LIFE AT GRASMERE.
The unpretentious cottage which became the first Grasmere home of
Wordsworth and his sister in those days when they were still sole
companions, though changed in its surroundings, is happily still allowed
to retain its old features. It stands on the right of the highway, just
on the entry into Grasmere, on the road from Rydal--the old coach
road--a little distance beyond the "Wishing Gate," and at the part of
the village called Town End. It was formerly an inn, called "The Dove
and Olive Bough," and is still known by the name of Dove Cottage. It
overlooks from the front the beauteous lake of Grasmere, though the view
from the lower rooms is now considerably obstructed by buildings since
erected. Behind is a small garden and orchard, in which is a spring of
pure water, round which the primroses and daffodils bloom, as they did
when lovingly reared by Miss Wordsworth. A dozen steps or so, cut in the
rocky slope lead up to a little terrace walk, on a bit of mountain
ground, enclosed in the domain, and sheltered in the rear by a fir-clad
wood. Altogether it was an ideal cottage-home for the enthusiastic young
couple. From the orchard are obtained views almost unrivalled of
mountain, vale, and lake, embracing the extensive range from Helm Crag
and the vales of Easdale and Wythburn, down to the wooded heights of
Loughrigg. Words cannot do justice to the idyllic sweetness and beauty
of this poet's home, as it must have been when Wordsworth described his
chosen retreat as the
"Loveliest spot that man hath ever found."
The "sweet garden-orchard, eminently fair," has now, however, a
neglected appearance, and must be very different from the time when the
loving hands of the poet and his sister carefully tended the trees and
flowers, of which he says:--
"This plot of orchard ground is ours,
My trees they are, my sister's flowers."
De Quincey speaks of the house as being immortal in his
remembrance--just two bow shots from the water--"a little white cottage,
gleaming in the midst of trees, with a vast and seemingly never-ending
series of ascents rising above it, to the height of more than three
thousand feet."
Wordsworth's satisfaction at finding himself, at length, in the
companionship of his beloved sister, in this his first permanent and
peaceful abode, is thus expressed in a portion of a poem which was
intended to form part of the "Recluse," of which, as is well known, the
Prelude and the Excursion only were completed. I am indebted for the
extract to the "Memoirs of Wordsworth," by the late Bishop of Lincoln.
It will be observed that the poet's ardent attachment to his sister was
in no degree abated, and that he ungrudgingly bestowed upon her the
generous praise so much merited:--
"On Nature's invitation do I come,
By Reason sanctioned. Can the choice mislead,
That made the calmest, fairest spot on earth,
With all its unappropriated good,
My own, and not mine only, for with me
Entrenched--say rather, peacefully embowered--
Under yon orchard, in yon humble cot,
A younger orphan of a home extinct,
The only daughter of my parents dwells;
Aye, think on that, my heart, and cease to stir;
Pause upon that, and let the breathing frame
No longer breathe, but all be satisfied.
Oh, if such silence be not thanks to God
For what hath been bestowed, then where, where then
Shall gratitude find rest? Mine eyes did ne'er
Fix on a lovely object, nor my mind
Take pleasure in the midst of happy thought,
But either she, whom now I have, who now
Divides with me that loved abode, was there,
Or not far off. Where'er my footsteps turned,
Her voice was like a hidden bird that sang;
The thought of her was like a flash of light
Or an unseen companionship, a breath
Or fragrance independent of the wind.
In all my goings, in the new and old
Of all my meditations, and in this
Favourite of all, in this, the most of all....
Embrace me, then, ye hills, and close me in.
Now, on the clear and open day I feel
Your guardianship: I take it to my heart;
'Tis like the solemn shelter of the night.
But I would call thee beautiful; for mild
And soft, and gay, and beautiful thou art,
Dear valley, having in thy face a smile,
Though peaceful, full of gladness. Thou art pleased,
Pleased with thy crags, and woody steeps, thy lake,
Its one green island, and its winding shores,
The multitude of little rocky hills,
Thy church, and cottages of mountain stone
Clustered like stars some few, but single most
And lurking dimly in their shy retreats,
Or glancing at each other cheerful looks
Like separated stars with clouds between."
