Thomas Moore- Collected Poetical Works

by Thomas Moore

  “I have just been visiting the new Cardinal, who arrived the day before yesterday in his legation. He seems a good old gentleman, pious and simple, and not quite like his predecessor, who was a bon-vivant, in the worldly sense of the words.

  “Enclosed is a letter which I received some time ago from Dallas. It will explain itself. I have not answered it. This comes of doing people good. At one time or another (including copyrights) this person has had about fourteen hundred pounds of my money, and he writes what he calls a posthumous work about me, and a scrubby letter accusing me of treating him ill, when I never did any such thing. It is true that I left off letter-writing, as I have done with almost everybody else; but I can’t see how that was misusing him.

  “I look upon his epistle as the consequence of my not sending him another hundred pounds, which he wrote to me for about two years ago, and which I thought proper to withhold, he having had his share, methought, of what I could dispone upon others.

  “In your last you ask me after my articles of domestic wants; I believe they are as usual: the bull-dogs, magnesia, soda-powders, tooth-powders, brushes, and every thing of the kind which are here unattainable. You still ask me to return to England: alas! to what purpose? You do not know what you are requiring. Return I must, probably, some day or other (if I live), sooner or later; but it will not be for pleasure, nor can it end in good. You enquire after my health and SPIRITS in large letters: my health can’t be very bad, for I cured myself of a sharp tertian ague, in three weeks, with cold water, which had held my stoutest gondolier for months, notwithstanding all the bark of the apothecary, — a circumstance which surprised Dr. Aglietti, who said it was a proof of great stamina, particularly in so epidemic a season. I did it out of dislike to the taste of bark (which I can’t bear), and succeeded, contrary to the prophecies of every body, by simply taking nothing at all. As to spirits, they are unequal, now high, now low, like other people’s I suppose, and depending upon circumstances.

  “Pray send me W. Scott’s new novels. What are their names and characters? I read some of his former ones, at least once a day, for an hour or so. The last are too hurried: he forgets Ravenswood’s name, and calls him Edgar and then Norman; and Girder, the cooper, is styled now Gilbert, and now John; and he don’t make enough of Montrose; but Dalgetty is excellent, and so is Lucy Ashton, and the b —— h her mother. What is Ivanhoe? and what do you call his other? are there two? Pray make him write at least two a year: I like no reading so well.

  “The editor of the Bologna Telegraph has sent me a paper with extracts from Mr. Mulock’s (his name always reminds me of Muley Moloch of Morocco) ‘Atheism answered,’ in which there is a long eulogium of my poesy, and a great ‘compatimento’ for my misery. I never could understand what they mean by accusing me of irreligion. However, they may have it their own way. This gentleman seems to be my great admirer, so I take what he says in good part, as he evidently intends kindness, to which I can’t accuse myself of being invincible.

  “Yours,” &c.

  LETTER 360. TO MR. MURRAY.

  “Ravenna, March 5. 1820.

  “In case, in your country, you should not readily lay hands on the Morgante Maggiore, I send you the original text of the first Canto, to correspond with the translation which I sent you a few days ago. It is from the Naples edition in quarto of 1732, — dated Florence, however, by a trick of the trade, which you, as one of the allied sovereigns of the profession, will perfectly understand without any further spiegazione.

  “It is strange that here nobody understands the real precise meaning of ‘sbergo,’ or ‘usbergo,’ an old Tuscan word, which I have rendered cuirass (but am not sure it is not helmet). I have asked at least twenty people, learned and ignorant, male and female, including poets, and officers civil and military. The dictionary says cuirass, but gives no authority; and a female friend of mine says positively cuirass, which makes me doubt the fact still more than before. Ginguené says ‘bonnet de fer,’ with the usual superficial decision of a Frenchman, so that I can’t believe him: and what between the dictionary, the Italian woman, and the Frenchman, there’s no trusting to a word they say. The context, too, which should decide, admits equally of either meaning, as you will perceive. Ask Rose, Hobhouse, Merivale, and Foscolo, and vote with the majority. Is Frere a good Tuscan? if he be, bother him too. I have tried, you see, to be as accurate as I well could. This is my third or fourth letter, or packet, within the last twenty days.”

