Toward the end of 1807, Mr. Coleridge left Bristol, and I saw nothing
more of him for another seven years, that is, till 1814. All the leading
features in Mr. Coleridge's life, during these two septennial periods,
will no doubt, be detailed by others. My undertaking recommences in 1814.
Some preliminary remarks must precede the narrative, which has now
arrived at an important part.[88]
Neither to clothe the subject of biography with undeserved applause, nor
unmerited censure, but to present an exact portraiture, is the object
which ought scrupulously to be aimed at by every impartial writer. Is it
expedient; is it lawful; to give publicity to Mr. Coleridge's practice of
inordinately taking opium? which, to a certain extent, at one part of his
life, inflicted on a heart naturally cheerful, the stings of conscience,
and sometimes almost the horrors of despair? Is it right, in reference to
one who has passed his ordeal, to exhibit sound principles, habitually
warring with inveterate and injurious habits; producing for many years,
an accumulation of bodily suffering, that wasted the frame; poisoned the
sources of enjoyment; entailed, in the long retinue of ills, dependence
and poverty, and with all these, associated that which was far less
bearable, an intolerable mental load, that scarcely knew cessation?
In the year 1814, all this, I am afflicted to say, applied to Mr.
Coleridge. The question to be determined is, whether it be best or not,
to obey the first impulse of benevolence, and to throw a mantle over
these dark and appalling occurrences, and, since the sufferer has left
this stage of existence, to mourn in secret, and consign to oblivion the
aberrations of a frail mortal? This was my first design, but other
thoughts arose. If the individual were alone concerned, the question
would be decided; but it might almost be said, that the world is
interested in the disclosures connected with this part of Mr. Coleridge's
life. His example forms one of the most impressive memorials the pen ever
recorded; so that thousands hereafter, may derive instruction from
viewing in Mr. C. much to approve, and in other features of his
character, much also to regret and deplore. Once Mr. Coleridge expressed
to me, with indescribable emotion, the joy he should feel, if he could
collect around him all who were "beginning to tamper with the lulling,
but fatal draught;" so that he might proclaim as with a trumpet, "the
worse than death that opium entailed." I must add, if he could now speak
from his grave, retaining his earthly, benevolent solicitude for the good
of others, with an emphasis that penetrated the heart, he would doubtless
utter, "Let my example be a warning!"
This being my settled conviction, it becomes in me a duty, with all
practicable mildness, to give publicity to the following facts; in which
censure will often be suspended by compassion, and every feeling be
absorbed in that of pity; in which, if the veil be removed, it will only
be, to present a clear and practical exemplification of the consequences
that progressively follow indulgences in, what Mr. Coleridge latterly
denominated, "the accursed drug!"
To soften the repugnance which might, pardonably, arise in the minds of
some of Mr. G.'s friends, it is asked, whether it be not enough to move a
breast of adamant, to behold a man of Mr. Coleridge's genius, spell-bound
by his narcotic draughts? deploring, as he has done, in his letters to
myself, the destructive consequences of opium; writhing under its
effects,--so injurious to mind, body, and estate; submitting to the
depths of humiliation and poverty, and all this for a season at least,
accompanied with no effectual effort to burst his fetters, and assume the
station in society which became his talents; but on the contrary,
submitting patiently to dependence, and grovelling where he ought to
soar!
Another powerful reason, which should reconcile the friends of Mr.
Coleridge to this detail of his destructive habits, arises from the
recollection that the pain given to their minds, is present and
temporary. They should wisely consider that, though they regret, their
regrets, like themselves, as time rolls on, are passing away! but the
example,--this clear, full, incontestable example, _remains!_ And who can
estimate the beneficial consequences of this undisguised statement to
numerous succeeding individuals? It is consolatory to believe, that had I
written nothing else, this humble but unflinching narrative would be an
evidence that I had not lived in vain.
When it is considered also, how many men of high mental endowments, have
shrouded their lustre, by a passion for this stimulus, and thereby,
prematurely, become fallen spirits: would it not be a criminal concession
to unauthorized feelings, to allow so impressive an exhibition of this
subtle species of intemperance to escape from public notice; and, that no
discredit might attach to the memory of the individual we love, to
conceal an example, fraught with so much instruction, brought out into
full display? In the exhibition here made, the inexperienced, in future,
may learn a memorable lesson, and be taught to shrink from opium, as they
would from a scorpion; which, before it destroys, invariably expels peace
from the mind, and excites the worst species of conflict, that of setting
a man at war with himself.
The most expressive and pungent of all Mr. Coleridge's self-upbraidings,
is that, in which he thrills the inmost heart, by saying, with a
sepulchral solemnity, "I have learned what a sin is against an infinite,
imperishable being, such as is the soul of man!" And yet, is this, and
such as this, to be devoted to forgetfulness, and all be sacrificed, lest
some friend, disdaining utility, should prefer flattery to truth? A
concession to such advice would be treachery and pusillanimity combined,
at which none would so exult as the spirits of darkness.
If some of the preceding language should be deemed too strong, by those
who take but a contracted view of the subject, and who would wish to
screen the dead, rather than to improve the living, let them judge what
their impressions would be, in receiving, like myself, at this time, the
communications from Mr. C. which will subsequently appear, and then
dispassionately ask themselves, whether such impressive lessons of
instruction ought to be doomed to oblivion.
* * * * *
The following letter to Mr. Wade, has no date, but the post-mark
determines it to have been Dec. 8, 1813.
"... Since my arrival at the Greyhound, Bath, I have been confined to my
bed-room, almost to my bed. Pray for my recovery, and request Mr.
Roberts's[89] prayers, for my infirm, wicked heart; that Christ may
mediate to the Father, to lead me to Christ, and give me a _living_
instead of a _reasoning_ faith! and for my health, so far only as it may
be the condition of my improvement, and final redemption.
My dear affectionate friend, I am your obliged, and grateful, and
affectionate, friend,