The early years of their residence at Grasmere were signalised by calm
enjoyment, no less than by active industry. Miss Wordsworth's life
retained its characteristic unselfishness, its devoted ministry. The
cottage itself was furnished at a cost of about £100--a legacy left to
her by a relative, and their joint annual income at that time amounted
to about as much. That they were still poor did not detract from their
happiness, but probably served only to promote it. We find this refined,
sensitive young woman (she was now twenty-eight), engaged very much in
domestic duties, doing a considerable part of the work of the house,
without a thought of discontent. Her poetic enthusiasm and cultured mind
did not unfit her for the common duties of life, or detract from her
high sense of duty and service. Happily she had learnt--as every true
woman does--that there is no degradation in work; that it is not in the
nature of our tasks, but the spirit in which they are performed, that
the test of fitness is to be found. Notwithstanding, however, her other
duties, Miss Wordsworth found time to be a true help to her brother. As
his amanuensis she wrote or transcribed his poems, read to him, and
accompanied him in his daily walks. She had also that rare gift of the
perfect companion of being able to be silent with and for him,
recognising the apparently little-known truth that a loved presence is
in itself society. In one of his poems, "Personal Talk," he says:--
"I am not one who much or oft delight
To season my fireside with personal talk,--
Of friends, who live within an easy walk,
Or neighbours, daily, weekly, in my sight:
And, for my chance acquaintance, ladies bright,
Sons, mothers, maidens withering on the stalk,
These all wear out of me, like forms with chalk
Painted on rich men's floors, for one feast-night.
Better than such discourse doth silence long,
Long, barren silence, square with my desire;
To sit without emotion, hope, or aim,
In the loved presence of my cottage-fire,
And listen to the flapping of the flame,
Or kettle whispering its faint undersong."
In one of the MSS. notes, alluding to this sonnet, Wordsworth has said:
"The last line but two stood at first better and more characteristically
thus:
"'By my half-kitchen and half-parlour fire,'"
And he adds: "My sister and I were in the habit of having the tea-kettle
in our little sitting-room; and we toasted the bread ourselves, which
reminds me of a little circumstance, not unworthy of being set down
among these _minutiæ_. Happening both of us to be engaged a few minutes
one morning, when we had a young prig of a Scotch lawyer to breakfast
with us, my dear sister, with her usual simplicity, put the toasting
fork, with a slice of bread, into the hands of this Edinburgh genius.
Our little book-case stood on one side of the fire. To prevent loss of
time he took down a book, and fell to reading, to the neglect of the
toast, which was burnt to a cinder. Many a time have we laughed at this
circumstance and other cottage simplicities of that day."
Miss Wordsworth, at this period, also kept a diary, or journal, which,
we are informed, is "full of vivid descriptions of natural beauty." The
few extracts from it which the world has hitherto been allowed to see
are of deep interest, affording, as they do, a pleasing picture of their
daily occupations, the incidents which gave birth to many of her
brother's poems, and the circumstances under which they were written.
For the subject of many of them he was indebted to her ever-watchful and
observant eye, and several were composed while wandering over woodland
paths, by her side. The knowledge of this not only serves to remind us
of the sustained character of Miss Wordsworth's directing and
controlling influence upon her brother, but gives an additional interest
to the poems. Thus, in her journal, she writes: "William walked to
Rydal.... The lake of Grasmere beautiful. The Church an image of peace;
he wrote some lines upon it.... The mountains indistinct; the lake calm,
and partly ruffled, a sweet sound of water falling into the quiet lake.
A storm gathering in Easedale, so we returned; but the moon came out,
and opened to us the church and village. Helm Crag in shade; the larger
mountains dappled like a sky." Again: "We went into the orchard after
breakfast, and sat there. The lake calm, the sky cloudy. William began
poem on 'The Celandine.'" The next day: "Sowed flower-seeds: William
helped me. We sat in the orchard. W. wrote 'The Celandine.' Planned an
arbour; the sun too hot for us." "W. wrote the 'Leech Gatherer.'" These
instances might be multiplied. Wordsworth has himself recorded how that
about this time he composed his first sonnets, "taking fire" one
afternoon after his sister had been reading to him those of Milton. Her
helpful aid, as a literary companion, is thus referred to by Mr.
Lockhart: "His sister, without any of the aids of learned ladies, had a
refined perception of the beauties of literature, and her glowing
sympathy and delicate comments cast new light upon the most luminous
page. Wordsworth always acknowledged that it was from her and Coleridge
that his otherwise very independent intellect had derived great
assistance."
In a letter, dated September 10, 1800, Miss Wordsworth thus describes
their home and home-life: "We are daily more delighted with Grasmere and
its neighbourhood. Our walks are perpetually varied, and we are more
fond of the mountains as our acquaintance with them increases. We have a
boat upon the lake, and a small orchard, and smaller garden, which, as
it is the work of our own hands, we regard with pride and partiality.
