The Byron Study Centre
Centre for Regional Literature and Culture
University of Nottingham
www.nottingham.ac.uk/crlc/groups/byron
Lord Byron and Caroline Lamb
by Silvia Bordoni,The University of Nottingham 2006
Caroline Lamb (née Ponsonby) was born in 1785, the fourth child and only daughter of Frederick Ponsonby, 3 rd
Earl of Bessborough, and his wife Lady Henrietta Frances Spencer, who was the sister of Georgiana Cavendish,
Duchess of Devonshire. At the age of four she was sent to Italy for six years, where she was brought up by a
servant. On her return, due to the ill health of her mother, she was sent to Devonshire House and entrusted to the
care of her aunt. Her childhood was rather problematic. Since she was an extremely emotional child, her aunt
tended to be overprotective and, as she later told Lady Morgan, she spent the first fifteen years of her life in
isolation and ignorance:
I was a trouble, not a pleasure, all my childhood, for which reason, after my return from Italy, where I was from
the age of four until nine, I was ordered by the late Dr. Warre neither to learn anything nor see anyone, for fear
the violent passions and strange whims they found in me should lead to madness, of which, however, he assured
everyone there were no symptoms. I differ, but the end was, that until fifteen I learned nothing. (Owenson, II,
211)
Most probably, she was only an irritable and oversensitive child, and the seclusion she was kept in during her
youth, contributed to her mental and emotional instability.
In 1805 she married the Hon. William Lamb (later Lord Melbourne) against the advice of her parents. As records of
their marriage comment, he was extremely kind to her and never attempted to tame or control her excessive
behaviour. As she later observed, 'the principles I came to William with, that horror of vice, of deceit, of anything
that was the least improper', together with 'the almost childlike innocence and inexperience I had preserved till
then', made her an extremely sensitive young woman (Jenkins, 58-59). This childlike attitude is carefully
reconstructed in the character of Calantha, one of the protagonists of her novel Glenarvon, whose strict religious
principles and childish behaviour are at the origin of her extreme vulnerability. Caroline and William Lamb had
three children, of whom only one survived, Augustus, who had mental problems throughout his life.
After only five years of marriage, Caroline started to flirt with Sir Godfrey Webster, and in 1812 she met Byron,
first at Lady Jersey's ball, where she refused to be introduced to him, and later at Holland House. Their
relationship lasted from March to November and was intense but troublesome. In August, while she was expecting
her third child, Caroline created a scandal by running away from her husband with the intention of rejoining Byron,
who found her at a doctor's surgery in Kensington. With the hope of curing Caroline of Byron, the Lambs moved to
Ireland in September for two months.
An ill-fated affair
When Byron met Caroline Lamb for the first time in 1812 he was at the height of his success. The publication of
Childe Harold I and II had turned him from a provincial writer into a famous poet and a male literary sex-symbol.
As Caroline remarked in her own diary, the day she met him, he was at the centre of an admiring circle of women,
who were 'throwing up their heads at him' and she remarked that he was 'mad, bad and dangerous to
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know'(Jenkins, 95). At the time, he was not engaged in any relationship and Caroline's gentleness and aloofness
must have struck him as different from the attentions he was getting from other women. In spite of his later
assertions that he was only a victim of Caroline's interest, there is evidence that at the beginning his attachment
to her was as strong as Caroline's. Recalling the beginning of their relationship, Caroline commented in her diary:
My only charm [...] was that I was innocent, affectionate and enthusiastic [...] I was not a woman of the world.
Had I been one of that sort, why should he have devoted nine whole months almost entirely to my society? Have
written perhaps ten times a day, and lastly have pressed me to leave all and go with him [...] He was then very
good, to what he afterwards grew, and his health being delicate, he liked to read with me and stay with me out of
the crowd. (Jenkins, 107)
Byron's initial attraction to Caroline is confirmed in this letter to her, dated April 1812:
I never knew a woman with greater or more pleasing talents, general as in a womanthey should be, something of
everything, & too much of nothing, but these are unfortunately coupled with a total want of common conduct. [...]
Then your heart, my poor Caro! What a little volcano! That pours lava through your veins, and yet I cannot wish it
a bit colder, to make a marble slab of as you sometimes see brought in tables, vases, etc. from Vesuvius when
hardened after eruption. [...] I have always thought you the cleverest, most agreeable, absurd, amiable,
perplexing, dangerous, fascinating little being that lives now. (L&J, II, 170)
At the eve of the Lambs' departure for Ireland, when their relationship had already turned into a public scandal
and was menacing the respectability of Caroline and of her family, he wrote:
If tears which you know I am not apt to shed, if the agitation in which I parted from you, agitation which you must
