Reminiscences of Samuel Taylor Coleridge and Robert Southey by Joseph Cottle

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

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S. T. Coleridge.

P. S. It is no small gratification to me, that I have seen and conversed
with Mrs. Hannah More. She is, indisputably, the first literary female I
ever met with. In part, no doubt, because she is a Christian. Make my
best respects when you write."

The serious expenditure of money, resulting from Mr. C.'s consumption of
opium, was the least evil, though very great, and which must have
absorbed all the produce of Mr. C.'s lectures, and all the liberalities
of his friends. It is painful to record such circumstances as the
following, but the picture would be incomplete without it.

Mr. Coleridge, in a late letter, with something it is feared, if not of
duplicity, of self-deception, extols the skill of his surgeon, in having
gradually lessened his consumption of laudanum, it was understood, to
twenty drops a day. With this diminution, the habit was considered as
subdued, and at which result, no one appeared to rejoice more than Mr.
Coleridge himself. The reader will be surprised to learn, that,
notwithstanding this flattering exterior, Mr. C. while apparently
submitting to the directions of his medical adviser, was secretly
indulging in his usual overwhelming quantities of opium! Heedless of his
health, and every honourable consideration, he contrived to obtain
surreptitiously, the fatal drug, and, thus to baffle the hopes of his
warmest friends.

Mr. Coleridge had resided, at this time, for several months, with his
kind friend, Mr. Josiah Wade, of Bristol, who, in his solicitude for his
benefit, had procured for him, so long as it was deemed necessary, the
professional assistance, stated above. The surgeon on taking leave, after
the cure had been _effected_, well knowing the expedients to which opium
patients would often recur, to obtain their proscribed draughts; at
least, till the habit of temperance was fully established, cautioned Mr.
W. to prevent Mr. Coleridge, by all possible means, from obtaining that
by stealth, from which he was openly debarred. It reflects great credit
on Mr. Wade's humanity, that to prevent all access to opium, and thus, if
possible, to rescue his friend from destruction, he engaged a respectable
old decayed tradesman, constantly to attend Mr. C. and, to make that
which was sure, doubly certain, placed him even in his bed-room; and this
man always accompanied him whenever he went out. To such surveillance Mr.
Coleridge cheerfully acceded, in order to show the promptitude with which
he seconded the efforts of his friends. It has been stated that every
precaution was unavailing. By some unknown means and dexterous
contrivances, Mr. C. afterward confessed that he still obtained his usual
lulling potions.

As an example, amongst others of a similar nature, one ingenious
expedient, to which he resorted, to cheat the doctor, he thus disclosed
to Mr. Wade, from whom I received it. He said, in passing along the quay,
where the ships were moored, he noticed, by a side glance, a druggist's
shop, probably an old resort, and standing near the door, he looked
toward the ships, and pointing to one at some distance, he said to his
attendant, "I think that's an American." "Oh, no, that I am sure it is
not," said the man. "I think it is," replied Mr. C. "I wish you would
step over and ask, and bring me the particulars." The man accordingly
went; when as soon as his back was turned, Mr. C. stepped into the shop,
had his portly bottle filled with laudanum, which he always carried in
his pocket, and then expeditiously placed himself in the spot where he
was left. The man now returned with the particulars, beginning, "I told
you, sir, it was not an American, but I have learned all about her." "As
I am mistaken, never mind the rest," said Mr. C. and walked on.[97]

Every bad course of conduct (happily for the good of social order) leads
to perplexing, and generally, to disastrous results. The reader will soon
have a practical illustration, that Mr. Coleridge was not exempt from the
general law.

A common impression prevailed on the minds of his friends, that it was a
desperate case, that paralyzed all their efforts: that to assist Mr. C.
with money, which, under favourable circumstances, would have been most
promptly advanced, would now only enlarge his capacity to obtain the
opium which was consuming him. We at length learnt that Mr. Coleridge was
gone to reside with his friend Mr. John Morgan, in a small house, at
Calne, in Wiltshire. So gloomy were our apprehensions, that even the
death of Mr. C. was mournfully expected at no distant period! for his
actions at this time, were, we feared, all indirectly of a suicidal
description.

In a letter from Mr. Southey, dated Oct. 27, 1814, he thus writes:--

"My dear Cottle,

It is not long since I heard of you from Mr. De Quincey: but I wish you
would sometimes let me hear from you. There was a time when scarcely a
day passed without my seeing you, and in all that time, I do not remember
that there was a passing cloud of coolness between us. The feeling I am
sure continues: do not then let us be so entirely separated by distance,
which in cases of correspondence may almost be considered as a mere
abstraction....

