Letters of John Keats to His Family and Friends Part 7

[Hampstead,] Sat.u.r.day Morning [January 10, 1818].

My dear Taylor--Several things have kept me from you lately:--first you had got into a little h.e.l.l, which I was not anxious to reconnoitre-- secondly, I have made a vow not to call again without my first book: so you may expect to see me in four days. Thirdly, I have been racketing too much, and do not feel over well. I have seen Wordsworth frequently--Dined with him last Monday--Reynolds, I suppose you have seen. Just scribble me thus many lines, to let me know you are in the land of the living, and well. Remember me to the Fleet Street Household--and should you see any from Percy Street, give my kindest regards to them.

Your sincere friend

JOHN KEATS.

XXVIII.--TO GEORGE AND THOMAS KEATS.

[Hampstead,] Tuesday [January 13, 1818].

My dear Brothers--I am certain I think of having a letter to-morrow morning for I expected one so much this morning, having been in town two days, at the end of which my expectations began to get up a little. I found two on the table, one from Bailey and one from Haydon, I am quite perplexed in a world of doubts and fancies--there is nothing stable in the world; uproar's your only music--I don't mean to include Bailey in this and so dismiss him from this with all the opprobrium he deserves--that is in so many words, he is one of the n.o.blest men alive at the present day.

In a note to Haydon about a week ago (which I wrote with a full sense of what he had done, and how he had never manifested any little mean drawback in his value of me) I said if there were three things superior in the modern world, they were "the Excursion," "Haydon's pictures," and "Hazlitt's depth of Taste"--so I do believe--Not thus speaking with any poor vanity that works of genius were the first things in this world. No!

for that sort of probity and disinterestedness which such men as Bailey possess, does hold and grasp the tiptop of any spiritual honours that can be paid to anything in this world--And moreover having this feeling at this present come over me in its full force, I sat down to write to you with a grateful heart, in that I had not a Brother who did not feel and credit me for a deeper feeling and devotion for his uprightness, than for any marks of genius however splendid. I was speaking about doubts and fancies--I mean there has been a quarrel of a severe nature between Haydon and Reynolds and another ("the Devil rides upon a fiddlestick") between Hunt and Haydon--the first grew from the Sunday on which Haydon invited some friends to meet Wordsworth. Reynolds never went, and never sent any Notice about it, this offended Haydon more than it ought to have done--he wrote a very sharp and high note to Reynolds and then another in palliation--but which Reynolds feels as an aggravation of the first--Considering all things, Haydon's frequent neglect of his Appointments, etc. his notes were bad enough to put Reynolds on the right side of the question--but then Reynolds has no power of sufferance; no idea of having the thing against him; so he answered Haydon in one of the most cutting letters I ever read; exposing to himself all his own weaknesses and going on to an excess, which whether it is just or no, is what I would fain have unsaid, the fact is, they are both in the right and both in the wrong.

The quarrel with Hunt I understand thus far. Mrs. H. was in the habit of borrowing silver of Haydon--the last time she did so, Haydon asked her to return it at a certain time--she did not--Haydon sent for it--Hunt went to expostulate on the indelicacy, etc.--they got to words and parted for ever. All I hope is at some time to bring them together again.--Lawk!

Molly there's been such doings--Yesterday evening I made an appointment with Wells to go to a private theatre, and it being in the neighbourhood of Drury Lane, and thinking we might be fatigued with sitting the whole evening in one dirty hole, I got the Drury Lane ticket, and therewith we divided the evening with a spice of Richard III----

[Later, January 19 or 20.]

Good Lord! I began this letter nearly a week ago, what have I been doing since--I have been--I mean not been--sending last Sunday's paper to you.

I believe because it was not near me--for I cannot find it, and my conscience presses heavy on me for not sending it. You would have had one last Thursday, but I was called away, and have been about somewhere ever since. Where? What! Well I rejoice almost that I have not heard from you because no news is good news. I cannot for the world recollect why I was called away, all I know is that there has been a dance at Dilke's, and another at the London Coffee House; to both of which I went. But I must tell you in another letter the circ.u.mstances thereof--for though a week should have pa.s.sed since I wrote on the other side it quite appals me. I can only write in sc.r.a.ps and patches. Brown is returned from Hampstead.

Haydon has returned an answer in the same style--they are all dreadfully irritated against each other. On Sunday I saw Hunt and dined with Haydon, met Hazlitt and Bewick there, and took Haslam with me--forgot to speak about Cripps though I broke my engagement to Haslam's on purpose.

Mem.--Haslam came to meet me, found me at Breakfast, had the goodness to go with me my way--I have just finished the revision of my first book, and shall take it to Taylor's to-morrow--intend to persevere--Do not let me see many days pa.s.s without hearing from you.

Your most affectionate Brother

JOHN.

XXIX.--TO JOHN TAYLOR.

