much he differed from the generally received opinions of the Unitarians,
confessing that he needed a thorough revolution in his philosophical
doctrines, and that an insight into his own heart was wanting.
"While my mind was thus perplexed, by a gracious providence," says he,
"for which I can never be sufficiently grateful, the generous and
munificent patronage of Mr. Josiah and Mr. Thomas Wedgewood enabled me
to finish my education in Germany. Instead of troubling others with my
own crude notions, and juvenile compositions, I was thenceforward
better employed in attempting to store my own head with the wisdom of
others. I made the best use of my time and means; and there is
therefore no period of my life on which I can look back with such
unmingled satisfaction."
He quitted Clevedon and his cottage in the following farewell lines:--
"Ah! quiet dell! dear cot, and mount sublime!
I was constrain'd to quit you. Was it right,
While my unnumber'd brethren toil'd and bled,
That I should dream away the entrusted hours
On rose-leaf beds, pampering the coward heart
With feelings all too delicate for use?
Sweet is the tear that from some Howard's eye
Drops on the cheeks of one he lifts from earth:
And he that works me good with unmoved face,
Does it but half: he chills me while he aids,--
My benefactor, not my brother man!
Yet even this, this cold beneficence
Praise, praise it, O my Soul! oft as thou scann'st
The Sluggard Pity's vision-weaving tribe!
Who sigh for wretchedness, yet shun the wretched,
Nursing in some delicious solitude
Their slothful loves and dainty sympathies!
I therefore go, and join head, heart, and hand,
Active and firm, to fight the bloodless fight
Of Science, freedom, and the truth in Christ.
Yet oft when after honourable toil
Rests the tired mind, and waking loves to dream,
My spirit shall revisit thee, dear cot!
Thy jasmin and thy window-peeping rose,
And myrtles fearless of the mild sea-air.
And I shall sigh fond wishes--sweet abode!
Ah! had none greater! And that all had such!
It might be so, but, oh! it is not yet.
Speed it, O Father! Let thy Kingdom come."
He drew his own character when he described that of Satyrane, the
idolocast or breaker of idols, the name he went by among his friends and
familiars.
"From his earliest youth," says he, "Satyrane had derived his highest
pleasures from the admiration of moral grandeur and intellectual
energy; and during the whole of his life he had a greater and more
heartfelt delight in the superiority of other men to himself than men
in general derive from their belief of their own. His readiness to
imagine a superiority where it did not exist, was for many years his
predominant foible; his pain from the perception of inferiority in
others whom he had heard spoken of with any respect, was unfeigned and
involuntary, and perplexed him as a something which he did not
comprehend. In the child-like simplicity of his nature he talked to
all men as if they were his equals in knowledge and talents, and many
whimsical anecdotes could be related connected with this habit; he was
constantly scattering good seed on unreceiving soils. When he was at
length compelled to see and acknowledge the true state of the morals
and intellect of his contemporaries, his disappointment was severe,
and his mind, always thoughtful, became pensive and sad:--_for to love
and sympathize with mankind was a necessity of his nature_."
He sought refuge from his own sensitive nature in abstruse meditations,
and delighted most in those subjects requiring the full exercise of his
intellectual powers, which never seemed fatigued--and in his early life
never did sun shine on a more joyous being!
"There was a time when, though my path was rough,
This joy within me dallied with distress,
And all misfortunes were but as the stuff
Whence fancy made me dreams of happiness:
For hope grew round me, like the twining vine,
And fruits, and foliage, not my own, seem'd mine.
But now afflictions bow me down to earth
Nor care I that they rob me of my mirth,
But oh! each visitation
Suspends what nature gave me at my birth,
My shaping spirit of imagination.
For not to think of what I needs must feel,
But to be still and patient, all I can;
And haply by abstruse research to steal
From my own nature all the natural man--
This was my sole resource, my only plan:
Till that which suits a part infects the whole,
And now is almost grown the habit of my soul." [24]
It was indeed an inauspicious hour "when he changed his abode from the
happy groves of Jesus' College to Bristol." But it was so ordained! He
sought literature as a trade,--and became an author:
"whatever," he would say, "I write, that alone which contains the
truth _will live, for truth only is permanent_. The rest will
deservedly perish."
He wrote to supply the fountain which was to feed the fertilizing
rills,--to develope the truth was that at which he aimed, and in which
he hoped to find his reward.
On the 16th of September, 1798, he sailed from Great Yarmouth to
Hamburg, in company with Mr. Wordsworth and his sister in his way to
Germany, and now for the first time beheld "his native land" retiring
from him.
In a series of letters, published first in the "Friend," afterwards in
his "Biographia Literaria," is to be found a description of his passage
to Germany, and short tour through that country. His fellow passengers
as described by him were a motley group, suffering from the usual
effects of a rolling sea. One of them, who had caught the customary
antidote to sympathy for suffering, to witness which is usually painful,
began his mirth by not inaptly observing,
"That Momus might have discovered an easier way to see a man's inside
than by placing a window in his breast. He needed only to have taken a
salt-water trip in a pacquet-boat."
Coleridge thinks that a
"pacquet is far superior to a stage-coach, as a means of making men
open out to each other. In the latter the uniformity of posture
disposes to dozing, and the definiteness of the period at which the
company will separate, makes each individual think of those 'to' whom
he is going, rather than of those 'with' whom he is going. But at sea
more curiosity is excited, if only on this account, that the pleasant
or unpleasant qualities of your companions are of greater importance
to you, from the uncertainty how long you may be obliged to house with
them."
On board was a party of Danes, who, from his appearance in a suit of
black, insisted he was a "Docteur Teology." To relieve himself of any
further questioning on this head, he bowed assent "rather than be
nothing."
"Certes," he says, "We were not of the Stoic school; for we drank, and
talked, and sung altogether; and then we rose and danced on the deck a
set of dances, which, in _one_ sense of the word at least, were very
intelligibly and appropriately entitled reels. The passengers who lay
in the cabin below in all the agonies of sea-sickness, must have found
our bacchanalian merriment
a tune
Harsh and of dissonant mood for their complaint.
I thought so at the time; and how closely the greater number of our
virtues are connected with the fear of death, and how little sympathy
we bestow on pain, when there is no danger."
The Dane soon convinced him of the justice of an old remark, that many a
faithful portrait in our novels and farces, has been rashly censured for
an outrageous caricature, or perhaps nonentity.
"I had retired to my station in the boat when he came and seated
himself by my side, and appeared not a little tipsy. He commenced the
conversation in the most magnific style, and a sort of pioneering to
his own vanity, he flattered me with _such_ grossness! The parasites
of the old comedy were modest in comparison."
After a ludicrous conversation which took place, he passes on to the
description of another passenger, an Englishman, who spoke German
fluently and interpreted many of the jokes of a Prussian who formed one
of the party.
"The Prussian was a travelling merchant, turned of threescore, a hale,
tall, strong man, and full of stories, gesticulations, and buffoonery,
with the soul as well as the look of a mountebank, who, while he is
making you laugh, picks your pocket. Amid all his droll looks and
droll gestures, there remained one look untouched by laughter; and
that one look was the true face, the others were but its mask. The
Hanoverian (another of the party) was a pale, bloated, young man,
whose father had made a large fortune in London as an army contractor.
He seemed to emulate the manners of young Englishmen of fortune. He
was a good-natured fellow, not without information or literature, but
a most egregious coxcomb. He had been in the habit of attending the
House of Commons; and had once spoken, as he informed me, with great
applause in a debating society. For this he appeared to have qualified
himself with laudable industry; for he was perfect in Walker's
Pronouncing Dictionary, and with an accent that forcibly reminded me
of the Scotchman in Roderick Random, who professed to teach the
English pronunciation; he was constantly _deferring_ to my superior
judgment, whether or no I had pronounced this or that word with
propriety or 'the true delicacy.' When he spoke, though it were only
half a dozen sentences, he always rose; for which I could detect no
other motive, than his partiality to that elegant phrase, so liberally
introduced in the orations of our British legislators, 'While I am on
my legs.'"
Coleridge continues his description of the party, and relates a quarrel
that ensued between a little German tailor and his wife, by which he was
the gainer of a bed, it being too cold to continue much longer on deck:
"In the evening the sea rolling higher, the Dane became worse, and in
consequence increased his remedy, viz. brandy, sugar, and nutmeg, in
proportion to the room left in his stomach. The conversation or
oration 'rather than dialogue, became extravagant beyond all that I
ever heard.' After giving an account of his fortune acquired in the
island of Santa Cruz, 'he expatiated on the style in which he intended
to live in Denmark, and the great undertakings he proposed to himself
to commence, till the brandy aiding his vanity, and his vanity and
garrulity aiding the brandy, he talked like a madman.
