Lady Byron Vindicated

rted in the first chap

ady Byron's reputation, begun

is story to friends to be

hey did so

s grave in 'Blackwood' of 1869, and the Guiccioli book, and tha

he separation and continuing during his life. By various documents carefully prepared, and used publicly or secretly as suited the case, he made converts of many honest men, some of whom were writers

all cite, we are to bring to our view just the issues Lord Byron had

ct towards his wife had been sternly and justly commented on, and which he supposed to have been written by Wilson, of the 'Noctes Ambrosianae.' He says in this letter: 'I like and admire W---n, and he should not have indul

ds. Though more than three years had elapsed since the separation, the current against him at this time was so strong in England that his fri

rly stirred up by the appearance of the first two cantos of 'Don Juan,' in which the indecent caricature of Lady Byron was

in regard to 'Don Juan.' One can still read, in Murray's standard edition of the poems, how every respectab

have finished the Third Canto of "Don Juan," but the things I have heard and read discourage all future publication. You may try the copy question, but you'll

article will show the modern readers what the respect

f sin even to its bitterest dregs-were resolved to show us that he is no longer a human being even in his frailties, but a cool,

s of a man cornered and fighting for his life. He speaks thus of

s 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 depth of t

tical motives have sharpened slander and doubled enmity. I was advised not to go to the theatres lest I should be hissed, nor to my duty in parliament lest I should be insulted by the way;

tting up and keeping up this persecution, which drove him from England,-that she did

and that soon after her arrival at her home her parents sent him word that she would never return to him, and she confirmed the message; that when he asked the reason why, she refused to state any; and that when this step gave ris

same article from wh

f what he is accused; and I have never had-and, God knows, my whole desire has ever been to obtain it-any specific charge, in a tangible shape, submitted

his wife as the secret author and abettor of that persecution, which it is claime

sister, under the title of 'Domestic Pieces,' in his standard edition of Byron's poetry. It is to be remarked, then, that this was for some time a private document, shown to confidential friends, and made use of judiciously, as readers or listeners to his story were able to

confessed his wife's virtues and his own sins to Madame de Sta?l and others in Switzerland, declaring hims

ne sweet weakne

r poetical indictment against her, which, as we have said, was

ousand good honest people, who had no very clear idea who Clytemnestra was, and what she did which was like the proceedings of Lady Byron. According to the tragedy, Clytemnestra secretly hates her husband Agamemnon, whom she professes to love, and wishes to put him out of the way that she may marry her lover, ?gistheus. When her husband returns from the Trojan war she receives him with pretended ki

o, in such a

either 'scape n

nd his steps

the f

r treachery and cruelty. The whole poem is in Murray's English edition, Vol. IV. p. 207. Of it we q

avenged, but

s might be, tho

mesis that s

choose so nea

r the merci

uch, 't will b

anished from the

illowed on a c

latter thee, bu

ony that wi

in my sorrow,

arvest in a

ny foes, but

e rest myself

d, or turn th

in safe im

ead,-in thy own w

which hath but t

thy sake, some I

the world, tru

ame of my ungo

ere not and on t

ch a basis t

ose cement ha

lytemnestra

n with an uns

d hope, and all

this cold treas

risen from the

nobler duty

tues thou dids

n them with a

thers' woes

anger and fo

e entered int

h, that was th

alk beside thee

ast unknowing

verments i

and the thoug

rits, the si

ie with silence,

with advanta

nce in all th

ow, to the

place in thy

e worthy and

to thee as th

nt of her husband has been like that of the most detestable murderess and adulteress of ancient history, that she has learned to lie skilfully and artfully, that she equivocates, says incompatible things, and crosses her own tracks,-that she is double-faced, and has the art to lie even by silence, and that she has become wholly unscrupulous, and acqui

and himself were still pending. At that time, therefore, he was standing in a community who knew all he had said in former days of his wife's character, who were in an aroused and excited state by the fact that so lovely and good and patient a woman had actually been forced for some unexplain

und its way into the newspapers at this time 'through the imprudence of a friend whom he allowed to ta

est, sweetest, most amiable of beings, and against whose behaviour as a wife you actually never h

so accidentally found its way into the public prints. It is in his 'Domestic Pieces

r confidential friend. It appears that this person had been with Lady Byron during a part of her married life, especially the bitter hours of her lonely child-bed, when a young wife so

dinner, he declined, saying, 'To tell you the truth, Doctor, if you should come to Newstead, I shouldn't think of inviting you to dine with me, and so I don't care

ould call her, consists in gross statements concerning her having bee

garret, in th

e to deck her

gracious servi

wages only

e toilet to th

betters wait b

ved and foreh

off the plate s

tale, and rea

nfidante and

ods! her next e

nt's earlies

made the pu

that high soul s

the truth it

oul and undelu

,-a trait which must have struck everyone that had any knowledge of her through life.

