“Dear Mr. Panizzi,
What shall we call the union of four editions in one? I cannot think of a word. You cannot call it “Tesseraglott,” because it is one “glotte,” or language, though not quite in one dialect. If I remember right, there is in Ugo Foscolo’s edition rather a learned disquisition about the cause of the difference in the texts of the early editions, viz., the difference in the dialect of the early copyists, &c., &c., &c.
I was thinking of dedicating the book to the Crusca(of which I am a most unworthy corresponding member), if you see no objection to it. What plan would you recommend me to pursue for the publication of this book, and of my own edition of the “Inferno?” Had I better sell it to some bookseller for a certain sum, or had I better let the bookseller sell it on my account, receiving so much percent? Or had I better sell it by auction, or had I better give it all away?
What bookseller to employ I know not, nor whether to publish it in England, France, or Italy.
Then as to price (if a price it is to have). What might it be? There will be 2 vols, folio—viz., one of the text with my paraphrastic interpretation (I say this because it is not exactly a paraphrase, inasmuch as no single word of the original is omitted). 2nd. A volume also in folio of illustrative matters; and 3rd, 1 vol. folio, the album Dantesco with explanatory notes.
I say folio, but perhaps it is royal 4to., I do not know how this may be, but they will all be the same size. I shall be very thankful when it is off my hands.
If I had health I should do the “Purgatorio.” The “Paradiso” is too philosophical and metaphysical and theological for my poor simple head. It is a pity, however, that the other two Cantiche should not be done, as it would add considerably to the value of the book.
There is another way of publication—viz., subscription, but I do not much like this.
This letter was followed not long afterwards by another, in which Lord Vernon entered into details regarding the sale and profits likely to accrue from it. He was, evidently, still undecided as to the title of the book, and urged Panizzi to suggest one.
As to the place of publication, his Lordship, with a certain amount of reason, desired that it should be in London; he very justly observes that:—“Being done at the expense of an Englishman, printed in England, on English paper, and from four editions, which are found together only in the British Museum, moreover, being the homage of an Englishman to Italy’s greatest poet, to her literature, and to her most celebrated Academies, it would appear with better grace, as coming from London, than any Italian city.”
By March, 1858, the book was completed, when Lord Vernon expressed himself thus: “I hope to hear in a short time that, like the Great Leviathan, it has overcome all stops and hindrances, and been fairly launched in the stream of literature.”
Some writers—and amongst them the subject of our memoir—have looked upon Milton as an occasional imitator of Dante. A propos of this theory (which may best be studied in Professor Masson’s biography of the great Puritan poet), we propose to give, at some length, a correspondence on the subject between Panizzi and Sir G. Cornewall Lewis. The letters of the former are so full of sound thought and such fair specimens of his literary knowledge that we append them, together with Sir G. C. Lewis’s reply, for the reader’s edification.
My dear Sir George,
I have been looking whether my memory had served me right as to Milton having occasionally imitated Dante, which I mentioned on Sunday, when we were speaking of Dante being or not being known in England before the last century. I have found several passages which I think bear me out; for instance:—
But I don’t quote more, as in his prose works (vol. IV., p. 11, edit. of 1753) he actually quotes as his authority against Rome Dante’s lines, c. 19, v. 115—
‘Ahi Costantin, di quanto, mal fu matre,’ and translates them thus:—
and then he, moreover, refers to the twentieth Canto of the Paradiso.
It is curious to see, not long after Milton—or, perhaps, at the same time—Stillingfleet, in his Origines Sacræ (Book 2nd, ch. 9, sec. 19, and ch. 10, sec. 5) quote Dante as an authority on the truth of Christianity, but he gives the verses in a Latin translation by F. S. (I have not looked to see who F. S. was.)
Spenser, too, has imitated Dante, I think. Tradubio, who is turned into a tree and speaks, of Pier delle Vigne.
Chaucer has often imitated Dante, whom he calls (Wife of Bath’s Tale, v. 6708, in Tyrwhitt’s edit.) ‘the wise poet of Florence—that highte Dante,’ of whom he translated immediately after the lines:—
and in the Monk’s Tale the whole of Ugolino’s Story is translated, and he ends by referring to
And now I end in haste.
