Biographia Epistolaris, Volume 1.

C >> Coleridge, ed. Turnbull >> Biographia Epistolaris, Volume 1.

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Saxa, et robora, corneasque fibras
Mollit dulciloquia 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 L150. 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 L2,000 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 L250 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.

CHAPTER IX

KESWICK

Coleridge had determined not to live in London; his engagement with
Stuart he regarded as only a temporary shift to clear off some debt
which he had incurred in his visit to Germany. After a short stay with
Lamb ("Ainger", i, 113), and a tour to the North to see Wordsworth (J.
Dykes Campbell's "Life", 113), he returned to Stowey, writing to Godwin
on 21st May.

LETTER 91. TO GODWIN

Wednesday, May 21, 1800.

Dear Godwin,

I received your letter this morning, and had I not, still I am almost
confident that I should have written to you before the end of the week.
Hitherto the translation of the "Wallenstein" has prevented me, not that
it engrossed my time, but that it wasted and depressed my spirits, and
left a sense of wearisomeness and disgust which unfitted me for anything
but sleeping or immediate society. I say this because I ought to have
written to you first; yet, as I am not behind you in affectionate
esteem, so I would not be thought to lag in those outward and visible
signs that both show and verify the inward spiritual grace. Believe me,
you recur to my thoughts frequently, and never without pleasure, never
without my making out of the past a little day-dream for the future. I
left Wordsworth on the 4th of this month; if I cannot procure a suitable
house at Stowey I return to Cumberland and settle at Keswick, in a house
of such prospect that if, according to you and Hume, impressions
constitute our being, I shall have a tendency to become a god, so
sublime and beautiful will be the series of my visual existence. But,
whether I continue here or migrate thither, I shall be in a beautiful
country, and have house-room and heart-room for you, and you must come
and write your next work at my house. My dear Godwin! I remember you
with so much pleasure, and our conversations so distinctly, that, I
doubt not, we have been mutually benefited; but as to your poetic and
physiopathic feelings, I more than suspect that dear little Fanny and
Mary have had more to do in that business than I. Hartley sends his love
to Mary. [1] "What, and not to Fanny?" "Yes, and to Fanny, but I'll
'have' Mary." He often talks about them.

My poor Lamb, how cruelly afflictions crowd upon him! I am glad that you
think of him as I think: he has an affectionate heart, a mind "sui
generis"; his taste acts so as to appear like the unmechanic simplicity
of an instinct; in brief, he is worth an hundred men of mere talents.
Conversation with the latter tribe is like the use of leaden bells--one
wearies by exercise. Lamb every now and then "irradiates", and the beam,
though single and fine as a hair, yet is rich with colours, and I both
see and feel it. In Bristol I was much with Davy, almost all day. He
always talks of you with great affection, and defends you with a
friendly zeal. If I settle at Keswick he will be with me in the fall of
the year, and so must you: and let me tell you, Godwin, that four such
men as you, I, Davy, and Wordsworth, do not meet together in one house
every day in the year--I mean four men so distinct with so many
sympathies. I received yesterday a letter from Southey. He arrived at
Lisbon after a prosperous voyage, on the last day of April; his letter
to me is dated May-Day. He girds up his loins for a great history of
Portugal, which will be translated into Portuguese in the first year of
the Lusitanian Republic.

Have you seen Mrs. Robinson [2] lately--how is she? Remember me in the
kindest and most respectful phrases to her. I wish I knew the
particulars of her complaint; for Davy has discovered a perfectly new
acid by which he has restored the use of limbs to persons who had lost
it for many years (one woman nine years), in cases of supposed
rheumatism. At all events, Davy says, it can do no harm in Mrs.
Robinson's case, and, if she will try it, he will make up a little
parcel and write her a letter of instructions, etc. Tell her, and it is
the truth, that Davy is exceedingly delighted with the two poems in the
"Anthology".

N.B. Did you get my attempt at a tragedy from Mrs. Robinson?

To Mrs. Smith I am about to write a letter, with a book; be so kind as
to inform me of her direction.

