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 THE BEST LETTERS 
 
 OF 
 
 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu 
 
 3£tiitct> 
 
 DEDICATORY LETTER TO LADY MONTAGU 
 
 By OCTAVE THANET 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
 i C. McCLURG AND COMPANY 
 1890 
 
Copyright, 
 
 By A. C. McClurg and Co. 
 a. d. iSgo. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Sa 
 
 KIT. 
 
 ■P 
 
 THESE letters of Lady Mary Wortley Mon¬ 
 tagu are selected from the edition of W. Moy 
 Thomas, which is based on Lord VVharn- 
 cliffe’s edition of 1837, printed mainly from 
 the original letters. In selecting, the editor 
 has had in view, first, the literary attractive¬ 
 ness of the letters; secondly, the light they 
 throw on Lady Mary’s personality; thirdly, 
 their value as free-hand pictures of the time. 
 Comments and notes of the previous editors, 
 Mr. Thomas or Lord Wharncliffe, may be 
 distinguished by their initials. 
 
 It is needless to say that no pretensions to 
 scholarship are made by this little volume. 
 I have sometimes found it necessary to omit 
 portions of letters, but I have not presumed 
 to chasten Lady Mary’s style, any more than 
 I have ventured to alter her eighteenth-century 
 grammar. 
 
 O T 
 
 September, 1890. 
 
 9 s 0. r & 
 
DEDICATORY LETTER 
 
 TO 
 
 LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU. 
 
 Madam, — I am aware that I must employ an even 
 more uncertain vehicle to reach you than the posts 
 of which you so continually and vehemently com¬ 
 plained. Nevertheless, nothing better offering, I ven¬ 
 ture this approach to your ladyship. I shall use a 
 freedom allowable only to a shade, and quite inde¬ 
 fensible to a lady of quality ; but then you have been 
 a shade so much longer than you were a lady of 
 quality. 
 
 You died in 1762, full a hundred and twenty-eight 
 years ago (excuse my vulgar agility in arithmetic), at 
 the age of seventy-three. A wonderful seventy-three 
 years they were, does one consider them. Whatever 
 this world has to offer, Lady Mary, has been yours. 
 You were a duke’s daughter; your husband was an 
 ambassador; you lived in palaces (though I protest 
 the palaces of the eighteenth century to be vastly 
 uncomfortable) ; you were beautiful and gifted and 
 celebrated ; Kneller painted you ; Pope wrote verses 
 on you; Congreve and Fielding and Addison and 
 Steele admired you; you were the favorite equally 
 
DEDICATORY LETTER 
 
 viii 
 
 of princes and wits, — it is hard to imagine a more 
 dazzling figure. 
 
 Yet I cannot believe you especially happy. 
 
 Does your ladyship remember the cynical spec 
 of the Duchess of Orleans on her son ? She s 
 “At my son’s christening all the fairies gave gifts; 
 but last of all came the churlish old fairy whom we 
 had forgotten, and she added that he should ;;ot 
 know how to use any of them.” 
 
 Lady Mary, reading your letters, that ugly epig 
 is always at my elbow. 
 
 Look back at the story of your life, if you do not 
 believe me. You were born in i68g. Your moti , 
 died early, and your father, Evelyn Pierrepont 1 rd 
 Kingston, later Marquis of Dorchester, later Dul of 
 Kingston, was (as your granddaughter Lady L< isa 
 Stuart said) “ far too fine a gentleman to be a te ier 
 or even considerate parent.” You yourself comp 1 
 him to the gay Sir Thomas Grandison, father o 
 immaculate Sir Charles. 
 
 Those were the days of the Kit-Kat Club; 
 every one knows how he paraded his wonderful de 
 girl before the members, and won his wager that 
 were prettier and wittier than any lady on their fist 
 of toasts. 
 
 Your education was a good deal like Clarissa 
 lowe’s, with an ignorant, pious old governess, 
 image of Mrs. Norton.” But your father h. 
 well-furnished library that helped you more n 
 the governess. Somehow you learned Latin, 
 sent your translation of Epictetus to Bishop Bur: t 
 (who esteemed you a prodigy) with as prigg a 
 
TO LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU. ix 
 
 letter as ever schoolmaster received, — hardly more 
 priggish, however, than those extraordinary essays 
 on Friendship and Simplicity that you were send- 
 ing to Mistress Anne Wortley. Did you suspect 
 tha 1 Mistress Anne’s brother wrote the replies, 
 'tier! docketing each rough draft “For my sister 
 to Lady M. P.” ? 
 
 Very soon Anne died, and you corresponded 
 directly with Mr. Wortley. But I would not dismiss 
 poor pretty, docile Mistress Anne so cavalierly, as 
 a mere domino for her brother’s lovemaking. She 
 was really an accomplished and charming woman, 
 and Edward Wortley loved her tenderly. 
 
 here is a touch of pathos in Lady Bute’s story 
 1 iO'' when her father was best pleased with her, he 
 would ask, “ Don’t you think she grows like my poor 
 sister Anne ? ” 
 
 r have a regard for Mr. Wortley. He was a man 
 of sense and honor ; not a beau, as the word of the 
 time was, but a cultivated gentleman, a critic of the 
 fine rts, and the close friend of Addison and Steele. 
 Yo vourself have praised his generosity. You quar¬ 
 relled with your husband, no doubt; you deceived 
 him. very possibly; but to the end of your life he re¬ 
 mained the man whom you most esteemed. Even 
 your father welcomed him as a suitor, until the 
 question of settlements came up, and Mr. Wortley 
 refus d to entail his estate. The Marquis of Dor- 
 cht er declared that his grandchildren should n’t be 
 irs. Mr. Wortley was firm and the Marquis was 
 U" n, and the end was a complete rupture. 
 
 -■'> ad then appears Mr. K-, with his Irish es- 
 
X 
 
 DEDICATORY LETTER 
 
 tates and his ready settlements; and your tears are 
 in vain, and my lord rashly buys the wedding finery 
 (ah, that was a sore point afterwards ! all those gor¬ 
 geous gowns that he would not send after his rebel¬ 
 lious child, all wasted ; five hundred pounds flung 
 away, a terrible sum in those days!), and at the last 
 moment there is a hurried flight out of the house; 
 the faithful gallant is in waiting; parson and license 
 are ready, and away go the lovers in a coach and- 
 six. Alas ! not to be happy ever after ; the evil fairy 
 will see to that. 
 
 Speedily the letters grow querulous; then they 
 grow cold. By the time Mr. Wortley is appointed 
 ambassador to Turkey the couple are quite on the 
 fashionable terms. 
 
 You accompanied your husband. The son who 
 was to be your shame was a baby, and the daughter 
 whose dutiful affection was to be your greatest com¬ 
 fort, and whose exaltation was to be your pride, was 
 born to you in Constantinople. Your letters from 
 Turkey, dear Madam, are very entertaining, very 
 vivid, [i am sure that you describe facts only; but 
 your facts, in their expansive power, are like the mus¬ 
 tard seed of the parable : “ Which, indeed, is the 
 smallest of seeds ; but when it is grmtn it is the 
 greatest among herbs and becometh a tree, so that 
 the birds of the air come and lodge in the branches 
 thereof.” 
 
 The Turkish journey had an important result: you 
 (who certainly never ran after that virtuous place) 
 became a Benefactor of your Kind. You observed 
 the security against small-pox attained in Turkey by 
 
TO LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU. xi 
 
 inoculation, and introduced it to your countrymen. 
 
 our daughter’s daughter, Lady Louisa, describes its 
 reception. At once there was an outcry. “ The clam¬ 
 ors raised against the practice, and of course against 
 I er [Lady Mary], were beyond belief.” The doctors 
 were afraid of it; the clergy pounded their pulpits 
 igainst the “ impiety of thus seeking to take events 
 ut of the hands of Providence ; ” the very populace 
 ooted at you in the streets for “an unnatural mother 
 vho had risked the lives of your own children.” But 
 the Princess of Wales was a stanch friend, the nobil- 
 :y and gentry rallied around you, and eventually you 
 conquered. 
 
 You must have needed courage for such a fight. 
 Courage, indeed, you never lacked; the misfortune 
 v'as that like every other gift it turned against you; it 
 ■vas a mettled horse that kicked over the traces. You 
 were too fearless Jo becautious and not kind enough 
 o be wise. High spirits and health and all that in¬ 
 cense of admiration stifling the air for you intoxi¬ 
 cated you ; your wit ran a-muck through the follies 
 of friend and foe. Slash ! slash ! slash ! you were 
 always at some poor creature. To sav e you r life, you 
 could n’t help repeating a wicked joke or a pungent 
 bit of scandal. You got the credit of every jmalicious 
 ballad going. Denials were useless, because all the 
 world knew that you had written ballads before, and 
 one more or less could n’t matter. You did n't write 
 Virtue in Danger,” but you did write the “ Epistle 
 of Arthur Grey the Footman,” which Mrs. Murray 
 knew, and nothing would convince her that you had 
 not written both ; so there was an enemy for life. 
 
Xll DEDICATORY LETTER 
 
 J,y* •* iff Lj 
 
 And poor Lady Rich, very ridiculous no doubt in 
 rose-colored ribbons, at her age affecting juvenile 
 innocence, but a kind soul, who had always been 
 civil to you; why must you jeer at her simperings? 
 “ Nay, but look you, my dear Madam, I grant it a 
 very fine thing to continue always fifteen, — that 
 every one must approve of, it is quite fair; but, in¬ 
 deed, indeed, one need not be five years old ! ” I 
 dare say there was sly giggling over that slash; and 
 I dare say, too, Lady Rich never again troubled her¬ 
 self to contradict the ugly tales about you that Mr. 
 Pope was sliding into the gigglers’ ears. 
 
 Pope is another instance. 
 
 You were a very great lady indeed at this period, 
 — a reigning beauty. Your letters are full of routs 
 and balls and commissions fo r vour toile ts. The 
 toilets themselves (but I judge this was earlier) were 
 commended by no less a personage than H. R. H. 
 the Prince of Wales. 
 
 “ Look how well Lady Mary is dressed 1 ” says the 
 Princess over the cards. 
 
 “ Lady Mary always dresses well,” answers the 
 Prince. 
 
 As became a lady of fashion, you had a train of 
 gallants ; and Pope flattered with the rest. He wrote 
 you a number of torrid letters. They would risk his 
 bones written to a woman of position in our day; 
 but yours was lenient. Here is an extract of the 
 decenter sort: — 
 
 “ I lie dreaming of you in moonshiny nights, exactly 
 in the posture of Endymion gaping for Cynthia in a pic- 
 
TO LADY MATY WORTLEY MONTAGU, xiii 
 
 tur and with just such a surprise and rapture should I 
 iwake, if after your long revolutions were accomplished, 
 ou should at last come rolling back again, smiling with 
 all 1 at gentleness and serenity peculiar to the moon and 
 ou, and gilding the same mountains from which you 
 firs set out on your solemn melancholy journey. I am 
 told hat fortune (more just to us than your virtue) will 
 restore the most precious thing it ever robbed us of. 
 Some think it will be the only equivalent the world 
 affords for Pitt's diamond, so lately sent out of our coun- 
 tr . which, after you was gone, was accounted the most 
 valuable thing here. Adieu to that toy! let the costly 
 bauble be hung about the neck of the baby king it be- 
 lon i to, so England does but recover that jewel which 
 va i the wish of all her sensible hearts and the joy of all 
 her discerning eyes. I can keep no measures in speak- 
 ig of this subject. I see you already coming ; I feel 
 as you draw nearer; my heart leaps at your arrival. 
 I. us have you from the East, and the sun is at her 
 service.” 
 
 low was this adulation changed into gall? You 
 said yourself that Pope made love to you, and you 
 ughed in his face. There are half-a-dozen theories. 
 Thomas, your learned editor, will have it that 
 1 'ope took fire at your parody on his sentimental epi- 
 ta h on the lovers killed by lightning. What does it 
 tter ? Somehow you wounded Pope’s vanity to the 
 uick. Did he intend “Sappho” for you? He de- 
 
 ied the accusation. Did you help Lord-write 
 
 he “Verses to the Imitator of Horace”? You deny 
 in urn. The allusions in them to his birth and his 
 ormity were atrocious ; but so was his revenge,— 
 he assassinated your reputation. 
 
XIV 
 
 DEDICATORY LETTER 
 
 Trace nine out of ten of the brutal traditions at ut 
 you to their source, and there stands “ Horry > ,'p- 
 pole,” and behind smirks Mr. Alexander Pope. j 
 
 I think that you always mentioned Walpole kin 
 He is “Horry Walpole.” You praise his “pa: ’’ 
 and his “ figure ” with enthusiasm. But you wer< o 
 so gentle to his mother, whom Horace loved. , Y< 
 were the partisan of Miss Skerritt, rival and succe 
 of Lady Walpole. We all know the scandal aaou' 
 the second Lady Walpole. Poor thing, poor th’.u 
 let us be merciful. Lady Bute knew her in her you 1 
 and never could speak of her unmoved, her s 
 ways had so won the child’s heart. But mercy was 
 hardly to be expected from the neglected wifi 
 son. 
 
 Besides Lady Walpole herself, do you imagine t 
 Lord Orford was likely to forgive you if he ever h r<! 
 of your making merry over that story ? 
 
 One of Pope’s and Walpole’s accusations corn n s 
 this period. You plunged into a dismal quagmir 
 investing money (I take your own story) for one I 
 mond, a French wit and “servant” of yours. ou 
 put the money into South Sea Stock (you wen 
 ways dabbling in lotteries and stocks and the ul e 
 schemes that honest Mr. Wortley detested), and 
 presently from nine hundred pounds it “was sun,c to 
 four hundred.” Rdmond had borne your disdain 
 of his love with a beautiful patience, but it w 
 little too much to lose his money. He bemoane 
 you, he raged at you, he vowed that he would - d 
 your letters to Mr. Wortley, he would expose our 
 villanies to the whole world, — never was there Aich 
 
O LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU. XV 
 
 wheel of fury as he made of himself! Your 
 • was written out to Lady Mar; and certainly 
 voi were well scared. The affair comes to no con¬ 
 i' n. Somehow, you extricated yourself—or your 
 nd extricated you ; for in 1726 you are writing 
 to your sister that “ the tumbling of stocks ” 
 not affect you, and you “ have no concern there 
 /where, but hearty prayers that everything may 
 be exactly what it is now.” “ However,” you 
 ‘ in this dear minute, in this golden now, I am 
 rly touched at your misfortune, and can never 
 nyself quite happy till you are so.” 
 e “ dear minute ” will be brief. Early in the 
 your “ sister Gower ” will die, and not long after 
 Lady Mar will go mad. Your son, “ the dear 
 boy ” to whom you are so devoted in the earlier 
 s, will begin that frantic career which shall make 
 an outcast. The quarrel with Pope will grow 
 010 virulent. You may sneer at the “wicked wasp 
 wickenham,” but his carrion wit will buzz over 
 v dead folly or sin of yours, until, harassed and 
 d lened and stung, you shall fly the field. 
 
 1 739 you left England, not to return for twenty- 
 ee years. You never saw your husband again. 
 Pope drive you away? Did you quarrel with 
 Wortley? No answer was ever given by either 
 >u. But however parted, this strange pair keep 
 u 1 cheerful correspondence. The gentleman is 
 :r chilly in his letters, but invariably polite. The 
 writes with the best grace in the world; she is 
 of esteem and respect, and hardly stops short of 
 ■ ction. 
 
XVI 
 
 DEDICATORY LETTER 
 
 You tell Lady Bute that you never met a me e 
 generous man than her father. You are anxio 
 about his health. In your old age, smitten w: 
 death (as you know, though you hide it from evf 
 one else), you offer to take a long, miserable, d; 
 gerous journey, if your presence will be any comf 
 to him. 
 
 On his part, he shows you every consideratio u ; 
 but he does not visit you, — he does not ask you to 
 come to him. 
 
 There is little to write about your life abroad. F 
 haps the evil fairy quitte d you, — except for t 
 quarrel with the English resident. You lived quie 
 receiving many honors, entertaining the visiting E 
 lish (when it would not cost too much, for you were 
 grown a frugal dame), cultivating your vineyards i nd 
 olive-trees, at which you made a pretty penny ; of n 
 evening reading romances, or playing at whist (per 
 a corner) with the old priests that you had taught. 
 
 I find you no less entertaining in your old age, and 
 far more amiable, than in the days when “ other be - 
 ties envied Wortley’s eyes.” 
 
 After Mr. Wortley’s death, Lady Bute persua< 
 you to return to England. Horace Walpole mad 
 cruel kind of comedy out of your appearance “ i 
 little miserable bed-chamber of a furnished ho' 
 with two tallow candles and a bureau covered v : 
 pots and pans;” your head wrapped up in “an 
 black laced hood,” with “ no handkerchief,” but 
 to your chin “ a kind of horseman’s riding coat 'o' 
 faded green brocade, your “ dimity petticoat ” soi 
 and gray slippers on your feet. “ Her face.” c \ s 
 
LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU, xvil 
 
 \\ a 1 j e, — I can see him grinning while he writes, — 
 changed in twenty years than I could imagine. 
 1 her so, and she was not so tolerable twenty 
 go that she needed have taken it for flattery, 
 but be did, and literally gave me a box on the ear. 
 ’■'i; very lively, all her senses perfect, her language 
 i mperfect as ever, her avarice greater.” 
 
 Ho ace disliked you, but probably he didn’t 
 r exaggerate the picture; an old woman of 
 s ,’ nt '-two, who has no daughter or young person 
 aboi her to smarten up her toilets, is apt to grow 
 careless in her dress, — especially when she is tor- 
 men 1 by disease. But it is a melancholy picture. 
 I.c : e curtain drop. In six months Lady Mary 
 y Montagu died of a cancer, 
 crateful woman, saved from the small-pox by 
 noculation, raised a monument over yoU^ but 
 your letters are a monument that thousands have 
 admired who can never read Mrs. Henrietta Inge’s 
 praises. 
 
 i had no mean opinion ofjJiem yo urself, dear 
 Lady Mary. “ Save my letters forty years,” said 
 you, “ and they will be as 
 Se.lgne’s.” ! 
 
 One may not go to such lengths, yet may admit 
 that or distinct lines, for facility in mov ement, for the 
 (rower to give a picture in a few salient.touches, for a 
 oitiles vigor of humor, — in fine, for the etching 
 qual ies of style, we can compare you with no one 
 excep your friend and enemy Horace Walpole. 
 
 wit of your day was overdressed ; it was so 
 1 adi down with tinsel that it could n’t frolic. Yours 
 
 good as 
 
 Madame de 
 
XV111 
 
 DEDICATORY LETTER 
 
 has an abandon, a sportive gayety, as if it gambolled 
 out of sheer lightness of heart. 
 
 I don’t know that the effect is not helped rather 
 than hindered by your freedom from the trammels of 
 grammar. Verbs that are not tied to their subjects, 
 but to tenses that agree or disagree in a sentence 
 floating free as Heaven wills, and the artless pranks of 
 your relative pronouns, would make any prose look 
 unstudied, — not to say undressed. I think also, 
 Madam, that we of the nineteenth century miss a 
 good deal by our obsequiousness to the adverb. Why 
 can’t we let an adjective that can do his work quite 
 as well, and often less clumsily, sometimes take his 
 place? You did. You (and the others) said 
 “ extreme ” and “ mighty fine ” and “ monstrous 
 stupid.” 
 
 You were artificial, of course. The eighteenth 
 century was always posing. Yet I find you more 
 natural than your contemporaries. Letters, one al¬ 
 ways must bear in mind, were written for an audience 
 when you wrote. To write a letter was an accom¬ 
 plishment. Letters were passed from hand to hand ; 
 they were frequently copied. An amusing letter- 
 writer was as sure of applause as Garrick or the editors 
 of the “ Spectator ” or “ Tatler.” 
 
 Lady Mary, I make no doubt that you _had more 
 ears in view than your correspondent's ; but I doubt 
 if you dreamed of the multitude who should find in 
 your pages the pictures of your glittering blit ta\ydry 
 time, and your strange, vain, gifted, fascinating yet so 
 seldom attractiv e self . 
 
 In order that the members of this multitude may 
 
TO LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU, xix 
 
 be increased, and in accordance with the taste of our 
 times, which demands brevity as the first grace of the 
 Muses, I have selected a few of your many admirable 
 letters. 
 
 They are respectfully dedicated to you. 
 
 I remain, Madam, 
 
 Your ladyship’s most humble, 
 
 Most obedient servant, 
 
 The Editor. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 LETTER PAGE 
 
 I. To Miss Anne Wortley.27 
 
 II. To Miss Anne Wortley.28 
 
 III. To Miss Anne Wortley.30 
 
 IV. To Miss Anne Wortley.33 
 
 V. To Miss Anne Wortley.33 
 
 VI. To Mrs. Hewet.34 
 
 VII. To Mr. Wortley Montagu.36 
 
 VIII. To Mrs. Anne Justice.38 
 
 IX. To Mr. Wortley Montagu.40 
 
 X. To Mrs. Hewet.42 
 
 XI. To Lady..44 
 
 XII. To the Bishop of Salisbury.45 
 
 XIII. To Mr. Wortley Montagu.49 
 
 XIV. To Mr. Wortley Montagu.50 
 
 XV. To Mr. Wortley Montagu.52 
 
 XVI. To Mr. Wortley Montagu.55 
 
 XVII. To Mrs. Hewet.56 
 
 XVIII. To Mr. Wortley Montagu.58 
 
 XIX. To Mr. Wortley Montagu.62 
 
 XX. To Mr. Wortley Montagu.67 
 
 XXI. To Mr. Wortley Montagu.68 
 
 XXII. To Mr. Wortley Montagu.70 
 
 XXIII. To Mr. Wortley Montagu.71 
 
 XXIV. To Mr. Wortley Montagu.72 
 
 XXV. To Mr. Wortley Montagu.74 
 
 XXVI. To the Countess of Mar.75 
 
 XXVII. To the Countess of Mar.77 
 
 XXVIII. To the Countess of Mar.80 
 
XX ii CONTENTS. 
 
 LETTER PAGE 
 
 XXIX. To the Lady Rich.85 
 
 XXX. To the Lady X..88 
 
 XXXI. To the Countess of Mar.89 
 
 XXXII. To the Lady Rich.94 
 
 XXXIII. To the Countess of Mar.95 
 
 XXXIV. To the Abbe Conti.98 
 
 XXXV. To the Abbe Conti.101 
 
 XXXVI. To Miss Sarah Chiswell.106 
 
 XXXVII. To the Princess of Wales.109 
 
 XXXVIII. To the Lady..112 
 
 XXXIX. To the Countess of Bristol.117 
 
 XL. To the Countess of Mar.121 
 
 XLI. To the Abbe Conti.128 
 
 XLII. To Mr. Pope.133 
 
 XLIII. To the Lady Rich.135 
 
 XLIV. To the Countess of Mar.139 
 
 XLV. To the Lady Rich.148 
 
 XLVI. To Mr. Pope.150 
 
 XLVII. To the Lady Rich.152 
 
 XLVIII. To Mr. Pope.155 
 
 XLIX. To the Countess of Mar.158 
 
 L. To the Countess of Mar.163 
 
 LI. To the Countess of Mar.165 
 
 LII. To the Countess of Mar.166 
 
 LIII. To the Countess of Mar.167 
 
 LIV. To the Countess of Mar.169 
 
 LV. To the Countess of Mar.170 
 
 LVI. To the Hon. Miss Calthorpe.171 
 
 LVII. To the Countess of Mar.172 
 
 LVIII. To the Countess of Mar.175 
 
 LIX. To the Countess of Mar.176 
 
 LX. To the Countess of Mar.179 
 
 LXI. To the Countess of Mar.180 
 
 LXII. To the Countess of Mar.181 
 
 LXIII. To the Countess of Mar.182 
 
 LXIV. To the Countess of Mar.184 
 
 LXV. To the Countess of Mar.184 
 
CONTENTS. xxiii 
 
 LETTER PAGE 
 
 LXVI. To Dr. Arbuthnot.186 
 
 LXVII. To Dr. Arbuthnot.187 
 
 LXVIII. To Dr. Arbuthnot.1S8 
 
 LXIX. To the Countess of Pomfret.189 
 
 LXX. To Mr. Wortley Montagu.192 
 
 LXXI. To the Countess of Pomfret.193 
 
 LXXII. To the Countess of Pomfret.195 
 
 LXXIII. To Mr. Wortley Montagu.198 
 
 LXXIV. To Mr. Wortley Montagu.199 
 
 LXXV. To Mr. Wortley Montagu.201 
 
 LXXVI. To the Countess of Pomfret.202 
 
 LXXVII. To Mr. Wortley Montagu.204 
 
 LXXVIII. To Mr. Wortley Montagu.206 
 
 LXXIX. To Mr. Wortley Montagu.210 
 
 LXXX. To the Countess of Oxford.213 
 
 LXXXI. To the Countess of Oxford.214 
 
 LXXXII. To the Countess of Bute.216 
 
 LXXXIII. To the Countess of Bute.217 
 
 LXXXIV. To the Countess of Bute.219 
 
 LXXXV. To the Countess of Bute.221 
 
 LXXXVI. To Mr. Wortley Montagu.225 
 
 LXXXVII. To the Countess of Bute.226 
 
 LXXXVIII. To the Countess of Bute.229 
 
 LXXXIX. To the Countess of Bute.232 
 
 XC. To Mr. Wortley Montagu.233 
 
 XCI. To the Countess of Bute.235 
 
 XCII. To Mr. Wortley Montagu.238 
 
 XCITI. To the Countess of Bute.239 
 
 XCIV. To the Countess of Bute.243 
 
 XCV. To the Countess of Bute.248 
 
 XCVI. To the Countess of Bute.251 
 
 XCVII. To the Countess of Bute.253 
 
 XCVIII. To the Countess of Bute.257 
 
 XCIX. To the Countess of Bute.259 
 
 C. To the Countess of Bute.261 
 
 Cl. To the Countess of Bute.264 
 
 CII. To the Countess of Bute.267 
 
XX iv CONTENTS. 
 
 LETTER PAGE 
 
 CIII. To the Countess of Bute.270 
 
 CIV. To the Countess of Bute.272 
 
 CV. To the Countess of Bute.277 
 
 CVI. To the Countess of Bute.279 
 
 CVII. To the Countess of Bute.283 
 
 CVIII. To the Countess of Bute.285 
 
 CIX. To the Countess of Bute.288 
 
 CX. To Sir James Steuart.29P 
 
 CXI. To the Countess of Bute.293 
 
 CXII. To the Countess of Bute.296 
 
 CXIII. To the Countess of Bute.-98 
 
 CXIV. To the Countess of Bute.199 
 
 CXV. To Sir James Steuart.301 
 
 CXVI. To Lady Frances Steuart.301 
 
 CXVII. To Lady Frances Steuart.302 
 
THE BEST LETTERS 
 
 OF 
 
 ADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU. 
 
THE BEST LETTERS 
 
 OF 
 
 LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU. 
 
 I. 
 
 TO MISS ANNE WORTLEY. 1 
 
 July 21, 1709. 
 
 How often, my dear Mrs. Wortley, must I assure 
 you that your letters are ever agreeable and beyond 
 expression welcome to me ? Depend upon it that I 
 reckon the correspondence you favor me with too 
 great a happiness to neglect it; there is no danger of 
 your fault, I rather fear to grow troublesome by my 
 acknowledgments. I will not believe you flatter me, 
 I will look upon what you say as an obliging mark of 
 your partiality. How happy must I think myself 
 when I fancy your friendship to me even great 
 enough to overpower your judgment! I am afraid 
 this is one of the pleasures of the Imagination, and I 
 cannot be so very successful in so earnest and im¬ 
 portant a wish. This letter is excessively dull. Do 
 you know it is from my vast desire of pleasing you, as 
 
 1 Miss Anne Wortley was the favorite sister of Mr. Ed¬ 
 ward Wortley Montagu She died the last of this year. 
 
28 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 there is nothing more frequent than for the voice to 
 falter when people sing before judges, or as those 
 arguments are always worst where the orator is in a 
 passion. Believe me, I could scribble three sheets 
 
 to- (I must not name), but to twenty people 
 
 that have not so great a share of my esteem and 
 whose friendship is not so absolutely necessary for my 
 happiness, but am quite at a loss to you. I will not 
 commend your letters (let them deserve never so 
 much), because I will show you ’tis possible for me 
 to forbear what I have mind to when I know ’t is 
 your desire I should do so. My dear, dear, adieu ! 
 I am entirely yours, and wish nothing more than that 
 it may be some time or other in my power to con¬ 
 vince you that there is nobody dearer than yourself 
 to- 
 
 I am horridly ashamed of this letter. Pray 
 Heaven you may not think it too inconsiderable to 
 be laughed at, — that may be. 
 
 II. 
 
 TO MISS ANNE WORTLEY. 
 
 Aug. 21 , 1709. 
 
 I am infinitely obliged to you, my dear Mrs. Wort- 
 ley, for the wit, beauty, and other fine qualities you 
 so generously bestow upon me. Next to receiving 
 them from Heaven, you are the person from whom I 
 would choose to receive gifts and graces. I am very 
 well satisfied to owe them to your own delicacy of 
 imagination, which represents to you the idea of a 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 29 
 
 fine lady, and you have good-nature enough to fancy 
 I am she. All this is mighty well, but you do not 
 stop there ; imagination is boundless. After giving 
 me imaginary wit and beauty, you give me imaginary 
 passions, and you tell me I’m in love. If I am, ’t is a 
 perfect sin of ignorance, for I don’t so much as know 
 the man’s name; I have been studying these three 
 hours, and cannot guess who you mean. I passed 
 the days of Nottingham races [at] Thoresby, with¬ 
 out seeing or even wishing to see one of the sex. 
 Now, if I am in love, I have very hard fortune to 
 conceal it so industriously from my own knowledge, 
 and yet discover it so much to other people. ’T is 
 against all form to have such a passion as that with¬ 
 out giving one sigh for the matter. Pray tell me the 
 name of him I love, that I may (according to the 
 laudable custom of lovers) sigh to the woods and 
 groves hereabouts, and teach it to the echo. You 
 see, being I am in love, I am willing to be so in order 
 and rule ; I have been turning over God knows how 
 many books to look for precedents. ' Recommend an 
 example to me; and above all let me know whether 
 ’t is most proper to walk in the woods, increasing the 
 winds with my sighs, or to sit by a purling stream, 
 swelling the rivulet with my tears [ maybe, both may 
 do well in their turns. But to be a minute serious, 
 what do you mean by this reproach of inconstancy? 
 I confess you give me several good qualities I have 
 not and I am ready to thank you for them, but then 
 you must not take away those few I have; no, I 
 will never exchange them. Take back the beauty and 
 wit you bestow upon me, leave me my own medi- 
 
30 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 ocrity of agreeableness and genius, but leave me also 
 my sincerity, my constancy, and my plain dealing; 
 ’t is all I have to recommend me to the esteem either 
 of others or myself. How should I despise myself if 
 I could think I was capable of either inconstancy or 
 deceit! I know not how I may appear to other 
 people nor how much my face may belie my heart, 
 but I know that I never was or can be guilty of dis¬ 
 simulation or inconstancy, — you will think this vain, 
 but’t is all that I pique myself upon. Tell me you 
 believe me and repent of your harsh censure. Tell 
 it me in pity to my uneasiness, for you are one of 
 those few people about whose good opinion I am in 
 pain. I have always took so little care to please the 
 generality of the world that I am never mortified or 
 delighted by its reports, which is a piece of stoicism 
 born with me; but I cannot be one minute easy 
 while you think ill of 
 
 Your faithful- 
 
 This letter is a good deal grave, and like other 
 grave things dull; but I won’t ask pardon for what 
 I can’t help. 
 
 III. 
 
 TO MISS ANNE WORTLEY. 
 
 Aug. 21, 1709. 
 
 When I said it cost nothing to write tenderly, I 
 believe I spoke of another sex; I am sure not of 
 myself. ’Tis not in my power (I would to God it 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 3 I 
 
 was !) to hide a kindness where I have one, or dis¬ 
 semble it where I have none. I cannot help answer¬ 
 ing your letter this minute and telling you I infinitely 
 love you, though, it may be, you ’ll call the one im¬ 
 pertinence and the other dissimulation ; but you may 
 think what you please of me, I must eternally think 
 the same things of you. 
 
 I hope my dear Mrs. Wortley’s showing my letters 
 is in the same strain as her compliments, all meant 
 for raillery, and I am not to take it as a thing really 
 so ; but I ’ll give you as serious an answer as if’t was 
 all true. 
 
 When Mr. Cowley and other people (for I know 
 several have learned after the same manner) were in 
 places where they had opportunity of being learned 
 by word of mouth, I don’t see any violent necessity 
 of printed rules; but being where, from the top of 
 the house to the bottom, not a creature in it under¬ 
 stands so much as even good English without the 
 help of a dictionary or inspiration, I know no way of 
 attaining to any language. Despairing of the last, I 
 am forced to make use of the other, though I do 
 verily believe I shall return to London the same igno¬ 
 rant soul I went from it; but the study is at present 
 amusement. I must own I have vanity enough to 
 fancy if I had anybody with me, without much trou¬ 
 ble perhaps I might read. 
 
 What do you mean by complaining I never write 
 to you in the quiet situation of mind I do to other 
 people? My dear, people never write calmly but 
 when they write indifferently. That I should ever do 
 so to you, I take to be entirely impossible ; I must be 
 
32 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 always very much pleased or in very great afflict 
 as you tell me of your friendship or unkindly doe >t 
 mine. I can never allow even prudence and sincer \ 
 to have anything to do with one another, — at le; ) 
 have always found it so in myself, who being dev 
 to the one, had never the least tincture of the other. 
 What I am now doing is a very good proof of wha i 
 say, — ’t is a plain undesigning truth, — your friend 
 is the only happiness of my life ; and whenever I 
 it, I have nothing to do but to take one of my gr 
 and search for a convenient beam. You see he 
 absolutely necessary it is for me to preserve it. 
 dence is at the very time saying to me, Are you i J - 
 you won’t send this dull, tedious, insipid, long r 
 to Mrs. Wortley, will you ? ’T is the direct way t< t 
 out her patience; if she serves you as you deser. 
 she will first laugh very heartily, then tear the 1 
 and never answer it, purely to avoid the plagi of 
 such another. Will her good-nature forever resit 1 - 
 judgment? I hearken to these counsels, I allov n 
 to be good, and then—I act quite contrary. No 
 consideration can hinder me from telling you. iv 
 dear, dear Mrs. Wortley, nobody ever was so en¬ 
 tirely, so faithfully yours, as- 
 
 I put in your lovers, for I don’t allow it po 
 for a man to be sincere as I am ; if there was su< h a 
 thing, though, you would find it; I submit the fore 
 to your judgment. 
 
 I had forgot to tell you that I writ a long letter 
 directed to Peterborough, last post; I hope you 'll 
 have it. You see I forgot your judgment to dt tend 
 upon your goodness. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 33 
 
 IV. 
 
 TO MISS ANNE WORTLEY. 
 
 [Thoresby, postmark Aug. 27.] 
 convinced, however dear you are to me, Mrs. 
 r ortley, I am no longer of any concern to you, 
 e I shall only trouble you with an insignifi- 
 tory when I tell you I have been very near 
 this changeable world ; but now, by the doc- 
 istance and Heaven’s blessing, am in a condi- 
 Oeing as impertinently troublesome to you as 
 r. A sore throat which plagued me for a long 
 rought me at last to such a weakness you had 
 hance of being released from me; but C^od 
 yet decreed you so much happiness, though 
 iay this, — you have omitted nothing to make 
 so easy, having strove to kill me by neglect, 
 iny triumphs over all your efforts; I am yet 
 nd of the living, and still yours. 
 
 V. 
 
 TO MISS ANNE WORTLEY. 
 
 Sept. 5, 1709. 
 
 ear Mrs. Wortley, as she has the entire power 
 g, can also with a word calm my passions. 
 ;lness of your last recompenses me for the 
 of your former letter, but you cannot sure 
 at my little resentment. You have read that 
 ho with patience hears himself called here- 
 3 
 
34 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 tic can never be esteemed a good Christian. To be 
 capable of preferring the despicable wretch you men¬ 
 tion to Mr. Wortley is as ridiculous, if not as crimi¬ 
 nal, as forsaking the Deity to worship a calf. Don’t 
 tell me anybody ever had so mean an opinion of my 
 inclinations ; ’t is among the number of those things I 
 would forget. My tenderness is always built upon 
 my esteem, and when the foundation perishes, it falls. 
 I must own I think it is so with everybody — but 
 enough of this; you tell me it was meant for raillery 
 — was not the kindness meant so too ? I fear I am 
 too apt to think what is amusement designed in earn¬ 
 est, — no matter, ’t is for my repose to be deceived, 
 and I will believe whatever you tell me. 
 
 I should be very glad to be informed of a right 
 method, or whether there is such a thing alone, but 
 am afraid to ask the question. It may be reasonably 
 called presumption in a girl to have her thoughts that 
 way. You are the only creature that I have made my 
 confidciJite in that case : I ’ll assure you, I call it the 
 greatest secret of my life. Adieu, my dear, the post 
 stays, my next shall be longer. 
 
 VI. 
 
 TO MRS. HEWET.' 
 
 Nov. 12 [1709b 
 
 You have not then received my letter? Well! I 
 shall run mad. I can suffer anything rather than that 
 you should continue to think me ungrateful. I think 
 
 1 Later Lady Hewet. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 35 
 
 ’t is the last of pains to be thought criminal where 
 one most desires to please, as I am sure it is always 
 my wish to dear Mrs. Hewet. 
 
 I am very glad you have the second part of the 
 “New Atalantis.” If you have read it, will you be 
 so good as to send it me ? and in return, I promise 
 to get you the Key to it. I know I can. But do 
 you know what has happened to the unfortunate 
 authoress? People are offended at the liberty she 
 uses in her memoirs, and she is taken into custody. 
 Miserable is the fate of writers : if they are agreeable, 
 they are offensive ; and if dull, they starve. I lament 
 the loss of the other parts which we should have had, 
 and have five hundred arguments at my fingers’ ends 
 to prove the ridiculousness of those creatures that 
 think it worth while to take notice of what is only 
 designed for diversion. After this, who will dare to 
 give the history of Angella ? I was in hopes her faint 
 essay would have provoked some better pen to give 
 more elegant and secret memoirs; but now she will 
 serve as a scarecrow to frighten people from attempt¬ 
 ing anything but heavy panegyric, and we shall be 
 teased with nothing but heroic poems, with names at 
 length, and false characters so daubed with flattery 
 that they are the severest kind of lampoons, for they 
 both scandalize the writer and the subject, like that 
 vile paper the “ Tatler.” 
 
 I believe, madam, you will think I have dwelt too 
 long on this business, but I am in a violent passion 
 about it. All the news I know is, that Mrs. Reeves 
 is married to Colonel Sydney (if you know neither of 
 them, I ’ll send you their pictures at full length), and 
 
36 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 that giddy rake Creswell to a fortune of two thou¬ 
 sand pounds a year. I send you the Bath lam¬ 
 poons. Corinna is Lady Manchester, and the other 
 lady is Mrs. Cartwright, who they say has pawned 
 her diamond necklace to buy Valentine a snuff¬ 
 box. These wars make men so violent scarce, that 
 these good ladies take up with the shadows of 
 them. This is the sum total of all the news I 
 know, and you see I am willing to divert you all in 
 my power. I fancy the ill spelling of the lampoons 
 will make you laugh more than the verses; indeed, 
 I am ashamed for her who wrote them. As soon as 
 possible, be pleased to send me the second part of 
 the “ Atalantis,” etc. 
 
 VII. 
 
 TO MR. WORTLEY MONTAGU. 
 
 f March 28, 1710.] 
 
 Perhaps you ’ll be surprised at this letter; I have 
 had many debates with myself before I could resolve 
 on it. I know it is not acting in form, but I do not 
 look upon you as I do upon the rest of the world, 
 and by what I do for you, you are not to judge my 
 manner of acting with others. You are brother to a 
 woman I tenderly loved ; 1 my protestations of friend¬ 
 ship are not like other people’s, — I never speak but 
 what I mean ; and when I say I love, ’t is forever. I 
 had that real concern for Mrs. Wortley, I look with 
 some regard on every one that is related to her. 
 This and my long acquaintance with you may in some 
 
 1 Miss Wortley died shortly before the date of this letter. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 37 
 
 measure excuse what I am now doing. I am sur¬ 
 prised at one of the “ Tatlers ” you send me ; is it 
 possible to have any sort of esteem for a person one 
 believes capable of having such trifling inclinations? 
 Mr. Bickerstaff has very wrong notions of our sex. I 
 can say there are some of us that despise charms of 
 show and all the pageantry of greatness, perhaps with 
 more ease than any of the philosophers. In con¬ 
 temning the world, they seem to take pains to con¬ 
 temn it; we despise it without taking the pains to 
 read lessons of morality to make us do it. At least 
 I know I have always looked upon it with contempt 
 without being at the expense of one serious reflection 
 to oblige me to it. I carry the matter yet further; 
 was I to choose of two thousand pounds a year or 
 twenty thousand, the first would be my choice. There 
 is something of an unavoidable embarras in making 
 what is called a great figure in the world, — [it] takes 
 off from the happiness of life ; I hate the noise and 
 hurry inseparable from great estates and titles, and 
 look upon both as blessings that ought only to be 
 given to fools, for ’t is only to them that they are 
 blessings. The pretty fellows you speak of I own 
 entertain me sometimes; but is it impossible to be 
 diverted with what one despises ? I can laugh at a 
 puppet-show; at the same time I know there is 
 nothing in it worth my attention or regard. General 
 notions are generally wrong. Ignorance and folly 
 are thought the best foundations for virtue, as if not 
 knowing what a good wife is was necessary to make 
 one so. I confess that can never be my way of 
 reasoning ; as I always forgive an injury when I think 
 
38 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 it not done out of malice, I can never think myself 
 obliged by what is done without design. Give me 
 leave to say it (I know it sounds vain), I know how 
 to make a man of sense happy; but then that man 
 must resolve to contribute something towards it him¬ 
 self. I have so much esteem for you I should be 
 very sorry to hear you was unhappy; but for the 
 world I would not be the instrument of making you 
 so, which (of the humor you are) is hardly to be 
 avoided if I am your wife. You distrust me : I can 
 neither be easy nor loved where I am distrusted. 
 Nor do I believe your passion for me is what you 
 pretend it; at least I am sure was I in love I could 
 not talk as you do. Few women would have spoke 
 so plainly as I have done ; but to dissemble is among 
 the things I never do. I take more pains to approve 
 my conduct to myself than to the world, and would 
 not have to accuse myself of a minute’s deceit. I 
 wish I loved you enough to devote myself to be for¬ 
 ever miserable for the pleasure of a day or two’s 
 happiness. I cannot resolve upon it. You must 
 think otherwise of me or not at all. 
 
 I don’t enjoin you to bum this letter. I know you 
 will. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 TO MRS. ANNE JUSTICE . 1 
 
 [Postmark, Aug. 7.] 
 
 I am very glad you direct yourself so well. I en¬ 
 deavor to make my solitude as agreeable ns I can. 
 
 1 From the original, lately in the possession of Mr. Boone 
 of Bond Street. There is little in the contents to fix the date. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 39 
 
 Most things of that kind are in the power of the mind ; 
 we may make ourselves easy if we cannot perfectly 
 happy. The news you tell me very much surprises 
 me. I wish Mrs. B. 1 extremely well, and hope she 
 designs better for herself than a stolen wedding with 
 a man who (you know) we have reason to believe 
 not the most sincere lover upon earth; and since his 
 estate [is] in such very bad order, I am clearly of 
 your opinion his best course would be the army, for I 
 suppose six or seven thousand pound (if he should 
 get that with his mistress) would not set him up again, 
 and there he might possibly establish his fortune, at 
 least better it, and at worst be rid of all his cares. I 
 wonder all the young men in England don’t take that 
 method, certainly the most profitable as well [as] the 
 noblest. I confess I cannot believe Mrs. B. so im¬ 
 prudent to keep on any private correspondence with 
 him. I much doubt her perfect happiness if she 
 runs away with him ; I fear she will have more reason 
 than ever to say there is no such thing. I have just 
 now received the numbers of the great lottery which 
 is drawing; I find myself (as yet) among the un¬ 
 lucky, but, thank God, the great prize is not come 
 out, and there is room for hopes still. Prithee, dear 
 child, pray heartily for me if I win. I don’t question 
 (in spite of all our disputes) to find myself perfectly 
 happy, my heart goes very much pit-a-pat about it, 
 
 and the letter is without signature. It is addressed “ To Mrs. 
 Anne Justice, at Mr. Justice’s, on the Pavement at York, 
 Yorkshire, by way of London.” — T. 
 
 1 Perhaps Miss Banks, an early Nottinghamshire friend. 
 
 T. 
 
40 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 but I’ve a horrid ill-boding mind that tells me I 
 sha’n’t win a farthing; I should be very glad to be 
 mistaken in that case. I hear Mrs. B. has been at 
 the Spa; I wonder you don’t mention it. Adieu, 
 my dear; pray make no more excuses about long 
 letters, and believe yours never seem so to me. 
 
 IX. 
 
 TO MR. WORTLEY MONTAGU. 
 
 * [Postmark, April 25, 1710.] 
 
 I have this minute received your two letters. I 
 know not how to direct to you, whether to London or 
 the country; or, if in the country, to Durham or 
 Wortley. ’T is very likely you ’ll never receive this. 
 I hazard a great deal if it falls into other hands, and 
 I write for all that. I wish with all my soul I 
 thought as you do ; I endeavor to convince myself by 
 your arguments, and am sorry my reason is so obsti¬ 
 nate not to be deluded into an opinion that ’t is im¬ 
 possible a man can esteem a woman. I suppose I 
 should then be very easy at your thoughts of me; I 
 should thank you for the wit and beauty you give me, 
 and not be angry at the follies and weaknesses ; but 
 to my infinite affliction I can believe neither one nor 
 t’ other. One part of my character is not so good 
 nor t’ other so bad as you fancy it. Should we ever 
 live together, you would be disappointed both ways ; 
 you would find an easy equality of temper you do not 
 expect and a thousand faults you do not imagine. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 41 
 
 You think if you married me, I should be passion¬ 
 ately fond of you one month, and of somebody else 
 the next: neither would happen. I can esteem, I 
 can be a friend, but I don’t know whether I can love. 
 Expect all that is complaisant and easy but never 
 what is fond in me. You judge very wrong of my 
 heart when you suppose me capable of views of 
 interest, and that anything could oblige me to flatter 
 anybody. Was I the most indigent creature in the 
 world, I should answer you as I do now without 
 adding or diminishing. I am incapable of art, and 
 ’t is because I will not be capable of it. Could I de¬ 
 ceive one minute, I should never regain my own 
 good opinion ; and who could bear to live with one 
 they despised ? . . . 
 
 If you can resolve to live with a companion that 
 will have all the deference due to your superiority of 
 good sense, and that your proposals can be agreeable 
 to those on whom I depend, I have nothing to say 
 against them. 
 
 As to travelling, ’t is what I should do with great 
 pleasure, and could easily quit London upon your 
 account; but a retirement in the country is not so 
 disagreeable to me as I know a few months would 
 make it tiresome to you. Where people are tied for 
 life, ’t is their mutual interest not to grow weary of 
 one another. If I had all the personal charms that I 
 want, a face is too slight a foundation for happiness. 
 You would be soon tired with seeing every day the 
 same thing. Where you saw nothing else, you would 
 have leisure to remark all the defects, — which would 
 increase in proportion as the novelty lessened, which 
 
42 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 is always a great charm. I should have the displeas¬ 
 ure of seeing a coldness, which, though I could not 
 reasonably blame you for, being involuntary, yet it 
 would render me uneasy; and the more because I 
 know a love may be revived which absence, incon¬ 
 stancy, or even infidelity has extinguished, but there 
 is no returning from a degout given by satiety. 
 
 I should not choose to live in a crowd. I could be 
 very well pleased to be in London without making a 
 great figure, or seeing above eight or nine agreeable 
 people. Apartments, table, etc., are things that never 
 come into my head. But [I] will never think of 
 anything without the consent of my family, and ad¬ 
 vise you not to fancy a happiness in entire solitude 
 which you would find only fancy. 
 
 Make no answer to this, if you can like me on my 
 own terms. ’T is not to me you must make the pro¬ 
 posals. If not, to what purpose is our correspondence ? 
 
 However, preserve me your friendship, which I 
 think of with a great deal of pleasure and some vanity. 
 If ever you see me married, I flatter myself you ’ll see 
 a conduct you would not be sorry your wife should 
 imitate. 
 
 X. 
 
 TO MRS. HEWET. 
 
 [West Dean ? about May, 1710?] 
 
 Most of the neighbors hereabouts have been to see 
 me, but they are very few, and few of those few that 
 are supportable, none agreeable. This part of the 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 43 
 
 world is so different from Nottinghamshire that I can 
 hardly persuade myself it is in the same kingdom. 
 The men here are all Sylvias, no Myrtillos. If they 
 could express themselves so well, they would say, 
 like him, — 
 
 “Mille ninfe darei per una fera 
 
 Che da Melampo mio cacciata fosse ; 
 
 Godasi queste gioje 
 
 Chi n’ ha di me piu gusto; io non le sento.” 
 
 Though they cannot say it in Italian verse, they often 
 speak to that purpose in English prose over a bottle, 
 insensible of other pleasures than hunting and drink¬ 
 ing. The consequence of which is, the poor female 
 part of their family being seldom permitted a coach, 
 or at best but a couple of starved jades to drag a 
 dirty chariot, their lords and masters having no occa¬ 
 sion for such a machine, as their mornings are spent 
 among hounds and the nights with as beastly com¬ 
 panions, with what liquor they can get in this coun¬ 
 try, which is not very famous for good drink. If this 
 management did not hinder me the company of my 
 she neighbors, I should regret the absence of the 
 Pastor Fidos, being of the opinion of Sylvia in 
 Tasso, — 
 
 “ Altri segua i diletti dell’ amore, 
 
 Se pur v’ e nell’ amor alcun diletto.” 
 
 I would fain persuade you to practise your Italian. 
 
 I fear I shall forget to speak it for want of somebody 
 to speak it to. Amongst the rest of the advantages I 
 should have in your conversation (if I should be so 
 
44 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 happy as to be with you), I would endeavor to im¬ 
 prove in that polite language. I find you are very 
 busy about politics; we are the same here, particu¬ 
 larly in the pulpit, where the parsons would fain 
 become as famous as Sacheverell. 
 
 XI. 
 
 TO LADY-.» 
 
