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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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<sponsor>Romantic Circles</sponsor>
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<resp>General Editor, </resp>
<name>Neil Fraistat</name>
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<date when="2011-08-15">August 15, 2011</date>
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<p>MS untraced; text is taken from John Wood Warter (ed.),
                            Selections from the Letters of Robert Southey, 4 vols
                        (London, 1856).  Previously  published: John Wood Warter (ed.),
                            Selections from the Letters of Robert Southey, 4 vols
                        (London, 1856), I, pp. 127–132; Adolfo Cabral (ed.), Robert Southey:
                            Journals of a Residence in Portugal 1800–1801 and a Visit to France
                            1838 (Oxford, 1960), pp. 133–134 [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="553" type="letter">
<head>553. Robert Southey to <ref target="people.html#MayJohn">John May</ref>, <date when="1800-10-29">29 October 1800</date>
<note place="foot" resp="editors" type="headnote">MS: MS untraced; text is taken from John Wood Warter (ed.),
                            <title>Selections from the Letters of Robert Southey</title>, 4 vols
                        (London, 1856)<lb/>Previously published: John Wood Warter (ed.),
                            <title>Selections from the Letters of Robert Southey</title>, 4 vols
                        (London, 1856), I, pp. 127–132; Adolfo Cabral (ed.), <title>Robert Southey:
                            Journals of a Residence in Portugal 1800–1801 and a Visit to France
                            1838</title> (Oxford, 1960), pp. 133–134 [in part].</note>
</head>
<opener>
<dateline rend="right">
<address>
<placeName>Lisbon,</placeName>
</address>
<date when="1800-10-29">Oct. 29. 1800.</date>
</dateline>
<salute>My dear Friend,</salute>
</opener>
<p rend="indent1"> Your half-letter was more welcome than any full-grown one that
                    has reached me since my arrival in Portugal. I have had enough unpleasant
                    intelligence. My acquaintance have been dropping off – not like autumn leaves,
                    but like the blasted spring fruit; and I shall again have the joy of meeting my
                    friends in England poisoned by mourning and recollection. The birth of your
                    little girl<note n="1" place="foot" resp="editors">John May’s first child,
                        Susan, was born on 26 September 1800. She died on 12 February 1801.</note>
                    forces on me the knowledge how far I am advanced in my own life-journey. I see
                    the generation rising who will remember me when my part is over, and Homer’s
                    exquisite lines<note n="2" place="foot" resp="editors">Homer,
                            <title>Iliad</title>, Book 6, lines 146–149, ‘A generation of men is
                        like a generation of leaves; the wind scatters some leaves upon the ground,
                        while others the burgeoning wood brings forth – and the season of spring
                        comes on. So of men one generation springs forth and another ceases.’</note>
                    come upon my mind, of the leaves that bud, and flourish, and fall, to make room
                    for the race of the succeeding spring.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> We left <ref target="places.html#Cintra">Cintra</ref> on Tuesday.
                    In the bustle of removal there was no leisure to be sorry; but when I saw the
                    white palace chimneys for the last time, there was time enough in a four hours’
                    ride to remember and regret what I had left. The mosquitoes treated me like a
                    stranger on my return: they found out a hole in the net. I rose in the night,
                    and killed nine who had entered the breach, which I also closed; but my hands,
                    arms, face, and neck, bear the marks of the assault. It was not till we arrived
                    in Lisbon that I was sensible of the astonishing difference between the city and
                        <ref target="places.html#Cintra">Cintra</ref> in climate. These people do
                    nothing to correct their country: everywhere some tree or other will grow. The
                    olive, the chestnut, the pine, require not a moist soil, the acacia even grows
                    in the deserts. The great and bloody Joaõ de Castro<note n="3" place="foot" resp="editors">Joao de Castro (1500–1548), Viceroy of Portuguese India, who
                        relieved the siege of the fortress of Diu in 1545 and secured Portugal’s
                        place in India.</note> is the only Portuguese who has left a monument of
                    taste behind him. I esteem him more for planting his <ref target="places.html#Cintra">Cintra</ref> estate than for his exploits at
                    Diu: every Portuguese then could fight and cut throats, but no other ever
                    thought of planting trees for posterity.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> I am thinking to undertake a fortnight’s expedition into the
                    country, with Waterhouse,<note n="4" place="foot" resp="editors">Samuel
