Byron treated Caroline badly after the grand infatuation faded. But while it lasted, he was demanding and possessive, goading her to admit she loved him more than her husband. He pursued her with abandon, once planning to flee England with her. Caroline's reaction to the break-up is understandable; Byron led her to believe he loved her. It was her sad fate to discover Byron's interpretation of love - a mad, passionate obsession which is abandoned as soon as curiosity and desire are sated.
When they met in 1812, Byron was 24 years old and already famous as the melancholy writer of 'Childe Harold.' Caroline was 27 years old, married and mother of an autistic son. Her husband was William Lamb, the younger son of Byron's friends, Lord and Lady Melbourne. It was Lady Melbourne to whom Byron addressed some of his most personal and scandalous letters; she was one of his great confidantes and supporters. The family lived at Melbourne House in Whitehall and played host to many fashionable and lively gatherings. They were also cousins of Lady Anne Isabella (Annabella) Milbanke, later to become Byron's wife. Caroline and William had married when she was 17 and the union began happily enough. But the death of one child and the health problems of another, as well as William's growing interest in a political career, caused a rift between the couple.
There is also some evidence that William Lamb was sexually promiscuous and made disturbing demands upon his wife, as Caroline implied in a letter to Lady Melbourne in 1810: 'He called me prudish - said I was strait-laced, - amused himself with instructing me in things I need never have heard or known - & the disgust that I at first felt for the world's wickedness I till then had never even heard of - in a very short time this gave way to a general laxity of principles which little by little unperceived of you all has been undermining the few virtues I ever possessed.' Despite any private problems, however, they remained affectionate.
Caroline had read 'Childe Harold' before meeting
Byron, having been lent the poem by a mutual friend. She was told that
Byron 'has a club-foot, and bites his nails' but Caroline replied, 'If he was as
ugly as Aesop I must know him.' She had the transparent nature of a child,
with little ability to dissemble or play coy, and developed passionate
attachments. Upon reading the
poem, she conjured a romantic image of the poet which Byron's
reputation did nothing to dispel. She wrote him an anonymous fan
letter - 'You deserve to be and you shall be happy....' A few
days later, she left Lady Westmoreland's before meeting him. He
had been surrounded by other women and she was nervous. Already
she had written her impression of him - 'mad - bad - and dangerous to
know.' This remains the Byronic epitaph.
Byron, of course, always preferred women he had to pursue, as Claire Clairmont would learn when she pursued him. Once Caroline Lamb had avoided the introduction, Byron was determined to meet her. They were introduced at Lord and Lady Holland's, but Byron was initially disappointed. Caroline did not resemble his traditional conquests, or his concept of feminine beauty. She was tall and very thin, with short, curly blonde hair and hazel eyes. After the meeting, he told his friend Medwin, 'The lady had scarcely any personal attractions to recommend her.' Her figure 'was too thin to be good.' and her eccentric habit of dressing as a page shocked him. She had none of the 'retired modesty' which later attracted him to Annabella Milbanke. But Caroline was attracted to him instantly; she wrote, 'That beautiful pale face is my fate.'
In truth, Caroline possessed an instinctive disregard of opinion which Byron always coveted. However much he postured as the ne'er-do-well lord, he remained an aristocrat who desired the good opinion of other aristocrats. This changed only when his marriage failed and he grew careless of opinion and terribly cynical. Caroline was a vivacious and flirtatious woman and Byron suspected she wanted him for the notoriety and to feed her vanity. He was always insecure, a quality he hid beneath the 'Childe Harold' pose. Caroline sensed this insecurity but it only increased his charm.
He soon overcame his initial response to her attractiveness, or lack thereof. They became lovers and shocked London with their affair through much of April and May 1812. Byron had long believed women were truly incapable of understanding male thoughts and desires. With Caroline, he was forced to abandon this notion. They read together, discussed poetry - and argued fiercely. His supposed flirtations with other women and her open affection for her husband and other admirers caused most of the fighting. Some arguments ended 'without any verbal explanation', Byron told a friend. He was particularly jealous of her waltzing with other men. And since Byron could not dance with his club-foot, Caroline now sat with him, no longer the life of her parties. When she was not invited to a party he attended, she would wait out in the street for him. If he needed money, she told him, he could pawn her jewels. She wrote letters constantly, confided in her diary - and Byron wrote to her as well, an equal partner in the affair.
But such passion never lasts. Byron was a victim of his own contradictory personality - he loved to pursue women but, once captured, he longed to leave them. Paradoxically, he could not rest easy without their complete adoration. He could not be simply Caroline's lover, a participant in a scandalous (but tolerated) affair; he must be her grand passion, her true love - she must belong to him alone. But once she capitulated, he grew bored and irritated with her.
Though Caroline was instantly infatuated, she at first refused to all Byron wished. She would not admit she loved him more than her husband William; Byron told her, 'My God, you shall pay for this, I'll wring that obstinate little heart.' But soon she loved him enough to contemplate leaving her husband, at Byron's suggestion in May 1812. He was probably testing her commitment for it is unlikely he meant to flee England with her. But he needed to know she loved him more than anything, even her very comfortable life and so he hinted at 'elopement.' His friends, particularly the sensible John Hobhouse, were already shocked by the affair. They urged him to return to Newstead Abbey and forget Caroline. It was probably true that she would never leave her husband for Byron but she did love the poet. Their affair had grown increasingly open and hysterical. Byron was persuaded to leave London briefly.
