The Life of Samuel Taylor Coleridge Part 23

In Feb. 1819, application was made to Mr. Coleridge to give a course of lectures at the Russell Inst.i.tution, to which he sent the following reply, addressed to Mr. Britton:

Highgate, 28th Feb., 1819.

DEAR SIR,

First permit me to remove a very natural, indeed almost inevitable, mistake, relative to my lectures; namely, that I 'have' them, or that the lectures of one place or season are in any way repeated in another. So far from it, that on any point that I had ever studied (and on no other should I dare discourse--I mean, that I would not lecture on any subject for which I had to 'acquire' the main knowledge, even though a month's or three months' previous time were allowed me; on no subject that had not employed my thoughts for a large portion of my life since earliest manhood, free of all outward and particular purpose)--on any point within my habit of thought, I should greatly prefer a subject I had never lectured on, to one which I had repeatedly given; and those who have attended me for any two seasons successively will bear witness, that the lecture given at the London Philosophical Society, on the 'Romeo and Juliet', for instance, was as different from that given at the Crown and Anchor, as if they had been by two individuals who, without any communication with each other, had only mastered the same principles of philosophical criticism. This was most strikingly evidenced in the coincidence between my lectures and those of Schlegel; such, and so close, that it was fortunate for my moral reputation that I had not only from five to seven hundred ear witnesses that the pa.s.sages had been given by me at the Royal Inst.i.tution two years before Schlegel commenced his lectures at Vienna, but that notes had been taken of these by several men and ladies of high rank. The fact is this; during a course of lectures, I faithfully employ all the intervening days in collecting and digesting the materials, whether I have or have not lectured on the same subject before, making no difference.

The day of the lecture, till the hour of commencement, I devote to the consideration, what of the ma.s.s before me is best fitted to answer the purposes of a lecture, that is, to keep the audience awake and interested during the delivery, and to leave a sting behind, that is, a disposition to study the subject anew, under the light of a new principle. Several times, however, partly from apprehension respecting my health and animal spirits, partly from the wish to possess copies that might afterwards be marketable among the publishers, I have previously written the lecture; but before I had proceeded twenty minutes, I have been obliged to push the MS. away, and give the subject a new turn. Nay, this was so notorious, that many of my auditors used to threaten me, when they saw any number of written papers on my desk, to steal them away; declaring they never felt so secure of a good lecture as when they perceived that I had not a single sc.r.a.p of writing before me. I take far, far more pains than would go to the set composition of a lecture, both by varied reading and by meditation; but for the words, ill.u.s.trations, &c., I know almost as little as any one of the audience (that is, those of anything like the same education with myself) what they will be five minutes before the lecture begins. Such is my way, for such is my nature; and in attempting any other, I should only torment myself in order to disappoint my auditors--torment myself during the delivery, I mean; for in all other respects it would be a much shorter and easier task to deliver them from writing. I am anxious to preclude any semblance of affectation; and have therefore troubled you with this lengthy preface before I have the hardihood to a.s.sure you, that you might as well ask me what my dreams were in the year 1814, as what my course of lectures was at the Surrey Inst.i.tution. 'Fuimus Troes'."

The following anecdote will convey to my readers a more accurate notion of Coleridge's powers, when called upon to lecture, even without previous notice. Early one morning he received two letters, which he sent me to read; one to inform him that he was 'expected' that same evening to deliver a lecture at the rooms of the London Philosophical Society, where it was supposed that four or five hundred persons would be present: the other contained a list of the gentlemen who had already given a lecture in the course; to which was added, the subject on which each had addressed the audience. I well knew that Coleridge, not expecting this sudden appeal, would be agitated, as he was always excited before delivering a lecture, and that this would probably bring on a return of his inward suffering. After consulting together, we determined to go to town at seven o'clock in the evening, to make some enquiries respecting this unexpected application, and arrived at the house of the gentleman who had written the letter. His servant informed us that he was not at home, but would return at eight o'clock, the hour fixed for the commencement of the lecture. We then proceeded to the society's room, which we found empty. It was a long one, part.i.tioned off by a pole, the ends of which were fastened to the side-walls, and from this pole was nailed a length of baize which reached the floor, and in the centre was fixed a square piece of board to form a desk. We pa.s.sed under this baize curtain to observe the other arrangements, from whence we could easily discern the audience as they entered. When we looked over the pole which formed the part.i.tion, we saw rows of benches across the room, prepared for about four or five hundred persons--on the side were some short ones, one above the other, intended for the committee.