[Hampstead,] Friday 23d [January 1818].

My dear Taylor--I have spoken to Haydon about the drawing. He would do it with all his Art and Heart too, if so I will it; however, he has written thus to me; but I must tell you, first, he intends painting a finished Picture from the Poem. Thus he writes--"When I do anything for your Poem it must be effectual--an honour to both of us: to hurry up a sketch for the season won't do. I think an engraving from your head, from a Chalk drawing of mine, done with all my might, to which I would put my name, would answer Taylor's idea better than the other. Indeed, I am sure of it.

This I will do, and this will be effectual, and as I have not done it for any other human being, it will have an effect."

What think you of this? Let me hear. I shall have my second Book in readiness forthwith.

Yours most sincerely

JOHN KEATS.

If Reynolds calls tell him three lines will be acceptable, for I am squat at Hampstead.

x.x.x.--TO GEORGE AND THOMAS KEATS.

[Hampstead,] Friday 23d January [1818].

My dear Brothers--I was thinking what hindered me from writing so long, for I have so many things to say to you, and know not where to begin. It shall be upon a thing most interesting to you, my Poem. Well! I have given the first Book to Taylor; he seemed more than satisfied with it, and to my surprise proposed publishing it in Quarto if Haydon would make a drawing of some event therein, for a Frontispiece. I called on Haydon, he said he would do anything I liked, but said he would rather paint a finished picture, from it, which he seems eager to do; this in a year or two will be a glorious thing for us; and it will be, for Haydon is struck with the 1st Book. I left Haydon and the next day received a letter from him, proposing to make, as he says, with all his might, a finished chalk sketch of my head, to be engraved in the first style and put at the head of my Poem, saying at the same time he had never done the thing for any human being, and that it must have considerable effect as he will put his name to it--I begin to-day to copy my 2nd Book--"thus far into the bowels of the land"--You shall hear whether it will be Quarto or non Quarto, picture or non picture. Leigh Hunt I showed my 1st Book to--he allows it not much merit as a whole; says it is unnatural and made ten objections to it in the mere skimming over. He says the conversation is unnatural and too high-flown for Brother and Sister--says it should be simple forgetting do ye mind that they are both overshadowed by a supernatural Power, and of force could not speak like Francesca in the Rimini. He must first prove that Caliban's poetry is unnatural--This with me completely overturns his objections--the fact is he and Sh.e.l.ley are hurt, and perhaps justly, at my not having showed them the affair officiously and from several hints I have had they appear much disposed to dissect and anatomise any trip or slip I may have made.--But who's afraid? Ay! Tom! Demme if I am. I went last Tuesday, an hour too late, to Hazlitt's Lecture on poetry, got there just as they were coming out, when all these pounced upon me. Hazlitt, John Hunt and Son, Wells, Bewick, all the Landseers, Bob Harris, aye and more--the Landseers enquired after you particularly--I know not whether Wordsworth has left town--But Sunday I dined with Hazlitt and Haydon, also that I took Haslam with me--I dined with Brown lately. Dilke having taken the Champion Theatricals was obliged to be in town--f.a.n.n.y has returned to Walthamstow.--Mr. Abbey appeared very glum, the last time I went to see her, and said in an indirect way, that I had no business there--Rice has been ill, but has been mending much lately--

I think a little change has taken place in my intellect lately--I cannot bear to be uninterested or unemployed, I, who for so long a time have been addicted to pa.s.siveness. Nothing is finer for the purposes of great productions than a very gradual ripening of the intellectual powers. As an instance of this--observe--I sat down yesterday to read King Lear once again: the thing appeared to demand the prologue of a sonnet, I wrote it, and began to read--(I know you would like to see it.)

ON SITTING DOWN TO KING LEAR ONCE AGAIN.

O golden-tongued Romance with serene Lute!

Fair-plumed Syren, Queen of far-away!

Leave melodising on this wintry day, Shut up thine olden volume and be mute.

Adieu! for once again the fierce dispute Betwixt h.e.l.l torment and impa.s.sion'd Clay Must I burn through; once more a.s.say The bitter sweet of this Shakspearian fruit.

Chief Poet! and ye clouds of Albion, Begetters of our deep eternal theme, When I am through the old oak forest gone Let me not wander in a barren dream, But, when I am consumed with the Fire, Give me new Phoenix-wings to fly at my desire.

