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<title type="main">The Collected Letters of Robert Southey. Part 2: 1798-1803 </title>
<title type="subordinate">A Romantic Circles Electronic Edition</title>
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<name>Southey, Robert, 1774-1843</name>
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<p>National Library of Wales, MS
                        4811D.  Previously  published: Adolfo Cabral (ed.),
                            Robert Southey: Journals of a Residence in
                            Portugal 1800-1801 and a Visit to France
                            1838 (Oxford, 1960), pp.
                    80–83.</p>
<p>These letters were edited with the assistance of Carol Bolton, Tim Fulford and Ian Packer</p>
<p>For permission to publish the text of MSS in their possession, the editor wishes to thank the Beinecke Rare
											Books and Manuscript Library, Yale University; Berg Collection of English and American Literature, The New
											York Public Library, Astor, Lenox and Tilden Foundations; the Bodleian Library Oxford University; the
											British Library; Boston Public Library; the Syndics of Cambridge University Library; the Syndics of the
											Fitzwilliam Museum Cambridge; Haverford College, Connecticut; the Historical Society of Pennsylvania; the
											Hornby Library, Liverpool Libraries and Information Services; the Houghton Library, Harvard University;
											the John Rylands Library, Manchester; the Kenneth Spencer Research Library, University of Kansas; Luton
											Museum (Bedfordshire County Council); Massachusetts Historical Society; McGill University Library; the
											National Library of Scotland; the Newberry Library, Chicago; the New York Public Library (Pforzheimer
											Collections); the Pierpont Morgan Library, New York; the Public Record Offices of Bedford, Suffolk (Bury
											St Edmunds) and Northumberland, the Master and Fellows of Trinity College, Cambridge; the Society of
											Antiquaries of Newcastle upon Tyne; the Trustees of the William Salt Library, Stafford, the Wisbech and
											Fenland Museum; the University of Virginia Library.</p>
<p>A research grant from the British Academy made much of the archival work possible, as did support from the
											English Department of Nottingham Trent University.</p>
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<div n="521" type="letter">
<head>521. Robert Southey to <ref target="people.html#WynnCharlesWW">Charles Watkin
                        Williams Wynn</ref>, <date when="1800-05-02">2 May
                        1800</date>
<note place="foot" resp="editors" type="headnote">Address: To/ Charles Watkin Williams
                        Wynn Esq<hi rend="sup">r</hi>/ 5. Stone Buildings/
                        Lincolns Inn/ London<lb/>Stamped: LISBON<lb/>Postmark:
                        [partial] FOREIGN OFFICE/ MA/ 1800<lb/> Endorsement: 2
                        May 1800<lb/>MS: National Library of Wales, MS
                        4811D<lb/>Previously published: Adolfo Cabral (ed.),
                            <title>Robert Southey: Journals of a Residence in
                            Portugal 1800-1801 and a Visit to France
                            1838</title> (Oxford, 1960), pp.
                    80–83.</note>
</head>
<opener>
<dateline rend="right">
<address>
<placeName>Lisbon</placeName>
</address>
<date when="1800-05-02">May 2. 1800. Friday.</date>
</dateline>
<salute>My dear Wynn</salute>
</opener>
<p rend="indent1"> Here then I am once more, safe over the seas.
                    our passage was uncommonly fine – five days &amp; a half
                    only. light winds the whole way, yet I never suffered so
                    much from sickness. <ref target="people.html#FrickerEdith">Edith</ref> was dreadfully affected. We left Falmouth
                    at five on Thursday afternoon. the three following days I
                    merely crawled out of bed for the sake of washing myself,
                    &amp; then lay down again, scarcely eating or sleeping. On
                    the Monday morning about six I heard the Captain<note n="1" place="foot" resp="editors">Edward Bayntun Yescombe
                        (1765–1803), Captain of the Falmouth Packet, <hi rend="ital">King George.</hi>
</note> awakened by the
                    tidings that a Cutter<note n="2" place="foot" resp="editors">Fortunately, the ‘cutter’ turned out to be the British
                        frigate HMS <hi rend="ital">Endymion</hi>.</note> was
                    bearing down upon us. We had another Packet in company
                    carrying six guns,<note n="3" place="foot" resp="editors">The <hi rend="ital">Prince Ernest</hi>.</note> our own
                    force was ten. the Cutter hoisted English colours, we made a
                    signal which she did not answer, we fired a gun, she did the
                    same. every body thought her certainly French &amp; we
                    prepared for action. imagine <ref target="people.html#FrickerEdith">Ediths</ref> terror; I
                    bulwarked her with mattrasses in the cabin – but she could
                    not fancy herself safe there. so I lodged her in the
                    cockpit, &amp; was glad to escape, took my station on the
                    quarter deck with a musquet. The Cutter bore down between us
                    – I counted seven guns on <del rend="strikethrough">the</del> her side, &amp; saw the smoke from her
                    matches. we hailed her. she answered in broken English,
                    &amp; past us. her language left us no doubt that she was
                    French &amp; we imagined it was a manouvre either to bear
                    round us, or to attack the other Packet. She was English
                    however, manned chiefly from Guernsey. I replaced my musquet
                    in the chest with no small satisfaction. my <del rend="strikethrough">xx</del> former feeling had been an
                    undistinguishable mass of wonder &amp; apprehension, but
                    when that was over it was pure joy that was left. The
                    comfort at feeling two legs, two arms &amp; a head upon my
                    shoulders put my stomach in good humour for half the day.
