in a fertile and smiling valley watered by the Arno, which runs through the city, and nothing can surpass the beauty and magnificence of its public buildings, particularly the cathedral, whose grandeur filled me with astonishment. The palaces, squares, fountains, statues, bridges, do not only carry an aspect full of elegance and greatness, but discover a taste quite different, in kind, from that which reigns in the public edifices in other countries. The more

I see of Italy, the more I am persuaded that the Italians have a style (if I may use that expression) in everything, which distinguishes them almost essentially from all other Europeans. Where they have got it, whether from natural genius or ancient imitation and inheritance, I shall not examine; but the fact is certain. I have been but one day in the gallery, that amazing repository of the most. precious remains of antiquity, and which alone is sufficient to immortalise the illustrious house of Medicis, by whom it was built, and enriched as we now see it. I was so impatient to see the famous Venus of Medicis, that I went hastily through six apartments in order to get a sight of this divine figure, purposing, when I had satisfied this ardent curiosity, to return and view the rest at my leisure. As I, indeed, passed through the great room which contains the ancient statues, I was stopped short at viewing the Antinous, which they have placed near that of Adrian, to revive the remembrance of their preposterous loves, which I suppose the Florentines rather look upon as an object of envy, than of horror and disgust. This statue, like that of the Venus de Medicis, spurns description: such figures my eyes never beheld-I can now understand that Ovid's comparing a fine woman to a statue, which I formerly thought a very disobliging similitude, was the nicest and highest piece of flattery. The Antinous is entirely naked; all its parts are bigger than nature; but the whole taken together, and the fine attitude of the figure, carry such an expression of ease, elegance, and grace, as no words can describe. When I saw the Venus I was wrapped in wonder, and I could not help casting a thought back upon Antinous. They ought to be placed together. They are worthy of each other. If marble could see and feel, the separation might be prudent. If it

could only see, it would certainly lose its coldness and learn to feel, and in such a case the charms of these two figures would produce an effect quite opposite to that of the Gorgon's head, which turned flesh into stone. Did I pretend to describe to you the Venus, it would only set your imagination at work to form ideas of her figure, and your ideas would no more resemble that figure, than the Portuguese face of Miss N, who has enchanted our knights, [sic] resembles the sweet and graceful countenance of Lady- his former flame. The description of a face or figure is a needless thing, as it never conveys a true idea; it only gratifies the imagination with a fantastic one, until the real one is seen. So, my dear, if you have a mind to form a true notion of the divine forms and features of the Venus and Antinous, come to Florence.

I would be glad to oblige you and your friend Vertue, by executing your commission with respect to the sketches of Raphael's cartoons at Hampton Court; but I cannot do it to my satisfaction. I have, indeed, seen in the grandduke's collection, four pieces, in which that wonderful artist had thrown freely from his pencil the first thoughts and rude lines of some of these compositions; and as the first thoughts of a great genius are precious, these pieces attracted my curiosity in a particular manner; but when I went to examine them closely, I found them so damaged and effaced, that they did not at all answer my expectation. Whether this be owing to negligence or envy, I cannot say; I mention the latter, because it is notorious that many of the modern painters have discovered ignoble marks of envy at a view of the inimitable productions of the ancients. Instead of employing their art to preserve the masterpieces of antiquity, they have endeavoured to destroy and efface many of them. I have seen with my own eyes an evident proof of this at Bologna, where the greatest part of the paintings in fresco on the walls of the convent of St. Michael in Bosco, done by the Caracci and Guido Reni, have been ruined by the painters, who after having copied some of the finest heads, scraped them almost entirely out with nails. Thus you see nothing is exempt from human malignity.

The word malignity, and a passage in your letter, call to

my mind the wicked wasp of Twickenham : his lies affect me now no more; they will be all as much despised as the story of the seraglio and the handkerchief,' of which I am persuaded he was the only inventor. That man has a malignant and ungenerous heart; and he is base enough to assume the mask of a moralist, in order to decry human nature, and to give a decent vent to his hatred of man and woman kind. But I must quit this contemptible subject, on which a just indignation would render my pen so fertile, that after having fatigued you with a long letter, I would surfeit you with a supplement twice as long. Besides, a violent headache advertises me that it is time to lay down my pen and get me to bed. I shall say some things to you in my next that I would have you to impart to the strange man, as from yourself. My mind is at present tolerably quiet; if it were as dead to sin, as it is to certain connexions, I should be a great saint. Adieu, my dear madam.

Yours very affectionately, &c.

TO MR. WORTLEY MONTAGU.

Florence, Aug. [September ? 3] 11 [O.S. 1740].

