Part 24

“P.S.--It will be better for me, I believe, that I must work, and work hard; the tired head may help the heavy heart after all.”

_To Mr Alexander Spencer._

“Casa Capponi, Florence, _Oct_. 17, 1863.

“Your kindest of notes was very dear to me at this, the saddest day of my life. My poor boy was taken away almost in a moment. Some internal rupture, followed by great haemorrhage, overcame him, and he sank at once and never rallied even to consciousness.

“The great struggle of my life was his advancement,--to place him in a high and honourable position; and to maintain him there was an effort for which I toiled and laboured till I had parted with the little my years of industry had gathered, sold my copyrights, and left myself penniless, even to the poverty that I could scarcely collect enough to pay the expenses of the churchyard where I laid him. So much for human foresight! All my love and all my tact to be under the small mound of the churchyard!

“They who speak of religious consolation in great calamity often forget that these consolations only appeal to those whose lives have been invariably directed by a religious standard, and that worldly-minded men like myself can no more obtain the benefit of these remedies than they could of any internal medicament which required a course of long persistence. I say this to show that while not insensible to the truthfulness of these counsels, yet that personally they do not apply.

“It is now left me to labour on with broken spirits and a faded heart. To try and cheat the weariness of others I must strain head and nerves, and stifle true feeling to portray its mockery.

“I suppose I only re-echo what thousands have said, that I wish from my heart the race was run, and that I could lie down beside my poor Charley.”

_To Mr John Blackwood._

“Casa Capponi, Florence, _Oct_. 20, 1863.

“It was very neglectful of me not to acknowledge your cheque. It was the more so, since I had not any other money in my possession.

“My wife is a little better. She thanks you deeply and gratefully for your words of kindness and sympathy to us both.

“I have not been able to work yet, but in a day or two I’ll try. The poor fisherman in ‘The Antiquary’ cobbled at the boat of his drowned son the day after,--but it’s harder to task the head when the heart is so heavy.

“It is very kind of you to tell me good tidings of my story. Believe me, I am far more anxious for you than for myself.”

_To Dr Burbidge._

“Wednesday, _Oct_. 21,1863.

“I only send you so much of my proof as will make the eighth part in publication (_la suite en prochain numéro_). I detained it to make certain corrections, by which you will see I am less an ass than a first reading might have persuaded you to believe.

“Blackwood writes to me very favourably; he holds much to the secrecy as to the authorship, and has not even told Aytoun, his most intimate friend.

“With all the _bonne volonté_ in the world, I cannot work. I can no more do it than I could walk with a broken leg. It is not that the thing is difficult, it is impossible.

“I am right well pleased with our success at Church matters--that is, that we have done all that so narrow an atmosphere admits of, and will conquer fresh worlds when they are discovered.

“Are there any English ships in the Gulf? or is there anything consular asked for or wished for?”

_To Mr John Blackwood._

“Casa Capponi, Florence, _Nov_. 7, 1863.

“‘Tony’ looks better in Magazine than in proof. I hope your readers like it, and sincerely more on your account than on my own.

“I write now to ask would you like a paper on Turkey, on which Bulwer has been cramming me, but of which _I myself_ know nothing? First of all, are you Turk or anti-Turk in Magazine? for B. is outrageously Moslem, and, of course, so will be his article.

“From what I hear from him, the subject might be treated popularly and readably.

“What clever papers those are in this month’s Magazine, Hawthorne and the Americans! They are wonderfully well written, and I am amazed at the good temper of the first, for the theme was a very strong temptation for sharp reprisals.

“Up to this I have done nothing. I have a very aguish headache that takes me on alternate days, and for which I am ordered change of air, which, of course, in my wife’s present state of health, is impossible. I am very peevish and dissatisfied at my forced idleness; but I suspect if I were to write in my present mood you would be even less pleased with my industry.”

_To Dr Burbidge._

“Casa Càpponi, Florence, _Nov_. 11, 1863.

“If the grapes are sour here, it is simply because the fox is too lazy to stand on his hind legs and take them.

“Pendleton goes positively on the 17th--so he says. There is no one, nor can there be any one, here to take his place in permanence. If really, then, you do not actually prefer the hard peas of Spezzia, there is a reasonable chance of success by a little effort. Just in the same ratio that I have always bedevilled my own fortunes, I have a certain luck when I deal with those of others; so if you care to make a move here, say so now, or hold your peace during all next summer.

