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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/20452-h.zip b/20452-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c4f78c8 --- /dev/null +++ b/20452-h.zip diff --git a/20452-h/20452-h.htm b/20452-h/20452-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..65d30d2 --- /dev/null +++ b/20452-h/20452-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11035 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Letters of Edward FitzGerald</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + TD { vertical-align: top; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + color: gray;} + + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">Letters of Edward FitzGerald, by Edward FitzGerald</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Letters of Edward FitzGerald, by Edward +FitzGerald, Edited by William Aldis Wright + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Letters of Edward FitzGerald + in two volumes, Vol. 1 + + +Author: Edward FitzGerald + +Editor: William Aldis Wright + +Release Date: January 27, 2007 [eBook #20452] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LETTERS OF EDWARD FITZGERALD*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1901 Macmillan and Co. edition by David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<h1>LETTERS OF EDWARD FITZGERALD</h1> +<p style="text-align: center">IN TWO VOLUMES<br /> +VOL. I</p> +<p style="text-align: center">London<br /> +MACMILLAN AND CO., <span class="smcap">Limited</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">new york</span>: <span class="smcap">the +macmillan and company</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">1901</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>All rights reserved</i></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page iv--><a +name="pageiv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. iv</span><i>First +Edition</i> 1894. <i>Reprinted</i> 1901</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p0.jpg"> +<img alt="Edward FitzGerald" src="images/p0.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h2><!-- page v--><a name="pagev"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +v</span>PREFACE</h2> +<p>In compliance with a very generally expressed wish that the +Letters of Edward FitzGerald should be separated from his +Literary Remains, they are now issued with some additions to +their number which have not before appeared. It was no part +of my plan to form a complete collection of his letters, but +rather to let the story of his life be told in such of them as +gave an indication of his character and pursuits. It would +have been easy to increase the number considerably had I printed +all that I possess, but it seemed better to create the desire for +more than to incur the reproach of having given more than +enough.</p> +<p>Since these volumes were completed a large number of letters, +addressed by FitzGerald to his life-long friend Mrs. Kemble, have +come into the possession of Messrs. Richard Bentley and Son, and +<!-- page vi--><a name="pagevi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +vi</span>will shortly make their appearance. By the desire +of Mr. George Bentley I have undertaken to see them through the +press.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">William Aldis +Wright</span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Trinity College</span>, <span +class="smcap">Cambridge</span>.<br /> +31 <i>March</i>, 1894.</p> +<h2>NOTE</h2> +<p>In vol. ii. p. 181 the date 1875, which was conjectural, has +been changed to 1878, in which year September 22—the day on +which the letter was written—was a Sunday. There was +a Musical Festival at Norwich in both years, and the same +Oratorios were performed, and this led me to put the letter out +of its place.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">W. A. W.</p> +<h2><!-- page vii--><a name="pagevii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. vii</span>PREFACE TO LETTERS AND LITERARY +REMAINS</h2> +<p>After Mr. FitzGerald’s death in June 1883 a small tin +box addressed to me was found by his executors, containing among +other things corrected copies of his printed works, and the +following letter, which must have been written shortly after my +last visit to him at Easter that year:</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>: <i>May</i> 1/83.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Wright</span>,</p> +<p>I do not suppose it likely that any of my works should be +reprinted after my Death. Possibly the three Plays from the +Greek, and Calderon’s Mágico: which have a certain +merit in the Form they are cast into, and also in the +Versification.</p> +<p>However this may be, I venture to commit to you this Box +containing Copies of all that I have corrected in the way that I +would have them appear, if any of them ever should be +resuscitated.</p> +<p>The C. Lamb papers are only materials for you, or any one +else, to use at pleasure.</p> +<p><!-- page viii--><a name="pageviii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. viii</span>The Crabbe volume would, I think, +serve for an almost sufficient Selection from him; and some such +Selection will have to be made, I believe, if he is to be +resuscitated. Two of the Poems—‘The Happy +Day’ and ‘The Family of Love’—seem to me +to have needed some such abridgement as the ‘Tales of the +Hall,’ for which I have done little more than hastily to +sketch the Plan. For all the other Poems, simple Extracts +from them will suffice: with a short notice concerning their +Dates of Composition, etc., at the Beginning.</p> +<p>My poor old Lowestoft Sea-slang may amuse yourself to look +over perhaps.</p> +<p>And so, asking your pardon for inflicting this Box upon you I +am ever sincerely yours</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F. G.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>In endeavouring to carry out these last wishes of my friend I +thought that of the many who know him only as a translator some +would be glad to have a picture of him as he appeared to the +small circle of his intimate acquaintances. The mere +narrative of the life of a man of leisure and literary tastes +would have contained too few incidents to be of general interest, +and it appeared to me best to let him be his own biographer, +telling his own story and revealing his own character in his +letters. Fortunately there are many of these, and I have +endeavoured to give <!-- page ix--><a name="pageix"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. ix</span>such a selection from them as would +serve this purpose, adding a few words here and there to connect +them and explain what was not sufficiently evident. As the +letters begin from the time that he left College and continue +with shorter or longer intervals till the day before his death, +it was only necessary to introduce them by a short sketch of his +early life in order to make the narrative complete.</p> +<p>FitzGerald’s letters, like his conversation, were +perfectly unaffected and full of quiet humour. In his +lonely life they were the chief means he had of talking with his +friends, and they were always welcome. In reply to one of +them Carlyle wrote: ‘Thanks for your friendly human letter; +which gave us much entertainment in the reading (at breakfast +time the other day), and is still pleasant to think of. One +gets so many <i>in</i>human letters, ovine, bovine, porcine, +etc., etc.: I wish you would write a little oftener; when the +beneficent Daimon suggests, fail not to lend ear to +him.’ Another, who has since followed him ‘from +sunshine to the sunless land,’ and to whom he wrote of +domestic affairs, said, ‘The striking feature in his +correspondence with me is the exquisite tenderness of feeling +which it exhibits in regard to all family matters; the letters +might have been written by a mother or a sister.’ He +said of himself that his friendships were more like loves, and +<!-- page x--><a name="pagex"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +x</span>as he was constant in affectionate loyalty to others, he +might also say with Brutus,</p> + +<blockquote><p> In +all my life<br /> +I found no man but he was true to me.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The Poet-Laureate, on hearing of his death, wrote to the late +Sir Frederic Pollock: ‘I had no truer friend: he was one of +the kindliest of men, and I have never known one of so fine and +delicate a wit. I had written a poem to him the last week, +a dedication, which he will never see.’</p> +<p>When Thackeray, not long before he died, was asked by his +daughter which of his old friends he had loved most, he replied, +‘Why, dear old Fitz, to be sure; and Brookfield.’</p> +<p>And Carlyle, quick of eye to discern the faults and weaknesses +of others, had nothing but kindliness, with perhaps a touch of +condescension, ‘for the peaceable, affectionate, and +ultra-modest man, and his innocent <i>far niente</i> +life.’</p> +<p>It was something to have been intimate with three such +friends, and one can only regret that more of his letters +addressed to them have not been preserved. Of those written +to the earliest and dearest friend of all, James Spedding, not +one is left.</p> +<p>One of his few surviving contemporaries, speaking from a +lifelong experience, described him with perfect <!-- page xi--><a +name="pagexi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xi</span>truth as an +eccentric man of genius, who took more pains to avoid fame than +others do to seek it.</p> +<p>His love of music was one of his earliest passions, and +remained with him to the last. I cannot refrain from +quoting some recollections of the late Archdeacon Groome, a +friend of his College days, and so near a neighbour in later life +that few letters passed between them. ‘He was a true +musician; not that he was a great performer on any instrument, +but that he so truly appreciated all that was good and beautiful +in music. He was a good performer on the piano, and could +get such full harmonies out of the organ that stood in one corner +of his entrance room at Little Grange as did good to the +listener. Sometimes it would be a bit from one of +Mozart’s Masses, or from one of the finales of some one of +his or Beethoven’s Operas. And then at times he would +fill up the harmonies with his voice, true and resonant almost to +the last. I have heard him say, “Did you never +observe how an Italian organ-grinder will sometimes put in a few +notes of his own in such perfect keeping with the air which he +was grinding?” He was not a great, but he was a good +composer. Some of his songs have been printed, and many +still remain in manuscript. Then what pleasant talk I have +had with him about the singers of our early years; never +forgetting to speak of Mrs. Frere of <!-- page xii--><a +name="pagexii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xii</span>Downing, as +the most perfect private singer we had ever heard. And so +indeed she was. Who that had ever heard her sing +Handel’s songs can ever forget the purity of her phrasing +and the pathos of her voice? She had no particle of vanity +in her, and yet she would say, “Of course, I can sing +Handel. I was a pupil of John Sale, and he was a pupil of +Handel.” To her old age she still retained the charm +of musical expression, though her voice was but a thread. +And so we spoke of her; two old men with all the enthusiastic +admiration of fifty years ago. Pleasant was it also to hear +him speak of the public singers of those early days. +Braham, so great, spite of his vulgarity; Miss Stephens, so sweet +to listen to, though she had no voice of power; and poor Vaughan, +who had so feeble a voice, and yet was always called “such +a chaste singer.” How he would roar with laughter, +when I would imitate Vaughan singing</p> +<blockquote><p>His hiddeus (<i>sic</i>) love provokes my rage,<br +/> +Weak as I am, I must engage,</p> +</blockquote> +<p>from Acis and Galatea. Then too his reminiscences of the +said Acis and Galatea as given at the Concerts for Ancient +Music. “I can see them now, the dear old +<i>creeters</i> with the gold eye-glasses and their turbans, +noddling their heads as they sang</p> +<blockquote><p>O the pleasures of the plains!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page xiii--><a name="pagexiii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xiii</span>‘These old <i>creeters</i> +being, as he said, the sopranos who had sung first as girls, when +George the Third was king.</p> +<p>‘He was a great lover of our old English composers, +specially of Shield. Handel, he said, has a scroll in his +marble hand in the Abbey on which are written the first bars +of</p> +<blockquote><p>I know that my Redeemer liveth;</p> +</blockquote> +<p>and Shield should hold a like scroll, only on it should be +written the first bars of</p> +<blockquote><p>A flaxen-headed ploughboy.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘He was fond of telling a story of Handel, which I, at +least, have never seen in print. When Handel was blind he +composed his “Samson,” in which there is that most +touching of all songs, specially to any one whose powers of sight +are waning—“Total Eclipse.” Mr. Beard was +the great tenor singer of the day, who was to sing this +song. Handel sent for him, “Mr. Beard,” he +said, “I cannot sing it as it should be sung, but I can +tell you how it ought to be sung.” And then he sang +it, with what strange pathos need not be told. Beard stood +listening, and when it was finished said, with tears in his eyes, +“But Mr. Handel, I can never sing it like +that.” And so he would tell the story with tears in +his voice, such as <!-- page xiv--><a name="pagexiv"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xiv</span>those best remember, who ever heard +him read some piece of his dear old Crabbe, and break down in the +reading.’</p> +<p>With this I will conclude, and I have only now to express my +sincere thanks to all who have entrusted me with letters +addressed to themselves or to those whom they represent. It +has been my endeavour to justify their confidence by +discretion. To Messrs. Richard Bentley and Son I am +indebted for permission to reprint Virgil’s Garden from the +Temple Bar Magazine. <a name="citation0a"></a><a +href="#footnote0a" class="citation">[0a]</a></p> +<p>The portrait is from a photograph by Cade and White of Ipswich +taken in 1873.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">William Aldis +Wright</span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Trinity College</span>, <span +class="smcap">Cambridge</span>.<br /> +20 May, 1889.</p> +<h2><!-- page 1--><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +1</span>LETTERS OF EDWARD FITZGERALD</h2> +<p>Edward FitzGerald was born at Bredfield House in Suffolk, an +old Jacobean mansion about two miles from Woodbridge, on the 31st +of March, 1809. He was the third son of John Purcell, who +married his cousin Mary Frances FitzGerald, and upon the death of +her father in 1818 took the name and arms of FitzGerald. In +1816 Mr. Purcell went to France, and for a time settled with his +family at St. Germains. FitzGerald in later life would +often speak of the royal hunting parties which he remembered +seeing in the forest. They afterwards removed to Paris, +occupying the house in which Robespierre had once lived, and here +FitzGerald had for his drillmaster one of Napoleon’s Old +Guard. Even at this early period the vivacious humour which +afterwards characterized him appears to have shewn itself, for +his father writing to some friends in England speaks of little +<!-- page 2--><a name="page2"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +2</span>Edward keeping the whole family in good spirits by his +unfailing fun and droll speeches. The dramatic +circumstances of the assassination of M. Fualdès, a +magistrate at Rodez, in 1817, and the remarkable trial which +followed, fastened themselves on FitzGerald’s memory, and +he was familiar with all the details which he had heard spoken of +when quite a child in Paris. In 1821 he was sent to King +Edward the Sixth’s School at Bury St. Edmunds, where his +two elder brothers were already under the charge of Dr. Malkin, +who, like himself in after life, was a great admirer of +Crabbe. Among his schoolfellows were James Spedding and his +elder brother, W. B. Donne, J. M. Kemble, and William Airy the +brother of Sir George Airy, formerly Astronomer-Royal. I +have often heard him say that the best piece of declamation he +had ever listened to was Kemble’s recitation of +Hotspur’s speech, beginning ‘My liege, I did deny no +prisoners,’ on a prize day at Bury. When he left for +Cambridge in 1826 the Speddings were at the head of the +School. He was entered at Trinity on 6th February 1826 +under Mr. (afterwards Dean) Peacock and went into residence in +due course in the following October, living in lodgings at Mrs. +Perry’s (now Oakley’s), No. 19 King’s +Parade. James Spedding did not come up till the year +following, and his greatest friends in later life, John Allen, +afterwards Archdeacon of Salop, W. M. Thackeray, and W. H. +Thompson, afterwards Master of Trinity, were his juniors at the +University <!-- page 3--><a name="page3"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 3</span>by two years. The three +Tennysons were also his contemporaries, but it does not appear +that he knew them till after he had left Cambridge. Indeed, +in a letter to Mrs. Richmond Ritchie (Miss Thackeray), written in +1882, he says of the Laureate, ‘I can tell you nothing of +his College days; for I did not know him till they were over, +though I had seen him two or three times before. I remember +him well—a sort of Hyperion.’</p> +<p>FitzGerald was unambitious of University distinctions and was +not in the technical sense a reading man, but he passed through +his course in a leisurely manner, amusing himself with music and +drawing and poetry, and modestly went out in the Poll in January +1830, after a period of suspense during which he was apprehensive +of not passing at all. Immediately after taking his degree +he went to stay with his brother-in-law, Mr. Kerrich, at +Geldestone Hall, near Beccles, where he afterwards spent much of +his time. While there, and still undecided as to his future +movements, he writes to his friend John Allen that his father had +to some extent decided for him by reducing his allowance, a +measure which would compel him to go and live in France. It +was apparently not in consequence of this, for the difficulty +with his father was satisfactorily arranged, that he went in the +spring of 1830 to Paris, where his aunt, Miss Purcell, was +living. Thackeray joined him for a short time in April, but +left suddenly, and was the bearer of a hurried letter written by +FitzGerald at the Palais <!-- page 4--><a name="page4"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 4</span>Royal to the friend who was at this +time his chief correspondent.</p> +<blockquote><p>‘If you see Roe (the Engraver, not the +Haberdasher) give him my remembrance and tell him I often wish +for him in the Louvre: as I do for you, my dear Allen: for I +think you would like it very much. There are delightful +portraits (which you love most), and statues so beautiful that +you would for ever prefer statues to pictures. There are as +fine pictures in England: but not one statue so fine as any +here. There is a lovely and very modest Venus: and the +Gladiator: and a very majestic Demosthenes, sitting in a chair, +with a roll of writing in his hands, and seemingly meditating +before rising to speak. It is quite awful.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>FitzGerald remained in France till about the end of May, and +before leaving wrote again to Allen, not perhaps altogether +seriously, yet with more truth than he imagined, of his future +mode of life.</p> +<blockquote><p>‘I start for England in a week, as I purpose +now: I shall go by Havre de Grace and Southampton, and stay for a +month or two perhaps at Dartmouth, a place on the Devonshire +coast. Tell Thackeray that he is never to invite me to his +house, as I intend never to go: not that I would not go out there +rather than any place perhaps, but I cannot stand seeing new +faces in the polite circles. You must know I am going to +become a great bear: and have got all sorts of Utopian ideas into +my head about society: these may all be very absurd, but I try +the experiment on <!-- page 5--><a name="page5"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 5</span>myself, so I can do no great +hurt. Where I shall go in the summer I know not.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>In the end he made Southampton his headquarters and spent +several weeks there, going on short excursions to visit some +college acquaintances. In November he was at Naseby, where +his father had a considerable estate, including the famous +battlefield, of which we shall hear more in his later +correspondence. ‘This place is solitary +enough,’ he writes to John Allen, ‘but I am well off +in a nice farm-house. I wish you could come and see the +primitive inhabitants, and the fine field of Naseby. There +are grand views on every side: and all is interesting. . . +. Do you know, Allen, that this is a very curious place +with odd fossils: and mixed with bones and bullets of the fight +at Naseby; and the identical spot where King Charles stood to see +the battle. . . . I do wish you and Sansum were here to see +the curiosities. Can’t you come? I am quite the +King here I promise you. . . . I am going to-day to dine +with the Carpenter, a Mr. Ringrose, and to hear his daughter play +on the pianoforte. Fact.</p> +<p>‘My blue surtout daily does wonders. At Church its +effect is truly delightful.’</p> +<p>It was at Naseby, in the spring of the following year (1831), +that he made his earliest attempt in verse, the earliest at any +rate which has yet been discovered. Charles Lamb, writing +to Moxon in August, tells him, ‘The Athenæum has been +hoaxed <!-- page 6--><a name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +6</span>with some exquisite poetry, that was, two or three months +ago, in Hone’s Book. . . . The poem I mean is in +Hone’s Book as far back as April. I do not know who +wrote it; but ’tis a poem I envy—<i>that</i> and +Montgomery’s “Last Man”: I envy the writers, +because I feel I could have done something like +them.’ It first appeared in Hone’s Year Book +for April 30, 1831, with the title ‘The Meadows in +Spring,’ and the following letter to the Editor. +‘These verses are in the old style; rather homely in +expression; but I honestly profess to stick more to the +simplicity of the old poets than the moderns, and to love the +philosophical good humor of our old writers more than the sickly +melancholy of the Byronian wits. If my verses be not good, +they are good humored, and that is something.’ With a +few verbal changes they were sent to the Athenæum, and +appeared in that paper on July 9, 1831, accompanied by a note of +the Editor’s, from which it is evident that he supposed +them to have been written by Lamb.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To the Editor of the +Athenæum</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Sir</span>,</p> +<p>These verses are something in the old style, but not the worse +for that: not that I mean to call them good: but I am sure they +would not have been better, if dressed up in the newest +Montgomery fashion, for which I cannot say I have much +love. If they are fitted for your paper, you are welcome +<!-- page 7--><a name="page7"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +7</span>to them. I send them to you, because I find only in +your paper a love of our old literature, which is almost +monstrous in the eyes of modern ladies and gentlemen. My +verses are certainly not in the present fashion; but, I must own, +though there may not be the same merit in the thoughts, I think +the style much better: and this with no credit to myself, but to +the merry old writers of more manly times.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Your humble servant,<br /> +<span class="smcap">Epsilon</span>.</p> +<blockquote><p>’Tis a dull sight<br /> + To see the year dying,<br /> +When winter winds<br /> + Set the yellow wood sighing:<br /> + Sighing, oh! sighing.</p> +<p>When such a time cometh,<br /> + I do retire<br /> +Into an old room<br /> + Beside a bright fire:<br /> + Oh, pile a bright fire!</p> +<p>And there I sit<br /> + Reading old things,<br /> +Of knights and lorn damsels,<br /> + While the wind sings—<br /> + Oh, drearily sings!</p> +<p>I never look out<br /> + Nor attend to the blast;<br /> +For all to be seen<br /> + Is the leaves falling fast:<br /> + Falling, falling!</p> +<p><!-- page 8--><a name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +8</span>But close at the hearth,<br /> + Like a cricket, sit I,<br /> +Reading of summer<br /> + And chivalry—<br /> + Gallant chivalry!</p> +<p>Then with an old friend<br /> + I talk of our youth—<br /> +How ’twas gladsome, but often<br /> + Foolish, forsooth:<br /> + But gladsome, gladsome!</p> +<p>Or to get merry<br /> + We sing some old rhyme,<br /> +That made the wood ring again<br /> + In summer time—<br /> + Sweet summer time!</p> +<p>Then go we to smoking,<br /> + Silent and snug:<br /> +Nought passes between us,<br /> + Save a brown jug—<br /> + Sometimes!</p> +<p>And sometimes a tear<br /> + Will rise in each eye,<br /> +Seeing the two old friends<br /> + So merrily—<br /> + So merrily!</p> +<p>And ere to bed<br /> + Go we, go we,<br /> +Down on the ashes<br /> + We kneel on the knee,<br /> + Praying together!</p> +<p>Thus, then, live I,<br /> + Till, ’mid all the gloom,<br /> +By heaven! the bold sun<br /> + Is with me in the room.<br /> + Shining, shining!</p> +<p><!-- page 9--><a name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +9</span>Then the clouds part,<br /> + Swallows soaring between;<br /> +The spring is alive,<br /> + And the meadows are green!</p> +<p>I jump up, like mad,<br /> + Break the old pipe in twain,<br /> +And away to the meadows,<br /> + The meadows again!</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I had very little hesitation, from internal evidence alone, in +identifying these verses with those which FitzGerald had written, +as he said, when a lad, or little more than a lad, and sent to +the Athenæum, but all question has been set at rest by the +discovery of a copy in a common-place book belonging to the late +Archdeacon Allen, with the heading ‘E. F. G.,’ and +the date ‘Naseby, Spring, 1831.’ This copy +differs slightly from those in the Year Book and in the +Athenæum, and in place of the tenth stanza it has,</p> +<blockquote><p>So winter passeth<br /> + Like a long sleep<br /> +From falling autumn<br /> + To primrose-peep.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But although at this time he appears to have written nothing +more himself he was not unmindful of what was done by others, for +in May 1831 he writes to Allen, ‘I have bought A. +Tennyson’s poems. How good Mariana is!’ +And again a year later, after a night-ride on the coach to +London, ‘I forgot to tell you that when I came up in the +mail, and fell a dozing in the morning, <!-- page 10--><a +name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 10</span>the sights of +the pages in crimson and the funerals which the Lady of Shalott +saw and wove, floated before me: really, the poem has taken +lodging in my poor head.’</p> +<p>The correspondence will now for the most part tell its own +story, and with it all that is to be told of FitzGerald’s +life.</p> +<p>In October and November 1831 he was for three weeks in town +with Thackeray, and in the following summer was thinking of +joining him at Havre when he wrote to his friend Allen.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<span +class="smcap">Southampton</span>]<br /> +<i>July</i> 31, <i>Tuesday</i> [1832.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Allen</span>,</p> +<p>. . . And now I will tell you of a pilgrimage I made that put +me in mind of you much. I went to Salisbury to see the +Cathedral, but more to walk to Bemerton, George Herbert’s +village. It is about a mile and half from Salisbury +alongside a pleasant stream with old-fashioned watermills beside: +through fields very fertile. When I got to Bemerton I +scarcely knew what to do with myself. It is a very pretty +village with the Church and Parsonage much as Herbert must have +left it. But there is no memorial of him either in or +outside the walls of the church: though there have been Bishops +and Deans and I know not what all so close at hand at +Salisbury. This is a great shame indeed. I would +gladly put up a plain stone if I could get the Rector’s +leave. I was very <!-- page 11--><a name="page11"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 11</span>sorry to see no tablet of any +kind. The people in the Cottages had heard of a very pious +man named Herbert, and had read his books—but they +don’t know where he lies. I have drawn the church and +village: the little woodcut of it in Walton’s Lives is very +like. I thought I must have passed along the spot in the +road where he assisted the man with the fallen horse: and to shew +the benefit of good examples, I was serviceable that very evening +in the town to some people coming in a cart: for the driver was +drunk and driving furiously home from the races, and I believe +would have fallen out, but that some folks, amongst whom I was +one, stopped the cart. This long history is now at an +end. I wanted John Allen much to be with me. I +noticed the little window into which Herbert’s friend +looked, and saw him kneeling so long before the altar, when he +was first ordained.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>In the summer and autumn of this year FitzGerald spent some +weeks at Tenby and was a good deal with Allen to whom he wrote on +his return to London.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">London</span>, +<i>Nov</i>. 21, 1832.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Allen</span>,</p> +<p>I suppose it must seem strange to you that I should like +writing letters: and indeed I don’t know that I do like it +in general. However, here I see no companions, so I am +pleased to talk to my old friend John Allen: which indeed keeps +alive my <!-- page 12--><a name="page12"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 12</span>humanity very much. . . . I +have been about to divers Bookshops and have bought several +books—a Bacon’s Essays, Evelyn’s Sylva, +Browne’s Religio Medici, Hazlitt’s Poets, etc. +The latter I bought to add to my Paradise, which however has +stood still of late. I mean to write out Carew’s +verses in this letter for you, and your Paradise. As to the +Religio, I have read it again: and keep my opinion of it: except +admiring the eloquence, and beauty of the notions, more. +But the arguments are not more convincing. Nevertheless, it +is a very fine piece of English: which is, I believe, all that +you contend for. Hazlitt’s Poets is the best +selection I have ever seen. I have read some Chaucer too, +which I like. In short I have been reading a good deal +since I have been here: but not much in the way of knowledge.</p> +<p>. . . As I lay in bed this morning, half dozing, I walked in +imagination all the way from Tenby to Freestone by the road I +know so well: by the water-mill, by Gumfreston, Ivy tower, and +through the gates, and the long road that leads to Carew.</p> +<p>Now for the poet Carew:</p> +<blockquote><p>1.</p> +<p>Ask me no more where Jove bestows,<br /> +When June is past, the fading rose:<br /> +For in your beauty’s orient deep,<br /> +The flowers, as in their causes, sleep.</p> +<p>2.</p> +<p>Ask me no more whither do stray<br /> +The golden atoms of the day:<br /> +<!-- page 13--><a name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +13</span>For in pure love did Heav’n prepare<br /> +Those powders to enrich your hair.</p> +<p>3.</p> +<p>Ask me no more whither doth haste<br /> +The nightingale when June is past:<br /> +For in your sweet dividing throat<br /> +She winters, and keeps warm her note.</p> +<p>4.</p> +<p>Ask me no more where those stars light<br /> +That downward fall at dead of night:<br /> +For in your eyes they sit, and there<br /> +Fixed become, as in their sphere.</p> +<p>5.</p> +<p>Ask me no more if east or west<br /> +The phœnix builds her spicy nest:<br /> +For unto you at last she flies,<br /> +And in your fragrant bosom dies.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>These lines are exaggerated, as all in Charles’s time, +but very beautiful. . . .</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Yours most affectionately, E.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">London</span>, +<i>Nov</i>. [27, 1832.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Allen</span>,</p> +<p>The first thing I do in answering your letter is to tell you +that I am angry at your saying that your conscience pricks you +for not having written to me before. I am of that superior +race of men, that are quite content to hear themselves talk, and +read their own writing. But, in seriousness, I have such +love of you, and of myself, that once every week, at least, I +feel spurred on by a sort of gathering up of feelings <!-- page +14--><a name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 14</span>to +vent myself in a letter upon you: but if once I hear you say that +it makes your conscience thus uneasy till you answer, I shall +give it up. Upon my word I tell you, that I do not in the +least require it. You, who do not love writing, cannot +think that any one else does: but I am sorry to say that I have a +very young-lady-like partiality to writing to those that I love. +. . . I have been reading Shakespeare’s Sonnets: and +I believe I am unprejudiced when I say, I had but half an idea of +him, Demigod as he seemed before, till I read them +carefully. How can Hazlitt call Warton’s the finest +sonnets? There is the air of pedantry and labour in +his. But Shakespeare’s are perfectly simple, and have +the very essence of tenderness that is only to be found in the +best parts of his Romeo and Juliet besides. I have truly +been lapped in these Sonnets for some time: they seem all stuck +about my heart, like the ballads that used to be on the walls of +London. I have put a great many into my Paradise, giving +each a fair white sheet for himself: there being nothing worthy +to be in the same page. I could talk for an hour about +them: but it is not fit in a letter. . . .</p> +<p>I shall tell you of myself, that I have been better since I +wrote to you. Mazzinghi <a name="citation14"></a><a +href="#footnote14" class="citation">[14]</a> tells me that +November weather breeds Blue Devils—so that there is a +French proverb, ‘In October, de Englishman <!-- page +15--><a name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 15</span>shoot +de pheasant: in November he shoot himself.’ This I +suppose is the case with me: so away with November, as soon as +may be. ‘Canst thou my Clora’ is being put in +proper musical trim: and I will write it out for you when all is +right. I am sorry you are getting so musical: and if I take +your advice about so big a thing as Christianity, take you mine +about music. I am sure that this pleasure of music grows so +on people, that many of the hours that you would have devoted to +Jeremy Taylor, etc. will be melted down into tunes, and the idle +train of thought that music puts us into. I fancy I have +discovered the true philosophy of this: but I think you must have +heard me enlarge. Therefore ‘satis.’</p> +<p>I have gabbled on so long that there is scarce room for my +quotation. But it shall come though in a shapeless manner, +for the sake of room. Have you got in your Christian Poet, +a poem by Sir H. Wotton—‘How happy is he born or +taught, that serveth not another’s will’? It is +very beautiful, and fit for a Paradise of any kind. Here +are some lines from old Lily, which your ear will put in the +proper metre. It gives a fine description of a fellow +walking in Spring, and looking here and there, and pricking up +his ears, as different birds sing. ‘What bird so +sings, but doth so wail? Oh! ’tis the ravished +nightingale: “Jug, jug, jug, jug, terue,” she cries, +and still her woes at midnight rise. Brave prick-song! who +is’t now we hear? It is the lark so shrill and clear: +against heaven’s gate he claps his wings, the morn not +waking <!-- page 16--><a name="page16"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 16</span>till he sings. Hark, too, with +what a pretty note poor Robin Redbreast tunes his throat: Hark +how the jolly cuckoos sing “Cuckoo” to welcome in the +Spring: “Cuckoo” to welcome in the +Spring.’ This is very English, and pleasant, I think: +and so I hope you will. I could have sent you many a more +sentimental thing, but nothing better. I admit nothing into +my Paradise, but such as breathe content, and virtue: I count +‘Back and syde’ to breathe both of these, with a +little good drink over.</p> +<p><i>Wednesday</i> [28 <i>Nov.</i> 1832].</p> +<p>P.S. I sealed up my letter yesterday, forgetting to +finish. I write thus soon ‘becase I gets a +frank.’ You shall benefit by another bit of +poetry. I do not admit it into my Paradise, being too +gloomy: but it will please both of us. It is the prototype +of the Pensieroso.</p> +<blockquote><p> Hence all you vain delights!<br +/> + As short as are the nights<br /> + Wherein you spend your folly!<br /> + There’s nought in this life sweet,<br /> + If man were wise to see ’t,<br /> + But only melancholy;<br /> + Oh sweetest melancholy!<br /> +Welcome folded arms, and fixed eyes,<br /> +A sigh, that piercing mortifies,<br /> +A look that’s fastened to the ground,<br /> +A tongue chain’d up without a sound!</p> +<p> Fountain heads, and pathless gloves,<br /> + Places which pale passion loves!<br /> + <!-- page 17--><a name="page17"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 17</span>Moonlight walks, when all the +fowls<br /> + Are warmly hous’d, save bats and owls!<br /> + A midnight dell, a passing groan!<br /> + These are the sounds we feed upon;<br /> +Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley;<br /> +Nothing’s so dainty sweet as [lovely] melancholy.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>(From the <i>Nice Valour</i>, <i>or the Passionate Madman</i>, +by Fletcher.)</p> +<p>I think these lines are quite of the finest order, and have a +more headlong melancholy than Milton’s, which are +distinctly copied from these, as you must confess. And now +this is a very long letter, and the best thing you can do when +you get to the end, is to Da Capo, and read what I ordered you +about answering. My dear fellow, it is a great pleasure to +me to write to you; and to write out these dear poems. . . +. Believe me that I am your very loving friend,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F. G.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Dec</i>. 7, 1832.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Allen</span>,</p> +<p>You can hardly have got through my last letter by this +time. I hope you liked the verses I sent you. The +news of this week is that Thackeray has come to London, but is +going to leave it again for Devonshire directly. He came +very opportunely to divert my Blue Devils: notwithstanding, we do +not see very much of each other: and he has now so many friends +(especially the Bullers) that he has no such wish for my +society. He is as full of good humour and kindness as +ever. The next news is that a new volume of Tennyson is +out: containing nothing more <!-- page 18--><a +name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 18</span>than you have +in MS. except one or two things not worth having. . . .</p> +<p>When you write back (of which there is no hurry) send me an +account that you and your Brother were once telling me at +Bosherston, of three Generals condemned to die after the siege of +Pembroke in Cromwell’s time: and of the lot being brought +by a little child. Give me their names, etc. (if you can) +pretty circumstantially: or else, tell me where I can find some +notice of it. . . .</p> +<p>I have been poring over Wordsworth lately: which has had much +effect in bettering my Blue Devils: for his philosophy does not +abjure melancholy, but puts a pleasant countenance upon it, and +connects it with humanity. It is very well, if the +sensibility that makes us fearful of ourselves is diverted to +become a cause of sympathy and interest with Nature and mankind: +and this I think Wordsworth tends to do. I think I told you +of Shakespeare’s sonnets before: I cannot tell you what +sweetness I find in them.</p> +<blockquote><p>So by Shakespeare’s Sonnets roasted, and +Wordsworth’s poems basted,<br /> +My heart will be well toasted, and excellently tasted.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>This beautiful couplet must delight you, I think. I will +also give you the two last verses about Clora: though it is more +complete and better without them: strange to say. You must +have the goodness to repeat those you know over first, and then +fall upon these: for there is a sort of reasoning in them, which +<!-- page 19--><a name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +19</span>requires proper order, as much as a proposition of +Euclid. The first of them is not to my liking, but it is +too much trouble about a little thing to work it into a +better. You have the two first stanzas <a +name="citation19"></a><a href="#footnote19" +class="citation">[19]</a>—“ergo”</p> +<blockquote><p>3.</p> +<p>Nothing can utterly die:<br /> + Music aloft upspringing<br /> +Turns to pure atoms of sky<br /> + Each golden note of thy singing:<br /> +And that to which morning did listen<br /> + At eve in a rainbow may glisten.</p> +<p>4.</p> +<p>Beauty, when laid in the grave,<br /> + Feedeth the lily beside her:<br /> +Therefore the soul cannot have<br /> + Station or honour denied her:<br /> +She will not better her essence,<br /> + But wear a crown in God’s presence.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Q.E.D.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 20--><a name="page20"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +20</span>And I think there is quite enough of Clora and her +music. I am hunting about the town for an ancient drinking +cup, which I may use when I am in my house, in quality of +housekeeper. Have the goodness to make my remembrances to +all at that most pleasant house Freestone: I am quite serious in +telling you how it is by far the pleasantest family I ever was +among.</p> +<p>My sister is far better. We walk very much and see such +sights as the town affords. To-day I have bought a little +terrier to keep me company. You will think this is from my +reading of Wordsworth: but if that were my cue, I should go no +further than keeping a primrose in a pot for society. +Farewell, dear Allen. I am astonished to find myself +writing a very long letter once a week to you: but it is next to +talking to you: and after having seen you so much this summer, I +cannot break off suddenly.</p> +<p>I am your most affectionate friend,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F. G.</p> +<p>Have you got this beginning to your MS. of the Dream of Fair +Women? It is very splendid.</p> +<blockquote><p>1.</p> +<p>As when a man that sails in a balloon<br /> +Down looking sees the solid shining ground<br /> +Stream from beneath him in the broad blue noon,—<br /> +Tilth, hamlet, mead and mound:</p> +<p>2.</p> +<p>And takes his flags, and waves them to the mob<br /> +That shout below, all faces turn’d to where<br /> +Glows rubylike the far-up crimson globe<br /> +Filled with a finer air:</p> +<p><!-- page 21--><a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +21</span>3.</p> +<p>So, lifted high, the Poet at his will<br /> +Lets the great world flit from him, seeing all,<br /> +Higher through secret splendours mounting still<br /> +Self-poised, nor fears to fall,</p> +<p>4. Hearing apart the echoes of his fame—</p> +</blockquote> +<p>This is in his best style: no fretful epithet, nor a word too +much.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<span class="smcap">Castle +Irwell</span>]<br /> +<span class="smcap">Manchester</span>, <i>February</i> 24, +1833.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Allen</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I am fearful to boast, lest I should lose what I boast +of: but I think I have achieved a victory over my evil spirits +here: for they have full opportunity to come, and I often observe +their approaches, but hitherto I have managed to keep them +off. Lord Bacon’s Essay on Friendship is wonderful +for its truth: and I often feel its truth. He says that +with a Friend ‘a man <i>tosseth</i> his thoughts,’ an +admirable saying, which one can understand, but not express +otherwise. But I feel that, being alone, one’s +thoughts and feelings, from want of communication, become heaped +up and clotted together, as it were: and so lie like undigested +food heavy upon the mind: but with a friend one <i>tosseth</i> +them about, so that the air gets between them, and keeps them +fresh and sweet. I know not from what metaphor Bacon took +his ‘tosseth,’ but it seems to me as if it was from +the way <!-- page 22--><a name="page22"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 22</span>haymakers toss hay, so that it does +not press into a heavy lump, but is tossed about in the air, and +separated, and thus kept sweet. . . .</p> +<p>Your most affectionate friend,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">E. +FitzGerald</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. B. Donne</i>. <a +name="citation22"></a><a href="#footnote22" +class="citation">[22]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Geldestone</span>, <i>Sept</i>. 27, [1833].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Donne</span>,</p> +<p>. . . As to my history since I have seen you, there is little +to tell. Divinity is not outraged by your not addressing me +as a Reverend—I not being one. I am a very lazy +fellow, who do nothing: and this I have been doing in different +places ever since I saw you last. I have not been well for +the last week: for I am at present rather liable to be overset by +any weariness (and where can any be found that can match the +effect of two Oratorios?), since for the last three months I have +lived on vegetables—that is, I have given up meat. +When I was talking of this to Vipan, he told me that you had once +tried it, and given it up. I shall hear your account of its +effect <!-- page 23--><a name="page23"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 23</span>on you. The truth is, that mine +is the wrong time of life to begin a change of that kind: it is +either too early, or too late. But I have no doubt at all +of the advantage of giving up meat: I find already much good from +it, in lightness and airiness of head, whereas I was always +before clouded and more or less morbid after meat. The loss +of strength is to be expected: I shall keep on and see if that +also will turn, and change into strength. I have almost +Utopian notions about <i>vegetable diet</i>, begging pardon for +making use of such a vile, Cheltenhamic, phrase. Why do you +not bring up your children to it? To be sure, the chances +are, that, after guarding their vegetable morals for years, they +would be seduced by some roast partridge with bread sauce, and +become ungodly. This actually happened to the son of a Dr. +Newton who wrote a book <a name="citation23"></a><a +href="#footnote23" class="citation">[23]</a> about it and bred up +his children to it—but all such things I will tell you when +I meet you. Gods! it is a pleasant notion that one is about +to meet an old acquaintance in a day or two.</p> +<p>Believe me then your most sincere friend,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">E. +FitzGerald</span>.</p> +<p>Pipes—are their names ever heard with you? I have +given them up, except at Cambridge. But the word has +something sweet in it—Do you ever smoke?</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><!-- page 24--><a +name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 24</span>7 <span +class="smcap">Southampton Row</span>, <span +class="smcap">Bloomsbury</span>,<br /> +[<i>Oct</i>. 25, 1833.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Donne</span>,</p> +<p>. . . As to myself, and my diet, about which you give such +excellent advice: I am still determined to give the diet I have +proposed a good trial: a year’s trial. I agree with +you about vegetables, and soups: but my diet is chiefly +<i>bread</i>: which is only a little less nourishing than flesh: +and, being compact, and baked, and dry, has none of the washy, +diluent effects of green vegetables. I scarcely ever touch +the latter: but only pears, apples, etc. I have found no +benefit yet; except, as I think, in more lightness of spirits: +which is a great good. But I shall see in time.</p> +<p>I am living in London in the quarter of the town which I have +noticed above: in a very happy bachelor-like way. Would you +would come up here for a few days. I can give you bed, +board, etc. Do have some business in town, please. +Spedding is here: taking lessons of drawing, before he goes for +good into Cumberland: whither, for my sake and that of all his +friends, I wish he never would go: for there are few such men, as +far [as] I know. He and I have been theatricalizing +lately. We saw an awful Hamlet the other night—a Mr. +Serle—and a very good Wolsey, in Macready: and a very bad +Queen Catherine, in Mrs. Sloman, whom you must remember. I +am going to-night to see Macready in <!-- page 25--><a +name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 25</span>Macbeth: I +have seen him before in it: and I go for the sake of his two last +acts, which are amazingly fine, I think. . . . I am close +to the British Museum, in which I take great pleasure in reading +in my rambling way. I hear of Kemble lately that he has +been making some discoveries in Anglo-Saxon MSS. at Cambridge +that, they say, are important to the interests of the church: and +there is talk of publishing them, I believe. He is a +strange fellow for that fiery industry of his: and, I am sure, +deserves some steady recompense.</p> +<p>Tennyson has been in town for some time: he has been making +fresh poems, which are finer, they say, than any he has +done. But I believe he is chiefly meditating on the purging +and subliming of what he has already done: and repents that he +has published at all yet. It is fine to see how in each +succeeding poem the smaller ornaments and fancies drop away, and +leave the grand ideas single. . . .</p> +<p>I have lately bought a little pamphlet which is very difficult +to be got, called The Songs of Innocence, written and adorned +with drawings by W. Blake (if you know his name) who was quite +mad, but of a madness that was really the elements of great +genius ill-sorted: in fact, a genius with a screw loose, as we +used to say. I shall shew you this book when I see you: to +me there is particular interest in this man’s writing and +drawing, from the strangeness of the constitution of his +mind. He was a man that used to see visions: and make +drawings and paintings <!-- page 26--><a name="page26"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 26</span>of Alexander the Great, Cæsar, +etc., who, he declared, stood before him while he drew. . .</p> +<p>Your very affectionate friend,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">E. +FitzGerald</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">7 <span class="smcap">Southampton +Row</span>,<br /> +<i>Nov.</i> 19, 1833.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Donne</span>,</p> +<p>Your book I got, and read through all that seemed to concern +me the first day. I have doubted whether it would be most +considerate to return you thanks for it, making you pay for a +letter: or to leave you thankless, with a shilling more in your +pocket. You see I have taken the latter [? former], and God +forgive me for it. The book is a good one, I think, as any +book is, that notes down facts alone, especially about +health. I wish we had diaries of the lives of half the +unknown men that have lived. Like all other men who have +got a theory into their heads, I can only see things in the light +of that theory; and whatever is brought to me to convince me to +the contrary is only wrought and tortured to my view of the +question. This lasts till a reaction is brought about by +some of the usual means: as time, and love of novelty, etc. +I am still very obstinate and persist in my practices. I do +not think Stark is an instance of vegetable diet: consider how +many things he tried grossly animal: lard, and butter, and fat: +besides thwarting Nature in every way by eating when he wanted +not to eat, and the contrary. Besides the <!-- page 27--><a +name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 27</span>editor says +in the preface that he thinks his death was brought about as much +by vexation as by the course of his diet: but I suppose the truth +is that vexation could not have had so strong hold except upon a +weakened body. However, altogether I do not at all admit +Stark to be any instance: to be set up like a scarecrow to +frighten us from the corn, etc. Last night I went to hear a +man lecture at Owen of Lanark’s establishment (where I had +never been before), and the subject happened to be about +Vegetable Diet: but it was only the termination of a former +lecture, so that I suppose all the good arguments (if there were +any) were gone before. Do you know anything of a book by a +Doctor Lamb upon this subject? I do not feel it to be +disgusting to talk of myself upon this subject, because I think +there is great interest in the subject itself. So I shall +say that I am just now very well: in fine spirits. I have +only eaten meat once for many weeks: and that was at a party +where I did not like to be singled out. Neither have I +tasted wine, except two or three times. If I fail at last I +shall think it a very great bore: but assuredly the first cut of +a leg of mutton will be some consolation for my wounded +judgement: that first cut is a fine thing. So much for +this. . . . Have you heard that Arthur Malkin is to be +married? to a Miss Carr, with what Addison might call a pleasing +fortune: or perhaps Nicholas Rowe. ‘Sweet, pleasing +friendship, etc. etc.’ Mrs. Malkin is in high spirits +about it, I hear: and I am very glad indeed. God send that +<!-- page 28--><a name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +28</span>you have not heard this before: for a man likes to be +the first teller of a pretty piece of news. Spedding and I +went to see Macready in Hamlet the other night: with which he was +pretty well content, but not wholly. For my part, I have +given up deciding on how Hamlet should be played: or rather have +decided it shouldn’t be played at all. I take +pleasure in reading things I don’t wholly understand; just +as the old women like sermons: I think it is of a piece with an +admiration of all Nature around us. I think there is a +greater charm in the half meanings and glimpses of meaning that +come in through Blake’s wilder visions: though his +difficulties arose from a very different source from +Shakespeare’s. But somewhat too much of this. I +suspect I have found out this as an useful solution, when I am +asked the meaning of any thing that I am admiring, and +don’t know it.</p> +<p>Believe me, dear Donne, to be ever your affectionate +friend,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">E. +FitzGerald</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>FitzGerald spent the May term of 1834 at Cambridge +‘rejoicing in the sunshine of James Spedding’s +presence.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To John Allen</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Wherstead +Lodge</span>, <span class="smcap">Ipswich</span>. <a +name="citation28"></a><a href="#footnote28" +class="citation">[28]</a><br /> +<i>June</i> 31 (so) 1834.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear My Johnny</span>,</p> +<p>I have been reading the Spectator since I have been here: and +I like it very much. Don’t you think <!-- page +29--><a name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 29</span>it +would make a nice book to publish all the papers about Sir Roger +de Coverley alone, with illustrations by Thackeray? It is a +thing that is wanted: to bring that standard of the old English +Gentleman forward out of the mass of little topics, and fashions, +that occupy the greater part of the Spectator. Thackeray +has illustrated my Undine in about fourteen little coloured +drawings—very nicely. . . .</p> +<p>I am here in the country in brave health: rising at six +withal: and pruning of rose trees in the garden. Why +don’t you get up early? in the summer at least. The +next time we meet in town I mean to get an artist to make me your +portrait: for I often wish for it. It must be looking at +me. Now write very soon: else I shall be gone: and know +that I am your very true friend,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F. G.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Geldestone +Hall</span>, <i>Sept</i>. 9, [1834].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Allen</span>,</p> +<p>I have really nothing to say, and I am ashamed to be sending +this third letter all the way from here to Pembrokeshire for no +earthly purpose: but I have just received yours: and you will +know how very welcome all your letters are to me when you see how +the perusal of this one has excited me to such an instant +reply. It has indeed been a long time coming: but it is all +the more delicious. Perhaps you can’t imagine how +wistfully I have looked for it: how, <!-- page 30--><a +name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 30</span>after a walk, +my eyes have turned to the table, on coming into the room, to see +it. Sometimes I have been tempted to be angry with you: but +then I thought that I was sure you would come a hundred miles to +serve me, though you were too lazy to sit down to a letter. +I suppose that people who are engaged in serious ways of life, +and are of well filled minds, don’t think much about the +interchange of letters with any anxiety: but I am an idle fellow, +of a very ladylike turn of sentiment: and my friendships are more +like loves, I think. Your letter found me reading the Merry +Wives of Windsor too: I had been laughing aloud to myself: think +of what another coat of happiness came over my former good +mood. You are a dear good fellow, and I love you with all +my heart and soul. The truth is I was anxious about this +letter, as I really didn’t know whether you were married or +not—or ill—I fancied you might be anything, or +anywhere. . . .</p> +<p>As to reading I have not done much. I am going through +the Spectator: which people nowadays think a poor book: but I +honour it much. What a noble kind of Journal it was! +There is certaintly a good deal of what may be called +‘<i>pill</i>,’ but there is a great deal of wisdom, I +believe, only it is couched so simply that people can’t +believe it to be real absolute wisdom. The little book you +speak of I will order and buy. I heard from Thackeray, who +is just upon the point of going to France; indeed he may be there +by this time. I shall miss him much. . . .</p> +<p><!-- page 31--><a name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +31</span>Farewell my dearest fellow: you have made me very happy +to hear from you: and to know that all is so well with you. +Believe me to be your ever affectionate friend,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">E. +FitzGerald</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. B. Donne</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<span class="smcap">London</span>, +17 <span class="smcap">Gloucester Street</span>, <span +class="smcap">Queen Square</span>].<br /> +1834.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Donne</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I have been buying two Shakespeares, a second and third +Folio—the second Folio pleases me much: and I can read him +with a greater zest now. One had need of a big book to +remember him by: for he is lost to the theatre: I saw Mr. +Vandenhoff play Macbeth in a sad way a few nights ago: and such a +set of dirty ragamuffins as the rest were could not disgrace any +country barn. Manfred I have missed by some chance: and I +believe ‘it was all for the best’ as pious people +say. The Theatre is bare beyond anything I ever saw: and +one begins to hope that it has touched the bottom of its badness, +and will rise again. I was looking the other day at Sir W. +Davenant’s alteration of Macbeth: who dies, saying, +‘Farewell, vain world: and that which is vainest +in’t, Ambition!’</p> +<p>Edgeworth, whom I think you remember at Cambridge, is come to +live in town: and I see him often at the Museum. The want +of books chiefly drove him from Italy: besides that he tells me +he likes a <!-- page 32--><a name="page32"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 32</span>constant change of scenes and ideas, +and would be always about if he could. He is a very +original man I think, and throws out much to be chewed and +digested: but he is deficient in some elements that must combine +to govern my love and admiration. He has much imagination +of head, but none of heart: perhaps these are absurd +distinctions: but I am no hand at these definitions. His +great study is metaphysics: and Kant is his idol. He is +rather without company in London, and I wish much to introduce +him to such men as I know: but most of your Apostolic party who +could best exchange ideas with him are not in town. He is +full of his subjects, and only wants opponents to tilt at. . . +.</p> +<p>The life of Coleridge <a name="citation32"></a><a +href="#footnote32" class="citation">[32]</a> is indeed an +unsatisfactory thing: I believe that everybody thinks so. +You seem to think that it is purposely unsatisfactory, or rather +dissatisfactory: but it seems to me to proceed from a kind of +enervation in De Quincey. However, I don’t know how +he supports himself in other writings. . . .</p> +<p>To fill up my letter I send you a sonnet of C. Lamb’s, +out of his Album Verses—please to like +it—‘Leisure.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To John Allen</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Manchester</span>, <i>May</i> 23, 1835.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Allen</span>,</p> +<p>I think that the fatal two months have elapsed, by which a +letter shall become due to me from <!-- page 33--><a +name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 33</span>you. +Ask Mrs. Allen if this is not so. Mind, I don’t speak +this upbraidingly, because I know that you didn’t know +where I was. I will tell you all about this by +degrees. In the first place, I staid at Mirehouse till the +beginning of May, and then, going homeward, spent a week at +Ambleside, which, perhaps you don’t know, is on the shores +of Winandermere. It was very pleasant there: though it was +to be wished that the weather had been a little better. I +have scarce done anything since I saw you but abuse the weather: +but these four last days have made amends for all: and are, I +hope, the beginning of summer at last. Alfred Tennyson +staid with me at Ambleside: Spedding was forced to go home, till +the last two days of my stay there. I will say no more of +Tennyson than that the more I have seen of him, the more cause I +have to think him great. His little humours and +grumpinesses were so droll, that I was always laughing: and was +often put in mind (strange to say) of my little unknown friend, +Undine—I must however say, further, that I felt what +Charles Lamb describes, a sense of depression at times from the +overshadowing of a so much more lofty intellect than my own: this +(though it may seem vain to say so) I never experienced before, +though I have often been with much greater intellects: but I +could not be mistaken in the universality of his mind; and +perhaps I have received some benefit in the now more distinct +consciousness of my dwarfishness. I think that you should +keep all this to yourself, my dear Allen: I <!-- page 34--><a +name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 34</span>mean, that it +is only to you that I would write so freely about myself. +You know most of my secrets, and I am not afraid of entrusting +even my vanities to so true a man. . . .</p> +<p>Pray, do not forget to say how the Freestone party are. +My heart jumped to them, when I read in a guide book at +Ambleside, that from Scawfell (a mountain in Westmoreland) you +could see Snowdon. Perhaps you will not see the chain of +ideas: but I suppose there was one, else I don’t know how +it was that I tumbled, as it were, from the very summit of +Scawfell, upon the threshold of Freestone. The mind soon +traverses Wales. I have not been reading very +much—(as if you ever expected that I did!)—but I +mean, not very much for me—some Dante, by the aid of a +Dictionary: and some Milton—and some Wordsworth—and +some Selections from Jeremy Taylor, Barrow, etc., compiled by +Basil Montagu—of course you know the book: it is published +by Pickering. I do not think that it is very well done: but +it has served to delight, and, I think, to instruct me +much. Do you know South? He must be very great, I +think. It seems to me that our old Divines will hereafter +be considered our Classics—(in Prose, I mean)—I am +not aware that any other nations have such books. A single +selection from Jeremy Taylor is fine: but it requires a skilful +hand to put many detached bits from him together: for a common +editor only picks out the flowery, metaphorical, morsels: and so +rather cloys: and gives quite a <!-- page 35--><a +name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 35</span>wrong +estimate of the Author, to those who had no previous acquaintance +with him: for, rich as Taylor’s illustrations, and +grotesque as his images, are, no one keeps a grander proportion: +he never huddles illustration upon the matter so as to overlay +it, nor crowds images too thick together: which these Selections +might make one unacquainted with him to suppose. This is +always the fault of Selections: but Taylor is particularly liable +to injury on this score. What a man he is! He has +such a knowledge of the nature of man, and such powers of +expressing its properties, that I sometimes feel as if he had had +some exact counterpart of my own individual character under his +eye, when he lays open the depths of the heart, or traces some +sin to its root. The eye of his portrait expresses this +keen intuition: and I think I should less like to have stood with +a lie on my tongue before him, than before any other I know of. . +. .</p> +<p>I beg you to give my best remembrances to your lady, who may +be always sure that in all I wish of well for you, she is +included: so that I take less care to make mention of her +separately. . . .</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Wherstead</span>, <i>July</i> 4, 1835.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Allen</span>,</p> +<p>. . . My brother John’s wife, always delicate, has had +an attack this year, which she can never get over: and while we +are all living in this house cheerfully, she lives in separate +rooms, can scarcely speak to us, <!-- page 36--><a +name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 36</span>or see us: +and bears upon her cheek the marks of death. She has shewn +great Christian dignity all through her sickness: was the only +cheerful person when they supposed she could not live: and is now +very composed and happy. You say sometimes how like things +are to dreams: or, as I think, to the shifting scenes of a +play. So does this place seem to me. All our family, +except my mother, are collected here: all my brothers and +sisters, with their wives, husbands, and children: sitting at +different occupations, or wandering about the grounds and +gardens, discoursing each their separate concerns, but all united +into one whole. The weather is delightful: and when I see +them passing to and fro, and hear their voices, it is like scenes +of a play. I came here only yesterday. I have much to +tell you of: I mean, much in my small way: I will keep all till I +see you, for I don’t know with what to begin in a letter. . +. .</p> +<p>Edgeworth introduced me to his wife and sister-in-law, who are +very handsome Spanish ladies, seemingly of excellent sense. +The wife is the gentler, and more feminine: and the sister more +regularly handsome, and vivacious. I think that he is a +very remarkable man: and I like him more the more I see of +him.</p> +<p>What you say of Tennyson and Wordsworth is not, I think, +wholly just. I don’t think that a man can turn +himself so directly to the service of morality, unless naturally +inclined: I think Wordsworth’s is a natural bias that +way. Besides, one must have labourers of different kinds in +the vineyard of <!-- page 37--><a name="page37"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 37</span>morality, which I certainly look up +to as the chief object of our cultivation: Wordsworth is first in +the craft: but Tennyson does no little by raising and filling the +brain with noble images and thoughts, which, if they do not +direct us to our duty, purify and cleanse us from mean and +vicious objects, and so prepare and fit us for the reception of +the higher philosophy. A man might forsake a drunken party +to read Byron’s Corsair: and Byron’s Corsair for +Shelley’s Alastor: and the Alastor for the Dream of Fair +Women or the Palace of Art: and then I won’t say that he +would forsake these two last for anything of Wordsworth’s, +but his mind would be sufficiently refined and spiritualised to +admit Wordsworth, and profit by him: and he might keep all the +former imaginations as so many pictures, or pieces of music, in +his mind. But I think that you will see Tennyson acquire +all that at present you miss: when he has <i>felt</i> life, he +will not die fruitless of instruction to man as he is. But +I dislike this kind of criticism, especially in a letter. I +don’t know any one who has thought out any thing so little +as I have. I don’t see to any end, and should keep +silent till I have got a little more, and that little better +arranged.</p> +<p>I am sorry that all this page is filled with this botheration, +when I have a thousand truer and better things that I want to +talk to you about. I will write to you again soon. If +you please to write (but consider it no call upon you, for the +letter I have just got from you is a stock that will last me in +comfort this <!-- page 38--><a name="page38"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 38</span>long while) I shall be at Wherstead +all July—after that I know not where, but probably in +Suffolk. Farewell, my best of fellows: there is no use +saying how much I wish that all your sorrow will be turned to +hope, and all your hope to joy. As far as we men can judge, +you are worthy of all earthly happiness.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>At the end of July, 1835, FitzGerald writes from Wherstead to +Thackeray, who was then in Paris studying art:</p> +<blockquote><p>‘My Father is determined to inhabit an empty +house of his about fourteen miles off: <a +name="citation38"></a><a href="#footnote38" +class="citation">[38]</a> and we are very sorry to leave this +really beautiful place. The other house has no great +merit. So there is nothing now but packing up sofas, and +pictures, and so on. I rather think that I shall be hanging +about this part of the world all the winter: for my two sisters +are about to inhabit this new house alone, and I cannot but wish +to add my company to them now and then. . . .</p> +<p>‘My dear boy, God bless thee a thousand times +over! When are we to see thee? How long are you going +to be at Paris? What have you been doing? The drawing +you sent me was very pretty. So you don’t like +Raphael! Well, I am his inveterate admirer: and say, with +as little affectation as I can, that his worst scrap fills my +head more than all Rubens and Paul Veronese +together—“the mind, the mind, Master +Shallow!” You think this cant, I dare <!-- page +39--><a name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 39</span>say: +but I say it truly, indeed. Raphael’s are the only +pictures that cannot be described: no one can get words to +describe their perfection. Next to him, I retreat to the +Gothic imagination, and love the mysteries of old chairs, Sir +Rogers, etc. in which thou, my dear boy, art and shalt be a +Raphael. To depict the true old English gentleman, is as +great a work as to depict a Saint John, and I think in my heart I +would rather have the former than the latter. There are +plenty of pictures in London—some good Water-colours by +Lewis—Spanish things. Two or three very vulgar +portraits by Wilkie, at the Exhibition: and a big one of +Columbus, half good, and half bad. There is always a spice +of vulgarity about Wilkie. There is an Eastlake, but I +missed it. Etty has boats full of naked backs as usual: but +what they mean, I didn’t stop to enquire. He has one +picture, however, of the Bridge of Sighs in Venice, which is +sublime: though I believe nobody saw it, or thought about it but +myself.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>About the same time that FitzGerald went to Boulge, George +Crabbe, the Poet’s eldest son and biographer, was appointed +to the Vicarage of the adjoining parish of Bredfield, and a +friendship sprang up between them which was only terminated by +Mr. Crabbe’s death in 1857.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 40--><a +name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 40</span><i>To John +Allen</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge +Hall</span>, <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>,<br /> +<i>October</i> 31, 1835.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Allen</span>,</p> +<p>I don’t know what has come over me of late, that I have +not written to you, nor any body else for several months. I +am sure it is not from any decrease of affection towards +you. I now begin a letter merely on the score of wanting +one from you: to let me know how you are; and Mrs. Allen too, +especially. I hope to hear good news of her. Many +things may have happened to you since I saw you: you may be a +Bishop, for anything I know. I have been in Suffolk ever +since I saw you. We are come to settle at this place: and I +have been enjoying capital health in my old native air. I +meant to have come to London for the winter: but my sisters are +here, and I do not like to leave them. This parish is a +very small one: it scarce contains fifty people: but that next to +it, Bredfield, has more than four hundred: and some very poor +indeed. We hope to be of some use: but the new Poor Laws +have begun to be set afoot, and we don’t know who is to +stop in his cottage, or who is to go to the Workhouse. How +much depends upon the issue of this measure! I am no +politician: but I fear that no political measure will ever adjust +matters well between rich and poor. . . .</p> +<p>I have just read Southey’s Life of Cowper; that is <!-- +page 41--><a name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +41</span>to say, the first Volume. It is not a book to be +read by every man at the fall of the leaf. It is a fearful +book. Have you read it? Southey hits hard at Newton +in the dark; which will give offence to many people: but I +perfectly agree with him. At the same time, I think that +Newton was a man of great power. Did you ever read his life +by himself? Pray do, if you have not. His journal to +his wife, written at sea, contains some of the most beautiful +things I ever read: fine feeling in very fine English. . . .</p> +<p>Pray do write to me: a few lines soon are better than a +three-decker a month hence: for I really want to know where and +how you are: and so be a good boy for once in your life. +Ever yours lovingly,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F. G.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. B. Donne</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">London</span>, +<i>March</i> [21], 1836.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Donne</span>,</p> +<p>. . . As to the sponsorship, I was sure that you and Mrs. +Donne would receive my apology as I meant it. Indeed I wish +with you that people would speak their minds more sincerely than +it is the custom to do; and recoin some of the every day +compliments into a simpler form: but this is voted a stale +subject, I believe. Anyhow, I will not preach to you who do +not err: not to mention that I cannot by any means set up myself +as any model of this virtue: whatever you may say to the +contrary.</p> +<p><!-- page 42--><a name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +42</span>I have consulted my friend John Allen concerning your +ancestor’s sermons: he says that the book is scarce. . . +. I think that you should be possessed of him by all means, +considering that you are his descendant. Allen read much of +him at the Museum, and has always spoken very highly of +him. As to doctrine, I believe Jeremy Taylor has never been +quite blameless; but then he wrote many folios instead of +Donne’s one: and I cannot help agreeing with Bayle that one +of the disadvantages of much writing is, that a man is likely to +contradict himself. If he does not <i>positively</i> do so, +he may <i>seem</i> to do so, by using different expressions for +the same thing, which expressions many readers may construe +diversely: and this is especially likely to be the case with so +copious and metaphorical a writer as Jeremy.</p> +<p>According to the principles contained in page 1 of this letter +I will tell you that I thought the second volume of Southey <a +name="citation42"></a><a href="#footnote42" +class="citation">[42]</a> rather dull. But then I have only +read it once; and I think that one is naturally impatient of all +matter that does not absolutely touch Cowper: I mean, at the +first reading; when one wants to know all about him. I dare +say that afterwards I shall relish all the other relative matter, +and contemporary history, which seems indeed well done. I +am glad that you are so content with the book. We were all +talking the other night of Basil Montagu’s new Life of +Bacon—have you read it? It is said to be very +elaborate and tedious. A good life of Bacon <!-- page +43--><a name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 43</span>is +much wanted. But perhaps it is as difficult to find a +proper historian for him as for anyone that ever lived. But +enough of grave matters. I have been very little to the +Play: Vandenhoff’s Iago I did not see: for indeed what I +saw of him in other characters did not constrain me to the +theatre to see his Iago. . .</p> +<p>Spedding is just now furnishing chambers in Lincoln’s +Inn Fields: so that we may look on him as a fixture in +London. He and I went to dine with Tennant at Blackheath +last Thursday: there we met Edgeworth, who has got a large house +at Eltham, and is lying in wait for pupils: I am afraid he will +not find many. We passed a very delightful evening. +Tennant is making interest for a school at Cambridge: <a +name="citation43a"></a><a href="#footnote43a" +class="citation">[43a]</a> but I do not know if he is likely to +succeed. And now I have told all the news I know, except +that I hear that Sterling <a name="citation43b"></a><a +href="#footnote43b" class="citation">[43b]</a> is very ill with +an attack on his chest, which keeps him from preaching: and that +Trench has been in London. Neither of these men do I know, +but I hear of them.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To John Allen</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<span class="smcap">Geldestone +Hall</span>],<br /> +<i>January</i> 1, 1837.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Allen</span>,</p> +<p>A merry new year to you and yours. How have you been +since I saw you? . . .</p> +<p><!-- page 44--><a name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +44</span>If you can find an old copy of Taylor’s Holy +Living and Dying cheap and clean at the same time, pray buy it +for me. It is for my old friend Mrs. Schutz: and she would +not allow me to give it her: so that I give you her directions. . +. .</p> +<p>I am very deep in my Aristophanes, and find the Edition I +bought quite sufficient for my wants. One requires a +translation of him less than of any of the Greeks I have read, +because his construction is so clear and beautiful. Only +his long words, and local allusions, make him difficult, so far +as I have seen. He has made me laugh heartily, and wonder: +but as to your calling him greater than Aeschylus or Sophocles, I +do not agree with you. I have read nothing else. What +a nice quiet speech Charles Kemble made on quitting the stage: +almost the best I can remember on such an occasion. Did +Spedding hear him? My dear Allen, I should often wish to +see you and him of an evening as heretofore at this season in +London: but I don’t see any likelihood of my coming till +February at nearest. We live here the usual quiet country +life: and now that the snow is so deep we are rather at a loss +for exercise. It is very hard work toiling along the roads, +and besides so blinding to the eyes. I take a spade, and +scuppet <a name="citation44"></a><a href="#footnote44" +class="citation">[44]</a> away the snow from the footpaths. . . +.</p> +<p>Write to me at Boulge Hall, Woodbridge; for I think that the +snows will be passable, and my sisters arrived there, before you +write. There’s an insinuation <!-- page 45--><a +name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 45</span>for +you. Make my remembrances to Mrs. Allen: and believe me</p> +<p>Yours ever most affectionately,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">E. +FitzGerald</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<span class="smcap">Boulge +Hall</span>],<br /> +<i>Tuesday</i>, <i>January</i> 10, 1837.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Allen</span>,</p> +<p>Another letter in so short a time will surprise you. My +old Lady will be glad of a new edition of Jeremy Taylor, beside +the old one. I remember you once gave me a very nice large +duodecimo one: are these to be had, and cheap? It must have +a good type, to suit old eyes. When you are possessed of +these and the other books I begged you to ask for (except the +Bacon which is for myself) do me one favour more: which is to +book them per Coach at the White Horse, Piccadilly, directed to +Mrs. Schutz, Gillingham Hall, Beccles. I should not have +troubled you again, but that she, poor lady, is anxious to +possess the books soon, as she never looks forward to living +through a year: and she finds that Jeremy Taylor sounds a good +note of preparation for that last hour which she looks upon as +drawing nigh. I myself think she will live much longer: as +she is wonderfully healthy for her time of +life—seventy-six. <a name="citation45"></a><a +href="#footnote45" class="citation">[45]</a> Sometimes I +talk to her about you: and she loves you by report. You +never grudge any trouble for your friends: but as this is a +little act of kindness for an old and noble lady, I <!-- page +46--><a name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 46</span>shall +apologize no more for it. I will pay you all you disburse +when I come to London.</p> +<p>I was made glad and sad last night in looking over some of +your letters to me, ever since my stay at Tenby. I wonder +within myself if we are changed since then. Do you remember +that day when we sat upon that rock that runs out into the sea, +and looked down into the clear water below? I must go to +Tenby one of these days, and walk that old walk to +Freestone. How well I remember what a quiet delight it was +to walk out and meet you, when you were coming to stay a week +with me once at my lodgings. . . .</p> +<p>And now, Sir, when you next go to the British Museum, look for +a Poet named Vaughan. Do you know him? I read some +fine sacred poems of his in a Collection of John Mitford’s: +he selects them from a book of Vaughan’s called +‘Silex Scintillans,’ 1621. He seems to have +great fancy and fervour and some deep thought. Yet many of +the things are in the tricksy spirit of that time: but there is a +little Poem beginning ‘They are all gone into a World of +Light,’ etc., which shews him to be capable of much. +Again farewell, my dear Allen: give my best remembrances to Mrs. +Allen, who must think that I write to you as if you were still a +Bachelor. Indeed, I think you had best burn this letter +suddenly, after you have read my commissions. +Βρεκεκεκεξ +κοαξ κοαξ. +There—I believe I can construe that passage as well as +Porson.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><!-- page 47--><a +name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 47</span><span +class="smcap">Boulge Hall</span>, <span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +[1837.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Allen</span>,</p> +<p>Another commission in so short a time is rather too bad: but I +know not to whom I can apply but to yourself: for our bookseller +here could not get me what I want, seeing that I don’t +exactly know myself. The book I want is an Athenæus, +but the edition I know not: and therefore I apply to you who know +my taste. . . .</p> +<p>There is a small Cottage of my Father’s close to the +Lawn gates, where I shall fit up a room most probably. The +garden I have already begun to work in. . . . Sometimes +when I have sat dreaming about my own comforts I have thought to +myself ‘If Allen ever would come and stay with me some days +at my Cottage if I live there’—but I think you would +not: ‘could not’ you will say, and perhaps truly. . . +.</p> +<p>I am reading Plutarch’s Lives, which is one of the most +delightful books I ever read. He must have been a +Gentleman. My Aristophanes is nearly drained: that is, for +the present first reading: for he will never be dry, apply as +often as I may. My sisters are reading to me Lyell’s +Geology of an Evening: there is an admirable chapter illustrative +of human error and prejudice retarding the truth, which will +apply to all sciences, I believe: and, if people would consider +it, would be more valuable than the geological knowledge, though +that is very valuable, I <!-- page 48--><a +name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 48</span>am +sure. You see my reading is so small that I can soon +enumerate all my books: and here you have them. . . .</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<span class="smcap">Boulge +Hall</span>, <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>,<br /> +21 <i>April</i>, 1837.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Allen</span>,</p> +<p>Have you done with my Doctor? If you have, will you send +him to me here: Boulge Hall, Woodbridge, per Shannon Coach? +You may book it at the Boar and Castle, Oxford Street, close by +Hanway Passage. This is not far out of your beat. +Perhaps I should not have sent for this book (it is Bernard +Barton the Quaker who asks to read it) but that it gives me an +excuse also to talk a little to you. Ah! I wish you were +here to walk with me now that the warm weather is come at +last. Things have been delayed but to be more welcome, and +to burst forth twice as thick and beautiful. This is +boasting however, and counting of the chickens before they are +hatched: the East winds may again plunge us back into winter: but +the sunshine of this morning fills one’s pores with +jollity, as if one had taken laughing gas. Then my house is +getting on: the books are up in the bookshelves and do my heart +good: then Stothard’s Canterbury Pilgrims are over the +fireplace: Shakespeare in a recess: how I wish you were here for +a day or two! My sister is very well and cheerful and we +have kept house very pleasantly together. My brother +John’s wife is, I fear, declining very fast: <!-- page +49--><a name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 49</span>it is +very probable that I shall have to go and see her before long: +though this is a visit I should gladly be spared. They say +that her mind is in a very beautiful state of peacefulness. +She <i>may</i> rally in the summer: but the odds are much against +her. We shall lose a perfect Lady, in the complete sense of +the word, when she dies.</p> +<p>I have been doing very little since I have been here: having +accomplished only a few Idylls of Theocritus, which harmonize +with this opening of the fine weather. Is all this poor +occupation for a man who has a soul to account for? You +think so certainly. My dear Allen, you, with your +accustomed humility, asked me if I did not think you changed when +I was last in London: never did I see man less so: indeed you +stand on too sure a footing to change, I am persuaded. But +you will not thank me for telling you these things: but I wish +you to believe that I rejoice as much as ever in the thought of +you, and feel confident that you will ever be to me the same best +of friends that you ever have been. I owe more to you than +to all others put together. I am sure, for myself, that the +main difference in our opinions (considered so destructive to +friendship by so many pious men) is a difference in the +Understanding, not in the Heart: and though you may not agree +entirely in this, I am confident that it will never separate you +from me.</p> +<p>Mrs. Schutz is much delighted with the books you got for her: +and still enquires if you hurt your <!-- page 50--><a +name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 50</span>health in +searching. This she does in all simplicity and +kindness. She has been very ill all the winter: but I see +by a letter I have just had from her that her mind is still +cheerful and the same. The <i>mens sana in corpore sano</i> +of old age is most to be wondered at.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Bernard Barton</i>. <a +name="citation50a"></a><a href="#footnote50a" +class="citation">[50a]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">London</span>, +<i>April</i>, 1838.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,</p> +<p>John, <a name="citation50b"></a><a href="#footnote50b" +class="citation">[50b]</a> who is going down into Suffolk, will I +hope take this letter and despatch it to you properly. I +write more on account of this opportunity than of anything I have +to say: for I am very heavy indeed with a kind of Influenza, +which has blocked up most of my senses, and put a wet blanket +over my brains. This state of head has not been improved by +trying to get through a new book much in +fashion—Carlyle’s French Revolution—written in +a German style. An Englishman writes of French Revolutions +in a German style. People say the book is very deep: but it +appears to me that the meaning <i>seems</i> deep from lying under +mystical language. There is no repose, nor equable movement +in it: all cut up into short sentences half reflective, half +narrative; so that one labours through it as vessels do through +what is called a short sea—small, contrary going waves +caused <!-- page 51--><a name="page51"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 51</span>by shallows, and straits, and meeting +tides, etc. I like to sail before the wind over the surface +of an even-rolling eloquence, like that of Bacon or the Opium +Eater. There is also pleasant fresh water sailing with such +writers as Addison; is there any <i>pond</i>-sailing in +literature? that is, drowsy, slow, and of small compass? +Perhaps we may say, some Sermons. But this is only +conjecture. Certainly Jeremy Taylor rolls along as +majestically as any of them. We have had Alfred Tennyson +here; very droll, and very wayward: and much sitting up of nights +till two and three in the morning with pipes in our mouths: at +which good hour we would get Alfred to give us some of his magic +music, which he does between growling and smoking; and so to +bed. All this has not cured my Influenza as you may +imagine: but these hours shall be remembered long after the +Influenza is forgotten.</p> +<p>I have bought scarce any new books or prints: and am not sorry +to see that I want so little more. One large purchase I +have made however, the Biographie Universelle, 53 Octavo +Volumes. It contains everything, and is the very best thing +of its kind, and so referred to by all historians, etc. +Surely nothing is more pleasant than, when some name crosses one, +to go and get acquainted with the owner of the name: and this +Biographie really has found places for people whom one would have +thought almost too small for so comprehensive a work—which +sounds like a solecism, or Bull, does it not?</p> +<p><!-- page 52--><a name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +52</span>Now I must finish my letter: and a very stupid one it +is. Here is a sentence of Warburton’s that, I think, +is very wittily expressed: though why I put it in here is not +very discoverable. ‘The Church, like the Ark of Noah, +is worth saving: not for the sake of the unclean beasts that +almost filled it, and probably made most noise and clamour in it, +but for the little corner of rationality, that was as much +distressed by the stink within, as by the tempest +without.’ Is it not good? It is out of his +letters: <a name="citation52"></a><a href="#footnote52" +class="citation">[52]</a> and the best thing in them. It is +also the best thing in mine.</p> +<p>With kind remembrances to Miss Barton, believe me, Yours very +affectionately</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">E. +FitzGerald</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<span class="smcap">London</span>, +8 <i>June</i>, 1838.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,</p> +<p>I have just come home after accompanying my Father and Lusia +to their starting place in the City: they are off for Suffolk for +some days. I should have written to you by them: but I only +just now found your letter on the mantelpiece: there it has lain +some days during which I have been ruralising in +Bedfordshire. Delicious has it been there: such weather, +such meadows, to enjoy: and the Ouse still wandering along at his +ease through pretty villages and vales of his own +beautifying. I am much in love with <!-- page 53--><a +name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 53</span>Bedfordshire: +it beats our part of the world: and I am sure you would like +it. But here I am come back to London for another three +weeks I suppose. . . .</p> +<p>I should much like to see your Platonic Brother. By your +account he must have a very perfect mental organization: or, +phrenologically speaking, he must be fully and equally furnished +with the bumps of ideality and causality: which, as Bacon would +say, are the two extreme poles on which the perfect ‘sound +and roundabout’ intellect is balanced. A great +deficiency of the causality bump causes me to break short in a +long discussion which I meant to have favoured you with on this +subject. I hope to meet your Brother one of these days: and +to learn much from him. ‘Guesses at Truth’ I +know very well: the two Brothers are the Hares: one a fellow of +Trinity College, Cambridge; the other Author of some Sermons +which I think you had from me this winter. ‘The +Guesses’ are well worth reading; nay, buying: very +ingenious, with a good deal of pedantry and <i>onesidedness</i> +(do you know this German word?), which, I believe, chiefly comes +from the Trinity Fellow, who was a great pedant. I have +just read Mrs. Austin’s Characteristics of Goethe: which I +will bring for you when I come. It is well worth knowing +something of the mind of certainly a great man, and who has had +more effect on his age than any one else. There is +something almost fearful in the energy of his intellect. I +wish indeed you were in London to see all these pictures: I am +sure their greatness <!-- page 54--><a name="page54"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 54</span>would not diminish your pleasure in +your own small collection. Why should it? There is as +genuine a feeling of Nature in one of Nursey’s sketches as +in the Rubenses and Claudes here: and if that is evident, and +serves to cherish and rekindle one’s own sympathy with the +world about one, the great end is accomplished. I do not +know very much of Salvator: is he not rather a melodramatic +painter? No doubt, very fine in his way. But Claude +and the two Poussins are the great ideal painters of +Landscape. Nature looks more stedfast in them than in other +painters: all is wrought up into a quietude and harmony that seem +eternal. This is also one of the mysterious charms in the +Holy Families of Raffaelle and of the early painters before him: +the faces of the Madonnas are beyond the discomposure of passion, +and their very draperies betoken an Elysian atmosphere where wind +never blew. The best painter of the unideal Christ is, I +think, Rembrandt: as one may see in his picture at the National +Gallery, and that most wonderful one of our Saviour and the +Disciples at Emmaus in the Louvre: there they sit at supper as +they might have sat. Rubens and the Venetian Painters did +neither one thing nor the other: their Holy figures are neither +ideal nor real: and it is incongruous to see one of Rubens’ +brawny boors dressed up in the ideal red and blue drapery with +which the early Italians clothed their figures of Christ. +But enough of all this. I have seen Trench’s +Sabbation, and like it much: how do you like those <!-- page +55--><a name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +55</span>centuries of couplets, which are a German fashion? +They are very much in the style of Quarles’ Emblems, and +other pithy epigrams of that time: only doubtless more +artistically polished: perhaps profounder. There were some +of the same kind in Blackwood some months ago. My paper is +out: and I must again say Good Bye.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To John Allen</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Lowestoft</span>, <span +class="smcap">Suffolk</span>.<br /> +<i>August</i> 28 [1838.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Allen</span>,</p> +<p>. . . When I left town I went into Bedfordshire and loitered +about there and in Northamptonshire till ten days ago: when I +came to join my sisters at this watering place on the Suffolk +coast. I have been spending a very pleasant time; but the +worst of it is that the happier I am with Browne the sorrier I am +to leave him. To put off this most evil day I have brought +him out of Bedfordshire here: and here we are together in a +pleasant lodging looking out upon the sea, teaching a great black +dog to fetch and carry, playing with our neighbour’s +children, doing the first five propositions of Euclid (which +<i>I</i> am teaching him!), shooting gulls on the shore, going +out in boats, etc. All this must have an end: and as usual +my pleasure in his stay is proportionably darkened by the +anticipation of his going, and go he must in a very few +days. Well, Carlyle told us that we are not to expect to be +so happy. I have thought once or twice <!-- page 56--><a +name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 56</span>how equally +happy I was with you by the seaside at Tenby. You and +Browne (though in rather different ways) have certainly made me +more happy than any men living. Sometimes I behave very ill +to him, and am much ashamed of myself: but enough of this.</p> +<p>I have been to see two shew places lately: Boughton in +Northamptonshire, a seat of the Duke of Buccleugh’s, of the +Versailles or Clare Hall style of building, in a very great park +planted with the longest avenues I ever saw. But I thought +the whole affair gloomy and deserted. There are some fine +pictures: and two cartoons said to be by Raffaelle: of which one +is the vision of Ezechiel—I could not judge of their +genuineness. The other place I have seen is Woburn +Abbey—the Duke of Bedford’s—a fine place but +not much to my taste either. There are very fine pictures +there of all kinds—one room hung with brilliant +Canalettis—and altogether the pictures are better arranged +and hung than in any place I have seen. But these kind of +places have not much character in them: an old Squire’s +gable-ended house is much more English and aristocratic to my +mind. I wish you had been with me and Browne at an old seat +of Lord Dysart’s, Helmingham in Suffolk, the other +day. There is a portrait there of the present Lady Dysart +in the prime of her beauty, by Sir Joshua. She is now +95.</p> +<p>. . . I am reading Pindar now and then: I don’t much +care about him I must say: though I suppose <!-- page 57--><a +name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 57</span>he is the +very best writer in the Poet Laureate style: that is, writing on +occasion for so much money. I see great merits +doubtless—a concise and simple way of saying great things, +etc., but the subjects are not interesting enough to me. I +suppose a good poet could have celebrated Dutch Sam <a +name="citation57"></a><a href="#footnote57" +class="citation">[57]</a> as having been descended from King +William the Third just as well as Pindar glorifies his boxers +with the mythical histories of the Æacidæ, +Heraclidæ, etc. . . .</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Frederic Tennyson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Geldestone +Hall</span>, <span class="smcap">Beccles</span>,<br /> +[<i>April</i> 10, 1839.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Tennyson</span>,</p> +<p>I see in the last Atlas a notice of the first Concert of the +Società Armonica—there were you to be found of +course seated in black velvet waistcoat (for I hope you remember +these are dress concerts) on one of the benches, grumbling at +most of the music. You had a long symphony of +Beethoven’s in B flat—I forget how it goes, but +doubtless there was much good in it. The overture to Egmont +is also a fine thing. The Atlas (which is the best weekly +critic of Music and all other things that I know of) gives great +κυδος to the Società +Armonica: especially this season, as the Directors seem +determined to replace Donizetti and Mercadante by Mozart and +Rossini, in the vocal <!-- page 58--><a name="page58"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 58</span>department. A good change +doubtless. I hear no music now: except that for the last +week I have been staying with Spring Rice’s mother in-law +Mrs. Frere, <a name="citation58"></a><a href="#footnote58" +class="citation">[58]</a> one of the finest judges of Music I +know. She was a very fine singer: but her voice fails +now. We used to look over the score of Don Giovanni +together, and many a mystery and mastery of composition did she +shew me in it. Now then there is enough of Music. I +wish you would write me a letter, which you can do now and then +if you will take it into your head, and let me know how you and +my dear old Morton are, and whether you dine and smoke together +as heretofore. If you won’t write, tell him to do so: +or make up a letter between you. What new pictures are +there to be seen? Have you settled yet whether spirit can +exist separately from matter? Are you convinced of the +truth of Murphy’s Almanac this year? Have you learned +any more Astronomy? I live on in a very seedy way, reading +occasionally in books which every one else has gone through at +school: and what I do read is just in the same way as ladies +work: to pass the time away. For little remains in my +head. I dare say you think it very absurd that an idle man +like me should poke about here in the country, when I might be in +London seeing my friends: but such is the humour of the +beast. But it is not always to be the case: I shall see +your good physiognomy one of these days, and smoke one of your +cigars, and listen <!-- page 59--><a name="page59"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 59</span>to Morton saying fine and wild +things, ‘startling the dull ear of night’ with +paradoxes that perhaps are truisms in the world where spirits +exist independent of matter. You two men have made great +commotion in my mind, and left your marks upon it, I can tell +you: more than most of the books I read. What is Alfred +about, and where is he? Present my homage to him. +Don’t you rather rejoice in the pickle the King of the +French finds himself in? I don’t know why, but I have +a sneaking dislike of the old knave. How he must pine to +summon up Talleyrand’s Ghost, and what a Ghost it must be, +wherever it is!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To John Allen</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[28 <i>April</i>, 1839.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Allen</span>,</p> +<p>Some one from this house is going to London: and I will try +and write you some lines now in half an hour before dinner: I am +going out for the evening to my old lady who teaches me the names +of the stars, and other chaste information. <a +name="citation59"></a><a href="#footnote59" +class="citation">[59]</a> You see, Master John Allen, that +if I do not come to London (and I have no thought of going yet) +and you will not write, there is likely to be an end of our +communication: not by the way that I am never to go to London +again: but not just yet. Here I live with tolerable +content: perhaps with as much as most people arrive at, and what +if one were properly grateful one would perhaps <!-- page 60--><a +name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 60</span>call perfect +happiness. Here is a glorious sunshiny day: all the morning +I read about Nero in Tacitus lying at full length on a bench in +the garden: a nightingale singing, and some red anemones eyeing +the sun manfully not far off. A funny mixture all this: +Nero, and the delicacy of Spring: all very human however. +Then at half past one lunch on Cambridge cream cheese: then a +ride over hill and dale: then spudding up some weeds from the +grass: and then coming in, I sit down to write to you, my sister +winding red worsted from the back of a chair, and the most +delightful little girl in the world chattering incessantly. +So runs the world away. You think I live in Epicurean ease: +but this happens to be a jolly day: one isn’t always well, +or tolerably good, the weather is not always clear, nor +nightingales singing, nor Tacitus full of pleasant +atrocity. But such as life is, I believe I have got hold of +a good end of it. . . . Give my love to Thackeray from your +upper window across the street. <a name="citation60a"></a><a +href="#footnote60a" class="citation">[60a]</a> So he has +lost a little child: and moreover has been sorry to do so. +Well, good-bye my dear John Allen: Auld Lang Syne. My kind +regards to your Lady.</p> +<blockquote><p>Down to the vale this water steers,<br /> + How merrily it goes:<br /> +’T will murmur on a thousand years,<br /> + And flow as now it flows. <a +name="citation60b"></a><a href="#footnote60b" +class="citation">[60b]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F. G.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Geldestone Hall</span>, <span +class="smcap">Beccles</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 61--><a +name="page61"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 61</span><i>To Bernard +Barton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Bedford</span>, +<i>July</i> 24, 1839.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Barton</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I have brought down here with me Sydney Smith’s +Works, now first collected: you will delight in them: I shall +bring them to Suffolk when I come: and it will not be long, I +dare say, before I come, as there is to be rather a large meeting +of us at Boulge this August. I have got the fidgets in my +right arm and hand (how the inconvenience redoubles as one +mentions it)—do you know what the fidgets are?—a true +ailment, though perhaps not a dangerous one. Here I am +again in the land of old Bunyan—better still in the land of +the more perennial Ouse, making many a fantastic winding and +going much out of his direct way to fertilize and adorn. +Fuller supposes that he lingers thus in the pleasant fields of +Bedfordshire, being in no hurry to enter the more barren fens of +Lincolnshire. So he says. This house is just on the +edge of the town: a garden on one side skirted by the public road +which again is skirted by a row of such Poplars as only the Ouse +knows how to rear—and pleasantly they rustle now—and +the room in which I write is quite cool and opens into a +greenhouse which opens into said garden: and it’s all +deuced pleasant. For in half an hour I shall seek my +Piscator, <a name="citation61a"></a><a href="#footnote61a" +class="citation">[61a]</a> and we shall go to a Village <a +name="citation61b"></a><a href="#footnote61b" +class="citation">[61b]</a> two miles off and fish, and have tea +in a pot-house, and so walk home. <!-- page 62--><a +name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 62</span>For all which +idle ease I think I must be damned. I begin to have +dreadful suspicions that this fruitless way of life is not looked +upon with satisfaction by the open eyes above. One really +ought to dip for a little misery: perhaps however all this ease +is only intended to turn sour by and bye, and so to poison one by +the very nature of self-indulgence. Perhaps again as +idleness is so very great a trial of virtue, the idle man who +keeps himself tolerably chaste, etc., may deserve the highest +reward; the more idle, the more deserving. Really I +don’t jest: but I don’t propound these things as +certain.</p> +<p>There is a fair review of Shelley in the new Edinburgh: saying +the truth on many points where the truth was not easily +enunciated, as I believe.</p> +<p>Now, dear sir, I have said all I have to say: and Carlyle +says, you know, it is dangerous to attempt to say more. So +farewell for the present: if you like to write soon, direct to +the Post Office, Bedford: if not, I shall soon be at Woodbridge +to anticipate the use of your pen.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Halverstown</span>, <a name="citation62"></a><a +href="#footnote62" class="citation">[62]</a> <i>Sunday</i>, Oct. +20, [1839].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</p> +<p>I am very glad that you lifted yourself at last from your +mahogany desk, and took such a trip as you describe in your last +letter. I don’t think you could have made a better in +the same given space of time. It is some years since I have +seen the Castle <!-- page 63--><a name="page63"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 63</span>at Windsor, except from Eton. +The view from the Terrace is the noblest I know of, taking it +with all its associations together. Gray’s Ode rises +up into the mind as one looks around—does it not?—a +sure proof that, however people may condemn certain conceits and +expressions in the poem, the spirit of it is genuine. +‘Ye distant spires, ye antique towers’—very +large and noble, like the air that breathes upon one as one looks +down along the view. My brother John told me he thought the +Waterloo gallery very fine: the portraits by Sir Thomas almost as +fine as Vandyke. You saw them, of course. You say +nothing of having seen the National Gallery in London: indeed I +rather fear it is closed these two months. This is a great +loss to you: the Rubens landscape you would never have +forgot. Thank you for the picture of my dear old Bredfield +which you have secured for me: it is most welcome. Poor +Nursey once made me a very pretty oil sketch of it: but I gave it +to Mr. Jenney. By all means have it engraved for the pocket +book: it is well worthy. Some of the tall ash trees about +it used to be visible at sea: but I think their topmost branches +are decayed now. This circumstance I put in, because it +will tell in your verse illustration of the view. From the +road before the lawn, people used plainly to see the topmasts of +the men-of war lying in Hollesley bay during the war. I +like the idea of this: the old English house holding up its +enquiring chimneys and weather cocks (there is great physiognomy +in weathercocks) toward the far-off <!-- page 64--><a +name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 64</span>sea, and the +ships upon it. How well I remember when we used all to be +in the Nursery, and from the window see the hounds come across +the lawn, my Father and Mr. Jenney in their hunting caps, etc., +with their long whips—all Daguerreotyped into the +mind’s eye now—and that is all. Perhaps you are +not civilised enough to know what Daguerreotype is: no more do I +well. We were all going on here as merrily as possible till +this day week, when my Piscator got an order from his Father to +go home direct!) So go he would the day after. I +wanted to go also: but they would have me stay here ten days +more. So I stay: I suppose I shall be in London toward the +end of this week however: and then it will not be long before I +pay you a visit. . . .</p> +<p>I have gone through Homer’s Iliad—sorry to have +finished it. The accounts of the Zoolu people, with Dingarn +their king, etc., <a name="citation64"></a><a href="#footnote64" +class="citation">[64]</a> give one a very good idea of the +Homeric heroes, who were great brutes: but superior to the Gods +who governed them: which also has been the case with most +nations. It is a lucky thing that God made Man, and that +Man has not to make God: we should fare badly, judging by the +specimens already produced—Frankenstein Monster Gods, +formed out of the worst and rottenest scraps of +humanity—gigantic—and to turn destructively upon +their Creators—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘But be ye of good cheer! I have +overcome the world—’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>So speaks a gentle voice.</p> +<p><!-- page 65--><a name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +65</span>I found here a Number of Tait’s Magazine for +August last, containing a paper on Southey, Wordsworth, etc., by +De Quincey. Incomplete and disproportioned like his other +papers: but containing two noble passages: one, on certain years +of his own Life when Opium shut him out from the world; the +other, on Southey’s style: in which he tells a truth which +is obvious, directly it is told. Tait seems to be very well +worth a shilling a month: that is the price of him, I see. +You have bought Carlyle’s Miscellanies, have you not? +I long to get them: but one must wait till they are out of print +before the Dublin booksellers shall have heard of them. Now +here is really a very long letter, and what is more, written with +a pen of my own mending—more consolatory to me than to +you. Mr. Macnish’s inscription <a +name="citation65"></a><a href="#footnote65" +class="citation">[65]</a> for Milton is—</p> +<blockquote><p>His lofty spirit was the home<br /> + Of inspirations high,<br /> +A mighty temple whose great dome<br /> + Was hidden in the sky.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Who Mr. Macnish is, I don’t know. Didn’t he +write some Essays on Drunkenness once? or on Dreams?</p> +<p><!-- page 66--><a name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +66</span>Farewell for the present, my dear Sir. We shall +soon shake hands again. Ever yours,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">E. +FitzGerald</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To John Allen</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge</span>, +<span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>,<br /> +[4 <i>April</i>, 1840]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Allen</span>,</p> +<p>. . . The country is now showing symptoms of greenness and +warmth. Yesterday I walked (not a common thing for me) +eleven miles; partly over a heath, covered with furze bushes just +come out into bloom, whose odour the fresh wind blew into my +face. Such a day it was, only not so warm as when you and I +used to sit on those rocks overlooking the sea at Tenby, just +eight years ago. I am afraid you are growing too good a +Christian for me, Master Allen, if you know what I mean by +that. Don’t be alarmed however. I have just +read the first number of Dickens’ new work <a +name="citation66a"></a><a href="#footnote66a" +class="citation">[66a]</a>: it does not promise much, I +think.</p> +<p>Love to all Coram Street. <a name="citation66b"></a><a +href="#footnote66b" class="citation">[66b]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Frederic Tennyson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">The Corporate +Town of Bedford</span>,<br /> +<i>June</i> 7, 1840.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Frederic</span>,</p> +<p>Your letter dated from the Eternal City on the 15th of May +reached me here two days ago. Perhaps <!-- page 67--><a +name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 67</span>you have by +this time left Naples to which you bid me direct: or will have +left it by the time my letter gets there. . . . Our letters +are dated from two very different kinds of places: but perhaps +equally well suited to the genius of the two men. For I am +becoming more hebete every hour: and have not even the ambition +to go up to London all this spring to see the Exhibitions, +etc. I live in general quietly at my brother-in-law’s +in Norfolk <a name="citation67"></a><a href="#footnote67" +class="citation">[67]</a> and I look with tolerable composure on +vegetating there for some time to come, and in due time handing +out my eldest nieces to waltz, etc., at the County Balls. +People affect to talk of this kind of life as very beautiful and +philosophical: but I don’t: men ought to have an ambition +to stir, and travel, and fill their heads and senses: but so it +is. Enough of what is now generally called the subjective +style of writing. This word has made considerable progress +in England during the year you have been away, so that people +begin to fancy they understand what it means. I have been +striving at it, because it is a very <i>sine qua non</i> +condition in a book which I have just been reading, +Eastlake’s translation of Goethe’s Theory of +Colours. I recommend it to you, when you can get hold of +it. Come back to England quick and read my copy. +Goethe is all in opposition to Newton: and reduces the primitive +colours to two. Whewell, I believe, does not patronise it: +but it is certainly very Baconically put together. While +you are wandering among <!-- page 68--><a name="page68"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 68</span>ruins, waterfalls, and temples, and +contemplating them as you sit in your lodgings, I poke about with +a book and a colour-box by the side of the river Ouse—quiet +scenery enough—and make horrible sketches. The best +thing to me in Italy would be that you are there. But I +hope you will soon come home and install yourself again in +Mornington Crescent. I have just come from Leamington: +while there, I met Alfred by chance: we made two or three +pleasant excursions together: to Stratford upon Avon and +Kenilworth, etc. Don’t these names sound very thin +amid your warm southern nomenclature? But I’ll be +bound you would be pleased to exchange all your fine burnt up +places for a look at a Warwickshire pasture every now and then +during these hot days. . . .</p> +<p>The sun shines very bright, and there is a kind of bustle in +these clean streets, because there is to be a grand True Blue +dinner in the town Hall. Not that I am going: in an hour or +two I shall be out in the fields rambling alone. I read +Burnet’s History—ex pede Herculem. Well, say as +you will, there is not, and never was, such a country as Old +England—never were there such a Gentry as the +English. They will be the distinguishing mark and glory of +England in History, as the Arts were of Greece, and War of +Rome. I am sure no travel would carry me to any land so +beautiful, as the good sense, justice, and liberality of my good +countrymen make this. And I cling the closer to it, because +I feel that we are going down the hill, and shall perhaps live +ourselves <!-- page 69--><a name="page69"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 69</span>to talk of all this independence as a +thing that has been. To none of which you assent +perhaps. At all events, my paper is done, and it is time to +have done with this solemn letter. I can see you sitting at +a window that looks out on the bay of Naples, and Vesuvius with a +faint smoke in the distance: a half-naked man under you cutting +up watermelons, etc. Haven’t I seen it all in +Annuals, and in the Ballet of Massaniello long ago?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To John Allen</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge +Hall</span>,<br /> +<i>Sunday</i>, <i>July</i> 12/40.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear John Allen</span>,</p> +<p>I wrote a good bit of a letter to you three weeks ago: but, +being non-plussed suddenly, tore it up. Lusia says she has +had a letter from Mrs. Allen, telling how you had a troublesome +and even dangerous passage to Tenby: but that there you arrived +at last. And there I suppose you are. The <i>veteris +vestigia flammæ</i>, or old pleasant recollections of our +being together at that place make me begin another sheet to +you. I am almost convicted in my own mind of ingratitude +for not having travelled long ago to Pembrokeshire, to show my +most kind friends of Freestone that I remember their kindness, +and that they made my stay so pleasant as to make me wish to test +their hospitality again. Nothing but <!-- page 70--><a +name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 70</span>my besetting +indolence (the strongest thing about me) could have prevented my +doing this. I should like much to see Mr. and Mrs. Allen +again, and Carew Castle, and walk along the old road traversed by +you and me several times between Freestone and Tenby. Does +old Penelly Top stand where it did, faintly discernible in these +rainy skies? Do you sit ever upon that rock that juts out +by Tenby harbour, where you and I sat one day seven years ago, +and quoted G. Herbert? Lusia tells me also that nice Mary +Allen is to be married to your brother—Charles, I +think. She is really one of the pleasantest remembrances of +womanhood I have. I suppose she sits still in an upper +room, with an old turnip of a watch (tell her I remember this) on +the table beside her as she reads wholesome books. As I +write, I remember different parts of the house and the garden, +and the fields about. Is it absolutely <i>that</i> Mary +Allen that is to become Mrs. Charles Allen? Pray write, and +let me hear of this from yourself. Another thing also: are +you to become our Rector in Sussex? This is another of +Lusia’s scandals. I rather hope it is true: but not +quite. Lusia is pretty well: better, I think, than when she +first came down from London. . . . She makes herself +tolerably happy down here: and wishes to exert herself: which is +the highest wish a FitzGerald can form. I go on as usual, +and in a way that needs no explanation to you: reading a little, +drawing a <!-- page 71--><a name="page71"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 71</span>little, playing a little, smoking a +little, etc. I have got hold of Herodotus now: the most +interesting of all Historians. But I find the disadvantage +of being so ill-grounded and bad a scholar: I can get at the +broad sense: but all the delicacies (in which so much of the +beauty and character of an author lie) escape me sadly. The +more I read, the more I feel this. But what does it all +signify? Time goes on, and we get older; and whether my +idleness comprehends the distinctions of the 1st and 2nd Aorist +will not be noted much in the Book of Life, either on this or the +other side of the leaf. Here is a letter written on this +Sunday Night, July 12, 1840. And it shall go +to-morrow. My kind remembrances to Mrs. Allen: and (I beg +you to transmit them) to all my fore-known friends at +Freestone. And believe me yours now as I have been and hope +to be ever affectionately,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">E. +FitzGerald</span>.</p> +<p>I shall be here till the end of the month.</p> +<p>N.B. I am growing bald.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge</span>, +<i>July</i> 25/40.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Fellow</span>,</p> +<p>Many thanks for your kind long letter. It brought me +back to the green before the house at Freestone, and the old +schoolroom in it. I have always felt within myself that if +ever I did go again to Freestone, I should puzzle myself and +every one <!-- page 72--><a name="page72"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 72</span>else by bringing back old +associations among existing things: I should have felt +awkward. The place remains quite whole in my mind: Anne +Allen’s damask cheek forming part of the colouring +therein. I remember a little well somewhere in the woods +about a mile from the house: and those faint reports of +explosions from towards Milford, etc., which we used to hear when +we all walked out together. You are to thank Mary Allen for +her kind wishes: and tell her she need not doubt that I wish her +all good things. I enclose you as you see a little drawing +of a Suffolk farm house close here: copied from a sketch of poor +Mr. Nursey. If you think it worth giving to Mary Allen, do: +it seems, and perhaps is, very namby-pamby to send this: but she +and I used to talk of drawings together: and this will let her +know that I go on just the same as I did eight years ago. +N.B. It is not intended as a nuptial present.</p> +<p>Now, you need not answer this letter: as you have done +remarkably well already. I am living (did I tell you this +before?) at a little cottage close by the lawn gates, where I +have my books, a barrel of beer which I tap myself (can you tap a +barrel of beer?), and an old woman to do for me. I have +also just concocted two gallons of Tar water under the directions +of Bishop Berkeley: it is to be bottled off this very day after a +careful skimming: and then drunk by those who can and will. +It is to be tried first on my old woman: if she survives, <!-- +page 73--><a name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +73</span>I am to begin: and it will then gradually spread into +the Parish, through England, Europe, etc., ‘as the small +pebble stirs the peaceful lake.’ Good people here are +much scandalized at Thirlwall’s being made a Bishop: +Isabella <a name="citation73a"></a><a href="#footnote73a" +class="citation">[73a]</a> brought home a report from a clergyman +that Thirlwall had so bad a character at Trinity that many would +not associate with him. I do not think however that I would +have made him Bishop: I am all for good and not great +Bishops. Old Evans <a name="citation73b"></a><a +href="#footnote73b" class="citation">[73b]</a> would have done +better. I am become an Oxford High Church Divine after +Newman: whose sermons are the best that ever were written in my +judgment. Cecil I have read: and liked for his good +sense. Is the croft at Tenby still green: and does Mary +Allen take a turn on it in a riding habit as of old? And I +remember a ravine on the horn of the bay opposite the town where +the sea rushes up. I mean as you go on past the +croft. I can walk there as in a dream. I see +Thackeray’s book <a name="citation73c"></a><a +href="#footnote73c" class="citation">[73c]</a> announced as about +to be published, and I hear Spedding has written a Review of +Carlyle’s Revolution in the Edinburgh. I don’t +know a book more certain to evaporate away from posterity than +that, except it be supported by his other works. Parts may +perhaps be found two hundred years hence and translated into Erse +by some inverted Macpherson. ‘These things seem +strange,’ says Herodotus, <a name="citation73d"></a><a +href="#footnote73d" class="citation">[73d]</a> <!-- page 74--><a +name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +74</span>yενοιτο δ' +αν παν εν τω +μακρω +χρονω. Herodotus makes few general +assertions: so when he does make them, they tell. I could +talk more to you, but my paper is out. John Allen, I +rejoice in you.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Bernard Barton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Bedford</span>, +<i>Aug</i>. 31/40.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,</p> +<p>I duly received your letter. I am just returned from +staying three days at a delightful Inn by the river Ouse, where +we always go to fish. I dare say I have told you about it +before. The Inn is the cleanest, the sweetest, the +civillest, the quietest, the liveliest, and the cheapest that +ever was built or conducted. Its name, the Falcon of +Bletsoe. On one side it has a garden, then the meadows +through which winds the Ouse: on the other, the public road, with +its coaches hurrying on to London, its market people halting to +drink, its farmers, horsemen, and foot travellers. So, as +one’s humour is, one can have whichever phase of life one +pleases: quietude or bustle; solitude or the busy hum of men: one +can sit in the principal room with a tankard and a pipe and see +both these phases at once through the windows that open upon +either. But through all these delightful places they talk +of leading railroads: a sad thing, I am sure: quite +impolitic. But Mammon is blind.</p> +<p>I went a week ago to see Luton, Lord Bute’s <!-- page +75--><a name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +75</span>place; filled with very fine pictures, of which I have +dreamt since. It is the gallery in England that I most wish +to see again: but I by no means say it is the most +valuable. A great many pictures seemed to me +misnamed—especially Correggio has to answer for some he +never painted.</p> +<p>I am thinking of going to Naseby for a little while: after +which I shall return here: and very likely find my way back to +Norfolk before long. At all events, the middle of October +will find me at Boulge, unless the Fates are very contrary.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Samuel Laurence</i>. <a +name="citation75"></a><a href="#footnote75" +class="citation">[75]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge +Hall</span>, <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>,<br /> +<i>Nov</i>. 9/40.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Laurence</span>,</p> +<p>. . . We have had much rain which has hindered the sporting +part of our company: but has not made <!-- page 76--><a +name="page76"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 76</span>much +difference to me. One or two sunshiny days have made me say +within myself, ‘how felicitously and at once would Laurence +hit off an outline in this clear atmosphere.’ For +this fresh sunlight is not a mere dead medium of light, but is so +much vital champagne both to sitter and to artist. London +will become worse as it becomes bigger, which it does every +hour.</p> +<p>I don’t see much prospect of my going to Cumberland this +winter: though I should like to go snipe-shooting with that +literary shot James Spedding. Do you mean to try and go up +Skiddaw? You will get out upon it from your bedroom window: +so I advise you to begin before you go down to breakfast. +There is a mountain called Dod, which has felt me upon its +summit. It is not one of the highest in that range. +Remember me to Grisedale Pike; a very well-bred mountain. +If you paint—put him not only in a good light, but to +leeward of you in a strong current of air. . . .</p> +<p>Farewell for the present.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To F. Tennyson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">London</span>, +<i>Jan</i>. 16, 1841.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Frederic</span>,</p> +<p>I have just concluded, with all the throes of imprudent +pleasure, the purchase of a large picture by Constable, of which, +if I can continue in the mood, I will enclose you a sketch. +It is very good: but <!-- page 77--><a name="page77"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 77</span>how you and Morton would abuse +it! Yet this, being a sketch, escapes some of +Constable’s faults, and might escape some of your +censures. The trees are not splashed with that white +sky-mud, which (according to Constable’s theory) the Earth +scatters up with her wheels in travelling so briskly round the +sun; and there is a dash and felicity in the execution that gives +one a thrill of good digestion in one’s room, and the +thought of which makes one inclined to jump over the +children’s heads in the streets. But if you could see +my great enormous Venetian Picture you would be extonished. +Does the thought ever strike you, when looking at pictures in a +house, that you are to run and jump at one, and go right through +it into some behind-scene world on the other side, as Harlequins +do? A steady portrait especially invites one to do so: the +quietude of it ironically tempts one to outrage it: one feels it +would close again over the panel, like water, as if nothing had +happened. That portrait of Spedding, for instance, which +Laurence has given me: not swords, nor cannon, nor all the Bulls +of Bashan butting at it, could, I feel sure, discompose that +venerable forehead. No wonder that no hair can grow at such +an altitude: no wonder his view of Bacon’s virtue is so +rarefied that the common consciences of men cannot endure +it. Thackeray and I occasionally amuse ourselves with the +idea of Spedding’s forehead: we find it somehow or other in +all things, <!-- page 78--><a name="page78"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 78</span>just peering out of all things: you +see it in a milestone, Thackeray says. He also draws the +forehead rising with a sober light over Mont Blanc, and reflected +in the lake of Geneva. We have great laughing over +this. The forehead is at present in Pembrokeshire, I +believe: or Glamorganshire: or Monmouthshire: it is hard to say +which. It has gone to spend its Christmas there.</p> +<p>[A water-colour sketch of Constable’s picture.]</p> +<p>This you see is a sketch of my illustrious new purchase. +The two animals in the water are cows: that on the bank a dog: +and that in the glade of the wood a man or woman as you may +choose. I can’t say my drawing gives you much idea of +my picture, except as to the composition of it: and even that +depends on the colour and disposition of light and shade. +The effect of the light breaking under the trees is very +beautiful in the original: but this can only be given in +water-colours on thick paper, where one can scratch out the +lights. One would fancy that Constable had been looking at +that fine picture of Gainsborough’s in the National: the +Watering Place: which is superior, in my mind, to all the Claudes +there. But this is perhaps because I am an Englishman and +not an Italian.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 79--><a +name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 79</span><i>To W. H. +Thompson</i>. <a name="citation79a"></a><a href="#footnote79a" +class="citation">[79a]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: right">[18<i>th</i> <i>Feb.