RÈ DI COFANO, vulg. RADICOFANI,
_July_ 5, 1740, N.S.
You will wonder, my dear Hal, to find me on the road from Rome: why,
intend I did to stay for a new popedom, but the old eminences are cross
and obstinate, and will not choose one, the Holy Ghost does not know
when. There is a horrid thing called the malaria, that comes to Rome
every summer, and kills one, and I did not care for being killed so far
from Christian burial. We have been jolted to death; my servants let us
come without springs to the chaise, and we are wore threadbare: to add
to our disasters, I have sprained my ancle, and have brought it along,
laid upon a little box of baubles that I have bought for presents in
England. Perhaps I may pick you out some little trifle there, but don't
depend upon it; you are a disagreeable creature, and may be I shall not
care for you. Though I am so tired in this devil of a place, yet I have
taken it into my head, that it is like Hamilton's Bawn,[1] and I must
write to you. 'Tis the top of a black barren mountain, a vile little
town at the foot of an old citadel: yet this, know you, was the
residence of one of the three kings that went to Christ's birthday; his
name was Alabaster, Abarasser, or some such thing; the other two were
kings, one of the East, the other of Cologn. 'Tis this of Cofano, who
was represented in an ancient painting, found in the Palatine Mount, now
in the possession of Dr. Mead; he was crowned by Augustus. Well, but
about writing--what do you think I write with? Nay, with a pen; there
was never a one to be found in the whole circumference _but one_, and
that was in the possession of the governor, and had been used time out
of mind to write the parole with: I was forced to send to borrow it. It
was sent me under the conduct of a serjeant and two Swiss, with desire
to return it when I should have done with it. 'Tis a curiosity, and
worthy to be laid up with the relics which we have just been seeing in a
small hovel of Capucins on the side of the hill, and which were all
brought by his Majesty from Jerusalem. Among other things of great
sanctity there is a set of gnashing of teeth, the grinders very entire;
a bit of the worm that never dies, preserved in spirits; a crow of St.
Peter's cock, very useful against Easter; the crisping and curling,
frizzling and frowncing of Mary Magdalen, which she cut off on growing
devout. The good man that showed us all these commodities was got into
such a train of calling them the blessed this, and the blessed that,
that at last he showed us a bit of the blessed fig-tree that Christ
cursed.
[Footnote 1: Hamilton's Bawn is an old building near Richhill, in the
County of Armagh, the subject of one of Swift's burlesque poems.]
FLORENCE, _July_ 9.
My dear Harry,--We are come hither, and I have received another letter
from you with "Hosier's Ghost."[1] Your last put me in pain for you,
when you talked of going to Ireland; but now I find your brother and
sister go with you, I am not much concerned. Should I be? You have but
to say, for my feelings are extremely at your service to dispose as you
please. Let us see: you are to come back to stand for some place; that
will be about April. 'Tis a sort of thing I should do, too; and then we
should see one another, and that would be charming: but it is a sort of
thing I have no mind to do; and then we shall not see one another,
unless you would come hither--but that you cannot do: nay, I would not
have you, for then I shall be gone.--So, there are many _ifs_ that just
signify nothing at all. Return I must sooner than I shall like. I am
happy here to a degree. I'll tell you my situation. I am lodged with Mr.
Mann, the best of creatures. I have a terreno all to myself, with an
open gallery on the Arno, where I am now writing to you. Over against me
is the famous Gallery: and, on either hand, two fair bridges. Is not
this charming and cool? The air is so serene, and so secure, that one
sleeps with all the windows and doors thrown open to the river, and only
covered with a slight gauze to keep away the gnats. Lady Pomfret has a
charming conversation once a week. She has taken a vast palace and a
vast garden, which is vastly commode, especially to the cicisbeo-part of
mankind, who have free indulgence to wander in pairs about the arbours.
You know her daughters: Lady Sophia is still, nay she must be, the
beauty she was: Lady Charlotte is much improved, and is the cleverest
girl in the world; speaks the purest Tuscan, like any Florentine. The
Princess Craon has a constant pharaoh and supper every night, where one
is quite at one's ease. I am going into the country with her and the
prince for a little while, to a villa of the Great Duke's. The people
are good-humoured here and easy; and what makes me pleased with them,
they are pleased with me. One loves to find people care for one, when
they can have no view in it.
[Footnote 1: "Admiral Hosier's Ghost" is the title of a ballad by Glover
on the death of Admiral Hosier, a distinguished admiral, who had been
sent with a squadron to blockade the Spanish treasure-ships in Porto
Bello, but was prohibited from attacking them in the harbour. He died in
1727, according to the account that the poet adopted, of mortification
at the inaction to which his orders compelled him; but according to
another statement, more trustworthy if less poetical, of fever.]
You see how glad I am to have reasons for not returning; I wish I had no
better.
As to "Hosier's Ghost," I think it very easy, and consequently pretty;
but, from the ease, should never have guessed it Glover's. I delight in
your, "the patriots cry it up, and the courtiers cry it down, and the
hawkers cry it up and down," and your laconic history of the King and
Sir Robert, on going to Hanover, and turning out the Duke of Argyle. The
epigram, too, you sent me on the same occasion is charming.
Unless I sent you back news that you and others send me, I can send you
none. I have left the Conclave, which is the only stirring thing in this
part of the world, except the child that the Queen of Naples is to be
delivered of in August. There is no likelihood the Conclave will end,
unless the messages take effect which 'tis said the Imperial and French
ministers have sent to their respective courts for leave to quit the
Corsini for the Albani faction: otherwise there will never be a pope.
Corsini has lost the only one he could have ventured to make pope, and
him he designed; 'twas Cenci, a relation of the Corsini's mistress. The
last morning Corsini made him rise, stuffed a dish of chocolate down his
throat, and would carry him to the scrutiny. The poor old creature went,
came back, and died. I am sorry to have lost the sight of the Pope's
coronation, but I might have staid for seeing it till I had been old
enough to be pope myself.[1]
[Footnote 1: The contest was caused by the death of Clement XII. The
successful candidate was Benedict XIV.]
Harry, what luck the Chancellor has! first, indeed, to be in himself so
great a man; but then in accident: he is made Chief Justice and peer,
when Talbot is made Chancellor and peer. Talbot dies in a twelvemonth,
and leaves him the seals at an age when others are scarce made
Solicitors:--then marries his son into one of the first families of
Britain, obtains a patent for a Marquisate and eight thousand pounds a
year after the Duke of Kent's death: the Duke dies in a fortnight, and
leaves them all! People talk of Fortune's wheel, that is always
rolling: troth, my Lord Hardwicke has overtaken her wheel, and rolled
away with it.... Yours ever.
_A FLORENTINE WEDDING--ADDISON'S DESCRIPTIONS ARE BORROWED FROM BOOKS--A
SONG OF BONDELMONTI'S, WITH A LATIN VERSION BY GRAY, AND AN ENGLISH ONE
BY THE WRITER._