Letters of Edward FitzGerald
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Edward FitzGerald >> Letters of Edward FitzGerald
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I have not been able to ascertain the exact time at which FitzGerald
began his Spanish studies; but it must have been long before this, for in
1853 the first-fruits of them appeared in the 'Six Dramas from Calderon
freely translated by Edward FitzGerald,' the only book to which he ever
put his name. It was probably in 1853 that he took up Persian, in which,
as in Spanish, his friend Cowell was his guide.
_To G. Crabbe_.
BOULGE, _July_ 22/53.
MY DEAR GEORGE,
Your account of the Doctor's warnings to your Cousin in your first note
delighted me greatly: as it did your Father to whom I read it last night.
For, on coming home from Aldbro' (where I had been for a day) I found to
my great surprise your Father smoking in my room, with a bottle of Port
(which he had brought with him!). The mystery was then solved; that,
after his own dinner, Mr. --- was announced, and your Father dreading
lest he should stay all the Evening declared he had most important
business, first at Woodbridge, then, on second thoughts, with me; and so
decamped.
Now as to your second letter which I found also on my return: I am very
glad you like the plays {282} and am encouraged to hope that other
persons who are not biassed by pedantic prejudices or spites might like
them too. But I fully expect that (as I told you, I think) the London
press, etc., will either sink them, or condemn them as on too free a
principle: and all the more if they have not read the originals. For
these are safe courses to adopt. All this while I am assuming the plays
are well done in their way, which of course I do. On the other hand,
they really may not be as well done as I think; on their own principle:
and that would really be a fair ground of condemnation.
_To W. F. Pollock_.
BOULGE, WOODBRIDGE,
_July_ 25/53.
MY DEAR POLLOCK,
Thank you for your letter. Though I believed the Calderon to be on the
whole well done and entertaining, I began to wish to be told it was so by
others, for fear I had made a total mistake: which would have been a
bore. And the very free and easy translation lies open to such easy
condemnation, unless it be successful.
Your account of Sherborne rouses all the Dowager within me. I shall have
to leave this cottage, I believe, and have not yet found a place
sufficiently dull to migrate to. Meanwhile to-morrow I am going to one
of my great treats: viz. the Assizes at Ipswich: where I shall see little
Voltaire Jervis, {283a} and old Parke, {283b} who I trust will have the
gout, he bears it so Christianly.
_To G. Crabbe_.
BOULGE, WOODBRIDGE,
_Sept_. 12/53.
MY DEAR GEORGE,
I enclose you a scrap from 'The Leader' as you like to see criticisms on
my Calderon. I suppose your sisters will send you the Athenaeum in which
you will see a more determined spit at me. I foresaw (as I think I told
you) how likely this was to be the case: and so am not surprized. One
must take these chances if one will play at so doubtful a game. I
believe those who read the Book, without troubling themselves about
whether it is a free Translation or not, like it: but Critics must be
supposed to know all, and it is safe to condemn. On the other hand, the
Translation may not be good on any ground: and then the Critics are all
right.
_To E. B. Cowell_.
3 PARK VILLAS WEST, RICHMOND, SURREY,
_October_ 25/53.
MY DEAR COWELL,
. . . I think I forgot to tell you that Mr. Maccarthy (my literal Rival
in Calderon) mentions in his Preface a masterly Critique on Calderon in
the Westminster 1851, which I take to be yours. {284} He says it, and
the included translations, are the best Commentary he has seen on the
subject.
I have ordered Eastwick's Gulistan: for I believe I shall potter out so
much Persian. The weak Apologue {285a} goes on (for I have not had time
for much here) and I find it difficult enough even with Jones's
Translation.
I am now going to see the last of the Tennysons at Twickenham.
_To F. Tennyson_.
BREDFIELD RECTORY, {285b} WOODBRIDGE.
_December_ 27/53.
MY DEAR FREDERIC,
I am too late to wish you a Happy Christmas; so must wish you a happy New
Year. Write to me here, and tell me (in however few words) how you
prospered in your journey to Italy: how you all are there: and how your
Book progresses. I saw Harvest Home advertised in Fraser: and I have
heard from Mrs. Alfred it is so admired that Parker is to print two
thousand copies of the Volume. I am glad of this: and I think, little
ambitious or vain as you really are, you will insensibly be pleased at
gaining your proper Station in public Celebrity. Had I not known what an
invidious office it is to meddle with such Poems, and how assuredly
people would have said that one had helped to clip away the Best Poems,
and the best part of them, I should have liked to advise you in the
selection: a matter in which I feel confidence. But you would not have
agreed with me any more than others: though on different grounds: and so
in all ways it was, and is, and will be, best to say nothing more on the
subject. I am very sure that, of whatever your Volume is composed, you
will make public almost the only Volume of Verse, except Alfred's, worthy
of the name.