THIS is a very fine town, and I am much amused with visiting the gallery, which I do not doubt you remember too well to need any description of." Lord and Lady

This, of course, refers to Pope.-T.

2 Lady Mary, in one of the Letters during the Embassy (vol. i. p. 221), alludes to the story of the sultan's selecting one of the ladies of the seraglio by throwing a handkerchief, as "altogether fabulous." The allusion in the text is to a scandalous story which will be found in the Memoirs of the late Edw. W-ly M-tague, Esq., Dublin, 1779 (vol. i. p. 18); the writer of which informs his readers that Lady Mary's son was born during the period of her sojourn at Constantinople, "in the spring of the year 1718;" though, in fact, he was born several years before she left England.-T.

This letter, though dated "Aug. 11," is indorsed by Mr. Wortley Montagu "11 Sept., 1740," which was probably the true date, as he also indorsed," Recd 24 Sept, Ansd 6 Oct.”—T.

Lady Pomfret sent a long description of her visit to the gallery with Lady Mary, which the reader may also see in the Hertford and Pomfret Correspondence already mentioned, second edition, ii. 29, 55.—T

Pomfret take pains to make the place agreeable to me, and I have been visited by the greatest part of the people of quality. Here is an opera which I have heard twice, but it is not so fine either for voices or decorations as that at Venice. I am very willing to be at Leghorn when my things arrive, which I fear will hinder my visiting Rome this season, except they come sooner than is generally expected. If I could go thence to [by?] sea by [to?] Naples with safety, I should prefer it to a land journey, which I am told is very difficult; and that it is impossible I should stay there long, the people being entirely unsociable. I do not desire much company, but would not confine myself to a place where I could get none. I have wrote to your daughter,' directed to Scotland, this post.

TO MR. WORTLEY MONTAGU.

Rome, Oct. 22, N.S. [1740].

I ARRIVED here in good health three days ago; this is the first post-day. I have taken a lodging for a month, which is (as they tell me) but a short time to take a view of all the antiquities, &c., that are to be seen. From hence I purpose to set out for Naples. I am told by everybody that I shall not find it agreeable to reside in. I expect Lady Pomfret's family here in a few days. It is summer here, and I left winter at Florence; the snows having begun to fall on the mountains. I shall probably see the ceremony of the new Pope's taking possession of the Vatican, which is said to be the finest that is ever performed at Rome. I have no news to send from hence. If you would have me to speak to any particular point, I beg you will let me know it, and I will give you the best information I am able.

Be pleased to continue directing to Mr. Mann, the English

1 The Countess of Bute.-T.

46

2 Lady Mary left Florence on the 16th October, N.S., 1740. The Countess of Pomfret, in a letter of that date, says, Lady Mary's leaving Florence this morning has taken up so much of my time that I cannot extend this letter."-T.

resident at Florence. He will take care to send my letters wherever I am.

TO THE COUNTESS OF POMFRET.

1

Oct. 22, N.S. [1740].

DEAR MADAM,-I flatter myself that your ladyship's goodness will give you some pleasure in hearing that I am safely arrived at Rome. It was a violent transition from your palace and company to be locked up all day with my chambermaid, and sleep at night in a hovel; but my whole life has been in the Pindaric style. I am at present settled in the lodging Sir Francis Dashwood 1 recommended to me. I liked that Mr. Boughton mentioned to me (which had been Sir Bourchier Wrey's 2) much better; 'tis two zechins per month cheaper, and at least twenty more agreeable; but the landlord wonld not let it, for a very pleasant reason. It seems your gallant knight used to lie with his wife; and as he had no hopes I would do the same, he resolves to reserve his house for some young man. The only charm belonging to my present habitation is the ceiling, which is finer than that of the gallery; being all painted by the proper hand of Zucchero, in perfect good preservation. I pay as much for this small apartment as your ladyship does for your magnificent palace; 'tis true I have a garden as large as your dressing-room. I walked last night two hours in that of Borghese, which is one of the most delightful I ever saw. I have diverted myself with a plain discovery of the persons concerned in the letter that was dropped in the Opera House. This is all the news I know, and I will not tire you with my thanks for the many civilities for which I am obliged to your ladyship; but I shall ever be highly sensible of them, and can never be other than, dear madam, your ladyship's

Most faithful humble servant.

1 Sir Francis Dashwood, a very noted character in his time. He claimed and obtained the old barony of Le Despenser after the death of the Earl of Westmoreland.-W.

2 Sir Bourchier Wrey, of Tavistock House, Devon, afterwards M.P. for Barnstaple. H. Walpole calls him "a very foolish knight.”—T.