B 3 5Mb MSD \ i LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU SELECT PASSAGES FROM HER LETTERS ^ EDITED BY ARTHUR R. ROPES, M.A LATE FELLOW OF KING'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE With Nine Portraits after SiR Godfrey Kneller and other Artists NEW YORK CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 743-745 BROADWAY O O S b [. CONTENTS LHAI'TER PAGE I, INTRODUCTORY SKETCH - - - - - I , II, EARLY LIFE AND MARRIAtlE - - - - "34 III. THE EMBASSY TO TURKEY - - - - - 62 ^IV. LIFE IN ENGLAND ...... 105 V. TRAVELS IN ITALY AND FRANCE .... 137 VI, RESIDENCE AT LOVERE ..... 174 VII. LETTERS ON ENGLISH NOVELS .... 202 VIII. THOU(iHTS ON EDUCATION ..... 227 IX. LAST YEARS AND DEATH . . . . , 261 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS f ASE Lady Mvrv Wortley Montagu, after Sir G. Ivneller Frontisf^iece Edward Wortley Montagu, after Sir G. Kneller - - - 50 The Princess Caroline, after Sir G. Kneller -•■-']% Alexander Pope, after Sir G. Kneller 106 William CoNGREVE, a//6'r Sir G. Kneller - - ■ - - 114 Edward Wortley Montagu, Junior, after \V. Peters, R.A, - 162 Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, after Sir G. Kneller - - 204 Dean Swift, after C. Jervas 214 Samuel Richardson, ^/'(?;- J. Highmore 220 * f' The portraits of Lady Mary and her husband are engraved^ by kind ■fiermission, from pictures in the possession of the Marquis of Bute and the /• art of Wharnclife. \ ^^ UNIVERSITY LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU CHAPTER I INTRODUCTORY SKETCH Introduction — Lady Mary's Birth and Family — Early Days — The Kit-Cat Club — Courtship and Marriage — The Embassy to Con- stantinople — Turkish Letters — Life in England —Family Troubles — Rdmond and Lady Mar— Quarrel with Pope — Lady Mary goes Abroad — Travels in Italy and Savoy — Stay at Avignon — Journey to Italy — Count Palazzo — Settlement at Lovere — Life at Venice — Return to England — Last Days and Death — Editions of her Letters — Character discussed — Style. " The last pleasure that came in my way was Madame Sevigne's letters," wrote Lady Mary Wortley Montagu to her . sister ; ''very pretty they are, but I assert, without the least vanity, that mine will be full as entertaining forty years hence." '' In most of them," said Horace Walpole, fresh from reading a bundle of Lady Mary's letters, " the wit and style are superior to any letters I ever read but Madame Sevigne's." It is curious that the somewhat flattering opinion expressed by the writer of the letters herself should have been so nearly endorsed by one who was her I 2 Introdtictory Sketch enemy by hereditary and personal feeling, and never alludes to her without a sneer; but Horace Walpole knew the craft of letter-writing, and *' in spite of spite " could recognise the merit of another in his own favourite art. These letters, then, as to whose merit author and author's enemy alike agree, need no apology for their presentment in the form of a selection. Neither they nor their writer, indeed, have been neglected. There have been plenty of editions of Lady Mary's works, and her name at once awakens a crowd of varied associations. She is remembered as the first English- woman who sent back accounts of the miysterious and magnificent East ; as the friend and then the enemy of Pope ; as the courageous introducer of inocula- tion ; as the strong-minded, independent, eccentric traveller. Alike to friends and enemies, she has ever stood out as a strong, original figure — a personality among so many who are only names to us now, and were little more in their own time. But though, for all who have the time and the taste, there is no pleasure greater than consulting the mass of the original letters, yet there are many who might be repelled by the bulk of the matter, by the super- fluity of contemporary gossip, much of which must be a tedious riddle to a modern reader, or even by the occasional bluntness of thought and coarseness of expression which Lady Mary shared with nearly all the writers of her time. For such readers, then, I have tried to select some of the more entertaining: Introductory Sketch 3 passages from the letters, stringing them together with a thread of explanation where necessary. Lady Mary Wortley Montagu belonged to the great Whig aristocracy that ruled England for half the eighteenth century. Her father was Evelyn Pierre- pont, the youngest of three brothers who successively became Earls of Kingston. Evelyn was so called from the maiden name of his mother, a cousin of the famous John Evelyn. He married Mary Fielding, daughter of that Earl of Denbigh from one of whose brothers Fielding the novelist was descended. Lady Mary was born in 1689, and her baptism was registered on May 20 of that year. She was the eldest child, the others being Frances (afterwards Countess of Mar), Evelyn (afterwards Lady Gower), and one son, William. In i6go Evelyn Pierrepont became Earl of Kingston, and in 1692 his wife died. He did not marry again till 1714, when all his children were settled in life. He was busily engaged in public affairs, and met with his reward from the victorious Whigs, being made Marquis of Dorchester in 1706 (a title already granted by Charles I. to one of his family), and Duke of Kingston in 1715. His only son, William, died in 1713, leaving a son who succeeded to the dukedom in 1726, and whose after-life was made notorious by being linked with that of the famous Eliza- beth Chudleigh, who was tried by the Peers for bigamy. This early loss of her mother must have had considerable influence on Lady Mary's life. Her father, a public man and a man of pleasure, seems to I — 2 4 Introd^utory Sketch have taken but little heed of his children's education. Lady Mary was left to grow up much at her ow^n will, being given in charge to a pious old person who had been nurse to her mother, and who, if we may trust her pupil's later account, taught her little but to read and write, besides filling her head with superstitious stories, w^hich found poor welcome there ; for no one could be more destitute of illusions than Lady Mary. One pleasurable recollection she had of Lord Kingston's fondness, which I will leave her grand-daughter. Lady Louisa Stuart, to tell. "A trifling incident, which Lady Mary loved to recall, will prove how much she w^as the object of Lord Kingston's pride and fondness in her childhood. As a leader of the fashionable world, and a strenuous Whig in party, he of course belonged to the Kit-Kat Club. One day, at a meeting to choose toasts for the year, a whim seized him to nominate her, then not eight years old, a candidate ; alleging that she was far prettier than any lady on their list. The other members demurred, because the rules of the club forbade them to elect a beauty whom they had never seen. * Then you shall see her,' cried he ; and in the gaiety of the moment sent orders home to have her finely dressed and brought to him at the tavern, where she was received with acclamations, her claim unanimously allowed, her health drunk by everyone present, and her name engraved in due form upon a drinking-glass. The company consisting of some of the most eminent men of England, she went from the lap of one poet, or patriot, or statesman, to the arms of Introductory Sketch 5 another, was feasted with sweetmeats, overwhelmed with caresses, and, what perhaps already pleased her better than either, heard her wit and beauty loudly extolled on every side. Pleasure, she said, was too poor a word to express her sensations ; they amounted to ecstasy : never again, throughout her whole future life, did she pass so happy a day. Nor, indeed, could she ; for the love of admiration, which this scene was calculated to excite or increase, could never again be so fully gratified ; there is always some allaying ingre- dient in the cup, some drawback upon the triumphs of grown people. Her father carried on the frolic, and, we may conclude, confirmed the taste, by having her picture painted for the club-room, that she might be enrolled a regular toast." Still, this single instance of fondness did not blind Lady Mary's eyes in after-years to the neglect with which she had been treated in childhood ; and when her father died, in 1726, we find her writing with almost brutal directness to her sister, ^^ Au hout du compte, I don't know why filial piety should exceed fatherly fondness. So much by way of consolation." Lady Mary's precocity, however marked, did not (as her first biographer erroneously stated) induce her father to give her a course of classical study with her brother ; and her early education, as she herself said, was *'one of the worst in the world." But she had the run of her father^s library, and there browsed in the pastures of French romance, Englished by " persons of quality," the Astree and the whole baggage 6 Introductory Sketch of the Scuderys and their school. As she grew up, she extended the range of her reading ; and it was on the common ground of learning that she first met — by her own account, when she was only fourteen — the man who was to be her husband. Edward Wortley Montagu, or Edward Wortley as he was more often styled in the earlier part of his life, was the son of the Hon. Sidney Wortley Montagu, second son of Admiral Montagu, first Earl of Sand- wich, well known in the Dutch wars of Charles II. Sidney Montagu took the name of Wortley on marrying the heiress of Sir Francis Wortley. One of Lady Mary Pierrepont's closest friends in girlhood was Anne Wortley, Edward's favourite sister ; and whether through her, or in some other way, the two were soon acquainted. If, as Lady Mary stated, she was only fourteen then, he must have been ten or eleven years older than herself; but he was at once struck by her intelligence and wit. Himself a scholar and a man of literary tastes, the friend of Addison and Steele, he directed her studies, and encouraged her to persevere in teaching herself Latin ; and some help she also derived from the celebrated Bishop Burnet, to whom she dedicated a translation (through the Latin) of the *■' Enchiridion " of Epictetus. With Anne Wortley, Lady Mary corresponded ; and, as Anne's letters were often written really by her brother — a fact of which the recipient of them could hardly have been ignorant — these letters formed a sort of indirect correspondence between Edward Wortley and Lady Mary. After a Introductory Sketch 7 time hints of courtship appeared in the letters, and on Anne Wortley's death, in 1709, the correspondence was continued directly between Edward and his sister's friend. A number of her letters, and one of his, have been printed ; they form a curious piece of love-making between two clear-headed, intellectual, un- romantic lovers, who yet could not refrain from loving each other. The bulk of the love-letters given might be said to consist in enumerations of the excellent reasons existing for putting an end to the attachment. At last Edward Wortley formally asked the Marquis of Dorchester for the hand of his eldest daughter ; but although in birth, fortune and tastes the two were well matched, the Marquis insisted on a settlement being made in favour of the children of the marriage. This Mr. Wortley flatly refused to do. He objected on principle to settling a large amount on a son who might turn out a fool or a villain ; and in fact he had furnished the materials and the plan from which the essay in the Tailev, attacking settlements, was written : he had also, at all times, a strong sense of the value of money, and thought a dowry too dearly purchased if he must put a considerable part of his estate out of his own control. Thereupon the Marquis broke off the negotiation ; but the lovers continued their corre- spondence, and, by the help of good - natured Sir Richard Steele and other friends, they sometimes met. At last Lord Dorchester brought matters to a crisis by ordering his daughter to accept the addresses of a certain '' Mr. K.," as her letters call him, who had 8 Introdiictory Sketch estates in Ireland, and liberal views as to settlements. Edward Wortley still refused to consent to a settle- ment and outbid his rival, and Lady Mary approved of his firmness ; so the only way for her to escape the unwelcome suitor was to run away with the man of her choice. After some difficulties, the lovers eloped in 1712 — probably August — and were married. For some time, though never in financial straits, the two lived very quietly in the country, either in York- shire (but not at Wharncliffe Lodge, which had as many as it could hold already, and was described by Horace Walpole as '* a wretched hovel"), at Hinchin- broke, Lord Sandwich's residence, or at Huntingdon, a town which the Wortley Montagu family long repre- sented in Parliament. In 1713 their son Edward was born. By Lady Mary's letters he seems to have been very weakly at first, and caused her much anxiety. In 1714 the death of Queen Anne plunged the country into a frenzy of political excitement. What with the fears of a Jacobite rising, the hopes of favour with the new King, the sudden overthrow of the Tory Administration, there was enough to think of Edward Wortley as a Whig, and a relation of Lord Halifax, was in the way of advancement, and his wife's letters to him at this time are full of a feverish eagerness to have him chosen for Parliament, so that he might be borne on to fortune on the crest of the party wave. It was not till 1715 that he was elected for Westminster ; but he did not lack promotion, for he was made a Commissioner of the Treasury; and his wife, coming up with him to the Introdtictory Sketch 9 Court of George I., and becoming a brilliant figure among its ladies, had material for writing an amusing and rather caustic sketch of the chief actors in the rather unlovely comedy of the Hanoverian Court. In 1716 Edward Wortley was named as Ambassador to Turkey and Consul-General of the Levant — a post always of high eminence, and now of especial import- ance, as England was trying to mediate a peace between the Porte and the Emperor Charles VI. Accordingly, Mr. Wortley, with his wife and child, travelled to Vienna, then — a hitch occurring in the negotiations — went to Hanover, where George I. was, and returned to Vienna, but after winter had set in. Previous British Ambassadors had either gone by sea, or down the Danube by boat from Vienna ; and many friends urged Lady Mary to stay at Vienna rather than venture in the middle of winter through a desolate country and across the seat of war. However, the mission was urgent, and Lady Mary chose to accompany her husband. They arrived without mishap at Belgrade, then in Turkish hands, and thence went on by Nish and Sofia to Adrianople, where they stayed some time and then journeyed to Constantinople. Here, or near here, they stayed about a year ; here, in 1718, their second child, Mary, afterwards Countess of Bute, was born ; and here Lady Mary devoted herself to learning all she could of Oriental ways and languages. Among other researches, she inquired into the method of inoculation practised- by the Turks. It is impossible for those who have lo Introductory Sketch grown up in an age of vaccination and sanitary im- provement to realize the part played by the small-pox in the history of the eighteenth century, and the dread felt, especially among the highest society, lest the inevitable disease should take away life, or, what was even worse, destroy beauty. One of Lady Mary's Town Eclogues, describing the sorrows of the hapless and disfigured Flavia, was said to have reflected her own feelings while recovering from small-pox about 1715, though she escaped with the comparatively slight sacrifice of her eyelashes. She had her own children ''engrafted," as she calls it, with satisfactory results. And besides all these varied interests, she found time to write many letters, corresponding with her two sisters, both now married, with Caroline, Princess of Wales, the poets Congreve and Pope, and several other friends. Pope, indeed, made her the object of one of those curious epistolary and merely literary courtships in which his soul delighted ; and though she did not reply in kind to his hyperbolical adoration, neither she nor her husband was offended by them. The Embassy, however, was a failure. The Emperor, for whom Prince Eugene had won victory after victory, was too exacting; the Turks, who had wrested the Morea from Venice, were too stubborn ; and probably Edward Wortley himself was not cut out for a success- ful diplomatist. In one of the very few despatches of his preserved at the Record Office, he prides himself on telling the Turks " plain truths," a method not apt Tntrodticto7y Sketch 1 1 to soothe wounded susceptibilities. In 1718, his friend Addison, now Secretary of State, intimated to him his recall, softening it by the prospect of a lucrative office ; and embarking on the Preston man-of-war, he and his family sailed to Genoa, touching at Tunis on the way. Mr. Wortley's successors in the negotiation, abler or more fortunate, succeeded in making the Peace of Passarowitz. No monument of his own Embassy remained but his wife's letters, and even these, as we have them, do not represent her real correspondence. Mr. Moy Thomas, her latest and best editor, in his researches in the Wortley papers, came upon a list of her letters written during part of the period of the Embassy, with notes of their contents. The published letters correspond only very imperfectly to this precis, and only two are indexed as " copied at length." It is, therefore, likely that such of the letters actually written as had been copied were reproduced by Lady Mary with some alteration, and that the rest were reconstructed from the diary in which she was ac- customed to note the events and thoughts of every day, and from which she doubtless had drawn freely for the original correspondence. Thus these letters are not the real correspondence, but a more or less "doctored" reconstruction of it; and it is curious in this connection to see how Horace Walpole, himself an eminent letter-writer, passed over these letters with faint praise or positive contempt, either as ''not un- interesting," or as containing " no merit of any sort," while he gave high praise to the letters to Lady Mar, I 2 Intro due toi'y Sketch which he saw as they were originally penned. The ''Turkish Letters," though not published till after the death of the writet, were evidently prepared for publication, and seem to have been handed round in MS. among a few friends in 1724 or 1725. They bear prefaces of these dates by one " M. A.," said to be Maiy Astell, a friend of Lady Mary's, and an early enthusiast for the rights of women. On her return to England Lady Mary again mingled in society, and was one of the acknowledged beauties and wits of the time. She had many friends, and made not a few enemies. In that brilliant and frivolous society, where everyone dabbled in literature and could turn a couplet, every social event or scandal was greeted by a witticism, a satire, or a ballad. Of these, Lady Mary (whose poetical faculty, though hardly high, was above that of other ladies of the time) was respon- sible for some, and had many more attributed to her. Among her friends were, at first. Pope himself, and some of Pope's future enemies, Philip, Duke of Wharton, Pope's '' Clodio," and John, Lord Hervey, known as the author of the *' Memoirs of the Reign of George II.," and better known as '' Lord Fanny " and " Sporus." The friendship with Pope, always more or less of a literary make-believe, did not long survive Lady Mary's return. P^or a time, indeed, he continued his adora- tion ; partly at Pope's request, she sat ta Kneller for a portrait, and some of the sittings took place at Pope's house at Twickenham — though the portrait, it is hardly necessary to state, was executed for Mr. Wortley and Introductory Sketch 13 paid for by him. Pope, also, was the agent between the Wortleys and Sir Godfrey Kneller for the letting of a house of Kneller's to his friends ; and he gave Lady Mary advice as to the South Sea stock-jobbing, in which she unluckily dabbled. But after a time the friendship cooled, and the correspondence died out. Although Lady Mary and her husband came to live at Twicken- ham, she apparently saw less and less of the poet, and she remarks, in a letter, that she never visited his famous grotto. What was the real cause of the final quarrel between them — a quarrel not creditable to Lady Mary, and very discreditable to Pope — it seems impossible to determine. Perhaps there was no one special cause for it. It seems hardly likely that (as Lady Louisa Stuart said) Pope hazarded a passionate, though doubtless strictly platonic, declaration to Lady Mary, and was answered only by a fit of laughter that reminded the sensitive poet too painfully of the contrast between his high-flown language and his deformed person. Such an incident might have occurred, if the friendship between the two had grown closer ; but all the facts as known point to an opposite conclusion. And, indeed, it was only to be expected that such a friendship should have cooled. Pope had now gone over to the Tories, and the Wortleys were stanch and influential Whigs. Mr. Moy Thomas thinks that the final quarrel dates from 1724, when the manuscript volumes of Lady Mary's letters from the East began to be handed about among her friends. The last of these letters, nominally dashed off in haste in an inn at Dover on 1 4 Introdiicfory Sketch her return, is an answer to I^ope's celebrated epistle on the Lovers Struck by Lightning, for which he had so great a fondness as to send it in various forms to a number of his friends. Lady Mary brings the poet back to reahty, reducing his high-flown epitaphs to matter-of-fact doggerel, and his pastoral lovers to two bumpkins whose death mattered little to any but themselves. The date affixed to this answer by the writer is after the day on which the newspapers assure us she had returned to London ; so that we can hardlv be wrong in regarding her letter as written aprh coup. If this were so, and Pope came to know of it, we need seek no further for a cause of quarrel. The mere suspicion of a far less wrong on the part of a far closer friend was enough to make him wTite his famous character of Atticus. And though he could afford to despise the coarse and blundering attacks of his Dunces, he would keenly feel this clever parody of his loved pastoral. Other rumours were current, then and afterwards, as to the cause of the quarrel. Pope's own account of it was that Lady Mary " had too much wit for him," which seems to point to an exercise of that wit at his expense. But, in fact, some such quarrel was inevit- able from the first. Pope, sooner or later, quarrelled with most of his friends ; his sensitive, suspicious and spiteful nature was never long without a grievance, and resented the merest shadow of a slight ; while Lady Mary could seldom resist the temptation of ridiculing the weaknesses of her friends, and yet displayed a Introductory Sketch 15 curiously innocent surprise when they resented her witticisms by any means in their power. Even before the final breach with Pope, her social triumphs were often obscured by troubles due to her own imprudence or her misfortune ; and in all of these Pope found pegs on which to hang his spiteful allusions. One of Lady Mary's greatest annoyances came from a certain French witling and poetaster, one M. Remond, who had opened a correspondence of the usual hyperbolical sham love-making with her, and had persuaded her, against her will, to invest his available property for him. The money was ventured once successfully in the South Sea stock ; a second time most of it went the way of so much more when the bubble broke. Remond believed, or affected to believe, that Lady Mary still retained the money, and claimed the return of the whole, threatening to disclose the whole transaction to Mr. Wortley, and to print her letters. Lady Mary, knowing her husband's objection to speculation and his carefulness in money matters, dreaded his learning of her imprudence ; she may also have naturally feared the wit and the scandal of which she would now be the object. How the matter ended, we know not ; but probably Remond told Mr. Wortley, and Lady Mary justified herself to her husband by producing Remond's letters, for they seem to have passed under Mr. Wortley's eyes. Other troubles Lady Mary had which were not due to her own faults. Her son Edward, as he grew up, was a constant source of anxiety. He ran away from 1 6 Introductory Sketch school to Oxford when thirteen ; then next year ran away again, and was discovered at Gibraltar, after a series of adventures as a chimney-sweep and in other capacities, such as those related in a dull and scandalous so-called memoir of him published at Dublin in 1779, and several times republished since. It is curious to note that in the hand-bill offering twenty pounds for his discovery, he is mentioned as having the inoculation marks on his arm. This practice Lady Mary had striven to introduce into England, and with much success ; though the oppo- sition to the novelty, both from the prejudiced and the medical profession, was great, and the introducer of inoculation did not escape obloquy. It is remark- able that in hardly any of the letters written after her return from the East does she refer to the subject. Perhaps the reception of her labours had disgusted her ; though her friend Caroline, Princess of Wales, afterwards Queen Caroline, stood by her. Another domestic trouble also served as a theme for Pope's attacks. Lady Mary had little happiness in her family relations. Her father, who never quite forgave her for disobeying him, died in 1726, and there seem to have been troubles over his property wdth his second wife. His only son had died in 1713. In 1727 Lady Mary's youngest sister. Lady Gower, died ; and not long after her other sister. Lady Mar, went out of her mind. She seems to have been wretched with her husband, the doubly treacherous ** Bobbing John," now strongly suspected of betraying the Jacobites IntrodMctory Skelch 17 whom he had led to defeat. Lady Mar was brought over to England and placed in charge of her sister ; but she had some property, and on Mar's death his unscrupulous brother, Lord Grange, tried to get hold of his sister-in-law. He was helped in his endeavours by Lady Hervey, jealous of her husband's friendship with Lady Mary, and by Mrs. Murray, who had vowed revenge on her for a scandalous ballad she was supposed to have written. Failing, however, to secure Lady Mar by legal means. Lord Grange had her carried off; but she was brought back, and remained in her sister's charge until her daughter, Lady Frances Erskine, was old enough to take care of her, when, at Edward Wortley's request, Lady Mary gave up her charge a little while before leaving England. Grange was loud in his complaints that Lady Mary ill-used and starved her sister ; and from him Pope seems to have borrowed the charge, though Lady Mar herself apparently knew nothing of such ill-usage. Pope's first open attack on Lady Mary is often taken to consist in two lines from the " Dunciad " : " Whence hapless Monsieur much complains at Paris Of wrongs from Duchesses and Lady Marys." This is held to allude to Remond's story. However, I think it doubtful whether Pope meant it so. The context refers to the way in which worthless women gulled simple foreigners by assuming titles of rank or the names of noted beauties, and the reference, though hardly friendly, still in strictness means no more than that Lady Mary was a well-known beauty. But in 2 i8 Introductory Sketch Pope's own notes of 1729 to the " Dunciad," the allusion is direct and insulting. *' This passage was thought to allude to a famous lady, who cheated a French wit out of ;f 5,000 in the South Sea year;" and Pope goes on to explain that he meant to satirize ** all bragging travellers," and all "cheats under the name of fine ladies," heightening the insult by affecting to explain it away. Worse than this followed. Pope suspected Lady Mary of being concerned in some of the libels showered on him in answer to the " Dunciad," especially in "A Pop upon Pope," giving an account of a sup- posed whipping of the poet by some of those whom he had attacked. In his " Imitation of the First Satire of Horace's Second Book," a vile couplet on " Sappho " was generally applied to Lady Mary ; and henceforth, under this or other names, she was constantly the mark for malignant allusion. How far she was con- cerned in writing the " Verses addressed to the Imitator of Horace," is doubtful. In a letter to Arbuthnot, she declared that the lines were entirely the work of Lord Hervey, whom Pope had satirized as " Lord Fanny." Yet the verses are so much better than Lord Hervey's avowed answer to Pope, that there must still be con- siderable doubt as to whether Lady Mary had not a share in them. The piece first appeared as "By a Lady." Pope evidently felt its coarse allusions to his physical defects and " birth obscure," and was at great pains to disprove the latter accusation in the epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot prefixed to his "Satires." From that time he never left the Wortley Montagus alone. The Introductory Sketch 1 9 frugality and care about money which Lady Mary shared with her husband, and which seems to have come at times near to stinginess, was satirized as the most sordid avarice under the names of Worldly (an obvious perversion of Wortley), Avidien, Gripus, etc. The carelessness of Lady Mary's dress is sometimes alluded to, and she is obliquely charged with profligacy under the title of Sappho. Her troubles with Remond and Lady Mar are included in a double-barrelled allusion in the couplet, " And at a peer or peeress shall 1 fret, Who starves a sister, or denies a debt ?" as Horace Walpole carefully explains. All these attacks may easily have disgusted Lady Mary with English society and England. The Court of George H., sordid without economy and dull without virtue, was hardly an attractive scene for a woman of intellect. Edward Wortley Montagu, while a sound Whig, was always hostile to the all-powerful Walpole, and, indeed, led some of the fierce attacks on him when his credit was waning. The marriage of Lady Mary's daughter to the Earl of Bute, Groom of the Stole to Frederick, Prince of Wales, and then to his son, and afterwards the favourite Minister of George HL, must have tended still further to connect the mother with the Opposition, and may help to account for the indif- ference that she afterwards displayed to the great victories of the Seven Years' War. There was now nothing left to occupy her attention in England ; her daughter was married, the care of her sister given up, 2 — 2 20 Introductory Sketch her son, after a youth of folly and vice, had ruined his career by marrying in the Pleet a woman of low life (a washerwoman, the scandalous memoir calls her), who was too cunning to give him a pretext for divorce. He usually resided abroad, too, so that there were no duties to keep Lady Mary at home. Her husband and she, though all their letters seem to prove that they retained their respect and affection for each other, seem to have found their tastes and ways incompatible ; and it is possible that Edward Wortley Montagu keenly felt the unenviable notoriety w^hich Pope had bestowed on him merely because his wife and Pope had quarrelled. Lady Mary was fifty years old when, in 1739, she determined to go abroad for a lengthened residence ; and she did not return to England till she came back, in 1762, to die. It is these twenty-two or twenty-three years that form the most interesting part of Lady Mary's life to later times. Her letters from the East are too laboured, too plainly "doctored" for the public; her letters to Lady Mar are too full of petty gossip. The later correspondence, mostly with her daughter. Lady Bute, is both worthier in subjects and more natural in tone. In leaving for the Continent, Lady Mary apparently expected her husband to follow her. He was detained, however, by business, and she went on her way alone ; and gradually, whether by mutual understanding or by the mere effect of time and habit, all thought of their meeting again was given up. Mr. Wortley Montagu Introdttctory Sketch 2 1 often wrote to his wife in terms that imply that she still enjoyed his full confidence ; he entrusted her with the task of seeing her son, trying to reclaim him, and furnishing him with the necessary funds ; but though he left England twice on journeys, he never saw his wife again. Occasional glimpses of him and his son are to be caught from the letters of Horace Walpole, who, however, saw the whole family with unfriendly eyes. The elder Wortley Montagu he depicts as a morose miser, with no indulgence but his daily glass of tokay, hoarding '' money and health " with such success that he died at the age of eighty-three worth half a million. The son, a weak and worthless fellow, had and misused every advantage. He sat for some years for the family seat of Huntingdon ; was put in prison in Paris for a discreditable gambling affair ; was chosen a member of the Royal Society on the strength of a curious iron wig ; outlived both parents, and came into ;f 2,000 a year ; travelled in the East, and sent home an account of the Written Mountains of Sinai ; adopted Armenian dress, married many wives, turned Roman Catholic, turned Mohammedan, and finally died, in 1776, at Padua. In the summer of 1739, then, Lady Mary went abroad. Avoiding Paris, she journeyed through Dijon and Turin to Venice. Next summer she set out for Florence, where she met her friend Lady Pomfret, also Lady Walpole, wife of Sir Robert's eldest son. Horace Walpole met her there, and gives a picture of her which seems to have some truth, though a good deal of spite. oo Introdtictory Sketch " Did I tell you," he writes to Conway, " Lady Mary Wortley is here ? She laughs at my Lady Walpole, scolds my Lady Pomfret, and is laughed at by the whole town. Her dress, her avarice, and her im- pudence must amuse anyone that never heard her name. She wears a foul mob that does not cover her greasy black locks, that hang loose, never combed or curled ; an old mazarine blue wrapper, that gapes open and discovers a canvas petticoat. Her face swelled violently on one side, partly covered with a plaister, and partly with white paint, which for cheap- ness she has bought so coarse that you would not use it to wash a chimney." From Florence she went to Rome, visited Naples, and returned through Rome, Leghorn, and Genoa to Chambery in Savoy. The outbreak of the War of the Austrian Succession in Italy, and Sardinia's resolve to take the side of Maria Theresa, made her fear a French invasion, and she removed to Avignon, then, and until the French Revolution, a Papal possession. After a journey to Valence to see her son, she settled down at Avignon for four years. The declaration of war be- tween France and England, and still more the influx of Jacobites into Avignon after the insurrection of 1745, made the place disagreeable to her. She deter- mined to betake herself to the dominions of almost the only civilized neutral state in Europe — Venice. Her journey was not free from peril ; she went by Genoa, and outside that city met the retreating army of the Infante Don Philip, whose troops, with their French Introductory Sketch 23 allies, had been beaten at Piacenza by the Austrians and Sardinians. Lady Mary pushed on through both armies, and reached Brescia in safety, but while stay- ing with the mother of Count Palazzo, the Italian noble- man who had escorted her thither, she was seized by severe illness and had to remain in their house for some time. It seems possible, from a legal document in Italian, which Lord Wharncliffe says he saw among Lady Mary's papers, that either from officious friend- ship or desire for gain, this detention was continued longer than she desired ; and though it was not for long, it gave rise to a scandalous story, eagerly gathered by Horace Walpole, of her having been detained by some Italian lover, determined to secure her wealth. The rumour seems to have been widely spread, and to have lasted long, for when Lady Mary came to Venice in 1756, I find the English Minister there, Mr. Murra}^ writing home : " She has been for some years past, and still continues, in the hands of a Brescian Count, who, it is said, plunders her of all her riches." There seems, however, no foundation in fact for this view of the incident. In the summer of 1747 Lady Mary went to Lovere, a little place on the north shore of Lake Iseo, famed for its medicinal waters. Here she hired and then bought outright for a hundred pounds an old *' shell of a palace," which she partly repaired and fitted up as a residence, and in which she led a retired life, amusing herself with a dairy, a poultry-yard, silkworms, bees, and the English novels of the day, forwarded to her by Lady 24 hiirodtictory Sketch Bute. She wrote often to her husband and daughter, hearing from them sometimes details of the society she still remembered. In particular, she was interested in the works of Richardson and her cousin Henry Fielding. She paid brief visits to places in the neighbourhood. At Gotolengo she stayed some time, but \\'as recalled to the healing streams of Lovere by illness. In 1756 she moved to Padua, and between this city and Venice she spent the next few years. Her peace was troubled by the persecutions of Mr. Murra}', the British Minister at Venice. I hare not been able to discover from his despatches the reason for this quarrel ; but his first notice of Lady Mary seems to show that he thought badly of her, and her first description of him is as " such a scandalous fellow, in every sense of that w^ord, he is not to be trusted to change a sequin, despised by the Government for his smuggling, which was his original profession." So perhaps the quarrel was ready-made. Sir James Steuart, of Coltness, the economist, then an exile through his share in the '45, came to Venice wath his wife, and both formed a warm friendship w^ith Lady Mary, who exerted her influence with Lord Bute to get Sir James recalled. Murray, who seems from his despatches to have been nervously anxious not to com- promise himself, refused to receive Sir James, and apparently thought Lady Mary a dangerous character for associating with the Steuarts. In 1761 came the news of Mr. Wortley Montagu's death, and Lady Mary resolved, at her daughter's Introductory Sketch 25 request, to return to England to help in the settle- ment of his affairs. He had left his widow ^1,200 a year, with reversion to her son, and ;f 1,000 a year to the son ; the rest of his large fortune went to Lady Bute. In a hard winter, and herself already smitten with an incurable disease. Lady Mary journeyed to England through Germany and Holland, France being still at war with England. In January, 1762, she arrived, and Horace Walpole gives a lively and spite- ful account of his meeting with her. '' But I will tell you who is come too — Lady Mary Wortley. I went last night to visit her ; I give you my honour, and you, who know me, would credit me without it, the follow- ing is a faithful description. I found her in a little miserable bedchamber of a ready-furnished house, with two tallow candles, and a bureau covered with pots and pans. On her head, in full of all accounts, she had an old black-laced hood, wrapped entirely round, so as to conceal all hair or want of hair. No handkerchief, but up to her chin a kind of horseman's coat, made of a dark green (green I think it had been) brocade, with coloured and silver flowers, and lined with furs ; bodice laced, a foul dimity petticoat sprig'd, velvet muffeteens on her arms, gray stockings and slippers. Her face less changed in twenty years than I could have im- agined ; I told her so, and she was not so tolerable twenty years ago that she needed have taken it for flattery, but she did, and literally gave me a box on the ear. She is very lively, all her senses perfect, her lan- guage as imperfect as ever, her avarice greater. She 26 Introductory Sketch receives all the world, who go to homage her as Queen Mother, and crams them into this kennel."' Horace Walpole seems to have imagined that Lady Mary would try to make use of her position as mother- in-law of George III.'s favourite Minister, but he was mistaken ; and though he apprehended all kinds of troubles from her interference with Lady Bute, he was compelled later on to admit that " she is much more discreet than I expected, and meddles with nothing." Indeed, knowing that she was dying. Lady Mary could hardly have brought herself to take much interest in affairs. It was soon known that she had cancer in the breast. '^She behaves with great fortitude," writes Walpole, '' and says she has lived long enough." She died in London, on August 21st, 1762, over seventy- three years of age. By her will, one or two remem- brances were left to friends, legacies to servants, and the rest of her separate property, not much in amount, to her daughter. To her son, who seems to have caused her sorrow to the end, she left one guinea ; but, by her husband's will, her income went to him on her death. Her letters had a curious fate, and their history is hardly less complicated than that of Pope's correspond- ence. She undoubtedly prepared for publication those written during the Embassy, and they had been in existence in manuscript ever since 1724, which is the date of Mrs. Mary Astell's first gushing preface. Yet they were known only to a few friends ; and Horace Walpole had not seen them, though he had been rntrodiictory Sketch 27 allowed to read some of the letters to Lady Mar. Oq her last journey to England, Lady Mary was delayed at Rotterdam, and while there seems to have given two volumes of manuscript, containing the "Turkish Letters," to the Rev. Benjamin Sowden, an English clergyman, at Rotterdam. The fact of the gift is confirmed