78 — To Elizabeth Bridget Pigot.
August 2, 1807.
London begins to disgorge its contents — town is empty — consequently I can scribble at leisure, as occupations are less numerous. In a fortnight I shall depart to fulfil a country engagement; but expect two epistles from you previous to that period. Ridge does not proceed rapidly in Notts — very possible. In town things wear a more promising aspect, and a man whose works are praised by
reviewers
, admired by
duchesses
, and sold by every bookseller of the metropolis, does not dedicate much consideration to
rustic readers
.
I
have now a review before me, entitled
Literary Recreations
where my
hardship
is applauded far beyond my deserts. I know nothing of the critic, but think
him
a very discerning gentleman, and
myself
a devilish
clever
fellow. His critique pleases me particularly, because it is of great length, and a proper quantum of censure is administered, just to give an agreeable
relish
to the praise. You know I hate insipid, unqualified, common-place compliment. If you would wish to see it, order the 13th Number of
Literary Recreations
for the last month. I assure you I have not the most distant idea of the writer of the article — it is printed in a periodical publication — and though I have written a paper (a review of Wordsworth), which appears in the same work, I am ignorant of every other person concerned in it — even the editor, whose name I have not heard.
My
cousin, Lord Alexander Gordon, who resided in the same hotel, told me his mother, her Grace of Gordon
, requested he would introduce my
Poetical
Lordship to her
Highness
, as she had bought my volume, admired it exceedingly, in common with the rest of the fashionable world, and wished to claim her relationship with the author. I was unluckily engaged on an excursion for some days afterwards; and, as the Duchess was on the eve of departing for Scotland, I have postponed my introduction till the winter, when I shall favour the lady,
whose taste I shall not dispute
, with my most sublime and edifying conversation. She is now in the Highlands, and Alexander took his departure, a few days ago, for the same
blessed
seat of "
dark rolling winds
."
Crosby, my London publisher, has disposed of his second importation, and has sent to Ridge for a
third
— at least so he says. In every bookseller's window I see my
own name
, and
say nothing
, but enjoy my fame in secret. My last reviewer kindly requests me to alter my determination of writing no more: and "A Friend to the Cause of Literature" begs I will
gratify
the
public
with some new work "at no very distant period." Who would not be a bard? — that is to say, if all critics would be so polite. However, the others will pay me off, I doubt not, for this
gentle
encouragement. If so, have at 'em?
By
the by, I have written at my intervals of leisure, after two in the morning, 380 lines in blank verse, of Bosworth Field. I have luckily got Hutton's account
. I shall extend the poem to eight or ten books, and shall have finished it in a year. Whether it will be published or not must depend on circumstances. So much for
egotism!
My
laurels
have turned my brain, but the
cooling acids
of forthcoming criticism will probably restore me to
modesty
.
Southwell is a damned place — I have done with it — at least in all probability; excepting yourself, I esteem no one within its precincts. You were my only
rational
companion; and in plain truth, I had more respect for you than the whole
bevy
, with whose foibles I amused myself in compliance with their prevailing propensities. You gave yourself more trouble with me and my manuscripts than a thousand
dolls
would have done.
Believe me, I have not forgotten your good nature in
this circle
of
sin
, and one day I trust I shall be able to evince my gratitude. Adieu.
Yours, etc.
P.S. — Remember me to Dr. P.
Footnote 1:
See page 137,
2.
Footnote 2:
The Duchess of Gordon (1748-1812),
née
Jean Maxwell of Monreith, daughter of Sir W. Maxwell, Bart., married in 1767 the Duke of Gordon. The most successful matchmaker of the age, she married three of her daughters to three dukes — Manchester, Richmond, and Bedford. A fourth daughter was Lady Mandalina Sinclair, afterwards, by a second marriage, Lady Mandalina Palmer. A fifth was married to Lord Cornwallis (see the extraordinary story told in the
Recollections of Samuel Rogers
, pp. 145-146). According to Wraxall (
Posthumous Memoirs
, vol. ii. p. 319), she schemed to secure Pitt for her daughter Lady Charlotte, and Eugène Beauharnais for Lady Georgiana, afterwards Duchess of Bedford. Cyrus Redding (
Memoirs of William Beckford
, vol. ii. pp. 337-339) describes her attack upon the owner of Fonthill, where she stayed upwards of a week, magnificently entertained, without once seeing the wary master of the house.
She was also the social leader of the Tories, and her house in Pall Mall, rented from the Duke of Buckingham, was the meeting-place of the party. Malcontents accused her of using her power tyrannically:—
"Not Gordon's broad and brawny Grace,
The last new Woman in the Place
With more contempt could blast."
Pandolfo Attonito.
(1800).
Lord Alexander Gordon died in 1808.
Footnote 3:
William Hutton (1723-1815), a Birmingham bookseller, who took to literature and became a voluminous writer of poems, and of topographical works which still have their value. In his
Trip to Redcar and Coatham
(Preface, p. vi.) he says,
"I took up my pen at the advanced age of fifty-six ... I drove the quill thirty years, during which time I wrote and published thirty books."
The Battle of Bosworth Field
was published in 1788. A new edition, with additions by John Nichols, appeared in 1813. Byron's poem was never published.
