24 October 1818: Who is Mrs. Isabella Jones? Sublime Solitude, & Passion for the Beautiful; Keats’s Predicted Greatness
34 Gloucester Street, London
34 Gloucester Street, London: the home of Mrs. Isabella Jones, with whom Keats has had an earlier romantic encounter near Hastings, in an adjacent tiny sea-side village with the delightful name of Bo-Peep, May 1817.
Now, a year and half later, on 24 October 1818, a week before his twenty-third birthday,
and
probably in the afternoon, Keats passes Isabella
on the street. He turns back to greet the stylish, literate, and attractive woman,
who
appears glad to see Keats. After some niceties and after accompanying her on a short
detour to
see one of her friends who manages a boarding school, he presses a little further
so that he
might walk her home, to 34 Gloucester Street, off Queen Square. Toward the end of
a long and
important journal letter to his brother and sister-in-law in America—George and Georgiana—written over five days (14, 16, 21, 24, 31 October), Keats offers one bottom
line about Isabella: She has always been an enigma to me
(24 Oct). Keats does add
more—in fact, he writes almost 500 words about her and their meeting.
So what does Keats note? What, if anything, happens? Will it be some kind of repeat of their romantic Bo-Peep encounter? And who, exactly, is Mrs Isabella Jones?
Keats and Isabella go upstairs to a salon-like
sitting room, which is decorated with books, pictures, statues, an aeolian harp, and
classy
liquor—not to mention a couple of birds as well as a bronze statue of Napoleon—all
of which
suggests something about her free-thinking and fashionable social position. The stylish
furnishings suggests that she entertains quite a bit. In typical Keatsian fashion,
he uses a
sensual metaphor to describe the room: a tasty sort of place.
But, unlike the Bo-Peep
meeting, this accidental encounter results in nothing physically romantic. Keats,
however,
seems to have thought a little kiss might not be a bad way to part. Isabella, without
any
prudishness or offence, thinks otherwise. Keats glosses her words: she said I should please
her much more if I would only press her hand and go away.
Keats claims to be okay with
this. He nonetheless hopes he can pass some pleasant hours with her now and then
; he
believes he can be of service to her in matters of knowledge of taste.
And so, behind this later meeting off Queen Square, is Keats’s recollection of that
Bo-Peep
encounter with Isabella, how, in his own words, he
had warmed with her before and kissed her.
What warmed
refers to covers a range
of possibilities. At this point, though, after some entangled thoughts about Isabella,
he
concludes, I have no libidinous thought about her
(24 Oct). This may or may not be a
little deflection or denial on his part, since it could have been that just hours
before,
while walking with her to her place, Keats writes that his thoughts were at work what it
might lead to.
[For more about Keats’s first meeting with Mrs. Jones, see May 1817.]
From this visit Keats receives some game from Mrs. Jones—a Grouse for [ailing brother]
Tom’s dinner.
This continues: some months later, in February 1819, Keats reports that
she has lately made me many presents of game, and enabled me to make as many.
It seems,
then, that Mrs. Jones herself may have some close
gifting friends of elevated social means, since the strict gaming laws of the period
generally
permit only landed gentry to hunt game. In the case of Mrs. Jones, the source of game
is
likely via the prominent O’Callaghan family—an Irish titled and land-owning family
with deep
political affiliation on the Whig side—and, in particular, Donat O’Callaghan (c.1744-1830),
an
older man with whom she is closely connected. Perhaps he or his family oversees Isabella’s
situation, but if so, it is for unknown reasons and to an unknown extent. But from
the little
correspondence by her we know about, and from little we an glean from other evidence,
we know
that she moves very closely within that circle. In fact, a letter she writes in May
1819 is
franked J. O’Callaghan
(1743-1836), who was Member of Parliament at the time—with
franking (making all postage free) being a privilege given to Members of Parliament
and their
friends. Further evidence of her closeness to the O’Callaghan family: as a go-between,
on her
way to Hastings to see Donat in July 1820, she brings an explanation from the publishers
Taylor & Hessey about a delayed book order that Donat has made. That an account of her
penmanship describes an Italian hand
is a marker not just of gender but also of
elevated social standing.
