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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 19:55:02 -0700 |
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diff --git a/31072-h/31072-h.htm b/31072-h/31072-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4c5c37e --- /dev/null +++ b/31072-h/31072-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11549 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Letter Book, by George Saintsbury. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + + p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em;} + .rindent {text-align: right; margin-right: 5%;} + .frontend {text-align: center; font-size: 90%;} + .frontend2 {text-align: center; font-size: 75%;} + .greek {text-decoration: none; border-bottom: thin dotted silver;} + a.greek:hover {text-decoration: none;} + .hang {text-align: justify; text-indent: -1.5em; margin-left: 1.5em;} + .lheading {margin-top: 2em;} + .lindent {text-indent: 10em;} + .lindent2 {text-indent: 16em;} + .lindent3 {text-indent: 22em;} + .transnote {margin: 2em 5% 1em 5%; font-size: 90%; padding: 0.5em 1em 0.5em 1em; + border: solid 1px silver;} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center; clear: both;} + + hr {width: 33%; margin-top: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 1.5em; + margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + td {vertical-align: bottom;} + .tindent {text-align: left; text-indent: 2em;} + .tindent2 {text-align: left; text-indent: 4em;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: 70%; + text-align: right;} + + .blockquot {margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: justify;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .right {text-align: right;} + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .sidenote {width: 8em; float: right; margin-right: 0em; margin-top: 0em; + margin-left: 1em; padding: 0 0 0 4px; border: 1px solid silver; + font-size: 95%; text-indent: 0; text-align: left; line-height: 1.1em;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .poem {margin-left:20%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i1 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Letter Book, by George Saintsbury + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Letter Book + Selected with an Introduction on the History and Art of Letter-Writing + +Author: George Saintsbury + +Release Date: January 25, 2010 [EBook #31072] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LETTER BOOK *** + + + + +Produced by Susan Skinner and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + +<div class="transnote"> +<h3>Transcriber's Note</h3> + +<p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected in +this text. For a complete list, please see <a href="#transnote">the bottom of +this document</a>.</p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>A LETTER BOOK</h2> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h1>A LETTER BOOK</h1> + +<h3>SELECTED WITH AN INTRODUCTION<br /> +ON THE HISTORY AND ART OF<br /> +LETTER-WRITING</h3> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>GEORGE SAINTSBURY</h2> + +<p class='frontend'>LONDON<br /> +G. BELL AND SONS, LTD.</p> + +<p class='frontend2'>NEW YORK: HARCOURT, BRACE AND CO.<br /> +1922</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p> +<h2>PREFACE</h2> + + +<p>When my publishers were good enough to propose that +I should undertake this book, they were also good enough +to suggest that the Introduction should be of a character +somewhat different from that of a school-anthology, and +should attempt to deal with the Art of Letter-writing, and +the nature of the Letter, as such. I formed a plan accordingly, +by which the letters, and their separate Prefatory +Notes, might be as it were illustrations to the Introduction, +which was intended in turn to be a guide to +them. Having done this with a proper <i>Pourvu que Dieu +lui prête vie</i> referring to both book and author, I thought +it well to look up next what had been done in the way +before me, at least to the extent of what the London +Library could provide me in circumstances of enforced +abstinence from the Museum and from "Bodley." From +its catalogue I selected a curious eighteenth-century <i>Art +of Letter Writing</i>, and four nineteenth and earliest twentieth +century books—Roberts's <i>History of Letter Writing</i> (1843) +with Pickering's ever-beloved title-page and his beautiful +clear print; the <i>Littérature Epistolaire</i> of Barbey d'Aurevilly—a +critic never to be neglected though always to be +consulted with eyes wide open and brain alert; finally, +two Essays in Dr. Jessopp's <i>Studies by a Recluse</i> and in +the <i>Men and Letters</i> of Mr. Herbert Paul, once a very +frequent associate of mine. The title of the first men<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span>tioned +book speaks it pretty thoroughly. "The Art of +Letter Writing: Divided into Two Parts. The First: +Containing Rules and Directions for writing letters on all +sorts of subjects [<i>this line as well as several others is +Rubricked</i>] with a variety of examples equally elegant and +instructive. The Second: a Collection of Letters on the +Most interesting occasions of life in which are inserted—The +proper method of Addressing Persons of all ranks; +some necessary orthographical directions, the right forms +of message for cards; and thoughts upon a multiplicity +of subjects; the whole composed upon an entirely new +plan—chiefly calculated for the instruction of youth, but +may be [<i>sic</i>] of singular service to Gentlemen, Ladies and +all others who are desirous to attain the true style and +manner of a polite epistolary intercourse." May our +own little book have no worse fortune! Mr. Roberts's +avowedly restricts itself to the fifth century as a <i>terminus +ad quem</i>, though it professes to start "from the earliest +times," and its seven hundred pages deal very honestly +and fully with their subjects. The essays of Dr. Jessopp +and Mr. Paul are of course merely Essays, of a score or +two of pages: though the first is pretty wide in its scope. +There would be nothing but good to be said of either, if +both had not been, not perhaps blasphemous but parsimonious +of praise, towards "Our Lady of the Rocks." It +cannot be too often or too solemnly laid down that an +adoration of Madame de Sévigné as a letter-writer is not +crotchet or fashion or affectation—is no result of merely +taking authority on trust. The more one reads her, and +the more one reads others, the more convinced should one +be of her absolute non-pareility in almost every kind of +genuine letter (as apart from letters that are really pamphlets +or speeches or sermons) except pure love-letters, of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span> +which we have none from her. As for <i>Littérature Epistolaire</i>, +it is a collection of some two dozen reviews of various +modern reprints of letters by distinguished writers—mostly +but not all French. The author has throughout used the +letters he is considering almost wholly as tell-tales of +character, not as examples of art: and therefore he does +not, except in possible glances, require further attention, +though the book is full of interesting things. Its judgment +of one of our greatest, and one of the greatest of all, +letter-writers—Horace Walpole—is too severe, but not, +like Macaulay's, superficially insistent on superficial defects, +and ought not to be neglected by anyone who +studies the subject.</p> + +<p>If, however, there was no need to rely on any of these +books, they did nothing to hinder in the peculiar way +in which I had feared some hindrance. For it is a +nuisance to find that somebody else has done something +in the precise way in which you have planned doing it. +I have not yet encountered that nuisance here. Dr. +Jessopp's general plan is most like mine—indeed some +similarity was unavoidable: but the two are not identical, +and I had planned mine before I knew anything about his.</p> + +<p>So with this prelude let us go to business, only premising +further that the object, unlike that of the anonymous +Augustan, is not to "give rules and instructions for writing +good letters," except in the way (which far excels all +rules and instructions) of showing how good letters +have been written. Let us also modestly trust that +the collection may deal with some "interesting occasions +of life" and contain "thoughts on a [fair] multiplicity of +subjects." Having been, as above observed, unable +during the composition of this book to visit London or +Oxford, I have had to rely occasionally on friendly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span> +assistance. I owe particular thanks (as indeed I have owed +them at almost any time these forty years) to the Rev. +William Hunt, D.Litt., Honorary Fellow of Trinity +College, Oxford: and I am also indebted to Miss Elsie +Hitchcock for some kind aid at the Museum given me +through the intermediation of Professor Ker.</p> + +<p>Besides the thanks given to Mr. Lloyd Osbourne, +Mr. Kipling and Dr. Williamson in the text in reference to +certain new or almost new letters, we owe very sincere +gratitude for permission to reprint the following important +matters:</p> + +<div class="hang"><p><i>His Honour Judge Parry.</i> Two letters from "Letters +from Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple."</p> + +<p><i>Messrs. Douglas & Foulis.</i> A letter to Joanna Baillie, +from "Familiar Letters of Sir Walter Scott."</p> + +<p><i>Messrs. Longmans, Green & Co.</i> Two letters from Mrs. +Carlyle's "Letters and Memorials," and one letter +from Sir G. O. Trevelyan's "Life and Letters of Lord +Macaulay."</p> + +<p><i>Messrs. Macmillan & Co., Ltd.</i> Three letters from "The +Letters of Charles Dickens"; one letter by FitzGerald +and one by Thomas Carlyle, from "Letters and +Literary Remains of Edward FitzGerald"; one +letter from "Charles Kingsley: his Letters and +Memories of his Life"; and two extracts from +"Further Records, 1848-1883," by Frances Anne +Kemble.</p> + +<p><i>Mr. John Murray.</i> One letter from "The Letters of +Elizabeth Barrett Browning."</p></div> + +<p class='rindent'>GEORGE SAINTSBURY.</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">1 Royal Crescent, Bath</span>,<br /> + <i>October, 1921</i>.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span></p> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="TOC"> + +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='right'><span class='smcap'>page</span></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Preface</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_v">v</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Introduction on the History and Art of Letter-Writing</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>I. Ancient History. II. Letters in English—before +1700. III. The Eighteenth Century. IV. Nineteenth +Century Letters—Early. V. Nineteenth +Century Letters—Later. VI. Some Special Kinds +of Letter. VII. Conclusion.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Appendix to Introduction:</span></td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">Greek Letters—Synesius</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_100">100</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>(i) To his Brother—Preparations to meet Raiders.</td><td align='left'></td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>(ii) To Hypatia—Longing but unable to come to her.</td><td align='left'></td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">Latin Letters—Pliny</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_102">102</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>Accepts a Brief for a Lady.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">Letters of the "Dark" Ages—Sidonius Apollinaris</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>The exploits of Ecdicius.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">Early Mediaeval (Twelfth Century) Letter</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_108">108</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>Duchess of Burgundy to King Louis VII.—Matchmaking.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan='2'>ENGLISH LETTERS<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[x]</a></span></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">The "Paston" Letters</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_111">111</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>1. A Channel Fight.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>2. Margery is Willing.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">Roger Ascham</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_116">116</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>3. "Up the Rhine."</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>4. Nostalgia for Cambridge.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">Lady Mary Sidney</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_122">122</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>5. Have you no room at Court?</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">George Clifford, Earl of Cumberland</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_125">125</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>6. A Death-bed letter.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">John Donne</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_129">129</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>7-10. Letters to Magdalen Lady Herbert.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">James Howell</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_135">135</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>11. "Long Melford for Ever."</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>12. The White Bird.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">John Evelyn</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_139">139</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>13. How to take care of ears, eyes and brains.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">Dorothy Osborne</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_146">146</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>14. A discourse of Flying, and several other things.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>15. Some testimonies of kindness.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">Jonathan Swift</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_154">154</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>16. Letter-hunger.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">Lady Mary Wortley-Montagu</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_159">159</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>17. Directions for running away with her.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">Philip Dormer Stanhope, Earl of Chesterfield</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_164">164</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>18. Some manners that make a gentleman.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">George Ballard</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_173">173</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>19. The wickedness of Reviewers.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">Thomas Gray</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_180">180</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>20. Romanities and Plain English.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>21. Kent, Rousseau, Lord Chatham, etc.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">Horace Walpole (and W. M. Thackeray)</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_187">187</a><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[xi]</a></span></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>22. What Horace wrote.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>23. What Horace might have written.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">Tobias George Smollett</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_195">195</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>24. Of Johnson, and Johnson's Frank—To Wilkes.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">William Cowper</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_197">197</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>25. About a Greenhouse.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">Sydney Smith</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_201">201</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>26. Vegetation, stagnation, and assassination.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>27. His "hotel." Hasty judgments deprecated.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">Sir Walter Scott</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_206">206</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>28. Authors and Morals.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">Samuel Taylor Coleridge</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_212">212</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>29. From Spinosa to Go<i>b</i>win through things in general.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">Robert Southey</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_217">217</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>30-33. The <i>Lingo Grande</i>.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">Charles Lamb</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_221">221</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>34. A Sigh for Solitude.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">George Gordon, Lord Byron</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_228">228</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>35. Of Pictures, and Sepulture, and his Daughters.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">Percy Bysshe Shelley</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_233">233</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>36. Of Pictures only.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">John Keats</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_239">239</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>37. A Voyage, and the <i>Quarterly</i> and Charmian.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">The Carlyles</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_244">244</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>38. Thomas on <i>Latrappism</i>.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>39. Jane Welsh on her Travels.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>40. Jane Welsh on the blessings of Photography.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">Thomas Babington Macaulay</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_253">253</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>41. Outfits, and Election Dinners. Miss Berry and +Lady Holland.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">Thomas Lovell Beddoes</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_258">258</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>42. Stage-coach tricks, and stage-play ghosts.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">Elizabeth Barrett Browning</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_263">263</a><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[xii]</a></span></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>43. An extended Honey-moon.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">Edward FitzGerald</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_270">270</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>44. Of Bath, and Oxford, and some Immortals.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">Francis Anne Kemble</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_275">275</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>45. A Ghost in Flannel.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>46. Bakespearism.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">William Makepeace Thackeray</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_279">279</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>47. As himself.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>48. In character.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">Charles Dickens</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_286">286</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>49. Straight dealing with the personages of <i>Nicholas +Nickleby</i>.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>50. Advice to an Innocent in London.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>51. Mr. and Mrs. Harris.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">Charles Kingsley</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_292">292</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>52. <i>Tom Brown's Schooldays</i>; Pike fishing; and a +pretty thing with Garth's.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">John Ruskin</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_296">296</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>53. The Servant question.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent'><span class="smcap">Robert Louis Balfour Stevenson</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_303">303</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class='tindent2'>54. John Gibson Lockhart, and an Umbrella.</td><td align='right'></td></tr> + +</table> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> +<h2>INTRODUCTION</h2> + +<h3>THE HISTORY AND ART OF LETTER<br /> +WRITING</h3> + + + + +<h2>I</h2> + +<h3>ANCIENT HISTORY</h3> + + +<p>On letter-writing, as on most things that can themselves +be written and talked about, there are current many +<i>clichés</i>—stock and banal sayings that express, or have at +some time expressed, a certain amount of truth. The most +familiar of these for a good many years past has been that +the penny post has killed it. Whether revival of the +twopenny has caused it to exhibit any kind of corresponding +resurrectionary symptoms is a matter which +cannot yet be pronounced upon. But it may be possible +to avoid these <i>clichés</i>, or at any rate to make no more +than necessary glances at them, in composing this little +paper, which aims at being a discussion of the Letter as +a branch of Literature, no less than an introduction to +the specimens of the kind which follow.</p> + +<p>If, according to a famous dictum, "Everything has +been said," it follows that every definition must have +been already made. Therefore, no doubt, somebody has, +or many bodies have, before now defined or at least<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span> +described the Letter as that kind of communication of +thought or fact to another person which most immediately +succeeds the oral, and supplies the claims of absence. +You want to tell somebody something; but he or she is +not, as they used to say "by," or perhaps there are +circumstances (and circum<i>standers</i>) which or who make +speech undesirable; so you "write." At first no doubt, +you used signs or symbols like the feather with which +Wildrake let Cromwell's advent be known in <i>Woodstock</i>—a +most ingenious device for which, by the way, the +recipients were scantly grateful. But when reading and +writing came by nature, you availed yourself of these +Nature's gifts, not always, it is to be feared, regarding the +interconnection of the two sufficiently. There is probably +more than one person living who has received a reply +beginning "Dear So-and-So, Thanks for your interesting +and <i>partially legible</i> epistle," or words to that effect. +But that is a part of the matter which lies outside +our range.</p> + +<p>On the probable general fact, however, some observations +may be less frivolously based. If this were a sentimental +age, as some ages in the past have been, one might +assume that, as the first portrait is supposed to have been +a silhouette of the present beloved, drawn on her shadow +with a charcoaled stick, so the same, or another implement +may have served (on what substitute for paper anybody +pleases) to communicate with her when absent. But the +silliness of this age—though far be it from us to dispute +its possession of so prevailing a quality—does not take the +form—at least <i>this</i> form—of sentiment.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><span class='smcap'>the beginnings</span></div> + +<p>There is, moreover, nothing silly or sentimental, though +of course there is something that may be controverted, in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> +saying that except for purely "business" purposes (which +are as such alien from Art and have nothing to do with +any but a part, and a rather sophisticated part, of Nature) +the less the letter-writer forgets that he is merely substituting +pen for tongue the better. Of course, the instruments +and the circumstances being different, the methods +and canons of the proceedings will be different too. In +the letter there is no interlocutor; and there is no possibility +of what we may call accompanying it with personal +illustrations<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> and demonstrations, if necessary or agreeable. +But still it may be laid down, with some confidence, +that the more the spoken word is heard in a letter the +better, and the less that word is heard—the more it gives +way to "book"-talk—the worse. Indeed this is not +likely to be denied, though there remain as usual almost +infinite possibilities of differences in personal opinion as to +what constitutes the desirable mixture of variation and +similarity between a conversation and a letter. Let us, +before discussing this or saying anything more about +the principles, say something about the history of this, +at best so delightful, at worst so undelightful art. For if +History, in the transferred sense of particular books called +"histories," is rather apt to be false: nothing but +History in the wider and higher sense will ever lead us +to truth. The Future is unknown and unknowable. The +Present is turning to Past even as we are trying to know +it. Only the Past itself abides our knowledge.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><span class='smcap'>biblical examples</span></div> + +<p>Of the oldest existing examples of epistolary correspondence, +except those contained in the Bible, the present<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> +writer knows little or nothing. For, except a vanished +smattering of Hebrew, he "has" no Oriental tongue; he +has never been much addicted to reading translations, and +even if he had been so has had little occasion to draw him +to such studies, and much to draw him away from them. +There certainly appear to be some beautiful specimens of +the more passionate letter writing in ancient if not exactly +pre-Christian Chinese, and probably in other tongues—but +it is ill talking of what one does not know. In the +Scriptures themselves letters do not come early, and the +"token" period probably lasted long. Isaac does not +even send a token with Jacob to validate his suit for a +daughter of Laban. But one would have enjoyed a letter +from Ishmael to his half-brother, when his daughter was +married to Esau, who was so much more like a son of +Ishmael himself than of the amiable husband of Rebekah. +She, by the way, had herself been fetched in an equally +unlettered transaction. It would of course be impossible, +and might be regarded as improper, to devote much space +here to the sacred epistolographers. But one may wonder +whether many people have appreciated the humour of the +two epistles of the great King Ahasuerus-Artaxerxes, +the first commanding and the second countermanding the +massacre of the Jews—epistles contained in the Septuagint +"Rest of the Book of Esther" (see our Apocrypha), +instead of the mere dry summaries which had sufficed for +"the Hebrew and the Chaldee." The exact authenticity +of these fuller texts is a matter of no importance, but their +substance, whether it was the work of a Persian civil +servant or of a Greek-Jew rhetorician, is most curious. +Whosoever it was, he knew King's Speeches and communications +from "My lords" and such like things, very well<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> +indeed; and the contrast of the mention in the first letter +of "Aman who excelled in wisdom among us and was +approved for his constant good will and steadfast fidelity" +with "the wicked wretch Aman—a stranger received of +us ... his falsehood and cunning"—the whole of both +letters being carefully attuned to the respective key-notes—is +worthy of any one of the best ironists from Aristophanes +to the late Mr. Traill.</p> + +<p>Between these two extremes of the Pentateuch and the +Apocrypha there is, as has been remarked by divers commentators, +not much about letters in the Bible. It is not +auspicious that among the exceptions come David's letter +commanding the betrayal of Uriah, and a little later +Jezebel's similar prescription for the judicial murder of +Naboth. There is, however, some hint of that curious +attractiveness which some have seen in "the King's +daughter all glorious within—" and without (as the Higher +Criticism interprets the Forty-Fifth Psalm) in the bland +way with which she herself stipulates that the false witnesses +shall be "sons of Belial."</p> + +<p>There is a book (once much utilised as a school prize) +entitled <i>The History of Inventions</i>. I do not know whether +there is a "Dictionary of Attributed Inventors." If there +were it would contain some queer examples. One of the +queerest is fathered (for we only have it at second hand) +on Hellanicus, a Greek writer of respectable antiquity—the +Peloponnesian war-time—and respectable repute for +book-making in history, chronology, etc. It attributes the +invention of letters—<i>i.e.</i> "epistolary correspondence"—to +Atossa—not Mr. Matthew Arnold's Persian cat but—the +Persian Queen, daughter of Cyrus, wife of Cambyses +and Darius, mother of Xerxes, and in more than her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> +queenly status a sister to Jezebel. Atossa had not a +wholly amiable reputation, but she was assuredly no fool: +and if, to borrow a famous phrase, it had been necessary +to invent letters, there is no known reason why she might +not have done it. But it is perfectly certain that she did +not, and no one who combines, as all true scholars should +endeavour to combine, an unquenchable curiosity to know +what can be known and is worth knowing with a placid +resignation to ignorance of what cannot be known and +would not be worth knowing—need in the least regret the +fact that we do not know who did.</p> + +<p>There are said to be Egyptian letters of immense antiquity +and high development; but once more, I do not +profess direct knowledge of them, and once more I hold +that of what a man does not possess direct knowledge, of +that he should not write. Besides, for practical purposes, +all our literature begins with Greek: so to Greek let us +turn. We have a fair bulk of letters in that language. +Hercher's <i>Epistolographi Graeci</i> is a big volume, and would +not be a small one, if you cut out the Latin translations. +But it is unfortunate that nearly the whole, like the +majority of later Greek literature, is the work of that +special class called rhetoricians—a class for which, though +our term "book-makers" may be a little too derogatory, +"men of letters" is rarely (it is sometimes) applicable, as +we use it when we mean to be complimentary. These +letters are still close to "speech," thus meeting in a +fashion our initial requirement, but they are close to the +speech of the "orator"—of the sophisticated speaker to +the public—not to that of genuine conversation. In fact +in some cases it would require only the very slightest +change to make those exercitations of the rhetors which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> +are not called "epistles" definite letters in form, while +some of the best known and characteristic of their works +are so entitled.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><span class='smcap'>the rhetoricians</span></div> + +<p>It was unfortunate for the Greeks, as it would seem, and +for us more certainly, that letter-writing was so much +affected by these "rhetoricians." This curious class of +persons has perhaps been too much abused: and there is +no doubt that very great writers came out of them—to +mention one only in each division—Lucian among the +extremely profane, and St. Augustine among the greatest +and most intellectual of divines. But though their habitual +defects are to be found abundantly enough in modern +society, these defects are, with us, as a rule distributed +among different classes; while anciently they were united +in this one. We have our journalists, our book-makers +(literary, not sporting), our platform and parliamentary +palaverers, our popular entertainers; and we also have +our pedagogues, scholastic and collegiate, our scientific and +other lecturers, etc. But the Rhetorician of old was a +Jack of all these trades; and he too frequently combined +the triviality, unreality, sophistry and catch-pennyism of +the one division with the priggishness, the lack of tact and +humour, and above all the pseudo-scientific tendency to +generalisation, classification and, to use a familiar word, +"pottering" of the other. In particular he had a mania +in his more serious moods for defining and sub-defining +things and putting them into pigeon-holes under the sub-definitions. +Thus the so-called Demetrius Phalereus, who +(or a false namesake of his) has left us a capital <i>general</i> +remark (to be given presently) on letter-writing, elaborately +divides its kinds, with prescriptions for writing +each, into "friendly," "commendatory," "reproving,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> +"objurgatory," "consolatory," "castigatory," "admonishing," +"threatening," "vituperatory," "laudatory," +"persuasive," "begging," "questioning," "answering," +"allegorical," "explanatory," "accusing," "defending," +"congratulatory," "ironic" and "thankful," while the +neo-Platonist, Proclus, is responsible for, or at least has +attributed to him, a list of nearly double the length, +including most of those given above and adding many. +Of these last, "love-letters" is the most important, and +"mixed" the <i>canniest</i>, for it practically lets in everything.</p> + +<p>This way, of course, except for purely business purposes—where +established forms save time, trouble and possible +litigation—no possible good lies; and indeed the impossibility +thereof is clearly enough indicated in the above-glanced-at +general remark of Demetrius (or whoever it was) +himself. In fact the principle of this remark and its context +in the work called "Of Interpretation," which it is +more usual now to call, perhaps a little rashly, "Of Style," +is so different from the catalogue of types that they can +hardly come from the same author. "You <i>can</i> from this, +as well as from all other kinds of writing, discern the character +of the writer; indeed from none other can you discern +it so well." Those who know a little of the history +of Criticism will see how this anticipates the most famous +and best definitions of Style itself, as being "the very +man," and they may perhaps also think worthy of notice +another passage in the same context where the author finds +fault with a rather "fine" piece of an epistle as "not the +way a man would talk to his friend," and even goes on to +use the most familiar Greek word for talking—<span class='greek' title='lalein'>λαλεῖν</span>—in +the same connection.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><span class='smcap'>alciphron. julian</span></div> + +<p>Of such "talking with a friend" we have unfortunately<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> +very few examples—hardly any at all—from older Greek. +The greater collections—not much used in schools or +colleges now but well enough known to those who really +know Greek Literature—of Alciphron, Aristaenetus, +Philostratus and (once most famous of all) Phalaris are—one +must not perhaps say obvious, since men of no little +worth were once taken in by them but—pretty easily +discoverable counterfeits. They are sometimes, more particularly +those of Philostratus, interesting and even beautiful;<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> +they have been again sometimes at least supposed, +particularly those of Alciphron, to give us, from the fact +that they were largely based upon lost comedies, etc., +information which we should otherwise lack; and in many +instances (Aristaenetus is perhaps here the chief) they +must have helped towards that late Greek creation of the +Romance to which we owe so much. Nor have we here +much if anything to do with such questions as the morality +of personating dead authors, or that of laying traps for +historians. It is enough that they do not give us, except +very rarely, good letters: and that even these exceptions +are not in any probability <i>real</i> letters, real written "confabulations +of friends" at all. Almost the first we have +deserving such a description are those of the Emperor +Julian in the fourth century of that Christ for whom he +had such an unfortunate hatred; the most copious and +thoroughly genuine perhaps those of Bishop Synesius a +little later. Of these Julian's are a good deal affected by the +influence of Rhetoric, of which he was a great cultivator: +and the peculiar later Platonism of Synesius fills a larger<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> +proportion of his than some frivolous persons might wish. +Julian is even thought to have "written for publication," +as Latin epistolers of distinction had undoubtedly done +before him. Nevertheless it is pleasant to read the +Apostate when he is not talking Imperial or anti-Christian +"shop," but writing to his tutor, the famous sophist and +rhetorician Libanius, about his travels and his books and +what not, in a fashion by no means very unlike that in +which a young Oxford graduate might write to an undonnish +don. It is still pleasanter to find Synesius telling +his friends about the very thin wine and very thick honey +of Cyrenaica; making love ("camouflaged," as they say +to-day, under philosophy) to Hypatia, and condescending +to mention dogs, horses and hunting now and then. But +it is unfortunately undeniable that the bulk of this department +of Greek literature is spurious to begin with, and +uninteresting, even if spuriousness be permitted to pass. +The Letters of Phalaris—once famous in themselves, again +so as furnishing one of the chief battle-grounds in the +"Ancient and Modern" quarrel, and never to be forgotten +because of their connection with Swift's <i>Battle of the Books</i>—are +as dull as ditchwater in matter, and utterly destitute +of literary distinction in style.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<div class="sidenote"><span class='smcap'>roman letter-writing</span></div> + +<p>It is a rule, general and almost universal, that every +branch of Latin literature is founded on, and more or less +directly imitative of Greek. Even the Satire, which the +Romans relied upon to prove that they could originate, +is more apparently than really an invention. Also, though +this may be more disputable, because much more a matter +of personal taste, there were very few such branches in +which the pupils equalled, much fewer in which they sur<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>passed, +their masters. But in both respects letter-writing +may be said to be an exception. Unless we have been +singularly unlucky in losing better Greek letters than we +have, and extraordinarily fortunate in Fate's selection of +the Latin letters that have come down to us, the Romans, +though they were eager students of Rhetoric, and almost +outwent their teachers in composing the empty things +called Declamations, seem to have allowed this very +practice to drain off mere verbosity, and to have written +letters about matters which were worth pen, ink, paper +and (as we should say) postage. We have in Greek absolutely +no such letters from the flourishing time of the +literature as those of Cicero, of Pliny<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> and even of Seneca—while +as we approach the "Dark" Ages Julian and +Synesius in the older language cannot touch Sidonius +Apollinaris or perhaps Cassiodorus<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> in the younger. Of +course all these are beyond reasonable doubt genuine, +while the Greek letters attributed to Plato, Socrates and +other great men are almost without doubt and without +exception spurious. But there is very little likelihood +that the Greeks of the great times wrote many "matter-ful" +letters at all. They lived in small communities, +where they saw each other daily and almost hourly; they +took little interest in the affairs of other communities<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> +unless they were at war with them, and when they did +travel there were very few means of international communication.</p> + +<p>Women write the best letters, and get the best letters +written to them: but it is doubtful whether Greek women, +save persons of a certain class and other exceptions in +different ways like Sappho and Diotima,<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> ever wrote at +all. The Romans, after their early period, were not +merely a larger and ever larger community full of the most +various business, and constantly extending their presence +and their sway; but, by their unique faculty of organisation, +they put every part of their huge world in communication +with every other part. Here also we lack women's +letters; but we are, as above remarked, by no means badly +off for those of men. There have even been some audacious +heretics who have preferred Cicero's letters to his speeches +and treatises; Seneca, the least attractive of those before +mentioned, put well what the poet Wordsworth called in +his own poems "extremely va<i>loo</i>able thoughts"; one of +the keenest of mathematicians and best of academic and +general business men known to the present writer, the late +Professor Chrystal of Edinburgh, made a special favourite +of Pliny; and if people can find nothing worse to say +against Sidonius than that he wrote in contemporary, and +not in what was for his time archaic, Latin, his case will +not look bad in the eyes of sensible men.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><span class='smcap'>sidonius</span></div> + +<p>Sidonius, like Synesius, was a Christian, and, though the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> +observation may seem no more logical than Fluellen's +about Macedon and Monmouth, besides being in more +doubtful taste, there would seem to be some connection +between the spread of Christianity and that of letter-writing. +At any rate they synchronise, despite or perhaps +because of the deficiency of formal literature during the +"Dark" Ages. It is not really futile to point out that a +very large part of the New Testament consists of +"Epistles," and that by no means the whole of these +epistles is occupied by doctrinal or hortatory matter. +Even that which is so, often if not always, partakes of the +character of a "live" letter to an extent which makes the +so-called letters of the Greek Rhetoricians mere school +exercises. And St. Paul's allusions to his journeys, his +salutations, his acknowledgment of presents, his reference +to the cloak and the books with its anxious "but especially +the parchments," and his excellent advice to Timothy +about beverages, are all the purest and most genuine +matter for mail-bags. So is St. Peter's very gentleman-like +(as it has been termed) retort to his brother Apostle; +and so are both the Second and the Third of St. John. +Indeed it is not fanciful to suggest that the account of the +voyage which finishes the "Acts," and other parts of that +very delightful book, are narratives much more of the kind +one finds in letters than of the formally historical sort.</p> + +<p>However this may be, it is worth pointing out that the +distrust of other pagan kinds of literature which the +Fathers manifested so strongly, and which was inherited +from them by the clergy of the "Dark," and to some +extent the Middle Ages, clearly could not extend to the +practice of the Apostles. If from the Dark Ages themselves +we have not very many, it must be remembered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> +that from them we have little literature at all: while from +the close of that period and the beginning of the next we +have one of the most famous of all correspondences, the +Letters of Abelard and Heloise. Of the intrinsic merit of +these long-and far-famed compositions, as displaying character, +there have been different opinions—one of the most +damaging attacks on them may be found in Barbey +d'Aurevilly's already mentioned book. But their influence +has been lasting and enormous: and even if it were to +turn out that they are forgeries, they are certainly early +forgeries, and the person who forged them knew extremely +well what he was about. There is no room here to survey, +even in selection, the letter-crop of the Middle Ages; and +from henceforward we must speak mainly, if not wholly +(for some glances abroad may be permitted), of <i>English</i> +letters.<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> But the ever-increasing bonds of union—even of +such union in disunion as war—between different European +nations, and the developments of more complex +civilisation, of more general education and the like—all +tended and wrought in the same direction.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span></p> +<h2>II</h2> + +<h3>LETTERS IN ENGLISH—BEFORE 1700</h3> + + +<p>Exceptions have sometimes been taken to the earliest +collection of genuine private letters, not official communications +written in or inspired by Latin—which we possess +in English. "The Paston Letters" have been, from +opposite sides, accused of want of literary form and of not +giving us interesting enough details in substance. The +objections in either case<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> are untenable, and in both rather +silly. In the first place "literary form" in the fifteenth +century was exceedingly likely to be bad literary form, +and we are much better off without it. Unless Sir Thomas +Malory had happened to be chaplain at Oxnead, or Sir +John Fortescue had occupied there something like the +position of Mr. Tulkinghorn in <i>Bleak House</i>, we should +not have got much "literature" from any known prose-writer +of the period. Nor was it wanted. As for interestingness +of matter, the people who expect newspaper-correspondent +fine writing about the Wars of the Roses +may be disappointed; but some of us who have had +experience of that dialect from the Russells of the Crimea +through the Forbeses of 1870 to the chroniclers of Armageddon +the other day will probably not be very unhappy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> +The Paston Letters are simply genuine family correspondence—of +a genuineness all the more certain because of +their commonplaceness. It is impossible to conceive anything +further from the initial type of the Greek rhetorical +"letter" of which we have just been saying something. +They are not, to any but an excessively "high-browed" +and high-flying person, uninteresting: but the chief point +about them is their solidity and their satisfaction, in their +own straightforward unvarnished way, of the test we +started with. When Margaret Paston and the rest write, +it is because they have something to say to somebody who +cannot be actually spoken to. And that something is said.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><span class='smcap'>ascham</span></div> + +<p>The next body of letters—Ascham's—which seems to +call for notice here is of the next century. It has not a +few points of appeal, more than one of which concern us +very nearly. Most of the writers of the Paston Letters +were, though in some cases of good rank and fairly educated, +persons entirely unacademic in character, and their +society was that of the last trouble and convulsion through +which the Early Middle Ages struggled into the Renaissance, +so long delayed with us. Ascham was one of our +chief representatives of the Renaissance itself—that is to +say, of a type at once scholarly and man-of-the-worldly, +a courtier and a diplomatist as well as a "don" and a +man of letters; a sportsman as well as a schoolmaster. +And while from all these points of view his letters have +interest, there is one thing about them which is perhaps +more interesting to us than any other: and that is the +fact that while he begins to write in Latin—the all but +mother-tongue of all scholars of the time, and the universal +language of the educated, even when not definitely scholarly, +throughout Europe—he exchanges this for English<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> +latterly, in the same spirit which prompted his famous +expression of reasons for writing the <i>Toxophilus</i> in our own +and his own tongue. There is indeed a double attraction, +which has not been always or often noticed, in this change +of practice. Everybody has seen how important it is, not +merely as resisting the general delusion of contemporary +scholars that the vernaculars were things unsafe, "like to +play the bankrupt with books," but as protesting by +anticipation against the continuance of this error which +affected Bacon and Hobbes, and was not entirely without +hold even on such a magician in English as Browne. But +perhaps everybody has not seen how by implication it +acknowledges the peculiar character of the genuine letter—that, +though it may be a work of art, it should not be +one of artifice—that it is a matter of "business <i>or</i> bosoms," +not of study or display.</p> + +<p>Contemporary with these letters of Ascham, and going +on to the end of the century and the closely coincident end +of the reign of Elizabeth, we have a considerable bulk of +letter-writing of more or less varied kinds. The greatest +men of letters of the time—to the disgust of one, but not +wholly so to that of another, class of "scholar"—give us +little. Spenser is the most considerable exception: and +his correspondence with Gabriel Harvey, though it is +personal to a certain extent and on Gabriel's side sufficiently +character-revealing, is really of the hybrid kind, +partaking rather more of pamphlet or essay than of +letter proper. Indeed a good part of that very remarkable +pamphlet-literature of this time, which has perhaps +scarcely yet received its due share of attention, takes the +letter-form: but is mostly even farther from genuine +letter-writing than the correspondence of "Immerito"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> +and "Master G. H." We have of course more of Harvey's; +we have laments from others, such as Lyly and Googe, +about their disappointments as courtiers; we have a good +deal of State correspondence. There are some, not very +many, agreeable letters of strictly private character in +whole or part, the pleasantest of all perhaps being some of +Sir Philip Sydney's mother, Lady Mary Dudley. Others +are from time to time being made public, such as those in +Dr. Williamson's recent book on the Admiral-Earl of +Cumberland. As far as mere bulk goes, Elizabethan +epistolography would take no small place, just as it would +claim no mean one in point of interest. But in an even +greater degree than its successor (<i>v. inf.</i>) this <i>corpus</i> would +expose itself to the criticism that the time for perfect +letter-writing was not quite yet, in this day of so much +that was perfect, that the style was not quite the right +style, the knack not yet quite achieved. And if the +present writer—who swore fealty to Elizabethan literature +a full third of a century ago after informal allegiance +for nearly as long a time earlier—admits some truth in +this, there probably is some. The letters included in it +attract us more for the matter they contain than for the +manner in which they contain it: and when this is the +case no branch of literature has perfected itself in art.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><span class='smcap'>the seventeenth century</span></div> + +<p>The position of the seventeenth century in England with +regard to letter-writing has been the subject of rather +different opinions. The bulk of its contributions is of +course very considerable: and some of the groups are of +prominent importance, the most singular, if not the most +excellent, being Cromwell's, again to be mentioned. As +in other cases and departments this century offers a +curious "split" between its earlier part which declines<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>—not +in goodness but like human life in vitality—from, but +still preserves the character of, the pure Elizabethan, and +its later, which grows up again—not in goodness but simply +in the same vitality—towards the Augustan. This relationship +is sufficiently illustrated in the actual letters. The +great political importance of the Civil War of course reflects +itself in them. Indeed it may almost be said that +for some time letters are wholly concerned with such +things, though of course there are partial exceptions, such +as those of Dorothy Osborne—"mild Dorothea" as she +afterwards became, though there is no mere mildness of +the contemptuous meaning in her correspondence. In +most remarkable contrast to these stand the somewhat +earlier letters of James Howell—our first examples perhaps +of letters "written for publication" in the fullest sense, +very agreeably varied in subject and great favourites +with a good many people, notably Thackeray—but only +in part (if at all) genuine private correspondence.</p> + +<p>Not a few men otherwise distinguished in literature +wrote letters—sometimes in curious contrast with other +productions of theirs. The most remarkable instance of +this, but an instance easily comprehensible, is that of +Samuel Pepys. Only a part of Pepys' immense correspondence +has ever been printed, but there is no reason +to expect from the remainder—whether actually extant, +mislaid or lost—anything better than the examples which +are now accessible, and which are for the most part the +very opposite in every respect of the famous and delectable +Diary. They are perfectly "proper," and for the most +part extremely dull; while propriety is certainly not the +most salient characteristic of the Diary; and the diarist +manages, in the most eccentric manner, to communicate<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> +interest not merely to things more specially regarded as +"interesting," but to his accounts and his ailments, his +business and his political history. His contemporary and +rather patronising friend Evelyn keeps his performances +less far apart from each other: but is certainly, though a +representative, not a great letter-writer, and the few that +we have of Pepys' patronised fellow-Cantabrigian Dryden +are of no great mark, though not superfluous. In the +earlier part of the century Latin had not wholly shaken +off its control as the epistolary language; and it was not +till quite the other end that English itself became supple +and docile enough for the purposes of the letter-writer +proper. It was excellent for such things as formal Dedications, +semi-historical narratives, and the like. And it +could, as in Sir Thomas Browne's, supply another contrast, +much more pleasing than that referred to above, of +domestic familiarity with a most poetical transcendence +of style in published work. Yet, as was the case with +the novel, the letter, to gain perfection, still wanted something +easier than the grand style of the seventeenth +century and more polished than its familiar style.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p> +<h2>III</h2> + +<h3>THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY</h3> + + +<div class="sidenote"><span class='smcap'>the eighteenth century</span></div> + +<p>But whatever may be the position of the seventeenth in +respect of letter-writing it is impossible for anything but +sheer ignorance, hopeless want of critical discernment, or +idle paradox to mistake, in the direction of belittlement, +that of the eighteenth. By common consent of all opinion +worth attention that century was, in the two European +literatures which were equally free from crudity and +decadence—French and English—the very palmiest day +of the art. Everybody wrote letters: and a surprising +number of people wrote letters well. Our own three most +famous epistolers of the male sex, Horace Walpole, Gray +and Cowper—belong wholly to it; and "Lady Mary"—our +most famous she-ditto—belongs to it by all but her +childhood; as does Chesterfield, whom some not bad judges +would put not far if at all below the three men just mentioned. +The rise of the novel in this century is hardly more +remarkable than the way in which that novel almost wedded +itself—certainly joined itself in the most frequent friendship—to +the letter-form. But perhaps the excellence of +the choicer examples in this time is not really more +important than the abundance, variety and popularity of +its letters, whether good, indifferent, or bad. To use one +of the informal superlatives sanctioned by familiar custom<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> +it was the "letterwritingest" of ages from almost every +point of view. In its least as in its most dignified moods +it even overflowed into verse if not into poetry as a medium. +Serious epistles had—of course on classical models—been +written in verse for a long time. But now in England +more modern patterns, and especially Anstey's <i>New Bath +Guide</i>, started the fashion of actual correspondence in +doggerel verse with no thought of print—a practice in which +persons as different as Madame d'Arblay's good-natured +but rather foolish father, and a poet and historian like +Southey indulged; and which did not become obsolete till +Victorian times, if then. At the present moment one does +not remember an exact equivalent in England to the story +of two good writers in French if not French writers<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> living +in the same house, meeting constantly during the day, yet +exchanging letters, and not short ones, before breakfast. +But very likely there is or was one, and more than one.</p> + +<p>For those no doubt estimable persons who are not +content with facts but must have some explanations of +them, it is less difficult to supply such things than is sometimes +the case. One—the attainment at last of a +"middle" style neither grand nor vulgar—has already +been glanced at. It has been often and quite truly +observed that there are sentences, passages, paragraphs, +almost whole letters in Horace Walpole and Lady Mary +Wortley Montagu, in Fanny Burney and in Cowper, which +no one would think old-fashioned at the present day in +any context where modern slang did not suggest itself as +natural. But this was by no means the only predisposing +cause, though perhaps most of the others were, in this +way or that, connected with it. Both in France and in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> +England literature and social matters generally were in +something like what political economists call "the stationary +state" till (as rather frequently happens with such +apparently stationary states) the smoothness changed to +the Niagara of the French Revolution, and the rapids of +the quarter-century War. There were no great poets:<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> +and even verse-writers were rarely grand: but there was +a greater diffusion of competent writing faculty than had +been seen before or perhaps—for all the time, talk, trouble, +and money spent on "education,"—has been since. New +divisions and departments of interest were accumulating—not +merely in Literature itself<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> (as to which, if people's +ideas were rather limited, they <i>had</i> ideas), but in the arts +which were in some cases practised almost for the first +time and in all taken more seriously, in foreign and home +politics, commerce, manufactures, all manner of things. +People were by no means so apt to stay in the same place +as they had been: and when friends were in different +places they had much easier means of communicating with +each other. Nor should it be forgotten that the more +elaborate system of ceremonial manners which then prevailed, +but which has been at first gradually, and latterly +with a run, breaking down for the last hundred years, had +an important influence on letter-writing. One does not +of course refer merely to elaborate formulas of beginning +and ending—such as make even the greatest praisers +of times past among us smile a little when they find<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> +Dr. Johnson addressing his own step-daughter as "Dear +Madam," and being her "most humble servant" though +in the course of the letter he may use the most affectionate +and intimate expressions. But the manners of yester-year +made it obligatory to make your letters—unless they were +merely what were called "cards" of invitation, message, +etc.—to some extent <i>substantive</i>. You gave the news of +the day, if your correspondent was not likely to know it; +the news of the place, especially if you were living in a +University town or a Cathedral city. If you had read a +book you very often criticised it: if you had been to any +kind of entertainment you reported on it, etc. etc. Of +course all this is still done by people who really do write +real letters: but it is certainly done by a much smaller +proportion of letter-writers than was the case two hundred, +one hundred, or even fifty years ago. The newspaper has +probably done more to kill letters than any penny post, +halfpenny postcard or even sixpenny telegram could do. +Nor perhaps have we yet mentioned the most powerful +destructive agent of all, and that is the ever increasing +want of leisure. The dulness of modern Jack, in letters +as elsewhere, arises from the fact that when he is not at +work he is too desperately set on playing to have time for +anything else. The Augustans are not usually thought +God-like: but they have this of Gods, that they "lived +<i>easily</i>."</p> + +<p>There is perhaps still something to be said as to the +apparently almost pre-established harmony between the +eighteenth century and letter-writing. It concerns what +has been called the "<i>Peace</i> of the Augustans"; the at +least comparative freedom alike from the turmoil of +passion and the most riotous kinds of fun. Tragedy may<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> +be very fine in letters, as it may be anywhere: but it is +in them the most dangerous,<a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> most rarely successful and +most frequently failed-in of all motives—again as it is +everywhere. Comedy in letters is good: but it should be +fairly "genteel" comedy, such as this age excelled in—not +roaring Farce. An "excruciatingly funny" letter +runs the risk of being excruciating in a sadly literal sense. +Now the men of good Queen Anne and the first three +Georges were not given to excess, in these ways at any +rate; and there are few better examples of the happy +mean than the best of their letters. The person who is +bored by any one of those sets which have been mentioned +must bring the boredom with him—as, by the way, +complainers of that state of suffering do much oftener +than they wot of. Nor is much less to be said of scores +of less famous epistolers of the time, from the generation +of Berkeley and Byrom to that of Scott and Southey.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><span class='smcap'>swift</span></div> + +<p>To begin with Swift, it is a scarcely disputable fact that +opinions about this giant of English literature—not merely +as to his personal character, though perhaps this has had +more to do with the matter than appears on the surface, +but as to his exact literary value—have differed almost +incomprehensibly. Johnson thought, or at least affected +to think, that <i>A Tale of a Tub</i> could not be Swift's, because +it was too good for him, and that "Tom Davies might +have written <i>The Conduct of the Allies</i>": while on the +other hand Thackeray, indulging in the most extravagant +denunciation of Swift as a man, did the very fullest,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> +though not in the least too full, homage to his genius. +But one does not know many things more surprising in +the long list of contradictory criticisms of man and genius +alike, than Mr. Herbert Paul's disapproval of the <i>Journal +to Stella</i> as letters while admitting its excellence as +"narrative."<a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> To other judges these are some of the most +perfect letters in existence, some of the most absolutely +genuine and free from the slightest taint of writing for +publication; some of the most extraordinarily blended of +intense intimacy which is neither ridiculous nor productive +of the shame-faced feeling that you ought not to have +heard it; and full of that dealing with matters less intimate +but still interesting to both correspondents which +displays the "narrative" excellence conceded by this +acute critic. It must of course be remembered that these +"Journal-letters" are by no means Swift's only proofs of +his epistolary expertness. The Vanessa ones perhaps display +a little of the hopelessly enigmatic character which +spreads like a mist over the whole of that ill-starred +relationship: but they make all the more useful contrast +to the "wholeheartedness"—one may even use that word +in reference to the little bit of what we may call constructive +deception as to "the other person"—of those to +her rival.<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> Those to Pope (of which so shabby a use was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> +made by their strangely constituted recipient), to Bolingbroke +and others are among the best of friendly letters: +and the curious batch to the Duchess of Queensberry +might be classed with those "court-paying" letters of +man to woman which are elsewhere more particularly +noted. But the "Stella" or "Stella-cum-Dingley" +division (if that most singular of value-completing zeros +is to be brought in) is a thing by itself. Perhaps appreciating +or not appreciating the "little language" is a +matter very largely of personal constitution, and the +failure to appreciate is (like colour-blindness or other +physical deficiencies) a thing to be sorry for, not to condemn. +But one might have thought that even if what we +may call "feeling" of this were absent there would be an +intellectual understanding of the way in which it completes +the whole-heartedness just mentioned—the manner +in which the writer deals with politics, society, letters, the +common ways of life, and his own passion—this last sometimes +in the fore-sometimes in the background, but never +far off. Other letters, from Horace Walpole's downwards, +may contain a panorama of life as brilliant as these give, +or more brilliant. Yet it is too frequently a panorama or +a puppet show, or at the best a marvellously acted but +somewhat bloodless drama. On the other hand, the pure +passion-letters lack as a rule this many-sidedness. With +Swift we get both. Seldom has any collection shown us +more varied interests. But through it all there is an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> +anticipation of the knell of this commerce of his—"Only +a woman's hair"—and that hair threads, in subtle fashion, +the whole of the Journal, turning the panorama to something +felt as well as seen, and the puppet-show to realities +of flesh and blood.</p> + +<p>That this magical transforming element is wanting in +a most remarkable pair of contemporaries, Chesterfield +and "Lady Mary," has been generally allowed; though +a strong fight has been made by some of her sisters for +"my lady" and though the soundest criticism allows that +"my lord" did not so much lack as dissemble heart and +even sometimes showed the heart he had. It would be +out of our proper line to discuss such questions here at +any length. It may be enough to warn readers who have +not yet had time to look into the matter for themselves +that Pope's coarse attacks on Lady Mary and Johnson's +fine rhetorical rebuff of Chesterfield were unquestionably +outbursts of hurt personal pride. Horace Walpole made +hits at both for reasons which we may call personal at +second-hand, because the one was a friend of his sister-in-law +and the other an enemy of his father. As for +Dickens' caricature of "Sir John Chester" in <i>Barnaby +Rudge</i> it is not so much a caricature as a sheer and inexcusable +libel. Anyhow, the letters of the Earl and the +Lady are exceedingly good reading. Persons of no +advanced years who have been introduced to them in the +twentieth century have been known to find them positively +captivating: and their attractions are, not merely +as between the two but even in each case by itself, singularly +various. Lady Mary's forte—perhaps in direct +following of her great forerunner and part namesake, +Marie de Sévigné, though she spoke inadvisedly of her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span>—lies +in description of places and manners, and in literary +criticism.<a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> Her accounts of her Turkish journey in earlier +days, and of some scenes in Italy later, of her court and +other experiences, etc., rank among the best things of the +kind in English; and her critical acuteness, assisted as it +was by no small possession of what might almost be called +scholarship, was most remarkable for her time. Also, she +does all these things naturally—with that naturalness at +which—when they possess it at all—women are so much +better than men. People say a lady can never pass a +glass without looking at herself. (One thinks by the way +one has seen men do that.) But after all what the glass +gives is a reflection and record of nature: and women +learn to see it in others as well as in themselves.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><span class='smcap'>chesterfield</span></div> + +<p>Few English writers have suffered more injustice in +popular estimation than Chesterfield. Even putting aside +the abuse by which, as above mentioned, Johnson showed +(on Fluellen's principles convincingly) that he had more +in common with the Goddess Juno than the J in both +their names—that is to say an <i>insanabile vulnus</i> of vanity—there +remain sources of mistakes and prejudice which +have been all too freely tapped. The miscellaneous letters—which +show sides of him quite different from those most +in evidence throughout the "Letters to his Son"—are +rarely read: these latter have been, at least once and +probably oftener, made into a schoolbook for translation +into other languages—an office by no means likely to +conciliate affection. And even when they are not suspected +of positive immorality there is a too general idea<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> +that they are frivolously and trivially didactic—the sort +of thing that Mr. Turveydrop the elder might have written +on Deportment—if he had had brains enough. Yet again, +unbiassed appreciation of them has been hampered by all +sorts of idle controversies as to the kind of man that young +Stanhope actually turned out to be—a point of merely +gossiping importance in any case, and, whatever be the +facts of this one, having no more to do with the merit of +the letters than the other fact that some people make +mistakes in their accounts after having learnt the multiplication +table has to do with the value of that composition. +As a matter of relevant fact the letters—except +(and even here the accusations against them are much +exaggerated) from the point of view of very severe morality +in regard to one or two points—perhaps no more than one—are +full of sound advice, clear common-sense, and ripe +experience of the world. The manners they recommend +are not those of any but a very exceptional "dancing +master," they are those of a gentleman. The temper that +they inculcate and that they exhibit in the inculcator is +positively kindly and relatively correct. Both these and +the other batch of "Letters to his Godson" and successor +in the Earldom (the Lord Chesterfield for forging whose +name Dr. Dodd was hanged) show the most curious and +unusual pains on the part of a man admitted to be in the +highest degree a man of the world, and sometimes accused +of being nothing else, to make himself intelligible and +agreeable to young—at first very young—boys. In his +letters to older folk, both men and women, qualities for +which there was no room in the others arise—the thoughts +of a statesman and a philosopher, the feelings of a being +quite different from the callous, frivolous, sometimes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> +"insolent"<a name="FNanchor_15_15" id="FNanchor_15_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> worldling who has been so often put in the +place of the real Chesterfield. And independently of all this +there is present in all these letters—though most attractively +in those to his son—a power of literary expression +which would have made the fortune of any professional +writer of the time. If Chesterfield's literary taste was too +often decided by the fashionable limitations of this time, +it was, within those limitations, accomplished: and it was +accompanied, as mere taste very often is not, by no small +command of literary production. He could and did write +admirable light verse; his wit in conversation is attested +in the most final fashion by his enemy Horace Walpole, +and some of the passages in the letters where he indulges +in description or even dialogue are by no means unworthy +of the best genteel comedy of the time. But he could +also, as was said of someone else, be "nobly serious," as +in his "character" writing and elsewhere. His few contributions +to the half-developed periodical literature of +his day show how valuable he would have been to the +more advanced Review or Magazine of the nineteenth +century: and if he had chosen to write Memoirs they +would probably have been among the best in English.<a name="FNanchor_16_16" id="FNanchor_16_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> +Now the Memoir and the Letter are perhaps the most +straitly and intimately connected forms of literature.