 Having (like other undeserving people) a vast 
 opinion of my own merits and some small faith in 
 your sincerity, I believed it impossible you should 
 forget me, and therefore very impudently expected a 
 long letter from you this morning. But Heaven, 
 which you know delights in abasing the proud, has I 
 find decreed no such thing; and notwithstanding 
 my vanity and your vows, I begin to fancy myself 
 forgotten; and this epistle comes, in humble manner, 
 to kiss your hands, and petition for the scanty alms 
 of one little visit, though never so short. Pray, 
 madam, for God’s sake, have pity on a poor pris¬ 
 oner : one little visit — so may God send you a 
 fine husband, continuance of beauty, etc. But if you 
 deny my request, and make a jest of my tenderness 
 (which, between friends, I do think a little upon the 
 ridiculous), I do vow never to—but I had better 
 not vow, for I shall certainly love you, do what you 
 will, — though I beg you would not tell some certain 
 people of that fond expression, who will infallibly 
 1 It is not known to whom this letter was addressed. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 45 
 
 advise you to follow the abominable maxims of no 
 answer, ill-treatment, and so forth, not considering 
 that such conduct is full as base as beating a poor 
 wretch who has his hands tied, and mercy to the 
 distressed is a mark of divine goodness. Upon which 
 godly consideration I hope you will afford a small 
 visit to your disconsolate. 
 
 XII. 
 
 TO THE BISHOP OF SALISBURY . 1 
 
 [ With her Tratisia/ion of Epictetus .] 
 
 July 20, 1710. 
 
 My Lord, — Your hours are so well employed, I 
 hardly dare offer you this trifle to look over; but 
 then, so well am I acquainted with that sweetness of 
 temper which accompanies your learning, I dare ever 
 assure myself of a pardon. You have already for¬ 
 given me greater impertinencies and condescended 
 yet further in giving me instructions and bestowing 
 some of your minutes in teaching me. This surpris¬ 
 ing humility has all the effect it ought to have on my 
 heart; I am sensible of the gratitude I owe to so 
 much goodness and how much I am ever bound to 
 be your servant. Here is the work of one week of 
 my solitude, — by the many faults in it your lordship 
 
 1 The celebrated Burnet, the chaplain of William III. and 
 author of “ History of Our Own Times.” Lady Mary pre¬ 
 served her feeling of gratitude and admiration for him all her 
 life. 
 
4 6 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 will easily believe I spent no more time upon it. It 
 was hardly finished when I was obliged to begin my 
 journey, and I had not leisure to write it over again. 
 You have it here without any corrections, with all its 
 blots and errors; I endeavored at no beauty of style, 
 but to keep as literally as I could to the sense of the 
 author. My only intention in presenting it is to ask 
 your lordship whether I have understood Epictetus. 
 The fourth chapter, particularly, I am afraid I have 
 mistaken. Piety and greatness of soul set you above 
 all misfortunes that can happen to yourself, and the 
 calumnies of false tongues ; but that same piety which 
 renders what happens to yourself indifferent to you 
 yet softens the natural compassion in your temper to 
 the greatest degree of tenderness for the interests 
 of the Church and the liberty and welfare of your 
 country. The steps that are now made towards the 
 destruction of both, the apparent danger we are in, 
 the manifest growth of injustice, oppression, and 
 hypocrisy, cannot do otherwise than give your lord- 
 ship those hours of sorrow, which, did not your for¬ 
 titude of soul and reflections from religion and 
 philosophy shorten, would add to the national mis¬ 
 fortunes by injuring the health of so great a supporter 
 of our sinking liberties. I ought to ask pardon for 
 this digression ; it is more proper for me in this place 
 to say something to excuse an address that looks so 
 very presuming. My sex is usually forbid studies of 
 this nature, and folly reckoned so much our proper 
 sphere we are sooner pardoned any excesses of that 
 than the least pretensions to reading or good sense. 
 We are permitted no books but such as tend to the 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 47 
 
 weakening and effeminating of the mind. Our natu¬ 
 ral defects are every way indulged, and it is looked 
 upon as in a degree criminal to improve our reason, 
 or fancy we have any. We are taught to place all 
 our art in adorning our outward forms, and permitted 
 without reproach to carry that custom even to ex¬ 
 travagancy, while our minds are entirely neglected, 
 and by disuse of reflections filled with nothing but 
 the trifling objects our eyes are daily entertained with. 
 This custom, so long established and industriously 
 upheld, makes it even ridiculous to go out of the 
 common road, and forces one to find as many ex¬ 
 cuses as if it was a thing altogether criminal not to 
 play the fool in concert with other women of quality, 
 whose birth and leisure only serve to render them 
 the most useless and most worthless part of the crea¬ 
 tion. There is hardly a character in the world more 
 despicable or more liable to universal ridicule than 
 that of a learned woman ; those words imply, accord¬ 
 ing to the received sense, a tattling, impertinent, vain, 
 and conceited creature. I believe nobody will deny 
 that learning may have this effect, but it must be a 
 very superficial degree of it. Erasmus was certainly 
 a man of great learning and good sense, and he seems 
 to have my opinion of it when he says, “ Foemina qui 
 [«V] vere sapit, non videtur sibi sapere ; contra, quae 
 cum nihil sapiat sibi videtur sapere, ea demum bis 
 stulta est.” The Abb£ Bellegarde gives a right reason 
 for women’s talking over-much; they know nothing, 
 and every outward object strikes their imagination 
 and produces a multitude of thoughts, which, if 
 they knew more, they would know not worth their 
 
48 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 thinking of. I am not now arguing for an equali 
 of the two sexes. I do not doubt God and Natui £ 
 have thrown us into an inferior rank; we are a low> 
 part of the creation, we owe obedience and submission 
 to the superior sex, and any woman who suffers h< 
 vanity and folly to deny this rebels against the la 
 of the Creator and indisputable order of Nature : bi 
 there is a worse effect than this, which follows th 
 careless education given to women of quality, — it 
 being so easy for any man of sense that finds it eithe 
 his interest or his pleasure to corrupt them. Th 
 common method is to begin by attacking their re 
 ligion. They bring them a thousand fallacious argu 
 ments their excessive ignorance hinders them fron 
 refuting; and I speak now from my own knowledge 
 and conversation among them, there are more atheist: 
 among the fine ladies than the loosest sort of rakes 
 and the same ignorance that generally works out int( 
 excess of superstition exposes them to the snares o 
 any who have a fancy to carry them to t ’other ex 
 treme. I have made my excuses already too long 
 and will conclude in the words of Erasmus : “ Vulgus 
 sentit quod lingua Latina non convenit foeminis, qui; 
 parum facit ad tuendam illarum pudicitiam quonian 
 rarum et insolitum est foeminam scire Latinam ; atta 
 men consuetudo omnium malarum rerum magistra 
 Decorum est foeminam in Germania nata \_sic~\ discere 
 Gallice, ut loquatur cum his qui sciunt Gallice ; cu 
 igitur habetur indecorum discere Latine, ut quotidic 
 confabuletur cum tot autoribus tarn facundis, tan 
 eruditis, tarn sapientibus, tam fidis consultoribus 
 Certe mihi quantulumcunque cerebri est, malim it 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 49 
 
 or s studiis consumere, quam in precibus sine mente 
 di ' in pernoctibus conviviis, in exhauriendis capaci- 
 bus i ateris,” etc. 
 
 ave tired your lordship, and too long delayed to 
 subscribe myself 
 
 Your lordship’s most respectful and obliged. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 TO MR. WORTLEY MONTAGU . 1 
 
 [Indorsed 14th November, 1710.] 
 
 ' vi going to comply with your request and write 
 11 the plainness I am capable of. I know what 
 ma >e said upon such a proceeding, but am sure 
 ,or ill not say it. Why should you always put the 
 wo? >t construction upon my words ? Believe me 
 wii 1 you will, but do not believe I can be ungenerous 
 or ungrateful. I wish I could tell you what answer 
 you vill receive from some people, or upon what 
 term: If my opinion could sway, nothing should 
 
 '^please you. Nobody ever was so disinterested as 
 1 m I would not have to reproach myself (I don’t 
 ; ’.prose you would) that I had any way made you 
 a. e sy in your circumstances. Let me beg you 
 (wh" 1 I do with the utmost sincerity) only to con¬ 
 sul yourself in this affair; and since I am so unfor- 
 m.... to have nothing in my own disposal, do not 
 
 ‘ r. Wortley Montagu had already proposed for her 
 ha d, >ut the negotiation was like to be wrecked on the 
 que^ n of settlements. Mr. Wortley Montagu, in the inter- 
 ■ v.i, had gone abroad and was just returned. 
 
 4 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 So 
 
 think I have any hand in making settlements. Peo¬ 
 ple in my way are sold like slaves, and I cannot tell 
 what price my master will put on me. If you do 
 agree, I shall endeavor to contribute as much as lies 
 in my power to your happiness. I so heartily despise 
 a great figure, I have no notion of spending money so 
 foolishly, though one had a great deal to throw away. 
 If this breaks off, I shall not complain of you; and 
 as, whatever happens, I shall still preserve the opin¬ 
 ion you have behaved yourself well,Jet me entreat 
 you, if I have committed any follies, to forgive them ; 
 and be so just to think I would not do an ill thing. 
 
 I say nothing of my letters ; I think them entirely 
 safe in your hands. 
 
 I shall be uneasy till I know this is come to you. 
 I have tried to write plainly. I know not what one 
 can say more upon paper. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 TO MR. WORTLEY MONTAGU. 
 
 [About November , 1710.] 
 
 Indeed I do not at all wonder that absence and 
 variety of new faces should make you forget me ; 
 but I am a little surprised at your curiosity to know 
 what passes in my heart (a thing wholly insignificant 
 to you), except you propose to yourself a piece of 
 ill-natured satisfaction in finding me very much 
 disquieted. . . . 
 
 I begin to be tired of my humility ; I have carried 
 my complaisances to you farther than I ought. You 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 51 
 
 make new scruples; you have a great deal of fancy, 
 and your distrusts being all of your own making 
 are more immovable than if there was some real 
 ground for them. Our aunts and grandmothers al¬ 
 ways tell us that men are a sort of animals, that, if 
 ever they are constant, ’t is only where they are ill 
 used. ’T was a kind of paradox I could never be¬ 
 lieve ; experience has taught me the truth of it. You 
 are the first I ever had a correspondence with, and I 
 thank God I have done with it for all my life. You 
 needed not to have told me you are not what you 
 have been; one must be stupid not to find a differ¬ 
 ence in your letters. You seem, in one part of your 
 last, to excuse yourself from having done me any 
 injury in point of fortune. Do I accuse you of 
 any? 
 
 I have not spirits to dispute any longer with you. 
 You say you are not yet determined : let me deter¬ 
 mine for you, and save you the trouble of writing 
 again. Adieu forever! make no answer. I wish 
 among the variety of acquaintance you may find 
 some one to please you, and can’t help the vanity 
 of thinking, should you try them all, you won’t find 
 one that will be so sincere in their treatment, though 
 a thousand more deserving, and every one happier. 
 ’T is a piece of vanity and injustice I never forgive in 
 a woman to delight to give pain; what must I think 
 of a man that takes pleasure in making me uneasy ? 
 After the folly of letting you know it is in your power, 
 I ought in prudence to let this go no farther, except 
 I thought you had good nature enough never to make 
 use of that power. I have no reason to think so: 
 
52 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 however, I am willing, you see, to do you the highest 
 obligation ’t is possible for me to do, — that is, to 
 give you a fair occasion of being rid of me. 
 
 XV. 
 
 TO MR. WORTLEY MONTAGU. 
 
 March 24 [1711]. 
 
 Though your letter is far from what I expected, 
 having once promised to answer it, with the sincere 
 account of my inmost thoughts, I am resolved you 
 shall not find me worse than my word, which is (what¬ 
 ever you may think) inviolable. 
 
 ’T is no affectation to say I despise the pleasure of 
 pleasing people that I despise. All the fine equipages 
 that shine in the Ring 1 never gave me another 
 thought than either pity or contempt for the owners 
 that could place happiness in attracting the eyes of 
 strangers. Nothing touches me with satisfaction but- 
 what touches my heart; and I should find more 
 pleasure in the secret joy I should feel at a kind ex¬ 
 pression from a friend I esteemed than at the admi¬ 
 ration of a whole playhouse, or the envy of those of 
 my own sex who could not attain to the same num¬ 
 ber of jewels, fine clothes, etc., supposing I was at the 
 very top of this sort of happiness. 
 
 You may be this friend if you please. Did you 
 really esteem me, had you any tender regard for me, 
 I could I think pass my life in any station happier 
 
 1 The fashionable drive in Hyde Park. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 53 
 
 with you than in all the grandeur of the world with 
 any other. You have some humors that would be 
 disagreeable to any woman that married with an in¬ 
 tention of finding her happiness abroad. That is not 
 my resolution. If I marry, I propose to myself a 
 retirement; there is few of my acquaintance I should 
 ever wish to see again; and the pleasing one, and 
 only one, is the way I design to please myself. Hap¬ 
 piness is the natural design of all the world, and! 
 everything we see done is meant in order to attain it. 
 My imagination places it in friendship. By friend¬ 
 ship I mean an entire communication of thoughts, 
 wishes, interests, and pleasures, being undivided; a 
 mutual esteem, which naturally carries with it a pleas¬ 
 ing sweetness of conversation, and terminates in the 
 desire of making one or another happy, without being 
 forced to run into visits, noise, and hurry, which 
 serve rather to trouble than compose the thoughts of 
 any reasonable creature. There are few capable of a 
 friendship such as I have described, and ’t is neces¬ 
 sary for the generality of the world to be taken up 
 with trifles. Carry a fine lady and a fine gentleman 
 out of town, arid they know no more what to say. 
 To take from them plays, operas, and fashions is 
 taking away all their topics of discourse, and they 
 know not how to form their thoughts on any other 
 subjects. They know very well what it is to be ad¬ 
 mired but are perfectly ignorant of what it is to be 
 loved. I take you to have sense enough not to think 
 this scheme romantic. I rather choose to use the 
 word friendship than love, because, in the general 
 sense that word is spoke, it signifies a passion rather 
 
54 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 founded on fancy than reason; and when I say 
 friendship, I mean a mixture of tenderness and es¬ 
 teem, and which a long acquaintance increases, not 
 decays. How far I deserve such a friendship I can 
 be no judge of myself. I may want the good sense 
 that is necessary to be agreeable to a man of merit, 
 but I know I want the vanity to believe I have [it] ; 
 and can promise you shall never like me less upon 
 knowing me better, and that I shall never forget you 
 have a better understanding than myself. 
 
 And now let me entreat you to think (if possible) 
 tolerably of my modesty after so bold a declaration. 
 I am resolved to throw off reserve, and use me ill if 
 you please. I am sensible, to own an inclination for 
 a man is putting one’s self wholly in his power ; but 
 sure you have generosity enough not to abuse it. 
 After all I have said, I pretend no tie but on your 
 heart. If you do not love me, I shall not be happy 
 with you; if you do, I need add no farther. I am 
 not mercenary, and would not receive an obligation 
 that comes not from one that loves me. 
 
 I do not desire my letter back again; you have 
 honor, and I dare trust you. 
 
 I am going to the same place I went last spring. 
 I shall think of you there, — it depends upon you in 
 what manner. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 55 
 
 XYI. 
 
 TO MR. WORTLEY MONTAGU- 
 
 [Indorsed 9 April , 1711.] 
 
 I thought to return no answer to your letter, but 
 I find I am not so wise as I thought myself. I can¬ 
 not forbear fixing my mind a little on that expression, 
 though perhaps the only insincere one in your whole 
 letter, — I would die to be secure of your heart, 
 though but for a moment. Were this but true, what 
 is there I would not do to secure you ? 
 
 I will state the case to you as plainly as I can, and 
 then ask yourself if you use me well. I have showed 
 in every action of my life an esteem for you that at 
 least challenges a grateful regard. I have trusted my 
 reputation in your hands; I have made no scruple of 
 giving you under my own hand an assurance of my 
 friendship. After all this, I exact nothing from you. 
 If you find it inconvenient for your affairs to take so 
 small a fortune, I desire you to sacrifice nothing to 
 me; I pretend no tie upon your honor, but in 
 recompense for so clear and so disinterested a pro¬ 
 ceeding, must I ever receive injuries and ill usage ? 
 
 I have not the usual pride of my sex. I can bear 
 being told I am in the wrong; but tell it me gently. 
 Perhaps I have been indiscreet; I came young into 
 the hurry of the world. A great innocence and an 
 undesigning gayety may possibly have been construed 
 coquetry and a desire of being followed, — though 
 never meant by me. I cannot answer for the [reflec- 
 
56 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 tions] that may be made on me. All who are mali¬ 
 cious attack the careless and defenceless: I own 
 myself to be both. I know not anything I can say 
 more to show my perfect desire of pleasing you and 
 making you easy than to proffer to be confined with 
 you in what manner you please. Would any woman 
 but me renounce all the world for one? or would 
 any man but you be insensible of such a proof of 
 sincerity ? 
 
 XVII. 
 
 TO MRS. HEWET. 
 
 [I7II-] 
 
 ’T is so long since I had a letter from dear Mrs. 
 Hewet, I should think her no longer in the land of 
 the living, if Mr. Resingade did not assure me he 
 was happier than I and had heard of your health 
 from your own hand ; which makes me fancy that my 
 last miscarried, and perhaps you are blaming me at 
 the same time that you are thinking me neglectful of 
 you. Apropos of Mr. Resingade, we are grown 
 such good friends, I assure you, that we write Italian 
 letters to each other and I have the pleasure of talk¬ 
 ing to him of Madame Hewet. He told me he 
 would send you the two tomes of Madame de 
 Noyers’ 1 Memoirs. I fancy you will find yourself 
 disappointed in them, for they are horribly grave and 
 insipid ; and instead of the gallantry you might ex¬ 
 pect, they are full of dull morals. I was last Thurs- 
 
 1 Memoires de Mme. Dunoyer. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 57 
 
 day at the new Opera, and saw Nicolini 1 strangle a 
 lion with great gallantry. But he represented naked¬ 
 ness so naturally I was surprised to see those ladies 
 stare at him without any confusion that pretend to 
 be so violently shocked at a poor double entendre or 
 two in a comedy, — which convinced me that those 
 prudes who would cry fie ! fie ! at the word naked 
 have no scruples about the thing. The marriage of 
 Lord Willoughby goes on, and he swears he will 
 bring the lady down to Nottingham races. How far it 
 may be true, I cannot tell. By what fine gentlemen say, 
 you know, it is not easy to guess at what they mean. 
 The lady has made an acquaintance with me after the 
 manner of Pyramus and Thisbe, — I mean over a wall 
 three yards high, which separates our garden from 
 Lady Guildford’s. The young ladies had found out 
 a way to pull out two or three bricks and so climb 
 up and hang their chins over the wall, where we, 
 mounted on chairs, used to have many belles conver¬ 
 sations a la derobee for fear of the old mother. This 
 trade continued several days. But fortune seldom 
 permits long pleasures. By long standing on the wall, 
 the bricks loosened, and one fatal morning down 
 drops Miss Nelly; and to complete this misfortune, 
 she fell into a little sink, and bruised her poor self to 
 that terrible degree she is forced to have surgeons, 
 plasters, and God knows what, which discovered the 
 whole intrigue ; and their mamma forbade them ever 
 to visit us but by the door. Since that time, all our 
 communications have been made in a vulgar manner, 
 
 1 See Spectator, March 15, 1710-11. 
 
58 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 visiting in coaches, etc., which took away half the 
 pleasure. You know danger gives a haut gout to 
 everything. This is our secret history, — pray let it 
 be so still, — but I hope all the world will know that 
 I am most entirely yours. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 TO MR. WORTLEY MONTAGU. 
 
 [About July 4, 1712 .] 
 
 I am going to write you a plain long letter. What 
 I have already told you is nothing but the truth. I 
 have no reason to believe I am going to be otherwise 
 confined than by my duty; but I, that know my own 
 mind, know that is enough to make me miserable. 
 I see all the misfortune of marrying where it is im¬ 
 possible to love; I am going to confess a weakness 
 may perhaps add to your contempt of me. I wanted 
 courage to resist at first the will of my relations ; but 
 as every day added to my fears, those at last grew 
 strong enough to make me venture the disobliging 
 them. A harsh word damps my spirits to a degree 
 of silencing all I have to say. I knew the folly of 
 my own temper and took the method of writing to 
 the disposer of me. I said everything in this letter I 
 thought proper to move him, and proffered in atone¬ 
 ment for not marrying whom he would, never to marry 
 
 1 By this time all treaty of marriage had been broken off 
 between Mr. Wortiey Montagu and the Marquis of Dorches¬ 
 ter. Both were angry, and Mr. Wortiey Montagu had pro¬ 
 posed an elopement to Lady Mary. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 59 
 
 at all. He did not think fit to answer this letter, but 
 sent for me to him. He told me he was very much 
 surprised that I did not depend on his judgment for 
 my future happiness; that he knew nothing I had to 
 complain of, etc.; that he did not doubt I had some 
 other fancy in my head, which encouraged me to this 
 disobedience ; but he assured me, if I refused a settle¬ 
 ment he had provided for me, he gave me his word, 
 whatever proposals were made him, he would never so 
 much as enter into a treaty with any other; that, if I 
 founded any hopes upon his death, I should find myself 
 mistaken, he never intended to leave me anything but 
 an annuity of four hundred pounds per annum ; that, 
 though another would proceed in this manner after I 
 had given so just a pretence for it, yet he had [the] 
 goodness to leave my destiny yet in my own choice, 
 and at the same time commanded me to communi¬ 
 cate my design to my relations, and ask their advice. 
 As hard as this may sound, it did not shock my reso¬ 
 lution ; I was pleased to think at any price I had it 
 in my power to be free from a man I hated. I told 
 my intention to all my nearest relations. I was sur¬ 
 prised at their blaming it to the greatest degree. I 
 was told they were sorry I would ruin myself; but if 
 I was so unreasonable, they could not blame my F. 
 [father] whatever he inflicted on me. I objected I 
 did not love him. They made answer they found 
 no necessity of loving; if I lived well with him, that 
 was all was required of me ; and that if I considered 
 this town, I should find very few women in love with 
 their husbands, and yet a many happy. It was in 
 vain to dispute with such prudent people; they 
 
6o 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 looked upon me as a little romantic, and I found it 
 impossible to persuade them that living in London at 
 liberty was not the height of happiness. However, 
 they could not change my thoughts, though I found 
 I was to expect no protection from them. When I 
 
 was to give my final answer to- , l I told him that 
 
 I preferred a single life to any other; and if he 
 pleased to permit me, I would take that resolution. 
 He replied he could not hinder my resolutions, but 
 I should not pretend after that to please him, since 
 pleasing him was only to be done by obedience ; that 
 if I would disobey, I knew the consequences, — he 
 would not fail to confine me where I might repent at 
 leisure ; that he had also consulted my relations and 
 found them all agreeing in his sentiments. He spoke 
 this in a manner hindered my answering. I retired 
 to my chamber, where I writ a letter to let him know 
 my aversion to the man proposed was too great to 
 be overcome, that I should be miserable beyond all 
 things could be imagined, but I was in his hands, 
 and he might dispose of me as he thought fit. He 
 was perfectly satisfied with this answer, and pro¬ 
 ceeded as if I had given a willing consent. I forgot 
 to tell you he named you, and said if I thought that 
 way, I was very much mistaken ; that if he had no 
 other engagements, yet he would never have agreed 
 to your proposals, having no inclination to see his 
 grandchildren beggars. 
 
 I do not speak this to endeavor to alter your 
 opinion, but to show the improbability of his agree- 
 
 1 It does not appear who the lover of Lady Mary was. 
 Mr. Thomas believes that he had estates in Ireland. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 61 
 
 ing to it. I confess I am entirely of your mind. I 
 reckon it among the absurdities of custom that a man 
 must be obliged to settle his whole estate on an 
 eldest son beyond his power to recall, whatever he 
 proves to be, and make himself unable to make happy 
 a younger child that may deserve to be so. If I had 
 an estate myself, I should not make such ridiculous 
 settlements, and I cannot blame you for being in the 
 right. 
 
 I have told you all my affairs with a plain sincerity. 
 I have avoided to move your compassion, and I have 
 said nothing of what I suffer; and I have not per¬ 
 suaded you to a treaty, which I am sure my family 
 will never agree to. I can have no fortune without 
 an entire obedience. 
 
 Whatever your business is, may it end to your sat¬ 
 isfaction. I think of the public as you do. As little 
 as that is a woman’s care, it may be permitted into the 
 number of a woman’s fears. But wretched as I am, 
 I have no more to fear for myself. I have still a con¬ 
 cern for my friends, and I am in pain for your danger. 
 I am far from taking ill what you say. I never valued 
 
 myself as the daughter of- and ever despised 
 
 those that esteemed me on that account. With pleas¬ 
 ure I could barter all that, and change to be any 
 country gentleman’s daughter that would have reason 
 enough to make happiness in privacy. My letter is 
 too long. I beg your pardon. You may see by the 
 situation of my affairs’t is without design. 
 
62 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 TO MR. WORTLEY MONTAGU. 
 
 Tuesday night [Aug., 1712]. 
 
 I received both your Monday letters since I writ 
 the enclosed, which however I send you. The kind 
 letter was writ and sent Friday morning and I did 
 not receive yours till the Saturday noon; or, to speak 
 truth, you would never have had it, there were so 
 many things in yours to put me out of humor. Thus, 
 you see, it was on no design to repair anything that 
 offended you. You only show me how industrious 
 you are to find imaginary faults in me. Why will 
 you not suffer me to be pleased with you ? 
 
 I would see you if I could (though perhaps it may 
 be wrong) ; but in the way I am here, ’t is impossi¬ 
 ble. I can’t come to town but in company with my 
 sister-in-law; I can carry her nowhere but where she 
 pleases; or if I could, I would trust her with noth¬ 
 ing. I could not walk out alone without giving sus¬ 
 picion to the whole family; should I be watched and 
 seen to meet a man—judge of the consequence ! 
 
 You speak of treating with my father, as if you be¬ 
 lieved he would come to terms afterwards. I will 
 not suffer you to remain in that thought, however 
 advantageous it might be to me; I will deceive you 
 in nothing. I am fully persuaded he will never hear 
 of terms afterwards. You may say’t is talking oddly 
 of him. I can’t answer to that; but ’t is my real 
 opinion, and I think I know him. You talk to me 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 63 
 
 of estates, as if I was the most interested woman in 
 the world. Whatever faults I may have shown in my 
 life, I know not one action of it that ever proved me 
 mercenary. I think there cannot be a greater proof 
 of the contrary than treating with you where I am to 
 depend entirely on your generosity, at the same time 
 that I have settled on me five hundred pounds per 
 annum pin-money and a considerable jointure in 
 another place; not to reckon that I may have by 
 his temper what command of his estate I please, 
 and with you I have nothing to pretend to. I do 
 not, however, make a merit of this to you ; money is 
 very little to me, because all beyond necessaries I do 
 not value that is to [be] purchased by it. If the 
 man proposed to me had ten thousand pounds per 
 annum and I was sure to dispose of it all, I should 
 act just as I do. I have in my life known a good 
 deal of show and never found myself the happier 
 for it. 
 
 In proposing to you to follow the scheme begun 
 with that friend, I think ’t is absolutely necessary for 
 both our sakes. I would have you want no pleasure 
 which a single life would afford you. You own that 
 you think nothing so agreeable. A woman that adds 
 nothing to a man’s fortune ought not to take from his 
 happiness. If possible, I would add to it; but I will 
 not take from you any satisfaction you could enjoy 
 without me. On my own side, I endeavor to form as 
 right a judgment of the temper of human nature, and 
 of my own in particular, as I am capable of. I would 
 throw off all partiality and passion, and be calm in 
 my opinion. Almost all people are apt to run into a 
 
64 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 mistake that when they once feel or give a passion, 
 there needs nothing to entertain it. This mistake 
 makes, in the number of women that inspire even 
 violent passions, hardly one preserve[s] one after pos¬ 
 session. If we marry, our happiness must consist 
 loving one another: ’t is principally my concern tc 
 think of the most probable method of making that 
 love eternal. You object against living in London; 1 
 am not fond of it myself, and readily give it up to 
 you, though I am assured there needs more art to 
 keep a fondness alive in solitude, where it generally 
 preys upon itself. There is one article absolutely 
 necessary — to be ever beloved, one must be ever 
 agreeable. There is no such thing as being agree¬ 
 able without a thorough good humor, a natural 
 sweetness of temper, enlivened by cheerfuln ss. 
 Whatever natural fund of gayety one is bom with, 
 ’t is necessary to be entertained with agreeable ob¬ 
 jects. Anybody capable of tasting pleasure, when 
 they confine themselves to one place should take 
 care ’t is the place in the world the most pleasing 
 Whatever you may now think (now perhaps you have 
 some fondness for me), though your love should con¬ 
 tinue in its full force, there are hours when the most 
 beloved mistress would be troublesome. People tre 
 not [for] ever — nor is it in human nature they should 
 be — disposed to be fond ; you would be glad to ind 
 in me the friend and the companion. To be agre - 
 ably this last, it is necessary to be gay and entert 
 ing. A perpetual solitude in a place where you see 
 nothing to raise your spirits, at length wears tl 1 
 out, and conversation insensibly falls into dullness 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 65 
 
 )idity. When I have no more to say to you you 
 like me no longer. How dreadful is that view ! 
 v will reflect for my sake you have abandoned the 
 c fersation of a friend that you liked and your 
 ition in a country where all things would have 
 ributed to make your life pass in (the true volupte) 
 aooth tranquillity. I shall lose the vivacity that 
 should entertain you, and you will have nothing to 
 r, oompense you for what you have lost. Very few 
 nple that have settled entirely in the country but 
 r u e grown at length weary of one another. The 
 ’s conversation generally falls into a thousand 
 ertinent effects of idleness ; and the gentleman 
 in love with his dogs and horses, and out of love 
 :h everything else. I am not now arguing in favor 
 the town ; you have answered me as to that point, 
 respect of your health, ’t is the first thing to be 
 :sidered, and I shall never ask you to do anything 
 injurious to that. But ’t is my opinion, ’t is neces- 
 to being happy that we neither of us think any 
 e more agreeable than where we are. I have 
 nothing to do in London and ’t is indifferent to me 
 never see it more. I know not how to answer 
 r mentioning gallantry, nor in what sense to under¬ 
 stand you. I am sure in one, — whoever I marry, 
 
 . cn I am married, I renounce all things of that 
 Kind. I am willing to abandon all conversation but 
 y<; rs. If you please I will never see another man. 
 In short, I will part with anything for you but you. 
 'ill not have you a month to lose you for the 
 of my life. If you can pursue the plan of happi- 
 ess begun with your friend and take me for that 
 5 
 
66 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 friend, I am ever yours. I have examined my own 
 heart whether I can leave everything for you ; I think 
 I can. If I change my mind you shall know before 
 Sunday; after that I will not change my mind. If 
 ’t is necessary for your affairs to stay in England to 
 assist your father in his business, as I suppose the 
 time will be short, I would be as little injurious to 
 your fortune as I can, and I will do it. But I am still 
 of opinion nothing is so likely to make us both happy 
 as what I propose. I foresee I may break with you 
 on this point, and I shall certainly be displeased with 
 myself for it and wish a thousand times that I had 
 done whatever you pleased; but, however, I hope I 
 shall always remember how much more miserable 
 than anything else could make me should I be to 
 live with you and to please you no longer. You can 
 be pleased with nothing when you are not pleased with 
 yourself. One of the “ Spectators ” is very just that 
 says, “ A man ought always to be on his guard against 
 spleen and too severe a philosophy ; a woman against 
 levity and coquetry.” If we go to Naples I will make 
 no acquaintance there of any kind, and you will be 
 in a place where a variety of agreeable objects will 
 dispose you to be ever pleased. If such a thing is 
 possible this will secure our everlasting happiness; 
 and I am ready to wait on you without leaving a 
 thought behind me. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 6 ? 
 
 XX. 
 
 TO MR. VVORTLEY MONTAGU. 
 
 Friday night [15th Aug., 1712]. 
 
 I tremble for what we are doing. Are you sure 
 you will love me forever? Shall we never repent? 
 I fear and I hope. I foresee all that will happen on 
 this occasion. I shall incense my family in the high¬ 
 est degree. The generality of the world will blame 
 
 my conduct, and the relations and friends of- 1 
 
 will invent a thousand stories of me ; yet ’t is possi¬ 
 ble you may recompense everything to me. In this 
 letter, which I am fond of, you promise me all that I 
 wish. Since I writ so far I received your Friday 
 letter. I will be only yours, and I will do what you 
 please. 
 
 You shall hear from me again to-morrow, not to 
 contradict but to give some directions. My resolu¬ 
 tion is taken. Love me and use me well . 2 
 
 1 Her proposed husband. 
 
 2 Mr. Wortley Montagu and Lady Mary Pierrepont were 
 married very soon after this letter. Their marriage license is 
 dated August 16; but at the last moment Lord Dorchester 
 became suspicious, and Lady Mary was promptly bundled to 
 West Dean. Mr. Wortley followed her, and, aided by her 
 brother, succeeded in carrying her away. 
 
68 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 XXL 
 
 TO MR. WORTLEY MONTAGU. 
 
 Walling Wells, 1 Oct. 22 [1712], which is 
 the first post I could write, Monday night 
 being so fatigued and sick I went straight 
 to bed from the coach. 
 
 I don’t know very well how to begin; I am per¬ 
 fectly unacquainted with a proper matrimonial style. 
 After all, I think’t is best to write as if we were not 
 married at all. I lament your absence, as if you was 
 still my lover, and I am impatient to hear you are 
 got safe to Durham, and that you have fixed a time 
 for your return. 
 
 I have not been very long in this family; and I 
 fancy myself in that described in the “ Spectator.” 
 The good people here look upon their children with 
 a fondness that more than recompenses their care of 
 them. I don’t perceive much distinction in regard 
 to their merits; and when they speak sense or non¬ 
 sense, it affects the parents with almost the same 
 pleasure. My friendship for the mother and kind- 
 
 1 Mr. Thomas says: “ Her brother, who had accompanied 
 her into Wiltshire, appears to have shrunk from the respon¬ 
 sibility of actually aiding their flight; but they had a firm 
 friend in Mrs. Anne Thistlethwayte of Winterslow, close by, 
 the lady to whom some of the letters from the East were ad¬ 
 dressed, and in Grace, Lady Mary’s attendant, who no doubt 
 fled with her mistress and was the ‘ Grace,’ her serving- 
 woman, mentioned in the letters written in the early years of 
 their wedded life.” Lord Kingston, however, was a passive 
 abettor. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 69 
 
 ness for Miss Biddy make me endure the squalling 
 of Miss Nanny and Miss Mary with abundance of 
 patience; and my foretelling the future conquests of 
 the eldest daughter makes me very well with the 
 family. I don’t know whether you will presently 
 find out that this seeming impertinent account is the 
 tenderest expressions of my love to you, but it fur¬ 
 nishes my imagination with agreeable pictures of our 
 future life ; and I flatter myself with the hopes of one 
 day enjoying with you the same satisfactions; and 
 that, after as many years together, I may see you re¬ 
 tain the same fondness for me as I shall certainly 
 mine for you, and the noise of a nursery may have 
 more charms for us than the music of an opera. 
 
 [ Tom'] as these are the sure effect of my sincere 
 love, since’t is the nature of that passion to entertain 
 the mind with pleasures in prospect; and I check 
 myself when I grieve for your absence by remember¬ 
 ing how much reason I have to rejoice in the hope 
 of passing my whole life with you. A good fortune 
 not to be valued ! I am afraid of telling you that I 
 return thanks for it to Heaven, because you will 
 charge me with hypocrisy; but you are mistaken. I 
 assist every day at public prayers in this family, and 
 never forget in my private ejaculations how much I 
 owe to Heaven for making me yours. ’T is candle¬ 
 light or I should not conclude so soon. 
 
 Pray, my dear, begin at the top, and read till you 
 come to the bottom. 
 
70 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 TO MR. WORTLEY MONTAGU. 
 
 [Hinchinbrook, Indorsed, Dec. 1712.] 
 
 I am alone, without any amusements to take up my 
 thoughts. I am in circumstances in which melan¬ 
 choly is apt to prevail even over all amusements, 
 dispirited and alone, and you write me quarrelling 
 letters. 
 
 I hate complaining; ’t is no sign I am easy that I 
 do not trouble you with my headaches and my 
 spleen; to be reasonable one should never complain 
 but when one hopes redress. A physician should be 
 the only confidant of bodily pains; and for those of 
 the mind, they should never be spoke of but to those 
 that can and will relieve ’em. Should I tell you that 
 I am uneasy, that I am out of humor and out of pa¬ 
 tience, should I see you half an hour the sooner? I 
 believe you have kindness enough for me to be very 
 sorry, and so you would tell me, and things remain in 
 their primitive state. I choose to spare you that pain ; 
 I would always give you pleasure. I know you are 
 ready to tell me that I do not ever keep to these 
 good maxims. I confess I often speak impertinently, 
 but I always repent of it. My last stupid letter was 
 not come to you before I would have had it back 
 again had it been in my power; such as it was, I beg 
 your pardon for it. I did not expect that my Lord 
 P. [Pierrepont] would speak at all in our favor, 
 much less show zeal upon that occasion, that never 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 7 1 
 
 showed any in his life. I have writ every post, and 
 you accuse me without reason. I can’t imagine how 
 they should miscarry ; perhaps you have by this time 
 received two together. Adieu ! je suis a vous de 
 tout mon coeur. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 TO MR. WORTLEY MONTAGU. 
 
 [Indorsed Aug. 7, 1714.] 
 
 You made me cry two hours last night. I cannot 
 imagine why you use me so ill; for what reason you 
 continue silent, when you know at any time your 
 silence cannot fail of giving me a great deal of pain ; 
 and now to a higher degree because of the perplex¬ 
 ity that I am in, without knowing where you are, 
 what you are doing, or what to do with myself and 
 my dear little boy. However (persuaded there can 
 be no objection to it), I intend to go to-morrow to 
 Castle Howard, and remain there with the young 
 ladies, till I know when I shall see you or what you 
 would command. The archbishop and everybody 
 else are gone to London. We are alarmed with a 
 story of a fleet being seen from the coasts of Scot¬ 
 land. An express went from thence through York to 
 the Earl of Mar. I beg you would write to me. 
 Till you do I shall not have an easy minute. I am 
 sure I do not deserve from you that you should make 
 me uneasy. I find I am scolding. ’T is better for me 
 not to trouble you with it, but I cannot help taking 
 your silence very unkindly. 
 
72 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 TO MR. WORTLEY MONTAGU. 
 
 [Indorsed Nov. 24, 1714.] 
 
 I have taken up and laid down my pen several 
 times, very much unresolved in what style I ought to 
 write to you. For once I suffer my inclination to get 
 the better of my reason. I have not oft opportuni¬ 
 ties of indulging myself, and I will do it in this one 
 letter. I know very well that nobody was ever teased 
 into a liking, and’t is perhaps harder to revive a past 
 one than to overcome an aversion; but I cannot for¬ 
 bear any longer telling you I think you use me very 
 unkindly. I don’t say so much of your absence as I 
 should do if you was in the country and I in London, 
 because I would not have you believe I am impatient 
 to be in town when I say I am impatient to be 
 with you; but I am very sensible I parted with 
 you in July and’t is now the middle of November. 
 As if this was not hardship enough, you do not tell 
 me you are sorry for it. You write seldom and with 
 so much indifference as shows you hardly think of 
 me at all. I complain of ill-health, and you only say 
 you hope’t is not so bad as I make it. You never in¬ 
 quire after your child. I would fain flatter myself 
 you have more kindness for me and him than you 
 express, but I reflect with grief a man that is 
 ashamed of passions that are natural and reasonable 
 is generally proud of those that [are] shameful and silly. 
 
 You should consider solitude, and spleen the con¬ 
 sequence of solitude, is apt to give the most melan- 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 73 
 
 choly ideas, and there needs at least tender letters 
 and kind expressions to hinder uneasiness almost 
 inseparable from absence. I am very sensible how 
 far I ought to be contented when your affairs oblige 
 you to be without me. I would not have you do 
 them any prejudice, but a little kindness will cost 
 you nothing. I do not bid you lose anything by 
 hasting to see me, but I would have you think it 
 a misfortune when we are asunder. Instead of that, 
 you seem perfectly pleased with our separation, and 
 indifferent how long it continues. When I reflect on 
 all your behavior, I am ashamed of my own; I 
 think I am playing the part of my Lady Winchester . 1 
 At least be as generous as my lord; and as he made 
 her an early confession of his aversion, own to me 
 your inconstancy, and upon my word I will give you 
 no more trouble about it. I have concealed as long 
 as I can the uneasiness the nothingness of your 
 letters has given me under an affected indifference; 
 but dissimulation always sits awkwardly upon me ; I 
 am weary of it, and must beg you to write to me no 
 more, if you cannot bring yourself to write otherwise. 
 Multiplicity of business or diversions may have en¬ 
 gaged you, but all people find time to do what they 
 have a mind to. If your inclination is gone, I had 
 rather never receive a letter from you than one 
 which, in lieu of comfort for your absence, gives me 
 a pain even beyond it. For my part, as’t is my first, 
 this is my last complaint, and your next of the kind 
 shall go back enclosed to you in blank paper. 
 
 1 Lady Anne Vaughan, a great heiress who married the 
 Marquis of Winchester, afterward Duke of Bolton. The 
 marriage was notoriously unhappy, and the pair separated. 
 
74 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 TO MR WORTLEY MONTAGU. 
 
 [Indorsed April, 1716 ] 
 
 I am extremely concerned at your illness. I have 
 expected you all this day, and supposed you would 
 be here by this time if you had set out Saturday after¬ 
 noon as you say you intended. I hope you have 
 left Wharnclifife, but however will continue to write 
 till you let me know you have done so. Dr. Clarke 
 has been spoke to, and excused himself from recom¬ 
 mending a chaplain , 1 as not being acquainted with 
 many orthodox divines. I don’t doubt you know 
 the death of Lord Somers, which will for some time 
 interrupt my commerce with Lady Jekyl. I have 
 heard he is dead without a will, and I have heard he 
 has made young Mr. Cox his heir; I cannot tell 
 which account is the truest. I beg of you with great 
 earnestness that you would take the first care of your 
 health; there can be nothing worth the least loss of 
 it. I shall be sincerely very uneasy till I hear from 
 you again, but I am not without hopes of seeing you 
 to-morrow. Your son presents his duty to you, and 
 improves every day in his conversation, which begins 
 to be very entertaining to me. I directed a letter for 
 
 you last post to Mr. B-. I cannot conclude 
 
 without once [more] recommending to you, if you 
 have any sort of value for me, to take care of your¬ 
 self. If there be anything you would have me do, 
 
 1 A chaplain to the embassy to Constantinople. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 75 
 
 pray be particular in your directions. You say noth¬ 
 ing positive about the liveries. Lord B.’s lace is silk 
 with very little silver in it, but for twenty liveries 
 comes to one hundred and ten pounds. Adieu ! 
 pray take care of your health. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF-[MAR].* 
 
 Rotterdam, Friday, Aug. 3, o. s. [1716]. 
 
 I flatter myself, dear sister, that I shall give you 
 some pleasure in letting you know that I have safely 
 passed the sea, though we had the ill fortune of a 
 storm. We were persuaded by the captain of our 
 yacht to set out in a calm, and he pretended that 
 there was nothing so easy as to tide it over; but 
 after two days slowly moving, the wind blew so hard 
 that none of the sailors could keep their feet, and we 
 were all Sunday night tossed very handsomely. I 
 never saw a man more frighted than the captain. 
 
 For my part I have been so lucky neither to suffer 
 from fear or sea-sickness, though I confess I was 
 so impatient to see myself once more upon dry land 
 that I would not stay till the yacht could get to 
 Rotterdam, but went in the long-boat to Helvoet- 
 sluys, where we had voitures to carry us to the Brill. 
 
 3 She was Lady Frances Pierrepont and Lady Mary’s 
 favorite sister. She married the Earl of Mar, a professed 
 Jacobite, but an actual spy of the English government, fie 
 was a man of indifferent character, and made his wife most 
 unhappy. 
 
76 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 I was charmed with the neatness of that little town ; 
 but my arrival at Rotterdam presented me a new 
 scene of pleasure. All the streets are paved with 
 broad stones, and before the meanest artificers’ doors 
 seats of various-colored marbles, and so neatly kept 
 that I will assure you I walked almost all over the 
 town yesterday, incognita , in my slippers without re¬ 
 ceiving one spot of dirt; and you may see the Dutch 
 maids washing the pavement of the street with more 
 application than ours do our bed chambers. The 
 town seems so full of people with such busy faces, 
 all in motion, that I can hardly fancy that it is not 
 some celebrated fair; but I see it is every day the 
 same. ’T is certain no town can be more advan¬ 
 tageously situated for commerce. Here are seven 
 large canals, on which the merchants’ ships come up 
 to the very doors of their houses. The shops and 
 warehouses are of a surprising neatness and magnifi¬ 
 cence, filled with an incredible quantity of fine mer¬ 
 chandise, and so much cheaper than what we see in 
 England, I have much ado to persuade myself I am 
 still so near it. Here is neither dirt nor beggary to 
 be seen. One is not shocked with those loathsome 
 cripples, so common in London, nor teased with the 
 importunities of idle fellows and wenches that choose 
 to be nasty and lazy. The common servants and 
 little shopwomen here are more nicely clean than most 
 of our ladies ; and the great variety of neat dresses 
 (every woman dressing her head after her own fash¬ 
 ion) is an additional pleasure in seeing the town. 
 
 You see hitherto, dear sister, I make no complaints ; 
 and if I continue to like travelling as well as I do at 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 77 
 
 present, I shall not repent my project. It will go a 
 great way in making me satisfied with it, if it affords 
 me opportunities of entertaining you. But it is not 
 from Holland that you must expect a disinterested 
 offer. I can write enough in the style of Rotterdam 
 to tell you plainly, in one word, I expect returns of 
 all the London news. You see I have already learnt 
 to make a good bargain, and that it is not for noth¬ 
 ing I will so much as tell you that I am your affec¬ 
 tionate sister. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF-[MAR] 
 
 Vienna, Sept 8, o s [1716]. 
 
 I am now, my dear sister, safely arrived at Vienna; 
 and, I thank God, have not at all suffered in my 
 health, nor (what is dearer to me) in that of my child , 1 
 by all our fatigues. 
 
 We travelled by water from Ratisbon, a journey 
 perfectly agreeable, down the Danube, in one of those 
 little vessels that they very properly call wooden 
 houses, having in them almost all the conveniences of 
 a palace, stoves in the chambers, kitchens, etc. They 
 are rowed by twelve men each, and move with an 
 incredible swiftness, that in the same day you have 
 the pleasure of a vast variety of prospects; and with¬ 
 in a few hours’ space of time one has the different 
 diversion of seeing a populous city adorned with 
 magnificent palaces and the most romantic solitudes, 
 
 1 The little Edward was now three years old. 
 
78 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 which appear distant from the commerce of man¬ 
 kind, the banks of the Danube being charmingly 
 diversified with woods, rocks, mountains covered with 
 vines, fields of corn, large cities, and ruins of ancient 
 castles. I saw the great towns of Passau and Lintz, 
 famous for the retreat of the Imperial Court when 
 Vienna was besieged. 
 
 This town, which has the honor of being the em¬ 
 peror’s residence, did not at all answer my ideas of 
 it, being much less than I expected to find it. The 
 streets are very close, and so narrow one cannot ob¬ 
 serve the fine fronts of the palaces, though many of 
 them very well deserve observation, being truly mag¬ 
 nificent, all built of fine white stone, and excessive 
 high, — the town being so much too little for the num¬ 
 ber of the people that desire to live in it, the build¬ 
 ers seem to have projected to repair that misfortune 
 by clapping one town on the top of another, most of 
 the houses being of five and some of them of six 
 stories. You may easily imagine that the streets 
 being so narrow the upper rooms are extremely dark ; 
 and what is an inconveniency much more intolerable 
 in my opinion, there is no house that has so few as 
 five or six families in it. The apartments of the 
 greatest ladies, and even of the ministers of state, 
 are divided but by a partition from that of a tailor or 
 a shoemaker; and I know nobody that has above 
 two floors in any house, one for their own use and 
 one higher for their servants. Those that have houses 
 of their own let out the rest of them to whoever will 
 take them ; thus the great stairs (which are all of 
 stone) are as common and as dirty as the street. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 79 
 
 ’T is true when you have once travelled through them, 
 nothing can be more surprisingly magnificent than 
 the apartments. They are commonly a suite of eight 
 or ten large rooms, all inlaid, the doors and windows 
 richly carved and gilt, and the furniture such as is 
 seldom seen in the palaces of sovereign princes in 
 other countries, — the hangings the finest tapestry of 
 Brussels, prodigious large looking-glasses in silver 
 frames, fine Japan tables, beds, chairs, canopies, and 
 window-curtains of the richest Genoa damask or vel¬ 
 vet, almost covered with gold lace or embroidery; 
 the whole made gay by pictures and vast jars of 
 Japan china, and almost in every room large lustres 
 of rock crystal. 
 
 I have already had the honor of being invited to 
 dinner by several of the first people of quality; and 
 I must do them the justice to say, the good taste and 
 magnificence of their tables very well answers to that 
 of their furniture. I have been more than once 
 entertained with fifty dishes of meat, all served in 
 silver, and well dressed ; the dessert proportionable, 
 served in the finest china. But the variety and rich¬ 
 ness of their wines is what appears the most surpris¬ 
 ing. The constant way is, to lay a list of their names 
 upon the plates of the guests, along with the napkins ; 
 and I have counted several times to the number of 
 eighteen different sorts, all exquisite in their kinds. 
 
 I was yesterday at Count Schonbrunn the vice- 
 chancellor’s garden, where I was invited to dinner, 
 and I must own that I never saw a place so perfectly 
 delightful as the Fauxbourgs of Vienna. It is very 
 large and almost wholly composed of delicious pal- 
 
8o 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 aces; and if the emperor "found it proper to ] 
 the gates of the town to be laid open that the 
 bourgs might be joined to it, he would have 
 the largest and best-built cities of Europe. iunt 
 Schonbrunn’s villa is one of the most magnil 
 the furniture, all rich brocades, so well fancie and 
 fitted up, nothing can look more gay and splem 
 not to speak of a gallery, full of rarities of com! 
 mother of pearl, etc., and throughout the iob 
 house a profusion of gilding, carving, fine pai 
 the most beautiful porcelain, statues of alabast 
 ivory, and vast orange and lemon trees in gi ts. 
 The dinner was perfectly fine and well ordere 
 made still more agreeable by the good-humor j the 
 Count. 
 
 I have not yet been at court, being forced o stay 
 for my gown, without which there is no wait on 
 the empress, though I am not without a great 
 tience to see a beauty that has been the adn ti< 
 of so many different nations. When I have h dan 
 honor, I will not fail to let you know my real thoug 1 ts, 
 always taking a particular pleasure in commun nrg 
 them to my dear sister. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF-[MAR]. 
 
 Vienna, Sept. 14, o. s. 1716. 
 
