"Friday, 27th May, 1814.
My dear Cottle,
Gladness be with you, for your convalescence, and equally so, at the hope
which has sustained and tranquillized you through your imminent peril.
Far otherwise is, and hath been, my state; yet I too am grateful; yet I
cannot rejoice. I feel, with an intensity, unfathomable by words, my
utter nothingness, impotence, and worthlessness, in and for myself. I
have learned what a sin is, against an infinite imperishable being, such
as is the soul of man.
I have had more than a glimpse of what is meant by death and outer
darkness, and the worm that dieth not--and that all the _hell_ of the
reprobate, is no more inconsistent with the love of God, than the
blindness of one who has occasioned loathsome and guilty diseases to eat
out his eyes, is inconsistent with the light of the sun. But the
consolations, at least, the sensible sweetness of hope, I do not possess.
On the contrary, the temptation which I have constantly to fight up
against, is a fear, that if _annihilation_ and the _possibility_ of
_heaven_, were offered to my choice, I should choose the former.
This is, perhaps, in part, a constitutional idiosyncracy, for when a mere
boy, I wrote these lines:
Oh, what a wonder seems the fear of death,
Seeing how gladly we all sink to sleep;
Babes, children, youths and men,
Night following night, for three-score years and ten.[96]
And in my early manhood, in lines descriptive of a gloomy solitude, I
disguised my own sensations in the following words:
Here wisdom might abide, and here remorse!
Here too, the woe-worn man, who weak in soul,
And of this busy human heart aweary,
Worships the spirit of _unconscious life_,
In tree, or wild-flower. Gentle lunatic!
If so he might not wholly cease to BE,
He would far rather not be that he is;
But would be something that he knows not of,
In woods, or waters, or among the rocks.'
My main comfort, therefore, consists in what the divines call the faith
of adherence, and no spiritual effort appears to benefit me so much as
the one earnest, importunate, and often, for hours, momently repeated
prayer: 'I believe, Lord help my unbelief! Give me faith, but as a
mustard seed, and I shall remove this mountain! Faith, faith, faith! I
believe, O give me faith! O, for my Redeemer's sake, give me faith in my
Redeemer.'
In all this I justify God, for I was accustomed to oppose the preaching
of the terrors of the gospel, and to represent it as debasing virtue, by
the admixture of slaving selfishness.
I now see that what is spiritual, can only be spiritually apprehended.
Comprehended it cannot.
Mr. Eden gave you a too flattering account of me. It is true, I am
restored, as much beyond my expectations almost, as my deserts; but I am
exceedingly weak. I need for myself, solace and refocillation of animal
spirits, instead of being in a condition of offering it to others. Yet,
as soon as I may see you, I will call on you.
S. T. Coleridge.
P. S. It is no small gratification to me, that I have seen and conversed
with Mrs. Hannah More. She is, indisputably, the first literary female I
ever met with. In part, no doubt, because she is a Christian. Make my
best respects when you write."
The serious expenditure of money, resulting from Mr. C.'s consumption of
opium, was the least evil, though very great, and which must have
absorbed all the produce of Mr. C.'s lectures, and all the liberalities
of his friends. It is painful to record such circumstances as the
following, but the picture would be incomplete without it.
Mr. Coleridge, in a late letter, with something it is feared, if not of
duplicity, of self-deception, extols the skill of his surgeon, in having
gradually lessened his consumption of laudanum, it was understood, to
twenty drops a day. With this diminution, the habit was considered as
subdued, and at which result, no one appeared to rejoice more than Mr.
Coleridge himself. The reader will be surprised to learn, that,
notwithstanding this flattering exterior, Mr. C. while apparently
submitting to the directions of his medical adviser, was secretly
indulging in his usual overwhelming quantities of opium! Heedless of his
health, and every honourable consideration, he contrived to obtain
surreptitiously, the fatal drug, and, thus to baffle the hopes of his
warmest friends.
Mr. Coleridge had resided, at this time, for several months, with his
kind friend, Mr. Josiah Wade, of Bristol, who, in his solicitude for his
benefit, had procured for him, so long as it was deemed necessary, the
professional assistance, stated above. The surgeon on taking leave, after
the cure had been _effected_, well knowing the expedients to which opium
patients would often recur, to obtain their proscribed draughts; at
least, till the habit of temperance was fully established, cautioned Mr.
W. to prevent Mr. Coleridge, by all possible means, from obtaining that
by stealth, from which he was openly debarred. It reflects great credit
on Mr. Wade's humanity, that to prevent all access to opium, and thus, if
possible, to rescue his friend from destruction, he engaged a respectable
old decayed tradesman, constantly to attend Mr. C. and, to make that
which was sure, doubly certain, placed him even in his bed-room; and this
man always accompanied him whenever he went out. To such surveillance Mr.
Coleridge cheerfully acceded, in order to show the promptitude with which
he seconded the efforts of his friends. It has been stated that every
precaution was unavailing. By some unknown means and dexterous
contrivances, Mr. C. afterward confessed that he still obtained his usual
lulling potions.
As an example, amongst others of a similar nature, one ingenious
expedient, to which he resorted, to cheat the doctor, he thus disclosed
to Mr. Wade, from whom I received it. He said, in passing along the quay,
where the ships were moored, he noticed, by a side glance, a druggist's
shop, probably an old resort, and standing near the door, he looked
toward the ships, and pointing to one at some distance, he said to his
attendant, "I think that's an American." "Oh, no, that I am sure it is
not," said the man. "I think it is," replied Mr. C. "I wish you would
step over and ask, and bring me the particulars." The man accordingly
went; when as soon as his back was turned, Mr. C. stepped into the shop,
had his portly bottle filled with laudanum, which he always carried in
his pocket, and then expeditiously placed himself in the spot where he
was left. The man now returned with the particulars, beginning, "I told
you, sir, it was not an American, but I have learned all about her." "As
I am mistaken, never mind the rest," said Mr. C. and walked on.[97]
Every bad course of conduct (happily for the good of social order) leads
to perplexing, and generally, to disastrous results. The reader will soon
have a practical illustration, that Mr. Coleridge was not exempt from the
general law.
A common impression prevailed on the minds of his friends, that it was a
desperate case, that paralyzed all their efforts: that to assist Mr. C.
with money, which, under favourable circumstances, would have been most
promptly advanced, would now only enlarge his capacity to obtain the
opium which was consuming him. We at length learnt that Mr. Coleridge was
gone to reside with his friend Mr. John Morgan, in a small house, at
Calne, in Wiltshire. So gloomy were our apprehensions, that even the
death of Mr. C. was mournfully expected at no distant period! for his
actions at this time, were, we feared, all indirectly of a suicidal
description.