THE LETTERS //?£
AW MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU.
EDITED BY
MRS. HALE,
JTHORESS OF "WOMAN'S RECORD," " NORTHWOOD," "MANNERS," ETC.
" The equal lustre of the heavenly mind,
Where every grace with every virtue joined,
Learning not vain, and wisdom not severe,
With greatness easy, and with wit sincere." — Pope.
REVISED EDITION.
BOSTON:
ROBERTS BROTHERS.
1884
18
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by
ROBERTS BROTHERS,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of Massachusetts.
CAMBRIDGE !
PRESSWORK BY JOHN WILSON AND SON.
PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION.
There are many by-paths to the knowledge of mankind in
general, and of illustrious individuals in particular, where the
dignified Muse of History never deigns to lead us. She
shows us kings and heroes, describes wonderful spectacles
and great battles, embodies religious movements and mighty
revolutions, — subjects that we ought to know and that we
like to know; but there are many subordinate personages,
incidents, circumstances, perhaps more interesting because
nearer to us in feeling, that we can only learn through the
aid of familiar memoirs, autobiographies, and especially pri-
vate and contemporaneous letters. These last give us the
surest information about the ways and means of actual life,
the most minute details and various images of the real
thoughts, feelings, passions, and pursuits of people and of
periods.
Every age (and every society) has its peculiar tone, acting,
for the time, as a sort of atmosphere, which, in spite of any
isolation or eccentricity of character, will influence every per-
son it surrounds. This tone is nowhere to be seized so easily,
and understood so well, as in the familiar letters of each epoch.
How stiff, stupid, and dead is the most elaborate description
of dress, manners, and etiquette, presented in the pictures
IV PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION.
drawn by general authors and astute diplomatists, compared
with the real talk, the frank opinions, the ill-natured gossip,
the spontaneous admiration, that enlighten as well as amuse
us in contemporary correspondence.
The name of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu is familiar to
our people, yet her celebrated " Letters " have . never been
made easily accessible, and therefore are little known. In
preparing this volume for popular use, great care has been
taken to preserve the unity of each division of the " Letters,"
so that the history of the writer might be elucidated, as well as
the sketches of events she records be understood in their true
connection. The complete edition of her works, edited by her
great-grandson, Lord Wharncliffe, has been followed as the best
authority. The work can scarcely fail of interesting deeply
the American reader. Lady Mary lived and wrote in the
first half of the eighteenth century, when our land was a com-
ponent portion of the British Empire, consequently her genius
and her fame are ours by inheritance. Her letters will be
found valuable as well as amusing, aiding the students of his-
tory to catch the manners and opinions of English society in
high life — then the dominant power of the realm — at the
time Benjamin Franklin and his co-patriots in this Western
World were working out the problem of American independ-
ence and popular sovereignty.
The contrast in the condition of the two countries then and
now is curious and instructive ; so, also, is the contrast be-
tween the description of Constantinople, as it then appeared
to Lady Mary, and its present state.
An article in a late number of " Blackwood's Magazine "
thus describes her visit : —
"Change, adventure, movement, new things to see and hear
and find out — .every thing her brilliant and curious intelligence
required — were thus supplied to her ; and there never had been
so clear a picture of the mysterious East as that which the gay
PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION. V
young English Ambassadress sent thereafter in long letters,
sparkling with wit and observation and real insight, to all her Eng-
lish friends. . . . She is even so good-natured as to deseribe a
camel for some good rural gentlewoman. Altogether, there never
was a more spontaneous, sprightly, and picturesque narrative of
travel than this which the light-hearted young woman with bright
English eyes, which noted every thing under her flowing Eastern
veil, despatched to the little knot of men and women at home."
B ut Lady Mary sh owed evenj iigher qualit ies than wit
and observa tion. The practice of inoculation for small-pox
was universal in Turkey. She examined it, perceived its
utility, tested it upon her little son, and came back to Eng-
land resolved to introduce it. For five years she struggled
against the doctors and the conservatives, and at length forced
its beneficent character upon the unwilling Faculty.
Near the close of her life we find her quiet heroism espe-
cially admirable. " She sets fo: th in her letters all her sur-
roundings, all her occupations, not by way of amusing her
correspondent alone, but by way of showing that her own
life is yet worth living, and her individuality unimpaired.
In her Italian villa, queen of the alien hamlet, legislator for her
neighbor cottages, the English lady took her forlorn yet indi-
vidual place ; filling her days with a thousand occupations ;
dazzling the strange little world about her with brilliant talk ;
seeking forgetfulness in books ; living and growing old in her
own way with a certain proud reasonableness and philosophy ;
deluding herself with no dreams, forbidding her heart to brood
over the past, and making a heroic and partially successful
attempt to be sufficient to herself. We follow her brave
spirit through the haze of years with a certain wondering
sympathy, a surprised respectA < Keep my letters/ said
Lady Mary, in the heyday of-1ier life ; ' they will be as good
as Madame de Sevigne's forty years hence/ "
VI PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION.
All this long and eventful life is mirrored in her letters.
They are vivid, animated, sparkling with caustic and kindly
observations. Like Madame de Sevigne's, they are eminently
fit to form the style of youth ; and no better adjuncts to the
school composition could be had than the careful reading of
these interesting volumes.
In the original Preface, written by " Mistress Mary Astell,
of learned memory, the Madonilla of the * Tatler,' " are these
sentiments, which American ladies may well approve and
adopt : " Let her own sex do justice to Lady Mary Wortley
Montagu. Let us freely own the superiority of her genius,
pleased that a Woman triumphs ; that the Giver of all good
gifts intrusted and adorned her with most excellent talents."
SARAH JOSEPHA HALE.
Philadelphia, Nov. 26, 1868.
MEMOIR
LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU
Lady Mary Pierrepont was the eldest daughter of Evely*
Duke of Kingston and the Lady Mary Fielding, daughter of
William Earl of Denbigh. "We shall say no more upon her ped-
igree, except to note that she was, by the mother's side, cousin
of Henry Fielding, the novelist. The kindred of genius is an in-
teresting point of genealogy to all who study human nature in-
stead of the peerage. The novelist is now the most celebrated
of her kindred. She was born at Thoresby, about the year 1690,
and lost her mother in 1694, when Lady Mary and her two
sisters had scarcely passed the years of infancy. Their father, a
dissipated, selfish, worldly man, appears to have concerned him-
self very little with their training, though one of her biographers*
asserts that Lady Mary displayed in her childhood such tokens
of genius that she was placed under the same preceptors as her
only brother, the Viscount Newark, and that "she acquired the
elements of the Greek, Latin, and French Languages with the
greatest success." He goes on to say that " when she had made
a singular proficiency, her studies were superintended by Bishop
Burnet, who fostered her superior talents with every expression
of dignified praise."
Lord WharnclifFe seems to doubt this statement; he thinks
her improvement was mainly owing to her own indomitable
eagerness for knowledge. However this may be, the following
anecdotef shows that the beauty and precocity of his celebrated
daughter had made her in her childhood a pet with the duke,
• Mr. Dillaway.
t From Biographical Anecdotes collected by Lord Wharncliffe.
Vlll MEMOIR OF
her father; but his neglect in her after years, and the unkind-
ness and mercenary tyranny he exercised toward her at the
time of her marriage, speak plainly of the want of all real
fatherly interest and affection. "A sprightly, beautiful child,
while it is a child, reflects luster upon a young father, from
whom it may be presumed to have partly inherited its charms.
Accordingly, a trifling incident, which Lady Mary loved to re-
call, will prove how much she was the object of Lord Kingston's
pride and fondness in her childhood. As a leader of the fashion-
able world, and a strenuous Whig in party, he of course belonged
to the Kit-cat Club. One day, at a meeting to choose toasts for
the year, a whim seized him to nominate her, then not eight
years old, as 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
gayety of the moment sent orders 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 every one present, and her name engraved in due form upon
a drinking-glass. The company consisting of some of the most
eminent men in England, she went from the lap of one poet, or
patriot, or statesman, to the arms of another, was feasted with
sweetmeats, overwhelmed with caresses, and, what perhaps al-
ready pleased her better than either, heard her wit loudly ex-
tolled 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 alloying ingredient 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."
Like all persons of genius whose writings are worth any thing,
Lady Mary was a great reader, and had a wonderfully retentive
memory. She complains that her education was " one of the
worst in the world ;" but we find that her own efforts and zeal
for improvement made up for deficiencies in instruction. Her
LADY MARY WOJRTLEY MONTAGU. IX
letter to Bishop Burnet (see page 402) shows what obstacles sho
had to encounter in that age, when learning was considered al-
most as disgraceful for an English lady as the use of full-grown
feet would now be to a Chinese beauty.
In one kind of lady-like accomplishment, that of presiding at
the dinner-table, she was early and thoroughly instructed. As
her mother died when she was only four years old, and her
father continued a widower till all his children were grown up
and married, Lady Mary, as eldest daughter, was placed at the
head of the great household-establishment, when she was a
mere child — as soon as she had bodily strength for the office,
which, in those days, required no small share.*
Thus passed the early youth of Lady Mary, her time being
principally spent at Thoresby and at Acton near London ; and
her society confined to a few friends, among whom the most con-
fidential was Mrs. (or Miss) Anne Wortley, the favorite sister of
the Honorable Edward Wortley Montagu.f He was a scholar,
and had traveled ; his companions were Steele, Garth, Oongreve,
Mainwaring, etc. ; and Addison was his bosom friend. Such a
man, if not possessed of brilliant genius, must have admired it ;
and that he had a clear understanding and great integrity of
character, his own letters and the respect Lady Mary always
testifies for his abilities, clearly show.
Her intimacy with his sister was the means of first bringing
them together. We give the scene as described by Lord Wharn-
cliffe:
" Mr. Wortley's chief intimates have been already named. His
* At the table each joint was carried up in its turn, to be operated upon by her,
and her alone — since the peers and knights on either hand were so far from being
bound to offer their assistance, that the very master of the house, posted opposite
to her, might not act as her croupier; his department wa9 to push the bottle
after dinner. As for the crowd of guests, the most inconsiderable among them — the
curate, or subaltern, or squire's younger brother — if suffered through her neglect to
help himself to a slice of the mutton placed before him, would have chewed it in
bitterness, and gone home an affronted man, half inclined to give a wrong vote at
the next election. There were then professed carving-masters, who taught young
ladies the art scientifically ; from one of whom Lady Mary said she took lessons
three times a week, that she might be perfect on her father's public days ; when,
in order to perform her functions without interruption, she was forced to eat her
own dinner alone an hour or two beforehand. — Wharncxtffe.
t His father was second son of Admiral Montagu, first Earl of Sandwich. Upon
marrying the daughter and heiress of Sir Francis Wortley, he was obliged by tho
tenor of Sir Francis's will to assume his name.
1*
X MEMOIR OF
society was principally male ; the wits and politicians of that
day forming a class quite distinct from the "white-gloved beau"
attendant upon ladies. Indeed, as the education of women had
then reached its very lowest ebb, and if not coquettes, or gossips,
or diligent card-players, their best praise was to be notable
housewives, Mr. Wortley, however fond of his sister, could have
no particular motive to seek the acquaintance of her companions.
His surprise and delight were the greater, when one afternoon,
having by chance loitered in her apartment till visitors arrived,
he saw Lady Mary Pierrepont for the first time, and, on entering
into conversation with her, found, in addition to beauty that
charmed him, not only brilliant wit, but a thinking and culti-
vated mind. He was especially struck with the discovery that she
understood Latin, and could relish his beloved classics. Some-
thing that passed led to the mention of Quintus Curtius, which
she said she had never read. This was a fair handle for a piece
of gallantry; in a few days she received a superb edition of the
author, with these lines facing the title-page :
Beauty like this had vanquished Persia shown,
The Macedon had laid his empire down,
And polished Greece obeyed a barbarous throne.
Had wit so bright adorned a Grecian dame,
''The amorous youth had lost his thirst for fame,
Nor distant India sought through Syria's plain ;
But to the Muses 1 stream with her had run,
And thought her lover more than Amnion's son."
Lady Mary and Anne Wortley were then writing to each other
in young lady fashion, though both writers evinced talents of no
common order. Edward Wortley seems to have found a chan-
nel for his admiration of his sister's friend through the letters to
Lady Mary, till the death of Anne Wortley, which occurred soon
after, left the correspondence to be continued by the lovers — as
they then were. Mr. Wortley, after his acceptance by Lady
Mary, made his proposals to the Duke of Kingston in form, and
was cordially approved till the marriage settlements carne under
consideration. Mr. Wortley had a large landed estate, but he
was, on principle, opposed to the practice of entail. He offered
to make the best provision in his power for Lady Mary, but
positively refused to settle his landed property upon his first-born
LADY MART WORTLEY MONTAGU. XI
son, who, for aught he knew, might prove unworthy to possess
it — might be a spendthrift (as his son afterward proved), an idiot,
or a villain.
The Duke of Kingston allowed that these theories might be
fine, but declared that Ms grandchildren should never be left
beggars ; and so the treaty of marriage was broken off.
The secret correspondence and meetings between the lovers
went on, however ; but shortly afterward Lady Mary received
offers from another suitor, whom her father commanded her
peremptorily to accept ; if she did not comply, she was to be
immediately sent to a remote place in the country, there to re-
side during his life, and at his death have no portion save a small
annuity. Then it was that she consented to a clandestine mar-
riage with the man she truly loved. Her letters written during
their courtship are given in this volume, but one of Lady Mary's,
the last she wrote before her marriage, is so fraught with in-
terest in its display of the writer's character and feelings in the
most important action of her life, that we reserved it to eluci-
date more clearly her nobleness of mind, as shown in her sincer-
ity and her devoted, yet self-denying love.
"TO E. W. MONTAGU, ESQ.
"Sunday Morning.
" I wrote you a letter last night in some passion. I begin to fear
again ; I own myself a coward. You made no reply to one part
of my letter concerning my fortune. I am afraid you flatter
yourself that my father may be at length reconciled and brought
to reasonable terms. I am convinced, by what I have often
heard him say, speaking of other cases like this, that he never
will. Eeflect now for the last time in what manner you must
take me. I shall come to you with only a nightgown and petti-
coat, and that is all you will ever get by me. I told a lady of
my friends what I intended to do. You will think her a very
good friend when I tell you, she proffered to lend us her house.
I did not accept of this till I had let you know it. If you think
it more convenient to carry me to your lodgings, make no scruple
of it. Let it be where it will : if I am your wife, I shall think
no place unfit for me where you are. I beg we may leave Lon-
don next morning, wherever you intend to go. I should wish
to go out of England if it suits your affairs. You are the best
Xll MEMOIR OF
judge of your father's temper. If you think it woukl be obliging
to him, or necessary for you, I will go with you immediately to
ask his pardon and his blessing. If that is not proper at first, I
think the best scheme is going to the Spa. When you come
back, you may endeavor to make your father admit of seeing
me, and treat with mine (though I persist in believing it will he
to no purpose). But I can not think of living in the midst of my
relations and acquaintances after so unjustifiable a step : — so un-
justifiable to the world — but I think I can justify myself to my-
self. I again beg you to have a coach to be at the door early
Monday morning, to carry us some part of our way, wherever
you resolve our journey shall be. If you determine to go to the
lady's house, you had best come with a coach and six at seven
o'clock to-morrow. She and I will be in the balcony which
looks on the road ; you have nothing to do but stop under it,
and we will come down to you. Do in this what you like ; but
after all think very seriously. Your letter, which will be waited
for, is to determine every thing.
" You can show me no goodness I shall not be sensible of.
However, think again, and resolve never to think of me if you
have the least doubt, or that it is likely to make you uneasy in
your fortune. I believe, to travel is the most likely way to make
a solitude agreeable, and not tiresome : remember you have prom-
ised it.
" 'Tis something odd for a woman that brings nothing to ex •
pect any thing ; but after the way of my education, I dare not
pretend to live but in some degree suitable to it. I had rather
die than return to a dependency upon relations I have disobliged.
Save me from that fear if you love me. If you can not, or think
I ought not to expect it, be sincere and tell me so. 'Tis better
I should not be yours at all than, for a short happiness, involve
myself in ages of misery. I hope there will never be occasion
for this precaution ; but, however, 'tis necessary to make it. I
depend entirely upon your honor, and I can not suspect you of
any way doing wrong. Do not imagine I shall be angry at any
thing you can tell me. Let it be sincere ; do not impose on a
woman that leaves all things for you."
The result is well known. The lovers were privately married,
by special license, which bears date, August 12th, 1712. Their
LADY MART WORTLEY MONTAGU. Xlll
residence was in the country for about two years, till the death
of Queen Anne, in 1714, and the accession of George I., brought
a change in the administration, and gave Mr. Montagu a place
at court. Lady Mary's first appearance at St. James's was a
triumph for her.; her beauty and wit, the elegance of her form
and the charms of her conversation were unrivaled in the first
private circles of the nobility. She had a familiar acquaintance
both with Addison and with his rival, Pope, who then contem-
plated her uncommon genius without envy. His enthusiastic
admiration of her is sufficiently apparent in his letters which
will be found in this volume. That he became her vindictive
enemy in after years was his fault, not hers.
In 1716, the Honorable Edward Wortley Montagu was ap-
pointed embassador to the Porte, and, with his accomplished
wife and infant son, prepared for his journey to the East. This
was, for Lady Mary, a perilous task, as traveling in those days
was dangerous as well as most fatiguing, and seldom attempted
by women ; but she would not be separated from her husband.
u When she arrived at Constantinople her active mind was
readily engaged in the pursuit of objects so novel as those which
the Turkish capital presented. While they excited her imagina-
tion, she could satisfy her curiosity, in her ideas of its former
splendor as the metropolis of the Eoman empire. Her classical
acquirements rendered such investigations interesting and suc-
cessful. Among her other talents was an extraordinary facility
in learning languages; and in the assemblage of ten embassies
from different countries, of which the society at Pera and Bel-
grade was composed, she had daily opportunities of extending
her knowledge and practice of them. The French and Italian
were familiar to her before she left England ; and we find in her
letters that she had a sufficient acquaintance with the German
to understand a comedy, as it was represented at Vienna. She
even attempted the Turkish language, under the tuition of one
of Mr. Wortley's dragomans, or interpreters, who compiled for
her use a grammar and vocabulary in Turkish and Italian. Of
her proficiency in that very difficult dialect of the Oriental
tongues, specimens are seen in her letters, in which a translation
of some popular poetry appears." Thus testifies her English
biographer; but more important to the world are the results of
her foreign residence, as it developed her genius and widened
XIV MEMOIR OF
the sphere of her observance. Her correspondence, while abroad,
has gained her such wide-spread celebrity as places her among
the first of female writers in the English language. But a still
higher praise is hers — that of benefactor to humanity, for to her
brave, unprejudiced mind, the Christian world owes the intro-
duction of inoculation for the small-pox. While residing at
Belgrade, during the summer months, Lady Mary observed a
singular custom prevalent among the Turks — that of engrafting,
as they styled it, to produce a mild form of small-pox and stay
the ravages of that loathsome disease. She examined the pro-
cess with more than philosophical curiosity — with deep earnest-
ness to learn if it was good ; she had lost her only brother by
the small-pox, and her own life had been scarcely saved ; she
knew how terrible was the disease, and sought to save her
country from the scourge. Becoming convinced of its efficacy,
she did not hesitate to apply it to her own son, a child of
three years old. On her return home, she introduced the
art into England, by means of the medical attendant of the
embassy. Its expediency was questioned by scientific men, and
an experiment, by order of government, was made upon five per-
sons under sentence of death, which was perfectly successful.
At that time it was computed that one person in every seven
died of the small-pox taken in the natural way, and many who
lived were terribly disfigured. It might have been supposed
that such an amelioration as this way of engrafting offered would
have been received with joy, and that Lady Mary would have
been acknowledged as a public benefactor. So far from this was
the result, that she was persecuted with the most relentless hos-
tility. The clamors raised about her were beyond belief at this
day. The faculty rose to a man against her; the clergy des-
canted from their pulpits on the awful impiety of seeking to take
events out of the hands of Providence. The common people
were taught to hoot at her as an unnatural mother who had
risked the lives of her own children. So fierce was the clamor
that, with all her bravery in the cause of truth and humanity,
she admitted " that if she had foreseen the persecution and oblo-
quy she was to endure, she would not have attempted to intro-
duce inoculation."
However, she soon gained supporters. The Princess of Wales,
afterward Queen Caroline, stood her friend, and truth and reason
LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU. XV
finally prevailed.* She gave much of her time to advice and
superintendence in the families where inoculation was adopted,
constantly carrying her little daughter with her into the sick
room, to prove her security from infection.
On her return to England, Lady Mary Wortley, at the solicita-
tion of Mr. Pope, took up her residence at Twickenham. Pope
had been her most intimate friend and admirer, as his letters to
her in this volume will show. Both of them witty, sarcastic,
fond of elegant literature, there were many points of similarity
of taste and character which must have cemented an intimacy
that Lady Mary permitted, if she did not encourage. On this
intimacy he presumed to make love to her, as she said — such
passionate love that in spite of her utmost endeavors to be
angry, and look grave, she was provoked to an immoderate fit
of laughter ; frojn__ which moment he became her implacable
enemy. His conduct toward her was as mean as his hatred
was malicious. He libeled her almost by name in his poems,
and then denied in his letters that his satire was intended for
her. The affair has injured both, and must be reckoned among
the most unhappy " quarrels and calamities of authors."
While residing in England, Lady Mary carried on her corres-
* In the " Plain-Dealer," then edited by Steele, appeared, in 1724, the following
paper :
" It is an observation of some historian that England has owed to women the
greatest blessings she has been distinguished by. In the case we are now upon,
this reflection will stand justified. We are indebted to the reason and the courage
of a lady for the introduction of this art, which gains such strength in its progress
that the memory of its illustrious foundress will be rendered sacred to it to future
ages. This ornament to her sex and country, who ennobles her own nobility by
her learning, wit, and virtues, accompanying her consort into Turkey, observed
the benefit of this practice, with its frequency even among those obstinate predes-
tinarians, and brought it over for the service and the safety of her native England,
where she consecrated its first effects on the persons of her own fine children ; and
has already received this glory from it, that the influence of her example has reached
as high as the blood royal, and our noblest and most ancient families, in confirma-
tion of her happy judgment, add the daily experience of those who are most dear
to them. It is a godlike delight that her reflection must be conscious of, when she
considers to whom we owe, that many thousand British lives will be saved every
year to the use and comfort of their country, after a general establishment of this
practice. A good, so lasting and so vast, that none of those wide endowments and
deep foundations of public charity which have made most noise in the world de»
eerve at all to be compared with it.
" High o'er each sex in double empire sit
Protecting beauty and inspiring wit."
XVI MEMOIR OF
pondence with her sister Lady Mar, and superintended the edu-
cation of her only daughter, who married the Marquis of Bute.
Soon after this event Lady Mary, whose health was suffering
from the incipient but fatal disease (cancer), which terminated
her life, went to Italy. Her husband approved of her plan, and,
it seems from her letters, engaged to join her; but parliamentary
business and other duties detained him in England ; they cor-
responded constantly and kindly ; but they never met again.
The letters of Lady Mary to her beloved daughter, Lady Bute,
(in this volume) give a graphic description of her travels, and
living pictures, as it were, of the scenes and persons she met
and observed. They show also her tender care for her daugh-
ter, and that the ties of domestic life- were the sweetest to her
heart. And she sincerely enjoyed her repose from the entangle-
ments of the gay world of fashionable life. She was residing
in Venice when intelligence of the death of Mr. Wortjey, her
husband, reached her in 1761. Her daughter urged her return
home so earnestly that Lady Mary yielded ; and after an absence
of twenty- two years, she began her journey to England, where
she arrived in October. But her health had suffered much, and
a gradual decline terminated in death, on the 21st of August,
1762, and in the seventy-third year of her age.
Lady Mary Wortley Montagu ranks in the first class of learned
women. Of this learning, with the true simplicity character-
istic of sensible people, she herself makes small account; but
her familiarity with classic authors is evident in her letters to
Pope and other learned men. Her acquaintance with general
literature was extensive. These acquirements, however, may
now be often met with among her sex; but the fertility of her
genius, the flashing of her wit, and her solid good sense, seldom
found united in the same mind, place her among the greatest writ-
ers of her day. Her style and her thoughts are alike free from af-
fectation or pretension. She loved truth and hated shams ; this
sincerity of character and her brilliant talents made her many
envious and bitter enemies. Her English biographer says:
"During her long life, her literary pretensions were suppressed
by the jealousy of her cotemporaries, and her indignant sense of
the mean conduct of Pope and his phalanx, the self-constituted
distributers of the fame and obloquy of that day, urged her to
confine to her cabinet, and a small circle of friends, effusions of
LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU. XVU
■wisdom and fancy, which otherwise had been received by soci-
ety at large with equal instruction and delight."
But the acknowledgment, of her merits, if long delayed, has
been fully made. (JRer Letters, published in many editions, have
been conceded to be the most perfect productions of their kind
to be found in our tongue. An eminent British critic says:
" They are truly letters, not critical or didactic essays, enlivened
by formal compliment and elaborate wit, like the correspondence
of Pope."
Still there was one sad defect in the writings of this celebrated
lady, which is now far more apparent than when she lived,
Lamely, her lack of religious feeling. True, her lot was cast in
an age of practical unbelief, when the English Church was like
that of Sardis of old, and rank had the privilege of low sensu-
ality and sin, and public morality was derided as foolishness.
Gross darkness was around her path. It is not much to be won-
dered at that she did not seek the true light, but it is to be deeply
regretted that a mind like hers should have been bound to earth,
when it had such clear conceptions of the emptiness of worldly
pleasures. Piety of heart would have imparted tenderness to
her character, and that sweet pity for the faults of others which
would have polished her style and given a lovelier light to the
diamond sparkle of her wit.
The poems of Lady Mary were written as suggested by par-
ticular occasions, and she never took any pains to correct or polish
her verses. But she had true poetic talent, and if the same incite-
ments could have been brought to bear on her mind as those that
influenced Pope in his pursuit of excellence in versification, she
would probably have borne away the palm of genius. However,
she won a higher palm than that of a poet — she was the benef.ictor
of her nation. Had Lady Mary Wortley lived in the days of heathen
Greece or Rome, such service as she performed in the introduc-
tion of inoculation, would have enrolled her name among the
deities who have benefited mankind. But in Christian England,
her native land, on which she bestowed such a vital blessing,
and through it. to all the people of the West, what has been her
recompense ? We read of princely endowments bestowed by the
British government upon great generals ; of titles conferred and
pensions granted, through several generations, to those who have
served their country; of monuments erected by the British
XV111 MEMOIR OF LADY MONTAGU.
people to statesmen and warriors, and even to weak and worth-
less princes ; but where is the national monument to Lady Mary
Wortley Montagu ? Is it in Westminster Abbey? Or has it
been only by the private bounty of a woman that her good
deed has a record ?* On the pages of history, and in the an-
nals of medicine, the name of Lady Montagu must find its place ;
but should not England be proud to honor her noble daughter,
whose memory, from royal palace to pauper's hut, ought to be
held in grateful affection ?
S. J. H.
* In the cathedral at Litchfield, a cenotaph is erected to her memory, with the
following inscription :
Sacred to the memory of
The Eight Honorable
Lady Mary Wortley Montagu - ,
who happily introduced from Turkey,
into this country,
the salutary art
of inoculating the small-pox.
Convinced of its efficacy,
she first tried it with success
on her own children,
and then recommended the practice of It
to her fellow-citizens.
Thus by her example and advice
we have softened the virulence,
and escaped the danger of this malignant disease.
To perpetuate the memory of such benevolence,
and express her gratitude
for the benefit she herself received
from this alleviating art ;
this monument is erected by
Henrietta Inge,
relict of Theodore William Inge, Esq.,
and daughter of Sir John Wrottesley, Bart.,
in the year of our Lord m,dcc,lxxxix.
The monument consists of a mural marble, representing a female figure o»
beauty, weeping over the ashes of her preserver, supposed to be inclosed in tha
nrn, insciibed with her cypher, M. W. M.
LETTEKS OF
LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU,
FROM 1710 TO 1716.
ADDRESSED TO EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU, ESQ.
(WRITTEN DUEING THEIE OOXTBT8HIP AND THE FIBST ETVE YEABS OP MABBIED LITE.)
LETTER I *
No date.
Perhaps you '11 be surprised at this letter ; I have had many
debates with myself before I could resolve upon it. I know
it is not actingin form, but I do not look upon you as I do
upon the rest of the world ; and by what I do for you, you
are not to judge of 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 forever. 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 doing. 1
am surprised at one of the Tatlers you sent me ; is it possible
* A remarkable letter, the first she ever wrote to him. There is a
copy of it in his handwriting : it appears by it that his sister was then
dead.
f Miss or Mrs. Anne "Wortley was the favorite sister of Edward
"Wortley Montagu. She had been the friend and confidante of Lady
Mary Pierrepont, and their correspondence was the medium through
which the lovers had communicated till the death of the sister. -Am. Ed.
20 LETTERS TO
to have any sort of esteem for a person one believes capable
of having such trifling inclinations ? Mr. Bickerstaff has very-
wrong notions of our sex. I can say there are some of us
that despise charms of show, and all the pageantry of great-
ness, 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 lesson^ of
morality to make us do it. At least, I know I have always
looked upon it with contempt, without being ?.t the expense
of one serious reflection to oblige me to it. I carry the matter
yet further : was I to choose £2,000 a year, or £20,000,
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 which 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 1
can laugh at a puppet-show, and at the same time know there
is nothing in it worth my attention or regard. General no-
tions 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 forgive an injury
when I think it not done out of malice, I can never think my-
self 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 toward it himself. I have so much esteem for you,
I should be very sorry to hear you were unhappy ; but, for the
world, I would not be the instrument of making you so ; which
(of the humors 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
EDWARD WOF ^f MONT G U. 21
could not talk as you do. Few women would have wrote so
plain as I have done ; but to dissemble is among the things I
never do. I take more pains to approve my conduct to my-
self 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 forever miserable, for the pleasure of a day or
two's happiness. I can not resolve upon it. You must think
otherwise of me, or not at all.
I don't enjoin you to burn this Jetter— I know you will.
Tis the first I ever wrote to one of your sex, and shall be the
last. You may never expect another. I resolve against all
correspondence of the kind ; my resolutions are seldom made,
and never broken.
LETTER E.
Reading over your letter as fast as ever I could, and an-
swering it with the same ridiculous precipitation, I find one
part of it escaped my sight, and the other I mistook in several
places. Yours was dated the 10th of August; it came not
hither till the 20th : you say something of a packet-boat, etc.,
which makes me uncertain whether you '11 receive my letter
and frets me heartily. Kindness, you say, would be your de-
struction. In my opinion, this is something contradictory to
some other expressions. People talk of being in love just as
widows do of affliction. Mr. Steele has observed, in one of his
plays, "that 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 willingly secure his in-
terest as well as his mistress ; or, if one must be abandoned,
had not the prudence, among all his distractions, to consider, '
that 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
22 L ETTEBS TO
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"— r-
" I would give a good deal to be satisfied," etc.
" As to writing — that any woman would do who thought
she writ well." Now I say, no woman of common good sense
would. At best, 'tis but doing a silly thing well, and I think
it is much better not to do a silly thing at all. You compare
it to dressing. Suppose the comparison just : — perhaps the
Spanish dress would become my face very well ; yet the whole
town would condemn me for the highest extravagance if I
went to court in it, though it improved me to a miracle. There
are a thousand things, not ill in themselves, which custom
makes unfit to be done. This is to convince you I am so far
from applauding my own conduct, my conscience flies in my
face every time I think on 't. The generality of the world
have a great indulgence to their own follies : without being a
jot wiser than my neighbors, I have the peculiar misfortune to
know and condemn all the wrong things I do.
You beg to know whether I would not be out of humor.
The expression is modest enough ; but that is not what you
mean. In saying I could be easy, I have already said I should
not be out of humor : but you would have me say I am vio-
lently in love ; that is, finding you think better of me than
you desire, you would have me give you a just cause to con-
temn me. I doubt much whether there is a creature in the
world humble enough to do that. I should not think you more
unreasonable if you were in love with my face, and asked me
to disfigure it to make you easy. I have heard of some nuns
that made use of that expedient to secure their own happi-
ness ; but, among all the popish saints and martyrs, I never
read of one whose charity was sublime enough to make them-
selves deformed, or ridiculous, to restore their lovers to peace
and quietness. In short, if nothing can content you but de-
EDWARD WORTLET MONTAGU. 25
told I am in the wrong, but tell it me gently. Perhaps I have
been indiscreet ; I came young into the hurry of the world ;
a great innocence and an undesigning gayety may possibly
have been construed coquetry and a desire of being followed,
though never meant by me. I can not answer for the ob-
servations that may be made on me : all who are malicious
attack the careless and defenseless : I own myself to be both.
I know not any thing I can say more to show my perfect de-
sire of pleasing you and making you easy, than to proffer to
be confined with you in what manner you please. Would
any woman but me renounce all the world for one ? Or
would any man but you be insensible of such a proof of
sincerity ?
LETTER V.
I have this minute received your two letters. I know not
how to direct to you — whether to London, or the country ; or
if in the country, to Durham, or Wortley. 'Tis very likely
you '11 never receive this. I hazard a great deal if it falls into
other hands, and I wrote for all that. I wish with all my soul
I thought as you do ; I endeavor to convince myself by your
arguments, and am sorry my reason is so obstinate, not to be
deluded into an opinion that 'tis impossible a man can esteem
a woman. I suppose I should then be very easy at your
thoughts of me ; I should thank you for the wit and beauty
you give me, and not be angry at the folly and weaknesses ;
but, to my infinite affliction, I can believe neither one nor
t'other. One part of my character is not so good, nor t'other
so bad, as you fancy it. Should we ever live together, you
would be disappointed both ways : you would find an easy
equality of temper you do not expect, and a thousand faults
you do not imagine. You think, if you married me, I should
r>e passionately fond of you one month, and of somebody else
2
26 LETTERS TO
the next : neither would happen. I can esteem, I can be a
friend, but I don't know whether I can love. Expect all that
is complaisant and easy, but never what is fond, in me. You
judge very wrong of my heart when you suppose me capable
of views of interest, and that any thing could oblige me to
natter any body. Was I the most indigent creature in the
world, I should answer you as I do now, without adding or
diminishing. I am incapable of art, and 'tis because I will
not be capable of it. Could I deceive one minute, I should
never regain my own good opinion ; and who could, bear to live
with one they despised ?
If you can resolve to live with a companion that will have
all the deference due to your superiority of good sense, and
that your proposals can be agreeable to those on whom I de-
pend, I have nothing to say against them.
As to traveling, 'tis what I should do with great pleasure,
and could easily quit London upon your account ; but a re-
tirement in the country is not so disagreeable to me, as I
know a few months would make it tiresome to you. Where
people are tied for life, 'tis 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 huppiness. You
would be soon tired with seeing every day the same thing
Where you saw nothing else, you would have leisure to re-
mark all the defects ; which would increase in proportion as
the novelty lessened, which is always a great charm. I should
have the displeasure of seeing a coldness, 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 infi-
delity, has extinguished ; but there is no returning from a
degout given by satiety.
I should not choose to live in a crowd : I could be very
well pleased to be in London, without making a great figure,
or seeing above eight or nine agreeable people. Apart-
ments, table etc., are things that never come into my head.
EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 27
But T will never think of any thing without the consent of my
family, and advise you not to fancy a happiness in entire soli-
tude, which you would find only fancy.
Make no answer to this, if you can like me on my own
terms. 'Tis not to me you must make the proposals : if not,
to what purpose is our correspondence ?
However, preserve me your friendship, which I think of
with a great deal of pleasure, and some vanity. If ever you
see me married, I flatter myself you '11 see a conduct you would
not be sorry your wife should imitate.
LETTER VI.
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 you 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 ungen-
erous or ungrateful. 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. Nobody
ever was so disinterested as I am. I would not have to re-
proach myself (I don't suppose you would) that I had any
ways made you uneasy in your circumstances. Let me beg
you (which I do with the utmost 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 can not tell what price my master will put on me. If
you do agree, I shall endeavor 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
28 LETTERS TO
still preserve the opinion that you have behaved yourself well,
let me entreat you, if I have committed any follies, to for
get them ; and be so just as to think I would not do an ill
thing.
I say nothing of my letters : I think them entirely safe in
your hands.
I shall be uneasy till I know this is come to you. I have
tried to write plainly : I know not what one can say more
upon paper.
LETTER VII.
Indeed, I do not at all wonder that absence, and variety of
new faces, should make you forget me ; but I am a little sur-
prised at your curiosity to know what passes in my heart (a
thing wholly insignificant to you), except you propose to
yourself a piece of ill-natured satisfaction, in finding me very
much disquieted. Pray, which way would you see into my
heart 1 You can frame no guesses about it from either my
speaking or writing ; and supposing I should attempt to show
it you, I know no other way.
I begin to be tired of my humility : I have carried my
complaisances to you farther than I ought. You make new
scruples : you have a great deal of fancy ; and your distrusts
being all of your own making, are more immovable than if
there were some real ground for them. Our aunts and grand-
mothers always tell us that men are a sort of animals ; that
if ever they are constant, 'tis only where they are ill used.
'T was a kind of paradox I could never believe : experience
has taught me the truth of it. You are the first I ever had a
correspondence with, and I thank God I have done with it, for
all my life. You needed not to have told me you are not
what you have been : one must be stupid not to find a differ-
ence in your letters. You seem, in one part of your last, to
EDWARD WORTUY MONTAGU. 29
excuse yourself from having done me any injury in point of
fortune. Do I accuse you of any ?
I have not spirits to dispute any longer with you. You say
you are not yet determined : let me determine for you, and
save you the trouble of writing again. Adieu forever : make
no answer. I wish, among the variety of acquaintance, you
may find some one to please you ; and can't help the vanitv
of thinking, should you try them all, you won't find one that
will be so sincere in their treatment, though a thousand more
deserving, and every one happier. 'Tis a piece of vanity and
injustice I never forgive in a woman, to delight to give pain ;
what must I think of a man that takes pleasure in making me
uneasy ? After the folly of letting you know it is in your
power, I ought in prudence to let this go no further, except I
thought you had good-nature enough never to make use of
that power. I have no reason to think so : however, I am
willing, you see, to do you the highest obligation 'tis possible
for me to do : — that is, to give you a fair occasion of being
rid of me.
LETTER Vm.
29 March.
Though your letter is far from what I expected, having
once promised to answer it, with the sincere account of my
inmost thoughts, I am resolved you shall not find me worse
than my word, which is, whatever you may think, inviolable.
'Tis not affectation to say that I despise the pleasure of
pleasing people whom I despise ; all the fine equipages that
shine in the ring never gave me another thought than either
pity or contempt for the owners that could place happiness in
attracting the eyes of strangers. Nothing touches me with
satisfaction but what touches my heart ; and I should find
more pleasure in the secret joy I should feel at a kind ex-
pression from a friend I esteemed, than at the admiration of a
30 LETTERS TO
whole play-house, or the envy of those of my own sex, who
could not attain to the same number of jewels, fine clothes,
etc., supposing I was at the very summit of this sort of hap-
piness.
You may be this friend if you please : did you really es-
teem me, had you any tender regard for me, I could, I think,
pass my life in any station, happier with you, than in all the
grandeur of the world with any other. You have some hu-
mors, that would be disagreeable to any woman that married
with an intention of finding her happiness abroad. That is
not my resolution. If I marry, I propose to myself a retire-
ment ; there is few of my acquaintance I should ever wish to
see again ; and the pleasing one, and only one, is the way in
which I design to please myself. Happiness is the natural
design of all the world ; and every thing 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, interests, 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 de-
scribed, and 'tis necessary for the generality of the world to
be taken up with trifles. Carry a fine lady or a fine gentle
man 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 discourse ; and they know not how to form
their thoughts on any other subjects. They know very well
what it is 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 science romantic ; I rather choose to use the word friend-
chip, 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
EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 31
friendship and esteem, and which a long acquaintance in-
creases, 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 ; and can promise you
shall never like me less, upon knowing me better ; and that I
shall never forget that you have a better understanding than
myself.
And now let me entreat you to think, if possible, tolerably
of my modesty, after so bold a declaration : I am resolved to
throw off reserve, and use me ill if you please. I am sensible,
to own my inclination for a man, is putting one's self wholly
in his power : but sure you have generosity enough not to
abuse it. After all I have said, I pretend no tie but on your
heart : if you do not love me, I shall not be happy with you ;
if you do, I need add no further. I am not mercenary, and
would not receive an obligation that comes not from one who
loves me.
I do not desire my letter back again : you have honor, and
I dare trust you.
I am going to the same place I went last spring. I shall
think of you there : it depends upon you in what manner.
LETTER IX.
I am going to write you a plain long letter. What I have
already told you is nothing but the truth. I have no reason
to believe that I am going to be otherwise confined than by
my duty ; but I, that know my own mind, know that is
enough to make me miserable. I see all the misfortune of
marrying where it is' impossible to love ; I am going to con-
fess a weakness may perhaps add to your contempt of me. 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
32 LETTERS TO
enougn to make me venture the disobliging them. A harsh
word always 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 prof-
fered, in atonement 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 complain of, etc. ;
that he did not doubt I had some other fancy in my head,
which encouraged me to this disobedience ; but he assured
me, if I refused a settlement he had provided for me, he gave
me his word, whatever proposals 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 mis-
taken — he never intended to leave me any thing but an an-
nuity of £400 per annum ; that, though another would pro-
ceed in this manner after I had given so just a pretense for it,
yet he had the goodness to leave my 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 relations. I was surprised at their blaming it, to the
greatest degree. I was told they were sorry I would ruin my-
self ; but, if I was so unreasonable, they could not blame my
father, whatever he inflicted on me. I objected, I did not
love him. They made answer, they found no necessity for
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
EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 33
was not the height of happiness. However, they could not
change my thoughts, though I found I was to expect no pro-
tection 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, that he could not hinder my resolutions, but X
should not pretend after that to please him ; since pleasing
him was only to be done by obedience ; that if I would diso-
bey, 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 senti-
ments. 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 over-
come, 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 proceeded as if I had given a willing consent. — I forgot
to tell you, he named you, and said, if I thought that way, I
was very much mistaken ; that if he had no other engage-
ments, yet he would never have agreed to your proposals,
having no inclination to see his grandchildren beggars.
I do not speak this to alter your opinion, but to show 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 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 can not blame you for
being in the right.
1 have told you all my affairs with a plain sincerity. I have
avoided to move your compassion, and I have said nothing
of what I suffer ; and I have not persuaded you to a treaty,
which I am sure my family will never agree to. I can hav9
no fortune without an entire obedience.
a*
34 LETTERS TO
Whatever your business is, may it end to your satisfaction.
I think of the public as you do. As little as that is a woman's
care, it may be permitted into the number of a woman's
fears. But, wretched as I am, I have no more to fear for my-
self. I have still a concern for my friends — I am in pain for
your danger. I am far from taking ill what you say — I
never valued myself as the daughter of ; and ever de-
spised those that esteemed me on that account. With pleas-
ure I could barter all that, and change to be any country
gentleman's daughter that would have reason enough to make
happiness in privacy. I beg your pardon. You may see by
the situation of my affairs 'tis without design.
LETTER X.
Thursday night.
If I am always to be as well pleased as I am with this letter,
I enter upon a state of perfect happiness in complying with
you. I am sorry I can not do it entirely as to Friday or Sat-
urday. I will tell you the true reason of it. I have a rela-
tion that has ever showed an uncommon partiality for me. I
have generally trusted him with all my thoughts, and I have
always found him sincerely my friend. On the occasion of
this marriage, he received my complaints with the greatest
degree of tenderness. He proffered me to disoblige my
father (by representing to him the hardship he was doing)
if I thought it would be of any service to me ; and, when he
heard me in some passion of grief assure him it could do me
no good, he went yet further, and tenderly asked me if there
was any other man, though of a smaller fortune, I could be
happy with ; and, how much soever it should be against the
will of my other relations, assured me he would assist me in
making me happy after my own way. This is an obligation I
can never forget, and I think I should have cause to reproach
myself if I did this without letting him know it, and I believe
EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. So
he will approve of it. You guess whom I mean. — The gen-
erosity and the goodness of this letter wholly determines my
softest inclinations on your side. You are in the wrong to
suspect me of artifice ; plainly showing me the kindness of
your heart (if you have any there for me) is the surest way to
touch mine. I am at this minute more inclined to speak ten-
derly to you than ever I was in my life — so much inclined, I
will say nothing. I could wish you would leave England, but
I know not how to object to any thing that pleases you. In
this minute I have no will that does not agree with yours. Sun-
day I shall see you, if you do not hear from me Saturday.
LETTER XI.
Friday night.
I tremble for what we are doing. — Are you sure you shall
love me forever % Shall we never repent ? I fear and I hope.
I foresee all that will happen on this occasion. I shall incense
my family in the highest degree. The generality of the world
will blame my conduct, and the relations and friends of
will inv3nt a thousand stories of me ; yet, 'tis possible you
may recompense every thing to me. In this letter, which I
am fond of, you promise me all that I wish. Since I writ so
far, I received your Friday letter. I will be only yours, and
I will do what you please.
LETTER XII.*
Walling Wells, Oct. 22, 1U2.
I don't know very well how to begin ; I am perfectly un
acquainted with a proper matrimonial style. After all, 1
* The following letters, written during the first four years of Lady
Mary's married life, are deeply interesting from the insight they give
ns of her character as a wife and mother. Her warm, unselfish feel-
36 LETTERS TO
think 'tis best to write as if we were not married at all. I
lament your absence as if you were still my lover, and I am
impatient to bear you bave got safe to Durbam, and that you
have fixed a time for your return.
I bave not been very long in this family ; and I fancy my-
self in tbat described in tbe Spectator. Tbe good people here
look upon their children with a fondness that more than rec-
ompenses their care of them. I don't perceive much distinc-
tion 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 tbis seeming impertinent account is the tenderest ex-
pressions of my love to you : but it furnishes my imagination
with agreeable pictures of our future life ; and I flatter my-
self 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 do
for you, when the noise of a nursery may have more charms
-for us than the music of an opera.
Amusements such as these are the sure effect of my sin-
cere love, since 'tis the nature of the passion to entertain the
mind with pleasures in prospect, and I check myself when 1
grieve for your absence, by remembering how much reason I
have to rejoice in the hope of passing my whole life with you.
A good fortune not to be valued ! I am afraid of telling you
that I return thanks for it to Heaven, because you will charge
me with hypocrisy ; but you are mistaken ; I assist every day
at public prayers in this family, and never forget in my private
ejaculations how much I owe to Heaven for making me yours.
ings contrast most strikingly with her husband's cold manners and
neglectful habits toward her. The revealings are painful, but justice
to her memory forbids tnem to be suppressed.
EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 37
'Tis candle-light, or I should not conclude so soon. Pray,
my love, begin at the top, and read till you come to the bot-
tom.
LETTER XIII.
Your short letter came to me this morning ; but I won't
quarrel with it, since it brought me good news of your health.
I wait with impatience for that of your return. The Bishop
of Salisbury writes me word that my Lord Pierrepont* de-
clares very much for us. As the bishop is no infallible
prelate, I should not depend much on that intelligence ; but
my sister Frances tells me the same thing. Since it is so, I
believe you '11 think it very proper to pay him a visit, if he is
in town, and give him thanks for the good offices you hear
he has endeavored to do me, unasked. If his kindness is sin-
cere, 'tis too valuable to be neglected. However, the very
appearance of it must be of use to us. I think I ought to
write him a letter of acknowledgment for what I hear he has
already done. The bishop tells me he has seen Lord Halifax,
who says, besides his great esteem for you, he has particular
respect for me, and will take pains to reconcile my father, etc.
I think this is nearly the words of my letter, which contains
all the news I know, except that of your place ; which is,
that an unfortunate burgess of the town of Huntingdon was
justly disgraced yesterday in the face of the congregation, for
being false to his first lover, who, with an audible voice, forbid
the banns published between him and a greater fortune. This
accident causes as many disputes here as the duel could do
where you are. Public actions, you know, always make two
parties. The great prudes say the young woman should have
suffered in silence ; and the pretenders to spirit and fire
would have all false men so served, and hope it will be an ex-
* Gervase Pierrepont, created Baron Pierrepont of Hanslope, 1*714,
great-uncle of Lady Mary "Wortly Montague, being, at that time, an
Irish baron.
38 LETTERSTO
ample for the terror of infidelity throughout the whole coun-
try. For my part, I never rejoiced at any thing more in my
life. You '11 wonder what private interest I could have in this
affair. You must know it furnished discourse all the after-
noon, which was no little service, when I was visited by the
young ladies of Huntingdon. This long letter, I know, must
be particularly impertinent to a man of business ; but idleness
is the root of all evil ; I write and read till I can't see, and
then I walk ; sleep succeeds ; and thus my whole time is
divided. If I were as well qualified all other ways as I am by
idleness, I would publish a daily paper called the Meditator.
The terrace is my place consecrated to meditation, which I
observe to be gay or grave as the sun shows or hides his face.
Till to-day I have had no occasion of opening my mouth to
speak, since I wished you a good journey. I see nothing, but
I think of every thing, and indulge my imagination, which is
chiefly employed on you.
LETTER X1Y.
December 9, 1712.
I am not at all surprised at my Aunt Cheyne's conduct :
people are seldom very much grieved (and never ought to be)
at misfortunes they expect. When I gave myself to you, I
gave up the very desire of pleasing the rest of the world, and
am pretty indifferent about it. I think you are very much in
the right for designing to visit Lord Pierrepont. As much as
you say I love the town, if you think it necessary for your
interest to stay some time here, I would not advise you to
neglect a certainty for an uncertainty ; but I believe, if you
pass the Christmas here, great matters will be expected from
your hospitality: however, you are a better judge of that
than I am. I continue indifferently well, and endeavor as
much as I can to preserve myself from spleen and melancholy ;
not for my own sake ; T think that of little importance * but
EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 39
in the condition I am, I believe it may be of very ill conse-
quence ; yet, passing whole days alone as I do, I do not al-
ways find it possible : and my constitution will sometimes get
the better of my reason. Human nature itself, without any
additional misfortunes, furnishes disagreeable meditations
enough. Life itself, to make it supportable, should not be
considered too nearly : my reason represents to me in vain
the inutility of serious reflections. The idle mind will some-
times fall into contemplations that serve for nothing but to
ruin the health, destroy good-humor, hasten old age and
wrinkles, and bring on an habitual melancholy. 'Tis a maxim
with me to be young as long as one can : there is nothing-
can pay one for that invaluable ignorance which is the com-
panion of youth : those sanguine groundless hopes, and that
lively vanity, which make all the happiness of life. To my
extreme mortification, I grow wiser every day. — I don't be-
lieve Solomon was more convinced of the vanity of temporal
affairs than I am : I lose all taste of this world, and I suffer
myself to be bewitched by the charms of the spleen, though I
know and foresee all the irremediable mischiefs arising from
it. I am insensibly fallen into the writing you a melancholy
letter, after all my resolutions to the contrary ; but I do not
enjoin you to read it : make no scruple of flinging it into the
fire, at the first dull line. Forgive the ill effects of my soli-
tude, and think me, as I am, ever yours.
LETTER XV.
No date.
I don't believe you expect to hear from me so soon ; I re-
member you did not so much as desire it, but I will not be so
nice to quarrel with you on that point ; perhaps you would
laugh at that delicacy, which is, however, an attendant upon
tender friendship.
1 opened a closet where I expected to find so many books :
4:0 LETTERS TO
to my great disappointment, there were only some few piecea
of the law, and folios of mathematics ; my Lord Hinching-
brook and Mr. Twin am having disposed of the rest. But as
there is no affliction, no more than no happiness, without alloy,
I discovered an old trunk of papers, which, to my great diver-
sion, I found to be the letters of the first Earl of Sandwich ;
>' and am in hopes that those from his lady will tend much to
I my edification, being the most extraordinary lessons of econo-
my that ever I read in my life. To the glory of your father,
I find that his looked upon him as destined to be the honor
of the family.
I walked yesterday two hours on the terrace. These are
the most considerable events that have happened in your ab-
sence ; excepting, that a good-natured robin red-breast kept
me company almost the whole afternoon, with so much good-
humor 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 orna-
ment of history.
I expect a letter next post to tell me you are well in London,
and that your business will not detain you long from her who
can not be happy without you.
LETTER XVI.
No date.
I am alone, without any amusement to take up my thoughts
I am in circumstances in which melancholy is apt to prevai
even over all amusements, dispirited and alone, and you write
me quarreling letters.
I hate complaining : 'tis no sign I am easy that I do not
trouble you with my headaches and my spleen ; to be reason-
able, one should never complain but when one hopes redress.
A physician should be the only confidant of bodily pains ;
and for pains of the mind, they should never be spoke of but
EDWARD WORTLET MONTAGU. 41
to them that can and will relieve them. Should I tell you
that I am uneasy, that I am out of humor, and out of pa-
tience, should I see you half an hour the sooner ? I believe
you have kindness enough for me to be very sorry, and so
you would tell me ; and things remain in their primitive
state ; I choose to spare you that pain ; I would always give
you pleasure. I know you are ready to tell me that I do not
ever keep to these good maxims. I confess I often speak im-
pertinently, but I always repent of it. My last stupid letter
was not come to you before I would have had it back again,
had it been in my power : such as it was, I beg your pardon
for it. I did not expect that my Lord Pierrepont would
speak at all in our favor, much less show zeal upon that occa-
sion, that never showed any in his life. I have writ every
post, and you accuse me without reason. I can't imagine
how they should miscarry ; perhaps you have by this time
received two together. Adieu ! je suis a vous de tout mon
<'03ur.
LETTER XVII.
No date.
I was not well when I wrote to you last. Possibly the dis-
order in my health might increase the uneasiness of my mind.
I am sure the uneasiness of my mind increases the disorder of
my health ; for I passed the night without sleeping, and found
myself the next morning in a fever. I have not since left my
chamber. I have been very ill, and kept my bed four days,
which was the reason of my silence, but I am afraid you have
attributed it to being out of humor ; but was so far from
being in a condition of writing, I could hardly speak ; my
face being prodigiously swelled, that I was forced to have it
lanced, to prevent its breaking, which they said would have
been of worse consequence. I would not order Grace to
write to you, for fear you should think me worse than I was ;
4-2 LETTERS TO
though I don't believe the fright would have been considerable
enough to have done you much harm. I am now much
better, and intend to take the air in the coach to-day ; for
keeping to my chair so much as I do, will hardly recover my
strength.
I wish you would write again to Mr. Phipps, for I don't hear
of any money, and am in the utmost necessity for it.
LETTER XVIH.
No date.
I am at present in so much uneasiness my letter is not likely
to be intelligible, if it at all resembles the confusion of my
head. I sometimes imagine you not well, and sometimes that
you think it of small importance to write, or that greater mat-
ters have taken up your thoughts. This last imagination is
too cruel for me. I will rather fancy your letter has miscar-
ried, though T find little probability to think so. I know not
what to think, and am near being distracted, among my va-
riety of dismal apprehensions. I am very ill company to the
good people of the house, who all bid me make you their
compliments. Mr. White begins your health twice every day.
You don't deserve all this, if you can be so entirely forgetful
of all this part of the world. I am peevish with you by fits,
and divide my time between anger and sorrow, which are
equally troublesome to me. 'Tis the most cruel thing in the
world to think one has reason to complain of what one loves.
How can you be so careless ? — is it because you don't love
writing ? You should remember I want to know you are safe
at Durham. I shall imagine you have had some fall from
your horse, or ill accident by the way, without regard to prob-
ability ; there is nothing too extravagant for a woman's and a
lover's fear. Did you receive my last letter ? If you did
not, the direction is wrong, you won't receive this, and my
question is in vain. I find I begin to talk nonsense ; and 'tia
EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 43
time to leave off. Pray, my dear, write to me, or I shall
be very mad.
LETTER XIX.
No date.
I am at this minute told I have an opportunity of writing
a short letter to you, which will be all reproaches. You know
where I am, and I have not once heard from you. I am tired
of this place because I do not ; and if you persist in your
silence, I will return to Wkarncliffe. I had rather be quite alone
and hear sometimes from you, than in any company and not
have that satisfaction. Your silence makes me more melan-
choly than any solitude, and I can think on nothing so
dismal as that you forget me. I heard from your little boy
yesterday, who is in good health. I will return and keep
him company.
The good people of this family present you their services
and good wishes, never failing to drink your health twice a
day. I am importuned to make haste ; but I have much
more to say, which may, however, be comprehended in these
words — I am yours.
LETTER XX.
No date.
I should have writ to you last post, but I slept till it was
too late to send my letter. I found our poor boy not so
well as I expected. He is very lively, but so weak that my
heart aches about him very often. I hope you are well : I
should be glad to hear so, and what success you have in your
business. I suppose my sister is married by this time. I
hope you intend to stay some da}s at Lord Pierrepont's ; I
am sure he '11 be very much pleased with it. The house is in
great disorder, and I want maids so much that I know not-
44 LETTERSTO
what to do till I have some. I have not one bit of paper m
the house, but this little sheet, or you would have been
troubled with a longer scribble. I have not yet had any
visitors. Mrs. Elcock has writ me word that she has not
J found any cook. My first inquiries shall be after a country-
house, never forgetting any of my promises to you. I am
concerned I have not heard from you ; you might have writ
while I was on the road, and your letter would have met me
here. I am in abundance of pain about our dear child :
though I am convinced, in my reason, 'tis both silly and wicked
to set my heart too fondly on any thing in this world, yet I
can not overcome myself so far as to think of parting with
him, with the resignation that I ought to do. I hope and I
beg of God he may live to be a comfort to us both. They
tell me there is nothing extraordinary in want of teeth at his
age, but his weakness makes me very apprehensive ; he is
almost never out of my sight. Mrs. Behn says that the cold
bath is the best medicine for weak children, but I am very
fearful, and unwilling to try any hazardous remedies. He is
very cheerful, and full of play. Adieu, my love ; my paper
is out.
LETTER XXI.
[Dated, by Mr. Wortley, 24th November.]
I have taken up and laid down my pen several times, very
much unresolved in what style I ought to write to you : for
once I suffer my inclination to get the better ©f my reason. I
have not often opportunities of indulging mysell, and I will do
it in this one letter. I know very well that nobody was ever
teased into a liking ; and 'tis perhaps harder to revive a past
one, than to overcome an aversion, but I can not forbear any
longer telling you I think you use me very unkindly. T don't
say so much of your absence, as I should do, if you were in the
country and I in London ; because I would not have vou be-
EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 45
lieve that I am impatient to be in town, when I say I am im-
patient to be with you ; but I am very sensible I parted with
you in July, and 'tis now the middle of November. As if
this was not hardship enough, you do not tell me you are
sorry for it. You write seldom, and with so much indiffer-
ence as shows you hardly think of me at all. I complain of
ill health, and you only say you hope 'tis not so bad as I make
it. You never inquire after your child. I would fain flatter
myself you have more kindness for me and him than you ex-
press ; but I reflect with grief that a man that is ashamed of
passions that are natural and reasonable, is generally proud of
those that are shameful and silly.
You should consider solitude, and spleen, the consequence
of solitude, is apt to give the most melancholy ideas, and there
needs at least tender letters and kind expressions to hinder
uneasinesses almost inseparable from absence. I am very sens-
ible how far I ought to be contented when your affairs oblige
you to be without me. I would not have you do yourself any
prejudice ; but a little kindness will cost you nothing. I do
not bid you lose any thing by hasting to see me, but I would
have you think it a misfortune when we are asunder. Instead
of that, you seem perfectly pleased with our separation, and
indifferent how long it continues. When I reflect on your
behavior, I am ashamed of my own, and think I am playing
the part of my Lady "Winchester. At least be as generous as
my lord ; and as he made her an early confession of his aver-
sion, own to me your inconstancy, and upon my word I will
give you no more trouble about it. I have concealed as long
as I can the uneasiness the nothingness of your letters have
given me, under an affected indifference ; but dissimulation
always sits awkwardly upon me ; I am weary of it ; and must
beg you to write to me no more, if you can not bring yourseh
to write otherwise. Multiplicity of business or diversions may
have engaged you, but all people find time to do what they
have a mind to. If your inclination is gone, I had rather
never receive a letter from you, than one which, in lieu of
46 LETTERS TO
comfort for your absence, gives me a pain even beyond it
For my part, as 'tis my first, this is my last complaint, and
your next of the kind shall go back inclosed to you in
blank paper.
LETTER XXII.
No date.
* * * * I thank God this cold well agrees very much
with the child ; and he seems stronger and better every day.
But I should be very glad, if you saw Dr. Garth, if you would
ask his opinion concerning the use of cold baths for young
children. I hope you love the child as well as I do ; but if
you love me at all, you '11 desire the preservation of his
health, for I should certainly break my heart for him.
I writ in my last all I thought necessary about my Lord
Pierrepont.
LETTER XXIH.
11 14.
I can not forbear taking it something unkindly that you do
not write to me, when you may be assured I am in a great
fright, and know not certainly what to expect upon this sud-
den change. The Archbishop of York has been come to
Bishopthorp but three days. I went with my cousin to-day
to see the king proclaimed, which was done ; the archbishop
walking next the lord-mayor, and all the country gentry fol-
lowing, with greater crowds of people than I believed to be in
York, vast acclamations, and the appearance of general satis-
faction. The Pretender afterward 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 at
EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 4-7
tempts from Scotland, though all the Protestants here seem
unanimous for the Hanover succession. The poor young
ladies at Castle Howard* are as much alarmed as I am, being
'eft 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 ab-
sence of their father, who is gone post. During this uncer
tainty, I think it will be a safe retreat ; for Middlethorp
stands exposed to plunderers, if there be any at all. I dare
say, after the zeal the archbishop has showed, they '11 visit his
house, and consequently this, in the first place. The arch-
bishop made me many compliments on our near neighbor-
hood, and said he should be overjoyed at the happiness of
improving his acquaintance with you. I suppose you may
now come in at Aldburgh, and I heartily wish you were in
Parliament. I saw the ai chbishop's list of the lords regents
appointed, and I perceive Lord W*** is not one of them ; by
which I guess the new scheme is not to make use of any man
grossly infamous in either party ; consequently, those that have
been honest in regard to both will stand fairest for prefer-
ment. You understand these things much better than me ;
but I hope you will be persuaded by me and your other
friends (who, I don't doubt, will be of my opinion) that 'tis
necessary for the common good for an honest man to en-
deavor to be powerful, when he can be the one without losing
the first more valuable title ; and remember that money is the
source of power. I hear that Parliament sits but six months :
you know best whether 'tis worth any expense or bustle to be
m it for so short a time.
* The daughters of the Earl of Carlisle.
48 LETTERS TO
LETTER XXIV.
No date.
You made me cry two hours last night. I can not imagine
why you use me so ill ; for what reason you continue silent,
when you know at any time your silence can not fail of giving
me a great deal of pain ; and now to a higher degree because
of the perplexity that I am in, without knowing where you are,
what you are doing, or what to do with myself and my dear
little boy. However (persuaded there can be no objection to
it), I intend to go to-morrow to Castle Howard, and remain
there with the young ladies, till I know when I shall see you,
or what you would command. The archbishop and every body
else are gone to London. We are alarmed with a story of a
fleet being seen from the coasts of Scotland. An express
went from thence through York to the Earl of Mar. I beg
you would write to me. Till you do, I shall not have an
easy minute. I am sure I do not deserve from you that you
should make me uneasy. I find I am scolding — 'tis better for
me not to trouble you with it ; but I can not help taking your
silence very unkindly.
LETTER XXV.
1714
Though I am very impatient to see you, I would not have
you, by hastening to come down, lose any part of your inter-
est. I am surprised you say nothing of where you stand. I
had a letter from Mrs. He wet last post, who said she heard
you stood at Newark, and would be chose without opposition ;
but I fear her intelligence is not at all to be depended on. 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 ; every thing we see and every thing we
hear, puts us in remembrance of it. If it were possible to
EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 49
restore liberty to your country, or limit the encroachments of
the 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 duty to be rich, that it may
be in one's power to do good ; riches being another word for
power, toward the obtaining of which the first necessary
qualification is impudence, and (as Demosthenes said of pro-
nunciation 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 Halifax, R. Walpole, 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 trusting who shall be foremost ; people who
knock others with their elbows, disregard a little kick of the
shins, and still thrust heartily forward, are sure of a good
place. Your modest man stands behind in the crowd, is
shoved about by every body, his clothes torn, 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 im-
pudence, is more probable to be advanced, than the greatest
qualifications without it.
If this letter is impertinent, it is founded upon an opinion
of your merit, which, if it is a mistake, I would not be unde-
ceived ; it is my interest to believe (as I do) that you deserve
every thing, and are capable of every thing ; but nobody else
will believe it, if they see you get nothing.
LETTER XXVI.
IT 14.
?ou do me wrong in imagining, as I perceive you do, that
my reasons for being solicitous for your having that place.
3
50 LETTERS TO
was in view of spending more money than we do. You have
no cause of fancying me capable of such a thought. I don't
doubt but Lord Halifax will very soon have the staff, and it is
my belief you will not be at all the richer : but I think it
looks well, and may facilitate your election ; and that is all
the advantage I hope from it. When all your intimate ac-
quaintance are preferred, I think you would have an ill air in
having nothing : upon that account only, I am sorry so many
considerable places are disposed of. I suppose, now, you will
certainly be chosen somewhere or other ; and I can not see
why you should not pretend to be Speaker. I believe all the
Whigs would be for you, and I fancy you have a considerable
interest among the Tories, and for that reason would be very
likely to carry it. 'Tis impossible for me to judge of this so
well as you can do ; but the reputation of being thoroughly
of no party is, I think, of use in this affair, and I believe people
generally esteem you impartial ; and being chose by your coun
try is more honorable than holding any place from any king.
LETTER XXVII.
No date.
I hope the child is better than he was, but I wish you
would let Dr. Garth know he has a bigness in his joints, but
not much ; his ankles seem chiefly to have a weakness. I
should be very glad of his advice upon it, and whether he
approves rubbing them with spirits, which I am told is good
for him.
I hope you are convinced I was not mistaken in my judg-
ment of Lord Pelham ; he is very silly, but very good-natured.
I don't see how it can be improper for you to get it represent-
ed to him that he is obliged in honor to get you chose at Ald-
burgh, and may more easily get Mr. Jessop chose at another
place. I can't believe but you may manage it in such a man-
ner ; Mr. Jessop himself would not be against it, nor would he
EDWARD WORTLEY MONTAGU. 51
have so much, reason to take it ill, if he should not be chose,
as you have after so much money fruitlessly spent. I dare
say you may order it so that it may be so, if you talk to Lord
Townshend, etc. I mention this, because I can not think you
can stand at York, or any where else, without a great ex-
pense. Lord Morpeth is just now of age, but I know not
whether he '11 think it worth while to return from travel upon
that occasion. Lord Carlisle is in town ; you may, if you
think fit, make him a visit, and inquire concerning it. After
all, I look upon Aldburgh to be the surest thing. Lord
Pelham* is easily persuaded to any thing, and I am sure he
may be told by Lord Townshend that he has used you ill ;
and I know that he '11 be desirous to do all things in his power
to make it up. In my opinion, if you resolve upon an extra-
ordinary expense to be in Parliament, you should resolve to
have it turn to some account. Your father is very surprising
if he persists in standing at Huntingdon; but there is nothing
surprising in such a world as this.
LETTER XXVIII.
IT 14.
Your letter very much vexed me. I can not imagine why
you should doubt being the better, for a place of that consid-
eration, which it is in your power to lay down, whenever you
dislike the measures that are taken. Supposing the com-
mission lasts but a short time, I believe those that have acted
in it will have the offer of some other considerable thing. I
am perhaps the only woman in the world that would dissuade
her husband (if he were inclined to it) from accepting the
greatest place in England, upon the condition of his giving
one vote disagreeing with his principles and the true interest
of my country ; but when it is possible to be of service to
* Lord Pelham was soon after created Duke of Newcastle, and was
George the Second's minister
52 LETTERS TO
j your country by going along with the ministry, I know not
] any reason for declining an honorable post. The world never
believes it possible for people to act out of the coinmon tract;
and whoever is not employed by the public, may talk what
they please of having refused or slighted great offers ; but
they are always looked upon either as neglected, or discon-
tented because their pretensions have failed ; and whatever
efforts they make against the court are thought the effect
of spleen and disappointment, or endeavors to get something
they have set their heart on, — as now Sir T. H * is rep-
resented, and I believe truly, as aiming at beiug secretary. No
man can make a better figure than when he enjoys a consid-
erable place. Being for the Place Bill, and if he finds the
ministry in the wrong, withdrawing from them, when 'tis visi-
ble that he might still keep his places, if he had not chose to
keep his integrity. I have sent you my thoughts of places in
general, I solemnly protest, without any thought of any par-
ticular advantage to myself ; and if I were your friend, and
not your wife, I should speak in the same manner, which I
really do without any consideration but that of your figure
and reputation, which are a thousand times dearer to me
than splendor, money, etc. I suppose this long letter might
have been spared ; for your resolution, I don't doubt, is
already taken.
LETTER XXIX.
April.
I am extremely concerned at your illness. I have expected
you all this day, and supposed you would be here by this
time, if you had set out Saturday afternoon, as you say you
intended. I hope you have left Wharncliffe ; but, however,
will continue to write till you let me know you have done so.
Dr. Clarke has been spoke to, and excused himself from reo-
* Sir Thomas Hanmer.
EDWARD WOBTLEY MONTAGU. 53
ommending a chaplain, as not being acquainted with many-
orthodox divines. I don't doubt you know the death of Lord
Sommers, which will for some time interrupt my commerce
with Lady Jekyl. I have heard he is dead without a will ;
and I have heard he has made young Mr. Cox his heir : I
can not tell which account is the truest. I beg you with ;he
greatest earnestness that you would take the first care of your
health — there can be nothing worth the least loss of it. I
shall be, sincerely, very uneasy 'till I hear from you again ;
but I am not without hopes of seeing you to-morrow. Your
son presents his duty to you, and improves every day in his
conversation, which begins to be very entertaining to me. I
directed a letter for you last post to Mr. B . I can not
conclude without once (more) recommending to you, if you
have any sort of value for me, to take care of yourself. If
there be any thing you would have me do, pray be particular
in your directions. You say nothing positive about the
liveries. Lord B.'s lace is silk, with very little silver in it, but
for twenty liveries comes to £110. Adieu ! Pray take care
of your health.
LETTERS TO HER SISTER AND FRIENDS
DURING THE EMBASSY OF MR. WORTLEY.
FROM 1716 TO 1718.
LETTER I *
Rotterdam, August 3, 0. S., 11 16.
I flatter myself, dear sister, that I shall give you some
pleasure in letting you know that I have safely passed the
sea, though we had the ill fortune of a storm. We were per-
suaded by the captain of the yacht to set out in a calm, and
he pretended there was nothing so easy as to tide it over ;
but, after two days slowly moving, the wind blew so hard
that none of the sailors could keep their feet, and we were all
Sunday night tossed very handsomely. I never saw a man
more frighted than the captain.
For my part, I have been so lucky, neither to suffer from
fear nor sea-sickness ; though I confess I was so impatient
to see myself once more upon dry land that I would not
stay till the yacht could get to Rotterdam, but went in the
long-boat to Helvoetsluys, where we had voitures to carry us
to the Brill.
* Lady Frances Pierrepont, second daughter of Evelyn, first Duke
of Kingston, married John Erskine, Earl of Mar, who was Secretary
of State for Scotland in 1105, joined the Pretender in 1115, was at-
tainted in 1716, and died at Aix-la-Chapelle in 1*732. George I.
confirmed to Lady Mar the jointure on Lord Mar's forfeited estate to
which she was entitled by her marriage-settlement, with remainder
to her daughter, Lady Frances Erskine. She resided many years at
Paris.
HER SISTER .V S D FRIENDS. 55
I was charmed with the neatness of that little town ; but
my arrival at Rotterdam presented me a new scene of pleasure.
All the streets are paved with broad stones, and before many
of the meanest artificers' doors are placed seats of variously-
colored marbles, so neatly kept, that I assure you I walked
almost 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 street with more
application 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 it is not some celebrated fair ; but I see it is
every day the same. 'Tis certain no town can be more ad-
vantageously situated for commerce. 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, that I have much ado to 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 teased with the importunity 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 fash-
ion) is an additional pleasure in seeing the town.
You see hitherto, dear sister, I make no complaints ; and,
if I continue to like traveling as well as I do at present, I
shall not repent my project. It will go a great way in making
me satisfied with it, if it affords me an opportunity of enter-
taining you. But it is not from Holland that you may expect
a disinterested offer. I can write enough in the style of
Rotterdam to tell you plainly, in one word, that I expect re-
turns of all the London news. You see I have already learned
to make a good bargain ; and that it is not for nothing I will
so much as tell you I am your affectionate sister.
56 LETTERS TO
LETTER n.
Vienna, September 8, 0. S., 1*716.
I am now, my dear sister, safely arrived at Vienna ; and, I
thank God, have not at all suffered in my health, nor (what is
dearer to me) in that of my child* by all our fatigues.
We traveled by water from Ratisbon, a journey perfectly
agreeable, down the Danube, in one of those little vessels
that they very properly call wooden houses, having in them
all the conveniences of a palace — stoves in the chambers,
kitchens, etc. They are rowed by twelve men each, and move
with such incredible swiftness that in the same day you have
the pleasure of a vast variety of prospects ; and, within the
space of a few hours, you have the pleasure of seeing a pop-
ulous city adorned with magnificent palaces, and the most ro-
mantic solitudes, which appear distant from the commerce of
mankind, the banks of the Danube being charmingly diversi-
fied with woods, rocks, mountains covered with vines, fields
of corn, large cities, and ruins of ancient castles. I saw the
great towns of Passau and Lintz, famous for the retreat of the
imperial court when Vienna was besieged.
