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Back when I was an undergrad living in student housing, I knew a girl of the name Walpole who once told me with great pride and solemnity that she was a descendent of Sir Robert Walpole. I had only a vague idea who he was at the time and I am afraid I was not suitably impressed which left this latter day Walpole a bit disappointed. Still, I had at least heard of the man which was more than most people, apparently, so she continued to regale me with her personal stories of disaster. And believe me, there were many. It seemed once a month she spent a day at the emergency room for something so weird that if she didn’t have the bandages to prove it I would have thought she was making it all up. One of the weirdest accidents had to be the day she was attacked by a squirrel while riding her bike across campus. It bit her leg and she had to have rabies shots. But she was so accident prone she took it all in stride and was even a little boastful about it.
I hadn’t thought about her in years until I started reading The Letters of Horace Walpole, Earl of Orford, Volume 1 and I haven’t been able to get her out of my head for the duration. Now that I am done with the letters, perhaps she will fade back into my memory.
Horace was Robert Walpole’s youngest son. You might know him as the author of The Castle of Otranto, the 1764 novel generally considered the first gothic novel. It is the only novel he ever wrote. His literary reputation, however, rests upon his letters. He has been called a “prince of epistolary writers.” His letters span the years 1735-1797. In volume one of his letters the time period covered is 1735-1748. The introduction in my Project Gutenberg edition declares,
Nothing that transpired in the great world escaped his knowledge, nor the trenchant sallies of his wit, rendered the more cutting by his unrivalled talent as a raconteur. Whatever he observed found its way into his letters.
And it is true. Walpole has an easy and light style that trips along. He is very witty and relays all the news and gossip to his chief correspondents. In this volume those men are his cousin Henry Conway, friend George Montagu, and distant relation and good friend Sir Horace Mann. Most of the letters are to Mann who was living in Florence as a British ambassador. Before the letters get underway though, there is a long reminiscence about the reigns of King George one and two that were mildly interesting.
But the letters, once I finally got there, were fun. To be sure there were lots of people talked about I didn’t know and while there are lots of footnotes I didn’t bother reading most of them. If you are interested in British history though, you will find a treasure trove here. What was most important to me was just enjoying the letters and the way they were written.
The first three years of letters in the volume come from his grand tour, most of it spent in Italy. He talks about the food, the people, the art, waiting in Rome in hopes to see the conclave to choose a new pope, and traveling from place to place. Travel was not easy and sometimes didn’t go as planned:
The day before, I had a cruel accident, and so extraordinary an one, that it seems to touch upon the traveller. I had brought with me a little black spaniel of King Charles’s breed; but the prettiest, fattest, dearest creature! I had let it out of the chaise for the air, and it was waddling along close to the head of the horses, on the top of the highest Alps, by the side of a wood of firs. There darted out a young wolf, seized poor dear Tory by the throat, and, before we could possibly prevent it, sprung up the side of the rock and carried him off. The postilion jumped off and struck at him with his whip, but in vain. I saw it and screamed, but in vain; for the road was so narrow, that the servants that were behind could not get by the chaise to shoot him. What is the extraordinary part is, that it was but two o’clock, and broad sunshine. It was shocking to see anything one loved run away with.
Shocking indeed but I couldn’t help but both gasp and laugh.
Then there are his descriptions of the Italy:
In Italy they seem to have found out how hot their climate is, but not how cold; for there are scarce any chimneys, and most of the apartments painted in fresco so that one has the additional horror of freezing with imaginary marble. The men hang little earthen pans of coals upon their wrists, and the women have portable stoves under their petticoats to warm their nakedness, and carry silver shovels in their pockets, with which their Cicisbeos stir them-Hush! by them, I mean their stoves.
As you see both witty and racy!
There are astute observations of people and society:
My Lady Townsende was reckoning up the other day the several things that have cured them [women of her set]; such a doctor so many, such a medicine, so many; but of all, the greatest number have found relief from the sudden deaths of their husbands.
Bazinga!
Back in London his letters turn to politics, the opera, war, society, and gossip, always gossip. In his circle whist suddenly becomes very popular and he writes to Horace Mann he has nothing interesting to tell him because:
The only token of this new kingdom is a woman riding on a beast, which is the mother of abominations, and the name in the forehead is whist: and the four-and-twenty elders, and the woman, and the whole town, do nothing but play with this beast. Scandal itself is dead, or confined to a pack of cards; for the only malicious whisper I have heard this fortnight, is of an intrigue between the Queen of hearts and the Knave of clubs.
