Tuesday, April 21. Yours and your wife's dear good Letters put into my hand as I sit in the sunshine in a little Balcony outside the Windows looking upon the quite green hedge side of the Regent's Park. For Green it is thus early, and such weather as I never remember before at this Season. Well, your Letters, I say, were put into my hand as I was there looking into AEschylus under an Umbrella, and waiting for Breakfast. My wife cried a good deal over your wife's Letter, I think, I think so. Ah me! I would not as yet read it, for I was already sad; but I shall answer hers to me which I did read indeed with many thoughts: perhaps I can write this post; at least I will clear off this letter to you, my dear Cowell.

E. F. G.

April 21.

MY DEAR LADY, I have told E. B. C. at the close of my long letter to him how his and yours were put into my hand this morning. Well, as in telling him that I finished that sheet of Paper, I will e'en take one scrap more to thank you; and (since you have, I believe, some confidences together) some things I have yet got to say to him shall be addressed to you; and you can exercise your own Discretion as to telling him. One thing tell him however, which my overflowing Sheet had not room for, and was the very thing that most needed telling: viz. that he, a busy man, must not feel bound to write me as long Letters in return. Who knows how long I shall keep up any thing like to my own mark; for I daily grow worse with the Letter-pen: and, beside his other employments, the Sun of India will 'belaze' him (I doubt if the word be in Johnson). But 'vogue la Galere' while the wind blows! Again you may give him the enclosed instead of a former Letter from the same G. de T. For is it not odd he should not have time to read a dozen of those 150 Tetrastichs? I pointed out such a dozen to him of the best, and told him if he liked them I would try and get the rest better written for him than I could write. I had also told him that the whole thing came from E. B. C. and I now write to tell him I have no sort of intention of writing a paper in the Journal Asiatique, nor I suppose E. B. C. neither. G. de Tassy is very civil to me however. How much I might say about your Letter to me! you will hardly comprehend how it is I almost turn my Eyes from it in this Answer, and dally with other matter. You make me sad with old Memories; yet, I don't mean quite disagreeably sad, but enough to make me shrink recurring to them. I don't know whether to be comforted or not when you talk of India as a Land of Exile—. . .

Wednesday, April 22. Now this morning comes a second Letter from Garcin de Tassy saying that his first note about Omar Khayyam was 'in haste': that he has read some of the Tetrastichs which he finds not very difficult; some difficulties which are probably errors of the 'copist'; and he proposes his writing an Article in the Journal Asiatique on it in which he will 'honourably mention' E. B. C. and E. F. G. I now write to deprecate all this: {328} putting it on the ground (and a fair one) that we do not yet know enough of the matter: that I do not wish E. B. C. to be made answerable for errors which E. F. G. (the 'copist') may have made: and that E. F. G. neither merits nor desires any honourable mention as a Persian Scholar: being none. Tell E. B. C. that I have used his name with all caution, referring De Tassy to Vararuchi, etc. But these Frenchmen are so self-content and superficial, one never knows how they will take up anything. To turn to other matters—we are talking of leaving this place almost directly. . . . I often wonder if I shall ever see you both again! Well, for the present, Adieu, Adieu, Adieu!

LONDON, May 7/57.

MY DEAR COWELL,

Owing partly to my own Stupidity, and partly to a change in the India Post days, my last two letters (to you and wife) which were quite ready by the Marseilles Post of April 25th will not get off till the Southampton Mail of this May 10. Your letter of March 21 reached me three days ago. Write only when you have Leisure and Inclination, and only as much as those two good things are good for: I will do the same. I will at once say (in reply to a kind offer you make to have Hatifi's 'Haft Paikar' copied for me) that it will [be] best to wait till you have read it; you know me well enough to know whether it will hit my taste. However, if it be but a very short poem, no harm would be done by a Copy: but do let me be at the Charges of such things. I will ask for Hatifi's Laili: but I didn't (as you know) take much to what little I saw. As to any copies Allen might have had, I believe there is no good asking for them: for, only yesterday going to put into Madden's hands Mr. Newton's MS. of the Mantic, I saw Allen's house kharab. There had been a Fire there, Madden told me, which had destroyed stock, etc., but I could not make much out of the matter, Madden putting on a Face of foolish mystery. You can imagine it? We talked of you, as you may imagine also: and I believe in that he is not foolish. Well, and to-day I have a note from the great De Tassy which announces, 'My dear Sir, Definitively I have written a little Paper upon Omar with some Quotations taken here and there at random, avoiding only the too badly sounding rubayat. I have read that paper before the Persian Ambassador and suite, at a meeting of the Oriental Society of which I am Vice President, the Duc de Dondeauville being president. The Ambassador has been much pleased of my quotations.' So you see I have done the part of an ill Subject in helping France to ingratiate herself with Persia when England might have had the start! I suppose it probable Ferukh Khan himself had never read or perhaps heard of Omar. I think I told you in my last that I had desired De Tassy to say nothing about you in any Paper he should write; since I cannot have you answerable for any blunders I may have made in my Copy, nor may you care to be named with Omar at all. I hope the Frenchman will attend to my desire; and I dare say he will, as he will then have all credit to himself. He says he can't make out the metre of the rubayat at all—never could—though 'I am enough skilful in scanning the Persian verses as you have seen' (Qy?) 'in my Prosody of the languages of Musulman Countries, etc.' So much for De Tassy. No; but something more yet: and better, for he tells me his Print of the Mantic is finisht, 'in proofs,' and will be out in about a Month: and he will send me one. Now, my dear Cowell, can't I send one to you? Yes, we must manage that somehow.

