The account of Mr. Coleridge's residence at Stowey, lies in the
department of another; although he occasionally visited Bristol, with
Mrs. C., as engagements or inclination prompted; some notice of which
visits will here be taken.
Mr. Charles Lloyd was subject to fits, to one of which the second
following letter refers. In the above letter Mr. C. pronounces himself
happy, but as no condition, in this changeable world, is either perfect
happiness or misery, so the succeeding letter presents Mr. C.
over-powered, almost, with a feeling of despondency! The calculation of
the course which genius, combined with eccentricity, would be likely to
pursue, must be attended with uncertainty, but the probability is, that
had Mr. C's mind been easy at this time, surrounded by domestic quiet and
comparative seclusion, he might have been equal to any intellectual
achievement; but soon after he settled at Stowey, he was reduced to the
most prostrate state of depression, arising purely from the darkness of
his pecuniary horizon. Happily for the reader, a brief mental respite
succeeded, in which, if trouble existed, the letter which expressed that
trouble, soon exhibits him (half forgetful) expatiating in those
comprehensive surveys of possible excellence which formed the habit of
his mind.
"Stowey, 1796.
My dearest Cottle,
I love and respect you as a brother, and my memory deceives me woefully,
if I have not evidenced, by the animated tone of my conversation when we
have been tete a tete, how much your conversation interested me. But when
last in Bristol, the day I meant to devote to you, was such a day of
sadness, I could do nothing. On the Saturday, the Sunday, and ten days
after my arrival at Stowey, I felt a depression too dreadful to be
described.
So much I felt my genial spirits droop,
My hopes all flat; Nature within me seemed
In all her functions, weary of herself,
Wordsworth's[23] conversation aroused me somewhat, but even now I am not
the man I have been, and I think I never shall. A sort of calm
hopelessness diffuses itself over my heart. Indeed every mode of life
which has promised me bread and cheese, has been, one after another, torn
away from me, but God remains. I have no immediate pecuniary distress,
having received ten pounds from Lloyd. I employ myself now on a book of
morals in answer to Godwin, and on my tragedy.
* * * * *
There are some poets who write too much at their ease, from the facility
with which they please themselves. They do not often enough
'Feel their burdened breast
Heaving beneath incumbent Deity.'
So that to posterity their wreaths will look unseemly. Here, perhaps, an
everlasting Amaranth, and, close by its side, some weed of an hour, sere,
yellow, and shapeless. Their very beauties will lose half their effect,
from the bad company they keep. They rely too much on story and event, to
the neglect of those lofty imaginings that are peculiar to, and definite
of the Poet.
The story of Milton might be told in two pages. It is this which
distinguishes an epic poem from a romance in metre. Observe the march of
Milton; his severe application; his laborious polish; his deep
metaphysical researches; his prayer to God before he began his great
work; all that could lift and swell his intellect, became his daily food.
I should not think of devoting less than twenty years to an epic poem.
Ten years to collect materials and warm my mind with universal science. I
would be a tolerable Mathematician. I would thoroughly understand
Mechanics; Hydrostatics; Optics, and Astronomy; Botany; Metallurgy;
Fossilism; Chemistry; Geology; Anatomy; Medicine; then the mind of man;
then the minds of men, in all Travels, Voyages, and Histories. So I would
spend ten years; the next five in the composition of the poem, and the
five last in the correction of it. So would I write, haply not unhearing
of that divine and nightly-whispering voice, which speaks to mighty
minds, of predestinated garlands, starry and unwithering.[24]
God love you.
S. T. Coleridge.
P. S. David Hartley is well and grows. Sara is well, and desires a
sister's love to you."
In the spirit of impartiality, it now devolves on me to state a temporary
misunderstanding between even the two Pantisocratans; Mr. Coleridge and
Mr. Southey! The affair occurred in the autumn of 1795, but it could not
be noticed at that time, without interrupting the narrative.
It is difficult to assign any other reason for the wild scheme of
Pantisocracy, than the inexperience of youth, acting on sanguine
imaginations. At its first announcement, every reflecting mind saw that
the plan, in its nature, and in the agents who were to carry it into
effect, was liable to insurmountable objections; but the individuals with
whom the design originated, were young, ardent, and enthusiastic, and at
that time entertained views of society erroneous in themselves, and which
experience alone could correct. The fullest conviction was entertained by
their friends, that as reason established itself in their minds, the
delusion would vanish; and they themselves soon smile at extravagances
which none but their own ingenious order of minds could have devised; but
when the dissension occurred, before noticed, at Chepstow, Mr. Southey
must have had conviction flashed on his mind, that the habits of himself
and his friend were so essentially opposed, as to render harmony and
success impossible.