“I was told yesterday--by so great a swell that he was almost unintelligible, and so high and mighty as not to bear being conquered of by me--that there was a lady now here who was the wife of a gentleman who once was H. M. of Rugby before Arnold, and who, hearing of your vicinity, expressed a lively desire to see you here as chaplain. You would doubtless know who she is, and if she be a valuable constituent. At all events, think of the thing, and _think fast_.

“Sir Bulwer Lytton is graciously pleased to be pleased with ‘Tony,’ and condescends to ask Blackwood, Who writes it? Some compensation this, for a friend now here told me he turned it over, but though it wasn’t positively _bad_, it was not ‘tempting.’ Happily it takes all sorts of folk to make a public--as well as a world.

“I believe Julia sent you down a book of mine this morning. If ‘The Times’ does not reach regularly, it is because it misses here at least every second day.

“Write to me. Tell me that you are well and the Hôtel d’Odessa empty, that the climate agrees with Mrs Burbidge, and that Bassetti has the ague.”

_To Mr John Blackwood._

“Casa Capponi, Florence, _November_.

“Do not cut down T. B.,--it would certainly damage him, and I’ll not fail you, so far at least as time is concerned. What you tell me of the opinions of him cheers me much.

“I wrote you a line about Turkey, and now it seems to be that a droll series of short papers might be well devised--Mr Kenny Dodd upon ‘Men and Things in General,’--a light [survey] taken from an Irish point of view, and consequently as often _wrong_ as right. Next year will be a stirring one here--that is, over the Continent, and afford plenty of passing events when one wanted them.

“I wonder Bulwer Lytton did not guess me, and I wonder even more that he liked T. B.; but I am well pleased all the same.

“So you are coming round to M’Caskey. I half thought you would, and said little in his defence. It certainly is not easy for any one not ‘bog-born’ to understand that composite animal which Ireland produces, and has so much of the gentleman through a regularly demoralised scampish nature: the _point d’honneur_ preserved after honour itself was gone, and the tradition of being respectable maintained after years of a sponging-house and the police-courts. Believe me, I know full fifty M’Caskeys, and one of them became a Chief Justice, though I don’t mean mine to end that way.

“My very warmest thanks for yours and Mrs Blackwood’s inquiries about my wife. She is a little better,--at least she says so, and that is something,--and she was very grateful about your interest for her.”

_To Dr Burbidge._

“Casa Capponi, Florence, _Nov_. 1863.

“I like the notion you suggest of my cancelling. Did you ever see an Irishman throw out a pint of his chalk mixture because he saw a bluebottle in the measure? Or, rather, didn’t he daintily pick out the beastie, aye, if it was a cockroach, with finger and thumb, and serve his customer? I tell you I couldn’t afford to be careful. I’m not rich enough, to write creditably,--_e poi?_ I never could bring myself yet, nor do I hope to arrive at the point hereafter, to respect my Public; and I often hug myself, in the not very profitable consolation, that they never thought meaner of me nor do I of them. I _know_ that the very worst things I ever did were instant successes, and some one or two--as ‘The Dodds,’ for instance, which had a certain stamp of originality--were total and lamentable failures. Now, mind, I do not say this in any spirit of misanthropic invective. I do not want, like poor Haydn, to slang the world that refuses to appreciate me--and, for this reason, that they have taken carrion from me and eaten it for good wholesome ox beef; but I say that for such consumers the trouble of selection is clean thrown away, and I feel that if I were to write for Fame, I might finish my book in the Fleet.

“My wife is certainly better; the change is not so great as to alter her habits of rest and seclusion, but she is better, and looks better. Ju and Syd well, and, like all of us, very much yours.

“Your notes are a great pleasure, and I think the postman a scoundrel when he doesn’t bring one.”

_To Mr John Blackwood._

“Casa Capponi, Florence, _Nov._, 23,1863.