Well, I have not turned over Johnson's Dictionary for the last month, having got hold of AEschylus. I think I want to turn his Trilogy into what shall be readable English Verse; a thing I have always thought of, but was frightened at the Chorus. So I am now; I can't think them so fine as People talk of: they are terribly maimed; and all such Lyrics require a better Poet than I am to set forth in English. But the better Poets won't do it; and I cannot find one readable translation. I shall (if I make one) make a very free one; not for Scholars, but for those who are ignorant of Greek, and who (so far as I have seen) have never been induced to learn it by any Translations yet made of these Plays. I think I shall become a bore, of the Bowring order, by all this Translation: but it amuses me without any labour, and I really think I have the faculty of making some things readable which others have hitherto left unreadable. But don't be alarmed with the anticipation of another sudden volume of Translations; for I only sketch out the matter, then put it away; and coming on it one day with fresh eyes trim it up with some natural impulse that I think gives a natural air to all. So I have put away the Mantic. When I die, what a farrago of such things will be found! Enough of such matter. . . .

Friday, June 5! What an interval since the last sentence! And why? Because I have been moving about nearly ever since till yesterday, and my Letter, thus far written, was packt up in a Box sent down hither, namely, Gorlestone Cliffs, Great Yarmouth. Instead of the Regent's Park, and Regent Street, here before my windows are the Vessels going in and out of this River: and Sailors walking about with fur caps and their brown hands in their Breeches Pockets. Within hail almost lives George Borrow who has lately published, and given me, two new Volumes of Lavengro called 'Romany Rye,' with some excellent things, and some very bad (as I have made bold to write to him—how shall I face him!). You would not like the Book at all, I think. But I must now tell you an odd thing, which will also be a sad thing to you. I left London last Tuesday fortnight for Bedfordshire, meaning to touch at Hertford in passing; but as usual, bungled between two Railroads and got to Bedford, and not to Hertford, on the Tuesday Evening. To that latter place I had wanted to go, as well to see it, as to see N. Newton, who had made one or two bungled efforts to see me in London. So, when I got to Bedford, I wrote him a line to say how it was I had missed him. On the very Saturday immediately after, I received a Hertford Paper announcing the sudden Death of N. Newton on the very Tuesday on which I had set out to see him! He had been quite well till the Saturday preceding: had then caught some illness (I suppose some infectious fever) which had been visiting some in his house; died on the Tuesday, and was buried on the Thursday after! What will Austin do without him? He had written to me about your Hafiz saying he had got several subjects for Illustration, and I meant to have had a talk with him on the matter. What should be done? I dare not undertake any great responsibility in meddling in such a matter even if asked to do so, which is not likely to be unless on your part; for I find my taste so very different from the Public that what I think good would probably be very unprofitable.

When in Bedfordshire I put away almost all Books except Omar Khayyam!, which I could not help looking over in a Paddock covered with Buttercups and brushed by a delicious Breeze, while a dainty racing Filly of W. Browne's came startling up to wonder and snuff about me. 'Tempus est quo Orientis Aura mundus renovatur, Quo de fonte pluviali dulcis Imber reseratur; Musi-manus undecumque ramos insuper splendescit; Jesu-spiritusque Salutaris terram pervagatur.' Which is to be read as Monkish Latin, like 'Dies Irae,' etc., retaining the Italian value of the Vowels, not the Classical. You will think me a perfectly Aristophanic Old Man when I tell you how many of Omar I could not help running into such bad Latin. I should not confide such follies but to you who won't think them so, and who will be pleased at least with my still harping on our old Studies. You would be sorry, too, to think that Omar breathes a sort of Consolation to me! Poor Fellow; I think of him, and Oliver Basselin, and Anacreon; lighter Shadows among the Shades, perhaps, over which Lucretius presides so grimly. Thursday, June 11. Your letter of April is come to hand, very welcome; and I am expecting the MS. Omar which I have written about to London. And now with respect to your proposed Fraser Paper on Omar. You see a few lines back I talk of some lazy Latin Versions of his Tetrastichs, giving one clumsy example. Now I shall rub up a few more of those I have sketched in the same manner, in order to see if you approve, if not of the thing done, yet of

(letter breaks off abruptly at the end of the page.)

June 23. I begin another Letter because I am looking into the Omar MS. you have sent me, and shall perhaps make some notes and enquiries as I go on. I had not intended to do so till I had looked all over and tried to make out what I could of it; since it is both pleasant to oneself to find out for oneself if possible, and also saves trouble to one's friends. But yet it will keep me talking with you as I go along: and if I find I say silly things or clear up difficulties for myself before I close my Letter (which has a month to be open in!) why, I can cancel or amend, so as you will see the whole Process of Blunder. I think this MS. furnishes some opportunities for one's critical faculties, and so is a good exercise for them, if one wanted such! First however I must tell you how much ill poor Crabbe has been: a sort of Paralysis, I suppose, in two little fits, which made him think he was sure to die: but Dr. Beck at present says he may live many years with care. Of this also I shall be able to tell you more before I wind up. The brave old Fellow! he was quite content to depart, and had his Daughter up to give her his Keys, and tell her where the different wines were laid! I must also tell you that Borrow is greatly delighted with your MS. of Omar which I showed him: delighted at the terseness so unusual in Oriental Verse. But his Eyes are apt to cloud: and his wife has been obliged, he tells me, to carry off even the little Omar out of reach of them for a while. . . .

June 27. Geldestone Hall. I brought back my two Nieces here yesterday: and to-day am sitting as of old in my accustomed Bedroom, looking out on a Landscape which your Eyes would drink. It is said there has not been such a Flush of Verdure for years: and they are making hay on the Lawn before the house, so as one wakes to the tune of the Mower's Scythe-whetting, and with the old Perfume blowing in at open windows. . . .

July 1. June over! A thing I think of with Omar-like sorrow. And the Roses here are blowing—and going—as abundantly as even in Persia. I am still at Geldestone, and still looking at Omar by an open window which gives over a Greener Landscape than yours. To-morrow my eldest Nephew, Walter Kerrich, whom I first took to school, is to be married in the Bermudas to a young Widow. He has chosen his chosen sister Andalusia's Birthday to be married on; and so we are to keep that double Festival. . . .

