not unmindful

Earl Grey to Princess Lieven

Woburn Abbey,

March 12th, 1835.

Dearest Princess,

We arrived here on Sunday, and your letter of February 17, No. 19, reached me yesterday. We proceed on our journey to-morrow, stop two days at Lord Dacre's, and intend to be in town on Monday.

As on my first arrival I may find it difficult to write, I send a line now, to show that I am not unmindful of my promise. How, indeed, should I be at this place, where I am so strongly reminded of you, and of the pleasant party which met here at the time of my last visit! How I wish those days could be renewed, and that I could once more have the happiness of seeing you!

Melbourne and John Russell met me here, and though I have had a good deal of conversation with them, it has not furnished me with anything that I can write. All I have heard from them has confirmed the view which I had previously taken of the present state of affairs, and has not diminished my sense of the difficulties resulting from it. I shall perhaps be able to send you something more satisfactory, when I have had time to look about me after my arrival in London. En attendant, I must refer you to the opinions I have already expressed. I will only add that Howick's conduct has given me the greatest satisfaction. It has shown great good sense and discretion, and is in perfect concurrence with my sentiments as to the necessity of preserving a straight and manly course, equally avoiding any compromise of his principles on the one hand, or any tendency to violent measures on the other. John Russell has gained great credit by his speeches, but he looks very ill, and I do not think he will be able to stand the fatigue of every description to which his new situation exposes him. [Leader of the Opposition in the House of Commons.]

The death of the Emperor of Austria gives a new interest to foreign politics. I regret it sincerely, fearing its effect on the Austrian Empire, and consequently on the state of Europe. Has your friend Metternich secured himself with the new Emperor, or is his power, of which he has had longer possession than most Ministers, likely to be subverted?

We have had rather a large, though chiefly a family, party here. The Duchess-Countess came for one day to state all her alarms to me. She feels, as well she may, great uneasiness at the present state of affairs, but seems very much disposed to place her confidence in me. My son George is gone to pass some months at Tours, to learn French. He had been at Rochecotte, where he had received great kindness from Madame de Dino and Talleyrand, and says nobody can look in better health than the latter. What a miserable letter! but it will at least assure you of my constant and most affectionate remembrance.

Yours ever,

G.

-from the Correspondence of Princess Lieven and Earl Grey edited and translated by Guy le Strange (London: Richard Bentley and Son, 1890) vol. 3, pp. 89-91.

so hand in glove

Princess Lieven to Earl Grey.

St. Petersburg,

Nov. 9th/21st, 1834.

have just received your letter No. 7, my dear lord, and I realize by its date, October 20, how far separated we now are one from another. As long as the Baltic remained open, the fact was not so keenly brought home to me; but this cutting off of one of our means of communication seems like a new separation. If this acts on you as it does on me, it will turn to the profit of our correspondence, for I feel myself urged to write to you now oftener even than before. I am more anxious than ever for my English letters, and, above all, for yours. I devour all the newspapers I can get with an inconceivable avidity, and I am better pleased by a visit from Mr. Bligh than from anyone else; in short, it is English and of England that I must speak, in order to keep myself in passably good spirits.

Lord Durham's speech at Glasgow was of a strong order; we shall see if he will and can act up to the principles there expounded. The speech seems to have made much stir both in England and abroad. I see that France deems herself offended by it. I have just read the article in the Edinburgh Review which gave rise to Lord Durham's attack on the Chancellor. The latter was certainly the first offender. It all appears to me a war of words, in which the personal element has been carried much too far; and what you say on the subject entirely coincides with the conclusions I myself had already drawn.

We as yet know nothing of the result of the recent Ministerial crisis in France. It appears to be grave, and I wonder whether you will not feel the counter-shock of the contest over in England. Hitherto a certain sympathy in the matter of political crises has always been found to exist between the two countries. Further, it would seem to me likely that the present Government [Lord Melbourne's] in England will find some difficulty in getting on comfortably, what between the Chancellor and certain other of its members. No Administration can hold its ground when its members are always quarrelling, and assuredly this present Whig Government can hardly be considered as united in the bonds of amity. What is become of M. de Talleyrand? I have heard nothing of him, for, much to my annoyance, they have kept back in London a letter for me from Madame de Dino; and it would have told me everything. Lady Cowper writes to me very often, but, then, she is so hand in glove with the present Ministry that I do not learn much from her letters. I prefer hearing from outsiders, for they at least do not try to mislead. It is astounding how like bad faith this Ministerial prudence too often becomes.

Since the departure of the Emperor and his son, I have been trying to orient myself somewhat in Petersburg society. I am at home every evening. Up to the present, however, I cannot say that I have made any very notable progress. I see plenty of people, but have found no society. I am very well pleased with your Minister here, and with the two Ambassadors of Austria and France. Marechal Maison is a soldier of the school of Bonaparte, with rather too much of garrison manners and methods of speech to be quite to my taste; but he is an intelligent man and full of tact, without either exaggerated ideas or diplomatic affectations; and he is, besides, full of good sense and very amusing. See what poor letters I write you now, my dear lord, and what a fine opportunity you have of showing your generosity towards me! You have everything to give, and nothing to receive, unless it be the reiterated assurances of my constant and warm affection.

My husband desires me to give you many messages from him, and both to Lady Grey and Lady Georgiana I send my most affectionate greetings.

-from the Correspondence of Princess Lieven and Earl Grey edited and translated by Guy le Strange (London: Richard Bentley and Son, 1890) vol. 3, pp. 49-51.

in this remote corner

Earl Grey to Princess Lieven

Howick,

Dec. 1st, 1834.

Dearest Princess,

Since my last I have received your letter of the 1st November--No. 9. . .

You would naturally expect from me much information at this interesting moment. I live here, in a great manner, excluded from the world, and the present state of uncertainty* in which we await the return of Sir Robert Peel is likely to last at least ten days longer. In the meantime 'his Highness the Dictator' is himself the Government, concentrating in himself all the power of the State, and uniting in a manner neither constitutional nor legal the appointments of First Lord of the Treasury and Secretary of State. This is producing, according to the best information I can obtain, an effect very unfavourable to his ultimate success; and the formation of a new Ministry will be a work of more difficulty than I at first thought it. The manner, too, in which the late Government was dismissed has greatly affected the public feeling.

Living in this remote corner, and having, as I have already said, little intercourse with the active world, my means of information are necessarily very limited. Add to this that those with whom I communicate are chiefly persons whose opinions are strongly adverse to the change that has taken place. But with all the allowances to be made on these accounts, I see strong reasons for believing that public opinion is receiving a powerful direction against the Duke of Wellington and his supporters, and that a conflict is likely to take place which, whatever party prevails, must produce results very unfortunate for the country. What afflicts me most is the tendency that things have to unite the Moderate Whigs with those whose views would still lead them to very extensive, and, as I think, dangerous changes, which it may become very difficult to prevent. All this is very vague, but I have nothing better to say in the present state of affairs, though if I could have the happiness of seeing you, I might explain more fully the view which I take of these matters, and the reasons on which it is founded.

My time has lately been passed very pleasantly. The whole family of the Seftons, and others, have been here for the last fortnight, and our weather continues very fine. . . . The favourite amusement of our visitors is to pass the morning on the rocks by the sea-shore; and you know Sefton well enough to know that our evenings cannot be otherwise than pleasant. How different the climate which you describe, and for which I really pity you! But I rejoice to hear that you are so well pleased with your new establishment at St. Petersburg, and always pray that every happiness may attend you. God bless you, dearest Princess.

Ever most affectionately yours,

Grey.

