Byron’s Wedding (edited from B.L. Add.Mss. 47232)

Friday September 30th 1814

Returned to Easton Grey1 – a large party dined there, and we danced in the evening.  Lord Byron is going to be married, as I learn, to Miss Milbanke.2

Saturday October 1st 1814

Went out pheasant shooting, and saw not one.  Came home and walked with Sophia.

Ill.

Wrote congratulation to Byron3 – read half Laluis.4

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Wednesday October 19th 1814

Rode over to Worcester and saw the superb Roman pavement there – fifty feet square, the floor of a room which Mr P. Hawker, like a true antiquary, sticking at nothing, says was inhabited by the Emperor Adrian.  Our floor-cloth patterns are taken from these mosaics, which I knew not before.  The animals there are portrayed with great spirit.

On the hill opposite near Sir G. Paul’s are the remains of a kiln in which they suppose were baked the bricks for the Emperor Adrian’s palace.

Rode home with Miss Baillie5 in the rain and got completely ducked … found a letter from Byron, asking me to stand bridesman at his marriage.6

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Saturday December 24th 1814

I rode up to London and at twelve set off with Lord Byron on his matrimonial scheme.  At Chesterford we parted – he for Six Mile Bottom,7 and I for Cambridge.  I found S.B. Davies and all my friends out of college, but dined at the Sun, where I slept.

Sunday December 25th 1814

I dined in Trinity College Hall.  [At] dinner, Browne and Greenwood and Hailstone [were] the best there.  At night I supped with a wine merchant, one Beales, with Browne8 – a rare vulgar party – it is a wonder a man of Browne’s mind can keep such company: but it is the only resource of a college life.  I hear they have been throwing a collector of the property tax9 out of windows at St Ives.

Monday December 26th 1814

Byron did not arrive till three, when we set off, and went three stages to Wansford (in England)10 a capital inn.

Never was lover in less haste.

Tuesday December 27th 1814

Off at twelve – went as far as Newark11 in snow and rain.

Read the new Gibbon12 – delightful!!  He proves that [the temple of] Janus was not a temple but an arcade with a Statue of Janus in the midst – and that it was the same as the Porta Triumphalis – hence the reason why the Geminae Portals were open in war, as then only was there a necessity for the passage of triumphal processions.  [I] think he has not added that the double face of Janus strengthens this supposition, as the divinity might be supposed to look both to the advancing and passed procession, both to the country and to the city.13  The essay on the character of Brutus is conclusive14 – the patriot’s transaction with Scaptius15 is worse than anything recorded of Verres.

The reading of this work miscellaneously gave me a literary ardour, and infused a sort of philosophic calm over me, to which I have been long a stranger.  It is a useful book, as the pursuits and attainments of Gibbon are, though very noble and extensive, not absolutely without the reach of any lover of literature – the researches of Newton and the brilliancy of Voltaire are objects of admiration, but of despair.

<We travelled to Ferrybridge.>  The bridegroom more and more less impatient – slept at the –––

Wednesday December 28th 1814

We travelled to, and slept at, Ferrybridge.

I read La Bruyère,16 who is a base flatterer of Louis XIV, and a bigot or a pretended bigot – he actually praises him for his persecution of the Huguenots.17

Thursday December 29th 1814

We went as far as Thirsk today – indifference, almost aversion.18

Friday December 30th 1814

At eight o’clock in the evening we arrived at Seaham, Sir Ralph Milbanke’s.  Miss19 came to me when alone in the library, and with great frankness took me by the hand at once – presently in tottered her father – Miss is rather dowdy-looking and wears a long and high dress (as Byron had observed), though she has excellent feet and ankles.  The lower part of her face is bad, the upper expressive but not handsome – yet she gains by inspection.