Extract from Letter begun 3 July, 1857.

Monday, July 13. This day year was the last I spent with you at Rushmere! We dined in the Evening at your Uncle's in Ipswich, walking home at night together. The night before (yesterday year) you all went to Mr. Maude's Church, and I was so sorry afterward I had not gone with you too; for the last time, as your wife said. One of my manifold stupidities, all avenged in a Lump now! I think I shall close this letter to-morrow: which will be the Anniversary of my departure from Rushmere. I went from you, you know, to old Crabbe's. Is he too to be wiped away by a yet more irrecoverable exile than India? By to-morrow I shall have finisht my first Physiognomy of Omar, whom I decidedly prefer to any Persian I have yet seen, unless perhaps Salaman. . . .

Tuesday, July 14. Here is the Anniversary of our Adieu at Rushmere. And I have been (rather hastily) getting to an end of my first survey of the Calcutta Omar, by way of counterpart to our joint survey of the Ouseley MS. then. I suppose we spoke of it this day year; probably had a final look at it together before I went off, in some Gig, I think, to Crabbe's. We hear rather better Report of him, if the being likely to live a while longer is better. I shall finish my Letter to-day; only leaving it open to add any very particular word. I must repeat I am sure this Calcutta Omar is, in the same proportion with the Ouseley, by as good a hand as the Ouseley: by as good a hand, if not Omar's; which I think you seemed to doubt if it was, in one of your Letters. . . .

Have I previously asked you to observe 486, of which I send a poor Sir W. Jones' sort of Parody which came into my mind walking in the Garden here; where the Rose is blowing as in Persia? And with this poor little Envoy my Letter shall end. I will not stop to make the Verse better.

I long for wine! oh Saki of my Soul, Prepare thy Song and fill the morning Bowl; For this first Summer month that brings the Rose Takes many a Sultan with it as it goes.

To Mrs. Charles Allen. {337}

GELDESTONE HALL, BECCLES. August 15/57.

MY DEAR MRS. ALLEN,

One should be very much gratified at being remembered so long with any kindness: and how much more gratified with so kind Remembrances as yours! I may safely say that I too remember you and my Freestone days of five and twenty years ago with a particular regard; I have been telling my Nieces at the Breakfast Table this morning, after I read your letter, how I remembered you sitting in the 'Schoolroom'—too much sheltered with Trees—with a large Watch open before you—your Sister too, with her light hair and China-rose Complexion—too delicate!—your Father, your Mother, your Brother—of whom (your Brother) I caught a glimpse in London two years ago. And all the Place at Freestone—I can walk about it as I lie awake here, and see the very yellow flowers in the fields, and hear that distant sound of explosion in some distant Quarry. The coast at Bosherston one could never forget once seen, even if it had no domestic kindness to frame its Memory in. I might have profited more of those good Days than I did; but it is not my Talent to take the Tide at its flow; and so all goes to worse than waste!

But it is ungracious to talk of oneself—except so far as shall answer some points you touch on. It would in many respects be very delightful to me to walk again with you over those old Places; in other respects sad:—but the pleasure would have the upper hand if one had not again to leave it all and plunge back again. I dare not go to Wales now.

I owe to Tenby the chance acquaintance of another Person who now from that hour remains one of my very best Friends. A Lad—then just 16—whom I met on board the Packet from Bristol: and next morning at the Boarding House—apt then to appear with a little chalk on the edge of his Cheek from a touch of the Billiard Table Cue—and now a man of 40—Farmer, Magistrate, Militia Officer—Father of a Family—of more use in a week than I in my Life long. You too have six sons, your Letter tells me. They may do worse than do as well as he I have spoken of, though he too has sown some wild oats, and paid for doing so.

My family consists of some eight Nieces here, whom I have seen, all of them, from their Birth upwards—perfectly good, simple, and well-bred, women and girls; varying in disposition but all agreed among themselves and to do what they can in a small Sphere. They go about in the Village here with some consolation both for Body and Mind for the Poor, and have no desire for the Opera, nor for the Fine Folks and fine Dresses there. There is however some melancholy in the Blood of some of them—but none that mars any happiness but their own: and that but so slightly as one should expect when there was no Fault, and no Remorse, to embitter it!

You will perhaps be as well entertained with this poor familiar news as any I could tell you. As to public matters, I scarcely meddle with them, and don't know what to think of India except that it is very terrible. I always think a Nation with great Estates is like a Man with them:—more trouble than Profit: I would only have a Competence for my Country as for myself. Two of my very dearest Friends went but last year to Calcutta:—he as Professor at the Presidency College there: and now he has to shoulder a musket, I believe, as well as deliver a Lecture. You and yours are safe at home, I am glad to think.

Please to remember me to all whom I have shaken hands with, and make my kind Regards to those of your Party I have not yet seen. I am sure all would be as kind to me as others who bear the name of Allen have been.

Once more—thank you thank you for your kindness; and believe me yours as ever very truly,

EDWD. FITZGERALD.

To E. B. Cowell.

RUSHMERE, October 3/57.

MY DEAR COWELL,

I hope things will not be so black with you and us by the time this Letter reaches you, but you may be amused and glad to have it from me. Not that I have come into Suffolk on any cheerful Errand: I have come to bury dear old Mr. Crabbe! I suppose you have had some Letters of mine telling you of his Illness; Epileptic Fits which came successively and weakened him gradually, and at last put him to his Bed entirely, where he lay some while unable to move himself or to think! They said he might lie so a long time, since he eat and drank with fair Appetite: but suddenly the End came on and after a twelve hours Stupor he died. On Tuesday September 22 he was buried; and I came from Bedfordshire (where I had only arrived two days before) to assist at it. I and Mr. Drew were the only persons invited not of the Family: but there were very many Farmers and Neighbours come to pay respect to the remains of the brave old Man, who was buried, by his own desire, among the poor in the Churchyard in a Grave that he wishes to be no otherwise distinguisht than by a common Head and Footstone. . . .

