The Byron effect

by Miranda Seymour
Any study of the lives of Lord Byron’s wife and daughter points towards one inescapable conclusion: the enduring power of Byron’s personality.
 
Annabella Milbanke married Byron in January 1815. Ada, born towards the end of their first turbulent year as a married couple, was only a few weeks old when Lady Byron removed both herself and her baby daughter from the marital home on Piccadilly Terrace in January 1816. She never went back.

George Hayter painted Annabella Milbanke in 1812, just before she met Byron


Few couples can have proved themselves to be more hopelessly ill-suited than Miss Milbanke and Lord Byron; she so virtuous, he so wild; she so rational, he so mercurial; she so earnestly faithful, he so brutally promiscuous. But why, precisely, did she choose to leave him? Rumours of sodomy, incest and even a historic murder ( it was whispered that Byron, when young, had killed one of his servants) swirled around the gaming clubs and assembly rooms of the day. Lord Byron had been both cruel and inconstant as a husband: this was established beyond any doubt.
 
Annabella’s need to establish the reasons for a separation at a time when it was almost unheard of for a woman, no matter how shocking the circumstances, to abandon her spouse, stopped short of accusing her husband – in public, at least – of incest. Many assumed that Byron went into exile in order to avoid further scandal, although his debts – the poet was being hounded by creditors and bailiffs – provide just as plausible a reason for his flight. Annabella’s accounts of Byron’s cruelty helped to persuade her lawyer, Stephen Lushington, to support the case for separation. To this day, it remains uncertain just how much Byron’s intimate relationship with Augusta Leigh, his half-sister, contributed to Lady Byron’s decision never to return to the house that she herself had invited Mrs Leigh to inhabit for months on end.
 
Byron’s moving ‘Fare Thee Well’ – it was published a month before his departure to the Continent – was widely read and admired. Its tender sentiments bore scant relation to Lord Byron’s actual feelings for his wife and child as he bade farewell to the country which had idolised him for four heady years – and by which he was now publicly chastised. George Cruickshank’s caricature of ‘Lord Iron’ waving his blithe adieux from a boat laden with buxom admirers came nearer to the truth about Byron’s feelings
Fare_Thee_Well

Cruickshank’s mischievous cartoon shows a far from heartbroken Lord Byron bidding farewell to England and his wife


 
Byron had already surrendered to the overtures of an eager young mistress (Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley’s step-sister, Claire Clairmont, using quiet, clever Mary as her calling-card). For Lady Byron, singled out for attention by the uniqueness of her name, such reckless behaviour was beyond consideration.
 
The idea of flirting with another man, let alone sleeping with him, was anathema to Annabella, a young woman who never ceased to pine for the extraordinary husband whom she had chosen to renounce. Out of sight was never out of mind. My aim here is to demonstrate how powerfully, even after his death in 1824, Lord Byron would continue to influence and even appear to direct the lives of his wife – the couple never divorced – and their singular daughter.
 
Best known today for her uncannily prophetic description of the first universal computer, little Ada Byron was first defined to her contemporaries by the words with which an apparently grieving father addressed his unknown child in the 3rd Canto of Childe Harold:

Ada, sole child of my house and heart
When last I saw thy young blue eyes they smiled
And then we parted, not as now we part,
But with a hope…. (1)

 
While her grief-stricken mother paid a secret visit to Byron’s ancestral home, recording in her diary for 1818 that she had almost fainted with emotion when she stood in his former rooms, young Ada remained remained endearingly unaware of just who Lord Byron might be.

Young Ada

Ada Byron’s life and spirit is wonderfully captured in this early portrait


 
Aged only seven when she was taken to see the Florida (the vessel in which her father’s embalmed corpse travelled back from Greece in 1824), Ada wrote about ‘Papa’s ship’ in a way that suggests she believed her late father to have been a naval captain. The mistake was understandable. The new Lord Byron, father to Ada’s favourite cousin George, had just set sail for the Sandwich Islands. Naval careers played a significant role in the history of the Byrons, a fact that she may well have learned from young George.
 
