Lady Byron Vindicated | Page 7

of truth,--a trait which must have struck everyone that had any
knowledge of her through life. He goes on now to give what he
certainly knew to be the real character of Lady Byron:--
'Foiled was perversion by that youthful mind, Which flattery fooled not,
baseness could not blind, Deceit infect not, nor contagion soil,
Indulgence weaken, or example spoil, Nor mastered science tempt her
to look down On humbler talent with a pitying frown, Nor genius swell,
nor beauty render vain, Nor envy ruffle to retaliate pain.'
We are now informed that Mrs. Clermont, whom he afterwards says in
his letters was a spy of Lady Byron's mother, set herself to make
mischief between them. He says:--
'If early habits,--those strong links that bind At times the loftiest to the

meanest mind, Have given her power too deeply to instil The angry
essence of her deadly will; If like a snake she steal within your walls,
Till the black slime betray her as she crawls; If like a viper to the heart
she wind, And leaves the venom there she did not find,-- What marvel
that this hag of hatred works Eternal evil latent as she lurks.'
The noble lord then proceeds to abuse this woman of inferior rank in
the language of the upper circles. He thus describes her person and
manner:--
'Skilled by a touch to deepen scandal's tints With all the kind mendacity
of hints, While mingling truth with falsehood, sneers with smiles, A
thread of candour with a web of wiles; A plain blunt show of
briefly-spoken seeming, To hide her bloodless heart's soul-harden'd
scheming; A lip of lies; a face formed to conceal, And without feeling
mock at all who feel; With a vile mask the Gorgon would disown,-- A
cheek of parchment and an eye of stone. Mark how the channels of her
yellow blood Ooze to her skin and stagnate there to mud, Cased like the
centipede in saffron mail, Or darker greenness of the scorpion's scale,--
(For drawn from reptiles only may we trace Congenial colours in that
soul or face,) Look on her features! and behold her mind As in a mirror
of itself defined: Look on the picture! deem it not o'ercharged There is
no trait which might not be enlarged.'
The poem thus ends:--
'May the strong curse of crushed affections light Back on thy bosom
with reflected blight, And make thee in thy leprosy of mind As
loathsome to thyself as to mankind! Till all thy self-thoughts curdle
into hate, Black--as thy will for others would create; Till thy hard heart
be calcined into dust, And thy soul welter in its hideous crust. O, may
thy grave be sleepless as the bed, The widowed couch of fire, that thou
hast spread Then when thou fain wouldst weary Heaven with prayer,
Look on thy earthly victims--and despair! Down to the dust! and as
thou rott'st away, Even worms shall perish on thy poisonous clay. But
for the love I bore and still must bear To her thy malice from all ties
would tear, Thy name,--thy human name,--to every eye The climax of
all scorn, should hang on high, Exalted o'er thy less abhorred compeers,

And festering in the infamy of years.' March 16, 1816.
Now, on the 29th of March 1816, this was Lord Byron's story. He states
that his wife had a truthfulness even from early girlhood that the most
artful and unscrupulous governess could not pollute,--that she always
panted for truth,--that flattery could not fool nor baseness blind
her,--that though she was a genius and master of science, she was yet
gentle and tolerant, and one whom no envy could ruffle to retaliate
pain.
In September of the same year she is a monster of unscrupulous deceit
and vindictive cruelty. Now, what had happened in the five months
between the dates of these poems to produce such a change of opinion?
Simply this:--
1st. The negotiation between him and his wife's lawyers had ended in
his signing a deed of separation in preference to standing a suit for
divorce.
2nd. Madame de Stael, moved by his tears of anguish and professions
of repentance, had offered to negotiate with Lady Byron on his behalf,
and had failed.
The failure of this application is the only apology given by Moore and
Murray for this poem, which gentle Thomas Moore admits was not in
quite as generous a strain as the 'Fare thee well.'
But Lord Byron knew perfectly well, when he suffered that application
to be made, that Lady Byron had been entirely convinced that her
marriage relations with him could never be renewed, and that duty both
to man and God required her to separate from him. The allowing the
negotiation was, therefore, an artifice to place his wife