You may imagine it was melancholy enough to me to revisit the house when He who had made it so warm for me so often lay cold in his Coffin unable to entertain me any more! His little old dark Study (which I called the 'Cobblery') smelt strong of its old Smoke: and the last Cheroot he had tried lay three quarters smoked in its little China Ash-pan. This I have taken as a Relic, as also a little silver Nutmeg Grater which used to give the finishing Touch to many a Glass of good hot Stuff, and also had belonged to the Poet Crabbe. . . .

Last night I had some of your Letters read to me: among them one but yesterday arrived, not very sunshiny in its prospects: but your Brother thinks the Times Newspaper of yesterday somewhat bids us look up. Only, all are trembling for Lucknow, crowded with Helplessness and Innocence! I am ashamed to think how little I understand of all these things: but have wiser men, and men in Place, understood much more? or, understanding, have they done what they should? . . .

Love to the dear Lady, and may you be now and for time to come safe and well is the Prayer of yours,

E. F. G.

31 PORTLAND STREET, LONDON. Decr. 8/57.

MY DEAR COWELL,

You will recognize the Date of my Abode. Two years ago you were coming to see me in it much about this Season: and a year ago I wrote you my first Letter to India from it. I came hither from Brighton a week ago: how long to be here uncertain: you had best direct to Goldington Hall, Bedford. I sent you a short Letter by last Marseilles' Post from Brighton: and I now begin this short one because I have happened again to take hold of some Books which we are mutually interested in. I have left with Borrow the Copy of the Mantic De Tassy gave me; so some days ago I bought another Copy of Norgate. For you must know I had again taken up my rough Sketch of a Translation, which, such as it is, might easily be finisht. But it is in truth no Translation: but only the Paraphrase of a Syllabus of the Poem: quite unlike the original in Style too:—But it would give, I think, a fair proportionate Account of the Scheme of the Poem. If ever I finish it, I will send it you. Well; then in turning this over, I also turned over Volume I of Sprenger's Catalogue, which I bought by itself for 6s. a year ago. As it contains all the Persian MSS. I supposed that would be enough for me. I have been looking at his List of Attar's Poems. What a number! All almost much made up of Apologues in which Attar excels, I think. His Stories are better than Jami's: to be sure, he gives more to pick out of. An interesting thing in the Mantic is, the stories about Mahmud: and these are the best in the Book. I find I have got seven or eight in my brief Extract. I see Sprenger says Attar was born in 513—four years before poor Omar Khayyam died! He mentions one of Attar's Books—'The Book of Union,' waslat namah, which seems to be on the very subject of the Apologue to the Peacock's Brag in the Mantic: line 814 in De Tassy. I suppose this is no more the Orthodox Mussulman Version than it is ours. Sprenger also mentions as one separate Book what is part of the Mantic—and main part—the Haft wady. Sprenger says (p. 350) how the MSS. of Attar differ from one another.

And now about old Omar. You talked of sending a Paper about him to Fraser and I told you, if you did, I would stop it till I had made my Comments. I suppose you have not had time to do what you proposed, or are you overcome with the Flood of bad Latin I poured upon you? Well: don't be surprised (vext, you won't be) if I solicit Fraser for room for a few Quatrains in English Verse, however—with only such an Introduction as you and Sprenger give me—very short—so as to leave you to say all that is Scholarly if you will. I hope this is not very Cavalier of me. But in truth I take old Omar rather more as my property than yours: he and I are more akin, are we not? You see all [his] Beauty, but you don't feel with him in some respects as I do. I think you would almost feel obliged to leave out the part of Hamlet in representing him to your Audience: for fear of Mischief. Now I do not wish to show Hamlet at his maddest: but mad he must be shown, or he is no Hamlet at all. G. de Tassy eluded all that was dangerous, and all that was characteristic. I think these free opinions are less dangerous in an old Mahometan, or an old Roman (like Lucretius) than when they are returned to by those who have lived on happier Food. I don't know what you will say to all this. However I dare say it won't matter whether I do the Paper or not, for I don't believe they'll put it in.

Then—yesterday I bought at that shop in the Narrow Passage at the end of Oxford Street a very handsome small Folio MS. of Sadi's Bostan for 10s. But I don't know when I shall look at it to read: for my Eyes are but bad: and London so dark, that I write this Letter now at noon by the Light of two Candles. Of which enough for To-day. I must however while I think of it again notice to you about those first Introductory Quatrains to Omar in both the Copies you have seen; taken out of their Alphabetical place, if they be Omar's own, evidently by way of putting a good Leg foremost—or perhaps not his at all. So that which Sprenger says begins the Oude MS. is manifestly, not any Apology of Omar's own, but a Denunciation of him by some one else: {344} and is a sort of Parody (in Form at least) of Omar's own Quatrain 445, with its indignant reply by the Sultan.

Tuesday Dec. 22. I have your Letter of Nov. 9—giving a gloomy Account of what has long ere this been settled for better or worse! It is said we are to have a Mail on Friday. I must post this Letter before then. Thank you for the MSS. You will let me know what you expend on them. I have been looking over De Tassy's Omar. Try and see the other Poems of Attar mentioned by Sprenger: those with Apologues, etc., in which (as I have said) Attar seems to me to excel. Love to the Lady. I have no news of the Crabbes, but that they do pretty well in their new home. Donne has just been here and gone—asking about you. I dine with him on Christmas Day.

E. F. G.

[MERTON RECTORY]. September 3/58.

