After Emerson and Carlyle had a bit of a falling out and Carlyle asked Emerson to please continue the correspondence, Emerson put aside his differences with Carlyle and took up his pen again. The letters did not cross the Atlantic with as much frequency as previously. In fact six months to a year or more would pass between letters at times. In part this is due to both men being firmly established in their careers. They no longer had to write business letters accounting for books published on the other’s behalf or making arrangements for proofs and plates to be sent to such and such bookseller.

While their letters were never quite like they used to be, there was still a certain fondness between them and an appreciation of work and intellect. Carlyle wrote to Emerson in in April, 1854:

It remains true, and will remain, what I have often told you, that properly there is no voice in this world which is completely human to me, which fully understands all I say and with clear sympathy and sense answers to me, but your voice only. This is a curious fact, and not quite a joyful one to me.

Carlyle goes on to say that he is surrounded by two million bipeds but not one of them has any sense or understanding. A harsh criticism of his fellow English citizens and a high compliment to Emerson.

After Jane Carlyle’s death in 1866, Carlyle begins a real decline into old age. His hand eventually shakes so much he can no longer write legibly. His niece who lives with him must take dictation for him much to his unhappiness.

Emerson is no better off. Sometime around 1871/72 he begins losing his memory and suffering from aphasia. It is no surprise then that their letters cease in early 1872. Emerson actually went to England in November of that year while his house, which had been burnt down by a fire, was being rebuilt. He had a short stay with Carlyle and then continued on to the Continent, returning for a final visit with his friend in the spring of 1873.

Carlyle died at the age of 85 years in February 1881. Emerson died, aged 79, in April 1882. Both men believed in truth, honesty, integrity. Neither hesitated to say what good and what bad they found in the other’s writings or philosophy. Even though their friendship suffered a rift over the slavery issue, friends they remained until the end. I found following the arc of their friendship to be a moving experience, something I did not expect. And when I came to the end and the final note explaining why there were no further letters I felt a bit sad. I’m not sure what made me more sad, that the letters were done or that they lived another eight years without a direct word from the other.

I very much enjoyed reading these letters. They probably aren’t for everyone’s taste. It certainly helps knowing a bit about at least one or the other of them in order to have some context. Otherwise I’m not sure the letters would be that interesting.