The Letters of Horace Walpole, Earl of Orford Volume I Part 14

"nec ferrea jura, insanumque forum, aut populi tabularia vidit.

Sollicitant alii remis freta ceca, ruuntque In ferrum, penetrant aulas et limina regum.

Hic pet.i.t excidiis urbem miseresque Penates, Ut gemma, bibat, et Sarrano indormiat ostro."

Don't they seem to be Juvenal's?-There are some more, which to me resemble, Horace; but perhaps I think so from his having some on a parallel subject. Tell me if I am mistaken; these are they:

"Interea dulces pendent eirc.u.m oscula nati: Casta pudicitiam servat domus-"

inclusively to the end of these:

"Hanc olim veteres vitam colti'ere Sabini Hanc Remus et frater: sic fortis Etruria crevit, Scilicet et retum facta est pulcherrima Roma."

If the imagination is whimsical; well at least, 'tis like me to have imagined it. Adieu, child! We leave Bologna to-morrow. You know 'tis the third city in Italy for pictures: knowing that, you know all. We shall be three days crossing the Apennine to Florence: would it were over!

My dear West, I am yours from St. Peter's to St. Paul's!

(177) Edmund Curll, the well-known bookseller. The letters between Pope and many of his friends falling into Curll's hands, they were by him printed and sold. As the volume contained some letters from n.o.blemen, Pope incited a prosecution against him in the House of Lords for breach of privilege; but, when the orders of the House were examined, none of them appeared to have been infringed: Curll went away triumphant, and Pope was left to seek some other remedy.-E.

(178) The Epitaph on the outside of the wall of the church of St.

Proculo-

Si procul 'a Proculo Proculi campana fuisset, Jam procul 'a Proculo Proculus ipse foret. A.D. 1392.

142 Letter 16 To Richard West, Esq.

Florence, Jan. 24, 1740, N. S.

Dear West, I don't know what volumes I may send you from Rome; from Florence I have little inclination to send you any. I see several things that please me calmly, but 'a force d'en avoir vu I have left off screaming Lord! this! and Lord! that! To speak sincerely, Calais surprised me more than any thing I have seen since. I recollect the joy I used to propose if I could but once see the great duke's gallery; I walk into it now with as little emotion as I should into St. Paul's. The statues are a congregation of good sort of people, that I have a great deal of unruffled regard for. The farther I travel the less I wonder at any thing: a few days reconcile one to a new spot, or an unseen custom; and men are so much the same every where, that one scarce perceives any change of situation. The same weaknesses, the same pa.s.sions that in England plunge men into elections, drinking, whoring, exist here, and show themselves in the shapes of Jesuits, Cicisbeos, and Corydon ardebat Alexins. The most remarkable thing I have observed since I came abroad, is, that there are no people so obviously mad as the English. The French, the Italians, have great follies, great faults; but then they are so national, they cease to be striking. In England, tempers vary so excessively, that almost every one's faults are peculiar to himself. I take this diversity to proceed partly from our climate, partly from our government: the first is changeable, and makes us queer; the latter permits our queernesses to operate as they please. If one could avoid contracting this queerness, it must certainly be the most entertaining to live in England, where such a variety of incidents continually amuse. The incidents of a week in London would furnish all Italy with news for a twelvemonth. The only two circ.u.mstances of moment in the life of an Italian, that ever give occasion to their being mentioned, are, being married, and in a year after taking a cicisbeo. Ask the name, the husband, the wife, or the cicisbeo, of any person, et voila qui est fini.

Thus, child, 'tis dull dealing here! Methinks your Spanish war is little more livel By the gravity of the proceedings, one would think both nations were Spaniard. Adieu! Do you remember my maxim, that you used to laugh at? Every body does every thing, and nothing comes on't. I am more convinced of it now than ever. I don't know whether S***w,'s was not still better, Well, gad, there is nothing in nothing. You see how I distil all my speculations and improvements, that they may lie in a small compa.s.s. Do you remember the story of the prince, that, after travelling three years, brought home nothing but a nut?

