The Turkish Embasy Letters

The Turkish

Embassy Letters

MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU

Biographical afterword by

DERVLA MURPHY

Text annotated by

BARNABY ROGERSON

Contents

Title Page

Publisher’s Note

The Turkish Embassy Letters

Biographical Afterword

Notes

Copyright

Publisher’s Note

Mary wortley montagu’s Turkish Embassy Letters were first published in 1763, a year after her death, and appeared in many different editions over the years with various additional letters. However, the edition you now hold in your hands is the one that Mary herself edited, the one to which she put her name. The story of the letters’ survival is as colourful a publishing story as any. Mary had evidently collected the letters for reading shortly after they were written in 1716–18, for they were praised by the early feminist Mary Astell as early as 1724 as ‘the perfection of writing’. In 1761, on her return journey to England from Italy where she had lived for over twenty years, she left the two collected manuscript volumes, doubtless revised, edited and rearranged by her over the four decades, in the safekeeping of an Anglican clergyman in Rotterdam, the Rev. Benjamin Snowden. When Mary died the following year, her conservative daughter secured possession of the volumes from Rev. Snowden. Having already consigned her mother’s journals to the flames, she no doubt intended the same for her letters, or at least to lock them safely away. Unbeknownst to her however, an unscrupulous pair of publishers had earlier approached the reverend, posing as interested gentlemen, and borrowed the volumes to read overnight, making a hurried, illicit copy.

In 1763, a year after Mary’s death, the publishers T. Beckett and P. A. De Hondt brought the letters out in three volumes (the customary commercial package for books in that era) with a preface which they backdated to 1724, the better to hide their theft of the copyright. They also included Mary Astell’s enthusiastic review – which had indeed been written in 1724. English copyright law was then in its infancy, having been tentatively codified in the reign of Queen Anne. It was then considered to exist for fourteen years from publication, with an option on registering for an additional fourteen years.

The frontispiece of the first (pirated) edition reads:

Letters

Of the Right Honorable

Lady M—y W——y M——e:

Written, during her travels in Europe, Asia and Africa

To Persons of Distinction, men of letters, &c. in different Parts of Europe.

Which contain,

Among other curious relations,

Accounts of the Policy and Manners of the Turks:

Drawn from Sources that have been inaccessible to other Travellers.

The book was a great success and went into many printings, editions and foreign languages. Letters of Lady Montague, Lady Montague’s Letters, The Letters of Lady M. W. Montagu during the Embassy to Constantinople 1716–1718, The Turkish Embassy Letters all sit in an affectionate huddle on my shelves. Ardent bibliophiles have catalogued twenty-two editions between 1763 and 1800. These were followed by larger editions of Mary’s writings, unearthing new letters and other writings (not always so firmly attributed). Her great-grandson (Lord Wharncliffe) proved himself one of her most industrious editors. Recently there have been two thick biographies. Robert Halsband’s The Life of Mary Wortley Montagu (1956) was succeeded by a second biography written by one of his keenest pupils, Isobel Grundy, whose Lady Mary Wortley Montagu (1999) is dedicated to Halsband’s memory. Halsband had praised Isobel Grundy ‘for zeal and acuteness far beyond her duties’ in the Preface of his edition of The Complete Letters of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, which was published in two volumes by Oxford University Press in 1965.

This Eland edition is inspired by that dodgy, pirated first printing of 1763. We have decided to promote Mary above the vanity (and confusion) of eighteenth-century aristocratic titles and make her a member of the Republic of Letters. We briefly toyed with issuing the book under her maiden name of Pierrepoint – rather than that of the husband she despised – but realized that this would be unnecessarily confusing. Dervla Murphy had already written a splendidly enthusiastic, opinionated and lively essay on Mary when we talked to her about doing our own edition, and she immediately agreed to us reprinting it as a biographical afterword. This is followed by some pages of historical notes, informing a modern reader of things that the author would have expected her correspondents to know – often no more than the gossip of the town – to which we have added some background history about the people she met within the Ottoman Empire.