have perceived through the whole of this most nervous affair, did not commence until the moment of leaving you
approached - if all I have said and done and am still, but too ready to say and do, have not sufficiently proved
what my real feelings are towards you, my Love, I have no other proof to offer. God knows I wish you happy, and
when I quit you, or rather when you, from a sense of duty to your husband and your mother, quit me, you shall
acknowledge the truth of what I again promise and vow; that no other, in word or deed, shall ever hold the place
in my affection which is, and shall be, most sacred to you till I am nothing. (L&J, II, 185)
In order to avoid her departure, he was also ready to 'devote my entire life to the vain attempt of reconciling her
to herself', and to 'make all the reparation I could make' in order 'to endeavour to extricate both from a situation
which [...] has brought us to the brink of the gulf' (Jenkins, 126).
For Caroline, the affair with Byron was mainly an evasion from the dullness of her matrimonial life. William kept
her in a sort of silver prison, treating her as a child rather than a sensible and mature woman and mother. Her
only past-time was reading, which, together with her extremely emotional attitude, as Wilson observes, brought
her to confuse reality and fantasy (Wilson XX). Like many other female admirers of Byron, she had felt attraction
for him while reading Childe Harold, which made her want to meet the author. Both the reading of Childe Harold
and her liaison with Byron helped her to break the rigid codes of femininity and domesticity that had been imposed
on her since her childhood. Thanks to her relationship with Byron, in particular, she was able to see herself move
into a new role: from the faithful and docile wife to the passionate and desiring woman.
This is probably why she suffered so much from the end of the relationship. While she was in Ireland, the two
continued to correspond assiduously for the first month, after which Caroline persisted in sending letters which
remained unanswered. At last, she received two letters bearing the seal of Lady Oxford - Byron's new lover - in
which he announced: 'I am no longer your lover; and since you oblige me to confess it, by this truly unfeminine
persecution,- learn, that I am attached to another [...] exert your absurd caprices upon others; and leave me in
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peace' (J, II, 242). All that followed - Caroline burning Byron's effigy, her forging a letter to Murray in order to
obtain Byron's picture, her attempt to cut herself in front of Byron, her masquerading as a car man to get access
to Byron's room - became everyday gossip and nurtured the image of Caroline as a mentally unstable woman. In
1815 Byron married Annabella Milbanke and in 1816 left England for good. For Caroline, the end of the
relationship with Byron meant that either she had to face her family's disgrace or be restored to the monotony of
her married life. The second option seemed the most convenient, at least until William and Caroline separated in
1825. The end of her relationship with Byron, however, enhanced her ambition for authorship, and the beginning
of her writing career interrupted the dullness of everyday life.
Glenarvon
Glenarvon was an immediate bestseller when it appeared in May 1816, one month after Byron left for the
continent, and four years after the end of their affair. John Murray, Byron's editor, rejected the novel, which was
subsequently published in three volumes by Henry Colburn, who specialised in sensational and popular literature.
The novel went through three editions in three months, and was translated into French and Spanish the same year
of its publication. As she later told Lady Morgan, Lamb wrote the novel in one month, while the preparations to
separate her from her husband were going forward:
I wrote it unknown to all, (save a governess, Miss Welsh) in the middle of the night. It was necessary to have it
copied out. I had heard of a famous copier, an old Mr. Woodhead. I sent to beg he would come to see Lady
Caroline Lamb at Melbourne House. I placed Miss Welsh, elegantly dressed, at my harp, and myself at a writing
table, dressed in the page's clothes, looking a boy of fourteen. He addressed Miss Welsh as Lady Caroline. She
showed him the author. He would not believe that this schoolboy could write such a thing. He came to me again in
a few days, and found me in my own clothes. I told him William Ormonde, the young author was dead. (Jenkins,
179)
Lamb had always been fond of masquerading herself in men's clothes. She had done so twice to get access to
Byron, and she did it to preserve her anonymity. In this case, however, Lamb's impersonation of masculinity was
precisely intended to recreate Byron's authorial persona and, at the same time, to conceal her authorship of such
a controversial novel.
Glenarvon has been considered by modern critics as an unreadable novel of little literary merit, as the 'merely
outpourings of diseased sexuality', whose success is due to its assumed connections with Byron and Lamb's affair
(Cecil, 157). However, as Wilson has recently observed, Glenarvon 'is neither an elegy to Byron nor a gesture of
revenge, but a fundamental part of Lamb's continuing relationship with him' (Glenarvon, XXVIII). Lamb's novel
expresses the need to remember her passion for him, to re-enact his rejection and to reconstruct the external and
