FRIENDS.--TOUR ON CONTINENT.
Some reference more special than hitherto should be made to the more
outer influences which entered into the life of Miss Wordsworth.
Although so bound up in her brother, her life presented many sides, and
her sympathies, as will have been seen, were by no means limited in
their operation to the household circle. Her brother's friends were
hers. Probably few have been more independent of outside friendships,
and of society, than the family at Rydal; and at the same time few have
been blessed with such genial and cultured associates.
We have seen how close had, for many years, been the companionship with
Coleridge, whom Lamb has called "an archangel a little
damaged"--Coleridge, the incomprehensible, versatile genius, poet,
philosopher, theologian, metaphysician, and critic--of whom it has
recently been said that "even in the dilapidation of his powers, due
chiefly, if you will, to his own unthrifty management of them, we might,
making proper deductions, apply to him what Mark Antony says of the dead
Cæsar:--
'He was the ruins of the noblest man
That ever lived in the tide of time.'"
Then we have the sedate and scholarly Southey, the brother-in-law of
Coleridge, and both of whom, up to 1810, when Coleridge left the
district, resided at Greta Hall, near Keswick. Charles and Mary Lamb,
also, although they could seldom be lured from their beloved London,
were, as we have seen, among the earliest friends of the Wordsworths,
and their home generally the abode of Miss Wordsworth during her
occasional visits to the metropolis. Charles Lloyd, of Brathay--the
dreamy Quaker, and bosom friend of Lamb--also became a neighbour, and an
esteemed friend. Later, we have seen De Quincey, the intellectual opium
eater, whose growth seems to have been almost entirely in the direction
of brain (and of whom Southey said he wished he was not so very little,
and did not always forget his great coat!) received into the charmed
circle; Crabb Robinson, also, who, though not a writer himself, counted
amongst his friends some of the most eminent literary men of the day.
Professor Wilson, of Elleray, the physical and mental giant, who resided
within, what was to the Wordsworths and himself, fair walking distance;
afterwards Hartley Coleridge, loving and lovable, who inherited no small
portion of the poetic genius of his more illustrious father; and Dr.
Arnold, of Rugby fame, who settled almost within a stone's-throw of
Rydal Mount, added to the _coterie_ of men of genius, among whom,
Wordsworth, from time to time, if not at the same time, moved as a
revered master, added to the interest of this warm centre of
intellectual activity.
Among many other sons of genius who should be ranked as friends of
Wordsworth was Haydon, the painter. He painted Wordsworth on several
occasions, and introduced him into his famous picture of "Christ's Entry
into Jerusalem." Of this Hazlitt said it was the "most like his drooping
weight of thought and expression." Of this picture Haydon, in his
autobiography, says: "During the progress of the picture of Jerusalem, I
resolved to put into it (1816), in a side group, Voltaire, as a sneerer,
and Newton, as a believer. I now (1817) put Hazlitt's head into my
picture, looking at Christ as an investigator. It had a good effect. I
then put in Keats into the background, and resolved to introduce
Wordsworth, bowing with reverence and awe.... The Centurion, the
Samaritan Woman, Jairus and his daughter, St. Peter, St. John, Newton,
Voltaire, the anxious mother of the penitent girl, and the girl blushing
and hiding her face, many heads behind; in fact the leading groups were
accomplished, when down came my health again, eyes and all." This
painting, so enthusiastically received in England, was, unfortunately,
sent to America, whence it has never returned. Haydon writes, under date
September 23, 1831: "My 'Jerusalem' is purchased, and is going to
America. Went to see it before it was embarked. It was melancholy to
look, for the last time, at a work which had excited so great a
sensation in England and Scotland. It was now leaving my native country
for ever."
In speaking of the friends of the Wordsworths, some allusion should be
made to others, who, if they were less widely known, were not less
warmly appreciative of their worth, or less closely identified with
them. Sir George Beaumont, of Coleorton Hall, Leicestershire, was for
many years a close friend and admirer; and from time to time we find
Miss Wordsworth visiting there.
Among the ladies who, in after years, became closely intimate with the
inmates of Rydal Mount were Mrs. Fletcher, herself a lady of some
literary distinction, and her daughter Mary, afterwards Lady Richardson.
For the sake chiefly of the society of the Arnolds and Wordsworths, Mrs.
Fletcher--who speaks of a tea-party at Rydal Mount as "perhaps the
highest point in man's civilised life, in all its bearings"--became the
purchaser of the little mountain farm of Lancrigg before-mentioned, so
nearly identified with Miss Wordsworth's Easedale rambles, and which she
converted into the charming retreat it is at the present time. Miss
Fenwick also, to whom the world owes the valuable notes upon the poems,
dictated to her, at her urgent request, by the poet, after having, for
very love of the Wordsworths, resided for some time in the
neighbourhood, became, and was for many years, a resident at the Mount.
From the recently-published autobiography of Sir Henry Taylor, we learn
that this amiable lady, many years before she became an inmate at Rydal
Mount, had stated she would be content to be a servant in that house,
that she might hear the poet's wisdom. Of the life of Miss Fenwick
herself, Sir Henry says, it was "a life of love and beneficence, as
nearly divine as any life upon earth that I have known, or heard of, or
been capable of conceiving."