by an inscription on the first volume, in Lady Mary's hand, dated December 11, 1761. Lady Bute, hearing, after her mother's death, that some of her letters were in the hands of a stranger, desired to get them into her own hands. Horace Walpole hoped that she would not succeed. '' Though I do not doubt," he writes, ''but they" (the letters) "are an olio of lies and scandal, I should like to see them. She had parts, and had seen much." Eventually Mr. Sowden gave up the volumes, whether freely, as his friends said, or for ;f 500, as Lady Louisa Stuart says, or for a Crown living ; and in 1763 these very letters appeared in three volumes, with Mary Astell's two prefaces and a note by the editor^ who is said to have been John Cleland, a man notorious as an editor and fabricator of the correspondence of noted persons. Naturally Sowden was charged with bad faith, though not, it seems, justly; for Mr. Moy Thomas assures us that the edition of 1763 agrees not with the Sowden manuscript (which does not contain the prefaces), but with another copy, given by Lady Mary to Mr. Moles- worth. However, it is not impossible that the editor was telling the truth when he informed his readers that his selection was " transcribed from the original manu- 2 8 Introductory Sketch script of her ladyship at Venice." Another volume of letters, attributed to Lady Mary, came out in 1767, but these are probably fabrications of Cleland's own ; for though Lady Bute accepted them as genuine on the strength of their style alone, yet their similarity to the authentic letters does not seem beyond the reach of a practised literary forger. No originals of the letters of 1767 have ever come to hand ; and it is perhaps unfortunate that the lady known in letters as Camille Selden, in her study of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, has been misled by Lord Wharncliffe's uncritical acceptance into quoting as especially charac- teristic some of these very letters. The '* Letters from the Levant," as they were often called, were popular; and eventually the family of Lady Mary resolved to give a further instalment to the world, and employed the Rev. Mr. Dallaway as editor. In 1S03 appeared his volumes, containing the bulk of the Letters now known to the public, but altered and arranged in an arbitrary fashion, and preceded by a memoir really remarkable for its absence of accurate information. Even as Dallaway left them, however, the Letters proved interesting, and several editions were called for ; the fifth, in 1805, contained a number of additional letters. In 1S37 Lord Wharn- cliffe edited Lady Mary Wortley Montagu's Letters and Works, in three volumes, preceded by Dallaway 's memoir, and an interesting series of introductory anecdotes, by Lady Louisa Stuart, grand-daughter of Lady Mary. Finally, in 1S61, appeared a new Iiitrodtictory Sketch 29 edition of Lord Wharncliffe's selection, completely re- edited by Mr. W. Moy Thomas from the Wortley papers ; and it is unlikely that any further editor will find anything of importance to add to his careful and thorough work. Besides her Letters and compositions in prose and verse, Lady Mary left behind her a voluminous Diary, the earlier part of which was read by Lady Louisa Stuart, who gives some interesting details about it. But this Diary — recording as it did the events, rumours, and scandals of every day — was thought too likely to make trouble if published ; and accordingly Lady Bute destroyed it shortly before her own death, in 1794. How far the loss is a serious one it is impossible to judge ; but I should conjecture that most probably the Diary, where it contained full descriptions of events or places, was drawn upon for the Letters, and that we have the cream of the journal in the correspondence. Lady Mary Wortley Montagu's character is depicted too plainly in her Letters to stand in need of much comment or explanation. No doubt the rumours and traditions that have depicted her as a sort of modern Sappho, a woman of extraordinary intellect and still more extraordinary shamelessness, a strolling Semi- ramis, are more striking and melodramatic than the rather humdrum details told in the Letters ; but it is the misfortune of true history to be hardly ever com- pletely romantic, and but seldom as scandalous as we would fain think it. The aspersions on Lady Mary's morality have no other visible foundation than the 30 Introductory Sketch malignity of Pope or the spiteful gossip of Horace Walpole ; and the latter was at least as ready to believe ill reports of Lady Mary as the former to invent or aggravate them. The somewhat coarse freedom of expression in some of her letters is merely the tone of her time — a time when a fastidious invalid like Pope wrote letters glowing with apparent passion or deeply tainted with grossness, to ladies of un- blemished fame, and was not even thought to have failed in courtesy or respect. The fact seems to have been that Lady Mary, like many of the men of the eighteenth century, had developed the intellectual and practical side of her nature at the expense of the emotions. There is no proof that she w^as ever in love with anyone but her husband ; and her affection for him began in intellectual companionship, and consisted to a considerable extent in respect, with a touch of fear. Her love-letters are full of business details, plain speaking, and close reasoning. Her lover gives her up rather than violate his principles as to marriage settlements, and she heartily approves him. All this is very sensible, but it is hardly the note of passion, even allowing for the undemonstrative character of the age. Family affection was not strongl}^ deve- loped in Lady Mary : her father's death leaves little impression on her. He had neglected her; why should she mourn for him ? Her religion, again, was the Whig Christianity of the day, the moderately rationalistic, tolerant half -deism of the Georgian Bishops : she never speaks but with contempt of past Introductory Sketch 31 mystics or present Methodists. Patriotism had Httle hold on her — she was cosmopoHtan ; and though English defeats galled her a little, English victories left her cold. All her failings — coarseness of phrase, coldness of feeling, want of consideration in the use of her wit, even the slovenliness of dress into which she fell — are the faults of a nature too merely intellectual. One may say that she was all her days a traveller, regarding the world of life as she did the lands through which she journeyed. The joys of existence were but the chance of a fine day, or a good inn on the road ; its griefs but the breaking of a wheel, the discomfort of a hovel — all alike to be borne with quietly, because they would be gone and almost forgotten to-morrow. Friends, relations even, were but travelling-companions — here to-day, gone to-morrow. A trashy novel was just as good as a grave and instructive work; the former served to while away a tedious hour of the long journey, and the latter could do no more. Madame Camille Selden speaks of Lady Mary's life as a failure, and blames her, or at least deplores her for having neglected her womanly duties to please herself in isolation and independence. Yet, what mission was therefor her to adopt, what duties to perform at home? Her son had proved himself irreclaimably vicious, and — what she probably despised far more — irredeemably weak ; her daughter was happily married. She was long past the age of beauty and social success, and her name was soiled by the attacks of the first poet of the time. Her husband apparently could get on best -2 2 hitroductory Sketch o- without her, as he and she ahke seem to have reahzed with the merciless good sense they had in common. Doubtless, with her talents, her wealth, her position, she might have been the leading spirit of some social reform, some political change, some religious move- ment ; but to engage in any of these enterprises she must have changed her temperament, and ceased to be the Lady Mary that we know — a change that might conceivably have been very much for the worse. Of philanthropists, past and present, we have great plenty, many of them fulfilling the cynical definition by "doing good that evil may come " — but of letter-writers whose letters bear reading, not many. Lady Mary in her last twenty years of lonely travel at least entertained herself and her correspondents, and hurt no one in particular ; and if she did not found a church or inaugurate a movement, she wrote some charming letters, and taught the country-folk by Lake Iseo how to make good butter and mince-pies, also cheese-cakes, so that they would have set up her statue as that of a public benefactress, but she declined the honour. This is something to have done, and not a little, as the average of human achievement goes ; even though her arts of persuasion could not bend North Italian ortho- doxy to approve of the "unnatural mixture" known as " sillabub." About the style of the letters of Lady Mary it is not necessary to say much. Her work speaks for itself. We have it on the testimony of her relations that she wrote with ease and fluency, never having occasion to Inti'oductory Sketch 33 wait for words or exercise careful revision. About grammar and spelling she was no more careful than other writers of her time ; but her deviations from strict rule have still an ease and good breeding which lift them out of the category of vulgar blunders. The dis- tinguished and elegant carelessness of past times was far removed from the ignoble lapses of modern cheap novelists and pushing journalists, who write '' different to " and spell Sphinx with a y. Yet, while disdaining elaboration or pedantic accuracy of style, Lady Mary never forgot that she was writings nor, apparently, that what she wrote might be seen by after generations. She seldom, if ever, talks on paper. There is little tenderness or playfulness in her style. Kind and affectionate as are her letters to her daughter, their prevailing note is good sense, clear reasoning. Seem- ingly incapable of very strong emotion, Lady Mary repressed with a truly English thoroughness what emotion she felt, and rather than yield to what she considered a weakness (''sentiments," she "says, ''are extreme silly "), affected a cold and stoical indifference which she did not always feel. In this, as in other respects, she was of her time — the first half of the eighteenth century. Not till after her death began the time of vague aspirations, of questioning discontent, of unrest and unsettlement, of theories and philosophies, of cosmopolitan and humanitarian ideas — the time which ended in the French Revolution. Lady Mary lived under the reign of Sense, not yet dethroned by Sensibility. 3 34 Early Life and Marriage CHAPTER II EARLY LIFE AND MARRIAGE Letters without Dates — Letters to Mrs. Hewet — The "New Atalantis" — NicoHni — Letters to Anne Wortley— Lady Mary's Studies — Edward Wortley as the "Cambridge Doctor" — In- direct Love-making — Death of Anne Wortley — Correspond- ence with Edward Wortley — Strange Courtship — Trouble over Settlements — Ideal of Happiness — Paternal Despotism — The Elopement — Stay at Walling Wells — Old Letters— Proclamation of George I. — Standing for Parliament — The New Court — George I. and his Son — Lady Mary's Adventure with Mr. Craggs. The letters of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu are often difficult to identify, nor is it always easy to tell to whom or when they were sent. In her time the post- office was far from safe, even in England ; in other countries, especially in time of wars and rumours of wars, it was almost the exception for a letter to get through. Hence comes a practice of leaving letters unsigned, and alluding to persons by initials only, which is at times troublesome to modern readers; and even more vexatious is Lady Mary's habit of omitting to date her letters — a defect which she seems to have transmitted to her descendants and her first editors, since neither Lord Wharncliffe nor Mr. Dallawayknew Early Life and Marriage 35 the year of her birth. The earliest letters which we can date are to Mrs. Hewet, wife of the Surveyor- General to George I., and to Anne, sister of Edward Wortley. The letters to Mrs. Hewet are of com- paratively slight interest. They turn mostly on the books which the two friends sent to each other— novels chiefly, and novels of the day, for which Lady Mary always had an unlimited appetite. Mrs. Manley's *' New Atalantis " is the chief of them. *' I am very glad," Lady Mary writes, ''you have the second part of the * New Atalantis ': if you have read it, will you be so good as to send it to me? and in return, I promise to get you the key to it. I know I can. But do you know what has happened to the unfortunate authoress ? People are offended at the liberty she uses in her memoirs, and she is taken into custody. Miserable is the fate of writers : if they are agreeable, they are offensive ; and if dull, they starve. I lament the loss of the other parts which we should have had ; and have five hundred arguments at my fingers' ends to prove the ridiculousness of those creatures that think it worth while to take notice of what is only designed for diversion. After this, who will dare to give the history of Angella ? I was in hopes her faint essay would have provoked some better pen to give more elegant and secret memoirs ; but now she will serve as a scarecrow to frighten people from attempt- ing anything but heavy panegyric ; and wx shall be teazed with nothing but heroic poems, with names at length, and false characters, so daubed with flattery, 36 Early Life and Marriage that they are the severest kind of lampoons, for they both scandaHze the writer and the subject, hke that vile paper the Tatlev.'" Yet again we find Lady Mary studying Italian, going to the opera, seeing " Nicolini strangle a lion with great gallantry" (as inimitably ridiculed in the Spectator), in a highly realistic suit of tights, " which convinced me that those prudes who would cry fie ! fie ! at the word naked, have no scruples about the thing." The letters to Anne Wortley are, from the outset, more serious. Beginning with the exaggerations of girl-friendship, they soon pass into that veiled and indirect love-making which was mentioned before. Anne Wortley's first printed letter refers to "an humble servant of yours, who is arguing so hotly about marriage that I cannot go on with my letter." The answer seems written in breathless haste. Evidently the post was at its tricks again. '' I shall run mad — with what heart can people write, when they believe their letters will never be received ? I have already writ you a very long scrawl, but it seems it never came to your hands ; I cannot bear to be accused of coldness by one whom I shall love all my life. This will, perhaps, miscarry as the last did ; how unfortunate am I if it does ! You will think I forget 30U, who are never out of my thoughts. You will fancy me stupid enough to neglect your letters, when they are the only pleasures of my solitude ; in short, you will call me ungrateful and insensible, when I Early Life and Marriage 37 esteem 3'ou as I ought, in esteeming you above all the world. If I am not quite so unhappy as I imagine, and you do receive this, let me know it as soon as you can ; for till then I shall be in terrible uneasiness ; and let me beg you for the future, if you do not receive letters very constantly from me, imagine the post-boy killed, imagine the mail burnt, or some other strange accident ; you can imagine nothing so impossible as that I forget you, my dear Mrs. Wortley. I know no pretence I have to your good opinion but my hearty desiring it ; I wish I had that imagination you talk of, to render me a fitter correspondent for you, who can write so well on every thing. I am now so much alone, I have leisure to pass whole days in reading, but am not at all proper for so delicate an employment as choosing you books. Your own fancy will better direct you. My study at present is nothing but dictionaries and grammars. I am trying whether it be possible to learn without a master ; I am not certain (and dare hardly hope) I shall make any great progress; but I find the study so diverting, I am not only easy, but pleased with the solitude that indulges it. I forget there is such a place as London, and wish for no company but yours. You see, my dear, in making my pleasures consist of these unfashionable diversions, I am not of the number who cannot be easy out of the mode. I believe more follies are committed out of complaisance to the world, than in following our own inclinations — Nature is seldom in the wrong, custom always ; it is with some regret I follow it in all the ^S Early Life and Marriage impertinences of dress ; the compliance is so trivial it comforts me ; but I am amazed to see it consulted even in the most important occasions of our lives ; and that people of good sense in other things can make their happiness consist in the opinions of others, and sacrifice everything in the desire of appearing in fashion. I call all people who fall in love with furniture, clothes, and equipage, of this number and I look upon them as no less in the wrong than when they were five years old, and doted on shells, pebbles, and hobby-horses : I believe you will expect this letter to be dated from the other world, for sure I am you never heard an inhabitant of this talk so before. I suppose you expect, too, I should conclude with begging pardon for this extreme tedious and very nonsensical letter ; quite contrary, I think you will be obliged to me for it. I could not better show my great concern for your reproaching me with neglect I knew myself innocent of, than proving myself mad in three pages." The learned designs of Lady Mary met with a flattering rejoinder from xVnne Wortley, or rather from her brother, who, it is needless to say, was the *' Cambridge Doctor." "Dear Lady Mary will pardon my vanity ; I could not forbear reading to a Cambridge Doctor that was with me at Thoresby, a few of those lines that did not make me happy till this week : where you talk of turning over dictionaries and grammars, he stopped me, and said the reason why you had more wit than Early Life and Marriage 39 any man, was that your mind had never been en- cumbered with those tedious authors ; that Cowley never submitted to the rules of grammar, and therefore excelled all of his own time in learning, as well as wit ; that without them, you would read with pleasure in two or three months ; but if you persisted in the use of them, you would throw away your Latin after a year or two, and the commonwealth would have reason to mourn ; whereas, if I could prevail with you, it would be bound to thank me for a brighter ornament than any it can boast of." Gradually Lady Mary was drawn on further by artful hints that she was in love with someone or other, which she repudiated with playful scorn. ** After giving me imaginary wit and beauty, you give me imaginary passions, and you tell me I'm in love : if I am, 'tis a perfect sin of ignorance, for I don't so much as know the man's name : I have been study- ing these three hours, and cannot guess who you mean. I passed the days of Nottingham races, [at] Thoresby, without seeing or even wishing to see one of the sex. Now, if I am in love, I have very hard fortune to conceal it so industriously from my own knowledge, and yet discover it so much to other people. 'Tis against all form to have such a passion as that, without giving one sigh for the matter. Pray tell me the name of him I love, that I may (according to the laudable custom of lovers) sigh to the woods and groves here- abouts, and teach it to the echo. You see, being I am [szc] in love, I am willing to be so in order and rule : I 40 Early Life and Marriage have been turning over God knows how many books to look for precedents. Recommend an example to me ; and, above all, let me know whether 'tis most proper to walk in the woods, increasing the winds with my sighs, or to sit by a purling stream, swelling the rivulet with my tears; maybe, both may do well in their turns." Then Anne Wortley mentioned the suspected lover, with the result of eliciting an incautious avowal from her friend : ^^ To be capable of preferring the despicable wretch you mention to Mr. Wortley, is as ridiculous, if not as criminal, as forsaking the Deity to worship a calf" — which was exactly the result for which Edward Wortley, under the mask of his sister, had been playing. Anne Wortley must have died towards the end of 1709, for in the spring of 1710 comes the first letter Lady Mary wrote directly to her lover. " Perhaps you'll be surprised at this letter ; I have had many debates with myself before I could resolve on it. I know it is not acting in form, but I do not look upon you as I do upon the rest of the world, and by what I do iox yoii, you are not to judge my manner of acting with others. You are brother to a woman I tenderly loved ; my protestations of friendship are not like other people's, I never speak but what I mean, and when I say I love, 'tis for ever. I had that real concern for Mrs. Wortley, I look with some regard on every one that is related to her. This and my long acquaintance with you may in some measure excuse what I am now doing. I am surprised at one of the Tatlcrs you send me ; is it possible to have any sort EaiHy Life and Marriage 41 of esteem for a person one believes capable of having such trifling inclinations? Mr. Bickerstaff* has very WTong notions of our sex. I can say there are some of us that despise charms of show, and all the pageantry of greatness, perhaps with more ease than any of the philosophers. In contemning the world, they seem to take pains to contemn it ; we despise it, without taking the pains to read lessons of morality to make us do it. At least, I know I have always looked upon it with contempt, without being at the expense of one serious reflection to oblige me to it. I carry the matter yet farther ; was I to choose of two thousand pounds a year or twenty thousand, the first would be my choice. There is something of an unavoidable embarras in making what is called a great figure in the world ; [it] takes off from the happiness of life ; I hate the noise and hurry inseparable from great estates and titles, and look upon both as blessings that ought only to be given to fools, for 'tis only to them that they are blessings. The pretty fellows you speak of, I own entertain me sometimes ; but is it impossible to be diverted with what one despises ? I can laugh at a puppet-show ; at the same time I know there is nothing in it worth my attention or regard. General notions are generally wrong. Ignorance and folly are thought the best foundations for virtue, as if not knowing what a good wife is was necessary to make one so. I confess that can never be my way of reasoning ; as I always * Isaac Bickerstaff was the fictitious personality of the Tatle?'^ written chiefly by Steele and Addison. 42 Early Life and Marriage forgive an iyvjury when I think it not done out of malice, I can never think myself obliged by what is done without design. Give me leave to say it (I know it sounds vain), I know how to make a man of sense happy ; but then that man must resolve to contribute something towards it himself. I have so much esteem for you, I should be very sorry to hear you was unhappy ; but for the world I would not be the instrument of making you so ; which (of the humour you are) is hardly to be avoided if I am your wife. You distrust me — I can neither be easy, nor loved, where I am distrusted. Nor do I believe your passion for me is what you pretend it ; at least, I am sure was I in love I could not talk as you do. Few women would have spoke so plainly as I have done ; but to dissemble is among the things I never do. I take more pains to approve my conduct to myself than to the world ; and would not have to accuse myself of a minute's deceit. I wish I loved you enough to devote myself to be for ever miserable, for the pleasure of a day or two's happiness. I cannot resolve upon it. You must think otherwise of me, or not at all." However, the reasons against the marriage were of little moment ; we soon find Lady Mary discussing future arrangements— of course in a purely hypothet- ical way. " As to travelling, ^tis what I should do with great pleasure, and could easily quit London upon your account ; but a retirement in the country is not so dis- agreeable to me, as I know a few months would make it tiresome to you. Where people are tied for life, 'tis Early Life and Marriage 43 their mutual interest not to grow weary of one another. If I had all the personal charms that I want, a face is too slight a foundation for happiness. You would be soon tired with seeing every day the same thing. Where you saw nothing else, you would have leisure to remark all the defects ; which would increase in pro- portion as the novelty lessened, which is always a great charm. I should have the displeasure of seeing a cold- ness, which, though I could not reasonably blame you for, being involuntary, yet it would render me uneasy ; and the more because I know a love may be revived which absence, inconstancy, or even infidelity, has extinguished ; but there is no returning from a dcgoiit given by satiety." She closes by recommending him to ask her family to consent to the marriage. Edward Wortley Montagu complied with the sugges- tion, and asked the Marquis of Dorchester for his daughter's hand ; but, as already mentioned, a dis- agreement arose over the settlement, and the lover started for the Continent. He seems to have put too much of his disappointment into the tone of his parting letter, to judge by Lady Mary's reply : *' Kindness, you say, would be your destruction. In my opinion, this is something contradictory to some other expressions. People talk of being in love just as widows do of afiiiction. Mr. Steele has observed, in one of his plays, the most passionate among them have always calmness enough to drive a hard bargain with the upholders.* I never knew a lover that would not '" /. ^., the undertakers. 44 Early Life and Mai'viage willingly secure his interest as well as his mistress ; or, if one must be abandoned, had not the prudence (among all his distractions) to consider, a woman was but a woman, and money was a thing of more real merit than the whole sex put together. Your letter is to tell me, you should think yourself undone if you married me ; but if I would be so tender as to confess I should break my heart if you did not, then you'd consider whether you would or no; but yet you hoped you should-not. I take this to be the right interpretation of — even your kindness can't destroy me of a sudden — I hope I am not in your power — I would give a good deal to be satisfied, etc." However, her natural resentment at the suspicion of her lover did not last long, and on his return in the autumn of 1710 the negotiations were to be resumed, as we see from the following letter : " I am going to comply with your request, and write with all the plainness I am capable of. I know what may be said upon such a proceeding, but am sure 3'ou will not say it. Why should you always put the worst construction upon my words ? Believe me what you will, but do not believe I can be ungenerous or un- grateful. I wish I could tell you what answer you will receive from some people, or upon what terms. If my opinion could sway, nothing should displease you. No- body ever was so disinterested as I am. I would not have to reproach myself (I don^t suppose you would) that I had any way made you uneasy in your circum- stances. Let me beg you (which I do with the utmost Early Life and Marriage 45 sincerity) only to consider yourself in this affair ; and, since I am so unfortunate to have nothing in my own disposal, do not think I have any hand in making settlements. People in my way are sold like slaves ; and I cannot tell what price my master will put on me. If you do agree, I shall endeavour to contribute, as much as lies in my power, to your happiness. I so heartily despise a great figure, I have no notion of spending money so foolishly ; though one had a great deal to throw away. If this breaks off, I shall not complain of you : and as, whatever happens, I shall still preserve the opinion 3'ou have behaved yourself well. Let me entreat you, if I have committed any follies, to forgive them ; and be so just to think I would not do an ill thing." Yet neither humility nor • resentment could cure Edward Wortley of his habit of finding fault, whether, as Mr. Moy Thomas thinks, it was an ungenerous device for drawing fresh avowals from Lady Mary, or — as I am inclined to conjecture — a necessity of his temperament. Sometimes we find her bidding him " adieu for ever," with what sincerity we may perhaps guess, on the ground of his inveterate suspicion. '' I begin to be tired of my humility," she says : *' I have carried my complaisances to you further than I ought. You make new scruples ; you have a good deal of fancy ; and your distrusts being all of your own making, are more immovable than if there was some real ground for them." And certainly the one love-letter of Mr. Wortley Montagu's printed in the corre- 46 Early Life and Marriage spondence is of a provoking character. He complains of having disobHged an influential friend to meet her, and of her cutting short the interview, and plainly declares that he thinks it wisest not to marry her. " What need I add ? I see what is best for me, I condemn what I do, and yet I fear I must do it." Truly a romantic lover ! And yet we find him in the same letter elaborately arranging half a dozen \yays of meeting Lady Mary by the help of Mrs. Steele. In spite of their epistolary differences, the pair were always coming together again. It is curious to read Lady Mary's conception of wedded happiness : " Happiness is the natural design of all the world ; and everything we see done, is meant in order to attain it. My imagination places it in friendship. By friendship I mean an entire communication of thoughts, wishes, inte- rests, and pleasures, being undivided ; a mutual esteem, which naturally carries with it a pleasing sweetness of conversation, and terminates in the desire of making one or another happy, without being forced to run into visits, noise, and hurry, which serve rather to trouble than compose the thoughts of any reasonable creature. There are few capable of a friendship such as I have described, and 'tis necessary for the generality of the world to be taken up with trifles. Carry a fine lady and a fine gentleman out of town, and they know no more what to say. To take from them plays, operas, and fashions, is taking away all their topics of dis- course ; and they know not how to form their thoughts on any other subjects. They know very well what it is Early Life and Marriage 47 to be admired, but are perfectly ignorant of what it is to be loved. I take you to have sense enough not to think this scheme romantic : I rather choose to use the word friendship than love ; because, in the general sense that word is spoke, it signifies a passion rather founded on fancy than reason ; and when I say friendship, I mean a mixture of tenderness and esteem, and which a long acquaintance increases, not decays : how far I deserve such a friendship, I can be no judge of myself. I may want the good sense that is necessary to be agreeable to a man of merit, but I know I want the vanity to believe I have [it] ; and can promise you shall never hke me less upon knowing me better ; and that I shall never forget you have a better understand- ing than myself." Events were now coming to a crisis, for in 1712 the objectionable " Mr. K." with his offers of liberal settle- ments, appeared on the scene, and Lord Dorchester ordered his daughter to accept him. The long letter in which Lady Mary gives an account of her attempt to shake her father's resolution is a striking picture of the way in which ladies of high rank were disposed of. The father, careless as he had been of his daughter's education, would never hear of his not having full power to bestow her hand ; and her plea to be allowed to remain single at least was met by threats. She writes to Edward Wortley Montagu : " I wanted courage to resist at first the will of my relations ; but as every day added to my fears, those, at last, grew strong enough to make me venture the dis- 48 Early Life and Marriage obliging them. A harsh word damps my spirits to a degree of silencing all I have to say. I knew the folly of my own temper, and took the method of writing to the disposer of me. I said every thing in this letter I thought proper to move him, and proffered, in atone- ment for not marrying whom he would, never to marry at all. He did not think fit to answer this letter, but sent for me to him. He told me he was very much sur- prised that I did not depend on his judgment for my future happiness; that he knew nothing I had to com- plain of, etc. ; that he did not doubt I had some other fancy in my head, which encouraged me to this disobedi- ence; but he assured me, if I refused a settlement he had provided for me, he gave me his word, whatever pro- posals were made him, he would never so much as enter into a treaty with any other ; that, if I founded any hopes upon his death, I should find myself mistaken, he never intended to leave me any thing but an annuity of ;^400 per annum ; that, though another would pro- ceed in this manner after I had given so just a pretence for it, yet he had [the] goodness to leave m}^ destiny yet in my own choice, and at the same time commanded me to communicate my design to my relations, and ask their advice. As hard as this may sound, it did not shock my resolution ; I was pleased to think, at any price, I had it in my power to be free from a man I hated. I told my intention to all my nearest re- lations. I was surprised at their blaming it, to the greatest degree. I was told, they were sorry I would ruin myself; but, if I was so unreasonable, they could Early Life and Mar^'iage 49 not blame my F. [father] whatever he inflicted on me. I objected I did not love him. They made answer, they found no necessity of loving ; if I lived well with him, that was all was required of me ; and that if I considered this town, I should find very few women in love with their husbands, and yet a many happy. It was in vain to dispute with such prudent people ; they looked upon me as a little romantic, and I found it im- possible to persuade them that living in London at liberty was not the height of happiness. However, they could not change my thoughts, though I found I was to expect no protection from them. When I was to give my final answer to ,* I told him that I preferred a single life to any other ; and, if he pleased to permit me, I would take that resolution. He replied, he could not hinder my resolutions, but I should not pretend after that to please him ; since pleasing him was only to be done by obedience ; that if I would disobey, I knew the consequences ; he would not fail to confine me, where I might repent at leisure ; that he had also con- sulted my relations, and found them all agreeing in his sentiments. He spoke this in a manner hindered my answering. I retired to my chamber, where I writ a letter to let him know my aversion to the man proposed was too great to be overcome, that I should be miserable beyond all things could be imagined, but I was in his hands, and he might dispose of me as he thought fit. He was perfectly satisfied with this answer, and pro- ceeded as if I had given a willing consent. — I forgot to * This blank evidently refers to her father. 4 50 Early Life a?id Marriage tell you, he named you, and said, if I thought that way, I was very much mistaken ; that if he had no other engagements, yet he would never have agreed to your proposals, having no inclinations to see his grand- children beggars. "J do not speak this to endeavour to alter your opinion, but to shew the improbability of his agreeing to it. I confess I am entirely of your mind. I reckon it among the absurdities of custom that a man must be obliged to settle his whole estate on an eldest son, beyond his power to recall, whatever he proves to be, and make himself unable to make happy a younger child that may deserve to be so. If I had an estate myself, I should not make such ridiculous settlements, and I cannot blame you for being in the right . . ." Lady Mary's father took her submission as a consent to the marriage he proposed, and began to provide wedding clothes to the amount of ;f 400. A plan for an elopement was concerted between the lovers — or rather several plans. A friendly lady would lend her house, and the lover was to call there with the license and a coach and six. This plan failed, and Lady Mary was sent with her brother to West Dean in Wiltshire; and, perhaps with his help, she eventually escaped and joined Edward Wortley Montagu, and they were married some time in August, 1712. Her first letter as a wife is dated from Walling Wells in Nottinghamshire, where she was staying with her friends the Whites, while her husband went to Durham on business. *' I don't know very well how to begin ; I am Early Life and Marriage 51 perfectly unacquainted with a proper matrimonial style. After all, I think 'tis best to write as if we were not married at all. I lament your absence, as if you was still my lover, and I am impatient to hear you are got safe to Durham, and that you have fixed a time for your return. " I have not been very long in this family ; and I fancy myself in that described in the Spectator. The good people here look upon their children with a fondness that more than recompenses their care of them. I don't perceive much distinction in regard to their merits; and when they speak sense or nonsense, it affects the parents with almost the same pleasure. My friendship for the mother, and kindness for Miss Biddy, make me endure the squalling of Miss Nanny and Miss Mary with abundance of patience ; and my foretelling the future conquests of the eldest daughter, makes me very well with the family — I don't know whether you will presently find out that this seeming impertinent account is the tenderest expressions of my love to you ; but it furnishes my imagination with agreeable pictures of our future life ; and I flatter myself with the hopes of one day enjoying with you the same satisfactions ; and that, after as many years together, I may see you retain the same fondness for me as I shall certainly mine for you, and the noise of a nursery may have more charms for us than the music of an opera." But these high spirits soon passed away, when the answer to her letter did not come at the first oppor- 4—2 52 Early Life and Marriage tunity. Her next note is full of complaints and fears, the secret of which is perhaps found in her being shortly after laid up with a swelled face, an ailment which we find frequently recurring in her life, and for which the dentistry of that time had no remedy. Though the name of ''neuralgia" was not invented, the complaint probably existed. However, we soon find Lady Mary at Hinchinbrook, ransacking the house for books, failing to find any, but discovering in an old trunk the letters of the first Earl of Sandwich, and '' in hopes that those from his lady will tend much to my edification, being the most extraordinary lessons of economy that ever I read in my life. ... I walked yesterday two hours on the terrace. These are the most considerable events that have happened in your absence; excepting that a good-natured robin red- breast kept me company almost all the afternoon, with so much good humour and humanity as gives me faith for the piece of charity ascribed to these little creatures in the ' Children in the Wood,' which I have hitherto thought only a poetical ornament to that history." In 1713 her first child was born, and her only brother died, and her sister Frances was married in 1714 to the Earl of Mar. There are frequent notices of the health of young Edward Wortley. While she was stay- ing at ^liddlethorpe, in Yorkshire, her husband being then in London, came the surprising news of the death of Queen Anne and the proclamation of George L *' I went with my cousin to-day," she writes, '* to see the King proclaimed, which was done ; the archbishop Early Life and Marriage 53 walking next the lord mayor, all the country gentry following, with greater crowds of people than I believed to be in York^ vast acclamations, and the appearance of a general satisfaction. The Pretender afterwards dragged about the streets and burned. Ringing of bells, bonfires, and illuminations, the mob crying, ' Liberty and Property!' and ' Long live King George !' This morning all the principal men of any figure took post for London, and we are alarmed with the fear of attempts from Scotland, though all Protestants here seem unanimous for the Hanover succession. The poor young ladies at Castle Howard are as much afraid as I am, being left all alone, without any hopes of seeing their father again (though things should prove well) this eight or nine months.* They have sent to desire me very earnestly to come to them, and bring my boy ; 'tis the same thing as pensioning in a nunnery, for no mortal man ever enters the doors in the absence of their father, who is gone post. During this uncertainty, I think it will be a safe retreat ; for Middlethorpe stands exposed to plunderers, if there be any at all." There was much anxiety as to the pro- spects of a rising against the Hanoverian succession. A fleet was said to be off Scotland; and Lady Mary's brother-in-law, the Earl of Mar, was receiving suspi- cious letters. Soon, however, the first alarm passed off; and Lady Mary's anxiety was chiefly directed * The young ladies were the daughters of the Earl of Carlisle, who had been chosen one of the Lords Justices till George I.'s arrival. 