version by that

oled not, basenes

t not, nor c

eaken, or ex

cience tempt h

lent with a p

ell, nor beau

ffle to ret

rds says in his letters was a spy of Lady Byron's mothe

s,-those strong

oftiest to the

r power too d

sence of her

e she steal wi

slime betray he

per to the h

venom there she

hat this hag

l latent as

of inferior rank in the language of the upper c

ouch to deepen

kind mendac

th with falsehood,

andour with a

how of briefly-

less heart's soul

; a face form

eeling mock a

sk the Gorgon

rchment and a

channels of h

in and stagnat

e centipede i

ness of the sco

m reptiles onl

ours in that

eatures! and

ror of itse

cture! deem it

it which might

em thu

curse of crushed

osom with ref

e in thy lep

to thyself

elf-thoughts c

ill for others

heart be calci

welter in its

ave be sleepl

h of fire, that

in wouldst weary

arthly victim

st! and as tho

l perish on thy

ve I bore and

ice from all t

y human name

ll scorn, shoul

thy less abho

g in the inf

16,

st artful and unscrupulous governess could not pollute,-that she always panted for truth,-that flattery could not fool nor baseness blind he

vindictive cruelty. Now, what had happened in the five months between th

awyers had ended in his signing a deed of separat

and professions of repentance, had offered to nego

oore and Murray for this poem, which gentle Thomas Moore admit

man and God required her to separate from him. The allowing the negotiation was, therefore, an artifice to place his wife before the public in the attitude of a hard-hearted, inflexible woman; her refusal wa

at all. There were certainly excellent reasons why his friends should have advised him not to publish it at that time. But that it was read with sympathy by t

to shake off my sables in public imagination, more particularly since my moral ----- clove down my fame.' Agai

ention of Electra more than meets the ear. Many passages in Lord Byron's poetry show that he intended to make this daughter a future partisan against her mother, and exp

ton, April 6, 1823, he says,

e of Atreus, and the Greek teacher, I believe, of my moral Clytemnestra. I say moral because it is true,

ved in Murray's hands? and why published after his death? That Byron was in the habit of reposing documents in the hands of Murray, to be used as occasion offered, is evi

deeply wronged woman would forbid her appearing to justify herself from such cruel slander of a dead husband, an honest, kind-hearted, worthy Englishman actually thought it right and proper to give these lines to her eyes and the eyes of all the reading world. Nothing can sh

cuniary embarrassments, disordered health, and dislike to family restraints had aggravated his naturally violent temper, and driven him to excesses. He suspected that his mother-

*

o them no longer, and that Dr. Lushington, her legal adviser, agreed that a reconciliation was neither proper nor possible. No weight can be attached to the opinions of an opposing counsel upon accusations made by one party behind the

n's partisans seem to have pondered

standing with her child in her arms, asking from English

counsel in England, and was

uch a cause of offence on his part that a return to him is neither proper no

der advice of her counsel, says, 'That if he insists on the specifi

on her side even the lawyer he sought to retain on his; {24} that she was an unscrupulous woman, who acquiesced in every and any thing to gain her ends, while he stood before the public, as he says, 'ac

T OF SEPARATION

nd impressions? Were they men to go to trial without proofs? Did they not know that there were artful, hysterical women in the world, and would they, of all people, be the men to take a woman's story on her own side, and advise her in the last issu

f which Mr. Murray, it appears, had never heard when, after Byron's death, he published in the preface to his 'Domestic Pieces' the sentence: 'He rejected the proposal for an amicable separation, but consented when threatened with a suit in Doctors' Commons.' It appears that, up to 1853, neither John Murray senior, nor the son who now fills his place, had

e Noel family to the last communication between Lady Byron and myself in the character of wife and husband (a period of some months), I called repeatedly and in vain for a statement of their or her charges, and it was chiefly in consequence of Lady Byron's claiming (in a letter still existing) a promise on my part to consent to a separation, if such was really her wish, that I consented

declined by the other party, as also the publication of the correspondence during the previous discussion. Those propositions I beg here to repeat, and to call up

YR

st 9,

es, or whatever name they may have assumed, are; and am as little aware for what purpose t