They cracked it: in it was wrapped up a piece of silk, painted with all the kings, queens, kingdoms. and every thing in the world: after many unfoldings, out stepped a little dog, shook his ears, and fell to dancing a saraband. There is a fairy tale for you. If I had any thing as good as your old song, I would send it too; but I can only thank you for it, and bid you good night.

Yours ever.

P. S. Upon reading my letter, I perceive still plainer the sameness that reigns here; for I find I have said the same thing ten times over. I don't care, I have made out a letter, and that was all my affair.

143 Letter 17 To Richard West, Esq.

Florence, February 27, 1740, N. S.

Well, West, I have found a little unmasqued moment to Write to you; but for this week past I have been so m.u.f.fled up in my domino, that I have not had the command of my elbows. But what have you been doing all the mornings? Could you not write then?-No, then I was masqued too; I have done nothing but slip out of my domino into bed, and out of bed into my domino.

The end of the Carnival is frantic, baccha.n.a.lian; all the morn one makes parties in masque to the shops and coffee-houses, and all the evening to the operas and b.a.l.l.s. Then I have danced, good G.o.ds! how have I danced! The Italians are fond to a degree of our country dances: Cold and raw-they only know by the tune; Blowzybella is almost Italian, and b.u.t.tered peas is Pizelli ag buro. There are but three days more; but the two last are to have b.a.l.l.s all the morning at the fine unfinished palace of the Strozzi; and the Tuesday night a masquerade after supper: they sup first, to eat gras, and not encroach upon Ash-Wednesday. What makes masquerading more agreeable here than in England, is the great deference that is showed to the disguised. Here they do not catch at those little dirty opportunities of saying any ill-natured thing they know of you, do not abuse you because they may, or talk gross bawdy to a woman of quality. I found the other day, by a play of Etheridge's, that we have had a sort of Carnival even since the Reformation; Ytis in "She would if She could," they talk of going a-mumming in Shrove-tide.(179)-After talking so much of diversions, I fear you will attribute to them the fondness I own I contract for Florence; but it has so many other charms, that I shall not want excuses for my taste. The freedom of the Carnival has given me opportunities to make several acquaintances.; and if I have no found them refined, learned, polished, like some other cities, yet they are civil, good-natured, and fond of the English-.

Their little partiality for themselves, opposed to the violent vanity of the French, makes them very amiable in my eyes.

I can give you a comical instance of their great prejudice about n.o.bility; it happened yesterday. While we were at dinner at Mr. Mann'S. (180) word was brought by his secretary, that a cavalier demanded audience of him upon an affair of honour. Gray and I flew behind the curtain of the door. An elderly gentleman, whose attire was not certainly correspondent to the greatness of his birth, entered, and informed the British minister, that one Martin. an English painter, had left a challenge for him at his house, for having said Martin was no gentleman. He would by no means have spoke of the duel before the transaction of it, but that his honour, his blood, his etc. would never permit him to fight with one who was no cavalier; which was what he came to inquire of his excellency.

We laughed loud laughs, but unheard: his fright or his n.o.bility had closed his ears. But mark the sequel: the instant he was gone, my very English curiosity hurried me out of the gate St.

Gallo; 'twas the place and hour appointed. We had not been driving about above ten minutes, but out popped a little figure, pale but cross, with beard unshaved and hair uncombed, a slouched hat, and a considerable red cloak, in which was wrapped, under his arm, the fatal sword that was to revenge the highly injured Mr.

Martin, painter and defendant. I darted my head out of the coach, just ready to say, " Your servant, Mr. Martin," and talk about the architecture of the triumphal arch that was building there; but he would not know me, and walked off. We left him to wait for an hour, to grow very cold and very valiant the more it grew past the hour of appointment. We were figuring all the poor creature's huddle of thoughts, and confused hopes of victory or fame, of his unfinished pictures, or his situation upon bouncing into the next world. You will think us strange creatures; but 'twas a pleasant sight, as we knew the poor painter was safe. I have thought of it since, and am inclined to believe that nothing but two English could have been capable of such a jaunt. I remember, 'twas reported in London, that the plague was at a house in the city, and all the town went to see it.

