Lady Byron was short in stature and, when I saw her, deadly pale; but with a dignity which some of our friends called “royal,” albeit without the smallest affectation or assumption. She talked to me eagerly about all manner of good works wherein she was interested; notably concerning Miss Carpenter’s Reformatory, to which she had practically subscribed £1,000 by buying Red Lodge and making it over for such use. During the larger part of the time of my visit she stood on the rug with her back to the fire and the power and will revealed in her attitude and conversation were very impressive. I bore in mind all the odious things Byron had said of her:
“There was Miss Mill-pond, smooth as summer sea
That usual paragon, an only daughter,
Who seemed the cream of equanimity
Till skimmed, and then there was some milk and water.”
Also the sneers at her (very genuine) humour:
“Her wit, for she had wit, was Attic-all
Her favourite science was the mathematical” &c., &c.
I thought that for a man to hold up such a woman as this, and that woman his wife, on the prongs of ridicule for public laughter was enough to make him detestable.
A lady whom I met long afterwards told me, (I made a note of it Nov. 13th, 1869) that she had been stopping, at the time of Lady Byron’s separation, at a very small seaside place in Norfolk. Lady Byron came there on a visit to Mrs. Francis Cunningham, née Gurney, as more retired than Kirkby Mallory. She had then been separated about six weeks or two months. She was (Mrs. B. said) singularly pleasing and healthful looking, rather than pretty. She was grave and reticent rather than depressed in spirits; and gave her friends to understand that there was something she could not explain to them about her separation. Mrs. B. heard her say that Lord Byron always slept with pistols under his pillow, and on one occasion had threatened to shoot her in the middle of the night. There was much singing of duets going on in the two families, but Lady Byron refused to take any part in it.