The preparations looked formidable--and Coleridge was anxiously waiting to be informed of the subject on which he was to lecture. At length the committee entered, taking their seats--from the centre of this party Mr.

President arose, and put on a president's hat, which so disfigured him that we could scarcely refrain from laughter. He thus addressed the company:--"This evening, Mr. Coleridge will deliver a lecture on the 'Growth of the Individual Mind.'" Coleridge at first seemed startled, and turning round to me whispered, "a pretty stiff subject they have chosen for me." He instantly mounted his standing-place, and began without hesitation; previously requesting me to observe the effect of his lecture on the audience. It was agreed, that, should he appear to fail, I was to clasp his ancle, but that he was to continue for an hour if the countenances of his auditors indicated satisfaction. If I rightly remember his words, he thus began his address:

"The lecture I am about to give this evening is purely extempore.

Should you find a nominative case looking out for a verb--or a fatherless verb for a nominative case, you must excuse it. It is purely extempore, though I have thought and read much on this subject."

I could see the company begin to smile, and this at once seemed to inspire him with confidence. This beginning appeared to me a sort of mental curvetting, while preparing his thoughts for one of his eagle flights, as if with an eagle's eye he could steadily look at the mid-day sun. He was most brilliant, eloquent, and logically consecutive. The time moved on so swiftly, that on looking at my watch, I found an hour and a half had pa.s.sed away, and therefore waiting only a desirable moment (to use his own playful words;) I prepared myself to punctuate his oration." As previously agreed, I pressed his ancle, and thus gave hire the hint he had requested-when bowing graciously, and with a benevolent and smiling countenance he presently descended.

The lecture was quite new to me, and I believe quite new to himself, at least so far as the arrangement of his words were concerned. The floating thoughts were most beautifully arranged, and delivered on the spur of the moment. What accident gave rise to the singular request, that he should deliver this lecture impromptu, I never learnt; nor did it signify, as it afforded a happy opportunity to many of witnessing in part the extent of his reading, and the extraordinary strength of his powers.

At this time an intimate and highly accomplished friend of my wife's, who was also a very sensible woman, a fine musician, and considered one of the best private performers in the country, came on a visit.

The conversation turned on music, and Coleridge, speaking of himself, observed, "I believe I have no ear for music, but have a taste for it." He then explained the delight he received from Mozart, and how greatly he enjoyed the dithyrambic movement of Beethoven; but could never find pleasure in the fas.h.i.+onable modern composers. It seemed to him "playing tricks with music--like nonsense verses--music to please me," added he, "must have a subject." Our friend appeared struck with this observation, "I understand you, sir," she replied, and immediately seated herself at the piano. "Have the kindness to listen to the three following airs, which I played on a certain occasion extempore, as subst.i.tutes for words. Will you try to guess the meaning I wished to convey, and I shall then ascertain the extent of my success." She instantly gave us the first air,--his reply was immediate. "That is clear, it is solicitation."--"When I played this air," observed the lady, "to a dear friend whom you know, she turned to me, saying, 'what do you want?'--I told her the purport of my air was to draw her attention to her dress, as she was going out with me to take a drive by the seash.o.r.e without her cloak." Our visitor then called Coleridge's attention to her second air; it was short and expressive. To this he answered, "that is easily told--it is remonstrance." "Yes," replied she, "for my friend again shewing the same inattention, I played this second extemporaneous air, in order to remonstrate with her." We now listened to the third and last air. He requested her to repeat it, which she did.--"That," said he, "I cannot understand." To this she replied,--"it is I believe a failure," naming at the same time the subject she had wished to convey. Coleridge's answer was--"That is a sentiment, and cannot be well expressed in music."

The evening before our friend left us, Coleridge had a long conversation with her on serious and religious subjects. Fearing, however, that he might not have been clearly understood, he the next morning brought down the following paper, written before he had retired to rest:--

'S. T. Coleridge's confession of belief; with respect to the true grounds of Christian morality', 1817.

1. I sincerely profess the Christian faith, and regard the New Testament as containing all its articles, and I interpret the words not only in the obvious, but in the 'literal' sense, unless where common reason, and the authority of the Church of England join in commanding them to be understood FIGURATIVELY: as for instance, 'Herod is a Fox.'

2. Next to the Holy Scriptures, I revere the Liturgy, Articles, and Homilies of the Established Church, and hold the doctrines therein expressly contained.

