description of the famous gallery, here, where I arrived on Thursday
at noon; this would be requiring a volume instead of a letter;
besides I have as yet seen but a part of this immense treasure, and I
propose employing some weeks more to survey the whole. You cannot
imagine any situation more agreeable than Florence. It lies in a
fertile and smiling valley watered by the Arno, which runs through
the city; and nothing can surpass the beauty and magnificence of its
public buildings, particularly the cathedral, whose grandeur filled
me with astonishment. The palaces, squares, fountains, statues,
bridges, do not only carry an aspect full of elegance and greatness,
but discover a taste quite different, in kind, from that which reigns
in the public edifices in other countries. The more I see of Italy,
the more I am persuaded that the Italians have a style (if I may use
that expression) in every thing, which distinguishes them almost
essentially from all other Europeans. Where they have got
it,--whether from natural genius or ancient imitation and
inheritance, I shall not examine; but the fact is certain. I have
been but one day in the gallery, that amazing repository of the most
precious remains of antiquity, and which alone is sufficient to
immortalize the illustrious house of Medicis, by whom it was built,
and enriched as we now see it. I was so impatient to see the famous
Venus of Medicis, that I went hastily through six apartments, in
order to get a sight of this divine figure; purposing (sic), when I
had satisfied this ardent curiosity, to return and view the rest at
my leisure. As I, indeed, passed through the great room which
contains the ancient statues, I was stopped short at viewing the
Antinous, which they have placed near that of Adrian, to revive the
remembrance of their preposterous loves; which, I suppose, the
Florentines rather look upon as an object of envy, than of horror and
disgust. This statue, like that of the Venus de Medicis, spurns
description: such figures my eyes never beheld.--I can now understand
that Ovid's comparing a fine woman to a statue, which I formerly
thought a very disobliging similitude, was the nicest and highest
piece of flattery. The Antinous is entirely naked, all its parts are
bigger than nature; but the whole, taken together, and the fine
attitude of the figure, carry such an expression of ease, elegance
and grace, as no words can describe. When I saw the Venus I was rapt
in wonder,--and I could not help casting a thought back upon
Antinous. They ought to be placed together; they are worthy of each
other.--If marble could see and feel, the separation might be
prudent,--if it could only _see_, it would certainly lose its
coldness, and learn to feel; and, in such a case, the charms of these
two figures would produce an effect quite opposite to that of the
Gorgon's head, which turned flesh into stone. Did I pretend to
describe to you the Venus, it would only set your imagination at work
to form ideas of her figure; and your ideas would no more resemble
that figure, than the Portuguese face of Miss ----, who has enchanted
our knights, resembles the sweet and graceful countenance of
lady ----, his former flame. The description of a face or figure, is
a needless thing, as it never conveys a true idea; it only gratifies
the imagination with a fantastic one, until the real one is seen.
So, my dear, if you have a mind to form a true notion of the divine
forms and features of the Venus and Antinous, come to Florence.
I WOULD be glad to oblige you and your friend Vertue, by executing
your commission with respect to the sketches of Raphael's cartoons at
Hampton-court; but I cannot do it to my satisfaction. I have,
indeed, seen, in the grand duke's collection, four pieces, in which
that wonderful artist had thrown freely from his pencil the first
thoughts and rude lines of some of these compositions; and as the
first thoughts of a great genius are precious, these pieces attracted
my curiosity in a particular manner; but when I went to examine them
closely, I found them so damaged and effaced, that they did not at
all answer my expectation. Whether this be owing to negligence or
envy, I cannot say; I mention the latter, because it is notorious,
that many of the modern painters have discovered ignoble marks of
envy at a view of the inimitable productions Of the ancients.
Instead of employing their art to preserve the master-pieces of
antiquity, they have endeavoured to destroy and efface many of them.
I have seen with my own eyes an evident proof of this at Bologna,
where the greatest part of the paintings in fresco on the walls of
the convent of St Michael in Bosco, done by the Carracci, and Guido
Rheni, have been ruined by the painters, who, after having copied
some of the finest heads, scraped them almost entirely out with
nails. Thus, you see, nothing is exempt from human malignity.
