Byron: The Last Phase Part 26

If that conjecture be correct, this is the only allusion to Medora in Byron's poetry. But she is indicated in prose. In reference to the death of one of Moore's children, Byron wrote (February 2, 1818):

'I know how to feel with you, because I am quite wrapped up in my own children. Besides my little legitimate, I have made unto myself an illegitimate since, _to say nothing of one before_; and I look forward to one of them as the pillar of my old age, supposing that I ever reach, as I hope I never shall, that desolating period.'

In the _one before_ Moore will have recognized Medora. In spite of the 'scarlet cloak and double figure,' Moore had no belief in the story that Byron became a father while at Harrow School!

'The Dream,' which was written in July, 1816, is perhaps more widely known than any of Byron's poems. Its theme is the remembrance of a hopeless pa.s.sion, which neither Time nor Reason could extinguish. Similar notes of lamentation permeate most of his poems, but in 'The Dream' Byron, for the first time, takes the world into his confidence, and tells his tale of woe with such distinctness that we realize its truth, its pa.s.sion, and its calamity. The publication of that poem was an indiscretion which must have been very disconcerting to his sister. Fortunately, it had no disastrous consequences. It apparently awakened no suspicions, and its sole effect was to incense Mary Chaworth's husband, who, in order to stop all prattle, caused the 'peculiar diadem of trees' to be cut down. In Byron's early poems we see how deeply Mary Chaworth's marriage affected him; but this was known only to a small circle of Southwell friends. In 'The Dream' we realize that she was in fact a portion of his life, and that his own marriage had not in the least affected his feelings towards her. He had tried hard to forget her, but in vain; she was his destiny. Whether Byron, when he wrote this poem, had any idea of publis.h.i.+ng it to the world is not known. It may possibly have been written to relieve his overburdened mind, and would not have seen the light but for Lady Byron's treatment of Mrs.

Leigh on the memorable occasion when she extracted, under promise of secrecy, the so-called 'Confession,' to which we shall allude presently.

In any case, Byron became aware of what had happened in September, 1816.

In some lines addressed to his wife, he tells her that she bought others'

grief at any price, adding:

'The means were worthy, and the end is won; I would not do by thee as _thou_ hast done.'

Possibly, Byron may have thought that the publication of this poem would act as a barb, and would wound Lady Byron's stubborn pride. Its appearance in the circ.u.mstances was certainly _contra bonos mores_, but we must remember that 'men in rage often strike those who wish them best.'

Whatever may have been Byron's intention, 'The Dream' affords a proof that Mary Chaworth was never long absent from his thoughts. At this time, when he felt a deep remorse for his conduct towards Mary Chaworth, he asks himself:

'What is this Death? a quiet of the heart?

The whole of that of which we are a part?

For Life is but a vision--what I see Of all which lives alone is Life to me, And being so--the absent are the dead Who haunt us from tranquillity, and spread A dreary shroud around us, and invest With sad remembrancers our hours of rest.

The absent are the dead--for they are cold, And ne'er can be what once we did behold; And they are changed, and cheerless,--or if yet _The unforgotten do not all forget, Since thus divided_--equal must it be _If the deep barrier be of earth, or sea_; _It may be both_--but one day end it must In the dark union of insensate dust.'

It was at this time also that Byron wrote his 'Stanzas to Augusta,' which show his complete confidence in her loyalty:

'Though human, thou didst not deceive me, Though woman, thou didst not forsake, Though loved, thou forborest to grieve me, Though tempted, thou never couldst shake; _Though trusted, thou didst not betray me_, Though parted, it was not to fly, Though watchful, 'twas not to defame me, _Nor, mute, that the world might belie_.'

Byron's remorse also found expression in 'Manfred,' where contrition is but slightly veiled by words of mysterious import, breathed in an atmosphere of mountains, magic, and ghost-lore. People in society, whose ears had been poisoned by insinuations against Mrs. Leigh, and who knew nothing of Byron's intercourse with Mary Chaworth, came to the conclusion that 'Manfred' revealed a criminal attachment between Byron and his sister. Byron was aware of this, and, conscious of his innocence, held his head in proud defiance, and laughed his enemies to scorn. He did not deign to defend himself; and the public--forgetful of the maxim that where there is a sense of guilt there is a jealousy of drawing attention to it--believed the worst. When a critique of 'Manfred,' giving an account of the supposed origin of the story, was sent to Byron, he wrote to Murray:

'The conjecturer is out, and knows nothing of the matter. I had a better origin than he can devise or divine for the soul of him.'

That was the simple truth. The cruel allegation against Mrs. Leigh seemed to be beneath contempt. As Sir Egerton Brydges pointed out at the time, Byron, being of a strong temperament, did not reply to the injuries heaped upon him by whining complaints and cowardly protestations of innocence; he became desperate, and broke out into indignation, sarcasm, and exposure of his opponents, in a manner so severe as to seem inexcusably cruel to those who did not realize the provocation. It was 'war to the knife,' and Byron had the best of it.

We propose to examine 'Manfred' closely, to see whether Astarte in any degree resembles the description which Lord Lovelace has given of Augusta Leigh.

