Letters of Edward FitzGerald | Page 9

your Indian Studies. As to India being 'your
Place,' it may be: but as to your being lost in England, that could not be.
You know I do not flatter. . . .
I declare I should like to go to India as well as any where: and I believe
it might be the best thing for me to do. But, always slow at getting
under way as I have been all my Life, what is to be done with one after
fifty! I am sure there is no longer any great pleasure living in this
Country, so tost with perpetual Alarms as it is. One Day we are all in
Arms about France. To-day we are doubting if To-morrow we may not
be at War to the Knife with America! I say still, as I used, we have too
much Property, Honour, etc., on our Hands: our outward Limbs go on
lengthening while our central Heart beats weaklier: I say, as I used, we
should give up something before it is forced from us. The World, I
think, may justly resent our being and interfering all over the Globe.
Once more I say, would we were a little, peaceful, unambitious, trading,
Nation, like--the Dutch! . . .
Adieu, My Dear Cowell; once more, Adieu. I doubt if you can read

what I have written. Do not forget my Love to your Wife. I wonder if
we are ever to meet again: you would be most disappointed if we were!
To W. H. Thompson.
MARKET HILL, WOODBRIDGE. Dec. 9/61.
MY DEAR THOMPSON,
The MS. came safe to hand yesterday, thank you: and came out of its
Envelope like a Ray of Old Times to my Eyes. I wish I had secured
more leaves from that old 'Butcher's Book' torn up in old Spedding's
Rooms in 1842 when the Press went to work with, I think, the Last of
old Alfred's Best. But that, I am told, is only a 'Crotchet.' However, had
I taken some more of the Pages that went into the Fire, after serving in
part for Pipe-lights, I might have enriched others with that which AT
{29} himself would scarce have grudged, jealous as he is of such sort
of Curiosity.
I have seen no more of Tannhauser than the Athenaeum showed me;
and certainly do not want to see more. One wonders that Men of some
Genius (as I suppose these are) should so disguise it in Imitation: but, if
they be very young men, this is the natural course, is it not? By and by
they may find their own Footing.
As to my own Peccadilloes in Verse, which never pretend to be original,
this is the story of Rubaiyat. I had translated them partly for Cowell:
young Parker asked me some years ago for something for Fraser, and I
gave him the less wicked of these to use if he chose. He kept them for
two years without using: and as I saw he did'nt want them I printed
some copies with Quaritch; and, keeping some for myself, gave him the
rest. Cowell, to whom I sent a Copy, was naturally alarmed at it; he
being a very religious Man: nor have I given any other Copy but to
George Borrow, to whom I had once lent the Persian, and to old Donne
when he was down here the other Day, to whom I was showing a
Passage in another Book which brought my old Omar up.
(end of letter lost.)

MARKET HILL, WOODBRIDGE. March 19/62.
MY DEAR THOMPSON,
Thanks for your Letter in the middle of graver occupations. It will give
me very great pleasure if you will come here: but not if you only do so
out of kindness; I mean, if you have no other call of Business or
Pleasure to yourself. For I don't deserve--
You should have sent me some Photograph. I hate them nearly all: but
S. Rice {30} was very good. I wonder you don't turn out well: I
suppose, too black, is it? It is generally florid people, I think, who fail:
yet, strange to say, my Brother Peter has come quite handsome in the
Process. . . .
I am all for a little Flattery in Portraits: that is, so far as, I think, the
Painter or Sculptor should try at something more agreeable than
anything he sees sitting to him: when People look either bored, or
smirking: he should give the best possible Aspect which the Features
before him might wear, even if the Artist had not seen that Aspect.
Especially when he works for Friends or Kinsfolk: for even the plainest
face has looked handsome to them at some happy moment, and just
such we like to have perpetuated.
Now, I really do feel ashamed