the circumstances

John Ruskin to Coventry Patmore

Oxford, 18th Nov. [1854.]

Dear Patmore,

I only got your note yesterday afternoon, owing to my absence from London for the moment. What you tell and show me of the notices of the Angel is only consistent with what I have long observed of press criticism. No thoroughly good thing can be praised or felt at once.

You need be under no apprehension as to the ultimate success of your poem. I don't think you will even need much patience. It has purpose and plain meaning in every line, it is fit for its age--and for all ages, and it will get its place. Its only retarding element is the strong resemblance to the handling of Tennyson, but this will not tell against it ultimately any more than Bonifazio's resemblance to Titian ought to make us cast Bonifazio out of our galleries.

The circumstances of my own life unhappily render it impossible for me to venture to write a critique on it for any publication but whatever my private influence can do shall be done.

Believe me, with regards to Mrs. Patmore,

Faithfully and respectfully yours,
J. Ruskin.

[link to: Effie Gray, Mrs. Ruskin.]

[Picture of John Ruskin above right, by John Everett Millais]

-from Memoirs and Correspondence of Coventry Patmore By Basil Champneys (London: George Bell and Sons, 1900) p. 278-279.

Ruskin asked

Coventry Patmore to William Allingham

British Museum, Nov. 6, '54.

My Dear Allingham,

I do not want you to withhold, in noticing my vol. anything a stranger (a judge of poetry) acquainted with my former doings, would infer from the volume itself. Thanks for the paragraph in " The Critic," which I had not seen. A copy was sent to the Dublin University, also to Kingsley--but anonymously. Ruskin had one, also anonymously. Rossetti was with him a day or two after he received it: R. asked him if he had seen or knew anything about "a glorious book called "The Angel in the House"! Alfred Tennyson is also emphatic in his prophecies of Immortality for the same performance.

Hannay has written a notice of it in "The Leader," regarding it from the ultra-pagan point of view, from which of course it looks rather dull. But the notice is respectful, which is the most I could have hoped, or even desired from the "Leader."

The "Spectator" has also noticed it, in the beginning pronouncing it to be an imitation of Tennyson, in the middle, of Petrarch, and in the end declaring that it is a mere echo of Cowley; to complete this specimen of "critical acumen" the poem is bracketed with Gerald Massey.

Yours faithfully,

C. Patmore.

-from Memoirs and Correspondence of Coventry Patmore By Basil Champneys (London: George Bell and Sons, 1900) p. 178-179.

to pass for the present

Coventry Patmore to William Allingham

British Museum,

Oct., 1854.

Mv Dear Allingham,

You will receive in a day or two a copy of a poem by "C. K. Dighton" under which name I wish, if possible, to pass for the present--chiefly because the weight of "The Times" attack on my father's book* has fallen on me--even "Punch" abusing me by my full name on account of it. Only two or three of the P. R. B. coterie are in the secret.

Can't you do the notice in the "Critic"? You will find the poem much altered and I hope much improved by the omission of the "Epigrams" as a regular "department."

Yours faithfully,

C. K. Patmore.

* My friends and acquaintance: being memorials, mind-portraits, and personal recollections of deceased celebrities of the nineteenth century: with selections from their unpublished letters by P.[eter] G.[eorge] Patmore, {1786-1855} -Three Volumes- (London: Saunders and Otley,1854) which was reviewed disparagingly in the Times August 19, 1854.

-from Memoirs and Correspondence of Coventry Patmore By Basil Champneys (London: George Bell and Sons, 1900) p. 178.

triangles and circles

Coventry Patmore to William Allingham

8, Grove, January 6, 1851.

Dear Allingham,

Mr. and Mrs. Tennyson have not yet fixed upon a house; but I believe they are thinking of settling near Croydon. I have not seen Mr. Clough since you were in town; nor am I likely to see him, my family triangle constituting my entire circle of society just now (pardon such a silly joke which I did not perceive till it was done).

Your friends the P. R. B.'s are to make a great show in the Exhibition next year. I believe Mr. Woolner is not at present talking of going to America. Mr. Tennyson has taken a great liking to him and has had him to stay with him and Mrs. Tennyson: this, among other things, seems to have put our excellent friend into a good humour with England.

Believe me very truly yours,

Coventry K. Patmore.

[Image above right from The Victorian Web, image scanned by George P. Landow.]

-from Memoirs and Correspondence of Coventry Patmore By Basil Champneys (London: George Bell and Sons, 1900) p. 175.

tho' as yet obscure

Coventry Patmore to William Allingham

Museum, Jan. 5, 1850.

My Dear Allingham,

A few artists--young and for the most part illustrious tho' as yet obscure (Hunt, Millais, G. Rossetti, &c), have set a-going a small magazine upon a sound system. first No. has appeared, and is full of good poetry and noticeable criticism, and has an exquisite etching by Hunt. I think you would like to form one of the corporation subscribing (one shilling per month) and contributing (gratis). The title is "The Germ." I will send you a number to judge of. The little poem called "The Seasons" is mine. How gets on the "Music Master"?

Yours ever,

C. K. Patmore.

-from Memoirs and Correspondence of Coventry Patmore By Basil Champneys (London: George Bell and Sons, 1900) p. 170-71.

a flying leaf

Coventry Patmore to William Allingham

10, Cambridge Villas,

Camden New Town,

Sept. 14, 1849.

My Dear Allingham, .... Blake's print pleases me more than anything of the kind that I have seen for a long time. Its extremely pathetic character corroborates the view, which I have long held, that pathos must be founded upon strength and the most severe nobility.

