 et seq. 
 Lepanto, preparations against. 
 
 Liberal, The, its unsuccessful 
 career, 31, 32 
 
 Lion, Byron's favourite dog, 145, 
 146 
 
 Londos, General Andrea, and 
 Byron, 155 
 
 Lovelace, Earl of, Astarte : 
 Byron's Thyrza, 234 n. ; accusa- 
 tions against Mrs. Leigh, 249, 
 269 et seq., 287, 288, 318, 321, 
 322, 338, 34i> 362, 366 et seq., 
 368 et seq., 385 et seq., 390 ; 
 describes Mrs. Leigh's char- 
 acter, 294 ; Manfred, the key 
 of the mystery, 326 et seq., 364 ; 
 Byron's mutability, 339 ; Lady 
 Byron's written statement, 353 
 et seq.; important letters from 
 Byron, 368 et seq., 385, 386 ; 
 and Lady Byron, 387 
 
 Lushington, Dr. : advises Lady 
 Byron, 338, 351, 352, 357, 358, 
 383, 387 ; his opinion on Byron's 
 letters abstracted by Mrs. Cler- 
 mont, 341 ; signs Lady Byron's 
 statement, 353 et seq. 
 
 Magdalen, a fragment, 269 
 
 Maitland, Sir Thomas, High 
 Commissioner of the Ionian 
 
 Islands, 52, 61 ; character and 
 death, 115, 116 
 
 Mafifred, the supposed key to 
 the mystery, 291 et seq., 328, 364 
 
 Marino Faliero, 100 
 
 Marshall, Mrs. Julian, Life and 
 Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft 
 Shelley, 178, 180 
 
 Masi, Sergeant-Major, fracas at 
 Pisa, 20, 21 
 
 Matthews, Charles Skinner, one 
 of Byron's best friends, his 
 death, 227 
 
 Mavrocordato, Prince, Governor- 
 General of Western Greece : 
 and Byron, 66, 68, 70, 202 ; 
 brings the Greek fleet to Mis- 
 solonghi, 81 ; Byron's arrival 
 at Missolonghi, 85 ; B3Ton's 
 interview with two privateer 
 sailors, 91 ; his jealousy, 105, 
 106 ; infraction of neutrality in 
 Ithaca, 115 ; Byron's opinion 
 of, 116 ; opposition by Colonel 
 Stanhope, 119, 153 ; and Odys- 
 seus, 153 et seq.; Byron's last 
 illness and death, 164 et seq.; 
 effect of Byron's death on, 
 177, 202 ; Trelawny's opinion 
 of, 179, 180 ; his efforts for 
 Greece, 181 ; issues a procla- 
 mation on Byron's death, 183, 
 184 
 
 Medora, birth of, 254, 268 ; Childe 
 Harold, 288; adoption by Mrs. 
 Leigh, 322 
 
 Medwin, Captain Thomas : his 
 
 description of Byron, 4, 6, 11 ; 
 
 on Byron's life at Pisa, 20 ; 
 
 The Angler in Wales, 33 n. 
 
 Melbourne, Lady, persuades 
 
 Byron not to go abroad, 242 
 Metaxata, B3T0n's residence at, 
 
 65.79 
 
 Meyer, Jean Jacques, editor of 
 the Greek Chronicle, 112 
 
 Milbanke, Miss. See Byron, 
 Lady 
 
 Milbanke, Sir Ralph, his prop- 
 erty, 10 
 
 Millingen, Dr. : on Byron's char- 
 acter, 95 ; on Parry, 96 ; Byron 
 a favourite in Greece, 105, 
 177 ; on the Greek press, 113 ; 

 
 INDEX 
 
 419 
 
 Byron's illness, 124 ; Byron's 
 kind treatment of Hataj^, 133 et 
 scq. ; on Cariascachi's treachery, 
 161 ; on Byron's unhappiness 
 and anxieties, 162 ; attends 
 Byron in his last illness and 
 death, 167 et scq., 190, 193 d 
 se?., 403 et scq.; on Mavrocor- 
 dato, 181 
 
 Missolonghi : blockade of, 66, 96 ; 
 Turks retire from, 70 ; Greek 
 squadron at, 81 ; description 
 of, 87 ; Byron's arrival and life 
 at, 88, 99 ; release of Turkish 
 prisoners, 133 ; Turkish brig- 
 of-war runs ashore off, 139 ; 
 effect of Byron's death, 175, 
 183 ct scq. 
 
 Mitford, William, History of 
 Greece, 100 
 
 Monthly Literary Recreations, 
 loi n. 
 
 Montlily Review, Byron's reviews 
 in, 100, loi n. 
 