LETTER I

Rotterdam,

3 August 1716

To Lady Mar

I flatter myself, dear sister, that I shall give you some pleasure in letting you know that I am safely past the sea, though we had the ill fortune of a storm. We were persuaded by the captain of our yacht to set out in a calm, and he pretended that there was nothing so easy as to tide it over; but, after two days slowly moving, the wind blew so hard that none of the sailors could keep their feet and we were all Sunday night tossed very handsomely. I never saw a man more frighted than the captain. For my part I have been so lucky neither to suffer from fear or sea-sickness, though I confess I was so impatient to see myself once more upon dry land that I would not stay till the yacht could get to Rotterdam, but went in the long boat to Helvoetsluys, where we hired voitures to carry us to the Briel. I was charmed with the neatness of this little town, but my arrival in Rotterdam presented me a new scene of pleasure. All the streets are paved with broad stones, and before the meanest artificers’ doors seats of various coloured marbles, and so neatly kept that, I’ll assure you, I walked almost all over the town yesterday, incognito, in my slippers, without receiving one spot of dirt, and you may see the Dutch maids washing the pavement of the street with more application than ours do our bedchambers. The town seems so full of people, with such busy faces, all in motion, that I can hardly fancy that it is not some celebrated fair, but I see it is every day the same. ’Tis certain no town can be more advantageously situated for commerce. Here are seven large canals, on which the merchant ships come up to the very doors of their houses. The shops and warehouses are of a surprising neatness and magnificence, filled with an incredible quantity of fine merchandise, and so much cheaper than what we see in England I have much ado to persuade myself I am still so near it. Here is neither dirt nor beggary to be seen. One is not shocked with those loathsome cripples so common in London, nor teased with the importunities of idle fellows and wenches that choose to be nasty and lazy. The common servants and the little shop women here are more nicely clean than most of our ladies, and the great variety of neat dresses (every woman dressing her head after her own fashion) is an additional pleasure in seeing the town.

You see, hitherto, dear sister, I make no complaints, and if I continue to like travelling as well as I do at present, I shall not repent my project. It will go a great way in making me satisfied with it, if it affords me opportunities of entertaining you. But it is not from Holland that you must expect a disinterested offer. I can write enough in the style of Rotterdam to tell you plainly, in one word, that I expect returns of all the London news. You see I have already learnt to make a good bargain, and that it is not for nothing I will so much as tell you that I am your affectionate sister.

LETTER II

The Hague,

5 August 1716

To Jane Smith

I make haste to tell you, dear Madam, that after all the dreadful fatigues you threatened me with, I am hitherto very well pleased with my journey. We take care to make such short stages every day, I rather fancy myself upon parties of pleasure than upon the road, and sure nothing can be more agreeable than travelling in Holland. The whole country appears a large garden; the roads all well paved, shaded on each side with rows of trees, and bordered with large canals full of boats, passing and repassing. Every twenty paces gives you the prospect of some villa, and every four hours of a large town, so surprisingly neat I am sure you would be charmed with them. The place I am now at is certainly one of the finest villages in the world. Here are several squares finely built and (what I think a particular beauty), set with thick large trees. The Vourhout is at the same time the Hyde Park and the Mall of the people of quality, for they take the air in it both on foot and in coaches. There are shops for wafers, cool liquors etc. I have been to see several of the most celebrated gardens, but I will not tease you with their descriptions.

I dare swear you think my letter already long enough, but I must not conclude without begging your pardon for not obeying your commands in sending the lace you ordered me. Upon my word I can yet find none that is not dearer than you may buy it in London. If you want any Indian goods, here are great variety of pennyworths, and I shall follow your orders with great pleasure and exactness, being, dear madam, etc.

