DEATH IN A GREAT CAUSE
The end was not to come, as Byron may have hoped, on the field of battle.
It was his health, as he had apprehended (though without, for that reason,
taking any special care of it) that was to fail him. An imprudent plunge
into the winter sea while on his way to Missolonghi had upset him; and
though he had temporarily recovered, he was in no state to resist the
pestilential climate of that dismal swamp. He knew it, and at the very
time when Stanhope was writing home that "Lord Byron burns with military
ardour and chivalry," he was keenly conscious, as his own letters show, of
the danger attending his residence in the most malarious quarter of a
malarious town.
"If we are not taken off by the sword," he wrote on February 5, "we
are like to march off with an ague in this mud basket; and, to
conclude with a bad grace better _marshally_ than _marti-ally_. The
dykes of Holland, when broken down, are the deserts of Arabia in
comparison with Missolonghi."
The risk, though inglorious in itself, was nevertheless the price of
glory; and he paid it willingly. He was, once more, as famous as at the
hour when "Childe Harold" had suddenly revealed his genius, and the fame
which he now tasted was of a worthier kind. Then he had dazzled and
fascinated. Now he enjoyed the love and admiration, not merely of idle
women, but of a whole people, and discovered that he had the power to heal
feuds and to lead men. He might, or might not, live to wear, or to refuse,
a kingly crown; but at least he had lived to be hailed as the Liberator of
a nation, and to be revered accordingly. An anecdote preserved by Parry,
the artificer who was serving under him in charge of the arsenal,
illustrates the adoration of the peasantry:
"Byron one day," Parry relates, "returned from his ride more than
usually pleased. An interesting country-woman, with a fine family, had
come out of her cottage and presented 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.'"
Such was the homage paid to him, by the humble as well as the great; but
it soon became increasingly evident that though he had achieved the glory,
death was to rob him of the crown. He began to have epileptic seizures;
and in the midst of them, there was trouble with the Suliotes. There were
only five hundred of them, and they preferred the insolent claim that one
hundred and fifty of them should be promoted to be officers, and that the
rest should be accorded a month's pay in advance. Colonel Stanhope tells
us how he quelled the mutiny:
"Soon after his dreadful paroxysm, when he was lying on his sick-bed,
while his whole nervous system completely shaken, the mutinous
Suliotes, covered with dirt and splendid attire, broke into his
apartment, brandishing their costly arms, and loudly demanding their
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."
The mutineers suppressed, the doctors came and bled him. He pulled
through, whether in consequence of their treatment or in spite of it; but
his regimen and his mode of life were not such as to restore him to
vigour. He was sweeping away the coats of his stomach by large and
frequent doses of powerful purgative medicaments; and in the intervals
between the purges he partook freely of a comfortable and potent kind of
punch which Parry mixed for him. It is no wonder, therefore, that relapse
succeeded relapse and that just at that hour at which fortune seemed
beginning to smile upon the Greeks, his life could be seen to be ebbing
away.
On April 9, while riding with Gamba, he was caught in a violent storm of
rain. "I should make a fine soldier if I did not know how to stand such a
trifle as this," he said to his companion; but two hours after his return
he was shivering and complaining: "I am in great pain," he said to Gamba.
"I should not care for dying but I cannot bear these pains." On April 11,
he was well enough to ride again, but on the 12th, he was in bed with what
was diagnosed as rheumatic fever, and the fever never again left him. The
inevitable proposal to bleed him was repeated. At first he resisted, with
the usual talk about the lancet being more deadly than the sword, but in
the end he acquiesced. "There!" he said. "You are, I see, a d----d set of
butchers. Take away as much blood as you like, and have done with it."
They took twenty ounces of blood from him. It was an absurd treatment, and
probably hastened the end; but he had bad doctors, and even the good
doctors of these days knew no better. Moreover his constitution was
shattered. He was falling to pieces like an old ruin, and it is doubtful
whether the wisest treatment could have saved him. There was a further
rally, however, and Gamba, who was laid up in an adjoining apartment with
a sprained ankle, hobbled in to see him. "I contrived," he writes, "to
walk to his room. His look alarmed me much. He was too calm. He talked to
me in the kindest way, but in a sepulchral tone. I could not bear it. A
flood of tears burst from me, and I was obliged to retire."