54 Early Life and Maniage towards securing for her husband a seat in the new Pariiament and a share in the honour and profit of the great Whig victory. Her letters about this time read Hke those of an election-agent. Could Lord Pelham (afterwards the famous Duke of Newcastle) be per- suaded, as he is " very silly, but very good-natured," that he was bound in honour to put Mr. Wortley Montagu in for Aldburgh ? Would his father insist on standing for the family seat at Huntingdon ? Then, again, he is urged to stand for York, but does not decide in time ; perhaps he will have to buy a Cornish borough. Is there a chance at Newark? — and so on, a certain feverish impatience being manifest in the tone of the letters. *' 'Tis surprising to me that you are all this while in the midst of your friends without being sure of a place, when so many insignificant creatures come in without any opposition." Lord Halifax had now made Edward Wortley the offer of being a Commissioner of the Treasur}^, but the latter was very doubtful whether he would accept the post. His wife urged him strongly to do so. " I am glad you think of serving your friends ; I hope it will put you in mind of serving yourself. I need not enlarge upon the advantages of money ; everything we see, and everything we hear, puts us in remembrance of it. If it was possible to restore liberty to your country, or limit the encroachments of the pre — ve [prerogative], by reducing yourself to a garret, I should be pleased to share so glorious a poverty with you ; but as the world is, and will be, 'tis a sort of Early Life and Marriage 55 duty to be rich, that it may be in one's power to do good ; riches being another word for power, towards the obtaining of which the first necessary quahfication is impudence, and (as Demosthenes said of pronuncia- tion in oratory) the second is impudence, and the third, still, impudence. No modest man ever did or ever will make his fortune. Your friend Lord H [alifa]x, R. W[alpol]e, and all other remarkable instances of quick advancement, have been remarkably impudent. The Ministry is like a play at Court ; there's a little door to get in, and a great crowd without, shoving and thrusting who shall be foremost ; people who knock others with their elbows, disregard a little kick of the shins, and still thrust heartily forwards, are sure of a good place. Your modest man stands behind in the crowd, is shoved about by every body, his cloaths tore, almost squeezed to death, and sees a thousand get in before him, that don't make so good a figure as himself. I don't say it is impossible for an impudent man not to rise in the world ; but a moderate merit, with a large share of impudence, is more probable to be advanced than the greatest qualifications without it." There is a tone of pique in her reference to the matter in the lively sketch of the Court of George I., written not long after. *' I was then in Yorkshire : Mr. W. [Wortley] (who had, at that time, that sort of passion for me that would have made me invisible to all but himself, had it been in his power) had sent me thither. He stayed in town on the account of 56 Eaj'ly Life and Marriage some business, and the Queen's death detained him there. Lord Hahfax, his near relation, was put at the head of the Treasury; and, wilHng to have the rest of the commissioners such as he thought he could depend on, named him for one of them. It will be surprising to add that he hesitated to accept of it, at a time when his father was alive and his present income very small; but he had that opinion of his own merit as made him think any offer below that of Secretary of State not worth his acceptance, and had certainly refused it if he had not been persuaded to the contrary by a rich old uncle of mine. Lord Pierrepont, whose fondness for me gave him expectations of a large legacy." Possibly she was offended by her husband paying more attention to Lord Pierrepont's advice than to her own letters. From whatever reason, the post was accepted ; and Lady Mary came up to London, though not till the new Court had all arrived. Her lively pen gives an amusing character of George L and his son in the sketch already quoted. Certainly she had no ideas of any divinity hedging a king. ''The King's character may be comprised in very few words. In private life he would have been called an honest blockhead ; and Fortune, that made him a king, added nothing to his happiness, only prejudiced his honesty, and shortened his days. No man was ever more free from ambition ; he loved money, but loved to keep his own, without being rapacious of other men's. He would have grown rich by saving, but was incapable of laying schemes for getting ; he was more properly dull than lazy. Eaidy Life and Marriage 57 and would have been so well contented to have re- mained in his little town of Hanover, that if the ambition of those about him had not been greater than his own, we should never have seen him in England ; and the natural honesty of his temper, joined with the narrow notions of a low education, made him look upon his acceptance of the crown as an act of usurpa- tion, which was always uneasy to him. But he was carried by the stream of the people about him, in that as in every other action of his life. He could speak no English, and was past the age of learning it. Our customs and laws were all mysteries to him, which he neither tried to understand nor was capable of under- standing if he endeavoured it. He was passively good-natured, and wished all mankind enjoyed quiet if they would let him do so." It is noteworthy that Lady Mary seems to have been a favourite not only with George I., but — which was unusual — with his son and his son's wife. Princess Caroline, afterwards the stanch ally of Walpole. Yet we do not find either of them spared any more than George I. Perhaps the sketch was written before the author was on intimate terms with Princess Caroline ; yet its language shows in a small compass how Lady Mary contrived to make enemies. It would be hard to write more contemptuously than she does ; still she had certainly no cause of enmity towards the royal family, and their sole defect was stupidity, for which she had a natural intolerance. *' I have not yet given the character of the Prince. 58 Early Life and Marriage The fire of his temper appeared in every look and gesture ; which, being unhappily under the direction of a small understanding, was every day throwing him upon some indiscretion. He was naturally sincere, and his pride told him that he was placed above con- straint ; not reflecting that a high rank carries along with it ' a necessity of a more decent and regular behaviour than is expected from those who are not set in so conspicuous a light. He was so far from being of that opinion, that he looked on all the men and women he saw as creatures he might kick or kiss for his diversion ; and, whenever he met with any opposition in those designs, he thought his opposers impudent rebels to the will of God, who created them for his use, and judged of the merit of all people by their ready submission to his orders, or the relation they had to his person. And in this view he looked upon the Princess as the most meritorious of her sex ; and she took care to keep him in that sentiment by all the arts she was mistress of. He had married her by inclination ; his goOjd-natured father had been so com- plaisant to let him choose a wife for himself. She was of the house of Anspach, and brought him no great addition either of money or alliance ; but was at that time esteemed a German beauty, and had that genius which qualified her for the government of a fool, and made her despicable in the eyes of all men of sense ; I mean a low cunning, which gave her an inclination to cheat all the people she conversed with, and often cheated herself in the first place, by showing her the Early Life and Marriage 59 wrong side of her interest, not having understanding enough to observe that falsehood in conversation, hke red on the face, should be used very seldom and very sparingly, or they destroy that interest and beauty they are designed to heighten. " Her first thought on her marriage was to secure to herself the sole and whole direction of her spouse ; and to that purpose [she] counterfeited the most extrava- gant fondness for his person ; yet, at the same time, so devoted to his pleasures (which she often told him were the rule of all her thoughts and actions), that whenever he thought proper to find them with other women, she even loved whoever was instrumental to his entertain- ment, and never resented anything but what appeared to her a want of respect for him ; and in this light she really could not help taking notice that the presents made to her on her wedding were not worthy of his bride, and at least she ought to have had all his mother's jewels. This was enough to make him lose all respect to his indulgent father. He downright abused his ministers, and talked impertinently to his old grandmother, the Princess Sophia ; which ended in such a coldness towards all his family as left him en- tirely under the government of his wife." We owe to Lady Louisa Stuart, who alone, besides her mother, seems to have been allowed to look into Lady Mary's Diary, the account of a curious adventure at one of the little evening parties which George L held with his German favourites : *' She [Lady Mary] had on one evening a par- 6o Early Life and Marriage ticular engagement that made her wish to be dis- missed unusually early ; she explained her reasons to the Duchess of Kendal, and the Duchess informed the King, who, after a few complimentary remonstrances, appeared to acquiesce. But when he saw her about to take her leave, he began battling the point afresh, de- claring it was unfair and perfidious to cheat him in such a manner, and saying n:iany other fine things, in spite of which she at last contrived to escape. At the foot of the great stairs she ran against Secretary Craggs just coming in, who stopped her to inquire what was the matter — were the company put off? She told him why she went away, and how urgently the King had pressed her to stay longer ; possibly dwelling on that head with some small complacency. Mr. Craggs made no remark ; but, when he had heard all, snatching her up in his arms as a nurse carries a child, he ran at full speed with her upstairs, deposited her within the ante- chamber, kissed both her hands respectfully (still not saying a word), and vanished. The pages seeing her returned, they knew not how, hastily threw open the inner doors, and, before she had recovered her breath, she found herself again in the King's presence. ^ Ah ! la rcvoila /' cried he and the Duchess, extremely pleased, and began thanking her for her obliging change of mind. The motto on all palace-gates is * Hush I' as Lady Mary very well knew. She had not to learn that mystery and caution ever spread their awful wings over the precincts of a Court ; where nobody knows what dire mischief may ensue from one unlucky syllable Early Life and Marriage 6i blabbed about anything, or about nothing, at a wrong time. But she was bewildered, fluttered, and entirely off her guard ; so, beginning giddily with * Oh Lord, sir, I have been so frightened !' she told his majesty the whole story exactly as she would have told it to anyone else. He had not done exclaiming, nor his Germans wondering, when again the door flew open, and the attendants announced Mr. Secretary Craggs, who, but that moment arrived, it should seem, entered with the usual obeisance, and as composed an air as if nothing had happened. ^ Mais comment done, Monsieur Craggs,'' said the King, going up to him, * est-ce que c'est I'usage de ce pays de porter des belles dames comme un sac de froment?^ ' Is it the custom of this country to carry about fair ladies like a sack of wheat ?' The minister, struck dumb by this unexpected attack, stood a minute or two not knowing which way to look ; then, recovering his self-possession, answered with a low bow, ' There is nothing I would not do for your majesty's satisfaction.' This was coming off tolerably well ; but he did not for- give the tell-tale culprit, in whose ear, watching his oppor- tunity when the King turned from them, he muttered a bitter reproach, with a round oath to enforce it ; 'which I durst not resent,' continued she, ' for I had drawn it upon myself; and indeed I was heartily vexed at my own imprudence.' " But in the Hanoverian Court, which, if not decorous, was certainly dull. Lady Mary was not long to remain. She was destined to see and recount far more interest- ing scenes. 62 The Embassy to Turkey CHAPTER III THE EMBASSY TO TURKEY The Letters during the Embassy — Journey to Vienna — Rotterdam — Relics at Cologne — Free Cities and Despotism — Etiquette at Ratisbon — Letters from Pope — Viennese Houses — Opera at Vienna — Court Dress — The Empress — Vienna Etiquette — Journey to Dresden — The Post in Germany— Hanover and the Court — Stoves — Return to Vienna — Journey through Hungary — — Hungarian Peasants — A Liberal Turk— A Letter to Princess Caroline — The Baths at Sofia— The Sultan — The Janissaries — Pastoral . Scenes at Adrianople — Theocritus and Homer — Inoculation — The Fair Fatima — Procession of the Trades — Constantinople — Greek Antiquities — Village of Belgrade — — Climate of Pera — Turkish Women — The Seraglio — Turkish Palaces — Voyage to Genoa — The Court of Turin — Mont Cenis — Misery of France — Perilous Crossing — The Lady and her Lace — Home again — Pope's " Lovers struck by Lightning." The letters written by Lady Mary during the embassy to Constantinople are not perhaps the most interest- ing part of her correspondence ; for they give rather too much useful information and too little of the personality of their writer ; and there is reason for supposing them to be somewhat altered, or indeed re-written, for publication. Still, they probably re- present the substance of the letters actually sent, since they were reconstructed from the Diary, which must The Embassy to Turkey 63 have related the same things in much the same way as the letters written from day to day. In the summer of 1716 Mr. Edward Wortley Montagu set out with his wife, child and suite, for the long journey to Constantinople. As at first intended, he was to go to Vienna, and after having been placed in possession of the views of the Emperor's Ministers, to proceed to Turkey, and, if possible, arrange for the close of the war then raging. As so many English travellers have done since, Lady Mary went to Rotterdam, and was charmed with the Dutch neatness and cleanliness, ,: '* My arrival at Rotterdam presented me a new scene of pleasure. All the streets are paved with broad stones, and before the meanest artificer's doors seats of various-coloured marbles, and so neatly kept, that, I will assure you, I almost walked all over the town yesterday, incognita, in my slippers, without receiving one spot of dirt ; and you may see the Dutch maids washing the pavement of the streets with more applica- tion than ours do our bed-chambers. The town seems so full of people, with such busy faces, all in motion, that I can hardly fancy that it is not some celebrated fair ; but I see it is every day the same. 'Tis certain no town can be more advantageously situated for com- merce. Here are seven large canals, on which the merchants' ships come up to the very doors of their houses. The shops and warehouses are of a surprising neatness and magnificence, filled with an incredible quantity of fine merchandise, and so much cheaper than what we see in England, I have much ado to 64 The Embassy to T2L7'key persuade myself I am still so near it. Here is neither dirt nor beggary to be seen. One is not shocked with those loathsome cripples, so common in London, nor teazed with the importunities of idle fellows and wenches, that choose to be nasty and lazy. The common servants and little shopwomen here are more nicely clean than most of our ladies ; and the great variety of neat dresses (every woman dressing her head after her own fashion) is an- additional pleasure in seeing the town."^ From Rotterdam she went by Nimeguen, which re- minded her greatly of Nottingham, to Cologne, where the profusion of relics aroused very mundane sentiments in her. *' Having never before seen anything of that nature, I could not enough admire the magnificence of the altars, the rich images of the saints (all massy silver), and the enchassures of the relics ; though I could not help murmuring, in my heart, at that profusion of pearls, diamonds, and rubies^ bestowed on the adorn- ment of rotten teeth, dirty rags, etc. I own that I had wickedness enough to covet St. Ursula's pearl necklaces ; though perhaps it was no wickedness at all, an image not being certainly one's neighbour ; but I went yet farther, and wished even she herself converted into dressing-plate, and a great St. Christopher I imagined would have looked very well in a cistern." Her Whig principles were evidently strengthened by the contrast between the '' free cities " of the empire and the towns under princely rule. '' I have already passed a large part of Germany, have seen all The Embassy to Turkey 65 that is remarkable in Cologne, Frankfort, Wurtsburg, and this place [Nuremberg], and 'tis impossible not to observe the difference between the free towns and those under the government of absolute princes, as all the Httle sovereigns of Germany are. In the first, there appears an air of commerce and plenty. The streets are well built, and full of people neatly and plainly dressed. The shops loaded with merchandise, and the commonalty clean and cheerful. In the other, a sort of shabby finery, a number of dirty people of quality tawdered out ; narrow, nasty streets out of repair, wretchedly thin of inhabitants, and above half of the common sort asking alms." Lady Mary was compelled by a cold to stay some days at Ratisbon, where the Diet of the empire then sat. She seems to have been much amused by the ridiculous formalities of German diplomatic society. I "You know that all the nobility of this place are envoys from different states. Here are a great number of them, and they might pass their time agreeably enough, if they were less delicate on the point of ceremony. But, instead of joining in the design of making the town as pleasant to one another as they can, and improving their little societies, they amuse themselves no other way than with perpetual quarrels, which they take care to eternise, by leaving them to their successors ; and an envoy to Ratisbon receives, regularly, half a dozen quarrels among the perquisites of his employment. " You may be sure the ladies are not wanting, on 5 66 The Ejnbassy to Tit7'key their side, in cherishing and improving these important piques, which divide the town almost into as many parties as there are famihes, and they choose rather to suffer the mortification of sitting almost alone on their assembly nights, than to recede one jot from their pretensions. I have not been here above a week, and yet I have heard from almost every one of them the whole history of their wrongs, and dreadful complaints of the injustice of their neighbours, in hopes to draw me to their party. But I think it very prudent to remain neuter, though, if I was to stay among them, there would be no possibility of continuing so, their quarrels running so high, they will not be civil to those that visit their adversaries. The foundation of these everlasting disputes turns entirely upon place, and the title of Excellency, which they all pretend to ; and, what is very hard, will give it to nobody. For my part, I could not forbear advising them (for the public good) to give the title of Excellency to every body, which would include receiving it from every body ; but the very mention of such a dishonourable peace was received with as much indignation as Mrs. Blackacre* did the notion of a reference ; and I began to think myself ill-natured, to offer to take from them, in a town where there are so few diversions, so entertaining an amusement. I know that my peaceable disposition already gives me a very ill-figure, and that it is publicly whispered, as a piece of impertinent pride in me, that I have hitherto been saucily civil to everybody, as if I * A litigious lady in Wycherley's comedy, " The Plain Dealer." The E)} lb assy to Tiirkey 67 thought nobody good enough to quarrel with. I should be obliged to change my behaviour if I did not intend to pursue my journey in a few days." / From Ratisbon down the Danube to Vienna the party travelled by boat ; and what seems to have struck Lady Mary most at Vienna was the custom of occupying " flats " in the houses — a thing then un- heard of in England. ''This town, which has the honour of being the Emperor's residence, did not at all answer my ideas of it, being much less than I expected to find it ; the streets are very close, and so narrow, one cannot observe the fine fronts of the palaces, though many of them very well deserve observation, being truly magnificent, all built of fine white stone, and excessive high, the town being so much too little for the number of the people that desire to live in it, the builders seem to have projected to repair that misfortune, by clapping one town on the top of another, most of the houses being of five, and some of them of six stories. You may easily imagine, that the streets being so narrow, the upper rooms are extremely dark ; and, what is an inconveniency much more intolerable, in my opinion, there is no house that has so few as five or six families in it. The apartments of the greatest ladies, and even of the ministers of state, are divided but by a partition from that of a tailor or a shoemaker ; and I know no- body that has above two floors in any house, one for their own use, and one higher for their servants. Those that have houses of their own, let out the rest of them 5—2 68 TJie Embassy to Turkey to whoever will take them ; thus the great stairs (which are all of stone) are as common and as dirty as the street. "Tis true, when you have once travelled through them, nothing can be more surprisingly magnificent than the apartments. They are commonly a suite of eight or ten large rooms, all inlaid, the doors and windows richly carved and gilt, and the furniture such as is seldom seen in the palaces of sovereign princes in other countries — the hangings the finest tapestry of Brussels, prodigious large looking-glasses in silver frames, fine Japan tables, beds, chairs, canopies, and window curtains of the richest Genoa damask or velvet, almost covered with gold lace or embroidery. The whole made gay by pictures, and vast jars of Japan china, and almost in every room large lustres of rock crystal. " I have already had the honour of being invited to dinner by several of the first people of quality ; and I must do them the justice to sa}^ the good taste and magnificence of their tables very well answers to that of their furniture. I have been more than once entertained with fifty dishes of meat, all served in silver, and well dressed ; the dessert proportionable, served in the finest china. But the variety and richness of their wines is what appears the most surprising. The constant way is, to lay a list of their names upon the plates of the guests, along with the napkins ; and I have counted several times to the number of eighteen different sorts, all exquisite in their kinds." At Vienna she seems to have received a letter of llie Embassy to Turkey 69 adoration from Pope, whose friendship for her was probably of very recent date. The poet protested that all his letters were ''the most impartial representations of a free heart," a mere '' thinking aloud." What affects to be the answer to this letter on Lady Mary's part passes over slightly the protestations of Pope, and goes on to give an account of the gaieties of Vienna — an account probably copied out of the Diary later on. *' I have so far wandered from the discipline of the Church of England to have been last Sunda}^ at the opera, which was performed in the garden of the Favorita ; and I was so much pleased with it, I have not yet repented my seeing it. Nothing of that kind ever was more magnificent ; and I can easily believe what I am told, that the decorations and habits cost the Emperor thirty thousand pounds sterling. The stage was built over a very large canal, and, at the beginning of the second act, divided into two parts, discovering the water, on which there immediately came, from different parts, two fleets of little gilded vessels, that gave the representation of a naval fight. It is not eas}^ to imagine the beauty of this scene, which I took particular notice of But all the rest were perfectly fine in their kind. The story of the opera is the Enchantments of Alcina, which gives opportunity for a great variety of machines, and changes of the scene, which are performed with a surprising swiftness. The theatre is so large, that it is hard to carry the eye to the end of it ; and the habits in the utmost magnificence, to the number of one 70 The Embassy to Turkey hundred and eight. No house could hold such large decorations ; but the ladies all sitting in the open air, exposes them to great inconveniences, for there is but one canopy for the imperial family; and the first night it was represented, a shower of rain happening, the opera was broken off, and the company crowded away in such confusion, I was almost squeezed to death." As soon as her Court dress was ready. Lady Mary went to call on the beautiful Elizabeth of Brunswick, wife of the Emperor Charles VI. " In order to that ceremony, I was squeezed up in a gown, and adorned with a gorget and the other imple- ments thereunto belonging : a dress very inconvenient, but which certainly shows the neck and shape to great advantage. I cannot forbear in this place giving you some description of the fashions here, which are more monstrous and contrary to all common sense and reason than 'tis possible for you to imagine. They build certain fabrics of gauze on their heads about a yard high, consisting of three or four stories, fortified with numberless yards of heavy ribbon. The founda- tion of this structure is a thing they call a Bourle, which is exactly of the same shape and kind, but about four times as big as those rolls our prudent milk-maids make use of to fix their pails upon. This machine they cover with their own hair, which they mix with a great deal of false, it being a particular beauty to have their heads too large to go into a moderate tub. Their hair is prodigiously powdered, to conceal the mixture, and set out with three or four rows of bodkins (wonderfully The Embassy to Tm^key 71 large, that stick [out] two or three inches from their hair), made of diamonds, pearls, red, green, and yellow stones, that it certainly requires as much art and experience to carry the load upright as to dance upon May-day with the garland. Their whalebone petti- coats outdo ours by several yards' circumference, and cover some acres of ground. '' You may easily suppose how much this extra- ordinary dress sets off and improves the natural ugli- ness with which God Almighty has been pleased to endow them all generally. Even the lovely Empress herself is obliged to comply in some degree with these absurd fashions, which they would not quit for all the world. I had a private audience (according to cere- mony) of half an hour, and then all the other ladies were permitted to come [and] make their court. I was perfectly charmed with the Empress : I cannot, how- ever, tell you that her features are regular ; her eyes are not large, but have a lively look, full of sweetness ; her complexion the finest I ever saw ; her nose and forehead well made, but her mouth has ten thousand charms that touch the soul. When she smiles, 'tis with a beauty and sweetness that force adoration." And so on, in a rather rapturous strain. Her com- ments on the course of love, true or otherwise, at Vienna are, perhaps, more entertaining, though too free in tone to quote at length. The passion for pre- cedence seems to have been as great there as at Ratisbon. '' Even their amours and their quarrels are carried 72 TJie Embassy to Turkey on with a surprising temper, and they are never Uvely but upon points of ceremony. There, I own, they show all their passions ; and 'tis not long since two coaches, meeting in a narrow street at night, the ladies in them not being able to adjust the ceremonial of which should go back, sat there with equal gallantry till two in the morning, and were both so fulh' determined to die upon the spot, rather than yield in a point of that im- portance, that the street would never have been cleared till their deaths if the Emperor had not sent his guards to part them ; and even then the}' refused to stir, till the expedient was found out of taking them both out in chairs exactly at the same moment ; after which it was with some difficulty the pas. was decided between the two coachmen, no less tenacious of their rank than the ladies." The plan of Mr. Wortley Montagu's journey was changed, and instead of going from Vienna to Leghorn and thence by sea, he travelled to Hanover, to see George I., and then returned to Vienna. The journey through Prague to Dresden was not without its perils, as the following extract shows : '' You may imagine how heartily I was tired with twenty-four hours' post travelling, without sleep or refreshment (for I can never sleep in a coach, however fatigued). We passed by moonshine the frightful pre- cipices that divide Bohemia from Saxony, at the bottom of which runs the ri\er Elbe ; but I cannot say that I had reason to fear drowning in it, being perfectly con- vinced that, in case of a tumble, it was utterly impos- The Embassy to Tui^key 73 sible to come alive to the bottom. In many places the road is so narrow that I could not discern an inch of space between the wheels and the precipice. Yet I was so good a wife not to wake Mr. W , who was fast asleep by my side, to make him share in my fears, since the danger was unavoidable, till I perceived, by the light of the moon, our postilions nodding on horse- back, while the horses were on a full gallop, and I thought it very convenient to call out to desire them to look where they were going. My calling waked Mr. W , and he was much more surprised than myself at the situation we were in, and assured me that he had passed the Alps five times in different places without ever having gone on a road so dangerous. I have been told since it is common to find the bodies of travellers in the Elbe ; but, thank God, that was not our destiny; and we came safe to Dresden, so much tired with fear and fatigue it was not possible for me to compose my- self to write." One detail of this journey throws an interesting light on the postal arrangements of the time. '* I can assure you the pacquet at Prague was tied behind my chaise, and in that manner conveyed to Dresden. The secrets of half the country were at my mercy, if I had had any curiosity for them." Hanover was crowded with the Court of George I., whose new greatness as King of England was over- large for the Electoral capital. The German beauties seem to have been somewhat monotonous. " All the women have literally rosy cheeks, snowy 74 The Embassy to Turkey foreheads and bosoms, jet eye-brows, and scarlet lips, to which they generally add coal-black hair. These perfections never leave them till the hour of their deaths, and have a very fine effect by candle-light ; but I could wish they were handsome with a little more variety. They resemble one another as much as Mrs. Salmon's Court of Great Britain,* and are in as much danger of melting away by too near approaching the fire, which they for that reason carefully avoid, though it is now such excessive cold weather that I believe they suffer extremely by that piece of self-denial." The German stoves particularly charmed Lady Mar}', and she was resolved to introduce them into England on her return. ** I was particularly surprised at the vast number of orange trees, much larger than I have ever seen in England, though this climate is certainly colder. But I had more reason to wonder that night at the King's table. There was brought to him from a gentleman of this countr}^ two large baskets full of ripe oranges and lemons of different sorts, many of which were quite new to me ; and, what I thought worth all the rest, two ripe ananas, which, to my taste, are a fruit perfectly delicious- You know they are naturally the growth of Brazil, and I could not imagine how they could (iome there but by enchantment. Upon enquiry, I learnt that they have brought their stoves to such perfection, they lengthen the summer as long as they please, giving to every plant the degree of heat it would receive from the sun in its * The Madame Tussaud's of the period. The Ejiibassy to Turkey 75 native soil. The effect is very near the same ; I am surprised we do not practise in England so useful an invention. "This reflection naturally leads me to consider our obstinacy in shaking with cold six months in the year, rather than make use of stoves, which are certainly one of the greatest conveniences of life; and so far from spoiling the form of a room, they add very much to the magnificence of it, when they are painted and gilt, as at Vienna, or at Dresden, where they are often in the shape of china jars, statues, or fine cabinets, so naturall}^ represented, they are not to be distinguished." From Hanover, instead of returning to England, as her friends hoped, Lady Mary accompanied her hus- band to Vienna. "Is Eurydice once more snatched to the shades ?" mourned Pope. " If ever mortal had reason to hate the King it is I ; for it is my particular misfortune to be almost the only innocent man whom he has made to suffer, both by his government at home and his negotiations abroad " — Pope being subject to disabilities as a Roman Catholic, and robbed of his friend by the mission to Constantinople. The Embassy reached Vienna at the end of 1716, and Mr. Wortley Montagu determined to lose no time, but proceed through Hungary. The Danube being frozen, the journey had to be made by land, and the great Prince Eugene of Savoy and all Lady Mary's other friends charged her earnestly not to set out till spring ; but she was determined to go. The journey proved far less terrible than was anticipated, and the account of it is 76 The Embassy to Ttirkey therefore uninteresting, being a collection of historical notes and descriptions too much savouring of a guide- book. Hungary at that time was an unknown wilder- ness to English people, and such details were new. Some of the descriptions, however, ma}- be still of interest : ''The few people that inhabit Hungary live easily enough ; they have no money, but the woods and plains afford them provision in great abundance : the}^ were ordered to give us all things necessary, even what horses we pleased to demand, gratis; but Mr. W [Wortley] would not oppress the poor country people by making use of this order, and always paid them the full worth of what we had from them. They were so surprised at this unexpected generosity, w^hich they are very little used to, they always pressed upon us, at parting, a dozen of fat pheasants, or something of that sort, for a present. Their dress is very primitive, being only a plain sheep's skin, without other dressing than being dried in the sun, and a cap and boots of the same stuff. You may imagine this lasts them for many winters ; and thus they have very little occasion for money.'" After some delay at Peterwaradein, occupied in arranging for the reception of the Embassy by the Turks, the Ambassador and his train arrived at Bel- grade, then held by the Turks, though next year it was captured by Prince Eugene, after the greatest of his victories. At Belgrade Lady Mary fell in with one of those Europeanized modern Turks who have become more common since. The Embassy to Ttirkey yj " My only diversion is the conversation of our host, Achmet Beg, a title something like that of Count in Germany. His father w^as a great Pasha, and he has been educated in the most polite Eastern learning, being perfectly skilled in the Arabic and Persian languages, and is an extraordinary scribe, which they call effendi. This accomplishment makes way to the greatest pre- ferments ; but he has had the good sense to prefer an easy, quiet, secure life, to all the dangerous honours of the Porte. He sups with us every night, and drinks wine very freely. You cannot imagine how much he is delighted with the Uberty of conversing with me. He has explained to me many pieces of Arabian poetry, which, I observed, are in numbers not unlike ours, generally alternate verse, and of a very musical sound. Their expressions of love are very passionate and lively. I am so much pleased with them, I really believe I should learn to read Arabic if I was to stay here a few months. He has a very good library of their books of all kinds ; and, as he tells me, spends the greatest part of his life there. I pass for a great scholar with him, by relating to him some of the Persian tales, which I find are genuine."