T. CARLYLE.

CHELSEA, 23 _Augt_. 1855.

DEAR FITZGERALD,

Here, after a good deal of bothering to improve it, above all to abridge it, is the proposed Inscription for the Pillar at Naseby. You need not scruple a moment to make any change that strikes you; I am well aware it is good for nothing except its practical object, and that I have no skill in lapidary literature.

The worst thing will be, discovering the _date_ of your Naseby diggings.

I ought to have it here; and probably I have,--in some remote dusty trunk, whither it is a terror to go looking for it! Try you what you can, and the Naseby Farmer too (if he is still extant); then I will try.

At worst we can say 'Ten years ago'; but the exact date would be better.

The figure of the stone ought to be of Egyptian simplicity: a broadish parallelopipedon (or rather _octaedron_; the _corners_ well chamfered off, to avoid breakages, will make it 8-faced, I think); in the substance of the stone there is one quality to be looked for, durability; and the letters ought to be cut deep,--and by no means in lapidary _lines_ (attend to that!), but simply like _two verses of the Bible_, so that he who runs may read. I rather like the _Siste Viator_,--yet will let you blot it out,--it is as applicable as to any Roman Tomb, and more so than to ours, which are in enclosed places, where any 'Traveller,' if he either 'stop' or go, will presently have the constable upon him. This is all I have to say about the stone; and I recommend that it be now done straightway, before you quit hold of that troublesome locality.

I find I must not promise to myself to go thither with you; alas, nor at all. I cannot get to sleep again since I came out of Suffolk: the stillness of Farlingay is unattainable in Chelsea for a _second_ sleep, so I have to be content with the first, which is oftenest about 5 hours, and a very poor allowance for the afflicted son of Adam. I feel privately confident I _have_ got good by my Suffolk visit, and by all the kindness of my beneficent brother mortals to me there: but in the meanwhile it has 'stirred up a good deal of bile,' I suppose; and we must wait.

London is utterly vacant to me, of all but noises from Cremorne and such sources: there is not in Britain a better place for work than this Garret, if one had strength or heart for fronting work to any purpose. I try a little, but mostly with very small result.

If you know _Glyde_ of Ipswich, and can understand him to be really worth subscribing for, pray put down your name and mine, as a bit of duty; if not, not,--and burn his letter.

I send the heartiest thanks, and remembrances to kind Mrs. Smith, and all the industrious Harvesters; also to Papa and the young lady at Bredfield:--as I well may!--I recommend myself to your prayers; and hope to come again, if I live, when you have set your own house in order.

Yours, dear F., with true regards,

T. CARLYLE.

Naseby Pillar (briefest and final form).

_Siste Viator_.

Here, and for --- yards to rearward, lies the Dust of men slain in the Battle of Naseby, 14 June 1645. Hereabouts appears to have been the crisis of the struggle, hereabouts the final charge of Oliver Cromwell and his Ironsides, that day.

This {302a} Ground was opened, not irreverently or witht reluctance, Saty 23 Septr 1842, to ascertain that fact, and render the contemporary records legible. Peace henceforth to these old Dead.

Edwd Fitzgd (with date).

ADDIs...o...b.. FARM, CROYDON, 15 _Septr_, 1855.

DEAR FITZGERALD,

I have been here ever since the day you last heard of me; leading the strangest life of absolute _Latrappism_; and often enough remembering Farlingay and you. I live perfectly alone, and without speech at all,--there being in fact n.o.body to speak to, except one austerely punctual housemaid, who does her functions, like an eight-day clock, generally without bidding. My wife comes out now and then to give the requisite directions; but commonly withdraws again on the morrow, leaving the monster to himself and his own ways. I have Books; a complete Edition of _Voltaire_, {302b} for one Book, in which I read for _use_, or for idleness oftenest,--getting into endless reflexions over it, mostly of a sad and not very utterable nature. I find V. a 'gentleman,' living in a world partly furnished with such; and that there are now almost no 'gentlemen' (not quite _none_): this is one great head of my reflexions, to which there is no visible _tail_ or finish. I have also a Horse (borrowed from my fat Yeoman friend, who is at sea bathing in Suss.e.x); and I go riding, at great lengths daily, over hill and dale: this I believe is really the main good I am doing,--if in this either there be much good. But it is a strange way of life to me, for the time; perhaps not unprofitable: To let _Chaos_ say out its say, then, and one's Evil Genius give one the very worst language he has, for a while. It is still to last for a week or more. To day, for the first time, I ride back to Chelsea, but mean to return hither on Monday. There is a great circle of yellow light all the way from Shooter's Hill to Primrose Hill, spread round my horizon every night, I see it while smoking my pipe before bed (so bright, last night, it cast a visible shadow of me against the white window-shutters); and this is all I have to do with London and its _gases_ for a fortnight or more. My wife writes to me, there was an awful jangle of bells last day she went home from this; a Quaker asked in the railway, of some porter, 'Can thou tell me what these bells mean?'--'Well, I suppose something is up. They say Sebastopol is took, and the Rushans run away.'--_A la bonne heure_: but won't they come back again, think you?