After this drunken apostrophe he changed the conversation, and
commenced an harangue on religion, (mistaking Coleridge for "un
Philosophe" in the continental sense of the word) he talked of the
Deity in a declamatory style very much resembling the devotional rants
of that rude blunderer Mr. Thomas Paine, in his 'Age of Reason'. I
dare aver, that few men have less reason to charge themselves with
indulging in persiflage than myself; I should hate it, if it were only
that it is a Frenchman's vice, and feel a pride in avoiding it,
because our own language is too honest to have a word to express it
by.
At four o'clock I observed a wild duck swimming on the waves, a single
solitary wild duck. It is not easy to conceive, how interesting a
thing it looked in that round objectless desert of waters."
The cry of 'land' was heard soon afterwards, and in a short time they
dropped anchor at Cuxhaven, and proceeded from thence in a boat to
Hamburg. After this he travelled on to [25] Ratzeburg, and then took up
his residence with a pastor for the purpose of acquiring the German
language, but with what success will be presently shown. He soon after
proceeded through Hanover to Göttingen.--Here he informs us he regularly
"attended lectures in the morning in physiology, in the evening an
natural history under BLUMENBACH, a name as dear to every Englishman
who has studied at the university, as it is venerable to men of
science throughout Europe! Eichorn's Lectures on the New Testament
were repeated to me from notes by a student from Ratzeburg, a young
man of sound learning and indefatigable industry, who is now I believe
a professor of the oriental languages at Heidelberg."
Few persons visit Gottingen without ascending the Brocken.
At the close of one of their academic studies, equivalent to, what in
this country is called a term, it was agreed that the following party
should visit the Hartz Mountains, &c. Namely, Coleridge, the two Parrys
of Bath, Charles and Edward, sons of the celebrated physician of that
name, the son also of Professor Blumenbach, Dr. Carlyon, Mr. Chester,
and Mr. Greenough. Coleridge and the party made the ascent of the
Brocken, on the Hanoverian side of this mountain. During the toil of the
ascent, Coleridge amused his companions with recapitulating some
trifling verses, which he was wont to do some twenty years afterwards to
amuse children of five and six years old, as Miss Mary Rowe, Tity Mouse
Brim, Dr. Daniel Dove, of Doncaster, and his Horse Nobbs. It should,
however, be observed, that these Dr. Carlyon seemed to think worth
notice, while the Christabel and Ancient Mariner were probably but
little to his taste. His dress, a short jacket of coarse material,
though convenient, was not quite classical in a party of philosophical
erratics in quest of novelty. This tale of Dr. Daniel Dove, of
Doncaster, has given a frame and pegs, on which some literary man has
founded a story, and on which he has hung the contents of his scrap
book. The invention is not Coleridge's; and the writer believes the
story itself to be traditional. The following account of his ascent up
the Brocken was written by himself, soon after his return from Germany:
FRAGMENT OF A JOURNEY OVER THE BROCKEN, &c. IN 1799.
"Through roads no way rememberable, we came to Gieloldshausen, over a
bridge, on which was a mitred statue with a great crucifix in its
arms. The village, long and ugly; but the church, like most Catholic
churches, interesting; and this being Whitsun Eve, all were crowding
to it, with their mass-books and rosaries, the little babies commonly
with coral crosses hanging on the breast. Here we took a guide, left
the village, ascended a hill, and now the woods rose up before us in a
verdure which surprised us like a sorcery. The spring had burst forth
with the suddenness of a Russian summer. As we left Göttingen there
were buds, and here and there a tree half green; but here were woods
in full foliage, distinguished from summer only by the exquisite
freshness of their tender green. We entered the wood through a
beautiful mossy path; the moon above us blending with the evening
light, and every now and then a nightingale would invite the others to
sing, and some or other commonly answered, and said, as we suppose,
'It is yet somewhat too early!' for the song was not continued. We
came to a square piece of greenery, completely walled on all four
sides by the beeches; again entered the wood, and having travelled
about a mile, emerged from it into a grand plain--mountains in the
distance, but ever by our road the skirts of the green woods. A very
rapid river ran by our side; and now the nightingales were all
singing, and the tender verdure grew paler in the moonlight, only the
smooth parts of the river were still deeply purpled with the
reflections from the fiery light in the west. So surrounded and so
impressed, we arrived at Prele, a dear little cluster of houses in the
middle of a semicircle of woody hills; the area of the semicircle
scarcely broader than the breadth of the village.
...
"We afterwards ascended another hill, from the top of which a large
plain opened before us with villages. A little village, Neuhoff, lay
at the foot of it: we reached it, and then turned up through a valley
on the left hand. The hills on both sides the valley were prettily
wooded, and a rapid lively river ran through it.
So we went for about two miles, and almost at the end of the valley,
or rather of its first turning, we found the village of Lauterberg.
Just at the entrance of the village, two streams come out from two
deep and woody coombs, close by each other, meet, and run into a third
deep woody coomb opposite; before you a wild hill, which seems the end
and barrier of the valley; on the right hand, low hills, now green
with corn, and now wooded; and on the left a most majestic hill
indeed--the effect of whose simple outline painting could not give,
and how poor a thing are words! We pass through this neat little
town--the majestic hill on the left hand soaring over the houses, and
at every interspace you see the whole of it--its beeches, its firs,
its rocks, its scattered cottages, and the one neat little pastor's
house at the foot, embosomed in fruit-trees all in blossom, the noisy
coomb-brook dashing close by it. We leave the valley, or rather, the
first turning on the left, following a stream; and so the vale winds
on, the river still at the foot of the woody hills, with every now and
then other smaller valleys on right and left crossing our vale, and
ever before you the woody hills running like groves one into another.
We turned and turned, and entering the fourth curve of the vale, we
found all at once that we had been ascending. The verdure vanished!
All the beech trees were leafless, and so were the silver birches,
whose boughs always, winter and summer, hang so elegantly. But low
down in the valley, and in little companies on each bank of the river,
a multitude of green conical fir trees, with herds of cattle wandering
about, almost every one with a cylindrical bell around its neck, of no
inconsiderable size, and as they moved--scattered over the narrow
vale, and up among the trees on the hill--the noise was like that of a
great city in the stillness of a sabbath morning, when the bells all
at once are ringing for church. The whole was a melancholy and
romantic scene, that was quite new to me. Again we turned, passed
three smelting houses, which we visited;--a scene of terrible beauty
is a furnace of boiling metal, darting, every moment blue, green, and
scarlet lightning, like serpents' tongues!--and now we ascended a
steep hill, on the top of which was St. Andrias Berg, a town built
wholly of wood.
"We descended again, to ascend far higher; and now we came to a most
beautiful road, which winded on the breast of the hill, from whence we
looked down into a deep valley, or huge basin, full of pines and firs;
the opposite hills full of pines and firs; and the hill above us, on
whose breast we were winding, likewise full of pines and firs. The
valley, or basin, on our right hand, into which we looked down, is
called the Wald Rauschenbach, that is, the Valley of the Roaring
Brook; and roar it did, indeed, most solemnly! The road on which we
walked was weedy with infant fir-trees, an inch or two high; and now,
on our left hand, came before us a most tremendous precipice of yellow
and black rock, called the Rehberg, that is, the Mountain of the Roe.
Now again is nothing but firs and pines, above, below, around us! How
awful is the deep unison of their undividable murmur; what a one thing
it is--it is a sound that impresses the dim notion of the Omnipresent!
In various parts of the deep vale below us, we beheld little dancing
waterfalls gleaming through the branches, and now, on our left hand,
from the very summit of the hill above us, a powerful stream flung
itself down, leaping and foaming, and now concealed, and now not
concealed, and now half concealed by the fir-trees, till, towards the
road, it became a visible sheet of water, within whose immediate
neighbourhood no pine could have permanent abiding place. The snow lay
every where on the sides of the roads, and glimmered in company with
the waterfall foam, snow patches and waterbreaks glimmering through
the branches in the hill above, the deep basin below, and the hill
opposite.
Over the high opposite hills, so dark in their pine forests, a far
higher round barren stony mountain looked in upon the prospect from a
distant country. Through this scenery we passed on, till our road was
crossed by a second waterfall; or rather, aggregation of little
dancing waterfalls, one by the side of the other for a considerable
breadth, and all came at once out of the dark wood above, and rolled
over the mossy rock fragments, little firs, growing in islets,
scattered among them. The same scenery continued till we came to the
Oder Seich, a lake, half made by man, and half by nature. It is two
miles in length, and but a few hundred yards in breadth, and winds
between banks, or rather through walls, of pine trees. It has the
appearance of a most calm and majestic river. It crosses the road,
goes into a wood, and there at once plunges itself down into a most
magnificent cascade, and runs into the vale, to which it gives the
name of the 'Vale of the Roaring Brook.' We descended into the vale,
and stood at the bottom of the cascade, and climbed up again by its
side. The rocks over which it plunged were unusually wild in their
shape, giving fantastic resemblances of men and animals, and the
fir-boughs by the side were kept almost in a swing, which unruly
motion contrasted well with the stern quietness of the huge forest-sea
every where else.
...