internal conditions that had originated and terminated the relationship, filtered through an ardent imagination.
Beyond this imaginary reconstruction and beyond the melodramatic tone of the novel, however, what emerges as
important is Lamb's analysis of the psychological and social origins, implications, and consequences of women's
emotional and sexual desires.
Glenarvon centres on the dynastic problems of two neighbouring Irish families, the prosperous Duke of Altamonte
and the Earl of Glenarvon. After the killing of the Duke of Altamonte's infant son, Calantha remains his only
daughter and on her depends the continuation of the family name and estate. Destined to marry her cousin
Buchanan, she falls in love and marries the Earl of Avondale. Their marriage continues unspoiled until the son of
the Earl of Glenarvon returns from Italy to join the Irish Rebellion of 1797-8. Calantha feels first repulsed then
attracted by the mysterious figure of Glenarvon, and a passionate and scandalous affair starts between them. The
novel ends with the death of Calantha, another victim of Glenarvon's perverse passion, and with Glenarvon leaving
Ireland to join the British Army fighting against France. He dies at sea, haunted by the images of his female
victims.
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The Irish setting of the novel, although turned into a sort of phantasmagoria, has important implications, not so
much for the Irish connections of both the Ponsonbys and the Lambs, but mainly for sentimental and political
reasons. In fact, it was in Ireland that Lamb most missed Byron and realized her strong attachment to him. The
Irish revolutionary background, however, gives an important political characterisation to the novel and links it to
the contemporary debate on Irish politics. From the publication of Lady Morgan's The Irish Girl (1806), the Irish
revolutionary movement had become extremely fashionable in the literary production of the time. As an active
reader, Lamb had perceived how a revolutionary background, however abstract and imprecise, would have made
Glenarvon a much more sellable novel. Moreover, the revolutionary theme further linked Caroline to Byron who
was in Switzerland while she was writing the novel, visiting Germaine de Stael at Coppet, and discussing
revolutionary ideas with other European intellectuals. Stael lent her own copy of Glenarvon to Byron, asking if the
main character was really like him.
Glenarvon is a Byronic character in the sense that he was inspired by Byron and that he contributed to the
popularisation of the Satanic Byronic hero. Byron told Stael that Glenarvon could not be a good portrait because
he had not sat long enough for a likeness to be caught; but, in fact, Lamb captured some of his salient features
and combined them with the Byronic legend to striking effect, curiously anticipating some of Byron's later life
choices. Glenarvon's story is not Byron's; but many specific details, sometimes altered by Lamb's imagination, do
come from Byron's life and from his relationship with Lamb. Glenarvon's appearance and manner are Byron's as
they were generally perceived by those who read him into Childe Harold:
It was one of those faces which, having once beheld, we never afterwards forget. It seemed as if the soul of
passion had been stamped and printed upon every feature. The eye beamed into life as it threw up its dark ardent
gaze, with a look nearly of inspiration, while the proud curl of the upper lip expressed haughtiness and bitter
contempt; yet, even mixed with these fierce characteristic feelings, an air of melancholy and dejection shaded and
softened every harsher expression. Such a countenance spoke to the heart'. (p. 120)
Although less psychologically developed than Calantha, Glenarvon soon appears as a charismatic character able to
decipher people's feelings and passions: 'he would speak home to the heart; for he knew it in all its turnings and
windings; and, at his will, he could rouse or tame the varying passions of those over whom he sought to exercise
dominion' (p. 162). Women, over whom he exerts a strong possessiveness, are his favourite victims, since they
more easily surrender to his charm and power.
As a political character, his commitment to the cause of Irish freedom seems only a superficial and transitory
attachment. Although the writer of an 'Address to the United Irishmen', which instigates Catholic rebellion and
which seems to have a special influence on Irish women, he is mainly 'fascinated with the romantic splendour of
ideal liberty', and with the egotistic activity of making public speeches and gaining the admiration of the mass (p.
140). His political speeches sound vague and undetermined:
My own and dear countrymen, [...] the hour of independence approaches. Let us snap the fetters by which tyrants
have encompassed us around; let us arouse all the energies of our souls; call forth all the merit and abilities,
which a vicious government has long consigned to obscurity; and under the conduct of great and chosen leaders,
march with a steady step to victory. (p. 260)
His commitment to the Irish rebellion is not the fruit of a patriotic attachment but of fate, which made him witness
to the first insurrections on his arrival in Ireland. Oddly enough, Byron's own engagement with the Italian fight for
independence was of a similar nature - his commitment to a romanticised ideal of political freedom found