It’s probable that Ada’s first intimate acquaintanceship with her father came about through a painted image of Lord Byron in his glorious prime. Ada’s grandmother, Judith Noel, had celebrated her daughter’s marriage to the country’s best-known poet of the day by buying Thomas Phillips’ 1814 portrait of Byron, resplendent in the Albanian costume he had brought home from his travels in the Middle East. Following the separation, Lady Noel boxed the painting up and put it away in an attic. It was only after her mother’s death in 1822 that Annabella dared to bring the portrait downstairs and hang it in public view. Acutely conscious of the carping comments that would be made by sharp-tongued friends about such an act of homage, she concealed it behind a green velvet curtain.
Albanian

Byron’s Albanian costume was cannily suited to his growing fame as the author of Eastern romances


 
It’s remarkable that biographers of the Byron family have never speculated whether Ada, a bold, inquiring and fiercely independent little girl, might have dared to twitch the green curtain aside. Ada, we are gravely informed, remained ignorant of her father’s appearance until the famous portrait was bestowed upon her for a wedding present in 1835. That idea is not only improbable, but incredible.
 
No mention of the Byron portrait appears in the diary of Ada’s first governess, but the careful detail with which Miss Lamont reported upon her wilful, charming charge shows how conscious this young Irishwoman was of Ada’s heritage. We think of Ada as Lady Lovelace, a farsighted predicter of the universal computer. To her contemporaries, and to herself, Ada was always defined first and last by her position as Lord Byron’s daughter.
 
Aged fourteen, Ada caught measles. That illness was followed by – but seemingly unconnected to – a severe form of paralysis which turned a vigorous little girl who had been planning to build a flying machine into a bed-bound and often tearful invalid. Towards the end of this sad period – it lasted for over two years – Lady Byron, to whom all new volumes of her husband’s poetry were sent from Murray’s at her own request – introduced Ada to her father’s poetry. The poems she chose included the ‘Fare Thee Well’ which Byron’s widow now regarded as a genuine expression of the dignified grief with which her spouse had accepted the terms of separation.
 
Ada, at a very young age, learned that mysterious forces had put an end to her parents’ happiness. Later, she was taught to identify her own good-natured but chaotic aunt, Augusta Leigh, as the destroying angel of her mother’s marriage – and as her enduring enemy. It’s likely that Lady Byron also passed along to her daughter the advice that she would later give to her grandson about Lord Byron: admire the poetry; distrust the personality.
 
The first sign that Miss Byron not only admired her father but planned to emulate him came in 1833, when she attempted to elope from her mother’s home in Ealing. The abrupt dismissal of William Turner, a young man who had been recruited to teach her shorthand – for taking lecture notes – is suggestive. Years later, Ada boasted that her intimacy with this young man had stopped just short of full penetration. A report in the New York Times upon the disgraceful character of Lord Byron’s daughter doubtless spurred Annabella’s eagerness to find naughty Ada a suitable mate and settle her into a respectable marriage.
 
The choice of Lord King as the ideal husband – it’s clear that both Lady Byron and Ada’s tutor, Mary Somerville, advocated the match – provides clear evidence of the degree to which Lord Byron’s ghost hovered above their lives. William King was wild about Byron. Employed in the Ionian Islands by an obliging relative until 1833, young William had himself painted in a pose and local costume which so conscientiously echoed his idol’s that Ada would always refer to it as William’s ‘Albanian’ dress.
In Albanian dress

Lord King prided himself upon looking Byronic


 
Returning to England in 1833, following the death of his father, William named the fields of his Surrey estate after Byron’s poems: Chillon, Lara, Corsair and even ‘Ali’. For such a Byron worshipper, Ada herself was the ultimate trophy. They married in 1835. Several years later, the proudly upgraded William, Earl of Lovelace (Annabella had secured the title for a beloved son-in-law through her close family connection to Victoria’s adored Prime Minister, Lord Melbourne) inscribed a mighty beam in his new Surrey house with a new family motto: Crede Byron.
 