At Newstead, Caroline bombarded him with letters. Hobhouse cautioned Byron to not respond, warning him that he was risking his reputation. Once again, it was one thing to pose as a cad but quite another to be one (and in such a public manner.) At Melbourne House, Caroline was confused and hurt. Byron did not answer her letters but he returned to London on 13 June. Then the long, slow death of their passionate affair began. He avoided her but was still attracted to her. Hobhouse, still fearful of a potential elopement, persuaded him to leave for Harrow. They were to leave Wednesday 29 July, for Caroline had threatened to visit alone on that day. That would have been disastrous. An affair conducted with a modicum of restraint and discretion could be tolerated, but no lady could appear alone at a man's house without societal repercussions.
In any case, Caroline was past discretion. Byron had wooed her passionately for two months and then ignored her. She arrived at his home, Number 8 St James Street, around noon, just as he and Hobhouse were preparing to leave. Hobhouse recorded the event in his diary:
Byron, meanwhile, became uncharacteristically torn. He was rarely indecisive but Caroline made him so. On 9 August, she sent him a letter enclosed with a very personal gift - her pubic hair. The gift was inscribed in lovers' language:
'I am no longer your lover; and since you oblige me to confess it, by this truly unfeminine persectuion, - learn, that I am attached to another; whose name it would of course be dishonourable to mention. I shall ever remember with gratitude the many instances I have received of the predilection you have shewn in my favour. I shall ever continue your friend, if your Ladyship will permit me so to style myself; and, as a first proof of my regard, I offer you this advice, correct your vanity, which is ridiculous; exert your absurd caprices upon others; and leave me in peace.'
The effect upon Caroline was brutal. She was physically ill and had to seek rest in Cornwall, where she was also bled. Upon her arrival in London, she began to write Lady Oxford as well, threatening to tell Lord Oxford of the affair. The countess laughed at the threat but Byron was understandably troubled.
Byron soon returned to London and saw Caroline
at various social events. Face-to-face, the poet could not be
particularly nasty. They had a few brief civil
conversations. Caroline was still torn by jealousy and
regrets. In the last year, with Byron safely away, she had
struggled to repair her marriage but heartbreak and indecision left
their mark. She was now emotionally agitated and her figure
increasingly emaciated. Byron remarked to Lady Melbourne
that he was 'haunted by a skeleton.' He was both repulsed and
fascinated by her devotion. During the Christmas season, while Byron
stayed with the Oxfords, Caroline held a dramatic bonfire at the Melbourne
country home in Hertfordshire. Village girls dressed in white danced while
Caroline threw copies of his letters and other tokens into the fire. A
figure of Byron was even burned in effigy while her page recited lines she had
written: 'Burn, fire, burn, while wondering boys exclaim,/ And gold and
trinkets glitter in the flame.'
The return to London society in early 1813 witnessed more
indiscretions. Caroline would visit at
inappropriate hours, once inscribing on a book at his desk: 'Remember
me!' The book, not coincidentally, was written by the homosexual William
Beckford. The message was a reminder that she knew of his transgressions. In a fit of pique
at the clumsy blackmail, Byron wrote a poem of the same name which
captured his feelings:
Remember thee! remember thee!
Till Lethe quench life's burning
stream
Remorse and shame shall cling to thee,
And haunt thee like a feverish
dream!
It is possible, too, that she knew of Byron's long-distance semi-courtship of Annabella Milbanke, who was her cousin and Lady Melbourne's niece. Byron had hinted to Lady Melbourne that Annabella would make a suitable wife in the fall of 1812: 'As to Love, that is done in a week, (provided the Lady has a reasonable share) besides marriage goes on better with esteem & confidence than romance, & she is quite pretty enough to be loved by her husband, without being so glaringly beautiful as to attract too many rivals.' This longing for settled domesticity was cut short by Annabella's refusal. It was a sensible decision to a rash, impersonal proposal. But Annabella found herself newly fascinated by Byron, writing a brief and incisive sketch of his character. She also instigated a renewal of their acquaintance in August 1813.
It was clear that Byron was attempting to escape his tangled romantic exploits. Formerly famous for his poetry, he was now infamous as a lover. But the summer of 1813 would find him trading one scandal for another, even greater one. After four years apart, his half-sister Augusta Leigh had come to London for three weeks. Byron made no secret of his renewed affection and enlisted Lady Melbourne to secure entry for Augusta to aristocratic dinners and parties. The poet and his shy sister would often sit together, talking together, openly affectionate. They soon began an incestuous affair whether in London or, in July and August, at Augusta's home near Newmarket while her husband was away; the exact date is not known. They shared a private camaderie, teasing each other with childhood nicknames; Augusta accepted Byron and knew him as no others did, the poet believed. This knowledge was his respite from Caroline's hysterics and Lady Oxford's increasing demands. Like her friend, the countess did not like being pushed aside.
