IN CHAPTER XI. LETTERS TO CARY, BARTON, PATMORE, MRS. SHELLEY, [1827.] N the following summer, Lamb and his sister went on a long visit to Enfield, which ultimately led to his giving up Colebrooke Cottage, and becoming a constant resident at that place. It was a great sacrifice to him, who loved London so well; but his sister's health and his own required a secession from the crowd of visitors who pressed on him at Islington, and whom he could not help welcoming. He thus invited the Rev. Henry Francis Cary to look in upon his retreat. Cary, well known as the translator of Dante and a portion of Aristophanes, was at this time Assistant Keeper of the Printed Books at the British Museum, only one such functionary, instead of four as now, being then considered necessary, and had apartments allotted to him there. He was the last Assistant Keeper who enjoyed the advantage. He was succeeded by Mr. Garnett, father of the present able officer of that name. Lamb and Cary had been acquainted at least since 1823, as we have seen from former letters. TO MR. CARY. "Dear Sir,—It is whispered me that you will not be unwilling to look into our doleful hermitage. Without more preface, you will gladden our cell by accompanying our old chums of the London, Darley1 and Allan Cunningham, to 1 [George Darley, a writer in the "London," and editor of some of our early dramatists. He was a greater stutterer even than Lamb himself.] Enfield on Wednesday. You shall have hermit's fare, with talk as seraphical as the novelty of the divine life will permit, with an innocent retrospect to the world which we have left, when I will thank you for your hospitable offer at Chiswick, and with plain hermit reasons evince the necessity of abiding here. "Without hearing from you, then, you shall give us leave to expect you. I have long had it on my conscience to invite you, but spirits have been low; and I am indebted to chance for this awkward but most sincere invitation. 66 Yours, with best love to Mrs. Cary, "C. LAMB." "Darley knows all about the coaches. Oh, for a Museum in the wilderness!" [The letters to Barton were still in progress, and, as it will be perceived, were full of excellent criticism and fine feeling. In a former letter he had given Barton his opinion of Blake the artist, and now he told him what he thought of John Martin. Martin lived latterly in Lindsey Row, Chelsea, where I knew him. He was a whist player, and a remarkably handsome man. One of his daughters married Joseph Bonomi. Besides his painting, Martin interested himself in public matters. I have a paper in his handwriting on the drainage question, which he gave to my father.] TO BERNARD BARTON. "June 11th, 1827. "Dear B. B.,—Martin's 'Belshazzar' (the picture) I have seen. Its architectural effect is stupendous, but the human figures, the squalling contorted little antics that are playing at being frightened, like children at a sham ghost, who half know it to be a mask, are detestable. Then the letters are nothing more than a transparency lighted up, such as a Lord might order to be lit up on a sudden at a Christmas gambol, to scare the ladies. The type is as plain as Baskerville's—-they should have been dim, full of mystery, letters to the mind rather than the eye. “Rembrandt has painted only Belshazzar and a courtier or two (taking a part of the banquet for the whole), not fribbled out a mob of fine folks. Then every thing is so distinct, to the very necklaces, and that foolish little prophet. What one point is there of interest? The ideal of such a subject is, that you the spectator should see nothing but what at the time you would have seen,-the Hand and the King,—not to be at leisure to make tailor-remarks on the dresses, or, Dr. Kitchener-like, to examine the good things at table. "Just such a confused piece is his 'Joshua,' frittered into a thousand fragments, little armies here, little armies there-you should see only the Sun and Joshua. If I remember, he has not left out that luminary entirely, but for Joshua, I was ten minutes a finding him out. Still he is showy in all that is not the human figure or the preternatural interest: but the first are below a drawing school girl's attainment, and the last is a phantasmagoric trick,— 'Now you shall see what you shall see, dare is Balshazar and dare is Daniel.' "You have my thoughts of M., and so adieu! "C. LAMB." TO THE SAME. 66 "1827. 