Examples of this enduring obsession with the dead poet abound. Invited to bestow names upon Ada’s firstborn son and daughter, Lady Byron asked that they should be called Byron and Annabella. (The anxiety with which these two children were watched, reported upon and kept apart suggests that both their mother and grandmother feared a repetition of Byron’s relationship with Augusta Leigh.) In Ada’s new home, the great Thomas Phillips’ portrait of her father was given a place of honour, alongside one of her mother (painted in the year she first met Byron) and another of herself, painted in the first year of her marriage and designed – the commissioner was Annabella – to show off Ada’s most strikingly Byronic feature, a forceful, jutting jaw. It takes no great stretch of imagination to see William’s extravagant Somerset home, Ashley Combe, built by him on the actual cliffside where the young Coleridge had imagined Kubla Khan’s palace to arise, as a further homage to Byron. William and Ada were fully aware that it was Ada’s father who had provided the funds for the poem’s first publication.
 
The most powerful indication of the attachment Ada felt to her father came in 1850, when she and her husband paid their first visit to Newstead Abbey.
Newstead Abbey

Newstead Abbey as it looked when Byron first saw it


 
Annabella herself had paid an anonymous visit to the Abbey back in 1818. She was disconcerted when Ada declared that she herself had now fallen in love with ‘the old place and all my wicked forebears’. Before she left Newstead, Ada secured a promise from the Abey’s devoted new owner, Thomas Wyldman, that he would allow her body a resting place within the family vault, at her father’s side. Plans were discussed with Lady Byron – they were never executed – to buy the Abbey back.
 
Two years later, in 1852, Ada Lovelace died of uterine cancer. She was thirty-six, the age at which the father she never knew had ended his own hectic career. She was buried, as she had asked, beside her father. Annabella consoled herself with a private shrine to her daughter, erected in the churchyard of her own family estate at Kirkby Mallory in Northamptonshire. The fact that she never visited it is apparent from the fact that the tablet’s engraver has mistaken the year of Ada’s birth.
 
Annabella’s own devotion to her husband’s memory is most movingly apparent in the way that she channelled her enormous fortune into causes of which she believed Lord Byron would have approved. Byron had spoken up for the rebel weavers of Nottinghamshire when they smashed the new frames that threatened to extinguish their livelihood. Generous help was extended to the indigent frameworkers on Lady Byron’s own large estate. Byron had supported the Greeks in their fight for independence. Annabella saw to it that a large tract of land in Greece was purchased from a Turkish owner and benevolently run on her behalf by a member of her family whom she had taken under her wing. According to Florence Nightingale, one of Lady Byron’s most ardent admirers, she quietly continued to pay her husband’s debts and to meet his obligations, long after his death.
 
More controversially, Annabella took under her wing Medora Leigh, the troubled young woman whom she believed to be the secret love-child of her husband and his manipulative older half-sister.
Medora Leigh

Medora Leigh was believed by herself, her aunt Annabella and by Byron himself to be the poet’s own child


 
Medora, who would die obscurely in France in 1849 at the age of 35, was the chief culprit in convincing an all-too willing Annabella that it was Augusta Leigh who had finally persuaded Byron to hate his wife, even resorting to the forging of letters during his life in exile. ‘She-monster!’ was loyal Ada’s indignant description of Mrs Leigh. Annabella did not challenge the description.
 
It was Annabella’s growing belief that Augusta Leigh had both seduced her husband and destroyed her marriage that led to the most ignoble episode of Lady Byron’s long life. In 1851, the ageing and indigent Augusta Leigh was summoned to an interview at which she was interrogated and found wanting. (She had failed to supply Lady Byron with the desired confession of her sins.) The fact that Annabella sent a last healing message of affection to Augusta’s deathbed later that same year does not exonerate her from the charge of having betrayed Lord Byron’s most urgent request, that she should always care for his beloved but feckless sister.
 
An unexpected twist of fate gave Augusta the last laugh. In 1860,  respectful panegyrics were offered at Lady Byron’s death. (She was hailed by Harriet Martineau as a dedicated reformer whose death would be lamented ‘wherever our language is spoken’.) In 1868, Byron’s last mistress published a book in which Theresa Guiccioli, Marquise de Boissy condemned Lady Byron as a cold, unloving wife who had destroyed the reputations of both Byron and his innocent sister by her refusal to provide a public reason for leaving her husband.
 
