‘No,’ said Byron; ‘if my hour is come, I shall die whether I lose my blood or keep it.’
After reading a few minutes he became faint, and, leaning on Tita’s arm, he tottered into the next room and returned to bed.
At half-past three, Dr. Bruno and Dr. Millingen, becoming more alarmed, wished to call in two other physicians, a Dr. Freiber, a German, and a Greek named Luca Vaya, the most distinguished of his profession in the town, and physician to Mavrocordato. Lord Byron at first refused to see them; but being told that Mavrocordato advised it, he said: ‘Very well, let them come; but let them look at me and say nothing.’ They promised this, and were admitted. When about him and feeling his pulse, one of them wished to speak. ‘Recollect your promise,’ said Byron, ‘and go away.’
In order to form some idea of the state of things while Byron’s life was slowly ebbing away, we will quote a passage from Parry’s book, which was published soon after the poet’s death:
‘Dr. Bruno I believe to be a very good young man, but he was certainly inadequate to his situation. I do not allude to his medical knowledge, of which I cannot pretend to be a judge; but he lacked firmness, and was so much agitated that he was incapable of bringing whatever knowledge he might possess into use. Tita was kind and attentive, and by far the most teachable and useful of all the persons about Lord Byron. As there was nobody invested with any authority over his household after he fell ill, there was neither method, order, nor quiet, in his apartments. A clever, skilful English surgeon, possessing the confidence of his patient, would have put all this in train; but Dr. Bruno had no idea of doing any such thing. There was also a want of many comforts which, to the sick, may be called necessaries, and there was a dreadful confusion of tongues. In his agitation Dr. Bruno’s English, and he spoke but imperfectly, was unintellegible; Fletcher’s Italian was equally bad. I speak nothing but English; Tita then spoke nothing but Italian; and the ordinary Greek domestics were incomprehensible to us all. In all the attendants there was the officiousness of zeal; but, owing to their ignorance of each other’s language, their zeal only added to the confusion. This circumstance, and the absence of common necessaries, made Lord Byron’s apartment such a picture of distress, and even anguish, during the two or three last days of his life, as I never before beheld, and wish never again to witness.’
At four o’clock on April 18, according to Gamba, Byron seemed to be aware of his approaching end. Dr. Millingen, Fletcher, and Tita, were at his bedside. Strange though it may seem to us in these far-off days, with our experience of medical men, Dr. Millingen, unable to restrain his tears, walked out of the room. Tita also wept profusely, and would have retired if Byron had not held his hand. Byron looked at him steadily, and said, half smiling, in Italian: ‘Oh, questa è una bella scena.’ He then seemed to reflect a moment, and exclaimed, ‘Call Parry.’
‘Almost immediately afterwards,’ says Gamba, ‘a fit of delirium ensued, and he began to talk wildly, as if he were mounting a breach in an assault. He called out, half in English, half in Italian: “Forwards—forwards—courage—follow my example—don’t be afraid!”’
When he came to himself Fletcher was with him. He then knew that he was dying, and seemed very anxious to make his servant understand his wishes. He was very considerate about his servants, and said that he was afraid they would suffer from sitting up so long in attendance upon him. Byron said, ‘I wish to do something for Tita and Luca.’ ‘My lord,’ said Fletcher, ‘for God’s sake never mind that now, but talk of something of more importance.’ But he returned to the same topic, and, taking Fletcher by the hand, continued: ‘You will be provided for—and now hear my last wishes.’
Fletcher begged that he might bring pen and paper to take down his words. ‘No,’ replied Lord Byron, ‘there is no time—mind you execute my orders. Go to my sister—tell her—go to Lady Byron—you will see her, and say——’ Here his voice faltered, and gradually became indistinct; but still he continued muttering something in a very earnest manner for nearly twenty minutes, though in such a tone that only a few words could be distinguished. These were only names: ‘Augusta,’ ‘Ada,’ ‘Hobhouse,’ ‘Kinnaird.’ He then said: ‘Now I have told you all.’
‘My lord,’ replied Fletcher, ‘I have not understood a word your lordship has been saying.’ Byron looked most distressed at this, and said, ‘Not understand me? What a pity! Then it is too late—all is over.’ ‘I hope not,’ answered Fletcher; ‘but the Lord’s will be done.’ Byron continued, ‘Yes, not mine.’ He then tried to utter a few words, of which none were intelligible except, ‘My sister—my child.’ The doctors began to concur in an opinion which one might have thought sufficiently obvious from the first, namely, that the principal danger to the patient was his extreme weakness, and now agreed to administer restoratives. Dr. Bruno, however, thought otherwise, but agreed to administer a dose of claret, bark, and opium, and to apply blisters to the soles of Byron’s feet. He took the draught readily, but for some time refused the blisters. At last they were applied, and Byron fell asleep.