Lord Byron's Marriage: The Bitter End

This is the last installment of the Lord Byron marriage saga. If you want to catch up on previous "episodes" starting with the first one, click HERE.

Annabella left 13 Piccadilly Square for good on January 15, 1816. Arguably, this was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. Later, she would later write that as she left that morning, it took every ounce of strength not to crumple at the foot of his door, where his dog normally lay, in the hopes they could start again.

As happens with so many couples in the midst of a split, the games now turned to finger pointing, accusations, and dismay. Byron’s already crumbling world virtually disintegrated.

Once Annabella and the newborn, Ada, were under her parents’ roof, all masks of deception she had worn during the one-year course of her marriage came off. With judicial precision, Annabella’s parents questioned her. They would know the true nature of her marriage with a man they had come to despise. There was to be no forgiveness, no negotiations, no reconciliation.

Byron: Public Domain

Annabella’s heart was in turmoil. In the beginning, she wrote letters to Byron that suggested her love for him was still strong. She was casual and offered nothing but news from home, signing her letters, “Ever thy most loving Pippin…Pip…Pip.” (Pip was Byron’s pet name for Annabella). Even so, once her mother had caught wind of some of Byron’s behavior, all control of the situation moved out of Annabella's hands. On January 20^th, Annabella’s mother, Lady Noel, set out for London determined to bring about a separation.

 
In the early days of this legal battle, letters circulated back and forth amongst Annabella, Byron, and Augusta, and finally between Lord Milbanke, Byron, and lawyers. Augusta was every bit as anxious as Byron to somehow stop the separation and wrote to Annabella that she please reconsider for Byron’s sake and for the sake of their child. Already rumors were flying, ones that involved Augusta as well as some involving Byron’s time in Greece several years before. "I was accused of every monstrous vice by public rumour and private rancor." Byron claimed complete innocence and bemusement at the charges leveled against him. He had no recollection of treating his wife poorly, and he roundly denounced any suggestion of incest between himself and his half-sister.

By February, it was obvious to Augusta and Byron, that they would not persuade Annabella to return to him. Byron reported that her parents had turned her against him. By now, the separation proceedings had taken on a life of their own. Lady Caroline Lamb, one of Byron’s lovers and a cousin by marriage to Annabella, heaped fuel on the fire with her revelation that years before, Byron had told her of his love for a woman who carried his child: “…there is a woman I love so passionately—she is with child by me, and if a daughter it shall be called Medora.” Medora was the name of Augusta’s daughter, but it should be mentioned that these words came through Caroline (and she was hardly a reliable witness).

The time of social worship ended for Byron during the spring of 1816. He was publicly cut. None of the old invitations came his way, and when he did appear in public, he was shunned. All public support moved to Annabella’s court.

Lady Byron: Public Domain

In the end, Lord Byron and Annabella were legally separated by divortium a mensa et thoro. Literally, this Latin phrase means separation from table and bed. This process was used in the case of cruel and violent treatment or adultery on either side. All financial ties were released from either party and remarriage was never allowed.

 Byron’s reputation now ruined, he left England in the spring of that year to live abroad. He never returned to England. With his usual flair for dramatics, Byron would later write,

“I was unfit for England; if false, England was unfit for me. I withdrew; but this was not enough. In other countries—in Switzerland, in the shadow of the Alps, and by the blue depths of the lakes—I was pursued and breathed upon by the same blight. I crossed the mountains, but it was the same; so I went a little farther, and settled myself by the waves of the Adriatic, like a stag at bay, who betakes him to the waters.”

As for Annabella, who went on to live a full life with many philanthropic endeavors, she was once asked by a friend how she had managed to survive her year of marriage to such a man. Annabella responded:
 

“I felt a responsibility for him as well as myself, and when my own interpretation of the natural law was clouded by my feelings, I referred to the Revealed will—in this sense, J[esus] Christ may indeed be said to have been my Saviour—I found in his precepts that ‘immutable morality’ which the reason of man is often incapable of discerning.”

Faith had always been Annabella’s cornerstone as much as self-damnation had been Byron’s. The inequality of their moral and spiritual philosophies may well have been the defeat of their marriage, as it has been for many others since.

