RETURN TO ENGLAND; "WALLENSTEIN", AND
THE "MORNING POST"
On the 21st May, Coleridge wrote the following letter in which he
informs Josiah Wedgwood what he had done in Germany, and what he
expected to do with the knowledge which he had acquired there.
LETTER 85. TO JOSIAH WEDGWOOD
May 21st, 1799. Gottingen.
My dear sir,
I have lying by my side six huge letters, with your name on each of
them, and all, excepting one, have been written for these three months.
About this time Mr. Hamilton, by whom I send this and the little parcel
for my wife, was, as it were, setting off for England; and I seized the
opportunity of sending them by him, as without any mock-modesty I really
thought that the expense of the postage to me and to you would be more
than their worth. Day after day, and week after week, was Hamilton
going, and still delayed. And now that it is absolutely settled that he
goes to-morrow, it is likewise absolutely settled that I shall go this
day three weeks, and I have therefore sent only this and the picture by
him, but the letters I will now take myself, for I should not like them
to be lost, as they comprise the only subject on which I have had an
opportunity of making myself thoroughly informed, and if I carry them
myself, I can carry them without danger of their being seized at
Yarmouth, as all my letters were, yours to ---- excepted, which were,
luckily, not sealed. Before I left England, I had read the book of which
you speak. [1] I must confess that it appeared to me exceedingly
illogical. Godwin's and Condorcet's extravagancies were not worth
confuting; and yet I thought that the Essay on "Population" had not
confuted them. Professor Wallace, Derham, and a number of German
statistic and physico-theological writers had taken the same ground,
namely, that population increases in a geometrical, but the accessional
nutriment only in arithmetical ratio--and that vice and misery, the
natural consequences of this order of things, were intended by
providence as the counterpoise. I have here no means of procuring so
obscure a book, as Rudgard's; but to the best of my recollection, at the
time that the Fifth Monarchy enthusiasts created so great a sensation in
England, under the Protectorate, and the beginning of Charles the
Second's reign, Rudgard, or Rutgard (I am not positive even of the name)
wrote an Essay to the same purpose, in which he asserted, that if war,
pestilence, vice, and poverty, were wholly removed, the world could not
exist two hundred years, etc. Seiffmilts, [2] in his great work
concerning the divine order and regularity in the destiny of the human
race, has a chapter entitled a confutation of this idea; I read it with
great eagerness, and found therein that this idea militated against the
glory and goodness of God, and must therefore be false,--but further
confutation found I none!--This book of Seiffmilts has a prodigious
character throughout Germany; and never methinks did a work less deserve
it. It is in three huge octavos, and wholly on the general laws that
regulate the population of the human species--but is throughout most
unphilosophical, and the tables, which he has collected with great
industry, prove nothing. My objections to the Essay on Population you
will find in my sixth letter at large--but do not, my dear sir, suppose
that because unconvinced by this essay, I am therefore convinced of the
contrary. No, God knows, I am sufficiently sceptical, and in truth more
than sceptical, concerning the possibility of universal plenty and
wisdom; but my doubts rest on other grounds. I had some conversation
with you before I left England, on this subject; and from that time I
had purposed to myself to examine as thoroughly as it was possible for
me, the important question. Is the march of the human race progressive,
or in cycles? But more of this when we meet.
What have I done in Germany? I have learned the language, both high and
low German, I can read both, and speak the former so fluently, that it
must be a fortune for a German to be in my company, that is, I have
words enough and phrases enough, and I arrange them tolerably; but my
pronunciation is hideous. 2ndly, I can read the oldest German, the
Frankish, and the Swabian. 3rdly. I have attended the lectures on
Physiology, Anatomy, and Natural History, with regularity, and have
endeavoured to understand these subjects. 4thly, I have read and made
collections for a history of the "Belles Lettres," in Germany, before
the time of Lessing: and 5thly, very large collections for a "Life of
Lessing"; to which I was led by the miserably bad and unsatisfactory
biographies that have been hitherto given, and by my personal
acquaintance with two of Lessing's friends. Soon after I came into
Germany, I made up my mind fully not to publish anything concerning my
Travels, as people call them; yet I soon perceived that with all
possible economy, my expenses would be greater than I could justify,
unless I did something that would to a moral certainty repay them. I
chose the "Life of Lessing" for the reasons above assigned, and because
it would give me an opportunity of conveying under a better name than my
own ever will be, opinions which I deem of the highest importance.
