[Richard Boyle, in continuation]
It was in 1980 at a London library that I first accessed Horace Walpole’s Correspondence in order to delve into the history and derivation of the word serendipity. The Index gave two references. Number one was to the letter in which Walpole made first written usage of the word, for Walpole infers that he coined it beforehand. It is necessary to quote this letter almost in its entirely to provide the precise context of the word’s usage.
[What follows is Boyle quoting Walpole.]
“The head,” Walpole writes of the portrait, “is painted equal to Titian, and though done, I suppose, after the clock had struck five and thirty, yet she retains a great share of beauty. I have bespoken a frame for her, with the grand ducal coronet on top, her story on a label at the bottom, which Gray is to compose in Latin as short and expressive as Tacitus (one is lucky when one can bespeak and have executed such an inscription!) the Medici arms on one side, and the Capello’s on the other. I must tell you a critical discovery of mine a propos: in an old book of Venetian arms, there are two coats of Capello, who from their name bear a hat, on one of them is added a flower-de-luce on a blue ball, which I am persuaded was given to the family by the Great Duke, in consideration of this alliance; the Medicis you know bore a badge at the top of their arms; this discovery I made by a talisman, which Mr Chute calls the sortes Walpolianae, by which I find everything I want a point nomme wherever I dip for it.
This discovery indeed is almost of that kind which I call serendipity, a very expressive word, which as I have nothing better to tell you, I shall endeavour to explain to you: you will understand it better by the derivation than by the definition. I once read a silly fairy tale called The Three Princes of Serendip: as their highnesses travelled, they were always making discoveries, by accident and sagacity, of things which they were not in quest of: for instance, one of them discovered that a mule blind of the right eye had travelled the same road lately, because the grass was eaten only on the left side, where it was worse than on the right – now do you understand serendipity? One of the most remarkable instances of this accidental sagacity (for you must observe that no discovery of a thing you are looking for comes under this description) was of my Lord Shaftsbury, who happening to dine at Lord Chancellor Clarendon’s, found out the marriage of the Duke of York and Mrs Hyde, by the respect with which her mother treated her at table.
Having cited the account in Walpoles’s Correspondences, Boyle abruptly takes his precursor to task:
On reading Walpole’s description of the process of serendipity – “They were always making discoveries, by accident and sagacity, of things they were not in quest of” – it becomes evident that the example cited is not suited to the coiner’s definition. The ineptness of this example, and the further one that Walpole cites with reference to Lord Shaftsbury, fail to illustrate the grand concept of serendipity.
Not to mention the fact that he substitutes a donkey for a camel in the silly fairy tale in question. Boyle is, to my mind, absolutely right about inept examples: they are hard to forgive (if easy to forget).
Up next: Boyle finds a second reference to ‘serendipity’ in Walpole – you’ll never guess where.