Letters of Edward FitzGerald to Fanny Kemble (1871-1883)

In Short

This collection gathers the correspondence of Edward FitzGerald, the celebrated translator of Omar Khayyám, written during the twilight of his life to his longtime friend, the actress and writer Fanny Kemble. Spanning from 1871 to 1883, these letters serve as a meditation on aging, literary taste, and the endurance of friendship. They offer a vivid portrait of a man who cherished his solitude in Suffolk yet remained deeply connected to the broader world of Victorian letters through his insightful, candid, and often self-deprecating observations.

The Story

The correspondence begins in 1871, establishing a rhythm of transatlantic communication that remains remarkably consistent for over a decade. FitzGerald, settled in his "Little Grange" in Woodbridge, writes to Kemble—who frequently travels between England and America—with a mixture of scholarly curiosity and domestic intimacy. The narrative arc of the letters is not one of dramatic events, but rather the steady, gentle unfolding of two lives tethered by shared history and mutual respect.

Early in the exchange, FitzGerald engages in spirited debates about literature, comparing the genius of Robert Burns to the French poet Béranger, and expressing his impatience with the "pomp and circumstance" of contemporary artists like Holman Hunt. As the years pass, the letters track the small, meaningful milestones of their existence: the health of their mutual friend William Bodham Donne, the arrival of gardening season, and the receipt of photographs that evoke memories of Kemble’s mother. The tone is consistently warm, characterized by a playful friction regarding Kemble’s habit of using thin, difficult-to-read paper and her strict, "Medes and Persians" approach to answering letters.

By the mid-1870s, the correspondence becomes a vital anchor for both. FitzGerald, increasingly plagued by bronchitis and the physical limitations of age, finds solace in his books—mentioning Don Quixote, Madame de Sévigné, and the works of his friend Alfred Tennyson—and his quiet walks by the sea. He tracks the careers of literary figures, offering sharp, unvarnished opinions on Tennyson’s plays and Carlyle’s posthumous memoirs.

The arc of the letters reaches a poignant maturity as both correspondents confront the thinning ranks of their old circle. They share news of deaths, the fading health of companions, and the strange, melancholic realization that their own time is narrowing. Despite this, the letters never descend into bitterness. Instead, they become more reflective, focusing on the simple, persistent joys of nature—the blooming of pansies, the song of the nightingale—and the necessity of maintaining their bond. In one of the final letters, written just months before his death in 1883, FitzGerald continues to express his affection, acknowledging his physical decline while retaining his characteristic wit and his deep, abiding regard for his "ancient friend." The collection closes not with a finality of resolution, but with the quiet, lingering resonance of a life lived thoughtfully among friends and books.

How It Unfolds

The correspondence establishes its rhythm FitzGerald introduces his habits of letter-writing and his "organic laws" for maintaining the exchange across the Atlantic. He frames his letters as a source of "Spring Music," using them to discuss his current reading and his affection for his correspondent.

The seasons of a solitary life The letters move through the passage of years, chronicling the daily realities of his home in Woodbridge. He discusses his garden, his health struggles with bronchitis, and the quiet comfort of his reading routines.

Literary critiques and shared memories FitzGerald uses the space to analyze the work of his contemporaries, including Tennyson and Carlyle, with both affection and critical rigor. He frequently reminisces about their shared past, discussing photographs of their parents and their early encounters in London.

The approach of the final years As the letters progress toward 1883, the tone becomes increasingly reflective on the nature of aging and loss. He discusses the passing of friends with grace, focusing on the endurance of their bond despite the constraints of failing health.

The People

Edward FitzGerald is the primary voice of the collection—an introverted, scholarly, and deeply loyal man who delights in his quiet, rural life. He is a critic of his own work and temper, often fretting about his "impertinence" or his lack of energy, yet he possesses a brilliant, discerning mind that seeks truth in literature and art.

Fanny Kemble, while her side of the exchange is less frequent, acts as the vital catalyst for these letters. A woman of strong character and artistic sensibility, she represents the external world that FitzGerald both admires and occasionally finds exhausting. Her "laws" of correspondence set the boundaries of their relationship, and her intellectual stature provides the perfect sounding board for FitzGerald’s reflections. Together, they are two aging titans of the Victorian era who have traded the fervor of their youth for a profound, comfortable intimacy, finding in each other a final, reliable source of empathy and companionship.

In Its Own Voice

"I have taken up Don Quixote again: more Evergreen still; in Spanish, as it must be read, I doubt."

(FitzGerald reflects on his ongoing, lifelong relationship with classic literature.)

"I have ever my Edition of Crabbe's Tales of the Hall with me."

(He describes his constant literary companions during his solitary trips to the seaside.)

"I only saw that you were what you called 'a little tired, and unwell.' Had I known how much, I should of course have left you with a farewell shake of hands at once."

(In a late letter, he expresses the depth of his concern for Kemble’s well-being.)

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an inquiry into the art of living a private life within a public world. It explores the tension between the desire for solitude—the "Castle" life FitzGerald cultivates—and the fundamental human need for connection. The letters wrestle with the idea of legacy, questioning what remains of an artist's reputation when the noise of fame settles. Furthermore, the book examines the nature of memory; it suggests that friendship is a process of curation, where the shared recollection of portraits, music, and books serves to solidify the self. It asks whether we can ever truly be alone if we have the right books and the right friends to inhabit our thoughts.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy the slow, deliberate pace of epistolary literature will find these letters immensely rewarding. They offer a refreshing antidote to modern haste, inviting the reader into a world where a letter is an event and a book is a lifetime companion. Those interested in the Victorian literary scene will appreciate the candid, often informal insights into figures like Tennyson and Carlyle, which strip away the heavy veneer of academic biography.

The book is not without its challenges; the reader must be prepared for the Victorian tendency toward long, winding sentences and the occasional, period-specific assumption that might strike a contemporary ear as unusual. However, the warmth of the prose is undeniable. The experience of reading these letters feels like sitting in a quiet, sunlit room, listening to a brilliant, slightly weary, but deeply kind friend talk about the things that matter most. What stays with the reader is the quiet dignity of their bond—a testament to the fact that even as one’s world grows smaller and more physically contained, the capacity for intellectual engagement and deep, abiding affection remains entirely intact. It is a quiet, steadying read that rewards patience and invites the reader to reflect on their own most cherished connections.