"In nature all things are individual, but a word is but an arbitrary
character for a whole class of things; so that the same description
may in almost all cases be applied to twenty different appearances;
and in addition to the difficulty of the thing itself, I neither am,
nor ever was, a good hand at description. I see what I write, but,
alas! I cannot write what I see. From the Oder Seich we entered a
second wood; and now the snow met us in large masses, and we walked
for two miles knee-deep in it, with an inexpressible fatigue, till we
came to the mount called Little Brocken; here even the firs deserted
us, or only now and then a patch of them, wind shorn, no higher than
one's knee, matted and cowering to the ground, like our thorn bushes
on the highest sea-hills. The soil was plashy and boggy; we descended
and came to the foot of the Great Brocken without a river--the highest
mountain in all the north of Germany, and the seat of innumerable
superstitions. On the first of May all the witches dance here at
midnight; and those who go may see their own ghosts walking up and
down, with a little billet on the back, giving the names of those who
had wished them there; for 'I wish you on the top of the Brocken,' is
a common curse throughout the whole empire. Well, we ascended--the
soil boggy--and at last reached the height, which is 573 toises above
the level of the sea. We visited the Blocksberg, a sort of
bowling-green, inclosed by huge stones, something like those at
Stonehenge, and this is the witches' ball-room; thence proceeded to
the house on the hill, where we dined; and now we descended. In the
evening about seven we arrived at Elbingerode. At the inn they brought
us an album, or stamm-buch, requesting that we would write our names,
and something or other as a remembrance that we had been there. I
wrote the following lines, which contain a true account of my journey
from the Brocken to Elbingerode.
I stood on Brocken's sovran height, and saw
Woods crowding upon woods, hills over hills;
A surging scene, and only limited
By the blue distance. Wearily my way
Downward I dragged, through fir groves evermore,
Where bright green moss moved in sepulchral forms,
Speckled with sunshine; and, but seldom heard,
The sweet bird's song become a hollow sound;
And the gale murmuring indivisibly,
Reserved its solemn murmur, more distinct
From many a note of many a waterbreak,
And the brook's chatter; on whose islet stones
The dingy kidling, with its tinkling bell,
Leapt frolicksome, or old romantic goat
Sat, his white beard slow waving. I moved on
With low and languid thought, for I had found
That grandest scenes have but imperfect charms
Where the eye vainly wanders, nor beholds
One spot with which the heart associates
Holy remembrances of child or friend,
Or gentle maid, our first and early love,
Or father, or the venerable name
Of our adored country. O thou Queen,
Thou delegated Deity of Earth,
O 'dear, dear' England! how my longing eyes
Turned westward, shaping in the steady clouds
Thy sands and high white cliffs! Sweet native isle,
This heart was proud, yea, mine eyes swam with tears
To think of thee; and all the goodly view
From sovran Brocken, woods and woody hills
Floated away, like a departing dream,
Feeble and dim. Stranger, these impulses
Blame thou not lightly; nor will I profane,
With hasty judgment or injurious doubt,
That man's sublimer spirit, who can feel
That God is every where, the God who framed
Mankind to be one mighty brotherhood,
Himself our Father, and the world our home.
We left Elbingerode, May 14th, and travelled for half a mile through a
wild country, of bleak stony hills by our side, with several caverns,
or rather mouths of caverns, visible in their breasts; and now we came
to Rubilland,--Oh, it was a lovely scene! Our road was at the foot of
low hills, and here were a few neat cottages; behind us were high
hills, with a few scattered firs, and flocks of goats visible on the
topmost crags. On our right hand a fine shallow river about thirty
yards broad, and beyond the river a crescent hill clothed with firs,
that rise one above another, like spectators in an amphitheatre. We
advanced a little farther,--the crags behind us ceased to be visible,
and now the whole was one and complete. All that could be seen was the
cottages at the foot of the low green hill, (cottages embosomed in
fruit trees in blossom,) the stream, and the little crescent of firs.
I lingered here, and unwillingly lost sight of it for a little while.
The firs were so beautiful, and the masses of rocks, walls, and
obelisks started up among them in the very places where, if they had
not been, a painter with a poet's feeling would have imagined them.
Crossed the river (its name Bodi), entered the sweet wood, and came to
the mouth of the cavern, with the man who shews it. It was a huge
place, eight hundred feet in length, and more in depth, of many
different apartments; and the only thing that distinguished it from
other caverns was, that the guide, who was really a character, had the
talent of finding out and seeing uncommon likenesses in the different
forms of the stalactite. Here was a nun;--this was Solomon's
temple;--that was a Roman Catholic Chapel;--here was a lion's claw,
nothing but flesh and blood wanting to make it completely a claw! This
was an organ, and had all the notes of an organ, &c. &c. &c.; but,
alas! with all possible straining of my eyes, ears, and imagination, I
could see nothing but common stalactite, and heard nothing but the
dull ding of common cavern stones. One thing was really striking;--a
huge cone of stalactite hung from the roof of the largest apartment,
and, on being struck, gave perfectly the sound of a death-bell. I was
behind, and heard it repeatedly at some distance, and the effect was
very much in the fairy kind,--gnomes, and things unseen, that toll
mock death-bells for mock funerals. After this, a little clear well
and a black stream pleased me the most; and multiplied by fifty, and
coloured ad libitum, might be well enough to read of in a novel or
poem. We returned, and now before the inn, on the green plat around
the Maypole, the villagers were celebrating Whit-Tuesday. This Maypole
is hung as usual with garlands on the top, and, in these garlands,
spoons, and other little valuables, are placed. The high smooth round
pole is then well greased; and now he who can climb up to the top may
have what he can get,--a very laughable scene as you may suppose, of
awkwardness and agility, and failures on the very brink of success.
Now began a dance. The women danced very well, and, in general, I have
observed throughout Germany that the women in the lower ranks
degenerate far less from the ideal of a woman, than the men from that
of man. The dances were reels and waltzes; but chiefly the latter.
This dance is, in the higher circles, sufficiently voluptuous; but
here the emotions of it were far more faithful interpreters of the
passion, which, doubtless, the dance was intended to shadow; yet, ever
after the giddy round and round is over, they walked to music, the
woman laying her arm, with confident affection, on the man's
shoulders, or around his neck. The first couple at the waltzing was a
very fine tall girl, of two or three and twenty, in the full bloom and
growth of limb and feature, and a fellow with huge whiskers, a long
tail, and woollen night-cap; he was a soldier, and from the more than
usual glances of the girl, I presumed was her lover. He was, beyond
compare, the gallant and the dancer of the party. Next came two boors:
one of whom, in the whole contour of his face and person, and, above
all, in the laughably would-be frolicksome kick out of his heel,
irresistibly reminded me of Shakespeare's Slender, and the other of
his Dogberry. Oh! two such faces, and two such postures! O that I were
an Hogarth! What an enviable gift it is to have a genius in painting!
Their partners were pretty lasses, not so tall as the former, and
danced uncommonly light and airy. The fourth couple was a sweet girl
of about seventeen, delicately slender, and very prettily dressed,
with a full-blown rose in the white ribbon that went round her head,
and confined her reddish-brown hair; and her partner waltzed with a
pipe in his mouth, smoking all the while; and during the whole of this
voluptuous dance, his countenance was a fair personification of true
German phlegm. After these, but, I suppose, not actually belonging to
the party, a little ragged girl and ragged boy, with his stockings
about his heels, waltzed and danced;--waltzing and dancing in the rear
most entertainingly. But what most pleased me, was a little girl of
about three or four years old, certainly not more than four, who had
been put to watch a little babe, of not more than a year old (for one
of our party had asked), and who was just beginning to run away, the
girl teaching him to walk, and who was so animated by the music, that
she began to waltz with him, and the two babes whirled round and
round, hugging and kissing each other, as if the music had made them
mad. There were two fiddles and a bass viol. The fiddlers,--above all,
the bass violer,--most Hogarthian phizzes! God love them! I felt far
more affection for them than towards any other set of human beings I
have met with since I have been in Germany, I suppose because they
looked so happy!"
Coleridge and his companions in their tour passed through a district
belonging to the elector of Metz, and he often repeated the following
story, which one of the party has since related in print; that, going
through this district, chiefly inhabited by boors, who were Romanists,
of the lowest form of this persuasion of Christians, the party fatigued
and much exhausted, with the exception of Blumenbach, arrived somewhat
late, though being a summer evening, it was still light, at a Hessian
village, where they had hoped, as in England, to find quarters for the
night. Most of the inhabitants had retired to rest, a few only loitering
about, perhaps surprized at the sight of strangers. They shewed no
inclination to be courteous, but rather eyed them with suspicion and
curiosity. The party, notwithstanding this, entered the village
ale-house, still open, asked for refreshments and a night's lodging, but
no one noticed them. Though hungry, they could not procure any thing for
supper, not even a cup of coffee, nor could they find beds; after some
time, however, they asked for a few bundles of straw, which would
probably have been granted, had not Coleridge, out of patience at seeing
his friends' forlorn situation, imprudently asked one of them, if there
lived any Christians in Hesse Cassel? At this speech, which was soon
echoed by those within the house to the bystanders without, the boors
became instantly so infuriated, that rushing in, the travellers were
immediately driven out, and were glad to save themselves from the
lighted fire-wood on the hearth, which was hurled at them. On this they
went to seek a spot to bivouac for the night. Coleridge lay under the
shelter of a furze-bush, annoyed by the thorns, which, if they did not
disturb his rest, must have rendered it comfortless. Youth and fatigue,
inducing sleep, soon rose above these difficulties. In the ascent of the
Brocken, they despaired of seeing the famous spectre, in search of which
they toiled, it being visible only when the sun is a few degrees above
the horizon. Haué says, he ascended thirty times without seeing it, till
at length he was enabled to witness the effect of this optical delusion.