Manfred tells us that his slumbers are 'a continuance of enduring thought,' since that 'all-nameless hour' when he committed the crime for which he suffers. He asks 'Forgetfulness of that which is within him--a crime which he cannot utter.' When told by the Seven Spirits that he cannot have self-oblivion, Manfred asks if Death would give it to him; and receives the sad reply that, being immortal, the spirit after death cannot forget the past.

Eventually the Seventh Spirit--typifying, possibly, a Magdalen--appears before Manfred, in the shape of a beautiful woman.

'MANFRED. Oh G.o.d! if it be thus, and _thou_ Art not a madness and a mockery, I yet might be most happy.'

When the figure vanishes, Manfred falls senseless. In the second act, Manfred, in reply to the chamois-hunter, who offers him a cup of wine, says:

'Away, away! there's blood upon the brim!

Will it then never--never sink in the earth?

'Tis blood--my blood! the pure warm stream Which ran in the veins of my fathers, and in ours When we were in our youth, and had one heart, And loved each other as we should not love, And _this_ was shed: but still it rises up.

Colouring the clouds that shut me out from Heaven.'

One may well wonder what all this has to do with Augusta. The blood that ran in Byron's veins also ran in the veins of Mary Chaworth, and that blood, shed by Byron's kinsman, had caused a feud, which was not broken until Byron came upon the scene, and fell hopelessly in love with 'the last of a time-honoured race.' Byron from his boyhood always believed that there was a blood-curse upon him.

When, two years later, he wrote 'The Duel' (December, 1818), he again alludes to the subject:

'I loved thee--I will not say _how_, Since things like these are best forgot: Perhaps thou mayst imagine now Who loved thee and who loved thee not.

And thou wert wedded to another, And I at last another wedded: I am a father, thou a mother, To strangers vowed, with strangers bedded.

'Many a bar, and many a feud, Though never told, well understood, Rolled like a river wide between-- _And then there was the curse of blood_, Which even my Heart's can not remove.

'I've seen the sword that slew him; he, The slain, stood in a like degree To thee, as he, the Slayer stood (Oh, had it been but other blood!) In Kin and Chieftains.h.i.+p to me.

Thus came the Heritage to thee.'

Clearly, then, the Spirit, which appeared to Manfred in the form of a beautiful female figure, was Mary Chaworth; the crime for which he suffered was his conduct towards her; and the blood, which his fancy beheld on the cup's brim, was the blood of William Chaworth, which his predecessor, Lord Byron, had shed. When asked by the chamois-hunter whether he had wreaked revenge upon his enemies, Manfred replies:

'No, no, no!

My injuries came down on those who loved me-- On those whom I best loved: I never quelled An enemy, save in my just defence-- But my embrace was fatal.'

In speaking of the 'core of his heart's grief,' Manfred says:

'Yet there was One-- She was like me in lineaments--her eyes-- Her hair--her features--all, to the very tone Even of her voice, they said were like to mine; But softened all, and tempered into beauty: She had the same lone thoughts and wanderings,[52]

The quest of hidden knowledge, and a mind To comprehend the Universe: nor these Alone, but with them gentler powers than mine, Pity, and smiles, and tears--which I had not; And tenderness--but that I had for her; Humility--and that I never had.

Her faults were mine--her virtues were her own-- I loved her, and destroyed her!

Not with my hand, but heart, _which broke her heart_; _It gazed on mine, and withered_.'

In order to appreciate the absurdity of connecting this description with Augusta, we will quote her n.o.ble accuser, Lord Lovelace:

'The character of Augusta is seen in her letters and actions. She was a woman of that great family which is vague about facts, unconscious of duties, impulsive in conduct. The course of her life could not be otherwise explained, by those who had looked into it with close intimacy, than by a kind of moral idiotcy from birth. She was of a sanguine and buoyant disposition, childishly fond and playful, ready to laugh at anything, loving to talk nonsense.'

In fact,

'_She had the same lone thoughts and wanderings, The quest of hidden knowledge, and a mind To comprehend the Universe._'

Lord Lovelace further tells us that Augusta Leigh 'had a refined species of comic talent'; that she was 'strangely insensible to the nature and magnitude of the offence in question [incest] even as an imputation;' and that 'there was apparently an absence of all deep feeling in her mind, of everything on which a strong impression could be made.' We are also told that 'Byron, after his marriage, generally spoke of Augusta as "a fool,"

with equal contempt of her understanding and principles.'

In short, Byron's description of the woman, whom he had 'destroyed,'

resembles Augusta Leigh about as much as a mountain resembles a haystack.

How closely Manfred's description resembles Mary Chaworth will be seen presently. Augusta Leigh had told Byron that, in consequence of his conduct, Mary Chaworth was out of her mind.

Manfred says that if he had never lived, that which he loved had still been living:

'... Had I never loved, That which I love would still be beautiful, Happy, and giving happiness. What is she?

What is she now? _A sufferer for my sins_-- _A thing I dare not think upon_--or nothing.'

When Nemesis asks Manfred whom he would 'uncharnel,' he replies:

'One without a tomb-- Call up Astarte.'

The name, of course, suggests a star. As we have seen, Byron often employed that metaphor in allusion to Mary Chaworth.