74 — To Elizabeth Bridget Pigot
Cambridge, June 30, 1807.
"
Better
late than never, Pal,"
is a saying of which you know the origin, and as it is applicable on the present occasion, you will excuse its conspicuous place in the front of my epistle. I am almost superannuated here. My old friends (with the exception of a very few) all departed, and I am preparing to follow them, but remain till Monday to be present at three
Oratorios
, two
Concerts
, a
Fair
, and a Ball. I find I am not only
thinner
but
taller
by an inch since my last visit. I was obliged to tell every body my
name
, nobody having the least recollection of my
visage
, or person.
Even
the hero of
my Cornelian
(who is now sitting
vis-à-vis
reading a volume of my
Poetics
) passed me in Trinity walks without recognising me in the least, and was thunderstruck at the alteration which had taken place in my countenance, etc., etc. Some say I look
better
, others
worse
, but all agree I am
thinner
, — more I do not require.
I
have lost two pounds in my weight since I left your
cursed
,
detestable
, and
abhorred
abode of
scandal
, where, excepting yourself and John Becher
, I care not if the whole race were consigned to the
Pit of Acheron
, which I would visit in person rather than contaminate my
sandals
with the polluted dust of Southwell.
Seriously
, unless obliged by the
emptiness
of my purse to revisit Mrs. B., you will see me no more.
On Monday I depart for London. I quit Cambridge with little regret, because our
set
are
vanished
, and my
musical protégé
before mentioned has left the choir, and is stationed in a mercantile house of considerable eminence in the metropolis. You may have heard me observe he is exactly to an hour two years younger than myself. I found him grown considerably, and as you will suppose, very glad to see his former
Patron
. He is nearly my height, very
thin
, very fair complexion, dark eyes, and light locks. My opinion of his mind you already know; — I hope I shall never have occasion to change it. Every body here conceives me to be an
invalid
. The University at present is very gay from the fètes of divers kinds. I supped out last night, but eat (or ate) nothing, sipped a bottle of claret, went to bed at two, and rose at eight. I have commenced early rising, and find it agrees with me.
The
Masters and the Fellows all very
polite
, but look a little
askance
— don't much admire
lampoons
— truth always disagreeable.
Write, and tell me how the inhabitants of your
Menagerie
go
on
, and if my publication goes
off
well: do the quadrupeds
growl
? Apropos, my bull-dog is deceased — "Flesh both of cur and man is grass." Address your answer to Cambridge. If I am gone, it will be forwarded.
Sad
news just arrived — Russians beat
— a bad set, eat nothing but
oil
, consequently must melt before a
hard fire
. I get awkward in my academic habiliments for want of practice. Got up in a window to hear the oratorio at St. Mary's, popped down in the middle of the
Messiah
, tore a
woeful
rent in the back of my best black silk gown, and damaged an egregious pair of breeches. Mem. — never tumble from a church window during service. Adieu, dear — — ! do not remember me to any body:— to
forget
and be forgotten by the people of Southwell is all I aspire to.
Footnote 1:
The allusion is to the farce
Better Late than Never
(attributed to Miles Peter Andrews, but really, according to Reynolds (
Life
, vol. ii. pp. 79, 80), by himself, Topham, and Andrews), in which Pallet, an artist, is a prominent character. It was played at Drury Lane for the first time October 17, 1790, with Kemble as "Saville" and Mrs. Jordan as "Augusta."
Footnote 2:
"The hero of
my Cornelian
" was a Cambridge chorister named Edleston, whose life, as Harness has recorded in a MS. note, Byron saved from drowning. This began their acquaintance. (See Byron's lines on "The Cornelian,"
Poems
, vol. i. 66-67.) Edleston died of consumption in May, 1811. Byron, writing to Mrs. Pigot, gives the following account of his death:—
"Cambridge, Oct. 28, 1811.
Dear Madam, — I am about to write to you on a silly subject, and yet I cannot well do otherwise. You may remember a cornelian, which some years ago I consigned to Miss Pigot, indeed gave to her, and now I am going to make the most selfish and rude of requests. The person who gave it to me, when I was very young, is dead, and though a long time has elapsed since we met, as it was the only memorial I possessed of that person (in whom I was very much interested), it has acquired a value by this event I could have wished it never to have borne in my eyes. If, therefore, Miss Pigot should have preserved it, I must, under these circumstances, beg her to excuse my requesting it to be transmitted to me at No. 8, St. James's Street, London, and I will replace it by something she may remember me by equally well. As she was always so kind as to feel interested in the fate of him that formed the subject of our conversation, you may tell her that the giver of that cornelian died in May last of a consumption, at the age of twenty-one, making the sixth, within four months, of friends and relatives that I have lost between May and the end of August.
"Believe me, dear Madam, yours very sincerely,
"Byron.
"P.S. — I go to London to-morrow."
The cornelian heart was, of course, returned, and Lord Byron, at the same time, reminded that he had left it with Miss Pigot as a deposit,
not
a gift (Moore).
cross-reference: return to Footnote 2 of Letter 161
Footnote 3:
See page 182,
1.
Footnote 4:
See "Thoughts suggested by a College Examination" (
Poems
, vol. i. pp. 28-31), also "Granta: a Medley" (
Poems
, vol. i. pp. 56-62).
Footnote 5:
The Battle of Friedland, June 15, 1807. This is almost the first allusion that Byron makes to the war.