[*Until Sir R. Peel could be communicated with, the Duke of Wellington, by the King's command, temporarily assumed the duties of First Lord of the Treasury, and at the same time, pending the new arrangements, held the seals of the Home Office, and of the two other Secretaries of State. For himself the Duke refused the chief place; the battle would have to be fought out in the House of Commons, and the Prime Minister would have to be personally present at the crisis of the struggle. The news of Lord Melbourne's dismissal reached Sir R. Peel in Rome, November 25; he immediately set out, and reached London on December 9.]

-from the Correspondence of Princess Lieven and Earl Grey edited and translated by Guy le Strange (London: Richard Bentley and Son, 1890) vol. 3, pp. 47-48.

Pray tell

Princess Lieven to Earl Grey.

Czarskoselo,

Oct. 11th/23rd, 1834.

The mail steamer has met with an accident, my dear lord, which prevents its leaving the day after to-morrow; the steamer from Lubeck, which we have been expecting for the last four days, has not yet come in, all of which means that I have little to say and nothing to answer. I must send you my letter by the land post, and I write because I imagine you wish to hear from me, that you like my letters because you love me, and because I myself feel the sad need of a little talk with you. I have absolutely nothing of news to tell you. I have not stirred out of this place, and my days run on in the manner I have already described to you. The only variety is on Sunday, when the high officials of the Court, and the Ministers, come out to pay us a visit, and among them comes Count Nesselrode, whose society is always like a holiday to me. The Emperor's return has been postponed; he is making an inspection of the central provinces, and reviewing some of the army corps. He is to make a short stay also at Moscow, and will in all probability only arrive here at the end of another fortnight.

Having now told you all about myself, let me put some questions in return. Pray tell me what is taking place in England. What is the position of things between the Government, the Radicals and the Tories? Is O'Connell content with it all? I should be much grieved if he were. Do you not somewhat regret the death of Don Pedro? I myself imagine there is no one in Portugal who inherits either his strong will or his energy; and certainly for keeping faction at bay the lack of these two qualities will make itself felt most disastrously. Pray tell me what you think about Portugal. As far as politics are concerned, she is too far away from us to interest me much; but I take some thought in the matter on account of my liking for Palmella. Louis Philippe is doing well to inaugurate the etiquette of a Court at Fontainebleau. This best of Republican Governments would have been greatly amazed four years ago had they been told that Court state would again be held in their midst! But heaven be praised that it has so fallen out; you would never imagine how fond I am become of courtly ways; possibly it is for that reason I so detest revolutions.

Oct. 24th.

Here is your letter No. 6 just arrived. Thank you a thousand times for it. You would be well pleased could you see how much happiness your letters give me. When they come I have such pleasant moments, for I make believe I am still at Ashburnham House. Heaven help me! Matuscewitz has arrived, and I hope to meet him to-day, and am all impatience to talk to him. Madame de Dino writes to me very regularly, but I do not gather from her letters, any more than you do, whether M. de Talleyrand is to return to London or not. He adores England, but then he hates Lord Palmerston; of that there is no doubt.

I do not understand why the French Government have shown themselves so adverse to Donna Maria marrying the Duke of Leuchtenberg. If I were the Portuguese, however, I should not approve of the marriage. The quarterings on his father's side leave much to be desired, and they are a proud race, those Portuguese. From what they all say, however, he is personally a very proper sort of person.

Adieu, my dear lord. A thousand kind messages to Lady Grey. I am fully of your opinion as regards Lord Harrowby, as long as he keeps to English; but when he talks French he bores me, for he is pretentious, is a purist in literature, recites verses, and has a grating voice, all of which are antipathetic to me. He has an excellent head for business, however, and has had great experience in dealing with people, so his advice is always worth listening to. His wife is charming, very witty, and full of good sense, without an atom of pretence. And, although she has never, I fancy, confessed it, she has always had a strong liking for you.

Adieu, once again. My love to Lady Georgiana, and a thousand kindest regards. My husband sends you many messages.

-from the Correspondence of Princess Lieven and Earl Grey edited and translated by Guy le Strange (London: Richard Bentley and Son, 1890) vol. 3, pp. 41-43.

ennui with resignation

Princess Lieven to Earl Grey.

St. Petersburg,
Aug. 24th\Sept. 5th, 1834.

Many, many thanks, my dear lord, for your letter of August 15. No one cares for me here as you do--at any rate, no one tells me they do--and I have now more need than ever of your friendship. . . . It is all a sad change for me.

Everything you write of your family affairs is to me of the greatest interest, and I entreat you to continue, and by so doing enable me still to live on, in fancy, the life of your own dear and beautiful country. My other correspondents do little or nothing for me. Lady Cowper very naturally prophesies that all must go well, and that her brother [Lord Melbourne] will find everything come easy to his hand. She has her interests so bound up in the present Ministry that her opinions, and even her facts, must be taken with caution. One must stand among the spectators to see the play fairly; the actors themselves cannot possibly judge of the effect. And this, believe me, is the fruit of my observations during the twenty-two years I passed in England watching those who in turn have been at the head of affairs. I have found no exceptions, not even in your case. The statesman in power is surrounded by flatterers. He is naturally little prone to give credence to uncomfortable facts, and those who are interested in obtaining Ministerial favours keep all disagreeable matters from his knowledge. It is the way in all countries, and your country in particular forms no exception.

Now pray write me all the news you hear, and your opinions on it all. The present Government has your goodwill, but you will not fail to see their faults, and the greatest of all faults is for them to imagine themselves indispensable. This is abject folly, and I was surprised to hear that Lord Melbourne could be such a coxcomb. I really did not give him credit for it.

You will see by all this that my heart is still in England. You wish, however, to have news of me, and hence I must recall the fact that I am writing to you from Russia. My dear lord, I spend my day wearying my body and resting my mind. No one would imagine that this suited me remarkably well, but I have no other choice at present. Life at Court is not what I was made for. I rarely now dine with their Majesties in private, or with so few at table as to allow of pleasant conversation. There are generally dinners of a hundred or two hundred people, after which in the evening there is card-playing or a ball, following on which comes supper. And this is my day. At these soirees I no longer play a prominent part; I am only a spectator, and I regret I am no longer twenty years of age, for then I should be able to amuse myself. I turn my eyes to right and to left looking for succour, but those who might aid me go and establish themselves at the whist-tables, where everybody has to play extremely well and stake extremely high. I therefore remain glued to my chair, suffer ennui with resignation--and the next day begin it all over again. I know nothing as to what life we shall lead when the Emperor and Empress are away. Nothing has been settled as yet, except that we are to pass the time in the country, with our young charge. On the 1st November I go and establish myself in town. I shall be wondrous well cared for there in all material points, but whether my mental requirements will be equally well provided for remains to be seen. I should like to send you the plan of my house, or, at any rate, that of the floor I am to occupy, in order that you may be able to form an idea of me when I am at home.

Your bracelet I always wear, and the ring Lady Grey gave me, and I shall never leave either of them off.

Sept. 6th.
The Russian messenger who arrived yesterday brought me your letter No. 3; thank you once more for so faithfully writing to me. Of all the friends I have left in England, it is you who are the most constant in friendship; and I only hope you will not weary of me. I had seen in the papers the account of your triumphal march through the North Country; it pleased me, and made me feel very proud for you. I am delighted also to learn that you are on such good terms with Lord Durham. For everything that is of concern to you interests me.

