Rome, 24 Dec, 1820 1\/2 past 4 morn.<\/p>\n
My dear Sir,<\/p>\n
Keats has changed somewhat for the worse, at least his mind has much, very, very much, and this leaves his state much the same, and quite as hopeless. Yet the blood has ceased to come, his digestion is better and but for a cough he must be improving, that is as far as respects his body. But the fatal prospect of Consumption hangs before his “mind’s eye” and turns everything to despair and wretchedness. He will not bear the idea of living, much less strive to live. I seem to lose his confidence by trying to give him this hope. He will not hear his future prospects are favorable. He says that the continued stretch of his imagination has killed him and were he to recover he could not write another line. Then his good friends in England. He only cherishes the idea of what they have done and this he turns to a load of care for the future. The high hopes of him, his certain success, his experience, he shakes his head at it and bids it farewell. The remembrance of his brother’s death I cannot keep from him; all his own symptoms he recollects in him and this with every cough and pain. The many troubles, persecutions, and I may say cruelties he has borne now weigh heavy on him. If he dies I am witness that he dies of a broken heart and spirit. Would that his enemies could see this martyrdom of the most noble feeling and brightest genius to be found in existence. I only wish this for their punishment. He is now only a wreck of his former self. The gnawing weight upon his mind with the entire loss of bodily strength and appearance push him to malevolence, suspicion and impatience, yet everyone is struck with him and interested about him. I am astonished and delighted at the respect paid him, but even this – I mean the general utmost endeavor he receives – his dreadful state of mind turns to persecution and sometimes even murder. He is now under the {….} was administered to him by an individual in London. All that fortitude and as it were bravery of mind against bodily suffering are away from him, and the want of some kind hope to feed his voracious imagination leaves him to the wreck of ideas without purpose, imagination without philosophy. Yet this night he said to me: “I think a malignant being must have power over us, over whom the Almighty has little or no influence. Yet you know Severn, I cannot believe in your book, the Bible, but I feel the horrible want of some faith, some hope, something to rest on now. There must be such a book and I know that is it, but I can’t believe it. I am destined to every torment in this world, even to this little comfort on my deathbed {….}<\/p>\n
O, my dear Sir, you cannot imagine what I sometimes feel. I have read to him incessantly until no more books could be had, for they must be new to him, and above all the book he has set his mind upon all through this last week is not to be had, the works of Jeremy Taylor. His desire to have these read to him is very great, and yet not to be had. Is not this hard? The other books he wished my write down are not in Rome. They were Madam Dacier’s Plato and the Pilgrim’s Progress. I have read to him Don Quixote at his request and some of Miss Edgeworth’s novels, but there are no Books in Rome. We sometimes get some English papers.<\/p>\n
Now observe, my dear Sir, I don’t for a moment push my little but honest Religious faith upon poor Keats, except as far as my feelings go, but these I try to keep from him. I fall into his views sometimes to quiet him and tincture them with a somewhat of mine, but his many changes both body and mind render my charge most affecting and even dangerous, for I cannot leave him without someone with him that he likes.* This is the third week and I have not left him for more than two hours. He has not been out of bed the whole time; he says this alone is enough to kill him when he was in health, and then seeing no face but mine {….} him he {….} say it makes him worse to think how I should be occupied and how I am. Sometimes I succeed in persuading him that he will recover and go back with me to England. I do lament a thousand times that he ever left England, not from the want of medical aid or even friends, for nothing can be superior to the kindness of Dr Clark, etc, but the journey of 2000 Miles was too much for his state, even when he left England, and now he has most surely broken down under it. I have thought he would die before he reached this place. Journeys to and about Jatatu {?} are not for an invalid.<\/p>\n
Dr Clark gives very little hope of him. He says he may recover from this by some change in his mind, but he will most certainly die (at some not distant period) of Consumption. No disorganisation exists at present, but a total derangement of the digestive powers. They have nearly lost their functions and it is this cause that produces the blood from the heads of {….} on the chest. It does not come at present.<\/p>\n