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><span class='smcap'>horace walpole</span></div> + +<p>Horace Walpole—like his two contemporaries, fellow-members +of English aristocratic society, acquaintances<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> +and objects of aversion just discussed—has been the +subject of very various opinions. Johnson (of whom he +himself spoke with ignorant contempt and who did not +know his letters, but did know some of his now half-forgotten +published works) dismissed him with good-natured +belittlement. Macaulay made him the subject +of some of the most unfortunately exaggerated of those +antitheses of blame and praise which, in the long run, +have done the writer more harm than his subjects. To +take one example less likely to be known to English +readers, the wayward and prejudiced, but often very +acute French critic already mentioned, Barbey d'Aurevilly, +though he admits Horace's <i>esprit</i> pronounces it <i>un +fruit brillant, amer, et glacé</i>. There are undoubtedly many +things to be said against him as a man—if you take the +"Letters-a-telltale-of-character" view, especially so. He +was certainly spiteful, and he had the particularly awkward—though +from one point of view not wholly unamiable—peculiarity +of being what may be called spiteful at second +hand. To stand up for your friends at the proper time +and in the proper place is the duty, and should be the +pleasure, of every gentleman. But to bite and for the +most part, if not almost always, to <i>back</i>-bite your friends' +supposed enemies—often when they have done nothing +adverse to those friends on the particular occasion—is the +act at the best of an intempestively officious person, at +the worst of a cur. And Horace was always doing this +in regard to all sorts of people—his abuse of Johnson +himself, of Chesterfield and Lady Mary, of Fielding and +others, having no personal excuse or reason whatsoever.</p> + +<p>His taste in collecting, building, etc., is not a matter in +which men of other times should be too ready to throw<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> +stones, for taste in all such matters at almost all times, +however sure a stronghold it may seem to those who +occupy it, is the most brittle of glass-houses to others. +He had also a considerable touch of almost original genius +in important kinds of literature, as <i>The Mysterious Mother</i> +and <i>The Castle of Otranto</i> showed—a touch which undoubtedly +helped him in his letters. But of critical power +he had nothing at all; and his knowledge (save, perhaps +in Art) was anything but extensive and still less accurate. +Politically he was a mere baby, all the eighty years of his +life; though he passed many of them in the House of +Commons and might have passed several in the House of +Lords, had he chosen to attend it. When he was young +he was a theoretical republican rejoicing in the execution +of Charles I.: when he was old the French Revolution +was to him anathema and he was horrified at the execution +of Louis XVI. He was incapable of sustaining, perhaps +of understanding, an argument: everything with him was +a matter, as the defamers of women say it is with them, +of personal and arbitrary fancy, prejudice, or whim.</p> + +<p>But all this does not prevent him from being one of the +best letter-writers in the English language: and if you +take bulk of work along with variety of subject; maintenance +of interest and craftsmanship as well as bulk, +perhaps the very best of all. The latest standard edition +of his letters, to which additions are still being made, is +in sixteen well-filled volumes, and there are probably few +readers of good taste and fair knowledge who would object +if it could be extended to sixty. There is perhaps no body +of epistles except Madame de Sévigné's own—which +Horace fervently admired and, assisted perhaps by the +feminine element in his own nature, copied assiduously<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>—exhibiting +the possible charm of letter-writing more distinctly +or more copiously.</p> + +<p>To examine the nature of this charm a little cannot be +irrelevant in such an Introduction as this: and from +what has just been said it would seem that these letters +will form as good a specimen for examination as any. +They are not very much "mannerised": indeed, nobody +but Thackeray, in the wonderful chapter of <i>The Virginians</i> +where Horace is made to describe his first interview with +one of the heroes, has ever quite imitated them. Their +style, though recognisable at once, is not a matter so much +of phrase as of attitude. His revelations of character—his +own that is to say, for Horace was no conjuror with +any one else's—are constant but not deeply drawn. He +cannot, or at least does not, give a plot of any kind: +every letter is a sort of <i>review</i> of the subject—larger or +smaller—from the really masterly accounts of the trial of +the Jacobite Lords after the "Forty-five" to the most +trivial notices of people going to see "Strawberry"; of +remarkable hands at cards; of Patty Blount (Pope's +Patty) in her autumn years passing his windows with her +gown tucked up because of the rain. Art and letters +appear; travelling and visiting; friendship and society; +curious belated love-making with the Miss Berrys; +scandal (a great deal of it); charity (a little, but more +than the popular conception of Horace allows for); the +court-calendar, club life, almost all manner of things +except religion (though it is said Horace had an early +touch of Methodism) and really serious thought of any +kind, form the budget of his letter-bag. And it is all +handled with the most unexpected equality of success. +There is of course nothing very "arresting." Cooking<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> +chickens in a sort of picnic with madcap ladies, and expecting +"the dish to fly about our ears" is perhaps the +most exciting incident<a name="FNanchor_17_17" id="FNanchor_17_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> of the sixteen volumes and seven +or eight thousand pages. But everywhere there is interest; +and that of a kind that does not stale itself.</p> + +<p>The fact would seem to be that the art of letter-writing +is a sort of mosaic or macédoine of nearly all departments +of the general Art of Literature. You want constant +touches of the art narrative, and not very seldom some of +the art dramatic. Always you want that of conversation—subtly +differentiated. Occasionally, though in the +ordinary letter not very often, you want argument: much +oftener description. Pathos, tenderness, etc., are more +exceptionally required: and it is, in modern times at +least, generally accepted that in the letter consolatory, +that almost greatest of Shakespearian magic phrases, "the +rest is silence" should never be forgotten and very quickly +applied. Wit is welcome, if it be well managed: but that +is a pretty constant proviso in regard to the particular +element. Perhaps the greatest negative caution of all is +that the letter should not be <i>obviously</i> "written for publication."</p> + +<p>Now the curious thing about Walpole is that his letters +were, pretty certainly in some cases (those to Mann) and +not improbably in nearly all, written with some view to +publication if only of a limited sort, and yet that the +intention is rarely prominent to an offensive degree. Even +if we did not know the curious and disgusting tricks that +Pope played with his, we should be certain that he was +always thinking of the possibility of somebody else than<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> +the reader to whom they were addressed reading them. +With nearly an equal presumption as to the fact in the +case of Horace (though to do him justice he did not indulge +in any ignoble tricks with them) this fact rarely occurs +and never offends. An unkind critic with a turn for rather +obvious epigram might say that the man's nature was so +artificial that his artifice seems natural. If so, all the +more credit to him as an artificer. And another feather +in his cap is that, although you can hardly ever mistake +the writer, his letters take a slight but sufficient colour of +difference according to the personality of the recipient. +He does not write to Montagu exactly as he writes to +Mann; to Gray as to Mason; to Lady Upper-Ossory as +to earlier she-correspondents. So once more, though there +are large and important possible subjects for letters on +which "Horry" does not write at all, it is questionable +whether, everything being counted in that he has, and no +unfair offsets allowed for what he does not attempt, we +have in English any superior to him as a letter-writer.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><span class='smcap'>gray</span></div> + +<p>The case of another famous eighteenth-century epistoler—Walpole's +schoolfellow and except for the time of a +quarrel (the blame of which Horace rather generously took +upon himself but in which there were doubtless faults on +both sides)<a name="FNanchor_18_18" id="FNanchor_18_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a> life-long friend—is curiously different. Gray +was a poet, while Walpole, save for a touch of fantastic +imagination, had nothing of poetry in him and could not,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> +as some who are not poets can, even appreciate it. In +more than one other intellectual gift he soared above +Horace. He was essentially a scholar, while his friend +was as essentially a sciolist. He even combined the +scientific with the literary temperament to a considerable +extent: and thus was enabled to display an orderliness +of thought by no means universal in men of letters, and +(at least according to common estimation) positively rare +in poets. His tastes were as various as his friend's: but +instead of being a mere bundle of casual likings and dislikings, +they were aesthetically conceived and connected. +He was not exactly an amiable person: indeed, though +there was less spitefulness in him than in Horace there +was, perhaps, more positive "bad blood." As for the +feature in his character, or at least conduct, that impressed +itself so much on Mr. Matthew Arnold—that he +"never spoke out"—it might be thought, if it really +existed, to have been rather fatal to letter-writing, in +which a sense of constraint and "keeping back" is one +of the very last things to be desired. And some of the +positive characteristics and accomplishments above enumerated +(not the poetry—poets have usually been good +epistolers) might not seem much more suitable.</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact, however, Gray <i>is</i> a good letter-writer—a +very good letter-writer indeed. His letters, as +might be expected from what has been said, carry much +heavier metal than Horace's; but in another sense they +are not in the least heavy. They are very much less in +bulk than those of the longer lived and more "scriblative" +though hardly more leisured writer:<a name="FNanchor_19_19" id="FNanchor_19_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a> and—as not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> +a defect but a consequence of the quality just attributed +to them—they do not quite carry the reader along with +them in that singular fashion which distinguishes the +others. But no one save a dunce can find them dull: +and their variety is astonishing when one remembers that +the writer was, for great part of his life, a kind of recluse. +He touches almost everything except love (one wonders +whether there were any unpublished, and feels pretty sure +that there must have been some unwritten, letters to Miss +Speed which would have filled the gap) and with a result +of artistic success even more decided than that assigned +to Goldsmith's versatility by Gray's enemy or at least +"incompatible" Johnson.<a name="FNanchor_20_20" id="FNanchor_20_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_20_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a> His letters of travel are +admirable: his accounts of public affairs, though sometimes +extremely prejudiced, very clever; those of University +society and squabbles among the very best that +we have in English; those touching "the picturesque" +extremely early and remarkably clear-sighted; those +touching literature among the least one-sided of their +time. If there are, as observed or hinted above, some +unamiable touches, his persistent protection of the poor +creature Mason; his general attitude to his friends the +Whartons; and his communications with younger men +like Norton Nicholls and Bonstetten, go far to remove, or, +at least, to counterbalance, the impression.</p> + +<p>This last division indeed, and the letters to Mason,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> +emphasize what is evident enough in almost all, a freedom +on his part (which from some things in his character and +history we might not altogether have expected) from a +fault than which hardly any is more disagreeable in letters. +This is the manifestation of what is called, in various more +or less familiar terms, "giving oneself airs," "side," +"patronising," etc. He may sometimes come near this +pitfall of "intellectuals," but he never quite slips into it, +being probably preserved by that sense of humour which +he certainly possessed, though he seldom gave vent to it +in verse and not very often in prose. Taking them altogether, +Gray's letters may be said to have few superiors +in the combination of intellectual weight and force with +"pastime" interest. To some of course they may be +chiefly or additionally interesting because of such light as +they throw or withhold on a rather problematic character, +but this, like the allegory in Spenser according to Hazlitt, +"won't bite" anyone who lets it alone. They are extremely +good letters to read: and the more points of +interest they provide for any reader the better for that +reader himself. Once more too, they illustrate the principle +laid down at the beginning of this paper. They are +good letters because they are, with the usual subtle difference +necessary, like very good talk, recorded.<a name="FNanchor_21_21" id="FNanchor_21_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_21_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a></p> + +<div class="sidenote"><span class='smcap'>cowper</span></div> + +<p>Nor is there any more doubt about the qualifications of +the fifth of our selected eighteenth-century letter-writers. +Cowper's poetry has gone through not very strongly +marked but rather curious variations of critical estimate.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> +Like all transition writers he was a little too much in front +of the prevailing taste of his own time, and a little too +much behind that of the time immediately succeeding. +There may have been a very brief period, before the great +romantic poets of the early nineteenth century became +known, when he "drove" young persons like Marianne +Dashwood "wild": but Marianne Dashwoods and their +periods succeed and do not resemble each other.<a name="FNanchor_22_22" id="FNanchor_22_22"></a><a href="#Footnote_22_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a> He had +probably less hold on this time—when he had the best +chance of popularity—than Crabbe, one of his own group, +while he was destitute of the extraordinary appeals—which +might be altogether unrecognised for a time but +when felt are unmistakable—of the other two, Burns and +Blake, of the poets of the seventeen-eighties. His religiosity +was a doubtful "asset" as people say nowadays: +and even his pathetic personal history had its awkward +side. But as to his letters there has hardly at any time, +since they became known, existed a difference of opinion +among competent judges. There may be some unfortunates +for whom they are too "mild": but we hardly +reckon as arbiters of taste the people for whom even +brandy is too mild unless you empty the cayenne cruet +into it. Moreover the "tea-pot pieties" (as a poet-critic +who ought to have known better once scornfully called +them) make no importunate appearance in the bulk of the +correspondence: while as regards the madness this supplies +one of the most puzzling and perhaps not the least disquieting +of "human documents." A reader may say—by +no means in his haste, but after consideration—not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> +merely "Where is the slightest sign of insanity in these?" +but "How on earth did it happen that the writer of these +<i>ever</i> went mad?" even with the assistance of Newton, +and Teedon, and, one has to say, Mrs. Unwin.</p> + +<p>For among the characteristics of Cowper's letters at +their frequent and pretty voluminous best, are some that +seem not merely inconsistent with insanity, but likely to +be positive antidotes to and preservatives from it. There +is a quiet humour—not of the fantastic kind which, as in +Charles Lamb, forces us to admit the possibility of near +alliance to <i>over</i>-balance of mind—but <i>counter</i>-balancing, +antiseptic, <i>salt</i>. There is abundant if not exactly omnipresent +common-sense; excellent manners; an almost +total absence in that part of the letters which we are now +considering of selfishness, and a total absence of ill-nature.<a name="FNanchor_23_23" id="FNanchor_23_23"></a><a href="#Footnote_23_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a> +It is no business of ours here to embark on the problem, +"What was the dram of eale" that ruined all this and +more "noble substance" in Cowper? though there is not +much doubt about the agency and little about the principal +agents that effected the mischief. But it is quite +relevant to point out that all the good things noticed are +things distinctly and definitely good for letter-writing. +And sometimes one cannot help regretfully wondering +whether, if he—who dealt so admirably with such interests +as were open to him—had had more and wider ones to +deal with, <i>we</i> should not have had still more varied and +still more delightful letters, and <i>he</i> would have escaped +the terrible fate that fell on him. For although Cowper<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> +was the reverse of selfish in the ordinary sense, he was +intensely self-centred, and his life gave too much opportunity +for that excessive self-concentration which is the +very hotbed of mental disease.</p> + +<p>It is not a little surprising from this point of view, and +it perhaps shows how imperative the letter-writing faculty +is when it is possessed—that Cowper's letters are as good +as they are: while that point of view also helps us to +understand why they are sometimes not so good.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Of all the floating thoughts we find<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the surface of the mind,<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>as he himself very happily sums up the subjects of letter-writing, +there are few in his case which are of more unequal +value than his criticisms. Cowper had more than one of +the makings of a critic, and a very important critic. He +was, or at any rate had been once, something of a scholar; +he helped to effect and (which is not always or perhaps +even often the case) helped <i>knowingly</i> to effect, one of the +most epoch-making changes in English literature. But +for the greater part of his life he read very little; he had +little chance of anything like literary discussion with his +peers; and accordingly his critical remarks are random, +uncoordinated, and mostly a record of what struck him at +the moment in the way of like and dislike, agreement or +disagreement.</p> + +<p>But then there is nothing that we go for to Cowper as +a letter-writer so little as for things of this kind: and +even things of this kind take the benefit of what Coleridge +happily called—and what everybody has since wisely +followed Coleridge in calling—his "divine chit-chat." As +with Walpole—though with that difference of idiosyncrasy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> +which all the best things have from one another—it does +not in the least matter what, among mundane affairs at +least, Cowper was talking about. If his conversation—and +some of the few <i>habitués</i> of Olney say it was—was anything +like his letter-writing, it is no wonder that people sat over +even breakfast for an hour to "satisfy sentiment not +appetite" as they said with that slight touch of priggishness +which has been visited upon them heavily, but which +perhaps had more to do with their merits than more +mannerless periods will allow.</p> + +<p>And not even Walpole's show to quite the same degree, +that extraordinary power of making anything interesting—of +entirely transcending the subject—which belongs to +the letter-writer in probably a greater measure than to +any man-of-letters in the other sense, except the poet. +The matter which these letters have to chronicle is often +the very smallest of small beer. The price, conveyance +and condition of the fish his correspondents buy for him +or give him (Cowper was very fond of fish and lived, before +railways, in the heart of the Midlands); one of the most +uneventful of picnics; hares and hair (one of his most +characteristic pieces of quietly ironic humour is a brief +descant on wigs with a suggestion that fashion should +decree the cutting off of people's own legs and the substitution +of artificial ones); the height of chairs and +candlesticks—anything will do. He remarks gravely +somewhere, "What nature expressly designed me for, +I have never been able to conjecture; I seem to myself +so universally disqualified for the common and customary +occupations and amusements of mankind." Perhaps +poetry—at least poetry of the calibre of "Yardley Oak," +and "The Castaway," of "Boadicea" and the "Royal<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> +George" in one division; of "John Gilpin" in the other, +may not be quite properly classed among the "common +and customary occupations of mankind." But letter-writing +might without great impropriety be so classed: +and there cannot be the slightest doubt that Nature intended +Cowper for a letter-writer. Whether he writes +"The passages and events of the day as well as of the +night are little better than dreams" or "An almost +general cessation of egg-laying among the hens has made +it impossible for Mrs. Unwin to enterprise a cake" one +has (but perhaps a little more vividly) that agreeable +sensation which at one time visited Tennyson's Northern +Farmer. One "thinks he's said what he ought to 'a said" +in the exact manner in which he ought to have said it.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><span class='smcap'>minors</span></div> + +<p>It is however most important to remember that these +Five are only, as it were, commanding officers of the great +Army, representative of the very numerous constituents, +who do the service and enjoy the franchise of letter-writing +in the eighteenth century. There is hardly a writer of +distinction in any other kind whose letters are not noteworthy; +and there are very numerous letter-writers of +interest who are scarcely distinguished in any other way. +Perhaps Fielding disappoints us most in this section by +the absence of correspondence, all the more so that the +"Voyage to Lisbon" is practically letter-stuff of the best. +From Smollett also we might have more—especially more +like his letter to Wilkes on the subject of the supposed +impressment of Johnson's negro servant Frank, which we +hope to give here. Sterne's character would certainly be +better if his astonishing daughter had suppressed some of +his epistles, but it would be much less distinct, and they +are often, if sometimes discreditably so, amusing if not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> +edifying. The vast mass of Richardson's correspondence +would correspond in another sense to the volume of his +novels. We have letters from Berkeley at the beginning +and others from Gibbon at the end—these last peculiarly +valuable, because, as sometimes but not perhaps very often +happens, they do not merely illustrate but supplement and +complete the published work. From ladies, courtly, +domestic, literary and others, we have shelves—and cases—and +almost libraries full; from the lively chat of the Lepels +and Bellendens and Howards of the early Georgian time to +those copious and unstudied but never dull, compositions +which Fanny Burney poured forth to "Susan and Fredy," +to Maria Allen and to "Daddy Crisp" and a score of +others; those of the Montagu circle; the documents upon +which some have based aspersion and others defence of +Mrs. Thrale; and the prose utterances of the "Swan of +Lichfield," otherwise Miss Seward.<a name="FNanchor_24_24" id="FNanchor_24_24"></a><a href="#Footnote_24_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a> There are Shenstone's +letters for samples of one kind and those of the +Revd. Mr. Warner (the supposed original of Thackeray's +Parson Sampson) for another and very different one. +Even outside the proper and real "mail-bag" letter all +sorts of writings—travels, pamphlets, philosophical and +theological arguments, almost everything—throw themselves +into the letter form. To come back to that with +which we began there is no doubt that the eighteenth +century is the century of the letter with us.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p> +<h2>IV</h2> + +<h3>NINETEENTH CENTURY LETTERS. EARLY</h3> + + +<div class="sidenote"><span class='smcap'>early nineteenth century groups</span></div> + +<p>There is, however, not the slightest intention of suggesting +here that the art of letter-writing died with the century in +which it flourished so greatly. In the first place, periods +of literary art seldom or never "die" in a moment like a +tropical sunset; and, in the second, the notion that centennial +years necessarily divide such periods, as well as +the centuries in which they appear, is an unhistorical +delusion. There have been dates in our history—1400 was +one of them—where something of the kind seems to have +happened: but they are very rare. Most ships of literature +at such times are fortunately what is called in actual +ships "clinker-built"—that is to say overlappingly—and +except at 1600 this has never been so much the case as +two hundred years later and one hundred ago. When the +eighteenth century closed, Wordsworth, Coleridge, Scott +and Southey were men approaching more or less closely, +thirty years of age. Landor, Hazlitt, Lamb and Moore +were at least, and some of them well, past the conventional +"coming of age"; De Quincey, Byron and Shelley were +boys and even Keats was more than an infant. In the +first mentioned of these groups there was still very marked +eighteenth-century idiosyncrasy; in the second some; +and it was by no means absent from Byron though hardly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> +present at all in most respects as regards Shelley and +Keats. Certainly in none of the groups, and only in one +or two individuals, is there much if any shortcoming as +concerns letter-writing. Wordsworth indeed makes no +figure as a letter-writer, and nobody who has appreciated +his other work would expect him to do so. The first +requisite of the letter-writer is "freedom"—in a rather +peculiar sense of that word, closest to the way in which it +has been employed by some religious sects. Wordsworth +could <i>preach</i>—nearly always in a manner deserving respect +and sometimes in one commanding almost infinite admiration; +but when the letter-writer begins to preach he is in +danger of the waste-paper basket or the fire. Coleridge's +letters are fairly numerous and sometimes very good: but +more than one of his weaknesses appears in them.</p> + +<p>The excellence of Scott's, though always discoverable in +Lockhart, was perhaps never easily appreciable till they +were separately collected and published not very many +years ago. It may indeed be suggested that the "Life +and Letters" system, though very valuable as regards the +"Life" is apt a little to obscure the excellence of the +"Letters" themselves. Of this particular collection it is +not too much to say that while it threw not the least stain +on the character of one of the most faultless (one singular +and heavily punished lapse excepted) of men of letters, it +positively enhanced our knowledge of the variety of his +literary powers.</p> + +<p>Perhaps however the best of letter-writers amongst these +four protagonists of the great Romantic Revival in England +(the inevitable attempt sometimes made now to +quarrel with that term is as inevitably silly) is the least +good poet. Southey's letters, never yet fully but very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> +voluminously published, have not been altogether fortunate +in their fashion of publication. There have been +questionings about the propriety of "Selected" Works; +but there surely can be little doubt that in the case of +Letters a certain amount of selection is not only justifiable +but almost imperative. Everyone at all addicted to +correspondence must know that in writing to different +people on the same or closely adjacent days, if "anything +has" in the common phrase "happened" he is bound to +repeat himself. He may, if he has the sense of art, take +care to vary his phrase even though he knows that no two +letters will have the same reader; but he cannot vary his +matter much. Southey's letters, in the two collections by +his son and his son-in-law, were edited without due regard +to this: and the third—those to Caroline Bowles, his +second wife—might have been "thinned" in a different +way. But the bulk of interesting matter is still very large +and the quality of the presentation is excellent. If anyone +fears to plunge into some dozen volumes let him look +at the "Cats" and the "Statues" of Greta Hall, printed +at the end of the <i>Doctor</i>, but both in form and nature +letters. He will not hesitate much longer, if he knows +good letter-stuff when he sees it.<a name="FNanchor_25_25" id="FNanchor_25_25"></a><a href="#Footnote_25_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a></p> + +<div class="sidenote"><span class='smcap'>landor</span></div> + +<p>Most of the second group wrote letters worth reading, +but only one of them reaches the first rank in the art; it +is true that he is among the first <i>of</i> the first. The letters +of Landor supply not the least part of that curious problem +which is presented by his whole work. They naturally +give less room than the <i>apices</i> of his regular prose and of his +poetry for that marvellous perfection of style and phrase<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> +which is allowed even by those who complain of a want +of substance in him. And another complaint of his +"aloofness" affects them in two ways rather damagingly. +When it is present it cuts at the root of one of the chief +interests of letters, which is intimacy. When it is absent, +and Landor presents himself in his well-known character +of an angry baby (as for instance when he remarked of +the Bishop who did not do something he wanted, that +"God alone is great enough for him [Walter Savage +Landor] to ask anything of <i>twice</i>") he becomes merely—or +perhaps to very amiable folk rather painfully—ridiculous. +De Quincey and Hazlitt diverted a good deal of +what might have been utilised as mere letter-writing +faculty into their very miscellaneous work for publication. +Moore could write very good letters himself: but is +perhaps most noted and notable in connection with the +subject as being one of the earliest and best "Life-and-Letters" +craftsmen in regard to Byron.</p> + +<p>But none of these restrictions or provisos is requisite, or +could for a moment be thought of, in reference to Charles +Lamb. Of him, as of hardly any other writer of great +excellence (perhaps Thackeray is most like him in this +way) it can be said that if we had nothing but his letters +we should almost be able to detect the qualities which he +shows in his regular works. Some of the <i>Essays of Elia</i> +and his other miscellanies are or pretend to be actual +letters. Certainly not a few of his letters would seem not +at all strange and by no means unable to hold up their +heads, if they had appeared as Essays of that singularly +fortunate Italian who had his name taken, <i>not</i> in vain +but in order to be titular author of some of the choicest +things in literature.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p> + +<p>Indeed that unique combination of bookishness and +native fancy which makes the "Eliesque" quality is +obviously as well suited to the letter as to the essay, and +would require but a stroke or two of the pen, in addition +or deletion, to produce examples of either. One often +feels as if it must have been, as the saying goes, a toss-up +whether the <i>London Magazine</i> or some personal friend got +a particular composition; whether it was issued to the +public direct or waited for Serjeant Talfourd to collect +and edit it. The two English writers whom, on very +different sides of course, Lamb most resembles, and whom +he may be said to have copied (of course as genius copies) +most, are Sterne and Sir Thomas Browne. But between +the actual letters and the actual works of these two, themselves, +there is a great difference, while (as has just been +noted) in Lamb's case there is none. The reason of course +is that though Sir Thomas is one of our very greatest +authors and the Reverend Yorick not by any means +unplaced in the running for greatness, both are in the +highest degree artificial: while Lamb's way of writing, +complex as it is, necessitating as it must have done not a +little reading and (as would seem almost necessary) not a +little practice, seems to run as naturally as a child's babble. +The very tricks—mechanical dots, dashes, aposiopeses—which +offend us now and then in Sterne; the unfamiliar +Latinisms which frighten some and disgust others in +Browne, drop from Lamb's lips or pen like the pearls of +the Fairy story. Unless you are born out of sympathy +with Elia, you never think about them as tricks at all. +Now this naturalness—it can hardly be said too often +here—is the one thing needful in letters. The different +forms of it may be as various and as far apart from each<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> +other as those of the other Nature in flora or fauna, on +mountain and sea, in field and town. But if it is there, +all is right.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><span class='smcap'>byron</span></div> + +<p>There are few more interesting groups in the population +of our subject than that formed by the three poets whom +we mentioned last when classifying the epistolers of the +early nineteenth century. There is hardly one of them who +has not been ranked by some far from contemptible judgments +among our greatest as poets; and merely as letter-writers +they have been put correspondingly high by others +or the same. It is rather curious that the most contested +as to his place as a poet has been, as a rule, allowed it most +easily as a letter-writer. The enormous vogue which +Byron's verse at once attained both at home and abroad—has +at home if not abroad (where reputations of poets often +depend upon extra-poetical causes) long ceased to be +undisputed: indeed has chiefly been sustained by spasmodic +and not too successful exertions of individuals. It +was never, of course, paralleled in regard to his letters. +But these letters early obtained high repute and have +never, in the general estimate, lost it. Some good judges +even among those who do not care very much for the +poems, have gone so far as to put him among our very +best epistolers; and few have put him very much lower. +Acceptance of the former estimate certainly—perhaps even +of the latter—depends however upon the extent to which +people can also accept recognition in Byron of the qualities +of "Sincerity and Strength." That he was always a great +though often a careless craftsman, and sometimes a great +artist in literature, nobody possessed of the slightest +critical ability can deny or doubt. But there are some +who shake their heads over the attribution of anything<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> +like "sincerity" to him, except very occasionally: and +who if they had to translate his "strength" into Greek +would select the word <i>Bia</i> ("violence") and not the word +<i>Kratos</i> (simple "strength") from the <i>dramatis personae</i> +of the <i>Prometheus Vinctus</i>. Now "sincerity" of a kind—even +of that kind which we found in Walpole and did not +find in Pope—has been contended for here as a necessity +in the best, if not in all good, letters; and "violence" is +almost fatal to them. Of a certain kind of letter Byron +was no doubt a skilful practitioner.<a name="FNanchor_26_26" id="FNanchor_26_26"></a><a href="#Footnote_26_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a> But to some it will +or may always seem that the vital principle of his correspondence +is to that of the real "Best" as stage life to +life off the stage. These two can sometimes approach each +other marvellously: but they are never the same thing.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><span class='smcap'>shelley</span></div> + +<p>When Mr. Matthew Arnold expressed the opinion that +Shelley's letters were more valuable than his poetry it +was, of course, as Lamb said of Coleridge "only his fun." +In the words of another classic, he "did it to annoy, +because he knew it teased" some people. The absurdity +is perhaps best antagonised by the perfectly true remark +that it only shows that Mr. Arnold understood the letters +and did not understand the poetry. But it was a little +unfortunate, not for the poetry but for the letters, against +which it might create a prejudice. They are so good that +they ought not to have been made victims of what in +another person the same judge would have called, and +rightly, a <i>saugrenu</i><a name="FNanchor_27_27" id="FNanchor_27_27"></a><a href="#Footnote_27_27" class="fnanchor">[27]</a> judgment. Like all good letters—perhaps +all without exception according to Demetrius and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> +Newman—they carry with them much of their author's +idiosyncrasy, but in a fashion which should help to correct +certain misjudgments of that idiosyncrasy itself. Shelley +<i>is</i> "unearthly," but it is an entire mistake to suppose that +his unearthliness can never become earthly to such an +extent as is required. The beginning of <i>The Recollection</i> +("We wandered to the pine forest") is as vivid a picture +of actual scenery as ever appeared on the walls of any +Academy: and <i>The Witch of Atlas</i> itself, not to mention +the portrait-frescoes in <i>Adonais</i>, is quite a <i>waking</i> dream. +The quality of liveness is naturally still more prominent +in the letters, because poetical transcendence of fact is not +there required to accompany it. But it <i>does</i> accompany +now and then; and the result is a blend or brand of letter-writing +almost as unlike anything else as the writer's +poetry, and in its own (doubtless lower) kind hardly less +perfect. To prefer the letters to the poems is merely +foolish, and to say that they are as good as the poems is +perhaps excessive. But they comment and complete the +Shelley of the Poems themselves in a manner for which +we cannot be too thankful.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><span class='smcap'>keats</span></div> + +<p>The letters of Keats did not attract much notice till long +after those of Byron, and no short time after those of +Shelley, had secured it. This was by no means wholly, +though it may have been to some extent indirectly, due to +the partly stupid and partly malevolent attempts to +smother his poetical reputation in its cradle. The letters +were inaccessible till the late Lord Houghton practically +resuscitated Keats; and till other persons—rather in the +"Codlin not Short" manner—rushed in to correct and +supplement Mr. Milnes as he then was. And it was even +much later still before two very different editors, Sir<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> +Sidney Colvin and the late Mr. Buxton Forman, completed, +or nearly so, the publication. Something must be +said and may be touched on later in connection with a +very important division of our subject in general, as to +the publication by the last-named, of the letters to Fanny +Brawne: but nothing in detail need be written, and it is +almost needless to say that none of these letters will +appear here. No one but a brute who is also something +of a fool will think any the worse of Keats for writing +them. A thought of <i>sunt lacrimae rerum</i> is all the price +that need be paid by any one who chooses to read them, +nor is it our business to characterise at length the taste +and wits of the person who could publish them.<a name="FNanchor_28_28" id="FNanchor_28_28"></a><a href="#Footnote_28_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a></p> + +<p>But putting this question aside, it is unquestionable that +for some years past there has been a tendency to value +the Letters as a whole very highly. Not only has unusual +critical power been claimed for Keats on the strength of +them, but general epistolary merit; and though nobody, +so far as one knows, has yet paralleled the absurdity above +mentioned in the case of Shelley, Keats has been taken by +some credit-worthy judges as an unusually strong witness +to the truth of the proposition already adopted here, that +poets are good letter-writers.</p> + +<p>He certainly is no exception to the rule; but to what +exact extent he exemplifies it may not be a matter to be +settled quite off hand. There is no doubt that at his best +Keats is excellent in this way, and that best is perhaps to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> +be found with greatest certainty, by anyone who wants +to dip before plunging, in the letters to his brother and +sister-in-law, George and Georgiana. Those to his little +sister Fanny are also charming in their way, though the +peculiar and very happy mixture of life and literature to +be found in the others does not, of course, occur in them. +His letters of description, to whomsoever written, are, as +one might expect, first-rate; and the very late specimen—one +of his very last to anyone—to <i>Mrs.</i> not Miss Brawne +is as brave as it is touching. As for the criticism, there +are undoubtedly (as again we should expect from the +author of the wonderful preface to <i>Endymion</i>) invaluable +remarks—the inspiration of poetical practice turned into +formulas of poetical theory. On the other hand, the +famous advice to Shelley to "be more of an artist and +load every rift with ore"—Shelley whose art transcends +artistry and whose substance is as the unbroken nugget +gold, so that there are no rifts in it to load—is, even when +one remembers how often poets misunderstand each other,<a name="FNanchor_29_29" id="FNanchor_29_29"></a><a href="#Footnote_29_29" class="fnanchor">[29]</a> +rather "cold water to the back" of admiration.</p> + +<p>It may, however, not unfairly introduce a very few +considerations on the side of Keats's letters which is not +so good. All but idolaters acknowledge a certain boyishness +in him—a boyishness which is in fact no mean source +contributary of his charm in verse. It is perhaps not +always quite so charming in prose, and especially in +letters. You do not want self-criticism of an obviously +second-thought kind in them. But you do want that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> +less obtrusive variety which prevents them from appearing +unkempt, "down-at-heel" etc. Perhaps there is, at any +rate in the earlier letters, something of this unkemptness +in Keats as an epistoler.</p> + +<p>A hasty person may say "What! do you venture to +quarrel with letters where, side by side with agreeable +miscellaneous details, you may suddenly come upon the +original and virgin text of 'La Belle Dame sans Merci'?" +Most certainly not. Such a find, or one ten times less +precious, would make one put up with accompaniments +much more than ten times worse than the worst of Keats's +letters. But it may be observed that the objection is only +a fresh example of the unfortunate tendency<a name="FNanchor_30_30" id="FNanchor_30_30"></a><a href="#Footnote_30_30" class="fnanchor">[30]</a> of mankind +to "ignore elenchs" as the logicians say, or, as less +pedantic phraseology has it, to talk beside the question. +A man might put a thousand pound note (and you might +spend many thousand pound notes without buying anything +like the poem just mentioned) in a coarse, vulgar, +trivial or in other ways objectionable letter. The note +would be most welcome in itself, but it would not improve +the quality of its covering epistle. Not, of course, that +Keats's letters are coarse or vulgar, though they are sometimes +rather trivial. But the point is that their excellency, +<i>as</i> letters, does not depend on their enclosures (as we may +call them) or even directly on their importance as biography +which is certainly consummate. Are they good +letters as such, and of how much goodness? Have they +been presented as letters should be presented for reading? +These are points on which, considering the title and range<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> +of this Introduction, it may not be improper to offer a few +observations. We have already ventured to suggest that, +if not the "be all and end all," at any rate the quality to +be first enquired into as to its presence or its absence in +letters, is "naturalness." And we have said something +as to the propriety or impropriety of different modes of +editing and publishing them. The present division of the +subject seems to afford a specially good text for adding +something more on both these matters.</p> + +<p>As to the first point, the text is specially good because +of the position of Keats in the most remarkable group in +which we have rather found than placed him. To the +present writer, as a reader, it seems, as has been already +said whether justly or unjustly, that the element of +"naturalness"—it is an ugly word, and French has no +better, in fact none at all: though German is a little +luckier with <i>natürlichkeit</i> and Spanish much with <i>naturaleza</i>—is +rather conspicuously deficient in Byron. In Shelley +it is pre-eminent, and can only be missed by those who +have no kindred touch of the nature which it reflects. +Shelley could be vague, unpractical, mystical; he could +sometimes be just a little silly; but it was no more possible +for him to be affected, or to make those slips of taste which +are a sort of <i>minus</i> corresponding to the <i>plus</i> of affectation, +than it was (after <i>Queen Mab</i> at least) to write anything +that was not poetry. Thus in addition to the literary +perfection of his letters, they have the <i>sine qua non</i> of +naturalness in perfection also.</p> + +<p>But with Keats things are different. Opinions differ as +to whether he ever quite reached maturity even in poetry +to the extent into which Shelley struck straight with +<i>Alastor</i>, never losing it afterwards, and leaving us only to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> +wonder what conceivable accomplishment might have even +transcended <i>Adonais</i> and its successors. That with all his +marvellous promise and hardly less marvellous achievement, +Keats was only reaching maturity when he died has +been generally allowed by the saner judgments.<a name="FNanchor_31_31" id="FNanchor_31_31"></a><a href="#Footnote_31_31" class="fnanchor">[31]</a> Now +<i>im</i>maturity has perhaps its own naturalness which is +sometimes, and in a way, very charming, but is not the +naturalness pure and simple of maturity. Children are +sometimes, nay often, very pretty, agreeable and amusing +things: but there comes a time when we rather wish they +would go to the nursery. Perhaps the "sometimes" +occurs with Keats's earlier letters if not with his later.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><span class='smcap'>editing of letters</span></div> + +<p>He is thus also a text for the second part of our sermon—the +duty of editors and publishers of correspondence. +There is much to be said for the view that publication, as +it has been put, "is an unpardonable sin," that is to say, +that no author (or rather no author's ghost) can justly +complain if what he once deliberately published is, when +all but the control of the dead hand is off, republished. +<i>Il l'a voulu</i>, as the famous tag from Molière has it. But +letters in the stricter sense—that is to say, pieces of private +correspondence—are in very different case. Not only +were they, save in very few instances, never <i>meant</i> for +publication: but, which is of even more importance, they +were never <i>prepared</i> for publication.<a name="FNanchor_32_32" id="FNanchor_32_32"></a><a href="#Footnote_32_32" class="fnanchor">[32]</a> Not only, again, +did the writer never see them in "proof," much less in +"revise," as the technical terms go, but he never, so far<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> +as we know, exercised on them even the revision which +all but the most careless authors give before sending their +manuscripts to the printer. Some people of course do +read over their letters before sending them: but it must +be very rarely and in special, not to say dubious, cases +that they do this with a view to the thing being seen by +any other eyes than those of the intended recipient. It +is therefore to the last degree unfair to plump letters on +the market unselected and uncastigated. To what length +the castigation should proceed is of course matter for +individual taste and judgment. Nothing must be put in—that +is clear; but as to what may or should be left out, +"there's the rub." Perhaps the best criterion, though it +may be admitted to be not very easy of application, is +"Would the author, in publishing, have left it out or not?" +Sometimes this will pass very violent expressions of opinion +and even sentiments of doubtful morality and wisdom. +But that it should invariably exclude mere trivialities, +faults of taste, slovenlinesses of expression, etc., is at least +the opinion of the present writer. And a "safety razor" +of such things might perhaps with advantage have been +used on Keats's, though he has written nothing which is +in the least discreditable to him.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span></p> +<h2>V</h2> + +<h3>NINETEENTH CENTURY LETTERS. LATER</h3> + + +<div class="sidenote"><span class='smcap'>a nineteenth century group</span></div> + +<p>Part at least of these general remarks has a very special +relevance to the rest of our story. There may be differences +of respectable opinion as to the system of editing +just advocated; but they will hardly concern one point—that +the susceptibilities of living persons must be considered. +To some extent indeed this is a mere counsel of +selfish prudence: for an editor who neglects it may get +himself into serious difficulties. Even where such danger +does not exist, or might perhaps be disregarded, it is +impossible for any decent person to run the risk of needlessly +offending others. It will be seen at once that this +introduces a new matter for consideration in regard to +most—practically all—of the correspondences which we +have still to survey. Even those just discussed have only +recently passed from under its range. Shelley's son died +not so very long ago: grandchildren of Byron much more +recently; and if Keats had lived to the ordinary age of +man and had, as he very likely would have done, married +not Fanny Brawne, but somebody else later, a son or +daughter of his (daughters are particularly and sometimes +inconveniently loyal to their deceased parents) might be +alive and flourishing now. As this constraint extends not +merely to the families of the writers but to those of persons<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> +mentioned by them (not to speak of these persons themselves +in the most recent cases), it exercises, as will at once +be seen, a most wide-ranging cramp and brake upon publication. +Blunders are occasionally made of course: the +most remarkable in recent times was probably an oversight +of the editor of Edward FitzGerald's letters, than +which hardly any more interesting exist among those yet +to be noticed. FitzGerald, quite innocently and without +the slightest personal malevolence but thinking only of +Mrs. Browning's work, had expressed himself (as anybody +might in a private letter) to the effect that perhaps we +need not be sorry for her death. Unfortunately the letter +was published while her husband was still alive: and +many people must remember the very natural and excusable, +but somewhat excessive and undignified, explosion +which followed on his part.</p> + +<p>Such things must of course be avoided at all costs; and +the consequence is that nineteenth century letters must +frequently—in fact with rare if any exceptions—have +appeared in a condition of expurgation which cannot but +have affected their spirit and savour to a very considerable +extent. It is for instance understood that Mr. Matthew +Arnold's were very severely censored; and, while readily +believing this and acquiescing in its probable propriety, +the old Adam in some readers may be unable to refrain +from regret.</p> + +<p>Again, there is something to be said about the less good +effects of that "Life-and-Letters" system which has been +quite rightly welcomed and praised for its better ones. +Drawing on the Letters—with good material to work on +and good skill in the worker—improves the Life enormously; +but it is by no means certain—indeed it has<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> +been hinted already—that the Letters themselves do not +to a certain extent lose by it. Indeed from one point of +view, the word "loss" may be used in its most literal +meaning. The compiler of one very famous biography +was said, for instance, to have—with a disregard of the +value of letters as autographs which was magnificent perhaps +in one way but far from "the game" in others—cut +up the actual sheets and pasted the pieces on his manuscript, +sending the whole to the printers and chancing the +survival even of what was sent, when it came back with +the proofs.</p> + +<p>But there is another sense of "loss" which has also to +be reckoned. The framework of biography is, or at least +ought to be, something more than a mere frame: and it +distracts attention from the letters themselves, breaks up +their continuous effect, and in many cases necessitates at +least occasional omission of parts which an editor of them +by themselves would not think of excluding. Of course +this is no argument against the plan as such: but it +has, together with what was said recently, to be taken +into account when we compare the epistolary position +of the last century with that of its immediate +predecessor.<a name="FNanchor_33_33" id="FNanchor_33_33"></a><a href="#Footnote_33_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a></p> + +<p>These remarks are made not in the least by way of +depreciating or even making an apology for nineteenth +century letters, but only in order to put the reader in a +proper state for critical estimation of them. Nor is it +necessary to repeat—still less to discuss—the more general +lamentations with some reference to which we started as +to any decay of letter-writing. Provisos and warnings<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> +may be taken as having been made sufficiently: and we +pass to the actual survey.</p> + +<p>It may have been noticed in reference to the principal +group of letter-writers in the eighteenth that, with the +exception of Cowper, they were all acquainted with each +other. Walpole knew Lady Mary, Chesterfield and Gray; +while Gray, if he did not know the other two, knew +Walpole very well indeed. Something of the same sort +might be contended for among those whom we have +selected on the bridge of the eighteenth and nineteenth. +Wordsworth, Coleridge, Southey and Lamb were of course +intimately connected: Southey knew Landor and Shelley, +Keats knew Shelley, Wordsworth and Lamb; while Byron +and Shelley, however unequally, were pretty closely yoked +together. It is not meant that in all these groups everybody +wrote to each other; but that the writing faculty +was curiously prominent—diffused like a kind of atmosphere—in +all. Now if we look in the nineteenth for such +a group it will be found perhaps less readily. But one +such at least certainly exists, to wit that which includes +Tennyson, Thackeray, Edward FitzGerald, Carlyle and +his wife, Fanny Kemble, Sterling and one or two more. +There are of course numerous others outside this group, +and even in it Tennyson himself is not a very remarkable +letter-writer, any more than his great rival, Browning, +was. But there was the same diffusion of the letter-writing +spirit which has been noticed above, and +Thackeray, FitzGerald, the Carlyles, and perhaps Fanny +Kemble are quite of the greater clans among our peculiar +people.</p> + +<p>The most remarkable of all these—and as it seems to +the present writer, one of the most remarkable of all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> +English letter-writers is one whose letters have never been +collected,<a name="FNanchor_34_34" id="FNanchor_34_34"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a> and from whom, until comparatively lately, +we had only few and as it were accidental specimens. It +is hoped that, notwithstanding the great changes of taste +recently as to reticence or indiscretion, there are still many +people who can not only understand but thoroughly +sympathise with Thackeray's disgust at the idea of having +his "Life" written; and the even greater reluctance +which he would certainly have felt at that of having his +letters published. But, as has been suggested on a former +occasion, when things <i>are</i> published there is nothing disgraceful +in reading them: and it may be frankly admitted +that lovers of English literature would have missed much +pleasure and the opportunity of much admiration if the +"Brookfield" letters, those to the Baxter family and +others in America, those finally included in the "Biographical" +edition, and yet others which have turned up +sporadically had remained unknown. It may be doubted +whether there is anything like them in our literature—if +indeed there is in any other—for the double, treble or even +more complicated gift of view into character, matter of +interest, positive literary satisfaction, and (perhaps most +remarkable of all) resemblance to and explanation of the +author's "regular literature," as it has been called. In +some respects they resemble the letters of Keats; but there +is absent from them the immaturity which was noted in +those, and which extended to both matter and style. +They are more various in subject and tone than Shelley's. +They are not deliberately quaint like Lamb's; and they +naturally lack (whether this is wholly an advantage or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> +not, may admit, though not here, of dispute) the restraint<a name="FNanchor_35_35" id="FNanchor_35_35"></a><a href="#Footnote_35_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a> +which, in greater or less degree and in varied kind, characterizes +the great eighteenth century epistolers.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><span class='smcap'>thackeray</span></div> + +<p>One additional charm which many of them possess may +be regarded by extreme precisians as of doubtful legitimacy +as far as comment here is concerned: but this may +be ruled out as a superfluous scruple. It is the illumination +of the text "by the author's own candles" as he himself +says in a well-known Introduction: the actual "illustration" +by insertion in the script, of little pen-drawings. +The shortcomings of Thackeray's draughtsmanship have +always been admitted: and by nobody more frankly +than by himself. But they hardly affect this sort of +"picturing" at all. The unfortunate inability to depict +a pretty face which he deplored need do no harm whatever: +and his lack of "composition" not much. A spice +of caricature is almost invariably admissible in such +things: and the same tricksy spirit which prompted the +hundreds of initials, <i>culs-de-lampe</i> etc. contributed by +him to <i>Punch</i> and to be found collected in the "Oxford" +edition of his works, was most happily at hand for use in +letters. Some years ago there appeared, in a catalogue of +autographs for sale, an extract of text and cut which was +irresistibly funny. The author and designer had had a +mishap by slipping on that peculiarly treacherous suddenly +frozen rain for which (though we are liable enough +to it in England and though some living have seen the +entire Strand turned into one huge pantomime scene,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> +roars of laughter included, as people came out of theatres) +we have no special name. (The French, in whose capital +it is said to be even more frequent, call it <i>verglas</i>.) In +telling it he had drawn himself sitting (as involuntarily +though one hopes not so eternally as <i>infelix Theseus</i>) +with arms, legs, hat, etcetera in disorder suitable to +the occasion and with a facial expression of the most +ludicrous dismay. It can hardly have taken a dozen +strokes of the pen: but they simply glorified the letter.</p> + +<p>In no sense, however, can the value and delight of +Thackeray's letters be said to depend upon this <i>bonus</i> of +illustration. Without it they would be among the most +noteworthy and the most delectable of their kind. One +sees in them the "first state" of that extraordinary +glancing at all sorts of side-views, possible objections and +comments on "what the other fellow thinks," which is +the main secret in his published writings. If the view of +him as a "sentimentalist" (which nobody, unless it is +taken offensively, need refuse to accept) is strengthened +by them, that absurd other view, which strangely prevailed +so long, of his "cynicism" is utterly destroyed. +We see the variety of his interests; the keenness of his +sensations; the strange and kaleidoscopic rapidity of the +changes in his mood and thought. And through the whole +there runs the wonderful style which was so long unrecognised—nay, +which those who go by the trumpery machine-made +rules of "composition books" used gravely to +stigmatise as "incorrect." Time lifts a great many +(though not perhaps all) the restraints upon publication +which have been discussed and advocated above: and it +will probably be possible some day for posterity to possess, +not only a collected body of the now scattered Thackeray<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> +letters, but a considerably larger one than has ever +appeared even in extracts and catalogues. It will be an +addition to our Epistolary Library which can bear comparison +with any previous occupant of those shelves: and +one of the books which deserve, in a very peculiar sense, +the hackneyed praise of being "as good as a novel." For +it will be almost the equivalent of an additional novel of +its author's own—a <i>William Makepeace Thackeray</i> in the +familiar novel-form of title, and in the old Richardsonian +form of contents—but oh! how different from anything +of Richardson's save that it might possibly make you hang +yourself, not because you could not get to the story, but +because you had come to the end of it.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><span class='smcap'>fitzgerald</span></div> + +<p>If, however, anyone insists on a formal and more or less +complete presentation, already existing, of nineteenth +century "Letters" in a body by a single writer, the palm +must probably be given to those (already referred to) of +the translator or paraphrast of Omar Khayyàm. Besides +their great intrinsic interest and peculiar idiosyncrasy, +they have, for anyone studying the subject as we are +endeavouring to do, a curious attraction of comparison. +Letter-writing, though by no means exclusively, would +appear to be specially and peculiarly the <i>forte</i> of men who +live somewhat special and peculiar lives—men without +the ordinary family ties of wife and children—sometimes +though by no means always, recluses; possibly to some +extent "originals," "humourists," "eccentrics," as they +have been called at different times and from different +points of view. Even Walpole, fond as he was of society, +belongs to the class after a fashion, as do also Chesterfield<a name="FNanchor_36_36" id="FNanchor_36_36"></a><a href="#Footnote_36_36" class="fnanchor">[36]</a><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> +and Lady Mary, while Gray, Cowper, and at a later +period Lamb, are eminently of it. But hardly anyone so +unquestionably comes under the classification as Edward +FitzGerald. He certainly was for a time married, but +that marriage as certainly was not made in Heaven, if it +was not conspicuously of the other origin: and actual +cohabitation lasted but a short time. He had no children, +and though he frequently foregathered with the family +from which he sprang, he was essentially a "solitary." +Such solitaries, even if they do not ticket and advertise +themselves as such after the fashion of Rousseau and +Senancour and the author of <i>Jacopo Ortis</i>, naturally enough +find in letters the outlet for communication with their +fellows<a name="FNanchor_37_37" id="FNanchor_37_37"></a><a href="#Footnote_37_37" class="fnanchor">[37]</a> which others find in conversation, and the occupation +which those others have ready-made, in society, +business of all kinds etc. That some copious and excellent +letter-writers, such as for instance Southey, have +been extremely busy, and "family men" of the most +unblemished character, merely shows that the rule is not +universal. But it may be observed that their letters +usually have less intense idiosyncrasy than those of the +others.</p> + +<p>Of such idiosyncrasy, both in letters and in other work, +few men have had more than the author of <i>Euphranor</i> +and (as we have had to say before) the "translator or +paraphrast" not merely of Persian but of Spanish and +Greek masterpieces. It is indeed notorious that it was in +this latter capacity that he showed the individuality of his +genius most strongly. It is a frequently but perhaps idly<a name="FNanchor_38_38" id="FNanchor_38_38"></a><a href="#Footnote_38_38" class="fnanchor">[38]</a><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> +disputed question how much is Omar and how much +FitzGerald, while the problem might certainly be extended +by asking how much is Aeschylus and how much Calderon +in his versions of those masters: but it does not concern +us here. What does concern us is the fact that he has +contrived to make his most famous exercise in translation +signally, and the others to some extent, not dead "versions," +but as it were reincarnations of the original, the +spirit or the flesh (whichever anyone pleases) being his +own, or both being blended of his and the author's. To +do this requires a "strong nativity" though not in the +equivocal sense in which another great translator of FitzGerald's +own type<a name="FNanchor_39_39" id="FNanchor_39_39"></a><a href="#Footnote_39_39" class="fnanchor">[39]</a> used that term. It shows in his +scanty "original" work: but it shows also and perhaps +more strongly in his letters. Everyone who has studied +the history of the English Universities in connection with +that of English literature knows, even if he has not been +fortunate enough to experience it, the remarkable fashion +in which, at certain times, colleges and coteries at Oxford +and Cambridge have seemed to throw a strange and almost +magical influence over a generation (hardly more) of +undergraduates. There was unmistakably such an <i>aura</i> +or atmosphere about in Trinity College, Cambridge, during +the last of the twenties and the first of the thirties of the +nineteenth century—a spirit of literature and humour, of +seriousness and jest, of prose sense and half mystical +poetry—which produced things as diverse as <i>The Dying +Swan</i> and Clarke's <i>Library of Useless Knowledge</i>, <i>Vanity +Fair</i> and the English <i>Rubaiyàt</i>.</p> + +<p>Of this curiously blended mood-combination—of which +in their different ways Tennyson and Thackeray, as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> +universally known, Brookfield, W. B. Donne, G. S. Venables, +as less known, but noteworthy instances suggest themselves +as examples—FitzGerald was certainly not the least +remarkable. He had, as eccentrics usually and almost +necessarily have, not a few limitations, some of which +possibly were, though others certainly were not, deliberately +assumed or accepted. He would not allow that +Tennyson had ever in his later work (not latest by any +means) done anything so good as his earlier. In that +unlucky though quite blameless observation on Mrs. +Browning which was referred to above, he ignored or +showed himself unable to appreciate the fact that the +poetess had never done anything better than, if anything +so good as, some of her very latest work.<a name="FNanchor_40_40" id="FNanchor_40_40"></a><a href="#Footnote_40_40" class="fnanchor">[40]</a> It cannot be +considered an entirely adequate cause for ceasing to live +with your wife,<a name="FNanchor_41_41" id="FNanchor_41_41"></a><a href="#Footnote_41_41" class="fnanchor">[41]</a> that her dresses rustle; and many other +instances of what may be called practical and literary +<i>non-sequiturs</i> might be alleged against him. But all these +"queernesses" are evidence of a temperament and a mode +of thinking which are likely to produce very satisfactory +letters. They are sure not to be dull: and when the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> +queerness is accompanied by such literary power as "Fitz" +possessed they are not likely to be merely silly, as some +things are which attempt not to be dull. As a matter of +fact they are delightful: and their variety is astonishing. +Odd stories and odd experiences seem, despite his almost +claustral life, to have had a habit of flying to FitzGerald +like filings to a magnet—as for instance the irresistible +anecdote of the parish clerk who insisted on giving out +for singing casual remarks of the parson above him as if +they were verses of a hymn, and who was duly echoed by +the congregation. Even when he does not make you +laugh he satisfies you: even when you do not agree +with him you are obliged to him for having expressed +his heresy.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><span class='smcap'>fanny kemble</span></div> + +<p>One of FitzGerald's special correspondents was, for +reasons then imperative, not a member of the Cambridge +group itself, but as closely connected with it as possible: +being the sister of one of its actual members. John M. +Kemble, one of our earliest and best Anglo-Saxon scholars +in modern times, was, like others of his famous family (so +far as is generally known) a person of varied talents, though +he showed these neither in letter writing nor in the direction +which Tennyson incorrectly augured in the "Sonnet +to J. M. K." His sister Frances (invariably, like most +though by no means all ladies of her name, called +"Fanny"<a name="FNanchor_42_42" id="FNanchor_42_42"></a><a href="#Footnote_42_42" class="fnanchor">[42]</a>) was a very remarkable person indeed. +After taking early and with brilliant success to the stage<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> +which might almost be said to be hers by inheritance,<a name="FNanchor_43_43" id="FNanchor_43_43"></a><a href="#Footnote_43_43" class="fnanchor">[43]</a> she +married an American planter with even worse results (they +were actually divorced) than her friend FitzGerald's +marriage brought about later: and for many years returned +to public life, not as an actress but as a reader. +She wrote and published both prose and verse of various +kinds: but her best known work and that which places +her here, is a voluminous series of "Records," etc., much +of which is composed of actual letters, while practically the +whole of it is what we have called "letter-stuff." It has +perhaps been published <i>too</i> voluminously: and it is certain +that, as indeed one might expect, its parts are not equal in +interest. But experienced and balanced judgment must +always sum up in her favour as possessing, in letter- and +even other writing, more than ordinary talent, perhaps +never quite happily or fully developed. Merely as a +person she seems to have exercised an extraordinary +attraction without being exactly amiable<a name="FNanchor_44_44" id="FNanchor_44_44"></a><a href="#Footnote_44_44" class="fnanchor">[44]</a>: and from the +intellectual and artistic sides as a writer (we have nothing +here to do with her histrionic powers) to have been what +has sometimes in others been called "inorganic," "ill-regulated," +"not brought off," etc., but of extraordinary +capacity.</p> + +<p>This may have had something to do with her sudden and +exceptional success, when at barely twenty, and with no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> +training except what heredity might give her, she "took +the town [and the country] by storm" as Juliet, and very +soon afterwards "carried" America likewise. But her +"records" of these and other things are of almost the first +quality: and this power of "recording" continued and +was perhaps stimulated by the less as well as the more +fortunate events of her life. It may be said indeed +that in her time a young woman of full age (she was five +and twenty), unusual experience of the world, and still +more unusual wits, had no business to marry a planter in +the Southern States, knowing that she was to live there, +unless she had reconciled herself to the institution of +slavery. Nor can anybody without prejudice deny this. +But the inconsistency and the troubles it developed gave +occasion to some very remarkable "recording," and the +same had been the case earlier with her life, whether at +home, on the stage, or in society, and was the case later +whether she lived in England, in the Northern States, or +on the Continent of Europe. Perhaps you never exactly +like her: an unusual experience in the reading of letters, +which for the most part are singularly reconciling from the +mere fact of their explanatory quality. There is indeed +no better confirmation of the well-known French saying +<i>tout comprendre c'est tout pardonner</i>. Here, however, there +are, as elsewhere, exceptions—Gray being perhaps one<a name="FNanchor_45_45" id="FNanchor_45_45"></a><a href="#Footnote_45_45" class="fnanchor">[45]</a> +as our present subject is another. But there are few +things more interesting, though their interest may be somewhat +tragic, than the spectacle of the way "things go<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> +wrong" so easily, so finally, so fatally. Fanny Kemble +had a sister Adelaide, afterwards Mrs. Sartoris, with whom +everything appears to have gone right: but with herself it +"seemed otherwise to the Gods." And her letters or +memoirs, or whatever they are to be called, are the record +thereof, as well as of other things.