MY DEAR COWELL,

. . . Now about my Studies, which, I think, are likely to dwindle away too. I have not turned to Persian since the Spring; but shall one day look back to it: and renew my attack on the 'Seven Castles,' if that be the name. I found the Jami MS. at Rushmere: and there left it for the present: as the other Poem will be enough for me for my first onslaught. I believe I will do a little a day, so as not to lose what little knowledge I had. As to my Omar: I gave it to Parker in January, I think: he saying Fraser was agreeable to take it. Since then I have heard no more; so as, I suppose, they don't care about it: and may be quite right. Had I thought they would be so long however I would have copied it out and sent it to you: and I will still do so from a rough and imperfect Copy I have (though not now at hand) in case they show no signs of printing me. My Translation will interest you from its Form, and also in many respects in its Detail: very unliteral as it is. Many Quatrains are mashed together: and something lost, I doubt, of Omar's Simplicity, which is so much a Virtue in him. But there it is, such as it is. I purposely said in the very short notice I prefixed to the Poem that it was so short because better Information might be furnished in another Paper, which I thought you would undertake. So it rests. Nor have I meddled with the Mantic lately: nor does what you say encourage me to do so. For what I had sketcht out was very paraphrase indeed. I do not indeed believe that any readable Account (unless a prose Analysis, for the History and Curiosity of the Thing) will be possible, for me to do, at least. But I took no great pleasure in what I had done: and every day get more and more a sort of Terror at re-opening any such MS. My 'Go' (such as it was) is gone, and it becomes Work: and the Upshot is not worth working for. It was very well when it was a Pleasure. So it is with Calderon. It is well enough to sketch such things out in warm Blood; but to finish them in cold! I wish I could finish the 'Mighty Magician' in my new way: which I know you would like, in spite of your caveat for the Gracioso. I have not wholly dropt the two Students, but kept them quite under: and brought out the religious character of the Piece into stronger Relief. But as I have thrown much, if not into Lyric, into Rhyme, which strikes a more Lyric Chord, I have found it much harder to satisfy myself than with the good old Blank Verse, which I used to manage easily enough. The 'Vida es Sueno' again, though blank Verse, has been difficult to arrange; here also Clarin is not quenched, but subdued: as is all Rosaura's Story, so as to assist, and not compete with, the main Interest. I really wish I could finish these some lucky day: but, as I said, it is so much easier to leave them alone; and when I had done my best, I don't know if they are worth the pains, or whether any one (except you) would care for them even if they were worth caring for. So much for my grand Performances: except that I amuse myself with jotting down materials (out of Vocabularies, etc.) for a Vocabulary of rural English, or rustic English: that is, only the best country words selected from the very many Glossaries, etc., relating chiefly to country matters, but also to things in general: words that carry their own story with them, without needing Derivation or Authority, though both are often to be found. I always say I have heard the Language of Queen Elizabeth's, or King Harry's Court, in the Suffolk Villages: better a great deal than that spoken in London Societies, whether Fashionable or Literary: and the homely [strength] of which has made Shakespeare, Dryden, South, and Swift, what they could not have been without it. But my Vocabulary if ever done will be a very little Affair, if ever done: for here again it is pleasant enough to jot down a word now and then, but not to equip all for the Press.

FARLINGAY, WOODBRIDGE. Nov. 2/58.

MY DEAR COWELL,

. . . No. I have not read the Jami Diwan; partly because I find my Eyes are none the better, and partly because I have now no one to 'prick the sides of my Intent'; not even 'Vaulting Ambition' now. I have got the Seven Castles {348} in my Box here and old Johnson's Dictionary; and these I shall strike a little Fire out of by and by: Jami also in time perhaps. I have nearly finisht a metrical Paraphrase and Epitome of the Mantic: but you would scarce like it, and who else would? It has amused me to give a 'Bird's Eye' View of the Bird Poem in some sixteen hundred lines. I do not think one could do it as Salaman is done. As to Omar, I hear and see nothing of it in Fraser yet: and so I suppose they don't want it. I told Parker he might find it rather dangerous among his Divines: he took it however, and keeps it. I really think I shall take it back; add some Stanzas which I kept out for fear of being too strong; print fifty copies and give away; one to you, who won't like it neither. Yet it is most ingeniously tesselated into a sort of Epicurean Eclogue in a Persian Garden.



INDEX TO LETTERS

To JOHN ALLEN, 4, 5, 9, 10-21, 28, 29, 32-35, 40, 43-48, 55, 59, 66, 69, 71, 122, 138, 172, 196, 234, 235, 243, 252, 255, 280, 291 *

To MRS. CHARLES ALLEN, 337 *

To the Editor of the Athenaeum, 6

To BERNARD BARTON, 50-52, 61, 62, 74, 88, 93, 96, 98, 99, 104-110, 132, 134, 142, 158, 168, 169, 173, 175, 178, 186, 189-191, 197, 209, 220, 222

From CARLYLE, 127, 130, 181 note, 205, 298, 299, 302

To CARLYLE, 213, 216, 226, 293, 295, 297

To MRS. CHARLESWORTH, 154-157 *, 160 *, 161 *

To E. B. COWELL, 204, 208, 211 *, 212 *, 228, 231, 232, 240, 248 *, 284, 304, 304 *, 306 *, 309-321, 328-335, 340, 341 *, 345, 348

To MRS. COWELL, 307, 308, 326

To GEORGE CRABBE, 247, 266-268, 273, 274, 282, 284

To W. B. DONNE, 22-26, 31, 41, 97, 187, 198, 203, 206, 210, 241, 253, 259, 279

To SAMUEL LAURENCE, 75, 90, 116, 117, 121, 137, 140, 146, 166, 170, 215, 225, 233, 242

To W. F. POLLOCK, 114, 115, 125, 133, 283

From JAMES SPEDDING, 75 note

To FREDERIC TENNYSON, 57, 66, 76, 81, 86, 91, 101, 111, 118, 139, 141, 143, 144, 150, 163, 176, 180, 188, 192, 199, 200, 223, 236, 244, 249, 254, 256, 260, 269, 271, 275, 285, 287

From W. M. THACKERAY, 280

To W. M. THACKERAY, 38, 281

From W. H. THOMPSON, 22 note

To W. H. THOMPSON, 79, 85

The asterisks indicate the letters which are here printed for the first time.



