by Lord Byron
When he often vowed to love her?
How could she her heart defend
When he took the name of friend?”
Dates are seldom affixed to the compositions, and it is impossible to say whether any are autobiographical. But, taken as a whole, they reveal a clever, romantic, impulsive, imaginative woman, whose pet names describe at once the charm of her character and the fascination of her small, slight figure, “golden hair, large hazel eyes,” and low musical voice.
Her marriage with William Lamb, June 3, seems to have been at first kept secret. Lord Minto in August, 1805 (Life and Letters, vol. iii. p. 361), speaks of her as unmarried, and adds that she is “a lively and rather a pretty girl; they say she is very clever.” Augustus Foster, writing to his mother, Lady Elizabeth Foster, July 30, 1805 (The Two Duchesses, p. 233), says,
“I cannot fancy Lady Caroline married. I cannot be glad of it. How changed she must be — the delicate Ariel, the little Fairy Queen become a wife and soon perhaps a mother.”
Lady Elizabeth replies, September 30, 1805 (ibid., p. 242):
“You may retract all your sorrow about Caro Ponsonby’s marriage, for she is the same wild, delicate, odd, delightful person, unlike everything.”
Lady Caroline and William Lamb are described by Lady Elizabeth, three months later, as “flirting all day long è felice adesso.” The phrase, perhaps, correctly expresses Lady Caroline’s conception of love as an episode; but no breach occurred till 1813. In the previous year, when Byron had suddenly risen to the height of his fame, she had refused to be introduced by Lady Westmorland to the man of whom she made the famous entry in her Diary “mad, bad, and dangerous to know.” But they met, a few days later, at Holland House, and Byron called on her in Whitehall, where for the next four months he was a daily visitor. On blue-bordered paper, embossed at the corners with scallop-shells, she wrote to Byron at an early stage in their acquaintance,.
For the sequel to the story of their friendship, see Byron’s to Lady Caroline, p. 135, 1, and .
232 — to Lady Caroline Lamb
[Undated.]
I never supposed you artful: we are all selfish, — nature did that for us. But even when you attempt deceit occasionally, you cannot maintain it, which is all the better; want of success will curb the tendency. Every word you utter, every line you write, proves you to be either sincere or a fool. Now as I know you are not the one, I must believe you the other.
I never knew a woman with greater or more pleasing talents, general as in a woman they should be, something of everything, and too much of nothing. But these are unfortunately coupled with a total want of common conduct. For instance, the note to your page — do you suppose I delivered it? or did you mean that I should? I did not of course.
Then your heart, my poor Caro (what a little volcano!), that pours lava through your veins; and yet I cannot wish it a bit colder, to make a marble slab of, as you sometimes see (to understand my foolish metaphor) brought in vases, tables, etc., from Vesuvius, when hardened after an eruption. To drop my detestable tropes and figures, you know I have always thought you the cleverest, most agreeable, absurd, amiable, perplexing, dangerous, fascinating little being that lives now, or ought to have lived 2000 years ago. I won’t talk to you of beauty; I am no judge. But our beauties cease to be so when near you, and therefore you have either some, or something better. And now, Caro, this nonsense is the first and last compliment (if it be such) I ever paid you. You have often reproached me as wanting in that respect; but others will make up the deficiency.
Come to Lord Grey’s; at least do not let me keep you away. All that you so often say, I feel. Can more be said or felt? This same prudence is tiresome enough; but one must maintain it, or what can one do to be saved? Keep to it.
Fletcher, — Will you come and see me here some evening at 9, and no one will know of it. You may say you bring a letter, and wait the answer. I will send for you in. But I will let you know first, for I wish to speak with you. I also want you to take the little Foreign Page I shall send in to see Lord Byron. Do not tell him before-hand, but, when he comes with flowers, shew him in. I shall not come myself, unless just before he goes away; so do not think it is me. Besides, you will see this is quite a child, only I wish him to see my Lord if you can contrive it, which, if you tell me what hour is most convenient, will be very easy. I go out of Town to-morrow for a day or two, and I am now quite well — at least much better.”