Mrs. Inchbald I do not like at all; every time I recollect her I like
her less. That segment of a look at the corner of her eye--O God in
heaven! it is so cold and cunning. Through worlds of wildernesses I
would run away from that look, that "heart-picking" look! 'Tis
marvellous to me that you can like that woman.

I shall remain here about ten days for certain. If you have leisure and
inclination in that time, write; if not, I will write to you where I am
going, or at all events whither I am gone.

God bless you, and

Your sincerely affectionate

S. T. COLERIDGE.

Mr. T. Poole's,

N[ether] Stowey, Bridgwater.

Sara desires to be remembered kindly to you, and sends a kiss to Fanny,
and "dear meek little Mary."

[Footnote 1: Mrs. Shelley.]

[Footnote 2: The celebrated Perdita. She died in the following
December.]

Next month Coleridge wrote to Davy.

LETTER 92. TO HUMPHRY DAVY

Saturday Morning, Mr. T. Poole's, Nether Stowey, Somerset.

My dear Davy,

I received a very kind letter from Godwin, in which he says that he
never thinks of you but with a brother's feeling of love and
expectation. Indeed, I am sure he does not.

I think of translating Blumenbach's Manual of Natural History: it is
very well written, and would, I think, be useful both to students, as an
admirable direction to their studies, and to others it would supply a
general knowledge of the subject. I will state the contents of the book:
1. Of the naturalia in general, and their divisions into three kingdoms.
2. Of organised bodies in general. 3. Of animals in general. 4. Of the
mammalia. 5. Birds. 6. Amphibious. 7. Fishes. 8. Insects. 9. Worms. 10.
Plants. 11. Of minerals in general. 12. Of stones and earthy fossils.
13. Of mineral salts. 14. Combustible minerals. 15. Of metals. 16.
Petrifactions. At the end there is an alphabetical index, so that it is
at once a natural history and a dictionary of natural history. To each
animal, etc., all the European names are given, with of course the
scientific characteristics. I have the last edition, "i.e.", that of
April, 1799. Now, I wish to know from you, whether there is in English
already any work of one volume (this would make 800 pages), that renders
this useless. In short, should I be right in advising Longman to
undertake it? Answer me as soon as you conveniently can. Blumenbach has
been no very great discoverer, though he has done some respectable
things in that way, but he is a man of enormous knowledge, and has an
"arranging" head. Ask Beddoes, if you do not know. When you have
leisure, you would do me a great service, if you would briefly state
your metaphysical system of impressions, ideas, pleasures, and pains,
the laws that govern them, and the reasons which induce you to consider
them as essentially distinct from each other. My motive for this request
is the following:--As soon as I "settle", I shall read Spinoza and
Leibnitz, and I particularly wish to know wherein they agree with, and
wherein differ from you. If you will do this, I promise you to send you
the result, and with it my own creed.

God bless you!

S. T. COLERIDGE.

Blumenbach's book contains references to all the best writers on each
subject. My friend, T. Poole, begs me to ask what, in your opinion, are
the parts or properties in the oak which tan skins? and is cold water a
complete menstruum for these parts or properties? I understand from
Poole that nothing is so little understood as the chemical theory of
tan, though nothing is of more importance in the circle of manufactures;
in other words, does oak bark give out to cold water all those of its
parts which tan?

Coleridge and his family at last settled down at Greta Hall in July,
1800, and he thus writes to Josiah Wedgwood of the event.

LETTER 93. To JOSIAH WEDGWOOD

July 24, 1800.

My dear sir,

I find your letter on my arrival at Grasmere, namely, dated on the 29th
of June, since which time to the present, with the exception of the last
few days, I have been more unwell than I have ever been since I left
school. For many days I was forced to keep my bed, and when released
from that incarceration, I suffered most grievously from a brace of
swollen eyelids, and a head into which, on the least agitation, the
blood was felt as rushing in and flowing back again, like the raking of
the tide on a coast of loose stones. However, thank God, I am now coming
about again.