What the Times says amuses me greatly; its strictures on the Chancellor are most biting. If, as you have always told me, the Times represents public opinion, all this is not very favourable to the Government. And if the Ministry really does not enjoy the public favour (and seeing they have no great talents in the Cabinet), I am curious to know how they will manage to keep on their legs. They will take a good deal of beating, however, to make them resign, for they have a marvellous tenacity of will for keeping in office. Lord Palmerston has become very amiably disposed towards Russia, now that he no longer has my husband to deal with. This is what I had foreseen, and for Russia a good understanding with England is of too great importance for me to complain of the personal sacrifice. . . .



Your letters reach me perfectly securely. I tell you this once and for all, so you can write everything to me without any fear of the Foreign Office.

Sept. 8th

I must close this now. The great fete is just going to begin. Ever since early morning Petersburg has been inundated with masses of troops--a hundred thousand men in all, they say. It will be very fine and imposing, and it is being done as a last tribute to the memory of the Emperor Alexander I. Adieu, my dear lord. Pray keep in mind the very great pleasure your letters afford me. A thousand most friendly regards.

-from the Correspondence of Princess Lieven and Earl Grey edited and translated by Guy le Strange (London: Richard Bentley and Son, 1890) vol. 3, pp. 12-16.

The Baltic voyage

Princess Lieven to Earl Grey

St. Petersburg,

Aug. 6th /18th, 1834.

Your first letter was indeed a pleasure to me, my dear lord, and its arrival afforded me the one happy moment I have experienced since I bid you good-bye. Ours was indeed a sad parting, and every day I realize more and more the pain and the bitterness of what I feel. Time brings healing to every grief, but what I have lost in this separation so wounds me that I hardly imagine I shall ever get the better of this sorrow.

I wrote to you from Hamburg. The Baltic voyage, after leaving that port, was most horrible. We struck on a rock near the desolate island I was telling you about at Woburn, where the post only comes once a year. During ten long hours we hung literally between life and death. You were often in my thoughts, my dear lord, and I knew you would have given me all your pity. At times it seemed sad to me to have to die so soon; but I had lost England, and I felt I had little in life to regret.

You can imagine what my condition was on arriving at Petersburg after all this. During the first few days I was too ill to go out to the country to see the Emperor and Empress. They, however, have come in to Petersburg, and I have been passing the last two days at the Palace. Their reception of me was most friendly. The Emperor well understands all my regrets, and thus I find myself at liberty to give free expression to all I feel--and I make full use of my freedom. It is a sort of pleasure to me, and I have no inclination for any other just now, unless it be the pleasure of seeing their Majesties again, for I love all the Imperial Family with my whole heart. The young Czarewitch is most charming. You cannot imagine anybody more handsome. He is in every way interesting; he has a most intelligent, sweet face, and a manner of speech and ways that are all one can most desire. I shall love him, I know, as my own son, and in his service I have both interest and occupation, as also my pleasure.

It remains to be seen how I shall get on in my dear native land. The climate, the manners, and the society will all be somewhat of trials to me. To begin with, we are to be left all alone with our young charge. The Emperor sets out in three weeks on a voyage that will take him as far as Siberia. The Empress is going to pass two months at Berlin. The Ministers remain in Petersburg. My husband, therefore, in three weeks' time enters on his important charge of Governor to the Heir of the Crown. Till then we shall be occupied in setting up house. We have found one that I think will suit us perfectly, and it has what to my eyes is the merit of being situated on the English Quay.

Poor Mrs. Arbuthnot's death shocked me greatly. I should not be at all surprised if this event were to lead to the Duke of Wellington marrying again. I wish he would choose Georgina Bathurst, for he could not do better. All the news you send interests me in the highest degree. I wish I could agree with you in thinking that your present Premier has in him the qualities necessary for carrying on the Government as one would wish; but frankly I have no faith in his principles. He may become Radical or he may turn Tory; at least, this is my opinion of him--but I should hasten to add that as a private individual I like and esteem him very highly. There is in him the naivete of a child, and this used to charm me completely; but he never seemed to have the stuff in him for the Premier Minister. I trust the event will prove me to have been in the wrong.

Aug. 9th / 21st

Until to-day I was prevented from finishing my letter, and now I am in the midst of my packing before going into the country to join the Court. So I must close this. I met Mr. Bligh again with the greatest possible delight; he is English, and we talked of England! He is a most agreeable man, and is very popular both in general society and at our Foreign Office.

Adieu, my dear lord; I would I could travel to Howick in the place of this letter. You must not forget me; I trust to having news of you every fortnight, and this will be to me a great, great pleasure. Write of everything. Your letters reach me perfectly safely, and I am curious to hear of all that goes on in England.

A thousand kindest regards to Lady Grey, to Lady Georgiana, and to your son Charles. I love them all with my whole heart, and you more than all of them put together.

P.S. --You cannot conceive the astonishment which was caused here by the news of your retirement, or rather of the manner in which it was brought about. They understand nothing of these things, and I have failed to give them any lucid explanation of what has taken place. Your conduct is clear enough, but what the others have done--ah, mon Dieu ! You would, however, be satisfied if you heard how they judge you and know you here; and it is such a pleasure to me to hear you thus spoken of.

-from the Correspondence of Princess Lieven and Earl Grey edited and translated by Guy le Strange (London: Richard Bentley and Son, 1890) vol. 3, pp. 9-12.

Earl Grey on Early Rising

Thomas Hood to The Duke of Devonshire

Winchmore Hill.

[April, 1831]

My Lord Duke,

On learning that Your Grace is at Chatsworth, I send off as many titles as have occurred to me; promising myself the honour and pleasure of waiting upon Your Grace with some others on the 14th, and am, My Lord Duke, Your Grace's most obliged and obedient servant,

Thos. Hood.

TITLES FOR THE LIBRARY DOOR, CHATSWORTH

On the Lung Arne in Consumption. By D. Cline.

Dante's Inferno; or Description of Van Demon's Land.

The Racing Calendar, with the Eclipses for 1831.

Ye Devill on Two Styx (Black letter). 2 Vols.

On cutting off Heirs with a Shilling. By Barber Beaumont.

Percy Vere. In 40 volumes.

Galerie des Grands Tableaux par les Petits Maitres.

On the Affinity of the Death Watch and Sheep Tick.

Lamb's Recollections of Suett.

Lamb on the Death of Wolfe.

The Optician. By Lord Farnham.

Tadpoles; or Tales out of my own Head.

On the Connection of the River Oder and the River Wezel.

Malthus' Attack of Infantry.

McAdam's Views in Rhodes.

Spenser, with Chaucer's Tales.

Autographia; or Man's Nature, known by his Sig-nature.

Manfredi. Translated by Defoe.

Earl Grey on Early Rising.

Plurality of Livings, with regard to the Common Cat.

The Life of Zimmermann. By Himself.

On the Quadrature of the Circle; or Squaring in the Ring. By J. Mendoza.

Gall's Sculler's Fares.

Bish's Retreat of the Ten Thousand.

Dibdin's Cream of Tar -- .

Cornaro on Longevity and the Construction of 74's

Pompeii; or Memoirs of a Black Footman. By Sir W. Gell.

Pygmalion. By Lord Bacon.

Macintosh, Macculoch, and Macaulay on Almacks.

On Trial by Jury, with remarkable Packing Cases.

On the Distinction between Lawgivers and Law-sellers. By Lord Brougham.

Memoirs of Mrs. Mountain. By Ben Lomond.

Feu mon pere--feu ma mere. Par Swing.

-from Memorials of Thomas Hood collected, arranged, and edited by his daughter with a preface and notes by his son / 2 volumes (Boston: Tichnor and Fields, 1860) pp. 29-31.

unreal folios

The Duke of Devonshire to Thomas Hood

London.

