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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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<date>2011-08-15</date>
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<idno type="nines">rce537</idno>
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<publisher>Romantic Circles, http://www.rc.umd.edu, University of Maryland</publisher>
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<p>British Library, Add MS
                        30927.  Previously  published: Charles Cuthbert Southey
                        (ed.), Life and Correspondence of Robert
                            Southey, 6 vols (London, 1849–1850), II, pp.
                        77–83 [in part]; Adolfo Cabral (ed.), Robert
                            Southey: Journals of a Residence in Portugal
                            1800–1801 and a Visit to France 1838
                        (Oxford, 1960), pp. 91–93 [in part].</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="528" type="letter">
<head>528. Robert Southey to <ref target="people.html#SoutheyTom">Thomas Southey</ref>,
                        <date when="1800-05-30">30 May–6 June 1800</date>
<note place="foot" resp="editors" type="headnote">Address: [in
                        another hand] To/ Lieutenant Thomas Southey/ H.M.S.
                        Bellona/ Plymouth Dock. – / or elsewhere. /
                        Single<lb/>Stamped: LISBON<lb/>Endorsement: 4<hi rend="sup">th</hi>
<lb/>MS: British Library, Add MS
                        30927<lb/>Previously published: Charles Cuthbert Southey
                        (ed.), <title>Life and Correspondence of Robert
                            Southey</title>, 6 vols (London, 1849–1850), II, pp.
                        77–83 [in part]; Adolfo Cabral (ed.), <title>Robert
                            Southey: Journals of a Residence in Portugal
                            1800–1801 and a Visit to France 1838</title>
                        (Oxford, 1960), pp. 91–93 [in part].</note>
</head>
<p>
<date when="1800-05-30">May 30. 1800.</date> Lisbon. </p>
<p rend="indent1"> The country immediately adjoining Buenos
                        Ayres,<note n="1" place="foot" resp="editors">Area of
                        Lisbon, now known as Lapa.</note> the hill on which we
                    live, is very unpleasant bare, burnt, hills, bearing nothing
                    but wind-mills. the valley of Alcantara, over which the
                    great Aqueduct passes is indeed very striking, it winds
                    among these hills, &amp; perhaps owes much of its beauty to
                    the contrast – like the villages in the South Downs – &amp;
                    that beautiful valley on the left of the road from Salisbury
                    to Deptford Inn. in rich countries they would not be noticed
                    – but here – they are like water in the deserts. The whole
                    road to <ref target="places.html#Cintra">Cintra</ref> is
                    thus ugly &amp; uninteresting – the road paved all the way,
                    a very Devils-bowling-alley –. you can imagine no scenery
                    more wearying. but Eastward of Lisbon it is totally
                    different. there all is rich &amp; beautiful – exquisitely
                    beautiful now that the green corn &amp; the vineyards give
                    it all the fresh verdure of an English landscape. yesterday
                    evening I took a long ride there with <ref target="people.html#HillHerbertUncle">my Uncle</ref>
                    about the valley of Chellas, the gardens of which delightful
                    spot chiefly supply Lisbon. the place is intersected by a
                    thousand bye lanes, unenterable by carriage – &amp; as
                    intricate as one of the last propositions in Euclid,<note n="2" place="foot" resp="editors">Euclid (fl. 300 BC),
                        Greek mathematician, author of
                        <title>Elements</title>.</note> all angles &amp; curves.
                    in this scenery there is scarcely an English feature –
                    orange trees in the gardens, &amp; vine-covered
                    trellis-walks – olive-trees growing in the corn fields,
                    &amp; now in full blossom – the blossom is somewhat like the
                    old-mans-beard of our hedges, not so striking at a distance
                    as when looked into, but it gives a greyness to the tree, a
                    sober blossom in character with the dusky foliage. fig-trees
                    – their broad leaves so green &amp; rich – &amp; a few
                    broad-headed pine-trees – here &amp; there, &amp; cherres
                    apricots &amp;c in the gardens varying the verdure. in the
                    gardens is usually a water-wheel, &amp; the garden is veined
                    with little aqueducts. these wheels creak eternally – &amp;
                    such is the force of association that the Portugueze reckon
                    this creaking among the delights of the country – they think
                    of water, &amp; the garden revived by it. the country looks
                    covered with wood – not indeed of forest size – but large
                    enough for beauty, &amp; all useful. the fences are either
                    walls – &amp; the walls are soon covered with luxuriant
                    vegetation in this country, – or aloe-guarded banks. &amp;
                    the aloe is magnificent – the stem of the blossom looks
                    &lt;almost&gt; like a piece of timber. &amp; the fennel
                    grows finely as a weed – you know its handsome leaf, fine as