</i> 1841.]<br +/> +* <span class="smcap">Boulge Hall</span>, <span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* Doesn’t this name express +heavy clay? <a name="citation79b"></a><a href="#footnote79b" +class="citation">[79b]</a></p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Thompson</span>,</p> +<p>I wish you would write to me ten lines to say how you +are. You are, I suppose, at Cambridge: and I am buried +(with all my fine parts, what a shame) here: so that I hear of +nobody—except that Spedding and I abuse each other about +Shakespeare occasionally: a subject on which you must know that +he has lost his conscience, if ever he had any. For what +did Dr. Allen . . . say when he felt Spedding’s head? +Why, that all his bumps were so tempered that there was no merit +in his sobriety—then what would have been the use of a +Conscience to him? <span class="smcap">q. e. d.</span></p> +<p>Since I saw you, I have entered into a decidedly agricultural +course of conduct: read books about composts, etc. I walk +about in the fields also where the people are at work, and the +more dirt accumulates on my shoes, the more I think I know. +Is not this all funny? Gibbon might elegantly compare my +retirement from the cares and splendours of the world to that of +Diocletian. Have you read Thackeray’s little +book—the second Funeral of Napoleon? If <!-- page +80--><a name="page80"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 80</span>not, +pray do; and buy it, and ask others to buy it: as each copy sold +puts 7½<i>d.</i> in T.’s pocket: which is very empty +just now, I take it. I think this book is the best thing he +has done. What an account there is of the Emperor Nicholas +in Kemble’s last Review, <a name="citation80a"></a><a +href="#footnote80a" class="citation">[80a]</a> the last sentence +of it (which can be by no other man in Europe but Jack himself) +has been meat and drink to me for a fortnight. The electric +eel at the Adelaide Gallery is nothing to it. Then +Edgeworth fires away about the Odes of Pindar, <a +name="citation80b"></a><a href="#footnote80b" +class="citation">[80b]</a> and Donne is very æsthetic about +Mr. Hallam’s Book. <a name="citation80c"></a><a +href="#footnote80c" class="citation">[80c]</a> What is the +meaning of ‘exegetical’? Till I know that, how +can I understand the Review?</p> +<p>Pray remember me kindly to Blakesley, Heath, and such other +potentates as I knew in the days before they ‘assumed the +purple.’ I am reading Gibbon, and see nothing but +this d---d colour before my eyes. It changes occasionally +to bright yellow, which is (is it?) the Imperial colour in China, +and also the antithesis to purple (<i>vide</i> Coleridge and +Eastlake’s Goethe)—even as the Eastern and Western +Dynasties are antithetical, and yet, by the law of extremes, +potentially the same (<i>vide</i> Coleridge, etc.) Is this +æsthetic? is this exegetical? How glad I shall be if +you can assure me that it is. But, nonsense apart and +begged-pardon-for, pray write me a <!-- page 81--><a +name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 81</span>line to say +how you are, directing to this pretty place. ‘The +soil is in general a moist and retentive clay: with a subsoil or +pan of an adhesive silicious brick formation: adapted to the +growth of wheat, beans, and clover—requiring however a +summer fallow (as is generally stipulated in the lease) every +fourth year, etc.’ This is not an unpleasing style on +Agricultural subjects—nor an uncommon one.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To F. Tennyson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge +Hall</span>, <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +[21 March, 1841.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Frederic Tennyson</span>,</p> +<p>I was very glad indeed to get a letter from you this +morning. You here may judge, by the very nature of things, +that I lose no time in answering it. I did not receive your +Sicilian letter: and have been for a year and half quite ignorant +of what part of the world you were in. I supposed you were +alive: though I don’t quite know why. De non +existentibus et non apparentibus eadem est ratio. I heard +from Morton three months ago: he was then at Venice: very tired +of it: but lying on such luxurious sofas that he could not make +up his mind to move from them. He wanted to meet you: or at +all events to hear of you. I wrote to him, but could tell +him nothing. I have also seen Alfred once or twice since +you have <!-- page 82--><a name="page82"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 82</span>gone: he is to be found in certain +conjunctions of the stars at No. 8 Charlotte Street. . . . +All our other friends are in statu quo: Spedding residing calmly +in Lincoln’s Inn Fields: at the Colonial all day: at the +play and smoking at night: occasionally to be found in the +Edinburgh Review. Pollock and the Lawyer tribe travel to +and fro between their chambers in the Temple and Westminster +Hall: occasionally varying their travels, when the Chancellor +chooses, to the Courts in Lincoln’s Inn. As to me, I +am fixed here where your letter found me: very rarely going to +London: and staying there but a short time when I do go. +You, Morton, Spedding, Thackeray, and Alfred, were my chief +solace there: and only Spedding is now to be found. +Thackeray lives in Paris.</p> +<p>From this you may judge that I have no such sights to tell of +as you have. Neither do <i>mortaletti</i> ever go off at +Boulge: which is perhaps not to be regretted. Day follows +day with unvaried movement: there is the same level meadow with +geese upon it always lying before my eyes: the same pollard oaks: +with now and then the butcher or the washerwoman trundling by in +their carts. As you have lived in Lincolnshire I will not +further describe Suffolk. No new books (except a perfectly +insane one of Carlyle, <a name="citation82"></a><a +href="#footnote82" class="citation">[82]</a> who is becoming very +obnoxious now that he is become popular), nor new pictures, no +music. A game at picquet of two hours duration closes each +day. But <!-- page 83--><a name="page83"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 83</span>for that I might say with +Titus—perdidi diem. Oh Lord! all this is not told you +that you may admire my philosophic quietude, etc.; pray +don’t think that. I should travel like you if I had +the eyes to see that you have: but, as Goethe says, the eye can +but see what it brings with it the power of seeing. If +anything I had seen in my short travels had given me any new +ideas worth having I should travel more: as it is, I see your +Italian lakes and cities in the Picturesque Annuals as well as I +should in the reality. You have a more energetic, stirring, +acquisitive, and capacious soul. I mean all this seriously, +believe me: but I won’t say any more about it. Morton +also is a capital traveller: I wish he would keep notes of what +he sees, and publish them one day.</p> +<p>I must however tell you that I am becoming a Farmer! Can +you believe in this? I hope we shall both live to laugh +over it together. When do you mean to come back? Pray +do not let so long a time elapse again without writing to me: +never mind a long letter: write something to say you are alive +and where. Rome certainly is nearer England than Naples: so +perhaps you are coming back. Bring Morton back with +you. I will then go to London and we will smoke together +and be as merry as sandboys. We will all sit under the calm +shadow of Spedding’s forehead. People talk of a war +with America. Poor dear old England! she makes a gallant +shew in her old age. If Englishmen are to <!-- page 84--><a +name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 84</span>travel, I am +glad that such as you are abroad—good specimens of +Englishmen: with the proper fierté about them. The +greater part are poor wretches that go to see oranges growing, +and hear Bellini for eighteen-pence. I hope the English are +as proud and disagreeable as ever. What an odd thing that +the Italians like such martial demonstrations as you +describe—not at all odd, probably—their spirit begins +and goes off in noise and smoke. It is like all other grand +aspirations. So ---’s Epics crepitate in +Sonnets. All I ask of you is to write no Sonnets on what +you see or hear—no sonnets can sound well after Daddy +Wordsworth, ---, etc., who have now succeeded in quite spoiling +one’s pleasure in Milton’s—and they are heavy +things. The words ‘subjective and objective’ +are getting into general use now, and Donne has begun with +<i>æsthetics</i> and <i>exegetical</i> in Kemble’s +review. Kemble himself has written an article on the +Emperor Nicholas which must crush him. If you could read +it, no salvos of <i>mortalletti</i> could ever startle you +again. And now my paper is almost covered: and I must say +Good bye to you. This is Sunday March 21—a fine sunny +blowing day. We shall dine at one o’clock—an +hour hence—go to Church—then walk—have tea at +six, and pass rather a dull evening, because of no picquet. +You will be sauntering in St. Peter’s perhaps, or standing +on the Capitol while the sun sets. I should like to see +Rome after all. Livy’s lies (as the æsthetics +prove them to be) do at least animate one so far—<!-- page +85--><a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 85</span>how +far?—so far as to wish, and not to do, having perfect power +to do.</p> +<p>Oh eloquent, just, and mighty Theory of Mortaletti!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. H. Thompson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge +Hall</span>, <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>,<br /> +<i>March</i> 26/41.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Thompson</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I had a long letter from Morton the other day—he +is still luxuriating at Venice. Also a letter from Frederic +Tennyson, who has been in Sicily, etc., and is much distracted +between enjoyment of those climates and annoyance from +Fleas. These two men are to be at Rome together soon: so if +any one wants to go to Rome, now is a good time. I wish I +was there. F. Tennyson says that he and a party of +Englishmen fought a cricket match with the crew of the +Bellerophon on the <i>Parthenopæan hills</i> (query about +the correctness of this—I quote from memory), and +<i>sacked</i> the sailors by 90 runs. Is not this +pleasant?—the notion of good English blood striving in worn +out Italy—I like that such men as Frederic should be +abroad: so strong, haughty and passionate. They keep up the +English character abroad. . . . Have you read poor +Carlyle’s raving book about heroes? Of course you +have, or I would ask you to buy my copy. I don’t like +to live with it in the house. It smoulders. He ought +to <!-- page 86--><a name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +86</span>be laughed at a little. But it is pleasant to +retire to the Tale of a Tub, Tristram Shandy, and Horace Walpole, +after being tossed on his canvas waves. This is +blasphemy. Dibdin Pitt of the Coburg could enact one of his +heroes. . . .</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To F. Tennyson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Ireland</span>, +<i>July</i> 26, 1841.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Frederic</span>,</p> +<p>I got your letter ten days ago in London on my way here. +We have incessant rain, which is as bad as your sciroccos; at +least it damps my energies very much. But people are +accustomed to it in Ireland: and my uncle (in whose house I am +staying) is just set off with three of his children—on +horseback—cantering and laughing away in the midst of a +hopeless shower. I am afraid some of us are too indolent +for such things.</p> +<p>I am glad Morton has taken up painting in good earnest, and I +shall encourage him to persevere as much as I can. . . . I +have begun to draw a little—the fit comes upon one in +summer with the foliage: as to sunshine, so necessary for +pictures, I have been obliged to do without that. We have +had scarce a ray for a month . . . I have read nothing, +except the Annual Register: which is not amiss in a certain state +of mind, and is not easily exhausted. A goodly row of some +hundred very thick volumes which may <!-- page 87--><a +name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 87</span>be found in +every country town wherever one goes forbid all danger of +exhaustion. So long as there is appetite, there is food: +and of that plain substantial nature which, Johnson says, suits +the stomach of middle life. Burke, for instance, is a +sufficiently poetical politician to interest one just when +one’s sonneteering age is departing, but before one has +come down quite to arid fact. Do you know anything of poor +Sir Egerton Brydges?—this, in talking of sonnets—poor +fellow, he wrote them for seventy years, fully convinced of their +goodness, and only lamenting that the public were unjust and +stupid enough not to admire them also. He lived in haughty +seclusion, and at the end of life wrote a doating +Autobiography. He writes good prose however, and shews +himself as he is very candidly: indeed he is proud of the +display.</p> +<p>All this is not meant to be a lesson to you who write, +everybody says, good sonnets. Sir E. Brydges would have +been the same dilettante if he had written Epics—probably +worse. I certainly don’t like sonnets, as you know: +we have been spoiled for them by Daddy Wordsworth, ---, and +Co. Moxon must write them too forsooth. What do they +seem fit for but to serve as little shapes in which a man may +mould very mechanically any single thought which comes into his +head, which thought is not lyrical enough in itself to exhale in +a more lyrical measure? The difficulty of the sonnet metre +in English is a good excuse for the dull didactic thoughts which +<!-- page 88--><a name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +88</span>naturally incline towards it: fellows know there is no +danger of decanting their muddy stuff ever so slowly: they are +neither prose nor poetry. I have rather a wish to tie old +Wordsworth’s volume about his neck and pitch him into one +of the deepest holes of his dear Duddon.</p> +<p>But it is very stupid to write all this to Italy, though it +would have done very well to have canvassed with you and Morton +over our pipes in Mornington Crescent. I suppose you never +will come back to stay long in England again: I have given you up +to a warmer latitude. If you were more within reach, I +would make you go a trip with me to the West of Ireland, whither +I am not confident enough to go alone. Yet I wish to see +it.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Bernard Barton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Edgeworthstown</span>,<br /> +<i>September</i> 2/41.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Barton</span>,</p> +<p>You must allow I am a good correspondent—this half year +at least. This is Septr. 2, a most horrible day for a +Bazaar, judging at least by the weather here. But you may +be better off. I came to this house a week ago to visit a +male friend, who duly started to England the day before I got +here. I therefore found myself domiciled in a house filled +with ladies of divers ages—Edgeworth’s wife, +aged—say 28—his mother aged 74—his sister (the +great Maria) aged <!-- page 89--><a name="page89"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 89</span>72—and another cousin or +something—all these people very pleasant and kind: the +house pleasant: the grounds ditto: a good library: . . . so here +I am quite at home. But surely I must go to England soon: +it seems to me as if that must take place soon: and so send me a +letter directed to me at Mr. Watcham’s, Naseby, +Thornby. Those places are in England. You may put +Northampton after Thornby if you like. I am going to look +at the winding up of the harvest there.</p> +<p>I am now writing in the Library here: and the great Authoress +is as busy as a bee making a catalogue of her books beside me, +chattering away. We are great friends. She is as +lively, active, and cheerful as if she were but twenty; really a +very entertaining person. We talk about Walter Scott whom +she adores, and are merry all the day long. I have read +about thirty-two sets of novels since I have been here: it has +rained nearly all the time.</p> +<p>I long to hear how the Bazaar went off: and so I beg you to +tell me all about it. When I began this letter I thought I +had something to say: but I believe the truth was I had nothing +to do. When you see my dear Major <a +name="citation89"></a><a href="#footnote89" +class="citation">[89]</a> give him my love, and tell him I wish +he were here to go to Connemara with me: I have no heart to go +alone. The discomfort of Irish inns requires a companion in +misery. This part of the country is poorer than any I have +yet seen: the <!-- page 90--><a name="page90"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 90</span>people becoming more Spanish also in +face and dress. Have you read The Collegians? <a +name="citation90a"></a><a href="#footnote90a" +class="citation">[90a]</a></p> +<p>I have now begun to sketch heads on the blotting paper on +which my paper rests—a sure sign, as Miss Edgeworth tells +me, that I have said quite enough. She is right. +Good-bye. In so far as this country is Ireland I am glad to +be here: but inasmuch as it is not England I wish I were +there.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To S. Laurence</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Naseby</span>, +<i>Septr</i>. 28/41.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Laurence</span>,</p> +<p>. . . Do you know that I wanted you to come down by the +railroad and see me here: where there is nothing else to be seen +but myself: which would have been a comfort to you. I have +been staying here three weeks alone, smoking with farmers, +looking at their lands, and taking long walks alone: during which +(as well as when I was in Ireland) I made such sketches as will +make you throw down your brush in despair. I wish you would +ask at Molteno’s or Colnaghi’s for a new Lithographic +print of a head of Dante, after a fresco by Giotto, lately +discovered in some chapel <a name="citation90b"></a><a +href="#footnote90b" class="citation">[90b]</a> at Florence. +It is the most wonderful head that ever was seen—Dante at +about twenty-seven years old: rather younger. The +Edgeworths had a <!-- page 91--><a name="page91"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 91</span>print in Ireland: got by great +interest in Florence before the legitimate publication: but they +told me it was to be abroad in September. If you can get me +a copy, pray do.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To F. Tennyson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">I<sup>mo</sup> piano. N°. +o. Strada del Obelisco.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Naseby</span>. [<i>Oct</i>. 1841.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Frederic</span>,</p> +<p>I am surprised you think my scanty letters are worth +encouraging, especially with such long and excellent answers as +that I have just got from you. It has found its way down +here: and oddly enough does your Italian scenery, painted, I +believe, very faithfully upon my inner eye, contrast with the +British barrenness of the Field of Naseby. Yet here was +fought a battle of some interest to Englishmen: and I am +persuading farmers to weed well the corn that grows over those +who died there. No, no; in spite of your Vesuviuses and +sunshine, I love my poor dear brave barren ugly country. +Talk of your Italians! why, they are extinguished by the +Austrians because they don’t blaze enough of themselves to +burn the extinguisher. Only people who deserve despotism +are forced to suffer it. We have at last good weather: and +the harvest is just drawing to a close in this place. It is +a bright brisk morning, and the loaded waggons are rolling +cheerfully past my window. But since I wrote what is above +a whole day has passed: I have <!-- page 92--><a +name="page92"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 92</span>eaten a bread +dinner: taken a lonely walk: made a sketch of Naseby (not the +least like yours of Castellamare): played for an hour on an old +tub of a piano: and went out in my dressing-gown to smoke a pipe +with a tenant hard by. That tenant (whose name is Love, by +the bye) was out with his folks in the stack yard: getting in all +the corn they can, as the night looks rainy. So, +disappointed of my projected ‘talk about runts’ and +turnips, I am come back—with a good deal of animal spirits +at my tongue’s and fingers’ ends. If I were +transported now into your room at Castellamare, I would wag my +tongue far beyond midnight with you. These fits of +exultation are not very common with me: as (after leaving off +beef) my life has become of an even grey paper character: needing +no great excitement, and as pleased with Naseby as Naples. . . +.</p> +<p>I am reading Schlegel’s lectures on the History of +Literature: a nice just book: as also the comedies of Congreve, +Vanbrugh, and Farquhar: the latter very delightful: as also +D’Aubigné’s History of the Reformation, a good +book. When I am tired of one I take up the other: when +tired of all, I take up my pipe, or sit down and recollect some +of Fidelio on the pianoforte. Ah Master Tennyson, we in +England have our pleasures too. As to Alfred, I have heard +nothing of him since May: except that some one saw him going to a +packet which he believed was going to Rotterdam. . . . When +shall you and I go to an Opera again, or hear one of +Beethoven’s Symphonies together? You <!-- page +93--><a name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 93</span>are +lost to England, I calculate: and I am given over to turnips and +inanity. So runs the world away. Well, if I never see +you again, I am very very glad I <i>have</i> seen you: and got +the idea of a noble fellow all ways into my head. Does this +seem like humbug to you? But it is not. And that fine +fellow Morton too. Pray write when you can to me: and when +my stars shine so happily about my head as they do at this +minute, when my blood feels like champagne, I will answer you. . +.</p> +<p>When you go to Florence, get to see a fresco portrait of Dante +by Giotto: newly discovered in some chapel there. Edgeworth +saw it, and has brought home a print which is (he says) a +tolerable copy. It is a most awful head: Dante, when about +twenty-five years old. The likeness to the common portraits +of him when old is quite evident. All his great poem seems +in it: like the flower in the bud. I read the last cantos +of the Paradiso over and over again. I forget if you like +him: but, if I understand you at all, you must. +Farewell!</p> +<p>P.S. Just heard from Edgeworth that Alfred is in London +‘busy preparing for the press’!!!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Bernard Barton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">London</span>, +<i>November</i> 27/41.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Barton</span>,</p> +<p>I am afraid you were disappointed last night at finding no +picture by the Shannon. <a name="citation93"></a><a +href="#footnote93" class="citation">[93]</a> Mayhap you +<!-- page 94--><a name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +94</span>had asked Mr C[hurchyard] to come and give his judgment +upon it over toasted cheese. But the truth is, the picture +has just been varnished with mastick varnish, which is apt to +chill with the cold at this season of the year: and so I thought +it best to keep it by me till its conveyance should be +safer. I hope that on Monday you will get it. But I +must tell you that, besides the reason of the varnish, I have had +a sneaking desire to keep the picture by me, and not to lose it +from my eyes just yet. I am in love with it. I washed +it myself very carefully with only sweet salad oil: perfectly +innocuous as you may imagine: and that, with the new lining, and +the varnishing, has at least made the difference between a dirty +and a clean beauty. And now, whoever it may be painted by, +I pronounce it a very beautiful picture: tender, graceful, full +of repose. I sit looking at it in my room and like it more +and more. All this is independent of its paternity. +But if I am asked about that, I should only answer on my own +judgment (not a good one in such a matter, as I have told you) +that it is decidedly by Gainsborough, and in his best way of +conception. My argument would be of the Johnsonian kind: if +it is not by G., who the devil is it by? There are some +perhaps feeble touches here and there in the tree in the centre, +though not in those autumnal leaves that shoot into the sky to +the right: but who painted that clump of thick solemn trees to +the left of the picture:—the light of evening rising like a +low fire between their boles? The cattle too <!-- page +95--><a name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 95</span>in +the water, how they stand! The picture must be an original +of somebody’s: and if not of +Gainsborough’s—whose? It is better painted far +than the Market Cart in the National Gallery: but not better, +only equal (in a sketchy way) to the beautiful evening Watering +Place.</p> +<p>Now I have raised your expectations too high. But when +you have looked at the picture some time, you will agree with +me. I say all this in sober honesty, for upon my word, +whether it be by Gainsborough or not, it is a kind of pang to me +to part from the picture: I believe I should like it all the +better for its being a little fatherless bastard which I have +picked up in the streets, and made clean and comfortable. +Yet, if your friend tells you it is by G. I shall be glad you +should possess it. Any how, never part with it but to +me.</p> +<p>I must tell you my friend Laurence still persists it is not by +Gainsborough: but I have thrown him quite overboard. Oh the +comfort of independent self confidence! Said Laurence also +observed that Gainsborough was the Goldsmith of Painters: which +is perhaps true. I should like to know if he would know an +original of Goldsmith, if I read something to him. He is a +nice fellow this Laurence by the way.</p> +<p>Our prospect of going down to Suffolk this year is much on the +wane: the Doctor has desired that Lusia should remain in +town. Though I should like much to see you and others, yet +I am on the whole <!-- page 96--><a name="page96"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 96</span>glad that my sisters should stay +here, where they are likely to be better off. I shall stay +with them, as I am of use. I may however run down one day +to give you a look. I wish you would enquire and let me +know how Mr. Jenney <a name="citation96"></a><a +href="#footnote96" class="citation">[96]</a> is: he was not well +when my Father was in Suffolk. Only <i>don’t ask +himself</i>: he hates that. And now farewell. This is +a long letter: but look at it by way of notice when the picture +comes to you. If it does not come on Monday don’t be +angry: but it probably will.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Brighton</span>, +<i>Dec</i>. 29, 1841.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Barton</span>,</p> +<p>The account you give of my old Squire ‘that he is in a +poorish way’ does not satisfy me: and I want you to ask Mr. +Jones the surgeon, whom you know, and who used to attend on the +Squire,—to ask him, I say, how that Squire is. He has +been ill for the last two or three winters, and may not be worse +now than before. He is one of our oldest friends: and +though he and I have not very much in common, he is a part of my +country of England, and involved in the very idea of the quiet +fields of Suffolk. He is the owner of old Bredfield House +in which I was born—and the seeing him cross the stiles +between Hasketon and Bredfield, and riding with his hounds over +the lawn, is among the scenes in that novel called The Past which +dwell most in my memory. What is the difference between +what has been, and <!-- page 97--><a name="page97"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 97</span>what never has been, +<i>none</i>? At the same time this Squire, so hardy, is +indignant at the idea of being ill or laid up: so one must +inquire of him by some roundabout means. . . .</p> +<p>We had a large party here last night: Horace Smith came: like +his brother James, but better looking: and said to be very +agreeable. Do you [know] that he gives a dreadful account +of Mrs. Southey: that meek and Christian poetess: he says, +she’s a devil in temper. He told my mother so: had +you heard of this? I don’t believe it yet: one ought +not so soon, ought one?</p> +<p>Goodbye.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. B. Donne</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Monday</span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Donne</span>,</p> +<p>Thompson tells me you are writing a Roman History. But +you have not been asked to Lecture at the Ipswich +Mechanics’ Institution, as I have—‘any subject +except controversial Divinity, and party Politics.’ +In the meantime I have begun Livy: I have read one book, and +can’t help looking at the four thick octavos that +remain—</p> + +<blockquote><p> Oh +beate Sesti,<br /> +Vitæ summa brevis spem nos vetat inchoare longam. <a +name="citation97"></a><a href="#footnote97" +class="citation">[97]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>But it is very stately reading. As to old Niebuhr, it is +mean to attack old legends that can’t defend <!-- page +98--><a name="page98"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +98</span>themselves. And what does it signify in the least +if they are true or not? Whoever <i>actively</i> believed +that Romulus was suckled by a wolf? But I have found in +Horace a proper motto for those lumbering Germans:</p> +<blockquote><p>Quis Parthum paveat? quis gelidum Scythen?<br /> +Quis Germania quos horrida parturit<br /> +Fœtus? <a name="citation98"></a><a href="#footnote98" +class="citation">[98]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Bernard Barton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<span +class="smcap">Geldestone</span>, <i>Jan</i>. 1842.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</p> +<p>You tell my Father you mean to write a Poem about my +invisibility—and somehow it seems strange to myself that I +have been so long absent from Woodbridge. It was a toss up +(as boys say—and perhaps Gods) whether I should go +now:—the toss has decided I should not. On the +contrary I am going to see Donne at Mattishall: a visit, which +having put off a fortnight ago, I am now determined to pay. +But if I do not see you before I go to London, I shall assuredly +be down again by the latter part of February: when toasted cheese +and ale shall again unite our souls. You need not however +expect that I can return to such familiar intercourse as once (in +former days) passed between us. New honours in society have +devolved upon me the <!-- page 99--><a name="page99"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 99</span>necessity of a more dignified +deportment. A letter has been sent from the Secretary of +the Ipswich Mechanics’ Institution asking me to +Lecture—any subject but Party Politics or Controversial +Divinity. On my politely declining, another, a fuller, and +a more pressing, letter was sent urging me to comply with their +demand: I answered to the same effect, but with accelerated +dignity. I am now awaiting the third request in confidence: +if you see no symptoms of its being mooted, perhaps you will +kindly propose it. I have prepared an answer. Donne +is mad with envy. He consoles himself with having got a +Roman History to write for Lardner’s Cabinet +Cyclopædia. <a name="citation99"></a><a href="#footnote99" +class="citation">[99]</a> What a pity it is that only Lying +Histories are readable. I am afraid Donne will stick to +what is considered the Truth too much.</p> +<p>This is a day like May: I and the children have been +scrambling up and down the sides of a pit till our legs ache.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Jan</i>. 24/42.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Barton</span>,</p> +<p>You mistake. The Poacher was bought in his +shell—for £3—did I not name that price? +As you desire a packing case, I will order one to day: and I hope +you will have him down on Wednesday, just when your Bank work is +over, and you will be glad <!-- page 100--><a +name="page100"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 100</span>of such +good company. One of my friends thought the picture must +have been an anticipation of Bill Sykes: put a cap and feathers +on his head and you make him Iago, Richard the Third, or any +other aristocratic villain. I really think the picture is a +very good one of its kind: and one that you will like. <a +name="citation100a"></a><a href="#footnote100a" +class="citation">[100a]</a></p> +<p>I am going to get my large Constable very lightly framed, and +shall bring it down into Suffolk with me to shew you and +others. I like it more and more.</p> +<p>. . . There is something poetical, and almost heroic, in this +Expedition to the Niger—the motives lofty and +Christian—the issue so disastrous. Do you remember in +A. Cunningham’s Scottish Songs <a +name="citation100b"></a><a href="#footnote100b" +class="citation">[100b]</a> one called ‘The Darien +Song’? It begins</p> +<blockquote><p>We will go, maidens, go,<br /> +To the primrose <a name="citation100c"></a><a +href="#footnote100c" class="citation">[100c]</a> woods and mourn, +etc.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Look for it. It applies to this business. Some +Scotch young folks went out to colonize Darien, and never came +back.</p> +<blockquote><p>Oh there were white hands wav’d,<br /> + And many a parting hail,<br /> +As their vessel stemm’d the tide,<br /> + And stretch’d her snowy sail.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I remember reading this at Aldbro’, and the sound of +<!-- page 101--><a name="page101"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +101</span>the sea hangs about it always, as upon the lips of a +shell.</p> +<p>Farewell for the present. We shall soon be down amongst +you.</p> +<p>P.S. I think Northcote drew this picture from life: and +I have no doubt there is some story attached to it. The +subject may have been some great malefactor. You know that +painters like to draw such at times. Northcote could not +have painted so well but from life.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To F. Tennyson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">London</span>, +<i>February</i> 6, 1842.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Frederic</span>,</p> +<p>These fast-following letters of mine seem intended to refute a +charge made against me by Morton: that I had only so much impulse +of correspondence as resulted from the receipt of a +friend’s letter. Is it very frivolous to write all +these letters, on no business whatsoever? What I think is, +that one will soon be going into the country, where one hears no +music, and sees no pictures, and so one will have nothing to +write about. I mean to take down a Thucydides, to feed on: +like a whole Parmesan. But at present here I am in London: +last night I went to see Acis and Galatea brought out, with +Handel’s music, and Stanfield’s scenery: really the +best done thing I have seen for many a year. As I sat alone +(alone in spirit) in the pit, I wished for you: and now Sunday is +over: <!-- page 102--><a name="page102"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 102</span>I have been to church: I have dined +at Portland Place: <a name="citation102"></a><a +href="#footnote102" class="citation">[102]</a> and now I come +home to my lodgings: light my pipe: and will whisper something +over to Italy. You talk of your Naples: and that one cannot +understand Theocritus without having been on those shores. +I tell you, you can’t understand Macready without coming to +London and seeing his revival of Acis and Galatea. You +enter Drury Lane at a quarter to seven: the pit is already nearly +full: but you find a seat, and a very pleasant one. Box +doors open and shut: ladies take off their shawls and seat +themselves: gentlemen twist their side curls: the musicians come +up from under the stage one by one: ’tis just upon seven: +Macready is very punctual: Mr. T. Cooke is in his place with his +marshal’s baton in his hand: he lifts it up: and off they +set with old Handel’s noble overture. As it is +playing, the red velvet curtain (which Macready has substituted, +not wisely, for the old green one) draws apart: and you see a +rich drop scene, all festooned and arabesqued with River Gods, +Nymphs, and their emblems; and in the centre a delightful, large, +good copy of Poussin’s great landscape (of which I used to +have a print in my rooms) where the Cyclops is seen seated on a +mountain, looking over the sea-shore. The overture ends, +the drop scene rises, and there is the sea-shore, a long curling +bay: the sea heaving under the moon, and breaking upon the beach, +and rolling the surf down—the <!-- page 103--><a +name="page103"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +103</span>stage! This is really capitally done. But +enough of description. The choruses were well sung, well +acted, well dressed, and well grouped; and the whole thing +creditable and pleasant. Do you know the music? It is +of Handel’s best: and as classical as any man who wore a +full-bottomed wig could write. I think Handel never gets +out of his wig: that is, out of his age: his Hallelujah chorus is +a chorus not of angels, but of well-fed earthly choristers, +ranged tier above tier in a Gothic cathedral, with princes for +audience, and their military trumpets flourishing over the full +volume of the organ. Handel’s gods are like +Homer’s, and his sublime never reaches beyond the region of +the clouds. Therefore I think that his great marches, +triumphal pieces, and coronation anthems, are his finest +works. There is a little bit of Auber’s, at the end +of the Bayadère when the God resumes his divinity and +retires into the sky, which has more of pure light and mystical +solemnity than anything I know of Handel’s: but then this +is only a scrap: and Auber could not breathe in that atmosphere +long: whereas old Handel’s coursers, with necks with +thunder clothed and long resounding pace, never tire. +Beethoven thought more deeply also: but I don’t know if he +could sustain himself so well. I suppose you will resent +this praise of Beethoven: but you must be tired of the whole +matter, written as it is in this vile hand: and so here is an end +of it. . . . And now I am going to put on my night-cap: for +my paper is nearly ended, and the iron tongue of St. <!-- page +104--><a name="page104"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +104</span>Paul’s, as reported by an East wind, has told +twelve. This is the last news from the city. So Good +night. I suppose the violets will be going off in the Papal +dominions by the time this letter reaches you: my country cousins +are making much of a few aconites. Love to Morton.</p> +<p>P.S. I hope these foolish letters don’t cost you +and Morton much: I always pay 1<i>s.</i> 7<i>d.</i> for them +here: which ought to carry such levities to Hindostan without +further charge.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Bernard Barton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">London</span>, +<i>February</i> 21/42.</p> +<p>I have just got home a new coat for my Constable: which coat +cost 33 shillings: just the same price as I gave for a +Chesterfield wrapper (as it is called) for myself some weeks +ago. People told me I was not improved by my Chesterfield +wrapper: and I am vext to see how little my Constable is improved +by his coat of Cloth of Gold. But I have been told what is +the use of a frame lately: only as it requires nice explanation I +shall leave it till I see you. Don’t you wish me to +buy that little Evening piece I told you of? worth a dozen of +your Paul Veroneses put together.</p> +<p>When I rate you (as you call it) about shewing my verses, +letters, etc., you know in what spirit I rate you: thanking you +all the time for your generous <!-- page 105--><a +name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 105</span>intention +of praising me. It would be very hard, and not desirable, +to make you understand why my Mama need not have heard the +verses: but it is a very little matter: so no more of it. +As to my doing anything else in that way, I know that I could +write volume after volume as well as others of the mob of +gentlemen who write with ease: but I think unless a man can do +better, he had best not do at all; I have not the strong inward +call, nor cruel-sweet pangs of parturition, that prove the birth +of anything bigger than a mouse. With you the case is +different, who have so long been a follower of the Muse, and who +have had a kindly, sober, English, wholesome, religious spirit +within you that has communicated kindred warmth to many honest +souls. Such a creature as Augusta—John’s +wife—a true Lady, was very fond of your poems: and I think +that is no mean praise: a very good assurance that you have not +written in vain. I am a man of taste, of whom there are +hundreds born every year: only that less easy circumstances than +mine at present are compel them to one calling: that calling +perhaps a mechanical one, which overlies all their other, and +naturally perhaps more energetic impulses. As to an +occasional copy of verses, there are few men who have leisure to +read, and are possessed of any music in their souls, who are not +capable of versifying on some ten or twelve occasions during +their natural lives: at a proper conjunction of the stars. +There is no harm in taking advantage of such occasions.</p> +<p><!-- page 106--><a name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +106</span>This letter-writing fit (one must suppose) can but +happen once in one’s life: though I hope you and I shall +live to have many a little bargain for pictures. But I hold +communion with Suffolk through you. In this big London all +full of intellect and pleasure and business I feel pleasure in +dipping down into the country, and rubbing my hand over the cool +dew upon the pastures, as it were. I know very few people +here: and care for fewer; I believe I should like to live in a +small house just outside a pleasant English town all the days of +my life, making myself useful in a humble way, reading my books, +and playing a rubber of whist at night. But England cannot +expect long such a reign of inward quiet as to suffer men to +dwell so easily to themselves. But Time will tell us:</p> + +<blockquote><p> Come +what come may,<br /> +Time and the Hour runs through the roughest day. <a +name="citation106"></a><a href="#footnote106" +class="citation">[106]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>It is hard to give you so long a letter, so dull an one, and +written in so cramped a hand, to read in this hardworking part of +your week. But you can read a bit at odd times, you know: +or none at all. Anyhow ’tis time to have done. +I am going to walk with Lusia. So farewell</p> +<p>P.S. I always direct to you as ‘Mr. Barton’ +because I know not if Quakers ought to endure Squiredom. +How I long to shew you my Constable!</p> +<p>Pray let me know how Mr. Jenney is. I think that we +shall get down to Suffolk the end of next week.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><!-- page 107--><a +name="page107"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 107</span><span +class="smcap">London</span>, <i>Febr</i>. 25/42.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Barton</span>,</p> +<p>Your reason for liking your Paul Veronese (what an impudence +to talk so to a man who has just purchased a real Titian!) does +not quite disprove my theory. You like the picture because +you like the verses you once made upon it: you associate the +picture (naturally enough) with them: and so shall I in future, +because I like the verses too. But then you ask further, +what made you write the verses if you were not moved by the +picture imprimis? Why you know the poetic faculty does +wonders, as Shakespeare tells us, in imagining the forms of +things unseen, etc., and so you made a merit where there was +none: and have liked that merit ever since. But I will not +disturb you any further in your enjoyment: if you have a vision +of your own, why should I undo it?</p> +<p>Yesterday I was busily employed in painting over my Opie, +which had suffered by heat, or something of that kind. I +borrowed Laurence’s palette and brushes and lay upon the +floor two hours patching over and renovating. The picture +is really greatly improved, and I am more reconciled to it. +It has now to be varnished: and then I hope some fool will be +surprised into giving £4 for it, as I did. I have +selected an advantageous position for it in a dealer’s +shop, just under a rich window that excludes the light.</p> +<p><!-- page 108--><a name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +108</span>On second thoughts I shall not send you down my +Twilight: but bring it with me. I like it much, and do not +repent the purchase. As to the difficulty of bringing down +so many pictures, I shall travel by the steamer; which will bear +any quantity. The great new purchase, spoken of in +yesterday’s letter, will also go with me: it will be +insured at a high valuation before it is entrusted to the Deep, +of whose treasures I don’t at all wish it to become +one. My Titian is a great hit: if not by him, it is as near +him as ever was painted. But you would not care six straws +for it. The history of the finest theory of colouring lies +in those few inches of canvas. But Laurence (who has gone +for some days into the country) must see it, and tell me about +it. He is so good a judge, that I ought never to talk till +I have first heard his verdict.</p> +<p>I was amused at a passage in Clarissa the other day, which +gives one some idea of what the average state of the arts was +among the gentry of a hundred years ago. Miss Howe, in +drawing up a character of her lost Clarissa, says that among +other things she had a fine taste for the Pencil: had not time to +practise it much, but ‘was an absolute mistress of the +“should be,”’ and then proceeds thus: ‘To +give a familiar instance for the sake of young Ladies: she +(untaught) observed <i>when but a child</i>, that the Sun, Moon, +and Stars, never appeared at once: and were therefore never to be +in one piece: that bears, tygers, lions, were not natives of an +English climate, and should not therefore have a place in an +English <!-- page 109--><a name="page109"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 109</span>landscape: that these ravagers of +the forest consorted not with lambs, kids, or fawns: nor kites, +hawks, or vultures, with doves, partridges, and +pheasants.’ Such was a prodigy in those days. +It is easy to sneer at this passage: but whoever has read +anything of the Masques, etc., of James’s time, will +readily recall what absurdities were brought together, even by +the good Scholars of the day: and therefore will not wonder at +the imperfect Natural History that was found in young +Ladies’ Drawings, and samplers. I remember now to +have seen wonderful combinations of phenomena in those samplers +which are occasionally to be found hung up in the parlours of +Country Inns, and Farm houses.</p> +<p>These letters succeed like the ghosts of Banquo’s +progeny before the eyes of Macbeth. Lucky that time itself +draws on too close for this letter to ‘hold a glass that +shews you many more.’ You did not answer my question +about the Gainsboroughs. So I won’t ask you +another.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Sonnet on my +new Picture</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Oh Twilight! Twilight!!</p> +<p>Rot me, if I am in a poetical humour: I can’t translate +the picture into words.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><!-- page 110--><a +name="page110"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 110</span><span +class="smcap">London</span>, <i>March</i> 5, 1842.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Barton</span>,</p> +<p>Before the cavalcade and suite of Hardinge’s (a +melancholy procession) reaches you, I think this letter +will. You need not envy me my purchases, which are +imprudent ones: both because I can’t well afford them, and +because I have no house to put them. And yet all this gives +a sense of stolen enjoyment to them. I am yet haunted with +the ghost of a Battle-piece (little in my way) at a shop in +Holborn: by whom I know not: but so good as to be cheap at +£4: 10<i>s.</i>, which the man wants for it. My +Twilight <i>is</i> an upright picture: about a foot wide, and +rather more than a foot high.</p> +<p>Mr. Browne has declined taking my Opie, unless in conjunction +with some others which I won’t part with: so the Forest +Girl must set up her stall at a Broker’s. I doubt she +will never bring me the money I gave for her. She is the +only bad speculation of the season. Were she but sold, I +should be rejoicing in the Holborn Battle Piece. After this +year however I think I shall bid complete adieu to +picture-<i>hunting</i>: only taking what comes in my way. +There is a great difference between these two things: both in the +expense of time, thought, and money. Who can sit down to +Plato while his brains are roaming to Holborn, Christie’s, +Phillips’s, etc.?</p> +<p>My Father talks of going down to Suffolk early next +week. Whether I shall accompany him is not <!-- page +111--><a name="page111"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +111</span>certain. Do you remember what a merry Good Friday +you and I passed last year? I suppose I shall find the +banks covered with primroses, the very name carries a dew upon +it.</p> +<blockquote><p>‘As one who long in populous city pent, +etc.’ <a name="citation111"></a><a href="#footnote111" +class="citation">[111]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>Good-bye. I am going to pay my compliments at Portland +Place, and then to walk in a contrary direction to Holborn.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To F. Tennyson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[31 <i>March</i>, 1842.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Frederic</span>,</p> +<p>. . . Concerning the bagwigs of composers. +Handel’s was not a bagwig, which was simply so named from +the little stuffed black silk watch-pocket that hung down behind +the back of the wearer. Such were Haydn’s and +Mozart’s—much less influential on the character: much +less ostentatious in themselves: not towering so high, nor +rolling down in following curls so low as to overlay the nature +of the brain within. But Handel wore the Sir Godfrey +Kneller wig: greatest of wigs: one of which some great General of +the day used to take off his head after the fatigue of the +battle, and hand over to his valet to have the bullets combed out +of it. Such a wig was a fugue in itself. I +don’t understand your theory about <!-- page 112--><a +name="page112"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 112</span>trumpets, +which have always been so little spiritual <i>in use</i>, that +they have been the provocatives and celebrators of physical force +from the beginning of the world. +‘<i>Power</i>,’ whether spiritual or physical, is the +meaning of the trumpet: and so, well used, as you say, by Handel +in his approaches to the Deity. The fugue in the overture +to the Messiah expresses perhaps the thorny wandering ways of the +world before the voice of the one in the wilderness, and before +‘Comfort ye my people, etc.’ Mozart, I agree +with you, is the most universal musical genius: Beethoven has +been too analytical and erudite: but his inspiration is +nevertheless true. I have just read his Life by Moscheles: +well worth reading. He shewed no very decided preference +for music when a child, though he was the son of a composer: and +I think that he was, strictly speaking, more of a thinker than a +musician. A great genius he was somehow. He was very +fond of reading: Plutarch and Shakespeare his great +favourites. He tried to think in music: almost to reason in +music: whereas perhaps we should be contented with <i>feeling</i> +in it. It can never speak very definitely. There is +that famous ‘Holy, Holy, Lord God Almighty, etc.,’ in +Handel: nothing can sound more simple and devotional: but it is +only lately adapted to these words, being originally (I believe) +a love song in Rodelinda. Well, lovers adore their +mistresses more than their God. Then the famous music of +‘He layeth the beams of his chambers in the waters, +etc.,’ was originally fitted <!-- page 113--><a +name="page113"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 113</span>to an +Italian pastoral song—‘Nasce al bosco in rozza cuna, +un felice pastorello, etc.’ That part which seems so +well to describe ‘and walketh on the wings of the +wind’ falls happily in with ‘e con l’aura di +fortuna’ with which this pastorello sailed along. The +character of the music is ease and largeness: as the shepherd +lived, so God Almighty walked on the wind. The music +breathes ease: but words must tell us who takes it easy. +Beethoven’s Sonata—Op. 14—is meant to express +the discord and gradual atonement of two lovers, or a man and his +wife: and he was disgusted that every one did not see what was +meant: in truth, it expresses any resistance gradually +overcome—Dobson shaving with a blunt razor, for +instance. Music is so far the most universal language, that +any one piece in a particular strain symbolizes all the analogous +phenomena spiritual or material—if you can talk of +spiritual phenomena. The Eroica symphony describes the +battle of the passions as well as of armed men. This is +long and muddy discourse: but the walls of Charlotte Street +present little else, especially during this last week of Lent, to +twaddle about. The Cambridge Dons have been up in town for +the Easter vacation: so we have smoked and talked over Peacock, +Whewell, etc. Alfred is busy preparing a new volume for the +press: full of doubts, troubles, etc. The reviewers will +doubtless be at him: and with justice for many things: but some +of the poems will outlive the reviewers. Trench, +Wordsworth, Campbell, and Taylor, also appear in new <!-- page +114--><a name="page114"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +114</span>volumes this Spring, and Milnes, I hear, talks of +publishing a popular edition of his poems. He means, a +cheap one. Nothing has been heard of Spedding: <a +name="citation114a"></a><a href="#footnote114a" +class="citation">[114a]</a> but we all conclude, from the nature +of the case, that he has not been scalped.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. F. Pollock</i>. <a +name="citation114b"></a><a href="#footnote114b" +class="citation">[114b]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge +Hall</span>, <i>May</i> 11/42.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Pollock</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I have just been reading the great Library of +Athanasius. <a name="citation114c"></a><a href="#footnote114c" +class="citation">[114c]</a> Certainly only you and I and +Thackeray understand it. When men like Spedding quote to me +such a passage as ‘Athanasius alas is innocent of many +smiles, etc.,’ they shew me they don’t understand +it. The beauty—if one may dare to define—lies +more in such expressions as ‘adjusting the beaks of the +macaws, etc.’ I have laughed outright (how seldom one +does this alone!) at the Bishops’ meeting. ‘Mr. +Talboys—that candle behind Dr. Allnut—really that I +should be obliged—.’ I suppose this would be +the most untranslateable book in the world. I never shall +forget how I laughed when I first read it.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><!-- page 115--><a +name="page115"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 115</span>[<span +class="smcap">Geldestone Hall</span>, 22 <i>May</i> 1842.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Pollock</span>,</p> +<p>. . . So Alfred is come out. <a name="citation115a"></a><a +href="#footnote115a" class="citation">[115a]</a> I agree +with you quite about the skipping-rope, etc. But the bald +men <a name="citation115b"></a><a href="#footnote115b" +class="citation">[115b]</a> of the Embassy would tell you +otherwise. I should not wonder if the whole theory of the +Embassy, perhaps the discovery of America itself, was involved in +that very Poem. Lord Bacon’s, honesty may, I am sure, +be found there. Alfred, whatever he may think, cannot +trifle—many are the disputes we have had about his powers +of badinage, compliment, waltzing, etc. His smile is rather +a grim one. I am glad the book is come out, though I grieve +for the insertion of these little things, on which reviewers and +dull readers will fix; so that the right appreciation of the book +will be retarded a dozen years. . . .</p> +<p>The rain will not come and we are burnt up, and in +despair. But the country never looked more delicious than +it does. I am as happy here as possible, though I +don’t like to boast. I am going to see my friend +Donne in ten days, he is writing the dullest of +histories—one of Rome. What the devil does it signify +setting us in these days right as to the Licinian Rogation, and +Livy’s myths? Every school-boy knew that Livy lied; +but the main story was clear enough for all the purposes <!-- +page 116--><a name="page116"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +116</span>of experience; and, that being so, the more fabulous +and entertaining the subsidiary matter is the better. Tell +Thackeray not to go into Punch yet.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To S. Laurence</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Geldestone +Hall</span>, <span class="smcap">Beccles</span>.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Sunday</span>, <i>May</i> 22/42.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Laurence</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I read of the advertisements of sales and auctions, but +don’t envy you Londoners while I am here in the midst of +<i>green idleness</i>, as Leigh Hunt might call it. What +are pictures? I am all for pure spirit. You have of +course read the account of Spedding’s forehead landing in +America. English sailors hail it in the Channel, mistaking +it for Beachy Head. There is a Shakespeare cliff, and a +Spedding cliff. Good old fellow! I hope he’ll +come back safe and sound, forehead and all.</p> +<p>I sit writing this at my bedroom window, while the rain +(long-looked for) patters on the window. I prophesied it +to-day: which is a great comfort. We have a housefull of +the most delightful children: and if the rain would last, and the +grass grow, all would be well. I think the rain will last: +I shall prophesy so when I go down to our early dinner. For +it is Sunday: and we dine children and all at one o’clock: +and go to afternoon church, and a great tea at six—then a +pipe (except for the young ladies)—a stroll—a bit of +supper—and to bed. Wake in <!-- page 117--><a +name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 117</span>the morning +at five—open the window and read Ecclesiasticus. A +proverb says that ‘everything is fun in the +country.’</p> +<p>My Constable has been greatly admired, and is reckoned quite +genuine by our great judge, Mr. Churchyard. Mr. C. paints +himself: (not in <i>body</i> colours, as you waggishly insinuate) +and nicely too. He understands Gainsborough, Constable, and +old Crome. Have you ever seen pictures by the latter? some +very fine. He was a Norwich man.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge +Hall</span>, <i>June</i> 19/42.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Laurence</span>,</p> +<p>Keep the head of Raffaelle as long as you please. I am +glad that one of the three pictures at all events is worth +something. I anticipated that Morton’s friend would +spoil them in the carriage: friends always do. Keep them +all, like my other pictures, at your house: and make what use of +them you please. The head of Dante is, I suppose, the same +as the one L. Hunt shewed us engraved in a book: a theatrical +one, I thought. . . . Have you been to any +auction-rooms? I have forgot all about them: and can live +very well without pictures. I believe one loses all +one’s tastes in the country: and one is not the less +happy. We have had glorious weather: new pease and young +potatoes—fresh milk (how good!) and a cool library to sit +in of mornings. . . .</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 118--><a +name="page118"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 118</span><i>To F. +Tennyson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Bedford</span>, +<i>August</i> 16, 1842.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Tennyson</span>,</p> +<p>I have been long hoping for a letter from you: it has come +this morning, and repays me for all waiting. While you and +Morton write to me about Italy I shall never go to see it. +And yet your account of Cicero’s villa, I confess, gives me +a twinge. But of this I am sure: if I saw all these fine +things with the bodily eye, I should but see them as a scene in a +play, with the additional annoyance of being bitten with fleas +perhaps, and being in a state of transition which is not suitable +to me: whereas while you see them, and will represent them to me, +I see them through your imagination, and that is better than any +light of my own. This is very true, I assure you: and you +and Morton have given me quite a different view of Italy to what +I had before: a much more enchanting one, but not the more likely +to seduce me into making the false step of trying to realize it +for myself. . . . In the mean time how tired and bored +would you be to take one of my travels—a voyage of eight +miles from Bedford perhaps—travelled twenty times +before—every winding of the river, every church-spire, +every country pot house and the quality of its beer, well +known. No surprise at all. Nil admirari—I find +that old Horace <!-- page 119--><a name="page119"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 119</span>is a good fellow-traveller in +England: so is Virgil. It is odd that those fellows living +in the land they did live in should have talked so coldly about +it. As to Alfred’s book, I believe it has sold well: +but I have not seen him for a long while, and have had no means +of hearing about the matter except from Thompson, who told me +that very many copies had been sold at Cambridge, which indeed +will be the chief market for them. Neither have I seen any +notice of them in print except that in the Examiner; and that +seemed so quiet that I scarce supposed it was by Forster. +Alfred himself is, I believe, in Kent at present. And now, +my dear Frederic, why do you think of returning to England? +Depend upon it you are better off as you are. You will +never turn magistrate nor bean-dibbler, nor make yourself of use +in the country, and therefore why should you not live where you +like to live best? When I read of your laughing and singing +and riding into Naples with huge self-supplying beakers full of +the warm South I am sure you had best stay where you are. I +should indeed be very glad to see you again: but then I should +miss hearing from you: and you would only come here to abuse us +all and go back again. You Tennysons are born for warm +climates. As to poor England, I never see a paper, but I +think with you that she is on the go. I used to dread this: +but somehow I now contemplate it as a necessary thing, and, till +the shoe begins to <!-- page 120--><a name="page120"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 120</span>pinch me sorely, walk on with some +indifference. It seems impossible the manufacturers can go +on as they are: and impossible that the demand for our goods can +continue as of old in Europe: and impossible but that we must get +a rub and licking in some of our colonies: and if all these +things come at once, why then the devil’s in it. I +used to think as you do about France and the French: and we all +agreed in London that France should be divided among the other +powers as Poland was: but Donne has given me pause: he says that +France is the great counteracting democratic principle to +Russia. This may be: though I think Russia is too unwieldly +and rotten-ripe ever to make a huge progress in conquest. +What is to be thought of a nation where the upper classes speak +the language of another country, and have varnished over their +honest barbarism with the poorest French profligacy and +intrigue? Russia does not seem a whole to me. In the +mean time, all goes on toward better and better, as is my firm +belief: and humanity grows clear by flowing, (very little +profited by any single sage or hero), and man shall have wings to +fly and something much better than that in the end. . . .</p> +<p>I draw a very little, and think of music as I walk in the +fields: but have no piano in this part of the world. . . . +I hear there is a fine new Symphony by Mendelssohn, who is by far +our best writer now, and in some measure combines Beethoven and +Handel. I grow every day more and more to love only the +<!-- page 121--><a name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +121</span>old God save the King style: the common chords, those +truisms of music, like other truisms so little understood in the +full. Just look at the mechanism of Robin Adair.</p> +<p>Now pray write to me again when you can. You don’t +know how much I rejoice in your letters.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To S. Laurence</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Bedford</span>, +<i>Thursday</i>,<br /> +[<i>August</i>, 1842.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Laurence</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I have heard from Morton and F. Tennyson; the letter of +the latter very descriptive and fine. He is summering at +Castellamare, and Morton at Sorrento. What must Italy be if +we are complaining of heat here!</p> +<p>I have just been naming all Mr. Browne’s pictures for +him. This he has insisted on for three years, and at last +this very hot day after an early dinner pens and paper were +brought out and I have been writing down awful calumnies about +Cuyp, Both, etc. Who could have painted Catharine of +Medicis, do you know? We are afraid to call it Vandyke, as +he lived (I believe) a century after her: and Mr. B. won’t +give up its being Catharine’s portrait. So here we +are in a fix. I went to see Lord Northampton’s place +Castle Ashby a week ago: expected pictures, and saw very bad +ones. The house is very handsome, built by Inigo Jones.</p> +<p>I weigh 14 stone—fact.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 122--><a +name="page122"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 122</span><i>To John +Allen</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<span class="smcap">Keysoe</span>, +<i>August</i> 1842.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear John Allen</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I am much <i>entêté</i> at present about +one Matthews, <a name="citation122"></a><a href="#footnote122" +class="citation">[122]</a> a preacher at Bedford, who would do +very well for Manchester in opposition to Chartists, etc. +If you are here on a Friday or a Sunday go and hear him. I +would gladly subscribe to remove him from Bedford. All this +you will think absurd; and so perhaps it is.</p> +<p>I have been reading Stobæus’ Anthology as I +saunter in the fields: a pretty collection of Greek aphorisms in +verse and prose. The bits of Menander and the comic poets +are very acceptable. And this is really all I have looked +at all this summer.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Bedford</span>, +<i>August</i> 29/42.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dearest Fellow</span>,</p> +<p>Your letter reached me this morning and gave me much +pleasure. An old acquaintance is not the <!-- page 123--><a +name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 123</span>worse for +its wear, I think. This very time ten years ago we were in +Wales together: I at Mr. Rees’ boarding-house at Tenby: and +there I made chance acquaintance with the whiskered man <a +name="citation123"></a><a href="#footnote123" +class="citation">[123]</a> at whose house I am now +staying:—then a boy of sixteen. He is now a man of +business, of town-politics, and more intent on the first of +September than on anything else in the world. I see very +little of him. . . .</p> +<p>I occasionally read sentences about the Virtues out of this +collection of Stobæus, and look into Sartor Resartus, which +has fine things in it: and a little Dante and a little +Shakespeare. But the great secret of all is the not eating +meat. To that the world must come, I am sure. Only it +makes one grasshopper foolish. I also receive letters from +Morton and F. Tennyson full of fine accounts of Italy, finer than +any I ever read. They came all of a sudden on +Cicero’s villa—one of them at least, the +Formian—with a mosaic pavement leading thro’ lemon +gardens down to the sea, and a little fountain as old as the +Augustan age bubbling up as fresh, Tennyson says, ‘as when +its silver sounds mixed with the deep voice of the orator as he +sate there in the stillness of the noon day, devoting the +siesta-hours to study.’ When I first read of these +things I wish to see them; but, on reflection, I am sure I see +them much better in such letters as these.</p> +<p>I have seen one good picture about here: a <!-- page 124--><a +name="page124"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 124</span>portrait of +O. Cromwell by Lely—so said—unlike other Lelys, but +very carefully painted: and, I should think, an original +portrait. . . I also read Hayley’s Life of Romney the +other day. Romney wanted but education and reading to make +him a very fine painter: but his ideal was not high nor +fixed. How touching is the close of his life! He +married at nineteen, and, because Sir Joshua and others had said +that marriage spoilt an artist, almost immediately left his wife +in the North, and scarce saw her till the end of his life: when, +old, nearly mad, and quite desolate, he went back to her, and she +received him, and nursed him till he died. This quiet act +of hers is worth all Romney’s pictures; even as a matter of +Art, I am sure.</p> +<p>Whether this letter will ever reach you, I don’t +know. I am going in two days to Naseby for a little while, +and shall then find my way home to Suffolk for the greater part +of the Winter and Spring, I suppose.</p> + +<blockquote><p> O +beate Sesti,<br /> +Vitæ summa brevis spem nos vetat inchoare longam.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I think of hiring a house in some country town like this, but +nearer Suffolk, and there have my books, etc. I want a +house much: and a very small one will content me, with a few old +women close by to play cards with at night. What a life, +you will say!</p> +<blockquote><p>His virtues walked then humble round,<br /> + Nor knew a pause, nor felt a void:<br /> +<!-- page 125--><a name="page125"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +125</span>And sure the Eternal Master found<br /> + His single talent well employ’d.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>That was not in playing picquet, I doubt. What fine +lines of Johnson’s <a name="citation125"></a><a +href="#footnote125" class="citation">[125]</a> these!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>On the 15th of September 1842 FitzGerald first made +Carlyle’s personal acquaintance. He always spoke of +his having first gone to Chelsea in company with Thackeray, and +in the Notes which he left of his excavations at Naseby he +repeats what he frequently told myself and others. But his +memory was clearly at fault, for in a letter to Pollock, written +on the 16th, but dated by mistake the 17th, of September, he +says, ‘I have come up to London for two days on a false +errand: and am therefore going back in a pet, to Naseby. . . +. I enquired at Spedding’s rooms to-day: he is +expected by the 20th, which is near. Laurence is the only +person I know in town. . . . He and I went to see Carlyle +at Chelsea yesterday. That genius has been surveying the +field of battle of Naseby in company with Dr. Arnold, who died +soon after, poor man! I doubt (from Carlyle’s +description) if they identified the very ground of the carnage. . +. . I have heard nothing of Thackeray for these two +months. He was to have visited an Irish brother of mine: +but he has not yet done so. I called at Coram Street +yesterday, and old John seemed to think he was yet in +Ireland.’ With this correction I <!-- page 126--><a +name="page126"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 126</span>now give +the Memorandum referred to, which FitzGerald entrusted to my +keeping together with several of Carlyle’s letters. +An attempt to put up a monument on the real site of the battle +proved abortive, as will appear hereafter.</p> +<blockquote><p>‘About the middle of September 1842, W. M. +Thackeray took me to tea with Carlyle whom I had not previously +known. He was then busy with Cromwell; had just been, he +told us, over the Field of Naseby in company with Dr. Arnold of +Rugby, and had sufficiently identified the Ground of the Battle +with the contemporaneous Accounts of it. As I happened to +know the Field well—the greater part of it then belonging +to my Family—I knew that Carlyle and Arnold had been +mistaken—misled in part by an Obelisk which my Father had +set up as on the highest Ground of the Field, but which they +mistook for the centre-ground of the Battle. This I told +Carlyle, who was very reluctant to believe that he and Arnold +could have been deceived—that he could accept no hearsay +Tradition or Theory against the Evidence of his own Eyes, +etc. However, as I was just then going down to Naseby, I +might enquire further into the matter.</p> +<p>‘On arriving at Naseby, I had spade and mattock taken to +a hill near half a mile across from the “Blockhead +Obelisk,” and pitted with several hollows, overgrown with +rank Vegetation, which Tradition had always pointed to as the +Graves of the Slain. One of <!-- page 127--><a +name="page127"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 127</span>these I had +opened; and there, sure enough, were the remains of Skeletons +closely packed together—chiefly teeth—but some +remains of Shinbone, and marks of Skull in the Clay. Some +of these, together with some sketches of the Place, I sent to +Carlyle.</p> +<p>‘The Naseby Monument, already advised by Carlyle, was +not executed at the time: and some how or other was not again +talked of till 1855 when the Estate was to be sold from us. +I was told however by the Lawyers, etc., that it was better not +to interfere while that Business was going on. So the +Scheme went to sleep again till 1872, when, Carlyle renewing the +subject in some Letter, I applied to the Agent of the Estate who +was willing to help us in getting permission to erect the Stone, +and to a neighbouring Mason to fashion it as Carlyle +desired. We had some difficulty in this latter point, but +at last all was settled, when suddenly Agent and Lawyer informed +us the thing must not be done—for one reason, that Stone +and Inscription were considered too plain.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Before the excavations were begun, however, FitzGerald +received the following letter of instructions from Carlyle, +written three days after their interview.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Chelsea</span>, +18 <i>Sept</i>., 1842.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</p> +<p>Profiting by the unexpected fact that <i>you</i> are now +master of Naseby Battlefield, I have gone over the whole matter +once more, probably for the twentieth time; I <!-- page 128--><a +name="page128"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 128</span>have copied +you my illegible pencil-notes, and re-verified +everything,—that so, if you can understand the meaning +(which will be difficult, I fear), you may append to it what +commentary, collected on the spot, you may judge edifying. +Let me, however, again impress upon you that these statements and +descriptions are actual <i>facts</i>, gathered with industry from +some seven or eight eyewitnesses, looking at the business with +their own eyes from seven or eight different sides; that the +present figure of the ground, in my recollection, corresponds +very tolerably well with the whole of them;—and that no +‘theory,’ by what Professor soever, can be of any use +to me in comparison. I wish you had Sprigge’s +complete Plan of the Battle: but you have it not; you have only +that foolish Parson’s <a name="citation128"></a><a +href="#footnote128" class="citation">[128]</a> very dim copy of +it, and must help yourself with that.</p> +<p>The things I wish you to give me are first: The whole story of +your Blacksmith, or other oral Chronicler, be it wise and +credible, be it absurd and evidently false. Then you can +ask, whether there remains any tradition of a windmill at +Naseby? One stands in the Plan, not far from North of the +village, probably some 300 yards to the west of where the ass of +a column now stands: the whole concern, of fighting, rallying, +flying, killing and chasing, transacted itself to the <i>west</i> +of that,—on the height, over the brow of the height, down +the slope, in the hollow, and up again to the grounds of Dust +Hill, where the <i>final</i> dispersion took place. +Therefore, again, pray ask.</p> +<p>Where precisely any dead bodies are known to have <!-- page +129--><a name="page129"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +129</span>been found? Where and when the <i>last</i>-found +was come upon; what they made of it,—whether no Antiquarian +kept a tooth; at any rate, a button or the like? +Cannon-balls ought to be found, especially musket-balls, down in +that hollow, and on the slope thitherward: is any extant cabinet +master of one?</p> +<p>Farther, are there, on the high ground N.W. or W. of Naseby +village, any traces still discoverable of such names as these: +‘Lantford hedges’ (or perhaps ‘hedge’); a +kind of thicket running <i>up</i> the slope, towards the western +environs of Naseby village, nearly from the North;—Fairfax +had dragoons hidden here, who fired upon Rupert’s right, as +he charged upwards: ‘Rutput Hill’: ‘Fanny +Hill’ (according to Rushworth, ‘Famny Hill’ in +Sprigge),—probably two swellings in the ground, that lie +between the south end of Lantford Hedges and the village; +‘Lean Leaf Hill’ seemingly another swelling, parallel +to these, which reaches in with its slope <i>to</i> the very +village—from the west: ‘Mill Hill’ farther to +the east (marked as due west from the windmill, which of course +must have stood upon a part of it), lying therefore upon the +north part of the village? Is it possible, in spite of all +ditching and enclosure bills, there may still some vestige of +these names adhere to some fields or messuages; the exact +position of which it would be satisfactory to fix. You can +also tell me whether Burrough Hill is visible from Naseby, and +‘what it is like’; and what the Sibbertoft height, on +the other side, and the Harboro’ Height are like! I +suppose one sees Sibbertoft steeple, but no houses, from Naseby +Height? Also that it was undoubtedly Clipston (as the good +Dr. Arnold and I supposed) that we saw <!-- page 130--><a +name="page130"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +130</span>there. Dr. A. and I came, as I find, thro’ +Crick, West Hadden, Cold Ashby; and crossed the Welford and +Northampton road, perhaps some three miles from Naseby.</p> +<p>On the whole, my dear Sir, here seems to be work enough for +you! But after all is it not worth your while on other +accounts? Were it not a most legitimate task for the +Proprietor of Naseby, a man of scholarship, intelligence and +leisure, to make himself completely acquainted with the true +state of all details connected with Naseby Battle and its +localities? Few spots of ground in all the world are +memorabler to an Englishman. We could still very well stand +a good little book on Naseby! <i>Verbum sapienti</i>.</p> +<p>As for myself, had I the wings of an eagle, most likely I +should still fly to you, and to several other quarters; but with +railways and tub-gigs, and my talent for insomnolence, and +fretting myself to fiddlestrings with all terrestrial locomotion +whatsoever—alas, alas!</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Believe me always,<br /> +My dear Sir,<br /> +Very truly yours<br /> +<span class="smcap">T. Carlyle</span>.</p> +<p>FitzGerald’s letter to Carlyle, giving an account of the +first results of his excavations, has apparently not been +preserved, but it was promptly acknowledged.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Chelsea</span>, +<i>Saturday</i>, 25 [24] <i>Septr</i>., 1842.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</p> +<p>You will do me and the Genius of History a real favour, if you +persist in these examinations and excavations <!-- page 131--><a +name="page131"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 131</span>to the +utmost length possible for you! It is long since I read a +letter so interesting as yours of yesterday. Clearly enough +you are upon the very battle-ground;—and I, it is also +clear, have only looked up towards it from the slope of Mill +Hill. Were not the weather so wet, were not, etc., etc., so +many <i>etceteras</i>, I could almost think of running up to join +you still! But that is evidently unfeasible at present.</p> +<p>The opening of that burial-heap blazes strangely in my +thoughts: these are the very jawbones that were clenched together +in deadly rage, on this very ground, 197 years ago! It +brings the matter home to one, with a strange veracity,—as +if for the first time one saw it to be no fable and theory but a +dire fact. I will beg for a tooth and a bullet; +authenticated by your own eyes and word of honour!—Our +Scotch friend too, making turnip manure of it, he is part of the +Picture. I understand almost all the Netherlands +battlefields have already given up their bones to British +husbandly; why not the old English next? Honour to +thrift. If of 5000 wasted men, you can make a few usable +turnips, why, do it!</p> +<p>The more sketches and details you can contrive to send me, the +better. I want to know for one thing whether there is any +<i>house</i> on Cloisterwell; what house that was that I saw from +the slope of Naseby height (Mill-hill, I suppose), and fancied to +be Dust Hill Farm? It must lie about North by West from +Naseby Church, perhaps near a mile off. You say, one cannot +see Dust Hill at all, much less any farm house of Dust Hill, from +that Naseby Height?</p> +<p>But why does the Obelisk stand there? It might as well +stand at Charing Cross; the blockhead that it is! I <!-- +page 132--><a name="page132"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +132</span>again wish I had wings: alas, I wish many things; that +the gods would but annihilate Time and Space, which would include +all things!</p> +<p>In great haste, Yours most truly,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">T. +Carlyle</span>.</p> +<p>The following letters will partly supply the place of the +missing letter to Carlyle.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Bernard Barton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">London</span>. <i>Friday</i>, <i>Septr</i>. +[16] 1842.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Barton</span>,</p> +<p>Have you supposed me dead or what? Well, so far from it, +I have grown more fat than ever, which is quite as much reason +for not writing. I have been staying at Naseby, and, having +come up here for two days, return to that place by railroad +to-morrow. I went to see Carlyle last night. He had +just returned from the neighbourhood of Bury. He is full of +Cromwell, and, funny enough, went over from Rugby to Naseby this +spring with poor Dr. Arnold. They saw nothing, and walked +over what was not the field of battle. I want him to go +down with me: but he thinks it would be too expensive. So I +have engaged to collect what matter I can for him on the +spot. At the beginning of October I expect to be back in +East Anglia for the winter. Frail is human virtue. I +thought I had quite got over picture dealing, when lo! walking in +Holborn this day I looked into a shop just to shew the strength +of my virtue, and fell. That <!-- page 133--><a +name="page133"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 133</span>accursed +Battle Piece—I have bought it—and another picture of +dead chaffinches, which Mr. C[hurchyard] will like, it is so well +done: I expect you to give high prices for these +pictures—mind that: and begin to economize in household +matters. Leave off sugar in tea and make all your household +do so. Also write to me at Naseby, Welford, +Northampton. That’s my direction—such a +glorious country, Barton. I wrote you a letter a week ago, +but never posted it. So now goodbye. I shall bring +down the Chaffinches with me to Suffolk. Trade has been +very bad, the dealers tell me. My fruit Girl still hangs up +at a window—an unpleasant sight. Nobody is so hard +set as to bid for her.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. F. Pollock</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Naseby</span>, +<span class="smcap">Welford</span>, <span +class="smcap">Northampton</span>,<br /> +<i>Septr</i>. 20/42.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Pollock</span>,</p> +<p>. . . London was very close and nasty: so I am glad to get +down here: where, however, I am not (as at present proposed) to +stay long: my Father requiring my services in Suffolk early in +October. Laurence has made a sort of promise to come and +see me here next Saturday: I wanted him to come down with me +while the weather was fine. The place is very desert, but a +battle was probably fought here 200 years ago, as an Obelisk +planted by my Papa on the wrong site intimates. Poor +Carlyle got into sad error from that deluding Obelisk: which +Liston used to call (in this <!-- page 134--><a +name="page134"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 134</span>case with +truth) an Obstacle. I am afraid Carlyle will make a mad +mess of Cromwell and his Times: what a poor figure Fairfax will +cut! I am very tired of these heroics; and I can worship no +man who has but a square inch of brains more than myself. I +think there is but one Hero: and that is the Maker of Heroes.</p> +<p>Here I am reading Virgil’s delightful Georgics for the +first time. They really attune perfectly well with the +plains and climate of Naseby. Valpy (whose edition I have) +cannot quite follow Virgil’s plough—in its +construction at least. But the main acts of agriculture +seem to have changed very little, and the alternation of green +and corn crops is a good dodge. And while I heard the +fellows going out with their horses to plough as I sat at +breakfast this morning, I also read—</p> +<blockquote><p>Libra die somnique pares ubi fecerit horas,<br /> +Et medium luci atque umbris jam dividit orbem,<br /> +Exercete, viri, tauros, serite hordea campis<br /> +Usque sub extremum brumæ intractabilis imbrem. <a +name="citation134"></a><a href="#footnote134" +class="citation">[134]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>One loves Virgil somehow.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Bernard Barton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<span class="smcap">Naseby</span>], +<i>Septr</i>. 22/42.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Barton</span>,</p> +<p>The pictures are left all ready packed up in Portland Place, +and shall come down with me, whenever <!-- page 135--><a +name="page135"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 135</span>that +desirable event takes place. In the mean while here I am as +before: but having received a long and interesting letter from +Carlyle asking information about this Battle field, I have +trotted about rather more to ascertain names of places, +positions, etc. After all he will make a mad book. I +have just seen some of the bones of a dragoon and his horse who +were found foundered in a morass in the field—poor dragoon, +much dismembered by time: his less worthy members having been +left in the owner’s summer-house for the last twenty years +have disappeared one by one: but his skull is kept safe in the +hall: not a bad skull neither: and in it some teeth yet holding, +and <i>a bit of the iron heel of his boot</i>, put into the skull +by way of convenience. This is what Sir Thomas Browne calls +‘making a man act his Antipodes.’ <a +name="citation135"></a><a href="#footnote135" +class="citation">[135]</a> I have got a fellow to dig at +one of the great general graves in the field: and he tells me +to-night that he has come to bones: to-morrow I will select a +neat specimen or two. In the mean time let the full harvest +moon wonder at them as they lie turned up after lying hid 2400 +revolutions of hers. Think of that warm 14th of June when +the Battle was fought, and they fell pell-mell: and then the +country people came and buried them so shallow that the stench +was terrible, and the putrid matter oozed over the ground for +several yards: so that the cattle were <!-- page 136--><a +name="page136"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 136</span>observed to +eat those places very close for some years after. Every one +to his taste, as one might well say to any woman who kissed the +cow that pastured there.</p> +<p>Friday, 23rd. We have dug at a place, as I said, and +made such a trench as would hold a dozen fellows: whose remains +positively make up the mould. The bones nearly all rotted +away, except the teeth which are quite good. At the bottom +lay the <i>form</i> of a perfect skeleton: most of the bones +gone, but the pressure distinct in the clay: the thigh and leg +bones yet extant: the skull a little pushed forward, as if there +were scanty room. We also tried some other reputed graves, +but found nothing: indeed it is not easy to distinguish what are +graves from old marl-pits, etc. I don’t care for all +this bone-rummaging myself: but the identification of the graves +identifies also where the greatest heat of the battle was. +Do you wish for a tooth?</p> +<p>As I began this antiquarian account in a letter to you, so I +have finished it, that you may mention it to my Papa, who perhaps +will be amused at it. Two farmers insisted on going out +exploring with me all day: one a very solid fellow, who talks +like the justices in Shakespeare: but who certainly was inspired +in finding out this grave: the other a Scotchman full of +intelligence, who proposed the flesh-soil for manure for +turnips. The old Vicar, whose age reaches halfway back to +the day of the Battle, stood tottering over the verge of the +trench. Carlyle has shewn <!-- page 137--><a +name="page137"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 137</span>great +sagacity in guessing at the localities from the vague +descriptions of contemporaries: and his short <i>pasticcio</i> of +the battle is the best I have seen. <a name="citation137"></a><a +href="#footnote137" class="citation">[137]</a> But he will +spoil all by making a demi-god of Cromwell, who certainly was so +far from wise that he brought about the very thing he fought to +prevent—the restoration of an unrestricted monarchy.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To S. Laurence</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Naseby</span>, +<i>Septr</i>. 28/42.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Laurence</span>,</p> +<p>I am sorry you did not come, as the weather has become fine, +and this wild wide country looks well on these blowing days, with +flying shadows running over the distance. Carlyle wrote me +a long letter of questions concerning the field of Battle, its +traditions, etc. So I have trotted about, examined the +natives, and answered a great many of his queries as fully, but +as shortly, as I could. However I suppose he growls +superciliously at my letter, which was necessarily rather a long +one. I have also, in company with two farmers, opened one +of the reputed graves in which the killed were said to be +reposited: and there sure enough we found decayed bones, skulls, +arms, legs, etc., and very sound teeth—the only sound +part. For many bodies put together corrupt one another of +course, and 200 years have not contributed <!-- page 138--><a +name="page138"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 138</span>to their +preservation. People had often dug about the field before +and found nothing; and we tried two or three other spots with no +success. I am going to dig once more in a place where +tradition talks of a large burial of men and horses. . . .</p> +<p>How long I shall yet be here I know not: but not long I +doubt. I dare say I shall pass through London on my way to +Suffolk: and then perhaps see the trans-Atlantic Secretary. <a +name="citation138"></a><a href="#footnote138" +class="citation">[138]</a></p> +<p>Don’t trouble yourself to write answers to my +gossip. I have just been at our Church where we have had +five clergymen to officiate: two in shovel-hats. Our Vicar +is near ninety; we have two curates: and an old Clergyman and his +Archdeacon son came on a visit. The son having a +shovel-hat, of course the Father could not be left behind. +Shovel-hats (you know) came into use with the gift of Tongs.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To John Allen</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<span class="smcap">Boulge +Cottage.</span>]<br /> +<i>Nov</i>. 18/42.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Allen</span>,</p> +<p>. . . Do you know that I am really going to look out for some +permanent abode, which I think I am well qualified to decide on +now. But in this very judgment I may be most of all +mistaken. I do not love London enough to pitch my tent +there: Woodbridge, <!-- page 139--><a name="page139"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 139</span>Ipswich, or +Colchester—won’t one of them do? . . .</p> +<p>I have been reading Burton’s Anatomy <a +name="citation139"></a><a href="#footnote139" +class="citation">[139]</a> lately: a captivating book +certainly. That story of his going to the bridge at Oxford +to listen to the bargemen’s slang, etc., he reports of the +old Democritus, his prototype: so perhaps biographers thought it +must be Burton’s taste also. Or perhaps Burton took +to doing it after example. I cannot help fancying that I +see the foundation (partly) of Carlyle’s style in Burton: +one passage quite like part of Sartor Resartus. Much of +Barton’s Biography may be picked up out of his own +introduction to the Anatomy. Maurice’s Introductory +Lecture I shall be very glad to have. I do not fancy I +should read his Kingdom of Christ, should I? You know.</p> +<p>I have had bad cold and cough which still hang about me: this +damp cottage is not good for a cure. . . . And now +goodbye.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To F. Tennyson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Geldestone +Hall</span>, <span class="smcap">Beccles</span>.<br /> +[? 1843.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Frederic</span>,</p> +<p>I am glad you are back, and perhaps sorry. But glad let +it be, for I shall be in London, as proposed, in another +fortnight—more or less—and shall pig there <!-- page +140--><a name="page140"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 140</span>in +a garret for two months. We will go to picture sales and +buy bad pictures: though I have scarce money left. But I am +really at last going to settle in some spooney quarters in the +country, and would fain carry down some better forms and colours +to put about me. I cannot get the second or third best: but +I can get the imitations of the best: and that is enough for +me.</p> +<p>What is become of Alfred? He never writes—nor is +heard of.</p> +<p>Your letter found me poring over Harrington’s Oceana: a +long-shelved book—its doctrine of Government I am no judge +of: but what English those fellows wrote! I cannot read the +modern mechanique after them. ‘This free-born Nation +lives not upon the dole or Bounty of One Man, but distributing +her Annual Magistracies and Honours with her own hand is herself +King People.’ Harrington must be a better writer than +Milton. One finds books of this kind in these country +houses: and it is pleasant to look them over at midnight in the +kitchen, where I retire to smoke. . . .</p> +<p>Farewell till I see you one of these days.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To S. Laurence</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Dublin</span>, +<i>July</i> 11/43</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Laurence</span>,</p> +<p>We got here this morning; most of us sick, but not I: not +evidently sick, I mean. Here the sun shines, <!-- page +141--><a name="page141"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +141</span>and people go about in their cars or stand idle, just +the same as ever. ‘Repeal’ is faintly chalked +on a wall here and there. I have been to see a desperate +collection of pictures by the Royal Academy: among them old +unsaleables by Maclise and Uwins.</p> +<p>What I write for however is to say that the first volume of +Titmarsh’s Ireland is at 39 Portland Place; and that I wish +you would ask for it there and get it. Keep the two volumes +for a time. It is all true. I ordered a bath here +when I got in: the waiter said it was heated to 90°, but it +was scalding: he next locked me up in the room instead of my +locking him out.</p> +<p>Keep an eye on the little Titian, and I shall really make the +venture of borrowing £30 to invest in it. Tell +Rochard you must have it. I may never be able to get a bit +of Titian in my life again: and I shall doubtless learn to admire +it properly in time.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To F. Tennyson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Halverstown</span>, <span +class="smcap">Kilcullen</span>, <span +class="smcap">Ireland</span>.<br /> +[? <i>July</i> 1843.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Frederic</span> . . .</p> +<p>. . . You would rave at this climate which is wetter far than +that of England. There are the Wicklow hills (mountains we +call them) in the offing—quite high enough. In spite +of my prejudice for a level, I find myself every day +unconsciously verging <!-- page 142--><a name="page142"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 142</span>towards any eminence that gives me +the freest view of their blue ranges. One’s thoughts +take wing to the distance. I fancy that moderately high +hills (like these) are the ticket—not to be domineered over +by Mont Blancs, etc. But this may be only a passing +prejudice.</p> +<p>We hear much less of Repeal here than in London: and people +seem amused at the troops and waggons of gunpowder that are to be +met now and then upon the roads. . .</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Bernard Barton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Ballysax</span>, +<a name="citation142a"></a><a href="#footnote142a" +class="citation">[142a]</a> <span +class="smcap">Kilcullen</span>,<br /> +<i>August</i>, 17/43</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Barton</span>,</p> +<p>. . . That old Suffolk comes over here sometimes, as I say; +and greets one’s eyes with old familiar names: Sales at +Yoxford, Aldeburgh, etc., regattas at Lowestoft, and at +Woodbridge. I see Major Moor <a name="citation142b"></a><a +href="#footnote142b" class="citation">[142b]</a> turning the road +by the old Duke of York; the Deben winding away in full tide to +the sea; and numberless little pictures of this kind.</p> +<p>I am going the day after to-morrow to Edgeworth’s, for a +week, it may be a fortnight before I set sail for England. +Where shall I pitch my tent? that is the question. Whither +shall those treasures of ancient art descend, and be reposited +there for ever?</p> +<p><!-- page 143--><a name="page143"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +143</span>I have been looking over the old London Magazine. +Lamb’s papers come in delightfully: read over the Old China +the night you get this, and sympathize with me. The account +of the dish of green pease, etc., is the true history of lawful +luxury. Not Johnson nor Adam Smith told so much. It +is founded not on statistics but on good humanity.</p> +<p>We have at last delightful weather, and we enjoy it. +Yesterday we went to Pool-a-Phooka, the Leap of the Goblin +Horse. What is that, do you suppose? Why, a cleft in +the mountains down and through which the river Liffey (not very +long born from the earth) comes leaping and roaring. Cold +veal pies, champagne, etc., make up the enchantment. We +dabbled in the water, splashed each other, forded the river, +climbed the rocks, laughed, sang, eat, drank, and were roasted, +and returned home, the sun sinking red.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>A pen and ink sketch</i>.)</p> +<p>This is not like Pool-a-Phooka.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To F. Tennyson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Ireland</span>, +<i>August</i> 31/43.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Frederic</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I set sail from Dublin to-morrow night, bearing the +heartfelt regrets of all the people of Ireland with me.</p> +<p>Where is my dear old Alfred? Sometimes I <!-- page +144--><a name="page144"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +144</span>intend to send him a quotation from a book: but do not +perform the same. Are you packing up for Italy? I had +a pleasant week with Edgeworth. He farms, and is a justice: +and goes to sleep on the sofa of evenings. At odd moments +he looks into Spinoza and Petrarch. People respect him very +much in those parts. Old Miss Edgeworth is wearing away: +she has a capital bright soul which even now shines quite +youthfully through her faded carcase. . . . I had the +weakest dream the other night that ever was dreamt. I +thought I saw Thomas Frognall Dibdin—and that was +all. Tell this to Alfred. Carlyle talks of coming to +see Naseby: but I leave him to suit the weather to his taste.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge +Hall</span>, <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>,<br /> +<i>Sunday</i>, <i>Dec</i>. 10/1843.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Frederic</span>,</p> +<p>Either you wrote me word yourself, or some one told me, that +you meant to winter at Florence. So I shall direct to the +Poste Restante there. You see I am not settled at the +Florence of Suffolk, called Ipswich, yet: but I am perhaps as +badly off; being in this most dull country house quite alone; a +grey mist, that seems teeming with half formed snow, all over the +landscape before my windows. It is also Sunday morning: ten +of the clock by the chime now sounding from the stables. I +have fed on bread and milk (a dreadfully opaque diet) and I await +the <!-- page 145--><a name="page145"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 145</span>morning Church in humble hope. +It will begin in half an hour. We keep early hours in the +country. So you will be able exactly to measure my aptitude +and fullness for letter writing by the quantity written now, +before I bolt off for hat, gloves, and prayerbook. I always +put on my thickest great coat to go to our Church in: as fungi +grow in great numbers about the communion table. And now, +to turn away from Boulge, I must tell you that I went up to +London a month ago to see old Thackeray, who had come there to +have his eyes doctored. I stayed with him ten days and we +were as usual together. Alfred came up ‘in +transitu’ from Boxley to Cheltenham; he looked, and said he +was, ill: I have never seen him so hopeless: and I am really +anxious to know how he is. . . . I remember the days of the +summer when you and I were together, quarrelling and +laughing—these I remember with pleasure. Our trip to +Gravesend has left a perfume with me. I can get up with you +on that everlastingly stopping coach on which we tried to travel +from Gravesend to Maidstone that Sunday morning: worn out with +it, we got down at an inn, and then got up on another +coach—and an old smiling fellow passed us holding out his +hat—and you said, ‘That old fellow must go about as +Homer did’—and numberless other turns of road and +humour, which sometimes pass before me as I lie in bed. . . +. Now before I turn over, I will go and see about Church, +as I hear no bell, pack myself up as warmly as I can, and be +off. So good-bye till twelve +o’clock.—’Tis <!-- page 146--><a +name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 146</span>five +minutes past twelve by the stable clock: so I saw as I returned +from Church through the garden. Parson and Clerk got +through the service see saw like two men in a sawpit. In +the garden I see the heads of the snowdrops and crocuses just out +of the earth. Another year with its same flowers and topics +to open upon us. Shenstone somewhere sings, <a +name="citation146a"></a><a href="#footnote146a" +class="citation">[146a]</a></p> +<blockquote><p>Tedious again to mark the drizzling day,<br /> + Again to trace the same sad tracts of snow:<br /> +Or, lull’d by vernal airs, again survey<br /> + The selfsame hawthorn bud, and cowslips blow.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I rely on you and all your family sympathizing in this. +So do I sometimes: anyhow, people complimenting each other on the +approach of Spring and such like felicitations are very +tiresome. Our very year is of a paltry diameter. But +this is not proper language for Mark Tapley, whose greatest bore +just now is having a bad pen; but the letter is ended. So +he is jolly and yours as ever.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To S. Laurence</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge</span>, +<span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>,<br /> +<i>Decr</i>. 21/43.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Laurence</span>,</p> +<p>I hope you got safe and sound to London: as I did to this +place yesterday. Those good Tetter people! I have got +an attachment to them somehow. I left Jane <a +name="citation146b"></a><a href="#footnote146b" +class="citation">[146b]</a> in a turmoil as to which picture of +<!-- page 147--><a name="page147"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +147</span>W[ilkinson] she was to take. I advised her to +take a dose of Time, which always operates so gently.</p> +<p>I have been down to Woodbridge to-day and had a long chat with +Churchyard, whom I wish you had seen, as also his Gainsborough +sketches. He is quite clear as to Gainsborough’s +general method, which was (he says) to lay all in (except the +sky, of course) with pure colour, quite unmixed with white. +The sketch he has is certainly so; but whether it ever could have +been wrought up into a deep finish, I don’t know. C. +says yes it could: that Gainsborough began nearly all his +pictures so. He has tried it over and over again (he says) +and produced exactly the same effect with pure colour, laid on +very thin over a light brown ground: asphaltum and blue producing +just such a green as many of the trees in this sketch are +of. The sky put in afterwards.</p> +<p>He thinks this the great secret of landscape painting. +He shewed me the passage quoted by Burnet <a +name="citation147"></a><a href="#footnote147" +class="citation">[147]</a> from Rubens’ maxims (where and +what are they?) ‘Begin by painting in your shadows +lightly, taking care that <i>no</i> white be suffered to glide +into them—<i>it is the poison of a picture except in the +lights</i>. If ever your shadows are corrupted by the +introduction of this baneful colour, your tones will no longer be +warm and transparent, but heavy and leaden. It is not the +same in the lights: they may be loaded with colour as much as you +think proper.’</p> +<p><!-- page 148--><a name="page148"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +148</span>Here is a technical letter, you see, from a man who is +no artist, and very ignorant, as you think, I dare say. Try +a head in this way. You have tried a dozen, you say. +Very well then.</p> +<p>I will send up your cloak, which is barely bigger than a fig +leaf, when I can. On Saturday I give supper to B. Barton +and Churchyard. I wish you could be with us. We are +the chief wits of Woodbridge. And one man has said that he +envies our conversations! So we flatter each other in the +country.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>Of FitzGerald’s way of life at this time I have the +following notes which were given me by the late Rev. George +Crabbe, Rector of Merton, the grandson of the poet, at whose +house he died.</p> +<blockquote><p>‘FitzGerald was living at Boulge Cottage +when I first knew him: a thatched cottage of one storey just +outside his Father’s Park. No one was, I think, +resident at the Hall. His mother would sometimes be there a +short time, and would drive about in a coach and four black +horses. This would be in 1844, when he was 36. He +used to walk by himself, slowly, with a Skye terrier. I was +rather afraid of him. He seemed a proud and very +punctilious man. I think he was at this time going often of +an evening to Bernard Barton’s. He did not come to +us, except occasionally, till 1846. He seemed to me when I +first saw him much as he was when he died, only not stooping: +always like a grave middle-aged man: <!-- page 149--><a +name="page149"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 149</span>never +seemed very happy or light-hearted, though his conversation was +most amusing sometimes. His cottage was a mile from +Bredfield. He was very fond, I think, of my Father; though +they had several coolnesses which I believe were all my +Father’s fault, who took fancies that people disliked him +or were bored by him. E. F. G. had in his cottage an old +woman to wait on him, Mrs. Faiers; a very old-fashioned Suffolk +woman. He was just as careful not to make her do anything +as he was afterwards with Mrs. Howe. <a name="citation149"></a><a +href="#footnote149" class="citation">[149]</a> He would +never ring the bell, if there was one, of which I am not +sure. Sometimes he would give a little dinner—my +Father, Brooke, B. Barton, Churchyard—everything most +hospitable, but not comfortable.</p> +<p>‘In 1846 and 1847 he does not seem to have come much to +Bredfield. Perhaps he was away a good deal. He was +often away, visiting his mother, or W. Browne, or in London, or +at the Kerriches’. In 1848, 1849, and 1850 he was a +great deal at Bredfield, generally dropping in about seven +o’clock, singing glees with us, and then joining my Father +over his cigar, and staying late and often sleeping. He +very often arranged concerted pieces for us to sing, in four +parts, he being tenor. He sang very accurately but had not +a good voice.</p> +<p>‘While E. F. G. was at Boulge, he always got up early, +eat his small breakfast, stood at his desk reading or writing all +the morning, eat his dinner of vegetables <!-- page 150--><a +name="page150"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 150</span>and +pudding, walked with his Skye terrier, and then often finished +the day by spending the evening with us or the Bartons. He +did not visit with the neighbouring gentlefolks, as he hated a +set dinner party.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To F. Tennyson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge</span>, +<span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>February</i> 24/44.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Frederic</span>,</p> +<p>I got your letter all right. But you did not tell me +where to direct to you again; so I must send to the Poste +Restante at Florence. I have also heard from Morton, to +whom I despatched a letter yesterday: and now set about one to +you. As you live in two different cities, one may write +about the same things to both. You told me of the Arno +being frozen, and even Italian noses being cold: he tells me the +Spring is coming. I tell you that we have had the mildest +winter known; but as good weather, when it does come in England, +is always unseasonable, and as an old proverb says that a green +Yule makes a fat kirk-yard, so it has been with us: the +extraordinary fine season has killed heaps of people with +influenza, debilitated others for their lives long, worried +everybody with colds, etc. I have had three influenzas: but +this is no wonder: for I live in a hut with walls as thin as a +sixpence: windows that don’t shut: a clay soil safe beneath +my feet: a thatch perforated by lascivious sparrows over my +head. Here I sit, read, <!-- page 151--><a +name="page151"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 151</span>smoke, and +become very wise, and am already quite beyond earthly +things. I must say to you, as Basil Montagu once said, in +perfect charity, to his friends: ‘You see, my dear fellows, +I like you very much, but I continue to advance, and you remain +where you are (you see), and so I shall be obliged to leave you +behind me. It is no fault of mine.’ You must +begin to read Seneca, whose letters I have been reading: else, +when you come back to England, you will be no companion to a man +who despises wealth, death, etc. What are pictures but +paintings—what are auctions but sales! All is +vanity. Erige animum tuum, mî Lucili, etc. I +wonder whether old Seneca was indeed such a humbug as people now +say he was: he is really a fine writer. About three hundred +years ago, or less, our divines and writers called him the divine +Seneca; and old Bacon is full of him. One sees in him the +upshot of all the Greek philosophy, how it stood in Nero’s +time, when the Gods had worn out a good deal. I don’t +think old Seneca believed he should live again. Death is +his great resource. Think of the <i>rocococity</i> of a +gentleman studying Seneca in the middle of February 1844 in a +remarkably damp cottage.</p> +<p>I have heard from Alfred also, who hates his water +life—βιος +αβιος he calls it—but hopes +to be cured in March. Poor fellow, I trust he may. He +is not in a happy plight, I doubt. I wish I lived in a +pleasant country where he might like to come and stay with +me—but this is one of the ugliest places in <!-- page +152--><a name="page152"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +152</span>England—one of the dullest—it has not the +merit of being bleak on a grand scale—pollard trees over a +flat clay, with regular hedges. I saw a stanza in an old +book which seemed to describe my condition rather—</p> +<blockquote><p>Far from thy kyn cast thee:<br /> +Wrath not thy neighbour next thee,<br /> +In a good corn country rest thee,<br /> +And sit down, Robin, and rest thee. <a name="citation152"></a><a +href="#footnote152" class="citation">[152]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>Funny advice, isn’t it? I am glad to hear Septimus +is so much improved. I beg you will felicitate him from me: +I have a tacit regard of the true sort for him, as I think I must +have for all of the Tennyson build. I see so many little +natures about that I must draw to the large, even if their faults +be on the same scale as their virtues. You and I shall I +suppose quarrel as often as we meet: but I can quarrel and never +be the worse with you. How we pulled against each other at +Gravesend! You would stay—I wouldn’t—then +I would—then we did. Do you remember the face of that +girl at the Bazaar, who kept talking to us and looking all round +the room for fresh customers—a way women have—that +is, a way of doing rather gracefully? Then the gentleman +who sang Ivy green; a very extraordinary accentuation, it seemed +to me: but I believe you admired it very much. Really, if +these little excursions in the company of one’s friends +leave such a pleasant taste behind in the memory, one should +court them oftener. <!-- page 153--><a +name="page153"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 153</span>And yet +then perhaps the relish would grow less: it is the infrequency +that gives them room to expand. I shall never get to Italy, +that seems clear. My great travel this year will be to +Carlisle. Quid prosit ista tua longa peregrinatio, +etc. Travelling, you know, is a vanity. The +<i>soul</i> remains the same. An amorem possis fugare, an +libidinis exsiccari, an timorem mortis depellere? What then +will you say to Pollock’s being married! I hear he is +to be. Ad matrimonium fugis? Miser! +Scævola noster dicere solebat, etc. Excuse my +overflowing with philosophy. I am going this evening to eat +toasted cheese with that celebrated poet Bernard Barton. +And I must soon stir, and look about for my great coat, brush +myself, etc. It blows a harrico, as Theodore Hook used to +say, and will rain before I get to Woodbridge. Those poor +mistaken lilac buds there out of the window! and an old Robin, +ruffled up to his thickest, sitting mournfully under them, quite +disheartened. For you must know the mild winter is just +giving way to a remarkably severe spring. . . . I wish you +were here to smoke a pipe with me. I play of evenings some +of Handel’s great choruses which are the bravest music +after all. I am getting to the true John Bull style of +music. I delight in Handel’s Allegro and +Penseroso. Do you know the fine pompous joyous chorus of +‘These pleasures, Mirth, if thou canst give, +etc.’? Handel certainly does in music what old Bacon +desires in his Essay on Masques, ‘Let the songs be loud and +cheerful, not puling, etc.’ One <!-- page 154--><a +name="page154"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 154</span>might think +the Water music was written from this text.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>About this time FitzGerald was engaged in collecting +information for Carlyle on the subject of Cromwell’s +Lincolnshire campaign, and it is to this he refers in the +following fragment of a letter to Mrs. Charlesworth and the +letters which follow.</p> +<blockquote><p>But as Carlyle is like to make good use of what we +can find him, and make a good English Hero of +Oliver—something of a Johnsonian figure—I hope you +will try and pester these Lincoln ladies and gentlemen. I +wrote to Livesey: who once, he says, had a butler named Oliver +Cromwell. That is the nearest approach to history I make +through him.</p> +<p>My brother John, after being expected every day this week, +wrote positively to say he could not come to day: and accordingly +was seen to drive up to the Hall two hours ago. *</p> +<p>Believe me, dear Mrs. Charlesworth, yours thankfully,</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">E. +FitzGerald</span>.</p> +<blockquote><p>* N.B. I am not at the Hall: but in the +Cottage. Pray give my compliments to all your party</p> +<p><i>March</i> /44.</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge</span> +[1844].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Charlesworth</span>,</p> +<p>Contributions from the fens or anywhere else will be +good. We must get out all from the Allenbys. <!-- +page 155--><a name="page155"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +155</span>I think I remember in Carlyle’s notes that the +<i>hill</i> in Winsby (where the farm house is) was the scene of +a daring attack of Cromwell’s: but my memory is bad. +Your correspondent says that bones, spurs, and <i>urns</i> have +been found there: the latter look rather as if the hill were of +<i>Roman note</i>. I should like it to be clearly told, +<i>exactly where</i> the relics were dug up: whether on the hill +or on the level said to extend from the hill to the west. +Mrs. Allenby’s first letter says <i>that</i> was probably +the field of battle: her son says the hill itself was. +Also, <i>exactly what the relics were</i>. These two points +are the chief I can see to need thorough sifting. I sent +Carlyle the letter: he is now I dare say groaning over it. +I have threatened to turn the correspondence entirely into his +hands: so Miss Charlesworth may expect that. I go to town +(I hope for a very short time) next week. John is yet here: +we all like his wife much. Farewell. Yours ever +thankfully,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">E. +FitzGerald</span>.</p> +<p>Poor old Mrs. Chaplin <a name="citation155"></a><a +href="#footnote155" class="citation">[155]</a> is dead! I +have found an old lady here to replace her.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge</span>, +Friday [1844].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Charlesworth</span>,</p> +<p>I am sorry for the trouble you have. But I must hope +that all that is to be got from such good <!-- page 156--><a +name="page156"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 156</span>authority +as the Allenbys will be got, as to Winsby. <i>Slash +Lane</i> promises very well. From the Allenbys let us be +content to reap Winsby field <i>only</i>: as it seems they once +farmed it, and let us get as good an account as possible of the +look of the field, Slash Lane, the records and traditions of the +place, and what remains were dug up, and <i>exactly where</i>; +for that generally shows where the stress of the battle +was. It is best to keep people to one point: else they +wander off into generalities: as for instance what the Lady tells +of War Scythes hung up in Horncastle Church: which, cruel as +Oliver was, we must refer back to an earlier warfare than his, I +doubt. Pray thank Miss Charlesworth: and believe me yours +ever,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">E. +FitzGerald</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge</span>, +<i>March</i> 5/44.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Charlesworth</span>,</p> +<p>I have heard again from Carlyle who has sent me, a letter from +Dr. Cookson, which I am to burn or send, as I think best. +Before I do so, I should be glad to speak to Miss Charlesworth on +the matter again: and as my brother is going off on one of his +comet excursions to-morrow (at least so he purposed an hour ago) +I shall go with him to Ipswich, unless it snows, etc., and shall +walk to Bramford. My humble request therefore is nothing +more than that you will be so good as to lock up Miss C. till I +have come and consulted as to what is best to be done: <!-- page +157--><a name="page157"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +157</span>and how best to address this Doctor: whom I conclude +she knows.</p> +<p>However, I only mean that if the day is pretty fair I may hope +to find some of you at home: and Mr. Charlesworth well again.</p> +<p>Yours very truly,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">E. +FitzGerald</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[19 <span class="smcap">Charlotte +Street</span>,<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rathbone Place</span>,]<br /> +<span class="smcap">London</span>, <i>April</i> 11/44.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Charlesworth</span>,</p> +<p>I last night smoked a pipe with Carlyle. He has had two +large packets from Dr. Cookson, who shows alacrity enough to do +what is asked, and may turn up something. But he has +chiefly spoken of Winsby: and your Allenbys had so well cleared +all that matter up with their map, etc., that the Doctor was +going over needless ground. I hope we may be as successful +with some other field: or rather that Cookson will anticipate us +and save us all trouble.</p> +<p>London is very hateful to me. I long to spread wing and +fly into the kind clean air of the country. I see nobody in +the streets half so handsome as Mr. Reynolds <a +name="citation157"></a><a href="#footnote157" +class="citation">[157]</a> of our parish: all clever, composed, +satirical, selfish, well dressed. Here we see what the +World is. I am sure a great City is a deadly Plague: worse +than the illness so called that came to ravage it. I tried +<!-- page 158--><a name="page158"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +158</span>to persuade Carlyle to leave his filthy Chelsea, but he +says his wife likes London. I get radishes to eat for +breakfast of a morning: with them comes a savour of earth that +brings all the delicious gardens of the world back into +one’s soul, and almost draws tears from one’s +eyes.</p> +<p>With renewed thanks believe me ever yours,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">E. +FitzGerald</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Bernard Barton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">19 <span class="smcap">Charlotte +St.</span>, <i>April</i> 11/44.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Barton</span>,</p> +<p>I am still indignant at this nasty place London. +Thackeray, whom I came up to see, went off to Brighton the night +after I arrived, and has not re-appeared: but I must wait some +time longer for him. Thank Miss Barton much for the +<i>kit</i>; if it is but a kit: my old woman is a great lover of +cats, and hers has just <i>kitted</i>, and a wretched little +blind puling tabby lizard of a thing was to be saved from the +pail for me: but if Miss Barton’s is a <i>kit</i>, I will +gladly have it: and my old lady’s shall be disposed +of—not to the pail. Oh rus, quando te aspiciam? +Construe that, Mr. Barton.—I am going to send down my +pictures to Boulge, if I can secure them: they are not quite +secure at present. If they vanish, I snap my fingers at +them, Magi and all—there is a world (alas!) elsewhere +beyond pictures—Oh, oh, oh, oh—</p> +<p><!-- page 159--><a name="page159"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +159</span>I smoked a pipe with Carlyle yesterday. We +ascended from his dining room carrying pipes and tobacco up +through two stories of his house, and got into a little dressing +room near the roof: there we sat down: the window was open and +looked out on nursery gardens, their almond trees in blossom, and +beyond, bare walls of houses, and over these, roofs and chimneys, +and roofs and chimneys, and here and there a steeple, and whole +London crowned with darkness gathering behind like the +illimitable resources of a dream. I tried to persuade him +to leave the accursed den, and he +wished—but—but—perhaps he <i>didn’t</i> +wish on the whole.</p> +<p>When I get back to Boulge I shall recover my quietude which is +now all in a ripple. But it is a shame to talk of such +things. So Churchyard has caught another Constable. +Did he get off our Debach boy that set the shed on fire? +Ask him that. Can’st thou not minister to a mind +diseased, etc.</p> +<p>A cloud comes over Charlotte Street and seems as if it were +sailing softly on the April wind to fall in a blessed shower upon +the lilac buds and thirsty anemones somewhere in Essex; or, who +knows?, perhaps at Boulge. Out will run Mrs. Faiers, and +with red arms and face of woe haul in the struggling windows of +the cottage, and make all tight. Beauty Bob <a +name="citation159"></a><a href="#footnote159" +class="citation">[159]</a> will cast a bird’s eye out at +the shower, and bless the useful wet. Mr. Loder will +observe to the farmer for whom he is doing up a dozen of +Queen’s <!-- page 160--><a name="page160"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 160</span>Heads, that it will be of great use: +and the farmer will agree that his young barleys wanted it +much. The German Ocean will dimple with innumerable pin +points, and porpoises rolling near the surface sneeze with +unusual pellets of fresh water—</p> +<blockquote><p> Can such things be,<br /> +And overcome us like a summer cloud,<br /> +Without our special wonder?</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Oh this wonderful wonderful world, and we who stand in the +middle of it are all in a maze, except poor Matthews of Bedford, +who fixes his eyes upon a wooden Cross and has no misgiving +whatsoever. When I was at his chapel on Good Friday, he +called at the end of his grand sermon on some of the people to +say merely this, that they believed Christ had redeemed them: and +first one got up and in sobs declared she believed it: and then +another, and then another—I was quite overset:—all +poor people: how much richer than all who fill the London +Churches. Theirs is the kingdom of Heaven!</p> +<p>This is a sad farrago. Farewell.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Mrs. Charlesworth</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[27 <i>April</i>, 1844?]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Charlesworth</span>,</p> +<p>Thank you over and over again for your letter. The last +packet with sketches, etc., came all safe yesterday: and Carlyle +is much pleased. We may say that Winsby Field is exhausted +now. I should <!-- page 161--><a name="page161"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 161</span>like however to have some sketch of +the <i>relics</i>: the shape of the stone jugs: their size +specified. The <i>helmet</i> could be identified with the +military fashion of some reign, as represented in prints, +pictures, etc. But on the whole, the Allenbys have done +capitally: and so have you: and so have I: and so I hope will +Carlyle one day. He begs seriously to thank you and the +Allenbys.</p> +<p>He was much distressed at Dr. Cookson’s death: <a +name="citation161"></a><a href="#footnote161" +class="citation">[161]</a> and said how he should feel it when he +came to think of it alone. Such is the man: he will call +all the wits in London dilettanti, etc., but let a poor fellow +die, and the Scotch heart flows forth in tears.</p> +<p>If any one can be found to do half as much for Gainsborough +(which was an important battle) as has been done for Winsby, why, +the Lincolnshire campaign will be handsomely reported. At +Grantham there is no such great interest, it appears.</p> +<p>I hope to get out of London to my poor old Boulge next +week. I have seen all my friends so as to satisfy them that +I am a duller country fellow than I was, and so we shall part +without heart-breaking on either side. It is partly +one’s fault not to be up to the London mark: but as there +is a million of persons in the land fully up to it, one has the +less call to repent in that respect. I confess that Mr. +Reynolds is a better sight to me than old rouged Lady Morgan and +all such.</p> +<p><!-- page 162--><a name="page162"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +162</span>I hope it will not be long before I visit you at +Bramford. In the mean while believe me with best regards to +all your family, yours ever very truly,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Edward +FitzGerald</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">19 <span class="smcap">Charlotte +St.</span>, <span class="smcap">Etc.</span><br /> +<i>Saturday</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Charlesworth</span>,</p> +<p>I received your last packet just as I was setting off for +Suffolk. I sent part of it to Carlyle. I enclose you +what answer he makes me this morning. If Miss Charlesworth +will take the pains to read his dispatch of Gainsboro’ +Fight, and can possibly rake out some information on the doubtful +points, we shall help to lay that unquiet spirit of history which +now disturbs Chelsea and its vicinity. Please to keep the +paper safe: for it must have been a nuisance to write it.</p> +<p>I lament your renewed misfortune: but I cannot wonder at +it. These things are not got rid of in a year. +Isabella is in England with her husband, at Hastings.</p> +<p>Believe me yours ever thankfully,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">E. +FitzGerald</span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Boulge</span>, <i>May</i> 7/44.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 163--><a +name="page163"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 163</span><i>To F. +Tennyson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge</span>, +<span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>,<br /> +<i>May</i> 24/44.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Frederic</span>,</p> +<p>I think you mean never to write to me again. But you +should, for I enjoy your letters much for years after I have got +them. They tell me all I shall know of Italy, beside many +other good things. I received one letter from you from +Florence, and as you gave me no particular direction, I wrote to +you at the Poste Restante there. I am now inditing this +letter on the same venture. As my location is much more +permanent, I command you to respond to me the very day you get +this, warmed into such faint inspiration as my turnip radiance +can kindle. You have seen a turnip lantern perhaps. +Well, here I continue to exist: having broken my rural vegetation +by one month in London, where I saw all the old faces—some +only in passing, however—saw as few sights as possible, +leaving London two days before the Exhibition opened. This +is not out of moroseness or love of singularity: but I really +supposed there could be nothing new: and therefore the best way +would [be] to come new to it oneself after three or four years +absence. I see in Punch a humorous catalogue of supposed +pictures; Prince Albert’s favourite spaniel and bootjack, +the Queen’s Macaw with a Muffin, etc., by Landseer, etc., +in which I recognize Thackeray’s <!-- page 164--><a +name="page164"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +164</span>fancy. He is in full vigour play and pay in +London, writing in a dozen reviews, and a score of newspapers: +and while health lasts he sails before the wind. I have not +heard of Alfred since March. . . . Spedding devotes his +days to Lord Bacon in the British Museum: his nights to the usual +profligacy. . . . My dear Frederic, you must select some of +your poems and publish them: we want some bits of strong genuine +imagination to help put to flight these—etc. Publish +a book of fragments, if nothing else but single lines, or else +the whole poems. When will you come to England and do +it? I dare say I should have stayed longer in London had +you been there: but the wits were too much for me. Not +Spedding, mind: who is a dear fellow. But one finds few in +London <i>serious</i> men: I mean <i>serious</i> even in fun: +with a true purpose and character whatsoever it may be. +London melts away all individuality into a common lump of +cleverness. I am amazed at the humour and worth and noble +feeling in the country, however much railroads have mixed us up +with metropolitan civilization. I can still find the heart +of England beating healthily down here, though no one will +believe it.</p> +<p>You know my way of life so well that I need not describe it to +you, as it has undergone no change since I saw you. I read +of mornings; the same old books over and over again, having no +command of new ones: walk with my great black <!-- page 165--><a +name="page165"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 165</span>dog of an +afternoon, and at evening sit with open windows, up to which +China roses climb, with my pipe, while the blackbirds and +thrushes begin to rustle bedwards in the garden, and the +nightingale to have the neighbourhood to herself. We have +had such a spring (bating the last ten days) as would have +satisfied even you with warmth. And such verdure! white +clouds moving over the new fledged tops of oak trees, and acres +of grass striving with buttercups. How old to tell of, how +new to see! I believe that Leslie’s Life of Constable +(a very charming book) has given me a fresh love of Spring. +Constable loved it above all seasons: he hated Autumn. When +Sir G. Beaumont who was of the old classical taste asked him if +he did not find it difficult to place <i>his brown tree</i> in +his pictures, ‘Not at all,’ said C., ‘I never +put one in at all.’ And when Sir George was crying up +the tone of the old masters’ landscapes, and quoting an old +violin as the proper tone of colour for a picture, Constable got +up, took an old Cremona, and laid it down on the sunshiny +grass. You would like the book. In defiance of all +this, I have hung my room with pictures, like very old fiddles +indeed: but I agree with Sir George and Constable both. I +like pictures that are not like nature. I can have nature +better than any picture by looking out of my window. Yet I +respect the man who tries to paint up to the freshness of earth +and sky. Constable did not wholly achieve what he tried +<!-- page 166--><a name="page166"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +166</span>at: and perhaps the old masters chose a soberer scale +of things as more within the compass of lead paint. To +paint dew with lead!</p> +<p>I also plunge away at my old Handel of nights, and delight in +the Allegro and Penseroso, full of pomp and fancy. What a +pity Handel could not have written music to some great Masque, +such as Ben Jonson or Milton would have written, if they had +known of such a musician to write for.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To S. Laurence</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>May</i>, 1844.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Laurence</span>,</p> +<p>I hope your business is settled by this time. I have +seen praise of your picture in the Athenæum, which quoted +also the Chronicle’s good opinion. I am very glad of +all this and I hope you will now set to work, and paint away with +ease and confidence, forgetting that there is such a hue as +bottle-green <a name="citation166"></a><a href="#footnote166" +class="citation">[166]</a> in the universe (it was tastefully +omitted from the rainbow, you see); and, in spite of what Moore +says, paint English people in English atmospheres. Your +Coningham was rather orange, wasn’t he? But he was +very good, I thought. Dress your ladies in cheerful +dresses, not quite so vulgar as Chalon’s. . . . I <!-- page +167--><a name="page167"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +167</span>heard from my sister that you had finished Wilkinson to +the perfect content of all: I had charged her particularly not to +allow Mrs. W. to intercede for any smirk or alteration +whatever.</p> +<p>My Venetian pictures look very grand on my walls, which +previously had been papered with a still green (not bottled) on +purpose to receive them. On my table is a long necked +bottle with three flowers just now in it . . . a tuft of +rhododendron, a tuft of scarlet geranium, and a tuft of white +gilli-flower. Do you see these in your mind’s +eye? I wish you could come down here and refresh your +sodden eyes with pure daylight, budding oak trees, and all the +changes of sky and cloud. To live to make sonnets about +these things, and doat upon them, is worse Cockneyism than +rejoicing in the sound of Bow Bells for ever so long: but here +one has them whether one will or no: and they are better than +Lady Morgan and --- at a rout in Harley Street. Maclise is +a handsome and fine fellow, I think: and Landseer is very good +natured. I long for my old Alfred portrait here sometimes: +but you had better keep it for the present. W. Browne and +Spedding are with me, good representatives one of the Vita +Contemplativa, the other of the Vita Attiva. Spedding, if +you tell him this, will not allow that he has not the elements of +Action in him: nor has he not: nor has not the other those of +contemplation: but each inclines a different way +notwithstanding. I wish you and <!-- page 168--><a +name="page168"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 168</span>Spedding +could come down here: though there is little to see, and to +eat. When you write you must put <i>Woodbridge</i> after +Boulge. This letter of yours went to Bury St. Edmunds, for +want of that. I hear Alfred Tennyson is in very good looks: +mind and paint him <i>quickly</i> when he comes to town; looking +full at you.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Bernard Barton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">19 <span class="smcap">Charlotte +St.</span>,<br /> +<span class="smcap">Rathbone Place</span>.<br /> +[1844.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Barton</span>,</p> +<p>I got here but yesterday, from Bedford, where I left W. Browne +in train to be married to a rich woman. When I heard that +they could not have less than five hundred a year, I gave up all +further interest in the matter: for I could not wish a reasonable +couple more. W. B. may be spoilt if he grows rich: that is +the only thing could spoil him. This time ten years I first +went to ride and fish with him about the river Ouse—he was +then 18—quick to love and quick to fight—full of +confidence, generosity, and the glorious spirit of Youth. . . +. I shall go to Church and hope he mayn’t be defiled +with the filthy pitch. Oh! if we could be brought to open +our eyes. I repent in ashes for reviling the Daddy who +wrote that Sonnet against damned Riches.</p> +<p><!-- page 169--><a name="page169"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +169</span>I heard a man preach at Bedford in a way that shook my +soul. He described the crucifixion in a way that put the +scene before his people—no fine words, and metaphors: but +first one nail struck into one hand, and then into another, and +one through both feet—the cross lifted up with God in +man’s image distended upon it. And the sneers of the +priests below—‘Look at that fellow there—look +at him—he talked of saving others, etc.’ And +then the sun veiled his face in Blood, etc. I certainly +have heard oratory now—of the Lord Chatham kind, only +Matthews has more faith in Christ than Pitt in his +majority. I was almost as much taken aback as the poor +folks all about me who sobbed: and I hate this beastly London +more and more. It stinks all through of churchyards and +fish shops. As to pictures—well, never mind +them. Farewell!</p> +<p>In the chapel opposite this house preaches Robert +Montgomery!</p> +<p style="text-align: right">19 <span class="smcap">Charlotte +St.</span>, <span class="smcap">Rathbone Place</span>.<br /> +[13 <i>June</i> 1844.]</p> +<p>Oh, Barton man! but I am grilled here. Oh for to sit +upon the banks of the dear old Deben, with the worthy collier +sloop going forth into the wide world as the sun sinks! I +went all over Westminster Abbey yesterday with a party of country +folks, to see the tombs. I did this to vindicate my way of +life. Then we had a smoke with Carlyle and he <!-- page +170--><a name="page170"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +170</span>very gloomy about the look of affairs, as usual. +I am as tired this morning as if I’d walked fifty +miles. Morton, fresh from Italy, agrees that London is not +fit to live in. I can’t write, nor can you read +perhaps. So farewell. Early next week (unless I go +round by Bedford) I expect to see good Woodbridge.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To S. Laurence</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge</span>, +<i>July</i> 4/44.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Laurence</span>,</p> +<p>I have but lately returned from Holbrook, where I saw your +last portrait of Wilkinson. It is very capital, and gives +my sister and all her neighbours great satisfaction. Jane +indeed can talk of nothing else. I will say this however, +with my usual ignorance and presumption, that I think the last +day’s sitting made it a little heavier than when I left it +unfinished. Was it that the final glazing was somewhat too +thick? I only mention this as a very slight defect, which I +should not have observed had I not seen its penultimate state, +and were I not a crotchetty stickler for lightness and +ease. But I hope and trust you will now do all your future +sketches in oil in the same way in which this is done: the long +brush, the wholesome distance between canvas, painter, and +sitter, and the few sittings. For myself, I have always +been sure of this: but I can assert it to you with more +confidence now, seeing that every one else seems to <!-- page +171--><a name="page171"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +171</span>agree with me, if I may judge by the general approval +of this specimen of the long brush. Besides, such a method +must shorten your labour, preserve the freshness of your eye and +spirit, and also ensure the similitude of the sitter to himself +by the very speediness of the operation.</p> +<p>Mills was very much delighted at W.’s portrait. +What will you say of me when I tell you that I did not encourage +him to have his wife painted by you, as he seemed to +purpose! You will pray heaven to deliver you from your +friends. But notwithstanding this, I am sure this last +portrait will bring you sitters from this part of the +country. Perhaps you will not find it easy to forgive me +this. I must tell you that Mrs. Mills, who sets up to be no +judge of pictures, but who never is wrong about anything, +instantly pitched on your portrait of Coningham as the best in +the Exhibition, without seeing who it was by: and when she +referred to the Catalogue, called out to her husband ‘Why +this is by E. F. G.’s friend Mr. Laurence.’</p> +<p>July 18. You see that all up to this was written a +fortnight ago. I did not finish, for I did not know where +to direct. And now I shall finish this portrait of my mind, +you see, in a different aspect perhaps to that with which I set +out. On looking over what I wrote however, I stick to all I +said about the painting: as to Mrs. Mills, whose case seems to +require some extenuation on my part, I fancied she was one of +those persons’ faces you would not take to: and so <!-- +page 172--><a name="page172"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +172</span>not succeed in. It is rather a pretty face, +without meaning, it seems to me: and yet she has meaning in +her. Mills has already had one portrait of her, which +discontents all, and therefore it was I would not advise any +painter who did not understand the art of <i>Millinery</i> well: +for if the face does not wholly content, there is the dress to +fall back on. I fancy Chalon would do the business.</p> +<p>I hear you have been doing some brother or brother in law of +Mrs. Lumsden. Mind what I have told you. I may not be +a good judge of painting, but I can judge of what people in +general like. . . .</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To John Allen</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">(About July 16, 1844 J. A.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear good Allen</span>,</p> +<p>Let me hear from you, if even but a line, before you leave +London on your summer excursion, whithersoever that is to +be. I conclude you go somewhere; to Hampshire, or to Tenby. +. . .</p> +<p>I have nothing to tell you of myself. Here I exist, and +read scraps of books, garden a little, and am on good terms with +my neighbours. The Times paper is stirring up our farming +society to the root, and some good will come of it, I dare say, +and some ill. Do you know of any good books on Education? +not for the poor or Charity schools, but on modern +Gentlemen’s grammar schools, etc. Did not Combe <!-- +page 173--><a name="page173"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +173</span>write a book? But he is the driest Scotch +Snuff. I beg leave to say that this letter is written with +a pen of my own making: the first I have made these twenty +years. I doubt after all it is no proof of a very +intelligent pen-Creator, but only of a lucky slit. The next +effort shall decide. Farewell, my dear Fellow. +Don’t forget unworthy me. We shall soon have known +each other twenty years, and soon thirty, and forty, if we live a +little while.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Bernard Barton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Geldestone</span>, 22 <i>August</i> 1844.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Barton</span>,</p> +<p>You will think I have forgot you. I spent four pleasant +days with Donne: who looks pale and thin, and in whose face the +grey is creeping up from those once flourishing whiskers to the +skull. It is doing so with me. We are neither of us +in what may be called the first dawn of boyhood. Donne +maintains his shape better than I do, but sorrow I doubt has done +that: and so we see why the house of mourning is better than the +stalled ox. For it is a grievous thing to grow poddy: the +age of Chivalry is gone then. An old proverb says that +‘a full belly neither fights nor flies well.’</p> +<p>I also saw Geldart at Norwich. He paints, and is deep in +religious thoughts also: he has besides the finest English good +sense about him: and altogether <!-- page 174--><a +name="page174"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 174</span>he is a man +one goes to that one may learn from him. I walked much +about Norwich and was pleased with the old place.</p> +<p>Here I see my old friend Mrs. Schutz, and play with the +children. Having shown the little girl the prints of +Boz’s Curiosity Shop, I have made a short abstract of +Little Nelly’s wanderings which interests her much, leaving +out the Swivellers, etc. For children do not understand how +merriment should intrude in a serious matter. This might +make a nice child’s book, cutting out Boz’s sham +pathos, as well as the real fun; and it forms a kind of Nelly-ad, +<a name="citation174a"></a><a href="#footnote174a" +class="citation">[174a]</a> or Homeric narration of the +child’s wandering fortunes till she reaches at last a haven +more desirable than any in stony Ithaca.</p> +<p>Lusia is to be married <a name="citation174b"></a><a +href="#footnote174b" class="citation">[174b]</a> on the 2nd, I +hear; and I shall set out for Leamington where the event takes +place in the middle of next week. Whether I shall touch in +my flight at Boulge is yet uncertain: so don’t order any +fireworks just at present. I hear from Mr. Crabbe he is +delighted with D’Israeli’s Coningsby, which I advised +him to read. Have you read it? The children still +wonder what Miss Charlesworth meant when she said that she +didn’t mean what she said. I tell them it is a new +way of thinking of young England. I have exercised the +children’s minds greatly on the doctrine of Puseyitical +reticence (that is not the word) but I find that children, who +are great in the kingdom of Heaven, <!-- page 175--><a +name="page175"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 175</span>are all for +blurting out what they mean. Farewell for the +present. Ever yours, E. F. G.</p> +<p>If war breaks out with France, I will take up arms as a +volunteer under Major Pytches. Pytches and Westminster +Abbey!</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Leamington</span>, <i>Sept.</i> 28/44.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Barton</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I expect to be here about a week, and I mean to give a +day to looking over the field of Edgehill, on the top of which, I +have ascertained, there is a very delightful pot-house, +commanding a very extensive view. Don’t you wish to +sit at ease in such a high tower, with a pint of porter at your +side, and to see beneath you the ground that was galloped over by +Rupert and Cromwell two hundred years ago, in one of the richest +districts of England, and on one of the finest days in October, +for such my day is to be?</p> +<p>In the meanwhile I cast regretful glances of memory back to my +garden at Boulge, which I want to see dug up and replanted. +I have bought anemone roots which in the Spring shall blow Tyrian +dyes, and Irises of a newer and more brilliant prism than Noah +saw in the clouds. I have bought a picture of my poor +quarrelsome friend Moore, just to help him; for I don’t +know what to do with his picture.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 176--><a +name="page176"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 176</span><i>To F. +Tennyson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge</span>, +<span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>Oct</i>. 10/44.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Frederic</span>,</p> +<p>You will think I have wholly cut you. But I wrote half a +letter to you three months ago; and mislaid it; spent some time +in looking for it, always hoping; and then some more time +despairing; and we all know how time goes when [we] have got a +thing to do which we are rather lazy about doing. As for +instance, getting up in a morning. Not that writing a +letter to you is so bad as getting up; but it is not easy for +mortal man who has heard, seen, done, and thought, nothing since +he last wrote, to fill one of these big foreign sheets full as a +foreign letter ought to be. I am now returned to my dull +home here after my usual pottering about in the midland counties +of England. A little Bedfordshire—a little +Northamptonshire—a little more folding of the +hands—the same faces—the same fields—the same +thoughts occurring at the same turns of road—this is all I +have to tell of; nothing at all added—but the summer +gone. My garden is covered with yellow and brown leaves; +and a man is digging up the garden beds before my window, and +will plant some roots and bulbs for next year. My parsons +come and smoke with me, etc. ‘The round of life from +hour to hour’—alluding doubtless to a +mill-horse. Alfred is reported to be still at Park House, +where he has been sojourning <!-- page 177--><a +name="page177"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 177</span>for two +months, I think; but he never writes me a word. Hydropathy +has done its worst; he writes the names of his friends in water. +. . . I spent two days in London with old Morton about five +weeks ago; and pleasant days they were. The rogue bewitches +me with his wit and honest speech. He also staid some while +at Park House, while Alfred was there, and managed of course to +frighten the party occasionally with some of his sallies. +He often writes to me; and very good his letters are all of +them.</p> +<p>When do you mean to write me another? Morton told me in +his last that he had heard from Brotherton you were gone, or +going, to Naples. I dare say this sheet of mine will never +get to your hands. But if it does, let me hear from +you. Is Italy becoming stale to you? Are you going to +Cairo for fresh sensations? Thackeray went off in a +steamboat about the time the French were before Mogadore; he was +to see those coasts and to visit Jerusalem! Titmarsh at +Jerusalem will certainly be an era in Christianity. But I +suppose he will soon be back now. Spedding is yet in his +highlands, I believe, considering Grouse and Bacon.</p> +<p>I expect to run up to London some time during the winter just +to tell over old friends’ faces and get a sup of music and +painting. I have bought very few more pictures lately; and +[heard] no music but Mendelssohn’s M. Night’s +Dream. The overture, which was published long ago, is the +best part; but there is a very noble triumphal march also.</p> +<p><!-- page 178--><a name="page178"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +178</span>Now I feel just in the same fix as I did in that sheet +of paper whose fate is uncertain. But if I don’t put +in a word more, yet this shall go, I am determined. Only +consider how it is a matter of necessity that I should have +nothing to say. If you could see this place of +Boulge! You who sit and survey marble palaces rising out of +cypress and olive. There is a dreadful vulgar ballad, +composed by Mr. Balfe, and sung with the most unbounded applause +by Miss Rainforth,</p> +<blockquote><p>‘I dreamt that I dwelt in marble +Halls,’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>which is sung and organed at every corner in London. I +think you may imagine what kind of flowing 6/8 time of the last +degree of imbecility it is. The words are written by Mr. +Bunn! Arcades ambo.</p> +<p>I say we shall see you over in England before long: for I +rather think you want an Englishman to quarrel with +sometimes. I mean quarrel in the sense of a good strenuous +difference of opinion, supported on either side by occasional +outbursts of spleen. Come and let us try. You used to +irritate my vegetable blood sometimes.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Bernard Barton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<span +class="smcap">Geldestone</span>, <i>Nov</i>. 27, 1844]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Barton</span>,</p> +<p>My return to Boulge is delayed for another week, because we +expect my Father here just now. But for this, I should have +been on the Union Coach this <!-- page 179--><a +name="page179"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 179</span>day. +The children here are most delightful; the best company in all +the world, to my mind. If you could see the little girl +dance the Polka with her sisters! Not set up like an Infant +Terpsichore, but seriously inclined, with perfect steps in +perfect time.</p> +<p>We see a fine white frost over the grass this morning; and I +suppose you have rubbed your hands and cried ‘Oh Lauk, how +cold it is!’ twenty times before I write this. Now +one’s pictures become doubly delightful to one. I +certainly love winter better than summer. Could one but +know, as one sits within the tropic latitude of one’s +fireside, that there was not increased want, cold, and misery, +beyond it!</p> +<p>My Spectator tells me that Leigh Hunt has published a good +volume of Poem-selections; not his own poems, but of +others. And Miss Martineau has been cured of an illness of +five years standing by Mesmerism! By the help of a few +passes of the hand following an earnest Will, she, who had not +set foot out of her room, for the chief part of those five years, +now can tread the grass again, and walk five miles! Her +account of the business in the Athenæum is extremely +interesting. She is the only one I have read of who +describes the sensations of <i>the trance</i>, which, seeming a +painful one to the wide-awake looker on, is in fact a state of +tranquil glorification to the patient. It cheers but not +inebriates! She felt her disease oozing away out at her +feet, and as it were streams of warm fresh vitality coming in its +place. And when she woke, lo, this was no dream!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 180--><a +name="page180"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 180</span><i>To F. +Tennyson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge</span>, +<span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>Decr</i>. 8/44.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Frederic</span>,</p> +<p>What is a poor devil to do? You tell me quite truly that +my letters have not two ideas in them, and yet you tell me to +write my two ideas as soon as I can. So indeed it is so far +easy to write down one’s two ideas, if they are not very +abstruse ones; but then what the devil encouragement is it to a +poor fellow to expose his nakedness so? All I can say is, +to say again that if you lived in this place, you would not write +so long a letter as you have done, full of capital description +and all good things; though without any compliment I am sure you +would write a better than I shall. But you see the original +fault in me is that I choose to be in such a place as this at +all; that argues certainly a talent for dullness which no +situation nor intercourse of men could much improve. It is +true; I really do like to sit in this doleful place with a good +fire, a cat and dog on the rug, and an old woman in the +kitchen. This is all my live stock. The house is yet +damp as last year; and the great event of this winter is my +putting up a trough round the eaves to carry off the wet. +There was discussion whether the trough should be of iron or of +zinc: iron dear and lasting; zinc the reverse. It was +decided for iron; and accordingly iron is put up.</p> +<p>Why should I not live in London and see the world? you +say. Why then <i>I</i> say as before, I don’t <!-- +page 181--><a name="page181"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +181</span>like it. I think the dullness of country people +is better than the impudence of Londoners; and the fresh cold and +wet of our clay fields better than a fog that stinks <i>per +se</i>; and this room of mine, clean at all events, better than a +dirty room in Charlotte St. If you, Morton, and Alfred, +were more in London, I should be there more; but now there is but +Spedding and Allen whom I care a straw about. I have +written two notes to Alfred to ask him just to notify his +existence to me; but you know he is obstinate on that +point. I heard from Carlyle that he (Alfred) had passed an +evening at Chelsea much to C.’s delight; who has opened the +gates of his Valhalla to let Alfred in. <a +name="citation181"></a><a href="#footnote181" +class="citation">[181]</a> Thackeray is at Malta, where I +am told he means to winter. . . .</p> +<p>As I have no people to tell you of, so have I very few books, +and know nothing of what is stirring in the literary world. +I have read the Life of Arnold of <!-- page 182--><a +name="page182"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 182</span>Rugby, who +was a noble fellow; and the letters of Burke, which do not add +to, or detract from, what I knew and liked in him before. I +am meditating to begin Thucydides one day; perhaps this winter. . +. . Old Seneca, I have no doubt, was a great humbug in +deed, and his books have plenty of it in word; but he had got +together a vast deal of what was not humbug from others; and, as +far as I see, the old philosophers are available now as much as +two thousand years back. Perhaps you will think that is not +saying much. Don’t suppose I think it good philosophy +in myself to keep here out of the world, and sport a gentle +Epicurism; I do not; I only follow something of a natural +inclination, and know not if I could do better under a more +complex system. It is very smooth sailing hitherto down +here. No velvet waistcoat and ever-lustrous pumps to be +considered; no bon mots got up; no information necessary. +There is a pipe for the parsons to smoke, and quite as much bon +mots, literature, and philosophy as they care for without any +trouble at all. If we could but feed our poor! It is +now the 8th of December; it has blown a most desperate East wind, +all razors; a wind like one of those knives one sees at shops in +London, with 365 blades all drawn and pointed; the wheat is all +sown; the fallows cannot be ploughed. What are all the poor +folks to do during the winter? And they persist in having +the same enormous families they used to do; a woman came to me +two days ago who had seventeen children! <!-- page 183--><a +name="page183"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 183</span>What +farmers are to employ all these? What Landlord can find +room for them? The law of Generation must be +repealed. The London press does nothing but rail at us poor +country folks for our cruelty. I am glad they do so; for +there is much to be set right. But I want to know if the +Editor of the Times is more attentive to his devils, their wives +and families, than our squires and squiresses and parsons are to +their fellow parishioners. Punch also assumes a tone of +virtuous satire, from the mouth of Mr. Douglas Jerrold! It +is easy to sit in arm chairs at a club in Pall Mall and rail on +the stupidity and brutality of those in High Suffolk.</p> +<p>Come, I have got more than two ideas into this sheet; but I +don’t know if you won’t dislike them worse than mere +nothing. But I was determined to fill my letter. Yes, +you are to know that I slept at Woodbridge last night, went to +church there this morning, where every one sat with a purple +nose, and heard a dismal well-meant sermon; and the organ blew us +out with one grand idea at all events, one of old Handel’s +Coronation Anthems; that I dined early, also in Woodbridge; and +walked up here with a tremendous East wind blowing sleet in my +face from over the German Sea, that I found your letter when I +entered my room; and reading it through, determined to spin you +off a sheet incontinently, and lo! here it is! Now or +never! I shall now have my tea in, and read over your +letter again while at it. You are quite right in saying +that Gravesend <!-- page 184--><a name="page184"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 184</span>excursions with you do me +good. When did I doubt it? I remember them with great +pleasure; few of my travels so much so. I like a short +journey in good company; and I like you all the better for your +Englishman’s humours. One doesn’t find such +things in London; something more like it here in the country, +where every one, with whatever natural stock of intellect +endowed, at least grows up his own way, and flings his branches +about him, not stretched on the espalier of London dinner-table +company.</p> +<p>P.S. Next morning. Snow over the ground. We +have our wonders of inundation in Suffolk also, I can tell +you. For three weeks ago such floods came, that an old +woman was carried off as she was retiring from a beer house about +9 p.m., and drowned. She was probably half seas over before +she left the beer house.</p> +<p>And three nights ago I looked out at about ten o’clock +at night, before going to bed. It seemed perfectly still; +frosty, and the stars shining bright. I heard a continuous +moaning sound, which I knew to be, not that of an infant exposed, +or female ravished, but of the sea, more than ten miles +off! What little wind there was carried to us the murmurs +of the waves circulating round these coasts so far over a flat +country. But people here think that this sound so heard is +not from the waves that break, but a kind of prophetic voice from +the body of the sea itself announcing great gales. Sure +enough we have got <!-- page 185--><a name="page185"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 185</span>them, however heralded. Now I +say that all this shows that we in this Suffolk are not so +completely given over to prose and turnips as some would have +us. I always said that being near the sea, and being able +to catch a glimpse of it from the tops of hills, and of houses, +redeemed Suffolk from dullness; and at all events that our turnip +fields, dull in themselves, were at least set all round with an +undeniably poetic element. And so I see Arnold says; he +enumerates five inland counties as the only parts of England for +which nothing could be said in praise. Not that I agree +with him there neither; I cannot allow the valley of the Ouse +about which some of my pleasantest recollections hang to be +without its great charm. W. Browne, whom you despised, is +married, and I shall see but little of him for the future. +I have laid by my rod and line by the willows of the Ouse for +ever. ‘He is married and cannot come.’ +This change is the true meaning of those verses, <a +name="citation185"></a><a href="#footnote185" +class="citation">[185]</a></p> +<blockquote><p>Friend after friend departs;<br /> +Who has not lost a friend?</p> +</blockquote> +<p>and so on. If I were conscious of being stedfast and +good humoured enough, I would marry to-morrow. But a +humourist is best by himself.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 186--><a +name="page186"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 186</span><i>To +Bernard Barton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">19 <span class="smcap">Charlotte +St.</span>, <span class="smcap">Rathbone Place</span>,<br /> +<i>Jany</i>. 4/45.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Barton</span>,</p> +<p>Clawed hold of by a bad cold am I—a London +cold—where the atmosphere clings to you, like a wet +blanket. You have often received a letter from me on a +Sunday, haven’t you? I think I used to write you an +account of the picture purchases of the week, that you might have +something to reflect upon in your silent meeting. +(N.B. This is very wrong, and I don’t mean it.) +Well, now I have bought no pictures, and sha’n’t; but +one I <i>had</i> bought is sent to be lined. A Bassano of +course; which nobody will like but myself. It is a grave +picture; an Italian Lord dictating to a Secretary with upturned +face. Good company, I think.</p> +<p>You did not tell me how you and Miss Barton got on with the +Vestiges. I found people talking about it here; and one +laudatory critique in the Examiner sold an edition in a few +days. I long to finish it. I am going in state to the +London Library—<i>my</i> Library—to review the store +of books it contains, and carry down a box full for winter +consumption. Do you want anything? eh, Mr. Barton?</p> +<p>I went to see Sophocles’ tragedy of Antigone done into +English two nights ago. And yesterday I dined with my dear +old John Allen who remains whole and intact of the world in the +heart of London. He <!-- page 187--><a +name="page187"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 187</span>dined some +while ago at Lambeth, and the Lady next him asked the Archbishop +if he read Punch. Allen thought this was a misplaced +question: but I think the Archbishop ought to see Punch: though +not to read it regularly perhaps. I then asked Allen about +the Vestiges—he had heard of it—laughed at the idea +of its being atheistical. ‘No enquiry,’ said +he, ‘can be atheistical.’ I doubt if the +Archbishop of Canterbury could say that. What do you think +of Exeter? Isn’t he a pretty lad?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. B. Donne</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge</span>, +<i>Jan</i>. 29/45.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Donne</span>,</p> +<p>. . . A. T. has near a volume of poems—elegiac—in +memory of Arthur Hallam. Don’t you think the world +wants other notes than elegiac now? Lycidas is the utmost +length an elegiac should reach. But Spedding praises: and I +suppose the elegiacs will see daylight, public daylight, one +day. Carlyle goes on growling with his Cromwell: whom he +finds more and more faultless every day. So that <i>his</i> +paragon also will one day see the light also, an elegiac of a +different kind from Tennyson’s; as far apart indeed as +Cromwell and Hallam.</p> +<p>Barton comes and sups with me to-morrow, and George Crabbe, +son of the poet, a capital fellow.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 188--><a +name="page188"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 188</span><i>To F. +Tennyson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge</span>, +<span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>Feby</i>. 6, 1845.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Frederic</span>,</p> +<p>. . . You like to hear of men and manners. Have I not +been to London for a whole fortnight, seen Alfred, Spedding, all +the lawyers and all the painters, gone to Panoramas of Naples by +Volcano-light (Vesuvius in a blaze illuminating the whole bay, +which Morton says is not a bit better than Plymouth Sound, if you +could put a furnace in the belly of Mount Edgecumbe)—gone +to see the Antigone of Messrs. Sophocles and Mendelssohn at +Covent Garden—gone to see the Infant Thalia—now as +little of an Infant as a Thalia—at the Adelaide +Gallery. So! you see things go on as when you were with +us. Only the Thalia has waxed in stature: and perhaps in +wisdom also: but that is not in her favour. The Antigone +is, as you are aware, a neatly constructed drama, on the French +model; the music very fine, <i>I</i> thought—but you would +turn up your nose at it, I dare say. It was horribly ill +sung, by a chorus in shabby togas, who looked much more like +dirty bakers than Theban (were they?) respectable old +gentlemen. Mr. Vandenhoff sat on a marble camp-stool in the +middle, and looked like one of Flaxman’s Homeric +Kings—very well. And Miss Vandenhoff did +Antigone. I forget the name of the lady who did Ismene; <a +name="citation189"></a><a href="#footnote189" +class="citation">[189]</a> perhaps you <!-- page 189--><a +name="page189"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 189</span>would have +thought her very handsome: but I did not, nor was she considered +at all remarkable, as far as I could make out. I saw no +pantomimes: and all the other theatres were filled with Balfe, +whom perhaps you admire very much. So I won’t say +anything about him till you have told me what you think on his +score. . . .</p> +<p>Well and have you read ‘Eothen’ which all the +world talks of? And do you know who it is written by? . . +. Then Eliot Warburton has written an Oriental Book! +Ye Gods! In Shakespeare’s day the nuisance was the +Monsieur Travellers who had ‘swum in a gundello’; but +now the bores are those who have smoked <i>tschibouques</i> with +a <i>Peshaw</i>! Deuce take it: I say ’tis better to +stick to muddy Suffolk.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Bernard Barton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Geldestone</span>, <i>April</i> 3/45.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Barton</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I have been loitering out in the garden here this golden +day of Spring. The woodpigeons coo in the covert; the frogs +croak in the pond; the bees hum about some thyme, and some of my +smaller nieces have been busy gathering primroses, ‘all to +make posies suitable to this present month.’ I cannot +but think with a sort of horror of being in London now: but I +doubt I must be ere long. . . . I have abjured <!-- page +190--><a name="page190"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +190</span>all Authorship, contented at present with the divine +Poem which Great Nature is now composing about us. These +primroses seem more wonderful and delicious Annuals than Ackerman +ever put forth. I suppose no man ever grew so old as not to +feel younger in Spring. Yet, poor old Mrs. Bodham <a +name="citation190"></a><a href="#footnote190" +class="citation">[190]</a> lifted up her eyes to the windows, and +asked if it were a clear or a dull day!</p> +<p style="text-align: right">39 <span class="smcap">Norton +St.</span>, <span class="smcap">FitzRoy Sqr.</span><br /> +[? <i>May</i> 1845.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Barton</span>,</p> +<p>You see my address. I only got into it yesterday, though +I reached London on Friday, and hung loose upon it for all that +interval. I spent four days at Cambridge pleasantly enough; +and one at Bedford where I heard my friend Matthews preach.</p> +<p>Last night I appeared at the Opera, and shall do so twice a +week till further notice. Friends I have seen but few; for +I have not yet found time to do anything. Alfred Tennyson +was here; but went off yesterday to consider the sea from the top +of Beachy Head. Carlyle gets on with his book which will be +in two big volumes. He has entirely misstated all about +Naseby, after all my trouble. . . .</p> +<p>Did Churchyard see in London a picture at the address I +enclose? The man’s card, you see, proclaims +‘Silversmith,’ but he is +‘Pawnbroker.’ A <!-- page 191--><a +name="page191"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 191</span>picture +hangs up at the door which he calls by ‘Williams,’ +but I think is a rather inferior Crome; though the figure in it +is not like Crome’s figures. The picture is about +three feet high by two broad; good in the distance; very natural +in the branching of the trees; heavy in the foliage; all common +to Crome. And it seems painted in that fat substance he +painted in. If C. come to London let him look at this +picture, as well as come and see me.</p> +<p>I have cold, head-ache, and London disgust. Oh that I +could look on my Anemones! and hear the sighing of my Scotch +firs. The Exhibition is full of bad things: there is a +grand Turner, however; quite unlike anything that was ever seen +in Heaven above, or in Earth beneath, or in the waters under the +Earth.</p> +<p>The reign of primroses and cowslips is over, and the oak now +begins to take up the empire of the year and wear a budding +garland about his brows. Over all this settles down the +white cloud in the West, and the Morning and Evening draw toward +Summer.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[? <i>May</i> 1845.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Barton</span>,</p> +<p>Had not your second note arrived this morning, I should surely +have written to you; that you might have a little letter for your +Sunday’s breakfast. Do not accuse me of growing +enamoured of London; I would have been in the country long ago if +I could. . . . <!-- page 192--><a name="page192"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 192</span>Nor do I think I shall get away till +the end of this month; and then I will go. I am not so bad +as Tennyson, who has been for six weeks intending to start every +day for Switzerland or Cornwall, he doesn’t quite know +which. However, his stay has been so much gain to me; for +he and John Allen are the two men that give me pleasure here.</p> +<p>Tell Churchyard he must come up once again. . . . I saw +a most lovely Sir Joshua at Christie’s a week ago; it went +far far above my means. There is an old hunting picture in +Regent St. which I want him to look at. I think it is +Morland; whom I don’t care twopence for; the horses ill +drawn; some good colour: the people English; good old +England! I was at a party of modern wits last night that +made me creep into myself, and wish myself away talking to any +Suffolk old woman in her cottage, while the trees murmured +without. The wickedness of London appals me; and yet I am +no paragon.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To F. Tennyson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge</span>, +<span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>June</i>, +12/45.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Frederic</span>,</p> +<p>Though I write from Boulge you are not to suppose I have been +here ever since I last wrote to you. On the contrary, I am +but just returned from London, where I spent a month, and saw all +the sights and all the people I cared to see. But what <!-- +page 193--><a name="page193"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +193</span>am I to tell you of them? Spedding, you know, +does not change: he is now the same that he was fourteen years +old when I first knew him at school more than twenty years ago; +wise, calm, bald, combining the best qualities of Youth and +Age. And then as to things seen; you know that one +Exhibition tells another, and one Panorama certifieth another, +etc. If you want to know something of the Exhibition +however, read Fraser’s Magazine for this month; there +Thackeray has a paper on the matter, full of fun. I met +Stone in the street the other day; he took me by the button, and +told me in perfect sincerity, and with increasing warmth, how, +though he loved old Thackeray, yet these yearly out-speakings of +his sorely tried him; not on account of himself (Stone), but on +account of some of his friends, Charles Landseer, Maclise, +etc. Stone worked himself up to such a pitch under the +pressure of forced calmess that he at last said Thackeray would +get himself horse-whipped one day by one of these infuriated +Apelleses. At this I, who had partly agreed with Stone that +ridicule, though true, needs not always to be spoken, began to +laugh: and told him two could play at that game. These +painters cling together, and bolster each other up, to such a +degree, that they really have persuaded themselves that any one +who ventures to laugh at one of their drawings, exhibited +publickly for the express purpose of criticism, insults the whole +corps. In the mean while old Thackeray laughs at all this; +and goes on in his own way; writing hard for half a <!-- page +194--><a name="page194"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +194</span>dozen Reviews and Newspapers all the morning; dining, +drinking, and talking of a night; managing to preserve a fresh +colour and perpetual flow of spirits under a wear-and-tear of +thinking and feeding that would have knocked up any other man I +know two years ago, at least. . . .</p> +<p>Alfred was in London the first week of my stay there. He +was looking well, and in good spirits; and had got two hundred +lines of a new poem in a butcher’s book. He went down +to Eastbourne in Sussex; where I believe he now is. He and +I made a plan to go to the coast of Cornwall or Wales this +summer; but I suppose we shall manage never to do it. I +find I must go to Ireland; which I had not intended to do this +year.</p> +<p>I have nothing new to tell you of Music. The Operas were +the same old affair; Linda di Chamouni, the Pirata, etc. +Grisi coarse, . . . only Lablache great. There is one +singer also, Brambelli, who, with a few husky notes, carries one +back to the days of Pasta. I did not hear ‘Le +Désert’; but I fancy the English came to a fair +judgment about it. That is, they did not want to hear it +more than once. It was played many times, for new batches +of people; but I doubt if any one went twice. So it is with +nearly all French things; there is a clever showy surface; but no +Holy of Holies far withdrawn; conceived in the depth of a mind, +and only to be received into the depth of ours after much +attention. Poussin must spend his life in Italy before he +could paint as he <!-- page 195--><a name="page195"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 195</span>did; and what other Great Man, out +of the exact Sciences, have they to show? This you will +call impudence. Now Beethoven, you see by your own +experience, has a depth not to be reached all at once. I +admit with you that he is too bizarre, and, I think, morbid; but +he is original, majestic, and profound. Such music +<i>thinks</i>; so it is with Gluck; and with Mendelssohn. +As to Mozart, he was, as a musical Genius, more wonderful than +all. I was astonished at the Don Giovanni lately. It +is certainly the Greatest Opera in the world. I went to no +concert, and am now sorry I did not.</p> +<p>Now I have told you all my London news. You will not +hear of my Cottage and Garden; so now I will shut up shop and +have done. We have had a dismal wet May; but now June is +recompensing us for all, and Dr. Blow may be said to be leading +the great Garden Band in full chorus. This is a pun, which, +profound in itself, you must not expect to enjoy at first +reading. I am not sure that I am myself conscious of the +full meaning of it. I know it is very hot weather; the +distant woods steaming blue under the noonday sun. I +suppose you are living without clothes in wells, where you +are. Remember me to your brothers; write soon; and believe +me ever yours,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">E. +FitzGerald</span>.</p> +<p>As to going to Italy, alas! I have less call to do that +than ever: I never shall go. You must come over here about +your Railroad land.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 196--><a +name="page196"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 196</span><i>To John +Allen</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Bedford</span>, +<i>August</i> 27/45.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear good Allen</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I came here a week ago, and am paying my usual visits at +the Brownes’ and at Airy’s. <a +name="citation196"></a><a href="#footnote196" +class="citation">[196]</a> I also purpose going to Naseby +for two days very soon; and after that I shall retire slowly +homeward; not to move, I suppose (except it be for some days to +London) till next summer comes again!</p> +<p>I am just now staying with W. B. and his wife. . . . The +Father and Mother of Mrs. W. Browne bought old Mrs. +Piozzi’s house at Streatham thirty-five years ago; all the +Sir Joshua portraits therein, which they sold directly afterward +for a song; and all the furniture, of which some yet helps to +fill the house I now stay in. In the bedroom I write in is +Dr. Johnson’s own bookcase and secretaire; with looking +glass in the panels which often reflected his uncouth +shape. His own bed is also in the house; but I do not sleep +in it.</p> +<p>I am reading Selwyn’s Correspondence, a remarkable book, +as all such records of the mind of a whole generation must +be. Carlyle writes me word his Cromwell papers will be out +in October; and that then we are all to be convinced that Richard +had no hump to his back. I am strong in favour of the hump; +I do not think the common sense of two centuries is apt to be +deceived in such a matter.</p> +<p><!-- page 197--><a name="page197"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +197</span>Now if your time is not wholly filled up, pray do give +me one line to say you have not wholly given me up as a +turncoat. I would rather have sat with you on the cliffs of +St. David’s than done anything I have done for the last six +months. Believe that, please. And now good bye, my +dear fellow. The harvest promises very well here about; but +I expect to find less prosperity at Naseby.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Bernard Barton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Bedford</span>, +<i>Septr</i>. 8/45.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Barton</span>,</p> +<p>On Thursday I move towards Norwich; where I see Donne, hear +some music, and go to Geldestone. But before this month is +over, I hope to be at my Cottage again, where I have my garden to +drain, and other important matters.</p> +<p>Do you know I have been greatly tempted to move my quarters +from Boulge to this country; so exact a place have I found to +suit me. But we will wait.</p> +<p>My noble Preacher Matthews <a name="citation197"></a><a +href="#footnote197" class="citation">[197]</a> is dead! He +had a long cold, which he promoted in all ways of baptizing, +watching late and early, travelling in rain, etc., he got worse; +but would send for no Doctor, the Lord would raise him up if it +were good for him, etc. Last Monday this cold broke out +into Typhus fever; <!-- page 198--><a name="page198"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 198</span>and on Thursday he died! I had +been out to Naseby for three days, and as I returned on Friday at +dusk I saw a coffin carrying down the street: I knew whose it +must be. I would have given a great deal to save his life; +which might certainly have been saved with common +precaution. He died in perfect peace, approving all the +principles of his life to be genuine. I am going this +afternoon to attend his Funeral. . . . Cromwell is to be +out in October; and Laurence has been sent to Archdeacon +Berners’s to make a copy of Oliver’s miniature.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. B. Donne</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Geldestone</span>, <i>Septr</i>. 23/45.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Donne</span>,</p> +<p>I left one volume of your Swift with good Mrs. Johnson at +Norwich; and the other with your Mother at Worship’s house +in Yarmouth. So I trust you are in a fair way to get them +again.</p> +<p>I sat through one Concert and one Oratorio; <a +name="citation198"></a><a href="#footnote198" +class="citation">[198]</a> and on Thursday went to Yarmouth, +which I took a great fancy to. The sands were very good, I +assure you; and then when one is weary of the sea, there is the +good old town to fall back on. There is Mr. Gooch the +Bookseller too; he and his books a great acquisition. I +called on Dawson Turner, and in an incredibly short space of time +saw several books of coats of Arms, Churches, Refectories, pyxes, +cerements, etc.</p> +<p><!-- page 199--><a name="page199"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +199</span>Manage to read De Quincey’s Article on Wordsworth +in the last number of Tail’s Magazine. It is very +incomplete, like all De Quincey’s things, but has grand +things in it; grand sounds of sense if nothing else. I am +glad to see he sets up Daddy’s early Ballads against the +Excursion and other Sermons.</p> +<p>I intend to leave this place the end of this week; and go, I +suppose, to Boulge; though I have yet a hankering to get a week +by the sea, either at Yarmouth or Southwold. . . . +Don’t you think £3 very cheap for a fine copy of +Rushworth’s Collections, eight volumes folio? I was +tempted to buy it if only for the bargain; for I only want to +look through it once.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To F. Tennyson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge</span>, +<span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +[After <i>Sept</i>. 1845.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Frederic</span>,</p> +<p>I do beg and desire that when you next begin a letter to me +you will not tear it up (as you say you have done some) because +of its exhibiting a joviality insulting to any dumps of +mine. What was I complaining of so? I forget all +about it. It seems to me to be two years since I heard from +you. If you had said that my answers to your letters were +so barren as to dishearten you from deserving any more I should +understand that very well. But if you really did accomplish +any letters and not send them, I say, a fico for thy +friendship! Do so no more. . . .</p> +<p><!-- page 200--><a name="page200"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +200</span>The finale of C minor is very noble. I heard it +twice at Jullien’s. On the whole I like to hear +Mozart better; Beethoven is gloomy. Besides incontestably +Mozart is the purest <i>musician</i>; Beethoven would have been +Poet or Painter as well, for he had a great deep Soul and +Imagination. I do not think it is reported that he showed +any very early predilection for Music; Mozart, we know, +did. They say Holmes has published a very good life of +M. Only think of the poor fellow not being able to sell his +music latterly, getting out of fashion, so taking to drink . . . +and enact Harlequin at Masquerades! When I heard +Handel’s Alexander’s Feast at Norwich this Autumn I +wondered; but when directly afterward they played Mozart’s +G minor Symphony, it seemed as if I had passed out of a land of +savages into sweet civilized Life.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge</span>, +<span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +[? <i>March</i> 1846.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Frederic</span>,</p> +<p>I have been wondering some time if you were gone abroad again +or not. I go to London toward the end of April: can’t +you manage to wait in England? I suppose you will only be a +day or two in London before you put foot in rail, coach, or on +steamer for the Continent; and I excuse my own dastardly +inactivity in not going up to meet you and shake hands with you +before you start, by my old excuse; that had you but let me know +of your coming to <!-- page 201--><a name="page201"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 201</span>England, I should have seen +you. This is no excuse; but don’t put me out of your +books as a frog-hearted wretch. I believe that I, as men +usually do, grow more callous and indifferent daily: but I am +sure I would as soon travel to see your face, and my dear old +Alfred’s, as any one’s. But beside my +inactivity, I have a sort of horror of plunging into London; +which, except for a shilling concert, and a peep at the pictures, +is desperate to me. This is my fault, not London’s: I +know it is a lassitude and weakness of soul that no more loves +the ceaseless collision of Beaux Esprits, than my obese +ill-jointed carcase loves bundling about in coaches and +steamers. And, as you say, the dirt, both of earth and +atmosphere, in London, is a real bore. But enough of +that. It is sufficient that it is more pleasant to me to +sit in a clean room, with a clear air outside, and hedges just +coming into leaf, rather than in the Tavistock or an upper floor +of Charlotte Street. And how much better one’s books +read in country stillness, than amid the noise of wheels, crowds, +etc., or after hearing them eternally discussed by no less active +tongues! In the mean time, we of Woodbridge are not without +our luxuries; I enclose you a play-bill just received; <i>I</i> +being one of the distinguished Members who have bespoken the +play. We sha’n’t all sit together in a Box, but +go dispersed about the house with our wives and daughters.</p> +<p>White <a name="citation201"></a><a href="#footnote201" +class="citation">[201]</a> I remember very well. His +Tragedy I have <!-- page 202--><a name="page202"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 202</span>seen advertised. He used to +write good humorous things in Blackwood: among them, Hints to +Authors, which are worth looking at when you get hold of an odd +volume of Blackwood. I have got Thackeray’s last +book, <a name="citation202"></a><a href="#footnote202" +class="citation">[202]</a> but have not yet been able to read +it. Has any one heard of old Morton, and of his arrival at +Stamboul, as he called it? . . .</p> +<p>Now it is a fact that as I lay in bed this morning, before I +got your letter, I thought to myself I would write to +Alfred. For he sent me a very kind letter two months ago; +and I should have written to him before, but that I have looked +in vain for a paper I wanted to send him. But, find it or +not (and it is of no consequence) I will write to him very +shortly. You do not mention if he be with you at +Cheltenham. He spoke to me of being ill. . . . I +think you should publish some of your poems. They must be +admired and liked; and you would gain a place to which you are +entitled, and which it offends no man to hold. I should +like much to see them again. The whole <i>subjective</i> +scheme (damn the word!) of the poems I did not like; but that is +quite a genuine mould of your soul; and there are heaps of single +lines, couplets, and stanzas, which would consume all the ---, +---, and ---, like stubble. N.B. An acute man would +ask how I should like <i>you</i>, if I do not like your own +genuine reflex of <i>you</i>? But a less acute, and an +acuter, man, will feel or see the difference.</p> +<p>So here is a good sheet full; and at all events, if <!-- page +203--><a name="page203"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 203</span>I +am too lazy to travel to you, I am not too lazy to write such a +letter as few of one’s contemporaries will now take the +pains to write to one. I beg you to remember me to all your +noble family, and believe me yours ever,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Edw. +FitzGerald</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. B. Donne</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge</span>, +Sunday, <i>March</i> 8/46.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Donne</span>,</p> +<p>I was very sorry you did not come to us at Geldestone. I +have been home now near a fortnight; else I would gladly have +gone to Mattishall with you yesterday. This very Sunday, on +which I now hear the Grundisburgh bells as I write, I might have +been filled with the bread of Life from Padden’s hands.</p> +<p>Our friend Barton is certainly one of the most remarkable men +of the Age. After writing to Peel two separate Sonnets, +begging him to retire to Tamworth and not alter the Corn Laws, he +finally sends him another letter to ask if he will be present at +Lord Northampton’s soirée next Saturday; Barton +himself being about to go to that soirée, and wishing to +see the Premier. On which Peel writes him a most good +humoured note asking him to dine at Whitehall Gardens on that +same Saturday! And the good Barton is going up for that +purpose. <a name="citation203"></a><a href="#footnote203" +class="citation">[203]</a> All this is great simplicity in +Barton: and really announces an <!-- page 204--><a +name="page204"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 204</span>internal +Faith that is creditable to this Age, and almost unexpected in +it. I had advised him not to send Peel many more Sonnets +till the Corn Law was passed; the Indian war arranged; and Oregon +settled: but Barton sees no dragon in the way.</p> +<p>We have actors now at Woodbridge. A Mr. Gill who was low +comedian in the Norwich now manages a troop of his own +here. His wife was a Miss Vining; she is a pretty woman, +and a lively pleasant actress, not vulgar. I have been to +see some of the old comedies with great pleasure; and last night +I sat in a pigeon-hole with David Fisher and ‘revolved many +memories’ of old days and old plays. I don’t +think he drinks so much now: but he looks all ready to blossom +out into carbuncles.</p> +<p>We all liked your Athenæum address much; <a +name="citation204a"></a><a href="#footnote204a" +class="citation">[204a]</a> which I believe I told you +before. I have heard nothing of books or friends. I +shall hope to see you some time this spring.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To E. B. Cowell</i>. <a +name="citation204b"></a><a href="#footnote204b" +class="citation">[204b]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: right">[1846]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>I am glad you have bought Spinoza. I am in no sort of +hurry for him: you may keep him a year if you like. I shall +perhaps never read him now I have him. Thank you for the +trouble you took. . . .</p> +<p><!-- page 205--><a name="page205"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +205</span>Your Hafiz is fine: and his tavern world is a sad and +just idea. I did not send that vine leaf <a +name="citation205a"></a><a href="#footnote205a" +class="citation">[205a]</a> to A. T. but I have not forgotten +it. It sticks in my mind.</p> +<blockquote><p> “In +Time’s fleeting river<br /> +The image of that little vine-leaf lay,<br /> + Immovably unquiet—and for ever<br /> +It trembles—but it cannot pass away.” <a +name="citation205b"></a><a href="#footnote205b" +class="citation">[205b]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>I have read nothing you would care for since I saw you. +It would be a good work to give us some of the good things of +Hafiz and the Persians; of bulbuls and ghuls we have had +enough.</p> +<p>Come and bring over Spinoza; or I must go and bring him.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>From T. Carlyle</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Chelsea</span>, +8 <i>April</i>, 1846.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear FitzGerald</span>,</p> +<p>I have now put the little sketch of Naseby Fight, <a +name="citation205c"></a><a href="#footnote205c" +class="citation">[205c]</a> rough and ready, into its place in +the Appendix: it really does pretty well, when it is fairly +written out; had I had time for that, it might almost have gone +<!-- page 206--><a name="page206"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +206</span>into the Text,—and perhaps shall, if ever I live +to see another edition. Naseby Field will then have its due +honour;—only you should actually raise a stone over that +Grave that you opened (I will give you the <i>shinbone</i> back +and keep the <i>teeth</i>): you really should, with a simple +Inscription saying merely in business English: ‘Here, as +proved by strict and not too impious examination, lie the slain +of the Battle of Naseby. Dig no farther. E. +FitzGerald,—1843.’ By the bye, was it 1843 or +2; when we did those Naseby feats? tell me, for I want to mark +that in the Book. And so here is your Paper again, since at +any rate you wish to keep that. I am serious about the +stone!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. B. Donne</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge +Hall</span>, <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +[1846.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Donne</span>,</p> +<p>I don’t know which of us is most to blame for this long +gulph of silence. Probably I; who have least to do. I +have been for two months to London; where (had I thought it of +any use) I should have written to try and get you up for a few +days; as I had a convenient lodging, and many beside myself would +have been glad to see you.</p> +<p>I came back a week ago; and on looking in at Barton’s +last evening he showed me your letter with such pleasure as he is +wont to receive your letters with. And there I read all the +surprising story of <!-- page 207--><a name="page207"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 207</span>your moving to old Bury. When +I passed through Cambridge two months ago, Thompson said (I +think) that he had seen you; and that you had given up thoughts +of Bury. But now you are going. As you say, you will +then be nearer to us than you now are at Mattishall; especially +when our Railroad shall be completed. In my journeys to and +from Bedfordshire, I shall hope to stay a night at the good old +Angel, and so have a chat with you.</p> +<p>I saw very little of Spedding in London; for he was out all +day at State paper offices and Museums; and I out by night at +Operas, etc., with my Mother. He is however well and +immutable. A. Tennyson was in London; for two months +striving to spread his wings to Italy or Switzerland. It +has ended in his flying to the Isle of Wight till Autumn, when +Moxon promises to convoy him over; and then God knows what will +become of him and whether we shall ever see his august old body +over here again. He was in a ricketty state of body; +brought on wholly by neglect, etc., but in fair spirits; and one +had the comfort of seeing the Great Man. Carlyle goes on +fretting and maddening as usual. Have you read his +Cromwell? Are you converted, or did you ever need +conversion? I believe I remain pretty much where I +was. I think Milton, who is the best evidence Cromwell has +in his favour, warns him somewhat prophetically at the end of his +Second Defence against taking on him <!-- page 208--><a +name="page208"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 208</span>Kingship, +etc., and in the tract on the State of England in 1660 (just +before it was determined to bring back Charles the Second) he +says <i>nothing at all</i> of Cromwell, no panegyric; but glances +at the evil ambitious men in the Army have done; and, now that +all is open to choose, prays for a pure Republic! So I herd +with the flunkies and lackies, I doubt; but am yours +notwithstanding,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F. G.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To E. B. Cowell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Bedford</span>, +<i>Septr</i>. 15/46.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>Here I am at last, after making a stay at Lowestoft, where I +sailed in boats, bathed, and in all ways enjoyed the sea +air. I wished for you upon a heathy promontory there, good +museum for conversation on old poets, etc. What have you +been reading, and what tastes of rare Authors have you to send +me? I have read (as usual with me) but very little, what +with looking at the sea with its crossing and recrossing ships, +and dawdling with my nieces of an evening. Besides a book +is to me what Locke says that watching the hour hand of a clock +is to all; other thoughts (and those of the idlest and seemingly +most irrelevant) will intrude between my vision and the written +words: and then I have to read over again; often again and again +till all is crossed and muddled. If Life were to be very +much longer than is the usual lot of men, <!-- page 209--><a +name="page209"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 209</span>one would +try very hard to reform this lax habit, and clear away such a +system of gossamer association: even as it is, I try to turn all +wandering fancy out of doors, and listen attentively to +Whately’s Logic, and old Spinoza still! I find some +of Spinoza’s Letters very good, and so far useful as that +they try to clear up some of his abstrusities at the earnest +request of friends as dull as myself. I think I perceive as +well as ever how the quality of his mind forbids much salutary +instinct which widens the system of things to more ordinary men, +and yet helps to keep them from wandering in it. I am now +reading his Tractatus Theologico-Politicus, which is very +delightful to me because of its clearness and acuteness. It +is fine what he says of Christ—‘<i>nempe</i>,’ +that God revealed himself in bits to other prophets, but he was +the mind of Christ. I suppose not new in thought or +expression.</p> +<p>Let me hear from you, whether you have bits of revelations +from old poets to send, or not. If I had the Mostellaria +here, I would read it; or a Rabelais, I would do as Morgan +Rattler advised you.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Bernard Barton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<span +class="smcap">Cambridge</span>, <i>Oct</i>. 18, 1846.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Barton</span>,</p> +<p>Though my letter bears such frontispiece as the above, <a +name="citation209"></a><a href="#footnote209" +class="citation">[209]</a> I am no longer in Bedford, but come to +<!-- page 210--><a name="page210"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +210</span>Cambridge. And here I sit in the same rooms <a +name="citation210a"></a><a href="#footnote210a" +class="citation">[210a]</a> in which I sat as a smooth-chinned +Freshman twenty years ago. The same prints hang on the +walls: my old hostess <a name="citation210b"></a><a +href="#footnote210b" class="citation">[210b]</a> does not look +older than she did then. My present purpose is to be about +a week here: then to go for a day or two to Bury, to see Donne; +and then to move homewards. It is now getting very cold, +and the time for wandering is over.</p> +<p>Why do you not send me your new Poem? Or is it too big +to send as a letter? Or shall I buy it? which I shall be +glad to do. . . .</p> +<p>All the preceding was written four days ago: cut short by the +sudden entrance of Moore, whom I have been lionizing ever +since. He goes away to London to-day. . . .</p> +<p>Moore is delighted with a Titian and Giorgione at the +Fitzwilliam. I have just left him to feed upon them at his +ease there, while I indite a letter to you.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. B. Donne</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[31 <i>Oct</i>. 1846.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Donne</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I only got home to-day: and found one letter on my table +from Ireland. I did not notice it had a black edge and +seal: saw it was from Edgeworthstown: written in the hand of +Edgeworth’s wife, who often wrote down from his dictation +<!-- page 211--><a name="page211"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +211</span>since his eyes became bad. But she tells me that +he is dead after twelve days illness! I do not yet feel +half so sorry as I shall feel: I shall constantly miss him. <a +name="citation211a"></a><a href="#footnote211a" +class="citation">[211a]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To E. B. Cowell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[End of 1846.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>The weather is so ungenial, and likely to be so, that I put +off my journey to Ipswich till next week. I do not dislike +the weather for my part: but one is best at home in such: and as +I am to stay two days with the Hockleys, I would fain have +tolerably fair days, and fair ways, for it: that one may get +about and so on. One does not mind being cooped up in +one’s own room all day. I think of going on +Monday. Shall you be at home next week?</p> +<p>I have read Longus and like him much. Is it the light +easy Greek that pleases one? Or is it the story, the +scenery, etc.? Would the book please one if written in +English as good as the Greek?</p> +<p>The lines from Nonnus are very beautiful. It is always a +pleasure to me to get from you such stray leaves from gardens I +shall never enter.</p> +<p>I have been doing some of the dialogue, <a +name="citation211b"></a><a href="#footnote211b" +class="citation">[211b]</a> which seems the easiest thing in the +world to do but is <!-- page 212--><a name="page212"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 212</span>not. It is not easy to keep to +good dialectic, and yet keep up the disjected sway of natural +conversation. I talk, you see, as if I were to do some good +thing: but I don’t mean that. But any such trials of +one’s own show one the art of such dialogues as +Plato’s, where the process is so logical and conversational +at once: and the result so plain, and seemingly so easy. +They remain the miracles of that Art to this day: and will do for +many a day: for I don’t believe they will ever be +surpassed; certainly not by Landor.</p> +<p>Yours ever,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F. G.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[Postmark <span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>Jan</i>. 13, 1847.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>I am always delighted to see you whenever you can come, and +Friday will do perfectly well for me. But do not feel bound +to come if it snow, etc. In other respects I have small +compunction, for I think it must do you good to go out, even to +such a desert as this.</p> +<p>I have not got Phidippus into any presentible shape: and +indeed have not meddled with him lately: as the spirit of light +dialogue evaporated from me under an influenza, and I have not +courted it back yet. Luckily I and the world can very well +afford to wait for its return. I began Thucydides two days +ago! and read (after your example) a very little every day, +<i>i.e.</i> have done so for two days. Your <!-- page +213--><a name="page213"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +213</span>Sanscrit sentences are very fine. It is good for +you to go on with that. We hear Mr. Nottidge <a +name="citation213"></a><a href="#footnote213" +class="citation">[213]</a> is dying: who can be sorry for +him!</p> +<p>Yours,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F. G.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>Early in 1847 Carlyle received a communication from an unknown +correspondent, who professed to have in his possession a number +of letters written by Cromwell and other documents, which if +genuine were certainly of importance. As I published in the +Historical Review for April 1886 all the evidence which exists on +the subject, I shall not further dwell upon it here, except to +say that I am not in the least convinced by the arguments which +have been put forward that the thirty-five letters of Cromwell +which Carlyle printed in Fraser’s Magazine for 1847 were +forged by his imperfectly educated correspondent William +Squire. Squire was living at Yarmouth at this time, and as +FitzGerald was frequently in his neighbourhood Carlyle asked him +to endeavour to see him and examine the papers which he professed +to have. In reply to Carlyle’s letter he wrote as +follows in February 1847.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Carlyle</span>,</p> +<p>When I go into Norfolk, which will be some time this Spring, I +will go to Yarmouth and see for Mr. Squire, if you like. +But if he is so rusty as you say, <!-- page 214--><a +name="page214"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 214</span>and as I +also fancy, I doubt if he will open his treasures to any but to +you who have already set him creaking. But we shall +see. Some of his MS. extracts are curious and +amusing. He writes himself something like Antony Wood, or +some such ancient book-worm. It is also curious to hear of +the old proud angry people about Peterboro’, who +won’t show their records.</p> +<p>I have not seen the lives of the Saints you spoke of in a +former letter. But when I go to London I must look out for +a volume. I have begun to read Thucydides, which I never +read before, and which does very well to hammer at for an hour in +a day: though I can’t say I care much for the Greeks and +their peddling quarrels; one must go to Rome for wars.</p> +<p>Don’t you think Thackeray’s Mrs. Perkins’s +Ball very good? I think the empty faces of the dance room +were never better done. It seems to me wonderful that +people can endure to look on such things: but I am forty, and got +out of the habit now, and certainly shall not try to get it back +ever again.</p> +<p>I am glad you and Mrs. Carlyle happen to be in a milder part +of England during this changeable and cold season. Yet, for +my own sake, I shall be sorry to see the winter go: with its +decided and reasonable balance of daylight and candlelight. +I don’t know when I shall go to London, perhaps in +April. Please to remember me to Mrs. Carlyle.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 215--><a +name="page215"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 215</span><i>To S. +Laurence</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Geldestone Hall</span>, <span +class="smcap">Beccles</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>June</i> 20, 1847.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Laurence</span>,</p> +<p>I have had another letter from the Bartons asking about your +advent. In fact Barton’s daughter is anxious for her +Father’s to be done, and done this year. He is now +sixty-three; and it won’t do, you know, for +grand-climacterical people to procrastinate—nay, to +<i>proannuate</i>—which is a new, and, for all I see, a +very bad word. But, be this as it may, do you come down to +Woodbridge this summer if you can; and that you can, I doubt not; +since it is no great things out of your way to or from +Norwich.</p> +<p>The means to get to Ipswich are—A steamboat will bring +you for five shillings (a very pretty sail) from the Custom House +to Ipswich, the Orwell steamer; going twice a week, and heard of +directly in the fishy latitudes of London Bridge. Or, a +railroad brings you for the same sum; if you will travel third +class, which I sometimes do in fine weather. I should +recommend <i>that</i>; the time being so short, so certain: and +no eating and drinking by the way, as must be in a steamer. +At Ipswich, I pick you up with the washerwoman’s pony and +take you to Woodbridge. There Barton sits with the tea +already laid out; and Miss about to manage the urn; plain, +agreeable people. At <!-- page 216--><a +name="page216"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 216</span>Woodbridge +too is my little friend Churchyard, with whom we shall sup off +toasted cheese and porter. Then, last and not least, the +sweet retirement of Boulge: where the Graces and Muses, etc.</p> +<p>I write thus much because my friends seem anxious; my friend, +I mean, Miss Barton: for Barton pretends he dreads having his +portrait done; which is ‘my eye.’ So come and +do it. He is a generous, worthy, simple-hearted, fellow: +worth ten thousand better wits. Then you shall see all the +faded tapestry of country town life: London jokes worn +threadbare; third rate accomplishments infinitely prized; scandal +removed from Dukes and Duchesses to the Parson, the Banker, the +Commissioner of Excise, and the Attorney.</p> +<p>Let me hear from you soon that you are coming. I shall +return to Boulge the end of this week.</p> +<p>P.S. Come if you can the latter part of the week; when +the Quaker is most at leisure. There is a daily coach from +Woodbridge to Norwich.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To T. Carlyle</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Boulge</span>. <i>June</i> 29/47.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Carlyle</span>,</p> +<p>Last week I went over to Yarmouth and saw Squire. I was +prepared, and I think you were, to find a quaint old gentleman of +the last century. Alas for guesses at History! I +found a wholesome, <!-- page 217--><a name="page217"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 217</span>well-grown, florid, clear-eyed, +open-browed, man of about my own age! There was no +difficulty at all in coming to the subject at once, and tackling +it. Squire is, I think, a straight-forward, choleric, +ingenuous fellow—a little mad—cracks away at his +family affairs. ‘One brother is a +rascal—another a spend-thrift—his father was of an +amazing size—a prodigious eater, etc.—the family all +gone to <i>smithers</i>,’ etc. I liked Squire well: +and told him he must go to you; I am sure you will like him +better than the London penny-a-liners. He is rather a +study: and besides he can tell you bits of his Ancestor’s +journal; which will indeed make you tear your hair for what is +burned—Between two and three hundred folio pages of MSS. by +a fellow who served under Oliver; been sent on secret service by +him; dreaded him: but could not help serving him—Squire +told me a few circumstances which he had picked up in running +over the Journal before he burnt it; and which you ought to hear +from himself before long. Dreadful stories of +Oliver’s severity; soldiers cut down by sabre on parade for +‘violence to women’—a son shot on the spot just +before his Father’s house for having tampered with +Royalists—no quarter to spies—noses and ears of +Royalists slit in retaliation of a like injury done to +Roundheads;—many deeds which that ancient Squire witnessed, +or knew for certain, and which he and his successor thought +severe and <i>cruel</i>:—but I <!-- page 218--><a +name="page218"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 218</span>could make +out nothing unjust—I am very sure <i>you</i> would +not. The Journalist told a story of Peterboro’ +Cathedral like yours in your book about Ely:—Oliver +marching in as the bells were ringing to service: bundling out +canons, prebendaries, choristers, with the flat of the sword; and +then standing up to preach himself in his armour! A grand +picture. Afterwards they broke the painted windows which I +should count injudicious;—but that I sometimes feel a +desire that some boys would go and do likewise to the Pusey +<i>votive</i> windows; if you know that branch of art.</p> +<p>Ancestor Squire got angry with Oliver toward the end of the +Journal; on some such account as this—Cromwell had promised +him a sum of money; but the ancestor got taken prisoner by pirate +or privateer before he went to claim the money; had to be +redeemed by Oliver; and the redemption money was subtracted from +the whole sum promised by Oliver when payment-time came. +This proceeding seemed to both Squires, living and dead, shabby; +but one not belonging to the family may be permitted to think it +all fair.</p> +<p>On the whole, I suspect you would have used Ancestor Squire as +you have used many others who have helped you to materials of his +kind; like a sucked orange: you would have tossed him into the +dirt carelessly, I doubt; and then what would Squire minor have +said? Yet he himself did not like all his Ancestor had +done; the <i>secret</i> service, which our <!-- page 219--><a +name="page219"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 219</span>Squire +called ‘<i>spy-age</i>’; going to Holland with +messages and despatches which he was to deliver to some one who +was to meet him on the quay, and show him a gold ring; the man +with the gold ring supposed to be the Stadtholder! I tried +to persuade our friend there was no great shame in being an agent +of this sort; but he said with a light rap on the table that +<i>he</i> wouldn’t do such a thing.</p> +<p>I have now told you something of what remains in my head after +our conference; but you must see the man. What gave us the +idea of his being old was his old-fashioned notions; he and his +family have lived in Peterboro’ and such retired places +these three hundred years; and amazing as it may seem to us that +any people should be ashamed that their ancestors fought for Low +Church, yet two hundred years are but as a day in a Cathedral +Close. Nothing gives one more the idea of the Sleeping +Palace than that. Esto perpetua! I mean, as long as I +live at least. When I expressed wonder to Squire that his +wife’s friends, or his Peterboro’ friends, should be +so solicitous about the world’s ever knowing that their +ancestors had received letters from Cromwell, he very earnestly +assured me that he knew some cases in which persons’ +advancement in public life had been suddenly stopt by the Queen +or her ministers, when it got wind that they were related in any +way to Cromwell! I thought this a piece of dotage, as I do +now; but I have heard elsewhere of some one not being allowed to +take the name of Cromwell; I mean <!-- page 220--><a +name="page220"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 220</span>not very +many years back; but more likely under a George than under a +Victoria.</p> +<p>I think Squire must be a little crazy on this score; that is, +the old dotage of a Cathedral town superstition worked up into +activity by a choleric disposition. He seems, as I told +you, of the sanguine temperament; and he mentioned a long illness +during which he was not allowed to read a book, etc., which looks +like some touch of the head. Perhaps brain fever. +Perhaps no such thing, but all my fancy. He was very civil; +ordered in a bottle of Sherry and biscuits: asked me to dine, +which I could not do. And so ends my long story. But +you must see him.</p> +<p>Yours,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F. G.</p> +<p>He spoke of a portrait of Oliver that had been in his family +since Oliver’s time—till sold for a few shillings to +some one in Norwich by some rascal relation. The portrait +unlike all he has seen in painting or engraving: very pale, very +thoughtful, very commanding, he says. If he ever recovers +it, he will present you with it; he says if it should cost him +£10—for he admires you. <a name="citation220"></a><a +href="#footnote220" class="citation">[220]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Bernard Barton</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Exeter</span>, +<i>August</i> 16/47.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Barton</span>,</p> +<p>. . . Here I am at Exeter: a place I never was in +before. It is a fine country round about; and last <!-- +page 221--><a name="page221"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +221</span>evening I saw landscape that would have made Churchyard +crazy. The Cathedral is not worth seeing to an ordinary +observer, though I dare say Archæologists find it has its +own private merits. . . .</p> +<p>Tell Churchyard we were wrong about Poussin’s +Orion. I found this out on my second visit to it. +What disappointed me, and perhaps him, at first sight, was a +certain stiffness in Orion’s own figure; I expected to see +him stalk through the landscape forcibly, as a giant usually +does; but I forgot at the moment that Orion was <i>blind</i>, and +must walk as a blind man. Therefore this stiffness in his +figure was just the right thing. I think however the +picture is faulty in one respect, that the atmosphere of the +landscape is not that of <i>dawn</i>; which it should be most +visibly, since Morning is so principal an actor in the +drama. All this seems to be more addressed to Churchyard, +who has seen the picture, than to you who have not.</p> +<p>I saw also in London panoramas of Athens and the Himalaya +mountains. In the latter, you see the Ganges glittering a +hundred and fifty miles off; and far away the snowy peak of the +mountain it rises from; that mountain 25,000 feet high. +What’s the use of coming to Exeter, when you can see all +this for a shilling in London? . . . And now I am going to +the Cathedral, where the Bishop has a cover to his seat sixty +feet high. So now goodbye for the present.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><!-- page 222--><a +name="page222"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 222</span><span +class="smcap">Gloucester</span>, <i>Augst</i>. 29/47.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Barton</span>,</p> +<p>. . . After I wrote to you at Exeter, I went for three days to +the Devonshire coast; and then to Lusia’s home in +Somersetshire. I never saw her look better or +happier. De Soyres pretty well; their little girl grown a +pretty and strong child; their baby said to be very +thriving. They live in a fine, fruitful, and picturesque +country: green pastures, good arable, clothed with trees, bounded +with hills that almost reach mountain dignity, and in sight of +the Bristol Channel which is there all but Sea. I fancy the +climate is moist, and I should think the trees are too many for +health: but I was there too little time to quarrel with it on +that score. After being there, I went to see a parson +friend in Dorsetshire; <a name="citation222"></a><a +href="#footnote222" class="citation">[222]</a> a quaint, humorous +man. Him I found in a most out-of-the-way parish in a fine +open country; not so much wooded; chalk hills. This man +used to wander about the fields at Cambridge with me when we both +wore caps and gowns, and then we proposed and discussed many +ambitious schemes and subjects. He is now a quiet, +saturnine, parson with five children, taking a pipe to soothe him +when they bother him with their noise or their misbehaviour: and +I!—as the Bishop of London said, ‘By the grace of God +I am what I am.’ In Dorsetshire I found the churches +much occupied by Puseyite Parsons; <!-- page 223--><a +name="page223"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 223</span>new +chancels built with altars, and painted windows that officiously +displayed the Virgin Mary, etc. The people in those parts +call that party ‘Pugicides,’ and receive their +doctrine and doings peacefully. I am vext at these silly +men who are dishing themselves and their church as fast as they +can.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To F. Tennyson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<span +class="smcap">Leamington</span>, 4 <i>Sept.</i> 1847.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Frederic</span>,</p> +<p>I believe I must attribute your letter to your having skipped +to Leghorn, and so got animated by the sight of a new +place. <i>I</i> also am an Arcadian: have been to +Exeter—the coast of Devonshire—the Bristol +Channel—and to visit a Parson in Dorsetshire. He wore +cap and gown when I did at Cambridge—together did we roam +the fields about Granchester, discuss all things, thought +ourselves fine fellows, and that one day we should make a noise +in the world. He is now a poor Rector in one of the most +out-of-the-way villages in England—has five +children—fats and kills his pig—smokes his +pipe—loves his home and cares not ever to be seen or heard +of out of it. I was amused with his company; he much +pleased to see me: we had not met face to face for fifteen +years—and now both of us such very sedate unambitious +people! Now I am verging homeward; taking Leamington and +Bedford in my way.</p> +<p><!-- page 224--><a name="page224"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +224</span>You persist in not giving me your clear direction at +Florence. It is only by chance that you give the name +‘Villa Gondi’ of the house you describe so temptingly +to me. I should much like to visit you there; but I doubt +shall never get up the steam for such an expedition. And +now know that, since the last sentence was written, I have been +to Cheltenham, and called at your Mother’s; and seen her, +and Matilda, and Horatio: all well: Alfred is with the +Lushingtons and is reported to be all the better for the +water-cure. Cheltenham seemed to me a woeful place: I had +never seen it before. I now write from Leamington; where I +am come to visit my Mother for a few days. . . .</p> +<p>All the world has been, as I suppose you have read, crazy +about Jenny Lind: and they are now giving her £400 to sing +at a Concert. What a frightful waste of money! I did +not go to hear her: partly out of contradiction perhaps; and +partly because I could not make out that she was a great singer, +like my old Pasta. Now I will go and listen to any pretty +singer whom I can get to hear easily and unexpensively: but I +will not pay and squeeze much for any canary in the world. +Perhaps Lind is a nightingale: but I want something more than +that. Spedding’s cool blood was moved to hire stalls +several times at an advanced rate: the Lushingtons (your sister +told me) were enraptured: and certainly people rushed up madly +from Suffolk to hear her but once and then die. I rather +doubted the value of this <!-- page 225--><a +name="page225"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 225</span>general +appreciation. But one cause of my not hearing her was that +I was not in London for more than a fortnight all the Spring: and +she came out but at the close of my fortnight. . . .</p> +<p>. . . You are wrong, as usual, about Moore and Eastlake: all +the world say that Moore had much the best of the controversy, +and Eastlake only remains cock of the walk because he is held up +by authority. I do not pretend to judge which of the two is +right in art: but I am sure that Moore argues most logically, and +sets out upon finer principles; and if two shoemakers quarrelled +about the making of a shoe, I should be disposed to side with him +who argued best on the matter, though my eyes and other senses +could not help me to a verdict. Moore takes his stand on +high ground, and appeals to Titian, Michel Angelo, and +Reynolds. Eastlake is always shifting about, and appealing +to Sir Robert Peel, Etty, and the Picture-dealers. <a +name="citation225"></a><a href="#footnote225" +class="citation">[225]</a> Now farewell. Write when +you can to Boulge.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To S. Laurence</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[1847.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Laurence</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I assure you I am deeply obliged to you for the great +trouble you have taken, and the kindness you have shewn about the +portrait. In spite of all our objections (yours amongst the +number) it is very like, <!-- page 226--><a +name="page226"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 226</span>and perhaps +only misses of being quite like by that much more than +hairbreadth difference, which one would be foolish to expect to +see adequated. Perhaps those painters are right who set out +with rather idealising the likeness of those we love; for we do +so ourselves probably when we look at them. And as art must +miss the last delicacy of nature, it may be well to lean toward a +better than our eyes can affirm.</p> +<p>This is all wrong. Truth is the ticket; but those who +like strongly, in this as in other cases, love to be a little +blind, or to see too much. One fancies that no face can be +too delicate and handsome to be the depository of a noble spirit: +and if we are not as good physiognomists as we are metaphysicians +(that is, intimate with any one particular mind) our outward eyes +will very likely be at variance with our inward, or rather be +influenced by them. Very instructive all this!</p> +<p>I wish you would come to me to-night for an hour at ten: I +don’t know if any one else will be here.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To T. Carlyle</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Alderman +Browne’s</span>, <span class="smcap">Bedford</span>.<br /> +[20 <i>Septr</i>. 1847.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Carlyle</span>,</p> +<p>I was very glad of your letter: especially as regards that +part in it about the Derbyshire villages. In many other +parts of England (not to mention my own Suffolk) you would find +the same substantial goodness <!-- page 227--><a +name="page227"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 227</span>among the +people, resulting (as you say) from the funded virtues of many +good humble men gone by. I hope you will continue to teach +us all, as you have done, to make some use and profit of all +this: at least, not to let what good remains to die away under +penury and neglect. I also hope you will have some mercy +now, and in future, on the ‘Hebrew rags’ which are +grown offensive to you; considering that it was these rags that +really did bind together those virtues which have transmitted +down to us all the good you noticed in Derbyshire. If the +old creed was so commendably effective in the Generals and +Counsellors of two hundred years ago, I think we may be well +content to let it work still among the ploughmen and weavers of +to-day; and even to suffer some absurdities in the Form, if the +Spirit does well upon the whole. Even poor Exeter Hall +ought, I think, to be borne with; it is at least better than the +wretched Oxford business. When I was in Dorsetshire some +weeks ago, and saw chancels done up in sky-blue and gold, with +niches, candles, an <i>Altar</i>, rails to keep off the profane +laity, and the parson (like your Reverend Mr. Hitch <a +name="citation227"></a><a href="#footnote227" +class="citation">[227]</a>) <i>intoning</i> with his back to the +people, I thought the Exeter Hall war-cry of ‘The +Bible—the whole Bible—and nothing but the +Bible’ a good cry: I wanted Oliver and his dragoons to +march in and put an end to it all. Yet our Established +Parsons (when quiet and in their senses) make good country +gentlemen, and magistrates; and <!-- page 228--><a +name="page228"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 228</span>I am glad +to secure one man of means and education in each parish of +England: the people can always resort to Wesley, Bunyan, and +Baxter, if they want stronger food than the old Liturgy, and the +orthodox Discourse. I think you will not read what I have +written: or be very bored with it. But it is written +now.</p> +<p>I am going to-day into the neighbourhood of Kimbolton: but +shall be back here by the end of the week: and shall not leave +Bedford till next Monday certainly. I may then go to Naseby +for three days: but this depends. I would go and hunt up +some of the Peterboro’ churchmen for you; but that my +enquiries would either be useless, or precipitate the burning of +other records. I hope your excursion will do you +good. Thank you for your account of Spedding: I had written +however to himself, and from himself ascertained that he was out +of the worst. But Spedding’s life is a very ticklish +one.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To E. B. Cowell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[1847]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I am only got half way in the third book of Thucydides: +but I go on with pleasure; with as much pleasure as I used to +read a novel. I have also again taken up my Homer. +That is a noble and affecting passage where Diomed and Glaucus, +being about to fight, recognize each other as old family friends, +<!-- page 229--><a name="page229"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +229</span>exchange arms, and vow to avoid each other henceforth +in the fray. (N.B. and this in the tenth year of the +war!) After this comes, you know, the meeting of Hector and +Andromache, which we read together; altogether a truly Epic canto +indeed.</p> +<p>Yet, as I often think, it is not the poetical imagination, but +bare Science that every day more and more unrolls a greater Epic +than the Iliad; the history of the World, the infinitudes of +Space and Time! I never take up a book of Geology or +Astronomy but this strikes me. And when we think that Man +must go on to discover in the same plodding way, one fancies that +the Poet of to-day may as well fold his hands, or turn them to +dig and delve, considering how soon the march of discovery will +distance all his imaginations, [and] dissolve the language in +which they are uttered. Martial, as you say, lives now, +after two thousand years; a space that seems long to us whose +lives are so brief; but a moment, the twinkling of an eye, if +compared (not to Eternity alone) but to the ages which it is now +known the world must have existed, and (unless for some external +violence) must continue to exist. Lyell in his book about +America, says that the falls of Niagara, if (as seems certain) +they have worked their way back southwards for seven miles, must +have taken over 35,000 years to do so, at the rate of something +over a foot a year! Sometimes they fall back on a stratum +that crumbles away from behind them more easily: but then again +<!-- page 230--><a name="page230"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +230</span>they have to roll over rock that yields to them +scarcely more perceptibly than the anvil to the serpent. +And those very soft strata which the Cataract now erodes contain +evidences of a race of animals, and of the action of seas washing +over them, long before Niagara came to have a distinct current; +and the rocks were compounded ages and ages before those +strata! So that, as Lyell says, the Geologist looking at +Niagara forgets even the roar of its waters in the contemplation +of the awful processes of time that it suggests. It is not +only that this vision of Time must wither the Poet’s hope +of immortality; but it is in itself more wonderful than all the +conceptions of Dante and Milton.</p> +<p>As to your friend Pliny, I don’t think that Time can use +his usual irony on that saying about Martial. <a +name="citation230a"></a><a href="#footnote230a" +class="citation">[230a]</a> Pliny evidently only suggests +that ‘at non erunt æterna quæ scripsit’ +as a question of his correspondent; to which he himself replies +‘Non erunt <i>fortasse</i>.’ Your Greek +quotations are very graceful. I should like to read +Busbequius. <a name="citation230b"></a><a href="#footnote230b" +class="citation">[230b]</a> Do <i>you</i> think Tacitus +<i>affected</i> in style, as people now say he is?</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>In the Notes to his edition of Selden’s Table Talk, +published in 1847, Mr. Singer says, ‘Part of the following +Illustrations were kindly communicated to the <!-- page 231--><a +name="page231"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 231</span>Editor by a +gentleman to whom his best thanks are due, and whom it would have +afforded him great pleasure to be allowed to name.’ +It might have been said with truth that the ‘greater +part’ of the illustrations were contributed by the same +anonymous benefactor, who was, I have very little doubt, +FitzGerald himself. I have in my possession a copy of the +Table Talk which he gave me about 1871 or 1872, with annotations +in his own handwriting, and these are almost literally reproduced +in the Notes to Singer’s Edition. Of this copy +FitzGerald wrote to me, ‘What notes I have appended are +worth nothing, I suspect; though I remember that the advice of +the present Chancellor <a name="citation231"></a><a +href="#footnote231" class="citation">[231]</a> was asked in some +cases.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To E. B. Cowell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Geldestone</span>, <i>Jan</i>. 13/48.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I suppose you have seen Carlyle’s thirty-five +Cromwell letters in Fraser. I see the Athenæum is +picking holes with them too: and I certainly had a misgiving that +Squire of Yarmouth must have pieced out the erosions of +‘the vermin’ by one or two hotheaded guesses of his +own. But I am sure, both from the general matter of the +letters, and from Squire’s own bodily presence, that he did +not forge them. Carlyle has made a bungle of the whole +business; <!-- page 232--><a name="page232"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 232</span>and is fairly twitted by the +Athenæum for talking so loud about his veneration for +Cromwell, etc., and yet not stirring himself to travel a hundred +miles to see and save such memorials as he talks of.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge</span>, +<i>Wednesday</i>.<br /> +[<i>Jan.</i> 25, 1848.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>I liked your paper on the Mesnavi <a name="citation232"></a><a +href="#footnote232" class="citation">[232]</a> very much; both +your criticism and your Mosaic legend. That I may not seem +to give you careless and undistinguishing praise, I will tell you +that I could not quite hook on the latter part of Moses to the +former; did you leave out any necessary link of the chain in the +hiatus you made? or is the inconsequence only in my brains? +So much for the legend: and I must reprehend you for one tiny bit +of Cockney about Memory’s rosary at the end of your +article, which, but for that, I liked so much.</p> +<p>So judges Fitz-Dennis; who, you must know by this time, has +the judgment of Molière’s old woman, and the +captiousness of Dennis. Ten years ago I might have been +vext to see you striding along in Sanscrit and Persian so fast; +reading so much; remembering all; writing about it so well. +But now I am glad to see any man do any thing well; and I know +that it is my vocation to stand and wait, and know within myself +whether it is done well.</p> +<p><!-- page 233--><a name="page233"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +233</span>I have just finished, all but the last three chapters, +the fourth Book of Thucydides, and it is now no task to me to go +on. This fourth book is the most interesting I have read; +containing all that blockade of Pylos; that first great thumping +of the Athenians at Oropus, after which they for ever dreaded the +Theban troops. And it came upon me ‘come stella in +ciel,’ when, in the account of the taking of Amphipolis, <a +name="citation233"></a><a href="#footnote233" +class="citation">[233]</a> Thucydides, ος +ταυτα +ξυνεyραψεν, comes +with seven ships to the rescue! Fancy old Hallam sticking +to his gun at a Martello tower! This was the way to write +well; and this was the way to make literature respectable. +Oh, Alfred Tennyson, could you but have the luck to be put to +such employment! No man would do it better; a more heroic +figure to head the defenders of his country could not be.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To S. Laurence</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge</span>, +<span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>,<br /> +[30 <i>Jan</i>. 1848.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Laurence</span>,</p> +<p>How are you—how are you getting on? A voice from +the tombs thus addresses you; respect the dead, and answer. +Barton is well; that is, I left him well on Friday: but he was +just going off to attend a Quaker’s funeral in the snow: +whether he has survived that, I don’t know. To-morrow +is his Birth-day: and I am going (if he be alive) to help him to +<!-- page 234--><a name="page234"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +234</span>celebrate it. His portrait has been hung (under +my directions) over the mantel-piece in his sitting room, with a +broad margin of some red stuff behind it, to set it off. +You may turn up your nose at all this; but let me tell you it is +considered one of the happiest contrivances ever adopted in +Woodbridge. Nineteen people out of twenty like the portrait +much; the twentieth, you may be sure, is a man of no taste at +all.</p> +<p>I hear you were for a long time in Cumberland. Did you +paint a waterfall—or old Wordsworth—or Skiddaw, or +any of the beauties? Did you see anything so inviting to +the pencil as the river Deben? When are you coming to see +us again? Churchyard relies on your coming; but then he is +a very sanguine man, and, though a lawyer, wonderfully confident +in the promises of men. How are all your family? You +see I have asked you some questions; so you must answer them; and +believe me yours truly,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">E. +FitzGerald</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To John Allen</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge</span>, +<span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>,<br /> +<i>March</i> 2/48.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Allen</span>,</p> +<p>. . . Every year I have less and less desire to go to London: +and now you are not there I have one reason the less for going +there. I want to settle myself in some town—for +good—for life! A pleasant <!-- page 235--><a +name="page235"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 235</span>country +town, a cathedral town perhaps! What sort of a place is +Lichfield?</p> +<p>I say nothing about French Revolutions, which are too big for +a little letter. I think we shall all be in a war before +the year; I know not how else the French can keep peace at home +but by quarrelling abroad. But ‘come what come +may.’</p> +<p>My old friend Major Moor died rather suddenly last Saturday: +<a name="citation235"></a><a href="#footnote235" +class="citation">[235]</a> and this next Saturday is to be buried +in the Church to which he used to take me when I was a boy. +He has not left a better man behind him.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge</span>, +<i>Friday</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Allen</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I suppose by a ‘Minster Pool’ in Lichfield +you mean a select coterie of Prebends, Canons, etc. These +would never trouble me. I should much prefer the society of +the Doctor, the Lawyer (if tolerably honest) and the singing +men. I love a small Cathedral town; and the dignified +respectability of the Church potentates is a part of the +pleasure. I sometimes think of Salisbury: and have +altogether long had an idea of settling at forty years old. +Perhaps it will be at Woodbridge, after all!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 236--><a +name="page236"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 236</span><i>To F. +Tennyson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge</span>, +<i>May</i> 4, 1848.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Frederic</span>,</p> +<p>When you talk of two idle men not taking the trouble to keep +up a little intercourse by letters, you do not, in conscience, +reflect upon me; who, you know, am very active in answering +almost by return of post. It is some six months since you +must have got my last letter, full of most instructive advice +concerning my namesake; of whom, and of which, you say +nothing. How much has he borrowed of you? Is he now +living on the top of your hospitable roof? Do you think him +the most ill-used of men? I see great advertisements in the +papers about your great Grimsby Railway. . . . Does it pay? +does it pay all but you? who live only on the fine promises of +the lawyers and directors engaged in it? You know England +has had a famous winter of it for commercial troubles: my family +has not escaped the agitation: I even now doubt if I must not +give up my daily two-pennyworth of cream and take to milk: and +give up my Spectator and Athenæum. I don’t +trouble myself much about all this: for, unless the kingdom goes +to pieces by national bankruptcy, I shall probably have enough to +live on: and, luckily, every year I want less. What do you +think of my not going up to London this year; to see exhibitions, +to hear operas, and so on? Indeed I do not think I shall +go: and I <!-- page 237--><a name="page237"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 237</span>have no great desire to go. I +hear of nothing new in any way worth going up for. I have +never yet heard the famous Jenny Lind, whom all the world raves +about. Spedding is especially mad about her, I understand: +and, after that, is it not best for weaker vessels to keep out of +her way? Night after night is that bald head seen in one +particular position in the Opera house, in a stall; the miserable +man has forgot Bacon and philosophy, and goes after strange +women. There is no doubt this lady is a wonderful singer; +but I will not go into hot crowds till another Pasta comes; I +have heard no one since her worth being crushed for. And to +perform in one’s head one of Handel’s choruses is +better than most of the Exeter Hall performances. I went to +hear Mendelssohn’s Elijah last spring: and found it +wasn’t at all worth the trouble. Though very good +music it is not original: Haydn much better. I think the +day of Oratorios is gone, like the day for painting Holy +Families, etc. But we cannot get tired of what has been +done in Oratorios more than we can get tired of Raffaelle. +Mendelssohn is really original and beautiful in <i>romantic</i> +music: witness his Midsummer Night’s Dream, and +Fingal’s Cave.</p> +<p>I had a note from Alfred three months ago. He was then +in London: but is now in Ireland, I think, adding to his new +poem, the Princess. Have you seen it? I am considered +a great heretic for abusing it; it seems to me a wretched waste +of power at a time of life when a man ought to be doing his best; +<!-- page 238--><a name="page238"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +238</span>and I almost feel hopeless about Alfred now. I +mean, about his doing what he was born to do. . . . On the +other hand, Thackeray is progressing greatly in his line: he +publishes a Novel in numbers—Vanity Fair—which began +dull, I thought: but gets better every number, and has some very +fine things indeed in it. He is become a great man I am +told: goes to Holland House, and Devonshire House: and for some +reason or other, will not write a word to me. But I am sure +this is not because he is asked to Holland House. Dickens +has fallen off in his last novel, <a name="citation238"></a><a +href="#footnote238" class="citation">[238]</a> just completed; +but there are wonderful things in it too. Do you ever get a +glimpse of any of these things?</p> +<p>As to public affairs, they are so wonderful that one does not +know where to begin. If England maintains her own this +year, she must have the elements of long lasting in her. I +think People begin to wish we had no more to do with Ireland: but +the Whigs will never listen to a doctrine which was never heard +of in Holland House. I am glad Italy is free: and surely +there is nothing for her now but a Republic. It is well to +stand by old kings who have done well by us: but it is too late +in the day to <i>begin</i> Royalty.</p> +<p>If anything could tempt me so far as Italy, it would certainly +be your presence in Florence. But I boggle about going +twenty miles, and <i>cui bono</i>? deadens me more and more.</p> +<p><!-- page 239--><a name="page239"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +239</span>July 2. All that precedes was written six weeks +ago, when I was obliged to go up to London on business. . . +. I saw Alfred, and the rest of the sçavans. +Thackeray is a great man: goes to Devonshire House, etc.: and +<i>his</i> book (which is capital) is read by the Great: and +will, I hope, do them good. I heard but little music: the +glorious Acis and Galatea; and the redoubtable Jenny Lind, for +the first time. I was disappointed in her: but am told this +is all my fault. As to naming her in the same Olympiad with +great old Pasta, I am sure that is ridiculous. The +Exhibition is like most others you have seen; worse +perhaps. There is an ‘Aaron’ and a ‘John +the Baptist’ by Etty far worse than the Saracen’s +Head on Ludgate Hill. Moore is turned Picture dealer: and +that high Roman virtue in which he indulged is likely to suffer a +Picture-dealer’s change, I think. Carlyle writes in +the Examiner about Ireland: raves and foams, but has nothing to +propose. Spedding prospers with Bacon. Alfred seemed +to me in fair plight: much dining out: and his last Poem is well +liked I believe. Morton is still at Lisbon, I believe also: +but I have not written to him, nor heard from him. And now, +my dear Frederic, I must shut up. Do not neglect to write +to me sometimes. Alfred said you ought to be in England +about your Grimsby Land.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 240--><a +name="page240"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 240</span><i>To E. B. +Cowell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[? 1848.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I do not know that I praised Xenophon’s +imagination in recording such things as Alcibiades at Lampsacus; +<a name="citation240"></a><a href="#footnote240" +class="citation">[240]</a> all I meant to say was that the +history was not dull which does record such facts, if it be for +the imagination of others to quicken them. . . . As to +Sophocles, I will not give up my old Titan. Is there not an +infusion of Xenophon in Sophocles, as compared to +Æschylus,—a dilution? Sophocles is doubtless +the better artist, the more complete; but are we to expect +anything but glimpses and ruins of the divinest? Sophocles +is a pure Greek temple; but Æschylus is a rugged mountain, +lashed by seas, and riven by thunderbolts: and which is the most +wonderful, and appalling? Or if one will have +Æschylus too a work of man, I say he is like a Gothic +Cathedral, which the Germans say did arise from the genius of man +aspiring up to the immeasurable, and reaching after the infinite +in complexity and gloom, according as Christianity elevated and +widened men’s minds. A dozen lines of Æschylus +have a more Almighty power on me than all Sophocles’ plays; +though I would perhaps rather save Sophocles, as the consummation +of Greek art, than Æschylus’ twelve lines, if it came +to a choice which must be lost. <!-- page 241--><a +name="page241"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 241</span>Besides +these Æschyluses <i>trouble</i> us with their grandeur and +gloom; but Sophocles is always soothing, complete, and +satisfactory.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. B. Donne</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge</span>, +<i>Decr</i>. 27, [1848.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Donne</span>,</p> +<p>You have sent me two or three kind messages through +Barton. I hear you come into Suffolk the middle of +January. My movements are as yet uncertain; the lawyers may +call me back to London very suddenly: but should I be here at the +time of your advent, you must really contrive to come here, to +this Cottage, for a day or two. I have yet beds, tables, +and chairs for two: I think Gurdon is also looking out for +you.</p> +<p>I only returned home a few days ago, to spend Christmas with +Barton: whose turkey I accordingly partook of. He seems +only pretty well: is altered during the last year: less spirits, +less strength; but quite amiable still.</p> +<p>I saw many of my friends in London, Carlyle and Tennyson among +them; but most and best of all, Spedding. I have stolen his +noble book <a name="citation241"></a><a href="#footnote241" +class="citation">[241]</a> away from him; noble, in spite (I +believe, but am not sure) of some <i>adikology</i> in the second +volume: some special pleadings for his idol: amica Veritas, sed +magis, etc. <!-- page 242--><a name="page242"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 242</span>But I suppose you will think this +the intolerance of a weak stomach.</p> +<p>I also went to plays and concerts which I could scarce afford: +but I thought I would have a Carnival before entering on a year +of reductions. I have been trying to hurry on, and bully, +Lawyers: have done a very little good with much trouble; and +cannot manage to fret much though I am told there is great cause +for fretting.</p> +<p>Farewell for the present: come and see me if we be near +Woodbridge at the same time: remember me to all who do remember +me: and believe me yours as ever,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F. G.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To S. Laurence</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge</span>, +<span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>,<br /> +<i>Febr</i>: 9/49.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Laurence</span>,</p> +<p>Roe promised me six copies of his Tennyson. <a +name="citation242"></a><a href="#footnote242" +class="citation">[242]</a> Do you know anything of +them? Why I ask is, that, in case they should be at your +house, I may have an opportunity of having them brought down here +one day. And I have promised them nearly all to people +hereabout.</p> +<p>Barton is out of health; some affection of the heart, I think, +that will never leave him, never let him be what he was when you +saw him. He is forced to be very abstemious . . . but he +bears his <!-- page 243--><a name="page243"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 243</span>illness quite as a man; and looks +very demurely to the necessary end of all life. <a +name="citation243"></a><a href="#footnote243" +class="citation">[243]</a> Churchyard is pretty well; has +had a bad cough for three months. I suppose we are all +growing older: though I have been well this winter, and was +unwell all last. I forget if you saw Crabbe (I mean the +Father) when you were down here.</p> +<p>You may tell Mr. Hullah, if you like, that in spite of his +contempt for my music, I was very much pleased, with a duett of +his I chanced to see—‘O that we two were +maying’—and which I bought and have forced two ladies +here to take pains to learn. They would sing nicely if they +had voices and were taught.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Fragment of Letter to J. +Allen</i>.</p> +<p>I see a good deal of Alfred, who lives not far off me: and he +is still the same noble and droll fellow he used to be. A +lithograph has been made from Laurence’s portrait of him; +<i>my</i> portrait: and six copies are given to me. I +reserve one for you; how can I send it to you?</p> +<p>Laurence has for months been studying the Venetian secret of +colour in company with Geldart; and at last they have discovered +it, they say. I have seen some of Laurence’s +portraits done on his new system; they seem to be really much +better up to a certain point of progress: but I think he is apt, +by a bad choice of colours, to spoil the effect which an improved +<!-- page 244--><a name="page244"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +244</span>system of laying on the colours should ensure. +But he has only lately begun on his new system, of which he is +quite confident; and perhaps all will come right by and by.</p> +<p>I have seen Thackeray three or four times. He is just +the same. All the world admires Vanity Fair; and the Author +is courted by Dukes and Duchesses, and wits of both sexes. +I like Pendennis much; and Alfred said he thought ‘it was +quite delicious: it seemed to him so <i>mature</i>,’ he +said. You can imagine Alfred saying this over one’s +fire, spreading his great hand out.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To F. Tennyson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge</span>, +<span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>, <i>June</i> 19, 1849.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Old Frederic</span>,</p> +<p>I often think of you: often wish to write to you—often +intend to do so—determine to do so—but perhaps should +not do so for a long time, but that this sheet of thin paper +happens to come under my fingers this 19th of June 1849. +You must not believe however that it is only chance that puts me +up to this exertion; I really should have written before but that +the reports we read of Italian and Florentine troubles put me in +doubt first whether you are still at Florence to receive my +letter: and secondly whether, if you be there, it would ever +reach your hands. But I will brace myself up even to that +great act of Friendship, to write a long letter with all +probability of its miscarrying. <!-- page 245--><a +name="page245"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 245</span>Only look +here; if it ever does reach you, you must really write to me +directly: to let me know how you and yours are, for I am +sincerely anxious to know this. I saw great reports in the +paper too some months back of Prince Albert going to open Great +Grimsby Docks. Were not such Docks to be made on your land? +and were you not to be a rich man if they were made? And +have you easily consented to forego being paid in money, and to +accept in lieu thereof a certain quantity of wholly valueless +shares in said Docks, which will lead you into expense, instead +of enriching you? This is what I suppose will be the +case. For though you have a microscopic eye for human +character, you are to be diddled by any knave, or set of knaves, +as you well know.</p> +<p>Of my own affairs I have nothing agreeable to tell. . . +. When I met you in London, I was raising money for myself +on my reversionary property: and so I am still: and of course the +lawyers continue to do so in the most expensive way; a slow +torture of the purse. But do not suppose I want money: I +get it, at a good price: nor do I fret myself about the price: +there will be quite enough (if public securities hold) for my +life under any dispensation the lawyers can inflict. As I +grow older I want less. I have not bought a book or a +picture this year: have not been to a concert, opera, or play: +and, what is more, I don’t care to go. Not but if I +meet you in London again I shall break out into shilling +concerts, etc., and shall be glad of the opportunity.</p> +<p><!-- page 246--><a name="page246"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +246</span>After you left London, I remained there nearly to the +end of December; saw a good deal of Alfred, etc. Since then +I have been down here except a fortnight’s stay in London, +from which I have just returned. I heard Alfred had been +seen flying through town to the Lushingtons: but I did not see +him. He is said to be still busy about that accursed +Princess. By the by, beg, borrow, steal, or buy +Keats’ Letters and Poems; most wonderful bits of Poems, +written off hand at a sitting, most of them: I only wonder that +they do not make a noise in the world. By the by again, it +is quite necessary <i>your</i> poems should be printed; which +Moxon, I am sure, would do gladly. Except this book of +Keats, we have had <i>no</i> poetry lately, I believe; luckily, +the ---, ---, ---, etc., are getting older and past the age of +conceiving—<i>wind</i>. Send your poems over to +Alfred to sort and arrange for you: he will do it: and you and he +are the only men alive whose poems I want to see in print. +By the by, thirdly and lastly, and in total contradiction to the +last sentence, I am now helping to edit some letters and poems +of—Bernard Barton! Yes: the poor fellow died suddenly +of heart disease; leaving his daughter, a noble woman, almost +unprovided for: and we are getting up this volume by +subscription. If you were in England <i>you</i> must +subscribe: but as you are not, you need only give us a share in +the Great Grimsby Dock instead.</p> +<p>Now there are some more things I could tell you, but you see +where my pen has honestly got to in the <!-- page 247--><a +name="page247"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +247</span>paper. I remember you did not desire to hear +about my garden, which is now gorgeous with large red poppies, +and lilac irises—satisfactory colouring: and the trees +murmur a continuous soft <i>chorus to the solo which my soul +discourses within</i>. If that be not Poetry, I should like +to know what is? and with it I may as well conclude. I +think I shall send this letter to your family at Cheltenham to be +forwarded to you:—they may possibly have later intelligence +of you than I have. Pray write to me if you get this; +indeed you <i>must</i>; and never come to England without letting +me know of it.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To George Crabbe</i>. <a +name="citation247"></a><a href="#footnote247" +class="citation">[247]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Terrace +House</span>, <span class="smcap">Richmond</span>,<br /> +<i>October</i> 22/49.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear George</span>,</p> +<p>Warren’s analysis of my MS. is rather wonderful to +me. Though not wholly correct (as I think, and as I will +expound to you one day) it seems to me yet as exact as most of my +friends who know me best could draw out from their personal +knowledge. Some of his guesses (though partly right) hit +upon traits of character I should conceive quite out of all +possibility of solution from mere handwriting. I can +understand that a man should guess at one’s temperament, +whether lively or slow; at one’s habit of thought, whether +<!-- page 248--><a name="page248"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +248</span>diffuse or logical; at one’s Will, whether strong +and direct or feeble and timid. But whether one distrusts +men, and yet trusts friends? Half of this is true, at all +events. Then I cannot conceive how a man should see in +handwriting such an accident as whether one knew much of Books or +men; and in this point it is very doubtful if Warren is +right. But, take it all in all, his analysis puzzles me +much. I have sent it to old Jem Spedding the Wise. +You shall have it again.</p> +<p>If my Mother should remain at this place you must one day come +and see her and it with me. She would be very glad to +receive you. Richmond and all its environs are very +beautiful, and very interesting; haunted by the memory of +Princes, Wits, and Beauties.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To E. B. Cowell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge</span>, +<i>Saturday</i>, [1849].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>How is it I have not heard from you these two months? +Surely, I was the last who wrote. I was told you had +influenza, or cold: but I suppose that is all over by this +time. How goes on Sanscrit, Athenæus, etc. I am +reading the sixth Book of Thucydides—the Sicilian +expedition—very interesting—indeed I like the old +historian more and more and shall be sorry when I have done with +him. Do you remember the fine account of the great armament +setting off from the Piræus for Sicily—B. 6, ch. 30, +etc? If not, read it now.</p> +<p><!-- page 249--><a name="page249"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +249</span>One day I mean to go and pay you another visit, perhaps +soon. I heard from Miss Barton you were reading, and even +liking, the Princess—is this so? I believe it is +greatly admired in London coteries. I remain in the same +mind about [it]. I am told the Author means to republish +it, with a character of each speaker between each canto; which +will make the matter worse, I think; unless the speakers are all +of the Tennyson family. For there is no indication of any +change of speaker in the cantos themselves. What do you say +to all this?</p> +<p>Can you tell me any passages in the Romans of the Augustan +age, or rather before, telling of decline in the people’s +morals, hardihood, especially as regards the youth of the +country?</p> +<p>Kind remembrances to Miladi, and I am yours ever,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">E. +FitzGerald</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To F. Tennyson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Bedford</span>, +<i>Dec.</i> 7/49.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear old Frederic</span>,</p> +<p>Your note came to me to-day. I ought to have written to +you long ago: and indeed did half do a letter before the summer +was half over: which letter I mislaid. I shall be delighted +indeed to have your photograph: insufficient as a photograph +is. You are one of the few men whose portrait I would give +a penny to have: and one day when you are in England we must get +it done by Laurence; half at your expense <!-- page 250--><a +name="page250"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 250</span>and half at +mine, I think. I wish you had sent over to me some of your +poems which you told me you were printing at Florence: and often +I wish I was at Florence to give you some of my self-satisfied +advice on what you should select. For though I do not +pretend to write Poetry you know I have a high notion of my +judgment in it.</p> +<p>Well, I was at Boulge all the summer: came up thence five +weeks ago: stayed three weeks with my mother at Richmond; a week +in London: and now am come here to try and finish a money bargain +with some lawyers which you heard me beginning a year ago. +They utterly failed in any part of the transaction except +bringing me in a large bill for service unperformed. +However, we are now upon another tack. . . .</p> +<p>In a week I go to London, where I hope to see Alfred. +Oddly enough, I had a note from him this very day on which I +receive yours: he has, he tells me, taken chambers in +Lincoln’s Inn Fields. Moxon told me he was about to +publish another edition of his Princess, with interludes added +between the parts: and also that he was about to print, but (I +think) not to publish, those Elegiacs on Hallam. I saw poor +old Thackeray in London: getting very slowly better of a bilious +fever that had almost killed him. Some one told me that he +was gone or going to the Water Doctor at Malvern. People in +general thought Pendennis got dull as it got on; and I confess I +thought so too: he would do well to take the opportunity <!-- +page 251--><a name="page251"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +251</span>of his illness to discontinue it altogether. He +told me last June he himself was tired of it: must not his +readers naturally tire too? Do you see Dickens’ David +Copperfield? It is very good, I think: more carefully +written than his later works. But the melodramatic parts, +as usual, bad. Carlyle says he is a showman whom one gives +a shilling to once a month to see his raree-show, and then sends +him about his business.</p> +<p>I have been obliged to turn Author on the very smallest +scale. My old friend Bernard Barton chose to die in the +early part of this year. . . . We have made a Book out of +his Letters and Poems, and published it by subscription . . . and +I have been obliged to contribute a little dapper <a +name="citation251"></a><a href="#footnote251" +class="citation">[251]</a> Memoir, as well as to select bits of +Letters, bits of Poems, etc. All that was wanted is +accomplished: many people subscribed. Some of B. B.’s +letters are pleasant, I think, and when you come to England I +will give you this little book of incredibly small value. I +have heard no music but two concerts at Jullien’s a +fortnight ago; very dull, I thought: no beautiful new Waltzes and +Polkas which I love. It is a strange thing to go to the +Casinos and see the coarse whores and apprentices in bespattered +morning dresses, pea-jackets, and bonnets, twirl round clumsily +and indecently to the divine airs played in the Gallery; +‘the music yearning like a God in pain’ indeed. +I should like to hear <!