Accordingly, my main business at Gottingen has been to read all the
numerous controversies in which Lessing was engaged, and the works of
all those German poets before the time of Lessing, which I could not
afford to buy. For these last four months, with the exception of last
week, in which I visited the Hartz, I have worked harder than I trust in
God Almighty I shall ever have occasion to work again: this endless
transcription is such a body-and-soul-wearying purgatory. I shall have
bought thirty pounds' worth of books, chiefly metaphysics, and with a
view to the one work, to which I hope to dedicate in silence, the prime
of my life; but I believe and indeed doubt not, that before Christmas I
shall have repaid myself. [3]
I never, to the best of my recollection, felt the fear of death but
once; that was yesterday when I delivered the picture to Hamilton. I
felt, and shivered as I felt it, that I should not like to die by land
or water before I see my wife and the little one; that I hope yet
remains to me. But it was an idle sort of feeling, and I should not like
to have it again. Poole half mentioned, in a hasty way, a circumstance
that depressed my spirits for many days:--that you and Thomas were on
the point of settling near Stowey, but had abandoned it. "God Almighty!
what a dream of happiness it held out to me!" writes Poole. I felt
disappointment without having had hope.
In about a month I hope to see you. Till then may heaven bless and
preserve us! Believe me, my dear sir, with every feeling of love,
esteem, and gratitude,
Your affectionate friend,
S. T. COLERIDGE.
(Josiah Wedgwood, Esq.) [4]
[Footnote l: Malthas on Population, 1798.]
[Footnote 2: Should be Syssmilch.]
[Footnote 3: Cottle here omits a part of this letter about pecuniary
matters.]
[Footnote 4: Letters XCIX-CIII follow Letter 85.]
It is interesting to compare this letter with that to Poole of 6th May
1796; it will be seen that Coleridge thus carried out his project of
three years before. He had been able to convince the Wedgwoods of the
desirability of introducing a knowledge of the German philosophy into
England to refute the philosophy of Hume and expose the shallowness of
the metaphysics of Locke and the Paley School of Theology. Tom Wedgwood
was himself a philosopher, and saw in Coleridge the champion of a new
basis of faith, and hence the friendship between them, and the support
of the Wedgwoods to Coleridge in carrying out his self-education.
Coleridge returned to England about a month after the Wordsworths, in
July, 1799, and he reached Stowey before the 29th, when he wrote to
Southey, and the two worked in concert for the publication of an annual
started as the 'Annual Anthology', of which two volumes appeared,
one in 1799 and one in 1800, Coleridge contributing some of his poems to
the latter. 'The Devil's Thoughts', a conjoint squib which caused
some sensation was sent to the 'Morning Post' on 6th September.
Coleridge spent a part of the Autumn of 1799 at Ottery St. Mary visiting
his mother and brothers. Coleridge then went to Southey at Exeter, and
they visited the ash dells round about Dartmoor together
('Letters', 305). Coleridge also saw Josiah Wedgwood at his seat of
Upcott on his way home; and on 15th October we find him back at Stowey
('Letters', 307). Still later he went north to see Wordsworth who
was staying at Sockburn on the Tees with the Hutchinsons. Cottle
accompanied them as far as Greta Bridge, where John Wordsworth joined
their company. Coleridge and William and John Wordsworth then went on
tour to the Lake District, visiting Grasmere, when Wordsworth made
arrangements to take a house at Townend (now known as Dove Cottage), and
came back to Sockburn (Knight's 'Life of Wordsworth', chap. xii).
It was at Sockburn that Coleridge first met Sarah Hutchinson; and here
it is conjectured he wrote his beautiful poem 'Love', which
appeared in its first form in the 'Morning Post', on 21st December
1799, prefaced with the following letter.
LETTER 86. TO THE EDITOR OF THE 'MORNING POST' WITH
THE POEM 'LOVE', FIRST PUBLISHED AS 'INTRODUCTION TO
THE TALE OF THE DARK LADIE'.
21 December, 1799.
Sir,
The following poem is the introduction to a somewhat longer one, for
which I shall solicit insertion on your next open day. The use of the
old ballad word 'Ladie' for Lady, is the only piece of obsoleteness
in it; and as it is professedly a tale of ancient times, I trust that
"the affectionate lovers of venerable antiquity," (as Cambden says) will
grant me their pardon, and perhaps may be induced to admit a force and
propriety in it. A heavier objection may be adduced against the Author,
that in these times of fear and expectation, when novelties
'explode' around us in all directions, he should presume to offer
to the public a silly tale of old-fashioned love; and five years ago, I
own, I should have allowed and felt the force of this objection. But,
alas! explosion has succeeded explosion so rapidly that novelty itself
ceases to appear new; and it is possible that now, even a simple story
wholly unspiced with politics or personality, may find some attention
amid the hubbub of Revolutions, as to those who have remained a long
time by the falls of Niagara, the lowest whispering becomes distinctly
audible.
