Letters of John Keats to His Family and Friends Part 3

Y{r} obed{t} serv{t} and friend

JOHN KEATS.

I shall be happy to hear any little intelligence in the literary or friendly way when you have time to scribble.

XII.--TO MESSRS. TAYLOR AND HESSEY.

[London] Tuesday Morn [July 8, 1817].

My dear Sirs--I must endeavour to lose my maidenhead with respect to money Matters as soon as possible--And I will too--So, here goes! A couple of Duns that I thought would be silent till the beginning, at least, of next month (when I am certain to be on my legs, for certain sure), have opened upon me with a cry most "untuneable"; never did you hear such _un-_"gallant chiding." Now you must know, I am not desolate, but have, thank G.o.d, 25 good notes in my fob. But then, you know, I laid them by to write with and would stand at bay a fortnight ere they should grab me. In a month's time I must pay, but it would relieve my mind if I owed you, instead of these Pelican duns.

I am afraid you will say I have "wound about with circ.u.mstance," when I should have asked plainly--however as I said I am a little maidenish or so, and I feel my virginity come strong upon me, the while I request the loan of a 20 and a 10, which, if you would enclose to me, I would acknowledge and save myself a hot forehead. I am sure you are confident of my responsibility, and in the sense of squareness that is always in me.

Your obliged friend

JOHN KEATS.

XIII.--TO MARIANE AND JANE REYNOLDS.

[Oxford,[22] September 5, 1817].

My dear Friends--You are I am glad to hear comfortable at Hampton,[23]

where I hope you will receive the Biscuits we ate the other night at Little Britain.[24] I hope you found them good. There you are among sands, stones, Pebbles, Beeches, Cliffs, Rocks, Deeps, Shallows, weeds, ships, Boats (at a distance), Carrots, Turnips, sun, moon, and stars and all those sort of things--here am I among Colleges, halls, Stalls, Plenty of Trees, thank G.o.d--Plenty of water, thank heaven--Plenty of Books, thank the Muses--Plenty of Snuff, thank Sir Walter Raleigh--Plenty of segars,--Ditto--Plenty of flat country, thank Tellus's rolling-pin. I'm on the sofa--Buonaparte is on the snuff-box--But you are by the seaside--argal, you bathe--you walk--you say "how beautiful"--find out resemblances between waves and camels--rocks and dancing-masters-- fireshovels and telescopes--Dolphins and Madonas--which word, by the way, I must acquaint you was derived from the Syriac, and came down in a way which neither of you I am sorry to say are at all capable of comprehending.

But as a time may come when by your occasional converse with me you may arrive at "something like prophetic strain," I will unbar the gates of my pride and let my condescension stalk forth like a ghost at the Circus.--The word Ma-don-a, my dear Ladies--or--the word Mad--Ona--so I say! I am not mad--Howsumever when that aged Tamer Kewthon sold a certain camel called Peter to the overseer of the Babel Sky-works, he thus spake, adjusting his cravat round the tip of his chin--"My dear Ten-story-up-in-air! this here Beast, though I say it as shouldn't say't, not only has the power of subsisting 40 days and 40 nights without fire and candle but he can sing.--Here I have in my Pocket a Certificate from Signor Nicolini of the King's Theatre; a Certificate to this effect----" I have had dinner since I left that effect upon you, and feel too heavy in mentibus to display all the Profundity of the Polygon--so you had better each of you take a gla.s.s of cherry Brandy and drink to the health of Archimedes, who was of so benign a disposition that he never would leave Syracuse in his life--So kept himself out of all Knight-Errantry.--This I know to be a fact; for it is written in the 45th book of Winkine's treatise on garden-rollers, that he trod on a fishwoman's toe in Liverpool, and never begged her pardon. Now the long and short is this--that is by comparison--for a long day may be a short year--A long Pole may be a very stupid fellow as a man. But let us refresh ourself from this depth of thinking, and turn to some innocent jocularity--the Bow cannot always be bent--nor the gun always loaded, if you ever let it off--and the life of man is like a great Mountain--his breath is like a Shrewsbury cake--he comes into the world like a s...o...b..ack, and goes out of it like a cobbler--he eats like a chimney-sweeper, drinks like a gingerbread baker--and breathes like Achilles--so it being that we are such sublunary creatures, let us endeavour to correct all our bad spelling--all our most delightful abominations, and let us wish health to Marian and Jane, whoever they be and wherever.

Yours truly

JOHN KEATS.

XIV--TO f.a.n.n.y KEATS.

Oxford, September 10 [1817].

My dear f.a.n.n.y--Let us now begin a regular question and answer--a little pro and con; letting it interfere as a pleasant method of my coming at your favorite little wants and enjoyments, that I may meet them in a way befitting a brother.