That Tom receives such pleasure from natural scenery strikes me as it
does you. The total incapability which I have found in myself to
associate any but the most languid feelings, with the God-like objects
which have surrounded me, and the nauseous efforts to impress my
admiration into the service of nature, has given me a sympathy with his
former state of health, which I never before could have had. I wish,
from the bottom of my soul, that he may be enjoying similar pleasures
with those which I am now enjoying with all that newness of sensation;
that voluptuous correspondence of the blood and flesh about me with
breeze and sun-heat, which makes convalescence more than repay one for
disease.

I parted from Poole with pain and dejection, for him, and for myself in
him. I should have given Stowey a decided preference for a residence. It
was likewise so conveniently situated, that I was in the way of almost
all whom I love and esteem. But there was no suitable house, and no
prospect of a suitable house.

* * * These things would have weighed as nothing, could I have remained
at Stowey, but now they come upon me to diminish my regret. Add to this,
Poole's determination to spend a year or two on the continent, in case
of a peace and his mother's death. God in heaven bless her! I am sure
she will not live long. This is the first day of my arrival at Keswick.
My house is roomy, situated on an eminence, a furlong from the town;
before it an enormous garden, more than two-thirds of which is rented as
a garden for sale articles; but the walks are ours. Completely behind
the house are shrubberies, and a declivity planted with flourishing
trees of ten or fifteen years' growth, at the bottom of which is a most
delightful shaded walk, by the river Greta, a quarter of a mile in
length. The room in which I sit commands from one window the
Bassenthwaite lake, woods, and mountains. From the opposite, the
Derwentwater and fantastic mountains of Borrowdale. Straight before is a
wilderness of mountains, catching and streaming lights and shadows at
all times. Behind the house, and entering into all our views, is
Skiddaw.

My acquaintances here are pleasant, and at some distance is Sir Guilfred
Lawson's seat, with a very large and expensive library, to which I have
every reason to hope that I shall have free access. But when I have been
settled here a few days longer, I will write you a minute account of my
situation. Wordsworth lives twelve miles distant. In about a year's time
he will probably settle at Keswick likewise. It is no small advantage
here, that for two-thirds of the year we are in complete retirement. The
other third is alive and swarms with tourists of all shapes, and sizes,
and characters. It is the very place I would recommend to a novelist or
farce writer. Besides, at that time of the year there is always hope
that a friend may be among the number and miscellaneous crowd, whom this
place attracts. So much for Keswick.

Have you seen my translation of "Wallenstein". It is a dull heavy play,
but I entertain hopes that you will think the language for the greater
part, natural, and good common sense English; to which excellence, if I
can lay fair claim in any work of poetry or prose, I shall be a very
singular writer, at least. I am now working at my "Introduction of the
Life of Lessing", which I trust will be in the press before Christmas,
that is, the "Introduction", which will be published first. God bless
you,

S. T. COLERIDGE.

Josiah Wedgwood, Esq.

To Davy Coleridge wrote on the succeeding day.

LETTER 94. TO DAVY

Keswick, Friday Evening, July 25, 1800.

My dear Davy

Work hard, and if success do not dance up like the bubbles in the salt
(with the spirit lamp under it), may the Devil and his dam take success!
My dear fellow! from the window before me there is a great "camp" of
mountains. Giants seem to have pitched their tents there. Each mountain
is a giant's tent, and how the light streams from them. Davy! I "ache"
for you to be with us.

W. Wordsworth is such a lazy fellow, that I bemire myself by making
promises for him: the moment I received your letter, I wrote to him. He
will, I hope, write immediately to Biggs and Cottle. At all events,
those poems must not as yet be delivered up to them, because that
beautiful poem, "The Brothers", which I read to you in Paul Street, I
neglected to deliver to you, and that must begin the volume. I trust,
however, that I have invoked the sleeping bard with a spell so potent,
that he will awake and deliver up that sword of Argantyr, which is to
rive the enchanter "Gaudyverse" from his crown to his foot.

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