^ At first he believed I understood Persian. I have frequent disputes with him concerning the difference of our customs, particularly the confine- ment of women. He assures me there is nothing at all in it ; only, says he, we have the advantage, that when our wives cheat us nobody knows it. He has wit, and is more polite than many Christian men of quality. I * Translated by Petit de la Croix. yS The Embassy to Ttirkcy am very much entertained with him. He has had the curiosity to make one of our servants set him an alphabet of our letters, and can already write a good Roman hand." After awaiting orders some time at Belgrade, the Embassy moved on by Nish, Sofia, and Philippopolis to Adrianople, a country, as it seemed to Lady Mary, "the finest in the world." ''But this climate," so she writes in a rather stiff letter to Princess Caroline, "as happy as it seems, can never be preferred to England, with all its snows and frosts, while we are blessed with an easy government, under a King who makes his own happiness consist in the liberty of his people, and chooses rather to be looked upon as their father than as their master." Perhaps Lady Mary expected this letter to be opened in the post ; for we may imagine that this was hardly her private opinion of George I., still less the opinion of his daughter-in-law. Somewhat curious is Lady Mary's first experience of a Turkish bath, sent ostensibly to a lady unnamed : " I won't trouble you with a relation of our tedious journey; but I must not omit what I saw remarkable at Sophia, one of the most beautiful towns in the Turkish empire, and famous for its hot baths, that are resorted to both for diversion and health. I stopped here one day on purpose to see them. Designing to go incognita, I hired a Turkish coach. These voitures are not at all like ours, but much more convenient for the country, the heat being so great that glasses would be very troublesome. They are made a good deal in the The Embassy to Turkey 79 manner of the Dutch coaches, having wooden lattices painted and gilded ; the inside being painted with baskets and nosegays of flowers, intermixed commonly with little poetical mottoes. They are covered all over with scarlet cloth, lined with silk, and very often richly embroidered and fringed. This covering entirely hides the persons in them, but may be thrown back at pleasure, and the ladies peep through the lattices. They hold four people very conveniently, seated on cushions, but not raised. ** In one of these covered waggons, I went to the bagnio about ten o^clock. It was already full of women. It is built of stone, in the shape of a dome, with no windows but in the roof, which gives light enough, There were five of these domes joined together, the outmost being less than the rest, and serving only as a hall, where the portress stood at the door. Ladies of quality generally give this woman the value of a crown or ten shillings ; and I did not forget that ceremony. The next room is a very large one paved with marble, and all round it, raised, two sofas of marble, one above another. There were four fountains of cold water in this room, falling first into marble basins, and then running on the floor in little channels made for that purpose, which carried the streams into the next room, something less than this, with the same sort of marble sofas, but so hot with steams of sulphur proceeding from the baths joining to it, it was impossible to stay there with one's clothes on. The two other domes were the hot baths, one of which had cocks of cold water ^o The EiJibassy to Turkey turning into it, to temper it to what degree of warmth the bathers have a mind to. " I was in my travelling habit, which is a riding dress, and certainly appeared very extraordinary to them. Yet there was not one of them who showed the least surprise or impertinent curiosity, but received me with all the obliging civility possible. I know no European Court where the ladies would have behaved themselves in so polite a manner to a stranger. I be- lieve, in the whole, there were two hundred women, and yet none of those disdainful smiles, or satiric whispers, that never fail in our assemblies when any- body appears that is not exactly in the fashion. They repeated over and over to me, ' Uzelle, pek uzelle,' which is nothing but ' Charming, very charming.' The first sofas w^ere covered with cushions and rich carpets, on w^hich sat the ladies ; and on the second, their slaves behind them. There w^ere many amongst them as exactly proportioned as ever any goddess was drawn by the pencil of Guido or Titian — and most of their skins shiningly white, only adorned by their beautiful hair divided into many tresses, hanging on their shoulders, braided either with pearl or ribbon, perfectly representing the figures of the Graces. , '* Some were in conversation, some working, others drinking coffee or sherbet, and many negligently lying on their cushions, while their slaves (generally pretty girls of seventeen or eighteen) were employed in braiding their hair in several pretty fancies. In short, it is the women's coffee-house, where all the news of The Embassy to Ttir/cey 8i the town is told, scandal invented, etc. They generally take this diversion once a-week, and stay there at least four or five hours, without getting cold by immediate coming out of the hot bath into the cold room, which was very surprising to me." Lady Mary saw the Sultan, Achmet III., at Adrian- ople, where he was residing in the spring of 1717. ** I went yesterday with the French Embassadress* to see the Grand Signiorf in his passage to the mosque. He was preceded by a numerous guard of janissaries, with vast white feathers on their heads, spahis and bostangees (these are foot and horse guard), and the royal gardeners, which are a very considerable body of men, dressed in different habits of fine lively colours, that, at a distance, they appeared like a parterre of tulips. After them the aga of the janissaries, in a robe of purple velvet, lined with silver tissue, his horse led by two slaves richly dressed. Next him the kyzldr-aga (your ladyship knows this is the chief guardian of the seraglio ladies) in a deep yellow cloth (which suited very well to his black face) lined with sables, and last his Sub- limity himself, in green lined with the fur of a black Muscovite fox, which is supposed worth a thousand pounds sterling, mounted on a fine horse, with furniture embroidered with jewels. Six more horses richly fur- nished were led after him ; and two of his principal courtiers bore, one his gold, and the other his silver coffee-pot, on a staff; another carried a silver stool on his head for him to sit on. ^ Madame de Bonnac. f Sultan Achmet III. 6 82 The Embassy to Turkey *' It would be too tedious to tell your ladyship the various dresses and turbans by which their rank is dis- tinguished ; but they were all extremely rich and gay, to the number of some thousands ; [so] that, perhaps, there cannot be seen a more beautiful procession. The Sultan appeared to us a handsome man of about forty, with a very graceful air, but something severe in his countenance, his eyes very full and black. He hap- pened to stop under the window where we stood, and (I suppose being told who we were) looked upon us very attentively, [so] that we had fall leisure to consider him^ and the French Embassadress agreed with me as to his good mien : I see that lady very often ; she is young, and her conversation would be a great relief to me, if 1 could persuade her to live without those forms and ceremonies that make life formal and tiresome. But she is so delighted with her guards, her four-and-twenty footmen, gentlemen ushers, etc., that she would rather die than make me a visit without them : not to reckon a coachful of attending damsels yclep'd maids of honour. What vexes me is, that as long as she will visit with a troublesome equipage, I am obliged to do the same : however, our mutual interest makes us much together. '' I went with her the other day all round the town, in an open gilt chariot, with our joint train of atten- dants, preceded by our guards, who might have sum- moned the people to see what they had never seen, nor ever would see again — two young Christian embassa- dresses never yet having been in this country at the same time, nor I believe ever will aq'ain. Your ladv- TJie Embassy to Turkey 83 ship may easily imagine that we drew a vast crowd of spectators, but all silent as death. If any of them had taken the liberties of our mob upon any strange sight, our janissaries had made no scruple of falling on them with their scimitars, without danger for so doing, being above law. Yet these people have some good quali- ties ; they are very zealous and faithful where they serve, and look upon it as their business to fight for you upon all occasions. Of this I had a very pleasant instance in a village on this side Philippopolis, where we were met by our domestic guard. I happened to bespeak pigeons for my supper, upon which one of my janissaries went immediately to the cadi (the chief civil officer of the town), and ordered him to send in some dozens. The poor man answered, that he had already sent about, but could get none. My janissary, in the height of his zeal for my service, immediately locked him up prisoner in his room, telling him he deserved death for his impudence, in offering to excuse his not obeying my command ; but, out of respect to me, he would not punish him but by my order, and accord- ingly, came very gravely to me, to ask what should be done to him ; adding, by way of compliment, that if I pleased he would bring me his head. — This may give you some idea of the unlimited power of these fellows, who are all sworn brothers, and bound to revenge the injuries done to one another, whether at Cairo, Aleppo, or any part of the world ; and this inviolable league makes them so powerful, the greatest man at the Court never speaks to them but in a flattering tone ; and in 6 — 2 84 The Embassy to Ttirkey Asia, any man that is rich is forced to enrol himself a janissary, to secure his estate." At Adrianople she also adopted the Turkish dress, which she described to her sister at length, from slippers to aigrette. Her classical recollections were awakened by the pastoral simplicity and Greek customs of the countr3\ *' I am at this present writing in a house situated on the banks of the Hebrus, which runs under my chamber window. My garden is full of tall cypress-trees, upon the branches of which several couple of true turtles are saying soft things to one another from morning to night. How naturally do boughs and vows come into my head at this minute ! and must not you confess, to my praise, that 'tis more than ordinary discretion that can resist the wicked sugges- tions of poetry, in a place where truth, for once, fur- nishes all the ideas of pastoral? The summer is already far advanced in this part of the world ; and, for some miles round Adrianople, the whole ground is laid out in gardens, and the banks of the river set with rows of fruit-trees, under which all the most consider- able Turks divert themselves every evening ; not with walking, that is not one of their pleasures, but a set party of them choose out a green spot, where the shade is very thick, and there they spread a carpet, on which they sit drinking their coffee, and generally attended by some slave with a fine voice, or that plays on some instrument. Every twenty paces you may see one of these little companies listening to the dashing of the The Embassy to Titrkey 85 river ; and this taste is so universal, that the very gardeners are not without it. I have often seen them and their children sitting on the banks, and playing on a rural instrument, perfectly answering the description of the ancient fisUila, being composed of unequal reeds with a simple but agreeable softness in the sound."" This extract is from a letter supposed to be written to Pope; and as his translation of the "Iliad" was now appearing, his correspondent must, of course, refer to those Greek poets of wliom her knowledge was but slight — as appears by her reference to Theocritus, in which she seems to forget that the pastoral life he de- scribed was that of Sicily. " I no longer look upon Theocritus as a romantic writer; he has only given a plain image of the way of life amongst the peasants of his country ; who, before oppression had reduced them to want, were, I suppose, all employed as the better sort of them are now. I don't doubt, had he been born a Briton, his Idylliiims had been filled with descriptions of threshing and churning, both which are unknown here, the corn being all trod out by oxen ; and butter (I speak it with sorrow) unheard of. " I read over your Homer here with an infinite pleasure, and find several little passages explained, that I did not before entirely comprehend the beauty of; many of the customs, and much of the dress then in fashion, being yet retained, and I don't wonder to find more remains here of an age so distant, than is to be found in any other country, the Turks not taking 86 The Embassy to Turkey that pains to introduce their own manners as has been generally practised by other nations, that imagine them- selves more polite. It would be too tedious to you to point out all the passages that relate to the present customs. But I can assure you that the princesses and great ladies pass their time at their looms, embroider- ing veils and robes, surrounded by their maids, which are always very numerous, in the same mianner as we find Andromache and Helen described. The descrip- tion of the belt of Menelaus exactly resembles those that are now worn by the great men, fastened before with broad golden clasps, and embroidered round with rich work. The snowy veil that Helen throws over her face is still fashionable ; and I never see (as I do very often) half a dozen of old pashas with their reverend beards, sitting basking in the sun, but I recollect good King Priam and his counsellors. Their manner of dancing is certainly the same that Diana is sung to have danced on the banks of the Eurotas. The great lady still leads the dance, and is followed by a troop of young girls, who imitate her steps, and, if she sings, make up the chorus. The tunes are extremely gay and lively, yet with something in them wonderfully soft. The steps are varied according to the pleasure of her that leads the dance, but always in exact time, and infinitely more agreeable than any of our dances, at least in my opinion. I sometimes make one in the train, but am not skilful enough to lead ; these are Grecian dances, the Turkish being very different." It is in a letter from Adrianople, dated like the rest. The E7nbassy to Turkey 87 April I, 1 7 17 (old style), Lady Mary gives an account of the process of inoculation for the small-pox, which she afterwards introduced into England. She calls the practice "ingrafting." "/I propos of distempers, I am going to tell you a thing that I am sure will make you wish yourself here. The small-pox, so fatal, and so general amongst us, is here entirely harmless by the invention of ingrafting, which is the term they give it. There is a set of old women who make it their business to perform the operation every autumn, in the month of September, when the great heat is abated. People send to one another to know if any of their family has a mind to have the small-pox : they make parties for this purpose, and when they are met (commonly fifteen or sixteen together), the old woman comes with a nut-shell full of the matter of the best sort of small- pox, and asks what veins you please to have opened. She immediately rips open that you offer to her with a large needle (which gives you no more pain than a common scratch), and puts into the vein as much venom as can lie upon the head of her needle, and after binds up the little wound with a hollow bit of shell ; and in this manner opens four or five veins. The Grecians have com- monly the superstition of opening one in the middle of the forehead, in each arm, and on the breast, to mark the sign of the cross ; but this has a very ill effect, all these wounds leaving little scars, and is not done by those that are not superstitious, who choose to have them in the legs, or that part of the arm that is con- 88 TJie Embassy to Tu7'key cealed. The children or young patients play together all the rest of the day, and are in perfect health to the eighth. Then the fever begins to seize them, and they keep their beds two days, very seldom three. They have very rarely above twenty or thirty in their faces, which never mark ; and in eight days' time they are as well as before their illness. Where they are wounded, there remain running sores during the distemper, which I don't doubt is a great relief to it. Every year thou- sands undergo this operation : and the French Embas- sador says pleasantly, that they take the small-pox here by way of diversion, as they take the waters in other countries." If Lady Louisa Stuart's account of the grudging reception of inoculation by the medical profession is correct. Lady Mary's letter was indeed prophetic. '* I am patriot enough to take pains to bring this useful invention into fashion in England ; and I should not fail to write to some of our doctors very particularly about it, if I knew any one of them that I thought had virtue enough to destroy such a considerable branch of their revenue for the good of mankind. But that dis- temper is too beneficial to them not to expose to all their resentment the hardy wight that should under- take to put an end to it. Perhaps, if I live to return, I may, however, have courage to war with them." While Mr. Wortley Montagu was negotiating with the Grand Vizier, Azem, and telling the Turks " plain truths," his wife paid visits to the great Turkish ladies, not, indeed, being admitted to the harem of the Grand The Embassy to Turkey 89 Signior, though more or less scandalous rumours after- wards asserted that she had enjoyed that privilege. But she visited the wife of the Grand Vizier and also the fair Fatima, wife of the '' Kiyaya," or deputy of the Vizier. With the latter lady she was quite enraptured. '' I was met at the door by two black eunuchs, who led me through a long gallery between two ranks of beautiful young girls, with their hair finely plaited, almost hanging to their feet, all dressed in fine light damasks, brocaded with silver. I was sorry that decency did not permit me to stop to consider them nearer. But that thought was lost upon my entrance into a large room, or rather pavihon, built round with gilded sashes, which were most of them thrown up, and the trees planted near them gave an agreeable shade, which hindered the sun from being troublesome. The jessamines and honeysuckles that twisted round their trunks, shedding a soft perfume, increased by a white marble fountain playing sweet water in the lower part of the room, which fell into three or four basins with a pleasing sound. The roof was painted with all sort of flowers, falling out of gilded baskets, that seemed tumbling down. On a sofa, raised three steps, and covered with fine Persian carpets, sat the Kiyaya's lady, leaning on cushions of white satin, embroidered ; and at her feet sat two young girls, the eldest about twelve years old, lovely as angels, dressed perfectly rich, and almost covered with jewels. But they were hardly seen near the fair Fatima (for that is her name), so much her beauty effaced everything. I have seen all QO The Embassy to Turkey that has been called lovely either in England or German}', and must own that I never saw anything so gloriously beautiful, nor can I recollect a face that would have been taken notice of near hers. She stood up to receive me, saluting me after their fashion, putting her hand upon her heart with a sweetness full of majesty, that no Court breeding could ever give. She ordered cushions to be given to me, and took care to place me in the corner, which is the place of honour. I confess, though the Greek lady had before given me a great opinion of her beauty, I was so struck with admiration, that I could not for some time speak to her, being wholly taken up in gazing. That surprising harmony of features! that charming result of the whole ! that exact proportion of body ! that lovely bloom of complexion unsullied by art ! the unutterable enchantment of her smile ! But her eyes! — large and black, with all the soft languishment of the blue ! every turn of her face discovering some new charm." The Sultan soon moved his camp from Adrianople, in readiness for the campaign of 1717 ; but before moving there was a procession of the tradesmen of Adrianople, who were forced by custom to m.ake a present to the Sultan when he took the field in person. The description purports to be written to the Abbe Conti, an Italian man of letters, whose acquaintance Lady Mary had made in England. " I took the pains of rising at six in the morning to see that ceremon}-, which did not, however, begin till eight. The Grand Signior was at the seraglio window, The E7nbassy to Tttrkty 91 to see the procession, which passed through all the principal streets. It was preceded by an effendi mounted on a camel, richly furnished, reading aloud the Alcoran, finely bound, laid upon a cushion. He was surrounded by a parcel of boys, in white, singing some verses of it, followed by a man dressed in green boughs, representing a clean husbandman sowing seed. After him several reapers, with garlands of ears of corn, as Ceres is pictured, with scythes in their hands, seeming to mow. Then a little machine drawn by oxen, in which was a windmill, and boys employed in grinding corn, followed by another machine, drawn by buffaloes, carrying an oven, and two more boys, one employed in kneading the bread, and another in draw- ing it out of the oven. These boys threw little cakes on both sides among the crowd, and were followed by the whole company of bakers, marching on foot, two and two, in their best clothes, with cakes, loaves, pasties, and pies of all sorts on their heads, and after them two buffoons, or jack-puddings, with their faces and clothes smeared with meal, who diverted the mob with their antic gestures. In the same manner followed all the companies of trade in their empire ; the nobler sort, such as jewellers, mercers, etc., finely mounted, and many of the pageants that represented their trades perfectly magnificent ; among which the furriers' made one of the great figures, being a very large machine, set round with the skins of ermines, foxes, etc., so well stuffed, the animals seemed to be alive, followed by music and dancers. I believe they were, upon the 92 The Embassy to Tiirkey whole, at least twenty thousand men, all ready to follow his highness if he commanded them. The rear was closed by the volunteers, who came to beg the honour of dying in his service. This part of the show seemed to me so barbarous, I removed from the window upon the first appearance of it. They were all naked to the middle. Some had their arms pierced through with arrows, left sticking in them. Others had them sticking in their heads, the blood trickling down their faces, and some slashed their arms with sharp knives, making the blood spout out upon those that stood near ; and this is looked upon as an expression of their zeal for glory. I am told that some make use of it to advance their love ; and, when they are near the window where their mistress stands (all the women in town being veiled to see this spectacle), they stick another arrow for her sake, who gives some sign of approbation and encouragement to this gallantry. The whole show lasted near eight hours, to my great sorrow, who was heartily tired, though I was in the house of the widow of the Capitain-pasha (Admiral), who refreshed me with coffee, sweetmeats, sherbet, etc., with all possible civility." When the camp moved from Adrianople,the Embassy went on to Constantinople, where Lady Mary was lodged in the ambassadorial palace at Pera. She was eager to investigate not only the manners and customs of the day, but all antiquities she could find, but without much help from local antiquaries. '* I have already made some progress in a collection The Embassy to Ttti^key 93 of Greek medals. Here are several professed anti- quaries who are ready to serve any body that desires them. But you cannot imagine how they stare in my face when I inquire about them, as if nobody was per- mitted to seek after medals till they were grown a piece of antiquity themselves. I have got some very valuable of the Macedonian kings, particularly one of Perseus, so lively, I fancy I can see all his ill qualities in his face. I have a porphyry head, finely cut, of the true Greek sculpture, but who it represents is to be guessed at by the learned when I return. For you are not to suppose these antiquaries, who are all Greeks, know anything. Their trade is only to sell. They have correspondents at Aleppo, Grand Cairo, in Arabia and Palestine, who send them all they can find, and very often great heaps that are only fit to melt into pans and kettles. They get the best price they can for any of them, without knowing those that are valuable from those that are not. Those that pretend to skill generally find out the image of some saint in the medals of the Greek cities. One of them, showing me the figure of a Pallas, with a victory in her hand on a reverse, assured me it was the Virgin holding a crucifix. The same man offered me the head of a Socrates on a sardonyx, and, to enhance the value, gave him the title of St. Augustin." When the summer heats set in. Lady Mary retired to the village of Belgrade, near Constantinople ; as she writes to Pope : "The heats of Constantinople have driven me to 94 ^/^^ Embassy to Turkey this place, which perfectly answers the description of the Elysian fields. I am in the middle of a wood, consisting chiefly of fruit-trees, watered by a vast number of fountains, famous for the excellency of their water, and divided into many shady walks upon short grass that seems to be artificial, but, I am assured, is the pure work of nature ; within view of the Black Sea, from whence we perpetually enjoy the refreshment of cool breezes, that make us insensible of the heat of the summer. The village is only in- habited by the richest amongst the Christians, who meet every night at a fountain forty paces from my house to sing and dance, the beauty and dress of the women exactly resembling the ideas of the ancient nymphs as they are given us by the representations of the poets and painters. But what persuades me more fully of my decease is the situation of my own mind, the profound ignorance I am in of what passes among the living (which only comes to me by chance), and the great calmness with which I receive it. Yet I have still a hankering after my friends and acquaint- ance left in the world, according to the authority of that admirable author : " 'That spirits departed are wondrous kind To friends and relations left behind : Which nobody can deny ' — of which solemn truth I am a dead instance. 1 think Virgil is of the same opinion, that in human souls there will still be some remains of human pas- sions : " ' Cura: non ipsa in morte relinquunt.' The Embassy to Tiirkey 95 And 'tis very necessary, to make a perfect Elysium, that there should be a river Lethe, which I am not so happy to find." Some of Lady Mary's English correspondents were rather exacting in their commissions to her, and had a wide and vague idea of the resources of the East. Pope's request for a Circassian beauty with every possible accomplishment was not meant to be taken seriously ; but some other friend seems to have asked for a Greek slave, which gave occasion for a disserta- tion on the position of the rayahs. The *' balm of Mecca " was also much in demand for the complexion, though Lady Mary tried it on her own face with dis- astrous results. In wandering about Constantinople in Turkish dress, in antiquarian research or Oriental study, the year 1717 passed away pleasantly. The terrors of an English winter were unknown at Pera. *' The climate is delightful in the extremest degree. I am now sitting, this present fourth of January, with the windows open, enjoying the warm shine of the sun, while you are freezing over a sad sea-coal fire, and my chamber set out with carnations, roses and jonquils fresh from my garden. I am also charmed with many points of the Turkish law, to our shame be it spoken, better designed and better executed than ours, par- ticularly the punishment of convicted liars (triumphant criminals in our country, God knows) : they are burnt in the forehead with a hot iron, being proved the authors of any notorious falsehood. How many white g6 The Embassy to Tiirkey foreheads should we see disfigured, how many fine gentlemen would be forced to wear their wigs as low as their eyebrows, were this law in practice with us !" Early in 1718 was born Lady Mary's daughter Mary, afterwards Countess of Bute. By this time her husband must have been preparing to depart soon, as he had received an intimation of his recall from his friend Addison in the autumn of 1717. His delay at Constantinople till his successor should arrive gave Lady Mary the opportunity of renewing her acquaint- ance with the fair Fatima, and of calling on the Sultana Hafiten, favourite of the late Sultan, whose dress and diamonds defied valuation. These visits gave her an opinion of the position of Turkish women far different from that stated by most travellers of the time : " 'Tis very pleasant to observe how tenderly all the voyage-writers lament the miserable confinement of the Turkish ladies, who are perhaps freer than any ladies in the universe, and are the onlv women in the world that lead a life of uninterrupted pleasure exempt from cares; their whole time being spent in visiting, bathing, or the agreeable amusement of spending money, and inventing new fashions. A husband would be thought mad that exacted any degree of economy from his wife, whose expenses are no way limited but by her own fancy. 'Tis his business to get money, and hers to spend it : and this noble prerogative extends itself to the very meanest of the sex. Here is a fellow that carries embroidered handkerchiefs upon his back to sell, as miserable a The Embassy to Turkey 97 figure as you may suppose such a mean dealer, yet I'll assure you his wife scorns to wear anything less than cloth of gold ; has her ermine furs, and a very hand- some set of jewels for her head. They go abroad when and where they please. 'Tis true they have no public places but the bagnios, and there can only be seen by their own sex ; however, that is a diversion they take great pleasure in." The seraglio, however, she did not enter, though she gleaned what particulars she could from her Turkish friends. '' I have taken care," she writes to her friend the Countess of Bristol, "to see as much of the seraglio as is to be seen. It is on a point of land running into the sea — a palace of prodigious extent, but very irregular. The gardens [take in] a large compass of ground, full of high cypress-trees, which is all I know of them ; the buildings all of white stone, leaded on top, with gilded turrets and spires, which look very magnificent ; and, indeed, I beheve there is no Christian king's palace half so large." Other palaces, however, of almost as great magni- ficence as the Sultan's, Lady Mary was admitted to see, as the following description proves : " Human grandeur being here yet more unstable than anywhere else, 'tis common for the heirs of a great three-tailed pasha not to be rich enough to keep in repair the house he built ; thus, in a few years, they all fall to ruin. I was yesterday to see that of the late Grand Vizier, who was killed at Peterwaradein. It was built to receive his royal bride, daughter of the present 7 98 The Embassy to Ttcrkey Sultan, but he did not live to see her there. I have a great mind to describe it to you ; but I check that in- chnation, knowing very well that I cannot give you, with my best description, such an idea of it as I ought. It is situated on one of the most delightful parts of the canal, wath a fine wood on the side of a hill behind it. The extent of it is prodigious ; the guardian assured me there are eight hundred rooms in it ; I will not answer for that number, since I did not count them ; but 'tis certain the number is very large, and the whole adorned with a profusion of marble, gilding, and the most exquisite painting of fruit and flowers. The windows are all sashed with the finest crystalline glass brought from England ; and all the expensive magnificence that you can suppose in a palace founded by a vain young luxurious man, with the wealth of a vast empire at his command. But no part of it pleased me better than the apartments destined for the bagnios. There are two built exactly in the same manner, answering to one another ; the baths, fountains, and pavements, all of white marble, the roofs gilt, and the walls covered with Japan china ; but adjoining to them, two rooms, the upper part of which is divided into a sofa ; in the four corners falls of water from the very roof, from shell to shell of white marble, to the lower end of the room, where it falls into a large basin, surrounded with pipes, that throw up the water as high as the room. The walls are in the nature of lattices ; and, on the outside of them, vines and woodbines planted, that form a sort of green tapestry, and give an agreeable obscurity to these delightful chambers. The EiJidassy to Turkey 99 " I should go on and let you into some of the other apartments (all worthy your curiosity) ; but, 'tis yet harder to describe a Turkish palace than any other, being built entirely irregular. There is nothing can be properly called front or wings ; and though such a con- fusion is, I think, pleasing to the sight, yet it would be very unintelligible in a letter. I shall only add, that the chamber destined for the Sultan, when he visits his daughter, is wainscoted with mother-of-pearl fastened with emeralds like nails. There are others of mother- of-pearl and olive wood inlaid, and several of Japan china. The galleries, which are numerous and very large, are adorned with jars of flowers, and porcelain dishes of fruit of all sorts, so well done in plaster, and coloured in so lively a manner, that it has an enchant- ing effect. The garden is suitable to the house, where arbours, fountains, and walks, are thrown together in an agreeable confusion. There is no ornament want- ing, except that of statues. Thus, you see, sir, these people are not so unpolished as we represent them. 'Tis true their magnificence is of a different taste from ours, and perhaps of a better. I am almost of opinion they have a right notion of life ; while they consume it in music, gardens, wine, and delicate eating, we are tormenting our brains with some scheme of politics, or studying some science to which we can never attain, or, if we do, cannot persuade people to set that value upon it we do ourselves." In such rambles round Constantinople the time passed till the Preston man-of-war came to take the 7—2 lOO The Embassy to Turkey Ambassador away. On June 6/17, 1718, according to the MS. book of letters — on July 4/11, according to the more trustworthy announcement of Mr. Stanyan, the new Ambassador — Lady Mary and her husband and family sailed from Constantinople. They put in at Sigaeum, where Lady Mary copied the inscription of the Sigsean tomb for her husband ; *' but the Greek is too ancient for Mr. W.'s interpretation." The long letter giving an account of the journey is a sort of " Childe Harold " in prose, and full as weari- some. The vessel called at Tunis, and landed the passengers at Genoa August 15/26. Thence the journey followed the usual route, through Turin, and over the Mont Cenis into France. Lady Mary called on the wife of Victor Amadeus, the adventurous prince who first grasped the royal title for Savoy. The Queen of Sicily — as her style then ran — " entertained me with a world of sweetness and affability, and seemed mis- tress of a great share of good sense. ... I returned her civility by giving her the title of majesty as often as I could, which, perhaps, she will not have the comfort of hearing many months longer." Alberoni's plans for recovering the provinces taken from Spain at Utrecht were having effect, and the Spanish forces were now conquering Sicily ; but the royal title was not lost to the House of Savoy, though they had to take poor Sardinia in exchange for rich Sicily. The journey over Mont Cenis was not especially pleasant, though a certain appreciation of Alpine scenery is shown in the letter recounting it. The Embassy to Turkey loi "The prodigious prospect of mountains covered with eternal snow, clouds hanging far below our feet, and the vast cascades tumbling down the rocks with a confused roaring, would have been solemnly enter- taining to me if I had suffered less from the extreme cold that reigns here ; but the misty rain which falls perpetually penetrated even the thick fur I was wrapped in ; and I was half dead with cold before we got to the foot of the mountain, which was not till two hours after 'twas dark. This hill has a spacious plain on the top of it, and a fine lake there ; but the descent is so steep and slippery, 'tis surprising to see these chairmen go so steadily as they do. Yet I was not half so much afraid of breaking my neck, as I was of falling sick ; and the event has shewed that I placed my fears in the right place." For the fatigue of travelling brought on a serious fever at Lyons ; though, in spite of the doctors. Lady Mary pushed on as soon as possible to Paris. " The air of Paris has already had a good effect on me ; for I was never in better health, though I have been extremely ill all the road from Lyons to this place. You may judge how agreeable the journey has been to me ; which did not need that addition to make me dislike it. I think nothing so terrible as objects of misery, except one had the God-like attribute of being capable to redress them ; and all the country villages of France shew nothing else. While the post-horses are changed, the whole town comes out to beg, with such miserable starved faces, and thin tattered clothes, I02 The Embassy to Turkey they need no other eloquence to persuade [one of] the wretchedness of their condition. This is all the French magnificence till you come to Fontainebleau. There you begin to think the kingdom rich when you are shewed one thousand five hundred rooms in the King's hunting-palace." In Paris Lady Mary met her sister, the Countess of Mar, who now lived there for the most part with her exiled husband. Then in October, 1718, she crossed over to England, after a last peril in the packet. " I arrived this morning at Dover, after being tossed a whole night in the packet-boat, in so violent a manner, that the master, considering the weakness of his vessel, thought it prudent to remove the mail, and gave us notice of the danger. We called a little fisher boat, which could hardly make up to us ; while all the people on board us were crying to Heaven ; and 'tis hard to imagine one's self in a scene of greater horror than on such an occasion ; and yet, shall I own it to you ? though I was not at all willing to be drowned, I could not forbear being entertained at the double distress of a fellow-passenger. She was an English lady that I had met at Calais, who desired me to let her go over with me in my cabin. She had bought a fine point head, which she was contriving to conceal from the custom-house officers. When the wind grew high, and our little vessel cracked, she fell very heartily to her prayers, and thought wholly of her soul. When it seemed to abate, she returned to The Embassy to Turkey 103 the worldly care of her head-dress, and addressed her- self to me : ' Dear madam, will you take care of this point ? if it should be lost ! Ah, Lord, we shall all be lost! Lord have mercy on my soul! Pray, madam, take care of this head-dress.' This easy transition of her soul to her head-dress, and the alternate agonies that both gave her, made it hard to determine which she thought of greatest value. But, however, the scene was not so diverting but I was glad to get rid of it, and be thrown into the little boat, though with some hazard of breaking my neck. It brought me safe hither; and I cannot help looking with partial eyes on my native land. That partiality was certainly given us by nature, to prevent rambling, the effect of an ambitious thirst after knowledge, which we are not formed to enjoy. All we %^i by it is a fruit- less desire of mixing the different pleasures and con- veniences which are given to different parts of the world, and cannot meet in any one of them. After having read all that is to be found in the languages I am mistress of, and having decayed my sight by midnight studies, I envy the easy peace of mind of a ruddy milkmaid, who, undisturbed by doubt, hears the sermon with humility every Sunday, having not confused the sentiments of natural duty in her head by the vain enquiries of the schools, who may be more learned, yet, after all, must remain as ignorant. And, after having seen part of Asia and Africa, and almost made the tour of Europe, I think the honest English squire more happy, who verily believes the Greek wines I04 The Embassy to Turkey less delicious than March beer ; that the African fruits have not so fine a flavour as golden pippins ; and the becafiguas of Italy are not so well tasted as a rump of beef; and that, in short, there is no perfect enjoy- ment of this life out of Old England. I pray God I may think so for the rest of my life ; and, since I must be contented with our scanty allowance of daylight, that I may forget the enlivening sun of Constantin- ople." The letter to Pope, that closes the series of letters during the Embassy _, has already been mentioned ; it is dated from Dover, some weeks (according to the newspapers) after Lady Mary was safe in London ; and on the whole it seems evident that it was not really sent in answer to Pope's famous epistle on the "Lovers struck by Lightning." The fun made of Pope's artificial pastoral is clever, and must have been annoy- ing to him, even with the concluding couplet of the epitaph : " Now they are happy in their doom, For Pope has wrote upon their tomb." But in ail probability it was years before Pope saw it. Had it been otherwise, that final breach between him and Lady Mary might, perhaps, have taken place at once, instead of being led up to by some ten years of waning friendship. Life in England 105 CHAPTER IV LIFE IN ENGLAND Gap in the Letters — Pope's Friendship — Kneller's Portrait — South Sea Stock — M. Rdmond and his Money — Loss of the Money — ■ Behaviour of Remond — Letters to Lady Mar — The Herveys — Threats against Remond — "Mrs. Murray's Affair" — Pope's Verses on his Garden — Abundance of Poets— Open ImmoraHty of Society — The Schemers — Duke of Wharton — Quarrel with Mrs. Murray — Auction of Kneller's Pictures — Death of Lady Mary's Father — Family Disputes — Escapades of her Son — Mankind Fools and Knaves — Coronation- of George IL — Letters to Arbuthnot on the Quarrel with Pope — Verses to the Imitator of Horace — Letters to Lady Pomfret— Gossip — Lady Herbert's MesalUa7ice — Flattery of Lady Pomfret — Ladies storm the House of Lords. After Lady Mary's return to England, in 1718, there is a gap of some years in her pubHshed letters. No doubt, being in London for the most part and seeing the friends to whom she was accustomed to write, she had little need for correspondence. Her husband had his Parliamentary duties, and she had the training of her daughter, and her social engagements. Her son was sent to school, from which he took every opportu- nity of running away, as we shall see in later letters. In 1720, however, we begin to get glimpses of her, io6 Life in E^igland though rather through the letters of others than her own. We find her sitting to Sir Godfrey Kneller for her portrait, apparently at Pope's suggestion, and the poet writing to her in the old vein of adoration. *' The picture dwells really at my heart, and I have made a perfect passion of preferring your present face to your past. I know and thoroughly esteem yourself of this year : I know no more of Lady Mary Pierre- pont, than to admire at what I have heard of her, or be pleased with some fragments of hers as I am with Sappho's. But now — I can't say what I would say of you now. Only still give me cause to say you are good to me, and allow me as much of your person as Sir Godfrey can help me to. Upon conferring with him yesterda3% I find he thinks it absolutely necessary to draw the face first, which he says can never be set right on the figure, if the drapery and posture be finished before. To give you as little trouble as possible, he proposes to draw your face with crayons, and finish it up at your own house in a morning ; from whence he will transfer it to the canvas, so that you need not go to sit at his house. This, I must observe, is a manner in which they seldom draw any but crowned heads ; and I observe it with secret pride and pleasure." But the picture in question was certainly ordered and paid for by Mr. Wortley Montagu. Pope also tried to find out a house at Twickenham for his friends. The year 1720 was the year of the South Sea Company's rise and fall ; and the universal gambling Life in England 107 mania that had seized on England did not leave Lady Mary untouched. We find the younger Craggs, then Secretary of State, promising to insert her name in the next subscription for stock ; we find the usually prudent Pope writing that he has heard from the best sources that the stock will rise. Lady Mary took the advice, if not on her own account, at least with regard to the money placed in her hands by M. Remond, her French adorer, who had been over to England, appa- rently, in 1720. In the letter to her sister, Lady Mar, in which she gives an account of the transaction, she varies from singular to plural in speaking of Remond, but seems to forget this device (intended probably to deceive anyone who opened the letter in the post) as she goes on. " It came into my head, out of a high point of generosity (for which I wished myself hanged), to do this creature all the good I possibly could, since 'twas impossible to make them happy their own way. I advised him very strenuously to sell out of the sub- scription,* and in compliance to my advice he did so ; and in less than two days saw he had done very prudently. After a piece of service of this nature, I thought I could more decently press his departure, which his follies made me think necessary for me. He took leave of me with so many tears and grimaces (which I can't imagine how he could counterfeit) as really moved my compassion ; and I had much ado to keep to my first resolution of exacting his absence, ■^ For South Sea Stock. io8 Life in England which he swore would be his death. I told him that there was no other way in the world I would not be glad to serve him in, but that his extravagances made it utterly impossible for me to keep him company. He said that he would put into my hands the money I had won for him, and desired me to improve it, saying that if he had enough to buy a small estate, and retire from the world, ^twas all the happiness he hoped for in it. I represented to him that if he had so little money as he said, 'twas ridiculous to hazard it all. He replied that 'tvvas too little to be of any value, and he would either have it double or quit. After many objections on my side and replies on his, I was so weak to be overcome by his entreaties, and flattered myself also that I was doing a very heroic action, in trying to make a man's fortune though I did not care for his addresses. He left me with these imaginations, and my first care was to employ his money to the best advantage. I laid it all out in stock, the general dis- course and private intelligence then scattered about being of a great rise. You may remember it was two or three days before the fourth subscription,* and you were with me when I paid away the money to Mr. Binfield. I thought I had managed prodigious well in selling out the said stock the day after the shutting the books (for a small profit) to Cox and Cleeve, gold- smiths of very good reputation. When the opening of the books came, my men went off, leaving the stock upon my hands, which was already sunk from near * August, 1720. Life in England 109 nine hundred pounds to four hundred pounds. I immediately writ him word of this misfortune, with the sincere sorrow natural to have upon such an occa- sion, and asked his opinion as to the selling the stock remaining in. He made me no answer to this part of my letter, but a long eloquent oration of miseries of another nature. I attributed this silence to his dis- interested neglect of his money; but, however, resolved to make no more steps in his business without direct orders, after having been so unlucky. This occasioned many letters to no purpose ; but the very post after you left London, I received a letter from him, in which he told me that he had discovered all my tricks ; that he was convinced I had all his money remaining un- touched ; and he would have it again, or he would print all my letters to him; which though, God knows, very innocent in the main, yet may admit of ill con- structions, besides the monstrousness of being exposed in such a manner. I hear from other people that he is liar enough to publish that I have borrowed the money of him ; though I have a note under his hand, by which he desires me to employ it in the funds, and acquits me of being answerable for the losses that may happen. At the same time I have attestations and witnesses of the bargains I made, so that nothing can be clearer than my integrity in this business ; but that does not hinder me from being in the utmost terror for the consequences (as you may easily guess) of his villainy ; the very story of which appears so monstrous to me, I can hardly believe myself while I write it ; iio Life in England though I omit (not to tire you) a thousand aggravating circumstances." The next letter of Lady Mary's is dated from Twickenham, where she now had a house. She is still in great anxiety about Remond, offering to submit to any sort of investigation that may convince him of her honesty, if only her husband does not hear of the matter. The purchase seems to have been of five hundred pounds' stock, which, as the price was *' near nine hundred," must have cost Remond over four thousand pounds ; and his delay in giving orders to sell out probably prevented Lady Mary from disposing of the shares till they were down to three hundred pounds each ; for when Remond afterwards offered to compromise for two thousand pounds, she declared that would be " sending him several hundreds out of her own pocket." Thus, if ''hapless Monsieur" was not " cheated of five thousand pounds in the South Sea year," he certainly lost more than half that sum. He may therefore be excused for feeling some annoy- ance at the loss of his property, though his methods of procedure were hardly in accordance with his national gallantry. Lady Mary was thrown into a panic by finding that he had written to her husband. '' I have actually, in my present possession, a formal letter directed to Mr. W., to acquaint him with the whole business. You may imagine the inevitable eternal misfortunes it would have thrown me into, had it been delivered by the person to whom it was entrusted." For a time there was a lull in the dispute, and Lady Life in England 1 1 r Mary could find time to write a letter without refer- ence to R^mond, whimsically complaining of the wearisome affection of her friend Mr. Hervey (after- wards better known as Lord Hervey) and his wife, the beautiful Molly Lepel. " They visited me twice or thrice a day, and were perpetually cooing in my rooms. I was complaisant a great while ; but (as you know) my talent has never lain much that way; I grew at last so weary of those birds of paradise, I fled to Twicken- ham, as much to avoid their persecutions as for my own health, which is still in a declining way." But the *' monster " again returned to the charge, and threatened to come over to England — a step which called for strong measures. " I desire you would assure him that my first step shall be to acquaint my Lord Stair * with all his obligations to him, as soon as I hear he is in London ; and if he dares to gives me further trouble, I shall take care to have him rewarded in a stronger manner than he expects ; there is nothing more true than this ; and I solemnly swear, that if all the credit or money that I have in the world can do it, either for friendship or hire, I shall not fail to have him used as he deserves ; and since I know his journey can only be designed to expose me, I shall not value what noise is made. Perhaps you may prevent it ; I leave you to judge of ''' Lord Stair had been the English Ambassador at Paris, and seems to have employed Remond. Possibly Remond had played him false. In any case, Stair's influence in France was very great, and his enmity would be serious for Remond. 