For the best account of it, see the Natural Magic of Sir D. Brewster,
[26] who explains the origin of these spectres, and shews how the mind
is deluded among an ignorant and easily deceived people, and thus traces
the birth of various ghost stories in the neighbourhood, extending as
far in Europe, as such stories find credence.
"In the course of my repeated tours through the Hartz," Mr. Jordan
says, "I ascended the Brocken twelve different times, but I had the
good fortune only twice (both times about Whitsuntide), to see that
atmospheric phenomenon called the Spectre of the Brocken, which
appears to me worthy of particular attention, as it must, no doubt, be
observed on other high mountains, which have a situation favourable
for producing it. The first time I was deceived by this extraordinary
phenomenon, I had clambered up to the summit of the Brocken, very
early in the morning, in order to wait there for the inexpressibly
beautiful view of the sun rising in the east. The heavens were already
streaked with red: the sun was just appearing above the horizon in
full majesty, and the most perfect serenity prevailed throughout the
surrounding country. When the other Hartz mountains in the south-west,
towards the Worm mountains, lying under the Brocken, began to be
covered by thick clouds; ascending at this moment the granite rocks
called the Teufelskauzel, there appeared before me, though at a great
distance towards the Worm mountains, the gigantic figure of a man, as
if standing on a large pedestal. But scarcely had I discovered it when
it began to disappear; the clouds sank down speedily and expanded, and
I saw the phenomenon no more. The second time, however, I saw the
spectre somewhat more distinctly, a little below the summit of the
Brocken, and near the Heinrichs-höhe, as I was looking at the sun
rising about four o'clock in the morning. The weather was rather
tempestuous, the sky towards the level country was pretty clear, but
the Harz mountains had attracted several thick clouds which had been
hovering around them, and which, beginning to settle on the Brocken,
confined the prospect. In these clouds, soon after the rising of the
sun, I saw my own shadow of a monstrous size, move itself for a couple
of seconds exactly as I moved, but I was soon involved in clouds, and
the phenomenon disappeared."
It is impossible to see this phenomenon, except when the sun is at such
an altitude as to throw his rays upon the body in a horizontal
direction; for, if he is higher, the shadow is thrown rather under the
body than before it. After visiting the Hartz, Coleridge returned to
Göttingen, and in his note-book in a leave-taking memorial as well as
autograph, the following lines were written by Blumenbach, the son:--
"Wenn Sie, bester Freund, auch in Jhrer Heimath die
Natur bewundern werden, wie wir beide es auf dem Harze
gethan haben, so erinnern Sie sich des Harzes, und ich darf
dann hoffen, das Sie auch mich nicht vergessen werden.
"Leben Sie wohl, und reisen glücklich,
"Jhr. BLUMENBACH."
TRANSLATION.
If you perchance, my dearest friend, should still continue
to admire the works of nature at your home, as we have done
together on the Hartz; recall to your recollection the Hartz,
and then I dare hope that you will also think of me.
Farewell, may you have a prosperous voyage.
(Signed) yours, BLUMENBACH.
Coleridge returned to England after an absence of fourteen mouths, and
arrived in London the 27th November, 1799.
He went to Germany but little versed in the language, and adopted the
following plan of acquiring it, which he recommends to others
"To those," says he, "who design to acquire the language of a country
in the country itself, it may be useful, if I mention the incalculable
advantages which I derived from learning all the words that could
possibly be so learnt, with the objects before me, and without the
intermediation of the English terms. It was a regular part of my
morning studies for the first six weeks of my residence at Ratzeburg,
to accompany the good and kind old pastor, with whom I lived, from the
cellar to the roof, through gardens, farm-yards, &c., and to call
every the minutest thing by its German name. Advertisements, farces,
jest-books, and conversation of children while I was at play with
them, contributed their share to a more homelike acquaintance with the
language, than I could have procured from books of polite literature
alone, or even from polite society."
In support of this plan, he makes a quotation from the massive folios of
Luther--a passage as he calls it of "_hearty_ sound sense," and gives
the simple, sinewy, idiomatic words of the "original," with a
translation of his own:
"For one must not ask the letters in the Latin tongue, how one ought
to speak German; but one must ask the mother in the house, the
children in the lanes and alleys, the common man in the market,
concerning this; yea, and look at the _moves_ of their mouths while
they are talking, and thereafter interpret. They understand then, and
mark that one talks German with them."
Whether he owed his successful acquirement of the language to these
plans adopted by him, or whether to his extraordinary powers of mind, it
must be left to others to judge. To form any thing like an accurate
opinion, it may be necessary to re-state, that during this fourteen
months' residence, he acquired such a knowledge of the German, as
enabled him to make that extraordinary translation of the Wallenstein,
(which will be presently noticed), reading at the same time several
German authors, and storing up for himself the means of becoming
familiar with others, on subjects in which the English language was
deficient. In addition to what in this short period he effected, I may
say that some part of this time was employed in receiving many lessons
from professor Tychsen, in the Gothic of Ulphilas, which, says he,
"sufficed to make me acquainted with its grammar, and the radical
words of most frequent occurrence; and with the occasional assistance
of the same philosophical linguist, I read through Ottfried's Metrical
Paraphrase of the Gospel, and the most important remains of the
Theotiscan."
Coleridge's Biographia contains the history and developement of his mind
till 1816, when it was published; he called it his Literary Life, but of
necessity it is intermixed with his biography, as he must have found it
impossible to separate them. He had even half promised himself to write
his own biography, but the want of success in his literary labours, and
the state of his health, caused him to think seriously that his life was
diminishing too fast, to permit him to finish those great works, of
which he had long planned the execution. The conception of these works
was on such a scale, that even his giant intellect, with his great and
continuous powers of application, could not have executed them. But to
continue.--On his return to London, his first literary occupation was
the translation of the Wallenstein, which he effected in six weeks, in a
lodging in Buckingham-street, in the Strand; it was printed and
published in 1800.
The MS. was purchased by Longman's house under the condition that the
English Version and Schiller's Play in German were to be published at
the same time. The play, as is well known to all German readers, is in
three parts; the first part, the Camp, being considered by Coleridge as
not sufficiently interesting to the British public to translate, it was
not attempted; the second part, the Piccolomini, was translated with the
occasional addition of some lines, in order to make out the thought when
it appeared to require it, particularly in the Horological scene of the
Watch Tower. In the last part the Death of Wallenstein is equally free,
but the liberties taken with this play are those of omission.
German was not at that time cultivated in England, and the few plays
which were translated, were but bad specimens of German Literature. The
Wallenstein is an historical play, without any of those violent tragic
events which the public expect to find in German plays, and this was one
cause perhaps of disappointment.--It is a play of high thoughts--
ennobling sentiments, and for the reflecting individual with good
feelings, one of those plays, by which, even without reference to the
story, the head and the heart are both benefited. There is no violent
excitement produced, and in quiet thought one can dwell on it with
pleasure. Coleridge truly prophesied its fate, for when translating it,
he said it would fall dead from the press, and indeed but few of the
copies were sold;--his advice to the publishers, whom he had forewarned
of this failure, was to reserve the unsold copies, and wait till it
might become fashionable. They however parted with it as waste paper,
though sixteen years afterwards it was eagerly sought for, and the few
remaining copies doubled their price; but now that the German language
has become more general, and the merit of this translation been
appreciated, it has been reprinted with success.
Since the visit of these remarkable men to Germany, the taste for German
literature has each year slowly increased, so as to make it almost
appear that they have given the direction to this taste, which in
England has caused a free inquiry into the writings of German authors,
particularly of their poets and philosophers for the one class; and also
into the interesting tales and stories to be found for the many who
require such amusement.
