XVII "JUNKETS" WHILE the phantom of "Johnny Keats" was a farcical dumb-show in the public imagination, the reality was a gracious companionable young man, known among his intimates as "Junkets." The nickname was a tribute to his prevailing good-humor. Great men, long after death, are usually set in a rosy limelight and written about sentimentally. Keats deserves his aura of fame. But let us, for the moment, hold hero-worship in abeyance and see him in the common light of day, as one who ate mutton chops, walked down Cheapside, climbed into stage coaches ; chatted, bantered and took his diversions with his friends. Of all the English poets the genus irritabile — he was one of the pleasantest to live with. "I got to the stage half an hour before it set out," he writes his sister, "and I counted the buns and tarts in a Pastry-cook's window and was just beginning with the jellies." He found interest in her many trifles. He asked her to keep a diary of all her little doings; and he dreamed of the days when he should have a home for her and the two could read this diary together. The devotion of Keats to this orphan child is one of the grace notes in his character. The pure warm affection for his brother George's wife is another. The letters are full of amusement derived from domestic details; Mrs. Dilke's medicine, Mrs. Hunt's skill in tearing linen, Mrs. Shelley's deftness in cutting bread. But Keats was no lady's man. He had no youthful romances. He felt, as a rule, uneasy in the presence of women. They had no power over his mind. Bluestockings he detested particularly. Keats was a man's man wholly. He loved to smoke. He drank wine with relish; sometimes until he was "pleasantly tipsy." Unlike Lamb he committed no indiscretions in his cups. Claret "t is the only palate affair I am at all sensual in' -made him feel peaceful. He enjoyed rough sports. He went to a bear-baiting. He saw the prize-fight between Randal and Turner. And he fought a himself for some act of brutality. His favorite joke was a Dogberry touch from one of the novel ists. "Some one says to the serjeant: 'That's a non sequitur.' 'If you come to that,' replies the serjeant, 'you're another."" Occasionally he would indulge in a practical joke. That on Brown and his tenant is surely excusable, too good to forget. Keats' normal vein of humor was sportiveness. He amused his fancy by conjuring up such grotesque images as Voltaire in steel armor, Alexander in a nightcap and Socrates tying a cravat. The letters are often revels of jest and merriment, heaped-up jocularities about trivial matters. He had a real gift for extracting the spirit of fun from the commonplace. One instance must suffice, the description of a Scottish dance: “They kickit and jumpit with mettle extraordinary; and whiskit and friskit and toed it and go'd it and twirl'd it and whirl'd it and stamp'd it and sweated it, tattooing the floor like mad. The difference between our country dance and these Scottish figures is about the same as leisurely stirring a cup of tea and beating up a batter pudding." Naturally, with a poet's unstable imagination, he often had fits of the blues. He got rid of them, sometimes, in a unique fashion. He took a bath, put on a clean shirt, brushed his clothes and hair, tied his shoestrings neatly; then, clean and refreshed, he sat down to write. He once took a walk with Coleridge. The account of the monologue has not yet found its due place among the anecdotes of great men. "I walked with him at his alderman-after-dinner pace for nearly two miles, I suppose. In these two miles, he broached a thousand things — let me see if I can give you the list - Poetry on Poetical Sensation ics Nightingales Different genera and species of dreams — Nightmare First and second consciousness: the difference explained between Will and Volition - Monsters - The Kraken-MermaidsSouthey believes in them - Southey's belief too much diluted-a Ghost story-Good-morning I heard his voice as he came toward me I heard it as he moved away I had heard it all the interval. He was civil enough to ask me to call on him at Highgate." What a contrast this report is to Carlyle's in the "Life of Sterling," with its "unintelligible flood of utterance" like water pumped into a bucket. Carlyle was a genius impatient to talk himself. Keats was a genius content to listen. No wonder, then, he was always welcome in a company. He received and he gave. A genius with no affectations, no vanity. He had that \magnanimity of spirit which is undisturbed by petty rivalries and jealousies. He held his friends by assuming their good will and by ignoring those slights and meaningless offenses which set Hunt, Haydon and Reynolds a-jangling. His moods, to be sure, were fitful. He was talkative, brilliant, when the talk was to his liking; when it was not, he sat silent. In the intimate circle the window seat was reserved for Keats. There we may best fix a picture of him in the characteristic attitude of one foot on the other knee and the hand clasping the instep. The sitting posture obscures the fact that he was only five feet high. Broad shoulders, depth of chest suggest the stature of a larger man. The profile invites affection; brown curling hair; forehead receding; nose slightly tilted; a finely rounded chin; an upper lip rather thick, as if stung by a bee and in need of some gentle unguent. The full face, as he turns to speak, shows the distinction and the consciousness of the high calling. The hazel eyes glow with some inward light as his words issue in a low musical voice. There is self-assurance in his modesty; at times he is petulant, fiercely assertive. |