Letters of John Keats to His Family and Friends
night though of our arrival here, there was a slight uproar took place at
about 10 o' the Clock. We heard distinctly a noise pattering down the High
Street as of a walking cane of the good old Dowager breed; and a little
minute after we heard a less voice observe "What a noise the ferril
made--it must be loose." Brown wanted to call the constables, but I
observed 'twas only a little breeze and would soon pass over.--The side
streets here are excessively maiden-lady-like: the door-steps always fresh
from the flannel. The knockers have a staid serious, nay almost awful
quietness about them. I never saw so quiet a collection of Lions' and
Rams' heads. The doors are most part black, with a little brass handle
just above the keyhole, so that in Winchester a man may very quietly shut
himself out of his own house. How beautiful the season is now--How fine
the air. A temperate sharpness about it. Really, without joking, chaste
weather--Dian skies--I never liked stubble-fields so much as now--Aye
better than the chilly green of the Spring. Somehow, a stubble-field looks
warm--in the same way that some pictures look warm. This struck me so much
in my Sunday's walk that I composed upon it.[107]
I hope you are better employed than in gaping after weather. I have been
at different times so happy as not to know what weather it was--No I will
not copy a parcel of verses. I always somehow associate Chatterton with
autumn. He is the purest writer in the English Language. He has no French
idiom or particles, like Chaucer--'tis genuine English Idiom in English
words. I have given up Hyperion--there were too many Miltonic inversions
in it--Miltonic verse cannot be written but in an artful, or, rather,
artist's humour. I wish to give myself up to other sensations. English
ought to be kept up. It may be interesting to you to pick out some lines
from Hyperion, and put a mark x to the false beauty proceeding from art,
and one || to the true voice of feeling. Upon my soul 'twas imagination--I
cannot make the distinction--Every now and then there is a Miltonic
intonation--But I cannot make the division properly. The fact is, I must
take a walk: for I am writing a long letter to George: and have been
employed at it all the morning. You will ask, have I heard from George. I
am sorry to say not the best news--I hope for better. This is the reason,
among others, that if I write to you it must be in such a scrap-like way.
I have no meridian to date interests from, or measure circumstances--
To-night I am all in a mist; I scarcely know what's what--But you knowing
my unsteady and vagarish disposition, will guess that all this turmoil
will be settled by to-morrow morning. It strikes me to-night that I have
led a very odd sort of life for the two or three last years--Here and
there--no anchor--I am glad of it.--If you can get a peep at Babbicombe
before you leave the country, do.--I think it the finest place I have
seen, or is to be seen, in the South. There is a Cottage there I took warm
water at, that made up for the tea. I have lately shirk'd some friends of
ours, and I advise you to do the same, I mean the blue-devils--I am never
at home to them. You need not fear them while you remain in
Devonshire--there will be some of the family waiting for you at the Coach
office--but go by another Coach.
I shall beg leave to have a third opinion in the first discussion you
have with Woodhouse--just half-way, between both. You know I will not give
up my argument--In my walk to-day I stoop'd under a railing that lay
across my path, and asked myself "Why I did not get over." "Because,"
answered I, "no one wanted to force you under." I would give a guinea to
be a reasonable man--good sound sense--a says what he thinks and does what
he says man--and did not take snuff. They say men near death, however mad
they may have been, come to their senses--I hope I shall here in this
letter--there is a decent space to be very sensible in--many a good
proverb has been in less--nay, I have heard of the statutes at large being
changed into the Statutes at Small and printed for a watch paper.
Your sisters, by this time, must have got the Devonshire "ees"--short
ees--you know 'em--they are the prettiest ees in the language. O how I
admire the middle-sized delicate Devonshire girls of about fifteen. There
was one at an Inn door holding a quartern of brandy--the very thought of
her kept me warm a whole stage--and a 16 miler too--"You'll pardon me for
being jocular."
Ever your affectionate friend
JOHN KEATS.
CXVIII.--TO CHARLES WENTWORTH DILKE.
Winchester, Wednesday Eve.
[September 22, 1819.]
My dear Dilke--Whatever I take to for the time I cannot leave off in a
hurry; letter writing is the go now; I have consumed a quire at least. You
must give me credit, now, for a free Letter when it is in reality an
interested one, on two points, the one requestive, the other verging to
the pros and cons. As I expect they will lead me to seeing and conferring
with you in a short time, I shall not enter at all upon a letter I have
lately received from George, of not the most comfortable intelligence: but
proceed to these two points, which if you can theme out into sections and
subsections, for my edification, you will oblige me. The first I shall
begin upon, the other will follow like a tail to a Comet. I have written
to Brown on the subject, and can but go over the same ground with you in a
very short time, it not being more in length than the ordinary paces
between the Wickets. It concerns a resolution I have taken to endeavour to
acquire something by temporary writing in periodical works. You must agree
with me how unwise it is to keep feeding upon hopes, which depending so
much on the state of temper and imagination, appear gloomy or bright, near
or afar off, just as it happens. Now an act has three parts--to act, to
do, and to perform--I mean I should _do_ something for my immediate
welfare. Even if I am swept away like a spider from a drawing-room, I am
determined to spin--homespun anything for sale. Yea, I will traffic.
