Letters of John Keats to His Family and Friends
shot a Buffalo? Have you met with any Pheasants? My Thoughts are very
frequently in a foreign Country--I live more out of England than in it.
The Mountains of Tartary are a favourite lounge, if I happen to miss the
Alleghany ridge, or have no whim for Savoy. There must be great pleasure
in pursuing game--pointing your gun--no, it won't do--now, no--rabbit
it--now bang--smoke and feathers--where is it? Shall you be able to get a
good pointer or so? Have you seen Mr. Trimmer? He is an acquaintance of
Peachey's. Now I am not addressing myself to G. minor, and yet I am--for
you are one. Have you some warm furs? By your next Letters I shall expect
to hear exactly how you go on--smother nothing--let us have all; fair and
foul, all plain. Will the little bairn have made his entrance before you
have this? Kiss it for me, and when it can first know a cheese from a
Caterpillar show it my picture twice a Week. You will be glad to hear that
Gifford's attack upon me has done me service--it has got my Book among
several _sets_--Nor must I forget to mention once more what I suppose
Haslam has told you, the present of a L25 note I had anonymously sent me.
I have many things to tell you--the best way will be to make copies of my
correspondence; and I must not forget the Sonnet I received with the Note.
Last Week I received the following from Woodhouse whom you must
recollect:--
"My dear Keats--I send enclosed a Letter, which when read take the
trouble to return to me. The History of its reaching me is this. My
Cousin, Miss Frogley of Hounslow, borrowed my copy of _Endymion_ for
a specified time. Before she had time to look into it, she and my
friend Mr. Hy. Neville of Esher, who was house Surgeon to the late
Princess Charlotte, insisted upon having it to read for a day or two,
and undertook to make my Cousin's peace with me on account of the
extra delay. Neville told me that one of the Misses Porter (of
romance Celebrity) had seen it on his table, dipped into it, and
expressed a wish to read it. I desired he should keep it as long and
lend it to as many as he pleased, provided it was not allowed to
slumber on any one's shelf. I learned subsequently from Miss Frogley
that these Ladies had requested of Mr. Neville, if he was acquainted
with the Author, the Pleasure of an introduction. About a week back
the enclosed was transmitted by Mr. Neville to my Cousin, as a
species of Apology for keeping her so long without the Book, and she
sent it to me, knowing that it would give me Pleasure--I forward it
to you for somewhat the same reason, but principally because it gives
me the opportunity of naming to you (which it would have been
fruitless to do before) the opening there is for an introduction to a
class of society from which you may possibly derive advantage, as
well as qualification, if you think proper to avail yourself of it.
In such a case I should be very happy to further your Wishes. But do
just as you please. The whole is entirely _entre nous_.--
Yours, etc.,
R. W."
Well--now this is Miss Porter's Letter to Neville--
"Dear Sir--As my Mother is sending a Messenger to Esher, I cannot but
make the same the bearer of my regrets for not having had the
pleasure of seeing you the morning you called at the gate. I had
given orders to be denied, I was so very unwell with my still
adhesive cold; but had I known it was you I should have taken off the
interdict for a few minutes, to say how very much I am delighted with
_Endymion_. I had just finished the Poem and have done as you
permitted, lent it to Miss Fitzgerald. I regret you are not
personally acquainted with the Author, for I should have been happy
to have acknowledged to him, through the advantage of your
communication, the very rare delight my sister and myself have
enjoyed from the first fruits of Genius. I hope the ill-natured
Review will not have damaged" (or damped) "such true Parnassian
fire--it ought not, for when Life is granted, etc."
--and so she goes on. Now I feel more obliged than flattered by this--so
obliged that I will not at present give you an extravaganza of a Lady
Romancer. I will be introduced to them if it be merely for the pleasure of
writing to you about it--I shall certainly see a new race of People. I
shall more certainly have no time for them.
Hunt has asked me to meet Tom Moore some day--so you shall hear of him.
The Night we went to Novello's there was a complete set to of Mozart and
punning. I was so completely tired of it that if I were to follow my own
inclinations I should never meet any one of that set again, not even Hunt,
who is certainly a pleasant fellow in the main when you are with him--but
in reality he is vain, egotistical, and disgusting in matters of taste
and in morals. He understands many a beautiful thing; but then, instead
of giving other minds credit for the same degree of perception as he
himself professes--he begins an explanation in such a curious manner that
our taste and self-love is offended continually. Hunt does one harm by
making fine things petty, and beautiful things hateful. Through him I am
indifferent to Mozart, I care not for white Busts--and many a glorious
thing when associated with him becomes a nothing. This distorts one's
mind--makes one's thoughts bizarre--perplexes one in the standard of
Beauty. Martin is very much irritated against Blackwood for printing some
Letters in his Magazine which were Martin's property--he always found
excuses for Blackwood till he himself was injured, and now he is enraged.