LETTER III

Nijmegen,

13 August 1716

To Sarah Chiswell

I am extremely sorry, my dear Sarah, that your fears of disobliging your relations, and their fears for your health and safety, has hindered me the happiness of your company, and you the pleasure of a diverting journey. I receive some degree of mortification from every agreeable novelty or pleasing prospect, by the reflection of your having so unluckily missed the same pleasure which I know it would have given you. If you were with me in this town you would be ready to expect to receive visits from your Nottingham friends. No two places were ever more resembling; one has but to give the Maese the name of the Trent and there is no distinguishing the prospects; the houses, like those of Nottingham, built one above another and intermixed in the same manner with trees and gardens. The tower they call Julius Caesar’s has the same situation with Nottingham castle, and I can’t help fancying I see from it the Trent field, Adboulton, etc., places so well known to us. ’Tis true, the fortifications make a considerable difference. All the learned in the art of war bestow great commendations on them. For my part, that know nothing of the matter, I shall content myself with telling you ’tis a very pretty walk on the ramparts, on which there is a tower, very deservedly called the Belvedere, where people go to drink coffee, tea, etc., and enjoy one of the finest prospects in the world. The public walks have no great beauty but the thick shade of the trees. But I must not forget to take notice of the bridge, which appeared very surprising to me. It is large enough to hold hundreds of men with horses and carriages. They give the value of an English twopence to get upon it and then away they go, bridge and all, to the other side of the river, with so slow a motion one is hardly sensible of any at all.

I was yesterday at the French church, and stared very much at their manner of service. The parson claps on a broad-brimmed hat in the first place, which gave him entirely the air of what d’ye call him in Bartholomew Fair, which he kept up by extraordinary antic gestures, and talking much such stuff as the other preached to the puppets. However, the congregation seemed to receive it with great devotion and I was informed by some of his flock that he is a person of particular fame among them.

I believe you are by this time, as much tired of my account of him as I was with his sermon, but I’m sure your brother will excuse a digression in favour of the Church of England. You know, speaking disrespectfully of Calvinists is the same thing as speaking honourably of the Church.

Adieu, my dear Sarah. Always remember me, and be assured I can never forget you.

LETTER IV

Cologne,

16 August 1716

To Lady —

If my Lady — could have any notion of the fatigues that I have suffered this last two days, I am sure she would own it a great proof of regard that I now sit down to write to her.

We hired horses from Nijmegen hither, not having the conveniency of the post, and found but very indifferent accommodation at Reinberg, our first stage, but that was nothing to what I suffered yesterday. We were in hopes to reach Cologne. Our horses tired at Stamel, three hours from it, where I was forced to pass the night in my clothes in a room not at all better than a hovel. For though I have my own bed, I had no mind to undress, where the wind came in from a thousand places. We left this wretched lodging at daybreak and about six this morning came safe here, where I got immediately into bed and slept so well for three hours that I found myself perfectly recovered and have had spirits enough to go and see all that is curious in the town, that is to say, the churches, for there is nothing else worth seeing, though it is a very large town, but most part of it old built.

The Jesuits’ church is the neatest, which was showed me, in a very complaisant manner, by a handsome young Jesuit, who, not knowing who I was, took a liberty in his compliments and railleries which very much diverted me. Having never before seen anything of that nature, I could not enough admire the magnificence of the altars, the rich images of the saints (all massy silver) and the enchasures of the relics, though I could not help murmuring in my heart at that profusion of pearls, diamonds and rubies bestowed on the adornment of rotten teeth, dirty rags, etc. I own that I had wickedness enough to covet St Ursula’s pearl necklace, though perhaps it was no wickedness at all, an image not being certainly one’s neighbour; but I went yet farther and wished even she herself converted into dressing plate, and a great St Christopher I imagined would have looked very well in a cistern. These were my pious reflections, though I was very well satisfied to see piled up to the honour of our nation* the skulls of the eleven thousand virgins. I have seen some hundreds of relics here of no less consequence, but I will not imitate the common style of travellers so far as to give you a list of them, being persuaded that you have no manner of curiosity for the titles given to jaw bones and bits of worm-eaten wood.

Adieu, I am just going to supper, where I shall drink your health in an admirable sort of Lorraine wine, which I am sure is the same you call Burgundy in London.