233 — To William Bankes
My Dear Bankes, — I feel rather hurt (not savagely) at the speech you made to me last night, and my hope is that it was only one of your profane jests. I should be very sorry that any part of my behaviour should give you cause to suppose that I think higher of myself, or otherwise of you than I have always done. I can assure you that I am as much the humblest of your servants as at Trin. Coll.; and if I have not been at home when you favoured me with a call, the loss was more mine than yours. In the bustle of buzzing parties, there is, there can be, no rational conversation; but when I can enjoy it, there is nobody’s I can prefer to your own.
Believe me, ever faithfully and most affectionately yours,
Byron.
234 — to Thomas Moore
Friday noon.
I should have answered your note yesterday, but I hoped to have seen you this morning. I must consult with you about the day we dine with Sir Francis. I suppose we shall meet at Lady Spencer’s to-night. I did not know that you were at Miss Berry’s the other night, or I should have certainly gone there.
As usual, I am in all sorts of scrapes, though none, at present, of a martial description.
Believe me, etc.
“I had a quarter of an hour’s conversation, which, I own, gave me a great desire to know him better, and he seemed willing that I should do so.”
The second occasion was May 7, 1812.
“At the end of the evening I had half an hour’s conversation with Lord Byron, principally on the subject of the Scotch Review, with which he is very much pleased. He is a singular man, and pleasant to me but I very much fear that his head begins to be turned by all the adoration of the world, especially the women”
(Journal and Correspondence of Miss Berry, vol. ii. pp. 496, 497).
235 — to Lady Caroline Lamb
May 1st, 1812.
My Dear Lady Caroline, — I have read over the few poems of Miss Milbank with attention. They display fancy, feeling, and a little practice would very soon induce facility of expression. Though I have an abhorrence of Blank Verse, I like the lines on Dermody so much that I wish they were in rhyme. The lines in the Cave at Seaham have a turn of thought which I cannot sufficiently commend, and here I am at least candid as my own opinions differ upon such subjects. The first stanza is very good indeed, and the others, with a few slight alterations, might be rendered equally excellent. The last are smooth and pretty. But these are all, has she no others? She certainly is a very extraordinary girl; who would imagine so much strength and variety of thought under that placid Countenance? It is not necessary for Miss M. to be an authoress, indeed I do not think publishing at all creditable either to men or women, and (though you will not believe me) very often feel ashamed of it myself; but I have no hesitation in saying that she has talents which, were it proper or requisite to indulge, would have led to distinction.
A friend of mine (fifty years old, and an author, but not Rogers) has just been here. As there is no name to the MSS. I shewed them to him, and he was much more enthusiastic in his praises than I have been. He thinks them beautiful; I shall content myself with observing that they are better, much better, than anything of Miss M.’s protegée (sic) Blacket. You will say as much of this to Miss M. as you think proper. I say all this very sincerely. I have no desire to be better acquainted with Miss Milbank; she is too good for a fallen spirit to know, and I should like her more if she were less perfect. Believe me, yours ever most truly,
B.
“
was the most primitive hamlet ever met with — a dozen or so of cottages, no trade, no manufacture, no business doing that we could see; the owners were mostly servants of Sir Ralph Milbanke’s.”
(Memoirs of a Highland Lady, p. 71). It was here that Blacket the poet (see Letters, vol. i. p. 314, note 2 [
Byron (Medwin’s Conversations with Lord Byron, pp. 44, 45) thus describes the personal appearance of his future wife:
“There was something piquant and what we term pretty in Miss Milbanke. Her features were small and feminine, though not regular. She had the fairest skin imaginable. Her figure was perfect for her height; and there was a simplicity, a retired modesty, about her, which was very characteristic, and formed a happy contrast to the cold, artificial formality and studied stiffness which is called fashion.”
The roundness of her face suggested to Byron the pet name of “Pippin.”