Can you tell me anything of Coleridge? We know that he is with the
Morgans at Calne. What is to become of him? He may find men who will give
him board and lodging for the sake of his conversation, but who will pay
his other expenses? He leaves his family to chance, and charity. With
good feelings, good principles, as far as the understanding is concerned,
and an intellect as clear, and as powerful, as was ever vouchsafed to
man, he is the slave of degrading sensuality, and sacrifices everything
to it. The case is equally deplorable and monstrous....

Believe me, my dear Cottle,

Ever your affectionate old friend,

Robert Southey."

Of Mr. Coleridge, I now heard nothing, but, in common with all his
friends, felt deep solicitude concerning his future course; when, in
March, 1815, I received from him the following letter:--

"Calne, March 7, 1815.

Dear Cottle, You will wish to know something of myself. In health, I am
not worse than when at Bristol I was best; yet fluctuating, yet unhappy!
in circumstances 'poor indeed!' I have collected my scattered, and my
manuscript poems, sufficient to make one volume. Enough I have to make
another. But till the latter is finished, I cannot without great loss of
character, publish the former on account of the arrangement, besides the
necessity of correction. For instance, I earnestly wish to begin the
volumes, with what has never been seen by any, however few, such as a
series of Odes on the different sentences of the Lord's Prayer, and more
than all this, to finish my greater work on 'Christianity, considered as
Philosophy, and as the only Philosophy.' All the materials I have in no
small part, reduced to form, and written, but, oh me! what can I do, when
I am so poor, that in having to turn off every week, from these to some
mean subject for the newspapers, I distress myself, and at last neglect
the greater, wholly to do little of the less. If it were in your power to
receive my manuscripts, (for instance what I have ready for the press of
my poems) and by setting me forward with _thirty_ or _forty_ pounds,
taking care that what I send, and would make over to you, would more than
secure you from loss, I am sure you would do it. And I would die (after
my recent experience of the cruel and insolent spirit of calumny,) rather
than subject myself, as a slave, to a club of subscribers to my poverty.

If I were to say I am easy in my conscience, I should add to its pains by
a lie; but this I can truly say, that my embarrassments have not been
occasioned by the bad parts, or selfish indulgences of my nature. I am at
present five and twenty pounds in arrear, my expenses being at £2 10s.
per week. You will say I ought to live for less, and doubtless I might,
if I were to alienate myself from all social affections, and from all
conversation with persons of the same education. Those who severely blame
me, never ask, whether at any time in my life, I had for myself and my
family's wants, £50 beforehand.

Heaven knows of the £300 received, through you, what went to myself.[98]
No! bowed down under manifold infirmities, I yet dare to appeal to God
for the truth of what I say; I have remained poor by always having been
poor, and incapable of pursuing any one great work, for want of a
competence beforehand.

S. T. Coleridge."

This was precisely the termination I was prepared to expect. I had never
before, through my whole life refused Mr. C. an application for money;
yet I now hesitated: assured that the sum required, was not meant for the
discharge of board, (for which he paid nothing) but for the purchase of
opium, the expense of which, for years, had amounted nearly to the two
pounds ten shillings per week. Under this conviction, and after a painful
conflict, I sent Mr. C. on the next day, a friendly letter, declining his
request in the kindest manner I could, but enclosing a five pound note.
It happened that my letter to Mr. Coleridge passed on the road, another
letter from him to myself, far more harrowing than the first. This was
the _last_ letter ever received from Mr. C.

The following is Mr. Coleridge's second letter.

"Calne, Wiltshire, March 10, 1815.

My dear Cottle,

I have been waiting with the greatest uneasiness for a letter from you.
My distresses are impatient rather than myself: inasmuch as for the last
five weeks, I know myself to be a burden on those to whom I am under
great obligations: who would gladly do all for me; _but who have done all
they can!_ Incapable of any exertion in this state of mind, I have now
written to Mr. Hood, and have at length bowed my heart down, to beg that
four or five of those, who I had reason to believe, were interested in my
welfare, would raise the sum I mentioned, between them, should you not
find it convenient to do it. Manuscript poems, equal to one volume of 230
to 300 pages, being sent to them immediately. If not, I must instantly
dispose of all my poems, fragments and all, for whatever I can get from
the first rapacious bookseller, that will give anything--and then try to
get my livelihood where I am, by receiving, or waiting on day-pupils,
children, or adults, but even this I am unable to wait for without some
assistance: for I cannot but with consummate baseness, throw the expenses
of my lodging and boarding for the last five or six weeks on those, who
must injure and embarrass themselves in order to pay them. The 'Friend'
has been long out of print, and its re-publication has been called for by
numbers.