Footnotes:

{0a} See Letters and Literary Remains of Edward FitzGerald, vol. iii. p. 464.

{14} Now Librarian of the William Salt Library at Stafford: introduced to FitzGerald at Cambridge by Thackeray. [He died 10th February 1893, aged 82.]

{19} Through the kindness of Mr. Thomas Allen, I have been enabled to recover these missing stanzas:—

TO A LADY SINGING.

1.

Canst thou, my Clora, declare, After thy sweet song dieth Into the wild summer air, Whither it falleth or flieth? Soon would my answer be noted, Wert thou but sage as sweet throated.

2.

Melody, dying away, Into the dark sky closes, Like the good soul from her clay Like the fair odor of roses: Therefore thou now art behind it, But thou shalt follow and find it.

{22} 'My dear Donne,' as FitzGerald called him, 'who shares with Spedding my oldest and deepest love.' He afterwards succeeded J. M. Kemble as Licenser of Plays. The late Master of Trinity, then Greek Professor, wrote to me of him more than five and twenty years ago, 'It may do no harm that you should be known to Mr. Donne, whose acquaintance I hope you will keep up. He is one of the finest gentlemen I know, and no ordinary scholar—remarkable also for his fidelity to his friends.'

{23} The Return to Nature, or, a Defence of the Vegetable Regimen, dedicated to Dr. W. Lambe, and written in 1811. It was printed in 1821 in The Pamphleteer, No. 38, p. 497.

{28} Wherstead Lodge on the West bank of the Orwell, about two miles from Ipswich, formerly belonged to the Vernon family. The FitzGeralds lived there for about ten years, from 1825 to 1835, when they removed to Boulge, near Woodbridge, the adjoining Parish to Bredfield.

{32} By De Quincey, in Tait's Magazine, Sept. 1834, etc.

{38} At Boulge.

{42} Life of Cowper.

{43a} Probably the Perse Grammar School.

{43b} See Carlyle's Life of Sterling, c. iv.

{44} East Anglian for 'shovel.'

{45} Mrs. Schutz lived till December, 1847.

{50a} The Quaker Poet of Woodbridge, whose daughter FitzGerald afterwards married.

{50b} His eldest brother, John Purcell FitzGerald.

{52} Letters from an eminent Prelate to one of his Friends, 2nd ed.; 1809, p. 114, Letter XLVI.

{57} A noted prize fighter.

{58} Widow of Serjeant Frere, Master of Downing College, Cambridge.

{59} Probably Mrs. Schutz of Gillingham Hall, already mentioned.

{60a} Coram Street.

{60b} Wordsworth, The Fountain, ed. 1800.

{61a} William Browne.

{61b} Probably Bletsoe.

{62} Where FitzGerald's uncle, Mr. Peter Purcell, lived.

{64} By Captain Allen F. Gardiner, R.N., 1836.

{65} In an article in Blackwood's Magazine for April 1830, p. 632, headed Poetical Portraits by a Modern Pythagorean. FitzGerald either quoted the lines from memory, or intentionally altered them. They originally stood,

His spirit was the home Of aspirations high; A temple, whose huge dome Was hidden in the sky.

Robert Macnish, LL.D., was the author of The Anatomy of Drunkenness and The Philosophy of Sleep.

{66a} Master Humphrey's Clock.

{66b} Where Thackeray was then also living.

{67} At Geldestone Hall, near Beccles.

{73a} His sister.

{73b} R. W. Evans, Vicar of Heversham.

{73c} The Paris Sketch Book.

{73d} V. 9.

{75} The artist, of whom Spedding wrote to Thompson in 1842 when he wished them to become acquainted, 'There is another man whom I have asked to come a little after 10; because you do not know him, and mutual self introductions are a nuisance. If however he should by any misfortune of mine arrive before I do, know that he is Samuel Laurence, a portrait painter of real genius, of whom during the last year I have seen a great deal and boldly pronounce him to be worthy of all good men's love. He is one of the men of whom you feel certain that they will never tire you, and never do anything which you will wish they had not done. His advantages of education have been such as it has pleased God (who was never particular about giving his favourite children a good education) to send him. But he has sent him what really does as well or better—the clearest eye and the truest heart; and it may be said of him as of Sir Peter that

Nature had but little clay Like that of which she moulded him.'

{79a} Afterwards Greek Professor and Master of Trinity College, Cambridge.

{79b} In a letter to me written in August 1881 he says, "To-morrow comes down my Italian sister to Boulge (Malebolge?), and I await her visits here."

{80a} The British and Foreign Review, 1840, Art. on 'The Present Government of Russia,' pp 543-591.

{80b} Ibid. pp. 510-542.

{80c} Ibid. p. 355, etc., Art. on 'Introduction to the Literature of Europe.'

{82} On Hero Worship.

{89} Major Moor of Great Bealings; author of The Hindu Pantheon, Suffolk Words, Oriental Fragments, etc.

{90a} By Gerald Griffin.

{90b} The chapel of the Palazzo del Podesta, or Bargello, then used as a prison.

{93} The London coach.

{96} The owner of Bredfield House, where E. F. G. was born.

{97} Hor. Od. 1. 4. 14, 15.

{98} Hor. Od. IV. 5, 25-27. horrida . . . foetus per metasyntaxin 'horrid abortions.'

{99} Not for the Cabinet Cyclopaedia, but the Library of Useful Knowledge. It was never finished.

{100a} See Barton's Letters, p. 70.

