merely a desire to see the most interesting regions of the
Mediterranean, under the shelter and advantageous introduction of an
official station. It was, however, an unfortunate chapter of his life;
for being necessarily thrown a good deal upon his own resources in the
narrow society of a garrison, he there confirmed and cherished, if he
did not there form, his habit of taking opium in large quantities. I
am the last person in the world to press conclusions harshly or
uncandidly against Coleridge, but I believe it to be notorious that he
first began the use of opium not as a relief from any bodily pains or
nervous irritations--for his constitution was strong and
excellent--but as a source of luxurious sensation. It is a great
misfortune, at least it is a great peril, to have tasted the enchanted
cup of youthful rapture incident to the poetic temperament. That
standard of high-wrought sensibility once made known experimentally,
it is rare to see a submission afterward to the sobrieties of daily
life. Coleridge, to speak in the words of Cervantes, wanted better
bread than was made of wheat; and when youthful blood no longer
sustained the riot of his animal spirits, he endeavored to excite them
by artificial stimulants.
"Coleridge was at one time living uncomfortably enough at the
_Courier_ office in the Strand. In such a situation, annoyed by
the sound of feet passing his chamber-door continually to the
printing-room of this great establishment, and with no gentle
ministrations of female hands to sustain his cheerfulness, naturally
enough his spirits flagged, and he took more than ordinary doses of
opium. Thus unhappily situated, he sank more than ever under the
dominion of opium, so that at two o'clock, when he should have been in
attendance at the Royal Institute, he was too often unable to rise
from bed. His appearance was generally that of a person struggling
with pain and overmastering illness. His lips were baked with feverish
heat and often black in color, and in spite of the water which he
continued drinking through the whole course of his lecture, he often
seemed to labor under an almost paralytic inability to raise the upper
jaw from the lower.
"But apparently he was not happy himself. The accursed drug poisoned
all natural pleasure at its sources; he burrowed continually deeper
into scholastic subtleties and metaphysical abstraction; and, like
that class described by Seneca in the luxurious Rome of his days, he
lived chiefly by candle-light. At two or three o'clock in the
afternoon he would make his first appearance. Through the silence of
the night, when all other lights had long disappeared, in the quiet
cottage of Grassmere _his_ lamp might be seen invariably by the
belated traveller as he descended the long steep from Dun-mail-raise,
and at five or six o'clock in the morning, when man was going forth to
his labor, this insulated son of reveries was retiring to bed."
Those who were nearest and dearest to Coleridge by affection and biood
have left on record their sentiments respecting him in the following
language. His nephew says: "Coleridge was a student all his life. He
was very rarely indeed idle in the common sense of the term, but he
was consitutionally indolent, averse from continuous exertion
externally directed, and consequently the victim of a procrastinating
habit, the occasion of innumerable distresses to himself and of
endless solicitude to his friends, and which materially impaired
though it could not destroy the operation and influence of his
wonderful abilities. Hence also the fits of deep melancholy which from
time to time seized his whole soul, during which he seemed an
imprisoned man without hope of liberty."
His daughter remarks: "Mr. De Quincey mistook a constitution that had
vigor in it for a vigorous constitution. His body was originally full
of life, but it was full of death also from the first. There was in
him a slow poison which gradually leavened the whole lump, and by
which his muscular frame was prematurely slackened and stupefied.
Mr. Stuart says that his letters are 'one continued flow of complaint
of ill health and incapacity from ill health.' This is true of all his
letters (all the _sets_ of them) which have come under my eye,
even those written before he went to Malta, where his opium habits
were confirmed. If my father sought more from opium than the mere
absence of pain, I feel assured that it was not luxurious sensations
or the glowing phantasmagoria of passive dreams, but that the power of
the medicine might keep down the agitations of his nervous system,
released for a time at least from the tyranny of ailments which by a
spell of wretchedness fix the thoughts upon themselves, perpetually
throwing them inward as into a stifling gulf."