This town, which has the honor of being the emperor's resi-
dence, 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 can not observe the fine fronts of the palaces,
though many of them very well deserve observation, being
truly magnificent. They are built of fine white stone, and are
excessively high. For as the town is 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 six stories. You may easily imagine that the
streets being so narrow, the rooms are extremely dark ; and,
what is an inconvenience much more intolerable, in my opin-
ion, there is no house that has so few as five or six families in
* Edward "Wortley Montagu, her only son, was born 1*713.
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 57
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 shoemaker ; and I know nobody 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 to whoever will take them ; and
thus the great stairs (which are all of stone) are as common
and as dirty as the street. 'Tis true, when you have once
traveled through them, nothing can be more surprisingly
magnificent than the apartments. They are commonly a suit
of eight or ten large rooms, all inlaid, the doors and windows
ricljly carved and gilt, and the furniture such as is seldom
seen in the palaces of sovereign princes in other countries.
Their apartments are adorned with hangings of 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 cov-
ered with gold lace or embroidery. The whole is made gay
by pictures, and vast jars of Japan china, and in almost every
room large lusters of rock crystal.
I have already had the honor of being invited to dinner by
several of the first people of quality ; and I must do them the
justice to say, the good taste and magnificence of their tables
very well answered 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.
T was yesterday at Count Schcenbrunn,* the vice-chan-
* The palace of Schcenbrunn is distant about two miles from Yienna.
It was designed by John Bernard Fischers, the Palladio of Germany,
in 1696, and was afterward used as a hunting-seat by the emperor and
his court.
3*
58 LETTERS TO
cellor's garden, where I was invited to dinner. I must own I
never saw a place so perfectly delightful as the faubourg of
Vienna. It is very large, and almost wholly composed of de-
licious palaces. If the emperor found it proper to permit the
gates of the town to be laid open, that the faubourg might
be joined to it, he would have one of the largest and best
built cities in Europe. Count Schcenbrunn's villa is one of the
most magnificent ; the furniture all rich brocades, so well fan-
cied and fitted up, nothing can look more gay and splendid ;
not to speak of a gallery, full of rarities of coral, mother-of-
pearl, etc., and, throughout the whole house, a profusion of
gilding, carving, fine paintings, the most beautiful porcelain,
statues of alabaster and ivory, and vast orange and lemon-
trees in gilt pots. The dinner was perfectly fine and well
ordered, and made still more agreeable by the good-humor of
the count.
LETTER III.
Prague, November 17, 0. S., 1116.
I hope my dear sister wants no new proofs of my sincere
affection for her : but I am sure, if you do, I could not give
you a stronger than writing at this time, after three days, or,
more properly speaking, three nights and days, hard post-
traveling.
The kingdom of Bohemia is the most desert of any I have
seen in Germany. The villages are so poor, and the post-
houses so miserable, that clean straw and fair water are bless-
ings not always to be met with, and better accommodation not
to be hoped for. Though I carried my own bed with me, I
could not sometimes find a place to set it up in ; and I rather
chose to travel all night, as cold as it is, wrapped up in my
furs, than to go into the common stoves, which are filled with
a mixture of all sorts of ill scents.
This town was once the royal seat of the Bohemian kings,
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 59
and is still the capital of the kingdom. There are yet some
remains of its former splendor, being one of the largest towns
in Germany, but, for the most part, old built, and thinly inhab-
ited, which makes the houses very cheap. Those people of
quality who can not easily bear the expense of Vienna, choose
to reside here, where they have assemblies, music, and all
other diversions (those of a court excepted), at very moderate
rates, all things being here in great abundance, especially the
best wild-fowl I ever tasted. I have already been visited by
some of the most considerable ladies, whose relations I know
at Vienna. They are dressed after the fashions there, after
the manner that the people at Exeter imitate those of London :
that is, their imitation is more excessive than the original.
'Tis not easy to describe what extraordinary figures they make.
The person is so much lost between head-dress and petticoat,
that they have as much occasion to write upon their backs,
" This is a Woman" for the information of travelers, as ever
sign-post painter had to write, " This is a Bear. 11
LETTER IV.
Vienna, January 16, 0. S., 1*111.
I am now, dear sister, to take leave of you for. a long time,
and of Vienna forever ; designing to-morrow to begin my
journey through Hungary, in spite of the excessive cold and
deep snows, which are enough to damp a greater courage
than I am mistress of. But my principles of passive obedience
carry me through every thing.
I have had my audience of leave of the empress. His im-
perial majesty was pleased to be present when I waited on the
reigning empress ; and after a very obliging conversation, both
their imperial majesties invited me to take Vienna in my road
back ; but I have no thoughts of enduring, over again, so
great a fatigue. I delivered a letter from the Duchess of
Blankenburg. I staid but a few days at that court, though
60 LETTERS TO
her highness pressed me very much to stay ; and when I left
her, engaged me to write to her.
I wrote you a long letter from thence, which I hope you have
received, though you don't mention it ; but I believe I forgot
to tell you one curiosity in all the German courts, which I can
not forbear taking notice of: all the princes keep favorite
dwarfs. The emperor and empress keep two of these little
monsters, as ugly as devils, especially the ' female ; but they
are all bedaubed with diamonds, and stand at her majesty's
elbow, in all public places. The Duke of Wolfenbuttle has
one, and the Duchess of Blankenburg is not without hers, but
indeed the most proportionable I ever saw. I am told the
King of Denmark has so far improved upon this fashion, that
his dwarf is his chief minister. I can assign no reason for
their fondness for these pieces of deformity, but the opinion
all the absolute princes have, that it is below them to converse
with the rest of mankind ; and, not to be quite alone, they
are forced to seek their companions among the refuse of hu-
man nature, these creatures being the only part of their court
privileged to talk freely to them.
I am at present confined to my chamber by a sore throat ;
and am really glad of the excuse, to avoid seeing people that
I love well enough to be very much mortified when I think I
am going to part with them forever. It is true, the Austrians
are not commonly the most polite people in the world, nor the
most agreeable. But Vienna is inhabited by all nations, and
I had formed to myself a little society of such as were per-
fectly to my own taste. And though the number was not
very great, I could uever pick up, in any other place, such a
number of reasonable, agreeable people. We were almost
always together, and you know I have ever been of opinion
that a chosen conversation, composed of a few that one es-
teems, is the greatest happiness of life.
Here are some Spaniards of both sexes, that have all the
vivacity and generosity of sentiments anciently ascribed to
their nation ; and could I believe that the whole kingdom
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 61
were like them, I would wish nothing more than to end my
days there. The ladies of my acquaintance have so much
goodness for me, they cry whenever they see me, since I have
determined to undertake this journey. And, indeed, I am not
very easy when I reflect on what I am going to suffer. Almost
every body I see frights me with some new difficulty. Prince
Eugene has been so good as to say all the- things he could to
persuade me to stay till the Danube is thawed, that I may
have the conveniency of going by water ; assuring me that
the houses in Hungary are such as are no defense against the
weather-; and that I shall be obliged to travel three or four
days between Buda and Essek, without finding any house at
all, through desert plains covered with snow ; where the cold
is so violent, many have been killed by it. I own these ter-
rors have made a very deep impression on my mind, because
I believe he tells me things truly as they are, and nobody can
be better informed of them.
Now I have named that great man, I am sure you expect I
should say something particular of him, having the advantage
of seeing him very often ; but I am as unwilling to speak of
him at Vienna as I should be to talk of Hercules in the court
of Omphale, if I had seen him there. I don't know what com-
fort other people find in considering the weakness of great
men (because, perhaps, it brings them nearer to their level),
but 'tis always a mortification to me to observe that there is
no perfection in humanity. The young Prince of Portugal is
the admiration of the whole court ; he is handsome and po-
lite, with a great vivacity. All the officers tell wonders of his
gallantry the last campaign. He is lodged at court with all
the honors due to his rank. Adieu, dear sister : this is the
last account you will have from me of Vienna. If I survive
my journey, you shall hear from me again. I can say with
great truth, in the words of Moneses, / have long learned to
hold myself as nothing ; but when I think of the fatigue my
poor infant must suffer, I have all a mother's fondness in my
eyes, and all her tender passions in my heart.
62 LETTERS TO
P.S. — I have written a letter to my Lady that I be-
lieve she won't like ; and, upon cooler reflection, I think I had
done better to have let it alone ; but I was downright peevish
at all her questions, and her ridiculous imagination that I have
certainly seen abundance of wonders which I keep to myself
out of mere malice. She is very angry that I won't lie like
other travelers. I verily believe she expects I should tell her
of the Anthropophagi, men whose heads grow below theii
shoulders : however, pray say something to pacify her.
LETTER V.
Peterwaradin, Jan. 30, 0. S., llll.
At length, dear sister, I am safely arrived, with all my fam-
ily, in good health, at Peterwaradin ; having suffered so little
from the rigor of the season (against which we were well pro-
vided by furs), and found such tolerable accommodation every
where, by the care of sending before, that I can hardly forbear
laughing, when I recollect all the frightful ideas that were
given me of this journey. These, I see, were wholly owing to
the tenderness of my Vienna friends, and their desire of keep-
ing me with them for this winter.
Perhaps it will not be disagreeable to you to give a short
journal of my journey, being through a country entirely un-
known to you, and very little passed, even by the Hungarians
themselves, who generally choose to take the conveniency of
going down the Danube. We have had the blessing of being
favored with finer weather than is common at this time of the
year ; though the snow was so deep we were obliged to have
our own coaches fixed upon traineaus, which move so swift
and so easily, 'tis by far the most agreeable manner of travel-
ing post. We came to Raab (the second day from Vienna)
on the seventeenth instant, where Mr. Wortley sending word
of our arrival to the governor, the best house in the town was
provided for us, the garrison put under arms, a guard ordered
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 63
at our door, and all other honors paid to us. The governor,
and all other officers, immediately waited on Mr. Wortley, to
know if there was any thing to be done for his service. The
Bishop of Temeswar came to visit us, with great civility, earn-
estly pressing us to dine with him next day ; which we refus-
ing, as being resolved to pursue our journey, he sent us several
baskets of winter fruit, and a great variety of Hungarian
wines, with a young hind just killed. This is a prelate of
great power in this country, of the ancient family of Nadasty,
so considerable for many ages in this kingdom. He is a very
polite, agreeable, cheerful old man, wearing the Hungarian
habit, with a venerable white beard down to his girdle.
Raab is a strong town, well garrisoned and fortified, and
was a long time the frontier town between the Turkish and
German empires. It has its name from the river Rab, on
which it is situated, just on its meeting with the Danube, in
an open champaign country. It was first taken by the Turks,
under the command of Pasha Sinan, in the reign of Sultan
Amurath III., in the year fifteen hundred and ninety-four.
The governor, being supposed to have betrayed it, was after-
ward beheaded by the emperor's command. The Counts of
Swartzenburg and Palfi retook it by surprise, 1598 ; since
which time it has remained in the hands of the Germans,
though the Turks once more attempted to gain it by strata-
gem in 1642. The cathedral is large and well built, which is
all I saw remarkable in the town.
Leaving Comora on the other side the river, we went the
eighteenth to Nosmuhl, a small village, where, however, we
made shift to find tolerable accommodation. We continued
two days traveling between this place and Buda, through the
finest plains in the world, as even as if they were paved, and
extremely fruitful ; but for the most part desert and unculti-
vated, laid waste by the long wars between the Turk and the
emperor, and the more cruel civil war occasioned by the
barbarous persecution of the Protestant religion by the Em-
peror Leopold. That prince has left behind him the character
64 LETTERS TO
of an extraordinary piety, and was naturally of a mild, mer-
ciful temper ; but, putting his conscience into the hands of a
Jesuit, he was more cruel and treacherous to his poor Hun-
garian subjects than ever the Turk has been to the Christians ;
breaking, without scruple, his coronation oath, and his faith,
solemnly given in many public treaties. Indeed, nothing can
be more melancholy than, in traveling through Hungary, to
reflect on the former flourishing state of that kingdom, and to
see such a noble spot of earth almost uninhabited. Such are
also the present circumstances of Buda (where we arrived
very early the twenty-second), once the royal seat of the Hun-
garian kings, whose palace was reckoned one of the most
beautiful buildings of the age, now wholly destroyed, no part
of the town having been repaired since the last siege, but the
fortifications and the castle, which is the present residence of
the Governor-general Ragule, an officer of great merit. He
came immediately to see us, and carried us in his coach to
his house, where I was received by his lady with all possible
civility, and magnificently entertained.
This city is situated upon a little hill on the south side of
the Danube. The castle is much higher than the town, and
from it the prospect is very noble. Without the walls lie a
vast number of little houses, or rather huts, that they call the
Rascian town, being altogether inhabited by that people. The
governor assured me it would furnish twelve thousand fighting
men. These towns look very odd : their houses stand in rows,
many thousands of them so close together that they appear,
at a little distance, like old-fashioned thatched tents. They
consist, every one of them, of one hovel above, and another
under ground ; these are their summer and winter apartments.
Buda was first taken by Solyman the Magnificent, in 1526,
and lost the following year to Ferdinand L, King of Bohemia.
Solyman regained it by the treachery of the garrison, and
voluntarily gave it into the hands of King John of Hungary ;
after whose death, his son being an infant, Ferdinand laid
siege to it, and the queen-mother was forced to call Solyman
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 65
to her aid. He indeed raised the siege, but left a Turkish
garrison in the town, and commanded her to remove her
court from thence, which she was forced to submit to, in
1541. It resisted afterward the sieges laid to it by the Mar-
quis of Brandenburg, in the year 1542 ; Count Swartzenburg,
in 1598 ; General Eosworm, in 1602 ; and the Duke of Lor-
rain, commander of the emperor's forces, in 1684, to whom
it yielded, in 1686, after an obstinate defense; Apti Bassa,
the governor, being killed, fighting in the breach with a
Roman bravery. The loss of this town was so important,
and so much resented by the Turks, that it occasioned the
deposing of their emperor, Mohammed IV., the year fol-
lowing.
We did not proceed on our journey till the twenty-third,
when we passed through Adam and Todowar, both consider-
able towns when in the hands of the Turks, but now quite
ruined. The remains, however, of some Turkish towns show
something of what they have been. This part of the country
is very much overgrown with wood, and little frequented.
'Tis incredible what vast numbers of wild-fowl we saw, which
often live here to a good old age — and, undisturbed by guns,
in quiet sleep. We came the five-and-twentieth to Mohatch,
and were shown the field near it, where Lewis, the young
King of Hungary, lost his army and his life, being drowned
in a ditch, trying to fly from Balybeus, general of Solyman
the Magnificent. This battle opened the first passage for the
Turks into the heart of Hungary. I don't name to you the
little villages, of which I can say nothing remarkable ; but
I '11 assure you, I have always found a warm stove, and great
plenty, particularly of wild boar, venison, and all kinds of
gibier. The few people that inhabit Hungary live easily
enough ; they have no money, but the woods and plains
afford them provision in great abundance : they were ordered
to give us all things necessary, even what horses we pleased
to demand, gratis ; but Mr. Wortley would not oppress the
poor country people, by making use of this order, and always
66 LETTER S TO
paid them to the full worth of what he had. They were so
surprised at this unexpected generosity, which they are very
little used to, that they always pressed upon us, at parting, a
dozen of fat pheasants, or something of that sort, for a pres-
ent. Their dress is very primitive, being only a plain sheep's
skin, and a cap and boots of the same stuff. You may easily
imagine this lasts them many winters ; and thus they have
very little occasion for money.
The twenty-sixth, we passed over the frozen Danube, with
all our equipage and carriages. We met on the other side
General Veterani, who invited us, with great civility, to pass
the night at a little castle of his, a few miles off, assuring us
we should have a very hard day's journey to reach Essek.
This we found but too true, the woods being very dangerous,
and scarcely passable, from the vast quantity of wolves that
hoard in them. We came, however, safe, though late, to
Essek, where we staid a day, to dispatch a courier with let-
ters to the Pasha of Belgrade ; and I took that opportunity
of seeing the town, which is not very large, but fair built, and
well fortified. This was a town of great trade, very rich and
populous, when in the hands of the Turks. It is situated on
the Drave, which runs into the Danube. The bridge was es-
teemed one of the most extraordinary in the world, being
eight thousand paces long, and all built of oak. It was burned
and the city laid in ashes by Count Lesly, 1685, but was again
repaired and fortified by the Turks, who, however, abandoned
it in 1687. General Dunnewalt then took possession of it for
the emperor, in whose hands it has remained ever since, and
is esteemed one of the bulwarks of Hungary.
The twenty-eighth we went to Bocorwar, a very large Ras-
cian town, all built after the manner I have described to you.
We were met there by Colonel , who would not suffer
us to go any where but to his quarters, where I found his
wife, a very agreeable Hungarian lady, and his niece and
daughter, two pretty young women, crowded into three or
four Rascian houses cast into one, and made as neat and con-
HER S I S T E II AND FRIENDS. 67
venient as those places are capable of being made. The
Hungarian ladies are much handsomer than those of Austria.
All the Vienna beauties are of that country ; they are gener-
ally very fair and well-shaped, and their dress, I think, is ex-
tremely becoming. This lady was in a gown of scarlet velvet,
lined and faced with sables, made exact to her shape, and the
skirt falling to her feet. The sleeves are strait to their arms,
and the stays buttoned before, with two rows of little but-
tons of gold, pearl, or diamonds. On their heads they wear
a tassel of gold, that hangs low on one side, lined with sable,
or some other fine fur. They gave us a handsome dinner, and
I thought the conversation very polite and agreeable. They -
would accompany us part of our way.
The twenty-ninth we arrived here, where we were met by
the commanding officer, at the head of all the officers of the
garrison. We are lodged in the best apartment of the govern-
or's house, and entertained in a very splendid manner by the
emperor's order. We wait here till all points are adjusted
concerning our reception on the Turkish frontiers. Mr. Wort-
ley's courier, which he sent from Essek, returned this morn-
ing, with the pasha's answer in a purse of scarlet satin, which
the interpreter here has translated. It is to promise him to be
honorably received. I desired him to appoint where he would
be met by the Turkish convoy. He has dispatched the courier
back, naming Betsko, a village in the midway between Peter-
waradin and Belgrade. We shall stay here till we receive his
answer.
Thus, dear sister, I have given you a very particular, and, I
am afraid you '11 think, a tedious, account of this part of my
travels. It was not an affectation of showing my reading
that has made me tell you some little scraps of the history of
the towns I have passed through : I have always avoided any
thing of that kind, when I spoke of places that I believe you
knew the story of as well as myself. But Hungary being a
part of the world which, I believe, is quite new to you, I
thought you might read with some pleasure an account of it,
68 LETTERS TO
which I have been very solicitous to get from the best hands.
However, if you don't like it, 'tis in your power to .forbear
reading it.
I am promised to have this letter carefully sent to Vienna.
LETTER VI.
Adrianople, April 1, 0. S. 1T1T.
I am now got into a new world, where every thing I see
appears to me a change of scene ; and I write to your lady-
ship with some content of mind, hoping, at least, that you
will find the charms of novelty in my letters, and no longer
reproach me that I tell you nothing extraordinary.
I won't trouble you- with a relation of our tedious journey ;
but 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 ; and
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 man
ner of the Dutch stage-coaches, having wooden lattices painted
and gilded ; the inside being also painted with baskets and
nosegays of flowers, intermixed commonly with little poetical
mottos. 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 thus permits the ladies to peep
through the lattices. They hold four people very conveniently,
seated on cushions, but not raised.
In one of these covered wagons 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
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 69
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 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 are two raised 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 lit-
tle 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 pro-
ceeding 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 turning
into it, to temper it to what degree of warmth the bathers
pleased to have.
I was in my traveling-habit, which is a riding-dress, and
certainly appeared very extraordinary to them. Yet there /
was not one of them that showed the least surprise or im- [
pertinent curiosity, but received me with all the obliging civ- :
ility possible. I know no European court where the ladies
would have behaved themselves in so polite a manner to such
a stranger. I believe, upon the whole, there were two hun-
dred women, and yet none of those disdainful smiles, and
satirical whispers, that never fail in our assemblies, when any |
body appears that is hot dressed exactly in the fashion. They
repeated over and over to me — " Guzel, pek guzel," which is
nothing but Charming, very charming. The first sofas were
covered with cushions and rich carpets* on which sat the la-
dies ; and on the second their slaves, behind them, but with-
out any distinction of rank by their dress, all being in the
state of nature, that is, in plain English, stark naked, without
any beauty or defect concealed. Yet there was not the least
wanton smile or immodest gesture among them. They walked
and moved with the same, majestic grace which Miltoi
describes our general mother with. There were many among
70 LETTERS TO
them as exactly proportioned as ever any goddess was drawn
by the pencil of a Guido or Titian, and most of their skins
shining]y 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.
I was here convinced of the truth of a reflection I have
often made, That if it were the fashion to go naked, the face
would be hardly observed. I perceived that the ladies of the
most delicate skins and finest shapes had the greatest share
of my admiration, though their faces were sometimes less
beautiful than those of their companions. To tell you the
truth, I had wickedness enough to wish secretly that Mr.
Jervas* could have been there invisible. I fancy it would
have very much improved his art, to see so many fine women
naked, in different postures, some in conversation, some work-
ing, 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 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 immediately coming out of the hot bath into the
cold room, which was very surprising to me. The lady that
seemed the most considerable among them entreated me to
sit by her, and would fain have undressed me for the bath. I
excused myself with some difficulty. They being, however,
all so earnest in persuading me, I was at last forced to open
my shirt and show them my stays, which satisfied them very
well ; for I saw they believed I was locked up in that ma-
chine, and that it was not in my own power to open it,
* Charles Jervas was a pupil of Sir Godfrey Kneller. He was the
friend of Pope, and much celebrated for his portraits of females. The
beauties of his day were proud to be painted by his hand, after Pope
had published his celebrated epistle to him, in which he is compli-
mented as " selling a thousand years of bloom."
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. Vl
which contrivance they attributed to my husband. I was
charmed with their civility and beauty, and should have been
very glad to pass more time with them ; but Mr. Wortley
resolving to pursue his journey next morning, early, I was in
haste to see the ruins of Justinian's church, which did not af-
ford me so agreeable a prospect as I had left, being little more
than a heap of stones.
Adieu, madam : I am sure I have now entertained you
with an account of such a sight as you never saw in your
life, and what no book of travels could inform you of, as it is
no less than death for a man to be found in one of these places.*
LETTER VII.
Adrianople, April 1, 0. S. It 17.
You see that I am very exact in keeping the promise you
engaged me to make. I know not, however, whether your
* Dr. Eussel, an author of great credit, in his History of Aleppo
questions the truth of the account here given by Lady Mary "Wortley,
affirming that the native ladies of that city, with whom, as their phy
sician, he had permission to converse through a lattice, denied to him
the prevalence, and almost the existence of the custom she describes,
and even seemed as much scandalized at hearing of it as if they
had been born and bred in England. The writer of this note con-
fesses to having entertained doubts upon this point, arising from the
statement of Dr. Russel ; but these doubts were removed by the tes-
timony of a lady, who traveled some years ago in Turkey, and was
several months an inmate of the English embassador's house in Pera,
whose veracity no one who knew her could doubt, and whose word
would have been taken before the oaths of a whole harem. That lady,
having been prevented by circumstances from visiting the baths of
Constantinople, had an opportunity of doing so at Athens, and there
she found Lady Mary's account strictly correct in the main points,
although the sight did not inspire her with the same degree of admira-
tion. To use a trite metaphor, she found Lady Mary's outline faithful,
but her coloring too vivid. It may, therefore, be fairly presumed that
the Aleppo ladies, perceiving the doctor's opinion of the custom,
thought fit to disclaim it, or that it really did not prevail in that par-
ticular city, and their knowledge went no further.
12
LETTERS TO
curiosity will be satisfied with the accounts I shall give you,
though I can assure you the desire I have to oblige you to
the utmost of rny power has made me very diligent in my
inquiries and observations. It is certain we have but very
imperfect accounts of the manners and religion of these peo-
ple; this part of the world being seldom visited, but by
merchants, who mind little but their own affairs ; or travelers,
who make too short a stay to be able to report any thing
exactly of their own knowledge. The Turks are too proud
to converse familiarly with merchants, who can only pick up
some confused informations, which are generally false, and
can give no better account of the ways here than a French
refugee, lodging in a garret in Greek-street, could write of
the court of England.
The journey we have made from Belgrade hither, can not
possibly be passed by any out of a public character. The
desert woods of Servia are the common refuge of thieves,
who rob fifty in a company, so that we had need of all our
guards to secure us ; and the villages are so poor that only
force could extort from them necessary provisions. Indeed
the janizaries had no mercy on their poverty, killing all the
poultry and sheep they could find, without asking to whom
they belonged ; while the wretched owners durst not put in
their claim, for fear of being beaten. Lambs just fallen,
geese and turkies big with egg, all massacred without distinc-
tion ! I fancied I heard the complaints of Melibeus for the
hope of his flock. When the pashas travel, it is yet worse.
These oppressors are not content with eating all that is to be
eaten belonging to the peasants ; after they have crammed
themselves and their numerous retinue, they have the impu-
dence to ' exact what they call teeth-money, a contribution for
the use of their teeth, worn With doing them the honor of
devouring their meat. This is literally and exactly true, how-
ever extravagant it may seem ; and such is the natural cor-
ruption of a military government, their religion not allowing
of this barbarity any more than ours does.
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. id
I had the advantage of lodging three weeks at Belgrade,
with a principal effendi, that is to say, a scholar. This set of
men are equally capable of preferments in the law or the
church, these two sciences being cast into one, and a lawyer
and a priest being the same word in the Turkish language.
They are the only men really considerable in the empire : all
the profitable employments and church revenues are in their
hands. The grand-seignior, though general heir to his people,
never presumes to touch their lands or money, which go, in
an uninterrupted succession, to their children. It is true, they
lose this privilege by accepting a place at court, or the title
of pasha ; but there are few examples of such fools among
them. You may easily judge of the power of these men
who have engrossed all the learning and almost all the wealth
of the empire. They are the real authors, though the soldiers
are the actors, of revolutions. They deposed the late Sultan
Mustapha ; and their power is so well known that it is the
emperor's interest to flatter them.
This is a long digression. I was going to tell you that an
intimate daily conversation with the Effendi Achmet-Bey gave
me an opportunity of knowing their religion and morals in a
more particular manner than perhaps any Christian ever did.
I explained to him the difference between the religion of En-
gland and Rome ; and he was pleased to hear there were
Christians that did not worship images, or adore the Virgin
Mary. The ridicule of transubstantiation appeared very
strong to him. Upon comparing our creeds together, I am
convinced that if our friend Dr. had free liberty of
preaching here, it would be very easy to persuade the gener-
ality to Christianity, whose notions are very little different
from his. Mr. Whiston would make a very good apostle here.
I don't doubt but his zeal will be much fired if you commu-
nicate this account to him ; but tell him he must first have
the gift of tongues before he can be possibly of any use
Mohammedism is divided into as many sects as Christianity ;
and the first institution is much neglected and obscured by
4
74 LETTERS T
interpretations. I can not here forbear reflecting on the nat-
ural inclination of mankind to make mysteries and novelties.
The Zeidi, Kudi, Jabari, etc., put me in mind of the Catho-
lics, Lutherans, and Calvinists, and are equally zealous against
one another. But the most prevailing opinion, if you search
into the secret of the effendis, is plain deism. This is indeed
kept from the people, who are amused with a thousand dif-
ferent notions, according to the different interests of their
preachers. There are very few among them (Achmet-Bey de-
nied there were any) so absurd as to set up for wit by declaring
they believe no God at all. And Sir Paul Rycaut is mistaken
(as he commonly is) in calling the sect muterin* (i. e. the secret
with us), atheists, they being deists, whose impiety consists in
makiug a jest of their prophet. Achmet-Bey did not own to
me mat he was of this opinion, but made no scruple of de-
viating from some part of Mohammed's law, by drinking wine
with the same freedom we did. When I asked him how he
came to allow himself that liberty, he made answer, that all
the creatures of God are good, and designed for the use of
man ; however, that the prohibition of wine was a very wise
maxim, and meant for the common people, being the source
Df all disorders among them ; but that the prophet never de-
signed to confine those that knew how to use it with modera-
tion ; nevertheless, he said, that scandal ought to be avoided,
and that he never drank it in public. This is the general way
of thinking among them, and very few forbear drinking wine
that are able to afford it. He assured me that if I under-
stood Arabic, I should be very well pleased with reading the
Alcoran, which is so far from the nonsense we charge it with,
that it is the purest morality, delivered in the very best lan-
guage. I have since heard impartial Christians speak of it in
the same manner ; and I don't doubt but that all our transla-
tions are from copies got from the Greek priests, who would
* See D'Ohsson, Tableau General de l'Empire Othemari, 5 vols.
8vo., 1791. in which the religious code of the Mohammedans, and of
each sect, is very satisfactorily detailed.
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 75
not fail to falsify it with the extremity of malice. No body
of men ever were more ignorant, or more corrupt : yet they
differ so little from the Romish Church, that, I confess, noth-
ing gives me a greater abhorrence of the cruelty of your
clergy, than the barbarous persecution of them whenever
they have been their masters, for no other reason than their not
acknowledging the Pope. The dissenting in that one article
has got them the titles of heretics and schismatics ; and,
what is worse, the same treatment. I found at Philippopolis
a sect of Christians that call themselves Paulines. They show
an old church, where, they say, St. Paul preached ; and he is
their favorite saint, after the manner that St. Peter is at Rome ;
neither do they forget to give him the same preference over
the rest of the apostles.
But of all the religions I have seen, that of the Arnaou x s
seems to me the most particular. They are natives of Ar-
naoutlich, the ancient Macedonia, and still retain the courage
and hardiness, though they have lost the name of Macedo-
nians, being the best militia in the Turkish empire, and the
only check upon the janizaries. They are foot soldiers ; we
had a guard of them, relieved in every considerable town we
passed : they are all clothed and armed at their own expense,
dressed in clean white coarse cloth, carrying guns of a prodig-
ious length, which they run with upon their shouldiers as if
they did not feel the weight of them, the leader singing a sort
of rude tune, not unpleasant, and the rest making up the
chorus. These people, living between Christians and Moham-
medans, and not being skilled in controversy, declare that they
are utterly unable to judge which religion is best ; but, to be
certain of not entirely rejecting the truth, they very pru-
dently follow both. They go to the mosque on Friday, and to
the church on Sunday, saying for their excuse that at the
day of judgment they are sure of protection from the true
prophet ; but which that is, they are not able to determine
in this world. I believe there is no other race of mankind
who have so modest an opinion of their own capacity.
70
LETTER S TO
These are the remarks I have made on the diversity of
religions I have seen. I don't ask your pardon for the liberty
I have taken in speaking of the Roman. I know you equally
condemn the quackery of all the churches as much as you
revere the sacred truths, in which we both agree.
You will expect I should say something to you of the an-
tiquities of this country; but there are few remains of ancient
Greece. We passed near the piece of an arch, which is com-
monly called Trajan's Gate, from a supposition that he made
it to shut up the passage over the mountains between Sophia
and Philippopolis. But I rather believe it the remains of
some triumphal arch (though I could not see any inscription) ;
for if that passage had been shut up, there are many others
that would serve for the march of an army ; and, notwith-
standing the story of Baldwin Earl of Flanders being over-
thrown in these straits, after he won Constantinople, I don't
fancy the Germans would find themselves stopped by them at
this day. It is true, the road is now made (with great indus-
try) as commodious as possible for the march of the Turkish
army ; there is not one ditch or puddle between this place
and Belgrade that has not a large strong bridge of planks
built over it ; but the precipices are not so terrible as I had
heard them represented. At these mountains we lay at the
little village Kiskoi, wholly inhabited by Christians, as all the
peasants of Bulgaria are. Their houses are nothing but little
huts, raised of dirt baked in the sun ; and they leave them,
and fly into the mountains, some months before the march of
the Turkish army, who would else entirely ruin them, by
driving away their whole flocks. This precaution secures
them a sort of plenty ; for such vast tracts of land lying in
common, they have the liberty of sowing what they please,
and ar6 generally very industrious husbandmen. I drank
here several sorts of delicious wine. The women dress them-
selves in a great variety of colored glass beads, and are not
ugly, but of a tawny complexion.
I have now told you all that is worth telling you, and per-
HER SISTER Al-TD FRIENDS. 11
haps more, relating to my journey. When I am at Constan-
tinople Til try to pick up some curiosities, and then you shall
hear from me again.
LETTER Vm.
Adrianople, April 1, 0. S., Itl7.
I wish, dear sister, that you were as regular in letting me
know what passes on your side of the globe as I am careful
in endeavoring to amuse you by the account of all I see here
that I think worth your notice. You content yourself with
telling me over and over, that the town is very dull : it may
possibly be dull to you, when every day does not present you
with something new ; but for me, that am in arrears at least
two months' news, all that seems very stale with you would
be very fresh and sweet here. Pray let me into more particu-
lars, and I will try to awaken your gratitude, by giving you a
full and true relation of the novelties of this place, none of
which would surprise you more than the sight of my person,
as I am now in my Turkish habit, though I believe you
would be of my opinion, that 'tis admirably becoming. I
intend to send you my picture ; in the mean time accept of it
here.
The first part of my dress is a pair of drawers, very full,
that reach to my shoes, and conceal the legs more modestly
than your petticoats. They are of a thin rose-colored dam-
ask, brocaded with silver flowers. My shoes are of white kid
leather, embroidered with gold. Over this hangs my smock,
of a fine white silk gauze, edged with embroidery. This
smock has wide sleeves, hanging half way down the arm, and
is closed at the neck with a diamond button ; but the shape
and color of the bosom are very well to be distinguished
through it. The antery is a waistcoat, made close to the
shape, of white and gold damask, with very long sleeves fall-
ing back, and fringed with deep gold fringe, and should have
78
LETTERS TO
diamond or pearl buttons. My caftan, of the same stuff with
my drawers, is a robe exactly fitted to my shape, and reaching
to my feet, with very long straight falling sleeves. Over this
is my girdle, of about four fingers broad, which all that can
afford it have entirely of diamonds or other precious stones ;
those who will not be at that expense, have it of exquisite
embroidery on satin ; but it must be fastened before with a
clasp of diamonds. The curdee is a loose robe they throw off
or put on according to the weather, being of a rich brocade
(mine is green and gold), either lined with ermine or sables ;
the sleeves reach very little below the shoulders. The head-
dress is composed of a cap, called talpoclc, which is in winter
of fine velvet embroidered with pearls or diamonds, and in
summer of a light shining silver stuff. This is fixed on one
side of the head, hanging a little way down with a gold tassel,
and bound on either with a circle of. diamonds (as I have seen
several) or a rich embroidered handkerchief. On the other
side of the head the hair is laid flat ; and here the ladies are
at liberty to show their fancies : some putting flowers, others
a plume of heron's feathers, and, in short, what they please ;
but the most general fashion is a large bouquet of jewels,
made like natural flowers : that is, the buds, of pearl ; the
roses, of different colored rubies; the jasmins, of diamonds;
the jonquils, of topazes, etc., so well set and enameled, 'tis
hard to imagine any thing of that kind so beautiful. The
hair hangs at its full length behind, divided into tresses
braided with pearl or ribbon, which is always in great quan-
tity.
T never saw in my life so many fine heads of hair. In one
lady's, I have counted a hundred and ten of the tresses, all
natural ; but it must be owned that every kind of beauty is
more common here than with us. 'Tis surprising to see a
young woman that is not very handsome. They have natur-
ally the most beautiful complexion in the world, and gener-
ally large black eyes. I can assure you with great truth, that
the court of England (though I believe it is the fairest in
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. ^9
Christendom) does not contain so many beauties as are un-
der our protection here. They generally shape their eye-
brows, and both Greeks and Turks have a custom of putting
round their eyes a black tincture, that, at a distance, or by
candle-light, adds very much to the blackness of them. I
fancy many of our ladies would be overjoyed to know this se-
cret ; but 'tis too visible by day. They dye their nails a rose-
color ; but, I own, I can not enough accustom myself to this
fashion to find any beauty in it.
As to their morality or good conduct, I can say, like Harle-
quin, that 'tis just as it is with you ; and the Turkish ladies
don't commit one sin the less for not being Christians. Now
that I am a little acquainted with their ways, I can not for-
bear admiring either the exemplary discretion or extreme stu-
pidity of all the writers that have given accounts of them. "Tis
very easy to see they have in reality more liberty than we
have. No woman, of what rank soever, is permitted to go
into the streets without two murlins ; one that covers her
face all but her eyes, and another that hides the whole dress
of her head, and hangs half way down her back. Their
shapes are also wholly concealed by a thing they call a feri-
gee, which no woman of any sort appears without ; this has
straight sleeves, that reach to their finger-ends, and it laps
all round them, not unlike a riding-hood. In winter 'tis of
cloth, and in summer of plain stuff or silk. You may guess,
then, how effectually this disguises them, so that there is no
distinguishing the great lady from her slave. 'Tis impossible
for the most jealous husband to know his wife when he meets
her ; and no man dare touch or follow a woman in the street.
This perpetual masquerade gives them entire liberty of fol-
lowing their inclinations without danger of discovery. The
most usual method of intrigue is to send an appointment to
the lover to meet the lady at a Jew's shop, which are as no-
toriously convenient as our Indian-houses ; and yet, even those
who don't make use of them, do not scruple to go to buy
pennyworths, and tumble over rich goods, which are chiefly
80 LETTERSTO
to be found among that sort of people. The great ladies
seldom let their gallants know who they are ; and 'tis so diffi-
cult to find it out, that they can very seldom guess at her
name, whom they have corresponded with for above half a
year together. You may easily imagine the number of faith-
ful wives veiy small in a country where they have nothing to
fear from a lover's indiscretion, since we see so many have
the courage to expose themselves to that in this world, and
all the threatened punishment of the next, which is never
preached to the Turkish damsels. Neither have they much to
apprehend from the resentment of their husbands ; those la-
dies that are rich having all their money in their own hands.
Upon the whole, I look upon the Turkish women as the
only free people in the empire : the very divan pays respect
to them ; and the Grand-Seignior himself, when a pasha is ex-
ecuted, never violates the privileges of the harem (or women's
apartment), which remains unsearched and entire to the
widow. They are queens of their slaves, whom the husbaud
has no permission so much as to look upon, except it be an
old woman or two that his lady chooses. 'Tis true their law
permits them four wives ; but there is no instance of a man
of quality that makes use of this liberty, or of a woman of
rank that would suffer it.
LETTER IX.
Adriaxople, April 18, 0. S., 1717.
I wrote to you, dear sister, and to all my other English cor-
respondents, by the last ship, and only Heaven can tell when I
shall have another opportunity of sending to you ; but I can
not forbear to write again, though perhaps my letter may lie
upon my hands these two months. To confess the truth, my
head is so full of my entertainment yesterday, that 'tis abso-
lutely necessary for my own repose to give it some vent. With-
out further preface, I will then begin my story.
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 81
I was invited to dine with the Grand-Vizier's lady,* and it
was with a great deal of pleasure I prepared myself for an
entertainment which was never before given to any Christian.
I thought I should very little satisfy her curiosity (which I did
not doubt was a considerable motive to the invitation) by going
in a dress she was used to see, and therefore dressed myself
in the court habit of Vienna, which is much more magnificent
than ours. However, I chose to go incognita, to avoid any
disputes about ceremony, and went in a Turkish coach, only
attended by my woman that held up my train, and the Greek
lady who was my interpretress. I was met at the court door
by her black eunuch, who helped me out of the coach with
great respect, and conducted me through several rooms, where
her she-slaves, finely dressed, were ranged on each side. In
the innermost I found the lady sitting on her sofa, in a sable
vest. She advanced to meet me, and presented me half a dozen
of her friends with great civility. She seemed a very good-
looking woman, near fifty years old. I was surprised to ob-
serve so little magnificence in her house, the furniture being
all very moderate : and except the habits, and number of her
slaves, nothing about her appeared expensive. She guessed
at my thoughts, and told me she was no longer of an age to
spend either her time or money in superfluities ; that her
whole expense was in charity, and her whole employment
praying to God. There was no affectation in this speech ; both
she and her husband are entirely given up to devotion. He
never looks upon any other woman ; and, what is much more
extraordinary, touches no bribes, notwithstanding the example
of all his predecessors. He is so scrupulous on this point, he
would not accept Mr. Wortley's present, till he had been as-
sured over and over that it was a settled perquisite of his place
at the entrance of every embassador.
She entertained me with all kind of civility till dinner came
in, which was served, one dish at a time, to a vast number, all
* This was the Sultana Hafiten, the favorite and widow of the Sul-
tan Mustapha II., who died in 1703.
4*
82 LETTERS TO
finely dressed after their manner, which I don't think so bad
as you have perhaps heard it represented. I am a very good
judge of their eating, having lived three weeks in the house of
an effendi at Belgrade, who gave us very magnificent dinners
dressed by his own cooks. The first week they pleased me
extremely ; but I own I then began to grow weary of their
table, and desired our own cook might add a dish or two after
our manner. But I attribute this to custom, and am very
much inclined to believe that an Indian, who had never tasted
of either, would prefer their cookery to ours. Their sauces
are very high, all the roast very much done. They use a great
deal of very rich spice. The soup is served for the last dish ;
and they have at least as great a variety of ragouts as we have.
I was very sorry I could not eat of as many as the good lady
would have had me, who was very earnest in serving me of
every thing. The treat concluded with coffee and perfumes,
which is a high mark of respect ; two slaves kneeling censed my
hair, clothes, and handkerchief. After this ceremony, she
commanded her slaves to play and dance, which they did with
their guitars in their hands, and she excused to me their want
of skill, saying she took no care to accomplish them in that art.
I returned her thanks, and soon after took my leave. I was
conducted back in the same manner I entered, and would have
gone straight to my own house ; but the Greek lady with me
earnestly solicited me to visit the Jciyaya.s^ lady, saying he
was the second officer in the empire, and ought indeed to be
looked upon as the first, the Grand- Vizier having only the
name, while he exercised the authority. I had found so little
diversion in the Vizier's harem,\ that I had no mind to go
into another. But her importunity prevailed with me, and I
am extremely glad I was so complaisant.
All things here were with quite another air than at the
* Kyhaia, lieutenant. The deputy to the G-rand- Vizier.
f Harem, literally " The Forbidden," the apartment sacredly appro-
priate to females, into which every man in Turkey, but the master of
the house, is interdicted from entering.
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 83
Grand- Vizier's ; and the very house confessed the difference
between an old devotee and a young beauty. It was nicely
clean and magnificent. I was met at the door by two black
eunuchs, who led me through a long gallery between two ranks
of k lutiful young girls, with their hair finely plaited, almost
naE l - i g to tne i r f eet > a ^ 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 pavillion, built round with
gilded sashes, which were most of them thrown up, and the
trees planted near them gave an agreeable shade, which hin-
dered the sun from being troublesome. The jasmins and
honeysuckles that twisted round their trunks shed a' soft iper-
fume, 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
sorts of flowers, falling out of gilded baskets, that seemed tumb-
ling 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 about twelve years old, lovely as angels, dressed per-
fectly rich, and almost covered with jewels. But they were
hardly seen near the fair Fatima (for that is her name), so
mVch'ker beauty effaced every thing I have seen, nay, all that
has been called lovely either in England or Germany. I must
own that I never saw any thing so gloriously beautiful, nor car.
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 to her heart with a sweetness full of
majesty, that no court breeding could ever give. She ordered
cushions to be given me, and took care to place me in the
corner, which is the place of honor. I confess, though the
t^reek lady had before given me a great opinion of her beauty,
I was wD struck with admiration, that I could not for some time
ipeak to her, being wholly taken up in gazing. That surpris-
ng harmony of features ! that charming result of the whole !
84 LETTERS TO
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 grace./
After my first surprise was over, I endeavored, by nicely
examining her face, to find out some imperfection, without any /
fruit of my search but my being clearly convinced of the error
of that vulgar notion that a face exactly proportioned, and
perfectly beautiful, would not be agreeable ; nature having
done for her, with more success, what Apelles is said to have
essayed, by a collection of the most exact features, to form a
perfect face. Add to all this a behavior so full of grace and
sweetness, such easy motions, with an air so majestic, yet free
from sti^Pness or affectation, that I am persuaded, could she be
suddenly transported upon the most polite throne of Europe,
nobody would think her other than born and bred to be a
queen, though educated in a country we call barbarous. To
say all in a word, our most celebrated English beauties would
vanish near her.
When I took my leave, two maids brought in a fine silver
! basket of embroidered handkerchiefs ; she begged I would
wear the richest for her sake, and gave the others to my
woman and interpretress. I retired through the same cere-
monies as before, and could not help thinking I had been some
time in Mohammed's paradise, so much was I charmed with
what I had seen. I know not how the relation of it appears
to you. I wish it may give you part of my pleasure ; for I
would have my dear sister share in all my diversions.
LETTER X.
Adrianople, May 17, 0. S.
I am going to leave Adrianople, and I would not do it with-
out giving you some account of all that is curious in it, which
I have taken a great deal of pains to see.
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 85
I will not trouble you with wise dissertations, whether or no
this is the same city that was anciently called Orestesit, or
Oreste, which you know better than I do. It is now called
from the Emperor Adrian, and was the first European seat of
the Turkish empire, and has been the favorite residence of
many Sultans. Mohammed the Fourth, and Mustapha, the
brother of the reigning Emperor, were so fond of it that they
wholly abandoned Constantinople ; which humor so far exas-
perated the janizaries, that it was a considerable motive to
the rebellions that deposed them. Yet this man seems to
love to keep his court here. I can give you no reason for
this partiality. 'Tis true the situation is fine, and the country
all around very beautiful ; but the air is extremely bad, and
the seraglio itself is not free from the ill effect of it. The
town is said to be eight miles in compass ; I suppose they
reckon in the gardens. There are some good houses in it, I
mean large ones ; for the architecture of their palaces never
mak^s any great show. It is now very full of people ; but
they are most of them such as follow the court or camp ; and
when they are removed, I am told 'tis no populous city. The
river Maritza (anciently the Hebrus), on which it is situated,
is dried up every summer, which contributes very much to
make it unwholesome. It is now a very pleasant stream.
There are two noble bridges built over it.
I had the curiosity to go to see the Exchange in my Turkish
dress, which is disguise sufficient. Yet I own I was not very
easy when I saw it crowded with janizaries ; but they dare
not be rude to a woman, and made way for me with as much
respect as if I had been in my own figure. It is half a mile
in length, the roof arched, and kept extremely neat. It holds
three hundred and sixty-five shops, furnished with all sorts
of rich goods, exposed to sale in the same manner as at the
New Exchange* in London. But the the pavement is kept
much neater ; and the shops are all so clean they seem just
new painted. Idle people of all sorts walk here for their di-
* Exeter 'Change.
86 LETTERS TO
version, or amuse themselves with drinking coffee, or sherbet,
which is cried about as oranges and sweet-meats are in our
play-houses.
I observed most of the rich tradesmen were Jews. That
people are in incredible power in this country. They have
many privileges above all the natural Turks themselves, and
have formed a very considerable commonwealth here, being
judged by their own laws. They have drawn the whole trade
of the empire into their hands, partly by the firm union among
themselves, and partly by the idle temper and want of indus-
try in the Turks. Every pasha has his Jew, who is his homme
d'affaires ; he is let into all his secrets, and does all his busi-
ness. No bargain is made, no bribe received, no merchandise
disposed of, but what passes through their hands. They are
the physicians, the stewards, and the interpreters of all the
great men.
You may judge how advantageous this is to a people who
never fail to make use of the smallest advantages. They have
found the secret of making themselves so necessary that they
are certain of the protection of the court, whatever ministry is
in power. Even the English, French, and Italian merchants,
who are sensible of their artifices, are, however, forced to trust
their affairs to their negotiation, nothing of trade being man-
aged without them, and the meanest among them being too
important to be disobliged, since the whole body take care of
his interests with as much vigor as they would those of the
most considerable of their members. There are many of them
vastly rich, but take care to make little public show of it ;
though they live in their houses in the utmost luxury and
magnificence. This copious subject has drawn me from roy
description of the exchange, founded by AH Pasha, whose
name it bears. Near it is the tchartshi, a street of a mile in
length, full of shops of all kinds of fine merchandise, but ex-
cessively dear, nothing being made here. It is covered on the
top with boards, to keep out the rain, that merchants may
meet conveniently in all kinds of weathers. The bessiten near
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 87
it is another exchange, built upon pillars, where all sorts of
house-furniture are sold : glittering every where with gold, rich
embroidery, and jewels, it makes a very agreeable show.
From this place I went, in my Turkish coach, to the camp,
which is to move in a few days to the frontiers. The Sultan
is already gone to his tents, and all his court ; the appearance
of them is, indeed, very magnificent. Those of the great men
are rather like palaces than tents, taking up a great compass
of ground, and being divided into a vast number of apart-
ments. They are all of green, and the pashas of three tails
have those ensigns of their power placed in a very conspicuous
manner before their tents, which are adorned on the top with
gilded balls, more or less, according to their different ranks.
The ladies go in coaches to see the camp, as eagerly as ours ^
did to that of Hyde Park ; but it is very easy to observe that
the soldiers do not begin the campaign with any great cheer-
fulness. The war is a general grievance upon the people, but
particularly hard upon the tradesmen, now that the Grand-
Signior is resolved to lead his army in person. Every com-
pany of them is obliged, upon this occasion, to make a present
according to their ability.
I took the pains of rising at six in the morning to see the
ceremony, which did not, however, begin till eight. The
Grand-Seignior was at the seraglio window to see the procession,
which passed through 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, rep-
resenting a clean husbandman sowing seed. After him sev-
eral 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 drawing it
88 LETTERS TO
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 by two, in their best clothes,
with cakes, loaves, pastries, 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
comj)anies of trade in the empire ; the nobler sort, such as
jewelers, mercers, etc., finely mounted, and many of the pa-
geants that represent their trades, perfectly magnificent ;
among which, that of the furriers made one of the best fig-
ures, being a very large machine set round with the skins of
ermines, foxes, etc., so well stuffed that the animals seemed to
be alive, and followed by music and dancers. I believe they
were, upon the whole, twenty thousand men, all ready to fol-
low his highness if he commanded them. The rear was closed
by the volunteers, who came to beg the honor of dying in his
service. This part of the show seemed to me so barbarous
that 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. Some slashed their arms with sharp knives, mak-
ing the blood spring out upon those that stood there ; 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 vailed to see this spectacle), they
stick another arrow for her sake, who gives some sign of ap-
probation and encouragement to this gallantry. The whole
show lasted for near eight hours, to my great sorrow, who was
heartily tired, though I was in the house of the widow of the
captain-pasha (admiral), who refreshed me with coffee, sweet-
meats, sherbet, etc., with all possible civility.
I went two days after to see the mosque of Sultan Selim I.*
The same Sultan, between the years 1552 and 1556, constructed
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 89
which is a building very well worth the curiosity of a trav-
eler. I was dressed in my Turkish habit, and admitted with-
out scruple ; though I believe they guessed who I was, by the
extreme officiousness of the door-keeper to show me every part
of it. It is situated very advantageously in the midst of the
city, and in the highest part of it, making a very noble show.
The first court has four gates, and the innermost three. They
are both of them surrounded with cloisters, with marble pil-
lars of the Ionic order, finely polished, and of very lively col-
ors ; the whole pavement is of white marble, and the roof of
the cloisters divided into several cupolas or domes, headed
with gilt balls on the top. In the midst of each court are fine
fountains of white marble ; and, before the great gate of the
mosque, a portico, with green marble pillars, which has five
gates, the body of the mosque being one prodigious dome.
I understand so little of architecture I dare not pretend to
speak of the proportions. It seemed to me very regular ; this
I am sure of, it is vastly high, and I thought it the noblest
building I ever saw. It has two rows of marble galleries on
pillars, with marble balusters ; the pavement is also marble,
covered with Persian carpets. In my opinion, it is a great
addition to its beauty that it is not divided into pews, and
incumbered with forms and benches, like our churches ; nor
the pillars, which are, most of them, red and white marble,
disfigured by the little tawdry images and pictures that give
Roman Catholic churches the air of toy-shops. The walls
seemed to be inlaid with such very lively colors, in small flow-
ers, that I could not imagine what stones had been made use
of. But going nearer, I saw they were crusted with japan
china, which has a very beautiful effect. In the midst hung
a vast lamp of silver, gilt, besides which, I do verily believe, there
were at least two thousand of a lesser size. This must look
very glorious when they are all lighted ; but being at night,
another mosque at Constantinople, which bears his name. The archi-
tecture exactly resembles this, and forms a perfect square of seventy-
five feet, with a flat cupola rising from the side walls.
90 LETTERS TO
no women are suffered to enter. Under ,the large lamp is a
great pulpit of carved wood, gilt ; and just by, a fountain to
wash, which, you know, is an essential part of their devotion.
In one corner is a little gallery, inclosed with gilded lattices,
for the Grand-Seignior. At the upper end, a large niche, very
like an altar, raised two steps, covered with gold brocade,
and standing before it, two silver gilt candlesticks, the height
of a man, and in them white wax candles, as thick as a man's
waist. The outside of the mosque is adorned with towers,
vastly high, gilt on the top, from whence the imaums call the
people to prayers. I had the curiosity to go up one of them,
which is contrived so artfully as to give surprise to all that
see it. There is but one door, which leads to three different
staircases, going to the three different stories of the tower, in
such a manner that three priests may ascend, rounding, with-
out ever meeting each other ; a contrivance very much ad-
mired.
Behind the mosque is an exchange, full of shops, where
poor artificers are lodged gratis. I saw several dervises at
their prayers here. They are dressed in a plain piece of
woolen, with their arms bare, and a woolen cap on their
heads, like a high-crowned hat without brims. I went to see
some other mosques, built much after the same manner, but
not comparable in point of magnificence to this I have de-
scribed, which is infinitely beyond any church in Germany
or England ; I won't talk of other countries I have not seen.
The seraglio does not seem a very magnificent palace. But
the gardens are very large, plentifully supplied with water,
and full of trees ; which is all I know of them, having never
been in them.
I tell you nothing of the order of Mr. Wortley's entry, and
his audience. These things are always the same, and have
been so often described, I won't trouble you with the repe-
tition. The young prince, about eleven years old, sits near
his father when he gives audience : he is a handsome boy ;
but, probably, will not immediately succeed the Sultan, there
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 91
being two sons of Sultan Mustapha, his eldest brother, re-
maining ; the eldest about twenty years old, on whom the
hopes of the people are fixed. This reign has been bloody and
avaricious. I am apt to believe they are very impatient to
see the end of it.
P. S. — I will write to you again from Constantinople.
LETTER XL
Constantinople, May 29, 0. S., 1717.
I have had the advantage of very fine weather all my jour-
ney ; and, as the summer is now in its beauty, I enjoyed the
pleasure of fine prospects ; and the meadows being full of all
sorts of garden flowers, and sweet herbs, my berlin perfumed
the air as it pressed them. The Grand Seignior furnished us
with thirty covered wagons for our baggage, and five coaches
of the country for our women. We found the road full of the
great spahis and their equipages coming out of Asia to the
war. They always travel with tents ; but I chose to lie in
houses all the way.
I will not trouble you with the names of the villages we
passed, in which there was nothing remarkable, but at Tchiorlu,
where there was a conac, or little seraglio, built for the use of
the Grand Seignior when he goes this road. I had the curi-
osity to view all the apartments destined for the ladies of his
court. They were in the midst of a thick grove of trees, made
fresh by fountains ; but I was most surprised to see the walls
almost covered with little distiches of Turkish verse, wrote
with pencils. I made my interpreter explain them to me, and
I found several of them very well turned ; though I easily be-
lieved him, that they had lost much of their beauty in the
translation. One was literally thus in English :
We come into this world ; we lodge, and we depart •
He never goes, that 's lodged within my heart.
92 LETTERS TO
The rest of our journey was through fine painted meadows,
by the side of the sea of Marmora, the ancient Propontis. We
lay the next night at Selivrea, anciently a noble town. It is
now a good sea-port, and neatly built enough, and has a bridge
of thirty-two arches. Here is a famous Greek church. I had
given one of my coaches to a Greek lady, who desired the
conveniency of traveling with me ; she designed to pay her
devotions, and I was glad of the opportunity of going with her.
I found it an ill-built edifice, set out with the same sort of orna-
ments, but less rich, as the Roman Catholic churches. They
showed me a saint's body, where I threw a piece of money ;
and a picture of the Virgin Mary, drawn by the hand of St.
Luke, very little to the credit of his painting ; but, however,
the finest Madonna of Italy is not more famous for her miracles.
The Greeks have a monstrous taste in their pictures, which,
for more finery, are always drawn upon a gold ground. You
may imagine what a good air this has ; but they have no notion
either of shade or proportion. They have a bishop here, who
officiated in his purple robe, and sent me a candle almost as
big as myself for a present, when I was at my lodging. .
We lay that night at a town called Bujuk Checkmedji, or
Great Bridge ; and the night following, at Kujuk Checkmedji,
or Little Bridge ; in a very pleasant lodging, formerly a monas-
tery of dervises, having before it a large court, encompassed
with marble cloisters, with a good fountain in the middle.
The prospect from this place, and the gardens round it, is the
most agreeable I have seen ; and shows that monks, of all re-
ligioi s, know how to choose their retirements. 'Tis now be-
longing to a hogia or schoolmaster, who teaches boys here.
I asked him to show me his own apartment, and was surprised
to see him point to a tall cypress-tree in the garden, on the top
of which was a place for a bed for himself, and a little lower,
one for his wife and two children, who slept there every night.
I was so much diverted with the fancy, I resolved to examine
his nest nearer ; but, after going up fifty steps, I found I had
still fifty to go up, and then I must climb from branch to
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 93
branch, with some hazard of my neck. I thought it, therefore,
the best way to come down again.
We arrived the next day at Constantinople ; but I can yet
tell you very little of it, all my time having been taken up with
receiving visits, which are, at least, a very good entertainment
to the eyes, the young women being all beauties, and their
beauty highly improved by the high taste of their dress. Our
palace is in Pera, which is no more a suburb of Constantinople
than Westminster is a suburb to London. All the embassa-
dors are lodged very near each other. One part of our house
shows us the port, the city, and the seraglio, and the distant
hills of Asia ; perhaps, all together, the most beautiful prospect
in the world.
A certain French author says, " Constantinople is twice as big
as Paris." Mr. Wortley is unwilling to own it is bigger than
London, though I confess it appears to me to be so ; but I
don't believe it is so populous. The burying-fields about it
are certainly much larger than the whole city. It is surprising
what a vast deal of land is lost this way in Turkey. Some-
times I have seen burying-places of several miles, belonging to
very inconsiderable villages, which were formerly great towns,
and retain no other mark of their ancient grandeur than this
dismal one. On no occasion do they ever remove a stone that
serves for a monument. Some of them are costly enough,
being of very fine marble. They set up a pillar, with a carved
turban on the top of it, to the memory of a man ; and, as the
turbans, by their different shapes, show the quality or pro-
fession, 'tis in a manner putting up the arms of the deceased ;
besides, the pillar commonly bears an inscription in gold
letters. The ladies have a simple pillar, without other orna-
ment, except those that die unmarried, who have a rose on
the top of their monument. The sepulchers of particular fam-
ilies are railed in, and planted round with trees. Those of
the sultans, and some great men, have lamps constantly burn-
ing in them.
When I spoke of their religion, I forgot to mention two par-
94 LETTERS TO
ticularities, one of which I have read of, but it seemed so odd
to me, I could not believe it ; yet 'tis certainly true : that when
a man has divorced his wife in the most solemn manner, he
can take her again, upon no other terms than permitting
another man to pass a night with her ; and there are some
examples of those who have submitted to this law, rather than
not have back their beloved. The other point of doctrine is
very extraordinary. Any woman that dies unmarried is looked
upon to die in a state of reprobation. To confirm this belief,
they reason, that the end of the creation of woman is to in-
crease and multiply ; and that she is only properly employed
in the works of her calling when she is bringing forth chil-
dren, or taking care of them, which are all the virtues that
God expects from her. And, indeed, their way of life, which
shuts them out of all public commerce, does not permit them
any other. Our vulgar notion, that they don't own women to
have any souls, is a mistake. 'Tis true they say they are not
of so elevated a kind, and therefore must not hope to be ad-
mitted into the paradise appointed for the men, who are to be
entertained by celestial beauties. But there is a place of hap-
piness destined for souls of the inferior order, where all good
women are to be in eternal bliss. Many of them are very su-
perstitious, and will not remain widows ten days, for fear of
dying in the reprobate state of an useless creature. But those
that like their liberty, and are not slaves to their religion, con-
tent themselves with marrying when they are afraid of dying.
This is a piece of theology very different from that which
teaches nothing to be more acceptable to God than a vow of
perpetual virginity ; which divinity is most rational, I leave
you to determine.
I have already made some progress in a collection of Greek
.medals. Here are several professed antiquaries who are ready
to serve any body that desires them. But you can not imagine
how they stare in my face when I inquire about them, as if
nobody was permitted to seek after medals till they were grown
a piece of antiquity themselves. I have got some very valuable
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 95
ones of the Macedonian kings, particularly one of Perseus, sj
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 any thing. Their trade is only to sell ; they have
correspondents at Aleppo, Grand Cairo, in Arabia, and Pales-
tine, 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 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 Saint Augustine.
I have bespoken a mummy, which I hope will come safe to
my hands, notwithstanding the misfortune that befell a very fine
one, designed for the King of Sweden. He gave a great price
for it, and the Turks took it into their heads that he must hav*
some considerable project depending upon it. They fancied it
the body of God knows who ; and that the state of their empire
mystically depended on the conservation of it. Some old
prophecies were remembered upon this occasion, and the mum-
my was committed prisoner to the Seven Towers, where it has
remained under close confinement ever since : I dare not try
my interest in so considerable a point as the release of it ; but
I hope mine will pass without examination.
LETTER XII.
Belgrade Village, June 11, 0. S.
I heartily beg your ladyship's pardon ; but I really could
not forbear laughing heartily at your letter, and the commis-
sions you are pleased to honor me with.
96 LETTERS TO
You desire me to buy you a Greek slave, who is to be mis-
tress of a thousand good qualities. The Greeks are subjects,
and not slaves. Those who are to be bought in that manner
are either such as are taken in war, or stolen by the Tartars
from Russia, Circassia, or Georgia, and are such miserable,
awkward poor wretches, you would not think any of them
worthy to be your house-maids. 'Tis true that many thou-
sands were taken in the Morea ; but they have been, most of
them, redeemed by the charitable contributions of the Chris-
tians, or ransomed by their own relations at Venice. The fine
slaves that wait upon the great ladies, or serve the pleasures
of the great men, are all bought at the age of eight or nine
years old, and educated with great care, to accomplish them
in singing, dancing, embroidery, etc. They are commonly
Circassians, and their patron never sells them, except it is as a
punishment for some very great fault. If ever they grow weary
of them, they either present them to a friend, or give them
their freedom. Those that are exposed to sale at the markets
are always either guilty of some crime, or so entirely worth-
less that they are of no use at all. I am afraid you will
doubt the truth of this account, which I own is very different
from our common notions in England ; but it is no less truth
for all that.
Your whole letter is full of mistakes from one end to the
other. I see you have taken your ideas of Turkey from that
worthy author Dumont, who has wrote with equal ignorance
and confidence. 'Tis a particular pleasure to me here to read
the voyages to the Levant, which are generally so far removed
from truth, and so full of absurdities, I am very well diverted
with them. They never fail giving you an account of the.
women, whom, 'tis certain, they never saw, and talking very
wisely of the genius of the men, into whose company they
are never admitted ; and very often describe mosques, which
they dare not even peep into. The Turks are very proud
and will not converse with a stranger they are not assured is
considerable in his own country. I speak of the men of dis-
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 97
tinction ; for, as to the ordinary fellows, you may imagine
what ideas their conversation can give of the general genius
of the people.
As to the balm of Mecca, I will certainly send you some ;
but it is not so easily got as you suppose it, and I can not, in
conscience, advise you to make use of it. I know not how it
somes to have such universal applause. All the ladies of my
acquaintance at London and Vienna have begged me to send
pots of it to them. I have had a present of a small quantity
(which, I '11 assure you, is very valuable) of the best sort, and
with great joy applied it to my face, expecting some wonderful
effect to my advantage. The next morning the change indeed
was wonderful ; my face was swelled to a very extraordinary
size, and all over as red as my Lady H 's. It remained in
this lamentable state three days, during which you may be
sure I passed my time very ill. I believed it would never be
otherwise ; and, to add to my mortification, Mr. Wortley re-
proached my indiscretion without ceasing. However, my face
is since in statu quo ; nay, I am told by the ladies here, that
it is much mended by the operation, which I confess I can
not perceive in my looking-glass. Indeed, if one were to
form an opinion of this balm from their faces, one should
think very well of it. They all make use of it, and have the
loveliest bloom in the world. For my part I never intend to
endure the pain of it again ; let my complexion take its nat-
ural course, and decay in its own due time. I have very little
esteem for medicines of this nature ; but do as you please,
madam ; only remember before you use it, that your face will
not be such as you will care to show in the drawing-room for
some days after.
LETTER XIII.
Pera, March 10, 0. S, 1717.
1 have not written to you, dear sister, these many months — •
a great piece of self-denial. But I know not where to direct ;
5
98 LETTERS TO
or what part of the world you are in. I have received no
letter from you since that short note of April last, in which
you tell me that you are on the point of leaving England, and
promise me a direction for the place you stay in ; but T have
in vain expected it till now : and now I only learn from the
gazette that you are returned, which induces me to venture
this letter to your house at London. I had rather ten of my
letters should be lost than you imagine I don't write ; and I
think it is hard fortune if one in ten don't reach you. How-
ever, I am resolved to keep the copies as testimonies of my
inclination to give you, to the utmost of my power, all the
diverting parts of my travels, while you are exempt from all
the fatigues and inconveniences.
In the first place, then, I wish you joy of your niece ; for I
was brought to bed of a daughter* five weeks ago. I don't
mention this as one of my diverting .adventures ; though I
must own that it is not half so mortifying here as in England ;
there being as much difference as there is between a little cold
in the head, which sometimes happens here, and the consump-
tion cough, so common in London. Nobody keeps their
house a month for lying-in ; and I am not so fond of any of
t/ our customs as to retain them when they are not necessary.
I returned my visits at three weeks' end ; and, about four days
ago, crossed the sea, which divides this place from Constanti-
nople, to make a new one, where I had the good fortune to
pick up many curiosities.
I went to see the Sultana Hafiten, favorite of the late Em-
peror Mustapha, who, you know (or perhaps you don't know)
was deposed by his brother, the reigning Sultan, and died a
few weeks after, being poisoned, as it was generally believed.
This lady was, immediately after his death, saluted with an
absolute order to leave the seraglio, and choose herself a hus
band among the great men at the Porte. I suppose you may
imagine her overjoyed at this proposal. Quite the contrary.
These women, who are called, and esteem themselves, queenr
* Mary, afterward married to John, Earl of Bute.
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 99
look upon this liberty as the greatest disgrace and affront
that can happen to them. She threw herself at the Sultan's
feet, and begged him to poniard her, rather than use his
brother's widow with contempt. She represented to him, in
agonies of sorrow, that she was privileged from this misfor-
tune, by having brought five princes into the Ottoman fam-
ily ; but all the boys being dead, and only one girl surviving,
this excuse was not received, and she was compelled to make
her choice. She chose Bekir Effendi, then secretary of state,
and above fourscore years old, to convince the world that she
firmly intended to keep the vow she had made, of never suf-
fering a second husband to approach her bed ; and since she
must honor some subject so far as to be called his wife, she
would choose him as a mark of her gratitude, since it was
he that had presented her, at the age of ten years, to her last
lord. But she never permitted him to pay her one visit ;
though it is now. fifteen years she has been in his house,
where she passes her time in uninterrupted mourning, with a
constancy very little known in Christendom, especially in a
widow of one and twenty, for she is now but thirty-six. She
has no black eunuchs for her guard, her husband being obliged
to respect her as. a queen, and not to inquire at all into what
is done in her apartment.
I was led into a large room, with a sofa the whole length of
it, adorned with white marble pillars like a ruelle, covered
with pale-blue figured velvet on a silver ground, with cushions
of the same, where I was desired to repose till the Sultana
appeared, who had contrived this manner of reception to avoid
rising up at my entrance, though she made me an inclination
of her head when I rose up to her. I was very glad to ob-
serve a lady that had been distinguished by the favor of an
emperor, to whom beauties were, every day, presented from
all parts of the world. But she did not seem to me to have
ever been half so beautiful as the fair Fatima I saw at Adria-
nople ; though she had the remains of a fine face, more de-
cayed by sorrow than time. But her dress was something so
100 LETTERS TO
surprisingly rich that I can not forbear describing it to you.
She wore a vest called donalma, which differs from a caftan
by longer sleeves, and folding over at the bottom. It was of
purple cloth, strait to her shape, and thick set, on each side,
down to her feet, and round the sleeves, with pearls of the
best water, of the, same size as their buttons commonly are.
You must not suppose that I mean as large as those of my
Lord , but about the bigness of a pea ; and to these but-
tons large loops of diamonds, in the form of those gold loops
so common on birth-day coats. This habit was tied at the
waist with two large tassels of smaller pearls, and round the
arms embroidered with large diamonds. Her shift was fast-
ened at the bottom with a great diamond, shaped like a loz-
enge ; her girdle as broad as the broadest English ribbon,
entirely covered with diamonds. Round her neck she wore
three chains which reached to her knees : one of large pearl,
at the bottom of which hung a fine-colored emerald, as big as
a turkey-egg ; another, consisting of two hundred emeralds,
closely joined together, of the most lively green, perfectly
matched, every one as large as a half-crown piece, and as
thick as three crown pieces ; and another of small emeralds,
perfectly round. But her ear-rings eclipsed all the rest. They
were two diamonds, shaped exactly like pears, as large as a
big hazel-nut. Round her kalpac she had four strings of
pearl the whitest and the most perfect in the world, at least
enough to make four necklaces, every one as large as the
Duchess of Marlborough's, and of the same shape, fastened
with two roses, consisting of a large ruby for the middle
stone, and round them twenty drops of clean diamonds to
each. Besides this, her head-dress was covered with bodkins
of emeralds and diamonds. She wore large diamond brace-
lets, and had five rings on her fingers (except Mr. Pitt's) the
largest I ever saw in my life. It is for jewelers to compute
the value of these things ; but, according to the common esti-
mation of jewels in our part of the world, her whole dress
must be worth a hundred thousand pounds sterling. , This T
HER SISTER. AND FRIENDS. 101
am sure of, that no European queen has half the quantity ;
and the empress's jewels, though very fine, would look very
mean near hers.
She gave me a dinner of fifty dishes of meat, which (after
their fashion) were placed on the table but one at a time, and
was extremely tedious. But the magnificence of her table
answered very well to that of her dress. The knives were of
gold, and the hafts set with diamonds. But the piece of lux-
ury which grieved my eyes, was the table-cloth and napkins,
which were all tiffany, embroidered with silk and gold, in the
finest manner, in natural flowers. It was with the utmost re-
gret that I made use of these costly napkins, which were as
finely wrought as the finest handkerchiefs that ever came out
of this country. You may be sure that they were entirely
spoiled before dinner was over. The sherbet (which is the
liquor they drink at meals) was served in china bowls ; but
the covers and salvers massy gold. After dinner, water was
brought in gold basins, and towels of the same kind with the
napkins, which I very unwillingly wiped my hands upon ; and
coffee was served in china, with gold soucoups.*
The Sultana seemed in a very good humor, and talked to
me with the utmost civility. I did not omit this opportunity
of learning all that I possibly could of the seraglio, which is
so entirely unknown among us. She assured me that the
story of the sultan's throwing a handkerchief is altogether
fabulous ; and the manner, upon that occasion, no other than
this : He sends the hyslar aga, to signify to the lady the
honor he intends her. She is immediately complimented
upon it by the others, and led to the bath, where she is per-
fumed and dressed in the most magnificent and becoming
manner. The emperor precedes his visit by a royal present,
and then comes into her apartment : neither is there any such
thing as her creeping in at the bed's foot. She said, that the
first he made choice of was always afterward the first in rank,
and not the mother of the eldest son, as other writers would
* Saucers.
102 LETTERS TO
make us believe. Sometimes the sultan diverts himself in the
company of all his ladies, who stand in a circle round him.
And she confessed they were ready to die with envy and
jealousy of the happy she that he distinguished by any ap-
pearance of preference. But this seemed to me neither bet-
ter nor worse than the circles in most courts, where the
gvance of the monarch is watched, and every smile is waited
for with impatience, and envied by those who can not ob-
tain it.
She never mentioned the Sultan without tears in her eyes,
yet she seemed very fond of the discourse. " My past hap-
piness," said she, " appears a dream to me. Yet I can not
forget that I was beloved by the greatest and most lovely of
mankind. I was chosen from all the rest, to make all his
campaigns with him ; and I would not survive him, if I was
not passionately fond of the princess my daughter. Yet all
my tenderness for her was hardly enough to make me preserve
my life. When I left him, I passed a whole twelvemonth
without seeing the light. Time hath softened my despair ; yet
I now pass some days every week in tears, devoted to the mem-
ory of my Sultan."
There was no affectation in these words. It was easy to see
she was in a deep melancholy, though her good humor made
her willing to divert me.
She asked me to walk in her garden, and one of her slaves
immediately brought her a pellice of rich brocade lined with
sables. I waited on her into the garden, which had nothing in
it remarkable but the fountains ; and from thence she showed
me all her apartments. In her bed-chamber her toilet was
displayed, consisting of two looking-glasses, the frames covered
with pearls, and her night talpoche set with bodkins of jewels,
and near it three vests of fine sables, every one of which is, at
least, worth a thousand dollars (two hundred pounds English
money). I don't doubt but these rich habits were purposely
placed in sight, though they seemed negligently thrown on the
sofa. When I took my leave of her, I was complimented with
/
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 103
perfumes, as at the Grand- Vizier's, and presented with a very
fine embroidered handkerchief. Her slaves were to the num-
ber of thirty, besides ten little ones, the oldest not above seven
years old. These were the most beautiful girls I ever saw, all
richly dressed ; and I observed that the Sultana took a great
deal of pleasure in these lovely children, which is a vast ex-
pense ; for there is not a handsome girl of that age to be bought
under a hundred pounds sterling. They wore little garlands
of flowers, and their own hair, braided, which was all their
head-dress; but their habits were all of gold stuffs. These
served her coffee, kneeling ; brought water when she washed,
etc. It is a great part of the work of the elder slaves to take
care of these young girls, to learn them to embroider, and to
serve them as carefully as if they were children of the family.