I hear from Mrs. Alfred they are got to their new abode in the Isle of
Wight. I have been into Norfolk: and am now come to spend Christmas in
this place, where, as you have been here, you can fancy me. Old Crabbe
is as brave and hearty as ever: drawing designs of Churches: and we are
all now reading Moore's Memoirs with considerable entertainment: I cannot
say the result of it in one's mind is to prove Moore a Great Man: though
it certainly does not leave him altogether 'The Poor Creature' that Mr.
Allingham reduced him to. I also amuse myself with poking out some
Persian which E. Cowell would inaugurate me with: I go on with it because
it is a point in common with him, and enables us to study a little
together. He and his wife are at Oxford: and his Pracrit Grammar is to
be out in a few days.
I have settled upon no new Abode: but have packed up all my few goods in
a neighbouring Farm House {287a} (that one near Woodbridge I took you
to), and will now float about for a year and visit some friends. Perhaps
I shall get down to the Isle of Wight one day: also to Shropshire, to see
Allen: to Bath to a Sister. But you can always direct hither, since old
Crabbe is only too glad to have some letters to pay for, and forward to
me. . . . We have one of the old fashioned winters, snow and frost: not
fulfilling the word of those who were quite sure the seasons were
altered. Farewell, my dear Frederic.
E. F. G.
BATH, _May_ 7/54.
MY DEAR FREDERIC,
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 {287b} 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 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 the Newcomes were being indited at Rome or
Naples.
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, 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.
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 Athenaeum; which is the only Literary Paper I
see: but I am told there are laudatory ones in Examiner and Spectator.
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 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.
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 to 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 death-bed at Hastings he had just been waiting
upon. Harry {291} 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 Good Bye, and write to me, as I beg you, in reply to this
long if not very interesting letter.
_To John Allen_.
MARKET HILL, WOODBRIDGE.
_October_ 8/54.
MY DEAR ALLEN,
'What cheer?' This is what we nautical Men shout to one another as we
pass in our Ships. The Answer is generally only an Echo; but you will
have to tell me something more. I find it rather disgusting to set you
an example by telling of my Doings; for it is always the same thing over
and over again. I doubt this will put an End to even Letters at last: I
mean, on my part. You have others beside yourself to tell of; you go
abroad, too; deliver charges, etc.
Well, however, I had better say that I have been for the last four months
going about in my little Ship as in former years, and now am about to lay
up her, and myself, for the Winter. The only Friend I hear from is
Donne, who volunteers a Letter unprovoked sometimes. Old Spedding gives
an unwilling Reply about thrice in two years. You speak when spoken to;
so does Thompson, in general: I shall soon ask of him what he has been
doing this Summer.
I have been reading in my Boat--Virgil, Juvenal, and Wesley's Journal. Do
you know the last? one of the most interesting Books, I think, in the
Language. It is curious to think of his Diary extending over nearly the
same time as Walpole's Letters, which, you know, are a sort of Diary.
What two different Lives, Pursuits, and Topics! The other day I was
sitting in a Garden at Lowestoft in which Wesley had preached his first
Sermon there: the Wall he set his Back against yet standing. About 1790
{292a} Crabbe, the Poet, went to hear him; he was helped into the Pulpit
by two Deacons, and quoted--
'By the Women oft I'm told,
Poor Anacreon, thou grow'st old, etc.' {292b}
So I have heard _my_ George Crabbe tell: who has told it also in his very
capital Memoir of his Father. {292c}
Sheet full. Kind Regards to Madame and Young Folks. Ever yours,
E. F. G.
_To T. Carlyle_.
RECTORY, BREDFIELD, WOODBRIDGE.
DEAR CARLYLE,
I should sometimes write to you if I had anything worth telling, or worth
putting you to the trouble of answering me. About twice in a year
however I do not mind asking you one thing which is easily answered, how
you and Mrs. Carlyle are? And yet perhaps it is not so easy for you to
tell me so much about yourself: for your 'well-being' comprises a good
deal! That you are not carried off by the Cholera I take for granted:
since else I should have seen in the papers some controversy with Doctor
Wordsworth as to whether you were to be buried in Westminster Abbey, by
the side of Wilberforce perhaps! Besides, a short note from Thackeray a
few weeks ago told me you had been to see him. I conclude also from this
that you have not been a summer excursion of any distance.
