Authors: Dorothy Hoobler
By the middle of the summer of 1819, he had to do something, for the Hoppners had made plans to leave Venice for Switzerland.
Without asking Byron, they had fired Elise, the only stable figure in Allegra’s brief life. Mrs. Hoppner informed Byron that
they would leave Allegra with their servant Antonio who, they assured Byron, had fine manners. Allegra did spend some time
with this Antonio and his family, where four Italian girls fussed over her before she was turned over to the wife of the Danish
ambassador.
Finally, in August 1819, Byron took responsibility for his daughter. “I wish to see my child—& have her with
me,
” he declared, ordering the two-year-old to be brought to him. It was all part of Byron’s cycle of concern and neglect. He
found that the Hoppners had done little for his daughter. She did not speak a word of English, nor even formal Italian because
she had always been with servants, not the family. At first, the child charmed Byron. “Baby B” (as he called her) was beautiful
and lively, and she could twist him around her little finger. In September, Byron wrote to Augusta, his half-sister, telling
her that he saw the Byron traits in Allegra. He noted that she spoke nothing but Venetian and was “very droll—and has a good
deal of the Byron—can’t articulate the letter
r
at all [the Byrons had a Scottish accent]—frowns and pouts quite in our way—blue eyes—light hair growing
darker
daily—and a dimple in the chin—a scowl on the brow—white skin—sweet voice—and a particular liking of Music—and of her own
way in every thing—is not that B. all over?” Of course, the musical talent marked Allegra even more strongly as her mother’s
child.
One reason why Byron may have decided to resume caring for Allegra was that in April he had met a woman who, for the first
time since he left England, made him consider the joys of a “steady” life. Countess Teresa Guiccioli was nineteen, and married
to a man of fifty-eight. Though lovely, she was not renowned for her beauty. A later English traveler, who had heard of her
affair with Byron, wrote, “I was rather disappointed with her personal appearance . . . she gave one more the idea of a healthy,
rosy, jolly-looking milkmaid, than a heroine of romance.” Byron was attending a soirée when his hostess asked if he would
like to be introduced to the young countess. At first he refused, but after some persuasion he let himself be led across the
room. Teresa later recalled the moment in detail in her autobiography, and at her telling, she was overwhelmed by this “celestial
apparition whom it seemed to her she had already seen and loved before, having seen him in her imagination.”
It was no surprise that a young woman found the sight of Byron irresistible; the mystery was that Byron himself felt an attraction
that was more than physical. They talked, that evening, of Italian poetry, a subject she was well versed in, having grown
up in Ravenna, where Dante is buried. The discussion continued for far longer than politeness demanded. Teresa wrote, “already
the subject of the conversation had become an accessory—already the important thing was to converse—was the development of
that mysterious sympathy which grew with each word from the one and the other—and that had already rendered them insensible
to what was happening around them.” Her husband finally came to reclaim his wife. “She rose as if she were coming out of a
dream,” Teresa wrote of herself.
The next afternoon, when Count Guiccioli customarily took a nap, an elderly gondolier arrived at his palazzo with a note for
his wife. Naturally, it was from Byron, and the boatman took her to a
casino,
a little house that Byron used for personal matters. “I was strong enough to resist at that first encounter,” Teresa recalled,
“but was so imprudent as to repeat it the next day, when my strength gave way—for B. was not a man to confine himself to sentiment.
And, the first step taken, there was no further obstacle in the following days.”
Byron was serious about Teresa, as he had not been about a woman in years. He wrote to Hobhouse, “I am in love—and tired of
promiscuous concubinage—& have now an opportunity of settling for life.” There
was
in fact the possibility of a permanent relationship, if Byron had been willing to accept its conditions. The countess turned
down Byron’s impulsive suggestion that they flee to South America; instead, she offered him the role of
cavalier servente,
publicly an escort and protector. It was understood that lovemaking might be part of the
cavalier servente’
s role, but only if done with complete discretion. Byron scorned this at first, ridiculing the duties. He wrote Hoppner, “I
am drilling very hard to learn how to double a Shawl, and should succeed to admiration—if I did not always double it the wrong
side out. . . . A man actually becomes a piece of female property.”