“Dear Panizzi,
The imitation of Dante in Milton’s verse—‘Therefore eternal silence be their doom’—seems to me doubtful. The quotation of the celebrated passage ‘Ahi Costantin’ does not prove that Milton had read Dante—he might have found this anti-papal citation in some controversial work.
I have no doubt that scattered references to particular passages and particular expressions in a writer so sterling, and once too well-known, can be found at all periods. But is there any evidence that Milton’s contemporaries read Dante, and understood and admired him, and were influenced by his poetry in their compositions?
“My dear Sir George,
Dante says:—
And Milton:—
Take the whole, and it seems to me that the English is in imitation of the Italian. But great poets, when they imitate, they do so making the images their own; they don’t copy, but they abridge, add, and alter so as to appear original, and so does Milton. I find that he once translated one line Dante, at the beginning of the Paradiso, c. 1, v. 12, says:
And Milton, P. L., 3. 413:—
And compare also what he says of the sun in that book (v. 586), with the very first lines of the Canto of Dante.
In his sonnet to Henry Lawes, Milton says:—
Now this alludes to Purg. c.2, v.106, and ‘the milder shades of Purgatory’Purgatory’ when compared to those of Hell, seem to show that Milton had read both.
Add to this that Milton knew Italian thoroughly, that he had passed some time at Florence, where Dante was never forgotten, and that Galileo, and still more Dati, were intimate friends of his. Now, Galileo and Dati were great admirers of Dante, and placed him in the highest rank of poets.
I cannot, therefore, doubt that Milton was thoroughly conversant with Dante’s poetry, and admired him. How far he was influenced by his poetry in his compositions, would require a long critical essay; the more difficult to draw up satisfactorily, the more is the originality of a great poet like Milton in appropriating other poet’s ideas.
Whatever may have been the ultimate settlement of this friendly discussion, Panizzi’s estimate of Sir George’s talents and abilities may be accurately gathered from the next letter we quote, which asks him to become a candidate for a vacant Trusteeship of the British Museum.
“My dear Sir George,
The Dean of Westminster is dead: he was one of our Trustees. We want as his successor an M.P. who will help us when not in office, who is pretty safe of his seat, and whose pursuits render him fit for the place. Now, without any ceremony, you are the man we want, and I mean to do what little I can to bring your name before the electors. There can be no difficulty, as the Government necessarily get elected whom they please. I want no answer from you, except if you decidedly object: in which case I want you only to write the word no. I hope, however, you will accept ‘la candidature,’ as the French say. I think Cureton ought to be elected Dean. He is one of the most eminent Oriental scholars in the world, as you know—and certainly the most eminent in England.
“P.S.—I know Lord Clarendon is staying with you. Please show him this: I am sure he will see that it is done—I mean for you.”
The hopes thus expressed were realized, as, on the 27th of February of the following year (1857), Sir George C. Lewis was appointed one of the Trustees of our famous Institution.
And here may be given an extract from a letter of J. A. Carlyle (Thomas Carlyle’s brother), also on the topic of Dante’s poems, which deserves recognition, as a proof of the esteem in which Panizzi was universally held, in especial by Englishmen.
“I really wish you could find leisure to write something expressly concerning the times in which Dante lived. You could do it better than any other person, and it has now become very necessary.”
And now, let us proceed to another publication. In the year 1858 Panizzi issued, for his friends, a charming little work, beautifully printed, also by Charles Whittingham.
Written in Italian, and dedicated to H.R.H. the Duke d’Aumale, only 250 copies were printed, under the title of Chi era Francesco da Bologna?—proving, so far as the question could be then proved, that the said Francesco da Bologna was no other than the celebrated painter. Francesco Raibolini, born about 1450, and commonly called il Francia. The name of Francia he derived from his master, a goldsmith, die, and niello engraver. According to Vasari and a document discovered by Calvi, his death took place on the 6th of January, 1517.[N] Francesco Raibolini was at once, in common with many of his compeers, goldsmith and type-cutter, as well as a painter, and to his skilful hands, Aldus, whose name they bear, was indebted for his characters. From Panizzi, we learn that, “at the end of the short Preface prefixed by Aldus to his first edition of Virgil (1501), printed in the cursive or secretarial characters manum mentientes, afterwards generally known by the name of Aldine, are the following three verses:—
(Translation). In praise of the type-engraver. Aldus now gives to the Latins, as he gave to the Greeks, letters graven by the dædal hands of Francesco da Bologna.