She heard Byron coming out of his room – ran to meet him – threw her arms round his neck and burst into tears!!20  She did this not before us.  Lady Milbanke was so much agitated that she had gone to her room – our delay the cause – indeed, I looked foolish in finding out an excuse for our want of expedition.  Miss, before us, was silent and modest, but very sensible and decent,21 and inspiring an interest which it is easy to mistake for love.  With me she was frank and open, without little airs or affectations: of my friend she seemed dotingly fond, gazing with delight on his bold and animated bust22 – regulated however with the most entire decorum.

Byron loves her when present, and, personally, as it is easy for those used to such indications to observe.  Old Sir Ralph is an honest, red-faced spirit, a little prosy but by no means devoid of humour.  My lady who has been a dasher in her day, and has ridden the grey mare,23 is pettish and tiresome, but clever … both are dotingly fond of Miss …

There were in the house a family of Mr Hoare of Durham, confidential counsel and agent of Sir Ralph Milbanke, and the Reverend Thomas Noel, Rector of Kirkby Mallory and illegitimate son of Lord Wentworth, Miss Milbanke’s uncle maternal, a buck parson of the better sort.  Byron won his heart by his kindness and open manner.

Sir Ralph & co. told stories.24  Sir Ralph said that Moore, Archbishop of Canterbury,25 informed him that he had changed the archepiscopal signature from “Cant” to “Cantuar” because he wished to avoid the mistakes which the bad writing of his predecessor Cornwallis26 had caused the readers of his processes to commit.  Of the Bishop of Durham, Shute,27 he told that the Bishop, when a tutor at Oxford, said to Lord Hampden,28 “The friendship which I have for my Lord your father – my respect for my Lord the Bishop your uncle – and the peculiar situation in which I stand with my Lord God,” &c.  Also, that Shute desired some young man not to call his task an “imposition” – “You’re a man of family, Sir, a man of family – call it a literary transaction between two men of fashion”.

A gentleman who has lately seen Napoleon told Hoare that Napoleon said to him, “There are three generals in the world – myself, Lord Wellington, and that drunkard Blucher”.29

Byron told me, that one day at dinner, Lady Caroline Lamb30 said to George Lamb, “George – what’s the seventh commandment? Thou shalt not bother.”31  Also that when the late Duchess of Devonshire32 was dying in Devonshire House – Lady Morpeth33 was carried into a bedchamber in convulsions, but was interrupted by a voice from the curtains which exclaimed “Don’t come here! Wil-hi-am is here!” Wil-hi-am34 said not a word.  This was at two in the afternoon.

Saturday December 31st 181435

I walked on the seashore, which is close to the mansion house of Seaham – the sight of the waters had an indescribable effect upon me – it was a fine sunshiney day.  I had some private talk with Hoare36 and Miss Milbanke on Lord Byron’s affairs, and I began to entertain doubts of Hanson’s probity.  The young woman is most attractive – we had a dinner, at six, and jollified a little upon the signing of the settlements, which was done in the morning.  I put my name to a deed which is to provide for the younger children of the marriage – my coadjutator is Sir Thomas Liddell.37

I talked and talked in the evening, which concluded jollily with a mock marriage, I being Lady Byron, Noel parsonifying, and Hoare giving me away.  Shook hands for a new year.

Sunday January 1st 1815

Walked on the shore.  The Hoares left us.  We had not quite so jolly a dinner as yesterday, but tolerable, considering Byron at night said, “Well, Hobhouse, this is our last night; tomorrow I shall be Annabella’s” – (absit omen!!)38

Monday January 2nd 1815

I dressed in full dress with white gloves, and found Byron up and dressed, with Noel39 in canonicals.  Lady Milbanke [and] Sir Ralph soon came, also dressed.  Her ladyship could not make tea.  Her hand shook.  Miss did not appear – the Reverend Wallis40 came in, also in canonicals – at half-past ten we parted company.  Byron and I went to his room – the others upstairs.