Now, do you imagine I have entertained you, all this while,
with a relation that has, at least, received many embellish-
ments from my hand ? This, you will say, is but too like the
Arabian Tales : these embroidered napkins, and a jewel as
large as a turkey's egg : — You forget, dear sister, those verv
tales were written by an author of this country, and (except-
ing the enchantments) are a real representation of the manners
here. We travelers are in very hard circumstances : if we say
nothing but what has been said before us, we are dull, and
-we' have observed nothing ; if we tell any thing new, we are
laughed at as fabulous and romantic, not allowing either for
the difference of ranks, which affords difference of company,
or more curiosity, or the change of customs, that happen every
twenty years in every country. But the truth is, people judge
of travelers, exactly with the same candor, good nature, and
impartiality they judge of their neighbors upon all occasions.
/For my part, if I live to return among you, I am so well ac-
quainted with the morals of all my dear friends and acquaintances,
that I am resolved to tell them nothing at all, to avoid the im-
putation (which their chanty would certainly incline them to)
of my telling too much. ( But I depend upon your knowing
me enough, to believe whatever I seriously assert for truth ;
104 LETTERS TO
though I give you leave to be surprised at an account so new
to you.
But what would you say if I told you that I have been in a
harem, where the winter apartment was wainscoted with inlaid
work of mother-of-pearl, ivory of different colors, and olive-
wood, exactly like the little boxes you have seen brought out of
this country ; and in whose rooms designed for summer, the
walls are all crusted with japan china, the roofs gilt, and the
floors spread with the finest Persian carpets ? Yet there is
nothing more true ; such is the palace of my lovely friend,
the fair Fatima, whom I was acquainted with at Adrianople. 1
went to visit her yesterdey ; and, if possible, she appeared to
me handsomer than before. She met me at the door of her
chamber, and, giving me her hand with the best grace in the
world. " You Christian ladies," said she, with a smile that
made her as beautiful as an angel, " have the reputation of in-
constancy, and I did not expect, whatever goodness you ex-
pressed for me at Adrianople, that I should ever see you again.
But I am now convinced that I have really the happiness of
pleasing you ; and, if you knew how I speak of you among our
ladies, you w r ould be assured that you do me justice in making
me your friend." She placed me in the corner of the sofa, and
I spent the afternoon in her conversation, with the greatest
pleasure in the world.
LETTER XIV.
Pera, March 16, 0. S., 1*711.
I am extremely pleased, my dear lady, that you have at
length found a commission for roe that I can answ r er without
disappointing your expectations ; though I must tell you that
it is not so easy as perhaps you think it ; and that if my curi-
osity had not been more diligent than any other stranger's has
ever yet been, I must have answered you vvith an excuse, as I
was forced to do when you desired me to buy you a Greek
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS.
105
slave. I have got for you, as you desire, a Turkish love-letter,
which I have put into a little box, and ordered the captain of
the Smyrniote to deliver it to you with this letter. The trans-
lation of it is literally as follows : The first piece you should
pull out of the purse is a little pearl, which is in Turkish called
Ingi, and must be understood in this manner :
Ingi,
Sensin Guzelern gingi.
Pearl,
Fairest of the young.
Caremfil,
Caremfilsen cararen yok.
Glove,
Conge gulsum timarin yok.
Benseny chok than severim.
Senin benden, haberin yok.
You are as slender as the clove !
You are an unblown rose !
I have long loved you, and you have not known it!
PuL
Derdime derman bu.1.
Jonquil,
Have pity on my passion I
Kihat,
Birlerum sahat sahat.
Paper,
I faint every hour 1
Ermus,
Ver bixe bir umut.
Pear,
Give me some hope.
Jahun, Derdinden oldum zabun.
Soap, I am sick with love.
Chemur, Ben oliyim size umur.
Coal, May I die, and all my years be yours t
Gul, Ben aglarum sen gul.
A rose, May you be pleased, and your sorrows mine I
Hasir, Oliim sana yazir.
A straw, Suffer me to be your slave.
Jo ho, Ustune bulunmaz palm.
Cloth, Your price is not to be found.
Tartsin, Sen ghel ben chekeim senin hartsin.
Cinnamon, Put my fortune is yours.
Giro, Esking-ilen oldum ghira.
A match, I burn, I burn I my flame consumes me !
106 LETTERS TO
Sirma, Uzunu benden a yirm&.
Gold thread, Don't turn away your face from me.
Satch,
Hair;
Bazmazum tatch.
Grown of my head !
Uzum,
Grape,
Benim iki Gruzum.
My two eyes!
Til,
Gold wire,
Ulugorum tez ghel.
I die — come quickly.
And, by way
Beber,
Pepper,
Bize bir dogm haber.
Send me an answer.
You see this letter is all in verse, and I can assure you
there is as much fancy shown in the choice of them as in
the most studied expressions of our letters ; there being, I be-
lieve, a million of verses designed for this use. There is no
color, no flower, no weed, no fruit, herb, pebble, or feather, that
has not a verse belonging to it ; and you may quarrel, re-
proach, or send letters of passion, friendship, or civility, or even
of news, without ever inking your fingers.
I fancy you are now wondering at my profound learning ;
but, alas ! dear madam, I am almost fallen into the misfor-
tune so common to the ambitious ; while they are employed.
on distant insignificant conquests abroad, a rebellion starts
up at home : I am in great danger of losing my English. I
find 'tis not half so easy to me to write in it as it was a
twelvemonth ago. I am forced to study for expressions, and
must leave off all other languages, and try to learn my mother
tongue. Human understanding is as much limited as human
power or human strength. The memory can retain but a
certain number of images ; and 'tis as impossible for one hu-
man creature to be perfect master of ten different languages
as to have in perfect subjection ten different kingdoms, or to
fight against ten men at a time. I am afraid I shall at last
know none as I should do. I live in a place that very well
represents the tower of Babel : in Pera they speak Turkish,
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS
107
Greek, Hebrew, Armenian, Arabic, Persian, Russian, Sclavo-
nic, Wallachian, German, Dutch, French, English, Italian,
Hungarian ; and, what is worse, there are ten of these lan-
guages spoken in my own family. My grooms are Arabs ;
my footmen, French, English and Germans ; my nurse an Ar-
menian ; my housemaids Russians ; half a dozen other serv-
ants, Greeks ; my steward, an Italian ; my janizaries, Turks ;
so that I live in the perpetual hearing of this medley of
sounds, which produces a very extraordinary effect upon the
people that are born here ; for they learn all these languages
at the same time, and without knowing any of them well
enough to write or read in it. There are very few men,
women, or even children, here, that have not the same com-
pass of words in five or six of them. I know myself of sev-
eral infants of three or four years old, that speak Italian,
French, Greek, Turkish, and Russian, which last they learn of
their nurses, who are generally of that country. This seems
almost incredible to you, and is, in my mind, one of the most
curious things in this country, and takes off very much from
the merit of our ladies who set up for such extraordinary ge-
niuses, upon the credit of some superficial knowledge of French
and Italian.
As I prefer English to all the rest, I am extremely morti-
fied at the daily decay of it in my head, where I '11 assure you
(with grief of heart) it is reduced to such a small number
of words I can not recollect any tolerable phrase to conclude
my letter with, and am forced to tell your ladyship, very
bluntly, that I am, yours, etc.
LETTER XV.
Tunis, July 31, 0. S., 1*718.
I left Constantinople the sixth of the last month, and this
is the first post from whence I could send a letter, though
I have often wished for the opportunity, that I might impart
108 LETTERS TO
some of the pleasure I found in this voyage through the
most agreeable part of the world, where every scene presents
me some poetical idea.
Warm'd with poetic transport I survey
The immortal islands, and the well-known sea.
For here so oft the muse her harp has strung,
That not a mountain rears its head unsung.
I beg your pardon for this sally, and will, if I can, con-
tinue the rest of my account in plain prose. The second
day after we set sail we passed Gallipolis, a fair city, situated
in the bay of Chersonesus, and much respected by the Turks,
being the first town they took in Europe. At five the next
morning we anchored in the Hellespont, between the castles
of Sestos and Abydos, now called the Dardinelli. These are
now two little ancient castles, but of no strength, being com-
manded by a rising ground behind them, which I confess I
should never have taken notice of if I had not heard it ob-
served by our captain and officers, my imagination being
wholly employed by the tragic story that you are well ac-
quainted with :
The swimming lover, and the nightly bride, ■
How Hero loved, and how Leander died.
Verse again ! — I am certainly infected by the poetical air I
have passed through. That of Abydos is undoubtedly very
amorous, since that soft passion betrayed the castle into the
hands of the Turks who besieged it in the reign of Orchanes.
The governor's daughter imagining to have seen her future
husband in a dream (though I don't .find she had either slept
upon bride-cake, or kept St. Agnes's fast), fancied she saw
the dear figure in the form of one of her besiegers ; and, be-
ing willing to obey her destiny, tossed a note to him over
the wall, with the offer of her person, and the delivery of the
castle. He showed it to his general, who consented to try
the sincerity of her intentions, and withdrew his army, order-
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 109
ing the young man to return with a select body of men at
midnight. She admitted him at the appointed hour ; he de-
stroyed the garrison, took the father prisoner, and made her
his wife. This town is in Asia, first founded by the Mile-
sians. Sestos is in Europe, and was once the principal city
of Chersonesus. Since I have seen this strait, I find nothing
improbable in the adventure of Leander, or very wonderful in
the bridge of boats of Xerxes. 'Tis so narrow 'tis not sur-
prising a young lover should attempt to swim, or an ambi-
tious king try to pass his army over it. But then, 'tis so
subject to storms, 'tis no wonder the lover perished, and the
bridge was broken. From hence we had a full view of
Mount Ida,
Where Juno once caress'd her am'rous Jove,
And the world's master lay subdued by love.
Not many leagues' sail from hence, I saw the point of land
where poor old Hecuba was buried ; and about a league from
that place is Cape Janizary, the famous promontory of Sigaeum,
where we anchored. My curiosity supplied me with strength
to climb to the top of it to see the place where Achilles was
buried, and where Alexander ran naked round his tomb in
honor of him, which no doubt was a great comfort to his ghost.
I saw there the ruins of a very large city, and found a stone,
on which Mr. Wortley plainly distinguished the words of
SirJIAN TIOAIN. We ordered this on board the ship ; but
were showed others much more curious by a Greek priest
though a very ignorant fellow, that could give no tolerable ac-
count of any thing. On each side the door of this little church
lie two large stones, about ten feet long each, five in breadth,
and three in thickness. That on the right is a very fine white
marble, the side of it beautifully carved in bas-relief ; it repre-
sents a woman, who seems to be designed for some deity,
sitting on a chair with a footstool, and before her another wo-
man weeping, and presenting to her a young child that she has
in her arms, followed by a procession of women with children
110 LETTERS TO
in the same manner. This is certainly part of a very ancient
tomb : but I dare not pretend to give the true explanation of it.
On the stone, on the left side, is a very fair inscription ; but the
Greek is too ancient for Mr. Wortley's interpretation. I am
very sorry not to have the original in my possession, which
might have been purchased of the poor inhabitants for a small
sum of money. But our captain assured us that without hav-
ing machines made on purpose, 'twas impossible to bear it to
the sea-side ; and, when it was there, his long-boat would not
be large enough to hold it.*
The ruins of this great city are now inhabited by poor Greek
peasants, who wear the Sciote habit, the women being in short
petticoats, fastened by straps round their shoulders, and large
smock sleeves of white linen, with neat shoes and stockings,
and on their heads a large piece of muslin, which falls in large
folds on their shoulders. One of my countrymen, Mr. San-
dysf (whose book I doubt not you have read, as one of the
best of its kind), speaking of these ruins, supposes them to have
been the foundation of a city begun by Constantine, before his
building Byzantium ; but I see no good reason for that imagin-
ation, and am apt to believe them much more ancient.
We saw very plainly from this promontory the river Simois
rolling from Mount Ida, and running through a very spacious
valley. It is now a considerable river, and is called Sim ores ;
it is joined in the vale by the Scamander, which appeared a
small stream half choked with mud, but is perhaps large in
the winter. This was Xanthus among the gods, as Homer tells
* The first-mentioned of these marbles is engraved in the Ionian
Antiquities, published by the Dilettanti Society, and described by Dr.
Chandler in his Tour in Asia Minor. The second bears the celebrated
inscription so often referred to, in proof of the Bovarpo^dov, one of the
most ancient forms of writing among the Greeks. For accurate accounts
and engravings of these curiosities, see Chishull, Shuckforth, and Chand-
ler, Inscript. Antiq. Knight on the G-reek Alphabets, etc.
f George Sandys, one of the most valuable travelers into the Le-
vant, whose work had reached four editions in the reign of Charles the
First
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. Ill
us ; and 'tis by that heavenly name the nymph Oenone invokes
it in her epistle to Paris. The Trojan virgins* used to offer
their first favors to it, by the name of Scamander, till the ad-
venture which Monsieur de la Fontaine has told so agreeably
abolished that heathenish ceremony. When the stream is
mingled with the Simois, they run together to the sea.
All that is now left of Troy is the ground on which it stood ;
for, I am firmly persuaded, whatever pieces of antiquity may
be found round it are much more modern, and I think Strabo
says the same thing. However, there is some pleasure in
seeing the valley where I imagined the famous duel of Menelaus
and Paris had been fought, and where the greatest city in the
world was situated. 'Tis certainly the noblest situation that
can be found for the head of a great empire, much to be pre-
ferred to that of Constantinople, the harbor here being always
convenient for ships from all parts of the world, and that of
Constantinople inaccessible almost six months in the year,
while the north wind reigns.
North of the promontory of Sigeum we saw that of Khse-
teum, famed for the sepulcher of Ajax. While I viewed these
celebrated fields and rivers, I admired the exact geography of
Homer, whom I had in my hand. Almost every epithet he
gives to a mountain or plain is still just for it ; and I spent
several hours here in as agreeable cogitations as ever Don
Quixote had ou mount Montesinos. We sailed next night to
the shore, where 'tis vulgarly reported Troy stood ; and I took
the pains of rising at two in the morning to view coolly those
ruins which are commonly showed to strangers, and which the
Turks call Eski Stamboul,\ i. e,, Old Constantinople. For
* For this curious story, Monsieur Bayle may be consulted in his
Dictionary, article "Scamander." It appears in the Letters of Oschines,
vol. i. pp. 125, 126, edit. Genev. 160*7 ; also in Philostrates and Vi-
generus.
f Alexandria Troas, which the early travelers have erroneously
considered as the true site of ancient Troy. See Belon, Ch. vi. 4to,
1588, Viaggi di Pietro Delia Valle, 4to. 1650. Gibbon (Rom. Hist. vol.
iii. p. 10) remarks, that Wood, in his observations on the Troad, p. 140,
112 LETTERS TO
that reason, as well as some others, I conjecture them to be
the remains of that city begun by Constantine. I hired an ass
(the only voiture to be had here), that I might go some miles
into the country, and take a tour round the ancient walls,
which are of a vast extent. We found the remains of a castle
on a hill, and of another in a valley, several broken pillars, and
two pedestals, from which I took those Latin inscriptions :
1.
DTVL AUG. COL.
ET COL. IUL. PHTLIPPEXSIS
EORUXDEM PRIXCIPUM
COL. IIJL. PARIAX.E. TRLBUN.
MTLTT. COH. XXXJL VOLUNTAS.
TETB. MTLIT. LEG. XIU. GEM.
PB^FECTO EQUTT. ALffi. L
SCUBULORUM
vie. vm.
DIVL IULI. FLAMTNT
C AXTOXIO. M. F.
VOLT. RUFO. FLAMLX.
DIV. AUG. COL. CL. APREXS.
ET COL. IUL. PHTLIPPEXSIS
EORUXDEM ET PRINTCD?. ITEM
COL. IUL. PARIAX.E TETB.
1TTLIT. COH. XXXJL VOLUXTARIOR
TRIB. MTLIT. XIII.
GEM. PRJEF. EQUIT. AHE. L
SCUBULORUM
VIC. vn.
I do not doubt but the remains of a temple near this place
are the ruins of one dedicated to Augustus ; and I know not
why Mr. Sandys calls it a Christian temple, since the Romans
certainly built hereabouts. Here are many tombs of fine mar-
141, had confounded Ilium with Alexandria Troas, although sixteen
miles distant from each other. In the Ionian Antiquities are some fine
views of these ruins.
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 113
ble, and vast pieces of granite, which are daily lessened by the
prodigious balls that the Turks make from them for their
cannon. We passed that evening the isle of Tenedos, once
under the patronage of Apollo, as he gave it in himself in the
particulars of his estate when he courted Daphne. It is but
ten miles in circuit, but in those days very rich and well-
peopled, still famous for its excellent wine. I say nothing of
Tennes, from whom it was called ; but naming Mytilene, where
we passed next, I can not forbear mentioning Lesbos, where
Sappho sung, and Pittacus reigned, famous for the birth of
Alcseus, Theophrastus, and Arion, those masters in poetry, phi-
losophy, and music. This was one of the last islands that
remained in the Christian dominion after the conquest of Con-
stantinople by the Turks. But need I talk to you of Canta-
cuseni, etc., princes that you are as well acquainted with as I
am ? 'T was with regret I saw us sail from this island into
the Egean sea, now the Archipelago, leaving Scio (the ancient
Chios) on the left, which is the richest and most populous of
these islands, fruitful in cotton, corn, and silk, planted with
groves of orange and lemon-trees, and the Arvisian mountain,
still celebrated for the nectar that Virgil mentions. Here is
the best manufacture of silks in all Turkey. The town is well
built, the women famous for their beauty, and show their faces
as in Christendom. There are many rich families, though they
confine their magnificence to the inside of their houses, to
avoid the jealousy of the Turks, who have a pasha here : how-
ever, they enjoy a reasonable liberty, and indulge the genius
of their country ;
And eat, and sing, and dance away their time,
Fresh as their groves, and happy as their clime.
Their chains hang lightly on them, though 'tis not long since
they were imposed, not being under the Turk till 1566. But
perhaps 'tis as easy to obey the Grand-Seignior as the State of
Genoa, to whom they were sold by the Greek Emperor. But I
forget myself in these historical touches, which are very im-
114 LETTERS TO
pertinent when I write to you. Passing the strait between the
islands of Andros and Achaia, now Libadia, we saw the prom-
ontory of Sunium, now called Cape Colonna, where are yet
standing the vast pillars of a temple of Minerva. This vener-
able sight made me think, with double regret, on a beautiful
temple of Theseus, which, I am assured, was almost entire at
Athens till the last campaign in the Morea, that the Turks filled
it with powder, and it was accidentally blown up. You may
believe I hrd a great mind to land on the famed Peloponnesus,
though it were only to look on the rivers of JEsopus, Peneus,
Inachus, and Eurotas, the fields of Arcadia, and other scenes
of ancient mythology. But instead of demi-gods and heroes, I
was credibly informed 'tis now over-run by robbers, and that
I should run a great risk of falling into their hands by un-
dertaking such a journey through a desert country, for which
however, I have so much respect that I have much ado to
hinder myself from troubling you with its whole history, from
the foundation of Nicana and Corinth, to the last campaign
there ; but I check the inclination as I did that of landing.
We sailed quietly by Cape Angelo, once Malea, where I saw no
remains of the famous temple of Apollo. We came that even-
ing in sight of Candia : it is very mountainous ; we easily dis-
tinguished that of Ida. We have Virgil's authority, that here
were a hundred cities —
Centum urbes habitant magnas —
The chief of them — the scene of monstrous passions. Metellus
first conquered this birth-place of his Jupiter ; it fell afterward
into the hands of — I am running on to the very siege of Can-
dia ; and I am so angry with myself that I will pass by all the
other islands with this general reflection, that 'tis impossible to
imagine any thing more agreeable than this journey would have
been two or three thousand years since, when, after drinking
a dish of tea with Sappho, I might have gone the same even-
ing to visit the temple of Homer in Chios, and passed this voy-
TIER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 115
age in taking plans of magnificent temples, delineating the
miracles of statuaries, and conversing with the most polite and
most gay of mankind. Alas ! art is extinct here ; the wonders
of nature alone remain; and it was with vast pleasure I ob-
served those of Mount Etna, whose flame appears very bright
in the night many leagues off at sea, and fills the head with a
thousand conjectures. However, I honor philosophy too much
to imagine it could turn that of Empedocles ; and Lucian shall
never make me believe such a scandal of a man, of whom Lu-
cretius says :
Vix humana videtur stirpe creatus.
We passed Trinacria without hearing any of the syrens that
Homer describes ; and, being thrown on neither Scylla nor
Charybdis, came safe to Malta, first called Melita, from the
abundance of honey. It is a whole rock covered with very
little earth. The Grand-Master lives here in the state of a sove-
reign prince ; but his strength at sea now is very small. The
fortifications are reckoned the best in the world, all cut in the
solid rock with infinite expense and labor. Off this island we
were tossed by a severe storm, and were very glad, after eight
days, to be able to put into Porta Farine, on the African shore,
where our ship now rides. At Tunis we were met by the En-
glish consul who resides there. I readily accepted of the offer
of his house for some days, being very curious to see this part
of the world, and particularly the ruins of Carthage. I set out
in his chaise at nine at night, the moon being at full. I saw
the prospect of the country almost as well as I could have
done by daylight ; and the heat of the sun is now so intoler-
able 'tis impossible to travel at any other time. The soil is
for the most part sandy, but everywhere fruitful of date, olive,
and fig-trees, which grow without art, yet afford the most de-
licious fruit in the world. Their vineyards and melon-fields
are inclosed by hedges of that plant we call Indian fig, which
is an admirable fence, no wild beast being able to pass it. It
grows a great height, very thick, and the spikes or thorns are
116 LETTERS TO
as long and as sharp as bodkins ; it bears a fruit much eaten
by the peasants, and which has no ill taste.
It being now the season of the Turkish ramazan, or Lent,
and all here professing, at least, the Mohammedan religion,
they fast till the going down of the sun, and spend the night
in feasting. We saw under the trees companies of the coun-
try people, eating, singing, and dancing to their wild music.
They are not quite black, but all mulattoes, and the most
frightful creatures that can appear in a human figure. They
are almost naked, only wearing a piece of coarse serge wrapped
about them. But the women have their arms, to their very
shoulders, and their necks and faces, adorned with flowers,
stars, and various sorts of figures impressed by gunpowder ; a
considerable addition to their natural deformity ; which is, how-
ever, esteemed very ornamental among them ; and I believe
they suffer a good deal of pain by it.
About six miles from Tunis we saw the remains of that noble
aqueduct, which carried the water to Carthage over several
high mountains, the length of forty miles. There are still many
arches entire. We spent two hours viewing it with great atten-
tion, and Mr. Wortley assured me that of Rome is very much
inferior to it. The stones are of a prodigious size, and yet all
polished, and so exactly fitted to each other very little cement
has been made use of to join them. Yet they may probably
stand a thousand years longer, if art is not made use of to pull
them down. Soon after daybreak I arrived at Tunis, a town
fairly built of very white stone, but quite without gardens,
which, they say, were all destroyed when the Turks first took
it, none having been planted since. The dry sand gives a very
disagreeable prospect to the eye ; and the want of shade con-
tributing to the natural heat of the climate, renders it so ex-
cessive that I have much ado to support it. 'Tis true here is
every noon the refreshment of the sea-breeze, without which it
would be impossible to live ; but no fresh water but what is
preserved in the cisterns of the rains that fall in the month of
September. The women of the town go vailed from head to
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 117
foot under a black crape ; and, being mixed with a breed of
renegadoes, are said to be many of them fair and handsome.
This city was besieged in 1270, by Lewis, King of France, who
died under the walls of it of a pestilential fever. After his
death, Philip, his son, and our prince Edward, son of Henry
DX, raised the siege on honorable terms. It remained under
its natural African kings, till betrayed into the hands of Barba-
rossa, admiral of Solyman the Magnificent. The Emperor
Charles V. expelled Barbarossa, but it was recovered by the
Turks, under the conduct of Sinan Pasha, in the reign of Selim
II. From that time till now it has remained tributary to the
Grand-Signior, governed by a bey, who sutlers the name of sub-
ject to the Turk, but has renounced the subjection, being abso-
lute, and very seldom paying any tribute. The great city of
Bagdad is at this time in the same circumstances ; and the
Grand-Signior connives at the loss of these dominions, for fear
of losing even the titles of them.
I went very early yesterday morning (after one night's re-
pose) to see the ruins of Carthage. I was, however, half broiled
in the sun, and overjoyed to be led into one of the subterranean
apartments, which they called The Stables of the Elephants, but
which I can not believe were ever designed for that use. I
found in them many broken pieces of columns of fine marble,
and some of porphyry. I can not think any body would take
the insignificant pains of carrying them thither, and I can not
imagine such fine pillars were designed for the use of stables.
I am apt to believe they were summer apartments under their
palaces, which the heat of the climate rendered necessary.
They are now used as granaries by the country people. While
I sat here, from the town of Tents, not far oif, many of the
women flocked in to see me, and we were equally entertained
with viewing one another. Their posture in sitting, the color
of their skin, their lank black hair falling on each side their
faces, their features, and the shape of their limbs, differ so
little from their country-people the baboons, 'tis hard to fancy
118 . LETTERS TO
them a distinct race ; I could not help thinking there had been
some ancient alliances between them.
When I was a little refreshed by rest, and some milk and
exquisite fruit they brought me, I went up the little hill where
once stood the castle of Byrsa, and from thence I had a distinct
view of the situation of the famous city of Carthage, which
stood on an isthmus, the sea coming on each side of it. 'Tis
now a marshy ground on one side, where there are salt ponds.
Sfcrabo calls Carthage forty miles in circumference. There are
now no remains of it but what I have described ; and the his-
tory of it is too well known to want my abridgment of it. You
see, sir, that I think you esteem obedience better than compli-
ments. I have answered your letter, by giving you the accounts
you desired, and have reserved my thanks to the conclusion.
I intend to leave this place to-morrow, and continue my jour-
ney through Italy and France. In one of those places I hope
to tell you, by word of mouth, that I am, Your humble serv-
ant, etc., etc.
LETTER XVI.
Genoa, August 28, 0. S. 1718.
Genoa is situated in a very fine bay ; and being built on a
rising hill, intermixed with gardens, and beautified with the
most excellent architecture, gives a very fine prospect off at
sea ; though it lost much of its beauty in my eyes, having been
accustomed to that of Constantinople. The Genoese were
once masters of several islands in the Archipelago, and all
that part of Constantinople which is now called Galata. Theii
betraying the Christian cause by facilitating the taking of
Constantinople by the Turk, deserved what has since happened
to them, even the loss of all their conquests on that side to
those infidels. They are at present far from rich, and are de-
spised by the French, since their doge was forced by the late
king to go in person to Paris, to ask pardon for such a trifle
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 119
as the arms of France over the house of the envoy being spat-
tered with dung in the night. This, I suppose, was done by
some of the Spanish faction, which still makes up the majority
here, though they dare not openly declare it. The ladies affect
the French habit, and are more genteel than those they imitate.
I do not doubt but the custom of cecisbeos has very much im-
proved their airs. I know not whether you ever heard of those
animals. Upon my word, nothing but my own eyes could '
have convinced me there were any such upon earth. The
fashion began here, and is now received all over Italy, where
the husbands are not such terrible creatures as we represent
them. There are none among them such brutes as to pretend
to find fault with a custom so well established, and so politi-
cally founded, since I am assured that it was an expedient first
found out by the senate, to put an end to those family hatreds
which tore their State to pieces, and to find employment for
those young men who were forced to cut one another's throats
pour passer le temps ; and it has succeeded so well, that, since
the institution of cecisbei, there has been nothing but peace
and good humor among them. These are gentlemen who de-
vote themselves to the service of a particular lady (I mean a
married one, for the virgins are all invisible, and confined
to convents) : they are obliged to wait on her to all public
places, such as the plays, the operas, and assemblies (which
are here called Conversations), where they wait behind her
chair, take care of her fan and gloves, if she play, have the
privilege of whispers, etc. When she goes out they serve her
instead of lacqueys, gravely trotting by her chair. 'Tis their
business to prepare for her a present against any day of pub-
lic appearance, not forgetting that of her own name :* in
short, they are to spend all their time and money in her serv-
ice, who rewards them accordingly (for opportunity they want
none) ; but the husband is not to have the impudence to sup-
pose this any other than pure Platonic friendship. 'Tis true,
they endeavor to give her a cecisbeo Of their own choosing ;
• That is. the day of the saint after whom she is called.
120 LETTERS TO
but when the lady happens not to be of the same taste, as that
often happens, she never fails to bring it about to have one of
her own fancy. In former times, one beauty used to have
eight or ten of these humble admirers ; but those days of
plenty and humility are no more : men grow more scarce and
saucy ; and every lady is forced to content herself with one
at a time.
You may see in this place the glorious liberty of a republic,
or, more properly, an aristocracy, the common people being
here as errant slaves as the French ; but the old nobles pay
little respect to the doge, who isbut two years in his office,
and whose wife, at that very time, assumes no rank above
another noble lady. 'Tis true, the family of Andrea Doria
(that great man, who restored them that liberty they enjoy)
have some particular privileges : when the senate found it ne-
cessary to put a stop to the luxury of dress, forbidding the
wearing of jewels and brocades, they left them at liberty to
make what expense they pleased. I look with great pleasure
on the statue of that hero, which is in the court belonging to
the house of Duke Doria. This puts me in mind of their palaces,
which I can never describe as I ought. Is it not enough that
I say they are, most of them, the design of Palladio ? The
street called Strada Nova is perhaps the most beautiful line of
building in the world. I must particularly mention the vast
palaces of Durazzo ; those of the two Balbi, joined together
by a magnificent colonnade ; that of the Imperiale at this vil-
lage of St. Pierre d' Arena ; and another of the Doria. The
perfection of architecture, and the utmost profusion of rich
furniture, are to be seen here, disposed with the most elegant
taste and lavish magnificence. But I am charmed with noth-
ing so much as the collection of pictures by the pencils of
Raphael, Paulo Veronese, Titian, Caracci, Michael Angelo,
Guido, and Correggio, which two I mention last as my par-
ticular favorites. I own I can find no pleasure in objects of
horror ; and, in my opinion, the more naturally a crucifix is
represented, the more disagreeable it is. These, my beloved
HER SISTER AND FRIENDS. 121
painters, show nature, and show it in the most charming light.
I was particularly pleased with a Lucretia in the house of
Balbi : the expressive beauty of that face and bosom gives
all the expression of pity and admiration that could be raised
in the soul by the finest poem upon that subject. A Cleo-
patra of the same hand deserves to be mentioned ; and I
should say more of her, if Lucretia had not at first engaged
my eyes. Here are also some inestimable ancient bustos. The
Church of St. Lawrence is built of black and white marble,
where is kept that famous plate of a single emerald, which is
not now permitted to be handled, since a plot, which they say
was discovered to throw it on the pavement and break it — a
childish piece of malice, which they ascribe to the King of
Sicily, to be revenged for their refusing to sell it to him. The
Church of the Annunciation is finely lined with marble ; the
pillars are of red and white marble : that of St. Ambrose has
been very much adorned by the Jesuits : but I confess all the
churches appeared so mean to me, after that of Sancta Sophia,
I can hardly do them the honor of writing down their names.
But I hope you will own I have made good use of my time,
in seeing so much, since 'tis not many days that we have
been out of the quarantine, from which nobody is exempted
coming from the Levant. Ours, indeed, was very much short-
ened, and very agreeably passed in M. d'Aveuant's company,
in the village of St. Pierre d' Arena, about a mile from Genoa,
in a house built by Palladio, so well designed, and so nobly
proportioned, 't was a pleasure to walk in it. We were visited
.here only by a few English, in the company of a noble Geno-
ese, commissioned to see we did not touch one another. I
shall stay here some days longer, and could almost wish it
i were for all my life ; but mine, I fear, is not destined to so
much tranquillity.
Note. — Of the foregoing letters, the sixth, twelfth, and fourteenth
were addressed to Lady Rich; the seventh, tenth and eleventh to the
Abbot of ; the fifteenth to the Abbe ; and the others to her sister,
Lady Mar. — Am. ed.
6
LETTERS TO AND FROM ALEXANDER POPE.*
FROM 1716 TO 1718.
LETTER I.
TO LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU.
Twickenham, Aug. 18, 0. S., 1716.
Madam, I can say little to recommend the letters I am be-
ginning to write to you but that they will be the most impar-
tial representations of a free heart, and the truest copies you
ever saw, though of a very mean original. Not a feature will
be softened, or any advantageous light employed to make the
ugly thing a little less hideous, but you shall find it in all re-
spects most horribly-like. You will do me an injustice if you
look upon any thing I shall say from this instant, as a compli-
ment either to you or to myself: whatever I write will be the
real thought of that hour, and I know you will no more ex-
pect it of me to persevere till death in every sentiment or
* This correspondence was held during the " Embassy ;" but it
seemed to me best to separate the letters from those written to the
other "Friends" of Lady Mary, and give, consecutively, Mr. Pope's
letters to her, as well as her answers. In this way, the friendship
then subsisting between them can be best understood. It will bev
seen that he solicited the correspondence, and held the genius and
character of Lady Mary in such regard as a devotee might have ex-
pressed for his patron saint. That he afterward became her most im-
placable enemy, was not her fault, but his ; the meanness of wounded
vanity prompted his bitter sarcasms on women in general and hla
wicked libels on Lady Mary in particular. — Am. Ed.
LETTERS FROM ALEXANDER POPE. 123
notion I now set down, than you would imagine a man's
face should never change after his picture was once drawn.
The freedom I shall use in this manner of thinking aloud
(as somebody calls it) or talking upon paper, may indeed
prove me a fool, but it will prove me one of the best sort of
fools, the honest ones. And since what folly we have will in-
fallibly buoy up at one time or other in spite of all our art to
keep it down, it is almost foolish to take any pains to conceal it
at all, and almost knavish to do it from those that are our
friends. If Momus's project had taken of having windows in
our breasts, I should be for carrying it further and making
those windows casements : that while a man showed his heart
to all the world, he might do something more for his friends,
e'en take it out, and trust it to their handling. I think I
love you as well as King Herod could Herodias (though I
never had so much as one dance with you), and would as
freely give you my heart in a dish as he did another's head.
But since Jupiter will not have it so, I must be content to
show my taste in life as I do my taste in painting — by loving to
have as little drapery as possible, because it is good to use
people to what they must be acquainted with ; and there will
certainly come some day of judgment to uncover every soul
of us. We shall then see how the prudes of this world owed
all their fine figure only to their being a little straiter laced,
and that they were naturally as arrant squabs as those that
went more loose, nay, as those that never girded their loins at
all.
But a particular reason to engage you to write your
thoughts the more freely to me, is, that I am confident no one
knows you better. For I find, when others express their opin-
ion of you, it falls very short of mine, and I am sure, at the
same time, theirs is such as you would think sufficiently in
your favor.
You may easily imagine how desirous I must be of a cor-
respondence with a person who had taught me long ago that
it was as possible to esteem at first sight, as to love : and who
124 LETTERS TO AND
has since ruined me for all the conversation of one sex, and
almost all the friendship of the other. I am but too sensible,
through your means, that the company of men wants a cer-
tain softness to recommend it, and that of women wants every
thing else. How often have I been quietly going to take
possession of that tranquillity and indolence I had so long
found in the country, when one evening of your conversation
has spoiled me for a solitaire too ! Books have lost their ef-
fect upon me; and I was convinced since I saw you that
there is something more powerful than philosophy, and, since
I heard you, that there is one alive wiser than all the sages.
A plague of female wisdom ! it makes a man ten times more
uneasy than his own ! What is very strange, Virtue herself,
when you have the dressing her, is too amiable for one's re-
pose. What a world of good might you have done in your
time, if you had allowed half the fine gentlemen who have
seen you to have but conversed with you ? They would have
been strangely caught, while they thought only to fall in love
with a fair face, and you had bewitched them with reason and
virtue ; two beauties, that the very fops pretend to no ac-
quaintance with.
The unhappy distance at which we correspond, removes a
great many of those punctilious restrictions and decorums
that oftentimes in nearer conversation prejudice truth to save
good breeding. I may now hear of my faults, and you of
your good qualities, without a blush on either side. We con-
verse upon such unfortunate generous terms as exclude the
regards of fear, shame, or design in either of us. And me-
thinks it would be as ungenerous a part to impose even in a
single thought upon each other, in this state of separation,
as for spirits of a different sphere, who have so little inter-
course with us, to employ that little (as some would make
us think they do) in putting tricks and delusions upon poor
mortals.
Let me begin then, madam, by asking you a question, which
may enable me to judge better of my own conduct than most
FROM ALEXANDER POPE. 125
instances of my life. In what manner did I behave the last
hour I saw you ? What degree of concern did I discover when
T felt a misfortune, which I hope you never will feel, that of
parting from what one most esteems ? For if my parting looked
but like that of your common acquaintance, I am the greatest
of all the hypocrites that ever decency made.
I never since pass by the house but with the same sort of
melancholy that we feel upon seeing the tomb of a friend, which
only serves to put us in mind of what we have lost. I reflect
upon the circumstances of your departure, your behavior in
what I may call your last moments, and I indulge a gloomy
kind of satisfaction in thinking you gave some of those last
moments to me. I would fain imagine this was not accidental,
but proceeded from a penetration which I know you have in
finding out the truth of people's sentiments, and that you were
not unwilling the last man that would have parted with you
should be the last that did. I really looked upon you then,
as the friends of Curtius might have done upon that hero in
the instant he was devoting himself to glory, and running to
be lost, out of generosity. I was obliged to admire your reso-
lution in as great a degree as I deplored it ; and could only
wish that Heaven would reward so much merit as was to be
taken from us with all the felicity it could enjoy elsewhere. May
that person for whom you have left all the world be so just as
to prefer you to all the world. I believe his good understand-
ing has engaged him to do so hitherto, and I think his gratitude
must for the future. May you continue to think him worthy
of whatever you have done ; may you ever look upon him
with the eyes of a first lover, nay, if possible, with all the un-
reasonable happy fondness of an unexperienced one, surrounded
nvith all the enchantments and ideas of romance and poetry.
In a word, may you receive from him as many pleasures and
gratifications as even I think you can give. I wish this from
my heart, and while I examine what passes there in regard to
you, I can not but glory in my own heart that it is capable of
so much generosity.
126 LETTERS TO AND
LETTER II.
TO MR. POPE.*
VnorarA, Sept. 4, 0. S., 1717.
Perhaps you'll laugh at me for thanking you very giavely
for all the obliging concern you express for me. 'Tis certain
that I may, if I please, take the fine things you say to me for
wit and raillery ; and, it may be, it would be taking theai right.
But I never, in my life, was half so well disposed to believe
you in earnest as I am at present ; and that distance, which
makes the continuation of your friendship improbable, has
very much increased my faith in it.
I find that I have (as well as the rest of my sex), whatever
face I set on't, a strong disposition to believe in miracles.
Don't fancy, however, that I am infected by the air of these
Popish countries ; I have, indeed, so far wandered from the
discipline of the Church of England, as to have been last Sun-
day 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, dis-
covering 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 easy to imagine the
* In the eighth volume of Pope's "Works, are first published thirteen
of his letters to Lady Mary "Wortley Montagu communicated to Dr.
Warton by the present Primate of Ireland. These MSS. are in the pos-
session of the Marquis of Bute. As many are without date, the arrange-
ment of them must be directed by circumstances ; and as most of them
were written to Lady Mary during her first absence from England, we
shall advert to them, as making a part of this correspondence. The
letter of Pope's, to which this is an answer, was first printed from the
origmal MS. in "Works of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, 18U3.
FROM ALEXANDER POPE. 127
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 enchantment of Alcina, which gives opportunities
for a great variety of machines, and changes of the scenes,
which are performed with a surprising swiftness. The theater
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
hundred and eight. No house could hold such large decora-
tions ; 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 that I was almost
squeezed to death.
But if their operas are thus delightful, their comedies are in
as high a degree ridiculous. # They have but one playhouse,
where I had the curiosity to go to a German comedy, and was
very glad it happened to be the story of Amphitryon. As that
subject has been already handled by a Latin, French, and
English poet, I was curious to see what an Austrian author
would make of it. I understand enough of that language to
comprehend the greatest part of it ; and besides, I took with
me a lady, who had the goodness to explain to me every word.
The way is, to take a box, which holds four, for yourself and
company. The fixed price is a gold ducat. I thought the
house very low and dark; but I confess, the comedy admira-
bly recompensed that defect. I never laughed so much in my
life. It began with Jupiter's falling in love out of a peep-hole
in the clouds, and ended with the birth of Hercules. But what
was most pleasant, was the use Jupiter made of his metamor-
phosis ; for you no sooner saw him under the figure of Amphi-
tryon, but instead of flying to Alcmena, with the raptures Mr.
Dryden puts into his mouth, he sends for Amphitryon's tailor,
and cheats him of a laced coat, and his banker of a bag of
money, a Jew of a diamond ring, and bespeaks a great supper
in his name ; and the greatest part of the comedy turns upon
128 LETTERS TO AND
poor Amphitryon's being tormented by these people for their
debts. Mercury uses Sosia in the same manner. But I could
not easily pardon the liberty the poet has taken of larding his
play with, not only indecent expressions, but such gross words
as I don't think our mob would suffer from a mountebank.
Besides, the two Sosias very fairly let down their breeches in
the direct view of the boxes, which were full of people of the
tirst rank, that seemed very well pleased with their entertain-
ment, and assured me this was a celebrated piece.
I shall conclude my letter with this remarkable relation,
very well worthy the serious consideration of Mr. Collier.* I
won't trouble you with farewell compliments, which I think
generally as impertinent as courtesies at leaving the room,
when the visit had been too long already.
LETTER in.
FROM MR. POPE.
Madam, I no more think I can have too many of your
letters, than I would have too many writings to entitle me to
the greatest estate in the world ; which I think so valuable a
friendship as yours is equal to. I am angry at every scrap of
paper lost as something that interrupts the history of my title ;
and though it is but an odd compliment to compare a fine
lady to Sybil, your leaves, mefchinks, like hers, are too good to
be committed to the winds ; though I have no other way of
receiving them but by those unfaithful messengers. I have had
but three, and I reckon in that short one from Dort, which was
rather a dying ejaculation than a letter. But I have so great
an opinion of your goodness that, had I received none, I should
* Jeremy Collier, an English divine, eminent for his piety and wit.
In 1698 he wrote "A short view of the Immorality and Profaneness of
the English Stage, together with the sense of Antiquity on this sub-
ject," 8vo. This tract excited the resentment of the wits, and engaged
him in a controversy with Congreve and Vanbrugh.
PROM ALEXANDER POPE. 129
not have accused you of neglect or insensibility. I am not so
wrong-headed as to quarrel with my friends the minute they
don't write, I 'd as soon quarrel at the sun the minute he did
not shine, which he is hindered from by accidental causes, and
is in reality all that time performing the same course, and doing
the same good offices as ever.
You have contrived to say in your last, the two most pleas-
ing things to me in nature ; the first is, that whatever be the
fate of your letters, you will continue to write in the discharge
of your conscience. This is generous to the last degree, and
a virtue you ought to enjoy. Be assured, in return, my heart
shall be as ready to think you have done every good thing, as
yours can be to do it ; so that you shall never be able to favor
your absent friend, before he has thought himself obliged to
you for the very favor you are then conferring.
The other is, the justice you do me in taking what I writ
to you in the serious manner it was meant : it is the point upon
which I can bear no suspicion, and in which, above all, I de-
sire to be thought serious : it would be the most vexatious of
all tyranny, if you should pretend to take for raillery what is
the mere disguise of a discontented heart that is unwilling to
make you as melancholy as itself; and for wit what is really
only the natural overflowing and warmth of the same heart,
as it is improved and awakened by an esteem for you : but
since you tell me you believe me, I fancy my expressions have
not at least been entirely unfaithful to those thoughts, to which
I am sure they can never be equal. May God increase your
faith in all truths that any as great as this ; and depend upon it,
to whatever degree your belief may extend, you can never be
a bigot.
If you could see the heart I talk of, you would really think
it a foolish good kind of thing, with some qualities as well de-
serving to be half laughed at, and half esteemed, as any in the
world: its grand foible, in regard to you, is the most like
reason of any foible in nature. Upon my faith, this heart is
not, like a great warehouse, stored only with my own goods,
6*
130 LETTERS TO AND
with vast empty spaces to be supplied as fast as interest 01 am-
bition can fill them up ; but it is every inch of it let out into
lodgings for its friends, and shall never want a corner at your
service : where I dare affirm, madam, your idea lies as warm
and as close as any idea in Christendom.
If I don't take care, I shall write myself all out to you ; and
if this correspondence continues on both sides at the free rate
I would have it, w r e shall have very little curiosity to encourage
our meeting at the day of judgment. I foresee that the further
you go from me, the more freely I shall write ; and if, as I
earnestly wish, you would do the same, I can't guess where
it wall end : let us be like modest people, who, when they are
close together, keep all decorums ; but if they step a little aside,
or get to the other end of a room, can untie garters or take
off shifts without scruple.
If this distance, as you are so kind as to say, enlarges your
belief of my friendship, I assure you it has so extended my
notion of your value that I begin to be impious on our account
and to wish that even slaughter, ruin, and desolation, might
interpose between you and Turkey ; I wish you restored to us
at the expense of a whole people : I barely hope you will for-
give me for saying this, but I fear God will scarcely forgive me
for desiring it.
Make me less wicked then. Is there no other expedient to
return you and your infant in peace to the bosom of your
country ? I hear you are going to Hanover ; can there be no
favorable planet at this conjuncture, or do you only come back
so far to die twice ? Is Eurydice once more snatched to the
shades ? If ever mortal had reason to hate the king, it is I ;
for it is my particular misfortune to be almost the only inno-
cent man whom he has made to suffer, both by his government
at home, and his negotiations abroad.
FROM ALEXANDER POPE. 131
LETTER IV.
TO MR. POPE.
Belgrade, Feb. 12, 0. S. 171?.
I did verily intend to write you a long letter from Peter-
waradin, where I expected to stay three or four days ; but the
pasha here was in such haste to see us, that he dispatched the
courier back, which Mr. Wortley had sent to know the time
he would send the convoy to meet us, without suffering him
to pull off his boots.
My letters were not thought important enough to stop our
journey ; and we left Peterwaradin the next day, being waited
on by the chief officers of the garrison, and a considerable
convoy of Germans and Rascians. The emperor has several
regiments of these people ; but, to say the truth, they are
rather plunderers than soldiers; having no pay, and being
obliged to furnish their own arms and horses ; they rather
look like vagabond gipsies, or stout beggars, than regular
troops.
I can not forbear speaking a word of this race of creatures,
who are very numerous all over Hungary. They have a pa-
triarch of their own at Grand Cairo, and are really of the
Greek Church ; but their extreme ignorance gives their priests
occasion to impose several new notions upon them. These
fellows, letting their hair and beard grow inviolate, make ex-
actly the figure of the Indian bramins. They are heirs-gen
era! to all the money of the laity, for which, in return, they
give them formal passports signed and sealed for heaven ;
and the wives and children only inherit the house and oattle.
In most other points they follow the Greek Church.
This little digression has interrupted my telling you we
passed over the fields of Carlowitz, where the last great vic-
tory was obtained by Prince Eugene over the Turks. The
marks of that glorious bloody day are yet recent, the field
being yet strewed with the skulls and carcases of unburied
132 LETTERS TO AND
men, horses, and camels. J could not look without horror, on
such numbers of mangled human bodies, nor without reflect-
ing on the injustice of war, that makes murder not only neces-
sary, but meritorious. Nothing seems to be a plainer proof
of the irrationality of mankind, whatever fine claims we pre-
tend to reason, than the rage with which they contest for a
small spot of ground, when such vast parts of fruitful earth
lie quite uninhabited. It is true, custom has now made it
unavoidable; but can there be a greater demonstration of
want of reason, than a custom being firmly established, so"
plainly contrary to the interest of man in general ? I am a
good deal inclined to believe Mr. Hobbes, that the state of
nature is a state of war ; but thence I conclude human na-
ture not rational, if the word reason means common sense,
as I suppose it does. I have a great many admirable argu-
ments to support this reflection ; I won't, however, trouble
you with them, but return, in a plain style, to the history of
my travels.
We were met at Betsko (a village in the midway between
Belgrade and Peterwaradin) by an aga of the janizaries, with
a body of Turks, exceeding the Germans by one hundred
men, though the pasha had engaged to send exactly the same
number. You may judge by this of their fears. I am really
persuaded that they hardly thought the odds of one hundred
men set them even with the Germans ; however, I was very
uneasy till they were parted, fearing some quarrel might arise,
notwithstanding the parole given.
We came late to Belgrade, the deep snows making the as-
cent to it very difficult. It seems a strong city, fortified on
the east side by the Danube, and on the south by the river
Save, and was formerly the barrier of Hungary. It was first
taken by Solyman the Magnificent, and since by the empe-
ror's forces, led by the Elector of Bavaria. The emperor
held it only two years, it being retaken by the Grand- Vizier.
It is now fortified with the utmost care and skill the Turks
are capable of, and strengthened by a very numerous garrison
FROM ALEXANDER POPE. 133
of their bravest janizaries, commanded by a pasha seraskicr
(t. e. general), though this last expression is not very just;
for, to say truth, the seraskier is commanded by the janizaries.
These troops have an absolute authority here, and their con-
duct carries much more the aspect of rebellion than the ap-
pearance of subordination. You may judge of this by the
following story, which, at the same time, will give you an idea
of the admirable intelligence of the governor of Peterwara-
din, though so few hours distant. We were told by him at
Peterwaradin, that the garrison and inhabitants of Belgrade
were so weary of the war they had killed their pasha, about
two months ago, in a mutiny, because he had suffered him-
self to be prevailed upon, by a bribe of five purses (five hun-
dred pounds sterling), to give permission to the Tartars to
ravage the German frontiers. We were very well pleased to
hear of such favorable dispositions in the people ; but when
we came hither, we found that the governor had been ill-in-
formed, and the real truth of the story to be this : The late
pasha fell under the displeasure of his soldiers for no other
reason but restraining their incursions on the Germans.
They took it into their heads, from that mildness, that he had
intelligence with the enemy, and sent such information to
the Grand Seignior at Adrianople ; but redress not coining
quick enough from thence, they assembled themselves in a
tumultuous manner, and by force dragged their pasha before
the cadi and mufti, and there demanded justice in a mutinous
way ; one crying out, Why he protected the infidels ? An-
other, Why he squeezed them of their money ? The pasha,
easily guessing their purpose, calmly replied to them that they
asked him too many questions, and that he had but one life,
which must answer for all. They then immediately fell upon
him with their cimeters, without waiting the sentence of their
heads of the law, and in a few moments cut him in pieces.
The present pasha has not dared to punish the murder ; on
the contrary, he affected to applaud the actors of it as brave
fellows, that knew to do themselves justice. He takes all pre-
134 LETTERS TO AND
tenses of throwing money among the garrison, and suffers
them to make little excursions into Hungary, where they burn
some poor Rascian houses.
You may imagine I can not be very easy in a town which
is really under the government of an insolent soldiery. We
expected to be immediately dismissed, after a night's lodging
here ; but the pasha detains us till he receives orders from
Adrianople, which may, possibly, be a month a-coming. In
the mean time, we are lodged in one of the best houses, be-
longing to a very considerable man among them, and have a
whole chamber of janizaries to guard us. My only diversion
is the conversation of our host, Achmet Bey, a title something
like that of count in Germany. His father was a great
pasha, and he has been educated in the most polite Eastern
learning, being perfectly skilled in the Arabic and Persian lan-
guages, and an extraordinary scribe, which they call effendi.
This accomplishment makes way to the greatest preferments ;
but he has had the good sense to prefer an easy, quiet, secure
life, to all the dangerous honors of the Porte. He sups with
us every night, and drinks wine very freely. You can not
imagine how much he is delighted with the liberty of con-
versing with me. He has explained to me many pieces of
Arabian poetry, which, I observe, are in numbers not unlike
ours, generally of an 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 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
* The Persian Tales appeared first in Europe as a translation, by
Monsieur Petit de la Croix; and what are called "The Arabian
Nights," in a similar manner, by Monsier G-alland. The Tales of the
Genii, said in the title-page to have been translated by Sir Charlea
Morell, were, in fact, entirely composed by James Ridley, Esq.
FROM ALEXANDER POPE. 135
believed I understood Persian. I have frequent disputes with
him concerning the difference of our customs, particularly the
confinement 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 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.
But these amusements do not hinder my wishing heartily
to be out of this place ; though the weather is colder than I
believe it ever was any where but in Greenland. We have
a very large stove constantly kept hot, and yet the windows
of the room are frozen on the inside. God knows when I
may have an opportunity of sending this letter ; but I have
written it, for the discharge of my own conscience ; and you
can not now reproach me, that one of yours makes ten of
mine. Adieu.
LETTER V.
FROM MR. POPE
Madam, — If to live in the memory of others have any thing
desirable in it, 'tis what you possess with regard to me, in the
highest sense of the words. There is not a day in which
your figure does not appear before me ; your conversations
return to my thoughts, and every scene, place, or occasion,
where I have enjoyed them, are as lively painted as an imag-
ination equally warm and tender can be capable to represent
them. Yet how little accrues to you from all this, when not
only my wishes, but the very expressions of them, can hardly
ever arrive to be known to you ? I can not tell whether you
have seen half the letters I have written ; but if you had, I
have not said in them half of what I designed to say ; and
you can have seen but a faint, slight, timorous eschantillon of
136 LETTERS TO AND
what my spirit suggests, and my hand follows slowly and im-
perfectly, indeed unjustly, because discreetly and reservedly.
When you told me there was no way left for our correspond-
ence but by merchant ships, I watched ever since for any that
set out, and this is the first I could learn of. I owe the
knowledge of it to Mr. Congreve (whose letters, with my
Lady Rich's, accompany this). However, I was impatient
enough to venture two from Mr. Methuen's office : they have
miscarried ; you have lost nothing but such words and wishes
as I repeat every day in your memory, and for your welfare.
I have had thoughts of causing what I write for the future to
be transcribed, and to send copies by more ways than one,
that one at least might have a chance to reach you. The
letters themselves would be artless and natural enough to
prove there could be no vanity in this practice, and to show
it proceeded from the belief of their being welcome to you,
not as they came from me, but from England. My eye-sight
is grown so bad that I have left off all correspondence except
with yourself; in which methinks I am like those people who
abandon or abstract themselves from all that are about them
(with whom they might have business and intercourse), to
employ their addresses only to invisible and distant beings,
whose good offices and favors can not reach them in a long
time, if at all. If I hear from you, I look upon it as little
less than a miracle, or extraordinary visitation from anothei
world ; 'tis a sort of dream of an agreeable thing, which sub-
sists no more to me; but, however, it is such a dream as excee Is
most of the dull realities of my life. Indeed, what with ill-
health and ill-fortune, I am grown so stupidly philosophical as
to have no thought about me that deserves the name of warm
or lively, but that which sometimes awakens me into an im-
agination that I may yet see you again. Compassionate a
poet, who has lost all manner of romantic ideas ; except a
few that hover about the Bosphorus and Hellespont, not so
much for the fine sound of their names, as to raise up images
of Leander, who was drowned in crossing the sea to kiss the
FROM ALEXANDER POPE. 137
hand of fair Hero. This were a destiny less to be lamented
than what we are told of the poor Jew, one of your interpret-
ers, who was beheaded at Belgrade as a spy. I confess such
a death would have been a great disappointment to me ; and
I believe that Jacob Tonson will hardly venture to visit you
after this news.
You tell me the pleasure of being nearer the sun has a
great effect upon your health and spirits. You have turned
my affections so far eastward, that I could almost be one of his
worshipers ; for I think the sun has more reason to be proud
of raising your spirits than of raising all the plants, and ripen-
ing all the minerals, in the earth. It is my opinion a reason-
able man might gladly travel three or four thousand leagues
to see your nature and your wit in their full perfection.
What may not we expect from a creature that went out the
most perfect of this part of the world, and is every day im-
proving by the sun in the other ! If you do not now write and
speak the finest things imaginable, you must be content to be
involved in the same imputation with the rest of the East, and
be concluded to have abandoned yourself to extreme effemin-
acy, laziness, and lewdness of life.
I make not the least question but you could give me great
eclaircissements upon many passages in Homer, since you
have been enlightened by the same sun that inspired the
father of poetry. You are now glowing under the climate
that animated him ; you may see his images rising more
boldly about you in the very scenes of his story and action ;
you may lay the immortal work on some broken column of a
hero's sepulclier ; and read the fall of Troy in the shade of a
Trojan ruin. But if, to visit the tomb of so many heroes, you
have not the heart to pass over that sea where once a lover
perished, you may at least, at ease in your own window, con-
template the fields of Asia in such a dim and remote prospect
as you have of Homer in my translation.
I send you, therefore, with this, the third volume of the
Iliad, and as many other things as fill a wooden box, directed
J 38 LETTERS TO AND
to Mr. Wortley. Among the rest you have all I am worth,
that is, my works : there are few things in them but what you
have already seen, except the epistle of Eloisa to Abelard, in
which you will find one passage, that I can not tell whether
to wish you should understand or not.
The last I received from your hands was from Peterwaradin ;
it gave me the joy of thinking you in good health and humor :
one or two expressions in it are too generous ever to be for-
gotten by me. I writ a very melancholy one just before,
which was sent to Mr. Stanyan, to be forwarded through Hun-
gary. It would have informed you how meanly I thought of
the pleasures of Italy, without the qualification of your com-
pany, and that mere statues and pictures are not more cold to
me than I to them. I have had but four of your letters ; I
have sent several, and wish I knew how many you have re-
ceived. For God's sake, madam, send to me as often as you
can, in the dependence that there is no man breathing more
constantly or more anxiously mindful of you. Tell me that
you are well ; tell me that your little son is well, tell me that
your very dog (if you have one) is well. Defraud me of no
one thing that pleases you ; for whatever that is, it will please
me better than any thing else can do.
LETTER VI.
TO MR. POPE.
Adrianople, April 1, 0. S., 1*717.
I dare say you expect at least something very new in this
letter, after I have gone a journey not undertaken by any
Christian for some hundred years. The most remarkable ac-
cident that happened to me, was my being very near over-
turned into the Hebrus ; and, if I had much regard for the
glories that one's name enjoys after death, I should certainly
be sorry for having missed the romantic conclusion of swim-
FROM ALEXANDER POPE. 139
ming down the same river in which the musical head of Or-
pheus repeated verses so many ages since :
Caput a cervice revulsum,
Gurgite cum medio, portans Oeagrius Hebrus
Volveret, Eurydicen vox ipsa, et frigida lingua;
Ah! miseram Eurydicem! anima fugiente vocabat,
Eurydicem toto referebant flumine ripse.
Who knows but some of your bright wits might have found
it a subject affording many poetical turns, and have told the
world, in an heroic elegy, that,
As equal were our souls, so equal were our fates ?
I despair of ever hearing so many fine things said of me as
so extraordinary a death would have given occasion for.
I am at this present moment writing in a house situated on
the banks of the Hebrus, which runs under my chamber win-
dow. My garden is all full of cypress-trees, upon the branches
of which several couple of true turtles are saying soft things
to one another from morning till night. How naturally do
boughs and vows come into my mind at this minute ! and must
not you confess, to my praise, that 'tis more than an ordinary
discretion that can resist the wicked suggestions of poetry, in
a place where truth, for once, furnishes all the ideas of pasto-
ral. 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 rivers are
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 are 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 dash-
ing of the river ; and this taste is so universal that the very
140 LETTERS TO AND
gardeners are not without it. I have often seen them and
their children sitting on the banks of the river, and playing
on a rural instrument, perfectly answering the description of
the ancient fistula, being composed of unequal reeds, with a
simple but agreeable softness in the sound.
Mr. Addison might here make the experiment he speaks of
in his travels ; there not being one instrument of music among
the Greek or Roman statues, that is not to be found in the
hands of the people of this country. The young lads gen-
erally divert themselves with making garlands for their favor-
ite lambs, which I have often seen painted and adorned with
flowers lying at their feet while they sung or played. It is
not that they ever read romances, but these are the ancient
amusements here, and as natural to them as cudgel-playing
and foot-ball to our British swains ; the softness and warmth
of the climate forbidding all rough exercises, which were never
so much as heard of among them, and naturally inspiring a
laziness and aversion to labor, which the great plenty indulges.
These gardeners are the only happy race of country people in
Turkey. They furnish all the city with fruits and herbs, and
seem to live very easily. They are most of them Greeks, and
have little houses in the midst of their gardens, where their
wives and daughters take a liberty not permitted in the town, I
mean, to go unvailed. These wenches are very neat and
handsome, and pass their time at their looms under the shade
of the trees.
I no longer look upon Theocritus as a romantic writer ; he
has only given a plain image of the way of the life among
the peasants of his country ; who, before oppression had re-
duced them to want, were, I suppose, all employed as the bet-
ter sort of them are now. I don't doubt, had he been born
a Briton, but his Idylliums had been filled with descriptions
of thrashing and churning, both which are unknown here, the
corn being all trodden out by oxen ; and butter, I speak it
with sorrow, unheard of.
I read over your Homer here with an infinite pleasure, and
PROM ALEXANDER POPE. 141
find several little passages explained that I did not before en-
tirely comprehend the beauty of; many of the customs, and
much of the dress then in fashion, being yet retained. 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 that
pains to introduce their own manners as has been generally
practiced by other nations, that imagine themselves more
polite. It would be too tedious to you to point out all the
passages that relate to present customs. But I can assure you
that the princesses and great ladies pass their time at their
looms, embroidering vails and robes, surrounded by their
maids, which are always very numerous, in the same manner
as we find Andromache and Helen described. The description
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
vail that Helen throws over her face, is still fashionable ; and
I never see half a dozen of old bashaws (as I do very often),
with their reverend beards, sitting basking in the sun, but I
recollect good King Priam and his counselors. Their man-
ner of dancing is certainly the same that Diana is sung to have
danced on the banks of Eurotas. The great lady still leads
the dance, and is followed by a troop of young girls, who im-
itate her steps, and, if she sing, 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 skillful enough to lead ; these are the Grecian dances,
the Turkish being very different.
I should have told you, in the first place, that the Eastern
manner gives a great light; into many Scripture passages that
appear odd to us, their phrases being commonly what we
should call Scripture language. The vulgar Turk is very dif-
ferent from what is spoken at court, or among the people of
142 LETTERS TO AND
figure, who always mix so much Arabic and Persian in their
discourse, that it may very well be called another language.
And 'tis as ridiculous to make use of the expressions common-
ly used, in speaking to a great man or lady, as it would be to
speak broad Yorkshire or Somersetshire in the drawing-room.
Besides this distinction, they have what they call the sublime,
that is, a style proper for poetry, and which is the exact
Scripture style. I believe you will be pleased to see a genuine
example of this ; and I am very glad I have it in my power
to satisfy your curiosity, by sending you a faithful copy of the
verses that Ibrahim Pasha, the reigning favorite, has made for
the young princess, his contracted wife, whom he is not yet
permitted to visit without witnesses, though she is gone home
to his house. He is a man of wit and learning ; and whether
or no he is capable of writing good verse, you may be sure
that, on such an occasion, he would not want the assistance of
the best poets in the empire. Thus the verses may be looked
upon as a sample of their finest poetry ; and I don't doubt
you '11 be of my mind, that it is most wonderfully resembling
The Song of Solomon, which was also addressed to a royal
bride.
TURKISH VERSES ADDRESSED TO THE SULTANA,
ELDEST DAUGHTER OF ACHMET IIL
STANZA L
1. The nightingale now wanders in the vines :
Her passion is to seek roses.
2. I went down to admire the beauty of the vines :
The sweetness of your charms has ravished my soul.
3. Tour eyes are black and lovely,
. But wild and disdainful as those of a stag.*
* Sir W. Jones, in the preface to his Persian Grammar, objects to this
translation. The expression is merely analogous to the " Bowing " of
Homer.
FROM ALEXANDER POPE. 143
STANZA II.
1. The wished possession is delayed from day to day ;
The cruel Sultan Achrnet will not permit me
To see those cheeks, more vermillion than roses.
2. I dare not snatch one of your kisses :
The sweetness of your charms has ravished my souL
8. Tour eyes are black and lovely,
But wild and disdainful as those of a stag.
stanza in.
1. The wretched Ibrahim sighs in these verses :
One dart from your eyes has pierced thro' my heart.
2. Ah 1 when will the hour of possession arrive ?
Must I yet wait a long time ?
The sweetness of your charms has ravish'd my soul.
3. Ah, Sultana I stag-eyed — an angel among angels I
I desire — and my desire remains unsatisfied —
Can you take delight to prey upon my heart ?
stanza rv.
1. My cries pierce the heavens 1
My eyes are without sleep 1
Turn to me, Sultana — let me gaze on thy beauty.
2. Adieu — I go down to the grave.
If you call me — I return.
My heart is hot as sulphur ; sigh, and it will flame.
ii. Crown of my life ! fair light of my eyes 1
My Sultana I my princess ?
I rub my face against the earth — I am drowned in scalding tears-—
I rave 1
Have you no compassion ? Will you not turn to look upon me 1
I have taken abundance of pains to get these verses a literal
translation ; and if you were acquainted with my interpreters,
I might spare myself the trouble of assuring you that they
have received no poetical touches from their hands. In ray
144 LETTERS TO AND
opinion, allowing for the inevitable faults of a prose transla-
tion into a language so very different, there is a good deal of
beauty in them. The epithet of stag-eyed, though the sound
is not very agreeable in English, pleases me extremely ; and I
think it a very lively image of the fire and indifference in his
m Stress's eyes. Monsieur Boileau has very justly observed,
that we are never to judge of the elevation of an expression of
an ancient author by the sound it carries with us ; since it may
be extremely fine with them, when, at the same time, it appears
low or uncouth to us. You are so well acquainted with Homer,
you can not but have observed the same thing, and you must
have the same indulgence for all Oriental poetry.
The repetitions at the end of the two first stanzas are meant
for a sort of chorus, and are agreeable to the ancient manner
of writing. The music of the verses apparently changes in
the third stanza, where the burthen is altered ; and I think he
very artfully seems more passionate at the conclusion, as 'tis
natural for people to warm themselves by their own discourse,
especially on a subject in which one is deeply concerned ; 'tis
certainly far more touching than our modern custom of con-
cluding a song of passion with a turn which is inconsistent, with
it. The first verse is a description of the season of the year ;
all the country now being full of nightingales, whose amours
with roses is an Arabian fable, as well known here as any part
of Ovid among us, and is much the same as if an English
poem should begin by saying — " Now Philomela sings." Or
what if I turned the whole in to the style of English poetry, to
see how it would look ?
STANZA I.
Now Philomel renews her tender strain,
Indulging all the night her pleasing pain:
I sought the groves to hear the wanton sing,
There saw a face more beauteous than the spring.
Tour large stag-eyes, where thousand glories play,
As bright, as lively, but as wild as they.
FROM ALEXANDER POPE. I4h
STANZA II.
In vain I 'm promised such a heav'nly prize ;
Ah I cruel Sultan! who delay 'st my joys 1
While piercing charms transfix my am'rous heart,
I dare not snatch one kiss to ease the smart.
Those eyes! like, etc.
STANZA III.
Tour wretched lover in these lines complains ;
From those dear beauties rise his killing pains.
When will the hour of wished-for bliss arrive ?
Must I wait longer ? Can I wait and live ?
Ah ! bright Sultana ! maid divinely fair !
Can you, unpitying, see the pains I bear?
STANZA IV.
The heavens relenting, hear my piercing cries,
I loathe the light, and sleep forsakes my eyes ;
Turn thee, Sultana, ere thy lover dies :
Sinking to earth, I sigh the last adieu ;
Call me, my goddess, and my life renew.
My queen ! my angel ! my fond heart's desire !
I rave — my bosom burns with heavenly fire !
Pity that passion which thy charms inspire.
I have taken the liberty, in the second verse, of following
what I suppose the true sense of the author, though not liter-
ally expressed. By his saying, He went down to admire the
beauty of the vines, and her charms ravished his soul, I under-
stand a poetical fiction, of having first seen her in a garden,
where he was admiring the beauty of the spring. But I could
not forbear retaining the comparison of her eyes with those of
a stag, though, perhaps, the novelty of it may give it a bur-
lesque sound in our language. I can not determine upon the
whole how well I have succeeded in the translation, neither
do I think our English proper to express such violence of pas-
1
146 LETTERS TO AND
sion, which is very seldom felt among us. We want also
those compound words which are very frequent and strong in
the Turkish language.
You see I am pretty far gone in Oriental learning ; and to
say truth, I study very hard. I wish my studies may give me
an occasion of entertaining your curiosity, which will be the
utmost advantage hoped for from them by Yours, etc.
LETTER VII.
TO MR. POPE.
Belgrade Village, June 17, 0. S. 1717
I hope before this time you have received two or three of
my letters. I had yours but yesterday, though dated the
third of February, in which you suppose me to be dead and
buried. I have already let you know that I am still alive ;
but, to say truth, I look upon my present circumstances to be
exactly the same with those of departed spirits.
The heats of Constantinople have driven me to 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 me artificial ; but, I am as-
sured, is the pure work of nature, and 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 inhabited by the richest among
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 resemble 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 ig-
norance I am in of what passes among the living (which only
PROM ALEXANDER POPE. 147
comes to me by chance), and the great calmness with which I
receive it. Yet I have still a hankering after my friends and
acquaintances 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. I think Vir*
gil is of the same opinion, that in human souls there will still
be some remains of human passions.
Curae non ipsse in morte relinquunt.
And 'tis very necessary, to make a perfect Elysium, that there
should be a river Lethe, which I am not so happy as to find.
To say truth, I am sometimes very weary of the singing
and dancing, and sunshine, and wish for the smoke and im-
pertinencies in which you toil, though I endeavor to persuade
myself that I live in a more agreeable variety than you do ;
and . that Monday, setting of partridges — Tuesday, reading-
English — Wednesday, studying in the Turkish language (in
which, by the way, I am already very learned) — Thursday,
classical authors — Friday, spent in writing — Saturday, at my
needle — and Sunday, admitting of visits, and hearing of mu-
sic, is a better way of disposing of the week than — Monday,
at the drawing-room — Tuesday, Lady Mohun's — Wednesday,
at the opera — Thursday, the play — Friday, Mrs. Chetwynd's,
etc., a perpetual round of hearing the same scandal, and see-
ing the same follies acted over and over, which here affect
me no more than they do other dead people. I can now hear
of displeasing things with pity, and without indignation.
The reflection on the great gulf between you and me, cools
all news that come hither. I can neither be sensibly touched
with joy nor grief, when I consider that possibly the cause of
either is removed before the letter comes to my hands. But
(as I said before) this indolence does not extend to my few
148 LETTERS TO AND
friendships ; I am still warmly sensible of yours and Mr.
Congreve's, and desire to live in your remembrance, though
dead to all the world beside.
LETTER VIII.
FROM MR. POPE.
Madam,' — I could quarrel with you quite through this pa-
per, upon a period in yours, which bids me remember you
if possibly I can. You would have shown more knowledge
both of yourself and of me, had you bid me forget you if
possibly I could. When I do, may this hand (as the Scrip-
ture says) forget its cunning, and this heart its — folly, I was
going to say — but I mean its reason, and the most rational
sensation it ever had — that of your merit.
The poetical manner in which you paint some of the scenes
about you, makes me despise my native country, and sets me
on fire to fall into the dance about your fountain in Belgrade
village. I fancy myself, in my romantic thoughts and dis-
tant admiration of you, not unlike the man in the Alchymist,
that has a passion for the queen of the fairies ; I lie dream-
ing of you in moonshiny nights, exactly in the posture of
Endymion gaping for Cynthia in a picture ; and with just
such a surprise and rapture should I awake, if, after your
long revolutions were accomplished, you should at last come
rolling back again, smiling with all that gentleness and se-
renity peculiar to the moon and you, and gilding the same
mountains from which you first set out on your solemn,
melancholy journey. I am told that fortune (more just to us
than your virtue) will restore the most precious thing it ever
robbed us of. Some think it will be the only equivalent the
world affords for Pitt's diamond, so lately sent out of our
country; which, after you were gone, was accounted the
most valuable thing here. Adieu to that toy! let the costly
bauble be hung about the neck of the baby-king it belongs
FROM ALEXANDER POPE. 149
to, so England does but recover that jewel which was the wish
of all her sensible hearts, and the joy of all her discerning
eyes. I can keep no measures in speaking of this subject.
I see you already coming ; I feel you as you draw nearer ;
my heart leaps at your arrival. Let us have you from the
East, and the sun is at her service.
I write as if I were drunk ; the pleasure I take in thinking
of your return transports me beyond the bounds of common
sense and decency. You believe me, madam, if there be any
circumstance of chagrin in the occasion of that return, if
there be any public or private ill-fortune that may give you a
displeasure, I must still be ready to feel a part of it, notwith-
standing the joy I now express.
I have been mad enough to make all the inquiry I could at
what time you set out, and what route you were to take. If
Italy run yet in your thoughts, I hope you '11 see it in your
return. If I but knew you intended it, I 'd meet you there,
and travel back with you. I would fain behold the best and
brightest thing I know, in the scene of ancient virtue and
glory : I would fain see how you look on the very spot where
Curtius sacrificed himself for his country ; and observe what
difference there would be in your eyes when you ogled the
statue of Julius Csesar, and Marcus Aurelius. Allow me but
to sneak after you in your train, to fill my pockets with coins,
or to lug an old busto behind you, and I shall be proud be-
yond expression. Let people think, if they will, that I did
all this for the pleasure of treading on classic ground ; I would
whisper other reasons in your ear. The joy of following
your footsteps would as soon carry me to Mecca as to Rome ;
and let me tell you as a friend, if you are really disposed to
embrace the Mohammedan religion, I'll fly on pilgrimage
with you thither, with as good a heart and as sound devo-
tion as ever Jeffery Rudel, the Provencal poet, went after the
fine Countess of Tripoli to Jerusalem. If you never heard of
this Jeffery, I '11 assure you he deserves your acquaintance.