I have this instant received your letter. Lord! I am glad I thought of those parallel pa.s.sages, since it made you translate them. 'Tis excessively near the original; and yet, I don't know, 'tis very easy too.-It snows here a little to-night, but it never lies but on the mountains. Adieu! Yours ever.

P.S. What is the history of the theatres this winter?

(179) Sir Charles Etheridge. "She would if She could," was brought out at the Duke of York's theatre in February, 1668: Pepys, who was present, calls it "a silly, dull thing; the design and end being mighty insipid."-E.

(180) Sir Horace Mann, created a baronet in 1755. He was appointed minister plenipotentiary from England to the court of Florence in 1740, and continued so until his death, on the 6th November 1786.-E.

145 Letter 18 To The Hon. Henry Seymour Conway, (181) Florence, March 6, 1740, N. S.

Harry, my dear, one would tell you what a monster you are, if one were not sure your conscience tells you so every time you think of me. At Genoa, in the year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and thirty-nine, I received the last letter from you; by your not writing to me since, I imagine you propose to make this a leap year. I should have sent many a scold after you in this long interval, had I known where to have scolded; but you told me you should leave Geneva immediately. I have despatched sundry inquiries into England after you, all fruitless. At last drops in a chance letter to Lady Sophy Farmor, (182) from a girl at Paris, that tells her for news, Mr. Henry Conway is here. Is he, indeed? and why was I to know it only by this scrambling way? Well, I hate you for this neglect, but I find I love you well enough to tell you so. But, dear now, don't let one fall into a train of excuses and reproaches; if the G.o.d of indolence is a mightier deity with you than the G.o.d of caring for one, tell me, and I won't dun you; but will drop your correspondence as silently as if I owed you money.

If my private consistency was of no weight with you, yet, is a man nothing who is within three days' journey of a conclave?

Nay, for what you knew, I might have been in Rome. Harry, art thou so indifferent, as to have a cousin at the election of a pope (183) without courting him for news? I'll tell you, were I any where else, and even d.i.c.k Hammond were at Rome, I think verily I should have wrote to him. Popes, cardinals, adorations, coronations, St. Peter's! oh, what costly sounds!

and don't you write to one yet? I shall set out in about a fortnight, and pray then think me of consequence.

I have crept on upon time from day to day here; fond of Florence to a degree: 'tis infinitely the most agreeable of all the places I have seen since London: that you know one loves, right or wrong, as one does one's nurse. Our little Arno is not bloated and swelling like the Thames, but 'tis vastly pretty, and, I don't know how, being Italian, has something visionary and poetical in its stream. Then one's unwilling to leave the gallery, and-but-in short, one's unwilling to get into a postchaise. I am surfeited with mountains and inns, as if I had eat them. I have many to pa.s.s before I see England again, and no Tory to entertain me on the road? Well, this thought makes me dull, and that makes me finish. Adieu!

Yours ever.

P. S. Direct to me, (for to be sure you will not be so outrageous as to leave me quite off), recornmand4 i Mons.

Mann, Ministre de sa Majest'e Britannique @ Florence.

(181) Second Son of Francis first Lord Conway. by Charlotte Shorter, his third wife. He was afterwards secretary in Ireland during the vice-royalty of William fourth Duke of Devonshire; groom of the bedchamber to George II. and George III.; secretary of state in 1765; lieutenant-general of the ordnance in 1770; commander in chief in 1782; and a field- marshal in 1793. This correspondence commences when Mr.

Walpole was twenty-three years old, and Mr. Conway two years younger. They had gone abroad together, with Mr. Gray, in the year 1739, had spent three months together at Rheims, and afterwards separated at Geneva.

