The Life and Correspondence of Robert Southey
Robert Southey to Henry Herbert Southey, 25 August 1800
“Cintra, August 25. 1800.
. . . . . “On my return to England in the next spring, I
shall take a house in or near London, where you shall live with me and study
anatomy at the Westminster Hospital, under Carlisle, whom you know to be a man
of genius and my friend. By the time you have acquired enough previous
knowledge, I trust some of my eggs will have hatched, so that you may graduate
either at Edinburgh or in Germany, as shall appear best. Till my return you
will remain where you are; you are well employed, and evidently improving
rapidly. Nor is there any home to which you possibly could remove! On my return
you will have one, and I trust more comfortable than any you have yet had. We
are rising in the world; it is our turn, and will be our own faults if we do
not, all of us, attain that station in the world to which our intellectual rank
entitles us.
“Attend to prose particularly; excellence in that
108 | LIFE AND CORRESPONDENCE | Ætat. 26. |
is acquirable: you know the value of literature, and may,
perhaps, one day find it, as I have done, a resource as well as a delight. In
your course of history, Gibbon must be
read: it is the link that connects ancient with modern history. For the history
of Portugal you must wait; there is none but that in the Universal History. It
is a fine subject, and you will see, on my return, a skeleton—I hope
half-musiled.
“Thalaba has taken up too much of my time, and I am eager to send it
off, and wash my hands of all that could have been written in England: it is
finished, and half ready for the press. I am polishing and polishing, and
hewing it to pieces with surgeon severity. Yesterday I drew the pen across six
hundred lines, and am now writing to you instead of supplying their place. It
goes over for publication very shortly—I trust in three weeks. Rickman is my agent and supervisor of the
press. I am sorry you do not know Rickman. I esteem him
among the first men of my knowledge. . . . . For six weeks we have been at
Cintra—a spot the most beautiful that I have ever seen, and which is
probably unique. Eighteen miles distant, at Lisbon, the sun is insupportable.
Here we are cool, with woods and water. The wealthier English are all here;
still, however, I lack society, and, were it not for a self-sufficiency (like
the bear, who sucks his paws when the snow shuts him up in his den), should be
in a state of mental famine. My uncle is little here; people will die, and must
be buried. He is a man of extensive information; his
Ætat. 26. | OF ROBERT SOUTHEY. | 109 |
library very well furnished, and he very well acquainted with its contents. One
Englishman here only talks politics with me; his taste in French is everything,
and in all else mine is right English and Antigallican. The English here know
very little of the country they live in, and nothing of the literature. Of
Camoens they have heard, and only of
Camoens. By the help of my uncle I have acquired an extensive knowledge, and am almost as
well acquainted with Portuguese literature, as with that of my own country. It
is not worth much; but it is not from the rose and the violet only that the bee
sucks honey.
“You would be amused could you see Edith and myself on ass-back—I sitting
sideways, gloriously lazy, with a boy to beat my Bayardo, as well adapted to me, as ever that wild courser was to
Rinaldo. In this climate there is no
walking; a little exercise heats so immoderately: but their cork woods or fir
woods, and mountain glens, and rock pyramids, and ever-flowing fountains, and
lemon-groves ever in flower and in fruit, want only society to become a
Paradise. Could I but colonise Cintra, with half-a-dozen familiars, I should
wish never to leave it. As it is, I am comfortable, my health establishing
itself, my spirits everlastingly partaking the sunshine of the climate; yet I
do hunger after the bread-and-butter, and the
fire-side comforts, and the intellect of England. You will, I think, whenever
my library is at hand, learn Portuguese, because I have got the history of Charlemagne and the Twelve Paladins in that
language, and Palmerin of
England. I have only laid hands on half an old Spanish romance, Don
110 | LIFE AND CORRESPONDENCE | Ætat. 26. |
Florisel, son of Amadis of Greece, who was a
perfect Jack the Giant Killer, and has
taught me to forgive Don Quixote for
knocking knight-errantry on the head. Bad poetry I find in abundance. . . . .
The Portuguese Academy published a book in honour of the victories of the
Empress-Queen Maria Theresa. My
literary history will have a chapter upon the follies of literature, in which
this work will furnish my best example: every possible form of acrostic is
there; poems to read up and down, and athwart and across; crosses, and circles,
and wheels. Literature is almost dead here. More books are published annually
at Bristol than in Portugal. There are no books to induce a love of
reading—no Arabian Tales or
Seven Champions. . .
. . In case of peace,—and surely, surely, it must come,—we shall
return through Spain and France. I am anxious to see Biscay. Our man
Bento, who served in the Spanish army against France,
has given me a curious account of that province, where the people are clean,
industrious, and free, and speak Welsh or something very like it. On entering
France, one of the Spanish generals ordered his company to kill man, woman, and
child: in Roncesvalles (where Orlando and
the Paladins were slain), a little boy of about six years was playing on a
wall; he stopped to look at the troops; Bento saw one of
his fellow-soldiers, in obedience to these orders, cut off the child’s
head. ‘I have seen a thousand men killed,’ said he, when he
told the story, ‘but I never felt any pain except when I saw that poor
child murdered.’ What is to be the fate of Portugal? We know not.
Much is Ætat. 26. | OF ROBERT SOUTHEY. | 111 |
going on, but all in secrecy. I expect peace
every where. Bonaparte ought not to have
risked that battle—to stake so much on one game! Moreau would not have done it—it was a
prodigality of human blood merely to please the Parisians. . . .
“God bless you!
Yours affectionately,
R. S. ”
Luis de Camoens (1524 c.-1580)
Portuguese poet, author of the national epic,
The Lusiads
(1572).
Edward Gibbon (1737-1794)
Author of
The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire
(1776-1788).
Herbert Hill (1750-1828)
Educated at St. Mary Hall, and Christ Church, Oxford; he was Chancellor of the Choir of
Hereford Cathedral, chaplain to the English factory at Lisbon (1792-1807) and rector of
Streatham (1810-28). He was Robert Southey's uncle.
Jean Victor Marie Moreau (1763-1813)
French general who defeated the Austrians at Hohenlinden (1800) and was later exiled by
Napoleon.
Emperor Napoleon I (1769-1821)
Military leader, First Consul (1799), and Emperor of the French (1804), after his
abdication he was exiled to Elba (1814); after his defeat at Waterloo he was exiled to St.
Helena (1815).
John Rickman (1771-1840)
Educated at Magdalen Hall and Lincoln College, Oxford, he was statistician and clerk to
the House of Commons and an early friend of Charles Lamb and Robert Southey.
Edith Southey [née Fricker] (1774-1837)
The daughter of Stephen Fricker, she was the first wife of Robert Southey and the mother
of his children; they married in secret in 1795.
Henry Herbert Southey (1783-1865)
The younger brother of Robert Southey; educated at Edinburgh University, he was physician
to George IV, Gresham Professor of Medicine, and friend of Sir Walter Scott.
The Arabian Nights. (1705-08 English trans.). Also known as
The Thousand and One Nights. Antoine Galland's
French translation was published 1704-17, from which the original English versions were
taken.