LETTER V

Nuremberg,

22 August 1716

To Lady Bristol

After five days travelling post, I am sure I could sit down to write on no other occasion but to tell my dear Lady Bristol that I have not forgot her obliging command of sending her some account of my travels.

I have already passed a large part of Germany. I have seen all that is remarkable in Cologne, Frankfurt, Wurtzburg and this place, and ’tis impossible not to observe the difference between the free towns and those under the government of absolute princes, as all the little sovereigns of Germany are. In the first, there appears an air of commerce and plenty. The streets are well built and full of people, neatly and plainly dressed, the shops loaded with merchandise and the commonality clean and cheerful. In the other a sort of shabby finery, a number of dirty people of quality tawdered out, narrow nasty streets out of repair, wretchedly thin of inhabitants, and above half of the common sort asking alms. I can’t help fancying one under the figure of a handsome clean Dutch citizen’s wife, and the other like a poor town lady of pleasure, painted and ribboned out in her headdress, with tarnished silver-laced shoes and a ragged under-petticoat, a miserable mixture of vice and poverty.

They have sumptuary laws in this town, which distinguish their rank by their dress and prevents that excess which ruins so many other cities and has a more agreeable effect to the eye of a stranger than our fashions. I think after the Archbishop of Cambrai having declared for them, I need not be ashamed to own that I wish these laws were in force in other parts of the world. When one considers impartially the merit of a rich suit of clothes in most places, the respect and the smiles of favour it procures, not to speak of the envy and the sighs that it occasions (which is very often the principal charm to the wearer), one is forced to confess that there is need of an uncommon understanding to resist the temptation of pleasing friends and mortifying rivals, and that it is natural to young people to fall into a folly, which betrays them to that want of money which is the source of a thousand basenesses. What numbers of men have begun the world with generous inclinations that have afterwards been the instruments of bringing misery on a whole people, led by a vain expense into debts that they could clear no other way but by the forfeit of their honour, and which they would never have contracted if the respect the many pay to habits was fixed by law, only to a particular colour or cut of plain cloth! These reflections draw after them others that are too melancholy.

I will make haste to put them out of your head by the farce of relics with which I have been entertained in all Romish churches. The Lutherans are not quite free from these follies. I have seen here, in the principal church, a large piece of the cross set in jewels, and the point of the spear which they told me, very gravely was the same that pierced the side of our Saviour. But I was particularly diverted in a little Roman Catholic church, which is permitted here, where the professors of that religion are not very rich, and consequently cannot adorn their images in so rich a manner as their neighbours, but, not to be quite destitute of all finery, they have dressed up an image of our Saviour over the altar, in a fair full-bottomed wig, very well powdered. I imagine I see your ladyship stare at this article, of which you very much doubt the veracity; but, upon my word I have not yet made use of the privilege of a traveller, and my whole account is writ with the same plain sincerity of heart with which I assure you that I am, dear madam, your Ladyship’s etc.

LETTER VI

Ratisbon,

30 August 1716

To Anne Thistlethwayte

I had the pleasure of receiving yours but the day before I left London. I give you a thousand thanks for your good wishes, and have such an opinion of their efficacy I am persuaded that I owe in part to them the good luck of having proceeded so far in my long journey without any ill accident. For I do not reckon it any being stopped a few days in this town by a cold, since it has not only given me an opportunity of seeing all that is curious in it, but of making some acquaintance with the ladies, who have all been to see me, with great civility, particularly Madame von Wrisberg, the wife of our king’s envoy from Hanover. She has carried me to all the assemblies, and I have been magnificently entertained at her house, which is one of the finest here. You know that all the nobility of this place are envoys from different states. Here are a great number of them, and they might pass their time agreeably enough, if they were less delicate on the point of ceremony. But instead of joining in the design of making the town as pleasant to one another as they can, and improving their little societies, they amuse themselves no other way than with perpetual quarrels, which they take care to eternize, by leaving them to their successors, and an envoy to Ratisbon receives regularly half a dozen quarrels amongst the perquisites of his employment.