The book was first published in Paris. In Britain, the press devoured it with glee. In Blackwood’s, The Athenaeum and The Quarterly Review, Lady Byron was now denounced as a calculating, cold-blooded fiend. What a hypocrite stood here! Lady Byron was a woman (so Blackwood‘s declared with uninhibited relish), whom the saintly Marquise had shown to be unfit to touch the tainted hem of even the most depraved member of her sex.
 
And Augusta Leigh? Most improbably, Augusta was transformed by a flurried sweep of Victorian pens into a perfect angel of the hearth, a loving sister and maligned madonna, a gentle wife around whom a brood of devoted children knelt to lisp their evening prayers. Lord Byron, much to the gratification of his media-savvy publishers, was meanwhile recast as a misunderstood paragon. Teetotal by preference, a model of chivalry, kindness and forbearance, Lord Byron was declared by one ardent admirer to represent above all, the spirit and manners of a thoroughgoing British gentleman.
 
Charting the stormy passage of these remarkable people in In Byron’s Wake, I hope that a fair sense of their strengths and weaknesses has been achieved. But the fact that Lady Byron is today still viewed by many as a repressed and vindictive prude, while the charismatic and lovably fallible Ada Lovelace is celebrated only for her remarkably prophetic account of Babbage’s unbuilt machine flags up the enduring problem. Gaining a true estimate of these women’s achievements requires as much of us, their judges, as it did of them. In a timeworn phrase, it’s still too early to tell.
 
(1) The 3rd canto was written in 1816, en route from Dover to the house on Lake Geneva at which Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein was conceived, while Byron’s adoring mistress (Claire Clairmont was the instigator of the Shelleys’ own journey out to Switzerland) also discovered that she was pregnant. Cynics might question the depth of Lord Byron’s yearnings for his own daughter. He had counted upon a son.
 
Miranda Seymour is a novelist, biographer and critic.  She has been a visiting professor at Nottingham Trent University. A Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature, she lives both in London and at her family’s ancestral home in Nottinghamshire, Thrumpton Hall. Miranda
Miranda  has written an acclaimed biography of Mary Shelley, and a prize-winning memoir, My Father’s House. Her latest work is In Byron’s Wake, a study of Annabella Milbanke and her daughter Ada Lovelace. 
 

'The more I study, the more insatiable do I feel my genius for it to be'’: Ada Lovelace and her mother Annabella Byron

by Eleanor Fitzsimons
‘Never was a bridegroom less in haste’. This worrisome observation was noted down by politician and diarist John Cob Hobhouse as he accompanied his dear friend George Gordon Byron on a convoluted journey to Seaham Hall in County Durham. Once there, Hobhouse, who had known Byron since both were students at Trinity College, Cambridge, witnessed the marriage of his friend to Annabella Milbanke at eleven o’clock in the morning on 2 January 1815.
 

Seaham Hall

Seaham Hall


 
Although his bride had expressed a preference for a lavish wedding, Byron insisted on a private ceremony; the only people present besides the bridal couple and Hobhouse, in his capacity as Byron’s groomsman, were Annabella’s parents, her governess, and two members of the clergy. In his journal, Hobhouse also noted that although he expressed uncertainty about the strength of his love for Annabella, Byron insisted their marriage would provide ‘the surest road to happiness’. It did not.
 
The newly-weds, sketched by Byron's former lover, Lady Caroline Lamb

The newly-weds, sketched by Byron’s former lover, Lady Caroline Lamb


 
Ever since he had first met her, Byron had been intrigued by his ‘Princess of Parallelograms’. When Sir Ralph Milbanke, 6th Baronet, and his wife, the Hon. Judith Noel, realised that their daughter Anne Isabella Milbanke, known affectionately as Annabella, had an exceptional gift for mathematics, they had engaged former Cambridge fellow, and tutor in mathematics at Jesus College, William Frend, to oversee her education. An enlightened man with stellar credentials, Frend had also tutored Samuel Taylor Coleridge, William Wordsworth and Robert Malthus. Under his supervision, Annabella studied philosophy and mathematics to an advanced level, and also demonstrated an extraordinary aptitude for astronomy.
 
annabella-byron

Annabella Byron


 
Although she was exceptionally scholarly, she was far from dull and she absolutely loved to dance. In 1810, aged eighteen, Annabella attended her first London season, attracting several eligible suitors as she swirled around the most fashionable ballrooms in the capital. Two years later, she was introduced to Byron, who, at twenty-four, was already celebrated as an accomplished poet. Although she rejected his first proposal of marriage, Annabella was captivated by the notion of taming Byron’s turbulent nature. She accepted his second proposal in 1814.
 