THE word malignity, and a passage in your letter, call to my mind the
wicked wasp of Twickenham; his lies affect me now no more; they will
be all as much despised as the story of the seraglio and the
handkerchief, of which I am persuaded he was the only inventor. That
man has a malignant and ungenerous heart; and he is base enough to
assume the mark of a moralist in order to decry human nature, and to
give a decent vent to his hatred to man and woman kind.--But I must
quit this contemptible subject, on which a just indignation would
render my pen so fertile, that, after having fatigued you with a long
letter, I would surfeit you with a supplement twice as long.
Besides, a violent head-ach (sic) advertises me that it is time to
lay down my pen and get me to bed. I shall say some things to you in
my next, that I would have you to impart to the _strange man_, as
from yourself. My mind is at present tolerably quiet; if it were as
dead to sin, as it is to certain connections, I should be a great
saint. Adieu, my dear madam. Yours very affectionately, &c.
LET. LVII.
TO MR P.
I HAVE been running about Paris at a strange rate with my sister, and
strange sights have we seen. They are, at least, strange sights to
me; for, after having been accustomed to the gravity of Turks, I can
scarce look with an easy and familiar aspect at the levity and
agility of the airy phantoms that are dancing about me here; and I
often think that I am at a puppet-shew, amidst the representations of
real life. I stare prodigiously, but nobody remarks it, for every
body stares here, staring is a-la-mode--there is a stare of
attention and _interet_, a stare of curiosity, a stare of
expectation, a stare of surprise; and it will greatly amuse you to
see what trifling objects excite all this staring. This staring
would have rather a solemn kind of air, were it not alleviated by
grinning; for at the end of a stare, there comes always a grin; and
very commonly, the entrance of a gentleman or lady into a room is
accompanied with a grin, which is designed to express complacence and
social pleasure, but really shews nothing more than a certain
contortion of muscles, that must make a stranger laugh really, as
they laugh artificially. The French grin is equally remote from the
cheerful serenity of a smile, and the cordial mirth of an honest
English horse-laugh. I shall not perhaps stay here long enough to
form a just idea of French manners and characters, though this I
believe would require but little study, as there is no great depth in
either. It appears, on a superficial view, to be a frivolous,
restless, and agreeable people. The abbot is my guide, and I could
not easily light upon a better; he tells me, that here the women form
the character of the men, and I am convinced in the persuasion of
this, by every company into which I enter. There seems here to be no
intermediate state between infancy and manhood; for as soon as the
boy has quit his leading-strings, he is set agog in the world; the
ladies are his tutors, they make the first impressions, which,
generally remain, and they render the men ridiculous, by the
imitation of their humours and graces; so that dignity in manners, is
a rare thing here before the age of sixty. Does not king David say
somewhere, that _Man walketh in a vain shew?_ I think he does; and
I am sure this is peculiarly true of the Frenchman--but he walks
merrily, and seems to enjoy the vision; and may he not therefore be
esteemed more happy than many of our solid thinkers, whose brows are
furrowed by deep reflection, and whose wisdom is so often clothed
with a misty mantle of spleen and vapours?
WHAT delights me most here, is a view of the magnificence, often
accompanied with taste, that reigns in the king's palaces and
gardens; for tho' I don't admire much the architecture, in which
there is great irregularity and want of proportion, yet the statues,
paintings, and other decorations, afford me high entertainment. One
of the pieces of antiquity that struck me most in the gardens of
Versailles, was the famous Colossean statue of Jupiter, the
workmanship of Myron, which Mark Anthony carried away from Samos, and
Augustus ordered to be placed in the capitol. It is of Parian
marble; and though it has suffered in the ruin of time, it still
preserves striking lines of majesty. But surely, if marble could
feel, the god would frown with a generous indignation, to see himself
transported from the capitol into a French garden; and, after having
received the homage of the Roman emperors, who laid their laurels at
his feet when they returned from their conquests, to behold now
nothing but frizzled beaus passing by him with indifference.
I PROPOSE setting out soon from this place, so that you are to
expect no more letters from this side of the water; besides, I am
hurried to death, and my head swims with that vast variety of objects
which I am obliged to view with such rapidity, the shortness of my
time not allowing me to examine them at my leisure. There is here an
excessive prodigality of ornaments and decorations, that is just the
opposite extreme to what appears in our royal gardens; this
prodigality is owing to the levity and inconstancy of the French
taste, which always pants after something new, and thus heaps
ornament upon ornament, without end or measure. It is time, however,
that I should put an end to my letter; so I wish you good night,
And am, &c.
