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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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<resp>General Editor, </resp>
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<date>2011-08-15</date>
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<idno type="nines">rce583</idno>
<idno type="edition">letterEEd.26.574</idno>
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<p>Keswick Museum and Art Gallery, KESMG
                        1996.5.183.  Previously  published: John Wood Warter
                        (ed.), Selections from the Letters of Robert
                            Southey, 4 vols (London, 1856), I, pp.
                        140-144 [dated March 1801]; Adolfo Cabral (ed.),
                            Robert Southey: Journals of a Residence in
                            Portugal 1800-1801 and a Visit to France
                            1838 (Oxford, 1960), pp. 154-157 [in part;
                        dated 28 March 1801].</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="574" type="letter">
<head>574. Robert Southey to <ref target="people.html#SoutheyMargaret">Margaret
                        Southey</ref>, <date when="1801-03-28">[28 March
                        1801]</date>
<note place="foot" resp="editors" type="headnote">Address:
                        To/ M<hi rend="sup">rs</hi> Southey/ M<hi rend="sup">rs</hi> Tylers –/ Bristol./ Single<lb/>Stamped:
                        FALMOUTH<lb/>MS: Keswick Museum and Art Gallery, KESMG
                        1996.5.183<lb/>Previously published: John Wood Warter
                        (ed.), <title>Selections from the Letters of Robert
                            Southey</title>, 4 vols (London, 1856), I, pp.
                        140-144 [dated March 1801]; Adolfo Cabral (ed.),
                            <title>Robert Southey: Journals of a Residence in
                            Portugal 1800-1801 and a Visit to France
                            1838</title> (Oxford, 1960), pp. 154-157 [in part;
                        dated 28 March 1801].</note>
</head>
<opener>
<salute>My dear Mother,</salute>
</opener>
<p rend="indent1"> On our return from a three weeks journey<note n="1" place="foot" resp="editors">For this expedition
                        see Southey’s journal, published in Adolfo Cabral,
                            <title>Robert Southey: Journals of a Residence in
                            Portugal 1800-1801 and a Visit to France
                            1838</title> (Oxford, 1960), pp. 15-33.</note> I
                    looked with some hope for a letter from you – &amp; am
                    disappointed. from <ref target="people.html#SoutheyTom">Tom</ref> &amp; <ref target="people.html#SoutheyHenryHerbert">Harry</ref> I
                    have heard – <ref target="people.html#SoutheyHenryHerbert">Harry</ref> writes me a manly &amp; sensible letter –
                    indeed I never witnessed so rapid &amp; striking an
                    improvement as his letters exhibit.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> We have travelled three hundred &amp; fifty
                    miles – in almost all possible ways – carriage – mules –
                    asses – by land &amp; by water. On a Wednesday morning five
                    mules &amp; a calessa<note n="2" place="foot" resp="editors">A light carriage with small wheels and seating for four
                        passengers.</note> were ready at five o clock at my
                    door. Waterhouse<note n="3" place="foot" resp="editors">Samuel Waterhouse (dates unknown), later a leading
                        figure in the British community in Portugal.</note>
                    &amp; I commanded – <ref target="people.html#FrickerEdith">Edith </ref>
<ref target="people.html#SetonBarbara"> Miss Seton</ref> a
                    woman with brains who draws well, &amp; two Miss
                        Petries<note n="4" place="foot" resp="editors">Two
                        sisters resident in Portugal. They were possibly
                        connected to Martin Petrie (d. 1805), a Commissary in
                        the British Army.</note> were alternately to mount mules
                    &amp; ride in the calessa. Bento as gentleman-servant rode.