Difficulties in their marriage arose almost immediately. As Annabella struggled through an early pregnancy, she was beset by worries arising from her husband’s dark moods, heavy drinking and casual infidelity. Augusta Ada, the couple’s only child, was born on 10 December 1815, but her parent’s marriage survived for just six weeks more. In January 1816, Lady Byron, at her husband’s request it seems, fled with her new-born daughter back to her family home. This rash act gave rise to widespread speculation. By leaving her husband, she was inviting notoriety. Since a divorce would almost certainly not be granted, she was also destroying any chance of a happy marriage in the future. Also, she stood to lose custody of Ada, since Byron, as her father, had sole rights to his daughter.
 
On 8 February 1816, a remorseful Byron wrote to his estranged wife:

I still cling to the wreck of my hopes, before they sink forever. Were you, then, never happy with me? Did you never at any time or times express yourself so? Have no marks of affection of the warmest and most reciprocal attachment passed between us? or did in fact hardly a day go down without some such on one side, and generally on both?

 
In a letter to Irish poet Thomas Moore dated March 1816, he accepted responsibility for the failure of his marriage, writing: ‘I do not believe—that there ever was a better, or even a brighter, a kinder or a more amiable and agreeable being than Lady B’. Weeks later, having agreed to a legal separation amid rumours of a scandalous affair with his half-sister Augusta, he left for continental Europe, never to return. Although Byron never saw his daughter again, he assured his publisher, John Murray: ‘I have a great love for little Ada, and I look forward to her as the pillar of my old age, should I ever reach that desolate period, which I hope not’. He also sent her a locket containing a lock of his hair, and received in exchange a portrait of his little girl. Byron’s longing for Ada is expressed in the first stanza of the third canto of his narrative poem Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage.

Is thy face like thy mother’s, my fair child!
Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart?
When last I saw thy young blue eyes they smiled,
And then we parted, – not as now we part,
But with a hope. – Awaking with a start,
The waters heave around me; and on high
The winds lift up their voices: I depart,
Whither I know not; but the hour’s gone by
When Albion’s lessening shores could grieve or glad mine eye.

 
Eight years later, Byron, still hopeful of reconciliation, told his confidante William Parry: ‘The prospect of retirement in England with my wife and Ada gives me an idea of happiness I have never experienced before’. His faithful servant Fletcher insisted that he died with words of affection for Annabella on his lips.
 
With help from her mother and a band of tutors and servants, Annabella took charge of Ada’s upbringing and education, filling her days with music lessons, mathematics and French, although poetry was excluded from the curriculum. Aged twelve, Ada, precocious and imaginative but prone to ill-health, drew up plans for a flying machine. At seventeen, she was introduced to Charles Babbage, Cambridge Lucasian Professor of Mathematics and founder of the Statistical Society. He invited her to inspect a small-scale version of the difference engine, a calculating machine he was working on at that time. Ada was fascinated. She began to exchange notes with Babbage discussing complex mathematical matters including his plans for an Analytical Engine. One such note, she signed ‘Your puzzle-mate’.
 
No longer required to oversee her daughter’s education, Annabella devoted her intellect to developing a radical new educational model. She held Harrow responsible for corrupting her husband and denounced ‘the vicious systems of our schools,’ adding: ‘Few have as much cause as I have to lament their effects’. In 1833, she founded Ealing Grove School for labouring-class boys, and she presided over it until 1852, instilling in its pupils skills that were practical as well as academic. Ada was drafted in regularly to teach and lessons included allotment schemes, carpentry, masonry, and the commercial principles of marketing garden produce. Annabella also attended the British and Foreign Anti-Slavery Convention in 1840, worked to improve slum conditions, and pioneered women’s rights. In 1852, she bought Red Lodge in Bristol and invited educationalist and social reformer Mary Carpenter to administer it as a reformatory for girls.