S. T. COLERIDGE.[1]
[Footnote 1: Letter CIV follows 86.]
This was followed on 10th January 1800 by the political verses
'Talleyrand to Lord Grenville', heralded by a letter as good as, if
not better than, the verses.
LETTER 87. TO THE EDITOR OF THE 'MORNING POST'.
WITH 'TALLEYRAND TO LORD GRENVILLE', A METRICAL
EPISTLE.
10 January, 1800.
Mr. Editor,
An unmetrical letter from Talleyrand to Lord Grenville has already
appeared, and from an authority too high to be questioned: otherwise I
could adduce some arguments for the exclusive authenticity of the
following metrical epistle. The very epithet which the wise ancients
used, "'aurea carmina'" might have been supposed likely to have
determined the choice of the French minister in favour of verse; and the
rather when we recollect that this phrase of "golden verses" is applied
emphatically to the works of that philosopher who imposed 'silence'
on all with whom he had to deal. Besides, is it not somewhat improbable
that Talleyrand should have preferred prose to rhyme, when the latter
alone 'has got the chink'? Is it not likewise curious that in our
official answer no notice whatever is taken of the Chief Consul,
Bonaparte, as if there had been no such person existing; notwithstanding
that his existence is pretty generally admitted, nay that some have been
so rash as to believe that he has created as great a sensation in the
world as Lord Grenville, or even the Duke of Portland? But the Minister
of Foreign Affairs, Talleyrand, 'is' acknowledged, which, in our
opinion, could not have happened had he written only that insignificant
prose letter, which seems to precede Bonaparte's, as in old romances a
dwarf always ran before to proclaim the advent or arrival of knight or
giant. That Talleyrand's character and practices more resemble those of
some 'regular' Governments than Bonaparte's I admit; but this of
itself does not appear a satisfactory explanation. However, let the
letter speak for itself. The second line is supererogative in syllables,
whether from the oscitancy of the transcriber, or from the trepidation
which might have overpowered the modest Frenchman, on finding himself in
the act of writing to so 'great' a man, I shall not dare to
determine. A few notes are added by,
Your servant,
GNOME.
P.S.--As mottoes are now fashionable, especially if taken from out of
the way books, you may prefix, if you please, the following lines from
Sidonius Apollinaris:
Saxa, et robora, corneasque fibras
Mollit dulciloquiâ canorus arte!
Coleridge had arrived in London in the end of November (Dyke-Campbell's
'Life', 105); and Mrs. Coleridge and Hartley were also at 21,
Buckingham Street, Strand, on 9th December ('Letters', 318). He was now
a regular contributor to the 'Morning Post', Stuart, the proprietor
paying all expenses ('Letters', 310),[1] Coleridge, too, had made the
acquaintance of Godwin ('Letters', p. 316), whom he had castigated in
the 'Watchman', and who, he says, "is no great things in intellects;
but in heart and manner he is all the better for having been the
husband of Mary Wollstonecraft" ('Letters', 316). He began a
correspondence with Godwin, and of the eighteen letters by Coleridge to
him we are enabled to give nine. Lamb was the means of drawing
Coleridge and Godwin together, and in Lamb's letters of this period
('Ainger', i, 111, 113, 115), we find glimpses of Coleridge while
engaged on his translation of 'Wallenstein'.
While in London Coleridge did not neglect his friends elsewhere; we
have interesting letters to the Wedgwoods, Poole, and Southey. The next
three letters are from London.
[Footnote 1: For an account of Coleridge as a journalist see Mr. H. D.
Traill's 'Life of Coleridge', p. 79.]
LETTER 88. TO THOMAS WEDGWOOD
21, Buckingham Street, Strand, January, 1800.