 Though I have so lately troubled you, n uv. 
 sister, with a long letter, yet I will keep my . or m e 
 in giving you an account of my first going to <.0 rt. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 8l 
 
 i order to that ceremony, I was squeezed up in 
 n, and adorned with a gorget and the other 
 imp! aents thereunto belonging, —a dress very in- 
 a,nv lient, but which certainly shows the neck and 
 ■: to great advantage. I cannot forbear in this 
 
 pb.cc giving you some description of the fashions 
 vhich are more monstrous and contrary to all 
 on-sense and reason than’t is possible for you 
 to imagine. They build certain fabrics of gauze on 
 ti eir leads about a yard high, consisting of three or 
 fo tories, fortified with numberless yards of heavy 
 ribbon. The foundation of this structure is a thing 
 all “ Bourle ” awhich is exactly of the same shape 
 nd, but about four times as big, as those rolls 
 ■jui udent milk-maids make use of to fix their pails 
 up • This machine they cover with their own hair, 
 w hich they mix with a great deal of false, it being a 
 pan cu'ar beauty to have their heads too large to go 
 into moderate tub. Their hair is prodigiously pow- 
 dcred, to conceal the mixture, and set out with three 
 .mi. four rows of bodkins (wonderfully large, that stick 
 out two or three inches from their hair), made of 
 diamonds, pearls, red, green, and yellow stones, that 
 it ce tainly requires as much art and experience to 
 carry the load upright as to dance upon May-day 
 with he garland. Their whalebone petticoats outdo 
 ours >y several yards’ circumference and cover some 
 acres of ground. 
 
 Vou may easily suppose how much this extraordi¬ 
 nary dress sets off and improves the natural ugliness 
 it which God Almighty has been pleased to endow 
 'In all generally. Even the lovely empress herself 
 6 
 
82 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 is obliged to comply in some degree with these ab¬ 
 surd fashions, which they would not quit for all the 
 world. I had a private audience (according to cere¬ 
 mony) of half an hour, and then all the other ladies 
 were permitted to come [and] make their court. I 
 was perfectly charmed with the empress. I cannot 
 however tell you that her features are regular; her 
 eyes are not large, but have a lively look, full of 
 sweetness; her complexion the finest I ever saw; 
 her nose and forehead well made ; but her mouth has 
 ten thousand charms that touch the soul. When she 
 smiles, ’t is with a beauty and sweetness that force 
 adoration. She has a vast quantity of fine fair hair; 
 but then her person, — one must speak of it poeti¬ 
 cally to do it rigid justice ; all that the poets have 
 said of the mien of Juno, the air of Venus, come not 
 up to the truth. The Graces move with her; the 
 famous statue of Medecis was not formed with more 
 delicate proportions. Nothing can be added to the 
 beauty of her neck and hands. Till I saw them, I 
 did not believe there were any in Nature so perfect, 
 and I was almost sorry that my rank here did not 
 permit me to kiss them ; but they are kissed suffi¬ 
 ciently, for everybody that waits on her pays that 
 homage at their entrance and when they take leave. 
 
 When the ladies were come in, she sat down to 
 Quinze. I could not play at a game I had never 
 seen before, and she ordered me a seat at her right 
 hand and had the goodness to talk to me very much 
 with that grace so natural to her. I expected every 
 moment when the men were to come in to pay their 
 court; but this drawing-room is very different from 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 83 
 
 that of England ; no man enters it but the old grand¬ 
 master, who comes in to advertise the empress of 
 the approach of the emperor. His imperial majesty 
 did me the honor of speaking to me in a very oblig¬ 
 ing manner; but he never speaks to any of the other 
 ladies, and the whole passes with a gravity and air 
 of ceremony that has something very formal in it. 
 
 I had audience next day of the empress mother, a 
 princess of great virtue and goodness, but who piques 
 herself so much on a violent devotion she is per¬ 
 petually performing extraordinary acts of penance 
 without having ever done anything to deserve them. 
 She has the same number of maids of honor, whom 
 she suffers to go in colors, but she herself never 
 quits her mourning; and sure nothing can be more 
 dismal than the mourning here, even for a brother. 
 There is not the least bit of linen to be seen; all 
 black crape instead of it, — the neck, ears, and side 
 of the face covered with a plaited piece of the same 
 stuff, and the face that peeps out in the midst of it 
 looks as if it were pilloried. The widows wear, over 
 and above, a crape forehead-cloth j and in this 
 solemn weed go to all the public places of diversion 
 without scruple. 
 
 The next day I was to wait on the empress Amelia, 
 who is now at her palace of retirement half a mile 
 from the town. I had there the pleasure of seeing a 
 diversion wholly new to me, but which is the common 
 amusement of this court. The empress herself was 
 seated on a little throne at the end of a fine alley in 
 the garden, and on each side of her were ranged two 
 
84 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 parties of her ladies of honor with other young ladies 
 of quality, headed by the two young archduchesses, 
 all dressed in their hair full of jewels, with fine light 
 guns in their hands; and at proper distances were 
 placed three oval pictures, which were the marks to 
 be shot at. . . . Near the empress was a gilded 
 trophy wreathed with flowers and made of little 
 crooks, on which were hung rich Turkish handker¬ 
 chiefs, tippets, ribbons, laces, etc., for the small prizes. 
 The empress gave the first with her own hand, which 
 was a fine ruby ring set round with diamonds in a 
 gold snuff-box. There was for the second a little 
 Cupid set with brilliants ; and besides these, a set of 
 fine china for a tea-table enchased in gold, Japan 
 trunks, fans, and many gallantries of the same nature. 
 All the men of quality at Vienna were spectators; 
 but only the ladies had permission to shoot, and the 
 Archduchess Amelia carried off the first prize. I 
 was very well pleased with having seen this enter¬ 
 tainment, and I do not know but it might make as 
 good a figure as the prize-shooting in the Enid, if I 
 could write as well as Virgil. This is the favorite 
 pleasure of the emperor, and there is rarely a week 
 without some feast of this kind, which makes the 
 young ladies skilful enough to defend a fort, and they 
 laughed very much to see me afraid to handle a 
 gun. 
 
 My dear sister, you will easily pardon an abrupt 
 conclusion. I believe by this time you are ready to 
 fear I would never conclude at all. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 85 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 TO THE LADY R. [RICHJ.i 
 
 Vienna, Sept. 20, o. s. [1716]. 
 
 I am extremely pleased, but not at all surprised, 
 at the long delightful letter you have had the good¬ 
 ness to send me. I know that you can think of an 
 absent friend even in the midst of a court, and that 
 you love to oblige where you can have no view of 
 a return; and I expect from you that you should 
 love me and think of me when you don’t see me. 
 
 I have compassion for the mortifications that you 
 tell me befall our little friend, and I pity her much 
 more, since I know that they are only owing to the 
 barbarous customs of our country. Upon my word, 
 if she was here, she would have no other fault but 
 being something too young for the fashion, and she 
 has nothing to do but to transplant hither about 
 seven years hence, to be again a young and bloom¬ 
 ing beauty. I can assure you that wrinkles or a 
 small stoop in the shoulders, nay, gray hair itself, 
 is no objection to the making new conquests. I 
 know you cannot easily figure to yourself a young 
 fellow of five-and-twenty ogling my Lady Suff— 
 [Suffolk] or pressing to lead the Countess of O — d 
 [Oxford] from an opera. But such are the sights 
 I see every day, and I don’t perceive any body 
 surprised at them but myself. A woman till five- 
 
 1 Wife of Lord Rich; she was a celebrated beauty, but 
 her charms were now a little on the wane. 
 
86 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 and-thirty is only looked upon as a raw girl, and 
 can possibly make no noise in the world till about 
 forty. I don’t know what your ladyship may think 
 of this matter, but ’t is a considerable comfort to 
 me to know there is upon earth such a paradise 
 for old women, and I am content to be insignifi¬ 
 cant at present, in the design of returning when 
 I am fit to appear nowhere else. 1 cannot help 
 lamenting upon this occasion the pitiful case of 
 too many good English ladies, long since retired 
 to prudery and ratifia, whom if their stars had luckily 
 conducted hither would still shine in the first rank 
 of beauties. And then that perplexing word repu¬ 
 tation has quite another meaning here than what 
 you give it at London ; and getting a lover is so 
 far from losing that’t is properly getting reputation, — 
 ladies being much more respected in regard to the 
 rank of their lovers than that of their husbands. 
 
 And having no intrigue at all is so far a disgrace, 
 that, I ’ll assure you, a lady who is very much my 
 friend here told me but yesterday how much I 
 was obliged to her for justifying my conduct in a 
 conversation on my subject, where it was publicly 
 asserted that I could not possibly have common- 
 sense, that I had been about town above a fortnight 
 and had made no steps towards commencing an 
 ciftiour. My friend pleaded for me that my stay 
 was uncertain, and she believed that was the cause 
 of my seeming stupidity; and this was all she 
 could find to say in my justification. 
 
 But one of the pleasantest adventures I ever 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 87 
 
 met in my life was last night, and which will give 
 you a just idea after what delicate manner the belles 
 passions are managed in this country. I was at the 
 
 assembly of the Countess of-, and the young 
 
 Count of-led me downstairs, and he asked 
 
 me how long I intended to stay here. I made 
 answer that my stay depended on the emperor, 
 and it was not in my power to determine it. “ Well, 
 madam,” said he, “ whether your time here is to 
 be long or short, I think you ought to pass it 
 agreeably, and to that end you must engage in a 
 little affair of the heart.” “ My heart,” answered 
 I, gravely enough, “ does not engage very easily, 
 and I have no design of parting with it." “I see, 
 madam,” said he, sighing, “by the ill nature of 
 that answer, that I am not to hope for it, which 
 is a great mortification to me that am charmed 
 with you. But, however, I am still devoted to 
 your service ; and since I am not worthy of enter¬ 
 taining you myself, do me the honor of letting me 
 know whom you like best among us, and I ’ll engage 
 to manage the affair entirely to your satisfaction. ” 
 You may judge in what manner I should have 
 received this compliment in my own country, but 
 I was well enough acquainted with the way of this 
 to know that he really intended me an obligation, 
 and thanked him with a grave courtesy for his zeal 
 to serve me, and only assured him that I had no 
 occasion to make use of it. 
 
 Thus you see, my dear, gallantry and good 
 breeding are as different in different climates as 
 morality and religion. Who have the Tightest 
 
88 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 notions of both, we shall never know till the day 
 of judgment, for which great day of eclaircissement 
 I own there is very little impatience in your etc. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 TO THE LADY X- 1 
 
 Vienna, Oct. i, o. s. [1716]. 
 
 You desire me, madam, to send you some account 
 of the customs here, and at the same time a descrip¬ 
 tion of Vienna. I am always willing to obey your 
 commands, but I must upon this occasion desire 
 you to take the will for the deed. If I should 
 undertake to tell you all the particulars in which 
 the manner here differs from ours, I must write a 
 whole quire of the dullest stuff that ever was read 
 or printed without being read. Their dress agrees 
 with the French or English in no one article but 
 wearing petticoats, and they have many fashions 
 peculiar to themselves; as that it is indecent for 
 a widow ever to wear green or rose color, buc 
 all the other gayest colors at her own discretion 
 The assemblies here are the only regular diversion 
 the operas being always at Court, and commonly 
 on some particular occasion. Madam Rabutin 
 has the assembly constantly every night at her 
 house ; and the other ladies, whenever they have 
 a mind to display the magnificence of their apart¬ 
 ments, or oblige a friend by complimenting them 
 
 1 So in the MSS. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 89 
 
 o the da} of their saint, they declare that on such 
 day die assembly shall be at their house in honor 
 o : the feast of the Count or Countess such-a- 
 one. These days are called days of gala, and 
 ill the fri ids or relations of the lady whose saint it 
 is, are obliged to appear in their best clothes and 
 all heir jewels. The mistress of the house takes 
 no p rti ular notice of anybody nor returns any¬ 
 body’s ,t; and whoever pleases may go, with¬ 
 out die brmality of being presented. The com- 
 pan\ are c itertained with ice in several forms, winter 
 and summer; afterwards they divide into parties of 
 oil re juet, or conversation, all games of hazard 
 being forbid. 
 
 I saw t’other day the gala for Count Altheim, 
 he . iperor’s favorite, and never in my life saw 
 > n ly fine clothes ill-fancied. They embroider 
 the I est gold stuffs; and provided they can make 
 their olhes expensive enough, that is all the taste 
 they '-how in them. On other days, the general 
 dress is a scarf and what you please under it. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS-[MAR], 
 
 Leipzig, Nov. 21, o. s. [1716]. 
 
 I believe, dear sister, you will easily forgive my 
 nor ug to you from Dresden as I promised, when 
 
 I tell >u that I never went out of my chaise from 
 1 ’rague to that place. 
 
90 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 You may imagine how heartily I was tired with 
 twenty-four hours’ post-travelling without sleep or 
 refreshment (for I can never sleep in a coach, how¬ 
 ever fatigued). We passed by moonshine the fright¬ 
 ful precipices that divide Bohemia from Saxony, at 
 the bottom of which runs the river Elbe ; but I can¬ 
 not say that I had reason to fear drowning in it, 
 being perfectly convinced that, in case of a tumble, 
 it was utterly impossible to come alive to the bottom. 
 In many places the road is so narrow that I could not 
 discern an inch of space between the wheels and the 
 precipice. Yet I was so good a wife not to wake 
 
 Mr. W -, who was fast asleep by my side, to 
 
 make him share in my fears, since the danger was 
 unavoidable, till I perceived, by the bright light of 
 the moon, our postilions nodding on horseback while 
 the horses were on a full gallop, and I thought it very 
 convenient to call out to desire them to look where 
 
 they were going. My calling waked Mr. W-, 
 
 and he was much more surprised than myself at the 
 situation we were in, and assured me that he had 
 passed the Alps five times in different places without 
 ever having gone a road so dangerous. I have been 
 told since it is common to find the bodies of travel¬ 
 lers in the Elbe; but, thank God, that was not our 
 destiny, and we came safe to Dresden, so much tired 
 with fear and fatigue, it was not possible for me to 
 compose myself to write. 
 
 After passing these dreadful rocks, Dresden ap¬ 
 peared to me a wonderful agreeable situation, in a 
 fine large plain on the banks of the Elbe. I was very 
 glad to stay there a day to rest myself. The town 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 91 
 
 is the neatest I have seen in Germany; most of 
 the houses are new built; the elector’s palace very 
 handsome, and his repository full of curiosities of 
 different kinds, with a collection of medals very much 
 
 esteemed. Sir-, our king’s envoy, came to see 
 
 me here, and Madame de L-, whom I knew in 
 
 London, when her husband was minister to the King 
 of Poland there. She offered me all things in her 
 power to entertain me and brought some ladies with 
 her, whom she presented to me. The Saxon ladies re¬ 
 semble the Austrian no more than the Chinese those 
 of London ; they are very genteelly dressed after the 
 French and English modes, and have generally pretty 
 faces, but the most determined mifiaiuiieres in the 
 whole world. They would think it a mortal sin against 
 good breeding if they either spoke or moved in a 
 natural manner. They all affect a little soft lisp and 
 a pretty pitty-pat step ; which female frailties ought, 
 however, to be forgiven them in favor of their civility 
 and good nature to strangers, which I have a great 
 deal of reason to praise. 
 
 The Countess of Cozelle is kept prisoner in a 
 melancholy castle some leagues from hence; and I 
 cannot forbear telling you what I have heard of her, 
 because it seems to me very extraordinary, though I 
 foresee I shall swell my letter to the size of a packet. 
 She was mistress to the King of Poland (Elector of 
 Saxony), with so absolute a dominion over him that 
 never any lady had had so much power in that Court. 
 They tell a pleasant story of his majesty’s first declar¬ 
 ation of love, which he made in a visit to her, bring¬ 
 ing in one hand a bag of a hundred thousand crowns 
 
92 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGE. 
 
 and in the other a horseshoe, which he snapped 
 asunder before her face, leaving her to draw conse¬ 
 quences from such remarkable proofs of strength and 
 liberality. I know not which charmed her; but she 
 r consented to leave her husband, to give herself up to 
 him entirely, being divorced publicly in such a man¬ 
 ner as by their laws permits either party to marry 
 again. God knows whether it was at this time or in 
 some other fond fit, but it is certain the king had the 
 weakness to make her a formal contract of marriage, 
 which, though it could signify nothing during the life 
 of the queen, pleased her so well that she could not 
 be contented without telling all the people she saw 
 and giving herself the airs of a queen. Men endure 
 everything while they are in love; but when the ex¬ 
 cess of passion was cooled by long possession, his 
 majesty began to reflect on the ill consequences of 
 leaving such a paper in her hands, and desired to 
 have it restored to him. She rather chose to endure 
 all the most violent effects of his anger than give it 
 up; and though she is one of the richest and most 
 avaricious ladies of her country, she has refused the 
 offer of the continuation of a large pension and the 
 security of a vast sum of money she has amassed, 
 and has at last provoked the king to confine her per¬ 
 son, where she endures all the terrors of a strait im¬ 
 prisonment and remains still inflexible either to 
 threats or promises, though her violent passions have 
 brought her into fits, which it is supposed will soon 
 put an end to her life. I cannot forbear having some 
 compassion for a woman that suffers for a point of 
 honor, however mistaken, especially in a country 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 93 
 
 where points of honor are not over-scrupulously ob¬ 
 served among ladies. 
 
 I could have wished Mr. W.’s business had per¬ 
 mitted a longer stay at Dresden. 
 
 Perhaps I am partial to a town where they profess 
 the Protestant religion ; but everything seemed to me 
 with quite another air of politeness than I have found 
 in other places. Leipzig, where 1 am at present, is a 
 town very considerable for its trade; and I take this 
 opportunity of buying pages’ liveries, gold stuffs for 
 myself, etc., all things of that kind being at least 
 double the price at Vienna, partly because of the 
 excessive customs and partly the want of genius and 
 industry in the people, who make no one sort of 
 thing there ; and the ladies are obliged to send even 
 for their shoes out of Saxony. The fair here is one 
 of the most considerable in Germany, and the resort 
 of all the people of quality, as well as the merchants. 
 This is a fortified town; but I avoid ever mentioning 
 fortifications, being sensible that I know not how to 
 speak of them. I am the more easy under my igno¬ 
 rance when I reflect that I am sure you will willingly 
 forgive the omission; for if I made you the most 
 exact description of all the ravelins and bastions I 
 see in my travels, I dare swear you would ask me, 
 What is a ravelin ? and What is a bastion ? 
 
 Adieu, my dear sister. 
 
94 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 TO THE LADY R. [RICH.] 
 
 Hanover, Dec. i, o. s. [1716]. 
 
 I am very glad, my dear Lady R., that you have 
 been so well pleased, as you tell me, at the report of 
 my returning to England; though, like other pleas¬ 
 ures, I can assure you it has no real foundation. I 
 hope you know me enough to take my word against 
 any report concerning myself. ’T is true as to dis¬ 
 tance of place, I am much nearer to London than 
 I was some weeks ago; but as to the thoughts of a 
 return, I never was farther off in my life. I own I 
 could with great joy indulge the pleasing hopes of 
 seeing you and the very few others that share my 
 
 esteem ; but while Mr.-[Wortley] is determined 
 
 to proceed in his design, I am determined to 
 follow him. 
 
 I am running on upon my own affairs; that is to 
 say, I am going to write very dully, as most people 
 do when they write of themselves. I will make haste 
 to change the disagreeable subject by telling you 
 that I have now got into the region of beauty. All 
 the women have literally rosy cheeks, snowy fore¬ 
 heads and bosoms, jet eye-brows, and scarlet lips, to 
 which they generally add coal-black hair. These 
 perfections never leave them till the hour of their 
 deaths, and have a very fine effect by candle-light; 
 but I could wish they were handsome with a little 
 more variety. They resemble one another as much 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 95 
 
 as Mrs. Salmon’s Court of Great Britain, 1 and are in 
 as much danger of melting away by too near ap¬ 
 proaching the fire, which they for that reason care¬ 
 fully avoid, though it is now such excessive cold 
 weather that I believe they suffer extremely by that 
 piece of self-denial. 
 
 The snow is already very deep, and people begin 
 to slide about in their traineaus. This is a favorite 
 diversion all over Germany. They are little ma¬ 
 chines fixed upon a sledge, that hold a lady and 
 gentleman, and are drawn by one horse. The 
 gentleman has the honor of driving, and they move 
 with a prodigious swiftness. The lady, the horse, 
 and the traineau are all as fine as they can be made ; 
 and when there are many of them together, it is a 
 very agreeable show. At Vienna, where all pieces of 
 magnificence are carried to excess, there are some¬ 
 times traineaus that cost five or six hundred pounds 
 English. . . . 
 
 Adieu, my dear Lady R. ; continue to write 
 to me, and believe none of your goodness is lost 
 upon 
 
 Your, etc. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF-[MAR.] 
 
 Blankenburg, Dec. 17, o. s. [1716]. 
 
 I received yours, dear sister, the very day I left 
 Hanover. You may easily imagine I was then in 
 
 1 A waxwork show, as famous then as Madame Taus- 
 sand’s later. 
 
96 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 too great a hurry to answer it; but you see I take 
 the first opportunity of doing myself that pleasure 
 I came here the 15th, very late at night, after r 
 terrible journey in the worst roads and weather that 
 ever poor traveller suffered. I have taken this 1 tie 
 fatigue merely to oblige the reigning empress 
 carry a message from her imperial majesty to he 
 Duchess of Blankenburg, her mother, who is a p 
 cess of great address and good breeding, and ma\ 
 still called a fine woman. It was so late when 1 
 came to this town, I did not think it proper to dis 
 turb the duke and duchess with the news of my 
 arrival, and took up my quarters in a miserable m 
 but as soon as I had sent my compliments to 
 their highnesses, they immediately sent me their ov 
 coach and six horses, which had however enoug j 0 
 do to draw us up the very high hill on which the cas 
 tie is situated. The duchess is extremely obliging 
 to me, and this little court is not without its diver 
 sions. The duke t s 
 
 the duchess tells m _h ased ' 1 
 
 my company that rr kes .. r p <y less than 
 used to do. I she ild find it very difficult to 
 time to write if she was not now a* churm 
 cannot wait on her, not understanding the lar 
 enough to pay my devotions in it 
 
 You will not forgive me if I do not say some' j 
 of Hanover; I cannot tell you that the town i< 
 large or magnificent. The opera-house, which > 
 built by the late El > tor, is much finer than tl 
 Vienna. I was very sorry that the ill weather 
 not permit me to see Hernhausen in all its be 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 97 
 
 spite of the snow, I thought the gardens very 
 [ was particularly surprised at the vast number 
 ge trees, much larger than I have ever seen in 
 d, though this climate is certainly colder, 
 tad more reason to wonder that night at the 
 table. There was brought to him from a 
 lan of this country two large baskets full of 
 mges and lemons of different sorts, many of 
 whicl were quite new to me; and, what I thought 
 ill the rest, two ripe ananas, 1 which, to my 
 tasti - e a fruit perfectly delicious. You know they 
 urally the growth of Brazil, and I could not 
 im i' how they could come there but by enchant- 
 Upon inquiry, I learned that they have brought 
 oves to such perfection, they lengthen the 
 ■ as long as they please, giving to every plant 
 ree of heat it would receive from the sun in 
 e soil. The effect is very near the same. I 
 irised we do not practise in England so useful 
 an ntion. 
 
 'Phis reflection naturally leads me to consider our 
 oh-; cy in shaking with cold six months in the 
 her than make use of stoves, which are cer- 
 tainly ae of the greatest conveniences of life ; and 
 so !.-•• rom spoiling the form of a room, they add 
 much to the magnificence of it, when they are 
 painti and gilt, as at Vienna, or at Dresden, where 
 ihey are often in the shape of china jars, statues, 
 or fine cabinets, so naturally represented they are 
 no t< be distinguished. If ever I return, in defi- 
 
 1 Bananas probably. Evidently this letter was written 
 before t e days of hot-houses. 
 
 7 
 
98 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 ance to the fashion, you shall certainly see one in 
 the chamber of, 
 
 Dear sister, etc. 
 
 I will write often, since you desire it; but I must 
 beg you to be a little more particular in yours. You 
 fancy me at forty miles’ distance, and forget that 
 after so long an absence I cannot understand hints. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 TO THE ABBOT-.» 
 
 Vienna, Jart. 2, o. s., 1717. 
 
 I am really almost tired with the life of Vienna. I 
 am not, indeed, an enemy to dissipation and hurry, 
 much less to amusement and pleasure ; but I cannot 
 endure long even pleasure when it is fettered with 
 formality and assumes the air of system. ’Tis true 
 I have had here some very agreeable connections, 
 and what will perhaps surprise you, I have particular 
 pleasure in my Spanish acquaintances, Count Oro- 
 pesa and General Puebla. These two noblemen are 
 much in the good graces of the Emperor, and yet 
 they seem to be brewing mischief. The Court of 
 Madrid cannot reflect without pain upon the terri¬ 
 tories that were cut off from the Spanish monarchy 
 by the peace of Utrecht, and it seems to be looking 
 wishfully out for an opportunity of getting them back 
 again. . . . 
 
 I made acquaintance yesterday with the famous 
 1 The Abbe Conti, it is presumed. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 99 
 
 poet Rousseau, 1 who lives here under the peculiar 
 protection of Prince Eugene, by whose liberality he 
 subsists. He passes here for a free-thinker, and 
 what is still worse in my esteem, for a man whose 
 heart does not feel the encomiums he gives to vir¬ 
 tue and honor in his poems. I like his odes might¬ 
 ily. They are much superior to the lyric produc¬ 
 tions of our English poets, few of whom have made 
 any figure in that kind of poetry. I don’t find 
 that learned men abound here. There is indeed 
 a prodigious number of alchemists at Vienna; the 
 philosopher’s stone is the great object of zeal and 
 science, and those who have more reading and ca¬ 
 pacity than the vulgar have transported their super¬ 
 stition (shall I call it ?) or fanaticism from religion 
 to chemistry; and they believe in a new kind of 
 transubstantiation, which is designed to make the 
 laity as rich as the other kind has made the priest¬ 
 hood. This pestilential passion has already ruined 
 several great houses. There is scarcely a man of 
 opulence or fashion that has not an alchemist in his 
 service ; and even the Emperor is supposed to be no 
 enemy to this folly in secret, though he has pretended 
 to discourage it in public. 
 
 Prince Eugene was so polite as to show me his 
 library yesterday. We found him attended by Rous¬ 
 seau and his favorite, Count Bonneval, who is a man 
 of wit and is here thought to be a very bold and en¬ 
 terprising spirit. The library, though not very ample, 
 is well chosen; but as the Prince will admit into it 
 no editions but what are beautiful and pleasing to 
 1 J. B. Rousseau, not Jean Jacques. 
 
100 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 the eye, and there are nevertheless numbers o! ex¬ 
 cellent books that are but indifferently printed, this 
 finnikin and foppish taste makes many disagreeable 
 chasms in this collection. The books are pompously 
 bound in Turkey leather, and two of the most 
 famous bookbinders of Paris were expressly sent for 
 to do this work. Bonneval pleasantly told me that 
 there were several quartos on the art of war that were 
 bound with the skins of spahis and janizaries; and 
 this jest, which was indeed elegant, raised a smile 
 of pleasure on the grave countenance of the famous 
 warrior. The Prince, who is a connoisseur in the fine 
 arts, showed me with particular pleasure the famous 
 collection of portraits that formerly belonged to Fou- 
 quet, and which he purchased at an excessive price. 
 He has augmented it with a considerable number of 
 new acquisitions, so that he has now in his possession 
 such a collection in that kind as you will scarcely find 
 in any ten cabinets in Europe. If I told you the 
 number, you would say that I make an indiscreet use 
 of the permission to lie, which is more or less given 
 to travellers by the indulgence of the candid. 
 
 Count Tarrocco is just come in, — he is the only 
 person I have excepted this morning in my general 
 order to receive no company. I think I see you 
 smile, but I am not so far gone as to stand in 
 need of absolution ; though as the human heart is de¬ 
 ceitful and the Count very agreeable, you may think 
 that even though I should not want an absolution, I 
 would nevertheless be glad to have an indulgence. 
 No such thing. However, as I am a heretic and 
 you no confessor, I shall make no declarations on 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 IOI 
 
 this head. The design of the Count’s visit is a ball; 
 more pleasure ! I shall be surfeited. 
 
 Adieu, etc. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 TO THE ABBOT -[The Abbe Conti], 
 
 Adrianople, April i, o. s. [1717]. 
 
 You see that I am very exact in keeping the 
 promise you engaged me to make ; but I know not 
 whether your curiosity will be satisfied with the ac¬ 
 counts I shall give you, though I can assure you 
 that the desire I have to oblige you to the utmost of 
 my power has made me very diligent in my inquiries 
 and observations. It is certain we have but very im¬ 
 perfect relations of the manners and religion of these 
 people. . . . The Turks are too proud to converse 
 familiarly with merchants, etc., who can only pick up 
 some confused informations which are generally false ; 
 and they can give no better account of the ways here 
 than a French refugee lodging in a garret in Greek 
 Street could write of the Court of England. 
 
 The journey we have made from Belgrade hither by 
 land cannot possibly be passed by any out of a public 
 character. The desert woods of Servia are the com¬ 
 mon refuge of thieves, who rob, fifty in a company, 
 [so] that we had need of all our guards to secure 
 us, and the villages so poor that only force could 
 extort from them necessary provisions. Indeed the 
 janizaries had no mercy on their poverty, killing all 
 the poultry and sheep they could find without asking 
 whom they belonged to; while the wretched owners 
 
102 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 durst not put in their claim, for fear of being beaten. 
 . . . When the pashas travel, it is yet worse. Those 
 oppressors are not content with eating all that is to 
 be eaten belonging to the peasants ; after they have 
 crammed themselves and their numerous retinue, 
 they have [the] impudence to exact what they call 
 “ teeth-money,” a contribution for the use of their 
 teeth worn with doing them the honor of devouring 
 their meat. This is a literal known truth, however 
 extravagant it seems. . . . 
 
 I had the advantage of lodging three weeks at 
 Belgrade with a principal effendi, that is to say, a 
 scholar. This set of men are equally capable of pre¬ 
 ferments in the law or the Church, those two sciences 
 being cast into one, a lawyer and a priest being 
 the same word. . . . The Grand Signior, though 
 general heir to his people, never presumes to touch 
 their lands or money, which go in an uninterrupted 
 succession to their children. It is true, they lose 
 this privilege by accepting a place at Court or the 
 title of pasha; but there are few examples of such 
 fools among them. You may easily judge the power 
 of these men, who have engrossed all the learning, 
 and almost all the wealth, of the empire. ’T is they 
 that are the real authors, though the soldiers are the 
 actors, of revolutions. They deposed the late Sultan 
 Mustapha; and their power is so well known, it is 
 the Emperor’s interest to flatter them. 
 
 This is a long digression. I was going to tell you 
 that an intimate daily conversation with the effendi 
 Achmet-Beg gave me an opportunity of knowing their 
 religion and morals in a more particular manner than 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 103 
 
 perhaps any Christian ever did. I explained to him 
 the difference between the religion of England and 
 Rome; and he was pleased to hear there were Chris¬ 
 tians that did not worship images, or adore the Virgin 
 Mary. The ridicule of transubstantiation appeared 
 very strong to him. Upon comparing our creeds 
 
 together, I am convinced that if our friend Dr.- 
 
 had free liberty of preaching here, it would be very 
 easy to persuade the generality to Christianity, whose 
 notions are already little different from his. Mr. 
 
 Wh-[Whiston] would make a very good apostle 
 
 here. I don’t doubt but his zeal will be much fired, 
 if you communicate this account to him ; but tell 
 him he must first have the gift of tongues, before he 
 could possibly be of any use. 
 
 Mahometism is divided into as many sects as 
 Christianity; and the first institution as much ne¬ 
 glected and obscured by interpretations. I cannot 
 here forbear reflecting on the natural inclination of 
 mankind to make mysteries and novelties. . . . But 
 the most prevailing opinion, if you search into the 
 secret of the effendis, is plain deism. But this is 
 kept from the people, who are amused with a thou¬ 
 sand different notions, according to the different 
 interests of their preachers. There are very few 
 amongst them (Achmet-Beg denied there were any) 
 so absurd as to set up for wit by declaring they 
 believe no God at all. Sir Paul Rycaut is mistaken 
 (as he commonly is) in calling the sect muterin (that 
 is, the secret with us) atheists, they being deists, and 
 their impiety consists in making a jest of their 
 prophet. Achmet-Beg did not own to me that he 
 
104 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 was of this opinion, but made no scruple of devi - 
 ting from some part of Mahomet’s law by drinkii . 
 wine with the same freedom we did. When I ask< d 
 him how he came to allow himself that liberty, 1 e 
 made answer, all the creatures of God were goo 
 and designed for the use of man; however, that tl 
 prohibition of wine was a very wise maxim, ar 
 meant for the common people, being the source of 
 all disorders among them ; but that the Prophet never 
 designed to confine those that knew how to use 
 with moderation. However, scandal ought to b 
 avoided, and that he never drank it in public. Th s 
 is the general way of thinking among them, and vei 
 few forbear drinking wine that are able to afford i 
 He assured me that if I understood Arabic, I shoul 
 be very well pleased with reading the Alcoran, whic 
 is so far from the nonsense we charge it with, it 
 the purest morality, delivered in the very best lar 
 guage. I have since heard impartial Christian 
 speak of it in the same manner; and I don’t doul 
 but all our translations are from copies got from th 
 Greek priests, who would not fail to falsify it wit 
 the extremity of malice. No body of men ever were 
 more ignorant and more corrupt; yet they differ s 
 little from the Romish church, I confess nothing give 
 me a greater abhorrence of the cruelty of your clerg 
 than the barbarous persecution of them, wheneve 
 they have been their masters, for no other reaso i 
 than not acknowledging the Pope. . . . 
 
 But of all the religions I have seen, the Arnaou 
 seem to me the most particular. They are natives 
 of Arnaoutlich, the ancient Macedonia, and still re 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 105 
 
 tain something of the courage and hardiness, though 
 they have' lost the name, of Macedonians, being the 
 ia in the Turkish empire, and the only check 
 upoi the janizaries. They are foot-soldiers. We 
 1 lard of them, relieved in every considerable 
 passed ; they are all clothed and armed at 
 n expense; generally lusty young fellows, 
 n clean, white coarse cloth, carrying guns of 
 ious length, which they run with on their 
 si I- i< is as if they did not feel the weight of them, 
 1 < r singing a sort of rude tune, not unpleasant, 
 and rest making up the chorus. These people, 
 tween Christians and Mahometans and not 
 lied in controversy, declare that they are 
 ur 1 iable to judge which religion is best; but, 
 tain of not entirely rejecting the truth, they 
 ,v- lently follow both, and go to the mosques on 
 ! u, iy- nd the church on Sundays, saying for their 
 xcu s hat at the Day of Judgment they are sure of 
 >■ n from the true prophet; but which that is, 
 
 . lot able to determine in this world. I believe 
 >0 other race of mankind have so modest an 
 i.ni' >f their own capacity. 
 
 Mi are the remarks I have made on the diver- 
 ,-iu of .'ligions I have seen. I don’t ask your par- 
 ■oi lor the liberty I have taken in speaking of the 
 I know you equally condemn the quackery 
 urches as much as you revere the sacred 
 ir - I. which we both agree. 
 
 ■ hs now told you all that is worth telling you, 
 aps more, relating to my journey. When I 
 
106 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 am at Constantinople, I ’ll try to pick up some curi¬ 
 osities, and then you shall hear again from 
 
 Yours, etc. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 TO MRS. S. C- [MISS SARAH CHISWELL]. 1 
 
 Adrianople, April i, o. s. [1717]. 
 
 In my opinion, dear S., I ought rather to quarrel 
 with you for not answering my Nimeguen letter of 
 August till December than to excuse my not writing 
 again till now. I am sure there is on my side a very 
 good excuse for silence, having gone such tiresome 
 land-journeys, though I don’t find the conclusion of 
 them so bad as you seem to imagine. I am very 
 easy here, and not in the solitude you fancy me. 
 The great quantity of Greek, French, English, and 
 Italians that are under our protection make their 
 court to me from morning till night, and, I ’ll assure 
 you, are many of them very fine ladies; for there is 
 no possibility for a Christian to live easily under this 
 government but by the protection of an ambassador, 
 and the richer they are, the greater their danger. 
 
 Those dreadful stories you have heard of the 
 plague have very little foundation in truth. I own I 
 have much ado to reconcile myself to the sound of a 
 word which has always given me such terrible ideas, 
 though I am convinced there is little more in it than 
 a fever. As a proof of which we passed through two 
 or three towns most violently infected. In the very 
 
 1 She was an early friend of Lady Mary. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. lOJ 
 
 next house where we lay (in one of those places) two 
 persons died of it. Luckily for me, I was so well 
 deceived that I knew nothing of the matter; and 
 I was made believe that our second cook who fell 
 ill here had only a great cold. However, we left our 
 doctor to take care of him, and yesterday they both 
 arrived here in good health ; and I am now let into the 
 secret that he has had- the plague. There are many 
 that escape it; neither is the air ever infected. I am 
 persuaded it would be as easy to root it out here as 
 out of Italy and France; but it does so little mis¬ 
 chief, they are not very solicitous about it, and are 
 content to suffer this distemper instead of our variety, 
 which they are utterly unacquainted with. 
 
 A propos of distempers, I am going to tell you a 
 thing that I am sure will make you wish yourself 
 here. The smallpox, so fatal and so general amongst 
 us, is here entirely harmless by the invention of in¬ 
 grafting, which is the term they give it. There is a 
 set of old women who make it their business to per¬ 
 form the operation every autumn, in the month of 
 September, when the great heat is abated. People 
 send to one another to know if any of their family 
 has a mind to have the smallpox; they make par¬ 
 ties for this purpose, and when they are met (com¬ 
 monly fifteen or sixteen together), the old woman 
 comes with a nut-shell full of the matter of the best 
 sort of smallpox, and asks what veins you please to 
 have opened. She immediately rips open that you 
 offer to her with a large needle (which gives you no 
 more pain than a common scratch) and puts into 
 
108 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 the vein as much venom as can lie upon the head of 
 her needle, and after binds up the little wound with a 
 hollow bit of shell; and in this manner opens four or 
 five veins. The Grecians have commonly the super¬ 
 stition of opening one in the middle of the forehead, 
 in each arm, and on the breast, to mark the sign of 
 the cross; but this has a very ill effect, all these 
 wounds leaving little scars, and is not done by those 
 that are not superstitious, who choose to have them 
 in the legs, or that part of the arm that is concealed. 
 The children or young patients play together all the 
 rest of the day, and are in perfect health to the 
 eighth. Then the fever begins to seize them, and 
 they keep their beds two days, very seldom three. 
 They have very rarely above twenty or thirty in their 
 faces, which never mark; and in eight days’ time 
 they are as well as before their illness. Where they 
 are wounded, there remain running sores during the 
 distemper, which I don’t doubt is a great relief to it. 
 Every year thousands undergo this operation; and 
 the French ambassador says pleasantly that they take 
 the smallpox here by way of diversion, as they take 
 the waters in other countries. There is no example 
 of any one that has died in it; and you may believe 
 I am very well satisfied of the safety of the experi¬ 
 ment, since I intend to try it on my dear little son. 
 
 I am patriot enough to take pains to bring this use¬ 
 ful invention into fashion in England ; and I should 
 not fail to write to some of our doctors very particu¬ 
 larly about it, if I knew any one of them that I thought 
 had virtue enough to destroy such a considerable 
 branch of their revenue for the good of mankind. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU- IO9 
 
 But that distemper is too beneficial to them not to 
 expose to all their resentment the hardy wight that 
 should undertake to put an end to it. Perhaps, if I 
 live to return, I may, however, have courage to war 
 with them. Upon this occasion admire the heroism 
 in the heart of your friend, etc. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 TO HER R. H. THE P-[PRINCESS OF WALES ] 1 
 
 Adrianople, April i, o. s. [1717]. 
 
 I have now, madam, past a journey that has not 
 been undertaken by any Christian since the time of 
 the Greek emperors; 2 and I shall not regret all the 
 fatigues I have suffered in it, if it gives me an oppor¬ 
 tunity of amusing your R. H. by an account of places 
 utterly unknown amongst us, — the Emperor’s ambas¬ 
 sadors, and those few English that have come hither, 
 always going on the Danube to Nicopolis. But that 
 
 river was now frozen, and Mr.- [Wortley] so 
 
 zealous for the service of his Majesty, he would not 
 defer his journey to wait for the conveniency of that 
 passage. 
 
 We crossed the deserts of Servia, almost quite 
 overgrown with wood, though a country naturally fer¬ 
 tile, and the inhabitants industrious ; but the oppres¬ 
 sion of the peasants is so great, they are forced to 
 abandon their houses and neglect their tillage, all 
 
 1 Afterwards Queen Caroline, wife of George II. 
 
 2 Not the fact. Sir William Hussey had made the same 
 journey in King William’s time. 
 
110 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 they have being a prey to the janizaries, whenever 
 they please to seize upon it. We had a guard of five 
 hundred of them, and I was almost in tears every 
 day to see their insolencies in the poor villages 
 through which we passed. 
 
 After seven days’ travelling through thick woods, 
 we came to Nissa, once the capital of Servia, situate 
 in a fine plain on the river Nissava, in a very good air, 
 and so fruitful a soil, that the great plenty is hardly 
 credible. I was certainly assured that the quantity 
 of wine last vintage was so prodigious they were 
 forced to dig holes in the earth to put it in, not hav¬ 
 ing vessels enough in the town to hold it. The hap¬ 
 piness of this plenty is scarce perceived by the 
 oppressed people. I saw here a new occasion for 
 my compassion, — the wretches that had provided 
 twenty wagons for our baggage from Belgrade hither 
 for a certain hire being all sent back without pay¬ 
 ment, some of their horses lamed, and others killed, 
 without any satisfaction made for them. The poor 
 fellows came round the house weeping and tearing 
 their hair and beards in a most pitiful manner, with¬ 
 out getting anything but drubs from the insolent 
 soldiers. I cannot express to your R. H. how much 
 I was moved at this scene. I would have paid them 
 the money out of my own pocket, with all my heart, 
 but it had been only giving so much to the aga, who 
 would have taken it from them without any remorse. 
 
 After four days’ journey from this place over the 
 mountains, we came to Sophia, situate in a large, 
 beautiful plain on the river Isca, or Iscse, surrounded 
 with distant mountains. It is hardly possible to see 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 111 
 
 a more agreeable landscape. The city itself is very 
 large and extremely populous. Here are hot baths, 
 very famous for their medicinal virtues. Four days’ 
 journey from hence we arrived at Philipopoli, after 
 having passed the ridges between the mountains of 
 Hternus and Rhodope, which are always covered 
 with snow. This town is situate on a rising ground 
 near the river Hebrus, and is almost wholly inhabited 
 by Greeks; here are still some ancient Christian 
 churches. They have a bishop, and several of the 
 richest Greeks live here; but they are forced to con¬ 
 ceal their wealth with great care, the appearance of 
 poverty (which includes part of its inconveniences) 
 being all their security against feeling it in earnest. 
 The country from hence to Adrianople is the finest 
 in the world. Vines grow wild on all the hills; and 
 the perpetual spring they enjoy makes everything 
 look gay and flourishing. But this climate, as happy 
 as it seems, can never be preferred to England, with 
 all its snows and frosts, while we are blessed with an 
 easy government, under a king who makes his own 
 happiness consist in the liberty of his people, and 
 chooses rather to be looked upon as their father 
 than their master. 
 
 This theme would carry me very far, and I am 
 sensible that I have already tired out your R. H.’s pa¬ 
 tience. But my letter is in your hands, and you may 
 make it as short as you please by throwing it into the 
 fire when you are weary of reading it. 
 
 I am, madam, 
 
 With the greatest respect, etc. 
 
112 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 TO THE LADY-.» 
 
 V 
 
 Adrianople, April i, o. s. [1717] 
 
 I am now got into a new world, where everythi _■ 
 I see appears to me a change of scene ; and I writ 
 to your ladyship with some content of mind, hoping 
 at least that you will find the charm of novelty in m> 
 letters, and no longer reproach me that I tell you 
 nothing extraordinary. 
 
 I won’t trouble you with a relation of our tedious 
 journey; but I must not omit what I saw remarkal _ 
 at Sophia, one of the most beautiful towns in the Tui 
 ish empire, and famous for its hot baths, that are : 
 sorted to both for diversion and health. I stopp 
 here one day on purpose to see them. Desiring 
 go incognita, I hired a Turkish coach. These voiturc 
 are not at all like ours, but much more convenie t 
 for the country, the heat being so great that glass es 
 would be very troublesome. They are made a go 
 deal in the manner of the Dutch coaches, having 
 wooden lattices painted and gilded; the inside bei t 
 painted with baskets and nosegays of flowers, int« j r 
 mixed commonly with little poetical mottoes. Th 
 are covered all over with scarlet cloth lined with si, 
 and very often richly embroidered and fringed 
 This covering entirely hides the persons in the . 
 but may be thrown back at pleasure, and the 
 ladies peep through the lattices. They hold four 
 
 1 Wharncliffe’s edition says Lady Rich. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 113 
 
 very conveniently, seated on cushions, but 
 
 1, t raised. 
 
 ne of these covered wagons I went to the 
 about ten o’clock. It was already full of 
 ;. It is built of stone, in the shape of a dome, 
 o windows but in the roof, which gives light 
 . There were five of these domes joined to- 
 the outmost being less than the rest, and serv- 
 y as a hall, where the portress stood at the 
 Ladies of quality generally give this woman 
 le of a crown or ten shillings; and I did not 
 ;r that ceremony. The next room is a very 
 me paved with marble, and all round it, 
 two sofas of marble, one above another, 
 vere four fountains of cold water in this room, 
 '1 first into marble basins, and then running 
 floor in little channels made for that pur- 
 hich carried the streams into the next room, 
 ing less than this, with the same sort of 
 sofas, but so hot with steams of sulphur 
 ling from the baths joining to it, it was 
 i > os' ble to stay there with one’s clothes on. 
 
 o other domes were the hot baths, one of 
 w ici. had cocks of cold water turning into it, to 
 it to what degree of warmth the bathers 
 mind to. 
 
 as in my travelling habit, which is a riding- 
 md certainly appeared very extraordinary to 
 1 Yet there was not one of them that showed 
 
 t . le; st surprise or impertinent curiosity, but re- 
 me with all the obliging civility possible. 1 
 10 European court where the ladies would have 
 8 
 
114 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 behaved themselves in so polite a manner to a stran¬ 
 ger. I believe in the whole there were two hundred 
 women, and yet none of those disdainful smiles or 
 satiric whispers that never fail in our assemblies 
 when anybody appears that is not dressed exactly in 
 the fashion. They repeated over and over to me, 
 “ Uzelle, p£k, uzelle,” which is nothing but “ charm¬ 
 ing, very charming.” The first sofas were covered 
 with cushions and rich carpets, on which sat the 
 ladies; and on the second their slaves behind them, — 
 but without any distinction of rank by their dress, all 
 being in the state of nature; that is, in plain English, 
 stark naked, without any beauty or defect concealed. 
 Yet there was not the least wanton smile or immod¬ 
 est gesture amongst them. They walked and moved 
 with the same majestic grace which Milton describes 
 of our general mother. There were many amongst 
 them as exactly proportioned as ever any goddess 
 was drawn by the pencil of Guido or Titian; and 
 most of their skins shiningly white, only adorned 
 by their beautiful hair divided into many tresses, 
 hanging on their shoulders, braided either with 
 pearl or ribbon, perfectly representing the figures of 
 the Graces. 
 
 I was here convinced of the truth of a reflection 
 I had often made, that if it was the fashion to go 
 naked, the face would be hardly observed. I per¬ 
 ceived that the ladies with the finest skins and most 
 delicate shapes had the greatest share of my admira¬ 
 tion, though their faces were sometimes less beautiful 
 than those of their companions. To tell you the 
 truth, I had wickedness enough to wish secretly that 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 115 
 
 Mr. Jervas 1 could have been there invisible. I fancy 
 it would have very much improved his art to see so 
 many fine women naked, in different postures, — 
 some in conversation, some working, others drinking 
 coffee or sherbert, and many negligently lying on 
 their cushions, while their slaves (generally pretty 
 girls of seventeen or eighteen) were employed in 
 braiding their hair in several pretty fancies. In short, 
 it is the women’s coffee-house, where all the news of 
 the town is told, scandal invented, etc. They gen¬ 
 erally take this diversion once a week, and stay there 
 at least four or five hours, without getting cold by 
 immediate coming out of the hot bath into the cold 
 room, which was very surprising to me. The lady 
 that seemed the most considerable among them en¬ 
 treated me to sit by her, and would fain have un¬ 
 dressed me for the bath. I excused myself with 
 some difficulty. They being all so earnest in per¬ 
 suading me, I was at last forced to open my dress 
 and show them my stays, which satisfied them very 
 well ; for I saw they believed I was so locked up in 
 that machine that it was not in my own power to 
 open it, which contrivance they attributed to my hus¬ 
 band. I was charmed with their civility and beauty, 
 and should have been very glad to pass more time 
 
 with them ; but Mr. W- [Wortley] resolving to 
 
 pursue his journey the next morning early, I was in 
 haste to see the ruins of Justinian’s church, which did 
 not afford me so agreeable a prospect as I had left, 
 being little more than a heap of stones. 
 
 Adieu, madam; I am sure I have now entertained 
 1 Sir Geoffrey Kneller. 
 
1 1 6 LE TTERS OF LADY MO NT A G U. 
 
 you with an account of such a sight as you never saw 
 in your life, and what no book of travels could inform 
 you of. ’Tis no less than death for a man to be 
 found in one of these -places . 1 
 
 1 Dr. Russel, an author of great credit, in his “ History 
 of Aleppo,” questions the truth of the account here given by 
 Lady Mary Wortley, affirming that the native ladies of that city, 
 with whom, as their physician, he had permission to converse 
 through a lattice, denied to him the prevalence, and almost 
 the existence of the custom she describes, and even seemed 
 as much scandalized at hearing of it as if they had been born 
 and bred in England. The writer of this note confesses to 
 having entertained doubts upon this point, arising from the 
 statement of Dr. Russel; but these doubts were removed by 
 the testimony of a lady who travelled some years ago in 
 Turkey, and was several months an inmate of the English 
 ambassador’s house at Pera, whose veracity no one who knew 
 her could doubt, and whose word would have been taken be¬ 
 fore the oaths of a whole harem. That lady, having been 
 prevented by circumstances from visiting the baths at Con¬ 
 stantinople, had an opportunity of doing so at Athens, and 
 there she found Lady Mary’s account strictly correct in the 
 main points, although the sight did not inspire her with the 
 same degree of admiration. To use a trite metaphor, she 
 found Lady Mary’s outline faithful, but her coloring too vivid. 
 It may therefore be fairly presumed that the Aleppo ladies, 
 perceiving the doctor’s opinion of the custom, thought fit to 
 disclaim it, or that it really did not prevail in that particular 
 city, and their knowledge went no further. — W. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 II 7 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF B - [BRISTOL]. 
 
 Adrianople, April i, o s [1717]. 
 
 As I never can forget the smallest of your lady¬ 
 ship’s commands, my first business here has been to 
 enquire after the stuffs you ordered me to look for, 
 without being able to find what you would like. The 
 difference of the dress here and at London is so 
 great, the same sort of things are not proper for caf- 
 tdns and manteaus. However, I will not give over 
 my search, but renew it again at Constantinople, 
 though I have reason to believe there is nothing 
 finer than what is to be found here, being the present 
 residence of the court. The Grand Signior’s eldest 
 daughter was married some few days before I came; 
 and upon that occasion the Turkish ladies display all 
 their magnificence. The bride was conducted to 
 her husband’s house in very great splendor. She is 
 widow of the late Vizier, who was killed at Peter- 
 waradin ; though that ought rather to be called a con¬ 
 tract than a marriage, not having ever lived with him ; 
 however, the greatest part of his wealth is hers. He 
 had the permission of visiting her in the seraglio, 
 and being one of the handsomest men in the empire, 
 had very much engaged her affections. When she 
 saw this second husband, who is at least fifty, she 
 could not forbear bursting into tears. He is a man 
 of merit, and the declared favorite of the Sultan 
 (which they call mosayp), but that is not enough to 
 make him pleasing in the eyes of a girl of thirteen. 
 
1 1 8 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 The government here is entirely in the hands of 
 the army; and the Grand Signior, with all his abso¬ 
 lute power, as much a slave as any of his subjects, 
 and trembles at a janizary’s frown. Here is, indeed, 
 a much greater appearance of subjection than among 
 us ; a minister of State is not spoken to but upon the 
 knee; should a reflection on his conduct be dropped 
 in a coffee-house (for they have spies everywhere), 
 the house would be razed to the ground, and perhaps 
 the whole company put to the torture. No huzzaing 
 mobs, senseless pamphlets, and tavern disputes about 
 politics, — 
 
 “ A consequential ill that freedom draws ; 
 
 A bad effect, — but from a noble cause.” 
 
 None of our harmless calling names ! but when a 
 minister here displeases the people, in three hours’ 
 time he is dragged even from his master’s arms. 
 They cut off his hands, head, and feet, and throw 
 them before the palace gate with all the respect in 
 the world ; while that Sultan (to whom they all pro¬ 
 fess an unlimited adoration) sits trembling in his 
 apartment, and dare neither defend nor revenge a 
 favorite. This is the blessed condition of the most 
 absolute monarch upon earth, who owns no law but 
 his will. 
 
 I cannot help wishing, in the loyalty of my heart, 
 that the parliament would send hither a ship-load of 
 your passive-obedient men, that they might see arbi¬ 
 trary government in its clearest, strongest light, where 
 it is hard to judge whether the prince, people, or 
 ministers are most miserable. I could make many 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. I 19 
 
 reflections on this subject; but I know, madam, your 
 own good sense has already furnished you with better 
 than I am capable of. 
 
 I went yesterday with the French embassadress 1 to 
 see the Grand Signior in his passage to the mosque. 
 
 The Sultan appeared to us, a handsome man of 
 about forty, with a very graceful air, but something 
 severe in his countenance, his eyes very full and 
 black. He happened to stop under the window 
 where we stood, and (I suppose being told who we 
 were) looked upon us very attentively, [so] that we 
 had full leisure to consider him, and the French em¬ 
 bassadress agreed with me as to his good mien. I 
 see that lady very often ; she is young, and her con¬ 
 versation would be a great relief to me if I could 
 persuade her to live without those forms and cere¬ 
 monies that make life formal and tiresome. But she 
 is so delighted with her guards, her four-and-twenty 
 footmen, gentiemen ushers, -etc., that she would ra¬ 
 ther die than make me a visit without them ; not to 
 reckon a coachful of attending damsels yclep’d maids 
 of honor. What vexes me is that as long as she will 
 visit with a troublesome equipage, I am obliged to 
 do the same ; however, our mutual interest makes us 
 much together. 
 
 I went with her the other day all round the town 
 in an open gilt chariot, with our joint train of attend¬ 
 ants, preceded by our guards, who might have sum- 
 
 1 Madame de Bonnac, daughter of the Due de Biron. She 
 was a young woman recently married (1715) to the Marquis 
 de Bonnac. 
 
120 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 moned the people to see what they had never seen, 
 nor ever would see again, — two young Christian 
 embassadresses never yet having been in this country 
 at the same time, nor I believe ever will again. Your 
 ladyship may easily imagine that we drew a vast 
 crowd of spectators, but all silent as death. If any 
 of them had taken the liberties of our mob upon any 
 strange sight, our janizaries had made no scruple of 
 falling on them with their scimitars, without danger 
 for so doing, being above law. Yet these people 
 have some good qualities; they are very zealous and 
 faithful where they serve, and look upon it as their 
 business to fight for you upon all occasions. Of this 
 I had a very pleasant instance in a village on this 
 side Philipopolis, where we were met by our domes¬ 
 tic guard. I happened to bespeak pigeons for my 
 supper, upon which one of my janizaries went im¬ 
 mediately to the cadi (the chief civil officer of the 
 town), and ordered him to send in some dozens. 
 The poor man answered that he had already sent 
 about, but could get none. My janizary, in the 
 height of his zeal for my service, immediately locked 
 him up prisoner in his room, telling him he deserved 
 death for his impudence in offering to excuse his not 
 obeying my command; but out of respect to me, he 
 would not punish him but by my order, and accord¬ 
 ingly came very gravely to me to ask what should be 
 done to him, adding by way of compliment that if I 
 pleased he would bring me his head. This may give 
 you some idea of the unlimited power of these fel¬ 
 lows, who are all sworn brothers, and bound to re¬ 
 venge the injuries done to one another, whether at 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 121 
 
 Cairo, Aleppo, or any part of the world; and this in¬ 
 violable league makes them so powerful, the greatest 
 man at the court never speaks to them but in a flatter¬ 
 ing tone ; and in Asia, any man that is rich is forced 
 to enrol himself a janizary to secure his estate. 
 
 But I have already said enough ; and I dare swear, 
 dear madam, that by this time’t is a very comfortable 
 reflection to you that there is no possibility of your re¬ 
 ceiving such a tedious letter but once in six months; 
 ’t is that consideration has given me the assurance to 
 entertain you so long, and will, I hope, plead the 
 excuse of, dear madam, etc. 
 
 XL. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF - [MAR]. 
 
 Adrianople, April 18, o. s. [1717]. 
 
 I wrote to you, dear sister, and all my other Eng¬ 
 lish correspondents, by the last ship, and only Heaven 
 can tell when I shall have another opportunity of 
 sending to you ; but I cannot forbear writing, though 
 perhaps my letter may lie upon my hands this two 
 months. To confess the truth, my head is so full of my 
 entertainment yesterday, that’t is absolutely necessary 
 for my own repose to give it some vent. Without 
 farther preface, I will then begin my story. 
 
 I was invited to dine with the Grand Vizier's lady, 1 
 
 1 The Sultana Hafiten, favorite and widow of the Sultan 
 Mustapha, who died in 1703. She is described more fully in 
 Letter xliv. 
 
122 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 and it was with a great deal of pleasure I prepared 
 myself for an entertainment which was never given 
 before to any Christian. I thought I should very 
 little satisfy her curiosity (which I did not doubt was 
 a considerable motive to the invitation) by going in 
 a dress she was used to see, and therefore dressed 
 myself in the court habit of Vienna, which is much 
 more magnificent than ours. However, I chose to 
 go incognita , to avoid any disputes about ceremony : 
 and went in a Turkish coach, only attended by my 
 woman that held up my train, and the Greek lady 
 who was my interpretress. I was met at the court 
 door by her black eunuch, who helped me out of the 
 coach with great respect, and conducted me through 
 several rooms, where her she-slaves, finely dressed, 
 were ranged on each side. In the innermost I found 
 the lady sitting on her sofa, in a sable vest. She ad¬ 
 vanced to meet me, and presented me half a dozen 
 of her friends with great civility. She seemed a 
 very good woman, near fifty years old. I was sur¬ 
 prised to observe so little magnificence in her house, 
 the furniture being all very moderate, and except 
 the habits and number of her slaves, nothing about 
 her that appeared expensive. She guessed at my 
 thoughts, and told me that she was no longer of an 
 age to spend either her time or money in superflui¬ 
 ties ; that her whole expense was in charity, and her 
 whole employment praying to God. There was no 
 affectation in this speech; both she and her husband 
 are entirely given up to devotion. He never looks 
 upon any other woman ; and what is much more ex¬ 
 traordinary, touches no bribes, notwithstanding the 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 123 
 
 example of all his predecessors. He is so scrupulous 
 
 in this point, that he would not accept Mr. W-’s 
 
 [Wortley’s] present, till he had been assured over 
 and over that it was a settled perquisite of his place 
 at the entrance of every ambassador. 
 
 She entertained me with all kind of civility till din¬ 
 ner came in, which was served, one dish at a time, to 
 a vast number, all finely dressed after their manner, 
 which I do not think so bad as you have perhaps 
 heard it represented. I am a very good judge of 
 their eating, having lived three weeks in the house of 
 an effendi at Belgrade, who gave us very magnificent 
 dinners, dressed by his own cooks, which the first 
 week pleased me extremely; but I own I then began 
 to grow weary of it, and desired our own cook might 
 add a dish or two after our manner. But I attribute 
 this to custom. I am very much inclined to believe 
 an Indian that had never tasted of either would pre¬ 
 fer their cookery to ours. Their sauces are very 
 high, all the roast very much done. They use a 
 great deal of rich spice. The soup is served for the 
 last dish; and they have at least as great variety of 
 ragouts as we have. I was very sorry I could not eat 
 of as many as the good lady would have had me, 
 who was very earnest in serving me of everything. 
 The treat concluded with coffee and perfumes, which 
 is a high mark of respect; two slaves kneeling censed 
 my hair, clothes, and handkerchief. After this cere¬ 
 mony, she commanded her slaves to play and dance, 
 which they did with their guitars in their hands ; and 
 she excused to me their want of skill, saying she took 
 no care to accomplish them in that art. 
 
124 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 I returned her thanks, and soon after took my 
 leave. I was conducted back in the same manner I 
 entered; and would have gone straight to my own 
 i house, but the Greek lady with me earnestly solicited 
 me to visit the kiyaya's lady, 1 saying he was the sec¬ 
 ond officer in the empire, and ought indeed to be 
 looked upon as the first, the Grand Vizier having 
 only the name, while he exercised the authority. I 
 had found so little diversion in this harem that I had 
 no mind to go into another. But her importunity 
 prevailed with me, and I am extreme glad that I was 
 so complaisant. 
 
 All things here were with quite another air than at 
 the Grand Vizier’s; and the very house confessed 
 the difference between an old devotee and a young 
 beauty. It was nicely clean and magnificent. I was 
 met at the door by two black eunuchs, who led me 
 through a long gallery between two ranks of beautiful 
 young girls, with their hair finely plaited, almost 
 hanging to their feet, all dressed in fine light dam¬ 
 asks, brocaded with silver. I was sorry that decency 
 did not permit me to stop to consider them nearer. 
 But that thought was lost upon my entrance into a 
 large room, or rather pavilion, built round, with gilded 
 sashes, which were most of them thrown up; and the 
 trees planted near them gave an agreeable shade, 
 which hindered the sun from being troublesome. 
 The jessamines and honeysuckles that twisted round 
 their trunks, shedding a soft perfume, increased by a 
 white marble fountain playing sweet water in the 
 
 1 Wife of the deputy to the Grand Vizier. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 125 
 
 lower part of the room, which fell into three or four 
 basins with a pleasing sound. The roof was painted 
 with all sort of flowers, falling out of gilded baskets 
 that seemed tumbling down. On a sofa, raised 
 three steps, and covered with fine Persian car¬ 
 pets, sat the kiyaya's lady, leaning on cushions of 
 white satin, embroidered ; and at her feet sat two 
 young girls, the eldest about twelve years old, lovely 
 as angels, dressed perfectly rich, and almost covered 
 with jewels. But they were hardly seen near the fair 
 Fatima (for that is her name), so much her beauty 
 effaced everything. I have seen all that has been 
 called lovely either in England or Germany, and must 
 own that I never saw anything so gloriously beauti¬ 
 ful, nor can I recollect a face that would have been 
 taken notice of near hers. She stood up to receive 
 me, saluting me after their fashion, putting her hand 
 upon her heart with a sweetness full of majesty that 
 no court breeding could ever give. She ordered 
 cushions to be given to me, and took care to place 
 me in the corner, which is the place of honor. I 
 confess, though the Greek lady had before given 
 me a great opinion of her beauty, I was so struck 
 with admiration that I could not for some time 
 speak to her, being wholly taken up in gazing. 
 That surprising harmony of features ! that charming 
 result of the whole ! that exact proportion of body ! 
 that lovely bloom of complexion, unsullied by art ! 
 the unutterable enchantment of her smile 1 But her 
 eyes ! — large and black, with all the soft languish- 
 ment of the blue, every turn of her face discovering 
 some new charm ! 
 
126 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 She was dressed in a caftan of gold brocade, flow¬ 
 ered with silver, very well fitted to her shape, and 
 showing to advantage the beauty of her bosom, only 
 shaded by the thin gauze of her shift. Her drawers 
 were pale pink, green, and silver; her slippers white, 
 finely embroidered; her lovely arms adorned with 
 bracelets of diamonds, and her broad girdle set 
 round with diamonds ; upon her head a rich Turkish 
 handkerchief of pink and silver, her own fine black 
 hair hanging a great length in various tresses; and on 
 one side of her head some bodkins of jewels. I am 
 afraid you will accuse me of extravagance in this de¬ 
 scription. I think I have read somewhere that women 
 always speak in rapture when they speak of beauty, 
 but I cannot imagine why they should not be allowed 
 to do so. I rather think it virtue to be able to ad¬ 
 mire without any mixture of desire or envy. The 
 gravest writers have spoken with great warmth of 
 some celebrated pictures and statues. The work¬ 
 manship of Heaven certainly excels all our weak imi¬ 
 tations, and I think has a much better claim to our 
 praise. For me, I am not ashamed to own I took 
 more pleasure in looking on the beauteous Fatima 
 than the finest piece of sculpture could have given 
 me. 
 
 She told me the two girls at her feet were her 
 daughters, though she appeared too young to be 
 their mother. Her fair maids were ranged below the 
 sofa, to the number of twenty, and put me in mind of 
 the pictures of the ancient nymphs. I did not think 
 all Nature could have furnished such a scene of 
 beauty. She made them a sign to play and dance. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 127 
 
 Four of them immediately began to play some soft 
 airs on instruments between a lute and a guitar, which 
 they accompanied with their voices, while the others 
 danced by turns. This dance was very different from 
 what I had seen before. ... I suppose you may 
 have read that the Turks have no music but what is 
 shocking to the ears ; but this account is from those 
 who never heard any but what is played in the streets, 
 and is just as reasonable as if a foreigner should take 
 his ideas of the English music from the bladder and 
 string, and marrow-bones and cleavers. I can assure 
 you that the music is extremely pathetic ;’t is true I am 
 inclined to prefer the Italian, but perhaps I am par¬ 
 tial. I am acquainted with a Greek lady who sings 
 better than Mrs. Robinson, 1 and is very well skilled 
 in both, who gives the preference to the Turkish. 
 ’T is certain they have very fine, natural voices; these 
 were very agreeable. When the dance was over, 
 four fair slaves came into the room with silver cen¬ 
 sers in their hands, and perfumed the air with amber, 
 aloes wood, and other rich scents. After this they 
 served me coffee upon their knees in the finest 
 Japan china, with soncoupes of silver, gilt. The lovely 
 Fatima entertained me all this time in the most po¬ 
 lite, agreeable manner, calling me often Guzel sul- 
 tanum, or “the beautiful sultana,” and desiring my 
 friendship with the best grace in the world, la¬ 
 menting that she could not entertain me in my own 
 language. 
 
 When I took my leave, two maids brought in a fine 
 
 1 A famous opera-singer, afterwards the Countess of 
 Petersborough. 
 
128 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 silver basket of embroidered handkerchiefs; she 
 begged I would wear the richest for her sake, an< 
 gave the others to my woman and interpretress, 
 retired through the same ceremonies as before, ar 
 could not help fancying I had been some time 
 Mahomet’s paradise, so much I was charmed wi 
 what I had seen. I know not how the relation o 
 it appears to you. I wish it may give you part 
 my pleasure; for I would have my dear sister sha 
 in all the diversions of, etc. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 TO THE ABBOTT- [ABBfi CONTI]. 
 
 Constantinople, May 29, o. s. [1717]. 
 
 I have had the advantage of very fine weather £ 
 my journey ; and the summer being now in its beaut; 
 
 I enjoyed the pleasure of fine prospects; and th 
 meadows being full of all sort of garden flowers am. 
 sweet herbs, my berlin perfumed the air as it presse 
 them. The Grand Signior furnished us with thirt 
 covered wagons for our baggage, and five coachi 
 of the country for my women. We found the roar 
 full of the great spahis, and their equipages comir, 
 out of Asia to the war. They always travel win 
 tents; but I chose to lie in houses all the way. 
 
 I will not trouble you with the names of the Vi 
 lages we passed, in which there was nothing remarl 
 able; but at Tchiorlu we were lodged in a conac, o: 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 129 
 
 eraglio, built for the use of the Grand Signior 
 when he goes this road. I had the curiosity to view 
 ali the apartments destined for the ladies of his court. 
 They /ere in the midst of a thick grove of trees, 
 m. d<. fresh by fountains; but I was surprised to see 
 '.he walls almost covered with little distiches of Turk¬ 
 ish verse, written with pencils. I made my inter¬ 
 prets ■ explain them to me, and I found several of 
 then ery well turned, though I easily believed him 
 ey lost much of their beauty in the translation. 
 0 was literally thus in English : — 
 
 V come into this world ; we lodge, and we depart. 
 
 He ever goes that’s lodged within my heart.” 
 
 : is rest of our journey was through fine painted 
 mead ws, by the side of the Sea of Marmora, the 
 itiu nt Propontis. We lay the next night at Selivrea, 
 nciently a noble town. It is now a very good sea- 
 and neatly built enough, and has a bridge of 
 thirty two arches. Here is a famous ancient Greek 
 church. I had given one of my coaches to a Greek 
 lad 1 , ■/ho desired the conveniency of travelling with 
 me he designed to pay her devotions, and I was 
 1 ■ of the opportunity of going with her. I found 
 ' ill-built place, set out with the same sort of 
 
 os ents, but less rich, than the Roman Catholic 
 
 les. They showed me a saint’s body, where I 
 a piece of money, and a picture of the Virgin 
 Ma drawn by the hand of St. Luke, very little to 
 die edit of his painting; but, however, the finest 
 Ala ana of Italy is not more famous for her mira- 
 c The Greeks have a most monstrous taste in 
 
 9 
 
130 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 their pictures, which for more finery are always 
 drawn upon a gold ground. You may imagine what 
 a good air this has ; but they have no notion either 
 of shade or proportion. They have a bishop here, 
 who officiated in his purple robe, and sent me a 
 candle almost as big as myself for a present, when I 
 was at my lodging. 
 
 We lay the next night at a town called Bujuk 
 Checkmedji, or Great Bridge ; and the night follow 
 ing, Kujuc Checkmedji, Little Bridge, in a very pleas¬ 
 ant lodging, formerly a monastery of dervises, having 
 before it a large court, encompassed with marble 
 cloisters, with a good fountain in the middle. The 
 prospect from this place and the gardens round it are 
 the most agreeable I have seen; and shows that 
 monks of all religions know how to choose their re¬ 
 tirements. ’T is now belonging to a hogia, or school¬ 
 master, who teaches boys here; and asking him to 
 show me his own apartment, I was surprised to see 
 him point to a tall cypress-tree in the garden, on the 
 top of which was a room for a bed for himself, and 
 a little lower, one for his wife and two children, who 
 slept there every night. I was so diverted with the 
 fancy, I resolved to examine his nest nearer; but 
 after going up fifty steps, I found I had still fifty to 
 go [up], and then I must climb from branch to 
 branch, with some hazard of my neck. I thought 
 it the best way to come down again. 
 
 We arrived the next evening at Constantinople ; but 
 I can yet tell you very little of it, all my time having 
 been taken up with receiving visits, which are at least 
 a very good entertainment to the eyes, — the young 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 13 I 
 
 women being all beauties, and their beauty highly 
 improved by the good taste of their dress. Our pal¬ 
 ace is in Pera, which is no more a suburb of Con¬ 
 stantinople than Westminster is a suburb to London. 
 All the ambassadors are lodged very near each other. 
 One part of our house shows us the port, the city, 
 and the seraglio, and the distant hills of Asia, — per¬ 
 haps altogether the most beautiful prospect in the 
 world. 
 
 A certain French author says that Constantinople 
 is twice as large as Paris. Mr. W—— [Wortley] is 
 unwilling to own it is bigger than London, though 
 I confess it appears to me to be so ; but I don’t be¬ 
 lieve it is so populous. The burying-fields about it 
 are certainly much larger than the whole city. It is 
 surprising what a vast deal of land is lost this way in 
 Turkey. Sometimes I have seen burying-places of 
 several miles belonging to very inconsiderable vil¬ 
 lages, which were formerly great towns, and retain 
 no other mark of their ancient grandeur. On no oc¬ 
 casion do they ever remove a stone that serves for a 
 monument. Some of them are costly enough, being 
 of very fine marble. They put up a pillar with a 
 carved turban on the top of it to the memory of a 
 man ; and as the turbans, by their different shapes, 
 show the quality or profession, ’t is in a manner put¬ 
 ting up the arms of a deceased ; besides, the pillar 
 commonly bears a large inscription in gold letters. 
 The ladies have a simple pillar, without other orna¬ 
 ment, except those that die unmarried, who have a 
 rose on the top of it. ... I have got some very 
 valuable of the Macedonian kings, particularly one of 
 
132 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 Perseus, so lively, I fancy I can see all his ill qualities 
 in his face. I have a porphyry head, finely cut, of the 
 true Greek sculpture ; but who it represents is to be 
 guessed at by the learned when I return. For you 
 are not to suppose these antiquaries (who are all 
 Greeks) know anything. Their trade is only to sell; 
 they have correspondents at Aleppo, Grand Cairo, 
 in Arabia, and Palestine, who send them all they can 
 find, and very often great heaps that are only fit to 
 melt into pans and kettles. They get the best price 
 they can for any of them, without knowing those that 
 are valuable from those that are not. Those that 
 pretend to skill generally find out the image of some 
 saint in the medals of the Greek cities. One of 
 them, showing me the figure of a Pallas, with a 
 victory in her hand on a reverse, assured me it 
 was the Virgin holding a crucifix. The same man 
 offered me the head of a Socrates on a sardonyx; 
 and to enhance the value, gave him the title of Saint 
 Augustin. 
 
 I have bespoken a mummy, which I hope will 
 come safe to my hands, notwithstanding the misfor¬ 
 tune that befell a very fine one designed for the King 
 of Sweden. He gave a great price for it, and the 
 Turks took it into their heads that he must certainly 
 have some considerable project depending upon it. 
 They fancied it the body of God knows who, and 
 that the fate of their empire mystically depended on 
 the conservation of it. Some old prophecies were 
 remembered upon this occasion, and the mummy 
 committed prisoner to the Seven Towers, where it 
 has remained under close confinement ever since. I 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 133 
 
 dare not try my interest in so considerable a point as 
 the release of it, but I hope mine will pass without 
 examination. 
 
 1 can tell you nothing more at present of this fa¬ 
 mous city. When I have looked a little about me 
 you shall hear from me again. 
 
 I am, Sir, etc. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 TO MR. P- [POPE]. 
 
 Belgrade Village, June 17, o. s. [1717]. 
 
 I hope before this time you have received two or 
 three of my letters. I had yours but yesterday, 
 though dated the third of February, in which you 
 suppose me to be dead and buried. I have already 
 let you know that I am still alive ; but to say truth, 
 I look upon my present circumstances to be exactly 
 the same with those of departed spirits. 
 
 The heats of Constantinople have driven me to 
 this place, which perfectly answers the description of 
 the Elysian fields. I am in the middle of a wood, 
 consisting chiefly of fruit-trees, watered by a vast 
 number of fountains, famous for the excellency of 
 their water, and divided into many shady walks upon 
 short grass that seems to be artificial, but I am as¬ 
 sured, is the pure work of Nature, within view of the 
 Black Sea, from whence we perpetually enjoy the re¬ 
 freshment of cool breezes that make us insensible of 
 the heat of the summer. The village is only inhab- 
 
134 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 ited by the richest amongst the Christians, who meet 
 every night at a fountain forty paces from my house 
 to sing and dance; the beauty and dress of the 
 women exactly resembling the ideas of the ancient 
 nymphs, as they are given us by the representa¬ 
 tions of the poets and painters. But what persuades 
 me more fully of my decease is the situation of my 
 own mind, the profound ignorance I am in of what 
 passes among the living (which only comes to me 
 by chance), and the great calmness with which I 
 receive it. Yet I have still a hankering after my 
 friends and acquaintance left in the world, according 
 to the authority of that admirable author, — 
 
 “ That spirits departed are wondrous kind 
 To friends and relations left behind ; 
 
 Which nobody can deny.” 
 
 Of which solemn truth I am a dead instance. I 
 think Virgil is of the same opinion, that in human 
 souls there will still be some remains of human 
 passions, — 
 
 “ Curae non ipsa in morte relinquunt.” 
 
 And’t is very necessary, to make a perfect Elysium, 
 that there should be a river Lethe, which I am not 
 so happy to find. 
 
 To say truth, I am sometimes very weary of this 
 singing and dancing and sunshine, and wish for the 
 smoke and impertinencies in which you toil, though 
 I endeavor to persuade myself that I live in a more 
 agreeable variety than you do, and that Monday, 
 setting of partridges; Tuesday, reading English; 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 135 
 
 Wednesday, studying the Turkish language (in which, 
 by the way, I am already very learned) ; Thursday, 
 classical authors; Friday, spent in writing ; Saturday, 
 at my needle; and Sunday, admitting of visits and 
 hearing music, — is a better way of disposing the week 
 than Monday at the drawing room ; Tuesday, Lady 
 Mohun’s; Wednesday, the opera; Thursday, the 
 play; Friday, Mrs. Chetwynd’s, etc., — a perpetual 
 round of hearing the same scandal and seeing the 
 same follies acted over and over, which here affect 
 me no more than they do other dead people. I can 
 now hear of displeasing things with pity and with¬ 
 out indignation. The reflection on the great gulf 
 between you and me cools all news that come 
 hither. I can neither be sensibly touched with joy 
 nor grief, when I consider that possibly the cause of 
 either is removed before the letter comes to my 
 hands. But (as I said before) this indolence does 
 not extend to my few friendships ; I am still warmly 
 sensible of yours and Mr. Congreve’s, and desire to 
 live in your remembrances, though dead to all the 
 world beside. 
 
 xliii. 
 
 TO THE LADY RICH. 
 
 Belgrade Village, June 17, o. s. [1717]. 
 
 I heartily beg your ladyship’s pardon; but I 
 really could not forbear laughing heartily at your 
 letter, and the commissions you are pleased to honor 
 me with. 
 
136 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 You desire me to buy you a Greek slave, who is to 
 be mistress of a thousand good qualities. The Greeks 
 are subjects, and not slaves. Those who are to be 
 bought in that manner are either such as are taken 
 in war, or stolen by the Tartars from Russia, Cir¬ 
 cassia, or Georgia, and are such miserable, awkward, 
 poor wretches, you would not think any of them 
 worthy to be your housemaids. ’T is true that many 
 thousands were taken in the Morea; but they have 
 been, most of them, redeemed by the charitable con¬ 
 tributions of the Christians, or ransomed by their own 
 relations at Venice. The fine slaves that wait upon 
 the great ladies or serve the pleasures of the great 
 men are all bought at the age of eight or nine years 
 old, and educated with great care to accomplish 
 them in sjnging, dancing, embroidery, etc. They are 
 commonly Circassians, and their patron never sells 
 them, except it is as a punishment for some very great 
 fault. If ever they grow weary of them they either 
 present them to a friend or give them their freedom. 
 Those that are exposed to sale at the markets are 
 always either guilty of some crime, or so entirely 
 worthless that they are of no use at all. I am afraid 
 you will doubt the truth of this account, which I own 
 is very different from our common notions in Eng¬ 
 land ; but it is no less truth for all that. 
 
 Your whole letter is full of mistakes from one end 
 to the other. I see you have taken your ideas of 
 Turkey from that worthy author Dumont, who has 
 written with equal ignorance and confidence. ’T is a 
 particular pleasure to me here to read the voyages to 
 the Levant, which are generally so far removed from 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. I 37 
 
 truth, and so full of absurdities, I am very well diverted 
 with them. They never fail giving you an account 
 of the women, whom’t is certain they never saw, and 
 talking very wisely of the genius of the men, into 
 whose company they are never admitted; and very 
 often describe mosques, which they dare not peep 
 into. The Turks are very proud, and will not con¬ 
 verse with a stranger they are not assured is consider¬ 
 able in his own country. I speak of the men of 
 distinction; for as to the ordinary fellows, you may 
 imagine what ideas their conversation can give of the 
 general genius of the people. . . . 
 
 As to the balm of Mecca, I will certainly send you 
 some ; but it is not so easily got as you suppose it, 
 and I cannot, in conscience, advise you to make use 
 of it. I know not how it comes to have such uni¬ 
 versal applause. All the ladies of my acquaintance 
 at London and Vienna have begged me to send pots 
 of it to them. I have had a present of a small quan¬ 
 tity (which, I ’ll assure you, is very valuable) of the 
 best sort, and with great joy applied it to my face, 
 expecting some wonderful effect to my advantage. 
 The next morning the change indeed was wonderful; 
 my face was swelled to a very extraordinary size, 
 and all over as red as my Lady B ’s. It remained in 
 this lamentable state three days, during which you 
 may be sure I passed my time very ill. I believed it 
 would never be otherways ; and to add to my mortifica¬ 
 tion, Mr. W- [Wortley] reproached my indiscre¬ 
 
 tion without ceasing. However, my face is since in 
 statu quo ; nay, I am told by the ladies here that it 
 is much mended by the operation, which I confess I 
 
138 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 cannot perceive in my looking-glass. Indeed, if one 
 were to form an opinion of this balm from their faces, 
 one should think very well of it. They all make use 
 of it, and have the loveliest bloom in the world. For 
 my part, I never intend to endure the pain of it 
 again; let my complexion take its natural course, 
 and decay in its own due time. I have very little 
 esteem for medicines of this nature; but do as you 
 please, madam ; only remember before you use it 
 that your face will not be such as you will care to 
 show in the drawing-room for some days after. 
 
 If one was to believe the women in this country, 
 there is a surer way of making one’s self beloved 
 than by becoming handsome, though you know that’s 
 our method. But they pretend to the knowledge of 
 secrets that, by way of enchantment, give them the 
 entire empire over whom they please. For me, who 
 am not very apt to believe in wonders, I cannot find 
 faith for this. I disputed the point last night with a 
 lady who really talks very sensibly on any other sub¬ 
 ject ) but she was downright angry with me that she 
 did not perceive she had persuaded me of the truth 
 of forty stories she told me of this kind, and at last 
 mentioned several ridiculous marriages that there 
 could be no other reasons assigned for. I assured 
 her that in England, where we were entirely ignorant 
 of all magic, where the climate is not half so warm, 
 nor the women half so handsome, we were not with¬ 
 out our ridiculous marriages; and that we did not 
 look upon it as anything supernatural when a man 
 played the fool for the sake of a woman. But my 
 arguments could not convince her against (as she 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 139 
 
 said) her certain knowledge. . . . You may imagine 
 how I laughed at this discourse; but all the women 
 here are of the same opinion. They don’t pretend 
 to any commerce with the Devil, but that there are 
 certain compositions to inspire love. If one could 
 send over a ship-load of them, I fancy it would be a 
 very quick way of raising an estate. What would 
 not some ladies of our acquaintance give for such 
 merchandise ? 
 
 Adieu, my dear Lady -, I cannot conclude my 
 
 letter with a subject that affords more delightful 
 scenes to [the] imagination. I leave you to figure to 
 yourself the extreme court that will be made to me at 
 my return, if my travels should furnish me with such 
 a useful piece of learning. 
 
 I am, dear madam, etc. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF-[MAR.] 
 
 Pera of Constantinople, March 10, o. s. [171S]. 
 
 I have not written to you, dear sister, these many 
 months, — a great piece of self-denial. But I know 
 not where to direct, or what part of the world you 
 were in. 
 
 In the first place, I wish you joy of your niece ; 
 for I was brought to bed of a daughter 1 five weeks 
 ago. I don’t mention this as one of my diverting 
 adventures; though I must own that it is not half so 
 mortifying here as in England, there being as much 
 
 1 Lady Bute. 
 
140 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 difference as there is between a little cold in the 
 head, which sometimes happens here, and the con¬ 
 sumptive coughs so common in London. ... I re¬ 
 turned my visits at three weeks’ end; and about four 
 days ago crossed the sea which divides this place 
 from Constantinople to make a new one, where I 
 had the good fortune to pick up many curiosities. 
 
 I went to see the Sultana Hafte'n , 1 favorite of the 
 late Emperor Mustapha, who, you know (or perhaps 
 you don’t know), was deposed by his brother, the 
 reigning Sultan Achmet, and died a few weeks after, 
 being poisoned, as it was generally believed. This 
 lady was immediately after his death saluted with 
 an absolute order to leave the seraglio, and choose 
 herself a husband from the great men at the Porte. 
 I suppose you may imagine her overjoyed at this 
 proposal. Quite contrary: these women, who are 
 called and esteem themselves queens, look upon this 
 liberty as the greatest disgrace and affront that can 
 happen to them. She threw herself at the Sultan’s 
 feet, and begged him to poignard her, rather than use 
 his brother’s widow with that contempt. She repre¬ 
 sented to him, in agonies of sorrow, that she was 
 privileged from this misfortune, by having brought 
 five princes into the Ottoman family; but all the 
 boys being dead, and only one girl surviving, this 
 
 1 The same lady described in Letter XLTI. when Lady 
 Mary “ was surprised to find so little magnificence in her 
 house, the furniture being very moderate ; and except in the 
 habits and number of her slaves, nothing about her that 
 appeared expensive.” I am at a loss to account for the in¬ 
 crease in splendor — unless Lady Mary’s fancy was kind ! 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 141 
 
 excuse was not received, and she [was] compelled 
 to make her choice. She chose Bekir Effendi, then 
 secretary of State, and above fourscore years old, to 
 convince the world that she firmly intended to keep 
 the vow she had made, of never suffering a second 
 husband, and since she must honor some subject so 
 far as to be called his wife, she would choose him as 
 a mark of her gratitude, since it was he that had 
 presented her at the age of ten years old to her last 
 lord. But she has never permitted him to pay her 
 one visit; though it is now fifteen years she has been 
 in his house, where she passes her time in uninter¬ 
 rupted mourning, with a constancy very little known 
 in Christendom, especially in a widow of twenty-one, 
 for she is now but thirty-six. She has no black 
 eunuchs for her guard, her husband being obliged to 
 respect her as a queen, and not inquire at all into 
 what is done in her apartment, where I was led 
 into a large room, with a sofa the whole length of it, 
 adorned with white marble pillars like a ruelle , cov¬ 
 ered with pale blue figured velvet on a silver ground, 
 with cushions of the same, where I was desired to 
 repose till the Sultana appeared, who had contrived 
 this manner of reception to avoid rising up at my 
 entrance, though she made me an inclination of her 
 head when I rose up to her. I was very glad to 
 observe a lady that had been distinguished by the 
 favor of an emperor, to whom beauties were every 
 day presented from all parts of the world. But she 
 did not seem to me to have ever been half so beauti¬ 
 ful as the fair Fatima I saw at Adrianople ; though 
 she had the remains of a fine face, more decayed by 
 
142 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 sorrow than time. But her dress was something so 
 surprisingly rich, I cannot forbear describing it to 
 you. She wore a vest called donalma, and which 
 differs from a caftan by longer sleeves, and folding 
 over at the bottom. It was of purple cloth, straight 
 to her shape, and thick set — on each side, down 
 to her feet, and round the sleeves — with pearls 
 of the best water, of the same size as their buttons 
 commonly are. You must not suppose I mean 
 
 as large as those of my Lord-, but about the 
 
 bigness of a pea; and to these buttons large loops 
 of diamonds, in the form of those gold loops so com¬ 
 mon upon birthday coats. This habit was tied at 
 the waist with two large tassels of smaller pearl, and 
 round the arms embroidered with large diamonds; 
 her shift fastened at the bottom with a great dia¬ 
 mond shaped like a lozenge; her girdle, as broad as 
 the broadest English ribbon, entirely covered with 
 diamonds. Round her neck she wore three chains, 
 which reached to her knees, — one of large pearl, at 
 the bottom of which hung a fine-colored emerald, 
 as big as a turkey-egg; another, consisting of two 
 hundred emeralds, close joined together, of the 
 most lively green, perfectly matched, every one as 
 large as a half-crown piece and as thick as three 
 crown pieces; and another of small emeralds, per¬ 
 fectly round. But her earrings eclipsed all the rest. 
 They were two diamonds, shaped exactly like pears, 
 as large as a big hazel-nut. Round her talpoche she 
 had four strings of pearl, the whitest and most 
 perfect in the world, at least enough to make four 
 necklaces, every one as large as the duchess of Marl- 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 143 
 
 borough’s, and of the same size, fastened with two 
 roses, consisting of a large ruby for the middle stone, 
 and round them twenty drops of clean diamonds to 
 each. Beside this her head-dress was covered with 
 bodkins of emeralds and diamonds. She wore large 
 diamond bracelets, and had five rings on her fingers, 
 all single diamonds, the largest (except Mr. Pitt’s) I 
 ever saw in my life. It is for jewellers to compute 
 the value of these things; but according to the com¬ 
 mon estimation of jewels in our part of the world, 
 her whole dress must be worth above a hundred 
 thousand pounds sterling. This I am very sure of, — 
 that no European queen has half the quantity; and 
 the empress’s jewels, though very fine, would look 
 very mean near hers. 
 
 She gave me a dinner of fifty dishes of meat, 
 which (after their fashion) were placed on the table 
 but one at a time, and was extremely tedious. But 
 the magnificence of her table answered very well 
 to that of her dress. The knives were of gold, the 
 hafts set with diamonds. But the piece of luxury 
 that grieved my eyes was the tablecloth and napkins, 
 which were all tiffany, embroidered with silks and 
 gold in the finest manner, in natural flowers. It 
 was with the utmost regret that I made use of these 
 costly napkins, as finely wrought as the finest hand¬ 
 kerchiefs that ever came out of this country. You 
 may be sure that they were entirely spoiled before 
 dinner was over. The sherbet (which is the liquor 
 they drink at meals) was served in china bowls; but 
 the covers and salvers massy gold. After dinner, 
 water was brought in a gold basin, and towels of the 
 
144 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 same kind of the napkins, which I very unwillingl 
 wiped my hands upon ; and coffee was served 1 
 china, with gold soncoupes. 
 
 The Sultana seemed in very good humor, ai 1 
 talked to me with the utmost civility. 
 
 She never mentioned the Sultan without tears in 
 her eyes, yet she seemed very fond of the discourse. 
 “ My past happiness,” said she, “ appears a dream to 
 me. Yet I cannot forget that I was beloved by the 
 greatest and most lovely of mankind. I was chos 
 from all the rest to make all his campaigns with him 
 I would not survive him if I was not passionately 
 fond of the princess my daughter. Yet all my ten 
 derness for her was hardly enough to make me pre¬ 
 serve my life. When I lost him I passed a whole 
 twelvemonth without seeing the light. Time has son 
 ened my despair; yet I now pass some days every 
 week in tears devoted to the memory of my Sultan 
 
 There was no affectation in these words. It was 
 easy to see she was in a deep melancholy, though her 
 good-humor made her willing to divert me. 
 
 Now, do I fancy that you imagine I have ente 
 tained you all this while with a relation that has at 
 least received many embellishments from my hand ? 
 This is but too like (say you) the Arabian Tales, 
 these embroidered napkins ! and a jewel as large as 
 a turkey’s egg ! You forget, dear sister, those veyv 
 tales were written by an author of this country, and 
 (excepting the enchantments) are a real represe 
 tion of the manners here. We travellers are in verj 
 hard circumstances. If we say nothing but what has 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 145 
 
 been said before us, we are dull, and we have ob¬ 
 served nothing. If we tell anything new, we are 
 laughed at as fabulous and romantic, not allowing for 
 the difference of ranks, which afford difference of 
 company, more curiosity, or the change of customs, 
 that happen every twenty years in every country. 
 But people judge of travellers exactly with the same 
 candor, good-nature, and impartiality they judge of 
 their neighbors upon all occasions. For my part, if I 
 live to return amongst you, I am so well acquainted 
 with the morals of all my dear friends and acquaint¬ 
 ance that I am resolved to tell them nothing at all, to 
 avoid the imputation (which their charity would cer¬ 
 tainly incline them to) of my telling too much. But 
 I depend upon your knowing me enough to believe 
 whatever I seriously assert for truth, though I give you 
 leave to be surprised at an account so new to you. 
 
 But what would you say if I told you that I had 
 been in a harem where the winter apartment was 
 wainscotted with inlaid work of mother-of-pearl, ivory 
 of different colors, and olive wood, exactly like the 
 little boxes you have seen brought out of this coun¬ 
 try ; and those rooms designed for summer, the walls 
 all crusted with Japan china, the roofs gilt, and the 
 floors spread with the finest Persian carpets? Yet 
 there is nothing more true. Such is the palace of 
 my lovely friend, the fair Fatima, whom I was ac¬ 
 quainted with at Adrianople. I went to visit her 
 yesterday; and if possible she appeared to me hand¬ 
 somer than before. She met me at the door of her 
 chamber, and giving me her hand with the best grace 
 in the world, “ You Christian ladies,” said she, with 
 
 10 
 
146 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 a smile that made her as handsome as an angel, 
 “ have the reputation of inconstancy, and I did not 
 expect, whatever goodness you expressed for me at 
 Adrianople, that I should ever see you again. But I 
 am now convinced that I have really the happiness 
 of pleasing you ; and if you knew how I speak of you 
 amongst our ladies, you would be assured that you 
 do me justice if you think me your friend.” She 
 placed me in the corner of the sofa, and I spent the 
 afternoon in her conversation with the greatest pleas¬ 
 ure in the world. 
 
 The Sultana Hafit^n is what one would naturally 
 expect to find a Turkish lady, — willing to oblige, 
 but not knowing how to go about it; and it is easy 
 to see in her manner that she has lived secluded from 
 the world. But Fatima has all the politeness and 
 good-breeding of a court, with an air that inspires at 
 once respect and tenderness; and, now I understand 
 her language, I find her wit as engaging as her 
 beauty. She is very curious after the manners of 
 other countries, and has not that partiality for her 
 own so common to little minds. A Greek that I 
 carried with me, who had never seen her before 
 (nor could have been admitted now, if she had not 
 been in my train), showed that surprise at her beauty 
 and manner which is unavoidable at the first sight, and 
 said to me in Italian, “ This is no Turkish lady; she 
 is certainly some Christian.” Fatima guessed she 
 spoke of her, and asked what she said. I would not 
 have told, thinking she would have been no better 
 pleased with the compliment than one of our court 
 beauties to be told she had the air of a Turk; but 
 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 147 
 
 the Greek lady told it her, and she smiled, saying, 
 “ It is not the first time I have heard so. My mother 
 was a Poloneze taken at the siege of Caminiec ; and 
 my father used to rally me, saying he believed his 
 Christian wife had found some Christian gallant, for 
 I had not the air of a Turkish girl.” I assured her 
 that if all the Turkish ladies were like her, it was ab¬ 
 solutely necessary to confine them from public view 
 for the repose of mankind ; and proceeded to tell 
 her what a noise such a face as hers would make in 
 London or Paris. “ I can’t believe you,” replied she, 
 agreeably; “ if beauty was so much valued in your 
 country as you say, they would never have suffered 
 you to leave it.” Perhaps, dear sister, you laugh at 
 my vanity in repeating this compliment; but I only 
 do it as I think it very well turned, and give it you 
 as an instance of the spirit of her conversation. 
 
 Her house was magnificently furnished, and very 
 well fancied, — her winter rooms being furnished with 
 figured velvet on gold grounds, and those for summer 
 with fine Indian quilting embroidered with gold. The 
 houses of the great Turkish ladies are kept clean 
 with as much nicety as those in Holland. This was 
 situated in a high part of the town ; and from the 
 windows of her summer apartment we had the pros¬ 
 pect of the sea, the islands, and the Asian mountains. 
 
 My letter is insensibly grown so long I am 
 ashamed of it. This is a very bad symptom. ’T is 
 well if I don’t degenerate into a downright story-teller. 
 It may be our proverb that knowledge is no burden 
 may be true as to one’s self, but knowing too much is 
 very apt to make us troublesome to other people. 
 
148 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 TO THE LADY RICH. 
 
 Pera, Constantinople, March 16, o. s. [1718]. 
 
 I am extremely pleased, my dear lady, that you 
 have at length found a commission for me that I can 
 answer without disappointing your expectations; 
 though I must tell you that it is not so easy as per¬ 
 haps you think it; and that, if my curiosity had not 
 been more diligent than any other stranger’s has ever 
 yet been, I must have answered you with an excuse, 
 as I was forced to do when you desired me to buy 
 you a Greek slave. I have got for you, as you desire, 
 a Turkish love-letter, which I have put in a little box, 
 and ordered the captain of the Smyrniote to deliver 
 it to you with this letter. 1 
 
 You see this letter is all verses, and I can assure 
 you there is as much fancy shown in the choice of 
 them as in the most studied expressions of our 
 letters, — there being, I believe, a million of verses 
 designed for this use. There is no color, no flower, 
 no weed, no fruit, herb, pebble, or feather that has 
 not a verse belonging to it; and you may quarrel, 
 reproach, or send letters of passion, friendship or 
 civility, or even of news, without ever inking your 
 fingers. 
 
 I fancy you are now wondering at my profound 
 
 1 It was a purse containing a pearl and other objects used 
 by the Turks, with a translation of the letter. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 149 
 
 learning; but, alas ! dear madam, I am almost fallen 
 into the misfortune so common to the ambitious; 
 while they are employed on distant, insignificant con¬ 
 quests abroad, a rebellion starts up at home, — I am 
 in great danger of losing my English. I find it is 
 not half so easy to me to write in it as it was a 
 twelvemonth ago. I am forced to study for expres¬ 
 sions, and must leave off all other languages and 
 try to learn my mother tongue. Human understand¬ 
 ing is as much limited as human power or human 
 strength. The memory can retain but a certain 
 number of images; and ’t is as impossible for one 
 human creature to be perfect master of ten different 
 languages as to have in perfect subjection ten differ¬ 
 ent kingdoms, or to fight against ten men at a time. 
 I am afraid I shall at last know none as I should do. 
 I live in a place that very well represents the tower 
 of Babel, — in Pera they speak Turkish, Greek, He¬ 
 brew, Armenian, Arabic, Persian, Russian, Sclavonian, 
 Wallachian, German, Dutch, French, English, Italian, 
 Hungarian; and what is worse, there are ten of these 
 languages spoken in my own family. My grooms 
 are Arabs; my footmen, French, English and Ger¬ 
 mans ; my nurse, an Armenian; my housemaids, 
 Russians; half a dozen other servants, Greeks; my 
 steward, an Italian ; my janizaries, Turks ; [so] that 
 I live in the perpetual hearing of this medley of 
 sounds, which produces a very extraordinary effect 
 upon the people that are born here ; they learn all 
 these languages at the same time, and without know¬ 
 ing any of them well enough to write or read in it. 
 There are very few men, women, or even children 
 
150 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 here that have not the same compass of words in 
 five or six of them. I know myself several infants 
 of three or four years old that speak Italian, French, 
 Greek, Turkish, and Russian, which last they learn 
 of their nurses, who are generally of that country. 
 This seems almost incredible to you, and is in my 
 mind one of the most curious things in this country, 
 and takes off very much from the merit of our ladies 
 who set up for such extraordinary geniuses, upon 
 the credit of some superficial knowledge of French 
 and Italian. 
 
 As I prefer English to all the rest, I am extremely 
 mortified at the daily decay of it in my head, where 
 I ’ll assure you (with grief of heart) it is reduced to 
 such a small number of words, I cannot recollect any 
 tolerable phrase to conclude my letter, and am forced 
 to tell your ladyship very bluntly that I am your 
 faithful humble servant. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 TO MR. p —- 1 
 
 Lyons, Sept. 28, o. s. [1718]. 
 
 I received yours here, and should thank you for 
 the pleasure you express for my return ; but I can 
 hardly forbear being angry at you for rejoicing at 
 what displeases me so much. You will think this 
 but an odd compliment on my side. I ’ll assure you 
 ’t is not from insensibility of the joy of seeing my 
 friends ; but when I consider that I must at the same 
 1 Pope, according to Wharncliffe. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. I 5 I 
 
 time see and hear a thousand disagreeable imperti- 
 nents, that I must receive and pay visits, make court¬ 
 esies, and assist at tea-tables where I shall be half 
 killed with questions; on the other part, that I am a 
 creature that cannot serve anybody but with insig¬ 
 nificant good wishes, and that my presence is not 
 a necessary good to any one member of my native 
 country, I think I might much better have stayed 
 where ease and quiet made up the happiness of my 
 indolent life. I should certainly be melancholy if I 
 pursued this theme one line further. I will rather 
 fill the remainder of this paper with the inscriptions 
 on the tables of brass that are placed on each side 
 the town-house here. 
 
 I was also showed, without the gate of St. Justinus, 
 some remains of a Roman aqueduct; and behind 
 the monastery of St. Mary’s there are the ruins of the 
 imperial palace where the Emperor Claudius was 
 born and where Severus lived. The great cathedral 
 of St. John is a good Gothic building, and its clock 
 much admired by the Germans. In one of the most 
 conspicuous parts of the town is the late king’s 
 statue set up, trampling upon mankind. I cannot 
 forbear saying one word here of the French statues 
 (for I never intend to mention any more of them), 
 with their gilded full-bottomed wigs. If their king 
 had intended to express in one image ignorance, 
 ill taste, and vanity, his sculptors could have made no 
 other figure to represent the odd mixture of an old 
 beau who had a mind to be a hero, with a bushel of 
 curled hair on his head and a gilt truncheon in his 
 hand. The French have been so voluminous on the 
 
152 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 history of this town, I need say nothing of it. The 
 houses are tolerably well built, and the Belle Cour 
 well planted, from whence is seen the celebrated 
 joining of the Saone and Rhone. 
 
 “ Ubi Rhodanus ingens amne prserapido fluit 
 Ararque dubitans quo suos fluctus agat.” 
 
 I have had time to see everything with great leisure, 
 having been confined several days to this town by a 
 swelling in my throat, the remains of a fever occa¬ 
 sioned by a cold I got in the damps of the Alps. 
 The doctors here (who are charmed with a new 
 customer) threaten me with all sorts of distempers 
 if I dare to leave them till this swelling is quite van¬ 
 ished ; but I, that know the obstinacy of it, think it 
 just as possible to continue my way to Paris with it 
 as to go about the streets of Lyons; and am deter¬ 
 mined to pursue my journey to-morrow, in spite of 
 doctors, apothecaries, and sore throats. 
 