{100b} Vol. III. p. 318.

{100c} The correct reading is 'lonesome.'

{102} No. 30, where his father and mother lived.

{106} Shakespeare, Macb. I. 3, 146, 147.

{111} Milton, P. L. IX. 445.

{114a} Who was in America with Lord Ashburton.

{114b} The late Sir W. F. Pollock, formerly Queen's Remembrancer.

{114c} The Library of Useless Knowledge, by Athanasius Gasker [E. W. Clarke, son of E. D. Clarke, the Traveller], published in 1837.

{115a} Referring to the 1842 edition of Tennyson's Poems.

{115b} Spedding was at this time in America with Lord Ashburton.

{122} The Rev. T. R. Matthews, of Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge: formerly Curate of Bolnhurst and Colmworth, Chaplain of the House of Industry, Bedford, and incumbent of Christ Church in that town. He died 4th Sept 1845, and his memory is still cherished by those who were brought under his influence. Dr. Brown, the biographer of Bunyan, informs me, 'There is a little Nonconformist community at Ravensden, about three miles from Bedford, first formed by his adherents, and they keep hung upon the wall behind the pulpit the trumpet Mr. Matthews used to blow on village greens and along the highways to gather his congregation.'

{123} William Browne.

{125} On Levett; quoted from memory.

{128} There were two Parsons who wrote accounts of Naseby—Mastin in 1792, and Locking in 1830.—Note by E. F. G.

{134} Georg. I. 208-211.

{135} Referring to a passage in the Garden of Cyrus, near the end: 'To keep our eyes open longer, were but to act our Antipodes. The Huntsmen are up in America, and they are already past their first sleep in Persia.'

{137} This was a series of notes, drawn up by Carlyle for FitzGerald's guidance, and afterwards incorporated almost verbatim in an Appendix to the Life of Cromwell.

{138} Spedding.

{139} FitzGerald's copy of the 1676 edition is now in my possession.

{142a} Where his brother Peter FitzGerald lived

{142b} See Letter to Barton of 2 Sept. 1841.

{146a} Elegy xi.

{146b} Mrs. Wilkinson, his sister.

{147} Practical Hints on Light and Shade in Painting, by John Burnet, 1826, pp. 25, 26.

{149} His housekeeper at Little Grange.

{152} Reliquiae Antiquae, i. 233.

{155} An old woman at Wherstead in whom FitzGerald took great interest. She died early in March 1844, at the age of 84.

{157} The Rector of Boulge.

{159} His parrot.

{161} W. Cookson, M.D, of Lincoln died 12 April 1844.

{166} Note by E. F. G.—Also, bottle-brown: in general all bottled things are not so fresh coloured as before they were put in. A gherkin loses considerably in freshness. The great triumph of a housekeeper is when her guests say, 'Why, are these really bottled gooseberries! They look like fresh, etc.'

{174a} The MS. of this has been preserved.

{174b} To the Rev. Francis de Soyres.

{181} On the 26th of October, Carlyle wrote to FitzGerald:

'One day we had Alfred Tennyson here; an unforgettable day. He staid with us till late; forgot his stick: we dismissed him with Macpherson's Farewell. Macpherson (see Burns) was a Highland robber; he played that Tune, of his own composition, on his way to the gallows; asked, "If in all that crowd the Macpherson had any clansman?" holding up the fiddle that he might bequeath it to some one. "Any kinsman, any soul that wished him well?" Nothing answered, nothing durst answer. He crushed the fiddle under his foot, and sprang off. The Tune is rough as hemp, but strong as a lion. I never hear it without something of emotion,—poor Macpherson; tho' the Artist hates to play it. Alfred's dark face grew darker, and I saw his lip slightly quivering!'

{185} By James Montgomery: 'Friends' in his Miscellaneous Poems (Works, ii. 298, ed. 1836).

{189} Miss Cooke.

{190} Great aunt of W. B. Donne.

{196} At Keysoe Vicarage

{197} See letter to Allen, August 1842.

{198} At the Norwich Festival.

{201} James White, author of The Earl of Gowrie, etc.

{202} A Journey from Cornhill to Grand Cairo.

{203} See the Memoir of Bernard Barton by E. F. G. prefixed to the posthumous volume of selections from his Poems and Letters, p. xxvi.

{204a} Address to the members of the Norwich Athenaeum, October 17th, 1845.

{204b} Now Professor of Sanskrit at Cambridge.

{205a} Professor Cowell explains to me that this refers to a passage of Ausonius in his poem on the Moselle. It occurs in the description of the bank scenery as reflected in the river (194, 5):

Tota natant crispis juga motibus et tremit absens Pampinus, et vitreis vindemia turget in undis.

FitzGerald used to admire the break in the line after absens.

{205b} A reminiscence of Shelley's Evening, as this was of a line in Wordsworth's Elegiac Stanzas suggested by a picture of Peele Castle in a storm.

{205c} The short pasticcio of the battle referred to in the letter to Barton, 22 Sept. 1842.

{209} Trinity Church, Bedford.

{210a} On King's Parade.

{210b} Mrs. Perry.

{211a} F. B. Edgeworth died 12th Oct. 1846.

{211b} Euphranor.

{213} The Rev. J. T. Nottidge of Ipswich died 21 Jan. 1847.

{220} [The last two words are crossed out.—W. A. W.]

{222} Francis Duncan, rector of West Chelborough.

{225} Morris Moore's letters on the Abuses of the National Gallery were addressed to The Times at the end of 1846 and the beginning of 1847 with the signature 'Verax.' They were collected and published in a pamphlet by Pickering in 1847.

{227} See Carlyle's Cromwell (ed. I), i. 193.

{230a} Pliny, Ep. III. 21.

{230b} In a subsequent letter, written when this was supposed to be lost, he says, 'I liked all your quotations, and wish to read Busbequius; whose name would become an owl.'