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><span class='smcap'>the carlyles</span></div> + +<p>The letters and "letter-stuff" of the Carlyles, husband +and wife, according to the inevitable misfortune attending +so much of our subject—supplied the occasion of volumes +of that disgusting and most idle controversy which has +made many people of taste pray that nothing biographical +may ever be published about them. Far be it from us to +take part in a game which if it does not always, like the +unpleasant personage in the old ballad,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Come for ill and never for good,<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>certainly comes for the former much oftener than for the +latter purpose and result. <i>Sunt lacrimae rerum</i> is—once +more and as so often—the best and the sufficient observation. +But there remains in the letters of both, and +especially in those of the lady, plenty of wholesome +interest and of justifiable—not spying or eavesdropping—information +as to character. Judged comparatively, they +certainly do not contradict the notion formerly referred +to, that in some respects letter-writing is a specially +feminine gift. Carlyle's own letters<a name="FNanchor_46_46" id="FNanchor_46_46"></a><a href="#Footnote_46_46" class="fnanchor">[46]</a> have plenty of merit +and attraction—some of the descriptive ones especially: +and they demonstrate, in the infallible way which letters +and letters alone can supply in the absence of long personal +familiarity, that the general tone and key of his writings<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> +was no falsetto but a perfectly genuine thing—that +the often urged contrast of the <i>Life of Schiller</i>, instead of +evidencing affectation in the later work, only proves +constraint in the earlier. At the same time, except for +what may be called side-illustration of the works, and +completion of the biography for those who want it, there +is not very much in Carlyle's letters which would be a +serious loss.</p> + +<p>With his wife the case is different. Without her +"Letters and Memorials" we might (it is rather improbable +that we <i>should</i>, owing to the misdemeanours of +more persons than one and the blow-fly appetite of a part +of the public for sore places) have escaped a good deal of +the ignoble wrangling above referred to. But we should +not only have failed to appreciate a very remarkable +character, but have missed some of the very best of our +now existing contributions to epistolary literature. +Personally Mrs. Carlyle was by no means a general +favourite. She had a fearfully sharp tongue, and a still +sharper wit in directing it upon her victims; her experiences +were not very likely to edulcorate her acids and +mollify her asperities. The letters show that, as so often +happens, there was plenty of sweetness within the sharp +exterior, and that her strength was the strength of passion, +not of obduracy. But this is not all. There might have +been biographical whitewashing of this kind without much +gain to pure literature. But the letters showed likewise +a power of expression, both lighter and more serious, +which is hardly inferior to that found in any correspondence +of man or woman, genuine or fictitious. Some people, +not given to rash superlatives and pretty extensively +acquainted with literature, have held that the letter<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> +describing her visit after many years to Haddington, and +the reminiscences it called forth, has no superior in the +vast range of our subject for pure pathos perfectly +expressed, without constraint on nature yet without loss +of dignity.<a name="FNanchor_47_47" id="FNanchor_47_47"></a><a href="#Footnote_47_47" class="fnanchor">[47]</a> On the other hand, the half comic accounts +of her domestic troubles etc. are worthy of Fielding or +Thackeray. The fact is that Mrs. Carlyle possessed what +is rare in women—humour. And she exemplified, as +few other women and not so very many men have done, +Anne Evans's matchless definition of it as "thinking in +jest while feeling in earnest." Moreover while, as all true +humourists can, she could drop the jest altogether when +necessary, she could, as is the case with them likewise, +never quite discard the earnest.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><span class='smcap'>macaulay and dickens</span></div> + +<p>Some of the most distinguished of Carlyle's contemporaries, +the great men of letters of the mid-nineteenth +century, have left letters more or less copious and more or +less valuable from one or both of the two sides, biographical +and literary, but not eminently so. Macaulay's letters +and diaries suit biography excellently, and have been +excellently used in his. They lighten and sweeten the +rather boisterous "cocksureness" of the published writings: +and help his few but very remarkable poems other +than the <i>Lays</i> (which are excellent but in a different kind) +to show the soul and heart of the man as apart from his +mere intellect. But they are not perhaps intrinsically +very capital. So also in Dickens's case the "Life-and-Letters" +system is excellently justified, but one does not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> +know that the letters in themselves would always deserve +a first class in this particular school of <i>Literae Humaniores</i>. +Letter-writing admits—if it may not even require—a +certain kind of egotism. But it must be what the French +call an <i>Egoisme à plusieurs</i>—a temper which takes, if only +for the moment, other people into itself and cares for them +there. "The Inimitable" was perhaps too generally +thinking of that Inimitable himself or of the fictitious +creations of his marvellous genius. If, like his own Mr. +Toots, he could have written some letters to or from <i>them</i> +it would have been a very different thing. In this respect +he does not, as in others he does, resemble Balzac, whose +egotism was in a way as intense as his own and like it +extended to his creations, but could extend farther: while +the contrast with Thackeray is even more salient than in +other cases from this same point of view. At the same +time it must not be supposed that there is any intention +here of belittling Dickens, either as a letter-writer or in any +other way. It is only suggested that he lacks one of the +things necessary to perfect letter-writing. Perhaps his +most noteworthy productions in the style are his editorial +criticisms—rather limited in taste and purview, but +singularly shrewd within other limits. And many of the +others tell their substance with that faculty of "telling" +which he possessed as few have ever done, while the +comedy of those given here is "the true Dickens."</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><span class='smcap'>some novelists</span></div> + +<p>Mention of the three greatest novelists (English and +French) of the mid-nineteenth century naturally suggests +the rest of a class so predominant in that century's literary +production. Their record in the matter is rather +chequered, for reasons, in some respects and cases at any +rate, not difficult to discover. Reference is elsewhere<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> +made to the disappointment experienced (perhaps not too +reasonably) by some readers of the letters of George Eliot. +A not dissimilar feeling had been expressed earlier in +regard to those of Miss Austen: which, however, were +intrinsically far superior. Except to her sister, and it +may be even to her, Jane Austen was not at all likely to +indulge in what is called in French <i>épanchement</i>: it was not +in the least her line, whether in writing for publication or +otherwise. Only one full year passed between the death +of Miss Austen and the birth of Miss Evans, and the two +illustrated very fairly the comfortable if not invariably +accurate idea that when one human being dies another is +born to succeed him or her in their special functions. +But, as in other respects, they differed here remarkably; +and though in neither case was the nature of the writer +exactly expansive, this want of expansiveness was very +differently conditioned. Miss Austen no doubt could, if +she had chosen, (she has done something like it as it is) +have written most delightful letters. A hundred scenes +in the novels from Catherine Morland's tremors and trials, +or John Dashwood's progressive limitations of generosity +for his sisters, to some of the best things in <i>Persuasion</i>, +would take letter form with the happiest results. But she +did not choose that it should be so. George Eliot, on the +other hand, after her earlier days, had ensconced herself in +such a chrysalis of quasi-philosophical and quasi-scientific +thought and speech that she could hardly have recovered +the freedom of expression which is almost the soul of +letter-writing.</p> + +<p>Some of Bulwer's (the first Lord Lytton's) letters are +remarkable in ways, especially that of literary criticism, +which might hardly be expected by anyone who had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> +insufficiently taken the measure of his strangely unequal +and imperfect, yet as strangely varied, talent. But as the +century went on a new prohibitory influence arose in the +enormous professional production which began to be +customary with novelists—principally tempted no doubt +by the corresponding gain of money, but perhaps also by +the nobler desire of increasing, or at least living up to, their +reputations. Even short of the unbroken drudgery which, +it is said, compelled one lady novelist, of high rank for a +time, to scribble her novels as she was actually receiving +and talking to morning callers, the production of three or +four novels a year—and those not the cock-boats we often +see now but attempts at least at "the old three-decker" +in its fullest dimensions—could leave little time or inclination +for extensive letter-writing. There were, however, +some exceptions. Charles Kingsley—who, though his +novels were not very numerous, supplemented them with +all sorts of miscellaneous writing for publication, was a +diligent sportsman, an active cleric, and a busy man in +many kinds and ways—wrote certainly good and probably +many letters. The two brighter stars in the Brontë constellation, +especially Charlotte, were scarcely less remarkable +with the pen in this way than in others: and Mrs. +Gaskell, Charlotte's biographer, has been put high by +some. The unconquerable personality of Charles Reade +showed itself here as elsewhere<a name="FNanchor_48_48" id="FNanchor_48_48"></a><a href="#Footnote_48_48" class="fnanchor">[48]</a>: and others might be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> +mentioned.<a name="FNanchor_49_49" id="FNanchor_49_49"></a><a href="#Footnote_49_49" class="fnanchor">[49]</a> But perhaps the most distinguished novelist +next to Thackeray of the nineteenth century, who was +also a most distinguished letter-writer, was one who died +in middle age not long before its end—Robert Louis +Stevenson.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><span class='smcap'>stevenson</span></div> + +<p>Stevenson had in fact practically all the qualifications +necessary for a good practitioner of our art. He had, +eminently, that gift which the Romans called <i>facundia</i> +and the French can translate, if with a slight degradation +of meaning, by <i>faconde</i>; but for which we, though the +adjective "facund" has, one believes, been tried, possess +no noun, "Eloquence" being too much specified to "fine" +writing or speaking. "Facility of expression" perhaps +comes nearest. Whether he corrected or corrupted this +native gift by his famous "sedulous aping" of stylists +before him is a debated question: but one quite unnecessary +to touch here. It is sufficient to say that he +never aped anyone in his letters, unless playfully and in a +sort of concert with his correspondent. Indeed he +possessed, quintessentially, that "naturalness" of matter +and form on which so much stress has been laid. He had +a disposition equally favourable to the business—if +business we may call it. A person who is habitually +gloomy may write capital letters of an impressive character +now and then: but is likely to produce little but +boredom if he extends his practice. Louis Stevenson did +not habitually "regard the world through a horse collar" +(as it was once put), but he certainly did not pass through<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> +it gnashing his teeth or holding his handkerchief to his +eyes. Although he did a good deal of work, sometimes +under no small difficulties, he had very little if any of that +<i>collar</i>-work—that grinding "in Gaza at the mill with +slaves" which takes the spring out of all but the springsomest +of men. He had widely varied experience of +scene, occupation, personal society. He knew plenty of +books without being in the least bookish; had, as the old +saying goes, "wit at will," and, though he never made +deliberate and affected efforts to <i>get</i> out of ruts, <i>kept</i> out +of them without the least trouble. He was as little of a +"poser" or of a "rotter" as he was of a prig, and there +was not a drop of bad blood in his veins. If these things +could not make a good letter-writer nothing could; and +there is little doubt that he will hold his place as such as +long as English literature lasts. It is a great pleasure to +me to give, as I hope to do, one unpublished letter of his +to myself as a sort of <i>bonus</i> to the reader of this little book—a +letter of rather unusual interest in literary as in other +respects.</p> + +<p>At this point, perhaps, actual survey may, and indeed +had best, stop: not merely because space is closing in. +Lovers of letters will of course detect what seem to them +omissions in what has gone before and what comes after. +Some of these, no doubt, will have been real oversights. +Others, for this or that reason deliberate, such as Gibbon +and Newman—the latter not merely for his re-statement +of the character-value of correspondence, but for his +exemplifications of it—might certainly have been more +fully noticed. But in regard to later writers there are +several obstacles in the path. Of some it would not be +easy to speak on account of their own lives being too<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> +recent: in regard of nearly all the same fact must have +occasioned exercise of "censorship" to a degree which +makes absolute judgment of their competence as epistolers +rash, and comparative judgment almost impossible. To +take up once more one example of men who were born a +full or almost a full century ago, Mr. Paul,<a name="FNanchor_50_50" id="FNanchor_50_50"></a><a href="#Footnote_50_50" class="fnanchor">[50]</a> speaking +apparently with intimate knowledge of the originals, +speaks also of the "severe process of excision and retrenchment +to which these [<i>the letters of Mr. Matthew Arnold</i>] +have been exposed." And he thinks that very few letters +"could have endured" it. Those who remember the +appearance of these letters will also remember that some +critics doubted whether even "these" had exactly +"endured it"—that is to say, whether the expected salt +of the author of so much published <i>persiflage</i> had not been +left out or had singularly lost its savour. To take another +from the next generation, it is pretty certain that Mr. +Swinburne's letters, though we have judicious selections +from them, must have needed much more excision or +retrenchment than Mr. Arnold's, unless he wrote them in +a manner remarkably different both from his conversation +and from his published works. In such cases it is best, +the evidence being not fully before us, not to anticipate +either the privileges or the decisions of posterity.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p> +<h2>VI</h2> + +<h3>SOME SPECIAL KINDS OF LETTER</h3> + + +<p>A few more general remarks, however, on <i>kinds</i> of letter-writing—as +distinguished from personality and accomplishment +of letter-writers—may not improperly be added.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><span class='smcap'>letters and the novel</span></div> + +<p>One extremely curious application of the Letter has not +yet been noticed, except by a glance or two: and that is +the way in which—when after birth-struggles for some +two thousand years the novel at last got itself born—letter-writing +was pressed into its service. Historically, +as was briefly indicated near the beginning of this, one may +connect Greek Rhetoric and Greek Romance, and suggest +the connection as the origin of the "novel-in-letters." In +the romance proper—that is to say that of the Middle Ages—letters +do not play any very important part, just as they +played none in life. But in the "Heroic" variety of the +late sixteenth and the whole of the seventeenth centuries +they play a much larger—partly no doubt because of +the influence (here noted) of the Greek Romance itself, +but more because of the increased frequency and importance +of actual correspondence in life and society. We +need not, however, attribute too much to this influence of +imitation in seeking for the cause or causes which made +Richardson adopt the form: nor need we even put down +to Richardson's own popularity, abroad as well as at home,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> +the very general further adoption and continuance of a +form which has perhaps more to be said against it than for +it. Most serious students of the history of prose fiction +must have noticed, and some of them have already pointed +out, the curious, rather naïf, but quite obvious feeling on +the part of the earlier practitioners of such fiction that +somebody might ask them, in more polite language than +that in which Cardinal Ippolito d'Este asked Ariosto a +similar question, "Where they got their stories from?" +The feeling seems sometimes to have affected poets, but +much more rarely: the Muse being allowed to possess and +confer a certain immunity from such cross-examination. +Of the unnecessary and sometimes unnatural devices +invented to answer this inconvenient question Scott in +one well-known passage,<a name="FNanchor_51_51" id="FNanchor_51_51"></a><a href="#Footnote_51_51" class="fnanchor">[51]</a> and others elsewhere, have made +ironic lists: and not the least characteristic of Miss +Austen's satiric touches is the passage where Catherine +Morland expects palpitating interest from a bundle of +washing-bills in a wardrobe-cupboard. But the anticipation +of such a question, though perhaps it became conventional +before it disappeared altogether, was certainly at +one time real.</p> + +<p>At any rate, helped by the example of Richardson—Father +of English novels as he is with whatever justice +called—and by that overmastering fancy for letter-writing +itself, which, as should have been already made clear, +affected the century in which English novels were born—the +practice spread and held its ground. Fielding was +too perfect an artist in the higher and purer kind of fiction +to favour it: and though Sterne himself was a sufficiently +characteristic letter-writer, the form would not have suited<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> +the peculiar eccentricity of his two novels. But Smollett's +best, <i>Humphrey Clinker</i>, adopts the method, and is perhaps +one of its most successful examples. It suited the author's +preference for a succession of scenes rather than a connected +plot; for the sharp presentation of "humours" +in character and incident. And it continued to be +practised both early in the nineteenth century—examples +had swarmed at the end of the eighteenth—and later. +<i>Redgauntlet</i> (which some have thought one of the best of +Scott's novels and which few good judges would put much +lower) is written in it to a great extent, but not wholly. +And it may be noticed that this combination of Letters +and narrative, which came in pretty early, is rather tell-tale. +It is a sort of confession of what certainly is the fact—that +the novel entirely by letters is a clumsy device, +constantly getting in the way of the "story." Indeed the +method of <i>Redgauntlet</i> is a kind of retreat to the elder and +more modern—one may say the more artistic and rational—plan +of <i>introducing</i> letters, but only occasionally as +auxiliaries to, and as it were illustrations of, the actual +narrative, not as substitutes for, or at any rate main +constituents of, it.<a name="FNanchor_52_52" id="FNanchor_52_52"></a><a href="#Footnote_52_52" class="fnanchor">[52]</a> Indeed, in order to make a novel +wholly composed of letters thoroughly and absorbingly +attractive, either charm of style such as to make the kind +of literature in which it appears, more or less indifferent; +or passion which is more suitable to poetry or drama than +to prose; or both, may seem unnecessary.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><span class='smcap'>letters and biography</span></div> + +<p>It was also in the eighteenth century—<i>the</i> century once +more of letter-writing—that letters, this time genuine not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> +fictitious, began to play, to an important extent, a subsidiary +part in yet another department of literature—biography. +They had always done so, of course, to an +extent less important in History, of which Biography is +really a subdivision. The truth expressed in that dictum +of the pseudo-Demetrius quoted above as to the illuminative +power of letters on character could be missed by no +historian and by no biographer who had his wits about +him—even if he had less striking examples at hand than that +letter of the Emperor Tiberius to the Senate which is one +of the Tacitean flashes of lightning through the dark of +history. But the credit of using letters as a main constituent +of biography—of originating the "Life-and-Letters" +class of books which fills so large a part of modern +library-shelves—has been given, as far as English is +concerned, to Mason in his dealings with Gray. There +is so little to be said in favour of Mason, that we need not +enquire too narrowly into his right to this commendation: +though critical conscience must be appeased by adding +that he abused his privilege as an editor and "literary +executor" by garbling unblushingly. Boswell did Mason +honour by acknowledging his example, and much more +also by following it; and this practically settled the +matter. Except in short pieces, which had need be of +special excellence like Carlyle's <i>Sterling</i>, the plan has +always been followed since: and there can here at least +be no question that with a little favour of circumstances, +it is the best plan possible. You get, as has been said, +your character at first hand; if the letters include epistles +to as well as from him or her, you get invaluable side-lights; +you get, except in cases of wilful deception or +great carelessness, the most trustworthy accounts of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> +fact; and you can, or ought to be able to, hear the +man talking.</p> + +<p>At the same time it must be admitted that this "Life-and-Letters" +scheme, like every kind of art, requires care: +and like most human things, is exposed to dangers and +difficulties in addition to some previously noticed. To +begin with, the <i>quality</i> of the letters has to be considered. +It so happened that Mason, the originator by courtesy, +had unusually good material to work with. Gray, as is +above pointed out and as is also, with some provisos +already made or very soon to be made, universally admitted, +is one of our best letter-writers. But not everybody—not +every considerable man or woman of letters +even—can write good letters.</p> + +<p>And besides this—besides the temptation to rely on the +letters and merely to print them whether they deserve it +or not—there is the further difficulty—to judge by the +scarcity of good biographies a very great and insistent one—of +composing the framework of the biography itself so +as to suit the letters—to give the apples of gold in a picture +not too obviously composed of some metal baser than +silver. Unless this is done it would be better simply to +"calendar" the letters themselves, with the barest +schedule of dates and facts to assist the comprehension of +them. But to consider the different methods of doing +this—still more of presenting letters apart from deliberate +biographical intention—would lead us too far. Carlyle's +<i>Cromwell</i>—the presentation of an extraordinarily difficult +set of documents not merely with connecting narrative, +but with a complete explanatory commentary including +paraphrase, is as remarkable an achievement as, and a +far more elaborate one than, his <i>Sterling</i> in the way of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> +biography pure and simple. It is perhaps, though less +delectable, not less admirable in its style than the other +in its own. But it has, of course, the drawback of carrying +with it a distinctly controversial character and, indeed, +intention. We have more recently had at least two +examples of the fullest possible comment with the least +possible controversy in Mr. Tovey's "Gray," and of less +voluminous but excellently adequate editing in Mrs. +Toynbee's "Walpole."</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><span class='smcap'>"letters from unknowns"</span></div> + +<p>One not very large, but extremely curious division of +letter-writing closely connected with those most recently +mentioned, invites if it does not insist upon a word or two. +Many people—almost all who have happened to be at any +time "in the lime-light" as a modern phrase goes—that +is to say in positions of publicity—must have had experience +of the strange appetite of their fellow-creatures +for writing them letters without previous acquaintance, +without excuse of introduction, and on the most flimsy +pretexts of occasion. The present writer once received +from Australia a long list of queries on a book of his—most +if not all of which could have been answered from +the ordinary reference-bookshelf in the writing-room of +such a club as that—never mind whether it was in Sydney +or Melbourne or Adelaide—from which the querist dated +his epistle. Indeed, on another occasion somebody +demanded a catalogue of "the important references to the +medical profession in French literature"! This tendency +of humanity sometimes exercises and magnifies itself into +really remarkable correspondences. There is perhaps none +such in English quite to match those <i>Lettres à une Inconnue</i> +which (after standing the brunt of not a little unfavourable +criticism, provoked not so much by their contents as by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> +the personal, political, and above all religious or anti-religious +idiosyncrasy of their author, Prosper Mérimée) +have taken their place, for good and all, among the +classics of the art. Our most curious example perhaps is +to be found in the <i>Letters of the Duke of Wellington to +Miss J.</i>, the genuineness of which has been a matter of +some controversy, but which are rather more inexplicable +as forgeries than as authentic documents. Authors, from +Richardson onwards, have been the special targets of +such correspondents: and romance reports some, perhaps +even history might accept a few, instances of the closest +relations resulting. On the other hand, one of the very +best of Miss Edgeworth's too much neglected stories, +"L'Amie Inconnue" not only may be useful as a warning +to the too open-hearted but has probably had not a few +parallels in fact. Generally, of course, the uninvited +correspondent is merely a passing phenomenon—rarely +perhaps welcome except to persons of very much self-centred +temperament with a good deal of time on their +hands; tolerated and choked off placably by the good-natured +and well-mannered; answered snappishly or not +answered at all by moroser victims.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><span class='smcap'>love letters</span></div> + +<p>There is yet a kind of letter, fictitious or real examples +whereof are not usually given in books which (as the +Articles say of the Apocrypha) are to be read "for example +of life and instruction of manners," though it is in a way +the most interesting of all; and that is the love-letter. +It is, however, so varied in kind and not so very seldom so +pre-eminent as an illustration of the epistolary ideal—"writing +as you would talk"—that it would be absurd +to say nothing about it in this Introduction, and that it +may even be possible to give some examples of it—one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> +such of Swift's must be given—in the text. Of those +which, as it was said of one famous group (those of Mlle. +de Lespinasse) "burn the paper," those of which the +Abelard and Heloise collection, with those of "The Portuguese +Nun," Maria Alcoforado, and Julie de Lespinasse +herself are the most universally famous—we have two +pretty recent collections in English from two of the +greatest poets and one of the greatest poetesses in English +of the nineteenth century. They are the letters, referred +to above, of Keats to Fanny Brawne, and those of the +Brownings to each other.</p> + +<p>There are, it is to be hoped, few people who read such +letters (unless they are of such a date that Time has +exercised his strange power of resanctifying desecration +and making private property public) without an unpleasant +consciousness of eavesdropping. But there is +another class which is not exposed to any such disagreeable +liability: and that is the very large proportion of love-letters +where the amativeness is, so to speak, more or less +concealed, or where, though scarcely covered with the +thinnest veil, it is mixed with jest sometimes, jest rather +on the wrong side of the mouth, perhaps, but jest exercising +its usual power of embalming. (Salt and sugar both +preserve: but in this particular instance the danger is of +oversweetness already.) There can—or perhaps we +should say there could, but for some differences of +opinion worth attending to—be no doubt that Swift owes +much to this mixture: and if anybody ever undertook a +large collection of the best private love-letters he would +probably find the same seasoning in the best of them. For +examples in which the actual amatory element is present +but as it were under-current, like blood that flushes a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> +cheek but does not show outside it, some of the best +examples are those of Scott to Lady Abercorn. Those +recently published, and already glanced at, of Disraeli to +various ladies would seem to be more demonstrative and +more histrionic. But the section as admitted lies, for us, +on the extreme border of our province. It is too important +to be wholly omitted and therefore these paragraphs have +been given to it. And it may require future touching in +reference to some particular writers, especially that +greatest and most unhappy of all Deans of Saint Patrick, +the greatest perhaps of all Deans that ever were +with the exception of John Donne—himself no small +epistoler, but greatest in those verse-letters which are +denied us.<a name="FNanchor_53_53" id="FNanchor_53_53"></a><a href="#Footnote_53_53" class="fnanchor">[53]</a></p> + +<p>It is perhaps superfluous, but for completeness' sake +may be permissible, to say a very little about the use of +letters for purposes other than that of genuine personal +communication. Indeed in doing so we are only executing +the time-honoured manœuvre of returning to the point +whence we set out, and bringing the wheel full circle.<a name="FNanchor_54_54" id="FNanchor_54_54"></a><a href="#Footnote_54_54" class="fnanchor">[54]</a> +The strictly "business" letter—which is, of course, a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> +personal communication in a way—and the "despatch" +which is a form of it intended sooner or later for more +general information, require no notice or at best mere +mention. But in times past if not also in those present, +"Letters" have been used—specially perhaps in that +century of letters, the eighteenth—for purposes of definite +instruction, argument, propaganda and so forth. There +are obvious advantages in the form for certain of the +lighter of these purposes as it is used in Montesquieu's +<i>Lettres Persanes</i> or Goldsmith's <i>Citizen of the World</i>. But +why Bishop Hurd's <i>Letters on Chivalry and Romance</i> +(really valuable as they are) should have been "Letters" +at all, except for fashion's sake, it is difficult to say. There +is perhaps more excuse for the pamphlet, especially the +political pamphlet, assuming the title of letter as it has so +often done in instances from the great example of Bolingbroke +and Burke downwards.<a name="FNanchor_55_55" id="FNanchor_55_55"></a><a href="#Footnote_55_55" class="fnanchor">[55]</a> You have, with less +unreality, the advantage of the classical "speech" +addressed often to a single person, who is supposed to be +specially aware of the facts or specially to need instruction +and encouragement, or modified remonstrance, as to them. +It was probably from these great exemplars—perhaps also +aided by the custom of eighteenth century periodicals, +that pamphlets of all kinds became titular epistles such as +"A Letter to the deputy-manager of a Theatre Royal, +London, on his lately acquired notoriety in contriving and +arranging the 'Hair Powder Act'" (but this was satire), +or "A letter writ by a clergyman to his neighbour<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> +concerning the kingdom and the allegiance due to the +King and Queen."<a name="FNanchor_56_56" id="FNanchor_56_56"></a><a href="#Footnote_56_56" class="fnanchor">[56]</a></p> + +<div class="sidenote"><span class='smcap'>letters to the papers</span></div> + +<p>For a last class may be taken the ever increasing body +of things "written to the papers." It is unnecessary to +consider the justice of a sarcastic division of mankind into +"those who write to the papers and those who do not read +the letters," or to discuss what men have been heard to +say—that the people who write <i>to</i> papers are people who +have not written <i>in</i> them. It is quite certain that, for +many years past, the less frivolous kind of newspaper-correspondence +has been of admitted interest and importance; +indeed a paper might conceivably maintain its +position after its repute has sunk in other ways, simply +because more letters of importance appear in it than in +others. As a source of illustrations of how to write and +how not to write letters this modern development of the +art could hardly be quite neglected; and it offers a +curious study of various kinds. Except with very guileless +writers the character-index quality is of course less +certainly present than in letters written <i>not</i> for publication. +A man must be, in the old Greek phrase, "either a God +or a beast," if he does not prepare for print—if not exactly +with a touch of "stage-fright," at any rate with the premeditation +with which even stage-fright-free actors go +on the stage. But it requires a great master or mistress +of dissimulation to write even these letters at all frequently +without a certain amount of self-revelation. And there +is perhaps no more curious and interesting part of that +most curious and interesting business of editing than<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> +(when it is not merely tedious), the reading of offered +correspondence. There is the pure lunatic, such as the +man who for years sends despatches in a sort of cuneiform +cipher, probably quite meaningless and certainly not +likely to meet with a decipherer; there is the abusive +person who (less piquantly than Reade in the letter +quoted above) gives his opinion of your paper; the +volunteer-corrector of obvious misprints; the innocent +who merely wants to see his own signature in print, and +who generally tries to bribe his way into it by references +to "your powerful journal," etc. They are all there—waiting +for the waste-paper basket.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span></p> +<h2>VII</h2> + +<h3>CONCLUSION</h3> + + +<p>A few more general remarks may close this Introduction. +Something on the Art of Letter-writing and also something +on its history, especially in English, was promised. +It is hoped that the promise has not been too much +falsified, at least to the extent necessary for illustration +and understanding of the specimens which should follow, +and which in their turn should illustrate it and make it +more intelligible. The History part requires little or no +postscript; whether ill or well done it should pretty well +speak for itself. What touches the Art may require +certain cautions and provisos.</p> + +<p>This is especially the case with regard to the stress laid +above on "naturalness." It is (as the present writer at +least believes) the very passport of admission to the +company of good letter-writers. But it must not be +misconstrued. It is quite possible that too little care may +be taken with the matter and style of letters. After all +they correspond—in a certain, if in the most limited +degree—to appearance "in company," and require as +that does a certain etiquette of observance. Complete +deshabille<a name="FNanchor_57_57" id="FNanchor_57_57"></a><a href="#Footnote_57_57" class="fnanchor">[57]</a> on paper is not attractive: and there are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> +letters (it is unnecessary to specify any particular +examples) which somewhat exaggerate "simplicity."</p> + +<p>Cowper is perhaps the accepted classic in this style who +has the least of <i>apparatus</i>: but even Cowper bestows a +certain amount of care—indeed, a very considerable +amount—on the dress of his letter's body, on the cookery +of its provender. If you have only small beer to chronicle +you can at the worst draw it and froth it and pour it out +with some gesture. In this respect as in others, while +letter-writing has not been inaccurately defined or +described as the closest to conversation of literary forms +that do not actually reproduce conversation itself, it +remains apart from conversation and subject to an additional +degree of discipline.</p> + +<div class="sidenote"><span class='smcap'>conclusion</span></div> + +<p>Enough should have been said earlier of the opposite +fault by excess of dressing, which has, however, for a sort +of solace the fact that it may pass as literature though not +exactly as letter-writing. Actually beautiful style—not +machine-made "fine writing," but that embodiment of +thought which is a special incarnation of it—is the one +thing secure of success and survival, whatever literary +form it takes. And even short of this supreme beauty +accomplished literary manner can never be quite unwelcome. +The highest place in letter-writing has been +refused here to Pope: and unfortunately there is hardly a +division of his work which, when you know a little more +about it and him, excites more disgust at the man's nature. +But, at the same time, hardly even his verse convinces one +more of that extraordinary power of expression as he +wished to express things which this Alexander, in some<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> +ways the infinitely Little, possessed. Yet it gives in the +first place a rather sophisticated enjoyment, open only to +those whom the gods have made, or who have made themselves, +critical. And in the second, whether sophisticated +or not, what it gives is the enjoyment of literature not of +life:<a name="FNanchor_58_58" id="FNanchor_58_58"></a><a href="#Footnote_58_58" class="fnanchor">[58]</a> whereas the direct satisfaction which genuine letters +afford is almost identical with that given by actual intercourse +with other human beings. However, it is unnecessary +to "go on refining."</p> + +<p>Perhaps indeed, after all, the artificial letters may be +permitted if only in an "utmost, last, provincial band," to +add to the muster of pleasure-giving things which epistolary +literature so amply provides. Even fiction itself, +which, as has been said often, draws on this source, cannot +supply anything more "pastimeous"; even drama anything +more arresting to the attention. Indeed good +letters may be said to be constantly presenting little +stories, little dramas, little pictures—all of them sometimes +not so <i>very</i> little—which are now practically complete; +now easily filled up by any reasonable intelligence; now +perhaps tantalizingly, but all the more interestingly +enigmatic. For those people (one may or may not +sympathise with them, but they are certainly pretty +numerous) who cannot take interest or can only take a +reduced interest in things that "did not really happen"; +letters may be even more interesting than novels. Only +to very wayward or very unimaginative ones can they be +less so, if they are in any respect good of their kind.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span></p> +<p>One of their main attractions is, with the same caution, +their remarkable <i>variety</i>. It has been complained with a +certain amount of truth that fiction, whether in prose or +verse, is a little apt to fall into grooves: that all the +histories are told, all the plays acted. This is undoubtedly +the curse of Art, and every now and then we see it +acknowledged in the most convincing manner by the +frantic efforts made to be "different." But that real +things and persons are never quite identical is not merely +a philosophical doctrine but a practical fact. The "two +peas" of one saying are never so much "alike" as the +"two blades of grass" of another are unlike.</p> + +<p>Now as letters—that is to say letters that deserve to +exist at all—are bound to reproduce the personality of +their writers, it will follow that a refreshing diversity +must also belong to them. And as a matter of fact this +will be found to be the case. Even the eighteenth century—the +century of rule and class, of objection to "the +streaks of the tulip," of machine-made verse, etc.,—has, +except in the case of letters artificially made to +pattern, shown this signally.</p> + +<p>One last recommendation. A bad letter-writer is sure +to betray himself almost everywhere, and letters are as a +rule short. Most people must have attempted books of +other classes, especially novels, and hoping against hope +turned them over, and dipped and peeped till repeated +disappointment compelled the traditional flinging to the +other end of the room, or simply dropping the thing in +less explosive weariness. You never need do that with +letters. If a man's letters are not worth reading you will +"have a confessing criminal" at once; if they are he will +hardly be able to keep the quality latent whenever he goes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> +beyond the shortest business note. The man of one book, +in the sense of having read it, is proverbially formidable +but in fact too frequently a bore. The man of one letter, +in the sense of having written a good one and no more, +probably never existed.<a name="FNanchor_59_59" id="FNanchor_59_59"></a><a href="#Footnote_59_59" class="fnanchor">[59]</a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span></p> +<h2>APPENDIX TO INTRODUCTION</h2> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<h3>GREEK LETTERS.—SYNESIUS (<i>c.</i> 375-430)</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>English readers may know something, from Kingsley's +<i>Hypatia</i>, of the excellent bishop of Ptolemais who, at the +meeting of the fourth and fifth centuries, combined the +functions of neo-Platonist philosopher, Christian prelate, +country gentleman, and most efficient yeomanry officer +against the ancestors, or at least forerunners, of the present +Senussi, who were constantly raiding his diocese and its +neighbourhood. These two letters—to Hypatia herself and +to his brother—show him in different, but in each case +favourable lights.</p></div> + + +<h4><span class="smcap">Letter CVIII. (to his Brother)</span></h4> + +<p>I have already got 300 spears and as many cutlasses, +though I had, even before, only half a score two-edged +swords: and these long flat blades are not forged with us. +But I think the cutlasses can be struck more vigorously into +the enemies' bodies, and so we shall use them. And at need +we shall have bludgeons—for the wild olive trees are good +with us.<a name="FNanchor_60_60" id="FNanchor_60_60"></a><a href="#Footnote_60_60" class="fnanchor">[60]</a> Some of our men have single-bladed axes at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> +their belts with which those of us who have no defensive +armour shall chop their<a name="FNanchor_61_61" id="FNanchor_61_61"></a><a href="#Footnote_61_61" class="fnanchor">[61]</a> shields and make them fight on +equal terms. The fight will, at a guess, come off to-morrow: +for when some of the foe had fallen in with +scouts of ours and pursuing them at their best speed had +found them too good to catch, they bade them tell us +what pleased us mightily—if indeed we may no more have +to wander in the footsteps of those fellows who made off +into the wastes of the interior. For they said they were +going to stay where they were and wanted to find out +what sort of fellows <i>we</i> were, who dared to separate ourselves +so many days' journey from our own place that we +might fight with men of war, nomads in way of life, and +whose civil polity was like our discipline in war-time. +Therefore, as one who by God's help shall to-morrow +conquer—nay, conquer again if needful (for I would say +nothing of bad omen) I commit to thee the care of my +children: for it is fitting that thou, their uncle, shouldest +carry over thine affection to them.</p> + + +<h4><span class="smcap">Letter CXXIV</span></h4> + +<p>"But if oblivion be the lot of the dead in Hades yet +will <i>I</i>, even there, remember" my dear Hypatia. Beset +as I am by the sufferings of my country, and sick, as I see +daily weapons of war about me and men slaughtered like +altar-victims; drawing as I do breath infected by rotting +corpses; expecting myself a similar fate, (for who can be +hopeful when the very atmosphere is weighed down and +dusky with the shadow of carnivorous birds?) yet do I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> +cling to my country. For what else would my feeling be, +born and bred as I am, and with the not ignoble tombs of +my fathers before my eyes? For thee alone does it seem +to me that I could neglect my country, and if I could get +leisure, force myself to run away.<a name="FNanchor_62_62" id="FNanchor_62_62"></a><a href="#Footnote_62_62" class="fnanchor">[62]</a></p> + + +<h3>LATIN LETTERS.—PLINY (62-114)</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>The most famous letters of the younger Pliny are those +which describe his country houses, that which gives account +of his uncle's death in the great eruption of Vesuvius, and +his correspondence with Trajan. But the first mentioned +are rather long and require a good deal of technical annotation;<a name="FNanchor_63_63" id="FNanchor_63_63"></a><a href="#Footnote_63_63" class="fnanchor">[63]</a> +the second is to be found in many books; and the +letters which make up the third (except those concerning +Christianity, which are again to be found in many places) +are mostly short and on points of business merely. The +one I have chosen is extremely characteristic, in two +respects, of the author and of Roman ways generally. It +shows Pliny's good-nature and right feeling, but it shows +also a certain "priggishness" with which he has been +specially and personally charged, but which, to speak +frankly, he shared with a great many of his famous countrymen. +Priggishness was almost unknown among the +Greeks—though one may suspect its presence among those +Spartans who have told so few tales of themselves. But<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> +it flourished at Rome, and was one of Rome's many—and +one of her worst—legacies to us moderns. Secondly, the +letter is amusing because one thinks what an English judge +would surely think and would probably say, if counsel for +a lady were to inform the court <i>uberius et latius</i> what an +extremely good opinion that lady's father had of him, the +learned speaker. A minor but still interesting difference +is in Pliny's slight hesitation about taking a brief against +a consul-elect. The subtleties of Roman etiquette are +endless.</p></div> + + +<h4><span class="smcap">Plinius to his Asinius Gallus—Health</span></h4> + +<p>You both advise<a name="FNanchor_64_64" id="FNanchor_64_64"></a><a href="#Footnote_64_64" class="fnanchor">[64]</a> and ask me to take up the cause of +Corellia in her absence against C. Caecilius, Consul elect. +I am obliged to you for advising me but I complain of +your <i>asking</i>. I ought to be advised that I may know the +fact, but not asked to do what it would be most disgraceful +for me <i>not</i> to do. Could I doubt about protecting the +daughter of Corellius? True, there is between me and +him against whom you call on me, not exactly close +friendship but still some friendship. There is also to be +taken into account the man's worth and the honour to +which he is destined, a thing which I ought to hold in the +greater respect that I have myself already enjoyed it. +For it is natural that things which one has oneself attained, +one should wish to be regarded with the greatest respect. +But when I think that I am to help Corellius' daughter, +all this appears idle and empty. I seem to see the man +than whom our age had no one more dignified, more pious, +of an acuter mind; the man whom, when I had begun +to like him out of admiration I admired more, contrary<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> +to what usually happens, the more thoroughly I knew +him. For I did know him thoroughly; he kept nothing +hid from me, neither jocular nor serious, neither sad nor +glad. I was quite a young man: but already he held me +in honour and I will dare to say respect—as if I were his +contemporary. He gave me his vote and interest in my +standings for honours; he, when I entered upon them, +was my introducer and companion; when I carried them +out, my adviser and guide. In fact, in every business of +mine, though he was an old man and in weak health, he +was as forward as if he were young and strong. How much +he furthered my reputation, privately, publicly, and even +with the Chief of the State! For when by chance, in the +presence of the Emperor Nerva, the conversation had +turned on young men of worth, and several persons spoke +in praise of me, he kept silence for a little, which gave him +the more authority. Then in the weighty manner you +know, "I must needs," he said, "say all the less about +Secundus<a name="FNanchor_65_65" id="FNanchor_65_65"></a><a href="#Footnote_65_65" class="fnanchor">[65]</a> because he never does anything but by my +advice." By saying this he gave me the credit (which it +would have been extravagant in me to hope for) of never +doing anything in other than the wisest way, seeing that +I always acted on the advice of the wisest man. Moreover, +when dying, he said to his daughter, as she is wont to +declare, "I have provided you, as if I were myself to live +longer, many friends: but for the chief of them Secundus +and Cornutus." Now when I remember this, I see I must +take care not in any way to disappoint the trust in me of +this most fore-thoughtful man. Therefore I will come to +Corellia's help without the least delay and will not refuse +to undergo inconveniences: though I think I shall secure +not merely pardon but even praise from the very person<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> +who as you say is bringing a new action as against a +woman, if it should happen to me to say these same things +in court more amply and fully than the narrow room of +a letter permits, either to excuse or indeed commend +myself. Farewell.</p> + + +<h3>LETTER OF THE "DARK" AGES</h3> + +<h3>SIDONIUS APOLLINARIS (431?-482-4)</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Caius Sollius Sidonius Apollinaris is one of the most +interesting figures of the troubled and obscure period +intervening between the fall of the Roman Empire <i>proper</i> +and the rise of mediaeval Europe. He was born at Lyons, +married Papianilla, daughter of Flavius Avitus, who was +to be one of the ephemeral "Emperors" of the West and +the Decadence, but was not injured by his father-in-law's +dethronement, and enjoyed various civil honours and +posts. In 471, though a married layman, he was peremptorily +made a bishop, and accordingly took orders, +put away his wife, and discharged his sacred duties as +creditably as he had discharged his profane ones. Sidonius +was a not contemptible poet, and an interesting letter-writer. +Like most literary men of his class he was given +to what we call flattery; and this Ecdicius, of whom +he made a sort of Dark Age Admirable Crichton, was his +brother-in-law, an Emperor's son, and Count or Duke +(the titles were often interchangeable) of the district. But +it is fair to say that Gregory of Tours, the accepted historian +of the period, and living only in the next century, makes +the exploit over the Goths even more signal—for he reduces +the troopers to <i>ten</i>. The Arverni (inhabitants of Auvergne +and its neighbourhood) were the strongest tribe in Southern +Gaul when the Romans first came into contact with them, +retained much prominence in Caesar's time, and had not +lost individuality, if they had lost independence, by this +(5th) century. The mixture of "Arms" and the "Gown" +is noteworthy.</p></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p> + + +<h4><span class="smcap">Book III. Letter III</span></h4> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Sidonius to his Ecdicius—Health</span></h4> + +<p>If ever, now you are longed for by my Arvernians, whose +love for you subdues them remarkably, and indeed for all +sorts of reasons. First, because a man's native land has the +greatest part in creating affection for him.<a name="FNanchor_66_66" id="FNanchor_66_66"></a><a href="#Footnote_66_66" class="fnanchor">[66]</a> Then, because +in your time you are about the only mortal who was +longed for before his birth as much as he was rejoiced in +after it.... I say nothing of such things—common to all, +but no mean incitement to affection—as that you crawled +as a child on the same turf with them. I pass over the +grass which you first trod, the river you first swam, the +woods you broke through in hunting. I leave out the +fact that it was here you first played ball<a name="FNanchor_67_67" id="FNanchor_67_67"></a><a href="#Footnote_67_67" class="fnanchor">[67]</a> and backgammon,<a name="FNanchor_68_68" id="FNanchor_68_68"></a><a href="#Footnote_68_68" class="fnanchor">[68]</a> +that you hawked, coursed, rode, shot with the +bow. I omit the fact that for the sake of your boyish +presence students of letters came hither from all parts; +and that it was due to you as an individual that our +nobility, anxious to shed the slough of Celtic speech, +imbued itself now with the style of oratory, now with the +measures of the Muse. And this specially kindled the +love of the community<a name="FNanchor_69_69" id="FNanchor_69_69"></a><a href="#Footnote_69_69" class="fnanchor">[69]</a> that you forbade those whom +you had already made Latins<a name="FNanchor_70_70" id="FNanchor_70_70"></a><a href="#Footnote_70_70" class="fnanchor">[70]</a> to remain barbarians.<a name="FNanchor_71_71" id="FNanchor_71_71"></a><a href="#Footnote_71_71" class="fnanchor">[71]</a> +For it could never slip the memory of our citizens what +and how great you seemed, to every age and rank and sex<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> +on the half-ruined mounds of our walls, when, accompanied +by scarcely eighteen horsemen, you cut your way through +some thousands of Goths in full daylight and (which +posterity will hardly believe) in the open field. A well +trained army stood aghast at the sound of your name +and the sight of your person: so that the leaders of the +enemy, in their astonishment, hardly knew how many +were their followers, how few yours. Their line was then +withdrawn to the brow of a steep hill; it had before been +gathered together to storm, but on your appearance was +not deployed for battle. Meanwhile you, having slain +some of their best men whom not sloth but courage had +made the rearmost of the troop, occupied the level ground +alone, though such a fight gave you not so many comrades +as your table is wont to contain guests. And when you +returned to the town at your leisure what came to meet +you in the way of official compliments, applause, tears, +rejoicings can be better guessed than described. One +might see in the crammed halls of the spacious palace that +happy ovation for your thronged return. Some caught +up the dust of your footsteps to kiss it: others took out +the horses' curbs stained with blood and foam; others +prepared the stands for the saddles drenched with the +horses' sweat; others, when you were about to put off +your helmet, unbuckled the clasps of its plated chin-straps, +or busied themselves with unlacing your greaves. Yet +others counted the notches on the swords, blunted with +slaughter, or measured with livid<a name="FNanchor_72_72" id="FNanchor_72_72"></a><a href="#Footnote_72_72" class="fnanchor">[72]</a> fingers the rings of the +corslets, slashed or pierced by weapons.<a name="FNanchor_73_73" id="FNanchor_73_73"></a><a href="#Footnote_73_73" class="fnanchor">[73]</a></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p> +<h3>EARLY MEDIAEVAL LETTER (<span class="smcap">Twelfth Century</span>)</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Of the other persons mentioned in this letter besides +the widowed Duchess and King Louis VII., the first is +Ralph, Count of (Peronne and) Vermandois, a leper. The +lady's name was Eleanor, and she also was probably a +widow; the Duchess's son Hugh was third of that name +as Duke of Burgundy. Ivo, Count of Soissons, was the +guardian of the Count of Vermandois, incapacitated legally +by his plague. The proposed marriage did not come off. +The business-like tone of the letter will only surprise those +who do not really know the "Ages of Romance." I owe +the selection of it to my friend the Rev. W. Hunt, D.Litt., +who came to my aid in the dearth of books of this period +which circumstances imposed on me.</p></div> + +<p>To Louis<a name="FNanchor_74_74" id="FNanchor_74_74"></a><a href="#Footnote_74_74" class="fnanchor">[74]</a> most excellent King of the Franks by the +grace of God, and her most beloved Lord, Mary, Duchess +of Burgundy—health and due respect. It is known to +your Majesty that my son is your liegeman, and, if it +please you, your kinsman also. Whatsoever he can do is +yours: and if he could do more it were yours. And so +I all the more confidently ask your highest affection for +my son. For it has been told me that Count Ralph of +Peronne has a certain marriageable sister who, as has been +reported to me and her own people, would be a suitable<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> +wife for my son. For this reason, most beloved Lord, I +and he ask that you would look to this matter yourself +and speak about it to the Count of Soissons, and settle +how this marriage may be contracted. You must know +that though my son might marry in another kingdom, I +greatly prefer that he should take a wife in yours, rather +than in any other. The nearer he becomes connected with +you the more will he be yours and altogether a profit to +you.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> It may of course be "illustrated" in the other sense by a +second use of the pen; and we shall have instances of this kind +to notice.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> As has often been pointed out Ben Jonson's exquisite "Drink +to me only with thine eyes" is a verse-paraphrase or mosaic +from this writer's prose.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Pliny, if he did not always "write for publication," deliberately +"published," as we should say, his letters. Indeed, he +is one of the first to use the word in this sense, even if he uses +it immediately of an oration not a letter. Some think Cicero +meant publication; and he was very likely to do so.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> The Latin statesman, like the Greek bishop, condescends to +write about wine and even more fully. One of the most interesting +and informing things on the subject is his discourse on +<i>vinum acinaticium</i>, a sort of Roman Imperial Tokay made from +grapes kept till the frost had touched them.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Genuine letters of Sappho would have been of the first +interest to compare with those of Heloise, and the "Portuguese +Nun" and Mademoiselle de Lespinasse. Diotima's might have +been as disappointing as George Eliot's: but by no means must +necessarily have been so. Aspasia's, sometimes counterfeited, +ought to have been good.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> It is part of the plan to give, as a sort of Appendix to the +Introduction, and extension of it towards the main body of text, +some specimens of Greek, Roman (classical and post-classical) +and Early Mediaeval letter-writing, translated for the purpose +by the present writer. The <i>continuity</i> of literary history is a +thing which deserves to be attended to, especially when there is an +ever-growing tendency to confine attention to things modern—albeit +so soon to be antiquated! I owe the last of these specimens, +in the Latin from which I translate it, to the kindness of +my friend the Rev. W. Hunt, D.Litt., to whom I had recourse +as not myself having access to a large library at the moment, +and who has assisted me in other parts of this book.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> Yet others, as to authenticity, have, I believe, been rejected +by all competent scholarship.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> Benjamin Constant and Madame de Charrière.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> Some of us think Blake a great poet; but this is scarcely a +general opinion, and he does not appear till the century was three +parts over. Burns (whose own letters by the way do him little +justice) hardly comes in.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> Especially the most popular and voluminous if not the most +important of all—the periodical and the novel.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> The danger being of many sorts—usually in the direction of +various kinds of <i>excess</i>. A <i>quietly</i> tragic letter may be a masterpiece: +perhaps there is no finer example than one to be again +referred to, of Mrs. Carlyle's.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> Mr. Paul thinks that "the baby language" is terribly out +of character, and that there is "too much of it"; that Swift +"would try to make love though he did not know what love +meant"; and that the whole rings hollow and insincere. Others, +women as well as men, have held that the "little language" is +only less pathetic than it is charming; that Swift was one of the +greatest, if one of the unhappiest lovers of the world; and that +the thing is as sincere as if it had been written in the Palace of +Truth and only hollow as is the space between Heaven and Hell.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> It should never be, but perhaps sometimes is, forgotten +that "Stella" was a lady of unusual wits, and of what Swift's +greatest decrier called in his own protegée Mrs. Williams "universal +curiosity," that is to say not "inquisitiveness" but +"intelligent interest." The politics etc. are not mere selfish +attention to what interests the writer only.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> It must not be forgotten that she was Fielding's cousin. +And after the remark above on Swift it is pleasant and may be +fair to say that Mr. Paul is a hearty "Marian."</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> Johnson is again the chief and by no means trustworthy +witness for this "insolence." But in the same breath he admitted +that Chesterfield was "dignified." Now dignity is almost as +doubtfully compatible with insolence as with impudence.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_16_16" id="Footnote_16_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> It is difficult to think of anyone who has combined statesmanship +(Chesterfield's accomplishments in which are constantly +forgotten), social gifts and literary skill in an equal degree.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_17_17" id="Footnote_17_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> Excluding of course purely historical and public things like +the trials of the '45 and the riots of '80.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_18_18" id="Footnote_18_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_18"><span class="label">[18]</span></a> They were travelling together (always rather a test of +friendship) in Italy, and Horace, as he confesses, no doubt gave +himself airs. But it is pretty certain that Gray had not at this +time, if he ever had, that fortunate combination of good (or at +least well-commanded) temper and good breeding which enables +a gentleman to meet such conduct with conduct on his own side +as free from petulant "touchiness" as from ignoble parasitism.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_19_19" id="Footnote_19_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19_19"><span class="label">[19]</span></a> Gray was not, like Walpole, a richly endowed sinecurist. +But to use a familiar "bull" he seems never to have had anything +to do, and never to have done it when he had. His poems are +a mere handful; his excellent <i>Metrum</i> is a fragment; and as +Professor of History at Cambridge he never did anything at all.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_20_20" id="Footnote_20_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20_20"><span class="label">[20]</span></a> They do not seem to have known each other personally. +But (for reasons not difficult to assign but here irrelevant) +Johnson was on the whole, though not wholly, unjust to Gray, +and Gray seems to have disliked and spoken rudely of Johnson.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_21_21" id="Footnote_21_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21_21"><span class="label">[21]</span></a> The varieties of what may be called literary <i>exercise</i> which +have been utilised for educational or recreative purposes, are +almost innumerable. Has anyone ever tried "breaking up" +a letter (such as those to be given hereafter) into a conversation +by interlarded comment, questions, etc.?</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_22_22" id="Footnote_22_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor_22_22"><span class="label">[22]</span></a> As far as the accidents are concerned. The essentials vary +not. Marianne is eternal, whether she faints and blushes, or +jazzes and—does not blush.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_23_23" id="Footnote_23_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor_23_23"><span class="label">[23]</span></a> One unfortunate exception, the <i>ex-post facto</i> references to +the split with Lady Austin, may be urged by a relentless prosecutor. +But when William has to choose between Mary and +Anna it will go hard but he will <i>have</i> to be unfair to one of them.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_24_24" id="Footnote_24_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor_24_24"><span class="label">[24]</span></a> This "swan's" utterances in poetry were quite unlike those +of Tennyson's dying bird: and her taste in it was appalling. +She tells Scott that the Border Ballads were totally destitute of +any right to the name.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_25_25" id="Footnote_25_25"></a><a href="#FNanchor_25_25"><span class="label">[25]</span></a> For a singular misjudgment on this point see Prefatory +Note <i>infra</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_26_26" id="Footnote_26_26"></a><a href="#FNanchor_26_26"><span class="label">[26]</span></a> Particularly when he is able to apply the <i>Don Juan</i> mood of +sarcastic if rather superficial life-criticism in which he was a +real master.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_27_27" id="Footnote_27_27"></a><a href="#FNanchor_27_27"><span class="label">[27]</span></a> <i>I.e.</i> "violently and vulgarly absurd."</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_28_28" id="Footnote_28_28"></a><a href="#FNanchor_28_28"><span class="label">[28]</span></a> It may, however, be suggested that the extraordinary +<i>bluntness</i> (to use no stronger word) of both is almost sufficiently +evidenced in the fact that in his last edition of Keats Mr. Forman +committed the additional outrage of distributing these letters +according to their dates among the rest. The isolation of the +agony gives almost the only possible excuse for revealing it.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_29_29" id="Footnote_29_29"></a><a href="#FNanchor_29_29"><span class="label">[29]</span></a> It is of course true that Shelley himself did not at first quite +appreciate Keats. But <i>Adonais</i> cancels the deficit and leaves +an almost infinite balance in favour. One can only hope that, +had the circumstances been reversed, Keats would have set the +account right as triumphantly.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_30_30" id="Footnote_30_30"></a><a href="#FNanchor_30_30"><span class="label">[30]</span></a> This tendency makes it perhaps desirable to observe that in +the <i>particular</i> context of the <i>Belle Dame</i> there is nothing whatever +to cavil at.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_31_31" id="Footnote_31_31"></a><a href="#FNanchor_31_31"><span class="label">[31]</span></a> The recent centenary saw, as usual, with much welcome +appreciation some uncritical excesses.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_32_32" id="Footnote_32_32"></a><a href="#FNanchor_32_32"><span class="label">[32]</span></a> In not a few cases they may be said to have been deliberately +<i>un</i>prepared—intended though not labelled as "private and +confidential."</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_33_33" id="Footnote_33_33"></a><a href="#FNanchor_33_33"><span class="label">[33]</span></a> In which, be it remembered, the "Life-and-Letters" system +only came in quite late.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_34_34" id="Footnote_34_34"></a><a href="#FNanchor_34_34"><span class="label">[34]</span></a> At the very moment when this is being written a considerable +new body of them is announced for sale.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_35_35" id="Footnote_35_35"></a><a href="#FNanchor_35_35"><span class="label">[35]</span></a> The word "restraint" may be misunderstood: but it is +intended to indicate something of the general difference between +"classical" ages on the one side and "romantic" or "realist" +on the other.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_36_36" id="Footnote_36_36"></a><a href="#FNanchor_36_36"><span class="label">[36]</span></a> Chesterfield's deafness might, without frivolity, be brought +in. It is a hindrance to conversation, but none to letter-writing.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_37_37" id="Footnote_37_37"></a><a href="#FNanchor_37_37"><span class="label">[37]</span></a> Or at least expression of themselves.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_38_38" id="Footnote_38_38"></a><a href="#FNanchor_38_38"><span class="label">[38]</span></a> Idly: because he himself expressly and repeatedly disclaims +<i>mere</i> "translation."</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_39_39" id="Footnote_39_39"></a><a href="#FNanchor_39_39"><span class="label">[39]</span></a> Dryden, in reference to Shadwell.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_40_40" id="Footnote_40_40"></a><a href="#FNanchor_40_40"><span class="label">[40]</span></a> "The Great God Pan" piece ("A Musical Instrument"), one +of the last, was perhaps her <i>very</i> best. But he may have been +thinking of <i>Poems before Congress</i>, which are poor enough.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_41_41" id="Footnote_41_41"></a><a href="#FNanchor_41_41"><span class="label">[41]</span></a> Lucy, daughter of that curious Quaker banker's clerk +Bernard Barton, whose poetry is negligible, but who must have +had some strong personal attraction. For he was a favourite +correspondent of two of the greatest of contemporary letter-writers, +Lamb and FitzGerald, though he constantly misunderstood +their letters; he received from Byron—on an occasion +likely to provoke one of the "noble poet's" outbursts of pseudo-aristocratic +insolence—a singularly wise and kindly answer; +and having as a perfect stranger lectured Sir Robert Peel he +was—invited to dinner!</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_42_42" id="Footnote_42_42"></a><a href="#FNanchor_42_42"><span class="label">[42]</span></a> Some have attempted to make a distinction, alleging that +there are Franceses who can be called "Fanny" and others who +can not. But it is doubtful whether this holds. Of two great +proficients of "letter-stuff" in overlapping generations Fanny +Burney was eminently a "Fanny." Fanny Kemble, though +always called so, was not.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_43_43" id="Footnote_43_43"></a><a href="#FNanchor_43_43"><span class="label">[43]</span></a> She was the niece of Mrs. Siddons and of John Kemble, +generally considered the greatest tragic actor and actress we +have had; the daughter of Charles Kemble, a player and +manager of long practice and great ability; while she had yet +another uncle and any number of more distant relations in the +profession.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_44_44" id="Footnote_44_44"></a><a href="#FNanchor_44_44"><span class="label">[44]</span></a> See Prefatory Note on her letters <i>infra</i>, for an illustration of +what is said of her here and of Mrs. Carlyle a little further.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_45_45" id="Footnote_45_45"></a><a href="#FNanchor_45_45"><span class="label">[45]</span></a> Gray may not produce this effect of slight repulsion on +everyone: but on the other hand it is pretty generally admitted +that the more you read Walpole the more does the prejudice, +which Macaulay and others have helped to create against him, +crumble and melt.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_46_46" id="Footnote_46_46"></a><a href="#FNanchor_46_46"><span class="label">[46]</span></a> They grow more and more numerous; a fresh batch having +been announced while this Introduction was being written.