(182) Daughter of the first Earl of Pomfret, and married,, in 1744, to John second Lord Carteret and first Earl of Granville.-E.

(183) As successor of Clement XII., who died in the eighty-eighth year of his age, and the tenth of his pontificate, on the 6th Feb. 1740. The cardinals being uncertain whom to choose, Prosper Lamberteri, the learned and tolerant Archbishop of Ancona, said, with his accustomed good-humour, "If you want a saint, choose Gotti; if a politician, Aldrosandi: but if a good man, take me." His advice was followed, and he ascended the papal throne as Benedict XIV.-E.

146 Letter 19 To Richard West, Esq.

Siena, March 22, 1740, N. S.

Dear West, Probably now you will hear something of the Conclave: we have left Florence, and are got hither on the way to a pope. In three hours' time we have seen all the good contents of this city: 'tis old, and very snug, with very few inhabitants. You must not believe Mr. Addison about the wonderful Gothic nicety of the dome: the materials are richer, but the workmanship and taste not near so good as in several I have seen. We saw a college of the Jesuits, where there are taught to draw above fifty boys: they are disposed in long chambers in the manner of Eton, but cleaner.

N. B. We were not bolstered; (184) so we wished you with us. Our Cicerone, who has less cla.s.sic knowledge, and more superst.i.tion than a colleger, upon showing 147 us the she-wolf, the arms of Siena, told us that Romolus and Remus were nursed by a wolf, per la volonta di Dio, si pu'o dire; and that one might see by the arms, that the same founders built Rome and Siena. Another dab of Romish superst.i.tion, not unworthy of Presbyterian divinity, we met with in a book of drawings: 'twas the Virgin standing on a tripod composed of Adam, Eve, and the Devil, to express her immaculate conception.

You can't imagine how pretty the country is between this and Florence; millions of little hills planted with trees, and tipped with villas or convents. We left unseen the great Duke's villas and several palaces in Florence, till our return from Rome: the weather has been so cold, how could one go to them? In Italy they seem to have found out how hot their climate is, but not how cold; for there are scarce any chimneys, and most of the apartments painted in fresco so that one has the additional horror of freezing with imaginary marble. The men hang little earthen pans of coals upon their wrists, and the women have portable stoves under their petticoats to warm their nakedness, and carry silver shovels in their pockets, with which their Cicisbeos stir them-Hush! by them, I mean their stoves. I have nothing more to tell you; I'll carry my letter to Rome and finish it there.

R'e di Coffano, March 23, where lived one of the three kings.

The King of Coffano carried presents of myrrh, gold, and frankincense, I don't know where the devil he found them; for in all his dominions we have not seen the value of a shrub. We have the honour of lodging under his roof to-night. lord! such a place, such an extent of ugliness! A lone inn upon a black mountain, by the side of an old fortress! no curtains or windows, only shutters! no testers to the beds! no earthly thing to eat but some eggs and a few little fishes! This lovely spot is now known by the name of Radi-cofani. Coming down a steep hill with two miserable hackneys, one fell under the chaise; and while we were disengaging him, a chaise came by with a person in a red cloak, a white handkerchief on its head, and a black hat: we thought it a fat old woman; but it spoke in a shrill little pipe, and proved itself to be Senesini. (185) I forgot to tell you an inscription I copied from the portal of the dome of Siena:

Annus centenus Roma seraper est jubilenus: Crimina laxantur si penitet ista dortantur; Sic ordinavit Bonifacius et roboravit.

Rome, March 26

We are this instant arrived, tired and hungry! O! the charming city-I believe it is-for I have not seen a syllable yet, only the Pons Milvius and an obelisk. The Ca.s.sian and Flaminian ways were terrible disappointments; not one Rome tomb left; their very ruins ruined. The English are numberless. My dear West, I know at Rome you will not have a grain of pity for one; but indeed 'tis dreadful, dealing with schoolboys just broke loose, or old fools that are come abroad at forty to see the world, like Sir Wilful Witwould.