LET. LVIII.
TO THE COUNT ----.
_Translated from the French._
I AM charmed, Sir, with your obliging letter; and you may perceive,
by the largeness of my paper, that I intend to give punctual answers
to all your questions, at least if my French will permit me; for, as
it is a language I do not understand to perfection, so I much fear,
that, for want of expressions, I shall be quickly obliged to finish.
Keep in mind, therefore, that I am writing in a foreign language, and
be sure to attribute all the impertinencies and triflings (sic)
dropping from my pen, to the want of proper words for declaring my
thoughts, but by no means to dulness, or natural levity.
THESE conditions being thus agreed and settled, I begin with telling
you, that you have a true notion of the alcoran, concerning which the
Greek priests (who are the greatest scoundrels in the universe) have
invented, out of their own heads, a thousand ridiculous stories, in
order to decry the law of Mahomet; to run it down, I say, without any
examination, or so much as letting the people read it; being afraid,
that if once they began to sift the defects of the alcoran, they
might not stop there, but proceed to make use of their judgment about
their own legends and fictions. In effect, there is nothing so like
as the fables of the Greeks and of the Mahometans; and the last have
multitudes of saints, at whose tombs miracles are by them said to be
daily performed; nor are the accounts of the lives of those blessed
musselmans much less stuffed with extravagancies, than the spiritual
romances of the Greek papas.
AS to your next inquiry, I assure you, 'tis certainly false, though
commonly believed in our parts of the world, that Mahomet excludes
women from any share in a future happy state. He was too much a
gentleman, and loved the fair sex too well, to use them so
barbarously. On the contrary, he promises a very fine paradise to
the Turkish women. He says, indeed, that this paradise will be a
separate place from that of their husbands; but I fancy the most part
of them won't like it the worse for that; and that the regret of this
separation will not render their paradise the less agreeable. It
remains to tell you, that the virtues which Mahomet requires of the
women, to merit the enjoyment of future happiness, are, not to live
in such a manner as to become useless to the world, but to employ
themselves, as much as possible, in making little musselmans. The
virgins, who die virgins, and the widows who marry not again, dying
in mortal sin, are excluded out of paradise: For women, says he, not
being capable to manage the affairs of state, nor to support the
fatigues of war, God has not ordered them to govern or reform the
world; but he has entrusted them with an office which is not less
honourable; even that of multiplying the human race: and such as, out
of malice or laziness, do not make it their business to bear or to
breed children, fulfil not the duty of their vocation, and rebel
against the commands of God. Here are maxims for you, prodigiously
contrary to those of your convents. What will become of your St
Catharines, your St Theresas, your St Claras, and the whole bead-roll
of your holy virgins and widows; who, if they are to be judged by
this system of virtue, will be found to have been infamous creatures,
that passed their whole lives in most abominable libertinism.
I KNOW not what your thoughts may be, concerning a doctrine so
extraordinary with respect to us; but I can truly inform you, Sir,
that the Turks are not so ignorant as we fancy them to be in matters
of politics, or philosophy, or even of gallantry. 'Tis true, that
military discipline, such as now practised in Christendom, does not
mightily suit them. A long peace has plunged them into an universal
sloth. Content with their condition, and accustomed to boundless
luxury, they are become great enemies to all manner of fatigues.
But, to make amends, the sciences flourish among them. The effendis
(that is to say, the learned) do very well deserve this name: They
have no more faith in the in inspiration of Mahomet, than in the
infallibility of the Pope. They make a frank profession of Deism
among themselves, or to those they can trust; and never speak of
their law but as of a politic institution, fit now to be observed by
wise men, however at first introduced by politicians and enthusiasts.
IF I remember right, I think I have told you, in some former letter,
that, at Belgrade, we lodged with a great and rich effendi, a man of
wit and learning, and of a very agreeable humour. We were in his
house about a month, and he did constantly eat with us, drinking wine
without any scruple. As I rallied him a little on this subject, he
answered me, smiling, that all creatures in the world were made for
the pleasure of man; and that God would not have let the vine grow,
were it a sin to taste of its juice; but that, nevertheless, the law,
which forbids the use of it to the vulgar, was very wise, because
such sort of folks have not sense enough to take it with moderation.
