Reminiscences of Samuel Taylor Coleridge and Robert Southey

J >> Joseph Cottle >> Reminiscences of Samuel Taylor Coleridge and Robert Southey

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You much perplexed me by the various set:
They were indeed an elegant quartette!
My mind went to and fro, and wavered long;
At length I've chosen (Samuel thinks me wrong)
That around whose azure brim,
Silver figures seem to swim,
Like fleece-white clouds, that on the skyey blue,
Waked by no breeze, the self-same shapes retain;
Or ocean nymphs, with limbs of snowy hue,
Slow floating o'er the calm cerulean plain.

Just such a one, mon cher ami
(The finger-shield of industry,)
The inventive gods, I deem, to Pallas gave,
What time the vain Arachne, madly brave,
Challenged the blue-eyed virgin of the sky
A duel in embroidered work to try.
And hence the thimbled finger of grave Pallas,
To th' erring needle's point was more than callous.

But, ah, the poor Arachne! she, unarmed,
Blund'ring, through hasty eagerness, alarmed
With all a rival's hopes, a mortal's fears,
Still miss'd the stitch, and stained the web with tears.
Unnumbered punctures, small, yet sore,
Full fretfully the maiden bore,
Till she her lily finger found
Crimson'd with many a tiny wound,
And to her eyes, suffused with watery woe,
Her flower-embroidered web danced dim, I wist,
Like blossom'd shrubs, in a quick-moving mist;
Till vanquish'd, the despairing maid sank low.

O, Bard! whom sure no common muse inspires,
I heard your verse that glows with vestal fires;
And I from unwatch'd needle's erring point
Had surely suffered on each finger joint,
Those wounds, which erst did poor Arachne meet;
While he, the much-loved object of my choice,
(My bosom thrilling with enthusiast heat)
Pour'd on my ear, with deep impressive voice,
How the great Prophet of the desert stood,
And preach'd of penitence by Jordan's flood:
On war; or else the legendary lays,
In simplest measures hymn'd to Alla's praise;
Or what the Bard from his heart's inmost stores,
O'er his friend's grave in loftier numbers pours:
Yes, Bard polite! you but obey'd the laws
Of justice, when the thimble you had sent;
What wounds your thought-bewildering muse might cause,
'Tis well, your finger-shielding gifts prevent.

SARA."

"Dear Cottle,

I have heard nothing of my Tragedy, except some silly remarks of
Kemble's, to whom a friend showed it; it does not appear to me that there
is a shadow of probability that it will be accepted. It gave me no pain,
and great pleasure, in finding that it gave me no pain.

I had rather hoped than believed that I was possessed of so much
philosophical capability. Sheridan most certainly has not used me with
common justice. The proposal came from himself, and although this
circumstance did not bind him to accept the tragedy, it certainly bound
him to every, and that the earliest, attention to it. I suppose it is
snugly in his green bag, if it have not emigrated to the kitchen.

I sent to the Monthly Magazine, (1797) three mock Sonnets, in ridicule of
my own Poems, and Charles Lloyd's, and Lamb's, &c. &c. exposing that
affectation of unaffectedness, of jumping and misplaced accent, in
common-place epithets, flat lines forced into poetry by italics,
(signifying how well and mouthishly the author would read them) puny
pathos, &c. &c. the instances were almost all taken from myself, and
Lloyd, and Lamb.

I signed them 'Nehemiah Higginbotham.' I think they may do good to our
young Bards.

God love you,

S. T. C."

P. S. I am translating the 'Oberon' of Wieland; it is a difficult
language, and I can translate at least as fast as I can construe. I have
made also a very considerable proficiency in the French language, and
study it daily, and daily study the German; so that I am not, and have
not been idle....

SONNETS.

ATTEMPTED IN THE MANNER OP CONTEMPORARY WRITERS.

* * * * *

SONNET I.

Pensive, at eve, on the hard world I mus'd,
And my poor heart was sad: so at the moon
I gazed, and sigh'd, and sigh'd! for ah! how soon
Eve darkens into night! Mine eye perus'd
With tearful vacancy the dampy grass,
Which wept and glitter'd in the paly ray:
And I did pause me on my lonely way,
And muse me on those wretched ones, who pass
O'er the black heath of sorrow. But alas!
Most of MYSELF I thought: when it befel
That the sooth SPIRIT of the breezy wood
Breath'd in mine ear--"All this is very well;
But much of _one_ thing is for _no-thing_ good."
Ah! my poor heart's inexplicable swell!

NEHEMIAH HIGGINBOTHAM.

SONNET II.

TO SIMPLICITY.

O! I do love thee, meek simplicity!
For of thy lays, the lulling simpleness
Goes to my heart, and soothes each small distress,
Distress, though small, yet haply great to me!
'Tis true, on lady fortune's gentlest pad,
I amble on; yet, though I know not why,
So sad I am!--but should a friend and I
Grow cool and miff, oh, I am very sad!
And then with sonnets, and with sympathy.
My dreamy bosom's mystic woes I pall;
Now of my false friend 'plaining plaintively,
Now raving at mankind in gener-al
But whether sad or fierce, 'tis simple all,
All very simple, meek SIMPLICITY!

NEHEMIAH HIGGINBOTHAM.

SONNET III.

ON A RUINED HOUSE WHICH JACK BUILT.

And this reft house is that, the which he built,
Lamented Jack! and here his malt he piled,
Cautious in vain! These rats that squeak'd so wild,
Squeak, not unconscious of their fathers' guilt.
Did ye not see her gleaming through the glade?
Belike 'twas she, the Maiden all forlorn.
What though she milk no cow with crumpled horn,
Yet, aye she haunts the dale where erst she stray'd:
And, aye beside her stalks her amorous knight!
Still on his thighs his wonted brogues are worn,
And through those brogues, still tatter'd and betorn,
His hindward charms gleam an unearthly white;
As when through broken clouds, at night's high moon.
Peeps in fair fragments forth--the full-orb'd harvest moon!

NEHEMIAH HIGGINBOTHAM.[44]

The moralist rightly says, "There is nothing permanent in this uncertain
world;" and even most friendships do not partake of the "Munition of
Rocks."

Alas! the spirit of impartiality now compels me to record, that the
inseparable Trio; even the three "Groscolliases" themselves, had, somehow
or other, been touched with the negative magnet, and their particles, in
opposition, flew off "as far as from hence to the utmost pole." I never
rightly understood the cause of this dissension, but shrewdly suspected
that that unwelcome and insidious intruder, Mr. Nehemiah Higginbotham,
had no inconsiderable share in it.

Mr. C. even determined in his third projected edition, (1798) that the
production of his two late friends should be excluded. The three next
letters refer to this unpleasant affair. It is hardly necessary to add,
that the difference was of short continuance.

The Latin motto, prefixed to the second edition of Mr. C.'s poems,
puzzled everybody to know from what author it was derived. One and
another inquired of me, to no purpose, and expressed a wish that Mr. C.
had been clearer in his citation, as "no one could understand it." On my
naming this to Mr. Coleridge, he laughed heartily, and said, "It was all
a hoax." "Not meeting" said he, "with a suitable motto, I invented one,
and with references purposely obscure," as will be explained in the next
letter.[45]

"March 8th, 1798.

My dear Cottle,

I have been confined to my bed for some days, through a fever occasioned
by the stump of a tooth, which baffled chirurgical efforts to eject, and
which, by affecting my eye, affected my stomach, and through that my
whole frame. I am better, but still weak, in consequence of such long
sleeplessness and wearying pains; weak, very weak. I thank you, my dear
friend, for your late kindness, and in a few weeks will either repay you
in money, or by verses, as you like. "With regard to Lloyd's verses, it
is curious that I should be applied to, 'to be persuaded to resign' and
in hopes that I might 'consent to give up' (unknown by whom) a number of
poems which were published at the earnest request of the author, who
assured me, that the circumstance was of 'no trivial import to his
happiness'!

Times change and people change; but let us keep our souls in quietness! I
have no objection to any disposal of Lloyd's poems except that of their
being republished with mine. The motto which I had prefixed--"Duplex,
&c." from Groscollias, has placed me in a ridiculous situation, but it
was a foolish and presumptuous start of affectionateness, and I am not
unwilling to incur the punishment due to my folly. By past experiences we
build up our moral being. God bless you,

S. T. Coleridge."

A reference to this "stump of a tooth." was more particularly made, in
the following letter to Mr. Wade.

"March 21st, 1798.

My very dear friend,

I have even now returned from a little excursion that I have taken for
the confirmation of my health, which had suffered a rude assault from the
anguish of the stump of a tooth which had baffled the attempts of our
surgeon here, and which confined me to my bed. I suffered much from the
disease, and more from the doctor; rather than again put my mouth into
his hands, I would put my hands into a lion's mouth. I am happy to hear
of, and should be most happy to see, the plumpness and progression of
your dear boy; but-yes, my dear Wade, it must be a but, much as I hate
the word but. Well,--but I cannot attend the chemical lectures. I have
many reasons, but the greatest, or at least the most ostensible reason,
is, that I cannot leave Mrs. C. at that time; our house is an
uncomfortable one; our surgeon may be, for aught I know, a lineal
descendant of Esculapius himself, but if so, in the repeated transfusion
of life from father to son, through so many generations, the wit and
knowledge, being subtle spirits, have evaporated....

Ever your grateful and affectionate friend,

S. T. Coleridge."

"1798.

My dear Cottle,

I regret that aught should have disturbed our tranquillity; respecting
Lloyd, I am willing to believe myself in part mistaken, and so let all
things be as before. I have no wish respecting these poems, either for or
against re-publication with mine. As to the third edition, if there be
occasion for it immediately, it must be published with some alterations,
but no additions or omissions. The Pixies, Chatterton, and some dozen
others, shall be printed at the end of the volume, under the title of
Juvenile Poems, and in this case I will send you the volume immediately.
But if there be no occasion for the volume to go to press for ten weeks,
at the expiration of that time, I would make it a volume worthy of me,
and omit utterly near one-half of the present volume--a sacrifice to
pitch black oblivion.[46]

Whichever be the case, I will repay you the money you have paid for me,
in money, and in a few weeks; or if you should prefer the latter
proposal, i. e. the not sending me to the press for ten weeks, I should
insist on considering the additions, however large, as my payment to you
for the omissions, which, indeed, would be but strict justice.

I am requested by Wordsworth, to put to you the following questions. What
could you, conveniently and prudently, and what would you give
for--first, our two Tragedies, with small prefaces, containing an
analysis of our principal characters? Exclusive of the prefaces, the
tragedies are, together, five thousand lines; which, in printing, from
the dialogue form, and directions respecting actors and scenery, are at
least equal to six thousand. To be delivered to you within a week of the
date of your answer to this letter; and the money which you offer, to be
paid to us at the end of four months from the same date; none to be paid
before, all to be paid then.

Second.--Wordsworth's 'Salisbury Plain,' and 'Tale of a Woman'; which two
poems, with a few others which he will add, and the notes, will make a
volume. This to be delivered to you within three weeks of the date of
your answer, and the money to be paid as before, at the end of four
months from the present date.

Do not, my dearest Cottle, harass yourself about the imagined great merit
of the compositions, or be reluctant to offer what you can prudently
offer, from an idea that the poems are worth more. But calculate what you
can do, with reference simply to yourself, and answer as speedily as you
can; and believe me your sincere, grateful, and affectionate friend and
brother,

S. T. Coleridge."

I offered Mr. Coleridge and Mr. Wordsworth, thirty guineas each, as
proposed, for their two tragedies; but which, after some hesitation, was
declined, from the hope of introducing one, or both, on the stage. The
volume of Poems was left for some future arrangement.

"My dear Cottle,

I never involved you in the bickering, and never suspected you, in any
one action of your life, of practising guile against any human being,
except yourself.

Your letter supplied only one in a link of circumstances, that informed
me of some things, and perhaps deceived me in others. I shall write
to-day to Lloyd. I do not think I shall come to Bristol for these
lectures of which you speak.[47] I ardently wish for the knowledge, but
Mrs. Coleridge is within a month of her confinement, and I cannot, I
ought not to leave her; especially as her surgeon is not a John Hunter,
nor my house likely to perish from a plethora of comforts. Besides, there
are other things that might disturb that evenness of benevolent feeling,
which I wish to cultivate.

I am much better, and at present at Allfoxden, and my new and tender
health is all over me like a voluptuous feeling. God bless you,

S. T. Coleridge."

When the before noticed dissension occurred, Charles Lamb and Charles
Lloyd, between whom a strong friendship had latterly sprung up, became
alienated from Mr. Coleridge, and cherished something of an indignant
feeling. Strange as it may appear, C. Lamb determined to desert the
inglorious ground of neutrality, and to commence active operations
against his late friend; but the arrows were taken from his own peculiar
armoury; tipped, not with iron, but wit. He sent Mr. Coleridge the
following letter. Mr. Coleridge gave me this letter, saying, "These young
visionaries will do each other no good." The following is Charles Lamb's
letter to Mr. C.

"THESES QUAEDAM THEOLOGICAE.

1st. Whether God loves a lying angel better than a true man?

2nd. Whether the archangel Uriel could affirm an untruth, and if he
could, whether he would?

3rd. Whether honesty be an angelic virtue, or not rather to be
reckoned among those qualities which the school-men term 'Virtutes
minus splendidae'?

4th. Whether the higher order of Seraphim illuminati ever sneer?

5th. Whether pure intelligences can love?

6th. Whether the Seraphim ardentes do not manifest their virtues, by
the way of vision and theory; and whether practice be not a
sub-celestial and merely human virtue?

7th. Whether the vision beatific be anything more or less than a
perpetual representment, to each individual angel, of his own present
attainments, and future capabilities, somehow in the manner of mortal
looking-glasses, reflecting a perpetual complacency and self
satisfaction?

8th. and last. Whether an immortal and amenable soul may not come to
be condemned at last, and the man never suspect it beforehand?

Learned Sir, my friend,

Presuming on our long habits of friendship, and emboldened further by
your late liberal permission to avail myself of your correspondence, in
case I want any knowledge, (which I intend to do, when I have no
Encyclopedia, or Ladies Magazine at hand to refer to, in any matter of
science,) I now submit to your enquiries the above theological
propositions, to be by you defended or oppugned, or both, in the schools
of Germany, whither, I am told, you are departing, to the utter
dissatisfaction of your native Devonshire, and regret of universal
England; but to my own individual consolation, if, through the channel of
your wished return, learned sir, my friend, may be transmitted to this
our island, from those famous theological wits of Leipsic and Gottingen,
any rays of illumination, in vain to be derived from the home growth of
our English halls and colleges. Finally wishing, learned sir, that you
may see Schiller, and swing in a wood, (vide poems) and sit upon a tun,
and eat fat hams of Westphalia,

I remain,

Your friend and docile pupil, to instruct,

Charles Lamb."

Mr. Coleridge, at first, appeared greatly hurt at this letter; an
impression which I endeavoured to counteract, by considering it as a
slight ebullition of feeling that would soon subside; and which happily
proved to be the case. I also felt concern, not only that there should be
a dissension between old friends, but lest Mr. Coleridge should be
inconvenienced in a pecuniary way by the withdrawal of C. Lloyd from his
domestic roof. To restore and heal, therefore, I wrote a conciliatory
letter to Charles Lloyd, to which he thus replied.

"Birmingham, 7th June, 1798.

My dear Cottle,

I thank you many times for your pleasing intelligence respecting
Coleridge. I cannot think that I have acted with, or from, passion
towards him. Even my solitary night thoughts have been easy and calm when
they have dwelt on him.... I love Coleridge, and can forget all that has
happened.

At present, I could not well go to Stowey. I could scarcely excuse so
sudden a removal from my parents. Lamb quitted me yesterday, after a
fortnight's visit. I have been much interested in his society. I never
knew him so happy in my life. I shall write to Coleridge today.

God bless you, my dear friend,

C. Lloyd, Jun."

Mr. C. up to this day, Feb. 18th, 1798, held, though laxly, the doctrines
of Socinus. On the Rev. Mr. Rowe, of Shrewsbury, the Unitarian minister,
coming to settle in Bristol, Mr. Coleridge was strongly recommended by
his friends of that persuasion, to offer himself as Mr. R.'s successor;
and he accordingly went on probation to Shrewsbury.

It is proper here to mention, in order that this subject may be the
better understood, that Mr. Poole, two or three years before, had
introduced Mr. Coleridge to Mr. Thomas Wedgewood. This gentleman formed a
high opinion of Mr. C.'s talents, and felt an interest in his welfare. At
the time Mr. Coleridge was hesitating whether or not he should persist in
offering himself to the Shrewsbury congregation, and so finally settle
down into an Unitarian minister, Mr. T. Wedgewood having heard of the
circumstance, and fearing that a pastoral engagement might operate
unfavourably on his literary pursuits, interfered, as will appear by the
following letter of Mr. Coleridge to Mr. Wade.

"Stowey,

My very dear friend,

This last fortnight has been very eventful. I received one hundred pounds
from Josiah Wedgewood, in order to prevent the necessity of my going into
the ministry. I have received an invitation from Shrewsbury, to be
minister there; and after fluctuations of mind, which have for nights
together robbed me of sleep, and I am afraid of health, I have at length
returned the order to Mr. Wedgwood, with a long letter, explanatory of my
conduct, and accepted the Shrewsbury invitation...."

Mr. T. Wedgewood still adhering to his first opinion that Mr. Coleridge's
acceptance of the proposed engagement, would seriously obstruct his
literary efforts; sent Mr. C. a letter, in which himself and his brother,
Mr. Josiah Wedgwood, promised, conjointly, to allow him for his life, one
hundred and fifty pounds a year. This decided Mr. Coleridge to reject the
Shrewsbury invitation. He was oppressed with grateful emotions to these
his liberal benefactors, and always spoke, in particular, of the late Mr.
Thomas Wedgewood as being one of the best talkers, and as possessing one
of the acutest minds, of any man he had known.

The following is Mr. Coleridge's hasty reply to Mr. Wedgewood.

"Shrewsbury, Friday night, 1798.

My dear sir,

I have this moment received your letter, and have scarcely more than a
moment to answer it by return of post. If kindly feeling can be repaid by
kindly feeling, I am not your debtor. I would wish to express the, same
thing which is big at my heart, but I know not how to do it without
indelicacy. As much abstracted from personal feeling as possible, I honor
and esteem you for that which you have done.

I must of necessity stay here till the close of Sunday next. On Monday
morning I shall leave it, and on Tuesday will be with you at Cote-House.

Very affectionately yours,

S. T. Coleridge.

T. Wedgewood, Esq."

While the affair was in suspense, a report was current in Bristol, that
Mr. Coleridge had rejected the Messrs. Wedgewoods' offer, which the
Unitarians in both towns ardently desired. Entertaining a contrary wish,
I addressed a letter to Mr. C. stating the report, and expressing a hope
that it had no foundation. The following satisfactory answer was
immediately returned.

"My very dear Cottle,

The moment I received Mr. T. Wedgewood's letter, I accepted his offer.
How a contrary report could arise, I cannot guess....

I hope to see you at the close of next week. I have been respectfully and
kindly treated at Shrewsbury. I am well, and now, and ever,

Your grateful and affectionate friend,

S. T. Coleridge."

In the year 1798, Mr. Coleridge and Mr. Wordsworth determined upon
visiting Germany. A knowledge of this fact will elucidate some of the
succeeding letters.

"Feb. 18, 1798.

My dear Cottle,

I have finished my Ballad, it is 340 lines; I am going on with my
'Visions': altogether (for I shall print two scenes of my Tragedy, as
fragments) I can add 1500 lines; now what do you advise? Shall I add my
Tragedy, and so make a second volume? or shall I pursue my first
intention of inserting 1500 in the third edition? If you should advise a
second volume, should you wish, i. e. find it convenient, to be the
purchaser? I ask this question, because I wish you to know the true state
of my present circumstances. I have received nothing yet from the
Wedgewoods, and my money is utterly expended.

A friend of mine wanted five guineas for a little while, which I borrowed
of Poole, as for myself, I do not like therefore to apply to him. Mr.
Estlin has some little money I believe in his hands, but I received from
him before I went to Shrewsbury, fifteen pounds, and I believe that this
was an anticipation of the five guinea presents, which my friends would
have made in March. But (this affair of the Messrs. Wedgewoods turning
out) the money in Mr. Estlin's hand must go towards repaying him that sum
which he suffered me to anticipate. Meantime I owe Biggs L5. which is
heavy on my thoughts, and Mrs. I has not been paid her last quarter which
is still heavier. As to myself, I can continue to go on here, but this
L10 I must pay somehow, that is L5 to Biggs, and L5 to Mrs. F....

God bless you,

S. T. Coleridge."

P.S. This week I purpose offering myself to the Bridgwater Socinian
congregation, as assistant minister, without any salary, directly, or
indirectly; but of this say not a word to any one, unless you see Mr.
Estlin.

A visit to Mr. Coleridge at Stowey, had been the means of my introduction
to Mr. Wordsworth, who read me many of his Lyrical Pieces, when I
immediately perceived in them extraordinary merit, and advised him to
publish them, expressing a belief that they would be well received. I
further said he should be at no risk; that I would give him the same sum
which I had given to Mr. Coleridge and to Mr. Southey, and that it would
be a gratifying circumstance to me, to have been the publisher of the
first volumes of three such poets, as Southey, Coleridge, and Wordsworth;
such a distinction might never again occur to a Provincial bookseller.

To the idea of publishing he expressed a strong objection, and after
several interviews, I left him, with an earnest wish that he would
reconsider his determination.

Soon after Mr. Wordsworth sent me the following letter.

"Allfoxden, 12th April, 1798.

My dear Cottle,

... You will be pleased to hear that I have gone on very rapidly adding
to my stock of poetry. Do come and let me read it to you, under the old
trees in the park. We have a little more than two months to stay in this
place. Within these four days the season has advanced with greater
rapidity than I ever remember, and the country becomes almost every hour
more lovely. God bless you,

Your affectionate friend,

W. Wordsworth."

A little time after, I received an invitation from Mr. Coleridge to pay
himself and Mr. Wordsworth another visit. At about the same time, I
received the following corroborative invitation from Mr. Wordsworth.

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