Besides cutting types, Francesco used them too, for he set up a press at his native town, Bologna, in 1516, and printed several works, now rare, as, for instance, “Il Canzoniere” of Petrarch, “L’Arcadia di Sannazaro” and “Gli Asolani” of Bembo, “Il Corbaccio” and the “Epistolæ ad Familiares” of Cicero.
N. The date as in the document in question is 1517. The old custom of beginning the ecclesiastical and legal year on the 20th of March was never established at Bologna.
About 1503, Francesco quarrelled with Aldus, and we find, in a letter prefixed to the edition of Petrarch, that he bitterly complains of deriving no honour or profits from the types he had himself cut. It is notorious that Aldus freely gave out that he was not only the inventor, but also the cutter; and, therefore, the work by Panizzi, to say nothing of its beauty, is of great importance, for it does justice to the real inventor, and this discovery is due to the author of the pamphlet, who, besides, enlightens us, in clear language, respecting the distinguished Bolognese:—
“From the beginning of printing up to a time not far distant from our own, the engravers of punches for types were goldsmiths, die-sinkers, medallists, niellists,—masters in their art. It will be found in Zani that Fust and Schœffer were goldsmiths, and so, it is believed, was Guttenberg; while, in the opinion of the said Zani, it was Giovanni Dunne, ‘a most excellent goldsmith, who led the way in the formation of metal types.’ ... Every one knows how distinguished Francia was as a goldsmith, his first and chief profession, and how frequently he signed his paintings with the words, ‘Franciscus Francia aurifaber,’ or ‘aurifex,’ as if he gloried in the designation. Vasari says, in the Life of Francia, that his fine medals stood on a par with those of Caradosso; but he says never a word of the Furnius conjured up by Gaurico.”
“I had long suspected that this Francesco da Bologna, was no other than the Bolognese Francesco Raibolini, generally known as ‘Francia.’ Some years ago, in running through a work of some note in former times, I found that after mentioning various ancient artists, exactly as Gaurico does, it went on to speak of the modern ones thus:—‘I find amongst the ancients one great omission of which the moderns take notice, and that is with regard to engravers or artists in silver, a kind of work known as niello. I am acquainted with a man of the highest excellence, and very famous in his art, his name is Francesco da Bologna, otherwise Franza; he forms or engraves on a diminutive orb or plate of silver, so many men and animals, so many mountains, trees, and castles, and in so many various shapes and positions that it is wonderful to behold or describe.’”
“And here I might stop,” continues Panizzi, “were it not that the direct testimony of Leonardi is corroborated irrefragably by a very remarkable circumstance.... I think I may conclude by answering the question which I have put to myself, thus:—Francesco da Bologna was Francesco Raibolini, called Francia, the worthy contemporary and compatriot of Leonardo, Raphael, and Michel Angelo, great as a painter, great as an engraver, great as a medallist, great as a niellist, without equal as a type-cutter, a shining ornament of illustrious and learned Bologna.”
Conclusive as Panizzi’s argument appeared to be, there were, of course, dissentients, and among them was Count Giacomo Manzoni, who, in a jocular letter to the late librarian of the Laurenziana (Florence) Cav. Ferrucci, expressed his doubts. Panizzi, in a tone of equal good humour, confuted the Count, and issued a second edition in 1873, containing his answer to Count Manzoni’s suggested objections.