expression in his support of the Italian revolutionary movements as a result of his stay in the country and of his
witnessing the first stages of the Risorgimento.
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Glenervon's political and sentimental superficiality, however, is not the principal cause of his malignity. It is his art
of dissembling in political and sentimental matters that causes the final dissolution. Treacherously, he deserts the
United Irishmen in return for the restoration of his estates and a command in the Royal Navy. His abandonment of
Calantha is no less disloyal. Tired of her moral scruples and profiting of her visit to England, he first ignores
Calantha's frequent letters, and then writes announcing the end of their relationship and his engagement with
another woman. Glenarvon's letter of separation is the same that Byron wrote to Lamb while she was in Ireland.
Surely, Glenarvon is not a faithful portrait of Byron's character. However, he had sat enough for Lamb to
anticipate his revolutionary commitment and foresee his long lasting attraction for 'the dark blue of the
Mediterranean, whose clear wave reflected the cloudless sky' (p. 169).
In the character of Calantha, Lamb reconstructs the psychological and social reasons which fuelled her affair with
Byron. When she meets Glenarvon, Calantha is young, inexperienced, extremely religious and the victim of an
overprotective husband:
I am as a child, as a mistress to my husband; but never his friend, his companion. Oh for a heart's friend, in
whom I could confide every thought and feeling; who would share and sympathise with my joy or sorrow; to
whom I could say, 'you love me- you require my presence'; and for whom in return I would give up every other
enjoyment. (p. 106)
What Calantha is reclaiming is the human dimension of her womanhood, suffocated by her husband's
protectiveness and by her friends' triviality. As Glenarvon later reveals, those women who felt attraction for him
'were either unhappy in their marriage, or in their situation' (p. 178). Calantha's uneasiness with the traditional
role of the devoted wife and mother makes her particularly vulnerable to Glenarvon's charm. Her emotional and
physical need for male attention makes her 'unfeminine and puerile' (p. 185).
In Lamb's phantasmagoric world, men become the objects of women's desire, though women remain the victims.
The garrulous Lady Augusta makes this clear to the innocent Calantha:
Are you aware that we have three sets of men now much in request? - There are the ruffians, who affect to be
desperate, who game, who drink, who fight, who will captivate you, I am sure of it. They are always just going to
be destroyed, or rather talk as if they were; and everything they do, they must do it to desperation. Then come
the exquisite [...] a sort of refined petit maître, quite thorough bred, though full of conceit. As to the third set,
your useful men, who know how to read and write, in which class critics, reviewers, politicians and poets stand,
you may always know them by their slovenly appearance. (p. 78)
Glenarvon is probably a combination between the first and the last set of men, and this is why he is so attractive
to Calantha. He is a political fighter but also a poet who sings Irish song in the solitude of the countryside.
Glenarvon's character fully satisfies women's imaginative desires and, as a prototype of the Byronic hero, helps us
to understand Byron's popularity amongst women readers.
The expression of women's desires, however, is troublesome in the novel. After 'Glenarvon ha[s] entirely
possessed himself of her imagination', Calantha is prey to remorse: 'there are scenes of guilt it would be horrible
to paint - there are hours of agony it is impossible to describe! [...] the tortures of remorse pursued Lady
Avondale' (p. 175). The attempt to revise women's traditionally passive roles and to turn them from objects to
subjects of desire has not been successful. In the end, Glenarvon's lovers die in solitude and despair, victims of his
diabolical charms and of social condemnation. As the narrator comments, 'that which causes the tragic end of a
woman's life, is often but a moment of amusement and folly in the history of a man. Women, like toys, are sought
after, and trifled with, and then thrown by with every varying caprice. Another, and another still succeed; but to
each thus cast away, the pang has been beyond thought, the stain indelible, and the wound mortal' (p. 284).
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In spite of its structural and stylistic limitations, Glenarvon is an important contribution to the construction and
popularisation of the Byronic hero, one told from the female perspective. This shifted point of view widens the
scope of a tradition that in most of its versions centres rather narrowly on the characters of Childe Harold and Don
Juan. The character of Glenarvon is not so much a malicious caricature, as Byron himself thought, as a female
interpretation of Byronism. As Douglass has demonstrated, Byron's reading of the novel undoubtedly affected his
composition of Don Juan, and this in turn would affect Lamb's further literary efforts.
A New Canto
Lamb's ultimate act of appropriation of the Byronic persona and her most audacious act of forgery is A New Canto,
published anonymously in 1819. This is a continuation of the third Canto of Don Juan, where Lamb impersonates