High-principled, guided by a strong sense of duty, imbued with deep religious feeling, Miss Milbanke lived to impress F. W. Robertson as “the noblest woman he ever knew” (Diary of Crabb Robinson (1852), vol. iii. p. 405). She was also a clever, well-read girl, fond of mathematics, a student of theology and of Greek, a writer of meritorious verse, which, however, Byron only allowed to be “good by accident” (Medwin, p. 60). Among her mother’s friends were Mrs. Siddons, Joanna Baillie, and Maria Edgeworth. The latter, writing, May, 1813, to Miss Ruxton, says, “Lady Milbanke is very agreeable, and has a charming, well-informed daughter.” With all her personal charms, virtues, and mental gifts, she shows, in many of her letters, a precision, formality, and self-complacency, which suggest the female pedant. Byron says of her that “she was governed by what she called fixed rules and principles, squared mathematically,” (Medwin, p. 60); at one time he used to speak of her as his “Princess of Parallelograms,” and at a later period he called her his “Mathematical Medea.”
Before Miss Milbanke met Byron, she had a lover in Augustus Foster, son of Lady Elizabeth Foster, afterwards Duchess of Devonshire. The duchess, writing to her son, February 29, 1812, says that Mrs. George Lamb (?) would sound Miss Milbanke as to her feelings:
“Caro means to see la bella Annabelle before she writes to you … I shall almost hate her if she is blind to the merits of one who would make her so happy”
(The Two Duchesses, p. 358). Apparently Mr. Foster’s love was not returned.
“She persists in saying,” writes the duchess, May 4, 1812 (ibid., p. 362), “that she never suspected your attachment to her; but she is so odd a girl that, though she has for some time rather liked another, she has decidedly refused them, because she thinks she ought to marry a person with a good fortune; and this is partly, I believe, from generosity to her parents, and partly owning that fortune is an object to herself for happiness. In short, she is good, amiable, and sensible, but cold, prudent, and reflecting. Lord Byron makes up to her a little; but she don’t seem to admire him except as a poet, nor he her except for a wife.”
Again, June 2, 1812, she says,
“Your Annabella is a mystery; liking, not liking; generous-minded, yet afraid of poverty; there is no making her out. I hope you don’t make yourself unhappy about her; she is really an icicle.”
Miss Milbanke’s unaffected simplicity attracted Byron; even her coldness was a charm. When he came to know her, he probably found her not only agreeable, but the best woman he had ever met. Lady Melbourne, who knew him most intimately, and was also Miss Milbanke’s aunt, may well have thought that, if her niece once gained control over Byron, her influence would be the making of his character. She encouraged the match by every means in her power. It is unnecessary to suppose that she did so to save Lady Caroline Lamb; that danger was over. At some time before the autumn of 1812, Byron proposed to Miss Milbanke, and was refused. He still, however, continued to correspond with her, and his shows that his affection for her was steadily growing during the years 1813-14. In September, 1814, he proposed a second time, and was accepted.
Byron professed to believe (Medwin, p. 59) that Miss Milbanke was not in love with him.
“I was the fashion when she first came out; I had the character of being a great rake, and was a great dandy — both of which young ladies like. She married me from vanity, and the hope of reforming and fixing me.”
Byron was not the man to unbosom himself to Medwin on such a subject. Moore asked the same question — whether Lady Byron really loved Byron — of Lady Holland, who
“seemed to think she must. He was such a loveable person. I remember him (said she) sitting there with that light upon him, looking so beautiful!’“
(Journals, etc., vol. ii. p. 324). The letters that will follow seem to show beyond all question that the marriage was one of true affection on both sides.
236 — to Thomas Moore
May 8, 1812.
I am too proud of being your friend, to care with whom I am linked in your estimation, and, God knows, I want friends more at this time than at any other. I am “taking care of myself” to no great purpose. If you knew my situation in every point of view, you would excuse apparent and unintentional neglect. I shall leave town, I think; but do not you leave it without seeing me. I wish you, from my soul, every happiness you can wish yourself; and I think you have taken the road to secure it. Peace be with you! I fear she has abandoned me. Ever, etc.
237 — to Thomas Moore
May 20, 1812.
On Monday, after sitting up all night, I saw Bellingham launched into eternity, and at three the same day I saw — — launched into the country.
I believe, in the beginning of June, I shall be down for a few days in Notts. If so, I shall beat you up en passant with Hobhouse, who is endeavouring, like you and every body else, to keep me out of scrapes.