The edition of Wallenstein, 1800, contains the following preface, which
was afterwards abridged, but is here given as it was originally written;
the first criticism on it was wholly made out of this preface, and these
lines were quoted by the reviewer, in condemnation of the play and the
translation, though it is well known that the critic was ignorant of
German. The date of the MS. by Schiller is September 30th, 1799, the
English is 1800. Coleridge indeed calls it a translation, but had it
been verbatim, it would have required much longer time; take it however
as we will, it displays wonderful powers; and as he noticed in a letter
to a friend, it was executed in the prime of his life and vigour of his
mind. Of the metre of this drama he spoke slightingly, and said
according to his taste,
"it dragged, like a fly through a glue-pot. It was my intention," he
writes, "to have prefixed a life of Wallenstein to this translation;
but I found that it must either have occupied a space wholly
disproportionate to the nature of the publication, or have been merely
a meagre catalogue of events narrated, not more fully than they
already are in the play itself. The recent translation, likewise, of
Schiller's History of the Thirty Years' War, diminished the motives
thereto. In the translation, I have endeavoured to render my author
literally, wherever I was not prevented by absolute differences of
idiom; but I am conscious, that in two or three short passages, I have
been guilty of dilating the original; and, from anxiety to give the
full meaning, have weakened the force. In the metre I have availed
myself of no other liberties, than those which Schiller had permitted
to himself, except the occasional breaking up of the line, by the
substitution of a trochee for an iambus; of which liberty, so frequent
in our tragedies, I find no instance in these dramas.
The two Dramas, Piccolomini, or the first part of Wallenstein, and
Wallenstein, are introduced in the original manuscript by a prelude in
one act, entitled Wallenstein's camp. This is written in rhyme, and in
nine syllable verse, in the same lilting metre (if that expression may
be permitted) with the second eclogue of Spencer's Shepherd's
Calendar. This prelude possesses a sort of broad humour, and is not
deficient in character, but to have translated it into prose, or into
any other metre than that of the original, would have given a false
idea, both of its style and purport; to have translated it into the
same metre, would have been incompatible with a faithful adherence to
the sense of the German, from the comparative poverty of our language
in rhymes; and it would have been unadvisable, from the incongruity of
those lax verses with the present state of the English public.
Schiller's intention seems to have been merely to have prepared his
reader for the tragedies, by a lively picture of the laxity of
discipline, and the mutinous disposition of Wallenstein's soldiery. It
is not necessary as a preliminary explanation. For these reasons it
has been thought expedient not to translate it.
The admirers of Schiller, who have abstracted their idea of that
author from the Robbers, and the Cabal and Love plays, in which the
main interest is produced by the excitement of curiosity, and in which
the curiosity is excited by terrible and extraordinary incident, will
not have perused, without some portion of disappointment, the dramas
which it has been my employment to translate. They should, however,
reflect, that these are historical dramas, taken from a popular German
history; that we must therefore judge of them in some measure with the
feelings of Germans, or by analogy with the interest excited in us by
similar dramas in our own language. Few, I trust, would be rash or
ignorant enough, to compare Schiller with Shakspeare, yet, merely as
illustration, I would say, that we should proceed to the perusal of
Wallenstein, not from Lear or Othello, but from Richard the Second, or
the three parts of Henry the Sixth. We scarcely expect rapidity in an
historical drama; and many prolix speeches are pardoned from
characters, whose names and actions have formed the most amusing tales
of our early life. On the other hand, there exist in these plays more
individual beauties, more passages the excellence of which will bear
reflection than in the former productions of Schiller.
The description of the Astrological Tower, and the reflections of the
young lover, which follow it, form in the original a fine poem, and my
translation must have been wretched indeed, if it can have wholly
overclouded the beauties of the scene in the first act of the first
play, between Questenberg, Max. and Octavio Piccolomini.
If we except the scene of the setting sun in the Robbers, I know of no
part in Schiller's plays, which equals the whole of the first scene of
the fifth act of the concluding play. It would be unbecoming in me to
be more diffuse on this subject. A translator stands connected with
the original author by a certain law of subordination, which makes it
more decorous to point out excellencies than defects; indeed, he is
not likely to be a fair judge of either. The pleasure or disgust from
his own labour, will mingle with the feelings that arise from an after
view of the original poem; and in the first perusal of a work in any
foreign language, which we understand, we are apt to attribute to it
more excellence than it really possesses, from our own pleasurable
sense of difficulty overcome without effort. Translation of poetry
into poetry is difficult, because the translator must give a
brilliancy to his language without that warmth of original conception,
from which such brilliancy would follow of its own accord. But the
translator of a living author is encumbered with additional
inconveniences. If he render his original faithfully, as to the
'sense' of each passage, he must necessarily destroy a considerable
portion of the 'spirit'; if he endeavour to give a work executed
according to laws of 'compensation', he subjects himself to
imputations of vanity, or misrepresentation. I thought it my duty to
remain by the sense of my original, with as few exceptions as the
nature of the language rendered possible."
About this time, or soon after his return from Germany, the proprietor
of the Morning Post, who was also the editor, engaged Coleridge to
undertake the literary department. In this he promised to assist,
provided the paper was conducted on fixed and announced principles, and
that he should neither be requested nor obliged to deviate from them in
favour of any party or any event. In consequence, that journal became,
and for many years continued, 'anti-ministerial, yet with a very
qualified approbation of the opposition, and with far greater
earnestness and zeal, both anti-jacobin and anti-gallican. As
contributors to this paper, the editor had the assistance of Mr.
Wordsworth, Mr. Southey, and Mr. Lamb. Mr. Southey, from his extreme
activity and industry, with powers best suited for such employment, with
a rapidity and punctuality which made him invaluable to the proprietor,
was the largest contributor. The others not possessing the same
qualifications, although extremely powerful in their way, were not of
the same value to the proprietor.
To Coleridge, he continued liberal and kind, and Coleridge appreciated
his talents; often has he been heard to say, if Mr. Stuart "knew as much
of man as he does of men, he would be one of the first characters in
Europe." The world, and even that part of it, who either receive
pleasure, or are benefited by the labours of literary men, often seem to
forget how many there are who being compelled to work during the week
for the provision of the week, are (if not possessed of much bodily
strength) unfit to continue further mental exertions; nor can they find
the leisure and repose necessary to produce any work of importance,
though such efforts must always be found so much more congenial to the
feelings of a man of genius. Whatever his enemies or his more envious
friends may choose to have put forth, it was to him a most painful
thought, particularly as he had made literature his profession, to have
lived in vain. This feeling sometimes haunted him, and when the feelings
are gloomily disposed, they often become in their turn depressing
causes, which frequently ended in a deep and painful sigh, and a renewal
of his laborious and inspiring thoughts as an antidote. The severest of
his critics have not pretended to have found in his compositions
triviality, or traces of a mind that shrank from the toil of thinking.
A respectable portion of literary talent will secure the success of a
newspaper, provided that it impartially adheres "to a code of
intelligible principles previously announced, and faithfully referred to
in support of every judgment on men and events." Such were the opinions
and feelings by which the contributors to this paper, as well as the
proprietor was influenced during this period; and to these causes, as
well as from the talents of the editor and of the writers, it mainly
owed its success. Papers so conducted do not require the aid of party,
nor of ministerial patronage. Yet a determination to make money by
flattering the envy and cupidity, and the vindictive restlessness of
unthinking men, seems frequently to have succeeded, not confining itself
to the daily press, but diffusing itself into periodicals of a different
stamp.
"I do derive," says Coleridge, "a gratification from the knowledge,
that my essays have contributed to introduce the practice of placing
the questions and events of the day in a moral point of view. In
Burke's writings, indeed, the germs of all political truths may be
found. But I dare assume to myself the merit of having first
explicitly defined and analysed the nature of Jacobinism; and in
distinguishing the Jacobin from the Republican, the Democrat, and the
mere Demagogue," ('vide Friend'.)
Whilst Coleridge retained the opinions of the Unitarians, or rather
preached among them, they hailed him as the rising star of their
society, but when he seceded from them on his change of opinions, many
of them bruited his name in execration. Not so was it with Mr. Estlin
and other amiable and intelligent men, they understood him, and felt he
had acted on the full conviction of his mind, and that he was acting
conscientiously when he declined the opportunity of possessing a fixed
income, of which he stood so much in need. Those who knew him, knew how
much he suffered, and how painful it was for him to have differed with
such a friend as Mr. Estlin, one to whom he had been indebted for many
kind offices: But Coleridge was too sincere a man to dissemble.--There
were however others, who, from motives and feelings not honourable to
them, dissemblers even in Unitarianism, who sought every opportunity of
defaming him, and attempted to strip him of his virtues, and of his
genius, by calumny and detraction. In this, however, they were foiled.
On the other hand, the party more inclined to favour fanaticism, were so
indiscreet in their praise as to become in their turn equally injurious
to his character, and verified the old adage, that indiscreet friends
are too often the worst of enemies; for this party considered his
conversion as nothing less than a special miracle. It was impossible for
a mind so philosophical and so constituted, to remain long in the
trammels of a philosophy like Hartley's, or to continue to adhere to
such a substitute for Christianity as Unitarianism; like the
incarcerated chicken, he would on increase of growth and power, liberate
himself from his imprisonment and breathe unencumbered the vital air,
the pabulum of animal life, which by parallel reasoning, Coleridge was
aiming at in a spiritual life. From such a substitute for Christianity,
that imitation so unvitalizing in its effects, the studiously
industrious and sincere man will recoil; but the vain and superficial
man will find much in it for the display of his egotism, and superficial
knowledge. Often did he remark when conversing on these subjects, there
was a time, when
"I disbelieved down to Unitarianism, it would have been _more honest_
to have gone farther, to have denied the existence of a GOD! but that
my heart would not allow me to do."
