LORD  BYRON  and  his  TIMES
Byron
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Lady Morgan’s Memoirs
Lady Morgan: [“Lady Caroline Lamb on Lord Byron,”] 1825
INTRODUCTION & INDEXES
DOCUMENT INFORMATION
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Preface
Vol. I Contents.
Prefatory Address
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Chapter XXVIII
Chapter XXIX
Chapter XXX
Chapter XXXI
Chapter XXXII
Chapter XXXIII
Chapter XXXIV
Chapter XXXV
Chapter XXXVI
Chapter XXXVII
Chapter XXXVIII
Vol. I Index
Vol. II Contents
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter IV
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Chapter XXVIII
Chapter XXIX
Chapter XXX
Chapter XXXI
Chapter XXXII
Chapter XXXIII
Chapter XXXIV
Chapter XXXV
Chapter XXXVI
Chapter XXXVII
Chapter XXXVIII
Chapter XXXIX
Chapter XL
Vol. II Index
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“Lady Caroline Lamb sent for me. Her story: Her mother had a paralytic stroke: went to Italy: she remained there till nine years old, brought up by a maid called Fanny. She was then taken to Devon-
LORD BYRON AND LADY CAROLINE LAMB.199
shire House, and brought up with her cousins. She gave curious anecdotes of high life,—children neglected by their mothers—children served on silver in the morning, carrying down their plate to the kitchen—no one to attend to them—servants all at variance—ignorance of children on all subjects—thought all people were dukes or beggars—or had never to part with their money—did not know bread, or butter, was made—wondered if horses fed on beef—so neglected in her education, she could not write at ten years old. Lady Georgiana Cavendish took her away, and she was sent to live with her godmother, Spencer, where the housekeeper, in hoop and ruffles, had the rule over seventy servants, and always attended her ladies in the drawing-room. Lady Georgiana’s marriage was one de convenance. Her delight was hunting butterflies. The housekeeper breaking a lath over her head reconciled her to the match [to become Duchess of Devonshire]. She was ignorant of everything. Lady Spencer had Dr. Warren to examine Lady Caroline. He said she had no tendency to madness,—severity of her governess and indulgence of her parents. Her passion for William Lamb—would not marry him—knew herself to be a fury—wanted to follow him as a clerk, &c. Ill tempers on both sides broke out together after marriage—both loved, hated, quarrelled, and made up. ‘He cared nothing for my morals,’ she said. ‘I might flirt and go about with what men I pleased. He was privy to my affair with Lord Byron, and laughed at it. His indolence rendered him insensible to every-
200 LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR.  
thing. When I ride, play, and amuse him, he loves me. In sickness and suffering, he deserts me. His violence is as bad as my own.’”


Her account of Lord Byron:—


“Lady Westmoreland knew him in Italy. She took on her to present him. The women suffocated him. I heard nothing of him, till one day Rogers (for he, Moore, and Spencer, were all my lovers, and wrote me up to the skies—I was in the clouds)—Rogers said, ‘you should know the new poet,’ and he offered me the MS. of Childe Harold to read. I read it, and that was enough. Rogers said, ‘he has a club-foot, and bites his nails.’ I said, ‘If he was ugly as Aesop I must know him.’ I was one night at Lady Westmoreland’s; the women were all throwing their heads at him. Lady Westmoreland led me up to him. I looked earnestly at him, and turned on my heel. My opinion, in my journal was, ‘mad—bad—and dangerous to know.’ A day or two passed; I was sitting with Lord and Lady Holland, when he was announced. Lady Holland said, ‘I must present Lord Byron to you.’ Lord Byron said, ‘That offer was made to you before; may I ask why you rejected it?’ He begged permission to come and see me. He did so the next day. Rogers and Moore were standing by me: I was on the sofa. I had just come in from riding. I was filthy and heated. When Lord Byron was announced, I flew out of the room to wash myself. When I returned, Rogers said, ‘Lord Byron, you are
LORD BYRON AND LADY CAROLINE LAMB.201
a happy man. Lady Caroline has been sitting here in all her dirt with us, but when you were announced, she flew to beautify herself.’ Lord Byron wished to come and see me at eight o’clock, when I was alone; that was my dinner-hour. I said he might. From that moment, for more than nine months, he almost lived at Melbourne House. It was then the centre of all gaiety, at least, in appearance. My cousin Hartington wanted to have waltzes and quadrilles; and, at Devonshire House, it would not be allowed, so we had them in the great drawing-room of Melbourne House. All the bon ton of London assembled here every day. There was nothing so fashionable. Byron contrived to sweep them all away. My mother grew miserable, and did everything in her power to break off the connexion. She at last brought me to consent to go to Ireland with her and papa. Byron wrote me that letter which I have shown you. While in Ireland, I received letters constantly,—the most tender and the most amusing. We had got to Dublin, on our way home, where my mother brought me a letter. There was a coronet on the seal. The initials under the coronet were Lady Oxford’s. It was that cruel letter I have published in Glenarvon: it destroyed me: I lost my brain. I was bled, leeched; kept for a week in the filthy Dolphin Inn, at Rock. On my return, I was in great prostration of mind and spirit. Then came my fracas with the page, which made such noise. He was a little espiègle, and would throw detonating balls into the fire. Lord Melbourne always scolded me for this; and I, the boy. One day
202 LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR.  
I was playing ball with him. He threw a squib into the fire, and I threw the ball at his head. It hit him on the temple, and he bled. He cried out, ‘Oh, my lady, you have killed me!’ Out of my senses, I flew into the hall, and screamed, ‘Oh God, I have murdered the page!’ The servants and people in the streets caught the sound, and it was soon spread about. William Lamb would live with me no longer. All his family united in insisting on our separation. Whilst this was going on, and instruments drawing out—that is, in one month—I wrote and sent Glenarvon to the press. I wrote it, unknown to all (save a governess, Miss Welsh), in the middle of the night. It was necessary to have it copied out. I had heard of a famous copier, an old Mr. Woodhead. I sent to beg he would come to see Lady Caroline Lamb at Melbourne House. I placed Miss Welsh, elegantly dressed, at my harp, and myself at a writing-table, dressed in the page’s clothes, looking a boy of fourteen. He addressed Miss Welsh as Lady Caroline. She showed him the author. He would not believe that this schoolboy could write such a thing. He came to me again in a few days, and he found me in my own clothes. I told him William Ormond, the young author, was dead. When the work was printed, I sent it to William Lamb. He was delighted with it; and we became united, just as the world thought we were parted for ever. The scene at Brocket Hall (in the novel of Glenarvon) was true. Lord Byron’s death—the ghost appearing to her—her distraction at his death. Medwin’s talk completed her distress.”