My dear sir,
I am sitting by a fire in a rug great coat. Your room is doubtless to a
greater degree air tight than mine, or your notions of Tartarus would
veer round to the Greenlander's creed. It is most barbarously cold, and
you, I fear, can shield yourself from it, only by perpetual
imprisonment. If any place in the southern climates were in a state of
real quiet, and likely to continue so, should you feel no inclination to
migrate? Poor Southey, from over great industry, as I suspect, the
industry too of solitary composition, has reduced himself to a terrible
state of weakness, and is determined to leave this country as soon as he
has finished the poem on which he is now employed. 'Tis a melancholy
thing that so young a man, and one whose life has ever been so simple
and self-denying * * *
O, for a peace, and the south of France! I could almost wish for a
Bourbon king, if it were only that Sieyes and Buonaparte might finish
their career in the old orthodox way of hanging. Thank God, "I have my
health perfectly", and I am working hard; yet the present state of human
affairs presses on me for days together, so as to deprive me of all my
cheerfulness. It is probable that a man's private and personal
connexions and interests ought to be uppermost in his daily and hourly
thoughts, and that the dedication of much hope and fear to subjects
which are perhaps disproportionate to our faculties and powers, is a
disease. But I have had this disease so long, and my early education was
so undomestic, that I know not how to get rid of it; or even to wish to
get rid of it. Life were so flat a thing without enthusiasm, that if for
a moment it leaves me, I have a sort of stomach sensation attached to
all my thoughts, "like those which succeed to the pleasurable operations
of a dose of opium".
Now I make up my mind to a sort of heroism in believing the
progressiveness of all nature, during the present melancholy state of
humanity, and on this subject "I am now writing"; and no work on which I
ever employed myself makes me so happy while I am writing.
I shall remain in London till April. The expenses of my last year made
it necessary for me to exert my industry, and many other good ends are
answered at the same time. Where I next settle I shall continue, and
that must be in a state of retirement and rustication. It is therefore
good for me to have a run of society, and that various and consisting of
marked characters. Likewise, by being obliged to write without much
elaboration, I shall greatly improve myself in naturalness and facility
of style, and the particular subjects on which I write for money are
nearly connected with my future schemes. My mornings I give to
compilations which I am sure cannot be wholly useless, and for which, by
the beginning of April I shall have earned nearly £150. My evenings to
the "Theatres", as I am to conduct a sort of Dramaturgy or series of
Essays on the Drama, both its general principles, and likewise in
reference to the present state of the English Theatres. This I shall
publish in the "Morning Post". My attendance on the theatres costs me
nothing, and Stuart, the Editor, covers my expenses in London. Two
mornings, and one whole day, I dedicate to these Essays on the possible
progressiveness of man, and on the principles of population. In April I
retire to my greater works,--"The Life of Lessing". My German chests are
arrived, but I have them not yet, but expect them from Stowey daily;
when they come I shall send a letter.
I have seen a good deal of Godwin, who has just published a Novel. I
like him for thinking so well of Davy. He talks of him every where as
the most extraordinary of human beings he had ever met with. I cannot
say that, for I know "one" whom I feel to be the superior, but I never
met with so extraordinary a "young man". I have likewise dined with
Horne Tooke. He is a clear-headed old man, as every man must needs be
who attends to the real import of words, but there is a sort of
charlatanry in his manner that did not please me. He makes such a
mystery out of plain and palpable things, and never tells you any thing
without first exciting, and detaining your curiosity. But it were a bad
heart that could not pardon worse faults than these in the author of
"The Diversions of Purley".
Believe me, my dear sir, with much affection
Yours,
S. T. COLERIDGE. [1]
Thomas Wedgwood, Esq.
[Footnote 1: Letter CV follows our No. 88.]
LETTER 89. TO JOSIAH WEDGWOOD
21, Buckingham Street, Feb. 1800.
My dear sir,
Your brother's health (Mr. Thomas Wedgwood) outweighs all other
considerations. Beyond a doubt he has made himself acquainted with the
degree of heat which he is to experience there (the West Indies). The
only objections that I see are so obvious, that it is idle in me to
mention them: the total want of men with whose pursuits your brother can
have a fellow feeling: the length and difficulty of the return, in case
of a disappointment; and the necessity of sea-voyages to almost every
change of scenery. I will not think of the yellow fever; that I hope is
quite out of all probability. Believe me, my dear friend, I have some
difficulty in suppressing all that is within me of affection and grief.
God knows my heart, wherever your brother is, I shall follow him in
spirit; follow him with my thoughts and most affectionate wishes.