                    Now it is a subject of satisfaction that I have seen all the
                    preparatory bustle of a sea fight, tho certainly in none of
                    the pleasure: packet sailors will fight well, but not with
                    enthusiasm – they get nothing by a prize. this regulation is
                    owing to the folly of one in the American war – or the war
                    before last, who left her course to take a French vessel.
                    the moment she came alongside, the Frenchman opened his
                    ports, which had been somehow disguised, &amp; the packet
                    was obliged to strike without firing a gun. – Immediately
                    after this we saw Cape Finisterre, &amp; were boarded by the
                    Endymion Frigate. it was a busy morning – &amp; to make it
                    more so the porpusses played around the vessel &amp; we saw
                    a small grampus. on Tuesday we saw Cape Mondego – but still
                    the land lay like a cloud scarcely visible to a strong eye.
                    Tuesday night we made the Berlings. Wednesday I rose at sun
                    rise – the sun was rising over the rock of Lisbon. the flat
                    shores of Yarmouth would have been delightful to me, but
                    this was magnificent. we were very near the <del rend="strikethrough">shore</del> &lt;land&gt; – the wind
                    fresh, the breakers swelling up along the shore, &amp;
                    multitudes of sea birds sporting over their silver dust. the
                    heights of <ref target="places.html#Cintra">Cintra</ref>
                    rose upon us &amp; I distinguished the Penha convent, &amp;
                    the summits which I had trod. we continued close along the
                    land. you know the entrance up the Tagus is wonderfully
                    fine. four years had unfamiliarized all objects – they had a
                    white wash of novelty. we anchored soon after ten &amp; <ref target="people.html#HillHerbertUncle">my Uncle</ref> was
                    immediately on board. at night we took possession of our
                    house. it is very small &amp; quite Portugueze, but large
                    enough &amp; delightfully situated. if I turn my head <del rend="strikethrough">xxxxxx</del> from this table I look
                    over the Tagus to Almeida &amp; the farther shores of
                    Alentejo, &amp; a boundary of hills high as Malvern. houses
                    are very difficult to find upon the hill. a niece of Lord
                        Lansdown<note n="4" place="foot" resp="editors">Unidentified: neither George Granville, Lord Lansdowne
                        (1666–1735; <title>DNB</title>) or William
                        Petty-Fitzmaurice, 1st Marquess of Lansdowne (1737–1805;
                            <title>DNB</title>) had any nieces.</note> had just
                    left it. I wish she had kept it cleaner, for the fleas are
                    in full force, but not in quiet possession, for I also have
                    on my part opened the campaign.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> I have not yet been out. yesterday was given
                    to arranging our things – letter writing – &amp; the evening
                    to visitors. I go this morning to the Envoy<note n="5" place="foot" resp="editors">Robert Walpole (1736–1810),
                        Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary to
                        Portugal 1772–1800.</note> &amp; the Consul,<note n="6" place="foot" resp="editors">Charles Arbuthnot
                        (1767–1850; <title>DNB</title>), Consul and Charge
                        d’Affaires in Portugal 1800–1801. Educated at
                        Westminster School 1779–1784; a career diplomat, later a
                        government Minister and confidante of the Duke of
                        Wellington.</note> &amp; to Pitcairne<note n="7" place="foot" resp="editors">David Pitcairn (1749–1809;
                            <title>DNB</title>), a London doctor who was in
                        Portugal for his health.</note> who leaves Lisbon by the
                    return of our Packet. My old friend Manuel<note n="8" place="foot" resp="editors">Manuel Mambrino (dates
                        unknown), a Spanish servant from Oviedo who worked for
                        Herbert Hill. Mambrino had accompanied Southey on some
                        of his travels in Spain and Portugal in
                        1795–1796.</note> is consigned over to me during our
                    stay. he was delighted at seeing me, &amp; talks of our
                    journey &amp; all its little importancies with high glee. my
                    jargon is very understandable &amp; tolerably at my own
                    command. but it will soon cease to be jargon as I shall now
                    conquer the language. my thousand &amp; one visits received
                    &amp; returned I claim an Invalids privilege of avoiding
                    company, &amp; following my own occupations undisturbed.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> Portugal offers some novelties – a paper
                    money which the government t[MS obscured]es discounted
                    immediately at six per cent– &amp; which is now only worth
                    20 per cent. about a fortnight since they paid their sailors
                    with this <hi rend="ital">at par</hi>. honest &amp; wise
                    people! the sailors found it 80 per cent short, &amp; rioted
                    &amp; hallooed for Liberty &amp; Bonaparte. this was soon
                    quelled &amp; the ringleaders apprehended, but no example,
                    has been made, nor is it perhaps needful where all ranks are
                    equally indolent &amp; stupid. It is a strange feeling to
                    walk these streets; a Heathen God upon earth was nothing to
                    an Englishman among this dirty, debilitated, lazy, lousy,
                    generation. A Mail Coach is established to Coimbra &amp;
                    will run on to Porto when the road is made. A Mail Coach
                    that actually travels eight miles an hour. this is little
                    less than miraculous.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> You have heard from <ref target="people.html#BedfordGrosvenorCharles">Bedford</ref> the history of the copying machine.<note n="9" place="foot" resp="editors">A machine for copying
                        handwriting; see Robert Southey to Thomas Southey, 23
                        March 1800, Letter 500.</note> its use you can better
                    judge. if you send it direct it to the <ref target="people.html#HillHerbertUncle">Rev. H.