Our cottage is quite large enough for us, though very small, and we have
made it neat and comfortable within doors, and it looks very nice on the
outside; for though the roses and honeysuckles which we have planted
against it are only of this year's growth, yet it is covered all over
with green leaves and scarlet flowers; for we have trained scarlet beans
upon threads, which are not only exceedingly beautiful but very useful,
as their produce is immense. We have made a lodging-room of the parlour
below stairs, which has a stone floor, therefore we have covered it all
over with matting. We sit in a room above stairs; and we have one
lodging-room, with two single beds, a sort of lumber-room, and a small,
low, unceiled room, which I have papered with newspapers, and in which
we have put a small bed. Our servant is an old woman of sixty years of
age, whom we took partly out of charity. She was very ignorant, very
foolish, and very difficult to teach. But the goodness of her
disposition, and the great convenience we should find, if my
perseverance was successful, induced me to go on."
It is recorded in the transactions of the Wordsworth Society for 1882,
that Professor Knight thus alluded to the journals of Miss Wordsworth,
written during the years 1800, 1801, 1802, and 1803: "These journals
were a singularly interesting record of 'plain living and high
thinking;'--of very plain living, and of very lofty thought,
imagination, and feeling. They were the best possible commentary on the
poems belonging to that period; because they shewed the manner of life
of the brother and the sister, the character of their daily work, the
influences of Nature to which they were subjected, the homeliness of
their ways, and the materials on which the poems were based, as well as
the sources of their inspiration. One read in these journals the tales
of travelling sailors and pedlars who came through the lake country, of
gipsy women and beggar boys, which were afterwards, if not immediately,
translated into verse. Then the whole scenery of the place and its
accessories, the people of Grasmere Vale, Wordsworth's neighbours and
friends, were photographed in that journal. The Church, the lake, its
Island, John's Grove, White Moss Common, Point Rash Judgment, Easedale,
Dunmail Raise--everything given in clearest outline and vivid colour.
Miss Wordsworth's delineations of Nature in these daily jottings were
quite as subtle and minute, quite as delicate and ethereal, as anything
in her brother's poems. Above all there was in these records a most
interesting disclosure of Dorothy Wordsworth's friendship with
Coleridge--and a very remarkable friendship it was. One also saw the
sister's rare appreciation of her brother's genius, amounting almost to
a reverence for it; and her continuous self-sacrifice that she might
foster and develop her brother's powers. Well might Wordsworth say, 'She
gave me eyes, she gave me ears,' Another very interesting fact
disclosed in those journals was the very slow growth of many of the
poems, such, for example, as 'Michael' and the 'Excursion,' and the
constant revisions to which they were subjected."
The poem, "To a Young Lady, who had been reproached for taking long
walks in the country," written about this time, was, I am informed on
excellent authority, addressed to Miss Wordsworth. It will be observed
that the prophecy therein contained did not in all respects meet with
fulfilment:--
"Dear Child of Nature, let them rail!
--There is a nest in a green dale,
A harbour and a hold;
Where thou, a Wife and Friend, shalt see
Thy own heart-stirring days, and be
A light to young and old.
"There, healthy as a shepherd-boy,
And treading among flowers of joy,
Which at no season fade,
Thou, while thy babes around thee cling,
Shalt shew us how divine a thing
A Woman may be made.
"Thy thoughts and feelings shall not die,
Nor leave thee, when grey hairs are nigh,
A melancholy slave;
But an old age serene and bright,
And lovely as a Lapland night,
Shall lead thee to thy grave."
Thus were passed, in happy converse and mutual love and help, the three
years which intervened between Miss Wordsworth and her brother going to
Grasmere, and the marriage of the latter. A tour which they together
made on the Continent in 1802 pleasantly varied this period. A sonnet of
Wordsworth's composed when on this occasion, they were, in the early
morning, passing Westminster Bridge is well known. It is here repeated
only that his sister's account of her impressions may be placed along
with it. He says:--
"Earth hath not anything to shew more fair;
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty;
This City now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!"
Miss Wordsworth in her almost equally graceful prose writes: "Left
London between five and six o'clock of the morning, outside the Dover
coach. A beautiful morning. The city, St. Paul's, with the river--a
multitude of boats--made a beautiful sight as we crossed Westminster
Bridge; the houses not overhung by their clouds of smoke, and were
spread out endlessly; yet the sun shone so brightly, with such a pure
light, that there was something like the purity of one of Nature's own
grand spectacles." She adds: "Arrived at Calais at four in the morning
of July 31st. Delightful walks in the evening; seeing, far off in the
west, the coast of England, like a cloud, crested with Dover Castle, the
evening star and the glory of the sky; the reflections in the water were
more beautiful than the sky itself; purple waves brighter than precious
stones for ever melting away upon the sands."