Miss Coleridge thus expresses the views of her father's family in
respect to Mr. Cottle's publications: "I take this opportunity of
expressing my sense of many kind acts and much friendly conduct of
Mr. Cottle toward my father, by whom he was ever remembered with
respect and affection. If I still regard with any disapproval his
publication of letters exposing his friend's unhappy bondage to opium,
and consequent embarrassments and deep distress of mind, it is not
that I would have wished a broad influencive fact, in the history of
one whose peculiar gifts had made him in some degree an object of
public interest, to be finally concealed, supposing it to be attested,
as this has been, by clear, unambiguous documents. I agree with
Mr. Cottle in thinking that he himself would have desired, even to the
last, that whatever benefit the world might obtain by the knowledge of
his sufferings from opium--the calamity which the unregulated use of
this drug had been to him and into which he first fell ignorantly and
innocently (not, as Mr. De Quincey has said, to restore the 'riot of
his animal spirits' when 'youthful blood no longer sustained it,' but
as a relief from bodily pain and nervous irritation) that others might
avoid the rack on which so great a part of his happiness for so long a
time was wrecked. Such a wish indeed he once strongly expressed, but I
believe myself to be speaking equally in his spirit when I say that
all such considerations of advantage to the public should be
subordinated to the prior claims of private and natural interests. I
should never think the public good a sufficient apology for publishing
the secret history of any man or woman whatever, who had connections
remaining upon earth; but if I were possessed of private notices
respecting one in whom the world takes an interest, I should think it
right to place them in the hands of his nearest relations, leaving it
to them to deal with such documents as a sense of what is due to the
public and what belongs to openness and honesty may demand."
The nephew of Coleridge, in the Preface to the "Table Talk," says: "A
time will come when Coleridge's life may be written without wounding
the feeling or gratifying the malice of any one; and then, among other
misrepresentations, that as to the origin of his recourse to opium
will be made manifest; and the tale of his long and passionate
struggle with and final victory over the habit will form one of the
brightest as well as most interesting traits of the moral and
religious being of this humble, this exalted Christian.
"Coleridge--blessings on his gentle memory!--Coleridge was a frail
mortal. He had indeed his peculiar weaknesses as well as his unique
powers; sensibilities that an averted look would rack; a heart which
would have beaten calmly in the tremblings of an earthquake. He shrank
from mere uneasiness like a child, and bore the preparatory agonies of
his death-attack like a martyr. Sinned against a thousand times more
than sinning, he himself suffered an almost lifelong punishment for
his errors, while the world at large has the unwithering fruits of his
labors, his genius, and his sacrifice."
WILLIAM BLAIR.
The following narrative of a case of confirmed opium-eating was
communicated to the editor of the _Knickerbocker Magazine_, in
the year 1842, by Dr. B. W. M'Cready of New York, accompanied by the
following statement:
Poor Blair, whose account of himself I send you, was brought to the
City Hospital by a Baptist clergyman in 1835, at which time I was
Resident Physician of the establishment. His wretched habit had at
that time reduced him to a state of deplorable destitution, and he
came to the hospital as much for the sake of a temporary asylum as to
endeavor to wean himself from the vice which had brought him to such a
condition. When he entered it was with the proviso that he should be
allowed a certain quantity of opium per day, the amount of which was
slowly but steadily decreased. The dose he commenced with was eighty
grains; and this quantity he would roll into a large bolus, of a size
apparently too great for an ordinary person to swallow, and take
without any appearance of effort. Until he had swallowed his ordinary
stimulus he appeared languid, nervous, and dejected. He at all times
had a very pale and unhealthy look, and his spirits were irregular;
although it would be difficult to separate the effects produced by the
enormous quantity of opium to which he had been accustomed from the
feelings caused in a proud and intellectual man by the utter and
irretrievable ruin which he had brought upon himself. Finding him
possessed of great information and uncommon ability, I furnished him
with books and writing materials, and extended to him many privileges
not enjoyed by the ordinary patients in the wards. Observing that
he--as is common with most men of a proud disposition who have not met
with the success in the world which they deem due to their merits--had
paid great attention to his own feelings, I was desirous of having an
account written by himself of the effects which opium had produced
upon his system. On my making the request he furnished me with the
memoir of himself now in your possession. His health at this time was
very much impaired. I had been in the habit of giving him orders upon
the apothecary for his daily quantum of opium, but when the dose had
been reduced to sixteen grains I found that he had counterfeited the
little tickets I gave him and thus often obtained treble and quadruple
the quantity allowed. After this, of course, although I felt
profoundly sorry for the man, the intercourse between us was only that
presented by my duty. Shortly afterward he disappeared from the
hospital late at night. I have since met him several times in the
streets; but for the last three or four years I have neither seen nor
heard of him. With his habits it is scarcely probable that he still
survives. Poor fellow! He furnishes another melancholy instance of the
utter inefficiency of mere learning or intelligence in preserving a
man from the most vicious and degrading abuses. He had neither
religion nor moral principle; and that kind of gentlemanly feeling
which from association he did possess, only made him feel more
sensibly the degradation from which it could not preserve him.
