AFTER EIGHT YEARS of absence from his home country, Lord Byron’s body returned to England, but without the life that had overwhelmed the nation. Even so, his lifeless return stirred up shock and dismay: accounts like that of young Alfred Tennyson, who wandered listless for a day or two repeating, “Byron is dead”, were not few. Byron’s good friend Mary Shelley couldn’t get over the death of Byron whom she called, “that resplendent Spirit, whose departure leaves the earth still darker as midnight.” “Byron is dead!” wrote a young woman in England, “I was told it all at once in a roomful of people. My God, if they had said that the sun or the moon had gone out of the heavens, it could not have struck me with the idea of a more awful and dreary blank in the creation.” Byron’s death revitalized his popularity and the cult that was Byronism renewed and flourished more than ever before. Even today, his life story still shocks those who learn of him. A walking contradiction – at once sentimentalist and critic, poet and satirist, lover and soldier, athlete and fashion-setter, libertine and freedom-fighter, aristocrat and exile, he enchanted and enamored the world. This is Byron.

 

 Captain John “Mad Jack” Byron was a rake and a gambler. He had affairs with and married rich women, then moved to France to escape creditors and scandal. After his first wife died, he married Catherine Gordon and sired a son, George Gordon Byron. After the marriage became unbearable, Catherine moved back to Aberdeen, Scotland. “Mad Jack” died when Byron was three years old.

Catherine Gordon was descended from a long line of raiders and Calvinists, and it showed in her temper. Possibly insane, Catherine was prone to mood-swings for she would beat her son one moment and fall to crying and kissing him the next.

Young Byron was born with a club-foot to an abandoned mother in low economic status. To help take care of the young lad, Byron’s mother hired nurse May Gray – a hypocritical witch who would quote scripture and then sexually abuse Byron, and a quack doctor named Lavender – a truly sick man who would physically and psychologically abuse Byron and whose methods used to “cure” Byron’s club-foot only made matters worse. Such was the environment of Byron’s childhood.

But everything was soon to change: Byron’s great uncle, William the fifth Lord Byron – named “The Wicked Lord” because of his killing a neighbor during a duel by candlelight in a locked room – died, and his only living heir was none other than young George Gordon Byron. Thus, at the age of ten years old, Byron was elevated to the title of Lord. He and his mother moved to the house inherited from “The Wicked Lord” – Newstead Abbey.

 

Byron was an eager student, but had a latent resentment for established rules. An avid reader, he loved The Arabian Nights and stories of the Old Testament, especially that of Cain and Abel. In his younger years, he attended one of the poorest schools in the area, with others of the lowest social class in Scotland. When he was elevated to Lord, he attended a much higher school called Harrow – one worthy of a young man with a title – much thanks to a family lawyer (who had recognized the very unhealthy nature of Byron’s so-called “protectors” – Catherine, May Gray, and Lavender).

Byron’s years at Harrow were very formative. He made friends and learned to better control his temper. Byron’s friendships with younger boys than he were intensely passionate, and many scholars believe developed into homosexual relationships. At the same time, this period marked some of Byron’s first “loves” – a few girls who ended up spurning him, one calling him “that lame boy” to his utter embarrassment. But the Harrow years were also years of delight – he participated in sports (swimming was his favorite), his foot improved so he only needed to wear a boot rather than a brace for daily ware, and the only thing to darken his experience at school was the retirement of the favorite schoolmaster.

In the end, Byron was displeased to leave his school. But the time was up, he had graduated, and he was on his way to Cambridge.

 

After graduating from Cambridge (years in which he first tasted the life of a Lord), Byron decided he would do what any rich graduate of nobility would do – see the world.

The problem was that the Napoleonic Wars were ravaging Europe, and the usual sites to see were completely off-limits. This didn’t stop Byron, though. He had always felt a certain attraction to the east – so he decided to direct his course for Greece and Turkey.

The romantic environment of these two nations intrigued Byron endlessly. To pass through some of the very sites of myths and ancient tales was magical. He was so affected by his travels, he promptly sat down to compose poetry. This writing eventually worked out to be Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage. 

When he returned to England, poetry in hand, he visited a publisher to print his newest work. When the work hit the shelves, people went crazy. The story (which many viewed as autobiographical) of a young, dark, disillusioned young man wandering the world in melancholy entranced readers.

 “I awoke and found myself famous”

A craze swept across the nation, copies sold by the hundreds, multiple editions were printed, and Byron suddenly found himself the center of attention – a position he would hold for the rest of his life and beyond.

 

Suddenly, Byron was the toast of all of England – he was invited to parties, written about, called on, followed and watched everywhere he went. He loved the spotlight, and would ham up the part everyone thought of him as – that of Childe Harold himself, the lonely, gloomy outcast.