The “bijou” work (or as Monsieur Brunet, the celebrated bibliophile termed it, un véritable bijou typographique), once out of the publisher’s hands, it was circulated amongst Panizzi’s friends, and translated by Mr. Charles Cannon. The laudatory letters, replete with thanks, which followed were numerous, but as an example of these, that from the already mentioned Mons. Brunet must suffice:—
“Monsieur,
J’ai bien tardé à vous remercier du charmant opuscule que M. Mérimée m’a fait l’honneur de me remettre de votre part. C’est qu’avant de vous écrire je voulais avoir pris connaissance de cette curieuse dissertation, et que malheureusement, occupé sans relâche d’un travail in extremis, pour ma nouvelle édition, il me reste bien peu de temps à donner à mes plaisirs. C’en a été un véritable pour moi de vous lire et d’admirer l’exactitude de vos fac-simile. Vos conjectures, Monsieur, sur Francesco de Bologna, me paraissent bien fondées: elles font connaître tout le mérite d’un artiste, que jusqu’ici, on avait regardé seulement comme un habile graveur de poinçons à l’usage des imprimeurs.
A l’égard de ces poinçons, permettez moi, Monsieur, de faire ici une réserve en faveur de l’Alde l’ancien. Cet imprimeur, à ce qu’il parait, les a achetés de Francesco, il en a fait frapper les matrices nécessaires pour la fonte des caractères cursifs dont il a fait un si fréquent usage à partir de 1501. Or, avant de se livrer aux dépenses considérables où cela devait l’entraîner, il a dû naturellement se réserver la propriété exclusive des objects acquis par lui, alors s’il en agit ainsi, il a eu raison de se plaindre de ce que l’artiste eut livré des caractères semblables à Géronimo Soncino pour son Pétrarque de 1503, et il était parfaitement dans son droit lorsqu’il sollicitait et obtenait du Pape un privilègeprivilège exclusif pour ses nouveaux caractères.
Je connaissais déjàdéjà plusieurs des petites éditions données par Francesco, en 1516, mais pas le Cicéron, et j’ignorais que cet artiste n’eut exercé la Typographie, que moins d’une année. J’aurais, j’en suis certain bien d’autres choses à apprendre de vous, Monsieur, qui possédez de si grandes connaissances en ce genre, mais, à mon grand regret, éloigné de vous pour toujours, et occupé de terminer un travail que mon grand âge m’avertit de limiter, je ne pourrai guère profiter des secours que vous m’avez si obligemment offerts lorsque j’ai eu le plaisir de vous voir.
The fac-similes which are placed at the end of the work were executed by John Harris, L’incomparabile Harris, as Panizzi was in the habit of styling him. As a fac-similist he stood alone. So correct and so wonderful were his productions, that Panizzi himself adopted the safe plan of writing, in pencil, on the margin of them, “This is by J. H.—A. P.” He eventually lost his sight, and died very poor. Some of the leaves supplied by him are so perfectly done that, after a few years, he himself experienced some difficulty in distinguishing his own work from the original. On one occasion a question arose as to the completeness of a certain copy of a rare book in the Museum Library; it was brought to light and carefully examined by Panizzi, Mr. Jones, and Mr. Watts. After a fruitless search, page by page, a consultation ended in a summons to Harris himself to point out the leaves that he had supplied. It was only after a very close examination that the artist was able to detect his own handiwork. This circumstance induced Panizzi to to initial all such fac-similes. The reader is recommended to examine a book in the National Library,—a copy of Magna Charta, as a specimen of his skill.
Mr. Grenville employed Harris largely. On one occasion he supplied a few missing leaves to a rare book, and after it was shown to connoisseurs, the venerable gentleman presented him with the book.
So much for Panizzi’s literary abilities and his discernment and success in this sphere of his many and arduous labours, in which he exhibited the same powers of mind and application as in all the varied occupations of his busy life. Enough has, however, been said to show how, amongst all his other multifarious and unceasing occupations, he found time to dedicate his mind to literature, and literature of a class to demand the greatest application and labour of the brain.
Minor Incidents; Holland House; Sydney Smith; Ecclesiastical Commission Act (1836); Joseph Parkes; Count d’Orsay; Lord Melbourne; Mrs. Norton; Dr. Hampden’s Case; Watts’ Portrait of Panizzi; Lord Holland; Hardy’s Life of Lord Langdale.