Keats and Isabella agree to keep their common acquaintances
from knowing the exact
nature of their relationship; indeed, Isabella, it turns out, is well acquainted with
others
in Keats’s circle. In particular, at this time, she has been quietly seeing John Taylor, who is both a good friend of Keats as well as being
his co-publisher; little did the two Johns know. Perhaps her involvement with Taylor
motivated
her choice of hand-pressing with Keats, rather than repeating anything more Bo-Peepishly
intimate. Interestingly, in the journal letter, after writing about Isabella, Keats
immediately switches to the topic of how he has a barrier against Matrimony
in favor of
a life dedicated to Beauty and Poetry while he feels his imagination strengthens.
Of
course Keats’s romantic interests haven’t yet moved toward a certain Miss Fanny Brawne, but very soon they soon will. It might be noted
that Keats, at least in all the documents we have, never gives a name to the enigmatic
Lady
who seems to move her accommodation frequently, and often between fairly up-market
addresses.
Isabella’s desire to keep her earlier dalliance with Keats secret might also be to avoid her O’Callaghan connections from knowing what she is up to.
As for Taylor, who writes a little love poetry
based on his desire for a constant amorous relationship with Isabella, it appears
he will have
to resign to the fact that Mrs. Jones will not be his, despite the strong possibility
of
formal marriage intentions in early 1818 [see Mark Wiltshire,
2026]. Taylor and Isabella remain close enough that, likely toward the end of 1819, she
invites him to assist her with my House Warming which takes place on Wednesday next
;
and there, she says, Taylor shall have pretty women to look at—sensible men to talk
with,
not to mention the coziest corner in the room
in which to enjoy
some expensive Scotch whiskey. This reference to pretty women to look at
might very
well be a light-hearted but compensatory gesture if, back in 1818, Isabella turned
down
Taylor’s matrimonial hopes.
On the poetic side, Mrs. Jones has a role in the history of Keats’s poetry. Isabella is likely the troubling subject of or inspiration behind a few of Keats’s shorter poems of desire: You say you love (burning passion for some kissing and squeezing), Hither, hither, love (a beckoning for romantic passion), Unfelt, unheard, unseen (anticipating a sweet day for sensual dalliance), and Hush, hush, tread softly (a secret meeting of two lovers under the nose of an older man).
Isabella is also likely responsible for suggesting the Eve of St. Agnes as a poetic topic to Keats, which, in the first few months of 1819, he takes up (remarkably so!) in an engaging and atmospheric narrative poem (The Eve of St. Agnes); the poem contains a sexual encounter that, controversially, exists somewhere between an allegory of the sensual imagination and flesh-and-blood rape, coloured by superstition, deception, desire, and uncertainty. Somewhat coincidently, too, is that the beautiful heroine in Keats’s 1818 poetic retake of Boccaccio’s Decameron (fourth day, novel V), which is a tragic tale of young lovers, happens to be called Isabella (Isabella; or The Pot of Basil). Confirming that Isabella is a part of the Keats literary circle is also apparent when, in the distribution of Keats’s library after his death, she is noted as receiving one of his books.
One instance further confirms Mrs. Jones’s
closeness to Keats. Via Taylor, she gets hold of
Joseph Severn’s account (in letters) that
describe how Severn nurses Keats through his agonizing final days in Rome, late 1820
into
early 1821. Isabella, though, is deeply angered: passing through some literary allusions
and
at some length, she viciously parses Severn’s account as self-centred and self-serving.
One
sentence to Taylor captures her feelings about Severn’s presence in those letters:
I never
saw so much egotism and selfishness displayed under the mask of feeling and friendship.
She clearly has some protective and deep feelings for Keats.
So who exactly Mrs. Isabella Jones is—an older
women or someone the same age as Keats? a connected lady or a cultured courtesan?
the widow of
a naval hero or a former stage singer?—has not been settled.* Again, that she was
somehow
noteworthy or connected is further confirmed in that her portrait is painted by an
ambitious,
prolific, and increasingly fashionable portrait artist who was a member of the Royal
Academy
of Arts: Alfred Edward Chalon (1780-1860). The portrait ends up as item 895—Portrait of a
lady
—in the 1819 summer show of the Royal Academy at Somerset House, where Chalon
exhibits two other paintings with the same title; in a letter she tells Taylor to
go and take
a look at and to judge its likeness to her. The painting, though, seems to have gone
missing.
Once more, we seem to have lost Mrs. Jones.