“The sight of your handwriting is very comforting to me. I tell you frankly I get no letters that cheer me like yours now. I quite agree with you about Turkey, and our policy has no other defence than that it is better to leave open to contingencies what, if we were to deal with summarily, we should finish at once. In not negotiating with Nicholas England was simply giving way to one of those intermittent attacks of morality which seize her after some aggressive paroxysm--a Caffre war or the annexation of [?Oude] We have done scores of things--and if we live and prosper will do them again--far more reprehensible than a partition of Turkey. I believe the Crimean war was a signal blunder, and the peace that followed it worse than the war.

“As to Turkey as a question for a paper, I can only say as Lord Plunkett did of a _crim. con. case_: ‘I’d like to have a hundred pounds to argue it either way.’

“How glad I am you like ‘The Dodds.’ I know I have never done, nor ever shall do, anything one half so good, because it is original. I decanted, through all the absurdities of Dodd’s nature, whatever I really knew of life and mankind, and it is that very admixture of shrewd sense and intense blundering that makes an Irishman. The perception and the _enjoyment_ of the very domestic absurdities that overwhelm him with shame would in any other nature mean insanity, but they only make an Irishman very true to his national characteristics, and rather a pleasant fellow to talk to.

“I’ll send you soon a sketch of my intentions as to ‘The Dodd’ papers; perhaps you are right in keeping the name back.

“Your brother was quite right. My compliments to him, and say he shall not be bored with any more Italian politics. I suppose my old medical instincts led me into the mess, and made me fancy that an ‘occasional bitter’ was always useful I’ll send you a batch of MSS. in a day or two, and _when you send me the proofs I’ll go ahead vigorously._

“I am reading Kinglake, and delighted with him. I go with every line of him.”

_To Dr Burbidge._

“Casa Capponi, Florence, _Dec_, 1,1863.

“I have at last bullied my attack, though a severe rheumatism has seized on me and brought me to my knees in more senses than one. I am truly sorry to hear you are out of sorts. Let me prescribe. Go up to the V. Consulate, extremity of the Casa Falconi, and make Freddy (Sanders, F.) search out from among the bottles there one of brandy--it is wonderfully old and good--and take it home, and give yourself a stiffish glass of the same, cold, without water, a short time before bed-hour, and follow it each day by ten grains quinine in two separate doses--five grains each, [?_C’est_] _la grande cure_.

“I am not yet sure whether I have lost MSS. as well as proof, the last, certainly, as you may know to your cost some fine day when you see No. 2 walk in once more to have his face washed, for indeed I could not make the corrections you did, and I know they ought to be made. By the way, neither of us remarked that I gave the same maid--Honoré--to Sir William Wardle and the Vyners.

“I cannot get to work as I ought. I have a good many anxieties, and I bear them less well than I used. Strange dispensation, that one’s load should grow heavier as the back to bear it grows weaker!

“I am making a shocking mull of ‘Luttrell,’ I feel and know, and can’t help it. I suppose I shall go down to Spezzia in a few days--that is, next week, but I don’t like leaving home with my wife so nervous and suffering.

“The Church here at a dead-lock. Pendleton threatening, the vestry coaxing, the parson putting forth each Sunday all his most attractive graces, but still, to be sure, asking for more; and the public, most of whom are in the migratory state, declare that they belong to another parish, and are deaf to the charmer.”

_To Mr John Blackwood._

“Florence, _Saturday, [Dec]_ 5, [1863.]

“I got a fright at finding that your letter of the 30th does not acknowledge the receipt of ‘Tony.’ part five, and I hope it has reached you and will soon reach me. I was wrong about seeing Staffa,--that is, I have seen it, but only twice or thrice in as many years,--a mere chance effect of atmosphere which ought not to have been set down as a common occurrence. Bulwer Lytton amused me about the Colonial habits, but what would he say if the Sec. (as in Duke of Newcastle case) was in the Lords, and never went to the House of Lords at all? His other remark is of more consequence--about Maitland’s connection with Neapolitan politics; and I am sorry that he dislikes it, sorry because he is a consummately good critic, and if he with his reflective habits thought my politics a bore, Heaven help me with the genuine novel-reader!

“But, as you truly say (and with more truth in my particular case than in most men’s), I must only do the best I can in my _own_ way, not meaning that I do not desire to be told when I am wrong, and feel thankful to any one who will take that trouble with me, and endeavour, moreover, so far as I can, to benefit by the counsel I would not tell him of the author. It will, besides, enable him to be more free in stating his opinion, which the oftener you can obtain for me the better.