Hitherto our work has consisted for the most part of details of important facts: it may, therefore, be well for a time to digress, and to string together some of the minor incidents of Panizzi’s life, without which this could scarcely claim to be a faithful biography. To recount such small traits of character may be deemed simply gossip; yet, on reflection, it is not so, as it is thus that true light is brought to bear on the man’s character, and, by these details, an opportunity is given of judging disposition and intentions, which could not otherwise have been afforded. In presenting the following items, therefore, to our readers, accompanied as our observations are by original correspondence, we simply perform the duty which should be fulfilled by every honest biographer. In a life like Panizzi’s, much importance is attached to what, at first, may appear insignificant, relating in a great degree to the society of which he was a member.
The name of Holland House has long been notable as the headquarters of one of the most delightful of London coteries, not only for the celebrity in the world of letters of its immediate frequenters, but also for the eminence in political life of many more who resorted thither. Whether or no the Church was adequately represented in the person of that wittiest, and most genial of ecclesiastics, Sydney Smith, certain it is that the society of the place would have been greatly the loser by his absence. Here Panizzi, who, in proportion to the sterling worth of his company, appears ever to have been a welcome guest, very soon after his arrival in London established a footing; and at the time of her marriage, in 1833, the present Lady Holland found him already an habitué of Holland House, in company with such distinguished individuals as Lord Grey, Lansdowne, and Brougham, Moore, Jeffrey, and Allen.
Speaking from personal knowledge of Panizzi, we are inclined, in a great measure, to ascribe his remarkable social successes to that innate and subtle quality with which so few men comparatively are endowed—perhaps happily so; for want of a better term, let us call it personal influence. In this respect he has always seemed to suggest to us a comparison of him with the late Dr. Arnold. The latter was apparently a man of great mental powers and amiable disposition; still, in his own peculiar sphere, many of his contemporaries may have equalled, and some even surpassed him.
This may be true to a certain extent; but, considering the talents which this great man possessed, it seems almost absurd to remark that some of his own pupils have attributed to him a deficiency of that sixth sense which is generally regarded as the most judicious controller and regulator of our actions—sense of humour. With men of discernment and of note, there is, however, always some distinguishing quality,—so in the case of Arnold and Panizzi it happened that, whereas the one was calculated to instil into those with whom he came in contact awe, the other was ever welcome, from the congeniality of his disposition. Nor in saying this do we detract in the smallest degree from the mental or moral worth of either. For this quality of personal influence, although, like “reading and writing,” it comes “by nature,” yet is nevertheless dependent for continuous life and maintenance upon genuine merit in its subject.
Like mates not always with like, and the characters of Panizzi and Sydney Smith must have differed very widely; yet, notwithstanding all divergences of mental constitution, it was not long ere an intimate friendship sprang up between them.
In the year 1836 the Ecclesiastical Commission Act, for the supervision and re-adjustment of certain of the revenues and sources of revenue of the English Church, was passed. It must be conceded that this Commission made a pretty clean sweep of not a few offices in the Church hardly worthy the expense of retention, as well as of others more venerable for antiquity than valuable in point of usefulness; and for many years it had to bear the brunt of accusations, not always made by those who object to the most moderate reforms. It is only lately, indeed, that we have ourselves listened to some, who might long ago have been wearied of, though truly they were not satiated with, their denunciations of this, to them, wanton act of spoliation, this invasion of the rights of the Church, &c., &c., &c.
On the side of the assailants, Sydney Smith put in a very early appearance. His attack upon the arbitrary power given to the Commission, and on the little protection afforded to, and the little heed taken of, the rights of the poorer clergy, lasted until 1840; in which year a petition, presented by him, in July, against it, was read in the House of Lords by the Bishop of Rochester.
Sydney Smith was warmly rebuked, for that he, a professedly consistent Whig, should have borne himself with so much hostility towards the rulers of his party. However, his correspondence on the subject during these four years was extensive, and a letter written by him to Panizzi, criticising the conduct of the Bishops, is certainly worthy of reproduction:
“My dear Panizzi,
Various Bishops, of whom the Archbishop of Canterbury is at the head, on the Ecclesiastical Commission, combine in recommending that the revenues of their various churches should be seized, the patronage confiscated, and the numbers abridged. Now, the Archbishop, at his consecration, took a solemn oath that he would preserve the rights, revenues, and property of his Cathedral; moreover, in the debates on the Catholic question, the said Archbishop laid a great stress upon the King’s oath at his Coronation, so did the Bishop of London. I have no books here; would you do me the favour to look into the debates on that subject, and extract any short passage from the speeches of either of the prelates on the sanctity and importance of this oath. You will find what has been said, of course, in Hansard. I shall be much obliged to you to do this for me.