 When you see Lady R. [Rich], tell her I have 
 received her letter, and will answer it from Paris, 
 believing that the place she would most willingly 
 hear of. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 TO THE LADY R-[RICH], 
 
 Parts, Oct. io, o. s. [1718]. 
 
 I cannot give my dear Lady R. [Rich] a better 
 proof of the pleasure I have in writing to her than 
 choosing to do it in this seat of various amusements, 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 153 
 
 where I am accablee with visits, and those so full of 
 vivacity and compliment that ’t is full employment 
 enough to hearken, whether one answers or not. The 
 French embassadress at Constantinople has a very 
 considerable and numerous family here, who all come 
 to see me, and are never weary of making enquiries. 
 The air of Paris has already had a good effect on me, 
 for I was never in better health, though I have been 
 extremely ill all the road from Lyons to this place. 
 You may judge how agreeable the journey has been 
 to me, which did not need that addition to make me 
 dislike it. I think nothing so terrible as objects of 
 misery, except one had the godlike attribute of 
 being capable to redress them ; and all the country 
 villages of France show nothing else. While the 
 post-horses are changed, the whole town comes out 
 to beg, with such miserable, starved faces, and thin, 
 tattered clothes, they need no other eloquence to 
 persuade [one of] the wretchedness of their condi¬ 
 tion. This is all the French magnificence till you 
 come to Fontainebleau. There you begin to think 
 the kingdom rich when you are showed one thousand 
 five hundred rooms in the King’s hunting-palace. 
 The apartments of the royal family are very large and 
 richly gilt, but I saw nothing in the architecture or 
 painting worth remembering. The long gallery, built 
 by Henry IV., has prospects of all the King’s houses; 
 its walls are designed after the taste of those times, 
 but appear now very mean. The park is indeed 
 finely wooded and watered, the trees well grown and 
 planted, and in the fish-ponds are kept tame carp, 
 said to be, some of them, eighty years of age. The 
 
154 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 late King passed some months every year at this seat; 
 and all the rocks round it, by the pious sentences 
 inscribed on them, show the devotion in fashion at 
 his court, which I believe died with him; at least, I 
 see no exterior marks of it at Paris, where all people’s 
 thoughts seem to be on present diversion. 
 
 The fair of St. Lawrence is now in season. You 
 may be sure I have been carried thither, and think 
 it much better disposed than ours of Bartholomew. 
 The shops being all set in rows so regularly, well 
 lighted, they made up a very agreeable spectacle. 
 But I was not at all satisfied with the grossi'erete of 
 their harlequin, no more than with their music at the 
 opera, which was abominably grating, after being 
 used to that of Italy. Their house is a booth com¬ 
 pared to that of the Haymarket, and the playhouse 
 not so neat as that in Lincoln’s Inn Fields; but then 
 it must be owned, to their praise, their tragedians are 
 much beyond any of ours. I should hardly allow 
 Mrs. O. [Oldfield] a better place than to be confi¬ 
 dante to La-. I have seen the tragedy of Baja- 
 
 zet so well represented, I think our best actors can 
 be only said to speak, but these to feel; and’t is cer¬ 
 tainly infinitely more moving to see a man appear 
 unhappy than to hear him say that he is so, with a 
 jolly face and a stupid smirk in his countenance. A 
 propos of countenances, I must tell you something of 
 the French ladies. I have seen all the beauties, and 
 
 such-(I can’t help making use of the coarse word) 
 
 nauseous [creatures] ! so fantastically absurd in their 
 dress ! so monstrously unnatural in their paint! their 
 hair cut short, and curled round their faces, loaded 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 155 
 
 with powder, that makes it look like white wool ! and 
 on their cheeks to their chins, unmercifully laid on, 
 a shining red japan, that glistens in a most flaming 
 manner, that they seem to have no resemblance to 
 human faces, and I am apt to believe, took the first 
 hint of their dress from a fair sheep newly ruddled. 
 ’T is with pleasure I recollect my dear, pretty country¬ 
 women ; and if I was writing to anybody else, I 
 should say that these grotesque daubers give me a 
 still higher esteem of the natural charms of dear 
 Lady R.’s auburn hair, and the lively colors of her 
 unsullied complexion. 
 
 P. S. — I have met the Abb6 [Conti] here, who 
 desires me to make his compliments to you. 
 
 XLVIIL 
 
 TO MR. P. [POPE »]. 
 
 Dover, Nov. i [1718]. 
 
 I have this minute received a letter of yours, sent 
 me from Paris. I believe and hope I shall very soon 
 see both you and Mr. Congreve ; but as I am here in an 
 inn, where we stay to regulate our march to London, 
 
 1 The letter to which this is an answer appears in Lord 
 Wharncliffe’s edition of Lady Mary’s Letters and Works, and 
 is attributed to Pope. But it does not appear in Pope’s let¬ 
 ters. Thomson says that the story of the lovers was probably 
 “ written by Pope or Gay, or both, for the amusement of 
 their friends, and sent to Lord Burlington, Martha Blount, 
 Mr. Fortescue, and perhaps to others.” Pope himself at¬ 
 tributed the letter to Gay. The letter is in his usual strain 
 
156 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU 
 
 bag and baggage, I shall employ some of my leisure 
 time in answering that part of yours that seems to 
 require an answer. 
 
 I must applaud your good-nature in supposing that 
 your pastoral lovers (vulgarly called haymakers) would 
 
 of artificial (and we would say) impudent admiration of 
 Lady Mary. 
 
 The verses that Lady Mary parodies are as follows: — 
 
 1. 
 
 When Eastern lovers feed the fun’ral fire, 
 
 On the same pile their faithful fair expire ; 
 
 Here pitying Heav’n that virtue mutual found, 
 And blasted both, that it might neither wound. 
 Hearts so sincere th’ Almighty saw well pleas’d. 
 Sent his own lightning, and the victims seiz’d. 
 Think not by rig’rous judgment seiz’d, 
 
 A pair so faithful could expire; 
 
 Victims so pure Heav’n saw well pleas’d, 
 
 And snatch’d them in celestial fire. 
 
 11. 
 
 Live well, and fear no sudden fate; 
 
 When God calls virtue to the grave, 
 
 Alike’t is justice, soon or late, — 
 
 Mercy alike to kill or save. 
 
 Virtue unmov’d can hear the call, 
 
 And face the flash that melts the ball. 
 
 Whereupon the ingenious Mr. Pope thus comments: 
 “ Upon the whole, I can’t think these people unhappy. The 
 greatest happiness next to living as they would have done, 
 was to die as they did. The greatest honor people of this 
 low degree could have was to be remembered on a little 
 monument, unless you would give them another, — that of 
 being honored with a tear from the finest eyes in the world. 
 I know you have tenderness ; you must have it; it is the 
 very emanation of good sense and virtue ; the finest minds, 
 like the finest metals, dissolve the easiest.” 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 15 7 
 
 have lived in everlasting joy and harmony, if the 
 lightning had not interrupted their scheme of hap¬ 
 piness. I see no reason to imagine that John Hughes 
 and Sarah Drew were either wiser or more virtuous 
 than their neighbors. That a well-set man of twenty- 
 five should have a fancy to marry a brown woman of 
 eighteen is nothing marvellous; and I cannot help 
 thinking that had they married, their lives would 
 have passed in the common track with their fellow- 
 parishioners. His endeavoring to shield her from 
 the storm was a natural action, and what he would 
 have certainly done for his horse, if he had been in 
 the same situation. Neither am I of opinion that 
 their sudden death was a reward of their mutual vir¬ 
 tue. You know the Jews were reproved for thinking 
 a village destroyed by fire more wicked than those 
 that had escaped the thunder. Time and chance 
 happen to all men. Since you desire me to try my 
 skill in an epitaph, I think the following lines perhaps 
 more just, though not so poetical, as yours : — 
 
 Here lie John Hughes and Sarah Drew; 
 
 Perhaps you ’ll say, what’s that to you ? 
 
 Believe me, friend, much may be said 
 On this poor couple that are dead. 
 
 On Sunday next they should have married ; 
 
 But see how oddly things are carried ! 
 
 On Thursday last it rain’d and lighten’d ; 
 
 These tender lovers, sadly frighten’d, 
 
 Shelter’d beneath the cocking hay, 
 
 In hopes to pass the storm away ; 
 
 But the bold thunder found them out 
 (Commission’d for that end, no doubt), 
 
 And, seizing on their trembling breath, 
 
158 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 Consign’d them to the shades of death. 
 
 Who knows if’t was not kindly done ? 
 
 For had they seen the next year’s sun, 
 
 A beaten wife and cuckold swain 
 Had jointly curs’d the marriage chain; 
 
 Now they are happy in their doom, 
 
 For P. has wrote upon their tomb. 
 
 I confess these sentiments are not altogether so 
 heroic as yours; but I hope you will forgive them in 
 favor of the two last lines. You see how much I 
 esteem the honor you have done them; though I am 
 not very impatient to have the same, and had rather 
 continue to be your stupid, living, humble servant 
 than be celebrated by all the pens in Europe. 
 
 I would write to Mr. C. [Congreve], but suppose 
 you will read this to him, if he inquires after me. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 
 
 [1721.] 
 
 From the tranquil and easy situation in which you 
 left me, dear sister, I am reduced to that of the high¬ 
 est degree of vexation, which I need not set out to 
 you better than by the plain matter of fact, which I 
 heartily wish I had told you long since; and nothing 
 hindered me but a certain mauvaise honte which you 
 are reasonable enough to forgive, as very natural, 
 though not very excusable where there is nothing to 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 159 
 
 be ashamed of; since I can only accuse myself of 
 too much good-nature, or at worst too much credu¬ 
 lity, though I believe there never was more pains 
 taken to deceive anybody. In short, a person 
 whose name is not necessary, because you know it, 
 took all sort of methods during almost two year to 
 persuade me that there never was so extraordinary an 
 attachment (or what you please to call it) as they 
 had for me. This ended in coming over to make 
 me a visit against my will, and, as was pretended, 
 very much against their interest. I cannot deny I 
 was very silly in giving the least credit to this stuff 
 But if people are so silly, you ’ll own ’t is natura 
 for anybody that is good-natured to pity and be glad 
 to serve a person they believe unhappy upon their 
 account. It came into my head, out of a high point 
 of generosity (for which I wish myself hanged), 
 to do this creature all the good I possibly could, 
 since ’twas impossible to make them happy their 
 own way. I advised him very strenuously to sell out 
 of the subscription, 1 and in compliance to my advice 
 he did so; and in less than two days saw he Lad 
 done very prudently. After a piece of service of 
 this nature, I thought I could more decently press 
 his departure, which his follies made me think neces¬ 
 sary for me. He took leave of me with so many 
 tears and grimaces (which I can’t imagine how he 
 could counterfeit) as really moved my compassion ; 
 and I had much ado to keep to my first resolution of 
 exacting his absence, which he swore would be his 
 
 'To the South Sea Stock. This is the first letter about 
 Remond. 
 
160 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 death. I told him that there was no other way in 
 the world I would not be glad to serve him in, but 
 that his extravagances made it utterly impossible for 
 me to keep him company. He said that he would 
 put into my hands the money I had won for him, 
 and desired me to improve it, saying that if he had 
 enough to buy a small estate and retire from the 
 world, ’t was all the happiness he hoped for in it. I 
 represented to him that if he had so little money as 
 he said, ’t was ridiculous to hazard it all. He re¬ 
 plied that’t was too little to be of any value, and he 
 would either have it double or quit. After many 
 objections on my side and replies on his, I was so 
 weak to be overcome by his entreaties, and flattered 
 myself also that I was doing a very heroic action in 
 trying to make a man’s fortune though I did not care 
 for his addresses. He left me with these imagina¬ 
 tions, and my first care was to employ his money 
 to the best advantage. I laid it all out in stock, 
 the general discourse and private intelligence then 
 scattered about being of a great rise. You may re¬ 
 member it was two or three days before the fourth 
 subscription, and you were with me when I paid 
 away the money to Mr. Binfield. I thought I had 
 managed prodigious well in selling out the said stock 
 the day after the shutting the books (for a small 
 profit), to Cox and Cleeve, goldsmiths of very good 
 reputation. When the opening of the books came, 
 my men went off, leaving the stock upon my hands, 
 which was already sunk from near nine hundred 
 pounds to four hundred pounds. I immediately 
 writ him word of this misfortune, with the sincere 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 1 6£ 
 
 sorrow natural to have upon such an occasion, and 
 asked his opinion as to the selling the stock remain¬ 
 ing in. He made me no answer to this part of my 
 letter, but a long, eloquent oration of miseries of 
 another nature. I attributed this silence to his dis¬ 
 interested neglect of his money ; but, however, re¬ 
 solved to make no more steps in his business without 
 direct orders, after having been so unlucky. This 
 occasioned many letters to no purpose; but the very 
 post after you left London, I received a letter from 
 him in which he told me that he had discovered 
 all my tricks ; that he was convinced I had all his 
 money remaining untouched, and he would have it 
 again, or he would print all my letters to him, which, 
 though God knows very innocent in the main, yet 
 may admit of ill constructions, besides the mon¬ 
 strousness of being exposed in such a manner. I 
 hear from other people that he is liar enough to 
 publish that I have borrowed the money of him ; 
 though I have a note under his hand, by which he 
 desires me to employ it in the funds, and acquits me 
 of being answerable for the losses that may happen. 
 At the same time, I have attestations and witnesses 
 of the bargains I made, so that nothing can be 
 clearer than my integrity in this business; but that 
 does not hinder me from being in the utmost terror 
 for the consequences (as you may easily guess) of 
 his villany, the very story of which appears so mon¬ 
 strous to me, I can hardly believe myself while I 
 write it; though I omit (not to tire you) a thousand 
 aggravating circumstances. I cannot forgive myself 
 the folly of ever regarding one word he said; and I 
 
1 62 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 see now that his lies have made me wrong several of 
 my acquaintances, and you among the rest, for hav¬ 
 ing said (as he told me) horrid things against me to 
 him. T is long since that your behavior has ac¬ 
 quitted you in my opinion; but I thought I ought 
 not to mention, to hurt him with you, what was per¬ 
 haps more misunderstanding or mistake than a de¬ 
 signed lie. But he has very amply explained his 
 character to me. What is very pleasant is that but 
 two posts before, I received a letter from him full of 
 higher flights than ever. I beg your pardon (dear 
 sister) for this tedious account; but you see how 
 necessary ’tis for me to get my letters from this mad¬ 
 man. Perhaps the best way is by fair means ; at 
 least they ought to be first tried/ I would have 
 you, then, my dear sister, try to make the wretch 
 sensible of the truth of what I advance, without ask¬ 
 ing for the letters, which I have already asked for. 
 Perhaps you may make him ashamed of his infamous 
 proceedings by talking of me without taking notice 
 that you know of his threats, only of my dealings. 
 I take this method to be the most likely to work 
 upon him. I beg you would send me a full and 
 true account of this detestable affair (enclosed to 
 Mrs. Murray). If I had not been the most unlucky 
 creature in the world, his letter would have come 
 while you were here, that I might have showed you 
 both his note and the other people’s. I knew he 
 was discontented, but was far from imagining a pos¬ 
 sibility of this thing. I give you a great deal of 
 trouble, but you see I shall owe you the highest 
 obligation if you can serve me ; the very endeavoring 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 1 63 
 
 of it is a tie upon me to serve you the rest of my life 
 without reserve and with eternal gratitude. 1 
 
 L. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 
 
 I cannot enough thank you, dear sister, for the 
 trouble you give yourself in my affairs, though I am 
 still so unhappy to find your care very ineffectual. 
 I have actually in my present possession a formal 
 letter directed to Mr. W. [Wortley] to acquaint him 
 with the whole business. You may imagine the in¬ 
 evitable, eternal misfortunes it would have thrown 
 me into had it been delivered by the person to 
 whom it was intrusted. I wish you would make him 
 sensible of the infamy of this proceeding, which can 
 
 1 Horace Walpole, who heartily disliked Lady*Mary, has 
 a caustic comment on these letters: “Ten of the letters in¬ 
 deed are dismal lamentations and frights, on a scene of vil- 
 lany of Lady Mary’s, who having persuaded one Ruremonde, 
 a Frenchman and her lover, to entrust her with a large sum 
 of money to buy stock for him, frightened him out of Eng¬ 
 land by persuading him that Mr. Wortley had discovered the 
 intrigue, and would murder him, and then would have sunk 
 the trust.” But Remond’s letters found among Mr. Wortley 
 Montagu’s papers always picture him as sighing in vain. 
 Thomas’s theory is that Lady Mary gave these letters to her 
 husband to justify herself. He supposes that in some way 
 the affair had come to Mr. Wortley’s ears. St. Simon de¬ 
 scribes Remond as “ a little stunted man with large nose, big, 
 round, staring eyes, coarse features, and a hoarse voice.” 
 But he was very witty. 
 
164 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 no way in the world turn to his advantage. Did I 
 refuse giving the strictest account, or had I not the 
 clearest demonstration in my hands of the truth and 
 sincerity with which I acted, there might be some 
 temptation to this baseness ; but all he can expect 
 by informing; Mr. W. [Wortley] is to hear him re¬ 
 peat the same things I assert; he will not retrieve 
 one farthing, and I am forever miserable. I beg no 
 more of him than to direct any person, man or wo¬ 
 man, either lawyer, broker, or a person of quality, 
 to examine me ; and as soon as he has sent a proper 
 authority to discharge me on inquiry, I am ready to 
 be examined. I think no offer can be fairer from 
 any person whatsoever; his conduct towards me is 
 so infamous that I am informed I might prosecute 
 him by law if he was here, — he demanding the whole 
 sum as a debt from Mr. Wortley, at the same time 
 I have a note under his hand signed to prove the 
 contrary. I beg with the utmost earnestness that 
 you would make him sensible of his error. I believe 
 't is very necessary to say something to fright him. I 
 am persuaded, if he was talked to in a style of that 
 kind, he would not dare to attempt to ruin me. I 
 have a great inclination to write seriously to your 
 lord about it, since I desire to detennine this affair 
 in the fairest and the clearest manner. I am not at 
 all afraid of making anybody acquainted with it; 
 and if I did not fear making Mr. Wortley uneasy 
 (who is the only person from whom I would conceal 
 it), all the transactions should have been long since 
 enrolled in Chancery. I have already taken care to 
 have the broker’s depositions taken before a lawyer 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 of reputation and merit. I deny giving him no sac 
 isfaction; and after that offer, I think there is no 
 man of honor that would refuse signifying to him 
 that as’t is all he can desire, so if he persists in do¬ 
 ing me an injury, he may repent it. You know how 
 far’t is proper to take this method. I say nothing 
 of the uneasiness I am under, ’t is far beyond any 
 expression; my obligation would be proportional to 
 anybody that would deliver me from it, and I should 
 not think it paid by all the services of my life. 
 
 LI. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 
 
 [June, 1721.] 
 
 I have just received your letter of May 30, and 
 am surprised, since you own the receipt of my letter, 
 that you give me not the least hint concerning the 
 business that I writ so earnestly to you about. Till 
 that is over, I am as little capable of hearing or re¬ 
 peating news as I should be if my house was on fire. 
 I am sure a great deal must be in your power; the 
 hurting of me can be in no way his interest. I am 
 ready to assign or deliver the money for five hun¬ 
 dred pounds stock, to whoever he will name, if he 
 will send my letters into Lady Stafford’s hands ; 
 which, were he sincere in his offer of burning them, 
 he would readily do. Instead of that, he has writ a 
 letter to Mr. W. [Wortley] to inform him of the 
 whole affair; luckily for me, the person he has sent 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 to assures me it shall never be delivered; but I 
 am not the less obliged to his good intentions. For 
 God’s sake, do something to set my mind at ease 
 from this business, and then I will not fail to write 
 you regular accounts of all your acquaintance. Mr. 
 Strickland has had a prodigy of good fortune befallen 
 him, which I suppose you have heard of. 
 
 My little commission is hardly worth speaking of; 
 if you have not already laid out that small sum in 
 St. Cloud ware, I had rather have it in plain lute¬ 
 string of any color. 
 
 Lady Stafford desires you would buy one suit of 
 minunet for head and ruffles at Boileau’s. 
 
 LII. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 
 
 I am now at Twicknam. ’T is impossible to tell 
 you, dear sister, what agonies I suffer every post-day ; 
 my health really suffers so much from my fears that 
 I have reason to apprehend the worst consequences. 
 If that monster acted on the least principles of reason 
 I should have nothing to fear, since ’t is certain that 
 after he has exposed me he will get nothing by it. 
 Mr. Wortley can do nothing for his satisfaction I am 
 not willing to do myself. I desire not the least in¬ 
 dulgence of any kind. Let him put his affair into the 
 hands of any lawyer whatever. I am willing to sub¬ 
 mit to any examination; ’t is impossible to make a 
 fairer offer than this is. Whoever he employs may 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 167 
 
 come to me hither on several pretences. I desire 
 nothing from him but that he would send no letters 
 nor messages to my house at London, where Mr. 
 Wortley now is. I am come hither in hopes of ben¬ 
 efit from the air, but I carry my distemper about me 
 in an anguish of mind that visibly decays my body 
 every day. I am too melancholy to talk of any other 
 subject. Let me beg you, dear sister, to take some 
 care of this affair, and think you have it in your power 
 to do more than save the life of a sister that loves 
 you. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 
 
 Dear Sister, — Having this occasion, I would not 
 omit writing, though I have received no answer to 
 my two last. The bearer is well acquainted with my 
 affair, though not from me, till he mentioned it to me 
 first, having heard it from those to whom R. [R£- 
 mond] had told it with all the false colors he pleased 
 to lay on. I showed him the formal commission I 
 had to employ the money, and all the broker’s testi¬ 
 monies taken before Delpeeke, with his certificate. 
 Your remonstrances have hitherto had so little effect 
 that R. [R£mond] will neither send a letter of attor¬ 
 ney to examine my accounts, or let me be in peace. 
 I received a letter from him but two posts since, in 
 which he renews his threats except I send him the 
 whole sum, which is as much in my power as it is to 
 send a million. I can easily comprehend that he may 
 
l68 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 be ashamed to send a procuration, which must con¬ 
 vince the world of all the lies he has told. For my 
 part, I am so willing to be rid of the plague of hear¬ 
 ing from him, I desire no better than to restore him 
 with all expedition the money I have in my hands ; 
 
 but I will not do it without a general acquittance 
 
 in due form, not to have fresh demands every time 
 he wants money. If he thinks that he has a larger 
 
 sum to receive than I offer, why does he not name a 
 
 procurator to examine me? If he is content with 
 that sum, I only insist on the acquittance for my own 
 safety. I am ready to send it him, with full license 
 to tell as many lies as he pleases afterwards. I 
 am weary with troubling you with repetitions which 
 cannot be more disagreeable to you than they are to 
 me. I have had, and still have, so much vexation 
 with this execrable affair, ’t is impossible to describe 
 it. I had rather talk to you of anything else, but it 
 fills my whole head. 
 
 I am still at Twicknam, where I pass my time in 
 great indolence and sweetness. Mr. W. [Wortley] 
 is at this present in Yorkshire. My fair companion 
 puts me oft in mind of our Thoresby conversations; 
 we read and walk together, and I am more happy in 
 her than anything else could make me except your 
 conversation. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 
 
 {August, 1721.] 
 
 Dear Sister, — I give you ten thousand thanks 
 for the trouble you have given yourself. I hope you 
 will continue to take some care of my affairs, because 
 I do not hear they are finished, and cannot yet get 
 rid of my fears. You have not told me that you have 
 received what I sent you by Lady Lansdowne, as also 
 three guineas that she took for you; one of which I 
 beg you would lay out in the same narrow minunet 
 that you sent Mrs. Murray, and send it me by the 
 first opportunity, for the use of my daughter, who is 
 very much your humble servant, and grows a little 
 woman. I live in a sort of solitude, that wants very 
 little of being such as I would have it. Lady J. 
 [Jane] Wharton is to be married to Mr. Holt, which 
 I am sorry for, — to see a young woman that I really 
 think one of the agreeablest girls upon earth so vilely 
 misplaced; but where are people matched? I sup¬ 
 pose we shall all come right in Heaven ; as in a coun¬ 
 try-dance, the hands are strangely given and taken 
 while they are in motion, at last all meet their part¬ 
 ners when the jig is done. 
 
J 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 LV. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 
 
 I cannot forbear, dear sister, accusing you of un¬ 
 kindness that you take so little care of a business of 
 the last consequence to me. R. [R£mond] writ 
 to me some time ago, to say if I would immedi¬ 
 ately send him two thousand pounds sterling he would 
 send me an acquittance. As this was sending him 
 several hundreds out of my own pocket, I absolutely 
 refused it; and, in return, I have just received a 
 threatening letter to print I know not what stuff 
 against me. I am too well acquainted with the world 
 (of which poor Mrs. Murray’s affair 1 is a fatal in¬ 
 stance) not to know that the most groundless accu¬ 
 sation is always of ill consequence to a woman, 
 besides the cruel misfortunes it may bring upon me 
 
 1 Mrs. Murray was so unfortunate as to have a footman of 
 her father’s pretend a violent passion for her, of which she 
 was quite unconscious until he entered her room at night 
 with a drawn pistol. Her screams brought assistance. The 
 man was arrested, tried, and transported. The affair, al¬ 
 though she was quite innocent, occasioned Mrs. Murray infi¬ 
 nite mortification, and was the cause of endless gossip. Lady 
 Mary wrote some verses on the subject, called “Epistle from 
 Arthur Grey, the Footman.” It was in the inflated, senti¬ 
 mental strain then fashionable, and paid exaggerated compli¬ 
 ments to the “lovely nymph” addressed; but Mrs. Murray, 
 who desired nothing of her friends in the matter except 
 oblivion, did not take the Epistle in good part. She was 
 further incensed by an atrocious ballad that she attributed to 
 Lady Mary, in spite of the latter’s persistent denial. From 
 this time she appears as Lady Mary’s mortal enemy. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. I/I 
 
 in my own family. If you have any compassion 
 either for me or my innocent children, I am sure you 
 will try to prevent it. The thing is too serious to be 
 delayed. I think (to say nothing either of blood or 
 affection) that humanity and Christianity are inter¬ 
 ested in my preservation. I am sure I can answer 
 for my hearty gratitude and everlasting acknowledg¬ 
 ment of a service much more important than that of 
 saving my life. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 TO THE HONORABLE MISS CALTHORPE . 1 
 
 London, Dec. 7, [1723]. 
 
 My knight-errantry is at an end, and I believe I 
 shall henceforth think freeing of galley-slaves and 
 knocking down windmills more laudable undertak¬ 
 ings than the defence of any woman’s reputation 
 whatever. To say truth, I have never had any great 
 esteem for the generality of the fair sex, and my 
 only consolation for being of that gender has been 
 the assurance it gave me of never being married to 
 any one among them. But I own at present I am 
 so much out of humor with the actions of Lady 
 Holdernesse that I never was so heartily ashamed of 
 my petticoats before. You know, I suppose, that by 
 this discreet match she renounces the care of her 
 children, and I am laughed at by all my acquaintance 
 for my faith in her honor and understanding. My 
 
 1 One of the daughters of Henry, Viscount Longueville, 
 whose son was created Earl of Sussex. 
 
172 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 only refuge is the sincere hope that she is out of her 
 senses, and taking herself for Queen of Sheba, and 
 Mr. Mildmay for King Solomon. I do not think it 
 quite so ridiculous. But the men, you may well 
 imagine, are not so charitable; and they agree in 
 the kind reflection that nothing hinders women from 
 playing the fool but not having it in their power. 
 The many instances that are to be found to support 
 this opinion ought to make the few reasonable men 
 valued, — but where are the reasonable ladies ? Dear 
 madam, come to town, that I may have the honor of 
 saying there is one in St. James’s-place. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 
 
 [1723 ] 
 
 Dear Sister, — I have writ to you twice since I 
 received yours in answer to that I sent by Mr. De 
 Caylus, but I believe none of what I send by the 
 post ever come to your hands, nor ever will while 
 they are directed to Mr. Waters, for reasons that you 
 may easily guess. I wish you would give me a safer 
 direction; it is very seldom I can have the oppor¬ 
 tunity of a private messenger, and it is very often 
 that I have a mind to write to my dear sister. If 
 you have not heard of the Duchess of Montagu’s 
 intended journey, you will be surprised at your man¬ 
 ner of receiving this, since I send it by one of her 
 servants. She does not design to see anybody nor 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 173 
 
 anything at Paris, and talks of going from Mont¬ 
 pellier to Italy. I have a tender esteem for her, and 
 am heartily concerned to lose her conversation, yet 
 I cannot condemn her resolution. I am yet in this 
 wicked town, but purpose to leave it as soon as the 
 Parliament rises. Mrs. Murray and all her satellites 
 have so seldom fallen in my way, I can say little 
 about them. Your old friend Mrs. Lowther is still 
 fair and young, and in pale pink every night in the 
 Parks; but after being highly in favor, poor I am in 
 utter disgrace, without my being able to guess where¬ 
 fore, except she fancied me the author or abettor of 
 two vile ballads written on her dying adventure, 
 which I am so innocent of that I never saw [them]. 
 A propos of ballads, a most delightful one is said or 
 sung in most houses about our dear, beloved plot, 1 
 which has been laid firstly to Pope and secondly to 
 me, when God knows we have neither of us wit 
 enough to make it. Lady Rich is happy in dear 
 Sir Robert’s absence and the polite Mr. Holt’s re¬ 
 turn to his allegiance, who, though in a treaty of 
 marriage with one of the prettiest girls in town (Lady 
 J. [Jane] Wharton), appears better with her than 
 ever. Lady B. [Betty] Manners is on the brink of 
 matrimony with a Yorkshire Mr. Monckton of three 
 thousand pounds per annum. It is a match of the 
 young duchess’s making, and she thinks matter of 
 great triumph over the two coquette beauties, who 
 can get nobody to have and to hold; they are de- 
 
 1 The Atterbury Plot. The ballad Thomas thinks was 
 “ Upon the Horrid Plot discovered by Harlequin, the Bishop 
 of Rochester’s French Dog.” It was attributed to Swift. 
 
174 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 cayed to a piteous degree, and so neglected that 
 they are grown constant and particular to the two 
 ugliest fellows in London. . . . This is, I think, the 
 whole state of love; as to that of wit, it splits itself 
 into ten thousand branches ; poets increase and 
 multiply to that stupendous degree, you see them at 
 every turn, even in embroidered coats and pink- 
 colored top-knots. Making verses is almost as com¬ 
 mon as taking snuff, and God can tell what miserable 
 stuff people carry about in their pockets, and offer 
 to all their acquaintances, and you know one cannot 
 refuse reading and taking a pinch. This is a very 
 great grievance, and so particularly shocking to me 
 that I think our wise lawgivers should take it into 
 consideration, and appoint a fast-day to beseech 
 Heaven to put a stop to this epidemical disease, as 
 they did last year for the plague with great success. 
 
 Dear sister, adieu. I have been very free in this 
 letter, because I think I am sure of its going safe. 
 I wish my nightgown may do the same \ I only 
 choose that as most convenient to you, but if it was 
 equally so, I had rather the money was laid out in 
 plain lutestring, if you could send me eight yards at 
 a time of different colors, designing it for linings ; 
 but if this scheme is impracticable, send me a night¬ 
 gown a la mode. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 175 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 
 
 Sept. [1725 ] 
 
 I have already writ you so many letters, dear 
 sister, that if I thought you had silently received 
 them all, I don’t know whether I should trouble you 
 with any more; but I flatter myself that they have 
 most of them miscarried; I had rather have my 
 labors lost than accuse you of unkindness. I send 
 this by Lady Lansdowne, who I hope will have no 
 curiosity to open my letter, since she will find in it 
 that I never saw anything so miserably altered in my 
 life; I really did not know her. 
 
 So must the fairest face appear, 
 
 When youth and years are flown ; 
 
 So sinks the pride of the parterre, 
 
 When something over-blown. 
 
 My daughter makes such a noise in the room, ’t is 
 impossible to go on in this heroic style. I hope 
 yours is in great bloom of beauty. I fancy to myself 
 we shall have the pleasure of seeing them co-toasts 
 of the next age. I don’t at all doubt but they will 
 outshine all the little Auroras of this, for there never 
 was such a parcel of ugly girls as reign at present. 
 In recompense they are very kind, and the men very 
 merciful, and content, in this dearth of charms, with 
 the poorest stuff in the world. This you’d believe, 
 had I but time to tell you the tender loves of Lady 
 Romney and Lord Carmichael; they are so fond, it 
 does one’s heart good to see them. There are some 
 
176 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 other pieces of scandal not unentertaining, particularly 
 the Earl of Stair and Lady M. [Mary] Howard, who 
 being your acquaintance, I thought would be some 
 comfort to you. The town improves daily; all peo¬ 
 ple seem to make the best of the talent God has 
 given ’em. 
 
 The race of Roxbourghs, Thanets, and Suffolks, 1 
 are utterly extinct; and everything appears with that 
 edifying plain dealing that I may say, in the words 
 of the Psalmist, “ There is no sin in Israel.” 
 
 I have already thanked you for my nightgown, but 
 ’t is so pretty it will bear being twice thanked for. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 
 
 \April, 1726.] 
 
 I received yours, dear sister, this minute, and am 
 very sorry both for your past illness and affliction ; 
 though, an bout du compte, I don’t know why filial 
 piety should exceed fatherly fondness. So much by 
 way of consolation. As to the management at that 
 time, I do verily believe, if my good aunt and sister 
 had been less fools and my dear mother-in-law less 
 mercenary, things might have had a turn more to your 
 advantage and mine too ; when we meet, I will tell you 
 many circumstances which would be tedious in a letter. 
 I could not get my sister Gower to join to act with 
 me, and mamma and I were in an actual scold when 
 
 1 All great ladies who had a reputation for stiff propriety. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 I77 
 
 y poor father expired ; she has shown a hardness of 
 ;art upon this occasion that would appear incredible 
 ■ > anybody not capable of it themselves. The ad¬ 
 don to her jointure is, one way or other, two thou- 
 ..nd pounds per annum ; so her good Grace remains 
 passable rich widow, and is already presented by 
 the town with a variety of young husbands. 
 
 Mrs. Murray is in open wars with me in such a 
 anner as makes her very ridiculous without doing 
 e much harm, my moderation having a very bright 
 iretence of showing itself. Firstly, she was pleased 
 attack me in very Billingsgate at a masquerade, 
 here she was as visible as ever she was in her own 
 othes. I had the temper not only to keep silence 
 yself, but enjoined it to the person with me, who 
 ould have been very glad to have shown his great 
 ill in sousing upon that occasion. She endeavored 
 sweeten him by very exorbitant praises of his per- 
 n, which might even have been mistaken for making 
 ve from a woman of less celebrated virtue; and 
 mcluded her oration with pious warnings to him to 
 oid the conversation of one so unworthy his regard 
 myself, who, to her certain knowledge, loved an- 
 her man. This last article, I own, piqued me more 
 in all her preceding civilities. The gentleman she 
 dressed herself to had a very slight acquaintance 
 :h me, and might possibly go away in the opinion 
 it she had been confidante in some very notorious 
 lir of mine. However, I made her no answer at 
 ; time ; but you may imagine I laid up these things 
 
 my heart; and the first assembly I had the honor 
 
 12 
 
178 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 to meet her at, with a meek tone of voice, asked 
 her how I had deserved so much abuse at her hands, 
 which I assured her I would never return. She de¬ 
 nied it in the spirit of lying; and in the spirit of folly 
 owned it at length. I contented myself with telling 
 her she was very ill advised, and thus we parted. 
 But two days ago, when Sir G. K.’s 1 pictures were to 
 be sold, she went to my sister Gower, and very civ¬ 
 illy asked if she intended to bid for your picture, 
 assuring her that, if she did, she would not offer at 
 purchasing it. You know crimp and quadrille inca¬ 
 pacitate that poor soul from ever buying anything; 
 but she told me this circumstance; and I expected 
 the same civility from Mrs. Murray, having no way 
 provoked her to the contrary. But she not only 
 came to the auction, but with all possible spite bid up 
 the picture, though I told her that, if you pleased to 
 have it, I would gladly part with it to you, though to 
 no other person. This had no effect upon her, nor her 
 malice any more on me than the loss of ten guineas 
 extraordinary, which I paid upon her account. The 
 picture is in my possession, and at your service if you 
 please to have it. She went to the masquerade a few 
 nights afterwards, and had the good sense to tell people 
 there that she was very unhappy in not meeting me, 
 being come there on purpose to abuse me. What 
 profit or pleasure she has in these ways I cannot find 
 out. This I know, that revenge has so few joys for 
 me, I shall never lose so much time as to under¬ 
 take it. 
 
 1 Sir Godfrey Kneller. On his death his widow sold all 
 his pictures at auction. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 179 
 
 LX. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 
 
 [J“iy, 1726.] 
 
 Dear Sister, — I am very glad to hear you men¬ 
 tion meeting in London. We are much mistaken 
 here as to our ideas of Paris; to hear gallantry has 
 deserted it sounds as extraordinary to me as a want 
 of ice in Greenland. We have nothing but ugly faces 
 in this country, but more lovers than ever. There 
 are but three pretty men in England, and they are all 
 in love with me at this present writing. This will 
 amaze you extremely; but if you were to see the 
 reigning girls at present, I will assure you there is 
 very little difference between them and old women. 
 I have been embourbee in family affairs for this last 
 fortnight. Lady F. [Frances] Pierrepont, having four 
 hundred pounds per annum for her maintenance, has 
 awakened the consciences of half her relations to take 
 care of her education ; and (excepting myself) they 
 have all been squabbling about her, and squabble to 
 this day. My sister Gower carries her off to-morrow 
 morning to Staffordshire. The lies, twattles, and con¬ 
 trivances about this affair are innumerable. I should 
 pity the poor girl if I saw she pitied herself. The 
 Duke of Kingston is in France, but is not to go to 
 your capital; so much for that branch of your family. 
 My blessed offspring has already made a great noise 
 in the world. That young rake, my son, took to his 
 heels t’ other day and transported his person to Ox¬ 
 ford, being in his own opinion thoroughly qualified 
 
l8o LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 for the University. After a good deal of search we 
 found and reduced him, much against his will, to the 
 humble condition of a schoolboy. It happens very 
 luckily that the sobriety and discretion is of my 
 daughter’s side; I am sorry the ugliness is so too, 
 for my son grows extremely handsome. 
 
 I don’t hear much of Mrs. Murray’s despair on the 
 death of poor Gibby, and I saw her dance at a ball 
 where I was two days before his death. I have a 
 vast many pleasantries to tell you, and some that will 
 make your hair stand on an end with wonder. Adieu, 
 dear sister; “ conservez-moi l’honneur de votre ami- 
 ti6, et croyez que je suis toute a vous.” 
 
 LXI. 
 
 TO -THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 
 
 [1726.] 
 
 All that I had to say to you was that my F. [fa¬ 
 ther] really expressed a great deal of kindness to me 
 at last, and even a desire of talking to me, which my 
 Lady Duchess would not permit; nor my aunt and 
 sister show anything but a servile complaisance to 
 her. This is the abstract of what you desire to know, 
 and is now quite useless. ’T is over, and better to 
 be forgot than remembered. The Duke of Kingston 1 
 has hitherto had so ill an education, ’t is hard to 
 make any judgment of him; he has spirit, but I fear 
 will never have his father’s good sense. As young 
 noblemen go, ’t is possible he may make a good fig- 
 
 1 Lady Mary’s nephew. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 1 8 1 
 
 ure amongst them. Wars and rumors of wars make 
 all the conversation at present. The tumbling of the 
 stocks, one way or other, influences most people’s af¬ 
 fairs. For my own part, I have no concern there or 
 anywhere but hearty prayers that what relates to 
 myself may ever be exactly what it is now. Muta¬ 
 bility of sublunary things is the only melancholy re¬ 
 flection I have to make on my own account. I am 
 in perfect health, and hear it said I look better than 
 ever I did in my life, which is one of those lies one is 
 always glad to hear. However, in this dear minute, 
 in this golden now, I am tenderly touched at your 
 misfortune, and can never call myself quite happy till 
 you are so. 
 
 My daughter makes her compliments to yours, but 
 has not yet received the letter Lord Erskine said he 
 had for her. Adieu, dear sister. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 
 
 \June , 1727.] 
 
 I had writ you a long letter, dear sister, and only 
 wanted sealing it, when I was interrupted by a sum¬ 
 mons to my sister Gower’s, whom I never left since. 
 She lasted from Friday to Tuesday, and died about 
 eight o’clock, in such a manner as has made an im¬ 
 pression on me not easily shaken off. We are now 
 but two in the world, and it ought to endear us to 
 one another. I am sure whatever I can serve my 
 
182 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 poor nieces and nephews in shall not be wanting on 
 my part. I won’t trouble you with melancholy cir¬ 
 cumstances ; you may easily imagine the affliction of 
 Lord Gower and Lady Cheyne. I hope you will not 
 let melancholy hurt your own health, which is truly 
 dear to your affectionate sister. 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 
 
 [July, 1727.] 
 
 You see, dear sister, that I answer your letters as 
 soon as I receive them, and if mine can give you any 
 consolation or amusement, you need never want ’em. 
 I desire you would not continue grieving yourself. 
 Of all sorrows, those we pay to the dead are most 
 vain; and, as I have no good opinion of sorrow in 
 general, I think no sort of it worth cherishing. 
 
 You ’ll wonder perhaps to hear Lord Gower is a 
 topping courtier, and that there is not one Tory left 
 in England. There is something extremely risible in 
 these affairs, but not so proper to be communicated 
 by letter; and so I will, in an humble way, return to 
 my domestics. I hear your daughter is a very fine 
 young lady, and I wish you joy of it, as one of the 
 greatest blessings of life. My girl gives me a great 
 prospect of satisfaction, but my young rogue of a son 
 is the most ungovernable little rake that ever played 
 truant. If I were inclined to lay worldly matters to 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 183 
 
 heart, I could write a quire of complaints about it. 
 You see no one is quite happy, though’tis pretty 
 much in my nature to console upon all occasions. I 
 advise you to do the same, as the only remedy 
 against the vexations of life; which in my con¬ 
 science I think affords disagreeable things to the 
 highest ranks, and comforts to the very lowest; so 
 that upon the whole things are more equally dis¬ 
 posed among the sons of Adam than they are gener¬ 
 ally thought to be. You see my philosophy is not 
 so lugubre as yours. I am so far from avoiding 
 company that I seek it on all occasions ; and when I 
 am no longer an actor upon this stage (by the way, I 
 talk of twenty years hence at the soonest), as a spec¬ 
 tator I shall laugh at the farcical actions which may 
 then be represented, nature being exceedingly boun¬ 
 tiful in all ages in providing coxcombs, who are the 
 greatest preservatives against the spleen that I ever 
 could find out. I say all these things for your edifi¬ 
 cation, and shall conclude my consolatory epistle 
 with one rule that I have found very conducing to 
 health of body and mind. As soon as you wake in 
 the morning, lift up your eyes and consider seriously 
 what will best divert you that day. Your imagination, 
 being then refreshed by sleep, will certainly put in 
 your mind some party of pleasure, which, if you exe¬ 
 cute with prudence, will disperse those melancholy 
 vapors which are the foundation of all distempers. 
 
 I am your affectionate sister. 
 
184 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 LX IV. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 
 
 [About August, 1727.] 
 
 My cousin is going to Paris, and I will not let her 
 go without a letter for you, my dear sister, though I 
 never was in a worse humor for writing. I am vexed 
 to the blood by my young rogue of a son, who has 
 contrived at his age to make himself the talk of 
 the whole nation. He is gone knight-erranting, God 
 knows where; and hitherto ’t is impossible to find 
 him. You may judge of my uneasiness by what your 
 own would be if dear Lady Fanny was lost. Nothing 
 that ever happened to me has troubled me so much; 
 I can hardly speak or write of it with tolerable tem¬ 
 per, and I own it has changed mine to that degree I 
 have a mind to cross the water, to try what effect a 
 new heaven and a new earth will have upon my 
 spirit. If I take this resolution, you shall hear in a 
 few posts. There can be no situation in life in which 
 the conversation of my dear sister will not administer 
 some comfort to me. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF MAR. 
 
 [October, 1727.] 
 
 I cannot deny, but that I was very well diverted 
 on the Coronation day. I saw the procession much 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 1 85 
 
 at my ease, in a house which I filled with my own 
 company, and then got into Westminster Hall with¬ 
 out trouble, where it was very entertaining to observe 
 the variety of airs that all meant the same thing. 
 The business of every walker there was to conceal 
 vanity and gain admiration. For these purposes 
 some languished and others strutted; but a visible 
 satisfaction was diffused over every countenance as 
 soon as the coronet was clapped on the head. But 
 she that drew the greatest number of eyes was in¬ 
 disputably Lady Orkney. She exposed behind, a 
 mixture of fat and wrinkles ; and before, a very con¬ 
 siderable protuberance which preceded her. Add 
 to this the inimitable roll of her eyes, and her gray 
 hairs, which by good fortune stood directly upright, 
 and ’t is impossible to imagine a more delightful 
 spectacle. She had embellished all this with con¬ 
 siderable magnificence, which made her look as big 
 again as usual; and I should have thought her one 
 of the largest things of God’s making if my Lady 
 St. John had not displayed all her charms in honor 
 of the day. The poor Duchess of Montrose crept 
 along with a dozen of black snakes playing round 
 her face ; and my Lady Portland (who is fallen away 
 since her dismission from court) represented very 
 finely an Egyptian mummy embroidered over with 
 hieroglyphics. In general, I could not perceive but 
 that the old were as well pleased as the young; and 
 I, who dread growing wise more than anything in 
 the world, was overjoyed to find that one can never 
 outlive one’s vanity. I have never received the long 
 letter you talk of, and am afraid that you only fancied 
 
186 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 that you wrote it. Adieu, dear sister; I am affec¬ 
 tionately yours. 1 
 
 LX VI. 
 
 TO DR. ARBUTHNOT. 
 
 [ October, 1730?] 
 
 Sir, — Since I saw you I have made some inqui¬ 
 ries, and heard more of the story you was so kind to 
 mention to me. I am told Pope has had the sur¬ 
 prising impudence to assert he can bring the lam¬ 
 poon when he pleases to produce it, under my own 
 hand ; I desire he may be made to keep to this 
 offer. If he is so skilful in counterfeiting hands, I 
 suppose he will not confine that great talent to the 
 gratifying his malice, but take some occasion to in¬ 
 crease his fortune by the same method, and I may 
 hope (by such practices) to see him exalted accord¬ 
 ing to his merit, which nobody will rejoice at more 
 than myself. I beg of you, sir (as an act of justice), 
 to endeavor to set the truth in an open light, and 
 then I leave to your judgment the character of those 
 who have attempted to hurt mine in so barbarous a 
 manner. I can assure you (in particular) you named 
 a lady to me (as abused in this libel) whose name I 
 never heard before; and as I never had any ac¬ 
 quaintance with Dr. Swift, am an utter stranger to 
 all his affairs and even his person, which I never saw 
 to my knowledge, and am now convinced the whole 
 
 1 This was the last letter written to Lady Mar, who 
 shortly afterward was declared insane. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 187 
 
 is a contrivance of Pope’s to blast the reputation of 
 one who never injured him. I am not more sensible 
 of his injustice than I am, sir, of your candor, gen¬ 
 erosity, and good sense I have found in you, which 
 has obliged me to be with a very uncommon warmth 
 your real friend, and I heartily wish for an opportu¬ 
 nity of showing I am so more effectually than by sub¬ 
 scribing myself your very 
 
 Humble servant. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 TO DR ARBUTHNOT . 1 
 
 Oct. 17 [1730?] 
 
 Sir, — I have this minute received your letter, 
 and cannot remember I ever was so much surprised 
 in my life, the whole contents of it being a matter 
 of astonishment. I give you sincere and hearty 
 thanks for your intelligence, and the obliging manner 
 of it. I have ever valued you as a gentleman both 
 of sense and merit, and will join with you in any 
 method you can contrive to prevent or punish the 
 authors of so horrid a villany. I am with much 
 esteem, 
 
 Your humble servant. 
 
 1 This and the letter following allude to the publication of 
 the scurrilous “ Epistle to Mr. Alexander Pope.” Pope, 
 Gay, Arbuthnot, and Swift are all abused with almost as 
 little wit as decency. Afterwards Welsted and Smythe, two 
 bitter enemies of Pope, were suspected; but at one time, says 
 Thomas, “ he suspected or pretended to suspect Lady Mary 
 Wortley.” 
 
188 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 TO DR. ARBUTHNOT. 
 
 Jan. 3 [1735]. 
 
 Sir, — I have perused the last lampoon of your in¬ 
 genious friend, and am not surprised you did not 
 find me out under the name of Sappho, because there 
 is nothing I ever heard in our characters or circum¬ 
 stances to make a parallel; but as the town (except 
 you, who know better) generally suppose Pope means 
 me whenever he mentions that name, I cannot help 
 taking notice of the horrible malice he bears against 
 the lady signified by that name, which appears to be 
 irritated by supposing her writer of the verses to the 
 Imitator of Horace. Now I can assure him they 
 were wrote (without my knowledge) by a gentleman 
 of great merit, whom I very much esteem, 1 who he 
 will never guess, and who, if he did know, he durst 
 not attack; but I own the design was so well meant 
 and so excellently executed that I cannot be sorry they 
 were written. I wish you would advise poor Pope to 
 turn to some more honest livelihood than libelling. I 
 know he will allege in his excuse that he must write 
 to eat, and he is now grown sensible that nobody will 
 buy his verses except their curiosity is piqued to it 
 to see what is said of their acquaintance ; but I think 
 this method of gain so exceeding vile that it admits 
 of no excuse at all. Can anything be more detest¬ 
 able than his abusing poor Moore, scarce cold in his 
 grave, when it is plain he kept back his poem while 
 1 Lord Hervey. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 189 
 
 he lived for fear he should beat him for it ? This is 
 shocking to me, though of a man I never spoke to 
 and hardly knew by sight; but I am seriously con¬ 
 cerned at the worse scandal he has heaped on Mr. 
 Congreve, who was my friend, and whom I am 
 obliged to justify, because I can do it on my own 
 knowledge and, which is yet farther, bring witness of 
 it from those who were then often with me, that he 
 was so far from loving Pope’s rhyme, both that and 
 his conversation were perpetual jokes to him, ex¬ 
 ceeding despicable in his opinion, and he has often 
 made us laugh in talking of them, being particularly 
 pleasant on that subject. As to Pope’s being born 
 of honest parents, I verily believe it, and will add 
 one praise to his mother’s character, that (though I 
 only know her very old) she always appeared to me 
 to have much better sense than himself. I desire, 
 sir, as a favor, that you would show this letter to 
 Pope, and you will very much oblige, sir, 
 
 Your humble servant. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF POM FRET. 
 
 1738. [March, 1739.] 
 