                    vegetable threads – or like <del rend="strikethrough">x</del> hair fine &amp; curled, its blossom growing
                    tall <del rend="strikethrough">&amp; to be seen at some
                        distan</del>, a fine yellow flower distinguishable at a
                    considerable distance from its size. &amp; the acanthus, the
                    plant that gave a man of genius the idea of the Corinthian
                    capital which he in consequence invented. bl[MS obscured]
                    these with wild roses, &amp; woodbines – more profusely
                    beautiful than I ever saw them elsewhere &amp; you have the
                    idea of these bank-fences. our way was up &amp; down steep
                    hills, whence we looked over the valley, its scattered
                    houses, &amp; here &amp; there a convent – always a
                    beautiful object, &amp; sometimes the river, &amp; its far
                    shore like a low cloud. It was dusk before we returned &amp;
                    the fireflies were awake – flashing about the banks, &amp;
                    then putting out their candles, &amp; again in light – like
                    faery fire-works. <ref target="people.html#HillHerbertUncle">my Uncle</ref> when first in this country had lost
                    himself in a lane at <ref target="places.html#Cintra">Cintra</ref> – it was evening – he had heard nothing of
                    these fireflies – &amp; some hundred rose at once before
                    him. he says he thought there was a volcano beginning under
                    his feet.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> The warm weather is come. we shut our windows
                    to exclude the heated air, &amp; our shutters to darken the
                    room. – if half the money expended upon the Souls in
                    Purgatory were employed in watering the streets, we should
                    be relieved from the torment of burning – yet is the heat
                    more endurable than the intense light. this is insufferably
                    painful – the houses are white – the stones in the street
                    white – the very dust bleached – &amp; all reflect back upon
                    us the scorching sun. the light is like the white quivering
                    of a furnace fire: it dazzles &amp; makes the eyes ache –
                    &amp; blindness is very common. At evening the sea breeze
                    rises – a sudden change! tremendous for an invalid – but it
                    purifies the town, &amp; then owl-like we come out of our
                    nests. – At <ref target="places.html#Cintra">Cintra</ref> we
                    shall be cool. we wait only for the Processions of the Body
                    of God, &amp; S<hi rend="sup">t</hi> Antony the 12 &amp;
                        13<hi rend="sup">th</hi> of June – &amp; the Heart of
                    Jesus on the 20<hi rend="sup">th</hi> &amp; the first
                    Bull-fight which will be about that time.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> The Butchers annually pay a certain sum to
                    Government – like tax or turnpike men in England. veal is
                    prohibited – there are however smugglers who carry on a
                    contraband trade in veal, &amp; better mutton than is to be
                    procured in the legal way. one of these was taken up near
                    our door a few days since, a public calamity I assure you.
                    The Portugueze servants do not like mutton, &amp;
                    &lt;they&gt; mutinied in an English family the other day on
                    this account. a tax of one rea per pound on all meat sold in
                    Lisbon, raises the fund for the Aqueduct. a light tax (about
                    the fifth of a halfpenny) for so great a benefit. the water
                    is indeed purchased from the Gallegos<note n="3" place="foot" resp="editors">Inhabitants of Galicia in
                        north-west Spain.</note> who are water-carriers by
                    trade. &lt;but&gt; you may send it to the fountains if you
                    please, &amp; the great arch is known by <del rend="strikethrough">the</del> &lt;a&gt; name expressive
                    of this they call it the free waters. The number of Gallegos
                    employed here is disgraceful both to Spain &amp; Portugal.
                    to their own country that these industrious people cannot
                    find employment at home: to this, that the Portugueze are
                    lazy enough to let foreigners do their work, who annually
                    drain Lisbon of its species. The Mules &amp; Goats have a
                    most ugly cup-shaped bell from 6 to 12 inches long <del rend="strikethrough">xxxxxx</del> &lt;hanging from&gt;
                    their neck – with a clapper as rude as the rude cup in which
                    it clinks. Manuel<note n="4" 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 at war with <ref target="people.html#HillHerbertUncle">my Uncles</ref>
                    mule; &amp; like <del rend="strikethrough">xx</del> worse
                    people than himself, adopts this system of coercion when
                    conciliation has been advised, &amp; the ill effects of
                    force experienced. you should coax the mule said <ref target="people.html#HillHerbertUncle">my Uncle</ref> –
                    &amp; never go near her without carrying her something in
                    your hand. No Senhor – said Mambrino. that is the way with
                        <hi rend="ital">horned cattle</hi> I know – but not with
                    beasts like mules or horses. nothing but beating will do.