Fortunately even the power of Sydney Smith’s opposition failed to hinder the carrying out of a reform, perhaps the least revolutionary that could have been devised for the administration of the property of the Church.
In the same proportion as diversity of topics enters into a series of correspondence, will, as a rule, be the amount of amusement to be derived by the public from its perusal. But one more letter from Sydney Smith to Panizzi is in our possession, and this, so far as it goes, and in conjunction with the letter already quoted, sufficiently fulfils the above condition. It certainly treats of no grave question of ecclesiastical or other politics, but is concerned with nothing mean or unimportant, since it relates to an invitation to dinner sent by the writer to the recipient, and is eminently characteristic of its author:—
“My dear Panizzi,
I wrote to you two or three times inviting you to dinner for the 26th. Receiving no answer, I concluded you were dead, and I invited your executors. News, however, came that you were out of town. I should as soon have thought of St. Paul’s or the Monument being out of town, but as it was positively asserted, I have filled up your place. I hope to be more fortunate on another occasion.
During this part of his career—as indeed so long as he could himself write—Panizzi’s general correspondence was too voluminous to allow of much selection; for the notes and explanations thereon, when at hand or to be obtained, would inordinately increase the bulk of this work. We, therefore, subjoin but a few specimens, which mostly speak for themselves:—
“Dear Panizzi,
What a d—— fellow you are; a man of taste and accomplishment to write such a cursed illegible hand, that only the devil himself could decipher you. The truth is that when you spoke to me about your note, I really did not see the point of its contents. I opened it in my office full of angry Jew creditors of a client. I just ran through it, could not decipher half, and seeing it was on literature, no business, I interred it alive in a box—the mausoleum of my merely private correspondence—waiting leisure to peruse it. It so happened that I never opened the said box till to-night, when I took up your body. Really an illegible handwriting ought to be a statutory crime, and shall be when I get into Parliament. I can’t now decipher two of your words till daylight in the morning. The next time you send me an illegible note I will return it to you, not prepaid, to be copied by your secretary.
So good night, and I could not sleep without giving you this cat-o’-nine-tails. I never was so put to it in my life as when you accosted me in the club, for thought I to myself, I will be hanged if I know the subject matter of his note; what can I feign?
O. Joseph Parkes, Lawyer and Politician, died 1865.
The next is to the Editor of the Edinburgh Review, and relates to certain articles written therein by Panizzi:—
“My Dear Sir,
I direct to Edinburgh, as I suppose you either are or will soon be back there. I am glad we agree about the ‘Jesuits.’ The ‘Post-Office’ article will be longer than I thought; there is a great deal important unsaid that we must say. The Jesuits shall follow; both by the middle of September shall be ready.... There is no article on any subject of immediate, striking, and now exciting interest. For instance the ‘Post-Office Espionage’ is one of them; Algiers and French ambition is another. The Jesuits is a third, and that is why I chose them. Any article on Ireland, or sugar and free trade, or the slave trade, or Puseyism, &c., &c., would be welcome to general readers. Puseyism, I know, you have touched upon, but, with the Dublin Review on the one hand and Newman’s publication on the other, you might pay off these two inveterate enemies of yours most capitally. Then, although I know your difficulties about it, as it is a serious review, you want light, amusing articles, anecdotes of shooting, fishing, and of old Highlanders and robbers (or gentlemen who took what they wanted), travels, &c. As I put down at random what, I think, may illustrate what I mean, the number is, in fact, too good for this age of light reading; we are impatient if we don’t get on in reading, as we do travelling by steam.
A letter from Count d’Orsay, on a curious fact in natural history, will be read with interest. Panizzi’s answer to this is not forthcoming, but it may be doubted if he succeeded in conveying any very valuable information to the Count’s mind on the subject:—
“Mon cher Panizzi,
Je suppose que vous avez un Buffon dans votre établissement, qui pourra nous éclairer sur le sujet d’un animal presque fabuleux, qui vient de jouer le rôle à Van Diemen Land, que Racine fit jouer à celui, qui causa la mort d’Hippolyte.