{231} Lord Hatherley.

{232} In the People's Journal, ed. Saunders, iv. 355-358.

{233} iv. 104.

{235} 26 Feb. 1848.

{238} Dombey and Son.

{240} Hellenica, II. i. 25.

{241} Evenings with a Reviewer.

{242} A lithograph of the portrait by Laurence.

{243} Bernard Barton died 19 Feb. 1849.

{247} Grandson of the poet, afterwards Rector of Merton, near Walton, Norfolk.

{251} No one but FitzGerald in humorous self-depreciation would apply such an epithet to this delightful piece of biography.

{252a} Selections from the Poems and Letters of Bernard Barton.

{252b} Of course this is not intended to be taken quite seriously. It is to be remembered that FitzGerald also said of them, 'There are many verses whose melody will linger in the ear, and many images that will abide in the memory. Such surely are those of men's hearts brightening up at Christmas "like a fire new-stirred"—of the stream that leaps along over the pebbles "like happy hearts by holiday made light"—of the solitary tomb showing from afar "like a lamb in the meadow," etc.'

{254a} Diogenes and his Lantern.

{254b} Old Lady Lambert.

{261} E. B. Cowell.

{262a} The Rev. George Crabbe, son of the Poet, and Vicar of Bredfield.

{262b} Bramford, near Ipswich.

{265} Charles Childs.

{266} Containing an article by Spedding on Euphranor.

{267a} The Cowells had gone to live in Oxford.

{267b} Euphranor.

{268} Azael the Prodigal, adapted from Scribe and Auber's L'Enfant Prodigue.

{272} On the English Humourists of the Eighteenth Century

{273} To Polonius.

{274} To visit his friend John Allen.

{275} Esmond.

{282} Six Dramas from Calderon.

{283a} Chief Justice.

{283b} Baron Parke, afterwards Lord Wensleydale.

{284} This conjecture was correct. See p. 307.

{285a} The Gardener and the Nightingale in Sir W. Jones's Persian Grammar.

{285b} Vicarage.

{287a} Farlingay Hall, sometimes called Farthing Cake Hall.

{287b} Mrs. De Soyres.

{291} Not Harry, but Franklin Lushington in Points of War.

{292a} It was in the autumn of 1791.

{292b} From Cowley's translation of Anacreon.

{292c} P. 148.

{302a} This with a wider margin, or in some other way distinguishable from the rest of the inscription.

{302b} Some volumes of which C. had brought down to Suffolk, being then engaged with his Frederick II. MS. note by FitzGerald.

{304} Salaman and Absal.

{307} In another letter written about the same time he says, 'The letter to Major Price at the beginning is worth any Money, and almost any Love!' This dedication by Major Moor to his old comrade-in-arms FitzGerald would sometimes try to read aloud but would break down before he could finish it.

{308a} The Selection from his Letters, etc., published after his death, in which FitzGerald wrote a sketch of his life.

{308b} On Comparative Mythology, in the Oxford Essays for 1856.

{308c} Life's a Dream: The Great Theatre of the World. From the Spanish of Calderon.

{309} In an article on Spanish Literature in the Westminster Review for April 1851, pp. 281-323.

{311} In his 'Memoire sur la poesie philosophique et religieuse chez les Persans.' His edition of the text of Attar's poem came out in 1857, but the French translation only in 1863.

{312} In his 'Geschichte der schonen Redekunste Persiens.'

{313} Mrs. Cowell's father and mother.

{316} This Apologue FitzGerald afterwards turned into verse; but it remained an unfinished fragment. Professor Cowell has kindly filled up the gaps which were left.

A Saint there was who three score Years and ten In holy Meditation among Men Had spent, but, wishing, ere he came to close With God, to meet him in complete Repose, Withdrew into the Wilderness, where he Set up his Dwelling in an aged Tree Whose hollow Trunk his Winter Shelter made, And whose green branching Arms his Summer Shade. And like himself a Nightingale one Spring Making her Nest above his Head would sing So sweetly that her pleasant Music stole Between the Saint and his severer Soul, And made him sometimes [heedless of his] Vows Listening his little Neighbour in the Boughs. Until one Day a sterner Music woke The sleeping Leaves, and through the Branches spoke— 'What! is the Love between us two begun And waxing till we Two were nearly One For three score Years of Intercourse unstirr'd Of Men, now shaken by a little Bird; And such a precious Bargain, and so long A making, [put in peril] for a Song?'

{317} George Borrow, Author of The Bible in Spain, etc.

{318} Evan Banks, by Miss Williams. See Allan Cunningham's Songs of Scotland, iv. 59.

{319} Boswell's Johnson, 11 April 1776.

{320} This struck E. F. G. so much that he introduced it into Omar Khayyam, stanza xxxiii. Professor Cowell writes, 'I well remember shewing it to FitzGerald and reading it with him in his early Persian days at Oxford in 1855. I laughed at the quaintness; but the idea seized his imagination from the first, and, like Virgil with Ennius' rough jewels, his genius detected gold where I had seen only tinsel. He has made two grand lines out of it.'

{322} A retired clergyman who lived at Bramford.

{323a} On Comparative Mythology. Oxford Essays, 1856.

{323b} Fraser's Magazine for April 1857.

{328} M. Garcin de Tassy scrupulously observed this injunction in his Note sur les Ruba'iyat de Omar Khaiyam, which appeared in the journal Asiatique.

{337} See Letter to John Allen, 12 July 1840.

{344} Rather of the Orthodox reader by Omar himself.

{348} Hatifi's Haft Paikar, a poem on the Seven Castles of Bahram Gur, as I learn from Professor Cowell, 'each with its princess who lives in it, and tells Bahram a story.' He adds, 'We always used the name with an understood playful reference to Corporal Trim's unfinished story of the King of Bohemia and his Seven Castles.'