Mad

Was Gor­don, Lord Byron, mad?

At one point, as their brief mar­riage came to an end, Byron’s wife Annabelle Mill­banke (or her moth­er) sought the opin­ion of his doc­tor whether the tem­pes­tu­ous poet was insane.

In a tepid endorse­ment of his patient’s men­tal state, the doc­tor replied that he had not observed any “set­tled luna­cy.”

Still… his dis­solute father, who desert­ed him, “Mad Jack” Byron was alleged­ly unsta­ble (he may have slit his won throat after a bout of heavy drink­ing in France). Then, there was his Grand-father, Admi­ral “Foul Weath­er, Jack” Byron, who had a rep­u­ta­tion for stormy tem­pers as well as bad luck with storms at sea…

Annabelle was deeply unhap­py in the mar­riage; as was Byron. She hat­ed Lon­don and dis­liked Byron’s acquain­tance with the­atre peo­ple, pugilists, god­less intel­lec­tu­al lib­er­als and polit­i­cal skep­tics. She was in love with her hus­band, how­ev­er, and fool­ish­ly attempt­ed to attach her­self to him through a close friend­ship with his half-sis­ter Augus­ta whose inces­tu­ous rela­tions with Byron she refused to acknowl­edge, even when pre­sent­ed with the child of that liai­son, Medo­ra Leigh.

He was drink­ing too much and tak­ing lau­danum (an opi­ate syrup). He was loud, irre­spon­si­ble and angri­ly unhap­py — with him­self as much as with Annabelle —. espe­cial­ly when his wife insist­ed on hav­ing his sis­ter Augus­ta stay with them. He drunk­en­ly teased and insult­ed Annabelle in front of his sis­ter and forced her to take refuge, for a while, in Augusta’s sim­ple-mind­ed friend­ship and her own half-mys­ti­cal reli­gious deter­mi­na­tion some­how to ‘save’ them both. Final­ly as the birth of their first child approached and Byron became still more errat­ic, with fits of tem­per in which he smashed decanters or clocks or fur­ni­ture. Annabelle came to depend on Augus­ta, despite Byron’s evi­dent pref­er­ence for his sister’s com­pa­ny over hers.

Still, his doc­tor was very like­ly right; there was an ele­ment of hys­te­ria and play-act­ing in Byron’s behav­iour around this time. Per­haps a juve­nile piqué at his hope­less finan­cial sit­u­a­tion and his fool­ish mar­riage. He was beset by debts whose inter­est he was unable to pay (a bailiff moved into the elab­o­rate Pic­cadil­ly town­house — rent­ed with Annabelle’s mon­ey — sleep­ing on the stair and sell­ing up what­ev­er he could move). Byron was unable to real­ize any val­ue from his main asset, New­stead Abbey, and now sur­round­ed in Lon­don soci­ety by rumours of immoral­i­ty and cru­el­ty, prob­a­bly spread by his neu­rot­ic for­mer lover — and now noto­ri­ous “stalk­er” — Lady Car­o­line Lamb, wife of his friend William (lat­er Prime Min­is­ter, Lord Mel­bourne).

He could have offered — his friends did offer — plau­si­ble expla­na­tions, if not excus­es for his actions. He, too, was unhap­py with mar­riage to a woman whom he did not respect; who prob­a­bly loved some ide­al image of him and dis­ap­proved of the rest. He had lost the free­dom of his glit­ter­ing Lon­don lit­er­ary life, and gained in place of the par­ents who had been absent all through his youth, bor­ing, cen­so­ri­ous par­ents-in-law.

He and Annabelle could set­tle briefly into qui­et habits while he was dis­tract­ed by work. Dur­ing these times she, at first, did every­thing to please him and was reward­ed briefly by Byron’s sen­ti­men­tal affec­tion. But it would nev­er last.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.