In fact, Walpole often begs forgiveness for having not written in a long time because he had nothing to write about. He even manages to write almost an entire letter about not having anything to write. And even when it is only a short complaint, he is very amusing:
Don’t reproach me in your own Mind for not writing, but reproach the world for doing nothing; for making peace as slowly as they made war. When any body commits an event, I am ready enough to tell it you; but I have always declared against inventing news; when I do, I will set up a newspaper.
Towards the end of the volume he has bought Strawberry Hill and turns his amusing eye to making fun of himself and his attempts at gardening:
I have made great progress, and talk very learnedly with the nurserymen, except that now and then a lettuce run to seed overturns all my botany, as I have more than once taken it for a curious West-Indian flowering shrub.
I could go on throwing quotes at you but I think we have all probably had enough. As charming as the letters are, they do not read fast and there were long boring stretches. Overall, however, I enjoyed them though I wouldn’t recommend them unless you love reading letters or are interested in the history of the period. There are, I believe, four or five more volumes of letters. I am not certain I will ever read them, but I am glad I read at least one of them.
This sounds delightful! Except for the poor spaniel that got carried away in broad daylight. Gosh, how awful!
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Michelle, Walpole has a deserved letter writing reputation, that’s for sure! It would be rather terrible seeing your dog carried away by a wolf.
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This sounds really interesting. I have read some of the letters of Fanny Burney and in there she mentions that she knew Horace Walpole, but I don’t think there are any letters between them. Her full letters also run to many volumes apparently.
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Ed, It was fun. Walpole doesn’t mention Burney in any of these letters, maybe she appears in a later set. He does mention Lady Mary Wortley though, none to kindly. I will have to look up Burney’s letters sometime. I bet they are pretty interesting!
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This sounds like a great book to dip into rather ran read straight through.Never much wanted to read his Castle Of Otranto which just seems silly – these seem to be much better.
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Ian, I read it straight trough, but dipping into it would probably be more enjoyable since some of the long boring sections wouldn’t seem quite so long or boring. Castle Otranto is a marvelous book but you have to be in the mood for overblown melodramatic gothic romance otherwise it is so over-the-top it just makes you sick. ๐
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Your post reminds me how few books of diaries or letters I have read- for no real reason except a sort of blind spot. They can be fascinating reading. I remember reading a book of Harold Nicholson’s diaries as one of the first “grown up” I ever read and only because a copy was hanging around.Nicholson was a diplomat and writer best known nowadays for being married to Vita Sackville West – a terrific gardener and both of them such snobs. Humanity apart from people like themselves were all called “bedints” and I found the snobbery both appalling and fascinating. Hilarious are Nicholson’s account of campaigning as a labour candidate in (probably) 1945 general election. Yes, must read more diaries and letters!
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Ian, heh, aren’t Harold and Vita interesting? I believe I have a book of their letters on my shelves somewhere. I do have a collection of all of Vita’s gardening columns that I dip into now and then. They were great snobs but had such interesting lives that when I read about them I can forgive them. I should probably get Harold’s diaries to add to my bookshelves. Both Harold and Vita’s books are hard to come by here. I love diaries and letters, they satisfy the voyeur in me ๐
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I love to have a volume of either letters or journals to dip into now and then. Walpole is a writer I haven’t tried. I tend to read more modern collections. It sounds though as if he might be worth exploring especially if I happen to be reading anything from that period. I love having an idea of the social context in which a novel was written.
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Alex, you might find these fun to dip into. If you have an e-reader you can download it for free from Project Gutenburg. Given the letter cover the Scottish uprising from the English side, it might be fun to read the letters while reading a novel from the Scottish point of view.
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Based on your post, I just downloaded four volumes of Walpole’s letters from Manybooks for Kindle. He seems like a real kick!
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Joan, four volumes? wow, you are going hard core! I hope you enjoy Walpole, he can be rather entertaining!
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Hah–he was a wit! I have wanted to read The Castle of Otranto for ages–maybe for RIP one year… The letters sound like fun. You are zipping through lots of books of correspondence. I have a couple books going–though one is a chunky book of letters (between Joyce Grenfall and Virginia Graham), which is a little too much to carry around with me to work–so will continue on at a snail’s pace. I wonder if my library has his books of letters…just to look at, mind you!
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Danielle, wasn’t he though? Castle of Otranto is a hoot. Every gothic romance cliche you have ever come across started there! I have managed to work in a number of books of or about letters. I am surprised. Of course other plans I had have suffered, but oh well!
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