He lived in our Richard the First's time ; put on a pilgrim's
150 LETTERS TO AND
weed, took his voyage, and when he got ashore was just upon
the point of expiring. The Countess of Tripoli came to the
ship, took him by the hand ; he lifted up his eyes, said he
had been blest with a sight of her, he was satisfied, and so
departed this life. What did the Countess of Tripoli upon
this ? She made him a splendid funeral ; built him a tomb
of porphyry ; put his epitaph upon it in Arabic verse ; had
his sonnets curiously copied out, and illumined with letters
of gold ; was taken with melancholy, and turned nun. All
this, madam, you may depend upon for a truth, and I send
it to you in the very words of my author.
I don't expect all this should be punctually copied on
either side, but methinks something like it is done already.
The letters of gold, and the curious illumining of the sonnets,
was not a greater token of respect than I have paid to your
eclogues : they lie inclosed in a monument of red Turkey,
written in my fairest hand ; the gilded leaves are opened with
no less veneration than the pages of the sibyls ; like them,
locked up and concealed from all profane eyes ; none but
my own have beheld these sacred remains of yourself, and I
should think it as great a wickedness to divulge them as to
scatter abroad the ashes of my ancestors. As for the rest, if
I have not followed you to the ends of the earth, 'tis not my
fault ; if I had, I might possibly have died as gloriously as
Jeffery Rudel ; and if I had so died, you might probably have
done every thing for me that the Countess of Tripoli did, ex-
cept turning nun.
But since our romance is like to have a more fortunate con-
clusion, I desire you to take another course to express your
favor toward me ; I mean by bringing over the fair Circassian
we used to talk of. I was serious in that request, and will
prove it by paying for her, if you will lay out my money so
well for me. The thing shall be as secret as you please, and
the lady made another half of me, that is, both my mistress
and my servant, as I am both my own servant and my own
master. But I beg you to look oftener than you used to do
FROM ALEXANDER POPE. 151
in your glass, in order to choose me one I may like. If you
have any regard to my happiness, let there be something as
near as possible to that face ; but, if you please, the colors a
little less vivid, the eyes a little less bright (such as reflection
will show 'em) ; in short, let her be such a one as you seem
in your own eyes, that is, a good deal less amiable than you
are. Take care of this, if you have any regard to my quiet;
for otherwise, instead of being her master, I must be only her
slave.
LETTER IX.
FROM MR. POPE,
September 1.
Madam, — I have been (what I never was till now) in debt
to you for a letter some weeks. I was informed you were at
sea, and that 't was to no purpose to write till some news had
been heard of your arriving somewhere or other. Besides, I
have had a second dangerous illness, from which I was more
diligent to be recovered than from the first, having now some
hopes of seeing you again. If you make any tour in Italy, I
shall not easily forgive you for not acquainting me soon
enough to have met you there. I am very certain I can never
be polite unless I travel with you : and it is never to be re-
paired, the loss that Homer has sustained, for want of my
translating him in Asia. You will come hither full of criti-
cisms against a man who wanted nothing to be in the right
but to have kept you company ; you have no way of making
me amends but by continuing an Asiatic when you return to
me, whatever English airs you may put on to other people.
I prodigiously long for your sonnets, your remarks, your
Oriental learning ; but I long for nothing so much as your
Oriental self. You must of necessity be advanced . so far bach
into true nature and simplicity of manners by these three
years' residence in the east, that I shall look upon you as so
152 LETTERS TO AND
many years younger than you were, so much nearer innocence
(that is, truth) and infancy (that is, openness). I expect to see
your soul as much thinner dressed as your body ; and that
you have left off, as unwieldy and cumbersome, a great many
European habits. Without offense to your modesty be it
spoken, I have a burning desire to see your soul stark naked,
for I am confident 'tis the prettiest kind of white soul in the
universe. But I forget whom I am talking to ; you may pos-
sibly by this time believe, according to the prophet, that you
have none ; if so, show me that which corned next to a soul ;
you may easily put it upon a poor ignorant Christian for a
soul, and please him as well with it ; I mean your heart ;
Mohammed, I think, allows you hearts ; which (together with
fine eyes and other agreeable equivalents) are worth all the
souls on this side the world. But if I must be content with
seeing your body only, God send it to come quickly : I honor
it more than the diamond casket that held Homer's Iliads ;
for in the verj» twinkle of one eye of it there is more wit, and
in the very dimple of one cheek of it there is more meaning
than all the souls that ever were casually put into women
since men had the making of them.
I have a mind to fill the rest of this paper with an accident
that happened just under my eyes, and has made a great im-
pression upon me. I have just passed part of this summer at
an old romantic seat of my Lord Harcourt's, which he lent
me* It overlooks a • common-field, where, under the shade
of a hay-cock, sat two lovers, as constant as ever were found
in romance, beneath a spreading beech. The name of the
one (let it sound as it will) was John He wet, of the other
Sarah Drew. John was a well-set man about five and twenty ;
Sarah a brown woman of eighteen. John had for several
months borne the labor of the day in the same field with
Sarah ; when she milked, it was his morning and evening
charge to bring the cows to her pail. Their love was the talk,
but not the scandal, of the whole neighborhood ; for all they
* At Stanton-Harcourt, in Oxfordshire.
FROM ALEXANDER POPE. 153
aimed at was the blameless possession of each other in mar-
riage. It was but this very morning that he had obtained her
parents' consent, and it was but till the next week that they
were to wait to be happy. Perhaps this very day, in the in-
tervals of their work, they were talking of their wedding-
clothes ; and John was now matching several kinds of pop-
pies and field-flowers to her complexion, to make her a pres-
ent of knots for the day. While they were thus employed (it
was on the last of July), a terrible storm of thunder and
lightning arose, and drove the laborers to what shelter the
trees or hedges afforded. Sarah, frightened and out of breath,
sunk on a hay-cock, and John (who never separated from her)
sat by her side, having raked two or three heaps together to
secure her. Immediately there was heard so loud a crack as
if Heaven had burst asunder. The laborers, all solicitous for
each other's safety, called to one another : those that were
nearest our lovers, hearing no answer, stepped to the place
where they lay. They first saw a little smoke, and after, this
faithful pair — John, with one arm about his Sarah's neck, and
the other held over her face, as if to screen her from the
lightning, They were struck dead, and already grown stiff
and cold in this tender posture. There was no mark or dis-
coloring on their bodies, only that Sarah's eye-brow was a lit-
tle singed, and a small spot between her breasts. They were
buried the next day in one grave, in the parish of Stanton-
Harcourt, in Oxfordshire, where my Lord Harcourt, at my re-
quest, has erected a monument over them. Of the following
epitaphs which I made, the critics have chosen the godly one.
I like neither, but wish you had been in England to have done
this office better ; I think 't was what you could not have re-
fused me on so moving an occasion.
When Eastern lovers feed the fun'ral fire,
On the same pile their faithful fair expire ;
Here pitying Heav'n that virtue mutual found,
And blasted both, that it might neither wound.
Hearts so sincere th' Almighty saw well pleased,
Sent his own lightning, and the victims seized.
154 LETTERS TO AND
Think not, by rig'rous judgment seized,
A pair so faithful could expire ;
Victims so pure Heav'n saw, well pleased,
And snatched them in celestial fire.
n.
Live well, and fear no sudden fate :
"When God calls virtue to the grave,
Alike 'tis justice, soon or late,
Mercy alike to kill or save.
Virtue unmoved can hear the call,
And face the flash that melts the balk
Upon the whole, I can't think these people unhappy. The
greatest happiness, next to living as they would have done,
was to die as they did. The greatest honor people of this low
degree could have was to be remembered on a little monu-
ment ; unless you will give them another — that of being hon-
ored with a tear from the finest eyes in the world. I know
you have tenderness ; you must have it ; it is the very emana-
tion of good sense and virtue ; the finest minds, like the finest
metals, dissolve the easiest.
But when you are reflecting upon objects of pity, pray do
not forget one who had no sooner found out an object of the
highest esteem, than he was separated from it ; and who is
so very unhappy as not to be susceptible of consolation from
others, by being so miserably in the right as to think other
women what they really are. Such a one can't but be des-
perately fond of any creature that is quite different from these.
If the Circassian be utterly void of such honor as these have,
and such virtue as these boast of, I am content. I have de-
tested the sound of honest woman, and loving spouse, ever
since I heard the pretty name of Odaliche.
FROM ALEXANDER POPE. 15ft
LETTER X.
TO MR. POPE.
Dover, November 1, 0. S., 1718.
I have this minute received a letter of yours, sent me from
Paris. I believe and hope I shall very soon see both you and
Mr. Congreve ; but as I am here in an inn, where we stay to
regulate our march to London, bag and baggage, I shall em-
ploy some of my leisure time in answering that part of yours
that seems to require an answer.
I must applaud your good-nature in supposing that your
pastoral lovers (vulgarly called haymakers) would have lived
in everlasting joy and harmony, if the lightning had not inter-
rupted their scheme of happiness. I see no reason to imagine
that John Hughes and Sarah Drew were either wiser or more
virtuous than their neighbors. That a well-set man of twenty-
five should have a fancy to marry a brown woman of eighteen,
is nothing marvelous ; and I can not help thinking that, had
they married, their lives would have passed in the common
track with their fellow-parishioners. His endeavoring to
shield her from a storm, was a natural action, and what he
would have certainly done for his horse, if he had been in the
same situation. Neither am I of opinion that their sudden
death was a reward of their mutual virtue. You know the
Jews were reproved for thinking a village destroyed by fire
more wicked than those that had escaped the thunder. Time
and chance happen to all men. Since you desire me to try
my skill in an epitaph, I think the following lines perhaps
more just, though not so poetical as yours.
Here lie John Hughes and Sarah Drew ;
Perhaps you '11 say, what 's that to you ?
Believe me, friend, much may be said
On this poor couple that are dead.
On Sunday next they should have married ;
But see how oddly things are carried 1
156 LETTERS TO AND
On Thursday last it rained and lighten'd ;
These tender lovers sadly frighten'd,
Shelter'd beneath the cocking hay,
In hopes to pass the time away ;
But the bold thunder found them out
(Commission'd for that end no doubt),
And, seizing on their trembling breath,
Consign'd them to the shades of death.
"Who knows if 't was not kindly done ?
For had they seen the next year's sun,
A beaten wife and cuckold swain
Had jointly cursed the marriage chain :
Now they are happy in their doom,
For Pope has wrote upon their tomb.
I confess, these sentiments are not altogether so heroic as
yours ; but I hope you will forgive them in favor of the two
last lines. You see how much I esteem the honor you have
done them, though I am not very impatient to have the same 5
and had rather continue to be your stupid living humble serv-
ant, than be celebrated by all the pens in Europe.
I would write to Congreve, but suppose you will read this
to him if he inquires after me.
LETTER XI.
TO MR. POPE.
September 1, IT IT.
When I wrote to you last, Belgrade was in the hands of the
Turks ; but at this present moment, it has changed masters,
and is in the hands of the Imperialists. A janizary, who, in
nine days, and yet without any wings but what a panic terror
seems to have furnished, arrived at Constantinople from the
army of the Turks before Belgrade, brought Mr. Wortley the
news of a complete victoiy obtained by the Imperialists, com-
manded by Prince Eugene over the Ottoman troops. It is said
the Prince has discovered great conduct and valor in this action,
ALEXANDER POPE. 157
and I am particularly glad that the voice of glory and duty
has called him from the — (here several words of the manuscript
art effaced) Two days after the battle the town surrendered.
The consternation which this defeat has occasioned here, is
inexpressible ; and the Sultan apprehending a revolution from
the resentment and indignation of the people, fomented by
certain leaders, has begun his precautions, after the goodly
fashion of this blessed government, by ordering several per-
sons to be strangled who were the objects of his royal sus-
picion. He has also ordered his treasurer to advance some
months' pay to the janizaries, which seems the less necessary,
as their conduct has been bad in this campaign, and their
licentious ferocity seems pretty well tamed by the public con-
tempt. Such of them as return in straggling and fugitive
parties to the metropolis, have not spirit nor credit enough to
defend themselves from the insults of the mob ; the very chil-
dren taunt them, and the populace spit in their faces as they
pass. They refused during the battle to lend their assistance
to save the baggage and the military chest, which, however,
were defended by the bashaws and their retinue, while the
janizaries and spahis were nobly employed in plundering their
own camp.
You see here that I give you a very handsome return for
your obliging letter. You entertain me with a most agreeable
account of your amiable connections with men of letters and
taste, and of the delicious moments you pass in their society
under the rural shade ; and I exhibit to you in return, the
barbarous spectacle of Turks and Germans cutting one an-
other's throats. But what can you expect from such a
country as this, from which the Muses have fled, from which
letters seem eternally banished, and in which you see, in pri- \
vate scenes, nothing pursued as happiness but the refinements
of an indolent voluptuousness, and where those who act upon
the public theater live in uncertainty, suspicion, and terror !
Here pleasure, to which I am no enemy, when it is properly
seasoned and of a good composition, is surely of the cloying
158 LETTERS TO AND
kind. Veins of wit, elegant conversation, easy commerce, are
unknown among the Turks ; and yet they seem capable of all
these, if the vile spirit of their government did not stifle genius,
damp curiosity, and suppress a hundred passions, that em-
bellish and render life agreeable. The luscious passion of
the seraglio is the only one almost that is gratified here
to the full, but it is blended so with the surly spirit of des-
potism in one of the parties, and with the dejection and
anxiety which this spirit produces in the other, that to one of
my way of thinking it can not appear otherwise than as a very
mixed kind of enjoyment. The women here are not, indeed
so closely confined as many have related ; they enjoy a high
degree of liberty, even in the bosom, of servitude, and they
have methods of evasion and disguise that are very favorable
to gallantry ; but after all, they are still under uneasy appre-
hensions of being discovered ; and a discovery exposes them to
the most merciless rage of jealousy, which is here a monster
that can not be satiated but with blood. The magnificence and
riches that reign in the apartments of the ladies of fashion here
seem to be one of their chief pleasures, joined with their
retinue of female slaves, whose music, dancing and dress
amuse them highly : but there is such an air of form and stiff-
ness amid this grandeur, as hinders it from pleasing me at
long run, however I was dazzled with it at first sight. This
stiffness and formality of manners are peculiar to the Turkish
ladies ; for the Grecian belles are of quite another character
and complexion; with them pleasure appears in more engaging
forms, and their persons, manners, conversation, and amuse-
ments, are very far from being destitute of elegance and ease.
I received the news of Mr. Addison's being declared Secre-
tary of State with the less surprise in that I know that post
was almost offered to him before. At that time he declined
it, and I really believe that he would have done well to have
declined it now. Such a post as that, and such a wife as the
Countess, do not seem to be, in prudence, eligible for a man that
is asthmatic, and we may see the day when he will b& heartily
FROM ALEXANDER POPE. 159
glad to resign them both. It is well that he laid aside the
thoughts of the voluminous dictionary, of which I have heard
you or somebody else frequently make mention. But no
more on that subject ; I would not have said so much were I
not assured that this letter will come safe and unopened to
hand. I long much to tread upon English ground, that I may
see you and Mr. Congreve, who render that ground classic
ground ; nor will you refuse our present secretary a part of
that merit, whatever reasons you may have to be dissatisfied
with him in other respects. You are the three happiest poets
I ever heard of; one a Secretary of State, the other enjoying
leisure with dignity in two lucrative employments ; and you,
though your religious profession is an obstacle to court pro-
motion, and disqualifies you from filling civil employments,
have found the philosopher's stone, since by making the Iliad
pass through your poetical crucible into an English form,
without losing aught of its original beauty, you have drawn
ihe golden current of Pactolus to Twickenham. I call this
finding" the philosopher's stone, since you alone found out the
secret, and nobody else has got into it. Addison and Tickell
tried it, but their experiments failed ; and they lost, if not
their money, at least a certain portion of their fame in the
trial — while you touched the mantle of the divine bard, and
imbibed his spirit. I hope we shall have the Odyssey soon
from your happy hand, and I think I shall follow with singular
pleasure the traveler Ulysses, who was an observer of men
and manners, when he travels in your harmonious numbers.
I love him much better than the hot-headed son of Peleus,
who bullied his general, cried for his mistress, and so on. It
is true, the excellence of the Iliad does not depend upon his
merit or dignity, but I wish, nevertheless, that Homer had
chosen a hero somewhat less pettish and less fantastic : a per-
fect hero is chimerical and unnatural, and consequently unin-
structive ; but it is also true that while the epic hero ought to
be drawn with the infirmities that are the lot of humanity, he
ought never to be represented as extremely absurd. But it
160 LETTERS TO AND
becomes me ill to play the critic ; so I take my leave of you
for this time, and desire you will believe me, with the highest
esteem, Yours, etc.
LETTER XLT.
TO MR. POPE.
1118.
I have been running about Paris at a strange rate with
my sister, and strange sights have we seen. They are, at Last,
strange sights to me, for after having been accustomed to the
gravity of the Turks, I can scarcely look with an easy and
familiar aspect at the levity and agility of the airy phantoms
that are dancing about me here, and I often think that I am
at a puppet-show amid the representations of real life. I stare
prodigiously, but nobody remarks it, for every body stares
here ; staring is a la mode — there is a stare of attention and
interet, a stare of curiosity, a stare of expectation, a stare of
surprise, and it would greatly amuse you to see what trifling
objects excite all this staring. This staring would have rather
a solemn kind of air, were it not alleviated by grinning, for at
the end of a stare there comes always a grin, and very com-
monly the entrance of a gentleman or a lady into a room is
accompanied with a grin, which is designed to express com-
placence and social pleasure, but really shows nothing more
than a certain contortion of muscles that must make a
stranger laugh really, as they laugh artificially. The French
grin is equally remote from the cheerful serenity of a smile,
and the cordial mirth of an honest English horse-laugh. I
shall not perhaps stay here long enough to form a just idea of
French manners and characters, though this, I believe, would
require but little study, as there is no real depth in either. It
appears on a superficial view, to be a frivolous, restless, and
agreeable people. The Abbot is my guide, and I could not easily
light upon a better ; he tells me that here the women form
FROM ALEXANDER POPE. 161
the character of the men, and I am convinced in the per-
suasion of this by every company into which I enter. There
seems here to be no intermediate state between infancy and
manhood ; for as soon as the boy has cut his leading-strings,
he is set agog in the world ; the ladies are his tutors, they
make the first impressions, which generally remain, and they
render the men ridiculous by the imitation of their humors
and graces, so that dignity in manners is a rare thing here be-
fore the age of sixty. Does not King David say somewhere,
that Man walJceth in a vain show $ I think he does, and I
am sure this is peculiarly so of the Frenchman — but he walks
merrily and seems to enjoy the vision, and may he not there-
fore be esteemed more happy than many of our solid thinkers,
whose brows are furrowed by deep reflection, and whose wis-
dom is so often clothed with a rusty mantle of spleen and
vapors ?
What delights me most here is a view of the magnificence,
often accompanied with taste, that reigns in the king's palaces
and gardens ; for though I don't admire much the architect-
ure, in which there is great irregularity and want of propor-
tion, yet the statues, paintings, and other decorations afford
me high entertainment. One of the pieces of antiquity that
struck me most in the gardens of Versailles, was the famous
colossean statue of Jupiter, the workmanship of Myron, which
Mark Antony carried away from Samos, and Augustus or-
dered to be placed in the Capitol. It is of Parian marble, and
though it has suffered in the ruin of time, it still preserves
striking lines of majesty. But surely, if marble could feel,
the god would frown with a generous indignation to see him-
self transported from the Capitol into a French garden ; and
after having received the homage of the Eoman Emperors,
who laid their laurels at his feet when they returned from
their conquests, to behold now nothing but the frizzled beaus
passing by him with indifference.
I propose setting out soon from this place, so that you arc
to expect no more letters from this side of the water ; besides,
102 LETTERS TO ALEXANDER POPE.
I am hurried to death, and my head swims with that vast
variety of objects which I am obliged to view with such rapid-
ity, the shortness of my time not allowing me to examine
them at my leisure. There is here an excessive prodigality of
ornaments and decorations, that is just the opposite extreme to
what appears in our royal gardens ; this prodigality is owing
to the levity and inconstancy of the French taste, which al-
ways pants after something new, and thus heaps ornament
upon ornament without end or measure. It is time, however,
that I should put an end to my letter ; so I wish you good
night, and am, etc.
LETTERS TO THE COUNTESS OF MAR,
AT PARIS.
FROM 1720 TO 1727.
LETTER I.
Twickenham, 1720.
I have had no answer, dear sister, to a long letter that I
wrote to you a month ago ; however, I shall continue letting
you know, de temps en temps, what passes in this corner of
the world 'till you tell me 'tis disagreeable. I shall say little
of the death of our great minister, because the papers say so
much.* I suppose that the same faithful historians give you
regular accounts of the growth and spreading of the inocula-
tion for the small pox, which is become almost a general
practice, attended with great success. I pass my time in a
small snug set of dear intimates, and go very little into the
grand monde, which has always had my hearty contempt. I
see sometimes Mr. Congreve, and very seldom Mr. Pope, who
continues to embellish his house at Twickenham. He has
made a subterranean grotto, which he has furnished with
looking-glasses, 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 sti-
fled them here, and I beg they may die the same death at
Paris, and never go further than your closet :
* James Craggs, Esq., Secretary of State, died February 15, 1720,
aged 35.
164 LETTERS TO
1 Ah, frieixd, '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 Wortley casts her eyes.
" What are the gay parterre, the checker'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 sequester'd 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."*
My paper is done, and I beg you to send my lutestring of
what color you please.
LETTER E.
1722.
Dear Sister, — I am surprised at your silence, which has
been very long, and I am sure it is very tedious to me, I
have writ three times ; one of my letters I know you received
long since, for Charles Churchill told me so at the opera. At
this instant I am at Twickenham ; Mr. Wortley has pur-
chased the small habitation where you saw me. We propose
to make some small alterations. That and the education of
my daughter are my chief amusements. I hope yours is well,
et ne fait que croitre et embellir. I beg you would let me
hear soon from you ; and particularly if the approaching
coronation at Paris raises the price of diamonds. I have
some to sell, and can not dispose of them here. I am afraid
you have quite forgot my plain lutestring, which I am in
* In Pope's Works the last eight lines only are published as a frag-
ment. After his quarrel with Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, he dis-
ingenuously suppressed the compliment conveyed in the preceding.
THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 165
great want of, and I can hardly think you miss of opportuni-
ties to send it. At this dead season 'tis impossible to enter-
tain you with news ; and yet more impossible (with my dull-
ness) to entertain you without it. The kindest thing I can
do is to bring my letter to a speedy conclusion. I wish I
had some better way of showing you how sincerely I am
yours. I am sure I never will slip any occasion of convincing
you of it.
LETTER III.
Twickenham, 1123.
I do verily believe, my dear sister, that this is the twelfth
if not the thirteenth letter I have written since I had the
pleasure of hearing from you. It is an uncomfortable thing
to have precious time spent, and one's wit neglected in this
manner. Sometimes I think you are fallen into that utter
indifference for all things on this side the water, that you
have no more curiosity for the affairs of London than for
those of Pekin ; and if that be the case, 'tis downright imper-
tinence to trouble you with news. But I can not cast off the
affectionate concern I have for you, and consequently must put
you in mind of me whenever I have any opportunity. The
bearer of this epistle is our cousin,* and a consummate puppy,
as you will perceive at first sight ; his shoulder-knot last birth-
day made many a pretty gentleman's heart ache with envy,
and' his addresses have made Miss Howard the happiest of her
highness's honorable virgins ;f besides the glory of thrusting
the Earl of Deloraine from the post he held in her affections.
But his relations are so ill-bred as to be quite insensible of
the honor arising from this conquest, and fearing that so
much gallantry may conclude in captivity for life, pack him
* This cousin probably was Lord Fielding.
f Miss Howard was daughter of Colonel Philip Howard, and was
married, in 1726, to Henry Scott Earl of Deloraine, third son of James
Duke of Monmouth.
166 LETTERS TO
off to you, where 'tis to be hoped there is no such killing fair
as Miss Howard.
LETTER IV.
Catendish Square, 1723.
Dear Sister, — I have written to you twice since I received
yours in answer to that I sent by Mr. De Caylus, but I believe
none of what I send by the post ever come to your hands, uor
ever will while they .are directed to Mr. Waters, for reasons
that you may easily guess. I wish you would give me a safer
direction ; it is very seldom I can have the opportunity of a
private messenger, and it is very often that I have a mind to
write to my dear sister. If you have not heard of the Duchess
of Montagu's intended journey, you will be surprised at your
manner of receiving this, since I send it by one of her servants ;
she does not design to see any body nor any thing in Paris,
and talks of going from Montpelier to Italy. I have a tender
esteem for her, and am heartily concerned to lose her conversa-
tion, yet I can not condemn her resolution. I am yet in this
wicked town, but propose to leave it as soon as the Parliament
rises. Mrs. Murray and all her satellites have so seldom fallei
| in my way, I can say little about them. Your old friend Mrs.
Lowther is still fair and young, and in pale pink every night in
the parks ; but, after being highly in favor, poor I am in utter
disgrace, without my being able to guess wherefore, except
she fancied me the author or abettor of two vile ballads written
on her dying adventure, which I am so innocent of that I never
saw it.* A propos of ballads, a most delightful one is said or
sung in mo>t houses about our dearly-beloved plot, which has
been laid first to Pope and secondly to me, when God knows
we have neither of us wit enough to make it. Poets increase
and multiply to that stupendous degree, you see them at every
turn, even in embroidered coats and pink-colored top-knots ;
* Mrs. Lowther was a respectable woman, single, and, as it appears by
the text, not willing to own herself middle-aged.
THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 167
making verses is become almost as common as taking snuff, and
who can tell what miserable stuff people carry about iu their
pockets, and offer to all their acquaintances, and you know one
can not 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 dis-
ease, as they did last year for the plague with great success.
Dear sister, adieu. I have been very free in this letter, be-
cause I think I am sure of its going safe. I wish my night-gown
may do the same : I only choose that as most convenient to
you ; but if it was equally so, I had rather the money was laid
out in plain lutestring, if you could send me eight yards at a
time of different colors, designing it for linings ; but if this
scheme is impracticable, send me a night-gown a la mode.
LETTER V.
Twickenham, Oct. 20, 1723.
I am heartily sorry to have the pleasure of hearing from you
lessened by your complaints of uneasiness, which I wish with
all my soul I was capable of relieving, either by my letters or
any other way. My life passes in a kind of indolence which is
now and then awakened by agreeable moments ; but pleasures
are transitory, and the ground work of every thing in England
stupidity, which is certainly owing to the coldness of this vile
climate. I envy you the serene air of Paris, as well as many
other conveniences there : what between the things one can
not do, and the things one must not do, the time but dully
lingers on, though 1 make as good a shift as many of my
neighbors. To my great grief, some of my best friends have
been extremely ill ; and, in general, death and sickness have
never been more frequent than now. You may imagine poor
gallantry droops ; and, except in the elysian shades of Rich-
mond, there is no such thing as We or pleasure. It is said
168 LETTERS TO
there is a fair lady retired for having taken too much of it :
for my part they are not at all cooked to my taste ; and I
have very little share in the diversions there, which, except
seasoned with wit, or at least vivacity, will not go down with
me who have not altogether so voracious an appetite as 1 once
had : I intend, however, to shine and be fine on the birth-
night, and review the figures there.
I desire you would say something very pretty to your
daughter in my name ; notwithstanding the great gulf that is
[at present between us, I hope to wait on her to an opera one
time or other. I suppose you know our uncle Fielding * is
dead. I regret him prodigiously.
LETTER VI.
Oct. 31, 1723.
I write to you at this time piping hot from the birth -night ;
my brain warmed with all the agreeable ideas that fine clothes,
fine gentlemen, brisk tunes, and lively dances, can raise there.
It is to be hoped that my letter will entertain you : at least you
will certainly have the freshest account of all passages on that
glorious day. First you must know that I led up the ball s
which you'll stare at ; but w r hat is more, I believe in my con-
science I made one of the best figures there ; to say truth, people
are grown so extravagantly ugly that we old beauties are
forced to come out on show-days, to keep the court in counte-
nance. I saw Mrs. Murray there, through whose hands this
epistle will be conveyed ; I do not know whether she will make
the same complaint to you that I do. Mrs. West was with
her, who is a great prude, having but two lovers at a time ; I
think those are Lord Haddington and Mr. Lindsay ; the one
for use, the other for show.
* William Fielding, Esq., second son of William, Earl of Denbigh, Gen-
tleman of the Bed-chamber and Deputy-Comptroller of the Household, died
in September, 1723.
THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 169
The world improves in one virtue to a violent degree, I mean
plain-dealing. Hypocrisy being, as the Scripture declares, a
damnable sin, I hope our publicans and sinners will be saved
by the open profession of the contrary virtue. I was told by
a very good author, who is deep in the secret, that at this very
minute, there is a bill cooping up at a hunting-seat in Nor-
folk* to have not taken out of the commandments and
clapped into the creed, the ensuing session of Parliament. This
bold attempt for the liberty of the subject is wholly projected
by Mr. Walpole, who proposed it to the secret committee in
his parlor. William Young f seconded it, and answered for
all his acquaintance voting right to a man : Doddington j very
gravely objected that the obstinacy of human nature was such
that he feared when they had positive commandments to do so,
perhaps people would not commit adultery and bear false wit-
ness against their neighbors with the readiness and cheerful-
ness they do at present. This objection seemed to sink deep
into the minds of the greatest politicians at the board, and I
don't know whether the bill won't be dropped, though it is
certain it might be carried on with great ease, the world being
entirely " revenue du bagatelle" and honor, virtue, reputation,
etc. which we used to hear of in our nursery, is as much laid
aside and forgotten as crumpled ribbons.
LETTER VII.
Cavendish Square, 1724.
Dear Sister — I can not positively fix a time for my waiting
on you at Paris ; but I do verily believe I shall make a trip
thither, sooner or later. This town improves in gayety every
day ; the young people are younger than they used to be, and
all the old are growing young. Nothing is talked of but en-
* Houghton ; Mr. (afterward Sir Robert) Walpole's, then prime-minister,
t Sir William Young.
X George Bubb Doddington, afterward Lord Melcomb-Regn, whose
Diary has been published.
170 LETTERS TO
tsrtainments of gallantry by land and water, and we insensibly
begin to taste all the joys of arbitrary power. Politics are no
more ; nobody pretends to wince or kick under their burdens ;
but we go on cheerfully with our bells at our ears, ornamented
with ribbons, and highly contented with our present condition.
So much for the general state of the nation. The last pleas-
ure that fell in my way was Madame Sevigne's Letters ; very
pretty they are, but I assert, without the least vanity, that mine
will be full as entertaining forty years hence. I advise you$
therefore, to put none of them to the use of waste paper.
You say nothing to me of the change of your ministry ; I
thank you for your silence upon that subject ; I don't remem-
ber myself ever child enough to be concerned who reigned ir
any part of the earth.
LETTER VIH.
Twickenham, Jan. 1726.
Dear Sister — Having a few momentary spirits, I take pen
in hand, though 'tis impossible to have tenderness for you,
without having the spleen upon reading your letter, which will,
I hope, be received as a lawful excuse for the dullness of the
following lines ; and I plead (as I believe I have on different
occasions), that I should please you better if I loved you less.
My Lord Carleton* has left this transitory world, and disposed
of his estate as he did of his time, between Lady C f and
the Duchess of Q y.J Jewels to a great value he has
given, as he did his affections, first to the mother and then to
the daughter. He was taken ill in my company at a concert
at the Duchess of Marlborough's, and died two days after,
holding the fair Duchess by the hand, and being fed at the
* Henry Boyle, fifth son of Richard Earl of Orrery, was Secretary
of State to Queen Anne. Created Baron Carlton in IT 14, and died in
1725.
\ ClarendoD. f Queensberry.
THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 171
same time with a fine fat chicken ; thus dying as he had lived,
indulging his pleasures. Your friend Lady A. Bate man (every
body being acquainted with her affair) is grown discreet ; and
nobody talks of it now but his family, who are violently
piqued at his refusing a great fortune. Lady Gainsborough*
has stolen poor Lord Shaftesbury, aged fourteen, and chained
him for life to her daughter, upon pretence of having been in
love with her several years. But Lady Herveyf makes the
top figure in town, and is so good as to show twice a week at
the drawing-room, and twice more at the opera, for the enter-
tainment of the public. As for myself, having nothing to
say, I say nothing. I insensibly dwindle into a spectatress,
and lead a kind of — as it were. I wish you here every day ;
and see, in the mean time, Lady Stafford and the Duchess of
Montagu and Miss Skerret, and really speak to almost nobody
else, though I walk about every where. Adieu, dear sister ;
if my letters could be any consolation to you, I should think
my time best spent in writing.
When you buy the trifles that I desired of you, I fancy Mr.
Walpole will be so good as to give you opportunity of send-
ing them without trouble, if you make it your request and
tell him they are for me.
LETTER IX.
1726
I received yours, dear sister, this minute, and am very sorry
both for your past illness and affliction ; though, au bout du
compte, I don't know why filial piety should exceed fatherly
* Lady Gainsborough was Lady Dorothy Manners, second daughter
of John first Duke of Rutland. Her daughter, Lady Susanna, was the
first wife of Anthony fourth Earl of Shaftesbury. This marriage took
place in 1725.
f Mary, Daughter of Brigadier-general Nicholas Le Pel, formerly
Maid of Honor to the Princess of Wales, and Mistress of the Robes to
her Majesty Queen Caroline. Married Oct. 25, 1720.
172 LETTERS TO
fondness. So much by way of consolation. As to the manage-
ment at the time — I do verily believe, if my good aunt and
sister had been less fools, and my dear mother-in-law less mer-
cenary, things might have had a turn more to your advantage
and mine too ; when we meet, I will tell you many circum-
stances which would be tedious in a letter. I could not get
my sister Gower to join to act with me, and mamma and I
were in an actual scold when my poor father expired ; she has
shown a hardness of heart upon this occasion that would ap-
pear incredible to any body not capable of it themselves.
The addition to her jointure is, one way or other, £2000 per
annum ; so her good grace remains a passable rich widow,
and is already presented by the town with a variety of young
husbands ; but I believe her constitution is not good enough
to let her amorous inclinations get the better of her covetous.
******* ***
All I had to say to you was that my father expressed a
great deal of kindness to me at last, and even a desire of talk-
ing with me, which my lady duchess would not permit ; nor
my aunt and sister show any thing but a servile complaisance
to her. This is the abstract of what you desire to know, and
is now quite useless.
LETTER X.
Cavendish Square, 1126.
I am very sorry for your ill health, dear sister, but hope it is
so entirely past, that you have by this time forgot it. I never
was better in my life, nor ever passed my hours more agreeably ;
I ride between London and Twickenham perpetually, and
have little societies quite to my taste, and that is saying every
thing. I leave the great world to girls that know no better,
and do not think one bit the worse of myself for having out-
Jved a certain giddiness, which is sometimes excusable, but
never pleasing. Depend upon it, 'tis only the spleen that
THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 173
gives you those ideas ; you may have many delightful days to
come, and there is nothing more silly than to be too wise to
be happy :
If to be sad is to be wise,
I do most heartily despise
"Whatever Socrates has said,
Or Tully writ, or Montaigne read.
So much for philosophy. What do you say to Pelham's
marriage ?* There 's flame ! There 's constancy ! If I could
not employ my time better, I would write the history of their
loves in twelve tomes : Lord Hervey should die in her arms
like the poor King of Assyria, she should be sometimes carried
off by troops of Masques, and at other times blocked up in
the strong castles of the Bagnio ; but her honor should al-
ways remain inviolate by the strength of her own virtue, and
the friendship of the enchantress Mrs. Murray, till her happy
nuptials with her faithful Cyrus ; 'tis a thousand pities I have
not time for these vivacities. Here is a book come outf that
all our people of taste run mad about ; 'tis no less than the
united work of a dignified clergyman, an eminent physician,
and the first poet of the age ;£ and very wonderful it is ! —
great eloquence have they employed to prove themselves
beasts, and show such a veneration for horses, that since the
Essex Quaker, nobody has appeared so passionately devoted to
that species ; and to say truth, they talk of a stable with so
much warmth and affection I can not help suspecting some
very powerful motive at the bottom of it.
* Henry Pelham, only brother to his grace the Duke of Newcastle,
was married Oct. 17, 1726, to Lady Catherine, eldest daughter of John
second Duke of Rutland, by Catherine second daughter of William
L 3rd Russell, and sister to "Wriothesly Duke of Bedford.
f The Travels of Captain Lemuel Gulliver.
X Swift, Arbuthnot, and Pope.
174 LETTERS TO
LETTER XL
Cavendish Square, 1727.
This is a vile world, dear sister, and I can easily compre-
hend, that whether one is at Paris or London, one is stifled
with a certain mixture of fool and knave, that most people
are composed of. I would have patience with a parcel of
polite rogues, or your downright honest fools ; but father Adam
shines through his whole progeny. So much for our inside
— then our outward is so liable to ugliness and distempers
that we are perpetually plagued with feeling our own decays
and seeing those of other people. Yet, sixpennyworth of
common sense divided among a whole nation, would make
our lives roll away glibly enough ; but then we make laws,
and we follow customs. By the first we cut off our own pleas-
ures, and by the second we are answerable for the faults and
extravagances of others. All these things, and five hundred
more, convince me (as I have the most profound veneration
for the Author of nature) that we are here in an actual state
of punishment ; I am satisfied I have been one of the con-
demned ever since I was born ; and in submission to the
divine justice I don't at all doubt but I deserved it in some
pre-existent state. I will still hope that I am only in purga-
tory ; and that after whining -and grunting a certain number
of years, I shall be translated to some more happy sphere,
where virtue will be natural, and custom reasonable ; that is,
in short, where common sense will reign. I grow very devout,
as you see, and place all my hopes in the next life, being
totally persuaded of the nothingness of this. Don't you re-
member how miserable we were in the little parlor at Thoresby ?
we then thought marrying would put us at once into posses-
sion of all we wanted. Then came beins: with child, etc., and
you see what comes of being with child. Though, after all, I
am still of opinion that it is extremely silly to submit to ill
fortune. One should pluck a spirit, and live upon cordials
when one can have no other nourishment. These are my
8*
THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 175
present endeavors, and I run about, though I have five thou-
sand pins and needles running into my heart. I try to con-
sole myself with a small damsel,* who is at present every thing
I like — but, alas ! she is yet in a white frock. At fourteen,
she may run away with the butler : there 's one of the blessed
consequences of great disappointments ; you are not only hurt
by the thing present, but it cuts off all future hopes, and
makes your very expectations melancholy. Quelle vie ! ! !
LETTER XII.
Cavendish Square, 1727.
I can not deny but that I was very well diverted on the
coronation day. I saw the procession much at my ease, in a
house which I filled with my own company, and then got into
Westminster Hall without trouble, where it was very enter-
taining to observe the variety of airs that all meant the same
thing. The business of every walker there was to conceal
vanity and gain admiration. For these purposes some lan-
guished and others strutted ; but a visible satisfaction was
diffused over every countenance, as soon as the coronet was
clapped on the head. But she that drew the greatest number
of eyes, was indisputably Lady Orkney.f She exposed behind
a mixture of fat and wrinkles ; and before, a very considerable
protuberance which preceded her. Add to this, the inimitable
roll of her eyes, and her gray hairs which by good fortune
stood directly upright, and 'tis impossible to imagine a more
delightful spectacle. She had embellished all this with con-
siderable magnificence, which made her look as big again as
* Her daughter, afterward Countess of Bute.
\ Lady Orkney, whom Swift calls the wisest woman he ever knew,
must have been pretty old at the time of George the Second's corona-
tion, since, in spite of her ugliness, also commemorated by Swift, she
Was King William's declared mistress after the death of Queen Mary.
Mrs. Villiers originally, she married Lord Orkney, one of the sons of the
Duke and Duchess of Hamilton.
176 LETTERS TO
usual; and I should have thought her one of the largest
things of God's making if my Lady St. J n* had not dis-
played all her charms in honor of the day. The poor Duchess
of M sef crept along with a dozen of black snakes play-
ing round her face, and my Lady P J and (who is fallen
I away since her dismission from court) represented very finely
an Egyptian mummy embroidered over with hieroglyphics.
In general, I could not perceive but that the old were as well
pleased as the young ; and I, who dread growing wise more
than any thing in the world, was overjoyed to find that one
can never outlive one's vanity. I have never received the
long letter you talk of, and am afraid that you have only
fancied that you wrote it. Adieu, dear sister.
LETTER Xin.
Cavendish Square, 1727.
My Lady Stafford § set out toward France this morning, and
has carried half the pleasures of my life along with her ; I am
* St. John. f Montrose.
\ Portland, a Temple by birth, widow of Lord Berkeley of Stratton,
and secondly of Earl of Portland. She was his second wife, and had
by him two sons, who settled in Holland, and from whom descends the
Dutch branch of the Bentincks. George I. appointed her governess of
his grandchildren, when he took them away from their parent, upon
coming to an open breach with his son. The prince and princess one
day going to visit them, and the latter desiring to see her daughter ;
Lady Portland, with many expressions of respect, lamented that she
could not permit it, having his Majesty's strict orders to the contrary.
Upon this, the prince flew into such a rage that he would literally
and truly have actually kicked her out of the room, if the princess
had not thrown herself between them. Of course he made haste to
dismiss her as soon as he came to the crown.
§ Claude Charlotte, daughter of Philibert, Count of Grammont, (au-
thor of the celebrated Memoirs), and "La Belle Hamilton," eldest
daughter of Sir George Hamilton, Bart., was married to Henry Stafford
Howard, Earl of Staflord, at St. Germain-en-Laye, 1694.
THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 177
more stupid than I can describe, and am as full of moral re-
flections as either Cambray or Pascal. I think of nothing but
the nothingness of the good things of this world, the transito-
riness of its joys, the pungency of its sorrows, and many dis-
coveries that have been made these three thousand years, and
committed to print ever since the first erecting of presses. I
advise you, as the best thing you can do that day, let it hap-
pen as it will, to visit Lady Stafford ; she has the goodness to
carry with her a true-born Englishwoman, who is neither good
nor bad, nor capable of being either ; Lady Phil. Pratt by
name, of the Hamilton family, and who will be glad of your
acquaintance, and you can never be sorry for hers *
Peace or war, cross or pile, makes all the conversation ; this
town never was fuller, and, God be praised, some people brille
in it who brilled twenty years ago. My cousin Buller is of
that number, who is just what she was in all respects when
she inhabited Bond-street. The sprouts of this age are such
green withered things, 'tis a great comfort to us grown up
people ; I except my own daughter, who is to be the ornament
of the ensuing court. I beg you will exact from Lady Staf-
ford a particular of her perfections, which would sound sus-
pected from my hand ; at the same time I must do justice to
a little twig belonging to my sister Gower. Miss Jenny is
like the Duchess of Queensberry both in face and spirit. A
propos of family affairs : I had almost forgot our dear and
amiable cousin Lady Denbigh, who has blazed out all this
winter ; she has brought with her from Paris cart-loads of
ribbon, surprising fashion, and of a complexion of the last
edition, which naturally attracts all the she and he fools
in London ; and accordingly she is surrounded with a little
court of both, and keeps a Sunday assembly to show she has
learned to play at cards on that day. Lady Frances Fieldingf
f Lady Philippa Hamilton, daughter of James Earl of Abercora, and
wife of Dr. Pratt, Dean of Downe.
* Youngest daughter of Basil fourth Earl of Denbigh ; married to
Daniel seventh Earl of Winchelsea; died Sept. 17, 1734.
178 LETTERS TO
is really the prettiest woman in town, and has sense enough
to make one's heart ache to see her surrounded with such fools
as her relations are. The man in England that gives the great-
est pleasure, and the greatest pain, is a youth of royal blood,
with all his grandmother's beauty, wit, and good qualities. In
short, he is Nell Gwyn in person, with the sex altered, and
occasions such fracas among the ladies of gallantry that it
passes description. You'll stare to hear of her Grace of
Cleveland at the head of them.* If I was poetical I would
tell you —
The god of love, enraged to see
The nymph despiss his flame,
At dice and cards misspend her nights,
And slight a nobler game ;
For the neglect of offers past
And pride in days of yore,
He kindles up a fire at last,
That burns her at threescore.
A polish'd wile is smoothly spread
"Where whilome wrinkles lay ;
And glowing with an artful red,
She ogles at the play.
Along the Mall she softly sails,
In white and silver drcst ;
Her neck exposed to Eastern gales,
And jewels on her breast.
Her children banish'd, age forgot,
Lord Sidney is her care ;
And, what is much a happier lot,
Has hopes to be her heir.
This is all true history, though it is doggrel rhyme ; in good
earnest she has turned Lady D f and family out of doors
* Anne, daughter of Sir "W. Pulteney of Misterton, in the county of
Stafford; remarried to Philip Southcote, Esq. Died in 1746.
f Lady Grace Fitzroy, third daughter of Charles Duke of Cleveland;
married in 1725, to Henry first Earl of Darlington.
THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 179
to make room for him, and there he lies like leaf-gold upon a
pill ; there never was so violent and so indiscreet a passion.
Lady Stafford says nothing was ever like it, since Phaedra and
Hippolytus. " Lord ha' mercy ' upon us. See what we may
all come to 1"
LETTER XIV.
No datf .
I am always pleased to hear from you, dear sister, particu-
larly when you tell me you are well. I believe you will find
upon the whole my sense is right ; that air, exercise, and com-
pany are the best medicines, and physic and retirement good
for nothing but to break hearts and spoil constitutions. I was
glad to hear Mr. Remond's history from you, though the news-
papers had given it me en gros, and my Lady Stafford in de-
tail, some time before. I will tell you in return as well as I
can what happens among our acquaintances here. To begin
with family affairs ; the Duchess of Kingston grunts on as
usual, and I fear will put us in black bombazine soon, which
is a real grief to me. My aunt Cheyne makes all the money
she can of Lady Frances, and I fear will carry on those politics
to the last point, though the girl is such a fool 'tis no great
matter ; I am going within this half-hour to call her to court.
Our poor cousins, the Fieldings, are grown yet poorer by the
loss of all the money they had, which in their infinite wisdom
they put into the hands of a roguish broker, who has fairly
walked off with it.
180-184 LETTERS TO THE COUNTESS OP MAR.
LETTER XV.
1727.
My cousin is going to Paris, and I will not let her go
without a letter for you, my dear sister, though I never was
in a worse humor for writing. I am vexed to the blood by
my young rogue of a son, who has contrived at his age to
make himself the talk of the whole nation. He has gone
knight-erranting, God knows where ; and hitherto 'tis impos-
sible to find him. You may judge of my uneasiness by what
your own would be if dear Lady Fanny was lost. Nothing
that ever happened to me has troubled me so much ; I can
hardly speak or write of it with tolerable temper, and I own
it has changed mine to that degree I have a mind to cross the
water, to try what effect a new heaven and a new earth will
have upon my spirit. If I take this resolution, you shall hear
in a few posts. There can be no situation in life in which
the conversation of my dear sister will not administer some
comfort to me.
LETTERS
LADY MARY TO MR. WORTLEY,
DURING HER 8ECOND RESIDENCE ABROAD.
FROM 1739 TO 1761.
LETTERS FROM LADY MARY TO MR. WORTLEY.*
DURING- HER SECOND RESIDENCE ABROAD.
FROM 1739 TO 176 1.
LETTER I.
Calais, July 27, 1739.
I am safely arrived at Calais, and found myself better on
shipboard than 1 have been these six months ; not in the least
sick, though we had a very high sea, as you may imagine,
since we came over in two hours and three-quarters. My
servants behaved very well ; and Mary not in the least afraid,
but said she would be drowned very willingly with my lady-
ship. They ask me here extravagant prices for chaises, of
which there are great choice, both French and Italian : I have
at last bought one for fourteen guineas, of a man whom Mr.
Hall recommended to me. My things have been examined
and sealed at the Custom-house : they took from me a pound
of snuff, but did not open my*jewel boxes, which they let pass
* These letters to her husband show Lady Mary's wifely character
in a very agreeable light. That she had a warm esteem for his virtues
and reverenced his character, is evident in her letters to her daughter
as well as in this correspondence. Nor does it appear there was any
estrangement between Mr. "Wortley and herself, which caused her to
go abroad. Her letters prove her regard for him, and all she writes
indicate her confidence in his esteem for her, though his cold tempera
ment and cautious wisdom made her confine her expressions of affec-
tion to her daughter and sister. — Am. Ed.
LETTERS TO MR. WORTLEY.' 187
on my word, being things belonging to my dress. I set out
early to-morrow. I am very impatient to hear from you : I
could not stay for the post at Dover for fear of losing the tide.
I beg you would be so good as to order Mr. Kent to pack up
my side-saddle, and all the tackle belonging to it, in a box, to be
sent with my other things : if (as I hope) I recover my health
abroad so much as to ride, I can get none I shall like so well.
LETTER H.
Dijon, August 18. N". S., 1739.
I am at length arrived here very safely, and without any
bad accident ; and so much mended in my health that I am
surprised at it. France is so much improved, it would not be
known to be the same country we passed through twenty
years ago. Every thing I see speaks in praise of Cardinal
Fleury : the roads are all mended, and the greater part of
them paved as well as the streets of Paris, planted on both
sides like the roads in Holland ; and such good care taken
against robbers that you may cross the country with your
purse in your hand : but as to traveling incognita, I may as
well walk incognita in the Pall Mall. There is not any town
in France where there are not English, Scotch, or Irish fami-
lies established ; and I have met with people that have seen me
(though often such as I do not remember to have seen) in
every town I have passed through ; and I think the further I
go, the more acquaintances I meet. Here are in this town no
less than sixteen English families of fashion. Lord Mansel
lodges in the house with mo, and a daughter of Lord Bathurst's
(Mrs. Whitshed) is in the same street. The Duke of Rutland
is gone from hence some time ago, as Lady Peterborough told
me at St. Omer's ; which was one reason that determined me
to come here, thinking to be quiet ; but I find it impossible,
and that will make me leave the place, after the return of this
post The French are more changed than their road's ; in-
188 LETTERS TO
stead of pale, yellow faces, wrapped up in blankets, as we saw
them, the villages are all filled with fresh-colored lusty peas-
ants, in good clothes and clean linen. It is incredible what an
air of plenty and content is over the whole country. I hope
to hear, as soon as possible, that you are in good health.
LETTER in.
Venice, Sept. 25, 1739.
I am at length happily arrived here, I thank God ; I wish
it had been my original plan, which would have saved me
some money and fatigue ; though I have not much reason to
regret the last, since I am convinced it has greatly contributed
to the restoration of my health. I met nothing disagreeable
on my journey but too much company. I find (contrary to
the rest of the world) I did not think myself so considerable
as I am ; for I verily believe, if one of the pyramids of Egypt
had traveled it could not have been more followed ; and if
I had received all the visits that have been intended me, I
should have stopped at least two years in every town I came
through. I liked Milan so well that if I had not desired all
my letters to be directed hither, I think I should have been
tempted to stay there. One of the pleasures I found there
was the Borromean library, where all strangers have free ac-
cess ; and not only so, but liberty, on giving a note for it, to
take any printed book home with them. I saw several curious
manuscripts there ; and as a proof of my recovery, I went up
to the very top of the dome of the great church without any
assistance. I am now in a lodging on the Great Canal. Lady
P )mfret * is not yet arrived, but I expect her very soon ; and
* Henrietta Louisa, daughter and heir of Lord Chancellor Jeffries,
wife of Thomas Earl of Pomfret. She resided chiefly at Rome, where
she wrote the life of Vandyck. A part of the collection of marbles
made by Thomas, Earl of Arundel, having been purchased by "Will-
iam Earl of Pomfret, was given by her to the University of Oxford, i»
1T58.
MR. WORTLET. 189
if the air does not disagree with me, I intend seeing the car-
nival here. I hope your health continues, and that I shall
hear from you very soon.
LETTER IV.
Venice, Dec. 25, 0. S. 1739.
I received yours yesterday, dated D ecember 7. I find my health
very well here, notwithstanding the cold, which is very sharp,
but the sun shines as clear as at midsummer. I am treated
here with more distinction than I could possibly expect. I
went to see the ceremony of high mass celebrated by the
Doge, on Christmas eve. He appointed a gallery for me and
the Prince of Wolsembatch, where no other person was ad-
mitted but those of our company. A greater compliment
could not have been paid me if I had been a sovereign princess.
The Doge's niece (he having no lady) met me at the palace-
gate, and led me through the palace to the Church of St. Mark,
where the ceremony was performed in the pomp you know,
and we were not obliged to any act of adoration. The Elec-
toral Prince of Saxony is here in public, and makes a prodig-
ious expense. His governor is Count Wackerbart, son to that
Madame Wackerbart with whom I was so intimate at Vienna ;
on which account he shows me particular civilities, and obliges
his pupil to do the same. I was last night at an entertain-
ment made for him by the Signora Pisani Mocenigo, which
was one of the finest I ever saw, and he desired me to sit next
him in a great chair ; in short I have all the reason that can
be, to be satisfied with my treatment in this town * and I am
glad I met Lord Carlisle, who directed me hither.
I have so little correspondence at London, I should be pleased
to hear from you whatever happens among my acquaintance.
I am sorry for Mr. Pelham's misfortune ;* though 'tis long
* The death of his two sons on two following days, November 26,
28, 1739.
190 LETTERS TO
since that I have looked on the hopes of continuing a family
as one of the vainest of mortal prospects.
Tho' Solomon, with a thousand wives,
To get a wise successor strives ;
But one, and he a fool, survives.
LETTER V.
Yenice, June 1, 1740.
I wrote you a long letter yesterday, which I sent by a
private hand, who will see it safely delivered. It is impos-
sible to be better treated, I may even say more courted, than
I am here. I am very glad of your good fortune at London.
You may remember I have always told you it is in your
power to make the first figure in the House of Commons. As
to the bill, I perfectly remember the paying of it, which you
may easily believe when you inquire, that all auction bills
are paid at furthest within eight days after the sale : the date
of this is March 1, and I did not leave London till July 25 ;
and in that time have been at many other auctions, particu-
larly Lord Halifax's, which was a short time before my jour-
ney. This is not the first of Cock's mistakes ; he is famous
for making them, which are (he says) the fault of his serv-
ants. You seem to mention the regatta in a manner as if
you would be pleased with a ("escription of it. It is a race
of boats : they are accompanied by vessels which they call
piotes or bichones, that have a mind to display their magnifi-
cence ; they are a sort of machines adorned with all that
sculpture and gilding can do to make a shining appearance.
Several of them cost one thousand pounds sterling, and I be-
lieve none less than five hundred ; they are rowed by gondo-
liers dressed in rich habits, suitable to what they represent.
There were enough of them to look like a little fleet, and I
own I never saw a finer sight. It would be too long to de-
scribe every one in particular, I shall oaly name the princi-
MR. WORTLEY. 191
pal : the Signora Pisani Mocenigo's represented the Chariot
of the Night, drawn by four sea-horses, and showing the ris-
ing of the moon, accompanied with stars, the statues on each
side representing the hours to the number of twenty-four,
rowed by gondoliers in rich liveries, which were changed
three times, all of equal richness, and the decorations changed
also to the dawn of Aurora and the mid-day sun, the statues
being new dressed every time, the first in green, the second
time red, and the last blue, all equally laced with silver, there
being three races. Signor Soranto represented the kingdom
of Poland, with all the provinces and rivers in that dominion,
with a concert of the best instrumental music in rich Polish
habits ; the painting and gilding were exquisite in their kinds.
Signor Contarini's piote showed the liberal arts ; Apollo was
seated on the stern upon Mount Parnassus, Pegasus behind,
and the Muses seated round him : opposite was a figure rep-
resenting Painting, with Fame blowing her trumpet ; and on
each side Sculpture and Music in their proper dresses. The
Procurator Foscarini's was the chariot of Flora guided by
Cupids, and adorned with all sorts of flowers, rose-trees etc.
Signor Julio Contarini's represented the triumphs of Valor ;
Victory was on the stern, and all the ornaments warlike tro-
phies of every kind. Signor Correri's was the Adriatic Sea
receiving into her arms the Hope of Saxony. Signor Alvisio
Moncenigo's was the garden of Hesperides ; the whole fable
was represented by different statues. Signor Querini had
the chariot of Venus drawn by doves, so well done, they
seemed ready to fly upon the water ; the Loves and Graces
attendel her. Signor Paul Doria had the chariot of Diana,
who appeared hunting in a large wood ; the trees, hounds,
stag, and nymphs, all done naturally : the gondoliers dressed
like peasants attending the chase ; and Endymion, lying un-
der a large tree, gazing on the goddess. Signor Angelo Lab-
bia represented Poland crowning Saxony, waited on by the
Virtues and subject Provinces. Signer x^ngelo Molino was
Neptune, waited on by the Rivers. Signor Vicenzo Moiosi-
192 LETTERS TO
ni's piote showed the triumphs of Peace ; Discord being
chained at her feet, and she surrounded with the Pleasures, etc.
LETTER VI.
Florence, August 11, 1740.
This is a -very fine town, and I am much amused with
visiting the gallery, which I do not doubt you remember too
well to need any description of. Lord and Lady Pomfret
take pains to make the place agreeable to me, and I have
been visited by the greatest part of the people of quality.
Here is an opera which I have heard twice, but it is not so
fine either for voices or decorations as that at Venice. I am
very willing to be at Leghorn when my things arrive, which
I fear will hinder my visiting Rome this season, except they
come sooner than is generally expected. If I could go from
thence by sea to Naples with safety, I should prefer it to a
land journey, which I am told is very difficult ; and that it is
impossible I should stay there long, the people being entirely
unsociable. I do not desire much company, but would not
confine myself to a place where I could see none. I have
written to your daughter, directed to Scotland, this post.
LETTER VII.
Rome, October 24, 1740.
I arrived here in good health three days ago, and this is the
first post-day. I have taken a lodging for a month, which is
(as they tell me) but a short time to take a view of all the an-
tiquities, etc., that are to be seen. From hence I purpose to
set out for Naples. I am told by every body that I shall not
find it agreeable to reside in. I expect Lady Pomfret here in
a few days. It is summer here, and I left winter at Florence ;
the snows having begun to fail on the mountains. I shall
MR. WORTLEY. 193
probably see the new ceremony of the Pope's taking possession
of the Vatican, which is said to be the finest that is ever per-
formed at Rome. I have no news to send from hence. If
you would have me speak to any particular point, I beg you
will let me know it, and I will give you the best information
I am able.
LETTER VIII.
Rome, November 1, N. S., 1740.
I have now been here a week, and am very well diverted
with viewing the fine buildings, paintings, and antiquities. I
have neither made nor received one visit, nor sent word to any
body of my arrival, on purpose to avoid interruptions of that
sort. The weather is so fine that I walk every evening in a
different beautiful garden ; and I own I am charmed with what
I see of this town, though there yet remains a great deal more
to be seen. I purpose making a stay of a month, which shall
be entirely taken up in that employment, and then I will re-
move to Ki.ples, to avoid, if possible, feeling the winter. I do
not trouble you with any descriptions, since you have been
here, and I suppose very well remember every thing that is
worth remembering ; but (as I mentioned in my last) if you
would have me speak to any particular point, I will give you
the best information in my power. Direct your next letter
to Monsieur Belloni, Banquier, a Rome. He will take care
to deliver it to me, either here or at Naples. Letters are very
apt to miscarry, especially those to this place.
LETTER IX.
Naples, November 23, N. S., 1740.
I arrived here last night, after a very disagreeable journey.
f would not in my last give you any account of the present
state of Rome, knowing all letters are opened there ; but I can
9
194 LETTERS TO
not help mentioning what is more curious than all the antiqui-
ties, which is, that there is literally no money in the whole
town, where they follow Mr. Law's scheme, and live wholly
upon paper.
Belloni, who is the greatest banker not only of Eome but
all Italy, furnished me with fifty sequins, which he solemnly
swore was all the money he had in the house. They go to
market with paper, pay the lodgings with paper, and, in short,
there is no specie to be seen, which raises the price of every
thing to the utmost extravagance, nobody knowing what to
ask for their goods. It is said the present Pope (who has a
very good character) has declared he will endeavor a remedy,
though it is very difficult to find one. He was bred a law-
yer, and has passed the greatest part of his life in that pro-
fession ; and is so sensible of the misery of the state that he is
reported to have said that he never thought himself in want
till his elevation. He has no relations that he takes any no-
tice of; but the country belonging to him, which I have
passed, is almost uninhabited, and in a poverty beyond any
thing I ever saw. The kingdom of Naples appears gay and
flourishing, and the town so crowded with people that I have
with great difficulty got a very sorry lodging.
LETTER X.
Naples, Dec. 6, 1T40.
I heard last night the good news of the arrival of the ship
on which my things are loaded, at Leghorn : it would be easy
to have them conveyed hither : I like the climate extremely,
which is now so soft that I am actually sitting without any want
of a fire. I do not find the people so savage as they were rep-
resented to me. I have received visits from several of the
principal ladies ; and I think I could meet with as much com-
pany here as I desire ; but here is one article both disagreeable
and incommodious, which is the grandeur of the equipages.
MR. WORTLEY. 195
Two coaches, two running footmen, four other footmen, a
gentleman usher, and two pages, are as necessary here as the
attendance of a single servant is at London. All the Spanish
customs are observed very rigorously. I could content myself
with all of them, except this : but I see plainly, from my own
observation as well as intelligence, that it is not to be dispensed
with, which I am heartily vexed at.
The affairs of Europe are now so uncertain that it appears
reasonable to me to wait a little, before I fix my residence, that
I may not find myself in the theater of war, which is threatened
on all sides. I hope you have the continuation of your health ;
mine is very well established at present. The town lately d : s-
covered is at Portici, about three miles from this place. Sir ce
the first discovery, no care has been taken, and the ground
fallen in, so that the present passage to it is, as I am told by
every body, extremely dangerous, and for some time, nobody
ventures into it. I have been assured by some English gentle-
men, who were let down into it the last year, that the whole
account given in the newspapers is literally true. Probably
great curiosities might be found there; but there has been no
expense made, either by propping the ground or clearing away
into it ; and as the earth falls in daily, it will possibly be soon
stopped up as it was before. I wrote to you last post a par-
ticular account of my reasons for not choosing my residence
here, though the air is very agreeable to me, and I see I could
have as much company as I desire ; but I am persuaded the
climate is much changed since you knew it. The weather is now
very moist and misty, and has been so for a long time ; however
it is much softer than in any other place I know. I desire you
would direct to Monsieur Belloni, banker, at Rome : he will
forward your letters wherever I am ; the present uncertain situ-
ation of affairs all over Europe makes every correspondence
precarious.
19b LETTERS TO
LETTER XI.
Rome, Jan. 13, N. S., 1740-1.
I returned hither last night, after six weeks' stay at Naples ;
great part of that time was vainly taken up in endeavoring to
satisfy your curiosity and my own, in relation to the late dis-
covered town of Herculaneum. I waited eight days in hopes
of permission to see the pictures and other rarities taken from
thence, which are preserved in the king's palace at Portici ;
but I found it was to no purpose, his majesty keeping the key
in his own cabinet, which he would not part with, though the
Prince de Zathia (who is one of his favorites) I believe very
sincerely tried his interest to obtain it for me. He is son to
the Spanish embassador I knew at Venice, and both he and his
lady loaded me with civilities at Naples. The court in general
is more barbarous than any of the ancient Goths. One proof
of it, among many others, was melting down a beautiful copper
statue of a vestal found in this new ruin, to make medallions^
for the late solemn christening. The whole court follow the
Spanish customs and politics. I could say a good deal on this
subject if I thought my letter would come safe to your hands ;
the apprehension it may not, hinders my answering another
inquiry you make, concerning a family here, of which indeed I
can say little ; avoiding all commerce with those that frequent
it. Here are some young English travelers ; among them Lord
Strafford* behaves himself really very modestly and genteelly,
and has lost the pertness he acquired in his mother's assembly.
Lord Lincoln appears to have spirit and sense, and professes
great abhorrence of all measures destructive to the liberty of
* "William Wentworth, the fourth Earl of Strafford, married Lady
Anne, second daughter of John Duke of Argyll, sister of Lady Mary
Coke and Lady Betty Mackenzie. He built the south front of Went-
worth Castle, in Yorkshire, and was eminently skilled in architecture
and virtue. He enjoyed an intimate friendship with the last Lord Or-
ford, in the fifth volume of whose works his correspondence is pub-
lished from 1756 to 1790.
MR. W0RTLEY. 197
his country. I do not know how far the young men may be
corrupted on their return, but the majority of those I have seen
have seemed strongly in the same sentiment. Lady Newburgh'a
eldest daughter, whom I believe you may have seen at Lord
Westmoreland's, is married to Count Mahony, who is in great
figure at Naples : she was extremely obliging to me ; they made
a fine entertainment for me, carried me to the opera, and were
civil to me to the utmost of their power. If you should happen
to see Mrs. Bulkely, I wish you would make her some compli-
ment upon it. I received this day yours of the 20th and 28th
of November.
LETTER XII.
Leghorn, Feb. 25, N. S., 1740-1.
I arrived here last night, and have received this morning
the bill of seven hundred and five dollars, odd money.
I shall be a little more particular in my accounts from hence
than I durst be from Rome, where all the letters are opened
and often stopped. I hope you had mine, relating to the an-
tiquities in Naples. I shall now say something of the court of
Rome. The first minister, Cardinal Valenti, has one of the
best characters I ever heard of, though of no great birth, and
has made his fortune by an attachment to the Duchess of Sal-
viah. The present Pope is very much beloved, and seems de-
sirous to ease the people, and deliver them out of the miser-
able poverty they are reduced to. I will send you the history
of his elevation, as I had it from a very good hand, if it will be
any amusement to you. The English travelers at Rome be-
haved in general very discreetly. I have reason to speak well
of them, since they were all exceedingly obliging to me. It
may sound a little vain to say it, but they really paid a regular
court to me, as if I had been their queen, and their governess
told me that the desire of my approbation had a very great
influence on their conduct. While I staid there was neither
gaming nor any sort of extravagance. I used to preach to
198 LETTERS TO
them very freely, and they all thanked me for it. I shall sta)
some time in this town, where I expect Lady Pomfret. I think
I have answered every particular you seemed curious about.
If there be any other point you would have me speak of, I will
be as exact as I can.
LETTER XIII.
Tubin, April 11, 1H1.
The English politics are the general jest of all the nations I
have passed through ; and even those who profit by our folly
can not help laughing at our notorious blunders ; though they
are all persuaded that the minister does not act from weakness
but corruption, and that the Spanish gold influences his meas-
ures. I had a long discourse with Count Mahony on this sub-
ject, who said, very freely, that half the ships sent to the
coast of Naples, that have lain idle in our ports last summer,
would have frightened the Queen of Spain into a submission
to whatever terms we thought proper to impose. The people,
who are loaded with taxes, hate the Spanish government, of
which I had daily proofs, hearing them curse the English for
bringing their king to them, whenever they saw any of our
nation ; but I am not much surprised at the ignorance of our
ministers, after seeing what creatures they employ to send
them intelligence. Except Mr. Villette, at this court, there is
not one that has common sense ; I say this without prejudice,
all of them having been as civil and serviceable to me as they
could. I was told at Rome, and convinced of it by circum-
stances, that there have been great endeavors to raise up a
sham plot ; the person who told it me was an English anti-
quarian, who said he had been offered any money to send ac-
cusations. The truth is, he carried a letter, written by Mr.
Mann,* from Florence to that purpose to him, which he showed
in the English palace ; however, I believe he is a spy, and
* Sir Horace Mann.
MR. WORTLET. 199
made use of that stratagem to gain credit. This court makes
great preparations for war; the king is certainly uo bright
genius, but has great natural humanity ; his minister, who has
absolute power, is generally allowed to have sense ; as a proof
of it, he is not hated as the generality of ministers are. I have
seen neither of them, not going to court, because I will not be
at the trouble and expense of the dress, which is the same as
at Vienna. I sent my excuse by Mr. Villette, as I hear is
commonly practiced by ladies that are only passengers. I have
had a great number of visitors ; the nobility piquing them-
selves on civility to strangers. The weather is still exceed-
ingly cold, and I do not intend to move till I have the pros-
pect of a pleasant journey.
LETTER XIV.
Genoa, July 15, 1741.
It is so long since I have heard from you, that though I
hope your silence is occasioned by your being in the country,
yet I can not help being very uneasy, and in some apprehen-
sion that you are indisposed. I wrote you word, some time
ago, that I have taken a house here for the remainder of the
summer, and desired you would direct, recommande a Monsieur
Births, Consul de S, M. Britannique. I saw in the last
newspapers (which he sends me) the death of Lord Orford. I
am vexed at it, for the reasons you know, and recollect what
I've often heard you say, that it is impossible to judge what
is best for ourselves. I received yesterday the bill for ,
for which I return you thanks. If I wrote you all the politi-
cal stories I hear, I should have a great deal to say. A great
part is not true, and what I think so, I dare not mention, in
consideration of the various hands this paper must pass
through before it reaches you. Lord Lincoln* and Mr. Wal-
° Henry Clinton, Earl of Lincoln, married Catherine, daughter of
Henry Pelham, and was afterward Duke of Newcastle.
200 LETTERS TO
pole* (youngest son to Sir Robert) left this place two days
ago ; they visited me during their short stay ; they are gone to
Marseilles, and design passing some months in the south of
France. I have had a particular account of Lord Orford's
deathf from a very good hand, which he advanced by choice,
refusing all remedies till it was too late to make use of them.
There was a will found, dated 1728, in which he gave every
thing to my lady ; J which has affected her very much. Not-
withstanding the many reasons she had to complain of him, I
always thought there was more weakness than dishonesty in
his actions, and is a confirmation of the truth of that maxim
of Mr. Rochefoucault, un sot Tea pas assez d'etoffe pour etre
honnete homme.
LETTER XV.
Genoa, Aug. 25, N. S., 1741.
I received yours of the 27th July this morning. I had that
of March 19, which I answered very particularly the following
post, with many thanks for the increase of my allowance. It
appears to me that the letters I wrote between the 11th of
April and the 31st of May were lost, which I am not surprised
at. I was then at Turin, and that court in a very great con-
fusion, and extremely jealous of me, thinking I came to exam-
ine their conduct. I have some proof of this, which I do not
repeat, lest this should be stopped also.
The manners of Italy are so much changed since we were
here last, the alteration is scarcely credible. They say it has
been by the last war. The French, being masters, introduced
* Honorable Horace "Walpole, the last Earl of Orford, then on hia
travels.
f Robert, the second Earl of Orford, died in June 1741.
\ Margaret, daughter and sole heir of Samuel Rolle of Haynton, in
the county of Dorset, who married secondly the Hon. Sewallis Shirley,
fourth son of the first Earl Ferrers by his second wife Selina, daughter
of George Finch, of the City of London, Esq.
MR. WOETLEY. 201
all their customs, which were eagerly embraced by the ladies,
and I believe will never be laid aside ; yet the different govern-
ments make different manners in every state. You know,
though the republic is not rich, here are many private families
vastly so, and live at a great superfluous expense : all the peo-
ple of the first quality keep coaches as fine as the Speaker's,
and some of them two or three, though the streets are too nar-
row to use them in the town ; but they take the air in them, and
their chairs carry them to the gates. Their liveries are all
plain : gold or silver being forbidden to be worn within the
walls, the habits are all obliged to be black, but they wear ex-
ceedingly fine lace and linen ; and in their country-houses,
which are generally in the faubourg, they dress very richly,
and have extremely fine jewels. Here is nothing cheap but
houses. A palace fit for a prince may be hired for fifty pounds
per annum : I mean unfurnished. All games of chance are
strictly prohibited, and it seems to me the only law they do not
try to evade : they play at quadrille, picquet, etc., but not high.
Here are no regular public assemblies. I have been visited by
all of the first rank, and invited to several fine dinners, particu-
larly to the wedding of one of the House of Spinola, where there
were ninety-six sat down to table, and I think the entertainment
one of the finest I ever saw. There was the night following a
ball and supper for the same company, with the same profusion.
They tell me that all their great marriages are kept in the same
public manner. Nobody keeps more than two horses, all their
journeys being post ; the expense of them, including the coach
man, is (I am told) fifty pounds per annum. A chair is very
nearly as much ; I give eighteen francs a-week for mine. The
senators can converse with no strangers during the time of
their magistracy, which lasts two years. The number of serv-
ants is regulated, and almost every lady has the same, which
is two footmen, a gentleman-usher, and a page, who follow her
chair.
9*
202 LETTERS TO MR. WORTLET.
LETTER XVI.
Geneva, Oct. 12, 1741.
I arrived here last night, where I find every thing quite dif-
ferent from what it was represented to me : it is not the first
time it has so happened to me on my travels. Every thing is
as dear as it is at London. 'Tis true, as all equipages are
forbidden, that expense is entirely retrenched. I have been
visited this morning by some of the chiefs of the town, who
seem extremely good sort of people, which is their general
character ; very desirous of attracting strangers to inhabit with
them, and consequently very officious in all they imagine can
please them. The way of living is absolutely the reverse of
that in Italy. Here is no show, and a great deal of eating ;
there is all the magnificence imaginable, and no dinners but on
particular occasions ; yet the difference of the prices renders
the total expense very nearly equal. As I am not yet deter-
mined whether I shall make any considerable stay, I desire not
to have the money you intended me, till I ask for it. If you
have any curiosity for the present condition of any of the states
of Italy, I believe I can give yoil a truer account than perhaps
any other traveler can do, having always had the good fortune
of a sort of intimacy with the first persons in the governments
where I resided, and they not guarding themselves against the
observations of a woman, as they would have done from those
of a man.
