As time went on, the memory of this untoward incident gradually faded away, and the present generation thought little of the rights or wrongs of a controversy 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 acquainting themselves with the true position of Lord and Lady Byron,' a work ent.i.tled '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 d.a.m.ning 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 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 circ.u.mstances 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, cruelly a.s.sailed 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.

On January 2, 1815, 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, 1816.

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 pa.s.sages 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 interesting 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 you have been to your imagination! 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 I. "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 pa.s.sed till forced to remember it. I believe he was pleased with me, too, for a little 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 ent.i.tled 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 vanity, 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 deranged; she had a high name, and would have a fortune worth his attention--let her look to that for _his_ motives!"

'"Oh, 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 coldness 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 I. "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 forgotten; 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 I. 'Only a philosophical experiment, that's all,' said he. 'I wished to ascertain the value of your resolutions.'"

'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 were in the possession 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 irritation 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 affections, 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, 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 communicate 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 _his Rib_. They are now at Seaham, and not inclined 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 estimation, 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 _sets about_ 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 a.s.sure 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 circ.u.mstances_ of which I cannot _write_. Thank G.o.d! 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 Newstead, 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 representations 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 embarra.s.sments which interfered so much with his comfort, and I suppose I _ought_ to be satisfied with this.... May the future bring 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 contrive 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 well 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 inconveniences attending the best arrangements I could make for them.... My babes are all quite well; Medora more beautiful than ever.... Lady B. writes me word she never saw her father and mother so happy: that she believes 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 miserable. 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 18, 1815, 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, 1815, 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 of it while here after I received your last letter, which was the cause of _my_ 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 _inward_ feelings of peace and calm which are now unfortunately wanting. This is a subject which I cannot 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, 1815, 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, _he says_, "a very miserable dog for all that."'

At the end of June, 1815, 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, 1815, 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 afflicting nature, and compelled me often to neglect those to whom I feel most pleasure in writing.... My brother has just left me, having 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 congratulations to mine upon your marriage.'

On November 15, 1815, 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. Leigh's guilt had been forced into Lady Byron's mind chiefly by incidents and conversations which occurred while 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 grat.i.tude 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 very 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 contribute more to my happiness. These feelings will not change under any circ.u.mstances, and I should be grieved it you did not understand them.

'Should you hereafter condemn me, I shall not love you less. I will say no more. Judge for yourself about going or staying. I wish you to consider _yourself_, if you could be wise enough to do that for the first time in your life.'

On December 10, 1815, 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 a.s.sumed 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 determination. He often spoke of his conduct and intentions about women of the theatre, particularly on January 3, 1816, 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 possible) not a very remote one for that purpose. Of my opinion upon that subject you are sufficiently in possession, and of the circ.u.mstances 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.

'"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."'