Thanks for reading this exploration of the year of marriage between Lord Byron and Annabella Milbanke. 

My first Regency novel, Dangerous to Know, a story inspired by their marriage, is slated to be released sometime this fall through Elk Lake Publishing.

Source:

Crane, David. The Kindness of Sisters: Annabella Milbanke and the Destruction of the Byrons. Alfred A. Knopf, New York: 2002.

Lord Byron's Marriage: Locked to a Lord for Life

Throughout the month of January and February, I'm writing about Lord Byron's marriage to Annabella Milbanke. You can catch up on the other installments, starting HERE.

Once Lord and Lady Byron left Augusta Leigh's home at the end of March 1815, some of Byron's anxiety decreased. For a few short weeks, the newlyweds were able to settle in to their lives at 13 Piccadilly Terrace in London. But as was usual with Byron, the peace did not last.

Their finances were bad. Byron had debts in excess of thirty thousand pounds and no way to settle them. Their house at Piccadilly Terrace was large and required substantial staff; the rent was seven hundred pounds a year; they require a coach and coachmen. To live in the expected manner of the nobility was an expensive task. Byron's poetry might have been lucrative enough to pay for many of these niceties, but as a gentleman, Byron refused all monetary profits from his work.

The ton was all aflutter to see the new couple. Had Lady Byron managed to tame her wild lord, or was he as unruly as ever? Invitations poured in from all corners of Society. The Byrons were in demand for parties and dining engagements. No one at these events ever reported Byron's behavior as anything but gentlemanly and attentive to Annabella. Possibly he was settling into his new life, learning to accept it along with his husbandly role. Or perhaps he was on his best behavior because he knew people were watching... 

Another turn of the screw came with the discovery of Annabella's pregnancy. Byron was in two minds on this. On the one hand, he would have an heir; on the other hand, it was another mouth to feed. Byron wrote to his friend that he was "not particularly anxious" to have a child. Even so, reports of his affectionate concern and treatment of Annabella during this time reveal a more tender-hearted Byron, perhaps a man growing fond of the idea of fatherhood.

Not two weeks after the Byrons had moved into their new home, on April 12, Augusta Leigh arrived. Augusta had been appointed as one of Queen Charlotte's ladies-in-waiting. Consequently, Annabella had invited her to stay with them in Piccadilly Terrace while she sorted out and furnished rooms of her own at St. James's Palace. Perhaps Annabella wished to attempt a deeper relationship with her sister-in-law, to win her over to her side of the battle. Annabella would later write, "It was hopeless to keep them apart. It was not hopeless, in my opinion, to keep them innocent."

Annabella's intentions may have been pure, but the results were predictable. Augusta's visit produced the same sort distress within Lord Byron as when they had visited her at Six Mile Bottom. It was not long after her arrival that Byron told his wife, "You were a fool to let her come--You will find it will make a good deal of difference to you in all ways." No doubt Annabella had hoped for a different outcome for their marriage once they were settled in London and she was carrying his child, but she was again disappointed when Byron and Augusta took up exactly where they'd left off at Six Mile Bottom. Now, with the money woes as an additional stress, Byron taunted Annabella about her uncle's refusal to die and pass on the promised inheritance, as well as her father's promised marriage settlement of twenty thousand pounds, which had yet to be received.

Augusta's stay at Piccadilly Terrace stretched into a month, and then another. Although there were moments when her presence helped to buffer Byron's black moods, and she faithfully defended Annabella whenever he chose to treat her poorly, the late nights when Augusta and Byron sat up talking, laughing, and who knew what else, drove Annabella mad. One time in particular, Annabella wrote that "the thought of the dagger lying in the next room ... crossed my mind--I wished it in her heart." Obviously, a breaking point had been reached.

In June, Annabella finally sent Augusta packing. Again, there was the briefest of respites from Byron's black moods.

Was Byron prone to violent mood swings? Most likely, he was. By his own account, he was cursed and doomed, marred with the mark of Cain in the form of his lame leg. But did Annabella embellish these tales in any way? Some scholars say this, too, is a distinct probability. Much of what we hear about the horrors of their marriage come from Annabella's letters and legal statements from years later. Is it possible she had a different recollection of the way things unfolded?