 I am so well acquainted with the lady you men¬ 
 tion that I am not surprised at any proof of her want 
 of judgment; she is one of those who has passed 
 upon the world vivacity in the place of understand¬ 
 ing ; for me, who think with Boileau, — 
 
 “ Rien n’est beau que le vrai, le vrai seul est aimable,” 
 
190 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 I have always thought those geniuses much inferior 
 to the plain sense of a cookmaid, who can make a 
 good pudding and keep the kitchen in good order. 
 
 Here is no news to be sent you from this place, 
 which has been for this fortnight, and still continues, 
 overwhelmed with politics, and which are of so mysteri¬ 
 ous a nature, one ought to have some of the gifts of 
 Lilly or Partridge to be able to write about them ; and 
 I leave all those dissertations to those distinguished 
 mortals who are endowed with the talent of divination, 
 though I am at present the only one of my sex who 
 seems to be of that opinion, — the ladies having shown 
 their zeal and appetite for knowledge in a most glori¬ 
 ous manner. At the last warm debate in the House of 
 Lords, it was unanimously resolved that there should 
 be no crowd of unnecessary auditors; consequently 
 the fair sex were excluded, and the gallery destined 
 to the sole use of the House of Commons. Notwith¬ 
 standing which determination, a tribe of dames re¬ 
 solved to show on this occasion that neither men nor 
 laws could resist them. These heroines were Lady 
 Huntingdon , 1 the Duchess of Queensberry, the Duch¬ 
 ess of Ancaster, Lady Westmoreland, Lady Cobham, 
 Lady Charlotte Edwin, Lady Archibald Hamilton 
 and her daughter, Mrs. Scott, and Mrs. Pendarves, 
 and Lady Frances Saunderson. I am thus particular 
 in their names, since I look upon them to be the 
 boldest assertors and most resigned sufferers for lib¬ 
 erty I ever read of. They presented themselves at 
 the door at nine o’clock in the morning, where Sir 
 William Saunderson respectfully informed them the 
 1 The friend of the Methodists 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 191 
 
 Chancellor had made an order against their admit¬ 
 tance. The Duchess of Queensberry, as head of the 
 squadron, pished at the ill-breeding of a mere lawyer, 
 and desired him to let them upstairs privately. After 
 
 some modest refusals, he swore by G-he would 
 
 not let them in. Her grace, with a noble warmth, 
 
 answered, by G-they would come in in spite of 
 
 the Chancellor and the whole House. This being 
 reported, the Peers resolved to starve them out; an 
 order was made that the doors should not be opened 
 till they had raised their siege. These Amazons now 
 showed themselves qualified for the duty even of foot- 
 soldiers. They stood there till five in the afternoon ; 
 every now and then playing volleys of thumps, kicks, 
 and raps against the door, with so much violence that 
 the speakers in the House were scarce heard. When 
 the Lords were not to be conquered by this, the two 
 duchesses (very well apprised of the use of strata¬ 
 gems in war) commanded a dead silence of half an 
 hour; and the Chancellor, who thought this a certain 
 proof of their absence (the Commons also being very 
 impatient to enter), gave order for the opening of the 
 door; upon which they all rushed in, pushed aside 
 their competitors, and placed themselves in the front 
 rows of the gallery. They stayed there till after 
 eleven, when the House rose; and during the de¬ 
 bate gave applause and showed marks of dislike, not 
 only by smiles and winks (which have always been 
 allowed in these cases), but by noisy laughs and ap¬ 
 parent contempts ; which is supposed the true reason 
 why poor Lord Hervey spoke miserably. I beg your 
 pardon, dear madam, for this long relation; but’t is 
 
192 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 impossible to be short on so copious a subjec 
 you must own this action very well worthy of :conl 
 and I think not to be paralleled in history, anc 
 modern. I look so little in my own eyes (w 
 at that time ingloriously sitting over a tea-ta 
 hardly dare subscribe myself even, 
 
 Yours. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 TO MR. WORTLEY MONTAGU. 
 
 Dijon, Aug. 18, n.s. [17 ; 
 
 I am at length arrived here very safely, and ' 
 any bad accident; and so much mended in mj 
 that I am surprised at it. France is so mu : 
 proved, it is not to be known to be the same co. c . 
 we passed through twenty years ago. Every 
 see speaks in praise of Cardinal Fleury, — th< ids 
 
 are all mended, and the greatest part of them eu 
 
 as well as the streets of Paris, planted on botl c 
 like the roads in Holland ; and such good can 
 against robbers, that you may cross the count 
 your purse in your hand, but as to travelling 
 nito, I may as well walk incognito in the Pa 
 There is not any town in France where there 
 English, Scotch, or Irish families established; 
 have met with people that have seen me ( gh 
 
 1 This letter was written on her way to the Co ent 
 She had parted from her husband, as it proved (a 
 very possibly she was far from suspecting thus much 
 to see him again. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 193 
 
 such as I do not remember to have seen) in 
 town I have passed through; and I think the 
 r I go the more acquaintance I meet. Here 
 this town no less than sixteen English families 
 >1 fashion. Lord Mansel lodges in the house with 
 ■ id a daughter of Lord Bathurst’s, Mrs. Which- 
 ■ e Mrs. Whitshed], is in the same street. The 
 of Rutland is gone from hence some time ago, 
 Lady Peterborough told me at St. Omer’s; 
 w tc was one reason determined me to come here, 
 ing to be quiet; but I find it is impossible, and 
 that 'vill make me leave the place after the return 
 0 this post. The French are more changed than 
 roads ; instead of pale, yellow faces, wrapped 
 blankets, as we saw them, the villages are all 
 with fresh-colored, lusty peasants, in good cloth 
 lean linen. It is incredible the air of plenty 
 content that is over the whole country. I 
 to hear as soon as possible that you are in 
 health. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF POMFRET. 
 
 [Venice, about February, 1740.] 
 annot deny your ladyship’s letter gave me a 
 deal of pleasure ; but you have seasoned it with 
 it deal of pain, in the conclusion (after the 
 1 vu y agreeable things you have said to me) that you 
 >t entirely satisfied with me. You will not throw 
 paration on ill fortune; and I will not renew 
 J 3 
 
194 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 the conversation of the fallen angels in Milton, who 
 in contesting on predestination and free will, we are 
 told, — 
 
 “ They of the vain dispute could know no end.” 
 
 Yet I know that neither my pleasures, my passions, 
 nor my interests have ever disposed of me so much 
 as little accidents, which, whether from chance or 
 destiny, have always determined my choice. Here 
 is weather, for example, which to the shame of all 
 almanacs keeps on the depth of winter in the begin¬ 
 ning of spring, and makes it as much impossible for 
 me to pass the mountains of Bologna as it would be 
 to wait on you in another planet, if you had taken up 
 your residence in Venus or Mercury. However, I 
 am fully determined to give myself that happiness; 
 but when is out of my power to decide. You may 
 imagine, apart from the gratitude I owe you and the 
 inclination I feel for you, that I am impatient to hear 
 good sense pronounced in my native tongue, having 
 only heard my language out of the mouths of boys 
 and governors for these five months. Here are inun¬ 
 dations of them broke in upon us this carnival, and 
 my apartment must be their refuge, the greater part 
 of them having kept an inviolable fidelity to the lan¬ 
 guages their nurses taught them, their whole business 
 abroad (as far as I can perceive) being to buy new 
 clothes, — in which they shine in some obscure 
 coffee-house where they are sure of meeting only 
 one another, — and after the important conquest of 
 some waiting gentlewoman of an opera queen, whom 
 perhaps they remember as long as they live, return to 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 195 
 
 England excellent judges of men and manners. I 
 find the spirit of patriotism so strong in me every 
 time I see them that I look on them as the greatest 
 blockheads in nature; and, to say truth, the com¬ 
 pound of booby and petit maitre makes up a very 
 odd sort of animal. I hope vve shall live to talk all 
 these things over, and ten thousand more, which I 
 reserve till the hour of meeting; which that it may 
 soon arrive is the zealous wish of 
 Your ever faithful, etc. 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF POMFRET. 
 
 [Venice, about April , 1740.[ 
 
 Upon my word, dear madam, I seriously intend 
 myself the happiness of being with you this summer, 
 but it cannot be till then ; while the Prince of Saxony 
 stays here I am engaged not to move, — not upon his 
 account, as you may very well imagine, but here are 
 many entertainments given and to be given him by 
 the public, which it would be disobliging to my 
 friends here to run away from ; and I have received 
 so many civilities from the first people here, I cannot 
 refuse them the complaisance of passing the feast of 
 the Ascension in their company, though ’t is a real 
 violence to my inclination to be so long deprived 
 of yours, of which I know the value, and may say 
 that I am just to you from judgment as well as 
 pleased with you from taste. I envy nothing more 
 
196 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 to Lady Walpole than your conversation, though I 
 am glad you have met with hers. Have you not 
 reasoned much on the surprising conclusion of Lord 
 Scarborough? I confess I look upon his engage¬ 
 ment with the duchess, 1 not as the cause, but sign, 
 that he was mad. I could wish for some authentic 
 account of her behavior on this occasion. I do not 
 doubt she shines in it, as she has done in every other 
 part of her life. I am almost inclined to superstition 
 on this accident; and think it a judgment for the 
 death of a poor silly soul, 2 that you know he caused 
 some years ago. 
 
 I had a visit yesterday from a Greek called Canta- 
 cuzena, who had the honor to see your ladyship, as 
 he says, often at Florence, and gave me the pleasure 
 of speaking of you in the manner I think. Prince 
 Beauveau and Lord Shrewsbury intend to leave us in 
 a few days for the Conclave. We expect after it 
 a fresh cargo of English ; but God be praised, I hear 
 of no ladies among them, — Mrs. Lethuilier was the 
 last that gave comedies in this town, and she had 
 
 1 Lord Scarborough was engaged to marry the Duchess of 
 Manchester. The day before his wedding day he killed him¬ 
 self,— it was thought, in a fit of insanity. 
 
 2 This was Lady Mary’s own sister-in-law, the widow Lady 
 Kingston, who with a weak understanding had strong affec¬ 
 tions, and devoted them all to Lord Scarborough. She 
 thought him so firmly engaged to her that she even taught 
 her children to call him papa. But falling ill and sending 
 for him, she received such a shock from a cold slighting an¬ 
 swer he gave to something she said about their future mar¬ 
 riage, that she turned on her pillow, and spoke to him no 
 more. As she died a day or two afterwards, Lady Mary might 
 justly accuse him of having struck the death-blow. — W. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 197 
 
 made her exit before I came; which I look upon as 
 a great blessing. I have nothing to complain of here 
 but too much diversion, as it is called ; and which 
 literally diverts me from amusements much more 
 agreeable. I can hardly believe it is me dressed up 
 at balls, and stalking about at assemblies; and should 
 not be so much surprised at suffering any of Ovid’s 
 transformations, having more disposition, as I thought, 
 to harden into stone or timber than to be enlivened 
 into these tumultuary entertainments, where I am 
 amazed to find myself seated by a sovereign prince, 
 after travelling a thousand miles to establish myself 
 in the bosom of a republic, with a design to lose all 
 memory of kings and courts. Won’t you admire the 
 force of destiny ? I remember my contracting an in¬ 
 timacy with a girl 1 in a village, as the most distant 
 thing on earth from power and politics. Fortune 
 tosses her up (in a double sense), and I am em¬ 
 broiled in a thousand affairs that I had resolved to 
 avoid as long as I lived. Say what you please, 
 madam, we are pushed aDout by a superior hand, 
 and there is some predestination, as well as a great 
 deal of free will, in my being 
 
 Faithfully yours, etc. 
 
 1 Miss Skerrit, afterward Lady Walpole. —Ed. 
 
198 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 TO MR. WORTLEY MONTAGU. 
 
 Leghorn, Feb. 25, n. s. [174 
 I arrived here last night, and have received 
 morning the bill of nine hundred and five dc 
 odd money. 
 
 I shall be a little more particular in my acc< it, 
 from hence than I durst be from Rome, wher 
 the letters are opened and often stopped. I * 
 you had mine, relating to the antiquities in Na L 
 I shall now say something of the court of R 
 The first minister, Cardinal Valenti, has one o 
 best characters I ever heard [of], though of no 
 birth, and has made his fortune by an attachme 
 the Duchess of Salviati. The present Pope is 
 much beloved, and seems desirous to ease the p >!e 
 and deliver them out of the miserable poverty 
 are reduced to. I will send you the history 0 s 
 elevation, as I had it from a very good hand 
 will be any amusement to you. I never sav, 
 Chevalier 1 during my whole stay at Rome. I sa 
 two sons at a public ball in masque; they e 
 very richly adorned with jewels. The eldest s< 
 thoughtless enough, and is really not unlike 
 Lyttelton in his shape and air. The youngest is c 
 well made, dances finely, and has an ingenuou 
 countenance ; he is but fourteen years of age. 
 family live very splendidly, yet pay everybody 
 (wherever they get it) are certainly in no wa: of 
 
 1 Otherwise the Pretender. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 199 
 
 money. I heard at Rome the true, tragical history 
 of the Princess Sobieski, which is very different from 
 what was said at London. The pop Clement the 
 Twelfth was commonly supposed her lover, and she 
 used to go about publicly in his state coach, to the 
 great scandal of the people. Her husband’s mistress 
 spirited him up to resent it, so far that he left Rome 
 upon it, and she retired to a convent, where she 
 destroyed herself. The English travellers at Rome 
 behave in general very discreetly. I have reason to 
 speak well of them, since they were all exceeding 
 obliging to me. It may sound a little vain to say it, 
 but they really paid a regular court to me, as if 
 I had been their queen, and their governors told me 
 that the desire of my approbation had a very great 
 influence on their conduct. While I stayed there 
 was neither gaming nor any sort of extravagance. 
 I used to preach to them very freely, and they all 
 thanked me for it. I shall stay some time in this 
 town, where I expect Lady Pomfret. I think I have 
 answered every particular you seemed curious about. 
 If there be any other point you would have me speak 
 of, I will be as exact as I can. Direct, “ Recom- 
 mandd a Monsieur Jackson, Negotiant a Livourne 
 l’Anglais.” 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 TO MR. WORTLEY MONTAGU. 
 
 Genoa, Aug. 15, n. s. [1741]. 
 
 I am sorry to trouble you on so disagreeable a 
 subject as our son, but I received a letter from him 
 
200 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 last post, in which he solicits your dissolving 
 marriage, as if it was wholly in your power, and 
 reason he gives for it is so that he may marry m 
 to your satisfaction. It is very vexatious (though 
 more than I expected) that time has no effect, ai i 
 that it is impossible to convince him of his true sit 
 tion. He enclosed this letter in one to Mr. Birt 
 and tells me that he does not doubt that debt of 
 hundred pounds is paid. You may imagine 
 silly proceeding occasioned me a dun from 
 Birtles. I told him the person that wrote the le 
 was to my knowledge not worth a groat, which 
 all I thought proper to say on the subject. Her 
 
 arrived a little while since Count-, who 
 
 president of the council of war, and enjoyed rr 
 other great places under the late emperor. He 
 Spaniard. The next day after his arrival, he v 
 to the Doge, and declared himself his subject, 
 from thence to the archbishop, and desired tc 
 received as one of his flock. He has taken a g ' 
 house at Pierre l’Ar£ne, where he sees few pec 
 but what I think particular, he has brought with 
 thirty-five cases of books. I have had a partic 
 account of Lord Oxford’s death 1 from a very g *o< 
 hand, which he advanced by choice, refusing 
 remedies till it was too late to make use of tl 
 There was a will found, dated 1728, in which e 
 gave everything to my lady, which has affected 
 very much. Notwithstanding the many reasons ;h 
 
 1 The Earl of Oxford had a fortune of five hundred 
 sand pounds, out of which he was said to have saved o 
 hundred thousand. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 201 
 
 complain of him, I always thought there was 
 eakness than dishonesty in his actions, and is 
 rmation of the truth of that maxim of Mr. 
 oucault, “ un sot n’a pas assez d’e'toffe pour 
 onnete homme.” 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 TO MR. WORTLEY MONTAGU. 
 
 Geneva, Oct. 12, [1741]. 
 
 rived here last night, where I find everything 
 afferent from what it was represented to me; 
 >t the first time it has happened to me on my 
 Everything is as dear as it is at London, 
 rue, as all equipages are forbidden, that ex- 
 is entirely retrenched. I have been visited 
 lorning by some of the chief people in the 
 who seem extreme good sort of people, which 
 r general character ; very desirous of attracting 
 ers to inhabit with them, and consequently 
 ifficious in all they imagine can please them, 
 ay of living is absolutely the reverse of that in 
 Here is no show, and a great deal of eating ; 
 is all the magnificence imaginable, and no din- 
 but on particular occasions; yet the difference 
 ; prices renders the total expense very near 
 As I am not yet determined whether I shall 
 any considerable stay, I desire not to have the 
 y you intend me till I ask for it. If you have 
 curiosity for the present state of any of the 
 of Italy, I believe I can give you a truer ac- 
 
202 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 count than perhaps any other traveller can do, having 
 always had the good fortune of a sort of intimacy 
 with the first persons in the governments where I 
 resided, and they not guarding themselves against 
 the observations of a woman, as they would have 
 done from those of a man. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF POMFRET. 
 
 Chambery, December 3. N. s. [1741]. 
 
 At length, dear madam, I have the pleasure of 
 hearing from you; I hope you have found everything 
 in London to your satisfaction. I believe it will be a 
 little surprise to you to hear that I am fixed for this 
 winter in this little obscure town, which is generally 
 so much unknown that a description of it will at 
 least have novelty to recommend it. Here is the 
 most profound peace and unbounded plenty that is to 
 be found in any corner of the universe, but not one 
 rag of money. For my part, I think it amounts to 
 the same thing whether one is obliged to give several 
 pence for bread or can have a great deal of bread 
 for a penny, since the Savoyard nobility here keep as 
 good tables, without money, as those in London who 
 spend in a week what would be here a considerable 
 yearly revenue. Wine which is equal to the best 
 Burgundy is sold for a penny a quart, and I have a 
 cook for very small wages that is capable of rivalling 
 Chlo^. 1 Here are no equipages but chairs, the hire 
 1 The Duke of Manchester’s cook. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 203 
 
 ich is about a crown a week, and all other mat- 
 )roportionable. I can assure you I make the 
 h j. of the Duchess of Marlborough by carrying 
 ol in my purse, — there being no visible coin but 
 iper. Yet we are all people that can produce 
 rees to serve for the Order of Malta. Many of 
 u- .ve travelled, and ’t is the fashion to love read- 
 ! We eat together perpetually, and have assem- 
 every night for conversation. To say truth, 
 louses are all built after the manner of the old 
 sh towns, nobody having had money to build 
 ro hundred years past. Consequently the walls 
 lick, the roofs low, etc., the streets narrow and 
 ably paved. However, a concurrence of cir- 
 tances obliges me to this residence for some 
 ti You have not told me your thoughts of Ven- 
 I heartily regret the loss of those letters you 
 11 ion, and have no comfort but in the hopes of a 
 regular correspondence for the future. I can- 
 :ompassionate the Countess, since I think her 
 :nt character deserves all the mortifications 
 en can send her. It will be charity to send me 
 news you pick up, which will be always shown 
 itageously by your relation. I must depend 
 u • your goodness for this, since I can promise 
 no return from hence but the assurance that 
 1 , 
 
 Ever faithfully yours. 
 
 pleased to direct as before, to Monsieur Villette, 
 3 super-direction. Here are no such vanities as 
 ■aper, therefore you must excuse the want of it. 
 
204 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 TO MR. WORTLEY MONTAGU. 
 
 Lyons, April 23, n. s. [1742]. 
 
 I have this minute received four letters from you, 
 dated February 1, February 22, March 22, March 29. 
 I fancy their lying so long in the post-offices may 
 proceed from your forgetting to frank them, which I 
 am informed is quite necessary. I am very glad you 
 have been prevailed on to let our son take a commis¬ 
 sion. If you had prevented it he would have always 
 said, and perhaps thought, and persuaded other peo¬ 
 ple you had hindered his rising in the world; though 
 I am fully persuaded that he can never make a toler¬ 
 able figure in any station of life. When he was at 
 Morins, on his first leaving France, I then tried to 
 prevail with him to serve the Emperor as volunteer, 
 and represented to him that a handsome behavior 
 one campaign might go a great way in retrieving his 
 character, and offered to use my interest with you 
 (which I said I did not doubt would succeed) to 
 furnish him with a handsome equipage. He then an¬ 
 swered he supposed I wished him killed out of the way. 
 I am afraid his pretended reformation is not very sin¬ 
 cere. I wish time may prove me in the wrong. I 
 here enclose the last letter I received from him ; 
 I answered it the following post in these words : — 
 
 “ I am very glad you resolve to continue obedient 
 to your father, and are sensible of his goodness to¬ 
 wards you. Mr. Birtles showed me your letter to 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 205 
 
 him, in which you enclosed yours to me, where you 
 speak to him as your friend, subscribing yourself his 
 faithful, humble servant. He was at Genoa in his 
 uncle’s house when you was there, and well ac¬ 
 quainted with you, though you seem ignorant of 
 everything relating to him. I wish you would make 
 such sort of apologies for any errors you may commit. 
 I pray God your future behavior may redeem the 
 past, which will be a great blessing to your affection¬ 
 ate mother.” 
 
 I have not since heard from him; I suppose he 
 knew not what to say to so plain a detected false¬ 
 hood. It is very disagreeable to me to converse 
 with one from whom I do not expect to hear a word 
 of truth, and who, I am very sure, will repeat many 
 things that never passed in our conversation. You 
 see the most solemn assurances are not binding from 
 him, since he could come to London in opposition 
 to your commands, after having so frequently pro¬ 
 tested he would not move a step except by your 
 order. However, as you insist on my seeing him, I 
 will do it, and think Valence the properest town for 
 that interview. . . . 
 
 I shall stay here till I have an answer to this letter. 
 If you order your son to go to Valence, I desire you 
 would give him a strict command of going by a 
 feigned name. I do not doubt your returning me 
 whatever money I may give him ; but as l believe if 
 he receives money from me, he will be making me 
 frequent visits, it is clearly my opinion I should give 
 him none. Whatever you may think proper for his 
 journey, you may remit to him. 
 
20 6 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 I am very sorry for my daughter’s loss, 1 being sen¬ 
 sible how much it may affect her, though I suppose 
 it will be soon repaired. It is a great pleasure to me 
 when I hear she is happy. I wrote to her last post, 
 and will write again the next. 
 
 Since I wrote, I have looked everywhere for my 
 son’s letter, which I find has been mislaid in the 
 journey. There is nothing more in it than long 
 professions of doing nothing but by your command ; 
 and a positive assertion that he was ignorant of Mr. 
 Birtles’s relation to the late consul. 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 TO MR. WORTLEY MONTAGU. 
 
 Avignon, June io, n. s. [174-!]. 
 
 I am just returned from passing two days with our 
 son, of whom I will give you the most exact account 
 I am capable of. He is so much altered in his per¬ 
 son, I should scarcely have known him. He has en¬ 
 tirely lost his beauty, and looks at least seven years 
 older than he is; and the wildness that he always had 
 in his eyes is so much increased it is downright shock¬ 
 ing, and I am afraid will end fatally. He is grown 
 fat, but is still genteel, and has an air of politeness 
 that is agreeable. He speaks French like a French¬ 
 man, and has got all the fashionable expressions of 
 that language, and a volubility of words which he 
 always had, and which I do not wonder should pass 
 for wit with inconsiderate people. His behavior is 
 perfectly civil, and I found him very submissive; but 
 1 Lady Bute had just lost her infant son. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 20J 
 
 in the main no way really improved in his under¬ 
 standing, which is exceedingly weak ; and I am 
 convinced he will always be led by the person he 
 converses with either right or wrong, not being capa¬ 
 ble of forming any fixed judgment of his own. As 
 to his enthusiasm, if he had it, I suppose he has 
 already lost it; since I could perceive no turn of it 
 in all his conversation. But with his head I believe 
 it is possible to make him a monk one day and a 
 Turk 1 three days after. He has a flattering, insinua¬ 
 ting manner, which naturally prejudices strangers in 
 his favor. He began to talk to me in the usual silly 
 cant I have so often heard from him, which I short¬ 
 ened by telling him I desired not to be troubled with 
 it; that professions were of no use where actions were 
 expected ; and that the only thing could give me 
 hopes of a good conduct was regularity and truth. 
 He very readily agreed to all I said (as indeed he 
 has always done when he has not been hot-headed). 
 I endeavored to convince him how favorably he has 
 been dealt with, his allowance being much more than, 
 had I been his father, I would have given in the 
 same case. The Prince of Hesse, who is now mar¬ 
 ried to the Princess of England, lived some years at 
 Geneva on three hundred pounds per annum. Lord 
 Hervey sent his son at sixteen hither, and to travel 
 afterwards, on no larger pension than two hundred 
 pounds; and, though without a governor, he had 
 1 This prediction was oddly enough fulfilled. Edward 
 Wortley Montagu did at a later period assume the dress and 
 customs of the Turks, abjuring (according to rumor) the 
 Christian religion, and embracing Mahometanism with osten¬ 
 tatious fervor. 
 
208 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 reason enough not only to live within the com 
 of it, but carried home little presents for his father 
 and mother, which he showed me at Turin, 
 short, I know there is no place so expensive bi 
 prudent single man may live in it on one hunt ed 
 pounds per annum, and an extravagant one may 
 out ten thousand in the cheapest. Had you (sa 
 to him) thought rightly, or would have regarded bn 
 advice I gave you in all my letters, while in the 1 lie 
 town of Islestein you would have laid up one 1 
 dred and fifty pounds per annum ; you would 
 have had seven hundred and fifty pounds in yc r 
 pocket; which would have almost paid your deb t 
 and such a management would have gained you 
 esteem of the reasonable part of mankind. I 
 ceived this reflection, which he had never made him 
 self, had a very great weight with him. He w 
 have excused part of his follies by saying Mr. G. 
 told him it became Mr. W.’s son to live handson 
 I made answer that whether Mr. G. had said s os 
 no, the good sense of the thing was no way alt 
 by it; that the true figure of a man was the opinioi 
 the world had of his sense and probity, and not 
 idle expenses which were only respected by fo . 
 or ignorant people ; that his case was particula 
 he had but too publicly shown his inclinatio 
 vanities, and the most becoming part he could 
 act would be owning the ill use he had made o 
 father’s indulgence, and professing to endeavc r 
 be no further expense to him, instead of scand; 
 complaints, and being always at his last shirt anc 
 guinea, which any man of spirit would be ashann 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 209 
 
 ow I prevailed so far with him that he seemed 
 v ci willing to follow this advice ; and I gave him a 
 par *raph to write to G., which I suppose you will 
 dsiiy distinguish from the rest of his letter. He 
 ■ d me if you had settled your estate. I made an¬ 
 swer that I did not doubt (like all other wise men) 
 
 ■ ou always had a will by you ; but that you had cer¬ 
 ium l i not put anything out of your power to change. 
 On :hat, he began to insinuate that if I could pre- 
 vail on you to settle the estate on him, I might ex- 
 anything from his gratitude. I made him a very 
 and positive answer in these words : “ I hope 
 'oi father will outlive me; and if I should be so un- 
 ! nate to have it otherwise, I do not believe he 
 eave me in your power. But was I sure of the 
 ary, no interest nor no necessity shall ever make 
 hie act against my honor or conscience; and I 
 plainly tell you that I will never persuade your 
 father to do anything for you till I think you deserve 
 He answered by great promises of future good 
 behavior and economy. He is highly delighted with 
 t ! prospect of going into the army, and mightily 
 p: used with the good reception he had from Lord 
 Stair] ; though I find it amounts to no more than 
 i g him he was sorry he had already named his 
 lides-de-camp, and otherwise should have been glad 
 ol im in that post. He says Lord C. [Carteret] has 
 confirmed to him his promise of a commission. 
 
 I :ie rest of his conversation was extremely gay. 
 1 he various things he has seen have given him a su- 
 1 ; ficial universal knowledge. He really knows most 
 o 1 e modern languages, and if I could believe him, 
 H 
 
210 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 can read Arabic, and has read the Bible in Hebre 
 He said it was impossible for him to avoid goi 
 back to Paris; but he promised me to lie but o 
 night there, and go to a town six posts from thei 
 on the Flanders road, where he would wait y< 
 orders, and go by the name of Monsieur du Durani 
 Dutch officer; under which name I saw him. Th 
 are the most material passages, and my eyes are 
 much tired I can write no more at this time. I g 
 him two hundred and forty livres for his journej 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 TO MR. WORTLEY MONTAGU. 
 
 Avignon, March 25 [174 
 
 I take this opportunity of informing you in 
 manner I came acquainted with the secret I hi 
 at in my letter of the 5th of February. The so 
 of Freemasons at Nismes presented the Duk 
 Richelieu, governor of Languedoc, with a magnif 
 entertainment; it is but one day’s post from h' 
 and the Duchess of Crillon, with some other 1 
 of this town, resolved to be at it, and almost by 
 carried me with them, which I am tempted t 
 lieve an act of Providence, considering my 
 reluctance, and the service it proved to be to 
 happy innocent people. The greatest part c 
 town of Nismes are secret Protestants, which ai 
 severely punished according to the edicts of 
 XIV. whenever they are detected in any 
 worship. A few days before we came, they h 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 21 I 
 
 sembled ; their minister and about a dozen of his 
 congregation were seized and imprisoned. I knew 
 nothing of this ; but I had not been in the town two 
 hours when I was visited by two of the most con¬ 
 siderable of the Huguenots, who came to beg of me, 
 with tears, to speak in their favor to the Duke of 
 Richelieu, saying none of the Catholics would do it, 
 and the Protestants durst not, and that God had sent 
 me for their protection. The Duke of Richelieu 
 was too well-bred to refuse to listen to a lady, and I 
 was of a rank and nation to have liberty to say what 
 I pleased. They moved my compassion so much, I 
 resolved to use my endeavors to serve them, though 
 I had little hope of succeeding. I would not there¬ 
 fore dress myself for the supper, but went in a 
 domino to the ball, a masque giving opportunity of 
 talking in a freer manner than I could have done 
 without it. I was at no trouble in engaging his con¬ 
 versation ; the ladies having told him I was there, 
 he immediately advanced towards me ; and I found, 
 from a different motive, he had a great desire to be 
 acquainted with me, having heard a great deal of me. 
 After abundance of compliments of that sort, I made 
 my request for the liberty of the poor Protestants; 
 He with great freedom told me he was so little a 
 bigot, he pitied them as much as I did, but his 
 orders from court were to send them to the galleys. 
 However, to show how much he desired my good 
 opinion, he was returning, and would solicit their 
 freedom (which he has since obtained). This obli¬ 
 gation occasioned me to continue the conversation, 
 and he asked me what party the Pretender had in 
 
2 12 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 England; I answered, as I thought a very small 
 one. “ We are told otherwise at Paris,” said he; 
 “ however, a bustle at this time may serve to facilitate 
 our other projects, and we intend to attempt a de¬ 
 scent ; at least it will cause the troops to be recalled, 
 and perhaps Admiral Mathews will be obliged to 
 leave the passage open for Don Philip.” You may 
 imagine how much I wished to give you immediate 
 notice of this; but as all letters are opened at Paris, 
 it would have been to no purpose to write it by the 
 post, and have only gained me a powerful enemy in 
 the court of France, he being so much a favorite of 
 the king’s, he is supposed to stand candidate for the 
 ministry. In my letter to Sir R[obert] W[alpole] 
 from Venice, I offered my service, and desired to 
 know in what manner I could send intelligence, if 
 anything happened to my knowledge that could be 
 of use to England. I believe he imagined that I 
 wanted some gratification, and only sent me cold 
 thanks. I have wrote to you by the post an ac¬ 
 count of my servant’s leaving me. As that is only a 
 domestic affair, I suppose the letter may be suffered 
 to pass. I have had no letter from my son, and am 
 very sure he is in the wrong, whenever he does not 
 follow your direction, who, apart from other consid¬ 
 erations, have a stronger judgment than any of his 
 advisers. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 213 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF OXFORD. 
 
 [.Received at Dover Street , Monday, June 4, O. X.] 
 [Avignon], _/««*• i, n. s. [1744]. 
 
 Dearest Madam, — I have many thanks to give 
 you for the agreeable news of your health (which is 
 always in the first place regarded by me), and the 
 safe delivery of the Duchess of Portland, 1 whose little 
 son will, I hope, grow up a blessing to you both. I 
 heartily congratulate your ladyship on this increase 
 of your family; may you long enjoy the happiness of 
 seeing their prosperity ! 
 
 I am less surprised at Lady Sophia’s marriage than 
 at the fortune Lord Pomfret has given her; she had 
 charms enough to expect to make her fortune, and 
 I believe the raising of such a sum must be uneasy 
 in his present circumstances. By the accounts I 
 have received of Lady John Sackville, 2 I think the 
 young couple are much to be pitied, and am sorry 
 to hear their relations treat them with so much sever¬ 
 ity ; if I was in England, I would endeavor to serve 
 them. 
 
 Mrs. Hay has behaved to me with a great deal of 
 impertinence; there is no principle to be expected 
 from a woman of her character. Your ladyship need 
 
 1 Her daughter. 
 
 2 It was a secret marriage, only avowed after the birth of 
 the young couple’s child. Lady Sackville was a sister of the 
 Duchess of Bedford and Lady Mary’s niece. 
 
214 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 not mention your command of continuing our cor¬ 
 respondence ; it is the only comfort of my 'life, and 
 I should think myself the last of human beings if I 
 was capable of forgetting the many obligations I have 
 to you ; if you could see my heart, you would never 
 mention anything of that kind to me ; it is impossible 
 to have a more tender and grateful sense of all your 
 goodness, which, added to the real esteem I have of 
 your merit, binds me to be eternally and inviolably 
 your ladyship’s most sincere and devoted servant. 
 
 Your ladyship will permit me to offer my compli¬ 
 ments to the Duke and Duchess of Portland. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF OXFORD. 
 
 [Came to Dover street, Tuesday, September 18, O. S. ; 
 received at Welbeck, Thursday, September 20.] 
 
 Avignon, Sept. 14, n. s. [1744]. 
 
 The disorder of your ladyship’s health which you 
 mention gives me the highest concern, though I hope 
 it is now over, and that the good air of Welbeck will 
 wholly establish it. I beg of you with the utmost 
 earnestness that you would be careful of yourself; 
 I can receive no proof of your friendship so obliging 
 to me, though I am yours by every tie that can en¬ 
 gage a grateful heart. Mr. Wortley has said nothing 
 to me of his visit to your ladyship, nor can I guess 
 on what account it was, but suppose it relating to 
 some country interest; I know so well your just way 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 215 
 
 of thinking, that I am sure you always act right. 
 Mrs. Massam informed me of the hard fortune of 
 poor Lady Euston. I very much pity Lady Bur¬ 
 lington, but should do it yet more, if there had 
 not been some circumstances in her marrying her 
 daughter which make her in some measure blamable 
 for the event; however, there can be no excuse for 
 the brutal behavior of her worthless husband. 1 Your 
 happy disposition of the charming Duchess of Port¬ 
 land secures you from all sorrows of that kind, and 
 I pray to God you may live to see your grandchildren 
 as happily settled. Your life is the greatest blessing 
 that can be bestowed on your family; I am fully 
 persuaded they all think so, and I hope that con¬ 
 sideration will be of force to make you careful to 
 preserve it. I need not add how dear it is to me, 
 being to my last moment, dearest madam, with the 
 tenderest affection, 
 
 Your ladyship’s devoted servant. 
 
 1 Horace Walpole writes to Sir Horace Mann, June 20, 
 1743 .— 
 
 “Upon a picture of Lady Dorothy, at the Duke of Dev¬ 
 onshire’s at Chiswick, is the following touching inscription, 
 written by her mother, which commemorates her virtues and 
 her fate : — 
 
 “ * Lady Dorothy Boyle, born May the 14th, 1724. She was 
 the comfort and joy of her parents, the delight of all who 
 knew her angelic temper, and the admiration of all who 
 saw her beauty. She was married October 10th, 1741, and 
 delivered (by death) from misery, May the 2nd, 1742. This 
 picture was drawn seven weeks after her death (from mem¬ 
 ory), by her most affectionate mother, Dorothy Burlington.’” 
 
216 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 
 
 Brescia, Dec. 17, n. s. (174; 
 
 Dear Child, — I received yours of October 
 but yesterday ; the negligence of the post is very 
 agreeable. I have at length had a letter from I 
 Oxford, by which I find mine to her has miscarr 
 and perhaps the answer which I have now wrote 
 have the same fate. 
 
 I wish you joy of your young son ; may he liv u. 
 be a blessing to you. I find I amuse myself her 
 the same manner as if at London, according to } 
 account of it; that is, I play at whist every night 
 some old priests that I have taught it to, and 
 my only companions. To say truth, the deca of 
 my sight will no longer suffer me to read by can c 
 light, and the evenings are now long and dark, 
 
 I am forced to stay at home. I believe you’ll e 
 persuaded my gaming makes nobody uneasy, v n 
 I tell you that we play only a penny per con er. 
 ’T is now a year that I have lived wholly in t i e 
 country, and have no design of quitting it. I im 
 entirely given up to rural amusements, and have 
 got there are any such things as wits or fine la 
 in the world. However, I am pleased to hear ' 
 happens to my acquaintance. I wish you would 
 form me what is become of the Pomfret family, 
 who Sir Francis Dash wood has married. I knew 
 at Florence; he seemed so nice in the choic of 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 217 
 
 I have some curiosity to know who it is 
 that shad charms enough to make him enter into 
 an ngagement he used to speak of with fear and 
 trembling. 
 
 I m ever, dear child, your most affectionate 
 
 mobier. 
 
 service to Lord Bute, and blessing to my 
 hildren. 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 
 
 Brescia, Jan. 5, [1748]. 
 
 r Child, — I am glad to hear that yourself 
 mily are in good health; as to the alteration 
 y you find in the world, it is only owing to 
 >eing better acquainted with it. I have never 
 in aii ny various travels seen but two sorts of people, 
 lose very like one another; I mean men and 
 men, who always have been and ever will be the 
 s. The same vices and the same follies have 
 b :n the fruit of all ages, though sometimes under 
 nt names. I remember, when I returned from 
 y, meeting with the same affectation of youth 
 amongst my acquaintance that you now mention 
 amongst yours, and I do not doubt but your daugh- 
 ■ 11 find the same twenty years hence among 
 h One of the greatest happinesses of youth is 
 ^norance of evil, though it is often the ground 
 :at indiscretions, and sometimes the active part 
 :e is over before an honest mind finds out how 
 
218 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 one ought to act in such a world as this. I am as 
 much removed from it as it is possible to be on this 
 side the grave, which is from my own inclination, for 
 I might have even here a great deal of company, — 
 the way of living in this province being what I be¬ 
 lieve it is now in the sociable part of Scotland, and 
 was in England a hundred years ago. I had a visit 
 in the beginning of these holidays of thirty horse of 
 ladies and gentlemen, with their servants (by the 
 way, the ladies all ride like the late Duchess of 
 Cleveland). 1 They came with the kind intent of 
 staying with me at least a fortnight, though I had 
 never seen any of them before ; but they were all 
 neighbors within ten miles round. I could not avoid 
 entertaining them at supper, and by good luck had a 
 large quantity of game in the house, which with the 
 help of my poultry furnished out a plentiful table. I 
 sent for the fiddles, and they were so obliging as to 
 dance all night, and even dine with me next day, 
 though none of them had been in bed, and were 
 much disappointed I did not press them to stay, it 
 being the fashion to go in troops to one another's 
 houses, hunting and dancing together a month in 
 each castle. I have not yet returned any of their 
 visits, nor do not intend it of some time, to avoid 
 this expensive hospitality. The trouble of it is not 
 very great, they not expecting any ceremony. I left 
 the room about one o’clock, and they continued 
 their ball in the saloon above stairs, without being 
 at all offended at my departure. But the greatest 
 
 1 In the fashion that is now being revived by a few adven¬ 
 turous riders. Lady Mary subsequently adopted it herself. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 219 
 
 diversion I had was to see a lady of my own age 
 comfortably dancing with her own husband, some 
 years older; and I can assert that she jumps and 
 gallops with the best of them. 
 
 May you always be as well satisfied with your 
 family as you are at present, and your children re¬ 
 turn in your age the tender care you have of their 
 infancy. I know no greater happiness that can be 
 wished for you by your most affectionate mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to my 
 grandchildren. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 
 
 May IO, N. S. [1748]. 
 
 I give you thanks, dear child, for your entertaining 
 account of your present diversions. I find the pub¬ 
 lic calamities have no influence on the pleasures of 
 the town. I remember very well the play of the 
 Revenge, having been once acquainted with a party 
 that intended to represent it (not one of which is 
 now alive). I wish you had told me who acted the 
 principal parts. I suppose Lord Bute was Alonzo, 
 by the magnificence of his dress. I think they have 
 mended their choice in the Orphan; I saw it played 
 at Westminster school, where Lord Erskine was 
 Monimia, and then one of the most beautiful figures 
 that could be seen. I have had here (in low life) 
 some amusements of the same sort. I believe I 
 wrote you word I intended to go to the opera at 
 Brescia; but the weather being cold, and the roads 
 
220 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 bad* prevented my journey ; and the people of this 
 village (which is the largest I know; the curate tells 
 me he has two thousand communicants) presented 
 me a petition for leave to erect a theatre in my 
 saloon. This house has stood empty many years 
 before I took it, and they were accustomed to turn 
 the stables into a playhouse every carnival; it is now 
 occupied by my horses, and they had no other place 
 proper for a stage. I easily complied with their re¬ 
 quest, and was surprised at the beauty of their 
 scenes, which, though painted by a country painter, 
 are better colored, and the perspective better man¬ 
 aged, than in any of the second-rate theatres in 
 London. I liked it so well, it is not yet pulled down. 
 The performance was yet more surprising, the actors 
 being all peasants; but the Italians have so natural 
 a genius for comedy, they acted as well as if they 
 had been brought up to nothing else, particularly 
 the Arlequin, who far surpassed any of our English, 
 though only the tailor of the village, and I am as¬ 
 sured never saw a play in any other place. It is a 
 pity they have not better poets, the pieces being not 
 at all superior to our drolls. The music, habits, and 
 illumination were at the expense of the parish, and 
 the whole entertainment, which lasted the three last 
 days of the carnival, cost me only a barrel of wine, 
 which I gave the actors, and is not so dear as small 
 beer in London. At present, as the old song says, — 
 
 “ All my whole care 
 Is my farming affair, 
 
 To make my corn grow, and my apple-trees bear.” 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 221 
 
 My improvements give me great pleasure, and so 
 much profit that if I could live a hundred years 
 longer, I should certainly provide for all my grand¬ 
 children ; but, alas ! as the Italians say, “ H’o sonato 
 vingt & quatro ora,” and it is not long I must expect 
 to write myself your most affectionate mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to 
 your little ones. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 
 
 [July io, 1748.] 
 
 Dear Child, — ... I have been these six weeks, 
 and still am, at my dairy-house, which joins to my 
 garden. I believe I have already told you it is a long 
 mile from the castle, which is situate in the midst of 
 a very large village, once a considerable town, part of 
 the walls still remaining, and has not vacant ground 
 enough about it to make a garden, which is my 
 greatest amusement, it being now troublesome to 
 walk, or even go in the chaise till the evening. I 
 have fitted up in this farmhouse a room for myself; 
 that is to say, strewed the floor with rushes, covered 
 the chimney with moss and branches, and adorned 
 the room with basins of earthenware (which is made 
 here to great perfection) filled with flowers, and put 
 in some straw chairs, and a couch bed, which is my 
 whole furniture. This spot of ground is so beautiful, 
 I am afraid you will scarce credit the description, 
 which, however, I can assure you, shall be very 
 
222 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 literal, without any embellishment from imagination. 
 It is on a bank, forming a kind of peninsula, raised 
 from the river Oglio fifty feet, to which you may de¬ 
 scend by easy stairs cut in the turf, and either take 
 the air on the river, which is as large as the Thames 
 at Richmond, or by walking [in] an avenue two 
 hundred yards on the side of it, you find a wood of 
 a hundred acres, which was already cut into walks 
 and ridings when I took it. I have only added 
 fifteen bowers in different views, with seats of turf. 
 They were easily made, here being a large quantity 
 of underwood, and a great number of wild vines, 
 which twist to the top of the highest trees, and from 
 which they make a very good sort of wine they call 
 brusco. I am now writing to you in one of these 
 arbors, which is so thickly shaded, the sun is not 
 troublesome even at noon. Another is on the side 
 of the river, where I have made a camp kitchen, that 
 I may take the fish, dress and eat it immediately, 
 and at the same time see the barks which ascend or 
 descend every day to or from Mantua, Guastalla, or 
 Pont de Vie, all considerable towns. This little 
 wood is carpeted, in their succeeding seasons, with 
 violets and strawberries, inhabited by a nation of 
 nightingales, and filled with game of all kinds, ex¬ 
 cepting deer and wild boar, the first being unknown 
 here, and not being large enough for the other. 
 
 My garden was a plain vineyard when it came into 
 my hands not two years ago; and it is, with a small 
 expense, turned into a garden that (apart from the 
 advantage of the climate) I like better than that of 
 Kensington. The Italian vineyards are not planted 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 223 
 
 )se in France, but in clumps, fastened to trees 
 1 in equal ranks (commonly fruit-trees), and 
 red in festoons from one to another, which I 
 urned into covered galleries of shade, that I 
 ilk in the heat without being incommoded by 
 have made a dining-room of verdure, capable 
 ding a table of twenty covers; the whole 
 1 is three hundred and seventeen feet in length 
 ;o hundred in breadth. You see it is far from 
 but so prettily disposed (though I say it) 
 never saw a more agreeable rustic garden, 
 ding with all sort of fruit; and produces a 
 / of wines. I would send you a piece if I did 
 ar the customs would make you pay too dear 
 I believe my description gives you but an 
 feet idea of my garden. Perhaps I shall suc- 
 better in describing my manner of life, which is 
 jular as that of any monastery. I generally rise 
 , and as soon as I have breakfasted, put myself 
 e head of my weeder women and work with 
 till nine. I then inspect my dairy, and take a 
 among my poultry, which is a very large inquiry, 
 ve, at present, two hundred chickens, besides 
 :ys, geese, ducks, and peacocks. All things 
 hitherto prospered under my care ; my bees 
 silkworms are doubled, and I am told that, 
 out accidents, my capital will be so in two years’ 
 
 . At eleven o’clock I retire to my books : I 
 not indulge myself in that pleasure above an 
 At twelve I constantly dine, and sleep after 
 ter till about three. I then send for some of my 
 priests, and either play at piquet or whist till 
 
224 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 ’t is cool enough to go out. One evening I wa Ik in 
 my wood, where I often sup, take the air on h - 
 back the next, and go on the water the third. he 
 fishery of this part of the river belongs to me; 
 my fisherman’s little boat (where I have a g i 
 lutestring awning) serves me for a barge. He 
 his son are my rowers without any expense, he being 
 very well paid by the profit of the fish, which I 
 him on condition of having every day one dis 
 my table. Here is plenty of every sort of fresh- 
 fish (excepting salmon); but we have a large rou 
 so like it, that I, that have almost forgot the tast do 
 not distinguish it. 
 
 We are both placed properly in regard to mi 
 different times of life, — you amidst the fair, the j 
 lant, and the gay; I in a retreat where I enjoy 
 every amusement that solitude can afford. I cc i'ess 
 I sometimes wish for a little conversation; but I 
 reflect that the commerce of the world gives acre 
 uneasiness than pleasure, and quiet is all the iope 
 that can reasonably be indulged at my age. M\ 
 letter is of an unconscionable length ; I shouk. 
 your pardon for it, but I had a mind to give you 
 idea of my passing my time ; take it as an instance 
 of the affection of, dear child, 
 
 Your most affectionate mothe 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing 
 my grandchildren. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 225 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 TO MR. WORTLEY MONTAGU 
 
 July 17, N. S. [1748]. 
 
 I am glad my daughter’s conduct justifies the opin¬ 
 ion I always had of her understanding. I do not 
 wonder at her being well received in sets of company 
 different from one another, having myself preserved 
 a long intimacy with the Duchesses of Marlborough 
 and Montagu, though they were at open war, and 
 perpetually talking of their complaints. I believe 
 they were both sensible I never betrayed either; each 
 of them giving me the strongest proofs of confidence 
 in the last conversations I had with them, which were 
 the last I had in England. What I think extraor¬ 
 dinary is my daughter’s continuing so many years 
 agreeable to Lord Bute, — Mr. Mackenzie telling me 
 the last time I saw him that his brother frequently 
 said among his companions that he was still as much 
 in love with his wife as before he married her. If 
 the princess’s favor lasts it may be of use to her fam¬ 
 ily. I have often been dubious if the seeming indif¬ 
 ference of her Highness’s behavior was owing to very 
 good sense or great insensibility ; should it be the 
 first, she will get the better of all her rivals, and prob¬ 
 ably one day have a large share of power. 
 
 I send you my son’s letter and a copy of my an¬ 
 swer to it. I should be glad to hear you approved it. 
 
 I am very much pleased that you accustom your¬ 
 self to tea, being persuaded that the moderate use of 
 IS 
 
226 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU,\ 
 
 it is generally wholesome. I have planted a great 
 deal in my garden, which is a fashion lately intro¬ 
 duced in this country, and has succeeded very well. 
 I cannot say it is as strong as the Indian, but [it] has 
 the advantage of being fresher, and at least unmixed. 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 
 
 Feb. 19, N. S. [1749]. 
 
 My dear Child, — I gave you some general 
 thoughts on the education of your children in my 
 last letter; but fearing you should think I neglected 
 your request by answering it with too much concise¬ 
 ness, I am resolved to add to it what little I know on 
 that subject, and which may perhaps be useful to 
 you in a concern with which you seem so nearly 
 affected. 
 
 People commonly educate their children as they 
 build their houses, — according to some plan they 
 think beautiful, without considering whether it is 
 suited to the purposes for which they are designed. 
 Almost all girls of quality are educated as if they 
 were to be great ladies, which is often as little to be 
 expected as an immoderate heat of the sun in the 
 north of Scotland. You should teach yours to con¬ 
 fine their desires to probabilities, to be as useful as is 
 possible to themselves, and to think privacy (as it is) 
 the happiest state of life. I do not doubt your giving 
 them all the instructions necessary to form them to a 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 227 
 
 virtuous life; but’t is a fatal mistake to do this with¬ 
 out proper restrictions. Vices are often hid under 
 the name of virtues, and the practice of them followed 
 by the worst of consequences. Sincerity, friendship, 
 piety, disinterestedness, and generosity are all great 
 virtues ; but pursued without discretion become crim¬ 
 inal. I have seen ladies indulge their own ill-humor 
 by being very rude and impertinent, and think they 
 deserved approbation by saying, “ I love to speak 
 truth.” One of your acquaintance made a ball the 
 next day after her mother died, to show she was sin¬ 
 cere. I believe your own reflection will furnish you 
 with but too many examples of the ill effects of 
 the rest of the sentiments I have mentioned when too 
 warmly embraced. They are generally recommended 
 to young people without limits or distinction, and 
 this prejudice hurries them into great misfortunes, 
 while they are applauding themselves in the noble 
 practice (as they fancy) of very eminent virtues. 
 