'My dear B. B.,—A gentleman I never saw before brought me your welcome present-imagine a scraping, fiddling, fidgetting, petit-maitre of a dancing school advancing into my plain parlour with a coupee and a sideling bow, and presenting the book as if he had been handing a glass of lemonade to a young miss-imagine this, and contrast it with the serious nature of the book presented! Then task your imagination, reversing this picture, to conceive of quite an opposite messenger, a lean, strait-locked, wheyfaced Methodist, for such was he in reality who brought it, the Genius (it seems) of the Wesleyan Magazine.' Certes, friend B., thy Widow's Tale' is too horrible, spite of the lenitives of Religion, to embody in verse; I hold prose to be the appropriate expositor of such atrocities! No offence, but it is a cordial that makes the heart sick. Still thy skill in compounding it I do not deny. I turn to what 6 gave me less mingled pleasure. I find mark'd with pencil these pages in thy pretty book, and fear I have been penurious. "Page 52, 53-Capital. 59-6th stanza, exquisite simile. 61-11th stanza, equally good. 108-3rd stanza, I long to see Van Balen. Dixi. 153-Lines at the bottom. So you see, I read, hear, and mark, if I don't learn. In short this little volume is no discredit to any of your former, and betrays none of the senility you fear about. Apropos of Van Balen, an artist who painted me lately, had painted a blackamoor praying, and not filling his canvas, stuffed in his little girl aside of Blackey, gaping at him unmeaningly; and then didn't know what to call it. Now, for a picture to be promoted to the Exhibition (Suffolk Street) as Historical, a subject is requisite. What does me? I but christen it the 'Young Catechist' and furbish'd it with dialogue following, which dubb'd it an Historical Painting. Nothing to a friend at need. While this tawny Ethiop prayeth, To the Power that must protect him? Meek Hope, strong Faith, sweet Charity? They you mention Far transcend my weak invention. 'Tis a simple Christian child, Missionary young and mild, From her store of script'ral knowledge (Bible-taught without a college), Which by reading she could gather, Teaches him to say Our Father When I'd done it, the artist (who had clapt in Miss merely as a fill-space) swore I exprest his full meaning, and the damosel bridled up into a missionary's vanity. I like verses to explain pictures, seldom pictures to illustrate poems. Your woodcut is a rueful lignum mortis. By the bye, is the widow likely to marry again? "I am giving the fruit of my old play reading at the Museum to Hone, who sets forth a portion weekly in the Table Book. Do you see it? How is Mitford ?—I'll just hint that the pitcher, the cord and the bowl are a little too often repeated (passim) in your book, and that in page 17, last line but 4, him is put for he; but the poor widow, I take it, had small leisure for grammatical niceties. Don't you see, there's he, myself, and him; why not both him?-likewise imperviously is cruelly spelt imperiously. These are trifles, and I honestly like your book and you for giving it, though I really am ashamed of so many presents. I can think of no news, therefore I will end with mine and Mary's kindest remembrances to you and yours, "C. L." TO PETER GEORGE PATMORE. "Londres, Julie 19th, 1827. "Dear P.,—I am so poorly. I have been to a funeral, where I made a pun, to the consternation of the rest of the mourners. And we had wine. I can't describe to you the howl which the widow set up at proper intervals. Dash could; for it was not unlike what he makes. "The letter I sent you was one directed to the care of Edward White, India House, for Mrs. Hazlitt. Which Mrs. H. I don't yet know; but Allsop has taken it to [Babson's "Eliana," 1866, p. 434. First printed in "My Friends and Acquaintance," by Patmore, 1854. Mr. Peter George Patmore was at one period a reader at Colburn's; he resided for some time abroad, and during many years was successfully connected with Colburn's "Court Journal." When I first saw Mr. Patmore, he lived in a cottage at Mill Hill, on the right side of the road from Hendon; and his mother, a very aged woman, lived with him. He married a Miss Robertson, by whom he had two sons and a daughter.] |