BLAIR'S NARRATIVE.
Before I state the result of my experience as an opium-eater, it will
perhaps not be uninteresting, and it certainly will conduce to the
clearer understanding of such statement, if I give a slight and brief
sketch of my habits and history previous to my first indulgence in the
infernal drug which has embittered my existence for seven most weary
years. The death of my father when I was little more than twelve
months old made it necessary that I should receive only such an
education as would qualify me to pursue some business in my native
town of Birmingham; and in all probability I shoule at this moment be
entering orders or making out invoices in that great emporium had I
not at a very early age evinced an absorbing passion for reading,
which the free access to a tolerably large library enabled me to
indulge, until it had grown to be a confirmed habit of mind, which,
when the attention of my friends was called to the subject, had become
too strong to be broken through; and with the usual foolish family
vanity they determined to indulge a taste so early and decidedly
developed, in the expectation, I verily believe, of some day catching
a reflected beam from the fame and glory which I was to win by my
genius; for by that mystical name was the mere musty talent of a
_nelluo librorum_ called. The consequence was that I was sent
when eight years of age to a public school. I had however before this
tormented my elder brother with ceaseless importunity until he had
consented to teach me Latin, and by secretly poring over my sister's
books I had contrived to gain a tolerable book-knowledge of French.
From that hour my fate was decided. I applied with unwearied devotion
to the study of the classics--the only branch of education attended to
in the school--and I even considered it a favor to be allowed to
translate, write exercises and themes, and to compose Latin verses for
the more idle of my school-fellows. At the same time I devoured all
books of whatever description which came in my way--poems, novels,
history, metaphysics, or works of science--with an indiscriminating
appetite, which has proved very injurious to me through life. I drank
as eagerly of the muddy and stagnant pool of literature as of the pure
and sparkling fountain glowing in the many-hued sunlight of
genius. After two years had been spent in this manner I was removed to
another school, the principal of which, although a fair mathematician,
was a wretched classical scholar. In fact I frequently construed
passages of Virgil, which I had not previously looked at, when he
himself was forced to refer to Davidson for assistance. I stayed with
him, however, two years, during which time I spent all the money I
could get in purchasing Greek and Hebrew books, of which languages I
learned the rudiments and obtained considerable knowledge without any
instruction. After a year's residence at the house of my
brother-in-law, which I passed in studying Italian and Persian, the
Bishop of Litchfield's examining chaplain, to whom I had been
introduced in terms of the most hyperbolical praise, prevailed on his
Diocesan and the Earl of Calthorpe to share the expense of my further
education.