                        Waterhouse (dates unknown), an English merchant in Lisbon.</note> whose name
                    I have mentioned to you before, and also with <ref target="people.html#FrickerEdith">Edith</ref>, who I think may, by the aid
                    of a <hi rend="ital">burro</hi> and the good baiting-places in the way, perform
                    the journey without any serious or injurious fatigue. My objects are Batalha,
                    Alcobaça, and the poems collected by King Diniz which are preserved at
                        Thomar;<note n="5" place="foot" resp="editors">Batalha, Alcobar and Tomar
                        are all medieval monasteries with important libraries. Diniz (1261–1325;
                        King of Portugal 1279–1325) was also a poet, but Southey did not find the
                        manuscript he was looking for at Tomar.</note> the tract proposed is the
                    Torres Vedras road to the Caldas, the Fabric,<note n="6" place="foot" resp="editors">A large glass and crystal factory at Marinha Grande.</note>
                    and home from Santarem. At Thomar is a man of talents – his name I think
                        Verdin<note n="7" place="foot" resp="editors">Timoteo Lecussan Verdier
                        (1754–1831), Portuguese literary figure and mill-owner of French
                        parentage.</note> – from whom we expect hospitality; and Colonel
                        Caldwell<note n="8" place="foot" resp="editors">Colonel Caldwell (dates
                        unknown), member of an Anglo-Irish family, was serving in the Portuguese
                        Army.</note> is at Santarem. Thus we shall never be obliged to pass more
                    than two succeeding nights among the filth and the fleas of the <hi rend="ital">estalagems.</hi> I am anxious to see if <ref target="people.html#FrickerEdith">Edith</ref> can bear the fatigues of
                    Portuguese travelling, as, in case she does, I shall visit most parts of the
                    kingdom. The plague, or yellow fever, or black vomit has not yet reached us.
                    Strange as it must appear, we are not yet certain what the disease is. A stupid
                    indifference prevails respecting our danger, which is imminent; and people speak
                    of it as a slight disorder, which it is not worth while to avoid by leaving
                    Lisbon, if it comes, – as a fever curable by the slightest medicines, – when
                    every post brings worse and worse tidings of its ravages. At Cadiz it has
                    ceased, but only because its work was done. The fire went out for want of fuel;
                    4000 only escaped contagion, 8000 died, the remainder fled or recovered.
                    Yesterday’s news from Seville stated the daily deaths at 500.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> The remainder of the sheet must be allotted to business. I have
                    drawn upon you for thirty pounds. I must beg you to send the same sum to <ref target="people.html#SoutheyMargaret">my mother</ref>. I shall write by this
                    packet to have forty pounds paid into your hands, which will leave me something
                    in your debt. By letters from <ref target="people.html#TaylorWilliam">William
                        Taylor</ref>, I find it is expedient to remove my brother <ref target="people.html#SoutheyHenryHerbert">Henry</ref>, because he has
                    outgrown his situation, and takes up the room of a more profitable pupil. This,
                    too, I collect from his own letters. No alternative offers; and what <ref target="people.html#TaylorWilliam">William Taylor</ref> suggests is perhaps
                    the best plan practicable – to place him with a provincial surgeon of eminence,
                    who will, for a hundred guineas, board and instruct him for four or five years,
                    that is, till he is old enough, after a year’s London study, to practise for
                    himself. For the first time in my life I have the power – at least it appears so
                    – of raising this sum. My metrical romance goes by the “King George” to
                        market,<note n="9" place="foot" resp="editors">Southey intended to send the
                        manuscript of <title>Thalaba the Destroyer</title> (1801) to England on the
                        Falmouth to Lisbon packet, <hi rend="ital">King George</hi>. He received
                        £115 for 1,000 octavo copies.</note> and I ask this sum as the price of a
                    first edition. I have little doubt of obtaining it. I had designed to furnish a
                    house with this money, and anchor myself; but this is a more important call.
                    When the bargain is concluded, I shall desire <ref target="people.html#RickmanJohn">Rickman</ref> to lodge the price with you.
                        <ref target="people.html#SoutheyHenryHerbert">Harry</ref> will thus be
                    settled till he is launched into the world, and will then have a profession to
                    support him, – a useful and honourable profession, which will always secure him
                    bread and independence. Norwich obviously offers itself as the most desirable
                    place in which to settle him, where he has all his acquaintances and friends.