“I so fully agreed with you in not reviving Kenny Dodd, that I have created a new man, Cornelius O’Dowd, whose letter to you is enclosed herewith--the third chapter, being ‘The Friend of Gioberti,’ which caused a laugh from those who have little mirth in their hearts of late. I’m not sure you’ll like the thing (though I do), but you will never disconcert me by frankness, backed up, as I now find it to be, by a very kindly feeling towards me. There will very soon be events stirring enough to record here. These people are bent on war, and the secret agent of the Government left this yesterday for Caprera to confer with Garibaldi.”

_To Mr John Blackwood._

“Casa Capponi, Florence, _Dec_, 19, 1863.

“There’s a common belief here that no letters with a photograph can pass through the Florence post office, as some amateur official is certain to secure it. If this (a copy for a bust that had a year ago some likeness to me) reaches you it will be perhaps lucky, and if it fail there will be no great misfortune to you. The sight of me, either in the flesh or cardboard, has long ceased to make any one more light-hearted. I am shaking away, and if I try to write in my present condition you’d shake too. _Speriamo_--the weather will change soon, and, though I’m not given to be over-sanguine of late, I hope to be again at work in a few days, and send you a new relay of ‘Tony.’

“I wish you’d throw your eye over ‘Luttrell,’ and tell me what you think of it.

“A happy Xmas to you and yours.”

_To Mr John Blackwood._

“Casa Capponi, Florence, Dec 23, 1863.

“I send you herewith four chapters, to make at least part of No. 6, ‘Tony.’ Read and comment, and let me soon see the proof, for this is my one busy consular moment and I can do nothing ‘fictionally’ for some time, though Heaven knows, I know nothing of bottomry, nothing of weight, Nothing of cargo, demurrage, or freight. And such a maze are my faculties wrapt in,

‘I never could say To this blessed day Is it the Consul should pay or the Captain?’

“_Addio_, and a pleasanter and happier Christmas than is the lot of yours faithfully.”

_To Dr Burbidge._

“Casa Capponi, Dec. 26, 1863,

“Will you kindly post the enclosed for me to imply that I am a resident of Spezzia, and still enjoy the graceful hospitalities of the Hôtel d’Odessa?

“I am glad you take the view which, though I did not word before, I myself entertained of the ‘Athenaeum’ criticism. I believe I can guess the secret spring which set the attack in motion, and the whole is not worth thinking of, and I can dismiss it from my thoughts without even an effort.

“Still, I do not believe ‘Luttrell’ will do, and my conviction is that the despair that attaches to Ireland, from Parliament down to ‘Punch,’ acts injuriously on all who would try to invest her scenes with interest or endow her people with other qualities than are mentioned in police courts.

“Tell me, and the theme is a pleasanter one, do you take or give yourself a holiday at this season? You surely do not treat the old age and last moments of the year so disparagingly as to make working days of them! Well, then, come up and give us three or four of them here. I make no excuse for a dull house, probably you wouldn’t come if it were a gay one, but such as it is you will be a very welcome guest, and I am sure that a little new venue and new witnesses in the box would be of service to you.”

_To Mr John Blackwood._

[Undated.]

“My present plan is of such a book as would make an ordinary 3-vol. novel, for which I have, I believe, sufficient material for a good story, and a stirring one. I have not, however, written one line beyond what I have sent you, so that to trust me you must take my own security.

“Serial-writing not alone adapts itself to my habits, but actually chimes in with a certain mixture of indecision and facility which marks whatever I do in this way--that the success or failure of any character before the world has always guided me, whether to work out the creation more fully and perfectly, or to abandon it quietly. To give an instance,--I could give over fifty,--Micky Free was never intended to figure in more than a passing scene in ‘Charles O’Malley’; but the public took to him, and so I gave him to them freely.

“All these ‘Confessions of Harry Lorrequer’ will neither exhibit my artistic or constructive power in a very high light. _N’importe!_ if you take me, you must take me as they do the two-year-olds--with all my engagements, which are to write in the only way I have hitherto done, or I honestly believe I could do at all.

“As to money, a post bill, or your cheque, quite as negotiable, will suit me perfectly. I hope I am legible, but I have my fears, for I jammed my fingers in a block on board my boat t’other day, and have not used a pen since till now.”

END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.

PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS