Letters of John Keats to His Family and Friends
movements of waywardness, irritability, and morbid suspicion. Only the
biographer without tact, the critic without balance, will insist on these.
A truer as well as more charitable judgment will recognise that what was
best in Keats was also what was most real, and will be fortified by
remembering that to those who knew him his faults were almost unapparent,
and that no man was ever held by his friends in more devoted or more
unanimous affection while he lived and afterwards.
There is one thing, however, which I have not chosen to do, and that is to
include in this collection the poet's love-letters to Fanny Brawne. As it
is, the intimate nature of the correspondence must sometimes give the
reader a sense of eavesdropping, of being admitted into petty private
matters with which he has no concern. If this is to some extent
inevitable, it is by no means inevitable that the public should be farther
asked to look over the shoulder of the sick and presently dying youth
while he declares the impatience and torment of his passion to the object,
careless and unresponsive as she seems to have been, who inspired it.
These letters too have been printed. As a matter of feeling I cannot put
myself in the place of the reader who desires to possess them; while as a
matter of literature they are in a different key from the rest,--not
lacking passages of beauty, but constrained and painful in the main, and
quite without the genial ease and play of mind which make the letters to
his family and friends so attractive. Therefore in this, which I hope may
become the standard edition of his correspondence, they shall find no
place.
As to the persons, other than those already mentioned, to whom the letters
here given are addressed:--Shelley of course needs no words; nor should
any be needed for the painter Haydon (1786-1846), or the poet and critic
Leigh Hunt (1784-1859). Theirs were the chief inspiring influences which
determined the young medical student, about his twentieth year, at the
time when this correspondence opens, to give up his intended profession
for poetry. Both were men of remarkable gifts and strong intellectual
enthusiasm, hampered in either case by foibles of character which their
young friend and follower, who has left so far more illustrious a name,
was only too quick to detect. Charles Cowden Clarke (1787-1877), the son
of Keats's schoolmaster at Enfield, had exercised a still earlier
influence on the lad's opening mind, and was himself afterwards long and
justly distinguished as a Shakspearean student and lecturer and essayist
on English literature. Charles Wentworth Dilke (1789-1864), having begun
life in the Civil Service, early abandoned that calling for letters, and
lived to be one of the most influential of English critics and
journalists; he is chiefly known from his connection with the _Athenaeum_,
and through the memoir published by his grandson. Charles Brown,
afterwards styling himself Charles Armitage Brown (1786-1842), who became
known to Keats through Dilke in the summer of 1817, and was his most
intimate companion during the two years June 1818 to June 1820, had begun
life as a merchant in St. Petersburg, and failing, came home, and took, he
also, to literature, chiefly as a contributor to the various periodicals
edited by Leigh Hunt. He lived mostly in Italy from 1822 to 1834, then
for six years at Plymouth, and in 1841 emigrated to New Zealand, where he
died the following year. Joseph Severn (1793-1879) was the son of a
musician, himself beginning to practise as a painter when Keats knew him.
His devoted tendance of the poet during the last sad months in Italy was
the determining event of Severn's career, earning him the permanent regard
and gratitude of all lovers of genius. He established himself for good in
Rome, where he continued to practise his art, and was for many years
English consul, and one of the most familiar figures in the society of the
city.
Lastly, of the poet's own relations, George Keats (1799-1842) after his
brother's death continued to live at Louisville in America, where he made
and lost a fortune in business before he died. His widow (born Georgiana
Augusta Wylie), so often and affectionately addressed in these letters, by
and by took a second husband, a Mr. Jeffrey, already mentioned as the
correspondent of Lord Houghton. Frances Mary Keats (1803-1889), always
called Fanny in the delightful series of letters which her brother
addressed to her as a young girl,[5] in course of time married a Spanish
gentleman, Senor Llanos, and lived in Madrid to a great old age. Several
other members of the poet's circle enjoyed unusual length of days--Mr.
William Dilke, for instance, dying a few years ago at ninety, and Mr.
Gleig, long Chaplain-General of the Forces, at ninety-two. But with the
death of his sister a year and a half ago, passed away probably the last
survivor of those who could bear in memory the voice and features of
Adonais.
S. C.
_May 1891._
LETTERS OF JOHN KEATS TO HIS FAMILY AND FRIENDS
I.--TO CHARLES COWDEN CLARKE.
[London, October 31, 1816.]
MY DAINTIE DAVIE--I will be as punctual as the Bee to the Clover. Very
glad am I at the thoughts of seeing so soon this glorious Haydon and all
his creation. I pray thee let me know when you go to Ollier's and where he
resides--this I forgot to ask you--and tell me also when you will help me
waste a sullen day--God 'ield you[6]--
J. K.
II.--TO BENJAMIN ROBERT HAYDON.
[London,] November 20, 1816.
My dear Sir--Last evening wrought me up, and I cannot forbear sending you
the following--
Yours unfeignedly,
JOHN KEATS.
Removed to 76 Cheapside.
Great spirits now on earth are sojourning;
He of the cloud, the cataract, the lake,
Who on Helvellyn's summit, wide awake,
Catches his freshness from Archangel's wing:
He of the rose, the violet, the spring,
The social smile, the chain for Freedom's sake:
And lo!--whose stedfastness would never take
A meaner sound than Raphael's whispering.