                    There <ref target="people.html#TaylorWilliam">W. Taylor</ref> will look out for
                    a situation – if indeed he has not one already in view. Otherwise Bristol would
                    be thought of, and there I shall cause inquiries to be made. It will greatly
                    rejoice me to have this affair accomplished to my wish. In the last few months
                        <ref target="people.html#SoutheyHenryHerbert">Harry’s</ref> mind appears to
                    have grown rapidly, and he is perhaps more awake to the future at seventeen,
                    than I am at seven and twenty. You remember the old doggerel, that “Learning is
                    better than house or land.” ‘Tis a lying proverb! A good life-hold estate is
                    worth all the fame of the world in perpetuity, and a comfortable house rather
                    more desirable than a monument in Westminster Abbey.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> As a hot climate appears rather to agree with my constitution
                    than to be any way injurious, I have been advised<note n="10" place="foot" resp="editors">By <ref target="people.html#WynnCharlesWW">Charles Watkin
                            Williams Wynn</ref>.</note> to think whether it be not advisable to try
                    my fate at the East Indian bar, where the success of a barrister of any ability
                    is not doubtful. Many and powerful objections immediately arise. I doubt whether
                    the possibility of acquiring any fortune could pay for the loss of the friends
                    in whose society so much of my happiness consists. The fate of Camoens<note n="11" place="foot" resp="editors">Luis Vaz de Camoens (1524–1580),
                        Portuguese poet who did not find his fortune in India.</note> stares me in
                    the face; and if I did go, prudence would be the ostensible motive – but verily
                    the real one would be curiosity. I do long to become acquainted with old
                        Brama,<note n="12" place="foot" resp="editors">The Hindu god of
                        creation.</note> and see the great Indian fig-tree!<note n="13" place="foot" resp="editors">The banyan tree, a type of fig tree, often achieves great
                        size and age in India. It is particularly associated with the god Siva in
                        Hinduism and the Buddha is believed to have attained enlightenment whilst
                        meditating under a banyan tree.</note> So at the end of twenty years, home I
                    should come with a copper-coloured face, an empty purse, and a portfolio full.
                    However, I must give it a fair consideration; tell me your opinion; in these
                    affairs anybody’s is worth more than my own. I have seen the poor young man<note n="14" place="foot" resp="editors">Presumably the Mr Lefroy (first name and
                        dates unknown) mentioned at the end of the letter.</note> whom you have
                    sentenced to pass a winter on the top of a church with the Abbé<note n="15" place="foot" resp="editors">The identity of this French cleric is unclear.
                        Possibly, either Abbé Francois Garnier (1722–1804), the long-standing
                        chaplain to the French factory in Lisbon, or the Abbé Du Boys (dates
                        unknown), who was collecting materials for a history of Brazil.</note> and
                    Miss Montague.<note n="16" place="foot" resp="editors">Unidentified.</note> He
                    is melancholy already. This morning I shall attempt to find him out, and half
                    expect to see him hanging at the end of one of the long passages, George
                        Sealy<note n="17" place="foot" resp="editors">Possibly George Sealy (1781–
                        ?), relative of Richard Sealy, a prominent member of the English Factory at
                        Lisbon.</note> asked him if it was not “rather lonesome.” He replied,
                    “rather so,” and smiled –</p>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent5"> “But such a smile as bids</l>
<l rend="indent3"> To Comfort a defiance; to Despair, </l>
<l rend="indent3"> A welcome, at whatever hour he will.”<note n="18" place="foot" resp="editors">An adaptation of Walter Savage Landor,
                                <title>Gebir</title> (1798), Book 5, lines 183–185.</note>
</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<p rend="indent1"> God bless you. My next will perhaps be the history of our
                    travels. <ref target="people.html#FrickerEdith">Edith</ref> desires to be
                    remembered. <ref target="people.html#HillHerbertUncle">My uncle</ref> may
                    possibly be obliged to visit England soon. The small living in his gift as
                    Chancellor is fallen, and he thinks of presenting it to himself.<note n="19" place="foot" resp="editors">Herbert Hill was Chancellor of Hereford
                        Cathedral. This gave him the right to appoint the incumbent of the joint
                        living of Little Hereford and Ashford Carbonell. The post became vacant in
                        1800 and Hill appointed himself to the living on 5 December 1800.</note> In
                    that case he must go over.</p>
<closer>
<salute rend="indent1"> Yours truly,</salute>
<signed rend="indent2"> Robert Southey.</signed>
</closer>
<postscript>
<p rend="indent1">
<hi rend="ital">Wednesday evening</hi>. – N.B. Mr. Lefroy was not <hi rend="ital">felo-de-se</hi> this morning.</p>
</postscript>
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