  LETTER 361. TO MR. MURRAY.

  “Ravenna, March 14. 1820.

  “Enclosed is Dante’s Prophecy — Vision — or what not. Where I have left more than one reading (which I have done often), you may adopt that which Gifford, Frere, Rose, and Hobhouse, and others of your Utican Senate think the best or least bad. The preface will explain all that is explicable. These are but the four first cantos: if approved, I will go on.

  “Pray mind in printing; and let some good Italian scholar correct the Italian quotations.

  “Four days ago I was overturned in an open carriage between the river and a steep bank: — wheels dashed to pieces, slight bruises, narrow escape, and all that; but no harm done, though coachman, foot-man, horses, and vehicle, were all mixed together like macaroni. It was owing to bad driving, as I say; but the coachman swears to a start on the part of the horses. We went against a post on the verge of a steep bank, and capsized. I usually go out of the town in a carriage, and meet the saddle horses at the bridge; it was in going there that we boggled; but I got my ride, as usual, after the accident. They say here it was all owing to St. Antonio of Padua, (serious, I assure you,) — who does thirteen miracles a day, — that worse did not come of it. I have no objection to this being his fourteenth in the four-and-twenty-hours. He presides over overturns and all escapes therefrom, it seems: and they dedicate pictures, &c. to him, as the sailors once did to Neptune, after ‘the high Roman fashion.’

  “Yours, in haste.”

  LETTER 362. TO MR. MURRAY.

  “Ravenna, March 20. 1820.

  “Last post I sent you ‘The Vision of Dante,’ — four first Cantos. Enclosed you will find, line for line, in third rhyme (terza rima), of which your British blackguard reader as yet understands nothing, Fanny of Rimini. You know that she was born here, and married, and slain, from Gary, Boyd, and such people. I have done it into cramp English, line for line, and rhyme for rhyme, to try the possibility. You had best append it to the poems already sent by last three posts. I shall not allow you to play the tricks you did last year, with the prose you post-scribed to Mazeppa, which I sent to you not to be published, if not in a periodical paper, — and there you tacked it, without a word of explanation. If this is published, publish it with the original, and together with the Pulci translation, or the Dante imitation. I suppose you have both by now, and the Juan long before.

  “FRANCESCA OF RIMINI.

  “Translation from the Inferno of Dante, Canto 5th.

  “‘The land where I was born sits by the seas, Upon that shore to which the Po descends, With all his followers, in search of peace. Love, which the gentle heart soon apprehends, Seized him for the fair person which was ta’en From me, and me even yet the mode offends. Love, who to none beloved to love again Remits, seized me with wish to please, so strong, That, as thou seest, yet, yet it doth remain. Love to one death conducted us along, But Caina waits for him our life who ended:’ These were the accents utter’d by her tongue, — Since first I listen’d to these souls offended, I bow’d my visage and so kept it till —

  {then} ‘What think’st thou?’ said the bard; {when} I unbended, And recommenced: ‘Alas! unto such ill How many sweet thoughts, what strong ecstasies Led these their evil fortune to fulfil!’ And then I turn’d unto their side my eyes, And said, ‘Francesca, thy sad destinies Have made me sorrow till the tears arise. But tell me, in the season of sweet sighs, By what and how thy Love to Passion rose, So as his dim desires to recognise?’ Then she to me: ‘The greatest of all woes {recall to mind}
Is to {remind us of} our happy days {this} In misery, and {that} thy teacher knows.