                    Hill</ref>. Chaplain to the British forces. Lisbon. to the
                    care of Cap<hi rend="sup">t</hi> Yescombe. Falmouth.
                    Yescombe will take care of it. he is a very friendly man.
                    &amp; <ref target="people.html#HillHerbertUncle">my
                        Uncles</ref> name bring it safely on shore. mine must
                    only be on the inner direction.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> Yescombe was a prisoner in Robespierres
                        time.<note n="10" place="foot" resp="editors">Maximilien
                        Francois Marie Isidore de Robespierre (1758–1794),
                        leading figure in France during the ‘Terror’, 1793–1794.
                        Captain Yescombe was a prisoner in France from July 1794
                        to early 1795. He was paroled from the naval prison at
                        Quimper in Brittany to lodge with a female relative of
                        the governor.</note> a French Lady seeing him ill, took
                    him to her own house, answering for him with her head. this
                    woman is sister to Souchet<note n="11" place="foot" resp="editors">Louis Gabriel Suchet (1770–1826),
                        appointed second in command of the French Armies in
                        Italy in 1800.</note> second in command in Italy. her
                    brother was then in the last cell of the Conciergerie,<note n="12" place="foot" resp="editors">Former Royal palace
                        and prison in France, seat of the Revolutionary Tribunal
                        1793–1795.</note> where she saved him by influencing the
                    gaolers wife. Kervelegan,<note n="13" place="foot" resp="editors">Augustin Bernard-François le Goazre de
                        Kervélégan (1748–1825), Deputy for Finisterre in
                        Brittany to the National Convention 1792–1795. He sided
                        with the Girondins and his arrest was ordered in June
                        1793. He escaped back to his native Brittany and
                        remained in hiding until March 1795.</note> also her
                    near relation, was hidden in a dry well, where she fed him,
                    by the help of an old servant &amp; of Yescombe. When the
                    danger was over &amp; Kervelegan appeared Yescombe saw the
                    meeting between him &amp; his wife – &amp; dined with the
                    old servant &amp; the whole family at their <del rend="strikethrough">xxx</del> first days dinner. he
                    told me it was the <del rend="strikethrough">finest</del>
                    happiest day he had ever witnessed. It would be well for
                    poor human nature if all the good actions occasioned by the
                    French Revolution, were as faithfully chronicled as its
                    public follies &amp; atrocities.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> Today I shall see Lord Somerville<note n="14" place="foot" resp="editors">John Southey Somerville,
                        15th Lord Somerville (1765–1819; <title>DNB</title>),
                        agriculturist and distant relative of Southey.</note>
                    who claims relationship with me <hi rend="ital">here</hi>.
                    The Consul here it is supposed will succeed to Walpole who
                    is going to England for his health. he is an old
                    Westminster, but before my recollection – Arbuthnot. </p>
<p rend="indent1"> I cannot write to <ref target="people.html#BedfordGrosvenorCharles">Bedford</ref> by this packet. he shall hear from me by
                    the next.</p>
<closer>
<salute rend="indent1"> God bless you.</salute>
<signed rend="indent2"> Robert Southey.</signed>
</closer>
<postscript>
<p>I have seen Pitcairne. he says I have no organic disease
                        – but a miserably diseased irritability that I have done
                        the best thing possible in coming to the best possible
                        climate. &amp; that I must be in no hurry to return.
                        Time will cure me assuredly if I can afford time. the
                        only prescription is the occasional &amp; moderate use
                        of laudanum, self-administered. – I was much pleased
                        with him</p>
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