 I cannot help adding (out of my real affection to 
 you), I wish you would moderate that fondness you 
 have for your children. I do not mean you should 
 abate any part of your care or not do your duty to 
 them in its utmost extent; but I would have you 
 early prepare yourself for disappointments, which are 
 heavy in proportion to their being surprising. It is 
 hardly possible in such a number that none should 
 be unhappy ; prepare yourself against a misfortune of 
 that kind. I confess there is hardly any more diffi¬ 
 cult to support; yet it is certain imagination has a 
 great share in the pain of it, and it is more in our 
 power than it is commonly believed to soften what- 
 
228 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 ever ills are founded or augmented by fancy. Strictlv 
 speaking, there is but one real evil, — I mean acute 
 pain ; all other complaints are so considerably dimin¬ 
 ished by time that it is plain the grief is owing to our 
 passion, since the sensation of it vanishes when that 
 is over. 
 
 There is another mistake I forgot to mention usual 
 in mothers. If any of their daughters are beauties they 
 take great pains to persuade them that they are ugly, 
 or at least that they think so, which the young woman 
 never fails to believe springs from envy, and is per¬ 
 haps not much in the wrong. I would if possible 
 give them a just notion of their figure, and show 
 them how far it is valuable. Every advantage has its 
 price, and may be either over or under valued. It is 
 the common doctrine of (what are called) good books 
 to inspire a contempt of beauty, riches, greatness, 
 etc., which has done as much mischief among the 
 young of our sex as an over-eager desire of them. 
 They should not look on these things as blessings 
 where they are bestowed, though not necessaries 
 that it is impossible to be happy without. I am per¬ 
 suaded the ruin of Lady F. [Frances] M. [Meadows] 
 was in great measure owing to the notions given 
 her by the silly good people that had the care of her. 
 ’T is true, her circumstances and your daughters’ are 
 very different; they should be taught to be content 
 with privacy, and yet not neglect good fortune if it 
 should be offered them. 
 
 I am afraid I have tired you with my instructions. 
 I do not give them as believing my age has furnished 
 me with superior wisdom, but in compliance with 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 22 Q 
 
 your desire, and being fond of every opportunity 
 that gives a proof of the tenderness with which I am 
 ever, 
 
 Your affectionate mother. 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 
 
 June 22, N. S. [1750]. 
 
 My dear Child, — Since you tell me my letters 
 (such as they are) are agreeable to you, I shall for 
 the future indulge myself in thinking upon paper 
 when I write to you. 
 
 I cannot believe Sir John’s 1 advancement is owing 
 to his merit, though he certainly deserves such a dis¬ 
 tinction ; but I am persuaded the present disposers 
 of such dignities are neither more clear-sighted or 
 
 more disinterested thar 
 since I knew the wc 
 hung out to sale, 1> 
 coats in Monmouth 
 same sort of people 
 
 jr predecessors. Ever 
 1 patents have been 
 'ed and embroidered 
 bought up by the 
 ose who had rather 
 
 wear shabby finery than no m.ery at all; though I 
 do not suppose this was Sir John’s case. That good 
 creature (as the country saying is) has not a bit of 
 pride in him. I dare swear he purchased his title 
 for the same reason he used to purchase pictures in 
 Italy; not because he wanted to buy, but because 
 somebody or other wanted to sell. He hardly ever 
 
 1 Sir John Rawdon. 
 
230 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 opened his mouth but to say, “ What you please, 
 sir; ” “ At your service ; ” “ Your humble servant; ” 
 or some gentle expression to the same effect. It 
 is scarce credible that with this unlimited complai¬ 
 sance he should draw a blow upon himself; yet it so 
 happened that one of his own countrymen was brute 
 enough to strike him. As it was done before many 
 witnesses, Lord Mansel heard of it; and thinking 
 that if poor Sir John took no notice of it, he would 
 suffer daily insults of the same kind, out of pure 
 good-nature resolved to spirit him up, at least to 
 some show of resentment, intending to make up 
 their matter afterwards in as honorable a manner 
 as he could for the poor patient. He represented 
 to him very warmly that no gentleman could take 
 a box on the ear. Sir John answered with great 
 calmness, “ I know that; but this was not a box on 
 the ear, it was only a slap of the face.” 
 
 I was as well acquainted with his two fir ■ Ives as 
 
 the difference of our 
 have broke their hear 
 companion. ’T is re- 
 tuous young woman 
 tion of the object < 
 
 permitted. I fancy they 
 ing chained to such a 
 '3 for a well-bred, vir- 
 ined to the conversa- 
 tempt. There is but 
 
 one thing to be done m that case, which is a method 
 I am sure you have observed 1 ct ! wifi sue 
 by some ladies I need not name,— fie .ssociate die 
 husband and the lap-dog, and mi; ’ 
 they make exactly the same figure in the family 
 My Lord and Dell tag after madam (o all indii'Lu 
 places, and stay at home together v- u tic- er s ; w goes 
 into company where they would be trot, leson 1 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 2 3 1 
 
 pity — if the D. of K. [Duke of Kingston] marries. 
 She will then know that her mean compliances will 
 appear as despicable to him as they do now to other 
 people. Who would have thought that all her nice 
 notions and pious meditations would end in being 
 the humble companion of M. [Mademoiselle] de la 
 Touche? I do not doubt she has been forced to 
 it by necessity, and is one proof (amongst many I 
 have seen) of what I always thought, — that nobody 
 should trust their virtue with necessity, the force of 
 which is never known till it is felt, and it is therefore 
 one of the first duties to avoid the temptation of it. 
 I am not pleading for avarice, far from it. I can 
 assure you I equally contemn — who can forget she 
 was born a gentlewoman, for the sake of money she 
 did not want. That is indeed the only sentiment 
 that properly deserves the name of avarice. A 
 prudential care of one’s affairs, or (to go further) a 
 desire of being in circumstances to be useful to 
 one’s friends, is not only excusable but highly laud¬ 
 able, never blamed but by those who would per¬ 
 suade others to throw away their money, in hopes 
 to pick up a share of it. The greatest declaimers 
 for disinterestedness I ever knew have been capable 
 of the vilest actions on the least view of profit; and 
 the greatest instances of true generosity, given by 
 those who were regular in their expenses and su¬ 
 perior to the vanities in fashion. 
 
 I believe you are heartily tired of my dull morali¬ 
 ties. I confess I am in very low spirits ; it is hotter 
 weather than has been known for some years, and I 
 have got an abominable cold, which has drawn after 
 
232 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 it a troop of complaints I will not trouble yoi 
 reciting. I hope all your family are in good h .mb. 
 I am humble servant to Lord Bute. I give my 
 ing to my G[randjchildren, and am ever your ;osi 
 affectionate mother. 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 
 
 March 2, N. s. [1751' 
 
 Dear Child, — I had the happiness of a letter 
 from your father last post, by which I find you are 
 in good health, though I have not heard from vou 
 of a long time. This frequent interruption of our 
 correspondence is a great uneasiness to me ; I charge 
 it on the neglect or irregularity of the post. I sent 
 you a letter by Mr. Anderson a great while ago to 
 which I never had any answer; neither have I ever 
 heard from him since, though I am fully persu 
 he has wrote concerning some little commission- 1 
 gave him. I should be very sorry he thought I 
 neglected to thank him for his civilities. I desire 
 Lord Bute would inquire about him. I saw hi in 
 company with a very pretty pupil, who seemed to 
 me a promising youth. I wish he would fall in 
 love with my granddaughter. I dare say you 1 ugh 
 at this early design of providing for her ; take 
 a mark of my affection for you and yours, whi> , is 
 without any mixture of self-interest, since witl my 
 age and infirmities there is little probability o my 
 ’ living to see them established. I no more expect 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 233 
 
 rive at the age of the Duchess of Marlborough 
 tl ii to that of Methusalem; neither do I desire it. 
 
 e long thought myself useless to the world. I 
 have seen one generation pass away; and it is gone ; 
 
 think there are very few of those left that flour¬ 
 ish in my youth. You will perhaps call these mel- 
 ily reflections; they are not so. There is a 
 qui after the abandoning of pursuits, something 
 ie rest that follows a laborious day. I tell you 
 ns for your comfort. It was formerly a terrifying 
 to me that I should one day be an old woman, 
 low find that Nature has provided pleasures for 
 ev-( state. Those are only unhappy who will not 
 be ontented with what she gives, but strive to 
 through her laws, by affecting a perpetuity of 
 youth, which appears to me as little desirable at 
 present as the babies do to you that were the 
 delight of your infancy. I am at the end of my 
 paper, which shortens the sermon of, dear child, 
 your most affectionate mother. 
 
 XC. 
 
 TO MR. WORTLEY MONTAGU. 
 
 . 
 
 May 24, N. S. [1751]. 
 
 :an no longer resist the desire I have to know 
 is become of my son. I have long suppressed 
 , 10m a belief that if there was anything of good 
 ■' 1 >e told, you would not fail to give me the pleas- 
 of hearing it. I find it now grows so much 
 
234 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 upon me that whatever I am to know, I think it 
 would be easier for me to support than the anxiety 
 I suffer from my doubts. I beg to be informed, 
 and prepare myself for the worst, with all the phi¬ 
 losophy I have. At my time of life I ought to be 
 detached from a world which I am soon to leave ; 
 to be totally so is a vain endeavor, and perhaps 
 there is vanity in the endeavor; while we are hu¬ 
 man we must submit to human infirmities, and 
 suffer them in mind as well as body. All that re¬ 
 flection and experience can do is to mitigate, we 
 can never extinguish, our passions. I call by that 
 name every sentiment that is not founded upon 
 reason, and own I cannot justify to mine the con¬ 
 cern I feel for one who never gave me any view of 
 satisfaction. 
 
 This is too melancholy a subject to dwell upon. 
 You compliment me on the continuation of my 
 spirits: ’t is true I try to maintain them by every 
 art I can, being sensible of the terrible consequences 
 of losing them. Young people are too apt to let 
 theirs sink on any disappointment. I have wrote 
 to my daughter all the considerations I could think 
 of to lessen her affliction. I am persuaded you 
 will advise her to amusements, and am very glad 
 you continue that of travelling, as the most useful 
 for health. I have been prisoner here some months, 
 by the weather; the rivers are still impassable in 
 most places. When they are abated, I intend some 
 little excursions, being of your opinion that exercise 
 is as necessary as food, though I have at present no 
 considerable complaint; my hearing, and I think 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 235 
 
 my memory, are without any decay, and my sight 
 better than I could expect; it still serves me to read 
 many hours in a day. I have appetite enough to 
 relish what I eat, and have the same sound, unin¬ 
 terrupted sleep that has continued through the 
 course of my life, and to which I attribute the hap¬ 
 piness of not yet knowing the headache. I am very 
 sorry you are so often troubled with it, but hope 
 from your care and temperance that if you cannot 
 wholly overcome it, yet it may be so far diminished 
 as not to give you any uneasiness, or affect your 
 constitution. 
 
 XCI. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 
 
 June ig, N. S. [1751]. 
 
 My dear Child, — I received yesterday yours of 
 May 10, in which was enclosed the captain’s bill 
 for the box. I am much obliged to Lord Bute for 
 thinking of me so kindly; to say truth, I am as 
 fond of baubles as ever, and am so far from being 
 ashamed of it, it is a taste I endeavor to keep up 
 with all the art I am mistress of. I should have 
 despised them at twenty for the same reason that I 
 would not eat tarts or cheesecakes at twelve years 
 old, as being too childish for one capable of more 
 solid pleasures. I now know (and alas ! have long 
 known) all things in this world are almost equally 
 trifling, and our most secret projects have scarce 
 
236 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 more foundation than those edifices that your little 
 ones raise in cards. You see to what period the 
 vast fortunes of the Duke and Duchess of Marlbor¬ 
 ough, and Sir Robert Walpole, are soon arrived. 
 
 I believe as you do, that Lady Orford is a joyful 
 widow, but am persuaded she has as much reason 
 to weep for her husband as ever any woman has 
 had, from Andromache to this day. I never saw 
 any second marriage that did not appear to me very 
 ridiculous; hers is accompanied with circumstances 
 that render the folly complete. 
 
 Sicknesses have been very fatal in this country as 
 well as England. I should be glad to know the 
 names of those you say are deceased; I believe I 
 am ignorant of half of them, the Dutch news being 
 forbid here. I would not have you give yourself 
 the trouble, but order one of your servants to tran¬ 
 scribe the catalogue. You will perhaps laugh at 
 this curiosity. If you ever return to Bute, you will 
 find that what happens in the world is a consider¬ 
 able amusement in solitude. The people I see here 
 make no more impression on my mind than the 
 figures in the tapestry, — while they are directly be¬ 
 fore my eyes, I know one is clothed in blue, and 
 another in red ; but out of sight, they are so entirely 
 out of memory; I hardly remember whether they 
 are tall or short. I sometimes call myself to ac¬ 
 count for this insensibility, which has something of 
 ingratitude in it, this little town thinking themselves 
 highly honored and obliged by my residence, they 
 intended me an extraordinary mark of it, having 
 determined to set up my statue in the most con- 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 237 
 
 spicuous place. The marble was bespoke, and the 
 sculptor bargained with, before I knew anything of 
 the matter; and it would have been erected with¬ 
 out my knowledge if it had not been necessary for 
 him to see me to take the resemblance. I thanked 
 him very much for his intention; but utterly refused 
 complying with it, fearing it would be reported (at 
 least in England) that I had set up my own statue. 
 They were so obstinate in the design, I was forced 
 to tell them my religion would not permit it. I 
 seriously believe it would have been worshipped, 
 when I was forgotten, under the name of some saint 
 or other, since I was to have been represented with 
 a book in my hand, which would have passed for a 
 proof of canonisation. This compliment was cer¬ 
 tainly founded on reasons not unlike those that first 
 framed goddesses, — I mean being useful to them, 
 in which I am second to Ceres. If it be true she 
 taught the art of sowing wheat, it is sure I have 
 learned them to make bread, in which they con¬ 
 tinued in the same ignorance Mision complains of 
 (as you may see in his letter from Padua). I have 
 introduced French rolls, custards, minced pies, and 
 plum-pudding, which they are very fond of. ’T is 
 impossible to bring them to conform to sillabub, 
 which is so unnatural a mixture in their eyes, they 
 are even shocked to see me eat it; but I expect 
 immortality from the science of butter-making, in 
 which they are become so skilful from my instruc¬ 
 tions, I can assure you here is as good as in any 
 part of Great Britain. I am afraid I have bragged 
 of this before ; but when you do not answer any 
 
238 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 part of my letters, I suppose them lost, which ex¬ 
 poses you to some repetitions. Have you received 
 that I wrote on my first notice of the prince’s death ? 
 I shall receive Lord Bute’s china with great pleas¬ 
 ure. The pearl necklace for my goddaughter has 
 been long packed up for her; I wish I could say 
 sent. In the mean time give her and the rest of 
 yours my blessing, with thanks and compliments to 
 Lord Bute, from your most affectionate mother. 
 
 I desire you would order the china to be packed 
 up by some skilful man of the trade, or I shall re¬ 
 ceive it in pieces. 
 
 XCII. 
 
 TO MR. WORTLEY MONTAGU. 
 
 June 20, N. S. [1751]. 
 
 I received yours of May 9 yesterday, with 
 great satisfaction, finding in it an amendment of 
 your health. I am not surprised at Lady Orford’s 
 folly, 1 having known her at Florence; she made 
 great court to me. She has parts, and a very en¬ 
 gaging manner. Her company would have amused 
 me very much, but I durst not indulge myself in it, 
 her character being in universal horror. I do not 
 mean from her gallantries, which nobody trouble 
 their heads with, but she had a collection of free¬ 
 thinkers that met weekly at her house, to the scan¬ 
 dal of all good Christians. She invited me to one 
 of those honorable assemblies, which I civilly re- 
 1 She married Mr. Shirley; see next letter (XCIII). 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 239 
 
 fused, not desiring to be thought of her opinion, nor 
 thinking it right to make a jest of ordinances that 
 are (at least) so far sacred, as they are absolutely 
 necessary in all civilized governments; and it is 
 being in every sense an enemy to mankind to en¬ 
 deavor to overthrow them. Tarwater is arrived in 
 Italy. I have been asked several questions con¬ 
 cerning the use of it in England. I do not find it 
 makes any great progress here ; the doctors confine 
 it to a possibility of being useful in the case of in¬ 
 ward ulcers, and allow it no further merit. ... I 
 have wrote a long letter to my daughter this post; I 
 cannot help fearing for her. Time and distance 
 have increased, and not diminished, my tenderness 
 for her. I own it is stronger than my philosophy; 
 my reason agrees with Atticus, but my passions are 
 the same with Tully’s. 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 
 
 [Feb. 16, N. S. 1752.] 
 
 Dear Child, — I received yesterday, February 
 15, n. s., the case of books you were so good to 
 send to me ; the entertainment they have already 
 given me has recompensed me for the long time I 
 expected them. I began by your direction with 
 Peregrine Pickle. I think Lady V. [Vanej’s Me¬ 
 moirs contain more truth and less malice than any I 
 ever read in my life. When she speaks of her own 
 being disinterested, I am apt to believe she really 
 
240 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 thinks herself so, as many highwaymen, after having 
 no possibility of retrieving the character of honesty, 
 please themselves with that of being generous, be¬ 
 cause, whatever they get on the road, they always 
 spend at the next alehouse, and are still as beggarly 
 as ever. Her history, rightly considered, would be 
 more instructive to young women than any sermon 
 I know. They may see there what mortifications and 
 variety of misery are the unavoidable consequences 
 of gallantries. I think there is no rational creature 
 that would not prefer the life of the strictest Carmel¬ 
 ite to the round of hurry and misfortune she has 
 gone through. Her style is clear and concise, with 
 some strokes of humor, which appear to me so 
 much above her, I can’t help being of opinion the 
 whole has been modelled by the author of the book 
 in which it is inserted, who is some subaltern ad¬ 
 mirer of hers. I may judge wrong, she being no 
 acquaintance of mine, though she has married two 
 of my relations. Her first wedding was attended 
 with circumstances that made me think a visit not 
 at all necessary, though I disobliged Lady Susan by 
 neglecting it; and her second, which happened 
 soon after, made her so near a neighbor, that I 
 rather chose to stay the whole summer in town 
 than partake of her balls and parties of pleasure, to 
 which I did not think it proper to introduce you; 
 and had no other way of avoiding it without incur¬ 
 ring the censure of a most unnatural mother for 
 denying you diversions that the pious Lady Ferrers 
 permitted to her exemplary daughters. Mr. Shirley 
 has had uncommon fortune in making the conquest 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 241 
 
 such extraordinary ladies, equal in their 
 i, 1 contempt of shame, and eminent above their 
 one for beauty, and the other wealth, both 
 whu. ttract the pursuit of all mankind, and have 
 rown into his arms with the same unlimited 
 5. He appeared to me gentile, well bred, 
 iped, and sensible ; but the charms of his 
 d eyes, which Lady V. [Vane] describes 
 much warmth, were, I confess, always invisi- 
 ne, and the artificial part of his character 
 ring, which I think her story shows in a 
 ight. 
 
 ( es came; and my eyes grown weary, I 
 the next book, merely because I supposed 
 1 1 • title it could not engage me long. It was 
 the Little, which has really diverted me 
 an any of the others, and it was impossible 
 bed till it was finished. It was a real and 
 presentation of life, as it is now acted in 
 1 ,on as it was in my time, and as it will be (I 
 doubt) a hundred years hence, with some 
 •iation of dress, and perhaps government. 
 
 1 there many of my acquaintance. Lady T. 
 y O. are so well painted, I fancied I heard 
 k, and have heard them say the very things 
 •peated. I also saw myself as I now am 
 haracter of Mrs. Qualmsick. You will be 
 at this, no Englishwoman being so free 
 ors, having never in my life complained of 
 cs or weak nerves; but our resemblance is 
 ng in the fancied loss of appetite which I 
 16 
 
242 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 have been silly enough to be persuaded into by the 
 physician of this place. He visits me frequently, as 
 being one of the most considerable men in the par¬ 
 ish, and is a grave, sober-thinking, great fool, whose 
 solemn appearance, and deliberate way of delivering 
 his sentiments, gives them an air of good sense, 
 though they are often the most injudicious that ever 
 were pronounced. By perpetual telling me I eat so 
 little he is amazed I am able to subsist, he had 
 brought me to be of his opinion; and I began to be 
 seriously uneasy at it. This useful treatise has 
 roused me into a recollection of what I eat yester¬ 
 day, and do almost every day the same. I wake 
 generally about seven, and drink half a pint of warm 
 ass’s milk, after which I sleep two hours; as soon 
 as I am risen, I constantly take three cups of milk 
 coffee, and two hours after that a large cup of milk 
 chocolate ; two hours more brings my dinner, where 
 I never fail swallowing a good dish (I don’t mean 
 plate) of gravy soup, with all the bread, roots, etc. 
 belonging to it. I then eat a wing and the whole 
 body of a large fat capon, and a veal sweetbread, 
 concluding with a competent quantity of custard, 
 and some roasted chestnuts. At five in the after¬ 
 noon I take another dose of ass’s milk; and for 
 supper twelve chestnuts (which would weigh twenty- 
 four of those in London), one new-laid egg, and a 
 handsome porringer of white bread and milk. With 
 this diet, notwithstanding the menaces of my wise 
 doctor, I am now convinced I am in no danger of 
 starving; and am obliged to Little Pompey for this 
 discovery. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 243 
 
 My blessing to our children, and compliments to 
 Lord Bute. I enclose a bill to pay the overplus due 
 to you, and serve for future little commissions. 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 
 
 Jan. 28, n.s. [ 17531 - 
 
 Dear Child, — You have given me a great deal 
 of satisfaction by your account of your eldest daugh¬ 
 ter. I am particularly pleased to hear she is a good 
 arithmetician ; it is the best proof of understanding, 
 — the knowledge of numbers is one of the chief dis¬ 
 tinctions between us and the brutes. If there is 
 anything in blood you may reasonably expect your 
 children should be endowed with an uncommon 
 share of good sense. Mr. Wortley’s family and 
 mine have both produced some of the greatest men 
 that have been born in England; I mean Admiral 
 Sandwich and my grandfather, who was distinguished 
 by the name of Wise William. I have heard Lord 
 Bute’s father mentioned as an extraordinary genius, 
 though he had not many opportunities of showing 
 it; and his uncle, the present Duke of Argyll, has 
 one of the best heads I ever knew. I will therefore 
 speak to you as supposing Lady Mary not only ca¬ 
 pable but desirous of learning; in that case by all 
 means let her be indulged in it. You will tell me I 
 did not make it a part of your education. Your 
 prospect was very different from hers ; as you had no 
 defect either in mind or person to hinder, and much 
 
244 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 in your circumstances to attract, the highest offers, 
 it seemed your business to learn how to live in the 
 world, as it is hers to know how to be easy out of it. 
 It is the common error of builders and parents to 
 follow some plan they think beautiful (and perhaps 
 is so), without considering that nothing is beautiful 
 that is displaced. Hence we see so many edifices 
 raised that the raisers can never inhabit, being too 
 large for their fortunes. Vistas are laid open over 
 barren heaths, and apartments contrived for a cool¬ 
 ness very agreeable in Italy, but killing in the north 
 of Britain; thus every woman endeavors to breed 
 her daughter a fine lady, qualifying her for a station 
 in which she will never appear, and at the same time 
 incapacitating her for that retirement to which she is 
 destined. Learning, if she has a real taste for it, will 
 not only make her contented, but happy in it. No 
 entertainment is so cheap as reading, nor any pleas¬ 
 ure so lasting. She will not want new fashions, nor 
 regret the loss of expensive diversions or variety of 
 company, if she can be amused with an author in 
 her closet. To render this amusement extensive, 
 she should be permitted to learn the languages. 
 True knowledge consists in knowing things, not 
 words. I would wish her no further a linguist than 
 to enable her to read books in their originals that 
 are often corrupted and always injured by trans¬ 
 lations. Two hours’ application every morning will 
 bring this about much sooner than you can imagine, 
 and she will have leisure enough besides to run over 
 the English poetry, which is a more important part 
 of a woman’s education than it is generally supposed. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 2 $ 
 
 Many a young damsel has been ruined by a fine 
 copy of verses which she would have laughed at if 
 she had known it had been stolen from Mr. Waller. 
 I remember, when I was a girl, I saved one of my 
 companions from destruction who communicated to 
 me an epistle she was quite charmed with. As she 
 had a natural good taste, she observed the lines were 
 not so smooth as Prior’s or Pope’s, but had more 
 thought and spirit than any of theirs. She was won¬ 
 derfully delighted with such a demonstration of her 
 lover’s sense and passion, and not a little pleased 
 with her own charms that had force enough to in¬ 
 spire such elegancies. In the midst of this triumph 
 I showed her that they were taken from Randolph’s 
 poems, and the unfortunate transcriber was dismissed 
 with the scorn he deserved. 
 
 You should encourage your daughter to talk over 
 with you what she reads; and as you are very capa¬ 
 ble of distinguishing, take care she does not mistake 
 pert folly for wit and humor, or rhyme for poetry, 
 which are the common errors of young people, and 
 have a train of ill consequences. The second cau¬ 
 tion to be given her (and which is most absolutely 
 necessary) is to conceal whatever learning she at¬ 
 tains with as much solicitude as she would hide 
 crookedness or lameness ; the parade of it can only 
 serve to draw on her the envy, and consequently the 
 most inveterate hatred, of all he and she fools, 
 which will certainly be at least three parts in four of 
 all her acquaintance. 
 
246 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 You will tell me I have not observed this rule my¬ 
 self ; but you are mistaken, — it is only inevitable 
 accident that has given me any reputation that way. 
 I have always carefully avoided it, and ever thought 
 it a misfortune. 
 
 Do not fear that this should make her affect the 
 
 character of Lady-, or Lady-, or Mrs.-; 
 
 those women are ridiculous, not because they have 
 learning, but because they have it not. One thinks 
 herself a complete historian after reading Echard’s 
 Roman History; another a profound philosopher, 
 having got by heart some of Pope’s unintelligible 
 essays; and a third an able divine, on the strength 
 of Whitefield’s sermons, — thus you hear them 
 screaming politics and controversy. 
 
 It is a saying of Thucydides, “ Ignorance is bold, 
 and knowledge reserved.” Indeed, it is impossible 
 to be far advanced in it without being more hum¬ 
 bled by a conviction of human ignorance than elated 
 by learning. At the same time I recommend books, 
 I neither exclude work nor drawing. I think it as 
 scandalous for a woman not to know how to use a 
 needle as for a man not to know how to use a sword. 
 I was once extreme fond of my pencil, and it was a 
 great mortification to me when my father turned off 
 my master, having made a considerable progress for 
 a short time I learnt. My over-eagerness in the pur¬ 
 suit of it had brought a weakness on my eyes that 
 made it necessary to leave it off, and all the advan¬ 
 tage I got was the improvement of my hand. I see 
 by hers that practice will make her a ready writer ; 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 247 
 
 she may attain it by serving you for a secretary when 
 your health or affairs make it troublesome to you to 
 write yourself, and custom will make it an agreeable 
 amusement to her. She cannot have too many for 
 that station of life which will probably be her fate. 
 The ultimate end of your education was to make 
 you a good wife (and I have the comfort to hear 
 that you are one) ; hers ought to be to make her 
 happy in a virgin state. I will not say it is happier, 
 but it is undoubtedly safer than any marriage. In a 
 lottery where there are (at the lowest computation) 
 ten thousand blanks to a prize, it is the most pru¬ 
 dent choice not to venture. I have always been so 
 thoroughly persuaded of this truth that notwith¬ 
 standing the flattering views I had for you (as I 
 never intended you a sacrifice to my vanity), I 
 thought I owed you the justice to lay before you all 
 the hazards attending matrimony; you may recollect 
 I did so in the strongest manner. Perhaps you may 
 have more success in the instructing your daughter; 
 she has so much company at home she will not need 
 seeking it abroad, and will more readily take the 
 notions you think fit to give her. As you were alone 
 in my family, it would have been thought a great 
 cruelty to suffer you no companions of your own 
 age, especially having so many near relations; and 
 I do not wonder their opinions influenced yours. 
 I was not sorry to see you not determined on a 
 single life, knowing it was not your father’s inten¬ 
 tion, and contented myself with endeavoring to 
 make your home so easy that you might not be in 
 haste to leave it. 
 
248 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 I am afraid you will think this a very long and 
 insignificant letter. I hope the kindness of the de¬ 
 sign will excuse it, being willing to give you every 
 proof in my power that I am 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 
 XCV. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 
 
 March 6 [17 53]. 
 
 I cannot help writing a sort of apology for my 
 last letter, foreseeing that you will think it wrong, 
 or at least Lord Bute will be extremely shocked at 
 the proposal of a learned education for daughters, 
 which the generality of men believe as great a pro¬ 
 fanation as the clergy would do if the laity should 
 presume to exercise the functions of the priesthood. 
 I desire you would take notice, I would not have 
 learning enjoined them as a task, but permitted as 
 a pleasure if their genius leads them naturally to it. 
 I look upon my granddaughters as a sort of lay 
 nuns; destiny may have laid up other things for 
 them, but they have no reason to expect to pass 
 their time otherwise than their aunts do at present; 
 and I know by experience it is in the power of 
 study not only to make solitude tolerable, but 
 agreeable. I have now lived almost seven years in 
 a stricter retirement than yours in the Isle of Bute, 
 and can assure you I have never had half an hour 
 heavy on my hands for want of something to do. 
 Whoever will cultivate their own mind will find full 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 249 
 
 employment. Every virtue does not only require 
 great care in the planting, but as much daily soli¬ 
 citude in cherishing, as exotic fruits and flowers. 
 The vices and passions, which I am afraid are the 
 natural product of the soil, demand perpetual weed¬ 
 ing. Add to this the search after knowledge (every 
 branch of which is entertaining), and the longest 
 life is too short for the pursuit of it; which though 
 in some regards confined to very strait limits, leaves 
 still a vast variety of amusements to those capable 
 of tasting them, which is utterly impossible for those 
 that are blinded by prejudices which are the certain 
 effect of an ignorant education. My own was one 
 of the worst in the world, being exactly the same 
 as Clarissa Harlowe’s, — her pious Mrs. Norton so 
 perfectly resembling my governess, who had been 
 nurse to my mother, I could almost fancy the author 
 was acquainted with her. She took so much pains 
 from my infancy to fill my head with superstitious 
 tales and false notions, it was none of her fault I am 
 not at this day afraid of witches and hobgoblins, or 
 turned Methodist. Almost all girls are bred after 
 this manner. I believe you are the only woman 
 (perhaps I might say person) that never was either 
 frighted or cheated into anything by your parents. 
 I can truly affirm I never deceived anybody in my 
 life, excepting (which I confess has often happened 
 undesignedly) by speaking plainly. As Earl Stan¬ 
 hope used to say, during his ministry he always 
 imposed on the foreign ministers by telling them 
 the naked truth, which, as they thought impossible 
 to come from the mouth of a statesman, they never 
 
250 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 failed to write informations to their respective courts 
 directly contrary to the assurances he gave them, — 
 most people confounding the ideas of sense and 
 cunning, though there are really no two things in 
 nature more opposite; it is in part from this false 
 reasoning, the unjust custom prevails of debarring 
 our sex from the advantages of learning, the men 
 fancying the improvement of our understandings 
 would only furnish us with more art to deceive 
 them, which is directly contrary to the truth. Fools 
 are always enterprising, not seeing the difficulties 
 of deceit, or the ill consequences of detection. I 
 could give many examples of ladies whose ill con¬ 
 duct has been very notorious, which has been owing 
 to that ignorance which has exposed them to idle¬ 
 ness, which is justly called the mother of mischief. 
 There is nothing so like the education of a woman 
 of quality as that of a prince ; they are taught to 
 dance, and the exterior part of what is called good 
 breeding, which if they attain, they are extraordi¬ 
 nary creatures in their kind, and have all the accom¬ 
 plishments required by their directors. The same 
 characters are formed by the same lessons, which 
 inclines me to think (if I dare say it) that nature 
 has not placed us in an inferior rank to men, no 
 more than the females of other animals, where we 
 see no distinction of capacity, though I am per¬ 
 suaded if there was a commonwealth of rational 
 horses (as Doctor Swift has supposed), it would be 
 an established maxim among them that a mare could 
 not be taught to pace. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 251 
 
 If you follow my advice in relation to Lady Mary, 
 my correspondence may be of use to her; and I 
 shall very willingly give her those instructions that 
 may be necessary in the pursuit of her studies. 
 Before her age I was in the most regular commerce 
 with my grandmother, though the difference of our 
 time of life was much greater, she being past forty- 
 five when she married my grandfather. She died at 
 ninety-six, retaining to the last the vivacity and 
 clearness of her understanding, which was very 
 uncommon. You cannot remember her, being then 
 in your nurse’s arms. I conclude with repeating to 
 you, I only recommend, but am far from command¬ 
 ing, which I think I have no right to do. I tell 
 you my sentiments, because you desired to know 
 them, and hope you will receive them with some 
 partiality, as coming from 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 
 
 Venice, March 16, n. s., 1753. 
 
 Dear Child, — I received yours of December 20 
 this morning, which gave me great pleasure, by the 
 account of your good health, and that of your father. 
 I know nothing else could give me any at present, 
 being sincerely afflicted for the death of the Doge. 
 He is lamented here by all ranks of people as their 
 common parent. He really answered the idea of 
 Lord Bolingbroke’s imaginary Patriot Prince, and 
 
252 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 was the only example I ever knew of having passed 
 through the greatest employments and most im¬ 
 portant negotiations without ever making an enemy. 
 When I was at Venice, which was some months 
 before his election, he was the leading voice in the 
 senate, and possessed of so strong a popularity as 
 would have been dangerous in the hands of a bad 
 man; yet he had the art to silence envy, and I 
 never once heard an objection to his character, or 
 even an insinuation to his disadvantage. I attribute 
 this peculiar happiness to be owing to the sincere 
 benevolence of his heart, joined with an easy cheer¬ 
 fulness of temper which made him agreeable to all 
 companies, and a blessing to all his dependents. 
 
 This is only speaking of him in the public light. 
 As to myself, he always professed and gave me 
 every demonstration of the most cordial friendship. 
 Indeed I received every good office from him I 
 could have expected from a tender father or a kind 
 brother; and though I have not seen him since my 
 last return to Italy, he never omitted an opportunity 
 of expressing the greatest regard for me, both in his 
 discourse to others and upon all occasions where he 
 thought he could be useful to me. I do not doubt 
 I shall very sensibly miss the influence of his good 
 intentions. 
 
 You will think I dwell too long on this melancholy 
 subject. I wall turn to one widely different, in tak¬ 
 ing notice of the dress of you London ladies, who, 
 I find, take up the Italian fashion of going in your 
 hair; it is here only the custom of the peasants and 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 253 
 
 the unmarried women of quality, excepting in the 
 heat of summer, when any nightcap would be al¬ 
 most insupportable. I have often smiled to myself 
 in viewing our assemblies (which they call conver¬ 
 sations at Lovere), the gentlemen being all in light 
 nightcaps and nightgowns and slippers, and the 
 ladies in their stays and smock-sleeves tied with 
 ribands, and a single lutestring petticoat; there is 
 not a hat or a hoop to be seen. It is true this dress 
 is called vestimenti di confidetiza, and they do not 
 appear in it in town, but in their own chambers, and 
 that only during the summer months. 
 
 My paper admonishes me to conclude, by assuring 
 you that I am ever 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to 
 my G. [grand] children. You will send me Lord 
 Orrery and Lord Bolingbroke’s books. 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 
 
 Oct. 10, 1753. 
 
 This letter will be very dull or very peevish, per¬ 
 haps both. I am at present much out of humor, 
 being on the edge of a quarrel with my friend and 
 patron, the C. 1 He is really a good-natured and 
 generous man, and spends his vast revenue in what 
 
 1 Cardinal Querini. 
 
254 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 he thinks the service of his country, besides con¬ 
 tributing largely to the building of a new cathedral, 
 which when finished will stand in the rank of fine 
 churches (where he has already the comfort of see¬ 
 ing his own busto), finely done both within and 
 without. He has founded a magnificent college for 
 one hundred scholars, which I don’t doubt he will 
 endow very nobly, and greatly enlarged and embel¬ 
 lished his episcopal palace. He has joined to it a 
 public library, which, when I saw it, was a very 
 beautiful room ; it is now finished and furnished, 
 and open twice in a week with proper attendance. 
 Yesterday here arrived one of his chief chaplains, 
 with a long compliment, which concluded with 
 desiring I would send him my works; having dedi¬ 
 cated one of his cases to English books, he intended 
 my labors should appear in the most conspicuous 
 place. I was struck dumb for some time with this 
 astonishing request; when I recovered my vexatious 
 surprise (foreseeing the consequence), I made 
 answer, I was highly sensible of the honor designed 
 me, but upon my word I had never printed a 
 single line in my life. I was answered in a cold 
 tone, his Eminence could send for them to England, 
 but they would be a long time coming, and with 
 some hazard; and that he had flattered himself I 
 would not refuse him such a favor, and I need not 
 be ashamed of seeing my name in a collection 
 where he admitted none but the most eminent 
 authors. It was to no purpose to endeavor to 
 convince him. He would not stay dinner, though 
 earnestly invited; and went away with the air of 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 255 
 
 one that thought he had reason to be offended. I 
 know his master will have the same sentiments, and 
 I shall pass in his opinion for a monster of ingrati¬ 
 tude, while it is the blackest of vices in my opinion, 
 and of which I am utterly incapable. I really 
 could cry for vexation. 
 
 Sure nobody ever had such various provocations 
 to print as myself. I have seen things I have wrote, 
 so mangled and falsified, I have scarce known them. 
 I have seen poems I never read published with my 
 name at length; and others, that were truly and 
 singly wrote by me, printed under the names of 
 others. I have made myself easy under all these 
 mortifications by the reflection I did not deserve 
 them, having never aimed at the vanity of popular 
 applause ; but I own my philosophy is not proof 
 against losing a friend, and it may be making an 
 enemy of one to whom I am obliged. 
 
 I confess I have often been complimented, since 
 I have been in Italy, on the books I have given the 
 public. I used at first to deny it with some warmth ; 
 but finding I persuaded nobody, I have of late 
 contented myself with laughing whenever I heard 
 it mentioned, knowing the character of a learned 
 woman is far from being ridiculous in this coun¬ 
 try, — the greatest families being proud of having 
 produced female writers, and a Milanese lady being 
 now professor of mathematics in the University of 
 Bologna, invited thither by a most obliging letter, 
 wrote by the present Pope, who desired her to ac¬ 
 cept of the chair, not as a recompense for her merit, 
 but to do honor to a town which is under his pro- 
 
258 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 ridicules her abroad, abuses the man she marries, 
 and is impertinent and impudent with great ap¬ 
 plause. Even that model of affection, Clarissa, 
 is so faulty in her behavior as to deserve little 
 compassion. Any girl that runs away with a young 
 fellow without intending to marry him, should be 
 carried to Bridewell or to Bedlam the next day. 
 Yet the circumstances are so laid as to inspire 
 tenderness, notwithstanding the low style and ab¬ 
 surd incidents; and I look upon this and Pamela 
 to be two books that will do more general mischief 
 than the works of Lord Rochester. There is some¬ 
 thing humorous in R. Random that makes me be¬ 
 lieve that the author is H. Fielding. ... I fancy 
 you now saying, “ ’T is a sad thing to grow old; 
 what does my poor mamma mean by troubling me 
 with criticisms on books that nobody but herself will 
 ever read? ” You must allow something to my soli¬ 
 tude. I have a pleasure in writing to my dear 
 child, and not many subjects to write upon. The 
 adventures of people here would not at all amuse 
 you, having no acquaintance with the persons con¬ 
 cerned ; and an account of myself would hardly 
 gain credit, after having fairly owned to you how 
 deplorably I was misled in regard to my own 
 health; though I have all my life been on my 
 guard against the information by the sense of hear¬ 
 ing, — it being one of my earliest observations, the 
 universal inclination of human-kind is to be led 
 by the ears; and I am sometimes apt to imagine 
 that they are given to men, as they are to pitchers, 
 purposely that they may be carried about by them. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 259 
 
 This consideration should abate my wonder to see, 
 as I do here, the most astonishing legends em¬ 
 braced as the most sacred truths, by those who have 
 always heard them asserted and never contradicted ; 
 they even place a merit in complying in direct op¬ 
 position to the evidence of all their other senses. 
 
 I am very much pleased with the account you 
 give me of your father’s health. I hope your own 
 and that of your family is perfect; give my blessing 
 to your little ones, and my compliments to Lord 
 Bute, and think me ever 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 
 
 July 20 , N. S. [1754 ] 
 
 My dear Child, — I have now read over the 
 books you were so good to send, and intend to say 
 something of them all, though some are not worth 
 speaking of. I shall begin in respect to his dignity, 
 with Lord B. [Bolingbroke], who is a glaring proof 
 how far vanity can blind a man, and how easy it is 
 to varnish over to one’s self the most criminal conduct. 
 He declares he always loved his country, though he 
 confesses he endeavored to betray her to popery and 
 slavery ; and loved his friends, though he abandoned 
 them in distress, with all the blackest circumstances 
 of treachery. His account of the Peace of Utrecht is 
 almost equally unfair or partial: I shall allow that per¬ 
 haps the views of the Whigs at that time were too vast, 
 
258 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 ridicules her abroad, abuses the man she marries, 
 and is impertinent and impudent with great ap¬ 
 plause. Even that model of affection, Clarissa, 
 is so faulty in her behavior as to deserve little 
 compassion. Any girl that runs away with a young 
 fellow without intending to marry him, should be 
 carried to Bridewell or to Bedlam the next day. 
 Yet the circumstances are so laid as to inspire 
 tenderness, notwithstanding the low style and ab¬ 
 surd incidents; and I look upon this and Pamela 
 to be two books that will do more general mischief 
 than the works of Lord Rochester. There is some¬ 
 thing humorous in R. Random that makes me be¬ 
 lieve that the author is H. Fielding. ... I fancy 
 you now saying, “ ’T is a sad thing to grow old; 
 what does my poor mamma mean by troubling me 
 with criticisms on books that nobody but herself will 
 ever read? ” You must allow something to my soli¬ 
 tude. I have a pleasure in writing to my dear 
 child, and not many subjects to write upon. The 
 adventures of people here would not at all amuse 
 you, having no acquaintance with the persons con¬ 
 cerned ; and an account of myself would hardly 
 gain credit, after having fairly owned to you how 
 deplorably I was misled in regard to my own 
 health; though I have all my life been on my 
 guard against the information by the sense of hear¬ 
 ing, — it being one of my earliest observations, the 
 universal inclination of human-kind is to be led 
 by the ears; and I am sometimes apt to imagine 
 that they are given to men, as they are to pitchers, 
 purposely that they may be carried about by them. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 259 
 
 This consideration should abate my wonder to see, 
 as I do here, the most astonishing legends em¬ 
 braced as the most sacred truths, by those who have 
 always heard them asserted and never contradicted ; 
 they even place a merit in complying in direct op¬ 
 position to the evidence of all their other senses. 
 
 I am very much pleased with the account you 
 give me of your father’s health. I hope your own 
 and that of your family is perfect; give my blessing 
 to your little ones, and my compliments to Lord 
 Bute, and think me ever 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 
 
 July 20, N. S. [1754.] 
 
 My dear Child, — I have now read over the 
 books you were so good to send, and intend to say 
 something of them all, though some are not worth 
 speaking of. I shall begin in respect to his dignity, 
 with Lord B. [Bolingbroke], who is a glaring proof 
 how far vanity can blind a man, and how easy it is 
 to varnish over to one’s self the most criminal conduct. 
 He declares he always loved his country, though he 
 confesses he endeavored to betray her to popery and 
 slavery ; and loved his friends, though he abandoned 
 them in distress, with all the blackest circumstances 
 of treachery. His account of the Peace of Utrecht is 
 almost equally unfair or partial: I shall allow that per¬ 
 haps the views of the Whigs at that time were too vast, 
 
260 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 and the nation, dazzled by military glory, had hopes 
 too sanguine; but sure the same terms that the 
 French consented to, at the treaty of Gertruyden- 
 berg might have been obtained ; or if the displac¬ 
 ing of the Duke of Marlborough raised the spirits of 
 our enemies to a degree of refusing what they had 
 before offered, how can he excuse the guilt of re¬ 
 moving him from the head of a victorious army and 
 exposing us to submit to any articles of peace, being 
 unable to continue the war? I agree with him that 
 the idea of conquering France is a wild, extravagant 
 notion, and would if possible be impolitic; but she 
 might have been reduced to such a state as would 
 have rendered her incapable of being terrible to her 
 neighbors for some ages; nor should we have been 
 obliged, as we have done almost ever since, to bribe 
 the French ministers to let us live in quiet. So 
 much for his political reasonings, which I confess 
 are delivered in a florid, easy style; but I cannot be 
 of Lord Orrery’s opinion, that he is one of the best 
 English writers. Well-turned periods or smooth lines 
 are not the perfection either of prose or verse; they 
 may serve to adorn, but can never stand in the 
 place of good sense. Copiousness of words however 
 ranged is always false eloquence, though it will ever 
 impose on some sort of understandings. How many 
 readers and admirers has Madame de S£vign6, who 
 only gives us in a lively manner and fashionable 
 phrases mean sentiments, vulgar prejudices, and end¬ 
 less repetitions, — sometimes the tittle-tattle of a fine 
 lady, sometimes that of an old nurse, always tittle- 
 tattle ; yet so well gilt over by airy expressions and 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 261 
 
 a flowing style, she will always please the same peo¬ 
 ple to whom Lord Bolingbroke will shine as a first- 
 rate author. She is so far to be excused, as her letters 
 were not intended for the press; while he labors to 
 display to posterity all the wit and learning he is 
 master of, and sometimes spoils a good argument by 
 a profusion of words, running out into several pages 
 a thought that might have been more clearly ex¬ 
 pressed in a few lines; and what is worse, often falls 
 into contradiction and repetitions, which are almost 
 unavoidable to all voluminous writers, and can only 
 be forgiven to those retailers whose necessity compels 
 them to diurnal scribbling, who load their meaning 
 with epithets, and run into digressions because (in 
 the jockey phrase) it rids the ground, that is, covers 
 a certain quantity of paper to answer the demand of 
 the day. A great part of Lord B.’s letters are de¬ 
 signed to show his reading, which indeed, appears 
 to have been very extensive; but I cannot perceive 
 that such a minute account of it can be of any use 
 to the pupil he pretends to instruct; nor can I help 
 thinking he is far below either Tillotson or Addison, 
 even in style, though the latter was sometimes more 
 diffuse than his judgment approved, to furnish out 
 the length of a daily Spectator. I own I have small 
 regard for Lord B. as an author, and the highest 
 contempt for him as a man. 
 
262 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGE. 
 
 c. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 
 
 LoVERE, July [August T\ 23 [1755]. 
 
 My dear Child, — I have promised you some re¬ 
 marks on all the books I have received. I believe 
 you would easily forgive my not keeping my word ; 
 however, I shall go on. The Rambler is certainly 
 a strong misnomer; he always plods in the beaten 
 road of his predecessors, following the Spectator 
 (with the same pace a pack-horse would do a 
 hunter) in the style that is proper to lengthen a 
 paper. These writers may, perhaps, be of service to 
 the public, which is saying a great deal in their favor. 
 There are numbers of both sexes who never read 
 anything but such productions, and cannot spare 
 time from doing nothing to go through a sixpenny 
 pamphlet. Such gentle readers may be improved 
 by a moral hint which, though repeated over and 
 over from generation to generation, they never heard 
 in their lives. I should be glad to know the name 
 of this laborious author. 1 H. Fielding has given a 
 true picture of himself and his first wife in the char¬ 
 acters of Mr. and Mrs. Booth, some compliments to 
 his own figure excepted; and I am persuaded, 
 several of the incidents he mentions are real matters 
 of fact. I wonder he does not perceive Tom Jones 
 and Mr. Booth are sorry scoundrels. All these sort 
 of books have the same fault, which I cannot easily 
 pardon, being very mischievous. They place a merit 
 
 1 Johnson’s name as editor did not appear until much 
 later. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 263 
 
 in extravagant passions, and encourage young people 
 to hope for impossible events, to draw them out of 
 the misery they choose to plunge themselves into ex¬ 
 pecting legacies from unknown relations, and gener¬ 
 ous benefactors to distressed virtue, as much out of 
 nature as fairy treasures. Fielding has really a fund 
 of true humor, and was to be pitied at his first en¬ 
 trance into the world, having no choice, as he said 
 himself, but to be a hackney writer or a hackney 
 coachman. His genius deserved a better fate ; but 
 I cannot help blaming that continued indiscretion, 
 to give it the softest name, that has run through his 
 life, and I am afraid still remains. . . . The general 
 want of invention which reigns among our writers 
 inclines me to think it is not the natural growth of 
 our island, which has not sun enough to warm the 
 imagination. The press is loaded by the servile 
 flock of imitators. Lord B. [Bolingbroke] would 
 have quoted Horace in this place. Since I was 
 born, no original has appeared excepting Congreve, 
 and Fielding, who would, I believe, have approached 
 nearer to his excellences if not forced by necessity 
 to publish without correction, and throw many pro¬ 
 ductions into the world he would have thrown into 
 the fire if meat could have been got without money, 
 or money without scribbling. The greatest virtue, 
 justice, and the most distinguishing prerogative of 
 mankind, writing, when duly executed, do honor to 
 human nature ; but when degenerated into trades, are 
 the most contemptible ways of getting bread. I am 
 sorry not to see any more of Peregrine Pickle’s per¬ 
 formances j I wish you would tell me his name. 
 
264 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 I can’t forbear saying something in relation to n 
 granddaughters, who are very near my heart. If ai 
 of them are fond of reading, I would not advise you 
 hinder them (chiefly because it is impossible) se 
 ing poetry, plays, or romances; but accustom the 
 to talk over what they read, and point [out] to ther 
 as you are very capable of doing, the absurdity oftt 
 concealed under fine expressions, where the sound 
 apt to engage the admiration of young people. . . 
 I fear this counsel has been repeated to you befon 
 but I have lost so many letters designed for you, 
 know not which you have received. If you wou 1 
 have me avoid this fault, you must take notice 
 those that arrive, which you very seldom do. h 
 dear child, God bless you and yours. I am ev 
 your most affectionate mother. 
 
 CL 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 
 
 Lovere, Sept. 22 , 1755 . 
 