But to this subject we shall have occasion to return. The mind which
grows with its culture, seeks deeper research, and so was it with his.
Certainly, one of the effects of his visits to Germany, was to root up
whatever remained of the Mechanical Philosophy of Hartley, after whom he
had named his eldest son, and to open to his mind in philosophy new and
higher views, and in religion more established views. But change with
the many, though the result of conviction and the growth of truth, is
still a change; and with the unthinking, it deteriorates from the
character of a man, rather than as it should do elevate him,
... unless _above_ himself he can
Erect himself, how mean a thing is man!
DANIEL.
In the years 1783, 1784, and 1786, Bishop Horsley wrote some of the
tracts in controversy with Priestley, upon the historical question of
the belief of the first ages in OUR LORD'S Divinity, which are collected
in one volume, with large additional notes, dated 1789.
In a memorandum 'book', made by Coleridge, it appears that he never saw
nor read this volume, till some time in 1805; therefore his views were
not altered by the bishop's reasoning, but had undergone a great change
previously.
Horsley's writings carry with them a conviction of their truth. His
clear though concentrated style rivets the attention, and forcibly
impresses the mind, with his depth of learning, and at the same time
inspires the feeling of its practical utility. He was an opponent most
aptly suited to Priestley. The times however greatly favoured the
latter; the discoveries of Lavoisier, led the way to the study of
chemistry, which became fashionable and generally cultivated, and with
its brilliancy dazzled the multitude. Priestley displayed considerable
expertness and fitness for the practical application of the discoveries
of others; and he added also to the new mass of facts, which were daily
presenting themselves, and thus science became enriched, enriching at
the same time the pockets of the manufacturers, exciting national
industry, and adding considerably to the national property. Priestley's
researches and discoveries gave an irresistible weight to his name, and
had an undue influence, as we shall presently see, in the arguments or
opinions he advanced. This, Horsley foresaw, and felt, and therefore
built his arguments on the permanent, in order to subdue the creatures
founded on the impermanent and other worthless idols of the mind's
forming.
How the world were delighted and wonder-struck by the supposed
discovery, that it was the province of vegetable life to supply the
vital air, which animal life destroyed! Priestley was hailed as the
wonder of his age, and for a while its oracle. He was however no
ordinary being, and even his enemies admitted him to be a kind and moral
man. His intellectual powers will speak for themselves. We have now had
sufficient experience to see how shifting all kind of theory must be
when left to the will and ingenuity of man only--and how unsafe a guide
in questions of importance as the one now referred to. Horsley saw the
weak points of Priestley's argument, and was not to be dazzled and put
aside by Priestley's philosophical display. Horsley fearlessly entered
into this controversy, like a man who felt his own strength, and
particularly the strength of his cause; though he needed not the courage
of a Luther, he was apparently a man who possessed it, if called on. He
used the best means to silence his adversary [27], with the Bible before
him as his shield, (but at the same time his support as well as
defence,) from behind which he assailed his opponent with his Biblical
learning so powerfully, that his first attack made Priestley feel the
strength of his adversary. In vaunting language, Priestley made the best
defence which he thought he could, but not the most prudent, by
promising to answer his opponent so efficiently, as to make him a
convert to his doctrines. But in this vaunting prediction, that he would
not only answer his opponent satisfactorily, to all who were interested
in the controversy, but convert him to his opinions, it need not be
added he failed, so completely, and at the same time displayed such a
"ridiculous vanity," as to deprive him of that influence which he had so
overrated in himself. Horsley's letters seem particularly to have
attracted Coleridge's attention, and to have caused him to make one of
his concise, pithy and powerful notes as a comment on this letter of
Horsley's, entitled, "The Unitarian Doctrine not well calculated for the
conversion of Jews, Mahometans, or Infidels, of any description." [28]
The following is Coleridge's Comment on the Letter, to which allusion
has been made, and from the date seems to have been written during his
residence at Malta:
"February 12, 1805.--Thinking during my perusal of Horsley's letters
in reply to Dr. Priestley's objections to the Trinity on the part of
Jews, Mahometans, and Infidels, it burst upon me at once as an awful
truth, what seven or eight years ago I thought of proving with a
'hollow faith', and for an 'ambiguous purpose', [29] my mind then
wavering in its necessary passage from Unitarianism (which, as I have
often said, is the religion of a man, whose reason would make him an
atheist, but whose heart and common sense will not permit him to be
so) through Spinosism into Plato and St. John. No Christ, no God! This
I now feel with all its needful evidence of the understanding: would
to God my spirit were made conform thereto--that no Trinity, no God!
That Unitarianism in all its forms is idolatry, and that the remark of
Horsley is most accurate; that Dr. Priestley's mode of converting the
Jews and Turks is, in the great essential of religious faith, to give
the name of Christianity to their present idolatry--truly the trick of
Mahomet, who, finding that the mountain would not come to him, went to
the mountain. O! that this conviction may work upon me and in me, and
that my mind may be made up as to the character of Jesus, and of
historical Christianity, as clearly as it is of the logos, and
intellectual or spiritual Christianity--that I may be made to know
either their especial and peculiar union, or their absolute disunion
in any peculiar sense. [30]
With regard to the Unitarians, it has been shamelessly asserted, that
I have denied them to be Christians. God forbid! For how should I know
what the piety of the heart may be, or what quantum of error in the
understanding may consist, with a saving faith in the intentions and
actual dispositions of the whole moral being, in any one individual?
Never will God reject a soul that sincerely loves him, be his
speculative opinions what they may: and whether in any given instance
certain opinions, be they unbelief, or misbelief, are compatible with
a sincere love of God, God only can know. But this I have said, and
shall continue to say, that if the doctrines, the sum of which I
'believe' to constitute the truth in Christ, 'be' Christianity, then
Unitarianism' is not, and vice versâ: and that in speaking
theologically and 'impersonally', i.e. of Psilanthropism and
Theanthropism, as schemes of belief--and without reference to
individuals who profess either the one or the other--it will be absurd
to use a different language, as long as it is the dictate of common
sense, that two opposites cannot properly be called by the same name.
I should feel no offence if a Unitarian applied the same to me, any
more than if he were to say, that 2 and 2 being 4, 4 and 4 must be 8."
Biog. Lit. vol. ii. p. 307.
[Footnote 1: In his 'Literary Life,' Mr. Coleridge has made the
following observation regarding talent and genius:
"For the conceptions of the mind may be so vivid and adequate, as to
preclude that impulse to the realising of them, which is strongest and
most restless in those who possess more than mere 'talent' (or the
faculty of appropriating and applying the knowledge of others,) yet
still want something of the creative and self-sufficing power of
absolute 'Genius'. For this reason, therefore, they are men of
'commanding' genius. While the former rest content between thought and
reality, as it were in an intermundium of which their own living
spirit supplies the 'substance', and their imagination the
ever-varying 'form'; the latter must impress their preconceptions on
the world without, in order to present them back to their own view
with the satisfying degree of clearness, distinctness, and
individuality."
Vol. i. p. 31.]
[Footnote 2: In consequence of various reports traducing Coleridge's
good name, I have thought it an act of justice due to his character, to
notice several mistatements here and elsewhere, which I should otherwise
have gladly passed over.]
[Footnote 3: Coleridge was always most ready to pass a censure on what
appeared to him a defect in his own composition, of which the
following is a proof:--In his introductory remarks to this Greek
Ode, printed in the Sibylline Leaves, he observes:
"The Slaves in the West Indies consider Death as a passport to their
native country. This sentiment is expressed in the introduction to the
'Greek Ode on the Slave Trade,' of which the Ideas are better than the
language in which they are conveyed."
Certainly this is taking no merit to himself, although the Ode obtained
the Prize.]
[Footnote 4:
"At the beginning of the French Revolution, Klopstock wrote odes of
congratulation. He received some honorary presents from the French
Republic (a golden crown, I believe), and, like our Priestley, was
invited to a seat in the legislature, which he declined: but, when
French liberty metamorphosed herself into a fury, he sent back these
presents with a palinodia, declaring his abhorrence of their
proceedings; and since then he has been more perhaps than enough an
Anti-Gallican. I mean, that in his just contempt and detestation of
the crimes and follies of the revolutionists, he suffers himself to
forget that the revolution itself is a process of the Divine
Providence; and that as the folly of men is the wisdom of God, so are
their iniquities instruments of his goodness."
'Biographia Literaria,' vol. ii. p. 243.]