                    Manuel (not my <ref target="people.html#HillHerbertUncle">Uncles</ref> former servant)<note n="5" place="foot" resp="editors">Herbert Hill’s ‘former servant’ was
                        Manuel Mambrino (dates unknown), a Spaniard from Oviedo,
                        who had accompanied Southey on many of his journeys in
                        Spain and Portugal in 1795-1796.</note> drove. Antonio
                    was arriero or muleteer – &amp; Jacinto was our literal
                    footman. with this equipage we departed to every bodys
                    wonder that women would travel in this country or men take
                    charge of such incumbrances. the carriage we soon found a
                    heavy inconvenience, its slow motion in bad roads obliged
                    &lt;us&gt; to halt a league short of our first nights mark –
                    &amp; the Ladies had a fair sample of what they might expect
                    when we were recommended to take up our nights lodging in
                    one room with two beds. a little exertion procured us two
                    rooms &amp; six beds &amp; we did well. the next day the
                    same impediment obliged to travel an hour by torch light –
                    we then reached Caldas &amp; an Irish Hotel. there two
                    friends of the Petries<note n="6" place="foot" resp="editors">The brother of the Misses Petrie,
                        possibly William Petrie (d. 1842), later a
                        Commissary-General in the British Army; and an army
                        surgeon called Burrows (first name and dates
                        unknown).</note> joined them designing to pass a day
                    &amp; return. Miss E. Petrie however was taken ill – luckily
                    one of her visitors was Surgeon to the Army – so we left
                    them there &amp; proceeded with the better number of four
                    persons all better suited for the journey &amp; for each
                    other. We slept at Alcobaça – or did not sleep – for it was
                    our worst night. indeed it made <ref target="people.html#FrickerEdith">Edith</ref> feelingly
                    understand my account of flea-biting. there was also a water
                    mill under the window – very picturesque – but a little too
                    loud for so near a neighbour. Alcobaça was one mark of our
                    journey. it contains the tombs of the earlier Kings &amp; of
                    Inēs de Castro.<note n="7" place="foot" resp="editors">Ines
                        de Castro (1325-1355), lover of Pedro I (1320-1367, King
                        of Portugal 1357-1367). She was murdered on the orders
                        of Pedro’s father, Afonso IV (1291-1357, King of
                        Portugal 1325-1357).</note> so beautiful themselves – of
                    workmanship so marvellous – so finely preserved – &amp; so
                    dear by all historical &amp; poetical association that the
                    sight would amply have repaid a longer &amp; more laborious
                    pilgrimage. Perhaps no place contains so monstrous a medley
                    as this huge Convent. the finest works of old Portugal,
                    &amp; the most execrable puppetshows of modern popery –
                    angels playing the fiddle at the nativity &amp; Portugueze
                    washerwomen coming to see the infant Jesus – jewels beyond
                    all price sown upon the fools-caps of the Friars – a noble
                    Library – &amp; beyond all comparison the most magnificent
                    Kitchen that even priestly luxury designed. a brook flowing
                    thro it to supply water &amp; wash the dishes, &amp; an
                    opening into the refectory that the dishes may not cool on
                    their way. The Empire of Alcobaça (for such it may be
                    called) is miserably mismanaged, &amp; no subjects in Europe
                    are more ready, or with more cause, to fling off their yoke,
                    than those who suffer under the absolute dominion of these
                        Bernardines.<note n="8" place="foot" resp="editors">The
                        Alcobaca monastery was a Cistercian foundation, so
                        Southey calls the monks ‘Bernardines’ after St Bernard
                        of Clairvaux (1090-1153), the founder of the
                        Order.</note> they take a fourth of the whole produce –
                    &amp; compel the people to send their corn to the convent
                    mills – their olives &amp; grapes to the convent presses. so
                    extravagant are they that being only two hundred &amp; their
                    income 200,000 English pounds sterling they are in debt.
                    which you will not wonder at when I tell you that a sum of
                    250 pounds being deficient in their accounts one year the
                    Steward set it down as an extra charge for Eggs. they are so
                    ignorant that Bernardism is become a word in the language
                    synonymous to stupidity. fine rosy cheeked oily men of God!
                    I observed most of the young women near were drest in their
                    old hats, &amp; I also observed a greater number of children
                    &amp; of healthier appearance than have anywhere else been
                    born of saltfish &amp; milho bread.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> We also saw Batalha – the wonder of Portugal
                    – &amp; indeed of Europe. for so magnificent a structure, or
                    stone work so miraculously beautiful exists no where but in
                    this secluded village. Will you believe me when I tell you
                    that the front of &lt;a&gt; stone pillar<del rend="strikethrough">s</del> is cut into a rich foliage,
                    &amp; the pillar itself hollowed behind the leaves? that
                    painting could not trace the large leaves more truly or
                    dispose them with finer taste, &amp; that no workmanship in
                    the softest materials could possibly exceed the delicacy
                    &amp; sharpness which the stone cutters chisel has produced?
                    I had seen accurate prints – &amp; yet stood lost entirely
                    in wonder &amp; admiration. The present Queen<note n="9" place="foot" resp="editors">Maria I (1734-1816, Queen of
                        Portugal 1777-1816).</note> would not believe that it
                    was actually stone work &amp; part of the pillar, &amp; to
                    satisfy her royal scepticism commanded a large <del rend="strikethrough">xxxxxxx</del> &lt;<del rend="strikethrough">piece</del>&gt; &lt;part&gt; to be
                    hammered to pieces!! This was the work of an
                        Englishman,<note n="10" place="foot" resp="editors">There are clear English Perpendicular influences on the
                        Batalha Monastery, but it is difficult to identify a
                        particular English architect who worked on the building.
