CHAPTER XXXII

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.

TAVISTOCK STREET COVENT GARDEN LONDON

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.