3. I reject as erroneous, and deprecate as 'most' dangerous, the notion, that our 'feelings' are to be the ground and guide of our actions. I believe the feelings themselves to be among the things that are to be grounded and guided. The feelings are effects, not causes, a part of the 'instruments' of action, but never can without serious injury be perverted into the 'principles' of action. Under 'feelings', I include all that goes by the names of 'sentiment', sensibility, &c. &c. These, however pleasing, may be made and often are made the instruments of vice and guilt, though under proper discipline, they are fitted to be both aids and ornaments of virtue.

They are to virtue what beauty is to health.

4. All men, the good as well as the bad, and the bad as well as the good, act with motives. But what is motive to one person is no motive at all to another. The pomps and vanities of the world supply 'mighty' motives to an ambitious man; but are so far from being a 'motive' to a humble Christian, that he rather wonders how they can be even a temptation to any man in his senses, who believes himself to have an immortal soul. Therefore that a t.i.tle, or the power of gratifying sensual luxury, is the motive with which A. acts, and no motive at all to B.--must arise from the different state of the moral being in A. and in B.--consequently motives too, as well as 'feelings' are 'effects'; and they become causes only in a secondary or derivative sense.

5. Among the motives of a probationary Christian, the practical conviction that all his intentional acts have consequences in a future state; that as he sows here, he must reap hereafter; in plain words, that according as he does, or does not, avail himself of the light and helps given by G.o.d through Christ, he must go either to heaven or h.e.l.l; is the 'most' impressive, were it only from pity to his own soul, as an everlasting sentient being.

6. But that this is a motive, and the most impressive of motives to any given person, arises from, and supposes, a commencing state of regeneration in that person's mind and heart. That therefore which 'const.i.tutes' a regenerate STATE is the true PRINCIPLE ON which, or with a 'view' to which, actions, feelings, and motives ought to be grounded.

7. The different 'operations' of this radical principle, (which principle is called in Scripture sometimes faith, and in other places love,) I have been accustomed to call good impulses because they are the powers that impel us to do what we ought to do.

8. The impulses of a full grown Christian are 1. Love of G.o.d. 2.

Love of our neighbour for the love of G.o.d. 3. An undefiled conscience, which prizes above every comprehensible advantage 'that peace' of G.o.d which pa.s.seth all understanding.

9. Every consideration, whether of hope or of fear, which is, and which 'is adopted' by 'us', poor imperfect creatures! in our present state of probation, as MEANS of 'producing' such impulses in our hearts, is so far a right and 'desirable' consideration. He that is weak must take the medicine which is suitable to his existing weakness; but then he ought to know that it is a 'medicine', the object of which is to remove the disease, not to feed and perpetuate it.

10. Lastly, I hold that there are two grievous mistakes,--both of which as 'extremes' equally opposite to truth and the Gospel,--I equally reject and deprecate. The first is, that of Stoic pride, which would s.n.a.t.c.h away his crutches from a curable cripple before he can walk without them. The second is, that of those worldly and temporizing preachers, who would disguise from such a cripple the necessary truth that crutches are not legs, but only temporary aids and subst.i.tutes."

[Footnote 1: I give the letter as I received it,--of course it was never intended for the public eye.]

[Footnote 2: This is too strong an expression. It was not idleness, it was not sensual indulgence, that led Coleridge to contract this habit.

No, it was latent disease, of which sufficient proof is given in this memoir.]

[Footnote 3: Those who have witnessed the witches scampering off the stage, cannot forget the ludicrous appearance they make.]

[Footnote 4: Of the historical plays, he observes:

"It would be a fine national custom to act such a series of dramatic histories in orderly succession, in the yearly Christmas holidays, and could not but tend to counteract that mock cosmopolitism, which, under a positive term, really implies nothing but a negation of, or indifference to, the particular love of our country."

'Literary Remains', Vol. ii. p. 161.]

[Footnote 5: Vide Vol. ii. p. 1.--Also p. 103 of this work.]

[Footnote 6: He had long been greatly afflicted with nightmare; and, when residing with us, was frequently roused from this painful sleep by any one of the family who might hear him.]

[Footnote 7: From an anonymous criticism published soon after the 'Christabel'.]

[Footnote 8: In the "Improved Version of the New Testament," the spirit of this Evangelist is perverted.]

[Footnote 9: He used to say, in St. John is the philosophy of Christianity; in St. Paul, the moral reflex.]

[Footnote 10: The last lines are in the 'Aids to Reflection'. The former six lines are from a note written from his conversation.]

[Footnote 11: The 'Christabel' was published by Murray, but the 'Sibylline Leaves' and the 'Biog. Liter.' by Rest Fenner.]

[Footnote 12: The first was published in 1816, and the second in 1817.]

[Footnote 13: 'Vide' St. John, ch. xx. ver. 17.]