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_47_47" id="Footnote_47_47"></a><a href="#FNanchor_47_47"><span class="label">[47]</span></a> I see that Mr. Paul also has made special reference to this +letter and no wonder. From the time of its first publication +I have regarded it as matchless. But it seems to me that while +it is lawful to mention it, it should not have been published and +that to republish it here would be at least questionable.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_48_48" id="Footnote_48_48"></a><a href="#FNanchor_48_48"><span class="label">[48]</span></a> The present writer remembers as a boy reading (he supposes +in the newspaper to which it was addressed but is not sure) this +very remarkable epistle of Reade's to an editor: "Sir, you have +brains of your own and good ones. Do not echo the bray of +such a very small ass as the...." There was more, but this +was the gist of it. Whether it has ever reappeared he cannot +say.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_49_49" id="Footnote_49_49"></a><a href="#FNanchor_49_49"><span class="label">[49]</span></a> Anthony Trollope did not choose to make his Autobiography +a "Life-and-Letters." But he has used the inserted letter very +freely and sometimes with great effect in his novels, for instance +Mr. Slope's to Eleanor Harding in <i>Barchester Towers</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_50_50" id="Footnote_50_50"></a><a href="#FNanchor_50_50"><span class="label">[50]</span></a> In his Essay mentioned in Preface.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_51_51" id="Footnote_51_51"></a><a href="#FNanchor_51_51"><span class="label">[51]</span></a> The "Answer to the Introductory Epistle" of <i>The Monastery</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_52_52" id="Footnote_52_52"></a><a href="#FNanchor_52_52"><span class="label">[52]</span></a> This plan was older than the "novel <i>by</i> letters," and had, +as noticed above, been largely used in the sixteenth and seventeenth +century "heroic" romance.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_53_53" id="Footnote_53_53"></a><a href="#FNanchor_53_53"><span class="label">[53]</span></a> There is of course a class exactly opposite to the love-letter—that +of more or less modified hate or at least dislike. Johnson's +epistle to Chesterfield is an example of the dignified form of this; +Hazlitt's to Gifford of the undignified. But considering our +deserved reputation for humour we are less strong than might +be expected in letters which make the supposed writer make +<i>himself</i> ridiculous. Sydney Smith's "Noodle's Oration" is the +sort of thing in another kind: and some of the letters in the +<i>Spectator</i> class of periodical are fun in the kind itself. Defoe's +<i>Shortest Way with the Dissenters</i> comes near. But we have +nothing like the famous <i>Epistolae Obscurorum Virorum</i>, which +are the very triumph of the style.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_54_54" id="Footnote_54_54"></a><a href="#FNanchor_54_54"><span class="label">[54]</span></a> See the extensive classification of the Greeks, as noticed and +reproduced before.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_55_55" id="Footnote_55_55"></a><a href="#FNanchor_55_55"><span class="label">[55]</span></a> The "Letter to Sir W. Windham" of the one and the "Letter +to a noble Lord" of the other, have ample justification. <i>Letters +on a Regicide Peace</i>, great as they are in themselves, have less +claim to their title. But it was a favourite with both writers.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_56_56" id="Footnote_56_56"></a><a href="#FNanchor_56_56"><span class="label">[56]</span></a> The King was William and the Queen Mary, which limits +considerably the otherwise rather illimitable "concerning +the kingdom."</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_57_57" id="Footnote_57_57"></a><a href="#FNanchor_57_57"><span class="label">[57]</span></a> This word is of course a <i>vox nihili</i>, being neither French nor +English. But it has usage in its favour, and I do not see that +it is improved by writing it "<i>dis</i>habille." If anyone prefers +the actual French form he can add the accents.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_58_58" id="Footnote_58_58"></a><a href="#FNanchor_58_58"><span class="label">[58]</span></a> The account of the journey with Lintot the publisher is +sometimes quoted in disproof of this. It is amusing, but has +still to some tastes Pope's factitiousness without the technical +charm of his verse to carry it off.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_59_59" id="Footnote_59_59"></a><a href="#FNanchor_59_59"><span class="label">[59]</span></a> There is one small but rather famous class of letters which +perhaps should receive separate though brief notice. It is that +of laconic and either intentionally or unintentionally humorous +utilisations of the letter-form. Of one sort Captain Walton's +"Spanish fleet taken and destroyed as per margin" is probably +the most noted type: of another the equally famous rejoinder +of the Highland magnate to his rival "Dear Glengarry, When +you have proved yourself to be my chief, I shall be happy to +admit your claim. Meanwhile I am Yours, Macdonald." In +pure farce of an irreverent kind, the possibly apocryphal interchange +between a Royal Duke and a Right Reverend Bishop, +"Dear Cork, Please ordain Stanhope, Yours, York," and "Dear +York, Stanhope's ordained. Yours, Cork," has the palm as a +recognised "chestnut." But these things are only the frills if +not even the froth of the subject; and those who imitate them +should exercise caution in the imitation. The police-courts, and +even more exalted, but still more unwholesome abodes of Justice, +have sometimes been the consequences of misguided satire in +letters. Even in Captain Walton's case the Spaniards are said +to have endeavoured to show that his ironical laconism (which, +moreover, tradition has perhaps exaggerated in form) was not +strictly in accordance with fact.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_60_60" id="Footnote_60_60"></a><a href="#FNanchor_60_60"><span class="label">[60]</span></a> Wild olive, with more peaceful uses, was also the usual +material for the <i>un</i>peaceful club, or quarter-staff, often iron-shod, +of the ancients. It was probably like the <i>lathi</i> which the mild +Hindoo takes with him to political meetings. The <span class='greek' title='pelekys'>πέλεκυς</span> of +the ancients was generally double-bladed, hence the limitation +here. This would be lighter and more convenient to carry in +the belt.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_61_61" id="Footnote_61_61"></a><a href="#FNanchor_61_61"><span class="label">[61]</span></a> Of course "the enemies'."</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_62_62" id="Footnote_62_62"></a><a href="#FNanchor_62_62"><span class="label">[62]</span></a> Synesius addresses his letters to Hypatia <span class='greek' title='tê philosophô'>τῇ φιλοσὸφῳ</span>—"To +<i>the</i> Philosophess." This contains at least two of the unapproachable +"portmanteau" words in which Greek, and especially +late Greek abounds—<span class='greek' title='philochôrôn'>φιλοχωρῶν</span>, "loving one's country," +and <span class='greek' title='metanasteuein'>μεταναστεύειν</span>, a rare and complicated compound in which +I have ventured to see a hint of ironic intention. He feels that +he will be a sort of shirker or deserter (<span class='greek' title='meta'>μετὰ</span> often imparts this +meaning) but he will be coming to <i>her</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_63_63" id="Footnote_63_63"></a><a href="#FNanchor_63_63"><span class="label">[63]</span></a> This necessity of annotating beyond suitable limits was what +prevented me, after due re-reading for the purpose, from giving +any letter of Cicero's.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_64_64" id="Footnote_64_64"></a><a href="#FNanchor_64_64"><span class="label">[64]</span></a> <i>Admoneo</i> in Latin not unfrequently has our commercial +sense of "advise" = inform, or remind of a fact. It will be +remembered that in Elizabethan English this sense was not +limited to business, as in "Art thou aviséd of that."</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_65_65" id="Footnote_65_65"></a><a href="#FNanchor_65_65"><span class="label">[65]</span></a> The younger Pliny's full name was C. Plinius <i>Secundus</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_66_66" id="Footnote_66_66"></a><a href="#FNanchor_66_66"><span class="label">[66]</span></a> Among other natives of course.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_67_67" id="Footnote_67_67"></a><a href="#FNanchor_67_67"><span class="label">[67]</span></a> Doubtless the game still played in Italy (<i>pallone</i>) and the South +of France, with a wooden hand-guard strapped to the arm.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_68_68" id="Footnote_68_68"></a><a href="#FNanchor_68_68"><span class="label">[68]</span></a> <i>Pyrgus</i> is not exactly backgammon. The Romans had a +sort of combined dice-box and board—the latter having a kind +of tower fixed on the side with interior steps or stops, among +which the dice tumbled and twisted before they fell out.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_69_69" id="Footnote_69_69"></a><a href="#FNanchor_69_69"><span class="label">[69]</span></a> <i>Universitas</i>: but though the context seems tempting, it is +too early for "university" as a translation.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_70_70" id="Footnote_70_70"></a><a href="#FNanchor_70_70"><span class="label">[70]</span></a> <i>I.e.</i> in citizenship.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_71_71" id="Footnote_71_71"></a><a href="#FNanchor_71_71"><span class="label">[71]</span></a> <i>I.e.</i> in speech.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_72_72" id="Footnote_72_72"></a><a href="#FNanchor_72_72"><span class="label">[72]</span></a> Why <i>livescentibus</i> I am not sure. "Bruised by the rough +mail"? But Lucretius has <i>digiti livescunt</i>: and Sidonius, like +other poets of other decadences, is apt to borrow the phrases of +his great predecessors.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_73_73" id="Footnote_73_73"></a><a href="#FNanchor_73_73"><span class="label">[73]</span></a> Sidonius has nearly as much more of this curious story: but +the picture of the excitable Celts mobbing their heroes is vivid +enough to make a good stopping-place. If things really went as +described, one must suppose that a sudden panic came on the +Goths, and that they took Ecdicius and his handful of troopers +as merely <i>éclaireurs</i> of a sally in force, and drew back to the +higher ground to resist it.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_74_74" id="Footnote_74_74"></a><a href="#FNanchor_74_74"><span class="label">[74]</span></a> His own experience of marriage cannot have made the +subject wholly agreeable to him: for he was, it may not be quite +impertinent to remind the reader, the first husband of Eleanor +of Guienne.</p></div> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span></p> +<h2>ENGLISH LETTERS</h2> + + +<h2>THE PASTONS. <span class="smcap">Fifteenth Century</span></h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Few families in England have achieved a permanent +"place i' the story" after such a curious fashion as the +Pastons of Paston (Pastons "of that ilk") in Norfolk. +They were not exactly "great people" and no member +of the family was of very eminent distinction in any walk +of life, though they had judges, soldiers, and sailors etc. +among them, and though, some time before the house +became extinct, its representative attained the peerage +with the title of Earl of Yarmouth. But they were busy +people in the troublesome times of the Roses, and they +obtained a good deal of property, partly by the death of +Sir John Fastolf, noted in the French wars and muddled +by posterity (there seems to have been no real resemblance +between them except an accusation of cowardice, probably +false in both cases, and an imperfectly anagrammatised +relation of names) with Shakespeare's "Falstaff." But +they produced, received, and kept a great mass of letters +which, despite the extinction of the family in 1732 survived, +were partially printed later in the century by Fenn, and +more fully a hundred years after by the late Mr. Gairdner. +Although (see Introduction) of no particular literary merit +they are singularly varied in subject and authorship, and +they give us perhaps a more complete view of the domestic +experiences of a single family (not dissociated from public +affairs) than we have from any period of English history +till quite modern times. Indeed, it would not be easy to +put the finger on an exact parallel to them at <i>any</i> time.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> +I have selected from a great mass of documents two—one +of love and one of war according to the good old division. +John Jernyngan's letter to Margaret Mauteby—wife of +John Paston, and one of the most notable and businesslike, +though not the least affectionate of wives and mothers—is +interesting for its combination of the two motives (were +there also <i>two</i> "Mistress Blanches"?) and for the delightfully +English frankness of its confession that "we were +well and truly beat." On the other hand, that of Miss +Margery Brews to John Paston the youngest (the John +named above had two sons of his own name) is one of the +most agreeable pieces of "plain and holy innocence," as +Miranda calls it, on record. It is immediately preceded in +the collection by another in which she is equally loving, and +quotes some of the shockingly bad fifteenth century verse. +One regrets to say that her "Valentine" had, apparently, +more than one string to his bow at the moment. However, +after vicissitudes in the "matter," as she delicately calls +it, John and Margery did marry, and from them proceeded +the later stages of the family. Whether things went equally +well with Mr. Jernyngan and his Blanche (or either of his +Blanches) does not seem to be recorded. (It has been +thought better, though the taste of the moment seems to go +rather the other way, not to encumber the reader with the +original spelling, but there is no further modernisation.)</p></div> + + +<p class='lheading'><span class="smcap">1. Letter 317 (Gairdner)</span></p> + +<p class='rindent'>Date June 1, 1458</p> + +<p>Right worshipful and my most best beloved mistress +and cousin, I recommend me to you as lowly +as I may, ever more desiring to hear of your good +welfare; the which I beseech almighty Jesus to preserve +you and keep you to his pleasure and to your gracious +heart's desire. And, if it please you to hear of my welfare, +I was in good heal(th) at the making of this letter, blessed +be God.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p> + +<p>Praying you that it please you for to send me word if +my father was at Norwich with you at this Trinitymas or +no, and how the matter doth between my mistress Blanche +Witchingham and me and if ye suppose that it shall be +brought about or no, and how ye feel my father, if he be +well willing thereto or no; praying you lowly that I may +be recommend(ed) lowly to my mistress Arblaster's wife, +and to my mistress Blanche her daughter specially.</p> + +<p>Right worshipful cousin, if it please you for to hear of +such tidings as we have here, the embassy of Burgundy +shall come to Calais the Saturday after Corpus Christi day, +as men say, 500 horse of them. Moreover on Trinity +Sunday in the morning came tidings unto my Lord of +Warwick that there were 28 sails of Spaniards on the sea, +and whereof there was 16 great ships of forecastle. And +then my Lord<a name="FNanchor_75_75" id="FNanchor_75_75"></a><a href="#Footnote_75_75" class="fnanchor">[75]</a> went and manned 5 ships of forecastle and +three carvells, and four pinnaces, and on the Monday, in +the morning after Trinity Sunday, we met together afore +Calais at 4 at the clock in the morning and fought that +(<i>sic</i>) gether till 10 at the clock. And there we took six of +their ships and they slew of our men about four twenties +and hurt a two hundred of us right sore; and there were +slain on their part about twelve twenties and hurt a five +hundred of them.</p> + +<p>And (it) happened me at the first aboarding of us, we +took a ship of three hundred ton, and I was left therein<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> +and 23 men with me; and they fought so sore that our +men were fain to leave them, and then come they and +aboarded<a name="FNanchor_76_76" id="FNanchor_76_76"></a><a href="#Footnote_76_76" class="fnanchor">[76]</a> the ship that I was in and there I was taken, +and was prisoner with them 6 hours, and was delivered +again for their men that were taken before. And as men +say, there was not so great a battle upon the sea this forty +winters. And forsooth we were well and truly beat: and +my Lord hath sent for more ships, and like to fight together +again in haste.</p> + +<p>No more I write unto you at this time, but that it please +you for to recommend me unto my right reverend and +worshipful cousin your husband, and mine uncle Gurney, +and to mine aunt his wife and to all good masters and +friends where it shall please you; and after the writing +I have from you, I shall be at you in all haste. Written +on Corpus Christi day in great haste by your own humble +servant and cousin,</p> + +<p class='rindent'><span class="smcap">John Jernyngan.</span></p> + + +<p class='lheading'><span class="smcap">2. Letter 784 (Gairdner)</span></p> + +<p class='rindent'>Date Feb. 1477</p> + +<p>Right worshipful and well-beloved Valentine, in my +most humble wise I recommend me unto you. +And heartily I thank you for the letter which +that ye send me by John Beckerton, whereby I am informed +and know that ye be purposed to come to Topcroft +in short time, and without any errand or matter but only +to have a conclusion of the matter between my father and +you. I would be most glad of any creature in life so that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> +the matter might grow to effect. And there as ye say, +an ye come and find the matter no more towards you +than ye did aforetime, ye would no more put my father +and my lady my mother to no cost nor business, for that +cause, a good while after—which causeth mine heart to +be full heavy: and if that ye come, and the matter take +to none effect, then should I be much more sorry and full +of heaviness.</p> + +<p>And as for myself I have done and understood in the +matter that I can and may, as good<a name="FNanchor_77_77" id="FNanchor_77_77"></a><a href="#Footnote_77_77" class="fnanchor">[77]</a> knoweth: and I let +you plainly understand that my father will no more money +part withal in that behalf but £100 and one mark which +is right far from the accomplishment of your desire.</p> + +<p>Wherefore if that ye could be content with that good, +and my poor person, I would be the merriest maiden on +ground. And if ye think not yourself so satisfied, or that +ye might have much more good, as I have understood by +you afore—good, true, and loving Valentine,<a name="FNanchor_78_78" id="FNanchor_78_78"></a><a href="#Footnote_78_78" class="fnanchor">[78]</a> that ye take +no such labour upon you as to come more for that matter +but let it pass and never more be spoken of, as I may be +your true lover and bedeswoman<a name="FNanchor_79_79" id="FNanchor_79_79"></a><a href="#Footnote_79_79" class="fnanchor">[79]</a> during my life.</p> + +<p>No more unto you at this time but Almighty Jesus +preserve you both body and soul.</p> + +<p class='lindent3'>By your Valentine,</p> + +<p class='rindent'>M. B.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_75_75" id="Footnote_75_75"></a><a href="#FNanchor_75_75"><span class="label">[75]</span></a> It is to be feared that "My Lord's" action was rather +piratical. The "Spanish Fleet" was of merchantmen ("convoyed" +perhaps) on their way to the North with iron etc. for +fish, silk, etc., and we were not definitely at war with Spain. +But Henry the IV. of Castile was an ally of France. Warwick +had just been appointed "Captain of Calais," and it was a +general English idea that anything not English in the Channel +was fair prize. Warwick's conduct was warmly welcomed in +London.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_76_76" id="Footnote_76_76"></a><a href="#FNanchor_76_76"><span class="label">[76]</span></a> This use of "abord" and that just before are slightly different +derivatives of the French <i>aborder</i>, which means to "approach," +"accost," "come together with" as well as to "board" in the +naval sense. The first use here is evidently of the more general, +the second of the particular kind.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_77_77" id="Footnote_77_77"></a><a href="#FNanchor_77_77"><span class="label">[77]</span></a> This may be a mere mis-spelling of "God," or a sort of +euphemism like the modern "thank <i>goodness</i>!" to avoid the +more sacred name.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_78_78" id="Footnote_78_78"></a><a href="#FNanchor_78_78"><span class="label">[78]</span></a> "I would" or "take care" or something similar to be +supplied to make a somewhat softened imperative.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_79_79" id="Footnote_79_79"></a><a href="#FNanchor_79_79"><span class="label">[79]</span></a> One who prays for you.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p> +<h2>ROGER ASCHAM (1515-1568)</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Although the old phrase about "the schoolmaster being +abroad" has never before had anything like the amount of +applicableness which it now possesses, there is perhaps still +a certain prejudice against schoolmasters. Indeed even +some who have more than served time in that capacity will +admit that it is a dangerous employment, profession, or +vocation. But if all of us had been ever, or ever would try +to be, like Roger Ascham, our class would never have +deserved, or would victoriously wiped off, any obloquy. It +was extraordinary good quality, or more extraordinary +good fortune, that made the same man write <i>Toxophilus</i> and +<i>The Schoolmaster</i>. And there need hardly be any admission +of possible good luck as causing, though some certainly +helped, his performance as a letter-writer. Something was +said before as to the importance of his "getting to English" +in this matter. But it may be permissible to remind, or +perhaps even inform, some readers of the curious combination +which made this importance. As a Renaissance +scholar; as a College tutor before the middle of the sixteenth +century; as a Secretary of Embassy on the Continent; +and as Latin Secretary at Court, he was positively <i>un</i>likely +to favour the vernacular. Nor could anyone be a warmer +or wiser lover of the classics than he was. But what he, +being all these things, did for English was all the more +influential, while the manner of his doing it could hardly be +bettered.</p> + +<p>Ascham's letters being partly in English and partly in +Latin, there is a certain temptation to translate one of the +latter and put it side by side with one of the former. But<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> +the process might not be fair: and to give the fairer chance +of comparison between originals in the two tongues would +be out of the scheme of this book. I therefore choose a part +of one of his long letters of travel to Cambridge friends—one +of the earliest of the many "Up the Rhines" in English +literature—and another part of his letters to Cecil. He +has been reproached with the "begging" character of these, +but it was the way of the time with Renaissance scholars. +In the first "ioney" (Giles's text) must be wrong and +towards the end "vile" is an amusing blunder for "<i>o</i>ile." +"Peter Ailand" a Cambridge friend's child. "Brant" = +"steep." In the second "Denny" is Sir Anthony D., a +great favourite of Henry VIII. and Edward VI. who was +now dead. "Cheke" the still better known "Sir John" +had "taught Cambridge and King Edward Greek," and so +raised the "goodly crop" but had taken to politics, which +were to bring him into trouble.<a name="FNanchor_80_80" id="FNanchor_80_80"></a><a href="#Footnote_80_80" class="fnanchor">[80]</a></p></div> + + +<p class='lheading'><span class="smcap">3. To Mr. Edward Raven [extract]</span></p> + +<p class='rindent'><span class="smcap">Augsburg</span> Jan. 20 1551</p> + +<p>13 Octob. We took a fair barge, with goodly glass +windows, with seats of fir, as close as any house, +we knew not whether it went or stood. Rhene +is such a river that now I do not marvail that the poets make +rivers gods. Rhene at Spires having a farther course to +rin into the ocean sea than is the space betwixt Dover +and Barwick is broader over a great deal than is Thames +at Greenwich when it is calm weather. The Rhene runs +fast and yet as smooth as the sea water stands in a vessel.</p> + +<p>From Colen this day we went to Bonna, the bishop's +town, the country about Rhene here is plain and ioney. +We were drawn up Rhene by horses. Little villages stand<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> +by Rhene side, and as the barge came by, six or seven +children, some stonenaked, some in their shirts, of the +bigness of Peter Ailand, would run by use on the sands, +singing psalms, and would rin and sing with us half a +mile, whilst they had some money.</p> + +<p>We came late to Bonna at eight of the clock: our men +were come afore with our horse: we could not be let into +the town, no more than they do at Calise, after an hour. +We stood cold at the gate a whole hour. At last we were +fain, lord and lady, to lie in our barge all night, where I sat +in my lady's side-saddle, leaning my head to a malle, +better lodged than a dozen of my fellows.</p> + +<p>14 Octob. We sailed to Brousik: 15 miles afore we +come to Bonna begin the vines and hills keeping in Rhene +on both sides for the space of five or six days journey as +we made them almost to Mayence, like the hills that +compass Halifax about, but far branter up, as though the +rocks did cover you like a pentice (pent-house): on the +Rhene side all this journey be pathways where horse and +man go commonly a yard broad, so fair that no weather +can make it foul: if you look upwards ye are afraid the +rocks will fall on your head; if you look downwards ye +are afraid to tumble into Rhene, and if your horse founder +it is not seven to six that ye shall miss falling into Rhene, +there be many times stairs down into Rhene that men +may come from their boats and walk on his bank, as we +did every day four or five miles at once, plucking grapes +not with our hands but with our mouths if we list.</p> + +<p>The grapes grow on the brant rocks so wonderfully that +ye will marvel how men dare climb up to them, and yet +so plentifully, that it is not only a marvel where men be +found to labour it, but also almost where men dwell that +drink it. Seven or eight days journey ye cannot cast your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> +sight over the compass of vines. And surely this wine of +Rhene is so good, so natural, so temperate, so ever like +itself, as can be wished for man's use. I was afraid when +I came out of England to miss beer; but I am more +afraid when I shall come into England, that I cannot lack +this wine.</p> + +<p>It is wonder to see how many castles stand on the tops +of these rocks unwinable. The three bishops electors, +Colen, Trevers and Mayence; be the princes almost of +whole Rhene. The lansgrave hath goodly castles upon +Rhene which the emperor cannot get. The palatine of +Rhene is also a great lord on this river, and hath his name +of a castle standing in the midst of Rhene on a rock. +There be also goodly isles in Rhene, so full of walnut trees +that they cannot be spent with eating, but they make vile +of them. In some of these isles stand fair abbeys and +nunneries wonderfully pleasant. The stones that hang +so high over Rhene be very much of that stone that you +use to write on in tables; every poor man's house there +is covered with them.</p> + + +<p class='lheading'><span class="smcap">4. To Cecil [extract]</span></p> + +<p class='rindent'><span class="smcap">Brussels</span> March 24. 1553</p> + +<p>If I should write oft, ye might think me too bold: and +if I did leave off, ye might judge me either to forget +your gentleness, or to mistrust your good will, who +hath already so bound me unto you, as I shall rather forget +myself, and wish God also to forget me, than not labour +with all diligence and service to apply myself wholly to +your will and purpose; and that ye shall well know how +much I assure myself on your goodness, I will pass a piece +of good manners, and be bold to borrow a little of your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> +small leisure from your weighty affairs in the commonwealth. +Therefore, if my letters shall find you at any +leisure, they will trouble you a little in telling you ate +length, as I promised in my last letters delivered unto you +by Mr. Francis Yaxeley, why I am more desirous to +have your help for my stay at Cambridge still than for +any other kind of living elsewhere. I having now some +experience of life led at home and abroad, and knowing +what I can do most fitly, and how I would live most +gladly, do well perceive there is no such quietness in +England, nor pleasure in strange countries, as even in +St. John's college, to keep company with the Bible, Plato, +Aristotle, Demosthenes, and Tully. Which my choice +of quietness is not purposed to lie in idleness, nor constrained +by a wilful nature, because I will not or can not +serve elsewhere, when I trust I could apply myself to +mo kinds of life than I hope any need shall ever drive me +to seek, but only because in choosing aptly for myself I +might bring some profit to many others. And in this +mine opinion I stand the more gladly, because it is +grounded upon the judgment of worthy Mr. Denny. For +the summer twelvemonth before he departed, dinner and +supper he had me commonly with him, whose excellent +wisdom, mingled with so pleasant mirth, I can never +forget: emonges many other talks he would say oft unto +me, if two duties did not command him to serve, the one +his prince, the other his wife, he would surely become a +student in St. John's, saying, "The Court, Mr. Ascham, +is a place so slippery, that duty never so well done, is not +a staff stiff enough to stand by always very surely, where +ye shall many times reap most unkindness where ye have +sown greatest pleasures, and those also ready to do you +most hurt to whom you never intended to think any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> +harm." Which sentences I heard very gladly then, and +felt them soon after myself to be true. Thus I, first ready +by mine own nature, then moved by good counsel, after +driven by ill fortune, lastly called by quietness, thought +it good to couch myself in Cambridge again. And in +very deed, too many be pluckt from thence before they be +ripe, though I myself am withered before I be gathered, +and yet not so for that I have stood too long, but rather +because the fruit which I bear is so very small. Yet seeing +the goodly crop of Mr. Cheke is almost clean carried from +thence, and I in a manner alone of that time left a standing +straggler, peradventure though my fruit be very small, +yet because the ground from whence it sprung was so +good, I may yet be thought somewhat fit for seed, when +all you the rest are taken up for better store, wherewith +the king and his realm is now so nobly served. And in +such a scarcity both of those, that were worthily called +away when they were fit, and of such as unwisely part +from thence, before they be ready, I dare now bolden +myself, when the best be gone, to do some good among +the mean that do tarry, trusting that my diligence shall +deal with my disability, and the rather because the desire +of shooting is so well shot away in me, either ended by +time or left off for better purpose. Yet I do amiss to +mislike shooting too much, which hath been hitherto my +best friend, and even now looking back to the pleasure +which I found in it, and perceiving small repentence to +follow after it, by Plato's judgment I may think well of it. +No, it never called me to go from my book, but it made +both wit the lustier, and will the readier, to run to it +again, and perchance going back sometimes from learning +may serve even as well as it doth at leaping, to pass some +of those which keep always their standing at their book.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_80_80" id="Footnote_80_80"></a><a href="#FNanchor_80_80"><span class="label">[80]</span></a> The allusions to the writer's own <i>Toxophilus</i> at the end +require, it is to be hoped, no annotation.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p> +<h2>LADY MARY SIDNEY (?<a name="FNanchor_81_81" id="FNanchor_81_81"></a><a href="#Footnote_81_81" class="fnanchor">[81]</a>-1586)</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>This "old Molly," as she so agreeably calls herself, was +very unfortunate in her father (that intrusive holder for +a short time of the title of Northumberland, who was +offensive in success and abject in adversity) and not too +lucky in her brother, Leicester. But she must have been +far too good for her own breed; she had an excellent +husband, Sir Henry Sidney, Deputy of Ireland and President +of Wales, one of Elizabeth's best deserving and worst +treated servants, and she was the mother of "Astrophel" +and Astrophel's sister. "One has known persons more +unfortunate," as a famous phrase of a French poem not +very long after her own time has it. And she must have +thoroughly deserved good fortune: for her letters show her +as one of the best of wives and mothers (if not of spellers): +though it is quite possible that she might not have made a +good jurywoman or a good member of parliament. As her +husband was not merely governor (repeatedly and with +such success as was possible) of Ireland, but "President of +Wales," they usually, when in England but not at Court +or at Penshurst, lived at Ludlow Castle and so enjoyed two +of the most beautiful homes in the country. But Sir Henry +in these and other functions had seas of trouble, great +expenses, and according to "Gloriana's" wont, very small +thanks for it all. He is said, indeed, to have had his life +shortened by weariness and worry. But his son and +daughter<a name="FNanchor_82_82" id="FNanchor_82_82"></a><a href="#Footnote_82_82" class="fnanchor">[82]</a> may have been a comfort to him: and his wife<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> +must have been so. The letter itself, as will be seen, is +not to himself but to his secretary: and there was more +correspondence on the subject of their lodging and its +difficulties. Lady Mary was not well, and there must be +a place to see friends, and the Queen might come in! The +original letter<a name="FNanchor_83_83" id="FNanchor_83_83"></a><a href="#Footnote_83_83" class="fnanchor">[83]</a> is better spelt than others of hers, the +principal curiosity being the form "hit" for "it," which, +however, is by no means peculiar.</p></div> + + +<p class='lheading'><span class="smcap">5. To Edward Molineux, Esq.</span></p> + +<p>You have used the matter very well; but we must +do more yet for the good dear Lord [her husband] +than let him be thus dealt withal. Hampton +Court I never yet knew so full as there were not spare +rooms in it, when it has been thrice better filled than at +the present it is. But some would be sorry, perhaps, my +Lord should have so sure a footing in the Court. Well, +all may be as well when the good God will. The whilst, +I pray let us do what we may for our Lord's ease and quiet. +Whereunto I think if you go to my Lord Howard, and in +my Lord's name also move his Lordship to shew his +brother my Lord, (as they call each other)—to show him +a cast of his office<a name="FNanchor_84_84" id="FNanchor_84_84"></a><a href="#Footnote_84_84" class="fnanchor">[84]</a> and that it should not be known allege +your former causes, I think he will find out some place to +serve that purpose. And also if you go to Mr Bowyer,<a name="FNanchor_85_85" id="FNanchor_85_85"></a><a href="#Footnote_85_85" class="fnanchor">[85]</a> +the gentleman-Usher, and tell him his mother requireth<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> +him (which is myself) to help my Lord with some one +room, but only for the dispatch of the multitude of Welsh +and Irish people that follow him; and that you will give +your word in my Lord's behalf and mine, it shall not be +accounted as a lodging<a name="FNanchor_86_86" id="FNanchor_86_86"></a><a href="#Footnote_86_86" class="fnanchor">[86]</a> or known of, I believe he will +make what shift he can: you must assure him it is but +for the day-time for his business, as indeed it is.</p> + +<p>As for my brother's answer of<a name="FNanchor_87_87" id="FNanchor_87_87"></a><a href="#Footnote_87_87" class="fnanchor">[87]</a> my stay here for five +or six days, he knows I have ventured far already with so +long absence, and am ill thought of for it,<a name="FNanchor_88_88" id="FNanchor_88_88"></a><a href="#Footnote_88_88" class="fnanchor">[88]</a> so as that may +not be. But when the worst is known, old Lord Harry +and his old Moll will do as well as they can in parting<a name="FNanchor_89_89" id="FNanchor_89_89"></a><a href="#Footnote_89_89" class="fnanchor">[89]</a> +like good friends the small portion allotted our long +service in Court, which as little as it is, seems something +too much.<a name="FNanchor_90_90" id="FNanchor_90_90"></a><a href="#Footnote_90_90" class="fnanchor">[90]</a> And this being all I can say to the matter, +farewell, Mr. Ned.</p> + +<p class='lindent'>In haste this Monday 1578,</p> + +<p class='lindent2'>your assured loving mistress and friend,</p> + +<p class='rindent'><span class="smcap">M. Sydney</span>.</p> + +<p>If all this will not serve, prove<a name="FNanchor_91_91" id="FNanchor_91_91"></a><a href="#Footnote_91_91" class="fnanchor">[91]</a> Mr Huggins, for I know +my Lord would not for no good be destitute in this time +for some convenient place for his followers and friends to +resort to him, which in the case I am in, is not possible +to be in <i>my</i> chamber till after sunset, when the dear good +Lord shall be, as best becomes him, Lord of his own.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_81_81" id="Footnote_81_81"></a><a href="#FNanchor_81_81"><span class="label">[81]</span></a> Her birth-date does not seem to be known, but she was +married in 1551.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_82_82" id="Footnote_82_82"></a><a href="#FNanchor_82_82"><span class="label">[82]</span></a> He had another, of the (for an English girl) very unusual +name of "Ambros[z]ia" who died unmarried, at twenty.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_83_83" id="Footnote_83_83"></a><a href="#FNanchor_83_83"><span class="label">[83]</span></a> Most kindly copied for me by the Rev. W. Hunt from Arthur +Collins's <i>Sydney Papers</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_84_84" id="Footnote_84_84"></a><a href="#FNanchor_84_84"><span class="label">[84]</span></a> An agreeable phrase, not in the least obsolete, though I +have known ignorant persons who thought it so. The "office" +was that of Lord Chamberlain; the holder was Lord Howard +of Effingham, afterwards famous in the Armada fights.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_85_85" id="Footnote_85_85"></a><a href="#FNanchor_85_85"><span class="label">[85]</span></a> See <i>Kenilworth</i> (chap. xvi.), where Scott brings him in as +experiencing Gloriana's extreme uncertainty of temper.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_86_86" id="Footnote_86_86"></a><a href="#FNanchor_86_86"><span class="label">[86]</span></a> <i>I.e.</i> a permanent one such as Hampton Court affords to some.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_87_87" id="Footnote_87_87"></a><a href="#FNanchor_87_87"><span class="label">[87]</span></a> "About"?</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_88_88" id="Footnote_88_88"></a><a href="#FNanchor_88_88"><span class="label">[88]</span></a> Either by the Queen herself, whose touchiness is well known, +or by jealous and mischief-making fellow courtiers.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_89_89" id="Footnote_89_89"></a><a href="#FNanchor_89_89"><span class="label">[89]</span></a> "Sharing."</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_90_90" id="Footnote_90_90"></a><a href="#FNanchor_90_90"><span class="label">[90]</span></a> "Is grudged."</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_91_91" id="Footnote_91_91"></a><a href="#FNanchor_91_91"><span class="label">[91]</span></a> We should say "try."</p></div> +</div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>GEORGE CLIFFORD EARL OF CUMBERLAND<br /> +(1558-1605)</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>This not very fortunate or wholly blameless but very +remarkable and representative person was the third holder +of the earldom and the sixteenth of the famous barony +of Clifford. He was great-grandson of Wordsworth's +"Shepherd Lord"; father of Anne Countess of Dorset, +Pembroke and Montgomery (pupil of Daniel the poet and +a typical great lady of her time); one of the foremost of +Elizabeth's privateering courtiers; one of the chief victims +of her caprice and parsimony; a magnificent noble, but a +great spendthrift, something of a libertine, never unkindly +but hardly ever wise. This remarkable deathbed letter +(the giving of which depended on the kindness of Dr. G. C. +Williamson of Hampstead, author of the <i>Life and Voyages +of G. Clifford, 3rd Earl of Cumberland</i>, Cambridge University +Press, 1920, in which it appeared, p. 270-1), pretty +well explains itself. "Sweet Meg," his wife, was Lady +Margaret Russell, daughter of the Earl of Bedford. The +pair were on very affectionate terms for many years: but +had latterly been estranged by certain infidelities on the +Earl's part and by money disputes and difficulties, so that +when his last illness attacked him Lady Cumberland was +not with him. She was not, however, proof against this +repentant appeal: but returned with her daughter. Both +were present at his death in the Savoy soon after he wrote. +He had made, personally or by deputy, ten if not twelve +voyages against the Spaniards, and though there was a +good deal of mismanagement about them he took Porto<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> +Rico in one; captured, but made little profit out of, an +enormously valuable prize, the <i>Madre de Dios</i>, in another; +gave the warning which enabled Lord Thomas Howard to +escape, but which Sir Richard Grenville refused to take +"at Flores, in the Azores"; and built at his own expense, +the largest privateer then or perhaps ever constructed, the +<i>Malice Scourge</i>—for the remarkable subsequent history of +which, see Mr. David Hannay's article, "<i>The Saga of a +Ship</i>," in <i>Blackwood</i>, May, 1921.</p></div> + + +<p class='lheading'>6.</p> + +<p>Sweet and dear Meg,</p> + +<p>Bear<a name="FNanchor_92_92" id="FNanchor_92_92"></a><a href="#Footnote_92_92" class="fnanchor">[92]</a> with, I pray thee, the short and unapt +setting together of these my last lines, a token of +true kindness, which I protest cometh out of an unfeigned +heart of love to thee. For whose content, and to make +satisfaction for the wrongs done to thee I have, since I saw +thee more desired to return than for any other earthly +cause. But being so low brought that, without God's +miraculous favour, there is no great likelihood of it I, by +this, if so it please God that I shall not, in earnestness +make my last requests, which as ever thou lovest me lying +so, I pray thee perform for me being dead. First, in +greedy earnestness I desire thee not to offend God in +grieving too much at His disposing of me: but let my +assured hope that He hath done it for the saving of my +soul rather comfort thee, considering that we ought most +to rejoice, when we see a thing that it is either for the +good of our souls or of our friends. And further I beg<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> +of thee that thou wilt take, as I have meant, in kindness +the course I have set down for disposing of my estate and +things left behind. Which truly, if I have not dealt most +kindly with thee in, I am mistaken, and as ever thou +lovest, (which I know thou hast done faithfully and truly) +sweet Meg, let neither old conceit, new opinion, nor false +lying tale, make thee fall to hard opinion nor suit with +my brother. For this I protest now, when I tremble to +speak that which upon any just colour may be turned to +a lie, thou hast conceived wrong of him, for his nature is +sweet, and though wrong conceit might well have urged +him, yet he hath never to my knowledge said or done +anything to harm thee or mine, but with tears hath often +bemoaned himself to me that he could not devise how to +make thee conceive rightly of him. And lastly, before +the presence of God, I command thee, and in the nearest +love of my heart I desire thee, to take great care that +sweet Nan<a name="FNanchor_93_93" id="FNanchor_93_93"></a><a href="#Footnote_93_93" class="fnanchor">[93]</a> whom God bless, may be carefully brought +up in the fear of God, not to delight in worldly vanities, +which I too well know be but baits to draw her out of the +heavenly kingdom. And I pray thee thank thy kind uncle +and aunt for her (?) and their many kindnesses to me. +Thus, out of the bitter and greedy desire of a repentant +heart, begging thy pardon for any wrong that ever in my +life I did thee, I commend these my requests to thy wonted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> +and undeserved kind wifely and lovely consideration, my +body to God's disposing and my love (soul?) to His +merciful commisseration.</p> + +<p class='lindent'>Thine as wholly as man was ever woman's,</p> + +<p class='rindent'><span class="smcap">George Cumberland</span>.</p> + +<p>To my dear wife, the Countess of Cumberland, give this, +of whom, from the bottom of my heart in the presence of +God, I ask forgiveness for all the wrongs I have done her.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_92_92" id="Footnote_92_92"></a><a href="#FNanchor_92_92"><span class="label">[92]</span></a> There is, as often, little or no punctuation in the original, of +which Dr. Williamson's beautiful book gives a facsimile. I have +ventured to adjust that of the printed text, here and there, to +bring out the meaning.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_93_93" id="Footnote_93_93"></a><a href="#FNanchor_93_93"><span class="label">[93]</span></a> Lady Anne was at this time only 15. She seems to have +been fond of her father and proud of him: nor is there any +direct evidence that the fear of God was not in her. But she +had no fear of man: and no excessive respect for her father's +will. During the lives of her uncle Francis and her cousin +Henry, 4th and 5th Earls, she fought it hard at law: and at +last, Henry dying without issue, and the title lapsing, came +into possession of the great Clifford estates in the North. She +lived to be 86, and was masterful all her days.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p> +<h2>JOHN DONNE (1573-1631)</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"The first poet in the world for some things,"—as Ben +Jonson, who nevertheless did not like his metric, thought +he would perish for not being understood, and perhaps did +not understand him—called Donne with justice, might +not be thought likely to be among the first letter-writers. +The marvellous lightning-flashes of genius in a dark night +of context which illuminate his poetry and his sermons, +can hardly be expected—would indeed be almost out of +place—in ordinary letter-writing. Moreover, Donne is, +perhaps, with Browne, the most characteristic exponent of +that magnificent seventeenth century style which accommodates +itself ill to merely commonplace matters.</p> + +<p>Browne, a younger man by an entire generation who +lived far into the age of Dryden, could drop this style +when he chose: with Donne it was rather the skin—if not +even the very flesh and bone and all but spirit—than the +cloak of his thought. Nevertheless there is no exact +contemporary of his—and certainly none possessing anything +like his literary power—who deserves selection as a +representative of his own school and time better than he +does; and there is something in him which adds distinction +to any company in which he appears. As mentioned in +the Introduction, his verse-epistles were even more noteworthy, +but in prose he is noteworthy enough.</p> + +<p>The batch of letters here chosen was most fortunately +preserved by Izaak Walton, who published the first of them +<i>in</i> the life not of Donne but of George Herbert, while the +rest were "added" to it in 1670.<a name="FNanchor_94_94" id="FNanchor_94_94"></a><a href="#Footnote_94_94" class="fnanchor">[94]</a> The lady to whom they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> +were written, Magdalen Newport by maiden name, was +mother not only of the pious and poetical George, but of +Edward Lord Herbert of Cherbury, himself not a very bad +poet but by no means in the usual sense pious, a very great +coxcomb, and a hero chiefly by his own report. His +mother, however, seems to have been one of those "elect +ladies" who were among the chief glories of England in +the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and were fortunately +numerous. After her widowhood she lived at Oxford +for some time, but seems to have moved to London when +Donne, about 1607, wrote these letters. He was himself +living at Mitcham (spelt "Michin" in one letter), not yet +famous for golf though perhaps already for lavender. +Later he visited her at Montgomery Castle, the famous seat +of the Herberts. She is said to have been very beautiful, +and the subtle touch of not in the least fatuous or foppish +"devotion" is most agreeable.</p></div> + + +<p class='lheading'>7. <span class="smcap">To the Lady Magdalen Herbert</span></p> + +<p>Madam,</p> + +<p>Your favours to me are everywhere. I use +them, and have them. I enjoy them at London, +and leave them there: and yet find them at Mitcham. +Such riddles as these become things inexpressible: and +such is your goodness. I was almost sorry to find your +servant here this day, because I was loath to have any +witness of my not coming home last night, and indeed +of my coming this morning. But my not coming was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> +excusable, because earnest business detained me; and my +coming this day is by example of your St. Mary Magdalen, +who rose early upon Sunday, to seek that which she loved +most; and so did I. And, from her and myself, I return +such thanks as are due to one, to whom we owe all the +good opinion that they, whom we need most, have of us. +By this messenger and on this good day, I commit the +enclosed Holy Hymns and Sonnets—which for the matter +not the workmanship have yet escaped the fire,—to your +judgment and to your protection too, if you think them +worthy of it; and I have appointed this enclosed Sonnet +to usher them to your happy hand.</p> + +<p class='lindent'> +Your unworthiest servant unless your accepting +him to be so have mended him</p> + +<p class='rindent'><span class="smcap">Jo. Donne</span>.</p> + +<p>(<span class="smcap">Mitcham</span> July 11. 1607)</p> + +<p class='center'><span class="smcap">To the Lady Magdalen Herbert: of St. Mary +Magdalen</span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Her of your name, whose fair inheritance<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Bethina was, and jointure Magdalo,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An active faith so highly did advance,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That she once knew, more than the church did know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Resurrection! so much good there is<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Delivered of her, that some Fathers be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Loath to believe one woman could do this;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But think these Magdalens were two or three.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Increase their number, Lady, and their fame:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To their devotion, add your innocence;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Take so much of the example as the name<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The latter half—and in some recompense<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That they did harbour Christ Himself—a guest<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Harbour these Hymns, to His dear Name addressed.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></div></div> + + +<p class='lheading'><span class="smcap">8. To The Lady Magdalen Herbert</span></p> + +<p>Madam,</p> + +<p>Every excuse hath in it somewhat of accusation; +and since I am innocent, and yet must +excuse, how shall I do for that part of accusing. By my +troth, as desperate and perplexed men, grow from thence +bold; so must I take the boldness of accusing you, who +would draw so dark a Curtain betwixt me and your purposes, +as that I had no glimmering, neither of your goings, +nor the way which my Letters might haunt. Yet, I have +given this Licence to Travel, but I know not whither, nor +it. It is therefore rather a Pinnace to discover; and the +entire Colony of Letters, of Hundreds and Fifties, must +follow; whose employment is more honourable, than that +which our State meditates to <i>Virginia</i> because you are +worthier than all that Country, of which that is a wretched +inch; for you have better treasure and a harmlessness. +If this sound like a flattery, tear it out. I am to my +Letters as rigid a Puritan as Caesar was to his Wife. I can +as ill endure a suspicious and misinterpretable word as a +fault; and of the grossest flatteries there is this good use, +that they tell us what we should be. But, <i>Madam</i>, you +are beyond instruction, and therefore there can belong to +you only praise; of which, though you be no good hearer, +yet allow all my Letters leave to have in them one part +of it, which is thankfulness towards you.</p> + +<p class='center'> +<i>Your unworthiest Servant<br /> +Except your accepting<br /> +have mended him</i></p> + +<p class='rindent'><span class="smcap">John Donne</span>.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mitcham</span>, July 11, 1607.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span></p> + + +<p class='lheading'>9. <i>To the worthiest Lady, Mrs.</i> <span class="smcap">Magdalen Herber(t)</span></p> + +<p><i>Madam</i>,</p> + +<p>This is my second Letter, in which though +I cannot tell you what is good, yet this is the +worst, that I must be a great part of it; yet to me, that +is recompensed, because you must be mingled. After +I knew you were gone (for I must, little less than accusingly +tell you, I knew not you would go) I sent my first +Letter, like a <i>Bevis of Hampton</i>, to seek Adventures. This +day I came to Town, and to the best part of it, your House; +for your memory is a State-cloth and Presence; which +I reverence, though you be away; though I need not seek +that there which I have about and within me. There, +though I found my accusation, yet anything to which your +hand is, is a pardon; yet I would not burn my first Letter, +because as in great destiny no small passage can be omitted +or frustrated, so in my resolution of writing almost daily +to you, I would have no link of the Chain broke by me, +both because my Letters interpret one another, and +because only their number can give them weight. If I had +your Commission and Instructions to do you the service +of a Legier Ambassador here, I could say something of the +Countess of <i>Devon</i>: of the States, and such things. But +since to you, who are not only a World alone, but the +Monarchy of the World your self, nothing can be added, +especially by me; I will sustain myself with the honour +of being</p> + +<p class='center'> +<i>Your Servant Extraordinary<br /> +And without place</i></p> + +<p class='rindent'><span class="smcap">John Donne</span>.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">London</span><br /> +July 23, 1607<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span></p> + + +<p class='lheading'>10. <i>To the worthiest Lady, Mrs</i>. <span class="smcap">Magdalen Herbert</span></p> + +<p><i>Madam</i>,</p> + +<p>As we must die before we can have full glory +and happiness, so before I can have this degree +of it, as to see you by a Letter, I must almost die, that is, +come to <i>London</i>, to plaguy <i>London</i>; a place full of danger, +and vanity, and vice, though the Court be gone. And +such it will be, till your return redeem it: Not that, the +greatest virtue in the World, which is you, can be such a +Marshal, as to defeat, or disperse all the vice of this place; +but as higher bodies remove, or contract themselves, when +better come, so at your return we shall have one door open +to innocence. Yet, Madam, you are not such an Ireland, +as produceth neither ill, nor good; no Spiders or Nightingales, +which is a rare degree of perfection: But you have +found and practised that experiment, That even nature, +out of her detesting of emptiness, if we will make that our +work to remove bad, will fill us with good things. To +abstain from it, was therefore but the Childhood and +Minority of your Soul, which hath been long exercised +since, in your manlier active part, of doing good. Of +which since I have been a witness and subject, not to tell +you some times, that by your influence and example I have +attained to such a step of goodness, as to be thankful, were +both to accuse your power and judgment of impotency +and infirmity.</p> + +<p class='center'><i>Your Ladyship's in all Services</i>,</p> + +<p class='rindent'><span class="smcap">John Donne</span>.<a name="FNanchor_95_95" id="FNanchor_95_95"></a><a href="#Footnote_95_95" class="fnanchor">[95]</a></p> + +<p>August 2d, 1607.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_94_94" id="Footnote_94_94"></a><a href="#FNanchor_94_94"><span class="label">[94]</span></a> Mr. Gosse (who has inserted them in his <i>Life and Letters of +Donne</i>) is perhaps right in putting letter 7 last. I give no +opinion on this but merely keep the order in which they originally +appeared in the text and in an appendix to the <i>Life of Herbert</i> +(1670 edit.). I am not certain to which "first" the "second" in +letter 9 refers. "Bevis of Hampton" generally for "knight +errant"; "Legier," a <i>resident</i> Ambassador; "States" in the +plural—always then "the Dutch"; <i>Snake</i>lessness is more often +assigned to Ireland than spiderlessness.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_95_95" id="Footnote_95_95"></a><a href="#FNanchor_95_95"><span class="label">[95]</span></a> The first of these letters, with the sonnet, appears, I think, in +all editions of Walton, who has apparently entered the date +wrongly. The other three were copied for me from the 1670 +original by Miss Elsie Hitchcock, I have slightly modernised a +few spellings in them.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span></p> +<h2>JAMES HOWELL (1593-1666)</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"The Father" of something is an expression in the +history of literature which has become, more justly than +some other traditional expressions, rather odious to the +modern mind. For in the first place it is an irritatingly +conventional phrase, and in the second the paternity is +usually questionable. But "the priggish little clerk of the +Council," as Thackeray (who nevertheless loved his letters) +calls Howell, does really seem to deserve the fathership of +all such as in English write unofficial letters "for publication."<a name="FNanchor_96_96" id="FNanchor_96_96"></a><a href="#Footnote_96_96" class="fnanchor">[96]</a> +He wrote a great deal else: and would no doubt +in more recent times have been a "polygraphic" journalist +of some distinction. And he had plenty to write about. +He was an Oxford man; he travelled abroad on commercial +errands (though by no means as what has been +more recently called a "commercial traveller"); he was +one of Ben Jonson's "sons," a Royalist sufferer from the +Rebellion, and finally Historiographer Royal as well as +Clerk to the Council. His letters, which are sometimes +only titularly such<a name="FNanchor_97_97" id="FNanchor_97_97"></a><a href="#Footnote_97_97" class="fnanchor">[97]</a> but sometimes quite natural, deal +with all sorts of subjects—from the murder of Buckingham +by Felton to the story of the Oxenham "White Bird" +which Kingsley has utilised in <i>Westward Ho!</i> And, to do +him justice, there is a certain character about the book +which is not <i>merely</i> the expression of the character of the +writer, though no doubt connected with it. Now the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> +possession of this is what makes a book literature. It has +been usual to select from Howell's letters of travel, and +from historical ones like the Buckingham one above +mentioned. I have preferred the "White Bird"; and +before it one of several documents, of the same or nearly the +same period, which deal with the old English life of country +houses—between the mediaeval time and the degradation +of the "servant" class, which came in with the eighteenth +century or a little earlier. Howell would evidently have +echoed Isopel Berners—that admirable girl whom George +Borrow slighted—in saying, "Long Melford for ever!" +though the house would not with him, as with her, have meant +a workhouse. Neither letter seems to require annotation.</p></div> + + +<p class='lheading'>11. <span class="smcap">To Dan Caldwell, Esq., from the Lord Savage's +House in Long Melford</span></p> + +<p>My dear Dan,</p> + +<p>Tho' considering my former condition of life, +I may now be called a countryman, yet you +cannot call me a rustic (as you would imply in your letter) +as long as I live in so civil and noble a family, as long as +I lodge in so virtuous and regular a house as any, I believe, +in the land, both for economical government and the +choice company; for I never saw yet such a dainty race +of children in all my life together. I never saw yet such +an orderly and punctual attendance of servants, nor a +great house so neatly kept; here one shall see no dog, nor +a cat, nor cage to cause any nastiness within the body of +the house. The kitchen and gutters and other offices of +noise and drudgery are at the fag-end; there's a back-gate +for the beggars and the meaner sort of swains to come +in at; the stables butt upon the park, which, for a cheerful +rising ground, for groves and browsings for the deer, for +rivulets of water, may compare with any of its bigness in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> +the whole land; it is opposite to the front of the great +house, whence from the gallery one may see much of the +game when they are a-hunting. Now for the gardening +and costly choice flowers, for ponds, for stately large walks +green and gravelly, for orchards and choice fruits of all +sorts, there are few the like in England; here you have +your Bon Chrétien pear and Burgamot in perfection; your +Muscadel grapes in such plenty that there are some bottles +of wine sent every year to the King: and one Mr. Daniel, +a worthy gentleman hard by who hath been long abroad, +makes good store in his vintage. Truly this house of Long +Melford tho' it be not so great, yet is so well compacted +and contriv'd with such dainty conveniences every way; +that if you saw the landskip of it, you would be mightily +taken with it and it would serve for a choice pattern to +build and contrive a house by. If you come this summer +to your Manor of Sheriff in Essex, you will not be far off +hence; if your occasions will permit, it will be worth your +coming hither, tho' it be only to see him, who would think +it a short journey to go from St. David's Head to Dover +Cliffs to see and serve you, were there occasion; if you +would know who the same is, 'tis—</p> + +<p class='lindent2'>Yours,</p> + +<p class='rindent'>J. H.</p> + +<p>20. May, 1619.</p> + + +<p class='lheading'>12. <span class="smcap">To Mr. E. D.</span></p> + +<p>Sir,</p> + +<p>I thank you a thousand times for the noble +entertainment you gave me at Bury; and the +pains you took in showing me the antiquities of that place. +In requital, I can tell you of a strange thing I saw lately +here, and I believe 'tis true. As I passed by St. Dunstan's +in Fleet Street the last Saturday, I stepped into a lapidary,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> +or stone-cutter's shop, to treat with the master for a stone +to be put upon my father's tomb; and casting my eyes +up and down, I might spy a huge marble with a large inscription +upon't, which was thus to my best remembrance:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Here lies </i>John Oxenham<i>, a goodly young man, +in whose chamber, as he was struggling with +the pangs of death, a bird with a white breast +was seen fluttering about his bed, and so +vanished.</i></p> + +<p><i>Here lies also </i>Mary Oxenham<i>, the sister of the +said </i>John<i>, who died the next day, and the said +apparition was seen in the room.</i></p></div> + +<p>Then another sister is spoke of, then,</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Here lies hard by </i>James Oxenham<i>, the son of +the said </i>John<i>, who died a child in his cradle a +little after; and such a bird was seen fluttering +about his head, a little before he expired, which +vanished afterwards.</i></p></div> + +<p>At the bottom of the stone there is:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Here lies </i>Elizabeth Oxenham<i> the mother of +the said </i>John<i>, who died sixteen years since, +when such a bird with a white breast was seen +about her bed before her death.</i></p></div> + +<p>To all these there be divers witnesses, both squires and +ladies, whose names are engraven upon the stone. This +stone is to be sent to a town hard by Exeter, where this +happened. Were you here, I could raise a choice discourse +with you hereupon. So, hoping to see you the +next term, to requite some of your favours,</p> + +<p class='center'>I rest—</p> + +<p class='center'>Your true friend to serve you,</p> + +<p class='rindent'>J. H.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Westminster</span>, 3 July. 1632</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_96_96" id="Footnote_96_96"></a><a href="#FNanchor_96_96"><span class="label">[96]</span></a> <i>Epistolae Hoelianae or Familiar Letters</i> (1657).</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_97_97" id="Footnote_97_97"></a><a href="#FNanchor_97_97"><span class="label">[97]</span></a> Indeed his correspondents are probably sometimes, if not +always, imaginary: and many of the letters are only what in +modern periodicals are called "middle" articles on this and that +subject, headed and tailed with the usual letter-formulas.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span></p> +<h2>JOHN EVELYN (1620-1706)</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>As is naturally the case with writers of "Diaries," +"Memoirs," "Autobiographies," and the like, a good deal +of matter is deflected into Evelyn's famous <i>Diary</i> from +possible letters: while his numerous and voluminous +published works may also to some extent abstract from or +duplicate his correspondence. But there is enough of this<a name="FNanchor_98_98" id="FNanchor_98_98"></a><a href="#Footnote_98_98" class="fnanchor">[98]</a> +to make him a noteworthy epistoler. And it is interesting, +though not perhaps surprising, to find that while his Diary +is less piquant than his friend Mr. Pepys's, his letters are +more so. Not surprising—first, because official letter-writers +(Evelyn did a good deal of public work but was +never <i>exactly</i> an official) often get into a habit of noncommittal; +and secondly, because there is, in these things +as in others, a principle of compensation. Evelyn was +almost sure to be a good letter-writer<a name="FNanchor_99_99" id="FNanchor_99_99"></a><a href="#Footnote_99_99" class="fnanchor">[99]</a> for he had a ready +pen, a rather extraordinary range of interests and capacities, +plenty of time and means, extensive knowledge of the world, +and last but not least, a tendency—not missed by the +aforesaid Mr. Pepys—to bestow his information and opinion +freely upon less fortunately endowed and equipped mortals. +If he never quite reaches in letters the famous passages of +the Diary, describing the great Fire, and Whitehall on the +eve of Charles the Second's mortal seizure, he sometimes +comes near to this, and diffuses throughout a blend of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> +humanism, and humanity, of science and art, which is +very agreeable. His wife also was no mean letter-writer, +but only one of the minor stars of that day round the +moon, Dorothy Osborne, to whom we come next. Of +Evelyn's own letters several are specially tempting. +His curious plan (a particularly favourite craze of the +sixteenth and seventeenth centuries) for a small "college" +or lay convent of ladies and gentlemen, a sort of miniature +"Abbey of Thelema" is one. His magnificent +eulogy of the Duchess of Newcastle (Lamb's "dear +Margaret"), which puzzled his editor Bray (from this +and other notes a rather stupid man), is another: and +his very interesting letter to Pepys on Dreams (Oct. 4, +1689) a third. But on the whole I have preferred the +following, which may remind some readers of Mr. Kipling's +charming poem on the wonderful things our fathers did +and believed, with its invaluable reminder that after all it +would be lucky for us if we were no worse than they. The +date is not given: but the letter is printed between one +of August and one of September, 1668. <span class='greek' title='kollourion'>κολλούριον</span> = +Collyrium = "eyewash." "Stillatim" = "drop by drop." +"Lixivium" (Fr. "lessive") = "lye," "soapwater." "Catoptrics" +and "otacoustics" (though the "ot" = "ear" +has gone)—are fairly modern words, "phonocamptics" +scarcely so. In fact, I do not remember seeing it elsewhere. +It does not appear to be a classical Greek compound, but +should mean "the art of guiding and managing the voice."<a name="FNanchor_100_100" id="FNanchor_100_100"></a><a href="#Footnote_100_100" class="fnanchor">[100]</a> +The Tom Whittal story shows that Evelyn, though given to +seriousness, could (God rest his soul) be a merry man sometimes. +The other proper names, from Mr. Oldenburg to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> +Thom. Fazzello, could be expounded without difficulty, +but with unnecessary expenditure of space.</p></div> + + +<p class='lheading'>13. <span class="smcap">John Evelyn to Doctor Beale</span></p> + +<p>Sir,</p> + +<p>I happened to be with Mr Oldenburg some time +since, almost upon the article of his receiving the +notice you sent him of your fortunate and useful invention; +and I remember I did first of all incite him, both to +insert it into his next transactions, and to provoke your +further prosecution of it; which I exceedingly rejoice to +find has been so successful, that you give us hopes of your +further thoughts upon that, and those other subjects +which you mention. You may haply call to remembrance +a passage of the Jesuit Honorati Fabri, who speaking of +perspectives, observes, that an object looked on through +a small hole appears magnified; from whence he suggests, +the casting of two plates neatly perforated, and fitted to +look through, preferable to glasses, whose refractions injure +the sight. Though I begin to advance in years (being now +on the other side of forty), yet the continuance of the +perfect use of my senses (for which I bless Almighty God) +has rendered me the less solicitous about those artificial +aids; which yet I foresee I must shortly apply myself to, +and therefore you can receive but slender hints from me +which will be worthy your acceptance upon that argument; +only, I well remember, that besides Tiberius of old (whom +you seem to instance in), Joseph Scaliger affirms the same +happened both to his father Julius and himself, in their +younger years. And sometimes, methinks, I myself have +fancied to have discerned things in a very dark place, when +the curtains about my bed have been drawn, as my hands,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> +fingers, the sheet, and bedclothes; but since my too intent +poring upon a famous eclipse of the sun, about twelve +years since, at which time I could as familiarly have stared +with open eyes upon the glorious planet in its full lustre, +as now upon a glow-worm (comparatively speaking), I have +not only lost the acuteness of sight, but much impaired +the vigour of it for such purposes as it then served me. +But besides that, I have treated mine eyes very ill near +these twenty years, during all which time I have rarely +put them together, or composed them to sleep, before one +at night, and sometimes much later: that I may in some +sort redeem my losses by day, in which I am continually +importuned with visits from my neighbours and acquaintance, +or taken up by other impertinencies of my life in +this place. I am plainly ashamed to tell you this, considering +how little I have improved myself by it; but +I have rarely been in bed before twelve o'clock as I said, +in the space of twenty years; and yet I read the least +print, even in a jolting coach, without other assistance, +save that I now and then used to rub my shut eye-lids +over with a spirit of wine well rectified, in which I distil +a few rosemary flowers much after the process of the +Queen of Hungary's water, which does exceedingly fortify, +not only my sight, but the rest of my senses, especially +my hearing and smelling; a drop or two being distilled +into the nose or ears, when they are never so dull; and +other <span class='greek' title='kollourion'>κολλούριον</span> I never apply. Indeed, in the summer +time, I have found wonderful benefit in bathing my head +with a decoction of some hot and aromatical herbs, in a +lixivium made of the ashes of vine branches; and when +my head is well washed with this, I immediately cause +abundance of cold fountain water to be poured upon me +<i>stillatim</i>, for a good half-hour together; which for the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> +present is not only one of the most voluptuous and grateful +refreshments imaginable, but an incredible benefit to +me the whole year after: for I never need other powdering +to my hair, to preserve it bright and clean, as the gallants +do; but which does certainly greatly prejudice transpiration +by filling up, or lying heavy upon the pores. Those, +therefore, who (since the use of perukes) accustom to wash +their heads, instead of powdering, would doubtless find the +benefit of it; both as to the preventing of aches in their +head, teeth, and ears, if the vicissitude and inconstancy +of the weather, and consequently the use of their monstrous +perukes, did not expose them to the danger of +catching colds. When I travelled in Italy, and the +Southern parts, I did sometimes frequent the public baths +(as the manner is), but seldom without peril of my life, +till I used this frigid effusion, or rather profusion of cold +water before I put on my garments, or durst expose +myself to the air; and for this method I was obliged to +the old and noble Rantzow, in whose book <i>De conservandâ +valetudine</i> I had read a passage to this purpose; though +I might have remembered how the Dutchmen treated +their labouring horses when they are all over in a +froth, which they wash off with several buckets of cold +water, as I have frequently observed it in the Low +Countries.