Byron found that woman were particularly interested in him – and many pursued him. Of the hundreds of affairs in which he became involved, Byron slept with many wives of the House of Lords – Countesses, Ladies, and the like. From the infamous Lady Caroline Lamb (a fiery romance that turned scary when Lamb began to actually stalk Byron everywhere, occasionally cross-dressing as a page boy to be near him), to Annabella Milbanke (a young woman whom Byron would eventually marry with a peculiar interest in numbers), to his own sister (half-sister, actually, but few have ever differentiated), Byron spared few in his sexual zest.

 

  "The subject of conversation, of curiosity, of enthusiasm...of the moment is not Spain or Portugal, warriors or patriots, but Lord Byron"

-- Duchess of Devonshire. 

 

As the relationship with his sister Augusta became more pronounced, Byron more and more pursued Annabella Milbanke. At the urgings of Augusta, Byron married Annabella, but with serious misgivings.

It was obvious from the start that the marriage wouldn’t last. Annabella, a sweet, pious girl with a passion for mathematics believed that she could “save” Byron’s “lost soul.” Byron was mercilessly cruel with his wife, taunting her constantly, reading out loud to her pseudo-love letters from Augusta, pacing the floor at night with loaded pistols, and falling into rages constantly. In the end, Annabella returned to her parents who succeeded in urging her separation from Byron.

Rumors and reasonings for the separation between Annabella and Byron swept through London like wildfire. The incest between Byron and his sister spread among all the gossip groups in the country, and suddenly Byron was no longer invited to parties (or if he was, his entrance prompted the exit of the guests).

Byron’s politics were unpopular too. His political poetry, refusal to join a political party and defense of frame-breakers in the House of Lords, and his admiration of Napoleon all aided in making him extremely unpopular in the English drawing rooms. The utter rejection of his person from all English society finally meant one thing for Byron: exile from the country. Permanently.

 

It was April, 1816, and Byron had truly become Childe Harold – the self-exile, wandering Europe for life. After visiting Waterloo, the famous ending battlefield of Napoleon’s defeat, Byron traveled to Switzerland where he came across the Shelleys.

Percy Bysshe Shelley, too, was a poet and political radical. His unorthodox opinions had driven him from the nation with his mistress – Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin, the daughter of famed William Godwin (novelist, educator, and reformer) and Mary Wollstonecraft (feminist leader). The Shelleys lived by Lake Geneva, only a few miles away from Byron who was fascinated with Percy.

Percy’s powerful poetic voice attracted Byron, and the two would sit for hours everyday and engage in philosophical, ideological and scientific discussions. One such discussion and challenge from Byron to write a horror story eventually led to the birth of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein.

After matters became uncomfortable with the pregnancy of Clair Clairmont (Byron’s latest lover and Mary Shelley’s half-sister), Byron decided to leave for Italy. There, he picked up yet another lover (Countess Guiccioli – this time with the husband’s permission) and wrote many of his famous poems: Manfred, The Corsair, and the beginnings of Don Juan, among others.

Byron and the Shelleys met up with some friends in Pisa in 1822. But the trip was soon marred by the drowning of Percy Shelley in the Bay of Spezia during a storm.

Byron was shocked and terribly devastated by his good friend’s death. After this catastrophe, Byron threw himself into his poetry, particularly Don Juan. Byron soon moved to Genoa. It was there he first learned of the cause for Greek Independence.

 

 

The rebellion in Greece had begun in 1821, attracting the attention of both Byron and Shelley. When Byron came to Genoa, he came in contact with the Blessingtons, a family deeply involved in the Greek movement. Byron’s long talks with them resulted in his increasing interest in the war.

So, in July 1823, Byron embarked on the Hercules for Greece. Arrival proved that Greek leaders were divided and disorganized. It took some time before things were better straightened out and Byron traveled to Missolonghi.

Missolonghi, too, was in dire straits. The town was in disrepair, it was unhealthy, and it wasn’t long before Byron himself fell sick. Convulsions led to fever. The doctors performed blood-letting on Byron, which only weakened his condition. He lapsed in and out of consciousness. On the evening of April 18, Byron said his last words: “I want to sleep now.” He never awoke.

As news of Byron’s death reeked its havoc across Europe, Byron’s body (mutilated by amateur coroners) was returned to England: no one, not even family, could recognize him. Meanwhile, his friends were rifling through his various papers and destroying what they felt necessary – including his memoirs. 

 

Byron’s death inspired thousands to join the cause  for independence, ultimately winning the war for the Greeks. He still stands as a celebrated iconic hero of Greek nationalism.  

To this day, with a reputation spanning continents, Byron’s life and legend leave a name ringing out his infamy to the ages. He lived his life the way he died – a hero of literature and life. Shortly after arriving in Greece, Byron penned these ironic words: “Seek out less often sought than found a soldier’s grave for thee the best. Then look around and choose thy ground, and take thy rest.”