I have been several times thinking whether or not I should send you the
Examiners, as Birkbeck no doubt has all the good periodical
Publications--I will save them at all events. I must not forget to mention
how attentive and useful Mrs. Bentley has been--I am very sorry to leave
her--but I must, and I hope she will not be much a loser by it. Bentley is
very well--he has just brought me a clothes'-basket of Books. Brown has
gone to town to-day to take his Nephews who are on a visit here to see the
Lions. I am passing a Quiet day--which I have not done for a long
while--and if I do continue so, I feel I must again begin with my
poetry--for if I am not in action mind or Body I am in pain--and from that
I suffer greatly by going into parties where from the rules of society and
a natural pride I am obliged to smother my Spirit and look like an
Idiot--because I feel my impulses given way to would too much amaze them.
I live under an everlasting restraint--never relieved except when I am
composing--so I will write away.
Friday [December 25].
I think you knew before you left England that my next subject would be
"the fall of Hyperion." I went on a little with it last night, but it
will take some time to get into the vein again. I will not give you any
extracts because I wish the whole to make an impression. I have however a
few Poems which you will like, and I will copy out on the next sheet. I
shall dine with Haydon on Sunday, and go over to Walthamstow on Monday if
the frost hold. I think also of going into Hampshire this Christmas to Mr.
Snook's[87]--they say I shall be very much amused--But I don't know--I
think I am in too huge a Mind for study--I must do it--I must wait at home
and let those who wish come to see me. I cannot always be (how do you
spell it?) trapsing. Here I must tell you that I have not been able to
keep the journal or write the Tale I promised--now I shall be able to do
so. I will write to Haslam this morning to know when the Packet sails, and
till it does I will write something every day--After that my journal shall
go on like clockwork, and you must not complain of its dulness--for what I
wish is to write a quantity to you--knowing well that dulness itself will
from me be interesting to you--You may conceive how this not having been
done has weighed upon me. I shall be able to judge from your next what
sort of information will be of most service or amusement to you. Perhaps
as you were fond of giving me sketches of character you may like a little
picnic of scandal even across the Atlantic. But now I must speak
particularly to you, my dear Sister--for I know you love a little quizzing
better than a great bit of apple dumpling. Do you know Uncle Redhall? He
is a little Man with an innocent powdered upright head, he lisps with a
protruded under lip--he has two Nieces, each one would weigh three of
him--one for height and the other for breadth--he knew Bartolozzi. He gave
a supper, and ranged his bottles of wine all up the Kitchen and cellar
stairs--quite ignorant of what might be drunk--It might have been a good
joke to pour on the sly bottle after bottle into a washing tub, and roar
for more--If you were to trip him up it would discompose a Pigtail and
bring his under lip nearer to his nose. He never had the good luck to lose
a silk Handkerchief in a Crowd, and therefore has only one topic of
conversation--Bartolozzi. Shall I give you Miss Brawne? She is about my
height--with a fine style of countenance of the lengthened sort--she wants
sentiment in every feature--she manages to make her hair look well--her
nostrils are fine--though a little painful--her mouth is bad and good--her
Profile is better than her full-face which indeed is not full but pale and
thin without showing any bone. Her shape is very graceful and so are her
movements--her Arms are good her hands baddish--her feet tolerable. She is
not seventeen--but she is ignorant--monstrous in her behaviour, flying out
in all directions--calling people such names that I was forced lately to
make use of the term _Minx_--this is I think not from any innate vice, but
from a penchant she has for acting stylishly--I am however tired of such
style and shall decline any more of it. She had a friend to visit her
lately--you have known plenty such--her face is raw as if she was standing
out in a frost; her lips raw and seem always ready for a Pullet--she plays
the Music without one sensation but the feel of the ivory at her fingers.
She is a downright Miss without one set off--We hated her and smoked her
and baited her and I think drove her away. Miss B. thinks her a Paragon of
fashion, and says she is the only woman she would change persons with.
What a stupe--She is superior as a Rose to a Dandelion. When we went to
bed Brown observed as he put out the Taper what a very ugly old woman that
Miss Robinson would make--at which I must have groaned aloud for I'm sure
ten minutes. I have not seen the thing Kingston again--George will
describe him to you--I shall insinuate some of these Creatures into a
Comedy some day--and perhaps have Hunt among them--
Scene, a little Parlour. _Enter_ Hunt--Gattie--Hazlitt--Mrs.
Novello--Ollier. _Gattie._ Ha! Hunt, got into your new house? Ha! Mrs.
Novello: seen Altam and his Wife?--_Mrs. N._ Yes (with a grin), it's Mr.
Hunt's, isn't it?--_Gattie._ Hunt's? no, ha! Mr. Ollier, I congratulate
you upon the highest compliment I ever heard paid to the Book. Mr.
Hazlitt, I hope you are well.--_Hazlitt._ Yes Sir, no Sir.--_Mr. Hunt_ (at
the Music), "La Biondina," etc. Hazlitt, did you ever hear this?--"La
Biondina," etc.--_Hazlitt._ O no Sir--I never.--_Ollier._ Do, Hunt, give
it us over again--divine.--_Gattie._ Divino--Hunt, when does your
Pocket-Book come out?--_Hunt._ "What is this absorbs me quite?" O we are
spinning on a little, we shall floridise soon I hope. Such a thing was
very much wanting--people think of nothing but money getting--now for me I
am rather inclined to the liberal side of things. I am reckoned lax in my
Christian principles, etc. etc. etc.
[December 29.]