</p> + +<p>Concerning other aids; besides what the masters of the +catoptrics, phonocamptics, otacoustics, &c., have done, +something has been attempted by the Royal Society; and +you know the industrious Kircher has much laboured. +The rest of those artificial helps are summed up by the +Jesuit And. Schottus. I remember that Monsieur Huygens +(author of the pendulum), who brought up the +learned father of that incomparable youth Monsieur de<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> +Zulichem, who used to prescribe to me the benefit of his +little wax taper (a type whereof is, with the history of it, +in some of our Registers) for night elucubrations, preferable +to all other candle or lamp light whatsoever. And +because it explodes all glaring of the flame, which by no +means ought to dart upon the eyes, it seems very much +to establish your happy invention of tubes instead of +spectacles, which have not those necessary defences.</p> + +<p>Touching the sight of cats in the night, I am not well +satisfied of the exquisiteness of that sense in them. I +believe their smelling or hearing does much contribute to +their dexterity in catching mice, as to all those animals +who are born with those prolix smelling hairs. Fish will +gather themselves in shoals to any extraordinary light in +the dark night, and many are best caught by that artifice. +But whatever may be said of these, and other senses of +fish, you know how much the sagacity of birds and beasts +excel us; how far eagles and vultures, ravens and other +fowls will smell the carcase; <i>odorumque canum vis</i>, as +Lucretius expresses it, and we daily find by their drawing +after the games. Gesner affirms that an otter will wind +a fish four miles distance in the water, and my Lord +Verulam (cent. 8) speaks of that element's being also a +medium of sounds, as well as air. Eels do manifestly stir +at the cracking of thunder, but that may also be attributed +to some other tremulous motion; yet carps and other fish +are known to come at the call and the sound of a bell, as +I have been informed. Notorious is the story of Arion, +and of Lucullus's lampreys which came <i>ad nomen</i>; and +you have formerly minded me of Varro's Greek pipe, of +which Lucian and Cicero (ad Atticum) take occasion to +speak. Pliny's dolphin is famous, and what is related of +the American Manati: but the most stupendous instance,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> +that of the xiphia or sword-fish, which the Mamertines can +take up by no other strategem than a song of certain +barbarous words, as the thing is related by Thom. Fazzello. +It is certain that we hear more accurately when we hold +our mouths a little open, than when we keep them shut; +and I have heard of a dumb gentleman in England who +was taught to speak (and therefore certainly brought to +hear in some degree) by applying the head of a base viol +against his teeth, and striking upon the strings with the +bow. You may remember the late effect of the drum +extending the tympanum of a deaf person to great improvement +of his hearing, so long as that was beaten upon; +and I could at present name a friend of mine, who though +he be exceedingly thick of hearing, by applying a straight +stick of what length soever, provided it touch the instrument +and his ear, does perfectly and with great pleasure +hear every tune that is played: all which, with many more, +will flow into your excellent work, whilst the argument +puts me in mind of one Tom Whittal, a student of Christ +Church, who would needs maintain, that if a hole could +dexterously be bored through the skull to the brain in the +midst of the forehead, a man might both see and hear and +smell without the use of any other organs; but you are +to know, that this learned problematist was brother to +him, who, preaching at St. Mary's, Oxford, took his text +out of the history of Balaam, Numb. xxii., "Am I not +thine ass?" Dear Sir, pardon this rhapsody of,</p> + +<p class='lindent2'>Sir, your, &c.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_98_98" id="Footnote_98_98"></a><a href="#FNanchor_98_98"><span class="label">[98]</span></a> Some 400 pages from and to him in the most compendious +edition.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_99_99" id="Footnote_99_99"></a><a href="#FNanchor_99_99"><span class="label">[99]</span></a> He thought, writing to Lord Spencer about 1690, that we +have "few tolerable letters of our own country" excepting—and +that only in a fashion—those of Bacon, Donne and Howell.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_100_100" id="Footnote_100_100"></a><a href="#FNanchor_100_100"><span class="label">[100]</span></a> "<i>Odorumque canum vis</i>—as Lucretius expresses it"—perhaps +requires a note. Evelyn ought to have known his Lucretius, +the first book of which he translated and which he was only +prevented from completing by some foolish scruples which +Jeremy Taylor wisely but vainly combated. And Lucretius +is fond of <i>vis</i> as meaning "quality" or "faculty." But Evelyn +almost certainly was thinking also, more or less, of Virgil's "odora +canum vis," <i>Aen.</i> iv. 132.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span></p> +<h2>DOROTHY OSBORNE (1627-1695)</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>This very delightful lady—who became the wife of Sir +William Temple, famous in political and literary history, +and, by so doing or being, mistress of the household in which +Swift lived, suffered, but met Stella—was the daughter of +Sir Peter Osborne, one of the stoutest of Royalists who, as +Governor of Guernsey, held its Castle Cornet for years +against the rebels. Whether she was (in 1627) born there—her +father had been made <i>Lieutenant</i> Governor six years +earlier—is not known and has been thought unlikely: but +the present writer (who has danced, and played whist +within its walls) hopes she was. When we come to know +her she was living at Chicksands in Bedfordshire and hoping +to marry Temple, though the course of love ran by no means +smooth. Attention was first drawn to her letters, and some +of them were partly printed, in Courtenay's <i>Life</i> of her +husband—a book which was reviewed by Macaulay in a +famous essay, not overlooking Dorothy. But as a body, they +waited till some half century later, when they were published +by Judge Parry and received with joy by all fit folk. They +were written between 1652 and 1654. The first passage is +in her pleasant mood and touches on a subject—aviation—which +interested that day and interests this. The second +strikes some people as one of the most charming specimens +of the love-letter—written neither in the violent delight +that has violent end, nor in namby-pamby fashion.<a name="FNanchor_101_101" id="FNanchor_101_101"></a><a href="#Footnote_101_101" class="fnanchor">[101]</a></p></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></p> + + +<p class='lheading'>14. <span class="smcap">To Sir William Temple</span></p> + +<p>Sir,—</p> + +<p>You say I abuse you; and Jane says you abuse +me when you say you are not melancholy: which +is to be believed? Neither, I think; for I could not have +said so positively (as it seems she did) that I should not +be in town till my brother came back: he was not gone +when she writ, nor is not yet; and if my brother Peyton +had come before his going, I had spoiled her prediction. +But now it cannot be; he goes on Monday or Tuesday at +farthest. I hope you did truly with me, too, in saying +that you are not melancholy (though she does not believe +it). I am thought so, many times, when I am not at all +guilty on't. How often do I sit in company a whole day, +and when they are gone am not able to give an account +of six words that was said, and many times could be so +much better pleased with the entertainment my own +thoughts give me, that 'tis all I can do to be so civil as +not to let them see they trouble me. This may be your +disease. However, remember you have promised me to +be careful of yourself, and that if I secure what you have +entrusted me with, you will answer for the rest. Be this +our bargain then; and look that you give me as good an +account of one as I shall give you of t'other. In earnest +I was strangely vexed to see myself forced to disappoint<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> +you so, and felt your trouble and my own too. How often +I have wished myself with you, though but for a day, for +an hour: I would have given all the time I am to spend +here for it with all my heart.</p> + +<p>You could not but have laughed if you had seen me +last night. My brother and Mr. Gibson were talking by +the fire; and I sat by, but as no part of the company. +Amongst other things (which I did not at all mind), they +fell into a discourse of flying; and both agreed it was very +possible to find out a way that people might fly like birds, +and despatch their journeys: so I, that had not said a +word all night, started up at that, and desired they would +say a little more on't, for I had not marked the beginning; +but instead of that, they both fell into so violent a laughing, +that I should appear so much concerned in such an +art; but they little knew of what use it might have been +to me. Yet I saw you last night, but 'twas in a dream; +and before I could say a word to you, or you to me, the +disorder my joy to see you had put me into awakened me. +Just now I was interrupted, too, and called away to +entertain two dumb gentlemen;—you may imagine +whether I was pleased to leave my writing to you for +their company;—they have made such a tedious visit, +too; and I am so tired with making of signs and tokens +for everything I had to say. Good God! how do those +that live with them always? They are brothers; and +the eldest is a baronet, has a good estate, a wife and three +or four children. He was my servant heretofore, and +comes to see me still for old love's sake; but if he could +have made me mistress of the world I could not have had +him; and yet I'll swear he has nothing to be disliked in +him but his want of tongue, which in a woman might +have been a virtue.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span></p> + +<p>I sent you a part of <i>Cyrus</i> last week, where you will +meet with one Doralise in the story of Abradate and +Panthée. The whole story is very good; but the humour +makes the best part of it. I am of her opinion in most +things that she says in her character of "L'honnest +homme" that she is in search of, and her resolution of +receiving no heart that had been offered to anybody else. +Pray, tell me how you like her, and what fault you find +in my Lady Carlisle's letter? Methinks the hand and +the style both show her a great person, and 'tis writ in +the way that's now affected by all that pretend to wit and +good breeding; only, I am a little scandalized to confess +that she uses that word faithful,—she that never knew +how to be so in her life.</p> + +<p>I have sent you my picture because you wished for it; +but, pray, let it not presume to disturb my Lady Sunderland's. +Put it in some corner where no eyes may find it +out but yours, to whom it is only intended. 'Tis not a +very good one, but the best I shall ever have drawn of +me; for, as my Lady says, my time for pictures is past, +and therefore I have always refused to part with this, +because I was sure the next would be a worse. There is +a beauty in youth that every one has once in their lives; +and I remember my mother used to say there was never +anybody (that was not deformed) but were handsome, to +some reasonable degree, once between fourteen and twenty. +It must hang with the light on the left hand of it; and +you may keep it if you please till I bring you the original. +But then I must borrow it (for 'tis no more mine, if you +like it), because my brother is often bringing people into +my closet where it hangs, to show them other pictures +that are there; and if he miss this long thence, 'twould +trouble his jealous head.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p> + + +<p class='lheading'>15.</p> + +<p>Sir,—</p> + +<p>Who would be kind to one that reproaches one +so cruelly? Do you think, in earnest, I could be +satisfied the world should think me a dissembler, full of +avarice or ambition? No, you are mistaken; but I'll +tell you what I could suffer, that they should say I married +where I had no inclination, because my friends thought +it fit, rather than that I had run wilfully to my own ruin +in pursuit of a fond passion of my own. To marry for +love were no reproachful thing if we did not see that of +the thousand couples that do it, hardly one can be brought +for an example that it may be done and not repented +afterwards. Is there anything thought so indiscreet, or +that makes one more contemptible? 'Tis true that I do +firmly believe we should be, as you say, <i>toujours les +mesmes</i>; but if (as you confess) 'tis that which hardly +happens once in two ages, we are not to expect the world +should discern we were not like the rest. I'll tell you +stories another time, you return them so handsomely +upon me. Well, the next servant I tell you of shall not +be called a whelp, if 'twere not to give you a stick to beat +myself with. I would confess that I looked upon the +impudence of this fellow as a punishment upon me for +my over care in avoiding the talk of the world; yet the +case is very different, and no woman shall ever be blamed +that an inconsolable person pretends to her when she +gives no allowance to it, whereas none shall 'scape that +owns a passion, though in return of a person much above +her. The little tailor that loved Queen Elizabeth was +suffered to talk out, and none of her Council thought it +necessary to stop his mouth; but the Queen of Sweden's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> +kind letter to the King of Scots was intercepted by her +own ambassador, because he thought it was not for his +mistress's honour (at least that was his pretended reason), +and thought justifiable enough. But to come to my +Beagle again. I have heard no more of him, though +I have seen him since; we meet at Wrest again. I do not +doubt but I shall be better able to resist his importunity +than his tutor was; but what do you think it is that +gives him his encouragement? He was told I had +thought of marrying a gentleman that had not above +two hundred pound a year, only out of my liking to his +person. And upon that score his vanity allows him to +think he may pretend as far as another. Thus you see +'tis not altogether without reason that I apprehend the +noise of the world, since 'tis so much to my disadvantage.</p> + +<p>Is it in earnest that you say your being there keeps me +from the town? If so, 'tis very unkind. No, if I had +gone, it had been to have waited on my neighbour, who +has now altered her resolution and goes not herself. +I have no business there, and am so little taken with the +place that I could sit here seven years without so much +as thinking once of going to it. 'Tis not likely, as you +say, that you should much persuade your father to what +you do not desire he should do; but it is hard if all the +testimonies of my kindness are not enough to satisfy +without my publishing to the world that I can forget my +friends and all my interest to follow my passion; though, +perhaps, it will admit of a good sense, 'tis that which +nobody but you or I will give it, and we that are concerned +in't can only say 'twas an act of great kindness +and something romance, but must confess it had nothing +of prudence, discretion, nor sober counsel in't. 'Tis not +that I expect, by all your father's offers, to bring my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> +friends to approve it. I don't deceive myself thus far, +but I would not give them occasion to say that I hid +myself from them in the doing it; nor of making my +action appear more indiscreet than it is. It will concern +me that all the world should know what fortune you +have, and upon what terms I marry you, that both may +not be made to appear ten times worse than they are. +'Tis the general custom of all people to make those that +are rich to have more mines of gold than are in the Indies, +and such as have small fortunes to be beggars. If an +action take a little in the world, it shall be magnified and +brought into comparison with what the heroes or senators +of Rome performed; but, on the contrary, if it be once +condemned, nothing can be found ill enough to compare +it with; and people are in pain till they find out some +extravagant expression to represent the folly on't. Only +there is this difference, that as all are more forcibly inclined +to ill than good, they are much apter to exceed in +detraction than in praises. Have I not reason then to +desire this from you; and may not my friendship have +deserved it? I know not; 'tis as you think; but if I be +denied it, you will teach me to consider myself. 'Tis well +the side ended here. If I had not had occasion to stop +there, I might have gone too far, and showed that I had +more passions than one. Yet 'tis fit you should know all +my faults, lest you should repent your bargain when +'twill not be in your power to release yourself; besides, +I may own my ill-humour to you that cause it; 'tis the +discontent my crosses in this business have given me +makes me thus peevish. Though I say it myself, before +I knew you I was thought as well an humoured young +person as most in England; nothing displeased, nothing +troubled me. When I came out of France, nobody knew<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> +me again. I was so altered, from a cheerful humour that +was always alike, never over merry but always pleased, +I was grown heavy and sullen, froward and discomposed; +and that country which usually gives people a jolliness +and gaiety that is natural to the climate, had wrought in +me so contrary effects that I was as new a thing to them +as my clothes. If you find all this to be sad truth hereafter, +remember that I gave you fair warning.</p> + +<p>Here is a ring: it must not be at all wider than this, +which is rather too big for me than otherwise; but that +is a good fault, and counted lucky by superstitious people. +I am not so, though: 'tis indifferent whether there be +any word in't or not; only 'tis as well without, and will +make my wearing it the less observed. You must give +Nan leave to cut a lock of your hair for me, too. Oh, +my heart! what a sigh was there! I will not tell you +how many this journey causes; nor the fear and apprehensions +I have for you. No, I long to be rid of you, am +afraid you will not go soon enough: do not you believe +this? No, my dearest, I know you do not, whatever you +say, you cannot doubt that I am yours.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_101_101" id="Footnote_101_101"></a><a href="#FNanchor_101_101"><span class="label">[101]</span></a> The second passage needs little annotation except that Wrest, +in Bedfordshire, where Dorothy met her importunate lover, was +the seat of Anthony Grey, Earl of Kent. There is said to be +a picture there of Sir William Temple—a copy of Lely's. Wrest +Park is only a few miles from Chicksands. In the first "Lady +Carlisle" is Lucy Percy or Hay, a "<i>great person</i>" in many ways—beauty, +rank, wit, influence etc.—but hardly a good one. As for +"Doralise" Dorothy is quite right. She is one of the brightest +features of the huge <i>Grand Cyrus</i>. Perhaps it may be just +necessary to remind readers that "servant" constantly = "lover"; +that "side" refers to the sheet of paper she is using; and +that "abuse" = "deceive," not "misuse" or "vituperate."</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span></p> +<h2>JONATHAN SWIFT (1667-1745)</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>The Introduction has dealt rather more fully with Swift +than with some others: and a further reference to a +dominant influence or conflict of influences on his letters +will be found below in the head-note on Thackeray. But +a little more may be said here. It is rather unfortunate +that we have not more <i>early</i> letters from him (we have +some, if only fragments, from Thackeray, and they are no +small "light"). We should like some concerning that +curious career at Trinity College, Dublin, which was ended +<i>speciali gratia</i>, leaving the usual wranglers to their usual +wrangle whether the last word meant "grace" or "<i>dis</i>grace." +Others, written in various moods from the time +when Sir William Temple "spoiled a fine gentleman," and +Esther Johnson set running a life-long course of <i>un</i>-smooth +love, would be more welcome still. They would no doubt +be stumbling-blocks to those apt to stumble, just as the +existing epistles are: but they would be stepping-stones +for the wise. As it is, we have to do without them and +perhaps, like most things that are, it is better. For the +stumblers are saved the sin of stumbling, and the wise men +the nuisance of seeing them do it, and trying to set them +right. And there might have been only more painful +revelations of the time when, to adjust the words of the +famous epitaph "fierce indignation still <i>could</i> lacerate the +heart," that had felt so fondly and so bitterly what it had +to feel.</p> + +<p>What follows is characteristic enough<a name="FNanchor_102_102" id="FNanchor_102_102"></a><a href="#Footnote_102_102" class="fnanchor">[102]</a> and intelligible<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> +enough to those who will give their intelligence fair play, +asking only for information of <i>facts</i>. These latter can be +supplied at no great length even to those who are unacquainted +with Swift's biography. "M. D." is the pet +name for Stella, and her rather mysterious companion Mrs. +Dingley who lived with her in Dublin and played something +like the part of the alloys which are used in experimenting +with some metals.<a name="FNanchor_103_103" id="FNanchor_103_103"></a><a href="#Footnote_103_103" class="fnanchor">[103]</a> "Presto" is Swift himself. +"Prior" is the poet. "Sir A. Fountaine" was a Norfolk +squire and a great collector of artistic things, most of which +were sold not very long ago. "Sterne" (John) was an +Irish clergyman and afterwards a bishop, but not of the +same family as the novelist. "Cousin <i>Dryden</i> Leach" +reminds us that Swift was also a cousin of Dryden the poet. +"Oroonoko" refers to Afra Behn's introduction of the +"noble savage" to English interest. "Patrick" was +Swift's very unsatisfactory man-servant. "Bernage" a +French Huguenot refugee. "George Granville," of the +family of the hero of the <i>Revenge</i>, was a great Tory, a peer +a little later with the title of Lansdowne, and a rather better +poet than Johnson thought him. "St. John" and "Harley," +if not also "Masham," should not need annotation. Notice +the seven, (literally seven!) leagued word at the end. +Swift calls their attention to it when beginning his next +instalment.</p></div> + + +<p class='lheading'>16. <span class="smcap">To Stella</span></p> + +<p class='rindent'><span class="smcap">London</span>, January 16, 1710-11.</p> + +<p>O faith, young women, I have sent my letter +N. 13, without one crumb of an answer to any +of MD's; there's for you now; and yet Presto +ben't angry faith, not a bit, only he will begin to be in +pain next Irish post, except he sees MD's little hand-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span>writing +in the glass frame at the bar of St James's Coffeehouse, +where Presto would never go but for that purpose. +Presto's at home, God help him, every night from six till +bed time, and has as little enjoyment or pleasure in life +at present as any body in the world, although in full +favour with all the ministry. As hope saved, nothing +gives Presto any sort of dream of happiness, but a letter +now and then from his own dearest MD. I love the +expectation of it, and when it does not come, I comfort +myself, that I have it yet to be happy with. Yes, faith, +and when I write to MD, I am happy too; it is just as if +methinks you were here, and I prating to you, and telling +you where I have been: Well, says you, Presto, come, +where have you been to-day? come, let 's hear now. +And so then I answer; Ford and I were visiting Mr Lewis, +and Mr Prior, and Prior has given me a fine Plautus, and +then Ford would have had me dine at his lodgings, and +so I would not; and so I dined with him at an eating-house; +which I have not done five times since I came +here; and so I came home, after visiting Sir Andrew +Fountaine's mother and sister, and Sir Andrew Fountaine +is mending, though slowly.</p> + +<p>17. I was making, this morning, some general visits, +and at twelve I called at the coffeehouse for a letter from +MD; so the man said he had given it to Patrick; then +I went to the Court of Requests and Treasury to find +Mr Harley, and after some time spent in mutual reproaches, +I promised to dine with him; I staid there till seven, then +called at Sterne's and Leigh's to talk about your box, and +to have it sent by Smyth. Sterne says he has been making +inquiries, and will set things right as soon as possible. +I suppose it lies at Chester, at least I hope so, and only +wants a lift over to you. Here has little Harrison been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> +to complain, that the printer I recommended to him for +his Tatler is a coxcomb; and yet to see how things will +happen; for this very printer is my cousin, his name is +Dryden Leach; did you never hear of Dryden Leach, he +that prints the Postman? He acted Oroonoko, he's in +love with Miss Cross.—Well, so I came home to read my +letter from Stella, but the dog Patrick was abroad; at +last he came, and I got my letter; I found another hand +had superscribed it; when I opened it, I found it written +all in French, and subscribed Bernage: faith, I was ready +to fling it at Patrick's head. Bernage tells me, had been +to desire your recommendation to me to make him a +captain; and your cautious answer, "That he had as +much power with me as you," was a notable one; if you +were here, I would present you to the ministry as a person +of ability. Bernage should let me know where to write +to him; this is the second letter I have had without any +direction; however, I beg I may not have a third, but +that you will ask him, and send me how I shall direct to +him. In the mean time, tell him, that if regiments are +to be raised here, as he says, I will speak to George Granville, +Secretary at War, to make him a captain; and use +what other interest I conveniently can. I think that is +enough, and so tell him, and don't trouble me with his +letters when I expect them from MD; do you hear, young +women, write to Presto.</p> + +<p>18. I was this morning with Mr Secretary St John, and +we were to dine at Mr Harley's alone, about some business +of importance, but there were two or three gentlemen +there. Mr Secretary and I went together from his office +to Mr Harley's, and thought to have been very wise; but +the deuce a bit: the company staid, and more came, and +Harley went away at seven, and the Secretary and I staid<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> +with the rest of the company till eleven; I would then +have had him come away, but he was in for't; and +though he swore he would come away at that flask, there +I left him. I wonder at the civility of these people; +when he saw I would drink no more, he would always +pass the bottle by me, and yet I could not keep the toad +from drinking himself, nor he would not let me go neither, +nor Masham, who was with us. When I got home I found +a parcel directed to me, and opening it, I found a pamphlet +written entirely against myself, not by name, but +against something I writ: it is pretty civil, and affects +to be so, and I think I will take no notice of it; 'tis against +something written very lately; and indeed I know not +what to say, nor do I care; and so you are a saucy rogue +for losing your money to-day at Stoyte's; to let that +bungler beat you, fy Stella, an't you ashamed? well, +I forgive you this once, never do so again; no, noooo. +Kiss and be friends, sirrah.—Come, let me go sleep; I go +earlier to bed than formerly; and have not been out so +late these two months; but the secretary was in a drinking +humour. So good night, myownlittledearsaucyinsolentrogues.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_102_102" id="Footnote_102_102"></a><a href="#FNanchor_102_102"><span class="label">[102]</span></a> As such, it has commended itself to other selectors. But +duplication, though it has been sedulously avoided here, is +sometimes almost inevitable.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_103_103" id="Footnote_103_103"></a><a href="#FNanchor_103_103"><span class="label">[103]</span></a> <i>I.e.</i> the part of facilitating the operation, and disappearing +in the results aimed at.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span></p> +<h2>LADY MARY WORTLEY-MONTAGU (1689-1762)</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>The ratio of importance between life and letters varies a +good deal with different writers: and the circumstances of +the life have seldom been of more importance to the letter +than in the case of "Lady Mary"—Pierrepont as she was +born. When she was a girl she held an unusual place in +the house of her widowed father the Duke of Kingston. +Her courtship by, or with, or of (one doubts as to the +preposition) Edward Wortley-Montagu, a descendant of +Pepys's Lord Sandwich, had peculiarities, and her marriage +with him more. She was a sort of pet at George the First's +court; she went with her husband to Constantinople as +Ambassadress; she introduced inoculation into England; +she was, under imperfectly known circumstances, first the +idol and then the abomination of Pope; she lived for more +than twenty years in France and Italy, having left her +husband without, apparently, any quarrel between them; +and she only came home in 1761 to die next year. Like +her predecessor as Queen of letter-writers, Madame de +Sévigné (to whom she was amusingly and rather femininely +unjust), she had a favourite daughter (who became Lady +Bute<a name="FNanchor_104_104" id="FNanchor_104_104"></a><a href="#Footnote_104_104" class="fnanchor">[104]</a>); but, unlike her, she had a most objectionable son +who was apparently half mad. There was, however, not +the slightest madness about Lady Mary—in fact, most of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> +the objectors (perhaps unjust ones) to her have held that +her head was very much better than her heart. Her most +popular letters have usually been the Turkish ones, and, +at the other end of her life, her Italian descriptions: but +selections almost invariably pitch on the curious early one +in which she, so to speak, "proposes" to her future husband +rather more than, or at least as much as, she accepts his +proposal. I prefer, both as less popularised and as more +unique still, the following most business-like<a name="FNanchor_105_105" id="FNanchor_105_105"></a><a href="#Footnote_105_105" class="fnanchor">[105]</a> plan and +programme of an elopement. Like Mr. Foker's fight with +the post-boy it "didn't come off" as first planned; but +Fortune favoured it later.</p></div> + + +<p class='lheading'>17. <span class="smcap">To Mr. Wortley-Montagu</span></p> + +<p class='rindent'>Saturday morning (August, 1712)</p> + +<p>I writ you a letter last night in some passion. I begin +to fear again; I own myself a coward.—You made +no reply to one part of my letter concerning my +fortune. I am afraid you flatter yourself that my F. +[father] may be at length reconciled and brought to +reasonable terms. I am convinced, by what I have often +heard him say, speaking of other cases like this, he never +will. The fortune he has engaged to give with me, was +settled on my B. [brother's] marriage, on my sister and +on myself; but in such a manner, that it was left in his +power to give it all to either of us, or divide it as he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> +thought fit. He has given it all to me. Nothing remains +for my sister, but the free bounty of my F. [father] from +what he can save; which, notwithstanding the greatness +of his estate, may be very little. Possibly after I have +disobliged him so much, he may be glad to have her so +easily provided for, with money already raised; especially +if he has a design to marry himself, as I hear. I do not +speak this that you should not endeavour to come to +terms with him, if you please; but I am fully persuaded +it will be to no purpose. He will have a very good answer +to make:—that I suffered this match to proceed; that +I made him make a very silly figure in it; that I have +let him spend £400 in wedding-cloaths; all which I saw +without saying any thing. When I first pretended to +oppose this match, he told me he was sure I had some +other design in my head; I denied it with truth. But +you see how little appearance there is of that truth. He +proceeded with telling me that he never would enter into +treaty with another man, &c., and that I should be sent +immediately into the North to stay there; and, when he +died, he would only leave me an annuity of £400. I had +not courage to stand this view, and I submitted to what +he pleased. He will now object against me,—why, since +I intended to marry in this manner, I did not persist in +my first resolution; that it would have been as easy for +me to run away from T. [Thoresby] as from hence; and +to what purpose did I put him, and the gentleman I was +to marry, to expences, &c.? He will have a thousand +plausible reasons for being irreconcileable, and 'tis very +probable the world will be of his side. Reflect now for +the last time in what manner you must take me. I shall +come to you with only a night-gown and petticoat, and +that is all you will get with me. I told a lady of my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> +friends what I intend to do. You will think her a very +good friend when I tell you she has proffered to lend us +her house if we would come there the first night. I did +not accept of this till I had let you know it. If you think +it more convenient to carry me to your lodgings, make +no scruple of it. Let it be where it will: if I am your +wife I shall think no place unfit for me where you are. +I beg we may leave London next morning, wherever you +intend to go. I should wish to go out of England if it +suits with your affairs. You are the best judge of your +father's temper. If you think it would be obliging to +him, or necessary for you, I will go with you immediately +to ask his pardon and his blessing. If that is not proper +at first, I think the best scheme is going to the Spa. When +you come back, you may endeavour to make your father +admit of seeing me, and treat with mine (though I persist +in thinking it will be to no purpose). But I cannot think +of living in the midst of my relations and acquaintance +after so unjustifiable a step:—unjustifiable to the world,—but +I think I can justify myself to myself. I again beg +you to hire a coach to be at the door early Monday morning, +to carry us some part of our way, wherever you +resolve our journey shall be. If you determine to go to +that lady's house, you had better come with a coach and +six at seven o'clock tomorrow. She and I will be in the +balcony that looks on the road: you have nothing to do +but to stop under it, and we will come down to you. Do +in this what you like best. After all, think very seriously. +Your letter, which will be waited for, is to determine +everything. I forgive you a coarse expression in your +last, which, however, I wish had not been there. You +might have said something like it without expressing it +in that manner; but there was so much complaisance in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> +the rest of it I ought to be satisfied. You can shew me +no goodness I shall not be sensible of. However, think +again, and resolve never to think of me if you have the +least doubt, or that it is likely to make you uneasy in +your fortune. I believe to travel is the most likely way +to make a solitude agreeable, and not tiresome: remember +you have promised it.</p> + +<p>'Tis something odd for a woman that brings nothing to +expect anything; but after the way of education, I dare +not pretend to live but in some degree suitable to it. +I had rather die than return to a dependancy upon relations +I have disobliged. Save me from that fear if you +love me. If you cannot, or think I ought not to expect +it, be sincere and tell me so. 'Tis better I should not be +yours at all, than, for a short happiness, involve myself +in ages of misery. I hope there will never be occasion +for this precaution; but, however, 'tis necessary to make +it. I depend entirely on your honour, and I cannot +suspect you of any way doing wrong. Do not imagine +I shall be angry at any thing you can tell me. Let it be +sincere; do not impose on a woman that leaves all things +for you.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_104_104" id="Footnote_104_104"></a><a href="#FNanchor_104_104"><span class="label">[104]</span></a> The likeness, however, ended with the favouritism: for +Madame de Grignan, in spite of good looks and good wits, was +apparently detested by everybody, except her mother, and +deserved it: while nobody has anything to say against Lady +Bute.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_105_105" id="Footnote_105_105"></a><a href="#FNanchor_105_105"><span class="label">[105]</span></a> It is, of course, not <i>merely</i> business-like—the mixture of +something else makes it rather fascinating. They were curiously +fond of elopements in the eighteenth century, Sheridan's satire +in <i>The Rivals</i> having ample justification. Nor was this merely +due to the more severe exercise of paternal authority. For they +often preferred (as the philosophical parent of the celebrated +Mrs. Greville remarked when his daughter ran away with Mr. G.) +to "get out of the window when there was not the slightest +objection to their passing through the door."</p></div> +</div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>PHILIP DORMER STANHOPE, EARL OF<br /> +CHESTERFIELD (1694-1773)</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>As was suggested in the Introduction, where perhaps +enough has been said of his actual letters, the fourth Earl +of Chesterfield is too commonly known, or rather <i>mis</i>known, +only by Johnson's refusal of his patronage and condemnation +of his manners and morals, by Dickens's caricature, +and by Thackeray's not untrue but merely fragmentary +sketch of him as a gambler. Therefore, though these +preliminary notes are not as a rule biographical, this may +be one of the exceptions; for his life was anything but +that of a mere idler and <i>grand Seigneur</i>. He entered the +House of Commons before he was of age, and had much +to do with political and literary as well as Court society +before, in 1725, he succeeded to the peerage. A year or +two afterwards he went as ambassador to the Hague, a +post which he held, doing some important business, for +four years. On coming home he became a formidable +opponent of Walpole, and at one time led the opposition +in the Upper House. He was a most successful Viceroy +in Ireland at the difficult period of the "'45," and a +judicious "Secretary for the North" after it. He conducted +the reform of the Calendar through Parliament, +and only gave up active participation in home politics +because of his increasing deafness. In foreign affairs he +was an adroit and successful diplomatist, and made an +early and remarkably clear-sighted anticipation of the +French Revolution. It is not extravagant to say that, if +he had had his fortune and position to make, he might have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> +been one of the foremost men of his time in politics or letters +or both; and that he was not far below such rank in either. +The following letter is one of the most characteristic of +those at which it has been the fashion to sneer. All one +can say of it is, "What a blessing it would be if a good +many people in the twentieth century, and in places varying +from the streets to the House of Commons, would obey at +least some of its precepts!"</p></div> + + +<p class='lheading'>18. <span class="smcap">Lord Chesterfield to his Son</span></p> + +<p class='rindent'><span class="smcap">London</span>. Sept. 22, O.S., 1749</p> + +<p>Dear Boy,</p> + +<p>If I had faith in philters and love potions, +I should suspect that you had given Sir Charles +Williams some, by the manner in which he speaks of you, +not only to me, but to everybody else. I will not repeat +to you what he says of the extent and correctness of your +knowledge, as it might either make you vain, or persuade +you that you had already enough of what nobody can +have too much. You will easily imagine how many +questions I asked and how narrowly I sifted him upon +your subject: he answered me, and I daresay with truth, +just as I could have wished; till, satisfied entirely with +his accounts of your character and learning, I inquired +into other matters, intrinsically indeed of less consequence, +but still of great consequence to every man, and of more +to you than to almost any man; I mean, your address, +manners and air. To these questions, the same truth +which he had observed before, obliged him to give me +much less satisfactory answers. And, as he thought himself +in friendship both to you and me, obliged to tell me +the disagreeable as well as the agreeable truths, upon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> +the same principle I think myself obliged to repeat them +to you.</p> + +<p>He told me, then, that in company you were frequently +most <i>provokingly</i> inattentive, absent, and <i>distrait</i>. That +you came into a room, and presented yourself very awkwardly; +that at table you constantly threw down knives, +forks, napkins, bread, etc., and that you neglected your +person and dress, to a degree unpardonable at any age, +and much more so at yours.</p> + +<p>These things, however immaterial soever they may +seem to people who do not know the world and the nature +of mankind, give me, who know them to be exceedingly +material, very great concern. I have long distrusted you, +and therefore frequently admonished you upon these +articles; and I tell you plainly, that I shall not be easy +till I hear a very different account of them. I know of +no one thing more offensive to a company, than that +inattention and <i>distraction</i>. It is showing them the +utmost contempt; and people never forgive contempt. +No man is <i>distrait</i> with the man he fears, or the woman +he loves; which is a proof that every man can get the +better of that <i>distraction</i> when he thinks it worth his +while to do so; and, take my word for it, it is always +worth his while. For my own part, I would rather be in +company with a dead man than with an absent one; for +if the dead man gives me no pleasure, at least he shows +me no contempt; whereas the absent man, silently indeed, +but very plainly, tells me that he does not think +me worth his attention. Besides, can an absent man +make any observations upon the characters, customs, and +manners of the company? No. He may be in the best +companies of his lifetime (if they will admit him, which, +if I were they, I would not), and never be one jot the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> +wiser. I never will converse with an absent man; one +may as well talk with a deaf one. It is, in truth, a practical +blunder, to address ourselves to a man, who we see +plainly neither hears, minds, nor understands us. Moreover, +I aver that no man is, in any degree, fit for either +business or conversation, who cannot, and does not, direct +and command his attention to the present object, be that +what it will.</p> + +<p>You know, by experience, that I grudge no expense in +your education, but I will positively not keep you a +flapper. You may read, in Dr. Swift, the description of +these flappers, and the use they were of to your friends +the Laputans; whose minds (Gulliver says) are so taken +up with intense speculations, that they neither can speak, +nor attend to the discourses of others, without being +roused by some external taction upon the organs of +speech and hearing; for which reason, those people who +are able to afford it, always keep a flapper in their family, +as one of their domestics, nor ever walk about, or make +visits, without him. This flapper is likewise employed +diligently to attend his master in his walks, and, upon +occasion, to give a soft flap upon his eyes; because he is +always so wrapt up in cogitation, that he is in manifest +danger of falling down every precipice, and bouncing his +head against every post, and, in the streets, of jostling +others, or being jostled into the kennel himself. If +<i>Christian</i> will undertake this province into the bargain, +with all my heart; but I will not allow him any increase +of wages upon that score.</p> + +<p>In short, I give you fair warning, that when we meet, +if you are absent in mind, I will soon be absent in body; +for it will be impossible for me to stay in the room; and +if at table you throw down your knife, plate, bread, etc.,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> +and hack the wing of a chicken for half an hour, without +being able to cut it off, and your sleeve all the time in +another dish, I must rise from table to escape the fever +you would certainly give me. Good God! How I should +be shocked if you came into my room, for the first time, +with two left legs, presenting yourself with all the graces +and dignity of a tailor, and your clothes hanging upon +you like those in Monmouth Street, upon tenter-hooks! +Whereas I expect, nay require, to see you present yourself +with the easy and gentle air of a man of fashion who +has kept good company. I expect you not only well +dressed, but very well dressed; I expect a gracefulness +in all your motions, and something particularly engaging +in your address. All this I expect, and all these it is in +your power, by care and attention, to make me find; but, +to tell you the plain truth, if I do not find it, we shall +not converse very much together; for I cannot stand inattention +and awkwardness; it would endanger my health.</p> + +<p>You have often seen, and I have as often made you +observe, L[yttelton]'s distinguished inattention and awkwardness. +Wrapped up like a Laputan in intense thought, +and possibly sometimes in no thought at all—which, I believe, +is very often the case with absent people—he does +not know his most intimate acquaintance at sight, or +answers them as if they were at cross purposes. He +leaves his hat in one room, his sword in another, and +would leave his shoes in a third, if his buckles, although +awry, did not save them; his legs and arms, by his +awkward management of them, seem to have undergone +the <i>question extraordinaire</i>; and his head, always hanging +upon one or other of his shoulders, seems to have received +the first stroke upon a block. I sincerely value and +esteem him for his parts, learning, and virtue; but, for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> +the soul of me, I cannot love him in company. This will +be universally the case, in common life, of every inattentive +awkward man, let his real merit and knowledge be +ever so great.</p> + +<p>When I was of your age, I desired to shine, as far as +I was able, in every part of life; and was as attentive, to +my manners, my dress, and my air, in company on +evenings, as to my books, and my tutor in the mornings. +A young fellow should be ambitious to shine in everything; +and, of the two, rather overdo than underdo. +These things are by no means trifles; they are of infinite +consequence to those who are to be thrown into the great +world, and who would make a figure or a fortune in it. +It is not sufficient to deserve well, one must please well +too. Awkward, disagreeable merit, will never carry +anybody far. Wherever you find a good dancing master, +pray let him put you upon your haunches; not so much +for the sake of dancing, as for coming into a room and +presenting yourself genteelly and gracefully. Women, +whom you ought to endeavour to please, cannot forgive +a vulgar and awkward air and gestures; <i>il leur faut du +brillant</i>. The generality of men are pretty like them, and +are equally taken by the same exterior graces.</p> + +<p>I am very glad that you have received the diamond +buckles safe: All I desire in return for them, is, that +they may be buckled even upon your feet, and that your +stockings may not hide them. I should be sorry you were +an egregious fop; but I protest that, of the two, I would +rather have you a fop than a sloven. I think negligence +in my own dress, even at my age, when certainly I expect +no advantages from my dress, would be indecent with +regard to others. I have done with fine clothes; but +I will have my plain clothes fit me, and made like other<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> +people's. In the evenings I recommend to you the company +of women of fashion, who have a right to attention, +and will be paid it. Their company will smooth your +manners, and give you a habit of attention and respect; +of which you will find the advantage among men.</p> + +<p>My plan for you, from the beginning, has been to make +you shine, equally in the learned and in the polite world; +The former part is almost completed to my wishes, and +will, I am persuaded, in a little time more, be quite so. +The latter part is still in your power to complete; and +I flatter myself that you will do it, or else the former part +will avail you very little; especially in your deportment, +where the exterior address and graces do half the business; +they must be harbingers of your merit, or your merit will +be very coldly received: all can, and do judge of the +former, few of the latter.</p> + +<p>Mr. Harte tells me that you have grown very much +since your illness: if you get up to five feet ten, or even +nine inches, your figure will, probably, be a good one; and +if well dressed and genteel, will probably please; which is +a much greater advantage to a man than people commonly +think. Lord Bacon calls it a letter of recommendation.</p> + +<p>I would wish you to be an <i>omnis homo</i>, <i>l'homme universel</i>. +You are nearer it, if you please, than ever anybody +was at your age; and if you will but, for the course of +this next year only, exert your whole attention to your +studies in the morning, and to your address, manners, air, +and <i>tournure</i> in the evenings, you will be the man I wish +you, and the man that is rarely seen.</p> + +<p>Our letters go, at best, so irregularly and so often miscarry +totally, that, for greater security, I repeat the same +things. So, though, I acknowledged by last post Mr +Harte's letter of the 8th September, N.S., I acknowledge<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> +it again by this to you. If this should find you still at +Verona, let it inform you, that I wish you to set out soon +for Naples; unless Mr. Harte should think it better for +you to stay at Verona, or any other place on this side +Rome, till you go there for the Jubilee. Nay, if he likes +it better, I am very willing that you should go directly +from Verona to Rome; for you cannot have too much of +Rome, whether upon account of the language, the curiosities, +or the company. My only reason for mentioning +Naples, is for the sake of the climate, upon account of +your health; but, if Mr. Harte thinks your health is now +so well restored as to be above climate, he may steer your +course wherever he thinks proper; and, for aught I know, +your going directly to Rome, and consequently staying +there so much the longer, may be as well as anything else. +I think you and I cannot put our affairs into better hands +than in Mr. Harte's; and I will take his infallibility +against the Pope's, with some odds on his side. <i>A propos</i> +of the Pope; remember to be presented to him before +you leave Rome, and go through the necessary ceremonies +for it, whether of kissing his slipper or...; for I would +never deprive myself of anything I wanted to do or see, +by refusing to comply with an established custom. When +I was in Catholic countries, I never declined kneeling in +their churches at the elevation, nor elsewhere, when the +Host went by. It is a complaisance due to the custom +of the place, and by no means, as some silly people have +imagined, an implied approbation of their doctrine. +Bodily attitudes and situations are things so very indifferent +in themselves, that I would quarrel with nobody +about them. It may indeed be improper for Mr. Harte +to pay that tribute of complaisance, upon account of his +character.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span></p> + +<p>This letter is a very long, and possibly a very tedious +one; but my interest for your perfection is so great, and +particularly at this critical and decisive period of your +life, that I am only afraid of omitting, but never of repeating, +or dwelling too long upon anything that I think +may be of the least use to you. Have the same anxiety +for yourself that I have for you, and all will do well. +Adieu, my dear child!</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span></p> + +<h2>GEORGE BALLARD (1706-1755)</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>The extreme wickedness of reviewers has been a conviction +with many authors—who have sometimes, it would +seem, succumbed to it themselves and retaliated in reviewing +others. The following letter to Dr. Lyttelton, Dean of +Exeter, is a very early (1753) and not unamusing example +of this conviction: and is given as such, though the writer +has no wide fame. His history is, however, interesting and +shows, among other things, how entirely erroneous is the +idea that till recently (and even now to some extent) +opportunities of showing themselves able to profit by +education were and are denied to the "lower classes" in +England. Ballard was apprenticed to a staymaker +("habit-maker" as others say) at Chipping-Campden, but +betook himself in his leisure hours to the study of Anglo-Saxon. +Hearing of which fact the gentlemen of the local +hunt (the boozy squire-tyrants of popular tradition) subscribed +for an annuity of £100 a year to him, but he would +only accept £60. With this he went up to Oxford to enjoy +the Bodleian, was made a "clerk" at Magdalen and later +an esquire-bedell to the University. He did much good +work of the antiquarian kind, and died a year or two after +writing this letter, having (one hopes) relieved himself by +his protest and been consoled by a kind answer from +Lyttelton.<a name="FNanchor_106_106" id="FNanchor_106_106"></a><a href="#Footnote_106_106" class="fnanchor">[106]</a></p></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span></p> + + +<p class='lheading'>19. <span class="smcap">To Dr. Lyttelton, Dean of Exeter</span></p> + +<p class='center'><span class="smcap">A Defence of the History of Learned Ladies</span></p> + +<p>Revd. and Hond. Sir,</p> + +<p>My best acknowledgments are due for the +favour of two epistles; the first of which I received +a few minutes after my last set forward for Exeter. +I would have answered it immediately, but that I thought +a little respite might be agreeable, before I gave you the +trouble of another long letter.</p> + +<p>The day before I received your first epistle, a Gent. of +my acquaintance brought me the <i>Monthly Review</i> for +February, that I might see what the candid and genteel +authors of that work had said of mine. They observe to +the publick, that <i>I have said</i> C. Tishem was so skilled in +the Greek Tongue, that she could read Galen in its original, +which very few Physicians are able to do. Whether this +was done maliciously, in order to bring the wrath of the +Æsculapians upon me, or inadvertently, I cannot say: +but I may justly affirm, that they have used me very ill +in that affair; since if they had read with attention, +which they ought to have done before they attempted to +give a character of the Book, they must have known that +the whole account of that lady (which is but one page) +is not mine, but borrowed with due acknowledgment from +the <i>General Dictionary</i>. They are likewise pleased to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> +inform the world that I have been rather too industrious +in the undertaking, having introduced several women who +hardly deserved a place in the work. I did not do this +for want of materials; neither did I do it rashly, without +advising with others of superior judgment in those affairs, +of which number Mr. Professor Ward was one. But those +pragmatical Censors seem to have but little acquaintance +with those studies, or otherwise they might have observed +that all our general Biographers, as Leland, Bale, Pits, +Wood, and Tanner, have trod the very same steps; and +have given an account of all the authors they could meet +with, good and bad, just as they found them: and yet, +I have never heard of anyone that had courage or ill-nature +enough, to endeavour to expose them for it. While +I was ruminating on these affairs, three or four letters +came to my hands, and perceiving one of them come from +my worthy friend the Dean of Exeter, I eagerly broke it +open, and was perfectly astonished to find myself charged +with <i>party zeal</i> in my book; and that from thence the +most candid reader might conclude the author to be both +a Church and State Tory. But after having thoroughly +considered all the passages objected to, and not finding +the least tincture of either Whig or Tory principles contained +in them, I began to cheer up my drooping spirits, +in hopes that I might possibly out-live my supposed +crime; but, alas! to my still greater confusion! when +I opened my next letter from a Tory acquaintance, I was +like one thunderstruck at the contents of it. He discharges +his passionate but ill-grounded resentment upon +me most furiously. He tells me, he did not imagine +Magdalen College could have produced such a rank Whig. +He reproaches me with want of due esteem for the Stuart +Family, to whom he says I have shewn a deadly hatred,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> +and he gives me, as he imagines, three flagrant instances +of it. 1. That I have unseasonably and maliciously +printed a letter of Queen Elizabeth's, in order to blacken +the memory of Mary Queen of Scots, and that too, at a +time when her character began to shine as bright as the +Sun. 2dly. That I have endeavoured to make her memory +odious, by representing her as wanting natural affection +to her only son, in my note at p. 162, where he says I have +printed part of a Will, &c. And 3dly, tho' she was cut +off in such a barbarous and unprecedented manner, yet +she has fallen unlamented by me. I am likewise charged +with having an affection to Puritanism; the reasons for +which are, my giving the Life of a Puritan Bishop's Lady, +which it seems need not have been done by me, had I not +had a particular regard for her, since it had been done +before by Goodwin who reprinted her Devotions. And +not content with this, I have blemished my book with the +memoirs of a Dissenting teacher's wife, and have been +kind enough to heighten even the character given her by +her indulgent husband: and that I am very fond of +quoting Fox and Burnet upon all occasions. These are +thought strong indications of the above-mentioned charge. +It may be thought entirely unnecessary to answer any of +the objections from Exeter, after having given you this +Summary of my kind Friend's Candid Epistle; but to +you, Sir, to whom I could disclose the very secrets of my +soul, I will endeavour to say a word or two upon this +subject, and make you my Confessor upon this occasion; +and I will do it with as much sincerity, as if I lay on my +death-bed. Before I was fourteen years old, I read over +Fox's Acts and Monuments of the Church, and several of +the best books of Polemical Divinity, which strongly +fortified me in the Protestant Religion; and gave me the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> +greatest abhorrence to Popery. And soon after I perused +Mercurius Rusticus, The Eleventh Persecution, Lloyd, +Walker's Sufferings of the Clergy, and many others, which +gave me almost as bad an opinion of the Dissenters. But +then I learned in my childhood <i>to live in Charity with all +Men</i>, and I have used my best endeavours to put this +doctrine in practice all my life long. I never thought ill, +or quarrelled with any man merely because he had been +educated in principles different to mine; and yet I have +been acquainted with many papists, dissenters, &c. and +if I found any of them learned, ingenuous, and modest, +I always found my heart well-disposed for contracting a +firm friendship with them: and notwithstanding that, +I dare believe that all those people will, with joint consent, +vouch for me, that I have ever been steady in my own +principles.</p> + +<p>I can truly affirm that never any one engaged in such +a work, with an honester heart, or executed it with more +unbiassed integrity, than I have done. And indeed, I take +the unkind censures passed upon me by the furious uncharitable +zealots of both parties, to be the strongest +proof of it. And after all, I dare challenge any man, +whether Protestant, Papist, or Dissenter, Whig or Tory, +(and I have drawn up and published memoirs of women +who professed all those principles) to prove me guilty of +partiality, or to shew that I have made any uncharitable +reflections on any person, and whenever that is done, +I will faithfully promise to make a public recantation. +I wish, Sir, you would point out to me any one unbecoming +word or expression which has fell from me on Bishop +Burnet. Had I had the least inclination to have lessened +his character, I did not want proper materials to have +done it. I have in my possession two original letters<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> +from Bishop Gibson and Mr Norris of Bemerton, to Dr +Charlett, which, if published, would lessen your too great +esteem for him. And what, I beseech you, Sir, have +I said in praise of Mrs Hopton and her pious and useful +labours, which they do not well deserve, and which can +possibly give any just offence to any good man? I dare +not censure or condemn a good thing merely because it +borders upon the Church of Rome. I rather rejoice that +she retains any thing I can fairly approve. Should +I attempt to do this, might I not condemn the greater +part of our Liturgy, &c.? and should I not stand self-condemned +for so doing? I cannot for my life perceive +that I have said any thing of that excellent woman, which +she does not merit; and I must beg leave to say that +I think her letter to F. Turbeville deserves to be wrote +in letters of gold, and ought to be carefully read and +preserved by all Protestants. Mary Queen of Scots fell +under my notice, no otherwise than as a learned woman. +The affairs you mention would by no means suit my +peaceable temper. I was too well acquainted with the +warm disputes, and fierce engagement both of domestic +and foreign writers on that head, once to touch upon the +subject. And indeed, unless I had been the happy discoverer +of some secret springs of action which would have +given new information to the public, it would have been +excessive folly in me to intermeddle in an affair of so +tender a nature, and of so great importance.</p> + +<p>I have often blamed my dear friend Mr. Brome for +destroying his valuable collections, but I now cease to +wonder at it. He spent his leisure hours pleasantly and +inoffensively, and when old age came on, which not only +abates thirst, but oftentimes gives a disrelish to these and +almost all other things, which do not help to make our<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> +passage into eternity more easy, he then destroyed them +(I dare believe) in order to prevent the malicious reflections +of an ill-natured world.</p> + +<p>I have always been a passionate lover of History and +Antiquity, Biography, and Northern Literature: and as +I have ever hated idleness, so I have in my time filled +many hundred sheets with my useless scribble, the greater +part of which I will commit to the flames shortly, to +prevent their giving me any uneasiness in my last +moments.<a name="FNanchor_107_107" id="FNanchor_107_107"></a><a href="#Footnote_107_107" class="fnanchor">[107]</a></p> + +<p>[May 22, 1753.]</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_106_106" id="Footnote_106_106"></a><a href="#FNanchor_106_106"><span class="label">[106]</span></a> Ballard's <i>Memoirs of Learned Ladies of Great Britain who +have been celebrated for their writings or skill in the Learned +Languages Arts & Sciences</i>, appeared at Oxford in 4to (1752) +and 8vo (1775). It contains some sixty lives, the most noteworthy +names being those of Queens Elizabeth and Mary of +Scotland, Lady Jane Grey, Margaret Countess of Richmond +(<i>the</i> "Lady Margaret"), the Duchess of Newcastle, Lady +Winchelsea, the two Countesses of Pembroke ("Sidney's sister" +and Anne Clifford), Dame Juliana Barnes or Berners, Dryden's +Anne Killigrew, Dorothy Pakington (the alleged author of +<i>The Whole Duty of Man</i>), and "the matchless Orinda."</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_107_107" id="Footnote_107_107"></a><a href="#FNanchor_107_107"><span class="label">[107]</span></a> Perhaps a note should be added on "Mrs. Hopton" and +"F. Turbe(r)ville." The former, born Susanna Harvey (1627-1709), +was the wife of a Welsh judge, and wrote devotional works. +The latter, Henry T. (d. 1678: the "F" of text is of course +"Father"), was a writer of doctrinal and controversial manuals +on the Roman side.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></p> +<h2>THOMAS GRAY (1716-1771)</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>The chief thing to add to what has been said of Gray in +the Introduction is something that may draw attention to +a curious feature of his letters, not there distinctly noticed. +Letters, it must be sufficiently seen even from this little +book, have a curious <i>variety</i> of relation to the characters, +personal and literary, of their writers. Sometimes they +show us phases entirely or almost entirely concealed in the +published works; sometimes again, without definitely +revealing new aspects, they complete and enforce the old; +while, in yet a third, though perhaps the smallest, class of +instances, they are as it were results of the same governing +formula as that of the published works themselves, the +difference lying almost wholly in the subjects and in the +methods and circumstances of treatment. Gray belongs to +this last division. There is not, of course, in his letters the +same severity of discipline and restriction of utterance, that +we find in his poems. But that, in letters, was impossible—at +least in letters that should supply tolerable reading. +Yet the same general principle, which was somewhat +exaggerated in the phrase about his "never speaking out," +appears in them. There is always a certain restraint (at +least in all that have been published) and it would probably +have extended in proportion to others, however little their +subject might seem compatible with it. In what we have +it gives a curious <i>seasoning</i>—something which preserves as +well as flavours like salt or vinegar. Of those which follow +the first is an early one. Mason's apologetic note is to the +effect that it "may appear whimsical" but it gives him +an opportunity of remarking that Mr. Gray was "extremely<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> +skilled in the customs of the ancient Romans," both utterances +being characteristic, to some extent of the time but +to a greater of the writer. The second letter, to Gray's +most intimate friend Dr. Wharton, and more than a quarter +of a century later, is a good example of the <i>variety</i> of these +epistles—scenery, literature, politics, science, gossip and +what not, being all dealt with.</p></div> + + +<p class='lheading'>20. <span class="smcap">To Richard West [extract]</span></p> + +<p class='rindent'><span class="smcap">Rome</span>, May, 1740.</p> + +<p>I am to-day just returned from Alba, a good deal +fatigued; for you know the Appian is somewhat +tiresome. We dined at Pompey's; he indeed was +gone for a few days to his Tusculan, but, by the care of +his Villicus, we made an admirable meal. We had the +dugs of a pregnant sow, a peacock, a dish of thrushes, a +noble scarus just fresh from the Tyrrhene, and some +conchylia of the Lake with garum sauce: For my part +I never eat better at Lucullus's table. We drank half-a-dozen +cyathi a-piece of ancient Alban to Pholoë's health; +and after bathing, and playing an hour at ball, we mounted +our essedum again, and proceeded up the mount to the +temple. The priests there entertained us with an account +of a wonderful shower of bird's eggs that had fallen two +days before, which had no sooner touched the ground, but +they were converted into gudgeons; as also that, the night +past, a dreadful voice had been heard out of the Adytum, +which spoke Greek during a full half-hour, but nobody +understood it. But quitting my Romanities, to your +great joy and mine, let me tell you in plain English, that +we come from Albano. The present town lies within the +inclosure of Pompey's Villa in ruins. The Appian way +runs through it, by the side of which, a little farther, is a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> +large old tomb, with five pyramids upon it, which the +learned suppose to be the burying-place of the family, +because they do not know whose it can be else. But the +vulgar assure you it is the sepulchre of the Curiatii, and +by that name (such is their power) it goes. One drives +to Castle Gandolfo, a house of the Pope's, situated on the +top of one of the Collinette, that forms a brim to the basin, +commonly called the Alban lake. It is seven miles round; +and directly opposite to you, on the other side, rises the +Mons Albanus, much taller than the rest, along whose side +are still discoverable (not to common eyes) certain little +ruins of the old Alba Longa. They had need be very +little, as having been nothing but ruins ever since the +days of Tullus Hostilius. On its top is a house of the +Constable Colonna's, where stood the temple of Jupiter +Latialis. At the foot of the hill Gandolfo, are the famous +outlets of the lake, built with hewn stone, a mile and a +half under ground. Livy you know, amply informs us of +the foolish occasion of this expence, and gives me this +opportunity of displaying all my erudition, that I may +appear considerable in your eyes. This is the prospect +from one window of the palace. From another you have +the whole Campagna, the City, Antium, and the Tyrrhene +sea (twelve miles distant) so distinguishable, that you may +see the vessels sailing upon it. All this is charming. Mr. +Walpole says, our memory sees more than our eyes in +this country. Which is extremely true; since, for +realities, Windsor or Richmond Hill is infinitely preferable +to Albano or Frescati. I am now at home, and +going to the window to tell you it is the most beautiful +of Italian nights, which, in truth, are but just begun (so +backward has the spring been here, and every where else, +they say) There is a moon! there are stars for you!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> +Do not you hear the fountain? Do not you smell the +orange flowers? That building yonder is the convent of +S. Isidore; and that eminence, with the cypress trees and +pines upon it, the top of M. Quirinal. This is all true, +and yet my prospect is not two hundred yards in length.</p> + + +<p class='lheading'>21. <span class="smcap">To Wharton</span></p> + +<p>Dear Doctor</p> + +<p>Whatever my pen may do, I am sure my +thoughts expatiate nowhere oftener or with +more pleasure, than to Old-Park. I hope you have made +my peace with Miss Deborah. it is certain, whether her +name were in my letter or not, she was as present to my +memory, as the rest of the little family, & I desire you +would present her with two kisses in my name, & one a-piece +to all the others: for I shall take the liberty to kiss +them all (great & small) as you are to be my proxy.</p> + +<p>In spite of the rain, w<sup>ch</sup> I think continued with very +short intervals till the beginning of this month, & quite +effaced the summer from the year, I made a shift to pass +May & June not disagreeably in Kent. I was surprised +at the beauty of the road to Canterbury, which (I know +not why) had not struck me in the same manner before. +The whole country is a rich and well-cultivated garden, +orchards, cherry-grounds, hop-gardens, intermix'd with +corn & frequent villages, gentle risings cover'd with wood, +and everywhere the Thames and Medway breaking in upon +the Landscape with all their navigation. It was indeed +owing to the bad weather, that the whole scene was dress'd +in that tender emerald-green, w<sup>ch</sup> one usually sees only for +a fortnight in the opening of spring, & this continued till +I left the country. My residence was eight miles east of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> +Canterbury in a little quiet valley on the skirts of Barhamdown. +In these parts the whole soil is chalk, and whenever +it holds up, in half an hour it is dry enough to walk +out. I took the opportunity of three or four days fine +weather to go into the Isle of Thanet, saw Margate (w<sup>ch</sup> +is Bartholomew-Fair by the sea side), Ramsgate, & other +places there, and so came by Sandwich, Deal, Dover, +Folkstone, & Hithe, back again. The coast is not like +Hartlepool: there are no rocks, but only chalky cliffs of +no great height, till you come to Dover. There indeed +they are noble & picturesque, and the opposite coasts of +France begin to bound your view, w<sup>ch</sup> was left before to +range unlimited by anything but the horizon: yet it is +by no means a <i>shipless</i> sea, but everywhere peopled with +white sails & vessels of all sizes in motion. And take +notice (except in the Isle, w<sup>ch</sup> is all corn-fields, and has +very little inclosure) there are in all places hedgerows & tall +trees even within a few yards of the beach. Particularly +Hithe stands on an eminence cover'd with wood. I shall +confess we had fires of a night (ay, & a day too) several +times even in June: but don't go & take advantage of +this, for it was the most untoward year that ever I remember.