LETTER XVE.
Chameery, Nov. 30, NT. S., 1741.
1 received this morning yours of October 26, which has
taken me out of the uneasiness of fearing for your health. I
suppose you know before this the Spaniards are landed at
different ports in Italy, etc. When I received early informa-
tion of the design, I had the charity to mention it to the En-
LETTER FROM MR. WORTLEY. 203
glish consul (without naming my informer) ; he laughed, and
answered it was impossible. This may serve for a small spe-
cimen of the general good intelligence our wise ministry have
of all foreign affairs. If you were acquainted with the people
whom they employ, you would not be surprised at it. Except
Mr. Villette at Turin (who is a very reasonable man), there is
not one of them who knows any thing more of the country
they inhabit than that they eat and sleep in it. I have wrote
you word that I left Geneva on the sharpness of the air, which
much disagreed with me. I find myself better here, though the
weather is very cold at present. Yet this situation is not sub-
ject to those terrible winds which reign at Geneva. I dare
write you no news, though I hear a great deal. Direct to me
at Chambery en Savoye, par Paris.
LETTER XVIII.
FROM MR. WORTLEY TO LADY MARY.
22d March, H41-2.
Our son embarked at Harwich on the 10th, after having
been in England about three months. I hear he avoided the
sharpers, and is grown a good manager of his money. But
his weakness is such that Mr. Gibson with much difficulty pre-
vailed with him to go back ; and he writ a letter as if he was
afraid he should come hither again unless he was soon advised
what to do. He declares as if he wanted to be in the army,
unless something more for his advantage is proposed, and I
have said to Mr. G. I will not oppose his going into the army
as a volunteer, but that I believe he may take some course
more to his advantage. I hear my Lord Carteret, with whom
he has been more than once, speaks well of his behavior. But
his obstinacy in staying here, and what he writes, inclines me
to think it will not be easy to persuade him to follow good ad-
vice. I can not imagine any body is so likely as yourself to
give an impartial account of him. Under this difficulty, I can
204 LETTER FROM
think of no better expedient than to advise him to apply to
you for leave to come to some place where you may converse
with him. If you appoint him to be at a place twenty miles
or further from that where you choose to reside, and order
him to go by a feigned name, you may easily reach him in a
post-chaise, and come back, after you have passed a week
where he is. And this you may do more than once, to make
a full trial of him. And I wish he might stay within a certain
distance of you, till you have given an account of him, and
have agreed to what is fixed between him and you.
He declares he sets his heart on being in England, but then
he should give me such proofs as I require that he is able to
persevere in behaving like a reasonable man. These proofs
may be agreed on between you and me, and I believe I shall
readily agree to what you shall think light.
I think you should say nothing to him but in the most calm
and gentle way possible, that he may be invited to open him-
self to you freely. He seems, I hear, shocked at your letter, in
which you complained of his not regarding the truth, though
I believe you made no mistake in it, unless your saying his
marriage could not be dissolved. He knows very well it may
by act of Parliament, which is what he means when he writes
he wants to be quit of his wife. He denies that he knew
Birtles to be nephew to Henshaw who lent the £200. As he
is commended by several here, and by more in Holland (who
perhaps .flatter him), it may be wrong to speak to him with
any show of warmth or anger.
I incline to think he has been made an enthusiast in Hol-
land, and you would do well to try thoroughly whether he is
in earnest, and likely to continue so. If he is, I need not
mention how much caution should be used in speaking to
him. I think, whatever his notions are, you would do well to
say nothing to him but what you would say before any com-,
pany.
I shall advise him by Mr. G. to go to Langres, or some place
near it, where he may wait for your answer to such letter as
MB. WORTLEY. 205
he writes for leave to come to any place you shall appoint
him.
I shall give you fuller instructions about him in a post or
two, if not by this. I hope this affair will not be very trouble-
some to you, as you can retire from him whenever you please.
lie shall not have much more money than is sufficient to
carry him to you. When you have furnished him with any,
it shall be made good to you.
To tell you fully what I judge of him from the variety of
accounts I have had, I incline to think he will for the future
avoid thieves, and be no ill manager of his money. These,
you will say, are great amendments. But I believe he will al-
ways appear a weak man. The single question seems to be
whether he will be one of those weak men that will follow
the advice of those who wish them well, or be governed by
his own fancies, or companions that will make a prey of him.
In Holland he seems to have followed the advice of Captain
Leutslager and other persons of good credit. I believe he has
been in no company here this last time but men of good
credit, and I hear he values himself upon it. I have not
heard so much as I hope I shall in a week, of the opinion of
those who conversed with him. If you have patience to
pass away hours with him, you will know him better than
any one.
I need not recommend to you the discoursing with him fully
upon his patience, and his observing his promises strictly.
Mr. Gibson says his whole deportment and conversation h
entirely different from what it was when he was here above
four years ago, and that he seems another man.
To give you all the light I can into him, I send you letters
writ to him by Captain Leutslager and others. I also send
you extracts of his own letters, to show you how he has acted
contrary to his professions. I doubt you will find him quite
obstinate for going into the army, unless he may be quite cer-
tain of mending his circumstances some other way. He may
perhaps speak of promises I made him by Mr. G. ; but I made
206 LETTER FROM MR. WORTLEY.
none, but that I would let him know by Mr. G. what I ad
vised him to do as preferable to his going to the army. What
I meant was his discoursing with you, if you allowed him,
and his following your advice.
That you may have the state of the case more fully, I send
you his letter to Mr. G., which came by the last mail, and a
copy of that which Mr. G. will send him to-morrow.
Mr. G. told me our son thought it hard usage that orders
should be given to confine him in Holland, and told Mr. G.
that whenever he kept much company it would be right to
get him confined, to prevent his going to the pillory or to the
gallows.
As he excuses his coming over by the uneasiness he was
under, I gave Mr. G. these words :
" The excuse of the uneasiness you should be under in doing
right, is the same excuse which is constantly used by all mur-
derers and robbers, and seems to have been taught you by the
infamous company by which you were influenced when you
were here above four years ago."
Mr. G. said these words were too strong for him to write,
and changed them for a paragraph of his own, by which he
says he means the same thing. He agreed it would be quite
right in you to use these strong words ; but you may do it in
a gentle way.
He may have more cunning than is imagined to gain his
points, and perhaps is not made uneasy by being abroad, and
may have little or no inclination to go into the army, but
thinks, to prevent it, I may give him some considerable ad-
vantage. If you seem not at all averse to his going, per-
haps he will of himself quit that scheme, and go into some
other that you may like better.
If you think it best he should make a campaign, you will
take care not to detain him too long. Perhaps you may re-
commend him to our minister at Turin, that he may serve in
the Sardinian forces, where, if he should do wrong, it will be
less known than if he did it in Flanders.
LETTERS TO MR. WORTLEY. 207
Perhaps, by another name, he might meet you unobserved
at Lyons, 01 Pont Beauvoisin. I need not mention that what-
ever money you put into his hands shall be repaid you at de-
mand. If he goes back to Holland, I suppose £20 is enough
for his charges.
I have yours of the 24th February. Lord and Lady Bute
seem tc live well together. They lost their son (who was
above a year old) on the 16th ; he had fits and a fever. The
surgeons say his brains were too large, and occasioned the fits.
LETTER XIX.
FROM LADY MAUY TO MR. WORTLEY.
Lyons, April 13, N. S., 1742.
I have this minute received four letters from you, dated
February 1, February 22, March 22, March 29th. I fancy
their lying so long in the post-office may proceed from your
forgetting to frank them, which I am informed is quite neces-
sary. I am very glad you have been prevailed on to let our
son take a commission ; if you had prevented it, he would
have always said, and perhaps thought, and persuaded other
people, you had hindered his rising in the world ; though I
am fully persuaded that he can never make a tolerable figure
in any station of life. When he was at Morins, on his first
leaving France, I then tried to prevail with him to serve the
emperor as volunteer ; and represented to him that a hand-
some behavior one campaign might go a great way in retriev-
ing his character ; and offered to use my influence with you
(which I said I had no doubt would succeed) to furnish him
with a handsome equipage. He then answered, he supposed
I wished him killed out of the way. I am afraid his pre-
tended reformation is not very sincere. I wish time may
prove me in the wrong. I here inclose the last letter I re-
ceived from him ; I answered it the following post, in these
words :
208 LETTERS TO
" I am veiy glad you resolve to continue obedient to your
father, and are sensible of bis goodness toward you. Mr.
Birtles showed me your letter to him, in which you inclosed
yours to me, where you speak to him as your friend, subscrib-
ing yourself his faithful humble servant. He was at Genoa
in his uncle's house when you were there, and well acquainted
with you ; though you seem ignorant of every thing relating
to him. I wish you would not make such sort of apologies
for any errors you may commit. I pray God your future be-
havior may redeem the past, which will be a great blessing to
your affectionate mother."
I have not since heard from him ; I suppose he knew not
what to say to so plain a detected falsehood. It is very dis-
agreeable to me to converse with one from whom I do not ex-
pect to hear a word of truth, and who, I am very sure, will
repeat many things that never passed in our conversation.
You see the most solemn assurances are not binding from
him, since he could come to London in opposition to your
commands, after having so frequently protested he would not
move a step but by your order. However, as you insist on*
my seeing him, I will do it, and think Valence the properest
town for that interview ; it is but two days' journey from
this place, it is in Dauphine. I arrived here Friday night,
having left Chambery on the report of the French designing
to come soon thither. So far is certain, that the governor had
given command for repairing the walls, etc. ; on which men
were actually employed when I came away. But the Court
of Turin is so politic and mysterious it is hard to judge ;
and I am apt to believe their designs change according to
circumstances.
I shall stay here till I have an answer to this letter. If
you order your son to go to Valence, I desire you would give
him a strict command of going by a feigned name. I do
not doubt your returning me whatever money I may give
him-; but as I believe if he receives money from me, he
will be making me frequent visits, it is clearly my opinion
MR. WORTLET,
209
that I should give him none. Whatever you may think
proper for his journey you may remit him.
I am very sorry for my daughter's loss, being sensible how
much it may affect her. I suppose it will be soon repaired.
It is a great pleasure to me when I hear she is happy. I
wrote to her last post, and will write again the next.
Siuce I wrote, I have looked every where for my son's letter,
which I find has been mislaid in the journey. There is
nothing more in it than long professions of doing nothing
but by your command ; and a positive assertion that he was
ignorant of Mr. Birtles's relation to the late consul.
Direct your next, recommande a Mr. Imbert, Banquier, a
Lyons.
LETTER XX.
Lyons, April 25, N. S., 1742.
On recollection (however inconvenient it may be to me), I
am not sorry to converse with my son. I shall at least have
the satisfaction of making a clear judgment of his behavior
and temper, which I shall deliver to you in the most sincere
and unprejudiced manner. You need not apprehend that I
shall speak to him in passion. I do not know that I ever
did in my life. I am not apt to be overheated in discourse,
and am so far prepared, even for the worst on his side, that I
think nothing he can say can alter the resolution I have taken
of treating him with calmness. Both reason and interest (were
I inclined to follow blindly the dictates of either) would deter-
mine me to wish. him your heir rather than a stranger ; but I
think myself obliged both by honor and by conscience, and
my regard for you. no way to deceive you ; and I confess,
hitherto I see nothing but falsehood and weakness through
his whole conduct. It is possible his person may be altered
since I saw him, but his figure then was very agreeable, and
his manner insinuating. I very well remember the professions
210 LETTERS TO
he made to me, and do not doubt he is lavish of them to other
people. Perhaps Lord Carteret may think him no ill match
for an ugly girl that sticks on his hands. The project of
breaking his marriage shows, at least, his devotion counterfeit,
since I am sensible it can not be done but by false witness.
His wife is not young enough to get gallants, nor rich enough to
buy them.
I made choice of Valence for our meeting as a town where
we are not likely to find any English, and he may, if he
pleases, be quite unknown, which is hardly possible to be in
any capital town either of France or Italy. Here are many
English of the trading sort of people, who are more likely to be
inquisitive and talkative than any other. Near Chamhery there
is a little colony of English, who have undertaken the work-
ing the mines in Savoy, in which they find very pure silver,
of which I have seen several cakes of about eighty ounces
each.
LETTER XXI.
Avignon, June 10, N. S., 1742.
I am just returned from passing two days with our son, of
whom I will give you the most exact account I am capable of.
He is so much altered in person, I should scarcely have known
him. He has entirely lost his beauty, and looks at least seven
years older than he did ; and the wildness that he always had
in his eyes is so much increased it is downright shocking, and
I am afraid will end fatally. He is grown fat, but he is still
genteel, and has an air of politeness that is agreeable. He
speaks French like a Frenchman, and has got all the fashion-
able expressions of that language, and a volubility of words
which he always had, and which I do not wonder should pass
for wit, with inconsiderate people. His behavior is perfectly-
civil, and I found him very submissive ; but in the main, no
way really improved in his understanding, which is exceed-
MR. WORTL'EY. 211
ingly weak; and I am convinced he will always be led by the
person he converses with either right or wrong, not being
capable of forming any fixed judgment of his own. As to his
enthusiasm, if he had it, I suppose he has already lost it; since
I could perceive no turn of it in all his conversation. But with
his head I believe it is possible to make him a monk one day
and a Turk three days after. He has a flattering, insinuating
manner, which naturally prejudices strangers in his favor.
He began to talk to me in the usual silly cant I have so often
heard from him, which I shortened by telling him I desired
not to be troubled with it ; that professions were of no use
where actions were expected ; and that the only thing could
give me hopes of a good conduct was regularity and truth. He
very readily agreed to all I said (as indeed he has always done
when he has not been hot-headed). I endeavored to convince
him how favorably he has been dealt with, his allowance
being much more than, had I been his father, I would have
given in the same case. The Prince of Hesse, who is now
married to the Princess of England, lived some years at Geneva
on £500 per annum. Lord Hervey sent his son at sixteen
thither, and to travel afterward, on no larger pension than
£200 ; and, though without a governor, he had reason enough,
not only to live within the compass of it, but carried home
little presents to his father and mother, which he showed me
at Turin. In short, I know there is no place so expensive
but a prudent single man may live in it on £300 per an-
num, and an extravagant one may run out ten thousand in
the cheapest. Had- you (said I to him) thought rightly, or
would have regarded the advice I gave you in all my letters,
while in the little town of Islestein, you would have laid up
£150 per annum ; you would now have had £750 in your
pocket, which would have almost paid your debts, and such
a management would have gained you the esteem of the reason-
able part of the world. I perceived this reflection, which he
had never made himself, had a very great weight with him.
He would have excused part of his follies, by saying Mr. G.
212 LETTERS TO
had told him it became Mr. W.'s son to live handsomely. I
answered, that whether Mr. G. had said so or no, the good
sense of the thing was no way altered by it; that the true
figure of a man was the opinion the world had of his sense and
probity, and not the idle expenses, which were only respected
by foolish and ignorant people ; that his case was particular,
he had but too publicly shown his inclination to vanities, and
the most becoming part he could now act would be owning
the ill use he had made of his father's indulgence, and pro-
fessing to endeavor to be no further expense to him, instead
of scandalous complaints, and being always at his last shirt
and last guinea, which any man of spirit would be ashamed to
own. I prevailed so far with him that he seemed very willing
to follow this advice ; and I gave him a paragraph to write to
G., which I suppose you will easily distinguish from the rest of
his letter. He asked me whether you had settled your estate.
I made answer that I did not doubt (like all other wise men)
you always had a will'by you ; but that you had certainly not
put any thing out of your power to change. On that he began
to insinuate that if I could prevail on you to settle the estate
on him, I might expect any thing from his gratitude. I made
him a very clear and positive answer in these words: "I
hope your father will outlive me, and if I should be so un-
fortunate to have it otherwise, I do not 'believe he will leave
me in your power. But was I sure of the contrary, no in-
terest, nor no necessity, shall ever make me act against my
honor and conscience ; and I plainly tell you that I will never
persuade your father to do any thing for you till I think you
deserve it." He answered by great promises of good behavior,
and economy. He is highly delighted with the prospect of
going into the army ; and mightily pleased with the good re-
ception he had from Lord Stair : though I find it amounts to
no more than telling him he was sorry he had already named
his aides-de-camp, and otherwise should have been glad of him
in that post. He says Lord Carteret has confirmed to him his
promise of a commission.
MR. WORTLEY. .213
The rest of his conversation was extremely gay. The va-
rious things he has seen has given him a superficial universal
knowledge. He really knows most of the modern languages,
and if I could believe him, can read Arabic, and has read the
Bible in Hebrew. He said it was impossible for him to avoid
going back to Paris ; but he promised me to lie but one night
there, and to go to a town six posts from thence on the Flan-
ders road, where he would wait your orders, and go by the
name of Mons. du Durand, a Dutch officer ; under which name
I saw him. These are the most material passages, and my
eyes are so much tired I can write no more at this time. I
gave him 240 livres for his journey.
LETTER XXII.
Oct. 18, 1743.
I received yours of September 21, 0. S., this day, October
18, N. S., and am always glad to hear of your health. I can
never be surprised at any sort of folly or extravagance of my
son. Immediately on leaving me at Orange, after the most
solemn promises of reformation, he went to Montelimart, which
is but one day's post from thence, where he behaved himself
with as much vanity and indiscretion as ever. I had my in-
telligence from people who did not- know my relation to him ;
and I do not trouble you with the particulars, thinking it
needless to expose his character to you, who are so well ac-
quainted with it. I am persuaded whoever protects him will
be very soon convinced of the impossibility of his behaving like
a rational creature.
LETTER XXin.
Avignon, Dec. 20, 1743
I received yours of the 24th of November, O. S., yesterday.
You may, perhaps, hear of a trifle which makes a great noise
214 LETTERS TO
iu this part of the world, which is that I am building ; but the
whole expense which I have contracted for is but twenty-six
pounds. You know the situation of this town is on the meet-
ing of the Rhone and Durance. On the one side of it within
the walls, was formerly a fortress built on a very high rock ;
they say it was destroyed by lightning : one of the towers was
left partly standing, the walls being a yard in thickness : this
was made use of for some time as a public mill, but the height
making it inconvenient for the carriage of meal, it has stood
useless many years. Last summer, in the hot evenings, I
walked often thither, where I always found a fresh breeze,
and the most beautiful land prospect I ever saw (except
Wharnclifte), being a view of the windings of two great
rivers, and overlooking the whole country, with part of Lan-
guedoc and Provence. I was so much charmed with it that I
said in company that if that old mill were mine I would turn
it into a belvidere ; my words were repeated, and the two con-
suls waited on me soon after, with a donation from the town
of the mill and the land about it ; I have added a dome to it,
and made it a little rotunda for the aforesaid sum. I have
also amused myself with patching up an inscription, which I
have communicated to the archbishop, who is much delighted
with it ; but it is not placed, and perhaps never will be.
* Hie, viator! sub Lare parvulo,
Maria hie est condita, hie jacet,
Defuncta humani laboris
Sorte, supervacuaque vita.
Nou indecora pauperie nitens,
Et non inerti nobilis otio,
Vanoque dilectis popello
Divitiis animosus hostis.
Possis et iliam dicere mortuam,
En terra jam nunc quantula sufficit !
* Lady Mary had the merit of applying Cowley's ■" Epitaphium
vivi auctoris," published in his works, of which this is a copy, with
grammatical alterations where necessary.
MR. WORTLEY. 215
Exempta sit curls, viator,
Terra sit ilia levis, precare!
Hie sparge flores, sparge breves rosas:
Nam vita gaudet mortua floribus:
Herbisque ocloratis corona
Vatis adhuc cinerem. caleatem.
LETTER XXIV.
Avignon Feb. 17, 1743-4.
I am sorry you have given yourself so much trouble about
the inscription. I find I expressed myself ill, if you under-
stood by my letter that it was already placed ; I never intended
it without your approbation, and then would have put it in
the inside of the dome. The word " pauperie" is meant, as is
shown by the whole line,
Non indecora pauperie nitens,
to be a life rather distant from ostentation than in poverty ;
and which very well answers to my way of living, which,
though decent, is far from the show which many families
make here.
LETTER XXV.
Avignon, June 8, 1745.
I have this day yours of the 8th of April, O. S., and at the
same time one from Lady Oxford, who has not received (as
she says) any from me since November, though I have written
several times.
I perfectly remember carrying back the manuscript you
mention, and delivering it to Lord Oxford. I never failed re-
turning to himself all the books he lent me. It is true, I
showed it to the Duchess of Montagu, but we read it together,
and I did not even leave it with her. I am not surprised that
216 LETTERS TO
in that vast quantity of manuscripts some should be lost or
mislaid, particularly knowing Lord Oxford to be careless of
them, easily lending, and as easily forgetting he had done it.
I remember I carried him once one finely illuminated, that,
when I delivered, he did not recollect he had lent to me,
though it was but a few days before. Wherever this is, I think
you need be in no pain about it. The verses are too bad to
be printed, excepting from malice, and since the death of
Pope I know nobody that is an enemy to either of us. I will
write to my son the first opportunity I have of doing it. By
the post it is impossible at this time. I have seen the French
list of the dead and wounded, in which he is not mentioned :
so that I suppose he has escaped. All letters, even directed to
Holland, are opened ; and I believe those to the army would
be stopped.
I know so little of English affairs, I am surprised to hear
uord Granville* has lost his power.
LETTER XXVI.
Brescia, Aug. 25, K S., 1746.
You will be surprised at the date of this letter, but Avignon
has been long disagreeable to me on many accounts, and now
more than ever, from the increase of Scotch and Irish rebels,
that chose it for their refuge, and are so highly protected by
the Vice-legate that it is impossible to go into any company
without hearing a conversation that is improper to be listened
to, and dangerous to contradict. The war with France hin-
dered my settling there for reasons I have already told you ;
and the difficulty of passing into Italy confined me, though I
* John Carteret, Earl Granville, was Secretary of State in 1720,
Lord- lieutenant of Ireland from 1724 to 1730; in 1742 Secretary of
State, which office he resigned in 1744. He was a third time appointed
Secretary of State in February 1746, and removed on the 14th of the
same month, to which circumstance this letter alludes.
MR. WORTLEY. 217
was always watching an opportunity of returning thither.
Fortune at length presented rne one.
I believe I wrote you word, when I was at Venice, that I
saw there the Count of Wacherbarth, who was governor to
the Prince of Saxony, and is a favorite of the King of Poland,
and the many civilities I received from him, as an old friend
of his mother's. About a month since, a gentleman of the
Bedchamber of the prince, who is a man of the first quality
in this province, I believe charged with some private commis-
sion from the Polish court, brought me a letter of recommend-
ation from Count Wacherbarth, which engaged ms to show
him what civilities lay in my power. In conversation I la-
mented to him the impossibility of my attempting a journey
to Italy where he was going. He offered me his protection,
and represented to me that if I would permit him to wait on
me, I might pass under the notion of a Venetian lady. In
short, I ventured upon it, which has succeeded very well,
though I met with more impediments in my journey than I
expected. We went by sea to Genoa, where I made a very
short stay, and saw nobody, having no passport from that
State, and fearing to be stopped if I were known. We took
post-chaise from thence the 16th of this month, and were
very much surprised to meet, on- the Briletta, the baggage of
the Spanish army, with a prodigious number of sick and wound-
ed soldiers and officers, who marched in a very great hurry.
The Count of Palazzo ordered his servants to say we were
in haste for the service of Don Philip, and without further ex-
amination they gave us place every where : notwithstanding
which the multitude of carriages and loaded mules which we
met in these narrow roads made it impossible for us to reach
Scravalli till it was near night. Our surprise was great to find,
coming out of that town, a large body of troops surrounding a
body of guards, in the midst of which was Don Philip iu
person, going a very round trot, looking down, and pale as
ashes. The army was in too much confusion to take notice of
us, and the night favoring us, we got into the town, but when
10
218 LETTERS TO
we came there, it was impossible to find any lodging, all the
inns being filled with wounded Spaniards. The Count went
to the governor, and asked a chamber for a Venetian lady,
which he granted very readily ; but there was nothing in it
but the bare walls, and in less than a quarter of an hour after
the whole house was empty both of furniture and people, the
governor flying into the citadel, and carrying with him all his
goods and family. We were forced to pass the night without
beds, or supper. About day-break the victorious Germans en-
tered the town. The Count went to wait on the generals, to
whom, I believe he had a commission. He told them my
name, and there was no sort of honor or civility they did not
pay me. They immediately ordered me a guard of hussars
(which was very necessary in the present disorder), and sent
me refreshments of all kinds. Next day I was visited by the
Prince of Baden Dourlach, the Prince Louestein, and all the
principal officers, with whom I passed for a heroine, show-
ing no uneasiness though the cannon of the citadel (where was
a Spanish garrison) played very briskly. I was forced to stay
there two days for want of post-horses, the post-master having
fled, with all his servants, and the Spaniards having levied all
the horses they could find. At length I set out from thence the
19th instant, with a strong escort of hussars, meeting with no
further accident on the road, except at the little town of Vo-
gherra, where they refused post-horses, till the hussars drew
their sabers. The 30th I arrived safe here. It is a very pretty
place, where I intend to repose myself at least during the re-
mainder of the summer. This journey has been very expens-
ive ; but I am very glad I have made it. I am now in a neutral
country, under the protection of Venice. The Doge is our old
friend Grimani, and I do not doubt meeting with all sort of
civility. When I set out I had so bad a fluxion on my eyes,
I was really afraid of losing them : they are now quite recov-
ered, and my health better than it has been for some time. I
hope yours continues good, and that you will always take care
of it. Direct for me at Brescia by way of Venice.
MR. WORTLEY. 219
LETTER XXVII.
Brescia, September 24, N. S., 1746.
I can no longer resist the desire I have to know what is be-
come of .* I have long suppressed it from a belief that
if there was any thing of good to be told, you would not fail
to give me the pleasure of hearing it. I find it now grows so
much upon me, that whatever I am to know, I think it would
be easier for me to support than the anxiety I suffer from my
doubts. I beg to be informed, and prepare myself for the
worst, with all the philosophy I have. At my time of life I
ought to be detached from a world which I am soon to leave ;
to be totally so is a vain endeavor, and perhaps there is vanity
in the endeavor : while we are human we must submit to
human infirmities, and sutler them in mind as well as body.
All that reflection and expeiience can do is to mitigate, we can
never extinguish, our passions. I call by that name every sen-
timent that is not founded upon reason, and own I can not just-
ify to mine the concern I feel for one who never gave me any
view of satisfaction.
This is too melancholy a subject to dwell upon. You com-
pliment me on the continuation of my spirits : 'tis true I try to
maintain them by every act I can, being sensible of the terrible
consequences of losing them. Young people are too apt to let
them sink on any disappointment. I have wrote to my daugh-
ter all the considerations I could think to lessen her affliction.
LETTER XXVIII.
Louvere, , 1747.
Yours of the 1st of December, 0. S., came to me this morn-
ing, Feb. 2, N. S. I hope your health continues good, since
you say nothing to the contrary.
* Her son.
220 LETTERS TO
The new opera at Brescia, I hear, is much applauded, and I
intend to see it before the end of the carnival. The people of
this province are much at their ease during the miseiies the
war occasions their neighbors, and employ all their time in
diversions.
We have hitherto had no winter, to the great sorrow of the
people here, who are in fear of wanting ice in the summer,
which is as necessary as bread. They also attribute a malignant
fever, which has carried off great numbers in the neighboring
towns, to the uncommon warmth of the air. It has not infected
this village, which they say has ever been free from any con-
tagious distemper. The method of treating the physician here,
I think, should be the same every where : they make it his in-
terest that the whole parish should be in good health, giving
him a stated pension, which is collected by a tax on every
house, on condition that he neither demands any fees, nor ever
refuses a visit either to rich or poor. This last article would
be very hard, if we had as many vaporish ladies as in England ;
but those imaginary ills are entirely unknown among us, and
the eager pursuit after every new piece of quackery that is in-
troduced. I can not help thinking that there is a fund of
credulity in mankind that must be employed somewhere, and
the money formerly given to the monks for the health of the
soul, is now thrown to doctors for the health of the body, and
generally with as little prospect of success.
LETTER XXIX.
Louvere, July 11, N. S., 1748.
Yours of June 7, 0. S., came to my hands but yesterday.
I am very much vexed and surprised at the miscarriage of
my letters. I have never failed answering both yours and
my daughter's the very next post after I received them. 1
began to suspect my servants put the franking money in their
pockets, and threw away the letters. I have been in the
MR. WORTLEY. 221
country this year and a half, though I continued to date from
Brescia, as the place to which I would have directed, being,
though not the nearest, the safest post-town. I send all my
packets thither, and will for the future inclose them to a
banker, who, I hope, will be more careful in forwarding
them.
I am glad my daughter's conduct satisfies the opinion I al-
ways had of her understanding. I do not wonder at her be-
ing well received in sets of company different from one another,
having myself preserved a long intimacy with the Duchesses
of Marlborough and Montagu, though they were at open war,
and perpetually talking of their complaints. I believe they
were both sensible I never betrayed either, each of them giv-
ing me the strongest proofs of confidence in the last conversa-
tions I had with them, which were the last I had in England.
What I think extraordinary, is my daughter's continuing so
many years agreeable to Lord Bute, Mr. Mackensie telling me,
the last time I saw him, that his brother frequently said among
his companions that he was still as much in love with his
wife as before he married her. If the Princess's favor lasts,
it may be of use to her family. I have often been dubious if
the seeming indifference of her highness's behavior was owing
to very good sense, or great insensibility. Should it be the
first, she will get the better of all her rivals, and probably one
day have a large share of power.
I am very much pleased that you accustom yourself to tea,
being persuaded that the moderate use of it is generally
wholesome. I have planted a great deal in my garden,
which is a fashion lately introduced in this country, and has
succeeded very well. I can not say it is as strong as the In-
dian, but it has the advantage of being fresher, and, at least,
unmixed.
I thank you for the copies of Sir Charles Hanbury's poetry,
which extremely entertained me. I find tar-water has suc-
ceeded to Ward's drop ; it is possible by this time that some
other quackery has taken the place of that ; the English are
222 LETTERS TO
easier than any other nation infatuated by the prospect of uni-
versal medicines ; nor is there any country in the world where
the doctors raise such immense fortunes. I attribute it to the
fund of credulity which is in all mankind. "We have no
longer faith in miracles and relics, and, therefore, with the
same fury, run after recipes and physicians. The- same money
which, three hundred years ago, was given for the health of
the soul, is now given for the health of the body, and by the
same sort of people, women and half-witted men. In the
country where they have shrines and images, quacks are de-
spised, and monks and confessors find their account in man-
aging the fear and hope which rule the actions of the multi-
tude.
LETTER XXX.
Padua, September 16, 1748.
I am informed that your health and sight are perfectly
good, which gives me courage to trouble you with a letter of
congratulation on a blessing that is equal to us both : I mean
the great and good character I hear from every body of Lord
Bute. It is a satisfaction I never hoped to have — a son that
does honor to his family. I am persuaded you are of my
opinion, and had rather be related to him than to any silly
duke in Christendom. Indeed, money (however considerable
the sum) in the hands of a fool, is as useless as if presented
to a monkey, and will as surely be scattered in the street. I
need not quote examples. My daughter is also generally es-
teemed, and I can not help communicating to you the pleasure
I receive whenever I hear her commended. I am afraid my
letter may be too long. This subject runs away with me. I
wish you many years' continuance of the health and spirits
I am told you now e'tjov.
MB. WORTLET. 223
LETTER XXXI.
Venice, Dec. 25, N. S., 1748.
I hope I have now regulated our correspondence in a man-
ner more safe than by Holland. I have sent a large collection
of letters to you and my daughter, which have all miscarried ;
neither have I one line from either for some months.
I was surprised not many days ago by a very extraordinary
visit : it was from the Duchess of Guastalla, who you know is
a princess of the house d'Armstadt, and reported to be near
marriage with the King of Sardinia. I confess it was an
honor I could easily have spared, she coming attended with the
greatest part of her court : her grand-master, who is brother
to Cardinal Valenti, the first lady of her bed-chamber, four
pages, and a long et cetera of inferior servants, beside her
guards. She entered with an easy French air, and told me,
since I would not oblige her by coming to her court, she was
resolved to come to me, and eat a salad of my raising, having
heard much fame of my gardening. You may imagine I gave
her as good a supper as I could. She was (or seemed to be)
extremely pleased with an English sack-posset of my ordering.
I owned to her fairly that my house was much at her service ;
but it was impossible for me to find beds for all her suite. She
said she intended to return when the moon rose, which was an
hour after midnight. In the mean time I sent for the violins to
entertain her attendants, who were very well pleased to dance)
while she and her grand-master and I played at picquet. She
pressed me extremely to return with her to her jointure-house,
where she now resides (all the furniture of Guastalla being
sold). I excused myself on not daring to venture in the cold
night fifteen miles, but promised I would not fail to pay her
my acknowledgments for the great honor her highness had
done me, in a very short time, and we parted very good fiiends.
She said she intended this spring to retire into her native
country. I did not take the liberty of mentioning to her the
report of her being in treaty with the King of Sardinia, though
224 LETTERS TO
it has been in the newspaper of Mantua ; but I found an op-
portunity of hinting it to Signor Gonzago, her grand-master,
who told me the duchess would not have been pleased to talk
of it, since, perhaps, there was nothing in it more than a friend-
ship that had long been between them, and since her widow-
hood the king sends her an express every day.
I believe you '11 wish this long story much shorter ; but I
think you seemed to desire me to lengthen my letters, and I
can have no greater pleasure than endeavoring to amuse you.
LETTER XXXII.
Gotolengo, April 24, 1749.
C. Mutius Sext : F.
P. Papilius, M. F.
Q. Mutius P. P.
M. Cornelius P. F.
1 1 1 1 vir. Turrim Ex D D.
Ad augendam Locavere.
Idemque Probavere.
This is a very fair inscription, in large characters, on a large
stone found in the pavement of the old church, and makes now
a part of the wall of the new one, which is now building. The
people here, who are as ignorant as their oxen, and live like
them on the product of their land, without any curiosity for
the history of it, would infer from thence that this town is of
Roman foundation, though the walls, which are yet the greatest
part standing (only the towers and battlements demolished),
are very plainly Gothic, and not one brick to be found any
where of Roman fabric, which is very easily distinguished. I
can easily believe their tradition, that the old church, which
was pulled down two years ago, being ready to drop, was a
pagan temple, and do not doubt it was a considerable town,
founded by the Goths, when they overran Italy. The fortifi-
cations were strong for that age : the ditch still remaining
MR. WORTLEY. 225
within the walls being very broad and deep, in which ran the
little river that is now before my house, and the moat turned
'nto gardens for the use of the town, the name of which being
Gotolengo, is a confirmation of my conjecture. The castle,
which certainly stood on the spot where my house does, being
on an eminence in the midst of the town, was probably de-
stroyed by fire. When I ordered the court to be leveled,
which was grown uneven by long neglect, there was found such
quantities of burnt bricks, that plainly showed the remains of
a considerable fire ; but whether by the enemy, or accidental,
I could get no information. They have no records, or parish
books, beyond the time of their coming under the Venetian
dominion, which is not much above three hundred years ago,
at which time they were, as they now are, a large village, being
two miles in circuit, and contains at present (as the curate told
me) two thousand communicants. The ladies of this neigh-
borhood that had given themselves the trouble and expense
of going to see Don Philip's entry into Parma, are returned,
according to the French saying, avec un pied de nez. As they
had none of them ever seen a court before, they had figured to
themselves prodigious scenes of gallantry and magnificence.
If I did not write by the post, I would tell you several par-
ticulars, that I believe would make you laugh. He is retired
into the country till the arrival of his princess, who is expected
in May next. I take the liberty of inclosing this to Lord Bute,
not knowing where to direct to him in London.
LETTER XXXHI.
Louvere, Oct. 19, N. S., 1753.
I think I know why our correspondence is so miserably
interrupted, and so many letters lost to and from England.
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
10*
226 LETTERS TO
answer that 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 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
cipher besides the date." He answered — " Ciphers were only
used by novices in politics, and it was very easy to write intel-
ligibly, under feigned names of persons and places, to a corre-
spondent, in such a manner as should be almost impossible to
be understood by any body else."
Thus I suppose my innocent epistles are severely scrutinized :
and when I talk of my grand-children, they are fancied to rep-
resent all the potentates of Europe. This is very provoking.
I confess there are good reasons for extraordinary caution at
this juncture ; but it is very hard I can not pass for being as
insignificant as I really am.
I heartily congratulate you on the recovery of your sight.
It is a blessing I prefer to life, and will seek for glasses when-
ever I am in a place where they are sold.
LETTER XXXIV.
Louvere, Dec. 19, N. S., 1754.
I received yours of October 6, yesterday, which gave me
great pleasure. I am flattered by finding that our sentiments
are the same in regard to Lord Bolingbroke's writings, as you
will see more clearly, if you ever have the long letter I have
w T rote to you on that subject. I believe he never read Horace,
or any other author, with a design of instructing himself, think-
ing he was born to give precepts, and not to follow them : at
least if he was not mad enough to have this opinion, he en-
deavored to impose it on the rest of the world. All his works,
MR. WORT LEY. 227
b«jing well considered, are little more than a panegyric on his
own universal genius ; many of his pretensions are 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 opinion that he never looked into
half the authors he quotes, and am much mistaken if he is not
obliged to M. Bayle for the generality of his criticisms ; for
which reason he affects to despise him, that he may steal from
him with the less suspicion. A diffuse style (though 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 overcharged with leaves bear
little fruit.
You do not mention Lord Orrery, or perhaps would not
throw away time in perusing that extraordinary work, ad-
dressed to a son, whom he educates with an intention that he
should be a first minister, and promises to pray to God for him
if ever he plays the knave in that station. I perceive that he
has already been honored with five editions. I wish that en-
couragement may prevail with him to give the world more
memoirs. I am resolved to read them all, though they should
multiply to as many tomes as Erasmus.
Here are no newspapers to be had but those printed under
this government; consequently I never learn the births or
deaths of private persons. I was ignorant of that of my poor
friend the Duchess of Bolton, when my daughter's last letter
told me the death of the duke,* and the jointure he has left
his second duchess.
I am very glad your health is so good. May that and every
other blessing be ever yours.
* He died August 26, 1754. His second wife was Lavinia Fenton,
the celebrated Polly Peachum in Gay's Beggar's Opera, whom he mar-
ried in 1751.
228 LETTERS TO
LETTER XXXV.
Venice, December 11, 1758.
, I assure you I live as agreeably here as any stranger in mj X.
circumstances possibly can do ; and, indeed, a repetition of
all the civilities I have received here would sound more like
vanity than truth, I am sensible that I owe a great part of
them to Grimani, who is in the first esteem and authority in
this republic ; and, as he takes pains to appear my friend, his
relations and allies, of both sexes (who are the most consider-
able people here), endeavor to oblige me in all sorts of ways.
The carnival is expected to be more brilliant than common,
from the great concourse of noble strangers. The Princess
of Holstein and the Prince of Wol fen buttle (nephew of the
empress) are already arrived, and the Electoral Prince of Sax-
ony is expected next week. If my age and humor would per-
mit me much pleasure in public amusements, here are a great
variety of them. I take as little share of them .as I can.
Frui paratis et valido rnihi
Latoe dories, et pre cor integra
Cum mente, nee turpem senectam
Degere, nee cithara carentem.
Horace, Odes, L. 1, 0. 31.
You see I have got a Horace, which is borrowed of the
consul, who is a good scholar ; but I am very impatient for
my own books. I could wish you to send me the cushions
that were used at Constantinople ; they would be very useful
to me here. As to what regards , I have long since fixed
my opinion concerning him. Indeed, I am not insensible of
the misfortune, but I look upon it as the loss of a limb, which
should cease to give solicitude by being irretrievable.
Lord Brudenel* is here, and appears to be in an extremely
bad state of health, and unwilling to return to England, being
* John Lord Brudenel, eldest son of George Earl of Cardigan.
MR. WORTLET. 229
apprehensive of the air. I fear his friends will have the af-
fliction of losing him, as he seems highly disposed, if not ac-
tually fallen into a consumption. I have had a letter from
Mr. Mackensie, who is excessively liked at Turin. I can not
contrive to go there, but heartily wish I could contrive to see
him and Lady Betty in some other place. I am determined,
on account of my health, to take some little jaunt next
spring ; perhaps on the side of the Tyrol, which I have never
seen, but hear it is an exceedingly fine country. To say truth,
I am tempted by the letters of Lady F. Stewart and Sir James.
I never knew people more to my taste. They reside in a lit-
tle town, only two days' journey from Padoua, where it will
be asy to find a lodging for the summer months, and I am
sure of being pleased in their company. I have found, where-
ever I have traveled, that the pleasantest spots of ground
have been in the valleys, which are encompassed with high
mountains.
LETTER XXXVI.
Venice, February 24, 1759.
I return you many thanks for yours of the 5th instant. I
never have received any in so short a time from England. I
am very sincerely, heartily, glad to hear of your health, but
will not trouble you with reading a long letter, which may
be uneasy to you, when I write so often and fully to our
daughter. I have not heard from her for some time ; I hope
her silence is not occasioned by any indisposition. I hear her
and her family praised very much by every Briton that ar-
rives here. I need not say what comfort I receive from it. It
is now finer weather than I ever saw in the season (Naples ex-
cepted) : the sun shines with as much warmth as in May. I
walk in my little garden every morning. I hope ydu do the
same at Bath.
The carnival is now over, and we have no more ridotto or
230 LETTERS OP
theatrical amusements. Diversions have taken a more private,
perhaps a more agreeable, turn here. It is the fashion to
have little houses of retreat, where the lady goes every even-
ing, at seven or eight o'clock, and is visited by all her inti-
mates of both sexes, which commonly amount to seventy or
eighty persons, where they have play, concerts of music, some-
times dancing, and always a handsome collation. I believe
you will think these little assemblies very pleasing ; they
really are so. Whoever is well acquainted with Venice must
own that it is the center of pleasure ; not so noisy, and, in my
opinion, more refined than Paris.
LETTER XXXVE*
TO LADY MARY PIERREPONT.
Saturday morning. — IT 12.
Every time you see me, gives me a fresh proof of your not
caring for me : yet I beg you will meet me once more. How
could you pay me that great compliment of your loving the
country for life, when you would not stay with me a few min-
utes longer ? Who is the happy man you went to ? I agree
with you, I am often so dull, I can not explain my meaning ;
but will not own that the expression was so very obscure, when
I said if I had you, I should act against my opinion. Why
need I add, I see what is best for me, I condemn what I do,
and yet I fear I must do it. If you can't find it out, that
* It was my intention to include the two following letters in ths
Biography of Lady Mary, as giving the clearest notion of the idiosyn
crasies of the lovers — those peculiarities that may be traced in their in-
tercourse as husband and wife— which can now be obtained. For thi9
reason the letters were omitted in the first part of the volume. After
that was stereotyped, I found the Biographical Sketch would be too
long for the space reserved ; therefore these letters are placed here to
draw more particular attention. The reader can easily find their proper
place in the first correspondence, between the Letters VIII. and IX.,
page 31. — Am. Ed.
COURTSHIP. 231
you are going to be unhappy, ask your sister, who agrees with
you in every thing else, and she will convince you of your
rashness in this. She knows you don't care for me, and that
you will like me less and less every year ; perhaps every day
of your life. You may, with a little care, please another as
well, and make him less timorous. It is possible I too may
please some of those that have but little acquaintance ; and if
I should be preferred by a woman, for being the first among
her companions, it would give me as much pleasure as if I
were the first man in the world. Think again, and prevent a
misfortune from falling on both of us.
When you are at leisure, I shall be as ready to end all, as
I was last night, when I disobliged one, that will do me hurt,
by crossing his desires, rather than fail of meeting you. Had
I imagined you could have left me, without finishing, I had
not seen you. Now you have been so free before Mrs. Steele,* 1
you may call upon her, or send for her, to-morrow, or next
day. Let her dine with you, or go to visit shops, Hyde Park,
or other diversions. You may bring her home. I can be in
the house, reading, as I often am, though the master is abroad.
If you will have her visit you first, I will get her to go to-
morrow. I think a man, or a woman, is under no engagement
till the writings are sealed ; but it looks like indiscretion even
to begin a treaty, without a probability of concluding it.
When you hear of all my objections to you, and to myself,
you will resolve against me. Last night you were much upon
the reserve : I see you can never be thoroughly intimate with
me ; 'tis because you have no pleasure in it. You can be
easy, and complaisant, as you have sometimes told me ; but
never think that enough to make me easy, unless you refuse
me.
Write a line this evening, or early to-morrow. If I don't
speak plain, do you understand what I write ? Tell me how
to mend the style, if the fault is in that. If the characters
are not plain, I can easily mend them. I always comprehend
* The wife of Mr. (afterward Sir Richard) Steele.
232 LETTERS OF
your expressions, but would give s great deal to know what
passes in your heart.
In you I might possess youth, beauty, and all things that
can charm. It is possible that they may strike me less after a
time ; but I may then consider I have once enjoyed them in
perfection ; that they would have decayed as soon in any
other. You see this is not your case. You will think you
might have been happier. Never engage with a man, unless
you propose to yourself the highest satisfaction from him and
none other. E. W. Montagu.
LETTER XXXVni.
(THE ASTSWEB.)
TO E. W. MONTAGU, ESQ.
Tuesday night.
I received both your Monday letters before I writ the in-
closed, which, however, I send you. The kind letter was writ
and sent Friday morning, and I did not receive yours till Sat-
urday noon. To speak truth, you would never have had it,
there were so many things in yours to put me out of humor.
Thus, you see, it was on no design to repair any thing that
offended you. You only show me how industrious you are
to find faults in me ; — why will you not suffer me to be pleased
with you ?
I would see you if 1 could (though perhaps it may be
wrong) ; but, in the way that I am here, 'tis impossible. I
can't come to town, but in company with my sister-in-law ; I
can carry her nowhere but where she pleases ; or, if I could,
[ would trust her with nothing. I could not walk out alone,
without giving suspicion to the whole family ; should I be
watched, and seen to meet a man — judge of the consequences !
You speak of treating with my father, as if you believed he
would come to terms afterward. I will not suffer you to re-
main in the thought, however advantageous it might be to
me ; I will deceive you in nothing. I am fully persuaded he
will never hear of terms afterward. You may say, 'tis talking
COURTSHIP
233
oddly of him. I can't answer to that ; but 'tis my real opin-
ion, and I think I know him. You talk to me of estates, as
if I was the most interested woman in the world. Whatever
faults I may have shown in my life, I know not one action of
it that ever proved me mercenary. I think there can not be a
greater proof to the contrary than my treating with you, where
I am to depend entirely upon your generosity, at the same
time that I may have settled on me £500 per annum pin-
money, and a considerable jointure, in another place ; not to
reckon that I may have by his temper what command of his
estate I please ; and with you I have nothing to pretend to.
I do not, however, make a merit to you ; money is very little
to me, because all beyond necessaries I do not value, that is
to be purchased by it. If the man proposed to me had
£10,000 per annum, and I was sure to dispose of it all, I
should act just as I do. I have in my life known a good deal
of show, and never found myself the happier for it.
In proposing to you to follow the scheme proposed by that
friend, I think 'tis absolutely necessary for both our sakes. I
would have you want no pleasure which a single life would
afford you. You own you think nothing so agreeable. A
woman that adds nothing to a man's fortune ought not to
take from his happiness. If possible, I would add to it ; but
I will not take from you any satisfaction you could enjoy with-
out me. On my own side, I endeavor to form as right a
judgment of the temper of human nature, and of my own in
particular, as I am capable of. I would throw off all par
tiality and passion, and be calm in my opinion. Almost all
people are apt to run into a mistake, that when they once feel
or give a passion, there needs nothing to entertain it. If we
marry, our happiness must consist in loving one another ; 'tis
principally n y concern to think of the most probable method
of making that love eternal. You object against living in
London ; I am not fond of it myself, and readily give it up
to you ; though I am assured there needs more art to keep a
fondness alive in solitude, where it generally preys upon itself.
234 LETTERS OF COURTSHIP.
There is one article absolutely necessary — to be ever beloved,
one must be ever agreeable. There is no such thing as being
agreeable, without a thorough good humor, a natural sweet-
ness of temper, enlivened by cheerfulness. Whatever natural
funds of gayety one is born with, 'tis necessary to be entertained
with agreeable objects. Any body, capable of tasting pleas-
ure, when they confine themselves to one place, should take
care 'tis the place in the world the most agreeable. What-
ever you may now think (now, perhaps, you have some fond-
ness for me), though your love should continue in its full
force, there are hours when the most beloved mistress would
be troublesome. People are not forever (nor is it in human
nature that they should be) disposed to be fond ; you would
be glad to find in me the friend and the companion. To be
agreeably the last, it is necessary to be gay and entertaining.
A perpetual solitude, in a place where you see nothing to
raise your spirits, at length wears them out, and conversation
insensibly falls into dull and insipid. When I have no more
to say to you, you will like me no longer. How dreadful is
that view 1 You will reflect for my sake you have abandoned
the conversation of a friend that you liked, and your situation
in a country where all things would have contributed to make
your life pass in (the true volupte) a smooth tranquillity. 1
shall lose the vivacity which should entertain you, and you
will have nothing to recompense you for what you have lost.
Very few people that have settled entirely in the country,
but have grown at length weary of one another. The lady's
conversation generally falls into a thousand impertinent effects
of idleness ; and the gentleman falls in love with his dogs and
his horses, and out of love with every thing else. I am not
now arguing in favor of the town ; you have answered me as
to that point. In respect of your health, 'tis the first thing
to be considered, and I shall never ask you to do any thing in-
jurious to that. But 'tis my opinion, 'tis necessary, to be
happy, that we neither of us think any place more agreeable
than that where we can live together. M. P.
LETTERS TO THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 4
H
FROM 1794 TO 1761,
LETTER I.
Louveke, Nov. 29, 1749.
My Dear Child — I received your agreeable letter of Sep-
tember 21, yesterday, November 29, and am very glad our
daughter (for I think she belongs to us both) turns out so
much to your satisfaction ; may she ever do so. I hope she
has by this time received my token. You please me extremely
in saying my letters are of any entertainment to you.
LETTER II.
Louvere, Dec. 17, N. S., 1749.
Dear Child — I received yours of October 14 but yester-
day : the negligence of the post is very disagreeable. I have
* Mary, Countess of Bute, only daughter of her parents, was born in
Constantinople, 1715, during Mr. Wortley's embassy. This darling
daughter seems to have deserved the devoted affection her mother al-
ways manifested for her. Her marriage, which took place in 1736,
was highly gratifying to both her parents. Lady Mary was proud of
her son-in-law, John, third Earl of Bute (afterward minister of George
III.) ; and her heart had its fondest resting-place, and sweetest hopes
in the family of her grandchildren. The Countess of Bute died in
1794, cherishing to the last, as her dearest inheritance, the memory of
her gifted mother. — Am. Ed.
236 LETTERS TO
at length had a letter from Lady Oxford, by which I find
mine to her has miscarried, and perhaps the answer which I
have now wrote may have the same fate.
I wish you joy of your young son : may he live to be a
blessing to you. I find I amuse myself here in the same
manner as if at London, according to your account of it ; that
is, I play whist every night with some old priests that I have
taught it to, and are my only companions. To say truth, the
decay of my sight will no longer suffer me to read by candle-
light, and the evenings are now long and dark. I believe
you '11 be persuaded my gaming makes nobody uneasy, when
I tell you that we play only a penny per corner. 'Tis now a
year that I have lived wholly in the country, and have no de-
sign of quitting it. I am entirely given up to rural amuse-
ments, and have forgot there are any such things as wits or
fine ladies in the world. However, I am pleased to hear what
happens to my acquaintance. I wish you would inform me
what is become of the Pomfret family, and who Sir Francis
Dashwood* has married. I knew him at Florence : he seemed
so nice in the choice of a wife, I have some curiosity to know
who it is that has had charms enough to make him enter into
an engagement he used to speak of with fear and trembling.
LETTER HI.
Loijvere, December 14, 1750.
Dear Child — I received yours of October the 28th this
morning, December 24th, N. S. I am afraid a letter of two
sheets of paper that I sent you from Salo never came to your
hands, which I am very sorry for : it would have been, per-
haps, some entertainment, being the description of places that
I am sure you have not found in any book of travels. I also
made my hearty congratulations to Lord Bute and yourself,
* He married Sarah, daughter and co-heir of Thomas Gould, Esq.,
of Ivor, Bucks, aud widow of Sir Richard Ellis, Bait.
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 237
on his place, which I hope is an earnest of future advantages.
I desired you would send me all the books of which you gave
a catalogue, except H. Fielding's and his sister's, which I have
already. I thank God my taste still continues for the gay
part of reading* Wiser people may think it trifling, but it
serves to sweeten life to me, and is at worst better than the
generality of conversation. I am extremely pleased with the
account you give me of your father's health : his life is the
greatest blessing that can happen to his family. " I am very
sincerely touched with the Duchess of Montagu's misfortune,!
though I think it no reasonable cause for locking herself up.
Age and ugliness are as inseparable as heat and fire, and I
think it all one in what shape one's figure grows disagreeable.
I remember the Princess of Moldavia at Constantinople made
a party of pleasure the next day after losing one of her eyes ;
and when I wondered at her philosophy, said she had more
reason to divert herself than she had before. 'Tis true our
climate is apt to inspire more melancholy ideas : the enliven-
ing heat of the sun continues the cheerfulness of youth to the
grave with most people. I received a visit not long since
from a fair young lady, that had new lain-in of her nineteenth
child : in reality she is but thirty-seven, and has so well pre-
served her fine shape and complexion, she appears little past
twenty. I wish you the same good fortune, though not quite
so numerous a posterity. Every happiness is ardently desired
for you by, dear child, your most affectionate mother.
P. L — My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessings to all
your little ones. I am ashamed not to have sent my token to
my god-daughter ; I hope to do it in a short time.
* In Spencer's Anecdotes, by Singer, there is an observation of
Lady Oxford in these words : " I wonder how any body can find pleas-
ure in reading the books which are that lady's chief favorites." Here
we have Lady M°.ry's confession of her liking to works of imagina-
tion, and her defense of her taste.
\ Lady Mary Churchill, youngest daughter of John Duke of Marl-
borough, wife of John Duke of Montagu, died May 4, 1751.
238 LETTERS TO
LETTER IV.
April 15, N. S., 1751.
My Dear Child — I received yours of Feb. 10th with great
pleasure, as it brought me the news of your health, and that
of your family. I can not guess who you mean by Lord Mont-
fort,* there being no such title when I left England, nor any
Lord Hertford,! who I hear is named embassador to France :
these are all new people to me. I wish you would give me
some information concerning them : none can be so agreeable
as the continuation of your father's health ; you see in him the
good effect of a strict abstinence, and regular exercise. I am
much pleased (but not at all surprised) at his kindness to you :
I know him to be more capable of a generous action than any
man I ever knew. I have never heard one word of the books
that you told me were packed up last June. These things
are very provoking, but fretting mends nothing. I will con-
tinue to write on, though the uncertainty of your receiving my
letters is a strong abatement of my pleasure in writing, and will
be of heavy consequence to my style. I feel at this minute the
spirit of dullness chill my heart, and I am ready to break out
into alacks and alases, with many murmurs against my cruel
destiny, that will not even permit this distant conversation be-
tween us, without such allaying circumstances. However, I
beg you not to be discouraged. I am persuaded, from the
goodness of your heart, that you are willing to give me hap-
piness ; and I can have none here so great as a letter from you.
You can never want subjects ; and I can assure you that your
eldest daughter can not be more delighted with a birth-day suit,
or your youngest with a paper of sugar-plums, than I am at
the sight of your hand. You seem very anxious on the account
of your children's education. I have said all I have to say on
that head ; and am still of the same opinion, that learning is
necessary to the happiness of women, and ignorance the com-
* Henry Bromley, created Baron Montfort, 1141.
f Francis Seymour Conway, created Earl of Hertford, 1150.
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 2o9
mon foundation of their errors, both in morals and conduct.
I was well acquainted with a lady (the Duchess of M r*)
who, I am persuaded, owed all her misfortunes to the want of
instruction in her youth. You know another, who, if she
had had her natural good understanding cultivated by letters,
would never have mistaken Johnny Gay for a wit, and much
less have printed that he took the liberty of calling her his
Laura.f
I am pleasingly interrupted by the welcome information from
Lord Bute that you are safely delivered of a son. I am never
in pain for any of that sex. If they have any merit, there are
so many roads for them to meet good fortune, they can no way
fail but by not deserving it. We have but one of establishing
ours, and that surrounded with precipices, and perhaps after
all better missed than found. I have already told you I look
on my grand-daughters as lay nuns. Lady Mary| might
avoid that destiny, if religion was not a bar to her being dis-
posed of in this country. You will laugh to hear it, but it
is really true, I had proposed to me a young man of quality,
with a good estate : his parents are both dead : she would
find a fine palace, and neither want jewels nor equipage ; and
her name (with a present from me) be thought a sufficient
fortune.
I shall write to Lord Bute this post. My blessing to you and
yours is sincerely sent from your most affectionate mother.
LETTER V.
Louvere, June 19, K S., 1751.
My Dear Child — I am much obliged to Lord Bute for
thinking of me so kindly : to say truth, I am as fond of baubles
as ever, and am so far from being ashamed of it, that it is a
taste I endeavor to keep up with all the art I am mistress of,
* Manchester. \ The Duchess of Queensberry.
\ Lady Mary Stuart, afterward* Countess of Lonsdale.
240 LETTERS TO
I should have despised them at twenty for the same reason that
I would not eat tarts or cheesecakes at twelve years old, as
being too childish for one capable of more solid pleasures. I
now know (and alas ! have long known) all things in this world
are almost equally trifling, and our most serious projects have
scarce more foundation than those edifices that your little ones
raise in cards. You see to what period the vast fortunes of the
Duke and Duchess of Marlborough, and Sir Robert Walpole
are soon arrived. I believe as you do, that Lady Orford is a
joyful widow, but am persuaded she has as much reason to
weep for her husband as ever any women has had, from Androm-
ache to this day. I never saw any second marriage that did
not appear to me very ridiculous : hers is accompanied with
circumstances that render the folly complete.
Sicknesses have been very fatal in this country, as well as
England. I should be glad to know the names of those you
say are deceased : I believe I am ignorant of half of them, the
Dutch news being forbid here. I would not have you give
yourself the trouble, but order one of your servants to transcribe
the catalogue. You will perhaps laugh at this curiosity. K
you ever return to Bute, you will find that what happens in
the world is a considerable amusement in solitude. The peo-
ple I see here make no more impression on my mind than the
figures in the tapestry, while they are directly before my eyes.
I know one is clothed in blue, and another in red ; but out of
sight, they are so entirely out of memory, I hardly remem-
ber whether they are tall or short. I sometimes call myself to
account for this insensibility, which has something of ingrati-
tude in it, this little town thinking themselves highly honored
and obliged by my residence : they intended me an extraordin-
ary mark of it, having determined to set up my statue in the
most conspicuous place : the marble was bespoke, and the
sculptor bargained with, before I knew any thing of the mat-
ter ; and it would have been erected without my knowledge,
vf it had not been necessary for him to see me to take the re-
emblance. I thanked them very much for the intention ; but
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 241
utterly refused complying with it, fearing it would be reported
(at least in England) that I had set up my own statue. They
were so obstinate in the design, I was forced to tell them my
religion would not permit it. I seriously believe it would have
been worshiped, when I was forgotten, under the name of
some saint or other, since I was to have been represented with
a book in my hand, which would have passed for a proof of
canonization. This compliment was certainly founded on rea-
sons not unlike those that first famed goddesses, I mean being-
useful to them, in which I am second to Ceres. If it be true
she taught the art of sowing wheat, it is certain I have learned
them to make bread, in which they continued in -the same
ignorance Misson complains of (as you may see in his letter
from Padnor). I have introduced French rolls cuftards,
minced pies, and plum-pudding, which they are very fond of.
'Tis impossible to bring them to conform to sillabub, which is
so unnatural a mixture in their eyes, they are even shocked to
see me eat it : but I expect immortality from the science of
butter making, in which they are become so skillful from my
instructions. I can assure you here is as good as in any part
of Great Britain.
LETTER VI.
Louvere, Dec. 8, K S., 1751.
This town is at present in a general stare, or, to use their
own expression, sotto sopra ; and not only this town, but the
capital, Bergamo, the whole province, the neighboring Bres-
cian, and perhaps all the Venetian 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 languages
than any modern performance I ever heard of. No proof of
its influence was ever stronger than this present 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.
11
242 LETTERS TO
Here is a gentleman's family, consisting of an olft bachelor
and his sister, who have fortune enough to live with great
elegance, though without any magnificence, possessed of the
esteem of all their acquaintance, he being distinguished by his
probity, and she by her virtue. They are not only suffered but
sought after by all the best company, and indeed are the most
conversable and reasonable people in this place. She is an
excellent housewife, and particularly remarkable for 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, receiving few visitants. This Signora
Diana, about ten years since, saw, at a monastery, a girl of
eight years old, who came thither to beg alms for her 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 circumstances
exposed her. She asked some questions, to which she an-
swered 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, 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 ac-
cepted, 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, anu
every operation of the needle. She grew perfectly skilled in
confectionary, had a good insight into cookery, and was a
great proficient in distillery. To these accomplishments she
was so handy, well-bred, humble, and modest, that not only
her master and mistress, but every body that frequented the
house took notice of her. She lived thus near nine years, never
going out but to church. However, beauty is as difficult to
THE COUHTESS OF BUTE. 243
conceal as light ; hers begun to make a great noise. ■ Signora
Diana told me she observed an unusual concourse of peddling
women that came on pretext to sell pennyworths 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 prognostics alarmed her prudence,
and she listened very willingly to some honorable proposals
that were made by many honest thriving tradesmen. She
communicated this 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 mod-
estly that it was her duty to obey all her commands, but she
found no inclination to marriage ; and if she would permit her
to live single, she would 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 neighbors say) Signor Aurelio Ardin-
ghi, her brother, looked with too much attention on the young
woman, or that she herself (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 Ardin-
ghi f imily. She was advanced to be first waiting- woman to
an old countess, who was so well pleased with her service,
she desired, on her death-bed, Count Jeronimo Losi, her son,
to be kind to her. He found no repugnance to this act of obedi-
ence, 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 accus-
tomed to victories of that sort, to vanquish the virtue of this
fair virgin. He has a handsome figure, and has had an edu-
cation 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 danc-
ing, and skill in fencing and riding, by which he is a favorite
among the ladies, and respected by the men. Thus qualified
244 LETTERS 10
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 emissa-
ries of the Count's passion, and found a new persecutor in her
master, who after three months' endeavor to corrupt her,
offered her marriage. She chose to return to her former ob-
scurity, 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 her service. She protested she had never been happy
since she left it. While she was making these submissions,
Signor 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 precipi-
tate flight, having no reason, from the age and character of
her master, to fear any violence, and wondered at her declin-
ing the honor 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 frightened
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 accom-
pany 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 per-
verted 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 Louvere on pretense of adjusting a
law-suit, 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 con-
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 245
eluded 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 in a large coach, 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 Losi, 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 difficulty. The
young damsel was called for, who entreated she might be per-
mitted the company of another priest with whom she was ac-
quainted : 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 night-gown 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 ex-
plained himself by relating this story, mixed with great resent-
ment 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 contriving an action he would rather have
died than suffered, if he had known how to prevent it. I easily
believed him, there appearing a latent jealousy under his afflic-
tion, that showed me he envied the bridegroom's happiness, at
the same time he condemned his extravagance.
Yesterday noon, being Saturday, Don Joseph returned, who
has got the name of Parson Williams by this expedition. He
relates, that when the bark which carried the coach and train
246 LETTERS TO
arrived, they found the amorous count waiting for his bride
on the bank of the lake. He would have proceeded immedi-
ately 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
every thing was prepared for their reception. They received
the communion next morning, 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 superfluous servants, and
put his family into an exact method of economy, preserving
all the splendor 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 Louvere, promising to
take care she shall want nothing, accompanied with a token
of twenty sequins,* which is at least nineteen more than
ever she saw in her life.
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
favorite with her. It is now discovered that they were all
sent by the generous lover, who has presented Don Joseph
very handsomely, but he has brought neither letter nor mes-
sao-e to the house of Ardinghi, which affords much specu-
lation.
I am afraid you are heartily tired with this tedious tale.
I will not lengthen it with reflections, as I fancy yours will
be the same as mine.
AVith mine all these adventures proceed from artifice on
one side, and weakness on the other. An honest, tender mind
* About ten guineas English.
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 247
is often betrayed to ruin by the charms that make the fortune
of a designing head, which, when joined with a beautiful
face, can never fail of advancement, except barred by a wise
mother, who locks up her daughters from view till nobody
cares to look on them. My poor friend the Duchess of Bol-
ton* was educated in solitude, with some choice of books, by
a saint-like governess : crammed with virtue and good quali-
ties, she thought it impossible not to find gratitude, though
she failed to give passion ; and upon this plan threw away
her estate, was despised by her husband, and laughed at by
the public. Polly, bred in an ale-house, and produced on
the stage, has obtained wealth and title, and found the way
to be esteemed. So useful is early experience — without it
half of life is dissipated in correcting the errors that we have
been taught to receive as indisputable truths.
LETTER Vn.
Louvere, January 21, 1*752.
Mr 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 recom-
mend to you to take care of it : the tenderness 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 any thing particular relating to it at this distance, dif-
ferent 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 neg-
* Lady Anne Yaughan, daughter and heir of John Earl of Carberry,
married Charles Duke of Bolton in 1713, and died in 1751. The Duke
of Bolton afterward married Lavinia Fenton, the celebrated Polly in
Gay's Beggar's Opera.
248 LETTERS TO
lect all their future admonitions ; and, if possible, breed them
free from prejudices ; those contracted in the nursery often
influence the whole life after, of which I have seen many mel-
ancholy 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 practice them. I am
sensible my own natural temper is too indulgent : I think it
the least dangerous error, yet still it is an error. I can only
say with truth that I do not know in my whole life having
ever endeavored to impose on you, or give a false color to
any thing that I represented to you. If your daughters are
inclined to love reading, do not check their inclination by
hindering them of the diverting part of it ; it is as neces-
sary 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 content themselves with
making their lives easier by it, which I experimentally know
is more effectually done by study than any other way. Ig-
norance is as much the fountain of vice as idleness, and, in-
deed, generally produces it. People that do not read or work
for a livelihood, have many hours they know not how to em-
ploy, especially women, who commonly fall into vapors, or
something worse. I am afraid you '11 think this letter very
tedious : forgive it as coming from your most affectionate
mother.
LETTER VIII.
1752.
Dear Child — I received yesterday, February 15, N. S.,
the case of books you were so good to send me. The enter-
tainment they have already given me has recompensed me
for the long time I expected them. I began, by your di
rection, with Peregrine Pickle. I think Lady Vane's me-
moirs contain more truth and less malice than any I ever
read in my life. When she speaks of her own being disinter-
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 249
ested, I am apt to believe she really thinks so herself, as ]
many highwaymen, after having no possibility of retrieving
the character of honesty, please themselves with that « of be-
ing generous, because whatever they get on the road they I
always spend at the next ale-house, and are still as beggarly
as ever. Her history, rightly considered, would be more in-
structive to young women than any sermon I know. They \
may see there what mortifications and variety of misery arc
the unavoidable consequences of gallantry. I think there is
no rational creature that would not prefer the life of the strict-
est Carmelite to the round of hurry and misfortune she has
gone through. Her style is clear and concise, with some
strokes of humor, which appear to me so much above her, I
can't help being of opinion the whole has been modeled by
the author of the book in which it is inserted, who is some
subaltern admirer of hers. I may judge wrong, she being no
acquaintance of mine, though she has married two of my
relations. Her first wedding was attended with circumstances
that made me think a visit not at all necessary, though I
disobliged Lady Susan by neglecting it ; and her second,
which happened soon after, made her so near a neighbor
that I rather chose to stay the whole summer in town than
partake of her balls and parties of pleasure, to which I did
not think it proper to introduce you ; and had no other way
of avoiding it without incurring the censure of a most un-
natural mother for denying you diversions that the pious
Lady Ferrers permitted to her exemplary daughters. Mr.
Shirley has had uncommon fortune in making the conquest
of two such extraordinary ladies, equal in their heroic con-
tempt of shame, and eminent above their sex, the one for
beauty, and the other wealth, both which attract the pursuit
of all mankind, and have been thrown into his arms with the
same unlimited fondness. He appeared to me gentle, well-
bred, well-shaped, and sensible ; but the charms of his face
and eyes, which Lady Vane describes with so much warmth,
were, I confess, always invisible to me, and the artificial part
11*
250 LETTERS TO
of his character very glaring, which I think her story shows
in a strong light.
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 altogther absurd and ridiculous,
justly entitling her to all the misfortunes she met with. Can-
dles came (and my eyes grown weary), I took up the next
book, merery because I supposed from the title it could not
engage me long. It was Pompey the Little, which has reall)
diverted me more than any of the others, and it was impos-
sible to go to bed till it was finished. It is a real and exact
representation 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 of gov-
ernment. 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 Englishwoman
being so free from vapors, having never in my life complained
of low spirits, or weak nerves ; but our resemblance is very
strong in the fancied loss of appetite, 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
perpetual 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 be-
gan to be seriously uneasy at it. This useful treatise has
roused me into a recollection of what I eat yesterday, and do
almost every day the same. I wake generally about seven,
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 251
and drink half a pint of waim asses' milk, after which I sleep
two hours ; as soon as I am risen, I constantly 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 quantity of custard,
and some roasted chestnuts. At five in the afternoon I take
another dose of asses' milk ; and for supper twelve chestnuts
(which would weigh two of those in London), one new laid
egg, and a handsome porringer of white bread and milk.
With this diet, notwithstanding the menaces of my wise doc-
tor, I am now convinced I am in no danger of starving ; and
am obliged to Little Pompey for this discovery.
I opened my eyes this morning on Leonora, from which 1
defy the greatest chemist in morals to extract any instruction.
The style is most affectedly florid and naturally insipid, with
such a confused heap of admirable characters, that never are,
or can be, in human nature. I flung it aside after fifty pages,
and laid hold of Mrs. Philips, where I expected to find, at
least probable if not true facts, and was not disappointed.
There is a great similitude in the genius and adventures (the
one being productive of the other) between Madam Constan-
tia and Lady Vane : the first mentioned has the advantage in
birth, and, if I am not mistaken, in understanding : they have
both had scandalous law-suits with their husbands, and are
endowed with the same intrepid assurance. Constantia seems
to value herself also on her generosity, and has given the same
proofs of it. The parallel might be drawn out to be as long
as any of Plutarch's ; but I dare swear you are already heartily
weary of my remarks, and wish I had not read so much in so
short a time, that you might not be troubled with my com-
ments ; but you must suffer me to say something of the polite
Mr. S , whose name I should never have guessed by the
rapturous description his mistress makes of his person, having
252 LETTERS TO
always looked upon him as one of the most disagreeable fel-
lows about town, as ociious in his outside as stupid in his
conversation, and I should as soon have expected to hear of
his conquests at the head of an army as among women ; yet
he has been, it seems, the darling favorite of the most ex-
perienced of the sex, which shows me I am a very bad judge
of merit. But I agree with Mrs. Philips, that however profli-
gate she may have been, she is infinitely his superior in virtue ;
and if her penitence is as sincere as she says, she may expect
their future fate to be like that of Dives and Lazarus.
This letter is of a most immoderate length. It will find
you at Caenwood ; your solitude there will permit you to
peruse, and even to forgive, all the impertinence of your
most affectionate mother.
LETTER IX.
Lodvere, June 23, N". S., 1752.
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 Got-
tolengo, and I prepared myself for death with as much resig-
nation as that circumstance admits : some of my neighbors,
without my knowledge, sent express for the doctor of this
place, whom I have mentioned to you formerly as having un-
common secrets. I was surprised to see him at my bedside.
He declared me in great danger, but did not doubt my re-
covery, if I was wholly under his care : and his first prescrip-
tion 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 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 tore the first day's journey of fifteen
miles without any visible literati on. The doctor said as I was
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 253
not worse I was certainly better ; and the next day proceeded
twenty miles to Isco, 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 in saving my life,
though they are not entirely conformable to my will and pleas-
ure. 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 him in this country, of the " miraculous man." Both
his character and practice are so singular I can not 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 : 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 ;
254 LETTERS TO
but what most distinguishes 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 on the mountains, in the hottest
sun, or heaviest rain, where a horse can not 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 without 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 that he carries in his pocket,
yet blessed with such a perpetual flow of spirits he is always
gay to a degree above cheerfulness. There is a peculiarity in
this character that I hope will incline you to forgive my draw-
ing it.
I have already described to you this extraordinary spot of
land, 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 Ghibellines.
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 color 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 undiscovered, 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 colors. I
ought to retract the honorable title of street, none of them
being broader than an alley, and impassable for any wheel-
carriage, except a wheel-ban ow. This town, which is the
largest of twenty-five that are built on the banks of the lake
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 255
of Isco, is near two miles long, and the figure of a semicircle,
and situated at the northern extremity. If it was a regular
range of building, it would appear magnificent; but being
founded accidentally by those who sought a refuge from the
violence of those 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 splendor ; few of the nobility re-
turned ; 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
wonder at my indiscretion. I beg you to hear my reasons be-
fore you condemn me. In my infirm state of health the un-
avoidable noise of a public lodging is very disagreeable ; and
here is no private one : secondly, and chiefly, the whole pur-
chase is but one hundred pounds, with a very pretty 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 will prob-
ably 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, proportionably high, opening
into a balcony of the same length, with a marble balluster :
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 ex-
ploit to mount them : I never intend to attempt it. The state
256 LETTERS TO
bed-chamber shall also remain for the sole use of the spiders
that have taken possession of it, along with the grand cabinet,
aud some other pieces of magnificence quite useless to me,
and which would 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 favored 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 Louvere, to the great joy of' the inhabitants, not (as they
would pretend) from their respect for my person, but I per-
ceive they fancy I shall attract all the traveling English ; and,
to say truth, the singularity of the place is well worth their
curiosity ; but, as I have no correspondents, I may be
buried here thirty years, and nobody know any thing of the
matter.