Anything but Mortgage my Brain to Blackwood. I am determined not to lie
like a dead lump. If Reynolds had not taken to the law, would he not be
earning something? Why cannot I. You may say I want tact--that is easily
acquired. You may be up to the slang of a cock pit in three battles. It is
fortunate I have not before this been tempted to venture on the common. I
should a year or two ago have spoken my mind on every subject with the
utmost simplicity. I hope I have learned a little better and am confident
I shall be able to cheat as well as any literary Jew of the Market and
shine up an article on anything without much knowledge of the subject, aye
like an orange. I would willingly have recourse to other means. I cannot;
I am fit for nothing but literature. Wait for the issue of this Tragedy?
No--there cannot be greater uncertainties east, west, north, and south
than concerning dramatic composition. How many months must I wait! Had I
not better begin to look about me now? If better events supersede this
necessity what harm will be done? I have no trust whatever on Poetry. I
don't wonder at it--the marvel is to me how people read so much of it. I
think you will see the reasonableness of my plan. To forward it I purpose
living in cheap Lodging in Town, that I may be in the reach of books and
information, of which there is here a plentiful lack. If I can find any
place tolerably comfortable I will settle myself and fag till I can afford
to buy Pleasure--which if I never can afford I must go without. Talking of
Pleasure, this moment I was writing with one hand, and with the other
holding to my Mouth a Nectarine--good God how fine. It went down soft,
pulpy, slushy, oozy--all its delicious embonpoint melted down my throat
like a large beatified Strawberry. I shall certainly breed. Now I come to
my request. Should you like me for a neighbour again? Come, plump it out,
I won't blush. I should also be in the neighbourhood of Mrs. Wylie, which
I should be glad of, though that of course does not influence me.
Therefore will you look about Marsham, or Rodney Street for a couple of
rooms for me. Rooms like the gallant's legs in Massinger's time, "as good
as the times allow, Sir." I have written to-day to Reynolds, and to
Woodhouse. Do you know him? He is a Friend of Taylor's at whom Brown has
taken one of his funny odd dislikes. I'm sure he's wrong, because
Woodhouse likes my Poetry--conclusive. I ask your opinion and yet I must
say to you as to him, Brown, that if you have anything to say against it I
shall be as obstinate and heady as a Radical. By the Examiner coming in
your handwriting you must be in Town. They have put me into spirits.
Notwithstanding my aristocratic temper I cannot help being very much
pleased with the present public proceedings. I hope sincerely I shall be
able to put a Mite of help to the Liberal side of the Question before I
die. If you should have left Town again (for your Holidays cannot be up
yet) let me know when this is forwarded to you. A most extraordinary
mischance has befallen two letters I wrote Brown--one from London whither
I was obliged to go on business for George; the other from this place
since my return. I can't make it out. I am excessively sorry for it. I
shall hear from Brown and from you almost together, for I have sent him a
Letter to-day: you must positively agree with me or by the delicate toe
nails of the virgin I will not open your Letters. If they are as David
says "suspicious looking letters" I won't open them. If St. John had been
half as cunning he might have seen the revelations comfortably in his own
room, without giving angels the trouble of breaking open seals. Remember
me to Mrs. D. and the West-monasteranian and believe me
Ever your sincere friend
JOHN KEATS.
CXIX.--TO CHARLES BROWN.
Winchester, September 23, 1819.
* * * * *
Now I am going to enter on the subject of self. It is quite time I should
set myself doing something, and live no longer upon hopes. I have never
yet exerted myself. I am getting into an idle-minded, vicious way of life,
almost content to live upon others. In no period of my life have I acted
with any self-will but in throwing up the apothecary profession. That I do
not repent of. Look at Reynolds, if he was not in the law, he would be
acquiring, by his abilities, something towards his support. My occupation
is entirely literary: I will do so, too. I will write, on the liberal side
of the question, for whoever will pay me. I have not known yet what it is
to be diligent. I purpose living in town in a cheap lodging, and
endeavouring, for a beginning, to get the theatricals of some paper. When
I can afford to compose deliberate poems, I will. I shall be in
expectation of an answer to this. Look on my side of the question. I am
convinced I am right. Suppose the tragedy should succeed,--there will be
no harm done. And here I will take an opportunity of making a remark or
two on our friendship, and on all your good offices to me. I have a
natural timidity of mind in these matters; liking better to take the
feeling between us for granted, than to speak of it. But, good God! what a
short while you have known me! I feel it a sort of duty thus to
recapitulate, however unpleasant it may be to you. You have been living
for others more than any man I know. This is a vexation to me, because it
has been depriving you, in the very prime of your life, of pleasures which
it was your duty to procure. As I am speaking in general terms, this may
appear nonsense; you perhaps will not understand it; but if you can go
over, day by day, any month of the last year, you will know what I mean.