And other spirits there are standing apart
Upon the forehead of the age to come;
These, these will give the world another heart,
And other pulses. Hear ye not the hum
Of mighty workings in the human mart?
Listen awhile ye nations, and be dumb.[7]
III.--TO BENJAMIN ROBERT HAYDON.
[London,] Thursday afternoon, November 20, 1816.
My dear Sir--Your letter has filled me with a proud pleasure, and shall be
kept by me as a stimulus to exertion--I begin to fix my eye upon one
horizon. My feelings entirely fall in with yours in regard to the
Ellipsis, and I glory in it. The Idea of your sending it to Wordsworth put
me out of breath--you know with what Reverence I would send my Well-wishes
to him.
Yours sincerely
JOHN KEATS.
IV.--TO CHARLES COWDEN CLARKE.
[London,] Tuesday [December 17, 1816].
My dear Charles--You may now look at Minerva's Aegis with impunity, seeing
that my awful Visage[8] did not turn you into a John Doree. You have
accordingly a legitimate title to a Copy--I will use my interest to
procure it for you. I'll tell you what--I met Reynolds at Haydon's a few
mornings since--he promised to be with me this Evening and Yesterday I had
the same promise from Severn and I must put you in mind that on last All
hallowmas' day you gave me your word that you would spend this Evening
with me--so no putting off. I have done little to Endymion lately[9]--I
hope to finish it in one more attack. I believe you I went to
Richards's--it was so whoreson a Night that I stopped there all the next
day. His Remembrances to you. (Ext. from the common place Book of my
Mind--Mem.--Wednesday--Hampstead--call in Warner Street--a sketch of Mr.
Hunt.)--I will ever consider you my sincere and affectionate friend--you
will not doubt that I am yours.
God bless you--
JOHN KEATS.
V.--TO JOHN HAMILTON REYNOLDS.
[London,] Sunday Evening [March 2, 1817?].[10]
My dear Reynolds--Your kindness affects me so sensibly that I can merely
put down a few mono-sentences. Your Criticism only makes me extremely
anxious that I should not deceive you.
It's the finest thing by God as Hazlitt would say. However I hope I may
not deceive you. There are some acquaintances of mine who will scratch
their Beards and although I have, I hope, some Charity, I wish their Nails
may be long. I will be ready at the time you mention in all Happiness.
There is a report that a young Lady of 16 has written the new Tragedy, God
bless her--I will know her by Hook or by Crook in less than a week. My
Brothers' and my Remembrances to your kind Sisters.
Yours most sincerely
JOHN KEATS.
VI.--TO JOHN HAMILTON REYNOLDS.
[London, March 17, 1817.]
My dear Reynolds--My Brothers are anxious that I should go by myself into
the country--they have always been extremely fond of me, and now that
Haydon has pointed out how necessary it is that I should be alone to
improve myself, they give up the temporary pleasure of living with me
continually for a great good which I hope will follow. So I shall soon be
out of Town. You must soon bring all your present troubles to a close, and
so must I, but we must, like the Fox, prepare for a fresh swarm of flies.
Banish money--Banish sofas--Banish Wine--Banish Music; but right Jack
Health, honest Jack Health, true Jack Health--Banish health and banish all
the world. I must ... if I come this evening, I shall horribly commit
myself elsewhere. So I will send my excuses to them and Mrs. Dilke by my
brothers.
Your sincere friend
JOHN KEATS.
VII.--TO GEORGE AND THOMAS KEATS.
[Southampton,] Tuesday Morn [April 15, 1817].
My dear Brothers--I am safe at Southampton--after having ridden three
stages outside and the rest in for it began to be very cold. I did not
know the Names of any of the Towns I passed through--all I can tell you is
that sometimes I saw dusty Hedges--sometimes Ponds--then nothing--then a
little Wood with trees look you like Launce's Sister "as white as a Lily
and as small as a Wand"--then came houses which died away into a few
straggling Barns--then came hedge trees aforesaid again. As the Lamplight
crept along the following things were discovered--"long heath broom
furze"--Hurdles here and there half a Mile--Park palings when the Windows
of a House were always discovered by reflection--One Nymph of
Fountain--_N.B. Stone_--lopped Trees--Cow ruminating--ditto Donkey--Man
and Woman going gingerly along--William seeing his Sisters over the
Heath--John waiting with a Lanthorn for his Mistress--Barber's
Pole--Doctor's Shop--However after having had my fill of these I popped my
Head out just as it began to Dawn--_N.B. this Tuesday Morn saw the Sun
rise_--of which I shall say nothing at present. I felt rather lonely this
Morning at Breakfast so I went and unbox'd a Shakspeare--"There's my
Comfort."[11] I went immediately after Breakfast to Southampton Water
where I enquired for the Boat to the Isle of Wight as I intend seeing that
place before I settle--it will go at 3, so shall I after having taken a
Chop. I know nothing of this place but that it is long--tolerably
broad--has bye streets--two or three Churches--a very respectable old Gate
with two Lions to guard it. The Men and Women do not materially differ
from those I have been in the Habit of seeing. I forgot to say that from
dawn till half-past six I went through a most delightful Country--some
open Down but for the most part thickly wooded. What surprised me most was
an immense quantity of blooming Furze on each side the road cutting a most
rural dash. The Southampton water when I saw it just now was no better
than a low Water Water which did no more than answer my expectations--it