Lady Byron Vindicated. Гарриет Бичер-Стоу

Leigh's utter ruin. The world may finally forgive the man of genius anything; but for a woman there is no mercy and no redemption.

      This ruin Lady Byron prevented by her utter silence and great self-command. Mrs. Leigh never lost position. Lady Byron never so varied in her manner towards her as to excite the suspicions even of her confidential old servant.

      To protect Mrs. Leigh effectually, it must have been necessary to continue to exclude even her own mother from the secret, as we are assured she did at first; for, had she told Lady Milbanke, it is not possible that so high-spirited a woman could have restrained herself from such outward expressions as would at least have awakened suspicion. There was no resource but this absolute silence.

      Lady Blessington, in her last conversation with Lord Byron, thus describes the life Lady Byron was leading. She speaks of her as 'wearing away her youth in almost monastic seclusion, questioned by some, appreciated by few, seeking consolation alone in the discharge of her duties, and avoiding all external demonstrations of a grief that her pale cheek and solitary existence alone were vouchers for.'[16]

      The main object of all this silence may be imagined, if we remember that if Lord Byron had not died—had he truly and deeply repented, and become a thoroughly good man, and returned to England to pursue a course worthy of his powers, there was on record neither word nor deed from his wife to stand in his way.

      His place was kept in society, ready for him to return to whenever he came clothed and in his right mind. He might have had the heart and confidence of his daughter unshadowed by a suspicion. He might have won the reverence of the great and good in his own lands and all lands. That hope, which was the strong support, the prayer of the silent wife, it did not please God to fulfil.

      Lord Byron died a worn-out man at thirty-six. But the bitter seeds he had sown came up, after his death, in a harvest of thorns over his grave; and there were not wanting hands to use them as instruments of torture on the heart of his widow.

CHAPTER III.

       Table of Contents

      RÉSUMÉ OF THE CONSPIRACY.

      We have traced the conspiracy of Lord Byron against his wife up to its latest device. That the reader's mind may be clear on the points of the process, we shall now briefly recapitulate the documents in the order of time.

      I. March 17, 1816.—While negotiations for separation were pending—'Fare thee well, and if for ever.'

      While writing these pages, we have received from England the testimony of one who has seen the original draught of that 'Fare thee well.' This original copy had evidently been subjected to the most careful and acute revision. Scarcely two lines that were not interlined, scarcely an adjective that was not exchanged for a better; showing that the noble lord was not so far overcome by grief as to have forgotten his reputation. (Found its way to the public prints through the imprudence of a friend.)

      II. March 29, 1816.—An attack on Lady Byron's old governess for having been born poor, for being homely, and for having unduly influenced his wife against him; promising that her grave should be a fiery bed, &c.; also praising his wife's perfect and remarkable truthfulness and discernment, that made it impossible for flattery to fool, or baseness blind her; but ascribing all his woes to her being fooled and blinded by this same governess. (Found its way to the prints by the imprudence of a friend.)

      III. September 1816.—Lines on hearing that Lady Byron is ill. Calls her a Clytemnestra, who has secretly set assassins on her lord; says she is a mean, treacherous, deceitful liar, and has entirely departed from her early truth, and become the most unscrupulous and unprincipled of women. (Never printed till after Lord Byron's death, but circulated privately among the 'initiated.')

      IV. Aug. 9, 1817.—Gives to M. G. Lewis a paper for circulation among friends in England, stating that what he most wants is public investigation, which has always been denied him; and daring Lady Byron and her counsel to come out publicly. (Found in M. G. Lewis's portfolio after his death; never heard of before, except among the 'initiated.')

      Having given M. G. Lewis's document time to work—

      January 1818.—Gives the Fourth Canto of 'Childe Harold'[17] to the public.

      Jan. 25, 1819.—Sends to Murray to print for private circulation among the 'initiated' the First Canto of 'Don Juan.'

      Is nobly and severely rebuked for this insult to his wife by the 'Blackwood,' August 1819.

      October 1819.—Gives Moore the manuscript 'Autobiography,' with leave to show it to whom he pleases, and print it after his death.

      Oct. 29, 1819, Vol. IV. Letter 344.—Writes to Murray, that he may read all this 'Autobiography,' and show it to anybody he likes.

      Dec. 10, 1819.—Writes to Murray on this article in 'Blackwood' against 'Don Juan' and himself, which he supposes written by Wilson; sends a complimentary message to Wilson, and asks him to read his 'Autobiography' sent by Moore. (Letter 350.)

      March 15, 1820.—Writes and dedicates to I. Disraeli, Esq., a vindication of himself in reply to the 'Blackwood' on 'Don Juan,' containing an indignant defence of his own conduct in relation to his wife, and maintaining that he never yet has had an opportunity of knowing whereof he has been accused; accusing Sir S. Romilly of taking his retainer, and then going over to the adverse party, &c. (Printed for private circulation; to be found in the standard English edition of Murray, vol. ix. p. 57.)

      To this condensed account of Byron's strategy we must add the crowning stroke of policy which transmitted this warfare to his friends, to be continued after his death.

      During the last visit Moore made him in Italy, and just before Byron presented to him his 'Autobiography,' the following scene occurred, as narrated by Moore (vol. iv. p. 221):—

      'The chief subject of conversation, when alone, was his marriage, and the load of obloquy which it had brought upon him. He was most anxious to know the worst that had been alleged of his conduct; and, as this was our first opportunity of speaking together on the subject, I did not hesitate to put his candour most searchingly to the proof, not only by enumerating the various charges I had heard brought against him by others, but by specifying such portions of these charges as I had been inclined to think not incredible myself.

      'To all this he listened with patience, and answered with the most unhesitating frankness; laughing to scorn the tales of unmanly outrage related of him, but at the same time acknowledging that there had been in his conduct but too much to blame and regret, and stating one or two occasions during his domestic life when he had been irritated into letting the "breath of bitter words" escape him, … which he now evidently remembered with a degree of remorse and pain which might well have entitled them to be forgotten by others.

      'It was, at the same time, manifest, that, whatever admissions he might be inclined to make respecting his own delinquencies, the inordinate measure of the punishment dealt out to him had sunk deeply into his mind, and, with the usual effect of such injustice, drove him also to be unjust himself; so much so, indeed, as to impute to the quarter to which he now traced all his ill fate a feeling of fixed hostility to himself, which would not rest, he thought, even at his grave, but continue to persecute his memory as it was now embittering his life. So strong was this impression upon him, that, during one of our few intervals of seriousness, he conjured me by our friendship, if, as he both felt and hoped, I should survive him, not to let unmerited censure settle upon his name.'

      In this same account, page 218, Moore testifies that

      'Lord Byron disliked his countrymen, but only because he knew that his morals were held in contempt by them. The English, themselves rigid observers of family duties, could not pardon him the neglect of his, nor his trampling on principles; therefore, neither did he like being presented to them, nor did they, especially when they had wives with them, like to cultivate his acquaintance. Still there was