Letters of John Keats to His Family and Friends
will have mended its Manners by 3. From the Wharf are seen the shores on
each side stretching to the Isle of Wight. You, Haydon, Reynolds, etc.
have been pushing each other out of my Brain by turns. I have conned over
every Head in Haydon's Picture--you must warn them not to be afraid should
my Ghost visit them on Wednesday--tell Haydon to Kiss his Hand at Betty
over the Way for me yea and to spy at her for me. I hope one of you will
be competent to take part in a Trio while I am away--you need only
aggravate your voices a little and mind not to speak Cues and all--when
you have said Rum-ti-ti--you must not be rum any more or else another will
take up the ti-ti alone and then he might be taken God shield us for
little better than a Titmouse. By the by talking of Titmouse Remember me
particularly to all my Friends--give my Love to the Miss Reynoldses and to
Fanny who I hope you will soon see. Write to me soon about them all--and
you George particularly how you get on with Wilkinson's plan. What could I
have done without my Plaid? I don't feel inclined to write any more at
present for I feel rather muzzy--you must be content with this fac simile
of the rough plan of Aunt Dinah's Counterpane.
Your most affectionate Brother
JOHN KEATS.
Reynolds shall hear from me soon.
VIII.--TO JOHN HAMILTON REYNOLDS.
Carisbrooke, April 17th [1817].
My dear Reynolds--Ever since I wrote to my Brothers from Southampton I
have been in a taking--and at this moment I am about to become
settled--for I have unpacked my books, put them into a snug corner, pinned
up Haydon, Mary Queen of Scots, and Milton with his daughters in a row. In
the passage I found a head of Shakspeare which I had not before seen. It
is most likely the same that George spoke so well of, for I like it
extremely. Well--this head I have hung over my Books, just above the three
in a row, having first discarded a French Ambassador--now this alone is a
good morning's work. Yesterday I went to Shanklin, which occasioned a
great debate in my mind whether I should live there or at Carisbrooke.
Shanklin is a most beautiful place--Sloping wood and meadow ground reach
round the Chine, which is a cleft between the Cliffs of the depth of
nearly 300 feet at least. This cleft is filled with trees and bushes in
the narrow part, and as it widens becomes bare, if it were not for
primroses on one side, which spread to the very verge of the Sea, and some
fishermen's huts on the other, perched midway in the Balustrades of
beautiful green Hedges along their steps down to the sands. But the sea,
Jack, the sea--the little waterfall--then the white cliff--then St.
Catherine's Hill--"the sheep in the meadows, the cows in the corn." Then,
why are you at Carisbrooke? say you. Because, in the first place, I should
be at twice the Expense, and three times the inconvenience--next that from
here I can see your continent--from a little hill close by the whole north
Angle of the Isle of Wight, with the water between us. In the 3rd place, I
see Carisbrooke Castle from my window, and have found several delightful
wood-alleys, and copses, and quick freshes.[12] As for primroses--the
Island ought to be called Primrose Island--that is, if the nation of
Cowslips agree thereto, of which there are divers Clans just beginning to
lift up their heads. Another reason of my fixing is, that I am more in
reach of the places around me. I intend to walk over the Island
east--West--North--South. I have not seen many specimens of Ruins--I don't
think however I shall ever see one to surpass Carisbrooke Castle. The
trench is overgrown with the smoothest turf, and the Walls with ivy. The
Keep within side is one Bower of ivy--a colony of Jackdaws have been there
for many years. I dare say I have seen many a descendant of some old cawer
who peeped through the Bars at Charles the first, when he was there in
Confinement. On the road from Cowes to Newport I saw some extensive
Barracks, which disgusted me extremely with the Government for placing
such a Nest of Debauchery in so beautiful a place. I asked a man on the
Coach about this--and he said that the people had been spoiled. In the
room where I slept at Newport, I found this on the Window--"O Isle spoilt
by the mil_a_tary!..."
The wind is in a sulky fit, and I feel that it would be no bad thing to be
the favourite of some Fairy, who would give one the power of seeing how
our Friends got on at a Distance. I should like, of all Loves, a sketch of
you and Tom and George in ink which Haydon will do if you tell him how I
want them. From want of regular rest I have been rather _narvus_--and the
passage in _Lear_--"Do you not hear the sea?"--has haunted me intensely.
ON THE SEA
It keeps eternal whisperings around
Desolate shores, and with its mighty swell
Gluts twice ten thousand Caverns, till the spell
Of Hecate leaves them their old shadowy sound.
Often 'tis in such gentle temper found,
That scarcely will the very smallest shell
Be mov'd for days from where it sometime fell,
When last the winds of Heaven were unbound.
O ye! who have your eye-balls vex'd and tir'd,
Feast them upon the wideness of the Sea;
O ye! whose Ears are dinn'd with uproar rude,
Or fed too much with cloying melody--
Sit ye near some old Cavern's Mouth, and brood
Until ye start as if the sea Nymphs quired--[13]
April 18th.