We have been so little together since you have been able to reflect on things that I know not whether you prefer the History of King Pepin to Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress--or Cinderella and her gla.s.s slipper to Moore's Almanack. However in a few Letters I hope I shall be able to come at that and adapt my scribblings to your Pleasure. You must tell me about all you read if it be only six Pages in a Week and this transmitted to me every now and then will procure you full sheets of Writing from me pretty frequently.--This I feel as a necessity for we ought to become intimately acquainted, in order that I may not only, as you grow up love you as my only Sister, but confide in you as my dearest friend. When I saw you last I told you of my intention of going to Oxford and 'tis now a Week since I disembark'd from his Whipship's Coach the Defiance in this place. I am living in Magdalen Hall on a visit to a young Man with whom I have not been long acquainted, but whom I like very much--we lead very industrious lives--he in general Studies and I in proceeding at a pretty good rate with a Poem which I hope you will see early in the next year.--Perhaps you might like to know what I am writing about. I will tell you. Many Years ago there was a young handsome Shepherd who fed his flocks on a Mountain's Side called Latmus--he was a very contemplative sort of a Person and lived solitary among the trees and Plains little thinking that such a beautiful Creature as the Moon was growing mad in Love with him.--However so it was; and when he was asleep on the Gra.s.s she used to come down from heaven and admire him excessively for a long time; and at last could not refrain from carrying him away in her arms to the top of that high Mountain Latmus while he was a dreaming--but I daresay you have read this and all the other beautiful Tales which have come down from the ancient times of that beautiful Greece. If you have not let me know and I will tell you more at large of others quite as delightful. This Oxford I have no doubt is the finest City in the world--it is full of old Gothic buildings--Spires-- towers--Quadrangles--Cloisters--Groves, etc., and is surrounded with more clear streams than ever I saw together. I take a Walk by the Side of one of them every Evening and, thank G.o.d, we have not had a drop of rain these many days. I had a long and interesting Letter from George, cross lines by a short one from Tom yesterday dated Paris. They both send their loves to you. Like most Englishmen they feel a mighty preference for everything English--the French Meadows, the trees, the People, the Towns, the Churches, the Books, the everything--although they may be in themselves good: yet when put in comparison with our green Island they all vanish like Swallows in October. They have seen Cathedrals, Ma.n.u.scripts, Fountains, Pictures, Tragedy, Comedy,--with other things you may by chance meet with in this Country such as Washerwomen, Lamplighters, Turnpikemen, Fishkettles, Dancing Masters, Kettle drums, Sentry Boxes, Rocking Horses, etc.--and, now they have taken them over a set of boxing-gloves.

I have written to George and requested him, as you wish I should, to write to you. I have been writing very hard lately, even till an utter incapacity came on, and I feel it now about my head: so you must not mind a little out-of-the-way sayings--though by the bye were my brain as clear as a bell I think I should have a little propensity thereto. I shall stop here till I have finished the 3d Book of my Story; which I hope will be accomplish'd in at most three Weeks from to-day--about which time you shall see me. How do you like Miss Taylor's essays in Rhyme--I just look'd into the Book and it appeared to me suitable to you--especially since I remember your liking for those pleasant little things the Original Poems--the essays are the more mature production of the same hand. While I was speaking about France it occurred to me to speak a few Words on their Language--it is perhaps the poorest one ever spoken since the jabbering in the Tower of Babel, and when you come to know that the real use and greatness of a Tongue is to be referred to its Literature--you will be astonished to find how very inferior it is to our native Speech.--I wish the Italian would supersede French in every school throughout the Country, for that is full of real Poetry and Romance of a kind more fitted for the Pleasure of Ladies than perhaps our own.--It seems that the only end to be gained in acquiring French is the immense accomplishment of speaking it--it is none at all--a most lamentable mistake indeed. Italian indeed would sound most musically from Lips which had began to p.r.o.nounce it as early as French is crammed down our Mouths, as if we were young Jackdaws at the mercy of an overfeeding Schoolboy. Now f.a.n.n.y you must write soon--and write all you think about, never mind what--only let me have a good deal of your writing--You need not do it all at once--be two or three or four days about it, and let it be a diary of your little Life. You will preserve all my Letters and I will secure yours--and thus in the course of time we shall each of us have a good Bundle--which, hereafter, when things may have strangely altered and G.o.d knows what happened, we may read over together and look with pleasure on times past--that now are to come. Give my Respects to the Ladies--and so my dear f.a.n.n.y I am ever

Your most affectionate Brother

JOHN.

If you direct--Post Office, Oxford--your Letter will be brought to me.

XV.--TO JANE REYNOLDS.

Oxford, Sunday Evg. [September 14, 1817].