So you see I am getting at it, with a sort of determination and strength, though verily I do not feel it at this moment--this is my fourth letter this morning, and I feel rather tired, and my head rather swimming--so I will leave it open till to-morrow's post.--

I am in the habit of taking my papers to Dilke's and copying there; so I chat and proceed at the same time. I have been there at my work this evening, and the walk over the Heath takes off all sleep, so I will even proceed with you. I left off short in my last just as I began an account of a private theatrical--Well it was of the lowest order, all greasy and oily, insomuch that if they had lived in olden times, when signs were hung over the doors, the only appropriate one for that oily place would have been--a guttered Candle. They played John Bull, The Review, and it was to conclude with Bombastes Furioso--I saw from a Box the first Act of John Bull, then went to Drury and did not return till it was over--when by Wells's interest we got behind the scenes--there was not a yard wide all the way round for actors, scene-shifters, and interlopers to move in--for 'Nota Bene' the Green Room was under the stage, and there was I threatened over and over again to be turned out by the oily scene-shifters, there did I hear a little painted Trollop own, very candidly, that she had failed in Mary, with a "d.a.m.n'd if she'd play a serious part again, as long as she lived," and at the same time she was habited as the Quaker in the Review.--There was a quarrel, and a fat good-natured looking girl in soldiers' clothes wished she had only been a man for Tom's sake. One fellow began a song, but an unlucky finger-point from the Gallery sent him off like a shot. One chap was dressed to kill for the King in Bombastes, and he stood at the edge of the scene in the very sweat of anxiety to show himself, but Alas the thing was not played. The sweetest morsel of the night moreover was, that the musicians began pegging and f.a.gging away--at an overture--never did you see faces more in earnest, three times did they play it over, dropping all kinds of corrections and still did not the curtain go up. Well then they went into a country dance, then into a region they well knew, into the old boonsome Pothouse, and then to see how pompous o' the sudden they turned; how they looked about and chatted; how they did not care a d.a.m.n; was a great treat----

I hope I have not tired you by this filling up of the dash in my last.

Constable the bookseller has offered Reynolds ten guineas a sheet to write for his Magazine--it is an Edinburgh one, which Blackwood's started up in opposition to. Hunt said he was nearly sure that the 'c.o.c.kney School' was written by Scott[44] so you are right Tom!--There are no more little bits of news I can remember at present.

I remain, My dear Brothers, Your very affectionate Brother

JOHN.

x.x.xI.--TO BENJAMIN BAILEY.

[Hampstead,] Friday Jan{y.} 23 [1818].

My dear Bailey--Twelve days have pa.s.s'd since your last reached me.--What has gone through the myriads of human minds since the 12th? We talk of the immense Number of Books, the Volumes ranged thousands by thousands--but perhaps more goes through the human intelligence in Twelve days than ever was written.--_How has that unfortunate family lived through the twelve?_ One saying of yours I shall never forget--you may not recollect it--it being perhaps said when you were looking on the Surface and seeming of Humanity alone, without a thought of the past or the future--or the deeps of good and evil--you were at that moment estranged from speculation, and I think you have arguments ready for the Man who would utter it to you--this is a formidable preface for a simple thing--merely you said, "_Why should woman suffer?_" Aye, why should she? "By heavens I'd coin my very Soul, and drop my Blood for Drachmas!" These things are, and he, who feels how incompetent the most skyey Knight-errantry is to heal this bruised fairness, is like a sensitive leaf on the hot hand of thought.--Your tearing, my dear friend, a spiritless and gloomy letter up, to re-write to me, is what I shall never forget--it was to me a real thing--Things have happened lately of great perplexity--you must have heard of them--Reynolds and Haydon retorting and recriminating--and parting for ever--the same thing has happened between Haydon and Hunt. It is unfortunate--Men should bear with each other: there lives not the Man who may not be cut up, aye Lashed to pieces on his weakest side. The best of Men have but a portion of good in them--a kind of spiritual yeast in their frames, which creates the ferment of existence--by which a Man is propelled to act, and strive, and buffet with Circ.u.mstance. The sure way, Bailey, is first to know a Man's faults, and then be pa.s.sive--if after that he insensibly draws you towards him then you have no power to break the link. Before I felt interested in either Reynolds or Haydon, I was well read in their faults; yet, knowing them, I have been cementing gradually with both. I have an affection for them both, for reasons almost opposite--and to both must I of necessity cling, supported always by the hope that, when a little time, a few years, shall have tried me more fully in their esteem, I may be able to bring them together. The time must come, because they have both hearts: and they will recollect the best parts of each other, when this gust is overblown.--I had a message from you through a letter to Jane--I think, about Cripps--there can be no idea of binding until a sufficient sum is sure for him--and even then the thing should be maturely considered by all his helpers--I shall try my luck upon as many fat purses as I can meet with.--Cripps is improving very fast: I have the greater hopes of him because he is so slow in development. A Man of great executing powers at 20, with a look and a speech almost stupid, is sure to do something.

I have just looked through the Second Side of your Letter--I feel a great content at it.--I was at Hunt's the other day, and he surprised me with a real authenticated lock of _Milton's Hair_. I know you would like what I wrote thereon, so here it is--_as they say of a Sheep in a Nursery Book_:--

ON SEEING A LOCK OF MILTON'S HAIR.

Chief of Organic Numbers!