-- page 252--><a name="page252"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 252</span>some of your Florentine Concerts; +and I do wish you to believe that I do constantly wish myself +with you: that, if I ever went anywhere, I would assuredly go to +visit the Villa Gondi. I wish you to believe this, which I +know to be true, though I am probably further than ever from +accomplishing my desire. Farewell: I shall hope to find out +your Consul and your portrait in London: though you do not give +me very good directions where I am to find them. And I will +let you know soon whether I have found the portrait, and how I +like it.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To John Allen</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Bedford</span>, +<i>Dec.</i> 13/49.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear old Allen</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I am glad you like the Book. <a +name="citation252a"></a><a href="#footnote252a" +class="citation">[252a]</a> You are partly right as to what +I say about the Poems. For though I really do think some of +the Poems very pretty, yet I think they belong to a class which +the world no longer wants. Notwithstanding this, one is +sure the world will not be the worse for them: they are a kind of +elder Nursery rhymes; pleasing to younger people of good +affections. <a name="citation252b"></a><a href="#footnote252b" +class="citation">[252b]</a> The <!-- page 253--><a +name="page253"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 253</span>letters, +some of them, I like very much: but I had some curiosity to know +how others would like them.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. B. Donne</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">19 <span class="smcap">Charlotte +St.</span>, <span class="smcap">FitzRoy Square</span>,<br /> +<span class="smcap">London</span>.<br /> +[18 <i>Jan</i>. 1850.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Donne</span>,</p> +<p>. . . After I left Richmond, whence I last wrote to you, I +went to Bedford, where I was for five weeks: then returned to +spend Christmas at Richmond: and now dawdle here hoping to get +some accursed lawyers to raise me some money on what remains of +my reversion. This they <i>can</i> do, and <i>will</i> do, +in time: but, as usual, find it their interest to delay as much +as possible.</p> +<p>I found A. Tennyson in chambers at Lincoln’s Inn: and +recreated myself with a sight of his fine old mug, and got out of +him all his dear old stories, and many new ones. He is +re-publishing his Poems, the Princess with songs +interposed. I cannot say I thought them like the old +vintage of his earlier days, though perhaps better than other +people’s. But, even to you, such opinions appear +blasphemies. A. T. is now gone on a visit into +Leicestershire: and I miss him greatly. Carlyle I have not +seen; but I read an excellent bit of his in the Examiner, about +Ireland. <!-- page 254--><a name="page254"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 254</span>Thackeray is well again, except not +quite strong yet. Spedding is not yet returned: and I doubt +will not return before I have left London.</p> +<p>I have been but to one play; to see the Hypocrite, and Tom +Taylor’s burlesque <a name="citation254a"></a><a +href="#footnote254a" class="citation">[254a]</a> at the +Strand Theatre. It was dreadfully cold in the pit: and I +thought dull. Farren almost unintelligible: Mrs. Glover +good in a disagreeable part. <a name="citation254b"></a><a +href="#footnote254b" class="citation">[254b]</a> Diogenes +has very good Aristophanic hits in it, as perhaps you know: but +its action was rather slow, I thought: and I was so cold I could +not sit it half through.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To F. Tennyson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">[Written from Bramford? E. F. +G. was staying at this time with the Cowells.]</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Direct to <span +class="smcap">Boulge</span>, <span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>March</i> 7/50.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear old Frederic</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I saw Alfred in London—pretty well, I +thought. He has written songs to be stuck between the +cantos of the Princess, none of them of the old champagne +flavour, as I think. But I am in a minority about the +Princess, I believe. If you print any poems, I especially +desire you will transmit them to me. I wish I was with you +to consider about these: for though I cannot write poems, you +know I consider that I have the old woman’s faculty of +judging of them: yes, much better than much <!-- page 255--><a +name="page255"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 255</span>cleverer +and wiser men; I pretend to no Genius, but to Taste: which, +according to my aphorism, is the feminine of Genius. . . .</p> +<p>. . . Please to answer me directly. I constantly think +of you: and, as I have often sincerely told you, with a kind of +love which I feel towards but two or three friends. Are you +coming to England? How goes on Grimsby! Doesn’t +the state of Europe sicken you? Above all, let me have any +poems you print: you are now the only man I expect verse from; +such gloomy grand stuff as you write. Thackeray, to be +sure, can write good ballads, half serious. His Pendennis +is very stupid, I think: Dickens’ Copperfield on the whole, +very good. He always lights one up somehow. There is +a new volume of posthumous poems by Ebenezer Elliott: with fine +things in it. I don’t find myself growing old about +Poetry; on the contrary. I wish I could take twenty years +off Alfred’s shoulders, and set him up in his youthful +glory: . . . He is the same magnanimous, kindly, delightful +fellow as ever; uttering by far the finest prose sayings of any +one.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To John Allen</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge</span>: +<i>March</i> 9/50.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Allen</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I have now been home about three weeks, and, as you say, +one sees indications of lovely spring <!-- page 256--><a +name="page256"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +256</span>about. I have read but very little of late; +indeed my eyes have not been in superfine order. I caught a +glimpse of the second volume of Southey’s Life and Letters; +interesting enough. I have also bought Emerson’s +‘Representative Men,’ a shilling book of +Bohn’s: with very good scattered thoughts in it: but +scarcely leaving any large impression with one, or establishing a +theory. So at least it has seemed to me: but I have not +read very carefully. I have also bought a little posthumous +volume of Ebenezer Elliott: which is sure to have fine things in +it.</p> +<p>I believe I love poetry almost as much as ever: but then I +have been suffered to doze all these years in the enjoyment of +old childish habits and sympathies, without being called on to +more active and serious duties of life. I have not put away +childish things, though a man. But, at the same time, this +visionary inactivity is better than the mischievous activity of +so many I see about me; not better than the useful and virtuous +activity of a few others: John Allen among the number.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To F. Tennyson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Portland Coffee +House</span>, <span class="smcap">London</span>.<br /> +<i>April</i> 17/50.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Frederic</span>,</p> +<p>You tell me to write soon: and this letter is begun, at least, +on the day yours reaches me. This is partly owing to my +having to wait an hour here in the Coffee <!-- page 257--><a +name="page257"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 257</span>room of the +Portland Hotel: whither your letter has been forwarded to me from +Boulge. I am come up for one week: once more to haggle with +Lawyers; once more to try and settle my own affairs as well as +those of others for a time. . . .</p> +<p>I don’t think of drowning myself yet: and what I wrote +to you was a sort of safety escape for my poor flame . . . +It is only idle and well-to-do people who kill themselves; it is +ennui that is hopeless: great pain of mind and body ‘still, +still, on hope relies’: the very old, the very wretched, +the most incurably diseased never put themselves to rest. +It really gives me pain to hear you or any one else call me a +philosopher, or any good thing of the sort. I am none, +never was; and, if I pretended to be so, was a hypocrite. +Some things, as wealth, rank, respectability, I don’t care +a straw about; but no one can resent the toothache more, nor +fifty other little ills beside that flesh is heir to. But +let us leave all this.</p> +<p>I am come to London; but I do not go to Operas or Plays: and +have scarce time (and, it must be said, scarce inclination) to +hunt up many friends. Dear old Alfred is out of town; +Spedding is my sheet-anchor, the truly wise and fine fellow: I am +going to his rooms this very evening: and there I believe +Thackeray, Venables, etc., are to be. I hope not a large +assembly: for I get shyer and shyer even of those I knew. +Thackeray is in such a great world that I am afraid of him; he +gets tired of me: and we are content to regard each other at a +distance. You, <!-- page 258--><a name="page258"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 258</span>Alfred, Spedding, and Allen, are the +only men I ever care to see again. If ever I leave this +country I will go and see you at Florence or elsewhere; but my +plans are at present unsettled. I have refused to be +Godfather to all who have ever asked me; but I declare it will +give me sincere pleasure to officiate for your Child. I got +your photograph at last: it is a beastly thing: not a bit like: +why did you not send your Poems, which are like you; and reflect +your dear old face well? As you know I admire your poems, +the only poems by a living writer I do admire, except +Alfred’s, you should not hesitate. I can have no +doubt whatever they ought to be published in England: I believe +Moxon would publish them: and I believe you would make some money +by them. But don’t send them to Alfred to revise or +select: only for this reason, that you would both of you be a +little annoyed by gossip about how much share each of you had in +them. Your poems can want no other hand than your own to +meddle with them, except in respect of the choice of them to make +a volume which would please generally: a little of the vulgar +faculty of popular tact is all that needs to be added to you, as +I think. You will know I do not say this presumptuously: +since I think the power of writing one fine line transcends all +the ‘Able-Editor’ ability in the ably-edited +Universe.</p> +<p>Do you see Carlyle’s ‘Latter Day +Pamphlets’? They make the world laugh, and his +friends rather sorry for him. But that is because people +will still <!-- page 259--><a name="page259"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 259</span>look for practical measures from +him: one must be content with him as a great satirist who can +make us feel when we are wrong though he cannot set us +right. There is a bottom of truth in Carlyle’s +wildest rhapsodies. I have no news to tell you of books or +music, for I scarce see or hear any. And moreover I must be +up, and leave the mahogany coffee-room table on which I write so +badly: and be off to Lincoln’s Inn. God bless you, my +dear fellow. I ask a man of business here in the room about +Grimsby: he says, ‘Well, all these railways are +troublesome; but the Grimsby one is one of the best: railway +property must look up a little: and so will Grimsby.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. B. Donne</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge</span>: +Friday [4 <i>Oct</i>. 1850].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Donne</span>,</p> +<p>I have been some while intending to send you a few lines, to +report my continued existence, to thank you for the Papers, which +I and my dear old Crabbe read and mark, and to tell you I was +much pleased with Laurence’s sketch of you, which he +exhibited to me in a transitory way some weeks ago. Has he +been to Bury again? To Sir H. Bunbury’s?</p> +<p>I am packing up my mind by degrees to move away from here on a +round of visits: and will give you a look at Bury if you like +it. I am really frightened that it is a whole year since I +have seen <!-- page 260--><a name="page260"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 260</span>you: and we but two hours +asunder! I know it is not want of will on my part: though +you may wonder what other want detains me; but you will believe +me when I say it is not want of will. You are too busy to +come here: where indeed is nothing to come for. I wished +for Charles last Monday: for people came to shoot the three brace +of pheasants inhabiting these woods: had I remembered the first +of October, I would have let him know. Otherwise, I am +afraid to invite the young, whom I cannot entertain.</p> +<p>H. Groome came over and dined with me on Wednesday: and Crabbe +came to meet him; but the latter had no hearty smoker to keep him +in countenance, and was not quite comfortable. H. Groome +improves: his poetical and etymological ambitions begin to pale +away before years that bring the philosophic mind, and before a +rising family.</p> +<p>I liked your Articles on Pepys much. How go on the +Norfolk worthies? I see by your review that you are now +ripe to write them at your ease: which means (in a work of that +kind) successfully.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To F. Tennyson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<span class="smcap">Boulge</span>], +<i>Decr</i>. 31/50.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear old Frederic</span>,</p> +<p>If you knew how glad I am to hear from you, you would write to +me oftener. You see I make a quick return whenever I get an +epistle from you. I should indeed have begun to indite +before, but I had not a <!-- page 261--><a +name="page261"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 261</span>scrap of +serviceable paper in the house: and I am only this minute +returned from a wet walk to Woodbridge bringing home the sheet on +which I am now writing, along with the rest of a half-quire, +which may be filled to you, if we both live. I now count +the number of sheets: there are nine. I do not think we +average more than three letters a year each. Shall both of +us, or either, live three years more, beginning with the year +that opens to-morrow? I somehow believe <i>not</i>: which I +say not as a doleful thing (indeed you may look at it as a very +ludicrous one). Well, we shall see. I am all for the +short and merry life. Last night I began the sixth Book of +Lucretius in bed. You laugh grimly again? I have not +looked into it for more than a year, and I took it up by mistake +for one of Swift’s dirty volumes; and, having got into bed +with it, did not care to get out to change it.</p> +<p>The delightful lady . . . is going to leave this neighbourhood +and carry her young Husband <a name="citation261"></a><a +href="#footnote261" class="citation">[261]</a> to Oxford, there +to get him some Oriental Professorship one day. He is a +delightful fellow, and, <i>I</i> say, will, if he live, be the +best Scholar in England. Not that I think Oxford will be so +helpful to his studies as his counting house at Ipswich +was. However, being married he cannot at all events become +Fellow, and, as so many do, dissolve all the promise of +Scholarship in Sloth, Gluttony, and sham Dignity. I shall +miss them both more than I can say, and must take to <!-- page +262--><a name="page262"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +262</span>Lucretius! to comfort me. I have entirely given +up the <i>Genteel</i> Society here about; and scarce ever go +anywhere but to the neighbouring Parson, <a +name="citation262a"></a><a href="#footnote262a" +class="citation">[262a]</a> with whom I discuss Paley’s +Theology, and the Gorham Question. I am going to him +to-night, by the help of a Lantern, in order to light out the Old +Year with a Cigar. For he is a great Smoker, and a very +fine fellow in all ways.</p> +<p>I have not seen any one you know since I last wrote; nor heard +from any one: except dear old Spedding, who really came down and +spent two days with us, me and that Scholar and his Wife in their +Village, <a name="citation262b"></a><a href="#footnote262b" +class="citation">[262b]</a> in their delightful little house, in +their pleasant fields by the River side. Old Spedding was +delicious there; always leaving a mark, I say, in all places one +has been at with him, a sort of Platonic perfume. For has +he not all the beauty of the Platonic Socrates, with some +personal Beauty to boot? He explained to us one day about +the laws of reflection in water: and I said then one never could +look at the willow whose branches furnished the text without +thinking of him. How beastly this reads! As if he +gave us a lecture! But you know the man, how quietly it all +came out; only because I petulantly denied his plain +assertion. For I really often cross him only to draw him +out; and vain as I may be, he is one of those that I am well +content to make shine at my own expense.</p> +<p><!-- page 263--><a name="page263"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +263</span>Don’t suppose that this or any other ideal day +with him effaces my days with you. Indeed, my dear +Frederic, you also mark many times and many places in which I +have been with you. Gravesend and its +ανηριθμοι shrimps +cannot be forgotten. You say I shall never go to see you at +Florence. I have said to you before and I now repeat it, +that if ever I go abroad it shall be to see you and my +Godchild. I really cannot say if I should not have gone +this winter (as I hinted in my last) in case you had answered my +letter. But I really did not know if you had not left +Florence; and a fortnight ago I thought to myself I would write +to Horatio at Cheltenham and ask him for news of you. As to +Alfred, I have heard of his marriage, etc., from Spedding, who +also saw and was much pleased with her indeed. But you know +Alfred himself never writes, nor indeed cares a halfpenny about +one, though he is very well satisfied to see one when one falls +in his way. You will think I have a spite against him for +some neglect, when I say this, and say besides that I cannot care +for his In Memoriam. Not so, if I know myself: I always +thought the same of him, and was just as well satisfied with it +as now. His poem I never did greatly affect: nor can I +learn to do so: it is full of finest things, but it is +monotonous, and has that air of being evolved by a Poetical +Machine of the highest order. So it seems to be with him +now, at least to me, the Impetus, the Lyrical œstrus, is +gone. . . It is the cursed inactivity <!-- page 264--><a +name="page264"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 264</span> (very +pleasant to me who am no Hero) of this 19th century which has +spoiled Alfred, I mean spoiled him for the great work he ought +now to be entering upon; the lovely and noble things he has done +must remain. It is dangerous work this prophesying about +great Men. . . . I beg you very much to send me your poems, +the very first opportunity; as I want them very much. +Nobody doubts that you ought to make a volume for Moxon. +Send your poems to Spedding to advise on. No doubt Alfred +would be best adviser of all: but then people would be stupid, +and say that he had done all that was good in the +Book—(wait till I take my tea, which has been lying on the +table these ten minutes)—Now, animated by some very +inferior Souchong from the village shop, I continue my letter, +having reflected during my repast that I have seen two College +men you remember since I last wrote, Thompson and Merivale. +The former is just recovering of the water cure, looking blue: +the latter, Merivale, is just recovering +from—Marriage!—which he undertook this Midsummer, +with a light-haired daughter of George Frere’s. +Merivale lives just on the borders of Suffolk: and a week before +his marriage he invited me to meet F. Pollock and his wife at the +Rectory. There we spent two easy days, and I heard no more +of Merivale till three weeks ago when he asked me to meet +Thompson just before Christmas. . . . Have you seen +Merivale’s History of Rome, beginning with the +Empire? Two portly volumes are out, and are <!-- page +265--><a name="page265"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +265</span>approved of by Scholars, I believe. I have not +read them, not having money to buy, nor any friend to lend.</p> +<p>I hear little music but what I make myself, or help to make +with my Parson’s son and daughter. We, with not a +voice among us, go through Handel’s Coronation +Anthems! Laughable it may seem; yet it is not quite so; the +things are so well-defined, simple, and grand, that the faintest +outline of them tells; my admiration of the old Giant grows and +grows: his is the Music for a Great, Active, People. +Sometimes too, I go over to a place elegantly called +<i>Bungay</i>, where a Printer <a name="citation265"></a><a +href="#footnote265" class="citation">[265]</a> lives who drills +the young folks of a manufactory there to sing in Chorus once a +week. . . . They sing some of the English Madrigals, some +of Purcell, and some of Handel, in a way to satisfy me, who +don’t want perfection, and who believe that the +<i>grandest</i> things do not depend on delicate finish. If +you were here now, we would go over and hear the Harmonious +Blacksmith sung in Chorus, with words, of course. It almost +made me cry when I heard the divine Air rolled into vocal harmony +from the four corners of a large Hall. One can scarce +comprehend the Beauty of the English Madrigals till one hears +them done (though coarsely) in this way and on a large scale: the +play of the parts as they alternate from the different quarters +of the room.</p> +<p>I have taken another half sheet to finish my letter upon: so +as my calculation of how far this half-quire <!-- page 266--><a +name="page266"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 266</span>is to +spread over Time is defeated. Let us write oftener, and +longer, and we shall not tempt the Fates by inchoating too long a +hope of letter-paper. I have written enough for to-night: I +am now going to sit down and play one of Handel’s Overtures +as well as I can—Semele, perhaps, a very grand +one—then, lighting my lantern, trudge through the mud to +Parson Crabbe’s. Before I take my pen again to finish +this letter the New Year will have dawned—on some of +us. ‘Thou fool! this night thy soul may be required +of thee!’ Very well: while it is in this Body I will +wish my dear old F. T. a happy New Year. And now to drum +out the Old with Handel. Good Night.</p> +<p>New Year’s Day, 1851. A happy new Year to +you! I sat up with my Parson till the Old Year was past, +drinking punch and smoking cigars, for which I endure some +headache this morning. Not that we took much; but a very +little punch disagrees with me. Only I would not disappoint +my old friend’s convivial expectations. He is one of +those happy men who has the boy’s heart throbbing and +trembling under the snows of sixty-five.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To G. Crabbe</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<span +class="smcap">Geldestone</span>, <i>Feb</i>. 11, 1851.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear George</span>,</p> +<p>I send you an Euphranor, and (as you desire it) +Spedding’s Examiner. <a name="citation266"></a><a +href="#footnote266" class="citation">[266]</a> I believe +that I should be <!-- page 267--><a name="page267"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 267</span>ashamed of his praise, if I did not +desire to take any means to make my little book known for a good +purpose. I think he over-praises it: but he cannot +over-praise the design, and (as I believe) the tendency of +it.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">60 <span +class="smcap">Lincoln’s Inn Fields</span>,<br /> +[<i>Feb</i>. 27, 1851.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear George</span>,</p> +<p>. . . My heart saddens to think of Bramford all desolate; <a +name="citation267a"></a><a href="#footnote267a" +class="citation">[267a]</a> and I shall now almost turn my head +away as any road, or railroad, brings me within sight of the +little spire! I write once a week to abuse both of them for +going. But they are quite happy at Oxford.</p> +<p>I felt a sort of horror when I read in your letter you had +ordered the Book <a name="citation267b"></a><a +href="#footnote267b" class="citation">[267b]</a> into your Club, +for fear some one might guess. But if <i>your</i> folks +don’t guess, no one else will. I have heard no more +of it since I wrote to you last, except that its sale does not +stand still. Pickering’s foreman blundered in the +Advertisements; quoting an extract about the use of the Book, +when he should have quoted about its amusement, which is what the +world is attracted by. But I left it to him. As it +would be a real horror to me to be known as the writer, I do not +think I can have much personal ambition in its success; but I +should <!-- page 268--><a name="page268"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 268</span>sincerely wish it to be read for +what little benefit it may do. . . .</p> +<p>I have seen scarce anybody here: Thackeray only once; neither +Tennyson nor Carlyle. Donne came up for a day to see as to +the morality of the ‘Prodigal Son’ <a +name="citation268"></a><a href="#footnote268" +class="citation">[268]</a> at Drury Lane, which the Bishop of +London complained of. Donne is deputy Licenser for Jack +Kemble. I went to see it with him; it was only stupid and +gaudy.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge</span>, +Tuesday, <i>May</i> the something, 1851.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear George</span>,</p> +<p>I am ashamed you should have the trouble of asking me to +Merton so often, and so in vain. I might give you a +specious reason for not going now . . . but I will honestly +confess I believe I should not have accompanied your Father in +his Voyage to your house, had the sky been quite clear of +engagement. Why, I cannot exactly say: my soul is not +packed up for Merton yet, though one day it will be; and I have +no such idea of the preciousness of my company as to have any +hesitation in letting my friends wait any length of time before I +go to occupy their easy chairs. The day will come, if we +live. I have had a very strong invitation to Cambridge this +week; to live with my old friends the Skrines in Sidney +College. But why should we meet to see <!-- page 269--><a +name="page269"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 269</span>each other +grown old, etc.? (I don’t mean this quite +seriously.) Ah, I should like a drive over Newmarket Heath: +the sun shining on the distant leads of Ely Cathedral.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To F. Tennyson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge</span>, +<span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>,<br /> +[25 <i>August</i>, 1851.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear old Frederic</span>,</p> +<p>Why do you never write to me? I am sure I wrote last: I +constantly am thinking of you, and constantly wishing to see +you. Perhaps you are in England at this very hour, and do +not let me know of it. <i>When</i> I wrote to you last I +cannot remember; whether in Winter or Spring. I was in +London during January and February last, but have been vegetating +down here ever since. Have not been up even to see the +Great Exh.—one is tired of writing, and seeing written, the +word. All the world, as you know, goes in droves: you may +be lounging in it this very hour, though I don’t mean to +say you are one of a drove. It is because there are so few +F. Tennysons in the world that I do not like to be wholly out of +hearing of the one I know. . . . My own affairs do not +improve, and I have seen more and more of the pitiful in humanity +. . . but luckily my wants decrease. I am quite content +never to buy a picture or a Book; almost content not to see +them. One could soon relapse into Barbarism. I do +indeed <!-- page 270--><a name="page270"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 270</span>take a survey of old Handel’s +Choruses now and then; and am just now looking with great delight +into Purcell’s King Arthur, real noble <i>English</i> +music, much of it; and assuredly the prototype of much of +Handel. It is said Handel would not admire Purcell; but I +am sure he adapted himself to English ears and sympathies by +means of taking up Purcell’s vein. I wish you were +here to consider this with me; but you would grunt dissent, and +smile bitterly at my theories. I am trying to teach the +bumpkins of the united parishes of Boulge and Debach to sing a +second to such melodies as the women sing by way of Hymns in our +Church: and I have invented (as I think) a most simple and easy +way of teaching them the little they need to learn. How +would you like to see me, with a bit of chalk in my hand, before +a black board, scoring up semibreves on a staff for half a dozen +Rustics to vocalize? Laugh at me in Imagination. . . .</p> +<p>Almost the only man I hear from is dear old Spedding, who has +lost his Father, and is now, I suppose, a rich man. This +makes no apparent change in his way of life: he has only hired an +additional Attic in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, so as to be able +to bed a friend upon occasion. I may have to fill it ere +long. Merivale (you know, surely) is married, and has a son +I hear. He lives some twenty miles from here. . . .</p> +<p>Now, my dear Frederic, this is a sadly dull letter. I +could have made it duller and sadder by telling you <!-- page +271--><a name="page271"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +271</span>other things. But, instead of this, let me hear +from you a good account of yourself and your family, and +especially of my little Godson. Remember, I have a right to +hear about him. Ever yours, dear old Grimsby,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F. G.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[19 <span class="smcap">Charlotte +St.</span>, <span class="smcap">Fitzroy Square</span>,<br /> +<i>Dec</i>. 1851.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear old Frederic</span>,</p> +<p>I have long been thinking I would answer a long and kind +letter I had from you some weeks ago, in which you condoled with +me about my finances, and offered me your house as a Refuge for +the Destitute. I can never wonder at generosity in you: but +I am sorry I should have seemed to complain so much as to provoke +so much pity from you. I am not worse off than I have been +these last three years; and so much better off than thousands who +deserve more that I should deserve to be kicked if I whined over +my decayed fortunes. If I go to Italy, it will be to see +Florence and Fred. Tennyson: I do not despair of going one day: I +believe my desire is gathering, and my indolence warming up with +the exhilarating increase of Railroads.</p> +<p>But for the present here I am, at 19 Charlotte Street, Fitzroy +Square, come up to have a fresh squabble with Lawyers, and to see +to an old College friend who is gone mad, and threatens to drive +his wife mad too, I think. Here are troubles, if you <!-- +page 272--><a name="page272"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +272</span>like: I mean, these poor people’s. Well, I +have not had much time except to post about in Omnibi between +Lincoln’s Inn and Bayswater: but I have seen Alfred once; +Carlyle once; Thackeray twice; and Spedding many times. I +did not see Mrs. A.: but am to go and dine there one day before I +leave. Carlyle has been undergoing the Water System at +Malvern, and says it has done him a very little good. He +would be quite well, he says, if he threw his Books away, and +walked about the mountains: but that would be ‘propter +vitam, etc.’ Nature made him a Writer: so he must +wear himself out writing Lives of Sterling, etc., for the Benefit +of the World. Thackeray says he is getting tired of being +witty, and of the great world: he is now gone to deliver his +Lectures <a name="citation272"></a><a href="#footnote272" +class="citation">[272]</a> at Edinburgh: having already given +them at Oxford and Cambridge. Alfred, I thought looking +pretty well. Spedding is immutably wise, good, and +delightful: not so immutably well in Body, I think: though he +does not complain. But I will deal in no more vaticinations +of Evil. I can’t think what was the oracle in my +Letters you allude to, I mean about the three years’ +duration of our lives. I have long felt about England as +you do, and even made up my mind to it, so as to sit +comparatively, if ignobly, easy on that score. Sometimes I +envy those who are so old that the curtain will probably fall on +them before it does on their Country. If one could save the +Race, what a Cause it would be! not for <!-- page 273--><a +name="page273"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 273</span>one’s +own glory as a member of it, nor even for its glory as a Nation: +but because it is the only spot in Europe where Freedom keeps her +place. Had I Alfred’s voice, I would not have mumbled +for years over In Memoriam and the Princess, but sung such +strains as would have revived the +Μαραθωνομαχους +ανδρας to guard the territory +they had won. What can ‘In Memoriam’ do but +make us all sentimental? . . .</p> +<p>My dear Frederic, I hope to see you one day: I really do look +forward one day to go and see you in Italy, as well as to see you +here in England. I know no one whom it would give me more +pleasure to think of as one who might perhaps be near me as we +both go down the hill together, whether in Italy or +England. You, Spedding, Thackeray, and only one or two +more. The rest have come like shadows and so departed.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To G. Crabbe</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Feb</i>. 27, 1852.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear George</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I rejoice in your telling me what you think; or I should +rejoice if these books were of importance enough to require +honest advice. I think you may be very right about the +length of the Preface; <a name="citation273"></a><a +href="#footnote273" class="citation">[273]</a> that I do not +think you right about the reasoning of it you may suppose by my +ever printing it. It is to show <!-- page 274--><a +name="page274"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 274</span><i>why</i> +Books of that kind are dull: what sort of writers ought to be +quoted, etc.; proverbial writers: and what constitutes +proverbiality, etc. Well, enough of it all: I am glad you +like it on the whole. As to Euphranor I do wish him not to +die yet: and am gratified you think him worthy to survive a +little longer. That is a good cause, let my treatment of it +be as it will.</p> +<p>I and Drew sat up at your Father’s till 3 (a.m.) last +Tuesday: at the old affair of Calvinism, etc. It amuses +them: else one would think it odd they did not see how they keep +on fighting with Shadows, and slaying the slain.</p> +<p>I am really going next week from home, towards that famous +expedition to Shropshire <a name="citation274"></a><a +href="#footnote274" class="citation">[274]</a> which I mean to +perform one day. I write after walking to Woodbridge: and +hear that Mr. Cana has called in my absence to announce that +‘the Hall’ is let; to a Mr. Cobbold, from Saxmundham, +I think, who has a farm at Sutton. I met Tom (<i>young</i> +Tom) Churchyard in Woodbridge, who tells me he is going to +America on Monday! He makes less fuss about it than I do +about going to Shropshire.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Ham</span>, +<i>June</i> 2/52.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear George</span>,</p> +<p>. . . Order into your Book Club ‘Trench on the Study of +Words’; a delightful, good, book, not at all dry (unless to +fools); one I am sure you will like. <!-- page 275--><a +name="page275"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 275</span>Price but +three and sixpence and well worth a guinea at least.</p> +<p>In spite of my anti-London prejudices, I find this Limb of +London (for such it is) very beautiful: the Thames with its Swans +upon it, and its wooded sides garnished with the Villas of Poets, +Wits, and Courtiers, of a Time which (I am sorry to say) has more +charms to me than the Middle Ages, or the Heroic.</p> +<p>I have seen scarce any of the living London Wits; Spedding and +Donne most: Thackeray but twice for a few minutes. He +finished his Novel <a name="citation275"></a><a +href="#footnote275" class="citation">[275]</a> last Saturday and +is gone, I believe, to the Continent.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To F. Tennyson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Goldington</span>, <span +class="smcap">Bedford</span>,<br /> +<i>June</i> 8/52.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Frederic</span>,</p> +<p>It gave me, as always, the greatest pleasure to hear from +you. Your letter found me at my Mother’s house, at +Ham, close to Richmond; a really lovely place, and neighbourhood, +though I say it who am all prejudiced against London and +‘all the purtenances thereof.’ But the copious +woods, green meadows, the Thames and its swans gliding between, +and so many villas and cheerful houses and terraced gardens with +all their associations of Wits and Courtiers on either <!-- page +276--><a name="page276"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +276</span>side, all this is very delightful. I am not +heroic enough for Castles, Battlefields, etc. Strawberry +Hill for me! I looked all over it: you know all the +pictures, jewels, curiosities, were sold some ten years ago; only +bare walls remain: the walls indeed here and there stuck with +Gothic woodwork, and the ceilings with Gothic gilding, sometimes +painted Gothic to imitate woodwork; much of it therefore in less +good taste: all a Toy, but yet the Toy of a very clever +man. The rain is coming through the Roofs, and gradually +disengaging the confectionary Battlements and Cornices. Do +you like Walpole? did you ever read him? Then close by is +Hampton Court: with its stately gardens, and fine portraits +inside; all very much to my liking. I am quite sure gardens +should be formal, and unlike general Nature. I much prefer +the old French and Dutch gardens to what are called the +English.</p> +<p>I saw scarce any of our friends during the three weeks I +passed at Ham. Though I had to run to London several times, +I generally ran back as fast as I could; much preferring the +fresh air and the fields to the smoke and ‘the wilderness +of monkeys’ in London. Thackeray I saw for ten +minutes: he was just in the agony of finishing a Novel: which has +arisen out of the Reading necessary for his Lectures, and relates +to those Times—of Queen Anne, I mean. He will get +£1000 for his Novel. He was wanting to finish it, and +rush off to the Continent, I think, to shake off the fumes of +it. Old Spedding, that aged <!-- page 277--><a +name="page277"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 277</span>and most +subtle Serpent, was in his old haunt in Lincoln’s Inn +Fields, up to any mischief. It was supposed that Alfred was +somewhere near Malvern: Carlyle I did not go to see, for I really +have nothing to tell him, and I have got tired of hearing him +growl: though I do not cease to admire him as much as ever. +I also went once to the pit of the Covent Garden Italian Opera, +to hear Meyerbeer’s Huguenots, of which I had only heard +bits on the Pianoforte. But the first Act was so noisy, and +ugly, that I came away, unable to wait for the better part, that, +I am told, follows. Meyerbeer is a man of Genius: and works +up <i>dramatic</i> Music: but he has scarce any melody, and is +rather grotesque and noisy than really powerful. I think +this is the fault of modern music; people cannot believe that +Mozart is <i>powerful</i> because he is so Beautiful: in the same +way as it requires a very practised eye (more than I possess) to +recognize the consummate power predominating in the tranquil +Beauty of Greek Sculpture. I think Beethoven is rather +spasmodically, than sustainedly, grand.</p> +<p>Well, I must take to my third side after all, which I meant to +have spared you, partly because of this transparent paper, and my +more than usually bad writing. I came down here four days +ago: and have this morning sketched for you the enclosed, the +common that lies before my Bedroom window, as I pulled up my +blind, and opened my shutter upon it, early this morning. I +never draw now, never drew <!-- page 278--><a +name="page278"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 278</span>well; but +this may serve to give a hint of poor old dewy England to you who +are, I suppose, beginning to be dried up in the South. W. +Browne, my host, tells me that your Grimsby Rail is looking up +greatly, and certainly will pay well, sooner or later: which I +devoutly hope it may.</p> +<p>I do not think I told you my Father was dead; like poor old +Sedley in Thackeray’s Vanity Fair, all his Coal schemes at +an end. He died in March, after an illness of three weeks, +saying ‘that engine works well’ (meaning one of his +Colliery steam engines) as he lay in the stupor of Death. I +was in Shropshire at the time, with my old friend Allen; but I +went home to Suffolk just to help to lay him in the Grave.</p> +<p>Pray do send me your Poems, one and all: I should like very +much to talk them over with you, however much you might resent +me, who am no Poet, presuming to advise you who as certainly are +one. That you ought to publish some of these Poems (as I +think, somewhat condensed, or, at least, curtailed) I am more and +more sure, having seen the very great pleasure, and deep +interest, some of them have caused when read to persons of very +different talents and tastes.</p> +<p>And now, my dear Frederic, farewell for the present. +Remember, you cannot write to me too often, as far as I am +concerned.</p> +<p>Don’t write Politics—I agree with you +beforehand.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 279--><a +name="page279"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 279</span><i>To W. B. +Donne</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge</span>, +<i>August</i> 10/52.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Donne</span>,</p> +<p>It is very good of you to write to me, so much as you have to +do. I am much obliged to you also for taking the trouble to +go and see my Mother. You may rely on it she feels as +pleased with your company as she says she is: I do not know any +one who has the power of being so agreeable to her as +yourself.</p> +<p>And dear old Thackeray is really going to America! I +must fire him a letter of farewell.</p> +<p>The Cowells are at Ipswich, and I get over to see them, +etc. They talk of coming here too. I have begun again +to read Calderon with Cowell: the Magico we have just read, a +very grand thing. I suppose Calderon was over-praised some +twenty years ago: for the last twenty it has been the fashion to +underpraise him, I am sure. His Drama may not be the finest +in the world: one sees how often too he wrote in the fashion of +his time and country: but he is a wonderful fellow: one of the +Great Men of the world.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>In October 1852 Thackeray sailed for America and before +leaving wrote to FitzGerald the letter which he copied for +Archdeacon Allen. I shall I trust be pardoned for thinking +that others will be the better for reading the words of +‘noble kindness’ in which Thackeray took leave of his +friend.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><!-- page 280--><a +name="page280"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 280</span>[<span +class="smcap">Boulge</span>, 22 <i>Nov.</i> 1852.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Allen</span>,</p> +<p>I won’t send you Thackeray’s own letter because it +is his own delegation of a little trust I would not hazard. +But on the other side of the page I write a copy: for your eyes +only: for I would not wish to show even its noble kindness to any +but one who has known him as closely as myself.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>From W. M. Thackeray to E. F. +G.</i></p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>October</i> 27, 1852.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dearest old Friend</span>,</p> +<p>I mustn’t go away without shaking your hand, and saying +Farewell and God Bless you. If anything happens to me, you +by these presents must get ready the Book of Ballads which you +like, and which I had not time to prepare before embarking on +this voyage. And I should like my daughters to remember +that you are the best and oldest friend their Father ever had, +and that you would act as such: as my literary executor and so +forth. My Books would yield a something as copyrights: and, +should anything occur, I have commissioned friends in good place +to get a Pension for my poor little wife. . . . Does not +this sound gloomily? Well: who knows what Fate is in store: +and I feel not at all downcast, but very grave and solemn just at +the brink of a great voyage.</p> +<p><!-- page 281--><a name="page281"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +281</span>I shall send you a copy of Esmond to-morrow or so which +you shall yawn over when you are inclined. But the great +comfort I have in thinking about my dear old boy is that +recollection of our youth when we loved each other as I do now +while I write Farewell.</p> +<p>Laurence has done a capital head of me ordered by Smith the +Publisher: and I have ordered a copy and Lord Ashburton +another. If Smith gives me this one, I shall send the copy +to you. I care for you as you know, and always like to +think that I am fondly and affectionately yours</p> +<p style="text-align: right">W. M. T.</p> +<p>I sail from Liverpool on Saturday Morning by the Canada for +Boston.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>That the feelings here expressed were fully reciprocated by +FitzGerald is clear from the following words of a letter written +by him to Thackeray to tell him of a provision he had made in his +will.</p> +<blockquote><p>‘You see you can owe me no thanks for giving +what I can no longer use “when I go down to the pit,” +and it would be some satisfaction to me, and some diminution of +the shame I felt on reading your letter, if “after many +days” your generous and constant friendship bore some sort +of fruit, if not to yourself to those you are naturally anxious +about.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I have not been able to ascertain the exact time at which +FitzGerald began his Spanish studies; but it must have been long +before this, for in 1853 the first-fruits of them appeared in the +‘Six Dramas from <!-- page 282--><a +name="page282"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 282</span>Calderon +freely translated by Edward FitzGerald,’ the only book to +which he ever put his name. It was probably in 1853 that he +took up Persian, in which, as in Spanish, his friend Cowell was +his guide.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To G. Crabbe</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge</span>, +<i>July</i> 22/53.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear George</span>,</p> +<p>Your account of the Doctor’s warnings to your Cousin in +your first note delighted me greatly: as it did your Father to +whom I read it last night. For, on coming home from +Aldbro’ (where I had been for a day) I found to my great +surprise your Father smoking in my room, with a bottle of Port +(which he had brought with him!). The mystery was then +solved; that, after his own dinner, Mr. --- was announced, and +your Father dreading lest he should stay all the Evening declared +he had most important business, first at Woodbridge, then, on +second thoughts, with me; and so decamped.</p> +<p>Now as to your second letter which I found also on my return: +I am very glad you like the plays <a name="citation282"></a><a +href="#footnote282" class="citation">[282]</a> and am encouraged +to hope that other persons who are not biassed by pedantic +prejudices or spites might like them too. But I fully +expect that (as I told you, I think) the London press, etc., will +either sink them, or condemn them as on too <!-- page 283--><a +name="page283"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 283</span>free a +principle: and all the more if they have not read the +originals. For these are safe courses to adopt. All +this while I am assuming the plays are well done in their way, +which of course I do. On the other hand, they really may +not be as well done as I think; on their own principle: and that +would really be a fair ground of condemnation.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To W. F. Pollock</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge</span>, +<span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>,<br /> +<i>July</i> 25/53.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Pollock</span>,</p> +<p>Thank you for your letter. Though I believed the +Calderon to be on the whole well done and entertaining, I began +to wish to be told it was so by others, for fear I had made a +total mistake: which would have been a bore. And the very +free and easy translation lies open to such easy condemnation, +unless it be successful.</p> +<p>Your account of Sherborne rouses all the Dowager within +me. I shall have to leave this cottage, I believe, and have +not yet found a place sufficiently dull to migrate to. +Meanwhile to-morrow I am going to one of my great treats: viz. +the Assizes at Ipswich: where I shall see little Voltaire Jervis, +<a name="citation283a"></a><a href="#footnote283a" +class="citation">[283a]</a> and old Parke, <a +name="citation283b"></a><a href="#footnote283b" +class="citation">[283b]</a> who I trust will have the gout, he +bears it so Christianly.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 284--><a +name="page284"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 284</span><i>To G. +Crabbe</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Boulge</span>, +<span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>,<br /> +<i>Sept</i>. 12/53.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear George</span>,</p> +<p>I enclose you a scrap from ‘The Leader’ as you +like to see criticisms on my Calderon. I suppose your +sisters will send you the Athenæum in which you will see a +more determined spit at me. I foresaw (as I think I told +you) how likely this was to be the case: and so am not +surprized. One must take these chances if one will play at +so doubtful a game. I believe those who read the Book, +without troubling themselves about whether it is a free +Translation or not, like it: but Critics must be supposed to know +all, and it is safe to condemn. On the other hand, the +Translation may not be good on any ground: and then the Critics +are all right.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To E. B. Cowell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">3 <span class="smcap">Park Villas +West</span>, <span class="smcap">Richmond</span>, <span +class="smcap">Surrey</span>,<br /> +<i>October</i> 25/53.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>. . . I think I forgot to tell you that Mr. Maccarthy (my +literal Rival in Calderon) mentions in his Preface a masterly +Critique on Calderon in the Westminster 1851, which I take to be +yours. <a name="citation284"></a><a href="#footnote284" +class="citation">[284]</a> He <!-- page 285--><a +name="page285"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 285</span>says it, +and the included translations, are the best Commentary he has +seen on the subject.</p> +<p>I have ordered Eastwick’s Gulistan: for I believe I +shall potter out so much Persian. The weak Apologue <a +name="citation285a"></a><a href="#footnote285a" +class="citation">[285a]</a> goes on (for I have not had time for +much here) and I find it difficult enough even with Jones’s +Translation.</p> +<p>I am now going to see the last of the Tennysons at +Twickenham.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To F. Tennyson</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Bredfield +Rectory</span>, <a name="citation285b"></a><a +href="#footnote285b" class="citation">[285b]</a> <span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>December</i> 27/53.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Frederic</span>,</p> +<p>I am too late to wish you a Happy Christmas; so must wish you +a happy New Year. Write to me here, and tell me (in however +few words) how you prospered in your journey to Italy: how you +all are there: and how your Book progresses. I saw Harvest +Home advertised in Fraser: and I have heard from Mrs. Alfred it +is so admired that Parker is to print two thousand copies of the +Volume. I am glad of this: and I think, little ambitious or +vain as you really are, you will insensibly be pleased at gaining +your proper Station in public Celebrity. Had I not known +what an invidious office it is to meddle with such Poems, and how +assuredly people would <!-- page 286--><a +name="page286"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 286</span>have said +that one had helped to clip away the Best Poems, and the best +part of them, I should have liked to advise you in the selection: +a matter in which I feel confidence. But you would not have +agreed with me any more than others: though on different grounds: +and so in all ways it was, and is, and will be, best to say +nothing more on the subject. I am very sure that, of +whatever your Volume is composed, you will make public almost the +only Volume of Verse, except Alfred’s, worthy of the +name.</p> +<p>I hear from Mrs. Alfred they are got to their new abode in the +Isle of Wight. I have been into Norfolk: and am now come to +spend Christmas in this place, where, as you have been here, you +can fancy me. Old Crabbe is as brave and hearty as ever: +drawing designs of Churches: and we are all now reading +Moore’s Memoirs with considerable entertainment: I cannot +say the result of it in one’s mind is to prove Moore a +Great Man: though it certainly does not leave him altogether +‘The Poor Creature’ that Mr. Allingham reduced him +to. I also amuse myself with poking out some Persian which +E. Cowell would inaugurate me with: I go on with it because it is +a point in common with him, and enables us to study a little +together. He and his wife are at Oxford: and his Pracrit +Grammar is to be out in a few days.</p> +<p>I have settled upon no new Abode: but have packed up all my +few goods in a neighbouring Farm <!-- page 287--><a +name="page287"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 287</span>House <a +name="citation287a"></a><a href="#footnote287a" +class="citation">[287a]</a> (that one near Woodbridge I took you +to), and will now float about for a year and visit some +friends. Perhaps I shall get down to the Isle of Wight one +day: also to Shropshire, to see Allen: to Bath to a Sister. +But you can always direct hither, since old Crabbe is only too +glad to have some letters to pay for, and forward to me. . . +. We have one of the old fashioned winters, snow and frost: +not fulfilling the word of those who were quite sure the seasons +were altered. Farewell, my dear Frederic.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F. G.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Bath</span>, +<i>May</i> 7/54.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Frederic</span>,</p> +<p>You see to what fashionable places I am reduced in my old +Age. The truth is however I am come here by way of Visit to +a sister <a name="citation287b"></a><a href="#footnote287b" +class="citation">[287b]</a> I have scarce seen these six years; +my visit consisting in this that I live alone in a lodging of my +own by day, and spend two or three hours with her in the +Evening. This has been my way of Life for three weeks, and +will be so for some ten days more: after which I talk of flying +back to more native counties. I was to have gone on to see +Alfred in his ‘Island Home’ from here: but it appears +he goes to London about the same time I quit this place: so I +must and shall defer my Visit to him. Perhaps I shall catch +a sight of him in London; as also of old Thackeray who, Donne +<!-- page 288--><a name="page288"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +288</span>writes me word, came suddenly on him in Pall Mall the +other day: while all the while people supposed the Newcomes were +being indited at Rome or Naples.</p> +<p>If ever you live in England you must live here at Bath. +It really is a splendid City in a lovely, even a noble, +Country. Did you ever see it? One beautiful feature +in the place is the quantity of Garden and Orchard it is all +through embroidered with. Then the Streets, when you go +into them, are as handsome and gay as London, gayer and handsomer +because cleaner and in a clearer Atmosphere; and if you want the +Country you get into it (and a very fine Country) on all sides +and directly. Then there is such Choice of Houses, Cheap as +well as Dear, of all sizes, with good Markets, Railways, +etc. I am not sure I shall not come here for part of the +Winter. It is a place you would like, I am sure: though I +do not say but you are better in Florence. Then on the top +of the hill is old Vathek’s Tower, which he used to sit and +read in daily, and from which he could see his own Fonthill, +while it stood. Old Landor quoted to me ‘Nullus in +orbe locus, etc.,’ apropos of Bath: he, you may know, has +lived here for years, and I should think would die here, though +not yet. He seems so strong that he may rival old Rogers; +of whom indeed one Newspaper gave what is called an +‘Alarming Report of Mr. Rogers’ Health’ the +other day, but another contradicted it directly and indignantly, +<!-- page 289--><a name="page289"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +289</span>and declared the Venerable Poet never was better. +Landor has some hundred and fifty Pictures; each of which he +thinks the finest specimen of the finest Master, and has a long +story about, how he got it, when, etc. I dare say some are +very good: but also some very bad. He appeared to me to +judge of them as he does of Books and Men; with a most +uncompromising perversity which the Phrenologists must explain to +us after his Death.</p> +<p>By the bye, about your Book, which of course you wish me to +say something about. Parker sent me down a copy ‘from +the Author’ for which I hereby thank you. If you +believe my word, you already know my Estimation of so much that +is in it: you have already guessed that I should have made a +different selection from the great Volume which is now in +Tatters. As I differ in Taste from the world, however, +quite as much as from you, I do not know but you have done very +much better in choosing as you have; the few people I have seen +are very much pleased with it, the Cowells at Oxford +delighted. A Bookseller there sold all his Copies the first +day they came down: and even in Bath a Bookseller (and not one of +the Principal) told me a fortnight ago he had sold some twenty +Copies. I have not been in Town since it came out: and have +now so little correspondence with literati I can’t tell you +about them. There was a very unfair Review in the +Athenæum; which is the only Literary Paper I see: <!-- page +290--><a name="page290"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +290</span>but I am told there are laudatory ones in Examiner and +Spectator.</p> +<p>I was five weeks at Oxford, visiting the Cowells in just the +same way that I am visiting my Sister here. I also liked +Oxford greatly: but not so well I think as Bath: which is so +large and busy that one is drowned in it as much as in +London. There are often concerts, etc., for those who like +them; I only go to a shilling affair that comes off every +Saturday at what they call the Pump Room. On these +occasions there is sometimes some Good Music if not excellently +played. Last Saturday I heard a fine Trio of +Beethoven. Mendelssohn’s things are mostly tiresome +to me. I have brought my old Handel Book here and recreate +myself now and then with pounding one of the old Giant’s +Overtures on my sister’s Piano, as I used to do on that +Spinnet at my Cottage. As to Operas, and Exeter Halls, I +have almost done with them: they give me no pleasure, I scarce +know why.</p> +<p>I suppose there is no chance of your being over in England +this year, and perhaps as little Chance of my being in +Italy. All I can say is, the latter is not impossible, +which I suppose I may equally say of the former. But pray +write to me. You can always direct to me at Donne’s, +12 St. James’ Square, or at Rev. G. Crabbe’s, +Bredfield, Woodbridge. Either way the letter will soon +reach me. Write soon, Frederic, and let me hear how you and +yours are: and don’t wait, as you usually do, for some +inundation <!-- page 291--><a name="page291"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 291</span>of the Arno to set your pen +agoing. Write ever so shortly and whatever-about-ly. +I have no news to tell you of Friends. I saw old Spedding +in London; only doubly calm after the death of a Niece he dearly +loved and whose death-bed at Hastings he had just been waiting +upon. Harry <a name="citation291"></a><a +href="#footnote291" class="citation">[291]</a> Lushington wrote a +martial Ode on seeing the Guards march over Waterloo Bridge +towards the East: I did not see it, but it was much admired and +handed about, I believe. And now my paper is out: and I am +going through the rain (it is said to rain very much here) to my +Sister’s. So Good Bye, and write to me, as I beg you, +in reply to this long if not very interesting letter.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To John Allen</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Market +Hill</span>, <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>October</i> 8/54.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Allen</span>,</p> +<p>‘What cheer?’ This is what we nautical Men +shout to one another as we pass in our Ships. The Answer is +generally only an Echo; but you will have to tell me something +more. I find it rather disgusting to set you an example by +telling of my Doings; for it is always the same thing over and +over again. I doubt this will put an End to even Letters at +last: I mean, on my part. You have others beside yourself +to tell of; you go abroad, too; deliver charges, etc.</p> +<p><!-- page 292--><a name="page292"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +292</span>Well, however, I had better say that I have been for +the last four months going about in my little Ship as in former +years, and now am about to lay up her, and myself, for the +Winter. The only Friend I hear from is Donne, who +volunteers a Letter unprovoked sometimes. Old Spedding +gives an unwilling Reply about thrice in two years. You +speak when spoken to; so does Thompson, in general: I shall soon +ask of him what he has been doing this Summer.</p> +<p>I have been reading in my Boat—Virgil, Juvenal, and +Wesley’s Journal. Do you know the last? one of the +most interesting Books, I think, in the Language. It is +curious to think of his Diary extending over nearly the same time +as Walpole’s Letters, which, you know, are a sort of +Diary. What two different Lives, Pursuits, and +Topics! The other day I was sitting in a Garden at +Lowestoft in which Wesley had preached his first Sermon there: +the Wall he set his Back against yet standing. About 1790 +<a name="citation292a"></a><a href="#footnote292a" +class="citation">[292a]</a> Crabbe, the Poet, went to hear him; +he was helped into the Pulpit by two Deacons, and +quoted—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘By the Women oft I’m told,<br /> +Poor Anacreon, thou grow’st old, etc.’ <a +name="citation292b"></a><a href="#footnote292b" +class="citation">[292b]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>So I have heard <i>my</i> George Crabbe tell: who has told it +also in his very capital Memoir of his Father. <a +name="citation292c"></a><a href="#footnote292c" +class="citation">[292c]</a></p> +<p><!-- page 293--><a name="page293"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +293</span>Sheet full. Kind Regards to Madame and Young +Folks. Ever yours,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F. G.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To T. Carlyle</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Rectory</span>, +<span class="smcap">Bredfield</span>, <span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Carlyle</span>,</p> +<p>I should sometimes write to you if I had anything worth +telling, or worth putting you to the trouble of answering +me. About twice in a year however I do not mind asking you +one thing which is easily answered, how you and Mrs. Carlyle +are? And yet perhaps it is not so easy for you to tell me +so much about yourself: for your ‘well-being’ +comprises a good deal! That you are not carried off by the +Cholera I take for granted: since else I should have seen in the +papers some controversy with Doctor Wordsworth as to whether you +were to be buried in Westminster Abbey, by the side of +Wilberforce perhaps! Besides, a short note from Thackeray a +few weeks ago told me you had been to see him. I conclude +also from this that you have not been a summer excursion of any +distance.</p> +<p>I address from the Rectory (<i>Vicarage</i> it ought to be) of +Crabbe, the ‘<i>Radiator</i>,’ whose mind is now +greatly exercised with Dr. Whewell’s Plurality of +Worlds. Crabbe, who is a good deal in the secrets of +Providence, admires the work beyond measure, but most indignantly +rejects the Doctrine as unworthy of God. I have not read +the Book, contented to <!-- page 294--><a +name="page294"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 294</span>hear +Crabbe’s commentaries. I have been staying with him +off and on for two months, and, as I say, give his Address +because any letter thither directed will find me sooner or later +in my little wanderings. I am at present staying with a +Farmer in a very pleasant house near Woodbridge: inhabiting such +a room as even you, I think, would sleep composedly in; my host a +taciturn, cautious, honest, active man whom I have known all my +Life. He and his Wife, a capital housewife, and his Son, +who could carry me on his shoulders to Ipswich, and a Maid +servant who, as she curtsies of a morning, lets fall the Tea-pot, +etc., constitute the household. Farming greatly prospers; +farming materials fetching an exorbitant price at the Michaelmas +Auctions: all in defiance of Sir Fitzroy Kelly who got returned +for Suffolk on the strength of denouncing Corn Law Repeal as the +ruin of the Country. He has bought a fine house near +Ipswich, with great gilded gates before it, and by dint of good +dinners and soft sawder finally draws the country Gentry to him. +. . .</p> +<p>Please to look at the September Number of Fraser’s +Magazine where are some prose Translations of Hafiz by Cowell +which may interest you a little. I think Cowell (as he is +apt to do) gives Hafiz rather too much credit for a mystical +wine-cup, and Cupbearer; I mean taking him on the whole. +The few odes he quotes have certainly a deep and pious feeling: +such as the Man of Mirth will feel at times; none perhaps more +strongly.</p> +<p><!-- page 295--><a name="page295"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +295</span>Some one by chance read out to me the other day at the +seaside your account of poor old Naseby Village from Cromwell, +quoted in Knight’s ‘Half Hours, etc.’ It +is now twelve years ago, at this very season, I was ransacking +for you; you promising to come down, and never coming. I +hope very much you are soon going to give us something: else +Jerrold and Tupper carry all before them.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Saturday</span>, +<i>October</i> 14/54.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>In August 1855 Carlyle went to stay with FitzGerald at +Farlingay, a farm house on the Hasketon road, half a mile from +Woodbridge.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Bredfield +Rectory</span>, <span class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>.<br /> +<i>August</i> 1, [1855].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Carlyle</span>,</p> +<p>I came down here yesterday: and saw my Farming Friends to-day, +who are quite ready to do all service for us at any time. +They live about two miles nearer Woodbridge than this place I +write from and I am certain they and their place will suit you +very well. I am going to them any day: indeed am always +fluctuating between this place and theirs; and you can come down +to me there, or here, any <!-- page 296--><a +name="page296"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +296</span>day—(for Crabbe and his Daughter will, they bid +me say, be very glad if you will come; and I engage you +shan’t be frightened, and that the place shall suit you as +well as the Farmer’s). I say you can come to either +place any day, and without warning if you like; only in that case +I can’t go to meet you at Ipswich. Beds, etc., are +all ready whether here or at the Farmer’s. If you +like to give me notice, you can say which place you will come to +first: and I will meet you at any time at Ipswich.</p> +<p>I think if you come you had best come as soon as possible, +before harvest, and while the Days are long and fine. Why +not come directly? while all the Coast is so clear?</p> +<p>Now as to your mode of going. There are Rail Trains to +Ipswich from Shoreditch, at 7 a.m. 11 a.m. and 3 p.m. all of +which come to Ipswich in time for Coaches which carry you to +Woodbridge; where, if you arrive unawares, any one will show you +the way to Mr. Smith’s, of Farlingay Hall, about half a +mile from Woodbridge; or direct you to Parson Crabbe’s, at +Bredfield, about three miles from Woodbridge. You may take +my word (will you?) that you will be very welcome at either or +both of these places; I mean, to the owners as well as +myself.</p> +<p>Well, then there is a Steamer every Wednesday and Sunday; +which starts from Blackwall at 9 a.m.; to go by which you must be +at the Blackwall Railroad Station in Fenchurch Street by half +past eight. This <!-- page 297--><a +name="page297"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 297</span>Steamer +gets to Ipswich at ½ past 5 or 6; probably in time for a +Woodbridge Coach, but not certainly. It is a very pleasant +sail. The Rail to Ipswich takes three or two and a half +hours.</p> +<p>Have I more to say? I can’t think of it if I +have. Only, dear Mrs. Carlyle, please to let me know what +C. is ‘<i>To Eat—Drink—and +Avoid</i>.’ As I know that his wants are in a small +compass, it will be as easy to get what he likes as not, if you +will only say. If you like Sunday Steam, it will be quite +convenient whether here or at Farlingay. Crabbe only is too +glad if one doesn’t go to his church.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Bredfield</span>, <i>Sunday</i>.</p> +<p>Scrap for Scrap! I go to-morrow to stay at Farlingay, +where you will find me, or I will find you, as proposed in my +last. Do not let it be a burden on you to come now, then, +or at all; but, if you come, I think this week will be good in +weather as in other respects. You will be at most entire +Liberty; with room, garden, and hours, to yourself, whether at +Farlingay or here, where you must come for a day or so. +Pipes are the order of the house at both places; the Radiator +always lighting up after his 5 o’clock dinner, and rather +despising me for not always doing so. At both places a +capital sunshiny airy Bedroom without any noise. I wish +Mrs. C. could come, indeed; but I will not propose this; for <!-- +page 298--><a name="page298"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +298</span>though my Farm has good room, my Hostess would fret +herself to entertain a Lady suitably, and that I would avoid, +especially toward Harvest time. Will Mrs. Carlyle believe +this?</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F. G.</p> +<p>P.S. Bring some Books. If you don’t find +yourself well, or at ease, with us, you have really but to go off +without any sort of Ceremony as soon as you like: so don’t +tie yourself to any time at all. If the weather be fair, I +predict you will like a week; and I shall like as much more as +you please; leaving you mainly to your own devices all the +while.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>From T. Carlyle</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Chelsea</span>, +7 <i>Aug</i><sup><i>t</i></sup>. 1855.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Fitzgerald</span>,</p> +<p>In spite of these heavy showers, I persist in believing the +weather will clear, and means really to be dry: at any rate I am +not made of sugar or of salt; so intend to be off +to-morrow;—and am, even now, in all the horrors of a half +rotted ship, which has lain two years, dead, among the ooze, and +is now trying to get up its anchor again: ropes breaking, sails +holed, blocks giving way, you may fancy what a pother there +is!</p> +<p>My train is to be 11 a.m. from Shoreditch; which gets to +Ipswich about two? If you have a gig and pony, of course it +will be pleasant to see your face at the end of my shrieking, +mad, (and to me quite horrible) rail operations: but if I see +nothing, I will courageously go for the Coach, and shall do quite +well there, if <!-- page 299--><a name="page299"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 299</span>I can get on the outside +especially. So don’t mind which way it is; a +<i>small</i> weight ought to turn it either way. I hope to +get to Farlingay not long after 4 o’clock, and have a quiet +mutton chop in due time, and have a d° pipe or pipes: nay I +could even have a bathe if there was any sea water left in the +evening. If you did come to Ipswich, an hour (hardly more) +to glance at the old Town might not be amiss.</p> +<p>I will bring Books enough with me: I am used to several hours +of solitude every day; and cannot be said ever to <i>weary</i> of +being left well alone. But we will ‘drive’ to +any places you recommend; do bidding of the omens, to a fair +degree withal: in short I calculate on getting some real benefit +by this plunge into the maritime rusticities under your friendly +guidance, and the quiet of it will be of all things welcome to +me.</p> +<p>My wife firmly intended writing to you to-day, and perhaps has +done so; but if not, you are to take it as a thing done, for +indeed there was nothing whatever of importance to be said +farther.</p> +<p>To-morrow then (Wednesday 8th) 11 a.m.—wish me a happy +passage. Yours ever truly,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">T. +Carlyle</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Chelsea</span>, +23 <i>Aug</i><sup><i>t</i></sup>. 1855.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Fitzgerald</span>,</p> +<p>Here, after a good deal of bothering to improve it, above all +to abridge it, is the proposed Inscription for the Pillar at +Naseby. You need not scruple a moment to make any change +that strikes you; I am well aware <!-- page 300--><a +name="page300"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 300</span>it is good +for nothing except its practical object, and that I have no skill +in lapidary literature.</p> +<p>The worst thing will be, discovering the <i>date</i> of your +Naseby diggings. I ought to have it here; and probably I +have,—in some remote dusty trunk, whither it is a terror to +go looking for it! Try you what you can, and the Naseby +Farmer too (if he is still extant); then I will try. At +worst we can say ‘Ten years ago’; but the exact date +would be better.</p> +<p>The figure of the stone ought to be of Egyptian simplicity: a +broadish parallelopipedon (or rather <i>octaedron</i>; the +<i>corners</i> well chamfered off, to avoid breakages, will make +it 8-faced, I think); in the substance of the stone there is one +quality to be looked for, durability; and the letters ought to be +cut deep,—and by no means in lapidary <i>lines</i> (attend +to that!), but simply like <i>two verses of the Bible</i>, so +that he who runs may read. I rather like the <i>Siste +Viator</i>,—yet will let you blot it out,—it is as +applicable as to any Roman Tomb, and more so than to ours, which +are in enclosed places, where any ‘Traveller,’ if he +either ‘stop’ or go, will presently have the +constable upon him. This is all I have to say about the +stone; and I recommend that it be now done straightway, before +you quit hold of that troublesome locality.</p> +<p>I find I must not promise to myself to go thither with you; +alas, nor at all. I cannot get to sleep again since I came +out of Suffolk: the stillness of Farlingay is unattainable in +Chelsea for a <i>second</i> sleep, so I have to be content with +the first, which is oftenest about 5 hours, and a very poor +allowance for the afflicted son of Adam. I feel privately +confident I <i>have</i> got good by my Suffolk <!-- page 301--><a +name="page301"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 301</span>visit, and +by all the kindness of my beneficent brother mortals to me there: +but in the meanwhile it has ‘stirred up a good deal of +bile,’ I suppose; and we must wait.</p> +<p>London is utterly vacant to me, of all but noises from +Cremorne and such sources: there is not in Britain a better place +for work than this Garret, if one had strength or heart for +fronting work to any purpose. I try a little, but mostly +with very small result.</p> +<p>If you know <i>Glyde</i> of Ipswich, and can understand him to +be really worth subscribing for, pray put down your name and +mine, as a bit of duty; if not, not,—and burn his +letter.</p> +<p>I send the heartiest thanks, and remembrances to kind Mrs. +Smith, and all the industrious Harvesters; also to Papa and the +young lady at Bredfield:—as I well may!—I recommend +myself to your prayers; and hope to come again, if I live, when +you have set your own house in order. Yours, dear F., with +true regards,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">T. +Carlyle</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Naseby Pillar (briefest and final +form).</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Siste Viator</i>.</p> +<p>Here, and for --- yards to rearward, lies the Dust of men +slain in the Battle of Naseby, 14 June 1645. Hereabouts +appears to have been the crisis of the struggle, hereabouts the +final charge of Oliver Cromwell and his Ironsides, that day.</p> +<blockquote><p><!-- page 302--><a name="page302"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 302</span>This <a name="citation302a"></a><a +href="#footnote302a" class="citation">[302a]</a> Ground was +opened, not irreverently or with<sup>t</sup> reluctance, +Sat<sup>y</sup> 23 Sept<sup>r</sup> 1842, to ascertain that fact, +and render the contemporary records legible. Peace +henceforth to these old Dead.</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: right">Edw<sup>d</sup> Fitzg<sup>d</sup> +(with date).</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Addiscombe +Farm</span>, <span class="smcap">Croydon</span>,<br /> +15 <i>Sept</i><sup><i>r</i></sup>, 1855.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Fitzgerald</span>,</p> +<p>I have been here ever since the day you last heard of me; +leading the strangest life of absolute <i>Latrappism</i>; and +often enough remembering Farlingay and you. I live +perfectly alone, and without speech at all,—there being in +fact nobody to speak to, except one austerely punctual housemaid, +who does her functions, like an eight-day clock, generally +without bidding. My wife comes out now and then to give the +requisite directions; but commonly withdraws again on the morrow, +leaving the monster to himself and his own ways. I have +Books; a complete Edition of <i>Voltaire</i>, <a +name="citation302b"></a><a href="#footnote302b" +class="citation">[302b]</a> for one Book, in which I read for +<i>use</i>, or for idleness oftenest,—getting into endless +reflexions over it, mostly of a sad and not very utterable +nature. I find V. a ‘gentleman,’ living in a +world partly furnished with such; and that there are now almost +no ‘gentlemen’ (not quite <i>none</i>): this is one +great head of my reflexions, to which there is no visible +<i>tail</i> or finish. I have also a Horse (borrowed <!-- +page 303--><a name="page303"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +303</span>from my fat Yeoman friend, who is at sea bathing in +Sussex); and I go riding, at great lengths daily, over hill and +dale: this I believe is really the main good I am doing,—if +in this either there be much good. But it is a strange way +of life to me, for the time; perhaps not unprofitable: To let +<i>Chaos</i> say out its say, then, and one’s Evil Genius +give one the very worst language he has, for a while. It is +still to last for a week or more. To day, for the first +time, I ride back to Chelsea, but mean to return hither on +Monday. There is a great circle of yellow light all the way +from Shooter’s Hill to Primrose Hill, spread round my +horizon every night, I see it while smoking my pipe before bed +(so bright, last night, it cast a visible shadow of me against +the white window-shutters); and this is all I have to do with +London and its <i>gases</i> for a fortnight or more. My +wife writes to me, there was an awful jangle of bells last day +she went home from this; a Quaker asked in the railway, of some +porter, ‘Can thou tell me what these bells +mean?’—‘Well, I suppose something is up. +They say Sebastopol is took, and the Rushans run +away.’—<i>À la bonne heure</i>: but +won’t they come back again, think you?</p> +<p>On the whole I say, when you get your little Suffolk cottage, +you must have in it a ‘chamber in the wall’ for me, +<i>plus</i> a pony that can trot, and a cow that gives good milk: +with these outfits we shall make a pretty rustication now and +then, not wholly <i>Latrappish</i>, but only <i>half</i>, on much +easier terms than here; and I shall be right willing to come and +try it, I for one party.—Meanwhile, I hope the Naseby +matter is steadily going ahead; sale <i>completed</i>; and even +the <i>monument</i> concern <!-- page 304--><a +name="page304"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 304</span>making +way. Tell me a little how that and other matters are. +If you are at home, a line is rapidly conveyed hither, steam all +the way: after the beginning of the next week, I am at Chelsea, +and (I dare say) there is a fire in the evenings now to welcome +you there. Shew face in some way or other.</p> +<p>And so adieu; for my hour of riding is at hand.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Yours ever truly,<br /> +<span class="smcap">T. Carlyle</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To E. B. Cowell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">31 <span class="smcap">Great +Portland Street</span>, <span class="smcap">P. Place</span>.<br +/> +[1856.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>. . . You never say a word about your Hafiz. Has that +fallen for the present, Austin not daring to embark in it in +these days of war, when nothing that is not warlike sells except +Macaulay? Don’t suppose I bandy compliments; but, +with moderate care, any such Translation of such a writer as +Hafiz by you into pure, sweet, and partially measured Prose must +be better than what I am doing for Jámí; <a +name="citation304"></a><a href="#footnote304" +class="citation">[304]</a> whose ingenuous prattle I am stilting +into too Miltonic verse. This I am very sure of. But +it is done.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Jan</i>. 1856.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>I send you a sketch of Jámí’s Life, which +cut, correct, and annotate as you like. Where there was +<!-- page 305--><a name="page305"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +305</span>so little to tell I have brought in all the fine Names +and extra bits I could to give it a little sparkle. There +is very little after all; I have spread it over Paper to give you +room to note <i>upon</i> it. Only take care not to lose +either these, or Yesterday’s, Papers—for my Terror at +going over the Ground!</p> +<p>You must put in the corrected Notice about the Sultan Hussein, +both in the Memoir and in the Note to the Poem. The latter +will have room for at least four (I think five) lines of note +Type: which you must fill, and not overflow: ‘Strong +without rage, etc.’</p> +<p>I feel guilty at taking up your Time and Thoughts: and also at +Dressing myself so in your Plumes. But I mean to say a word +about this, φωναντα +συνετοισιν, +in my Preliminary Notice; and would gladly dedicate the little +Book to you by Name, with due acknowledgment, did I think the +world would take it for a Compliment to you. But though I +like the Version, and you like it, we know very well the +world—even the very little world, I mean, who will see +it—may not; and might laugh at us both for any such +Compliment. They cannot laugh at your Scholarship; but they +might laugh at the use I put it to: and at my dedicating a +<i>cobweb</i> (as Carlyle called Maud the other night) to +you.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><!-- page 306--><a +name="page306"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 306</span>31 <span +class="smcap">Gt Portland St.</span>, <span class="smcap">P. +Place</span>.<br /> +<i>Jan</i>. 10/56.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>Do make a sign of some sort to me. I sent you a string +of Questions about Salámán last week, all of which +I did not want you to answer <i>at once</i>, but wishing at least +to hear if you had leisure and Inclination to meddle with +them. There is no reason in the world you should unless you +really have Time and Liking. If you <i>have</i>, I will +send you the Proofs of the Little Book which Mr. Childs is even +now putting in hand. Pray let me know as soon as you can +what and how much of all this will be agreeable to you.</p> +<p>You don’t tell me how Hafiz gets on. There is one +thing which I think I find in Salámán which may be +worth your consideration (not needing much) in Hafiz: namely, in +Translation to retain the original Persian Names as much as +possible—‘Shah’ for ‘king’ for +instance—‘Yūsuf and Suleyman’ for +‘Joseph and Solomon,’ etc. The Persian is not +only more musical, but removes such words and names further from +Europe and European Prejudices and Associations. So also I +think best to talk of ‘<i>A Moon</i>’ rather than +‘<i>a Month</i>,’ and perhaps ‘sennight’ +is better than ‘week.’</p> +<p>This is a little matter; but it is well to rub off as little +Oriental Colour as possible.</p> +<p>As to a Notice of Jámí’s Life, you need +not trouble yourself to draw it up unless you like; since I can +<!-- page 307--><a name="page307"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +307</span>make an extract of Ouseley’s, and send you for +any addition or correction you like. Very little needs be +said. I have not yet been able to find Jámí +out in the Biographie Universelle. . . .</p> +<p>Now let me hear from you <i>something</i>—whatever you +like. Yours and Lady’s, E. F. G.</p> +<p>You, I believe, in your Oxford Essay, translate +Jámí’s ‘Haft Aurang’ as the +‘<i>Seven Thrones</i>,’ it also meaning, I see, the +seven Stars of the Great Bear—‘The Seven +Stars.’ Why should not this latter be the +Translation? more intelligible, Poetical, and Eastern (as far as +I see) than ‘Thrones.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Mrs. Cowell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">London</span>. Friday [<i>April</i> 25, +1856].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Lady</span>,</p> +<p>The Picture after all did not go down yesterday as I meant, +but shall and will go to-morrow (Saturday). Also I shall +send you dear Major Moor’s ‘Oriental +Fragments’; an almost worthless Book, I doubt, to those who +did not know him—which means, <i>love</i> him! <a +name="citation307"></a><a href="#footnote307" +class="citation">[307]</a> And somehow all of us in our +corner of Suffolk knew something of him: and so again loved +something of him. For there was nothing at all <!-- page +308--><a name="page308"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +308</span>about him not to be beloved. Ah! I think how +interested he would have been with all this Persian: and how we +should have disputed over parts and expressions over a glass of +his Shiraz wine (for he had some) in his snug Parlour, or in his +Cornfields when the Sun fell upon the latest Gleaners! He +is dead, and you will go where he lived, to be dead to me!</p> +<p>Remember to take poor Barton’s little Book <a +name="citation308a"></a><a href="#footnote308a" +class="citation">[308a]</a> with you to India; better than many a +better Book to you there!</p> +<p>I got a glimpse of Professor Müller’s Essay <a +name="citation308b"></a><a href="#footnote308b" +class="citation">[308b]</a>—full of fine things; but I +hardly gather it up into a good whole, which is very likely my +fault; from hasty perusal, ignorance, or other Incapacity. +Perhaps, on the other hand, he found the Subject too great for +his Space; and so has left it disproportioned, which the German +is not inapt to do. But one may be well thankful for such +admirable fragments, perhaps left so in the very honesty that is +above rounding them into a specious Theory which will not +hold.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[1856.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Lady</span>,</p> +<p>. . . If you see Trench’s new Book about Calderon <a +name="citation308c"></a><a href="#footnote308c" +class="citation">[308c]</a> you will see he has dealt very +handsomely <!-- page 309--><a name="page309"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 309</span>with me. He does not approve +the Principle I went on; and what has he made of his own! I +say this with every reason, as you will see, to praise him for +his good word. He seems to me wrong about his +‘asonantes,’ which were much better +<i>un</i>-assonanted as Cowell did his Specimens. <a +name="citation309"></a><a href="#footnote309" +class="citation">[309]</a> With Trench the Language has to +be forced to secure the shadow of a Rhyme which is no pleasure to +the Ear. So it seems to me on a hasty Look.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>Mr. Cowell was appointed Professor of History at the +Presidency College, Calcutta, in 1856, and went out to India by +the Cape in August, greatly to FitzGerald’s regret. +‘Your talk of going to India,’ he wrote, ‘makes +my Heart hang really heavy at my side.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To E. B. Cowell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">31 <span class="smcap">Gt Portland +St. London</span>.<br /> +<i>Jan.</i> 22/57.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dearest Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>As usual I blunder. I have been taking for granted all +this while that of course we could not write to you till you had +written to us! Else how several times I could have written! +could have sent you some Lines of Hafiz or Jámí or +Nizámí that I <!-- page 310--><a +name="page310"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 310</span>thought +wanted Comment of some kind: so as the Atlantic should have been +no greater Bar between us than the two hours rail to +Oxford. And now I have forgot many things, or have left the +Books scattered in divers places; or, if I had all here, +’twould be too much to send. So I must e’en +take up with what the present Hour turns up.</p> +<p>It was only yesterday I heard from your Brother of a Letter +from you, telling of your safe Arrival; of the Dark Faces about +you at your Calcutta Caravanserai! Methinks how I should +like to be there! Perhaps should not, though, were the +Journey only half its length! Write to me one day. . . +.</p> +<p>I have now been five weeks alone at my old Lodgings in London +where you came this time last year! My wife in +Norfolk. She came up yesterday; and we have taken Lodgings +for two months in the Regent’s Park. And I positively +stay behind here in the old Place on purpose to write to you in +the same condition you knew me in and I you! I believe +there are new Channels fretted in my Cheeks with many unmanly +Tears since then, ‘remembering the Days that are no +more,’ in which you two are so mixt up. Well, well; I +have no news to tell you. Public Matters you know I +don’t meddle with; and I have seen scarce any Friends even +while in London here. Carlyle but once; Thackeray not once; +Spedding and Donne pretty often. Spedding’s first +volume of Bacon is out; some seven hundred pages; and the Reviews +already begin to think it over-commentaried. <!-- page +311--><a name="page311"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +311</span>How interested would you be in it! and from you I +should get a good Judgment, which perhaps I can’t make for +myself. I hear Tennyson goes on with King Arthur; but I +have not seen or heard from him for a long long while.</p> +<p>Oddly enough, as I finished the last sentence, Thackeray was +announced; he came in looking gray, grand, and good-humoured; and +I held up this Letter and told him whom it was written to and he +sends his Love! He goes Lecturing all over England; has +fifty pounds for each Lecture: and says he is ashamed of the +Fortune he is making. But he deserves it.</p> +<p>And now for my poor Studies. I have read really very +little except Persian since you went: and yet, from want of Eyes, +not very much of that. I have gone carefully over +two-thirds of Hafiz again with Dictionary and Von Hammer: and +gone on with Jámí and Nizámí. +But my great Performance all lies in the last five weeks since I +have been alone here; when I wrote to Napoleon Newton to ask him +to lend me his MS. of Attár’s Mantic uttair; and, +with the help of Garcin de Tassy <a name="citation311"></a><a +href="#footnote311" class="citation">[311]</a> have nearly made +out about two-thirds of it. For it has greatly interested +me, though I confess it is always an old Story. The Germans +make a Fuss about the Súfi Doctrine; but, as far as I +understand, it is not very abstruse <!-- page 312--><a +name="page312"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 312</span>Pantheism, +and always the same. One becomes as wearied of the +<i>man-i</i> and <i>du-i</i> in their Philosophy as of the +<i>bulbul</i>, etc., in their Songs. Attár’s +Doctrine seems to me only Jámí and +Jeláleddín (of whom I have poked out a little from +the MS. you bought for me), but his Mantic has, like +Salámán, the advantage of having a Story to hang +all upon; and some of his illustrative Stories are very +agreeable: better than any of the others I have seen. He +has not so much Fancy or Imagination as Jámí, nor I +dare say, so much depth as Jeláleddín; but his +touch is lighter. I mean to make a Poetic Abstract of the +Mantic, I think: neither De Tassy nor Von Hammer <a +name="citation312"></a><a href="#footnote312" +class="citation">[312]</a> gives these Stories which are by far +the best part, though there are so many childish and silly +ones. Shah Máhmúd figures in the best. +I am very pleased at having got on so well with this MS. though I +doubt at more cost of Eyesight than it is worth. I have +exchanged several Letters with Mr. Newton, though by various +mischances we have not yet met; he has however introduced me to +Mr. Dowson of the Asiatic, with whom, or with a certain Seyd +Abdúllah recommended by Allen, I mean (I think) to read a +little. No need of this had you remained behind! Oh! +how I should like to read the Mantic with you! It is very +easy in the main. But I believe I shall never see you +again; I really do believe that. And my Paper is gradually +overcome as I write this: and I must say Good Bye. Good +Bye, my dear dear <!-- page 313--><a name="page313"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 313</span>Friends! I dare not meddle +with Mr. and Mrs. Charlesworth. <a name="citation313"></a><a +href="#footnote313" class="citation">[313]</a> Thackeray +coming in overset me, with one thing and another. +Farewell. Write to me; direct—whither? For till +I see better how we get on I dare fix on no place to live or die +in. Direct to me at Crabbe’s, Bredfield, till you +hear further.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">24 <span class="smcap">Portland +Terrace</span>, <span class="smcap">Regent’s +Park</span>.<br /> +Saturday <i>January</i> 23 [? 24] 1857.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear E. B. C.</span>,</p> +<p>I must write you a second Letter (which will reach you, I +suppose, by the same Post as that which I posted on Thursday Jan. +22) to tell you that not half an hour after I had posted that +first Letter, arrived yours! And now, to make the +Coincidence stranger, your Brother Charles, who is now with us +for two days, tells me that very Thursday Jan. 24 (? 22) is your +Birthday! I am extremely obliged to you for your long, +kind, and interesting Letter: yes, yes: I should have liked to be +on the Voyage with you, and to be among the Dark People with you +even now. Your Brother Charles, who came up yesterday, +brought us up your Home Letter, and read it to us last night +after Tea to our great Satisfaction. I believe that in my +already posted Letter I have told you much that you enquire about +in yours received half an hour after: of my poor Studies at all +events. This <!-- page 314--><a name="page314"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 314</span>morning I have been taking the +Physiognomy of the 19th Birds. . . . There are, as I wrote +you, very pleasant stories. One, of a Shah returning to his +Capital, and his People dressing out a Welcome for him, and +bringing out Presents of Gold, Jewels, etc., all which he rides +past without any Notice, till, coming to the Prison, the +Prisoners, by way of their Welcome, toss before him the Bloody +Heads and Limbs of old and recent Execution. At which the +Shah for the first time stops his Horse—smiles—casts +Largess among the Prisoners, etc. And when asked why he +neglected all the Jewels, etc., and stopped with satisfaction at +such a grim welcome as the Prisoners threw him, he says, +‘The Jewels, etc., were but empty Ostentation—but +those bloody Limbs prove that my Law has been executed, without +which none of those Heads and Carcases would have parted Company, +etc.’ De Tassy notices a very agreeable Story of +Mahmúd and the Lad fishing: and I find another as pleasant +about Mahmúd consorting ‘incog:’ with a +Bath-Stove-Keeper, who is so good a Fellow that, at last, +Mahmúd, making himself known, tells the Poor Man to ask +what he will—a Crown, if he likes. But the poor +Fellow says, ‘All I ask is that the Shah will come now and +then to me as I am, and here where I am; here, in this poor +Place, which he has made illustrious with his Presence, and a +better Throne to me with Him, than the Throne of Both Worlds +without Him, etc.’ You observed perhaps in De +Tassy’s Summary that he <!-- page 315--><a +name="page315"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 315</span>notices an +Eastern Form of William Tell’s Apple? A Sultan doats +on a beautiful Slave, who yet is seen daily to pine away under +all the Shah’s Favour, and being askt why, replies, +‘Because every day the Shah, who is a famous Marksman with +the Bow, shoots at an Apple laid on my Head, and always hits it; +and when all the Court cries “Lo! the Fortune of the +King!” He also asks me why I turn pale under the +Trial, he being such a Marksman, and his Mark an Apple set on the +Head he most doats upon?’ I am going to transcribe on +the next Page a rough draft of a Version of another Story, +because all this will amuse you, I think. I couldn’t +help running some of these Apologues into Verse as I read them: +but they are in a very rough state as yet, and so perhaps may +continue, for to correct is <i>the</i> Bore.</p> +<blockquote><p>When Yúsuf from his Father’s House +was torn,<br /> +His Father’s Heart was utterly forlorn;<br /> +And, like a Pipe with but one note, his Tongue<br /> +Still nothing but the name of Yúsuf rung.<br /> +Then down from Heaven’s Branches came the Bird<br /> +Of Heaven, and said ‘God wearies of that Word.<br /> +Hast thou not else to do, and else to say?’<br /> +So Yacúb’s Lips were sealed from that Day.<br /> +But one Night in a Vision, far away<br /> +His Darling in some alien Home he saw,<br /> +And stretch’d his Arms forth; and between the Awe<br /> +Of God’s Displeasure, and the bitter Pass<br /> +Of Love and Anguish, sigh’d forth an <i>Alas</i>!<br /> +And stopp’d—But when he woke The Angel came,<br /> +And said, ‘Oh, faint of purpose! Though the Name<br +/> +Of that Belovèd were not uttered by<br /> +Thy Lips, it hung sequester’d in that Sigh.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 316--><a name="page316"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +316</span>You see this is very imperfect, and I am not always +quite certain of always getting the right Sow by the Ear; but it +is pretty anyhow. In this, as in several other Stories, one +sees the fierce vindictive Character of the Eastern Divinity and +Religion: a ‘jealous God’ indeed! So there is +another Story of a poor Hermit, who retires into the Wilderness +to be alone with God, and lives in a Tree; and there in the +Branches a little Bird has a Nest, and sings so sweetly that the +poor old Man’s Heart is drawn to it in spite of Himself; +till a Voice from Heaven calls to Him—‘What are you +about? You have bought <i>Me</i> with your Prayers, etc., +and I <i>You</i> by some Largess of my Grace: and is this Bargain +to be cancelled by the Piping of a little Bird?’ <a +name="citation316"></a><a href="#footnote316" +class="citation">[316]</a> So I construe at least right or +wrong. . . .</p> +<p><!-- page 317--><a name="page317"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +317</span>Monday Jan. 25 [? 26]. Like your Journal, you +see, I spread my Letter over more than a Day. On Saturday +Night your Brother and I went to hear Thackeray lecture on George +III.—very agreeable to me, though I did not think highly of +the Lecture. . . . I should like to see +Nizámí’s Shírín, though I have +not yet seen enough to care for in Nizámí. +Get me a MS. if you can get a fair one; as also one of +Attár’s Birds; of which however Garcin de Tassy +gives hint of publishing a Text. There might be a good Book +made of about half the Text of the Original; for the Repetitions +are many, and the stories so many of them not wanted. What +a nice Book too would be the Text of some of the best Apologues +in Jámí, Jeláleddín, Attár, +etc., with literal Translations! . . .</p> +<p>I was with Borrow <a name="citation317"></a><a +href="#footnote317" class="citation">[317]</a> a week ago at +Donne’s, and also at Yarmouth three months ago: he is well, +but not yet agreed with Murray. He read me a long +Translation he had made from the Turkish: which I could not +admire, and his Taste becomes stranger than ever.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">24 <span class="smcap">Portland +Terrace</span>,<br /> +<span class="smcap">Regent’s Park</span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>. . . March 12. You see I leave this Letter like an +unfinished Picture; giving it a touch every now and then. +Meanwhile it lies in a volume of <!-- page 318--><a +name="page318"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 318</span>Sir W. +Ouseley’s Travels. Meanwhile also I keep putting into +shape some of that Mantic which however would never do to +publish. For this reason; that anything like a literal +Translation would be, I think, unreadable; and what I have done +for amusement is not only so unliteral, but I doubt +<i>unoriental</i>, in its form and expression, as would destroy +the value of the Original without replacing it with anything +worth reading of my own. It has amused me however to reduce +the Mass into something of an Artistic Shape. There are +lots of Passages which—how should I like to talk them over +with you! Shall we ever meet again? I think not; or +not in such plight, both of us, as will make Meeting what it used +to be. Only to-day I have been opening dear old +Salámán: the original Copy we bought and began this +time three years ago at Oxford; with all my scratches of Query +and Explanation in it, and the Notes from you among the +Leaves. How often I think with Sorrow of my many +Harshnesses and Impatiences! which are yet more of manner than +Intention. My wife is sick of hearing me sing in a doleful +voice the old Glee of ‘When shall we Three Meet +again?’ Especially the Stanza, ‘Though in +foreign Lands we sigh, Parcht beneath a hostile Sky, +etc.’ How often too I think of the grand Song written +by some Scotch Lady, <a name="citation318"></a><a +href="#footnote318" class="citation">[318]</a> which I sing to +myself for you on Ganges Banks!</p> +<blockquote><p><!-- page 319--><a name="page319"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 319</span>Slow spreads the Gloom my Soul +desires,<br /> +The Sun from India’s Shore retires:<br /> +To <i>Orwell’s</i> Bank, with temperate ray—<br /> +Home of my Youth!—he leads the Day:<br /> +Oh Banks to me for ever dear,<br /> +Oh Stream whose Murmur meets my Ear;<br /> +Oh all my Hopes of Bliss abide<br /> +Where Orwell mingles with the Tide.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The Music has come to me for these Words, little good +otherwise than expressive: but there is no use sending it to +India. To India! It seems to me it would be easy to +get into the first great Ship and never see Land again till I saw +the Mouth of the Ganges! and there live what remains of my shabby +Life.</p> +<p>But there is no good in all such Talk. I never write to +you about Politics in which you know I little meddle. . . . +March 20. Why, see how the Time goes! And here has my +Letter been lying in Sir W. Ouseley for the last ten days, I +suppose. To-day I have been writing twenty pages of a +metrical Sketch of the Mantic, for such uses as I told you +of. It is an amusement to me to take what Liberties I like +with these Persians, who (as I think) are not Poets enough to +frighten one from such excursions, and who really do want a +little Art to shape them. I don’t speak of +Jeláleddín whom I know so little of (enough to show +me that he is no great Artist, however), nor of Hafiz, whose +<i>best</i> is untranslatable because he is the best Musician of +Words. Old Johnson <a name="citation319"></a><a +href="#footnote319" class="citation">[319]</a> said <!-- page +320--><a name="page320"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +320</span>the Poets were the best Preservers of a Language: for +People must go to the Original to relish them. I am sure +that what Tennyson said to you is true: that Hafiz is the most +Eastern—or, he should have said, most +<i>Persian</i>—of the Persians. He is the best +representative of their character, whether his Sáki and +Wine be real or mystical. Their Religion and Philosophy is +soon seen through, and always seems to me <i>cuckooed</i> over +like a borrowed thing, which people, once having got, don’t +know how to parade enough. To be sure, their Roses and +Nightingales are repeated enough; but Hafiz and old Omar +Khayyám ring like true Metal. The Philosophy of the +Latter is, alas!, one that never fails in the World. +‘To-day is ours, etc.’</p> +<p>While I think of it, why is the Sea <a +name="citation320"></a><a href="#footnote320" +class="citation">[320]</a> (in that Apologue of Attár once +quoted by Falconer) supposed to have lost God? Did the +Persians agree with something I remember in Plato about the Sea +and all in it being of an inferior Nature, in spite of +Homer’s ‘divine Ocean, etc.’ And here I +come to the end of my sheet, which you will hardly get through, I +think. I scarce dare to think of reading it over. But +I will try.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><!-- page 321--><a +name="page321"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 321</span>24 <span +class="smcap">Portland Terrace</span>,<br /> +<span class="smcap">Regent’s Park</span>.<br /> +<i>March</i> 29, [1857].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>I only posted my last long letter four days ago: and how far +shall I get with this? Like the other, I keep it in Sir W. +Ouseley, and note down a bit now and then. When the time +for the Mail comes, the sheet shall go whether full or not. +I had a letter from your Mother telling me she had heard from +you—all well—but the Heats increasing. I +suppose the Crocuses we see even in these poor little Gardens +hereabout would wither in a Glance of your Sun. Now the +black Trees in the Regent’s Park opposite are beginning to +show green Buds; and Men come by with great Baskets of Flowers; +Primroses, Hepaticas, Crocuses, great Daisies, etc., calling as +they go, ‘Growing, Growing, Growing! All the Glory +going!’ So my wife says she has heard them call: some +old Street cry, no doubt, of which we have so few now +remaining. It will almost make you smell them all the way +from Calcutta. ‘All the Glory going!’ +What has put me upon beginning with this Sheet so soon is, that, +(having done my Will for the present with the Mantic—one +reason being that I am afraid to meddle more with N. +Newton’s tender MS., and another reason that I now lay by +what I have sketched out so as to happen on it again one day with +fresh eyes)—I say, this <!-- page 322--><a +name="page322"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 322</span>being +shelved, I took up old Hafiz again, and began with him where I +left off in November at Brighton. And this morning came to +an ode we did together this time two years ago when you were at +Spiers’ in Oxford. . . . How it brought all back to +me! Oriel opposite, and the Militia in Broad Street, and +the old Canary-coloured Sofa and the Cocoa or Tea on the Table! . +. .</p> +<p>I should think Bramford begins to look pretty about this time, +hey, Mr. Cowell? And Mrs. Cowell? There is a house +there constantly advertised to let in the Papers. I think +that one by the Mill; not the pleasant place where +<i>Trygæus</i> <a name="citation322"></a><a +href="#footnote322" class="citation">[322]</a> looked forth on +the Rail! ‘The Days are gone when Beauty bright, +etc.’ . . .</p> +<p>Spedding has been once here in near three months. His +Bacon keeps coming out: his part, the Letters, etc., of Bacon, is +not come yet; so it remains to be seen what he will do then: but +I can’t help thinking he has let the Pot boil too +long. Well, here is a great deal written to-day: and I +shall shut up the Sheet in Ouseley again. March 30. +Another reason for thinking the <i>máhi</i> which supports +the world to be only a <i>myth</i> of the simple Fish genus is +that the stage next above him is <i>Gau</i>, the Bull, as the +Symbol of <i>Earth</i>. It seems to me one sees this as it +were pictured in those Assyrian Sculptures; just some waving +lines and a fish to represent Water, etc. And it hooks <!-- +page 323--><a name="page323"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +323</span>on, I think, to Max Müller’s Theory in that +Essay <a name="citation323a"></a><a href="#footnote323a" +class="citation">[323a]</a> of his. Saturday, April +4. Why, we are creeping toward another Post day! another +25th when the ‘Viâ Marseilles’ Letters go +off! And I now renew this great Sheet, because in returning +to old Hafiz two or three days ago, I happened on a line which +you will confer with a Tetrastich of Omar’s. . . . +Donne has got the Licenser’s Post; given him in the +handsomest way by Lord Bredalbane to whom the Queen as handsomely +committed it. The said Donne has written an Article on +Calderon in Fraser, <a name="citation323b"></a><a +href="#footnote323b" class="citation">[323b]</a> in which he says +very handsome things of me, but is not accurate in what he +says. I suppose it was he wrote an Article in the Saturday +Review some months ago to the same effect; but I have not asked +him. I find people like that Calderon book. By the +bye again, what is the passage I am to write out for you from the +Volume you gave me, the old Bramford Volume, ‘E. B. Cowell, +Bramford, Aug. 20, 1849?’ Tell me, and I will write +it in my best style: I have the Volume here in my room, and was +looking into it only last night; at that end of the Mágico +which we read together at Elmsett! I don’t know if I +could translate it now that the ‘<i>æstus’</i> +caught from your sympathy is gone! . . . April 5. In +looking into the ‘Secreto Agravio’ I see an Oriental +superstition, which was likely enough however to <!-- page +324--><a name="page324"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 324</span>be +a poetical fancy of any nation: I mean, the Sun turning Stone to +Ruby, etc. Enter Don Luis: ‘Soy mercador, y trato en +los Diamantes, que hoy son Piedras, y rayos fueron antes de Sol, +que perficiona é ilumina rústico Grano en la +abrasada Mina.’ The Partridge in the Mantic tells +something of the same; he digs up and swallows Rubies which turn +his Blood to Fire inside him and sparkle out of his Eyes and +Bill. This volume of Calderon is marked by the Days on +which you finished several Plays, all at Bramford! +Wednesday, April 8. I have been reading the +‘Mágico’ over and remembering other days; I +saw us sitting at other tables reading it. Also I am +looking over old Æschylus—Agamemnon—with +Blackie’s Translation. . . . Is it in Hafiz we have +met the Proverb (about <i>pregnant</i> Night) which Clytemnestra +also makes her Entry with [264, 5]? +ευαyyελος +μεν, ωσπερ η +παροιμια, +εως +yενοιτο +μητρος +ευφρονης +παρα. I think one sees that the Oriental +borrowed this Fancy, which smacks of the Grecian Personification +of Mother Night. What an Epitaph for a Warrior are those +two Greek words by which the Chorus express all that returns to +Mycenæ of the living Hero who went forth +[435]—τευχη +και +σποδος!</p> +<p>Well; and I have had a Note from Garcin de Tassy whom I had +asked if he knew of any Copy of Omar Khayyám in all the +Paris Libraries: he writes ‘I have made, by means of a +Friend, etc.’ But I shall enclose his Note to amuse +you. Now what <!-- page 325--><a name="page325"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 325</span>I mean to do is, in return for his +politeness to me, to copy out as well as I can the Tetrastichs as +you copied them for me, and send them as a Present to De +Tassy. Perhaps he will edit them. I should not wish +him to do so if there were any chance of your ever doing it; but +I don’t think you will help on the old Pantheist, and De +Tassy really, after what he is doing for the Mantic, deserves to +make the acquaintance of this remarkable little Fellow. +Indeed I think you will be pleased that I should do this. +Now for some more Æschylus. Friday, April 17. I +have been for the last five days with my Brother at Twickenham; +during which time I really copied out Omar Khayyám, in a +way! and shall to-day post it as a ‘<i>cadeau’</i> to +Garcin de Tassy in return for his Courtesy to me. I am +afraid, a bad return: for my MS. is but badly written and it +would perhaps more plague than profit an English +‘savant’ to have such a present made him. But a +Frenchman gets over all this very lightly. Garcin de Tassy +tells me he has printed four thousand lines of the Mantic. +And here is April running away and it will soon be time to post +you another Letter! When I once get into the Country I +shall have less to write you about than now; and that, you see, +is not much.</p> +<p>Tuesday, April 21. Yours and your wife’s dear good +Letters put into my hand as I sit in the sunshine in a little +Balcony outside the Windows <!-- page 326--><a +name="page326"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 326</span>looking +upon the quite green hedge side of the Regent’s Park. +For Green it is thus early, and such weather as I never remember +before at this Season. Well, your Letters, I say, were put +into my hand as I was there looking into Æschylus under an +Umbrella, and waiting for Breakfast. My wife cried a good +deal over your wife’s Letter, I think, I think so. Ah +me! I would not as yet read it, for I was already sad; but +I shall answer hers to me which I did read indeed with many +thoughts: perhaps I can write this post; at least I will clear +off this letter to you, my dear Cowell.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F. G.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>April</i> 21.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Lady</span>, I have told E. B. C. +at the close of my long letter to him how his and yours were put +into my hand this morning. Well, as in telling him that I +finished that sheet of Paper, I will e’en take one scrap +more to thank you; and (since you have, I believe, some +confidences together) some things I have yet got to say to him +shall be addressed to you; and you can exercise your own +Discretion as to telling him. One thing tell him however, +which my overflowing Sheet had not room for, and was the very +thing that most needed telling: viz. that he, a busy man, must +not feel bound to write me as long Letters in return. Who +knows how long I shall keep up any thing like to my own mark; for +I daily grow worse with the <!-- page 327--><a +name="page327"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 327</span>Letter-pen: +and, beside his other employments, the Sun of India will +‘<i>belaze’</i> him (I doubt if the word be in +Johnson). But ‘vogue la Galère’ while +the wind blows! Again you may give him the enclosed instead +of a former Letter from the same G. de T. For is it not odd +he should not have time to read a dozen of those 150 +Tetrastichs? I pointed out such a dozen to him of the best, +and told him if he liked them I would try and get the rest better +written for him than I could write. I had also told him +that the whole thing came from E. B. C. and I now write to tell +him I have no sort of intention of writing a paper in the Journal +Asiatique, nor I suppose E. B. C. neither. G. de Tassy is +very civil to me however. How much I might say about your +Letter to me! you will hardly comprehend how it is I almost turn +my Eyes from it in this Answer, and dally with other +matter. You make me sad with old Memories; yet, I +don’t mean quite disagreeably sad, but enough to make me +shrink recurring to them. I don’t know whether to be +comforted or not when <i>you</i> talk of India as a Land of +Exile—. . .</p> +<p>Wednesday, April 22. Now this morning comes a second +Letter from Garcin de Tassy saying that his first note about Omar +Khayyam was ‘in haste’: that he has read some of the +Tetrastichs which he finds not very difficult; some difficulties +which are probably errors of the ‘copist’; and he +proposes his writing an Article in the Journal Asiatique on it in +<!-- page 328--><a name="page328"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +328</span>which he will ‘honourably mention’ E. B. C. +and E. F. G. I now write to deprecate all this: <a +name="citation328"></a><a href="#footnote328" +class="citation">[328]</a> putting it on the ground (and a fair +one) that we do not yet know enough of the matter: that I do not +wish E. B. C. to be made answerable for errors which E. F. G. +(the ‘<i>copist’</i>) may have made: and that E. F. +G. neither merits nor desires any honourable mention as a Persian +Scholar: being none. Tell E. B. C. that I have used his +name with all caution, referring De Tassy to Vararuchi, +etc. But these Frenchmen are so self-content and +superficial, one never knows how they will take up +anything. To turn to other matters—we are talking of +leaving this place almost directly. . . . I often wonder if +I shall ever see you both again! Well, for the present, +Adieu, Adieu, Adieu!</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">London</span>, +<i>May</i> 7/57.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>Owing partly to my own Stupidity, and partly to a change in +the India Post days, my last two letters (to you and wife) which +were quite ready by the Marseilles Post of April 25th will not +get off till the Southampton Mail of this May 10. Your +letter of March 21 reached me three days ago. Write only +when you have Leisure and Inclination, and only as much as those +two good things are good for: I will <!-- page 329--><a +name="page329"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 329</span>do the +same. I will at once say (in reply to a kind offer you make +to have Hatifi’s ‘Haft Paikar’ copied for me) +that it will [be] best to wait till you have read it; you know me +well enough to know whether it will hit my taste. However, +if it be but a very short poem, no harm would be done by a Copy: +but do let me be at the Charges of such things. I will ask +for Hatifi’s Laili: but I didn’t (as you know) take +much to what little I saw. As to any copies Allen might +have had, I believe there is no good asking for them: for, only +yesterday going to put into Madden’s hands Mr. +Newton’s MS. of the Mantic, I saw Allen’s house +<i>kharáb</i>. There had been a Fire there, Madden +told me, which had destroyed stock, etc., but I could not make +much out of the matter, Madden putting on a Face of foolish +mystery. You can imagine it? We talked of you, as you +may imagine also: and I believe in that he is not foolish. +Well, and to-day I have a note from the great De Tassy which +announces, ‘My dear Sir, Definitively I have written a +little Paper upon Omar with some Quotations taken here and there +at random, avoiding only the too badly sounding +<i>rubayát</i>. I have read that paper before the +Persian Ambassador and suite, at a meeting of the Oriental +Society of which I am Vice President, the Duc de Dondeauville +being president. The Ambassador has been much pleased of my +quotations.’ So you see I have done the part of an +ill Subject in helping France to ingratiate herself with Persia +when England might have had the <!-- page 330--><a +name="page330"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +330</span>start! I suppose it probable <i>Ferukh Khan</i> +himself had never read or perhaps heard of Omar. I think I +told you in my last that I had desired De Tassy to say nothing +about you in any Paper he should write; since I cannot have you +answerable for any blunders I may have made in my Copy, nor may +you care to be named with Omar at all. I hope the Frenchman +will attend to my desire; and I dare say he will, as he will then +have all credit to himself. He says he can’t make out +the metre of the <i>rubayát</i> at all—never +could—though ‘I am enough skilful in scanning the +Persian verses as you have seen’ (Q<sup>y</sup>?) ‘in +my Prosody of the languages of Musulman Countries, +etc.’ So much for De Tassy. No; but something +more yet: and better, for he tells me his Print of the Mantic is +finisht, ‘in proofs,’ and will be out in about a +Month: and he will send me one. Now, my dear Cowell, +can’t I send one to you? Yes, we must manage that +somehow.</p> +<p>Well, I have not turned over Johnson’s Dictionary for +the last month, having got hold of Æschylus. I think +I want to turn his Trilogy into what shall be readable English +Verse; a thing I have always thought of, but was frightened at +the Chorus. So I am now; I can’t think them so fine +as People talk of: they are terribly maimed; and all such Lyrics +require a better Poet than I am to set forth in English. +But the better Poets won’t do it; and I cannot find one +readable translation. I shall (if I make one) make a very +free one; not for Scholars, <!-- page 331--><a +name="page331"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 331</span>but for +those who are ignorant of Greek, and who (so far as I have seen) +have never been induced to learn it by any Translations yet made +of these Plays. I think I shall become a bore, of the +Bowring order, by all this Translation: but it amuses me without +any labour, and I really think I have the faculty of making some +things readable which others have hitherto left unreadable. +But don’t be alarmed with the anticipation of another +sudden volume of Translations; for I only sketch out the matter, +then put it away; and coming on it one day with fresh eyes trim +it up with some natural impulse that I think gives a natural air +to all. So I have put away the Mantic. When I die, +what a farrago of such things will be found! Enough of such +matter. . . .</p> +<p>Friday, June 5! What an interval since the last +sentence! And why? Because I have been moving about +nearly ever since till yesterday, and my Letter, thus far +written, was packt up in a Box sent down hither, namely, +Gorlestone Cliffs, Great Yarmouth. Instead of the +Regent’s Park, and Regent Street, here before my windows +are the Vessels going in and out of this River: and Sailors +walking about with fur caps and their brown hands in their +Breeches Pockets. Within hail almost lives George Borrow +who has lately published, and given me, two new Volumes of +Lavengro called ‘Romany Rye,’ with some excellent +things, and some very bad (as I have made bold to write to +him—how shall I face him!). You would not like the +Book at all, I <!-- page 332--><a name="page332"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 332</span>think. But I must now tell you +an odd thing, which will also be a sad thing to you. I left +London last Tuesday fortnight for Bedfordshire, meaning to touch +at Hertford in passing; but as usual, bungled between two +Railroads and got to Bedford, and not to Hertford, on the Tuesday +Evening. To that latter place I had wanted to go, as well +to see it, as to see N. Newton, who had made one or two bungled +efforts to see me in London. So, when I got to Bedford, I +wrote him a line to say how it was I had missed him. On the +very Saturday immediately after, I received a Hertford Paper +announcing the sudden Death of N. Newton on the very Tuesday on +which I had set out to see him! He had been quite well till +the Saturday preceding: had then caught some illness (I suppose +some infectious fever) which had been visiting some in his house; +died on the Tuesday, and was buried on the Thursday after! +What will Austin do without him? He had written to me about +your Hafiz saying he had got several subjects for Illustration, +and I meant to have had a talk with him on the matter. What +should be done? I dare not undertake any great +responsibility in meddling in such a matter even if asked to do +so, which is not likely to be unless on your part; for I find my +taste so very different from the Public that what I think good +would probably be very unprofitable.</p> +<p>When in Bedfordshire I put away almost all Books except Omar +Khayyám!, which I could not help looking over in a Paddock +covered with Buttercups <!-- page 333--><a +name="page333"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 333</span>and brushed +by a delicious Breeze, while a dainty racing Filly of W. +Browne’s came startling up to wonder and snuff about +me. ‘Tempus est quo Orientis Aurâ mundus +renovatur, Quo de fonte pluviali dulcis Imber reseratur; +<i>Musi-manus</i> undecumque ramos insuper splendescit; +Jesu-spiritusque Salutaris terram pervagatur.’ Which +is to be read as Monkish Latin, like ‘Dies +Iræ,’ etc., retaining the Italian value of the +Vowels, not the Classical. You will think me a perfectly +Aristophanic Old Man when I tell you how many of Omar I could not +help running into such bad Latin. I should not confide such +follies but to you who won’t think them so, and who will be +pleased at least with my still harping on our old Studies. +You would be sorry, too, to think that Omar breathes a sort of +Consolation to me! Poor Fellow; I think of him, and Oliver +Basselin, and Anacreon; lighter Shadows among the Shades, +perhaps, over which Lucretius presides so grimly. Thursday, +June 11. Your letter of April is come to hand, very +welcome; and I am expecting the MS. Omar which I have written +about to London. And now with respect to your proposed +Fraser Paper on Omar. You see a few lines back I talk of +some lazy Latin Versions of his Tetrastichs, giving one clumsy +example. Now I shall rub up a few more of those I have +sketched in the same manner, in order to see if you approve, if +not of the thing done, yet of</p> +<p>(<i>letter breaks off abruptly at the end of the +page</i>.)</p> +<p><!-- page 334--><a name="page334"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +334</span>June 23. I begin another Letter because I am +looking into the Omar MS. you have sent me, and shall perhaps +make some notes and enquiries as I go on. I had not +intended to do so till I had looked all over and tried to make +out what I could of it; since it is both pleasant to oneself to +find out for oneself if possible, and also saves trouble to +one’s friends. But yet it will keep me talking with +you as I go along: and if I find I say silly things or clear up +difficulties for myself before I close my Letter (which has a +month to be open in!) why, I can cancel or amend, so as you will +see the whole Process of Blunder. I think this MS. +furnishes some opportunities for one’s critical faculties, +and so is a good exercise for them, if one wanted such! +First however I must tell you how much ill poor Crabbe has been: +a sort of Paralysis, I suppose, in two little fits, which made +him think he was sure to die: but Dr. Beck at present says he may +live many years with care. Of this also I shall be able to +tell you more before I wind up. The brave old Fellow! he +was quite content to depart, and had his Daughter up to give her +his Keys, and tell her where the different wines were laid! +I must also tell you that Borrow is greatly delighted with your +MS. of Omar which I showed him: delighted at the terseness so +unusual in Oriental Verse. But his Eyes are apt to cloud: +and his wife has been obliged, he tells me, to carry off even the +little Omar out of reach of them for a while. . . .</p> +<p>June 27. Geldestone Hall. I brought back my <!-- +page 335--><a name="page335"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +335</span>two Nieces here yesterday: and to-day am sitting as of +old in my accustomed Bedroom, looking out on a Landscape which +your Eyes would drink. It is said there has not been such a +Flush of Verdure for years: and they are making hay on the Lawn +before the house, so as one wakes to the tune of the +Mower’s Scythe-whetting, and with the old Perfume blowing +in at open windows. . . .</p> +<p>July 1. June over! A thing I think of with +Omar-like sorrow. And the Roses here are blowing—and +going—as abundantly as even in Persia. I am still at +Geldestone, and still looking at Omar by an open window which +gives over a Greener Landscape than yours. To-morrow my +eldest Nephew, Walter Kerrich, whom I first took to school, is to +be married in the Bermudas to a young Widow. He has chosen +his chosen sister Andalusia’s Birthday to be married on; +and so we are to keep that double Festival. . . .</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Extract from Letter begun</i> 3 +<i>July</i>, 1857.</p> +<p>Monday, July 13. This day year was the last I spent with +you at Rushmere! We dined in the Evening at your +Uncle’s in Ipswich, walking home at night together. +The night before (yesterday year) you all went to Mr. +Maude’s Church, and I was so sorry afterward I had not gone +with you too; for the last time, as your wife said. One of +my manifold stupidities, all avenged in a Lump now! I think +I <!-- page 336--><a name="page336"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +336</span>shall close this letter to-morrow: which will be the +Anniversary of my departure from Rushmere. I went from you, +you know, to old Crabbe’s. Is he too to be wiped away +by a yet more irrecoverable exile than India? By to-morrow +I shall have finisht my first Physiognomy of Omar, whom I +decidedly prefer to any Persian I have yet seen, unless perhaps +Salámán. . . .</p> +<p>Tuesday, July 14. Here is the Anniversary of our Adieu +at Rushmere. And I have been (rather hastily) getting to an +end of my first survey of the Calcutta Omar, by way of +counterpart to our joint survey of the Ouseley MS. then. I +suppose we spoke of it this day year; probably had a final look +at it together before I went off, in some Gig, I think, to +Crabbe’s. We hear rather better Report of him, if the +being likely to live a while longer is better. I shall +finish my Letter to-day; only leaving it open to add any very +particular word. I must repeat I am sure this Calcutta Omar +is, in the same proportion with the Ouseley, by as good a hand as +the Ouseley: by as good a hand, if not Omar’s; which I +think you seemed to doubt if it was, in one of your Letters. . . +.</p> +<p>Have I previously asked you to observe 486, of which I send a +poor Sir W. Jones’ sort of Parody which came into my mind +walking in the Garden here; where the Rose is blowing as in +Persia? And with this poor little Envoy my Letter shall +end. I will not stop to make the Verse better.</p> +<blockquote><p><!-- page 337--><a name="page337"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 337</span>I long for wine! oh Sáki of +my Soul,<br /> +Prepare thy Song and fill the morning Bowl;<br /> +For this first Summer month that brings the Rose<br /> +Takes many a Sultan with it as it goes.</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To Mrs. Charles Allen</i>. <a +name="citation337"></a><a href="#footnote337" +class="citation">[337]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Geldestone +Hall</span>, <span class="smcap">Beccles</span>.<br /> +<i>August</i> 15/57.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Allen</span>,</p> +<p>One should be very much gratified at being remembered so long +with <i>any</i> kindness: and how much more gratified with so +kind Remembrances as yours! I may safely say that I too +remember you and my Freestone days of five and twenty years ago +with a particular regard; I have been telling my Nieces at the +Breakfast Table this morning, after I read your letter, how I +remembered you sitting in the +‘<i>Schoolroom</i>’—too much sheltered with +Trees—with a large Watch open before you—your Sister +too, with her light hair and China-rose Complexion—too +delicate!