Indeed from the manner in which it was first circulated, it is little
less than a new work. To make it a complete and circular work, it needs
but about eight or ten papers. This I could, and would make over to you
at once in full copy-right, and finish it outright, with no other delay
than that of finishing a short and temperate Treatise on the Corn Laws,
and their national and moral effects; which had I even twenty pounds only
to procure myself a week's ease of mind, I could have printed before the
bill had passed the Lords. At all events let me hear by return of post. I
am confident that whether you take the property of my Poems, or of my
Prose Essays, in pledge, you cannot eventually lose the money.

As soon as I can, I shall leave Calne for Bristol, and if I can procure
any day pupils, shall immediately take cheap lodgings near you. My plan
is to have twenty pupils, ten youths or adults, and ten boys. To give the
latter three hours daily, from eleven o'clock to two, with exception of
the usual school vacations, in the Elements of English, Greek, and Latin,
presenting them exercises for their employment during the rest of the
day, and two hours every evening to the adults (that is from sixteen and
older) on a systematic plan of general knowledge; and I should hope that
£15 a year, would not be too much to ask from each, which excluding
Sundays and two vacations, would be little more than a shilling a day, or
six shillings a week, for forty-two weeks.

To this I am certain I could attend with strictest regularity, or indeed
to any thing mechanical.

But composition is no voluntary business. The very necessity of doing it
robs me of the power of doing it. Had I been possessed of a tolerable
competency, I should have been a voluminous writer. But I cannot, as is
feigned of the Nightingale, sing with my breast against a thorn. God
bless you,

Saturday, Midnight.

S. T. Coleridge."

The receipt of this letter filled me with the most poignant grief; much
for the difficulties to which Mr. C. was reduced, but still more for the
cause. In one letter, indignantly spurning the contributions of his "club
of subscribers to his poverty;" and in his next, (three days afterwards)
earnestly soliciting this assistance! The victorious bearer away of
University prizes, now bent down to the humiliating desire of keeping a
day school, for a morsel of bread! The man, whose genius has scarcely
been surpassed, proposing to "attend" scholars, "children or adults," and
to bolster up his head, at night, in "cheap lodgings!" Oppressed with
debt, contracted by expending that money on opium, which should have been
paid to his impoverished friend; and this, at a moment, when, for the
preceding dozen years, if he had called his mighty intellect into
exercise, the "world" would have been "all before him, where to choose
his place of rest." But at this time he preferred, to all things else,
the Circean chalice!

These remarks have reluctantly been forced from me; and never would they
have passed the sanctuary of my own breast, but to call on every consumer
of the narcotic poison, who fancies, perchance, that in the taking of
opium there is pleasure only and no pain, to behold in this memorable
example, the inevitable consequences, which follow that "accursed
practice!" Property consumed! health destroyed! independence bartered;
respectability undermined; family concord subverted! that peace
sacrificed, which forms so primary an ingredient in man's cup of
happiness!--a deadly war with conscience! and the very mind of the
unhappy votary, (whilst the ethereal spirit of natural affection
_generally escapes!_ despoiled of its best energies).

I venture the more readily on these reflections, from the hope of
impressing some young delinquents, who are beginning to sip the "deadly
poison;" little aware that no habit is so progressive, and that he who
begins with the little, will rapidly pass on to the much! I am also
additionally urged to these mournful disclosures, from their forming one
portion only, of Mr. Coleridge's life. It has been my unenviable lot, to
exhibit my friend in his lowest points of depression; conflicting with
unhallowed practices, and, as the certain consequence, with an accusing
conscience.

Most rejoiced should I have been, had my opportunities and acquaintance
with Mr. Coleridge continued, to have traced the gradual development into
action, of those better principles which were inherent in his mind. This
privilege is reserved for a more favoured biographer; and it now remains
only for me, in a closing remark, to state, that, had I been satisfied
that the money Mr. C. required, would have been expended in lawful
purposes, I would have supplied him, (without being an affluent man) to
the utmost of his requirements, and not by dividing the honour with
others, or receiving his writings in pledge! But, knowing that whatever
monies he received would, assuredly, be expended in opium, COMPASSION
STAYED MY HAND.