The count assented to this arrangement. He was not the kind of man who would let his wife’s infidelities go unnoticed; he
had already had two wives, and rumors said he had poisoned the first one because she objected to his taking as a mistress
the woman who would become the second. (He went to the theater the night the second one died.) However, he not only agreed
to Byron’s publicly accompanying Teresa to the theater and opera, he even invited the English
cavalier servente
to live with them at the Palazzo Guiccioli in Ravenna. The fact that Byron proved liberal with money was one factor in the
count’s apparent willingness to allow such a notorious rake near his wife. The count had asked Byron for a sizable loan, and
Byron gave it to him. The “rent” on Byron’s apartment in the Palazzo Guiccioli was deducted from what the count owed.
Though Ravenna was regarded as something of a backwater, compared to cosmopolitan Venice, Byron willingly moved in, along
with little Allegra, whom Byron called Allegrina when he was paying attention to her. His apartment, separate from the family’s
living quarters, must have been quite extensive, for Shelley later reported that Byron’s household included ten horses, eight
large dogs (no lapdogs for Byron), three monkeys, five cats, five peacocks, an eagle, a crow, a falcon, two guinea hens, and
an Egyptian crane. All except the horses walked, or flew, freely about the rooms. Allegra must have felt somewhat insignificant
competing with this menagerie.
Byron of course had other interests—making love to Teresa when her husband was away (“by the clock,” he complained), extending
Don Juan
through another three cantos, and attending the clandestine meetings of a murky group called the Carbonari, who were plotting
the overthrow of Italy’s foreign rulers. Through his friendship with Teresa’s family, the Gambas, Byron had been initiated
into the group with the rank of
capo
. (The Carbonari took their name from the workers who made charcoal in the forests, where their own secret meetings often
took place.)
Neither by personality nor lifestyle was Byron a natural father, and he soon became bored or irritated with the demands of
having a small child around. At times, Byron complained that she reminded him of her mother, Claire, though almost everyone
else saw the temperamental similarities between the father and his daughter. The servants all doted on Allegra, something
Byron attributed in part to her fair skin, “which shines among their dusky children like the milky way.”
Allegra’s mother started to make demands, something Byron never responded to graciously. Claire, now living with the Shelleys
in Pisa, wrote to Byron in March 1820, pointing out that it had been nearly a year and a half since she had seen Allegra,
even though Byron had promised she could visit the child regularly. She warned Byron that Allegra might suffer from Ravenna’s
unhealthy climate and asked him to allow the child to visit her and the Shelleys again that summer. When he failed to reply,
she wrote a second time, suggesting that he send Allegra to meet her and the Shelleys in Bologna in May. Percy’s health, unfortunately,
was too frail to allow him to travel to Ravenna.
Byron was not about to give in to Claire. Though he enjoyed discussing poetry with Shelley, he distrusted his ideas about
raising children. He wrote Thomas Hoppner, “I so totally disapprove of the mode of Children’s treatment in their family—that
I should look upon the Child [Allegra] as going into a hospital. [The word then meant a home for the indigent or orphans.]—Is
it not so? Have they
reared
one?” That was indeed a low blow, implicitly blaming the Shelleys for the deaths of their children.
Byron continued, protesting that Allegra was receiving good care: “Her health here has hitherto been excellent—and her temper
not bad—she is sometimes vain and obstinate—but always clean and cheerful—and . . . in a year or two I shall either send her
to England—or put her in a Convent for education. . . . But the child shall not quit me again—to perish of Starvation, and
green fruit—or to be taught to believe that there is no Deity.” He was, of course, referring to Shelley’s vegetarianism and
atheism. Mrs. Hoppner conveyed Byron’s remarks to Claire, who wrote with some irritation in her journal, “A letter from Mad[ame].
Hoppner concerning green fruit and God—strange Jumble.” She wrote to Byron yet again, offering to make sure Allegra received
the same food she had been accustomed to and assuring him, “she shall be taught to worship God.” He could not have cared less.