 Moore, Thomas : letters from 
 Shelley and Byron, 13, 14, 266 ; 
 and Byron, 36 ; on the Thyrza 
 poems, 229 ; Byron's love for 
 Mary Chaworth, 238, 246, 266, 
 279 ; criticism on his Life of 
 Byron, 365 
 
 Moore, Sir John, ode on the 
 death of, 58 
 
 Muir, Dr., principal medical 
 officer at Cephalonia, 82 
 
 Muir, General Skey, 82 
 
 Murray, John, Byron's publisher : 
 Byron's letters to, 30, 31 ; Childe 
 Harold, 50 ; asks for Byron 
 to be buried in Westminster 
 Abbey, 203 ; and Mrs. Leigh, 
 269 ; Byron's copyrights, 281 ; 
 Epistle to Augusta, 324 
 
 Musters, John, husband of Mary 
 Chaworth : the ring incident 
 and engagement, 224, 225 ; 
 separation from his wife, 245 ; 
 behaviour to his wife, 246 ; 
 reconciliation, 251 ; cuts down 
 the peculiar diadem of trees, 289 
 
 Napier, Colonel, British Resi- 
 dent Governor of Argostoli, 
 48, 80 
 
 Newstead Abbey : sale of, 99 ; 
 Byron's visits, 226, 227 
 
 Noel, Lady, Byron's mother-in- 
 law : Byron inherits the Noel 
 property on her death, 10 ; 
 her bequest of BjTon's por- 
 trait, 43 n. ; advice as to her 
 daughter's separation from 
 Byron, 338 ; and Mrs. Leigh, 
 362 
 
 Noel, Sir Ralph, writes to Byron 
 requiring a separation, 339 
 
 O'Doherty, Ensign, Byron's 
 opinion of his poetry, 100 
 
 Odysseus, Greek insurgent leader : 
 his opposition to Mavrocordato, 
 153 ; and Trelawny, 179, 180 
 
 Osborne, Lord Sidney, and Sir 
 Thomas Maitland, 115 ; goes 
 to Missolonghi, 198 ; eulogy of 
 Byron's conduct in Greece, 
 201 
 
 Parry, Major : his arrival at Mis- 
 solonghi, 91, 92 ; his peculi- 
 arities, 92 et seq. ; practical joke 
 on, 95 ; on Byron's intentions 
 in Greece, 97, 98 ; on tlie re- 
 lationship between Mavrocor- 
 dato and Byron, 116 ; on 
 Byron's mode of reproof, 117 ; 
 account of Byron's illness, 121 ; 
 anecdote of Jerry Bentliaiu's 
 Cruise, 126; Turkish brig-of- 
 war ashore, 139 ; artillery at 
 Missolonghi, 144 ; on Byron's 
 mode of life, 145 ; on Byron's 
 power in Greece, 151, 152 ; 
 Byron's last illness and death, 
 164 et seq., 196 ; his opinion of 
 Byron, 175 
 
 Phillips, Thomas, his portrait of 
 Byron, 9 
 
 Pigot, Elizabeth, Byron's letters 
 to, 222, 223 
 
 Pisa : Shelley's description of, 3 ; 
 Byron's life at, 20 
 
 Po, Stanzas to the, what they re- 
 veal, 298 ct scq., 370 
 
 Pope, Alexander, Homer, 51 
 
 Prothero, Rowland E. : Letters 
 and journals of Lord Byron, 
 70 n., 125, 256 n., 260 n., 383 
 
 27—2
 
 420 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Quarterly Review, the, 50, 100 
 
 Recollections of a Long Life. See 
 
 Broughton, Lord 
 Roberts, Captain, describes the 
 
 wreck of The Bolivar, 33 
 Robertson, Rev. Frederick, Lady 
 
 Byron's spiritual adviser, 324 
 Robinson, Crabti, 77 
 Romilly, Sir Samuel, consulted by 
 
 Lady Byron, 338 
 
 Salona, Congress at, 152, 153 
 
 Sanders, Mr. George, painter, his 
 portrait of Byron, 9 
 
 Sardanapalus, a tragedy, loi 
 
 Sass, Lieutenant, death of, 141 
 
 Scliilitz}', a Greek, accompanies 
 Byron to Greece, 47 
 
 Scott, Captain, commands the 
 Hercules, in which Byron 
 travels to Greece, 47 
 
 Scott, Dr., surgeon, and Byron, 
 54,58 
 
 Scott, Sir Walter : B3'ron's opinion 
 of, 35, 51- 55, 79 ; hi^ denial of 
 the authorship of the Wuvcrlcy 
 Novels, 53 
 