—your Father, your Mother, your Brother—of +whom (your Brother) I caught a glimpse in London two years +ago. And all the <i>Place</i> at Freestone—I can walk +about it as I lie awake here, and see the very yellow flowers in +the fields, and hear that distant sound of explosion in some +distant Quarry. The coast at Bosherston one could never +forget once seen, even if it had no domestic kindness to frame +its Memory in. I might have profited more of those <!-- +page 338--><a name="page338"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +338</span>good Days than I did; but it is not my Talent to take +the Tide at its flow; and so all goes to worse than waste!</p> +<p>But it is ungracious to talk of oneself—except so far as +shall answer some points you touch on. It would in many +respects be very delightful to me to walk again with you over +those old Places; in other respects sad:—but the pleasure +would have the upper hand if one had not again to leave it all +and plunge back again. I dare not go to Wales now.</p> +<p>I owe to Tenby the chance acquaintance of another Person who +now from that hour remains one of my very best Friends. A +Lad—then just 16—whom I met on board the Packet from +Bristol: and next morning at the Boarding House—apt then to +appear with a little <i>chalk</i> on the edge of his Cheek from a +touch of the Billiard Table Cue—and now a man of +40—Farmer, Magistrate, Militia Officer—Father of a +Family—of more use in a week than I in my Life long. +You too have six sons, your Letter tells me. They may do +worse than do as well as he I have spoken of, though he too has +sown some wild oats, and paid for doing so.</p> +<p><i>My</i> family consists of some eight Nieces here, whom I +have seen, all of them, from their Birth upwards—perfectly +good, simple, and well-bred, women and girls; varying in +disposition but all agreed among themselves and to do what they +can in a small Sphere. They go about in the Village here +with some consolation both for Body <!-- page 339--><a +name="page339"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 339</span>and Mind +for the Poor, and have no desire for the Opera, nor for the Fine +Folks and fine Dresses there. There is however some +melancholy in the Blood of some of them—but none that mars +any happiness but their own: and that but so slightly as one +should expect when there was no Fault, and no Remorse, to +embitter it!</p> +<p>You will perhaps be as well entertained with this poor +familiar news as any I could tell you. As to public +matters, I scarcely meddle with them, and don’t know what +to think of India except that it is very terrible. I always +think a Nation with great Estates is like a Man with +them:—more trouble than Profit: I would only have a +<i>Competence</i> for my Country as for myself. Two of my +very dearest Friends went but last year to Calcutta:—he as +Professor at the Presidency College there: and now he has to +shoulder a musket, I believe, as well as deliver a Lecture. +You and yours are safe at home, I am glad to think.</p> +<p>Please to remember me to all whom I have shaken hands with, +and make my kind Regards to those of your Party I have not yet +seen. I am sure all <i>would be</i> as kind to me as others +who bear the name of Allen <i>have been</i>.</p> +<p>Once more—thank you thank you for your kindness; and +believe me yours as ever very truly,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Edwd. +FitzGerald</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 340--><a +name="page340"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 340</span><i>To E. B. +Cowell</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Rushmere</span>, +<i>October</i> 3/57.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>I hope things will not be so black with you and us by the time +this Letter reaches you, but you may be amused and glad to have +it from me. Not that I have come into Suffolk on any +cheerful Errand: I have come to bury dear old Mr. Crabbe! I +suppose you have had some Letters of mine telling you of his +Illness; Epileptic Fits which came successively and weakened him +gradually, and at last put him to his Bed entirely, where he lay +some while unable to move himself or to think! They said he +might lie so a long time, since he eat and drank with fair +Appetite: but suddenly the End came on and after a twelve hours +Stupor he died. On Tuesday September 22 he was buried; and +I came from Bedfordshire (where I had only arrived two days +before) to assist at it. I and Mr. Drew were the only +persons invited not of the Family: but there were very many +Farmers and Neighbours come to pay respect to the remains of the +brave old Man, who was buried, by his own desire, among the poor +in the Churchyard in a Grave that he wishes to be no otherwise +distinguisht than by a common Head and Footstone. . . .</p> +<p>You may imagine it was melancholy enough to me to revisit the +house when He who had made it <!-- page 341--><a +name="page341"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 341</span>so warm for +me so often lay cold in his Coffin unable to entertain me any +more! His little old dark Study (which I called the +‘<i>Cobblery’</i>) smelt strong of its old Smoke: and +the last Cheroot he had tried lay three quarters smoked in its +little China Ash-pan. This I have taken as a Relic, as also +a little silver Nutmeg Grater which used to give the finishing +Touch to many a Glass of good hot Stuff, and also had belonged to +the Poet Crabbe. . . .</p> +<p>Last night I had some of your Letters read to me: among them +one but yesterday arrived, not very sunshiny in its prospects: +but your Brother thinks the Times Newspaper of yesterday somewhat +bids us look up. Only, all are trembling for Lucknow, +crowded with Helplessness and Innocence! I am ashamed to +think how little I understand of all these things: but have wiser +men, and men in Place, understood much more? or, understanding, +have they <i>done</i> what they should? . . .</p> +<p>Love to the dear Lady, and may you be now and for time to come +safe and well is the Prayer of yours,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F. G.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">31 <span class="smcap">Portland +Street</span>, <span class="smcap">London</span>.<br /> +<i>Decr</i>. 8/57.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>You will recognize the Date of my Abode. Two years ago +you were coming to see me in it much about this Season: and a +year ago I wrote you my first Letter to India from it. I +came hither from <!-- page 342--><a name="page342"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 342</span>Brighton a week ago: how long to be +here uncertain: you had best direct to Goldington Hall, +Bedford. I sent you a short Letter by last +Marseilles’ Post from Brighton: and I now begin this short +one because I have happened again to take hold of some Books +which we are mutually interested in. I have left with +Borrow the Copy of the Mantic De Tassy gave me; so some days ago +I bought another Copy of Norgate. For you must know I had +again taken up my rough Sketch of a Translation, which, such as +it is, might easily be finisht. But it is in truth no +Translation: but only the <i>Paraphrase of a Syllabus</i> of the +Poem: quite unlike the original in Style too:—But it would +give, I think, a fair proportionate Account of the Scheme of the +Poem. If ever I finish it, I will send it you. Well; +then in turning this over, I also turned over Volume I of +Sprenger’s Catalogue, which I bought by itself for 6s. a +year ago. As it contains all the Persian MSS. I supposed +that would be enough for me. I have been looking at his +List of Attár’s Poems. What a number! +All almost much made up of <i>Apologues</i> in which Attár +excels, I think. His Stories are better than +Jámí’s: to be sure, he gives more to pick out +of. An interesting thing in the Mantic is, the stories +about Mahmúd: and these are the best in the Book. I +find I have got seven or eight in my brief Extract. I see +Sprenger says Attár was born in 513—four years +before poor Omar Khayyám died! He mentions one of +Attár’s Books—‘The Book of Union,’ +<i>waslat</i> <!-- page 343--><a name="page343"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 343</span><i>námah</i>, which seems to +be on the very subject of the Apologue to the +<i>Peacock’s</i> Brag in the Mantic: line 814 in De +Tassy. I suppose this is no more the Orthodox +<i>Mussulman</i> Version than it is ours. Sprenger also +mentions as one separate Book what is part of the +Mantic—and main part—the <i>Haft wady</i>. +Sprenger says (p. 350) how the MSS. of Attár differ from +one another.</p> +<p>And now about old Omar. You talked of sending a Paper +about him to Fraser and I told you, if you did, I would stop it +till I had made my Comments. I suppose you have not had +time to do what you proposed, or are you overcome with the Flood +of bad Latin I poured upon you? Well: don’t be +surprised (vext, you won’t be) if <i>I</i> solicit Fraser +for room for a few Quatrains in English Verse, however—with +only such an Introduction as you and Sprenger give me—very +short—so as to leave you to say all that is Scholarly if +you will. I hope this is not very Cavalier of me. But +in truth I take old Omar rather more as my property than yours: +he and I are more akin, are we not? You see all [his] +Beauty, but you don’t feel <i>with</i> him in some respects +as I do. I think you would almost feel obliged to leave out +the part of Hamlet in representing him to your Audience: for fear +of Mischief. Now I do not wish to show Hamlet at his +maddest: but mad he must be shown, or he is no Hamlet at +all. G. de Tassy eluded all that was dangerous, and all +that was characteristic. I think these <i>free</i> opinions +are less dangerous in an old <!-- page 344--><a +name="page344"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 344</span>Mahometan, +or an old Roman (like Lucretius) than when they are returned to +by those who have lived on happier Food. I don’t know +what you will say to all this. However I dare say it +won’t matter whether I do the Paper or not, for I +don’t believe they’ll put it in.</p> +<p>Then—yesterday I bought at that shop in the Narrow +Passage at the end of Oxford Street a very handsome small Folio +MS. of Sadi’s Bostán for 10s. But I +don’t know when I shall look at it to read: for my Eyes are +but bad: and London so dark, that I write this Letter now at noon +by the Light of two Candles. Of which enough for +To-day. I must however while I think of it again notice to +you about those first Introductory Quatrains to Omar in both the +Copies you have seen; taken out of their Alphabetical place, +<i>if they be Omar’s own</i>, evidently by way of putting a +good Leg foremost—or perhaps <i>not</i> his at all. +So that which Sprenger says begins the Oude MS. is manifestly, +not any Apology of Omar’s own, but a Denunciation of him by +some one else: <a name="citation344"></a><a href="#footnote344" +class="citation">[344]</a> and is a <i>sort</i> of Parody (in +<i>Form</i> at least) of Omar’s own Quatrain 445, with its +indignant reply by the Sultan.</p> +<p>Tuesday Dec. 22. I have your Letter of Nov. +9—giving a gloomy Account of what has long ere this been +settled for better or worse! It is said we are to have a +Mail on Friday. I must post this Letter before then. +Thank you for the MSS. You will let me know what you expend +on them. I have been <!-- page 345--><a +name="page345"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 345</span>looking +over De Tassy’s Omar. Try and see the other Poems of +Attár mentioned by Sprenger: those with Apologues, etc., +in which (as I have said) Attár seems to me to +excel. Love to the Lady. I have no news of the +Crabbes, but that they do pretty well in their new home. +Donne has just been here and gone—asking about you. I +dine with him on Christmas Day.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">E. F. G.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<span class="smcap">Merton +Rectory</span>].<br /> +<i>September</i> 3/58.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>. . . Now about my Studies, which, I think, are likely to +dwindle away too. I have not turned to Persian since the +Spring; but shall one day look back to it: and renew my attack on +the ‘Seven Castles,’ if that be the name. I +found the Jámí MS. at Rushmere: and there left it +for the present: as the other Poem will be enough for me for my +first onslaught. I believe I will do a little a day, so as +not to lose what little knowledge I had. As to my Omar: I +gave it to Parker in January, I think: he saying Fraser was +agreeable to take it. Since then I have heard no more; so +as, I suppose, they don’t care about it: and may be quite +right. Had I thought they would be so long however I would +have copied it out and sent it to you: and I will still do so +from a rough and imperfect Copy I have (though not now at hand) +in case they show no signs of printing me. My Translation +will interest you from <!-- page 346--><a +name="page346"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 346</span>its +<i>Form</i>, and also in many respects in its <i>Detail</i>: very +unliteral as it is. Many Quatrains are mashed together: and +something lost, I doubt, of Omar’s Simplicity, which is so +much a Virtue in him. But there it is, such as it is. +I purposely said in the very short notice I prefixed to the Poem +that it was so short because better Information might be +furnished in another Paper, which I thought <i>you</i> would +undertake. So it rests. Nor have I meddled with the +Mantic lately: nor does what you say encourage me to do so. +For what I had sketcht out was very paraphrase indeed. I do +not indeed believe that any readable Account (unless a prose +Analysis, for the History and Curiosity of the Thing) will be +possible, for <i>me</i> to do, at least. But I took no +great pleasure in what I had done: and every day get more and +more a sort of Terror at re-opening any such MS. My +‘<i>Go’</i> (such as it was) is <i>gone</i>, and it +becomes <i>Work</i>: and the Upshot is not worth <i>working</i> +for. It was very well when it was a Pleasure. So it +is with Calderon. It is well enough to sketch such things +out in warm Blood; but to finish them in cold! I wish I +could finish the ‘Mighty Magician’ in my new way: +which I know you would like, in spite of your caveat for the +Gracioso. I have not wholly dropt the two Students, but +kept them quite under: and brought out the religious character of +the Piece into stronger Relief. But as I have thrown much, +if not into Lyric, into Rhyme, which strikes a more Lyric Chord, +I have found it much harder to <!-- page 347--><a +name="page347"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 347</span>satisfy +myself than with the good old Blank Verse, which I used to manage +easily enough. The ‘Vida es Sueño’ +again, though blank Verse, has been difficult to arrange; here +also Clarin is not quenched, but subdued: as is all +Rosaura’s Story, so as to assist, and not compete with, the +main Interest. I really wish I could finish these some +lucky day: but, as I said, it is so much easier to leave them +alone; and when I had done my best, I don’t know if they +are worth the pains, or whether any one (except you) would care +for them even if they were worth caring for. So much for my +grand Performances: except that I amuse myself with jotting down +materials (out of Vocabularies, etc.) for a Vocabulary of +<i>rural</i> English, or <i>rustic</i> English: that is, only the +best country words selected from the very many Glossaries, etc., +relating chiefly to country matters, but also to things in +general: words that carry their own story with them, without +needing Derivation or Authority, though both are often to be +found. I always say I have heard the Language of Queen +Elizabeth’s, or King Harry’s Court, in the Suffolk +Villages: better a great deal than that spoken in London +Societies, whether Fashionable or Literary: and the homely +[strength] of which has made Shakespeare, Dryden, South, and +Swift, what they could not have been without it. But my +Vocabulary if ever done will be a very little Affair, if ever +done: for here again it is pleasant enough to jot down a word now +and then, but not to equip all for the Press.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><!-- page 348--><a +name="page348"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 348</span><span +class="smcap">Farlingay</span>, <span +class="smcap">Woodbridge</span>. <i>Nov</i>. 2/58.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Cowell</span>,</p> +<p>. . . No. I have not read the Jámí +Díwán; partly because I find my Eyes are none the +better, and partly because I have now no one to ‘prick the +sides of my Intent’; not even ‘Vaulting +Ambition’ now. I have got the Seven Castles <a +name="citation348"></a><a href="#footnote348" +class="citation">[348]</a> in my Box here and old Johnson’s +Dictionary; and these I shall strike a little Fire out of by and +by: Jámí also in time perhaps. I have nearly +finisht a metrical Paraphrase and Epitome of the Mantic: but you +would scarce like it, and who else would? It has amused me +to give a ‘Bird’s Eye’ View of the Bird Poem in +some sixteen hundred lines. I do not think one could do it +as Salámán is done. As to Omar, I hear and +see nothing of it in Fraser yet: and so I suppose they +don’t want it. I told Parker he might find it rather +dangerous among his Divines: he took it however, and keeps +it. I really think I shall take it back; add some Stanzas +which I kept out for fear of being too strong; print fifty copies +and give away; one to you, who won’t like it neither. +Yet it is most ingeniously tesselated into a sort of Epicurean +Eclogue in a Persian Garden.</p> +<h2>INDEX TO LETTERS</h2> +<p><!-- page 349--><a name="page349"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +349</span><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">John Allen</span>, 4, 5, +9, 10-21, 28, 29, 32-35, 40, 43-48, 55, 59, 66, 69, 71, 122, 138, +172, 196, 234, 235, 243, 252, 255, 280, 291 *</p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Mrs. Charles Allen</span>, 337 +*</p> +<p><i>To</i> the Editor of the Athenæum, 6</p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Bernard Barton</span>, 50-52, +61, 62, 74, 88, 93, 96, 98, 99, 104-110, 132, 134, 142, 158, 168, +169, 173, 175, 178, 186, 189-191, 197, 209, 220, 222</p> +<p><i>From</i> <span class="smcap">Carlyle</span>, 127, 130, 181 +<i>note</i>, 205, 298, 299, 302</p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Carlyle</span>, 213, 216, 226, +293, 295, 297</p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Mrs. Charlesworth</span>, +154-157 *, 160 *, 161 *</p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">E. B. Cowell</span>, 204, 208, +211 *, 212 *, 228, 231, 232, 240, 248 *, 284, 304, 304 *, 306 *, +309-321, 328-335, 340, 341 *, 345, 348</p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Mrs. Cowell</span>, 307, 308, +326</p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">George Crabbe</span>, 247, +266-268, 273, 274, 282, 284</p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">W. B. Donne</span>, 22-26, 31, +41, 97, 187, 198, 203, 206, 210, 241, 253, 259, 279</p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Samuel Laurence</span>, 75, 90, +116, 117, 121, 137, 140, 146, 166, 170, 215, 225, 233, 242</p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">W. F. Pollock</span>, 114, 115, +125, 133, 283</p> +<p><i>From</i> <span class="smcap">James Spedding</span>, 75 +<i>note</i></p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Frederic Tennyson</span>, 57, +66, 76, 81, 86, 91, 101, 111, 118, 139, 141, 143, 144, 150, 163, +176, 180, 188, 192, 199, 200, 223, 236, 244, 249, 254, 256, 260, +269, 271, 275, 285, 287</p> +<p><i>From</i> <span class="smcap">W. M. Thackeray</span>, +280</p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">W. M. Thackeray</span>, 38, +281</p> +<p><i>From</i> <span class="smcap">W. H. Thompson</span>, 22 +<i>note</i></p> +<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">W. H. Thompson</span>, 79, +85</p> +<p><i>The asterisks indicate the letters which are here printed +for the first time</i>.</p> +<h2>Footnotes:</h2> +<p><a name="footnote0a"></a><a href="#citation0a" +class="footnote">[0a]</a> See Letters and Literary Remains +of Edward FitzGerald, vol. iii. p. 464.</p> +<p><a name="footnote14"></a><a href="#citation14" +class="footnote">[14]</a> Now Librarian of the William Salt +Library at Stafford: introduced to FitzGerald at Cambridge by +Thackeray. [He died 10th February 1893, aged 82.]</p> +<p><a name="footnote19"></a><a href="#citation19" +class="footnote">[19]</a> Through the kindness of Mr. +Thomas Allen, I have been enabled to recover these missing +stanzas:—</p> +<blockquote><p>TO A LADY SINGING.</p> +<p>1.</p> +<p> Canst thou, my Clora, declare,<br /> + After thy sweet song dieth<br /> + Into the wild summer air,<br /> + Whither it falleth or flieth?<br +/> +Soon would my answer be noted,<br /> +Wert thou but sage as sweet throated.</p> +<p>2.</p> +<p> Melody, dying away,<br /> + Into the dark sky closes,<br /> + Like the good soul from her clay<br /> + Like the fair odor of roses:<br /> +Therefore thou now art behind it,<br /> +But thou shalt follow and find it.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="footnote22"></a><a href="#citation22" +class="footnote">[22]</a> ‘My dear Donne,’ as +FitzGerald called him, ‘who shares with Spedding my oldest +and deepest love.’ He afterwards succeeded J. M. +Kemble as Licenser of Plays. The late Master of Trinity, +then Greek Professor, wrote to me of him more than five and +twenty years ago, ‘It may do no harm that you should be +known to Mr. Donne, whose acquaintance I hope you will keep +up. He is one of the finest gentlemen I know, and no +ordinary scholar—remarkable also for his fidelity to his +friends.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote23"></a><a href="#citation23" +class="footnote">[23]</a> The Return to Nature, or, a +Defence of the Vegetable Regimen, dedicated to Dr. W. Lambe, and +written in 1811. It was printed in 1821 in The Pamphleteer, +No. 38, p. 497.</p> +<p><a name="footnote28"></a><a href="#citation28" +class="footnote">[28]</a> Wherstead Lodge on the West bank +of the Orwell, about two miles from Ipswich, formerly belonged to +the Vernon family. The FitzGeralds lived there for about +ten years, from 1825 to 1835, when they removed to Boulge, near +Woodbridge, the adjoining Parish to Bredfield.</p> +<p><a name="footnote32"></a><a href="#citation32" +class="footnote">[32]</a> By De Quincey, in Tait’s +Magazine, Sept. 1834, etc.</p> +<p><a name="footnote38"></a><a href="#citation38" +class="footnote">[38]</a> At Boulge.</p> +<p><a name="footnote42"></a><a href="#citation42" +class="footnote">[42]</a> Life of Cowper.</p> +<p><a name="footnote43a"></a><a href="#citation43a" +class="footnote">[43a]</a> Probably the Perse Grammar +School.</p> +<p><a name="footnote43b"></a><a href="#citation43b" +class="footnote">[43b]</a> See Carlyle’s Life of +Sterling, c. iv.</p> +<p><a name="footnote44"></a><a href="#citation44" +class="footnote">[44]</a> East Anglian for +‘shovel.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote45"></a><a href="#citation45" +class="footnote">[45]</a> Mrs. Schutz lived till December, +1847.</p> +<p><a name="footnote50a"></a><a href="#citation50a" +class="footnote">[50a]</a> The Quaker Poet of Woodbridge, +whose daughter FitzGerald afterwards married.</p> +<p><a name="footnote50b"></a><a href="#citation50b" +class="footnote">[50b]</a> His eldest brother, John Purcell +FitzGerald.</p> +<p><a name="footnote52"></a><a href="#citation52" +class="footnote">[52]</a> Letters from an eminent Prelate +to one of his Friends, 2nd ed.; 1809, p. 114, Letter <span +class="smcap">xlvi</span>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote57"></a><a href="#citation57" +class="footnote">[57]</a> A noted prize fighter.</p> +<p><a name="footnote58"></a><a href="#citation58" +class="footnote">[58]</a> Widow of Serjeant Frere, Master +of Downing College, Cambridge.</p> +<p><a name="footnote59"></a><a href="#citation59" +class="footnote">[59]</a> Probably Mrs. Schutz of +Gillingham Hall, already mentioned.</p> +<p><a name="footnote60a"></a><a href="#citation60a" +class="footnote">[60a]</a> Coram Street.</p> +<p><a name="footnote60b"></a><a href="#citation60b" +class="footnote">[60b]</a> Wordsworth, The Fountain, ed. +1800.</p> +<p><a name="footnote61a"></a><a href="#citation61a" +class="footnote">[61a]</a> William Browne.</p> +<p><a name="footnote61b"></a><a href="#citation61b" +class="footnote">[61b]</a> Probably Bletsoe.</p> +<p><a name="footnote62"></a><a href="#citation62" +class="footnote">[62]</a> Where FitzGerald’s uncle, +Mr. Peter Purcell, lived.</p> +<p><a name="footnote64"></a><a href="#citation64" +class="footnote">[64]</a> By Captain Allen F. Gardiner, +R.N., 1836.</p> +<p><a name="footnote65"></a><a href="#citation65" +class="footnote">[65]</a> In an article in +Blackwood’s Magazine for April 1830, p. 632, headed +Poetical Portraits by a Modern Pythagorean. FitzGerald +either quoted the lines from memory, or intentionally altered +them. They originally stood,</p> +<blockquote><p>His spirit was the home<br /> + Of aspirations high;<br /> +A temple, whose huge dome<br /> + Was hidden in the sky.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Robert Macnish, LL.D., was the author of The Anatomy of +Drunkenness and The Philosophy of Sleep.</p> +<p><a name="footnote66a"></a><a href="#citation66a" +class="footnote">[66a]</a> Master Humphrey’s +Clock.</p> +<p><a name="footnote66b"></a><a href="#citation66b" +class="footnote">[66b]</a> Where Thackeray was then also +living.</p> +<p><a name="footnote67"></a><a href="#citation67" +class="footnote">[67]</a> At Geldestone Hall, near +Beccles.</p> +<p><a name="footnote73a"></a><a href="#citation73a" +class="footnote">[73a]</a> His sister.</p> +<p><a name="footnote73b"></a><a href="#citation73b" +class="footnote">[73b]</a> R. W. Evans, Vicar of +Heversham.</p> +<p><a name="footnote73c"></a><a href="#citation73c" +class="footnote">[73c]</a> The Paris Sketch Book.</p> +<p><a name="footnote73d"></a><a href="#citation73d" +class="footnote">[73d]</a> V. 9.</p> +<p><a name="footnote75"></a><a href="#citation75" +class="footnote">[75]</a> The artist, of whom Spedding +wrote to Thompson in 1842 when he wished them to become +acquainted, ‘There is another man whom I have asked to come +a little after 10; because you do not know him, and mutual self +introductions are a nuisance. If however he should by any +misfortune of mine arrive before I do, know that he is Samuel +Laurence, a portrait painter of real genius, of whom during the +last year I have seen a great deal and boldly pronounce him to be +worthy of all good men’s love. He is one of the men +of whom you feel certain that they will never tire you, and never +do anything which you will wish they had not done. His +advantages of education have been such as it has pleased God (who +was never particular about giving his favourite children a good +education) to send him. But he has sent him what really +does as well or better—the clearest eye and the truest +heart; and it may be said of him as of Sir Peter that</p> +<blockquote><p>Nature had but little clay<br /> +Like that of which she moulded him.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="footnote79a"></a><a href="#citation79a" +class="footnote">[79a]</a> Afterwards Greek Professor and +Master of Trinity College, Cambridge.</p> +<p><a name="footnote79b"></a><a href="#citation79b" +class="footnote">[79b]</a> In a letter to me written in +August 1881 he says, “To-morrow comes down my Italian +sister to Boulge (Malebolge?), and I await her visits +here.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote80a"></a><a href="#citation80a" +class="footnote">[80a]</a> The British and Foreign Review, +1840, Art. on ‘The Present Government of Russia,’ pp +543-591.</p> +<p><a name="footnote80b"></a><a href="#citation80b" +class="footnote">[80b]</a> <i>Ibid.</i> pp. 510-542.</p> +<p><a name="footnote80c"></a><a href="#citation80c" +class="footnote">[80c]</a> <i>Ibid.</i> p. 355, etc., Art. +on ‘Introduction to the Literature of Europe.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote82"></a><a href="#citation82" +class="footnote">[82]</a> On Hero Worship.</p> +<p><a name="footnote89"></a><a href="#citation89" +class="footnote">[89]</a> Major Moor of Great Bealings; +author of The Hindu Pantheon, Suffolk Words, Oriental Fragments, +etc.</p> +<p><a name="footnote90a"></a><a href="#citation90a" +class="footnote">[90a]</a> By Gerald Griffin.</p> +<p><a name="footnote90b"></a><a href="#citation90b" +class="footnote">[90b]</a> The chapel of the Palazzo del +Podestà, or Bargello, then used as a prison.</p> +<p><a name="footnote93"></a><a href="#citation93" +class="footnote">[93]</a> The London coach.</p> +<p><a name="footnote96"></a><a href="#citation96" +class="footnote">[96]</a> The owner of Bredfield House, +where E. F. G. was born.</p> +<p><a name="footnote97"></a><a href="#citation97" +class="footnote">[97]</a> Hor. Od. 1. 4. 14, 15.</p> +<p><a name="footnote98"></a><a href="#citation98" +class="footnote">[98]</a> Hor. Od. <span +class="smcap">iv</span>. 5, 25-27. horrida . . . fœtus per +metasyntaxin ‘horrid abortions.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote99"></a><a href="#citation99" +class="footnote">[99]</a> Not for the Cabinet +Cyclopædia, but the Library of Useful Knowledge. It +was never finished.</p> +<p><a name="footnote100a"></a><a href="#citation100a" +class="footnote">[100a]</a> See Barton’s Letters, p. +70.</p> +<p><a name="footnote100b"></a><a href="#citation100b" +class="footnote">[100b]</a> Vol. <span +class="smcap">iii</span>. p. 318.</p> +<p><a name="footnote100c"></a><a href="#citation100c" +class="footnote">[100c]</a> The correct reading is +‘lonesome.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote102"></a><a href="#citation102" +class="footnote">[102]</a> No. 30, where his father and +mother lived.</p> +<p><a name="footnote106"></a><a href="#citation106" +class="footnote">[106]</a> Shakespeare, Macb. <span +class="smcap">i</span>. 3, 146, 147.</p> +<p><a name="footnote111"></a><a href="#citation111" +class="footnote">[111]</a> Milton, P. L. <span +class="smcap">ix</span>. 445.</p> +<p><a name="footnote114a"></a><a href="#citation114a" +class="footnote">[114a]</a> Who was in America with Lord +Ashburton.</p> +<p><a name="footnote114b"></a><a href="#citation114b" +class="footnote">[114b]</a> The late Sir W. F. Pollock, +formerly Queen’s Remembrancer.</p> +<p><a name="footnote114c"></a><a href="#citation114c" +class="footnote">[114c]</a> The Library of Useless +Knowledge, by Athanasius Gasker [E. W. Clarke, son of E. D. +Clarke, the Traveller], published in 1837.</p> +<p><a name="footnote115a"></a><a href="#citation115a" +class="footnote">[115a]</a> Referring to the 1842 edition +of Tennyson’s Poems.</p> +<p><a name="footnote115b"></a><a href="#citation115b" +class="footnote">[115b]</a> Spedding was at this time in +America with Lord Ashburton.</p> +<p><a name="footnote122"></a><a href="#citation122" +class="footnote">[122]</a> The Rev. T. R. Matthews, of +Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge: formerly Curate of Bolnhurst +and Colmworth, Chaplain of the House of Industry, Bedford, and +incumbent of Christ Church in that town. He died 4th Sept +1845, and his memory is still cherished by those who were brought +under his influence. Dr. Brown, the biographer of Bunyan, +informs me, ‘There is a little Nonconformist community at +Ravensden, about three miles from Bedford, first formed by his +adherents, and they keep hung upon the wall behind the pulpit the +trumpet Mr. Matthews used to blow on village greens and along the +highways to gather his congregation.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote123"></a><a href="#citation123" +class="footnote">[123]</a> William Browne.</p> +<p><a name="footnote125"></a><a href="#citation125" +class="footnote">[125]</a> On Levett; quoted from +memory.</p> +<p><a name="footnote128"></a><a href="#citation128" +class="footnote">[128]</a> There were two Parsons who wrote +accounts of Naseby—Mastin in 1792, and Locking in +1830.—<i>Note by E. F. G.</i></p> +<p><a name="footnote134"></a><a href="#citation134" +class="footnote">[134]</a> Georg. <span +class="smcap">i</span>. 208-211.</p> +<p><a name="footnote135"></a><a href="#citation135" +class="footnote">[135]</a> Referring to a passage in the +Garden of Cyrus, near the end: ‘To keep our eyes open +longer, were but to act our <i>Antipodes</i>. The Huntsmen +are up in <i>America</i>, and they are already past their first +sleep in <i>Persia</i>.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote137"></a><a href="#citation137" +class="footnote">[137]</a> This was a series of notes, +drawn up by Carlyle for FitzGerald’s guidance, and +afterwards incorporated almost verbatim in an Appendix to the +Life of Cromwell.</p> +<p><a name="footnote138"></a><a href="#citation138" +class="footnote">[138]</a> Spedding.</p> +<p><a name="footnote139"></a><a href="#citation139" +class="footnote">[139]</a> FitzGerald’s copy of the +1676 edition is now in my possession.</p> +<p><a name="footnote142a"></a><a href="#citation142a" +class="footnote">[142a]</a> Where his brother Peter +FitzGerald lived</p> +<p><a name="footnote142b"></a><a href="#citation142b" +class="footnote">[142b]</a> See Letter to Barton of 2 Sept. +1841.</p> +<p><a name="footnote146a"></a><a href="#citation146a" +class="footnote">[146a]</a> Elegy xi.</p> +<p><a name="footnote146b"></a><a href="#citation146b" +class="footnote">[146b]</a> Mrs. Wilkinson, his sister.</p> +<p><a name="footnote147"></a><a href="#citation147" +class="footnote">[147]</a> Practical Hints on Light and +Shade in Painting, by John Burnet, 1826, pp. 25, 26.</p> +<p><a name="footnote149"></a><a href="#citation149" +class="footnote">[149]</a> His housekeeper at Little +Grange.</p> +<p><a name="footnote152"></a><a href="#citation152" +class="footnote">[152]</a> Reliquiæ Antiquæ, i. +233.</p> +<p><a name="footnote155"></a><a href="#citation155" +class="footnote">[155]</a> An old woman at Wherstead in +whom FitzGerald took great interest. She died early in +March 1844, at the age of 84.</p> +<p><a name="footnote157"></a><a href="#citation157" +class="footnote">[157]</a> The Rector of Boulge.</p> +<p><a name="footnote159"></a><a href="#citation159" +class="footnote">[159]</a> His parrot.</p> +<p><a name="footnote161"></a><a href="#citation161" +class="footnote">[161]</a> W. Cookson, M.D, of Lincoln died +12 April 1844.</p> +<p><a name="footnote166"></a><a href="#citation166" +class="footnote">[166]</a> <i>Note by E. F. +G.</i>—Also, bottle-brown: in general all bottled things +are not so fresh coloured as before they were put in. A +gherkin loses considerably in freshness. The great triumph +of a housekeeper is when her guests say, ‘Why, are these +<i>really</i> bottled gooseberries! They look like fresh, +etc.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote174a"></a><a href="#citation174a" +class="footnote">[174a]</a> The MS. of this has been +preserved.</p> +<p><a name="footnote174b"></a><a href="#citation174b" +class="footnote">[174b]</a> To the Rev. Francis de +Soyres.</p> +<p><a name="footnote181"></a><a href="#citation181" +class="footnote">[181]</a> On the 26th of October, Carlyle +wrote to FitzGerald:</p> +<p>‘One day we had Alfred Tennyson here; an unforgettable +day. He staid with us till late; forgot his stick: we +dismissed him with Macpherson’s Farewell. Macpherson +(see Burns) was a Highland robber; he played that Tune, of his +own composition, on his way to the gallows; asked, “If in +all that crowd the Macpherson had any clansman?” holding up +the fiddle that he might bequeath it to some one. +“Any kinsman, any soul that wished him well?” +Nothing answered, nothing durst answer. He crushed the +fiddle under his foot, and sprang off. The Tune is rough as +hemp, but strong as a lion. I never hear it without +something of emotion,—poor Macpherson; tho’ the +Artist hates to play it. Alfred’s dark face grew +darker, and I saw his lip slightly quivering!’</p> +<p><a name="footnote185"></a><a href="#citation185" +class="footnote">[185]</a> By James Montgomery: +‘Friends’ in his Miscellaneous Poems (Works, ii. 298, +ed. 1836).</p> +<p><a name="footnote189"></a><a href="#citation189" +class="footnote">[189]</a> Miss Cooke.</p> +<p><a name="footnote190"></a><a href="#citation190" +class="footnote">[190]</a> Great aunt of W. B. Donne.</p> +<p><a name="footnote196"></a><a href="#citation196" +class="footnote">[196]</a> At Keysoe Vicarage</p> +<p><a name="footnote197"></a><a href="#citation197" +class="footnote">[197]</a> See letter to Allen, August +1842.</p> +<p><a name="footnote198"></a><a href="#citation198" +class="footnote">[198]</a> At the Norwich Festival.</p> +<p><a name="footnote201"></a><a href="#citation201" +class="footnote">[201]</a> James White, author of The Earl +of Gowrie, etc.</p> +<p><a name="footnote202"></a><a href="#citation202" +class="footnote">[202]</a> A Journey from Cornhill to Grand +Cairo.</p> +<p><a name="footnote203"></a><a href="#citation203" +class="footnote">[203]</a> See the Memoir of Bernard Barton +by E. F. G. prefixed to the posthumous volume of selections from +his Poems and Letters, p. xxvi.</p> +<p><a name="footnote204a"></a><a href="#citation204a" +class="footnote">[204a]</a> Address to the members of the +Norwich Athenæum, October 17th, 1845.</p> +<p><a name="footnote204b"></a><a href="#citation204b" +class="footnote">[204b]</a> Now Professor of Sanskrit at +Cambridge.</p> +<p><a name="footnote205a"></a><a href="#citation205a" +class="footnote">[205a]</a> Professor Cowell explains to me +that this refers to a passage of Ausonius in his poem on the +Moselle. It occurs in the description of the bank scenery +as reflected in the river (194, 5):</p> +<blockquote><p>Tota natant crispis juga motibus et tremit +absens<br /> +Pampinus, et vitreis vindemia turget in undis.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>FitzGerald used to admire the break in the line after +<i>absens</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote205b"></a><a href="#citation205b" +class="footnote">[205b]</a> A reminiscence of +Shelley’s Evening, as this was of a line in +Wordsworth’s Elegiac Stanzas suggested by a picture of +Peele Castle in a storm.</p> +<p><a name="footnote205c"></a><a href="#citation205c" +class="footnote">[205c]</a> The short <i>pasticcio</i> of +the battle referred to in the letter to Barton, 22 Sept. +1842.</p> +<p><a name="footnote209"></a><a href="#citation209" +class="footnote">[209]</a> Trinity Church, Bedford.</p> +<p><a name="footnote210a"></a><a href="#citation210a" +class="footnote">[210a]</a> On King’s Parade.</p> +<p><a name="footnote210b"></a><a href="#citation210b" +class="footnote">[210b]</a> Mrs. Perry.</p> +<p><a name="footnote211a"></a><a href="#citation211a" +class="footnote">[211a]</a> F. B. Edgeworth died 12th Oct. +1846.</p> +<p><a name="footnote211b"></a><a href="#citation211b" +class="footnote">[211b]</a> Euphranor.</p> +<p><a name="footnote213"></a><a href="#citation213" +class="footnote">[213]</a> The Rev. J. T. Nottidge of +Ipswich died 21 Jan. 1847.</p> +<p><a name="footnote220"></a><a href="#citation220" +class="footnote">[220]</a> [The last two words are crossed +out.—W. A. W.]</p> +<p><a name="footnote222"></a><a href="#citation222" +class="footnote">[222]</a> Francis Duncan, rector of West +Chelborough.</p> +<p><a name="footnote225"></a><a href="#citation225" +class="footnote">[225]</a> Morris Moore’s letters on +the Abuses of the National Gallery were addressed to The Times at +the end of 1846 and the beginning of 1847 with the signature +‘Verax.’ They were collected and published in a +pamphlet by Pickering in 1847.</p> +<p><a name="footnote227"></a><a href="#citation227" +class="footnote">[227]</a> See Carlyle’s Cromwell +(ed. <span class="smcap">i</span>), i. 193.</p> +<p><a name="footnote230a"></a><a href="#citation230a" +class="footnote">[230a]</a> Pliny, Ep. <span +class="smcap">iii</span>. 21.</p> +<p><a name="footnote230b"></a><a href="#citation230b" +class="footnote">[230b]</a> In a subsequent letter, written +when this was supposed to be lost, he says, ‘I liked all +your quotations, and wish to read Busbequius; whose name would +become an owl.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote231"></a><a href="#citation231" +class="footnote">[231]</a> Lord Hatherley.</p> +<p><a name="footnote232"></a><a href="#citation232" +class="footnote">[232]</a> In the People’s Journal, +ed. Saunders, iv. 355-358.</p> +<p><a name="footnote233"></a><a href="#citation233" +class="footnote">[233]</a> iv. 104.</p> +<p><a name="footnote235"></a><a href="#citation235" +class="footnote">[235]</a> 26 Feb. 1848.</p> +<p><a name="footnote238"></a><a href="#citation238" +class="footnote">[238]</a> Dombey and Son.</p> +<p><a name="footnote240"></a><a href="#citation240" +class="footnote">[240]</a> Hellenica, <span +class="smcap">ii</span>. i. 25.</p> +<p><a name="footnote241"></a><a href="#citation241" +class="footnote">[241]</a> Evenings with a Reviewer.</p> +<p><a name="footnote242"></a><a href="#citation242" +class="footnote">[242]</a> A lithograph of the portrait by +Laurence.</p> +<p><a name="footnote243"></a><a href="#citation243" +class="footnote">[243]</a> Bernard Barton died 19 Feb. +1849.</p> +<p><a name="footnote247"></a><a href="#citation247" +class="footnote">[247]</a> Grandson of the poet, afterwards +Rector of Merton, near Walton, Norfolk.</p> +<p><a name="footnote251"></a><a href="#citation251" +class="footnote">[251]</a> No one but FitzGerald in +humorous self-depreciation would apply such an epithet to this +delightful piece of biography.</p> +<p><a name="footnote252a"></a><a href="#citation252a" +class="footnote">[252a]</a> Selections from the Poems and +Letters of Bernard Barton.</p> +<p><a name="footnote252b"></a><a href="#citation252b" +class="footnote">[252b]</a> Of course this is not intended +to be taken quite seriously. It is to be remembered that +FitzGerald also said of them, ‘There are many verses whose +melody will linger in the ear, and many images that will abide in +the memory. Such surely are those of men’s hearts +brightening up at Christmas “like a fire +new-stirred”—of the stream that leaps along over the +pebbles “like happy hearts by holiday made +light”—of the solitary tomb showing from afar +“like a lamb in the meadow,” etc.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote254a"></a><a href="#citation254a" +class="footnote">[254a]</a> Diogenes and his Lantern.</p> +<p><a name="footnote254b"></a><a href="#citation254b" +class="footnote">[254b]</a> Old Lady Lambert.</p> +<p><a name="footnote261"></a><a href="#citation261" +class="footnote">[261]</a> E. B. Cowell.</p> +<p><a name="footnote262a"></a><a href="#citation262a" +class="footnote">[262a]</a> The Rev. George Crabbe, son of +the Poet, and Vicar of Bredfield.</p> +<p><a name="footnote262b"></a><a href="#citation262b" +class="footnote">[262b]</a> Bramford, near Ipswich.</p> +<p><a name="footnote265"></a><a href="#citation265" +class="footnote">[265]</a> Charles Childs.</p> +<p><a name="footnote266"></a><a href="#citation266" +class="footnote">[266]</a> Containing an article by +Spedding on Euphranor.</p> +<p><a name="footnote267a"></a><a href="#citation267a" +class="footnote">[267a]</a> The Cowells had gone to live in +Oxford.</p> +<p><a name="footnote267b"></a><a href="#citation267b" +class="footnote">[267b]</a> Euphranor.</p> +<p><a name="footnote268"></a><a href="#citation268" +class="footnote">[268]</a> Azaël the Prodigal, adapted +from Scribe and Auber’s L’Enfant Prodigue.</p> +<p><a name="footnote272"></a><a href="#citation272" +class="footnote">[272]</a> On the English Humourists of the +Eighteenth Century</p> +<p><a name="footnote273"></a><a href="#citation273" +class="footnote">[273]</a> To Polonius.</p> +<p><a name="footnote274"></a><a href="#citation274" +class="footnote">[274]</a> To visit his friend John +Allen.</p> +<p><a name="footnote275"></a><a href="#citation275" +class="footnote">[275]</a> Esmond.</p> +<p><a name="footnote282"></a><a href="#citation282" +class="footnote">[282]</a> Six Dramas from Calderon.</p> +<p><a name="footnote283a"></a><a href="#citation283a" +class="footnote">[283a]</a> Chief Justice.</p> +<p><a name="footnote283b"></a><a href="#citation283b" +class="footnote">[283b]</a> Baron Parke, afterwards Lord +Wensleydale.</p> +<p><a name="footnote284"></a><a href="#citation284" +class="footnote">[284]</a> This conjecture was +correct. See p. 307.</p> +<p><a name="footnote285a"></a><a href="#citation285a" +class="footnote">[285a]</a> The Gardener and the +Nightingale in Sir W. Jones’s Persian Grammar.</p> +<p><a name="footnote285b"></a><a href="#citation285b" +class="footnote">[285b]</a> Vicarage.</p> +<p><a name="footnote287a"></a><a href="#citation287a" +class="footnote">[287a]</a> Farlingay Hall, sometimes +called Farthing Cake Hall.</p> +<p><a name="footnote287b"></a><a href="#citation287b" +class="footnote">[287b]</a> Mrs. De Soyres.</p> +<p><a name="footnote291"></a><a href="#citation291" +class="footnote">[291]</a> Not Harry, but Franklin +Lushington in Points of War.</p> +<p><a name="footnote292a"></a><a href="#citation292a" +class="footnote">[292a]</a> It was in the autumn of +1791.</p> +<p><a name="footnote292b"></a><a href="#citation292b" +class="footnote">[292b]</a> From Cowley’s translation +of Anacreon.</p> +<p><a name="footnote292c"></a><a href="#citation292c" +class="footnote">[292c]</a> P. 148.</p> +<p><a name="footnote302a"></a><a href="#citation302a" +class="footnote">[302a]</a> This with a wider margin, or in +some other way distinguishable from the rest of the +inscription.</p> +<p><a name="footnote302b"></a><a href="#citation302b" +class="footnote">[302b]</a> Some volumes of which C. had +brought down to Suffolk, being then engaged with his Frederick +II. <i>MS. note by FitzGerald</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote304"></a><a href="#citation304" +class="footnote">[304]</a> Salámán and +Absál.</p> +<p><a name="footnote307"></a><a href="#citation307" +class="footnote">[307]</a> In another letter written about +the same time he says, ‘The letter to Major Price at the +beginning is worth any Money, and almost any Love!’ +This dedication by Major Moor to his old comrade-in-arms +FitzGerald would sometimes try to read aloud but would break down +before he could finish it.</p> +<p><a name="footnote308a"></a><a href="#citation308a" +class="footnote">[308a]</a> The Selection from his Letters, +etc., published after his death, in which FitzGerald wrote a +sketch of his life.</p> +<p><a name="footnote308b"></a><a href="#citation308b" +class="footnote">[308b]</a> On Comparative Mythology, in +the Oxford Essays for 1856.</p> +<p><a name="footnote308c"></a><a href="#citation308c" +class="footnote">[308c]</a> Life’s a Dream: The Great +Theatre of the World. From the Spanish of Calderon.</p> +<p><a name="footnote309"></a><a href="#citation309" +class="footnote">[309]</a> In an article on Spanish +Literature in the Westminster Review for April 1851, pp. +281-323.</p> +<p><a name="footnote311"></a><a href="#citation311" +class="footnote">[311]</a> In his ‘Mémoire sur +la poésie philosophique et religieuse chez les +Persans.’ His edition of the text of +Attár’s poem came out in 1857, but the French +translation only in 1863.</p> +<p><a name="footnote312"></a><a href="#citation312" +class="footnote">[312]</a> In his ‘Geschichte der +schönen Redekünste Persiens.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote313"></a><a href="#citation313" +class="footnote">[313]</a> Mrs. Cowell’s father and +mother.</p> +<p><a name="footnote316"></a><a href="#citation316" +class="footnote">[316]</a> This Apologue FitzGerald +afterwards turned into verse; but it remained an unfinished +fragment. Professor Cowell has kindly filled up the gaps +which were left.</p> +<blockquote><p>A Saint there was who three score Years and ten<br +/> +In holy Meditation among Men<br /> +Had spent, but, wishing, ere he came to close<br /> +With God, to meet him in complete Repose,<br /> +Withdrew into the Wilderness, where he<br /> +Set up his Dwelling in an agèd Tree<br /> +Whose hollow Trunk his Winter Shelter made,<br /> +And whose green branching Arms his Summer Shade.<br /> +And like himself a Nightingale one Spring<br /> +Making her Nest above his Head would sing<br /> +So sweetly that her pleasant Music stole<br /> +Between the Saint and his severer Soul,<br /> +And made him sometimes [heedless of his] Vows<br /> +Listening his little Neighbour in the Boughs.<br /> +Until one Day a sterner Music woke<br /> +The sleeping Leaves, and through the Branches spoke—<br /> +‘What! is the Love between us two begun<br /> +And waxing till we Two were nearly One<br /> +For three score Years of Intercourse unstirr’d<br /> +Of Men, now shaken by a little Bird;<br /> +And such a precious Bargain, and so long<br /> +A making, [put in peril] for a Song?’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="footnote317"></a><a href="#citation317" +class="footnote">[317]</a> George Borrow, Author of The +Bible in Spain, etc.</p> +<p><a name="footnote318"></a><a href="#citation318" +class="footnote">[318]</a> Evan Banks, by Miss +Williams. See Allan Cunningham’s Songs of Scotland, +iv. 59.</p> +<p><a name="footnote319"></a><a href="#citation319" +class="footnote">[319]</a> Boswell’s Johnson, 11 +April 1776.</p> +<p><a name="footnote320"></a><a href="#citation320" +class="footnote">[320]</a> This struck E. F. G. so much +that he introduced it into Omar Khayyám, stanza +xxxiii. Professor Cowell writes, ‘I well remember +shewing it to FitzGerald and reading it with him in his early +Persian days at Oxford in 1855. I laughed at the +quaintness; but the idea seized his imagination from the first, +and, like Virgil with Ennius’ rough jewels, his genius +detected gold where I had seen only tinsel. He has made two +grand lines out of it.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote322"></a><a href="#citation322" +class="footnote">[322]</a> A retired clergyman who lived at +Bramford.</p> +<p><a name="footnote323a"></a><a href="#citation323a" +class="footnote">[323a]</a> On Comparative Mythology. +Oxford Essays, 1856.</p> +<p><a name="footnote323b"></a><a href="#citation323b" +class="footnote">[323b]</a> Fraser’s Magazine for +April 1857.</p> +<p><a name="footnote328"></a><a href="#citation328" +class="footnote">[328]</a> M. Garcin de Tassy scrupulously +observed this injunction in his Note sur les +Rubâ’iyât de Omar Khaïyâm, which +appeared in the journal Asiatique.</p> +<p><a name="footnote337"></a><a href="#citation337" +class="footnote">[337]</a> See Letter to John Allen, 12 +July 1840.</p> +<p><a name="footnote344"></a><a href="#citation344" +class="footnote">[344]</a> Rather of the Orthodox reader by +Omar himself.</p> +<p><a name="footnote348"></a><a href="#citation348" +class="footnote">[348]</a> Hatifi’s Haft Paikar, a +poem on the Seven Castles of Bahrám Gúr, as I learn +from Professor Cowell, ‘each with its princess who lives in +it, and tells Bahrám a story.’ He adds, +‘We always used the name with an understood playful +reference to Corporal Trim’s unfinished story of the King +of Bohemia and <i>his</i> Seven Castles.’</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LETTERS OF EDWARD FITZGERALD***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 20452-h.htm or 20452-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/0/4/5/20452 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +</pre></body> +</html> diff --git a/20452-h/images/p0.jpg b/20452-h/images/p0.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d97d410 --- /dev/null +++ b/20452-h/images/p0.jpg diff --git a/20452.txt b/20452.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b238df2 --- /dev/null +++ b/20452.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9825 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Letters of Edward FitzGerald, by Edward +FitzGerald, Edited by William Aldis Wright + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Letters of Edward FitzGerald + in two volumes, Vol. 1 + + +Author: Edward FitzGerald + +Editor: William Aldis Wright + +Release Date: January 27, 2007 [eBook #20452] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LETTERS OF EDWARD FITZGERALD*** + + + + +Transcribed from the 1901 Macmillan and Co. edition by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org + + + + + +LETTERS OF EDWARD FITZGERALD + + +IN TWO VOLUMES +VOL. I + +London +MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED +NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN AND COMPANY + +1901 + +_All rights reserved_ + +_First Edition_ 1894. _Reprinted_ 1901 + +{Edward FitzGerald: p0.jpg} + + + + +PREFACE + + +In compliance with a very generally expressed wish that the Letters of +Edward FitzGerald should be separated from his Literary Remains, they are +now issued with some additions to their number which have not before +appeared. It was no part of my plan to form a complete collection of his +letters, but rather to let the story of his life be told in such of them +as gave an indication of his character and pursuits. It would have been +easy to increase the number considerably had I printed all that I +possess, but it seemed better to create the desire for more than to incur +the reproach of having given more than enough. + +Since these volumes were completed a large number of letters, addressed +by FitzGerald to his life-long friend Mrs. Kemble, have come into the +possession of Messrs. Richard Bentley and Son, and will shortly make +their appearance. By the desire of Mr. George Bentley I have undertaken +to see them through the press. + +WILLIAM ALDIS WRIGHT. + +TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. +31 _March_, 1894. + + + + +NOTE + + +In vol. ii. p. 181 the date 1875, which was conjectural, has been changed +to 1878, in which year September 22--the day on which the letter was +written--was a Sunday. There was a Musical Festival at Norwich in both +years, and the same Oratorios were performed, and this led me to put the +letter out of its place. + +W. A. W. + + + + +PREFACE TO LETTERS AND LITERARY REMAINS + + +After Mr. FitzGerald's death in June 1883 a small tin box addressed to me +was found by his executors, containing among other things corrected +copies of his printed works, and the following letter, which must have +been written shortly after my last visit to him at Easter that year: + + WOODBRIDGE: _May_ 1/83. + + MY DEAR WRIGHT, + + I do not suppose it likely that any of my works should be reprinted + after my Death. Possibly the three Plays from the Greek, and + Calderon's Magico: which have a certain merit in the Form they are + cast into, and also in the Versification. + + However this may be, I venture to commit to you this Box containing + Copies of all that I have corrected in the way that I would have them + appear, if any of them ever should be resuscitated. + + The C. Lamb papers are only materials for you, or any one else, to use + at pleasure. + + The Crabbe volume would, I think, serve for an almost sufficient + Selection from him; and some such Selection will have to be made, I + believe, if he is to be resuscitated. Two of the Poems--'The Happy + Day' and 'The Family of Love'--seem to me to have needed some such + abridgement as the 'Tales of the Hall,' for which I have done little + more than hastily to sketch the Plan. For all the other Poems, simple + Extracts from them will suffice: with a short notice concerning their + Dates of Composition, etc., at the Beginning. + + My poor old Lowestoft Sea-slang may amuse yourself to look over + perhaps. + + And so, asking your pardon for inflicting this Box upon you I am ever + sincerely yours + + E. F. G. + +In endeavouring to carry out these last wishes of my friend I thought +that of the many who know him only as a translator some would be glad to +have a picture of him as he appeared to the small circle of his intimate +acquaintances. The mere narrative of the life of a man of leisure and +literary tastes would have contained too few incidents to be of general +interest, and it appeared to me best to let him be his own biographer, +telling his own story and revealing his own character in his letters. +Fortunately there are many of these, and I have endeavoured to give such +a selection from them as would serve this purpose, adding a few words +here and there to connect them and explain what was not sufficiently +evident. As the letters begin from the time that he left College and +continue with shorter or longer intervals till the day before his death, +it was only necessary to introduce them by a short sketch of his early +life in order to make the narrative complete. + +FitzGerald's letters, like his conversation, were perfectly unaffected +and full of quiet humour. In his lonely life they were the chief means +he had of talking with his friends, and they were always welcome. In +reply to one of them Carlyle wrote: 'Thanks for your friendly human +letter; which gave us much entertainment in the reading (at breakfast +time the other day), and is still pleasant to think of. One gets so many +_in_human letters, ovine, bovine, porcine, etc., etc.: I wish you would +write a little oftener; when the beneficent Daimon suggests, fail not to +lend ear to him.' Another, who has since followed him 'from sunshine to +the sunless land,' and to whom he wrote of domestic affairs, said, 'The +striking feature in his correspondence with me is the exquisite +tenderness of feeling which it exhibits in regard to all family matters; +the letters might have been written by a mother or a sister.' He said of +himself that his friendships were more like loves, and as he was constant +in affectionate loyalty to others, he might also say with Brutus, + + In all my life + I found no man but he was true to me. + +The Poet-Laureate, on hearing of his death, wrote to the late Sir +Frederic Pollock: 'I had no truer friend: he was one of the kindliest of +men, and I have never known one of so fine and delicate a wit. I had +written a poem to him the last week, a dedication, which he will never +see.' + +When Thackeray, not long before he died, was asked by his daughter which +of his old friends he had loved most, he replied, 'Why, dear old Fitz, to +be sure; and Brookfield.' + +And Carlyle, quick of eye to discern the faults and weaknesses of others, +had nothing but kindliness, with perhaps a touch of condescension, 'for +the peaceable, affectionate, and ultra-modest man, and his innocent _far +niente_ life.' + +It was something to have been intimate with three such friends, and one +can only regret that more of his letters addressed to them have not been +preserved. Of those written to the earliest and dearest friend of all, +James Spedding, not one is left. + +One of his few surviving contemporaries, speaking from a lifelong +experience, described him with perfect truth as an eccentric man of +genius, who took more pains to avoid fame than others do to seek it. + +His love of music was one of his earliest passions, and remained with him +to the last. I cannot refrain from quoting some recollections of the +late Archdeacon Groome, a friend of his College days, and so near a +neighbour in later life that few letters passed between them. 'He was a +true musician; not that he was a great performer on any instrument, but +that he so truly appreciated all that was good and beautiful in music. He +was a good performer on the piano, and could get such full harmonies out +of the organ that stood in one corner of his entrance room at Little +Grange as did good to the listener. Sometimes it would be a bit from one +of Mozart's Masses, or from one of the finales of some one of his or +Beethoven's Operas. And then at times he would fill up the harmonies +with his voice, true and resonant almost to the last. I have heard him +say, "Did you never observe how an Italian organ-grinder will sometimes +put in a few notes of his own in such perfect keeping with the air which +he was grinding?" He was not a great, but he was a good composer. Some +of his songs have been printed, and many still remain in manuscript. Then +what pleasant talk I have had with him about the singers of our early +years; never forgetting to speak of Mrs. Frere of Downing, as the most +perfect private singer we had ever heard. And so indeed she was. Who +that had ever heard her sing Handel's songs can ever forget the purity of +her phrasing and the pathos of her voice? She had no particle of vanity +in her, and yet she would say, "Of course, I can sing Handel. I was a +pupil of John Sale, and he was a pupil of Handel." To her old age she +still retained the charm of musical expression, though her voice was but +a thread. And so we spoke of her; two old men with all the enthusiastic +admiration of fifty years ago. Pleasant was it also to hear him speak of +the public singers of those early days. Braham, so great, spite of his +vulgarity; Miss Stephens, so sweet to listen to, though she had no voice +of power; and poor Vaughan, who had so feeble a voice, and yet was always +called "such a chaste singer." How he would roar with laughter, when I +would imitate Vaughan singing + + His hiddeus (_sic_) love provokes my rage, + Weak as I am, I must engage, + +from Acis and Galatea. Then too his reminiscences of the said Acis and +Galatea as given at the Concerts for Ancient Music. "I can see them now, +the dear old _creeters_ with the gold eye-glasses and their turbans, +noddling their heads as they sang + + O the pleasures of the plains!" + +'These old _creeters_ being, as he said, the sopranos who had sung first +as girls, when George the Third was king. + +'He was a great lover of our old English composers, specially of Shield. +Handel, he said, has a scroll in his marble hand in the Abbey on which +are written the first bars of + + I know that my Redeemer liveth; + +and Shield should hold a like scroll, only on it should be written the +first bars of + + A flaxen-headed ploughboy. + +'He was fond of telling a story of Handel, which I, at least, have never +seen in print. When Handel was blind he composed his "Samson," in which +there is that most touching of all songs, specially to any one whose +powers of sight are waning--"Total Eclipse." Mr. Beard was the great +tenor singer of the day, who was to sing this song. Handel sent for him, +"Mr. Beard," he said, "I cannot sing it as it should be sung, but I can +tell you how it ought to be sung." And then he sang it, with what +strange pathos need not be told. Beard stood listening, and when it was +finished said, with tears in his eyes, "But Mr. Handel, I can never sing +it like that." And so he would tell the story with tears in his voice, +such as those best remember, who ever heard him read some piece of his +dear old Crabbe, and break down in the reading.' + +With this I will conclude, and I have only now to express my sincere +thanks to all who have entrusted me with letters addressed to themselves +or to those whom they represent. It has been my endeavour to justify +their confidence by discretion. To Messrs. Richard Bentley and Son I am +indebted for permission to reprint Virgil's Garden from the Temple Bar +Magazine. {0a} + +The portrait is from a photograph by Cade and White of Ipswich taken in +1873. + +WILLIAM ALDIS WRIGHT. + +TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. +20 May, 1889. + + + + +LETTERS OF EDWARD FITZGERALD + + +Edward FitzGerald was born at Bredfield House in Suffolk, an old Jacobean +mansion about two miles from Woodbridge, on the 31st of March, 1809. He +was the third son of John Purcell, who married his cousin Mary Frances +FitzGerald, and upon the death of her father in 1818 took the name and +arms of FitzGerald. In 1816 Mr. Purcell went to France, and for a time +settled with his family at St. Germains. FitzGerald in later life would +often speak of the royal hunting parties which he remembered seeing in +the forest. They afterwards removed to Paris, occupying the house in +which Robespierre had once lived, and here FitzGerald had for his +drillmaster one of Napoleon's Old Guard. Even at this early period the +vivacious humour which afterwards characterized him appears to have shewn +itself, for his father writing to some friends in England speaks of +little Edward keeping the whole family in good spirits by his unfailing +fun and droll speeches. The dramatic circumstances of the assassination +of M. Fualdes, a magistrate at Rodez, in 1817, and the remarkable trial +which followed, fastened themselves on FitzGerald's memory, and he was +familiar with all the details which he had heard spoken of when quite a +child in Paris. In 1821 he was sent to King Edward the Sixth's School at +Bury St. Edmunds, where his two elder brothers were already under the +charge of Dr. Malkin, who, like himself in after life, was a great +admirer of Crabbe. Among his schoolfellows were James Spedding and his +elder brother, W. B. Donne, J. M. Kemble, and William Airy the brother of +Sir George Airy, formerly Astronomer-Royal. I have often heard him say +that the best piece of declamation he had ever listened to was Kemble's +recitation of Hotspur's speech, beginning 'My liege, I did deny no +prisoners,' on a prize day at Bury. When he left for Cambridge in 1826 +the Speddings were at the head of the School. He was entered at Trinity +on 6th February 1826 under Mr. (afterwards Dean) Peacock and went into +residence in due course in the following October, living in lodgings at +Mrs. Perry's (now Oakley's), No. 19 King's Parade. James Spedding did +not come up till the year following, and his greatest friends in later +life, John Allen, afterwards Archdeacon of Salop, W. M. Thackeray, and W. +H. Thompson, afterwards Master of Trinity, were his juniors at the +University by two years. The three Tennysons were also his +contemporaries, but it does not appear that he knew them till after he +had left Cambridge. Indeed, in a letter to Mrs. Richmond Ritchie (Miss +Thackeray), written in 1882, he says of the Laureate, 'I can tell you +nothing of his College days; for I did not know him till they were over, +though I had seen him two or three times before. I remember him well--a +sort of Hyperion.' + +FitzGerald was unambitious of University distinctions and was not in the +technical sense a reading man, but he passed through his course in a +leisurely manner, amusing himself with music and drawing and poetry, and +modestly went out in the Poll in January 1830, after a period of suspense +during which he was apprehensive of not passing at all. Immediately +after taking his degree he went to stay with his brother-in-law, Mr. +Kerrich, at Geldestone Hall, near Beccles, where he afterwards spent much +of his time. While there, and still undecided as to his future +movements, he writes to his friend John Allen that his father had to some +extent decided for him by reducing his allowance, a measure which would +compel him to go and live in France. It was apparently not in +consequence of this, for the difficulty with his father was +satisfactorily arranged, that he went in the spring of 1830 to Paris, +where his aunt, Miss Purcell, was living. Thackeray joined him for a +short time in April, but left suddenly, and was the bearer of a hurried +letter written by FitzGerald at the Palais Royal to the friend who was at +this time his chief correspondent. + + 'If you see Roe (the Engraver, not the Haberdasher) give him my + remembrance and tell him I often wish for him in the Louvre: as I do + for you, my dear Allen: for I think you would like it very much. There + are delightful portraits (which you love most), and statues so + beautiful that you would for ever prefer statues to pictures. There + are as fine pictures in England: but not one statue so fine as any + here. There is a lovely and very modest Venus: and the Gladiator: and + a very majestic Demosthenes, sitting in a chair, with a roll of + writing in his hands, and seemingly meditating before rising to speak. + It is quite awful.' + +FitzGerald remained in France till about the end of May, and before +leaving wrote again to Allen, not perhaps altogether seriously, yet with +more truth than he imagined, of his future mode of life. + + 'I start for England in a week, as I purpose now: I shall go by Havre + de Grace and Southampton, and stay for a month or two perhaps at + Dartmouth, a place on the Devonshire coast. Tell Thackeray that he is + never to invite me to his house, as I intend never to go: not that I + would not go out there rather than any place perhaps, but I cannot + stand seeing new faces in the polite circles. You must know I am + going to become a great bear: and have got all sorts of Utopian ideas + into my head about society: these may all be very absurd, but I try + the experiment on myself, so I can do no great hurt. Where I shall go + in the summer I know not.' + +In the end he made Southampton his headquarters and spent several weeks +there, going on short excursions to visit some college acquaintances. In +November he was at Naseby, where his father had a considerable estate, +including the famous battlefield, of which we shall hear more in his +later correspondence. 'This place is solitary enough,' he writes to John +Allen, 'but I am well off in a nice farm-house. I wish you could come +and see the primitive inhabitants, and the fine field of Naseby. There +are grand views on every side: and all is interesting. . . . Do you +know, Allen, that this is a very curious place with odd fossils: and +mixed with bones and bullets of the fight at Naseby; and the identical +spot where King Charles stood to see the battle. . . . I do wish you and +Sansum were here to see the curiosities. Can't you come? I am quite the +King here I promise you. . . . I am going to-day to dine with the +Carpenter, a Mr. Ringrose, and to hear his daughter play on the +pianoforte. Fact. + +'My blue surtout daily does wonders. At Church its effect is truly +delightful.' + +It was at Naseby, in the spring of the following year (1831), that he +made his earliest attempt in verse, the earliest at any rate which has +yet been discovered. Charles Lamb, writing to Moxon in August, tells +him, 'The Athenaeum has been hoaxed with some exquisite poetry, that was, +two or three months ago, in Hone's Book. . . . The poem I mean is in +Hone's Book as far back as April. I do not know who wrote it; but 'tis a +poem I envy--_that_ and Montgomery's "Last Man": I envy the writers, +because I feel I could have done something like them.' It first appeared +in Hone's Year Book for April 30, 1831, with the title 'The Meadows in +Spring,' and the following letter to the Editor. 'These verses are in +the old style; rather homely in expression; but I honestly profess to +stick more to the simplicity of the old poets than the moderns, and to +love the philosophical good humor of our old writers more than the sickly +melancholy of the Byronian wits. If my verses be not good, they are good +humored, and that is something.' With a few verbal changes they were +sent to the Athenaeum, and appeared in that paper on July 9, 1831, +accompanied by a note of the Editor's, from which it is evident that he +supposed them to have been written by Lamb. + +_To the Editor of the Athenaeum_. + +SIR, + +These verses are something in the old style, but not the worse for that: +not that I mean to call them good: but I am sure they would not have been +better, if dressed up in the newest Montgomery fashion, for which I +cannot say I have much love. If they are fitted for your paper, you are +welcome to them. I send them to you, because I find only in your paper a +love of our old literature, which is almost monstrous in the eyes of +modern ladies and gentlemen. My verses are certainly not in the present +fashion; but, I must own, though there may not be the same merit in the +thoughts, I think the style much better: and this with no credit to +myself, but to the merry old writers of more manly times. + +Your humble servant, +EPSILON. + + 'Tis a dull sight + To see the year dying, + When winter winds + Set the yellow wood sighing: + Sighing, oh! sighing. + + When such a time cometh, + I do retire + Into an old room + Beside a bright fire: + Oh, pile a bright fire! + + And there I sit + Reading old things, + Of knights and lorn damsels, + While the wind sings-- + Oh, drearily sings! + + I never look out + Nor attend to the blast; + For all to be seen + Is the leaves falling fast: + Falling, falling! + + But close at the hearth, + Like a cricket, sit I, + Reading of summer + And chivalry-- + Gallant chivalry! + + Then with an old friend + I talk of our youth-- + How 'twas gladsome, but often + Foolish, forsooth: + But gladsome, gladsome! + + Or to get merry + We sing some old rhyme, + That made the wood ring again + In summer time-- + Sweet summer time! + + Then go we to smoking, + Silent and snug: + Nought passes between us, + Save a brown jug-- + Sometimes! + + And sometimes a tear + Will rise in each eye, + Seeing the two old friends + So merrily-- + So merrily! + + And ere to bed + Go we, go we, + Down on the ashes + We kneel on the knee, + Praying together! + + Thus, then, live I, + Till, 'mid all the gloom, + By heaven! the bold sun + Is with me in the room. + Shining, shining! + + Then the clouds part, + Swallows soaring between; + The spring is alive, + And the meadows are green! + + I jump up, like mad, + Break the old pipe in twain, + And away to the meadows, + The meadows again! + +I had very little hesitation, from internal evidence alone, in +identifying these verses with those which FitzGerald had written, as he +said, when a lad, or little more than a lad, and sent to the Athenaeum, +but all question has been set at rest by the discovery of a copy in a +common-place book belonging to the late Archdeacon Allen, with the +heading 'E. F. G.,' and the date 'Naseby, Spring, 1831.' This copy +differs slightly from those in the Year Book and in the Athenaeum, and in +place of the tenth stanza it has, + + So winter passeth + Like a long sleep + From falling autumn + To primrose-peep. + +But although at this time he appears to have written nothing more himself +he was not unmindful of what was done by others, for in May 1831 he +writes to Allen, 'I have bought A. Tennyson's poems. How good Mariana +is!' And again a year later, after a night-ride on the coach to London, +'I forgot to tell you that when I came up in the mail, and fell a dozing +in the morning, the sights of the pages in crimson and the funerals which +the Lady of Shalott saw and wove, floated before me: really, the poem has +taken lodging in my poor head.' + +The correspondence will now for the most part tell its own story, and +with it all that is to be told of FitzGerald's life. + +In October and November 1831 he was for three weeks in town with +Thackeray, and in the following summer was thinking of joining him at +Havre when he wrote to his friend Allen. + +[SOUTHAMPTON] +_July_ 31, _Tuesday_ [1832.] + +MY DEAR ALLEN, + +. . . And now I will tell you of a pilgrimage I made that put me in mind +of you much. I went to Salisbury to see the Cathedral, but more to walk +to Bemerton, George Herbert's village. It is about a mile and half from +Salisbury alongside a pleasant stream with old-fashioned watermills +beside: through fields very fertile. When I got to Bemerton I scarcely +knew what to do with myself. It is a very pretty village with the Church +and Parsonage much as Herbert must have left it. But there is no +memorial of him either in or outside the walls of the church: though +there have been Bishops and Deans and I know not what all so close at +hand at Salisbury. This is a great shame indeed. I would gladly put up +a plain stone if I could get the Rector's leave. I was very sorry to see +no tablet of any kind. The people in the Cottages had heard of a very +pious man named Herbert, and had read his books--but they don't know +where he lies. I have drawn the church and village: the little woodcut +of it in Walton's Lives is very like. I thought I must have passed along +the spot in the road where he assisted the man with the fallen horse: and +to shew the benefit of good examples, I was serviceable that very evening +in the town to some people coming in a cart: for the driver was drunk and +driving furiously home from the races, and I believe would have fallen +out, but that some folks, amongst whom I was one, stopped the cart. This +long history is now at an end. I wanted John Allen much to be with me. I +noticed the little window into which Herbert's friend looked, and saw him +kneeling so long before the altar, when he was first ordained. + +* * * * * + +In the summer and autumn of this year FitzGerald spent some weeks at +Tenby and was a good deal with Allen to whom he wrote on his return to +London. + +LONDON, _Nov_. 21, 1832. + +MY DEAR ALLEN, + +I suppose it must seem strange to you that I should like writing letters: +and indeed I don't know that I do like it in general. However, here I +see no companions, so I am pleased to talk to my old friend John Allen: +which indeed keeps alive my humanity very much. . . . I have been about +to divers Bookshops and have bought several books--a Bacon's Essays, +Evelyn's Sylva, Browne's Religio Medici, Hazlitt's Poets, etc. The +latter I bought to add to my Paradise, which however has stood still of +late. I mean to write out Carew's verses in this letter for you, and +your Paradise. As to the Religio, I have read it again: and keep my +opinion of it: except admiring the eloquence, and beauty of the notions, +more. But the arguments are not more convincing. Nevertheless, it is a +very fine piece of English: which is, I believe, all that you contend +for. Hazlitt's Poets is the best selection I have ever seen. I have +read some Chaucer too, which I like. In short I have been reading a good +deal since I have been here: but not much in the way of knowledge. + +. . . As I lay in bed this morning, half dozing, I walked in imagination +all the way from Tenby to Freestone by the road I know so well: by the +water-mill, by Gumfreston, Ivy tower, and through the gates, and the long +road that leads to Carew. + +Now for the poet Carew: + + 1. + + Ask me no more where Jove bestows, + When June is past, the fading rose: + For in your beauty's orient deep, + The flowers, as in their causes, sleep. + + 2. + + Ask me no more whither do stray + The golden atoms of the day: + For in pure love did Heav'n prepare + Those powders to enrich your hair. + + 3. + + Ask me no more whither doth haste + The nightingale when June is past: + For in your sweet dividing throat + She winters, and keeps warm her note. + + 4. + + Ask me no more where those stars light + That downward fall at dead of night: + For in your eyes they sit, and there + Fixed become, as in their sphere. + + 5. + + Ask me no more if east or west + The phoenix builds her spicy nest: + For unto you at last she flies, + And in your fragrant bosom dies. + +These lines are exaggerated, as all in Charles's time, but very +beautiful. . . . + +Yours most affectionately, E. + +LONDON, _Nov_. [27, 1832.] + +MY DEAR ALLEN, + +The first thing I do in answering your letter is to tell you that I am +angry at your saying that your conscience pricks you for not having +written to me before. I am of that superior race of men, that are quite +content to hear themselves talk, and read their own writing. But, in +seriousness, I have such love of you, and of myself, that once every +week, at least, I feel spurred on by a sort of gathering up of feelings +to vent myself in a letter upon you: but if once I hear you say that it +makes your conscience thus uneasy till you answer, I shall give it up. +Upon my word I tell you, that I do not in the least require it. You, who +do not love writing, cannot think that any one else does: but I am sorry +to say that I have a very young-lady-like partiality to writing to those +that I love. . . . I have been reading Shakespeare's Sonnets: and I +believe I am unprejudiced when I say, I had but half an idea of him, +Demigod as he seemed before, till I read them carefully. How can Hazlitt +call Warton's the finest sonnets? There is the air of pedantry and +labour in his. But Shakespeare's are perfectly simple, and have the very +essence of tenderness that is only to be found in the best parts of his +Romeo and Juliet besides. I have truly been lapped in these Sonnets for +some time: they seem all stuck about my heart, like the ballads that used +to be on the walls of London. I have put a great many into my Paradise, +giving each a fair white sheet for himself: there being nothing worthy to +be in the same page. I could talk for an hour about them: but it is not +fit in a letter. . . . + +I shall tell you of myself, that I have been better since I wrote to you. +Mazzinghi {14} tells me that November weather breeds Blue Devils--so that +there is a French proverb, 'In October, de Englishman shoot de pheasant: +in November he shoot himself.' This I suppose is the case with me: so +away with November, as soon as may be. 'Canst thou my Clora' is being +put in proper musical trim: and I will write it out for you when all is +right. I am sorry you are getting so musical: and if I take your advice +about so big a thing as Christianity, take you mine about music. I am +sure that this pleasure of music grows so on people, that many of the +hours that you would have devoted to Jeremy Taylor, etc. will be melted +down into tunes, and the idle train of thought that music puts us into. I +fancy I have discovered the true philosophy of this: but I think you must +have heard me enlarge. Therefore 'satis.' + +I have gabbled on so long that there is scarce room for my quotation. But +it shall come though in a shapeless manner, for the sake of room. Have +you got in your Christian Poet, a poem by Sir H. Wotton--'How happy is he +born or taught, that serveth not another's will'? It is very beautiful, +and fit for a Paradise of any kind. Here are some lines from old Lily, +which your ear will put in the proper metre. It gives a fine description +of a fellow walking in Spring, and looking here and there, and pricking +up his ears, as different birds sing. 'What bird so sings, but doth so +wail? Oh! 'tis the ravished nightingale: "Jug, jug, jug, jug, terue," +she cries, and still her woes at midnight rise. Brave prick-song! who +is't now we hear? It is the lark so shrill and clear: against heaven's +gate he claps his wings, the morn not waking till he sings. Hark, too, +with what a pretty note poor Robin Redbreast tunes his throat: Hark how +the jolly cuckoos sing "Cuckoo" to welcome in the Spring: "Cuckoo" to +welcome in the Spring.' This is very English, and pleasant, I think: and +so I hope you will. I could have sent you many a more sentimental thing, +but nothing better. I admit nothing into my Paradise, but such as +breathe content, and virtue: I count 'Back and syde' to breathe both of +these, with a little good drink over. + +_Wednesday_ [28 _Nov._ 1832]. + +P.S. I sealed up my letter yesterday, forgetting to finish. I write +thus soon 'becase I gets a frank.' You shall benefit by another bit of +poetry. I do not admit it into my Paradise, being too gloomy: but it +will please both of us. It is the prototype of the Pensieroso. + + Hence all you vain delights! + As short as are the nights + Wherein you spend your folly! + There's nought in this life sweet, + If man were wise to see 't, + But only melancholy; + Oh sweetest melancholy! + Welcome folded arms, and fixed eyes, + A sigh, that piercing mortifies, + A look that's fastened to the ground, + A tongue chain'd up without a sound! + + Fountain heads, and pathless gloves, + Places which pale passion loves! + Moonlight walks, when all the fowls + Are warmly hous'd, save bats and owls! + A midnight dell, a passing groan! + These are the sounds we feed upon; + Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley; + Nothing's so dainty sweet as [lovely] melancholy. + +(From the _Nice Valour_, _or the Passionate Madman_, by Fletcher.) + +I think these lines are quite of the finest order, and have a more +headlong melancholy than Milton's, which are distinctly copied from +these, as you must confess. And now this is a very long letter, and the +best thing you can do when you get to the end, is to Da Capo, and read +what I ordered you about answering. My dear fellow, it is a great +pleasure to me to write to you; and to write out these dear poems. . . . +Believe me that I am your very loving friend, + +E. F. G. + +[_Dec_. 7, 1832.] + +MY DEAR ALLEN, + +You can hardly have got through my last letter by this time. I hope you +liked the verses I sent you. The news of this week is that Thackeray has +come to London, but is going to leave it again for Devonshire directly. +He came very opportunely to divert my Blue Devils: notwithstanding, we do +not see very much of each other: and he has now so many friends +(especially the Bullers) that he has no such wish for my society. He is +as full of good humour and kindness as ever. The next news is that a new +volume of Tennyson is out: containing nothing more than you have in MS. +except one or two things not worth having. . . . + +When you write back (of which there is no hurry) send me an account that +you and your Brother were once telling me at Bosherston, of three +Generals condemned to die after the siege of Pembroke in Cromwell's time: +and of the lot being brought by a little child. Give me their names, +etc. (if you can) pretty circumstantially: or else, tell me where I can +find some notice of it. . . . + +I have been poring over Wordsworth lately: which has had much effect in +bettering my Blue Devils: for his philosophy does not abjure melancholy, +but puts a pleasant countenance upon it, and connects it with humanity. +It is very well, if the sensibility that makes us fearful of ourselves is +diverted to become a cause of sympathy and interest with Nature and +mankind: and this I think Wordsworth tends to do. I think I told you of +Shakespeare's sonnets before: I cannot tell you what sweetness I find in +them. + + So by Shakespeare's Sonnets roasted, and Wordsworth's poems basted, + My heart will be well toasted, and excellently tasted. + +This beautiful couplet must delight you, I think. I will also give you +the two last verses about Clora: though it is more complete and better +without them: strange to say. You must have the goodness to repeat those +you know over first, and then fall upon these: for there is a sort of +reasoning in them, which requires proper order, as much as a proposition +of Euclid. The first of them is not to my liking, but it is too much +trouble about a little thing to work it into a better. You have the two +first stanzas {19}--"ergo" + + 3. + + Nothing can utterly die: + Music aloft upspringing + Turns to pure atoms of sky + Each golden note of thy singing: + And that to which morning did listen + At eve in a rainbow may glisten. + + 4. + + Beauty, when laid in the grave, + Feedeth the lily beside her: + Therefore the soul cannot have + Station or honour denied her: + She will not better her essence, + But wear a crown in God's presence. + + Q.E.D. + +And I think there is quite enough of Clora and her music. I am hunting +about the town for an ancient drinking cup, which I may use when I am in +my house, in quality of housekeeper. Have the goodness to make my +remembrances to all at that most pleasant house Freestone: I am quite +serious in telling you how it is by far the pleasantest family I ever was +among. + +My sister is far better. We walk very much and see such sights as the +town affords. To-day I have bought a little terrier to keep me company. +You will think this is from my reading of Wordsworth: but if that were my +cue, I should go no further than keeping a primrose in a pot for society. +Farewell, dear Allen. I am astonished to find myself writing a very long +letter once a week to you: but it is next to talking to you: and after +having seen you so much this summer, I cannot break off suddenly. + +I am your most affectionate friend, + +E. F. G. + +Have you got this beginning to your MS. of the Dream of Fair Women? It +is very splendid. + + 1. + + As when a man that sails in a balloon + Down looking sees the solid shining ground + Stream from beneath him in the broad blue noon,-- + Tilth, hamlet, mead and mound: + + 2. + + And takes his flags, and waves them to the mob + That shout below, all faces turn'd to where + Glows rubylike the far-up crimson globe + Filled with a finer air: + + 3. + + So, lifted high, the Poet at his will + Lets the great world flit from him, seeing all, + Higher through secret splendours mounting still + Self-poised, nor fears to fall, + + 4. Hearing apart the echoes of his fame-- + +This is in his best style: no fretful epithet, nor a word too much. + +[CASTLE IRWELL] +MANCHESTER, _February_ 24, 1833. + +DEAR ALLEN, + +. . . I am fearful to boast, lest I should lose what I boast of: but I +think I have achieved a victory over my evil spirits here: for they have +full opportunity to come, and I often observe their approaches, but +hitherto I have managed to keep them off. Lord Bacon's Essay on +Friendship is wonderful for its truth: and I often feel its truth. He +says that with a Friend 'a man _tosseth_ his thoughts,' an admirable +saying, which one can understand, but not express otherwise. But I feel +that, being alone, one's thoughts and feelings, from want of +communication, become heaped up and clotted together, as it were: and so +lie like undigested food heavy upon the mind: but with a friend one +_tosseth_ them about, so that the air gets between them, and keeps them +fresh and sweet. I know not from what metaphor Bacon took his 'tosseth,' +but it seems to me as if it was from the way haymakers toss hay, so that +it does not press into a heavy lump, but is tossed about in the air, and +separated, and thus kept sweet. . . . + +Your most affectionate friend, + +E. FITZGERALD. + +_To W. B. Donne_. {22} + +GELDESTONE, _Sept_. 27, [1833]. + +DEAR DONNE, + +. . . As to my history since I have seen you, there is little to tell. +Divinity is not outraged by your not addressing me as a Reverend--I not +being one. I am a very lazy fellow, who do nothing: and this I have been +doing in different places ever since I saw you last. I have not been +well for the last week: for I am at present rather liable to be overset +by any weariness (and where can any be found that can match the effect of +two Oratorios?), since for the last three months I have lived on +vegetables--that is, I have given up meat. When I was talking of this to +Vipan, he told me that you had once tried it, and given it up. I shall +hear your account of its effect on you. The truth is, that mine is the +wrong time of life to begin a change of that kind: it is either too +early, or too late. But I have no doubt at all of the advantage of +giving up meat: I find already much good from it, in lightness and +airiness of head, whereas I was always before clouded and more or less +morbid after meat. The loss of strength is to be expected: I shall keep +on and see if that also will turn, and change into strength. I have +almost Utopian notions about _vegetable diet_, begging pardon for making +use of such a vile, Cheltenhamic, phrase. Why do you not bring up your +children to it? To be sure, the chances are, that, after guarding their +vegetable morals for years, they would be seduced by some roast partridge +with bread sauce, and become ungodly. This actually happened to the son +of a Dr. Newton who wrote a book {23} about it and bred up his children +to it--but all such things I will tell you when I meet you. Gods! it is +a pleasant notion that one is about to meet an old acquaintance in a day +or two. + +Believe me then your most sincere friend, + +E. FITZGERALD. + +Pipes--are their names ever heard with you? I have given them up, except +at Cambridge. But the word has something sweet in it--Do you ever smoke? + +7 SOUTHAMPTON ROW, BLOOMSBURY, +[_Oct_. 25, 1833.] + +DEAR DONNE, + +. . . As to myself, and my diet, about which you give such excellent +advice: I am still determined to give the diet I have proposed a good +trial: a year's trial. I agree with you about vegetables, and soups: but +my diet is chiefly _bread_: which is only a little less nourishing than +flesh: and, being compact, and baked, and dry, has none of the washy, +diluent effects of green vegetables. I scarcely ever touch the latter: +but only pears, apples, etc. I have found no benefit yet; except, as I +think, in more lightness of spirits: which is a great good. But I shall +see in time. + +I am living in London in the quarter of the town which I have noticed +above: in a very happy bachelor-like way. Would you would come up here +for a few days. I can give you bed, board, etc. Do have some business +in town, please. Spedding is here: taking lessons of drawing, before he +goes for good into Cumberland: whither, for my sake and that of all his +friends, I wish he never would go: for there are few such men, as far +[as] I know. He and I have been theatricalizing lately. We saw an awful +Hamlet the other night--a Mr. Serle--and a very good Wolsey, in Macready: +and a very bad Queen Catherine, in Mrs. Sloman, whom you must remember. I +am going to-night to see Macready in Macbeth: I have seen him before in +it: and I go for the sake of his two last acts, which are amazingly fine, +I think. . . . I am close to the British Museum, in which I take great +pleasure in reading in my rambling way. I hear of Kemble lately that he +has been making some discoveries in Anglo-Saxon MSS. at Cambridge that, +they say, are important to the interests of the church: and there is talk +of publishing them, I believe. He is a strange fellow for that fiery +industry of his: and, I am sure, deserves some steady recompense. + +Tennyson has been in town for some time: he has been making fresh poems, +which are finer, they say, than any he has done. But I believe he is +chiefly meditating on the purging and subliming of what he has already +done: and repents that he has published at all yet. It is fine to see +how in each succeeding poem the smaller ornaments and fancies drop away, +and leave the grand ideas single. . . . + +I have lately bought a little pamphlet which is very difficult to be got, +called The Songs of Innocence, written and adorned with drawings by W. +Blake (if you know his name) who was quite mad, but of a madness that was +really the elements of great genius ill-sorted: in fact, a genius with a +screw loose, as we used to say. I shall shew you this book when I see +you: to me there is particular interest in this man's writing and +drawing, from the strangeness of the constitution of his mind. He was a +man that used to see visions: and make drawings and paintings of +Alexander the Great, Caesar, etc., who, he declared, stood before him +while he drew. . . + +Your very affectionate friend, + +E. FITZGERALD. + +7 SOUTHAMPTON ROW, +_Nov._ 19, 1833. + +DEAR DONNE, + +Your book I got, and read through all that seemed to concern me the first +day. I have doubted whether it would be most considerate to return you +thanks for it, making you pay for a letter: or to leave you thankless, +with a shilling more in your pocket. You see I have taken the latter [? +former], and God forgive me for it. The book is a good one, I think, as +any book is, that notes down facts alone, especially about health. I +wish we had diaries of the lives of half the unknown men that have lived. +Like all other men who have got a theory into their heads, I can only see +things in the light of that theory; and whatever is brought to me to +convince me to the contrary is only wrought and tortured to my view of +the question. This lasts till a reaction is brought about by some of the +usual means: as time, and love of novelty, etc. I am still very +obstinate and persist in my practices. I do not think Stark is an +instance of vegetable diet: consider how many things he tried grossly +animal: lard, and butter, and fat: besides thwarting Nature in every way +by eating when he wanted not to eat, and the contrary. Besides the +editor says in the preface that he thinks his death was brought about as +much by vexation as by the course of his diet: but I suppose the truth is +that vexation could not have had so strong hold except upon a weakened +body. However, altogether I do not at all admit Stark to be any +instance: to be set up like a scarecrow to frighten us from the corn, +etc. Last night I went to hear a man lecture at Owen of Lanark's +establishment (where I had never been before), and the subject happened +to be about Vegetable Diet: but it was only the termination of a former +lecture, so that I suppose all the good arguments (if there were any) +were gone before. Do you know anything of a book by a Doctor Lamb upon +this subject? I do not feel it to be disgusting to talk of myself upon +this subject, because I think there is great interest in the subject +itself. So I shall say that I am just now very well: in fine spirits. I +have only eaten meat once for many weeks: and that was at a party where I +did not like to be singled out. Neither have I tasted wine, except two +or three times. If I fail at last I shall think it a very great bore: +but assuredly the first cut of a leg of mutton will be some consolation +for my wounded judgement: that first cut is a fine thing. So much for +this. . . . Have you heard that Arthur Malkin is to be married? to a +Miss Carr, with what Addison might call a pleasing fortune: or perhaps +Nicholas Rowe. 'Sweet, pleasing friendship, etc. etc.' Mrs. Malkin is +in high spirits about it, I hear: and I am very glad indeed. God send +that you have not heard this before: for a man likes to be the first +teller of a pretty piece of news. Spedding and I went to see Macready in +Hamlet the other night: with which he was pretty well content, but not +wholly. For my part, I have given up deciding on how Hamlet should be +played: or rather have decided it shouldn't be played at all. I take +pleasure in reading things I don't wholly understand; just as the old +women like sermons: I think it is of a piece with an admiration of all +Nature around us. I think there is a greater charm in the half meanings +and glimpses of meaning that come in through Blake's wilder visions: +though his difficulties arose from a very different source from +Shakespeare's. But somewhat too much of this. I suspect I have found +out this as an useful solution, when I am asked the meaning of any thing +that I am admiring, and don't know it. + +Believe me, dear Donne, to be ever your affectionate friend, + +E. FITZGERALD. + +* * * * * + +FitzGerald spent the May term of 1834 at Cambridge 'rejoicing in the +sunshine of James Spedding's presence.' + +_To John Allen_. + +WHERSTEAD LODGE, IPSWICH. {28} +_June_ 31 (so) 1834. + +DEAR MY JOHNNY, + +I have been reading the Spectator since I have been here: and I like it +very much. Don't you think it would make a nice book to publish all the +papers about Sir Roger de Coverley alone, with illustrations by +Thackeray? It is a thing that is wanted: to bring that standard of the +old English Gentleman forward out of the mass of little topics, and +fashions, that occupy the greater part of the Spectator. Thackeray has +illustrated my Undine in about fourteen little coloured drawings--very +nicely. . . . + +I am here in the country in brave health: rising at six withal: and +pruning of rose trees in the garden. Why don't you get up early? in the +summer at least. The next time we meet in town I mean to get an artist +to make me your portrait: for I often wish for it. It must be looking at +me. Now write very soon: else I shall be gone: and know that I am your +very true friend, + +E. F. G. + +GELDESTONE HALL, _Sept_. 9, [1834]. + +DEAR ALLEN, + +I have really nothing to say, and I am ashamed to be sending this third +letter all the way from here to Pembrokeshire for no earthly purpose: but +I have just received yours: and you will know how very welcome all your +letters are to me when you see how the perusal of this one has excited me +to such an instant reply. It has indeed been a long time coming: but it +is all the more delicious. Perhaps you can't imagine how wistfully I +have looked for it: how, after a walk, my eyes have turned to the table, +on coming into the room, to see it. Sometimes I have been tempted to be +angry with you: but then I thought that I was sure you would come a +hundred miles to serve me, though you were too lazy to sit down to a +letter. I suppose that people who are engaged in serious ways of life, +and are of well filled minds, don't think much about the interchange of +letters with any anxiety: but I am an idle fellow, of a very ladylike +turn of sentiment: and my friendships are more like loves, I think. Your +letter found me reading the Merry Wives of Windsor too: I had been +laughing aloud to myself: think of what another coat of happiness came +over my former good mood. You are a dear good fellow, and I love you +with all my heart and soul. The truth is I was anxious about this +letter, as I really didn't know whether you were married or not--or ill--I +fancied you might be anything, or anywhere. . . . + +As to reading I have not done much. I am going through the Spectator: +which people nowadays think a poor book: but I honour it much. What a +noble kind of Journal it was! There is certaintly a good deal of what +may be called '_pill_,' but there is a great deal of wisdom, I believe, +only it is couched so simply that people can't believe it to be real +absolute wisdom. The little book you speak of I will order and buy. I +heard from Thackeray, who is just upon the point of going to France; +indeed he may be there by this time. I shall miss him much. . . . + +Farewell my dearest fellow: you have made me very happy to hear from you: +and to know that all is so well with you. Believe me to be your ever +affectionate friend, + +E. FITZGERALD. + +_To W. B. Donne_. + +[LONDON, 17 GLOUCESTER STREET, QUEEN SQUARE]. +1834. + +DEAR DONNE, + +. . . I have been buying two Shakespeares, a second and third Folio--the +second Folio pleases me much: and I can read him with a greater zest now. +One had need of a big book to remember him by: for he is lost to the +theatre: I saw Mr. Vandenhoff play Macbeth in a sad way a few nights ago: +and such a set of dirty ragamuffins as the rest were could not disgrace +any country barn. Manfred I have missed by some chance: and I believe +'it was all for the best' as pious people say. The Theatre is bare +beyond anything I ever saw: and one begins to hope that it has touched +the bottom of its badness, and will rise again. I was looking the other +day at Sir W. Davenant's alteration of Macbeth: who dies, saying, +'Farewell, vain world: and that which is vainest in't, Ambition!' + +Edgeworth, whom I think you remember at Cambridge, is come to live in +town: and I see him often at the Museum. The want of books chiefly drove +him from Italy: besides that he tells me he likes a constant change of +scenes and ideas, and would be always about if he could. He is a very +original man I think, and throws out much to be chewed and digested: but +he is deficient in some elements that must combine to govern my love and +admiration. He has much imagination of head, but none of heart: perhaps +these are absurd distinctions: but I am no hand at these definitions. His +great study is metaphysics: and Kant is his idol. He is rather without +company in London, and I wish much to introduce him to such men as I +know: but most of your Apostolic party who could best exchange ideas with +him are not in town. He is full of his subjects, and only wants +opponents to tilt at. . . . + +The life of Coleridge {32} is indeed an unsatisfactory thing: I believe +that everybody thinks so. You seem to think that it is purposely +unsatisfactory, or rather dissatisfactory: but it seems to me to proceed +from a kind of enervation in De Quincey. However, I don't know how he +supports himself in other writings. . . . + +To fill up my letter I send you a sonnet of C. Lamb's, out of his Album +Verses--please to like it--'Leisure.' + +_To John Allen_. + +MANCHESTER, _May_ 23, 1835. + +DEAR ALLEN, + +I think that the fatal two months have elapsed, by which a letter shall +become due to me from you. Ask Mrs. Allen if this is not so. Mind, I +don't speak this upbraidingly, because I know that you didn't know where +I was. I will tell you all about this by degrees. In the first place, I +staid at Mirehouse till the beginning of May, and then, going homeward, +spent a week at Ambleside, which, perhaps you don't know, is on the +shores of Winandermere. It was very pleasant there: though it was to be +wished that the weather had been a little better. I have scarce done +anything since I saw you but abuse the weather: but these four last days +have made amends for all: and are, I hope, the beginning of summer at +last. Alfred Tennyson staid with me at Ambleside: Spedding was forced to +go home, till the last two days of my stay there. I will say no more of +Tennyson than that the more I have seen of him, the more cause I have to +think him great. His little humours and grumpinesses were so droll, that +I was always laughing: and was often put in mind (strange to say) of my +little unknown friend, Undine--I must however say, further, that I felt +what Charles Lamb describes, a sense of depression at times from the +overshadowing of a so much more lofty intellect than my own: this (though +it may seem vain to say so) I never experienced before, though I have +often been with much greater intellects: but I could not be mistaken in +the universality of his mind; and perhaps I have received some benefit in +the now more distinct consciousness of my dwarfishness. I think that you +should keep all this to yourself, my dear Allen: I mean, that it is only +to you that I would write so freely about myself. You know most of my +secrets, and I am not afraid of entrusting even my vanities to so true a +man. . . . + +Pray, do not forget to say how the Freestone party are. My heart jumped +to them, when I read in a guide book at Ambleside, that from Scawfell (a +mountain in Westmoreland) you could see Snowdon. Perhaps you will not +see the chain of ideas: but I suppose there was one, else I don't know +how it was that I tumbled, as it were, from the very summit of Scawfell, +upon the threshold of Freestone. The mind soon traverses Wales. I have +not been reading very much--(as if you ever expected that I did!)--but I +mean, not very much for me--some Dante, by the aid of a Dictionary: and +some Milton--and some Wordsworth--and some Selections from Jeremy Taylor, +Barrow, etc., compiled by Basil Montagu--of course you know the book: it +is published by Pickering. I do not think that it is very well done: but +it has served to delight, and, I think, to instruct me much. Do you know +South? He must be very great, I think. It seems to me that our old +Divines will hereafter be considered our Classics--(in Prose, I mean)--I +am not aware that any other nations have such books. A single selection +from Jeremy Taylor is fine: but it requires a skilful hand to put many +detached bits from him together: for a common editor only picks out the +flowery, metaphorical, morsels: and so rather cloys: and gives quite a +wrong estimate of the Author, to those who had no previous acquaintance +with him: for, rich as Taylor's illustrations, and grotesque as his +images, are, no one keeps a grander proportion: he never huddles +illustration upon the matter so as to overlay it, nor crowds images too +thick together: which these Selections might make one unacquainted with +him to suppose. This is always the fault of Selections: but Taylor is +particularly liable to injury on this score. What a man he is! He has +such a knowledge of the nature of man, and such powers of expressing its +properties, that I sometimes feel as if he had had some exact counterpart +of my own individual character under his eye, when he lays open the +depths of the heart, or traces some sin to its root. The eye of his +portrait expresses this keen intuition: and I think I should less like to +have stood with a lie on my tongue before him, than before any other I +know of. . . . + +I beg you to give my best remembrances to your lady, who may be always +sure that in all I wish of well for you, she is included: so that I take +less care to make mention of her separately. . . . + +WHERSTEAD, _July_ 4, 1835. + +DEAR ALLEN, + +. . . My brother John's wife, always delicate, has had an attack this +year, which she can never get over: and while we are all living in this +house cheerfully, she lives in separate rooms, can scarcely speak to us, +or see us: and bears upon her cheek the marks of death. She has shewn +great Christian dignity all through her sickness: was the only cheerful +person when they supposed she could not live: and is now very composed +and happy. You say sometimes how like things are to dreams: or, as I +think, to the shifting scenes of a play. So does this place seem to me. +All our family, except my mother, are collected here: all my brothers and +sisters, with their wives, husbands, and children: sitting at different +occupations, or wandering about the grounds and gardens, discoursing each +their separate concerns, but all united into one whole. The weather is +delightful: and when I see them passing to and fro, and hear their +voices, it is like scenes of a play. I came here only yesterday. I have +much to tell you of: I mean, much in my small way: I will keep all till I +see you, for I don't know with what to begin in a letter. . . . + +Edgeworth introduced me to his wife and sister-in-law, who are very +handsome Spanish ladies, seemingly of excellent sense. The wife is the +gentler, and more feminine: and the sister more regularly handsome, and +vivacious. I think that he is a very remarkable man: and I like him more +the more I see of him. + +What you say of Tennyson and Wordsworth is not, I think, wholly just. I +don't think that a man can turn himself so directly to the service of +morality, unless naturally inclined: I think Wordsworth's is a natural +bias that way. Besides, one must have labourers of different kinds in +the vineyard of morality, which I certainly look up to as the chief +object of our cultivation: Wordsworth is first in the craft: but Tennyson +does no little by raising and filling the brain with noble images and +thoughts, which, if they do not direct us to our duty, purify and cleanse +us from mean and vicious objects, and so prepare and fit us for the +reception of the higher philosophy. A man might forsake a drunken party +to read Byron's Corsair: and Byron's Corsair for Shelley's Alastor: and +the Alastor for the Dream of Fair Women or the Palace of Art: and then I +won't say that he would forsake these two last for anything of +Wordsworth's, but his mind would be sufficiently refined and +spiritualised to admit Wordsworth, and profit by him: and he might keep +all the former imaginations as so many pictures, or pieces of music, in +his mind. But I think that you will see Tennyson acquire all that at +present you miss: when he has _felt_ life, he will not die fruitless of +instruction to man as he is. But I dislike this kind of criticism, +especially in a letter. I don't know any one who has thought out any +thing so little as I have. I don't see to any end, and should keep +silent till I have got a little more, and that little better arranged. + +I am sorry that all this page is filled with this botheration, when I +have a thousand truer and better things that I want to talk to you about. +I will write to you again soon. If you please to write (but consider it +no call upon you, for the letter I have just got from you is a stock that +will last me in comfort this long while) I shall be at Wherstead all +July--after that I know not where, but probably in Suffolk. Farewell, my +best of fellows: there is no use saying how much I wish that all your +sorrow will be turned to hope, and all your hope to joy. As far as we +men can judge, you are worthy of all earthly happiness. + +* * * * * + +At the end of July, 1835, FitzGerald writes from Wherstead to Thackeray, +who was then in Paris studying art: + + 'My Father is determined to inhabit an empty house of his about + fourteen miles off: {38} and we are very sorry to leave this really + beautiful place. The other house has no great merit. So there is + nothing now but packing up sofas, and pictures, and so on. I rather + think that I shall be hanging about this part of the world all the + winter: for my two sisters are about to inhabit this new house alone, + and I cannot but wish to add my company to them now and then. . . . + + 'My dear boy, God bless thee a thousand times over! When are we to + see thee? How long are you going to be at Paris? What have you been + doing? The drawing you sent me was very pretty. So you don't like + Raphael! Well, I am his inveterate admirer: and say, with as little + affectation as I can, that his worst scrap fills my head more than all + Rubens and Paul Veronese together--"the mind, the mind, Master + Shallow!" You think this cant, I dare say: but I say it truly, + indeed. Raphael's are the only pictures that cannot be described: no + one can get words to describe their perfection. Next to him, I + retreat to the Gothic imagination, and love the mysteries of old + chairs, Sir Rogers, etc. in which thou, my dear boy, art and shalt be + a Raphael. To depict the true old English gentleman, is as great a + work as to depict a Saint John, and I think in my heart I would rather + have the former than the latter. There are plenty of pictures in + London--some good Water-colours by Lewis--Spanish things. Two or + three very vulgar portraits by Wilkie, at the Exhibition: and a big + one of Columbus, half good, and half bad. There is always a spice of + vulgarity about Wilkie. There is an Eastlake, but I missed it. Etty + has boats full of naked backs as usual: but what they mean, I didn't + stop to enquire. He has one picture, however, of the Bridge of Sighs + in Venice, which is sublime: though I believe nobody saw it, or + thought about it but myself.' + +About the same time that FitzGerald went to Boulge, George Crabbe, the +Poet's eldest son and biographer, was appointed to the Vicarage of the +adjoining parish of Bredfield, and a friendship sprang up between them +which was only terminated by Mr. Crabbe's death in 1857. + +_To John Allen_. + +BOULGE HALL, WOODBRIDGE, +_October_ 31, 1835. + +DEAR ALLEN, + +I don't know what has come over me of late, that I have not written to +you, nor any body else for several months. I am sure it is not from any +decrease of affection towards you. I now begin a letter merely on the +score of wanting one from you: to let me know how you are; and Mrs. Allen +too, especially. I hope to hear good news of her. Many things may have +happened to you since I saw you: you may be a Bishop, for anything I +know. I have been in Suffolk ever since I saw you. We are come to +settle at this place: and I have been enjoying capital health in my old +native air. I meant to have come to London for the winter: but my +sisters are here, and I do not like to leave them. This parish is a very +small one: it scarce contains fifty people: but that next to it, +Bredfield, has more than four hundred: and some very poor indeed. We +hope to be of some use: but the new Poor Laws have begun to be set afoot, +and we don't know who is to stop in his cottage, or who is to go to the +Workhouse. How much depends upon the issue of this measure! I am no +politician: but I fear that no political measure will ever adjust matters +well between rich and poor. . . . + +I have just read Southey's Life of Cowper; that is to say, the first +Volume. It is not a book to be read by every man at the fall of the +leaf. It is a fearful book. Have you read it? Southey hits hard at +Newton in the dark; which will give offence to many people: but I +perfectly agree with him. At the same time, I think that Newton was a +man of great power. Did you ever read his life by himself? Pray do, if +you have not. His journal to his wife, written at sea, contains some of +the most beautiful things I ever read: fine feeling in very fine English. +. . . + +Pray do write to me: a few lines soon are better than a three-decker a +month hence: for I really want to know where and how you are: and so be a +good boy for once in your life. Ever yours lovingly, + +E. F. G. + +_To W. B. Donne_. + +LONDON, _March_ [21], 1836. + +DEAR DONNE, + +. . . As to the sponsorship, I was sure that you and Mrs. Donne would +receive my apology as I meant it. Indeed I wish with you that people +would speak their minds more sincerely than it is the custom to do; and +recoin some of the every day compliments into a simpler form: but this is +voted a stale subject, I believe. Anyhow, I will not preach to you who +do not err: not to mention that I cannot by any means set up myself as +any model of this virtue: whatever you may say to the contrary. + +I have consulted my friend John Allen concerning your ancestor's sermons: +he says that the book is scarce. . . . I think that you should be +possessed of him by all means, considering that you are his descendant. +Allen read much of him at the Museum, and has always spoken very highly +of him. As to doctrine, I believe Jeremy Taylor has never been quite +blameless; but then he wrote many folios instead of Donne's one: and I +cannot help agreeing with Bayle that one of the disadvantages of much +writing is, that a man is likely to contradict himself. If he does not +_positively_ do so, he may _seem_ to do so, by using different +expressions for the same thing, which expressions many readers may +construe diversely: and this is especially likely to be the case with so +copious and metaphorical a writer as Jeremy. + +According to the principles contained in page 1 of this letter I will +tell you that I thought the second volume of Southey {42} rather dull. +But then I have only read it once; and I think that one is naturally +impatient of all matter that does not absolutely touch Cowper: I mean, at +the first reading; when one wants to know all about him. I dare say that +afterwards I shall relish all the other relative matter, and contemporary +history, which seems indeed well done. I am glad that you are so content +with the book. We were all talking the other night of Basil Montagu's +new Life of Bacon--have you read it? It is said to be very elaborate and +tedious. A good life of Bacon is much wanted. But perhaps it is as +difficult to find a proper historian for him as for anyone that ever +lived. But enough of grave matters. I have been very little to the +Play: Vandenhoff's Iago I did not see: for indeed what I saw of him in +other characters did not constrain me to the theatre to see his Iago. . . + +Spedding is just now furnishing chambers in Lincoln's Inn Fields: so that +we may look on him as a fixture in London. He and I went to dine with +Tennant at Blackheath last Thursday: there we met Edgeworth, who has got +a large house at Eltham, and is lying in wait for pupils: I am afraid he +will not find many. We passed a very delightful evening. Tennant is +making interest for a school at Cambridge: {43a} but I do not know if he +is likely to succeed. And now I have told all the news I know, except +that I hear that Sterling {43b} is very ill with an attack on his chest, +which keeps him from preaching: and that Trench has been in London. +Neither of these men do I know, but I hear of them. + +_To John Allen_. + +[GELDESTONE HALL], +_January_ 1, 1837. + +DEAR ALLEN, + +A merry new year to you and yours. How have you been since I saw you? . +. . + +If you can find an old copy of Taylor's Holy Living and Dying cheap and +clean at the same time, pray buy it for me. It is for my old friend Mrs. +Schutz: and she would not allow me to give it her: so that I give you her +directions. . . . + +I am very deep in my Aristophanes, and find the Edition I bought quite +sufficient for my wants. One requires a translation of him less than of +any of the Greeks I have read, because his construction is so clear and +beautiful. Only his long words, and local allusions, make him difficult, +so far as I have seen. He has made me laugh heartily, and wonder: but as +to your calling him greater than Aeschylus or Sophocles, I do not agree +with you. I have read nothing else. What a nice quiet speech Charles +Kemble made on quitting the stage: almost the best I can remember on such +an occasion. Did Spedding hear him? My dear Allen, I should often wish +to see you and him of an evening as heretofore at this season in London: +but I don't see any likelihood of my coming till February at nearest. We +live here the usual quiet country life: and now that the snow is so deep +we are rather at a loss for exercise. It is very hard work toiling along +the roads, and besides so blinding to the eyes. I take a spade, and +scuppet {44} away the snow from the footpaths. . . . + +Write to me at Boulge Hall, Woodbridge; for I think that the snows will +be passable, and my sisters arrived there, before you write. There's an +insinuation for you. Make my remembrances to Mrs. Allen: and believe me + +Yours ever most affectionately, + +E. FITZGERALD. + +[BOULGE HALL], +_Tuesday_, _January_ 10, 1837. + +MY DEAR ALLEN, + +Another letter in so short a time will surprise you. My old Lady will be +glad of a new edition of Jeremy Taylor, beside the old one. I remember +you once gave me a very nice large duodecimo one: are these to be had, +and cheap? It must have a good type, to suit old eyes. When you are +possessed of these and the other books I begged you to ask for (except +the Bacon which is for myself) do me one favour more: which is to book +them per Coach at the White Horse, Piccadilly, directed to Mrs. Schutz, +Gillingham Hall, Beccles. I should not have troubled you again, but that +she, poor lady, is anxious to possess the books soon, as she never looks +forward to living through a year: and she finds that Jeremy Taylor sounds +a good note of preparation for that last hour which she looks upon as +drawing nigh. I myself think she will live much longer: as she is +wonderfully healthy for her time of life--seventy-six. {45} Sometimes I +talk to her about you: and she loves you by report. You never grudge any +trouble for your friends: but as this is a little act of kindness for an +old and noble lady, I shall apologize no more for it. I will pay you all +you disburse when I come to London. + +I was made glad and sad last night in looking over some of your letters +to me, ever since my stay at Tenby. I wonder within myself if we are +changed since then. Do you remember that day when we sat upon that rock +that runs out into the sea, and looked down into the clear water below? I +must go to Tenby one of these days, and walk that old walk to Freestone. +How well I remember what a quiet delight it was to walk out and meet you, +when you were coming to stay a week with me once at my lodgings. . . . + +And now, Sir, when you next go to the British Museum, look for a Poet +named Vaughan. Do you know him? I read some fine sacred poems of his in +a Collection of John Mitford's: he selects them from a book of Vaughan's +called 'Silex Scintillans,' 1621. He seems to have great fancy and +fervour and some deep thought. Yet many of the things are in the tricksy +spirit of that time: but there is a little Poem beginning 'They are all +gone into a World of Light,' etc., which shews him to be capable of much. +Again farewell, my dear Allen: give my best remembrances to Mrs. Allen, +who must think that I write to you as if you were still a Bachelor. +Indeed, I think you had best burn this letter suddenly, after you have +read my commissions. [Greek text]. There--I believe I can construe that +passage as well as Porson. + +BOULGE HALL, WOODBRIDGE. +[1837.] + +MY DEAR ALLEN, + +Another commission in so short a time is rather too bad: but I know not +to whom I can apply but to yourself: for our bookseller here could not +get me what I want, seeing that I don't exactly know myself. The book I +want is an Athenaeus, but the edition I know not: and therefore I apply +to you who know my taste. . . . + +There is a small Cottage of my Father's close to the Lawn gates, where I +shall fit up a room most probably. The garden I have already begun to +work in. . . . Sometimes when I have sat dreaming about my own comforts +I have thought to myself 'If Allen ever would come and stay with me some +days at my Cottage if I live there'--but I think you would not: 'could +not' you will say, and perhaps truly. . . . + +I am reading Plutarch's Lives, which is one of the most delightful books +I ever read. He must have been a Gentleman. My Aristophanes is nearly +drained: that is, for the present first reading: for he will never be +dry, apply as often as I may. My sisters are reading to me Lyell's +Geology of an Evening: there is an admirable chapter illustrative of +human error and prejudice retarding the truth, which will apply to all +sciences, I believe: and, if people would consider it, would be more +valuable than the geological knowledge, though that is very valuable, I +am sure. You see my reading is so small that I can soon enumerate all my +books: and here you have them. . . . + +[BOULGE HALL, WOODBRIDGE, +21 _April_, 1837.] + +DEAR ALLEN, + +Have you done with my Doctor? If you have, will you send him to me here: +Boulge Hall, Woodbridge, per Shannon Coach? You may book it at the Boar +and Castle, Oxford Street, close by Hanway Passage. This is not far out +of your beat. Perhaps I should not have sent for this book (it is +Bernard Barton the Quaker who asks to read it) but that it gives me an +excuse also to talk a little to you. Ah! I wish you were here to walk +with me now that the warm weather is come at last. Things have been +delayed but to be more welcome, and to burst forth twice as thick and +beautiful. This is boasting however, and counting of the chickens before +they are hatched: the East winds may again plunge us back into winter: +but the sunshine of this morning fills one's pores with jollity, as if +one had taken laughing gas. Then my house is getting on: the books are +up in the bookshelves and do my heart good: then Stothard's Canterbury +Pilgrims are over the fireplace: Shakespeare in a recess: how I wish you +were here for a day or two! My sister is very well and cheerful and we +have kept house very pleasantly together. My brother John's wife is, I +fear, declining very fast: it is very probable that I shall have to go +and see her before long: though this is a visit I should gladly be +spared. They say that her mind is in a very beautiful state of +peacefulness. She _may_ rally in the summer: but the odds are much +against her. We shall lose a perfect Lady, in the complete sense of the +word, when she dies. + +I have been doing very little since I have been here: having accomplished +only a few Idylls of Theocritus, which harmonize with this opening of the +fine weather. Is all this poor occupation for a man who has a soul to +account for? You think so certainly. My dear Allen, you, with your +accustomed humility, asked me if I did not think you changed when I was +last in London: never did I see man less so: indeed you stand on too sure +a footing to change, I am persuaded. But you will not thank me for +telling you these things: but I wish you to believe that I rejoice as +much as ever in the thought of you, and feel confident that you will ever +be to me the same best of friends that you ever have been. I owe more to +you than to all others put together. I am sure, for myself, that the +main difference in our opinions (considered so destructive to friendship +by so many pious men) is a difference in the Understanding, not in the +Heart: and though you may not agree entirely in this, I am confident that +it will never separate you from me. + +Mrs. Schutz is much delighted with the books you got for her: and still +enquires if you hurt your health in searching. This she does in all +simplicity and kindness. She has been very ill all the winter: but I see +by a letter I have just had from her that her mind is still cheerful and +the same. The _mens sana in corpore sano_ of old age is most to be +wondered at. + +_To Bernard Barton_. {50a} + +LONDON, _April_, 1838. + +DEAR SIR, + +John, {50b} who is going down into Suffolk, will I hope take this letter +and despatch it to you properly. I write more on account of this +opportunity than of anything I have to say: for I am very heavy indeed +with a kind of Influenza, which has blocked up most of my senses, and put +a wet blanket over my brains. This state of head has not been improved +by trying to get through a new book much in fashion--Carlyle's French +Revolution--written in a German style. An Englishman writes of French +Revolutions in a German style. People say the book is very deep: but it +appears to me that the meaning _seems_ deep from lying under mystical +language. There is no repose, nor equable movement in it: all cut up +into short sentences half reflective, half narrative; so that one labours +through it as vessels do through what is called a short sea--small, +contrary going waves caused by shallows, and straits, and meeting tides, +etc. I like to sail before the wind over the surface of an even-rolling +eloquence, like that of Bacon or the Opium Eater. There is also pleasant +fresh water sailing with such writers as Addison; is there any _pond_- +sailing in literature? that is, drowsy, slow, and of small compass? +Perhaps we may say, some Sermons. But this is only conjecture. Certainly +Jeremy Taylor rolls along as majestically as any of them. We have had +Alfred Tennyson here; very droll, and very wayward: and much sitting up +of nights till two and three in the morning with pipes in our mouths: at +which good hour we would get Alfred to give us some of his magic music, +which he does between growling and smoking; and so to bed. All this has +not cured my Influenza as you may imagine: but these hours shall be +remembered long after the Influenza is forgotten. + +I have bought scarce any new books or prints: and am not sorry to see +that I want so little more. One large purchase I have made however, the +Biographie Universelle, 53 Octavo Volumes. It contains everything, and +is the very best thing of its kind, and so referred to by all historians, +etc. Surely nothing is more pleasant than, when some name crosses one, +to go and get acquainted with the owner of the name: and this Biographie +really has found places for people whom one would have thought almost too +small for so comprehensive a work--which sounds like a solecism, or Bull, +does it not? + +Now I must finish my letter: and a very stupid one it is. Here is a +sentence of Warburton's that, I think, is very wittily expressed: though +why I put it in here is not very discoverable. 'The Church, like the Ark +of Noah, is worth saving: not for the sake of the unclean beasts that +almost filled it, and probably made most noise and clamour in it, but for +the little corner of rationality, that was as much distressed by the +stink within, as by the tempest without.' Is it not good? It is out of +his letters: {52} and the best thing in them. It is also the best thing +in mine. + +With kind remembrances to Miss Barton, believe me, Yours very +affectionately + +E. FITZGERALD. + +[LONDON, 8 _June_, 1838.] + +DEAR SIR, + +I have just come home after accompanying my Father and Lusia to their +starting place in the City: they are off for Suffolk for some days. I +should have written to you by them: but I only just now found your letter +on the mantelpiece: there it has lain some days during which I have been +ruralising in Bedfordshire. Delicious has it been there: such weather, +such meadows, to enjoy: and the Ouse still wandering along at his ease +through pretty villages and vales of his own beautifying. I am much in +love with Bedfordshire: it beats our part of the world: and I am sure you +would like it. But here I am come back to London for another three weeks +I suppose. . . . + +I should much like to see your Platonic Brother. By your account he must +have a very perfect mental organization: or, phrenologically speaking, he +must be fully and equally furnished with the bumps of ideality and +causality: which, as Bacon would say, are the two extreme poles on which +the perfect 'sound and roundabout' intellect is balanced. A great +deficiency of the causality bump causes me to break short in a long +discussion which I meant to have favoured you with on this subject. I +hope to meet your Brother one of these days: and to learn much from him. +'Guesses at Truth' I know very well: the two Brothers are the Hares: one +a fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge; the other Author of some Sermons +which I think you had from me this winter. 