In August of the year of their marriage, the Byrons received a young visitor from Boston, a Mr. George Ticknor, who came to meet and "worship at the shrine" of Byron. He was very surprised, however, to find that Byron was not at all the man he expected, nothing like the "the characters of his own Childe Harold & Giaour...either of his early follies or his present eccentricities." Instead, the visitor described Byron as "gentle...natural and unaffected." He went on to say that Byron was modest about his own works, but talked "of his rivals, or rather contemporaries, with justice, generosity, and discriminating praise."

Perhaps the most interesting observation made by Ticknor was in regard to Annabella. Byron, he said, acted in an "affectionate manner" with his wife. Once, he observed, as she prepared to depart for an outing, Byron "followed her to the door, and shook hands with her, as if he were not to see her for a month."

Byron could not have been wholly wicked to his wife all of the time, but a selfish and self-destructive streak in the poet drove him to discontent and a propensity toward behavior that split the couple apart. Perhaps if Byron had married another woman or if Annabella had married another man, they would have had the opportunity for happiness. But opposites attract. The unequal insist on being yoked. But fire and ice cannot coexist, and ultimately, a house divided against itself cannot stand.

Next week: Debt and Desperation

Sources:
MacCarthy, Fiona. Byron: Life and Legend. Farar, Straus and Giroux. New York: 2002.

Eisler, Benita. Byron: Child of Passion, Fool of Fame. Alfred A. Knopf. New York: 1999.

Lord Byron's Marriage: The Love Triangle

During the month of January, I am writing installments regarding the marriage of Lord Byron to Annabella Milbanke in January of 1815. This was a marriage equal in status, but woefully unequal in all other respects.

After a miserable first honeymoon week at Halnaby House in Yorkshire, Byron and Annabella settled into a reasonably happy time around or after January 7. On that date, Byron wrote to his friend and confidante, Lady Melbourne: "Bell and I go on extremely well so far without any other company than our own selves as yet." To others he wrote, "I have great hopes this match will turn out well--I have found nothing as yet that I could wish changed for the better--but Time does wonders--so I won't be too hasty in my happiness."

In fact, the peaceful and happy weeks of their remaining honeymoon were predictably interrupted by Byron's constant mentions of his half-sister, Augusta. Even so, he did not write to "Guss" after they left Halnaby. Lord and Lady Byron traveled once more to visit Annabella's parents in Seaham, where they stayed for three pleasant weeks. This time, it was Augusta who wrote to Annabella and scolded Byron for his silence. "Poor dear B! He must have So many occupations, walking, dining, playing at Drafts with 'Mama' &c. &c. &c. & no time to scribble to 'Guss.' I am vain enough to think he does not forget her--& so--never mind."

Most likely feeling the pressure to show how happy they were (and to stake her claim), Annabella returned Augusta's note and hinted that she and Byron were spending much time enjoying the physical benefits of marriage. Augusta replied simply, "I am glad B's spirits do not decrease with the Moon. I rather suspect he rejoices at the discovery of your 'ruling passion' for mischief in private."

Having never met Augusta in person, Annabella's freely offered information about bedroom matters must be seen as an attempt to draw boundaries. He is mine, not yours. It seems clear that she suspected something untoward may have passed between her husband and her new sister-in-law at some point and was eager to let it be known that such behavior would not be repeated, if she could help it.

Augusta Byron (1783-1851), later The Honourable Augusta Leigh, was the half-sister of Lord Byron. Public Domain.

Within a few weeks, Augusta countered with an invitation to her home at Six Mile Bottom. Her husband, Colonel Leigh, would not be at home for a time, and on March 9, the couple ended their honeymoon and headed south.

Arguably, this interlude between Halnaby, Seaham, and their eventual home in London, was a terrible mistake. If Byron had managed to avoid seeing Augusta for a little while longer, the couple's marriage might have stood a chance. But in Annabella's mind, the worst was over. She was learning how to deal with Byron, to make light of his comments that she would be better off alone. In fact, during one rare moment of ease, Byron said to Annabella, "You married me to make me happy, didn't you? Well, then, you do make me happy."

The black violence had passed, and Byron seemed content. "He was not content if I was away from him except on the black days when he would shut himself up in frenzied gloom." Presumably, Annabella took comfort in this and the idea of better days to come. Sadly for her, these were some of the better days of her marriage.

