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While “When We Two Parted” is ostensibly about Lady Frances Wedderburn Webster’s betrayal of George Gordon Byron’s love, it also reveals that Byron was a hypocrite regarding that love. Even though he was not faithful to Frances himself, Byron paints himself as the victim to her choosing the Duke of Wellington instead of waiting for him. Just a few years prior to the poem’s composition, Byron reportedly “spared” the married Frances from sexual consummation because “he believed her when she told him she would not be able to bear the guilt of a clandestine affair or, as Byron had proposed, of running away with him” (MacCarthy, Fiona. Byron: Life and Legend. Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2002). His discovery in 1815, through blistering social gossip, that Frances—still married to Webster—was having an affair with Wellington rankled him. He wrote his poem in a jealous fit but was self-aware enough to hide this by pretending to have written the poem in 1808 and excising its telling fifth stanza that revealed Frances’s name.
If Byron actually wanted to be with Frances, then the line from his excised stanza, that she had “prove[d] false unto many / As faithless to one” (See: Background), makes sense. The poem seems to put the blame squarely on her. During his flirtation with Frances in 1813, Byron reported his progress in a series of letters to Lady Melbourne (Caroline Lamb) as if it were a game. He did like Frances, but he was also flirting with several other people at the same time. The problem, then, is not that Frances succumbed to Wellington and overthrew Byron, but that Wellington won where Byron had failed. He is not so much regretful of his actions with Frances but that his actions did not end satisfactorily.
In this case, lines like “Long, long shall I rue thee / Too deeply to tell” (Lines 23-24) are not those of a hurt lover. Byron has already revealed that in 1813, he and Frances were only “[h]alf broken-hearted” (Line 3) at parting. What he really minds is being “deceive[d]” (Line 28) by Frances’s protestations of passion. He believed her devoted to only him—even after being “sever[ed] for years” (Line 4). This suggests an immature belief that Frances should not have moved forward with her own life without continually pining for Byron’s love. This is highly ironic given Byron’s own penchant for sexual involvement with others. For a long time, Frances wrote him copious letters about her affection—but he didn’t feel the same. The poem can be read as indicative of the narcissism of youthful self-importance on Byron’s part. His bitterness is centered on being spurned. What he “rue[s]” (Line 23) is his loss of control of Frances’s emotions, which Wellington presumably had gained.
In “When We Two Parted,” Byron shares, “I hear thy name spoken / And share in its shame” (Lines 15-16). Although others “know not [he] knew [her]” (Line 21), Byron seemingly feels guilty, with a misplaced responsibility for Frances’s infidelity with Wellington. In 1813, Byron ultimately chose not to consummate the relationship with Frances, despite her offering herself to him. In the poem, Byron seems to take responsibility for encouraging Frances to be unfaithful to her husband. Although the act of infidelity did not play out with him, he believes he created that option for her to advance with Wellington.
This brings Byron a measure of sadness. Frances’s relations with Wellington upset not only his ego but also his perceptions of her innocence. He begins to view her as “cold” (Line 5) and calculatingly deceitful. That this, in turn, is traumatic is shown by his auditory image that the mention of her name is like a funeral bell that makes him “shudder” (Line 19). He “grieve[s]” (Line 26) the girl he thought he knew. Yet he is also aware he helped create the Frances of the “now” (Line 12), the one whose name is being bandied about as part of a scandal. He could have easily been the Duke of Wellington, successful in his seduction. This is what makes him ashamed and is why “[i]f [he] should meet [Frances]” (Line 29) at some future time, he would greet her “[w]ith silence and tears” (Line 32).
He keeps her secret because it is also his own—they almost had sex—but he regrets making her think this was ever a good idea. By paving the way in his initial seduction of Frances, Byron suggests he is part of what “foretold / Sorrow to this” (Lines 7-8). He suggests his penance for making an innocent girl “fallen,” a word from the excised fifth stanza (See: Background), is to “rue thee, / [t]oo deeply to tell” (Lines 23-24). He believes that if he’d never started their intense flirtation, she might never have fallen for Wellington’s charms later.
An underlying condemnation of gossip is present in “When We Two Parted.” Byron was familiar with the spread of malicious gossip and was subject to a campaign regarding his possible incestuous relationship with his half-sister. Part of this gossip was perpetuated by one of his former lovers, Caroline Lamb, who helped create the idea that Byron was “mad, bad, and dangerous to know” (See: Further Reading & Resources). When another of his former potential partners—Frances Webster—and her extramarital liaison with the Duke of Wellington was subjected to public scrutiny, Byron used “When We Two Parted” to discuss his disgust for the situation, perhaps commenting on his own scandals.
The pernicious quality of gossip is shown when he notes of Frances, “light is thy fame” (Line 14), showing her affair is already infamous. So was his own supposed relation with his half-sister, Augusta Leigh. Of Frances, he notes that he “hear[s] thy name spoken / [a]nd share[s] in its shame” (Lines 15-16), which suggests both personal guilt and perhaps empathy for what hearsay Frances endures. While “They name thee before me / A knell to mine ear” (Lines 17-18) suggests that Frances wasn’t worth his time, it also suggests his awareness that with each bit of gossip, one is driven to social death. This is what rumors regarding Augusta did to Byron himself. It is also possible when he mentions, “They know not I knew thee / Who knew thee too well” (Lines 21-22), that he knows what it’s like to be the well-known subject of others’ conversation. Betrayal is there, without doubt, but there is also an undercurrent of understanding, so the “silence and tears” (Line 32) aren’t just for Frances but also for himself.
Originally, he condemned Frances by naming her in the fifth stanza of the poem, but he excised it before publication. In this way, Byron may have felt he was not contributing to the gossip that would destroy Frances further. In 1817, shortly after this poem was published, rumors of his relations with Augusta (and the child it produced) affected his marriage and grew so scandalous that Byron had to leave England. By 1823, his feelings and recollections of Frances and what she suffered were more sympathetic.
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By Lord George Gordon Byron (Lord Byron)