  But if to learn our passion’s first root preys Upon thy spirit with such sympathy, {relate} I will {do even} as he who weeps and says. — We read one day for pastime, seated nigh, Of Lancilot, how Love enchain’d him too. We were alone, quite unsuspiciously, But oft our eyes met, and our cheeks in hue All o’er discolour’d by that reading were; {overthrew} But one point only wholly {us o’erthrew;} {desired} When we read the {long-sighed-for} smile of her, {a fervent} To be thus kiss’d by such {devoted} lover, He who from me can be divided ne’er Kiss’d my mouth, trembling in the act all over. Accursed was the book and he who wrote! That day no further leaf we did uncover. — While thus one Spirit told us of their lot, The other wept, so that with pity’s thralls I swoon’d as if by death I had been smote, And fell down even as a dead body falls.’”

  LETTER 363. TO MR. MURRAY.

  “Ravenna, March 23. 1820.

  “I have received your letter of the 7th. Besides the four packets you have already received, I have sent the Pulci a few days after, and since (a few days ago) the four first Cantos of Dante’s Prophecy, (the best thing I ever wrote, if it be not unintelligible,) and by last post a literal translation, word for word (versed like the original), of the episode of Francesca of Rimini. I want to hear what you think of the new Juans, and the translations, and the Vision. They are all things that are, or ought to be, very different from one another.

  “If you choose to make a print from the Venetian, you may; but she don’t correspond at all to the character you mean her to represent. On the contrary, the Contessa G. does (except that she is fair), and is much prettier than the Fornarina; but I have no picture of her except a miniature, which is very ill done; and, besides, it would not be proper, on any account whatever, to make such a use of it, even if you had a copy.

  “Recollect that the two new Cantos only count with us for one. You may put the Pulci and Dante together: perhaps that were best. So you have put your name to Juan, after all your panic. You are a rare fellow. I must now put myself in a passion to continue my prose. Yours,” &c.

  “I have caused write to Thorwaldsen. Pray be careful in sending my daughter’s picture — I mean, that it be not hurt in the carriage, for it is a journey rather long and jolting.”

  LETTER 364. TO MR. MURRAY.

  “Ravenna, March 28. 1820.

  “Enclosed is a ‘Screed of Doctrine’ for you, of which I will trouble you to acknowledge the receipt by next post. Mr. Hobhouse must have the correction of it for the press. You may show it first to whom you please.

  “I wish to know what became of my two Epistles from St. Paul (translated from the Armenian three years ago and more), and of the letter to R —— ts of last autumn, which you never have attended to? There are two packets with this.

  “P.S. I have some thoughts of publishing the ‘Hints from Horace,’ written ten years ago, — if Hobhouse can rummage them out of my papers left at his father’s, — with some omissions and alterations previously to be made when I see the proofs.”

  LETTER 365. TO MR. MURRAY.

  “Ravenna, March 29. 1820.

  “Herewith you will receive a note (enclosed) on Pope, which you will find tally with a part of the text of last post. I have at last lost all patience with the atrocious cant and nonsense about Pope, with which our present * *s are overflowing, and am determined to make such head against it as an individual can, by prose or verse; and I will at least do it with good will. There is no bearing it any longer; and if it goes on, it will destroy what little good writing or taste remains amongst us. I hope there are still a few men of taste to second me; but if not, I’ll battle it alone, convinced that it is in the best cause of English literature.

  “I have sent you so many packets, verse and prose, lately, that you will be tired of the postage, if not of the perusal. I want to answer some parts of your last letter, but I have not time, for I must ‘boot and saddle,’ as my Captain Craigengelt (an officer of the old Napoleon Italian army) is in waiting, and my groom and cattle to boot.

  “You have given me a screed of metaphor and what not about Pulci, and manners, and ‘going without clothes, like our Saxon ancestors.’ Now, the Saxons did not go without clothes; and, in the next place, they are not my ancestors, nor yours either; for mine were Norman, and yours, I take it by your name, were Gael. And, in the next, I differ from you about the ‘refinement’ which has banished the comedies of Congreve. Are not the comedies of Sheridan? acted to the thinnest houses? I know (as ex-committed) that ‘The School for Scandal’ was the worst stock piece upon record. I also know that Congreve gave up writing because Mrs. Centlivre’s balderdash drove his comedies off. So it is not decency, but stupidity, that does all this; for Sheridan is as decent a writer as need be, and Congreve no worse than Mrs. Centlivre, of whom Wilks (the actor) said, ‘not only her play would be damned, but she too.’ He alluded to ‘A Bold Stroke for a Wife.’ But last, and most to the purpose, Pulci is not an indecent writer — at least in his first Canto, as you will have perceived by this time.