However, quite coincidently and remarkably, and what has not gone missing, is another
miniature painting in the same Royal Academy exhibition that is ends hung very close
to that
item 895: a portrait of Keats by Joseph Severn,
item number 940—Portrait of J. Keats, Esq.
Keats did not want it shown, but Severn
obviously overruled. It is unlikely that anyone would have noted the coincidental
proximity of
the two paintings, unless Taylor, with Isabella’s prodding, did indeed go to the exhibition.
Perhaps a cliché captures the moment: small world.
And smaller still: a young member of the O’Callaghan clan also happens to get painted
by
Chalon, and it appears in the 1826 Royal Academy exhibition: [item] 550 [. . .] Portrait of
Master J. W. D. O’Callaghan [by] A. E. Chalon.
This only further confirms the strong
connection between Isabella and the O’Callaghans.
Portrait of a lady,by A. E. Chalon, in the catalogue of The Exhibition of the Royal Academy (1819), p.37. The sitter was Mrs. Isabella Jones (Click image to enlarge.)
Portrait of J. Keats, Esq.by J. Severn, in the catalogue of The Exhibition of the Royal Academy (1819), p.39. (Click image to enlarge.)
Portrait of Master J. W. D. O’Callaghanby A. E. Chalon, in the catalogue of The Exhibition of the Royal Academy (1826), p.28. (Click image to enlarge.)
Yet despite a lack of the most basic level of information about Mrs Jones—when and where was she born? and her death? her family of
origin? did she have a maiden name? how did she support herself?—Isabella remained
(and
remains) an indelible presence within the Keats-Taylor circle. For two final snapshots
of
Isabella, we have an early one and a late one. First, she exists in an invitation
she makes
for Taylor to attend a Friday-evening
get-together—at no. 57 Lamb’s Conduit Street, likely late 1819—and she asks Taylor
to
persuade Mr. Reynolds to accompany you.
Reynolds, of course, was very close to Keats,
but he may not have been aware of the Keats-Isabella connection. For the later snapshot,
twenty years after Keats first meets Isabella, Reynolds, in a letter to Taylor of 31 October 1837, recalls in a rapid-fire way a list of
things from those good old London days: the very last item is the beautiful Mrs. Jones!
But Isabella is not the only woman who intrigues
Keats around this time. Toward the beginning of this long journal letter, Keats at
length also
expresses feelings about and fascination with a certain Jane Cox, whom he meets via the Reynolds sisters. She has, in fact, made Keats a
little hot and bothered: Miss Cox, he writes, has fine eyes and fine manners,
and
When she comes into a room she makes the impression the same as the beauty of a
leopardess [. . .] a man is drawn toward her with a magnetic Power.
Keats obviously
experiences some attraction to her, and he confesses to losing some sleep thinking
about her.
In fact, Keats philosophizes about this magnetic Power
and what a Woman is.
He
attempts to put a complicating spin on the meaning and nature of flirting.
In this important journal letter to George and
Georgiana in which he writes much about his
personal circumstances, Keats also writes about the conditions required to develop
as a poet.
He declares that Solitude is sublime
; there is Pleasure in Solitude,
and he has
a barrier against Matrimony which I rejoice in.
The comments implicitly point to
Keats’s desire to find, as it were, space and time to study as well as to think about
and
compose poetry. His domestic responsibilities and living circumstances, are, at the
moment,
anything but ideal, especially considering the level of care that brother Tom requires.
Yet the ideas he develops this October propel Keats, and can be seen in how, in his
rapidly
developing philosophical poetics, he is passionately committed to the mighty abstract Idea
of Beauty
; he senses the strengthening and even overwhelming sense of his imagination;
and, again, he articulates that his dedication to the powers of poetry stand against
any idea
of domestic happiness.
That is, his desire for and love of poetry via solitudinal
circumstances outweighs any other personal circumstance.
Keats’s commitment to poetry marks some extraordinarily confidence: I think I shall be
among the English Poets after my death,
he writes on 14 October. Ten days later, he
again sets out his determination and self-direction: The only thing that can ever affect me
personally for more than one short passing day, is any doubt about my powers for poetry—I
seldom have any.
