My dear Taylor, CXCVI. To JOHN TAYLOR. II June [1820]. In reading over the proof of "St. Agnes' Eve” since I left Fleet Street, I was struck with what appears to me an alteration in the seventh stanza very much for the worse. passage I mean stands thus— her maiden eyes incline Still on the floor, while many a sweeping train Twas originally written— her maiden eyes divine Fix'd on the floor, saw many a sweeping train The My meaning is quite destroyed in the alteration. I do not use train for concourse of passers by, but for skirts sweeping along the floor. In the first stanza my copy reads, second line- I have only been to -'s once since you left, when could not find your letters. Now this is bad of me. I should, in this instance, conquer the great aversion to breaking_up my regular habits, which grows upon me more and more. True, I have an excuse in the weather, which drives one from shelter to shelter in any little excursion. I have not heard from George. wrote the wonderful 'Isabella, or the Pot of Basil.' "The Benou-Azra are a tribe famous for love among all the tribes of Arabia. So that the manner in which they love has passed into a proverb, and God has not made any other creatures so tender in loving as are they. Sahid, son of Agba, one day asked an Arab, Of what people art thou? I am of the people who die when they love, answered the Arab. Thou art then of the tribe of Azra? said Sahid. Yes, by the master of the Caaba! replied the Arab. Whence comes it, then, that you thus love? asked Sahid. Our women are beautiful and our young men are chaste, answered the Arab." I give the extract as I find it, at page 58 of 'Vane's Story, Weddah and Om-elBonain, and other Poems' (London: Reeves and Turner, 1881). CXCVII. This undated letter belongs to the time between the 7th of May 1820, when Brown left for Scotland, and the 23rd of June, when Keats wrote to his sister that he had heard from George. or see I My book1 is coming out with very low hopes, though not spirits, on my part. This shall be my last trial; not succeeding, I shall try what I can do in the apothecary line. When you hear from it is probable you will hear some complaints against me, which this notice is not intended to forestall. The fact is, I did behave badly; but it is to be attributed to my health, spirits, and the disadvantageous ground I stand on in society. I could go and accommodate matters if I were not too weary of the world. I know that they are more happy and comfortable than I am; therefore why should I trouble myself about it? I foresee I shall know very few people in the course of a year or two. Men get such different habits that they become as oil and vinegar to one another. Thus far I have a consciousness of having been pretty dull and heavy, both in subject and phrase ; I might add, enigmatical. I am in the wrong, and the world is in the right, I have no doubt. Fact is, I have had so many kindnesses done me by so many people, that I am cheveaux-defrised with benefits, which I must jump over or break down. met in town, a few days ago, who invited me to supper to meet Wordsworth, Southey, Lamb, Haydon, and some more; I was too careful of my health to risk being out at night. Talking of that, I continue to improve slowly, but, I think, surely. All the talk at present. . . . There is a famous exhibition in PallMall of the old English portraits by Vandyck and Holbein, Sir Peter Lely, and the great Sir Godfrey. Pleasant countenances predominate; so I will mention two or three unpleasant ones. There is James the First, whose appearance would disgrace a Society for the Suppression of Women;" so very squalid and subdued to nothing he looks. Then, there is old Lord Burleigh, the high-priest of economy, the political save-all, who has the appearance of a Pharisee just rebuffed by a Gospel bon-mot. Then, there is George the Second, very like an unintellectual Voltaire, troubled with the gout and a bad temper. Then, there is young Devereux, the favourite, with every appearance of as slang a boxer as any in the Court; his face is cast in the mould of blackguardism with jockey-plaster. I shall soon begin upon "Lucy Vaughan Lloyd."2 I do not begin composition yet, being willing, in case of a relapse, to have nothing to reproach myself with. I hope the weather will give you the slip; let it show itself and steal out of your company. When I have sent off this, I shall write another to some place about fifty miles in advance of you. Good morning to you. 1'Lamia, Isabella,' &c. 2 The pen-name, it will be remembered, under which he projected to publish 'The Cap and Bells.' CXCVIII. To FANNY KEATS. Rd Abbeys Esqre Walthamstow. My dear Fanny, Friday Morn [23 June 1820]. [Postmark, Kentish Town, 26 June 1820.] I had intended to delay seeing you till a Book which I am now publishing was out, expecting that to be the end of this week when I would have brought it to Walthamstow on receiving your Letter of course I set myself to come to town, but was not able, for just as I was setting out yesterday morning a slight spitting of blood came on which returned rather more copiously at night. I have slept well and they tell me there is nothing material to fear. I will send my Book soon with a Letter which I have had from George who is with his family quite well. Your affectionate Brother John CXCVIII. This letter would seem to have been written the morning after the attack of blood-spitting to which it refers. If so, the attack in question had taken place, like the former attack, on a Thursday. The letter must have been delayed, for the postmark is as distinctly as possible that of the 26th of June 1820, which was a Monday. On the same day that Keats was writing to his sister, Friday the 23rd of June 1820, Mrs. Gisborne wrote thus in her private journal in my possession :-"Yesterday evening we drank tea at Mr. Hunt's; we found him ill, as he had been attacked with a bilious fever, soon after we last saw him, and was not recovered. His nephew was with him; he appears grave, and very attentive to his uncle, listening to all his words, in silence. Mr. Keats was introduced to us the same evening; he had lately been ill also, and spoke but little; the Endymion was not mentioned, this person might not be its author; but on observing his countenance