This effendi appeared no stranger to the parties that prevail among
us: Nay, he seemed to have some knowledge of our religious disputes,
and even of our writers; and I was surprised to hear him ask, among
other things, how Mr Toland did.
MY paper, large as it is, draws towards an end. That I may not go
beyond its limits, I must leap from religions to tulips, concerning
which you ask me news. Their mixture produces surprising effects.
But, what is to be observed most surprising, are the experiments of
which you speak concerning animals, and which are tried here every
day. The suburbs of Pera, Jophana, and Galata, are collections of
strangers from all countries of the universe. They have so often
intermarried, that this forms several races of people, the oddest
imaginable. There is not one single family of natives that can value
itself on being unmixed. You frequently see a person, whose father
was born a Grecian, the mother an Italian, the grandfather a
Frenchman, the grandmother an Armenian, and their ancestors English,
Muscovites, Asiatics, &c.
THIS mixture produces creatures more extraordinary than you can
imagine; nor could I ever doubt, but there were several different
species of men; since the whites, the woolly and the long-haired
blacks, the small-eyed Tartars and Chinese, the beardless Brasilians,
and (to name no more) the oily-skinned yellow Nova Zemblians, have
as specific differences, under the same general kind, as grey-hounds,
mastiffs, spaniels, bull-dogs, or the race of my little Diana, if
nobody is offended at the comparison. Now, as the various
intermixing of these latter animals causes mongrels, so mankind have
their mongrels too, divided and subdivided into endless sorts. We
have daily proofs of it here, as I told you before. In the same
animal is not seldom remarked the Greek perfidiousness, the Italian
diffidence, the Spanish arrogance, the French loquacity; and, all of
a sudden, he is seized with a fit of English thoughtfulness,
bordering a little upon dulness, which many of us have inherited from
the stupidity of our Saxon progenitors. But the family which charms
me most, is that which proceeds from the fantastical conjunction of a
Dutch male with a Greek female. As these are natures opposite in
extremes, 'tis a pleasure to observe how the differing atoms are
perpetually jarring together in the children, even so as to produce
effects visible in their external form. They have the large black
eyes of the country, with the fat, white, fishy flesh of Holland, and
a lively air streaked with dulness. At one and the same time, they
shew that love of expensiveness, so universal among the Greeks, and
an inclination to the Dutch frugality. To give an example of this;
young women ruin themselves, to purchase jewels for adorning their
heads, while they have not the heart to buy new shoes, or rather
slippers for their feet, which are commonly in a tattered condition;
a thing so contrary to the taste of our English women, that it is for
shewing how neatly their feet are dressed, and for shewing this only,
they are so passionately enamoured with their hoop petticoats. I
have abundance of other singularities to communicate to you; but I am
at the end, both of my French and my paper.
CONCERNING
Monsieur de la ROCHEFOUCAULT'S Maxim--_"That marriage is sometimes
"convenient but never delightful."_
IT may be thought a presumptuous attempt in me to controvert a maxim
advanced by such a celebrated genius as Monsieur Rochefoucault, and
received with such implicit faith by a nation which boasts of
superior politeness to the rest of the world, and which, for a long
time past, has prescribed the rules of gallantry to all Europe.
NEVERTHELESS, prompted by that ardour which truth inspires, I dare to
maintain the contrary, and resolutely insist, that there are some
marriages formed by love, which may be delightful, where the
affections are sympathetic. Nature has presented us with pleasures
suitable to our species, and we need only to follow her impulse,
refined by taste, and exalted by a lively and agreeable imagination,
in order to attain the most perfect felicity of which human nature is
susceptible. Ambition, avarice, vanity, when enjoyed in the most
exquisite perfection, can yield but trifling and tasteless pleasures,
which will be too inconsiderable to affect a mind of delicate
sensibility.
WE may consider the gifts of fortune as so many steps necessary to
arrive at felicity, which we can never attain, being obliged to set
bounds to our desires, and being only gratified with some of her
frivolous favours, which are nothing more than the torments of life,
when they are considered as the necessary means to acquire or
preserve a more exquisite felicity.