I received the books you were so kind to send me, five days
ago, but not the china, which I would not venture among the
precipices that lead hither. I have only had time to read Lord
Orrery's work, which has extremely entertained, and not at all
surprised me, having the honor of being acquainted with him,
and know him for one of those danglers after wit, who, like
those after beauty, spend their time in humbly admiring, and
are happy in being permitted to attend, though they are
laughed at and only encouraged to gratify the insatiate vanity
of those professed wits and beauties who aim at being pub-
licly distinguished in those characters. Dean Swift, by his
lordship's own account, was so intoxicated with the love of
flattery, he sought it among the lowest of people, and the sil-
liest of women ; and was never so well pleased with any com-
panions as those that worshiped him, while he insulted them.
It is a wonderful condescension in a man of quality to offer
his incense in such a crowd, and think it an honor to share a
THE COUNTESS OF BUT:
257
friendship with Sheridan,* etc., especially being himself en-
dowed with such universal merit as he displays in these Let-
ters, where he shows that he is a poet, a patriot, a philosopher,
a physician, a critic, a complete scholar, and most excellent
moralist ; shining in private life as a submissive son, a tender
father, and zealous friend. His only error has been that love
of learned ease which he has indulged in a solitude, which
has prevented the world from being blessed with such a general,
minister, or admiral, being equal to any of these employments,
if he would have turned his talents to the use of the public.
Heaven be praised, he has now drawn his pen in its service,
and given an example to mankind, that the most villainous
actions, nay the most arrant nonsense, are only small blem-
ishes in a great genius. I happen to think quite contrary,
weak woman as I am. I have always avoided the conversa-
tion of those who endeavor to raise an opinion of their under-
standing by ridiculing what both law and decency obliges them
to revere ; but whenever I have met with any of those bright
spirits, who would be smart on sacred subjects, I have ever cut
short their discourse by asking them if they had any lights
and revelations by which they would propose new articles of
faith ? Nobody can deny but religion is a comfort to the dis-
tressed, 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 churchman, 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 always 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 him-
self, where he was his own high-priest, preferred his horse to
* Dr. Thomas Sheridan, the grandfather of R. Brinsley Sheridan,
258 LETTERS TO
the highest honors in the state, professed enmity to the human
race, and at last lost his life by a nasty jest on one of his infe-
riors, 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, that of Lord Oxford, making a servile court where he
had any interested views, and meanly abusive where 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 king-
dom : it had a very strong foundation — the love of flattery on
one side, and the love of money on the other. Pope courted
with the utmost assiduity all the old men from whom he
could hope a legacy, the Duke of Buckingham, Lord Peter-
borough, Sir G-. Kneiier, Lord Bolingbroke, Mr. Wycherly,
Mr. Congreve, Lord Harcourt, etc., and I do not doubt pro-
jected to sweep the Dean's whole inheritance, if he could
have persuaded him to throw up his deanery, and come to die
in his house ; and his general preaching against money was
meant to induce people to throw it away, that he might pick
it up. There can not be a stronger proof of his being capable
of any action for the sake of gain than publishing his literary
correspondence, which lays open such a mixture of dullness
and iniquity that one would imagine it visible even to his
most passionate admirers, if Lord Orrery did not show that
smooth lines have as much influence over some people as the
authority of the Church in these countries, where it can not
only excuse, but sanctify any absurdity of villainy whatever.
It is remarkable that his lordship's family have been smat-
terers in wit and learning for three generations : his grand-
father has left monuments of hi 5 good taste in several rhyming
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 259
tragedies, and the romance of Parthenissa. H :& father began
the world by giving his name to a treatise wrote by Atter-
bury and his club, which gave him great reputation ; but (like
Sir Martin Marall, who would fumble with his lute when the
music was over) he published soon after a sad comedy of his
own, and, what was worse, a dismal tragedy he had found
among the first Earl of Orrery's papers. People could easier
forgive his being partial to his own silly works, as a common
frailty, than the want of judgment in producing a piece that
dishonored his father's memory.
Thus fell into dust a fame that had made a blaze by bor-
rowed fire. To do justice to the present lord, I do not doubt
this fine performance is all his own, and is a public benefit, if
every reader has been as well diverted with it as myself. I
verily believe it has contributed to the establishment of my
health.
I wrote two long letters to your father, to which I have
had no answer. I hope he is well. The prosperity of you
and yours is the warmest wish of, my dear child, your most
affectionate mother.
This letter is of a horrible length ; I dare not read it over.
I should have told you (to justify my folly as far as I can),
here is no ground-rent to be paid, taxes for Church and poor,
or any imposition whatever, on houses. I desire, in the next
parcel, you would send me Lady Frail, the Adventures of G.
Edwards, and the Life of Lord Stair, which I suppose very
superficial, and partly fictitious ; but as he was my acquaint-
ance, I have some curiosity to see how he is represented.
LETTER X.
March 1, K S., 1752.
Dear Child — I have now finished your books, and I be-
lieve you will think I have made quick dispatch. To say
truth, I have read night and day. Mr. Loveill gave me some
2G0 LETTERS TO
entertainment, though there is but one character in it that I
can find out. I do not doubt Mr. Depy is designed for Sir J.
R. The adventure mentioned at Rome really happened to
him, with this addition, that after he was got quit of his foar
of being suspected in the interest of the P., he endeavored
to manifest his loyalty by railing at him in all companies, with
all the warmth imaginable, on which his companions per-
suaded him that his death was absolutely determined by that
court ; and he durst not stir out for some time, for fear of
being assassinated ; nor eat, for fear of being poisoned. I saw
him at Venice, where, on hearing it said I had been at Con-
stantinople, he asked Lord Mansel by what accident I made
that journey. He answered, Mr. Wortley had been embas-
sador to the Porte. Sir J. replied, to what port ? the port of
Leghorn ! I could relate many speeches of his of equal beauty,
but I believe you are already tired of hearing of him, as much
as I was with the memoirs of Miss H. Stewart ;* who, being
intended for an example of wit and virtue, is a jilt and a fool
in every page. But while I was indolently perusing the mar-
velous figures she exhibits, no more resembling any thing in
human nature than the wooden cut in the Seven Champions,
I was roused into great surprise and indignation by the mon-
strous abuse of one of the very few women I have a real value
for ; I mean Lady B. Finch ;f who is not only clearly meant
by the mention of her library (she being the only lady at court
that has one), but her very name at length ; she being christened
Csecilia Isabella, though she chooses to be called by the latter.
I always thought her conduct, in every light, so irreproachable,
I did not think she had an enemy upon earth ; I now see 'tis
impossible to avoid them, especially in her situation. It is one
* " Harriet Stewart" was the first novel written by Mrs. Charlotte
Lennox, and certainly a very indifferent one.
■J- Lady Belle Finch, one of the many daughters of Lord Nottingham
(Swift's "Dismal"), who before his death succeeded to the older title of
Winchelsea. She was sister to the Duchess of Roxburgh, the Duchess
of Cleveland, Lady Mansfield, Lady Rockingham, etc. ; and was Lady
of the Bedchamber to the Princess Amelia.
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 261
of the misfortunes of a supposed court interest (perhaps you
may know it by experience), even the people you have obliged
hate you, if they do not think you have served to the utmost
extent of a power that they fancy you are possessed of ; which
it may be is only imaginary.
On the other hand, I forgive Jo. Thompson two volumes of
absurdities, for the sake of justice he has done to the memory
of the Duke of Montagu; who really had (in my opinion) one
of the most humane dispositions that ever appeared in the
world. I was such an old fool as to weep over Clarissa Har-
lowe, 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 honor, is not only extreme silly, but a more vicious char-
acter than Sally Martin ; whose crimes are owing at first to se-
duction, and afterward to necessity : while this 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 per-
fection Clarissa is so faulty in her behavior as to deserve little
compassion. 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 circumstances are so laid
as to inspire tenderness, notwithstanding the low style and ab-
surd incidents ; and I look upon this and Pamela to be two
books that will do more general mischief than the works of
Lord Rochester. There is something humorous in R. Random
that makes me believe that the author is H. Fielding. I am
horribly afraid, I guess too well the writer of those abominable
insipidities of Cornelia, Leonora, and the Ladies' Drawing
Room. I fancy you 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 something to my solitude. I have a pleasure
n writing to my dear child, and not many subjects to write
262 LETTERS TO
upon. The adventures of people here would not at all amuse
you, having no acquaintance with the persons concerned ; 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 information 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 con-
sideration should abate my wonder to see (as I do here) the
most astonishing; legends embraced as the most sacred truths,
by those who have always heard them asserted, and never con-
tradicted ; they even place a merit in complying, in direct op-
position to the evidence of all their other senses.
I am very much pleased with the account you give me of
your father's health. I hope your own, and that of your
family, is perfect ; give my blessing to your little ones, and my
compliments to Lord Bute.
LETTER XI.
Louvere, Aug. 20, 1*752.
My Dear Child — 'Tis impossible to tell you to what degree
I share with you in the misfortune that has happened. I do
not doubt your own reason will suggest to you all the allevia-
tions that can serve on so sad an occasion, and will not trouble
you with the common-place topics that are used, generally to
no purpose, in letters of consolation. Disappointments ought
to be less sensibly felt at my age than yours ; yet I own I am
fto far affected by this that I have need of all my philosophy to
support it. However, let me beg of you not to indulge a use-
less grief, to the prejudice of your health, which is so necessary
to your family. Every thing may turn out better than you
expect. We see so darkly into futurity, we never know when
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 263
we have real cause to rejoice or lament. The worst appearances
have often happy consequences, as the best lead many times
into the greatest misfortunes. Human prudence is very straitly
bounded. What is most in our power, though little so, is the
disposition of our own minds. Do not give way to melancholy ;
seek amusements ; be willing to be diverted, and insensibly you
will become so. Weak people only place a merit in affliction.
A grateful remembrance, and whatever honor we can pay to
their memory, is all that is owing to the dead. Tears and sor-
row are no duties to them, and make us incapable of those we
owe to the living.
I give you thanks for your care of my books. I yet retain,
and carefully cherish, my taste for reading. If relays of eyes
were to be hired like posthorses, I would never admit any but
silent companions : they afford a constant variety of entertain-
ment, which is almost the only one pleasing in the enjoyment,
and inoffensive in the consequence.
LETTER XII.
Brescia, October 10, 1152.
This letter will be very dull or very peevish (perhaps both).
I am at present much out of humor, being on the edge of a
quarrel with my friend and patron, the Cardinal Querini.*
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 a new cathedral,
which, when finished, will stand in the first 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 em-
* Cardinal Angelo Maria Querini. He published the works of St.
Ephrem Syr us, in six volumes, folio, 1732 ; and the Life of Pope Paul
II., quarto, 1740. See de Bure, Bibliographie Instructive, etc.
264 LETTERS TO
bellished 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, furnished, and open twice in a week with proper
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 En-
glish books, he intended my labors should appear iu the most
conspicuous 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 honor designed me, but, upon my word, I had
never printed a single line in my life. I was answered in a
cold tone, that 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 favor, 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 endeavor 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 in-
capable — 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 falsi-
fied 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 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 aimed at the
vanity of popular applause ; but I own my philosophy is not
proof against losing a friend, and it may be making an enemy
of one to whom I am obliged.
I confess I have often been complimented, since I have been
in Italy, on the books I have given the public. I used at first
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 265
to deny it with some warmth ; but finding I persuaded nobody,
I have of late contented myself with laughing whenever I heard
it mentioned, knowing the character of a learned woman is far
from being ridiculous in this country, the greatest families being
proud of having produced female writers ; and a Milanese lady
being now professor of mathematics in the University of Bo-
logna, invited thither by a most obliging letter, wrote by the
present Pope, who desired her to accept of the chair, not as a
recompense for her merit, but to do honor to a town which is
under his protection. To say truth, there is no part of the
world where our sex is treated with so much contempt as in
England. I do not complain of men for having engrossed the
government ; in excluding from us all degrees of power, they
preserve us from many fatigues, many dangers, and perhaps
many crimes. The small proportion of authority that has fallen
to my share (only over a few children and servants) has always
been a burden, and never a pleasure, and I believe every one
finds it so, who acts from a maxim (I think an indispensable
duty) that whoever is under my power is under my protection.
Those who find a joy in inflicting hardships, and seeing ob-
jects of misery, may have other sensations ; but I have always
thought corrections, even when necessary, as painful to the
giver as to the sufferer, and am therefore very well satisfied
with the state of subjection we are placed in : but I think it
the highest injustice to be debarred the entertainment of my
closet, and that the same studies which raise the character of
a man should hurt that of a woman. We are educated in the
grossest ignorance, and no art omitted to stifle our natural
reason ; if some few get above their nurse's instructions, our
knowledge must rest concealed, and be as useless to the world
as gold in the mine. I am now speaking according to our En-
glish notions, which may wear out, some ages hence, along
with others equally absurd. It appears to me the strongest
proof of a clear understanding in Longinus (in every light ac-
knowledged one of the greatest men among the ancients), when
I find him so far superior to vulgar prejudices as to choose his
12
266 LETTERS TO
two examples of fine writing from a Jew (at that time the
most despised people upon earth) and a woman. Our modern
wits would be so far from quoting, they would scarce own they
had read the works of such contemptible creatures, though
perhaps they would condescend to steal from them, at the
same time they declared they were below their notice : this
subject is apt to run away with me ; I will trouble you with
no more of it.
LETTER XIII.
Louvere, Oct. 20, N. S., 1T52.
Dear Child — 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 Mancomingo. 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 de-
signed 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 ap-
prove 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 easy that his daughters should be edu-
cated in bigotry and idolatry. You will perhaps think this last
a hard word ; yet it is not difficult to prove that either the
papists are guilty of idolatry, or the pagans never were so,
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 267
You may see, in Lucian (in his vindication of Lis images), that
they did not take their statues to be real gods, but only the
representation of them. The same doctrine may be found in
Plutarch ; and it is all the modern priests have to say in excuse
for their worshiping wood and stone, though they can not deny
at the same time that the vulgar are apt to confound that dis-
tinction. I always, if possible, avoid controversial disputes :
whenever I can not do it, they are very short. I ask my ad-
versary if he believes the Scripture ; when that is answered
affirmatively, their Church may be proved by a child of ten
years old contradictory to it, in their most important points.
My second question is, if they think St. Peter and St. Paul
knew the true Christian religion 1 The constant reply is, O
res. Then, say I, purgatory, transubstantiation, invocation of
saints, adoration of the Virgin, relics (of which they might
have had a cart-load), and observation of Lent, is no part of
it, since they neither taught nor practiced any of these things.
Vows of celibacy are not more contrary to nature than to the
positive precept of St. Paul. He mentions a very common
case, in which people are obliged, by conscience, to marry.
No mortals can promise that case shall never be theirs, which
depends on the disposition of the body as much as a fever ;
and 'tis as reasonable to engage never to feel the one as the
other. He tells us, the marks of the Holy Spirit are charity,
humility, truth, aad long-suffering. Can any thing be more
uncharitable than damning eternally so many millions for not
believing what they never heard ? or prouder than calling their
head a Vice-God ? Pious frauds are avowedly permitted, and
persecution applauded. These maxims can not be dictated
by the spirit of peace, which is so warmly preached in the
Gospel. The creeds of the apostles, and Council of Nice, do
not speak of the mass, or real presence, as articles of belief ;
and Athanasius asserts, whosoever believes according to them
shall be saved. Jesus Christ, in answer to the lawyer bids
him love God above all things, and his neighbor as himself,
as all that is necessary to salvation. When he describes the
268 LETTERS TO
last judgment, he does not examine what sect, or what Church
men were of, but how far they had been beneficial to mankind.
Faith can not determine reward or punishment, being invol-
untary, and only the consequence of conviction. We do not
believe what we please, but what appears to us with the face
of truth. As I do not mistake exclamation, invective, or rid-
icule, for argument, I never recriminate on the lives of their
popes and cardinals, when they urge the character of Henry
/ the Eighth ; I only answer, good actions are often done by
ill men through interested motives, and 'tis the common
method of Providence to bring good out of evil : history,
both sacred and profane, furnishes many examples of it.
When they tell me I have forsook the worship of my ances-
tors, I say I have had more ancestors heathen than Christian,
an J my faith is certainly ancienter than theirs, since I have
added nothing to the practice of the primitive professors of
Chiistianity. As to the prosperity or extent of the dominion
of their Church, which Cardinal Bellarmin counts among the
proofs of its orthodoxy, the Mohammedans, who have larger
empires, and have made a quicker progress, have a better plea
for the visible protection of heaven. If the fopperies of their
religion were only fopperies, they ought to be complied with
whenever it is established, like any ridiculous dress in fash-
ion ; but I think them impieties ; their devotions are a scan-
dal to humanity from their nonsense ; the mercenary deceits,
and barbarous tyranny of their ecclesiastics, inconsistent with
moral honesty. If they object to the diversity of our sects
as a mark of reprobation, I desire them to consider that ob-
jection has equal force against Christianity in general. When
they thunder with the names of fathers and councils, they
are surprised to find me as well (often better) acquainted with
them than themselves. I show them the variety of their doc-
trines, their violent contests, and various factions, instead of
that union they boast of. I have never been attacked a sec-
ond time in any of the towns where I have resided, and per-
haps shall never be so again after my last battle, which was
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 269
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 here, he visited me every-
day, and talked of me every where 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 can not talk of without heat. He
desired I would put on paper what I had said. I immedi-
ately wrote one side of a sheet, leaving the other for his an-
swer. 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 Archbishop 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 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 igno-
rant not to know it is taken from the 'listing oath of the Ro-
man soldiers, and means nothing more than a solemn, irrevoc-
able 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
renewing the same oath. Ordination and matrimony are sol-
emn 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
baptized. In this sense they are all sacraments. As to the
mysteries preached since, they were all invented long after,
and some of them repugnant to the primitive institution.
This digression has carried me far from my criticism. You
will laugh at my making any on a work below examination,
It may be of use to my grand-daughters. I am persuaded
270 LETTERS TO
he is a favorite author in all the nurseries in England, and
has done much harm in the boarding schools, therefore ouodit
to have his absurdities detected. You will think me angry
with him for repeating a saying of mine, accompanied with
a description of my person, which resembles me as much as
one of the giants in Guildhall, and plainly shows he never
saw me in his life. Indeed, I think, after being so many
years dead and buried, I might be suffered to enjoy the right
of the departed, and rest in peace. I can not guess how I
can possibly have incurred his indignation, except he takes
for truth the literary correspondence between me and the Mrs.
Argens, whom I never saw, and who, with many high compli-
ments, have attributed to me sentiments that never came into
my head, and among them a criticism on Pamela, who is,
however, more favorably treated than she deserves.
The book of letters I mention never came to my hands till
some time after it was printed, accidentally at Toulouse. I
have need of all my philosophy on these occasions ; though,
they happen so often, I ought to be accustomed to them.
When I print, I submit to be answered, and criticized ; but as
I never did, 'tis hard to be abused for other people's follies. A
light thing said in gay company should not be called upon for
a serious defense, especially when it injures nobody. It is
certain there are as many marriages as ever. Richardson is
so eager for the multiplication of them, I suppose he is some
parish curate, whose chief profit depends on weddings and
christenings. He is not a man-midwife ; for he would be
better skilled in physic than to think fits and madness any
ornament to the characters of his heroines : though this Sir
Charles had no thoughts of marrying Clementine till she had
lost her wits, and the divine Clarissa never acted prudently till
she was in the same condition, and then very wisely desired to
be carried to Bedlam, which is really all that is to be done in
that case. Madness is as much a corporal distemper as the
gout or asthma, never occasioned by affliction, or to be cured
by the enjoyment of extravagant wishes. Passion may indeed
THE COUNTESS 01' BUTE. 2*71
bring on a fit, but the disease is lodged in the blood, and it is
not more ridiculous to attempt to relieve the gout by an em-
broidered slipper than to restore reason by the gratification of
wild desires.
Kichardson is as ignorant in morality as he is in anatomy,
when he declares abusing an obliging husband, or an indulg-
ent parent, to be an innocent recreation. His Anna How and
Charlotte Grandison are recommended as patterns of charm-
ing pleasantry, and applauded by his saint-like dames, who
mistake folly for wit and humor, and impudence and ill-nature
for spirit and fire. Charlotte behaves like a humorsome
child, and should have been used like one, and well whipped
in the presence of her fiiendly confidante Harriet. Lord ILdi-
fax very justly tells his daughter that a husband's kindness is
to be received by a wife, even when he is drunk, and though
it is wrapped up in never so much impertinence. Charlotte
acts with an ingratitude that I think too black for human na-
ture, with such coarse jokes and low expressions as are only
to be heard among the lowest class of people. Women of
that rank often plead a right to beat their husbands, when
they don't cuckold them : and I believe this author was never
admitted into higher company, and should confine his pen to
the amours of housemaids, and the conversation at the stew-
ard's table, where I imagine he has sometimes intruded,
though oftener in the servants' hall : yet, if the title be not a
puff, this work has passed three editions. I do not forgive
him his disrespect of old china, which is below nobody's
taste, since it has been the Duke of Argyll's, whose understand-
ing 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 intended 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 grandam. Her whole behavior,
which he designs to be exemplary, is equally blamable and
272 LETTERS TO
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, and 'tis as indecent to show all
we think as all we have. He has no idea of the manners of
high life : his old Lord M. talks in the style of a country jus-
tice, and his virtuous young ladies romp like the wenches
round a May-pole. Such liberties as pass between Mr. Love-
lace and his cousins, are not to be excused by the relation. I
should have been much astonished if Lord Denbigh should
have offered to kiss me ; and I dare swear Lord Treutham
never attempted such an impertinence to you.
With all my contempt I will take notice of one good thing ;
I mean his project of an English monastery. It was a favorite
scheme of mine when I was fifteen ; and had I then been
mistress of an independent fortune, would certainly have exe-
cuted it, and elected myself lady abbess. There would you
and your ten children have been lost forever. Yet such was
the disposition of my early youth : so much was I unlike those
girls that declare, if they had been born of the male kind
they should have been great rakes, which is owning they have
strong inclinations to and drinking, and want only op-
portunity and impunity to exert them vigorously.
This tedious miscellany of a letter is promised to be de-
livered into your own hand ; nay further, that I shall have an
account how you look, how you are dressed, and in what
manner your room is furnished. Nothing relating to you is
indifferent to me ; and if the performance answers the engage-
ment, it will be a vast pleasure to your most affectionate mother.
LETTER XIV.
Louvere, January 28, N. S., 1753.
Dear Child — You have given me a great deal of satisfac-
tion by your account of your eldest daughter. I am partic-
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 2*73
ularly pleased to hear she is a good arithmetician ; it is the
best proof of understanding : the knowledge of numbers is
one of the chief distinctions between us and brutes. If there
is any thing in blood, you may reasonably expect your chil-'
dren should be endowed with an uncommon share of good
sense. Mr. Wortley's family and mine have both produced
some of the greatest men that have been born in England : I
mean Admiral Sandwich, and my grandfather, who was dis-
tinguished by the name of Wise William.* I have heard
Lord Bute's father mentioned as an extraordinary genius,
though he had not many opportunities of showing it ; and
his uncle, the present Duke of Argyllf has one of the best
heads I ever knew. I will therefore speak to you as suppos-
ing Lady Mary not only capable, but desirous of learning : in
that case let her by all means 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 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 beau-
tiful (and perhaps is so), without considering that nothing
is beautiful which is displaced. Hence we see so many edi-
fices 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
endeavors 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. Learning, if she has a real taste for it, will not
* William Pierrepoat, second son of Robert Earl of Kingston, died
1619, aged 11.
\ The Duke of Argyll here mentioned was Archibald, who, before
he succeeded his brother John Duke of Argyll in the dukedom, was
Earl of Islay.
12*
274 LETTERS TO
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 expensive diver-
sions, or variety of company, if she can be amused with an
author, in her closet. To render this amusement complete,
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 can not 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 in this
way. There are two cautions to be given on this subject :
first, not to think herself learned when she can read Latin, or
even Greek. Languages are more properly to be called vehi-
cles of learning than learning itself, as may be observed in
many schoolmasters, who, though perhaps critics in gram-
mar, are the most ignorant fellows upon earth. True knowl-
edge consists in knowing things, not words. I would no fur-
ther wish her a linguist than to enable her to read books in
their originals, that are often corrupted, and are always in-
jured by translations. Two hours' application every morning
will bring this about much sooner than you can imagine,
and she will have leisure enough beside to run over the En-
glish 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 communicated
to me an epistle she was quite charmed with. As she had
naturally a 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
THE COUNTESS OE BUTE. 275
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 being* no longer in fash-
ion, would have escaped any one of less universal reading
than myself. You should encourage 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 humor, or rhyme for poetry, which are the com-
mon 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 whatever learning
she attains with as much solicitude as she would hide crook-
edness or lameness. The parade of it can only serve to draw
on her the envy, and consequently the most inveterate hatred,
of all he and she fools, which will certainly be at least three
parts in four of her acquaintance. The use of knowledge in
our sex, beside 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 inevitable 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 paragraph 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 granddaughter, which I have much at
heart. If she has the same inclination (I should say passion)
for learning that I was born with, history, geography, and phi-
losophy, will furnish her with materials to pass away cheer-
fully a longer life than is allotted to mortals. I believe there
are few heads capable of making Sir Isaac Newton's calcula-
tions, but the result of them is not difficult to be understood
by a moderate capacity. Do not fear this should make her
276 LETTERS TO
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 complete
historian, after reading Echard's Roman History ; another a
profound philosopher, having got by heart some of Pope's un-
intelligible essays ; and a third an able divine on the strength
of Whitfield's sermons. Thus you hear them screaming poli-
tics and controversy.
It is a saying of Thucydides, that ignorance is bold, and
knowledge reserved. Indeed it is impossible to be far advanced
in it, without being more humbled by a conviction of human
ignorance than elated by learning. At the same time I rec-
ommend books, I neither exclude work nor drawing. I
think it as scandalous for a woman not to know how to use a
needle, as for a man not to know how to use a sword. I was
once extremely fond of my pencil, and it was a great mortifi-
cation to me when my father turned off my master, having
made a considerable progress for the short time I learned. My
over-eagerness in the pursuit of it had brought a weakness in
my eyes, that made it necessary to leave off; and all the ad-
vantage I got was the improvement of my hand. I see, by
hers, that practice will make her a ready writer ; she may at-
tain it by serving you for a secretary, when your health or
affairs make it troublesome to you to write yourself; and
custom will make it an agreeable amusement to her. She
can not have too many for that station of life which will prob-
ably 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 is (at the lowest
computation) ten thousand blanks to a prize, it is the most
prudent choice not to venture. I have always been so thor-
oughly persuaded of this truth, that, notwithstanding the flat-
tering 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
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 277
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
company 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 companions of your own age,
especially having so many near relations, and I do not wonder
their opinions influenced yours. I was not sorry to see you
not determined on a single life, knowing it was not your
father's intention, and contented myself with endeavoring to
make your home so easy that you might not be in haste to
leave it.
I am afraid you will think this a very long insignificant
letter, I hope the kindness of the design will excuse it, being
willing to give you every proof in my power that I am your
most affectionate mother.
LETTER XV.
Louvere, Feb. 19, N. S., 1753.
My Dear Child — I gave you some general thoughts on
the education of your children in my last letter ; but fearing
you should think I neglected your request, by answering it
with too much conciseness, I am resolved to add to it what
little I know on that subject, and which may perhaps be
useful to you in a concern with which you seem so nearly af-
fected.
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
278 LETTERS TO
probabilities, 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 con-
sequences. Sincerity, friendship, piety, disinterestedness, and
generosity, are all great virtues ; but pursued without discre-
tion become criminal. I have seen ladies indulge their own
ill-humor by being very rude and impertinent, and think they
deserved approbation, by saying I love to speak truth. One
of your acquaintances made a ball the next day after her
mother died, to show she was sincere. I believe your own re-
flections 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 preju-
dice hurries them into great misfortunes, while they are ap-
plauding themselves in the noble practice (as they fancy) of
very eminent virtues.
I can not help adding (out of my real affection for you) that
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 un-
happy ; 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 complaints 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.
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 2*79
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 they think so, which the young woman never fails to be-
lieve springs from envy, and is perhaps not so 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 ad van- ^
tage has its price, and may be over or undervalued. It is the
common doctrine of (what are called) good books, to inspire
a contempt for beauty, riches, greatness, etc., which has done
as much mischief among the young of our sex as an over /
eager desire of them. Why they should not look on those
things as blessings where they are bestowed, though not ne-
cessaries that it is impossible to be happy without, I can not
conceive. I am persuaded the ruin of Lady F M
was in a great measure owing to the notions given her by the
good people that had the care of her. 'Tis true, her circum-
stances 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.
I am afraid I have tired you with my instructions. I do
not give them as believing my age has furnished me with su-
perior wisdom, but in compliance with your desire, and being
fond of every opportunity that gives a proof of the tenderness
with which I am ever your affectionate mother.
I should be glad if you sent me the third volume of Camp-
bell's Architecture, and with it any other entertaining books.
I have seen the Duchess of Marlborough's ' Memoirs, but
should be glad of the Apology for a late resignation. As
to the ale, 'tis now so late in the year, it is impossible it should
come good. You do not mention your father ; my last lettei
from him told he intended soon for England.
280 LETTERS TO
LETTER XVI.
Louvere, March 6, IT 53.
I can not 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 proposal of a learned educa-
tion for daughters, which the generality of men believe to be
' 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 en-
joined 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 the soil) demand perpetual weeding. Add
to this the search after knowledge (every branch of which is
entertaining,) and the longest life is too short for the pursuit of
it ; which, though in some regard confined to very strait limits,
leaves still a vast variety of amusements to those capable of
tasting them, which is utterly impossible to be attained by those
that are blinded by prejudice, 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 infancv, to fill my
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 281
head with superstitious tales and false notions. It was none of
her fault that 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 any thing by your parents. I can truly affirm I never
deceived any body in my life, excepting (which I confess has
often happened undesigned) by speaking plainly ; as Earl
Stanhope used to say (during his ministry) he always imposed
on the foreign ministers by telling them the naked truth,
which, as they thought impossible to come from the mouth of ]
a statesman, they never failed to write information to their re-
spective courts directly contrary to the assurances he gave
them. Most people confound the ideas of sense and cunning,
though there are really no two things in nature more opposite :
it is, in part, from this false reasoning, the unjust custom pre-
vails 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 di-
rectly contrary to the truth. Fools are always enterprising, t
not seeing the difficulties of deceit, or the ill consequences of
detection. 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 mishief. There is nothing so like the v
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, which, if they attain, they are extraordinary crea-
tures 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 common-
wealth of rational horses (as Doctor Swift has supposed), it
would be an established maxim among them that a mare could
282 LETTERS TO
not be taught to pace. I could add a great deal on this sub-
ject, but I am not now endeavoring to remove the prejudices
of mankind : my only design is to point out to my grand,
daughters the method of being contented with that retreat to
which unforseen circumstances may oblige them, and which is
perhaps preferable to all the show of public life. It has always
been my inclination. Lady Stafford (who knew me better than
any body else in the world, both from her own just discern-
ment, and my heart being ever as open to her as myself) used
to tell me, my true vocation was a monastery ; and I now find,
by experience, more sincere pleasures with my books and gar-
den than all the flutter of a court could give me.
If you follow my advice in relation to Lady Mary, my cor-
respondence may be of use to her ; and I shall very willingly
give her those instructions that may be necessary in the pursuit
of her studies. Before her age, I was in the most regular com-
merce with my grandmother, though the difference of our time
of life was much greater, she being past forty-five when she
married my grandfather. She died at ninety-six, retaining, to
the last, the vivacity and clearness of her understanding, which
was very uncommon.
LETTER XVII.
Louvere, June 3, N. S., 1753.
My Dear Child — You see I was not mistaken in supposing
we should have disputes concerning your daughters, if we
were together, since we can differ even at this distance. The
sort of learning that I recommended is not so expensive, either
of time or money, as dancing, and in my opinion likely to be
of much more use to Lady , if her memory and apprehen-
sion are what you represented them to me. However, every
one has a right to educate their children after their own way,
and I shall speak no more on that subject. I was so much
pleased with the character you gave her, that had there been
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 283
any possibility of her undertaking so long a journey, I should
certainly have asked for her ; and I think out of such a number
you might have spared her. I own my affection prevailed over
my judgment in this thought, since nothing can be more im-
prudent than undertaking the management of another's child.
I verily believe that had I carried six daughters out of England
with me, I could have disposed of them all advantageously.
The winter I passed at Rome there was an unusual concourse
of English, many of them with great estates, and their own
masters : as they had no admittance to the Roman ladies, nor
understood the language, they had no way of passing their
evenings but in my apartment, where I had always a full draw-
ing-room. Their governors encouraged their assiduities as
much as they could, finding I gave them lessons of economy
and good conduct ; and my authority was so great, it was a
common threat among them, I '11 tell Lady Mary what you say.
I was judge of all their disputes, and my decisions always
submitted to. While I staid, there was neither gaming, drink-
ing, quarreling, or keeping. The Abbe Grant (a very honest
good-natured North Briton, who has resided several years at
Rome) was so much amazed at this uncommon regularity, he
would have made me believe I was bound in conscience to pass
my life there, for the good of my countrymen. I can assure
you my vanity was not at all raised by this influence over them,
knowing very well that had Lady Charlotte de Roussi been in
my place, it would have been the same thing. There is that
general emulation in mankind, I am fully persuaded if a dozen
young fellows bred a bear among them, and saw no other
creature, they would every day fall out for the bear's favors,
and be extremely flattered by any mark of distinction shown
by that ugly animal. Since my last return to Italy, which is
now near seven yeacs, I have lived in a solitude not unlike that
of Robinson Crusoe, excepting my short trips to Louvere : my
whole time is spent in my closet and garden, without regret-
ting any conversation but that of my own family. The study
of simples is a new amusement to me. I have no correspond-
284 LETTERS TO
ence with any body at London but yourself and your father,
whom I have not heard from a long time. My best wishes
attend you and yours.
LETTER XVIII.
Louvere, July 10, l^.
I have been these six weeks, and still am, at my dairy-house,
which joins to my garden. I believe I have already told you
it is a long mile from the castle, which is situate in the midst
of a very large village, once a considerable town, part of the
walls still remaining, and has not vacant ground enough about
it to make a garden, which is my greatest amusement, it being
now troublesome to walk, or even go in the chaise till the even-
ing. I have fitted up in this farm-house a room for myself,
that is to say, strewed the floor with rushes, covered the
chimney with moss and branches, and adorned the room with
basons of earthen-ware (which is made here to great perfec-
tion) filled with flowers, and put in some straw chairs, and a
couch bed, which is my whole furniture. This spot of ground
is so beautiful, I am afraid you will scarce credit the descrip-
tion, which, however, I can assure you shall be very literal,
without any embellishment from imagination. It is on a bank,
forming a kind of peninsula, raised from the river Oglio fifty
feet, to which you may descend by easy stairs cut in the turf,
and either take the air on the river, which is as large as the
Thames at Richmond, or by walking an avenue two hundred
yards,; on the side of it, you find a wood of a hundred acres,
which was all ready cut into walks and ridings when I took it.
I have only added fifteen bowers in different views, with seats
of turf. They were easily made, here being a large quantity
of underwood, and a great number of wild vines, which twist
to the top of the highest trees, and from which they make a
very good sort of wine they call brusco. I am now writing to
you in one of these arbors, which is so thick shaded the sun
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 285
is not troublesome, even at noon. Another is on the side of
the river, where I have made a camp kitchen, that I may take
the fish, dress, and eat it immediately, and at the same time see
the barks, which ascend or descend every day to or from
Mantua, Guastalla, or Pont de Vie, all considerable towns.
This little wood is carpeted, in their succeeding seasons, with
violets and strawberries, inhabited by a nation of nightingales,
and filled with game of all kinds, excepting deer and wild boar,
the first being unknown here, and not being large enough for
the other.
My garden was a plain vineyard when it came into my hands
not two years ago, and it is, with a small expense, turned into
a garden that (apart from the advantage of the climate) I like
better than that of Kensington. The Italian vinej^ards are not
planted like those in France, but in clumps, fastened to trees
planted in equal ranks (commonly fruit trees), and continued
in festoons from one to another, which I have turned into cov-
ered galleries of shade, that I can walk in the heat without
being incommoded by it. I have made a dining-room of ver-
dure, capable of holding a table of twenty covers ; the whole
ground is three hundred and seventeen feet in length, and two
hundred in breadth. You see it is far from large ; but so pret-
tily disposed (though I say it), that I never saw a more agree-
able rustic garden, abounding with all sorts of fruit, and pro-
ducing a variety of wines. I would send you a pipe, if I did
not fear the customs would make you pay too dear for it. I
believe my description gives you but an imperfect idea of my
garden. Perhaps I shall succeed better in describing my man-
ner of life, which is as regular as that of any monastery. I
generally rise at six, and as soon as I have breakfasted, put
myself at the head of my needle- worn en and work with them
till nine. I then inspect my dairy, and take a turn among my
poultry, which is a very large inquiry. I have, at present, two
hundred chickens, besides turkeys, geese, ducks, and peacocks.
All things have hitherto prospered under my care ; my bees
and silk-worms are doubled, and I am told that, without acci-
286 LETTERS TO
dents, my capital will be so in two years' time. At eleven
o'clock I retire to my books, I dare not indulge myself in that
pleasure above an hour. At twelve I constantly dine, and
sleep after dinner till about three. I then send for some of my
old priests, and either play at piquet or whist, till 'tis cool
enough to go out. One evening I walk in my wood, where I
often sup, take the air on horseback the next, and go on the
water the third. The fishery of this part of the river belongs
to me ; and my fisherman's little boat (to which I have a green
lutestring awning) serves me for a barge. He and his son are
my rowers without any expense, he being very well paid by
the profit of the fish, which I give him on condition of having
every day one dish for my table. Here is plenty of every sort
of fresh water fish (excepting salmon) ; but we have a large
trout so like it that I who have almost forgot the taste, do not
distinguish it.
We are both placed properly in regard to our different times
of life : you amid the fair, the gallant, and the gay ; I, in a
retreat, where I enjoy every amusement that solitude can afford.
I confess I sometimes wish for a little conversation ; but I re-
flect that the commerce of the world gives more uneasiness
than pleasure, and quiet is all the hope that can reasonably be
indulged at my age.
LETTER XIX.
Louvere, Nov. 27, N. S., 1753.
Dear Child — By the account you give me of London, I
think it very much reformed ; at least you have one sin the
less, and it was a very reigning one in my time, I mean scan-
dal : it must be literally reduced to a whisper, since the cus-
tom of Mving all together. I hope it has also banished the
fashion of talking all at once, which was very prevailing when
I was in town, and may perhaps contribute to brotherly love
and unity, which was so much declined in my memory that it
THE COUNTESS OF CUTE. 287
was hard to invite six people that would not, by cold looks, or
piquing reflections, affront one another. I suppose parties are
at an end, though I fear it is the consequence of the old
almanac prophecy, " Poverty brings peace ;" and I fancy you
really follow the French mode, and the lady keeps an assem-
bly, that the assembly may keep the lady, and card money
pay for clothes and equipage, as well as cards and candles. I
find I should be as solitary in London as I am here in the
country, it being impossible forme to submit to live in a drum,
which I think so far from a cure of uneasiness, that it is, in
my opinion, adding one more to the heap. There are so
many attached to humanity, 'tis impossible to fly from them
all ; but experience has confirmed to me (what I always
thought) that the pursuit of pleasure will be ever attended
with pain, and the study of ease be most certainly accom-
panied with pleasures. I have had this morning as much de-
light in a walk in the sun as ever I felt formerly in the
crowded mall, even when I imagined I had my share of the
admiration of the place, which was generally soured, before I
slept, by the informations of my female friends, who seldom
failed to tell me it was observed that I showed an inch
above my shoe-heels, or some other criticism of equal weight,
which was construed affectation, and utterly destroyed all the
satisfaction my vanity had given me. I have now no other
but in my little housewifery, which is easily gratified in this
country, where, by the help of my recipe-book, I make a very
shining figure among my neighbors, by the introduction of
custards, cheesecakes, and mince-pies, which were entirely un-
known to these parts, and are received with universal ap-
plause, and have reason to believe will preserve my memory
even to future ages, particularly by the art of butter-making,
in which I have so improved them that they now make as
good as in any part of England.
288
LETTERS TO
LETTER XX.
Louvere, Dec. 13, 1753.
Dear Child — I have wrote you so many letters without
any return, that if I loved you at all less than I do, I should
certainly give over writing. I received a kind letter last post
from Lady Oxford, which gives me hopes I shall at length re-
ceive yours, being persuaded you have not neglected our cor-
respondence, though I am not so happy to have the pleasure
of it.
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
nunnery, twelve miles from hence, which is the only institu-
tion 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 vail 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 montes, for which I have no name in En-
glish, but you may have seen them in very old pictures, being
in fashion 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 con-
sists of as many rooms as she pleases : they have each a sep-
arate 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, with-
out excluding the gentlemen : but what I think the most re-
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 289
markable 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 may take their pleasure there
for as many days as they choose. They seem to differ from
the chanoinesse of Flanders only in their vow of celibacy.
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 behavior 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 in-
deed, they generally talk as if they thought so. I went to
a monastery, which gave me occasion to know a great deal
of their conduct, which (though the convent of the best
reputation in that town where it is) was such as I would as
soon put a girl in a play-house for education as send her
among them.
My paper is at an end, and hardly leaves room for my com-
pliments to Lord Bute, blessing to my grandchildren, and
assurance to yourself of being your most affectionate mother.
LETTER XXI.
] 3th May, 1754.
It was with great pleasure I received my dear child's letter
of April 15, this day, May 13. Do not imagine that I have had
hard thoughts of you when I lamented your silence ; I think I
know your good heart too well to suspect you of any unkindness
to me ; in your circumstances many unavoidable accidents may
hinder your writing, but having not heard from you for many
months, my fears for your health made me very uneasy. I am
surprised I am not oftener low-spirited, considering the vexa-
tions I am exposed to by the folly of Murray ; I suppose he
attributes to me some of the marks of contempt he is treated
13
290 LETTERS TO
with ; without remembering that he was in no higher esteem
before I came. I confess I have received great civilities from
some friends that I made here so long ago as the year '40, but
upon my honor 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 consequences. Here arrived, a few days ago, Sir James
Stuart 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 appre-
hend that his fertile imagination may support this wise idea by
such circumstances as may influence those that do not know
me. It is very remarkable that, after having suffered all the
rage of that party at Avignon, for my attachment to the pres-
ent reigning family, I should be accused here of favoring re-
bellion, when I hoped all our odious divisions were forgotten.
I return you many thanks, my dear child, for your kind in-
tention of sending me another set of books. I am still in your
debt nine shillings, and send you inclosed a note on Child to pay
for whatever you buy ; but no more duplicates ; as well as I
love nonsense, I do not desire to have it twice over in the same
words ; no translations ; no periodical papers, though, I confess,
some of the World entertained me very much, particularly
Lord Chesterfield and Harry Walpole, whom I knew at Flor-
ence ; but whenever I met Dodsley I wished him out of the
World with all my heart. The title was a very lucky one,
being as you see productive of puns world without end ; which
is all the species of wit some people can either practice or
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 291
understand. I beg you would direct the next box to me, with-
out passing through the hands of Smith ;* he makes so much
merit of giving himself the trouble of asking for it that I am
quite weary of him ; beside that he imposes upon me in every
thing. He has lately married Murray'sf sister, a beauteous
virgin of forty, who after having refused all the peers in En-
gland, because the nicety of her conscience would not permit
her to give her hand when her heart was untouched, she re-
mained without a husband till the charms of that fine gentleman
Mr. Smith, who is only eighty-two, determined her to change
her condition. In short, they are (as Lord Orrery says of
Swift and company) an illustrious group, but with that I have
nothing to do. I should be sorry to ruin any body, or offend
a man of such strict honor as Lord Holderness, who, like a
great politician, has provided for a worthless relation without
any expense. It has long been a maxim not to consider if a
man is fit for a place, but if the place is fit for him, and we see
the fruit of these Machiavellian proceedings. All I desire is,
that Mr. Pitt would require of this noble minister to behave
civilly to me, the contrary conduct being very disagreeable. I
will talk further on this subject in another letter, if this arrives
safely. Let me have an answer as soon as possible, and think
of me as your most affectionate mother.
My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to all yours, who
are very near my heart.
LETTER XXII.
Louvere, June 23, 1754.
My Dear Child — I have promised you some remarks on all
the books I have received. I believe you would easily forgive
* Joseph Smith, Esq., Consul at Venice. He made a large collection
of paintings and gems, which were purchased by King George the
Third for £20.000. The Dactyliotheca Smithiana, in two vols, quarto
was published in 1765.
•f- Mr. Murray was afterward embassador at the Porte, and died in
thft Lazaretto at Venice in 1777, upon his return to England.
292 LETTERS TO
me not keeping my word ; however, I shall go on. The Ram-
bler 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, which is saying a great deal in their
favor. There are numbers of both sexes who never read any-
thing but such productions, and can not spare time, from doing
nothing, to go through a sixpenny pamphlet. Such gentle
readers may be improved by a moral hint, which, though re-
peated 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. H. Fielding has given a true picture of him-
self and his first wife, in the characters of Mr. and Mrs. Booth,
some compliments to his own figure excepted ; and, I am per-
suaded, several of the incidents he mentions are real matters
of fact. I wonder he does not perceive Tom Jones and Mr.
Booth are sorry scoundrels. AIL this sort of books have the
same fault, which I can not easily pardon, being very mischiev-
ous. They place a merit in extravagant passions, and encour-
age young people to hope for impossible events, to draw them
out of the misery they choose to plunge themselves into, ex-
pecting legacies from unknown relations, and generous ben-
efactors to distressed virtue, as much out of nature as fairy
treasures. Fielding has really a fund of true humor, and
was to be pitied at his first entrance into the world, having
no choice, as he said himself, but to be a hackney writer, or
a hackney coachman. His genius deserved a better fate ;
but I can not help blaming that continued indiscretion, to
give it the softest name, that has run through his life, and I
am afraid still remains. I guessed R. Random to be his,
though without his name. I can not think Ferdinand Fathom
wrote by the same hand, it is every way so much below it.
Sally Fielding has mended her style in her last volume of
David Simple, which conveys a useful moral, though she does
not seem to have intended it : I mean, shows the ill conse-
THE COUNTESS OP BUTE. 293
quences of not providing against casual losses, which happen
to almost every body. Mr. Orgueil's character is well drawn,
and is frequently to be met with. The Art of Tormenting,
the Female Quixote, and Sir C. Goodville, are all sale work.
I suppose they proceed from her pen, and I heartily pity her,
constrained by her circumstances to seek her bread by a
method, I do not doubt, she despises. Tell me who is that
accomplished countess she celebrates. I left no such person
in London ; nor can I imagine who is meant by the English
Sappho mentioned in Betsy Thoughtless, whose adventures,
and those of Jemmy Jessamy, gave me some amusement. I
was better entertained by the valet, who very fairly represents
how you are bought and sold by your servants. I am now
so accustomed to another manner of treatment, it would be
difficult to me to suffer them. His adventures have the un-
common merit of ending in a surprising manner. The gen-
eral want of invention which reigns among our writers, in-
clines me to think it is not the natural growth of our island,
which has not sun enough to warm the imagination. The
press is loaded by the servile flock of imitators. Lord Bo-
lingbroke would have quoted Horace in this place. Since I
was born, no original has appeared excepting Congreve and
Fielding, who would, I believe, have approached nearer to his
excellencies, if not forced by necessity to publish without cor-
rection, and throw many productions into the world he would
have thrown into the fire, if meat could have been got with-
out money, or money without scribbling. The greatest virtue,
justice, and the most distinguishing prerogative of mankind,
writing, when duly executed, do honor to human nature ; but
when degenerated into trades, are the most contemptible ways
of getting bread. I am sorry not to see any more of Pere-
grine Pickle's performances ; I wish you would tell me his
name.
I can't forbear saying something in relation to my grand-
daughters, who are very near my heart. If any of them are
fond of reading, I would not advise you to hinder them
294 LETTERS TO
(chiefly because it is impossible) seeing poetry, plays, or ro-
mances ; but accustom them to talk over what they read, and
point out to them, as you are very capable of doing, the ab-
surdity often concealed under fine expressions, where the sound
is apt to engage the admiration of young people. I was so
much charmed, at fourteen, with the dialogue of Henry and
Emma, I can say it by heart to this day, without reflecting on
the monstrous folly of the story in plain prose, where a young
heiress to a fond father is represented falling in love with a
fellow she had only seen as a huntsman, a falconer, and a beg-
gar, and who confesses, without any circumstances of excuse,
that he is obliged to run his country, having newly committed
a murder. She ought reasonably to have supposed him, at
best, a highwayman ; yet the virtuous virgin resolves to run
away with him, to live among the banditti, and wait upon his
trollop, if she had no other way of enjoying his company.
This senseless tale is, however, so well varnished with melody
of words, and pomp of sentiments, I am convinced it has hurt
more girls than ever were injured by the worst poems extant.
I fear this counsel has been repeated to you before ; but I
have lost so many letters designed for you, I know not which
you have received. If you would have me avoid this fault,
you must take notice of those that arrive, which you very
seldom do. My dear child, God bless you and yours.
LETTER XXni.
Loutere, July 24, 1754.
It is always a great pleasure to me, my dear child, to hear
of your health, and that of your family. This year has been
fatal to the literati of Italy. The Marquis MafTei soon fol-
lowed 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 con-
* Presented by Mr. Wortley to Trinity College, Cambridge.
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 295
8equently now a great age ; but preserved his memory and
senses in their first vigor. 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 theater and the ancient amphitheater. He
made piazzas leading to each of them, filled with shops, where
were sold coffee, tea, chocolate, all sorts of 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 cameos, arranged in exact order. His library
joined to it ; and on the other side a suit 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 his-
torical or poetical. Controversy and politics being utterly
prohibited, he generally proposed the subject, and took great
delight in instructing the young people, who were obliged to
seek the medal, or explain the inscription, that, illustrated any
fact they discoursed of. Those who chose the diversion of the
public walks, or theater, went thither, but never failed return-
ing to give an account of the drama, which produced a criti-
cal 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 master-piece ; and his comedy of the Ceremonies, being a
just ridicule of those formal fopperies, it has gone a great
way in helping to banish them out of Italy. The walkers
contributed to the entertainment by an account of some herb,
or flower, which led the way to a botanical conversation ; or,
296 LETTERS TO
if they were such inaccurate observers as to have nothing of
that kind to offer, they repeated some pastoral description,
One day in the week was set apart for music, vocal and instru-
mental, but no mercenaries were admitted to the concert.
Thus, at very little expense (his fortune not permitting a large
one), he had the happiness of giving his countrymen a taste
of polite pleasure, and showing the youth how to pass their
time agreeably without debauchery ; and if I durst say it) in
so doing, has been a greater benefactor to his country than the
cardinal, with all his magnificent foundations, and voluminous
writings, to support superstition, and create disputes on things,
for the most part, in their own nature indifferent. The Vero-
nese nobility, having no road open to advancement, are not
tormented with ambition, or its child, faction ; and having
learned to make the best of the health and fortune allotted
them, terminate all their views in elegant pleasure. They say
God has reserved glory to himself, and permitted pleasuie to
the pursuit of man. In the autumn, which is here the pleas-
anest season of the year, a band of about thirty join their
hunting equipages, and, carrying with them a portable theater
and a set of music, make a progress in the neighboring prov-
inces, where they hunt every u.orning, perform an opera every
Sunday, and other plays the rest of the week, to the entertain-
ment of all the neighborhood. I have had many honorable
invitations from my old friend Maffei* to make one of this
society ; but some accident or other has always prevented me.
You that are accustomed to hear of deep political schemes
and wise harangues, will despise, perhaps, this trifling life. I
look upon them in another light ; as a sect of rational philos-
ophers,
Who sing and dance, and laugh away their time,
Fresh as their groves, .and happy as their clime.
* The Marquis Scipione Maffei, the author of the "Verona Illus-
trata," 1733, folio, and the " Museum Veronese," 1749, folio, was very
highly esteemed in the literary world as an antiquary and virtuoso.
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 297
LETTER XXIV.
Loutere, Sep. 20, 1754.
My Dear Child — I am extremely delighted by your last
letter. Your pleasure in your daughter's company is exactly
what I have felt in yours, and recalls to me many tender ideas
perhaps better forgot. You observe very justly, that my af-
fection, which was confined to one, must be still more intenso
than yours, which is divided among so many. I can not help
being anxious for their future welfare, though thoroughly con-
vinced of the folly of being so. Human prudence is so short-
sighted that it is common to see the wisest schemes disap-
pointed, and things often take a more favorable turn than there
is any apparent reason to expect. My poor sister Gower, I
really think, shortened her life by fretting at the disagreeable
prospect of a numerous family, slenderly provided for ; yet
you see how well fortune has disposed of them. You may be
as lucky as Lady Selina Batliurst.* I wish Lady Mary's des-
tiny may lead her to a young gentleman I saw this spring.j
He is son to Judge Hervey, but takes the name of Desbouverie,
on inheriting a very large estate from his mother. He will not
charm at first sight ; but I never saw a young man of better
understanding with the strictest notions of honor and morality,
and, in my opinion, a peculiar sweetness of temper. Our ac-
quaintance was short, he being summoned to England on the
death of his younger brother. I am persuaded he will never
marry for money, nor even for beauty. Your daughter's char-
acter perfectly answers the description of what he wished for
his bride. Our conversation happened on the subject of matri-
* Lady Selina Shirley, daughter of Robert Earl Ferrers, wife of
Peter Bathurst, Esq., of Clarendon Park, "Wilts.
f The gentleman referred to was the son of John Hervey of Beach-
worth, Esq., one of the Welsh judges, by Anne eldest daughter of Chris-
topher Desbouvries by Elizabeth his wife, daughter and sole heir of
Ralph Foreman, Esq., of Beachworth in Surrey. This Christopher
was the youngest son of Sir Edward DesbouvrieSj knighted in 1694,
one of the ancestors of the Earl of Radnor.
13*
298 LETTERS TO
mony, in his last visit, his mind being much perplexed on that
subject, supposing his father, who is old and infirm, had sent
for him with some view of that sort.
You will laugh at the castles I build in relation to my
grandchildren ; and will scarcely think it possible that those I
have never seen should so much employ my thoughts. I can
assure you that they are, next to yourself, the objects of my
tenderest concern ; and it is not from custom, but my heart,
when I send them my blessing, and say that I am your most
affectionate mother.
LETTER XXV.
Louvere, 1754.
Mr dear Child — I received yours of September 15, this
morning, October 9, and am exceedingly glad of the health of
you and your family. I am fond of your little Louisa : to say
truth, I was afraid of a Bess, a Peg, or a Suky, which all give
me the ideas of washing: tubs and scowerinp* of kettles.
I am much obliged to Mr. Hamilton, which is according to
the academy of compliments ; more his goodness than my de-
serts: I saw him but twice, and both times in mixed company,
but am surprised you have never mentioned Lord Roseberry,*
by whom I sent a packet to you, and took some pains to show
him civilities : he breakfasted with me at Padua : I gave
him bread and butter of my own manufacture, which is the
admiration of all the English. He promised to give you full
information of myself, and all my employments. He seemed
delighted with my house and gardens, and perhaps has forgot
he ever saw me, or any thing that belonged to me. We have
had many English here. Mr. G le,f his lady, and her
* James Primerose, Earl of Roseberry, died November 28, 1755.
f Greville. Of the book in question, Horace Walpole, in a letter to
General Conway, speaks thus: "A wonderful book, by a more won-
derful author, Greville. Tt is called Maxims and Characters ; several of
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 299
suite of adorers, deserve particular mention : lie was so good
to present me with his curious book : since the days of the Hon-
orable Mr. Edward, nothing has ever been published like it. I
told him the age wanted an Earl of Dorset to celebrate it prop-
eily ; and he was so well pleased with that speech that he visited
me every day, to the great comfort of maclame, who was enter-
tained, meanwhile, with parties of pleasure of another kind,
though I fear I lost his esteem at last by refusing to correspond
with him. However, I qualified my denial by complaining of my
bad eyes not permitting me to multiply my correspondents. I
could give you the characters of many other travelers, if I
thought it would be of any use to you. It is melancholy to see
the pains our pious minister takes to debauch the younger sort
of them : but, as you say, all is melancholy that relates to Great
Britain. I have a high value for Mr. Pitt's* probity and un-
derstanding, without having the honor of being acquainted
with him. I am persuaded he is able to do whatever is within
the bounds of possibility ; but there is an Augcean stable to be
cleaned, and several other labors that I doubt if Hercules him-
self would be equal to.
LETTER XXVI.
Louvere, March 1, 1755.
I pity Lady Mary Cokef extremely. You will be sur-
prised at this sentiment, when she is the present envy of her
sex, in the possession of youth, health, wealth, wit, beauty, and
liberty. All these seeming advantages will prove snares to
tho former are pretty ; all the latter so absurd, that one in particular
which at the beginning you take for the character of a man, turns out
to be the character of a post-chaise.
* The first Earl of Chatham.
f Lady Mary Coke, the fifth daughter of John Duke of Argyll, was
married to Edward Lord Viscount Coke, eldest son of the Earl of Leices-
ter, who died in 1755. The title became extinct in that family in
1759.
300 LETTERS TO
her. She appears to me, as I observed in a former instance,
to be walking blindfolded, upon stilts, amid precipices. She is
at a dangerous time of life, when the passions are in full vigor,
and, we are apt to flatter ourselves, the understanding arrived
at maturity. People are never so near playing the fool as
when they think themselves wise : they lay aside that distrust
which is the surest guard against indiscretion, and venture oti
many steps they would have trembled at at fifteen ; and, like
children, are never so much exposed to falling as when they
first leave off leading-strings. I think nothing but a miracle, or
the support of a guardian angel, can proiect her. It is true
(except I am much mistaken), nature has furnished her with
one very good defense. I took particular notice of her, both
from my own liking her, and her uncommonly obliging be-
havior to me. She was then of an age not capable of much
disguise, and I thought she had a great turn to economy : it is
an admirable shield against the most fatal weaknesses. Those
who have the good fortune to be born with that inclination
seldom ruin themselves, and are early aware of the designs laid
against them. Yet, with all that precaution, she will have so
many plots contrived for her destruction that she will find it
very difficult to escape ; and if she is a second time unhappily
engaged, it will make her much more miserable than the first;
as all misfortunes, brought on by our own imprudence, are the
most wounding to a sensible heart. The most certain security
would be that diffidence which naturally arises from an im-
partial self-examination. But this is the hardest of all tasks,
requiring great reflection, long retirement, and is strongly re-
pugnant to our own vanity, which very unwillingly reveals,
even to ourselves, our common frailty, though it is every way
a useful study. Mr. Locke, who has made a more exact dis-
section of the human mind than any man before him, declares
that he gained all his knowledge from the consideration of him-
self. It is indeed necessary to judge of others. You condemn
Lord Cornbury without knowing what he could say in his just-
ification. I am persuaded he thought he performed an act of
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 301
rigid justice, in excluding the Duchess of Queensberry from an
inheritance to which she had no natural, though a legal, right ;
especially having had a large portion from her real father. I
have heard him talk on that subject without naming names, and
call it a robbery within the law. He carried that notion to a
great height. I agreed with him, that a woman who produced
a false child into a family, incurred the highest degree of guilt
(being irreparable); but I could not be of his opinion, that it
was the duty of the child, in such a case, to renounce the fortune
the law entitled it to. You see he has acted by a maxim he
imagined just. Lady E x* being, inside and out, re-
sembling Lord Clarendon ; and whoever remembers Lord
Carleton's eyes, must confess they now shine in the Duchess's
face. I am not bribed, by Lord Cornbery's behavior to me,
to find excuses for him ; but I have always endeavored to look
on the conduct of my acquaintance without any regard to their
way of acting toward me. I can say, with truth, I have strictly
adhered to this principle whenever I have been injured ; but I
own, to my shame be it spoken, the love of flattery has some-
times prevailed on me, under the mask of gratitude, to think
better of people than they deserved, when they have professed
more value for me than I was conscious of meriting. I slide
insensibly into talking of myself, though I always resolve
against it. I will rescue you from so dull a subject by con-
cluding my letter with my compliments to Lord Bute, my bless-
ing to my grandchildren, and the assurance of my being ever
your most affectionate mother.
LETTER XXVII.
April 1, 1T55.
My Dear Child — I have this minute received yours of
February 1. I had one before (which I have answered), in which
you mention some changes among your ministerial subalterns.
302 LETTERS TO
I see the motion of the puppets, but not the master that di-
rects them ; nor can guess at him. By the help of some mis-
erable newspapers, with my own reflections, I can form such a
dim telescope as serves astronomers to survey the moon. I
can discern spots and inequalities, but your beauties (if you
have any) are invisible to me : your provinces of politics,
gallantry, and literature, all terra incognita. The merchant,
who undertook to deliver my ring to Lady Jane, assures me it
is delivered, though I have no advice of it either from her or
you. Here are two new fortunes far superior to Miss Craw-
ley's. They are become so by an accident which would be
very extraordinary in London. Their father was a Greek,
and had been several years chief farmer of the customs at
Venice. About ten days ago, a creditor, who had a demand
of five hundred crowns, was very importunate with him. He
answered he was not satisfied it was due to him, and would
examine his accounts. After much pressing without being
able to obtain any other reply, the fellow drew his stiletto, and
in one stroke stabbed him to the heart. The noise of his fall
brought in his servants ; the resolute assassin drew a pistol
from his pocket and shot himself through the head. The
merchant has left no will, and is said to have been worth four
millions of sequins, all of which will be divided between two
daughters. If it be only half as much, they are (I believe)
the greatest heiresses in Europe. It is certain he has died
immensely rich. The eldest lady is but eighteen ; and both
of them are reputed to be very beautiful. I hear they de-
clare they will choose husbands of their own country and re-
ligion, and refuse any other prospects. If they keep their
resolution I shall admire them much. Since they are des-
tined to be a prey, 'tis a sort of patriotism to enrich their own
country with their spoils. You put me out of patience when
you complain you want subjects to entertain me. You need
not go out of your own walls for that purpose. You have
within them ten strangers to me, whose characters interest me
extremely. I should be glad to know something of them in-
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 303
side and out. What provision of wit and beauty has Heaven
allotted them ? I shall be sorry if all the talents have fallen
into the male part of your family. Do not forget, among the
books, Fielding's Posthumous Works, his Journey to the
Next World, and Jon. Wild's Memoirs; also those of a
Young Lady, and the History of London. I have said this
already, but am afraid the letter is lost among many others.
LETTER XXVIII.
Louvere, July 20, K S., 1755.
My Dear- Child — I have now read over the books you
were so good to send, and intend to say something of them
all, though some are not worth speaking of. I shall begin, in
respect to his dignity, with Lord Bolingbroke, who is a glaring
proof how far vanity can blind a man, and how easy it is to
varnish over to one's self the most criminal conduct. He de-
clares he always loved his country, though he confesses he
endeavored 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 views of the Whigs, at that time,
were too vast, and the nation, dazzled by military glory, had
hopes too sanguine ; but surely 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 Marl-
borough raised the spirits of our enemies to a degree of refus-
ing what they had before offered, how can he excuse the guilt
of removing him from the head of a victorious army, and ex-
posing us to submit to any articles of peace, being unable to
continue the war? I agree with him that the idea of conquer-
ing 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
304 LETTERS TO
to her neighbors 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 can not 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 Mad-
ame 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 lady,
sometimes 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 labors 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
ground, that is, covers a certain quantity of paper, to answer
the demand of the day. A great part of Lord Bolingbroke's
letters are designed to show his reading, which, indeed, ap-
pears to have been very extensive ; but I can not 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 sometimes more diffuse than his judgment approved, to
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 305
furnish out the length of a daily Spectator. I own I have
small regard for Lord Bolingbroke as an author, and the high-
est contempt for him as a man. He came into the world
greatly favored both by nature and fortune, blessed with a noble
birth, heir to a large estate, endowed with a strong constitu-
tion, and, as I have heard, a beautiful figure, high spirits, a
good memory, and a lively 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 dishonored his birth, lost his estate, ruined his repu-
tation, 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 I may reasonably despise the understanding of one who
conducts himself in such a manner as naturally produces
such lamentable cou sequences, and continues in the same de-
structive paths to the end of a long life, ostentatiously boast-
ing of morals and philosophy in print, and with equal osten-
tation bragging of the scenes of low debauchery in public
conversation, though deplorably weak both in mind and body,
and his virtue and his vigor in a state of non-existence. His
confederacy with Swift and Pope puts me in mind of that
of Bessus and his swordmen, in the King and No King, who
endeavor 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 de-
lighted with the comparison given of their benevolence,
which is indeed most amply figured by a circle in the water,
which widens till it comes to nothing at all ; but I am pro-
voked at Lord Bolingbroke's misrepresentation of my favor-
ite Atticus, who seems to have been the only Roman that,
from good sense, had a true notion of the limes in which he
806 LETTERS TO
lived, in "which the republic was inevitably perishing, and the
two factions, who pretended to support it, equally endeavor-
ing to gratify their ambition in its ruin. A wise man, in that
case, would certainly declare for neither, and try to save him-
self 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 a universal esteem amid 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 awakening their resentment, 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.
You must forgive this tedious dissertation. I hope you
read in the same spirit I write, and take as proof of affection
whatever is sent you by your truly affectionate mother.
I must add a few words on the Essay on Exile, which I
read with attention, as a subject that touched me. I found
the most abject dejection under a pretended fortitude. That
the author felt it, can be no doubt to one who knows (as I do)
the mean submissions and solemn promises he made to ob-
tain a return, flattering himself (I suppose) he must of course
appear to be at the head of the administration, as every en-
sign of sixteen fancies he is in a fair way to be a general,
on the first sight of his commission.
You will think I have been too long on the character of
Atticus. I own I took pleasure in explaining it. Pope
thought himself covertly very severe on Addison, by giving
him that name ; and I feel indignation whenever he is abused,
both from his own merit, and because he was ever your fa-
ther's friend ; besides that, it is naturally disgusting to see
him lampooned after his death by the same man who paid
THE COUNTESS OP BUTE. 30?
him the most servile court while he lived, and was, besides
highly obliged by him.
LETTER XXIX.
Louvere, September 22, 1755.
My dear Child — I received, two days ago, the box of
books you were so kind to send ; but I can scarce say
whether my pleasure or disappointment was the greater. I
was much pleased to see before me a fund of amusement,
but heartily vexed to find your letter consisting only of three
lines and a half. Why will you not employ -Lady Mary as
secretary, if it is troublesome to you to write ? I have told
you over and over you may at the same time oblige your
mother and improve your daughter, both which I should
think very agreeable to yourself. You can never want some-
thing to say. The history of your nursery, if you had no
other subject to write on, would be very acceptable to me. I
am such a stranger to every thing in England, I should be
glad to hear more particulars relating to the families I am
acquainted with — if Miss Liddel* marries the Lord Euston I
know, or his nephew, who has succeeded him ; if Lord Berke-
ley! nas 1^ children ; and several trifles of that sort, that
would be a satisfaction to my curiosity. 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 low-
est sinks of vice and misery. I should think it a nobler and
less nauseous employment to be one of the staff-ofricers that
conduct the nocturnal weddings. His happy constitution
(even when he had, with great pains, half demolished it) made
* Married Augustus Henry Duke of Grafton, January 29, 175G.
f Augustus Earl of Berkeley died January 9, 1755, and left two
sons and two daughters.
308 LETTERS TO
him forget every thing 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 when he was starving 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. I have read The Cry ; and if I would
write in the style to be admired by good Lord Orrery, I would
tell you " The Cry" made me ready to cry, and the " Art of
Tormenting" tormented me very much. I take them to be
Sally Fielding's, and also the Female Quixote : the plan of
that is pretty, but ill-executed ; on the contrary, the fable of
The Cry is the most absurd I ever saw, but the sentiments
generally just ; and I think, if well dressed, would make a
better body of ethics than Bolingbroke's. Her inventing new
words that are neither more harmonious nor significant than
those already in use, is intolerable. The most edifying pail
of the journey to Lisbon is the history of the kitten. I was
the more touched by it, having a few days before found one,
in deplorable circumstances, in a neighboring vineyard. I
did not only relieve her present wants with some excellent
milk, but had her put into a clean basket, and brought to my
own house, where she has lived ever since very comfortably.
I desire to have Fielding's Posthumous Works, with his
Memoirs of Jonathan Wild, and Journey to the next World ;
also the Memoirs of Verocand, a man of pleasure, and those of
a Young Lady. You will call this trash, trumpery, etc. I can
assure you I was more entertained by G. Edwards than H. St.
John, of whom you have sent me duplicates. I see new story
books with the same pleasure your eldest daughter does a new
dress, or the youngest a new baby. I thank God I can find
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 309
playthings for my age. I am not of Cowley's mind, that this
world is —
A dull, ill-acted comedy :
Nor of Mrs. Philips's, that it is —
A too well acted tragedy.
I look upon it as a very pretty farce, for those that can see it
in that light. I confess a severe critic, that would examine by
ancient rules, might fix many defects ; but 'tis ridiculous to
judge seriously of a puppet-show. Those that can laugh, and
be diverted with absurdities, are the wisest spectators, be it of
writings, actions, or people.
The Stage-Coach has some grotesque figures that amuse : I
place it in the rank of Charlotte Summers, and perhaps it is by
the same author. I am pleased with Sir Herald for recording
a generous action of the Duke of Montagu, which I know to
be true, with some variation of circumstances. You should
have given me a key to the Invisible Spy, particularly to the
catalogue of books in it. I know not whether the conjugal
happiness of the Duke of Bedford is intended as a compliment
or an irony.
This letter is as long and as dull as any of Richardson's. I
am ashamed of it, notwithstanding my maternal privilege of
being tiresome.
I return many thanks to Lord Bute for the china, which I
am sure I shall be very fond of, though I have not yet seen it.
I wish for three of Pinchbeck's watches, shagreen cases, and en-
ameled dial-plates. When I left England they were five
guineas each. You may imagine they are for presents ; one
for my doctor, who is exactly Parson Adams in another pro-
fession, and the others for two priests, to whom I have some
obligations.
This Richardson is a strange fellow. I heartily despise him,
and eagerly read him, nay, sob over his works, in a most scan-
dalous manner. The two first tomes of Clarissa touched me,
310 LETTERS TO
as being very resembling 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.
This letter is grown (I know not how) into an immeasurable
length. I answer it to my conscience as a just judgment on
you for the shortness of yours. Remember my unalterable
maxim, where we love we have always something to say; con-
sequently my pen never tires when expressing to you the
thoughts of your most affectionate mother.
LETTER XXX.
Louvere, March 2, N. S., IT 56.
Dear Child — I had the happiness of a letter from your
father last post, by which I find you are in good health, though
I have not heard from you for a long time. This frequent in-
terruption of our correspondence is a great uneasiness to me :
I charge it on the neglect or irregularity of the post. I sent
you a letter by Mr. Anderson a great while ago, to which I
never had any answer : neither have I ever heard from him
since, though I am fully persuaded he has wrote concerning
some little commissions I gave him. I should be very sorry he
thought I neglected to thank him for his civilities. I desire
Lord Bute would inquire about him. I saw him in company
with a very pretty pupil, who seemed to me a promising youth.
I wish he would fall in love with my granddaughter. I dare
say you laugh at this early design of providing for her : take it
as a mark of my affection for you and yours, which is without
any mixture of self-interest, since, with my age and infirmities,
there is little probability of my living to see them established.
I no more expect to arrive at the age of the Duchess of Marl-
borough than that of Methuselah ; 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 youih. You
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 311
will 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 perpetuity of youth,
which appears to me as little desirable at present as the babies
do to you that were the delight of your infancy. I am at the
end of my paper, which shortens the sermon.
LETTER XXXI.
Venice, March 22, 1756.
I have received, but this morning, the first box of china Lord
Bute has been so obliging to send me. I am quite charmed
with it, but wish you had sent in it the note of the contents ;
it has been so long deposited that it is not impossible some
diminution may have happened. Every thing that comes from
England is precious to ine, to the very hay that is employed
in packing. I should be glad to know any thing that could
be an agreeable return from hence. There are many things I
could send; but they are either contraband, or the custom
would cost more than tney are worth. I look out for a picture ;
the few that are in this part of Italy are those that remain in
families, where they are entailed, and I might as well pretend
to send you a palace. I am extremely pleased with the ac-
count you gave of your father's health. I have wrote to desire
his consent in the disposal of poor Lady Oxford's legacy ; I do
not doubt obtaining it. It has been both my interest and my
duty to study his character, and I can say, with truth, I never
knew any man so capable of a generous action.
A late adventure here makes a great noise from the rank of
the people concerned: the Marchioness Licinia Bentivoglio,
312 LETTERS TO
who was heiress of one branch of the Martineiighi, and brougnt
ten thousand gold sequins to her husband, and the expectation
of her father's estate, three thousand pounds sterling per an-
num, 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 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 pretty, and the match was with the satisfaction of
both families ; but sbe brought with her such a diabolical
temper, and such Luciferan pride, that neither husband, re-
lations, or 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 Mar-
quis. Her father was so angry at her extravagant conduct
that he would not, for some time, receive her into his house ;
but, after some months, and much solicitation, parental fond-
ness prevailed, and she has remained with him ever since, not-
withs anding all the efforts of her husband, who tried kindness,
submission, and threats, to no purpose. The Cardinal came
twice to Brescia, her own father joined his entreaties, nay, his
holiness wrote a letter with his own hands, 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 life, and afterward to her chil-
dren. Her eldest was now marriageable, and disposed of to
the nephew of Cardinal 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 namp)
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 313
was so much touched with the apparent extinction of it that it
was thought to have hastened his death. She continued in the
enjoyment of her ill-humor, living in great splendor, though
almost solitary, having, by some impertinence or other, dis-
gusted 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 chamber-
maids were so used to hear her exclamations that they ate 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 con-
dition. 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 to be said in every church of Brescia and Ferrara. He
sent letters to the senate at Venice, and published manifestos
in all the capital cities, in which he professes 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 com-
plaint, and even since her leaving him has always spoke of her
with kindness, and courted her return. He is said to be re-
markably sweet-tempered, and has the best character 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 imprisoned
herself in her chamber, where she will neither eat nor drink
14
314 LETTERS TO
l
any thing that she does not see tasted by all her servants. The
physicians now say that perhaps the poison might fell into the
broth accidentally ; I confess 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 Licinia."
