145. Robert Southey to Grosvenor Charles Bedford, [December 1795–] 20 February [1796] ⁠* 

Bedford — when I have a home, I will hang my Sans Culotte stick upon the wall, & remain there till I become the tenant of a narrower habitation. the soul of a poor Jew let loose by the Inquisitorial fire, cannot feel more exquisite delight when it arrives in Abrahams bosom than will be mine if I ever set foot again upon English ground. were my heart cold or vacant I should not feel thus, for this soil would do well enough to vegetate in; the sole pleasure I have found in this country is in counting how many days before I shall leave it. I crossed the Bay of Biscay in such tempestuous weather xxxx xx that for sixty hours I lay in momentary dread of sinking. we have broken down upon the road three times & overturned once. the wind wrecked a Spanish vessel in the river at the time we crossed it here — a passage of twelve miles at night. I was happy to tread upon the ground at landing, for I thought myself upon Terra firma. before day break there was an earthquake. earth air & water have all contributed to annoy me, & God knows I suffered enough upon the road for want of the other element. the bugs & muskitoes were gone into winter quarters & I only suffered from a few stragglers — but every night upon the road was I regularly flead. we were eighteen days travelling to Madrid & 15 from thence to Lisbon. I walked the greater part of the way by which means I kept myself warm & escaped the overturn & twice breaking down. on Xmas day the following thoughts occurred — & if the lines do not possess much poetical merit, they will at least tell you what I felt.

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I read the two languages with facility, & am now abridging the Angelica of Lope de Vega [2]  & extracting from it — the same with a most curious Portuguese poem [3]  — all this you will see if I escape that horrible Bay of Biscay. in the interim take these two fables from the Spanish of Yriarte. [4] 

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Bedford did you ever see a dancing bear? trust me never bear felt worse heard the sound of the bagpipes with less pleasure — than I feel at the hour of visiting. I am shown here like a wild beast from one house to another without seeing anybody that I ever wish to see again.

Beckford [8]  is at Lisbon — a man of whom it has been said with truth as well as poetry that “he has many pence.” he tells the Portuguese that he cannot live in England owing to M^r Pitt — “for I made a speech against him in the house one day, & he was so afraid of me that he trumped up an infamous story & obliged me to quit the country. the English cut him. xx he has been to court — & a Portuguese nobleman remarked — “as dogs go to church — the door was open as he walked in.” Beckford had some whelps which he valued, & pestered the servants with his care of them. passing by them one day he heard his maid servant cry — “curse the whelps — one would think they were my Masters own, he’s so fond of them.” he turned her off directly.

I was at the opera last night — the first woman was a very ugly fellow — but the chief bufo was a comical toad. her most Xtian Majesty [9]  will not permit females to act. but the Portuguese are indulged with a female dancer. admirably consistent this! it is so much more decent to dance than to sing!

I have a thousand things to say to you.

Feb^y. 20. the packet brought me no letter from you! ah Grosvenor if you were in a land of strangers you would know the value of a letter. I have made a female friend [10]  here & told her all my secrets — & you cannot conceive the delight I felt in talking of Edith after so long a silence. I have much to grieve me here in the conduct of my mother & uncle — (this for your eye only) who knowing my connection with Edith (& my Mother at one time encouraging it & treating her as her daughter) knowing her total dependance upon me — & knowing me too — could get me abroad to wean me of what they call a foolish attachment. I have discovered this since my arrival at Lisbon — for this precious scheme has been whispered about the town here — & I have likewise heard it from England. my Mother knew my marriage too before I left her. if this did not give me very great pain because it lessons — indeed destroys respect & esteem for those whom I most love — I could be amused at outwitting my Uncles sagacity — who carries me to M^rs Tonkins [11]  very frequently because I get tete a tete with one of her daughters — & congratulates himself secretly on my attentions to her, when I am all the while talking of Edith. you know not what pain this occasions me — but Edith is mine — & all the relations in the world weigh nothing when opposed to her. xxxxxx conduct Grosvenor if asked. my marriage got in the papers & Edith bears her legal name — this I care little for or nothing.

Write to me Bedford — your letter that reachd me at Falmouth was all mystery & if you cannot write explanations write more riddles that I may have something interesting & foreign to myself to think on. I shall write again to you by the next packet which will be on the voyage before this can reach you.

I will certainly be in England in May. & in the course of this year I hope to pitch my tent near you — then adieu to rambling — & no more politics but the newspapers. the Law will be my standing dish I shall devour the abridgement in fifty two volumes, but a little poetry must still be the desert.

I have written to Wynn — & shall by the next packet again. no merchants clerk can work harder for the packet than I have done — seven letters going! my health is very good but there is a sad weight on my spirits — & good reason why. I could weary you with complaints — is it not strange <hard> that we should grieve because others act wickedly? my Uncle uses no arguments to persuade me into orders. once indeed he showed me in a map the living which his late preferment puts in his gift & told me it was five hundred a year — he talkd of the house too & situation — but as I immediately changed the subject he has never renewed it. if you had not given away your heart I should have advised you to visit Lisbon & bespoke one for you. my confidante is a charming girl — & there is a lady here almost the facsimile of my Edith. but the best of the joke is — my Uncle (who brings me here to wean me of a foolish attachment) fell in love with this very likeness himself — & her Mother thought he was courting her but when the murder came out they all quarrelled. he is about 46 & she is about 23 — did you ever see an very old print from scripture, of a gentleman with a church beam in his eye, pulling the mote out of his neighbours. <literally so painted>

God bless you. write. <make my> remembrances to all your good family.

RS.