The countess was taken ill on her way to Ravenna, and thither Byron followed her, and lived in the same palace with her,—­the palace of her husband, who courted the poet’s society, and who afterward left his young countess to free intercourse with Byron at Bologna,—­not without a compensation in revenue, which was more disgraceful than the amour itself.  About this time Byron would probably have returned to England but for the enchantment which enslaved him.  He could not part from the countess, nor she from him.

The Pope pronounced the separation of the count from his wife, and she returned to her father’s house on a pittance of L200 a year.  She sacrificed everything for the young English poet,—­her splendid home, her relatives, her honor, and her pride.  Never was there a sadder episode in the life of a man of letters.  If Byron had married such a woman in his early life, how different might have been his history!  With such a love as she inspired, had he been faithful to it, he might have lived in radiant happiness, the idol and the pride of all admirers of genius wherever the English language is spoken, seated on a throne which kings might envy.  So much have circumstances to do with human destinies!  Since Abelard, never was there a man more capable of a genuine fervid love than Byron; and yet he threw himself away.  He was his own worst enemy, and all from an ill-regulated nature which he inherited both from his father and his mother, with no Mentor to whom he would listen.  And thus his star sunk down in the eternal shades,—­a fallen Lucifer expelled from bliss.

I would not condone the waywardness and vices of Byron, or weaken the eternal distinctions between right and wrong.  The impression I wish to convey is that there were two very distinctly marked sides to his character; that his conduct was not without palliations, in view of his surroundings, the force of his temptations, and his wayward nature, uncurbed by parental care or early training, indeed rather goaded on by the unfortunate conditions of his youth to find consolation in doing as he liked, without regard to duty or the opinions of society.  Born with the keenest sensibilities, with emotive powers of tremendous sweep and force; neglected, crossed, mortified, with no wise guidance,—­he was driven in upon himself, and developed an intense self-will, which would endure no control.  Unhappy will be the future of that man, however amiable, affectionate, and generous, who, whether from neglect in youth, like Byron, or from sheer wilfulness in manhood, determines to act as the mood takes him, because he has freedom of will, without regard to the social restraints imposed upon conscience by the unwritten law, which pursues him wherever he goes, even should he fly to the uttermost parts of the earth.  No one can escape from moral accountability, whether in a seductive paradise, or in a dungeon, or in a desert.  The only stability, for society must be in the character of its individual members.  Before pleasure comes duty,—­to family, to friends, to country, to self, and to the Maker.