As the carriage pulled into Six Mile Bottom, Byron at first insisted upon meeting his sister alone and darted headlong into the house. When Annabella joined him, he was upset, nearly frantic. Augusta was not there to greet them. A few moments later, Augusta did appear and greeted Annabella guardedly. Annabella was disappointed. How could she not be? After the enthusiastic and intimate letters the two women had shared over the past two months, she was now to be greeted with such stiff regard. Even so, brother and sister warmly clasped one another, and Annabella left them for a time, knowing they had much catching up to do. At least, that was what she told herself. In truth, she couldn't have stayed another moment. She couldn't have watched their connection and heartfelt emotion. It would have broken her heart.

Later that night, Annabella lay in bed above the room in which her husband and his half-sister laughed and talked until all hours. And every evening thereafter, Annabella had to endure the subtle suggestions that she leave them and go to bed. And then there were the blatant taunts from Byron: "We can amuse ourselves without you, my charmer."

Annabella was deeply hurt and confused. "He never spent a moment with me that could be avoided, & even got up early in the morning (contrary to his general habit) to leave me and to go to her."

The bliss of Halnaby and Seaham was all but forgotten.

Next Week: Locked to a Lord for Life

Source:
Eisler, Benita. Byron: Child of Passion, Fool of Fame. Alfred A. Knopf. New York: 1999.

Lord Byron's Marriage: The First Week

This month I'm blogging about Lord Byron's marriage to Annabella Milbanke. They were married January 2, 1815--opposite types brought together by status and Society and doomed from the start. Annabella was devout in her faith and sheltered from the world for most of her life; Byron was worldly-wise--so much so that he considered himself cursed.

The morning after their wedding, Annabella awoke with what she described as "perhaps the deadliest chill that ever fell on my heart." Even now, no doubt, she wondered if she had made a terrible mistake. He had, after all, spent the majority of their wedding day telling her she should have married someone else. The second day was no different.

"It's too late now ... it's s done ... it cannot be undone." Byron repeatedly chanted these lines over the first weeks of their marriage. "I am a villain--I could convince you of it in three words." These words were coupled by his insistence that his family on both sides (the Gordons and the Byrons) were defiled by insanity and suicides. He punctuated this insistence a few weeks later by spurring on an argument regarding some material Annabella had read, grabbing a dagger that was left on display, and rushing into his bedroom where he locked himself in.

In fact, the material that caused such a ruckus was John Dryden's eighteenth century play, Don Sebastien. The story features an incestuous relationship between a brother and a sister who do not realize they are related. Byron had already planted seeds of doubt regarding his relationship with his half-sister, Augusta. He had read some of Augusta's letters aloud to Annabella, making sure she heard his half-sister's lines of endearment for him such as, "Dearest, first and best of human beings." He had also made it clear that no one loved, understood, or entertained him as well as Augusta.

Desperate for help, Annabella wrote to Augusta on the fourth of January and asked her to join them on their honeymoon. It seems illogical, to invite the very person of whom she was suspicious, but one might imagine that at this time, she was only beginning to connect the dots. Most likely Annabella had more questions than anything, and in fact, within that first letter, she sent a list of them to Augusta. One of the questions was whether or not Augusta would be her friend--perhaps her "only friend."

Augusta sent a response that she could not come away from her young family at home (she and her husband had many children), but that she would be Augusta's "only friend." Augusta's letters were lighthearted, somewhat childish in tone, but she also included advice as to how her brother might be governed. Augusta suggested Byron was best managed when his black moods were ignored. Annabella should make light of them; instead, she should tease him or jokingly admonish his bad behavior.

This may have been the best way to deal with Byron, but joking and teasing was not really within Annabella's wheelhouse. It would have been impossible for her to muster such good nature during the nights when Byron locked himself in his room with loaded pistols. Later, he would explain his behavior away. He'd been depressed over their money situation, and anyway, he'd caught a cold the day of their wedding. I

t would take about a week for Byron to settle into his new situation and accept that this was his life now ... with Annabella. On January 7, it would appear that his black mood had lifted and he acted as though nothing had happened or was amiss.