[February 8th, 1831.]

Sir,

Accept my best thanks for the beautiful copies of the "Comic Annual," which I have had the pleasure of receiving from you; you could not have selected a person who has enjoyed more the perusal of your works.

I am almost afraid of making the following request, but perhaps it may be as amusing as it must be easy to you to comply with it, in which case alone I beg you to do it.

It is necessary to construct a door of sham books, for the entrance of a library at Chatsworth: your assistance in giving me inscriptions for these unreal folios, quartos, and 12mos, is what I now ask.

One is tired of the "Plain Dealings," "Essays on "Wood," and "Perpetual Motion" on such doors,--on one I have seen the names of "Don Quixote's Library," and on others impossibilities, such as "Virgilii Odaria,"-- "Herodoti Poemata"--"Byron's Sermons"--&c., &c.; but from you I venture to hope for more attractive titles--at your perfect leisure and convenience. I have the honour to be, Sir, with many excuses.

Your sincere humble servant,

Devonshire.

-from Memorials of Thomas Hood collected, arranged, and edited by his daughter with a preface and notes by his son / 2 volumes (Boston: Tichnor and Fields, 1860) pp. 28-29.

one whale a month

John Lothrop Motley to his Wife.

Brussels, March 2nd, 1858.

My Dear Mary,

I hardly know whether I have written to you within the last few days or not. My days and nights succeed each other and certify each other so monotonously that they seem to be all stuck together in one piece. It is like one long sentence without punctuation, like the interminable Spanish despatches which I am reading every day, and which run sometimes for fifty pages without a period or even a comma. I am at the Archives every day before ten, and generally till five, as Gachard, when he stops, invites me into his cabinet after the regular hour of closing, which is three. Then, la nuit tombante, I take a grim crepuscular walk round the shabby little boulevards, after which I go to the reading-room for an hour. At half-past seven I dine alone in the large salle a manger, lighted by one candle, with two waiters looking at me, so that I always feel like Warren in the farce which we saw at the Museum. After this I work till twelve or one o'clock, burning a good deal of midnight spermaceti, which, at the rate charged for it, comes, according to my calculation, to about one whale a month. Thus you see that I have always a pickaxe in hand, and am working my way pretty steadily into the bowels of the land. At the same time I do not see that I have anything amusing to communicate to you. I have a fine opportunity for cultivating my talent for silence, but that does not enable me to be very agreeable in conversation, even by letter. I am attacked by very frequent fits of the a quoi bon disease, and am constantly asking myself why I should condemn myself in this absurd way to travaux forces a perpetuite. Here I go trainant ma boule, and it does not do me any good, or anybody else. I am getting disgusted with the word "history," and yet I go boring on merely because it seems to be my destiny faute de mieux.

I went again to see Madame Metivie yesterday, and found her at home, together with the other one. Miss le Strange was there, too, with her father, and was delighted to hear of Lily and Mary, whom she recollects very well, and begged to be kindly remembered. She is quite a pretty, pleasing girl.

March 15th. I have pretty nearly finished in Brussels for the present. I have gone through nearly the whole of the Simancas correspondence, twelve hundred letters, many of them sixty pages in length, and after all they are rather a seccatura. I suppose I shall go to Paris by the end of the week.

Ever yours,

J. L. M,

-from The Correspondence of John Lothrop Motley edited by George Williams Curtis 2nd edition (London: John Murray, 1889) vol. 1, pp. 215-16.

an insignificant individual like myself

John Lothrop Motley to Dr. O. W. Holmes.

Walton-on-Thames, September 16th, 1857.

My Dear Wendell,

This is not a letter, not even an apology for one. I only wish to say to you that I intend to write very soon, and that I hope to hear from you as often as you can overcome your avaricious tendencies. I am myself excessively miserly at this moment, for I am almost distraught at the circumlocution and circumvolutions of London. To try to do anything in a hurry here is to "hew down oaks with rushes." Sisyphus with his rock was an idle, loafing individual compared to the martyr who is doomed to work up the precipice of English routine. I have been in London a month, and my rock has just come down upon my toes for the fourth or fifth time. I have not yet got into the State Paper Office, where I expected to have effected my entrance after the first day or two succeeding my arrival. I thought to have done a great deal of work there this time. But the American Minister, and the Minister of Foreign Affairs, and the Minister of the Interior, and the Master of the Rolls (who by the way is not a baker, as Lowell would probably suggest), and various other dignitaries have all to be made aware (in a Pickwickian sense) that an insignificant individual like myself is desirous of reading some musty and forgotten old letters which not one of them could read or would wish to if they could. A friend of mine once went into a soda-water shop in Boston on a very hot day, and was told by an elderly individual behind the counter that his son John, proprietor of the establishment, had gone to Portland, but that upon his return he would undoubtedly be very happy to prepare him a glass. This is exactly my case. The Earl of Clarendon is absent with the Queen at Balmoral. Panizzi of the British Museum is in Turin. Dallas is at the Isle of Wight, and others are hiding themselves in other corners or pretending to be absent, even if actually here, because in September it is disreputable to be in London. No moral or religious person therefore would acknowledge himself to be here. When these illustrious personages all get back, they will unite to prepare my glass of soda-water. By that time I shall be in Paris. I have also had time during the last two or three weeks to go over a mass of MS. in the British Museum. Mais il faut casser des oeufs pour faire une omelette.

Routledge tells me that your poems (particularly the Punch-Bowl), are familiar to everybody in England. I have been a recluse till now. We are at present staying at this magnificent place, Mount Felix, near Walton-on-Thames, enjoying the princely hospitality of our friends, Russell Sturgis and his wife. I wish you were here too. Remember me kindly to Lowell and Agassiz and Felton, Longfellow, Tom Appleton, and all the members of our Club, which I hope you have regularly joined by this time. My wife joins me in warmest remembrances to you and your wife and children. I am provoked that I have been writing all about myself. I shall write to you ere long again, and will not use this horrible paper. Nec tenui penna is a good motto, but Nec tenui charta shall henceforth be mine. Do write me occasionally, if only a single sheet of notepaper, and pardon the detestable stupidity of this.

Ever most sincerely your friend, J. L. M.

An English admirer of yours, Mr. Synge, attache in Her Majesty's Foreign Office, who is staying in this house and who has heard much in your praise from Thackeray, asks to send you his respects.

[Photo above, L to R, Whittier, Holmes, Emerson, Motley, Alcott, Hawthorne, Lowell, Agassiz, and Longfellow.]

-from The Correspondence of John Lothrop Motley edited by George Williams Curtis 2nd edition (London: John Murray, 1889) vol. 1, pp. 204-205.

this reading of dead letters

John Lothrop Motley to Dr. Oliver W. Holmes.

Brussels, November 20th, 1853.

My Dear Holmes,

ost certainly both Mary and myself felt deeply your kindness in writing to us, for although your letter was addressed to me personally, she assumes a joint and several character with regard to it in all respects except in the responsibility of responding, and if I could have merely taken up my pen (style of the earlier part of this century in which you and I began to flourish) and acknowledged the kindness, and so rendered you my debtor instantly for another letter, you may be very sure that you would at this moment be writing to me your sixth or seventh. Honestly and most warmly I asseverate that my delay in answering was only because I felt unable to write anything that would be worth your reading. I was too conscientious to think that one sheet of paper with a post-mark was equal to another sheet of paper with a post-mark, and I hoped not to be forced, as I am at last, to tender a pound of lead in payment for a pound of gold. Do, however, be merciful, take your pen and write four score as if I had really discharged the debt. If you knew how often we have read your letter, and how much pleasure it has given us, and how often Mary has been goading me into answering in the mere sordid expectation of getting a second, till at last even the incrustations of time and self-conscious stupidity have penetrated, you would I am sure be willing once more to write to us. You may be sure even if I have myself no more wit than a Christian or an ordinary man," that I am quite able to appreciate and to treasure yours.