[Footnote 5: Coleridge in the 'Friend,' says:
"My feelings, however, and imagination did not remain unkindled in
this general conflagration (the French Revolution); and I confess I
should be more inclined to be ashamed than proud of myself if they
had. I was a sharer in the general vortex, though my little world
described the path of its revolution in an orbit of its own. What I
dared not expect from constitutions of government and whole nations, I
hoped from Religion."]
[Footnote 6: This is a mistake. The candidate was Mr. Bethell, one of
the members for Yorkshire, and not the Bishop of Bangor, as is commonly
supposed. Bishop Bethel himself, not long ago, told me this.]
[Footnote 7: The writer of the article above quoted followed Coleridge
in the school, and was elected to Trinity College a year after. As I
have before observed, he seems to have been well acquainted with his
habits; yet, with regard to his feelings on certain points, as his
ambition and desire for a college life, I think he must have
misunderstood him. Ambition never formed any part of Coleridge's
character. Honours, titles, and distinctions had no meaning for him. His
affections, so strong and deep, were likely to be his only stimulants in
the pursuit of them.]
[Footnote 8: Frend's trial took place at Cambridge, in the
Vice-Chancellor's Court, in the year 1793, for sedition and defamation
of the Church of England, in giving utterance to and printing certain
opinions, founded on Unitarian Doctrines, adverse to the established
Church.--'Vide' State Trials. Sentence of banishment was pronounced
against him: which sentence was confirmed by the Court of Delegates, to
which Mr. Frend had appealed from the Vice-Chancellor's Court. He then
appealed from the decision of the Court of Delegates, protested against
the proceedings, and moved this cause to the Court of King's Bench. This
Court, after an examination of the case, decided, that the proceedings
at Cambridge having been strictly formal, they had no power to
interfere, and therefore the sentence against Frend remained in full
force. Being a Fellow of Jesus' College at the time that Coleridge was a
student, he excited the sympathies of the young and ardent of that day.]
[Footnote 9: The repetition of Middleton's name, so frequently occurring
may appear to a stranger unnecessary; but Middleton, loving Coleridge so
much, and being his senior in years, as well as in studies, was to him,
while at school and at college, what the Polar Star is to the mariner on
a wide sea without compass,--his guide, and his influential friend and
companion.]
[Footnote 10: There is another incident which I shall here relate that
raised him in the esteem of his comrades. One of them was seized with
confluent small-pox, and his life was considered in great danger. The
fear of the spread of this had produced such alarm in his quarters, that
the sufferer was nearly deserted. Here Coleridge's reading served him;
and, having a small quantity of medical knowledge in addition to a large
share of kindness, he volunteered his services, and nursed the sick man
night and day for six weeks. His patient recovered, to the joy of
Coleridge and of his comrades. The man was taken ill during a march, and
in consequence of the fears of the persons of the place, he and
Coleridge (who had volunteered to remain with him) were put into an
out-building, and no communication held with them--Coleridge remaining
the whole time in the same room with the man (who, during part of his
illness, was violently delirious) nursing and reading to him, &c.]
[Footnote 11: In a published letter to a friend is the following
observation:
"I sometimes compare my own life with that of Steele (yet oh! how
unlike), led to this from having myself also for a brief time 'borne
arms', and written 'private' after my name, or rather another name;
for being at a loss when suddenly asked my name, I answered
'Comberbach', and verily my habits were so little equestrian, that my
horse, I doubt not, was of that opinion."]
[Footnote 12: Capt. Nathaniel Ogle sold out of the 15th Dragoons, Nov.
19th, 1794.
Comberbacke enlisted at Reading, Dec. 3rd, 1793, commanded at this time
by Brevet Lieutenant Colonel Churchill, who was a Major in the regiment
at the time Comberbacke was discharged at Hounslow, on the 10th of
April, 1794, according to the War-Office books.]
[Footnote 13: Probably the week in which he enlisted.]
[Footnote 14: A gentleman much interested in these lectures, who was
also present, has given the following version of the story, and it is so
well done, that I am desirous of inserting it:--
"In all Mr. Coleridge's lectures he was a steady opposer of Mr. Pitt
and the then existing war; and also an enthusiastic admirer of Fox,
Sheridan, Grey, &c. &c., but his opposition to the reigning politics
discovered little asperity; it chiefly appeared by wit and sarcasm,
and commonly ended in that which was the speaker's chief object, a
laugh. Few attended Mr. C.'s lectures but those whose political views
were similar to his own; but on one occasion, some gentlemen of the
opposite party came into the lecture-room, and at one sentiment they
heard, testified their disapprobation by the only easy and safe way in
their power; namely, by a hiss. The auditors were startled at so
unusual a sound, not knowing to what it might conduct; but their noble
leader soon quieted their fears, by instantly remarking, with great
coolness, 'I am not at all surprised, when the red hot prejudices of
aristocrats are suddenly plunged into the cool waters of reason, that
they should go off with a hiss!' The words were electric. The
assailants felt, as well as testified their confusion, and the whole
company confirmed it by immense applause! There was no more hissing."]
[Footnote 15: This note was written at Highgate, in a copy of the
'Conciones ad Populum'.]
[Footnote 16:
"With the exception of one extraordinary man, I have never known an
individual, least of all an individual of genius, healthy or happy
without a profession, i.e., some 'regular' employment, which does not
depend on the will of the moment, and which can be carried on so far
'mechanically', that an average quantum only of health, spirits, and
intellectual exertion are requisite to its faithful discharge. Three
hours of leisure, unannoyed by any alien anxiety, and looked forward
to with delight as a change and recreation, will suffice to realize in
literature a larger product of what is truly genial, than weeks of
compulsion. Money, and immediate reputation form only an arbitrary and
accidental end of literary labour. The 'hope' of increasing them by
any given exertion will often prove a stimulant to industry; but the
'necessity' of acquiring them will, in all works of genius, convert
the stimulant into a 'narcotic'. Motives by excess reverse their very
nature, and instead of exciting, stun and stupify the mind; for it is
one contra-distinction of genius from talent, that its predominant end
is always comprised in the means; and this is one of the many points,
which establish an analogy between genius and virtue. Now, though
talents may exist without genius, yet, as genius cannot exist,
certainly not manifest itself, without talents, I would advise every
scholar, who feels the genial power working within him, so far to make
a division between the two, as that he should devote his 'talents' to
the acquirement of competence in some known trade or profession, and
his genius to objects of his tranquil and unbiassed choice; while the
consciousness of being actuated in both alike by the sincere desire to
perform his duty, will alike ennoble both. 'My dear young friend,' (I
would say), suppose yourself established in any honourable
occupation. From the manufactory or counting-house, from the
law-court, or from having visited your last patient, you return at
evening,
'Dear tranquil time, when the sweet sense of home
Is sweetest...'
to your family, prepared for its social enjoyments, with the very
countenances of your wife and children brightened, and their voice of
welcome made doubly welcome by the knowledge that, as far as 'they'
are concerned, you have satisfied the demands of the day, by the
labour of the day. Then, when you retire into your study, in the books
on your shelves, you revisit so many venerable friends with whom you
can converse. Your own spirit scarcely less free from personal
anxieties than the great minds, that in those books are still living
for you! Even your writing-desk, with its blank paper and all its
other implements, will appear as a chain of flowers, capable of
linking your feelings, as well as thoughts to events, and characters,
past or to come: not a chain of iron which binds you down to think of
the future and the remote, by recalling the claims and feelings of the
peremptory present: but why should I say retire? The habits of active
life and daily intercourse with the stir of the world, will tend to
give you such self command, that the presence of your family will be
no interruption. Nay, the social silence, or undisturbing voices of a
wife or sister will be like a restorative atmosphere, or soft music
which moulds a dream without becoming its object. If facts are
required to prove the possibility of combining weighty performances in
literature with full and independent employment, the works of Cicero
and Xenophon among the ancients; of Sir Thomas Moore, Bacon, Baxter,
or, to refer at once to later and contemporary instances, Darwin and
Roscoe, are at once decisive of the question."
'Biog. Lit.']
[Footnote 17: Tale and novel writing of second-rate order, somewhat
spiced and stimulating, are sure to succeed, and carry 'of course'
popularity with their success, by advertising the writer. Of this there
is an instance in Coleridge's own works. The "Zapoyla," entitled a
"Christmas Tale," (and which he never sat down to write, but dictated it
while walking up and down the room,) became so immediately popular that
2000 copies were sold in six weeks, while it required two years for the
sale of 1000 copies of the "Aids to Reflection," which cost him much
labour, and was the fruit of many years' reflection.]
[Footnote 18: i.e. Nether Stowey, at the foot of the Quantock Hills.]
[Footnote 19: Thomas Poole, Esq.]
[Footnote 20: The following lines are here referred to
"And now, beloved Stowey! I behold
Thy Church-tower, and, methinks, the four huge elms
Clustering, which mark the mansion of my friend;
And close behind them, hidden from my view,
Is my own lowly cottage, where my babe
And my babe's mother dwell in peace. With light
And quicken'd footsteps thitherward I tend,
Remembering thee, O green and silent dell!