YR

a, near

e, not over-delicate towards Lady Byron, did not think fit to print it; since John

ination, why was this privately circulated? Why not issued as a card in the London papers? Is it likely that Mr. Matthew Gregory Lewis, and a chosen band of

others of like kind, crawled secretly and privately around, and when it found a good chan

nning with Letter 286, dated July 1, 1817, {28a} where he says: 'I have been working up my impressions into a

e, July 10, {28b} he says, 'Mon

ice that I have completed the fourth and ultimate canto of Childe Harol

t the price for it. He is now ready to launch it on the world; and, as now appears, on August 9, 1817, two days after, he wrote

vate documents and statements, he is now prepared to publish his accusations against his wife, and the story of his wrongs, in a great immorta

ilent because she had no answer to make. I remember well the time when this poetry, so resounding in its music, so mournful, so apparently generous, filled my heart with a vague anguish of sorrow for the sufferer, and of indignation at the cold insensibility

ent Rome that his voice break

u beautifier

the ruin,

r when the hea

ector when our

uth, love,-sol

are sophists,-

ses, though i

venger! unt

and eyes, and cla

*

t ever seen

but if calmly

rved my pride

whelm me, let

oul in vain, shal

never yet o

lanced scale,

ncients paid the

call the Furies

stes bid them

atural retri

from hands les

lm I call thee

, my heart? awake

at I may not

al faults and

withal, and had

eapon it had

d shall not sin

*

page a record

shall these my

shes,-a far h

hetic fulness

n heads the moun

l be forgivenes

her Earth! beho

ad to wrestl

fered things t

my brain seared

e blighted, life'

t to desper

altogether

e soul of those

---

wrongs to p

n what human t

d roar of fo

whispers of t

venom of the

ce of whose si

with silence,

erance, save th

y fools its speech

es in italics in the former poem on his wife, where he speaks of a significant eye that has learned to lie

aimed the sympathy of the world, as a loving father, deprived

with this name

th this name my

and hear thee

ed in thee; tho

hadows of far

*

ind's develop

ittle joys, t

y growth, to v

bjects,-wonder

y soft cheek a

seem was not

in my natur

here is, yet some

---

l hate as duty

u wilt love me;

t from thee as sp

tion and a

close between us,

u wilt love me,

out thy bein

ment,-all wil

the world in verses as eloquent as the English l

ander and the t

er was,-a bla

ympathy. One letter from her, written at this time, preserved by acc

r husband's slanders, but to shield him from the worst accusation against him, by showing that this crime was n

age and experience made her a proper confidante, sent for the br

s young and amiable creature, wise, patient, and feeling, will have her character mistaken by every one who reads Byron's works. To rescue her from this I preserved her letters, and when she afterwards expressed a fear that anyth

ion which the last Canto of "Childe Harold" m

has been too long to aggravate its burden, as if it could thus be oppressed int

seemed to demand from my compassion to spare every semblance of reproach, every l

d prevent them from tracing effects to their real causes through all the intricacies of his conduct. I was, as I told you, at one time the dupe o

egard to their intrinsic value, considering them only as ciphers, which must derive all their import from

olour to his own character? Because he is too good an actor to over-

re 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 v

on of being above mankind, when he exists almost in their voice. The romance of his sentiments is another feature of this mask of state. I kno

erished into more diffusive benevolence. Though these opinions are eradicated, and could never return but with the decay of my memory

rstand my wishes, which never were to injure Lord Byron in any way; for, though he would not suffer me to remain his wife, he cannot prevent me from cont

t my own must have been broken before his could have been touched. I would rather represent this as my misfortune than

lf. It is said in this poem that hatred of him will be taught as a lesson to his child. I might appeal to all who have ever heard me speak of him,

bly be not to remember him too kindly. I do not seek the sympathy of the world, but I wish to be known by those whose opinion is

BY

yron did not enjoy the poem! But there are two remarkable sentences in this letter which have escaped the critics hitherto. Lord Byron, in this, the Third Canto of 'Childe Harold,' expresses in most affecting words an enthusiasm of love for his sister. So l

RETURN BUT WITH THE DECAY OF MEMORY.' Let me ask those who give this letter as a proof that at this time no idea such as I have stated was in Lady Byron's mind, to account for these words. Let them please answer these

vouches for as authentic, and which he

ing his friend.' Do these words not say that in some past time, in some decided manner, Lord Byron h

sations by which my conduct migh

ence against my true story have searched out and given to the wo

terrogated, and, as appears by description, is a venerable, respectable old person, quite in possession of all her sen

just here, with a description of her person

mate. Miss Milbanke had no sister or female friend to whom she was bound by the ties of more than a common affection; and her mother, whatever other excellent qualities she may have possessed, was too high-spirited and too hasty in temper to attract the sympathies of the young. Some months before Miss Milbanke was married to Lord Byron, Mrs. Mimms had quitted her service on the occasion of her own marriage with Mr. Mimms; but she continued to reside in the neighbourhood of Seaham, and remained on the most friendly terms with her former mistress. As the courtship proceeded, Miss Milbanke concealed nothing from her faithful attendant; and when the wedding-day was fixed, she begged Mrs. Mimms to return and fulfil the duties of lady's-maid, at least during the honeymoon. Mrs. Mimms at the time was nursing her first child, and it was no small sacrifice to quit her own home at such a moment, but she could not refuse her old mistress's request. Accordingly, she returned to Seaham Hall some days before the wedding, was present at the ceremony, and then preceded Lord and Lady Byron