I do not really know what to say to you. I am in a town which for aught I know may be very gay. I do not know a living soul in it. We have not a single acquaintance in the place, and we glory in the fact. There is something rather sublime in thus floating on a single spar in the wide sea of a populous, busy, fuming, fussy, little world like this. At any rate it is consonant to both our tastes. You may suppose, however, that I find it rather difficult to amuse my friends out of the incidents of so isolated an existence. Our life is as stagnant as a Dutch canal; not that I complain of it, on the contrary the canal may be richly freighted with merchandise, and be a short cut to the ocean of abundant and perpetual knowledge, but at the same time few points rise above the level of so regular a life, to be worthy of your notice. You must therefore allow me to meander along through the meadows of common-place. Do not expect anything in the impetuous, and boiling style.

I do not know whether you ever were in Brussels. It is a striking, picturesque town, built up a steep promontory, the old part at the bottom, very dingy and mouldy, the new part at the top, very showy and elegant. Nothing can be more exquisite in its way than the Grande Place in the very heart of the city, surrounded with those toppling, zig-zag, ten-storied buildings, bedizened all over with ornaments and emblems so peculiar to the Netherlands, with the brocaded Hotel de Ville on one side, with its impossible spire, rising some three hundred and seventy feet into the air, and embroidered on the top with the delicacy of needlework, sugarwork, spiderwork, or what you will. I haunt this place because it is my scene, my theatre. Here were enacted so many deep tragedies, so many stately dramas, and even so many farces, which have been so familiar to me so long, that I have got to imagine myself invested with a kind of property in the place, and look at it as if it were merely the theatre with the coulisses, machinery, drapery, etc.. for representing scenes which have long since vanished, and which no more enter the minds of men and women who are actually moving across its pavements than if they had occurred in the moon. When I say that I know no soul in Brussels I am perhaps wrong. With the present generation I am not familiar. En revanche the dead men of the place are my intimate friends. I am at home in any cemetery. With the fellows of the sixteenth century I am on the most familiar terms. Any ghost that ever flits by night across the moonlight square is at once hailed by me as a man and a brother. I call him by his Christian name at once.

When you come out of this place, however, which, as I said is exactly in the heart of the town, the antique town in the modern setting, you may go either up or down; if you go down you will find yourself in the very nastiest and most dismal complications of lanes and culs de sacs possible, a dark entanglement of gin shops, beer houses, and hovels, through which charming valley dribbles the river Senne (whence I suppose is derived senna) the most nauseous little river in the world, which receives all the outpourings of all the drains and houses, and is then converted into beer for the inhabitants all the way, breweries being directly upon its edge. If you go up the hill instead of down you come to an arrangement of squares, palaces, and gardens, as trim and fashionable as you will find in Europe. Thus you see that our Cybele sits with her head crowned with very stately towers, and her feet in a tub of very dirty water.

My habits here for the present are very regular. I came here, having, as I thought, finished my work, or rather the first part (something like three or four volumes octavo), but I find so much original matter here, and so many emendations to make, that I am ready to despair. However, there is nothing for it but to penelopise, pull to pieces and stitch away again. Whatever may be the result of my labours, nobody can say that I have not worked hard like a brute beast; but I do not care for the result. The labour is in itself its own reward and all I want. I go day after day to the Archives here (as I went all summer at the Hague), studying the old letters and documents of the sixteenth century. Here I remain among my fellow worms, feeding on those musty mulberry leaves of which we are afterwards to spin our silk. How can you expect anything interesting from such a cocoon? It is, however, not without its amusement in a mouldy sort of way, this reading of dead letters. It is something to read the real bona fide signs manual of such fellows as William of Orange, Count Egmont, Alexander Farnese, Philip the Second, Cardinal Granvelle, and the rest of them. It gives a "realising sense," as the Americans have it. However, you see how insensibly I fall into talking about myself, and yet no topic is more distasteful to me. I hate myself, and am bored by myself, and I rarely commit the sin of egotism. Yet I feel as if it were in writing to so old and kind a friend as you, whose good opinion I so highly value, and to whom I feel grateful for thinking that I am really industrious and capable of being useful. I feel, I say, bound to say something of my occupations, and feel that it would be affectation to be altogether silent on the subject. At the same time I am, in German slang, rather objective than subjective, and would rather entertain my friends with anything than with myself.

There are not many public resources of amusement in this place if we wanted them, which we do not. I miss the Dresden Gallery very much, and it makes me sad to think that I shall never look at the face of the 'Sistine Madonna' again, that picture beyond all pictures in the world, in which the artist certainly did get to heaven and painted a face which man never saw on earth, so pathetic, so gentle, so passionless, so prophetic, "half of earth, and half of heaven" you see I cannot break myself of quoting you to your face. There are a few good Rubens here, but the great wealth of that master is in Antwerp. The great picture of the 'Descent from the Cross' is free again, after having been two years in the repairing room. It has come out again in very good condition. What a picture! It seems to me as if I had really stood at the Cross, and seen Mary weeping on John's shoulder, and Magdalen receiving the dead body of the Saviour in her arms. Never was the grand tragedy represented in so profound and dramatic a manner. For it is not only his colour, in which this man so easily surpasses the world, but in his life-like flesh and blood action, the tragic power of his composition. And is it not appalling to think of the large constitution of this man, when you reflect on the acres of canvas which he has covered? How inspiriting to see with what muscular masculine vigour this splendid Fleming rushed in and plucked up drowning Art by the locks, when it was sinking in the washy sea of such creatures as Luca Giordanos and Pietro Cortonas and the like. Well might Guido exclaim, "The fellow mixes blood with his colours!"

He is certainly the Shakespeare of painting. I did not say that originally: I wish I had. It is worthy to have been said by you. How providentially did the man come in and invoke living, breathing, moving men and women out of his canvas! sometimes he is ranting and exaggerated as are all men of great genius, who wrestle with Nature so boldly. No doubt his heroines are more expansively endowed than would be thought genteel in our country, where cryptogams are so much in fashion; nevertheless with all his exaggerations there is always something very tremendous about him, and very often much that is sublime, pathetic, and moving. I defy any one of the average amount of imagination and sentiment to stand long before the 'Descent from the Cross' without being moved more nearly to tears than he would care to acknowledge. As for colour, his effects are as sure as those of the sun rising in a tropical landscape. There is some- thing quite genial in the cheerful sense of his own omnipotence which always inspired him.

There are a few fine pictures of his here, and I go in some-times of a raw foggy morning merely to warm myself in the blaze of their beauty.

I have just read over your letter again, rather well thumbed by this time, in order to see whether there was anything especially requiring an answer. I find no interrogations, but you speak of Thackeray and his lectures. Of course I know nothing of them, but I heard here that he was very much delighted with you--not the citizens of the U.S.A., but with O.W.H.

Mary sends you an infinite deal of the kindest remembrances. I wish you could come in and enliven our silent fireside (silent after the children have been got to bed) for one evening. My children are all very well and none the worse for their European experience.

Most affectionately yours,

J. L. M.

-from The Correspondence of John Lothrop Motley edited by George Williams Curtis 2nd edition (London: John Murray, 1889) vol. 1, pp. 161-65.

crepuscular civilization

John Lothrop Motley to his Wife.

St. Petersburg, January 10th, 1842.