                        The most likely candidate is Master Huguet (d. 1438),
                        whose nationality is much debated.</note> tho the
                    Portugueze claim it for themselves. the finer part has never
                    been finished or roofed in. the death of Emanuel<note n="11" place="foot" resp="editors">Manoel I (1469-1521, King of
                        Portugal 1495-1521).</note> put a stop to his work. in
                    this country it is the childish vanity of subjects &amp;
                    sovereigns to do something themselves – never to compleat
                    what their predecessors have begun. thus is the Kingdom full
                    of new ruins – houses begun &amp; never finished. &amp; thus
                    have these beast-barbarians left the noblest work of <del rend="strikethrough">ark</del> architecture that any
                    country can boast of exposed to the weather for four hundred
                    years. Perhaps the Architect feared this neglect &amp; by
                    some unknown varnish or coating secured his own immortality.
                    for the stone is not discolourd or cankered, or in the
                    slightest degree injured. Time has spared the great work of
                    genius. not a moss – not a lichen has fretted one spot –
                    &amp; yet the very same stone used in modern buildings
                    decays in half a century. the Earthquake<note n="12" place="foot" resp="editors">The earthquake of 1755,
                        which destroyed much of Lisbon.</note> too just shook
                    its tower &amp; flung down a few battlements – just showed
                    its power &amp; did no injury. Till I saw Batalha I thought
                    the fame of an architect perishable like his works.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> One day we rode 20 miles in the rain. the
                    army of our attendants mutinied on this occasion. these
                    fellows going with women had looked on to a summer campaign
                    – &amp; sorely disliked the feel of cold water. they all ran
                    into a wine-house – &amp; our own servant, sorely against
                    his will, was the only one who followed us, growling all the
                    way. umbrellas &amp; great coats kept us tolerably dry.
                    Waterhouse however wrapt himself in a sheet till the sumpter
                        mule<note n="13" place="foot" resp="editors">The mule
                        carrying the baggage.</note> arrived – &amp; poor I –
                    compleatly wet in only one place – it was the seat of my
                    pantaloons – was unable [MS torn] sit down. &amp; walked the
                    room in expectation &amp; delicate distress. – <ref target="people.html#FrickerEdith">Edith</ref> proved an
                    excellent mulewoman. I did not take her on a journey with
                    whose inconveniences I was well acquainted without some
                    apprehension – but her health was actually better than when
                    she is stationary. the constant &amp; gentle exercise, &amp;
                    the novelty of all objects equally benefitted her. at night
                    we eat oranges by the dozen &amp; they effectually removed
                    the fever of fatigue. the mules have an ugly trick of lying
                    down under their rider &amp; rolling in dry sand. this
                    happened three times to <ref target="people.html#FrickerEdith">Edith</ref> – more to
                    our merriment than terror – at seeing them both sprawl
                    together. she did not like it. our complections have
                    suffered. <ref target="people.html#FrickerEdith">Edith</ref>
                    has acquired a fine Squaw tint – &amp; I am of a ruddy
                    copper – a perfect Chikkasaw bloom.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> I must now go pack up my books. my <ref target="people.html#HillHerbertUncle">Uncle</ref> is at
                    the same work – preparing for our now probable expulsion.
                    you will show this letter to <ref target="people.html#DanversCharles">Danvers</ref>. if
                    time permits I shall write to him to day. I expected letters
                    from him – &amp; am not quite easy at not hearing of the
                    arrival of the new Thalaba book.<note n="14" place="foot" resp="editors">Book 12 of <title>Thalaba the
                            Destroyer</title> (1801), sent in Southey to Charles
                        Watkin Williams Wynn, 15 February 1801, Letter
                        567.</note> in May you will see us. I hope to sail for
                    Bristol – if any merchant-ship should be bound for that
                    port. the expence is a serious object.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> my love to <ref target="people.html#HillMargaret">Peggy</ref>. I cannot
                    excuse all your Silence – if only that you keep me ignorant
                    how she is. now I wish the voyage over – &amp; look on to a
                    meeting with my friends – &amp; a proof sheet – &amp; a
                    gooseberry pye. Lisbon has done for me what I expected. I am
                    now well. whether or not cold winds &amp; wet may throw me
                    back again remains to be tried – at worst if the disease
                    return I know the remedy. God bless you –</p>
<closer>
<salute rend="indent1"> yr affectionate Son</salute>
<signed rend="indent2"> Robert Southey</signed>
</closer>
<lb/>
<postscript>
<p>
<ref target="people.html#FrickerEdith">Ediths</ref> love.
                        P.S. I see a novel advertized which you have doubtless
                        read for the names-sake – My Uncle Thomas.<note n="15" place="foot" resp="editors">
<title>Uncle Thomas, a
                                Romance, from the French of Pigault Le
                                Brun</title> (1801), a translation of a novel by
                            Guillaume Charles Antoine Pigault-Lebrun
                            (1753-1835). Southey also had an ‘Uncle Thomas’, his
                            father’s youngest brother, <ref target="people.html#SoutheyThomasUncle">Thomas
                                Southey</ref>.</note> – Tell <ref target="people.html#HillMargaret">Peggy</ref> that
                        if as we expect the English are all obliged to decamp I
                        must then bring over &amp; consign to her care, Lord
                        Thomas the Cat. </p>
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