LONDON, June 22, O. S. 1749.
DEAR BOY: The outside of your letter of the 7th N. S., directed by your
own hand, gave me more pleasure than the inside of any other letter ever
did. I received it yesterday at the same time with one from Mr. Harts of
the 6th. They arrived at a very proper time, for they found a
consultation of physicians in my room, upon account of a fever which I
had for four or five days, but which has now entirely left me. As Mr.
Harte Says THAT YOUR LUNGS NOW AND THEN GIVE YOU A LITTLE PAIN, and that
YOUR SWELLINGS COME AND GO VARIABLY, but as he mentions nothing of your
coughing, spitting, or sweating, the doctors take it for granted that you
are entirely free from those three bad symptoms: and from thence
conclude, that, the pain which you sometimes feel upon your lungs is only
symptomatical of your rheumatic disorder, from the pressure of the
muscles which hinders the free play of the lungs. But, however, as the
lungs are a point of the utmost importance and delicacy, they insist upon
your drinking, in all events, asses’ milk twice a day, and goats’ whey as
often as you please, the oftener the better: in your common diet, they
recommend an attention to pectorals, such as sago, barley, turnips, etc.
These rules are equally good in rheumatic as in consumptive cases; you
will therefore, I hope, strictly observe them; for I take it for granted
that you are above the silly likings or dislikings, in which silly people
indulge their tastes, at the expense of their health.
I approve of your going to Venice, as much as I disapproved of your going
to Switzerland. I suppose that you are by this time arrived; and, in that
supposition, I direct this letter there. But if you should find the heat
too great, or the water offensive, at this time of the year, I would have
you go immediately to Verona, and stay there till the great heats are
over, before you return to Venice.
The time which you will probably pass at Venice will allow you to make
yourself master of that intricate and singular form of government, of
which few of our travelers know anything. Read, ask, and see everything
that is relative to it. There are likewise many valuable remains of the
remotest antiquity, and many fine pieces of the Antico-moderno, all which
deserve a different sort of attention from that which your countrymen
commonly give them. They go to see them, as they go to see the lions, and
kings on horseback, at the Tower here, only to say that they have seen
them. You will, I am sure, view them in another light; you will consider
them as you would a poem, to which indeed they are akin. You will observe
whether the sculptor has animated his stone, or the painter his canvas,
into the just expression of those sentiments and passions which should
characterize and mark their several figures. You will examine, likewise,
whether in their groups there be a unity of action, or proper relation; a
truth of dress and manners. Sculpture and painting are very justly called
liberal arts; a lively and strong imagination, together with a just
observation, being absolutely necessary to excel in either; which, in my
opinion, is by no means the case of music, though called a liberal art,
and now in Italy placed even above the other two; a proof of the decline
of that country. The Venetian school produced many great painters, such
as Paul Veronese, Titian, Palma, etc., of whom you will see, as well in
private houses as in churches, very fine pieces. The Last Supper, of Paul
Veronese, in the church of St. George, is reckoned his capital
performance, and deserves your attention; as does also the famous picture
of the Cornaro Family, by Titian. A taste for sculpture and painting is,
in my mind, as becoming as a taste for fiddling and piping is unbecoming,
a man of fashion. The former is connected with history and poetry; the
latter, with nothing that I know of but bad company.
Learn Italian as fast as ever you can, that you may be able to understand
it tolerably, and speak it a little before you go to Rome and Naples:
There are many good historians in that language, and excellent
translations of the ancient Greek and Latin authors; which are called the
Collana; but the only two Italian poets that deserve your acquaintance
are Ariosto and Tasso; and they undoubtedly have great merit.
Make my compliments to Mr. Harte, and tell him that I have consulted
about his leg, and that if it was only a sprain, he ought to keep a tight
bandage about the part, for a considerable time, and do nothing else to
it. Adieu! ‘Jubeo te bene valere’.