'The Guesses' are well worth +reading; nay, buying: very ingenious, with a good deal of pedantry and +_onesidedness_ (do you know this German word?), which, I believe, chiefly +comes from the Trinity Fellow, who was a great pedant. I have just read +Mrs. Austin's Characteristics of Goethe: which I will bring for you when +I come. It is well worth knowing something of the mind of certainly a +great man, and who has had more effect on his age than any one else. +There is something almost fearful in the energy of his intellect. I wish +indeed you were in London to see all these pictures: I am sure their +greatness would not diminish your pleasure in your own small collection. +Why should it? There is as genuine a feeling of Nature in one of +Nursey's sketches as in the Rubenses and Claudes here: and if that is +evident, and serves to cherish and rekindle one's own sympathy with the +world about one, the great end is accomplished. I do not know very much +of Salvator: is he not rather a melodramatic painter? No doubt, very +fine in his way. But Claude and the two Poussins are the great ideal +painters of Landscape. Nature looks more stedfast in them than in other +painters: all is wrought up into a quietude and harmony that seem +eternal. This is also one of the mysterious charms in the Holy Families +of Raffaelle and of the early painters before him: the faces of the +Madonnas are beyond the discomposure of passion, and their very draperies +betoken an Elysian atmosphere where wind never blew. The best painter of +the unideal Christ is, I think, Rembrandt: as one may see in his picture +at the National Gallery, and that most wonderful one of our Saviour and +the Disciples at Emmaus in the Louvre: there they sit at supper as they +might have sat. Rubens and the Venetian Painters did neither one thing +nor the other: their Holy figures are neither ideal nor real: and it is +incongruous to see one of Rubens' brawny boors dressed up in the ideal +red and blue drapery with which the early Italians clothed their figures +of Christ. But enough of all this. I have seen Trench's Sabbation, and +like it much: how do you like those centuries of couplets, which are a +German fashion? They are very much in the style of Quarles' Emblems, and +other pithy epigrams of that time: only doubtless more artistically +polished: perhaps profounder. There were some of the same kind in +Blackwood some months ago. My paper is out: and I must again say Good +Bye. + +_To John Allen_. + +LOWESTOFT, SUFFOLK. +_August_ 28 [1838.] + +DEAR ALLEN, + +. . . When I left town I went into Bedfordshire and loitered about there +and in Northamptonshire till ten days ago: when I came to join my sisters +at this watering place on the Suffolk coast. I have been spending a very +pleasant time; but the worst of it is that the happier I am with Browne +the sorrier I am to leave him. To put off this most evil day I have +brought him out of Bedfordshire here: and here we are together in a +pleasant lodging looking out upon the sea, teaching a great black dog to +fetch and carry, playing with our neighbour's children, doing the first +five propositions of Euclid (which _I_ am teaching him!), shooting gulls +on the shore, going out in boats, etc. All this must have an end: and as +usual my pleasure in his stay is proportionably darkened by the +anticipation of his going, and go he must in a very few days. Well, +Carlyle told us that we are not to expect to be so happy. I have thought +once or twice how equally happy I was with you by the seaside at Tenby. +You and Browne (though in rather different ways) have certainly made me +more happy than any men living. Sometimes I behave very ill to him, and +am much ashamed of myself: but enough of this. + +I have been to see two shew places lately: Boughton in Northamptonshire, +a seat of the Duke of Buccleugh's, of the Versailles or Clare Hall style +of building, in a very great park planted with the longest avenues I ever +saw. But I thought the whole affair gloomy and deserted. There are some +fine pictures: and two cartoons said to be by Raffaelle: of which one is +the vision of Ezechiel--I could not judge of their genuineness. The +other place I have seen is Woburn Abbey--the Duke of Bedford's--a fine +place but not much to my taste either. There are very fine pictures +there of all kinds--one room hung with brilliant Canalettis--and +altogether the pictures are better arranged and hung than in any place I +have seen. But these kind of places have not much character in them: an +old Squire's gable-ended house is much more English and aristocratic to +my mind. I wish you had been with me and Browne at an old seat of Lord +Dysart's, Helmingham in Suffolk, the other day. There is a portrait +there of the present Lady Dysart in the prime of her beauty, by Sir +Joshua. She is now 95. + +. . . I am reading Pindar now and then: I don't much care about him I +must say: though I suppose he is the very best writer in the Poet +Laureate style: that is, writing on occasion for so much money. I see +great merits doubtless--a concise and simple way of saying great things, +etc., but the subjects are not interesting enough to me. I suppose a +good poet could have celebrated Dutch Sam {57} as having been descended +from King William the Third just as well as Pindar glorifies his boxers +with the mythical histories of the AEacidae, Heraclidae, etc. . . . + +_To Frederic Tennyson_. + +GELDESTONE HALL, BECCLES, +[_April_ 10, 1839.] + +MY DEAR TENNYSON, + +I see in the last Atlas a notice of the first Concert of the Societa +Armonica--there were you to be found of course seated in black velvet +waistcoat (for I hope you remember these are dress concerts) on one of +the benches, grumbling at most of the music. You had a long symphony of +Beethoven's in B flat--I forget how it goes, but doubtless there was much +good in it. The overture to Egmont is also a fine thing. The Atlas +(which is the best weekly critic of Music and all other things that I +know of) gives great [Greek text] to the Societa Armonica: especially +this season, as the Directors seem determined to replace Donizetti and +Mercadante by Mozart and Rossini, in the vocal department. A good change +doubtless. I hear no music now: except that for the last week I have +been staying with Spring Rice's mother in-law Mrs. Frere, {58} one of the +finest judges of Music I know. She was a very fine singer: but her voice +fails now. We used to look over the score of Don Giovanni together, and +many a mystery and mastery of composition did she shew me in it. Now +then there is enough of Music. I wish you would write me a letter, which +you can do now and then if you will take it into your head, and let me +know how you and my dear old Morton are, and whether you dine and smoke +together as heretofore. If you won't write, tell him to do so: or make +up a letter between you. What new pictures are there to be seen? Have +you settled yet whether spirit can exist separately from matter? Are you +convinced of the truth of Murphy's Almanac this year? Have you learned +any more Astronomy? I live on in a very seedy way, reading occasionally +in books which every one else has gone through at school: and what I do +read is just in the same way as ladies work: to pass the time away. For +little remains in my head. I dare say you think it very absurd that an +idle man like me should poke about here in the country, when I might be +in London seeing my friends: but such is the humour of the beast. But it +is not always to be the case: I shall see your good physiognomy one of +these days, and smoke one of your cigars, and listen to Morton saying +fine and wild things, 'startling the dull ear of night' with paradoxes +that perhaps are truisms in the world where spirits exist independent of +matter. You two men have made great commotion in my mind, and left your +marks upon it, I can tell you: more than most of the books I read. What +is Alfred about, and where is he? Present my homage to him. Don't you +rather rejoice in the pickle the King of the French finds himself in? I +don't know why, but I have a sneaking dislike of the old knave. How he +must pine to summon up Talleyrand's Ghost, and what a Ghost it must be, +wherever it is! + +_To John Allen_. + +[28 _April_, 1839.] + +MY DEAR ALLEN, + +Some one from this house is going to London: and I will try and write you +some lines now in half an hour before dinner: I am going out for the +evening to my old lady who teaches me the names of the stars, and other +chaste information. {59} You see, Master John Allen, that if I do not +come to London (and I have no thought of going yet) and you will not +write, there is likely to be an end of our communication: not by the way +that I am never to go to London again: but not just yet. Here I live +with tolerable content: perhaps with as much as most people arrive at, +and what if one were properly grateful one would perhaps call perfect +happiness. Here is a glorious sunshiny day: all the morning I read about +Nero in Tacitus lying at full length on a bench in the garden: a +nightingale singing, and some red anemones eyeing the sun manfully not +far off. A funny mixture all this: Nero, and the delicacy of Spring: all +very human however. Then at half past one lunch on Cambridge cream +cheese: then a ride over hill and dale: then spudding up some weeds from +the grass: and then coming in, I sit down to write to you, my sister +winding red worsted from the back of a chair, and the most delightful +little girl in the world chattering incessantly. So runs the world away. +You think I live in Epicurean ease: but this happens to be a jolly day: +one isn't always well, or tolerably good, the weather is not always +clear, nor nightingales singing, nor Tacitus full of pleasant atrocity. +But such as life is, I believe I have got hold of a good end of it. . . . +Give my love to Thackeray from your upper window across the street. {60a} +So he has lost a little child: and moreover has been sorry to do so. +Well, good-bye my dear John Allen: Auld Lang Syne. My kind regards to +your Lady. + + Down to the vale this water steers, + How merrily it goes: + 'T will murmur on a thousand years, + And flow as now it flows. {60b} + +E. F. G. + +GELDESTONE HALL, BECCLES. + +_To Bernard Barton_. + +BEDFORD, _July_ 24, 1839. + +DEAR BARTON, + +. . . I have brought down here with me Sydney Smith's Works, now first +collected: you will delight in them: I shall bring them to Suffolk when I +come: and it will not be long, I dare say, before I come, as there is to +be rather a large meeting of us at Boulge this August. I have got the +fidgets in my right arm and hand (how the inconvenience redoubles as one +mentions it)--do you know what the fidgets are?--a true ailment, though +perhaps not a dangerous one. Here I am again in the land of old +Bunyan--better still in the land of the more perennial Ouse, making many +a fantastic winding and going much out of his direct way to fertilize and +adorn. Fuller supposes that he lingers thus in the pleasant fields of +Bedfordshire, being in no hurry to enter the more barren fens of +Lincolnshire. So he says. This house is just on the edge of the town: a +garden on one side skirted by the public road which again is skirted by a +row of such Poplars as only the Ouse knows how to rear--and pleasantly +they rustle now--and the room in which I write is quite cool and opens +into a greenhouse which opens into said garden: and it's all deuced +pleasant. For in half an hour I shall seek my Piscator, {61a} and we +shall go to a Village {61b} two miles off and fish, and have tea in a pot- +house, and so walk home. For all which idle ease I think I must be +damned. I begin to have dreadful suspicions that this fruitless way of +life is not looked upon with satisfaction by the open eyes above. One +really ought to dip for a little misery: perhaps however all this ease is +only intended to turn sour by and bye, and so to poison one by the very +nature of self-indulgence. Perhaps again as idleness is so very great a +trial of virtue, the idle man who keeps himself tolerably chaste, etc., +may deserve the highest reward; the more idle, the more deserving. Really +I don't jest: but I don't propound these things as certain. + +There is a fair review of Shelley in the new Edinburgh: saying the truth +on many points where the truth was not easily enunciated, as I believe. + +Now, dear sir, I have said all I have to say: and Carlyle says, you know, +it is dangerous to attempt to say more. So farewell for the present: if +you like to write soon, direct to the Post Office, Bedford: if not, I +shall soon be at Woodbridge to anticipate the use of your pen. + +HALVERSTOWN, {62} _Sunday_, Oct. 20, [1839]. + +MY DEAR SIR, + +I am very glad that you lifted yourself at last from your mahogany desk, +and took such a trip as you describe in your last letter. I don't think +you could have made a better in the same given space of time. It is some +years since I have seen the Castle at Windsor, except from Eton. The +view from the Terrace is the noblest I know of, taking it with all its +associations together. Gray's Ode rises up into the mind as one looks +around--does it not?--a sure proof that, however people may condemn +certain conceits and expressions in the poem, the spirit of it is +genuine. 'Ye distant spires, ye antique towers'--very large and noble, +like the air that breathes upon one as one looks down along the view. My +brother John told me he thought the Waterloo gallery very fine: the +portraits by Sir Thomas almost as fine as Vandyke. You saw them, of +course. You say nothing of having seen the National Gallery in London: +indeed I rather fear it is closed these two months. This is a great loss +to you: the Rubens landscape you would never have forgot. Thank you for +the picture of my dear old Bredfield which you have secured for me: it is +most welcome. Poor Nursey once made me a very pretty oil sketch of it: +but I gave it to Mr. Jenney. By all means have it engraved for the +pocket book: it is well worthy. Some of the tall ash trees about it used +to be visible at sea: but I think their topmost branches are decayed now. +This circumstance I put in, because it will tell in your verse +illustration of the view. From the road before the lawn, people used +plainly to see the topmasts of the men-of war lying in Hollesley bay +during the war. I like the idea of this: the old English house holding +up its enquiring chimneys and weather cocks (there is great physiognomy +in weathercocks) toward the far-off sea, and the ships upon it. How well +I remember when we used all to be in the Nursery, and from the window see +the hounds come across the lawn, my Father and Mr. Jenney in their +hunting caps, etc., with their long whips--all Daguerreotyped into the +mind's eye now--and that is all. Perhaps you are not civilised enough to +know what Daguerreotype is: no more do I well. We were all going on here +as merrily as possible till this day week, when my Piscator got an order +from his Father to go home direct!) So go he would the day after. I +wanted to go also: but they would have me stay here ten days more. So I +stay: I suppose I shall be in London toward the end of this week however: +and then it will not be long before I pay you a visit. . . . + +I have gone through Homer's Iliad--sorry to have finished it. The +accounts of the Zoolu people, with Dingarn their king, etc., {64} give +one a very good idea of the Homeric heroes, who were great brutes: but +superior to the Gods who governed them: which also has been the case with +most nations. It is a lucky thing that God made Man, and that Man has +not to make God: we should fare badly, judging by the specimens already +produced--Frankenstein Monster Gods, formed out of the worst and +rottenest scraps of humanity--gigantic--and to turn destructively upon +their Creators-- + + 'But be ye of good cheer! I have overcome the world--' + +So speaks a gentle voice. + +I found here a Number of Tait's Magazine for August last, containing a +paper on Southey, Wordsworth, etc., by De Quincey. Incomplete and +disproportioned like his other papers: but containing two noble passages: +one, on certain years of his own Life when Opium shut him out from the +world; the other, on Southey's style: in which he tells a truth which is +obvious, directly it is told. Tait seems to be very well worth a +shilling a month: that is the price of him, I see. You have bought +Carlyle's Miscellanies, have you not? I long to get them: but one must +wait till they are out of print before the Dublin booksellers shall have +heard of them. Now here is really a very long letter, and what is more, +written with a pen of my own mending--more consolatory to me than to you. +Mr. Macnish's inscription {65} for Milton is-- + + His lofty spirit was the home + Of inspirations high, + A mighty temple whose great dome + Was hidden in the sky. + +Who Mr. Macnish is, I don't know. Didn't he write some Essays on +Drunkenness once? or on Dreams? + +Farewell for the present, my dear Sir. We shall soon shake hands again. +Ever yours, + +E. FITZGERALD. + +_To John Allen_. + +BOULGE, WOODBRIDGE, +[4 _April_, 1840] + +MY DEAR ALLEN, + +. . . The country is now showing symptoms of greenness and warmth. +Yesterday I walked (not a common thing for me) eleven miles; partly over +a heath, covered with furze bushes just come out into bloom, whose odour +the fresh wind blew into my face. Such a day it was, only not so warm as +when you and I used to sit on those rocks overlooking the sea at Tenby, +just eight years ago. I am afraid you are growing too good a Christian +for me, Master Allen, if you know what I mean by that. Don't be alarmed +however. I have just read the first number of Dickens' new work {66a}: +it does not promise much, I think. + +Love to all Coram Street. {66b} + +_To Frederic Tennyson_. + +THE CORPORATE TOWN OF BEDFORD, +_June_ 7, 1840. + +DEAR FREDERIC, + +Your letter dated from the Eternal City on the 15th of May reached me +here two days ago. Perhaps you have by this time left Naples to which +you bid me direct: or will have left it by the time my letter gets there. +. . . Our letters are dated from two very different kinds of places: but +perhaps equally well suited to the genius of the two men. For I am +becoming more hebete every hour: and have not even the ambition to go up +to London all this spring to see the Exhibitions, etc. I live in general +quietly at my brother-in-law's in Norfolk {67} and I look with tolerable +composure on vegetating there for some time to come, and in due time +handing out my eldest nieces to waltz, etc., at the County Balls. People +affect to talk of this kind of life as very beautiful and philosophical: +but I don't: men ought to have an ambition to stir, and travel, and fill +their heads and senses: but so it is. Enough of what is now generally +called the subjective style of writing. This word has made considerable +progress in England during the year you have been away, so that people +begin to fancy they understand what it means. I have been striving at +it, because it is a very _sine qua non_ condition in a book which I have +just been reading, Eastlake's translation of Goethe's Theory of Colours. +I recommend it to you, when you can get hold of it. Come back to England +quick and read my copy. Goethe is all in opposition to Newton: and +reduces the primitive colours to two. Whewell, I believe, does not +patronise it: but it is certainly very Baconically put together. While +you are wandering among ruins, waterfalls, and temples, and contemplating +them as you sit in your lodgings, I poke about with a book and a colour- +box by the side of the river Ouse--quiet scenery enough--and make +horrible sketches. The best thing to me in Italy would be that you are +there. But I hope you will soon come home and install yourself again in +Mornington Crescent. I have just come from Leamington: while there, I +met Alfred by chance: we made two or three pleasant excursions together: +to Stratford upon Avon and Kenilworth, etc. Don't these names sound very +thin amid your warm southern nomenclature? But I'll be bound you would +be pleased to exchange all your fine burnt up places for a look at a +Warwickshire pasture every now and then during these hot days. . . . + +The sun shines very bright, and there is a kind of bustle in these clean +streets, because there is to be a grand True Blue dinner in the town +Hall. Not that I am going: in an hour or two I shall be out in the +fields rambling alone. I read Burnet's History--ex pede Herculem. Well, +say as you will, there is not, and never was, such a country as Old +England--never were there such a Gentry as the English. They will be the +distinguishing mark and glory of England in History, as the Arts were of +Greece, and War of Rome. I am sure no travel would carry me to any land +so beautiful, as the good sense, justice, and liberality of my good +countrymen make this. And I cling the closer to it, because I feel that +we are going down the hill, and shall perhaps live ourselves to talk of +all this independence as a thing that has been. To none of which you +assent perhaps. At all events, my paper is done, and it is time to have +done with this solemn letter. I can see you sitting at a window that +looks out on the bay of Naples, and Vesuvius with a faint smoke in the +distance: a half-naked man under you cutting up watermelons, etc. Haven't +I seen it all in Annuals, and in the Ballet of Massaniello long ago? + +_To John Allen_. + +BOULGE HALL, +_Sunday_, _July_ 12/40. + +MY DEAR JOHN ALLEN, + +I wrote a good bit of a letter to you three weeks ago: but, being non- +plussed suddenly, tore it up. Lusia says she has had a letter from Mrs. +Allen, telling how you had a troublesome and even dangerous passage to +Tenby: but that there you arrived at last. And there I suppose you are. +The _veteris vestigia flammae_, or old pleasant recollections of our +being together at that place make me begin another sheet to you. I am +almost convicted in my own mind of ingratitude for not having travelled +long ago to Pembrokeshire, to show my most kind friends of Freestone that +I remember their kindness, and that they made my stay so pleasant as to +make me wish to test their hospitality again. Nothing but my besetting +indolence (the strongest thing about me) could have prevented my doing +this. I should like much to see Mr. and Mrs. Allen again, and Carew +Castle, and walk along the old road traversed by you and me several times +between Freestone and Tenby. Does old Penelly Top stand where it did, +faintly discernible in these rainy skies? Do you sit ever upon that rock +that juts out by Tenby harbour, where you and I sat one day seven years +ago, and quoted G. Herbert? Lusia tells me also that nice Mary Allen is +to be married to your brother--Charles, I think. She is really one of +the pleasantest remembrances of womanhood I have. I suppose she sits +still in an upper room, with an old turnip of a watch (tell her I +remember this) on the table beside her as she reads wholesome books. As +I write, I remember different parts of the house and the garden, and the +fields about. Is it absolutely _that_ Mary Allen that is to become Mrs. +Charles Allen? Pray write, and let me hear of this from yourself. +Another thing also: are you to become our Rector in Sussex? This is +another of Lusia's scandals. I rather hope it is true: but not quite. +Lusia is pretty well: better, I think, than when she first came down from +London. . . . She makes herself tolerably happy down here: and wishes to +exert herself: which is the highest wish a FitzGerald can form. I go on +as usual, and in a way that needs no explanation to you: reading a +little, drawing a little, playing a little, smoking a little, etc. I +have got hold of Herodotus now: the most interesting of all Historians. +But I find the disadvantage of being so ill-grounded and bad a scholar: I +can get at the broad sense: but all the delicacies (in which so much of +the beauty and character of an author lie) escape me sadly. The more I +read, the more I feel this. But what does it all signify? Time goes on, +and we get older; and whether my idleness comprehends the distinctions of +the 1st and 2nd Aorist will not be noted much in the Book of Life, either +on this or the other side of the leaf. Here is a letter written on this +Sunday Night, July 12, 1840. And it shall go to-morrow. My kind +remembrances to Mrs. Allen: and (I beg you to transmit them) to all my +fore-known friends at Freestone. And believe me yours now as I have been +and hope to be ever affectionately, + +E. FITZGERALD. + +I shall be here till the end of the month. + +N.B. I am growing bald. + +BOULGE, _July_ 25/40. + +MY DEAR FELLOW, + +Many thanks for your kind long letter. It brought me back to the green +before the house at Freestone, and the old schoolroom in it. I have +always felt within myself that if ever I did go again to Freestone, I +should puzzle myself and every one else by bringing back old associations +among existing things: I should have felt awkward. The place remains +quite whole in my mind: Anne Allen's damask cheek forming part of the +colouring therein. I remember a little well somewhere in the woods about +a mile from the house: and those faint reports of explosions from towards +Milford, etc., which we used to hear when we all walked out together. You +are to thank Mary Allen for her kind wishes: and tell her she need not +doubt that I wish her all good things. I enclose you as you see a little +drawing of a Suffolk farm house close here: copied from a sketch of poor +Mr. Nursey. If you think it worth giving to Mary Allen, do: it seems, +and perhaps is, very namby-pamby to send this: but she and I used to talk +of drawings together: and this will let her know that I go on just the +same as I did eight years ago. N.B. It is not intended as a nuptial +present. + +Now, you need not answer this letter: as you have done remarkably well +already. I am living (did I tell you this before?) at a little cottage +close by the lawn gates, where I have my books, a barrel of beer which I +tap myself (can you tap a barrel of beer?), and an old woman to do for +me. I have also just concocted two gallons of Tar water under the +directions of Bishop Berkeley: it is to be bottled off this very day +after a careful skimming: and then drunk by those who can and will. It +is to be tried first on my old woman: if she survives, I am to begin: and +it will then gradually spread into the Parish, through England, Europe, +etc., 'as the small pebble stirs the peaceful lake.' Good people here +are much scandalized at Thirlwall's being made a Bishop: Isabella {73a} +brought home a report from a clergyman that Thirlwall had so bad a +character at Trinity that many would not associate with him. I do not +think however that I would have made him Bishop: I am all for good and +not great Bishops. Old Evans {73b} would have done better. I am become +an Oxford High Church Divine after Newman: whose sermons are the best +that ever were written in my judgment. Cecil I have read: and liked for +his good sense. Is the croft at Tenby still green: and does Mary Allen +take a turn on it in a riding habit as of old? And I remember a ravine +on the horn of the bay opposite the town where the sea rushes up. I mean +as you go on past the croft. I can walk there as in a dream. I see +Thackeray's book {73c} announced as about to be published, and I hear +Spedding has written a Review of Carlyle's Revolution in the Edinburgh. I +don't know a book more certain to evaporate away from posterity than +that, except it be supported by his other works. Parts may perhaps be +found two hundred years hence and translated into Erse by some inverted +Macpherson. 'These things seem strange,' says Herodotus, {73d} [Greek +text]. Herodotus makes few general assertions: so when he does make +them, they tell. I could talk more to you, but my paper is out. John +Allen, I rejoice in you. + +_To Bernard Barton_. + +BEDFORD, _Aug_. 31/40. + +DEAR SIR, + +I duly received your letter. I am just returned from staying three days +at a delightful Inn by the river Ouse, where we always go to fish. I +dare say I have told you about it before. The Inn is the cleanest, the +sweetest, the civillest, the quietest, the liveliest, and the cheapest +that ever was built or conducted. Its name, the Falcon of Bletsoe. On +one side it has a garden, then the meadows through which winds the Ouse: +on the other, the public road, with its coaches hurrying on to London, +its market people halting to drink, its farmers, horsemen, and foot +travellers. So, as one's humour is, one can have whichever phase of life +one pleases: quietude or bustle; solitude or the busy hum of men: one can +sit in the principal room with a tankard and a pipe and see both these +phases at once through the windows that open upon either. But through +all these delightful places they talk of leading railroads: a sad thing, +I am sure: quite impolitic. But Mammon is blind. + +I went a week ago to see Luton, Lord Bute's place; filled with very fine +pictures, of which I have dreamt since. It is the gallery in England +that I most wish to see again: but I by no means say it is the most +valuable. A great many pictures seemed to me misnamed--especially +Correggio has to answer for some he never painted. + +I am thinking of going to Naseby for a little while: after which I shall +return here: and very likely find my way back to Norfolk before long. At +all events, the middle of October will find me at Boulge, unless the +Fates are very contrary. + +_To Samuel Laurence_. {75} + +BOULGE HALL, WOODBRIDGE, +_Nov_. 9/40. + +DEAR LAURENCE, + +. . . We have had much rain which has hindered the sporting part of our +company: but has not made much difference to me. One or two sunshiny +days have made me say within myself, 'how felicitously and at once would +Laurence hit off an outline in this clear atmosphere.' For this fresh +sunlight is not a mere dead medium of light, but is so much vital +champagne both to sitter and to artist. London will become worse as it +becomes bigger, which it does every hour. + +I don't see much prospect of my going to Cumberland this winter: though I +should like to go snipe-shooting with that literary shot James Spedding. +Do you mean to try and go up Skiddaw? You will get out upon it from your +bedroom window: so I advise you to begin before you go down to breakfast. +There is a mountain called Dod, which has felt me upon its summit. It is +not one of the highest in that range. Remember me to Grisedale Pike; a +very well-bred mountain. If you paint--put him not only in a good light, +but to leeward of you in a strong current of air. . . . + +Farewell for the present. + +_To F. Tennyson_. + +LONDON, _Jan_. 16, 1841. + +DEAR FREDERIC, + +I have just concluded, with all the throes of imprudent pleasure, the +purchase of a large picture by Constable, of which, if I can continue in +the mood, I will enclose you a sketch. It is very good: but how you and +Morton would abuse it! Yet this, being a sketch, escapes some of +Constable's faults, and might escape some of your censures. The trees +are not splashed with that white sky-mud, which (according to Constable's +theory) the Earth scatters up with her wheels in travelling so briskly +round the sun; and there is a dash and felicity in the execution that +gives one a thrill of good digestion in one's room, and the thought of +which makes one inclined to jump over the children's heads in the +streets. But if you could see my great enormous Venetian Picture you +would be extonished. Does the thought ever strike you, when looking at +pictures in a house, that you are to run and jump at one, and go right +through it into some behind-scene world on the other side, as Harlequins +do? A steady portrait especially invites one to do so: the quietude of +it ironically tempts one to outrage it: one feels it would close again +over the panel, like water, as if nothing had happened. That portrait of +Spedding, for instance, which Laurence has given me: not swords, nor +cannon, nor all the Bulls of Bashan butting at it, could, I feel sure, +discompose that venerable forehead. No wonder that no hair can grow at +such an altitude: no wonder his view of Bacon's virtue is so rarefied +that the common consciences of men cannot endure it. Thackeray and I +occasionally amuse ourselves with the idea of Spedding's forehead: we +find it somehow or other in all things, just peering out of all things: +you see it in a milestone, Thackeray says. He also draws the forehead +rising with a sober light over Mont Blanc, and reflected in the lake of +Geneva. We have great laughing over this. The forehead is at present in +Pembrokeshire, I believe: or Glamorganshire: or Monmouthshire: it is hard +to say which. It has gone to spend its Christmas there. + +[A water-colour sketch of Constable's picture.] + +This you see is a sketch of my illustrious new purchase. The two animals +in the water are cows: that on the bank a dog: and that in the glade of +the wood a man or woman as you may choose. I can't say my drawing gives +you much idea of my picture, except as to the composition of it: and even +that depends on the colour and disposition of light and shade. The +effect of the light breaking under the trees is very beautiful in the +original: but this can only be given in water-colours on thick paper, +where one can scratch out the lights. One would fancy that Constable had +been looking at that fine picture of Gainsborough's in the National: the +Watering Place: which is superior, in my mind, to all the Claudes there. +But this is perhaps because I am an Englishman and not an Italian. + +_To W. H. Thompson_. {79a} + +[18_th_ _Feb._ 1841.] +* BOULGE HALL, WOODBRIDGE. + +* Doesn't this name express heavy clay? {79b} + +MY DEAR THOMPSON, + +I wish you would write to me ten lines to say how you are. You are, I +suppose, at Cambridge: and I am buried (with all my fine parts, what a +shame) here: so that I hear of nobody--except that Spedding and I abuse +each other about Shakespeare occasionally: a subject on which you must +know that he has lost his conscience, if ever he had any. For what did +Dr. Allen . . . say when he felt Spedding's head? Why, that all his +bumps were so tempered that there was no merit in his sobriety--then what +would have been the use of a Conscience to him? Q. E. D. + +Since I saw you, I have entered into a decidedly agricultural course of +conduct: read books about composts, etc. I walk about in the fields also +where the people are at work, and the more dirt accumulates on my shoes, +the more I think I know. Is not this all funny? Gibbon might elegantly +compare my retirement from the cares and splendours of the world to that +of Diocletian. Have you read Thackeray's little book--the second Funeral +of Napoleon? If not, pray do; and buy it, and ask others to buy it: as +each copy sold puts 7.5_d._ in T.'s pocket: which is very empty just now, +I take it. I think this book is the best thing he has done. What an +account there is of the Emperor Nicholas in Kemble's last Review, {80a} +the last sentence of it (which can be by no other man in Europe but Jack +himself) has been meat and drink to me for a fortnight. The electric eel +at the Adelaide Gallery is nothing to it. Then Edgeworth fires away +about the Odes of Pindar, {80b} and Donne is very aesthetic about Mr. +Hallam's Book. {80c} What is the meaning of 'exegetical'? Till I know +that, how can I understand the Review? + +Pray remember me kindly to Blakesley, Heath, and such other potentates as +I knew in the days before they 'assumed the purple.' I am reading +Gibbon, and see nothing but this d---d colour before my eyes. It changes +occasionally to bright yellow, which is (is it?) the Imperial colour in +China, and also the antithesis to purple (_vide_ Coleridge and Eastlake's +Goethe)--even as the Eastern and Western Dynasties are antithetical, and +yet, by the law of extremes, potentially the same (_vide_ Coleridge, +etc.) Is this aesthetic? is this exegetical? How glad I shall be if you +can assure me that it is. But, nonsense apart and begged-pardon-for, +pray write me a line to say how you are, directing to this pretty place. +'The soil is in general a moist and retentive clay: with a subsoil or pan +of an adhesive silicious brick formation: adapted to the growth of wheat, +beans, and clover--requiring however a summer fallow (as is generally +stipulated in the lease) every fourth year, etc.' This is not an +unpleasing style on Agricultural subjects--nor an uncommon one. + +_To F. Tennyson_. + +BOULGE HALL, WOODBRIDGE. +[21 March, 1841.] + +DEAR FREDERIC TENNYSON, + +I was very glad indeed to get a letter from you this morning. You here +may judge, by the very nature of things, that I lose no time in answering +it. I did not receive your Sicilian letter: and have been for a year and +half quite ignorant of what part of the world you were in. I supposed +you were alive: though I don't quite know why. De non existentibus et +non apparentibus eadem est ratio. I heard from Morton three months ago: +he was then at Venice: very tired of it: but lying on such luxurious +sofas that he could not make up his mind to move from them. He wanted to +meet you: or at all events to hear of you. I wrote to him, but could +tell him nothing. I have also seen Alfred once or twice since you have +gone: he is to be found in certain conjunctions of the stars at No. 8 +Charlotte Street. . . . All our other friends are in statu quo: Spedding +residing calmly in Lincoln's Inn Fields: at the Colonial all day: at the +play and smoking at night: occasionally to be found in the Edinburgh +Review. Pollock and the Lawyer tribe travel to and fro between their +chambers in the Temple and Westminster Hall: occasionally varying their +travels, when the Chancellor chooses, to the Courts in Lincoln's Inn. As +to me, I am fixed here where your letter found me: very rarely going to +London: and staying there but a short time when I do go. You, Morton, +Spedding, Thackeray, and Alfred, were my chief solace there: and only +Spedding is now to be found. Thackeray lives in Paris. + +From this you may judge that I have no such sights to tell of as you +have. Neither do _mortaletti_ ever go off at Boulge: which is perhaps +not to be regretted. Day follows day with unvaried movement: there is +the same level meadow with geese upon it always lying before my eyes: the +same pollard oaks: with now and then the butcher or the washerwoman +trundling by in their carts. As you have lived in Lincolnshire I will +not further describe Suffolk. No new books (except a perfectly insane +one of Carlyle, {82} who is becoming very obnoxious now that he is become +popular), nor new pictures, no music. A game at picquet of two hours +duration closes each day. But for that I might say with Titus--perdidi +diem. Oh Lord! all this is not told you that you may admire my +philosophic quietude, etc.; pray don't think that. I should travel like +you if I had the eyes to see that you have: but, as Goethe says, the eye +can but see what it brings with it the power of seeing. If anything I +had seen in my short travels had given me any new ideas worth having I +should travel more: as it is, I see your Italian lakes and cities in the +Picturesque Annuals as well as I should in the reality. You have a more +energetic, stirring, acquisitive, and capacious soul. I mean all this +seriously, believe me: but I won't say any more about it. Morton also is +a capital traveller: I wish he would keep notes of what he sees, and +publish them one day. + +I must however tell you that I am becoming a Farmer! Can you believe in +this? I hope we shall both live to laugh over it together. When do you +mean to come back? Pray do not let so long a time elapse again without +writing to me: never mind a long letter: write something to say you are +alive and where. Rome certainly is nearer England than Naples: so +perhaps you are coming back. Bring Morton back with you. I will then go +to London and we will smoke together and be as merry as sandboys. We +will all sit under the calm shadow of Spedding's forehead. People talk +of a war with America. Poor dear old England! she makes a gallant shew +in her old age. If Englishmen are to travel, I am glad that such as you +are abroad--good specimens of Englishmen: with the proper fierte about +them. The greater part are poor wretches that go to see oranges growing, +and hear Bellini for eighteen-pence. I hope the English are as proud and +disagreeable as ever. What an odd thing that the Italians like such +martial demonstrations as you describe--not at all odd, probably--their +spirit begins and goes off in noise and smoke. It is like all other +grand aspirations. So ---'s Epics crepitate in Sonnets. All I ask of +you is to write no Sonnets on what you see or hear--no sonnets can sound +well after Daddy Wordsworth, ---, etc., who have now succeeded in quite +spoiling one's pleasure in Milton's--and they are heavy things. The +words 'subjective and objective' are getting into general use now, and +Donne has begun with _aesthetics_ and _exegetical_ in Kemble's review. +Kemble himself has written an article on the Emperor Nicholas which must +crush him. If you could read it, no salvos of _mortalletti_ could ever +startle you again. And now my paper is almost covered: and I must say +Good bye to you. This is Sunday March 21--a fine sunny blowing day. We +shall dine at one o'clock--an hour hence--go to Church--then walk--have +tea at six, and pass rather a dull evening, because of no picquet. You +will be sauntering in St. Peter's perhaps, or standing on the Capitol +while the sun sets. I should like to see Rome after all. Livy's lies +(as the aesthetics prove them to be) do at least animate one so far--how +far?--so far as to wish, and not to do, having perfect power to do. + +Oh eloquent, just, and mighty Theory of Mortaletti! + +_To W. H. Thompson_. + +BOULGE HALL, WOODBRIDGE, +_March_ 26/41. + +MY DEAR THOMPSON, + +. . . I had a long letter from Morton the other day--he is still +luxuriating at Venice. Also a letter from Frederic Tennyson, who has +been in Sicily, etc., and is much distracted between enjoyment of those +climates and annoyance from Fleas. These two men are to be at Rome +together soon: so if any one wants to go to Rome, now is a good time. I +wish I was there. F. Tennyson says that he and a party of Englishmen +fought a cricket match with the crew of the Bellerophon on the +_Parthenopaean hills_ (query about the correctness of this--I quote from +memory), and _sacked_ the sailors by 90 runs. Is not this pleasant?--the +notion of good English blood striving in worn out Italy--I like that such +men as Frederic should be abroad: so strong, haughty and passionate. They +keep up the English character abroad. . . . Have you read poor Carlyle's +raving book about heroes? Of course you have, or I would ask you to buy +my copy. I don't like to live with it in the house. It smoulders. He +ought to be laughed at a little. But it is pleasant to retire to the +Tale of a Tub, Tristram Shandy, and Horace Walpole, after being tossed on +his canvas waves. This is blasphemy. Dibdin Pitt of the Coburg could +enact one of his heroes. . . . + +_To F. Tennyson_. + +IRELAND, _July_ 26, 1841. + +MY DEAR FREDERIC, + +I got your letter ten days ago in London on my way here. We have +incessant rain, which is as bad as your sciroccos; at least it damps my +energies very much. But people are accustomed to it in Ireland: and my +uncle (in whose house I am staying) is just set off with three of his +children--on horseback--cantering and laughing away in the midst of a +hopeless shower. I am afraid some of us are too indolent for such +things. + +I am glad Morton has taken up painting in good earnest, and I shall +encourage him to persevere as much as I can. . . . I have begun to draw +a little--the fit comes upon one in summer with the foliage: as to +sunshine, so necessary for pictures, I have been obliged to do without +that. We have had scarce a ray for a month . . . I have read nothing, +except the Annual Register: which is not amiss in a certain state of +mind, and is not easily exhausted. A goodly row of some hundred very +thick volumes which may be found in every country town wherever one goes +forbid all danger of exhaustion. So long as there is appetite, there is +food: and of that plain substantial nature which, Johnson says, suits the +stomach of middle life. Burke, for instance, is a sufficiently poetical +politician to interest one just when one's sonneteering age is departing, +but before one has come down quite to arid fact. Do you know anything of +poor Sir Egerton Brydges?--this, in talking of sonnets--poor fellow, he +wrote them for seventy years, fully convinced of their goodness, and only +lamenting that the public were unjust and stupid enough not to admire +them also. He lived in haughty seclusion, and at the end of life wrote a +doating Autobiography. He writes good prose however, and shews himself +as he is very candidly: indeed he is proud of the display. + +All this is not meant to be a lesson to you who write, everybody says, +good sonnets. Sir E. Brydges would have been the same dilettante if he +had written Epics--probably worse. I certainly don't like sonnets, as +you know: we have been spoiled for them by Daddy Wordsworth, ---, and Co. +Moxon must write them too forsooth. What do they seem fit for but to +serve as little shapes in which a man may mould very mechanically any +single thought which comes into his head, which thought is not lyrical +enough in itself to exhale in a more lyrical measure? The difficulty of +the sonnet metre in English is a good excuse for the dull didactic +thoughts which naturally incline towards it: fellows know there is no +danger of decanting their muddy stuff ever so slowly: they are neither +prose nor poetry. I have rather a wish to tie old Wordsworth's volume +about his neck and pitch him into one of the deepest holes of his dear +Duddon. + +But it is very stupid to write all this to Italy, though it would have +done very well to have canvassed with you and Morton over our pipes in +Mornington Crescent. I suppose you never will come back to stay long in +England again: I have given you up to a warmer latitude. If you were +more within reach, I would make you go a trip with me to the West of +Ireland, whither I am not confident enough to go alone. Yet I wish to +see it. + +_To Bernard Barton_. + +EDGEWORTHSTOWN, +_September_ 2/41. + +MY DEAR BARTON, + +You must allow I am a good correspondent--this half year at least. This +is Septr. 2, a most horrible day for a Bazaar, judging at least by the +weather here. But you may be better off. I came to this house a week +ago to visit a male friend, who duly started to England the day before I +got here. I therefore found myself domiciled in a house filled with +ladies of divers ages--Edgeworth's wife, aged--say 28--his mother aged +74--his sister (the great Maria) aged 72--and another cousin or +something--all these people very pleasant and kind: the house pleasant: +the grounds ditto: a good library: . . . so here I am quite at home. But +surely I must go to England soon: it seems to me as if that must take +place soon: and so send me a letter directed to me at Mr. Watcham's, +Naseby, Thornby. Those places are in England. You may put Northampton +after Thornby if you like. I am going to look at the winding up of the +harvest there. + +I am now writing in the Library here: and the great Authoress is as busy +as a bee making a catalogue of her books beside me, chattering away. We +are great friends. She is as lively, active, and cheerful as if she were +but twenty; really a very entertaining person. We talk about Walter +Scott whom she adores, and are merry all the day long. I have read about +thirty-two sets of novels since I have been here: it has rained nearly +all the time. + +I long to hear how the Bazaar went off: and so I beg you to tell me all +about it. When I began this letter I thought I had something to say: but +I believe the truth was I had nothing to do. When you see my dear Major +{89} give him my love, and tell him I wish he were here to go to +Connemara with me: I have no heart to go alone. The discomfort of Irish +inns requires a companion in misery. This part of the country is poorer +than any I have yet seen: the people becoming more Spanish also in face +and dress. Have you read The Collegians? {90a} + +I have now begun to sketch heads on the blotting paper on which my paper +rests--a sure sign, as Miss Edgeworth tells me, that I have said quite +enough. She is right. Good-bye. In so far as this country is Ireland I +am glad to be here: but inasmuch as it is not England I wish I were +there. + +_To S. Laurence_. + +NASEBY, _Septr_. 28/41. + +MY DEAR LAURENCE, + +. . . Do you know that I wanted you to come down by the railroad and see +me here: where there is nothing else to be seen but myself: which would +have been a comfort to you. I have been staying here three weeks alone, +smoking with farmers, looking at their lands, and taking long walks +alone: during which (as well as when I was in Ireland) I made such +sketches as will make you throw down your brush in despair. I wish you +would ask at Molteno's or Colnaghi's for a new Lithographic print of a +head of Dante, after a fresco by Giotto, lately discovered in some chapel +{90b} at Florence. It is the most wonderful head that ever was +seen--Dante at about twenty-seven years old: rather younger. The +Edgeworths had a print in Ireland: got by great interest in Florence +before the legitimate publication: but they told me it was to be abroad +in September. If you can get me a copy, pray do. + +_To F. Tennyson_. + +Imo piano. No. o. Strada del Obelisco. +NASEBY. [_Oct_. 1841.] + +MY DEAR FREDERIC, + +I am surprised you think my scanty letters are worth encouraging, +especially with such long and excellent answers as that I have just got +from you. It has found its way down here: and oddly enough does your +Italian scenery, painted, I believe, very faithfully upon my inner eye, +contrast with the British barrenness of the Field of Naseby. Yet here +was fought a battle of some interest to Englishmen: and I am persuading +farmers to weed well the corn that grows over those who died there. No, +no; in spite of your Vesuviuses and sunshine, I love my poor dear brave +barren ugly country. Talk of your Italians! why, they are extinguished +by the Austrians because they don't blaze enough of themselves to burn +the extinguisher. Only people who deserve despotism are forced to suffer +it. We have at last good weather: and the harvest is just drawing to a +close in this place. It is a bright brisk morning, and the loaded +waggons are rolling cheerfully past my window. But since I wrote what is +above a whole day has passed: I have eaten a bread dinner: taken a lonely +walk: made a sketch of Naseby (not the least like yours of Castellamare): +played for an hour on an old tub of a piano: and went out in my dressing- +gown to smoke a pipe with a tenant hard by. That tenant (whose name is +Love, by the bye) was out with his folks in the stack yard: getting in +all the corn they can, as the night looks rainy. So, disappointed of my +projected 'talk about runts' and turnips, I am come back--with a good +deal of animal spirits at my tongue's and fingers' ends. If I were +transported now into your room at Castellamare, I would wag my tongue far +beyond midnight with you. These fits of exultation are not very common +with me: as (after leaving off beef) my life has become of an even grey +paper character: needing no great excitement, and as pleased with Naseby +as Naples. . . . + +I am reading Schlegel's lectures on the History of Literature: a nice +just book: as also the comedies of Congreve, Vanbrugh, and Farquhar: the +latter very delightful: as also D'Aubigne's History of the Reformation, a +good book. When I am tired of one I take up the other: when tired of +all, I take up my pipe, or sit down and recollect some of Fidelio on the +pianoforte. Ah Master Tennyson, we in England have our pleasures too. As +to Alfred, I have heard nothing of him since May: except that some one +saw him going to a packet which he believed was going to Rotterdam. . . . +When shall you and I go to an Opera again, or hear one of Beethoven's +Symphonies together? You are lost to England, I calculate: and I am +given over to turnips and inanity. So runs the world away. Well, if I +never see you again, I am very very glad I _have_ seen you: and got the +idea of a noble fellow all ways into my head. Does this seem like humbug +to you? But it is not. And that fine fellow Morton too. Pray write +when you can to me: and when my stars shine so happily about my head as +they do at this minute, when my blood feels like champagne, I will answer +you. . . + +When you go to Florence, get to see a fresco portrait of Dante by Giotto: +newly discovered in some chapel there. Edgeworth saw it, and has brought +home a print which is (he says) a tolerable copy. It is a most awful +head: Dante, when about twenty-five years old. The likeness to the +common portraits of him when old is quite evident. All his great poem +seems in it: like the flower in the bud. I read the last cantos of the +Paradiso over and over again. I forget if you like him: but, if I +understand you at all, you must. Farewell! + +P.S. Just heard from Edgeworth that Alfred is in London 'busy preparing +for the press'!!! + +_To Bernard Barton_. + +LONDON, _November_ 27/41. + +DEAR BARTON, + +I am afraid you were disappointed last night at finding no picture by the +Shannon. {93} Mayhap you had asked Mr C[hurchyard] to come and give his +judgment upon it over toasted cheese. But the truth is, the picture has +just been varnished with mastick varnish, which is apt to chill with the +cold at this season of the year: and so I thought it best to keep it by +me till its conveyance should be safer. I hope that on Monday you will +get it. But I must tell you that, besides the reason of the varnish, I +have had a sneaking desire to keep the picture by me, and not to lose it +from my eyes just yet. I am in love with it. I washed it myself very +carefully with only sweet salad oil: perfectly innocuous as you may +imagine: and that, with the new lining, and the varnishing, has at least +made the difference between a dirty and a clean beauty. And now, whoever +it may be painted by, I pronounce it a very beautiful picture: tender, +graceful, full of repose. I sit looking at it in my room and like it +more and more. All this is independent of its paternity. But if I am +asked about that, I should only answer on my own judgment (not a good one +in such a matter, as I have told you) that it is decidedly by +Gainsborough, and in his best way of conception. My argument would be of +the Johnsonian kind: if it is not by G., who the devil is it by? There +are some perhaps feeble touches here and there in the tree in the centre, +though not in those autumnal leaves that shoot into the sky to the right: +but who painted that clump of thick solemn trees to the left of the +picture:--the light of evening rising like a low fire between their +boles? The cattle too in the water, how they stand! The picture must be +an original of somebody's: and if not of Gainsborough's--whose? It is +better painted far than the Market Cart in the National Gallery: but not +better, only equal (in a sketchy way) to the beautiful evening Watering +Place. + +Now I have raised your expectations too high. But when you have looked +at the picture some time, you will agree with me. I say all this in +sober honesty, for upon my word, whether it be by Gainsborough or not, it +is a kind of pang to me to part from the picture: I believe I should like +it all the better for its being a little fatherless bastard which I have +picked up in the streets, and made clean and comfortable. Yet, if your +friend tells you it is by G. I shall be glad you should possess it. Any +how, never part with it but to me. + +I must tell you my friend Laurence still persists it is not by +Gainsborough: but I have thrown him quite overboard. Oh the comfort of +independent self confidence! Said Laurence also observed that +Gainsborough was the Goldsmith of Painters: which is perhaps true. I +should like to know if he would know an original of Goldsmith, if I read +something to him. He is a nice fellow this Laurence by the way. + +Our prospect of going down to Suffolk this year is much on the wane: the +Doctor has desired that Lusia should remain in town. Though I should +like much to see you and others, yet I am on the whole glad that my +sisters should stay here, where they are likely to be better off. I +shall stay with them, as I am of use. I may however run down one day to +give you a look. I wish you would enquire and let me know how Mr. Jenney +{96} is: he was not well when my Father was in Suffolk. Only _don't ask +himself_: he hates that. And now farewell. This is a long letter: but +look at it by way of notice when the picture comes to you. If it does +not come on Monday don't be angry: but it probably will. + +BRIGHTON, _Dec_. 29, 1841. + +MY DEAR BARTON, + +The account you give of my old Squire 'that he is in a poorish way' does +not satisfy me: and I want you to ask Mr. Jones the surgeon, whom you +know, and who used to attend on the Squire,--to ask him, I say, how that +Squire is. He has been ill for the last two or three winters, and may +not be worse now than before. He is one of our oldest friends: and +though he and I have not very much in common, he is a part of my country +of England, and involved in the very idea of the quiet fields of Suffolk. +He is the owner of old Bredfield House in which I was born--and the +seeing him cross the stiles between Hasketon and Bredfield, and riding +with his hounds over the lawn, is among the scenes in that novel called +The Past which dwell most in my memory. What is the difference between +what has been, and what never has been, _none_? At the same time this +Squire, so hardy, is indignant at the idea of being ill or laid up: so +one must inquire of him by some roundabout means. . . . + +We had a large party here last night: Horace Smith came: like his brother +James, but better looking: and said to be very agreeable. Do you [know] +that he gives a dreadful account of Mrs. Southey: that meek and Christian +poetess: he says, she's a devil in temper. He told my mother so: had you +heard of this? I don't believe it yet: one ought not so soon, ought one? + +Goodbye. + +_To W. B. Donne_. + +MONDAY. + +MY DEAR DONNE, + +Thompson tells me you are writing a Roman History. But you have not been +asked to Lecture at the Ipswich Mechanics' Institution, as I have--'any +subject except controversial Divinity, and party Politics.' In the +meantime I have begun Livy: I have read one book, and can't help looking +at the four thick octavos that remain-- + + Oh beate Sesti, + Vitae summa brevis spem nos vetat inchoare longam. {97} + +But it is very stately reading. As to old Niebuhr, it is mean to attack +old legends that can't defend themselves. And what does it signify in +the least if they are true or not? Whoever _actively_ believed that +Romulus was suckled by a wolf? But I have found in Horace a proper motto +for those lumbering Germans: + + Quis Parthum paveat? quis gelidum Scythen? + Quis Germania quos horrida parturit + Foetus? {98} + +_To Bernard Barton_. + +[GELDESTONE, _Jan_. 1842.] + +MY DEAR SIR, + +You tell my Father you mean to write a Poem about my invisibility--and +somehow it seems strange to myself that I have been so long absent from +Woodbridge. It was a toss up (as boys say--and perhaps Gods) whether I +should go now:--the toss has decided I should not. On the contrary I am +going to see Donne at Mattishall: a visit, which having put off a +fortnight ago, I am now determined to pay. But if I do not see you +before I go to London, I shall assuredly be down again by the latter part +of February: when toasted cheese and ale shall again unite our souls. You +need not however expect that I can return to such familiar intercourse as +once (in former days) passed between us. New honours in society have +devolved upon me the necessity of a more dignified deportment. A letter +has been sent from the Secretary of the Ipswich Mechanics' Institution +asking me to Lecture--any subject but Party Politics or Controversial +Divinity. On my politely declining, another, a fuller, and a more +pressing, letter was sent urging me to comply with their demand: I +answered to the same effect, but with accelerated dignity. I am now +awaiting the third request in confidence: if you see no symptoms of its +being mooted, perhaps you will kindly propose it. I have prepared an +answer. Donne is mad with envy. He consoles himself with having got a +Roman History to write for Lardner's Cabinet Cyclopaedia. {99} What a +pity it is that only Lying Histories are readable. I am afraid Donne +will stick to what is considered the Truth too much. + +This is a day like May: I and the children have been scrambling up and +down the sides of a pit till our legs ache. + +_Jan_. 24/42. + +DEAR BARTON, + +You mistake. The Poacher was bought in his shell--for 3 pounds--did I +not name that price? As you desire a packing case, I will order one to +day: and I hope you will have him down on Wednesday, just when your Bank +work is over, and you will be glad of such good company. One of my +friends thought the picture must have been an anticipation of Bill Sykes: +put a cap and feathers on his head and you make him Iago, Richard the +Third, or any other aristocratic villain. I really think the picture is +a very good one of its kind: and one that you will like. {100a} + +I am going to get my large Constable very lightly framed, and shall bring +it down into Suffolk with me to shew you and others. I like it more and +more. + +. . . There is something poetical, and almost heroic, in this Expedition +to the Niger--the motives lofty and Christian--the issue so disastrous. +Do you remember in A. Cunningham's Scottish Songs {100b} one called 'The +Darien Song'? It begins + + We will go, maidens, go, + To the primrose {100c} woods and mourn, etc. + +Look for it. It applies to this business. Some Scotch young folks went +out to colonize Darien, and never came back. + + Oh there were white hands wav'd, + And many a parting hail, + As their vessel stemm'd the tide, + And stretch'd her snowy sail. + +I remember reading this at Aldbro', and the sound of the sea hangs about +it always, as upon the lips of a shell. + +Farewell for the present. We shall soon be down amongst you. + +P.S. I think Northcote drew this picture from life: and I have no doubt +there is some story attached to it. The subject may have been some great +malefactor. You know that painters like to draw such at times. Northcote +could not have painted so well but from life. + +_To F. Tennyson_. + +LONDON, _February_ 6, 1842. + +DEAR FREDERIC, + +These fast-following letters of mine seem intended to refute a charge +made against me by Morton: that I had only so much impulse of +correspondence as resulted from the receipt of a friend's letter. Is it +very frivolous to write all these letters, on no business whatsoever? +What I think is, that one will soon be going into the country, where one +hears no music, and sees no pictures, and so one will have nothing to +write about. I mean to take down a Thucydides, to feed on: like a whole +Parmesan. But at present here I am in London: last night I went to see +Acis and Galatea brought out, with Handel's music, and Stanfield's +scenery: really the best done thing I have seen for many a year. As I +sat alone (alone in spirit) in the pit, I wished for you: and now Sunday +is over: I have been to church: I have dined at Portland Place: {102} and +now I come home to my lodgings: light my pipe: and will whisper something +over to Italy. You talk of your Naples: and that one cannot understand +Theocritus without having been on those shores. I tell you, you can't +understand Macready without coming to London and seeing his revival of +Acis and Galatea. You enter Drury Lane at a quarter to seven: the pit is +already nearly full: but you find a seat, and a very pleasant one. Box +doors open and shut: ladies take off their shawls and seat themselves: +gentlemen twist their side curls: the musicians come up from under the +stage one by one: 'tis just upon seven: Macready is very punctual: Mr. T. +Cooke is in his place with his marshal's baton in his hand: he lifts it +up: and off they set with old Handel's noble overture. As it is playing, +the red velvet curtain (which Macready has substituted, not wisely, for +the old green one) draws apart: and you see a rich drop scene, all +festooned and arabesqued with River Gods, Nymphs, and their emblems; and +in the centre a delightful, large, good copy of Poussin's great landscape +(of which I used to have a print in my rooms) where the Cyclops is seen +seated on a mountain, looking over the sea-shore. The overture ends, the +drop scene rises, and there is the sea-shore, a long curling bay: the sea +heaving under the moon, and breaking upon the beach, and rolling the surf +down--the stage! This is really capitally done. But enough of +description. The choruses were well sung, well acted, well dressed, and +well grouped; and the whole thing creditable and pleasant. Do you know +the music? It is of Handel's best: and as classical as any man who wore +a full-bottomed wig could write. I think Handel never gets out of his +wig: that is, out of his age: his Hallelujah chorus is a chorus not of +angels, but of well-fed earthly choristers, ranged tier above tier in a +Gothic cathedral, with princes for audience, and their military trumpets +flourishing over the full volume of the organ. Handel's gods are like +Homer's, and his sublime never reaches beyond the region of the clouds. +Therefore I think that his great marches, triumphal pieces, and +coronation anthems, are his finest works. There is a little bit of +Auber's, at the end of the Bayadere when the God resumes his divinity and +retires into the sky, which has more of pure light and mystical solemnity +than anything I know of Handel's: but then this is only a scrap: and +Auber could not breathe in that atmosphere long: whereas old Handel's +coursers, with necks with thunder clothed and long resounding pace, never +tire. Beethoven thought more deeply also: but I don't know if he could +sustain himself so well. I suppose you will resent this praise of +Beethoven: but you must be tired of the whole matter, written as it is in +this vile hand: and so here is an end of it. . . . And now I am going to +put on my night-cap: for my paper is nearly ended, and the iron tongue of +St. Paul's, as reported by an East wind, has told twelve. This is the +last news from the city. So Good night. I suppose the violets will be +going off in the Papal dominions by the time this letter reaches you: my +country cousins are making much of a few aconites. Love to Morton. + +P.S. I hope these foolish letters don't cost you and Morton much: I +always pay 1_s._ 7_d._ for them here: which ought to carry such levities +to Hindostan without further charge. + +_To Bernard Barton_. + +LONDON, _February_ 21/42. + +I have just got home a new coat for my Constable: which coat cost 33 +shillings: just the same price as I gave for a Chesterfield wrapper (as +it is called) for myself some weeks ago. People told me I was not +improved by my Chesterfield wrapper: and I am vext to see how little my +Constable is improved by his coat of Cloth of Gold. But I have been told +what is the use of a frame lately: only as it requires nice explanation I +shall leave it till I see you. Don't you wish me to buy that little +Evening piece I told you of? worth a dozen of your Paul Veroneses put +together. + +When I rate you (as you call it) about shewing my verses, letters, etc., +you know in what spirit I rate you: thanking you all the time for your +generous intention of praising me. It would be very hard, and not +desirable, to make you understand why my Mama need not have heard the +verses: but it is a very little matter: so no more of it. As to my doing +anything else in that way, I know that I could write volume after volume +as well as others of the mob of gentlemen who write with ease: but I +think unless a man can do better, he had best not do at all; I have not +the strong inward call, nor cruel-sweet pangs of parturition, that prove +the birth of anything bigger than a mouse. With you the case is +different, who have so long been a follower of the Muse, and who have had +a kindly, sober, English, wholesome, religious spirit within you that has +communicated kindred warmth to many honest souls. Such a creature as +Augusta--John's wife--a true Lady, was very fond of your poems: and I +think that is no mean praise: a very good assurance that you have not +written in vain. I am a man of taste, of whom there are hundreds born +every year: only that less easy circumstances than mine at present are +compel them to one calling: that calling perhaps a mechanical one, which +overlies all their other, and naturally perhaps more energetic impulses. +As to an occasional copy of verses, there are few men who have leisure to +read, and are possessed of any music in their souls, who are not capable +of versifying on some ten or twelve occasions during their natural lives: +at a proper conjunction of the stars. There is no harm in taking +advantage of such occasions. + +This letter-writing fit (one must suppose) can but happen once in one's +life: though I hope you and I shall live to have many a little bargain +for pictures. But I hold communion with Suffolk through you. In this +big London all full of intellect and pleasure and business I feel +pleasure in dipping down into the country, and rubbing my hand over the +cool dew upon the pastures, as it were. I know very few people here: and +care for fewer; I believe I should like to live in a small house just +outside a pleasant English town all the days of my life, making myself +useful in a humble way, reading my books, and playing a rubber of whist +at night. But England cannot expect long such a reign of inward quiet as +to suffer men to dwell so easily to themselves. But Time will tell us: + + Come what come may, + Time and the Hour runs through the roughest day. {106} + +It is hard to give you so long a letter, so dull an one, and written in +so cramped a hand, to read in this hardworking part of your week. But +you can read a bit at odd times, you know: or none at all. Anyhow 'tis +time to have done. I am going to walk with Lusia. So farewell + +P.S. I always direct to you as 'Mr. Barton' because I know not if +Quakers ought to endure Squiredom. How I long to shew you my Constable! + +Pray let me know how Mr. Jenney is. I think that we shall get down to +Suffolk the end of next week. + +LONDON, _Febr_. 25/42. + +MY DEAR BARTON, + +Your reason for liking your Paul Veronese (what an impudence to talk so +to a man who has just purchased a real Titian!) does not quite disprove +my theory. You like the picture because you like the verses you once +made upon it: you associate the picture (naturally enough) with them: and +so shall I in future, because I like the verses too. But then you ask +further, what made you write the verses if you were not moved by the +picture imprimis? Why you know the poetic faculty does wonders, as +Shakespeare tells us, in imagining the forms of things unseen, etc., and +so you made a merit where there was none: and have liked that merit ever +since. But I will not disturb you any further in your enjoyment: if you +have a vision of your own, why should I undo it? + +Yesterday I was busily employed in painting over my Opie, which had +suffered by heat, or something of that kind. I borrowed Laurence's +palette and brushes and lay upon the floor two hours patching over and +renovating. The picture is really greatly improved, and I am more +reconciled to it. It has now to be varnished: and then I hope some fool +will be surprised into giving 4 pounds for it, as I did. I have selected +an advantageous position for it in a dealer's shop, just under a rich +window that excludes the light. + +On second thoughts I shall not send you down my Twilight: but bring it +with me. I like it much, and do not repent the purchase. As to the +difficulty of bringing down so many pictures, I shall travel by the +steamer; which will bear any quantity. The great new purchase, spoken of +in yesterday's letter, will also go with me: it will be insured at a high +valuation before it is entrusted to the Deep, of whose treasures I don't +at all wish it to become one. My Titian is a great hit: if not by him, +it is as near him as ever was painted. But you would not care six straws +for it. The history of the finest theory of colouring lies in those few +inches of canvas. But Laurence (who has gone for some days into the +country) must see it, and tell me about it. He is so good a judge, that +I ought never to talk till I have first heard his verdict. + +I was amused at a passage in Clarissa the other day, which gives one some +idea of what the average state of the arts was among the gentry of a +hundred years ago. Miss Howe, in drawing up a character of her lost +Clarissa, says that among other things she had a fine taste for the +Pencil: had not time to practise it much, but 'was an absolute mistress +of the "should be,"' and then proceeds thus: 'To give a familiar instance +for the sake of young Ladies: she (untaught) observed _when but a child_, +that the Sun, Moon, and Stars, never appeared at once: and were therefore +never to be in one piece: that bears, tygers, lions, were not natives of +an English climate, and should not therefore have a place in an English +landscape: that these ravagers of the forest consorted not with lambs, +kids, or fawns: nor kites, hawks, or vultures, with doves, partridges, +and pheasants.' Such was a prodigy in those days. It is easy to sneer +at this passage: but whoever has read anything of the Masques, etc., of +James's time, will readily recall what absurdities were brought together, +even by the good Scholars of the day: and therefore will not wonder at +the imperfect Natural History that was found in young Ladies' Drawings, +and samplers. I remember now to have seen wonderful combinations of +phenomena in those samplers which are occasionally to be found hung up in +the parlours of Country Inns, and Farm houses. + +These letters succeed like the ghosts of Banquo's progeny before the eyes +of Macbeth. Lucky that time itself draws on too close for this letter to +'hold a glass that shews you many more.' You did not answer my question +about the Gainsboroughs. So I won't ask you another. + +SONNET ON MY NEW PICTURE. + +Oh Twilight! Twilight!! + +Rot me, if I am in a poetical humour: I can't translate the picture into +words. + +LONDON, _March_ 5, 1842. + +MY DEAR BARTON, + +Before the cavalcade and suite of Hardinge's (a melancholy procession) +reaches you, I think this letter will. You need not envy me my +purchases, which are imprudent ones: both because I can't well afford +them, and because I have no house to put them. And yet all this gives a +sense of stolen enjoyment to them. I am yet haunted with the ghost of a +Battle-piece (little in my way) at a shop in Holborn: by whom I know not: +but so good as to be cheap at 4 pounds: 10_s._, which the man wants for +it. My Twilight _is_ an upright picture: about a foot wide, and rather +more than a foot high. + +Mr. Browne has declined taking my Opie, unless in conjunction with some +others which I won't part with: so the Forest Girl must set up her stall +at a Broker's. I doubt she will never bring me the money I gave for her. +She is the only bad speculation of the season. Were she but sold, I +should be rejoicing in the Holborn Battle Piece. After this year however +I think I shall bid complete adieu to picture-_hunting_: only taking what +comes in my way. There is a great difference between these two things: +both in the expense of time, thought, and money. Who can sit down to +Plato while his brains are roaming to Holborn, Christie's, Phillips's, +etc.? + +My Father talks of going down to Suffolk early next week. Whether I +shall accompany him is not certain. Do you remember what a merry Good +Friday you and I passed last year? I suppose I shall find the banks +covered with primroses, the very name carries a dew upon it. + + 'As one who long in populous city pent, etc.' {111} + +Good-bye. I am going to pay my compliments at Portland Place, and then +to walk in a contrary direction to Holborn. + +_To F. Tennyson_. + +[31 _March_, 1842.] + +DEAR FREDERIC, + +. . . Concerning the bagwigs of composers. Handel's was not a bagwig, +which was simply so named from the little stuffed black silk watch-pocket +that hung down behind the back of the wearer. Such were Haydn's and +Mozart's--much less influential on the character: much less ostentatious +in themselves: not towering so high, nor rolling down in following curls +so low as to overlay the nature of the brain within. But Handel wore the +Sir Godfrey Kneller wig: greatest of wigs: one of which some great +General of the day used to take off his head after the fatigue of the +battle, and hand over to his valet to have the bullets combed out of it. +Such a wig was a fugue in itself. I don't understand your theory about +trumpets, which have always been so little spiritual _in use_, that they +have been the provocatives and celebrators of physical force from the +beginning of the world. '_Power_,' whether spiritual or physical, is the +meaning of the trumpet: and so, well used, as you say, by Handel in his +approaches to the Deity. The fugue in the overture to the Messiah +expresses perhaps the thorny wandering ways of the world before the voice +of the one in the wilderness, and before 'Comfort ye my people, etc.' +Mozart, I agree with you, is the most universal musical genius: Beethoven +has been too analytical and erudite: but his inspiration is nevertheless +true. I have just read his Life by Moscheles: well worth reading. He +shewed no very decided preference for music when a child, though he was +the son of a composer: and I think that he was, strictly speaking, more +of a thinker than a musician. A great genius he was somehow. He was +very fond of reading: Plutarch and Shakespeare his great favourites. He +tried to think in music: almost to reason in music: whereas perhaps we +should be contented with _feeling_ in it. It can never speak very +definitely. There is that famous 'Holy, Holy, Lord God Almighty, etc.,' +in Handel: nothing can sound more simple and devotional: but it is only +lately adapted to these words, being originally (I believe) a love song +in Rodelinda. Well, lovers adore their mistresses more than their God. +Then the famous music of 'He layeth the beams of his chambers in the +waters, etc.,' was originally fitted to an Italian pastoral song--'Nasce +al bosco in rozza cuna, un felice pastorello, etc.' That part which +seems so well to describe 'and walketh on the wings of the wind' falls +happily in with 'e con l'aura di fortuna' with which this pastorello +sailed along. The character of the music is ease and largeness: as the +shepherd lived, so God Almighty walked on the wind. The music breathes +ease: but words must tell us who takes it easy. Beethoven's Sonata--Op. +14--is meant to express the discord and gradual atonement of two lovers, +or a man and his wife: and he was disgusted that every one did not see +what was meant: in truth, it expresses any resistance gradually +overcome--Dobson shaving with a blunt razor, for instance. Music is so +far the most universal language, that any one piece in a particular +strain symbolizes all the analogous phenomena spiritual or material--if +you can talk of spiritual phenomena. The Eroica symphony describes the +battle of the passions as well as of armed men. This is long and muddy +discourse: but the walls of Charlotte Street present little else, +especially during this last week of Lent, to twaddle about. The +Cambridge Dons have been up in town for the Easter vacation: so we have +smoked and talked over Peacock, Whewell, etc. Alfred is busy preparing a +new volume for the press: full of doubts, troubles, etc. The reviewers +will doubtless be at him: and with justice for many things: but some of +the poems will outlive the reviewers. Trench, Wordsworth, Campbell, and +Taylor, also appear in new volumes this Spring, and Milnes, I hear, talks +of publishing a popular edition of his poems. He means, a cheap one. +Nothing has been heard of Spedding: {114a} but we all conclude, from the +nature of the case, that he has not been scalped. + +_To W. F. Pollock_. {114b} + +BOULGE HALL, _May_ 11/42. + +DEAR POLLOCK, + +. . . I have just been reading the great Library of Athanasius. {114c} +Certainly only you and I and Thackeray understand it. When men like +Spedding quote to me such a passage as 'Athanasius alas is innocent of +many smiles, etc.,' they shew me they don't understand it. The beauty--if +one may dare to define--lies more in such expressions as 'adjusting the +beaks of the macaws, etc.' I have laughed outright (how seldom one does +this alone!) at the Bishops' meeting. 'Mr. Talboys--that candle behind +Dr. Allnut--really that I should be obliged--.' I suppose this would be +the most untranslateable book in the world. I never shall forget how I +laughed when I first read it. + +[GELDESTONE HALL, 22 _May_ 1842.] + +DEAR POLLOCK, + +. . . So Alfred is come out. {115a} I agree with you quite about the +skipping-rope, etc. But the bald men {115b} of the Embassy would tell +you otherwise. I should not wonder if the whole theory of the Embassy, +perhaps the discovery of America itself, was involved in that very Poem. +Lord Bacon's, honesty may, I am sure, be found there. Alfred, whatever +he may think, cannot trifle--many are the disputes we have had about his +powers of badinage, compliment, waltzing, etc. His smile is rather a +grim one. I am glad the book is come out, though I grieve for the +insertion of these little things, on which reviewers and dull readers +will fix; so that the right appreciation of the book will be retarded a +dozen years. . . . + +The rain will not come and we are burnt up, and in despair. But the +country never looked more delicious than it does. I am as happy here as +possible, though I don't like to boast. I am going to see my friend +Donne in ten days, he is writing the dullest of histories--one of Rome. +What the devil does it signify setting us in these days right as to the +Licinian Rogation, and Livy's myths? Every school-boy knew that Livy +lied; but the main story was clear enough for all the purposes of +experience; and, that being so, the more fabulous and entertaining the +subsidiary matter is the better. Tell Thackeray not to go into Punch +yet. + +_To S. Laurence_. + +GELDESTONE HALL, BECCLES. +SUNDAY, _May_ 22/42. + +MY DEAR LAURENCE, + +. . . I read of the advertisements of sales and auctions, but don't envy +you Londoners while I am here in the midst of _green idleness_, as Leigh +Hunt might call it. What are pictures? I am all for pure spirit. You +have of course read the account of Spedding's forehead landing in +America. English sailors hail it in the Channel, mistaking it for Beachy +Head. There is a Shakespeare cliff, and a Spedding cliff. Good old +fellow! I hope he'll come back safe and sound, forehead and all. + +I sit writing this at my bedroom window, while the rain (long-looked for) +patters on the window. I prophesied it to-day: which is a great comfort. +We have a housefull of the most delightful children: and if the rain +would last, and the grass grow, all would be well. I think the rain will +last: I shall prophesy so when I go down to our early dinner. For it is +Sunday: and we dine children and all at one o'clock: and go to afternoon +church, and a great tea at six--then a pipe (except for the young +ladies)--a stroll--a bit of supper--and to bed. Wake in the morning at +five--open the window and read Ecclesiasticus. A proverb says that +'everything is fun in the country.' + +My Constable has been greatly admired, and is reckoned quite genuine by +our great judge, Mr. Churchyard. Mr. C. paints himself: (not in _body_ +colours, as you waggishly insinuate) and nicely too. He understands +Gainsborough, Constable, and old Crome. Have you ever seen pictures by +the latter? some very fine. He was a Norwich man. + +BOULGE HALL, _June_ 19/42. + +MY DEAR LAURENCE, + +Keep the head of Raffaelle as long as you please. I am glad that one of +the three pictures at all events is worth something. I anticipated that +Morton's friend would spoil them in the carriage: friends always do. Keep +them all, like my other pictures, at your house: and make what use of +them you please. The head of Dante is, I suppose, the same as the one L. +Hunt shewed us engraved in a book: a theatrical one, I thought. . . . +Have you been to any auction-rooms? I have forgot all about them: and +can live very well without pictures. I believe one loses all one's +tastes in the country: and one is not the less happy. We have had +glorious weather: new pease and young potatoes--fresh milk (how good!) +and a cool library to sit in of mornings. . . . + +_To F. Tennyson_. + +BEDFORD, _August_ 16, 1842. + +DEAR TENNYSON, + +I have been long hoping for a letter from you: it has come this morning, +and repays me for all waiting. While you and Morton write to me about +Italy I shall never go to see it. And yet your account of Cicero's +villa, I confess, gives me a twinge. But of this I am sure: if I saw all +these fine things with the bodily eye, I should but see them as a scene +in a play, with the additional annoyance of being bitten with fleas +perhaps, and being in a state of transition which is not suitable to me: +whereas while you see them, and will represent them to me, I see them +through your imagination, and that is better than any light of my own. +This is very true, I assure you: and you and Morton have given me quite a +different view of Italy to what I had before: a much more enchanting one, +but not the more likely to seduce me into making the false step of trying +to realize it for myself. . . . In the mean time how tired and bored +would you be to take one of my travels--a voyage of eight miles from +Bedford perhaps--travelled twenty times before--every winding of the +river, every church-spire, every country pot house and the quality of its +beer, well known. No surprise at all. Nil admirari--I find that old +Horace is a good fellow-traveller in England: so is Virgil. It is odd +that those fellows living in the land they did live in should have talked +so coldly about it. As to Alfred's book, I believe it has sold well: but +I have not seen him for a long while, and have had no means of hearing +about the matter except from Thompson, who told me that very many copies +had been sold at Cambridge, which indeed will be the chief market for +them. Neither have I seen any notice of them in print except that in the +Examiner; and that seemed so quiet that I scarce supposed it was by +Forster. Alfred himself is, I believe, in Kent at present. And now, my +dear Frederic, why do you think of returning to England? Depend upon it +you are better off as you are. You will never turn magistrate nor bean- +dibbler, nor make yourself of use in the country, and therefore why +should you not live where you like to live best? When I read of your +laughing and singing and riding into Naples with huge self-supplying +beakers full of the warm South I am sure you had best stay where you are. +I should indeed be very glad to see you again: but then I should miss +hearing from you: and you would only come here to abuse us all and go +back again. You Tennysons are born for warm climates. As to poor +England, I never see a paper, but I think with you that she is on the go. +I used to dread this: but somehow I now contemplate it as a necessary +thing, and, till the shoe begins to pinch me sorely, walk on with some +indifference. It seems impossible the manufacturers can go on as they +are: and impossible that the demand for our goods can continue as of old +in Europe: and impossible but that we must get a rub and licking in some +of our colonies: and if all these things come at once, why then the +devil's in it. I used to think as you do about France and the French: +and we all agreed in London that France should be divided among the other +powers as Poland was: but Donne has given me pause: he says that France +is the great counteracting democratic principle to Russia. This may be: +though I think Russia is too unwieldly and rotten-ripe ever to make a +huge progress in conquest. What is to be thought of a nation where the +upper classes speak the language of another country, and have varnished +over their honest barbarism with the poorest French profligacy and +intrigue? Russia does not seem a whole to me. In the mean time, all +goes on toward better and better, as is my firm belief: and humanity +grows clear by flowing, (very little profited by any single sage or +hero), and man shall have wings to fly and something much better than +that in the end. . . . + +I draw a very little, and think of music as I walk in the fields: but +have no piano in this part of the world. . . . I hear there is a fine +new Symphony by Mendelssohn, who is by far our best writer now, and in +some measure combines Beethoven and Handel. I grow every day more and +more to love only the old God save the King style: the common chords, +those truisms of music, like other truisms so little understood in the +full. Just look at the mechanism of Robin Adair. + +Now pray write to me again when you can. You don't know how much I +rejoice in your letters. + +_To S. Laurence_. + +BEDFORD, _Thursday_, +[_August_, 1842.] + +DEAR LAURENCE, + +. . . I have heard from Morton and F. Tennyson; the letter of the latter +very descriptive and fine. He is summering at Castellamare, and Morton +at Sorrento. What must Italy be if we are complaining of heat here! + +I have just been naming all Mr. Browne's pictures for him. This he has +insisted on for three years, and at last this very hot day after an early +dinner pens and paper were brought out and I have been writing down awful +calumnies about Cuyp, Both, etc. Who could have painted Catharine of +Medicis, do you know? We are afraid to call it Vandyke, as he lived (I +believe) a century after her: and Mr. B. won't give up its being +Catharine's portrait. So here we are in a fix. I went to see Lord +Northampton's place Castle Ashby a week ago: expected pictures, and saw +very bad ones. The house is very handsome, built by Inigo Jones. + +I weigh 14 stone--fact. + +_To John Allen_. + +[KEYSOE, _August_ 1842.] + +MY DEAR JOHN ALLEN, + +. . . I am much _entete_ at present about one Matthews, {122} a preacher +at Bedford, who would do very well for Manchester in opposition to +Chartists, etc. If you are here on a Friday or a Sunday go and hear him. +I would gladly subscribe to remove him from Bedford. All this you will +think absurd; and so perhaps it is. + +I have been reading Stobaeus' Anthology as I saunter in the fields: a +pretty collection of Greek aphorisms in verse and prose. The bits of +Menander and the comic poets are very acceptable. And this is really all +I have looked at all this summer. + +BEDFORD, _August_ 29/42. + +MY DEAREST FELLOW, + +Your letter reached me this morning and gave me much pleasure. An old +acquaintance is not the worse for its wear, I think. This very time ten +years ago we were in Wales together: I at Mr. Rees' boarding-house at +Tenby: and there I made chance acquaintance with the whiskered man {123} +at whose house I am now staying:--then a boy of sixteen. He is now a man +of business, of town-politics, and more intent on the first of September +than on anything else in the world. I see very little of him. . . . + +I occasionally read sentences about the Virtues out of this collection of +Stobaeus, and look into Sartor Resartus, which has fine things in it: and +a little Dante and a little Shakespeare. But the great secret of all is +the not eating meat. To that the world must come, I am sure. Only it +makes one grasshopper foolish. I also receive letters from Morton and F. +Tennyson full of fine accounts of Italy, finer than any I ever read. They +came all of a sudden on Cicero's villa--one of them at least, the +Formian--with a mosaic pavement leading thro' lemon gardens down to the +sea, and a little fountain as old as the Augustan age bubbling up as +fresh, Tennyson says, 'as when its silver sounds mixed with the deep +voice of the orator as he sate there in the stillness of the noon day, +devoting the siesta-hours to study.' When I first read of these things I +wish to see them; but, on reflection, I am sure I see them much better in +such letters as these. + +I have seen one good picture about here: a portrait of O. Cromwell by +Lely--so said--unlike other Lelys, but very carefully painted: and, I +should think, an original portrait. . . I also read Hayley's Life of +Romney the other day. Romney wanted but education and reading to make +him a very fine painter: but his ideal was not high nor fixed. How +touching is the close of his life! He married at nineteen, and, because +Sir Joshua and others had said that marriage spoilt an artist, almost +immediately left his wife in the North, and scarce saw her till the end +of his life: when, old, nearly mad, and quite desolate, he went back to +her, and she received him, and nursed him till he died. This quiet act +of hers is worth all Romney's pictures; even as a matter of Art, I am +sure. + +Whether this letter will ever reach you, I don't know. I am going in two +days to Naseby for a little while, and shall then find my way home to +Suffolk for the greater part of the Winter and Spring, I suppose. + + O beate Sesti, + Vitae summa brevis spem nos vetat inchoare longam. + +I think of hiring a house in some country town like this, but nearer +Suffolk, and there have my books, etc. I want a house much: and a very +small one will content me, with a few old women close by to play cards +with at night. What a life, you will say! + + His virtues walked then humble round, + Nor knew a pause, nor felt a void: + And sure the Eternal Master found + His single talent well employ'd. + +That was not in playing picquet, I doubt. What fine lines of Johnson's +{125} these! + +* * * * * + +On the 15th of September 1842 FitzGerald first made Carlyle's personal +acquaintance. He always spoke of his having first gone to Chelsea in +company with Thackeray, and in the Notes which he left of his excavations +at Naseby he repeats what he frequently told myself and others. But his +memory was clearly at fault, for in a letter to Pollock, written on the +16th, but dated by mistake the 17th, of September, he says, 'I have come +up to London for two days on a false errand: and am therefore going back +in a pet, to Naseby. . . . I enquired at Spedding's rooms to-day: he is +expected by the 20th, which is near. Laurence is the only person I know +in town. . . . He and I went to see Carlyle at Chelsea yesterday. That +genius has been surveying the field of battle of Naseby in company with +Dr. Arnold, who died soon after, poor man! I doubt (from Carlyle's +description) if they identified the very ground of the carnage. . . . I +have heard nothing of Thackeray for these two months. He was to have +visited an Irish brother of mine: but he has not yet done so. I called +at Coram Street yesterday, and old John seemed to think he was yet in +Ireland.' With this correction I now give the Memorandum referred to, +which FitzGerald entrusted to my keeping together with several of +Carlyle's letters. An attempt to put up a monument on the real site of +the battle proved abortive, as will appear hereafter. + + 'About the middle of September 1842, W. M. Thackeray took me to tea + with Carlyle whom I had not previously known. He was then busy with + Cromwell; had just been, he told us, over the Field of Naseby in + company with Dr. Arnold of Rugby, and had sufficiently identified the + Ground of the Battle with the contemporaneous Accounts of it. As I + happened to know the Field well--the greater part of it then belonging + to my Family--I knew that Carlyle and Arnold had been mistaken--misled + in part by an Obelisk which my Father had set up as on the highest + Ground of the Field, but which they mistook for the centre-ground of + the Battle. This I told Carlyle, who was very reluctant to believe + that he and Arnold could have been deceived--that he could accept no + hearsay Tradition or Theory against the Evidence of his own Eyes, etc. + However, as I was just then going down to Naseby, I might enquire + further into the matter. + + 'On arriving at Naseby, I had spade and mattock taken to a hill near + half a mile across from the "Blockhead Obelisk," and pitted with + several hollows, overgrown with rank Vegetation, which Tradition had + always pointed to as the Graves of the Slain. One of these I had + opened; and there, sure enough, were the remains of Skeletons closely + packed together--chiefly teeth--but some remains of Shinbone, and + marks of Skull in the Clay. Some of these, together with some + sketches of the Place, I sent to Carlyle. + + 'The Naseby Monument, already advised by Carlyle, was not executed at + the time: and some how or other was not again talked of till 1855 when + the Estate was to be sold from us. I was told however by the Lawyers, + etc., that it was better not to interfere while that Business was + going on. So the Scheme went to sleep again till 1872, when, Carlyle + renewing the subject in some Letter, I applied to the Agent of the + Estate who was willing to help us in getting permission to erect the + Stone, and to a neighbouring Mason to fashion it as Carlyle desired. + We had some difficulty in this latter point, but at last all was + settled, when suddenly Agent and Lawyer informed us the thing must not + be done--for one reason, that Stone and Inscription were considered + too plain.' + +Before the excavations were begun, however, FitzGerald received the +following letter of instructions from Carlyle, written three days after +their interview. + +CHELSEA, 18 _Sept_., 1842. + +MY DEAR SIR, + +Profiting by the unexpected fact that _you_ are now master of Naseby +Battlefield, I have gone over the whole matter once more, probably for +the twentieth time; I have copied you my illegible pencil-notes, and re- +verified everything,--that so, if you can understand the meaning (which +will be difficult, I fear), you may append to it what commentary, +collected on the spot, you may judge edifying. Let me, however, again +impress upon you that these statements and descriptions are actual +_facts_, gathered with industry from some seven or eight eyewitnesses, +looking at the business with their own eyes from seven or eight different +sides; that the present figure of the ground, in my recollection, +corresponds very tolerably well with the whole of them;--and that no +'theory,' by what Professor soever, can be of any use to me in +comparison. I wish you had Sprigge's complete Plan of the Battle: but +you have it not; you have only that foolish Parson's {128} very dim copy +of it, and must help yourself with that. + +The things I wish you to give me are first: The whole story of your +Blacksmith, or other oral Chronicler, be it wise and credible, be it +absurd and evidently false. Then you can ask, whether there remains any +tradition of a windmill at Naseby? One stands in the Plan, not far from +North of the village, probably some 300 yards to the west of where the +ass of a column now stands: the whole concern, of fighting, rallying, +flying, killing and chasing, transacted itself to the _west_ of that,--on +the height, over the brow of the height, down the slope, in the hollow, +and up again to the grounds of Dust Hill, where the _final_ dispersion +took place. Therefore, again, pray ask. + +Where precisely any dead bodies are known to have been found? Where and +when the _last_-found was come upon; what they made of it,--whether no +Antiquarian kept a tooth; at any rate, a button or the like? Cannon-balls +ought to be found, especially musket-balls, down in that hollow, and on +the slope thitherward: is any extant cabinet master of one? + +Farther, are there, on the high ground N.W. or W. of Naseby village, any +traces still discoverable of such names as these: 'Lantford hedges' (or +perhaps 'hedge'); a kind of thicket running _up_ the slope, towards the +western environs of Naseby village, nearly from the North;--Fairfax had +dragoons hidden here, who fired upon Rupert's right, as he charged +upwards: 'Rutput Hill': 'Fanny Hill' (according to Rushworth, 'Famny +Hill' in Sprigge),--probably two swellings in the ground, that lie +between the south end of Lantford Hedges and the village; 'Lean Leaf +Hill' seemingly another swelling, parallel to these, which reaches in +with its slope _to_ the very village--from the west: 'Mill Hill' farther +to the east (marked as due west from the windmill, which of course must +have stood upon a part of it), lying therefore upon the north part of the +village? Is it possible, in spite of all ditching and enclosure bills, +there may still some vestige of these names adhere to some fields or +messuages; the exact position of which it would be satisfactory to fix. +You can also tell me whether Burrough Hill is visible from Naseby, and +'what it is like'; and what the Sibbertoft height, on the other side, and +the Harboro' Height are like! I suppose one sees Sibbertoft steeple, but +no houses, from Naseby Height? Also that it was undoubtedly Clipston (as +the good Dr. Arnold and I supposed) that we saw there. Dr. A. and I +came, as I find, thro' Crick, West Hadden, Cold Ashby; and crossed the +Welford and Northampton road, perhaps some three miles from Naseby. + +On the whole, my dear Sir, here seems to be work enough for you! But +after all is it not worth your while on other accounts? Were it not a +most legitimate task for the Proprietor of Naseby, a man of scholarship, +intelligence and leisure, to make himself completely acquainted with the +true state of all details connected with Naseby Battle and its +localities? Few spots of ground in all the world are memorabler to an +Englishman. We could still very well stand a good little book on Naseby! +_Verbum sapienti_. + +As for myself, had I the wings of an eagle, most likely I should still +fly to you, and to several other quarters; but with railways and +tub-gigs, and my talent for insomnolence, and fretting myself to +fiddlestrings with all terrestrial locomotion whatsoever--alas, alas! + +Believe me always, +My dear Sir, +Very truly yours +T. CARLYLE. + +FitzGerald's letter to Carlyle, giving an account of the first results of +his excavations, has apparently not been preserved, but it was promptly +acknowledged. + +CHELSEA, _Saturday_, 25 [24] _Septr_., 1842. + +MY DEAR SIR, + +You will do me and the Genius of History a real favour, if you persist in +these examinations and excavations to the utmost length possible for you! +It is long since I read a letter so interesting as yours of yesterday. +Clearly enough you are upon the very battle-ground;--and I, it is also +clear, have only looked up towards it from the slope of Mill Hill. Were +not the weather so wet, were not, etc., etc., so many _etceteras_, I +could almost think of running up to join you still! But that is +evidently unfeasible at present. + +The opening of that burial-heap blazes strangely in my thoughts: these +are the very jawbones that were clenched together in deadly rage, on this +very ground, 197 years ago! It brings the matter home to one, with a +strange veracity,--as if for the first time one saw it to be no fable and +theory but a dire fact. I will beg for a tooth and a bullet; +authenticated by your own eyes and word of honour!--Our Scotch friend +too, making turnip manure of it, he is part of the Picture. I understand +almost all the Netherlands battlefields have already given up their bones +to British husbandly; why not the old English next? Honour to thrift. If +of 5000 wasted men, you can make a few usable turnips, why, do it! + +The more sketches and details you can contrive to send me, the better. I +want to know for one thing whether there is any _house_ on Cloisterwell; +what house that was that I saw from the slope of Naseby height +(Mill-hill, I suppose), and fancied to be Dust Hill Farm? It must lie +about North by West from Naseby Church, perhaps near a mile off. You +say, one cannot see Dust Hill at all, much less any farm house of Dust +Hill, from that Naseby Height? + +But why does the Obelisk stand there? It might as well stand at Charing +Cross; the blockhead that it is! I again wish I had wings: alas, I wish +many things; that the gods would but annihilate Time and Space, which +would include all things! + +In great haste, Yours most truly, + +T. CARLYLE. + +The following letters will partly supply the place of the missing letter +to Carlyle. + +_To Bernard Barton_. + +LONDON. _Friday_, _Septr_. [16] 1842. + +DEAR BARTON, + +Have you supposed me dead or what? Well, so far from it, I have grown +more fat than ever, which is quite as much reason for not writing. I +have been staying at Naseby, and, having come up here for two days, +return to that place by railroad to-morrow. I went to see Carlyle last +night. He had just returned from the neighbourhood of Bury. He is full +of Cromwell, and, funny enough, went over from Rugby to Naseby this +spring with poor Dr. Arnold. They saw nothing, and walked over what was +not the field of battle. I want him to go down with me: but he thinks it +would be too expensive. So I have engaged to collect what matter I can +for him on the spot. At the beginning of October I expect to be back in +East Anglia for the winter. Frail is human virtue. I thought I had +quite got over picture dealing, when lo! walking in Holborn this day I +looked into a shop just to shew the strength of my virtue, and fell. That +accursed Battle Piece--I have bought it--and another picture of dead +chaffinches, which Mr. C[hurchyard] will like, it is so well done: I +expect you to give high prices for these pictures--mind that: and begin +to economize in household matters. Leave off sugar in tea and make all +your household do so. Also write to me at Naseby, Welford, Northampton. +That's my direction--such a glorious country, Barton. I wrote you a +letter a week ago, but never posted it. So now goodbye. I shall bring +down the Chaffinches with me to Suffolk. Trade has been very bad, the +dealers tell me. My fruit Girl still hangs up at a window--an unpleasant +sight. Nobody is so hard set as to bid for her. + +_To W. F. Pollock_. + +NASEBY, WELFORD, NORTHAMPTON, +_Septr_. 20/42. + +MY DEAR POLLOCK, + +. . . London was very close and nasty: so I am glad to get down here: +where, however, I am not (as at present proposed) to stay long: my Father +requiring my services in Suffolk early in October. Laurence has made a +sort of promise to come and see me here next Saturday: I wanted him to +come down with me while the weather was fine. The place is very desert, +but a battle was probably fought here 200 years ago, as an Obelisk +planted by my Papa on the wrong site intimates. Poor Carlyle got into +sad error from that deluding Obelisk: which Liston used to call (in this +case with truth) an Obstacle. I am afraid Carlyle will make a mad mess +of Cromwell and his Times: what a poor figure Fairfax will cut! I am +very tired of these heroics; and I can worship no man who has but a +square inch of brains more than myself. I think there is but one Hero: +and that is the Maker of Heroes. + +Here I am reading Virgil's delightful Georgics for the first time. They +really attune perfectly well with the plains and climate of Naseby. Valpy +(whose edition I have) cannot quite follow Virgil's plough--in its +construction at least. But the main acts of agriculture seem to have +changed very little, and the alternation of green and corn crops is a +good dodge. And while I heard the fellows going out with their horses to +plough as I sat at breakfast this morning, I also read-- + + Libra die somnique pares ubi fecerit horas, + Et medium luci atque umbris jam dividit orbem, + Exercete, viri, tauros, serite hordea campis + Usque sub extremum brumae intractabilis imbrem. {134} + +One loves Virgil somehow. + +_To Bernard Barton_. + +[NASEBY], _Septr_. 22/42. + +MY DEAR BARTON, + +The pictures are left all ready packed up in Portland Place, and shall +come down with me, whenever that desirable event takes place. In the +mean while here I am as before: but having received a long and +interesting letter from Carlyle asking information about this Battle +field, I have trotted about rather more to ascertain names of places, +positions, etc. After all he will make a mad book. I have just seen +some of the bones of a dragoon and his horse who were found foundered in +a morass in the field--poor dragoon, much dismembered by time: his less +worthy members having been left in the owner's summer-house for the last +twenty years have disappeared one by one: but his skull is kept safe in +the hall: not a bad skull neither: and in it some teeth yet holding, and +_a bit of the iron heel of his boot_, put into the skull by way of +convenience. This is what Sir Thomas Browne calls 'making a man act his +Antipodes.' {135} I have got a fellow to dig at one of the great general +graves in the field: and he tells me to-night that he has come to bones: +to-morrow I will select a neat specimen or two. In the mean time let the +full harvest moon wonder at them as they lie turned up after lying hid +2400 revolutions of hers. Think of that warm 14th of June when the +Battle was fought, and they fell pell-mell: and then the country people +came and buried them so shallow that the stench was terrible, and the +putrid matter oozed over the ground for several yards: so that the cattle +were observed to eat those places very close for some years after. Every +one to his taste, as one might well say to any woman who kissed the cow +that pastured there. + +Friday, 23rd. We have dug at a place, as I said, and made such a trench +as would hold a dozen fellows: whose remains positively make up the +mould. The bones nearly all rotted away, except the teeth which are +quite good. At the bottom lay the _form_ of a perfect skeleton: most of +the bones gone, but the pressure distinct in the clay: the thigh and leg +bones yet extant: the skull a little pushed forward, as if there were +scanty room. We also tried some other reputed graves, but found nothing: +indeed it is not easy to distinguish what are graves from old marl-pits, +etc. I don't care for all this bone-rummaging myself: but the +identification of the graves identifies also where the greatest heat of +the battle was. Do you wish for a tooth? + +As I began this antiquarian account in a letter to you, so I have +finished it, that you may mention it to my Papa, who perhaps will be +amused at it. Two farmers insisted on going out exploring with me all +day: one a very solid fellow, who talks like the justices in Shakespeare: +but who certainly was inspired in finding out this grave: the other a +Scotchman full of intelligence, who proposed the flesh-soil for manure +for turnips. The old Vicar, whose age reaches halfway back to the day of +the Battle, stood tottering over the verge of the trench. Carlyle has +shewn great sagacity in guessing at the localities from the vague +descriptions of contemporaries: and his short _pasticcio_ of the battle +is the best I have seen. {137} But he will spoil all by making a demi- +god of Cromwell, who certainly was so far from wise that he brought about +the very thing he fought to prevent--the restoration of an unrestricted +monarchy. + +_To S. Laurence_. + +NASEBY, _Septr_. 28/42. + +MY DEAR LAURENCE, + +I am sorry you did not come, as the weather has become fine, and this +wild wide country looks well on these blowing days, with flying shadows +running over the distance. Carlyle wrote me a long letter of questions +concerning the field of Battle, its traditions, etc. So I have trotted +about, examined the natives, and answered a great many of his queries as +fully, but as shortly, as I could. However I suppose he growls +superciliously at my letter, which was necessarily rather a long one. I +have also, in company with two farmers, opened one of the reputed graves +in which the killed were said to be reposited: and there sure enough we +found decayed bones, skulls, arms, legs, etc., and very sound teeth--the +only sound part. For many bodies put together corrupt one another of +course, and 200 years have not contributed to their preservation. People +had often dug about the field before and found nothing; and we tried two +or three other spots with no success. I am going to dig once more in a +place where tradition talks of a large burial of men and horses. . . . + +How long I shall yet be here I know not: but not long I doubt. I dare +say I shall pass through London on my way to Suffolk: and then perhaps +see the trans-Atlantic Secretary. {138} + +Don't trouble yourself to write answers to my gossip. I have just been +at our Church where we have had five clergymen to officiate: two in +shovel-hats. Our Vicar is near ninety; we have two curates: and an old +Clergyman and his Archdeacon son came on a visit. The son having a +shovel-hat, of course the Father could not be left behind. Shovel-hats +(you know) came into use with the gift of Tongs. + +_To John Allen_. + +[BOULGE COTTAGE.] +_Nov_. 18/42. + +MY DEAR ALLEN, + +. . . Do you know that I am really going to look out for some permanent +abode, which I think I am well qualified to decide on now. But in this +very judgment I may be most of all mistaken. I do not love London enough +to pitch my tent there: Woodbridge, Ipswich, or Colchester--won't one of +them do? . . . + +I have been reading Burton's Anatomy {139} lately: a captivating book +certainly. That story of his going to the bridge at Oxford to listen to +the bargemen's slang, etc., he reports of the old Democritus, his +prototype: so perhaps biographers thought it must be Burton's taste also. +Or perhaps Burton took to doing it after example. I cannot help fancying +that I see the foundation (partly) of Carlyle's style in Burton: one +passage quite like part of Sartor Resartus. Much of Barton's Biography +may be picked up out of his own introduction to the Anatomy. Maurice's +Introductory Lecture I shall be very glad to have. I do not fancy I +should read his Kingdom of Christ, should I? You know. + +I have had bad cold and cough which still hang about me: this damp +cottage is not good for a cure. . . . And now goodbye. + +_To F. Tennyson_. + +GELDESTONE HALL, BECCLES. +[? 1843.] + +DEAR FREDERIC, + +I am glad you are back, and perhaps sorry. But glad let it be, for I +shall be in London, as proposed, in another fortnight--more or less--and +shall pig there in a garret for two months. We will go to picture sales +and buy bad pictures: though I have scarce money left. But I am really +at last going to settle in some spooney quarters in the country, and +would fain carry down some better forms and colours to put about me. I +cannot get the second or third best: but I can get the imitations of the +best: and that is enough for me. + +What is become of Alfred? He never writes--nor is heard of. + +Your letter found me poring over Harrington's Oceana: a long-shelved +book--its doctrine of Government I am no judge of: but what English those +fellows wrote! I cannot read the modern mechanique after them. 'This +free-born Nation lives not upon the dole or Bounty of One Man, but +distributing her Annual Magistracies and Honours with her own hand is +herself King People.' Harrington must be a better writer than Milton. +One finds books of this kind in these country houses: and it is pleasant +to look them over at midnight in the kitchen, where I retire to smoke. . +. . + +Farewell till I see you one of these days. + +_To S. Laurence_. + +DUBLIN, _July_ 11/43 + +MY DEAR LAURENCE, + +We got here this morning; most of us sick, but not I: not evidently sick, +I mean. Here the sun shines, and people go about in their cars or stand +idle, just the same as ever. 'Repeal' is faintly chalked on a wall here +and there. I have been to see a desperate collection of pictures by the +Royal Academy: among them old unsaleables by Maclise and Uwins. + +What I write for however is to say that the first volume of Titmarsh's +Ireland is at 39 Portland Place; and that I wish you would ask for it +there and get it. Keep the two volumes for a time. It is all true. I +ordered a bath here when I got in: the waiter said it was heated to 90 +degrees, but it was scalding: he next locked me up in the room instead of +my locking him out. + +Keep an eye on the little Titian, and I shall really make the venture of +borrowing 30 pounds to invest in it. Tell Rochard you must have it. I +may never be able to get a bit of Titian in my life again: and I shall +doubtless learn to admire it properly in time. + +_To F. Tennyson_. + +HALVERSTOWN, KILCULLEN, IRELAND. +[? _July_ 1843.] + +DEAR FREDERIC . . . + +. . . You would rave at this climate which is wetter far than that of +England. There are the Wicklow hills (mountains we call them) in the +offing--quite high enough. In spite of my prejudice for a level, I find +myself every day unconsciously verging towards any eminence that gives me +the freest view of their blue ranges. One's thoughts take wing to the +distance. I fancy that moderately high hills (like these) are the +ticket--not to be domineered over by Mont Blancs, etc. But this may be +only a passing prejudice. + +We hear much less of Repeal here than in London: and people seem amused +at the troops and waggons of gunpowder that are to be met now and then +upon the roads. . . + +_To Bernard Barton_. + +BALLYSAX, {142a} KILCULLEN, +_August_, 17/43 + +MY DEAR BARTON, + +. . . That old Suffolk comes over here sometimes, as I say; and greets +one's eyes with old familiar names: Sales at Yoxford, Aldeburgh, etc., +regattas at Lowestoft, and at Woodbridge. I see Major Moor {142b} +turning the road by the old Duke of York; the Deben winding away in full +tide to the sea; and numberless little pictures of this kind. + +I am going the day after to-morrow to Edgeworth's, for a week, it may be +a fortnight before I set sail for England. Where shall I pitch my tent? +that is the question. Whither shall those treasures of ancient art +descend, and be reposited there for ever? + +I have been looking over the old London Magazine. Lamb's papers come in +delightfully: read over the Old China the night you get this, and +sympathize with me. The account of the dish of green pease, etc., is the +true history of lawful luxury. Not Johnson nor Adam Smith told so much. +It is founded not on statistics but on good humanity. + +We have at last delightful weather, and we enjoy it. Yesterday we went +to Pool-a-Phooka, the Leap of the Goblin Horse. What is that, do you +suppose? Why, a cleft in the mountains down and through which the river +Liffey (not very long born from the earth) comes leaping and roaring. +Cold veal pies, champagne, etc., make up the enchantment. We dabbled in +the water, splashed each other, forded the river, climbed the rocks, +laughed, sang, eat, drank, and were roasted, and returned home, the sun +sinking red. + +(_A pen and ink sketch_.) + +This is not like Pool-a-Phooka. + +_To F. Tennyson_. + +IRELAND, _August_ 31/43. + +DEAR FREDERIC, + +. . . I set sail from Dublin to-morrow night, bearing the heartfelt +regrets of all the people of Ireland with me. + +Where is my dear old Alfred? Sometimes I intend to send him a quotation +from a book: but do not perform the same. Are you packing up for Italy? +I had a pleasant week with Edgeworth. He farms, and is a justice: and +goes to sleep on the sofa of evenings. At odd moments he looks into +Spinoza and Petrarch. People respect him very much in those parts. Old +Miss Edgeworth is wearing away: she has a capital bright soul which even +now shines quite youthfully through her faded carcase. . . . I had the +weakest dream the other night that ever was dreamt. I thought I saw +Thomas Frognall Dibdin--and that was all. Tell this to Alfred. Carlyle +talks of coming to see Naseby: but I leave him to suit the weather to his +taste. + +BOULGE HALL, WOODBRIDGE, +_Sunday_, _Dec_. 10/1843. + +DEAR FREDERIC, + +Either you wrote me word yourself, or some one told me, that you meant to +winter at Florence. So I shall direct to the Poste Restante there. You +see I am not settled at the Florence of Suffolk, called Ipswich, yet: but +I am perhaps as badly off; being in this most dull country house quite +alone; a grey mist, that seems teeming with half formed snow, all over +the landscape before my windows. It is also Sunday morning: ten of the +clock by the chime now sounding from the stables. I have fed on bread +and milk (a dreadfully opaque diet) and I await the morning Church in +humble hope. It will begin in half an hour. We keep early hours in the +country. So you will be able exactly to measure my aptitude and fullness +for letter writing by the quantity written now, before I bolt off for +hat, gloves, and prayerbook. I always put on my thickest great coat to +go to our Church in: as fungi grow in great numbers about the communion +table. And now, to turn away from Boulge, I must tell you that I went up +to London a month ago to see old Thackeray, who had come there to have +his eyes doctored. I stayed with him ten days and we were as usual +together. Alfred came up 'in transitu' from Boxley to Cheltenham; he +looked, and said he was, ill: I have never seen him so hopeless: and I am +really anxious to know how he is. . . . I remember the days of the +summer when you and I were together, quarrelling and laughing--these I +remember with pleasure. Our trip to Gravesend has left a perfume with +me. I can get up with you on that everlastingly stopping coach on which +we tried to travel from Gravesend to Maidstone that Sunday morning: worn +out with it, we got down at an inn, and then got up on another coach--and +an old smiling fellow passed us holding out his hat--and you said, 'That +old fellow must go about as Homer did'--and numberless other turns of +road and humour, which sometimes pass before me as I lie in bed. . . . +Now before I turn over, I will go and see about Church, as I hear no +bell, pack myself up as warmly as I can, and be off. So good-bye till +twelve o'clock.--'Tis five minutes past twelve by the stable clock: so I +saw as I returned from Church through the garden. Parson and Clerk got +through the service see saw like two men in a sawpit. In the garden I +see the heads of the snowdrops and crocuses just out of the earth. +Another year with its same flowers and topics to open upon us. Shenstone +somewhere sings, {146a} + + Tedious again to mark the drizzling day, + Again to trace the same sad tracts of snow: + Or, lull'd by vernal airs, again survey + The selfsame hawthorn bud, and cowslips blow. + +I rely on you and all your family sympathizing in this. So do I +sometimes: anyhow, people complimenting each other on the approach of +Spring and such like felicitations are very tiresome. Our very year is +of a paltry diameter. But this is not proper language for Mark Tapley, +whose greatest bore just now is having a bad pen; but the letter is +ended. So he is jolly and yours as ever. + +_To S. Laurence_. + +BOULGE, WOODBRIDGE, +_Decr_. 21/43. + +MY DEAR LAURENCE, + +I hope you got safe and sound to London: as I did to this place +yesterday. Those good Tetter people! I have got an attachment to them +somehow. I left Jane {146b} in a turmoil as to which picture of +W[ilkinson] she was to take. I advised her to take a dose of Time, which +always operates so gently. + +I have been down to Woodbridge to-day and had a long chat with +Churchyard, whom I wish you had seen, as also his Gainsborough sketches. +He is quite clear as to Gainsborough's general method, which was (he +says) to lay all in (except the sky, of course) with pure colour, quite +unmixed with white. The sketch he has is certainly so; but whether it +ever could have been wrought up into a deep finish, I don't know. C. +says yes it could: that Gainsborough began nearly all his pictures so. He +has tried it over and over again (he says) and produced exactly the same +effect with pure colour, laid on very thin over a light brown ground: +asphaltum and blue producing just such a green as many of the trees in +this sketch are of. The sky put in afterwards. + +He thinks this the great secret of landscape painting. He shewed me the +passage quoted by Burnet {147} from Rubens' maxims (where and what are +they?) 'Begin by painting in your shadows lightly, taking care that _no_ +white be suffered to glide into them--_it is the poison of a picture +except in the lights_. If ever your shadows are corrupted by the +introduction of this baneful colour, your tones will no longer be warm +and transparent, but heavy and leaden. It is not the same in the lights: +they may be loaded with colour as much as you think proper.' + +Here is a technical letter, you see, from a man who is no artist, and +very ignorant, as you think, I dare say. Try a head in this way. You +have tried a dozen, you say. Very well then. + +I will send up your cloak, which is barely bigger than a fig leaf, when I +can. On Saturday I give supper to B. Barton and Churchyard. I wish you +could be with us. We are the chief wits of Woodbridge. And one man has +said that he envies our conversations! So we flatter each other in the +country. + +* * * * * + +Of FitzGerald's way of life at this time I have the following notes which +were given me by the late Rev. George Crabbe, Rector of Merton, the +grandson of the poet, at whose house he died. + + 'FitzGerald was living at Boulge Cottage when I first knew him: a + thatched cottage of one storey just outside his Father's Park. No one + was, I think, resident at the Hall. His mother would sometimes be + there a short time, and would drive about in a coach and four black + horses. This would be in 1844, when he was 36. He used to walk by + himself, slowly, with a Skye terrier. I was rather afraid of him. He + seemed a proud and very punctilious man. I think he was at this time + going often of an evening to Bernard Barton's. He did not come to us, + except occasionally, till 1846. He seemed to me when I first saw him + much as he was when he died, only not stooping: always like a grave + middle-aged man: never seemed very happy or light-hearted, though his + conversation was most amusing sometimes. His cottage was a mile from + Bredfield. He was very fond, I think, of my Father; though they had + several coolnesses which I believe were all my Father's fault, who + took fancies that people disliked him or were bored by him. E. F. G. + had in his cottage an old woman to wait on him, Mrs. Faiers; a very + old-fashioned Suffolk woman. He was just as careful not to make her + do anything as he was afterwards with Mrs. Howe. {149} He would never + ring the bell, if there was one, of which I am not sure. Sometimes he + would give a little dinner--my Father, Brooke, B. Barton, + Churchyard--everything most hospitable, but not comfortable. + + 'In 1846 and 1847 he does not seem to have come much to Bredfield. + Perhaps he was away a good deal. He was often away, visiting his + mother, or W. Browne, or in London, or at the Kerriches'. In 1848, + 1849, and 1850 he was a great deal at Bredfield, generally dropping in + about seven o'clock, singing glees with us, and then joining my Father + over his cigar, and staying late and often sleeping. He very often + arranged concerted pieces for us to sing, in four parts, he being + tenor. He sang very accurately but had not a good voice. + + 'While E. F. G. was at Boulge, he always got up early, eat his small + breakfast, stood at his desk reading or writing all the morning, eat + his dinner of vegetables and pudding, walked with his Skye terrier, + and then often finished the day by spending the evening with us or the + Bartons. He did not visit with the neighbouring gentlefolks, as he + hated a set dinner party.' + +_To F. Tennyson_. + +BOULGE, WOODBRIDGE, _February_ 24/44. + +MY DEAR FREDERIC, + +I got your letter all right. But you did not tell me where to direct to +you again; so I must send to the Poste Restante at Florence. I have also +heard from Morton, to whom I despatched a letter yesterday: and now set +about one to you. As you live in two different cities, one may write +about the same things to both. You told me of the Arno being frozen, and +even Italian noses being cold: he tells me the Spring is coming. I tell +you that we have had the mildest winter known; but as good weather, when +it does come in England, is always unseasonable, and as an old proverb +says that a green Yule makes a fat kirk-yard, so it has been with us: the +extraordinary fine season has killed heaps of people with influenza, +debilitated others for their lives long, worried everybody with colds, +etc. I have had three influenzas: but this is no wonder: for I live in a +hut with walls as thin as a sixpence: windows that don't shut: a clay +soil safe beneath my feet: a thatch perforated by lascivious sparrows +over my head. Here I sit, read, smoke, and become very wise, and am +already quite beyond earthly things. I must say to you, as Basil Montagu +once said, in perfect charity, to his friends: 'You see, my dear fellows, +I like you very much, but I continue to advance, and you remain where you +are (you see), and so I shall be obliged to leave you behind me. It is +no fault of mine.' You must begin to read Seneca, whose letters I have +been reading: else, when you come back to England, you will be no +companion to a man who despises wealth, death, etc. What are pictures +but paintings--what are auctions but sales! All is vanity. Erige animum +tuum, mi Lucili, etc. I wonder whether old Seneca was indeed such a +humbug as people now say he was: he is really a fine writer. About three +hundred years ago, or less, our divines and writers called him the divine +Seneca; and old Bacon is full of him. One sees in him the upshot of all +the Greek philosophy, how it stood in Nero's time, when the Gods had worn +out a good deal. I don't think old Seneca believed he should live again. +Death is his great resource. Think of the _rocococity_ of a gentleman +studying Seneca in the middle of February 1844 in a remarkably damp +cottage. + +I have heard from Alfred also, who hates his water life--[Greek text] he +calls it--but hopes to be cured in March. Poor fellow, I trust he may. +He is not in a happy plight, I doubt. I wish I lived in a pleasant +country where he might like to come and stay with me--but this is one of +the ugliest places in England--one of the dullest--it has not the merit +of being bleak on a grand scale--pollard trees over a flat clay, with +regular hedges. I saw a stanza in an old book which seemed to describe +my condition rather-- + + Far from thy kyn cast thee: + Wrath not thy neighbour next thee, + In a good corn country rest thee, + And sit down, Robin, and rest thee. {152} + +Funny advice, isn't it? I am glad to hear Septimus is so much improved. +I beg you will felicitate him from me: I have a tacit regard of the true +sort for him, as I think I must have for all of the Tennyson build. I +see so many little natures about that I must draw to the large, even if +their faults be on the same scale as their virtues. You and I shall I +suppose quarrel as often as we meet: but I can quarrel and never be the +worse with you. How we pulled against each other at Gravesend! You +would stay--I wouldn't--then I would--then we did. Do you remember the +face of that girl at the Bazaar, who kept talking to us and looking all +round the room for fresh customers--a way women have--that is, a way of +doing rather gracefully? Then the gentleman who sang Ivy green; a very +extraordinary accentuation, it seemed to me: but I believe you admired it +very much. Really, if these little excursions in the company of one's +friends leave such a pleasant taste behind in the memory, one should +court them oftener. And yet then perhaps the relish would grow less: it +is the infrequency that gives them room to expand. I shall never get to +Italy, that seems clear. My great travel this year will be to Carlisle. +Quid prosit ista tua longa peregrinatio, etc. Travelling, you know, is a +vanity. The _soul_ remains the same. An amorem possis fugare, an +libidinis exsiccari, an timorem mortis depellere? What then will you say +to Pollock's being married! I hear he is to be. Ad matrimonium fugis? +Miser! Scaevola noster dicere solebat, etc. Excuse my overflowing with +philosophy. I am going this evening to eat toasted cheese with that +celebrated poet Bernard Barton. And I must soon stir, and look about for +my great coat, brush myself, etc. It blows a harrico, as Theodore Hook +used to say, and will rain before I get to Woodbridge. Those poor +mistaken lilac buds there out of the window! and an old Robin, ruffled up +to his thickest, sitting mournfully under them, quite disheartened. For +you must know the mild winter is just giving way to a remarkably severe +spring. . . . I wish you were here to smoke a pipe with me. I play of +evenings some of Handel's great choruses which are the bravest music +after all. I am getting to the true John Bull style of music. I delight +in Handel's Allegro and Penseroso. Do you know the fine pompous joyous +chorus of 'These pleasures, Mirth, if thou canst give, etc.'? Handel +certainly does in music what old Bacon desires in his Essay on Masques, +'Let the songs be loud and cheerful, not puling, etc.' One might think +the Water music was written from this text. + +* * * * * + +About this time FitzGerald was engaged in collecting information for +Carlyle on the subject of Cromwell's Lincolnshire campaign, and it is to +this he refers in the following fragment of a letter to Mrs. Charlesworth +and the letters which follow. + + But as Carlyle is like to make good use of what we can find him, and + make a good English Hero of Oliver--something of a Johnsonian figure--I + hope you will try and pester these Lincoln ladies and gentlemen. I + wrote to Livesey: who once, he says, had a butler named Oliver + Cromwell. That is the nearest approach to history I make through him. + + My brother John, after being expected every day this week, wrote + positively to say he could not come to day: and accordingly was seen + to drive up to the Hall two hours ago. * + + Believe me, dear Mrs. Charlesworth, yours thankfully, + +E. FITZGERALD. + + * N.B. I am not at the Hall: but in the Cottage. Pray give my + compliments to all your party + + _March_ /44. + +BOULGE [1844]. + +DEAR MRS. CHARLESWORTH, + +Contributions from the fens or anywhere else will be good. We must get +out all from the Allenbys. I think I remember in Carlyle's notes that +the _hill_ in Winsby (where the farm house is) was the scene of a daring +attack of Cromwell's: but my memory is bad. Your correspondent says that +bones, spurs, and _urns_ have been found there: the latter look rather as +if the hill were of _Roman note_. I should like it to be clearly told, +_exactly where_ the relics were dug up: whether on the hill or on the +level said to extend from the hill to the west. Mrs. Allenby's first +letter says _that_ was probably the field of battle: her son says the +hill itself was. Also, _exactly what the relics were_. These two points +are the chief I can see to need thorough sifting. I sent Carlyle the +letter: he is now I dare say groaning over it. I have threatened to turn +the correspondence entirely into his hands: so Miss Charlesworth may +expect that. I go to town (I hope for a very short time) next week. John +is yet here: we all like his wife much. Farewell. Yours ever +thankfully, + +E. FITZGERALD. + +Poor old Mrs. Chaplin {155} is dead! I have found an old lady here to +replace her. + +BOULGE, Friday [1844]. + +DEAR MRS. CHARLESWORTH, + +I am sorry for the trouble you have. But I must hope that all that is to +be got from such good authority as the Allenbys will be got, as to +Winsby. _Slash Lane_ promises very well. From the Allenbys let us be +content to reap Winsby field _only_: as it seems they once farmed it, and +let us get as good an account as possible of the look of the field, Slash +Lane, the records and traditions of the place, and what remains were dug +up, and _exactly where_; for that generally shows where the stress of the +battle was. It is best to keep people to one point: else they wander off +into generalities: as for instance what the Lady tells of War Scythes +hung up in Horncastle Church: which, cruel as Oliver was, we must refer +back to an earlier warfare than his, I doubt. Pray thank Miss +Charlesworth: and believe me yours ever, + +E. FITZGERALD. + +BOULGE, _March_ 5/44. + +DEAR MRS. CHARLESWORTH, + +I have heard again from Carlyle who has sent me, a letter from Dr. +Cookson, which I am to burn or send, as I think best. Before I do so, I +should be glad to speak to Miss Charlesworth on the matter again: and as +my brother is going off on one of his comet excursions to-morrow (at +least so he purposed an hour ago) I shall go with him to Ipswich, unless +it snows, etc., and shall walk to Bramford. My humble request therefore +is nothing more than that you will be so good as to lock up Miss C. till +I have come and consulted as to what is best to be done: and how best to +address this Doctor: whom I conclude she knows. + +However, I only mean that if the day is pretty fair I may hope to find +some of you at home: and Mr. Charlesworth well again. + +Yours very truly, + +E. FITZGERALD. + +[19 CHARLOTTE STREET, +RATHBONE PLACE,] +LONDON, _April_ 11/44. + +DEAR MRS. CHARLESWORTH, + +I last night smoked a pipe with Carlyle. He has had two large packets +from Dr. Cookson, who shows alacrity enough to do what is asked, and may +turn up something. But he has chiefly spoken of Winsby: and your +Allenbys had so well cleared all that matter up with their map, etc., +that the Doctor was going over needless ground. I hope we may be as +successful with some other field: or rather that Cookson will anticipate +us and save us all trouble. + +London is very hateful to me. I long to spread wing and fly into the +kind clean air of the country. I see nobody in the streets half so +handsome as Mr. Reynolds {157} of our parish: all clever, composed, +satirical, selfish, well dressed. Here we see what the World is. I am +sure a great City is a deadly Plague: worse than the illness so called +that came to ravage it. I tried to persuade Carlyle to leave his filthy +Chelsea, but he says his wife likes London. I get radishes to eat for +breakfast of a morning: with them comes a savour of earth that brings all +the delicious gardens of the world back into one's soul, and almost draws +tears from one's eyes. + +With renewed thanks believe me ever yours, + +E. FITZGERALD. + +_To Bernard Barton_. + +19 CHARLOTTE ST., _April_ 11/44. + +DEAR BARTON, + +I am still indignant at this nasty place London. Thackeray, whom I came +up to see, went off to Brighton the night after I arrived, and has not re- +appeared: but I must wait some time longer for him. Thank Miss Barton +much for the _kit_; if it is but a kit: my old woman is a great lover of +cats, and hers has just _kitted_, and a wretched little blind puling +tabby lizard of a thing was to be saved from the pail for me: but if Miss +Barton's is a _kit_, I will gladly have it: and my old lady's shall be +disposed of--not to the pail. Oh rus, quando te aspiciam? Construe +that, Mr. Barton.