</p> + +<p>Your Friend Rousseau (I doubt) grows tired of M<sup>r</sup> +Davenport and Derbyshire. He has picked a quarrel with +David Hume & writes him letters of 14 pages Folio upbraiding +him of all his <i>noirceurs</i>. Take one only as a +specimen, he says, that at Calais they chanced to sleep +in the same room together, & that he overheard David +talking in his sleep, and saying, <i>Ah! Je le tiens, ce Jean-Jacques +là.</i> In short (I fear) for want of persecution & +admiration (for these are real complaints) he will go back +to the Continent.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span></p> + +<p>What shall I say to you about the Ministry? I am as +angry as a Common-council Man of London about my +L<sup>d</sup> Chatham: but a little more patient, & will hold my +tongue till the end of the year. In the mean time I do +mutter in secret & to you, that to quit the house of Commons, +his natural strength; to sap his own popularity & +grandeur (which no one but himself could have done) by +assuming a foolish title; & to hope that he could win by +it and attach to him a Court, that hate him, & will dismiss +him, as soon as ever they dare, was the weakest thing, +that ever was done by so great a Man. Had it not been +for this, I should have rejoiced at the breach between him +& L<sup>d</sup> Temple, & at the union between him & the D: of +Grafton & M<sup>r</sup> Conway: but patience! we shall see! St:<a name="FNanchor_108_108" id="FNanchor_108_108"></a><a href="#Footnote_108_108" class="fnanchor">[108]</a> +perhaps is in the country (for he hoped for a month's +leave of absence) and if you see him, you will learn more +than I can tell you.</p> + +<p>Mason is at Aston. He is no longer so anxious about +his wife's health, as he was, tho' I find she still has a +cough, & moreover I find she is not with child: but he +made such a bragging, how could one choose but believe +him.</p> + +<p>When I was in town, I mark'd in my pocket-book the +utmost limits & divisions of the two columns in your +Thermometer, and asked Mr. Ayscough the Instrument-Maker +on Ludgate Hill, what scales they were. He immediately +assured me, that one was Fahrenheit's, & shew'd +me one exactly so divided. The other he took for Reaumur's, +but, as he said there were different scales of his +contrivance, he could not exactly tell, w<sup>ch</sup> of them it was.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> +Your Brother told me, you wanted to know, who wrote +Duke Wharton's life in the Biography: I think, it is +chiefly borrowed from a silly book enough call'd <i>Memoirs +of that Duke</i>: but who put it together there, no one can +inform me. The only person certainly known to write in +that vile collection (I mean these latter volumes) is D<sup>r</sup> +Nicholls, who was expell'd here for stealing books.</p> + +<p>Have you read the <i>New Bath-Guide</i>?<a name="FNanchor_109_109" id="FNanchor_109_109"></a><a href="#Footnote_109_109" class="fnanchor">[109]</a> it is the only +thing in fashion, & is a new & original kind of humour. +Miss Prue's Conversion I doubt you will paste down, as +S<sup>r</sup> W: S<sup>t</sup> Quintyn did, before he carried it to his daughter. +Yet I remember you all read <i>Crazy Tales</i><a name="FNanchor_110_110" id="FNanchor_110_110"></a><a href="#Footnote_110_110" class="fnanchor">[110]</a> without pasting. +Buffon's first collection of Monkeys are come out (it makes +the 14<sup>th</sup> volume) something, but not much, to my edification: +for he is pretty well acquainted with their persons, +but not with their manners.</p> + +<p>I shall be glad to hear, how far M<sup>rs</sup> Ettrick has succeeded, +& when you see an end to her troubles. my best +respects to Mrs. Wharton, & compliments to all your +family: I will not name them, least I should affront any +body. Adieu, dear S<sup>r</sup>,</p> + +<p class='lindent2'>I am most sincerely yours,</p> + +<p class='rindent'>TG:</p> + +<p>August 26, 1766, Pembroke College.</p> + +<p>Mr. Brown is gone to see his Brother near Margate. +When is L<sup>d</sup> Str:<a name="FNanchor_111_111" id="FNanchor_111_111"></a><a href="#Footnote_111_111" class="fnanchor">[111]</a> to be married? If M<sup>r</sup> and M<sup>rs</sup> Jonathan +are with you, I desire my compliments.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_108_108" id="Footnote_108_108"></a><a href="#FNanchor_108_108"><span class="label">[108]</span></a> "St." is Richard Stonhewer, a Fellow of Peterhouse, secretary +to the Duke of Grafton, and a man of considerable, though not +public, importance in politics.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_109_109" id="Footnote_109_109"></a><a href="#FNanchor_109_109"><span class="label">[109]</span></a> Anstey's—referred to in the Introduction.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_110_110" id="Footnote_110_110"></a><a href="#FNanchor_110_110"><span class="label">[110]</span></a> By Sterne's friend, John Hall Stevenson.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_111_111" id="Footnote_111_111"></a><a href="#FNanchor_111_111"><span class="label">[111]</span></a> Lord Strathmore.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p> +<h2>HORACE WALPOLE (1717-1797)</h2> + +<h3>[AND W. M. THACKERAY].</h3> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>As much has been already said of Horace Walpole's +letters, but practically nothing of his other works except +his novel and his play, something more may be added +here to show that he was not <i>merely</i> a "trifler." His +private press at "Strawberry" was mainly a means of +amusement to him, like a billiard-room or a tennis-court. +But it provided some useful books—such as editions of +Anthony Hamilton's <i>Memoirs of Grammont</i>, of Lord Herbert +of Cherbury's <i>Life</i> and of part of Gray's <i>Poems</i>. He had +neither historic knowledge nor historic sense enough to +deal satisfactorily with such a subject as <i>Historic Doubts +on Richard III.</i>, though the subject itself was quite worth +dealing with. But his <i>Catalogue of Royal and Noble Authors</i>, +his <i>Anecdotes of Painting in England</i>, and his <i>Catalogue of +Engravers</i> are not without value; and he could usefully +handle the history of his own time, with proper corrections +for his prejudices, etc. He was weakest of all as a literary +critic: and his dealings with Chatterton were most unfortunate, +though the mischief done was not intentional, and +might not have been serious in any other case. These +things have been said with a definite purpose—that of +showing that Horace's interests, if seldom deep, were +unusually wide. Now though width of interest is not, as +Cowper's case shows, indispensable to goodness of letter-writing, +it is a very great qualification for it, as giving to +the result variety, colour, and "bite." At the same time, +unless one had space on a very different scale from any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> +possible here, it would be <i>im</i>possible to illustrate this +"extensive curiosity" as they called it then: and Horace +ought to be shown here in his <i>most</i> native element as a +chronicler of "society." I have thought it worth while to +subjoin for comparison Thackeray's wonderful <i>pastiche</i> in +<i>The Virginians</i>, which is almost better Horace than Horace +himself.<a name="FNanchor_112_112" id="FNanchor_112_112"></a><a href="#Footnote_112_112" class="fnanchor">[112]</a></p></div> + + +<p class='lheading'>22. <span class="smcap">To the Countess of Ossory</span></p> + +<p class='rindent'><span class="smcap">Arlington Street</span>,<br /> +April 31. 1773 </p> + +<p>It is most true, madam, that I did purpose to regale +myself with a visit to Ampthill; but this winter, +which has trod hard upon last week's summer, +blunted my intention for a while, though revivable in +finer weather. Oh! but I had another reason for changing +my mind; you are leaving Ampthill, and I do not +mean only to write my name in your park-keeper's book. +Yes, in spite of your ladyship's low spirited mood, you +are coming from Ampthill, and you are to be at Strawberry +Hill to-morrow se'nnight. You may not be in the +secret, but Lord Ossory and I have settled it, and you +are to be pawned to me while he is at Newmarket. He +told me you certainly would if I asked it, and as they +used to say in ancient writ, I do beg it upon the knees +of my heart. Nay, it is unavoidable; for though a lady's +word may be ever so crackable, you cannot have the +conscience to break your husband's word, so I depend +upon it. I have asked Mr. Craufurd to meet you, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> +begged he would refuse me, that I might be sure of his +coming. Mrs Meynel has taken another year's lease of +her house, so you probably, madam, will not be tired of +me for the livelong day for the whole time you shall +honour my mansion. Your face will be well and your +fever gone a week before to-morrow se'nnight, and you +will look as well as ever you did in your life, that is, as +you have done lately, which is better than ever you did +before. You must not, in truth, expect that I your +shepherd should be quite so fit to figure in a fan mount. +Besides the gout for six months, which makes some flaws +in the bloom of elderly Arcadians, I have been so far +from keeping sheep for the last ten days, that I have +kept nothing but bad hours; and have been such a rake +that I put myself in mind of a poor old cripple that I saw +formerly at Hogarth's auction: he bid for the Rake's +Progress, saying, "I will buy my own progress," though +he looked as if he had no more title to it than I have, but +by limping and sitting up. In short, I have been at four +balls since yesterday se'nnight, though I had the prudence +not to stay supper at Lord Stanley's. That festival was +very expensive, for it is the fashion now to make romances +rather than balls. In the hall was a band of French horns +and clarionets in laced uniforms and feathers. The dome +of the staircase was beautifully illuminated with coloured +glass lanthorns; in the ante-room was a bevy of vestals +in white habits, making tea; in the next, a drapery of +sarcenet, that with a very funereal air crossed the chimney, +and depended in vast festoons over the sconces. The +third chamber's doors were heightened with candles in +gilt vases, and the ballroom was formed into an oval with +benches above each other, not unlike pews, and covered +with red serge, above which were arbours of flowers, red<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> +and green pilasters, more sarcenet, and Lord March's +glasses, which he had lent, as an upholsterer asked Lord +Stanley 300l. for the loan of some. He had burst open +the side of the wall to build an orchestra, with a pendant +mirror to reflect the dancers, à la Guisnes; and the +musicians were in scarlet robes, like the candle-snuffers +who represent the senates of Venice at Drury Lane. +There were two more chambers at which I never arrived +for the crowd. The seasons, danced by himself, the +younger Storer, the Duc de Lauzun and another, the +youngest Miss Stanley, Miss Poole, the youngest Wrottesley +and another Miss, who is likewise anonymous in my +memory, were in errant shepherdly dresses without invention, +and Storer and Miss Wrottesley in banians with +furs, for winter, cock and hen. In six rooms below were +magnificent suppers. I was not quite so sober last night +at Mons. de Guisnes', where the evening began with a +ball of children, from eighteen to four years old. They +danced amazingly well, yet disappointed me, so many of +them were ugly; but Dr. Delawarr's two eldest daughters +and the Ancaster infanta performed a pas de trois as well +as Mlle. Heinel, and the two eldest were pretty; yet +I promise you, madam, the next age will be a thousand +degrees below the present in beauty. The most interesting +part was to observe the anxiety of the mothers while their +children danced or supped; they supped at ten in three +rooms. I should not omit telling you that the Vernons, +especially the eldest, were not the homeliest part of the +show. The former quadrilles then came again upon the +stage, and Harry Conway the younger was so astonished +at the agility of Mrs. Hobart's bulk, that he said he was +sure she must be hollow. The tables were again spread +in five rooms, and at past two in the morning we went to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> +supper. To excuse <i>we</i>, I must plead that both the late +and present chancellor, and the solemn Lord Lyttleton, +my predecessors by some years, stayed as late as I did—and +in good sooth the watchman went four as my chairman +knocked at my door.</p> + +<p>Such is the result of good resolutions! I determined +during my illness to have my colt's tooth drawn, and lo! +I have cut four new in a week. Well! at least I am as +grave as a judge, looked as rosy as Lord Lyttleton, and +much soberer than my Lord Chancellor. To shew some +marks of grace, I shall give up the opera, (indeed it is +very bad) and go and retake my doctor's degrees among +the dowagers at Lady Blandford's; and intending to +have no more diversions than I have news to tell your +ladyship, I think you shall not hear from me again till we +meet, as I shall think it, in heaven.</p> + + +<p class='lheading'>23. (<i>Thackeray imitating</i>). <span class="smcap">To the Hon. H. S. Conway</span></p> + +<p class='rindent'><span class="smcap">Arlington Street</span>, Friday night.</p> + +<p>I have come away, child, for a day or two from my +devotions to our Lady of Strawberry. Have I not +been on my knees to her these three weeks, and +aren't the poor old joints full of rheumatism? A fit took +me that I would pay London a visit, that I would go to +Vauxhall and Ranelagh. <i>Quoi!</i> May I not have my +rattle as well as other elderly babies? Suppose, after +being so long virtuous, I take a fancy to cakes and ale, +shall your reverence say nay to me? George Selwyn and +Tony Storer and your humble servant took boat at Westminster +t'other night. Was it Tuesday?—no, Tuesday +I was with their Graces of Norfolk, who are just from +Tunbridge—it was Wednesday. How should I know?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span></p> + +<p>Wasn't I dead drunk with a whole pint of lemonade I took +at White's?</p> + +<p>The Norfolk folk had been entertaining me on Tuesday +with the account of a young savage Iroquois, Choctaw, +or Virginian, who has lately been making a little noise in +our quarter of the globe. He is an offshoot of that disreputable +family of Esmond-Castlewood, of whom all the +men are gamblers and spendthrifts, and all the women—well, +I shan't say the word, lest Lady Ailesbury should be +looking over your shoulder. Both the late lords, my +father told me, were in his pay, and the last one, a beau +of Queen Anne's reign, from a viscount advanced to be +an earl through the merits and intercession of his notorious +old sister Bernstein, late Tusher, <i>nee</i> Esmond—a great +beauty, too, of her day, a favourite of the old Pretender. +She sold his secrets to my papa, who paid her for them; +and being nowise particular in her love for the Stuarts, +came over to the august Hanoverian house at present +reigning over us. "Will Horace Walpole's tongue never +stop scandal?" says your wife over your shoulder. I kiss +your ladyship's hand. I am dumb. The Bernstein is a +model of virtue. She had no good reasons for marrying +her father's chaplain. Many of the nobility omit the +marriage altogether. She <i>wasn't</i> ashamed of being Mrs. +Tusher, and didn't take a German <i>Baroncino</i> for a second +husband, whom nobody out of Hanover ever saw. The +Yarmouth bears no malice. Esther and Vashti are very +good friends, and have been cheating each other at Tunbridge +at cards all the summer.</p> + +<p>"And what has all this to do with the Iroquois?" says +your ladyship. The Iroquois has been at Tunbridge, too—not +cheating, perhaps, but winning vastly. They say he +has bled Lord March of thousands—Lord March, by whom<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> +so much blood hath been shed, that he has quarrelled +with everybody, fought with everybody, rode over everybody, +been fallen in love with by everybody's wife except +Mr. Conway's, and <i>not</i> excepting her present Majesty, the +Countess of England, Scotland, France and Ireland, Queen +of Walmoden and Yarmouth, whom heaven preserve to us.</p> + +<p>You know an offensive little creature <i>de par le monde</i>, +one Jack Morris, who skips in and out of all the houses of +London. When we were at Vauxhall, Mr. Jack gave us +a nod under the shoulder of a pretty young fellow enough, +on whose arm he was leaning, and who appeared hugely +delighted with the enchantments of the garden. Lord, +how he stared at the fireworks! Gods, how he huzzayed +at the singing of a horrible painted wench who shrieked +the ears off my head! A twopenny string of glass beads +and a strip of tawdry cloth are treasures in Iroquois-land, +and our savage valued them accordingly.</p> + +<p>A buzz went about the place that this was the fortunate +youth. He won three hundred at White's last night very +genteelly from Rockingham and my precious nephew, and +here he was bellowing and huzzaying over the music so +as to do you good to hear. I do not love a puppet-show, +but I love to treat children to one, Miss Conway! I present +your ladyship my compliments, and hope we shall go +and see the dolls together.</p> + +<p>When the singing-woman came down from her throne, +Jack Morris must introduce my Virginian to her. I saw him +blush up to the eyes, and make her, upon my word, a very +fine bow, such as I had no idea was practised in wigwams. +"There is a certain <i>jenny squaw</i> about her, and that's +why the savage likes her," George said—a joke certainly +not as brilliant as a firework. After which it seemed to +me that the savage and the savagess retired together.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span></p> + +<p>Having had a great deal too much to eat and drink +three hours before, my partners must have chicken and +rack-punch at Vauxhall, where George fell asleep straightway, +and for my sins I must tell Tony Storer what I knew +about this Virginian's amiable family, especially some of +the Bernstein's antecedents and the history of another +elderly beauty of the family, a certain Lady Maria, who +was <i>au mieux</i> with the late Prince of Wales. What did +I say? I protest not half of what I knew, and of course +not a tenth part of what I was going to tell, for who +should start out upon us but my savage, this time quite +red in the face; and in his <i>war paint</i>. The wretch had +been drinking fire-water in the next box!</p> + +<p>He cocked his hat, clapped his hand to his sword, asked +which of the gentlemen was it that was maligning his +family? so that I was obliged to entreat him not to make +such a noise, lest he should wake my friend Mr. George +Selwyn. And I added, "I assure you, sir, I had no idea +that you were near me, and I most sincerely apologize for +giving you pain."</p> + +<p>The Huron took his hand off his tomahawk at this +pacific rejoinder, made a bow not ungraciously, said he +could not, of course, ask more than an apology from a +gentleman of my age (<i>Merci, Monsieur!</i>) and, hearing +the name of Mr. Selwyn, made another bow to George, +and said he had a letter to him from Lord March, which +he had had the ill-fortune to mislay. George has put +him up for the club, it appears, in conjunction with March, +and no doubt these three lambs will fleece each other. +Meanwhile, my pacified savage sat down with us, and +<i>buried the hatchet</i> in another bowl of punch, for which +these gentlemen must call. Heaven help us! 'Tis eleven +o'clock, and here comes Bedson with my gruel!</p> + +<p class='rindent'>H. W.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_112_112" id="Footnote_112_112"></a><a href="#FNanchor_112_112"><span class="label">[112]</span></a> There is an amicable dispute among Thackerayans whether +this or the imitation-<i>Spectator</i> paper in <i>Esmond</i> is the more +wonderful of their joint kind. To facilitate this comparison the +letter part (for there is one) of that paper will be given here under +Thackeray's own name.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span></p> +<h2>TOBIAS GEORGE SMOLLETT (1721-1771)</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Smollett's reputation has been of course always mainly, +indeed almost wholly, that of a novelist, though his miscellaneous +work is of no small merit. But that he wrote his +best novel <i>in</i> letters and that perhaps it is one of the best +so written, has been mentioned. His <i>Travels</i> are also of +the letter-kind—especially of the ill-tempered-letter-kind. +Of his actual correspondence we have not much. But the +following has always seemed to the present writer an +admirable and agreeably characteristic example. Smollett's +outwardly surly but inwardly kindly temper, and his +command of phrase ("great Cham of literature" has, as +we say now, "stuck") both appear in it: and the matter +is interesting. We have, so far as I remember, no record +of any interview between Johnson and Smollett, though +they must have met. They were both Tories, and Johnson +wrote in the <i>Critical Review</i> which Smollett edited. But +Johnson's gibes at Scotland are not likely to have conciliated +Smollett: and there was just that combination of likeness +and difference between the two men which (especially as +the one was as typically English as the other was Scotch) +generates incompatibility. How victoriously Wilkes got +over Johnson's personal dislike to him all readers of Boswell +know: and it is one of the most amusing passages in the +book. On this occasion, too, he did what was asked of him. +"Frank" had not been <i>pressed</i>, but had joined for some +reason of his own. However, he accepted his discharge +and returned to his master, staying till that master's +death.</p></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span></p> + + +<p class='lheading'>24. <span class="smcap">To John Wilkes, Esq.</span></p> + +<p class='rindent'><span class="smcap">Chelsea</span>, 16th March, 1759.</p> + +<p>Dear Sir</p> + +<p>I am again your petitioner, in behalf of that +great <span class="smcap">Cham</span> of literature, Samuel Johnson. His +black servant, whose name is Francis Barber, has been +pressed on board the Stag frigate, Captain Angel, and our +lexicographer is in great distress. He says the boy is a +sickly lad, of a delicate frame, and particularly subject to +a malady in his throat, which renders him very unfit for +His Majesty's service. You know what matter of animosity +the said Johnson has against you: and I dare say +you desire no other opportunity of resenting it, than that +of laying him under an obligation. He was humble enough +to desire my assistance on this occasion, though he and +I were never cater-cousins; and I gave him to understand +that I would make application to my friend Mr. Wilkes, +who, perhaps, by his interest with Dr. Hay and Mr. Elliot, +might be able to procure the discharge of his lacquey. It +would be superfluous to say more on this subject, which +I leave to your own consideration; but I cannot let slip +this opportunity of declaring that I am, with the most +inviolable esteem and attachment, dear Sir, your affectionate, +obliged, humble servant,</p> + +<p class='rindent'><span class="smcap">T. Smollett.</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span></p> +<h2>WILLIAM COWPER (1731-1800)</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>It was necessary to say a good deal about Cowper's +letters in the Introduction, but it would hardly do to stint +him of some further comment. It will be a most unfortunate +evidence of degradation in English literary taste +if he ever loses the position there assigned to him, and +practically acknowledged by all the best judges for the last +century. For there is certainly no other epistoler who has +displayed such consummate (if also such unconscious) art +in making the most out of the least. Of course people +who must have noise, and bustle, and "importance" of +matter, and so forth, may be dissatisfied. But their dissatisfaction +convicts not Cowper but themselves: and the +conviction is not for want of Art, but for want of appreciation +of Art. Now this last is one of the most terrible +faults to be found in any human creature. Not everybody +can be an artist: but everybody who is not deficient to +this or that extent in sense—to use that word in its widest +and best interpretation, for understanding and feeling +both—can enjoy an artist's work. Nor is there any more +important function of the often misused word "education" +than "bringing out" this sense when it is dormant, and +training and developing it when it is brought out. And +few things are more useful for exercise in this way than the +under-current of artistry in Cowper's "chit-chat." His +letters are so familiar that it is vain to aim at any great +originality in selecting them. The following strikes me as +an excellent example. What more trite than references to +increased expense of postage (rather notably topical just +now though!) and remarks on a greenhouse? And what<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> +less trite—except to tritical tastes and intellects—than this +letter?</p></div> + + +<p class='lheading'>25. <span class="smcap">To the Rev. John Newton</span></p> + +<p class='rindent'>Sept. 18. 1784.</p> + +<p>My dear Friend,</p> + +<p>Following your good example, I lay before +me a sheet of my largest paper. It was this +moment fair and unblemished but I have begun to blot it, +and having begun, am not likely to cease till I have spoiled +it. I have sent you many a sheet that in my judgment +of it has been very unworthy of your acceptance, but my +conscience was in some measure satisfied by reflecting, +that if it were good for nothing, at the same time it cost +you nothing, except the trouble of reading it. But the +case is altered now. You must pay a solid price for +frothy matter, and though I do not absolutely pick your +pocket, yet you lose your money, and, as the saying is, +are never the wiser; a saying literally fulfilled to the +reader of my epistles.</p> + +<p>My greenhouse is never so pleasant as when we are just +upon the point of being turned out of it. The gentleness +of the autumnal suns, and the calmness of this latter +season, make it a much more agreeable retreat than we +ever find it in summer; when, the winds being generally +brisk, we cannot cool it by admitting a sufficient quantity +of air, without being at the same time incommoded by it. +But now I sit with all the windows and the door wide +open, and am regaled with the scent of every flower in a +garden as full of flowers as I have known how to make it. +We keep no bees, but if I lived in a hive I should hardly +hear more of their music. All the bees in the neighbourhood +resort to a bed of mignonette, opposite to the window,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> +and pay me for the honey they get out of it by a hum, +which, though rather monotonous, is as agreeable to my +ear as the whistling of my linnets. All the sounds that +nature utters are delightful,—at least in this country. +I should not perhaps find the roaring of lions in Africa, +or of bears in Russia, very pleasing; but I know no beast +in England whose voice I do not account musical, save +and except always the braying of an ass. The notes of +all our birds and fowls please me, without one exception. +I should not indeed think of keeping a goose in a cage, +that I might hang him up in the parlour for the sake of +his melody, but a goose upon a common, or in a farmyard, +is no bad performer; and as to insects, if the black +beetle, and beetles indeed of all hues, will keep out of my +way, I have no objection to any of the rest; on the +contrary, in whatever key they sing, from the gnat's fine +treble to the bass of the humble bee, I admire them all. +Seriously however it strikes me as a very observable +instance of providential kindness to man, that such an +exact accord has been contrived between his ear, and the +sounds with which, at least in a rural situation, it is +almost every moment visited. All the world is sensible +of the uncomfortable effect that certain sounds have upon +the nerves, and consequently upon the spirits:—and if a +sinful world had been filled with such as would have +curdled the blood, and have made the sense of hearing +a perpetual inconvenience, I do not know that we should +have had a right to complain. But now the fields, the +woods, the gardens have each their concert, and the ear +of man is for ever regaled by creatures who seem only to +please themselves. Even the ears that are deaf to the +Gospel, are continually entertained, though without knowing +it, by sounds for which they are solely indebted to its<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> +author. There is somewhere in infinite space a world that +does not roll within the precincts of mercy, and as it is +reasonable, and even scriptural, to suppose that there is +music in Heaven, in those dismal regions perhaps the +reverse of it is found; tones so dismal, as to make woe +itself more insupportable, and to acuminate<a name="FNanchor_113_113" id="FNanchor_113_113"></a><a href="#Footnote_113_113" class="fnanchor">[113]</a> even despair. +But my paper admonishes me in good time to draw the +reins, and to check the descent of my fancy into deeps, +with which she is but too familiar.</p> + +<p>Our best love attends you both, with yours,</p> + +<p class='lindent'><i>Sum ut semper, tui studiossimus</i>,</p> + +<p class='rindent'>W. C.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_113_113" id="Footnote_113_113"></a><a href="#FNanchor_113_113"><span class="label">[113]</span></a> "Acuminate" = "sharpen," is a perfectly good word in itself, +but perhaps does not so perfectly suit "despair," which crushes +rather than pierces.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span></p> +<h2>SYDNEY SMITH (1771-1845)</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>It has been said of Sydney Smith that he was not only a +humourist, but a "good-humourist," and this is undoubtedly +true. Politics, indeed, according to their usual +custom, sometimes rather acidulated his good humour; +but anybody possessed of the noun, with the least allowance +of the adjective, should be propitiated by the way in which +the almost Radical reformer of <i>Peter Plymley's Letters</i> in +1807 became the almost Tory and wholly conservative +maintainer of ecclesiastical rights in those to Archdeacon +Singleton thirty years later.</p> + +<p>Both, however, were "Letters" of the sophisticated +kind: but we have plenty of perfectly genuine correspondence, +also agreeable and sometimes extremely amusing. +Whether Sydney (his friends always abbreviated him thus, +and he accepted the Christian name) describes the makeshifts +of his Yorkshire parish or the luxuries of his Somerset +one; whether he discusses the effect of a diet of geraniums +on pigs or points out that as Lord Tankerville has given +him a whole buck "this takes up a great deal of my time"—he +is always refreshing. He has no great depth, but we do +not go to him for that: and he is not shallow in the offensive +sense of the word. His gaiety does not get on one's nerves +as does that of some—perhaps most—professional jokers: +neither, as is too frequently the case with them, does it +bore. His letters are not the easiest to select from: for +they are usually short and their excellence lies rather in +still shorter <i>flashes</i> such as those glanced at above; as the +grave proposition that "the information of very plain +women is so inconsiderable that I agree with you in setting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> +no store by it;" or as this other (resembling a short newspaper +paragraph) "The Commissioner will have hard +work with the Scotch atheists: they are said to be numerous +this season and in great force, from the irregular supply of +rain." But the following specimens are fairly representative. +They were written at an interval of about ten +years: the first from Foston, the second from Combe +Florey. "Miss Berry," the elder of the famous sisters who +began by fascinating Horace Walpole and ended by charming +Thackeray: "Donna Agnes" was the younger. "Lady +Rachel," the famous wife of the person who suffered for the +Rye House plot (Lady Rachel Wriothesley, of Rachel Lady +Russell, but Miss Berry had written a <i>Life</i> of her under her +maiden name). Sydney's politics show in his allusion to +the assassination of the Duc de Berri, son of Charles X. of +France (who had, however, not then come to the throne); +in his infinitely greater sorrow for the dismissal of the mildly +Liberal minister Decazes; and in his spleen at the supporters +of the English Tory government of Lord Liverpool. (The +"little plot" was Thistlewood's). In the second letter the +"hotel" is his new parsonage in Somerset: "Bowood," +Lord Lansdowne's Wiltshire house, a great Whig rallying +place. I suppose "Sea-shore Calcott" is Sir A. W. Calcott +the painter. "Luttrell" (Henry), a talker and versifier +very well known in his own day, but of less enduring +reputation than some others. "Napier's Book," the +brilliant if somewhat partisan <i>History of the Peninsular War</i>. +I am not quite certain in which of two senses Sydney uses +the word <i>caractère</i>. As ought to be well known this does +not exactly correspond to our "character"—but most +commonly means "temper" or "disposition." It has, +however, a peculiar technical meaning of "official description" +or "estimate" which would suit Sir William +Napier well. The Napiers were "kittle cattle" from the +official point of view.</p></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span></p> + + +<p class='lheading'>26. <span class="smcap">To Miss Berry</span></p> + +<p class='rindent'><span class="smcap">Foston</span>, Feb 27th, 1820.</p> + +<p>I thank you very much for the entertainment I have +received from your book. I should however have +been afraid to marry such a woman as Lady Rachel; +it would have been too awful. There are pieces of china +very fine and beautiful, but never intended for daily +use....</p> + +<p>I have hardly slept out of Foston since I saw you. God +send I may be still an animal, and not a vegetable! but +I am a little uneasy at this season for sprouting and rural +increase, for I fear I should have undergone the metamorphose +so common in country livings. I shall go to +town about the end of March; it will be completely empty, +and the drugs that remain will be entirely occupied about +hustings and returning-officers.</p> + +<p>Commerce and manufacturers are still in a frightful state +of stagnation.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No foreign barks in British ports are seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stuff'd to the water's edge with velveteen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or bursting with big bales of bombazine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No distant climes demand our corduroy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unmatch'd habiliment for man and boy;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No fleets of fustian quit the British shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cloth-creating engines cease to roar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still is that loom which breech'd the world before.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>I am very sorry for the little fat Duke de Berri, but +infinitely more so for the dismissal of De Cases,—a fatal +measure.</p> + +<p>I must not die without seeing Paris. Figure to yourself +what a horrid death,—to die without seeing Paris! +I think I could make something of this in a tragedy, so as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> +to draw tears from Donna Agnes and yourself. Where +are you going to? When do you return? Why do you +go at all? Is Paris more agreeable than London?</p> + +<p>We have had a little plot here in a hay-loft. God forbid +anybody should be murdered! but, if I were to turn +assassin, it should not be of five or six Ministers, who are<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">placed where they are by the folly of the country gentlemen,</span><br /> +but of the hundred thousand squires, to whose +stupidity and folly such an Administration owes its +existence.</p> + +<p class='lindent2'>Ever your friend,</p> + +<p class='rindent'><span class="smcap">Sydney Smith</span>.</p> + + +<p class='lheading'>27. <span class="smcap">To N. Fazakerly, Esq.</span></p> + +<p class='rindent'><span class="smcap">Combe Florey</span>, October, 1829.</p> + +<p>Dear Fazakerly,</p> + +<p>I don't know anybody who would be less +affronted at being called hare-brained than our +friend who has so tardily conveyed my message, and I am +afraid now he has only given you a part of it. The +omission appears to be, that I had set up an hotel on the +Western road, that it would be opened next spring, and +I hoped for the favour of yours and Mrs. Fazakerly's +patronage. "Well-aired beds, neat wines, careful drivers, +etc. etc."</p> + +<p>I shall have very great pleasure in coming to see you, +and I quite agree in the wisdom of postponing that event +till the rural Palladios and Vitruvii are chased away; +I have fourteen of them here every day. The country is +perfectly beautiful, and my parsonage the prettiest place +in it.</p> + +<p>I was at Bowood last week: the only persons there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> +were seashore Calcott and his wife,—two very sensible, +agreeable people. Luttrell came over for the day; he +was very agreeable, but spoke too lightly, I thought, of +veal soup. I took him aside, and reasoned the matter +with him, but in vain; to speak the truth, Luttrell is not +steady in his judgments on dishes. Individual failures +with him soon degenerate into generic objections, till, by +some fortunate accident, he eats himself into better +opinions. A person of more calm reflection thinks not +only of what he is consuming at the moment, but of the +soups of the same kind he has met with in a long course +of dining, and which have gradually and justly elevated +the species. I am perhaps making too much of this; but +the failures of a man of sense are always painful.</p> + +<p>I quite agree about Napier's book. I do<a href="#Footnote_114_114" class="fnanchor">[114]</a> not think that +any<a name="FNanchor_114_114" id="FNanchor_114_114"></a><a href="#Footnote_114_114" class="fnanchor">[114]</a> man would venture to write so true, bold, and honest +a book; it gave me a high idea of his understanding, and +makes me very anxious about his <i>caractère</i></p> + +<p class='lindent2'>Ever yours,</p> + +<p class='rindent'><span class="smcap">Sydney Smith</span>.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_114_114" id="Footnote_114_114"></a><a href="#FNanchor_114_114"><span class="label">[114]</span></a> One would expect either "did" or "other": but the actual +combination is a very likely slip of pen or press.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span></p> +<h2>SIR WALTER SCOTT (1771-1832)</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Since this little book was undertaken it has been +announced, truly or not, that the bulk of Scott's autograph +letters has been bought by a fortunate and wise man of +letters for the sum of £1500. Neither life nor literature +can ever be expressed in money value: but if one had £1500 +to spend on something not directly necessary, it is possible +to imagine a very large number of less satisfactory purchases. +For as was briefly suggested in the Introduction, Scott's +letters—while saturated with that singular humanity and +nobility of character in which he has hardly a rival among +authors of whom we know much—are distinctly remarkable +from the purely literary point of view. His published +work, both in verse and prose, has been accused (with what +amount of justice we will not here trouble ourselves to +discuss)—of carelessness in style and art. No such charge +could possibly be brought against his letters, which hit the +happy mean between slovenliness and artificial elaboration +in a fashion that could hardly be bettered. The great +variety of his correspondents, too, provides an additional +attraction: for letters indited to the same person are apt +to show a certain monotony. And Scott is equal to any +and every occasion. Here as elsewhere the "Diary" +drains off a certain proportion of matter: but chiefly for +the latest period and in circumstances scarcely happy +enough for letters themselves.</p> + +<p>The following letter was selected because of its admirable +treatment of a theme—the behaviour, responsibility, and +general <i>status</i> of Authors as objects of public judgment—on +which an infinite amount of deplorable and disgusting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> +nonsense has been talked and written. It starts, as will +be seen, with the quarrel between Lord and Lady Byron—and +then generalises. Not many things show Scott's +golden equity and fairness better. He is perhaps "a little +kind" to Campbell, who was, one fears, an extra-irritable +specimen of the irritable race: but this is venial. And +probably he did not mean the stigma which might be +inferred from the conjunction of "Aphra <i>and</i> Orinda." +They were certainly both of Charles II.'s time: but while +poor Aphra was, if not wholly vicious, far from virtuous, +the "matchless Orinda" (Katherine Philips) bears no +stain on her character.</p></div> + + +<p class='lheading'>28. <span class="smcap">To Joanna Baillie</span></p> + +<p class='rindent'>(End of April 1816)</p> + +<p>My dear friend,</p> + +<p>I am glad you are satisfied with my reasons +for declining a direct interference with Lord +B[yron]. I have not, however, been quite idle, and as an +old seaman have tried to go by a side wind when I had +not the means of going before it, and this will be so far +plain to you when I say that I have every reason to +believe the good intelligence is true that a separation is +signed between Lord and Lady Byron. If I am not as +angry as you have good reason to expect every thinking +and feeling man to be, it is from deep sorrow and regret +that a man possessed of such noble talents should so +utterly and irretrievably lose himself. In short, I believe +the thing to be as you state it, and therefore Lord Byron +is the object of anything rather than indignation. It is +a cruel pity that such high talents should have been joined +to a mind so wayward and incapable of seeking control +where alone it is to be found, in the quiet discharge of +domestic duties and filling up in peace and affection his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> +station in society. The idea of his ultimately resisting +that which should be fair and honourable to Lady B. did +not come within my view of his character—at least of his +natural character; but I hear that, as you intimated, he +has had execrable advisers. I hardly know a more painful +object of consideration than a man of genius in such a +situation; those of lower minds do not feel the degradation, +and become like pigs, familiarised with the filthy +elements in which they grovel; but it is impossible that +a man of Lord Byron's genius should not often feel the +want of that which he has forfeited—the fair esteem of +those by whom genius most naturally desires to be admired +and cherished.</p> + +<p>I am much obliged to Mrs. Baillie for excluding me in +her general censure of authors; but I should have hoped +for a more general spirit of toleration from my good friend, +who had in her own family and under her own eye such an +exception to her general censure—unless, indeed (which +may not be far from the truth), she supposes that female +genius is more gentle and tractable, though as high in tone +and spirit as that of the masculine sex. But the truth +is, I believe, we will find a great equality when the different +habits of the sexes and the temptations they are +exposed to are taken into consideration. Men early +flattered and coaxed, and told they are fitted for the +higher regions of genius and unfit for anything else,—that +they are a superior kind of automaton and ought to move +by different impulses than others,—indulge their friends +and the public with freaks and caprioles like those of that +worthy knight of La Mancha in the Sierra Morena. And +then, if our man of genius escapes this temptation, how +is he to parry the opposition of the blockheads who join +all their hard heads and horns together to butt him out<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> +of the ordinary pasture, goad him back to Parnassus, and +"bid him on the barren mountain starve." It is amazing +how far this goes, if a man will let it go, in turning him +out of the ordinary course of life into the stream of odd +bodies, so that authors come to be regarded as tumblers, +who are expected to go to church in a summerset, because +they sometimes throw a Catherine-wheel for the amusement +of the public. A man even told me at an election, +thinking I believe he was saying a severe thing, that I was +a poet, and therefore that the subject we were discussing +lay out of my way. I answered as quietly as I could, +that I did not apprehend my having written poetry +rendered me incapable of speaking common sense in prose, +and that I requested the audience to judge of me not by +the nonsense I might have written for their amusement, +but by the sober sense I was endeavouring to speak for +their information, and only expected [of] them, in case +I had ever happened to give any of them pleasure, in a +way which was supposed to require some information and +talent, [that] they would not, for that sole reason, suppose +me incapable of understanding or explaining a point of the +profession for which I had been educated. So I got a +patient and very favourable hearing. But certainly these +great exertions of friends and enemies have forced many a +poor fellow out of the common paths of life, and obliged +him to make a trade of what can only be gracefully +executed as an occasional avocation. When such a man +is encouraged in all his freaks and follies, the bit is taken +out of his mouth, and, as he is turned out upon the +common, he is very apt to deem himself exempt from +all the rules incumbent on those who keep the king's +highway. And so they play fantastic tricks before high +heaven.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span></p> + +<p>The lady authors are not exempt from these vagaries, +being exposed to the same temptations; and all I can +allow Mrs. Baillie in favour of the fair sex is that since +the time of the Aphras and Orindas of Charles II's time, +the authoresses have been ridiculous only, while the +authors have too often been both absurd and vicious. +As to our leal friend Tom Campbell, I have heard stories +of his morbid sensibility chiefly from the Minto family, +with whom he lived for some time, and I think they all +turned on little foolish points of capricious affectation, +which perhaps had no better foundation than an ill-imagined +mode of exhibiting his independence. But +whatever I saw of him myself—and we were often together, +and sometimes for several days—was quite composed +and manly. Indeed, I never worried him to make +him get on his hind legs and spout poetry when he did +not like it. He deserves independence well; and if the +dog which now awakens him to the recollection of his +possessing it, happened formerly to disturb the short +sleep that drowned his recollection of so great a blessing, +there is good reason for enduring the disturbance with +more patience than before.</p> + +<p>But surely, admitting all our temptations and irregularities +there are men of genius enough living to restrain +the mere possession of talent from the charge of disqualifying +the owner for the ordinary occupation and duties +of life. There never were better men, and especially +better husbands, fathers, and real patriots, than Southey +and Wordsworth; they might even be pitched upon as +most exemplary characters. I myself, if I may rank +myself in the list, am, as Hamlet says, indifferent honest, +and at least not worse than an infidel in loving those of +my own house. And I think that generally speaking,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> +authors, like actors, being rather less commonly believed +to be eccentric than was the faith fifty years since, do +conduct themselves as amenable to the ordinary rules of +society.</p> + +<p>This tirade was begun a long time since, but is destined +to be finished at Abbotsford. Your bower is all planted +with its evergreens, but must for seven years retain its +original aspect of a gravel pit.</p> + +<p class='center'>(Rest lost.)</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span></p> +<h2>SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE (1772-1834)</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>It is a strange thing, and could hardly have happened in +any country but England, that there is to this day no +complete collection or edition of the works of Coleridge—one +of the most poetical of our poets, one of the most +important of our critics, and one of the most influential, +if one of the least methodical and conclusive, of our philosophers. +Indeed we never knew what good prose he could +write till the fragments called <i>Anima Poetae</i> were published, +two-thirds of a century after his death. But that no +collected edition of his letters appeared till very shortly +before this is explicable without any difficulty. Coleridge's +temperament was not heroic, and his correspondence as +well as his conduct justified, in regard to much more than +his nonage, the ingenious phrase of an American lady-essayist +that he must have been "a very <i>beatable</i> child." +To a certain extent, however, the correspondence does also +justify our adoption (see <i>Introduction</i>) of the charitable +theory that enlargement of understanding brings about +extension of pardon. And putting this aside, the letters +sometimes give us an idea of what his admittedly marvellous +conversation (or rather monologue) must have been like. +They are not very easy to select from, for their author's +singular tendency to <i>divagation</i> affects them. But they +sometimes display that humour which he undoubtedly +possessed, though his best-known published writings +seldom admit of it: and the divagation itself has its advantages. +In the following Coleridge appears in curiously +different lights. After joking at his own Pantheism he +becomes amazingly practical, for it <i>was</i>, as Scott points<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> +out somewhere, a fault of Southey's to cling to the system +of "half-profits," a fault which often made his enormous +labours altogether unprofitable. "I-rise to I-set" = +"getting-up to bed-time" seems to have been a favourite +quip of his. "Stuart," the Editor of the <i>Morning Post</i> for +which Coleridge was then writing. "The Anthology"—an +<i>Annual</i> one edited by Southey. As for the <i>Anti-Jacobin</i> +libel it was, admirable as was the wit that accompanied it, +utterly indefensible; for it accused Coleridge of having +<i>at this time</i> "left his poor children fatherless and his wife +destitute" (the extraordinary thing is that he actually +did this later!) Of course he never executed the Life of +Lessing.<a name="FNanchor_115_115" id="FNanchor_115_115"></a><a href="#Footnote_115_115" class="fnanchor">[115]</a> "The Wedgwoods" had given him an annuity. +The assault on "Mr. Go<i>b</i>win" is one of poor Hartley +Coleridge's most delightful feats. Had he been a little +older, he might have pointed out to the author of <i>Political +Justice</i> that lecturing his mother for his, Hartley's, fault +was quite unjustifiable: and indeed that objecting to it at +all was improper. The right way (according to that great +work itself) would have been to discuss with Hartley +whether the advantage in physical exercise and animal +spirits derived by him from wielding the nine-pin, outweighed +the pain experienced by Go<i>b</i>win, and so was justifiable +on the total scheme of things. ("Moshes," as indeed +is obvious, was Hartley's pet-name).</p></div> + + +<p class='lheading'>29. <span class="smcap">To Robert Southey</span></p> + +<p class='rindent'> +Tuesday night, 12 o'clock<br /> +(December 24) 1799. </p> + +<p>My dear Southey,</p> + +<p>My Spinosism (if Spinosism it be, and i' faith +'tis very like it) disposed me to consider this +big city as that part of the supreme One which the prophet<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> +Moses was allowed to see—I should be more disposed to +pull off my shoes, beholding Him in a <i>Bush</i>, than while I +am forcing my reason to believe that even in theatres <i>He</i> +is, yea! even in the Opera House. Your "Thalaba" will +beyond all doubt bring you two hundred pounds, if you +will sell it at once; but <i>do</i> not print at a venture, under +the notion of selling the edition. I assure you that +Longman regretted the bargain he made with Cottle +concerning the second edition of the "Joan of Arc," and +is indisposed to similar negotiations; but most and very +eager to have the property of your works at almost any +price. If you have not heard it from Cottle, why, you +may hear it from me, that is, the arrangement of Cottle's +affairs in London. The whole and total copyright of your +"Joan," and the first volume of your poems (exclusive of +what Longman had before given), was taken by him at +three hundred and seventy pounds. You are a strong +swimmer, and have borne up poor Joey with all his leaden +weights about him, his own and other people's! Nothing +has answered to him but your works. By me he has lost +somewhat—by Fox, Amos, and himself <i>very much</i>. I can +sell your "Thalaba" quite as well in your absence as in +your presence. I am employed from I-rise to I-set (that +is, from nine in the morning to twelve at night), a pure +scribbler. My mornings to booksellers' compilations, +after dinner to Stuart, who pays <i>all</i> my expenses here, let +them be what they will; the earnings of the morning go +to make up an hundred and fifty pounds for my year's +expenditure; for, supposing <i>all clear</i>, my year's (1800) +allowance is anticipated. But this I can do by the first of +April (at which time I leave London). For Stuart I write +often his leading paragraphs on Secession, Peace, Essay +on the new French Constitution, Advice to Friends of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> +Freedom, Critiques on Sir W. Anderson's Nose, Odes to +Georgiana D. of D. (horribly misprinted), Christmas +Carols, etc., etc.—anything not bad in the paper, that is +not yours, is mine. So if any verses there strike you as +worthy the "Anthology," "do me the honour, sir!" +However, in the course of a week I <i>do mean</i> to conduct a +series of essays in that paper which may be of public +utility. So much for myself, except that I long to be out +of London; and that my Xstmas Carol is a quaint performance, +and, in as strict a sense as is <i>possible</i>, an +Impromptu, and, had I done all I had planned, that +"Ode to the Duchess" would have been a better thing +than it is—it being somewhat dullish, etc. I have bought +the "Beauties of the Anti-jacobin," and attorneys and +counsellors advise me to prosecute, and offer to undertake +it, so as that I shall have neither trouble or expense. They +say it is a clear case, etc. I will speak to Johnson about +the "Fears in Solitude." If he gives them up they are +yours. That dull ode has been printed often enough, and +may now be allowed to "sink with deep swoop, and to +the bottom <i>go</i>," to quote an admired author; but the +two others will do with a little trimming.</p> + +<p>My dear Southey! I have said nothing concerning that +which most oppresses me. Immediately on my leaving +London I fall to the "Life of Lessing"; till that is done, +till I have given the Wedgwoods some proof that I am +<i>endeavouring</i> to do well for my fellow-creatures, I cannot +stir. That being done, I would accompany you, and see +no impossibility of forming a pleasant little colony for a +few years in Italy or the South of France. Peace will +come soon. God love you, my dear Southey! <i>I</i> would +write to Stuart, and give up his paper immediately. You +should do nothing that did not absolutely <i>please</i> you. Be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> +idle, be very idle! The habits of your mind are such that +you will necessarily do much; but be as idle as you can.</p> + +<p>Our love to dear Edith. If you see Mary, tell her that +we have received our trunk. Hartley is quite well, and +my talkativeness is his, without diminution on my side. +'Tis strange but certainly many things go in the blood, +beside gout and scrophula. Yesterday I dined at Longman's +and met Pratt, and that honest piece of prolix +dullity and nullity, young Towers, who desired to be +remembered to you. To-morrow Sara and I dine at +Mister Gobwin's, as Hartley calls him, who gave the +philosopher such a rap on the shins with a ninepin that +Gobwin in huge pain <i>lectured</i> Sara on his boisterousness. +I was not at home. <i>Est modus in rebus.</i> Moshes is somewhat +too rough and noisy, but the cadaverous silence of +Gobwin's children is to me quite catacombish, and, +thinking of Mary Wollstonecraft, I was oppressed by it the +day Davy and I dined there.</p> + +<p>God love you and</p> + +<p class='rindent'><span class="smcap">S. T. Coleridge.</span></p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_115_115" id="Footnote_115_115"></a><a href="#FNanchor_115_115"><span class="label">[115]</span></a> I cannot remember whether anybody has ever made a list +of the books that Coleridge did not write. It would be the +catalogue of a most interesting library in Utopia.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span></p> +<h2>ROBERT SOUTHEY (1774-1843)</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>One of the strangest things met by the present writer +in the course of preparing this book was a remark of the +late Mr. Scoones—an old acquaintance and a man who has +deserved most excellently on the subject—in reference to +Southey's letters, that they show the author as "dry and +unsympathetic." "They contain too much information +to be good as letters." Well: there certainly is information +in the specimen that follows: whether it is "dry" or not +readers must decide. The fact is that Southey, despite +occasional touches of self-righteousness and of over-bookishness, +was full of humour, extraordinarily affectionate, +and extremely natural. There is moreover a great deal +of interest in this skit on poor Mrs. Coleridge: for "lingos" +of the kind, though in her case they may have helped to +disgust her husband with his "pensive Sara," were in her +time and afterwards by no means uncommon, especially—physiologists +must say why—with the female sex. The +present writer, near the middle of the nineteenth century, +knew a lady of family, position and property who was fond +of the phrase, "hail-fellow-well-met," but always turned +it into "Fellowship Wilmot"—a pretty close parallel to +"horsemangander" for "horse-godmother". Extension—with +levelling—of education, and such processes as those +which have turned "Sissiter" into "Syrencesster" and +"Kirton" into "Credd-itt-on", have made the phenomenon +rarer: but have also made such a <i>locus classicus</i> of the +habit as this all the more valuable and amusing. It may +be added that Lamb, in one of his letters, has a sly if good-natured +glance at this peculiarity of the elder Sara Coleridge +in reference to the aptitude of the younger in her "<i>mother</i>-tongue."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> +Southey has dealt with the matter in several +epistles to his friend Grosvenor Bedford. The whole would +have been rather long but the following mosaic will, I think, +do very well. Dr. Warter, the editor of the supplementary +collection of Southey's letters from which it comes, was +the husband of Edith May Southey, the heroine of not a +little literature, sometimes<a name="FNanchor_116_116" id="FNanchor_116_116"></a><a href="#Footnote_116_116" class="fnanchor">[116]</a> in connection, not merely as +here with Sara Coleridge the younger, but with Dora +Wordsworth—the three daughters of the three Lake Poets. +She was, as her father says, a very tall girl, while her aunt, +Mrs. Coleridge, was little (her husband, writing from Hamburg, +speaks with surprise of some German lady as "smaller +than you are").</p></div> + + +<p class='lheading'>30. <span class="smcap">To Grosvenor C. Bedford Esq</span>:</p> + +<p class='rindent'><span class="smcap">Keswick</span>, Sep. 14, 1821</p> + +<p>Dear Stumparumper,</p> + +<p>Don't rub your eyes at that word, Bedford, +as if you were slopy. The purport of this +letter, which is to be as precious as the Punic scenes in +Plautus, is to give you some account (though but an +imperfect one) of the language spoken in this house by ... +and invented by her. I have carefully composed a +vocabulary of it by the help of her daughter and mine, +having my ivory tablets always ready when she is red-raggifying +in full confabulumpatus.</p> + + +<p class='lheading'>31. <span class="smcap">To Grosvenor C. Bedford Esq</span>:</p> + +<p class='rindent'><span class="smcap">Keswick</span>, Oct. 7, 1821.</p> + +<p>My dear G,</p> + +<p>I very much approve your laudable +curiosity to know the precise meaning of that +noble word <i>horsemangandering</i>. Before I tell you its<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> +application, you must be informed of its history and +origin. Be it therefore known unto you that ... the +whole and sole inventor of the never-to-be-forgotten <i>lingo +grande</i> (in which, by the bye, I purpose ere long to compose +a second epistle), thought proper one day to call my +daughter a great <i>horsemangander</i>, thinking, I suppose, that +that appellation contained as much unfeminine meaning +as could be put into any decent compound. From this +substantive the verb has been formed to denote an operation +performed by the said daughter upon the said aunt, +of which I was an astonished spectator. The horsemangander—that +is to say, Edith May—being tall and strong, +came behind the person to be horsemangandered (to wit, +...), and took her round the waist, under the arms, then +jumped with her all the way from the kitchen into the +middle of the parlour; the motion of the horsemangandered +person at every jump being something like that +of a paviour's rammer, and all resistance impossible.</p> + + +<p class='lheading'>32. <span class="smcap">To Grosvenor C. Bedford Esq</span>:</p> + +<p class='rindent'><span class="smcap">Keswick</span>, Oct. 8, 1821.</p> + +<p class='center'>* * * +* *</p> + +<p>P.S. The name of the newly-discovered language (of +which I have more to say hereafter) is the <i>lingo grande</i>.</p> + + +<p class='lheading'>33. <span class="smcap">To Grosvenor C. Bedford Esq</span>:</p> + +<p class='rindent'><span class="smcap">Keswick</span>, Dec. 24, 1822</p> + +<p>Dear Stumparumper,</p> + +<p>So long a time has elapsed since I sent you +the commencement of my remarks upon the +peculiar language spoken by ... which I have denominated +the <span class="smcap">lingo-grande</span>, that I fear you may suppose<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> +that I have altogether neglected the subject. Yet such +a subject, as you must perceive, requires a great deal of +patient observation, as well as of attentive consideration; +and were I to flustercumhurry over it, as if it were a matter +which could be undercumstood in a jiffump (that is to say +in a momper), this would be to do what I have undertaken +shabroonily, and you might shartainly have reason to +think me fuffling and indiscruckt. Upon my vurtz I have +not dumdawdled with it, like a dangleampeter; which +being interpreted in the same <i>lingo</i> is an undecider, or an +improvidentur, too idle to explore the hurtch mine which +he has had the fortune to discover. No, I must be a +stupossum indeed to act thus, as well as a slouwdowdekcum, +or slowdonothinger; and these are appellations +which she has never bestowed upon me; though, perhaps, +the uncommon richness, and even exuberance of her +language has not been more strikingly displayed in anything +than in the variety of names which it has enabled +her to shower upon my devoted person.</p> + +<p class='center'>* * * +* *</p> + +<p> +And so-o-o,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Dear Miscumter Bedfordiddlededford,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">I subcumscribe myself,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Your sincumcere friendiddledend and serdiddledeservant,</span></p> +<p class='rindent'><span class="smcap">Robcumbert Southey diddiedouthey</span>.</p> + + +<p>Student in the Lingo-Grande, Graduate in Butlerology, +Professor of the science of Noncumsensediddledense, of +sneezing and of vocal music, P.L. and LL.D. etc etc.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_116_116" id="Footnote_116_116"></a><a href="#FNanchor_116_116"><span class="label">[116]</span></a> See Wordsworth's <i>Triad</i>.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHARLES LAMB (1775-1834)</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>There are not many people about whom it is more difficult—or +more unnecessary—to write than it is about Lamb. A +few very unfortunate people do not enjoy him, and probably +never could be made to do so. Most of those who care for +literature at all revel in him: and do not in the least need +to be told to do so. And, as was said before, there is hardly +any difference between his published works and his letters +except that the former stand a little—a very little—more +"upon ceremony." As to selecting the letters one remembers +Mr. Matthew Arnold's very agreeable confession, when he +was asked to select his poems, that he wanted to select them +all. This being impossible, one has to confess that, putting +subject, scale etc. aside, any one is almost as tempting as +any other, and that whatever is chosen reminds one, half-regretfully, +of the letters that were left. When a man can +write (to William Wordsworth too), "The very head and +sum of the girlery were two young girls," there is nothing left +to do but to repeat, with the slight alteration of "write to" +for "ask," Thackeray's ejaculation to the supposed host +at an unusually satisfactory dinner, "Dear Sir! do <i>ask</i> +us again." And on almost every page of his letters, whether +in Talfourd's original issue of them or in the more recent +and fuller editions of his works, the spirit is the same everywhere: +the volume only differs. If (but you never know +exactly when Lamb is speaking seriously) at the time he +had "an aversion from letter writing," then most certainly +Mrs. Malaprop was justified in saying that there "is nothing +like beginning with a little aversion"! The letter which +follows is, though it may have pleased others besides myself,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> +not one of the stock examples. But it seems to me to +present a rather unusual combination of Lamb's attractive +qualities, not a little of his rare phrase ("divine plain face" +especially) and a remarkable expression of that yearning +for <i>solitude</i> which some people seem to think rather shameful, +but which to others is a thing no more to be accounted for +than it is to be got rid of. It will be observed that the +letter, ostensibly to Mrs. W., is really both to her and to +her husband. "W. H." is of course Hazlitt, and the +"lectures" are his famous ones on English Poets. As for +Lamb's criticisms on lectures generally, they would perhaps +be endorsed by some who have given, as well as by many +who have received, this form of instruction. The "gentleman +at Haydon's" was the hero or victim of a story good, +but too long to give here. He said some excessively +foolish things and Lamb, after dinner, behaved to him in a +fashion possibly not quite undeserved but entirely unsanctioned +by the conventions of society.</p></div> + + +<p class='lheading'>34. <span class="smcap">To Mrs. Wordsworth</span></p> + +<p class='rindent'> +East India House. <br /> +February 18, 1818.</p> + +<p>My dear Mrs. Wordsworth,</p> + +<p>I have repeatedly taken pen in hand to +answer your kind letter. My sister should more +properly have done it, but she having failed, I consider +myself answerable for her debts. I am now trying to do +it in the midst of commercial noises, and with a quill +which seems more ready to glide into arithmetical figures +and names of gourds, cassia, cardamoms, aloes, ginger, or +tea, than into kindly responses and friendly recollections. +The reason why I cannot write letters at home is, that I +am never alone. Plato's (I write to W. W. now)—Plato's +double animal parted never longed more to be reciprocally<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> +re-united in the system of its first creation than I sometimes +do to be but for a moment single and separate. +Except my morning's walk to the office, which is like +treading on sands of gold for that reason, I am never so. +I cannot walk home from office but some officious friend +offers his unwelcome courtesies to accompany me. All +the morning I am pestered. I could sit and gravely cast +up sums in great books, or compare sum with sum, and +write "paid" against this, and "unpaid" against t'other, +and yet reserve in some corner of my mind "some darling +thoughts all my own,"—faint memory of some passage in +a book, or the tone of an absent friend's voice—a snatch of +Miss Burrell's singing, or a gleam of Fanny Kelly's divine +plain face. The two operations might be going on at the +same time without thwarting, as the sun's two motions +(earth's I mean), or as I sometimes turn round till I am +giddy, in my back parlour, while my sister is walking +longitudinally in the front; or as the shoulder of veal +twists round with the spit, while the smoke wreathes up +the chimney. But there are a set of amateurs of the +Belles Lettres—the gay science—who come to me as a +sort of rendezvous, putting questions of criticism, of +British Institutions, Lalla Rookhs, etc,—what Coleridge +said at the lecture last night—who have the form of +reading men, but, for any possible use reading can be to +them, but to talk of, might as well have been Ante-Cadmeans +born, or have lain sucking out the sense of an +Egyptian hieroglyph as long as the pyramids will last, +before they should find it. These pests worrit me at +business, and in all its intervals, perplexing my accounts, +poisoning my little salutary warming-time at the fire, +puzzling my paragraphs if I take a newspaper, cramming +in between my own free thoughts and a column of figures<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> +which had come to an amicable compromise but for them. +Their noise ended, one of them, as I said, accompanies me +home, lest I should be solitary for a moment; he at +length takes his welcome leave at the door; up I go, +mutton on table, hungry as hunter, hope to forget my +cares, and bury them in the agreeable abstraction of +mastication; knock at the door, in comes Mr. Hazlitt, +or Mr. Martin Burney, or Morgan Demigorgon, or my +brother, or somebody, to prevent my eating alone—a +process absolutely necessary to my poor wretched digestion. +O the pleasure of eating alone!—eating my dinner +alone! let me think of it. But in they come, and make it +absolutely necessary that I should open a bottle of orange; +for my meat turns into stone when any one dines with me, +if I have not wine. Wine can mollify stones; then <i>that</i> +wine turns into acidity, acerbity, misanthropy, a hatred +of my interrupters—(God bless 'em! I love some of 'em +dearly), and with the hatred, a still greater aversion to +their going away. Bad is the dead sea they bring upon me, +choking and deadening, but worse is the deader dry sand +they leave me on, if they go before bed-time. Come never, +I would say to those spoilers of my dinner; but if you +come, never go! The fact is, this interruption does not +happen very often; but every time it comes by surprise, +that present bane of my life, orange wine, with all its +dreary stifling consequences, follows. Evening company +I should always like had I any mornings, but I am +saturated with human faces (<i>divine</i> forsooth!) and voices +all the golden morning; and five evenings in a week would +be as much as I should covet to be in company; but I +assure you that is a wonderful week in which I can get +two, or one to myself. I am never C. L. but always +C. L. and Co. He who thought it not good for man to be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> +alone, preserve me from the more prodigious monstrosity +of being never by myself! I forget bed-time, but even +there these sociable frogs clamber up to annoy me. Once +a week, generally some singular evening that, being alone, +I go to bed at the hour I ought always to be a-bed; just +close to my bedroom window is the club-room of a public-house, +where a set of singers, I take them to be chorus-singers +of the two theatres (it must be both of them), +begin their orgies. They are a set of fellows (as I conceive) +who, being limited by their talents to the burthen of the +song at the play-houses, in revenge have got the common +popular airs by Bishop, or some cheap composer, arranged +for choruses; that is, to be sung all in chorus. At least +I never can catch any of the text of the plain song, nothing +but the Babylonish choral howl at the tail on't. "That +fury being quenched"—the howl, I mean—a burden +succeeds of shouts and clapping, and knocking of the table. +At length overtasked nature drops under it, and escapes +for a few hours into the society of the sweet silent creatures +of dreams, which go away with mocks and mows at cockcrow. +And then I think of the words Christabel's father +used (bless me, I have dipt in the wrong ink!) to say every +morning by way of variety when he awoke:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Every knell, the Baron saith,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wakes us up to a world of death"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>or something like it. All I mean by this senseless interrupted +tale, is, that by my central situation I am a little +over-companied. Not that I have any animosity against +the good creatures that are so anxious to drive away the +harpy solitude from me. I like 'em, and cards, and a +cheerful glass; but I mean merely to give you an idea, +between office confinement and after-office society, how<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> +little time I can call my own. I mean only to draw a +picture, not to make an inference. I would not that I +know of have it otherwise. I only wish sometimes I +could exchange some of my faces and voices for the faces +and voices which a late visitation brought most welcome, +and carried away, leaving regret, but more pleasure, even +a kind of gratitude, at being so often favoured with that +kind northern visitation. My London faces and noises +don't hear me—I mean no disrespect, or I should explain +myself, that instead of their return 220 times a year, and +the return of W. W. etc., seven times in 104 weeks, some +more equal distribution might be found. I have scarce +room to put in Mary's kind love, and my poor name,</p> + +<p class='rindent'>C. <span class="smcap">Lamb</span>.