112 Life in England the most proper method ; 'tis certain no time should be lost ; fear is his predominant passion, and I believe you may fright him from coming hither, where he will certainly find a reception very disagreeable to him." The threat seems to have been effectual in keeping Remond away ; but he was still not to be appeased, and threatened '' to print I know not what stuff against me. I am too well acquainted with the world (of which poor Mrs. Murray's affair is a fatal instance), not to know^ that the most groundless accusation is always of ill consequence to a w^oman." *' Mrs. Murray^s affair" happened on October i, 1721, which may serve to date the letter in which the refer- ence occurs, for Lady Mary had not mended her habit of leaving out the dates of her letters, in spite of Pope's appeals. Mrs. Murray's footman, Arthur Grey, entered her bedroom one night with a pistol, and declared his passion for her ; she called for help, he was seized, and, after trial, transported. Such an occurrence, as may readily be believed, gave rise to much scandal ; and it is curious that Lady Mary herself wrote a poetical *' Epistle from Arthur Grey in Newgate " — which, though only complimentary to Mrs. Murray, yet added to the publicity of the affair — and was more than suspected of writing a ballad on the case, more lively than proper. After this there is an interval of some months without a published letter. Probably the disclosure of the Remond affair to Mr. Wortley Montagu took place in this interval ; for it is never mentioned again by Life in England 113 Lady Mary. The Countess of Mar seems to have been a bad correspondent, or else, Mar being suspected by the Jacobites of betraying them, letters to him or his wife were intercepted. Still, however. Lady Mary continued to send the gossip of the day. It seems that Pope had already begun to cool in his friendship. " I see sometimes Mr. Congreve, and very seldom Mr. Pope, who continues to embellish his house at Twickenham. Pie has made a subterranean grotto, which he has furnished with looking-glass, and they tell me it has a very good effect. I here send you some verses addressed to Mr. Gay, who wrote him a congratulatory letter on the finishing his house. I stifled them here, and I beg they may die the same death at Paris, and never go further than your closet : " ' Ah, friend, 'tis true — this truth you lovers know — In vain my structures rise, my gardens grow, In vain fair Thames reflects the double scenes Of hanging mountains, and of sloping greens : Joy lives not here ; to happier seats it flies, And only dwells where W casts her eyes. " ' What is the gay parterre, the chequer'd shade, The morning bower, the ev'ning colonnade, But soft recesses of uneasy minds, To sigh unheard in, to the passing winds ? So the struck deer in some sequestrate part Lies down to die, the arrow at his heart ; There, stretch'd unseen in coverts hid from day, Bleeds drop by drop, and pants his life away.' " It seems a little singular, however, if W here stands for Wortley, that Pope should not have asked the deity to '' cast her eyes " on his garden and grotto. 8 114 Life in England Perhaps, in his thrifty way, he made the verses do duty for several ladies whose names had the proper number of syllables. Lady Mary discovered in 1723, after losing '' at least five-and-forty letters," that her sister did not get what she wrote. The post was so unsafe, that she had to find a private messenger for her budget of gossip and scandal, including all the matches made or making in high life, n" This is, I think, the whole state of love ; as to that of wit, it splits itself into ten thousand branches ; poets increase and multiply to that stupendous degree, you see them at every turn, even in embroidered coats and pink-coloured top-knots ; making verses is almost as common as taking snuff, and God can tell what miser- able stuff people carry about in their pockets, and offer to all their acquaintances, and you know one cannot refuse reading and taking a pinch. This is a very great grievance, and so particularly shocking to me, that I think our wise lawgivers should take it into consideration, and appoint a fast - day to beseech Heaven to put a stop to this epidemical disease, as they did last year for the plague with great success." ) The general immorality of high society at the time seems to have gone beyond Lady Mary's rather easy tolerance, though she speaks of the scandals of the age with the freedom of the age. " The v.'orld improves in one virtue to a violent degree, I mean plain-dealing. Hypocrisy being as the Scripture declares, a damnable sin, I hope our pubhcans !!7tA'y,ji7i/ruM.e/u/u/njoc/. ^oMf^xyn^ ^lA./^. yK'UcWT-ruV^c ^oria/b& 2/ personal bias against the tirst and perhaps the second. Of Fielding she only speaks again on hearing of his death : " I am sorry for H. Fielding^s death, not only as I shall read no more of his writings, but I believe he lost more than others, as no man enjoyed life more than he did, though few had less reason to do so, the highest of his preferment being raking in the lowest sinks of vice and misery. . . . His happy constitution (even when he had, with great pains, half demolished it) made him forget everything when he was before a venison pasty, or over a flask of champagne ; and I am persuaded he has known more happy moments than any prince upon earth. His natural spirits gave him rapture with his cook-maid,* and cheerfulness in a garret. There was a great similitude between his character and that of Sir Richard Steele. He had the advantage both in learning and, in my opinion, genius : they both agreed in wanting money in spite of all their friends, and would have wanted it, if their hereditary lands had been as extensive as their imagination ; yet each of them [was] so formed for happiness, it is pity he was not immortal." Smollett's works, generally mentioned now in the same breath with Fielding's as typical of the time, came with them in the boxes of books looked for with such anxiety at Lovere. Lady Vane's memoirs, in- serted in " Peregrine Pickle," interested her, as she * Fielding, after the death of his beloved first wife, married her faithful maid. Letters on English Novels 209 knew a good deal of that lady. " Roderick Random " she was inclined to attribute to Fielding on account of its humour; but the *' Adventures of Ferdinand, Count Fathom," she at once pronounced not good enough to ascribe to him. Later on she was better informed about the authorship of these novels^ and grieves over '* my dear Smollett, who, I am sorry, disgraces his talent by writing those stupid romances commonly called history." With '' Peregrine Pickle " came a budget of other novels of the day, which are now completely forgotten. ^"The History of Charlotte Summers, the Fortunate Parish Girl," is a title that promises little ; though " Pompey the Little ; or. The Adventures of a Lap- Dog," might perhaps prove entertaining now, if it be so faithful a representation of London manners a century and a half ago as Lady Mary thought it to be. ** The next book I laid my hand on was the Parish Girl, which interested me enough not to be able to quit it till it was read over, though the author has fallen into the common mistake of romance-writers ; intending a virtuous character, and not knowing how to draw it ; the first step of his heroine (leaving her patroness's house) being altogether absurd and ridicu- lous, justly entitling her to all the misfortunes she met with. Candles came (and my eyes grown weary), I took up the next book, merely because I supposed from the title it could not engage me long. It was Pompey the Little, which has really diverted me more 14 2 I o Letters on En owlish Novels ^ than any of the others, and it was impossible to go to bed till it was finished. It was a real and exact repre- sentation of life, as it is now acted in London, as it was in my time, and as it will be (I do not doubt) a hundred years hence, with some little variation of dress, and perhaps government. I found there many of my acquaintance. Lady T. and Lady O. are so well painted,* I fancied I heard them talk, and have heard them say the very things there repeated. I also saw myself (as I now am) in the character of Mrs. Qualmsick. You will be surprised at this, no English- woman being so free from vapours, having never in my life complained of low spirits or weak nerves ; but our resemblance is very strong in the fancied loss of appe- tite, which I have been silly enough to be persuaded into by the physician of this place. He visits me frequently, as being one of the most considerable men in the parish, and is a grave, sober thinking, great fool, whose solemn appearance, and deliberate way of delivering his sentiments, gives them an air of good sense, though they are often the most injudicious that ever were pronounced. By perpetually telling me I eat so little, he is amazed I am able to subsist, he had brought me to be of his opinion ; and I began to be seriously uneasy at it. This useful treatise has roused me into a recollection of what I eat 3^esterday, and do almost every day the same. I wake generally about seven, and drink half a pint of warm asses' milk, after * In the novel, Lady T. {Toi^nshend) is named Lady Tempest j Lady O. (Orford)^ Lady Sophister. Letters on Enolish Novels 211 which I sleep two hours ; as soon as I am risen, I con- stantly take three cups of milk coffee, and two hours after that a large cup of milk chocolate : two hours more brings my dinner, where I never fail swallowing a good dish (I don't mean plate) of gravy soup, with all the bread, roots, etc., belonging to it. I then eat a wing and the whole body of a large fat capon, and a veal sweetbread, concluding with a competent quan- tity of custard, and some roasted chesnuts. At five in the afternoon I take another dose of asses' milk ; and for supper twelve chesnuts (which would weigh twenty-four of those in London), one new laid ^g'g, and a handsome porringer of white bread and milk. With this diet, notwithstanding the menaces of my wise doctor, I am now convinced I am in no danger of starving ; and am obliged to Little Pompey for this discovery." We are also obliged to " Pompey the Little " for this detailed account of Lady Mary^s diet, which seems to have been of the substantial nature proper to her nationality. In the long letter of which this is a part, after giving judgment on several novels in which even her tolerance could find no merit, she suddenly breaks off to excuse herself from her daughter's anticipated objection. " I fancy 3^ou are now saying, 'tis a sad thing to grow old ; what does my poor mamma mean by troubling me with criticisms on books that nobody but herself will ever read ? You must allow some- thing to my solitude. I have a pleasure in writing 14 — 2 212 Letters on English Novels to my dear child, and not many subjects to write upon. The adventures of people here would not at all amuse you, having no acquaintance with the persons con- cerned ; and an account of myself would hardly gain credit, after having fairly owned to you how deplorably I was misled in regard to my own health ; though I have all my life been on my guard against the informa- tion by the sense of hearing ; it being one of my earliest observations, the universal inclination of human-kind is to be led by the ears ; and I am sometimes apt to imagine, that they are given to men, as they are to pitchers, purposely that they may be carried about by them. This consideration should abate my wonder to see (as I do here) the most astonishing legends em- braced as the most sacred truths, by those who have always heard them asserted, and never contradicted ; they even place a merit in complying in direct oppo- sition to the evidence of all their other senses." It is amusing to notice her reference to the first appearance of the future " Great Cham " of literature, not yet made known by his Dictionary. Certainly no one could be less of a wanderer than the " Rambler." '' The Rambler is certainly a strong misnomer ; he always plods in the beaten road of his predecessors, following the ' Spectator ' (with the same pace a pack- horse would do a hunter) in the style that is proper to lengthen a paper. These writers may, perhaps, be of service to the public, w^hich is saying a great deal in their favour. There are numbers of both sexes who never read anything but such productions, and cannot Letters on English Novels 213 spare time, from doing nothing, to go through a six- penny pamphlet. Such gentle readers may be im- proved by a moral hint, which, though repeated over and over from generation to generation, they never heard in their lives. I should be glad to know the name of this laborious author." Lord Orrery's '' Remarks on the Life and Writings of Swift " gave Lady Mary an opportunity of giving her opinion on Pope and Swift, as well as his lordship, whose " family have been smatterers in wit and learn- ing for three generations," his father having been the Boyle of the Phalaris dispute. It is curious to see her attacking the Dean's irreverence and cynicism on the same strictly utilitarian grounds as he himself defended rehgion — half ironically — against the infidel wits of the time : '* Nobody can deny but religion is a comfort to the distressed, a cordial to the sick, and sometimes a restraint on the wicked ; therefore, whoever would argue or laugh it out of the world, without giving some equivalent for it, ought to be treated as a common enemy : but, when this language comes from a Church- man, who enjoys large benefices and dignities from that very Church he openly despises, it is an object of horror for which I want a name, and can only be excused by madness, which I think the Dean was strongly touched with. His character seems to me a parallel with that of Caligula ; and had he had the same power, would have made the same use of it. That Emperor erected a temple to himself, where he 2i.[ Lett 67^3 on English Novels was his own high priest, preferred his horse to the highest honours in the state, professed enmit}' to [the] human race, and at last lost his life by a nast}- jest on one of his inferiors, which I dare swear Swift would have made in his place. There can be no worse picture made of the Doctor's morals than he has given us himself in the letters printed by Pope. We see him vain, trifling, ungrateful to the memory of his patron, the E. [Earl] of Oxford, making a servile court where he had any interested views, and meanl}- abusive when they were disappointed, and, as he says (in his own phrase), flying in the face of mankind, in company with his adorer Pope. It is pleasant to consider, that, had it not been for the good nature of these very mortals they contemn, these two superior beings were entitled, by their birth and hereditary fortune, to be only a couple of link-boys. I am of opinion their friendship would have continued, though they had remained in the same kingdom : it had a very strong foundation — the love of flattery on the one side, and the love of money on the other."J And she goes on to charge Pope with lying in wait for the inheritances of all his friends. Deeply as he had injured her, it is hardly pleasant to find her feeling against him so strong so many years after his death. We also find her again referring bitterly to Swift, contrasting him with her old friend Burnet : '' Doctor Swift, who set at defiance all decency, truth, or reason, had a crowd of admirers, and at their head the virtuous and ingenious Earl of Orrery, the polite •^o-uA.^tAjc/ri.'ceAy. J-c/. ^U-e.a/ru ^l^Mi^^, Letters on English Novels 2 1 5 and learned Mr. Greville, with a number of ladies of fine taste and unblemished characters ; while the Bishop of Salisbury (Burnet, I mean), the most indulgent parent, the most generous Churchman, and the most zealous assertor of the rights and liberties of his country, was all his life defamed and vilified, and after his death most barbarously calumniated, for having had the courage to write a history without flattery. I knew him in my very early youth, and his condescension in directing a girl in her studies is an obligation I can never forget." BoHngbroke (though his " Idea of a Patriot King" is said to have been the model on which Lord Bute helped to instruct the young Prince of Wales) came in for worse treatment still — though here there was no hint of personal animosity, Lady Mary not having known him, and his later da)s having been employed in attack- ing Walpole, much as her own husband had done. Here, again, it is singular to find her including Madame de Sevigne in her condemnation of diffuse writers: f" I shall begin, in respect to his dignity, with Lord B. [Bolingbroke] , who is a glaring proof how far vanity may bhnd a man, and how easy it is to varnish over to one's self the most criminal conduct. He declares he always loved his country, though he confesses he endeavoured to betray her to popery and slavery ; and loved his friends, though he abandoned them in distress, with all the blackest circumstances of treachery His account of the Peace of Utrecht is almost equally unfair or partial ;'*^ I shall allow that, perhaps, the "• In his " Letters on the Study of History."' 2i6 Letters on English Novels views of the Whigs, at that time, were too vast, and the nation, dazzled by militar}' glory, had hopes too sanguine ; but sure the same terms that the French consented to, at the treaty of Gertruydenberg, might have been obtained ; or if the displacing of the Duke of Marlborough raised the spirits of our enemies to a degree of refusing what they had before offered, how can he excuse the guilt of removing him from the head of a victorious army, and exposing us to submit to any articles of peace, being unable to continue the war ? I agree with him, that the idea of conquering France is a wild, extravagant notion, and would, if possible, be impolitic ; but she might have been reduced to such a state as would have rendered her incapable of being terrible to her neighbours for some ages : nor should we have been obliged, as we have done almost ever since, to bribe the French ministers to let us live in quiet. So much for his political reasonings, which, I confess, are delivered in a florid, easy style ; but I cannot be of Lord Orrery's opinion, that he is one of the best English writers. Well-turned periods or smooth lines are not the perfection either of prose or verse ; they may serve to adorn, but can never stand in the place of good sense. Copiousness of words, however ranged, is always false eloquence, though it will ever impose on some sort of understandings. How many readers and admirers has Madame de Sevigne, who only gives us, in a lively manner and fashionable phrases, mean sentiments, vulgar prejudices, and endless repetitions ? Sometimes the tittle-tattle of a fine ladv, sometimes Letters on Evglish Novels 217 that of an old nurse, always tittle-tattle ; yet so well gilt over by airy expressions, and a flowing style, she will always please the same people to whom Lord Bolingbroke will shine as a first-rate author. She is so far to be excused, as her letters were not intended for the press ; while he labours to display to posterity all the wit and learning he is master of, and sometimes spoils a good argument by a profusion of words, running out into several pages a thought that might have been more clearly expressed in a few lines, and, what is worse, often falls into contradiction and repetitions, which are almost unavoidable to all voluminous writers, and can only be forgiven to those retailers whose necessity compels them to diurnal scribbling, who load their meaning with epithets, and run into digressions, because (in the jockey phrase) it rids the ground, that is, covers a certain quantity of paper, to answer the demand of the day. A great part of Lord B.'s letters are designed to show his reading, which, indeed, appears to have been very extensive ; but I cannot perceive that such a minute account of it can be of any use to the pupil he pretends to instruct ; nor can I help thinking he is far below either Tillotson or Addison, even in style, though the latter was some- times more diffuse than his judgment approved, to furnish out the length of a daily ' Spectator.' I own I have small regard for Lord B. as an author, and the highest contempt for him as a man. He came into the world greatly favoured both by nature and fortune, blest with a noble birth, heir to a large estate, endowed 2i8 Letters on B7ie-/is/i Novels «i> with a strong constitution, and, as I have heard, a beautiful figure, high spirits, a good memory, and a Hvely apprehension, which was cultivated by a learned education : all these glorious advantages being left to the direction of a judgment stifled by unbounded vanity, he dishonoured his birth, lost his estate, ruined his reputation, and destroyed his health, by a wild pursuit of eminence even in vice and trifles. . '' I am far from making misfortune a matter of reproach. I know there are accidental occurrences not to be foreseen or avoided by human prudence, by which a character may be injured, wealth dissipated, or a constitution impaired : but I think 1 may reasonably despise the understanding of one who conducts himself in such a manner as naturally produces such lamentable consequences, and continues in the same destructive paths to the end of a long life, ostentatiously boasting of morals and philosophy in print, and with equal ostentation bragging of the scenes of low debauchery in public conversation, though deplorably weak both in mind and body, and his virtue and his vigour in a state of non-existence. His confederacy with Swift and Pope puts me in mind of that of Bessus and his sword- men, in the ' King and no King,' who endeavour to support themselves by giving certificates of each other's merit. Pope has triumphantly declared that they may do and say whatever silly things they please, they will still be the greatest geniuses nature ever exhibited. I am delighted with the comparison given of their benevolence, which is indeed most aptly figured by a Letters on English Novels 2 1 9 circle in the water, which widens till it comes to nothing at all ; but I am provoked at Lord B.'s misrepresenta- tion of my favourite Atticus, who seems to have been the only Roman that, from good sense, had a true notion of the times in which he lived, in which the republic was inevitably perishing, and the two factions, who pretended to support it, equally endeavouring to gratify their ambition in its ruin. A wise man, in that case, would certainly declare for neither, and try to save himself and family from the general wreck, which could not be done but by a superiority of understanding acknowledged on both sides. I see no glory in losing life or fortune by being the dupe of either, and very much applaud that conduct which could preserve an universal esteem amidst the fury of opposite parties. We are obliged to act vigorously, where action can do any good ; but in a storm, when it is impossible to work with success, the best hands and ablest pilots may laudably gain the shore if they can. Atticus could be a friend to men without engaging in their passions, disapprove their maxims without awaking their resent- ment, and be satisfied with his own virtue without seeking popular fame : he had the reward of his wisdom in his tranquillity, and will ever stand among the few examples of true philosophy, either ancient or modern." The mention of Atticus naturally leads to another diatribe against Pope for his virulent attack on Addison under that name. In a later letter to Lady Bute, Bolingbroke again suffers for his affectation of universal knowledge : 2 20 Letters on E^iglish Novels '' I am flattered by finding that our sentiments are the same in regard to Lord Bohngbroke's writings, as you will see more clearly, if you ever have the long letter I have wrote to you on that subject. I believe he never read Horace, or any other author, with a design of in- structing himself, thinking he was born to give precepts, and not to follow them : at least, if he was not mad enough to have this opinion, he endeavoured to impose it on the rest of the world. All his works, being well considered, are little more than a panegyric on his own universal genius ; many of his pretensions as preposter- ously inconsistent as if Sir Isaac Newton had aimed at being a critic in fashions, and wrote for the information of tailors and mantua-makers. I am of your opinion that he never looked into half the authors he quotes, and am much mistaken if he is not obliged to Mr. Bayle for the generality of his criticisms ; for which reason he affects to despise him, that he may steal from him with less suspicion. A diffusive style (though often admired as florid by all half-witted readers) is commonly obscure, and always trifling. Horace has told us, that where words abound, sense is thinly spread : as trees over- charged with leaves bear little fruit." But the author of whom Lady Mary has most to say is Richardson. She seems to have been in a constant state of uncertainty about him, alternately attracted by his pathos and repelled by his many defects. Especially severe was she on his painting of high life and polite society, of which his knowledge could not but be imperfect ; and it is well to note this criticism /■ i^:r.j!UdM.Jc-. Letters on Engtish Novels 221 when we find authors of to-day, especially (as is natural) foreigners like M. Taine, taking Richardson's lapses into vulgarity as t3^pical of the English society of the time. Perhaps the proverbial New Zealander, grubbing among the rubbish of some circulating library, will credit our highly uninteresting and, for the most part, desperately respectable peerage with the personal beauty and moral deficiencies of Greek gods. ** Pamela," Richardson's first great success. Lady Mary had met with abroad, and hence did not desire to have it sent to her at Lovere. As she writes to her daughter, who had mentioned a list of novels : ('" All the other books would be new to me excepting * Pamela,' which has met with very extraordinary (and I think undeserved) success. It has been translated into French and into Italian ; it was all the fashion at Paris and Versailles, and is still the joy of the chamber- maids of all nations." ,; And her judgment of *' Clarissa Harlowe " is the sharper, one may imagine, from the fact that she had been unable to resist the pathos of the ending : ** I was such an old fool as to weep over * Clarissa Harlowe,' like any milkmaid of sixteen over the ballad of the Lady's Fall. To say truth, the first volume softened me by a near resemblance of my maiden days ; but on the whole 'tis most miserable stuff. Miss How, who is called a young lady of sense and honour, is not only extreme silly, but a more vicious character than Sally Martin, whose crimes are owing at first to seduction, and afterwards to necessity ; while this 2 22 Letters on English Novels virtuous damsel, without any reason, insults her mother at home and ridicules her abroad ; abuses the man she marries ; and is impertinent and impudent with great applause. Even that model of affection, Clarissa, is so faulty in her behaviour as to deserve little com- passion. Any girl that runs away with a young fellow, without intending to marry him, should be carried to Bridewell or to Bedlam the next day. Yet the cir- cumstances are so laid, as to inspire tenderness, notwithstanding the low style and absurd incidents ; and I look upon this and ' Pamela ' to be two books that will do more general mischief than the works of Lord Rochester."* Again, when the ponderous volumes of "Sir Charles Grandison " arrived, the same experience was re- peated : " This Richardson is a strange fellow. I heartily despise him, and eagerly read him, nay, sob over his works in a most scandalous manner. The two first tomes of Clarissa touched me, as being very re- sembling to my maiden days ; and I find in the pictures of Sir Thomas Grandison and his lady, what I have heard of my mother, and seen of my father." But after the first impression wears off, she falls on him again with even more asperity than before^ especially as he had rashly ventured on pictures of Italian life, of which he was more ignorant than of the ■*' Lord Rochester, one of the most dissipated of Charles II.'s courtiers, was notorious for the indecency of his poems. Letters on English Novels 22 v3 ways of English " high Hfe," and of which she had enjoyed abundant experience. " I have now read over Richardson — he sinks horribly in his third volume* (he does so in his story of Clarissa). When he talks of Italy, it is plain he is no better acquainted with it than he is with the kingdom of Mancomugi. He might have made his Sir Charles's amour with Clementina begin in a convent, where the pensioners sometimes take great liberties ; but that such familiarity should be permitted in her father's house, is as repugnant to custom, as it would be in London for a young lady of quality to dance on the ropes at Bartholomew fair : neither does his hero behave to her in a manner suitable to his nice notions. It was impossible a discerning man should not see her passion early enough to check it, if he had really designed it. His conduct puts me in mind of some ladies I have known, who could never find out a man to be in love with them, let him do or say what he would, till he made a direct attempt, and then they were so surprised, I warrant you ! Nor do I approve Sir Charles's offered compromise (as he calls it). There must be a great indifference as to religion on both sides, to make so strict a union as marriage tolerable between people of such distinct persuasions. He seems to think women have no souls, by agreeing so easily that his daughters should be educated in bigotry and idolatry." At which point, like a good Protestant, Lady Mary * " Sir Charles Grandison" is the work referred to. 2 24 Letters oji English Novels goes off at a tangent into theological controversy, and deserts Richardson for several pages. But she has not done with him yet, and falls on his inaccuracies with redoubled vigour : " Richardson is as ignorant in morality as he is in anatomy, when he declares abusing an obliging husband, or an indulgent parent, to be an innocent recreation. His Anna How and Charlotte Grandison are recom- mended as patterns of charming pleasantry, and ap- plauded by his saint-like dames, who mistake pert folly for wit and humour, and impudence and ill nature for spirit and fire. Charlotte behaves like a humor- some child, and should have been used like one, and well whipped in the presence of her friendly confi- dante Harriet. . . . Charlotte acts with an ingratitude that I think too black for human nature, with such coarse jokes and low expressions as are only to be heard among the lowest class of people. ... I do not forgive him his disrespect of old china, which is below nobody's taste, since it has been the D. of Argyll's, whose understanding has never been doubted either by his friends or enemies. " Richardson never had probably money enough to purchase any, or even a ticket for a masquerade, which gives him such an aversion to them ; though his in- tended satire against them is very absurd on the account of his Harriet, since she might have been carried off in the same manner if she had been going from supper with her grandmamma. Her whole be- haviour, which he designs to be exemplary, is equally Letters on English Novels 225 blamable and ridiculous. She follows the maxim of Clarissa, of declaring all she thinks to all the people she sees, without reflecting that in this mortal state of imperfection, fig-leaves are as necessary for our minds as our bodies. He has no idea of the manners of high life : his old Lord M. talks in the style of a country justice, and his virtuous young ladies romp Hke the wenches round a May-pole." The general tendency of the novels of the time towards democracy did not go unnoticed, and Lady Mary stated her views on the question with consider- able freedom. Whether she w^as right in attaching so much importance to the evidence of novels may reasonably be doubted. " The confounding of all ranks, and making a jest of order, has long been growing in England ; and I perceive, by the books you sent me, has made a very considerable progress. The heroes and heroines of the age are cobblers and kitchen wenches. Perhaps you will say, I should not take my ideas of the manners of the times from such trifling authors ; but it is more truly to be found among them, than from any historian: as they write merely to get money, they always fall into the notions that are most acceptable to the present taste. It has long been the endeavour of our English writers to represent people of quality as the vilest and silliest part of the nation, being (generally) very low- born themselves. I am not surprised at their pro- pagating this doctrine; but I am much mistaken if this levelling principle does not, one day or other, break 15 2 26 Letters on Enorlish Novels b out in fatal consequences to the public, as it has already done in many private families. You will think I am influenced by living under an aristocratic government, where distinction of rank is carried to a very great height ; but I can assure you my opinion is founded on reflection and experience, and I wish to God I had always thought in the same manner ; though I had ever the utmost contempt for misalliances, yet the silly prejudices of my education had taught me to believe I was to treat nobody as an inferior, and that poverty was a degree of merit : this imaginary humility has made me admit many familiar acquaintances, of which I have heartily repented every one, and the greatest examples I have known of honour and in- tegrity have been among those of the highest birth and fortunes. There are many reasons why it should be so, which I will not trouble you with. If my letter was to be published, I know I should be railed at for pride, and called an enemy of the poor ; but I take a pleasure in telling you my thoughts." Thotiglits on Education 227 CHAPTER VIII THOUGHTS ON EDUCATION Lady Mary's Interest in her Grandchildren — Lady Bute's Happiness — Affectionate Feehngs — Education of Girls — Virtues overstrained become Vices— Parents must be prepared for Disappointments — Beauty not to be undervalued— Children never to be deceived — Adv^antages of Reading — Lady Mary Stuart— Benefits of a Taste for Learning — Girls should read English Poetry — A Plagiarist detected — Ladies must conceal their Learning — True Knowledge begets Modesty — Sewing and Drawing — The Risks of Marriage —Learning a Means of occupying Time— Bad Education usually given to Girls — Ignorance leads to Misconduct — Childhood of Lady Bute — Social Life necessary — Misleading Effects of Books — Richardson again — An Italian Pamela — The Signora Diana — The Young Octavia — \ Beautiful Servant — Count Sosi's Court- ship— Octavia's Return— An Offer of Marriage —Count Sosi marries Octavia— Her Discreet Behaviour — Another Heroine for Richardson — The Marchesa Bentivoglio — Her Pride — She leaves her Husband — Supposed Attempt to poison Her — Her Husband suspected — Sir John Rawdon and his Peerage — His Patience under Insult— Sir Charles Hanbury Williams — Lessons from his Career — Economy advisable in Individuals and Nations— English Public Extravagance — A Policy of Trade the best — Lady Mary's Views on Foreign Policy — War and Progress. Among the subjects which employed the pen of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu in her seclusion at Lovere, none seems to have been nearer to her heart than the 15—2 2 28 ThougJits on Education education of her grandchildren. Though she never saw most of them (her daughter having been married in 1736), she often sent them httle presents, inquired after them, and gave Lady Bute advice as to managing them. '' I sympathize with you, my dear child," Lady Mary wrote, '' in all the concern you express for your family ; you may remember, I represented it to you before you were married ; but that is one of the senti- ments it is impossible to comprehend till it is felt. A mother only knows a mother's fondness. Indeed, the pain so overbalances the pleasure, that I believe, if it could be thoroughly understood, there would be no mothers at all. However, take care that your anxiety for the future does not take from you the comforts you may enjoy in the present hour ; it is all that is properly ours ; and yet such is the weakness of humanity, we commonly lose what is, either by regretting the past, or by disturbing our minds with the fear of what may be. You have many blessings : a husband you love, and who behaves well to you ; agreeable, hopeful children ; a handsome, convenient house, w^ith pleasant gardens, in a good air and fine situation ; which I place among the most solid satisfactions of life. The truest wisdom is that which diminishes to us what is displeasing; and turns our thoughts to the advantages we possess. I can assure you I give no precepts I do not daily practise. How often do I fancy to myself the pleasure I should take in seeing you in the midst of N'our little people : and how severe do I then think my destiny, that denies me that happiness. I en- Thoughts on Education 229 deavour to comfort myself by reflecting that we should certainly have perpetual disputes (if not quarrels) con- cerning the management of them ; the affection of a grandmother has generally a tincture of dotage : you would say I spoilt them, and perhaps be not much in the wrong." This tenderness towards her grandchildren breaks out in a later letter from Venice, in answer to one in which Lad}^ Bute described her family circle : " I am so highly delighted with this, dated August 4, giving an account of your little colony, I cannot help setting pen to paper, to tell you the melancholy joy I had in reading it. You would have laughed to see the old fool weep over it. I now find that age, when it does not harden the heart and sour the temper, naturally returns to the milky disposition of infancy. Time has the same effect on the mind as on the face. The pre- dominant passion, the strongest feature, become more conspicuous from the others retiring ; the various views of life are abandoned, from want of ability to pursue them, as the fine complexion is lost in wrinkles ; but, as surely as a large nose grows larger, and a wide mouth wider, the tender child in your nursery will be a tender old woman, though, perhaps, reason may have restrained the appearance of it, till the mind, relaxed, is no longer capable of concealing its weakness ; for weakness it is to indulge any attachment at a period of life when we are sure to part with life itself, at a very short warning. According to the good English proverb, young people may die, but old must. You see I am very industrious 230 ThoiigJits on Education in finding comfort to myself in my exile, and to guard, as long as I can, against the peevishness which makes age miserable in itself and contemptible to others." Lady Bute seems to have asked her mother's advice as to how to bring up her rather numerous family ; and Lady Mary was ready enough to help. As in other matters, her notions on this subject are full of the clear but cold common sense which is one of her most striking characteristics. Especially noteworthy is the stoical recommendation to repress maternal anxiety and tenderness, and prepare for the inevitable dis- appointments of a large family. Doubtless she was thinking of the great sorrow of her life — -the worthless- ness of her son. " People commonly educate their children as they build their houses, according to some plan they think beautiful, without considering whether it is suited to the purposes for which they are designed. Almost all girls of quality are educated as if they were to be great ladies, which is often as little to be expected, as an immoderate heat of the sun in the north of Scotland. You should teach yours to confine their desires to pro- babilities, to be as useful as is possible to themselves, and to think privacy (as it is) the happiest state of life. I do not doubt your giving them all the instructions necessary to form them to a virtuous life ; but 'tis a fatal mistake to do this without proper restrictions. Vices are often hid under the name of virtues, and the practice of them followed by the worst of conse- quences. Sincerity, friendship, piety, disinterestedness, ThougJits 011 Education 231 and generosity, are all great virtues ; but, pursued with- out discretion, become criminal. I have seen ladies indulge their own ill humour by being very rude and impertinent, and think they deserved approbation by saying ' I love to speak truth. 