Mr. Southey now informed Mr. Coleridge, that circumstances, and his own
views had so altered, as to render it necessary for him candidly to state
that he must abandon Pantisocracy, and the whole scheme of colonizing in
America; and that he should accept an invitation from his uncle, to
accompany him through Spain to Lisbon. The reader has had cause to
believe that Mr. C. himself had relinquished this wild plan, but it was
by implication, rather than by direct avowal. Perhaps, in the frustration
of so many of his present designs, a latent thought might linger in his
mind, that America, after all, was to be the fostering asylum, where,
alone, unmingled felicity was to be found. The belief is hardly
admissible, and yet the admission, extravagant as it is, derives some
support from the unexpected effect produced on him by the disclosure of
his friend.
On this announcement, or soon after, a tumult of fearful intensity arose
in Mr. Coleridge's mind, which filled the whole circle of their friends
with grief and dismay. This unexpected effect, perhaps, may be ascribed
to the consciousness now first seriously awakened, of the erroneous
principles on which all his calculations had been founded. He perceived
at length, (it may be) that he had been pursuing a phantom; and the
conviction must have been associated with self-upbraidings. It is
commonly found, that the man who is dissatisfied with himself, is seldom
satisfied long with those around him; and these compound and accumulated
feelings must necessarily be directed against some object. At this
brain-crazing moment, the safety-valve of feeling was Mr. Southey.
Being familiar with the whole affair, I completely justified Mr. S. as
having acted with the strictest honour and propriety, and in such a way
as any wise man, under such circumstances, would have acted. The great
surprise with their friends was, that the crisis should not have occurred
earlier, as a result certain to take place, and delayed alone by the
vivid succession of objects that gave, it must be said, a temporary
suspension to the full exercise of their understandings. Justice to Mr.
S. requires it to be stated, that he acted purely on the defensive;
adopting no epithets, and repelling offensive accusations and
expressions, with sober argument and remonstrance alone. I spoke to each
in succession, and laboured to procure a reconciliation; but oil and
water would sooner have united than the accuser and the accused.
This difference occurred only two or three days before Mr. S. set off on
his Spanish and Portuguese expedition. During his absence, the fire lay
smouldering, and on his return to England, in May, 1796, the
conflagration was renewed. Charges of "desertion," flew thick around; of
"dishonourable retraction, in a compact the most binding"--I again spoke
to Mr. Coleridge, and endeavoured to soften his asperity. I also wrote to
Mr. Southey, and expressed a hope, that if he found it impossible at the
present moment to return to cordiality, he would at least consent when he
met Mr. Coleridge, to restrain the indignant look, which was painfully
manifest on both countenances.
The most pleasant part of the narrative will now be unfolded. Mr.
Coleridge and Mr. Southey met at the house of a relation when, without
explanation, the relentings of nature threw them silently into each
other's arms! I knew nothing of this happy reconciliation, the first
intimation of which was their calling on me, arm in arm, after having
taken a pleasant walk together into the country. Each seemed to relish
the surprise and the delight which it was impossible for me to conceal;
and I had reason afterwards to think, that this sprightly scene was a
preconcerted arrangement to heighten the stage-effect. I shall now
withdraw the reader's attention from Mr. Southey, and proceed with the
narrative of Mr. Coleridge.
When Mr. Southey departed for the continent, Mr. Coleridge repaired to
his own calm retreat at Stowey, from which place he sent me the following
letter.
"Stowey, 1796.
Dear Cottle,
I write under great agony of mind, Charles Lloyd being very ill. He has
been seized with his fits three times in the space of seven days: and
just as I was in bed last night, I was called up again; and from twelve
o'clock at night, to five this morning, he remained in one continued
state of agonized delirium. What with bodily toil, exerted in repressing
his frantic struggles, and what with the feelings of agony for his
sufferings, you may suppose that I have forced myself from bed, with
aching temples, and a feeble frame....
We offer petitions, not as supposing we influence the Immutable; but
because to petition the Supreme Being, is the way most suited to our
nature, to stir up the benevolent affections in our hearts. Christ
positively commands it, and in St. Paul you will find unnumbered
instances of prayer for individual blessings; for kings, rulers, &c. &c.
We indeed should all join to our petitions: 'But thy will be done,
Omniscient, All-loving Immortal God!'
Believe me to have towards you, the inward and spiritual gratitude and
affection, though I am not always an adept in the outward and visible
signs.
God bless you,