. Beecher Stowe feels none the less sincere respect for her, and is none the less obliged to her for having spoken. Much of Mrs. Mimms's testimony will be referred to in another place

the honeymoon M

and she even contemplated returning to her father. Mrs. Mimms was her constant companion and confidante through this painful period, and she does not believe that her ladyship concealed a th

*

her wrongs to Sir Ralph; but on arriving at Seaham Hall her ladyship strictly enjoined Mrs. Mimms to preserve absolute silence on the subject-a course which she followed herself;-so that when, six weeks later, she and Lord Byron left Seaham for London, not a word had escaped her to disturb her parents' tranquillity as to their daughte

ld against himself, by making converts of all his friends to a most odious view of his wife's character, and inspiring them with the zeal of

attack on his wife. Next we see him commencing a scurrilous a

how carefully and cautiously th

we find Letter 3

January

e distribution, fifty copies of "Don Juan." The list of t

be the beastly utterances of a man who had lost all sense of decency. Such a potion was too strong to be administered even in a time when great license was allowed, and men were not over-nice. But Byron

dds, 'I was obliged to reform my way of life, which was conducting me from the yellow leaf to the ground with all deliberate speed.' {41} But as his health is a little

Guiccioli finally extorted a promise from him to cease writing it. Nevertheless, there came a time when England accepted 'Don Juan,'-when Wilson, in the 'Noctes Ambrosianae,' praised it as a classic, and took every opportunity to reprobate Lady Byron's conduct. When first it appeared the 'Blackwood'

on was the private autobiography, written expressly to give h

n the 'Blackwood' article, Vol. IV., Lette

-not for his public opinion, but his private, for I like the man, and care very little about the magazine. And I could wish Lady Byron herself to read it, that she may have it in her power to mark any thing mistaken or misstated. As it will never

er silence would be set down to her as haughty, stony indifference and obstinacy. Such was the pretended negotiation thr

sensibility and remarkable mental powers-one of those exce

alse in a statement which is all built on a damning lie, that she cannot ref

uses after Lady Byron is safely out of the world to cast ignominy on her grave-the wife's letter, that of a mot

llory: Mar

publication or circulation of such a composition at any time as prejudicial to Ada's future happiness. For my own sake, I have no

By

ord B

r the public, as is hi

: April

ile. To the mysterious menace of the last sentence, whatever its import may be-and I cannot pretend to unriddle it-I could hardly be very sensible even if I understood it, as, before it can take place, I shall be where "no

posto son con

. .

, più ch'altro,

YR

ady B

ady Byron intimates that, if he publishes his story,

e doesn't understand it. But directly after he s

ry. He says she cannot do this till after he is dead, and then he shall not care. In allusion to her accuracy as to dates and figures, he says: 'Be assure

t note for two reasons,-firstly, because it was written in a style not very agreeable; and, secondly, becau

not think proper to keep on hand, or show to the 'initiated' with his usual unreserve; that this

tters we should infer that it was a promise of silence for his lifetime, on certain conditions, and that

the whole history, that the reader must have a full idea of it,

also a journal kept in 1814. Neither are for publication during my life, but when I am cold you may do what you p

ls him

y marriage and its consequences, as true as

culated we have the following testimony of Shelto

ctes' Odoh

n copied for the private readi

ote s

ated, and she committed her copy to the flames, but did not tell him that her sister, Mrs. Home Purvis, now Viscountess of Canterbury, had also made a copy! . . . From the quantity of copy I have seen,-and others were more in the way of falling in with it than

er the original auto

y saturated with Byron's own versions of the story that related to himself and wife! Against her there was only the complaint of an absolute silence. She put forth no statements, no documents; had no party,

te to have his partisans attend to him, we may date an entire revolution in the 'Blackwoo

they were willing to have gone to public trial. Supposing, now, she had imitated Lord Byron's example, and, avoiding public trial, had put her story into private circulation; as he sent 'Don Juan' to fifty confidential

. The world may finally forgive the man of genius anythi

Mrs. Leigh never lost position. Lady Byron never so varied in her manner t

re assured she did at first; for, had she told Lady Milbanke, it is not possible that so high-spirited a woman could have restrain

ng away her youth in almost monastic seclusion, questioned by some, appreciated by few, seeking consolation alone in the discharge of h

d he truly and deeply repented, and become a thoroughly good man, and returned to England to pursue a c

heart and confidence of his daughter unshadowed by a suspicion. He might have won the reverence of the great and good in his o

ame up, after his death, in a harvest of thorns over his grave; and there were n