--I am going to send down my pictures to Boulge, if I +can secure them: they are not quite secure at present. If they vanish, I +snap my fingers at them, Magi and all--there is a world (alas!) elsewhere +beyond pictures--Oh, oh, oh, oh-- + +I smoked a pipe with Carlyle yesterday. We ascended from his dining room +carrying pipes and tobacco up through two stories of his house, and got +into a little dressing room near the roof: there we sat down: the window +was open and looked out on nursery gardens, their almond trees in +blossom, and beyond, bare walls of houses, and over these, roofs and +chimneys, and roofs and chimneys, and here and there a steeple, and whole +London crowned with darkness gathering behind like the illimitable +resources of a dream. I tried to persuade him to leave the accursed den, +and he wished--but--but--perhaps he _didn't_ wish on the whole. + +When I get back to Boulge I shall recover my quietude which is now all in +a ripple. But it is a shame to talk of such things. So Churchyard has +caught another Constable. Did he get off our Debach boy that set the +shed on fire? Ask him that. Can'st thou not minister to a mind +diseased, etc. + +A cloud comes over Charlotte Street and seems as if it were sailing +softly on the April wind to fall in a blessed shower upon the lilac buds +and thirsty anemones somewhere in Essex; or, who knows?, perhaps at +Boulge. Out will run Mrs. Faiers, and with red arms and face of woe haul +in the struggling windows of the cottage, and make all tight. Beauty Bob +{159} will cast a bird's eye out at the shower, and bless the useful wet. +Mr. Loder will observe to the farmer for whom he is doing up a dozen of +Queen's Heads, that it will be of great use: and the farmer will agree +that his young barleys wanted it much. The German Ocean will dimple with +innumerable pin points, and porpoises rolling near the surface sneeze +with unusual pellets of fresh water-- + + Can such things be, + And overcome us like a summer cloud, + Without our special wonder? + +Oh this wonderful wonderful world, and we who stand in the middle of it +are all in a maze, except poor Matthews of Bedford, who fixes his eyes +upon a wooden Cross and has no misgiving whatsoever. When I was at his +chapel on Good Friday, he called at the end of his grand sermon on some +of the people to say merely this, that they believed Christ had redeemed +them: and first one got up and in sobs declared she believed it: and then +another, and then another--I was quite overset:--all poor people: how +much richer than all who fill the London Churches. Theirs is the kingdom +of Heaven! + +This is a sad farrago. Farewell. + +_To Mrs. Charlesworth_. + +[27 _April_, 1844?] + +DEAR MRS. CHARLESWORTH, + +Thank you over and over again for your letter. The last packet with +sketches, etc., came all safe yesterday: and Carlyle is much pleased. We +may say that Winsby Field is exhausted now. I should like however to +have some sketch of the _relics_: the shape of the stone jugs: their size +specified. The _helmet_ could be identified with the military fashion of +some reign, as represented in prints, pictures, etc. But on the whole, +the Allenbys have done capitally: and so have you: and so have I: and so +I hope will Carlyle one day. He begs seriously to thank you and the +Allenbys. + +He was much distressed at Dr. Cookson's death: {161} and said how he +should feel it when he came to think of it alone. Such is the man: he +will call all the wits in London dilettanti, etc., but let a poor fellow +die, and the Scotch heart flows forth in tears. + +If any one can be found to do half as much for Gainsborough (which was an +important battle) as has been done for Winsby, why, the Lincolnshire +campaign will be handsomely reported. At Grantham there is no such great +interest, it appears. + +I hope to get out of London to my poor old Boulge next week. I have seen +all my friends so as to satisfy them that I am a duller country fellow +than I was, and so we shall part without heart-breaking on either side. +It is partly one's fault not to be up to the London mark: but as there is +a million of persons in the land fully up to it, one has the less call to +repent in that respect. I confess that Mr. Reynolds is a better sight to +me than old rouged Lady Morgan and all such. + +I hope it will not be long before I visit you at Bramford. In the mean +while believe me with best regards to all your family, yours ever very +truly, + +EDWARD FITZGERALD. + +19 CHARLOTTE ST., ETC. +_Saturday_. + +DEAR MRS. CHARLESWORTH, + +I received your last packet just as I was setting off for Suffolk. I +sent part of it to Carlyle. I enclose you what answer he makes me this +morning. If Miss Charlesworth will take the pains to read his dispatch +of Gainsboro' Fight, and can possibly rake out some information on the +doubtful points, we shall help to lay that unquiet spirit of history +which now disturbs Chelsea and its vicinity. Please to keep the paper +safe: for it must have been a nuisance to write it. + +I lament your renewed misfortune: but I cannot wonder at it. These +things are not got rid of in a year. Isabella is in England with her +husband, at Hastings. + +Believe me yours ever thankfully, + +E. FITZGERALD. + +BOULGE, _May_ 7/44. + +_To F. Tennyson_. + +BOULGE, WOODBRIDGE, +_May_ 24/44. + +MY DEAR FREDERIC, + +I think you mean never to write to me again. But you should, for I enjoy +your letters much for years after I have got them. They tell me all I +shall know of Italy, beside many other good things. I received one +letter from you from Florence, and as you gave me no particular +direction, I wrote to you at the Poste Restante there. I am now inditing +this letter on the same venture. As my location is much more permanent, +I command you to respond to me the very day you get this, warmed into +such faint inspiration as my turnip radiance can kindle. You have seen a +turnip lantern perhaps. Well, here I continue to exist: having broken my +rural vegetation by one month in London, where I saw all the old +faces--some only in passing, however--saw as few sights as possible, +leaving London two days before the Exhibition opened. This is not out of +moroseness or love of singularity: but I really supposed there could be +nothing new: and therefore the best way would [be] to come new to it +oneself after three or four years absence. I see in Punch a humorous +catalogue of supposed pictures; Prince Albert's favourite spaniel and +bootjack, the Queen's Macaw with a Muffin, etc., by Landseer, etc., in +which I recognize Thackeray's fancy. He is in full vigour play and pay +in London, writing in a dozen reviews, and a score of newspapers: and +while health lasts he sails before the wind. I have not heard of Alfred +since March. . . . Spedding devotes his days to Lord Bacon in the +British Museum: his nights to the usual profligacy. . . . My dear +Frederic, you must select some of your poems and publish them: we want +some bits of strong genuine imagination to help put to flight these--etc. +Publish a book of fragments, if nothing else but single lines, or else +the whole poems. When will you come to England and do it? I dare say I +should have stayed longer in London had you been there: but the wits were +too much for me. Not Spedding, mind: who is a dear fellow. But one +finds few in London _serious_ men: I mean _serious_ even in fun: with a +true purpose and character whatsoever it may be. London melts away all +individuality into a common lump of cleverness. I am amazed at the +humour and worth and noble feeling in the country, however much railroads +have mixed us up with metropolitan civilization. I can still find the +heart of England beating healthily down here, though no one will believe +it. + +You know my way of life so well that I need not describe it to you, as it +has undergone no change since I saw you. I read of mornings; the same +old books over and over again, having no command of new ones: walk with +my great black dog of an afternoon, and at evening sit with open windows, +up to which China roses climb, with my pipe, while the blackbirds and +thrushes begin to rustle bedwards in the garden, and the nightingale to +have the neighbourhood to herself. We have had such a spring (bating the +last ten days) as would have satisfied even you with warmth. And such +verdure! white clouds moving over the new fledged tops of oak trees, and +acres of grass striving with buttercups. How old to tell of, how new to +see! I believe that Leslie's Life of Constable (a very charming book) +has given me a fresh love of Spring. Constable loved it above all +seasons: he hated Autumn. When Sir G. Beaumont who was of the old +classical taste asked him if he did not find it difficult to place _his +brown tree_ in his pictures, 'Not at all,' said C., 'I never put one in +at all.' And when Sir George was crying up the tone of the old masters' +landscapes, and quoting an old violin as the proper tone of colour for a +picture, Constable got up, took an old Cremona, and laid it down on the +sunshiny grass. You would like the book. In defiance of all this, I +have hung my room with pictures, like very old fiddles indeed: but I +agree with Sir George and Constable both. I like pictures that are not +like nature. I can have nature better than any picture by looking out of +my window. Yet I respect the man who tries to paint up to the freshness +of earth and sky. Constable did not wholly achieve what he tried at: and +perhaps the old masters chose a soberer scale of things as more within +the compass of lead paint. To paint dew with lead! + +I also plunge away at my old Handel of nights, and delight in the Allegro +and Penseroso, full of pomp and fancy. What a pity Handel could not have +written music to some great Masque, such as Ben Jonson or Milton would +have written, if they had known of such a musician to write for. + +_To S. Laurence_. + +_May_, 1844. + +DEAR LAURENCE, + +I hope your business is settled by this time. I have seen praise of your +picture in the Athenaeum, which quoted also the Chronicle's good opinion. +I am very glad of all this and I hope you will now set to work, and paint +away with ease and confidence, forgetting that there is such a hue as +bottle-green {166} in the universe (it was tastefully omitted from the +rainbow, you see); and, in spite of what Moore says, paint English people +in English atmospheres. Your Coningham was rather orange, wasn't he? But +he was very good, I thought. Dress your ladies in cheerful dresses, not +quite so vulgar as Chalon's. . . . I heard from my sister that you had +finished Wilkinson to the perfect content of all: I had charged her +particularly not to allow Mrs. W. to intercede for any smirk or +alteration whatever. + +My Venetian pictures look very grand on my walls, which previously had +been papered with a still green (not bottled) on purpose to receive them. +On my table is a long necked bottle with three flowers just now in it . . . +a tuft of rhododendron, a tuft of scarlet geranium, and a tuft of white +gilli-flower. Do you see these in your mind's eye? I wish you could +come down here and refresh your sodden eyes with pure daylight, budding +oak trees, and all the changes of sky and cloud. To live to make sonnets +about these things, and doat upon them, is worse Cockneyism than +rejoicing in the sound of Bow Bells for ever so long: but here one has +them whether one will or no: and they are better than Lady Morgan and --- +at a rout in Harley Street. Maclise is a handsome and fine fellow, I +think: and Landseer is very good natured. I long for my old Alfred +portrait here sometimes: but you had better keep it for the present. W. +Browne and Spedding are with me, good representatives one of the Vita +Contemplativa, the other of the Vita Attiva. Spedding, if you tell him +this, will not allow that he has not the elements of Action in him: nor +has he not: nor has not the other those of contemplation: but each +inclines a different way notwithstanding. I wish you and Spedding could +come down here: though there is little to see, and to eat. When you +write you must put _Woodbridge_ after Boulge. This letter of yours went +to Bury St. Edmunds, for want of that. I hear Alfred Tennyson is in very +good looks: mind and paint him _quickly_ when he comes to town; looking +full at you. + +_To Bernard Barton_. + +19 CHARLOTTE ST., +RATHBONE PLACE. +[1844.] + +DEAR BARTON, + +I got here but yesterday, from Bedford, where I left W. Browne in train +to be married to a rich woman. When I heard that they could not have +less than five hundred a year, I gave up all further interest in the +matter: for I could not wish a reasonable couple more. W. B. may be +spoilt if he grows rich: that is the only thing could spoil him. This +time ten years I first went to ride and fish with him about the river +Ouse--he was then 18--quick to love and quick to fight--full of +confidence, generosity, and the glorious spirit of Youth. . . . I shall +go to Church and hope he mayn't be defiled with the filthy pitch. Oh! if +we could be brought to open our eyes. I repent in ashes for reviling the +Daddy who wrote that Sonnet against damned Riches. + +I heard a man preach at Bedford in a way that shook my soul. He +described the crucifixion in a way that put the scene before his +people--no fine words, and metaphors: but first one nail struck into one +hand, and then into another, and one through both feet--the cross lifted +up with God in man's image distended upon it. And the sneers of the +priests below--'Look at that fellow there--look at him--he talked of +saving others, etc.' And then the sun veiled his face in Blood, etc. I +certainly have heard oratory now--of the Lord Chatham kind, only Matthews +has more faith in Christ than Pitt in his majority. I was almost as much +taken aback as the poor folks all about me who sobbed: and I hate this +beastly London more and more. It stinks all through of churchyards and +fish shops. As to pictures--well, never mind them. Farewell! + +In the chapel opposite this house preaches Robert Montgomery! + +19 CHARLOTTE ST., RATHBONE PLACE. +[13 _June_ 1844.] + +Oh, Barton man! but I am grilled here. Oh for to sit upon the banks of +the dear old Deben, with the worthy collier sloop going forth into the +wide world as the sun sinks! I went all over Westminster Abbey yesterday +with a party of country folks, to see the tombs. I did this to vindicate +my way of life. Then we had a smoke with Carlyle and he very gloomy +about the look of affairs, as usual. I am as tired this morning as if +I'd walked fifty miles. Morton, fresh from Italy, agrees that London is +not fit to live in. I can't write, nor can you read perhaps. So +farewell. Early next week (unless I go round by Bedford) I expect to see +good Woodbridge. + +_To S. Laurence_. + +BOULGE, _July_ 4/44. + +DEAR LAURENCE, + +I have but lately returned from Holbrook, where I saw your last portrait +of Wilkinson. It is very capital, and gives my sister and all her +neighbours great satisfaction. Jane indeed can talk of nothing else. I +will say this however, with my usual ignorance and presumption, that I +think the last day's sitting made it a little heavier than when I left it +unfinished. Was it that the final glazing was somewhat too thick? I +only mention this as a very slight defect, which I should not have +observed had I not seen its penultimate state, and were I not a +crotchetty stickler for lightness and ease. But I hope and trust you +will now do all your future sketches in oil in the same way in which this +is done: the long brush, the wholesome distance between canvas, painter, +and sitter, and the few sittings. For myself, I have always been sure of +this: but I can assert it to you with more confidence now, seeing that +every one else seems to agree with me, if I may judge by the general +approval of this specimen of the long brush. Besides, such a method must +shorten your labour, preserve the freshness of your eye and spirit, and +also ensure the similitude of the sitter to himself by the very +speediness of the operation. + +Mills was very much delighted at W.'s portrait. What will you say of me +when I tell you that I did not encourage him to have his wife painted by +you, as he seemed to purpose! You will pray heaven to deliver you from +your friends. But notwithstanding this, I am sure this last portrait +will bring you sitters from this part of the country. Perhaps you will +not find it easy to forgive me this. I must tell you that Mrs. Mills, +who sets up to be no judge of pictures, but who never is wrong about +anything, instantly pitched on your portrait of Coningham as the best in +the Exhibition, without seeing who it was by: and when she referred to +the Catalogue, called out to her husband 'Why this is by E. F. G.'s +friend Mr. Laurence.' + +July 18. You see that all up to this was written a fortnight ago. I did +not finish, for I did not know where to direct. And now I shall finish +this portrait of my mind, you see, in a different aspect perhaps to that +with which I set out. On looking over what I wrote however, I stick to +all I said about the painting: as to Mrs. Mills, whose case seems to +require some extenuation on my part, I fancied she was one of those +persons' faces you would not take to: and so not succeed in. It is +rather a pretty face, without meaning, it seems to me: and yet she has +meaning in her. Mills has already had one portrait of her, which +discontents all, and therefore it was I would not advise any painter who +did not understand the art of _Millinery_ well: for if the face does not +wholly content, there is the dress to fall back on. I fancy Chalon would +do the business. + +I hear you have been doing some brother or brother in law of Mrs. +Lumsden. Mind what I have told you. I may not be a good judge of +painting, but I can judge of what people in general like. . . . + +_To John Allen_. + +(About July 16, 1844 J. A.) + +MY DEAR GOOD ALLEN, + +Let me hear from you, if even but a line, before you leave London on your +summer excursion, whithersoever that is to be. I conclude you go +somewhere; to Hampshire, or to Tenby. . . . + +I have nothing to tell you of myself. Here I exist, and read scraps of +books, garden a little, and am on good terms with my neighbours. The +Times paper is stirring up our farming society to the root, and some good +will come of it, I dare say, and some ill. Do you know of any good books +on Education? not for the poor or Charity schools, but on modern +Gentlemen's grammar schools, etc. Did not Combe write a book? But he is +the driest Scotch Snuff. I beg leave to say that this letter is written +with a pen of my own making: the first I have made these twenty years. I +doubt after all it is no proof of a very intelligent pen-Creator, but +only of a lucky slit. The next effort shall decide. Farewell, my dear +Fellow. Don't forget unworthy me. We shall soon have known each other +twenty years, and soon thirty, and forty, if we live a little while. + +_To Bernard Barton_. + +GELDESTONE, 22 _August_ 1844. + +MY DEAR BARTON, + +You will think I have forgot you. I spent four pleasant days with Donne: +who looks pale and thin, and in whose face the grey is creeping up from +those once flourishing whiskers to the skull. It is doing so with me. We +are neither of us in what may be called the first dawn of boyhood. Donne +maintains his shape better than I do, but sorrow I doubt has done that: +and so we see why the house of mourning is better than the stalled ox. +For it is a grievous thing to grow poddy: the age of Chivalry is gone +then. An old proverb says that 'a full belly neither fights nor flies +well.' + +I also saw Geldart at Norwich. He paints, and is deep in religious +thoughts also: he has besides the finest English good sense about him: +and altogether he is a man one goes to that one may learn from him. I +walked much about Norwich and was pleased with the old place. + +Here I see my old friend Mrs. Schutz, and play with the children. Having +shown the little girl the prints of Boz's Curiosity Shop, I have made a +short abstract of Little Nelly's wanderings which interests her much, +leaving out the Swivellers, etc. For children do not understand how +merriment should intrude in a serious matter. This might make a nice +child's book, cutting out Boz's sham pathos, as well as the real fun; and +it forms a kind of Nelly-ad, {174a} or Homeric narration of the child's +wandering fortunes till she reaches at last a haven more desirable than +any in stony Ithaca. + +Lusia is to be married {174b} on the 2nd, I hear; and I shall set out for +Leamington where the event takes place in the middle of next week. +Whether I shall touch in my flight at Boulge is yet uncertain: so don't +order any fireworks just at present. I hear from Mr. Crabbe he is +delighted with D'Israeli's Coningsby, which I advised him to read. Have +you read it? The children still wonder what Miss Charlesworth meant when +she said that she didn't mean what she said. I tell them it is a new way +of thinking of young England. I have exercised the children's minds +greatly on the doctrine of Puseyitical reticence (that is not the word) +but I find that children, who are great in the kingdom of Heaven, are all +for blurting out what they mean. Farewell for the present. Ever yours, +E. F. G. + +If war breaks out with France, I will take up arms as a volunteer under +Major Pytches. Pytches and Westminster Abbey! + +LEAMINGTON, _Sept._ 28/44. + +MY DEAR BARTON, + +. . . I expect to be here about a week, and I mean to give a day to +looking over the field of Edgehill, on the top of which, I have +ascertained, there is a very delightful pot-house, commanding a very +extensive view. Don't you wish to sit at ease in such a high tower, with +a pint of porter at your side, and to see beneath you the ground that was +galloped over by Rupert and Cromwell two hundred years ago, in one of the +richest districts of England, and on one of the finest days in October, +for such my day is to be? + +In the meanwhile I cast regretful glances of memory back to my garden at +Boulge, which I want to see dug up and replanted. I have bought anemone +roots which in the Spring shall blow Tyrian dyes, and Irises of a newer +and more brilliant prism than Noah saw in the clouds. I have bought a +picture of my poor quarrelsome friend Moore, just to help him; for I +don't know what to do with his picture. + +_To F. Tennyson_. + +BOULGE, WOODBRIDGE, _Oct_. 10/44. + +MY DEAR FREDERIC, + +You will think I have wholly cut you. But I wrote half a letter to you +three months ago; and mislaid it; spent some time in looking for it, +always hoping; and then some more time despairing; and we all know how +time goes when [we] have got a thing to do which we are rather lazy about +doing. As for instance, getting up in a morning. Not that writing a +letter to you is so bad as getting up; but it is not easy for mortal man +who has heard, seen, done, and thought, nothing since he last wrote, to +fill one of these big foreign sheets full as a foreign letter ought to +be. I am now returned to my dull home here after my usual pottering +about in the midland counties of England. A little Bedfordshire--a +little Northamptonshire--a little more folding of the hands--the same +faces--the same fields--the same thoughts occurring at the same turns of +road--this is all I have to tell of; nothing at all added--but the summer +gone. My garden is covered with yellow and brown leaves; and a man is +digging up the garden beds before my window, and will plant some roots +and bulbs for next year. My parsons come and smoke with me, etc. 'The +round of life from hour to hour'--alluding doubtless to a mill-horse. +Alfred is reported to be still at Park House, where he has been +sojourning for two months, I think; but he never writes me a word. +Hydropathy has done its worst; he writes the names of his friends in +water. . . . I spent two days in London with old Morton about five weeks +ago; and pleasant days they were. The rogue bewitches me with his wit +and honest speech. He also staid some while at Park House, while Alfred +was there, and managed of course to frighten the party occasionally with +some of his sallies. He often writes to me; and very good his letters +are all of them. + +When do you mean to write me another? Morton told me in his last that he +had heard from Brotherton you were gone, or going, to Naples. I dare say +this sheet of mine will never get to your hands. But if it does, let me +hear from you. Is Italy becoming stale to you? Are you going to Cairo +for fresh sensations? Thackeray went off in a steamboat about the time +the French were before Mogadore; he was to see those coasts and to visit +Jerusalem! Titmarsh at Jerusalem will certainly be an era in +Christianity. But I suppose he will soon be back now. Spedding is yet +in his highlands, I believe, considering Grouse and Bacon. + +I expect to run up to London some time during the winter just to tell +over old friends' faces and get a sup of music and painting. I have +bought very few more pictures lately; and [heard] no music but +Mendelssohn's M. Night's Dream. The overture, which was published long +ago, is the best part; but there is a very noble triumphal march also. + +Now I feel just in the same fix as I did in that sheet of paper whose +fate is uncertain. But if I don't put in a word more, yet this shall go, +I am determined. Only consider how it is a matter of necessity that I +should have nothing to say. If you could see this place of Boulge! You +who sit and survey marble palaces rising out of cypress and olive. There +is a dreadful vulgar ballad, composed by Mr. Balfe, and sung with the +most unbounded applause by Miss Rainforth, + + 'I dreamt that I dwelt in marble Halls,' + +which is sung and organed at every corner in London. I think you may +imagine what kind of flowing 6/8 time of the last degree of imbecility it +is. The words are written by Mr. Bunn! Arcades ambo. + +I say we shall see you over in England before long: for I rather think +you want an Englishman to quarrel with sometimes. I mean quarrel in the +sense of a good strenuous difference of opinion, supported on either side +by occasional outbursts of spleen. Come and let us try. You used to +irritate my vegetable blood sometimes. + +_To Bernard Barton_. + +[GELDESTONE, _Nov_. 27, 1844] + +DEAR BARTON, + +My return to Boulge is delayed for another week, because we expect my +Father here just now. But for this, I should have been on the Union +Coach this day. The children here are most delightful; the best company +in all the world, to my mind. If you could see the little girl dance the +Polka with her sisters! Not set up like an Infant Terpsichore, but +seriously inclined, with perfect steps in perfect time. + +We see a fine white frost over the grass this morning; and I suppose you +have rubbed your hands and cried 'Oh Lauk, how cold it is!' twenty times +before I write this. Now one's pictures become doubly delightful to one. +I certainly love winter better than summer. Could one but know, as one +sits within the tropic latitude of one's fireside, that there was not +increased want, cold, and misery, beyond it! + +My Spectator tells me that Leigh Hunt has published a good volume of Poem- +selections; not his own poems, but of others. And Miss Martineau has +been cured of an illness of five years standing by Mesmerism! By the +help of a few passes of the hand following an earnest Will, she, who had +not set foot out of her room, for the chief part of those five years, now +can tread the grass again, and walk five miles! Her account of the +business in the Athenaeum is extremely interesting. She is the only one +I have read of who describes the sensations of _the trance_, which, +seeming a painful one to the wide-awake looker on, is in fact a state of +tranquil glorification to the patient. It cheers but not inebriates! She +felt her disease oozing away out at her feet, and as it were streams of +warm fresh vitality coming in its place. And when she woke, lo, this was +no dream! + +_To F. Tennyson_. + +BOULGE, WOODBRIDGE, _Decr_. 8/44. + +MY DEAR FREDERIC, + +What is a poor devil to do? You tell me quite truly that my letters have +not two ideas in them, and yet you tell me to write my two ideas as soon +as I can. So indeed it is so far easy to write down one's two ideas, if +they are not very abstruse ones; but then what the devil encouragement is +it to a poor fellow to expose his nakedness so? All I can say is, to say +again that if you lived in this place, you would not write so long a +letter as you have done, full of capital description and all good things; +though without any compliment I am sure you would write a better than I +shall. But you see the original fault in me is that I choose to be in +such a place as this at all; that argues certainly a talent for dullness +which no situation nor intercourse of men could much improve. It is +true; I really do like to sit in this doleful place with a good fire, a +cat and dog on the rug, and an old woman in the kitchen. This is all my +live stock. The house is yet damp as last year; and the great event of +this winter is my putting up a trough round the eaves to carry off the +wet. There was discussion whether the trough should be of iron or of +zinc: iron dear and lasting; zinc the reverse. It was decided for iron; +and accordingly iron is put up. + +Why should I not live in London and see the world? you say. Why then _I_ +say as before, I don't like it. I think the dullness of country people +is better than the impudence of Londoners; and the fresh cold and wet of +our clay fields better than a fog that stinks _per se_; and this room of +mine, clean at all events, better than a dirty room in Charlotte St. If +you, Morton, and Alfred, were more in London, I should be there more; but +now there is but Spedding and Allen whom I care a straw about. I have +written two notes to Alfred to ask him just to notify his existence to +me; but you know he is obstinate on that point. I heard from Carlyle +that he (Alfred) had passed an evening at Chelsea much to C.'s delight; +who has opened the gates of his Valhalla to let Alfred in. {181} +Thackeray is at Malta, where I am told he means to winter. . . . + +As I have no people to tell you of, so have I very few books, and know +nothing of what is stirring in the literary world. I have read the Life +of Arnold of Rugby, who was a noble fellow; and the letters of Burke, +which do not add to, or detract from, what I knew and liked in him +before. I am meditating to begin Thucydides one day; perhaps this +winter. . . . Old Seneca, I have no doubt, was a great humbug in deed, +and his books have plenty of it in word; but he had got together a vast +deal of what was not humbug from others; and, as far as I see, the old +philosophers are available now as much as two thousand years back. +Perhaps you will think that is not saying much. Don't suppose I think it +good philosophy in myself to keep here out of the world, and sport a +gentle Epicurism; I do not; I only follow something of a natural +inclination, and know not if I could do better under a more complex +system. It is very smooth sailing hitherto down here. No velvet +waistcoat and ever-lustrous pumps to be considered; no bon mots got up; +no information necessary. There is a pipe for the parsons to smoke, and +quite as much bon mots, literature, and philosophy as they care for +without any trouble at all. If we could but feed our poor! It is now +the 8th of December; it has blown a most desperate East wind, all razors; +a wind like one of those knives one sees at shops in London, with 365 +blades all drawn and pointed; the wheat is all sown; the fallows cannot +be ploughed. What are all the poor folks to do during the winter? And +they persist in having the same enormous families they used to do; a +woman came to me two days ago who had seventeen children! What farmers +are to employ all these? What Landlord can find room for them? The law +of Generation must be repealed. The London press does nothing but rail +at us poor country folks for our cruelty. I am glad they do so; for +there is much to be set right. But I want to know if the Editor of the +Times is more attentive to his devils, their wives and families, than our +squires and squiresses and parsons are to their fellow parishioners. +Punch also assumes a tone of virtuous satire, from the mouth of Mr. +Douglas Jerrold! It is easy to sit in arm chairs at a club in Pall Mall +and rail on the stupidity and brutality of those in High Suffolk. + +Come, I have got more than two ideas into this sheet; but I don't know if +you won't dislike them worse than mere nothing. But I was determined to +fill my letter. Yes, you are to know that I slept at Woodbridge last +night, went to church there this morning, where every one sat with a +purple nose, and heard a dismal well-meant sermon; and the organ blew us +out with one grand idea at all events, one of old Handel's Coronation +Anthems; that I dined early, also in Woodbridge; and walked up here with +a tremendous East wind blowing sleet in my face from over the German Sea, +that I found your letter when I entered my room; and reading it through, +determined to spin you off a sheet incontinently, and lo! here it is! Now +or never! I shall now have my tea in, and read over your letter again +while at it. You are quite right in saying that Gravesend excursions +with you do me good. When did I doubt it? I remember them with great +pleasure; few of my travels so much so. I like a short journey in good +company; and I like you all the better for your Englishman's humours. One +doesn't find such things in London; something more like it here in the +country, where every one, with whatever natural stock of intellect +endowed, at least grows up his own way, and flings his branches about +him, not stretched on the espalier of London dinner-table company. + +P.S. Next morning. Snow over the ground. We have our wonders of +inundation in Suffolk also, I can tell you. For three weeks ago such +floods came, that an old woman was carried off as she was retiring from a +beer house about 9 p.m., and drowned. She was probably half seas over +before she left the beer house. + +And three nights ago I looked out at about ten o'clock at night, before +going to bed. It seemed perfectly still; frosty, and the stars shining +bright. I heard a continuous moaning sound, which I knew to be, not that +of an infant exposed, or female ravished, but of the sea, more than ten +miles off! What little wind there was carried to us the murmurs of the +waves circulating round these coasts so far over a flat country. But +people here think that this sound so heard is not from the waves that +break, but a kind of prophetic voice from the body of the sea itself +announcing great gales. Sure enough we have got them, however heralded. +Now I say that all this shows that we in this Suffolk are not so +completely given over to prose and turnips as some would have us. I +always said that being near the sea, and being able to catch a glimpse of +it from the tops of hills, and of houses, redeemed Suffolk from dullness; +and at all events that our turnip fields, dull in themselves, were at +least set all round with an undeniably poetic element. And so I see +Arnold says; he enumerates five inland counties as the only parts of +England for which nothing could be said in praise. Not that I agree with +him there neither; I cannot allow the valley of the Ouse about which some +of my pleasantest recollections hang to be without its great charm. W. +Browne, whom you despised, is married, and I shall see but little of him +for the future. I have laid by my rod and line by the willows of the +Ouse for ever. 'He is married and cannot come.' This change is the true +meaning of those verses, {185} + + Friend after friend departs; + Who has not lost a friend? + +and so on. If I were conscious of being stedfast and good humoured +enough, I would marry to-morrow. But a humourist is best by himself. + +_To Bernard Barton_. + +19 CHARLOTTE ST., RATHBONE PLACE, +_Jany_. 4/45. + +DEAR BARTON, + +Clawed hold of by a bad cold am I--a London cold--where the atmosphere +clings to you, like a wet blanket. You have often received a letter from +me on a Sunday, haven't you? I think I used to write you an account of +the picture purchases of the week, that you might have something to +reflect upon in your silent meeting. (N.B. This is very wrong, and I +don't mean it.) Well, now I have bought no pictures, and sha'n't; but +one I _had_ bought is sent to be lined. A Bassano of course; which +nobody will like but myself. It is a grave picture; an Italian Lord +dictating to a Secretary with upturned face. Good company, I think. + +You did not tell me how you and Miss Barton got on with the Vestiges. I +found people talking about it here; and one laudatory critique in the +Examiner sold an edition in a few days. I long to finish it. I am going +in state to the London Library--_my_ Library--to review the store of +books it contains, and carry down a box full for winter consumption. Do +you want anything? eh, Mr. Barton? + +I went to see Sophocles' tragedy of Antigone done into English two nights +ago. And yesterday I dined with my dear old John Allen who remains whole +and intact of the world in the heart of London. He dined some while ago +at Lambeth, and the Lady next him asked the Archbishop if he read Punch. +Allen thought this was a misplaced question: but I think the Archbishop +ought to see Punch: though not to read it regularly perhaps. I then +asked Allen about the Vestiges--he had heard of it--laughed at the idea +of its being atheistical. 'No enquiry,' said he, 'can be atheistical.' I +doubt if the Archbishop of Canterbury could say that. What do you think +of Exeter? Isn't he a pretty lad? + +_To W. B. Donne_. + +BOULGE, _Jan_. 29/45. + +MY DEAR DONNE, + +. . . A. T. has near a volume of poems--elegiac--in memory of Arthur +Hallam. Don't you think the world wants other notes than elegiac now? +Lycidas is the utmost length an elegiac should reach. But Spedding +praises: and I suppose the elegiacs will see daylight, public daylight, +one day. Carlyle goes on growling with his Cromwell: whom he finds more +and more faultless every day. So that _his_ paragon also will one day +see the light also, an elegiac of a different kind from Tennyson's; as +far apart indeed as Cromwell and Hallam. + +Barton comes and sups with me to-morrow, and George Crabbe, son of the +poet, a capital fellow. + +_To F. Tennyson_. + +BOULGE, WOODBRIDGE, _Feby_. 6, 1845. + +MY DEAR FREDERIC, + +. . . You like to hear of men and manners. Have I not been to London for +a whole fortnight, seen Alfred, Spedding, all the lawyers and all the +painters, gone to Panoramas of Naples by Volcano-light (Vesuvius in a +blaze illuminating the whole bay, which Morton says is not a bit better +than Plymouth Sound, if you could put a furnace in the belly of Mount +Edgecumbe)--gone to see the Antigone of Messrs. Sophocles and Mendelssohn +at Covent Garden--gone to see the Infant Thalia--now as little of an +Infant as a Thalia--at the Adelaide Gallery. So! you see things go on as +when you were with us. Only the Thalia has waxed in stature: and perhaps +in wisdom also: but that is not in her favour. The Antigone is, as you +are aware, a neatly constructed drama, on the French model; the music +very fine, _I_ thought--but you would turn up your nose at it, I dare +say. It was horribly ill sung, by a chorus in shabby togas, who looked +much more like dirty bakers than Theban (were they?) respectable old +gentlemen. Mr. Vandenhoff sat on a marble camp-stool in the middle, and +looked like one of Flaxman's Homeric Kings--very well. And Miss +Vandenhoff did Antigone. I forget the name of the lady who did Ismene; +{189} perhaps you would have thought her very handsome: but I did not, +nor was she considered at all remarkable, as far as I could make out. I +saw no pantomimes: and all the other theatres were filled with Balfe, +whom perhaps you admire very much. So I won't say anything about him +till you have told me what you think on his score. . . . + +Well and have you read 'Eothen' which all the world talks of? And do you +know who it is written by? . . . Then Eliot Warburton has written an +Oriental Book! Ye Gods! In Shakespeare's day the nuisance was the +Monsieur Travellers who had 'swum in a gundello'; but now the bores are +those who have smoked _tschibouques_ with a _Peshaw_! Deuce take it: I +say 'tis better to stick to muddy Suffolk. + +_To Bernard Barton_. + +GELDESTONE, _April_ 3/45. + +MY DEAR BARTON, + +. . . I have been loitering out in the garden here this golden day of +Spring. The woodpigeons coo in the covert; the frogs croak in the pond; +the bees hum about some thyme, and some of my smaller nieces have been +busy gathering primroses, 'all to make posies suitable to this present +month.' I cannot but think with a sort of horror of being in London now: +but I doubt I must be ere long. . . . I have abjured all Authorship, +contented at present with the divine Poem which Great Nature is now +composing about us. These primroses seem more wonderful and delicious +Annuals than Ackerman ever put forth. I suppose no man ever grew so old +as not to feel younger in Spring. Yet, poor old Mrs. Bodham {190} lifted +up her eyes to the windows, and asked if it were a clear or a dull day! + +39 NORTON ST., FITZROY SQR. +[? _May_ 1845.] + +DEAR BARTON, + +You see my address. I only got into it yesterday, though I reached +London on Friday, and hung loose upon it for all that interval. I spent +four days at Cambridge pleasantly enough; and one at Bedford where I +heard my friend Matthews preach. + +Last night I appeared at the Opera, and shall do so twice a week till +further notice. Friends I have seen but few; for I have not yet found +time to do anything. Alfred Tennyson was here; but went off yesterday to +consider the sea from the top of Beachy Head. Carlyle gets on with his +book which will be in two big volumes. He has entirely misstated all +about Naseby, after all my trouble. . . . + +Did Churchyard see in London a picture at the address I enclose? The +man's card, you see, proclaims 'Silversmith,' but he is 'Pawnbroker.' A +picture hangs up at the door which he calls by 'Williams,' but I think is +a rather inferior Crome; though the figure in it is not like Crome's +figures. The picture is about three feet high by two broad; good in the +distance; very natural in the branching of the trees; heavy in the +foliage; all common to Crome. And it seems painted in that fat substance +he painted in. If C. come to London let him look at this picture, as +well as come and see me. + +I have cold, head-ache, and London disgust. Oh that I could look on my +Anemones! and hear the sighing of my Scotch firs. The Exhibition is full +of bad things: there is a grand Turner, however; quite unlike anything +that was ever seen in Heaven above, or in Earth beneath, or in the waters +under the Earth. + +The reign of primroses and cowslips is over, and the oak now begins to +take up the empire of the year and wear a budding garland about his +brows. Over all this settles down the white cloud in the West, and the +Morning and Evening draw toward Summer. + +[? _May_ 1845.] + +MY DEAR BARTON, + +Had not your second note arrived this morning, I should surely have +written to you; that you might have a little letter for your Sunday's +breakfast. Do not accuse me of growing enamoured of London; I would have +been in the country long ago if I could. . . . Nor do I think I shall +get away till the end of this month; and then I will go. I am not so bad +as Tennyson, who has been for six weeks intending to start every day for +Switzerland or Cornwall, he doesn't quite know which. However, his stay +has been so much gain to me; for he and John Allen are the two men that +give me pleasure here. + +Tell Churchyard he must come up once again. . . . I saw a most lovely +Sir Joshua at Christie's a week ago; it went far far above my means. +There is an old hunting picture in Regent St. which I want him to look +at. I think it is Morland; whom I don't care twopence for; the horses +ill drawn; some good colour: the people English; good old England! I was +at a party of modern wits last night that made me creep into myself, and +wish myself away talking to any Suffolk old woman in her cottage, while +the trees murmured without. The wickedness of London appals me; and yet +I am no paragon. + +_To F. Tennyson_. + +BOULGE, WOODBRIDGE. _June_, 12/45. + +DEAR FREDERIC, + +Though I write from Boulge you are not to suppose I have been here ever +since I last wrote to you. On the contrary, I am but just returned from +London, where I spent a month, and saw all the sights and all the people +I cared to see. But what am I to tell you of them? Spedding, you know, +does not change: he is now the same that he was fourteen years old when I +first knew him at school more than twenty years ago; wise, calm, bald, +combining the best qualities of Youth and Age. And then as to things +seen; you know that one Exhibition tells another, and one Panorama +certifieth another, etc. If you want to know something of the Exhibition +however, read Fraser's Magazine for this month; there Thackeray has a +paper on the matter, full of fun. I met Stone in the street the other +day; he took me by the button, and told me in perfect sincerity, and with +increasing warmth, how, though he loved old Thackeray, yet these yearly +out-speakings of his sorely tried him; not on account of himself (Stone), +but on account of some of his friends, Charles Landseer, Maclise, etc. +Stone worked himself up to such a pitch under the pressure of forced +calmess that he at last said Thackeray would get himself horse-whipped +one day by one of these infuriated Apelleses. At this I, who had partly +agreed with Stone that ridicule, though true, needs not always to be +spoken, began to laugh: and told him two could play at that game. These +painters cling together, and bolster each other up, to such a degree, +that they really have persuaded themselves that any one who ventures to +laugh at one of their drawings, exhibited publickly for the express +purpose of criticism, insults the whole corps. In the mean while old +Thackeray laughs at all this; and goes on in his own way; writing hard +for half a dozen Reviews and Newspapers all the morning; dining, +drinking, and talking of a night; managing to preserve a fresh colour and +perpetual flow of spirits under a wear-and-tear of thinking and feeding +that would have knocked up any other man I know two years ago, at least. +. . . + +Alfred was in London the first week of my stay there. He was looking +well, and in good spirits; and had got two hundred lines of a new poem in +a butcher's book. He went down to Eastbourne in Sussex; where I believe +he now is. He and I made a plan to go to the coast of Cornwall or Wales +this summer; but I suppose we shall manage never to do it. I find I must +go to Ireland; which I had not intended to do this year. + +I have nothing new to tell you of Music. The Operas were the same old +affair; Linda di Chamouni, the Pirata, etc. Grisi coarse, . . . only +Lablache great. There is one singer also, Brambelli, who, with a few +husky notes, carries one back to the days of Pasta. I did not hear 'Le +Desert'; but I fancy the English came to a fair judgment about it. That +is, they did not want to hear it more than once. It was played many +times, for new batches of people; but I doubt if any one went twice. So +it is with nearly all French things; there is a clever showy surface; but +no Holy of Holies far withdrawn; conceived in the depth of a mind, and +only to be received into the depth of ours after much attention. Poussin +must spend his life in Italy before he could paint as he did; and what +other Great Man, out of the exact Sciences, have they to show? This you +will call impudence. Now Beethoven, you see by your own experience, has +a depth not to be reached all at once. I admit with you that he is too +bizarre, and, I think, morbid; but he is original, majestic, and +profound. Such music _thinks_; so it is with Gluck; and with +Mendelssohn. As to Mozart, he was, as a musical Genius, more wonderful +than all. I was astonished at the Don Giovanni lately. It is certainly +the Greatest Opera in the world. I went to no concert, and am now sorry +I did not. + +Now I have told you all my London news. You will not hear of my Cottage +and Garden; so now I will shut up shop and have done. We have had a +dismal wet May; but now June is recompensing us for all, and Dr. Blow may +be said to be leading the great Garden Band in full chorus. This is a +pun, which, profound in itself, you must not expect to enjoy at first +reading. I am not sure that I am myself conscious of the full meaning of +it. I know it is very hot weather; the distant woods steaming blue under +the noonday sun. I suppose you are living without clothes in wells, +where you are. Remember me to your brothers; write soon; and believe me +ever yours, + +E. FITZGERALD. + +As to going to Italy, alas! I have less call to do that than ever: I +never shall go. You must come over here about your Railroad land. + +_To John Allen_. + +BEDFORD, _August_ 27/45. + +DEAR GOOD ALLEN, + +. . . I came here a week ago, and am paying my usual visits at the +Brownes' and at Airy's. {196} I also purpose going to Naseby for two +days very soon; and after that I shall retire slowly homeward; not to +move, I suppose (except it be for some days to London) till next summer +comes again! + +I am just now staying with W. B. and his wife. . . . The Father and +Mother of Mrs. W. Browne bought old Mrs. Piozzi's house at Streatham +thirty-five years ago; all the Sir Joshua portraits therein, which they +sold directly afterward for a song; and all the furniture, of which some +yet helps to fill the house I now stay in. In the bedroom I write in is +Dr. Johnson's own bookcase and secretaire; with looking glass in the +panels which often reflected his uncouth shape. His own bed is also in +the house; but I do not sleep in it. + +I am reading Selwyn's Correspondence, a remarkable book, as all such +records of the mind of a whole generation must be. Carlyle writes me +word his Cromwell papers will be out in October; and that then we are all +to be convinced that Richard had no hump to his back. I am strong in +favour of the hump; I do not think the common sense of two centuries is +apt to be deceived in such a matter. + +Now if your time is not wholly filled up, pray do give me one line to say +you have not wholly given me up as a turncoat. I would rather have sat +with you on the cliffs of St. David's than done anything I have done for +the last six months. Believe that, please. And now good bye, my dear +fellow. The harvest promises very well here about; but I expect to find +less prosperity at Naseby. + +_To Bernard Barton_. + +BEDFORD, _Septr_. 8/45. + +DEAR BARTON, + +On Thursday I move towards Norwich; where I see Donne, hear some music, +and go to Geldestone. But before this month is over, I hope to be at my +Cottage again, where I have my garden to drain, and other important +matters. + +Do you know I have been greatly tempted to move my quarters from Boulge +to this country; so exact a place have I found to suit me. But we will +wait. + +My noble Preacher Matthews {197} is dead! He had a long cold, which he +promoted in all ways of baptizing, watching late and early, travelling in +rain, etc., he got worse; but would send for no Doctor, the Lord would +raise him up if it were good for him, etc. Last Monday this cold broke +out into Typhus fever; and on Thursday he died! I had been out to Naseby +for three days, and as I returned on Friday at dusk I saw a coffin +carrying down the street: I knew whose it must be. I would have given a +great deal to save his life; which might certainly have been saved with +common precaution. He died in perfect peace, approving all the +principles of his life to be genuine. I am going this afternoon to +attend his Funeral. . . . Cromwell is to be out in October; and Laurence +has been sent to Archdeacon Berners's to make a copy of Oliver's +miniature. + +_To W. B. Donne_. + +GELDESTONE, _Septr_. 23/45. + +DEAR DONNE, + +I left one volume of your Swift with good Mrs. Johnson at Norwich; and +the other with your Mother at Worship's house in Yarmouth. So I trust +you are in a fair way to get them again. + +I sat through one Concert and one Oratorio; {198} and on Thursday went to +Yarmouth, which I took a great fancy to. The sands were very good, I +assure you; and then when one is weary of the sea, there is the good old +town to fall back on. There is Mr. Gooch the Bookseller too; he and his +books a great acquisition. I called on Dawson Turner, and in an +incredibly short space of time saw several books of coats of Arms, +Churches, Refectories, pyxes, cerements, etc. + +Manage to read De Quincey's Article on Wordsworth in the last number of +Tail's Magazine. It is very incomplete, like all De Quincey's things, +but has grand things in it; grand sounds of sense if nothing else. I am +glad to see he sets up Daddy's early Ballads against the Excursion and +other Sermons. + +I intend to leave this place the end of this week; and go, I suppose, to +Boulge; though I have yet a hankering to get a week by the sea, either at +Yarmouth or Southwold. . . . Don't you think 3 pounds very cheap for a +fine copy of Rushworth's Collections, eight volumes folio? I was tempted +to buy it if only for the bargain; for I only want to look through it +once. + +_To F. Tennyson_. + +BOULGE, WOODBRIDGE. +[After _Sept_. 1845.] + +MY DEAR FREDERIC, + +I do beg and desire that when you next begin a letter to me you will not +tear it up (as you say you have done some) because of its exhibiting a +joviality insulting to any dumps of mine. What was I complaining of so? +I forget all about it. It seems to me to be two years since I heard from +you. If you had said that my answers to your letters were so barren as +to dishearten you from deserving any more I should understand that very +well. But if you really did accomplish any letters and not send them, I +say, a fico for thy friendship! Do so no more. . . . + +The finale of C minor is very noble. I heard it twice at Jullien's. On +the whole I like to hear Mozart better; Beethoven is gloomy. Besides +incontestably Mozart is the purest _musician_; Beethoven would have been +Poet or Painter as well, for he had a great deep Soul and Imagination. I +do not think it is reported that he showed any very early predilection +for Music; Mozart, we know, did. They say Holmes has published a very +good life of M. Only think of the poor fellow not being able to sell his +music latterly, getting out of fashion, so taking to drink . . . and +enact Harlequin at Masquerades! When I heard Handel's Alexander's Feast +at Norwich this Autumn I wondered; but when directly afterward they +played Mozart's G minor Symphony, it seemed as if I had passed out of a +land of savages into sweet civilized Life. + +BOULGE, WOODBRIDGE. +[? _March_ 1846.] + +DEAR FREDERIC, + +I have been wondering some time if you were gone abroad again or not. I +go to London toward the end of April: can't you manage to wait in +England? I suppose you will only be a day or two in London before you +put foot in rail, coach, or on steamer for the Continent; and I excuse my +own dastardly inactivity in not going up to meet you and shake hands with +you before you start, by my old excuse; that had you but let me know of +your coming to England, I should have seen you. This is no excuse; but +don't put me out of your books as a frog-hearted wretch. I believe that +I, as men usually do, grow more callous and indifferent daily: but I am +sure I would as soon travel to see your face, and my dear old Alfred's, +as any one's. But beside my inactivity, I have a sort of horror of +plunging into London; which, except for a shilling concert, and a peep at +the pictures, is desperate to me. This is my fault, not London's: I know +it is a lassitude and weakness of soul that no more loves the ceaseless +collision of Beaux Esprits, than my obese ill-jointed carcase loves +bundling about in coaches and steamers. And, as you say, the dirt, both +of earth and atmosphere, in London, is a real bore. But enough of that. +It is sufficient that it is more pleasant to me to sit in a clean room, +with a clear air outside, and hedges just coming into leaf, rather than +in the Tavistock or an upper floor of Charlotte Street. And how much +better one's books read in country stillness, than amid the noise of +wheels, crowds, etc., or after hearing them eternally discussed by no +less active tongues! In the mean time, we of Woodbridge are not without +our luxuries; I enclose you a play-bill just received; _I_ being one of +the distinguished Members who have bespoken the play. We sha'n't all sit +together in a Box, but go dispersed about the house with our wives and +daughters. + +White {201} I remember very well. His Tragedy I have seen advertised. He +used to write good humorous things in Blackwood: among them, Hints to +Authors, which are worth looking at when you get hold of an odd volume of +Blackwood. I have got Thackeray's last book, {202} but have not yet been +able to read it. Has any one heard of old Morton, and of his arrival at +Stamboul, as he called it? . . . + +Now it is a fact that as I lay in bed this morning, before I got your +letter, I thought to myself I would write to Alfred. For he sent me a +very kind letter two months ago; and I should have written to him before, +but that I have looked in vain for a paper I wanted to send him. But, +find it or not (and it is of no consequence) I will write to him very +shortly. You do not mention if he be with you at Cheltenham. He spoke +to me of being ill. . . . I think you should publish some of your poems. +They must be admired and liked; and you would gain a place to which you +are entitled, and which it offends no man to hold. I should like much to +see them again. The whole _subjective_ scheme (damn the word!) of the +poems I did not like; but that is quite a genuine mould of your soul; and +there are heaps of single lines, couplets, and stanzas, which would +consume all the ---, ---, and ---, like stubble. N.B. An acute man +would ask how I should like _you_, if I do not like your own genuine +reflex of _you_? But a less acute, and an acuter, man, will feel or see +the difference. + +So here is a good sheet full; and at all events, if I am too lazy to +travel to you, I am not too lazy to write such a letter as few of one's +contemporaries will now take the pains to write to one. I beg you to +remember me to all your noble family, and believe me yours ever, + +EDW. FITZGERALD. + +_To W. B. Donne_. + +BOULGE, Sunday, _March_ 8/46. + +MY DEAR DONNE, + +I was very sorry you did not come to us at Geldestone. I have been home +now near a fortnight; else I would gladly have gone to Mattishall with +you yesterday. This very Sunday, on which I now hear the Grundisburgh +bells as I write, I might have been filled with the bread of Life from +Padden's hands. + +Our friend Barton is certainly one of the most remarkable men of the Age. +After writing to Peel two separate Sonnets, begging him to retire to +Tamworth and not alter the Corn Laws, he finally sends him another letter +to ask if he will be present at Lord Northampton's soiree next Saturday; +Barton himself being about to go to that soiree, and wishing to see the +Premier. On which Peel writes him a most good humoured note asking him +to dine at Whitehall Gardens on that same Saturday! And the good Barton +is going up for that purpose. {203} All this is great simplicity in +Barton: and really announces an internal Faith that is creditable to this +Age, and almost unexpected in it. I had advised him not to send Peel +many more Sonnets till the Corn Law was passed; the Indian war arranged; +and Oregon settled: but Barton sees no dragon in the way. + +We have actors now at Woodbridge. A Mr. Gill who was low comedian in the +Norwich now manages a troop of his own here. His wife was a Miss Vining; +she is a pretty woman, and a lively pleasant actress, not vulgar. I have +been to see some of the old comedies with great pleasure; and last night +I sat in a pigeon-hole with David Fisher and 'revolved many memories' of +old days and old plays. I don't think he drinks so much now: but he +looks all ready to blossom out into carbuncles. + +We all liked your Athenaeum address much; {204a} which I believe I told +you before. I have heard nothing of books or friends. I shall hope to +see you some time this spring. + +_To E. B. Cowell_. {204b} + +[1846] + +DEAR COWELL, + +I am glad you have bought Spinoza. I am in no sort of hurry for him: you +may keep him a year if you like. I shall perhaps never read him now I +have him. Thank you for the trouble you took. . . . + +Your Hafiz is fine: and his tavern world is a sad and just idea. I did +not send that vine leaf {205a} to A. T. but I have not forgotten it. It +sticks in my mind. + + "In Time's fleeting river + The image of that little vine-leaf lay, + Immovably unquiet--and for ever + It trembles--but it cannot pass away." {205b} + +I have read nothing you would care for since I saw you. It would be a +good work to give us some of the good things of Hafiz and the Persians; +of bulbuls and ghuls we have had enough. + +Come and bring over Spinoza; or I must go and bring him. + +_From T. Carlyle_. + +CHELSEA, 8 _April_, 1846. + +DEAR FITZGERALD, + +I have now put the little sketch of Naseby Fight, {205c} rough and ready, +into its place in the Appendix: it really does pretty well, when it is +fairly written out; had I had time for that, it might almost have gone +into the Text,--and perhaps shall, if ever I live to see another edition. +Naseby Field will then have its due honour;--only you should actually +raise a stone over that Grave that you opened (I will give you the +_shinbone_ back and keep the _teeth_): you really should, with a simple +Inscription saying merely in business English: 'Here, as proved by strict +and not too impious examination, lie the slain of the Battle of Naseby. +Dig no farther. E. FitzGerald,--1843.' By the bye, was it 1843 or 2; +when we did those Naseby feats? tell me, for I want to mark that in the +Book. And so here is your Paper again, since at any rate you wish to +keep that. I am serious about the stone! + +_To W. B. Donne_. + +BOULGE HALL, WOODBRIDGE. +[1846.] + +MY DEAR DONNE, + +I don't know which of us is most to blame for this long gulph of silence. +Probably I; who have least to do. I have been for two months to London; +where (had I thought it of any use) I should have written to try and get +you up for a few days; as I had a convenient lodging, and many beside +myself would have been glad to see you. + +I came back a week ago; and on looking in at Barton's last evening he +showed me your letter with such pleasure as he is wont to receive your +letters with. And there I read all the surprising story of your moving +to old Bury. When I passed through Cambridge two months ago, Thompson +said (I think) that he had seen you; and that you had given up thoughts +of Bury. But now you are going. As you say, you will then be nearer to +us than you now are at Mattishall; especially when our Railroad shall be +completed. In my journeys to and from Bedfordshire, I shall hope to stay +a night at the good old Angel, and so have a chat with you. + +I saw very little of Spedding in London; for he was out all day at State +paper offices and Museums; and I out by night at Operas, etc., with my +Mother. He is however well and immutable. A. Tennyson was in London; +for two months striving to spread his wings to Italy or Switzerland. It +has ended in his flying to the Isle of Wight till Autumn, when Moxon +promises to convoy him over; and then God knows what will become of him +and whether we shall ever see his august old body over here again. He +was in a ricketty state of body; brought on wholly by neglect, etc., but +in fair spirits; and one had the comfort of seeing the Great Man. Carlyle +goes on fretting and maddening as usual. Have you read his Cromwell? Are +you converted, or did you ever need conversion? I believe I remain +pretty much where I was. I think Milton, who is the best evidence +Cromwell has in his favour, warns him somewhat prophetically at the end +of his Second Defence against taking on him Kingship, etc., and in the +tract on the State of England in 1660 (just before it was determined to +bring back Charles the Second) he says _nothing at all_ of Cromwell, no +panegyric; but glances at the evil ambitious men in the Army have done; +and, now that all is open to choose, prays for a pure Republic! So I +herd with the flunkies and lackies, I doubt; but am yours +notwithstanding, + +E. F. G. + +_To E. B. Cowell_. + +BEDFORD, _Septr_. 15/46. + +DEAR COWELL, + +Here I am at last, after making a stay at Lowestoft, where I sailed in +boats, bathed, and in all ways enjoyed the sea air. I wished for you +upon a heathy promontory there, good museum for conversation on old +poets, etc. What have you been reading, and what tastes of rare Authors +have you to send me? I have read (as usual with me) but very little, +what with looking at the sea with its crossing and recrossing ships, and +dawdling with my nieces of an evening. Besides a book is to me what +Locke says that watching the hour hand of a clock is to all; other +thoughts (and those of the idlest and seemingly most irrelevant) will +intrude between my vision and the written words: and then I have to read +over again; often again and again till all is crossed and muddled. If +Life were to be very much longer than is the usual lot of men, one would +try very hard to reform this lax habit, and clear away such a system of +gossamer association: even as it is, I try to turn all wandering fancy +out of doors, and listen attentively to Whately's Logic, and old Spinoza +still! I find some of Spinoza's Letters very good, and so far useful as +that they try to clear up some of his abstrusities at the earnest request +of friends as dull as myself. I think I perceive as well as ever how the +quality of his mind forbids much salutary instinct which widens the +system of things to more ordinary men, and yet helps to keep them from +wandering in it. I am now reading his Tractatus Theologico-Politicus, +which is very delightful to me because of its clearness and acuteness. It +is fine what he says of Christ--'_nempe_,' that God revealed himself in +bits to other prophets, but he was the mind of Christ. I suppose not new +in thought or expression. + +Let me hear from you, whether you have bits of revelations from old poets +to send, or not. If I had the Mostellaria here, I would read it; or a +Rabelais, I would do as Morgan Rattler advised you. + +_To Bernard Barton_. + +[CAMBRIDGE, _Oct_. 18, 1846.] + +MY DEAR BARTON, + +Though my letter bears such frontispiece as the above, {209} I am no +longer in Bedford, but come to Cambridge. And here I sit in the same +rooms {210a} in which I sat as a smooth-chinned Freshman twenty years +ago. The same prints hang on the walls: my old hostess {210b} does not +look older than she did then. My present purpose is to be about a week +here: then to go for a day or two to Bury, to see Donne; and then to move +homewards. It is now getting very cold, and the time for wandering is +over. + +Why do you not send me your new Poem? Or is it too big to send as a +letter? Or shall I buy it? which I shall be glad to do. . . . + +All the preceding was written four days ago: cut short by the sudden +entrance of Moore, whom I have been lionizing ever since. He goes away +to London to-day. . . . + +Moore is delighted with a Titian and Giorgione at the Fitzwilliam. I +have just left him to feed upon them at his ease there, while I indite a +letter to you. + +_To W. B. Donne_. + +[31 _Oct_. 1846.] + +MY DEAR DONNE, + +. . . I only got home to-day: and found one letter on my table from +Ireland. I did not notice it had a black edge and seal: saw it was from +Edgeworthstown: written in the hand of Edgeworth's wife, who often wrote +down from his dictation since his eyes became bad. But she tells me that +he is dead after twelve days illness! I do not yet feel half so sorry as +I shall feel: I shall constantly miss him. {211a} + +_To E. B. Cowell_. + +[End of 1846.] + +DEAR COWELL, + +The weather is so ungenial, and likely to be so, that I put off my +journey to Ipswich till next week. I do not dislike the weather for my +part: but one is best at home in such: and as I am to stay two days with +the Hockleys, I would fain have tolerably fair days, and fair ways, for +it: that one may get about and so on. One does not mind being cooped up +in one's own room all day. I think of going on Monday. Shall you be at +home next week? + +I have read Longus and like him much. Is it the light easy Greek that +pleases one? Or is it the story, the scenery, etc.? Would the book +please one if written in English as good as the Greek? + +The lines from Nonnus are very beautiful. It is always a pleasure to me +to get from you such stray leaves from gardens I shall never enter. + +I have been doing some of the dialogue, {211b} which seems the easiest +thing in the world to do but is not. It is not easy to keep to good +dialectic, and yet keep up the disjected sway of natural conversation. I +talk, you see, as if I were to do some good thing: but I don't mean that. +But any such trials of one's own show one the art of such dialogues as +Plato's, where the process is so logical and conversational at once: and +the result so plain, and seemingly so easy. They remain the miracles of +that Art to this day: and will do for many a day: for I don't believe +they will ever be surpassed; certainly not by Landor. + +Yours ever, + +E. F. G. + +[Postmark WOODBRIDGE, _Jan_. 13, 1847.] + +DEAR COWELL, + +I am always delighted to see you whenever you can come, and Friday will +do perfectly well for me. But do not feel bound to come if it snow, etc. +In other respects I have small compunction, for I think it must do you +good to go out, even to such a desert as this. + +I have not got Phidippus into any presentible shape: and indeed have not +meddled with him lately: as the spirit of light dialogue evaporated from +me under an influenza, and I have not courted it back yet. Luckily I and +the world can very well afford to wait for its return. I began +Thucydides two days ago! and read (after your example) a very little +every day, _i.e._ have done so for two days. Your Sanscrit sentences are +very fine. It is good for you to go on with that. We hear Mr. Nottidge +{213} is dying: who can be sorry for him! + +Yours, + +E. F. G. + +* * * * * + +Early in 1847 Carlyle received a communication from an unknown +correspondent, who professed to have in his possession a number of +letters written by Cromwell and other documents, which if genuine were +certainly of importance. As I published in the Historical Review for +April 1886 all the evidence which exists on the subject, I shall not +further dwell upon it here, except to say that I am not in the least +convinced by the arguments which have been put forward that the thirty- +five letters of Cromwell which Carlyle printed in Fraser's Magazine for +1847 were forged by his imperfectly educated correspondent William +Squire. Squire was living at Yarmouth at this time, and as FitzGerald +was frequently in his neighbourhood Carlyle asked him to endeavour to see +him and examine the papers which he professed to have. In reply to +Carlyle's letter he wrote as follows in February 1847. + +DEAR CARLYLE, + +When I go into Norfolk, which will be some time this Spring, I will go to +Yarmouth and see for Mr. Squire, if you like. But if he is so rusty as +you say, and as I also fancy, I doubt if he will open his treasures to +any but to you who have already set him creaking. But we shall see. Some +of his MS. extracts are curious and amusing. He writes himself something +like Antony Wood, or some such ancient book-worm. It is also curious to +hear of the old proud angry people about Peterboro', who won't show their +records. + +I have not seen the lives of the Saints you spoke of in a former letter. +But when I go to London I must look out for a volume. I have begun to +read Thucydides, which I never read before, and which does very well to +hammer at for an hour in a day: though I can't say I care much for the +Greeks and their peddling quarrels; one must go to Rome for wars. + +Don't you think Thackeray's Mrs. Perkins's Ball very good? I think the +empty faces of the dance room were never better done. It seems to me +wonderful that people can endure to look on such things: but I am forty, +and got out of the habit now, and certainly shall not try to get it back +ever again. + +I am glad you and Mrs. Carlyle happen to be in a milder part of England +during this changeable and cold season. Yet, for my own sake, I shall be +sorry to see the winter go: with its decided and reasonable balance of +daylight and candlelight. I don't know when I shall go to London, +perhaps in April. Please to remember me to Mrs. Carlyle. + +_To S. Laurence_. + +GELDESTONE HALL, BECCLES. + +[_June_ 20, 1847.] + +MY DEAR LAURENCE, + +I have had another letter from the Bartons asking about your advent. In +fact Barton's daughter is anxious for her Father's to be done, and done +this year. He is now sixty-three; and it won't do, you know, for grand- +climacterical people to procrastinate--nay, to _proannuate_--which is a +new, and, for all I see, a very bad word. But, be this as it may, do you +come down to Woodbridge this summer if you can; and that you can, I doubt +not; since it is no great things out of your way to or from Norwich. + +The means to get to Ipswich are--A steamboat will bring you for five +shillings (a very pretty sail) from the Custom House to Ipswich, the +Orwell steamer; going twice a week, and heard of directly in the fishy +latitudes of London Bridge. Or, a railroad brings you for the same sum; +if you will travel third class, which I sometimes do in fine weather. I +should recommend _that_; the time being so short, so certain: and no +eating and drinking by the way, as must be in a steamer. At Ipswich, I +pick you up with the washerwoman's pony and take you to Woodbridge. There +Barton sits with the tea already laid out; and Miss about to manage the +urn; plain, agreeable people. At Woodbridge too is my little friend +Churchyard, with whom we shall sup off toasted cheese and porter. Then, +last and not least, the sweet retirement of Boulge: where the Graces and +Muses, etc. + +I write thus much because my friends seem anxious; my friend, I mean, +Miss Barton: for Barton pretends he dreads having his portrait done; +which is 'my eye.' So come and do it. He is a generous, worthy, simple- +hearted, fellow: worth ten thousand better wits. Then you shall see all +the faded tapestry of country town life: London jokes worn threadbare; +third rate accomplishments infinitely prized; scandal removed from Dukes +and Duchesses to the Parson, the Banker, the Commissioner of Excise, and +the Attorney. + +Let me hear from you soon that you are coming. I shall return to Boulge +the end of this week. + +P.S. Come if you can the latter part of the week; when the Quaker is +most at leisure. There is a daily coach from Woodbridge to Norwich. + +_To T. Carlyle_. + +BOULGE. _June_ 29/47. + +DEAR CARLYLE, + +Last week I went over to Yarmouth and saw Squire. I was prepared, and I +think you were, to find a quaint old gentleman of the last century. Alas +for guesses at History! I found a wholesome, well-grown, florid, clear- +eyed, open-browed, man of about my own age! There was no difficulty at +all in coming to the subject at once, and tackling it. Squire is, I +think, a straight-forward, choleric, ingenuous fellow--a little +mad--cracks away at his family affairs. 'One brother is a rascal--another +a spend-thrift--his father was of an amazing size--a prodigious eater, +etc.--the family all gone to _smithers_,' etc. I liked Squire well: and +told him he must go to you; I am sure you will like him better than the +London penny-a-liners. He is rather a study: and besides he can tell you +bits of his Ancestor's journal; which will indeed make you tear your hair +for what is burned--Between two and three hundred folio pages of MSS. by +a fellow who served under Oliver; been sent on secret service by him; +dreaded him: but could not help serving him--Squire told me a few +circumstances which he had picked up in running over the Journal before +he burnt it; and which you ought to hear from himself before long. +Dreadful stories of Oliver's severity; soldiers cut down by sabre on +parade for 'violence to women'--a son shot on the spot just before his +Father's house for having tampered with Royalists--no quarter to +spies--noses and ears of Royalists slit in retaliation of a like injury +done to Roundheads;--many deeds which that ancient Squire witnessed, or +knew for certain, and which he and his successor thought severe and +_cruel_:--but I could make out nothing unjust--I am very sure _you_ would +not. The Journalist told a story of Peterboro' Cathedral like yours in +your book about Ely:--Oliver marching in as the bells were ringing to +service: bundling out canons, prebendaries, choristers, with the flat of +the sword; and then standing up to preach himself in his armour! A grand +picture. Afterwards they broke the painted windows which I should count +injudicious;--but that I sometimes feel a desire that some boys would go +and do likewise to the Pusey _votive_ windows; if you know that branch of +art. + +Ancestor Squire got angry with Oliver toward the end of the Journal; on +some such account as this--Cromwell had promised him a sum of money; but +the ancestor got taken prisoner by pirate or privateer before he went to +claim the money; had to be redeemed by Oliver; and the redemption money +was subtracted from the whole sum promised by Oliver when payment-time +came. This proceeding seemed to both Squires, living and dead, shabby; +but one not belonging to the family may be permitted to think it all +fair. + +On the whole, I suspect you would have used Ancestor Squire as you have +used many others who have helped you to materials of his kind; like a +sucked orange: you would have tossed him into the dirt carelessly, I +doubt; and then what would Squire minor have said? Yet he himself did +not like all his Ancestor had done; the _secret_ service, which our +Squire called '_spy-age_'; going to Holland with messages and despatches +which he was to deliver to some one who was to meet him on the quay, and +show him a gold ring; the man with the gold ring supposed to be the +Stadtholder! I tried to persuade our friend there was no great shame in +being an agent of this sort; but he said with a light rap on the table +that _he_ wouldn't do such a thing. + +I have now told you something of what remains in my head after our +conference; but you must see the man. What gave us the idea of his being +old was his old-fashioned notions; he and his family have lived in +Peterboro' and such retired places these three hundred years; and amazing +as it may seem to us that any people should be ashamed that their +ancestors fought for Low Church, yet two hundred years are but as a day +in a Cathedral Close. Nothing gives one more the idea of the Sleeping +Palace than that. Esto perpetua! I mean, as long as I live at least. +When I expressed wonder to Squire that his wife's friends, or his +Peterboro' friends, should be so solicitous about the world's ever +knowing that their ancestors had received letters from Cromwell, he very +earnestly assured me that he knew some cases in which persons' +advancement in public life had been suddenly stopt by the Queen or her +ministers, when it got wind that they were related in any way to +Cromwell! I thought this a piece of dotage, as I do now; but I have +heard elsewhere of some one not being allowed to take the name of +Cromwell; I mean not very many years back; but more likely under a George +than under a Victoria. + +I think Squire must be a little crazy on this score; that is, the old +dotage of a Cathedral town superstition worked up into activity by a +choleric disposition. He seems, as I told you, of the sanguine +temperament; and he mentioned a long illness during which he was not +allowed to read a book, etc., which looks like some touch of the head. +Perhaps brain fever. Perhaps no such thing, but all my fancy. He was +very civil; ordered in a bottle of Sherry and biscuits: asked me to dine, +which I could not do. And so ends my long story. But you must see him. + +Yours, + +E. F. G. + +He spoke of a portrait of Oliver that had been in his family since +Oliver's time--till sold for a few shillings to some one in Norwich by +some rascal relation. The portrait unlike all he has seen in painting or +engraving: very pale, very thoughtful, very commanding, he says. If he +ever recovers it, he will present you with it; he says if it should cost +him 10 pounds--for he admires you. {220} + +_To Bernard Barton_. + +EXETER, _August_ 16/47. + +MY DEAR BARTON, + +. . . Here I am at Exeter: a place I never was in before. It is a fine +country round about; and last evening I saw landscape that would have +made Churchyard crazy. The Cathedral is not worth seeing to an ordinary +observer, though I dare say Archaeologists find it has its own private +merits. . . . + +Tell Churchyard we were wrong about Poussin's Orion. I found this out on +my second visit to it. What disappointed me, and perhaps him, at first +sight, was a certain stiffness in Orion's own figure; I expected to see +him stalk through the landscape forcibly, as a giant usually does; but I +forgot at the moment that Orion was _blind_, and must walk as a blind +man. Therefore this stiffness in his figure was just the right thing. I +think however the picture is faulty in one respect, that the atmosphere +of the landscape is not that of _dawn_; which it should be most visibly, +since Morning is so principal an actor in the drama. All this seems to +be more addressed to Churchyard, who has seen the picture, than to you +who have not. + +I saw also in London panoramas of Athens and the Himalaya mountains. In +the latter, you see the Ganges glittering a hundred and fifty miles off; +and far away the snowy peak of the mountain it rises from; that mountain +25,000 feet high. What's the use of coming to Exeter, when you can see +all this for a shilling in London? . . . And now I am going to the +Cathedral, where the Bishop has a cover to his seat sixty feet high. So +now goodbye for the present. + +GLOUCESTER, _Augst_. 29/47. + +MY DEAR BARTON, + +. . . After I wrote to you at Exeter, I went for three days to the +Devonshire coast; and then to Lusia's home in Somersetshire. I never saw +her look better or happier. De Soyres pretty well; their little girl +grown a pretty and strong child; their baby said to be very thriving. +They live in a fine, fruitful, and picturesque country: green pastures, +good arable, clothed with trees, bounded with hills that almost reach +mountain dignity, and in sight of the Bristol Channel which is there all +but Sea. I fancy the climate is moist, and I should think the trees are +too many for health: but I was there too little time to quarrel with it +on that score. After being there, I went to see a parson friend in +Dorsetshire; {222} a quaint, humorous man. Him I found in a most out-of- +the-way parish in a fine open country; not so much wooded; chalk hills. +This man used to wander about the fields at Cambridge with me when we +both wore caps and gowns, and then we proposed and discussed many +ambitious schemes and subjects. He is now a quiet, saturnine, parson +with five children, taking a pipe to soothe him when they bother him with +their noise or their misbehaviour: and I!--as the Bishop of London said, +'By the grace of God I am what I am.' In Dorsetshire I found the +churches much occupied by Puseyite Parsons; new chancels built with +altars, and painted windows that officiously displayed the Virgin Mary, +etc. The people in those parts call that party 'Pugicides,' and receive +their doctrine and doings peacefully. I am vext at these silly men who +are dishing themselves and their church as fast as they can. + +_To F. Tennyson_. + +[LEAMINGTON, 4 _Sept._ 1847.] + +MY DEAR FREDERIC, + +I believe I must attribute your letter to your having skipped to Leghorn, +and so got animated by the sight of a new place. _I_ also am an +Arcadian: have been to Exeter--the coast of Devonshire--the Bristol +Channel--and to visit a Parson in Dorsetshire. He wore cap and gown when +I did at Cambridge--together did we roam the fields about Granchester, +discuss all things, thought ourselves fine fellows, and that one day we +should make a noise in the world. He is now a poor Rector in one of the +most out-of-the-way villages in England--has five children--fats and +kills his pig--smokes his pipe--loves his home and cares not ever to be +seen or heard of out of it. I was amused with his company; he much +pleased to see me: we had not met face to face for fifteen years--and now +both of us such very sedate unambitious people! Now I am verging +homeward; taking Leamington and Bedford in my way. + +You persist in not giving me your clear direction at Florence. It is +only by chance that you give the name 'Villa Gondi' of the house you +describe so temptingly to me. I should much like to visit you there; but +I doubt shall never get up the steam for such an expedition. And now +know that, since the last sentence was written, I have been to +Cheltenham, and called at your Mother's; and seen her, and Matilda, and +Horatio: all well: Alfred is with the Lushingtons and is reported to be +all the better for the water-cure. Cheltenham seemed to me a woeful +place: I had never seen it before. I now write from Leamington; where I +am come to visit my Mother for a few days. . . . + +All the world has been, as I suppose you have read, crazy about Jenny +Lind: and they are now giving her 400 pounds to sing at a Concert. What +a frightful waste of money! I did not go to hear her: partly out of +contradiction perhaps; and partly because I could not make out that she +was a great singer, like my old Pasta. Now I will go and listen to any +pretty singer whom I can get to hear easily and unexpensively: but I will +not pay and squeeze much for any canary in the world. Perhaps Lind is a +nightingale: but I want something more than that. Spedding's cool blood +was moved to hire stalls several times at an advanced rate: the +Lushingtons (your sister told me) were enraptured: and certainly people +rushed up madly from Suffolk to hear her but once and then die. I rather +doubted the value of this general appreciation. But one cause of my not +hearing her was that I was not in London for more than a fortnight all +the Spring: and she came out but at the close of my fortnight. . . . + +. . . You are wrong, as usual, about Moore and Eastlake: all the world +say that Moore had much the best of the controversy, and Eastlake only +remains cock of the walk because he is held up by authority. I do not +pretend to judge which of the two is right in art: but I am sure that +Moore argues most logically, and sets out upon finer principles; and if +two shoemakers quarrelled about the making of a shoe, I should be +disposed to side with him who argued best on the matter, though my eyes +and other senses could not help me to a verdict. Moore takes his stand +on high ground, and appeals to Titian, Michel Angelo, and Reynolds. +Eastlake is always shifting about, and appealing to Sir Robert Peel, +Etty, and the Picture-dealers. {225} Now farewell. Write when you can +to Boulge. + +_To S. Laurence_. + +[1847.] + +DEAR LAURENCE, + +. . . I assure you I am deeply obliged to you for the great trouble you +have taken, and the kindness you have shewn about the portrait. In spite +of all our objections (yours amongst the number) it is very like, and +perhaps only misses of being quite like by that much more than +hairbreadth difference, which one would be foolish to expect to see +adequated. Perhaps those painters are right who set out with rather +idealising the likeness of those we love; for we do so ourselves probably +when we look at them. And as art must miss the last delicacy of nature, +it may be well to lean toward a better than our eyes can affirm. + +This is all wrong. Truth is the ticket; but those who like strongly, in +this as in other cases, love to be a little blind, or to see too much. +One fancies that no face can be too delicate and handsome to be the +depository of a noble spirit: and if we are not as good physiognomists as +we are metaphysicians (that is, intimate with any one particular mind) +our outward eyes will very likely be at variance with our inward, or +rather be influenced by them. Very instructive all this! + +I wish you would come to me to-night for an hour at ten: I don't know if +any one else will be here. + +_To T. Carlyle_. + +ALDERMAN BROWNE'S, BEDFORD. +[20 _Septr_. 1847.] + +DEAR CARLYLE, + +I was very glad of your letter: especially as regards that part in it +about the Derbyshire villages. In many other parts of England (not to +mention my own Suffolk) you would find the same substantial goodness +among the people, resulting (as you say) from the funded virtues of many +good humble men gone by. I hope you will continue to teach us all, as +you have done, to make some use and profit of all this: at least, not to +let what good remains to die away under penury and neglect. I also hope +you will have some mercy now, and in future, on the 'Hebrew rags' which +are grown offensive to you; considering that it was these rags that +really did bind together those virtues which have transmitted down to us +all the good you noticed in Derbyshire. If the old creed was so +commendably effective in the Generals and Counsellors of two hundred +years ago, I think we may be well content to let it work still among the +ploughmen and weavers of to-day; and even to suffer some absurdities in +the Form, if the Spirit does well upon the whole. Even poor Exeter Hall +ought, I think, to be borne with; it is at least better than the wretched +Oxford business. When I was in Dorsetshire some weeks ago, and saw +chancels done up in sky-blue and gold, with niches, candles, an _Altar_, +rails to keep off the profane laity, and the parson (like your Reverend +Mr. Hitch {227}) _intoning_ with his back to the people, I thought the +Exeter Hall war-cry of 'The Bible--the whole Bible--and nothing but the +Bible' a good cry: I wanted Oliver and his dragoons to march in and put +an end to it all. Yet our Established Parsons (when quiet and in their +senses) make good country gentlemen, and magistrates; and I am glad to +secure one man of means and education in each parish of England: the +people can always resort to Wesley, Bunyan, and Baxter, if they want +stronger food than the old Liturgy, and the orthodox Discourse. I think +you will not read what I have written: or be very bored with it. But it +is written now. + +I am going to-day into the neighbourhood of Kimbolton: but shall be back +here by the end of the week: and shall not leave Bedford till next Monday +certainly. I may then go to Naseby for three days: but this depends. I +would go and hunt up some of the Peterboro' churchmen for you; but that +my enquiries would either be useless, or precipitate the burning of other +records. I hope your excursion will do you good. Thank you for your +account of Spedding: I had written however to himself, and from himself +ascertained that he was out of the worst. But Spedding's life is a very +ticklish one. + +_To E. B. Cowell_. + +[1847] + +DEAR COWELL, + +. . . I am only got half way in the third book of Thucydides: but I go on +with pleasure; with as much pleasure as I used to read a novel. I have +also again taken up my Homer. That is a noble and affecting passage +where Diomed and Glaucus, being about to fight, recognize each other as +old family friends, exchange arms, and vow to avoid each other henceforth +in the fray. (N.B. and this in the tenth year of the war!) After this +comes, you know, the meeting of Hector and Andromache, which we read +together; altogether a truly Epic canto indeed. + +Yet, as I often think, it is not the poetical imagination, but bare +Science that every day more and more unrolls a greater Epic than the +Iliad; the history of the World, the infinitudes of Space and Time! I +never take up a book of Geology or Astronomy but this strikes me. And +when we think that Man must go on to discover in the same plodding way, +one fancies that the Poet of to-day may as well fold his hands, or turn +them to dig and delve, considering how soon the march of discovery will +distance all his imaginations, [and] dissolve the language in which they +are uttered. Martial, as you say, lives now, after two thousand years; a +space that seems long to us whose lives are so brief; but a moment, the +twinkling of an eye, if compared (not to Eternity alone) but to the ages +which it is now known the world must have existed, and (unless for some +external violence) must continue to exist. Lyell in his book about +America, says that the falls of Niagara, if (as seems certain) they have +worked their way back southwards for seven miles, must have taken over +35,000 years to do so, at the rate of something over a foot a year! +Sometimes they fall back on a stratum that crumbles away from behind them +more easily: but then again they have to roll over rock that yields to +them scarcely more perceptibly than the anvil to the serpent. And those +very soft strata which the Cataract now erodes contain evidences of a +race of animals, and of the action of seas washing over them, long before +Niagara came to have a distinct current; and the rocks were compounded +ages and ages before those strata! So that, as Lyell says, the Geologist +looking at Niagara forgets even the roar of its waters in the +contemplation of the awful processes of time that it suggests. It is not +only that this vision of Time must wither the Poet's hope of immortality; +but it is in itself more wonderful than all the conceptions of Dante and +Milton. + +As to your friend Pliny, I don't think that Time can use his usual irony +on that saying about Martial. {230a} Pliny evidently only suggests that +'at non erunt aeterna quae scripsit' as a question of his correspondent; +to which he himself replies 'Non erunt _fortasse_.' Your Greek +quotations are very graceful. I should like to read Busbequius. {230b} +Do _you_ think Tacitus _affected_ in style, as people now say he is? + +* * * * * + +In the Notes to his edition of Selden's Table Talk, published in 1847, +Mr. Singer says, 'Part of the following Illustrations were kindly +communicated to the Editor by a gentleman to whom his best thanks are +due, and whom it would have afforded him great pleasure to be allowed to +name.' It might have been said with truth that the 'greater part' of the +illustrations were contributed by the same anonymous benefactor, who was, +I have very little doubt, FitzGerald himself. I have in my possession a +copy of the Table Talk which he gave me about 1871 or 1872, with +annotations in his own handwriting, and these are almost literally +reproduced in the Notes to Singer's Edition. Of this copy FitzGerald +wrote to me, 'What notes I have appended are worth nothing, I suspect; +though I remember that the advice of the present Chancellor {231} was +asked in some cases.' + +_To E. B. Cowell_. + +GELDESTONE, _Jan_. 13/48. + +MY DEAR COWELL, + +. . . I suppose you have seen Carlyle's thirty-five Cromwell letters in +Fraser. I see the Athenaeum is picking holes with them too: and I +certainly had a misgiving that Squire of Yarmouth must have pieced out +the erosions of 'the vermin' by one or two hotheaded guesses of his own. +But I am sure, both from the general matter of the letters, and from +Squire's own bodily presence, that he did not forge them. Carlyle has +made a bungle of the whole business; and is fairly twitted by the +Athenaeum for talking so loud about his veneration for Cromwell, etc., +and yet not stirring himself to travel a hundred miles to see and save +such memorials as he talks of. + +BOULGE, _Wednesday_. +[_Jan._ 25, 1848.] + +MY DEAR COWELL, + +I liked your paper on the Mesnavi {232} very much; both your criticism +and your Mosaic legend. That I may not seem to give you careless and +undistinguishing praise, I will tell you that I could not quite hook on +the latter part of Moses to the former; did you leave out any necessary +link of the chain in the hiatus you made? or is the inconsequence only in +my brains? So much for the legend: and I must reprehend you for one tiny +bit of Cockney about Memory's rosary at the end of your article, which, +but for that, I liked so much. + +So judges Fitz-Dennis; who, you must know by this time, has the judgment +of Moliere's old woman, and the captiousness of Dennis. Ten years ago I +might have been vext to see you striding along in Sanscrit and Persian so +fast; reading so much; remembering all; writing about it so well. But +now I am glad to see any man do any thing well; and I know that it is my +vocation to stand and wait, and know within myself whether it is done +well. + +I have just finished, all but the last three chapters, the fourth Book of +Thucydides, and it is now no task to me to go on. This fourth book is +the most interesting I have read; containing all that blockade of Pylos; +that first great thumping of the Athenians at Oropus, after which they +for ever dreaded the Theban troops. And it came upon me 'come stella in +ciel,' when, in the account of the taking of Amphipolis, {233} +Thucydides, [Greek text], comes with seven ships to the rescue! Fancy +old Hallam sticking to his gun at a Martello tower! This was the way to +write well; and this was the way to make literature respectable. Oh, +Alfred Tennyson, could you but have the luck to be put to such +employment! No man would do it better; a more heroic figure to head the +defenders of his country could not be. + +_To S. Laurence_. + +BOULGE, WOODBRIDGE, +[30 _Jan_. 1848.] + +MY DEAR LAURENCE, + +How are you--how are you getting on? A voice from the tombs thus +addresses you; respect the dead, and answer. Barton is well; that is, I +left him well on Friday: but he was just going off to attend a Quaker's +funeral in the snow: whether he has survived that, I don't know. +To-morrow is his Birth-day: and I am going (if he be alive) to help him +to celebrate it. His portrait has been hung (under my directions) over +the mantel-piece in his sitting room, with a broad margin of some red +stuff behind it, to set it off. You may turn up your nose at all this; +but let me tell you it is considered one of the happiest contrivances +ever adopted in Woodbridge. Nineteen people out of twenty like the +portrait much; the twentieth, you may be sure, is a man of no taste at +all. + +I hear you were for a long time in Cumberland. Did you paint a +waterfall--or old Wordsworth--or Skiddaw, or any of the beauties? Did +you see anything so inviting to the pencil as the river Deben? When are +you coming to see us again? Churchyard relies on your coming; but then +he is a very sanguine man, and, though a lawyer, wonderfully confident in +the promises of men. How are all your family? You see I have asked you +some questions; so you must answer them; and believe me yours truly, + +E. FITZGERALD. + +_To John Allen_. + +BOULGE, WOODBRIDGE, +_March_ 2/48. + +MY DEAR ALLEN, + +. . . Every year I have less and less desire to go to London: and now you +are not there I have one reason the less for going there. I want to +settle myself in some town--for good--for life! A pleasant country town, +a cathedral town perhaps! What sort of a place is Lichfield? + +I say nothing about French Revolutions, which are too big for a little +letter. I think we shall all be in a war before the year; I know not how +else the French can keep peace at home but by quarrelling abroad. But +'come what come may.' + +My old friend Major Moor died rather suddenly last Saturday: {235} and +this next Saturday is to be buried in the Church to which he used to take +me when I was a boy. He has not left a better man behind him. + +BOULGE, _Friday_. + +MY DEAR ALLEN, + +. . . I suppose by a 'Minster Pool' in Lichfield you mean a select +coterie of Prebends, Canons, etc. These would never trouble me. I +should much prefer the society of the Doctor, the Lawyer (if tolerably +honest) and the singing men. I love a small Cathedral town; and the +dignified respectability of the Church potentates is a part of the +pleasure. I sometimes think of Salisbury: and have altogether long had +an idea of settling at forty years old. Perhaps it will be at +Woodbridge, after all! + +_To F. Tennyson_. + +BOULGE, _May_ 4, 1848. + +MY DEAR FREDERIC, + +When you talk of two idle men not taking the trouble to keep up a little +intercourse by letters, you do not, in conscience, reflect upon me; who, +you know, am very active in answering almost by return of post. It is +some six months since you must have got my last letter, full of most +instructive advice concerning my namesake; of whom, and of which, you say +nothing. How much has he borrowed of you? Is he now living on the top +of your hospitable roof? Do you think him the most ill-used of men? I +see great advertisements in the papers about your great Grimsby Railway. +. . . Does it pay? does it pay all but you? who live only on the fine +promises of the lawyers and directors engaged in it? You know England +has had a famous winter of it for commercial troubles: my family has not +escaped the agitation: I even now doubt if I must not give up my daily +two-pennyworth of cream and take to milk: and give up my Spectator and +Athenaeum. I don't trouble myself much about all this: for, unless the +kingdom goes to pieces by national bankruptcy, I shall probably have +enough to live on: and, luckily, every year I want less. What do you +think of my not going up to London this year; to see exhibitions, to hear +operas, and so on? Indeed I do not think I shall go: and I have no great +desire to go. I hear of nothing new in any way worth going up for. I +have never yet heard the famous Jenny Lind, whom all the world raves +about. Spedding is especially mad about her, I understand: and, after +that, is it not best for weaker vessels to keep out of her way? Night +after night is that bald head seen in one particular position in the +Opera house, in a stall; the miserable man has forgot Bacon and +philosophy, and goes after strange women. There is no doubt this lady is +a wonderful singer; but I will not go into hot crowds till another Pasta +comes; I have heard no one since her worth being crushed for. And to +perform in one's head one of Handel's choruses is better than most of the +Exeter Hall performances. I went to hear Mendelssohn's Elijah last +spring: and found it wasn't at all worth the trouble. Though very good +music it is not original: Haydn much better. I think the day of +Oratorios is gone, like the day for painting Holy Families, etc. But we +cannot get tired of what has been done in Oratorios more than we can get +tired of Raffaelle. Mendelssohn is really original and beautiful in +_romantic_ music: witness his Midsummer Night's Dream, and Fingal's Cave. + +I had a note from Alfred three months ago. He was then in London: but is +now in Ireland, I think, adding to his new poem, the Princess. Have you +seen it? I am considered a great heretic for abusing it; it seems to me +a wretched waste of power at a time of life when a man ought to be doing +his best; and I almost feel hopeless about Alfred now. I mean, about his +doing what he was born to do. . . . On the other hand, Thackeray is +progressing greatly in his line: he publishes a Novel in numbers--Vanity +Fair--which began dull, I thought: but gets better every number, and has +some very fine things indeed in it. He is become a great man I am told: +goes to Holland House, and Devonshire House: and for some reason or +other, will not write a word to me. But I am sure this is not because he +is asked to Holland House. Dickens has fallen off in his last novel, +{238} just completed; but there are wonderful things in it too. Do you +ever get a glimpse of any of these things? + +As to public affairs, they are so wonderful that one does not know where +to begin. If England maintains her own this year, she must have the +elements of long lasting in her. I think People begin to wish we had no +more to do with Ireland: but the Whigs will never listen to a doctrine +which was never heard of in Holland House. I am glad Italy is free: and +surely there is nothing for her now but a Republic. It is well to stand +by old kings who have done well by us: but it is too late in the day to +_begin_ Royalty. + +If anything could tempt me so far as Italy, it would certainly be your +presence in Florence. But I boggle about going twenty miles, and _cui +bono_? deadens me more and more. + +July 2. All that precedes was written six weeks ago, when I was obliged +to go up to London on business. . . . I saw Alfred, and the rest of the +scavans. Thackeray is a great man: goes to Devonshire House, etc.: and +_his_ book (which is capital) is read by the Great: and will, I hope, do +them good. I heard but little music: the glorious Acis and Galatea; and +the redoubtable Jenny Lind, for the first time. I was disappointed in +her: but am told this is all my fault. As to naming her in the same +Olympiad with great old Pasta, I am sure that is ridiculous. The +Exhibition is like most others you have seen; worse perhaps. There is an +'Aaron' and a 'John the Baptist' by Etty far worse than the Saracen's +Head on Ludgate Hill. Moore is turned Picture dealer: and that high +Roman virtue in which he indulged is likely to suffer a Picture-dealer's +change, I think. Carlyle writes in the Examiner about Ireland: raves and +foams, but has nothing to propose. Spedding prospers with Bacon. Alfred +seemed to me in fair plight: much dining out: and his last Poem is well +liked I believe. Morton is still at Lisbon, I believe also: but I have +not written to him, nor heard from him. And now, my dear Frederic, I +must shut up. Do not neglect to write to me sometimes. Alfred said you +ought to be in England about your Grimsby Land. + +_To E. B. Cowell_. + +[? 1848.] + +MY DEAR COWELL, + +. . . I do not know that I praised Xenophon's imagination in recording +such things as Alcibiades at Lampsacus; {240} all I meant to say was that +the history was not dull which does record such facts, if it be for the +imagination of others to quicken them. . . . As to Sophocles, I will not +give up my old Titan. Is there not an infusion of Xenophon in Sophocles, +as compared to AEschylus,--a dilution? Sophocles is doubtless the better +artist, the more complete; but are we to expect anything but glimpses and +ruins of the divinest? Sophocles is a pure Greek temple; but AEschylus +is a rugged mountain, lashed by seas, and riven by thunderbolts: and +which is the most wonderful, and appalling? Or if one will have AEschylus +too a work of man, I say he is like a Gothic Cathedral, which the Germans +say did arise from the genius of man aspiring up to the immeasurable, and +reaching after the infinite in complexity and gloom, according as +Christianity elevated and widened men's minds. A dozen lines of AEschylus +have a more Almighty power on me than all Sophocles' plays; though I +would perhaps rather save Sophocles, as the consummation of Greek art, +than AEschylus' twelve lines, if it came to a choice which must be lost. +Besides these AEschyluses _trouble_ us with their grandeur and gloom; but +Sophocles is always soothing, complete, and satisfactory. + +_To W. B. Donne_. + +BOULGE, _Decr_. 27, [1848.] + +MY DEAR DONNE, + +You have sent me two or three kind messages through Barton. I hear you +come into Suffolk the middle of January. My movements are as yet +uncertain; the lawyers may call me back to London very suddenly: but +should I be here at the time of your advent, you must really contrive to +come here, to this Cottage, for a day or two. I have yet beds, tables, +and chairs for two: I think Gurdon is also looking out for you. + +I only returned home a few days ago, to spend Christmas with Barton: +whose turkey I accordingly partook of. He seems only pretty well: is +altered during the last year: less spirits, less strength; but quite +amiable still. + +I saw many of my friends in London, Carlyle and Tennyson among them; but +most and best of all, Spedding. I have stolen his noble book {241} away +from him; noble, in spite (I believe, but am not sure) of some +_adikology_ in the second volume: some special pleadings for his idol: +amica Veritas, sed magis, etc. But I suppose you will think this the +intolerance of a weak stomach. + +I also went to plays and concerts which I could scarce afford: but I +thought I would have a Carnival before entering on a year of reductions. +I have been trying to hurry on, and bully, Lawyers: have done a very +little good with much trouble; and cannot manage to fret much though I am +told there is great cause for fretting. + +Farewell for the present: come and see me if we be near Woodbridge at the +same time: remember me to all who do remember me: and believe me yours as +ever, + +E. F. G. + +_To S. Laurence_. + +BOULGE, WOODBRIDGE, +_Febr_: 9/49. + +MY DEAR LAURENCE, + +Roe promised me six copies of his Tennyson. {242} Do you know anything +of them? Why I ask is, that, in case they should be at your house, I may +have an opportunity of having them brought down here one day. And I have +promised them nearly all to people hereabout. + +Barton is out of health; some affection of the heart, I think, that will +never leave him, never let him be what he was when you saw him. He is +forced to be very abstemious . . . but he bears his illness quite as a +man; and looks very demurely to the necessary end of all life. {243} +Churchyard is pretty well; has had a bad cough for three months. I +suppose we are all growing older: though I have been well this winter, +and was unwell all last. I forget if you saw Crabbe (I mean the Father) +when you were down here. + +You may tell Mr. Hullah, if you like, that in spite of his contempt for +my music, I was very much pleased, with a duett of his I chanced to +see--'O that we two were maying'--and which I bought and have forced two +ladies here to take pains to learn. They would sing nicely if they had +voices and were taught. + +_Fragment of Letter to J. Allen_. + +I see a good deal of Alfred, who lives not far off me: and he is still +the same noble and droll fellow he used to be. A lithograph has been +made from Laurence's portrait of him; _my_ portrait: and six copies are +given to me. I reserve one for you; how can I send it to you? + +Laurence has for months been studying the Venetian secret of colour in +company with Geldart; and at last they have discovered it, they say. I +have seen some of Laurence's portraits done on his new system; they seem +to be really much better up to a certain point of progress: but I think +he is apt, by a bad choice of colours, to spoil the effect which an +improved system of laying on the colours should ensure. But he has only +lately begun on his new system, of which he is quite confident; and +perhaps all will come right by and by. + +I have seen Thackeray three or four times. He is just the same. All the +world admires Vanity Fair; and the Author is courted by Dukes and +Duchesses, and wits of both sexes. I like Pendennis much; and Alfred +said he thought 'it was quite delicious: it seemed to him so _mature_,' +he said. You can imagine Alfred saying this over one's fire, spreading +his great hand out. + +_To F. Tennyson_. + +BOULGE, WOODBRIDGE, _June_ 19, 1849. + +MY DEAR OLD FREDERIC, + +I often think of you: often wish to write to you--often intend to do +so--determine to do so--but perhaps should not do so for a long time, but +that this sheet of thin paper happens to come under my fingers this 19th +of June 1849. You must not believe however that it is only chance that +puts me up to this exertion; I really should have written before but that +the reports we read of Italian and Florentine troubles put me in doubt +first whether you are still at Florence to receive my letter: and +secondly whether, if you be there, it would ever reach your hands. But I +will brace myself up even to that great act of Friendship, to write a +long letter with all probability of its miscarrying. Only look here; if +it ever does reach you, you must really write to me directly: to let me +know how you and yours are, for I am sincerely anxious to know this. I +saw great reports in the paper too some months back of Prince Albert +going to open Great Grimsby Docks. Were not such Docks to be made on +your land? and were you not to be a rich man if they were made? And have +you easily consented to forego being paid in money, and to accept in lieu +thereof a certain quantity of wholly valueless shares in said Docks, +which will lead you into expense, instead of enriching you? This is what +I suppose will be the case. For though you have a microscopic eye for +human character, you are to be diddled by any knave, or set of knaves, as +you well know. + +Of my own affairs I have nothing agreeable to tell. . . . When I met you +in London, I was raising money for myself on my reversionary property: +and so I am still: and of course the lawyers continue to do so in the +most expensive way; a slow torture of the purse. But do not suppose I +want money: I get it, at a good price: nor do I fret myself about the +price: there will be quite enough (if public securities hold) for my life +under any dispensation the lawyers can inflict. As I grow older I want +less. I have not bought a book or a picture this year: have not been to +a concert, opera, or play: and, what is more, I don't care to go. Not +but if I meet you in London again I shall break out into shilling +concerts, etc., and shall be glad of the opportunity. + +After you left London, I remained there nearly to the end of December; +saw a good deal of Alfred, etc. Since then I have been down here except +a fortnight's stay in London, from which I have just returned. I heard +Alfred had been seen flying through town to the Lushingtons: but I did +not see him. He is said to be still busy about that accursed Princess. +By the by, beg, borrow, steal, or buy Keats' Letters and Poems; most +wonderful bits of Poems, written off hand at a sitting, most of them: I +only wonder that they do not make a noise in the world. By the by again, +it is quite necessary _your_ poems should be printed; which Moxon, I am +sure, would do gladly. Except this book of Keats, we have had _no_ +poetry lately, I believe; luckily, the ---, ---, ---, etc., are getting +older and past the age of conceiving--_wind_. Send your poems over to +Alfred to sort and arrange for you: he will do it: and you and he are the +only men alive whose poems I want to see in print. By the by, thirdly +and lastly, and in total contradiction to the last sentence, I am now +helping to edit some letters and poems of--Bernard Barton! Yes: the poor +fellow died suddenly of heart disease; leaving his daughter, a noble +woman, almost unprovided for: and we are getting up this volume by +subscription. If you were in England _you_ must subscribe: but as you +are not, you need only give us a share in the Great Grimsby Dock instead. + +Now there are some more things I could tell you, but you see where my pen +has honestly got to in the paper. I remember you did not desire to hear +about my garden, which is now gorgeous with large red poppies, and lilac +irises--satisfactory colouring: and the trees murmur a continuous soft +_chorus to the solo which my soul discourses within_. If that be not +Poetry, I should like to know what is? and with it I may as well +conclude. I think I shall send this letter to your family at Cheltenham +to be forwarded to you:--they may possibly have later intelligence of you +than I have. Pray write to me if you get this; indeed you _must_; and +never come to England without letting me know of it. + +_To George Crabbe_. {247} + +TERRACE HOUSE, RICHMOND, +_October_ 22/49. + +MY DEAR GEORGE, + +Warren's analysis of my MS. is rather wonderful to me. Though not wholly +correct (as I think, and as I will expound to you one day) it seems to me +yet as exact as most of my friends who know me best could draw out from +their personal knowledge. Some of his guesses (though partly right) hit +upon traits of character I should conceive quite out of all possibility +of solution from mere handwriting. I can understand that a man should +guess at one's temperament, whether lively or slow; at one's habit of +thought, whether diffuse or logical; at one's Will, whether strong and +direct or feeble and timid. But whether one distrusts men, and yet +trusts friends? Half of this is true, at all events. Then I cannot +conceive how a man should see in handwriting such an accident as whether +one knew much of Books or men; and in this point it is very doubtful if +Warren is right. But, take it all in all, his analysis puzzles me much. +I have sent it to old Jem Spedding the Wise. You shall have it again. + +If my Mother should remain at this place you must one day come and see +her and it with me. She would be very glad to receive you. Richmond and +all its environs are very beautiful, and very interesting; haunted by the +memory of Princes, Wits, and Beauties. + +_To E. B. Cowell_. + +BOULGE, _Saturday_, [1849]. + +MY DEAR COWELL, + +How is it I have not heard from you these two months? Surely, I was the +last who wrote. I was told you had influenza, or cold: but I suppose +that is all over by this time. How goes on Sanscrit, Athenaeus, etc. I +am reading the sixth Book of Thucydides--the Sicilian expedition--very +interesting--indeed I like the old historian more and more and shall be +sorry when I have done with him. Do you remember the fine account of the +great armament setting off from the Piraeus for Sicily--B. 6, ch. 30, +etc? If not, read it now. + +One day I mean to go and pay you another visit, perhaps soon. I heard +from Miss Barton you were reading, and even liking, the Princess--is this +so? I believe it is greatly admired in London coteries. I remain in the +same mind about [it]. I am told the Author means to republish it, with a +character of each speaker between each canto; which will make the matter +worse, I think; unless the speakers are all of the Tennyson family. For +there is no indication of any change of speaker in the cantos themselves. +What do you say to all this? + +Can you tell me any passages in the Romans of the Augustan age, or rather +before, telling of decline in the people's morals, hardihood, especially +as regards the youth of the country? + +Kind remembrances to Miladi, and I am yours ever, + +E. FITZGERALD. + +_To F. Tennyson_. + +BEDFORD, _Dec._ 7/49. + +MY DEAR OLD FREDERIC, + +Your note came to me to-day. I ought to have written to you long ago: +and indeed did half do a letter before the summer was half over: which +letter I mislaid. I shall be delighted indeed to have your photograph: +insufficient as a photograph is. You are one of the few men whose +portrait I would give a penny to have: and one day when you are in +England we must get it done by Laurence; half at your expense and half at +mine, I think. I wish you had sent over to me some of your poems which +you told me you were printing at Florence: and often I wish I was at +Florence to give you some of my self-satisfied advice on what you should +select. For though I do not pretend to write Poetry you know I have a +high notion of my judgment in it. + +Well, I was at Boulge all the summer: came up thence five weeks ago: +stayed three weeks with my mother at Richmond; a week in London: and now +am come here to try and finish a money bargain with some lawyers which +you heard me beginning a year ago. They utterly failed in any part of +the transaction except bringing me in a large bill for service +unperformed. However, we are now upon another tack. . . . + +In a week I go to London, where I hope to see Alfred. Oddly enough, I +had a note from him this very day on which I receive yours: he has, he +tells me, taken chambers in Lincoln's Inn Fields. Moxon told me he was +about to publish another edition of his Princess, with interludes added +between the parts: and also that he was about to print, but (I think) not +to publish, those Elegiacs on Hallam. I saw poor old Thackeray in +London: getting very slowly better of a bilious fever that had almost +killed him. Some one told me that he was gone or going to the Water +Doctor at Malvern. People in general thought Pendennis got dull as it +got on; and I confess I thought so too: he would do well to take the +opportunity of his illness to discontinue it altogether. He told me last +June he himself was tired of it: must not his readers naturally tire too? +Do you see Dickens' David Copperfield? It is very good, I think: more +carefully written than his later works. But the melodramatic parts, as +usual, bad. Carlyle says he is a showman whom one gives a shilling to +once a month to see his raree-show, and then sends him about his +business. + +I have been obliged to turn Author on the very smallest scale. My old +friend Bernard Barton chose to die in the early part of this year. . . . +We have made a Book out of his Letters and Poems, and published it by +subscription . . . and I have been obliged to contribute a little dapper +{251} Memoir, as well as to select bits of Letters, bits of Poems, etc. +All that was wanted is accomplished: many people subscribed. Some of B. +B.'s letters are pleasant, I think, and when you come to England I will +give you this little book of incredibly small value. I have heard no +music but two concerts at Jullien's a fortnight ago; very dull, I +thought: no beautiful new Waltzes and Polkas which I love. It is a +strange thing to go to the Casinos and see the coarse whores and +apprentices in bespattered morning dresses, pea-jackets, and bonnets, +twirl round clumsily and indecently to the divine airs played in the +Gallery; 'the music yearning like a God in pain' indeed. I should like +to hear some of your Florentine Concerts; and I do wish you to believe +that I do constantly wish myself with you: that, if I ever went anywhere, +I would assuredly go to visit the Villa Gondi. I wish you to believe +this, which I know to be true, though I am probably further than ever +from accomplishing my desire. Farewell: I shall hope to find out your +Consul and your portrait in London: though you do not give me very good +directions where I am to find them. And I will let you know soon whether +I have found the portrait, and how I like it. + +_To John Allen_. + +BEDFORD, _Dec._ 13/49. + +MY DEAR OLD ALLEN, + +. . . I am glad you like the Book. {252a} You are partly right as to +what I say about the Poems. For though I really do think some of the +Poems very pretty, yet I think they belong to a class which the world no +longer wants. Notwithstanding this, one is sure the world will not be +the worse for them: they are a kind of elder Nursery rhymes; pleasing to +younger people of good affections. {252b} The letters, some of them, I +like very much: but I had some curiosity to know how others would like +them. + +_To W. B. Donne_. + +19 CHARLOTTE ST., FITZROY SQUARE, +LONDON. +[18 _Jan_. 1850.] + +DEAR DONNE, + +. . . After I left Richmond, whence I last wrote to you, I went to +Bedford, where I was for five weeks: then returned to spend Christmas at +Richmond: and now dawdle here hoping to get some accursed lawyers to +raise me some money on what remains of my reversion. This they _can_ do, +and _will_ do, in time: but, as usual, find it their interest to delay as +much as possible. + +I found A. Tennyson in chambers at Lincoln's Inn: and recreated myself +with a sight of his fine old mug, and got out of him all his dear old +stories, and many new ones. He is re-publishing his Poems, the Princess +with songs interposed. I cannot say I thought them like the old vintage +of his earlier days, though perhaps better than other people's. But, +even to you, such opinions appear blasphemies. A. T. is now gone on a +visit into Leicestershire: and I miss him greatly. Carlyle I have not +seen; but I read an excellent bit of his in the Examiner, about Ireland. +Thackeray is well again, except not quite strong yet. Spedding is not +yet returned: and I doubt will not return before I have left London. + +I have been but to one play; to see the Hypocrite, and Tom Taylor's +burlesque {254a} at the Strand Theatre. It was dreadfully cold in the +pit: and I thought dull. Farren almost unintelligible: Mrs. Glover good +in a disagreeable part. {254b} Diogenes has very good Aristophanic hits +in it, as perhaps you know: but its action was rather slow, I thought: +and I was so cold I could not sit it half through. + +_To F. Tennyson_. + +[Written from Bramford? E. F. G. was staying at this time with the +Cowells.] + +Direct to BOULGE, WOODBRIDGE. +_March_ 7/50. + +MY DEAR OLD FREDERIC, + +. . . I saw Alfred in London--pretty well, I thought. He has written +songs to be stuck between the cantos of the Princess, none of them of the +old champagne flavour, as I think. But I am in a minority about the +Princess, I believe. If you print any poems, I especially desire you +will transmit them to me. I wish I was with you to consider about these: +for though I cannot write poems, you know I consider that I have the old +woman's faculty of judging of them: yes, much better than much cleverer +and wiser men; I pretend to no Genius, but to Taste: which, according to +my aphorism, is the feminine of Genius. . . . + +. . . Please to answer me directly. I constantly think of you: and, as I +have often sincerely told you, with a kind of love which I feel towards +but two or three friends. Are you coming to England? How goes on +Grimsby! Doesn't the state of Europe sicken you? Above all, let me have +any poems you print: you are now the only man I expect verse from; such +gloomy grand stuff as you write. Thackeray, to be sure, can write good +ballads, half serious. His Pendennis is very stupid, I think: Dickens' +Copperfield on the whole, very good. He always lights one up somehow. +There is a new volume of posthumous poems by Ebenezer Elliott: with fine +things in it. I don't find myself growing old about Poetry; on the +contrary. I wish I could take twenty years off Alfred's shoulders, and +set him up in his youthful glory: . . . He is the same magnanimous, +kindly, delightful fellow as ever; uttering by far the finest prose +sayings of any one. + +_To John Allen_. + +BOULGE: _March_ 9/50. + +MY DEAR ALLEN, + +. . . I have now been home about three weeks, and, as you say, one sees +indications of lovely spring about. I have read but very little of late; +indeed my eyes have not been in superfine order. I caught a glimpse of +the second volume of Southey's Life and Letters; interesting enough. I +have also bought Emerson's 'Representative Men,' a shilling book of +Bohn's: with very good scattered thoughts in it: but scarcely leaving any +large impression with one, or establishing a theory. So at least it has +seemed to me: but I have not read very carefully. I have also bought a +little posthumous volume of Ebenezer Elliott: which is sure to have fine +things in it. + +I believe I love poetry almost as much as ever: but then I have been +suffered to doze all these years in the enjoyment of old childish habits +and sympathies, without being called on to more active and serious duties +of life. I have not put away childish things, though a man. But, at the +same time, this visionary inactivity is better than the mischievous +activity of so many I see about me; not better than the useful and +virtuous activity of a few others: John Allen among the number. + +_To F. Tennyson_. + +PORTLAND COFFEE HOUSE, LONDON. +_April_ 17/50. + +MY DEAR FREDERIC, + +You tell me to write soon: and this letter is begun, at least, on the day +yours reaches me. This is partly owing to my having to wait an hour here +in the Coffee room of the Portland Hotel: whither your letter has been +forwarded to me from Boulge. I am come up for one week: once more to +haggle with Lawyers; once more to try and settle my own affairs as well +as those of others for a time. . . . + +I don't think of drowning myself yet: and what I wrote to you was a sort +of safety escape for my poor flame . . . It is only idle and well-to-do +people who kill themselves; it is ennui that is hopeless: great pain of +mind and body 'still, still, on hope relies': the very old, the very +wretched, the most incurably diseased never put themselves to rest. It +really gives me pain to hear you or any one else call me a philosopher, +or any good thing of the sort. I am none, never was; and, if I pretended +to be so, was a hypocrite. Some things, as wealth, rank, respectability, +I don't care a straw about; but no one can resent the toothache more, nor +fifty other little ills beside that flesh is heir to. But let us leave +all this. + +I am come to London; but I do not go to Operas or Plays: and have scarce +time (and, it must be said, scarce inclination) to hunt up many friends. +Dear old Alfred is out of town; Spedding is my sheet-anchor, the truly +wise and fine fellow: I am going to his rooms this very evening: and +there I believe Thackeray, Venables, etc., are to be. I hope not a large +assembly: for I get shyer and shyer even of those I knew. Thackeray is +in such a great world that I am afraid of him; he gets tired of me: and +we are content to regard each other at a distance. You, Alfred, +Spedding, and Allen, are the only men I ever care to see again. If ever +I leave this country I will go and see you at Florence or elsewhere; but +my plans are at present unsettled. I have refused to be Godfather to all +who have ever asked me; but I declare it will give me sincere pleasure to +officiate for your Child. I got your photograph at last: it is a beastly +thing: not a bit like: why did you not send your Poems, which are like +you; and reflect your dear old face well? As you know I admire your +poems, the only poems by a living writer I do admire, except Alfred's, +you should not hesitate. I can have no doubt whatever they ought to be +published in England: I believe Moxon would publish them: and I believe +you would make some money by them. But don't send them to Alfred to +revise or select: only for this reason, that you would both of you be a +little annoyed by gossip about how much share each of you had in them. +Your poems can want no other hand than your own to meddle with them, +except in respect of the choice of them to make a volume which would +please generally: a little of the vulgar faculty of popular tact is all +that needs to be added to you, as I think. You will know I do not say +this presumptuously: since I think the power of writing one fine line +transcends all the 'Able-Editor' ability in the ably-edited Universe. + +Do you see Carlyle's 'Latter Day Pamphlets'? They make the world laugh, +and his friends rather sorry for him. But that is because people will +still look for practical measures from him: one must be content with him +as a great satirist who can make us feel when we are wrong though he +cannot set us right. There is a bottom of truth in Carlyle's wildest +rhapsodies. I have no news to tell you of books or music, for I scarce +see or hear any. And moreover I must be up, and leave the mahogany +coffee-room table on which I write so badly: and be off to Lincoln's Inn. +God bless you, my dear fellow. I ask a man of business here in the room +about Grimsby: he says, 'Well, all these railways are troublesome; but +the Grimsby one is one of the best: railway property must look up a +little: and so will Grimsby.' + +_To W. B. Donne_. + +BOULGE: Friday [4 _Oct_. 1850]. + +MY DEAR DONNE, + +I have been some while intending to send you a few lines, to report my +continued existence, to thank you for the Papers, which I and my dear old +Crabbe read and mark, and to tell you I was much pleased with Laurence's +sketch of you, which he exhibited to me in a transitory way some weeks +ago. Has he been to Bury again? To Sir H. Bunbury's? + +I am packing up my mind by degrees to move away from here on a round of +visits: and will give you a look at Bury if you like it. I am really +frightened that it is a whole year since I have seen you: and we but two +hours asunder! I know it is not want of will on my part: though you may +wonder what other want detains me; but you will believe me when I say it +is not want of will. You are too busy to come here: where indeed is +nothing to come for. I wished for Charles last Monday: for people came +to shoot the three brace of pheasants inhabiting these woods: had I +remembered the first of October, I would have let him know. Otherwise, I +am afraid to invite the young, whom I cannot entertain. + +H. Groome came over and dined with me on Wednesday: and Crabbe came to +meet him; but the latter had no hearty smoker to keep him in countenance, +and was not quite comfortable. H. Groome improves: his poetical and +etymological ambitions begin to pale away before years that bring the +philosophic mind, and before a rising family. + +I liked your Articles on Pepys much. How go on the Norfolk worthies? I +see by your review that you are now ripe to write them at your ease: +which means (in a work of that kind) successfully. + +_To F. Tennyson_. + +[BOULGE], _Decr_. 