My Dearest Mary,

The English courier goes to-morrow, and you will not be surprised nor disappointed, I hope, to hear that I have already written to Fletcher Webster, announcing my resignation. I have had a talk with Colonel Todd, and he has consented that I should leave whenever it suits my convenience. As there is not an earthly thing to do at the Legation, I have no hesitation in resigning a sinecure whenever I please, and, as the Minister has made no objection, I shall leave this some time in March.

I shall leave this in March for Berlin, go to Hamburg, and from there to the Netherlands, where I wish to pass a few weeks, and then, if you decide to remain at home, I shall cross to England, and take passage about the end of May for Boston.

Todd has been perfectly kind and considerate towards me ever since we have been here, and I have stated this in my letter to Webster explicitly, mentioning that we have never had a word of difference on any subject, and that therefore my reasons for leaving were unconnected with any disagreement with him.

I dined a week ago at the British Ambassador's, and two days ago at Sir James Wylie's, where there was a large and pleasant company. The Prussian Minister, the English, and several notables were present. Count Nesselrode was to have been there, but received orders to dine with the Emperor on the same day. I don't know whether I have ever described to you the great bureaucrat of the great autocrat. He is a small man, with a hooked nose and spectacles, of affable and supple manners, and apparently gifted with ubiquity, for I have seldom been where he was not. I have been honoured by several short interviews with him, and I regret that I did not take down his conversation in shorthand, that I might transmit it to you. The topics have usually been the state of the weather, the heat of the rooms, and a comparative view of the state of the thermometer this year and this time last year. Upon all these subjects of general and exciting interest he seemed full of general information, and delivered his opinions with decision, and at the same time with a frankness hardly to have been expected of a man so deeply versed in the wiles of diplomacy.

Sir William Wylie is a remarkable man. He has been in the Russian service fifty-two years, and is now "Inspecteur-General du Service des Armees," with the rank of Major-General, having emigrated originally from Scotland as an apothecary's apprentice, I believe. He is a hearty old gentleman, upwards of seventy, and goes out bear-shooting in winter with the ardour of a youth. There has been nothing at Court since last I wrote. The day after to-morrow is the Russian New Year's Day, and we are bidden to what is called a cercle at the Palace, which is a showy, formal, and most insipid ceremony. There is to be a ball the same night at Count "Woronzow's; but I believe there are to be no more at the Palace this winter, of which I am very glad. I have been driving round occasionally in my sledge to look at some of the churches, in the hopes of seeing something worth describing to you. Some of these, with their graceful cupolas and clusters of turbaned minarets of green and gold, have a pretty, fantastic effect on the outside, but internally they are mostly bare and barren. I have been young lady enough to keep a journal (for your amusement when I return); but on looking over it I find it to be so meagre and so impregnated with my own dulness that I fear to communicate a portion of it to you if I transcribe from it, and, after all, there is nothing worth transcribing.

There are no fine buildings here, although there are many large and showy ones, and the architectural effects of some of the streets and squares are very imposing from their vastness and regularity. The best thing in St. Petersburg is the statue of Peter the Great. This, in my opinion, is the finest equestrian statue in Europe. There is something uncommonly spirited and striking in the action of the horse and the pose of its rider. He waves his hands as if, Scandinavian wizard as he was, he had just caused this vast collection of palaces and temples, this mighty swarming city, to rise like an exhalation from the frozen swamps of the Neva with one wave of his hand. Peter the Great was a great man unquestionably. He was addicted to drinking, murdering his son, beating his Prime Minister, and a few other foibles, to be sure, but still he was a wonderful man. He alone raised Russia out of the quagmire of barbarism, just as he raised St. Petersburg out of the morass; but it seems to me that just as this city may at any moment, by six hours too long continuance of a south-west wind, be inundated and swamped for ever, so may Russia at any moment, through a succession of half-a-dozen bad Czars, be submerged in its original barbarism. The present Emperor is unquestionably a man of great energy; but how can one man uphold this mass, even in the state of crepuscular civilisation to which they have reached? What is really admirable in the construction of St. Petersburg are the quays and walls along the Neva and the canals. These are all of granite, of great extent and most massive and admirable architecture, and, with the many bridges of the same material, are really Cyclopean works, and worth all the gilt gingerbread of all these stucco streets and palaces. These latter, compared to the marble halls of Venice, Florence, and Rome, are most tawdry and insignificant, although of great size, and ornamented, like Job Johnson's coat, with the most lordly indifference as to taste and expense.

Your own J. L. M.

-from The Correspondence of John Lothrop Motley edited by George Williams Curtis 2nd edition (London: John Murray, 1889) vol. 1, pp. 94-96.

more than their postilions

John Lothrop Motley to his Wife.

St. Petersburg, November 18th, 1841.

I wrote to you last from Hamburg; the next day I went in an abominable diligence to Berlin. Stayed there two days. Saw Mrs. Kirkland and George Cabot constantly, they were both perfectly well and perfectly tired of Berlin, but uncertain whether they should leave this winter or remain. Staying in the same house was young Welch, who has joined the university, I believe. I went with Cabot to the Fay's one evening (the Secretary of Legation); he and his wife are very agreeable people. Mr. Wheaton I called upon, and he upon me, but I did not see him, both being out. The next night left with my travelling companion, Mr. Elliot, for Konigsberg, a long pull of fifty-eight hours in a diligence. We had the cabriolet or front part, where one is very comfortable. The roads are excellent in Prussia, but the country most uninteresting, our whole route in fact, from Berlin to Petersburg, traversing a portion of that immense plain which reaches from the Netherlands to the Ural Mountains. It is a good country to travel at night in, because there is nothing to see and the roads having all the smoothness and directness of a railroad without its rapidity, you are able to sleep in the well-cushioned diligences very comfortably.

Prussia has no history--the reigning family is an ancient one; but the State is new, and an artificial patchwork, without natural coherence, mosaiced out of bought, stolen and plundered provinces, and only kept together by compression. A Prince of Hohenzollern-something-or-other-ingen bought the Mark of Brandenburg with the dignity of Elector of the Empire, and his successors, after having in the course of two or three centuries subjugated the barbarous Prussia Proper (already well hammered by the Teutonic Knights and the Polish kings), helped themselves to a slice of Poland, and stolen Silesia, had the pleasure at the beginning of the present century of seeing their ingeniously contrived kingdom completely sponged out of existence by Napoleon, and then repaired and put together again by the Cabinet-making of Vienna. Since then, Prussia is a camp, and its whole population drilled to the bayonet. It is the fashion to praise its good administration; but I have no sympathy with your good administrations.

Prussia is a mild despotism to be sure. 'Tis the homoeopathic tyranny--small doses, constantly administered, and strict diet and regimen. But what annoys you most is this constant dosing, this succession of infinitesimal Government pills which the patient subject bolts every instant. Everything, in fact, is regulated by the Government; the royal colours are black and white, and Government is written in black and white all over the kingdom. The turnpike-gates are black and white; the railings of the bridges are black and white, and so are the signs of the taverns, post-houses, etc., etc. In every inn a royal ordonnance stuck up against the wall informs you how much you have to pay for everything--for your dinner, your bed, your schnaps, or your glass of sugar-and-water. This is well enough for the traveller; but a sort of arrangement neither complimentary nor gratifying to the inhabitants. But what nonsense it is for me to be wasting all this time in such a tirade. I believe it is because I was annoyed at having to go back (after having walked down to the Berlin Post-office to take my place in the diligence) for the sake of having my passport put in order; for unless the American Minister, the Prussian Minister for Foreign Affairs, the police inspector, the Russian Minister, and the Lord knows who beside, all signify in writing their perfect approval of your taking a seat in the Schnell Post, the said seat in the Schnell Post is refused to you by the prigs of the Post-office.

