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 sentiment 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 long as the illusion continued, kindled up his thoughts and were the themes of his song. But they were little more than mere dreams of the hour. There was but one love that lived unquenched through all’ – 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,’ remarked:
‘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 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 impression. 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, 1818) he said:
‘I could have forgiven the dagger or the bowl – anything but the deliberate desolation piled upon me, when I stood alone upon my hearth, with my household 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.’
It may be that Augusta avenged her brother tenfold without his knowledge. But she suffered in the process. 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 showing 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, 1819.70
‘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 …71 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. For instance, I not long ago attached myself to a Venetian for no earthly reason (although a pretty woman) but because she was called …72 and she often remarked (without knowing the reason) how fond I was of the name.73 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 (Francesca of Rimini and Paolo – whose case fell a good deal short of ours, though sufficiently naughty) in company; and though they suffer, it is at least together. If 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 fiend74 who drove me from my country, and conspired against my life – by endeavouring to deprive me of all that could render it precious75– 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 more or less a reference, to you and to our recollections.
‘Ever, dearest,’[Signature erased].
The terms of this letter, which Lord Lovelace produces 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 unsatisfied 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, appearance, and health, occupied a considerable space in their correspondence.
Nor would Byron have written in that amatory strain to his dear ‘Goose.’ In the letter which preceded 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 affections 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, 1816, to February 1818. 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 infamous 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 confidential agent in purely private affairs. It was to her that he wrote on all matters relating to business transactions 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 contention, 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 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. Wherever 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 forwarding 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:
‘I do not believe any feelings expressed are by any means permanent – only occasioned by the passing and present reflection and occupation of writing to the unfortunate Being to whom they are addressed.’
Augusta did not tell Lady Byron that ‘the unfortunate 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 betrayal 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 acknowledged that the terms of Byron’s letter ‘afforded ample testimony that she had not encouraged his tenderness.’ Poor Lady Byron! 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 overwhelming. 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 understand 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, 1819, to the end of the following January has been printed in ‘Astarte.’
We have carefully examined it without finding anything 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 that meaning in plain language. Writing June 28, 1819, she says:
‘I will tell you what now 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,76 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 abstain for the present from 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 Providence might graciously interpose! With so many reasons to wish to avoid extremities (I mean for the 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 concern for him as well as the other person concerned, that it might possibly 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 I deceived myself in the ideas I have expressed to you. I shall not, cannot answer till the latest post-day this week.
‘I 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 Byron 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-depreciation, 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 possessed 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 relation by marriage,’ which, in a confidential communication 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 intercourse with Lady Byron. Through that lady’s unflattering 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 rôle 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 husband, conclusive evidence of his crime. In her letter of June 27, 1819, 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 incessantly for documentary proofs, which might be produced, 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 by 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 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, ‘I 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 inclination, 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 which might end in trouble; and if that lady was avaricious (which she was not) Byron might be induced 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, 1819) 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 intentions, 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 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 your remorse. 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 condition 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!