                    One day there was a hallaballoo (I never saw that word in a
                    dictionary, so pardon the spelling if it be wrong) in the
                    stables which alarmed <ref target="people.html#HillHerbertUncle">my Uncle</ref> –
                    out he went – &amp; there was Manuel, discomfited by the
                    Mule &amp; crawled up under the manger, in bodily fear.</p>
<lb/>
<p>
<date when="1800-06-06">Friday June 6.</date> Your letter has
                    just reached me – a welcome visitant. here a letter is of
                    tenfold more value than in England, our friends are perhaps
                    like our daily comforts, their value hardly understood till
                    we are deprived of them. – I go on comfortably, the weather
                    makes me lazy &amp; yet I have read enormously &amp;
                    digested much. laziness is the <del rend="strikethrough">cou</del> influenza of the country. the stone cutter
                    will lay his head upon the stone at which he has worked,
                    &amp; sleep, tho it be hot enough to boil a beef[MS
                    obscured] very days are lazy. it was but yesterday I saw a
                    great son of a bitch, (literally,) let a mule step upon him
                    from sheer laziness, &amp; then he rose howling &amp; <hi rend="ital">walked</hi> away. the fellows lie sleeping
                    every where in the streets – they seem to possess the power
                    of sleeping where they will. Everlasting noise is another
                    characteristic of Lisbon. their noon-fireworks – their
                    cannonading on every fool pretext – their bells to every
                    goat in a flock &amp; every mule in a drove prove this –
                    above all their everlasting bell ding-donging – for bell <hi rend="ital">ringing</hi> would convey the English idea
                    of music, &amp; here it is only noise. A merchant not far
                    from <ref target="people.html#HillHerbertUncle">my
                        Uncles</ref> has a private chapel from whence his bells
                    annoy the whole neighbourhood. The English Hotel till lately
                    was near him, &amp; the Invalids were disturbed &amp; of
                    course injured by the noise. they sent to <del rend="strikethrough">requ</del> state this &amp; request
                    that he would have the goodness to dispense with the
                    bellringing. he returned for answer that the Prince<note n="5" place="foot" resp="editors">John VI (1767–1826;
                        King of Portugal 1816–1826), Prince Regent of Portugal
                        1799–1816.</note> had given him leave to have a private
                    chapel, &amp; his bells should ring in spite of any body. I
                    would have this fellow hung up by the heels as a clapper to
                    Great Tom of Lincoln, &amp; punish him in kind.<note n="6" place="foot" resp="editors">‘Great Tom’, a bell at
                        Lincoln Cathedral, was believed to be the largest bell
                        in England.</note>
</p>
<p rend="indent1"> We had often heard a noise below which
                    puzzled us. it was like ranting linen – but so often that
                    all the linen in Lisbon could not have supplied the sound.
                    at last when Maria was cleaning the adjoining room we heard
                    it. she was laying the dust &amp; in the same way as she
                    damps the cloaths in ironing – by taking a great mouthfull
                    of water &amp; then squirting it out, – this is the
                    Portugueze way – &amp; the mouth makes a very good
                    watering-pot.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> I have heard a good anecdote to illustrate
                    the &lt;personal&gt; insecurity in this Kingdom. did you
                    &lt;ever&gt; see old Harris who lodged with <ref target="people.html#SoutheyMargaret">my mother</ref>
                        once?<note n="7" place="foot" resp="editors">Otherwise
                        unidentified.</note> he was a Porto merchant – &amp; had
                    a quarrel with a Portugueze. in consequence of which he
                    &amp; [MS obscured] antagonist always went out with guns –
                    each watching for the first shot. but the Portugueze used to
                    attack his house at night &amp; fire thro the windows at him
                    – till M[MS obscured] Harris, who did not like this chance
                    shooting, prevailed on her husband to quit the kingdom. The
                    gallows here has a stationary ladder, &amp; God knows if the
                    hangman did all that was necessary he would have a hard
                    place.</p>
<p rend="indent1">
<ref target="people.html#HillHerbertUncle">My Uncle</ref>
                    has purchased Charts of all the coasts &amp; ports of Spain
                    &amp; its islands – with the intention of giving them to
                    you. should you ever get on this station they will be
                    eminently useful. <ref target="people.html#JervisAdmiral">Lord S<hi rend="sup">t</hi> Vincent</ref> has a copy –
                    but the copies are so rare &amp; so expensive that there can
                    be very few in the navy. Omit not to write often your
                    letters cost very little – not more than at Bristol. God
                    bless you. Rundell<note n="8" place="foot" resp="editors">Rundell (first name and dates unknown) travelled to
                        Portugal with Southey. He was possibly a member of a
                        prominent Bath family of silversmiths, jewellers and
                        surgeons.</note> returns by the next packet after this,
                    &amp; I shall write again by him. <ref target="people.html#FrickerEdith">Ediths</ref> love. </p>
<closer>
<salute rend="indent1"> yrs affectionately </salute>
<signed rend="indent2"> RS.</signed>
</closer>
<postscript>
<p>It was Rundell made the enquiry near Helstone. you have
                        had the Anthology<note n="9" place="foot" resp="editors">
<title>Annual Anthology</title> (1800).</note>
                        I trust if not, write to <ref target="people.html#CottleJoseph">Cottle</ref>.</p>
</postscript>
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