At Konigsberg we waited a day--

"A town, whose greatest vaunt

Besides some mines of zinc and lead and copper

Has lately been the great Professor Kant;

But we, who cared not a tobacco-stopper

For metaphysics, still pursued our jaunt

Through Germany, whose somewhat tardy millions

Have princes who spur more than their postilions"--

like the respectable Don Juan, who went to Petersburg by the same route that we did. We, however, killed one lion there, and the only one worth killing--the old cathedral, a building five hundred years old, as the sexton said: built by the Grand Master of the Teutonic Knights, and containing several tombs, monuments, and rude portraits of the old Grand Masters by whom Konigsberg and "Prussia Proper" (I like that expression, because all Prussia is so extremely proper) was governed in old times. One of the monuments, rudely representing a knight in a reclining position and dying, with some singular devices scattered about, attracted my attention, and the old sexton insisted upon giving me a long legend about it, which had a strong resemblance to the story of the maid and the magpie. This story, in three words, was that the knight lost a favourite ring from his finger--circumstances convinced him that his favourite servant had stolen it, and so he incontinently cut off his head; afterwards, a raven's nest was- found with the ring in it, and the dead servant's innocence being thus demonstrated, the knight had nothing for it but to die himself. So, upon Tristram Shandy's principle, "that man bears pain best in a horizontal position," he threw himself at length upon his elbow with his toes to heaven and so died. "So Johnny Pringle he laid down and died." A device of a raven with a ring in his mouth, and a servant with his head cut off, and other quaint devices, decorate the monument.. The church itself is venerable from its age, but very plain. The windows are the narrow lancet-shaped ones, without tracery, which in England are called the Early English; but there is very little of ornament in any part of the building none of that elaborate carving, that needlework in stone, that sculptured Brussels lace, which is the charm and the wonder of the more splendid Gothic cathedrals.

The same night we went to Tilsit, twelve hours from Konigsberg (if you take any post map of Europe or even any common map, you may easily trace our route), a place where Napoleon dictated peace upon a raft in the river Memel to the Emperors of Russia and Austria and remarkable for nothing else, where we stopped a day and night--these stoppages by the way were owing to our having neglected to inform ourselves at Berlin about the diligence hours of starting from, the different places. If we had used due diligence in using the diligence we might have shortened the time four or five days. However as that would not have shortened the road, and as our fatigue was the less, it was of no great consequence.

From Tilsit, we went to Tauroggen on the Russian frontier, passing through the custom-house so much dreaded by travellers unscathed and untouched, thanks to our diplomatic capacity (which, by the way, has carried us through every custom-house with flying colours). At Tauroggen we stopped a day and night, the inn or post-house most comfortable, giving one an agreeable impression of Russian arrangements. The next morning at ten, we took our seats in the Russian mail for Petersburg; these carriages are without exception the best public conveyances in Europe; they carry four persons only, and the vehicle consists of two coupes or chariots, one placed behind the other, and each containing two persons; they were filled with spring cushions, leather padded pillows, lamps to read by in the night, and in fact as comfortable as a private carriage.

The road from Tauroggen to Petersburg is 14 wersts, and half of it is what is called in Europe very bad, and what we should call pretty good in America. We got stuck in the mud regularly every night, but as we were only passengers we did not mind, and slept comfortably until they lifted us out; this lasted only two or three nights. At Eiga, the capital of Livonia, we got our first snow storm, after which the weather became very cold (13 of Reaumur one night (the 12th of November), equal to about zero of Fahrenheit, but "it was fine times for those who were well wrapped up, as the ice bear said when he met the gentleman a skating," and I was uncommonly well wrapped up. I was immersed to the hips in a pair of fur boots (furred on both sides), without which an attempt to make such a journey would have been a bootless undertaking, and had a pelisse lined with fur reaching from my eyelashes to my heels: thus attired I was independent of the weather. It was, however, not very cold long. The weather in fact, since the 12th of November, has been like our average weather in January and February. How it will be later you shall know as soon as I do.

I have nothing more to say of the journey. The country is dull and uninteresting beyond all description, and as we had sixteen hours of dark to eight of daylight, " the whole of its tediousness was not inflicted on us." I had provided myself at Berlin with some new novels of Balzac and Paul de Kock, and passed most of the time in reading, slept very well every night, and breakfasted, dined and supped very comfortably at the stations or post-houses along the road, which are in general very well regulated establishments. The villages through which we pass are all of wood, generally log huts thatched; the houses in the towns are mostly of wood, painted of a dark colour and sometimes stuccoed, and the people dirty, long-haired, long-bearded, sheepskin-shirted savages. We reached St. Petersburg, the 17th of November, at half-past two in the morning.

This letter I consider both entertaining and instructive, unfortunately it is illegible. It will puzzle the spies at the post office, if they undertake to read it.

J. L. M.

-from The Correspondence of John Lothrop Motley edited by George Williams Curtis 2nd edition (London: John Murray, 1889) vol. 1, pp. 69-74.

I daresay

John Lothrop Motley to his Wife.

Hamburg, November 1st, 1841.

My Dearest Mary,

I have again a roosting-place for a few hours, and hasten to employ it by writing to you. I reached this place an hour or two ago in the steamer from London. We sailed last Wednesday morning, and ought to have made the passage by Friday noon, from fifty-five to sixty hours being the average passage, instead of which we were six days about it. We had a head wind and very heavy weather the whole voyage, so that it seems that I have only to form a resolution, however secretly, to go by sea to any given place for the wind instantly to make a point of blowing a gale exactly from that direction. I found here a couple of notes from Colonel Todd, who has been expecting me at Lubeck every day according to our agreement, but this most unconscionable passage has kept me beyond the day of sailing of the Lubeck packet, in which we were to have gone together, and as it is the last boat which goes all the way to Petersburg this season, he was obliged to go without me, and I have to make the journey by land. This is nobody's fault but the steamer John Bull's; and on the whole I do not much regret it, as a November voyage up the Baltic is not a very desirable amusement, and, from my experience of steamboating lately, I daresay it would prove quite as tedious and fatiguing as the journey by land.

Let me see, I wrote you last, I think, by the Great Western, a day or two after my arrival in London. After that I left my letter and card at Lord Lyndhurst's, and also at Mr. Clarke's, his cousin, to whom Copley Greene, or rather Mrs. Greene, was kind enough to send me letters. Mr. Clarke called upon me immediately, and was particularly attentive to me. I dined with him once, and received another invitation from a friend of his during my short stay there. Lord Lyndhurst was in the country when I arrived, and came to town only the day upon which I left. He however wrote me a very polite note, hoping to see me when his family returned from the country the next week, and, upon my informing him that I was leaving that day, he sent me a letter of introduction to Lord Stuart de Rothesay, the British Ambassador at Petersburg, and hoped to see me when I returned to London.

Mr. Clarke is a very agreeable gentlemanlike person, and I feel much obliged to the Greenes for their introduction, for which I wish you would make a point of calling upon Mrs. Greene and expressing thanks. Tell Sumner that I left his letter and my card at Sir Charles Vaughan's door; the servant, however, told me he was leaving town the next day, so that I expected to hear nothing from him. However, he came round to my hotel within an hour, and sat some time in my room with me, expressed great regard for Sumner and great regret that his departure from town and mine for St. Petersburg, etc., etc. In fact, everybody is out of town as a matter of course; the end of October and the beginning of November is the hanging season in London and the commencement (I believe) of the hunting season in the country, so that of course everybody is supposed to be hanging themselves or hunting, and I was very lucky to find as much as I did in London. Sir Charles is a plain, unaffected, agreeable man, and I hope to have the pleasure of seeing him again in London some time or other.