 Segati, Marianna, Byron's haison 
 with, 371 
 
 Shakespeare, William, B3Ton's 
 opinion of, loi 
 
 Shelley, Percy Bysshe : describes 
 Pisa, 3 ; and Byron, 11 ct seq. ; 
 fracas at Pisa, 20, 21 ; and 
 Allegra, 22 ; leaves Pisa for 
 Lerici, 26 ; and Leigh Hunt, 
 26 et seq. ; his death, 30 ; Byron's 
 opinion of, 30, 35 ; his legacy 
 to Byron, 32 
 
 Shelley, Life and Letters of Mary 
 Wollstonecraft, by Mrs. Julian 
 Marshall, 178 
 
 Stanhope, Col. the Hon. Leices- 
 ter : arrives in Cephalonia to 
 co-operate with Byron, 68 ; 
 on Byron's character, 78, 174 ; 
 begs Byron to come to Misso- 
 longhi, 81 ; on Byron's conduct 
 in Greece, 91, 107 ; interviews 
 and misunderstandings with 
 Byron, 108 et seq. ; his conduct 
 in Greece, 119, 153; accom- 
 panies Byron's body to Eng- 
 
 land, 199, 202 ; Greece in 182J 
 and 1824, and Sketch of Byron, 
 201 ; character sketch of Byron, 
 205 et seq. 
 
 Stanhope, Earl, historian, opinion 
 of Mrs. Leigh, 318 
 
 Stephen, Sir Leslie, and Mrs. 
 Leigh's letters, 357 
 
 Stowe. See Beecher Stowe 
 
 Stravolemo, Dr., physician, and 
 Dr. Bruno, 79 
 
 Suliotes : Byron takes 500 into 
 his pay, 91 ; false alarm, 123 ; 
 serious fracas, 140 ; their dis- 
 missal, 142 
 
 Swift, William, bootmaker at 
 Southwell, his evidence of 
 Byron's lameness, 8 
 
 Taaffe, Mr., fracas at Pisa, 20, 
 21 
 
 Thomas, Dr., invited to attend 
 Byron in his last illness, 168, 
 193 et seq. 
 
 Thorwaldsen, his marble bust of 
 Byron, 10 
 
 Thyrza poems, what they reveal, 
 221, 232, 235 
 
 Tita, Giovanni Battista Falcieri, 
 B3a-on's faithful servant, 97, 
 166, 169 et seq. 
 
 Toole, Mr., receives Byron at 
 Santa Eufemia, 60 
 
 Trelawny, Edward John : arrives 
 at Pisa, 4 ; describes Byron and 
 his peculiarities, 5, 17, 18 ; on 
 Leigh Hunt and Byron, 28 ; 
 effect of Shelley's death, 32 ; 
 lays up The Bolivar, 32 ; travels 
 with Byron to Greece, 47, 48 ; 
 and Byron's seizure, 62 ; mis- 
 taken views of Byron's motives, 
 64, 65 ; unhealthiness of Mis- 
 solonghi, 87 ; his opinion of 
 Byron, 178 et seq. ; and Mavro- 
 cordato, 179 ; on Byron's de- 
 foi^mit}', 191, 192 
 
 Tricoupi, Spiridion, pronounces 
 funeral oration over Byron, 185 
 
 Vaga, Dr. Lucca, Greek physician, 
 attends Byron in his last illness, 
 169, 408 
 
 Vathi, Byron at, 58
 
 INDEX 
 
 421 
 
 Villi ers, Hon. Mrs., and Mrs. 
 Leigh, 357, 362, 367; Lady 
 Byron confides the secret to, 
 
 381, 394 
 Vivian, Charles, his death, 30 
 Volpiotti, Constantine, spy under 
 
 Byron's roof, 162 
 
 Watson's Philip 11. , 102 
 Webster, Lady Frances Wedder- 
 burn, and Byron, 240, 241, 
 
 259 
 Wentworth, Lord, Byron inherits 
 
 his property, 10 
 West, William Edward, Amer- 
 ican painter, his portrait of 
 Byron, 9 
 Wildman, Colonel Thomas, 44 
 Wildman, Mrs., owner of Byron's 
 boot-trees and the bootmaker's 
 
 statement as to Byron's de- 
 formity, 7, 8 
 
 Williams, Edward, and Leijjh 
 Hunt, 29 ; on Byron's treat- 
 ment of Mrs. Hunt, 29 ; his 
 death, 30 
 
 Wilmot, Robert John, sij^ns Lady 
 Byron's statement, 355, 357, 359 
 
 Wilson, John, 60 
 
 Wilson, General Sir Robert, 
 known as ' Jaffa Wilson,' no 
 
 Wordswortli, William, 60 ; Byron 
 reviews his poems, loi n. 
 
 York, Duke of, and Sir Walter 
 
 Scott, 53 
 Young, Charles, actor, Byron's 
 
 opinion of, 61 
 
 Zante, Byron at, 83, 198 
 
 THE END 
 
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