Annabella was only too relieved that money and illness were the only causes of his violent tantrums and tirades. Now they could carry on happily, couldn't they?

Next Week: Annabella and Augusta Meet

Source:

Eisler, Benita. Byron: Child of Passion, Fool of Fame. Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. New York: 1999.

Lord Byron's Marriage: The "Treacle" Moon

During the month of January, I will be writing about the first days of Lord Byron’s marriage to Annabella Milbanke.

Over the course of his life, Byron suffered many things. Born with a clubbed foot, he was often victimized by bullies, who ridiculed him. His father abandoned him at a young age, and Byron and his mother had a fractious relationship. He loved his half-sister, Augusta, and when they were reunited as adults, his attachment to her became one of an inappropriate nature. All of these wounds played into his self-proclaimed cursed state.

Annabella Milbanke knew some of these things about her husband before entering into the marriage; some of them she didn’t. After all, before their marriage, the couple hadn’t spent much time together—a day here, a day there. The majority of their courtship had been via letter.

Now, Annabella would meet the real Byron.

Lord and Lady Byron set out for their honeymoon on the second day of January, 1815. With his usual wit and sarcasm, Byron called it their “treacle moon” … in truth, it was less sweet than it was sour. Although there were some moments of promise within those weeks, the couple’s first day of marriage was nothing less than a disaster.

As their carriage pulled away from Annabella’s hometown of Seaham, Byron transformed. Annabella later said that his “countenance changed to gloom and defiance.” Byron began to sing “in a wild manner”—a coping mechanism he would employ throughout their marriage whenever he was enraged or defeated. But on this first occasion, Annabella was frightened. She scarcely recognized the man sitting next to her, who suddenly filled the carriage with a loud, raucous voice. Even so, Annabella was a quiet, highly disciplined woman, who most likely endured the bad behavior with no reaction.

Perhaps to further distress his new bride, Byron verbally attacked Annabella. “You had better married [another], he would have made you a better husband.” In written accounts of this event, Annabella omitted the name of the person Byron suggested. In fact, she’d had ample opportunity to marry other men. She’d had plenty of suitors, but Byron had been her choice. According to Byron, she would suffer for her choice. She should never have married him. He was a Byron and cursed, and now she would feel the effects of it. He chastised her for not marrying him sooner; if she had, he argued, he might not have committed some of his more grievous sins.

Each of these taunting, vindictive words, like slaps, made Annabella heartsick. When the couple reached a resting point, the Inn at Rushford, Byron turned on her again. “I wonder how much longer I shall be able to keep up the part I have been playing.” When they reached the spot for their honeymoon (one of the Milbanke’s houses, Halnaby Hall near Darlington), servants noticed the pained expression on Annabella’s face as she emerged from the carriage. Her husband disembarked and limped away. He did not look back at her, and he certainly did not hand her down from the carriage.

Undoubtedly, the reality of his own choices dawned on him during that carriage ride. He had really done it. He’d married her. Whether out of convenience, spite, or revenge, he’d gone through with the nuptials. Now he was trapped. And on top of it all, he had caught a cold.

Byron’s memoir (later burned by his friends) recounted that he “had Lady Byron on the sofa before dinner on the day of their marriage.” Later that night, he agreed to allow his wife to sleep in the bed with him. He didn’t like to share a bed with his lovers, and he was vexed by the idea of having to do so now, but he finally relented. Even so, he cruelly reminded Annabella that “one animal of the kind was as good to him as another”--another attempt to insult her and divulge that their union had little meaning to him.

There are a few different versions of their first night finale. One account was that Byron awoke, and glimpsing a burning candle through the red curtains around the bed, he shouted, “Good God! I am in hell!” In another version, Byron imagined himself as Orpheus in hell with Prosperpine, prompting the same response and waking Annabella.

These first days of marriage were far from harmonious ones for the Byrons, but they were only the beginning. There was more to come as the snow fell around Halnaby, trapping the less-than-happy couple inside.

Next week: The honeymoon drags on…

Sources:

Crane, David. The Kindness of Sisters: Annabella Milbanke and the Destruction of the Byrons. Alfred A. Knopf, New York: 2002.

MacCarthy, Fiona. Byron: Life and Legend. Farar, Straus and Giroux, New York: 2002.