  “You talk of refinement: — are you all more moral? are you so moral? No such thing. I know what the world is in England, by my own proper experience of the best of it — at least of the loftiest; and I have described it every where as it is to be found in all places.

  “But to return. I should like to see the proofs of mine answer, because there will be something to omit or to alter. But pray let it be carefully printed. When convenient let me have an answer.

  “Yours.”

  LETTER 366. TO MR. HOPPNER.

  “Ravenna, March 31. 1820.

  “Ravenna continues much the same as I described it. Conversazioni all Lent, and much better ones than any at Venice. There are small games at hazard, that is, faro, where nobody can point more than a shilling or two; — other card-tables, and as much talk and coffee as you please. Every body does and says what they please; and I do not recollect any disagreeable events, except being three times falsely accused of flirtation, and once being robbed of six sixpences by a nobleman of the city, a Count * * *. I did not suspect the illustrious delinquent; but the Countess V * * * and the Marquis L * * * told me of it directly, and also that it was a way he had, of filching money when he saw it before him; but I did not ax him for the cash, but contented myself with telling him that if he did it again, I should anticipate the law.

  “There is to be a theatre in April, and a fair, and an opera, and another opera in June, besides the fine weather of nature’s giving, and the rides in the Forest of Pine. With my best respects to Mrs. Hoppner, believe me ever, &c. BYRON.

  “P.S. Could you give me an item of what books remain at Venice? I don’t want them, but want to know whether the few that are not here are there, and were not lost by the way. I hope and trust you have got all your wine safe, and that it is drinkable. Allegra is prettier, I think, but as obstinate as a mule, and as ravenous as a vulture: health good, to judge of the complexion — temper tolerable, but for vanity and pertinacity. She thinks herself handsome, and will do as she pleases.”

  LETTER 367. TO MR. MURRAY.

  “Ravenna, April 9. 1820.

  “In the name of all the devils in the printing-office, why don’t you write to acknowledge the receipt of the second, third, and fourth packets, viz. the Pulci translation and original, the Danticles, the Observations on, &c.? You forget that you keep me in hot water till I know whether they are arrived, or if I must have the bore of re-copying.

  “Have you gotten the cream of translations, Francesca of Rimini, from the Inferno? Why, I have sent you a warehouse of trash within the last month, and you have no sort of feeling about you: a pastry-cook would have had twice the gratitude, and thanked me at least for the quantity.

  “To make the letter heavier, I enclose you the Cardinal Legate’s (our Campeius) circular for his conversazione this evening. It is the anniversary of the Pope’s tiara-tion, and all polite Christians, even
of the Lutheran creed, must go and be civil. And there will be a circle, and a faro-table, (for shillings, that is, they don’t allow high play,) and all the beauty, nobility, and sanctity of Ravenna present. The Cardinal himself is a very good-natured little fellow, bishop of Muda, and legate here, — a decent believer in all the doctrines of the church. He has kept his housekeeper these forty years * * * *; but is reckoned a pious man, and a moral liver.

  “I am not quite sure that I won’t be among you this autumn, for I find that business don’t go on — what with trustees and lawyers — as it should do, ‘with all deliberate speed.’ They differ about investments in Ireland.

  “Between the devil and deep sea, Between the lawyer and trustee,

  I am puzzled; and so much time is lost by my not being upon the spot, what with answers, demurs, rejoinders, that it may be I must come and look to it; for one says do, and t’other don’t, so that I know not which way to turn: but perhaps they can manage without me.