I read your letter, and did as you desired me. ---- [1] is very cool to
me. Whether I have still any of the leaven of the "Citizen," and
visionary about me--too much for his present zeal, or whether he is
incapable of attending * * * * As to his views, he is now gone to
Cambridge to canvass for a Fellowship in Trinity Hall. Mackintosh has
kindly written to Dr. Lawrence, who is very intimate with the Master,
and he has other interest. He is also trying hard, and in expectation of
a Commissionership of Bankruptcy, and means to pursue the law with all
ardour and steadiness. As to the state of his mind, it is that which it
was and will be. God love him! He has a most incurable forehead. ---- [2]
called on him and looking on his table, saw by accident a letter
directed to himself.
Said he, "Why ---- [3] what letter is this for me? and from ----." [4]
"Yes I have had it some time."
"Why did you not give it me?"
"Oh, it wants some explanation first. You must not read it now, for I
can't give you the explanation now."
And ----,[5] who you know is a right easy-natured man, has not been able
to get his own letter from him to this hour! Of his success at
Cambridge, Caldwell, is doubtful, or more than doubtful. * * *
So much of ----.[6] All that I know, and all I suspect that is to be
known. A kind, gentlemanly, affectionate hearted man, possessed of an
absolute talent for industry. Would to God, he had never heard of
Philosophy!
I have been three times to the House of Commons; each time earlier than
the former; and each time hideously crowded. The two first days the
debate was put off. Yesterday I went at a quarter before eight, and
remained till three this morning, and then sat writing and correcting
other men's writing till eight--a good twenty four hours of unpleasant
activity! I have not felt myself sleepy yet. Pitt and Fox completely
answered my pre-formed ideas of them. The elegance and high finish of
Pitt's periods, even in the most sudden replies, is "curious," but that
is all. He argues but so so, and does not reason at all. Nothing is
rememberable of what he says. Fox possesses all the full and overflowing
eloquence of a man of clear head, clear heart, and impetuous feelings.
He is to my mind a great orator; all the rest that spoke were mere
creatures. I could make a better speech myself than any that I heard,
except Pitt and Fox. I reported that part of Pitt's which I have
enclosed in brackets, not that I report ex-officio, but my curiosity
having led me there, I did Stuart a service by taking a few notes.
I work from morning to night, but in a few weeks I shall have completed
my purpose, and then adieu to London for ever. We newspaper scribes are
true galley-slaves. When the high winds of events blow loud and frequent
then the sails are hoisted, or the ship drives on of itself. When all is
calm and sunshine then to our oars. Yet it is not unflattering to a
man's vanity to reflect that what he writes at twelve at night, will
before twelve hours are over, have perhaps, five or six thousand
readers! To trace a happy phrase, good image, or new argument, running
through the town and sliding into all the papers. Few wine merchants can
boast of creating more sensation. Then to hear a favourite and
often-urged argument, repeated almost in your own particular phrases, in
the House of Commons; and, quietly in the silent self-complacence of
your own heart, chuckle over the plagiarism, as if you were monopolist
of all good reasons. But seriously, considering that I have newspapered
it merely as means of subsistence, while I was doing other things, I
have been very lucky. "The New Constitution; The Proposal for Peace; The
Irish Union;" etc. etc.; they are important in themselves, and excellent
vehicles for general truths. I am not ashamed of what I have written.
I desired Poole to send you all the papers antecedent to your own; I
think you will like the different analyses of the French constitution. I
have attended Mackintosh's lectures regularly; he was so kind as to send
me a ticket, and I have not failed to profit by it.
I remain, with grateful and most affectionate esteem,
Your faithful friend
S. T. COLERIDGE.
Josiah Wedgwood, Esq.[7]
[Footnote 1: Basil Montagu.]
[Footnote 2: John Pinney.]
[Footnote 3: Montagu.]
[Footnote 4: Wordsworth.]
[Footnote 5: Pinney.]
[Footnote 6: Montagu.]
[Footnote 7: Letters CVI-CIX follow 89.]
LETTER 90. TO POOLE
March, 1800.
If I had the least love of money I could make almost sure of £2,000 a
year, for Stuart has offered me half shares in the two papers, the
"Morning Post" and "Courier", if I would devote myself with him to them.
But I told him that I would not give up the country, and the lazy
reading of old folios for two thousand times two thousand pound--in
short that beyond £250 a year I considered money as a real evil.--
I think there are but two good ways of writing--one for immediate and
wide impression, though transitory--the other for permanence. Newspapers
are the first--the best one can do is the second. That middle class of
translating books is neither the one nor the other. When I have settled
myself "clear", I shall write nothing for money but for the newspaper.
You of course will not hint a word of Stuart's offer to me. He has
behaved with abundant honour and generosity.