I leave this to-morrow (at noon) I believe, for Berlin, and shall stop one day there and then push on for Konigsberg. I expect to meet a fellow-passenger on board the John Bull, a young man (son of Lord Minto) who is attached to the British Legation at Petersburg, and who left in the diligence for Berlin to-night. Being both upon the same expedition, we have agreed to rough it together in the diligence, and I hope we shall reach Petersburg by this day fortnight. Colonel Hamilton of New York stopped at the same hotel with me in London. He came out in the Kamschatka, which arrived two or three days after us, having made a very long passage, delayed originally by the same severe gale which attacked us between Boston and Halifax. Schuyler did not come up to London, but stayed at Southampton with the frigate. I shall find them there undoubtedly, as they were to sail again on Tuesday for Cronstadt, the day before the one I left London for this place.

- from The Correspondence of John Lothrop Motley edited by George Williams Curtis 2nd edition (London: John Murray, 1889) vol. 1, pp. 67-69.

No end of No Thoroughfares

Charles Dickens to W. Wilkie Collins

Boston , Christmas Eve, 1867.

My dear Wilkie,--I am obliged to write very hastily, to catch the mail over at New York. The Play is done with great pains and skill, but I fear it is too long. Its fate will have been decided before you get this letter, but I greatly doubt its success.

Your points follow in their order.

1. Whatever is most dramatic in such a complicated thing as the Clock Lock I think the best for the stage, without reference to the nicety of the real mechanism.

2. I would keep Vendale and Marguerite on the stage, and I would end with Obenreizer's exit.

3. Madame D'Or's speaking unquestionably better out. She herself unquestionably better out. I have not the least doubt of it. But, my dear boy, what do you mean by the whole thing being left "at my sole discretion." Is not the play coming out the day after to-morrow ? ? ?

There are no end of No Thoroughfares being offered to Managers here. The play being still in abeyance with Wallack, I have a strong suspicion that he wants to tide over to the 27th, and get a Telegram from London about the first night of the real version. If it should not be a great success, he would then either do a false one, or do none. Accordingly, I have brought him to book for decision on the 26th. Don't you see?

They are doing Cricket, Oliver Twist, and all sorts of versions of me. Under these circumstances they fence when they have to pay.

I will try to catch the next mail.

Ever affectionately, C. D.

-from the Letters of Charles Dickens to Wilkie Collins edited by Laurence Hutton (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1891) p. 158-59.

a good round sum

Charles Dickens to W. Wilkie Collins

Parker House, Boston,

Monday, Second December, 1867.

My dear Wilkie, ---I find that if the Play be left unpublished in England, the right of playing it in America can be secured by assigning the MS. to an American Citizen. That I can do at once by using my publishers here for the purpose. I can make an arrangement with [Lester] Wallack, in New York, to have it produced at his Theatre (where there is the best company), on a sharing agreement after a certain nightly allowance for expenses, and I have arranged to see Wallack next week.

I have made inquiry about Mr. Lawrence Barrett (whose letter to me I enclose), and I find that he has a good reputation as a Star Actor, and that he is a responsible man pecuniarily. Now, I am advised that the best course will be to make an engagement with him to take the play and act in it, and get it up wheresoever he likes in the United States, except in New York City. (The exception, because Wallack and he are not d'accord, and the other good New York Theatres all have their hands full.) As I read his letter his proposal means that we give the play--that he gives his services--and that the receipts of each night's performance be divided between author and actor equally. Will you write to him at once, see him, and bind us both to such an engagement, if he be willing to bind himself to it? We might possibly get a good round sum by such a course. I have advised with one of the most knowing Managers in New York (who came over here this morning to see me)--the Black Crook Manager--and he says: "If you have Wallack for New York, and Barrett for the States generally, you could not do better." Mr. Barrett may have left England before this reaches you. If so, I have taken measures to catch [him] on this side when he comes over. As I read for the first time to-night, I will finish this to-morrow for Wednesday's steamer, which will be my own Cuba returning.

Tuesday, Third December.

A most tremendous success last night. The whole city is perfectly mad about it to-day, and it is quite impossible that prospects could be more brilliant.

Ever, my dear Wilkie,

Your always affectionate C. D.

-from the Letters of Charles Dickens to Wilkie Collins edited by Laurence Hutton (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1891) p. 155-57.

tolerably stout

Charles Dickens to W. Wilkie Collins

Parker House, Boston, U. S.,

Thursday, Twenty-eighth November, 1867.

My dear Wilkie,---I have received a letter from one Mr. Barrett, an American actor (dated 308 Regent Street, London, W.), proposing for the dramatic version of No Thoroughfare. He says in that letter that he "learns from Mr. Wilkie Collins that I have taken the play to America, intending to arrange for its production there," and offers to come out here with the New Year and play it. As I have not got the play, I am at a loss to know whether this is an intentional or an unintentional mistake.

Now, Dolby is going over to New York this morning, and has it in charge from me to see the most speculative of dramatic men there, and ascertain what terms he will make for the play. I think it far better to deal with a man here than with a man in Regent Street, London. The excitement in New York about the Readings being represented as quite unprecedented, I have little doubt of being able to make a good thing of the Drama, and, if necessary, I will get it up. But what I shall want as soon as I can possibly have them, are:

1. A detailed Scene Plot from Fechter.

2. His notion of the Dresses.

3. A copy of the Play itself. Act by Act, as you do it.

4. Together with any stage Directions that Fechter has in his mind.

Thus armed, I should not be at all surprised if I could get a very handsome addition to our gains. I think it will be worth while for you, on receipt of this, to telegraph to me at the Westminster Hotel, Irving Place, New York City, when you will be able to send me the last of the Play, because I shall then be in a condition to make a contract. Tell Fechter, with my love and regards, that I will write him a note immcdiately after my first Reading here next Monday. (Between ourselves, I have already some 2000 pounds in hand before opening my lips.)

I am yearning already for the Spring and Home, but hope to work out the intervening time with a tolerably stout heart. I am wonderfully well in health, and got over the voyage with the greatest success.

This note is left open for Dolby to add Postscript to. He will know, before closing it, whether or no it is certainly worth while for you to telegraph (in 20 words, containing not more than 100 letters). It will be best for you always to address me about the Play, and always to address whatever you send in connection with it, Westminster Hotel, Irving Place, New York City.

Ever, my dear Wilkie, your affectionate

Charles Dickens.

I will not at present reply to Mr. Barrett at all.

Westminster Hotel. New York,

29 Nov., 1867.

My dear Mr. Collins,--I have only time--to save the Mail--to add a few lines to Mr. Dickens's letter to request you will send out the acting part of the Play as soon as possible, as I am in hopes I may be able to arrange for its production here, possibly at Wallack's; and if you can get models made and sent out of the Scenery, it will also be a great thing to have. I spoke to [Harry] Palmer about the price last evening on my arrival here, and he seems most enthusiastic on the matter.

I have sold to-day the tickets for the first Four Readings in the City, and sold out (8000 tickets in all) in six hours. The enthusiasm with regard to Dickens and all that he does is enormous, and I am in hopes we shall be able to spend the whole of our time in the large cities.

Give my kindest regards to Wills and all London friends, and believe me.

Yours faithfully,

George Dolby

-from the Letters of Charles Dickens to Wilkie Collins edited by Laurence Hutton (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1891) p. 152-54.