Will you have the goodness to do this? Borrow a Botanical Dictionary--turn
to the words Laurel and Prunus, show the explanations to your sisters and
Mrs. Dilke and without more ado let them send me the Cups Basket and Books
they trifled and put off and off while I was in town. Ask them what they
can say for themselves--ask Mrs. Dilke wherefore she does so distress
me--let me know how Jane has her health--the Weather is unfavourable for
her. Tell George and Tom to write. I'll tell you what--on the 23d was
Shakspeare born. Now if I should receive a letter from you and another
from my Brothers on that day 'twould be a parlous good thing. Whenever you
write say a word or two on some Passage in Shakspeare that may have come
rather new to you, which must be continually happening, notwithstanding
that we read the same Play forty times--for instance, the following from
the Tempest never struck me so forcibly as at present,
"Urchins
_Shall, for the vast of night that they may work_,
All exercise on thee--"
How can I help bringing to your mind the line--
_In the dark backward and abysm of time_--
I find I cannot exist without Poetry--without eternal Poetry--half the day
will not do--the whole of it--I began with a little, but habit has made me
a Leviathan. I had become all in a Tremble from not having written
anything of late--the Sonnet overleaf did me good. I slept the better last
night for it--this Morning, however, I am nearly as bad again. Just now I
opened Spenser, and the first Lines I saw were these--
"The noble heart that harbours virtuous thought,
And is with child of glorious great intent,
Can never rest until it forth have brought
Th' eternal brood of glory excellent--"
Let me know particularly about Haydon, ask him to write to me about Hunt,
if it be only ten lines--I hope all is well--I shall forthwith begin my
Endymion, which I hope I shall have got some way with by the time you
come, when we will read our verses in a delightful place I have set my
heart upon, near the Castle. Give my Love to your Sisters severally--to
George and Tom. Remember me to Rice, Mr. and Mrs. Dilke and all we know.
Your sincere Friend
JOHN KEATS.
Direct J. Keats, Mrs. Cook's, New Village, Carisbrooke.
IX.--TO LEIGH HUNT.
Margate, May 10, 1817.
My dear Hunt--The little gentleman that sometimes lurks in a gossip's
bowl, ought to have come in the very likeness of a _roasted_ crab, and
choaked me outright for not answering your letter ere this: however, you
must not suppose that I was in town to receive it: no, it followed me to
the Isle of Wight, and I got it just as I was going to pack up for
Margate, for reasons which you anon shall hear. On arriving at this
treeless affair, I wrote to my brother George to request C. C. C.[14] to
do the thing you wot of respecting Rimini; and George tells me he has
undertaken it with great pleasure; so I hope there has been an
understanding between you for many proofs: C. C. C. is well acquainted
with Bensley. Now why did you not send the key of your cupboard, which, I
know, was full of papers? We would have locked them all in a trunk,
together with those you told me to destroy, which indeed I did not do, for
fear of demolishing receipts, there not being a more unpleasant thing in
the world (saving a thousand and one others) than to pay a bill twice.
Mind you, old Wood's a "very varmint," shrouded in covetousness:--and now
I am upon a horrid subject--what a horrid one you were upon last Sunday,
and well you handled it. The last Examiner[15] was a battering-ram against
Christianity, blasphemy, Tertullian, Erasmus, Sir Philip Sidney; and then
the dreadful Petzelians and their expiation by blood; and do Christians
shudder at the same thing in a newspaper which they attribute to their God
in its most aggravated form? What is to be the end of this? I must mention
Hazlitt's Southey.[16] O that he had left out the grey hairs; or that
they had been in any other paper not concluding with such a thunderclap!
That sentence about making a page of the feeling of a whole life, appears
to me like a whale's back in the sea of prose. I ought to have said a word
on Shakspeare's Christianity. There are two which I have not looked over
with you, touching the thing: the one for, the other against: that in
favour is in Measure for Measure, Act II. Scene ii.--
_Isab._ Alas, alas!
Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once;
And He that might the 'vantage best have took,
Found out the remedy.
That against is in Twelfth Night, Act III. Scene ii.--
_Maria._ For there is no Christian that means to be saved by
believing rightly, can ever believe such impossible passages of
grossness.
Before I come to the Nymphs,[17] I must get through all disagreeables. I
went to the Isle of Wight, thought so much about poetry, so long together,
that I could not get to sleep at night; and, moreover, I know not how it
was, I could not get wholesome food. By this means, in a week or so, I
became not over capable in my upper stories, and set off pell-mell for
Margate, at least a hundred and fifty miles, because, forsooth, I fancied
that I should like my old lodging here, and could contrive to do without
trees. Another thing, I was too much in solitude, and consequently was
obliged to be in continual burning of thought, as an only resource.
However, Tom is with me at present, and we are very comfortable. We
intend, though, to get among some trees. How have you got on among them?
How are the Nymphs? I suppose they have led you a fine dance. Where are
you now?--in Judea, Cappadocia, or the parts of Libya about Cyrene?
Stranger from "Heaven, Hues, and Prototypes," I wager you have given
several new turns to the old saying, "Now the maid was fair and pleasant
to look on," as well as made a little variation in "Once upon a time."
Perhaps, too, you have rather varied, "Here endeth the first lesson." Thus
I hope you have made a horseshoe business of "unsuperfluous life," "faint
bowers," and fibrous roots. I vow that I have been down in the mouth
lately at this work. These last two days, however, I have felt more
confident--I have asked myself so often why I should be a poet more than
other men, seeing how great a thing it is,--how great things are to be