My dear Jane--You are such a literal translator, that I shall some day amuse myself with looking over some foreign sentences, and imagining how you would render them into English. This is an age for typical Curiosities; and I would advise you, as a good speculation, to study Hebrew, and astonish the world with a figurative version in our native tongue. The Mountains skipping like rams, and the little hills like lambs, you will leave as far behind as the hare did the tortoise. It must be so or you would never have thought that I really meant you would like to pro and con about those Honeycombs--no, I had no such idea, or, if I had, 'twould be only to tease you a little for love. So now let me put down in black and white briefly my sentiments thereon.--Imprimis--I sincerely believe that Imogen is the finest creature, and that I should have been disappointed at hearing you prefer Juliet--Item--Yet I feel such a yearning towards Juliet that I would rather follow her into Pandemonium than Imogen into Paradise--heartily wishing myself a Romeo to be worthy of her, and to hear the Devils quote the old proverb, "Birds of a feather flock together"--Amen.--

Now let us turn to the Seash.o.r.e. Believe me, my dear Jane, it is a great happiness to see that you are in this finest part of the year winning a little enjoyment from the hard world. In truth, the great Elements we know of, are no mean comforters: the open sky sits upon our senses like a sapphire crown--the Air is our robe of state--the Earth is our throne, and the Sea a mighty minstrel playing before it--able, like David's harp, to make such a one as you forget almost the tempest cares of life. I have found in the ocean's music,--varying (tho self-same) more than the pa.s.sion of Timotheus, an enjoyment not to be put into words; and, "though inland far I be," I now hear the voice most audibly while pleasing myself in the idea of your sensations.

---- is getting well apace, and if you have a few trees, and a little harvesting about you, I'll snap my fingers in Lucifer's eye. I hope you bathe too--if you do not, I earnestly recommend it. Bathe thrice a week, and let us have no more sitting up next winter. Which is the best of Shakspeare's plays? I mean in what mood and with what accompaniment do you like the sea best? It is very fine in the morning, when the sun,

"Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams, Turns into yellow gold his salt sea streams,"

and superb when

"The sun from meridian height Illumines the depth of the sea, And the fishes, beginning to sweat, Cry d---- it! how hot we shall be,"

and gorgeous, when the fair planet hastens

"To his home Within the Western foam."

But don't you think there is something extremely fine after sunset, when there are a few white clouds about and a few stars blinking--when the waters are ebbing, and the horizon a mystery? This state of things has been so fulfilling to me that I am anxious to hear whether it is a favourite with you. So when you and Marianne club your letter to me put in a word or two about it. Tell Dilke that it would be perhaps as well if he left a Pheasant or Partridge alive here and there to keep up a supply of game for next season--tell him to rein in if Possible all the Nimrod of his disposition, he being a mighty hunter before the Lord--of the Manor.

Tell him to shoot fair, and not to have at the Poor devils in a furrow--when they are flying, he may fire, and n.o.body will be the wiser.

Give my sincerest respects to Mrs. Dilke, saying that I have not forgiven myself for not having got her the little box of medicine I promised, and that, had I remained at Hampstead I would have made precious havoc with her house and furniture--drawn a great harrow over her garden--poisoned Boxer--eaten her clothes-pegs--fried her cabbages--fricaseed (how is it spelt?) her radishes--ragout'd her Onions--belaboured her _beat_-root--outstripped her scarlet-runners--parlez-vous'd with her french-beans--devoured her mignon or mignionette--metamorphosed her bell-handles--splintered her looking-gla.s.ses--bullocked at her cups and saucers--agonised her decanters--put old Phillips to pickle in the brine-tub--dis_organ_ised her piano--dislocated her candlesticks--emptied her wine-bins in a fit of despair--turned out her maid to gra.s.s--and astonished Brown; whose letter to her on these events I would rather see than the original Copy of the Book of Genesis. Should you see Mr. W.

D.[25] remember me to him, and to little Robinson Crusoe, and to Mr.

Snook. Poor Bailey, scarcely ever well, has gone to bed, pleased that I am writing to you. To your brother John (whom henceforth I shall consider as mine) and to you, my dear friends, Marianne and Jane, I shall ever feel grateful for having made known to me so real a fellow as Bailey. He delights me in the selfish and (please G.o.d) the disinterested part of my disposition. If the old Poets have any pleasure in looking down at the enjoyers of their works, their eyes must bend with a double satisfaction upon him. I sit as at a feast when he is over them, and pray that if, after my death, any of my labours should be worth saving, they may have so "honest a chronicler" as Bailey. Out of this, his enthusiasm in his own pursuit and for all good things is of an exalted kind--worthy a more healthful frame and an untorn spirit. He must have happy years to come--"he shall not die by G.o.d."

A letter from John the other day was a chief happiness to me. I made a little mistake when, just now, I talked of being far inland. How can that be when Endymion and I are at the bottom of the sea? whence I hope to bring him in safety before you leave the seaside; and, if I can so contrive it, you shall be greeted by him upon the sea-sands, and he shall tell you all his adventures, which having finished, he shall thus proceed--"My dear Ladies, favourites of my gentle mistress, however my friend Keats may have teased and vexed you, believe me he loves you not the less--for instance, I am deep in his favour, and yet he has been hauling me through the earth and sea with unrelenting perseverance. I know for all this that he is mighty fond of me, by his contriving me all sorts of pleasures. Nor is this the least, fair ladies, this one of meeting you on the desert sh.o.r.e, and greeting you in his name. He sends you moreover this little scroll--" My dear Girls, I send you, per favour of Endymion, the a.s.surance of my esteem for you, and my utmost wishes for your health and pleasure, being ever,

Your affectionate Brother

JOHN KEATS.

XVI.--TO JOHN HAMILTON REYNOLDS.