543. Robert Southey to Grosvenor
Charles Bedford, [started
at least one month before and continued on] 23
September–1 October 1800
*
Do – do Grosvenor Bedford write me a letter.
do – do send me the Musæus. [1] Dear
Grosvenor Bedford do write me a letter – do send me the
Musæus. I beg – I pray, I entreat, I implore, write me a
letter – send me the Musæus. by all the supplications in the
Litany & all adjurations there or elsewhere, for pity,
for friendship, for old-acquaintance sake – for charity –
for compassion – for penance – for atonement, for any motive
or no motive do write me a letter, do send me the Musæus for
my
Uncle, dear dear good-for nothing – lazy – idle –
abominable Grosvenor Bedford. I want a letter – I want the
Musæus for my
Uncle. I promised my Uncle the
Musæus three years ago, & you promised me three years
ago the Musæus for my Uncle –
& you have never given me the Musæus, & I never have never given my Uncle the
Musæus, because you never gave the Musæus to me. Here have I
been three months expecting a letter from you, & I have
never received a letter from you, because you have never
written a letter from
<to> me. <write me a letter> & direct the
letter not to me, but to The
Rev. Herbert
Hill. Chaplain to the British forces. &
put an S by the seal & then the letter will come
free. but first & foremost write the letter.
& send the Musæus for
my Uncle,
to
Mr Danvers. 9 St James’s Place. Kingsdown. Bristol. but do write the letter
– do send the Musæus.
There Grosvenor – is that enough? or wilt
thou have the spell by the name of Demogorgon [2] – & all the witch mysteries with
which my brain is still giddy. so must I commission Horace
to buy a starling & teach him nothing but the Letter –
the Letter – the Musæus – the Musæus?
–––––
Sept. 23. Grosvenor, more than
a month has this letter lain unfinished in my desk – not
from laziness, but in the hope & expectation that every
packet would bring me some tidings from you. soberly &
seriously I am angry with you.
Lately I have not been so well as for the
first months after my arrival: partly because the stimulus
of novelty has lost its power, – still more owing to
intelligence from England that a near relation
is dying in a consumption. – I feel the want of society here
– of the free & unrestrained intercourse to which I have
been accustomed. the weather – the rumour of the day – the
tittle-tattle of the place – & the politics of last
nights rubber, poorly compensate the topics afforded by
common principles, pursuits in common, or the recollection
of old times. Cintra
however amply makes amends for this privation. I often gaze
& gaze till I forget myself & lose all thought – all
recollection. You cannot imagine nor is it in my power to
describe the beauties of this place. there are no miniature
resemblances in England to assist me.
We are in some apprehension & some danger
of receiving the Pestilence from Cadiz. it is certainly at
Seville, where the average number of deaths are forty a day.
whether it be the Black Vomit, an epidemic disease which has
before ravaged this country, or the Yellow Fever from the
Havannah, or the Plague from Tetuan we are even now
uncertain – so different are the accounts. No precautions
are taken to secure us, nor can any avail. a Gallego [3] was here at Cintra yesterday who
left Cadiz only 17 days ago, where he had lost his father by
the disease, from which he himself had recovered. he escaped
with ten others from Cadiz & they are now all in Lisbon
unmolested. If the disease had been infectious it must have
broken out here. At Cadiz it abates – because its food is
exhausted & the place nearly desolate – but this is poor
consolation since it has taken root at Seville. if it comes
nearer I may probably be driven to winter in England. but
our hope is that the rains & the winter will destroy the
disease.
Of invasion & war & such trite evils
we now neither think or talk – this nearer xxxt danger which comes home
to every one monopolizes our attention. it is the news from
the South of Spain that we enquire, & the number of
deaths, & where is the disorder
now. yet with all this evident & imminent &
acknowledged danger I do not perceive any person permanently
alarmed. the thought seems dropt with the conversation:
& we propose schemes of retirement & resources as a
matter of mirth – which perhaps tomorrow may render serious
& necessary.
In the course of next week we shall probably
remove to Lisbon. Cintra grows cold, & I daily wish myself in
our sunny town apartments. from thence it is easy to reach
England in case of an attack – but we shall be guided by
my
Uncle, & indeed my own wish is to remain &
retire into the country if retirement be necessary – no
English fire, no English comfort, can compensate for your
rains & your frosts & your fogs. I feel them like a
green house plant, & must live in the Sunshine. of
sunshine I have had my share – we had the Siroc incessantly
for almost three weeks – I I
sate without coat or waistcoat in a wet room, idle, &
motionless – & yet bathed with perspiration. this was
unusual weather & uncomfortabell – but it did not affect
my health, & in spirits I was never better. At Cadiz
these Siroc blew for
nine weeks, & to this some accounts impute the disorder
there. Of the heat occasioned by a hot wind you can form no
idea – I have felt sweltering days in England – but the
Siroc is the very breath of Beelzebub – only that I conceive
Beezlebubs breath smells of brimstone.
The old fashion of keeping Dwarfs still exists
in Portugal, & as of [MS torn] -lise of these wretches
is in proportion to their deformity [MS torn] this is not
the only trace of old fashions remaining [MS torn] the
Prince [4] has Hawks, – with which he sports once
a year. th[MS torn] exactly
in that taste which made nature imitate art – [MS torn] into
all the curves & angles of a Turkey carpet. the fo[MS
torn] meet in every walk is pardonable – it is comfortable –
[MS torn] water is cooling – & so strong is this feeling
that the Por[MS torn] the creaking of the wheel which
usually raises water f[MS torn] the delights of the country.
But of all old obsolete
follies still retained here the most remarkable are the
Easter Dramas, the very Mysteries so long disused in England
& in all civilized countries. this paper allows me not
room to sketch you an account of them – but in my next I
will give you ample & ridiculous specimens. your father is
fond of dramatic history, & they will amuse him. – From
the Moors this people have also caught much. a spell called
a figa is common to both. tis a clenched hand with the thumb
between two fingers, excellent against witchcraft – our
proverb a ‘fig for him’ is probably hence derived. like the
Mohammedans they do not fly from an infectious disease. Is
the small-pox next door? the mother will not remove her
children: no – if they are to have it
it is no use to remove, if they are not, they are safe where they are. – Fowl broth is the
panacea of Portugal, & the idea is scarcely yet obsolete
that to render it efficacious it should be made of a cock,
whipped to death in the room with the patient. now they
think it good for nothing unless it be eaten on the same day
that the fowl was killed – the broth having more life in it! – Nor is it a human remedy
only, – nothing is so good for a horse! since we have been
at Cintra this was
prescribed for a horse in the possession of our of our
acquaintance. he would not take it. will you believe me when
I assure you that the grooms forced it down
his nostrils? my Uncle
upon hearing it remonstrated with them upon the cruelty
& folly – why Sir how do
it went into the stomach all the same. how do you think
people are drowned if the water does not get thro the nose
into the stomach? – the horse happily died, – here are no
hounds to eat the carcase – & the Portugueze have a
Moorish or Jewish – or foolish antipathy to it. it was taken
out secretly & in darkness & buried: I verily
believe the Portugueze would rather <have> been seen
committing murder than at this impure
employment.
write Grosvenor. the letter! the Musæus!
yrs RS.
October 1. 1800.