In ten minutes we walked up into the drawing-room and found kneeling-mats disposed for the couple, and the others.  The two clergymen, the father and mother and myself were in waiting, when Miss Milbanke came in attended by her governess, the respectable Miss Clermont.41  She was dressed in a muslin gown trimmed with lace at the bottom, with a white muslin curricle jacket, very plain indeed, with nothing on her head.  Noel was decent and grave – he put them, Byron and Miss, opposite their cushions.  Lady Milbanke placed Sir Ralph next to his daughter.  I stood next to Sir Ralph; my lady and Mrs Clermont were rather opposite in the corner.  Wallis read the responses.

Miss Milbanke was as firm as a rock, and during the whole ceremony looked steadily at Byron – she repeated the words audibly and well.  Byron hitched at first when he said “I, George Gordon”, and when he came to “with all my worldly goods I thee endow”, looked at me with a half-smile – they were married at eleven.  I shook Lady Byron by the hand after the parson, and embraced my friend with unfeigned delight – he was kissed by mylady Milbanke – Lady Milbanke and Mrs Clermont were much affected.  Lady Byron went out of the room, but soon returned to sign the register, which Wallis and I witnessed.  She again retired hastily, her eyes full of tears when she looked at her father and mother, and completed her conquest, her innocent conquest.

She came in her travelling dress, corn after a slate-coloured satin – pellice trimmed with white fur – and sat quietly in the drawing-room – Byron was calm and as usual I felt I had buried a friend.

I put a complete collection of Byron’s poems bound in orange morocco into the carriage for Lady Byron as a wedding gift – it was inscribed thus:

At a little before twelve I handed Lady Byron downstairs and into her carriage.  When I wished her many years of happiness she said, “If I am not happy it will be my own fault”.  Of my dearest friend I took a melancholy leave – he was unwilling to leave my hand, and I had hold of his out of the window when the carriage drove off.

I left Seaham at twelve.  Lady Milbanke asked me if she had not behaved well – as if she had been the mother of Iphigenia.43  It is not wonderful that the mother of an only daughter and child born seventeen years after marriage44 should cause a pang at parting.

Whilst at Seaham we saw the sword dance of the colliers,45 a singular custom / exhibition, begun and ended by a sort of pantomime games led by a pantaloon and fool, who ends by having his head cut off.  The great address consists of the parties uniting themselves by holding their swords at each end, and going through all the contortions without letting them go.  The business is opened with a song, which is to be found in the Tyne Melodies,46 and by a slow circular procession, dictated and controlled by the fool and pantaloon – the cutting off the head we did not see.  The men are about ten in number, fantastically dressed, and although it is a Christmas, sport in their shirts.

The little bells of Seaham church struck up after the wedding, and half-a-dozen fired muskets in front of the house.  The couple went to Halnaby,47 Sir Ralph Milbanke’s estate in Yorkshire.

I went in a post-chaise to Sunderland and saw the iron bridge,48 which is indeed an incomparable structure – its span is 263 feet, its width 32, its height from the water 100.  It cost £36,000, one third the cost of a stone bridge, and lets for £2,375 per annum.  It is remarkable that when it was opened in 1796, the ferry across the Wear did not let for less money than before, and now lets for double its former value.  The bridge opens a communication between Sunderland, Shields, and Newcastle – carriages pay half a crown – foot-passengers a halfpenny.  The property, which belongs to Mr Burdon, the bankrupt member for Durham,49 is now to be raffled for.

Lady Milbanke told me that in July and August last, 3,700 colliers cleared out of the port of Sunderland.50  The population of the place is about 36,000.  I went fifteen miles to Durham, and put up at the cheapest inn in England.51  I walked about on the beautiful banks of the river, and saw the open court of justice,52 which until two years [ago] was used here – it is very “foolish and rheumatic”, as a Mr Darnell,53 a clever clergyman who, with Parson Noel, walked about with me, observed.

I dined at Mr Hoare’s, Sir Ralph and Lady Milbanke with Noel, Darnell, the Lord Barrington,54 a gold prebend55 and others, at a sort of wedding-dinner.  I talked incessantly, and badly, and drank too much port, impelled by Noel, who is a good fellow.