For myself, my dear Sir, I still keep up nearly as well as I did, altho’ I have not got any person to relieve me. Keats makes me careful of myself. He is my doctor. A change of scene might make me better, but I can do without it. It is 6 o’clock in the Morning. I have been writing all night. This is my 5th Letter. Keats has just awoken. I must leave off and boil my kettle; he hears me writing and inquires, “Tell Taylor I shall soon be in a second Edition – in sheets – and cold dress.” He desired me to tell you some time since that he would have written you but felt he could not say anything; it gave him pain. We have received 5 Letters, 3 to Keats. He read one from Mr Hessey and another from Mr Brown, but the third he could not read and was effected most bitterly. He says no more letters for him. Even good news will not lift him up. He is too far gone. But he does not know I think this, nor does he know Dr C’s opinion, but his own knowledge of Anatomy is unfortunate. Farewell, my dear Sir,<\/p>\n
Josh. Severn<\/p>\n
Tell my friend Haslam I will write him by next post, and the first good news shall be for the kind Mrs Brawn. I still hope to have Keats better. He has waked very calm. I have got leave to have him up today. He will not take any food. I have been afraid that he would refuse to take food, and the like of medicine. The Doctor seem’d to think this yesterday. He is much changed this Morning in appearance for the worse, but he remains (9 o’clock) very calm and good-natured (4 o’clock) dozing between wiles. He has eaten a small pudding and taken his milk. He is still composed, but low. I am rather alarmed about money. At Naples I expended nearly all my stock. Here I can get more by my Miniature Painting, perhaps quite as much as we could want should Keats fail, but now I am kept from it. No one to relieve me with Keats. I dare say I shall manage well, for here are above a dozen to sit to me. I am quite concerned at the expences here for an invalid. Italy is only for persons in health, for had I fallen into Keats’s views and these cursed Italians’ imposition all his money must have been gone, but the kindness of Dr C has saved much expence. Horses and Coaches have been the greatest charge. Proper lodging is dear, and as for proper food, it cannot be got for money; that is, it cannot be got. Dr Clark went all over Rome for a fish proper for Keats. If I get a proper thing one day I can’t get it the next. The cannot make 2 pudding three {?}. The price of a Horse per month in English money: \u00a36; lodging \u00a34.16; and a dinner 4 sh. The money remaining at the Bankers: 260 Scudi, about \u00a352, with here \u00a370.<\/p>\n
4 o’clock. This moment the doctor sends me word that my Landlady has reported to the Police that Keats is dying of a Consumption. Now this has made me vent some curses against her. The words “dying” and “Consumption” have rather dampt my spirits. The laws are very severe. I do not know the extent of them. Should poor Keats die, everything in his room is condemned to be burned even to paper on the walls. The Italians are so alarmed at Consumption. The expences are enormous after a death for examinations and precautions to contagion. Fools. I can hardly contain myself. O! I will be revenged on this old Cat for putting the notion in my head of my friend’s dying, and of Consumption; but stop, I know the Doctor half thinks so, but will not say it. He has brought an Italian Physician here who thinks Keats has a malformed chest. Should he die the law will demand him to be opened. I have got some books, Scots Monastery and some travels. He seems inclined to hear me read all this evening. Keats has just said it is his last request that no mention be made of him in any manner publicly – in Reviews, Magazines or Newspapers – that no Engraving be taken from any Picture of him. Once more, farewell.<\/p>\n
*He does not like anyone. He says a strange face makes him miserable.<\/p>\n
Note:<\/strong> The asterik was in Severn’s original letter and the comment was added at the bottom of the sheet.<\/p>\n Joseph Severn<\/strong> <\/em>was the young painter who accompanied Keats to Rome. After Keats’s death, Severn became a respected and successful artist and lived to an old age in Rome. He is buried next to Keats in the Protestant Cemetery. John Taylor was Keats’s publisher and friend; his family helped pay for Keats’s journey to Italy. More information about Keats’s illness and his final months in Rome can be found here.<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" JOSEPH SEVERN TO JOHN TAYLOR: ROME. 24 Dec 1820 Rome, 24 Dec, 1820 1\/2 past 4 morn. My dear Sir, Keats has changed somewhat for the worse, at least his mind has much, very, very much, and this leaves his state much the same, and quite as hopeless. Yet the blood has ceased to come, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[10],"tags":[],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/englishhistory.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/538"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/englishhistory.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/englishhistory.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/englishhistory.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/englishhistory.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=538"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/englishhistory.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/538\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/englishhistory.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=538"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/englishhistory.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=538"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/englishhistory.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=538"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}