7 One of your acquaint- ance made a ball the next day after her mother died, to show she was sincere. I believe your own reflec- tion will furnish you with but too many examples of the ill effects of the rest of the sentiments I have mentioned, when too warmly embraced. They are generally recommended to young people without limits or distinction, and this prejudice hurries them into great misfortunes, while they are applauding themselves in the noble practice (as they fancy) of very eminent virtues. " I cannot help adding (out of my real affection to you), I wish you would moderate that fondness you have for your children. I do not mean you should abate any part of your care, or not do your duty to them in its utmost extent : but I would have you early prepare yourself for disappointments, which are heavy in proportion to their being surprising. It is hardly possible, in such a number, that none should be unhappy ; prepare yourself against a misfortune of that kind. I confess there is hardly any more difficult to support ; yet it is certain imagination has a great share in the pain of it, and it is more in our power than it is commonly believed to soften whatever ills are founded or augmented by fancy. Strictly speaking, there is but one real evil — I mean, acute pain ; all other com- 232 Thoughts on Edttcation plaints are so considerably diminished by time, that it is plain the grief is owing to our passion, since the sensation of it vanishes when that is over. " There is another mistake, I forgot to mention, usual in mothers : if any of their daughters are beauties, they take great pains to persuade them that they are ugly, or at least that the}^ think so, which the young woman never fails to believe springs from envy, and is perhaps not much in the wrong. I would, if possible, give them a just notion of their figure, and show them how far it is valuable. Every advantage has its price, and may be either over or undervalued. It is the common doctrine of (what are called) good books, to inspire a contempt of beauty, riches, greatness, etc., which has done as much mischief among the younger of our sex as an over eager desire of them. They should not look on these things as blessings where they are bestowed, though not necessaries that it is impossible to be happy without. I am persuaded the ruin of Lad}^ F. [Frances] M. [Meadows]* was in great measure owing to the notions given her by the silly good people that had the care of her. 'Tis true, her circumstances and your daughters' are very different : they should be taught to be content with privacy, and yet not neglect good fortune, if it should be offered them." It was naturall}^ with the girls that Lady Mary most concerned herself. For the boys of a noble family ■^ Lady Frances Pierrepont, Lady IMary's niece, who eloped with and married a Mr. Meadows in 1734. Her married Hfe seems to have been unhappy. Thoughts on Edti cation 233 there was the regular routine of tutors, the pubHc school and the university ; then the " ^rand tour " with a " governor"; but girls, as Lady Mary knew by bitter experience, were too often left to grow up as they could — abandoned to ignorance, or, at best, taught the superficial accomplishments which might serve to attract suitors. Thus, it is chiefly on their behalf she advises her daughter in the following letter : " My dear Child, — I am extremely concerned to hear you complain of ill health, at a time of life when you ought to be in the flower of your strength. I hope I need not recommend to you the care of it : the ten- derness you have for your children is sufficient to enforce you to the utmost regard for the preservation of a life so necessary to their well-being. I do not doubt your prudence in their education : neither can I say anything particular relating to it at this distance, different tempers requiring different management. In general, never attempt to govern them (as most people do) by deceit : if they find themselves cheated, even in trifles, it will so far lessen the authority of their instructor, as to make them neglect all their future admonitions. And, if possible, breed them free from prejudices ; those contracted in the nursery often in- fluence the whole life after, of which I have seen many melanchoty examples. I shall say no more of this subject, nor would have said this little if you had not asked my advice : 'tis much easier to give rules than to practise them. I am sensible my own natural temper is too indulgent : I think it the least dangerous error, 2 34 Thoughts cm Education yet still it is an error. I can only say with truth, that I do not know in my whole life having ever endeavoured to impose on you, or give a false colour to anything that I represented to you. If your daughters are inclined to love reading, do not check their inclination by hinder- ing them of the diverting part of it ; it is as necessary for the amusement of women as the reputation of men ; but teach them not to expect or desire any applause from it. Let their brothers shine, and let them con- tent themselves with making their lives easier by it, which I experimentally know is more effectually done by study than any other way. Ignorance is as much the fountain of vice as idleness, and indeed generally produces it. People that do not read, or work for a livelihood, have many hours they know not how to employ ; especially women, who commonly fall into vapours, or something worse." When Lady Mary Stuart, her eldest grand-daughter, was growing up, Lady Mary Wortley Montagu de- veloped her ideas on women's education in somewhat more detail, supposing that, with the hereditary good sense of the Pierreponts, the Wortley Montagus, and Lord Bute's family, her grand-children could not fail to have some intellectual capacity. " I will therefore speak to you as supposing Lady Mary not only capable, but desirous of learning : in that case by all means let her be indulged in it. You will tell me I did not make it a part of your education : your prospect was very different from hers. As you had no defect either in mind or person to hinder, and TJioughts on Ed^ication 235 much in your circumstances to attract, the highest offers, it seemed your business to learn how to live in the world, as it is hers to know how to be easy out of it. It is the common error of builders and parents to follow some plan they think beautiful (and perhaps is so), without considering that nothing is beautiful that is displaced. Hence we see so many edifices raised that the raisers can never inhabit, being too large for their fortunes. Vistas are laid open over barren heaths, and apartments contrived for a coolness very agreeable in Italy, but killing in the north of Britain : thus every woman endeavours to breed her daughter a fine lady, qualifying her for a station in which she will never appear, and at the same time incapacitating her for that retirement to which she is destined. Learn- ing, if she has a real taste for it, will not only make her contented, but happy in it. No entertainment is / so cheap as reading, nor any pleasure so lasting. She will not want new fashions, nor regret the loss of ex- pensive diversions, or variety of company, if she can be amused with an author in her closet. To render this amusement extensive, she should be permitted to learn the languages. I have heard it lamented that boys lose so many years in mere learning of words : this is no objection to a girl, whose time is not so precious : she cannot advance herself in any profession, and has therefore more hours to spare ; and as you say her memory is good, she will be very agreeably employed this way. There are two cautions to be given on this subject : first, not to think herself learned 236 Thoughts on Education when she can read Latin, or even Greek. Languages are more properly to be called vehicles of learning than learning itself, as may be observed in many school- masters, who, though perhaps critics in grammar, are the most ignorant fellows upon earth. True know- ledge consists in knowing things, not words. I would wish her no further a linguist than to enable her to read books in their originals, that are often corrupted, and always injured, by translations. Two hours' applica- tion every morning will bring this about much sooner than you can imagine, and she will have leisure enough besides to run over the English poetry, which is a more important part of a woman's education than it is generally supposed. Many a young damsel has been ruined by a fine copy of verses, which she would have laughed at if she had known it had been stolen from Mr. Waller. I remember, when I was a girl, I saved one of my companions from destruction, who com- municated to me an epistle she was quite charmed with. As she had a natural good taste, she observed the lines were not so smooth as Prior's or Pope's, but had more thought and spirit than any of theirs. She was wonderfully delighted with such a demonstration of her lover's sense and passion, and not a little pleased with her own charms, that had force enough to inspire such elegancies. In the midst of this triumph I showed her that they were taken from Randolph's poems, and the unfortunate transcriber was dismissed with the scorn he deserved. To say truth, the poor plagiary was very unlucky to fall into my hands ; that author Thoitghts on Education 237 being no longer in fashion, would have escaped any one of less universal reading than myself. You should en- courage your daughter to talk over with you what she reads ; and, as you are very capable of distinguishing, take care she does not mistake pert folly for wit and humour, or rhyme for poetry, which are the common errors of young people, and have a train of ill conse- quences. The second caution to be given her (and which is most absolutely necessary) is to conceal what- ever learning she attains, with as much solicitude as she would hide crookedness or lameness ; the parade of it can only serve to draw on her the envy, and conse- quently the most inveterate hatred, of all he and she fools, which will certainly be at least three parts in four of all her acquaintance. The use of knowledge in our sex, besides the amusement of solitude, is to moderate the passions, and learn to be contented with a small expense, which are the certain effects of a studious life ; and it may be preferable even to that fame which men have engrossed to themselves, and will not suffer us to share. You will tell me I have not observed this rule myself; but you are mistaken : it is only in- evitable accident that has given me any reputation that way. I have always carefully avoided it, and ever thought it a misfortune. The explanation of this para- graph would occasion a long digression, which I will not trouble you with, it being my present design only to say what I think useful for the instruction of my grand-daughter, which I have much at heart. If she has the same inclination (I should say passion) for 238 Thoughts on Education learning that I was born with, history, geography, and philosophy will furnish her with materials to pass away cheerfully a longer life than is allotted to mortals. I believe there are few heads capable of making Sir I. Newton's calculations, but the result of them is not difficult to be understood by a moderate capacity. Do not fear this should make her affect the character of Lady , or Lady , or Mrs. ;* those women are ridiculous, not because they have learning, but because they have it not. One thinks herself a com- plete historian, after reading Echard's Roman History ; another a profound philosopher, having got by heart some of Pope's unintelligible essays ; and a third an able divine, on the strength of Whitefield's sermons : thus you hear them screaming politics and controversy. '' It is a saying of Thucydides, ignorance is bold, and knowledge reserved. Indeed, it is impossible to be far advanced in it without being more humbled by a con- viction of human ignorance, than elated by learning. At the same time I recommend books, I neither exclude work nor drawing. I think it as scandalous for a woman not to know how to use a needles, a for a man not to know how to use a sword. I was once extreme fond of my pencil, and it was a great mortification to me when my father turned off my master, having made a considerable progress for the short time I learnt. My over-eagerness in the pursuit of it had brought a weak- ness on my eyes, that made it necessary to leave it off; and all the advantage I got was the improvement of my ^ The blanks are in the oriuinal. Thoughts oil Education 239 hand. I see, by hers, that practice will make her a ready writer : she may attain it by serving you for a secretary, when your health or affairs make it trouble- some to you to write yourself; and custom will make it an agreeable amusement to her. She cannot have too many for that station of life which will probably be her fate. The ultimate end of your education was to make you a good wife (and I have the comfort to hear that you are one) : hers ought to be, to make her happy in a virgin state. I will not say it is happier ; but it is undoubtedly safer than any marriage. In a lottery, where there are (at the lowest computation) ten thou- sand blanks to a prize, it is the most prudent choice not to venture. I have always been so thoroughly persuaded of this truth, that, notwithstanding the flattering views I had for you (as I never intended you a sacrifice to my vanity), I thought I owed you the justice to lay before you all the hazards attending matrimony : you may recollect I did so in the strongest manner. Perhaps you may have more success in the instructing your daughter : she has so much com- pany at home, she will not need seeking it abroad, and will more readily take the notions you think fit to give her. As you were alone in my family, it would have been thought a great cruelty to suffer you no com- panions of your own age, especially having so many near relations, and I do not wonder their opinions influenced yours." But this plea for a learned education for women was so contrary to the prejudices and ideas of the time. 240 TJiougJUs on Educatio7i that Lady Mary made haste to soften down the im- pression it might produce on Lord Bute ; hence she declared that she merely recommended study as a means of preventing time from hanging heavy on the hands of her grandchildren, especially in case they remained single: '' I cannot help writing a sort of apology for my last letter, foreseeing that you will think it wrong, or at least Lord Bute will be extremely shocked at the pro- posal of a learned education for daughters, which the generality of men believe as great a profanation as the clergy would do if the laity should presume to exercise the functions of the priesthood. I desire you would take notice, I would not have learning enjoined them as a task, but permitted as a pleasure, if their genius leads them naturally to it. I look upon my grand- daughters as a sort of lay nuns : destiny may have laid up other things for them, but they have no reason to expect to pass their time otherwise than their aunts do at present ; and I know, by experience, it is in the power of study not only to make solitude tolerable, but agreeable. I have now lived almost seven years in a stricter retirement than yours in the Isle of Bute, and can assure you, I have never had half an hour heavy on my hands, for want of something to do. Whoever will cultivate their own mind, will find full employment. Every virtue does not only require great care in the planting, but as much daily solicitude in cherishing, as exotic fruits and flowers. The vices and passions (which I am afraid are the natural product of Thoughts on Edttcation 241 the soil) demand perpetual weeding. Add to this the search after knowledge (every branch of which is enter- taining), and the longest life is too short for the pursuit of it ; which, though in some regards confined to very strait limits, leaves still a vast variety of amusements to those capable of tasting them, which is utterly impossible for those that are blinded by prejudices which are the certain effect of an ignorant education. My own was one of the worst in the world, being exactly the same as Clarissa Harlowe's ; her pious Mrs. Norton so perfectly resembling my governess, who had been nurse to my mother, I could almost fancy the author was acquainted with her. She took so much pains, from my infancy, to fill my head with superstitious tales and false notions, it was none of her fault I am not at this day afraid of witches and hob- goblins, or turned methodist. Almost all girls are bred after this manner. I believe you are the only woman (perhaps I might say, person) that never was either frighted or cheated into anything by your parents. I can truly affirm, I never deceived anybody in my life, excepting (which I confess has often happened un- designedly) by speaking plainly ; as Earl Stanhope used to say (during his ministry) he always imposed on the foreign ministers b}^ telling them the naked truth, which, as they thought impossible to come from the mouth of a statesman, they never failed to write informations to their respective courts directly contrary to the assurances he gave them : most people con- founding the ideas of sense and cunning, though there 16 242 Thoughts on Edttcation are really no two things in nature more opposite : it is, in part, from this false reasoning, the unjust custom prevails of debarring our sex from the advantages of learning, the men fancying the improvement of our understandings would only furnish us with more art to deceive them, which is directly contrar}- to the truth. Fools are always enterprising, not seeing the difficulties of deceit, or the ill consequences of detec- tion. I could give many examples of ladies whose ill conduct has been very notorious, which has been owing to that ignorance which has exposed them to idleness, which is justly called the mother of mischief. There is nothing so like the education of a woman of quality as that of a prince : they are taught to dance, and the exterior part of what is called good breeding, w^hich, if they attain, they are extraordinary creatures in their kind, and have all the accomplishments required by their directors. The same characters are formed by the same lessons, which inclines me to think (if I dare say it) that nature has not placed us in an inferior rank to men, no more than the females of other animals, where we see no distinction of capacity ; though, I am persuaded, if there was a commonwealth of rational horses (as Doctor Swift has supposed), it would be an established maxim among them, that a mare could not be taught to pace." This last little hoiitade indicates with sufficient plain- ness that the writer, though refraining from affronting the prejudices of her time, did not share them. And though Horace Walpole, in one of his letters. Thoughts on Edtication 243 charges her with neglecting her daughter's education, a neglectful mother would hardly have written such a letter as the following : '' For my part, I am so far persuaded of the goodness of your heart, I have often had a mind to write you a consolatory epistle on my own death, which I believe will be some affliction, though my life is wholly useless to you. That part of it which we passed together you have reason to remember with gratitude, though I think you misplace it ; you are no more obliged to me for bringing you into the world, than I am to you for coming into it, and I never made use of that common- place (and like most common-place, false) argument, as exacting any return of affection. There was a mutual necessity on us both to part at that time, and no obliga- tion on either side. In the case of your infancy, there was so great a mixture of instinct, I can scarce even put that in the number of the proofs I have given you [of] my love ; but I confess I think it a great one, if you compare my after- conduct towards you with that of other mothers, who generally look on their children as devoted to their pleasures, and bound by duty to have no sentiments but what they please to give them ; playthings at first, and afterwards the objects on which they may exercise their spleen, tyranny, or ill humour. I have always thought of you in a different manner. Your happiness was my first wish, and the pursuit of all my actions, divested of all self-interest. So far I think you ought, and believe you do, remember me as your real friend." 16 — 2 244 Thoughts on Ediicatio7i While pressing the claims of study for her grand- daughters, Lady Mary did not forget to recommend social life as the only means of obtaining that neces- sary knowledge of the world which was to correct the false impressions too often gained from books. Through all her letters on the subject of training and educa- tion runs the doctrine that good books are the best guardians against bad books, good society against bad companions, and, in short, that good taste is a far more efficient safeguard than abstinence or prohibition. " I congratulate my grand-daughters on being born in an age so much enlightened. Sentiments are cer- tainly extreme silly, and only qualify young people to be the bubbles of all their acquaintance. I do not doubt the frequency of assemblies has introduced a more enlarged way of thinking ; it is a kind of public education, which I have always thought as necessary for girls as for boys. A woman married at five-and- twenty, from under the eye of a strict parent, is com- monly as ignorant as she was at five ; and no more capable of avoiding the snares, and struggling wath the difficulties, she will infallibly meet with in the commerce of the world. The knowledge of mankind (the most useful of all knowledge) can only be acquired by conversing with them. Books are so far from giving that instruction, they fill the head with a set of wrong notions, from whence spring the tribes of Clarissas, Harriets, etc. Yet such was the method of education when I was in England, which I had it not in my power to correct ; the young will always adopt the Thoughts on Education 245 opinions of all their companions, rather than the advice of their mothers." It will be seen from the last extract that Lady Mary had not forgotten her Richardson, and her memory of his novels was quickened by an event which set the little society of Lovere in a turmoil — an Italian servant-girl playing Pamela to the " Mr. B. " of a local count. " This town is at present in a general stare, or, to use their own expression, sotio sopra ; and not only this town, but the capital Bergamo, the whole province, the neighbouring Brescian, and perhaps all the Vene- tian dominion, occasioned by an adventure exactly resembling, and I believe copied from, Pamela. I know not under what constellation that foolish stuff was wrote, but it has been translated into more lan- guages than any modern performance I ever heard of. No proof of its influence was ever stronger than this story, which, in Richardson's hands, would serve very well to furnish out seven or eight volumes. I shall make it as short as I can. " Here is a gentleman's family, consisting of an old bachelor and his sister, who have fortune enough to live with great elegance, though without any magnifi- cence, possessed of the esteem of all their acquaint- ance, he being distinguished by his probity, and she by her virtue. They are not only suffered but sought by all the best company, and indeed are the most con- versable, reasonable people in the place. She is an excellent housewife, and particularly remarkable for 2 4*^ TJioughts on Ethication keeping her pretty house as neat as any in Holland. She appears no longer in public, being past fifty, and passes her time chiefly at home with her work, re- ceiving few visitants. This Signora Diana, about ten years since, saw, at a monastery, a girl about eight years old, who came thither to beg alms for the mother. Her beauty, though covered with rags, was very observable, and gave great compassion to the charitable lady, who thought it meritorious to rescue such a modest sweetness as appeared in her face from the ruin to which her wretched circum- stances exposed her. She asked her some ques- tions, to which she answered with a natural civility that seemed surprising ; and finding the head of her family (her brother) to be a cobbler, who could hardly live by that trade, and her mother too old to work for her maintenance, she bid the child follow her home ; and sending for her parent, proposed to her to breed the little Octavia for her servant. This was joyfully accepted, the old woman dismissed with a piece of money, and the girl remained with the Signora Diana, who bought her decent clothes, and took pleasure in teaching her whatever she was capable of learning. She learned to read, write, and cast accounts, with uncommon facility ; and had such a genius for work, that she excelled her mistress in embroidery, point, and every operation of the needle. She grew perfectly skilled in confectionery, had a good insight into cookery, and was a great proficient in distillery. To these accomplishments she was so handy, well bred, humble Thoughts on Education 247 and modest, that not only her master and mistress, but everybody that frequented the house, took notice of her. She hved thus nine years, never going out but to church. However, beauty is as difficult to conceal as light ; hers began to make a great noise. Signora Diana told me she observed an unusual concourse of peddling women that came on pretext to sell penn'orths of lace, china, etc., and several young gentlemen, very well powdered, that were perpetually walking before her door, and looking up at the windows. These prog- nostics alarmed her prudence, and she listened very willingly to some honourable proposals that were made by many honest, thriving tradesmen. She communi- cated them to Octavia, and told her, that though she was sorry to lose so good a servant, yet she thought it right to advise her to choose a husband. The girl answered modestly, that it was her duty to obey all her commands, but she found no inclination to mar- riage ; and if she would permit her to live single, she should think it a greater obligation than any other she could bestow. Signora Diana was too conscientious to force her into a state from which she could not free her, and left her to her own disposal. However, they parted soon after : whether (as the neighbours say) Signor Aurelio Ardinghi, her brother, looked with too much attention on the young woman, or that she her- self (as Diana says) desired to seek a place of more profit, she removed to Bergamo, where she soon found preferment, being strongly recommended by the Ardinghi family. She was advanced to be first 248 Thoitghts on Education waiting-woman to an old Countess, who was so well pleased with her service, she desired, on her death-bed, Count Jeronimo Sosi, her son, to be kind to her. He found no repugnance to this act of obedience, having distinguished the beautiful Octavia from his first sight of her; and, during the six months that she had served in the house, had tried every art of a fine gentleman, accustomed to victories of that sort, to vanquish the virtue of this fair virgin. He has a handsome figure, and has had an education uncommon in this country, having made the tour of Europe, and brought from Paris all the improvements that are to be picked up there, being celebrated for his grace in dancing, and skill in fencing and riding, by which he is a favourite among the ladies, and respected by the men. Thus qualified for conquest, you may judge of his surprise at the firm yet modest resistance of this country girl, who was neither to be moved by address, nor gained by liberality, nor on any terms would be prevailed on to stay as his housekeeper, after the death of his mother. She took that post in the house of an old judge, where she continued to be solicited by the emissaries of the Count's passion, and found a new persecutor in her master, who after three months offered her marriage. She chose to return to her former obscurity, and escaped from his pursuit, without asking any wages, and privately returned to the Signora Diana. She threw herself at her feet, and, kissing her hands, begged her, with tears, to conceal her at least some time, if she would not accept of her service. She protested she Thoughts on Ed2 teat ion 249 had never been happy since she left it. While she was making these submissions, Signer Aurelio entered. She entreated his intercession on her knees, who was easily persuaded to consent she should stay with them, though his sister blamed her highly for her precipitate flight, having no reason, from the age and character of her master, to fear any violence, and wondered at her declining the honour he offered her. Octavia confessed that perhaps she had been too rash in her proceedings, but said, that he seemed to resent her refusal in such a manner as frighted her ; she hoped that after a few days' search he would think no more of her ; and that she scrupled entering into the holy bands of matrimony, where her heart did not sincerely accompany all the words of the ceremony. Signora Diana had nothing to say in contradiction to this pious sentiment ; and her brother applauded the honesty which could not be perverted by any interest whatever. She remained concealed in their house, where she helped in the kitchen, cleaned the rooms, and redoubled her usual diligence and officiousness. Her old master came to Lovere on pretence of adjust- ing a lawsuit, three days after, and made private inquiry after her ; but hearing from her mother and brother (who knew nothing of her being here) that they had never heard of her, he concluded she had taken another route, and returned to Bergamo ; and she continued in this retirement near a fortnight. *' Last Sunday, as soon as the day was closed, arrived at Signor Aurelio's door a handsome equipage 250 Thoughts on Education in a large bark, attended by four well-armed servants on horseback. An old priest stepped out of it, and desiring to speak with Signora Diana, informed her he came from the Count Jeronimo Sosi to demand Octavia; that the Count waited for her at a village four miles from hence, where he intended to marry her ; and had sent him, who was engaged to perform the divine rite, that Signora Diana might resign her to his care without any difficult3\ The young damsel was called for, who entreated she might be permitted the company of another priest with whom she was acquainted : this was readily granted ; and she sent for a young man that visits me very often, being remarkable for his sobriety and learning. Meanwhile, a valet-de-chambre presented her with a box, in which was a complete genteel undress for a lady. Her laced linen and fine nightgown were soon put on, and away they marched, leaving the family in a surprise not to be described. " Signor Aurelio came to drink coffee with me next morning : his first words were, he had brought me the history of Pamela. I said, laughing, I had been tired with it long since. He explained himself by relating this story, mixed with great resentment for Octavia's conduct. Count Jeronimo's father had been his ancient friend and patron ; and this escape from his house (he said) would lay him under a suspicion of having abetted the young man's folly, and perhaps expose him to the anger of all his relations, for con- triving an action he would rather have died than Thoughts oil Edttcation 251 suffered, if he had known how to prevent it. I easily believed him, there appearing a latent jealousy under his affliction, that showed me he envied the bride- groom's happiness, at the same time he condemned his extravagance. *' Yesterday noon, being Saturday, Don Joseph re- turned, who has got the name of Parson Williams by this expedition : he relates, that when the bark which carried the coach and train arrived, they found the amorous Count waiting for his bride on the bank of the lake : he would have proceeded immediately to the church ; but she utterly refused it, till they had each of them been at confession ; after which the happy knot was tied by the parish priest. They continued their journey, and came to their palace at Bergamo in a few hours, where everything was prepared for their reception. They received the communion next morn- ing, and the Count declares that the lovely Octavia has brought him an inestimable portion, since he owes to her the salvation of his soul. He has renounced play, at which he had lost a great deal of time and money. She has already retrenched several super- fluous servants, and put his family into an exact method of economy, preserving all the splendour necessary to his rank. He has sent a letter in his own hand to her mother, inviting her to reside with them, and subscribing himself her dutiful son : but the Countess has sent another privately by Don Joseph, in which she advises the old woman to stay at Lovere, promising to take care she shall want nothing, accom- 252 Thoughts on Education panied with a token of twenty sequins,* which is at least nineteen more than ever she saw in her Ufe. *' I forgot to tell you that from Octavia"s first serving the old lady, there came frequent charities in her name to her poor parent, which nobody was surprised at, the lady being celebrated for pious works, and Octavia known to be a great favourite with her. It is now discovered that they were all sent by the generous lover, who has presented Don Joseph very hand- somely, but he has brought neither letter nor message to the house of Ardinghi, which affords much specu- lation." Another Italian lady of the time, though conforming less closely to Richardson's pattern, was regarded by Lady Mary as deserving the honour — not of the greatest, in her estimation — of being celebrated by him : the Marchesa Licinia Bentivoglio. ''A late adventure here makes a great noise from the rank of the people concerned : the Marchioness Lys- cinniat Bentivoglio, who was heiress of one branch of the Martinenghi, and brought forty thousand gold sequins to her husband, and the expectation of her father's estate, three thousand pounds per annum, the most magnificent palace at Brescia (finer than any in London), another in the country, and many other advantages of woods, plate, jewels, etc. The Cardinal Bentivoglio, his uncle, thought he could not choose better, though his nephew might certainly have chose * About ten guineas English . t Lady Mary probably spelt phonetically. TJiotigJits on Edttcation 253 among all the Italian ladies, being descended from the sovereigns of Bologna,* actually a grandee of Spain, a noble Venetian, and in possession of twenty-five thousand pounds sterling per annum, with immense wealth in palaces, furniture, and absolute dominion in some of his lands. The girl was prett}^, and the match was with the satisfaction of both families ; but she brought with her such a diabolical temper, and such Luciferan pride, that neither husband, relations, nor servants, had ever a moment's peace with her. After about eight years' warfare, she eloped one fair morning and took refuge in Venice, leaving her two daughters, the eldest scarce six years old, to the care of the exasperated Marquis. Her father was so angry at her extravagant conduct, he would not, for some time, receive her into his house; but, after some months, and much solicitation, parental fondness prevailed, and she remained with him ever since, notwithstanding all the efforts of her husband, who tried kindness, submission, and threats, to no pur- pose. The Cardinal came twice to Brescia, her own father joined his entreaties, nay, hh Holiness wrote a letter with his own hand, and made use of the Church authority, but he found it harder to reduce one woman than ten heretics. She was inflexible, and lived ten years in this state of reprobation. Her father died last winter, and left her his whole estate for her hfe, and afterwards to her children. Her eldest was now mar- riageable, and disposed of to the nephew of Cardinal ■^ The Bentivogli had been Lords of Bologna. They claimed descent from Enzio, son of the Emperor Frederick II. 2 54 Tho7to;hts on Education Valentino Gonzagua, first minister at Rome. She would neither appear at the wedding, nor take the least notice of a dutiful letter sent by the bride. The old Cardinal (who was passionately fond of his illustrious name) was so much touched with the apparent extinc- tion of it, that it was thought to have hastened his death. She continued in the enjoyment of her ill- humour, living in great splendour, though almost soli- tary, having, by some impertinence or other, disgusted all her acquaintance, till about a month ago, when her woman brought her a basin of broth, which she usually drank in her bed. She took a few spoonfuls of it, and then cried out it was so bad it was impossible to endure it. Her chambermaids were so used to hear her ex- clamations they had not the worse opinion of it, and eat it up very comfortably ; they were both seized with the same pangs, and died the next day. She sent for physicians, who judged her poisoned ; but, as she had taken a small quantity, by the help of antidotes she recovered, yet is still in a languishing condition. Her cook was examined, and racked, always protesting entire innocence, and swearing he had made the soup in the same manner he was accustomed. You may imagine the noise of this affair. She loudly accused her husband, it being the interest of no other person to wish her out of the world. He resides at Ferrara (about which the greatest part of his lands lie), and was soon informed of this accident. He sent doctors to her, whom she would not see, sent vast alms to all the convents to pray for her health, and ordered a number of masses Thotights on Edit cat? on 255 to be said in every church of Brescia and Ferrara. He sent letters to the Senate at Venice, and published manifestoes in all the capital cities, in which he pro- fesses his affection to her, and abhorrence of any attempt against her, and has a cloud of witnesses that he never gave her the least reason of complaint, and even since her leaving him has always spoke of her with kindness, and courted her return. He is said to be remarkably sweet tempered, and has the best char- acter of any man of quality in this country. If the death of her women did not seem to confirm it, her accusation would gain credit with nobody. She is certainly very sincere in it herself, being so persuaded he has resolved her death, that she dare not take the air, apprehending to be assassinated, and has im- prisoned herself in her chamber, where she will neither eat nor drink anything that she does not see tasted by all her servants. The physicians now say that perhaps the poison might fall into the broth accidentally ; I con- fess I do not perceive the possibility of it. As to the cook suffering the rack, that is a mere jest where people have money enough to bribe the executioner. I decide nothing ; but such is the present destiny of a lady, who would have been one of Richardson's heroines, having never been suspected of the least gallantry ; hating, and being hated universally ; of a most noble spirit, it being proverbial, * As proud as the Marchioness Lys- cinnia.' " As a contrast to this instance of Italian pride may be appended here an equally sublime specimen of Eng- 256 Tho2ig/its 072 Education lish humility of which Lady Alary was reminded by an item of news in one of her daughter's letters. It appears that an acquaintance of hers in Italy, Sir John Rawdon, was raised to the Irish peerage ; and her comments on the transaction are more pithy than complimentary : '' I cannot believe Sir John's advancement is owing to his merit, though he certainly deserves such a dis- tinction ; but I am persuaded the present disposers of such dignities are neither more clear-sighted nor more disinterested than their predecessors. Ever since I knew the world, Irish patents have been hung out to sale, like the laced and embroidered coats in Monmouth- street, and bought up by the same sort of people ; I mean those who had rather wear shabby finery than no finery at all ; though I do not suppose this was Sir John's case. That good creature (as the country saying is) has not a bit of pride in him. I dare swear he pur- chased his title for the same reason he used to purchase pictures in Italy ; not because he wanted to bu}-, but because somebody or other wanted to sell. He hardly ever opened his mouth but to say ' What you please, sir;' — 'At your service;' — 'Your humble servant;' or some gentle expression to the same effect. It is scarce credible that with this unlimited complaisance he should draw a blow upon himself; yet it so happened that one of his own countrymen was brute enough to strike him. As it was done before many witnesses, Lord Mansel heard of it ; and thinking that if poor Sir John took no notice of it, he would suffer daily insults of the same kind, out of pure good nature resolved to spirit himi up Thoughts on Education 257 at least to some show of resentment, intending to make up their matter afterwards in as honourable a manner as he could for the poor patient. He represented to him very warmly that no gentleman could take a box on the ear. Sir John answered with great calmness, ' I know that, but this was not a box on the ear ; it was only a slap of the face.' " Of another English acquaintance of hers Lady Mary heard casually — the former Sir Charles Hanbury Williams, whose lively verses had been sometimes attributed to herself. He had for some time been English Ambassador at St. Petersburg ; and his foolish extravagance at home and abroad gave her an opportunity for moralizing on the benefits of economy — a virtue which she was generally credited with carrying to excess. As she writes to Lady Bute : " I inquired after my old acquaintance Sir Charles Wilhams, who I hear is much broken, both in spirits and constitution. How happy that man might have been if there had been added to his natural and acquired endowments a dash of morality ! If he had known how to distinguish between false and true felicity ; and instead of seeking to increase an estate already too large, and hunting after pleasures that have made him ridiculous, he had bounded his desires of wealth, and followed the dictates of his conscience. His servile ambition has gained him two yards of red ribbon, and an exile into a miserable country, where there is no society and so little taste, that I believe he suffers under a dearth of flatterers. This is said for the 17 258 Thoughts 071 Eiht cation use of your growing sons, whom I hope no golden temptations will induce to marry women they cannot love, or comply with measures they do not approve. All the happiness this world can afford is more within reach than is generally supposed. Whoever seeks pleasure will undoubtedly find pain : whoever will pursue ease will as certainly find pleasures. The world's esteem is the highest gratification of human vanity ; and that is more easily obtained in a moderate fortune than an overgrown one, which is seldom possessed, never gained, without envy. I say esteem ; for, as to applause, it is a youthful pursuit, never to be forgiven after twenty, and naturally succeeds the childish desire of catching the setting sun, which I can remember running very hard to do : a fine thing truly 'f it could be caught ; but experience soon shows it to be impossible. A wise and honest man lives to his own heart, without that silly splendour that makes him a prey to knaves, and which commonly ends in his becoming one of the fraternity. I am very glad to hear Lord Bute's decent economy sets him above anything of that kind. I wish it may become national. A col- lective body of men differs very little from a single man ; frugality is the foundation of generosity. I have often been complimented on the English heroism, who have thrown away so many millions, without any prospect of advantage to themselves, purely to succour a dis- tressed princess.* I never could hear these praises * Alluding- to the large subsidies given by England to Marir^ Theresa during the War of the Austrian Succession, Thoughts 071 Education 259 without some impatience ; they sounded to me Hke panegyrics made by the dependents on the D. [Duke] of N. [Newcastle] and poor Lord Oxford, bubbled when they were commended, and laughed at when undone. Some late events will, I hope, open our eyes : we shall see we are an island, and endeavour to extend our commerce, rather than the Quixote reputation of redressing wrongs and placing diadems on heads that should be equally indifferent to us. When time has ripened mankind into common sense, the name of con- queror will be an odious title. I could easily prove that, had the Spaniards established a trade with the Amer- icans, they would have enriched their country more than by the addition of twenty-two kingdoms, and all the mines they now work — I do not say possess, since, though they are the proprietors, others enjoy the profits." This last passage is interesting, as setting forth Lady Mary's own views on English policy — a view closely agreeing with the notions ascribed to the Manchester School of later times. It is curious, however, to notice how she condemned Bolingbroke for his un- patriotic haste in concluding the Treaty of Utrecht, when her own son-in-law. Lord Bute, had already, before her death, begun to carry out a pacification, which in its abandonment of allies and surrender of advantages was quite as scandalous as Bolingbroke's. Again, it was precisely that English trade which she desired to see extended that had caused the wars which she condemned. Apparently she expected tQ 17—2 26o Thoughts 071 Edncation see war abolished by the progress of mankind, which, to her idea, had barely emerged from childhood : " When I reflect on the vast increase of useful, as well as speculative, knowledge the last three hundred years has produced, and that the peasants of this age have more conveniences than the first emperors of Rome had any notion of, I imagine that we are now arrived at that period which answers to fifteen. I can- not think we are older, when I recollect the many palpable follies which are still (almost) universally persisted in : I place that of war amongst the most glaring, being fully as senseless as the boxing of school- boys, and whenever we come to man's estate (perhaps a thousand years hence), I do not doubt it will appear as ridiculous as the pranks of unluck}' lads. Several discoveries will then be made, and several truths made clear, of which we have now no more idea than the ancients had of the circulation of the blood, or the optics of Sir I. Newton." Last Years and Death 261 CHAPTER IX LAST YEARS AND DEATH The Last Years of Lady Mary's Life-Senous "'---f-j^-^J^ Lovere-Recovery-The Phys.can of Lovere-H,s Chanty Description of Lovere-Appearance of the Town-The Plague of 64-Lady Mary buys an Old Palace-Its Rmt>ous Cmr- dtim:-Itaran Friends -^Cardinal Querini-His Van,ty-He 'r Lad Mary for Copies of her WorUs-Her Embarrass- ment-Death of Querini-The Marqu.s Maffe>-H.s Jalace His .SV,/.«-The Doge Griman.^Hts V.rtue.- Lady Mary suspected of a Political Mission-She wr.tes theH. story of her own Time-Disputes on Rehgion-An Old ?"«='- ^^^^ mental Doctrine-A Singular Nunnery-The nanquiUity ol OM^e- Removal to Venice -Murray's Persecut.ons-S.r fames "steuart-Unprovoked Annoyances-Fears for her Pro- ieny-Venetian Frlnds-Mocenigo-A Venet.an Marnage- Infirmities- Unable to see English Papet. - " A Rak m Reading" -Low Spirits - Suicides af Venice - Request toi Chtnt^lassFuinit^ure-HoraceWalpole-His^ot^^^^^^^^^^^^ Fli/abeth- Female Influence in Repubhcs -Literary btyie riar of Blndness-Advice from ^"-'1= " A"->'f "Vof Company-Lady Mary afraid to cross the Alps-Vanity of HumT Wishes-Epicurean Philosophy-Sir James Steuarts "Pditical Economy -Unwillingness to return to London- lourney to England-Letter from Rotterdam-Last Letter Death -Personal Appearance-Lady.Pomfrefs Remarks on her Beauty. The last few years of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu's life were spent in much the same occupations as she 262 Last Years and Death had previously described in her letters to her daughter — residing at one or other of the towns of the Venetian territory, at first generally near Brescia, but afterwards alternating between Padua and Venice. Her life was uneventful, marked only by the approach of old age and the growth of infirmities. Yet she had a wonderful power of rallying from illness, as was shown by the description she gives of her recovery from a fever — a result which may fairly be ascribed as much to the goodness of her constitution as to the " miraculous " doctor who attended her. Her return to Lovere at his orders led her to take another residence there. Probably the "dairy-house"" and gardens had been given up. "Lovere, June 23, N.S. [1754]. *' Soon after I wrote my last letter to my dear child, I was seized with so violent a fever, accompanied with so many bad symptoms, my life was despaired of by the physician of Gottolengo, and I prepared myself for death with as much resignation as that circumstance admits : some of my neighbours, with- out my knowledge, sent express for the doctor of this place, whom I have mentioned to you formerly as having uncommon secrets. I was surprised to see him at my bedside. He declared me in great danger, but did not doubt my recovery, if I was wholly under his care ; and his first prescription was transporting me hither ; the other physician asserted positively I should die on the road. It has always been my opinion that it is a matter of the utmost indifference Last Years and DeatJi 263 where we expire, and I consented to be removed. My bed was placed on a brancard ; my servants followed in chaises ; and in this equipage I set out. I bore the first day's journey of fifteen miles without any visible alteration. The doctor said, as I was not worse, I was certainly better ; and the next day proceeded twenty miles to Iseo, which is at the head of this lake. I lay each night at noblemen's houses, which were empty. My cook, with my physician, always preceded two or three hours, and I found my chamber, and all necessaries, ready prepared with the exactest attention. I was put into a bark in my litter bed, and in three hours arrived here. My spirits were not at all wasted (I think rather raised) by the fatigue of my journey. I drank the water next morning, and, with a few doses of my physician's prescription, in three days found myself in perfect health, which appeared almost a miracle to all that saw me. You may imagine I am willing to submit to the orders of one that I must acknowledge the instrument of saving my life, though they are not entirely conformable to my will and pleasure. He has sentenced me to a long continuance here, which, he says, is absolutely necessary to the confirmation of my health, and would persuade me that my illness has been wholly owing to my omission of drinking the waters these two years past. I dare not contradict him, and must own he deserves (from the various surprising cures I have seen) the name given to him in this country of the miraculous man. Both his character and practice are so singular, I 264 Last Years and Death cannot forbear giving you some account of them. He will not permit his patients to have either surgeon or apothecary : he performs all the operations of the first with great dexterity; and whatever compounds he gives, he makes in his own house : those are very few ; the juice of herbs, and these waters, being commonly his sole prescriptions. He has very little learning, and professes drawing all his knowledge from experience, which he possesses, perhaps, in a greater degree than any other mortal, being the seventh doctor of his family in a direct line. His forefathers have all of them left journals and registers solely for the use of their posterity, none of them having published any- thing ; and he has recourse to these manuscripts on every difficult case, the veracity of which, at least, is unquestionable. His vivacity is prodigious, and he is indefatigable in his industry : but what most distin- guishes him is a disinterestedness I never saw in any other : he is as regular in his attendance on the poorest peasant, from whom he never can receive one farthing, as on the richest of the nobility ; and, whenever he is wanted, will climb three or four miles in the mountains, in the hottest sun, or heaviest rain, where a horse cannot go, to arrive at a cottage, where, if their condition requires it, he does not only give them advice and medicines gratis, but bread, wine, and whatever is needful. There never passes a week with- out one or more of these expeditions. His last visit is generally to me. I often see him as dirty and tired as a foot post, having eat nothing all day but a roll or two Last Years and Death 265 that he carries in his pocket, yet blest with such a perpetual flow of spirits, he is always gay to a degree above cheerfulness. There is a peculiarity in his character that I hope will incline 3'ou to forgive my drawing it. '* I have already described to you this extraordinary spot of earth, which is almost unknown to the rest of the world, and indeed does not seem to be destined by nature to be inhabited by human creatures, and I believe would never have been so, without the cruel civil war between the Guelphs and Ghibelines. Before that time here were only the huts of a few fishermen, who came at certain seasons on account of the fine fish with which this lake abounds, particularly trouts, as large and red as salmon. The lake itself is different from any other I ever saw or read of, being the colour of the sea, rather deeper tinged with green, which convinces me that the surrounding mountains are full of minerals, and it may be rich in mines yet undis- covered, as well as quarries of marble, from whence the churches and houses are ornamented, and even the streets paved, which, if polished and laid with art, would look like the finest mosaic work, being a variety of beautiful colours. I ought to retract the honourable title of street, none of them being broader than an alley, and impassable for any wheel-carriage, except a wheel-barrow. This town (which is the largest of twenty-five that are built on the banks of the lake) is near two miles long, and the figure of a semicircle. If it was a regular range of building, it would appear V UNIVERSITY ] 266 Last Years and Death magnificent ; but, being founded accidentally by those who sought a refuge from the violences of those bloody times, it is a mixture of shops and palaces, gardens and houses, which ascend a mile high, in a confusion which is not disagreeable. After this salutary water was found, and the purity of the air experienced, many people of quality chose it for their summer residence, and embellished it with several fine edifices. It was populous and flourishing, till that fatal plague which overran all Europe in the year 1626. It made a terrible ravage in this place : the poor were almost destroyed, and the rich deserted it. Since that time it has never recovered its former splendour ; few of the nobility returned ; it is now only frequented during the water-drinking season. Several of the ancient palaces [are] degraded into lodging-houses and others stand empty in a ruinous condition : one of these I have bought. I see you lift up your eyes in w^onder at my indiscretion. I beg you to hear my reasons before you condemn me. In my infirm state of health the unavoidable noise of a public lodging is very dis- agreeable ; and here is no private one : secondly, and chiefly, the whole purchase is but one hundred pounds, with a very prett}' garden in terraces down to the water, and a court behind the house. It is founded on a rock, and the walls so thick, they wdll probably remain as long as the earth. It is true, the apartments are in most tattered circumstances, without doors or windows. The beauty of the great saloon gained my affection : it is forty -two feet in length by twenty-five. Last Years and Death 267 proportionably high, opening into a balcony of the same length, with marble balusters : the ceiling and flooring are in good repair, but I have been forced to the expense of covering the wall with new stucco ; and the carpenter is at this minute taking measure of the windows, in order to make frames for sashes. The great stairs are in such a declining way, it would be a very hazardous exploit to mount them : I never intend to attempt it. The state bedchamber shall also remain for the sole use of the spiders that have taken posses- sion of it, along with the grand cabinet, and some other pieces of magnificence, quite useless to me, and which w^ould cost a great deal to make habitable. I have fitted up six rooms, with lodgings for five servants, which are all I ever will have in this place ; and I am persuaded that I could make a profit if I would part with my purchase, having been very much befriended in the sale, which was by auction, the owner having died without children, and I believe he had never seen this mansion in his life, it having stood empty from the death of his grandfather. The Governor bid for me, and nobody would bid against him. Thus I am become a citizen of Lovere, to the great joy of the inhabitants, not (as they would pretend) from their respect for my person, but I perceive they fancy I shall attract all the travelling English ; and, to say the truth, the singularity of the place is well worth their curiosity; but, as I have no correspondents, I may be buried here fifty years, and nobody know anything of the matter." 268 Last Years and Death It was this hope of protit from EngUsh visitors that induced the people of Lovere to offer the honour of a statue to Lady Mary ; but they must have been also actuated by more local considerations. The Doge of Venice, Grimani, was her old friend, and when he died she had still the favour of the Archbishop of Brescia, Cardinal Querini, an ecclesiastic of some learning and great pretensions : '•' I have not yet lost all my interest in this country by the death of the Doge, having another very con- siderable friend, though I cannot expect to keep him long, he being near fourscore. I mean the Cardinal Querini, who is Archbishop of this diocese, and con- sequently of great power, there being not one family, high or low, in this province, that has not some ecclesiastic in it, and therefore all of them have some dependence on him. He is of one of the tirst families of Venice, vastly rich of himself, and has many great benefices beside his archbishopric; but these advantages are little in his eyes, in comparison of being the first author (as he fancies) at this day in Christendom ; and indeed, if the merit of the books consisted in bulk and number, he might very justly claim that character. I believe he has published, yearly, several volumes for above fifty years, beside corresponding with all the literati of Europe, and, among these, several of the senior fellows at Oxford, and some members of the Royal Society, that neither you nor I ever heard of, who he is persuaded are the most eminent men in England. He is at present employed in writing his Last Years and Death 269 own life, of which he has already printed the first tome ; and if he goes on in the same style, it will be a most voluminous performance. He begins from the moment of his birth, and tells us that, in that day, he made such extraordinary faces, the midwife, chamber- maids, and nurses all agreed, that there was born a shining light in church and state. You'll think me very merry with the failings of my friend. I confess I ought to forgive a vanity to which I am obliged for many good offices, since I do not doubt it is owing to that, that he professes himself so highly attached to my service, having an opinion that my suffrage is of great weight in the learned world, and that I shall not fail to spread his fame, at least, all over Great Britain. He sent me a present last week of a very uncommon kind, even his own picture, extremely well done, but so flattering, it is a young old man, with a most pompous inscription under it. I suppose he intended it for the ornament of my library, not knowing it is only a closet: however, these distinctions he shows me, give me a figure in this town, where everybody has something to hope from him ; and it was certainly in a view to that they would have complimented me with a statue, for I would not have you mistake so far as to imagine there is any set of people more grateful or generous than another. Mankind is everywhere the same : like cherries or apples, they may differ in size, shape, or colour, from different soils, chmate, or culture, but are still essentially the same species ; and the little black wood cherry is not nearer akin to the 2/0 Last Years a7id Death [may-]dukes that are served at great tables, than the wild, naked negro to the fine figures adorned with coronets and ribands. This observation might be carried yet further : all animals are stimulated by the same passions, and act very near alike, as far as we are capable of observing them.*' Unfortunately this friendship was troubled for a time by that which caused most of Lady Mary's troubles — her literary tastes. Formerly she had been assailed by Pope for writing libels which she very probably had nothing to do with ; now she was threatened with losing^ Ouerini's favour for want of producing her works in numerous volumes. She writes plaintively to her daughter: "This letter will be very dull or very peevish (perhaps both). I am at present much out of humour, being on the edge of a quarrel with my friend and patron, the C. [Cardinal]. He is really a good-natured and generous man, and spends his vast revenue in (what he thinks) the service of his country, besides contributing largely to the building of a new cathedral, which, when finished, will stand in the rank of fine churches (where he has already the comfort of seeing his own busto), finely done both within and without. He has founded a magnificent college for one hundred scholars, which I don't doubt he will endow very nobly, and greatly enlarged and embellished his episcopal palace. He has joined to it a public library, which, when I saw it, was a very beautiful room : it is now finished and furnished, and open twice in a week with proper Last Years and Death 271 attendance. Yesterday here arrived one of his chief chaplains, with a long compliment, which concluded with desiring I would send him my works ; having dedicated one of his cases to English books, he intended my labours should appear in the most con- spicuous place. I was struck dumb for some time with this astonishing request ; when I recovered my vexatious surprise (foreseeing the consequence), I made answer, I was highly sensible of the honour designed me, but, upon my word, I had never printed a single line in my life. I was answered in a cold tone, his eminence could send for them to England, but they would be a long time coming, and with some hazard ; and that he had flattered himself I would not refuse him such a favour, and I need not be ashamed of seeing my name in a collection where he admitted none but the most eminent authors. It was to no purpose to endeavour to convince him. He would not stay dinner, though earnestly invited ; and went away with the air of one that thought he had reason to be offended. I know his master will have the same sentiments, and I shall pass in his opinion for a monster of ingratitude, while it is the blackest of vices in my opinion, and of which I am utterly incapable — I really could cry for vexation. '* Sure nobody ever had such various provocations to print as myself. I have seen things I have wrote, so mangled and falsified, I have scarce known them. I have seen poems I never read, published with my name at length ; and others, that were truly and singly 272 Last Years and Death wrote by me, printed under the names of others. I have made myself easy under all these mortifications, by the reflection I did not deserve them, having never ajmed at the vanity of popular applause ; but I own m}' philosophy is not proof against losing a friend, and it may be making an enemy of one to whom I am obliged." In 1755, the year after the preceding letter was written, the Cardinal died : " My old friend the Cardinal [Querini] is dead of an apoplectic fit, which I am sorry for, notwithstanding the disgust that happened between us, on the ridiculous account of which I gave you the history a year ago. His memor}' will, probably, last as long as this province, having embellished it with so many noble structures, particularly a public library well furnished, richly adorned, and a college built for poor scholars, with salaries for masters, and plentifully endowed : many charitable foundations, and so large a part of the new cathedral (which will be one of the finest churches in Lombardy) has been built at his expense, he may be almost called the founder of it. He has left a consider- able annuity to continue it, and deserves an eminent place among the few prelates that have devoted what they received from the Church to the use of the public, which is not here (as in some countries) so ungrateful to overlook benefits. Man}- statues have been erected, and medals cast to his honour, one of which has the figures of Piety, Learning, and Munificence, on the reverse, in the attitude of the three Graces. His Last Years and Death 273 funeral has been celebrated by the city with all the splendour it was capable of bestowing, and waited on by all ranks of the inhabitants." His death was followed by that of a more eminent virtuoso : " This year has been fatal to the literati of Italy. The Marquis Maffei soon followed Cardinal Querini. He was in England when you were married. Perhaps you may remember his coming to see your father's Greek inscription ; * he was then an old man, and consequently now a great age ; but preserved his memory and senses in their first vigour. After having made the tour of Europe in the search of antiquities, he fixed his residence in his native town of Verona, where he erected himself a little empire, from the general esteem, and a conversation (so they call an assembly) which he established in his palace, which is one of the largest in that place, and so luckily situated, that it is between the theatre and the ancient amphi- theatre. He made piazzas leading to each of them, filled with shops, where were sold coffee, tea, chocolate, all sort of cool [drinks ?] and sweetmeats, and in the midst, a court well kept, and sanded, for the use of those young gentlemen who would exercise their managed horses, or show their mistresses their skill in riding. His gallery was open every evening at five o'clock, where he had a fine collection of antiquities, and two large cabinets of medals, intaglios, and ■^ The inscription from the Troas, ah-eady mentioned, which was given by Mr. Wortley Montagu to Trinity College, Cambridge. 18 2 74 Last Years and Death cameos, ranged in exact order. His library joined to it ; and on the other side a suite of five rooms, the first of which was destined to dancing, the second to cards (but all games of hazard excluded), and the others (where he himself presided in an easy-chair) sacred to conversation, which always turned upon some point of learning, either historical or poetical. Controversy and politics being utterly prohibited, he generally proposed the subject, and took great delight in instructing the young people, w'ho were obliged to seek the medal, or explain the inscription, that illus- trated any fact they discoursed of. Those who chose the diversion of the public walks, or theatre, went thither, but never failed returning to give an account of the drama, which produced a critical dissertation on that subject, the Marquis having given shining proofs of his skill in that art. His tragedy of Merope, which is much injured by Voltaire's translation, being esteemed a masterpiece ; and his comedy of the Ceremonies, being so just a ridicule of those formal fopperies, it has gone a great way in helping to banish them out of Italy." Pietro Grimani, the Doge of Venice, Lady Mary's old friend, had died in 1752, much to her grief: ** He is lamented here by all ranks of people, as their common parent. He really answered the idea of Lord Bolingbroke's imaginary Patriot Prince, and was the only example I ever knew of having passed through the greatest employments, and most important negotiations, without ever making an enemy. When I was at Venice, Last Years and Death 275 which was some months before his election, he was the leading voice in the senate, and possessed of so strong a popularity as would have been dangerous in the hands of a bad man : yet he had the art to silence envy ; and I never once heard an objection to his character, or even an insinuation to his disadvantage. I attribute this peculiar happiness to be owing to the sincere benevolence of his heart, joined with an easy cheerful- ness of temper, which made him agreeable to all com- panies, and a blessing to all his dependents. Authority appeared so aimahle in him, no one wished it less, except himself, who would sometimes lament the weight of it, as robbing him too much of the conversation of his friends, in which he placed his chief delight, being so little ambitious, that (to my certain knowledge), far from caballing to gain that elevation to which he was raised, he would have refused it, if he had not looked upon the acceptance of it as a duty due to his country. This is only speaking of him in the public light. As to myself, he always professed, and gave me every demonstration of, the most cordial friendship. Indeed, I received every good office from him I could have expected from a tender father, or a kind brother ; and though I have not seen him since my last re- turn to Italy, he never omitted an opportunity of expressing the greatest regard for me, both in his discourse to others, and upon all occasions where he thought he could be useful to me. I do not doubt I shall very sensibly miss the influence of his good in- tentions.' 18—2 276 Last Years and Death But, as before, Lady Mary was not dependent on her Italian friends for occupying her time. She probably read as much as ever, though there are fewer allusions to books in the published letters ; and she wrote letters so voluminous as to excite political suspicion. **An old priest made me a visit as I was folding my last packet to my daughter. Observing it to be large, he told me I had done a great deal of business that morning. I made answer, I had done no business at all ; I had only wrote to my daughter on family affairs, or such trifles as make up women's conversation. He said gravely. People like your excellenza do not use to write long letters upon trifles. I assured him, that if he understood English, I would let him read my letter. He replied, with a mysterious smile. If I did under- stand English, I should not understand what you have written, except you would give me the key, which I durst not presume to ask. What key ? (said I, staring) there is not one cypher besides the date. He answered, cyphers were only used by novices in politics, and it was very easy to write intelligibly, under feigned names of persons and places, to a correspondent, in such a manner as should be almost impossible to be under- stood by anybody else. "Thus I suppose my innocent epistles are severely scrutinised : and when I talk of my grandchildren, they are fancied to represent all the potentates of Europe. This is very provoking. I confess there are good reasons for extraordinary caution at this juncture; Last Years and Death 277 but 'tis very hard I cannot pass for being as insignifi- cant as I really am." Not only did she go on with her correspondence, but amused herself with writing memoirs — though unfortu- nately they have not, like those of her friend Lord Hervey, been allowed to come down to us by the author. Perhaps, however, in destroying her work, she only anticipated the action of her daughter. " You will confess my employment much more trifling than yours, when I own to you (between you and I) that my chief amusement is writing the history of my own time. It has been my fortune to have a more exact knowledge both of the persons and facts that have made the greatest figure in England in this age, than is common ; and I take pleasure in putting together what I know, with an impartiality that is altogether unusual. Distance of time and place has totally blotted from my mind all traces either of resent- ment or prejudice ; and I speak with the same indif- ference of the court of G. B. [Great Britain] as I should do of that of Augustus Caesar. I hope you have not so ill an opinion of me to think I am turning author in my old age. I can assure you I regularly burn every quire as soon as it is finished ; and mean nothing more than to divert my solitary hours. I know mankind too well to think they are capable of receiving the truth, much less of applauding it : or, were it otherwise, applause to me is as insignificant as garlands on the dead." Lady Mary seems to have seen a good deal of the 278 Last Years and Death priests of the country. We have seen that she invited them in to play whist ; and they, or some of them, were anxious to repay her hospitaHty by converting her from her heresy. However, she was a stanch Protestant, and well grounded in the reasons for her religion ; and when it came to controversy, according to her own account, she carried too many guns for her clerical assailants. " I have never been attacked a second time in any of the towns where I have resided, and perhaps shall never be so again after my last battle, which was with an old priest, a learned man, particularly esteemed as a mathematician, and who has a head and heart as warm as poor Whiston's. When I first came hither, he visited me every day, and talked of me everywhere with such violent praise, that, had we been young people. God knows what would have been said. I have always the advantage of being quite calm on a subject which they cannot talk of without heat. He desired I would put on paper what I had said. I immediately wrote one side of a sheet, leaving the other for his answer. He carried it with him, promising to bring it the next day, since which time I have never seen it, though I have often demanded it, being ashamed of my defective Italian. I fancy he sent it to his friend the Arch- bishop of Milan. I have given over asking for it, as a desperate debt. He still visits me, but seldom, and in a cold sort of a way. When I have found disputants I less respected, I have sometimes taken pleasure in raising their hopes by my concessions : they are Last Years and Death 279 charmed when I agree with them in the number of the sacraments ; but are horribly disappointed when I explain myself by saying the word sacrament is not to be found either in Old or New Testament ; and one must be very ignorant not to know it is taken from the listing oath of the Roman soldiers, and means nothing more than a solemn, irrevocable engagement. Parents vow, in infant baptism, to educate their children in the Christian religion, which they take upon themselves by confirmation ; the Lord's Supper is frequently renew- ing the same oath. Ordination and matrimony are solemn vows of a different kind : confession includes a vow of revealing all we know, and reforming what is amiss : extreme unction, the last vow, that we have lived in the faith we were baptised : in this sense they are all sacraments. As to the mysteries preached since, they are all invented long after, and some of them repugnant to the primitive institution." Whether, however, Lady Mary's doctrine concerning the sacraments would be thought that of a good Churchwoman may reasonably be doubted. She certainly had an instinctive repulsion from mysticism of all kinds, and from asceticism ; and while she regarded monasteries in general as pernicious institu- tions, she reserved her approval for a decidedly worldly sort of convent : " I have little to say from this solitude, having already sent you a description of my garden, which, with my books, takes up all my time. I made a small excursion last week to visit a nunner}^ twelve miles 28o Last Years and Death from hence, which is the only institution of the kind in all Italy. It is in a town in the state of Mantua, founded by a princess of the house of Gonzaga, one of whom (now very old) is the present abbess : they are dressed in black, and wear a thin cypress veil at the back of their heads, excepting which, they have no mark of a religious habit, being set out in their hair, and having no guimpe, but wearing des collets monies, for which I have no name in English, but you may have seen them in very old pictures, being in fashion both before and after ruffs. Their house is a very large handsome building, though not regular, every sister having liberty to build her own apartment to her taste, which consists of as many rooms as she pleases ; they have each a separate kitchen, and keep cooks and what other servants they think proper, though there is a very fine public refectory : they are permitted to dine in private whenever they please. Their garden is very large, and the most adorned of any in these parts. They have no grates, and make what visits they will, always two together, and receive those of the men as well as ladies. I was accompanied when I went with all the nobility of the town, and they showed me all the house, without excluding the gentlemen ; but what I think the most remarkable privilege is a country house, which belongs to them, three miles from the town, where they pass every vintage, and at any time any four of them ma}- take their pleasure there, for as many days as they choose. They seem to differ from the chanoinesses of Flanders onlv in their vow of Last Years and Death 281 celibac}^ They take pensioners, but only those of quality. I saw here a niece of General Brown.* Those that profess, are obliged to prove a descent as noble as the knights of Malta. Upon the whole, I think it the most agreeable community I have seen, and their behaviour more decent than that of the cloistered nuns, who I have heard say themselves, that the grate permits all liberty of speech since it leaves them no other, and indeed they generally talk according to that maxim. My house at Avignon joined to a monastery, which gave me occasion to know a great deal of their conduct, which (though the convent of the best reputa- tion in that town, where there is fourteen) was such, as I would as soon put a girl into the playhouse for educa- tion as send her among them." Probably these quiet years were among the happiest of Lady Mary's life, before the infirmities of age became burdensome to her, and after she had given up her former ambitions. It was the Indian summer of her life. She writes to her daughter : '' I no more expect to arrive at the age of the Duchess of Marlborough than to that of Methusalem ; neither do I desire it. I have long thought myself useless to the world. I have seen one generation pass away ; and it is gone ; for I think there are very few of those left that flourished in my youth. You will * There were several Browns and Brownes who distinguished themselves in war about this time ; but Lady Mary probably meant Count Browne, in the Austrian service, the brave General who was mortally wounded at the battle of Prague, 1757. 