In consequence of this unexpected good fortune I was now placed under
the care of the Rev. Thomas Fry, rector of the village of Emberton in
Buckinghamshire, a clergyman of great piety and profound learning,
with whom I remained about fifteen months, pursuing the study of
languages with increased ardor. During the whole of that period I
never allowed myself more than four hours' sleep; and still
unsatisfied, I very generally spent the whole night, twice a week, in
the insane pursuit of those avenues to distinction to which alone my
ambition was confined. I took no exercise, and the income allowed me
was so small that I could not afford a meat dinner more than once a
week, and at the same time set apart the half of that allowance for
the purchase of books, which I had determined to do. I smoked
incessantly; for I now required some stimulus, as my health was much
injured by my unrelaxing industry. My digestion was greatly impaired,
and the constitution of iron which Nature had given me threatened to
break down ere long under the effects of the systematic neglect with
which I treated its repeated warnings. I suffered from constant
headache; my total inactivity caused the digestive organs to become
torpid; and the unnutritious nature of the food which I allowed myself
would not supply me with the strength which my assiduous labor
required. My nerves were dreadfully shaken, and at the age of fourteen
I exhibited the external symptoms of old age. I was feeble and
emaciated; and had this mode of life continued twelve months longer, I
must have sank under it.
I had during these fifteen months thought and read much on the subject
of revealed religion, and had devoted a considerable portion of my
time to an examination of the evidences advanced by the advocates of
Christianity, which resulted in a reluctant conviction of their utter
weakness and inability. No sooner was I aware that so complete a
change of opinion had taken place, than I wrote to my patron, stating
the fact and explaining the process by which I had arrived at such a
conclusion. The reply I received was a peremptory order to return to
my mother's house immediately; and on arriving there, the first time I
had entered it for some years, I was met by the information that I had
nothing more to expect from the countenance of those who had supplied
me with the means of prosecuting my studies to "so bad a purpose." I
was so irritated by what I considered the unjustifiable harshness of
this decision, that at the moment I wrote a haughty and angry letter
to one of the parties, which of course widened the breach and made the
separation between us eternal.
What was I now to do? I was unfit for any business, both by habit,
inclination, and constitution. My health was ruined, and hopeless
poverty stared me in the face; when a distinguished solicitor in my
native town, who by the way has since become celebrated in the
political world, offered to receive me as a clerk. I at once accepted
the offer; but knowing that in my then condition it was impossible for
me to perform the duties required of me, I decided on TAKING OPIUM!
The strange confessions of De Quincey had long been a favorite with
me. The first part of it had in fact been given me both as a model in
English composition and also as an exercise to be rendered into
Patavinian Latin. The latter part, the "Miseries of Opium," I had most
unaccountably always neglected to read. Again and again, when my
increasing debility had threatened to bring my studies to an abrupt
conclusion, I had meditated this experiment, but an undefinable and
shadowy fear had as often stayed my hand. But now that I knew that
unless I could by artificial stimuli obtain a sudden increase of
strength I must STARVE, I no longer hesitated. I was desperate; I
believed that something horrible would result from it; though my
imagination, most vivid, could not conjure up visions of horror half
so terrific as the fearful reality. I knew that for every hour of
comparative ease and comfort its treacherous alliance might confer
upon me _now_, I must endure days of bodily suffering; but I did
not, could not conceive the mental hell into whose fierce, corroding
fires I was about to plunge.