You may be sure the ladies are not wanting on their side in cherishing and improving these important piques, which divide the town almost into as many parties as there are families, and they choose rather to suffer the mortification of sitting almost alone on their assembly nights, than to recede one jot from their pretensions. I have not been here above a week and yet I have heard from almost every one of them the whole history of their wrongs, and dreadful complaints of the injustice of their neighbours, in hopes to draw me to their party. But I think it very prudent to remain neuter, though if I was to stay amongst them there would be no possibility of continuing so, their quarrels running so high they will not be civil to those that visit their adversaries. The foundation of these everlasting disputes turns entirely upon place and the title of Excellency, which they all pretend to and, what is very hard, will give it to nobody. For my part I could not forbear advising them (for the public good) to give the title of Excellency to everybody, which would include the receiving it from everybody; but the very mention of such a dishonourable peace was received with as much indignation as Mrs Blackacre did the motion of a reference.* And I began to think myself ill-natured to offer to take from them, in a town where there are so few diversions, so entertaining an amusement. I know that my peaceable disposition already gives me a very ill figure, and that ’tis publicly whispered as a piece of impertinent pride in me, that I have hitherto been saucily civil to everybody, as if I thought nobody good enough to quarrel with. I should be obliged to change my behaviour if I did not intend to pursue my journey in a few days.

I have been to see the churches here, and had the permission of touching the relics, which was never suffered in places where I was not known. I had, by this privilege, the opportunity of making an observation, which I don’t doubt might have been made in all the other churches, that the emeralds and rubies that they show round their relics and images are most of them false, though they tell you that many of the crosses and madonnas set round with these stones have been the gifts of emperors and other great princes, and I don’t doubt but they were at first jewels of value, but the good fathers have found it convenient to apply them to other uses, and the people are just as well satisfied with bits of glass. Amongst these relics they showed me a prodigious claw set in gold, which they called the claw of a griffin, and I could not forbear asking the reverend priest that showed it whether the griffin was a saint. The question almost put him beside his gravity, but he answered they only kept it as a curiosity. But I was very much scandalized at a large silver image of the Trinity, where the Father is represented under the figure of a decrepit old man with a beard down to his knees and a triple crown on his head, holding in his arms the Son fixed on the cross and the Holy Ghost in the shape of a dove hovering over him.

Madame von Wrisberg is come this minute to call me to the assembly, and forces me to tell you, very abruptly, that I am ever yours.

LETTER VII

Vienna,

8 September 1716

To Lady Mar

I am now, my dear sister, safely arrived at Vienna, and I thank God, have not at all suffered in my health, nor (what is dearer to me) in that of my child, by all our fatigues. We travelled by water from Ratisbon, a journey perfectly agreeable, down the Danube in one of those little vessels that they very properly call wooden houses, having in them all the conveniences of a palace, stoves in the chambers, kitchens etc. They are rowed by twelve men each and move with such incredible swiftness that in the same day you have the pleasure of a vast variety of prospects, and within a few hours space of time one has the pleasure of seeing a populous city adorned with magnificent palaces and the most romantic solitudes, which appear distant from the commerce of mankind, the banks of the Danube being charmingly diversified with woods, rocks, mountains covered with vines, fields of corn, large cities and ruins of ancient castles. I saw the great towns of Passau and Lintz, famous for the retreat of the imperial court when Vienna was besieged.

This town, which has the honour of being the Emperor’s residence, did not at all answer my ideas of it, being much less than I expected to find it. The streets are very close, and so narrow one cannot observe the fine fronts of the palaces, though many of them very well deserve observation, being truly magnificent, all built of fine white stone and excessive high. The town being so much too little for the number of the people that desire to live in it, the builders seem to have projected to repair that misfortune by clapping one town on the top of another, most of the houses being of five and some of them six, storeys. You may easily imagine that the streets being so narrow, the upper rooms are extreme dark and, what is an inconvenience much more intolerable in my opinion, there is no house that has so few as five or six families in it. The apartments of the greatest ladies and even of the ministers of state, are divided but by a partition, from that of a