THIS felicity consists alone in friendship, founded on mutual esteem,
fixed by gratitude, supported by inclination, and animated by the
tender solicitudes of love, whom the ancients have admirably
described under the appearance of a beautiful infant: It is pleased
with infantine amusements; it is delicate and affectionate, incapable
of mischief, delighted with trifles; its pleasures are gentle and
innocent.
THEY have given a very different representation of another passion,
too gross to be mentioned, but of which alone men, in general, are
susceptible. This they have described under the figure of a satyr,
who has more of the brute than of the man in his composition. By
this fabulous animal they have expressed a passion, which is the real
foundation of all the fine exploits of modish gallantry, and which
only endeavours to glut its appetite with the possession of the
object which is most lovely in its estimation: A passion founded in
injustice, supported by deceit, and attended by crimes, remorse,
jealousy, and contempt. Can such an affection be delightful to a
virtuous mind? Nevertheless, such is the delightful attendant on all
illicit engagements; gallants are obliged to abandon all those
sentiments of honour which are inseparable from a liberal education,
and are doomed to live wretchedly in the constant pursuit of what
reason condemns, to have all their pleasures embittered by remorse,
and to be reduced to the deplorable condition of having renounced
virtue, without being able to make vice agreeable.
IT is impossible to taste the delights of love in perfection, but in
a well assorted marriage; nothing betrays such a narrowness of mind
as to be governed by words. What though custom, for which good
reasons may be assigned, has made the words _husband_ and _wife_
somewhat ridiculous? A husband, in common acceptation, signifies a
jealous brute, a surly tyrant; or, at best, a weak fool, who may be
made to believe any thing. A wife is a domestic termagant, who is
destined to deceive or torment the poor devil of a husband. The
conduct of married people, in general, sufficiently justifies these
two characters.
BUT, as I said before, why should words impose upon us? A well
regulated marriage is not like these connections of interest or
ambition. A fond couple, attached to each other by mutual affection,
are two lovers who live happily together. Though the priest
pronounces certain words, though the lawyer draws up certain
instruments; yet I look on these preparatives in the same light as a
lover considers a rope-ladder which he fastens to his mistress's
window: If they can but live together, what does it signify at what
price, or by what means, their union is accomplished. Where love is
real, and, well founded, it is impossible to be happy but in the
quiet enjoyment of the beloved object; and the price at which it is
obtained, does not lessen the vivacity and delights of a passion,
such as my imagination conceives. If I was inclined to romance, I
would not picture images of true happiness in Arcadia. I am not
prudish enough to confine the delicacy of affection to wishes only.
I would open my romance with the marriage of a couple united by
sentiment, taste, and inclination. Can we conceive a higher
felicity, than the blending of their interests and lives in such an
union? The lover has the pleasure of giving his mistress the last
testimony of esteem and confidence; and she, in return, commits her
peace and liberty to his protection. Can they exchange more dear and
affectionate pledges? Is it not natural, to give the most
incontestible proofs of that tenderness with which our minds are
impressed? I am sensible, that some are so nice as to maintain, that
the pleasures of love are derived from the dangers and difficulties
with which it is attended; they very pertly observe, that a rose
would not be a rose without thorns. There are a thousand insipid
remarks of this sort, which make so little impression on me, that I
am persuaded, was I a lover, the dread of injuring my mistress would
make me unhappy, if the enjoyment of her was attended with danger to
herself.
TWO married lovers lead very different lives: They have the pleasure
to pass their time in a successive intercourse of mutual obligations
and marks of benevolence; and they have the delight to find, that
each forms the entire happiness of the beloved object. Herein
consists perfect felicity. The most trivial concerns of economy
become noble and elegant, when they are exalted by sentiments of
affection: To furnish an apartment, is not barely to furnish an
apartment; it is a place where I expect my lover: To prepare a
supper, is not merely giving orders to my cook; it is an amusement to
regale the object I dote on. In this light, a woman considers these
necessary occupations, as more lively and affecting pleasures than
those gaudy sights which amuse the greater part of the sex, who are
incapable of true enjoyment.