I address from the Rectory (_Vicarage_ it ought to be) of Crabbe, the
'_Radiator_,' whose mind is now greatly exercised with Dr. Whewell's
Plurality of Worlds. Crabbe, who is a good deal in the secrets of
Providence, admires the work beyond measure, but most indignantly rejects
the Doctrine as unworthy of God. I have not read the Book, contented to
hear Crabbe's commentaries. I have been staying with him off and on for
two months, and, as I say, give his Address because any letter thither
directed will find me sooner or later in my little wanderings. I am at
present staying with a Farmer in a very pleasant house near Woodbridge:
inhabiting such a room as even you, I think, would sleep composedly in;
my host a taciturn, cautious, honest, active man whom I have known all my
Life. He and his Wife, a capital housewife, and his Son, who could carry
me on his shoulders to Ipswich, and a Maid servant who, as she curtsies
of a morning, lets fall the Tea-pot, etc., constitute the household.
Farming greatly prospers; farming materials fetching an exorbitant price
at the Michaelmas Auctions: all in defiance of Sir Fitzroy Kelly who got
returned for Suffolk on the strength of denouncing Corn Law Repeal as the
ruin of the Country. He has bought a fine house near Ipswich, with great
gilded gates before it, and by dint of good dinners and soft sawder
finally draws the country Gentry to him. . . .
Please to look at the September Number of Fraser's Magazine where are
some prose Translations of Hafiz by Cowell which may interest you a
little. I think Cowell (as he is apt to do) gives Hafiz rather too much
credit for a mystical wine-cup, and Cupbearer; I mean taking him on the
whole. The few odes he quotes have certainly a deep and pious feeling:
such as the Man of Mirth will feel at times; none perhaps more strongly.
Some one by chance read out to me the other day at the seaside your
account of poor old Naseby Village from Cromwell, quoted in Knight's
'Half Hours, etc.' It is now twelve years ago, at this very season, I
was ransacking for you; you promising to come down, and never coming. I
hope very much you are soon going to give us something: else Jerrold and
Tupper carry all before them.
SATURDAY, _October_ 14/54.
* * * * *
In August 1855 Carlyle went to stay with FitzGerald at Farlingay, a farm
house on the Hasketon road, half a mile from Woodbridge.
BREDFIELD RECTORY, WOODBRIDGE.
_August_ 1, [1855].
DEAR CARLYLE,
I came down here yesterday: and saw my Farming Friends to-day, who are
quite ready to do all service for us at any time. They live about two
miles nearer Woodbridge than this place I write from and I am certain
they and their place will suit you very well. I am going to them any
day: indeed am always fluctuating between this place and theirs; and you
can come down to me there, or here, any day--(for Crabbe and his Daughter
will, they bid me say, be very glad if you will come; and I engage you
shan't be frightened, and that the place shall suit you as well as the
Farmer's). I say you can come to either place any day, and without
warning if you like; only in that case I can't go to meet you at Ipswich.
Beds, etc., are all ready whether here or at the Farmer's. If you like
to give me notice, you can say which place you will come to first: and I
will meet you at any time at Ipswich.
I think if you come you had best come as soon as possible, before
harvest, and while the Days are long and fine. Why not come directly?
while all the Coast is so clear?
Now as to your mode of going. There are Rail Trains to Ipswich from
Shoreditch, at 7 a.m. 11 a.m. and 3 p.m. all of which come to Ipswich in
time for Coaches which carry you to Woodbridge; where, if you arrive
unawares, any one will show you the way to Mr. Smith's, of Farlingay
Hall, about half a mile from Woodbridge; or direct you to Parson
Crabbe's, at Bredfield, about three miles from Woodbridge. You may take
my word (will you?) that you will be very welcome at either or both of
these places; I mean, to the owners as well as myself.
Well, then there is a Steamer every Wednesday and Sunday; which starts
from Blackwall at 9 a.m.; to go by which you must be at the Blackwall
Railroad Station in Fenchurch Street by half past eight. This Steamer
gets to Ipswich at half past 5 or 6; probably in time for a Woodbridge
Coach, but not certainly. It is a very pleasant sail. The Rail to
Ipswich takes three or two and a half hours.
Have I more to say? I can't think of it if I have. Only, dear Mrs.
Carlyle, please to let me know what C. is '_To Eat--Drink--and Avoid_.'
As I know that his wants are in a small compass, it will be as easy to
get what he likes as not, if you will only say. If you like Sunday
Steam, it will be quite convenient whether here or at Farlingay. Crabbe
only is too glad if one doesn't go to his church.
BREDFIELD, _Sunday_.