31/50. + +MY DEAR OLD FREDERIC, + +If you knew how glad I am to hear from you, you would write to me +oftener. You see I make a quick return whenever I get an epistle from +you. I should indeed have begun to indite before, but I had not a scrap +of serviceable paper in the house: and I am only this minute returned +from a wet walk to Woodbridge bringing home the sheet on which I am now +writing, along with the rest of a half-quire, which may be filled to you, +if we both live. I now count the number of sheets: there are nine. I do +not think we average more than three letters a year each. Shall both of +us, or either, live three years more, beginning with the year that opens +to-morrow? I somehow believe _not_: which I say not as a doleful thing +(indeed you may look at it as a very ludicrous one). Well, we shall see. +I am all for the short and merry life. Last night I began the sixth Book +of Lucretius in bed. You laugh grimly again? I have not looked into it +for more than a year, and I took it up by mistake for one of Swift's +dirty volumes; and, having got into bed with it, did not care to get out +to change it. + +The delightful lady . . . is going to leave this neighbourhood and carry +her young Husband {261} to Oxford, there to get him some Oriental +Professorship one day. He is a delightful fellow, and, _I_ say, will, if +he live, be the best Scholar in England. Not that I think Oxford will be +so helpful to his studies as his counting house at Ipswich was. However, +being married he cannot at all events become Fellow, and, as so many do, +dissolve all the promise of Scholarship in Sloth, Gluttony, and sham +Dignity. I shall miss them both more than I can say, and must take to +Lucretius! to comfort me. I have entirely given up the _Genteel_ Society +here about; and scarce ever go anywhere but to the neighbouring Parson, +{262a} with whom I discuss Paley's Theology, and the Gorham Question. I +am going to him to-night, by the help of a Lantern, in order to light out +the Old Year with a Cigar. For he is a great Smoker, and a very fine +fellow in all ways. + +I have not seen any one you know since I last wrote; nor heard from any +one: except dear old Spedding, who really came down and spent two days +with us, me and that Scholar and his Wife in their Village, {262b} in +their delightful little house, in their pleasant fields by the River +side. Old Spedding was delicious there; always leaving a mark, I say, in +all places one has been at with him, a sort of Platonic perfume. For has +he not all the beauty of the Platonic Socrates, with some personal Beauty +to boot? He explained to us one day about the laws of reflection in +water: and I said then one never could look at the willow whose branches +furnished the text without thinking of him. How beastly this reads! As +if he gave us a lecture! But you know the man, how quietly it all came +out; only because I petulantly denied his plain assertion. For I really +often cross him only to draw him out; and vain as I may be, he is one of +those that I am well content to make shine at my own expense. + +Don't suppose that this or any other ideal day with him effaces my days +with you. Indeed, my dear Frederic, you also mark many times and many +places in which I have been with you. Gravesend and its [Greek text] +shrimps cannot be forgotten. You say I shall never go to see you at +Florence. I have said to you before and I now repeat it, that if ever I +go abroad it shall be to see you and my Godchild. I really cannot say if +I should not have gone this winter (as I hinted in my last) in case you +had answered my letter. But I really did not know if you had not left +Florence; and a fortnight ago I thought to myself I would write to +Horatio at Cheltenham and ask him for news of you. As to Alfred, I have +heard of his marriage, etc., from Spedding, who also saw and was much +pleased with her indeed. But you know Alfred himself never writes, nor +indeed cares a halfpenny about one, though he is very well satisfied to +see one when one falls in his way. You will think I have a spite against +him for some neglect, when I say this, and say besides that I cannot care +for his In Memoriam. Not so, if I know myself: I always thought the same +of him, and was just as well satisfied with it as now. His poem I never +did greatly affect: nor can I learn to do so: it is full of finest +things, but it is monotonous, and has that air of being evolved by a +Poetical Machine of the highest order. So it seems to be with him now, +at least to me, the Impetus, the Lyrical oestrus, is gone. . . It is the +cursed inactivity (very pleasant to me who am no Hero) of this 19th +century which has spoiled Alfred, I mean spoiled him for the great work +he ought now to be entering upon; the lovely and noble things he has done +must remain. It is dangerous work this prophesying about great Men. . . . +I beg you very much to send me your poems, the very first opportunity; +as I want them very much. Nobody doubts that you ought to make a volume +for Moxon. Send your poems to Spedding to advise on. No doubt Alfred +would be best adviser of all: but then people would be stupid, and say +that he had done all that was good in the Book--(wait till I take my tea, +which has been lying on the table these ten minutes)--Now, animated by +some very inferior Souchong from the village shop, I continue my letter, +having reflected during my repast that I have seen two College men you +remember since I last wrote, Thompson and Merivale. The former is just +recovering of the water cure, looking blue: the latter, Merivale, is just +recovering from--Marriage!--which he undertook this Midsummer, with a +light-haired daughter of George Frere's. Merivale lives just on the +borders of Suffolk: and a week before his marriage he invited me to meet +F. Pollock and his wife at the Rectory. There we spent two easy days, +and I heard no more of Merivale till three weeks ago when he asked me to +meet Thompson just before Christmas. . . . Have you seen Merivale's +History of Rome, beginning with the Empire? Two portly volumes are out, +and are approved of by Scholars, I believe. I have not read them, not +having money to buy, nor any friend to lend. + +I hear little music but what I make myself, or help to make with my +Parson's son and daughter. We, with not a voice among us, go through +Handel's Coronation Anthems! Laughable it may seem; yet it is not quite +so; the things are so well-defined, simple, and grand, that the faintest +outline of them tells; my admiration of the old Giant grows and grows: +his is the Music for a Great, Active, People. Sometimes too, I go over +to a place elegantly called _Bungay_, where a Printer {265} lives who +drills the young folks of a manufactory there to sing in Chorus once a +week. . . . They sing some of the English Madrigals, some of Purcell, +and some of Handel, in a way to satisfy me, who don't want perfection, +and who believe that the _grandest_ things do not depend on delicate +finish. If you were here now, we would go over and hear the Harmonious +Blacksmith sung in Chorus, with words, of course. It almost made me cry +when I heard the divine Air rolled into vocal harmony from the four +corners of a large Hall. One can scarce comprehend the Beauty of the +English Madrigals till one hears them done (though coarsely) in this way +and on a large scale: the play of the parts as they alternate from the +different quarters of the room. + +I have taken another half sheet to finish my letter upon: so as my +calculation of how far this half-quire is to spread over Time is +defeated. Let us write oftener, and longer, and we shall not tempt the +Fates by inchoating too long a hope of letter-paper. I have written +enough for to-night: I am now going to sit down and play one of Handel's +Overtures as well as I can--Semele, perhaps, a very grand one--then, +lighting my lantern, trudge through the mud to Parson Crabbe's. Before I +take my pen again to finish this letter the New Year will have dawned--on +some of us. 'Thou fool! this night thy soul may be required of thee!' +Very well: while it is in this Body I will wish my dear old F. T. a happy +New Year. And now to drum out the Old with Handel. Good Night. + +New Year's Day, 1851. A happy new Year to you! I sat up with my Parson +till the Old Year was past, drinking punch and smoking cigars, for which +I endure some headache this morning. Not that we took much; but a very +little punch disagrees with me. Only I would not disappoint my old +friend's convivial expectations. He is one of those happy men who has +the boy's heart throbbing and trembling under the snows of sixty-five. + +_To G. Crabbe_. + +[GELDESTONE, _Feb_. 11, 1851.] + +MY DEAR GEORGE, + +I send you an Euphranor, and (as you desire it) Spedding's Examiner. +{266} I believe that I should be ashamed of his praise, if I did not +desire to take any means to make my little book known for a good purpose. +I think he over-praises it: but he cannot over-praise the design, and (as +I believe) the tendency of it. + +60 LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS, +[_Feb_. 27, 1851.] + +MY DEAR GEORGE, + +. . . My heart saddens to think of Bramford all desolate; {267a} and I +shall now almost turn my head away as any road, or railroad, brings me +within sight of the little spire! I write once a week to abuse both of +them for going. But they are quite happy at Oxford. + +I felt a sort of horror when I read in your letter you had ordered the +Book {267b} into your Club, for fear some one might guess. But if _your_ +folks don't guess, no one else will. I have heard no more of it since I +wrote to you last, except that its sale does not stand still. Pickering's +foreman blundered in the Advertisements; quoting an extract about the use +of the Book, when he should have quoted about its amusement, which is +what the world is attracted by. But I left it to him. As it would be a +real horror to me to be known as the writer, I do not think I can have +much personal ambition in its success; but I should sincerely wish it to +be read for what little benefit it may do. . . . + +I have seen scarce anybody here: Thackeray only once; neither Tennyson +nor Carlyle. Donne came up for a day to see as to the morality of the +'Prodigal Son' {268} at Drury Lane, which the Bishop of London complained +of. Donne is deputy Licenser for Jack Kemble. I went to see it with +him; it was only stupid and gaudy. + +BOULGE, Tuesday, _May_ the something, 1851. + +MY DEAR GEORGE, + +I am ashamed you should have the trouble of asking me to Merton so often, +and so in vain. I might give you a specious reason for not going now . . . +but I will honestly confess I believe I should not have accompanied +your Father in his Voyage to your house, had the sky been quite clear of +engagement. Why, I cannot exactly say: my soul is not packed up for +Merton yet, though one day it will be; and I have no such idea of the +preciousness of my company as to have any hesitation in letting my +friends wait any length of time before I go to occupy their easy chairs. +The day will come, if we live. I have had a very strong invitation to +Cambridge this week; to live with my old friends the Skrines in Sidney +College. But why should we meet to see each other grown old, etc.? (I +don't mean this quite seriously.) Ah, I should like a drive over +Newmarket Heath: the sun shining on the distant leads of Ely Cathedral. + +_To F. Tennyson_. + +BOULGE, WOODBRIDGE, +[25 _August_, 1851.] + +MY DEAR OLD FREDERIC, + +Why do you never write to me? I am sure I wrote last: I constantly am +thinking of you, and constantly wishing to see you. Perhaps you are in +England at this very hour, and do not let me know of it. _When_ I wrote +to you last I cannot remember; whether in Winter or Spring. I was in +London during January and February last, but have been vegetating down +here ever since. Have not been up even to see the Great Exh.--one is +tired of writing, and seeing written, the word. All the world, as you +know, goes in droves: you may be lounging in it this very hour, though I +don't mean to say you are one of a drove. It is because there are so few +F. Tennysons in the world that I do not like to be wholly out of hearing +of the one I know. . . . My own affairs do not improve, and I have seen +more and more of the pitiful in humanity . . . but luckily my wants +decrease. I am quite content never to buy a picture or a Book; almost +content not to see them. One could soon relapse into Barbarism. I do +indeed take a survey of old Handel's Choruses now and then; and am just +now looking with great delight into Purcell's King Arthur, real noble +_English_ music, much of it; and assuredly the prototype of much of +Handel. It is said Handel would not admire Purcell; but I am sure he +adapted himself to English ears and sympathies by means of taking up +Purcell's vein. I wish you were here to consider this with me; but you +would grunt dissent, and smile bitterly at my theories. I am trying to +teach the bumpkins of the united parishes of Boulge and Debach to sing a +second to such melodies as the women sing by way of Hymns in our Church: +and I have invented (as I think) a most simple and easy way of teaching +them the little they need to learn. How would you like to see me, with a +bit of chalk in my hand, before a black board, scoring up semibreves on a +staff for half a dozen Rustics to vocalize? Laugh at me in Imagination. +. . . + +Almost the only man I hear from is dear old Spedding, who has lost his +Father, and is now, I suppose, a rich man. This makes no apparent change +in his way of life: he has only hired an additional Attic in Lincoln's +Inn Fields, so as to be able to bed a friend upon occasion. I may have +to fill it ere long. Merivale (you know, surely) is married, and has a +son I hear. He lives some twenty miles from here. . . . + +Now, my dear Frederic, this is a sadly dull letter. I could have made it +duller and sadder by telling you other things. But, instead of this, let +me hear from you a good account of yourself and your family, and +especially of my little Godson. Remember, I have a right to hear about +him. Ever yours, dear old Grimsby, + +E. F. G. + +[19 CHARLOTTE ST., FITZROY SQUARE, +_Dec_. 1851.] + +MY DEAR OLD FREDERIC, + +I have long been thinking I would answer a long and kind letter I had +from you some weeks ago, in which you condoled with me about my finances, +and offered me your house as a Refuge for the Destitute. I can never +wonder at generosity in you: but I am sorry I should have seemed to +complain so much as to provoke so much pity from you. I am not worse off +than I have been these last three years; and so much better off than +thousands who deserve more that I should deserve to be kicked if I whined +over my decayed fortunes. If I go to Italy, it will be to see Florence +and Fred. Tennyson: I do not despair of going one day: I believe my +desire is gathering, and my indolence warming up with the exhilarating +increase of Railroads. + +But for the present here I am, at 19 Charlotte Street, Fitzroy Square, +come up to have a fresh squabble with Lawyers, and to see to an old +College friend who is gone mad, and threatens to drive his wife mad too, +I think. Here are troubles, if you like: I mean, these poor people's. +Well, I have not had much time except to post about in Omnibi between +Lincoln's Inn and Bayswater: but I have seen Alfred once; Carlyle once; +Thackeray twice; and Spedding many times. I did not see Mrs. A.: but am +to go and dine there one day before I leave. Carlyle has been undergoing +the Water System at Malvern, and says it has done him a very little good. +He would be quite well, he says, if he threw his Books away, and walked +about the mountains: but that would be 'propter vitam, etc.' Nature made +him a Writer: so he must wear himself out writing Lives of Sterling, +etc., for the Benefit of the World. Thackeray says he is getting tired +of being witty, and of the great world: he is now gone to deliver his +Lectures {272} at Edinburgh: having already given them at Oxford and +Cambridge. Alfred, I thought looking pretty well. Spedding is immutably +wise, good, and delightful: not so immutably well in Body, I think: +though he does not complain. But I will deal in no more vaticinations of +Evil. I can't think what was the oracle in my Letters you allude to, I +mean about the three years' duration of our lives. I have long felt +about England as you do, and even made up my mind to it, so as to sit +comparatively, if ignobly, easy on that score. Sometimes I envy those +who are so old that the curtain will probably fall on them before it does +on their Country. If one could save the Race, what a Cause it would be! +not for one's own glory as a member of it, nor even for its glory as a +Nation: but because it is the only spot in Europe where Freedom keeps her +place. Had I Alfred's voice, I would not have mumbled for years over In +Memoriam and the Princess, but sung such strains as would have revived +the [Greek text] to guard the territory they had won. What can 'In +Memoriam' do but make us all sentimental? . . . + +My dear Frederic, I hope to see you one day: I really do look forward one +day to go and see you in Italy, as well as to see you here in England. I +know no one whom it would give me more pleasure to think of as one who +might perhaps be near me as we both go down the hill together, whether in +Italy or England. You, Spedding, Thackeray, and only one or two more. +The rest have come like shadows and so departed. + +_To G. Crabbe_. + +[_Feb_. 27, 1852.] + +MY DEAR GEORGE, + +. . . I rejoice in your telling me what you think; or I should rejoice if +these books were of importance enough to require honest advice. I think +you may be very right about the length of the Preface; {273} that I do +not think you right about the reasoning of it you may suppose by my ever +printing it. It is to show _why_ Books of that kind are dull: what sort +of writers ought to be quoted, etc.; proverbial writers: and what +constitutes proverbiality, etc. Well, enough of it all: I am glad you +like it on the whole. As to Euphranor I do wish him not to die yet: and +am gratified you think him worthy to survive a little longer. That is a +good cause, let my treatment of it be as it will. + +I and Drew sat up at your Father's till 3 (a.m.) last Tuesday: at the old +affair of Calvinism, etc. It amuses them: else one would think it odd +they did not see how they keep on fighting with Shadows, and slaying the +slain. + +I am really going next week from home, towards that famous expedition to +Shropshire {274} which I mean to perform one day. I write after walking +to Woodbridge: and hear that Mr. Cana has called in my absence to +announce that 'the Hall' is let; to a Mr. Cobbold, from Saxmundham, I +think, who has a farm at Sutton. I met Tom (_young_ Tom) Churchyard in +Woodbridge, who tells me he is going to America on Monday! He makes less +fuss about it than I do about going to Shropshire. + +HAM, _June_ 2/52. + +MY DEAR GEORGE, + +. . . Order into your Book Club 'Trench on the Study of Words'; a +delightful, good, book, not at all dry (unless to fools); one I am sure +you will like. Price but three and sixpence and well worth a guinea at +least. + +In spite of my anti-London prejudices, I find this Limb of London (for +such it is) very beautiful: the Thames with its Swans upon it, and its +wooded sides garnished with the Villas of Poets, Wits, and Courtiers, of +a Time which (I am sorry to say) has more charms to me than the Middle +Ages, or the Heroic. + +I have seen scarce any of the living London Wits; Spedding and Donne +most: Thackeray but twice for a few minutes. He finished his Novel {275} +last Saturday and is gone, I believe, to the Continent. + +_To F. Tennyson_. + +GOLDINGTON, BEDFORD, +_June_ 8/52. + +MY DEAR FREDERIC, + +It gave me, as always, the greatest pleasure to hear from you. Your +letter found me at my Mother's house, at Ham, close to Richmond; a really +lovely place, and neighbourhood, though I say it who am all prejudiced +against London and 'all the purtenances thereof.' But the copious woods, +green meadows, the Thames and its swans gliding between, and so many +villas and cheerful houses and terraced gardens with all their +associations of Wits and Courtiers on either side, all this is very +delightful. I am not heroic enough for Castles, Battlefields, etc. +Strawberry Hill for me! I looked all over it: you know all the pictures, +jewels, curiosities, were sold some ten years ago; only bare walls +remain: the walls indeed here and there stuck with Gothic woodwork, and +the ceilings with Gothic gilding, sometimes painted Gothic to imitate +woodwork; much of it therefore in less good taste: all a Toy, but yet the +Toy of a very clever man. The rain is coming through the Roofs, and +gradually disengaging the confectionary Battlements and Cornices. Do you +like Walpole? did you ever read him? Then close by is Hampton Court: +with its stately gardens, and fine portraits inside; all very much to my +liking. I am quite sure gardens should be formal, and unlike general +Nature. I much prefer the old French and Dutch gardens to what are +called the English. + +I saw scarce any of our friends during the three weeks I passed at Ham. +Though I had to run to London several times, I generally ran back as fast +as I could; much preferring the fresh air and the fields to the smoke and +'the wilderness of monkeys' in London. Thackeray I saw for ten minutes: +he was just in the agony of finishing a Novel: which has arisen out of +the Reading necessary for his Lectures, and relates to those Times--of +Queen Anne, I mean. He will get 1000 pounds for his Novel. He was +wanting to finish it, and rush off to the Continent, I think, to shake +off the fumes of it. Old Spedding, that aged and most subtle Serpent, +was in his old haunt in Lincoln's Inn Fields, up to any mischief. It was +supposed that Alfred was somewhere near Malvern: Carlyle I did not go to +see, for I really have nothing to tell him, and I have got tired of +hearing him growl: though I do not cease to admire him as much as ever. I +also went once to the pit of the Covent Garden Italian Opera, to hear +Meyerbeer's Huguenots, of which I had only heard bits on the Pianoforte. +But the first Act was so noisy, and ugly, that I came away, unable to +wait for the better part, that, I am told, follows. Meyerbeer is a man +of Genius: and works up _dramatic_ Music: but he has scarce any melody, +and is rather grotesque and noisy than really powerful. I think this is +the fault of modern music; people cannot believe that Mozart is +_powerful_ because he is so Beautiful: in the same way as it requires a +very practised eye (more than I possess) to recognize the consummate +power predominating in the tranquil Beauty of Greek Sculpture. I think +Beethoven is rather spasmodically, than sustainedly, grand. + +Well, I must take to my third side after all, which I meant to have +spared you, partly because of this transparent paper, and my more than +usually bad writing. I came down here four days ago: and have this +morning sketched for you the enclosed, the common that lies before my +Bedroom window, as I pulled up my blind, and opened my shutter upon it, +early this morning. I never draw now, never drew well; but this may +serve to give a hint of poor old dewy England to you who are, I suppose, +beginning to be dried up in the South. W. Browne, my host, tells me that +your Grimsby Rail is looking up greatly, and certainly will pay well, +sooner or later: which I devoutly hope it may. + +I do not think I told you my Father was dead; like poor old Sedley in +Thackeray's Vanity Fair, all his Coal schemes at an end. He died in +March, after an illness of three weeks, saying 'that engine works well' +(meaning one of his Colliery steam engines) as he lay in the stupor of +Death. I was in Shropshire at the time, with my old friend Allen; but I +went home to Suffolk just to help to lay him in the Grave. + +Pray do send me your Poems, one and all: I should like very much to talk +them over with you, however much you might resent me, who am no Poet, +presuming to advise you who as certainly are one. That you ought to +publish some of these Poems (as I think, somewhat condensed, or, at +least, curtailed) I am more and more sure, having seen the very great +pleasure, and deep interest, some of them have caused when read to +persons of very different talents and tastes. + +And now, my dear Frederic, farewell for the present. Remember, you +cannot write to me too often, as far as I am concerned. + +Don't write Politics--I agree with you beforehand. + +_To W. B. Donne_. + +BOULGE, _August_ 10/52. + +MY DEAR DONNE, + +It is very good of you to write to me, so much as you have to do. I am +much obliged to you also for taking the trouble to go and see my Mother. +You may rely on it she feels as pleased with your company as she says she +is: I do not know any one who has the power of being so agreeable to her +as yourself. + +And dear old Thackeray is really going to America! I must fire him a +letter of farewell. + +The Cowells are at Ipswich, and I get over to see them, etc. They talk +of coming here too. I have begun again to read Calderon with Cowell: the +Magico we have just read, a very grand thing. I suppose Calderon was +over-praised some twenty years ago: for the last twenty it has been the +fashion to underpraise him, I am sure. His Drama may not be the finest +in the world: one sees how often too he wrote in the fashion of his time +and country: but he is a wonderful fellow: one of the Great Men of the +world. + +* * * * * + +In October 1852 Thackeray sailed for America and before leaving wrote to +FitzGerald the letter which he copied for Archdeacon Allen. I shall I +trust be pardoned for thinking that others will be the better for reading +the words of 'noble kindness' in which Thackeray took leave of his +friend. + +[BOULGE, 22 _Nov._ 1852.] + +MY DEAR ALLEN, + +I won't send you Thackeray's own letter because it is his own delegation +of a little trust I would not hazard. But on the other side of the page +I write a copy: for your eyes only: for I would not wish to show even its +noble kindness to any but one who has known him as closely as myself. + +_From W. M. Thackeray to E. F. G._ + +_October_ 27, 1852. + +MY DEAREST OLD FRIEND, + +I mustn't go away without shaking your hand, and saying Farewell and God +Bless you. If anything happens to me, you by these presents must get +ready the Book of Ballads which you like, and which I had not time to +prepare before embarking on this voyage. And I should like my daughters +to remember that you are the best and oldest friend their Father ever +had, and that you would act as such: as my literary executor and so +forth. My Books would yield a something as copyrights: and, should +anything occur, I have commissioned friends in good place to get a +Pension for my poor little wife. . . . Does not this sound gloomily? +Well: who knows what Fate is in store: and I feel not at all downcast, +but very grave and solemn just at the brink of a great voyage. + +I shall send you a copy of Esmond to-morrow or so which you shall yawn +over when you are inclined. But the great comfort I have in thinking +about my dear old boy is that recollection of our youth when we loved +each other as I do now while I write Farewell. + +Laurence has done a capital head of me ordered by Smith the Publisher: +and I have ordered a copy and Lord Ashburton another. If Smith gives me +this one, I shall send the copy to you. I care for you as you know, and +always like to think that I am fondly and affectionately yours + +W. M. T. + +I sail from Liverpool on Saturday Morning by the Canada for Boston. + +* * * * * + +That the feelings here expressed were fully reciprocated by FitzGerald is +clear from the following words of a letter written by him to Thackeray to +tell him of a provision he had made in his will. + + 'You see you can owe me no thanks for giving what I can no longer use + "when I go down to the pit," and it would be some satisfaction to me, + and some diminution of the shame I felt on reading your letter, if + "after many days" your generous and constant friendship bore some sort + of fruit, if not to yourself to those you are naturally anxious + about.' + +I have not been able to ascertain the exact time at which FitzGerald +began his Spanish studies; but it must have been long before this, for in +1853 the first-fruits of them appeared in the 'Six Dramas from Calderon +freely translated by Edward FitzGerald,' the only book to which he ever +put his name. It was probably in 1853 that he took up Persian, in which, +as in Spanish, his friend Cowell was his guide. + +_To G. Crabbe_. + +BOULGE, _July_ 22/53. + +MY DEAR GEORGE, + +Your account of the Doctor's warnings to your Cousin in your first note +delighted me greatly: as it did your Father to whom I read it last night. +For, on coming home from Aldbro' (where I had been for a day) I found to +my great surprise your Father smoking in my room, with a bottle of Port +(which he had brought with him!). The mystery was then solved; that, +after his own dinner, Mr. --- was announced, and your Father dreading +lest he should stay all the Evening declared he had most important +business, first at Woodbridge, then, on second thoughts, with me; and so +decamped. + +Now as to your second letter which I found also on my return: I am very +glad you like the plays {282} and am encouraged to hope that other +persons who are not biassed by pedantic prejudices or spites might like +them too. But I fully expect that (as I told you, I think) the London +press, etc., will either sink them, or condemn them as on too free a +principle: and all the more if they have not read the originals. For +these are safe courses to adopt. All this while I am assuming the plays +are well done in their way, which of course I do. On the other hand, +they really may not be as well done as I think; on their own principle: +and that would really be a fair ground of condemnation. + +_To W. F. Pollock_. + +BOULGE, WOODBRIDGE, +_July_ 25/53. + +MY DEAR POLLOCK, + +Thank you for your letter. Though I believed the Calderon to be on the +whole well done and entertaining, I began to wish to be told it was so by +others, for fear I had made a total mistake: which would have been a +bore. And the very free and easy translation lies open to such easy +condemnation, unless it be successful. + +Your account of Sherborne rouses all the Dowager within me. I shall have +to leave this cottage, I believe, and have not yet found a place +sufficiently dull to migrate to. Meanwhile to-morrow I am going to one +of my great treats: viz. the Assizes at Ipswich: where I shall see little +Voltaire Jervis, {283a} and old Parke, {283b} who I trust will have the +gout, he bears it so Christianly. + +_To G. Crabbe_. + +BOULGE, WOODBRIDGE, +_Sept_. 12/53. + +MY DEAR GEORGE, + +I enclose you a scrap from 'The Leader' as you like to see criticisms on +my Calderon. I suppose your sisters will send you the Athenaeum in which +you will see a more determined spit at me. I foresaw (as I think I told +you) how likely this was to be the case: and so am not surprized. One +must take these chances if one will play at so doubtful a game. I +believe those who read the Book, without troubling themselves about +whether it is a free Translation or not, like it: but Critics must be +supposed to know all, and it is safe to condemn. On the other hand, the +Translation may not be good on any ground: and then the Critics are all +right. + +_To E. B. Cowell_. + +3 PARK VILLAS WEST, RICHMOND, SURREY, +_October_ 25/53. + +MY DEAR COWELL, + +. . . I think I forgot to tell you that Mr. Maccarthy (my literal Rival +in Calderon) mentions in his Preface a masterly Critique on Calderon in +the Westminster 1851, which I take to be yours. {284} He says it, and +the included translations, are the best Commentary he has seen on the +subject. + +I have ordered Eastwick's Gulistan: for I believe I shall potter out so +much Persian. The weak Apologue {285a} goes on (for I have not had time +for much here) and I find it difficult enough even with Jones's +Translation. + +I am now going to see the last of the Tennysons at Twickenham. + +_To F. Tennyson_. + +BREDFIELD RECTORY, {285b} WOODBRIDGE. +_December_ 27/53. + +MY DEAR FREDERIC, + +I am too late to wish you a Happy Christmas; so must wish you a happy New +Year. Write to me here, and tell me (in however few words) how you +prospered in your journey to Italy: how you all are there: and how your +Book progresses. I saw Harvest Home advertised in Fraser: and I have +heard from Mrs. Alfred it is so admired that Parker is to print two +thousand copies of the Volume. I am glad of this: and I think, little +ambitious or vain as you really are, you will insensibly be pleased at +gaining your proper Station in public Celebrity. Had I not known what an +invidious office it is to meddle with such Poems, and how assuredly +people would have said that one had helped to clip away the Best Poems, +and the best part of them, I should have liked to advise you in the +selection: a matter in which I feel confidence. But you would not have +agreed with me any more than others: though on different grounds: and so +in all ways it was, and is, and will be, best to say nothing more on the +subject. I am very sure that, of whatever your Volume is composed, you +will make public almost the only Volume of Verse, except Alfred's, worthy +of the name. + +I hear from Mrs. Alfred they are got to their new abode in the Isle of +Wight. I have been into Norfolk: and am now come to spend Christmas in +this place, where, as you have been here, you can fancy me. Old Crabbe +is as brave and hearty as ever: drawing designs of Churches: and we are +all now reading Moore's Memoirs with considerable entertainment: I cannot +say the result of it in one's mind is to prove Moore a Great Man: though +it certainly does not leave him altogether 'The Poor Creature' that Mr. +Allingham reduced him to. I also amuse myself with poking out some +Persian which E. Cowell would inaugurate me with: I go on with it because +it is a point in common with him, and enables us to study a little +together. He and his wife are at Oxford: and his Pracrit Grammar is to +be out in a few days. + +I have settled upon no new Abode: but have packed up all my few goods in +a neighbouring Farm House {287a} (that one near Woodbridge I took you +to), and will now float about for a year and visit some friends. Perhaps +I shall get down to the Isle of Wight one day: also to Shropshire, to see +Allen: to Bath to a Sister. But you can always direct hither, since old +Crabbe is only too glad to have some letters to pay for, and forward to +me. . . . We have one of the old fashioned winters, snow and frost: not +fulfilling the word of those who were quite sure the seasons were +altered. Farewell, my dear Frederic. + +E. F. G. + +BATH, _May_ 7/54. + +MY DEAR FREDERIC, + +You see to what fashionable places I am reduced in my old Age. The truth +is however I am come here by way of Visit to a sister {287b} I have +scarce seen these six years; my visit consisting in this that I live +alone in a lodging of my own by day, and spend two or three hours with +her in the Evening. This has been my way of Life for three weeks, and +will be so for some ten days more: after which I talk of flying back to +more native counties. I was to have gone on to see Alfred in his 'Island +Home' from here: but it appears he goes to London about the same time I +quit this place: so I must and shall defer my Visit to him. Perhaps I +shall catch a sight of him in London; as also of old Thackeray who, Donne +writes me word, came suddenly on him in Pall Mall the other day: while +all the while people supposed the Newcomes were being indited at Rome or +Naples. + +If ever you live in England you must live here at Bath. It really is a +splendid City in a lovely, even a noble, Country. Did you ever see it? +One beautiful feature in the place is the quantity of Garden and Orchard +it is all through embroidered with. Then the Streets, when you go into +them, are as handsome and gay as London, gayer and handsomer because +cleaner and in a clearer Atmosphere; and if you want the Country you get +into it (and a very fine Country) on all sides and directly. Then there +is such Choice of Houses, Cheap as well as Dear, of all sizes, with good +Markets, Railways, etc. I am not sure I shall not come here for part of +the Winter. It is a place you would like, I am sure: though I do not say +but you are better in Florence. Then on the top of the hill is old +Vathek's Tower, which he used to sit and read in daily, and from which he +could see his own Fonthill, while it stood. Old Landor quoted to me +'Nullus in orbe locus, etc.,' apropos of Bath: he, you may know, has +lived here for years, and I should think would die here, though not yet. +He seems so strong that he may rival old Rogers; of whom indeed one +Newspaper gave what is called an 'Alarming Report of Mr. Rogers' Health' +the other day, but another contradicted it directly and indignantly, and +declared the Venerable Poet never was better. Landor has some hundred +and fifty Pictures; each of which he thinks the finest specimen of the +finest Master, and has a long story about, how he got it, when, etc. I +dare say some are very good: but also some very bad. He appeared to me +to judge of them as he does of Books and Men; with a most uncompromising +perversity which the Phrenologists must explain to us after his Death. + +By the bye, about your Book, which of course you wish me to say something +about. Parker sent me down a copy 'from the Author' for which I hereby +thank you. If you believe my word, you already know my Estimation of so +much that is in it: you have already guessed that I should have made a +different selection from the great Volume which is now in Tatters. As I +differ in Taste from the world, however, quite as much as from you, I do +not know but you have done very much better in choosing as you have; the +few people I have seen are very much pleased with it, the Cowells at +Oxford delighted. A Bookseller there sold all his Copies the first day +they came down: and even in Bath a Bookseller (and not one of the +Principal) told me a fortnight ago he had sold some twenty Copies. I +have not been in Town since it came out: and have now so little +correspondence with literati I can't tell you about them. There was a +very unfair Review in the Athenaeum; which is the only Literary Paper I +see: but I am told there are laudatory ones in Examiner and Spectator. + +I was five weeks at Oxford, visiting the Cowells in just the same way +that I am visiting my Sister here. I also liked Oxford greatly: but not +so well I think as Bath: which is so large and busy that one is drowned +in it as much as in London. There are often concerts, etc., for those +who like them; I only go to a shilling affair that comes off every +Saturday at what they call the Pump Room. On these occasions there is +sometimes some Good Music if not excellently played. Last Saturday I +heard a fine Trio of Beethoven. Mendelssohn's things are mostly tiresome +to me. I have brought my old Handel Book here and recreate myself now +and then with pounding one of the old Giant's Overtures on my sister's +Piano, as I used to do on that Spinnet at my Cottage. As to Operas, and +Exeter Halls, I have almost done with them: they give me no pleasure, I +scarce know why. + +I suppose there is no chance of your being over in England this year, and +perhaps as little Chance of my being in Italy. All I can say is, the +latter is not impossible, which I suppose I may equally say of the +former. But pray write to me. You can always direct to me at Donne's, +12 St. James' Square, or at Rev. G. Crabbe's, Bredfield, Woodbridge. +Either way the letter will soon reach me. Write soon, Frederic, and let +me hear how you and yours are: and don't wait, as you usually do, for +some inundation of the Arno to set your pen agoing. Write ever so +shortly and whatever-about-ly. I have no news to tell you of Friends. I +saw old Spedding in London; only doubly calm after the death of a Niece +he dearly loved and whose death-bed at Hastings he had just been waiting +upon. Harry {291} Lushington wrote a martial Ode on seeing the Guards +march over Waterloo Bridge towards the East: I did not see it, but it was +much admired and handed about, I believe. And now my paper is out: and I +am going through the rain (it is said to rain very much here) to my +Sister's. So Good Bye, and write to me, as I beg you, in reply to this +long if not very interesting letter. + +_To John Allen_. + +MARKET HILL, WOODBRIDGE. +_October_ 8/54. + +MY DEAR ALLEN, + +'What cheer?' This is what we nautical Men shout to one another as we +pass in our Ships. The Answer is generally only an Echo; but you will +have to tell me something more. I find it rather disgusting to set you +an example by telling of my Doings; for it is always the same thing over +and over again. I doubt this will put an End to even Letters at last: I +mean, on my part. You have others beside yourself to tell of; you go +abroad, too; deliver charges, etc. + +Well, however, I had better say that I have been for the last four months +going about in my little Ship as in former years, and now am about to lay +up her, and myself, for the Winter. The only Friend I hear from is +Donne, who volunteers a Letter unprovoked sometimes. Old Spedding gives +an unwilling Reply about thrice in two years. You speak when spoken to; +so does Thompson, in general: I shall soon ask of him what he has been +doing this Summer. + +I have been reading in my Boat--Virgil, Juvenal, and Wesley's Journal. Do +you know the last? one of the most interesting Books, I think, in the +Language. It is curious to think of his Diary extending over nearly the +same time as Walpole's Letters, which, you know, are a sort of Diary. +What two different Lives, Pursuits, and Topics! The other day I was +sitting in a Garden at Lowestoft in which Wesley had preached his first +Sermon there: the Wall he set his Back against yet standing. About 1790 +{292a} Crabbe, the Poet, went to hear him; he was helped into the Pulpit +by two Deacons, and quoted-- + + 'By the Women oft I'm told, + Poor Anacreon, thou grow'st old, etc.' {292b} + +So I have heard _my_ George Crabbe tell: who has told it also in his very +capital Memoir of his Father. {292c} + +Sheet full. Kind Regards to Madame and Young Folks. Ever yours, + +E. F. G. + +_To T. Carlyle_. + +RECTORY, BREDFIELD, WOODBRIDGE. + +DEAR CARLYLE, + +I should sometimes write to you if I had anything worth telling, or worth +putting you to the trouble of answering me. About twice in a year +however I do not mind asking you one thing which is easily answered, how +you and Mrs. Carlyle are? And yet perhaps it is not so easy for you to +tell me so much about yourself: for your 'well-being' comprises a good +deal! That you are not carried off by the Cholera I take for granted: +since else I should have seen in the papers some controversy with Doctor +Wordsworth as to whether you were to be buried in Westminster Abbey, by +the side of Wilberforce perhaps! Besides, a short note from Thackeray a +few weeks ago told me you had been to see him. I conclude also from this +that you have not been a summer excursion of any distance. + +I address from the Rectory (_Vicarage_ it ought to be) of Crabbe, the +'_Radiator_,' whose mind is now greatly exercised with Dr. Whewell's +Plurality of Worlds. Crabbe, who is a good deal in the secrets of +Providence, admires the work beyond measure, but most indignantly rejects +the Doctrine as unworthy of God. I have not read the Book, contented to +hear Crabbe's commentaries. I have been staying with him off and on for +two months, and, as I say, give his Address because any letter thither +directed will find me sooner or later in my little wanderings. I am at +present staying with a Farmer in a very pleasant house near Woodbridge: +inhabiting such a room as even you, I think, would sleep composedly in; +my host a taciturn, cautious, honest, active man whom I have known all my +Life. He and his Wife, a capital housewife, and his Son, who could carry +me on his shoulders to Ipswich, and a Maid servant who, as she curtsies +of a morning, lets fall the Tea-pot, etc., constitute the household. +Farming greatly prospers; farming materials fetching an exorbitant price +at the Michaelmas Auctions: all in defiance of Sir Fitzroy Kelly who got +returned for Suffolk on the strength of denouncing Corn Law Repeal as the +ruin of the Country. He has bought a fine house near Ipswich, with great +gilded gates before it, and by dint of good dinners and soft sawder +finally draws the country Gentry to him. . . . + +Please to look at the September Number of Fraser's Magazine where are +some prose Translations of Hafiz by Cowell which may interest you a +little. I think Cowell (as he is apt to do) gives Hafiz rather too much +credit for a mystical wine-cup, and Cupbearer; I mean taking him on the +whole. The few odes he quotes have certainly a deep and pious feeling: +such as the Man of Mirth will feel at times; none perhaps more strongly. + +Some one by chance read out to me the other day at the seaside your +account of poor old Naseby Village from Cromwell, quoted in Knight's +'Half Hours, etc.' It is now twelve years ago, at this very season, I +was ransacking for you; you promising to come down, and never coming. I +hope very much you are soon going to give us something: else Jerrold and +Tupper carry all before them. + +SATURDAY, _October_ 14/54. + +* * * * * + +In August 1855 Carlyle went to stay with FitzGerald at Farlingay, a farm +house on the Hasketon road, half a mile from Woodbridge. + +BREDFIELD RECTORY, WOODBRIDGE. +_August_ 1, [1855]. + +DEAR CARLYLE, + +I came down here yesterday: and saw my Farming Friends to-day, who are +quite ready to do all service for us at any time. They live about two +miles nearer Woodbridge than this place I write from and I am certain +they and their place will suit you very well. I am going to them any +day: indeed am always fluctuating between this place and theirs; and you +can come down to me there, or here, any day--(for Crabbe and his Daughter +will, they bid me say, be very glad if you will come; and I engage you +shan't be frightened, and that the place shall suit you as well as the +Farmer's). I say you can come to either place any day, and without +warning if you like; only in that case I can't go to meet you at Ipswich. +Beds, etc., are all ready whether here or at the Farmer's. If you like +to give me notice, you can say which place you will come to first: and I +will meet you at any time at Ipswich. + +I think if you come you had best come as soon as possible, before +harvest, and while the Days are long and fine. Why not come directly? +while all the Coast is so clear? + +Now as to your mode of going. There are Rail Trains to Ipswich from +Shoreditch, at 7 a.m. 11 a.m. and 3 p.m. all of which come to Ipswich in +time for Coaches which carry you to Woodbridge; where, if you arrive +unawares, any one will show you the way to Mr. Smith's, of Farlingay +Hall, about half a mile from Woodbridge; or direct you to Parson +Crabbe's, at Bredfield, about three miles from Woodbridge. You may take +my word (will you?) that you will be very welcome at either or both of +these places; I mean, to the owners as well as myself. + +Well, then there is a Steamer every Wednesday and Sunday; which starts +from Blackwall at 9 a.m.; to go by which you must be at the Blackwall +Railroad Station in Fenchurch Street by half past eight. This Steamer +gets to Ipswich at half past 5 or 6; probably in time for a Woodbridge +Coach, but not certainly. It is a very pleasant sail. The Rail to +Ipswich takes three or two and a half hours. + +Have I more to say? I can't think of it if I have. Only, dear Mrs. +Carlyle, please to let me know what C. is '_To Eat--Drink--and Avoid_.' +As I know that his wants are in a small compass, it will be as easy to +get what he likes as not, if you will only say. If you like Sunday +Steam, it will be quite convenient whether here or at Farlingay. Crabbe +only is too glad if one doesn't go to his church. + +BREDFIELD, _Sunday_. + +Scrap for Scrap! I go to-morrow to stay at Farlingay, where you will +find me, or I will find you, as proposed in my last. Do not let it be a +burden on you to come now, then, or at all; but, if you come, I think +this week will be good in weather as in other respects. You will be at +most entire Liberty; with room, garden, and hours, to yourself, whether +at Farlingay or here, where you must come for a day or so. Pipes are the +order of the house at both places; the Radiator always lighting up after +his 5 o'clock dinner, and rather despising me for not always doing so. At +both places a capital sunshiny airy Bedroom without any noise. I wish +Mrs. C. could come, indeed; but I will not propose this; for though my +Farm has good room, my Hostess would fret herself to entertain a Lady +suitably, and that I would avoid, especially toward Harvest time. Will +Mrs. Carlyle believe this? + +E. F. G. + +P.S. Bring some Books. If you don't find yourself well, or at ease, +with us, you have really but to go off without any sort of Ceremony as +soon as you like: so don't tie yourself to any time at all. If the +weather be fair, I predict you will like a week; and I shall like as much +more as you please; leaving you mainly to your own devices all the while. + +_From T. Carlyle_. + +CHELSEA, 7 _Augt_. 1855. + +DEAR FITZGERALD, + +In spite of these heavy showers, I persist in believing the weather will +clear, and means really to be dry: at any rate I am not made of sugar or +of salt; so intend to be off to-morrow;--and am, even now, in all the +horrors of a half rotted ship, which has lain two years, dead, among the +ooze, and is now trying to get up its anchor again: ropes breaking, sails +holed, blocks giving way, you may fancy what a pother there is! + +My train is to be 11 a.m. from Shoreditch; which gets to Ipswich about +two? If you have a gig and pony, of course it will be pleasant to see +your face at the end of my shrieking, mad, (and to me quite horrible) +rail operations: but if I see nothing, I will courageously go for the +Coach, and shall do quite well there, if I can get on the outside +especially. So don't mind which way it is; a _small_ weight ought to +turn it either way. I hope to get to Farlingay not long after 4 o'clock, +and have a quiet mutton chop in due time, and have a do pipe or pipes: +nay I could even have a bathe if there was any sea water left in the +evening. If you did come to Ipswich, an hour (hardly more) to glance at +the old Town might not be amiss. + +I will bring Books enough with me: I am used to several hours of solitude +every day; and cannot be said ever to _weary_ of being left well alone. +But we will 'drive' to any places you recommend; do bidding of the omens, +to a fair degree withal: in short I calculate on getting some real +benefit by this plunge into the maritime rusticities under your friendly +guidance, and the quiet of it will be of all things welcome to me. + +My wife firmly intended writing to you to-day, and perhaps has done so; +but if not, you are to take it as a thing done, for indeed there was +nothing whatever of importance to be said farther. + +To-morrow then (Wednesday 8th) 11 a.m.--wish me a happy passage. Yours +ever truly, + +T. CARLYLE. + +CHELSEA, 23 _Augt_. 1855. + +DEAR FITZGERALD, + +Here, after a good deal of bothering to improve it, above all to abridge +it, is the proposed Inscription for the Pillar at Naseby. You need not +scruple a moment to make any change that strikes you; I am well aware it +is good for nothing except its practical object, and that I have no skill +in lapidary literature. + +The worst thing will be, discovering the _date_ of your Naseby diggings. +I ought to have it here; and probably I have,--in some remote dusty +trunk, whither it is a terror to go looking for it! Try you what you +can, and the Naseby Farmer too (if he is still extant); then I will try. +At worst we can say 'Ten years ago'; but the exact date would be better. + +The figure of the stone ought to be of Egyptian simplicity: a broadish +parallelopipedon (or rather _octaedron_; the _corners_ well chamfered +off, to avoid breakages, will make it 8-faced, I think); in the substance +of the stone there is one quality to be looked for, durability; and the +letters ought to be cut deep,--and by no means in lapidary _lines_ +(attend to that!), but simply like _two verses of the Bible_, so that he +who runs may read. I rather like the _Siste Viator_,--yet will let you +blot it out,--it is as applicable as to any Roman Tomb, and more so than +to ours, which are in enclosed places, where any 'Traveller,' if he +either 'stop' or go, will presently have the constable upon him. This is +all I have to say about the stone; and I recommend that it be now done +straightway, before you quit hold of that troublesome locality. + +I find I must not promise to myself to go thither with you; alas, nor at +all. I cannot get to sleep again since I came out of Suffolk: the +stillness of Farlingay is unattainable in Chelsea for a _second_ sleep, +so I have to be content with the first, which is oftenest about 5 hours, +and a very poor allowance for the afflicted son of Adam. I feel +privately confident I _have_ got good by my Suffolk visit, and by all the +kindness of my beneficent brother mortals to me there: but in the +meanwhile it has 'stirred up a good deal of bile,' I suppose; and we must +wait. + +London is utterly vacant to me, of all but noises from Cremorne and such +sources: there is not in Britain a better place for work than this +Garret, if one had strength or heart for fronting work to any purpose. I +try a little, but mostly with very small result. + +If you know _Glyde_ of Ipswich, and can understand him to be really worth +subscribing for, pray put down your name and mine, as a bit of duty; if +not, not,--and burn his letter. + +I send the heartiest thanks, and remembrances to kind Mrs. Smith, and all +the industrious Harvesters; also to Papa and the young lady at +Bredfield:--as I well may!--I recommend myself to your prayers; and hope +to come again, if I live, when you have set your own house in order. +Yours, dear F., with true regards, + +T. CARLYLE. + +Naseby Pillar (briefest and final form). + +_Siste Viator_. + +Here, and for --- yards to rearward, lies the Dust of men slain in the +Battle of Naseby, 14 June 1645. Hereabouts appears to have been the +crisis of the struggle, hereabouts the final charge of Oliver Cromwell +and his Ironsides, that day. + + This {302a} Ground was opened, not irreverently or witht reluctance, + Saty 23 Septr 1842, to ascertain that fact, and render the + contemporary records legible. Peace henceforth to these old Dead. + +Edwd Fitzgd (with date). + +ADDISCOMBE FARM, CROYDON, +15 _Septr_, 1855. + +DEAR FITZGERALD, + +I have been here ever since the day you last heard of me; leading the +strangest life of absolute _Latrappism_; and often enough remembering +Farlingay and you. I live perfectly alone, and without speech at +all,--there being in fact nobody to speak to, except one austerely +punctual housemaid, who does her functions, like an eight-day clock, +generally without bidding. My wife comes out now and then to give the +requisite directions; but commonly withdraws again on the morrow, leaving +the monster to himself and his own ways. I have Books; a complete +Edition of _Voltaire_, {302b} for one Book, in which I read for _use_, or +for idleness oftenest,--getting into endless reflexions over it, mostly +of a sad and not very utterable nature. I find V. a 'gentleman,' living +in a world partly furnished with such; and that there are now almost no +'gentlemen' (not quite _none_): this is one great head of my reflexions, +to which there is no visible _tail_ or finish. I have also a Horse +(borrowed from my fat Yeoman friend, who is at sea bathing in Sussex); +and I go riding, at great lengths daily, over hill and dale: this I +believe is really the main good I am doing,--if in this either there be +much good. But it is a strange way of life to me, for the time; perhaps +not unprofitable: To let _Chaos_ say out its say, then, and one's Evil +Genius give one the very worst language he has, for a while. It is still +to last for a week or more. To day, for the first time, I ride back to +Chelsea, but mean to return hither on Monday. There is a great circle of +yellow light all the way from Shooter's Hill to Primrose Hill, spread +round my horizon every night, I see it while smoking my pipe before bed +(so bright, last night, it cast a visible shadow of me against the white +window-shutters); and this is all I have to do with London and its +_gases_ for a fortnight or more. My wife writes to me, there was an +awful jangle of bells last day she went home from this; a Quaker asked in +the railway, of some porter, 'Can thou tell me what these bells +mean?'--'Well, I suppose something is up. They say Sebastopol is took, +and the Rushans run away.'--_A la bonne heure_: but won't they come back +again, think you? + +On the whole I say, when you get your little Suffolk cottage, you must +have in it a 'chamber in the wall' for me, _plus_ a pony that can trot, +and a cow that gives good milk: with these outfits we shall make a pretty +rustication now and then, not wholly _Latrappish_, but only _half_, on +much easier terms than here; and I shall be right willing to come and try +it, I for one party.--Meanwhile, I hope the Naseby matter is steadily +going ahead; sale _completed_; and even the _monument_ concern making +way. Tell me a little how that and other matters are. If you are at +home, a line is rapidly conveyed hither, steam all the way: after the +beginning of the next week, I am at Chelsea, and (I dare say) there is a +fire in the evenings now to welcome you there. Shew face in some way or +other. + +And so adieu; for my hour of riding is at hand. + +Yours ever truly, +T. CARLYLE. + +_To E. B. Cowell_. + +31 GREAT PORTLAND STREET, P. PLACE. +[1856.] + +MY DEAR COWELL, + +. . . You never say a word about your Hafiz. Has that fallen for the +present, Austin not daring to embark in it in these days of war, when +nothing that is not warlike sells except Macaulay? Don't suppose I bandy +compliments; but, with moderate care, any such Translation of such a +writer as Hafiz by you into pure, sweet, and partially measured Prose +must be better than what I am doing for Jami; {304} whose ingenuous +prattle I am stilting into too Miltonic verse. This I am very sure of. +But it is done. + +[_Jan_. 1856.] + +MY DEAR COWELL, + +I send you a sketch of Jami's Life, which cut, correct, and annotate as +you like. Where there was so little to tell I have brought in all the +fine Names and extra bits I could to give it a little sparkle. There is +very little after all; I have spread it over Paper to give you room to +note _upon_ it. Only take care not to lose either these, or Yesterday's, +Papers--for my Terror at going over the Ground! + +You must put in the corrected Notice about the Sultan Hussein, both in +the Memoir and in the Note to the Poem. The latter will have room for at +least four (I think five) lines of note Type: which you must fill, and +not overflow: 'Strong without rage, etc.' + +I feel guilty at taking up your Time and Thoughts: and also at Dressing +myself so in your Plumes. But I mean to say a word about this, [Greek +text], in my Preliminary Notice; and would gladly dedicate the little +Book to you by Name, with due acknowledgment, did I think the world would +take it for a Compliment to you. But though I like the Version, and you +like it, we know very well the world--even the very little world, I mean, +who will see it--may not; and might laugh at us both for any such +Compliment. They cannot laugh at your Scholarship; but they might laugh +at the use I put it to: and at my dedicating a _cobweb_ (as Carlyle +called Maud the other night) to you. + +31 GT PORTLAND ST., P. PLACE. +_Jan_. 10/56. + +MY DEAR COWELL, + +Do make a sign of some sort to me. I sent you a string of Questions +about Salaman last week, all of which I did not want you to answer _at +once_, but wishing at least to hear if you had leisure and Inclination to +meddle with them. There is no reason in the world you should unless you +really have Time and Liking. If you _have_, I will send you the Proofs +of the Little Book which Mr. Childs is even now putting in hand. Pray +let me know as soon as you can what and how much of all this will be +agreeable to you. + +You don't tell me how Hafiz gets on. There is one thing which I think I +find in Salaman which may be worth your consideration (not needing much) +in Hafiz: namely, in Translation to retain the original Persian Names as +much as possible--'Shah' for 'king' for instance--'Yusuf and Suleyman' +for 'Joseph and Solomon,' etc. The Persian is not only more musical, but +removes such words and names further from Europe and European Prejudices +and Associations. So also I think best to talk of '_A Moon_' rather than +'_a Month_,' and perhaps 'sennight' is better than 'week.' + +This is a little matter; but it is well to rub off as little Oriental +Colour as possible. + +As to a Notice of Jami's Life, you need not trouble yourself to draw it +up unless you like; since I can make an extract of Ouseley's, and send +you for any addition or correction you like. Very little needs be said. +I have not yet been able to find Jami out in the Biographie Universelle. +. . . + +Now let me hear from you _something_--whatever you like. Yours and +Lady's, E. F. G. + +You, I believe, in your Oxford Essay, translate Jami's 'Haft Aurang' as +the '_Seven Thrones_,' it also meaning, I see, the seven Stars of the +Great Bear--'The Seven Stars.' Why should not this latter be the +Translation? more intelligible, Poetical, and Eastern (as far as I see) +than 'Thrones.' + +_To Mrs. Cowell_. + +LONDON. Friday [_April_ 25, 1856]. + +MY DEAR LADY, + +The Picture after all did not go down yesterday as I meant, but shall and +will go to-morrow (Saturday). Also I shall send you dear Major Moor's +'Oriental Fragments'; an almost worthless Book, I doubt, to those who did +not know him--which means, _love_ him! {307} And somehow all of us in +our corner of Suffolk knew something of him: and so again loved something +of him. For there was nothing at all about him not to be beloved. Ah! I +think how interested he would have been with all this Persian: and how we +should have disputed over parts and expressions over a glass of his +Shiraz wine (for he had some) in his snug Parlour, or in his Cornfields +when the Sun fell upon the latest Gleaners! He is dead, and you will go +where he lived, to be dead to me! + +Remember to take poor Barton's little Book {308a} with you to India; +better than many a better Book to you there! + +I got a glimpse of Professor Muller's Essay {308b}--full of fine things; +but I hardly gather it up into a good whole, which is very likely my +fault; from hasty perusal, ignorance, or other Incapacity. Perhaps, on +the other hand, he found the Subject too great for his Space; and so has +left it disproportioned, which the German is not inapt to do. But one +may be well thankful for such admirable fragments, perhaps left so in the +very honesty that is above rounding them into a specious Theory which +will not hold. + +[1856.] + +MY DEAR LADY, + +. . . If you see Trench's new Book about Calderon {308c} you will see he +has dealt very handsomely with me. He does not approve the Principle I +went on; and what has he made of his own! I say this with every reason, +as you will see, to praise him for his good word. He seems to me wrong +about his 'asonantes,' which were much better _un_-assonanted as Cowell +did his Specimens. {309} With Trench the Language has to be forced to +secure the shadow of a Rhyme which is no pleasure to the Ear. So it +seems to me on a hasty Look. + +* * * * * + +Mr. Cowell was appointed Professor of History at the Presidency College, +Calcutta, in 1856, and went out to India by the Cape in August, greatly +to FitzGerald's regret. 'Your talk of going to India,' he wrote, 'makes +my Heart hang really heavy at my side.' + +_To E. B. Cowell_. + +31 GT PORTLAND ST. LONDON. +_Jan._ 22/57. + +MY DEAREST COWELL, + +As usual I blunder. I have been taking for granted all this while that +of course we could not write to you till you had written to us! Else how +several times I could have written! could have sent you some Lines of +Hafiz or Jami or Nizami that I thought wanted Comment of some kind: so as +the Atlantic should have been no greater Bar between us than the two +hours rail to Oxford. And now I have forgot many things, or have left +the Books scattered in divers places; or, if I had all here, 'twould be +too much to send. So I must e'en take up with what the present Hour +turns up. + +It was only yesterday I heard from your Brother of a Letter from you, +telling of your safe Arrival; of the Dark Faces about you at your +Calcutta Caravanserai! Methinks how I should like to be there! Perhaps +should not, though, were the Journey only half its length! Write to me +one day. . . . + +I have now been five weeks alone at my old Lodgings in London where you +came this time last year! My wife in Norfolk. She came up yesterday; +and we have taken Lodgings for two months in the Regent's Park. And I +positively stay behind here in the old Place on purpose to write to you +in the same condition you knew me in and I you! I believe there are new +Channels fretted in my Cheeks with many unmanly Tears since then, +'remembering the Days that are no more,' in which you two are so mixt up. +Well, well; I have no news to tell you. Public Matters you know I don't +meddle with; and I have seen scarce any Friends even while in London +here. Carlyle but once; Thackeray not once; Spedding and Donne pretty +often. Spedding's first volume of Bacon is out; some seven hundred +pages; and the Reviews already begin to think it over-commentaried. How +interested would you be in it! and from you I should get a good Judgment, +which perhaps I can't make for myself. I hear Tennyson goes on with King +Arthur; but I have not seen or heard from him for a long long while. + +Oddly enough, as I finished the last sentence, Thackeray was announced; +he came in looking gray, grand, and good-humoured; and I held up this +Letter and told him whom it was written to and he sends his Love! He +goes Lecturing all over England; has fifty pounds for each Lecture: and +says he is ashamed of the Fortune he is making. But he deserves it. + +And now for my poor Studies. I have read really very little except +Persian since you went: and yet, from want of Eyes, not very much of +that. I have gone carefully over two-thirds of Hafiz again with +Dictionary and Von Hammer: and gone on with Jami and Nizami. But my +great Performance all lies in the last five weeks since I have been alone +here; when I wrote to Napoleon Newton to ask him to lend me his MS. of +Attar's Mantic uttair; and, with the help of Garcin de Tassy {311} have +nearly made out about two-thirds of it. For it has greatly interested +me, though I confess it is always an old Story. The Germans make a Fuss +about the Sufi Doctrine; but, as far as I understand, it is not very +abstruse Pantheism, and always the same. One becomes as wearied of the +_man-i_ and _du-i_ in their Philosophy as of the _bulbul_, etc., in their +Songs. Attar's Doctrine seems to me only Jami and Jelaleddin (of whom I +have poked out a little from the MS. you bought for me), but his Mantic +has, like Salaman, the advantage of having a Story to hang all upon; and +some of his illustrative Stories are very agreeable: better than any of +the others I have seen. He has not so much Fancy or Imagination as Jami, +nor I dare say, so much depth as Jelaleddin; but his touch is lighter. I +mean to make a Poetic Abstract of the Mantic, I think: neither De Tassy +nor Von Hammer {312} gives these Stories which are by far the best part, +though there are so many childish and silly ones. Shah Mahmud figures in +the best. I am very pleased at having got on so well with this MS. +though I doubt at more cost of Eyesight than it is worth. I have +exchanged several Letters with Mr. Newton, though by various mischances +we have not yet met; he has however introduced me to Mr. Dowson of the +Asiatic, with whom, or with a certain Seyd Abdullah recommended by Allen, +I mean (I think) to read a little. No need of this had you remained +behind! Oh! how I should like to read the Mantic with you! It is very +easy in the main. But I believe I shall never see you again; I really do +believe that. And my Paper is gradually overcome as I write this: and I +must say Good Bye. Good Bye, my dear dear Friends! I dare not meddle +with Mr. and Mrs. Charlesworth. {313} Thackeray coming in overset me, +with one thing and another. Farewell. Write to me; direct--whither? For +till I see better how we get on I dare fix on no place to live or die in. +Direct to me at Crabbe's, Bredfield, till you hear further. + +24 PORTLAND TERRACE, REGENT'S PARK. +Saturday _January_ 23 [? 24] 1857. + +MY DEAR E. B. C., + +I must write you a second Letter (which will reach you, I suppose, by the +same Post as that which I posted on Thursday Jan. 22) to tell you that +not half an hour after I had posted that first Letter, arrived yours! And +now, to make the Coincidence stranger, your Brother Charles, who is now +with us for two days, tells me that very Thursday Jan. 24 (? 22) is your +Birthday! I am extremely obliged to you for your long, kind, and +interesting Letter: yes, yes: I should have liked to be on the Voyage +with you, and to be among the Dark People with you even now. Your +Brother Charles, who came up yesterday, brought us up your Home Letter, +and read it to us last night after Tea to our great Satisfaction. I +believe that in my already posted Letter I have told you much that you +enquire about in yours received half an hour after: of my poor Studies at +all events. This morning I have been taking the Physiognomy of the 19th +Birds. . . . There are, as I wrote you, very pleasant stories. One, of +a Shah returning to his Capital, and his People dressing out a Welcome +for him, and bringing out Presents of Gold, Jewels, etc., all which he +rides past without any Notice, till, coming to the Prison, the Prisoners, +by way of their Welcome, toss before him the Bloody Heads and Limbs of +old and recent Execution. At which the Shah for the first time stops his +Horse--smiles--casts Largess among the Prisoners, etc. And when asked +why he neglected all the Jewels, etc., and stopped with satisfaction at +such a grim welcome as the Prisoners threw him, he says, 'The Jewels, +etc., were but empty Ostentation--but those bloody Limbs prove that my +Law has been executed, without which none of those Heads and Carcases +would have parted Company, etc.' De Tassy notices a very agreeable Story +of Mahmud and the Lad fishing: and I find another as pleasant about +Mahmud consorting 'incog:' with a Bath-Stove-Keeper, who is so good a +Fellow that, at last, Mahmud, making himself known, tells the Poor Man to +ask what he will--a Crown, if he likes. But the poor Fellow says, 'All I +ask is that the Shah will come now and then to me as I am, and here where +I am; here, in this poor Place, which he has made illustrious with his +Presence, and a better Throne to me with Him, than the Throne of Both +Worlds without Him, etc.' You observed perhaps in De Tassy's Summary +that he notices an Eastern Form of William Tell's Apple? A Sultan doats +on a beautiful Slave, who yet is seen daily to pine away under all the +Shah's Favour, and being askt why, replies, 'Because every day the Shah, +who is a famous Marksman with the Bow, shoots at an Apple laid on my +Head, and always hits it; and when all the Court cries "Lo! the Fortune +of the King!" He also asks me why I turn pale under the Trial, he being +such a Marksman, and his Mark an Apple set on the Head he most doats +upon?' I am going to transcribe on the next Page a rough draft of a +Version of another Story, because all this will amuse you, I think. I +couldn't help running some of these Apologues into Verse as I read them: +but they are in a very rough state as yet, and so perhaps may continue, +for to correct is _the_ Bore. + + When Yusuf from his Father's House was torn, + His Father's Heart was utterly forlorn; + And, like a Pipe with but one note, his Tongue + Still nothing but the name of Yusuf rung. + Then down from Heaven's Branches came the Bird + Of Heaven, and said 'God wearies of that Word. + Hast thou not else to do, and else to say?' + So Yacub's Lips were sealed from that Day. + But one Night in a Vision, far away + His Darling in some alien Home he saw, + And stretch'd his Arms forth; and between the Awe + Of God's Displeasure, and the bitter Pass + Of Love and Anguish, sigh'd forth an _Alas_! + And stopp'd--But when he woke The Angel came, + And said, 'Oh, faint of purpose! Though the Name + Of that Beloved were not uttered by + Thy Lips, it hung sequester'd in that Sigh.' + +You see this is very imperfect, and I am not always quite certain of +always getting the right Sow by the Ear; but it is pretty anyhow. In +this, as in several other Stories, one sees the fierce vindictive +Character of the Eastern Divinity and Religion: a 'jealous God' indeed! +So there is another Story of a poor Hermit, who retires into the +Wilderness to be alone with God, and lives in a Tree; and there in the +Branches a little Bird has a Nest, and sings so sweetly that the poor old +Man's Heart is drawn to it in spite of Himself; till a Voice from Heaven +calls to Him--'What are you about? You have bought _Me_ with your +Prayers, etc., and I _You_ by some Largess of my Grace: and is this +Bargain to be cancelled by the Piping of a little Bird?' {316} So I +construe at least right or wrong. . . . + +Monday Jan. 25 [? 26]. Like your Journal, you see, I spread my Letter +over more than a Day. On Saturday Night your Brother and I went to hear +Thackeray lecture on George III.--very agreeable to me, though I did not +think highly of the Lecture. . . . I should like to see Nizami's Shirin, +though I have not yet seen enough to care for in Nizami. Get me a MS. if +you can get a fair one; as also one of Attar's Birds; of which however +Garcin de Tassy gives hint of publishing a Text. There might be a good +Book made of about half the Text of the Original; for the Repetitions are +many, and the stories so many of them not wanted. What a nice Book too +would be the Text of some of the best Apologues in Jami, Jelaleddin, +Attar, etc., with literal Translations! . . . + +I was with Borrow {317} a week ago at Donne's, and also at Yarmouth three +months ago: he is well, but not yet agreed with Murray. He read me a +long Translation he had made from the Turkish: which I could not admire, +and his Taste becomes stranger than ever. + +24 PORTLAND TERRACE, +REGENT'S PARK. + +MY DEAR COWELL, + +. . . March 12. You see I leave this Letter like an unfinished Picture; +giving it a touch every now and then. Meanwhile it lies in a volume of +Sir W. Ouseley's Travels. Meanwhile also I keep putting into shape some +of that Mantic which however would never do to publish. For this reason; +that anything like a literal Translation would be, I think, unreadable; +and what I have done for amusement is not only so unliteral, but I doubt +_unoriental_, in its form and expression, as would destroy the value of +the Original without replacing it with anything worth reading of my own. +It has amused me however to reduce the Mass into something of an Artistic +Shape. There are lots of Passages which--how should I like to talk them +over with you! Shall we ever meet again? I think not; or not in such +plight, both of us, as will make Meeting what it used to be. Only to-day +I have been opening dear old Salaman: the original Copy we bought and +began this time three years ago at Oxford; with all my scratches of Query +and Explanation in it, and the Notes from you among the Leaves. How +often I think with Sorrow of my many Harshnesses and Impatiences! which +are yet more of manner than Intention. My wife is sick of hearing me +sing in a doleful voice the old Glee of 'When shall we Three Meet again?' +Especially the Stanza, 'Though in foreign Lands we sigh, Parcht beneath a +hostile Sky, etc.' How often too I think of the grand Song written by +some Scotch Lady, {318} which I sing to myself for you on Ganges Banks! + + Slow spreads the Gloom my Soul desires, + The Sun from India's Shore retires: + To _Orwell's_ Bank, with temperate ray-- + Home of my Youth!--he leads the Day: + Oh Banks to me for ever dear, + Oh Stream whose Murmur meets my Ear; + Oh all my Hopes of Bliss abide + Where Orwell mingles with the Tide. + +The Music has come to me for these Words, little good otherwise than +expressive: but there is no use sending it to India. To India! It seems +to me it would be easy to get into the first great Ship and never see +Land again till I saw the Mouth of the Ganges! and there live what +remains of my shabby Life. + +But there is no good in all such Talk. I never write to you about +Politics in which you know I little meddle. . . . March 20. Why, see +how the Time goes! And here has my Letter been lying in Sir W. Ouseley +for the last ten days, I suppose. To-day I have been writing twenty +pages of a metrical Sketch of the Mantic, for such uses as I told you of. +It is an amusement to me to take what Liberties I like with these +Persians, who (as I think) are not Poets enough to frighten one from such +excursions, and who really do want a little Art to shape them. I don't +speak of Jelaleddin whom I know so little of (enough to show me that he +is no great Artist, however), nor of Hafiz, whose _best_ is +untranslatable because he is the best Musician of Words. Old Johnson +{319} said the Poets were the best Preservers of a Language: for People +must go to the Original to relish them. I am sure that what Tennyson +said to you is true: that Hafiz is the most Eastern--or, he should have +said, most _Persian_--of the Persians. He is the best representative of +their character, whether his Saki and Wine be real or mystical. Their +Religion and Philosophy is soon seen through, and always seems to me +_cuckooed_ over like a borrowed thing, which people, once having got, +don't know how to parade enough. To be sure, their Roses and +Nightingales are repeated enough; but Hafiz and old Omar Khayyam ring +like true Metal. The Philosophy of the Latter is, alas!, one that never +fails in the World. 'To-day is ours, etc.' + +While I think of it, why is the Sea {320} (in that Apologue of Attar once +quoted by Falconer) supposed to have lost God? Did the Persians agree +with something I remember in Plato about the Sea and all in it being of +an inferior Nature, in spite of Homer's 'divine Ocean, etc.' And here I +come to the end of my sheet, which you will hardly get through, I think. +I scarce dare to think of reading it over. But I will try. + +24 PORTLAND TERRACE, +REGENT'S PARK. +_March_ 29, [1857]. + +MY DEAR COWELL, + +I only posted my last long letter four days ago: and how far shall I get +with this? Like the other, I keep it in Sir W. Ouseley, and note down a +bit now and then. When the time for the Mail comes, the sheet shall go +whether full or not. I had a letter from your Mother telling me she had +heard from you--all well--but the Heats increasing. I suppose the +Crocuses we see even in these poor little Gardens hereabout would wither +in a Glance of your Sun. Now the black Trees in the Regent's Park +opposite are beginning to show green Buds; and Men come by with great +Baskets of Flowers; Primroses, Hepaticas, Crocuses, great Daisies, etc., +calling as they go, 'Growing, Growing, Growing! All the Glory going!' So +my wife says she has heard them call: some old Street cry, no doubt, of +which we have so few now remaining. It will almost make you smell them +all the way from Calcutta. 'All the Glory going!' What has put me upon +beginning with this Sheet so soon is, that, (having done my Will for the +present with the Mantic--one reason being that I am afraid to meddle more +with N. Newton's tender MS., and another reason that I now lay by what I +have sketched out so as to happen on it again one day with fresh eyes)--I +say, this being shelved, I took up old Hafiz again, and began with him +where I left off in November at Brighton. And this morning came to an +ode we did together this time two years ago when you were at Spiers' in +Oxford. . . . How it brought all back to me! Oriel opposite, and the +Militia in Broad Street, and the old Canary-coloured Sofa and the Cocoa +or Tea on the Table! . . . + +I should think Bramford begins to look pretty about this time, hey, Mr. +Cowell? And Mrs. Cowell? There is a house there constantly advertised +to let in the Papers. I think that one by the Mill; not the pleasant +place where _Trygaeus_ {322} looked forth on the Rail! 'The Days are +gone when Beauty bright, etc.' . . . + +Spedding has been once here in near three months. His Bacon keeps coming +out: his part, the Letters, etc., of Bacon, is not come yet; so it +remains to be seen what he will do then: but I can't help thinking he has +let the Pot boil too long. Well, here is a great deal written to-day: +and I shall shut up the Sheet in Ouseley again. March 30. Another +reason for thinking the _mahi_ which supports the world to be only a +_myth_ of the simple Fish genus is that the stage next above him is +_Gau_, the Bull, as the Symbol of _Earth_. It seems to me one sees this +as it were pictured in those Assyrian Sculptures; just some waving lines +and a fish to represent Water, etc. And it hooks on, I think, to Max +Muller's Theory in that Essay {323a} of his. Saturday, April 4. Why, we +are creeping toward another Post day! another 25th when the 'Via +Marseilles' Letters go off! And I now renew this great Sheet, because in +returning to old Hafiz two or three days ago, I happened on a line which +you will confer with a Tetrastich of Omar's. . . . Donne has got the +Licenser's Post; given him in the handsomest way by Lord Bredalbane to +whom the Queen as handsomely committed it. The said Donne has written an +Article on Calderon in Fraser, {323b} in which he says very handsome +things of me, but is not accurate in what he says. I suppose it was he +wrote an Article in the Saturday Review some months ago to the same +effect; but I have not asked him. I find people like that Calderon book. +By the bye again, what is the passage I am to write out for you from the +Volume you gave me, the old Bramford Volume, 'E. B. Cowell, Bramford, +Aug. 20, 1849?' Tell me, and I will write it in my best style: I have +the Volume here in my room, and was looking into it only last night; at +that end of the Magico which we read together at Elmsett! I don't know +if I could translate it now that the '_aestus'_ caught from your sympathy +is gone! . . . April 5. In looking into the 'Secreto Agravio' I see an +Oriental superstition, which was likely enough however to be a poetical +fancy of any nation: I mean, the Sun turning Stone to Ruby, etc. Enter +Don Luis: 'Soy mercador, y trato en los Diamantes, que hoy son Piedras, y +rayos fueron antes de Sol, que perficiona e ilumina rustico Grano en la +abrasada Mina.' The Partridge in the Mantic tells something of the same; +he digs up and swallows Rubies which turn his Blood to Fire inside him +and sparkle out of his Eyes and Bill. This volume of Calderon is marked +by the Days on which you finished several Plays, all at Bramford! +Wednesday, April 8. I have been reading the 'Magico' over and +remembering other days; I saw us sitting at other tables reading it. Also +I am looking over old AEschylus--Agamemnon--with Blackie's Translation. . +. . Is it in Hafiz we have met the Proverb (about _pregnant_ Night) +which Clytemnestra also makes her Entry with [264, 5]? [Greek ttext]. I +think one sees that the Oriental borrowed this Fancy, which smacks of the +Grecian Personification of Mother Night. What an Epitaph for a Warrior +are those two Greek words by which the Chorus express all that returns to +Mycenae of the living Hero who went forth [435]--[Greek text]! + +Well; and I have had a Note from Garcin de Tassy whom I had asked if he +knew of any Copy of Omar Khayyam in all the Paris Libraries: he writes 'I +have made, by means of a Friend, etc.' But I shall enclose his Note to +amuse you. Now what I mean to do is, in return for his politeness to me, +to copy out as well as I can the Tetrastichs as you copied them for me, +and send them as a Present to De Tassy. Perhaps he will edit them. I +should not wish him to do so if there were any chance of your ever doing +it; but I don't think you will help on the old Pantheist, and De Tassy +really, after what he is doing for the Mantic, deserves to make the +acquaintance of this remarkable little Fellow. Indeed I think you will +be pleased that I should do this. Now for some more AEschylus. Friday, +April 17. I have been for the last five days with my Brother at +Twickenham; during which time I really copied out Omar Khayyam, in a way! +and shall to-day post it as a '_cadeau'_ to Garcin de Tassy in return for +his Courtesy to me. I am afraid, a bad return: for my MS. is but badly +written and it would perhaps more plague than profit an English 'savant' +to have such a present made him. But a Frenchman gets over all this very +lightly. Garcin de Tassy tells me he has printed four thousand lines of +the Mantic. And here is April running away and it will soon be time to +post you another Letter! When I once get into the Country I shall have +less to write you about than now; and that, you see, is not much. + +Tuesday, April 21. Yours and your wife's dear good Letters put into my +hand as I sit in the sunshine in a little Balcony outside the Windows +looking upon the quite green hedge side of the Regent's Park. For Green +it is thus early, and such weather as I never remember before at this +Season. Well, your Letters, I say, were put into my hand as I was there +looking into AEschylus under an Umbrella, and waiting for Breakfast. My +wife cried a good deal over your wife's Letter, I think, I think so. Ah +me! I would not as yet read it, for I was already sad; but I shall +answer hers to me which I did read indeed with many thoughts: perhaps I +can write this post; at least I will clear off this letter to you, my +dear Cowell. + +E. F. G. + +_April_ 21. + +MY DEAR LADY, I have told E. B. C. at the close of my long letter to him +how his and yours were put into my hand this morning. Well, as in +telling him that I finished that sheet of Paper, I will e'en take one +scrap more to thank you; and (since you have, I believe, some confidences +together) some things I have yet got to say to him shall be addressed to +you; and you can exercise your own Discretion as to telling him. One +thing tell him however, which my overflowing Sheet had not room for, and +was the very thing that most needed telling: viz. that he, a busy man, +must not feel bound to write me as long Letters in return. Who knows how +long I shall keep up any thing like to my own mark; for I daily grow +worse with the Letter-pen: and, beside his other employments, the Sun of +India will '_belaze'_ him (I doubt if the word be in Johnson). But +'vogue la Galere' while the wind blows! Again you may give him the +enclosed instead of a former Letter from the same G. de T. For is it not +odd he should not have time to read a dozen of those 150 Tetrastichs? I +pointed out such a dozen to him of the best, and told him if he liked +them I would try and get the rest better written for him than I could +write. I had also told him that the whole thing came from E. B. C. and I +now write to tell him I have no sort of intention of writing a paper in +the Journal Asiatique, nor I suppose E. B. C. neither. G. de Tassy is +very civil to me however. How much I might say about your Letter to me! +you will hardly comprehend how it is I almost turn my Eyes from it in +this Answer, and dally with other matter. You make me sad with old +Memories; yet, I don't mean quite disagreeably sad, but enough to make me +shrink recurring to them. I don't know whether to be comforted or not +when _you_ talk of India as a Land of Exile--. . . + +Wednesday, April 22. Now this morning comes a second Letter from Garcin +de Tassy saying that his first note about Omar Khayyam was 'in haste': +that he has read some of the Tetrastichs which he finds not very +difficult; some difficulties which are probably errors of the 'copist'; +and he proposes his writing an Article in the Journal Asiatique on it in +which he will 'honourably mention' E. B. C. and E. F. G. I now write to +deprecate all this: {328} putting it on the ground (and a fair one) that +we do not yet know enough of the matter: that I do not wish E. B. C. to +be made answerable for errors which E. F. G. (the '_copist'_) may have +made: and that E. F. G. neither merits nor desires any honourable mention +as a Persian Scholar: being none. Tell E. B. C. that I have used his +name with all caution, referring De Tassy to Vararuchi, etc. But these +Frenchmen are so self-content and superficial, one never knows how they +will take up anything. To turn to other matters--we are talking of +leaving this place almost directly. . . . I often wonder if I shall ever +see you both again! Well, for the present, Adieu, Adieu, Adieu! + +LONDON, _May_ 7/57. + +MY DEAR COWELL, + +Owing partly to my own Stupidity, and partly to a change in the India +Post days, my last two letters (to you and wife) which were quite ready +by the Marseilles Post of April 25th will not get off till the +Southampton Mail of this May 10. Your letter of March 21 reached me +three days ago. Write only when you have Leisure and Inclination, and +only as much as those two good things are good for: I will do the same. I +will at once say (in reply to a kind offer you make to have Hatifi's +'Haft Paikar' copied for me) that it will [be] best to wait till you have +read it; you know me well enough to know whether it will hit my taste. +However, if it be but a very short poem, no harm would be done by a Copy: +but do let me be at the Charges of such things. I will ask for Hatifi's +Laili: but I didn't (as you know) take much to what little I saw. As to +any copies Allen might have had, I believe there is no good asking for +them: for, only yesterday going to put into Madden's hands Mr. Newton's +MS. of the Mantic, I saw Allen's house _kharab_. There had been a Fire +there, Madden told me, which had destroyed stock, etc., but I could not +make much out of the matter, Madden putting on a Face of foolish mystery. +You can imagine it? We talked of you, as you may imagine also: and I +believe in that he is not foolish. Well, and to-day I have a note from +the great De Tassy which announces, 'My dear Sir, Definitively I have +written a little Paper upon Omar with some Quotations taken here and +there at random, avoiding only the too badly sounding _rubayat_. I have +read that paper before the Persian Ambassador and suite, at a meeting of +the Oriental Society of which I am Vice President, the Duc de +Dondeauville being president. The Ambassador has been much pleased of my +quotations.' So you see I have done the part of an ill Subject in +helping France to ingratiate herself with Persia when England might have +had the start! I suppose it probable _Ferukh Khan_ himself had never +read or perhaps heard of Omar. I think I told you in my last that I had +desired De Tassy to say nothing about you in any Paper he should write; +since I cannot have you answerable for any blunders I may have made in my +Copy, nor may you care to be named with Omar at all. I hope the +Frenchman will attend to my desire; and I dare say he will, as he will +then have all credit to himself. He says he can't make out the metre of +the _rubayat_ at all--never could--though 'I am enough skilful in +scanning the Persian verses as you have seen' (Qy?) 'in my Prosody of the +languages of Musulman Countries, etc.' So much for De Tassy. No; but +something more yet: and better, for he tells me his Print of the Mantic +is finisht, 'in proofs,' and will be out in about a Month: and he will +send me one. Now, my dear Cowell, can't I send one to you? Yes, we must +manage that somehow. + +Well, I have not turned over Johnson's Dictionary for the last month, +having got hold of AEschylus. I think I want to turn his Trilogy into +what shall be readable English Verse; a thing I have always thought of, +but was frightened at the Chorus. So I am now; I can't think them so +fine as People talk of: they are terribly maimed; and all such Lyrics +require a better Poet than I am to set forth in English. But the better +Poets won't do it; and I cannot find one readable translation. I shall +(if I make one) make a very free one; not for Scholars, but for those who +are ignorant of Greek, and who (so far as I have seen) have never been +induced to learn it by any Translations yet made of these Plays. I think +I shall become a bore, of the Bowring order, by all this Translation: but +it amuses me without any labour, and I really think I have the faculty of +making some things readable which others have hitherto left unreadable. +But don't be alarmed with the anticipation of another sudden volume of +Translations; for I only sketch out the matter, then put it away; and +coming on it one day with fresh eyes trim it up with some natural impulse +that I think gives a natural air to all. So I have put away the Mantic. +When I die, what a farrago of such things will be found! Enough of such +matter. . . . + +Friday, June 5! What an interval since the last sentence! And why? +Because I have been moving about nearly ever since till yesterday, and my +Letter, thus far written, was packt up in a Box sent down hither, namely, +Gorlestone Cliffs, Great Yarmouth. Instead of the Regent's Park, and +Regent Street, here before my windows are the Vessels going in and out of +this River: and Sailors walking about with fur caps and their brown hands +in their Breeches Pockets. Within hail almost lives George Borrow who +has lately published, and given me, two new Volumes of Lavengro called +'Romany Rye,' with some excellent things, and some very bad (as I have +made bold to write to him--how shall I face him!). You would not like +the Book at all, I think. But I must now tell you an odd thing, which +will also be a sad thing to you. I left London last Tuesday fortnight +for Bedfordshire, meaning to touch at Hertford in passing; but as usual, +bungled between two Railroads and got to Bedford, and not to Hertford, on +the Tuesday Evening. To that latter place I had wanted to go, as well to +see it, as to see N. Newton, who had made one or two bungled efforts to +see me in London. So, when I got to Bedford, I wrote him a line to say +how it was I had missed him. On the very Saturday immediately after, I +received a Hertford Paper announcing the sudden Death of N. Newton on the +very Tuesday on which I had set out to see him! He had been quite well +till the Saturday preceding: had then caught some illness (I suppose some +infectious fever) which had been visiting some in his house; died on the +Tuesday, and was buried on the Thursday after! What will Austin do +without him? He had written to me about your Hafiz saying he had got +several subjects for Illustration, and I meant to have had a talk with +him on the matter. What should be done? I dare not undertake any great +responsibility in meddling in such a matter even if asked to do so, which +is not likely to be unless on your part; for I find my taste so very +different from the Public that what I think good would probably be very +unprofitable. + +When in Bedfordshire I put away almost all Books except Omar Khayyam!, +which I could not help looking over in a Paddock covered with Buttercups +and brushed by a delicious Breeze, while a dainty racing Filly of W. +Browne's came startling up to wonder and snuff about me. 'Tempus est quo +Orientis Aura mundus renovatur, Quo de fonte pluviali dulcis Imber +reseratur; _Musi-manus_ undecumque ramos insuper splendescit; +Jesu-spiritusque Salutaris terram pervagatur.' Which is to be read as +Monkish Latin, like 'Dies Irae,' etc., retaining the Italian value of the +Vowels, not the Classical. You will think me a perfectly Aristophanic +Old Man when I tell you how many of Omar I could not help running into +such bad Latin. I should not confide such follies but to you who won't +think them so, and who will be pleased at least with my still harping on +our old Studies. You would be sorry, too, to think that Omar breathes a +sort of Consolation to me! Poor Fellow; I think of him, and Oliver +Basselin, and Anacreon; lighter Shadows among the Shades, perhaps, over +which Lucretius presides so grimly. Thursday, June 11. Your letter of +April is come to hand, very welcome; and I am expecting the MS. Omar +which I have written about to London. And now with respect to your +proposed Fraser Paper on Omar. You see a few lines back I talk of some +lazy Latin Versions of his Tetrastichs, giving one clumsy example. Now I +shall rub up a few more of those I have sketched in the same manner, in +order to see if you approve, if not of the thing done, yet of + +(_letter breaks off abruptly at the end of the page_.) + +June 23. I begin another Letter because I am looking into the Omar MS. +you have sent me, and shall perhaps make some notes and enquiries as I go +on. I had not intended to do so till I had looked all over and tried to +make out what I could of it; since it is both pleasant to oneself to find +out for oneself if possible, and also saves trouble to one's friends. But +yet it will keep me talking with you as I go along: and if I find I say +silly things or clear up difficulties for myself before I close my Letter +(which has a month to be open in!) why, I can cancel or amend, so as you +will see the whole Process of Blunder. I think this MS. furnishes some +opportunities for one's critical faculties, and so is a good exercise for +them, if one wanted such! First however I must tell you how much ill +poor Crabbe has been: a sort of Paralysis, I suppose, in two little fits, +which made him think he was sure to die: but Dr. Beck at present says he +may live many years with care. Of this also I shall be able to tell you +more before I wind up. The brave old Fellow! he was quite content to +depart, and had his Daughter up to give her his Keys, and tell her where +the different wines were laid! I must also tell you that Borrow is +greatly delighted with your MS. of Omar which I showed him: delighted at +the terseness so unusual in Oriental Verse. But his Eyes are apt to +cloud: and his wife has been obliged, he tells me, to carry off even the +little Omar out of reach of them for a while. . . . + +June 27. Geldestone Hall. I brought back my two Nieces here yesterday: +and to-day am sitting as of old in my accustomed Bedroom, looking out on +a Landscape which your Eyes would drink. It is said there has not been +such a Flush of Verdure for years: and they are making hay on the Lawn +before the house, so as one wakes to the tune of the Mower's +Scythe-whetting, and with the old Perfume blowing in at open windows. . . +. + +July 1. June over! A thing I think of with Omar-like sorrow. And the +Roses here are blowing--and going--as abundantly as even in Persia. I am +still at Geldestone, and still looking at Omar by an open window which +gives over a Greener Landscape than yours. To-morrow my eldest Nephew, +Walter Kerrich, whom I first took to school, is to be married in the +Bermudas to a young Widow. He has chosen his chosen sister Andalusia's +Birthday to be married on; and so we are to keep that double Festival. . +. . + +_Extract from Letter begun_ 3 _July_, 1857. + +Monday, July 13. This day year was the last I spent with you at +Rushmere! We dined in the Evening at your Uncle's in Ipswich, walking +home at night together. The night before (yesterday year) you all went +to Mr. Maude's Church, and I was so sorry afterward I had not gone with +you too; for the last time, as your wife said. One of my manifold +stupidities, all avenged in a Lump now! I think I shall close this +letter to-morrow: which will be the Anniversary of my departure from +Rushmere. I went from you, you know, to old Crabbe's. Is he too to be +wiped away by a yet more irrecoverable exile than India? By to-morrow I +shall have finisht my first Physiognomy of Omar, whom I decidedly prefer +to any Persian I have yet seen, unless perhaps Salaman. . . . + +Tuesday, July 14. Here is the Anniversary of our Adieu at Rushmere. And +I have been (rather hastily) getting to an end of my first survey of the +Calcutta Omar, by way of counterpart to our joint survey of the Ouseley +MS. then. I suppose we spoke of it this day year; probably had a final +look at it together before I went off, in some Gig, I think, to Crabbe's. +We hear rather better Report of him, if the being likely to live a while +longer is better. I shall finish my Letter to-day; only leaving it open +to add any very particular word. I must repeat I am sure this Calcutta +Omar is, in the same proportion with the Ouseley, by as good a hand as +the Ouseley: by as good a hand, if not Omar's; which I think you seemed +to doubt if it was, in one of your Letters. . . . + +Have I previously asked you to observe 486, of which I send a poor Sir W. +Jones' sort of Parody which came into my mind walking in the Garden here; +where the Rose is blowing as in Persia? And with this poor little Envoy +my Letter shall end. I will not stop to make the Verse better. + + I long for wine! oh Saki of my Soul, + Prepare thy Song and fill the morning Bowl; + For this first Summer month that brings the Rose + Takes many a Sultan with it as it goes. + +_To Mrs. Charles Allen_. {337} + +GELDESTONE HALL, BECCLES. +_August_ 15/57. + +MY DEAR MRS. ALLEN, + +One should be very much gratified at being remembered so long with _any_ +kindness: and how much more gratified with so kind Remembrances as yours! +I may safely say that I too remember you and my Freestone days of five +and twenty years ago with a particular regard; I have been telling my +Nieces at the Breakfast Table this morning, after I read your letter, how +I remembered you sitting in the '_Schoolroom_'--too much sheltered with +Trees--with a large Watch open before you--your Sister too, with her +light hair and China-rose Complexion--too delicate!--your Father, your +Mother, your Brother--of whom (your Brother) I caught a glimpse in London +two years ago. And all the _Place_ at Freestone--I can walk about it as +I lie awake here, and see the very yellow flowers in the fields, and hear +that distant sound of explosion in some distant Quarry. The coast at +Bosherston one could never forget once seen, even if it had no domestic +kindness to frame its Memory in. I might have profited more of those +good Days than I did; but it is not my Talent to take the Tide at its +flow; and so all goes to worse than waste! + +But it is ungracious to talk of oneself--except so far as shall answer +some points you touch on. It would in many respects be very delightful +to me to walk again with you over those old Places; in other respects +sad:--but the pleasure would have the upper hand if one had not again to +leave it all and plunge back again. I dare not go to Wales now. + +I owe to Tenby the chance acquaintance of another Person who now from +that hour remains one of my very best Friends. A Lad--then just 16--whom +I met on board the Packet from Bristol: and next morning at the Boarding +House--apt then to appear with a little _chalk_ on the edge of his Cheek +from a touch of the Billiard Table Cue--and now a man of 40--Farmer, +Magistrate, Militia Officer--Father of a Family--of more use in a week +than I in my Life long. You too have six sons, your Letter tells me. +They may do worse than do as well as he I have spoken of, though he too +has sown some wild oats, and paid for doing so. + +_My_ family consists of some eight Nieces here, whom I have seen, all of +them, from their Birth upwards--perfectly good, simple, and well-bred, +women and girls; varying in disposition but all agreed among themselves +and to do what they can in a small Sphere. They go about in the Village +here with some consolation both for Body and Mind for the Poor, and have +no desire for the Opera, nor for the Fine Folks and fine Dresses there. +There is however some melancholy in the Blood of some of them--but none +that mars any happiness but their own: and that but so slightly as one +should expect when there was no Fault, and no Remorse, to embitter it! + +You will perhaps be as well entertained with this poor familiar news as +any I could tell you. As to public matters, I scarcely meddle with them, +and don't know what to think of India except that it is very terrible. I +always think a Nation with great Estates is like a Man with them:--more +trouble than Profit: I would only have a _Competence_ for my Country as +for myself. Two of my very dearest Friends went but last year to +Calcutta:--he as Professor at the Presidency College there: and now he +has to shoulder a musket, I believe, as well as deliver a Lecture. You +and yours are safe at home, I am glad to think. + +Please to remember me to all whom I have shaken hands with, and make my +kind Regards to those of your Party I have not yet seen. I am sure all +_would be_ as kind to me as others who bear the name of Allen _have +been_. + +Once more--thank you thank you for your kindness; and believe me yours as +ever very truly, + +EDWD. FITZGERALD. + +_To E. B. Cowell_. + +RUSHMERE, _October_ 3/57. + +MY DEAR COWELL, + +I hope things will not be so black with you and us by the time this +Letter reaches you, but you may be amused and glad to have it from me. +Not that I have come into Suffolk on any cheerful Errand: I have come to +bury dear old Mr. Crabbe! I suppose you have had some Letters of mine +telling you of his Illness; Epileptic Fits which came successively and +weakened him gradually, and at last put him to his Bed entirely, where he +lay some while unable to move himself or to think! They said he might +lie so a long time, since he eat and drank with fair Appetite: but +suddenly the End came on and after a twelve hours Stupor he died. On +Tuesday September 22 he was buried; and I came from Bedfordshire (where I +had only arrived two days before) to assist at it. I and Mr. Drew were +the only persons invited not of the Family: but there were very many +Farmers and Neighbours come to pay respect to the remains of the brave +old Man, who was buried, by his own desire, among the poor in the +Churchyard in a Grave that he wishes to be no otherwise distinguisht than +by a common Head and Footstone. . . . + +You may imagine it was melancholy enough to me to revisit the house when +He who had made it so warm for me so often lay cold in his Coffin unable +to entertain me any more! His little old dark Study (which I called the +'_Cobblery'_) smelt strong of its old Smoke: and the last Cheroot he had +tried lay three quarters smoked in its little China Ash-pan. This I have +taken as a Relic, as also a little silver Nutmeg Grater which used to +give the finishing Touch to many a Glass of good hot Stuff, and also had +belonged to the Poet Crabbe. . . . + +Last night I had some of your Letters read to me: among them one but +yesterday arrived, not very sunshiny in its prospects: but your Brother +thinks the Times Newspaper of yesterday somewhat bids us look up. Only, +all are trembling for Lucknow, crowded with Helplessness and Innocence! I +am ashamed to think how little I understand of all these things: but have +wiser men, and men in Place, understood much more? or, understanding, +have they _done_ what they should? . . . + +Love to the dear Lady, and may you be now and for time to come safe and +well is the Prayer of yours, + +E. F. G. + +31 PORTLAND STREET, LONDON. +_Decr_. 8/57. + +MY DEAR COWELL, + +You will recognize the Date of my Abode. Two years ago you were coming +to see me in it much about this Season: and a year ago I wrote you my +first Letter to India from it. I came hither from Brighton a week ago: +how long to be here uncertain: you had best direct to Goldington Hall, +Bedford. I sent you a short Letter by last Marseilles' Post from +Brighton: and I now begin this short one because I have happened again to +take hold of some Books which we are mutually interested in. I have left +with Borrow the Copy of the Mantic De Tassy gave me; so some days ago I +bought another Copy of Norgate. For you must know I had again taken up +my rough Sketch of a Translation, which, such as it is, might easily be +finisht. But it is in truth no Translation: but only the _Paraphrase of +a Syllabus_ of the Poem: quite unlike the original in Style too:--But it +would give, I think, a fair proportionate Account of the Scheme of the +Poem. If ever I finish it, I will send it you. Well; then in turning +this over, I also turned over Volume I of Sprenger's Catalogue, which I +bought by itself for 6s. a year ago. As it contains all the Persian MSS. +I supposed that would be enough for me. I have been looking at his List +of Attar's Poems. What a number! All almost much made up of _Apologues_ +in which Attar excels, I think. His Stories are better than Jami's: to +be sure, he gives more to pick out of. An interesting thing in the +Mantic is, the stories about Mahmud: and these are the best in the Book. +I find I have got seven or eight in my brief Extract. I see Sprenger +says Attar was born in 513--four years before poor Omar Khayyam died! He +mentions one of Attar's Books--'The Book of Union,' _waslat_ _namah_, +which seems to be on the very subject of the Apologue to the _Peacock's_ +Brag in the Mantic: line 814 in De Tassy. I suppose this is no more the +Orthodox _Mussulman_ Version than it is ours. Sprenger also mentions as +one separate Book what is part of the Mantic--and main part--the _Haft +wady_. Sprenger says (p. 350) how the MSS. of Attar differ from one +another. + +And now about old Omar. You talked of sending a Paper about him to +Fraser and I told you, if you did, I would stop it till I had made my +Comments. I suppose you have not had time to do what you proposed, or +are you overcome with the Flood of bad Latin I poured upon you? Well: +don't be surprised (vext, you won't be) if _I_ solicit Fraser for room +for a few Quatrains in English Verse, however--with only such an +Introduction as you and Sprenger give me--very short--so as to leave you +to say all that is Scholarly if you will. I hope this is not very +Cavalier of me. But in truth I take old Omar rather more as my property +than yours: he and I are more akin, are we not? You see all [his] +Beauty, but you don't feel _with_ him in some respects as I do. I think +you would almost feel obliged to leave out the part of Hamlet in +representing him to your Audience: for fear of Mischief. Now I do not +wish to show Hamlet at his maddest: but mad he must be shown, or he is no +Hamlet at all. G. de Tassy eluded all that was dangerous, and all that +was characteristic. I think these _free_ opinions are less dangerous in +an old Mahometan, or an old Roman (like Lucretius) than when they are +returned to by those who have lived on happier Food. I don't know what +you will say to all this. However I dare say it won't matter whether I +do the Paper or not, for I don't believe they'll put it in. + +Then--yesterday I bought at that shop in the Narrow Passage at the end of +Oxford Street a very handsome small Folio MS. of Sadi's Bostan for 10s. +But I don't know when I shall look at it to read: for my Eyes are but +bad: and London so dark, that I write this Letter now at noon by the +Light of two Candles. Of which enough for To-day. I must however while +I think of it again notice to you about those first Introductory +Quatrains to Omar in both the Copies you have seen; taken out of their +Alphabetical place, _if they be Omar's own_, evidently by way of putting +a good Leg foremost--or perhaps _not_ his at all. So that which Sprenger +says begins the Oude MS. is manifestly, not any Apology of Omar's own, +but a Denunciation of him by some one else: {344} and is a _sort_ of +Parody (in _Form_ at least) of Omar's own Quatrain 445, with its +indignant reply by the Sultan. + +Tuesday Dec. 22. I have your Letter of Nov. 9--giving a gloomy Account +of what has long ere this been settled for better or worse! It is said +we are to have a Mail on Friday. I must post this Letter before then. +Thank you for the MSS. You will let me know what you expend on them. I +have been looking over De Tassy's Omar. Try and see the other Poems of +Attar mentioned by Sprenger: those with Apologues, etc., in which (as I +have said) Attar seems to me to excel. Love to the Lady. I have no news +of the Crabbes, but that they do pretty well in their new home. Donne +has just been here and gone--asking about you. I dine with him on +Christmas Day. + +E. F. G. + +[MERTON RECTORY]. +_September_ 3/58. + +MY DEAR COWELL, + +. . . Now about my Studies, which, I think, are likely to dwindle away +too. I have not turned to Persian since the Spring; but shall one day +look back to it: and renew my attack on the 'Seven Castles,' if that be +the name. I found the Jami MS. at Rushmere: and there left it for the +present: as the other Poem will be enough for me for my first onslaught. +I believe I will do a little a day, so as not to lose what little +knowledge I had. As to my Omar: I gave it to Parker in January, I think: +he saying Fraser was agreeable to take it. Since then I have heard no +more; so as, I suppose, they don't care about it: and may be quite right. +Had I thought they would be so long however I would have copied it out +and sent it to you: and I will still do so from a rough and imperfect +Copy I have (though not now at hand) in case they show no signs of +printing me. My Translation will interest you from its _Form_, and also +in many respects in its _Detail_: very unliteral as it is. Many +Quatrains are mashed together: and something lost, I doubt, of Omar's +Simplicity, which is so much a Virtue in him. But there it is, such as +it is. I purposely said in the very short notice I prefixed to the Poem +that it was so short because better Information might be furnished in +another Paper, which I thought _you_ would undertake. So it rests. Nor +have I meddled with the Mantic lately: nor does what you say encourage me +to do so. For what I had sketcht out was very paraphrase indeed. I do +not indeed believe that any readable Account (unless a prose Analysis, +for the History and Curiosity of the Thing) will be possible, for _me_ to +do, at least. But I took no great pleasure in what I had done: and every +day get more and more a sort of Terror at re-opening any such MS. My +'_Go'_ (such as it was) is _gone_, and it becomes _Work_: and the Upshot +is not worth _working_ for. It was very well when it was a Pleasure. So +it is with Calderon. It is well enough to sketch such things out in warm +Blood; but to finish them in cold! I wish I could finish the 'Mighty +Magician' in my new way: which I know you would like, in spite of your +caveat for the Gracioso. I have not wholly dropt the two Students, but +kept them quite under: and brought out the religious character of the +Piece into stronger Relief. But as I have thrown much, if not into +Lyric, into Rhyme, which strikes a more Lyric Chord, I have found it much +harder to satisfy myself than with the good old Blank Verse, which I used +to manage easily enough. The 'Vida es Sueno' again, though blank Verse, +has been difficult to arrange; here also Clarin is not quenched, but +subdued: as is all Rosaura's Story, so as to assist, and not compete +with, the main Interest. I really wish I could finish these some lucky +day: but, as I said, it is so much easier to leave them alone; and when I +had done my best, I don't know if they are worth the pains, or whether +any one (except you) would care for them even if they were worth caring +for. So much for my grand Performances: except that I amuse myself with +jotting down materials (out of Vocabularies, etc.) for a Vocabulary of +_rural_ English, or _rustic_ English: that is, only the best country +words selected from the very many Glossaries, etc., relating chiefly to +country matters, but also to things in general: words that carry their +own story with them, without needing Derivation or Authority, though both +are often to be found. I always say I have heard the Language of Queen +Elizabeth's, or King Harry's Court, in the Suffolk Villages: better a +great deal than that spoken in London Societies, whether Fashionable or +Literary: and the homely [strength] of which has made Shakespeare, +Dryden, South, and Swift, what they could not have been without it. But +my Vocabulary if ever done will be a very little Affair, if ever done: +for here again it is pleasant enough to jot down a word now and then, but +not to equip all for the Press. + +FARLINGAY, WOODBRIDGE. _Nov_. 2/58. + +MY DEAR COWELL, + +. . . No. I have not read the Jami Diwan; partly because I find my Eyes +are none the better, and partly because I have now no one to 'prick the +sides of my Intent'; not even 'Vaulting Ambition' now. I have got the +Seven Castles {348} in my Box here and old Johnson's Dictionary; and +these I shall strike a little Fire out of by and by: Jami also in time +perhaps. I have nearly finisht a metrical Paraphrase and Epitome of the +Mantic: but you would scarce like it, and who else would? It has amused +me to give a 'Bird's Eye' View of the Bird Poem in some sixteen hundred +lines. I do not think one could do it as Salaman is done. As to Omar, I +hear and see nothing of it in Fraser yet: and so I suppose they don't +want it. I told Parker he might find it rather dangerous among his +Divines: he took it however, and keeps it. I really think I shall take +it back; add some Stanzas which I kept out for fear of being too strong; +print fifty copies and give away; one to you, who won't like it neither. +Yet it is most ingeniously tesselated into a sort of Epicurean Eclogue in +a Persian Garden. + + + + +INDEX TO LETTERS + + +_To_ JOHN ALLEN, 4, 5, 9, 10-21, 28, 29, 32-35, 40, 43-48, 55, 59, 66, +69, 71, 122, 138, 172, 196, 234, 235, 243, 252, 255, 280, 291 * + +_To_ MRS. CHARLES ALLEN, 337 * + +_To_ the Editor of the Athenaeum, 6 + +_To_ BERNARD BARTON, 50-52, 61, 62, 74, 88, 93, 96, 98, 99, 104-110, 132, +134, 142, 158, 168, 169, 173, 175, 178, 186, 189-191, 197, 209, 220, 222 + +_From_ CARLYLE, 127, 130, 181 _note_, 205, 298, 299, 302 + +_To_ CARLYLE, 213, 216, 226, 293, 295, 297 + +_To_ MRS. CHARLESWORTH, 154-157 *, 160 *, 161 * + +_To_ E. B. COWELL, 204, 208, 211 *, 212 *, 228, 231, 232, 240, 248 *, +284, 304, 304 *, 306 *, 309-321, 328-335, 340, 341 *, 345, 348 + +_To_ MRS. COWELL, 307, 308, 326 + +_To_ GEORGE CRABBE, 247, 266-268, 273, 274, 282, 284 + +_To_ W. B. DONNE, 22-26, 31, 41, 97, 187, 198, 203, 206, 210, 241, 253, +259, 279 + +_To_ SAMUEL LAURENCE, 75, 90, 116, 117, 121, 137, 140, 146, 166, 170, +215, 225, 233, 242 + +_To_ W. F. POLLOCK, 114, 115, 125, 133, 283 + +_From_ JAMES SPEDDING, 75 _note_ + +_To_ FREDERIC TENNYSON, 57, 66, 76, 81, 86, 91, 101, 111, 118, 139, 141, +143, 144, 150, 163, 176, 180, 188, 192, 199, 200, 223, 236, 244, 249, +254, 256, 260, 269, 271, 275, 285, 287 + +_From_ W. M. THACKERAY, 280 + +_To_ W. M. THACKERAY, 38, 281 + +_From_ W. H. THOMPSON, 22 _note_ + +_To_ W. H. THOMPSON, 79, 85 + +_The asterisks indicate the letters which are here printed for the first +time_. + + + + +Footnotes: + + +{0a} See Letters and Literary Remains of Edward FitzGerald, vol. iii. p. +464. + +{14} Now Librarian of the William Salt Library at Stafford: introduced +to FitzGerald at Cambridge by Thackeray. [He died 10th February 1893, +aged 82.] + +{19} Through the kindness of Mr. Thomas Allen, I have been enabled to +recover these missing stanzas:-- + + TO A LADY SINGING. + + 1. + + Canst thou, my Clora, declare, + After thy sweet song dieth + Into the wild summer air, + Whither it falleth or flieth? + Soon would my answer be noted, + Wert thou but sage as sweet throated. + + 2. + + Melody, dying away, + Into the dark sky closes, + Like the good soul from her clay + Like the fair odor of roses: + Therefore thou now art behind it, + But thou shalt follow and find it. + +{22} 'My dear Donne,' as FitzGerald called him, 'who shares with +Spedding my oldest and deepest love.' He afterwards succeeded J. M. +Kemble as Licenser of Plays. The late Master of Trinity, then Greek +Professor, wrote to me of him more than five and twenty years ago, 'It +may do no harm that you should be known to Mr. Donne, whose acquaintance +I hope you will keep up. He is one of the finest gentlemen I know, and +no ordinary scholar--remarkable also for his fidelity to his friends.' + +{23} The Return to Nature, or, a Defence of the Vegetable Regimen, +dedicated to Dr. W. Lambe, and written in 1811. It was printed in 1821 +in The Pamphleteer, No. 38, p. 497. + +{28} Wherstead Lodge on the West bank of the Orwell, about two miles +from Ipswich, formerly belonged to the Vernon family. The FitzGeralds +lived there for about ten years, from 1825 to 1835, when they removed to +Boulge, near Woodbridge, the adjoining Parish to Bredfield. + +{32} By De Quincey, in Tait's Magazine, Sept. 1834, etc. + +{38} At Boulge. + +{42} Life of Cowper. + +{43a} Probably the Perse Grammar School. + +{43b} See Carlyle's Life of Sterling, c. iv. + +{44} East Anglian for 'shovel.' + +{45} Mrs. Schutz lived till December, 1847. + +{50a} The Quaker Poet of Woodbridge, whose daughter FitzGerald +afterwards married. + +{50b} His eldest brother, John Purcell FitzGerald. + +{52} Letters from an eminent Prelate to one of his Friends, 2nd ed.; +1809, p. 114, Letter XLVI. + +{57} A noted prize fighter. + +{58} Widow of Serjeant Frere, Master of Downing College, Cambridge. + +{59} Probably Mrs. Schutz of Gillingham Hall, already mentioned. + +{60a} Coram Street. + +{60b} Wordsworth, The Fountain, ed. 1800. + +{61a} William Browne. + +{61b} Probably Bletsoe. + +{62} Where FitzGerald's uncle, Mr. Peter Purcell, lived. + +{64} By Captain Allen F. Gardiner, R.N., 1836. + +{65} In an article in Blackwood's Magazine for April 1830, p. 632, +headed Poetical Portraits by a Modern Pythagorean. FitzGerald either +quoted the lines from memory, or intentionally altered them. They +originally stood, + + His spirit was the home + Of aspirations high; + A temple, whose huge dome + Was hidden in the sky. + +Robert Macnish, LL.D., was the author of The Anatomy of Drunkenness and +The Philosophy of Sleep. + +{66a} Master Humphrey's Clock. + +{66b} Where Thackeray was then also living. + +{67} At Geldestone Hall, near Beccles. + +{73a} His sister. + +{73b} R. W. Evans, Vicar of Heversham. + +{73c} The Paris Sketch Book. + +{73d} V. 9. + +{75} The artist, of whom Spedding wrote to Thompson in 1842 when he +wished them to become acquainted, 'There is another man whom I have asked +to come a little after 10; because you do not know him, and mutual self +introductions are a nuisance. If however he should by any misfortune of +mine arrive before I do, know that he is Samuel Laurence, a portrait +painter of real genius, of whom during the last year I have seen a great +deal and boldly pronounce him to be worthy of all good men's love. He is +one of the men of whom you feel certain that they will never tire you, +and never do anything which you will wish they had not done. His +advantages of education have been such as it has pleased God (who was +never particular about giving his favourite children a good education) to +send him. But he has sent him what really does as well or better--the +clearest eye and the truest heart; and it may be said of him as of Sir +Peter that + + Nature had but little clay + Like that of which she moulded him.' + +{79a} Afterwards Greek Professor and Master of Trinity College, +Cambridge. + +{79b} In a letter to me written in August 1881 he says, "To-morrow comes +down my Italian sister to Boulge (Malebolge?), and I await her visits +here." + +{80a} The British and Foreign Review, 1840, Art. on 'The Present +Government of Russia,' pp 543-591. + +{80b} _Ibid._ pp. 510-542. + +{80c} _Ibid._ p. 355, etc., Art. on 'Introduction to the Literature of +Europe.' + +{82} On Hero Worship. + +{89} Major Moor of Great Bealings; author of The Hindu Pantheon, Suffolk +Words, Oriental Fragments, etc. + +{90a} By Gerald Griffin. + +{90b} The chapel of the Palazzo del Podesta, or Bargello, then used as a +prison. + +{93} The London coach. + +{96} The owner of Bredfield House, where E. F. G. was born. + +{97} Hor. Od. 1. 4. 14, 15. + +{98} Hor. Od. IV. 5, 25-27. horrida . . . foetus per metasyntaxin +'horrid abortions.' + +{99} Not for the Cabinet Cyclopaedia, but the Library of Useful +Knowledge. It was never finished. + +{100a} See Barton's Letters, p. 70. + +{100b} Vol. III. p. 318. + +{100c} The correct reading is 'lonesome.' + +{102} No. 30, where his father and mother lived. + +{106} Shakespeare, Macb. I. 3, 146, 147. + +{111} Milton, P. L. IX. 445. + +{114a} Who was in America with Lord Ashburton. + +{114b} The late Sir W. F. Pollock, formerly Queen's Remembrancer. + +{114c} The Library of Useless Knowledge, by Athanasius Gasker [E. W. +Clarke, son of E. D. Clarke, the Traveller], published in 1837. + +{115a} Referring to the 1842 edition of Tennyson's Poems. + +{115b} Spedding was at this time in America with Lord Ashburton. + +{122} The Rev. T. R. Matthews, of Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge: +formerly Curate of Bolnhurst and Colmworth, Chaplain of the House of +Industry, Bedford, and incumbent of Christ Church in that town. He died +4th Sept 1845, and his memory is still cherished by those who were +brought under his influence. Dr. Brown, the biographer of Bunyan, +informs me, 'There is a little Nonconformist community at Ravensden, +about three miles from Bedford, first formed by his adherents, and they +keep hung upon the wall behind the pulpit the trumpet Mr. Matthews used +to blow on village greens and along the highways to gather his +congregation.' + +{123} William Browne. + +{125} On Levett; quoted from memory. + +{128} There were two Parsons who wrote accounts of Naseby--Mastin in +1792, and Locking in 1830.--_Note by E. F. G._ + +{134} Georg. I. 208-211. + +{135} Referring to a passage in the Garden of Cyrus, near the end: 'To +keep our eyes open longer, were but to act our _Antipodes_. The Huntsmen +are up in _America_, and they are already past their first sleep in +_Persia_.' + +{137} This was a series of notes, drawn up by Carlyle for FitzGerald's +guidance, and afterwards incorporated almost verbatim in an Appendix to +the Life of Cromwell. + +{138} Spedding. + +{139} FitzGerald's copy of the 1676 edition is now in my possession. + +{142a} Where his brother Peter FitzGerald lived + +{142b} See Letter to Barton of 2 Sept. 1841. + +{146a} Elegy xi. + +{146b} Mrs. Wilkinson, his sister. + +{147} Practical Hints on Light and Shade in Painting, by John Burnet, +1826, pp. 25, 26. + +{149} His housekeeper at Little Grange. + +{152} Reliquiae Antiquae, i. 233. + +{155} An old woman at Wherstead in whom FitzGerald took great interest. +She died early in March 1844, at the age of 84. + +{157} The Rector of Boulge. + +{159} His parrot. + +{161} W. Cookson, M.D, of Lincoln died 12 April 1844. + +{166} _Note by E. F. G._--Also, bottle-brown: in general all bottled +things are not so fresh coloured as before they were put in. A gherkin +loses considerably in freshness. The great triumph of a housekeeper is +when her guests say, 'Why, are these _really_ bottled gooseberries! They +look like fresh, etc.' + +{174a} The MS. of this has been preserved. + +{174b} To the Rev. Francis de Soyres. + +{181} On the 26th of October, Carlyle wrote to FitzGerald: + +'One day we had Alfred Tennyson here; an unforgettable day. He staid +with us till late; forgot his stick: we dismissed him with Macpherson's +Farewell. Macpherson (see Burns) was a Highland robber; he played that +Tune, of his own composition, on his way to the gallows; asked, "If in +all that crowd the Macpherson had any clansman?" holding up the fiddle +that he might bequeath it to some one. "Any kinsman, any soul that +wished him well?" Nothing answered, nothing durst answer. He crushed +the fiddle under his foot, and sprang off. The Tune is rough as hemp, +but strong as a lion. I never hear it without something of emotion,--poor +Macpherson; tho' the Artist hates to play it. Alfred's dark face grew +darker, and I saw his lip slightly quivering!' + +{185} By James Montgomery: 'Friends' in his Miscellaneous Poems (Works, +ii. 298, ed. 1836). + +{189} Miss Cooke. + +{190} Great aunt of W. B. Donne. + +{196} At Keysoe Vicarage + +{197} See letter to Allen, August 1842. + +{198} At the Norwich Festival. + +{201} James White, author of The Earl of Gowrie, etc. + +{202} A Journey from Cornhill to Grand Cairo. + +{203} See the Memoir of Bernard Barton by E. F. G. prefixed to the +posthumous volume of selections from his Poems and Letters, p. xxvi. + +{204a} Address to the members of the Norwich Athenaeum, October 17th, +1845. + +{204b} Now Professor of Sanskrit at Cambridge. + +{205a} Professor Cowell explains to me that this refers to a passage of +Ausonius in his poem on the Moselle. It occurs in the description of the +bank scenery as reflected in the river (194, 5): + + Tota natant crispis juga motibus et tremit absens + Pampinus, et vitreis vindemia turget in undis. + +FitzGerald used to admire the break in the line after _absens_. + +{205b} A reminiscence of Shelley's Evening, as this was of a line in +Wordsworth's Elegiac Stanzas suggested by a picture of Peele Castle in a +storm. + +{205c} The short _pasticcio_ of the battle referred to in the letter to +Barton, 22 Sept. 1842. + +{209} Trinity Church, Bedford. + +{210a} On King's Parade. + +{210b} Mrs. Perry. + +{211a} F. B. Edgeworth died 12th Oct. 1846. + +{211b} Euphranor. + +{213} The Rev. J. T. Nottidge of Ipswich died 21 Jan. 1847. + +{220} [The last two words are crossed out.--W. A. W.] + +{222} Francis Duncan, rector of West Chelborough. + +{225} Morris Moore's letters on the Abuses of the National Gallery were +addressed to The Times at the end of 1846 and the beginning of 1847 with +the signature 'Verax.' They were collected and published in a pamphlet +by Pickering in 1847. + +{227} See Carlyle's Cromwell (ed. I), i. 193. + +{230a} Pliny, Ep. III. 21. + +{230b} In a subsequent letter, written when this was supposed to be +lost, he says, 'I liked all your quotations, and wish to read Busbequius; +whose name would become an owl.' + +{231} Lord Hatherley. + +{232} In the People's Journal, ed. Saunders, iv. 355-358. + +{233} iv. 104. + +{235} 26 Feb. 1848. + +{238} Dombey and Son. + +{240} Hellenica, II. i. 25. + +{241} Evenings with a Reviewer. + +{242} A lithograph of the portrait by Laurence. + +{243} Bernard Barton died 19 Feb. 1849. + +{247} Grandson of the poet, afterwards Rector of Merton, near Walton, +Norfolk. + +{251} No one but FitzGerald in humorous self-depreciation would apply +such an epithet to this delightful piece of biography. + +{252a} Selections from the Poems and Letters of Bernard Barton. + +{252b} Of course this is not intended to be taken quite seriously. It +is to be remembered that FitzGerald also said of them, 'There are many +verses whose melody will linger in the ear, and many images that will +abide in the memory. Such surely are those of men's hearts brightening +up at Christmas "like a fire new-stirred"--of the stream that leaps along +over the pebbles "like happy hearts by holiday made light"--of the +solitary tomb showing from afar "like a lamb in the meadow," etc.' + +{254a} Diogenes and his Lantern. + +{254b} Old Lady Lambert. + +{261} E. B. Cowell. + +{262a} The Rev. George Crabbe, son of the Poet, and Vicar of Bredfield. + +{262b} Bramford, near Ipswich. + +{265} Charles Childs. + +{266} Containing an article by Spedding on Euphranor. + +{267a} The Cowells had gone to live in Oxford. + +{267b} Euphranor. + +{268} Azael the Prodigal, adapted from Scribe and Auber's L'Enfant +Prodigue. + +{272} On the English Humourists of the Eighteenth Century + +{273} To Polonius. + +{274} To visit his friend John Allen. + +{275} Esmond. + +{282} Six Dramas from Calderon. + +{283a} Chief Justice. + +{283b} Baron Parke, afterwards Lord Wensleydale. + +{284} This conjecture was correct. See p. 307. + +{285a} The Gardener and the Nightingale in Sir W. Jones's Persian +Grammar. + +{285b} Vicarage. + +{287a} Farlingay Hall, sometimes called Farthing Cake Hall. + +{287b} Mrs. De Soyres. + +{291} Not Harry, but Franklin Lushington in Points of War. + +{292a} It was in the autumn of 1791. + +{292b} From Cowley's translation of Anacreon. + +{292c} P. 148. + +{302a} This with a wider margin, or in some other way distinguishable +from the rest of the inscription. + +{302b} Some volumes of which C. had brought down to Suffolk, being then +engaged with his Frederick II. _MS. note by FitzGerald_. + +{304} Salaman and Absal. + +{307} In another letter written about the same time he says, 'The letter +to Major Price at the beginning is worth any Money, and almost any Love!' +This dedication by Major Moor to his old comrade-in-arms FitzGerald would +sometimes try to read aloud but would break down before he could finish +it. + +{308a} The Selection from his Letters, etc., published after his death, +in which FitzGerald wrote a sketch of his life. + +{308b} On Comparative Mythology, in the Oxford Essays for 1856. + +{308c} Life's a Dream: The Great Theatre of the World. From the Spanish +of Calderon. + +{309} In an article on Spanish Literature in the Westminster Review for +April 1851, pp. 281-323. + +{311} In his 'Memoire sur la poesie philosophique et religieuse chez les +Persans.' His edition of the text of Attar's poem came out in 1857, but +the French translation only in 1863. + +{312} In his 'Geschichte der schonen Redekunste Persiens.' + +{313} Mrs. Cowell's father and mother. + +{316} This Apologue FitzGerald afterwards turned into verse; but it +remained an unfinished fragment. Professor Cowell has kindly filled up +the gaps which were left. + + A Saint there was who three score Years and ten + In holy Meditation among Men + Had spent, but, wishing, ere he came to close + With God, to meet him in complete Repose, + Withdrew into the Wilderness, where he + Set up his Dwelling in an aged Tree + Whose hollow Trunk his Winter Shelter made, + And whose green branching Arms his Summer Shade. + And like himself a Nightingale one Spring + Making her Nest above his Head would sing + So sweetly that her pleasant Music stole + Between the Saint and his severer Soul, + And made him sometimes [heedless of his] Vows + Listening his little Neighbour in the Boughs. + Until one Day a sterner Music woke + The sleeping Leaves, and through the Branches spoke-- + 'What! is the Love between us two begun + And waxing till we Two were nearly One + For three score Years of Intercourse unstirr'd + Of Men, now shaken by a little Bird; + And such a precious Bargain, and so long + A making, [put in peril] for a Song?' + +{317} George Borrow, Author of The Bible in Spain, etc. + +{318} Evan Banks, by Miss Williams. See Allan Cunningham's Songs of +Scotland, iv. 59. + +{319} Boswell's Johnson, 11 April 1776. + +{320} This struck E. F. G. so much that he introduced it into Omar +Khayyam, stanza xxxiii. Professor Cowell writes, 'I well remember +shewing it to FitzGerald and reading it with him in his early Persian +days at Oxford in 1855. I laughed at the quaintness; but the idea seized +his imagination from the first, and, like Virgil with Ennius' rough +jewels, his genius detected gold where I had seen only tinsel. He has +made two grand lines out of it.' + +{322} A retired clergyman who lived at Bramford. + +{323a} On Comparative Mythology. Oxford Essays, 1856. + +{323b} Fraser's Magazine for April 1857. + +{328} M. Garcin de Tassy scrupulously observed this injunction in his +Note sur les Ruba'iyat de Omar Khaiyam, which appeared in the journal +Asiatique. + +{337} See Letter to John Allen, 12 July 1840. + +{344} Rather of the Orthodox reader by Omar himself. + +{348} Hatifi's Haft Paikar, a poem on the Seven Castles of Bahram Gur, +as I learn from Professor Cowell, 'each with its princess who lives in +it, and tells Bahram a story.' He adds, 'We always used the name with an +understood playful reference to Corporal Trim's unfinished story of the +King of Bohemia and _his_ Seven Castles.' + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LETTERS OF EDWARD FITZGERALD*** + + +******* This file should be named 20452.txt or 20452.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/0/4/5/20452 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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