Ada Lovelace

Ada Lovelace


 
In 1835, when she was nineteen, Ada had married William King, later Earl of Lovelace, and their three children were born between 1836 and 1839. In 1841, she rekindled her passion for mathematics under the tutelage of Professor Augustus De Morgan of University College London. She also corresponded with leading mathematician and astronomer Mary Fairfax Somerville, the woman who had introduced her to Babbage. When she published her translation of Italian mathematician Luigi Menabrea’s Sketch of the Analytical Engine in 1843, she included her own extensive notes, which contained the first ever algorithm detailing instructions for the very first computer programme. She also developed a passion for gambling but the mathematical model she formulated in an attempted to improve her chances of winning was a spectacular failure.
 
Ada Lovelace died of uterine cancer on 27 November 1852. She was just thirty-six years old. At her own request, she was buried beside the father she had never known at the Church of St. Mary Magdalene in Hucknall, Nottinghamshire.
 
byron-grave
 
Her mother Annabella died of breast cancer on 16 May 1860, and was buried in Kensal Green cemetery. We are grateful for Ada’s contribution to computing to this day. Since 2009, ‘Ada Lovelace Day’ has been commemorated on the second Tuesday of October in order to raise the profile of women in science, technology, engineering and maths and ensure that women and girls can look to role models in these fields. Perhaps we should also remember Annabella and her input into her daughter’s education.
 
 
Further Reading:
Julia Markus, 2015: Lady Byron and Her Daughters (New York: W. W. Norton & Company)
Harriet Beecher Stowe, 1870: Lady Byron Vindicated
The British Library holds a set of letters from Ada Lovelace to Charles Babbage
Doris Langley Moore, 1977: Ada: Countess of Lovelace (London: John Murray)
Joan Baum, 1986: The Calculating Passion of Ada Byron (Archon Books)
Betty A. Toole, 1992: Ada, the Enchantress of Numbers (Mill Valley, CA: Strawberry Press).
 
Eleanor Fitzsimons is a researcher and writer who specialises in historical and current feminist issues. She has an MA in Women, Gender and Society from University College Dublin. In 2013 she was awarded the Keats-Shelley Essay Prize and was runner-up for the Biographers’ Club Tony Lothian Prize. Her work has been published in The Keats-Shelley Review, The Sunday Times, The Guardian, History Today and elsewhere. Her book Wilde’s Women: How Oscar Wilde Was Shaped by the Women he Knew was published by Duckworth Overlook in October 2015. She is working on a new biography of Edith Nesbit for publication in 2018.
 
https://eafitzsimons.wordpress.com/
@EleanorFitz on Twitter

Byron and his women: Mad, bad and very dangerous to know

by Alexander Larman
In the (mercifully) final season of Downton Abbey, the Earl of Grantham, played with wooden heartiness by Hugh Bonneville, is convalescing after a spectacular moment of bloody vomiting. To aid him in his recuperation, he is shown leafing through a volume of Byron’s poetry. There is a jocular exchange in which Byron is said to have been ‘a great lover of wine’, and then an indulgent chuckle before it is announced ‘and women too’. This has for centuries been the accepted public face of Byron, that of a man who loved – ‘not wisely, but too well’. He loved liberty, life and literature, and made himself one of the most talked-about men of letters who ever lived.

Lord Byron, by Richard Westall, on show at Dove Cottage

Lord Byron, by Richard Westall, on show at Dove Cottage


 
The adjective ‘Byronic’ has entered the language in a way that the names of few other writers have, and is generally bestowed as a mark of approval. Many men, and not a few women, would regard being described thus as a badge of honour; it seems to convey dash and panache, coupled with a liberal political stance and peerless artistic achievement. The less savoury and more unfortunate aspects of Byron’s character – the often callous treatment towards his lovers; the violence of his mercurial temper; an attitude towards friends that alternated between reckless generosity and equally reckless dismissal – have not been ignored, but have become part of the Byronic myth. It is time to delve beneath the surface of the myth, and be prepared for what we may find there.
 
