JUNE 1824
Letters played a major role in Georgian society; they were an important form of social networking and people eagerly awaited the penny-post deliveries that arrived three times a day in London.1 News and gossip travelled fast as people dashed off replies by return, throwing in an amusing anecdote or clever turn of phrase. Numerous instructional books saw letter writing as an art form that should entertain and reflect the personality of the writer. Catherine’s letters reveal her warmth as well as her open and honest nature. This was particularly apparent in a heart-wrenching appeal to her father-in-law, in which she poured out all her despair and misery. On 21 June 1824, Catherine sent the following letter to Lord Maryborough declaring her intention to separate from William:
My Dear Lord Maryborough,
Under a distress of mind which more than subdues me, it is with extreme reluctance I take up my pen to address you, aware that in the communication I am about to make, I must unavoidably increase the heavy affliction under which Lady Maryborough and yourself are at this moment suffering.
You are, my dear Lord Maryborough, but too well acquainted with the miseries I have endured for many months past from the conduct of my husband, how I have borne them you are also acquainted with; and if I do not enlarge upon them here, it is only to spare your feelings and my own.
I had hoped by a silent submission to the wrongs I have experienced and conduct above reproach that I might yet reclaim my husband, and if possible, bring back to us both the happiness of which he had cruelly bereaved us. In this hope I have been painfully deceived, and I have reached the moment when a patient exercise of every measure calculated to produce such a result serves only to mark me out as a victim for further insult and degradation.
Under these distressing circumstances I am driven to feel that I was not created for such treatment and that the moment is arrived when, in justice to myself, my family and my children, I am called upon to take a most decided measure. Hitherto I have never considered any sacrifice too great to promote the happiness of my husband. I have shared with him the exile, the penalty of his imprudence, without a murmur still hoping, vainly hoping, that such devoted proof of affection might reclaim him, and that I should feel my reward in the returning affection of my husband. In this I have been disappointed . . .
You are unfortunately no stranger to the history of Mrs Bligh. I had hoped that Mr Long Wellesley had made an atoning sacrifice to myself and his family by a separation from this abandoned woman. This, I grieve to say, is not the case, and she is established at Paris, in the next street to myself, absorbing all the attentions, affections and society of my husband, and condemning me to the humiliating scene (in open day) of meeting him riding with her in the Bois de Boulogne, while I am taking there, my drive in my own carriage.
My dear Lord, this must end – my nerves, my health, my spirits and my happiness are the cost; I have borne it till I can bear it no longer. There is a point where submission becomes a weakness, and resistance is felt a duty. I have reached it and the sad alternative is mine to choose between living this wretched, with one who has (in conduct) cast me off, or mitigating my misery by separating myself from a husband, who no longer appears to value me. Every sentiment of just pride, of religious duty, binds me to prefer the latter sad alternative and under the harassed feelings of exhausted patience, I am unalterably determined (if Mr Long Wellesley will not give up Mrs Bligh) at every hazard and at every risk; to separate myself from a husband who already in conduct has abandoned me – preferring to live unhappy by myself to having under my eye the living cause of my misery. All I ask for is my children; do not let them be taken from me.
Under these feelings, and on this determination, I have thought it right to bring my situation under your Lordship’s eye, in the hope that the voice of a father, combined with the influence of a heart like yours on him not yet (I trust) totally perverted, may still prevent a measure on which I am otherwise resolved. What it must cost me you must be well aware under the love I bear my children and the affection I yet retain for Mr Long Wellesley – alas! I can no longer rely on his promises while he is under a spell so fatal to our happiness. I have therefore determined on this appeal to your Lordship in the first instance, to my own family in the next, and failing either – to the laws of my country finally. This is my firm purpose, and if it can be arrested, it must be by the interference of friends, and by their becoming parties to the securities I require.