In fact, Caroline's final public scenes only pushed Byron closer to his sensible and kindly sister. They both attended a masked ball at Burlington House on 1 July in honor of the duke of Wellington. There, Byron (dressed as a monk) 'scolded her' publicly. Caroline was hurt and retreated. On 5 July, they met again at a waltzing party at Lady Heathcote's. By now Caroline had seen his affectionate regard for Augusta. London society was already remarking upon it, though none going so far as to accuse Byron of incest. Caroline remembered his earlier pleas for her to sit with him instead of dancing. She walked up to him and asked, 'I conclude I may waltz now.' Byron replied: 'With every body in turn - you always did it better than anyone. I shall have a pleasure in seeing you.' Later, he said to her sarcastically, 'I have been admiring your dexterity.' Caroline picked up a table knife, 'not intending anything', she later wrote. Byron was amused and contemptuous. 'Do, my dear. If you mean to act a Roman's part,' he told her, 'mind which way you strike with your knife - be it at your own heart, not mine - you have struck there already.' Caroline cried out, 'Byron!' and fled in distress. When some ladies tried to take the knife from her, she cut her hand. The entire shoddy affair was reported in the papers.
Byron's policy was to avoid her at all costs. In any case, he was soon consumed in another love affair with Lady Frances Webster, the unhappily married wife of a close friend. Also, he was again visiting Lady Oxford and even corresponding with Annabella Milbanke, Caroline's cousin and his future wife. These were mere distractions, however, for Byron was desperately trying to forget his affair with Augusta. Guilt had made him loan her husband £1000; George Leigh was an inveterate gambler Byron could ill afford the loan. He knew it could never be repaid. He and Augusta had discussed running away together, much as Byron had with Caroline earlier. But his sister's desire to take her infant son along made Byron balk and return to sanity.
Though he may have used other women to distract him from sin, Byron still ignored Caroline. Ironically, her love for him typified the 'Byronic' spirit in all its heedless emotion. But Byron was far less enamored of reckless abandon than many believed. Though he often acted impulsively, he was deeply aware of his faults. He was never dismissive of his sins and too often obsessive over them. Caroline shared this obsessive spirit. But she and Byron had shared their last private conversation sometime in June. After his death, she told a mutual friend that Byron had kissed her at his home:
By 1814, Byron was preparing to wed Caroline's cousin Annabella Milbanke. It was his first romantic attachment of a purely conventional nature. There was no need to be clandestine or discreet; there was nothing forbidden about courtship with a respectable and studious heiress. Therein lay its attraction and danger. Caroline accepted the news calmly, though Byron had feared otherwise. They had not seen each other for months, though Byron continued to write regularly to her mother-in-law. Caroline now viewed Byron with a wounded eye. As for Annabella, she was never threatened by her cousin, remarking she found her 'quite virtuous' compared to other former lovers. But when Byron and Annabella separated in 1816, Caroline sought her revenge against the poet.
Caroline claimed that Byron had confessed to an incestuous relationship with his half-sister Augusta Leigh at their last private meeting. This was supposedly what ended her 'attachment.' During the initial separation between Annabella and Byron in 1816, Caroline played both sides against one another, spreading rumors about Byron and Augusta while writing to Byron through mutual friends. He suspected her duplicity and was disgusted. In turn, she wrote: 'I know not from what quarter the report originates. You accused me, and falsely; but if you could hear all that is said at this moment, you would hear one, who....would perhaps die to save you.'
But she had already arranged a meeting with Annabella, now desperate for some power over her husband. Annabella, meticulous as always, took notes at the meeting. Caroline alleged that Byron told her of a 'criminal intercourse' between him and Augusta, even 'boasting at the ease of his conquest.' And there were other 'unnatural crimes' - young boys he had corrupted - 'He mentioned 3 schoolfellows whom he had thus perverted.' Annabella now had the information necessary to ensure a divorce on her terms. But having betrayed Byron with rumors and slander, Caroline was desperate to hide her deceit. She wrote to him again. He never responded and she came close to madness.
Later, Caroline traveled with her husband to Paris and Brussels where she humiliated him again, pursuing various army officers. Her most famous conquest was the duke of Wellington. Yet Byron remained the greatest passion of her life. She wrote a novel about him called 'Glenarvon', an open condemnation of his character which revealed her continuing obsession. In 1820, when the first cantos of 'Don Juan' were causing a sensation in London, Caroline appeared at a masked ball dressed as the character. The newspapers made note of her appearance. When Byron died in 1824, she wanted to know his last words - and she wanted her letters to him returned. Instead, Hobhouse asked to have the letters Byron had written her, but she refused to part with them. She said, 'I am very sorry I ever said one unkind word against him.'
Caroline's last years found her increasingly melancholy and restless. She wrote two more novels and separated from her husband in 1825. But she and William remained close and he was at her bedside when she died in 1828. He never married again and continued working in politics. He eventually became Prime Minister and one of Queen Victoria's favorite advisers.
to read brief
selections from Byron & Caroline's letters
&
read
a
selection from Caroline Lamb's 'Glenarvon'
written June 1997; last revised 22 July 2003