282 Last Year's and Death perhaps call these melancholy reflections : they are not so. There is a quiet after the abandoning of pursuits, something like the rest that follows a laborious day. I tell you this for your comfort. It was formerly a terrifying view to me, that I should one day be an old woman. I now find that Nature has provided pleasures for every state. Those are only unhappy who will not be contented with what she gives, but strive to break through her laws, by affecting a per- petuity of youth, which appears to me as little desirable at present as the babies* do to you, that were the delight of your infancy." But this somewhat stoical mood of tranquillity was broken up when Lady Mary moved from the country to Venice, where (and at Padua) the remaining years of her stay abroad were spent. The post of British Resident at Venice had recently been given to a Mr. Murray, his predecessor Sir James Gray having gone to Naples. She evidently had no good opinion of him before she met him ; and, indeed, he seems to have been a man with whom it was hard not to quarrel. Lady Mary's letters are full of complaints of his persecu- tions, which fell not only on her, but on her friends, Sir James and Lady Steuart, of Colthurst, who, as exiled Jacobites, were the objects of Murray's jealous suspicion. '' I am surprised," Lady Mary writes, " I am not oftener low-spirited, considering the vexations I am exposed to by the folly of Murray ; I suppose he * That is, the dolls. Last Years and Death 283 attributes to me some of the marks of contempt he is treated with ; without remembering that he was in no higher esteem before I came. I confess I have received great civiHties from some friends that I made here so long ago as the year '40, but upon my honour have never named his name, or heard him mentioned by any noble Venetian whatever; nor have in any shape given him the least provocation to all the low malice he has shown me, which I have overlooked as below my notice, and would not trouble you with any part of it at present if he had not invented a new persecution, which may be productive of ill conse- quences. Here arrived, a few days ago, Sir James Steuart with his lady ;* that name was sufficient to make me fly to wait on her. I was charmed to find a man of uncommon sense and learning, and a lady that without beauty is more amiable than the fairest of her sex. I offered them all the little good offices in my power, and invited them to supper ; upon which our wise minister has discovered that I am in the interest of popery and slavery. As he has often said the same thing of Mr. Pitt, it would give me no mortification, if I did not apprehend that his fertile imagination may support this wise idea by such circumstances as may * According to Murray's own account, Sir James asked to be received by him, but was refused. It is possible, therefore, that Lady Mary was obnoxious as consorting with rebels. She herself protested against it being thought that any conduct of hers could have given the pretext for his action ; but remembering how she had incurred resentment at home, we may perhaps surmise that she had not been quite so prudent as she thought. 284 Last Years and Death influence those that do not know me. It is very re- markable that after having suffered all the rage of that party at Avignon for my attachment to the present reigning family, I should be accused here of favouring rebellion, when I hoped all our odious divisions were forgotten." She writes to her daughter : " I am afraid you may think some imprudent be- haviour of mine has occasioned all this ridiculous per- secution ; I can assure you I have always treated him and his family with the utmost civility, and am now retired to Padua, to avoid the comments that will cer- tainly be made on his extraordinary conduct towards me. I only desire privacy and quiet, and am very well contented to be without visits, w'hich oftener disturb than amuse me. My single concern is the design he has formed of securing (as he calls it) my effects im- mediately on my decease ; if they ever fall into his hands, I am persuaded they will never arrive entire into yours, which is a very uneasy thought." This fear of having her possessions appropriated if she should die in Venice seems to have persistently beset Lady Mary. She refers to it again : '' I own I could wish that we had a minister here who I had not reason to suspect would plunder my house if I die while he is in authority. General Graham is exceedingly infirm, and also so easily im- posed on, that whatever his intentions may be, he is incapable of protecting anybody. You will (perhaps) laugh at these apprehensions, since whatever happens Last Years and Death 285 in this world after our death is certainly nothing to us. It may be thought a fantastic satisfaction, but I confess I cannot help being earnestly desirous that what I leave may fall into your hands. Do not so far mistake me as to imagine I would have the present M. [minister] removed by advancement, which would have the sure consequence of my suffering, if possible, more impertinence from his successor." Venetian friends to a certain extent made up for the coldness of English visitors ; and some of them showed her much kindness. '' I lose very little," she writes, *' in not being visited by the English ; boys and governors being commonly (not always) the worst company in the world. I am no other ways affected by it, than as it has an ill appearance in a strange country, though hitherto I have not found any bad effect from it among my Venetian acquaintance. I was visited, two days ago, by my good friend Cavalier Antonio Mocenigo, who came from Venice to present to me the elected husband of his brother's great grand- daughter, who is a noble Venetian (Signor Zeno), just of age, heir to a large fortune, and is one of the most agreeable figures I ever saw ; not beautiful, but has an air of so much modesty and good sense, I could easily believe all the good Signor Antonio said of him. They came to invite me to the wedding. I could not refuse such a distinction, but hope to find some excuse before the solemnity, being unwilling to throw away money on fine clothes, which are as improper for me as an em- broidered pall for a coffin. But I durst not mention 286 Last Years and Death age before my friend, who told me he is eighty-six. I thought him four years younger ; he has all his senses perfect, and is as lively as a man of thirty. It was very pleasing to see the affectionate respect of the young man, and the fond joy that the old one took in praising him. They would have persuaded me to return with them to Venice ; I objected that my house was not ready to receive me ; Signor Antonio laughed, and asked me, if I did not think he could give me an apartment (in truth it was very easy, having five palaces in a row, on the great canal, his own being the centre, and the others inhabited by his relations). I was reduced to tell a fib (God forgive me I), and pretend a pain in my head ; promising to come to Venice before the marriage, which I really intend. They dined here ; your health was the first drunk ; you may imagine I did not fail to toast the bride. She is yet in a convent, but is to be immediately released, and receive visits of con- gratulation on the contract, till the celebration of the church ceremony, which perhaps may not be this two months ; during which time the lover makes a daily visit, and never comes without a present, which custom (at least sometimes) adds to the impatience of the bride- groom, and very much qualifies that of the lady. You would find it hard to believe a relation of the magnifi- cence, not to say extravagance, on these occasions ; indeed, it is the only one they are guilty of, their lives in general being spent in a regular handsome economy ; the weddings and the creation of a procurator being the only occasions they have of displaying their wealth, Last Years and Death 287 which is very great in many houses, particularly this of Mocenigo, of which my friend is the present head. I may justly call him so, giving me proofs of an attach- ment quite uncommon at London, and certainly disin- terested, since I can no way possibly be of use to him. I could tell you some strong instances of it, if I did not remember you have not time to listen to my stories." The annoyances of Murray, however petty, seem to have joined with growing infirmities to cloud over the good spirits which had hitherto seldom failed Lady Mary. She become anxious about her daughter when the post failed ; and Mr. Murray apparently would not lend her the English newspapers : " If half of the letters I have sent to you have reached you, I believe you think I have always a pen in my hand ; but, I am really so uneasy by your long silence, I cannot forbear inquiring the reason of it, by all the methods I can imagine. My time of life is naturally incHned to fear ; and though I resist (as well as I can) all the infirmities incident to age, I feel but too sensibly the impressions of melancholy, when I have any doubt of your welfare. You fancy, perhaps, that the public papers give me in- formation enough ; and that when I do not see in them any misfortune of yours, I ought to conclude you have none. I can assure you I never see any, excepting by accident. Our resident has not the good breeding to send them to me ; and after having asked for them once or twice, and being told they were engaged, I am un- willing to demand a trifle at the expense of thanking a 288 Last Years and Death man who does not desire to oblige me ; indeed, since the ministry of Mr. Pitt, he is so desirous to signahze his zeal for the contrary faction, he is perpetually saying ridiculous things, to manifest his attachment ; and, as he looks upon me (nobody knows why) to be the friend of a man I never saw, he has not visited me once this winter. The misfortune is not great. I cannot help laughing at my being mistaken for a politician. I have often been so, though I ever thought politics so far removed from my sphere. I cannot accuse myself of dabbling in them, even when I heard them talked over in all companies ; but, as the old song says, " Tho' through the wide world we should range, 'Tis in vain from our fortune to fly." Again her passion for reading made her fear for her eyesight, and began to tell on her general health. She confesses as much in a letter of 1759 to Lady Bute: ' I own I have too much indulged a sedentary humour, and have been a rake in reading. You will laugh at the expression, but I think the literal meaning of the ugly word rake is one that follows his pleasures in contradiction to his reason. I thought mine so innocent I might pursue them with impunity. I now find that I was mistaken, and that all excesses are (though not equally) blamable. My spirits in company are false fire : I have a damp within ; from marshy grounds frequently arises an appearance of light. I grow splenetic, and consequent^ ought to stop my pen, for fear of conveying the infection." Last Years and Death 289 Even the liberty for which she had given up so much seemed a deception, Hke all else. She writes to her daughter : " I believe, like all others of your age, you have long been convinced there is no real happiness to be found or expected in this world. You have seen a court near enough to know neither riches nor power can secure it ; and all human endeavours after felicity are as childish as running after sparrows to lay salt on their tails ; but I ought to give you another information, which can only be learned by experience, that liberty is an idea equally chimerical, and has no real existence in this life. I can truly assure you I have never been so little mistress of my own time and actions, as since I have lived alone. Mankind is placed in a state of dependency, not onl}^ on one another (which all are in some degree), but so many inevitable accidents thwart our designs, and limit our best laid projects. The poor efforts of our utmost prudence and political schemes, appear, I fancy, in the eyes of some superior beings, like the pecking of a young linnet to break a wire cage, or the climbing o^ a squirrel in a hoop ; the moral needs no explanation : let us sing as cheerfully as we can in our impenetrable confinement, and crack our nuts with pleasure from the little store that is allowed us." And, again, in another letter to the same: '' I am now grown timorous, and inclined to low spirits, whatever you may hear to the contrary. My cheerfulness is like the fire kindled in brushwood, which makes a show, but is soon turned to cold 19 290 Last Years and Death ashes. I do not, like Madame Maintenon, grieve at the decay which is allotted to all mortals, but would willingly excuse to you the heat that was in my last. I would by no means have you give the least uneasi- ness to your father. At his time of life the mind should be vacant and quiet. As for the rest, let Providence as it will dispose of your most affectionate mother." Possibly there was an epidemic of low spirits at Venice, or Lady Mary had infected others with her own gloom ; for she chronicles the sudden prevalence of a practice generally supposed to be peculiarly English : " Here is a fashion sprung up entirely new in this part of the world ; I mean suicide : a rich parish priest and a young Celestine monk have disposed of them- selves last week in that manner without any visible reason for their precipitation. The priest, indeed, left a paper in his hat to signify his desire of imitating the indifference of Socrates and magnanimity of Cato : the friar swung out of the world without giving any account of his design. You see it is not in Britain alone that the spleen spreads his dominion. I look on all excursions of this kind to be owing to that distemper, W'hich shows the necessity of seeking employment for the mind, and exercise for the body ; the spirits and the blood stagnate without motion." To this length Lady Mary had no intention of going; little as she now clung to life, she had no idea of quitting it before necessar}'. She continued to enjoy Last Years and Death 291 her life at Venice ; and though she dedined her daughter's offers of sending anything she might want, had no objection to receiving some china to enable her to make a figure there : '* My dear child, do not think of reversing nature by making me presents. I would send you all my jewels and my toilet, if I knew how to convey them, though they are in some measure necessary in this country, where it would be, perhaps, reported I had pawned them, if they did not sometimes make their appear- ance. I know not how to send commissions for things I never saw ; nothing of price I would have, as I would not new furnish an inn I was on the point of leaving ; such is this world to me. Though china is in such estimation here, I have sometimes an inclination to desire your father to send me the two large jars that stood in the windows in Cavendish Square. I am sure he don't value them, and believe they would be of no use to you. I bought them at an auction, for two guineas, before the D. of Argyll's example had made all china, more or less, fashionable." English wares seem to have been in vogue at Venice at the time : " In general, all the shops are full of English mer- chandise, and they boast [of] everything as coming from London, in the same style as they used to do from Paris. I was showed (of their own invention) a set of furniture, in a taste entirely new : it consists of eight large armed-chairs, the same number of sconces, a table, and prodigious looking-glass, all of glass. It is 19 — 2 292 Last Years and Death impossible to imagine their beauty ; they deserve being placed in a prince's dressing-room, or grand cabinet ; the price demanded is /'400. They would be a very proper decoration for the apartment of a prince so young and beautiful as ours." Lady Mary asked for Horace Walpole's " Royal and Noble Authors,'" remembering her meeting with him at Florence. Walpole, in his letters, alludes several times to a copy of this book as to be sent to her ; though it was eventually despatched after she had left Venice on her way home. It is curious to note the kindliness of her references to him, as compared wnth his uniform spitefulness in speaking of her : '' I was well acquainted with Mr. Walpole at Florence, and indeed he was particularh' civil to me. I have great encouragement to ask a favour of him, if I did not know that few people have so good memories to remember so many years backwards as have passed since I have seen him. If he has treated the character of Queen Elizabeth with disrespect, all the women should tear him to pieces, for abusing the glory of their sex.* Neither is it just to put her in the list of authors, having never published anything, though we have Mr. Camden's authority that she wrote many valuable pieces, chiefly Greek translations. I wish all monarchs would bestow their leisure hours on such studies : perhaps they would not be very useful to * Alluding to the character of Queen Elizabeth, in his " Royal and Noble Authors." Last Years and Death 293 mankind ; but it may be asserted, for a certain truth, their own minds would be more improved than by the amusements of Quadrille or Cavagnole. ** I desire you would thank your father for the china jars ; if they arrive safe, they will do me great honour in this country. The Patriarch died here a few days ago. He had a large temporal estate; and, by long life and extreme parsimony, has left four hundred thousand sequins in his coffers, which is inherited by two nephews ; and I su ppose will be dissipated as scandalously as it has been accumulated. The town is at present full of factions, for the election of his successor : the ladies are always very active on these occasions. I have observed that they ever have more influence in republics than [in a] monarchy. In commonwealths, votes are easily acquired by the fair ; and she, who has most beauty or art, has a great sway in the senate." To guard against overtaxing her eyes. Lady Mary tried dictating to a secretary ; but she soon dropped this, as appears from an entertaining letter to Sir James Steuart, which also gives us a glimpse (apparently) of one of Murray's receptions : " I am extremely obliged for the valuable present you intend me.* I believe you criticise yourself too severely on your style : I do not think that very smooth harmony is necessary in a work which has a merit of a nobler kind ; I think it rather a defect, as when a * Sir James Steuart's " Political Economy," of which he after- wards sent her a copy in manuscript. 294 Last Years and Death Roman emperor (as we see him sometimes represented on a French stage) is dressed like a petit maitre. I confess the crowd of readers look no further ; the tittle-tattle of Madame de Sevigne, and the clinquant of Telemachus, have found admirers from that very reason. Whatever is clearly expressed, is well wrote in a book of reasoning. However, I shall obey your commands in telling you my opinion with the greatest sincerity. '' Thus far I have dictated for the first time of my life, and perhaps it will be the last, for my amanuensis is not to be hired, and I despair of ever meeting with another. He is the first that could write as fast as I talk, and yet you see there are so many mistakes, it wants a comment longer than my letter to explain my insignificant meaning, and I have fatigued my poor eyes more with correcting it than I should have done in scribbling two sheets of paper. You will think, perhaps, from this idle attempt, that I have some fluxion on my sight ; no such matter ; I have suffered myself to be persuaded by such sort of arguments as those by which people are induced to strict abstinence, or to take physic. Fear, paltry fear, founded on vapours rising from the heat, which is now excessive, and has so far debilitated my miserable nerves that I submit to a present displeasure, by way of precaution against a future evil, that possibly may never happen. I have this to say in my excuse, that the evil is of so horrid a nature, I own I feel no philosophy that could support me under it, and no mountain girl ever Last Years and Death 295 trembled more at one of Whitfield's pathetic lectures than I do at the word blindness, though I know all the fine things that may be said for consolation in such a case : but I know, also, they would not operate on my constitution. 'Why, then' (say my wise monitors), * will you persist in reading or writing seven hours in a day ?' 'I am happy while I read and write.' ' Indeed, one would suffer a great deal to be happy,' say the men, sneering ; and the ladies wink at each other, and hold up their fans. A fine lady of three score had the goodness to add, * At least, madam, you should use spectacles ; I have used them myself these twenty years ; I was advised to it by a famous oculist when I was fifteen. I am really of opinion that they have preserved my sight, notwithstanding the passion I always had both for reading and drawing.' This good woman, you must know, is half blind, and never read a larger volume than a newspaper. I will not trouble you with the whole conversation, though it would make an excellent scene in a farce ; but after they had in the best bred way in the world convinced me that they thought I lied when I talked of reading without glasses, the foresaid matron obligingly said she should be very proud to see the writing I talked of, having heard me say formerly I had no correspondents but my daughter and Mr. Wortley. She was inter- rupted by her sister, who said, simpering, ' You forgot Sir J. S.' I took her up something short, I confess, and said in a dry stern tone, ' Madam, I do write to Sir J. S., and will do it as long as he will permit that 296 Last Years and Death honour.' This rudeness of mine occasioned a profound silence for some minutes, and they fell into a good- natured discourse of the ill consequences of too much application, and remembered how many apoplexies, gouts, and dropsies had happened amongst the hard students of their acquaintance. As I never studied anything in my life, and have always (at least from fifteen) thought the reputation of learning a misfortune to a woman, I was resolved to believe these stories were not meant at me : I grew silent in my turn, and took up a card that lay on a table, and amused myself with smoking it over a candle. In the mean time (as the song says) : " ' Their tattles all run, as swift as the sun, Of who had won, and who was undone By their gaming and sitting up late.' When it was observed I entered into none of these topics, I was addressed by an obliging lady, who pitied my stupidity. * Indeed, madam, you should buy horses to that fine machine you have at Padua ; of what use is it standing in the portico ?' ' Perhaps,' said another, wittily, ' of as much use as a standing dish.' A gaping schoolboy added with still more wit, ' I have seen at a country gentleman's table a venison- pasty made of wood.' I was not at all vexed by said schoolboy, not because he was (in more senses than one) the highest of the company, but knowing he did not mean to offend me. I confess (to my shame be it spoken) I was grieved at the triumph that appeared in the eyes of the king and queen of the company, the Last Years and Death 297 court being tolerably full."^ His majesty walked off early with the air befitting his dignity, followed by his train of courtiers, who, like courtiers, were laughing amongst themselves as they followed him : and I was left with the two queens, one of whom was making ruffles for the man she loved, and the other slopping tea for the good of her country. They renewed their generous endeavours to set me right, and I (graceless beast that I am) take up the smoked card which lay before me, and with the corner of another wrote — " ' If ever I one thought bestow On what such fools advise, May I be dull enough to grow Most miserably wise,' and flung down the card on the table, and myself out of the room, in the most indecent fury." Such conduct was hardly, perhaps, calculated to disarm the hostility of Murray and his circle ; and so disagreeable did they become that Lady Mary had thoughts of leaving Venice and joining her friends the Steuarts, with whom she now corresponded regularly, at Tubingen ; but age and infirmity forbade the journey. " I have indulged myself some time with day-dreams of the happiness I hoped to enjoy this summer in the conversation of Lady Fanny and Sir James S. ; but I hear such frightful stories of precipices and hovels * The "king" was probably Murray, and "the two queens" his wife and sister — the latter married to Mr. Smith, the English Consul. 298 Last Years and Death during the whole journey, I begin to fear there is no such pleasure allotted me in the book of fate : the Alps were once molehills in my sight when they interposed between me and the slightest inclination ; now age begins to freeze, and brings with it the usual train of melancholy apprehensions. Poor humankind ! We always march blindly on ; the fire of youth represents to us all our wishes possible ; and, that over, we fall into despondency that prevents even easy enterprises : a stove in winter, a garden in summer, bounds all our desires, or at least our undertakings. If Mr. Steuart* would disclose all his imaginations, I dare swear he has some thoughts of emulating Alexander or Demosthenes, perhaps both : nothing seems difficult at his time of life, everything at mine. I am very unwilling, but am afraid I must submit to the confinement of my boat and my easy-chair, and go no farther than they can carry me. Why are our views so extensive and our power so miserably limited ? This is among the mysteries which (as you justly say) will remain ever unfolded to our shallow capacities. I am much inclined to think we are no more free agents than the queen of clubs when she victoriously takes prisoner the knave of hearts ; and all our efforts (when we rebel against destiny) as weak as a card that sticks to a glove when the gamester is determined to throw it on the table. Let us then (which is the only true philosophy) be contented with our chance, and make the best of that very bad bargain of being born in this vile planet ; * Afterwards (^.eneral Steuart, Sir James's son. Last Years and Death 299 where we may find, however (God be thanked), much / to laugh at, though little to approve. " I confess I delight extremely in looking on men in that light. How many thousands trample under foot honour, ease, and pleasure, in pursuit of ribands of cer- tain colours, dabs of embroidery on their clothes, and gilt wood carved behind their coaches in a particular figure ! Others breaking their hearts till they are dis- tinguished by the shape and colour of their hats; and, in general, all people earnestly seeking what they do not want, while they neglect the real blessings in their possession — I mean, the innocent gratification of their senses, which is all we can properly call our own." And this somewhat epicurean philosophy is developed further in another letter to Sir James Steuart : " My chief study all my Hfe has been to lighten mis- fortunes, and multiply pleasures, as far as human nature can : when I have nothing to find in myself from which I can extract any kind of delight, I think on the happi- ness of my friends, and rejoice in the joy with which you converse together, and look on the beautiful young plant* from which you may so reasonably expect honour and felicity. In other days I think over the comic scenes that are daily exhibited on the great stage of the world for my entertainment. I am charmed with the account of the Moravians, who certainly exceed all mankind in absurdity of principles and madness of practice ; yet these people walk erect, and are num- bered amongst rational beings. I imagined after three * The youthful son of Sir James. 300 Last Years and Death thousand years' working at creeds and theological whimsies, there remained nothing new to be invented ; I see the fund is inexhaustible, and we may say of folly what Horace has said of vice : " yEtas parentum pejor avis tulit Nos nequiores, mox daturos Progeniem vitiosiorem." ** I will not ask pardon for this quotation ; it is God's mercy I did not put it into English : when one is haunted (as I am) by the Demon of Poesie, it must come out in one shape or another, and you will own that nobody shows it to more advantage than the author I have mentioned." The promised ''Political Economy" came, as a slight consolation to Lady Mary for being unable to rejoin her friends ; and she wrote most warmly about it to Sir James : '' I have now with great pleasure, and I flatter my- self with some improvement, read over again your delightful and instructive treatise ; you have opened to me several truths of which I had before only a confused idea. I confess I cannot help being a little vain of comprehending a system that is calculated only for a thinking mind, and cannot be tasted without a willing- ness to lay aside many prejudices which arise from education and the conversation of people no wiser than ourselves. I do not only mean my own sex when I speak of our confined way of reasoning ; there are many of yours as incapable of judging otherwise than they have been early taught, as the most ignorant milk- Last Years and Death 301 maid : nay, I believe a girl out of a village or a nursery more capable of receiving instruction than a lad just set free from the university. It is not difficult to write on blank paper, but 'tis a tedious if not an impossible task to scrape out nonsense already written, and put better sense in the place of it." The long life of travel and independence was now drawing to a close. In 1761 came the news of Mr. Wortley Montagu's death, at the age of eighty-three, and although no allusions to it are mentioned in the few letters of a later date published, there is no doubt that Lady Mary felt the loss of one whom (as far as we can tell) she had always respected and loved. Some pleasure was caused her by the rapid rise of the Earl of Bute after the accession of George III. ; yet she did not desire to leave Venice, as is clear from her letter to Sir James Steuart : " The happiness of domestic life seems the most laudable as it is certainly the most delightful of our prospects, yet even that is denied, or at least so mixed, * we think it not sincere, or fear it cannot last.' A long series of disappointments have perhaps worn out my natural spirits, and given a melancholy cast to my way of thinking. I would not communicate this weakness to any but yourself, who can have compassion even where your superior understanding condemns. I con- fess that though I am (it may be) beyond the strict bounds of reason pleased with my Lord Bute's and my daughter's prosperity, I am doubtful whether I will attempt to be a spectator of it. I have so many years 302 Last Years and Death indulged my natural inclinations to solitude and reading, I am unwilling to return to crowds and bustle, which would be unavoidable in London. The few friends I esteemed are now no more : the new set of people who fill the stage at present are too indifferent to me even to raise my curiosity. I now begin to feel (very late, you'll say) the worst effects of age, blindness excepted ; I am grown timorous and suspicious ; I fear the incon- stancy of that goddess so publicly adored in ancient Kome, and so heartily inwardly worshipped in the modern. I retain, however, such a degree of that un- common thing called common- sense, not to trouble the felicity of my children with my foreboding dreams, which I hope will prove as idle as the croaking of ravens, or the noise of that harmless animal dis- tinguished by the odious name of screech-owl." However, at the request of her daughter, who wished her to help in settling her husband's affairs. Lady Mary resolved to set out for England, the more readily, per- haps, because she probably knew that she was smitten with an incurable disease, and had but a short time to live. She set out in the winter — a far different winter journey from that which had begun her travels, and led her into the magnificent East. Though passing near her friends the Steuarts, she was unable to meet them ; finally she reached Rotterdam, and there was delayed by storms. From thence she wrote to Sir James : " I tried in vain to find you at Amsterdam ; I began to think we resembled two parallel lines, destined to be always near and never to meet. You know there is no Last Years and Death 303 fighting (at least no overcoming) destiny. So far I am a confirmed Calvinist, according to the notions of the country where I now exist. I am dragging my ragged remnant of Hfe to England. The wind and tide are against me ; how far I have strength to struggle against both I know not ; that I am arrived here is as much a miracle as any in the golden legend ; and if I had fore- seen half the difficulties I have met with, I should not certainly have had the courage to undertake it." She did not forget her friends when at last she reached England ; constantly she pressed on Lord Bute the claims of Sir James Steuart to a pardon. This she never saw granted, though it was conceded at last. She was now dying of cancer, and her letters must have been few ; but she found time and strength to reassure Lady Frances Steuart of her zeal in the service of her friends. Her very last published letter relates to this : "" I have been ill a long time, and am now so bad I am little capable of writing, but I would not pass in your opinion as either stupid or ungrateful. My heart is always warm in your service, and I am always told your affairs shall be taken care of. You may depend, dear madam, nothing shall be wanting on the part of " Your ladyship's faithful humble servant." This was written in July, 1762 ; and on August 21, Lady Mary died at a little house she had taken in George Street, Hanover Square. Her personal appearance was evidently capable of 304 Last Years and Death giving very different impressions to different observers. She was tall, with black hair and eyes — the latter appearing prominent from the loss of her eyelashes through the small-pox. In the published correspondence between Lady Pom- fret and Lady Hertford — both friends of Lady Mary's — there is one passage which would seem to imply that the disfigurement suffered at that time was much greater than this. Lady Hertford, commenting on that one of Lady Mary's "' Court Eclogues " entitled " Flavia ; or, The Small-pox," and supposed to reflect the author's own feelings while recovering from that illness, says : " Nothing can be more natural than the complaint for the loss of her beauty ; but as that was only one of her various powers to charm, I should have imagined she would have only felt a very small part of the regret that many other people have suffered on a like misfortune, who have had nothing but the loveliness of their persons to claim admiration ; and consequently, by the loss of that [beauty], have found all their hopes of it [admira- tion] vanish much earlier in life than Lady Mary; — for, if I do not mistake, she was near thirty before she had to deplore the loss of beauty greater than I ever saw in any face besides her own." Lady Hertford does mistake, for Lady Mary could not have been more than twenty-six when she had the small-pox ; the loss of beauty is also probably exag- gerated, for after her return from Turkey her charms were still the theme for admiration. It is probable, Last Years and Death. 305 however, that even in the days when she was a recog- nised beauty, her charm was rather in expression and sprightHness than in symmetry of feature; and as she grew older, " Wortley"s eyes " were no longer be- rhymed, but called "wild and staring" by hostile critics. In dress, too, she seems to have grown slovenly ; perhaps the impossibility of keeping neat during a journey in those days gradually destroyed even the desire to appear neat, or perhaps her eccentricity was merely the deliberate defiance of that most irrational of conventionalities, fashion. INDEX A. Achmet III., Sultan, 8i Achmet Beg, ']'] Addison, 6, 96, 217, 219 Adrianople, 81, 84, 90, 92 Arbiuhnot, 18, 126, 127 Ardinghi, Signer Aurelio, 247, 249 Argyll, Duke of, 224, 291 A>he, Miss, 162 Astell, Mary, 12, 26 Atlantis, "K^w, 35 Avignon, 22, 160, i6[, 164, 167, 168, 170, 281 B. Bayle, 220 Beard, Mr., 131 Belgrade, 76, ']%, 92 Belloni, 149 Bentivoglio, Marchesa Licinia, 252, 255 Bergamo, 247, 249, 251 Bickersteth, 41 Bocchetta, 171 Bolingbroke, Karl of, 207, 215, 217, 219, 259 Brescia, 23, 169, 174, 180. 188, 191, 252, 255, 262 Bristol, the Countess of, 97 Brunswick, Elizabeth of, 70, 71 Burnet, Bishop, 6, 215 Bute, Earl of, 19, 180, 203, 215. 234, 240, 259 Bute, Mary, Countess of, 9, 20, 26. 28, 96, 153. 175. 177, j8o, 199, 203, 219, 228, 257, 288 Carlisle, Lord, 139 Caroline, Princess of Wales, 10, 16, 57, 78, 129 Cenis, Mont, 100 Chambery, 158, 159 Chesterfield, the Earl oT, 129 Che\alier, the, 153, 165 Chloe, Mons. , 158 Chudleigh, Elizabeth, 3 Clarke, Dr., 144 Cleland, John, 27, 28 Cologne, 64, 65 Congreve, lo, 113 Constantinople, 62, 63, 92, 93, 95, 96, 99 Conti, Abbe, 90 Craggs, Mr., 60, 61 Craggs, Mr. ,junr., 107 D. Dallaway, Rev., 28, 34 Dodington, Bubb, 115 Dover, 102, 104, 137 Dresden, 75 Durlach, Prince of Baden, 172 Eugene, Prince, 75, 76 F. Fatima, wife of the Kiyaya. 89, 96. Termor, Lady Sophia, 140 Ferrara, 254 Fielding, Henry, 24, 205, 206, 2oiJ Fleury, Cardinal, 138 Florence. 22, 142, 148 Index 307 G. Gay, Mr., 1 13 Geneva, 158 Genoa, 22, 100, 171, 201 George I., 52, 55, 56, 59, 72, 78 George II., 124 George III., 19 Gotolengo, 24, 188, 262 Gower, Evelyn, Countess of, 3, 16, 119, 120, 121, 122 Graham, General, 284 Grange, Lord, 17 Grant, Abbe, 154 Gray, Sir James, 282 Grey, Arthur, 112 Grimani, Procurator, 146, 173, 268 Guastalla, 183, 187 Guastalla, Duchess of, 186 H. Halifax, Lord, 8, 54, 55, 56 Hanover, 72, 73, 75 Herbert, Lady Harriet, 131, 132 Herculaneum, 151, 152 Hertford, Lady, 304 Hervey, Lord, 12, 18, iii, 128, 136 Hervey, Lady, 17 Hewet, Mrs., 35 Hinchinbrook, 52 Homer, 85 Huntingdon, 54 L Isco, Lake of, 175, 263 K. Kneller, Sir G., 12, 106, 119 L. Lempster, Lord, 139, 143 Lovere, 23, 24, 175, 177, 182, 191, 193, 195, 198, 202, 206, 208,227, 245, 249, 251, 267, 268 Lyons, 139 M. Maffei, Marquis, 203, 273 Mahony, Count, 157 Mar, the Earl of, 53 Mar, Frances, Countess of, 3, ii, 16, 52, 102, 107, 113, T23, 126, 129 Mailborough, Duchess of, 150, ^04, 281 Mathews, Admiral, 166 Middlethorpe, 52, 53 Misson, 197, 199, 201 Mocenigo, Antonio, 285 Molesworth, Mr., 27 Murray, Mr., 23, 24, 282, 293, 297, Murray, Mrs., 17, 112, 117, 118, 119 N. Naples, 149, 157 Newcastle, Duke of, 259 Newton, Sir Isaac, 220, 238, 260 Nimeguen, 64 Nismes, 164 O. Octavia, 246 Oglio, the river, 182 Orange, 161 Orkney, Lady, 125 Orrery, Lord, 213, 214, 216 Oxford, Lord, 259 Oxford, Countess of, 168 P. Padua, 24, 197, 262, 282, 296 Palazzo, Count, 23, 170 Paris, loi Parma, 189 Pera, 92, 95 Peterwaradin, 97 Philip, Don, 166, 171, 189 Philippopolis, Z'i^ Pierrepont, Evelyn, afterwards Earl of Kingston, Marquis of Dor- chester, and Duke of Kingston, 3, 7, 43. 47 Pierrepont, Lady Frances, after- wards Meadows, 121, 232 Pierrepont, Lord, 56 Pierrepont, William, afterwards Duke of Kingston, 3, 123 Pitt, William, 283, 288 Pomfret, Lady, 21, 22, 129, 132, 139, 141, 142, 144, 146, 148, 160, 304 3o8 Index Pope, Alexander, lo, 12. 14, 17, 18, 30, 69, 85, 95, 104, 106, 113, 126, 127, 128, 168,207, 213,214, 218, 236, 238, 270 Portici, 151, 152 Prague, 72, 73 Prior, Matthew, 144, 236 Q- Queensberry, Duchess of, 134 Querini, Cardinal, 203, 268, 270, 272 R. Rambler, The, 212 Rawdon, Sir John, 256 Ratisbon, 65, 67 Remond, M., 15, 17, 19, 107, no Richardson, 24, 220, 222, 245, 252, 255 Richelieu, Duke of, 164, 169 Rochester, Lord, 222 Rome, 140, 149, 153, 154 Rotterdam, 63 Roussi, Charlotte de, 145 Salo, 193 Sandwich, Lord, 179 Sardinia, King of, 186 Saxony, Electoral Prince of, 144, I45> 170 Selden, Camille, 2S, 31 Sevigne, Mdme. de, i, 215, 216, 294 Sigteum, 100 Smollett, 208 Sophia, 78 Sosi, Count Jeronimo, 248, 250 South Sea Company, 106 Sowden, Rev. Benj., 27 Spectator, The, 36, 51, 217 Stair, Lord, in Steele, Sir Richard, 6, 7, 43, 208 Steuart, Sir James, 24, 293, 295, 297, 299, 300 Steuart, General, 29S Stuart, Lady Louisa, 4, 27, 28, 59, Stuart, Lady Mary, 234 Swift, Dean, 126, 127, 134, 207, 213, 214, 218, 242 T. Tatler, The, 36, 41 Theocritus, 85 Thoresby, 38, 39, 124, 168 Tunbridge, 175, 176 Turin, 100, 139 Twickenham, 106, no V. Valence, 159 Vane, Lady, 20S Venice, 21, 22, 139, 140, 142, 145, 148, 172, 229, 262, 268, 282, 290, 301 Vienna, 63, 67, 68, 72, ■]i, 197 Villette, Mr., 157, 158 W. Wackerbarth, Count, 146, 170 Walpole, Horace, i, 2, 8, n, 19, 21, 23, 25, 26, 30, 55, 57, 124, 129, 148, 162, 164, 177, 242, 292 Walpole, Lady, 21, 22, 148 Walpole, Sir Robert, n5, 133, 138, 157, 166, 215 Wharncliffe, 163 Wharncliffe, Lord, 28, 34, 175 Wharton, Philip, Duke of, 12, n6 Williams, Sir Charles Hanbury, 257 Wortley, Anne, 6, 35, l^, 38, 40 Wortley Montagu, Edward, 6, 8, 10, 15, 17, 20, 24, 40, 45, 47, 50, 63> 72, 11, 75. 76, 88, 106, no, n2, 133, 155, 161, 166, 197.295. 301 Wortley Montagu, Edward, jun., 15.52, 159, 161 Young, 180 Z. Zathia, Prince de, 152 ■ILLING 4 SONS. PRINTERS. GUILDPORa >^ 14 DAY TT^p RTO«N TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED LOAN DEPT. ^^ °^ subject to immediate recall. 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