On the whole I say, when you get your little Suffolk cottage, you must have in it a 'chamber in the wall' for me, _plus_ a pony that can trot, and a cow that gives good milk: with these outfits we shall make a pretty rustication now and then, not wholly _Latrappish_, but only _half_, on much easier terms than here; and I shall be right willing to come and try it, I for one party.--Meanwhile, I hope the Naseby matter is steadily going ahead; sale _completed_; and even the _monument_ concern making way. Tell me a little how that and other matters are. If you are at home, a line is rapidly conveyed hither, steam all the way: after the beginning of the next week, I am at Chelsea, and (I dare say) there is a fire in the evenings now to welcome you there. Shew face in some way or other.

And so adieu; for my hour of riding is at hand.

Yours ever truly, T. CARLYLE.

_To E. B. Cowell_.

31 GREAT PORTLAND STREET, P. PLACE.

[1856.]

MY DEAR COWELL,

. . . You never say a word about your Hafiz. Has that fallen for the present, Austin not daring to embark in it in these days of war, when nothing that is not warlike sells except Macaulay? Don't suppose I bandy compliments; but, with moderate care, any such Translation of such a writer as Hafiz by you into pure, sweet, and partially measured Prose must be better than what I am doing for Jami; {304} whose ingenuous prattle I am stilting into too Miltonic verse. This I am very sure of.

But it is done.

[_Jan_. 1856.]

MY DEAR COWELL,

I send you a sketch of Jami's Life, which cut, correct, and annotate as you like. Where there was so little to tell I have brought in all the fine Names and extra bits I could to give it a little sparkle. There is very little after all; I have spread it over Paper to give you room to note _upon_ it. Only take care not to lose either these, or Yesterday's, Papers--for my Terror at going over the Ground!

You must put in the corrected Notice about the Sultan Hussein, both in the Memoir and in the Note to the Poem. The latter will have room for at least four (I think five) lines of note Type: which you must fill, and not overflow: 'Strong without rage, etc.'

I feel guilty at taking up your Time and Thoughts: and also at Dressing myself so in your Plumes. But I mean to say a word about this, [Greek text], in my Preliminary Notice; and would gladly dedicate the little Book to you by Name, with due acknowledgment, did I think the world would take it for a Compliment to you. But though I like the Version, and you like it, we know very well the world--even the very little world, I mean, who will see it--may not; and might laugh at us both for any such Compliment. They cannot laugh at your Scholarship; but they might laugh at the use I put it to: and at my dedicating a _cobweb_ (as Carlyle called Maud the other night) to you.

31 GT PORTLAND ST., P. PLACE.

_Jan_. 10/56.

MY DEAR COWELL,

Do make a sign of some sort to me. I sent you a string of Questions about Salaman last week, all of which I did not want you to answer _at once_, but wishing at least to hear if you had leisure and Inclination to meddle with them. There is no reason in the world you should unless you really have Time and Liking. If you _have_, I will send you the Proofs of the Little Book which Mr. Childs is even now putting in hand. Pray let me know as soon as you can what and how much of all this will be agreeable to you.

You don't tell me how Hafiz gets on. There is one thing which I think I find in Salaman which may be worth your consideration (not needing much) in Hafiz: namely, in Translation to retain the original Persian Names as much as possible--'Shah' for 'king' for instance--'Yusuf and Suleyman'

for 'Joseph and Solomon,' etc. The Persian is not only more musical, but removes such words and names further from Europe and European Prejudices and a.s.sociations. So also I think best to talk of '_A Moon_' rather than '_a Month_,' and perhaps 'sennight' is better than 'week.'

This is a little matter; but it is well to rub off as little Oriental Colour as possible.

As to a Notice of Jami's Life, you need not trouble yourself to draw it up unless you like; since I can make an extract of Ouseley's, and send you for any addition or correction you like. Very little needs be said.

I have not yet been able to find Jami out in the Biographie Universelle.

Now let me hear from you _something_--whatever you like. Yours and Lady's, E. F. G.

You, I believe, in your Oxford Essay, translate Jami's 'Haft Aurang' as the '_Seven Thrones_,' it also meaning, I see, the seven Stars of the Great Bear--'The Seven Stars.' Why should not this latter be the Translation? more intelligible, Poetical, and Eastern (as far as I see) than 'Thrones.'

_To Mrs. Cowell_.

LONDON. Friday [_April_ 25, 1856].

MY DEAR LADY,

The Picture after all did not go down yesterday as I meant, but shall and will go to-morrow (Sat.u.r.day). Also I shall send you dear Major Moor's 'Oriental Fragments'; an almost worthless Book, I doubt, to those who did not know him--which means, _love_ him! {307} And somehow all of us in our corner of Suffolk knew something of him: and so again loved something of him. For there was nothing at all about him not to be beloved. Ah! I think how interested he would have been with all this Persian: and how we should have disputed over parts and expressions over a gla.s.s of his Shiraz wine (for he had some) in his snug Parlour, or in his Cornfields when the Sun fell upon the latest Gleaners! He is dead, and you will go where he lived, to be dead to me!

Remember to take poor Barton's little Book {308a} with you to India; better than many a better Book to you there!

I got a glimpse of Professor Muller's Essay {308b}--full of fine things; but I hardly gather it up into a good whole, which is very likely my fault; from hasty perusal, ignorance, or other Incapacity. Perhaps, on the other hand, he found the Subject too great for his s.p.a.ce; and so has left it disproportioned, which the German is not inapt to do. But one may be well thankful for such admirable fragments, perhaps left so in the very honesty that is above rounding them into a specious Theory which will not hold.

[1856.]