 My dear Child, — I received, two days ago, tire 
 box of books you were so kind to send ; but I c; 
 scarce say whether my pleasure or disappointme ’ 
 was greatest. I was much pleased to see before me 
 a fund of amusement, but heartily vexed to find yo 
 letter consisting only of three lines and a half. W] y 
 will you not employ Lady Mary as secretary, if it 
 is troublesome to you to write? I have told you 
 over and over, you may at the same time oblige yo 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 265 
 
 and improve your daughter, both which I 
 think very agreeable to yourself. You can 
 int something to say. The history of your 
 mrse; if you had no other subject to write on, 
 would be very acceptable to me. I am such a 
 1 to everything in England, I should be glad 
 more particulars relating to the families I 
 .1 acquainted with. 
 
 • sorry for H. Fielding’s death, not only 
 all read no more of his writings, but I 
 he lost more than others, as no man en- 
 i'\: i :fe more than he did, though few had less 
 to do so, the highest of his preferment 
 > aking in the lowest sinks of vice and mis- 
 e . His happy constitution (even when he 
 
 h great pains half demolished it) made him 
 ■ or everything when he was before a venison 
 
 p sry >r over a flask of champagne ; and I am per- 
 $ he has known more happy moments than any 
 
 prince upon earth. There was a great similitude 
 be' 1 his character and that of Sir Richard Steele. 
 He had the advantage both in learning and, in my 
 jpmi ■ , genius; they both agreed in wanting money 
 n spit ■ of all their friends, and would have wanted 
 heir hereditary lands had been as extensive as 
 lagination ; yet each of them [was] so formed 
 ipiness, it is pity he was not immortal. I 
 . read the “ Cry; ” and if I would write in the 
 -1 “ 0 be admired by good Lord Orrery, I would 
 you the “ Cry” made me ready to cry, and the 
 irt of Tormenting ” tormented me very much. I 
 
266 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 take them to be Sally Fielding’s, and also the “ Fe¬ 
 male Quixote; ” the plan of that is pretty, but ill 
 executed. The most edifying part of the “ Journey to 
 Lisbon,” is the history of the kitten ; I was the more 
 touched by it, having a few days before found one, 
 in deplorable circumstances, in a neighboring vine¬ 
 yard. I did not only relieve her present wants with 
 some excellent milk, but had her put into a clean 
 basket, and brought to my own house, where she has 
 lived ever since very comfortably. 
 
 This letter is as long and as dull as any of Richard¬ 
 son’s. I am ashamed of it, notwithstanding my 
 maternal privilege of being tiresome. 
 
 This Richardson is a strange fellow. I heartily 
 despise him, and eagerly read him, nay, sob over his 
 works in a most scandalous manner. The two first 
 tomes of Clarissa touched me, as being very resem¬ 
 bling to my maiden days ; and I find in the pictures 
 of Sir Thomas Grandison and his lady what I have 
 heard of my mother and seen of my father. 
 
 This letter is grown (I know not how) into an 
 immeasurable length. I answer it to my conscience 
 as a just judgment on you for the shortness of yours. 
 Remember my unalterable maxim, where we love we 
 have always something to say; consequently my pen 
 never tires when expressing to you the thoughts of 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to all 
 your dear young ones, even the last comer. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 2 67 
 
 CII. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 
 
 July 22, N. S. [1754]. 
 
 When I wrote to you last, my dear child, I told 
 you I had a great cold, which ended in a very bad 
 fever, which continued a fortnight without inter¬ 
 mission, and you may imagine has brought me very 
 low. I have not yet left my chamber. My first 
 care is to thank you for yours of May 8 . 
 
 I have not yet lost all my interest in this country 
 by the death of the Doge, having another very con¬ 
 siderable friend, though I cannot expect to keep 
 him long, he being near fourscore. I mean the 
 Cardinal Querini, who is archbishop of this diocese 
 and consequently of great power, there being not 
 one family, high or low, in this province that has 
 not some ecclesiastic in it, and therefore all of 
 them have some dependence on him. He is of one 
 of the first families of Venice, vastly rich of himself, 
 and has many great benefices besides his arch¬ 
 bishopric ; but these advantages are little in his eyes 
 in comparison of being the first author (as he 
 fancies) at this day in Christendom ; and indeed, if 
 the merit of the books consisted in bulk and num¬ 
 ber, he might very justly claim that character. I 
 believe he has published, yearly, several volumes for 
 above fifty years, besides corresponding with all the 
 literati of Europe, and among these several of 
 the senior fellows at Oxford and some members of 
 
268 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 the Royal Society that neither you nor I ever heard 
 of, who he is persuaded are the most eminent men 
 in England. He is at present employed in writing 
 his own life, of which he has already printed the 
 first tome; and if he goes on in the same style, it 
 will be a most voluminous performance. He begins 
 from the moment of his birth, and tells us that in 
 that day he made such extraordinary faces, the 
 midwife, chambermaids, and nurses all agreed that 
 there was born a shining light in Church and state. 
 You ’ll think me very merry with the failings of my 
 friend. I confess I ought to forgive a vanity to 
 which I am obliged for many good offices, since I 
 do not doubt it is owing to that that he professes 
 himself so highly attached to my service, having an 
 opinion that my suffrage is of great weight in the 
 learned world and that I shall not fail to spread his 
 fame, at least all over Great Britain. He sent 
 me a present last week of a very uncommon kind, 
 even his own picture, extremely well done, but so 
 flattering, it is a young old man, with a most pomp¬ 
 ous inscription under it. I suppose he intended it 
 for the ornament of my library, not knowing it is 
 only a closet. However, these distinctions he shows 
 me give me a figure in this town, where everybody 
 has something to hope from him; and it was cer¬ 
 tainly in a view to that they would have compli¬ 
 mented me with a statue, for I would not have you 
 mistake so far as to imagine there is any set of peo¬ 
 ple more grateful or generous than another. Man¬ 
 kind is everywhere the same. Like cherries or apples, 
 they may differ in size, shape, or color, from differ- 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 2 69 
 
 ent soils, climate, or culture, but are still essentially 
 the same species; and the little black wood-cherry 
 is not nearer akin to the [may-] dukes that are 
 served at great tables than the wild naked negro to 
 the fine figures adorned with coronets and ribbons. 
 
 The conclusion of your letter has touched me 
 very much. I sympathize with you, my dear child, 
 in all the concern you express for your family; you 
 may remember I represented it to you before you 
 was married, but that is one of the sentiments it is 
 impossible to comprehend till it is felt. A mother 
 only knows a mother’s fondness. Indeed, the pain 
 so overbalances the pleasure that I believe, if it 
 could be thoroughly understood, there would be no 
 mothers at all. However, take care that your 
 anxiety for the future does not take from you the 
 comforts you may enjoy in the present hour. It 
 is all that is properly ours; and yet such is the 
 weakness of humanity, we commonly lose what is, 
 either by regretting the past or disturbing our minds 
 with the fear of what may be. You have many 
 blessings, — a husband you love and who behaves well 
 to you; agreeable, hopeful children; a handsome, 
 convenient house with pleasant gardens, in a good 
 air and fine situation, — which I place among the most 
 solid satisfactions of life. The truest wisdom is that 
 which diminishes to us what is displeasing and turns 
 our thoughts to the advantages we possess. I can 
 assure you I give no precepts I do not daily practise. 
 How often do I fancy to myself the pleasure I 
 should take in seeing you in the midst of your little 
 
270 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 people; and how severe do I then think my destiny 
 that denies me that happiness! I endeavor to 
 comfort myself by reflecting that we should cer¬ 
 tainly have perpetual disputes (if not quarrels) con¬ 
 cerning the management of them; the affection of 
 a grandmother has generally a tincture of dotage; 
 you would say I spoilt them and perhaps not be 
 much in the wrong. Speaking of them calls to my 
 remembrance the token I have so long promised 
 my goddaughter. I am really ashamed of it: I would 
 have sent it by Mr. Anderson if he had been going 
 immediately to London, but as he proposed a long 
 tour, I durst not press it upon him. It is not easy 
 to find any one who will take the charge of a jewel 
 for a long journey. It may be the value of it in 
 money, to choose something for herself, would be as 
 acceptable; if so, I will send you a note upon 
 Child. Ceremony should be banished between us. 
 I beg you would speak freely upon that and all 
 other occasions, to 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 
 CIII. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 
 
 I received the books you were so kind to send 
 me three days ago, but not the china, which I would 
 not venture among the precipices that lead hither. 
 I have only had time to read Lord Orrery’s work, 
 which has extremely entertained and not at all sur- 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 271 
 
 prised me, having the honor of being acquainted 
 with him and know him for one of those danglers 
 after wit, who, like those after beauty, spend their 
 time in humbly admiring and are happy in being 
 permitted to attend, though they are laughed at 
 and only encouraged to gratify the insatiate vanity 
 of those professed wits and beauties who aim at be¬ 
 ing publicly distinguished in those characters. D. 
 [Dean] S. [Swift], by his lordship’s own account, 
 was so intoxicated with the love of flattery, he 
 sought it amongst the lowest of the people and the 
 silliest of women; and was never so well pleased 
 with any companions as those that worshipped him 
 while he insulted them. It is a wonderful conde¬ 
 scension in a man of quality to offer his incense in 
 such a crowd and think it an honor to share a 
 friendship with Sheridan, etc., especially being him¬ 
 self endowed with such universal merit as he dis¬ 
 plays in these letters, where he shows that he is a 
 poet, a patriot, a philosopher, a physician, a critic, a 
 complete scholar, and most excellent moralist, — 
 shining in private life as a submissive son, a tender 
 father, and zealous friend. His only error has been 
 that love of learned ease which he has indulged in, 
 a solitude which has prevented the world from 
 being blest with such a general minister or admiral, 
 being equal to any of these employments, if he 
 would have turned his talents to the use of the 
 public. Heaven be praised ! he has now drawn his 
 pen in its service, and given an example to mankind 
 that the most villanous actions, nay, the coarsest 
 nonsense are only small blemishes in a great genius. 
 
272 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 I happen to think quite contrary, weak woman as 
 I am. 
 
 There can be no worse picture made of the 
 Doctor’s morals than he has given us himself in the 
 letters printed by Pope. We see him vain, trifling, 
 ungrateful to the memory of his patron, the E. 
 [Earl] of Oxford, making a servile court where he 
 had any interested views, and meanly abusive when 
 they were disappointed, and as he says (in his own 
 phrase) flying in the face of mankind in company 
 with his adorer Pope. It is pleasant to consider, 
 that, had it not been for the good-nature of these 
 very mortals they contemn, these two superior be¬ 
 ings were entitled, by their birth and hereditary 
 fortune, to be only a couple of link-boys. 
 
 CIV. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 
 
 March 22 [1756]. 
 
 I have received but this morning the first box of 
 china Lord Bute has been so obliging to send me. 
 I am quite charmed with it, but wish you had sent 
 in it the note of the contents; it has been so long 
 deposited that it is not impossible some diminution 
 may have happened. Everything that comes from 
 England is precious to me, to the very hay that is 
 employed in packing. I should be glad to know 
 anything that would be an agreeable return from 
 hence. There are many things I could send, but 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 273 
 
 tli y are either contraband or the custom would 
 c t more than they are worth. I look out for a 
 :ure; the few that are in this part of Italy are 
 tht se that remain in families, where they are en¬ 
 tailed, and I might as well pretend to send you a 
 palace. I am extremely pleased with the account 
 you give of your father’s health. I have wrote to 
 re his consent in the disposal of poor Lady 
 ■ ford’s legacy; I do not doubt obtaining it. It 
 been both my interest and my duty to study his 
 h: acter, and I can say with truth I never knew 
 an} man so capable of a generous action. 
 
 A late adventure here makes a great noise from 
 rank of the people concerned, — the Marchion- 
 e Lyscinnia Bentivoglio, who was heiress of one 
 1 .ch of the Martinenghi, and brought forty thou¬ 
 sand gold sequins to her husband. 
 
 re Cardinal Bentivoglio, his uncle, thought he 
 1 'Oi I not choose better, though his nephew might 
 r inly have chose among all the Italian ladies, 
 
 I g descended from the sovereigns of Bologna, 
 illy a grandee of Spain, a noble Venetian, and 
 
 i 1 ossession of twenty-five thousand pounds ster- 
 
 ii per annum, with immense wealth in palaces, 
 fitr ture, and absolute dominion in some of his 
 lands. The girl was pretty, and the match was 
 w ; t the satisfaction of both families; but she 
 brought with her such a diabolical temper and 
 
 Luciferan pride that neither husband, relations, 
 or servants had ever a moment’s peace with her. 
 After about eight years’ warfare, she eloped one fair 
 18 
 
274 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 morning and took refuge in Venice, leaving her two 
 daughters, the eldest scarce six years old, to the 
 care of the exasperated marquis. Her father was 
 so angry at her extravagant conduct, he would not 
 for some time receive her into his house; but after 
 some months and much solicitation, parental fond¬ 
 ness prevailed, and she remained with him ever 
 since, notwithstanding all the efforts of her husband, 
 who tried kindness, submission, and threats to no 
 purpose. The cardinal came twice to Brescia, her 
 own father joined his entreaties, nay, his Holiness 
 wrote a letter with his own hand and made use of 
 the Church authority, but he found it harder to 
 reduce one woman than ten heretics. She was 
 inflexible, and lived ten years in this state of repro¬ 
 bation. Her father died last winter and left her 
 his whole estate for her life, and afterwards to her 
 children. Her eldest was now marriageable and 
 disposed of to the nephew of Cardinal Valentino 
 Gonzagua, first minister at Rome. She would 
 neither appear at the wedding nor take the least 
 notice of a dutiful letter sent by the bride. The 
 old cardinal (who was passionately fond of his 
 illustrious name) was so much touched with the 
 apparent extinction of it that it was thought to 
 have hastened his death. She continued in the 
 enjoyment of her ill-humor, living in great splendor, 
 though almost solitary, having, by some imperti¬ 
 nence or other, disgusted all her acquaintance, till 
 about a month ago, when her woman brought her a 
 basin of broth, which she usually drank in her bed. 
 She took a few spoonfuls of it, and then cried out 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 275 
 
 it was so bad it was impossible to endure it. Her 
 chambermaids were so used to hear her exclama¬ 
 tions they had not the worse opinion of it, and eat 
 it up very comfortably; they were both seized with 
 the same pangs and died the next day. She sent 
 for physicians, who judged her poisoned; but as 
 she had taken a small quantity, by the help of anti¬ 
 dotes she recovered, yet is still in a languishing 
 condition. Her cook was examined and racked, 
 always protesting entire innocence and swearing he 
 had made the soup in the same manner he was 
 accustomed. You may imagine the noise of this 
 affair. She loudly accused her husband, it being 
 the interest of no other person to wish her out of 
 the world. He resides at Ferrara (about which the 
 greatest part of his lands lie), and was soon in¬ 
 formed of this accident. He sent doctors to her, 
 whom she would not see, sent vast alms to all the 
 convents to pray for her health, and ordered a 
 number of masses to be said in every church of 
 Brescia and Ferrara. He sent letters to the Senate 
 at Venice and published manifestoes in all the 
 capital cities, in which he professes his affection to 
 her and abhorrence of any attempt against her, and 
 has a cloud of witnesses that he never gave her the 
 least reason of complaint, and even since her leav¬ 
 ing him has always spoke of her with kindness and 
 courted her return. He is said to be remarkably 
 sweet tempered, and has the best character of any 
 man of quality in this country. If the death of her 
 women did not seem to confirm it, her accusation 
 would gain credit with nobody. She is certainly 
 
2 y 6 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 very sincere in it herself, being so persuaded he has 
 resolved her death that she dare not take the air, 
 apprehending to be assassinated, and has impris¬ 
 oned herself in her chamber, where she will neither 
 eat nor drink anything that she does not see tasted 
 by all her servants. The physicians now say that 
 perhaps the poison might fall into the broth acci¬ 
 dentally ; I confess I do not perceive the possibility 
 of it. As to the cook suffering the rack, that is a 
 mere jest where people have money enough to bribe 
 the executioner. I decide nothing; but such is the 
 present destiny of a lady, who would have been one 
 of Richardson’s heroines, having never been sus¬ 
 pected of the least gallantry, hating and being hated 
 universally, of a most noble spirit, it being prover¬ 
 bial, “ As proud as the Marchioness Lyscinnia.” 
 
 I am afraid I have tired you with my long story; 
 I thought it singular enough to amuse you. I 
 believe your censure will be different from that of 
 the ladies here, who all range themselves in the 
 party of the Marquis Guido. They say he is a 
 handsome man, little past forty, and would easily 
 find a second wife, notwithstanding the suspicion 
 raised on this occasion. Many customs and some 
 laws are as extraordinary here as the situation of 
 the capital. 
 
 I would write to Lord Bute to thank him, if I did 
 not think it would be giving him trouble. I have 
 not less gratitude; I desire you would assure him 
 of it, and that I am to you both 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 
 My blessing to your little ones. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 277 
 
 CV. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 
 
 Padua, Dec. 28, 1756. 
 
 My dear Child, — I received yours of November 
 29, with great pleasure, some days before I had 
 the box of books, and am highly delighted with the 
 snuff-box; that manufacture is at present as much 
 in fashion at Venice as at’ London. In general, all 
 the shops are full of English merchandise, and they 
 boast [of] everything as coming from London, in 
 the same style as they used to do from Paris. I was 
 showed (of their own invention) a set of furniture 
 in a taste entirely new; it consists of eight large 
 armed chairs, the same number of sconces, a table, 
 and prodigious looking-glass, all of glass. It is im¬ 
 possible to imagine their beauty ; they deserve being 
 placed in a prince’s dressing-room or grand cabinet; 
 the price demanded is four hundred pounds. They 
 would be a very proper decoration for the apartment 
 of a prince so young and beautiful as ours. 
 
 The present ministry promises better counsels than 
 have been followed in my time. I am extremely 
 glad to hear the continuation of your father’s health, 
 and that you follow his advice. I am really per¬ 
 suaded (without any dash of partiality) no man un¬ 
 derstands the interest of England better, or has it 
 more at heart. I am obliged to him for whatever 
 he does for you. I will not indulge myself in troub¬ 
 ling you with long letters or commissions, when you 
 are charged with so much business at home and 
 
2/8 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 abroad; I shall only repeat the Turkish maxim, 
 which I think includes all that is necessary in a 
 court life : “ Caress the favorites, avoid the unfortu¬ 
 nate, and trust nobody.” You may think the second 
 rule ill-natured; melancholy experience has con¬ 
 vinced me of the ill consequence of mistaking dis¬ 
 tress for merit; there is no mistake more productive 
 of evil. I could add many arguments to enforce 
 this truth, but will not tire your patience. 
 
 I am exceedingly obliged to General Graham for 
 his civilities; he tells me he has wrote to you the 
 account of poor Mr. Cunningham’s sad story I wish 
 it do not come too late; the newspaper says the 
 mean capitulator is rewarded; I fear the generous 
 defender will be neglected. 
 
 1 Mr. Cunningham was Captain Cunningham of the Second 
 Regiment. Lord Stanhope thus alludes to Cunningham’s 
 conduct: “ Captain Cunningham had been engineer in Second 
 in Minorca, but being promoted to a majority in England, 
 was on his way homewards, and was only delayed at Nice by 
 the delivery of his wife and the sickness of his children. It 
 was at Nice that he heard of th? French designs against his 
 former comrades at St. Philip’s. He immediately exclaimed, 
 ‘ They will want engineers! ’ and determined at all risks to 
 rejoin them, first expending what money he had in purchasing 
 timber for the platforms and other things needful for de¬ 
 fence, and in hiring a ship for the voyage ; nor did he hesi¬ 
 tate, when his country’s service was at stake, to leave his 
 wife and Children sick in a land of strangers.” (History of 
 England , third edition, iv. 65.) In repelling the assault, 
 Cunningham was maimed in the right arm by the thrust of a 
 bayonet. — T. 
 
 Admiral Byng was tried by court-martial and hung. The 
 garrison finally surrendered, June, 1756. General Blakeney 
 is he whom Lady Mary calls “the mean capitulator.” He 
 was created an Irish baron. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 279 
 
 I intend to correspond with Lady Jane. I confess 
 I was much pleased with her little letter; and, sup¬ 
 posing Lady Mary is commenced fine lady, she may 
 have no leisure to read or answer an old grand¬ 
 mother’s letters. I presume Lady Jane is to play 
 least in sight till her sister is disposed of; if she 
 loves writing, it may be an employment not disa¬ 
 greeable to herself, and will be extremely grateful to 
 me, who am ever, my dear child, 
 
 Your affectionate mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to 
 all yours. 
 
 CVI. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 
 
 Padua, July 7 [1757]. 
 
 My dear Child, — I received yours last night, 
 which gave me a pleasure beyond what I am able 
 to express (this is not according to the common 
 expression, but a simple truth). I had not heard 
 from you for some months, and was in my heart 
 very uneasy, from the apprehension of some misfor¬ 
 tune in your family; though as I always endeavor 
 to avoid the anticipation of evil, which is a source 
 of pain and can never be productive of any good, I 
 stifled my fear as much as possible, yet it cost me 
 many a midnight pang. You have been the passion 
 of my life; you need thank me for nothing; I 
 gratify myself whenever I can oblige you. I have 
 already given into the hands of Mr. Anderson a 
 
280 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 long letter for you, but it is now of so old a date, I 
 accompany it with another. His journey has been 
 delayed by a very extraordinary accident, which 
 might have proved as fatal as that of Lord Drum- 
 lanrigh, or that, which I think worse, which hap¬ 
 pened to my convert Mr. Butler; fortunately it has 
 only served to set the characters of both the gover¬ 
 nor and the pupil in a more amiable light. Mr. 
 Archer was at breakfast with six other English gen¬ 
 tlemen, and handling a blunderbuss, which he did 
 not know to be charged, it burst and distributed 
 among them six chained bullets, besides the splin¬ 
 ters, which flew about in the manner you may 
 imagine. His own hand was considerably wounded, 
 yet the first word he spoke (without any regard to 
 his own smart and danger) was, “ I hope nobody is 
 hurt.” Nobody was hurt but himself, who has 
 been ever since under cure, to preserve two of his 
 fingers, which were very much torn. He had also 
 a small rasure on his cheek, which is now quite 
 healed. The paternal care and tenderness Mr. 
 Anderson has shown on this occasion has recom¬ 
 mended him to everybody. I wanted nothing to 
 raise that esteem which is due to his sterling honesty 
 and good heart, which I do not doubt you value as 
 much as I do. If that wretch Hickman had been 
 — but this is a melancholy thought, and as such 
 ought to be suppressed. 
 
 How important is the charge of youth ! and how 
 useless all the advantages of Nature and fortune 
 without a well-turned mind ! I have lately heard of 
 
LE TTERS OF LADY MO NT A CU. 2 8 I 
 
 a very shining instance of this truth from two gen¬ 
 tlemen (very deserving ones they seem to be) who 
 have had the curiosity to travel into Moscovy, and 
 now return to England with Mr. Archer. I inquired 
 after my old acquaintance Sir Charles [Hanbury] 
 Williams, who I hear is much broken, both in spirits 
 and constitution. How happy that man might have 
 been if there had been added to his natural and 
 acquired endowments a dash of morality ! If he 
 had known how to distinguish between false and 
 true felicity; and instead of seeking to increase an 
 estate already too large, and hunting after pleasures 
 that have made him rotten and ridiculous, he had 
 bounded his desires of wealth and followed the dic¬ 
 tates of his conscience ! His servile ambition has 
 gained him two yards of red ribbon and an exile 
 into a miserable country, where there is no society 
 and so little taste that I believe he suffers under a 
 dearth of flatterers. This is said for the use of 
 your growing sons, whom I hope no golden tempta¬ 
 tions will induce to marry women they cannot love 
 or comply with measures they do not approve. All 
 the happiness this world can afford is more within 
 reach than is generally supposed. ... A wise and 
 honest man lives to his own heart, without that 
 silly splendor that makes him a prey to knaves, and 
 which commonly ends in his becoming one of the 
 fraternity. I am very glad to hear Lord Bute’s 
 decent economy sets him above anything of that 
 kind. I wish it may become national. A collec¬ 
 tive body of men differs very little from a single 
 man ; frugality is the foundation of generosity. I 
 
282 
 
 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 have often been complimented on the English hero¬ 
 ism, who have thrown away so many millions with¬ 
 out any prospect of advantage to themselves, 
 purely to succor a distressed princess. I never 
 could hear these praises without some impatience ; 
 they sounded to me like panegyrics made by the 
 dependents on the D. [Duke] of N. [Newcastle] 
 and poor Lord Oxford, bubbled when they were 
 commended and laughed at when undone. Some 
 late events will, I hope, open our eyes; we shall 
 see we are an island, and endeavor to extend our 
 commerce rather than the Quixote reputation of re¬ 
 dressing wrongs and placing diadems on heads that 
 should be equally indifferent to us. When time has 
 ripened mankind into common-sense, the name of 
 conqueror will be an odious title. I could easily 
 prove that, had the Spaniards established a trade 
 with the Americans, they would have enriched their 
 country more than by the addition of twenty-two 
 kingdoms and all the mines they now work, — I do 
 not say possess, since, though they are the proprie¬ 
 tors, others enjoy the profit. 
 
 My letter is too long; I beg your pardon for it; 
 ’t is seldom I have an opportunity of speaking to 
 you, and I would have you know all the thoughts of 
 your most affectionate mother. 
 
 I desire you would thank your father for the 
 jewels; you know I have nothing of my own. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 283 
 
 CVII. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 
 
 Sept. 30, 1757. 
 
 My dear Child, — Lord Bute has been so oblig¬ 
 ing as to let me know your safe delivery, and the 
 birth of another daughter; 1 may she be as meritori¬ 
 ous in your eyes as you are in mine ! I can wish 
 nothing better to you both, though I have some 
 reproaches to make you. Daughter! daughter! 
 don’t call names; you are always abusing my 
 pleasures, which is what no mortal will bear. Trash, 
 lumber, sad stuff, are the titles you give to my favor¬ 
 ite amusement. If I called a white staff a stick of 
 wood, a gold key gilded brass, and the ensigns of 
 illustrious orders colored strings, this may be philo¬ 
 sophically true, but would be very ill received. We 
 have all our playthings; happy are they that can be 
 contented with those they can obtain ; those hours 
 are spent in the wisest manner that can easiest 
 shade the ills of life, and are least productive of ill 
 consequences. I think my time better employed in 
 reading the adventures of imaginary people than the 
 Duchess of Marlborough’s, who passed the latter 
 years of her life in paddling with her will, and con¬ 
 triving schemes of plaguing some and extracting 
 praise from others, to no purpose ; eternally disap¬ 
 pointed and eternally fretting. The active scenes 
 
 1 Lady Louisa Stuart, whose “ Recollections ” have been 
 already cited. 
 
284 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 are over at my age. I indulge, with all the art I 
 can, my taste for reading. If I would confine it to 
 valuable books, they are almost as rare as valuable 
 men. I must be content with what I can find. As 
 I approach a second childhood, I endeavor to enter 
 into the pleasures of it. Your youngest son is, per¬ 
 haps, at this very moment riding on a poker with 
 great delight, not at all regretting that it is not a gold 
 one and much less wishing it an Arabian horse, 
 which he would not know how to manage. I am 
 reading an idle tale, not expecting wit or truth in it, 
 and am very glad it is not metaphysics to puzzle my 
 judgment or history to mislead my opinion. He 
 fortifies his health by exercise; I calm my cares by 
 oblivion. The methods may appear low to busy 
 people; but if he improves his strength, and I for¬ 
 get my infirmities, we attain very desirable ends. I 
 shall be much pleased if you would send your letters 
 in Mr. Pitt’s packet. 
 
 I have not heard from your father of a long time. 
 I hope he is well, because you do not mention him. 
 
 I am ever, dear child, your most affectionate 
 mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to 
 all yours. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 285 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 
 
 May 13 [1758]. 
 
 It was with great pleasure I received my dear 
 child’s letter of April 15 this day, May 13. Do 
 not imagine that I have had hard thoughts of you 
 when I lamented your silence, — I think I know 
 your good heart too well to suspect you of any 
 unkindness to me; in your circumstances many 
 unavoidable accidents may hinder your writing; but 
 having not heard from you for many months, my 
 fears for your health made me very uneasy. I am 
 surprised I am not oftener low-spirited, considering 
 the vexations I am exposed to by the folly of 
 Murray; I suppose he attributes to me some of the 
 marks of contempt he is treated with, without 
 remembering that he was in no higher esteem be¬ 
 fore I came. I confess I have received great 
 civilities from some friends that I made here so 
 long ago as the year 1 740, but upon my honor have 
 never named his name, or heard him mentioned by 
 any noble Venetian whatever; nor have in any 
 shape given him the least provocation to all the low 
 malice he has shown me, which I have overlooked 
 as below my notice, and would not trouble you with 
 any part of it at present if he had not invented a 
 new persecution, which may be productive of ill 
 consequences. Here arrived, a few days ago, Sir 
 James Steuart with his lady; that name was suffi- 
 
286 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 cient to make me fly to wait on her. I was charmed 
 to find a man of uncommon sense and learning, and 
 a lady that without beauty is more amiable than the 
 fairest of her sex. I offered them all the little good 
 offices in my power, and invited them to supper; 
 upon which our wise minister has discovered that I 
 am in the interest of popery and slavery. As he 
 has often said the same thing of Mr. Pitt, it would 
 give me no mortification if I did not apprehend that 
 his fertile imagination may support this wise idea 
 by such circumstances as may influence those that 
 do not know me. It is very remarkable that after 
 having suffered all the rage of that party at Avignon 
 for my attachment to the present reigning family, I 
 should be accused here of favoring rebellion, when 
 I hoped all our odious divisions were forgotten. 
 
 I return you many thanks, my dear child, for 
 your kind intention of sending me another set of 
 books. I am still in your debt nine shillings, and 
 send you enclosed a note on Child to pay for what¬ 
 ever you buy; but no more duplicates (as well as 
 I love nonsense I do not desire to have it twice 
 over in the same words), no translations, no peri¬ 
 odical papers; though I confess some of the 
 “ World ” entertained me very much, particularly 
 Lord Chesterfield and Horry Walpole, whom I 
 knew at Florence • but whenever I met Dodsley I 
 wished him out of the “ World ” with all my heart. 
 The title was a very lucky one, being as you see 
 productive of puns world without end, which is all 
 the species of wit some people can either practise 
 or understand. I beg you would direct the next 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 287 
 
 box to me, without passing through the hands of 
 Smith; he makes so much merit of giving himself 
 the trouble of asking for it that I am quite weary 
 of him; beside that he imposes on me in every¬ 
 thing. He has lately married Murray’s sister, a 
 beauteous virgin of forty, who after having refused 
 all the peers in England, because the nicety of her 
 conscience would not permit her to give her hand 
 when her heart was untouched, she remained with¬ 
 out a husband till the charms of that fine gentle¬ 
 man, Mr. Smith, who is only eighty-two, determined 
 her to change her condition. In short, they are 
 (as Lord Orrery says of Swift and company) an 
 illustrious group, but with that I have nothing to do. 
 I should be sorry to ruin anybody, or offend a man 
 of such strict honor as Lord Holdernesse, who, like 
 a great politician, has provided for a worthless rela¬ 
 tion without any expense. It has long been a 
 maxim not to consider if a man is fit for a place, 
 but if the place is fit for him, and we see the fruit 
 of these Machiavellian proceedings. All I desire 
 is that Mr. Pitt would require of this noble minister 
 to behave civilly to me, the contrary conduct being 
 very disagreeable. I will talk further on this sub¬ 
 ject in another letter, if this arrives safely. Let me 
 have an answer as soon as possible, and think of 
 me as 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessing to 
 all yours, who are very near my heart. 
 
288 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 CIX. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 
 
 Padua, Sept. 5 [1758]. 
 
 I wrote to you very lately, my dear child, in 
 answer to that letter Mr. Hamilton brought me; he 
 was so obliging to come on purpose from Venice to 
 deliver it, as I believe I told you; but I am so 
 highly delighted with this, dated August 4, giving 
 an account of your little colony, I cannot help set¬ 
 ting pen to paper, to tell you the melancholy joy I 
 had in reading it. You would have laughed to see 
 the old fool weep over it. I now find that age, 
 when it does not harden the heart and sour the 
 temper, naturally returns to the milky disposition 
 of infancy. Time has the same effect on the mind 
 as on the face. The predominant passion, the 
 strongest feature, become more conspicuous from 
 the others retiring; the various views of life are 
 abandoned, from want of ability to pursue them, as 
 the fine complexion is lost in wrinkles; but as 
 surely as a large nose grows larger, and a wide 
 mouth wider, the tender child in your nursery will 
 be a tender old woman, though perhaps reason may 
 have restrained the appearance of it till the mind, 
 relaxed, is no longer capable of concealing its weak¬ 
 ness ; for weakness it is to indulge any attachment 
 at a period of life when we are sure to part with 
 life itself at a very short warning. According to the 
 good English proverb, young people may die, but 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 289 
 
 old must. You see I am very industrious in find¬ 
 ing comfort to myself in my exile, and to guard as 
 long as I can against the peevishness which makes 
 age miserable in itself and contemptible to others. 
 ’T is surprising to me that with the most inoffensive 
 conduct I should meet enemies, when I cannot 
 be envied for anything, and have pretensions to 
 nothing. 
 
 My dear child, do not think of reversing nature 
 by making me presents. I would send you all my 
 jewels and my toilet if I knew how to convey them, 
 though they are in some measure necessary in this 
 country, where it would be, perhaps, reported I had 
 pawned them, if they did not sometimes make their 
 appearance. I know not how to send commissions 
 for things I never saw; nothing of price I would 
 have, as I would not new furnish an inn I was on 
 the point of leaving; such is this world to me. 
 Though china is in such estimation here, I have 
 sometimes an inclination to desire your father to 
 send me the two large jars that stood in the windows 
 in Cavendish Square. I am sure he don’t value 
 them, and believe they would be of no use to you. 
 I bought them at an auction for two guineas, before 
 the D. of Argyll’s example had made all china more 
 or less fashionable. 
 
 My compliments to Lord Bute, and blessings to 
 our dear children. 
 
 19 
 
290 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 cx. 
 
 TO SIR JAMES STEUART. 
 
 [Indorsed, “Sept. 5, 1758; the second to Tub en 
 from Padua.”-\ 
 
 Sir, — On the information of Mr. Duff tha. Cl 
 had certainly wrote, though I had not been so h i 
 to receive your letter, I thought (God forgive lie 
 vanity) that perhaps I was important enoug to 
 have my letters stopped, and immediately sent 
 a long scrawl without head or tail, which I am a nd 
 is scarce intelligible, if ever it arrives. 
 
 This day, September 5, I have had the pleasu e t 
 a most agreeable and obliging mark of your remem 
 brance; but as it has no date, I neither know w.. 
 nor from whence it was written. 
 
 I am extremely sorry for dear Lady Fanny’s 
 order. I could repeat to her many wise sayings ji 
 ancients and modems, which would be of as much 
 service to her as a present of embroidered slip -rs 
 to you when you have a fit of the gout. I have 
 so much of hysterical complaints, — though He." en 
 be praised I never felt them, — I know it is 111 
 obstinate and very uneasy distemper, though n c 
 fatal, unless when quacks undertake to cure it 
 have even observed that those who are troubl< ! 
 with it commonly live to old age. Lady Stair is ue 
 instance; I remember her screaming and cr nu 
 when Miss Primrose, myself, and other girls wo 
 dancing two rooms distant. Lady Fanny has but 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 291 
 
 a slight touch of this distemper; read Dr. Syden¬ 
 ham, you will find the analysis of that and many 
 other diseases, with a candor I never found in any 
 other author. I confess I never had faith in any 
 other physician, living or dead. Mr. Locke places 
 him in the same rank with Sir Isaac Newton, and 
 the Italians call him the English Hippocrates. I 
 own I am charmed with his taking off the reproach 
 which you men so saucily throw on our sex, as if 
 we alone were subject to vapors; he clearly proves 
 that your wise, honorable spleen is the same dis¬ 
 order and arises from the same cause; but you 
 vile usurpers do not only engross learning, power, 
 and authority to yourselves, but will be our superiors 
 even in constitution of mind, and fancy you are 
 incapable of the woman’s weakness of fear and 
 tenderness. Ignorance ! I could produce such 
 examples, — 
 
 Show me that man of wit in all your roll, 
 
 Whom some one woman has not made a fool. 
 
 I beg your pardon for these verses, but I have a 
 right to scribble all that comes at my pen’s end, 
 being in high spirits on an occasion more interest¬ 
 ing to me than the election of popes or emperors. 
 His present Holiness is not much my acquaintance, 
 but his family have been so since my first arrival at 
 Venice, 1740. His father died only last winter, 
 and was a very agreeable, worthy man, killed by a 
 doctor; his mother rather suffered life than enjoyed 
 it after the death of her husband, and was little 
 
292 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 sensible of the advancement of her son, though I 
 believe it made a greater impression on her than 
 appeared, and it may be, hastened her death, 
 which happened a fortnight after his elevation, in 
 the midst of the extraordinary rejoicings at Venice 
 on that occasion. The honors bestowed on his 
 brother, the balls, festivals, etc., — are they not 
 written in the daily books called newspapers? 
 
 I resisted all invitations, and am still at Padua, 
 where reading, writing, riding, and walking find me 
 full employment. 
 
 I accept the compliments of the fine young gen¬ 
 tleman with the joy of an old woman who does not 
 expect to be taken notice of; pray don’t tell him I 
 am an old woman. He shall be my toast from this 
 forward; and provided he never sees me as long as 
 he lives, I may be his. A propos of toasting, upon 
 my honor I have not tasted a drop of punch since 
 we parted ; I cannot bear the sight of it, — it would 
 recall too tender ideas, and I should be quarrelling 
 with Fortune for our separation, when I ought to 
 thank her Divinity for having brought us together. 
 I could tell a long story of princes and potentates, 
 but I am so little versed in State affairs I will not 
 so much as answer your ensnaring question concern¬ 
 ing the Jesuits, which is meddling at once with 
 church and State. 
 
 This letter is of a horrible length, and what is 
 worse (if any worse can be), such a rhapsody of 
 nonsense as may kill poor Lady Fanny now she is 
 low-spirited, though I am persuaded she has good¬ 
 nature enough to be glad to hear I am happy, which 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 293 
 
 I could not be if I had not a view of seeing my 
 friends so. As to you, sir, I make no excuses ; you 
 are bound to have indulgence for me as for a sister 
 of the quill. I have heard Mr. Addison say he 
 always listened to poets with patience, to keep up 
 the dignity of the fraternity. Let me have an 
 answer as soon as possible. Si vales, bene est ; 
 valeo. 
 
 CXI. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 
 
 Venice, Nov. 8 [175S]. 
 
 My dear Child, — You are extremely good to 
 take so much care of my trifling commissions in 
 the midst of so many important occupations. You 
 judged very rightly on the subject of Mr. W. [Hor¬ 
 ace Walpole]. I saw him often both at Florence 
 and Genoa, and you may believe I know him. I 
 am not surprised at the character of poor Ch. 
 Fielding’s son. The epithet of “ fair and foolish ” 
 belonged to the whole family; and as he was over¬ 
 persuaded to marry an ugly woman, I suppose his 
 offspring may have lost the beauty and retained the 
 folly in full bloom. Colonel Otway, younger brother 
 to Lady Bridget’s spouse, came hither with Lord 
 Mandeville ; he told me that she has a daughter 
 with the perfect figure of Lady Winchilsea. I wish 
 she may meet with as good friends as I was to her 
 aunt; but I won’t trouble you with old stories. I 
 have, indeed, my head so full of one new one that 
 
294 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 I hardly know what I say; I am advised to tell it 
 you, though I had resolved not to do it. I leave 
 it to your prudence to act as you think proper; 
 commonly speaking, silence and neglect is the best 
 answer to defamation, but this is a case so peculiar 
 that I am persuaded it never happened to any one 
 but myself. 
 
 Some few months before Lord W. Hamilton 
 married, there appeared a foolish song 1 said to be 
 
 1 The song and answer are as follows : — 
 
 TO LORD WILLIAM HAMILTON. 
 
 Dear Colin, prevent my warm blushes, 
 
 Since how can I speak without pain ? 
 
 My eyes oft have told you my wishes, 
 
 Why don’t you their meaning explain f 
 
 My passion will lose by expression, 
 
 And you may too cruelly blame ; 
 
 Then do not expect a confession 
 Of what is too tender to name. 
 
 Since yours is the province of speaking, 
 
 How can you then hope it from me ? 
 
 Our wishes should be in our keeping, 
 
 Till yours tell us what they should be. 
 
 Alas! then, why don’t you discover ? 
 
 Did your heart feel such torments as mine 
 
 Eyes need not tell over and over 
 What I in my breast would confine, 
 
 Answered for Lord William Hamilton — 
 
 BY LADY M. W. MONTAGU. 
 
 Good Madam, when ladies are willing, 
 
 A man must needs look like a fool; 
 
 For me, I would not give a shilling 
 For one who would love out of rule. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 295 
 
 wrote by a poetical great lady, who I really think 
 was the character of Lady Arabella, in the “ Female 
 Quixote ” (without the beauty) ; you may imagine 
 such a conduct at court made her superlatively 
 ridiculous. Lady Delawarr, a woman of great merit, 
 with whom I lived in much intimacy, showed this 
 fine performance to me. We were very merry in 
 supposing what answer Lord William would make 
 to these passionate addresses; she begged me to 
 say something for a poor man who had nothing to 
 say for himself. I wrote extempore, on the back of 
 the song, some stanzas that went perfectly well to 
 the tune. She promised they should never appear 
 as mine, and faithfully kept her word. By what 
 accident they have fallen into the hands of that 
 thing Dodsley, I know not; but he has printed them 
 as addressed by me to a very contemptible puppy, 
 and my own words as his answer. I do not believe 
 either Job or Socrates ever had such a provocation. 
 You will tell me it cannot hurt me with any ac¬ 
 quaintance I ever had; it is true, but it is an 
 excellent piece of scandal for the same sort of 
 people that propagate, with success, that your nurse 
 
 You should leave us to guess by your blushing, 
 
 And not speak the matter so plain ; 
 
 ’T is ours to write and be pushing, 
 
 ’T is yours to affect a disdain. 
 
 That you ’re in a terrible taking, 
 
 By all these sweet oglings I see; 
 
 But the fruit that can fall without shaking, 
 
 Indeed is too mellow for me. 
 
 Lord William married the notorious Lady Vane, whose 
 memoirs appear in “ Peregrine Pickle.” 
 
296 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 left her estate, husband, and family to go with 
 to England, and then I turned her to starve, a 
 defrauding her of God knows what. I thank C >d 
 witches are out of fashion, or I should expect : 1 
 have it deposed, by several credible witnesses, t 
 I had been seen flying through the air on a broc 
 stick, etc. 
 
 I am really sick with vexation, but ever yo 
 most affectionate mother. 
 
 CXII. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 
 
 Padua, Aug. 10 [1759 
 
 My dear Child, — I received yours by 
 Hamilton with exceeding pleasure. It brought ne 
 all the news I desire to hear, your father’s health 
 and your prosperity being all the wishes I have 
 earth. I think few people have so much reason to 
 bless God as yourself, — happy in the affectior oi 
 the man you love, happy in seeing him high in 
 general esteem, — 
 
 “ Lov’d by the good, by the oppressor feared,” 
 
 happy in a numerous, beautiful posterity. Mr. 
 Hamilton gave me such an account of them as 
 made me shed tears of joy, mixed with sorrow 
 I cannot partake the blessing of seeing them rc 
 you. He says Lady Anne is the beauty of the 
 family, though they are all agreeable. May the;. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 297 
 
 e\.: continue an honor to you, and a pleasure to all 
 that see them. 
 
 There are preparations at Venice for a regatta; 
 it cat hardly be performed till the middle of next 
 liiomh. I shall remove thither to see it, though I 
 b already seen that which was exhibited in com¬ 
 pliment to the Prince of Saxony. It is by far the 
 sight in Europe (not excepting our own coro- 
 as) ; it is hardly possible to give you any no¬ 
 tion of it by description. The general [Graham] 
 it * mown me a letter from Lord Bute, very obliging 
 to i, and which gives a very good impression 
 both jf his heart and understanding, from the hon¬ 
 es;: resolutions and just reflections that are in it. 
 M\ .; ne here is entirely employed in riding, walk¬ 
 ing, and reading! I see little company, not being 
 of a humor to join in their diversions. I feel greatly 
 tlie loss of Sir James Steuart and Lady Fanny, whose 
 cot rsation was equally pleasing and instructive. I 
 lo not expect to have it ever replaced. There are 
 not many such couples. One of my best friends at 
 \ ■). ice I believe your father remembers. He is 
 S o.'Or Antonio Mocenigo, widower of that cele- 
 :>ra:t., beauty the Procuratessa Mocenigo. He is 
 iglii\-two, in perfect health and spirits, his elo¬ 
 quence much admired in the senate, where he has 
 or;or weight. He still retains a degree of that fig¬ 
 ure hich once made him esteemed one of the 
 hai ' omest men in the republic. I am particularly 
 hJ. ed to him, and proud of being admitted into 
 tl;' imber of seven or eight select friends, near his 
 O' ge, who pass the evenings with him. 
 
298 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 God bless you, my dear child, and all yours. 
 Pray make my compliments to Lord Bute, and re¬ 
 turn him thanks for the kind manner in which he 
 has mentioned me to the general. I am ever 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 
 CXIII. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 
 
 [Nov. 9. 1759.] 
 
 My dear Child, — I received yours of October 
 18 this day, November 9. I am afraid some letters 
 both of yours and mine are lost, nor am I much 
 surprised at it, seeing the managements here. In 
 this world much must be suffered, and we ought all 
 to follow the rule of Epictetus, “ Bear and forbear.” 
 General Wolfe is to be lamented, but not pitied. I 
 am of your opinion, — compassion is only owing to 
 his mother and intended bride, who I think the 
 greatest sufferer, however sensible I am of a parent’s 
 tenderness. Disappointments in youth are those 
 that are felt with the greatest anguish, when we are 
 all in expectation of happiness, perhaps not to be 
 found in this life. 
 
 I am very sorry L. [Lady] F. [Frances] Erskine 
 has removed my poor sister to London, where she 
 will only be more exposed. I would write again to 
 her if I thought it could be any comfort in her de¬ 
 plorable condition. I say nothing to her daughter, 
 who [is] too like her father for me to correspond 
 with. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 299 
 
 I am very much diverted with the adventures of 
 the three Graces lately arrived in London, and am 
 heartily sorry their mother has not learning enough 
 to write memoirs. She might make the fortune of 
 half a dozen Dodsleys. The youngest girl, called 
 here Bcttina , is taller than the Duchess of Montagu, 
 and as red and white as any German alive. If she 
 has sense enough to follow good instructions, she 
 will be irresistible, and may produce very glorious 
 novelties. (I know nothing of her, except her 
 figure.) Our great minister has her picture amongst 
 his collection of ladies— basta! 
 
 My health is better than I can reasonably expect 
 at my age, though I have at present a great cold in 
 my head, which makes writing uneasy to me, and 
 forces me to shorten my letter to my dear child. I 
 have received the books from Mr. Mackenzie. Mr. 
 Walpole’s is not amongst them. Make my best 
 compliments to Lord Bute, and give my blessing 
 to all my grandchildren. Your happiness in every 
 circumstance is zealously wished by, dear child, 
 
 Your most affectionate mother. 
 
 CXIV. 
 
 TO THE COUNTESS OF BUTE. 
 
 Nov. 18, 1760. 
 
 I give you thanks, my dear child, for your infor¬ 
 mation of the death of the King. You may imagine 
 how I am affected by it. I will not trouble you in 
 
3 CO LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 this busy time with a long letter. I do not doubt 
 you are sufficiently tormented by pretensions and 
 petitions. I hope you will not forget poor Mr. 
 Anderson, and I desire Lord Bute to take care that 
 Sir James Steuart’s name is not excluded in the act 
 of indemnity. This is a very small favor, yet it will 
 make the happiness of a man of great merit. 
 
 My health is very precarious; may yours long 
 continue, and the prosperity of your family. I bless 
 God I have lived to see you so well established, and 
 am ready to sing my Nunc dimittis with pleasure. 
 
 I own I could wish that we had a minister here 
 who I had not reason to suspect would plunder my 
 house if I die while he is in authority. General 
 Cxraham is exceedingly infirm, and also so easily 
 imposed on that whatever his intentions may be, 
 he is incapable of protecting anybody. You will 
 perhaps laugh at these apprehensions, since what¬ 
 ever happens in this world after our death is cer¬ 
 tainly nothing to us. It may be thought a fantastic 
 satisfaction, but I confess I cannot help being ear¬ 
 nestly desirous that what I leave may fall into your 
 hands. Do not so far mistake me as to imagine I 
 would have the present M. [minister] removed by 
 advancement, which would have the sure conse¬ 
 quence of my suffering, if possible, more imperti¬ 
 nence from his successor. 
 
 My dear child, I am ever your most affectionate 
 mother. 
 
LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 301 
 
 cxv. 
 
 TO SIR JAMES STEUART. 
 
 Rotterdam, Dec. 12, 1761. 
 
 I received last post your agreeable and obliging 
 letter. I am now on the point of setting out 
 for London ; very dubious (with my precarious 
 state of health) whether I shall arrive there. If 
 I do, you will certainly hear from me again ; if not, 
 accept (’t is all I can offer) my sincerest wishes for 
 the prosperity of yourself and family. I do not at 
 all despair of your affairs going according to your 
 desire, though I am not ordained the happiness to 
 see it. My warmest compliments to Lady F., and 
 believe me ever, sir, 
 
 Your faithful friend and humble servant. 
 
 Behold ! a hard, impenetrable frost has stopped 
 my voyage, and I remain in the disagreeable state 
 of uncertainty. I will not trouble you with my fruit¬ 
 less complaints; I am sure you have compassion 
 for my present situation. 
 
 CXVI. 
 
 TO LADY FRANCIS STEUART. 
 
 George Street, Hanover Square, April 23, 1762. 
 Believe me, dear madam, I see my daughter 
 often, and never see her without mentioning in the 
 warmest manner your affairs. I hope that when 
 
302 LETTERS OF LADY MONTAGU. 
 
 the proper season arrives (it cannot now be far off), 
 all things will be adjusted to your satisfaction. It 
 is the greatest pleasure I expect in the wretched 
 remnant of life remaining to, dear madam, 
 
 Your faithful humble servant. 
 
 My sincere best wishes to all your ladyship’s 
 family. 
 
 CXVII. 
 
 TO LADY FRANCIS STEUART . 1 
 
 \_Indorsed Lady Mary's last letter from London.~\ 
 
 July 2, 1762. 
 
 Dear Madam, — I have been ill a long time, and 
 am now so bad I am little capable of writing, but I 
 would not pass in your opinion as either stupid or 
 ungrateful. My heart is always warm in your ser¬ 
 vice, and I am always told your affairs shall be 
 taken care of. 1 You may depend, dear madam, 
 nothing shall be wanting on the part of 
 
 Your ladyship’s faithful humble servant. 
 
 1 The Steuarts were permitted to return, through Lady 
 Bute’s influence probably. Sir James Steuart has a monu¬ 
 ment to him in Westminster Abbey. 
 
 THE END. 
 
Duke University Libraries 
 
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