But all that matters little. What matters is, not Byron's last utterance, but his last action, now that neither love nor lust, nor despair, nor bitterness, nor sloth, nor self-indulgence, held him any longer in unworthy bondage. For he had died in the act of redeeming the many wasted years, and of fulfilling the prediction of his most degraded time, that, in spite of everything, he would come to achievement at last--not merely the literary achievement which was compatible with the life of a trifler and a man of pleasure, but the more glorious achievement which is only possible to those who consent to sacrifice their ease and make a free gift of their energies to a cause which they perceive to be greater than themselves. APPENDIX BYRON'S LETTER TO MARY CHAWORTH VENICE, _May 17, 1819_ MY DEAREST LOVE, I have been negligent in not writing, but what can I say? Three years' absence--and the total change of scene and habit make such a difference that we have never nothing in common but our affections and our relationship. But I have never ceased nor can cease to feel for a moment that perfect and boundless attachment which bound and binds me to you--which renders me incapable of _real_ love for any other human being--for what could they be to me after _you_? My own ... we may have been very wrong--but I repent of nothing except that cursed marriage--and your refusing to continue to love me as you had loved me. I can neither forget nor _quite forgive_ you for that precious piece of reformation, but I can never be other than I have been--and whenever I love anything it is because it reminds me in some way or other of yourself. For instance, I not long ago attached myself to a Venetian for no earthly reason (although a pretty woman) but because she was called ..., and she often remarked (without knowing the reason) how fond I was of the name. It is heart-breaking to think of our long separation--and I am sure more than punishment enough for all our sins. Dante is more humane in his "Hell," for he places his unfortunate lovers--Francesca of Rimini and Paolo--whose case fell a good deal short of _ours_ (though sufficiently naughty) in company; and though they suffer, it is at least together. If ever I return to England it will be to see you; and recollect that in all time, and place, and feelings, I have never ceased to be the same to you in heart. Circumstances may have ruffled my manner and hardened my spirit; you may have seen me harsh and exasperated with all things around me; grieved and tortured with your _new resolution_, and soon after the persecution of that infamous fiend who drove me from my country, and conspired against my life--by endeavouring to deprive me of all that could render it precious--but remember that even then _you_ were the sole object that cost me a tear; and _what tears_! Do you remember our parting? I have not spirits now to write to you upon other subjects. I am well in health, and