From the time of taking up her abode at Rydal Mount, the outward life
of Miss Wordsworth was passed without much change. After the trials
which had preceded, life in this ideal home appears to have been for
many years unbroken by any sorrow. It is needless to say that Miss
Wordsworth's close interest in her brother and his career, and in all
the incidents of his life, never waned. A letter of Miss Wordsworth,
which has recently been given to the world, written when "The White Doe
of Rylstone" was about to be published (in 1815), shows that he and his
work were still the first objects of her thought and affection. She
writes: "My brother was very much pleased with your frankness in telling
us that you did not perfectly like his poem. He wishes to know what your
feelings were--whether the tale itself did not interest you, or whether
you could not enter into the conception of Emily's character, or take
delight in that visionary union which is supposed to have existed
between her and the doe. Do not fear to give him pain. He is far too
much accustomed to be abused to receive pain from it (at least, so far
as he himself is concerned). My reason for asking you these questions
is, that some of your friends, who are equally admirers of the 'White
Doe,' and of my brother's published poems, think that _this_ poem will
sell on account of the story; that is, that the story will bear up those
points which are above the level of the public taste; whereas the two
last volumes--except by a few solitary individuals, who are passionately
devoted to my brother's works--are abused by wholesale.
"Now, as his sole object in publishing this poem at present would be for
the sake of the money, he would not publish it if he did not think,
from the several judgments of his friends, that it would be likely to
have a sale. He has no pleasure in publishing--he even detests it; and
if it were not that he is not over wealthy he would leave all his works
to be published after his death. William himself is sure that the 'White
Doe' will not sell or be admired, except by a very few at first, and
only yields to Mary's entreaties and mine. We are determined, however,
if we are deceived this time to let him have his own way in future."
The year 1820 was signalised by a lengthened tour on the Continent,
including France, the Rhine, Italy, and Switzerland, in which Miss
Wordsworth accompanied her brother and Mrs. Wordsworth, and their
kinspeople--Mr. and Mrs. Monkhouse. Mr. Crabb Robinson was also of the
party, and his diary contains some pleasant reminiscences of the tour.
It is interesting to note such an entry as the following: "On the 5th
September the Wordsworths went back to the Lake of Como, in order to
gratify Miss Wordsworth, who _wished to see every spot which her brother
saw in his first journey_--a journey made when he was young." "The women
wear black caps, fitting the head closely, with prodigious black gauze
wings. Miss Wordsworth calls it the 'butterfly cap.'"
The "Memorials of a Tour on the Continent," published by Wordsworth, in
1822, did not constitute the only literary result of the tour. Mrs. and
Miss Wordsworth kept a journal of events and impressions, which it is to
be greatly regretted has not been published, notwithstanding the
expressed desire of the poet to the contrary. As a charming memorial of
this interesting journey, it could not fail to prove of great interest.
Shortly after the publication of these poems we find the following
letter written by Miss Wordsworth to Mr. Crabb Robinson:--
"_3rd March, 1822._
"My brother will, I hope, write to Charles Lamb in the course of a
few days. He has long talked of doing it; but you know how the
mastery of his own thoughts (when engaged in composition, as he
has lately been) often prevents him from fulfilling his best
intentions; and since the weakness of his eyes has returned, he
has been obliged to fill up all spaces of leisure by going into
the open air for refreshment and relief to his eyes. We are very
thankful that the inflammation, chiefly in the lids, is now much
abated. It concerns us very much to hear so indifferent an account
of Lamb and his sister; the death of their brother no doubt has
afflicted them much more than the death of any brother, with whom
there had, in near neighbourhood, been so little personal or
family communication, would afflict any other minds. We deeply
lamented their loss, and wished to write to them as soon as we
heard of it; but it not being the particular duty of any one of
us, and a painful task, we put it off, for which we are now sorry,
and very much blame ourselves. They are too good and too confiding
to take it unkindly, and that thought makes us feel it more....
With respect to the tour poems, I am afraid you will think my
brother's notes not sufficiently copious; prefaces he has none,
except to the poem on Goddard's death. Your suggestion as to the
bridge at Lucerne set his mind to work; and if a happy mood comes
on he is determined even yet, though the work is printed, to add a
poem on that subject. You can have no idea with what earnest
pleasure he seized the idea, yet before he began to write at all,
when he was pondering over his recollections, and asking me for
hints and thoughts, I mentioned that very subject, and he then
thought he could make nothing of it. You certainly have the gift
of setting him on fire. When I named (before your letter was read
to him) your scheme for next autumn his countenance flushed with
pleasure, and he exclaimed: 'I'll go with him.' Presently,
however, the conversation took a sober turn, and he concluded that
the journey would be impossible; 'and then,' said he, 'if you or
Mary, or both, were not with me, I should not half enjoy it; and
that is impossible.' ... We have had a long and interesting letter
from Mrs. Clarkson. Notwithstanding bad times, she writes in
cheerful spirits, and talks of coming into the North this summer,
and we really hope it will not end in talk, as Mr. Clarkson joins
with her; and, if he once determines, a trifle will not stop him.
Pray read a paper in the _London Magazine_ by Hartley Coleridge on
the uses of the 'Heathen Mythology in Poetry.' It has pleased us
very much. The style is wonderful for so young a man--so little of
effort and no affectation....
"DOROTHY WORDSWORTH."
The following extract from a letter written by Mr. Robinson, in June,
1825, shortly after Lamb's retirement from the East India Office, will
be of interest. He writes: "I have not seen the Lambs so often as I used
to do, owing to a variety of circumstances. Nor can I give you the
report you naturally looked for of his conduct at so great a change in
his life.... The expression of his delight has been child-like (in the
good sense of that word). You have read the 'Superannuated Man.' I do
not doubt, I do not fear, that he will be unable to sustain 'the weight
of chance desires.' Could he--but I fear he cannot--occupy himself in
some great work requiring continued and persevering attention and
labour, the benefit would be equally his and the world's. Mary Lamb has
remained so well, that one might almost advise, or rather permit, a
journey to them. But Lamb has no desire to travel. If he had, few things
would give me so much pleasure as to accompany him. I should be proud of
taking care of him. But he has a passion for solitude, he says, and
hitherto he finds that his retirement from business has not brought
leisure."