In my reply to his second letter, by "return of post," I enclosed Mr. C.
another five pounds: urged him in a kind letter, to come immediately to
Bristol, where myself and others, would do all that could be done, to
advise and assist him. I told him at the same time, that, when I declined
the business of a bookseller, I for ever quitted publishing, so that I
could not receive his MSS. valuable as they doubtless were; but I
reminded him, that as his merits were _now_ appreciated by the public,
the London booksellers would readily enter into a treaty, and remunerate
him liberally. Mr. Coleridge returned no answer to my letter; came not to
Bristol, but went in the next spring to London, as I learned indirectly:
and I now await a narrative of the latter periods of Mr. C.'s life, and
particularly the perusal of his "posthumous works," with a solicitude
surpassed by none.

I mentioned before that from my intimate knowledge of Mr. Coleridge's
sentiments and character, no doubt could be entertained by me, of its
being Mr. C.'s earnest wish, in order to exhibit to his successors the
pernicious consequences of opium, that, when called from this world, the
fullest publicity should be given to its disastrous effects on himself.
But whatever confidence existed in my own mind, it might be, I well knew,
no easy task, to inspire, with the same assurance, some of his surviving
friends; so that I have been compelled to argue the point, and to show,
to those who shrunk from such disclosures, that Mr. Coleridge's example
was intimately combined with general utility, and that none ought to
regret a faithful narration of, (unquestionably) _the great bane of his
life_, since it presented a conspicuous example, which might arrest the
attention, and operate as a warning to many others.

From a conviction of the tender ground on which I stood, and entertaining
a latent suspicion that some, whom I could wish to have pleased, would
still censure, as unjustifiable exposure, what with me was the result of
conscience; I repeat, with all these searching apprehensions, the reader
will judge what my complicated feelings must have been, of joy and
sorrow; a momentary satisfaction, succeeded by the deepest pungency of
affliction, when, (after all the preceding was written) Mr. Josiah Wade,
presented to me the following mournful and touching letter, addressed to
him by Mr. Coleridge, in the year 1814, which, whilst it relieved my mind
from so onerous a burden, fully corroborated all that I had presumed, and
all that I had affirmed. Mr. W. handed this letter to me, that it might
be made public, in conformity with his departed friend's injunction.

"Bristol, June 26th, 1814.

Dear sir,

For I am unworthy to call any good man friend--much less you, whose
hospitality and love I have abused; accept, however, my intreaties for
your forgiveness, and for your prayers.

Conceive a poor miserable wretch, who for many years has been attempting
to beat off pain, by a constant recurrence to the vice that reproduces
it. Conceive a spirit in bell, employed in tracing out for others the
road to that heaven, from which his crimes exclude him! In short,
conceive whatever is most wretched, helpless, and hopeless, and you will
form as tolerable a notion of my state, as it is possible for a good man
to have.

I used to think the text in St. James that 'he who offended in one point,
offends in all,' very harsh: but I now feel the awful, the tremendous
truth of it. In the one crime of OPIUM, what crime have I not made myself
guilty of!--Ingratitude to my Maker! and to my benefactors--injustice!
_and unnatural cruelty to my poor children!_--self-contempt for my
repeated promise--breach, nay, too often, actual falsehood!

After my death, I earnestly entreat, that a full and unqualified
narration of my wretchedness, and of its guilty cause, may be made
public, that at least, some little good may be effected by the direful
example.

May God Almighty bless you, and have mercy on your still affectionate,
and in his heart, grateful--

S. T. Coleridge."

This is indeed a redeeming letter. We here behold Mr. Coleridge in the
lowest state of human depression, but his condition is not hopeless. It
is not the insensibility of final impenitence; it is not the slumber of
the grave. A gleam of sunshine bursts through the almost impenetrable
gloom; and the virtue of that prayer "May God Almighty have mercy!" in a
penitent heart, like his, combined as we know it was, with the
recognition of Him, who is "the Way, the Truth, and the Life," authorizes
the belief, that a spirit thus exercised, had joys in reserve, and was to
become the recipient of the best influences that can illumine regenerate
man.

No individual ever effected great good in the moral world, who had not
been subjected to a long preliminary discipline; and he who knows what is
in man; who often educes good from evil, can best apportion the exact
kind and degree, indispensable to each separate heart. Mr. Coleridge,
after this time, lived twenty years. A merciful providence, though with
many mementos of decay, preserved his body, and in all its vigor
sustained his mind. Power was given him, it is presumed, and fervently
hoped, to subdue his former pernicious practices. The season of solemn
reflection it is hoped arrived, that his ten talents were no longer
partially buried, but that the lengthened space extended to him, was
consecrated by deep reflection, and consequent qualification, to
elucidate and establish the everlasting principles of Christian truth.