“Miss X—— à reçu aujourd’hui une lettre de sa mère annonçant que le même jour qu’elle écrivait, elle allait voir un tigre marin qu’on avait tué avec une grande difficulté, et qui avait poursuivi sur terre plusieurs personnes—c’était la terreur des environs, on le nommait aussi Sea-Devil, il résista à quatre coups de feu, et après un combat acharné on lui ouvrit le crâne, d’un coup de hache. Ainsi donc comme la poste est partie avant qu’on ai vu ce monstre nous sommes très anxieux de savoir si vos naturallistes connaissent ce personnage.
The following, from Lord Melbourne to Panizzi, conveys the notion that the former discovered the beauties of Ovid’s Metamorphoses rather late in life:—
“My dear Mr. Panizzi,
I have lately been looking at the Metamorphoses of Ovid, a book in which I find much beautiful poetry and more curious matters. Burman, in his note upon the title of the poem (Vol. II. of his edition, p. 7) says that the poem was founded upon an ancient Greek poem by the writer, of the name of Parmenius Chius. What is Burman’s authority for this Parmenius, and where are the traces of his poem? I do not remember ever to have read his name, and I cannot find it in the Index to Quinctilian, who, I thought, had mentioned every poet of any eminence, Greek or Latin.
A letter from the Hon. Mrs. Norton, on the subject of Lord Melbourne’s friendship for Panizzi (to which a second on the same subject is added), must be quoted, though it is not without something of melancholy interest:—
“Dear Mr. Panizzi,
I met Lord Melbourne at dinner to-day, and mentioned to him having seen you and Mr. Thackeray. He begged me to write, for him, to ask you if you would dine with him on Monday, and Mr. Thackeray also. Will you let me know, as soon as convenient, and will you, who are an old friend of Lord Melbourne’s, explain anything that may seem odd and blunt in his mode of inviting without introduction, though indeed he persists very obstinately that Mr. Thackeray is a clergyman, with whom he is, or ought to be, acquainted. I said I did not think it clerical to write about the Bishop of Bullocksmithy, and that I did not think Mr. Thackeray was a clergyman at all. But this is not of importance in comparison of his coming to dinner at half-past seven (punctual) on Monday.
I wish you would now and then call on Lord Melbourne, as since he is invalided he takes great pleasure in receiving visits from his friends, and I think about four o’clock or a little later (when there is no House of Lords) is a good moment to find him. Poor Lady Holland’s death has deprived him of a very near neighbour, where he could be (without fatigue or form) in pleasant society. She had certainly a very real regard for him.
“Dear Mr. Panizzi,
If Mr. Thackeray will send his reply to Lord Melbourne, it will save time and be more correct. It is only in writing that he is glad sometimes to get a secretary (like me), as his hand is rather crippled, and his writing a trouble to perform, and when performed, very illegible.”
I assure you there is ‘no love lost’ in your preference for him—as the moment I mentioned your name he began praising you. The ‘green turf and flat stone’ is a receipt for blotting out all dislikable qualities, and we will give Lady H. the benefit of it. The charmed circle is gone! It was the first peep of the great world I got in my girlhood, and what the gap must be to those who are old enough to remember all who composed that circle, we cannot judge, who only knew it as the stars were dropping one by one away.
I am very sorry you cannot dine on Monday. I hope it will be a pleasure deferred. Tell Mr. Thackeray the hour is 7.30, not nominally, as is usual in London invitations.
It is hardly to be wondered at that Panizzi never became so thoroughly indigenous as to understand what must appear to a foreigner a greater puzzle than even the constitution and politics of England—viz., the management and regulation of ecclesiastical affairs. His opinion of the Hampden case, and of the circumstances affecting it, cannot be the result of any very profound reflection on the matter. As to the trouble which, he feared, it might bring upon Lord John Russell, it may be recollected that Lord John succeeded, in one instance at least, in evading it in a manner that did more credit to his decision than to his good manners.