</p> + +<p class='center'>* * * +* *</p> + +<p>W. H. goes on lecturing against W. W. and making +copious use of quotations from said W. W. to give a zest +to said lectures. S. T. C. is lecturing with success. I have +not heard either of him or H., but dined with S. T. C. at +Gillman's a Sunday or two since, and he was well and in +good spirits. I mean to hear some of the course but +lectures are not much to my taste, whatever the +lecturer may be. If <i>read</i>, they are dismal flat, and you +can't think why you are brought together to hear a man +read his works, which you could read so much better at +leisure yourself. If delivered extempore I am always in +pain lest the gift of utterance should suddenly fail the +orator in the middle, as it did me at the dinner given in +honour of me at the London tavern.<a name="FNanchor_117_117" id="FNanchor_117_117"></a><a href="#Footnote_117_117" class="fnanchor">[117]</a> "Gentlemen," said I,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> +and there I stopped; the rest my feelings were under the +necessity of supplying. Mrs. Wordsworth <i>will</i> go on, +kindly haunting us with visions of seeing the lakes once +more, which never can be realised. Between us there is +a great gulf, not of inexplicable moral antipathies and +distances, I hope, as there seemed to be between me and +that gentleman concerned in the Stamp Office, that I so +strangely recoiled from at Haydon's. I think I had an +instinct that he was the head of an office. I hate all such +people—accountants' deputy-accountants. The dear +abstract notion of the East India Company, as long as +she is unseen, is pretty, rather poetical; but as she makes +herself manifest by the persons of such beasts, I loathe +and detest her as the scarlet what-do-you-call-her of +Babylon. I thought, after abridging us of all our red-letter +days, they had done their worst; but I was deceived +in the length to which heads of offices, those true liberty-haters, +can go. They are the tyrants; not Ferdinand, nor +Nero. By a decree passed this week they have abridged +us of the immemorially-observed custom of going at one +o'clock of a Saturday, the little shadow of a holiday left +us. Dear W. W., be thankful for liberty.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_117_117" id="Footnote_117_117"></a><a href="#FNanchor_117_117"><span class="label">[117]</span></a> Lamb would have enjoyed a recent newspaper paragraph +which, stating that an inquest had been held on some one who, +after lecturing somewhere was taken ill and expired, concluded +thus: "Verdict: death from natural causes."</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span></p> +<h2>GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON (1788-1824)</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>It is one of the commonest of commonplaces that there +are certain subjects and persons who and which always +cause difference of opinion: and something like a full +century has established the fact that Byron is one of them. +As far as his poetry is concerned we have nothing to do +with this difference or these differences. They affect his +letters less, inasmuch as almost everybody admits them to +be remarkably good of their kind. But when the further +questions are raised, "What <i>is</i> that kind?" and "Is it +the best, or even a very good kind?" the old division +manifests itself again. That they are extraordinarily <i>clever</i> +is again more or less matter of agreement. That they make +some people dislike him more than they otherwise might +is perhaps not a fatal objection: for the people may be +wrong. Besides, as a matter of fact, they sometimes make +other people <i>like</i> him more than they would have done +without these letters: so the two things at least cancel +each other. The chief objection to them, which is hardly +removable, is their too frequent artificiality. Byron did +not play the tricks that Pope played: for, he was not, like +Pope, an invalid with an invalid's weaknesses and excuses. +But almost more than in his poems, where the "dramatic" +excuse is available, (<i>i.e.</i> that the writer is speaking not for +himself but for the character) the letters provoke the +question, "Is this what the man thought, felt, did, or what +he wished to seem to feel, think, do?" In other words, +"Is this <i>persona</i> or <i>res</i>?" The following shows Byron in +perhaps as favourable a light as any that could be chosen, +and with as little of the artificiality as is anywhere to be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> +found. It is true that even here Moore, his biographer and +letter-giver, at first included, though he afterwards cut out, +some attacks on Sir Samuel Romilly, whom Byron thought +guilty of causing or abetting dissension between Lady +Byron and himself. But the letter loses nothing by the +omission and does not even gain unfairly by it. There is +nothing <i>false</i> in the contrast of comedy and sentiment +concerning the cemetery. His impression by the epitaphs +Byron gave in more letters than one. Nor is there any +affectation in his remarks about his own burial, about his +children, or any other subject. They did "pickle him and +bring him home" (a quotation, not quite literal, from +Sheridan's <i>Rivals</i>), and his funeral procession through +London is the theme of a memorable passage in Borrow's +<i>Lavengro</i>. "Juan" is of course <i>Don Juan</i>. "Allegra," his +daughter by Jane (or as she re-christened herself, Claire) +Clairmont—step-daughter of Godwin, through his second +wife, and so a connection though no relation of Mrs. Shelley—died +at five years old. "Ada," his and Lady Byron's +only child, lived to marry Lord Lovelace, and continued +his blood to the present day. "Electra" works out no +further than the fact of her being the daughter of his +"<i>moral</i> Clytemnestra," as he called Lady Byron, from her +having been almost as fatal to his reputation as the actual +Clytemnestra to her husband's life.</p></div> + + +<p class='lheading'>35. <span class="smcap">To Mr. Murray</span></p> + +<p class='rindent'>Bologna, June 7. 1817.</p> + +<p>Tell Mr. Hobhouse that I wrote to him a few days +ago from Ferrara. It will therefore be idle in +him or you to wait for any further answers or +returns of proofs from Venice, as I have directed that no +English letters be sent after me. The publication can be +proceeded in without, and I am already sick of your +remarks, to which I think not the least attention ought to +be paid.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span></p> + +<p>Tell Mr. Hobhouse that since I wrote to him I had +availed myself of my Ferrara letters, and found the +society much younger and better than that at Venice. I +am very much pleased with the little the shortness of +my stay permitted me to see of the Gonfaloniere Count +Mosti, and his family and friends in general.</p> + +<p>I have been picture-gazing this morning at the famous +Domenichino and Guido, both of which are superlative. +I afterwards went to the beautiful cemetery of Bologna, +beyond the walls and found, besides the superb burial +ground, an original of a Custode, who reminded me of the +gravedigger in <i>Hamlet</i>.</p> + +<p>He has a collection of capuchins' skulls, labelled on the +forehead, and taking down one of them said "This is +Brother Desiderio Birro, who died at forty—one of my +best friends. I begged his head of his brethren after his +decease, and they gave it me. I put it in lime and then +boiled it. Here it is, teeth and all, in excellent preservation. +He was the merriest, cleverest fellow I ever knew. +Wherever he went he brought joy, and whenever anyone +was melancholy, the sight of him was enough to make +him cheerful again. He walked so actively, you might +have taken him for a dancer—he joked—he laughed—oh! +he was such a Frate as I never saw before, nor ever +shall again!"</p> + +<p>He told me that he had himself planted all the cypresses +in the cemetery; that he had the greatest attachment to +them and to his dead people; that since 1801 they had +buried fifty-three thousand persons. In showing some +older monuments, there was that of a Roman girl of +twenty, with a bust by Bernini. She was a princess +Bartorini, dead two centuries ago: he said that, on +opening her grave, they had found her hair complete, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> +"as yellow as gold."<a name="FNanchor_118_118" id="FNanchor_118_118"></a><a href="#Footnote_118_118" class="fnanchor">[118]</a> Some of the epitaphs at Ferrara +pleased me more than the more splendid monuments at +Bologna; for instance:—</p> + +<p class='center'> +"MARTINI LUIGI<br /> +IMPLORA PACE."</p> + +<p class='center'> +"LUCREZIA PICINI<br /> +IMPLORA ETERNA QUIETE."</p> + +<p>Can anything be more full of pathos? Those few words +say all that can be said or sought, the dead had had +enough of life; all they wanted was rest, and this they +<i>implore</i>!</p> + +<p>There is all the helplessness and humble hope, and +deathlike prayer, that can arise from the grave—'implora +pace.' I hope, whoever may survive me, and shall see +me put in the foreigners' burying-ground at the Lido, +within the fortress by the Adriatic, will see those two +words, and no more, put over me. I trust they won't +think of "pickling, and bringing me home to clod or +Blunderbuss Hall." I am sure my bones would not rest +in an English grave, or my clay mix with the earth of that +country. I believe the thought would drive me mad on +my death-bed, could I suppose that any of my friends +would be base enough to convey my carcass back to your +soil. I would not even feed your worms if I could help it.</p> + +<p>So, as Shakespeare says of Mowbray, the banished +Duke of Norfolk, who died at Venice (see <i>Richard II.</i>), that +he, after fighting</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Against black Pagans, Turks and Saracens,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And toiled with works of war, retired himself<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> +<span class="i0">To Italy, and there, at <i>Venice</i>, gave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His body to that <i>pleasant</i> country's earth.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his pure soul unto his captain, Christ,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Under whose colours he had fought so long!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Before I left Venice, I had returned to you your late, +and Mr. Hobhouse's sheets of Juan. Don't wait for +further answers from me, but address yours to Venice as +usual. I know nothing of my own movements; I may +return there in a few days, or not for some time. All this +depends on circumstances. I left Mr. Hoppner very well, +as well as his son and Mrs. Hoppner. My daughter +Allegra was well too, and is growing pretty; her hair is +growing darker, and her eyes are blue. Her temper and +her ways, Mrs. H. says, are like mine, as well as her +features: she will make, in that case, a manageable young +lady.</p> + +<p>I have never heard anything of Ada, the little Electra +of my Mycenae. But there will come a day of reckoning, +even if I should not live to see it. What a long letter I +have scribbled.</p> + +<p class='lindent2'>Yours &c.</p> + +<p>P.S. Here, as in Greece, they strew flowers on the +tombs. I saw a quantity of rose-leaves, and entire roses, +scattered over the graves at Ferrara. It has the most +pleasing effect you can imagine.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_118_118" id="Footnote_118_118"></a><a href="#FNanchor_118_118"><span class="label">[118]</span></a> No one who has seen the Roman girl's hair at York, nearer +two thousand than two hundred years old, will doubt this, though +<i>her</i> tresses are not "yellow."</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span></p> +<h2>PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY (1792-1822)</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>It may sometimes seem as if there were only two things +that Shelley lacked—humour and common sense. As a +matter of fact he possessed both, but allowed them to be +perpetually stifled by other elements—not in themselves +necessarily bad—of his character. If either—still better +both—had been able to constitute themselves monarchs of +his Brentford, Duumvirs of the rest, his political and +religious extravagances would have been curbed; his less +admirable actions would probably—for he would not have +married and therefore would not have deserted poor Harriet—have +been obviated; and it is by no means necessary +that his poetry, though it could not have been much improved, +should have been in any degree worsened. Shakespeare, +one thinks, had plenty of both. Nor is this consideration +irrelevant to the study of his letters. There are +glimmerings of the humour which shines in <i>Peter Bell the +Third</i>, and more of the common sense which is not needed, +but by no means negatived, in the sublimer poems. But in +the case suggested we should certainly have had more of +them in a department than which they could have found +no better home. Shelley wrote everything (after his +intellectual infancy) that he did write, so excellently that +he must have excelled here also. As it is, we must take +him as we find him and be thankful. Since he wrote the +following, English readers have perhaps been satiated with +writings about Art. But rather more than 100 years ago +there had been comparatively little of it and hardly anything, +if anything at all, of this quality. And it may not +be absurd to draw attention to the differences between<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> +these descriptions and those in ornate prose that we have +had since from Mr. Ruskin and others. Most of the latter +are essentially prose though often very beautiful prose: +Shelley's, though pure prose in form, are as it were scenarios +for poetry. Indeed by this time poetry had taken almost +entire possession of him, and he of her.</p></div> + + +<p class='lheading'>36. <span class="smcap">To Thomas Love Peacock</span></p> + +<p class='rindent'> +<span class="smcap">Bologna</span>, <br /> +Monday, Nov[ember] 9, 1818.</p> + +<p>My dear Peacock,</p> + +<p>I have seen a quantity of things here—churches, +palaces, statues, fountains, and +pictures; and my brain is at this moment like a portfolio +of an architect, or a print-shop, or a commonplace-book, +I will try to recollect something of what I have seen; for, +indeed, it requires, if it will obey, an act of volition. First, +we went to the cathedral, which contains nothing remarkable, +except a kind of shrine, or rather a marble canopy, +loaded with sculptures, and supported on four marble +columns. We went then to a palace—I am sure I forget +the name of it—where we saw a large gallery of pictures. +Of course, in a picture gallery you see three hundred +pictures you forget, for one you remember. I remember, +however, an interesting picture by Guido, of +the Rape of Proserpine, in which Proserpine casts back +her languid and half-unwilling eyes, as it were, to the +flowers she had left ungathered in the fields of Enna. +There was an exquisitely executed piece of Correggio, +about four saints, one of whom seemed to have a pet +dragon in a leash. I was told that it was the devil who +was bound in that style—but who can make anything of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> +four saints? For what can they be supposed to be about? +There was one painting, indeed, by this master, Christ +beatified, inexpressibly fine. It is a half figure, seated on +a mass of clouds, tinged with an ethereal, rose-like lustre; +the arms are expanded; the whole frame seems dilated +with expression; the countenance is heavy, as it were, +with the weight of the rapture of the spirit; the lips +parted, but scarcely parted, with the breath of intense but +regulated passion; the eyes are calm and benignant; the +whole features harmonised in majesty and sweetness. The +hair is parted on the forehead, and falls in heavy locks on +each side. It is motionless, but seems as if the faintest +breath would move it. The colouring, I suppose, must +be very good, if I could remark and understand it. The +sky is of pale aërial orange, like the tints of latest sunset; +it does not seem painted around and beyond the figure, +but everything seems to have absorbed, and to have been +penetrated by its hues. I do not think we saw any other +of Correggio, but this specimen gives me a very exalted +idea of his powers.</p> + +<p>We went to see heaven knows how many more palaces—Ranuzzi, +Marriscalchi, Aldobrandi. If you want Italian +names for any purpose, here they are; I should be glad +of them if I was writing a novel. I saw many more of +Guido. One, a Samson drinking water out of an ass's +jaw-bone, in the midst of the slaughtered Philistines. +Why he is supposed to do this, God, who gave him this +jaw-bone, alone knows—but certain it is, that the painting +is a very fine one. The figure of Samson stands in strong +relief in the foreground, coloured, as it were, in the hues +of human life, and full of strength and elegance. Round +him lie the Philistines in all the attitudes of death. One +prone, with the slight convulsion of pain just passing from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> +his forehead, whilst on his lips and chin death lies as heavy +as sleep. Another leaning on his arm, with his hand, +white and motionless, hanging out beyond. In the +distance, more dead bodies; and, still further beyond, +the blue sea and the blue mountains, and one white and +tranquil sail.</p> + +<p>There is a Murder of the Innocents, also, by Guido, +finely coloured, with much fine expression—but the subject +is very horrible, and it seemed deficient in strength—at +least, you require the highest ideal energy, the most +poetical and exalted conception of the subject, to reconcile +you to such a contemplation. There was a Jesus Christ +crucified, by the same, very fine. One gets tired, indeed, +whatever may be the conception and execution of it, of +seeing that monotonous and agonised form for ever +exhibited in one prescriptive attitude of torture. But the +Magdalen, clinging to the cross with the look of passive +and gentle despair beaming from beneath her bright flaxen +hair, and the figure of St. John, with his looks uplifted in +passionate compassion; his hands clasped, and his fingers +twisting themselves together, as it were, with involuntary +anguish; his feet almost writhing up from the ground +with the same sympathy; and the whole of this arrayed +in colours of diviner nature, yet most like nature's self. +Of the contemplation of this one would never weary.</p> + +<p>There was a "Fortune," too, of Guido; a piece of mere +beauty. There was the figure of Fortune on a globe, +eagerly proceeding onwards, and Love was trying to catch +her back by the hair, and her face was half turned towards +him; her long chestnut hair was floating in the stream +of the wind, and threw its shadow over her fair forehead. +Her hazel eyes were fixed on her pursuer, with a meaning +look of playfulness, and a light smile was hovering on her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> +lips. The colours which arrayed her delicate limbs were +ethereal and warm.</p> + +<p>But, perhaps, the most interesting of all the pictures of +Guido which I saw was a Madonna Lattante. She is +leaning over her child, and the maternal feelings with which +she is pervaded are shadowed forth on her soft and gentle +countenance, and in her simple and affectionate gestures—there +is what an unfeeling observer would call a dulness in +the expression of her face; her eyes are almost closed; +her lip depressed; there is a serious, and even a heavy +relaxation, as it were, of all the muscles which are called +into action by ordinary emotions: but it is only as if the +spirit of love, almost insupportable from its intensity, were +brooding over and weighing down the soul, or whatever it +is, without which the material frame is inanimate and +inexpressive.</p> + +<p>There is another painter here, called Franceschini, a +Bolognese, who, though certainly very inferior to Guido, +is yet a person of excellent powers. One entire church, +that of Santa Catarina, is covered by his works. I do not +know whether any of his pictures have ever been seen in +England. His colouring is less warm than that of Guido, +but nothing can be more clear and delicate; it is as if he +could have dipped his pencil in the hues of some serenest +and star-shining twilight. His forms have the same +delicacy and aërial loveliness; their eyes are all bright +with innocence and love; their lips scarce divided by some +gentle and sweet emotion. His winged children are the +loveliest ideal beings ever created by the human mind. +These are generally, whether in the capacity of Cherubim +or Cupid, accessories to the rest of the picture; and the +underplot of their lovely and infantine play is something +almost pathetic from the excess of its unpretending beauty.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> +One of the best of his pieces is an Annunciation of the +Virgin:—the Angel is beaming in beauty; the Virgin, +soft, retiring, and simple.</p> + +<p>We saw, besides, one picture of Raphael—St. Cecilia: +this is in another and higher style; you forget that it is a +picture as you look at it; and yet it is most unlike any of +those things which we call reality. It is of the inspired +and ideal kind, and seems to have been conceived and +executed in a similar state of feeling to that which produced +among the ancients those perfect specimens of +poetry and sculpture which are the baffling models of +succeeding generations. There is a unity and a perfection +in it of an incommunicable kind. The central figure, St. +Cecilia, seems rapt in such inspiration as produced her +image in the painter's mind; her deep, dark, eloquent +eyes lifted up; her chestnut hair flung back from her forehead—she +holds an organ in her hands—her countenance, +as it were, calmed by the depth of its passion and rapture, +and penetrated throughout with the warm and radiant +light of life. She is listening to the music of heaven, and, +as I imagine, has just ceased to sing, for the four figures +that surround her evidently point, by their attitudes, +towards her; particularly St. John, who, with a tender +yet impassioned gesture, bends his countenance towards +her, languid with the depth of his emotion. At her feet +lie various instruments of music, broken and unstrung. +Of the colouring I do not speak; it eclipses nature, yet it +has all her truth and softness.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span></p> +<h2>JOHN KEATS (1795-1821)</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>A good deal has already been said of Keats in the Introduction; +but a little more may be pardoned on that most +remarkable correspondence with his brother and sister-in-law +which is there mentioned, and which it is hoped may +be fairly sampled here. There is nothing quite like it: +and one can only be thankful to the Atlantic (which here at +least can have "disappointed" nobody worth mentioning) +for causing the separation that brought it about. The +inspirations which it shows were happily double. We do +not know very much about George Keats, but John's +family affection was of the keenest, and this was the only +member of the family who was, in all the circumstances, +likely to sympathise thoroughly with the poet in his poetry +as in other things. Georgiana is said to have been personally +attractive and mentally gifted beyond the common: and +there is no doubt that this excited something more than +mere family devotion in such an impressionable person as +Keats. The combined reagency of these relatives has given +us what we have from no other English poet—for the simple +reason that no other English poet has had such a chance of +giving it to us. The only thing to regret is that it could +not continue longer: and that is only a necessary operation +of Fate. The particular passage chosen here is one of the +best known perhaps, but it is also one of the most illuminating: +for it gives at once Keats's natural and simple +interest in ordinary things, with no mere trivialities: his +<i>real</i> attitude (so different from that long attributed to him!) +as regards the attacks of critics, and his passion for beauty +apart from mere hedonism. The "Charmian" was at one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> +time supposed to be Miss Brawne: but this was an error. +She was a Miss Jane Cox, and nothing is heard of her +afterwards.</p></div> + + +<p class='lheading'>37. <span class="smcap">To George and Georgiana Keats</span></p> + +<p class='rindent'>[October 14 or 15, 1818]</p> + +<p>I came by ship from Inverness, and was nine days at +Sea without being sick. A little qualm now and then +put me in mind of you; however, as soon as you +touch the shore, all the horrors of sickness are soon forgotten, +as was the case with a lady on board, who could +not hold her head up all the way. We had not been in the +Thames an hour before her tongue began to some tune—paying +off, as it was fit she should, all old scores. I was +the only Englishman on board. There was a downright +Scotchman, who, hearing that there had been a bad crop +of potatoes in England, had brought some triumphant +specimens from Scotland. These he exhibited with +national pride to all the ignorant lightermen and watermen +from the Nore to the Bridge. I fed upon beef all +the way; not being able to eat the thick porridge which +the Ladies managed to manage, with large, awkward, horn +spoons into the bargain. Reynolds has returned from a +six-weeks' enjoyment in Devonshire; he is well, and +persuades me to publish my "Pot of Basil" as an answer +to the attacks made on me in "Blackwood's Magazine" +and the "Quarterly Review." There have been two +Letters in my defence in the Chronicle and one in the +Examiner, copied from the Exeter Paper, and written +by Reynolds. I do not know who wrote those in the +Chronicle. This is a mere matter of the moment—I +think I shall be among the English Poets after my death.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> +Even as a Matter of present interest the attempt to crush +me in the "Quarterly" has only brought me more into +notice, and it is a common expression among book-men, +"I wonder the Quarterly should cut its own throat." It +does me not the least harm in Society to make me appear +little and ridiculous: I know when a man is superior to +me and give him all due respect; he will be the last +to laugh at me; and as for the rest I feel that I make an +impression upon them which insures me personal respect +while I am in sight, whatever they may say when my +back is turned.</p> + +<p>The Misses —— are very kind to me, but they have +lately displeased me much, and in this way: Now I am +coming the Richardson! On my return, the first day +I called, they were in a sort of taking or bustle about a +Cousin of theirs, who, having fallen out with her Grandpapa +in a serious manner, was invited by Mrs. —— to take +asylum in her house. She is an East-Indian, and ought +to be her grandfather's heir. At the time I called, Mrs. +—— was in conference with her upstairs, and the young +ladies were warm in her praises downstairs, calling her +genteel, interesting and a thousand other pretty things to +which I gave no heed, not being partial to nine-days' +wonders—Now all is completely changed—they hate her, +and from what I hear she is not without faults of a real +kind: but she has others, which are more apt to make +women of inferior charms hate her. She is not a Cleopatra, +but is, at least, a Charmian. She has a rich Eastern +look; she has fine eyes and fine manners. When she +comes into the room she makes an impression the same +as the Beauty of a Leopardess. She is too fine and too +conscious of herself to repulse any Man who may address +her; from habit she thinks that nothing <i>particular</i>. I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> +always find myself more at ease with such a woman: the +picture before me always gives me a life and animation +which I cannot possibly feel with anything inferior. I am +at such times too much occupied in admiring to be awkward +or in a tremble: I forget myself entirely, because +I live in her. You will, by this time, think that I am in +love with her, so, before I go any further, I will tell you +I am not. She kept me awake one night, as a tune of +Mozart's might do. I speak of the thing as a pastime and +an amusement, than which I can feel none deeper than +a conversation with an imperial woman, the very "yes" +and "no" of whose life is to me a banquet. I don't cry +to take the moon home with me in my pocket, nor do +I fret to leave her behind me. I like her, and her like, +because one has no <i>sensations</i>; what we both are is taken +for granted. You will suppose I have by this had much +talk with her—no such thing; there are the Misses —— +on the look out. They think I don't admire her because +I don't stare at her; they call her a flirt to me—what +a want of knowledge! She walks across a room in such +a manner that a man is drawn towards her with a magnetic +power; this they call flirting! They do not know +things; they do not know what a woman is. I believe, +though, she has faults; the same as Charmian and Cleopatra +might have had. Yet she is a fine thing, speaking +in a worldly way; for there are two distinct tempers of +mind in which we judge of things—the worldly, theatrical +and pantomimical; and the unearthly, spiritual and +ethereal. In the former, Buonaparte, Lord Byron and +this Charmian hold the first place in our minds; in the +latter, John Howard, Bishop Hooker rocking his child's +cradle, and you, my dear sister, are the conquering feelings. +As a man of the world I love the rich talk of a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> +Charmian; as an eternal being I love the thought of you. +I should like her to ruin me, and I should like you to +save me.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I am free from men of pleasure's cares,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By dint of feelings far more deep than theirs."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>This is "Lord Byron," and is one of the finest things he +has said.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span class="smcap">THE CARLYLES—THOMAS (1795-1881) and<br /> +JANE WELSH (1801-1866)</span></h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>A paradoxer, even of a less virulent-frivolous type than +that with which we have been recently afflicted, might +sustain, for some little time at any rate, the argument against +preservation of letters from the case of this eminent couple. +If Mrs. Carlyle had not written hers, or if they had remained +unknown, the whole sickening controversy about the +character and married life of the pair might, as was said in +the Introduction, never have existed. And if Carlyle himself +had written none, persons of any intelligence would +still have had a pretty adequate idea of him from his +<i>Works</i>. On the other hand the addition to knowledge in +his case is quite welcome: and in hers it practically gives +us what we could hardly have known otherwise—one of +the most remarkable of woman-natures, and one of the +most striking confirmations of the merciless adage "Whom +the gods curse, to them they grant the desires of their +hearts." For she wanted above all things to be the wife +of a man of genius—and she was. So the <i>pro</i> and the <i>con</i> in +this matter may so far be set against each other. But there +remains to credit a considerable amount of most welcome +and (notably in the instance specified in the Introduction) +almost consummate literature of the epistolary kind. This +instance itself is perhaps too tragic for our little collection: +indeed it might help to spread the exaggerated idea of the +writer's unhappiness which has been too prevalent already. +There is some "metal more attractive" in her letters, +which perhaps, taken all round, put her with Madame de +Sévigné and "Lady Mary" at the head of all <i>published</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> +women letter-writers. And Carlyle's annotations to them, +when not too bilious or too penitent, show him almost at +his best. His own (given below) to FitzGerald (the way in +which epistolary literature interconnects itself has been +noted) appears to me one of his most characteristic though +least volcanic utterances. It was written while he was in +the depths of what his wife called "the Valley of the Shadow +of Frederick," (<i>i.e.</i> his vast book on that amiable monarch) +and had retired to <i>extra</i>-solitude in consequence. "Farlingay" +refers to a recent stay in Suffolk with FitzGerald. +As often with Carlyle, there may be more than one interpretation +of his inverted commas at "gentleman" as +regards Voltaire, to whom he certainly would not have +allotted the word in its best sense. The phrase about +Chaos and the Evil Genius is Carlyle shut up in narrow +space like the other genius or genie in the Arabian +Nights. The "<i>awful jangle</i> of bells" speaks his horror +of any invading sound. The "Naseby matter" refers +to a monument which he and FitzGerald had planned, and +which (with the precedent investigation as to the battle +which F. had conducted years before for his <i>Cromwell</i>), +occupies a good deal of FitzGerald's own correspondence. +Indeed, it is thanks to Naseby that we possess this very +letter. FitzGerald says elsewhere that he kept only these +Naseby letters of all Carlyle's correspondence with him, +destroying the rest, as he did Thackeray's and Tennyson's, +lest "private personal history should fall into some unscrupulous +hands." One admires the conduct while one +feels the loss. As for the monument, it never came off: +though it was talked about for some thirty years. Mrs. +Carlyle's—one of the early and, despite complaints, cheerful +time, the other later and, despite its resignation, from "the +Valley of the Shadow"—require no annotation, save in +respect of Carlyle's own on <i>Deerbrook</i>. He might well call +it "poor": it is indeed one of the few novels by a writer of +any distinction, which one tolerably voracious novel-reader +has found incapable of being read. And this is curious: +for she had written good stories earlier.</p></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span></p> + + +<p class='lheading'>38. <span class="smcap">To Edward Fitzgerald</span></p> + +<p class='rindent'> +<span class="smcap">Addiscombe Farm, Croydon.</span><br /> +15th Septr. 1855 </p> + +<p>Dear Fitzgerald,</p> + +<p>I have been here ever since the day you last +heard of me; leading the strangest life of +absolute <i>Latrappism</i>; and often enough remembering +Farlingay and you. I live perfectly alone, and without +speech at all,—there being in fact nobody to speak to, +except one austerely punctual housemaid, who does her +functions, like an eight-day clock, generally without +bidding. My wife comes out now and then to give the +requisite directions; but commonly withdraws again on +the morrow, leaving the monster to himself and his own +ways. I have Books; a complete Edition of <i>Voltaire</i>, for +one Book, in which I read for <i>use</i>, or for idleness oftenest,—getting +into endless reflexions over it, mostly of a sad +and not very utterable nature. I find V. a 'gentleman,' +living in a world partly furnished with such; and that +there are now almost no 'gentlemen' (not quite <i>none</i>): +this is one great head of my reflexions, to which there is +no visible <i>tail</i> or finish. I have also a Horse (borrowed +from my fat Yeoman friend, who is at sea-bathing in +Sussex); and I go riding, at great lengths daily, over hill +and dale; this I believe is really the main good I am +doing,—if in this either there be much good. But it is +a strange way of life to me, for the time; perhaps not +unprofitable; To let <i>Chaos</i> say out its say, then, and one's +Evil Genius give one the very worst language he has, for +a while. It is still to last for a week or more. Today, +for the first time, I ride back to Chelsea, but mean to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> +return hither on Monday. There is a great circle of +yellow light all the way from Shooter's Hill to Primrose +Hill, spread round my horizon every night, I see it while +smoking my pipe before bed (so bright, last night, it cast +a visible shadow of me against the white window-shutters); +and this is all I have to do with London and its <i>gases</i> for a +fortnight or more. My wife writes to me, there was an +awful jangle of bells last day she went home from this; +a Quaker asked in the railway, of some porter, 'Can thou +tell me what these bells mean?'—'Well, I suppose something +is up. They say Sebastopol is took, and the Rushans +run away.'—<i>À la bonne heure</i>; but won't they come back +again, think you?</p> + +<p>On the whole I say, when you get your little Suffolk +cottage, you must have in it a 'chamber in the wall' for +me, <i>plus</i> a pony that can trot, and a cow that gives good +milk: with these outfits we shall make a pretty rustication +now and then, not wholly <i>Latrappish</i>, but only <i>half</i>, on +much easier terms than here; and I shall be right willing +to come and try it, I for one party.—Meanwhile, I hope +the Naseby matter is steadily going ahead; sale <i>completed</i>; +and even the <i>monument</i> concern making way. +Tell me a little how that and other matters are. If you +are at home, a line is rapidly conveyed hither, steam all +the way: after the beginning of the next week, I am at +Chelsea, and (I dare so) there is a fire in the evenings now +to welcome you there. Shew face in some way or other.</p> + +<p>And so adieu; for my hour of riding is at hand.</p> + +<p class='lindent2'>Yours ever truly,</p> + +<p class='rindent'><span class="smcap">T. Carlyle</span>.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span></p> + + +<p class='lheading'>39. <span class="smcap">To Mrs. Walsh</span>,</p> + +<p class='rindent'><span class="smcap">Chelsea</span>: Sept. 5, 1836.</p> + +<p>My dear Aunt,</p> + +<p>Now that I am fairly settled at home again, +and can look back over my late travels with +the coolness of a spectator, it seems to me that I must have +tired out all men, women and children that have had to +do with me by the road. The proverb says 'there is +much ado when cadgers ride.' I do not know precisely +what 'cadger' means, but I imagine it to be a character +like me, liable to head-ache, to sea-sickness, to all the +infirmities 'that flesh is heir to,' and a few others besides; +the friends and relations of cadgers should therefore use +all soft persuasions to induce them to remain at home.<a name="FNanchor_119_119" id="FNanchor_119_119"></a><a href="#Footnote_119_119" class="fnanchor">[119]</a></p> + +<p>I got into that Mail the other night with as much +repugnance and trepidation as if it had been a Phalaris' +brazen bull, instead of a Christian vehicle, invented for +purposes of mercy—not of cruelty. There were three +besides myself when we started, but two dropped off at +the end of the first stage, and the rest of the way I had, +as usual, half of the coach to myself. My fellow-passenger +had that highest of all terrestrial qualities, which for me a +fellow-passenger can possess—he was silent. I think his +name was Roscoe, and he read sundry long papers to himself, +with the pondering air of a lawyer.</p> + +<p>We breakfasted at Lichfield, at five in the morning, on +muddy coffee and scorched toast, which made me once +more lyrically recognise in my heart (not without a sign<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> +of regret) the very different coffee and toast with which +you helped me out of my headache. At two there was +another stop of ten minutes, that might be employed in +lunching or otherwise. Feeling myself more fevered than +hungry, I determined on spending the time in combing +my hair and washing my face and hands with vinegar. +In the midst of this solacing operation I heard what +seemed to be the Mail running its rapid course, and quick +as lightning it flashed on me, 'There it goes! and my +luggage is on the top of it, and my purse is in the pocket +of it, and here am I stranded on an unknown beach, without +so much as a sixpence in my pocket to pay for the +vinegar I have already consumed!' Without my bonnet, +my hair hanging down my back, my face half dried, and +the towel, with which I was drying it, firm grasped in my +hand, I dashed out—along, down, opening wrong doors, +stumbling over steps, cursing the day I was born, still +more the day on which I took a notion to travel, and +arrived finally at the bar of the Inn, in a state of excitement +bordering on lunacy. The barmaids looked at me +'with wonder and amazement.' 'Is the coach gone?' +I gasped out. 'The coach? Yes!' 'Oh! and you +have let it away without me! Oh! stop it, cannot you +stop it?' and out I rushed into the street, with streaming +hair and streaming towel, and almost brained myself +against—the Mail! which was standing there in all +stillness, without so much as a horse in it! What I had +heard was a heavy coach. And now, having descended +like a maniac, I ascended again like a fool, and dried the +other half of my face, and put on my bonnet, and came +back 'a sadder and a wiser woman.'</p> + +<p>I did not find my husband at the 'Swan with Two +Necks'; for we were in a quarter of an hour before the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> +appointed time. So I had my luggage put on the backs +of two porters, and walked on to Cheapside, where I +presently found a Chelsea omnibus. By and by, however, +the omnibus stopped, and amid cries of 'No room, sir,' +'Can't get in,' Carlyle's face, beautifully set off by a +broad-brimmed white hat, gazed in at the door, like the +Peri, who, 'at the Gate of Heaven, stood disconsolate.' +In hurrying along the Strand, pretty sure of being too +late, amidst all the imaginable and unimaginable phenomena +which the immense thoroughfare of a street presents, +his eye (Heaven bless the mark!) had lighted on my trunk +perched on the top of the omnibus, and had recognised +it. This seems to me one of the most indubitable proofs +of genius which he ever manifested. Happily, a passenger +went out a little further on, and then he got in.</p> + +<p>My brother-in-law had gone two days before, so my +arrival was most well-timed. I found all at home right +and tight; my maid seems to have conducted herself +quite handsomely in my absence; my best room looked +really inviting. A bust of Shelley (a present from Leigh +Hunt), and a fine print of Albert Durer, handsomely +framed (also a present) had still further ornamented it +during my absence. I also found (for I wish to tell you +all my satisfaction) every grate in the house furnished +with a supply of coloured clippings, and the holes in the +stair-carpet all darned, so that it looks like new. They +gave me tea and fried bacon, and staved off my headache +as well as might be. They were very kind to me, but, on +my life, everybody is kind to me, and to a degree that fills +me with admiration. I feel so strong a wish to make you +all convinced how very deeply I feel your kindness, and +just the more I would say, the less able I am to say anything.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span></p> + +<p>God bless you all. Love to all, from the head of the +house down to Johnny.</p> + +<p class='lindent2'>Your affectionate,</p> + +<p class='rindent'><span class="smcap">Jane W. Carlyle.</span></p> + + +<p class='lheading'>40. <span class="smcap">To Mrs. Stirling, Hill Street, Edinburgh.</span></p> + +<p class='rindent'>5 <span class="smcap">Cheyne Row, Chelsea</span>: October 21, 1859.</p> + +<p>You dear nice woman! there you are! a bright +cheering apparition to surprise one on a foggy +October morning, over one's breakfast—that most +trying institution for people who are 'nervous' and +'don't sleep!'</p> + +<p>It (the photograph) made our breakfast this morning +'pass off,' like the better sort of breakfasts in Deerbrook,<a name="FNanchor_120_120" id="FNanchor_120_120"></a><a href="#Footnote_120_120" class="fnanchor">[120]</a> +in which people seemed to have come into the world +chiefly to eat breakfast in every possible variety of temper!</p> + +<p>Blessed be the inventor of photography! I set him +above even the inventor of chloroform! It has given +more positive pleasure to poor suffering humanity than +anything that has 'cast<a name="FNanchor_121_121" id="FNanchor_121_121"></a><a href="#Footnote_121_121" class="fnanchor">[121]</a> up' in my time or is like to—this +art by which even the 'poor' can possess themselves +of tolerable likenesses of their absent dear ones. And +mustn't it be acting favourably on the morality of the +country? I assure you I have often gone into my own +room, in the devil's own humour—ready to answer at +'things in general,' and some things in particular—and, +my eyes resting by chance on one of my photographs of +long-ago places and people, a crowd of sad, gentle thoughts +has rushed into my heart, and driven the devil out, as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> +clean as ever so much holy water and priestly exorcism +could have done! I have a photograph of Haddington +church tower, and my father's tombstone in it—of every +place I ever lived at as a home—photographs of old lovers! +old friends, old servants, old dogs! In a day or two, you, +dear, will be framed and hung up among the 'friends.' +And that bright, kind, indomitable face of yours will not +be the least efficacious face there for exorcising my devil, +when I have him! Thank you a thousand times for +keeping your word! Of course you would—that is just +the beauty of you, that you never deceive nor disappoint.</p> + +<p>Oh my dear! my dear! how awfully tired I was with +the journey home, and yet I had taken two days to it, +sleeping—that is, attempting to sleep—at York. What +a pity it is that Scotland is so far off! all the good one has +gained there gets shaken off one in the terrific journey +home again, and then the different atmosphere is so +trying to one fresh from the pure air of Fife—so exhausting +and depressing. If it hadn't been that I had a deal of +housemaiding to execute during the week I was here +before Mr. C. returned, I must have given occasion for +newspaper paragraphs under the head of 'Melancholy +Suicide.' But dusting books, making chair covers, and +'all that sort of thing,' leads one on insensibly to live—till +the crisis gets safely passed.</p> + +<p>My dear! I haven't time nor inclination for much +letter-writing—nor have you, I should suppose, but do +let us exchange letters now and then. A friendship which +has lived on air for so many years together is worth the +trouble of giving it a little human sustenance.</p> + +<p>Give my kind regards to your husband—I like him—and +believe me,</p> + +<p class='lindent2'>Your ever affectionate,</p> + +<p class='rindent'><span class="smcap">Jane Welsh Carlyle.</span></p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_119_119" id="Footnote_119_119"></a><a href="#FNanchor_119_119"><span class="label">[119]</span></a> Clever as she was, she surely made a mistake here—unless +she did it on purpose, which is quite possible. "Cadger" is of +course only "beggar," and the proverb is the Scotch equivalent +of ours about the "beggar on horseback," pretty frequently +illustrated now-a-days.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_120_120" id="Footnote_120_120"></a><a href="#FNanchor_120_120"><span class="label">[120]</span></a> The Deerbrook breakfasts refer to Miss Martineau's poor +novel. (T. C.)</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_121_121" id="Footnote_121_121"></a><a href="#FNanchor_121_121"><span class="label">[121]</span></a> Turned. (T. C.)</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span></p> +<h2>THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY (1800-1859)</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>There are very few examples in biography where the +publication of letters has had a happier effect on the general +idea of the writer than in Macaulay's case. It is not here a +question of historical trustworthiness, or even of literary-style, +in both which respects he has come in for severe +strictures and sometimes for rather half-hearted defence. +Nor do the letters display any purely literary gifts in him +(except perhaps a playfulness of humour or at least wit) +which do not appear in the <i>History</i> and the <i>Essays</i>. But, +as the exception may perhaps partly indicate, they extend +and improve the notion of his personality in the most +remarkable fashion. Even those who did not quarrel with +his views sometimes, before Sir George Trevelyan's book, +disliked and regretted what have been called his "pistolling +ways"—the positive, hectoring "hold-your-tongue" sort +of tone which dominated his productions. With the very +rarest exceptions, themselves sometimes of a revealing and +excusable frankness, this tone is, if not quite absent<a name="FNanchor_122_122" id="FNanchor_122_122"></a><a href="#Footnote_122_122" class="fnanchor">[122]</a> from, +much seldomer present in, his letters. He jokes without +difficulty; talks without in the least monopolising the +conversation; shows himself often willing to live and let +live; and is on the whole as different a person as possible +from the Macaulay who is sure that "every schoolboy" +knows better than the author he is reviewing, and who finds<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> +Johnson guilty of superstition and Swift of apostasy. +"Happy thrice and more also" are those whose letters +thus vindicate them. I have purposely chosen the following +example (written to his sister) from the most <i>mundane</i> +class. "Appointment" was to the <i>Indian</i> Council, which +explains the "Cotton" and "Muslin" and other things. +"Ellis" (Thomas Flower), a friend of Macaulay's from +Cambridge days and his literary executor in part. "Lushington" +(Stephen), a civilian lawyer of great eminence as +a judge in Admiralty and ecclesiastical matters, but a +rather violent politician. "Town"—Leeds. "Miss Berry" +is annotated elsewhere. "Sir Stratford Canning," later +Viscount Stratford de Redcliffe, George Canning's cousin, +and one of the most famous diplomatists of the nineteenth +century, especially during his long tenure of the Embassy +at Constantinople. <i>Vivian Grey</i>—Disraeli's first novel. +"Lady Holland," the most famous hostess on the Whig +side in the first half of the nineteenth century, but, by all +accounts, a person now and then quite intolerable. "Allen" +(John), an <i>Edinburgh Reviewer</i>, was familiarly called her +"tame atheist" (All the company were of the Holland +House "set"). "Bobus"—Robert Percy Smith, Sydney's +elder brother, a great wit and scholar. "Cosher," an Irish +word, is not always used in this sense of "chat."</p></div> + + +<p class='lheading'>41. <span class="smcap">To his Sister</span></p> + +<p class='rindent'><span class="smcap">London</span>: November 1833.</p> + +<p>Dear Hannah,</p> + +<p>Things stand as they stood; except that the +report of my appointment is every day spreading +more widely; and that I am beset by advertising +dealers begging leave to make up a hundred cotton shirts +for me, and fifty muslin gowns for you, and by clerks out +of place begging to be my secretaries. I am not in very +high spirits to-day, as I have just received a letter from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> +poor Ellis, to whom I had not communicated my intentions +till yesterday. He writes so affectionately and so +plaintively that he quite cuts me to the heart. There are +few indeed from whom I shall part with so much pain; +and he, poor fellow, says that, next to his wife, I am the +person for whom he feels the most thorough attachment, +and in whom he places the most unlimited confidence.</p> + +<p>On the 11th of this month there is to be a dinner given +to Lushington by the electors of the Tower Hamlets. He +has persecuted me with importunities to attend and make +a speech for him; and my father has joined in the request. +It is enough, in these times, Heaven knows, for a man who +represents, as I do, a town of a hundred and twenty +thousand people to keep his own constituents in good +humour; and the Spitalfields weavers and Whitechapel +butchers are nothing to me. But, ever since I succeeded +in what everybody allows to have been the most hazardous +attempt of the kind ever made,—I mean in persuading an +audience of manufacturers, all Whigs or Radicals, that +the immediate alteration of the corn-laws was impossible,—I +have been considered as a capital physician for +desperate cases in politics. However, to return from that +delightful theme, my own praises, Lushington, who is not +very popular with the rabble of the Tower Hamlets, thinks +that an oration from me would give him a lift. I could +not refuse him directly, backed as he was by my father. +I only said that I would attend if I were in London on the +11th, but I added that, situated as I was, I thought it very +probable that I should be out of town.</p> + +<p>I shall go to-night to Miss Berry's <i>soirée</i>. I do not +know whether I told you that she resented my article on +Horace Walpole so much that Sir Stratford Canning +advised me not to go near her. She was Walpole's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> +greatest favourite. His Reminiscences are addressed to +her in terms of the most gallant eulogy. When he was +dying at past eighty, he asked her to marry him, merely +that he might make her a Countess and leave her his +fortune. You know that in <i>Vivian Grey</i> she is called +Miss Otranto. I always expected that my article would +put her into a passion, and I was not mistaken; but she +has come round again, and sent me a most pressing and +kind invitation the other day.</p> + +<p>I have been racketing lately, having dined twice with +Rogers, and once with Grant. Lady Holland is in a most +extraordinary state. She came to Rogers's, with Allen, +in so bad a humour that we were all forced to rally, and +make common cause against her. There was not a person +at table to whom she was not rude; and none of us +were inclined to submit. Rogers sneered; Sydney made +merciless sport of her; Tom Moore looked excessively +impertinent; Bobus put her down with simple straightforward +rudeness; and I treated her with what I meant to +be the coldest civility. Allen flew into a rage with us all, +and especially with Sydney, whose guffaws, as the Scotch +say, were indeed tremendous. When she and all the rest +were gone, Rogers made Tom Moore and me sit down with +him for half an hour, and we coshered over the events of +the evening. Rogers said that he thought Allen's firing +up in defence of his patroness the best thing that he has +seen in him. No sooner had Tom and I got into the +street than he broke forth: "That such an old stager as +Rogers should talk such nonsense, and give Allen credit +for attachment to anything but his dinner! Allen was +bursting with envy to see us so free, while he was conscious +of his own slavery."</p> + +<p>Her Ladyship has been the better for this discipline.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> +She has overwhelmed me ever since with attentions and +invitations. I have at last found out the cause of her +ill-humour, or at least of that portion of it of which I was +the object. She is in a rage at my article on Walpole, but +at what part of it I cannot tell. I know that she is very +intimate with the Waldegraves, to whom the manuscripts +belong, and for whose benefit the letters were published. +But my review was surely not calculated to injure the sale +of the book. Lord Holland told me, in an aside, that he +quite agreed with me, but that we had better not discuss +the subject.</p> + +<p>A note; and, by my life, from my Lady Holland: +"Dear Mr. Macaulay, pray wrap yourself very warm, and +come to us on Wednesday." No, my good Lady. I am +engaged on Wednesday to dine at the Albion Tavern with +the Directors of the East India Company; now my +servants; next week, I hope, to be my masters.</p> + +<p class='lindent2'>Ever yours,</p> + +<p class='rindent'>T. B. M.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_122_122" id="Footnote_122_122"></a><a href="#FNanchor_122_122"><span class="label">[122]</span></a> Indeed it exemplifies Defoe's favourite proverb about +"What is bred in the bone," etc.—as for instance when, while +admitting Chesterfield's high position in some ways, he calls the +<i>Letters</i> "for the most part trash." It is scarcely too much to +call such criticism itself "trashy."</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span></p> +<h2>THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES (1803-1849)</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Beddoes belongs to the small but remarkable company +of authors who, making little mark in their own time and +none at all for some time afterwards, before very long come +into something like their due, though they never can be +exactly popular. He was certainly very eccentric and +possibly quite mad: the circumstances of his suicide do +more than justify the hopes of charity and the convention +of coroners' juries, as to the latter conclusion. But he was +an extremely poetical poet and a letter-writer of remarkable +individuality and zest. Little notice seems to have been +taken, by any save a very few elect, of the first collected +publication of his work just after his death: though a +single piece, <i>The Bride's Tragedy</i>, not by any means his +best, had obtained praise in 1822—a time between the great +poetical outburst of the early nineteenth century and the +revival of its middle period. But Mr. Gosse's reissue in +completer form of the <i>Poems</i> in 1890 and the <i>Letters</i> four +years later, lodged him at once in the affection of all competent +critics. With something of the more eccentric +spirit of the seventeenth century in him, and something of +the Romantic revival as shown in Coleridge, Shelley and +Keats, he had much of his own, though he never got it +thoroughly or sustainedly organised and expressed. His +mingled passion and humour (especially the latter) "escape"—make +fitful spurts and explosions—in his correspondence. +Latterly this reflects his mental breakdown, increasingly +in the prose; though only a few years before the end it +contains wonderful verse such as the song, "The swallow +leaves her nest," which is a link between Blake and Canon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> +Dixon. But earlier, as in the following, there is nothing +beyond oddity. Of this there may seem to be a good share, +but a few notes will make it intelligible. It clearly heralds, +though the thing is first definitely indicated in a later letter, +Beddoes' marvellous tragedy <i>Death's Jest-book</i>, which he +wrote and re-wrote till it became like the picture in Balzac's +story an "Unknown [and Unknowable] Masterpiece." The +letter is further remarkable as combining intense admiration +for the <i>old</i> masterpieces with a quite "modern" insistence +on "begetting" rather than "reviving"—on "giving the +literature of the age a spirit of its own," etc. For details: +"Sulky" (compare the French <i>désobligeante</i>, celebrated by +Sterne)—an obsolete form of chaise. "Breaking Priscian's +head" is familiar enough for "using bad grammar," which +the book-keeper very likely did; but the explanation may +be more remote. "Like a ghost from the tomb" though +not "quoted" is, of course, his beloved Shelley's ("The +Cloud"). "<i>Biped</i> knock" = merely "double"—the +peculiar rat-tat which postmen have mostly forgotten or +not learnt—perhaps regarding it as a badge of slavery like +"tips." <i>The Fatal Dowry</i>—attributed to (Field and) +Massinger, and spoilt by Rowe into his nevertheless popular +<i>Fair Penitent</i>,—is one of the finest examples of the second +stage of Elizabethan drama. <i>Ultracrepidarian</i>—a term +derived from the Latin proverb <i>ne sutor supra</i> (or <i>ultra</i>) +<i>crepidam</i> and specially applied to the unpopular critic +Gifford who had been a shoemaker—meaning generally +"some one who <i>does</i> go beyond his last and meddles with +things he does not understand." "McCready's" (Macready, +the famous actor and manager) friend Walker was probably +Sidney Walker the Shakespearian critic.</p></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span></p> + + +<p class='lheading'>42. <span class="smcap">To Thomas Forbes Kelsall</span></p> + +<p class='rindent'> +26 <span class="smcap">Mall, Clifton</span>. <br /> +(Postmark, Jan. 11. 1825)</p> + +<p>Dear Kelsall—</p> + +<p>Day after day since Christmas I have intended +to write or go to London, and day after day +I have deferred both projects; and now I will give you +the adventures and mishaps of this present sunday. Remorse, +and startling conscience, in the form of an old, +sulky, and a shying, horse, hurried me to the 'Regulator' +coach-office on Saturday: 'Does the Regulator and its +team conform to the Mosaic decalogue, Mr. Book-keeper?' +He broke Priscian's head, and through the aperture, +assured me that it did not: I was booked for the inside:—"Call +at 26 Mall for me."—"Yes, Sir, at 1/2 past five, +<span class="smcap">a.m.</span>"—At five I rose like a ghost from the tomb, and +betook me to coffee. No wheels rolled through the streets +but the inaudible ones of that uncreated hour. It struck +six,—a coach was called,—we hurried to the office but <i>the</i> +coach was gone. Here followed a long Brutus-and-Cassius +discourse between a shilling-buttoned-waistcoatteer of a +porter and myself, which ended in my extending mercy +to the suppliant coach-owners, and agreeing to accept a +place for Monday. All well thus far. The biped knock +of the post alighted on the door at twelve, and two letters +were placed upon my German dictionary,—your own, +which I at first intended to reply to vivâ voce, had not +the second informed me of my brother's arrival in England, +his short leave of absence, and his intention to visit +me here next week. This twisted my strong purpose like +a thread, and disposed me to remain here about ten days<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> +longer. On the 21st at latest I go to London. Be there +and I will join you, or, if not, pursue you to Southampton.</p> + +<p>The Fatal Dowry has been cobbled, I see, by some purblind +ultra-crepidarian—McCready's friend, Walker, very +likely; but nevertheless, I maintain 'tis a good play, and +might have been rendered very effective by docking it of +the whole fifth act, which is an excrescence,—re-creating +Novall, and making Beaumelle a great deal more ghost-gaping +and moonlightish. The cur-tailor has taken out +the most purple piece in the whole web—the end of the +fourth Act—and shouldered himself into toleration through +the prejudices of the pit, when he should have built his +admiration on their necks. Say what you will, I am convinced +the man who is to awaken the drama must be a +bold trampling fellow, no creeper into worm-holes, no +reviver even, however good. These reanimations are +vampire-cold. Such ghosts as Marloe, Webster &c. are +better dramatists, better poets, I dare say, than any contemporary +of ours, but they are ghosts; the worm is in +their pages; and we want to see something that our great-grandsires +did not know. With the greatest reverence for +all the antiquities of the drama, I still think that we had +better beget than revive; attempt to give the literature +of this age an idiosyncrasy and spirit of its own, and only +raise a ghost to gaze on, not to live with—just now the +drama is a haunted ruin.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span></p> +<h2>ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING (1806-1861)</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Mrs. Browning was in the habit of using rather extravagant +language herself: and she has certainly been the victim of +language extravagant enough both in praise (the more +damaging of the two) and blame from others. FitzGerald's +unlucky exaggeration (see Introduction) in one way may be +set off by such opposite assertions as that some of her poems +are "the best of their kind in the English language." But +her letters need cause no such alarums and excursions. If +they are sometimes what is called by youth "Early +Victorian"—"Early Anything," and "Middle Anything" +and "Late Anything," are sure to be found sooner or later by +all wise persons to have their own place in life and history. +And sentimentalism has, in private prose, an infinitely less +provocative character than when it is displayed in published +verse. A distinguished Scotch philosopher of the last +generation laid it down that, in literature, for demonstrative +exhibitions of affection and sorrow "the occasion should be +adequate, and the actuality rare." But letter-writing, +though it can be eminently literary, is always literature with +a certain license attached to it: arising from the fact that +it was not—or ought not to have been—intended for +publication. And that naturalness of which so much has +been said is displayed constantly and by no means disagreeably +in Elizabeth Barrett Browning's epistles. In fact, +you cannot help liking her the better for them—which +in one way at least is the supreme test. The following, +written soon after her marriage—an elopement of a kind, +but certainly justifiable if ever one was—is a very pleasant +specimen in more ways than one, as regards taste, temper,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> +and descriptive powers. It also contains no criticism, which +in her case was apt to be extremely uncertain.</p></div> + + +<p class='lheading'>43. <span class="smcap">To Mrs. Martin</span></p> + +<p class='rindent'>(<span class="smcap">Pisa</span>) November 5, (1846)</p> + +<p>It was pleasant to me, my dearest friend, to think +while I was reading your letter yesterday, that +almost by that time you had received mine, and +could not even seem to doubt a moment longer whether +I admitted your claim of hearing and of speaking to the +uttermost. I recognised you too entirely as my friend. +Because you had put faith in me, so much the more reason +there was that I should justify it as far as I could, and with +as much frankness (which was a part of my gratitude to +you) as was possible from a woman to a woman. Always +I have felt that you have believed in me and loved me, +and, for the sake of the past and of the present, your +affection and your esteem are more to me than I could +afford to lose, even in these changed and happy circumstances. +So I thank you once more, my dear kind +friends, I thank you both—I never shall forget your +goodness. I feel it, of course, the more deeply, in proportion +to the painful disappointment in other quarters.... +Am I bitter? The feeling, however, passes while I write +it out, and my own affection for everybody will wait +patiently to be 'forgiven' in the proper form, when +everybody shall be at leisure properly. Assuredly, in the +meanwhile, however, my case is not to be classed with +other cases—what happened to me could not have +happened, perhaps, with any other family in England.... +I hate and loathe everything too which is clandestine—we +<i>both</i> do, Robert and I; and the manner the whole<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> +business was carried on in might have instructed the least +acute of the bystanders. The flowers standing perpetually +on my table for the last two years were brought +there by one hand, as everybody knew; and really it +would have argued an excess of benevolence in an unmarried +man with quite enough resources in London, to +pay the continued visits he paid to me without some +strong motive indeed. Was it his fault that he did not +associate with everybody in the house as well as with me? +He desired it; but no—that was not to be. The +endurance of the pain of the position was not the least +proof of his attachment to me. How I thank you for +believing in him—how grateful it makes me! He will +justify to the uttermost that faith. We have been married +two months, and every hour has bound me to him more +and more; if the beginning was well, still better it is +now—that is what he says to me, and I say back again +day by day. Then it is an 'advantage' to have an +inexhaustible companion who talks wisdom of all things +in heaven and earth, and shows besides as perpetual a +good humour and gaiety as if he were—a fool, shall I say? +or a considerable quantity more, perhaps. As to our +domestic affairs, it is not to <i>my</i> honour and glory that the +'bills' are made up every week and paid more regularly +'than bard beseems,' while dear Mrs. Jameson laughs +outright at our miraculous prudence and economy, and +declares that it is past belief and precedent that we should +not burn the candles at both ends, and the next moment +will have it that we remind her of the children in a poem +of Heine's who set up housekeeping in a tub, and inquired +gravely the price of coffee. Ah, but she has left Pisa at +last—left it yesterday. It was a painful parting to everybody. +Seven weeks spent in such close neighbourhood<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span>—a +month of it under the same roof and in the same carriages—will +fasten people together, and then travelling <i>shakes</i> +them together. A more affectionate, generous woman +never lived than Mrs. Jameson<a name="FNanchor_123_123" id="FNanchor_123_123"></a><a href="#Footnote_123_123" class="fnanchor">[123]</a> and it is pleasant to be +sure that she loves us both from her heart, and not only +<i>du bout des lèvres</i>. Think of her making Robert promise +(as he has told me since) that in the case of my being +unwell he would write to her instantly, and she would +come at once if anywhere in Italy. So kind, so like her. +She spends the winter in Rome, but an intermediate, +month at Florence, and we are to keep tryst with her +somewhere in the spring, perhaps at Venice. If not, she +says that she will come back here, for that certainly she +will see us. She would have stayed altogether perhaps, +if it had not been for her book upon art which she is +engaged to bring out next year, and the materials for +which are to be <i>sought</i>. As to Pisa, she liked it just as we +like it. Oh, it is so beautiful and so full of repose, yet not +<i>desolate</i>: it is rather the repose of sleep than of death. +Then after the first ten days of rain, which seemed to +refer us fatally to Alfieri's 'piove e ripiove' came as +perpetual a divine sunshine, such cloudless, exquisite +weather that we ask whether it may not be June instead of +November. Every day I am out walking while the golden +oranges look at me over the walls, and when I am tired +Robert and I sit down on a stone to watch the lizards. +We have been to your seashore, too, and seen your island, +only he insists on it (Robert does) that it is not Corsica<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span> +but Gorgona, and that Corsica is not in sight. <i>Beautiful</i> +and blue the island was, however, in any case. It might +have been Romero's instead of either. Also we have +driven up to the foot of the mountains, and seen them +reflected down in the little pure lake of Ascuno, and we +have seen the pine woods, and met the camels laden with +faggots all in a line. So now ask me again if I enjoy my +liberty as you expect. My head goes round sometimes, +that is all. I never was happy before in my life. Ah, +but, of course, the painful thoughts recur! There are +some whom I love too tenderly to be easy under their +displeasure, or even under their injustice. Only it seems +to me that with time and patience my poor dearest papa +will be melted into opening his arms to us—will be melted +into a clear understanding of motives and intentions; I +cannot believe that he will forget me, as he says he will, +and go on thinking me to be dead rather than alive and +happy. So I manage to hope for the best, and all that +remains, all my life here, <i>is</i> best already, could not be +better or happier. And willingly tell dear Mr. Martin I +would take him and you for witnesses of it, and in the +meanwhile he is not to send me tantalising messages; +no, indeed, unless you really, really, should let yourselves +be wafted our way, and could you do so much better at +Pau? particularly if Fanny Hanford should come here. +Will she really? The climate is described by the inhabitants +as a 'pleasant spring throughout the winter,' and +if you were to see Robert and me threading our path along +the shady side everywhere to avoid the 'excessive heat +of the sun' in this November (?) it would appear a good +beginning. We are not in the warm orthodox position +by the Arno because we heard with our ears one of the +best physicians of the place advise against it. 'Better,'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span> +he said, 'to have cool rooms to live in and warm walks +to go out along.' The rooms we have are rather over-cool +perhaps; we are obliged to have a little fire in the +sitting-room, in the mornings and evenings that is; but +I do not fear for the winter, there is too much difference +to my feelings between this November and any English +November I ever knew. We have our dinner from the +Trattoria at two o'clock, and can dine our favourite way +on thrushes and Chianti with a miraculous cheapness, and +no trouble, no cook, no kitchen; the prophet Elijah or +the lilies of the field took as little thought for their dining, +which exactly suits us. It is a continental fashion which +we never cease commending. Then at six we have coffee, +and rolls of milk, made of milk, I mean, and at nine our +supper (call it supper, if you please) of roast chestnuts and +grapes. So you see how primitive we are, and how I +forget to praise the eggs at breakfast. The worst of Pisa +is, or would be to some persons, that, socially speaking, it +has its dullnesses; it is not lively like Florence, not in that +way. But we do not want society, we shun it rather. +We like the Duomo and the Campo Santo instead. Then +we know a little of Professor Ferucci, who gives us access +to the University library, and we subscribe to a modern +one, and we have plenty of writing to do of our own. If +we can do anything for Fanny Hanford, let us know. It +would be too happy, I suppose, to have to do it for yourselves. +Think, however, I am quite well, quite well. I +can thank God, too, for being alive and well. Make dear +Mr. Martin keep well, and not forget himself in the Herefordshire +cold—draw him into the sun somewhere. Now +write and tell me everything of your plans and of you +both, dearest friends. My husband bids me say that he +desires to have my friends for his own friends, and that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> +he is grateful to you for not crossing that feeling. Let +him send his regards to you. And let me be throughout +all changes,</p> + +<p class='lindent'>Your ever faithful and most affectionate,</p> + +<p class='rindent'>BA.