And then, a few days later, in writing to Richard Woodhouse and attempting to muster some resolve—and
after articulating his own poetical character as the camelion Poet
—he concentrate his
goal: I will assay to reach to as high a summit on Poetry as the nerve bestowed upon me
will suffer
(27 Oct). As he assesses his own happiness in light of the necessity of
solitude, he confesses the yearning Passion I have for the beautiful, connected and made
one with the ambition of the intellect.
This probing train of thought brings him to an
end—Enough of this,
he adds—but the idea is clearly set in terms of his poetic
progress: to embrace the truthfulness of beauty in a measured, controlled manner,
and to
attempt to carefully articulate his own path to the furthest extent of his abilities.
And so Keats’s accumulating comments about poetic directions and conditions, about his clear sense of the poetical character, fully point to lurking, immanent achievement. He is reaching toward, and ready for, a qualitative leap forward. For us, though, with the hindsight of knowing his actual achievement in 1819, this is an easy prediction.
But this prediction of greatness is not just Keats’s private pipe dream. Woodhouse, who is realistic and tough-minded in his ideas
about poetry and poetic greatness, this month writes to a third party at length about
Keats’s
poetic merits.
To Mary Frogley on 23 October, Woodhouse resolutely expresses his
belief in Keats’s greater gifts: such original genius, I verily believe, has not appeared
since Shakespeare & Milton.
He knows Endymion displays the faults of early
work, but Reynolds puts himself out on a limb by prophesying now, while Keats is unknown
unheeded, despised [and . . .] neglected,
and if Keats lives to a usual age, and critics
do not drive him from the free air of the poetic heaven before his Wings are
fullfledged,
that he will rank on a level with the best of the past or of the present
generation; and after his death will take his place at their head.
This is indeed a
fully-felt conviction, but Woodhouse says he makes such an enormous claim in the spirit
of
true criticism.
Well, it turns out Woodhouse was fully correct, except inasmuch as
Keats’s Wings
will appear within months, not years. Winter is coming, with Spring not far
behind.
![Are these 1843 death notices for the widow of an apparent naval hero, with whom
Keats “warmed”? If so, she would have been in her late thirties when Keats had contact with
her. (Clippings from The Morning Herald [11 March 1843, p.7] and Jackson’s
Oxford Journal [18 March 1843, p.4].)](images/deathAnnouncements_IsabellaJones.jpg "Are these 1843 death notices for the widow of an apparent naval hero, with whom
Keats “warmed”? If so, she would have been in her late thirties when Keats had contact with
her. (Clippings from The Morning Herald [11 March 1843, p.7] and Jackson’s
Oxford Journal [18 March 1843, p.4].)")
* But there is a small but hitherto unnoticed problem with this death notice: though a few men with the last name of “Jones” were killed or mortally wounded in the decisive Battle of Trafalgar on 21 October 1805; and despite the various and extremely detailed records kept by the Royal Navy and then followed up by numerous naval historians, there was definitely no “Lieutenant Jones” on board the HMS Victory at the Battle of Trafalgar. The rank of lieutenant in the Royal Navy at the time was fully significant, noting a commissioned “gentleman” officer; and those aboard the HMS Victory with Lord Nelson during the famous battle were recorded and remain especially celebrated. Perhaps the newspapers made a mistake. Perhaps it was purposeful misinformation created for uncertain reasons, maybe even for social climbing or to garner some form of distinction. Or perhaps the passage of time and/or family lore elevated a lowly-ranked sailor, given that a “William Jones” aboard the Victory was mortally wounded during the battle, having had his leg amputated after being hit by a cannonball; detailed records of this Jones, however, indicate no connection to a wife, who would recorded as taking her husband’s effects as well has receiving his wages.
Identifying Keats’s Hastings Lady
as being one and the same as this widow of
Lieutenant Jones
is made uncertain by Keats himself, when, in the 24 October journal
letter, he writes that she is somewhere around his own age—which is almost twenty-three—and
the age of his sister-in-law, Georgiana, who is
less than twenty years old. Is Keats just a very bad judge of age—or was he perhaps
offering a
white lie in order to soften any possible judgement of his amorous adventures with
a woman in
her late thirties?
Despite the bogus Lieutenant
claim, the death notice still might be of Keats’s
Hastings lady.
[Jonathan Bate (2021) has his bets on Isabella Jones being a stage singer or actress. Nicolas Roe (2013) strongly favours the widow who dies in the fire.]