I have often thought of you and of your verses since I saw you--much more however of the former than of the latter; for these are but trifles compared with what I feel persuaded that it is in your power to do, if only you will put out your strength and strive indefatigably to do your best. Many a first-rate genius has made only a second-rate poet, because he has not chosen to work hard; and it has often happened that a man of inferior power, like Gray, has won a lasting reputation with few other claims to it than the "claims of industry." It seems to me that nothing can be better in the same way than some of the verses you showed me. Let a brother-worker be allowed to urge you never to do anything but your best.

I envy my brother the pleasure of spending a week or two with you in the country; but I hope my turn may come some day. If I may trust the impression of so short an acquaintance with you, I think that we are adapted to become friends. There are probably many years before us yet; and the next time we meet, it will be at least with the advantage of increased knowledge on both sides, and therefore with less danger of that sad but frequent end of early- friendships, the exhaustion of each other's interest.

I am in better spirits now than when I saw you. The sea-air has braced my nerves, and I feel fit for work. I regret, however, that I am at present, and probably long shall be, condemned to prose. When my Muse soars with any effect you shall hear from me. Under similar, or any other circumstances indeed, I shall be glad to hear from you. I am a bad correspondent. That is, I cannot write long letters, but I shall always be delighted to exchange a flying leaf with you whenever you like.

Yours ever truly,

Coventry K. Patmore.

-from Memoirs and Correspondence of Coventry Patmore By Basil Champneys (London: George Bell and Sons, 1900) p. 168-69.

Carlyle (Stern and Stout!)

[Thomas Carlyle to Coventry Patmore]

Gill,9 August, 1856.
My Dear Sir,

The public of readers, now that everybody has taken to read, and whosoever has twopence in his pocket to pay into a Circulating Library, whether he have any fraction of wit in his head or not, is sovereign Rhadamanthus of Books for the time being, has become more astonishing than ever! Probably there was such a Plebs before, entitled to hold up its thumb with vivat or pereat to the poor fencers in the Literary Ring. The only remedy is, not to mind them; to set one's face against them like a flint: for they cannot kill one, after all, tho' they think they do it: one has to say, "Dull, impious canaille, it was not for you that I wrote; not to please you that I was brandishing what weapons the gods gave me!" Patience, too, in this world, is a very necessary element of victory.

It is certain, if there is any perennial running Brook, were it the smallest rill coming from the eternal fountains, whole Atlantic Oceans of froth will not be able to cover it up for ever; said rill will, one day, be seen running under the light of the sun, said froth having altogether vanished no man knows whither. That is the law of Nature, in spite of all blusterings of any Plebs or Devil; and we must silently trust in that.

Unhappily the reviewer too is generally in the exact ratio of the readers, a dark blockhead with braggartism superadded; probably the supreme blockhead of blockheads, being a vocal one withal, and conscious of being wise. Him also we must leave to his fate: an inevitable phenomenon ("like people, like priest"), yet a transitory one, he too.

You need not doubt but I shall be ready, of my own accord, to recommend this Book by all opportunities for what I privately perceive it to be. I am considering also whether there is not some exceptional reviewer, whom I might endeavor to interest in it, with some hope of profit; shall perhaps hit on such a one by and by: unhappily my connexion with that guild of craftsmen is almost null (or less) this long while. You may depend upon it I will neglect no good occasion -- recommending perseverance in the mean time and at all times, and what the Scotch call "a stout heart to a steep hill," I remain always,

Yours very sincerely,
T. Carlyle

Coventry's Angel

[Thomas Carlyle to Coventry Patmore]

Gill, Cummertrees, Annan, N.B.,
31 July, 1856.

My Dear Sir,

I have received your beautiful little Book, "The Angel in the House," Book II., some time ago; and reserved it for a good opportunity, which I saw ahead. I brought it with me into these parts, the only modern Book I took that trouble with; and last night I gave myself the pleasure of a deliberate perusal. Upon which, so favourable was the issue, I now give you the superfluous trouble of my verdict — prior to getting in the Solway for a little swim, the sound of which I also hear approaching.

Certainly it is a beautiful little Piece, this "Espousals"; nearly perfect in its kind; the execution and exception full of delicacy, truth, and graceful simplicity; high, ingenious, fine, — pure and wholesome as these breezes now blowing round me from the eternal sea. The delineation of the thing is managed with great art, thrift and success, by that light sketching of parts; of which, both in the choice of what is to be delineated, and in the fresh, airy, easy way of doing it, I much admire the genial felicity, the real skill. A charming simplicity attracts me everywhere: this is a great merit which I am used to in you. — Occasionally (oftenest in "the Sentences") you get into an antique Cowleian vein, what Johnson would call the "Metaphysical" a little; but this too, if well done, as it here is I like to see, — as a gymnastic exercise of wit, were it nothing more. Indeed, I have to own, the whole matter is an "ideal"; soars high above reality, and leaves the mud of fact (mud with whatever stepping stones may be discoverable therein) lying far under its feet. But this you will say is a merit, its poetic certificate — well, well. Few books are written with so much conscientious fidelity now-a-days, or indeed at any day; and very few with anything like the amount of general capability displayed here. I heartily return many thanks for my share of it.

I am here in a kind of "retreat" for four or three weeks, in the most silent country I could get, near my native Solway, and apart from all mankind, — really a kind of Catholic "retreat" minus the invocations to the Virgin, etc . . . I am about ten miles from my Birthplace, know all the mountain tops 50 miles round since my eyes first opened; and I do not want for objects of a sufficiently devotional nature, sad and otherwise. But the tide is in' or nearly so: time and tide will wait on no man!

Yours with many thanks and regards,
T. Carlyle

-from Memoirs and Correspondence of Coventry Patmore / Basil Champneys (London: G. Bell & Sons)