Under such advantages, we are authorized in forming the highest
expectations from his Great Posthumous Work. Nothing which I have
narrated of Mr. Coleridge, will in the least subtract from the merit, or
the impression of that production, effected in his mature manhood, when
his renovated faculties sent forth new corruscations, and concentrated
the results of all his profound meditations. The very process to which he
had been exposed, so unpropitious as it appeared, may have been the most
favourable for giving consistency to his intellectual researches. He may
have thought in channels the more refined, varied, and luminous, from the
ample experience he had acquired, that the only real evil in this world,
was the frown of the Almighty, and His favor the only real good; so that
the grand work, about to appear, may add strength to the strong, and give
endurance to the finished pediment of his usefulness and his fame.

But although all these cheering anticipations should be fully realized,
regrets will still exist. It will ever be deplored, that Mr. Coleridge's
system of Christian Ethics, had not yet been deliberately recorded by
himself. This feeling, however natural, is still considerably moderated,
by reflecting on the ample competence of the individual on whom the
distinction of preparing this system has devolved; a security that it
will be both well and faithfully executed, and which, in the same
proportion that it reflects credit on the editor, will embalm with
additional honours, the memory of SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE; a genius, who
in the opulence of his imagination, and his rich and inexhaustible
capabilities, as a poet, a logician, and a metaphysician, has not perhaps
been surpassed since the days of Milton.

The following letter of Mr. Coleridge, was written a short time before
his death, to a young friend. This deliberate exposition of his faith,
and at such a season, cancels every random word or sentence, Mr. C. may
ever have expressed or written, of an opposing tendency. In thoughtless
moments Mr. C. may sometimes have expressed himself unguardedly,
attended, on reflection, no doubt with self-accusation, but here in the
full prospect of dissolution, he pours forth the genuine and ulterior
feelings of his soul.

"To Adam Steinmetz Kinnaird,

My dear godchild,--I offer up the same fervent prayer for you now, as I
did kneeling before the altar, when you were baptized into Christ, and
solemnly received as a living member of his spiritual body, the church.
Years must, pass before you will be able to read with an understanding
heart what I now write. But I trust that the all-gracious God, the Father
of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies, who, by his
only-begotten Son, (all mercies in one sovereign mercy!) has redeemed you
from evil ground, and willed you to be born out of darkness, but into
light; out of death, but into life; out of sin, but into righteousness;
even into 'the Lord our righteousness;' I trust that he will graciously
hear the prayers of your dear parents, and be with you as the spirit of
health and growth, in body and in mind. My dear godchild, you received
from Christ's minister, at the baptismal font, as your Christian name,
the name of a most dear friend of your father's, and who was to me even
as a son, the late Adam Steinmetz, whose fervent aspirations, and
paramount aim, even from early youth, was to be a Christian in thought,
word, and deed; in will, mind, and affections. I too, your godfather,
have known what the enjoyment and advantages of this life are, and what
the more refined pleasures which learning and intellectual power can
give; I now, on the eve of my departure, declare to you, and earnestly
pray that you may hereafter live and act on the conviction, that health
is a great blessing; competence, obtained by honourable industry, a great
blessing; and a great blessing it is, to have kind, faithful, and loving
friends and relatives; but that the greatest of all blessings, as it is
the most ennobling of all privileges, is to be indeed a Christian. But I
have been likewise, through a large portion of my later life, a sufferer,
sorely affected with bodily pains, languor, and manifold infirmities, and
for the last three or four years have, with few and brief intervals, been
confined to a sick room, and at this moment, in great weakness and
heaviness, write from a sick bed, hopeless of recovery, yet without
prospect of a speedy removal. And I thus, on the brink of the grave,
solemnly bear witness to you, that the Almighty Redeemer, most gracious
in his promises to them that truly seek him, is faithful to perform what
he has promised; and has reserved, under all pains and infirmities, the
peace that passeth all understanding, with the supporting assurance of a
reconciled God, who will not withdraw his spirit from me in the conflict,
and in his own time will deliver me from the evil one. O my dear
godchild! eminently blessed are they who begin _early_ to seek, fear, and
love, their God, trusting wholly in the righteousness and mediation of
their Lord, Redeemer, Saviour, and everlasting High Priest, Jesus Christ.
Oh, preserve this as a legacy and bequest from your unseen godfather and
friend,

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