Soon after this, the final delirium set in. His attendants stood by his
bedside weeping copiously. They could not, says Cordy Jeaffreson
cynically, have wept more copiously "if there had been a prize of a
thousand guineas for the one who wept most." Afterwards he was alone, at
one time with Parry, and at another time with Fletcher; and of his last
articulate words there is more than one account. It is told that he spoke
of Greece: "I have given her my time, my money, and my health--what could
I do more? Now I give her my life." It is told that he gesticulated
wildly, as if mounting a breach to an assault, and calling, half in
English, half in Italian: "Forward--forward--courage--follow my
example--don't be afraid." It is told again that he stammered
unintelligible messages to Lady Byron and to his sister.
But all that matters little. What matters is, not Byron's last utterance,
but his last action, now that neither love nor lust, nor despair, nor
bitterness, nor sloth, nor self-indulgence, held him any longer in
unworthy bondage. For he had died in the act of redeeming the many wasted
years, and of fulfilling the prediction of his most degraded time, that,
in spite of everything, he would come to achievement at last--not merely
the literary achievement which was compatible with the life of a trifler
and a man of pleasure, but the more glorious achievement which is only
possible to those who consent to sacrifice their ease and make a free gift
of their energies to a cause which they perceive to be greater than
themselves.
APPENDIX
BYRON'S LETTER TO MARY CHAWORTH
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 incapable of _real_ love for any other human
being--for what could they be to me after _you_? 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. 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. 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 soon after the persecution of
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--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 commonplace 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,
INDEX
Albrizzi, Countess, 300, 302
Allegra, Byron's natural daughter, 272, 345-346
Bankes, William, 150
Becher, Rev. John, 44, 50
Benzoni, Countess, 300, 302-303
Bessborough, Lady, 148
Blessington, Lady, 336-337, 342, 352-353
"_Bride of Abydos, The_," 170
Broglie, Duc de, 265
Byron, Admiral Lord, 6
Byron, Augusta. _See_ Leigh, Augusta
Byron, Captain George, the poet's cousin, 209, 226
Byron, Captain, "Mad Jack," the poet's father, 6-7, 10-11
Byron, George Noel Gordon, Lord, ancestors, parents, and hereditary
influences, 1-9;
childhood and schooldays, 10-22;
schoolboy love affairs, 23-34;
life at Cambridge, and flirtations at Southwell, 35-49;
revelry at Newstead, 50-62;
the "grand tour," 63-74;
flirtations in Spain, 70-74;
meeting with Mrs. Spencer Smith, 74-86;
at Athens, 87;
swims the Hellespont, 94;
return to England, 101;
death of his mother, 101;
publishes "_Childe Harold_," 103-111;
recollections of Mary Chaworth, 114-126;
infatuation of Lady Caroline Lamb, 128-145;
acquaintance with Lady Oxford, 148-155;
renewed relations with Mary Chaworth, 164-181;
Marriage with Miss Milbanke, 182-193;
disagreements, 194-207;
Lady Byron demands separation, 208-226;
scandalous accusations against him, 226-252;
departure for the Continent, 253;
acquaintance with Miss Clairmont, 256-263, 271-273;
at Geneva, 264-276;
in Italy, 277 _et seq._;
moral decline, 280-298;
in the Venetian salons, 300;
attachment to Countess Guiccioli, 302-328;
revolutionary activities, 324-335;
life at Pisa and Genoa, 336-355;
enlists in the Greek cause, 356-373;
illness and death, 369-373
Byron, John, Lord, 2
Byron, Lady, wife of the poet, marriage, 192;
disagreements, 194-207;
demands separation, 208-226;
scandalous admissions, 226-252;
mentioned, 339-341, 373. _See also_ Milbanke, Anna Isabella
Byron, Mrs., the poet's mother, 10-17, 28, 31, 37-38, 42, 51, 101
Byron, Richard, Lord, 2
Byron, Sir John, of Claydon, 1