I meant to have written you a long letter, but I find I cannot. If any thing remarkable occurs, you will hear it from me — if good; if bad, there are plenty to tell it. In the mean time, do you be happy.
Ever yours, etc.
P.S. — My best wishes and respects to Mrs. Moore; — she is beautiful. I may say so even to you, for I was never more struck with a countenance.
“was accompanied on the occasion by his old schoolfellows, Mr. Bailey and Mr. John Madocks. They went together from some assembly, and, on their arriving at the spot, about three o’clock in the morning, not finding the house that was to receive them open, Mr. Madocks undertook to rouse the inmates, while Lord Byron and Mr. Bailey sauntered, arm in arm, up the street. During this interval, rather a painful scene occurred. Seeing an unfortunate woman lying on the steps of a door, Lord Byron, with some expression of compassion, offered her a few shillings; but, instead of accepting them, she violently pushed away his hand, and, starting up with a yell of laughter, began to mimic the lameness of his gait. He did not utter a word; but ‘I could feel,’ said Mr. Bailey, ‘his arm trembling within mine, as we left her.’ “
In Byron’s Detached Thoughts is an anecdote of Baillie, whose name is here misspelt by Moore:
“Baillie (commonly called ‘Long’ Baillie, a very clever man, but odd) complained in riding, to our friend Scrope Davies, that he had a stitch in his side. ‘I don’t wonder at it,’ said Scrope, ‘for you ride like a tailor.’ Whoever has seen B. on horseback, with his very tall figure on a small nag, would not deny the justice of the repartee.”
238 — to Bernard Barton
8, St. James’s St., June 1, 1812.
The most satisfactory answer to the concluding part of your letter is that Mr. Murray will republish your volume, if you still retain your inclination for the experiment, which I trust will be successful. Some weeks ago my friend Mr. Rogers showed me some of the stanzas in MS., and I then expressed my opinion of their merit, which a further perusal of the printed volume has given me no reason to revoke. I mention this, as it may not be disagreeable to you to learn that I entertained a very favourable opinion of your powers, before I was aware that such sentiments were reciprocal.
/> Waiving your obliging expressions as to my own productions, for which I thank you very sincerely, and assure you that I think not lightly of the praise of one whose approbation is valuable, will you allow me to talk to you candidly, not critically, on the subject of yours? You will not suspect me of a wish to discourage, since I pointed out to the publisher the propriety of complying with your wishes. I think more highly of your poetical talents than it would, perhaps, gratify you to hear expressed, for I believe, from what I observe of your mind, that you are above flattery. To come to the point, you deserve success, but we know, before Addison wrote his Cato, that desert does not always command it. But, suppose it attained, —
“You know what ills the author’s life assail,
Toil, envy, want, the patron and the jail.”
Do not renounce writing, but never trust entirely to authorship. If you have a possession, retain it; it will be, like Prior’s fellowship, a last and sure resource. Compare Mr. Rogers with other authors of the day; assuredly he is amongst the first of living poets, but is it to that he owes his station in society, and his intimacy in the best circles? No, it is to his prudence and respectability; the world (a bad one, I own) courts him because he has no occasion to court it. He is a poet, nor is he less so because he was something more. I am not sorry to hear that you are not tempted by the vicinity of Capel Loft, Esq’re., though, if he had done for you what he has done for the Bloomfields, I should never have laughed at his rage for patronising. But a truly constituted mind will ever be independent. That you may be so is my sincere wish, and, if others think as well of your poetry as I do, you will have no cause to complain of your readers.
Believe me, etc.
“There mark what ills the scholar’s life assail, —
Toil, envy, want, the patron and the jail.”
Johnson’s Vanity of Human Wishes, line 159.
239 — to Lord Holland
June 25, 1812.
My Dear Lord, — I must appear very ungrateful, and have, indeed, been very negligent, but till last night I was not apprised of Lady Holland’s restoration, and I shall call to-morrow to have the satisfaction, I trust, of hearing that she is well. — I hope that neither politics nor gout have assailed your Lordship since I last saw you, and that you also are “as well as could be expected.”