Selfishly and obstinately, Byron kept Allegra. And sure enough, the child’s first Ravenna summer, with its intense heat, did
not agree with her. She came down with malarial fever and Byron had to move to a villa in the countryside for her sake. It
took her quite a while to recover. Teresa sent the girl some toys, but she was annoyed when Byron hired a nurse that she considered
too pretty. (Byron reassured her, “The woman is as ugly as an ogre.”)
Claire may have found out about Allegra’s illness, and if so surely wrote Byron an angry letter, although none from her during
this time have survived. However, in August Byron told Shelley, “I must decline all correspondence with Claire who merely
tries to be as irrational and provoking as she can be.”
Not put off so easily when her daughter’s welfare was at stake, Claire apparently persisted. Byron wrote Hoppner in September,
Clare [
sic
] writes me the most insolent letters about Allegra—see what a man gets by taking care of natural children!—Were it not for
the poor little child’s sake—I am most tempted to send her back to her atheistical mother—but that would be too bad;—you cannot
conceive the excess of her insolence and I know not why—for I have been at great care and expense—taking a house in the country
on purpose of her—she has
two
maids & every possible attention.—If Clare thinks that she shall ever interfere with the child’s morals or education—she
mistakes—she never shall—The girl shall be a Christian and a married woman—if possible.—As to seeing her—she may see her—under
proper restrictions—but She is not to throw every thing into confusion with her Bedlam behaviour.—To express it delicately—I
think Madame Clare is a damned bitch—what think you?
Byron’s allusion to Claire’s morals, besides being stunningly hypocritical considering his own record, had been stoked by
the Hoppners’ repeating to him the story that in 1819 Claire had given birth to Shelley’s child in Naples. They had heard
it from the former nursemaid Elise, whose husband Paolo had tried unsuccessfully to blackmail Shelley by threatening to spread
the tale. Meanwhile, Byron himself was anything but discreet, and the countess’s ardor carried her away as well. The count
apparently caught them in a compromising position in the family quarters of the palazzo, and while he could tolerate his wife’s
taking a lover, he could not accept such a brazen insult to his honor. Byron, seriously worried that the count was trying
to have him assassinated, began to carry a brace of pistols wherever he went. Remarkably, he continued living in the count’s
palazzo—although he was no longer permitted in the family quarters.
Surprisingly, Teresa’s father, Count Ruggero Gamba, who had considered his daughter’s marriage to Count Guiccioli a good match,
now worked to obtain an annulment. Count Ruggero and Byron had discovered their mutual interest in Italian nationalism—Ruggero
was also part of the local Carbonari—and that may have won the count’s favor. In a short time, the pope granted a decree of
separation, although the terms of it demanded that Teresa live in her father’s home in Ravenna. For a time, that would put
a crimp in the romance between Byron and Teresa.
By this time, Allegra had ceased to be amusing to Byron, and became an uncomfortable reminder of his foolish love affair.
Years later Teresa claimed that just the sight of her could at times be unbearable to Byron. “Each time she came into her
father’s presence, he used to turn away in disgust and exclaim, ‘Enlevez la; elle ressemble trop à sa mère!’ [‘
Take her away; she looks too much like her mother!
’]” Byron had long thought that a convent education would be best for Allegra. He considered this a practical solution that
would in time increase her chances of making a good marriage. (He had once even discussed a prearranged marriage between her
and Count Guiccioli’s son.) Moreover, he claimed to admire the Roman Catholic Church, and wished his daughter to be brought
up in that faith. If Allegra were sent to England, Byron feared that her illegitimate birth would be a social handicap. In
Italy, a hefty dowry counted as much as birth, and Byron had changed his will to leave Allegra five thousand pounds. Money
was easier to give than affection.
On March 1, 1821, Byron enrolled Allegra in the convent boarding school of San Giovanni Battista at Bagnacavallo, twelve miles
from Ravenna. She was just four years old and by far the youngest girl in the school. Byron did not think this was cruel:
Allegra was precocious and Teresa herself had entered a convent school at five. From a material standpoint, Allegra was well
equipped. She came to the convent with her own bed, chest of drawers, many pretty dresses, and her beautiful dolls, which
were as gorgeously dressed as she herself was. Byron wrote his half-sister that he wanted Allegra “to become a good Catholic—&
(it may be) a
Nun
being a character somewhat wanted in our family.”