Byron, "the wicked Lord," 4-6, 12, 15
Byron, William, Lord, 3
Canning, Sir Stratford, 96-98
Carlisle, Lord, 15-17, 58, 60-61
Carmarthen, Marchioness of, 6
Chateaubriand, Vicomte de, 64-66
Chaworth, Mary, 25, 27-34, 114-126, 156-157, 159-160, 164-181, 248-250,
310-311, 366-368, 375-376
Chaworth, William, 4
"_Childe Harold_," 65-66, 102-111, 120
Clairmont, Jane, 256-263, 269-273, 284, 334, 346
Clermont, Mrs., 209, 219
Cogni, Margarita, 289-291
Cordova, Admiral, 69
Dallas, 103-105, 110
Davies, Scrope, 39, 118, 228, 255
"_Don Juan_," 297, 342
Duff, Mary, 23
"_English Bards and Scotch Reviewers_," 59-62
Forbes, Lady Adelaide, 166, 184
Galt, John, 71-74, 83, 98, 105-106
Gamba, Pietro, 362
Gifford, William, 152
Godwin, Mary, 257, 260, 263, 269-271, 273
Guiccioli, Count, 302, 306, 313-321
Guiccioli, Countess, 233, 302-323, 330-332, 336-337, 341-343, 350-355
Hanson, Charles, 150-152, 216, 219
Harness, Rev. William, 119, 127, 135
Hervey, Mrs., 265
Hobhouse, John Cam, 66, 68, 72, 87, 99, 153, 189-190, 208-209, 213, 218,
219, 221, 228, 255, 274, 277-278
Hodgson, 118-119, 123-124, 127, 144, 152, 216, 218, 228, 246
Holland, Lady, 132
Holland, Lord, 221
Hoppner, Consul-General at Venice, 288, 304, 307, 316-317
Horton, Wilmot, 224
"_Hours of Idleness_," 21
Houson, Anne, 45
Hunt, Leigh, 228, 336-337, 349-352
Hutchinson, Colonel, 3
Jersey, Lady, 227-228
Kemble, Fanny, 141
Lamb, Lady Caroline, 106-107, 128-145, 146-147, 245
Lamb, William, afterwards Lord Melbourne, 128-131, 133-135, 142-143,
145-147
Lauriston, General, 76
Leigh, Medora, 177
Leigh, Augusta, 7, 37, 151-152, 155, 174-175, 197-199, 209, 212-213,
216, 219, 222-223, 234-252, 274, 291, 373
Lovelace, Lord, 206, 218, 235-240, 249-252
Lushington, Dr., 214, 217, 245-246
Macri, Theresa, 88-91
"_Manfred_," 297
Mardyn, Mrs., 256
Mavrocordatos, 359, 361, 363
Medwin, 96, 138, 140-141, 144, 160-161, 195, 336
Melbourne, Lady, 128, 185-186, 221
Melbourne, Lord. _See_ Lamb, William
Milbanke, Anna Isabella, afterwards Lady Byron, 128, 155, 182-192
Milbanke, Sir Ralph, afterwards Noel, 191
Moore, Thomas, 123-124, 127, 131-132, 152, 154-155, 168, 184, 228, 315,
334
Morgan, Lady, 132
Murray, John, 151-152, 319, 346
Napoleon I., 75-77
Noel, Sir Ralph, 211, 214-216, 219. _See also_ Milbanke, Sir Ralph
Oxford, Lady, 148-157
Parker, Margaret, 25-26
Pedley, Mrs., 93-94
Robertson, Rev. F. W., 237, 251
Rogers, Samuel, 127, 131-132, 135-136, 228, 254
Salvo, Marquis de, 76-82
Segati, Marianna, 280-284, 287, 288-290
Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 257, 260-261, 263-264, 269-271, 273, 293,
331-332, 336-337, 339, 348-349
Shipman, Thomas, 3
Sligo, Lord, 99
Smith, Florence Spencer, 74-86
Staël, Madame de, 162, 166, 264-265
Stanhope, Lady Hester, 95-96
Stendhal, 277-278
Stowe, Harriet Beecher, 233-239, 246
"_Thyrza_," 121
Trelawny, 336-338, 359
Webster, James Wedderburn, 289, 293
Webster, Lady Frances, 158
Werry, Mrs., 91
Westmorland, Lady, 265
Williams, Captain, 348
Williams, Hugh W., 88-89
PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE & COMPANY LTD.
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FOOTNOTES:
[1] One of the heads of the family was born before his father's marriage,
but he was subsequently given a title on his own merits.
[2] In Mr. Murray's latest edition of "The Letters and Journals."
[3] He would have preferred Oxford, but there was no set of rooms vacant
at Christ Church.
[4] They intoned underneath his windows the supplication: Good Lort,
deliver us!
[5] Musters took his wife's name when he married her, though he afterwards
resumed his own.
[6] In "Byron: the Last Phase."
[7] Afterwards the Rev. William Harness, and a popular preacher.
[8] Sir Ralph Milbanke had taken the name of Noel on succeeding to some
property.
[9] For the full text of the letter see Appendix.
[10] It is doubtful whether Shelley was at Marlow at this date, so that
Miss Clairmont's memory of the place of meeting was probably at fault.
[11] Southey, among others, circulated the scandal.
[12] Odysseus, who was in Attica.