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_123_123" id="Footnote_123_123"></a><a href="#FNanchor_123_123"><span class="label">[123]</span></a> Anna Jameson (1794-1860) was a woman of letters and an +art-critic at one time of immense influence through her illustrated +books on "Sacred and Legendary" (as well as some other) +"Art." But, as somehow or other happens not infrequently, the +objects of her "affection and generosity" did not include her +husband.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span></p> +<h2>EDWARD FITZGERALD (1809-1883)</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Not much need be added to what was said in the Introduction +about this famous translator and almost equally, +though less uniquely, remarkable letter-writer. His life +was entirely uneventful and his friendships have been +already commemorated. The version of Omar Khayyàm +appeared in 1859; was an utter "drug"—remainder copies +going at a few pence—for a time; but became one of the +most admired books of the English nineteenth century +before very long. Some of his <i>Letters</i> were published at +various times from 1889 to 1901 (those to Fanny Kemble +in 1895). It is not perhaps merely fanciful to suggest that +the "uniqueness" above glanced at does supply a sort of +connection between the <i>Letters</i> and the <i>Works</i>. The faculty +of at once retaining the matter of a subject and transforming +it in treatment has perhaps never, as regards translation, +been exhibited in such transcendence as in the English +<i>Rubaiyàt</i>. But something of this same faculty must belong +to every good letter-writer—and a good deal of it certainly +is shown by FitzGerald in <i>his</i> letters. Indeed one of the +processes of letter-and memoir-study (the memoir as has +been said is practically an "open" letter) is that of comparing +the treatments of the same subject by different +persons—say of the Great Fire by Pepys and Evelyn, of +the Riots of '80 by Walpole and Johnson. He himself, as +will be seen, calls the letter given below "not very interesting." +It seems to me very interesting indeed: and +likely to be increasingly so as time goes on. Few things +could be more characteristic of the writer than his way of +"visiting his sister" by living alone in lodgings all <i>day</i> for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span> +a month. The "<i>old</i> age"—forty-five—is hardly less so. +The allusions to "Alfred" (Tennyson); "old" Thackeray, +for whom he constantly keeps the affectionate school and +college use of the adjective; Landor<a name="FNanchor_124_124" id="FNanchor_124_124"></a><a href="#Footnote_124_124" class="fnanchor">[124]</a> (who unluckily did +<i>not</i> die at Bath though he might have done so but for one +of the last and least creditable of his eccentricities); +Beckford ("Old Vathek"), and a fourth "old," Rogers +(who was one of FitzGerald's aversions); Oxford (as yet +almost unstained by any modernities spiritual or material); +and Bath<a name="FNanchor_125_125" id="FNanchor_125_125"></a><a href="#Footnote_125_125" class="fnanchor">[125]</a> (to remain still longer a "haunt of ancient +peace")—are precious. The fifth "old," Spedding, who +devoted chiefly to Bacon talents worthy of more varied +exercise, was one of the innermost Tennyson set, as was +"Harry" Lushington, who died very soon after this letter +was written. "Your Book" is F. Tennyson's <i>Days and +Hours</i>, a volume of poetry while reading which probably +many people have wondered in what respect it came short +of really great poetry, though they felt it did so.</p></div> + + +<p class='lheading'>44. <span class="smcap">To Frederic Tennyson</span></p> + +<p class='rindent'><span class="smcap">Bath</span> May 7/54.</p> + +<p>My dear Frederic,</p> + +<p>You see to what fashionable places I am +reduced in my old Age. The truth is however +I am come here by way of Visit to a sister I have scarce +seen these six years; my visit consisting in this that I +live alone in a lodging of my own by day, and spend two<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span> +or three hours with her in the Evening. This has been +my way of Life for three weeks, and will be so for some +ten days more: after which I talk of flying back to more +native counties. I was to have gone on to see Alfred in +his "Island Home" from here: but it appears he goes +to London about the same time I quit this place: so I +must and shall defer my Visit to him. Perhaps I shall +catch a sight of him in London; as also of old Thackeray +who, Donne writes me word, came suddenly on him in +Pall Mall the other day: while all the while people supposed +<i>The Newcomes</i> were being indited at Rome or Naples.</p> + +<p>If ever you live in England you must live here at Bath. +It really is a splendid City in a lovely, even a noble, +Country. Did you ever see it? One beautiful feature +in the place is the quantity of Garden and Orchard it is +all through embroidered with. Then the Streets, when +you go into them, are as handsome and gay as London, +gayer and handsomer because cleaner and in a clearer +Atmosphere; and if you want the Country you get into +it (and a very fine Country) on all sides and directly. Then +there is such Choice of Houses, Cheap as well as Dear, of +all sizes, with good Markets, Railways etc. I am not sure +I shall not come here for part of the Winter. It is a place +you would like, I am sure: though I do not say but you +are better in Florence. Then on the top of the hill is old +Vathek's Tower, which he used to sit and read in daily, +and from which he could see his own Fonthill, while it +stood. Old Landor quoted to me 'Nullus in orbe locus, +etc.,' apropos of Bath: he, you may know, has lived here +for years, and I should think would die here, though not +yet. He seems so strong that he may rival old Rogers; +of whom indeed one Newspaper gave what is called an +'Alarming Report of Mr. Rogers' Health' the other day,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span> +but another contradicted it directly and indignantly, and +declared the Venerable Poet never was better. Landor +has some hundred and fifty Pictures; each of which he +thinks the finest specimen of the finest Master, and has a +long story about, how he got it, when, etc. I dare say +some are very good: but also some very bad. He +appeared to me to judge of them as he does of Books and +Men; with a most uncompromising perversity which the +Phrenologists must explain to us after his Death.</p> + +<p>By the bye, about your Book, which of course you wish +me to say something about. Parker sent me down a +copy 'from the Author' for which I hereby thank you. +If you believe my word, you already know my Estimation +of so much that is in it: you have already guessed that +I should have made a different selection from the great +Volume which is now in Tatters. As I differ in Taste +from the world, however, quite as much as from you, I +do not know but you have done very much better in +choosing as you have; the few people I have seen are +very much pleased with it, the Cowells at Oxford delighted. +A Bookseller there sold all his Copies the first day they +came down: and even in Bath a Bookseller (and not one +of the Principal) told me a fortnight ago he had sold some +twenty copies. I have not been in Town since it came +out: and have now so little correspondence with literati +I can't tell you about them. There was a very unfair +Review in the <i>Athenaeum</i>; which is the only Literary +Paper I see: but I am told there are laudatory ones in +<i>Examiner</i> and <i>Spectator</i>.</p> + +<p>I was five weeks at Oxford, visiting the Cowells in just +the same way that I am visiting my Sister here. I also +liked Oxford greatly: but not so well I think as Bath: +which is so large and busy that one is drowned in it as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span> +much as in London. There are often concerts, etc., for +those who like them; I only go to a shilling affair that +comes off every Saturday at what they call the Pump +Room. On these occasions there is sometimes some Good +Music if not excellently played. Last Saturday I heard +a fine Trio of Beethoven. Mendelssohn's things are +mostly tiresome to me. I have brought my old Handel +Book here and recreate myself now and then with pounding +one of the old Giant's Overtures on my sister's Piano, +as I used to do on that Spinnet at my Cottage. As to +Operas, and Exeter Halls, I have almost done with them: +they give me no pleasure, I scarce know why.</p> + +<p>I suppose there is no chance of your being over in +England this year, and perhaps as little Chance of my +being in Italy. All I can say is, the latter is not impossible, +which I suppose I may equally say of the former. But +pray write me. You can always direct to me at Donne's, +12, St. James' Square, or at Rev. G. Crabbe's, Bredfield, +Woodbridge. Either way the letter will soon reach me. +Write soon, Frederic, and let me hear how you and yours +are: and don't wait, as you usually do, for some inundation +of the Arno to set your pen agoing. Write ever so +shortly and whatever-about-ly. I have no news to tell +you of Friends. I saw old Spedding in London; only +doubly calm after the death of a Niece he dearly loved and +whose deathbed at Hastings he had just been waiting upon. +Harry Lushington wrote a martial Ode on seeing the +Guards march over Waterloo Bridge towards the East: +I did not see it, but it was much admired and handed +about, I believe. And now my paper is out: and I am +going through the rain (it is said to rain very much here) +to my Sister's. So Goodbye, and write to me, as I beg +you, in reply to this long if not very interesting letter.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_124_124" id="Footnote_124_124"></a><a href="#FNanchor_124_124"><span class="label">[124]</span></a> "Fitz's" remarks on Landor's judgment of "Pictures, +Books and Men" are very amusing; for they have been often +repeated in regard to his own on all these subjects. In fact +the two, though FitzGerald was not so childish as Landor, had +much in common.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_125_125" id="Footnote_125_125"></a><a href="#FNanchor_125_125"><span class="label">[125]</span></a> The curious eulogy—preferring it to Oxford as being "large +and busy" enough to "drown one as much" as London—is also +very characteristic of FitzGerald. You can be alone in the +country <i>and</i> in a large town—hardly in a small one.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span></p> +<h2>FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE (1809-1893)</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>To what has been said before of this remarkably gifted +lady little need be added. The two letters which follow, +derived from <i>Further Records</i> (London, 1890), were written +rather late in her life, but are characteristic, in ways partly +coinciding, partly divergent, of her strong intellect<a name="FNanchor_126_126" id="FNanchor_126_126"></a><a href="#Footnote_126_126" class="fnanchor">[126]</a> and +her powers of expression. The note to the ghost-story +leaves open the question whether Fanny did or did not know +the accepted doctrine that the master and mistress of a +haunted house are exempt from actual haunting. The +"whiff of grape-shot" (as Carlyle might have called it) on +the "Bakespearian" absurdity is one of the best things +on the subject that the present writer, in a long and wide +experience, has come across.</p></div> + + +<p class='lheading'><span class="smcap">45. To H—— [extract]</span></p> + +<p class='rindent'> +<span class="smcap">York Farm, Branchtown</span>, <br /> +<span class="smcap">Philadelphia</span>, Monday May 18th, 1874.</p> + +<p>One evening that my maid was sitting in the room +from which she could see the whole of the staircase +and upper landing, she saw the door of my +bedroom open, and an elderly woman in a flannel dressing-gown, +with a bonnet on her head, and a candle in her hand<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span> +come out, walk the whole length of the passage, and +return again into the bedroom, shutting the door after +her. My maid knew that I was in the drawing-room +below in my usual black velvet evening dress; moreover, +the person she had seen bore no resemblance either in +figure or face to me, or to any member of my household, +which consisted of three young servant women besides +herself, and a negro man-servant. My maid was a +remarkably courageous and reasonable person, and, +though very much startled (for she went directly upstairs +and found no one in the rooms), she kept her counsel, and +mentioned the circumstance to nobody, though, as she +told me afterwards, she was so afraid lest I should have +a similar visitation, that she was strongly tempted to ask +Dr. W——'s advice as to the propriety of mentioning her +experience to me. She refrained from doing so, however, +and some time later, as she was sitting in the dusk in the +same room, the man-servant came in to light the gas and +made her start, observing which, he said, "Why, lors, +Miss Ellen, you jump as if you had seen a ghost." In +spite of her late experience, Ellen very gravely replied, +"Nonsense, William, how can you talk such stuff! You +don't believe in such things as ghosts, do you?" "Well," +he said, "I don't know just so sure what to say to that, +seeing it's very well known there was a ghost in this +house." "Pshaw!" said Ellen. "Whose ghost?" "Well, +poor Mrs. R——'s ghost, it's very well known, walks<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span> +about this house, and no great wonder either, seeing how +miserably she lived and died here." To Ellen's persistent +expressions of contemptuous incredulity, he went on, +"Well, Miss Ellen, all I can say is, several girls" (<i>i.e.</i> +maid-servants) "have left this house on account of it"; +and there the conversation ended. Some days after this, +Ellen coming into the drawing-room to speak to me, +stopped abruptly at the door, and stood there, having +suddenly recognized in a portrait immediately opposite to +it, and which was that of the dead mistress of the house, +the face of the person she had seen come out of my bedroom. +I think this a very tidy ghost story; and I am +bound to add, as a proper commentary on it, that I have +never inhabited a house which affected me with a sense +of such intolerable melancholy gloominess as this; without +any assignable reason whatever, either in its situation +or any of its conditions. My maid, to the present day, +persists in every detail (and without the slightest variation) +of this experience of hers, absolutely rejecting my explanation +of it; that she had heard, without paying any +particular attention to it, some talk among the other +servants about the ghost in the house, which had remained +unconsciously to her in her memory, and reproduced itself +in this morbid nervous effect of her imagination.</p> + + +<p class='lheading'><span class="smcap">46. To H—— [extract]</span></p> + +<p class='rindent'><span class="smcap">York Farm</span>, Sunday, December 6th, 1874.</p> + +<p>My dearest H——,</p> + +<p>It is not possible for me to feel the slightest +interest in the sort of literary feat which I +consider writing upon "who wrote Shakespeare?" to be. +I was very intimate with Harness, Milman, Dyce, Collier<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span>—all +Shakespearian editors, commentators, and scholars—and +this absurd theory about Bacon, which was first +broached a good many years ago, never obtained credit +for a moment with them; nor did they ever entertain for +an instant a doubt that the plays attributed to William +Shakespeare of Stratford-on-Avon were really written by +him. Now I am intimately acquainted and in frequent +communication with William Donne, Edward FitzGerald, +and James Spedding, all thorough Shakespeare scholars, +and the latter a man who has just published a work upon +Bacon, which has been really the labour of his life; none +of these men, competent judges of the matter, ever +mentions the question of "Who wrote Shakespeare?" +except as a ludicrous thing to be laughed at, and I think +they may be trusted to decide whether it is or is not so.</p> + +<p>I have a slight feeling of disgust at the attack made +thus on the personality of my greatest mental benefactor; +and consider the whole thing a misapplication, not to say +waste, of time and ingenuity that might be better employed. +As I regard the memory of Shakespeare with +love, veneration, and gratitude, and am proud and happy +to be his countrywoman, considering it among the +privileges of my English birth, I resent the endeavour to +prove that he deserved none of these feelings, but was a +mere literary impostor. I wonder the question had any +interest for you, for I should not have supposed you +imagined Shakespeare had not written his own plays, +Irish though you be. Do you remember the servant's +joke in the farce of "High Life Below Stairs" where the +cook asks, "Who wrote Shakespeare?" and one of the +others answers, with, at any rate, partial plausibility, +"Oh! why, Colley Cibber, to be sure!"</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_126_126" id="Footnote_126_126"></a><a href="#FNanchor_126_126"><span class="label">[126]</span></a> Sometimes one thinks her the wisest woman who ever lived. +"Nothing seems stranger than the delusions of other people +<i>when they have ceased to be our own</i>" suggests La Rochefoucauld +and comes near to Solomon; but whosoever may have anticipated +or prompted her, he is not at the moment within my +memory. But she is often not wise at all: and even her good +wits are not always left unaffected by her bad temper. It is +really amusing to read Mrs. Carlyle's rather mischievous account +of Mrs. Butler (F. K.'s married name) calling and carrying a +whip "to keep her hand in": and <i>then</i> to come on F. K.'s +waspish resentment at these words, when they were published.</p></div> +</div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span></p> + +<h2>WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY<br /> +(1811-1863)</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>So much has been said of Thackeray's letter-writing +powers in the Introduction that not much need be added +here on the general side. But a few words may be allowed +on what we may call the <i>conditioning</i> circumstances which +affected these powers, and made the result so peculiar. +Except in Swift's case—a thing piquant in itself considering +the injustice of the later writer to the earlier—hardly any +body of letters exhibits these conditions so obviously and +in so varied a fashion. In both there was the utmost +intellectual satire combined with the utmost tenderness of +feeling. Thackeray of course, partly from nature and partly +from the influence of time, did not mask his tenderness +and double-edge his severity with roughness and coarseness. +But the combination was intrinsically not very different. +There has also to be taken into account in Thackeray's +case domestic sorrow—coming quickly and life-long after it +began; means long restricted (partly by his own folly but +not so more tolerable); recognition of genius almost as +long deferred; and yet other "maladies of the soul." The +result was a constant ferment, of which the letters are in a +way the relieving valve or tap. That they are often apparently +light-hearted has nothing surprising in it: for when +a man habitually "eats his heart" it naturally becomes +lighter—till there is nothing of it left.</p> + +<p>He is, however, not easy to "sample," there being, as has +been said, no authorised collection to draw upon and other +difficulties in the way. What follows may serve for fault<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span> +of a better: and the <i>Spectator</i> letter-pastiche referred to +above under Walpole, will complete it perhaps more appropriately +than may at first appear. For while the latter is +quite Addisonian, not merely in dress but in body, its soul +is blended of two natures—the model's and the artist's—in +the rather uncanny fashion which makes <i>Esmond</i> as a +whole so marvellous, except to those stalwarts who hold +that, as nobody before the twentieth century knew anything +about anything, Thackeray could not know about the +eighteenth.</p></div> + + +<p class='lheading'>47. <span class="smcap">To Miss Lucy Baxter</span></p> + +<p class='rindent'> +<span class="smcap">Washington</span>, Saturday<br /> +Feb. 19. 1853. </p> + +<p>My dear little kind Lucy:</p> + +<p>I began to write you a letter in the railroad +yesterday, but it bumped with more than +ordinary violence, and I was forced to give up the +endeavour. I did not know how ill Lucy was at that time, +only remembered that I owed her a letter for that pretty +one you wrote me at Philadelphia, when Sarah was sick +and you acted as her Secretary. Is there going to be +always Somebody sick at the brown house? If I were +to come there now, I wonder should I be allowed to come +and see you in your night-cap—I wonder even do you +wear a night-cap? I should step up, take your little +hand, which I daresay is lying outside the coverlet, give +it a little shake; and then sit down and talk all sorts +of stuff and nonsense to you for half an hour; but very +kind and gentle, not so as to make you laugh too much +or your little back ache any more. Did I not tell +you to leave off that beecely jimnayshum? I am always +giving fine advice to girls in brown houses, and they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span> +always keep on never minding. It is not difficult to write +lying in bed—this is written not in bed, but on a sofa. +If you write the upright hand it's quite easy; slanting-dicular +is not so pleasant, though. I have just come back +from Baltimore and find your mother's and sister's +melancholy letters. I thought to myself, perhaps I might +see them on this very sofa and pictured to myself their +2 kind faces. Mr. Crampton was going to ask them to +dinner, I had made arrangements to get Sarah nice +partners at the ball—Why did dear little Lucy tumble +down at the Gymnasium? Many a pretty plan in life +tumbles down so, Miss Lucy, and falls on its back. But +the good of being ill is to find how kind one's friends are; +of being at a pinch (I do not know whether I may use the +expression—whether "pinch" is an indelicate word in +this country; it is used by our old writers to signify +poverty, narrow circumstances, res angusta)—the good +of being poor, I say, is to find friends to help you, I +have been both ill and poor, and found, thank God, such +consolation in those evils; and I daresay at this moment, +now you are laid up, you are the person of the most +importance in the whole house—Sarah is sliding about the +room with cordials in her hands and eyes; Libby is sitting +quite disconsolate by the bed (poor Libby! when one little +bird fell off the perch, I wonder the other did not go up +and fall off, too!) the expression of sympathy in Ben's eyes +is perfectly heart-rending; even George is quiet; and your +Father, Mother and Uncle (all 3 so notorious for their +violence of temper and language) have actually forgotten +to scold. "Ach, du lieber Himmel," says Herr Strumpf—isn't +his name Herr Strumpf?—the German master, "die +schöne Fräulein ist krank!" and bursts into tears on the +Pianofortyfier's shoulder when they hear the news (through<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> +his sobs) from black John. We have an Ebony femme +de chambre here; when I came from Baltimore just now +I found her in the following costume and attitude standing +for her picture to Mr. Crowe. She makes the beds with +that pipe in her mouf and leaves it about in the rooms. +Wouldn't she have been a nice lady's-maid for your +mother and Miss Bally Saxter?</p> + +<p>But even if Miss Lucy had not had her fall, I daresay +there would have been no party. Here is a great snow-storm +falling, though yesterday was as bland and bright +as May (English May, I mean) and how could we have +lionized Baltimore, and gone to Mount Vernon, and taken +our diversion in the snow? There would have been +nothing for it but to stay in this little closet of a room, +where there is scarce room for 6 people, and where it is +not near so comfortable as the brown house. Dear old +b.h., shall I see it again soon? I shall not go farther than +Charleston, and Savannah probably, and then I hope I +shall get another look at you all again before I commence +farther wanderings—O, stop! I didn't tell you why I was +going to write you—well, I went on Thursday to dine with +Governor and Mrs. Fish, a dinner in honor of me—and +before I went I arrayed myself in a certain white garment +of which the collar-button-holes had been altered, and I +thought of the kind, friendly little hand that had done +that deed for me; and when the Fisheses told me how +they lived in the Second Avenue (I had forgotten all about +'em)—their house and the house opposite came back to my +mind, and I liked them 50 times better for living near +some friends of mine. She is a nice woman, Madam Fish, +besides; and didn't I abuse you all to her? Good bye, +dear little Lucy—I wish the paper wasn't full. But I +have been sitting half an hour by the poor young lady's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span> +sofa, and talking stuff and nonsense, haven't I? And +now I get up, and shake your hand with a God bless you! +and walk down stairs, and please to give everybody my +kindest regards, and remember that I am truly your +friend.</p> + +<p class='rindent'>W. M. T.</p> + + +<p class='lheading'>48.</p> + +<p class='rindent'> +<span class="smcap">The "Trumpet" Coffee-house</span>,<br /> +<span class="smcap">Whitehall</span>. </p> + +<p>'Mr Spectator—</p> + +<p>'I am a gentleman but little acquainted with +the town, though I have had a university +education, and passed some years serving my country +abroad, where my name is better known than in the +coffee-houses and St. James's.</p> + +<p>'Two years since my uncle died, leaving me a pretty +estate in the county of Kent; and being at Tunbridge +Wells last summer, after my mourning was over, and on +the look-out, if truth must be told, for some young lady +who would share with me the solitude of my great Kentish +house, and be kind to my tenantry (for whom a woman +can do a great deal more good than the best-intentioned +man can), I was greatly fascinated by a young lady of +London, who was the toast of all the company at the +Wells. Everyone knows Saccharissa's beauty; and I +think, Mr. Spectator, no one better than herself.</p> + +<p>'My table-book informs me that I danced no less than +seven-and-twenty sets with her at the assembly. I treated +her to the fiddles twice. I was admitted on several days +to her lodging, and received by her with a great deal of +distinction, and, for a time, was entirely her slave. It was +only when I found, from common talk of the company at +the Wells, and from narrowly watching one, who I once<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span> +thought of asking the most sacred question a man can +put to a woman, that I became aware how unfit she was +to be a country gentleman's wife; and that this fair +creature was but a heartless worldly jilt, playing with +affections that she never meant to return, and, indeed, +incapable of returning them. 'Tis admiration such +women want, not love that touches them; and I can +conceive, in her old age, no more wretched creature than +this lady will be, when her beauty hath deserted her, +when her admirers have left her, and she hath neither +friendship nor religion to console her.</p> + +<p>'Business calling me to London, I went to St. James's +Church last Sunday, and there opposite me sat my beauty +of the Wells. Her behaviour during the whole service +was so pert, languishing and absurd; she flirted her fan, +and ogled and eyed me in a manner so indecent, that I +was obliged to shut my eyes, so as actually not to see her, +and whenever I opened them beheld hers (and very bright +they are) still staring at me. I fell in with her afterwards +at Court, and at the playhouse; and here nothing would +satisfy her but she must elbow through the crowd and +speak to me, and invite me to the assembly, which she +holds at her house, nor very far from Ch—r—ng Cr—ss.</p> + +<p>'Having made her a promise to attend, of course I kept +my promise; and found the young widow in the midst +of a half-dozen of card-tables, and a crowd of wits and +admirers. I made the best bow I could, and advanced +towards her; and saw by a peculiar puzzled look in her +face, though she tried to hide her perplexity, that she had +forgotten even my name.</p> + +<p>'Her talk, artful as it was, convinced me that I had +guessed aright. She turned the conversation most +ridiculously upon the spelling of names and words; and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span> +I replied with as ridiculous, fulsome compliments as I +could pay her; indeed, one in which I compared her to an +angel visiting the sick-wells, went a little too far; nor +should I have employed it, but that the allusion came from +the Second Lesson last Sunday, which we both had heard, +and I was pressed to answer her.</p> + +<p>'Then she came to the question, which I knew was +awaiting me, and asked how I <i>spelt</i> my name? +"Madam," says I, turning on my heel, "I spell it with +the y." And so I left her, wondering at the light-heartedness +of the town-people, who forget and make friends so +easily, and resolved to look elsewhere for a partner for +your constant reader.</p> + +<p class='rindent'>'<span class="smcap">Cymon Wyldoats</span>.</p> + +<p>'You know my real name, Mr. Spectator, in which there +is no such a letter as <i>hupsilon</i>. But if the lady, whom I +have called Saccharissa, wonders that I appear no more +at the tea-tables, she is hereby respectfully informed the +reason y.'</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHARLES DICKENS (1812-1870)</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>There are few better examples by converse of the saying +(familiar in various forms and sometimes specially applied +to writing and answering letters) that it is only idle people +who have no time to do anything, than Dickens. He was +by no means long-lived: and for the last three-fifths—practically +the whole busy time—of his life, he was one of +the busiest of men. He wrote many universally known +books, and not a few, in some cases not so well known, +articles. He travelled a great deal; edited periodicals for +many years, taking that duty by no means in the spirit +of Olympian aloofness which some popular opinion connects +with editorship; only sometimes shirked society; and had +all sorts of miscellaneous occupations and avocations. +His very fancy for long walks might seem one of the least +compatible with letter-writing; yet a very large bulk of +his letters (by no means mainly composed of editorial ones) +has been published, and there are no doubt many unpublished. +There have been different opinions as to their +comparative rank as letters, but there can be no difference +as to the curious full-bloodedness and plenitude of life +which, in this as in all other divisions of his writing, characterises +Dickens's expression of his thoughts and feelings. +Perhaps, as might be generally though not universally +expected, the comic ones are the more delightful: at any +rate they seem best worth giving here. The first—to a +schoolboy who had written to him about <i>Nicholas Nickleby</i>—is +quite charming; the second, to the famous actor-manager +who after being a Londoner by birth and residence +for half a century had just retired, is almost Charles Lamb-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span>like; +and the third deserved to have been put in the +original mouth of Mrs. Gamp!<a name="FNanchor_127_127" id="FNanchor_127_127"></a><a href="#Footnote_127_127" class="fnanchor">[127]</a></p></div> + + +<p class='lheading'>49. <span class="smcap">To Master Hastings Hughes</span></p> + +<p class='rindent'> +<span class="smcap">Doughty Street, London</span>.<br /> +Dec. 12th. 1838. </p> + +<p>Respected Sir,</p> + +<p>I have given Squeers one cut on the neck and +two on the head, at which he appeared much +surprised and began to cry, which, being a cowardly thing, +is just what I should have expected from him—wouldn't +you?</p> + +<p>I have carefully done what you told me in your letter +about the lamb and the two "sheeps" for the little boys. +They have also had some good ale and porter, and some +wine. I am sorry you didn't say <i>what</i> wine you would +like them to have. I gave them some sherry, which they +liked very much, except one boy, who was a little sick and +choked a good deal. He was rather greedy, and that's +the truth, and I believe it went the wrong way, which I +say served him right, and I hope you will say so too.</p> + +<p>Nicholas had his roast lamb, as you said he was to, but +he could not eat it all, and says if you do not mind his +doing so he should like to have the rest hashed to-morrow +with some greens, which he is very fond of, and so am I. +He said he did not like to have his porter hot, for he +thought it spoilt the flavour, so I let him have it cold. You<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span> +should have seen him drink it. I thought he never would +have left off. I also gave him three pounds of money, all +in sixpences, to make it seem more, and he said directly +that he should give more than half to his mamma and +sister, and divide the rest with poor Smike. And I say +he is a good fellow for saying so; and if anybody says he +isn't I am ready to fight him whenever they like—there!</p> + +<p>Fanny Squeers shall be attended to, depend upon it. +Your drawing of her is very like, except that I don't +think the hair is quite curly enough. The nose is +particularly like hers, and so are the legs. She is a nasty +disagreeable thing, and I know it will make her very cross +when she sees it; and what I say is that I hope it may. +You will say the same I know—at least I think you will.</p> + +<p>I meant to have written you a long letter, but I cannot +write very fast when I like the person I am writing to, +because that makes me think about them, and I like you, +and so I tell you. Besides, it is just eight o'clock at night, +and I always go to bed at eight o'clock, except when it is +my birthday, and then I sit up to supper. So I will not +say anything more besides this—and that is my love to +you and Neptune; and if you will drink my health every +Christmas Day I will drink yours—come.</p> + +<p class='lindent'>I am,</p> + +<p class='lindent2'>Respected Sir,</p> + +<p class='rindent'>Your affectionate Friend.</p> + +<p>P.S. I don't write my name very plain,<a name="FNanchor_128_128" id="FNanchor_128_128"></a><a href="#Footnote_128_128" class="fnanchor">[128]</a> but you know +what it is you know, so never mind.</p> + + +<p class='lheading'>50. <span class="smcap">To Mr. W. C. Macready</span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span></p> + +<p class='rindent'>Saturday, May 24th, 1851.</p> + +<p>My dear Macready,</p> + +<p>We are getting in a good heap of money for +the Guild. The comedy has been very much +improved, in many respects, since you read it. The scene +to which you refer is certainly one of the most telling in +the play. And there <i>is</i> a farce to be produced on Tuesday +next, wherein a distinguished amateur will sustain a +variety of assumption-parts, and in particular, Samuel +Weller and Mrs. Gamp, of which I say no more. I am +pining for Broadstairs, where the children are at present. +I lurk from the sun, during the best part of the day, in a +villainous compound of darkness, canvas, sawdust, general +dust, stale gas (involving a vague smell of pepper), and +disenchanted properties. But I hope to get down on +Wednesday or Thursday.</p> + +<p>Ah! you country gentlemen, who live at home at ease, +how little do you think of us among the London fleas! +But they tell me you are coming in for Dorsetshire. You +must be very careful, when you come to town to attend +to your parliamentary duties, never to ask your way of +people in the streets. They will misdirect you for what +the vulgar call "a lark," meaning, in this connection, a +jest at your expense. Always go into some respectable +shop or apply to a policeman. You will know him by +his being dressed in blue, with very dull silver buttons, +and by the top of his hat being made of sticking-plaster. +You may perhaps see in some odd place an intelligent-looking +man, with a curious little wooden table before him +and three thimbles on it. He will want you to bet, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span> +don't do it. He really desires to cheat you. And don't +buy at auctions where the best plated goods are being +knocked down for next to nothing. These, too, are +delusions. If you wish to go to the play to see real good +acting (though a little more subdued than perfect tragedy +should be), I would recommend you to see —— at the +Theatre Royal, Drury Lane. Anybody will show it to +you. It is near the Strand, and you may know it by +seeing no company whatever at any of the doors. Cab +fares are eightpence a mile. A mile London measure is +half a Dorsetshire mile, recollect. Porter is twopence per +pint; what is called stout is fourpence. The Zoological +Gardens are in the Regent's Park, and the price of admission +is one shilling. Of the streets, I would recommend +you to see Regent Street and the Quadrant, Bond Street, +Piccadilly, Oxford Street, and Cheapside. I think these +will please you after a time, though the tumult and bustle +will at first bewilder you. If I can serve you in any way, +pray command me. And with my best regards to your +happy family, so remote from this Babel.</p> + +<p class='lindent'>Believe me, my dear Friend,</p> + +<p class='lindent2'>Ever affectionately yours.</p> + +<p class='rindent'>[<span class="smcap">Charles Dickens</span>]</p> + +<p>P.S. I forgot to mention just now that the black +equestrian figure you will see at Charing Cross, as you go +down to the House, is a statue of <i>King Charles the First</i>.<a name="FNanchor_129_129" id="FNanchor_129_129"></a><a href="#Footnote_129_129" class="fnanchor">[129]</a></p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span></p> + + +<p class='lheading'>51. <span class="smcap">To Mr. Edmund Yates</span></p> + +<p class='rindent'> +<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <br /> +Tuesday, Feb. 2nd. 1858.<br /> +</p> + +<p>My dear Yates,</p> + +<p>Your quotation is, as I supposed, all wrong. +The text <i>is not</i> "Which his 'owls was organs." +When Mr. Harris went into an empty dog-kennel, to +spare his sensitive nature the anguish of overhearing Mrs. +Harris's exclamations on the occasion of the birth of her +first child (the Princess Royal of the Harris family), "he +never took his hands away from his ears, or came out +once, till he was showed the baby." On encountering that +spectacle, he was (being of a weakly constitution) "took +with fits." For this distressing complaint he was +medically treated; the doctor "collared him, and laid +him on his back upon the airy stones"—please to observe +what follows—"and she was told, to ease her mind, his +'owls was organs."</p> + +<p>That is to say, Mrs. Harris, lying exhausted on her bed, +in the first sweet relief of freedom from pain, merely +covered with the counterpane, and not yet "put comfortable," +hears a noise apparently proceeding from the backyard, +and says, in a flushed and hysterical manner: +"What 'owls are those? Who is a-'owling? Not my +ugebond?" Upon which the doctor, looking round one +of the bottom posts of the bed, and taking Mrs. Harris's +pulse in a reassuring manner, says, with much admirable +presence of mind: "Howls, my dear madam?—no, no, +no! What are we thinking of? Howls, my dear Mrs. +Harris? Ha, ha, ha! Organs, ma'am, organs. Organs +in the streets, Mrs. Harris; no howls."</p> + +<p class='lindent2'>Yours faithfully, [C. D.]</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_127_127" id="Footnote_127_127"></a><a href="#FNanchor_127_127"><span class="label">[127]</span></a> One of the pleasantest, <i>to me</i>, of Dickens's letters is that in +which, extravagant anti-Tory as he was, he refuses to let a +contributor echo the too common grudges at Lockhart (see <i>inf.</i> +under Stevenson). But it is very short, and perhaps of no +general interest.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_128_128" id="Footnote_128_128"></a><a href="#FNanchor_128_128"><span class="label">[128]</span></a> Referring, I suppose, to the well-known and "inimitable" +(but by no means indispensable) flourish of his signature.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_129_129" id="Footnote_129_129"></a><a href="#FNanchor_129_129"><span class="label">[129]</span></a> "The comedy" is Bulwer-Lytton's <i>Not so Bad as we Seem</i>, +acted by Dickens and other amateurs for charity at Devonshire +House seventy years ago, and about to be reproduced <i>in loco</i> as +these proofs are being revised.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHARLES KINGSLEY (1819-1875)</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>There are some people who, while thinking that the +author of <i>Westward Ho!</i> has not, at least recently, been +given his due rank in critical estimation, admit certain +explanations of this. As a historian and in almost all his +writings Kingsley was inaccurate,—almost (as his friend +and brother-in-law Froude was once said to be) "congenitally +inaccurate"; in his novels and elsewhere he went +out of his way to tread on the corns of all sorts of people; +he constantly ventured out of his depth in such subjects as +philosophy and theology; and he suffered a terrible defeat +by rashly engaging, and by tactical ineptitude, in his contest +with Newman. His politics, in which matter at one time +he engaged hotly, were those of a busier and more educated +Colonel Newcome. His poems, which were his least unequal +work, seem never to have attracted due notice.</p> + +<p>But none of his foibles—not even corn-treading—is a +fatal defect in familiar letter-writing: consequently he +has good chance here, and his <i>Letters and Memoirs</i> have been +deservedly often reprinted. It is true that letters cannot +show in full the really exceptional versatility which enabled +the same man to write <i>Yeast</i> and <i>Westward Ho!</i>, <i>Andromeda</i> +and <i>The Water Babies</i>, the best of the Essays and the best +of the Sermons, <i>Alton Locke</i> and <i>At Last</i>. But they can +and they do show it in part: and it gives them the interest +which has been noticed in other cases. Indeed in one +respect—as a writer—Kingsley is perhaps better in his +letters than in his <i>Essays</i>, where he too often affects a +Macaulayesque positiveness on rather inadequate grounds. +The following specimen should show him in pleasantly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span> +varied character—as a thoroughly human person, a good +sportsman, and what Matthew Arnold (by no means himself +very liberal of praise to his literary contemporaries) thought +him—"the most generous man [he had] ever known; the +most forward to praise, the most willing to admire, the +most free from all thought of himself in praising and admiring +and the most incapable of being made ill-natured +by having to support ill-natured attacks upon himself." +It is to be feared that Mr. Arnold did not go far wrong when +he declared, "Among men of letters I know nothing so +rare as this."</p> + +<p>It is true that the author of <i>Tom Brown's Schooldays</i> was +an intimate personal friend, and in politics and other things +a close comrade of Kingsley's; but he was as generous to +others, and while the scars of the battle with Newman were +almost fresh, he writes that he has read <i>The Dream of Gerontius</i> +"with admiration and awe." <span class='greek' title='thymos'>θυμός</span>, in this sense = "spirit." +"Jaques" = "Jack" = "Pike," while on the other +side we get, through him of <i>As You Like It</i>, an explanation +of "melancholies." And in fact the pike is not a cheerful-looking +fish. Even two whom the present writer once saw +tugging at the two ends of one dead trout in a shallow, did +it sulkily.</p></div> + + +<p class='lheading'>52. <span class="smcap">To Tom Hughes, Esq</span>.</p> + +<p class='rindent'>Jan. 12. 1857.</p> + +<p>I have often been minded to write to you about +'Tom Brown.' I have puffed it everywhere I +went, but I soon found how true the adage is that +good wine needs no bush, for every one had read it already, +and from every one, from the fine lady on her throne to +the red-coat on his cock-horse and the school-boy on his +forrum (as our Irish brethren call it), I have heard but one +word, and that is, that it is the jolliest book they ever +read. Among a knot of red-coats at the cover-side, some<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span> +very fast fellow said, 'If I had had such a book in my +boyhood, I should have been a better man now!' and +more than one capped his sentiment frankly. Now +isn't it a comfort to your old bones to have written such +a book, and a comfort to see that fellows are in a humour +to take it in? So far from finding men of our rank in a +bad vein, or sighing over the times and prospects of the +rising generation, I can't help thinking they are very +teachable, humble, honest fellows, who want to know +what's right, and if they don't go and do it, still think +the worst of themselves therefor. I remark now, that +with hounds and in fast company, I never hear an oath, +and that, too, is a sign of self-restraint. Moreover, +drinking is gone out, and, good God, what a blessing! I +have good hopes, of our class, and better than of the class +below. They are effeminate, and that makes them +sensual. Pietists of all ages (George Fox, my dear friend, +among the worst) never made a greater mistake than in +fancying that by keeping down manly <span class='greek' title='thymos'>θυμός</span>, which +Plato saith is the root of all virtue, they could keep down +sensuality. They were dear good old fools. However, +the day of 'Pietism' is gone, and 'Tom Brown' is a +heavy stone on its grave. 'Him no get up again after +that,' as the niggers say of a buried obi-man. I am +trying to polish the poems: but Maurice's holidays make +me idle; he has come home healthier and jollier than ever +he was in all his life, and is truly a noble boy. Sell your +last coat and buy a spoon. I have a spoon of huge size +(Farlow his make). I killed forty pounds weight of pike, +&c., on it the other day, at Strathfieldsaye, to the astonishment +and delight of ——, who cut small jokes on 'a spoon +at each end,' &c., but altered his tone when he saw the +melancholies coming ashore, one every ten minutes, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span> +would try his own hand. I have killed heaps of big pike +round with it. I tried it in Lord Eversley's lakes on +Monday, when the fish wouldn't have even his fly. +Capricious party is Jaques. Next day killed a seven +pounder at Hurst.... We had a pretty thing on Friday +with Garth's, the first run I've seen this year. Out of the +Clay Vale below Tilney Hall, pace as good as could be, +fields three acres each, fences awful, then over Hazeley +Heath to Bramshill, shoved him through a false cast, and +a streamer over Hartford Bridge flat, into an unlucky +earth. Time fifty-five minutes, falls plentiful, started +thirty, and came in eight, and didn't the old mare go? +Oh, Tom, she is a comfort; even when a bank broke into +a lane, and we tumbled down, she hops up again before +I'd time to fall off, and away like a four-year old. And if +you can get a horse through that clay vale, why then you +can get him 'mostwards'; leastwise so I find, for a +black region it is, and if you ain't in the same field with +the hounds, you don't know whether you are in the same +parish, what with hedges, and trees, and woods, and all +supernumerary vegetations. Actually I was pounded in +a 'taty-garden,' so awful is the amount of green stuff in +these parts. Come and see me, and take the old mare out, +and if you don't break her neck, she won't break yours.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span></p> +<h2>JOHN RUSKIN (1819-1900)</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>The peculiar wilfulness—the unkind called it wrong-headedness—which +flecked and veined Mr. Ruskin's genius, +had, owing to his wealth and to his entire indifference to +any but his own opinion, opportunities of displaying itself +in all his work, public as well as private, which are not +common. Naturally, it showed itself nowhere more than +in letters, and perhaps not unnaturally he often adopted +the epistolary form in books which, had he chosen, might +as well have taken another—while he might have chosen +this in some which do not actually <i>call</i> themselves "letters." +There is, however, little difference, except "fuller dress" +of expression, between any of the classes of his work, whether +it range from the first volume of <i>Modern Painters</i> to <i>Verona</i> +in time, or from <i>The Seven Lamps of Architecture</i> to <i>Unto +This Last</i> in subject. If anybody ever could "write +beautifully about a broomstick" he could: though perhaps +it is a pity that he so often did. But this faculty, and the +entire absence of bashfulness which accompanied it, are no +doubt grand accommodations for letter-writing; and the +reader of Mr. Ruskin's letters gets the benefit of both very +often—of a curious study of high character and great +powers uncontrolled by logical self-criticism almost always. +The following—part of a still longer letter which he addressed +to the <i>Daily Telegraph</i>, Sep. 11, 1865, on the eternal Servant +Question—was of course written for publication, but so, +practically, was everything that ever came from its author. +It so happens too that, putting aside his usual King Charles's +Head of Demand and Supply, there is little in it of his more +mischievous crotchets, nothing of the petulance (amounting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span> +occasionally to rudeness) of language in which he sometimes +indulged, but much of his nobler idealism, while it +is a capital example of his less florid style. "Launce," +"Grumio" and "Old Adam" are of course Shakespeare's: +"Fairservice" (of whom, tormenting and selfish as he was, +Mr. Ruskin perhaps thought a little too harshly) and +"Mattie," Scott's. "Latinity enough"—the unfortunate +man had written, and the newspaper had printed, <i>hoc</i> +instead of <i>hac</i>. "A book of Scripture," Colenso's work +had just been finished. "Charlotte Winsor" a baby-farmer +of the day.</p></div> + + +<p class='lheading'>53. From "<span class="smcap">The Daily Telegraph</span>"</p> + +<p class='rindent'>September 18, 1865.</p> + +<p class='center'>DOMESTIC SERVANTS: SONSHIP AND SLAVERY.</p> + +<p class='center'>To the Editor of "The Daily Telegraph."</p> + +<p>Sir,</p> + +<p>I have been watching the domestic correspondence +in your columns with much interest, and +thought of offering you a short analysis of it when you +saw good to bring it to a close, and perhaps a note or two +of my own experience, being somewhat conceited on the +subject just now, because I have a gardener who lets me +keep old-fashioned plants in the greenhouse, understands +that my cherries are grown for the blackbirds, and sees +me gather a bunch of my own grapes without making a +wry face. But your admirable article of yesterday causes +me to abandon my purpose; the more willingly, because +among all the letters you have hitherto published there is +not one from any head of a household which contains a +complaint worth notice. All the masters or mistresses +whose letters are thoughtful or well written say they get<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span> +on well enough with their servants; no part has yet been +taken in the discussion by the heads of old families. The +servants' letters, hitherto, furnish the best data; but the +better class of servants are also silent, and must remain so. +Launce, Grumio, or Fairservice may have something to +say for themselves; but you will hear nothing from Old +Adam nor from Carefu' Mattie. One proverb from +Sancho, if we could get it, would settle the whole business +for us; but his master and he are indeed "no more." +I would have walked down to Dulwich to hear what Sam +Weller had to say; but the high-level railway went +through Mr. Pickwick's parlour two months ago, and it is +of no use writing to Sam, for, as you are well aware, he +is no penman. And, indeed, Sir, little good will come of +any writing on the matter. "The cat will mew, the dog +will have its day." You yourself, excellent as is the +greater part of what you have said, and to the point, +speak but vainly when you talk of "probing the evil to +the bottom." This is no sore that can be probed, no +sword nor bullet wound. This is a plague spot. Small or +great, it is in the significance of it, not in the depth, that +you have to measure it. It is essentially bottomless, +cancerous; a putrescence through the constitution of the +people is indicated by this galled place. Because I know +this thoroughly, I say so little, and that little, as your +correspondents think, who know nothing of me, and as +you say, who might have known more of me, unpractically. +Pardon me, I am no seller of plasters, nor of ounces of +civet. The patient's sickness is his own fault, and only +years of discipline will work it out of him. That is the +only really "practical" saying that can be uttered to him.</p> + +<p>The relation of master and servant involves every other—touches +every condition of moral health through the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span> +State. Put that right, and you put all right; but you +will find that it can only come ultimately, not primarily, +right; you cannot begin with it. Some of the evidence +you have got together is valuable, many pieces of partial +advice very good. You need hardly, I think, unless you +wanted a type of British logic, have printed a letter in +which the writer accused (or would have accused, if he +had possessed Latinity enough) all London servants of +being thieves because he had known one robbery to have +been committed by a nice-looking girl. But on the whole +there is much common sense in the letters; the singular +point in them all, to my mind, being the inapprehension +of the breadth and connection of the question, and the +general resistance to, and stubborn rejection of, the +abstract ideas of sonship and slavery, which include whatever +is possible in wise treatment of servants. It is very +strange to see that, while everybody shrinks at abstract +suggestions of there being possible error in a book of +Scripture, your sensible English housewife fearlessly +rejects Solomon's opinion when it runs slightly counter to +her own, and that not one of your many correspondents +seems ever to have read the Epistle to Philemon. It is +no less strange that while most English boys of ordinary +position hammer through their Horace at one time or +other time of their school life, no word of his wit or his +teaching seems to remain by them: for all the good they +get out of them, the Satires need never have been written. +The Roman gentleman's account of his childhood and of +his domestic life possesses no charm for them; and even +men of education would sometimes start to be reminded +that his "<i>noctes coenaeque Deum!</i>" meant supping with +his merry slaves on beans and bacon. Will you allow me, +on this general question of liberty and slavery, to refer<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span> +your correspondents to a paper of mine touching closely +upon it, the leader in the <i>Art-Journal</i> for July last? and +to ask them also to meditate a little over the two beautiful +epitaphs on Epictetus and Zosima, quoted in the last +paper of the <i>Idler</i>?</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"I, Epictetus, was a slave; and sick in body, and +wretched in poverty; and beloved by the gods."</p> + +<p>"Zosima, who while she lived was a slave only in her +body, has now found deliverance for that also."</p></div> + +<p>How might we, over many an "independent" Englishman, +reverse this last legend, and write—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"This man, who while he lived was free only in his body, +has now found captivity for that also."</p></div> + +<p>I will not pass without notice—for it bears also on wide +interests—your correspondent's question, how my principles +differ from the ordinary economist's view of supply +and demand. Simply in that the economy I have taught, +in opposition to the popular view, is the science which not +merely ascertains the relations of existing demand and +supply, but determines what <i>ought</i> to be demanded and +what <i>can</i> be supplied. A child demands the moon, and, +the supply not being in this case equal to the demand, is +wisely accommodated with a rattle; a footpad demands +your purse, and is supplied according to the less or more +rational economy of the State, with that or a halter; a +foolish nation, not able to get into its head that free trade +does indeed mean the removal of taxation from its imports, +but not of supervision from them, demands +unlimited foreign beef, and is supplied with the cattle +murrain and the like. There may be all manner of +demands, all manner of supplies. The true political +economist regulates these; the false political economist<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span> +leaves them to be regulated by (not Divine) Providence. +For, indeed, the largest final demand anywhere reported +of, is that of hell; and the supply of it (by the broad +gauge line) would be very nearly equal to the demand at +this day, unless there were here and there a swineherd or +two who could keep his pigs out of sight of the lake.</p> + +<p>Thus in this business of servants everything depends on +what sort of servant you at heart wish for or "demand." +If for nurses you want Charlotte Winsors, they are to be +had for money; but by no means for money, such as that +German girl who, the other day, on her own scarce-floating +fragment of wreck, saved the abandoned child of another +woman, keeping it alive by the moisture from her lips. +What kind of servant do you want? It is a momentous +question for you yourself—for the nation itself. Are we +to be a nation of shopkeepers, wanting only shop-boys: +or of manufacturers, wanting only hands: or are there +to be knights among us, who will need squires—captains +among us, needing crews? Will you have clansmen for +your candlesticks, or silver plate? Myrmidons at your +tents, ant-born, or only a mob on the Gillies' Hill? Are +you resolved that you will never have any but your +inferiors to serve you, or shall Enid ever lay your trencher +with tender little thumb, and Cinderella sweep your +hearth, and be cherished there? It <i>might</i> come to that +in time, and plate and hearth be the brighter; but if your +servants are to be held your inferiors, at least be sure they +<i>are</i> so, and that you are indeed wiser, and better-tempered, +and more useful than they. Determine what their education +ought to be, and organize proper servants' schools, +and there give it them. So they will be fit for their +position, and will do honour to it, and stay in it: let the +masters be as sure they do honour to theirs, and are as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span> +willing to stay in that. Remember that every people +which gives itself to the pursuit of riches, invariably, and +of necessity, gets the scum uppermost in time, and is set +by the genii, like the ugly bridegroom in the Arabian +Nights, at its own door with its heels in the air, showing +its shoe-soles instead of a Face. And the reversal is a +serious matter, if reversal be even possible, and it comes +right end uppermost again, instead of to conclusive Wrong-end.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span></p> + +<h2>ROBERT LOUIS BALFOUR STEVENSON<br /> +(1850-1894)</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>The author of <i>Treasure Island</i> (invariably known to his +friends simply as "Louis," the "Robert" being reserved +in the form of "Bob" for his less famous but very admirable +cousin the art-critic) will perhaps offer to some Matthew +Arnold of posterity the opportunity of a paradox like that +of our Matthew on Shelley. For a short time some of these +friends—not perhaps the wisest of them—were inclined to +regard him as, and to urge him to continue to be, a writer +of criticisms and miscellaneous articles—a sort of new +Hazlitt. Others no sooner saw the <i>New Arabian Nights</i> +than they recognised a tale-teller such as had not been seen +for a long time—such as, in respect of anything imitable, +had never been seen before. And he fortunately fell in +with these views and hopes. But all his tales are pure +Romance, and Romance has her eclipses with the vulgar. +On the other hand his letters are almost as good as his +fiction, and not in the least open to the charges of a certain +non-naturalness of style—even of thought—which could, +justly or not, be brought against his other writings. And it +is perhaps worth noting here that letters have held their +popularity with all fit judges almost better than any other +division of literature. Whether this is the effect of their +"touches of nature" (using the famous phrase without the +blunder so common in regard to it but not without reference +to its context) need not be discussed.</p> + +<p>As, by the kindness of Mr. Lloyd Osbourne, I am enabled +to give here an unpublished letter of Stevenson's to myself, +it may require some explanation, not only of the com<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span>mentatory +and commendatory kind but of fact. Stevenson, +coming to dine with me, had brought with him, and showed +with much pride, a new umbrella (a seven-and-sixpenny +one) which, to my surprise, he had bought. But when he +went away that night he forgot it; and when I met him +next day at the Savile and suggested that I should send it +to him, there or somewhere, he said he was going abroad +almost immediately and begged me to keep it for him. +By this or that accident, but chiefly owing to his constant +expatriations, no opportunity of restitution ever occurred: +though I used to remind him of it as a standing joke, and +treasured it religiously, stored and unused. This letter +is partly in answer to a last reminder in which I said that +I was going to present it to the nation, that it might be kept +with King Koffee Kalcalli's, but as a memory of a "victor +in romance" not of a vanquished enemy.</p> + +<p>I of course told Mr. Kipling of the contents which concerned +him: and he, equally of course, demanded delivery +of the goods at once. But, half in joke, I demurred, saying +that I was a bailee, and the gift was not formal enough, +being undated and only a "suggestion"; he should have +it without fail at my death, or Stevenson's.<a name="FNanchor_130_130" id="FNanchor_130_130"></a><a href="#Footnote_130_130" class="fnanchor">[130]</a></p> + +<p>When alas! this latter came, I prepared to act up to my +promise; but, alas! again, the umbrella had vanished! +Some prated of mislaying in house-removal, of illicit use +by servants, etc.; but for my part I had and have no doubt +that the thing had been enskyed and constellated—like +Ariadne's Crown, Berenice's Locks, Cassiopeia's Chair, +and a whole galaxy of other now celestial objects—to afford +a special place to my dead friend then, and to my live one +when (may the time still be far distant) he is ready for it.</p> + +<p>As for the more serious subject of the letter, I must refer +curious readers to an essay of mine on Lockhart, originally +published in 1884 and reprinted in <i>Essays in English</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span> +<i>Literature</i> some years later. To this reprint I subjoined, +<i>before</i> I got this letter from R. L. S., a reasoned defence of +Lockhart from the charge of cowardice and "caddishness": +but it is evident that Stevenson had not yet seen it. When +he did see it, he wrote me another letter chiefly about my +book itself, and so of no interest to the public, but touching +again on this Lockhart question. He avowed himself still +dissatisfied: but said he was sorry for his original remark +which was "ungracious and unhandsome" if not untrue, +adding, "for to whom do I owe more pleasure than to +Lockhart?"</p></div> + + +<p class='lheading'>54.</p> + +<p>My dear Saintsbury,</p> + +<p>Thanks for yours. Why did I call Lockhart +a cad? That calls for an answer, and I give +it. "Scorpion"<a name="FNanchor_131_131" id="FNanchor_131_131"></a><a href="#Footnote_131_131" class="fnanchor">[131]</a> literature seems at the best no very fit +employment for a man of genius, which Lockhart was—and +none at all for a gentleman. But if a man goes in for +such a trade, he must be ready for the consequences; and +I do not conceive a gentleman as a coward; the white +feather is not his crest, it <i>almost</i> excludes—and I put the +"almost" with reluctance. Well, now about the duel? +Even Bel-Ami<a name="FNanchor_132_132" id="FNanchor_132_132"></a><a href="#Footnote_132_132" class="fnanchor">[132]</a> turned up on the <i>terrain</i>. But Lockhart? +<i>Et responsum est ab omnibus, Non est inventus.</i><a name="FNanchor_133_133" id="FNanchor_133_133"></a><a href="#Footnote_133_133" class="fnanchor">[133]</a> +I have often wondered how Scott took that episode.<a name="FNanchor_134_134" id="FNanchor_134_134"></a><a href="#Footnote_134_134" class="fnanchor">[134]</a> I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span> +do not know how this view will strike you;<a name="FNanchor_135_135" id="FNanchor_135_135"></a><a href="#Footnote_135_135" class="fnanchor">[135]</a> it seems to +me the "good old honest" fashion of our fathers, though +I own it does not agree with the New Morality. "Cad" +may be perhaps an expression too vivacious and not well +chosen; it is, at least upon my view, substantially just.</p> + +<p>Now if you mean to comb my wig, comb it from the +right parting—I know you will comb it well.</p> + +<p>An infinitely small jest occurs to me in connection with +the historic umbrella: and perhaps its infinite smallness +attracts me. Would you mind handing it to Rudyard +Kipling with the enclosed note?<a name="FNanchor_136_136" id="FNanchor_136_136"></a><a href="#Footnote_136_136" class="fnanchor">[136]</a> It seems to me fitly +to consecrate and commemorate this most absurd episode.</p> + +<p class='lindent2'>Yours very sincerely,</p> + +<p class='rindent'><span class="smcap">Robert Louis Stevenson</span>.</p> + +<p>[<i>Enclosure</i>]</p> + +<p class='center'> +This Umbrella<br /> +purchased in the year 1878 by<br /> +Robert Louis Stevenson<br /> +(and faithfully stabled for more than twelve years in the<br /> +halls of George Saintsbury)<br /> +is now handed on at the suggestion of the first and<br /> +by the loyal hands of the second,<br /> +to<br /> +Rudyard Kipling.</p> + +<p class='frontend2'> +PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY ROBERT MACLEHOSE AND CO. LTD.<br /> +THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, GLASGOW.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_130_130" id="Footnote_130_130"></a><a href="#FNanchor_130_130"><span class="label">[130]</span></a> Of this <i>moratorium</i> I believe I duly advised R. L. S. and +I don't think he objected. There was, if I remember rightly, a +further reason for it—that I was living in two places at the +time and the subject was not immediately at hand.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_131_131" id="Footnote_131_131"></a><a href="#FNanchor_131_131"><span class="label">[131]</span></a> Lockhart's (self-given) name in the "<i>Chaldee MS.</i>" was +"the Scorpion that delighteth to sting the faces of men."</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_132_132" id="Footnote_132_132"></a><a href="#FNanchor_132_132"><span class="label">[132]</span></a> Maupassant's ineffable hero and title-giver.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_133_133" id="Footnote_133_133"></a><a href="#FNanchor_133_133"><span class="label">[133]</span></a> Hardly any school-boy of my or Stevenson's generation +would have needed a reference to the <i>Essay on Murder</i>. But I +am told that De Quincey has gone out of fashion, with school-boys +and others.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_134_134" id="Footnote_134_134"></a><a href="#FNanchor_134_134"><span class="label">[134]</span></a> We know now: also what "The Duke" said when consulted. +They did not agree with Stevenson, but then they knew all the +facts and he did not.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_135_135" id="Footnote_135_135"></a><a href="#FNanchor_135_135"><span class="label">[135]</span></a> I should have held it myself, if the facts had been what R. L. S. +thought them.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_136_136" id="Footnote_136_136"></a><a href="#FNanchor_136_136"><span class="label">[136]</span></a> Which of course is Mr. Kipling's property, not mine. But +he has most kindly joined in, authorising its publication, and +that of the rest of the letter as far as he is concerned.</p></div></div> + + + + +<h3>BY THE SAME AUTHOR</h3> + +<h1>The Peace<br /> +of the Augustans</h1> + +<h2>A Survey of Eighteenth Century Literature<br /> +as a Place of Rest and Refreshment</h2> + +<p class='center'><i>Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net</i></p> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"No one living," according to the <i>Times</i>, "knows English +eighteenth century literature as well as Mr. Saintsbury knows +it.... If you do not know and like your eighteenth century, +then he will make you; and if you do, he will show you that +even what you thought the dullest parts are full of rest and +refreshment."</p> + +<p>In the opinion of the <i>Spectator</i>, "Mr. Saintsbury in his new +book has given to the world a singularly delightful gift. <i>The +Peace of the Augustans</i> is in no sense written down. Yet every +page is so subtly seasoned with amusing comment, and the +whole book is so charmingly garnished that none but a dullard +could fail to find delight in its perusal, however little he knew +of the spirit which animated the eighteenth century. One can +hardly imagine better reading after a day of hard or uncongenial +work."</p> + +<p>"No bush is necessary to proclaim where good wine may be +had," says the <i>Glasgow Herald</i>, "and no author's name was +required to indicate the source of this always fresh and in some +respects original treatment of the Augustan literature.... In +literature there are many mansions, and Mr. Saintsbury is at +home in them all.... A book it has been very pleasant and +very profitable to read."</p></div> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<p class='frontend'> +LONDON: G. BELL AND SONS, LTD.<br /> +YORK HOUSE, PORTUGAL STREET, W.C. 2</p> + + + + +<h1>Handbooks of<br /> +English Literature</h1> + + +<h3>Edited by the late J. W. HALES, M.A.<br /> +<span class='frontend2'>Professor of English Literature, King's College, London</span></h3> + +<p class='center'><i>Small Crown 8vo. 5s. net each</i></p> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>THE AGE OF ALFRED</b> (664-1154). By <span class="smcap">F. J. Snell, M.A.</span></p> + +<p><b>THE AGE OF CHAUCER</b> (1346-1400). By <span class="smcap">F. J. Snell, M.A.</span>, +with an Introduction by <span class="smcap">Professor Hales</span>. <i>Third edition.</i></p> + +<p><b>THE AGE OF TRANSITION</b> (1400-1580). By <span class="smcap">F. J. Snell, +M.A.</span> In 2 vols. With Introduction by <span class="smcap">Professor Hales</span>, +Vol. I.—Poetry. Vol. II.—Prose and Drama. <i>Third +edition.</i></p> + +<p><b>THE AGE OF SHAKESPEARE</b> (1579-1631). By <span class="smcap">Thomas +Seccombe</span> and <span class="smcap">J. W. Allen</span>. In 2 vols. Vol. I.—Poetry +and Prose, with an Introduction by <span class="smcap">Professor Hales</span>. +Vol. II.—Drama. <i>Seventh edition.</i></p> + +<p><b>THE AGE OF MILTON</b> (1632-1660). By Rev. Canon <span class="smcap">J. H. B. +Masterman, M.A.</span>, with an Introduction, &c., by <span class="smcap">J. Bass +Mullinger, M.A.</span> <i>Eighth edition.</i></p> + +<p><b>THE AGE OF DRYDEN</b> (1660-1700). By the late <span class="smcap">Richard +Garnett, C.B., LL.D.</span> <i>Eighth edition.</i></p> + +<p><b>THE AGE OF POPE</b> (1700-1744). By <span class="smcap">John Dennis</span>. <i>Tenth +edition.</i></p> + +<p><b>THE AGE OF JOHNSON</b> (1744-1798). By <span class="smcap">Thomas Seccombe</span>. +<i>Seventh edition.</i></p> + +<p><b>THE AGE OF WORDSWORTH</b> (1798-1832). By <span class="smcap">Professor +C. H. Herford</span>, Litt.D. <i>Twelfth edition.</i></p> + +<p><b>THE AGE OF TENNYSON</b> (1830-1870). By <span class="smcap">Professor Hugh +Walker, M.A.</span> <i>Ninth edition.</i></p></div> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<p class='frontend'> +LONDON: G. BELL AND SONS, LTD.<br /> +YORK HOUSE, PORTUGAL STREET, W.C. 2</p> + + +<div class="transnote"> +<a name="transnote" id="transnote"></a><h3>Transcriber's Notes</h3> + +<p>Page <a href="#Page_108">108</a>: full stop inserted after "Duke of Burgundy"</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#Page_125">125</a>: Second opening parenthesis from before "Cambridge +University Press" removed</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#Page_245">245</a>: Removed closing parenthesis following "the Valley +of the Shadow of Frederick"</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#Page_260">260</a>: "sunday" <i>sic</i></p> + +<p>Generally spelling, capitalization and punctuation in +letters has been retained as per the book, with the +following exceptions:</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#Page_305">305</a>: Removed closing quote marks following "terrain" +(Letter 54)</p> +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Letter Book, by George Saintsbury + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LETTER BOOK *** + +***** This file should be named 31072-h.htm or 31072-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/0/7/31072/ + +Produced by Susan Skinner and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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