And grateful, that by nature's quietness
And solitary musings, all my heart
Is soften'd, and made worthy to indulge
Love, and the thoughts that yearn for human kind.
Nether Stowey,
April 28th, 1798." ]
[Footnote 21: Ossian.]
[Footnote 22: This ill-natured remark requires no comment: but I would
fain recommend the reader to peruse the beautiful and faithful portrait
of him in the Preface to the second edition of the "Table Talk," Murray,
Albemarle Street.]
[Footnote 23: He was not an enthusiast in the sense this individual used
the word; in whatever studies he was engaged, he pursued them with great
earnestness, and they were sufficient to excite his powerful and
sensitive intellect, so as to induce an observer not well acquainted
with him to form this opinion. In the character of preacher, he
exhibited more the character of philosopher and poet, never manifesting
that sectarian spirit, which too often narrows the mind, or perhaps is
rather the 'result' of a narrow mind, and which frequently seems to
exclude men from the most substantial forms of Christianity, viz.
"Christian charity and Christian humility." His religion was the very
opposite of a worldly religion, it was at all times the religion of
love.
This visit to Shrewsbury, as the probable successor of Mr. Rowe, was
undertaken by the advice of Mr. afterwards Dr. Estlin, a Unitarian
dissenter and preacher in Bristol, a man possessed of great kindness and
of great influence among this sect, to whom Coleridge had been indebted
for many kind offices; the result of this visit forms a part of the
sequel.]
[Footnote 24: 'Poetical Works,' vol. i. p. 238.]
[Footnote 25:
"No little fish thrown back into the water, no fly unimprisoned from a
child's hand, could more buoyantly enjoy its element than I this clear
and peaceful home, with the lovely view of the town, groves, and lake
of Ratzeburg."]
[Footnote 26: From the earliest periods of authentic history, the
Brocken has been the seat of the marvellous. On its summits are still
seen huge blocks of granite, called the Sorcerer's Chair and the Altar.
A spring of pure water is known by the name of the Magic Fountain, and
the Anemone of the Brocken is distinguished by the title of the
Sorcerer's Flower. These names are supposed to have originated in the
rites of the great Idol Cortho, whom the Saxons worshipped in secret on
the summit of the Brocken, when Christianity was extending her benignant
sway over the subjacent plains. As the locality of these idolatrous
rites, the Brocken must have been much frequented, and we can scarcely
doubt that the spectre which now so often haunts it at sunrise, must
have been observed from the earliest times; but it is nowhere mentioned
that this phenomenon was in any way associated with the objects of their
idolatrous worship. One of the best accounts of the Spectre of the
Brocken, is that which is given by M. Haué, who saw it on the 23rd May,
1797. After having been on the summit of the mountain no less than
thirty times, he had at last the good fortune of witnessing the object
of his curiosity. The sun rose about four o'clock in the morning through
a serene atmosphere. In the south-west, towards Achtermannshöhe, a brisk
west wind carried before it the transparent vapours, which had yet been
condensed into thick heavy clouds. About a quarter past four he went
towards the inn, and looked round to see whether the atmosphere would
afford him a free prospect towards the south-west, when he observed at a
very great distance, towards Achtermannshöhe, a human figure of a
monstrous size. His hat having been almost carried away by a violent
gust of wind, he suddenly raised his hand to his head, to protect his
hat, and the colossal figure did the same. He immediately made another
movement by bending his body, an action which was repeated by the
spectral figure. M. Haué was desirous of making further experiments, but
the figure disappeared. He remained however in the same position
expecting its return, and in a few minutes it again made its appearance
on the Achtermannshöhe, when it mimicked his gestures as before. He then
called the landlord of the inn, and having both taken the same position
which he had before, they looked towards the Achtermannshöhe, but saw
nothing. In a very short space of time, however, two colossal figures
were formed over the above eminence, and after bending their bodies, and
imitating the gestures of the two spectators, they disappeared.
Retaining their position and keeping their eyes still fixed upon the
same spot, the two gigantic spectres again stood before them, and were
joined by a third. Every movement that they made was imitated by the
three figures, but the effect varied in its intensity, being sometimes
weak and faint, and at other times strong and well defined----. "Vide
Sir D. Brewster's Natural Magic, p. 128.]
[Footnote 27: Horseley appears to have been in his way a Christian
Hercules, and well adapted for cleansing even an Augean stable of
apostasy.]
[Footnote 28: "Letter sixteenth," p. 264. ed. 1789, in Bishop Horsley's
'Tracts' in controversy with Dr. Priestley.]
[Footnote 29: This observation, it is presumed, alludes to the time when
he was 'preaching' Unitarianism.]
[Footnote 30: Written in 1805.]
[Footnote 31:
Alas! for myself at least I know and feel, that wherever there is a
wrong not to be forgiven, there is a grief that admits neither of cure
nor comforting.
'Private Record, 1806.']
[Footnote 32: It appears that Mr. Alexander Macauley, the secretary, an
honest and amiable man, died suddenly, without "moan or motion," and
Coleridge filled his situation till the arrival of a new secretary,
appointed and confirmed by the ministers in England.]
[Footnote 33: 1805.
"For months past so incessantly employed in official tasks,
subscribing, examining, administering oaths, auditing," &c.]
[Footnote 34: April 22, 1804.
"I was reading when I was taken ill, and felt an oppression of my
breathing, and convulsive snatching in my stomach and limbs. Mrs.
Ireland noticed this laborious breathing."]
[Footnote 35: I would fain request the reader to peruse the poem,
entitled "A Tombless Epitaph," to be found in Coleridge's 'Poetical
Works', 1834, page 200.]
[Footnote 36: Coleridge when asked what was the difference between fame
and reputation, would familiarly reply, "Fame is the fiat of the good
and wise," and then with energy would quote the following beautiful
lines from Milton:--
Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil,
Nor in the glistering foil
Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies:
But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes,
And perfect witness of all-judging Jove;
As he pronounces lastly on each deed,
Of so much fame in Heaven expect thy meed.
'Lycidas.']
[Footnote 37: "The following memoranda written in pencil, and apparently
as he journeyed along, but now scarcely legible, may perhaps have an
interest for some readers:--
"Sunday, December 15th, 1805.
"Naples, view of Vesuvius, the Hail-mist--Torre del Greco--bright amid
darkness--the mountains above it flashing here and there from their
snows; but Vesuvius, it had not thinned as I have seen at Keswick, but
the air so consolidated with the massy cloud curtain, that it appeared
like a mountain in basso relievo, in an interminable wall of some
pantheon."]
[Footnote 38: The order for Coleridge's arrest had already been sent
from Paris, but his escape was so contrived by the good old Pope, as to
defeat the intended indulgence of the Tyrant's vindictive appetite,
which would have preyed equally on a Duc D'Enghien, and a contributor to
a public journal. In consequence of Mr. Fox having asserted in the House
of Commons, that the rupture of the Truce of Amiens had its origin in
certain essays written in the Morning Post, which were soon known to
have been Coleridge's, and that he was at Rome within reach, the ire of
Buonaparte was immediately excited.]
[Footnote 39: Though his Note Books are full of memoranda, not an entry
or date of his arrival at Rome is to be found. To Rome itself and its
magnificence, he would often refer in conversation. Unfortunately there
is not a single document to recall the beautiful images he would place
before your mind in perspective, when inspired by the remembrance of its
wonder-striking and splendid objects. He however preserved some short
essays, which he wrote when in Malta, Observations on Sicily, Cairo, &c.
&c. political and statistical, which will probably form part of the
literary remains in train of publication.
Malta, on a first view of the subject, seemed to present a situation so
well fitted for a landing place, that it was intended to have adopted
this mode, as in 'The Friend', of dividing the present memoir; but
this loss of MS. and the breaches of continuity, render it
impracticable.]
[Footnote 40: At this time all his writings were strongly tinctured with
Platonism.]
[Footnote 41: Each party claimed him as their own; for party without
principles must ever be shifting, and therefore they found his opinions
sometimes in accordance with their own, and sometimes at variance. But
he was of no party--his views were purely philosophical.]
[Footnote 42: The character of Buonaparte was announced in the same
paper.]
[Footnote 43: Those who spoke after Pitt were Wilberforce, Tierney,
Sheridan, &c.]
[Footnote 44: This speech of Mr. Pitt's is extracted from the 'Morning
Post', February 18th, 1800.]
[Footnote 45: The following exquisite image on Leighton was found in one
of Coleridge's note books, and is also inserted in his Literary
Remains:
"Next to the inspired Scriptures, yea, and as the vibration of that
once struck hour remaining on the air, stands Archbishop Leighton's
commentary on the first epistle of Peter."]
[Footnote 46: In his later days, Mr. Coleridge would have renounced the
opinions and the incorrect reasoning of this letter].