Scrap for Scrap! I go to-morrow to stay at Farlingay, where you will
find me, or I will find you, as proposed in my last. Do not let it be a
burden on you to come now, then, or at all; but, if you come, I think
this week will be good in weather as in other respects. You will be at
most entire Liberty; with room, garden, and hours, to yourself, whether
at Farlingay or here, where you must come for a day or so. Pipes are the
order of the house at both places; the Radiator always lighting up after
his 5 o'clock dinner, and rather despising me for not always doing so. At
both places a capital sunshiny airy Bedroom without any noise. I wish
Mrs. C. could come, indeed; but I will not propose this; for though my
Farm has good room, my Hostess would fret herself to entertain a Lady
suitably, and that I would avoid, especially toward Harvest time. Will
Mrs. Carlyle believe this?
E. F. G.
P.S. Bring some Books. If you don't find yourself well, or at ease,
with us, you have really but to go off without any sort of Ceremony as
soon as you like: so don't tie yourself to any time at all. If the
weather be fair, I predict you will like a week; and I shall like as much
more as you please; leaving you mainly to your own devices all the while.
_From T. Carlyle_.
CHELSEA, 7 _Augt_. 1855.
DEAR FITZGERALD,
In spite of these heavy showers, I persist in believing the weather will
clear, and means really to be dry: at any rate I am not made of sugar or
of salt; so intend to be off to-morrow;--and am, even now, in all the
horrors of a half rotted ship, which has lain two years, dead, among the
ooze, and is now trying to get up its anchor again: ropes breaking, sails
holed, blocks giving way, you may fancy what a pother there is!
My train is to be 11 a.m. from Shoreditch; which gets to Ipswich about
two? If you have a gig and pony, of course it will be pleasant to see
your face at the end of my shrieking, mad, (and to me quite horrible)
rail operations: but if I see nothing, I will courageously go for the
Coach, and shall do quite well there, if I can get on the outside
especially. So don't mind which way it is; a _small_ weight ought to
turn it either way. I hope to get to Farlingay not long after 4 o'clock,
and have a quiet mutton chop in due time, and have a do pipe or pipes:
nay I could even have a bathe if there was any sea water left in the
evening. If you did come to Ipswich, an hour (hardly more) to glance at
the old Town might not be amiss.
I will bring Books enough with me: I am used to several hours of solitude
every day; and cannot be said ever to _weary_ of being left well alone.
But we will 'drive' to any places you recommend; do bidding of the omens,
to a fair degree withal: in short I calculate on getting some real
benefit by this plunge into the maritime rusticities under your friendly
guidance, and the quiet of it will be of all things welcome to me.
My wife firmly intended writing to you to-day, and perhaps has done so;
but if not, you are to take it as a thing done, for indeed there was
nothing whatever of importance to be said farther.
To-morrow then (Wednesday 8th) 11 a.m.--wish me a happy passage. Yours
ever truly,
T. CARLYLE.
CHELSEA, 23 _Augt_. 1855.
DEAR FITZGERALD,
Here, after a good deal of bothering to improve it, above all to abridge
it, is the proposed Inscription for the Pillar at Naseby. You need not
scruple a moment to make any change that strikes you; I am well aware it
is good for nothing except its practical object, and that I have no skill
in lapidary literature.
The worst thing will be, discovering the _date_ of your Naseby diggings.
I ought to have it here; and probably I have,--in some remote dusty
trunk, whither it is a terror to go looking for it! Try you what you
can, and the Naseby Farmer too (if he is still extant); then I will try.
At worst we can say 'Ten years ago'; but the exact date would be better.
The figure of the stone ought to be of Egyptian simplicity: a broadish
parallelopipedon (or rather _octaedron_; the _corners_ well chamfered
off, to avoid breakages, will make it 8-faced, I think); in the substance
of the stone there is one quality to be looked for, durability; and the
letters ought to be cut deep,--and by no means in lapidary _lines_
(attend to that!), but simply like _two verses of the Bible_, so that he
who runs may read. I rather like the _Siste Viator_,--yet will let you
blot it out,--it is as applicable as to any Roman Tomb, and more so than
to ours, which are in enclosed places, where any 'Traveller,' if he
either 'stop' or go, will presently have the constable upon him. This is
all I have to say about the stone; and I recommend that it be now done
straightway, before you quit hold of that troublesome locality.
I find I must not promise to myself to go thither with you; alas, nor at
all. I cannot get to sleep again since I came out of Suffolk: the
stillness of Farlingay is unattainable in Chelsea for a _second_ sleep,
so I have to be content with the first, which is oftenest about 5 hours,
and a very poor allowance for the afflicted son of Adam. I feel
privately confident I _have_ got good by my Suffolk visit, and by all the
kindness of my beneficent brother mortals to me there: but in the
meanwhile it has 'stirred up a good deal of bile,' I suppose; and we must
wait.
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