LXXIV. To RICHARD WOODHOUSE. Wentworth Place, Hampstead, My dear Woodhouse, 18 December 1818. I am greatly obliged to you. I must needs feel flattered by making an impression on a set of ladies. I should be content to do so by meretricious romance verse, if they alone, and not men, were to judge. I should like very much to know those ladies-though look here, Woodhouse-I have a new leaf to turn over: I must work; I must read; I must write. I am unable to afford time for new acquaintances. I am scarcely able to do my duty to those I have. Leave the matter to chance. But do not forget to give my remembrances to your cousin. Yours most sincerely John Keats It seems not unlikely that the "set of ladies" here alluded to was the same that Keats mentions in the letter to George and Georgiana Keats dated "1818-19." If so, Miss Porter and Miss Fitzgerald would scarcely have reciprocated the feeling of being flattered. LXXV. To MRS. REYNOLDS. Little Britain, Christ's Hospital. Wentworth Place, Tuesd[ay]. [Imperfect Postmark, De... 1818.] My dear Mrs. Reynolds, When I left you yesterday, 'twas with the conviction that you thought I had received no previous invitation for Christmas day: the truth is I had, and had accepted it under the conviction that I should be in Hampshire at the time: else believe me I should not have done so, but kept in Mind my old friends. I will not speak of the proportion of pleasure I may receive at different Houses-that never enters my head-you may take for a truth that I would have given up even what I Miss Charlotte Reynolds tells me this letter was sent to her mother a few days before Christmas-day 1818. The choice is therefore between Tuesday the 15th of December and Tuesday the 22nd of December; and the later date seems the likelier. Miss Reynolds thinks the other invitation was from Mrs. Brawne. Mrs. Reynolds (Charlotte Reynolds, born Cox) was born on the 15th of November 1761, and died on the 13th of May 1848. Miss Charlotte, the heroine of Hood's charming poem Number One, points out to me that it was on their mother's birthday that her brother John Hamilton Reynolds died. It is worth observing in connexion with this letter the correspondence of thought between the final epigram and Shelley's noted saying (Shelley Memorials, pages 211-12), "If I die tomorrow, I have lived to be older than my father. I am ninety years of age." He did die tomorrow; and who shall say that his scant thirty years were not as ninety of ordinary life? did see to be a greater pleasure, for the sake of old acquaintanceship-time is nothing-two years are as long Upon my Soul I never felt your going out of the room at all—and believe me I never rhodomontade anywhere but in your Company-my general Life in Society is silence. I feel in myself all the vices of a Poet, irrita (LXXVI) The 23rd of December 1818 was a Wednesday. This letter belongs therefore to the 22nd. The following characteristic letter, from what may be a draft or rough copy, wafered into Haydon's journal, is evidently a reply to this of Keats's, and was probably written within a day or two of the 22nd of December 1818 : Keats! Upon my Soul I could have wept at your letter; to find one of real heart and feeling is to me a blessed solace; I have met with such heartless treatment from those to whom without reserve I had given my friendship, that I expected no[t] what I wished in human Nature. There is only one besides yourself who ever offer[ed to] act and did act affection, he wa[s] of a different temperament from us; coo[ler] but not kinder, he did his best from moral feeling, and not from bursting impulse; but still he did it ; you have behaved to me as I would have behaved to you my dear fellow, and if I am constrained to come to you at last, your property shall only be a transfer for a limited time on such security as will ensure you repayment in case of my Death-that is whatever part bility, love of effect and admiration and influenced by such devils I may at times say more ridiculous things than I am aware of—but I will put a stop to that in a manner I have long resolved upon-I will buy a gold ring and put it on my finger-and from that time a Man of superior head shall never have occasion to pity me, or one of inferior Nunskull to chuckle at me. I am certainly more for greatness in a shade than in the open day I am speaking as a mortal-I should say I value of it you assist me with: but I will try every corner first. Ah my dear Keats my illness has been a severe touch!-I declare to God I do not feel alone in the World now you have written me that letter. If you go on writing as you [rep]eated the other night, you may wish to [live] in a sublime solitude, but you will [n]ot be allowed. I approve most completely [of] your plan of travels and study, and [s]hould suffer torture if my wants [in]terrupted it-in short they shall not [m]y dear Keats. I believe you from my soul when you say you would sacrifice all for me; and when your means are gone, if God give me means my heart and house and home and every thing shall be shared with you-I mean this too. It has often occurred to me but I have never spoken of it. My great object is the public encouragement of historical painting and the glory of England in high Art-to ensure these I would lay my head on the block this instant. My illness the consequence of early excess in study, has fatigued most of my Friends. I have no reason to complain of the lovers of Art, I have been liberally assisted; but when a man comes again with a tale of his ill health; they don't believe him my dear Keats; can I bear the thousandth part of a dry hesitation, the searching scrutiny of an apprehensi[on] of insincerity; the musing hum of a sounding question; the prying, petty, paltr[y,] whining doubt, that is inferred from [a request?] for a day to consider!—— Ah Kea[ts,] this is sad work for one of my soul and Ambition. The truest thing you ever said of mortal was that I had a touch of Alexander in me !—I have, I know it, and the World shall know it, but this is the purgative drug I must first take.—Come so[on] my dear fellow-Sunday nobody is coming I believe and I will lay Soul bare before you. Your affectionate Friend more the privilege of seeing great things in loneliness than the fame of a Prophet. Yet here I am sinning-so I will turn to a thing I have thought on more—I mean you[r] means till your picture be finished: not only now but for this year and half have I thought of it. Believe me Haydon I have that sort of fire in my heart that would sacrifice every thing I have to your service-I speak without any reserve-I know you would do so for me-I open my heart to you in a few words. I will do this sooner than you shall be distressed: but let me be the last stay-Ask the rich lovers of Art first—I'll tell you why-I have a little money which may enable me to study, and to travel for three or four years. I never expect to get any thing by my Books: and moreover I wish to avoid publishing-I admire Human Nature but I do not like Men. I should like to compose things honourable to Man-but not fingerable over by Men. So I am anxious to exist with[out] troubling the printer's devil or drawing upon Men's or Women's admirationin which great solitude I hope God will give me strength to rejoice. Try the long purses-but do not sell your drawing[s] or I shall consider it a breach of friendship. I am sorry I was not at home when Salmon' called. Do write and let me know all your present whys and wherefores. Yours most faithfully 1 Haydon notes-" my Servant". |