All that occurred during the first day is imperishably engraved upon
my memory. It was about a week previous to the day appointed for my
debut in my new character as an attorney's clerk; and when I arose, I
was depressed in mind, and a racking pain to which I had lately been
subject, was maddening me. I could scarcely manage to crawl into the
breakfast-room. I had previously procured a drachm of opium, and I
took two grains with my coffee. It did not produce any change in my
feelings. I took two more--still without effect; and by six o'clock in
the evening I had taken ten grains. While I was sitting at tea I felt
a strange sensation, totally unlike any thing I had ever felt before;
a gradual _creeping thrill_, which in a few minutes occupied
every part of my body, lulling to sleep the before-mentioned racking
pain, producing a pleasing glow from head to foot, and inducing a
sensation of dreamy exhilaration (if the phrase be intelligible to
others as it is to me), similar in nature but not in degree to the
drowsiness caused by wine, though not inclining me to sleep; in fact
so far from it that I longed to engage in some active exercise--to
sing or leap. I then resolved to go to the theatre--the last place I
should the day before have dreamed of visiting; for the sight of
cheerfulness in others made me doubly gloomy. I went, and so vividly
did I feel my vitality--for in this state of delicious exhilaration
even mere excitement seemed absolute Elysium--that I could not resist
the temptation to break out in the strangest vagaries, until my
companions thought me deranged. As I ran up the stairs I rushed after
and flung back every one who was above me. I escaped numberless
beatings solely through the interference of my friends. After I had
become seated a few minutes, the nature of the excitement was changed,
and a "waking sleep" succeeded. The actors on the stage vanished; the
stage itself lost its ideality; and before my entranced sight
magnificent halls stretched out in endless succession, with gallery
above gallery, while the roof was blazing with gems like stars whose
rays alone illumined the whole building, which was thronged with
strange, gigantic figures--like the wild possessors of a lost globe,
such as Lord Byron has described in "Cain" as beheld by the
fratricide, when, guided by Lucifer, he wandered among the shadowy
existences of those worlds which had been destroyed to make way for
our pigmy earth. I will not attempt further to describe the
magnificent vision which a little pill of "brown gum" had conjured up
from the realm of ideal being. No words that I can command would do
justice to its Titanian splendor and immensity.
At midnight I was roused from my dreamy abstraction; and on my return
home the blood in my veins seemed to "run lightning," and I knocked
down (for I had the strength of a giant at that moment) the first
watchman I met. Of course there was a row, and for some minutes a
battle-royal raged in New Street, the principal thoroughfare of the
town, between my party and the "Charlies," who, although greatly
superior in numbers, were sadly "milled," for we were all somewhat
scientific bruisers--that sublime art or science having been
cultivated with great assiduity at the public school through which I
had, as was customary, fought my way. I reached home at two in the
morning with a pair of "Oxford spectacles" which confined me to the
house for a week. I slept disturbedly, haunted by terrific dreams, and
oppressed by the nightmare and her nine-fold, and awoke with a
dreadful headache; stiff in every joint, and with deadly sickness of
the stomach which lasted for two or three days; my throat contracted
and parched, my tongue furred, my eyes bloodshot, and the whole
surface of my body burning hot. I did not have recourse to opium again
for three days; for the strength it had excited did not till then fail
me. When partially recovered from the nausea the first dose had
caused, my spirits were good, though not exuberant, but I could eat
nothing and was annoyed by an insatiable thirst. I went to the office,
and for six months performed the services required of me without
lassitude or depression of spirits, though never again did I
experience the same delicious sensations as on that memorable night
which is an "oasis in the desert" of my subsequent existence; life I
can not call it, for the "_vivida vis animi et corporis_" was
extinct.
In the seventh month my misery commenced. Burning heat, attended with
constant thirst, then began to torment me from morning till night; my
skin became scurfy; the skin of my feet and hands peeled off; my
tongue was always furred; a feeling of contraction in the bowels was
continual; my eyes were strained and discolored, and I had unceasing
headache. But internal and external heat was the pervading feeling
and appearance. My digestion became still weaker, and my incessant
costiveness was painful in the extreme. The reader must not however
imagine that all these symptoms appeared suddenly and at once; they
came on gradually, though with frightful rapidity, until I became a
"_morborum moles_," as a Roman physician whose lucubrations I met
with and perused with great amusement some years since in a little
country ale-house poetically expresses it. I could not sleep for hours
after I had lain down, and consequently was unable to rise in time to
attend the office in the morning, though as yet no visions of horror
haunted my slumbers. Mr. P., my employer, bore with this for some
months; but at length his patience was wearied, and I was informed
that I must attend at nine in the morning. I could not; for even if I
rose at seven, after two or three hours unhealthy and fitful sleep, I
was unable to walk or exert myself in any way for at least two
hours. I was at this time taking laudanum, and had no appetite for any
thing but coffee and acid fruits. I could and did drink great
quantities of ale, though it would not, as nothing would, quench my
thirst.