LETTER XXXn.
Louvere, June 10, 1757.
It is very true, my dear child, we can not now maintain a
family with the product of a flock, though I do not doubt the
present sheep afford as much wool and milk as any of their
ancestors ; and 'tis certain our natural wants are not more
numerous than formerly ; but the world is past its infancy,
and will no longer be contented with spoon-meat. Time has
added great improvements, but those very improvements have
introduced a train of artificial necessities. A collective body
of men make a gradual progress in understanding, like that
of a single individual. When I reflect on the vast increase of
useful, as well as speculative knowledge, the last three hun-
dred 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 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 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 unlucky lads. Several
discoveries will then be made, and several truths made clear,
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 315
of which we have now no more idea than the ancients had of
the circulation of the blood, or the optics of Sir Isaac New-
ton.
I expect a letter of thanks from my granddaughter : I
wrote to my grandmother long before her age. I desire you
would not see it, being willing to judge of her genius. I
know I shall read it with some partiality, which I can not
avoid to all that is yours, as I am your most affectionate
mother.
LETTER XXXm.
Padua, Sept. 5, 1757.
I wrote to you very lately, my dear child, in answer to that
letter Mr. Hamilton brought me : he was so obliging to come
on purpose from Venice to deliver it, as I believe I told you ;
but I am so highly delighted with this, dated August 4, giv-
ing an account of your little colony, I can not 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 in-
fancy. Time has the same effect on the mind as on the face.
The predominant passion, the strongest feature, become more
conspicuous from the others retiring ; the various views of life
are abandoned, from want of ability to preserve them, as the
fine complexion is lost in wrinkles : but, as surely as a large
nose grows larger, and the 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 very short warn^
ing. According to the good English proverb, young people
may die, but old must. You see I am very industrious in
316 LETTERS TO
finding- comfort to myself in my exit, and to guard, as long as
I can, against the peevishness which makes age miserable in
itself and contemptible to others. 'Tis surprising to me that,
with the most inoffensive conduct, I should meet enemies,
when I can not be envied for any thing, and have pretensions
to nothing.
Is it possible, the old Colonel Duncombe* I knew, should
be Lord Feversham, and married to a young wife ? As to
Lord Ranelagh, I confess it must be a very bitter draught to
submit to take his name, but his lady has had a short purga-
tory, and now enjoys affluence with a man she" likes, who I am
told is a man of merit, which I suppose she thinks preferable
to Lady Selina's nursery. Here are no old people in this coun-
try, neither in dress or gallantry. I know only my friend
Antonio, who is true to the memory of his adored lady ; her
picture is always in his sight, and he talks of her in the style
of pastor fido. I believe I owe his favor to having shown him
her miniature by Rosalba, which I bought at London : per-
haps you remember it in my little collection : he is really a
man of worth and sense. Hearing it reported, I need not say
by whom, that my retirement was owing to having lost all
my money at play, at Avignon, he sent privately for my chief
servant, and desired him to tell him naturally if I was in any
distress ; and not only offered, but pressed him to lay three
thousand sequins on my toilet. I don't believe I could bor-
row that sum, without good security, among my great relations.
I thank God I had no occasion to make use of his generosity ;
but I am sure you will agree with me that I ought never to
forget the obligation. I could give some other instances in
which he has shown his friendship in protecting me from
mortifications, invented by those that ought to have assisted
me ; but 'tis a long tiresome story. You will be surprised to
hear the general does not yet know these circumstances ; he
* Anthony Duncombe, created Lord Feversham in 1747 ; which title
became-extinct in 1763 on his dying without male issue. He was the
nephew of Sir Charles Duncombe, Lord Mayor of London, 1709.
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 317
arrived at Venice but a few days before I left it ; and prom-
ising me to come to Padua, at the fair, I thought I should
have time sufficient to tell him my history. Indeed, I was in
hopes he would have accepted my invitation of lodging in my
house ; but his multiplicity of affairs hindered him from com-
ing at all. 'Tis only a few days since that he made me a visit,
in company with Mr. Hamilton, before whom I did not think
it proper to speak my complaints. They are now gone to
drink the waters at Vicenza : when they return, I intend re-
moving to Venice, and then shall relate my grievances, which
I have more reason to do than ever. I have tired you with
this disagreeable subject : I will release you, and please my-
self in repeating the assurance of my being ever, while I have
a being, your most affectionate mother.
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 appearance. 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, for such
is this world to me. Though china is in such high estimation
here, I have sometimes an inclination to desire your father to
send me the two large jars that stood in the windows in Cav-
endish 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 Duke of Argyll's example had made
all china, more or less, fashionable.
LETTER XXXTV.
Louvere, September 30, 1757.
My dear Child — Lord Bute has been so obliging as to
let me know your safe delivery, and the birth of another daugh-
318 LETTERS TO
ter. May she be as meritorious in your eyes as you are in
mine ! I can wish nothing better to you both, though I have
some reproaches to make you. Daughter ! daughter ! don T t
call names ; you are always abusing my pleasures, which is
what no mortal will bear. Trash, lumber, sad stuff, are the
titles you give to my favorite amusement. If I called a
white staff a stick of wood, a gold key gilded brass, and the
ensigns of illustrious orders colored strings, this may be phil-
osophically true, but would be very ill received. We have
all our playthings ; happy are they that can be contented with
those they can obtain. Those hours are spent in the wisest
manner that can easiest shade the ills of life, and are the least
productive of ill consequences. I think my time better em-
ployed in reading the adventures of imaginary people, than
the Duchess of Marlborough, who passed the latter years of
her life in paddling with her will, and contriving schemes of
plaguing some, and extracting praise from others, to no pur-
pose : eternally disappointed, and eternally fretting. The act-
ive scenes are over at my age. I inlulg*e, with all the art I
can, my taste for reading. If I would confine it to valuable
books, they are almost as rare as valuable men. I must be
content with what I can find. As I approach a second child-
hood, I endeavor to enter into the pleasures of it. Your
youngest son is, perhaps, at this very moment, riding on a
poker, with great delight, not at all regretting that it is not a
gold one, and much less wishing it an Arabian horse, which
he could not know how to manage. I am reading an idle
tale, not expecting wit or truth in it, and am very glad it is
not metaphysics to puzzle my judgment, or history to mislead
my opinion. He fortifies his health by exercise ; I calm my
cares by oblivion. The methods may appear low to busy
people ; but if he improves his strength, and I forget my in-
firmities, we both attain very desirable ends.
I have not heard from your father for a long time. ]
hope he is well, because you do not mention him.
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 319
LETTER XXXV.
Venice, January 20, 1758.
I am always glad to hear of my dear child's health, and
daily pray for the continuance of it, and all other blessings
Gn you and your family. The carnival hitherto has been
clouded by extremely wet weather, but we are in hopes that
the sunshine is reserved for the second part of it, when the
morning masquerades give all the ladies an opportunity of
displaying both their magnificence and their taste, in the va-
rious habits that appear at that time. I was very well di-
verted by them last year. I hear Rome is crammed with
Britons, and suppose we shall see them all in their turns.
I can not say that the rising generation gives any general
prospect of improvement either in the arts or sciences, or in
any thing else. I am exceedingly pleased that the Duchess
of Portland is happy in her son-in-law. I must ever interest
myself in what happens to any descendant of Lady Oxford.
I expect that my books and china should set out, they will
be a great amusement to me, I mix so little with the gay
world, and at present my garden is quite useless.
Venice is not a place to make a man's fortune in. As for
those who have money to throw away, they may do it here
more agreeably than in any town I know ; strangers being
received with great civility, and admitted into all their par-
ties of pleasure. But it requires a good estate, and good
constitution, to play deep, and pass so many sleepless nights,
as is customary in the best company.
I am invited to a great wedding to-morrow, which will
be in the most splendid manner, to the contentment of both
the families, every thing being equal, even the indifference of
the bride and bridegroom, though each of them is extremely
pleased, by being set free from governors or governesses.
To say truth, I think they are less likely to be disappointed,
in the plan they have formed, than any of our romantic
couples, who have their heads full of love and constancy.
S20 LETTERS TO
I stay here, though I am on many accounts better pleased
with Padua. Our great minister, the resident, affects to
treat me as one in the opposition. I am inclined to laugh
rather than be displeased at his political airs ; yet, as I am
among strangers, they are disagreeable ; and, could I have
foreseen them, would have settled in some other part of the
world ; but I have taken leases of my houses, been at much
pains and expense in furnishing them, and am no longer at
an age to make long journeys. I saw, some months ago, a
countryman of yours (Mr. Adam*), who desires to be introduced
to you. He seemed to me, in one short visit, to be a man
of genius, and I have heard his knowledge of architecture
much applauded. He is now in England.
Your account of the changes in ministerial affairs do not
surprise me; but nothing could be more astonishing than
their all coming in together. It puts me in mind of a
friend of mine who had a large family of favorite animals,
and, not knowing how to convey them to his country-house
in separate equipages, he ordered a Dutch mastiff, a cat and
her kittens, a monkey, and a parrot, all to be packed up to-
gether in one large hamper, and sent by a wagon. One may
easily guess how this set of company made their journey ;
and I have never been able to think of the present compound
ministry without the idea of barking, scratching, and scream-
ing.f 'Tis too ridiculous a one, I own, for the gravity of their
characters, and still more for the situation the kingdom is in ;
for, as much as one may encourage the love of laughter, 'tis
impossible to be indifferent to the welfare of one's native
country.
* Mr. Robert Adam, who built Caen- Wood, Luton-Park, etc.. and
the Adelphi in conjunction with his brother. His designs are pub-
lished.
f This story has been versified by Lord Byron (Don Juan, canto iii.
stanza 18), but without any reference to the source from whence he
drew it. Lady Mary introduces it with some point, to illustrate her
notion of the good understanding which might be expected to exist
n*v>^rig the members of an administration composed of very discord*
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 321
LETTER XXXVI.
Venice, 1758.
Dear Child — I received yours of the 20th of February
yesterday, May the 2d, so irregular is the post. [ could for-
give the delay, but I can not pardon the loss of so many that
have never arrived at all. Mr. Hamilton is not yet come, nor
perhaps will not for some months. I hear he is at Leghorn.
General Graham has been dangerously ill ; but I am told he
is now on his return. We have at present the most extrava-
gant weather that has been known for some years ; it is as
cold and wet as an English November. Thursday next is the
ceremony of the Ascension : the show will be entirely spoiled
if the rain continues, to the serious affliction of the fine ladies,
who all make new clothes on that occasion. We have had
lately two magnificent weddings ; Lord Mandeville* had the
pleasure of dancing at one of them. I appeared at neither,
being formal balls, where no masks were admitted, and all
people set out in high dress, which I have long renounced, as
it is very fit I should ; though there were several grandmothers
there, who exhibited their jewels. In this country nobody
grows old till they are bed-ridden.
I wish your daughters to resemble me in nothing but the
love of reading, knowing, by experience, how far it is capable
ant materials ; Lord Byron, to describe the indifference and cruelty oi
a corsair.
His lines are these :
A monkey, a Dutch mastiff", a mackaw,
Two parrots, with a Persian cat and kittens,
He chose from several animals he saw ;
A terrier, too, which once had been a Briton's,
Who, dying on the coast of Ithaca,
The peasants gave the poor dumb thing a pittance ,
These to secure in this strong blowing weather,
He caged in one large hamper all together.
* G-eorge Viscount Mandeville, eldest son of Robert Duk of Man*
Chester.
14*
322 LETTERS TO
of softening the cruelest accidents of life ; even the happiest
can not be passed over without many uneasy hours ; and there
is no remedy so easy as books, which, if they do not give cheer-
fulness, at least restore quiet to the most troubled mind.
Those that fly to cards or company for relief generally find
they only exchange one misfortune for another.
You have so much business on your hands I will not take
you from more proper employment by a long letter. I am,
my dear child, with the warmest affection, ever your tender
mother.
LETTER XXXVLT.
Padua, July 17, 1*758.
My Dear Child — I received yours last night, which gave
me a pleasure beyond what I am able to express (this is not
according to the common expression, but a simple truth). I
had not heard from you for some months, and was in my
heart very uneasy, from the apprehension of some misfortune
in your family ; though, as I always endeavor to avoid the an-
ticipation of evil, which is a source of pain, and can never be
productive of any good, I stifled my fear as much as possible,
yet it cost me many a midnight pang. You have been the
passion of my life : you need thank me for nothing ; I gratify
myself whenever I can oblige you. I have already given into
the hands of Mr. Anderson a long letter for you, but it is now
of so old a date I accompany it with another. His journey
has been delayed by a very extraordinary accident, which
might have proved as fatal as that of Lord Drumlanrigh, or
that, which I think worse, which happened to my convert Mr.
Butler ; fortunately it has only served to set the characters of
both the governor and the pupil in a more amiable light. Mr
Archer was at breakfast with six other English gentlemen, and
handling a blunderbuss, which he did not know to be charged,
it burst, and distributed among them six chained bullets, be-
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 323
Bides the splinters, which flew about in the manner you may
imagine. His own hand was considerably wounded, yet the
first word he spoke (without any regard to his own smart or
danger) was, " I hope nobody is hurt :" nobody was hurt but
himself, who has been ever since under cure, to preserve two of
his fingers which were very much torn. He had also a small
rasure on his cheek, which is now quite healed. The pater-
nal care and tenderness Mr. Anderson has shown on this occa-
sion, has recommended him to every body. I wanted nothing
to raise that esteem which is due to his sterling honesty and
good heart, which I do not doubt you value as much as I do.
If that wretch Hickman had been — but this is a melancholy
thought, and as such ought to be suppressed.
How important is the charge of youth ! and how useless all
the advantages of nature and fortune without a well-turned
mind ! I have lately heard of a very shining instance of this
truth from two gentlemen (very deserving ones they seem to
be) who have had the curiosity to travel into Muscovy, and
now return to England with Mr. Archer. I inquired after my
old acquaintance Sir Charles Williams, who I hear is much
broken, both in his spirits and constitution. How happy
might that man 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 rotten and
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 be-
lieve he suffers under a dearth of flatterers. This is said for
the use of your growing sons, whom I hope no golden tempta-
tions will induce to marry women they can not love, or com-
ply with measures they do not approve. All the happiness this
world can afford is more within reach than is generally sup-
posed. Whoever seeks pleasure will undoubtedly find pain ;
324 LETTERS TO
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 youth-
ful pursuit, never to be forgiven after twenty, and naturally
succeeds the childish desire of catching the setting sun, which
1 can remember running very hard to do : a fine thing truly
if it could be caught ; but experience soon shows it to be im-
possible. A wise and honest man lives to his own heart, with-
out that silly splendor that makes him a prey to knaves, and
which commonlv ends in his becoming one of the fraternity.
I am very glad to hear Lord Bute's decent economy sets him
above any thing of that kind. I wish it may become national.
A collective body of men differs very little from a single man ;
and 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 succor a distressed princess. I never
could hear these praises without some impatience ; they
sounded to me like the panegyrics made by the dependents on
the Duke of Newcastle and poor Lord Oxford, bubbled when
they were commended, and laughed at when they were undone.
Some late events will, I hope, open our eyes : we shall see we
are an island, and endeavor 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 conqueror will be an odious title. I could easily prove
that had the Spaniards established a trade with the Americans,
they would have enriched their country more than by the ad-
dition of twenty-two kingdoms, and all the mines they now
work — I do not say possess ; since, though they are the pro-
prietors, others enjoy the profit.
My letter is too long; I beg your pardon for it; 'tis
6eldom I have an opportunity of speaking to you, and T
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 325
would have you know all the thoughts of your most affec-
tionate mother.
LETTER XXXVIH.
Padua, July 14, 1758.
My Dear Child — I hope this will fiDd you in perfect health.
I had a letter from your father last post, dated from Newbold,
which tells me a very agreeable piece of news, that the contests
of parties, so violent formerly (to the utter destruction of
peace, civility, and common sense) are so happily terminated,
that there is nothing of that sort mentioned in good company.
I think I ought to wish you and my grandchildren joy on this
general pacification, when I remember all the vexation I have
gone through, from my youth upward, on the account of those
divisions, which touched me no more than the disputes be-
tween the followers of Mohammed and Ali, being always of
opinion that politics and controversy were as unbecoming to
our sex as the dress of a prize-fighter ; and I would as soon
have mounted Fig's theater as have stewed all night in the
gallery of a committee, as some ladies of bright parts have
done.
Notwithstanding the habitual (I believe I might say natural)
indifference, here am I involved in adventures, as surprising as
any related in Amadis de Gaul, or even by Mr. Glanville.*
I can assure you I should not be more surprised at seeing my-
self riding in the air on a broomstick, than in the figure of a
first rate politician. You will stare to hear that your nurse
keeps her corner (as Lord Bolingbroke says of Miss Oglethorp)
in this illustrious conspiracy. I really think the best head of
the junto is an English washerwoman, who has made her
fortune with all parties, by her compliance in changing her
religion, which gives her the merit of a new convert ; and her
charitable disposition of keeping a house of fair reception for
* In his History of Witchcraft — Sadducismus Triumphans, 1681.
326 LETTERS TO
the English captains, sailors, etc., that are distressed by long
sea voyages (as Sir Samson Legend remarks, in Love for Love),
gains her friends among all public spirited people : the scenes
are so comic they deserve the pen of a Richardson to do them
justice. I begin to be persuaded the surest way of preserving
reputation, and having powerful protectors, is being openly
lewd and scandalous. I will not be so censorious to take ex-
amples from my own sex ; but you see Doctor Swift, who set
at defiance all decency, truth, or reason, had a crowd of ad-
mirers, and at their head the virtuous and ingenious Earl of
Orrery, the polite 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
asserter 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 obliga-
tion I can never forget.
LETTER XXXTX.
Oct. 31, 1758.
My Dear Child — I received yours of October 2d this day,
the 31st instant. The death of the two great ladies you mention,
I believe does not occasion much sorrow ; they have long been
burdens (not to say nuisances) on the face of the earth. I am
sorry for Lord Carlisle.* He was my friend as well as ac-
quaintance, and a man of uncommon probity and good nature.
I think he has shown it in the disposition of his will in the
favor of a lady he had no reason to esteem. It is certainly
the kindest thing he could do for her, to endeavor to save her
from her own folly, which would have probably precipitately
* He died September 4, 1758.
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 327
hurried her into a second marriage, which would most surely
have revenged all her misdemeanors.
I was well acquainted with Mr. Walpole, at Florence, and
indeed he was particularly civil to me. I am encouraged to
isk a favor of him, if I did not know that few people have
so good memories as to remember so many years backward
us have passed since I have seen him. If he has treated ths
character of Queen Elizabeth with disrespect, all the women
should tear him in pieces, for abusing the glory of her sex,
Neither is it just to put her in the list of authors, having never
published any thing, though we have Mr. Camden's authority
that she wrote many valuable pieces, chiefly translations from
the Greek. I wish all monarchs would bestow their leisure
hours on such studies : perhaps they would not be very useful
to mankind ; but it may be asserted, as a certain truth, that
their own minds would be more improved than by the amuse-
ments of quadrille or cavagnole.
I desire you would thank your father for the china jars ; if
they arrive safely, they will do me great honor in this country.
The Patriarch died here lately. He had a large temporal es-
tate ; and, by long life and extreme parsimony, has left four
hundred thousand sequins in his coffers, which is inherited by
two nephews ; and I suppose will be dissipated as scandalously
as it was accumulated. The town is full of faction, for the
election of his successor ; and the ladies are always very
active on these occasions. I have observed that they have
ever had more influence in republics than in a monarchy. 'Tis
true a king has often a powerful mistress, but she is governed
by some male favorite. In commonwealths, votes are easily
acquired by the fair ; and she who has most beauty or art, has
a great away in the senate. I run on troubling you with stories
very iniignificant to you, and taking up your time, which I am
very certain is taken up in matters of more importance than
my old wives' tales. My dear child, God bless you and yours.
I am, with the warmest sentiments of my heart, your most af-
fectionate mother.
328 LETTERS TO
LETTER XL.
I am very glad, my dear child, to hear of your father's health ;
mine is better than I ought to expect at my time of life. I be-
lieve Mr. Anderson talks partially of me, as to my looks ; I
know nothing of the matter, as it is eleven years since I have
seen my figure in the glass, and the last reflection I saw there
was so disagreeable that I resolved to spare myself such mor-
tifications for the future, and shall continue that resolution to
my life's end. To indulge all pleasing amusements, and avoid
all images that give us disgust, is, in my opinion the best
method to attain or confirm health. I ought to consider yours,
and shorten my letters, while you are in a condition that makes
reading uneasy to you.
God bless you and yours, my dear child, is the ardent wish
of your affectionate mother.
LETTER XLI.
June 22, N. 8.
My Dear Child — I can not believe Sir John's* advance-
ment is owing to his merit, though he certainly deserves such a
distinction ; but I am persuaded the present disposers of such
dignities are neither more clear-sighted, or more disinterested
* In Mr. Dallaway's edition this and the preceding letter are joined
together, and make one. It may be doubted whether this, which bears
the date as above, should not have been inserted in an earlier part of
this correspondence, as having been written in 1752; the "Sir John"
mentioned in it having probably been Sir John Kawdon, Bart., who was
created an Irish Peer, April 9th, 1750, by the title of Baron Rawdon of
Moira. He was thrice married — first, in 1741, to Lady Helena Perci-
val, daughter of the Earl of Egmont ; secondly, to Ann, daughter of Tre-
vor Viscount Hillsborough ; thirdly, in 1752, to Lady Elizabeth Hastings,
eldest daughter of Theophilus, Earl of Huntingdon, 26th February, 1752.
December 15th, 1761, he was advanced in the peerage as Earl of Moira,
in the County of Down.
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 329
than their predecessors. Ever since I knew the world, Irish
patents have been hung out to sale, like the laced and em-
broidered 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 don't suppose this was
Sir John's case. That good creature (as the country saying
is) has not a bit of pride about him. I dare swear he pur-
chased his title for the same reason he used to purchase pic-
tures in Italy ; not because he wanted to buy, but because
somebody or other wanted to sell. He hardly ever opened his
mouth but to say " What you please, sir ;" — " 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 him up, at least to some show of resentment,
intending to make up the matter afterward in as honorable 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 o' the
face."
I was as well acquainted with his two first wives as the
difference of our ages permitted. I fancy they have broke their
hearts by being chained to such a companion. 'Tis really
terrible, for a well-bred, virtuous young woman to be confined
to the conversation of the object of her contempt. There is
but one thing to be done in that case, which is a method I am
sure you have observed practiced with success by some ladies I
need not name : they associate the husband and the lap-dog,
and manage so well, that they make exactly the same figure in
the family. My lord and Dell tag after madam to all indif-
ferent places, and stay at home together, whenever she goes
330 LETTERS TO
into company where they would be troublesome. I can as-
sure you I equally contemn a woman who can forget she was
born a gentlewoman, for the sake of money she did not want.
That is indeed the only sentiment that deserves the name of
avarice. A prudential care of our affairs, or (to go further) a
desire of being in circumstances to be useful to our friends, is
not only excusable but highly laudable ; never blamed but by
those who would persuade others to throw away their money,
in hopes to pick up a share of it. The greatest declaimers for
disinterestedness I ever knew, have been capable of the vilest
actions ; and the greatest instances of true generosity, given
by those who were regular in their expenses, and superior to
the vanity of fashion.
I believe you are heartily tired of my dull moralities. I con-
fess I am in very low spirits ; it is hotter weather than has
been known for some years, and I have got an abominable cold,
which has drawn after it a troop of complaints I will not trouble
you with reciting. I hope all your family are in good health,
I am humble servant to Lord Bute, I give mv blessino- to vour
children, and am ever your most affectionate mother.
LETTER XIII.
Genoa. Dec.. 8, 1759.
My Dear Child — I received yours of October 24 yester-
day, which gave me great pleasure, by the account of the
good health of you and yours ; I need not say how near that
is to my heart. I had the satisfaction of an entertaining let-
ter from your father, out of Germany, by which I find he
has had both benefit and amusement from his travels. I
hope he is now with you.
I find you have many wrong notions of Italy, which I do
not wonder at. You can take your ideas of it only from books
or travelers. The first are generally antiquated or confined
to trite observations, and the other yet more superficial ■ they
THE COUNTESS OP BUTE. §31
return no more instructed than they might have been at home,
by the help of a map. The boys only remember where they
met with the best wine or the prettiest women ; and the gov-
ernors (I speak of the most learned among them) have only
remarked situations and distances, or, at most, statues and
edifices, as every girl that can read a French novel, and boy
that can construe a scene in Terence, fancies they have at-
tained to the French and Latin languages, when, God knows,
it requires the study of a whole life to acquire a perfect
knowledge of either of them : so, after a tour (as they call
it) of three years, round Europe, people think themselves qual-
ified to give exact accounts of the customs, politics, and inter-
est of the dominions they have gone through post ; when a
very long stay, a diligent inquiry, and a nice observation, are
requisite even to a moderate degree of knowing a foreign
country, especially here, where they are naturally very re-
served. France, indeed, is more easily seen through ; the
French always talking of themselves, and the government
being the same, there is little difference from one province to
another ; but, in Italy, the different laws make different cus-
toms and manners. There are many things very particular
here, from the singularity of the government ; some of which
I do not care to touch upon, and some are still in use here,
though obsolete in almost all other places, as the estates of
all the great families being unalienable, as they were formerly
in England. This would have made them very potent if it
were not balanced by another law, that divides whatever land
the father dies possessed of among all the sons, the eldest
having no advantage but the finest house and best furniture,
which occasions numerous branches and few large fortunes,
with a train of consequences you may imagine. But I can
not let pass in silence the prodigious alteration, since Misson's
writing, in regard to our sex. This reformation (or, if you
please, depravation) begun so lately as the year 1732, when
the French overrun this part of Italy ; but it has been car-
ried on with such fervor and success that the Italians go far
832 LETTERS TO
beyond their patterns, the Parisian ladies, in the extent of
their liberty. I am not so much surprised at the women's
conduct as I am amazed at the change in the men's senti-
ments. Jealousy, which was once a point of honor among
them, is exploded to that degree that it is become the most
infamous and ridiculous of all characters ; and you can not
more affront a gentlemen than to suppose him capable of it.
Divorces are also introduced, and frequent enough ; they have
long been in fashion in Genoa, several of the finest and
greatest ladies there having two husbands alive.
I am afraid you will think this a long letter ; but you
tell me that you are without company, and in solitude, though
yours appears to me to be a sort of paradise. You have an
agreeable habitation, a pleasant garden, a man you love and
who loves you, and are surrounded with a numerous and
hopeful progeny. May they all prove comforts to your age !
That, and all other blessings, are daily wished for you by, my
dear child, your affectionate mother.
LETTER XLDL
Venice, March 18, 1760.
My Dear Child — I am afraid some letters, both of yours
and mine are lost, nor am I much surprised at it, seeing the
managements here. In this world much must be suffered,
and we ought all to follow the rule of Epictetus : " Bear and
forbear." General Wolfe* is to be lamented, but not pitied.
I am of your opinion, that compassion is only owing to his
mother and intended bride, who I think the greater sufferer
(however sensible I am of a parent's tenderness). Disap-
pointments in youth are those which are felt with the great-
est anguish, when we are all in expectation of happiness, per-
haps not to be found in this life. I am very much diverted
* General "Wolfe was killed at the siege of Quebec, September ] 6,
1759.
THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 333
with the adventures of the three graces who are coming to
London, and am heartily sorry their mother has not learning
enough to write memoirs. She might make the fortur g of
half a dozen Dodsleys. The youngest girl (called here Bet-
Una) is taller than the Duchess of Montagu, and as red and
white as any German alive. If she has sense enough to fol-
low good instructions, she will be irresistible, and may pro-
duce very glorious novelties. Our great minister has her
picture in his collection — basta !
My health is better than I can reasonably expect at my
age, but my life is so near a conclusion that where or how I
pass it (if innocently) is almost become indifferent to me. I
have outlived the greatest part of my acquaintance ; and, to
say the truth, a return to crowd and bustle, after my long re-
tirement, would be disagreeable to me. Yet, if I could be
of use either to your father or your family, I would venture
the shortening the insignificant days of your affectionate
mother.
LETTERS TO
SIR JAMES AND IADY FRANCES STEUART.*
LETTER I.
May, 1758.
I am in great pain both for your health and situation,
and wish you would permit rue to be of any service to you.
I know what it is to be without servants in a strange coun-
try, and how far people are imposed on that bear the name of
English, and heretics into the bargain ; the folly of British
boys, and stupidity or knavery of governors, have gained us
the glorious title of Golden Asses, all over Italy. I never
was in the Padua locanda, but except they are more virtuous
that any I ever met with, you will be very ill-served and ve ; y
well robbed. Here is a fellow recommended to me by Baron
Talmua, who says he will answer for his honesty and capacity ;
* The following was written by Lady Frances Steuart upon the par-
cel containing these letters :
"Letters from Lady Mary W. Montagu, which are decisive of the
short acquaintance necessary to the adhesion which generally takes
place when superior minds are brought together. Lady M. W. Mon-
tagu was blessed with such a mind as led her to make a short (very
short) acquaintance with my dear Sir James become to her a time
of noted value. They reciprocally improved it, and neither of them
ever lost the recollections which were so gratifying to both.
u Nor can I ever forget the thankful sensibility of the time, which
appeared to me so fortunate, so fit, and so apropos to enliven (and very
highly) his elevated but dejected spirit — feeble and dejected by a se-
vere illness."
SIR JAMES AND LADY STEUART. M35
he can serve as cook, valet-de-chambre, purveyor, and steward.
He speaks no German, but is very willing to follow you, and
presumes he shall soon learn it. I think recommending serv-
ants almost as dangerous as making matches (which, I thank
the Lord, I never engaged in) : nothing could oblige me to
venture on it but your distress, and the good opinion I have
of the probity of Baron Talmua, who is a German man of
quality I have known some time, and am obliged to. He
has earnestly pressed me to make you this offer, on hearing
me lament the seduction of your woman.
This minute I am shown a letter of my Gastaldi (in French,
Concierge ; I know no proper title for him in English). I can
assure you, sir and madam, his stile grossier gave me more
pleasure than ever I received from the points of Voiture or
the puns of Swift or Pope, since my secretary assured me that
it contained an account of your well-being, and having hon-
ored my mansion with your presence ; he brags of having
done his duty in waiting on the two milordi ; and that you
found the palazzo very clean ; and he hopes you took nothing
ill, though you refused the portantina. In this manner were
his hieroglyphics explained to me, which I am forced and
pleased to give faith to, as I do to the translators of Hebrew,
though I can make nothing of the figures myself. I have
read over your book, Sir James, and have a great deal to say
about it, though nothing to object ; but must refer to another
time, having literally six people in the room, according to
their laudable custom, talking all at once, I hardly know what
I say, but I know what I think ; that I will get to Padua as
fast as I can, to enjoy the best company I ever knew.
LETTER H.
This letter will be solely to you, and I desire you* will not
communicate it to Lady Fanny ; she is the best woman in the
* This is clearly said in joke.
336 LETTERS TO
world, and I would by no means make her uneasy ; but there
will be such strange things in it that the Talmud or the reve-
lations are not half so mysterious ; what these prodigies por-
tend, God knows ; but I never should have suspected half the
wonders I see before my eyes, and am convinced of the neces-
sity of the repeal of the witch act (as it is commonly called),
I mean, to speak correctly, the tacit permission given to
witches, so scandalous to all good Christians : though I trem-
ble to think of it for my own interests. It is certain the
British islands have always been strangely addicted to this dia-
bolical intercourse, of which I dare swear you know many in-
stances ; but since this public encouragement given to it, I am
afraid there will not be an old woman in the nation entirely
free from suspicion. The devil rages more powerfully than
ever : you will believe me when I assure you the great and
learned English minister is turned Methodist, several duels
have been fought in the Place of St. Marc for the charms of
his excellent lady, and I have been seen flying in the air in the
figure of Julian Cox,* whose history is related with so much
candor and truth by the pious pen of Joseph Glanville, chap-
lain to King Charles. I know you young rakes make a jest
of all those things, but I think no good lady can doubt of a
relation so well attested. She was about seventy years old
(very near my age), and the whole sworn to before Judge
Archer, 1663 : very well worth reading, but rather too long
for a letter. You know (wretch that I am) 'tis one of my
wicked maxims to make the best of a bad bargain ; and I
have said publicly that every period of life has its privileges,
and that even the most despicable creatures alive may find
some pleasures. Now observe this comment ; who are the most
despicable creatures ? Certainly, old women. What pleasure
can old woman take ? Only witchcraft. I think this argu-
* In one of her letters to Lady Bute she dwells on the same idea.
All this must allude in some way to her quarrel with Mr. Murray,
the Resident and to the reports which she accused him of spreading
concerning her.
SIE JAMES AND LADY STEUART. SC *
ment as clear as any of the devout Bishop of Cloyne's meta-
physics ; this being decided in a full congregation of saints,
only such atheists as you and Lady Fanny can deny it. I own
all the facts, as many witches have done before me, .and go
every night in a public manner astride upon a black cat to a
meeting where you are suspected to appear : this last article
is not sworn to, it being doubtful in what manner our clandes-
tine midnight correspondence is carried on. Some think it
treasonable, others lewd (don't tell Lady Fanny) ; but all agree
there was something very odd and unaccountable in such sud-
den likings. I confess, as I said before, it is witchcraft. You
won't wonder I do not sign (notwithstanding all my impu-
dence) such dangerous truths : who knows the consequence ?
The devil is said to desert his votaries.
Nota bene. You have dispossessed me of the real devils
who haunted me. I mean the nine Muses *
LETTER in.
Padua, September 1, 1758.
My Dear Lady Fanny — I have been some time in pain
for your silence, and at last begun to fear that either some
accident had befallen you, or you had been so surfeited with
my dullness at Padua you resolved not to be plagued with it
when at a distance. These melancholy ideas growing strong
upon me, I wrote to Mr. Duff to inquire after your health. I
have received his answer this morning ; he tells me you are
both well and safely arrived at Tubingen ; and I take the lib-
erty to put you in mind of one that can never forget you and
* It seems almost needless to observe that this letter is writen in a
spirit of jesting, or, to use a lower word, of fun. Antonio, or Signor
Antonio Mocenigo, being mentioned elsewhere as eighty -six years of
age, and the head of a great Venetian family, we may conclude thai
what is said of the two other persons named was as lud : crously im-
possible as his singing at the opera.
15
338 LETTERS TO
the cheerful hours we have passed together. The weather
favored you according to your prayers ; since that time we
have had storms, tempests, pestilential blasts, and at this mo-
ment such suffocating heat, the doctor is sick in bed, and no-
body in health in my family, excepting myself and my Swiss
servants, who support our constitutions by hearty eating and
drinking, while the poor Italians are languishing on their sal-
ads and lemonade. I confess I am in high spirits, having suc-
ceeded in my endeavor to get a promise of assisting some
very worthy people whom I am fond of. You know I am
enthusiastic in my friendships. I also hear from all hands
of my daughter's prosperity ; you, madam, that are a mother,
may judge of my pleasure in her happiness : though I have no
taste for that sort of felicity. I could never endure with toler-
able patience the austerities of a court life. I was saying
every day from my heart (while I was condemned to it), " the
things that I would do, those [ do not, and the things I would
uot do, those do I daily," and I had rather be a sister of St.
Clara than lady of the bedchamber to any queen in Europe.
It is not age and disappointment that has given me these sen-
timents ; you may see them in a copy of verses sent from
Constantinople in my early youth to my uncle Fielding,* and
by his (well-intended) indiscretion shown about, copies taken,
and at length miserably printed. I own myself such a rake
I prefer liberty to chains of diamonds, and when I hold my
peace (like King David) it is pain and grief to me.
No fraud the poet's sacred breast can bear,
Mild are our manners and our hearts sincere.
Rude and unpolished in the courtier's school,
I loathe a knave and tremble at a fooL
With this rusticity of manners I do not wonder to see my
company avoided by all great men and fine ladies. I could
tell your ladyship such a history of my calamities since we
parted, you will be surprised to hear I have not despaired and
* Tide p. 171.
SIR JAMES AND LADY STEUART. 330
died like the sick lion in ^Esop's fables, who so pathetically
cries out — Bis videor mori, when he was kicked by a certain
animal I will not name because it is very like a paw word.
Vale!
LETTER IV.
Tubingen, Sep. 5, 1758.
This day, September 5, I have had the pleasure of a most
agreeable and obliging mark of your remembrance : but as it
has no date, I neither know when nor from whence it was
written.
I am extremely sorry for dear Lady Fanny's disorder. I could
repeat to her many wise sayings of ancients and moderns,
which would be of as much service to her as a present of em-
broidered slippers to you when you have a fit of the gout. I
have seen so much of hysterical complaints, though heaven be
praised I never felt them, I know it is an obstinate and very
uneasy distemper, though never fatal, unless when quacks un-
dertake to cure it. I have even observed that those who are
troubled with it commonly live to old age. Lady Stair* is
one instance ; I remember her screaming and crying when
Miss Primrose, myself, and other girls were dancing two room?
distant. Lady Fanny has but a slight touch of this distemper :
read Dr. Sydenham, you will find the analyses of that and
many other diseases, with a candor I never found in any othei
author. I confess I never had faith in any other physician,
living or dead. Mr. Locke places him in the same rank with
Sir Isaac Newton, and the Italians call him the English Hippo-
crates. I own I am charmed with his taking off the reproach
which you men so saucily throw on our sex, as if we alone
* The Lady Stair here alluded to, was probably the wife of the third
Earl of Stair, eldest daughter of Sir Andrew Myrton, of Gogar, in the
county of Edinburg, Baronet. She died at Edinburg, July 8th, 1761,
at sixty-two.
340 LETTERS TO
were subject to vapors : he clearly proves that your wise, hon-
orable spleen is the same disorder, and arises from the same
cause ; but you vile usurpers do not only engross learning,
power, and authority to yourselves, but will be our superiors
even in constitution of mind, and fancy you are incapable of
the woman's weakness of fear and tenderness. Ignorance ! I
could produce such examples —
Show me that man of wit in all your roll,
Whom some one woman has not made a fool.
I beg your pardon for these verses, but I have a right to
scribble all that comes at my pen's end, being in high spirits
on an occasion more interesting to me than the election of
popes or emperors. His present Holiness* is not so much my
acquaintance, but his family have been so since my first ar-
rival at Venice, 1740. His father died only last winter, and
was a very agreeable worthy man, killed by a doctor; his
mother rather suffered life than enjoyed it after the death of
her husband, and was little sensible of the advancement of
her son, though I believe it made a greater impression on her
than appeared, and it may be, hastened her death ; which hap-
pened a fortnight after his elevation, in the midst of the ex-
traordinary rejoicings at Venice on that occasion. The honors
bestowed on his brother, the balls, festivals, etc., are they not
written in the daily books called newspapers ?
I resisted all invitations, and am still at Padua, where read-
ing, writing, riding, and walking find me full employment.
I accept the compliment of the fine young gentleman with
the joy of an old woman who does not expect to be taken
notice of : pray don't tell him I am an old woman. He shall
be my toast from this forward, and (provided he never sees me
as long as he lives) I may be his. A propos of toasting, upon
my honor I have not tasted a drop of punch since we parted *
I can not bear the sight of it ; it would recall too tender ideas,
* Cardinal Charles Rezzonia, Bishop of Padua, became Pope Cle-
ment XIII, 16th July, 1758, and died in 1*769.
341
and I should be quarreling with fortune lor our separation,
when I ought to thank her diving for having brought us to-
gether. I could tell a long story of princes and potentates,
but I am so little versed in state afFaiis I will not so much as
answer your ensnaring question concerning the Jesuits, which
is meddling at once with Church and State.
This letter is of a horrible length, and what is worse (if any
worse can be) such a rhapsody of nonsense as may kill poor
Lady Fanny, now she is low-spirited, though I am persuaded
she has good nature enough to be glad to hear I am happy ;
which I could not be if I had not a view of seeing my friends
so. As to you, sir, I make no excuses ; you are bound to have
indulgence for me, as for a sister of the quill. I have heard
Mr. Addison say he always listened to poets with patience, to
keep up the dignity of the fraternity. Let me have an answer
as soon as possible. Si vales, bene est, valeo.
P. S. Do not be offended at the word poet, it slipped out
unawares. I know you scorn it, though it has been dignified
by Lord Somers, Lord Godolphin, and Dr. Atterbury.
LETTER V.
"Venice, May 4, IT 57.
Here is a fashion sprung up entirely new in this part of the
world ; I mean suicide : a rich parish priest and a young Ce-
lestine monk have disposed of themselves 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 this distemper, which shows the necessity of seek-
ing employment for the mind, and exercise for the body ; the
spirits and the blood stagnate without motion.
342 LETTERS TO
You are to be envied whose studies are not only useful to
yourself but beneficial to mankind : even mine (good for noth-
ing as they are) contribute to my health, and serve at least to
lull asleep those corroding reflections that embitter life, and
wear out the frail machine in which we inhabit.
LETTER VL
Padua, July 19, 1759.
Your letters always give me a great deal of pleasure, but
particularly this, which has relieved me from the pain I was in
from your silence.
I have seen the Margrave of Baden Dourlach ; but I hope he
has forgot he has ever seen me, being at that time in a very
odd situation, of which I will not give you the history at pres-
ent, being a long story, and you know life is too short for a
long story.
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 Roman emperor (as we see him sometimes repre-
sented on a French stage) is dressed like a petit-maitre. I con-
fess 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 ex-
pressed, is well wrote in a book of reasoning. However, I shall
obey your commands in telling you my opinion with the great-
est sincerity.
I am extremely glad to hear that Lady F. has overcome her
disorder : I wish I had no apprehensions of falling into it. Sol-
itude begets whimsies ; at my time of life one usually falls into
those that are melancholy, though I endeavor to keep, up a
certain sprightly folly that (I thank God) I was born with :
but alas ! what can we do with all our endeavors ! I am
SIR JAMES AND LADY STEUART. 343
afraid we are little better than straws upon the water ; we may
flatter ourselves that we swim when the current carries us
along.
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
in ny 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 scrib-
bling 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 persuaced by such sort
of arguments as those by which people are induced to strict
abstinence, or to take physic. Fear, paltry fear, foundel on
vapors rising from the heat, which is now excessive, and has
so far debilitated my miserable nerves that I submit to a pre-
sent displeasure, by way of precaution against a future evil,
that possibly may never happen. I have this to say in my ex-
cuse, that the evil is of so horrid a nature I own I feel no phi-
losophy that could support me under it, and no mountain girl
ever trembled more at one of Whitefield'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," (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 sutler 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 threescore 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
344 LETTERS TO
a newspaper. I will not trouble you with the whole conversa-
tion, 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 foim-
erly I had no correspondents but my daughter and Mr. W.*
She was interrupted 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 honor." This rude-
ness of mine occasioned a profound silence for some minutes
and they fell into a good-natured discourse of the ill conse-
quences of too much application, and remembered how many
apoplexies, gouts, and dropsies had happened among the hard
students of their acquaintance. As I never studied any thing
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.
" Iudeed, madam, you should buy horses to that fine machine
you have at Padua ; of what use is it standing in the portico V
" Perhaps," said another, wittily, " of as much use as a stand-
ing dish." A gaping school-boy 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 school-boy,
not because he was (in more senses than one) the highest of
* TTortley.
SIR JAMES AND LADY STEUART. 345
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 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 among
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. The}
renewed their generous endeavors to set me right, and I (grace-
less beast that I am) take up the smoked card which lay beforf
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. A few minutes on the cold
water convinced me of my folly, and I went home as much
mortified as my Lord E. when he has lost his last stake of
hazard. Pray don't think (if you can help it) this is an af-
fectation of mine to enhance the value of a talent I would be
thought to despise ; as celebrated beauties often talk of the
charms of good sense, having some reason to fear their mental
qualities are not quite so conspicuous as their outside lovely
form.
LETTER VH.
Venice, Oct. 13, 1759.
You have made (what I did not think possible) writing to
you uneasy to me. After confessing that you barbarously
criticise on my letters, I have much ado to summon up cour-
age enough to set pen to paper. Can you answer this to your
15*
346 LETTERS TO
ronscience, to sit gravely and maliciously to examiue lines
written with rapidity and sent without reading over ? This is
worse than surprising a fine lady just sat down to the toilet :
I am content to let you see my mind undressed, but I will not
have you so curiously remark the defects in it. To carry on
the simile, when a beauty appears with all her graces and airs
adorned for a ball, it is lawful to censure whatever you see
amiss in her ornaments ; but when you are received to a
friendly breakfast, 'tis downright cruelty or (something worse)
ingratitude, to view too nicely all the disorder you may see. I
desire you would sink the critic in the friend, and never forget
that I do not write to you and dear Lady Fanny from my
head but from my heart. I wish her joy on the continuance
of her taste for punch, but I am sure she will agree with me
that the zest of good company is very necessary to give it a
flavor : to her it is a vivifying nectar, to me it would be in-
sipid river-water, and chill the spirits it should raise, by reflect-
ing on the cheerful moments we once passed together, which
can no more return. This thought is so very disagreeable I
will put it as far from me as possible. My chief study all my
life has been to lighten misfortunes and multiply pleasures as
far as human nature can : when I have nothing to find in my-
self from which I can extract any kind of delight, I think on
the happiness 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 honor and felicity.
In other days I think over the comic scenes that are daily ex-
hibited on the great stage of the world for my entertainment.
I am charmed with the account of the Moravians, who cer-
tainly exceed all mankind in absurdity of principles and mad-
ness of practice ; yet this people walk erect and are numbered
among rational beings. I imagined after three thousand
years 1 working at creeds and theological whimsies, there re-
mained nothing new to be invented ; I see the fund is inex-
haustible, and we may say of folly what Horace has said of
vice:
SIR JAMES AND LADY STEUART. 347
^Etas 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 Daemon of Poesie, it must come out in one shape or
another, and you will own that nobody shows it to more ad-
vantage than the author I have mentioned. Adieu, «eir ; read
with candor ; forgive what you can't excuse, in favor of the
real esteem and affection with which I am Lady Fanny's and
your most humble servant.
LETTER Vm.
Venice, March 1, 1760.
I have at length received your valuable and magnificent
present. You will have me give my opinion ; I know not how
to do it without your accusing me of flattery (though I am
sure no other person would suspect it). It is hard to forbear
praising where there is so much due ; yet I would rather talk
of your performance to any other than yourself. If I durst
speak out, I would say that you have explained in the best
manner the most difficult subject, and struck out new lights
that are necessary to enforce conviction even to those who
have studied the points you treat ; and who are often misled
by prejudices which fall away, while your instructions take
place in every mind capable of distinguishing truth from
falsehood. Upon the whole, permit me to say I never saw a
treatise which gave me so much pleasure and information.
You show yourself qualified by nature for the charge of first
minister : how far that would recommend you to a minister I
think problematic. I am beginning to read over your works a
second time ; my approbation increases as I go on ; the solid-
ity of your reflections would overbalance a defect in style, if
there was any, but I sincerely find none. The nervous man-
348 LETTERS TO
ner in which you write is infinitely preferable to the florid
phrases, which are always improper in a book of this nature,
which is not designed to move the passions but to convince
the reason.
I ought to say a great deal for the honor "you have done
me in your dedication. Lord Burleigh, or even Julius Caesar,
would have been proud of it ; I can have no pretense to de-
serve it, .yet I may truly say nobody can be more sensible of
the value of your present. It is pity the world should be
deprived of the advantage of so useful a performance ; yet
perhaps it may be necessary to wait some time before you
publish certain truths that are not yet popularly received.
I hope our dear Lady Fanny is in good health, and your
young gentleman daily improving both by nature and instruc-
tion. I flatter myself that your affairs will soon take a more
agreeable turn. Wherever you are I wish you every happi-
ness ; and wherever I am you will ever have a faithful humble
servant, engaged both by inclination and obligation to be
always at your command.
LETTER IX.
Venice, April 7, 1760.
I have now with great pleasure, and I flatter myself with
some improvement, read over again your delightful and in-
structive treatise ; you have opened to me several truths of
which I had before only a confused idea. I confess I can not
help being a little vain of comprehending a system that is
calculated only for a thinking mind, and can not be tasted
without a willingness 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 milkmaid : nay, I believe a girl
SIR JAMES AND LADY STEUART. 349
out of a village or a nursery more capable of receiving in-
struction than a lad just 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. Mr. Steuart is very happy to
be under the direction of a father who will not suffer him to
entertain errors at an age when 'tis hard to distinguish them.
I often look back on my past life in the light in which old
Montaigne considered it ; it is, perhaps, a more useful study
than it is generally imagined. Mr. Locke, who has made the
best dissection of the human mind of any author I have ever
read, declares that he has drawn all his observations from re-
flecting on the progression of his own ideas. It is true a very
small proportion of knowledge is allowed us in this world,
few truths permitted, but those truths are plain ; they may be
overseen or artfully obscured from our sight, but when pointed
out to us, it is impossible to resist the conviction that accom-
panies them. I am persuaded your manuscript would have
the same effect on every candid reader it has on me : but I
am afraid their number is very small.
I think the omission you desire in the act of indemnity can
not fail of happening ; I shall take every opportunity of put-
ting people of my acquaintance in mind of it : at present the
real director* (at least of home affairs) is a countryman of
yours ; but you know there are certain circumstances that
may disincline from meddling in some nice matters. I am al-
ways with gratitude and the truest esteem, both to Lady Frances
and yourself, a faithful humble servant.
* Lord Mansfield is probably here alluded to. He was a member
of the Cabinet during the last years of George the Second's reign, and
supposed to have great influence with the Duke of Newcastle, the
nominal head of that administration. The circumstance of his having
been himself attached on the score of early Jacobinism, might make
him cautious of appearing to protect persons in Sir James Steuart's
situation.
350 LETTERS TO
LETTER X.
Venice, January, 13, 1761.
1 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 during the whole journey, I
begin to fear there is no such pleasure allotted me in the book
of fate : the Alps were once mole-hills 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 melan-
choly apprehensions. Poor human-kind ! 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, every
thing 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 further 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 un-
folded 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 ef-
forts (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 wild planet ; where we may
find however (God be thanked) much to. laugh at, though little
to approve.
I confess I delight extremely in looking at men in that light.
How many thousands trample under foot honor, ease, and
SIR JAMES AND LADY STEUART. 851
pleasure, in pursuit of ribbons of certain colors, dabs of em*
broidery on their clothes, and gilt wood carved behind their
coaches in a particular figure ? Others breaking their hearts
till they are distinguished by the shape and color 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. For my part, I
will endeavor to comfort myself for the cruel disappointment
I find in renouncing Tubingen by eating some fresh oysters
on the table. I hope you are sitting down with dear Lady F.
to some admirable red partridges, which I think are the growth
of that country. Adieu !
LETTER XI.
Venice, January, 25, 1Y6L
Sir — I have not returned my thanks for your obliging let-
ter so soon as both duty and inclination prompted me ; but I
have had so severe a cold accompanied with a weakness in my
eyes, that I have been confined to my store for many days.
This is the first use I make of my pen. I will not engage in a
dispute with you, being very sure that I am unable to support
it against you ; yet I own I am entirely of your opinion in re-
lation to the civil list. I know it has long been a custom to
begin every reign with some mark of the people's love exceed
ing what was shown to the predecessor : I am glad to see this
distinguished by the trust and affection of the king to his
people, and am persuaded it will have a very good effect on
all our affairs foreign and domestic. It is possible my daugh-
ter may have some partiality ; the character of his present
majesty needs only be half so perfect as she describes it, to be
such a monarch as has never existed but in romances. Though
I am preparing for my last and longest journey, and stand on
the threshold of this dirty world, my several infirmities like
352 LETTERS TO
post horses ready to hurry me away, I can not be insensible to
the happiness of my native country, and am glad to see the
prospect of a prosperity and harmony that I never was wit-
ness to. I hope my friends will be included in the public joy ;
and I shall always think Lady Fanny and Sir James Steuart
in the first rank of those I wish to serve. Your conversation
is a pleasure I would prefer to any other, but I confess even
that can not make me desire to be in London, especially at
this time when the shadow of credit that I should be supposed
to possess would attract daily solicitations, and gain me a
number of enemies who would never forgive me the not per-
forming impossibilities. If all people thought of power as I
do, it would be avoided with as much eagerness as it is now
sought. I never knew any person that had it who did not
lament the load ; though I confess (so infirm is human nature)
they have all endeavored to retain it, at the same time they
complained of it.
LETTER XH.
July 22, 1761.
Sir — I expect you should wish me joy on the good fortune
of a friend I esteem in the highest manner. I have always
preferred the interest of those I love to my own. You need
not doubt of my sincere affection toward the lady and young
gentleman you mention. My own affairs here grow worse and
worce ; my indiscreet well-wishers do me as much harm, more
harm than any declared enemy could do. The notable plan
of our great politician is to make me surrender my little castle ;
I, with the true spirit of old Whiggism, resolve to keep my
ground, though I starve in the maintaining it, or am eat up by
the wild beasts of the wood, meaning gnats and flies. A word
to the wise ; you understand me. You may have heard of a
facetious gentleman vulgarly called Tom Earle, i. e., Giles
Earle,* Esq. His toast was always :
* A Lord of the Treasury. See Honorable Horace "Walpole's letters
8IE JAMES AND LADY STEUABT. 353
" God bless you, whatever becomes of me !"
The day when hungry friar wishes
He might eat other food than fishes,
Or, to explain the date more fully,
The twenty-second instant July.
LETTER Xm.
October 1, 1*761.
Madam and Sir — I am now part of my way to England,
where I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you ; it is so long
since I have heard from you, I can not guess where you are.
I venture this to Tubingen, though I fancy two letters I have di-
rected thither have miscarried, and am so uncertain of the fate
of this I know not what to say. I think I can not err in re-
peating a sincere truth, that I am, and ever shall be, faithfully
your most humble servant.
Since I wrote the above I am told I may go by Wirtem-
berg to Frankfort. I will then take that road in hopes of see-
ing you.
LETTER XIV.
Rotterdam, Nov. 20, 1161.
Sir — I received yesterday your obliging and welcome letter
by the hands of Mr. Simpson. 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 fighting (at least no overcoming) destiny. So far I am a
confirmed Calvinist, according to the notions of the country
to Sir Horace Mann, Dec. 16, 1741, for an account of a debate and a
division upon the occasion of the election of the Chairman of the Com-
mittees of the House of Commons, in which some account of this gen-
tleman is to be found.
354 LETTERS TO
where I now exist. I am dragging my ragged remnant of life
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 foreseen half the difficulties I have met with, I should
not certainly have had courage enough to undertake it. I have
scrambled through more dangers than his M. of P.,* or even
my well-beloved cousin (not counselor) Marquis Granby ;f
but my spirits fail me when I think of my friends risking either
health or happiness. I will write to Lady Fanny to hinder
your coming to Rotterdam, and will sooner make one jump
more myself to wait on you at Antwerp. I am glad poor D.
has sold his medals. I confess I thought his buying them a
very bold stroke. I supposed that he had already left Lon-
don, but am told that he has been prevented by the machina-
tions of that excellent politician and truly great man M
and his ministry.
My dear Lady Fanny, I am persuaded that you are more
nearly concerned for the health of Sir James than he is him-
self. I address myself to you, to insist on it to him, not to
undertake a winter progress in the beginning of a fit of the
gout.
I am nailed down here by a severe illness of my poor Mari-
anne, who has not been able to endure the frights and fa-
tigues that we have passed. If I live to see Great Britain, you
will have there a sincere and faithful servant that will omit no
occasion of serving you ; and I think it almost impossible I
should not succeed. You must be loved and esteemed wher-
ever you are known. Give me leave, however, dear madam,
to combat some of your notions, or more properly speaking,
your passions. Mr. Steuart is in a situation that opens the
* Majesty of Prussia.
f Lord Granby married the daughter of Charles, sixth Duke of Som-
erset, by his wife the youngest daughter of Daniel, Earl of "Winchelsea
and Nottingham, whose wife was the daughter of Basil Earl Fielding,
and Lady Mary's first cousin.
SIR JAMES AND LADY STEUART. 355
fairest prospect of honor and advancement. We mothers are
all apt to regret the absence of children we love : Solomon ad-
vises the sluggard to go to the ant and be wise ; we should
take the example of the innocent inhabitants of the air, when
their young are fledged, they are delighted to see them fly and
peck for themselves. Forgive this freedom. I have no other
recipe for maternal fondness, a distemper which has long af-
flicted your ladyship's obliged and obedient humble servant.
LETTER XV.
Rotterdam, December 26, 1761.
Sir — The thaw is now so far advan' A I am in great hopes
of moving in a few days. My first care at London will be your
affairs : I think it almost impossible I should not succeed.
You may assure Lady Fanny no endeavor shall be wanting on
my side : if I find any material objection I shall not fail to let
you know it ; I confess I do not foresee any. A young gentle-
man arrived here last night, who is perhaps of your acquaint-
ance, Mr. Hamilton ; he is hastening to London in expectation
of an act of grace, which I believe will be granted. I flatter
myself with the view of seeing you in England, and can affirm
with truth it is one of the greatest pleasures I expect there.
Whatever prosperity my family now enjoys, it will add much
to my happiness to see my friends easy ; and while you are
unfortunate I shall always think myself so. This very dull
weather operates on my spirits, though I use my utmost efforts
to support them : I beg dear Lady Fanny to do the same ; a
melancholy state of mind should never be indulged, since it often
remains even when the cause of it is removed. I have here
neither amusement nor conversation, and am so infected by the
climate that I verily believe, was I to stay long, I should take
to smoking and drinking, like the natives. I should wish you
the compliments of the season, a merry Christmas, but I know
not how to do it while you remain in so disagreeable an un-
356 LETTERS TO
certainty yet, if you have the company of Mr. Steuart, his
bloom of lite will insensibly commuDicate part of his gayetv.
If I could have foreseen my stay in this part of the world, I
would have made a trip to Antwerp to enjoy a conversation
ever honored and remembered by, sir and madam, your most
faithful and obedient humble servant
LETTER XVL
Rotterdam, January 2, 1762.
I have been half way to Helvoet, and was obliged to turn
back by the mountains of sea that obstructed our passage :
the captain, however, gives me hopes of setting out in two or
three days. I have had so many disappointments I can scarce
entertain the flattering thought of arriving at London.
Wherever I am you may depend upon it, dear madam, I shall
ever retain the warmest sentiments of good-will for you and
your family, and will use my utmost endeavors to give you
better proofs of it than I can do by expressions which will
always fall short of my thoughts.
Many happy new years to you, madam. May this atone
for the ill-fortune of those that are past, and all those to come
be cheerful. Mr. Hamilton, whom I mentioned, has, I believe,
got a particular pardon ; his case is extraordinary, having no
relation to public affairs. I am sorry for poor Duff, and fear
that wherever he moves there will be little difference in his
situation ; he carries with him such a load of indiscretion, it
is hardly in the power of Fortune to save him. We are
crowded with officers of all ranks, returning to England. The
peace seems to be more distant than ever : it would be very
indiff-^ent to me if it did not affect my friends ; my remain-
ing tim^ in this world is so short I have few wishes to make
for myself, and when I am free from pain ought to think my-
self happy.
It is uncommon at my age to have no distemper and to re-
SIR JAMES AND LAbY STEUART. 357
tain all my senses in their first degree of perfection. I should
be unworthy these blessings if I did not acknowledge them.
If lam so fortunate to see your ladyship and Sir James in
good health at London, it will be a great addition to the satis-
faction of, dear madam, your faithful and obedient humble
servant.
LETTER XVH.
Great George-street, March 5th, 1762.
Dear Madam — I have written several letters to your lady-
ship, but I perceive by that I had the honor to receive yester-
day they have all miscarried. I can assign no reason for it
but the uncertainty of the post. I am told many mails have
been taken, and the letters either thrown away or suppressed.
We must suffer this among the common calamities of war.
Our correspondence is so innocent we have no reason to ap-
prehend our secrets being discovered.
I am proud to make public profession of being, dear madam,
ever your most faithful humble servant.
In writing to you, I think I write to your whole family ; I
hope they think so too.
LETTER XVIH.
July 2d, 1162*
Dear Madam — 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 faith-
ful humble servant.
* Lady Mary died on the 21st of August, following.
SELECTIONS FROM VARIOUS LETTERS*
The Small-Pox and Inoculation. — Apropos of distem-
pers, I am going to tell you a thing that will make you wish
yourself here. The small-pox, so fatal and so general among
us, is here entirely harmless by the invention of ingrafting,
which is the term they give it. TJ*ere is a set of old wo-
men 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 vein 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 matter as can lie upon the. head of her needle,
and after that binds up the little wound with a hollow bit of
shell ; and in this manner opens four or five veins. The Gre-
cians have commonly the superstition of opening one in the
middle of the forehead, one in each arm, and one 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
* These extracts are made on the same plan as those in the " Let-
ters of Madame de Sevigne," viz., to bring together whatever was of
real value in the omitted Letters of Lady Mary, and thus make a clear
exposition of her talents and character. — Am. Ed.
SELECTIONS FROM VARIOUS LETTERS. 359
those that are not superstitious, who choose to have them in
the legs, or that part of the arm that is concealed. The chil-
dren 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 m 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 thousands undergo
this operation ; and the French embassador says pleasantly,
that they take the small-pox here by way of diversion, as they
take the waters in other countries. There is no example of
any one that has died in it ; and you may believe I am well
satisfied of the safety of this experiment, since I intend to try
it on my dear little son.
I am patriot enough to take pains to bring this useful inven-
tion 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 to man-
kind. But that distemper is too beneficial to them not to ex-
pose to all their resentment the hardy wight that should un-
dertake to put an end to it. Perhaps, if I live to return, 1
may, however, have courage to war with them. Upon this
occasion admire the heroism in the heart of your friend.
Life at Vienna in 1716. — It is not from Austria that one
can write with vivacity, and I am already infected with the
phlegm of the country. Even their amours and their quar-
rels are carried on with a surprising temper, and they are
never lively 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
360 SELECTIONS FROM
were both so fully determined to die upon the spot, rather
than yield in a point of that importance, that the street
would never have been cleared till their deaths, if the empe-
ror had not sent his guards to part them ; and even then they
refused to stir till the expedient could be found out of taking
them both out in chairs, exactly in the same moment. After
the ladies were agreed, it was with some difficulty that the
pas was decided between the two coachmen, no less tenacious
of their rank than the ladies.
This passion is so omnipotent in the breasts of the women
that even their husbands never die but they are ready to
break their hearts, because that fatal hour puts an end to
their rank, no widows having any place at Vienna. The men
are not much less touched with this point of honor, and they
do not only scorn to marry, but even to make love to any
woman of a family not as illustrious as their own ; and the
pedigree is much more considered by them than either the
complexion or features of their mistresses. Happy are the
shes that can number among their ancestors counts of the
empire ; they have neither occasion for beauty, money, nor
good conduct, to get them husbands. 'Tis true, as to money,
it is seldom any advantage to the man they marry ; the laws
of Austria confine the woman's portion to two thousand florins
(about two hundred pounds English), and whatever they have
beside remains in their own possession and disposal. Thus,
here are many ladies much richer than their husbands, who
are, however, obliged to allow them pin-money agreeably to
their quality ; and I attribute to this considerable branch
of prerogative the liberty that they take upon other occasions.
***** * #**
If I should undertake to tell you all the particulars, in
which the manners here differ from ours, I must write a whole
quire of the dullest stuff that ever was read, or printed with-
out being read. Their dress agrees with the French or En-
glish in no one article but wearing petticoats. They have
many fashions peculiar to themselves ; they think it indecent
VARIOUS LETTERS. 361
for a widow ever to wear green or rose-color, but all the other
gayest colors at her own discretion. The assemblies here are
the only regular diversion, the operas being always at court,
and commonly on some particular occasion. Madame Ra-
butin has the assembly constantly every night at her house ;
and the other ladies, whenever they have a mind to display
the magnificence of their apartments, or oblige a friend by
complimenting them on the day of their saint, they declare
that on such a day the assembly shall be at their house in
honor of the feast of the Count or Countess such a one.
These days are called days of gala, and all the friends or re-
lations of the lady, whose saint it is, are obliged to appear in
their best clothes, and all their jewels. The mistress of the
house takes no particular notice of any body, nor returns any
body's visit ; and whoever pleases may go, without the for-
mality of being presented. The company are entertained
with ice in several forms, winter and summer ; afterward they
divide into several parties of ombre, piquet, or conversation,
all games of hazard being forbidden.
Marriage op the Grand Seignior's Daughter. — The
Grand Seignior's eldest daughter was married some few days
before I came hither ; and, upon that occasion, the Turkish
ladies display all their magnificence. The bride was conducted
to her husband's house in very great splendor. She is widow
of the late vizier, who was killed at Peterwaradin, though
that ought rather to be called a contract than a marriage,
since she never has lived with him ; however, the greatest
part of his wealth is hers. He had the permission of visiting
her in the seraglio, and, being one of the handsomest men in
the empire, had very much engaged her affections. When
she saw this second husband, who is at least fifty, she could
not forbear bursting into tears. He is indeed a man of merit,
and the declared favorite of the sultan (which they call mosayp),
but that is not enough to make him pleasing in the eyes of
a girl of thirteen.
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362 SELECTIONS FROM
Arbitrary Government. — The government here is entirely
in the hands of the army : the Grand Seignior, with all his
absolute power, is as much a slave as any of his subjects,
and trembles at a janizary's frown. Here is, indeed, a much
greater appearance of subjection than among us : a minister
of state is not spoken to but upon the knee ; should a reflec-
tion on his conduct be dropped in a coffee-house (for they
have spies every where), the house would be razed to the
ground, and perhaps the whole company put to the torture.
No huzzaing mobs, senseless pamphlets, an€ tavern disputes
about politics ;
A consequential ill that freedom draws :
A bad effect — but from a noble cause.
None of our harmless calling names ! but when a minister here
displeases the people, in three hours' time he is dragged even
from his master's arms. They cut off hands, head, and feet,
and throw them before the palace gate with all the respect in
the world ; while the sultan (to whom they all profess an un-
limited adoration) sits trembling in his apartment, and dare
neither defend nor revenge his favorite. This is the blessed
condition of the most absolute monarch upon earth, who owns
no law but his will.
I can not help wishing, in the loyalty of my heart, that the
parliament would send hither a ship-load of your passive-obe-
dient men, that they might see arbitrary government in it?
clearest and strongest light, where it is hard to judge whethei
the prince, people, or ministers, are most miserable.
Turkish Houses. — Every house, great and small, is divided
into two distinct parts, which only join together by a narrow
passage. The first house has a large court before it, and open
galleries all round it, which is to me a thing very agreeable.
This gallery leads to all the chambers, which are commonly
large, and with two rows of windows, the first being of painted
glass : they seldom build above two stones, each of which has
VARIOUS LETTERS. 383
galleries. The stairs are broad, and not often above thirty steps.
This is the house belonging to the lord, and the adjoining one
is called the harem, that is, the ladies' apartment (for the name
of seraglio is peculiar to the Grand Seignior) ; it has also a gal-
lery running round it toward the garden, to which all the win-
dows are turned, and the same number of chambers as the
other, but more gay and splendid, both in painting and furni-
ture. The second row of windows is very low, with grates like
those of convents ; the rooms are all spread with Persian car-
pets, and raised at one end of them (my chambers are raised
at both ends) about two feet. This is the sofa, which is laid
with a richer sort of carpet, and all round it a sort of couch,
raised half a foot, covered with rich silk according to the fancy
or magnificence of the owner. Mine is of scarlet cloth, with a
gold fringe ; round about this are placed, standing against the
wall, two rows of cushions, the first very large, and the next
little ones ; and here the Turks display their greatest magnifi-
cence. They are generally brocade, or embroidery of gold wire
upon white satin ; nothing can look more gay and splendid.
These seats are also so convenient and easy, that I believe I
shall never endure chairs as long as I live. The rooms are
low, which I think no fault, and the ceiling is always of wood,
generally inlaid or painted with flowers. They open in many
places with folding-doors, and serve for cabinets, I think, more
conveniently than ours. Between the windows are little arches
to set pots of perfume, or baskets of flowers. But what pleases
me best, is the fashion of having marble fountains in the lower
part of the room, which throw up several spouts of water, giv-
ing at the same time an agreeable coolness, and a pleasant
dashing sound, falling from one basin to another. Some of
these are very magnificent. Each house has a bagnio, which
consists generally in two or three little rooms, leaded on the
top, paved with marble, with basins, cocks of water, and all
conveniences for either hot or cold baths.
364 SELECTIONS FROM
The Churce of St. Sophia — The next remarkable structure
is that of St. Sophia, which is very difficult to see. I was forced
to send three times to the caimaikam (the governor of the
town), and he assembled the chief effendis, or heads of the law,
and inquired of the mufti whether it was lawful to permit it.
They passed some days in this important debate ; but I insisting
on my request, permission was granted. I can't be informed
why the Turks are more delicate on the subject of this mosque
than on any of the others, where what Christian pleases may
enter without scruple. I fancy they imagine that, having been
once consecrated, people, on pretense of curiosity, might pro-
fane it with prayers, particularly to those saints who are still
very visible in mosaic work, and no other way defaced but by
the decays of time ; for it is absolutely false, though so univer-
sally asserted, that the Turks defaced all the images that they
found in the city. The dome of St. Sophia is said to be one hun-
dred and thirteen feet in diameter, built upon arches, sustained
by vast pillars of marble, the pavement and staii 3a se marble.
There are two rows of galleries, supported with pillars of parti-
colored marble, and the whole roof mosaic work, part of which
decays very fast, and drops down. They presented me a hand-
ful of it ; its composition seems to me a sort of glass, or that
paste with which they make counterfeit jewels. They show
here the tomb of the Emperor Constantine, for which they have
a great veneration.
The Armenians. — Now I have mentioned the Armenians,
perhaps it will be agreeable to tell you something of that na-
tion, with which I am sure you are utterly unacquainted. I
will not trouble you with the geographical account of the situa-
tion of their country, which you may see in the maps, or a re-
lation of their ancient greatness, which you may read in the
Roman history. They are now subject to the Turks ; and, being
very industrious in trade, and increasing and multiplying, are
dispersed in great numbers through all the Turkish dominions.
They were, as they say, converted to the Christian religion by
VARIOUS LETTERS. 365
St. Gregory, and are perhaps the devoutest Christians in the
whole world. Th) cbief precepts of their priest enjoin the strict
keeping of their lents, which are at least seven months in every
year, and are not to be dispensed with on the most emergent
necessity ; no occasion whatever can excuse them, if they touch
any thing more than mere herbs or roots (without oil) and
plain dry bread. That is their constant diet. Mr. Wortley has
one of his interpreters of this nation ; and the poor fellow was
brought so low by the severity of his fasts that his life was
despaired of. Yet neither his master's commands nor the
doctor's entreaties (who declared nothing else could save his
life), were powerful enough to prevail with him to take two or
three spoonfuls of broth. Excepting this, which may rather be
called a custom than an article of faith, I see very little in their
religion different from ours.' 'Tis true they seem to incline very
much to Mr. Whiston's doctrine ; neither do I think the Greek
Church very distant from it, since 'tis certain the Holy Spirit's
proceeding only from the Father, is making a plain subordina-
tion in the Son. But the Armenians have no notion of tran-
substantiation, whatever account Sir Paul Rycaut gives of them
(which account I am apt to believe was designed to compliment
our court in 1679) ; and they have a great horror for those
among them that change to the Roman religion.
The Paradise of Women. — As to your next inquiry, I
assure you it is certainly false, though commonly believed in
our parts of the world, that Mohammed excludes women from
any share in a future happy state. He was too much a gentle-
man, and loved the fair sex too well, to use them so barbar-
ously. On the contrary, he promises a very fine paradise to
the Turkish women. He says, indeed, that this paradise will
be a separate place from that of their husbands ; but I fancy
the most part of them won": like it the worse for that; and
that the regret of this separai ion will not render their paradise
the less agreeable.
•366 SELECTIONS FROM
Relics at Ratlsbon. — I have been to see the churches
here, and had the permission of touching the relics, which was
never suffered in places where I was not known. I had, by
t.his privilege, the opportunity of making an observation,
which I doubt not might have been made in all the other
churches, that the emeralds and rubies which they show round
their relics and images are most of them false ; though they
tell you that many of the Crosses and Madonnas, set round
with these stones, have been the gifts of the emperors and
other great princes. I don't doubt, indeed, but they were at
first jewels of value ; but the good fathers have found it con-
venient to apply them to other uses, and the people are just as
well satisfied with bits of glass. Among these relics they
showed me a prodigious claw set in gold, which they called
the claw of a griffin ; and I could not forbear asking the reve-
rend priest that showed it whether the griffin was a saint ?
This question almost put him beside his gravity ; but he an-
swered they only kept it as a cnriosity. I was very much
scandalized at a large silver image of the Trinity, where the
Father is represented under the figure of a decrepid old man,
with a beard down to his knees, and a triple crown on his
head, holding in his arms the Son, fixed on the cross, and the
Holy Ghost, in the shape of a dove, hovering over him.
A Good Ruler. — I am sincerely afflicted for the death of
the doge* He is lamented here by all ranks of people,
as their common parent. He really answered the idea of
Lord Bolingbroke's imaginary patriotic prince, and was the
only example I ever knew of having passed through the
greatest employments, and most important negotiations, with-
out ever making an enemy. When I was at Venice, which
was some months before his election, he was the leading
voice in the senate, which would have been dangerous in the
hands of a bad man : vet he had the art to silence envy ;
* Pietro Grimani died 1752. He was elected Doge of Venice in
1741. and was succeeded by Francesco Loredano.