and his eyes I persuaded myself that he was the very person. We talked of music, and of Italian and English singing; I mentioned that Farinelli had the art of taking breath imperceptibly, while he continued to hold one single note, alternately swelling out and diminishing the power of his voice like waves. Keats observed that this must in some degree be painful to the hearer, as when a diver descends into the hidden depths of the sea you feel an apprehension lest he may never rise again. These may not be his exact words as he spoke in a low tone." Probably the slight blood-spitting of the morning had made him careful; but to no effect. Mrs. Gisborne records later that she called at Hunt's the following Saturday and learnt from Mrs. Hunt that Hunt was worse and "that Mr. Keats was also ill in the house; he had burst a blood vessel the very night after we had seen him, and in order to be well attended, he had been moved from his lodgings in the neighbourhood, to Mr. Hunt's house." The "night after" must mean the night of the same day-the 22nd; and probably Keats moved from Wesleyan Place to Mortimer Terrace on the 23rd of June 1820. My dearest Girl, CXCIX. To FANNY BRAWNE. Wednesday Morning. [Kentish Town, 5 July 1820?] I have been a walk this morning with a book in my hand, but as usual I have been occupied with nothing but you: I wish I could say in an agreeable manner. I am tormented day and night. They talk of my going to Italy. 'Tis certain I shall never recover if I am to be so long separate from you: yet with all this devotion to you I cannot persuade myself into any confidence of you. Past experience connected with the fact of my long separation from you gives me agonies which are scarcely to be talked of. When your mother comes I shall be very sudden and expert in asking her whether you have been to Mrs. Dilke's, for she might say no to make me easy. I am literally worn to death, which seems my only recourse. I cannot forget what has pass'd. What? nothing with a man of the world, but to me dreadful. I will get rid of this as much as possible. When you were in the habit of flirting with Brown you would have left off, could your own heart have felt one half of one pang mine did. Brown is a good sort of Man-he did not know he was doing me to death by inches. I feel the effect of every one of those hours in my side now; and for that cause, though he has done me many services, though I know his love and friendship for me, though at this moment I should be without pence were it not for his assistance, I will never see or speak to him1 until we are both old men, if we are to be. I will resent my heart having been made a football. You will call this madness. I have heard you say that it was not unpleasant to wait a few years—you have amusements-your mind is away-you have not brooded over one idea as I have, and how should you? You are to ne an object intensely desirable 2-the air I breathe in a room empty of you is unhealthy. I am not the same to you— no-you can wait—you have a thousand activities—you can be happy without me. Any party, any thing to fill up the day has been enough. How have you pass'd this month? Who have 1 This extreme bitterness of feeling must have supervened, one would think, in increased bodily disease; for the letter was clearly written after the parting of Keats and Brown at Gravesend, which took place on the 7th of May 1820, and on which occasion there is every reason to think that the friends were undivided in attachment, I imagine Keats would gladly have seen Brown within a week of this time had there been any opportunity. 2 In the original, 'desireable.' 3 This question might be taken to indicate the lapse of about a month from the time when Keats left the house at Hampstead next door to Miss Brawne's, where he probably knew her employments well enough from day to day; but I am inclined to think that a longer time had passed. you smil❜d with? All this may seem savage in me. You do not feel as I do-you do not know what it is to love-one day you may-your time is not come. Ask yourself how many unhappy hours Keats has caused you in Loneliness. For myself I have been a Martyr the whole time, and for this reason I speak; the confession is forc'd from me by the torture. I appeal to you by the blood of that Christ you believe in: Do not write to me if you have done anything this month which it would have pained me to have seen. You may have altered--if you have not-if you still behave in dancing rooms and other societies as I have seen you I do not want to live-if you have done so I wish this coming night may be my last. I cannot live without you, and not only you but chaste you; virtuous you. The Sun rises and sets, the day passes, and you follow the bent of your inclination to a certain extent-you have no conception of the quantity of miserable feeling that passes through me in a day.-Be serious! Love is not a plaything—and again do not write unless you can do it with a crystal conscience. I would sooner die for want of you than Yours for ever J. Keats. CC. To FANNY KEATS. Rd Abbey Esqre Walthamstow. Mortimer Terrace Wednesday [Postmark, 6 July 1820.] My dear Fanny, I have had no return of the spitting of blood, and for two or three days have been getting a little stronger. I have no hopes of an entire reestablishment of my health under some months of patience. My Physician tells me I must contrive to pass the Winter in Italy. This is all very unfortunate for us— we have no recourse but patience, which I am now practicing better than ever I thought it possible for me. I have this moment received a Letter from Mr. Brown, dated Dunvegan Castle, Island of Skye. He is very well in health and spirits. My new publication has been out for some days and I have directed a Copy to be bound for you, which you will receive CC. Between the date of this letter and the probable date of the next, Mrs. Gisborne made the following entry in her journal:-"Wednesday 12 July. We drank tea at Mr. Hunt's; I was much pained by the sight of poor Keats, under sentence of death from Dr. Lamb. He never spoke and looks emaciated." It was perhaps immediately upon this visit that Mr. Gisborne wrote to Shelley the communication which induced his letter to Keats dated the 27th of July 1820. |