The greatest falsehood propagated about Byron is that he loved women. On the contrary, his attitude towards those in his life was mainly a mixture of contempt, violence and lordly dismissal. In addition to the innumerable chambermaids, maidservants and acolytes who were, in Byron’s own words, ‘tooled in a post-chaise- in a hackney coach – in a gondola – against a wall – in a court carriage- in a vis a vis — on a table — and under it’, he had a series of mutually destructive relationships with a variety of women. Some of them, such as Lady Caroline Lamb and Annabella Milbanke, he was initially drawn to because of their status and wealth but soon grew tired of. Others, including his most tragic mistress Claire Clairmont and his mother Catherine Gordon, were treated with disdain and even anger. The two exceptions were his final lover, Teresa Guiccioli, who at least received a small measure of compassion; and his half-sister Augusta Leigh, who weathered the slings and arrows of a scandalous and incestuous affair with a dignity and good humour that makes one wonder why she has been regarded by posterity as little more than a brainless dupe.
 
The answer, unfortunately, is a lazy misogyny that has permeated the Byron establishment for decades. In a hurry to put their beloved lordly poet on a pedestal, scholars, critics and general readers alike have been all too keen to overlook the obvious faults that he had as a man. When I decided to write an ‘anti-biography’ of sorts, it seemed obvious to examine his life through the prism of his relationships. I was not prepared at first for how distressing this would be, nor how revealing. Using as much of his lovers’ and friends’ correspondence as I could, I set out to paint a picture of those who were so much more than mere satellites orbiting an aloof star. I was equally keen for the voices of those around him to be heard, whether the precise, cold decisiveness of Annabella, the worried but fiercely loyal bustling of Catherine, the warm affection of Augusta and even the bewildered tenacity of his presumed illegitimate daughter Medora Leigh, product of incest and deceit.
Byron women
What is plain to see in the people I spent so much time with is how extraordinarily independent-minded and tough they all were. Catherine, abandoned by her feckless and debt-ridden husband, doggedly brought up her son to be worthy of the title that he inherited; Caroline took revenge on Byron by publishing a roman-à-clef that was nearly as scandalous as anything that her lordly lover ever wrote; the unlikely trio of Mary Shelley, Claire and Shelley travelled through Italy and Switzerland as free agents, casting off the shackles of respectability that they were expected to wear in favour of intellectual and sexual emancipation; and his daughter Ada Lovelace played a pioneering role in the development of computing science.
 
All nine of ‘Byron’s women’ in my book are a remarkable reminder, decades before universal suffrage and the concept of ‘women’s rights’, that intelligent and forthright women could and did expect to live lives considerably richer than merely serving as wives and dutiful producers of children at regular intervals. These lives might often have been difficult, or unconventional, or short, but they were seldom boring.
 
And what of ‘the Manager’ himself, as Annabella and Augusta nicknamed Byron? At times, as I wrote about his grotesque cruelty towards Annabella and Claire, I found myself loathing him so much that it was almost an ordeal to continue to chart his misdeeds. Yet I must confess that I have, like so many others, been at least been half-seduced by Byron. Like the women he associated with, he was a pioneer in thought and deed. Of all the Romantic poets, it is his writing that speaks most clearly to us today, as his hatred of ‘the cant’ will find a warm reception with readers who have themselves long since wearied of being told what they should think and feel. His personal legacy is undeniably a tarnished one, and many readers may have some sympathy with the manner in which Annabella attempted, without success, to bring up her daughter in ignorance of what her father represented. But there can be little doubt that Ada’s fierce protectiveness of him should find an echo in all but the most dogmatic of hearts. Unlike the Roman, I have come here neither to praise him, nor to bury him.
 
Nonetheless, as I consider, with some reluctance, the relationship between Byron, his romantic relationships and Downton Abbey, it is appropriate to remember the words of the Dowager Countess from an earlier episode: ‘The only poet peer I am familiar with is Lord Byron. And I presume we all know how that ended.’
 
Alexander Larman is the author of Byron’s Women, published in September 2016. He is a writer and biographer whose books include Blazing Star (2014), a life of Byron’s predecessor the Earl of Rochester and Restoration (2016), a social history of the year 1666. He writes Alex Larmanabout literature and culture for publications including the TLS, Observer, Times and Telegraph, and lives in Sussex with his wife Nancy and daughter Rose.

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