VARIOUS LETTERS. 367
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 cheerfulness of temper, which made him
agreeable to all companies, and a blessing to all his depend-
ents. Authority appeared so humble 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 am-
bitious that, to my certain knowledge, far from caballing to
gain that elevation to which he was raised, he would have re-
fused it, if he did not look upon the acceptance of it as a
duty due to his country.
Paris and London in 1718. — In general, I think Paris has
the advantage of Lon Ion, in the neat pavement of the streets,
and the regular lighting of them at nights, and in the propor-
tion of the streets, the houses being all built of stone, and
most of those belonging to people of quality being beautified
by gardens. But we certainly may boast of a town very near
twice as large ; and when I have said that, I know nothing
else we surpass it in.
The Ruling Passion. — I arrived this morning at Dover,
after being tossed a whole night in a packet-boat, in so violent
a manner that the master, considering the weakness of his
vessel, thought it proper to remove the mail, and give us notice
of the danger. We called a little fishing-boat, which could
hardly make up to us ; while all the people on board us were
crying to heaven. It is hard to imagine one's self in a scene
of greater horror than on such an occasion ; and yet, shall 1
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
368 SELECTIONS FROM
conceal from the Custom-bouse officers. When the wind grew
high, and our little vessel tracked, she fell very heartily to hei
prayers, and thought wholly of her soul. When it seemed to
abate, she returned to the worldly care of her head-dress, and
addressed herself to me : " Dear mada?n, 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 /"
To See is to Know. — The description of a face or figure is
a needless thing, as it never conveys a true idea ; it only grati-
fies the imagination with a fantastic one until the real one is
seen. So, my dear, if you have a mind to form a true notion
of the divine forms and features of the Venus and Antinous,
come to Florence.
La Trappe. — Between Bologna and Florence I went out
of my road to visit the monastery of La Trappe, which is of
French origin, and one of the most austere and self-denying
orders I know of. In this gloomy retreat it gave me pain to
observe those austere men, who have devoutly reduced them-
selves to a worse condition than that of the beasts. Folly,
you see, is the lot of humanity, whether it arises in the flowery
paths of pleasure or the thorny ones of an ill-judged devo-
tion. But of the two sorts of fools, I shall always think that
the merry one has the most eligible fate ; and I can not well
form a notion of that spiritual and extatic joy that is mixed
with sighs, groans, hunger, and thirst, and the other compli-
cated miseries of monastic discipline. It is a strange way of
going to work for happiness to excite an enmity between soui
and body, which Nature and Providence have designed to live
together in union and friendship, and which we can not separ-
ate like man and wife when they happen to disagree. The
profound silence that is enjoined upon the monks of La Trappe,
is a singular circumstance of their unsociable and unnatural
discipline; and were this injunction never to bo dispensed
VARIOUS LETTERS. 3G9
with, it would be needless to visit them in any other charac-
ter than as a collection of statues ; but the superior of the
convent suspended in our favor that rigorous law, and allowed
one of the mutes to converse with me, and answer a few dis-
creet questions. He told me that the monks of this order in
France are still more austere than those of Italy, as they never
taste wine, flesh, fish, or eggs ; but live entirely upon vegeta-
bles. The story that is told of the institution of this ordei is
remarkable, and is well attested, if my information be good.
Its founder was a French nobleman, whose name was Bouthil-
lier de Ranee, a man of pleasure and gallantry, who was
converted into the deepest gloom of devotion by the following
incident : His affairs obliged him to absent himself, for some
time, from a lady with whom he had lived in the most inti-
mate and tender connections of successful love. At his re-
turn to Paris, he proposed to surprise her agreeably, and, at
the same time, to satisfy his own impatient desire of seeing
her, by going directly and without ceremony to her apart-
ment by a back stair, which he was well acquainted with :
but think of the spectacle that presented itself to him at his
entrance into the chamber that had so often been the scene
of love's highest raptures ! his mistress dead — dead of the
small-pox — disfigured beyond expression — a loathsome mass
of putrid matter — and the surgeon separating the head from
the body, because the coffin had been made too short ! He
stood for a moment motionless in amazement, and filled with
horror — and then retired from the world, shut himself up in
the convent of La Trappe, where he passed the remainder of
his days.
Free Towns. — I have already passed a large part of Ger-
many, have seen all that is remarkable in Cologne, Frankfort,
Wurtsburg, and this place. 'Tis impossible not to observe
the difference between the free towns and those under the
government of absolute princes, a3 all the little sovereigns of
Germany are. In the first, there appears an air of commerce
16*
370 SELECTIONS FROM
and plenty. The streets are well built, and full of people,
neatly and plainly dressed. The shops are loaded with mer-
chandise, and the commonalty are clean and cheerful. In the
other you see a sort of shabby finery, a number of dirty peo-
ple of quality tawdered out ; narrow nasty streets, out of re-
pair, wretchedly thin of inhabitants, and above half of the
common sort asking alms. I can not help fancying one under
the figure of a clean Dutch citizen's wife, and the other like a
poor town lady of pleasure, painted and ribboned out in her
head-dress, with tarnished silver-laced shoes, a ragged under-
petticoat, a miserable mixture of vice and poverty.
Sumptuary Laws. — They have sumptuary laws in this
town, which distinguish their rank by their dress, prevent the
excess which ruins so many other cities, and has a more agree-
able effect to the eye of a stranger than our fashions. I think
after the Archbishop of Cambray having declared for them, I
need not be ashamed to own that I wish these laws were in
force in other parts of the world. When one considers im-
partially the merit of a rich suit of clothes in most places, the
respect and the smiles of favor it procures, not to speak of the
envy and the sighs it occasions (which is very often the prin-
pal charm to the wearer), one is forced to confess that there is
need of an uncommon understanding to resist the temptation
of pleasing friends and mortifying rivals ; and that it is natu-
ral to young people to fall into a folly which betrays them to
that want of money which is the source of a thousand base-
nesses. What numbers of men have begun the world with
generous inclinations that have afterward been the instru-
ments of bringing misery on a whole people, being led by
vain expense into debts that they could clear no other way
but by the forfeit of their honor, and which they never could
have contracted if the respect the many pay to habits was fixed
by law only to a particular color or cut of plain cloth ! These
reflections draw after them others that are too melancholy.
VARIOUS LETTERS. 37l
French Ladies in 1748. — A propos of countenances, 1
must tell you something of the French ladies ; I have seen al
the beauties, and such (I can't help making use of the
coarse word) nauseous creatures ! so fantastically absurd in
their dress ! so monstrously unnatural in their paints ! theii
hair cut short, and curled round their faces, and so loaded with
powder that it makes it look like white wool ! and on their
cheeks to their chins, unmercifully laid, on a shining red japan,
that glistens in a most flaming manner, so that they seem to
have no resemblance to human faces. I am apt to believe
that they took the first hint of their dress from a fair sheep
newly ruddled. "lis with pleasure I recollect my dear pretty
countrywomen : and if I was writing to any body else I
should say that these grotesque daubers give me still a higher
esteem of the natural charms of dear Lady Rich's auburn
hair, and the lively colors of her unsullied complexion.
Gaming. — Play is the general plague of Europe. I know
no corner of it entirely free from the infection. I do not
doubt but that the familiarities of the gaming-table contribute
very much to that decay of politeness of which you com-
plain; for the pouting and quarrels, which naturally arise
from disputes there, must put an end to all complaisance, or
even good-will toward each other.
Conversation. — There are many in the world incapable of
any other sort of conversation except that of remarking the
mistakes of others, and are very often so much mistaken them-
selves they blame the most praiseworthy actions, and are so un-
acquainted with virtue they do not know it when they see it.
The World a Century Ago. — The world is so corrupt
it is difficult to meet with honesty in any station, and such
good hearts as yours, which are not naturally inclined to sus-
picion, are often liable to be imposed on.
372 SELECTIONS FROM
Life at Twickenham. — I am now at the same distance
from London that you are from Paris, and could fall into
solitary amusements with a good deal of taste ; but I resist
it as a temptation of Satan, and rather turn my endeavors
to make the world as agreeable to me as I can, which is the
true philosophy ; that of despising it is of no use but to
hasten wrinkles. I ride a good deal, and have got a horse
superior to any two-legged animal, he being -without a fault.
I work like an angel. I receive visits upon idle days, and I
shade my life as I do my tent-stitch, that is, make as easy
transitions as I can from business to pleasure ; the one would
be too flaring and gaudy without some dark shades of t' other ;
and if I worked altogether in the grave colors, you know
'twould be quite dismal. Miss Skerret is in the house with
me, and Lady Stafford has taken a lodging at Richmond. As
their ages are different, and both agreeable in their kind, I
laugh with the one, or reason with the other, as I happen to
be in a gay or serious humor ; and I manage my friends with
such a strong, yet with a gentle hand, that they are both
willing to do whatever I have a mind to.
The "Wasp of Twickenham.* — The word malignity, and a
passage in your letter, call to my mind the wicked wasp of
Twickenham. His lies affect me now no more ; they will be
all as much despised as the story of the seraglio and the
handkerchief of which I am persuaded he was the only in-
ventor. That man has a malignant and ungenerous heart ;
and he is base enough to assume the mask of a moralist, in
order to decry human nature, and to give a decent vent to hia
hatred of man and woman kind.
Lord Bute. — Lord Butef has attained office by a very un-
common road : I mean an acknowledged honor and probity.
* Pope.
f In the last of the letters of the Honorable Horace Walpole to Sir
EL Mann, dated October 28, 1760, an account is given of K : ng George
VARIOUS LETTERS. 3*73
I have but one short instruction (pardon the word) to give on
his account ; that he will never forget the real interest of
Prince and People can not be divided, and are almost as
closely united as that of soul and body. I could preach long
on this subject, but I ought to consider your time is now
fully taken up, and you can have no leisure for reading my
tedious letters. I shall henceforward relinquish the motherly
prerogative I have hitherto indulged, of tiring your patience
with long dissertations.
Useful Knowledge. — I congratulate my granddaughters
on being born in an age so much enlightened. Sentiments
are certainly extremely 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-tweuty, from under the eye of a
strict parent, is commonly as ignorant as she was at five, and
no more capable of avoiding the snares, and struggling with
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, Harriots, etc. Yet such was the method
the Second's death, on the Friday preceding the 27th, and mention is
made of the Duke of York and Lord Bute having been named by the
new king to be ''of the cabinet council," which was probably the sit-
uation to which Lady Mary refers in the beginning of this letter. He
had been for some time before Groom of the Stole to the Prince of
Wales, and continued in that office with the new king till he was ap-
pointed Secretary of State, on the resignation of Lord Holdernesse, on
the 25th of March, 1761. On the resignation of the Duke of New-
castle, Lord Bute became, on the 26th May, 1762, first Lord of the
Treasury, which office he resigned on the 8th April, 1763, and never
afterward took an active part in public life.
374 SELECTIONS FROM
of education when I was in England, which I had it not in my
power to correct ; the young will always adopt the opinions
of their companions rather than the advice of their mothers.
No One Happy in this Life. — I believe, like all others of
your age, you have long been convinced there is no real hap-
piness 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 endeavors 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 only 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 ut-
most prudence, and political schemes, appear, I fancy, in the
eyes of some superior beings, like the pecking of a young lin-
net to break a wire cage, or the climbing of a squirrel in a
hoop ; the moral needs no explanation. Let us sing as cheer-
fully as we can in our impenetrable confinement, and crack
our nuts with pleasure from the little store that is allowed us.
Solitude. — People mistake very much in placing peace in
woods and shades, for I believe solitude puts people out of
humor, and makes them disposed to quarrel, or there would
not be so many disputes about religion and liberty, by crea-
tures that never understood the first, nor have, or are likely
to have, a taste of the latter:
Crushed by the stint of thirty pounds a year.
Lady Bute as a Mother. — The conclusion of your letter
has touched me very much. I sympathize with you, my dear
child, in all the concern you express for your family : you may
VARIOUS LETTERS. 3*75
remember I represented it to you, before you were married ;
but that is one of the sentiments it is impossible to compre-
hend 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 the anxiety for the future does
not take fr^m you the comforts you may enjoy in the present
hour : it is all that is properly ours ; and yet such is the weak-
ness of humanity, we commonly lose what is, either by regret- !
ting the past, or disturbing our minds with 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, with pleasant gardens, in a good air and fine
situation, which I place among the most solid satisfactions of
life. The truest Avisdom is that which diminishes to us what
is displeasing, and turns our thoughts to the advantages which
we possess. I can assure you I give no precepts I do not daily
practice. How often do I fancy to myself the pleasure I should
take in seeing you in the midst of the little people ; and how
severe do I then think my destiny that denies me that happi-
ness ! I endeavor 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 grand-
mother has generally a tincture of dotage ; you would say I
spoiled them, and perhaps not be much in the wrong.
Mankind is one Species. — Mankind is every where the
.same : like cherries or apples, they may differ in size, shape,
or color, from different soils, climates, or culture, but are still
essentially the same species ; and the little black wood cherry
is not nearer akin to the maydukes that are served at great
tables, than the wild, naked negro, to the figures adorned with
coronets and ribbons. This observation might be carried yet
further : all animals are stimulated by the same passions, and
act very nearly alike, as far as we are capable of observing
them.
376 SELECTIONS FROM
First Impressions. — I have seldom been mistaken in my
first judgment of those I thought it worth while to consider ;
and when (which has happened too often) flattery or the per-
suasion of others has made me alter it, time has never failed
to show me I had done better to have remained fixed in my
first (which is ever the most unprejudiced) idea.
Gardening. — I am really as fond of my garden as a young
author of his first play when it has been well received by the
town, and can no more forbear teasing my acquaintance for
their approbation : though I gave you a long account of it lately,
I must tell you that I have made two little terraces, raised
twelve steps each, at the end of my great walk ; they are just
finished, and a great addition to the beauty of my garden. I
inclose you a rough draught of it, drawn (or more properly
scrawled) by my own baud, without the assistance of rule or
compasses, as you will easily perceive. I have mixed in my
espaliers as many rose and jasmin-trees as I can cram in ;
and in the squares designed for the use of the kitchen, have
avoided putting any thing disagreeable either to sight or smell,
having another garden below for cabbage, onions, garlic. All
the walks are garnished with beds of flowers, besides the par-
terres, which are for a more distinguished sort. I have neither
brick nor stone walls : all my fence is a high hedge, mingled
with trees ; but fruit is so plenty in this countiy, nobody
thinks it worth stealing. Gardening is certainly the next
amusement to reading; and as my sight will now permit me
little of that, I am glad to form a taste that can give me so
much employment, and be the plaything of my age, now my
pen and needle are almost useless to me.
The two Pleasures of Life. — Between you and me, I
think there are but two pleasures permitted to mortal man,
love and vengeance ; both which are in a peculiar manner for-
bidden to us wretches who are condemned to petticoats.
Even vanity itself, of which you daily accuse us, is the sin
VARIOUS LETTERS.
877
against the Holy Ghost not to be forgiven in this world or
the next.
Our sex's weakness you expose and blame,
Of every prating fop the common theme ;
Yet from this weakness you suppose is due
Sublimer virtue than your Cato knew.
Prom whence is this unjust distinction shown ?
Are we not formed with passions like your own ?
Nature with equal fire our souls endued ;
Our minds as lofty, and as warm our blood.
O'er the wide world your wishes you pursue,
The change is justified by something new;
But we must sigh in silence and be true.
How the great Dr. Swift would stare at this vile triplet .
Destiny. — I wish I knew a corner of the world inaccessible
to petit-maitres and fine ladies. I verily believed when I left
London I should choose my own company for the remainder
of my days ; which I find more difficult to do abroad than at
home ; and with humility I sighing own,
Some stronger power eludes the sickly will,
Dashes my rising hope with certain ill ;
And makes me with reflective trouble see,
That all is destined that I fancied free.
Politics. — There would be neither party nor contest in the
world, if all people thought of politics with the same indiffer-
ence that I do ; but I find by experience that the utmost in-
nocence and strictest silence is not sufficient to guard against
suspicion, and I am looked upon here as capable of very great
designs, at the same time that I am, and desire to be, ignorant
of all projects whatever. It is natural, and (I think) just, to wish
well to one's religion and country, yet as I can serve neither
by disputes, I am content to pray for both in my closet, and
avoid all subjects of controversy as much as I can.
A Noble Poet. — I am sorry for the untimely death of poor
Lord Cornbury ; he had certainly a very good heart : I have
378 SELECTIONS FROM
often thought it great pity it was not under the direction of a
better head. I had lost his favor some time before I left En-
gland on a pleasant account. He came to me one morning
with a hatful of paper, which he desired me to peruse, and
tell him my sincere opinion : I trembled at the proposition,
foreseeing the inevitable consequence of this confidence. How-
ever, I was not so barbarous as to tell him that his verses were
extremely stupid (as God knows they were), and that he was
no more inspired with the spirit of poetry than that of proph-
ecy. I contented myself with representing to him, in the
mildest terms, that it was not the business of a man of quality
to turn author, and that he should confine himself to the ap-
plause of his friends, and by no means venture on the press.
He seemed to take this advice with good-humor, promised to
follow it, and we parted without any dispute ; but alas ! he
could not help showing his performance to better judges, who,
with their usual candor and good nature, earnestly exhorted
him to oblige the world with this instructive piece, which was
soon after published, and had the success I expected from it.
Pope persuaded him, poor soul ! that my declaiming against it
occasioned the ill reception it met with, though this is the first
time I ever mentioned it in my life, and I did not so much as
guess the reason I heard of him no more, till a few days before
I left London. I accidentally said to one of his acquaintance,
that his visits to me were at an end, I knew not why ; and I
was let into this weighty secret. My journey prevented all ex-
planation between us, and perhaps I should not have thought
it worth any, if I had staid.
A Rich Widow. — I pity poor Lady D ,* who, perhaps,
thinks herself at present an object of envy : she will be soon un-
deceived : no rich widow can marry on prudential motives ; and
where passion is only on one side, every marriage must be miser-
* Lady Dalkeith, eldest daughter of John Duke of Argyle, widow of
Francis Earl of Dalkeith, and mother by him of Henry Duke of Buc-
cleuch ; married secondly the famous Charles Townshend.
VARIOUS LETTERS.
379
able. If she thought justly, she would know that no man ever
was in love with a woman of forty, since the deluge : a boy may
be so : but that blaze of straw only lasts till he is old enough to
distinguish between youth and age, which generally happens
about seventeen : till that time the whole sex appears angelic
to a warm constitution ; but as that is not Mr. T 's case, all
she can hope is a cold complaisance, founded on gratitude,
which is the most uncertain of all foundations for a lasting
union. I know not how it is, whether obligers are apt to exact
too large returns, or whether human pride naturally hates to
remember obligation, but I have seldom seen friendships con-
tinue long where there has been great benefits conferred ; and
I should think it the severest suffering to know I was a burden
on the good-nature of a man I loved, even if I met a mind so
generous as to dissemble a disgust which he could not help
feeling.
Trifles. — I saw Mrs. Bridgeman the other day, who is
much pleased with a letter she has had the honor to receive
from your ladyship : she broke out, " Really Lady Pom/ret
writes finely /" I very readily joined in her opinion ; she con-
tinued, " Oh, so neat, no interlineations, and such proper dis-
tances /" This manner of praising your style made me reflect
on the necessity of attention to trifles, if one would please in
general ; a rule terribly neglected by me formerly ; yet it is
certain that some men are as much struck with the careless
twist of a tippet as others are by a pair of fine eyes.
Amusements in 1738. — Public places flourish more than
ever : we have assemblies for every day in the week, besides
court, operas, and masquerades ; with youth and money, 'tis
certainly possible to be very well diverted in spite of malice
and ill-nature, though they are more and more powerful every
day. For my part, as it is my established opinion that this
globe of ours is no better than a Holland cheese, and the walk-
ers about in it mites, I possess my mind in patience, let what
380 SELECTIONS FROM
will happen, and should feel tolerably easy though a great rat
came and eat half of it up.
Disappointments in Friendship. — The most tender disposi-
tion grows callous by miserable experience : I look upon it as
the reason why so many old people leave immense wealth, in
a lump, to heirs they neither love nor esteem ; and others, like
Lord Sundon, leave it, at random, to they know not who. He
was not a covetous man, but had seen so little merit, and was
so well acquainted with the vices of mankind, I believe he
thought there was none among them deserved any particular
distinction. I have passed a long life, and may say, with truth,
have endeavored to purchase friends ; accident has put it in my
power to confer great benefits, yet I never met with any return,
nor indeed any true affection, but from dear Lady Oxford, who
owed me nothing.
Shall the Mother Nurse her Child ? — You ask my ad-
vice on this matter ; and to give it you frankly, I really think
that Mr. 's demand is unreasonable, as his wife's constitu-
tion is tender, and her temper fretful. A true philosopher would
consider these circumstances, but a pedant is always throwing
his system in your face, and applies it equally to all things,
times, and places, just like a tailor who would make a coat out
of his own head, without any regard to the bulk or figure of
the person that must wear it. All those fine-spun arguments
that he has drawn from nature to stop your mouths, weigh, I
must own to you, but very little with me. This same nature
is indeed a specious word, nay, there is a great deal in it, if it
is properly understood and applied, but I can not bear to hear
people using it to justify what common sense must disavow.
Is not nature modified by art in many things ? Was it not
designed to be so ? And is it not happy for human society
that it is so ? Would you like to see your husband let his
beard grow, until he would be obliged to put the end of it in
his pocket, because this beard is the gift of nature? The in-
VARIOUS LETTERS. 381
stincts of nature point out neither tailors, nor weavers, nor
niantua-makers, nor sempsters, nor milliners : and yet I am very-
glad that we don't run naked like the Hottentots. But not to
wander from the subject — I grant that nature has furnished
the mother with milk to nourish her child ; but I maintain at
the same time, that if she can find better milk elsewhere, she
ought to prefer it without hesitation. I don't see why she
should have more scruple to do this than her husband has to
leave the clear fountain, which nature gave him, to quench his
thirst, for stout October, port, or claret. Indeed, if Mrs.
was a buxom, sturdy woman, who lived on plain food, took
regular exercise, enjoyed proper returns of rest, and was free
from violent passions (which you and I know is not the case),
she might be a good nurse for her child ; but, as matters stand,
I do verily think that the milk of a good comely cow, who
feeds quietly in her meadow, never devours ragouts, nor drinks
ratafia, nor frets at quadrille, nor sits up till three in the morn-
ing elated with gain or dejected with loss, I do think that the
milk of such a cow, or of a nurse that came as near it as pos-
sible, would be likely to nourish the young squire much better
than hers. If it be true that the child sucks in the mother's
passions with her milk, this is a strong argument in favor of
the cow, unless you may be afraid that the young squire may
become a calf ; but how many calves are there both in state
and church, who have been brought up with their mother's
milk!
Women. — If I were a divine I would remember that in
their first creation they were designed as a help for the other
sex ; and nothing was ever made incapable of the end of its
creation. 'Tis true, the first lady had so little experience that
she hearkened to the persuasion of an impertinent dangler ;
and, if you mind, he succeeded, by persuading her that she
was not so wise as she should be.
Men that have not sense enough to show any superiority in \
their arguments, hope to be yielded to by a. faith, that, as they
382 SELECTIONS FROM
are men, all the reason that has been allotted to human kind has
fallen to their share. I am seriously of another opinion. As
much greatness of mind may be shown in submission as in com-
mand, and some women have suffered a life of hardships with
as much philosojmy as Cato traversed the deserts of Africa,
and without that support the view of glory offered him, which
is enough for the human mind that is touched with it to go
through any toil or danger. But this is not the situation of a
woman, whose virtue must only shine to her own recollection,
and loses that name when it is ostentatiously exposed to the
world. A lady who has performed her duty as a daughter, a
wife, and a mother, raises in me as much veneration as Socrates
or Xenophon ; and much more than I would pay either to Julius
Cccsar or Cardinal Mazarine, though the first was the most
famous enslaver of his country, and the last the most success-
ful plunderer of his master.
A woman really virtuous, in the utmost extent of this ex-
pression, has virtue of a purer kind than any philosopher has
ever shown ; since she knows, if she has sense, and without it
there can be no virtue, that mankind is too much prejudiced
against her sex to give her any degree of that fame which is
so sharp a spur to their great actions. I have some thoughts
of exhibiting a set of pictures of such meritorious ladies, where
I shall say nothing of the fire of their eyes, or the pureness of
their complexions, but give them such praises as befit a rational
sensible being : virtues of choice, and not beauties of acci-
dent. I beg they would not. so far mistake me as to think
I am undervaluing their charms : a beautiful mind, in a
beautiful body, is one of the finest objects shown us by
nature. I would not have them place so much value on a
quality that can be only useful to one as to neglect that which
may be of benefit to thousands, by precept or by example.
There will be no occasion of amusing them with trifles when
they consider themselves capable of not only making the most
amiable, but the most estimable, figures in life. Begin, then,
ladies, by paying those authors with scorn and contempt, who
VARIOUS LETTERS. 383
with a sneer of affected admiration, would throw you below
the dignity of the human species.
Ladies in the House of Lords. — At the last warm debate
in the House of Lords, it was unanimously resolved there
should be no crowd of unnecessary auditors ; consequently the
fair sex were excluded, and the gallery destined to the sole
use of the House of Commons. Notwithstanding which de-
termination, a tribe of dames resolved to show on this occasion,
that neither men nor laws could resist them. These heroines
were Lady Huntingdon,* the Duchess of Queensbury, the
Duchess of Ancaster, Lady Westmoreland, Lady Cobham,
Lady Charlotte Edwin, Lady Archibald Hamilton and her
daughter, Mrs. Scott, and Mrs. Pendarvis, and Lady Frances
Saunderson. I am thus particular in their names since I look
upon them to be the boldest assertors, and most resigned suf-
ferers for liberty I ever read of. They presented themselves at
the door at nine o'clock in the morning, where Sir William
Saunderson respectfully informed them the chancellor had
made an order against their admittance. The Duchess of
Queensbury, as head of the squadron, pished at the ill-breeding
of a mere lawyer, and desired him to let them up stairs pri-
vately. After some modest refusals he swore by G — he
would not let them in. Her grace, with a noble warmth, an-
swered by G — they would come in, in spite of the chan-
cellor and the whole House. This being reported, the peer*
resolved to starve them out; .an order was made that the
doors should be fastened. These Amazons now showed them-
selves qualified for the duty even of foot-soldiers ; they stood
there till five in the afternoon, without either sustenance or
evacuation, every now and then playing vollies of thumps,
kicks, and raps, against the door, with so much violence that
the speakers in the House were scarce heard. When the
lords were not to be conquered by this, the two duchesses
* Lady Huntingdon, the same who afterward became the head, the
Countess Matilda, of the Whitfieldian Methodists.
384 SELECTIONS FROM
(very well apprised of the use of stratagems in war) commanded
a dead silence of half an hour ; and the chancellor, who thought
this a certain proof of their absence, (the Commons also being
very impatient to enter), gave order for the opening of the
door ; upon which they all rushed in, pushed aside their com-
petitors, and placed themselves in the front rows of the gal-
lery. They staid there till after eleven, when the House
rose ; and during the debate gave applause, and showed marks
of dislike, not only by smiles and winks (which have always
been allowed in these cases), but by noisy laughs and appar-
ent contempts ; which is supposed the true reason why poor
Lord Hervey spoke miserably.*
Errors in Society. — Among the most universal errors, I
reckon that of treating the weaker sex with a contempt which
has a very bad influence on their conduct. How many of
them think it excuse enough to say they are women, to indulge
any folly that comes into their heads ! This renders them
useless members of the commonwealth, and only burdensome
to their own families, where the wise husband thinks he les-
sens the opinion of his own understanding, if he at any time
condescends to consult his wife's. Thus, what reason nature
has given them is thrown away, and a blind obedience ex-
pected from them by all their ill-natured masters ; and, on the
other side, as blind a complaisance shown those that are in-
dulgent, who say often that women's weakness must be com-
plied with, and it is a vain troublesome attempt to make them
hear reason.
I attribute a great part of this way of thinking, which is
hardly ever controverted, either to the ignorance of authors,
who are many of them heavy collegians, that have never been
admitted to politer conversations than those of their bed-makers y
or to the design of selling their works, which is generally the only
* The debate to which this story relates must have been that of May
2, 1738, on the depredations of the Spaniards, which appears to have
been closed by a speech of Lord Hervey. — See Pari. Hist. vol. x. p. 729.
VARIOUS LETT E US. 385
view of writing, without any regard to truth, or the ill-conse-
quences that attend the propagation of wrong notions. A paper
smartly wrote, though perhaps only some old conceits dressed
in new words, either in rhyme or prose — I say rhyme, for I
have seen no verses wrote for many years — such a paper, either
to ridicule or declaim against the ladies, is very welcome to
the coffee-houses, where there is hardly one man in ten but fan-
cies he has some reason or other to curse some of the sex most
heartily. Perhaps his sisters' fortunes are to run away with
the money that would be better bestowed at the groom-
porter's ; or an old mother, good for nothing, keeps a jointure
from a hopeful son, that wants to make a settlement on his
mistress ; or a handsome young fellow is plagued with a wife,
that will remain alive, to hinder his running away with a great
fortune, having two or three of them in love with him. These
are serious misfortunes that are sufficient to exasperate the
mildest tempers to a contempt of the sex ; not to speak of
lesser inconveniences, which are very provoking at the time
they are felt.
Building. — Building is the general weakness of old people ;
I have had a twitch of it myself, though certainly it is the
highest absurdity, and as sure a proof of dotage as pink-colored
ribbons, or even matrimony. Nay, perhaps, there is more to
be said in defense of the last, I mean in a childless old man ;
he may prefer a boy born in his own house, though he knows it
is not his own, to disrespectful or worthless nephews or nieces.
But there is no excuse for beginning an edifice he can never
mhabit, or probably see finished. The Duchess of Marlborough
lsed to ridicule the vanity of it by saying one might always
^;e apon other people's follies : yet you see she built the most
ridiculous house I ever saw, since it really is not habitable,
from the excessive damps ; so true it is the things that we
would do, those we do not, and the things we would not do,
those we do daily. I feel in myself a proof of this assertion,
being much against my will at Venice, though I own it is the
17
386 SELECTIONS PROM VARIOUS LETTERS.
only great town where I can properly reside, yet here I find
so many vexations that, in spite of all my philosophy, and
(what is more powerful) my phlegm, I am oftener out of
humor than among my plants and poultry in the country.
The Effects of Age. — All weaknesses appear, as they in-
crease with age. I am afraid all humankind are born with
the seeds of them, though they may be totally concealed, and
consequently considerably lessened by education and philoso-
phy. I have endeavored to study and correct myself; and as
courage was a favorite virtue, I studied to seem void of fear,
and I believe was rather esteemed fool-hardy.
I am now grown timorous, and inclined to low spirits, what-
ever 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 ashes. I do not, like Madame Maintenon,
grieve about the decay which is allotted to all mortals, but
would willingly excuse myself to you.
How to Preserve Youth. — I wonder with what conscience
you can talk to me of your being an old woman; I beg
I may hear no more on't. For my part, I pretend to be as
young as ever, and really am as young as needs to be, to all
intents and purposes. I attribute all this to your living so
long at Chatton, and fancy a week at Paris will correct such
wild imaginations, and set things in a better light. My cure for
lowness of spirits is not drinking nasty water, but galloping all
day, and a moderate glass of Champagne at night in good
company ; and I believe this regimen, closely followed, is one
of the most wholesome that can be prescribed, and may sa^e
one a world of filthy doses, and more filthy doctor's fees at the
year's end.
SUPPLEMENTARY LETTERS
TO
THE COUNTESS OF MAR*
In the " Letters from Horace Walpole to Sir Horace Mann,"
lately published, and which were edited by the late Lord
Dover, there are two passages relating to Lady Mary Wortley
Montagu which require some notice, in order that the real
state of the facts to which they refer may be known, as far as
possible.
The first of these is to be found in Letter 231, dated Mistley,
August 31, 1751, and is in these words: — "Pray, tell me if
you know any thing of Lady Mary Wortley : we have an ob-
scure story here of her being in durance in the Brescian or
the Bergamesco ; that a young fellow whom she set out with
keeping has taken it into his head to keep her close prisoner,
not permitting her to write or receive any letters but what he
sees : he seems determined, if her husband should die, not to
lose her as the Count lost my lady 0." And in the next
letter he again alludes to this report.
* It seems due to the pious care Lord Wharncliffe has shown, in
vindicating the fair fame of his ancestress from the false imputations
of envious slanderers, to give these Letters in full. Lady Mary's part
in these troublesome transactions was not free from blame ; but she
never deserved the foul accusations of Horace Walpole, which seem to
have been premeditated malice. Those who desire to see falsehood
refuted, and justice done to the character of an impulsive but noble-
hearted woman, will be deeply interested in these Letters. — Am. Ed
388 SUPPLEMENTARY LETTERS TO
Among Lady Mary's papers there is a long paper, written in
Italian, not by herself, giving an account of her having been
detained for some time against her will, in a country-house be-
longing to an Italian count, and inhabited by him and his
mother. This paper seems to be drawn up either as a case to
be submitted to a lawyer for his opinion, or to be produced in
a court of law. There is nothing else to be found in Lady
Mary's papers referring in the least degree to this circumstance.
It would appear, however, that some such forcible detention
as is alluded to did take place, probably for some pecuniary or
interested object ; but, like many of Horace Waipole's stories,
he took care not to let this lose any thing that might give it
zest, and he therefore makes the person by whom Lady Mary
was detained " a young fellow whom she set out with keeping."
Now, at the time of this transaction taking place, Lady Mary
was sixty-one years old. The reader, therefore, may judge for
himself, how far such an imputation upon her is likely to be
founded in truth, and will bear in mind that there was no indis-
position upon the part of Horace Walpole to make insinuations
of that sort against Lady Mary.
The other passage is in letter 232 ; and after saying that
he had lately been at Woburn, where he had had an oppor-
tunity of seeing fifty letters of Lady Mary's to her sister Lady
Mar, " whom she treated so hardly while out of her senses,"
Horace Walpole adds as follows : — " Ten of the letters, in-
deed, are dismal lamentations and frights on a scene of vil-
lainy of Lady Mary's, who having persuaded one Ruremonde,
a Frenchman, and her lover, to intrust her with a large sum
of money to buy stock for him, frightened him out of England
by persuading him that Mr. Wortley had discovered the in-
trigue, and would murder him ; and then would have sunk the
trust. That not succeeding, and he threatening to print her
letters, she endeavored to make Lord Mar or Lord Stair cut
his throat. Pope hints at these anecdotes of her history in
that line —
1 Who starves a sister or denies a debt.' "
THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 389
Nothing whatever has been found to throw light upon the
ill treatment of Lady Mar by Lady Mary ; and that accusation
is supposed, by those who would probably have heard of it, if
true, to be without foundation. But nine letters to Lady Mar
relating to a transaction with a person whom Lady Mary calls
" R., a Frenchman," are among the papers which have been
communicated to the Editor, which must be the letters alluded
to by Horace Walpole, although there appears to be one short
of the number mentioned by him, possibly by mistake. In
order that the reader may be enabled to see the actual grounds
upon which a charge of so scandalous and heinous a character
has been made by Mr. Walpole, these letters are now given to
the public. They are in no degree interesting in any other
respect ; but inasmuch as the fact of their existence has been
asserted in a publication which has been generally read, and
that their not being produced might be taken in some degree
as an acknowledgment of the charge founded upon them, the
Editor has thought it only fair that they should speak for them-
selves, and that Lady Mary's own account of that transaction
should be known.
These letters are without dates by which to fix the precise
periods at which they were written ; but as the fall of the
South Sea stock began in September 1*720, they must have
been written in the latter end of that year, or the beginning
of 1721.
LETTER I.
From the tranquil and easy situation in which you left me,
dear sister, I am reduced to that of the highest degree of vexa-
tion, which I need not set out to you better than by the plain
matter of fact, which I heartily wish I had told you long since ;
and nothing hindered me but a certain mauvaise honte which
you are reasonable enough to forgive, as very natural, though
iiot very excusable where there is nothing to be ashamed of;
390 SUPPLEMENTARY LETTERS TO
since I can only accuse myself of too much good-nature, or at
worst of too much credulity, though I believe there never was
more pains taken to deceive any body. In short, a person
whose name is not necessary, because you know it, took all
sorts of methods, during almost a year, to persuade me that
there never was so extraordinary an attachment (or what you
please to call it) as they had for me. This ended in coming
over to make me a visit against my will, and as was pretended,
very much against their interest. I can not deny I was very
silly in giving the least credit to this stuff. But if people are
so silly, you'll own 'tis natural for any body that is good-natured
to pity and be glad to serve a person they believe unhappy on
their account. It came into my head, out of a high point of
generosity (for which I wish myself hanged), to do this creature
all the good I possibly could, since 't was impossible to make
them happy in their own way. I advised him very strenuously
to sell out of the subscription, 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,
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 Loped
for in it. I represented to him that if he had so little money
as he said, 't was ridiculous to hazard it all. He replied that
't was 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 as to be overcome by his entreaties, and
THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 391
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 discourse 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. Ben-
field. 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 Cleave, goldsmiths of a very good reputa-
tion. When the opening of the books came, my man went
oft', leaving the stock upon my hands, which was already sunk
from near £900 to £400. I immediately writ him word of
this misfortune, with the sincere sorrow natural to have upon
such an occasion, 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 disinterested neglect of
his money ; but, however, I resolved to take no more steps in
this business without direct orders, after having been so un-
lucky. 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 untouched ; 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 constructions, 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 from
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 answer-
able for the losses that may happen. At the same time, I have
attestations and witnesses of the bargains I made, so that noth-
ing can be clearer than my integrity in this business ; but that
does not hinder me from being in the utmost terror for the
392 SUPPLEMENTARY LETTERS TO
consequences (as you may easily guess) of his villainy ; the very
story of which appears so monstrous to me that I can hardly
believe myself while I write it ; though I omit (not to tire you)
a thousand aggravating circumstances. I can not forgive my-
self the folly of ever regarding one word he said; and I see
now that his lies have made made me wrong several of my
acquaintances, and you among the rest, for having said (as he
told me) horrid things against me to him. 'Tis long since that
your behavior has acquitted you in my opinion ; but I thought
I ought not to mention, to hurt him with you, what was per-
haps more misundei standing, or a mistake, than a designed lie.
But he has very amply explained his character to me. What
is very pleasant is, that, but two posts before, I received a letter
from him full of higher flights than ever. I beg your pardon
(dear sister) for this tedious account ; but you see how neces-
sary 'tis for me to get my letters from this madman. Perhaps
the best way is by fair means ; at least they ought to be first
tried. I would have you, then (my dear sister), try to make
the wretch sensible of the truth of what I advance, without
asking for my leters, which I have already asked for. Perhaps
you may make him ashamed of his infamous proceedings, by
talking of me, without taking notice that you know of his
threats, only of my dealings. I take this method to be the
most likely to work upon him. I beg you would send me a
full and true account of this detestable affair (inclosed to Mrs.
Murray). If I had not been the most unlucky creature in the
world, his letter would have come while you were here, that I
might have showed you both his note and the other people's.
I knew he was discontented, but was far from imagining a pos-
sibility of this thing. I give you a great deal of trouble, but
you see I shall owe you the highest obligation if you can serve
me : the very endeavoring of it is a tie upon me to serve you
the rest of my life and with eternal gratitude.
THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 393
LETTER II.
I can not forbear (dear sister) accusing you of unkindness
that you took so little care of a business of the last importance
to me. R wrote to me some time ago, to say if I would im-
mediately send him £2,000 sterling, he would send me an ac-
quittance. As this was sending him several hundreds out of
my own pocket, I absolutely refused it ; and, in return, I have
just received a threatening letter to print I know not what
stuff against me. I am too well acquainted with the world,
(of which poor Mis. Murray's affair is a fatal instance), not to
know that the most groundless accusation is always of ill-con-
sequence to a woman ; besides the cruel misfortunes it may
bring upon me in my own family. If you have any compassion
either for me or my innocent children, I am sure you will try
to prevent it. The thing is too serious to be delayed. I think
(to say nothing of either blood or affection) that humanity
and Christianity are interested in my preservation. I am sure
I can answer for my hearty gratitude and everlasting acknowl-
edgment of a service much more important than that of saving
my life.
LETTER m.
I give you many thanks (my dear sister) for the trouble you
have given yourself in my affair ; but am afraid it is not yet
effectual. I must beg you to let him know I am now at Twick-
enham, and that whoever has his procuration may come here
on diverse pretenses, but must by no means go to my house at
London. I wonder you can think Lady Stafford has not wrote
to him: she showed me a long plain letter to him several
months ago ; as a demonstration he received it, I saw his an-
swer. 'Tis true she treated him with the contempt he de-
served, and told him she would never give herself the trouble
of writing again to so despicable a wretch. She is willing to
17*
394 SUPPLEMENTARY LETTERS TO
do yet further, and write to the Duke of Villeroi about it, if I
think it proper. R does nothing but lie, and either does
not, or will not, understand what is said to him. You will for-
give me troubling you so often with this business; the im-
portance of it is the best excuse ; in short
'tis joy or sorrow, peace or strife,
Tis all the color of remaining life.
I can foresee nothing else to make me unhappy, and, I believe,
shall take care another time not to involve myself in difficulties
by an overplus of heroic generosity.
I am, dear sister, ever yours, with the utmost esteem and
affection. If I get over this cursed affair, my style may en-
liven.
LETTER IV.
Twickenham, September 6.
I have just received your letter, dear sister ; I am extremely
sensible of your goodness, which I beg you to continue. I am
very glad to hear of the good health of your family ; and should
be only more so to be a witness of it, which I am not without
some hopes of. My time is melted away here in almost per-
petual concerts. I do not presume to judge, but I '11 assure
you I am a very hearty as well as humble admirer. I have
taken my little thread satin beauty into the house with me ; she
is allowed by Bononcini to have the finest voice he ever heard
in England. He and Mrs. Robinson and Senesino lodge in this
village, and sup often with me; and this easy indolent life
makes me the happiest thing in the world, if I had not this
execrable affair still hanging over my head. I have consulted
my lawyer, and he says I can not, with safety to myself, deposit
the money I have received into other hands, without the express
order of R ; and he is so unreasonable that he will neither
send a procuration to examine my accounts, or any order for
THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 395
me to transfer his stock to another name. I am heartily weary
of the trust, which has given me so much trouble, and can
never think myself safe till I am quite got rid of it : rather than
be plagued any longer with the odious keeping, I am willing to
abandon my letters to his discretion. I desire nothing more of
him than an order to place his money in other hands, which
methinks should not be so hard to obtain, since he is so dis-
satisfied with my management ; but he seems to be bent to
torment me, and will not even touch his money, because I beg
it of him. I wish you would represent these things to him ;
for my own part, I live in so much uneasiness about it I am
sometimes weary of life itself.
Mrs. Stoner will be a good person to send things by. I would
have no black silk, having bought some.
LETTER V.
Dear Sister — Having this occasion, I would not omit
writing, though I have received no answer to my two last. The
bearer is well acquainted with my affair, though not from me,
till he mentioned it to me first, having heard it from those to
whom R had told it with all the false colors he pleased to
lay on. I showed him the formal commission I had to employ
the money, and all the broker's testimonies taken before Del-
pecke, with his certificate. Your remonstrances have hitherto
had so little effect, that R will neither send a letter of
attorney to examine my accounts, nor let me be in peace. I
received a letter from him but two posts since, in which he re-
news his threats, except I send him the whole sum, which is as
much in my power as it is to send a million. I can easily
comprehend that he may be ashamed to send a procuration,
which must convince the world of all the lies which he has
told. For my part, I am so willing to be rid of the plague of
hearing from him, I desire no better than to restore him with
all expedition the money I have in my hands ; but I will not
396 SUPPLEMENTARY LETTERS TO
do it without a general acquittance in due form, not to have
fresh demands every time he wants money. If he thinks he
has a larger sum to receive than I offer, why does he not name
a procurator to examine me ? and if he is content with that
sum, I only insist on the acquittance for my own safety I
am ready to send it him, with full license to tell as many lies
as he pleases afterward. I am weary with troubling you with
repetitions which can not be more disagreeable to you than
they are to me. I have had, and still have, so much vexation
with this execrable affair, 'tis impossible to describe it. I had
rather talk to you of any thing else, but it fills my whole head.
I am still at Twickenham, where I pass my time in great in-
dolence and sweetness. Mr. W is at this time in York-
shire. My fair companion puts me oft in mind of our Thoresby
conversations ; we read and walk together, and I am more
happy in her than any thing else could make me except your
conversation.
LETTER VL
I have just received your letter of May 30th, and am sur-
prised, since you own the receipt of my letter, that you give me
not the least hint concerning the business that I wrote so earn-
estly to you about. Till that is over I am as little capable of
repeating news, as I should be if my house was on fire. I am
sure a great deal must be in your power ; the hurting me can
be no way his interest. I am ready to assign, or deliver the
money for £500 stock, to whoever he will name, if he will
send my letters into Lady Stafford's hands ; which, were he
sincere in his offer of burning them, he would readily do. In-
stead of that, he has written a letter to Mr. W to inform
him of the whole affair : luckily for me, the person he has sent
it to assures me it shall never be delivered ; but I am not the
less obliged to his good intentions. For God's sake, do some-
thing to set my mind at ease from this business, and then I
THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 397
will not fail to write you regular accounts of all your acquaint-
ance. Mr. Strickland has had a prodigy of good fortune be-
fallen him, which, I suppose, you have heard of.
My little commission is hardly worth speaking of; if you
have not already laid out that small sum in St. Cloud ware, I
had rather have it in plain lutestring of any color.
Lady Stafford desires you would buy one suit of minunet
for head and ruffles at Boileau's.
LETTER VH.
I can not enough thank you, my dear sister, for the trouble
you give yourself in my affairs, though I am still so unhappy
to find your care very ineffectual. 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 intrusted. I wish you
would make him sensible of the infamy of his proceeding,
which can no way in the world turn to his advantage. Did I
refuse giving up the strictest account, or had I not the
clearest demonstration in my hands of the truth and sincerity
with which I acted, there might be some temptation to this
business ; but all he can expect by informing Mr. W , is to
hear him repeat the same things that I assert ; he will not re-
trieve one farthing, and I am forever miserable. I beg no
more of him than to direct any person, man or woman, either
lawyer, broker, or a person of quality, to examine me ; and as
soon as he has sent a proper authority to discharge me on
inquiry, I am ready to be examined. I think no offer can be
fairer from any person whatsoever : his conduct toward me is
so infamous that I am informed I might prosecute him by law
if he was here ; he demanding the whole sum as a debt from
Mr. Wortley, at the same time I have a note under his hand
to prove the contrary. I beg with the utmost earnestness that
r398 SUPPLEMENTARY LETTERS TO
you would make liiru sensible of his error. Observe 'tis very
necessary to say something to fright him. I am persuaded if
he was talked to in a style of that kind, he would not dare to
attempt to ruin me. I have a great inclination to write seri-
ously to your lord about it, since I desire to determine this
affair in the fairest and the clearest manner. I am not at all
afraid of making any body acquainted with it ; and if I did not
fear making Mr. Wortley uneasy (who is the only person from
whom I would conceal it), all the transactions should have been
long since enrolled in Chancery. I have already taken care to
have the broker's depositions taken, before a lawyer of reputa-
tion and merit. I deny giving him no satisfaction ; and after
that offer, I think there is no man of honor that would refuse
signifying to him that as 'tis all he can desire, so, if he persists
in doing me an injury, he may repent it. You know how far
'tis proper to take this method. I say nothing of the uneasiness
I am under, 'tis far beyond any expression ; my obligation
would be proportionate to any body that would deliver me
from it, and I should not think it paid by all the services of
my life.
LETTER Vni.
I am now at Twickenham : 'tis impossible to tell you, dear
sister, what agonies I suffer every post-day ; my health really
suffers so much from my fears that I have reason to apprehend
the worst consequences. If that monster acted on the least
principles of reason, I should have nothing to fear, since 'tis
certain that after he has exposed me he will get nothing by it.
Mr. Wortley can do nothing for his satisfaction I am not will-
ing to do myself. I desire not the least indulgence of any
kind. Let him put his affair into the hands of any lawyer
whatever. I am willing to submit to any examination ; 'tis
impossible to make a fairer offer than this is : whoever he em-
ploys may come to me hither on several pretenses. I desire
THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 399
nothing from him but that he would send no letters or mes-
sages to my house at London, where Mr. Wortley now is. I
am come hither in hopes of benefit from the air, but I carry
my distemper about me in an anguish of mind that visibly de-
cays my body every day. I am too melancholy to talk of any
other subject. Let me beg you, dear sister, to take some care
of this affair, and think you have it in your power to do more
than save the life of a sister that loves you.
LETTER IX.
I send you, dear sister, by Lady Lansdown this letter, ac-
companied by the only present that was ever sent me by that
monster. I beg you to return it immediately. I am told he
is preparing to come to London. Let him know that it is not
at all necessary for receiving his money or examining my ac-
counts ; he has nothing to do but to send a letter of attorney to
whom he pleases (without exception), and I will readily deliver
up what I have in my hands, and his presence will not obtain
a farthing more : his design then can only be to expose my
letters here. I desire you will assure him that my first step
will 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 give
me any 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 intended to expose me, I
shall not value what noise is made. Perhaps you may prevent
it; I leave you to judge of the most proper method ; 'tis cer-
tain 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.
400 SUPPLEMENTARY LETTERS TO
There can be no better specimen of the manner in which a
story gains as it passes through the hands of those who de-
light in gossip, or who are prepared to believe the worst of the
person concerned. Horace Walpole refers to these letters as
the ground of his story, and so far as they go, they do not
support any one of his statements. According to these letters
Lady Mary did not persuade Mons. R. to intrust her with a
considerable sum of money to buy stock for him, but she
yielded to his earnest solicitations in that respect with consid-
erable difficulty. Neither did Lady Mary " frighten Mons. R.
out of England, by persuading him that Mr. Wortley had dis-
covered the intrigue, and would murder him ;" but, on the
contrary, Mons. R. having returned to France, endeavored to
frighten Lady Mary into the payment of his losses in his
South Sea speculations, by threatening to print all her letters
to him, and to make Mr. Wortley acquainted with every thing.
Nor would Lady Mary " have sunk the trust," for she repeat-
edly calls upon him, through Lady Mar, to appoint persons to
examine her, before whom she is ready to submit her accounts,
and to be questioned. And lastly, Lady Mary never did " en-
deavor to make Lord Mar or Lord Stair cut Mons. R.'s throat."
She certainly threatened him, through Lady Mar, in case of
his coming to England ; but no one who reads that threat can
imagine that it is meant to convey the idea of her intending
to have his throat cut by anybody.
Horace Walpole's accusations, therefore, are none of them
warranted by these letters ; but at the same time, even upon
her own showing, Lady Mary can not be acquitted of allowing
her vanity to overcome her judgment, and of placing her char-
acter at the mercy of an adventurer. Nor can her gambling
in the South Sea funds be defended ; the only excuse for which
is, the very general prevalence of a spirit of that kind, almost
amounting to madness, in all classes of society at that period.
To those who know by tradition the severity of Mr. Wortley's
principles in regard to every thing connected with money— -a
feeling produced by the recklessness of his father in those
THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 401
matters, against which he had, in the earlier part of his life,
constantly to contend — Lady Mary's strong fears of this trans-
action coming to his knowledge will be readily intelligible.
A consciousness of her own imprudence in the whole affair
may also be naturally supposed to have added to her fears,
without imputing them to a sense of actual criminality. More
than once, indeed, in these letters, Lady Mary offers to submit
to any examination to which Mons. R. may choose to expose
her ; and in one of them she even says 'that if he will only
send over a procuration to examine her accounts, she will aban-
don her letters to his discretion. Such an offer appears to be
incompatible with there being any thing in her letters which
could really affect her character ; but it is at least quite clear
that Horace Walpole had no right to found upon these letters
to Lady Mar so gross and exaggerated an accusation.
Mr. Cole, in his MSS. now in the British Museum, repeats
this story ; but it is evident that he derives his information
from Horace Walpole, his friend and correspondent, as, in the
same collection, he states of Lady Mary, that he " heard from
Mad. Geoffrin and Mr. Walpole, who knew her well, that she
was the vilest of womankind, notwithstanding her talents for
wit, vivacity, and genius, and elegance of taste, were unexcep-
tionable." It may be doubted, however, whether Horace Wal-
pole ever did know Lady Mary well. She went abroad in the
year 1*739, at which time he was only just of age, when he
could scarcely know well a woman of nearly fifty years old ;
and she did not return to England till just before her death.
In truth, he could have had but a very slight personal ac-
quaintance with her."
402 LETTER WRITTEN TO
LETTER TO THE LORD BISHOP OF SALISBURY.*
(with her translation of epictetus.)
July 20, mo.f
Mr Lord — Your hours are so well employed, I hardly
dare offer you this trifle to look over ; but then, so w r ell am I
acquainted with the sweetness of temper which accompanies
your learning, I dare ever assure myself of a pardon. You
have already forgiven me greater impertinencies, and conde-
scended yet further in giving me instructions, and bestowing
some of your minutes in teaching me. This surprising hu-
mility has all the effect it ought to have on my heart ; I am
sensible of the gratitude I owe to so much ooodness, and how
much I am ever bound to be your servant. Here is the work
of one week of my solitude — by the many faults in it your
lordship will easily believe I spent no more time upon it; it
was hardly finished when I was obliged to begin my journey,
and I had not leisure to write it over again. You have it he.e
without any corrections, with all its blots and errors ; 1 en-
deavored at no beauty of style, but to keep as literally as I
could to the sense of the author. My only intention in pre-
senting it, is to ask your Lordship whether I have understood
Epictetus ? The fourth chapter particularly, I am afraid I have
mistaken. Piety and greatness of soul set you above all mis-
fortunes that can happen to yourself, except the calumnies of
false tongues ; but that same piety which renders what hap-
pens to yourself indifferent to you, yet softens the natural com-
passion in your temper to the greatest degree of tenderness
for the interests of the Church, and the liberty and welfare
of your country ; the steps that are now made toward the
* Dr. Gilbert Burnet.
f Lady Mary was about nineteen when she wrote this letter. It is
a powerful argument for the education of women. Even the excuses
she feels obliged to urge on her own behalf for venturing into the then
(to her sex) forbidden field of learning are eloquent of the need of men-
tal cultivation. s. J. h.
THE LORD BISHOP OF SALISBURY. 403
destruction of both, the apparent danger we are in, the mani-
fest growth of injustice, oppression, and hypocrisy, can not do
otherwise than give your lordship those hours of sorrow,
which, did not your fortitude of soul, and reflections from
religion and philosophy, shorten, would add to the national
misfortunes, by injuring the health of so great a supporter of
our sinking liberties. I ought to ask pardon for this digres-
sion ; it is more proper for me in this place, to say something
to excuse an address that looks so very presuming. My_sex-is
usually forbid studies of this nature, and folly reckoned so
much our proper sphere, that we are sooner pardoned any ex-
cesses of that, than the least pretensions to reading or good
sense. We are permitted no books but such as tend to the
weakening and effeminating of the mind. Our natural defects
are every way indulged, and it is looked upon as in a degree
criminal to improve our reason, or fancy we have any. We
are taught to place all our art in adorning our outward forms,
and permitted, without reproach, to carry that custom even
to extravagancy, while our minds are entirely neglected, and,
by disuse of reflections, filled with nothing but the trifling ob-
jects our eyes are daily entertained with. This custom, so
long established and industriously upheld, makes it even ridic-
ulous to go out of the common road, and forces one to find
as many excuses, as if it were a thing altogether criminal not
to play the fool in concert with other women of quality, whose
birth and leisure only serve to render them the most useless
and most worthless part of the creation. There is hardly a
character in the world more despicable, or more liable to
universal ridicule, than that of a learned woman ; those words
imply, according to the received sense, a talking, impertinent,
vain and conceited creature. I believe nobody will deny that
learning may have this effect, but it must be a very super-
ficial degree of it. Erasmus was certainly a man of great
learning, and good sense, and he seems to have my opinion
of it, when he says, Foemina quae vere sapit, non videtur sibi
sapere ; contra, quce cum nihil sapiat sibi videtur sapere, ea
404 THE LORD BISHOP OF SALISBURY.
demum bis stulta est. The Abbe Bellegarde gives a right
reason for women's talking over-much, that they know nothing,
and every outward object strikes their imagination, and pro-
duces a multitude of thoughts, which, if they knew more,
they would know not worth their thinking of. But there is a
worse effect than this, which follows the careless education
given to women of quality, its being so easy for any man of
sense, that finds it either his interest or his pleasure, to corrupt
them. The common method is, to begin by attacking their
religion; they bring them a thousand fallacious arguments,
which their excessive ignorance hinders them from refuting ;
and I speak now from my own knowledge and conversation
among them, there are more Atheists among the fine ladies
than the loosest sort of rakes ; and the same ignorance that
generally works out into excess of superstition, exposes them
to the snares of any who have a fancy to carry them to the
other extreme. I have made my excuses already too long,
and will conclude in the words of Erasmus, Vulgus sentit quod
lingua Latina non convenit fosminis, quia parum facit ad tu-
endam illarum pudicitiam, quoniam rarum et insolitum est,
fceminam scire Latinam, attamen consuetudo omnium mala-
rum rerum magistra. Decorum est foeminam in Germania
natam discere Gallice, ut loquatur cum his qui sciunt Gallice,
cur igitur habetur indecorum discere Latine, ut quotidie confa-
buletur cum tot autoribus tamfacundis, tarn eruditus, tarn sa-
pientibus, tarn fidis consultoribus. Certe mihi quantulum-
cunque cerebri est, malim in bonis studiis consumere, quam in
precibus sine mente dictis, in pernoctibus conviviis, in exhauri-
endis capacibus pateris, etc.
I have tired your lordship, and too long delayed to subscribe
myself your lordship's most respectful and obliged friend.
INDEX.
PAGE
Abydos 108
Addison 158, 306
Adrianople 84
Adrianople, people of. 139
Age, effects of 386
Amusements in 1738 379
Arbitrary government 362
Archer, Mr., accident to 323
Argyll, Duke of. 271, 273
Armenians, the 364
Arna'iuts 75
Abbot, the , 121
Abbe 121
Bagnio, Turkish 69
Balm of Mecca 97
Beauty in girls 279
Belgrade, journey from 72
Belgrade 132, 156
Belgrade village 146
Bentivoglio, Countess Licinia 312
Biography of Lady Mary Wortley
Montagu 7
Birth-night ball 168
Bocorwar 66
Bohemia 58
Bolingbroke, Lord 226, 303
Bolton, Duchess of 247
Borromean Library 183
Brudenel, Lord 228
Buda 64
Building 385
Bulgaria, peasants of 76
Burying-fields, Turkish 93
Bute, Lord and Lady 207, 221, 222
Bute, Countess of 235
Bute, Countess of, letters to 231
Bute, Lord 372
Bute, Lady, as a mother 874
PAGB
Camp at Adrianople 8T
Carlisle, Lord 326
Carlowitz 131
Carthage, ruins of 116
Cecisbeos 119
Child, shall the mother nurse her ?. . 3S0
Children, training of 247, 273
Clarissa Harlowe 261
Clement XIIL 340
Coach, Turkish 68
Coke, Lady Mary 299
Comedy at Vienna 128
Complaint, letters of 40-44
Consent to an elopement 35
Constantinople 93
Conversation 371
Cornbury, Lord 300
Coronation of George II 175
.Correspondence, interrupted 225
Court life, dislike to 388
Danube, voyage down the 56
Daughter, birth of 93
David Simple 292
Death by lightning 152
Dedication from Sir J. Steuart 348
Destiny 377
Diet 250
Dinner with the wife of the Grand
Vizier 81
Disappointments in friendship 380
Doge of Venice 366
Dwarfs at court 60
Education, her own 280
Education of girls 277, 280
Effendi, Turkish 73, 134
England, sets out for 853
406
INDEX.
PAGE
England, journey to 352
Epitaph by Lady M. W. Montagu. . . 155
Epitaphs by Pope 153, 154
Errors in society 884
Essex 66
Eugene, Prince 61
Exchange, Turkish 85
Fatima, visit to the Kiyaya 104
Fielding, Henry 292, 307
Fielding, Sally 308
Finch, Lady B 260
First impressions 376
First letter to Mr. W. after marriage . 35
Florence 192
Forbiddal of the banns 37
Free towns 369
French ladies in 1748 371
French, manners of 160
Friendship 30
Gaming 371
Garden at Louvere 285
Gardening 876
Geneva 202
Genoa 118
Genoa, customs of. 200
George I. proclaimed king 46
George II., coronation of 175
Gotolengo 224
Grandison, Sir Charles 266
Greek Church 74
Greville, Mr. and Mrs 298
Grief, indulgence of 262
Guastalla, Duchess of 223
Gulliver's travels 173
Harem of the Kiyaya, visit to 82
Herculaneum 195
He-wet, John, story of 152
Ignorance in women 258
Iliad, remarks on 159
Illness at Gotolengo 252
Impudence, advantage of 49
Incident at Venice 302
Inge, Henrietta 18
Inoculation 14, 18, 183, 358
Inscription, Roman 224
Italy, customs of 331
Janizaries 133
Jemmy Jessamy 293
PAGfl
Jews 86
Journey to Belgrade 181
Journey to Brescia 217
Journey to Constantinople 91
Journey through Hungary. 62
Journey through France 187
Kingston, the Duke of 7, 11
Kiyaya, visit to the 82
Knowledge, concealment of. 275
Knowledge, use of 275
La Trappe
Ladies, Hungarian
Ladies in the House of Lords
Languages
Languages in Constantinople, variety
of..,.
Learned ladies in Italy
Learning in women
Leopold, Emperor
Letter to Bishop Burnet
Letters, her opinion of her own.
Life at Vienna
Light reading
Louvere, description of
Louvere. carried to
Louvere, farm-house at
Louvere, incident at
Louvere, life at
Love-letter, Turkish
67
383
274
107
402
173
359
237
254
252
384
232
285
105
Madness 270
j Maffei, Marquis 294
Malta 115
Mankind, one species. 875
Mar, Lady, letters to 54, 121, 387
Mar, Countess of, supplementary let-
ters to 387
| Marbles, ancient 109
Marriage and celibacy 276
1 Marriage of the daughter of the Grand
I Seignior 361
Medals, ancient 94
: Mohammedism 78
; Mohatch 65
. Montagu, Admiral 9
■ Montagu, Duke of. 261
Montagu, Edward "Wortley ... .9-12
j Montagu, Edward Wortley, letters
j to 19,186
i Montagu, Lady Mary "Wortley, char-
acter of ^ 25
INDEX.
"ations.
Moravians 346
Mosque of Selim 1 88
Mummy, King of Sweden's 95
Murray, Mr 289
Naples. 194-196
No one happy in this life 374
Nunnery near Louvere 288
Octavia, story of 242
Old age 311
Old age, effect of 315
Opera at Vienna 126
Orford, Lord 199
Orknev, Lady 178
Orrery, Lord 227, 256
Palace at Louvere 255
Paradise of women 365
Paris 160
Paris and London in 1718 367
Parish girl 250
Paulines 75
Pelham, Lord 50
Pera 93, 106
Peregrine Pickle 24-8
Philips, Mrs 251
Philosophy, Epicurean 350
Physician at Louvers 253
Physicians at Brescia 220
Place, importance of 51
Plagiary 274
Pleasures of life 376
Poet, a noble 377
Politics 377
Politics and women 825
Pompey the Little 250
Pope, letters to and from 122
Pope, opinion of 258
Pope of Rome 197
Prague 58
Preface 5
Priest, argument with 269
Procession of tradesmen 87
Quackery 221
Querini, Cardinal 263
Eaab 63
Ramazan 116
Rambler, the 292
Rascians 131
Rawdon, Sir John 328
Reading 274,
Refusal of an offer of marriage
Regatta at Venice
Relics at Ratisbon
Rich, Lady ± .
Richardson's novels 266, 270. 309
Roderick Random 261
Roman Catholic doctrines 267
Rome 192, 193, 198
Rome, winter at 2S3
Roseberry, Lord 293
Rotterdam 55
Rotterdam, letters from 353
Rotunda at Avignon ' 214
Rudel, Jeffrey. 149
Ruling passion 36T
Ruremonde, affair with 390-400
Saint Sophia, Church of
Schoenbrunn, visit to Count
Scio ,
Selivrea
Seraglio at Tchiorlu
Sestos
Sevigne, Madame de, criticism on...
Slanders of Walpole
Slaves, Greek
Small-pox and inoculation
Smith, Joseph
Solitude
Son of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu,
flight of
Sophia
Stafford, Lady 179,
Statue to Lady Mary Wortley Mon-
tagu
Steele, Sir Richard 15,
Steuart, Sir James and Lady Frances,
letters to
Steuart, Sir James
Stuart, Lady Mary. 272,
Study, advantages of
Suicide
Sultana Hafiten, visit to the
Sumptuary laws
Swift, Dean 256,
Sydenham, Dr
364
57
113
92
91
109
30
3S7
96
353
291
374
184
C8
393
290
370
Tea 221
Trajan's gate 76
Traveler's tales 103
Trifles 879
INDEX.
PAGE
110
115, 116
. dress, description of herself
77
.xKisu house 362
Turks, remarks on the 158
Twickenham, Wasp of 372
Twickenham, life at 872
Useful knowledge 378
Vane, Lady, memoirs of 248
Venice 819
Venice, diversions of 230
Verses on the Duchess of Cleve-
land 178
Verses to Lady Mary Wortley Mon-
tagu... 164
PA.GH
Verses, Turkish 148
Vienna .66
Walpole, Horace, slanders of 88T
Widow, a rich 378
Williams, Sir Charles 828
Women 381
Women of Adrianople 78
Women, Turkish ideas of 94
World, the 371
Wortley, Anne 9, 19
Wortley, Mr., letters to 186
Wortley, Mr., letter from 202
Wortley, Edward, jun 184-20
Wortley, Edward, jun., conduct of
parents to 401
Youth, how to preserve 886
4
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Messrs. Roberts Brothers' Publications.
THE LETTERS
OF
MADAME DE SEVIGNE
TO HER DAUGHTER AND FRIENDS.
EDITED BY MRS. HALE.
izmo. Price $1.50.
" The charm of Madame de SevignS's letters has so long been acknowledged
that criticism is uncalled for in referring to them, nor would it be easy to find a
word of admiration or praise that has not already been pronounced in their
favor. For spontaneity, tenderness, playfulness, sweetness, they are unequalled.
The style is all that is most simple and natural and graceful. Madame
de Sevigne has no variety of inspiration, and but little profundity of thought.
She is inspired by only one sentiment, her love for her daughter; but this
single note is so sweet, and is sung in so many keys, and with such a pleasing
accompaniment of spicy gossip and pensive meditation, that its monotony is
never unpl easing. The influence which these letters have exerted upon the
development of the French language and French literature has again given
them a classical reputation, which works of far greater pretension and power
have never attained. They will ever be classed with the works of a few great
authors, who founded in France the distinctive literary school that at a latei
period obtained a development so varied and so brilliant. By the simplicity
and sincerity of her genius, Madame de Sevigne corrected the false taste and
feeble sentimentality of her day, while the purity of her style exerted an im-
mense influence in forming the language in which she wrote." — Miss
Vaughan, in The Leader.
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MEMOIRS AND CORRESPONDENCE
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Translated from the French and Edited by Isaphenx
M. Luyster.
With an elegant Steel Engraved Portrait. One volume.
i6mo. Price #1.50.
From the Boston Transcript.
" The biography of a woman who admirably fulfilled a great social mission, by
r'rtue not so much of intellectual genius or personal charms as by the essential
W07nanhood which she conserved and consecrated. It is idle to attribute the in-
fluence she exerted, the comfort she gave, the encouragement she inspired, the
rational pleasure and progress she promoted, to mere blandishments or dexterous
:oquetry. Life-long friendships with the gifted and the brave are not so realized ;
enduring memories of grace and congeniality are not so bequeathed. It was be-
cause Madame Recamier, instead of being hardened by worldliness, or soured by
baffled affection, or irritated by adversity, lived through her best womanly in-
stincts, kept pure and vivid her highest and quickest sympathies, and so placed
herself in true relations with ife and literature, with genius and character, that
her agency was so benign, her presence so inspiring, and her memory so dear."
Mrs. Hale in Godey's Lady's Book
" The letters, of which the book is mainly composed, are delightful to lovers
of detail. Those of Chateaubriand in particular are almost a record of the las"
twenty years of his life. Those who would see the influence upon great men of a
fascinating, accomplished, intellectual woman, will find it in these letters."
From the New York Evening- Post.
u Madame Re*camier held her undisputed and marvellous sway, over men and
women alike, by her exceeding loveliness of person, her kindness of heart, her
good sense and exquisite tact, — a sway that was recognized when she was suffer-
ing from reverses of fortune, as well as when she was enjoying the greatest pros-
perity- Perhaps no biography was ever written in which there are anecdotes and
glimpses of so many and such widely differing characters as in these memoirs.
Covering a period of more than half a century, full »f rapid %nd strange changes,
Madame Recamier' s "life" has a historic value, and the letters addressed to hei
iake us behind the scenes and enable us to understand not a little of the intrigues
that governed and the actors who took part in the political struggles of France
and Europe. The chief value of the volume will be found in its autobiographical
portions and its rich and diversified correspondence."
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This volume comes to supplement the " Memoirs and Correspondence of
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of the society of the Abbaye-aux-Bois, occasioned very general dissatisfaction
among both its French and American readers ; for, being made up of letters which
were written to her, and not of those which she had herself penned, it did not
leave upon the mind any clear, definite impression of the real character of Ma-
dame Recamier, into whose secret history all the world was curious to inquire.
The failure of that copious work in its main purpose is the ostensible cause of the
existence of this after volume, in which are introduced over forty of the private
notes and letters of Madame Recamier ; these are as graceful, genial, and chatty
as any of the gossip, legitimized under the name of memoirs, recollections, cor-
respondence, or what not, which we have met with, but they hardly fill the gap
which was left in the previous volumes.
From the Unitarian Review.
We think this book in many respects much more valuable than the last. How-
ever charming the other was, we cannot resist the feeling that it must have been
injurious to woman of society with us, in giving them a longing after unreal
pleasures . . . We believe in the friendships of men and women. But when the
blandishments and artificialities of fashionable society come in, there is danger
that the dignity of the sentiment will be lost in the passion of love. This second
volume shows more of this true kind of friendship. Madame Recamier was in
misfortune ; she had lost her health ; she showed patience, courage, disinterested-
ness for her friends. We are taken captive like all the rest of the world. Her
devotion to her niece was touching ; her power of loving beautiful. Her friends
are noble men like Camille Jordan and Mathieu de Montmorency, the one warn-
ing her against coquetrj , the other recommending to her the joys of religion.
Chateaubriand does not inspire our respect, and she betrays again her early love
jf conquest in keeping the young and passionate Ampere so long at her side.
We must not, however, compare Madame Recamier with our highest American
or English ideal of what a woman in distinguished social position should be, but
with the voluptuous and ambitious women of her day and race, and we shall see
Ler standing forth a bright and charming and beloved vision, far transcending
th>m aU.
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THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF MADAME
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THE WRITINGS OF MADAME SWETCHINE.
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welcome among people of the truest culture. Madame Swetchine was not a
woman who courted publicity ; but the thread of her life was so interwoven with
the political and religious movement? of her time, it was impossible for her to
escape notice. And it brightens that dark period of strife between France and
Russia, with which the present century opened, to follow the life-track of this
Russian lady, who seemed to have been equally at home in both countries.
She was intimately acquainted with the noblest men and women of that re-
markable period, and there is not one of them upon whom her friendship does not
cast a beautiful glow. ^
She was one of those rare beings who seem to have been created to draw out
what is best in others, by the power of sympathy and self-f»rgetfulness. She was
a woman of uncommon intellect, and of wide reading ; and every thing she read
was brought to the standard of a judgment remarkably clear and penetrative
indeed, her conversion to the Roman Catholic faith seems to have been mostly a
matter of the head, — a choice between the Greek and the Roman ecclesiasticismg
Long before her decision was made, her life shows her to have been a humble and
earnest Christian; and, as such, as one whose sympathies took wing higher and
wider than the opinions in which she had caged herself, her history has a rare value
One wonders at the amount of good accomplished by her, always a weak in
valid. In order to understand how she lived, and what she did, the book must b«
read through ; but some extracts might give a hint of it : —
"She rarely gave what is called advice, — an absolute solution of a given
problem : her humility made her shrink from direct responsibilities. She did not
lecture you She did not set herself up as a model or guide. She did not say
' Walk thus ; ' but sweetly, ' Let us walk together; ' and so, without making the
slightest pretensions, she often guided* those she seemed to follow. Young and
old acknowledged her sway. She never evoked a sentiment of rivalry, because no
one ever detected in her a temptation to win admiration at the expense of others.
or to eclipse any person whatever. Her disinterestedness won pardon for her
euperiority
" Sick and erring hearts came and revealed themselves to Madame Swetchine
In all sincerity ; and she shed upon them, sweetly and gradually, light and truth
and life.
" In her turn she drew from this intimate intercourse, added to her own ex-
quisite penetration, a knowledge of the human heart which amounted almost to
d'. vination. She knew the science of the soul as physicians know that of the body.
" Her charity was not a careless and mechanical practice. She consecrated
to it all her strength and all her skill. Almsgiving was not, with her, the mew
fulfilment of a duty. She liked to give pleasure besides doing good, and ter
heart always added something to what her hand gave."
Madame Swetchine lived a little beyond the boundaries of threescore and ten
It is only ten years since she died. Heaven does not ask to what communion shi
belonged, neither will posterity. The memory of her saintliness is a possession
to the church universal, in the present and in the future. Such a record as hen
Is an inspiration to all who read ; such an example, the most imperatife " Ck
thou and do likewise "
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