the male speaker of Don Juan and writes an apocalyptic end to the poem. This authorial appropriation seems
extremely effective if we think that, ironically, this Canto is the only potential conclusion to Byron's poem,
particularly the one that Murray had suggested. After the publication of the first Canto, Murray had urged Byron to
write a moral ending to the story; in particular, he suggested he should send Juan to hell, and exploit the comic
potential of the hero's eternal damnation. This is exactly what Lamb did.
A New Canto is composed of twenty- seven stanzas where the Byronic speaker of Don Juan imagines an
apocalyptic end of the world and his eternal damnation. Like the original poem, it is written in the first person and
in ottava rima, thus showing Lamb's intention of challenging Byron using the same poetic style. However, it is
soon clear that Lamb does not simply intend to impersonate the narrator of Don Juan, but also to change his
perspective. The poem thus begins:
I am sick of fame- I am gorged with it, so full
I almost could regret the happier hour
When northern oracles proclaimed me dull,
Grieving my Lord should so mistake his powerE'en they who now my consequence would lull,
And vaunt they hailed and nursed the opening flower.
Vile cheats! He knew not, impudent reviewer,
Clear spring of Helicon from common sewer. (ll. 1-8)
It is evident that Lamb's act of appropriation has the specific intent of ridiculing Don Juan, and the Byronic hero
more generally. In this stanza the usually self-confident Byronic narrator is so tired of notoriety that he even
regrets the difficult start of his poetic career, when 'some impudent reviewer' criticised his early compositions,
although this, he specifies, was a gross mistake.
The poem continues with the speaker's imaginary description of the apocalypse, when 'St. Paul's will be on fire',
and when he and the other damned will 'touch [their] sinner's salary' (17-23). He then goes on describing the
destruction of English institutions and places, as well as the apocalyptic effects on human beings, which do not
spare the famous Byronic beauties:
Mark yon bright beauty in her tragic airs,
How her clear white the mighty smother tingesDelicious chaos, that such beauty bares!
And now those eyes outstretch their silken fringes,
Staring bewildered- and anon she tears
Her raven tresses ere the wide flame singesOh would she feel as I could do, and cherish
One wild forgetful rapture, ere all perish! (49-56)
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The description of the end of the world continues and expands as far as Russia, and includes people such as
Napoleon and Wilberforce. At first, the narrator positions himself in London, precisely beneath the dome of St.
Paul's Cathedral 'to catch [...] the first grand crackle in the whispering gallery', he then imagines himself in Italy
where 'you soon may learn/ On t'other half am reeling far from you' (24-139).
Towards the end of the poem, the Byronic speaker imagines the division of humanity between good and evil and,
respectively, their salvation and damnation. After this, he addresses the readers, hoping that by now 'you may
begin to take the joke!' (192). The joke, however, is not the apocalyptic vision itself, as one may imagine, but the
entirety of the Byronic corpus:
What joke? My verses- mine, and all beside,
Wild, foolish tales of Italy and Spain,
The gushing shrieks, the bubbling squeaks, the bride
Of nature, blue-eyed, black-eyed, and her swain,
Kissing in grottos near the moonlit tide,
Though to all men of commonsense 'tis plainExcept for rampant and amphibious brute,
Such damp and drizzly places would not suit. (193-200)
Lamb's imitation of Don Juan reveals here a specific intention of mocking the Byronic persona, his ambition, his
literary merits, and ultimately his poetic works. The final stanza further demystifies Byron's poetic achievements:
You shall have more of [the poetic muse] another time,
Since gulled you will be with our flights poetic,
Our eight, and ten, and twenty feet sublime,
Our maudlin, hey-down-derrified pathetic;
For my part, though I'm doomed to write in rhyme,
To read it would be worse than an emeticBut something must be done to cure the spleen,
And keep my name in capitals, like Kean.(209-216)
Lamb's narrator goes as far as to say that his verses are not sublime, as most readers think, but simply pathetic;
instead of being the fruit of a high poetic inspiration, they are simply a pastime, which helps to keep the author's
name popular.
With A New Canto, Lamb continued her attempt at repossessing Byron's life and career, which she had initiated
with the publication of Glenarvon. Her intention to influence Byron's literary reputation in the same way he had
influenced her own personal reputation has been more incisive than is commonly recognised. Her re-elaboration of
the Byronic hero has largely influenced the successive reception and development of Byronism in Great Britain and
abroad. The idea of a Satanic Byronic hero was undoubtedly influenced by Lamb's widely-read Glenarvon and by
her two other novels, Graham Hamilton (1822) and Ada Reis (1823), together with Gordon: a Tale (1821),
another poem in ottava rima. Moreover, as Douglass has demonstrated, there is evidence that Lamb's works
influenced John Polidori's The Vampyre: a Tale (1819), and hence the tradition that derived from it.
Works Cited:

Byron's Letters and Journals, ed. Leslie Marchand, 12 vols. (London: John Murray, 1975).

Cecil, Lord David, The Young Melbourne: and the Story of his Marriage with Caroline Lamb (London:
Constable, 1939).
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
Douglass, Paul, 'The Madness of Writing: Lady Caroline Lamb's Byronic Identity', Pacific Coast Philology 34:1
(1999), pp. 53-71.

Garver, Joseph, 'Gothic Ireland: Lady Caroline Lamb's Glenarvon', Irish University Review 10 (1980), pp.
213-28.

Graham, Peter W., 'Fictive Biography in 1816: the Case of Glenarvon', The Byron Journal 19 (1991).

Hofkosh, Sonia, Sexual Politics and the Romantic Author (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998).

Jenkins, Elizabeth, Lady Caroline Lamb (London: Victor Gollancz Ltd, 1932).

Kelsall, Malcolm, 'The Byronic Hero and Revolution in Ireland: the Politics of Glenarvon', The Byron Journal 9
(1981).

Lamb, Caroline, Glenarvon, ed. Frances Wilson (London: Everyman, 1995), pp. 4-18.

Lamb, Caroline, A New Canto, in Romanticism: an Anthology, ed. Duncan Wu (Oxford: Blackwell, 1998), pp.
53-68.

McDayter, Ghislaine, 'Hysterically speaking: Lady Caroline Lamb's Glenarvon', Romantic Generations: Essays
in Honor of Robert F. Gleckner, eds. Ghislaine McDayter, Guinn Batten, Barry Milligan (London: Associated
University Press, 2001), pp. 155-77.

Owenson, Sydney, Lady Morgan's Memoirs: Autobiography, Diaries and Correspondences, 2 vols. (London:
W.H. Allen, 1863)

Wilson, Frances, ' "An Exaggerated Woman": the Melodramas of Lady Caroline Lamb, Byromania, ed. Frances
Wilson (Basingstoke: MacMillan Press, 1999), pp. 195-220.

Wu, Duncan, 'Appropriating Byron: Lady Caroline Lamb's A New Canto', The Wordsworth Circle 26:3
(Summer 1995), pp. 140-146.
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