I demand the abandonment of Mrs Bligh, a solemn pledge of honour, on the part of Mr Long Wellesley to separate himself from her, never to revisit her and that she must be made to leave Paris and reside bearing her own name, in some known abode, distant from us. These are not hard terms to exact to reclaim him to my affection, to redeem him to himself, and to preserve him to my children! This is all I demand. In return, I offer, hard as it may be upon myself and my children, not merely to sacrifice any portion of my own fortune that may be deemed a liberal provision for Mrs Bligh, but I offer to forgive the wrongs he has heaped upon me, to banish them, if possible from my mind and still to cherish the expectation that when he is exported from the degrading thraldom which now surrounds him, conduct and happiness may once again become our mutual lot.
Failing this, I demand a separation from my husband, that it may be arranged for me, as early as possible, and that it may be conducted through the means of your Lordship’s interference.
If this abandoned woman is to triumph, if my husband will not separate himself from her, it is time for me to look for a protector; and where can I so naturally expect to find one as in the father of my husband who, having witnessed the conduct of both, will be first to condemn his son and the last to refuse his protection to his unhappy wife.
It is my wish, my dear Lord Maryborough, that you should without loss of time have a communication with your son upon this melancholy subject. I have consulted our excellent and mutual friend, Sir George Dallas. He is of opinion with myself that the only person who can now have any proper influence over the mind of Mr Long Wellesley is yourself – it is vain for any person here to make the attempt again – it has been repeatedly tried, but alas! All have failed.
Pray remember me most kindly to Lady Maryborough and believe me my dear Lord,
Your affectionate & obliged,
Catherine Long Wellesley2
By any standards, this was a startlingly forthright letter to send to one’s father-in-law but Lord Maryborough had always held Catherine in great esteem. During the early nineteenth century it was common for parents or friends to mediate when a couple was threatening to separate. Catherine had chosen her ally well; Lord Maryborough would prove to be a fair-minded man and one of the few people capable of standing up to William.
With endearing honesty, Catherine stated that her motive for writing was to ‘reclaim the affections of my husband’. Despite all that had happened, she loved William and was hoping for reconciliation. She also set down generous ‘terms’, offering to pay off the mistress with ‘any portion of my own fortune that may be deemed a liberal provision for Mrs Bligh’. This was precisely how she had handled the Maria Kinnaird affair, and she hoped it would have the desired effect on this occasion.
At face value, Catherine’s letter seems to be an appeal straight from the heart. Barely mentioning the loss of her fortune, she talks of mental cruelty and desertion, insisting, ‘I have borne it till I can bear it no longer.’ On another level, however, it is a remarkably shrewd and calculated letter that hints at her future intentions. Lord Maryborough was an astute gentleman, with a sound knowledge of the law, so undoubtedly he understood the underlying message and implications.
Catherine was well aware that she was taking a serious step in challenging William. It was extremely rare for a wife to instigate a marital break-up, because women had no rights whatsoever regarding their offspring. English law decreed that children were entirely governed by their father, who could do as he wished, including denying access to the mother. If Catherine separated from her husband, the law compelled her to leave behind her children, and she faced the very real prospect of never being permitted to see them again.
Leaving children in the hands of a vengeful man sometimes had serious repercussions. When Lady Worsley eloped in 1781, she did not take her baby daughter with her because she felt certain that her husband would not want the child and would therefore hand her over ata later date. Just a short while afterwards, however, she received the dreadful news that her previously healthy infant was dead. Although she firmly believed that her husband had murdered the child in retribution, she could not prove it. Infant mortality was common and neither a coroner nor a magistrate investigated.3
Obviously this was an extreme case and there was no suggestion that William would have murdered his children. But he certainly had no qualms about causing them harm in other ways: by neglecting them; impairing their well-being with alcohol; or endangering them with reckless horse riding. A father had the right to do with his children as he saw fit, while a mother did not have the power to intervene. Unscrupulous men exploited this point of law to manipulate their wives, using their children as a weapon. This was highlighted by Byron, who remarked gleefully on the birth of his daughter, ‘What an instrument of torture I have gained in you!’4
From experience Catherine knew that her husband was vindictive and she was genuinely fearful of what might happen next. In her letter to Lord Maryborough she expressed her greatest longing: ‘All I ask is my children; do not let them be taken from me.’