After some weeks, Coleridge returning from his tour, came to Bristol on his way, and stopped there. (I being there.) Then it was that we resolved on going to America, and S. T. C., and I walked into Somersetshire to see Burnet, and on that journey it was that we first saw Poole. Coleridge made his engagement with Miss Fricker, on our return from this journey, at my mother’s house in Bath; — not a little to my astonishment, for he had talked of being deeply in love with a certain Mary Evans. I had been previously engaged to her sister, my poor Edith! — whom it would make your heart ache to see at this time!
We remained at Bristol till the close of the vacation; several weeks. During that time we again talked of America. The funds were to be what each could raise. Coleridge, by his projected work, ‘Specimens of Modern Latin Poems,’ for which he had printed proposals, and obtained a respectable list of Cambridge subscribers, before I knew him: I by ‘Joan of Arc,’ and what else I might publish. I had no rich relations, except one, my uncle, John Southey, of Taunton, who took no notice of his brother’s family; nor any other expectation. He hoped to find companions with money.
Coleridge returned to Cambridge, and then published ‘The Fall of Robespierre;’ while Lovell (who had married one of the Miss Frickers) and I, published a thin volume of poems at Bath. My first transaction with you was for ‘Joan of Arc,’ and this was before Coleridge’s arrival at Bristol, and soon after Lovell had introduced me to you. Coleridge did not come back again to Bristol till January 1795, nor would he I believe have come back at all, if I had not gone to London to look for him, for having got there from Cambridge at the beginning of winter, there he remained without writing either to Miss Fricker or myself.
At last I wrote to Favell (a Christ’s Hospital boy, whose name I knew as one of his friends, and whom he had set down as one of our companions) to inquire concerning him, and learnt in reply, that S. T. Coleridge was at ‘The Cat and Salutation,’ in Newgate Street. Thither I wrote. He answered my letter, and said, that on such a day he should set off for Bath by the waggon. Lovell and I walked from Bath to meet him. Near Marlborough we met with the appointed waggon; but no S. T. Coleridge was therein! A little while afterward, I went to London, and not finding him at ‘The Cat and Salutation,’ called at Christ’s Hospital, and was conducted by Favell to ‘The Angel Inn, Butcher Hall street,’ whither Coleridge had shifted his quarters. I brought him then to Bath, and in a few days to Bristol.
In the intermediate time between his leaving Bristol, and returning to it, the difficulties of getting to America became more and more apparent. Wynne wrote to press upon me the expedience of trying our scheme of Pantisocracy in Wales, knowing how impracticable it would be any where; knowing also, that there was no hope of convincing me of its impracticability, at that time. In our former plan we were all agreed, and expected that what the earth failed to produce for us, the pen would supply. Such were our views in January 1795; when S. T. Coleridge gave his first and second lectures in the Corn Market, and his third in a vacant house in Castle Green. These were followed by my lectures, and you know the course of our lives till the October following, when we parted.
By that time I had seen that no dependence could be placed on Coleridge. No difference took place between us when I communicated to him my intention of going with my uncle to Lisbon, nor even a remonstrance on his part; nor had I the slightest suspicion that he intended to quarrel with me, till — —’s insolence made it apparent; and I then learnt from Mrs. Morgan (poor John Morgan’s mother) in what manner he was speaking of me. This was in October. From that time to my departure for Lisbon you know my history. Lovell did not die till six months afterward. The ‘Watchman’ was not projected till I was on my way to Lisbon.
Poor Burnet’s history would require a letter of itself. He became deranged on one point, which was that of hatred to me, whom he accused of having jealously endeavoured to suppress his talents! This lasted about six months, in the year 1802, and it returned again in the last year of his life. The scheme of Pantisocracy proved his ruin; but he was twice placed in situations where he was well provided for. I had the greatest regard for him, and would have done, and indeed, as far as was in my power, did my utmost to serve him God bless you, my dear old friend,
Yours most affectionately,
Robert Southey.”
“Keswick, 14 April, 1836.
My dear Cottle,
If you are drawing up your ‘Recollections of Coleridge,’ for separate publication, you are most welcome to insert anything of mine which you might think proper; but it is my wish that nothing of mine may go into the hands of any person concerned in bringing forward Coleridge’s MSS.
I know that Coleridge at different times of his life never let pass an opportunity of speaking ill of me. Both Wordsworth and myself have often lamented the exposure of duplicity which must result from the publication of his letters, and by what he has delivered by word of mouth to the worshippers by whom he was always surrounded. To Wordsworth and to me, it matters little. Coleridge received from us such substantial services as few men have received from those whose friendship they had forfeited. This indeed was not the case with Wordsworth, as it was with me, for he knew not in what manner Coleridge had latterly spoken of him. But I continued all possible offices of kindness to his children, long after I regarded his own conduct with that utter disapprobation which alone it can call forth from all who had any sense of duty and moral obligation.
Poole from whom I had a letter by the same post with yours, thinks, from what you have said concerning Coleridge’s habit of taking opium, that it would operate less to deter others from the practice, than it would lead them to flatter themselves in indulging in it, by the example of so great a man. That there is some probability in this I happen to know from the effect of Mr. De Quincey’s book; one who had never taken a drop of opium before, but took so large a dose, for the sake of experiencing the sensations which had been described, that a very little addition to the dose might have proved fatal. There, however, the mischief ended, for he never repeated the experiment. But I apprehend if you send what you have written, about Coleridge and opium, it will not be made use of, and that Coleridge’s biographer will seek to find excuses for his abuse of that drug. Indeed in Mr. Alsop’s book, it is affirmed that the state of his heart, and other appearances in his chest, showed the habit to have been brought on by the pressure of disease in those parts: — the more likely inference is, that the excess brought on the disease.
I am much pleased with your “Predictions.” Those who will not be convinced by such scriptural proofs, if they pretend to admit any authority in the Scriptures, would not, though one rose from the dead.
God bless you, my dear old friend. Whenever I can take a journey, I will, if you are living, come to Bedminster. There is no other place in the world which I remember with such feelings as that village.
Believe me always yours most affectionately,
Robert Southey.”
In answer to an invitation, Mr. Southey thus replied.
“Keswick, August 16, 1836.
My dear Cottle,
… Be assured, whenever it may seem fitting for me to take so long a journey, I shall come to you with as cordial a feeling of unchanged and unabated friendship as that with which you I know will receive me. It is very much my wish to do so, to show Cuthbert my son (who will accompany me) the scenes of my boyhood and youth, and the few friends who are left to me in the West of England. There is an urgent reason why I should go to London before the last volume of Cowper is brought forth, if domestic circumstances can be so arranged as to admit of this, and I would fain hope it may be; I shall then certainly proceed to the West.
Longman has determined to print my poetical works in ten monthly parts, and I have to prepare accordingly for the press. No one will take more interest than yourself in this arrangement. I have much to correct, much to alter, and not a little to add: among other things, a general preface, tracing the circumstances which contribute
d to determine my course as a poet.
I can say nothing which would give you pleasure to hear on a subject which concerns me so nearly. We have continued variations of better and worse, with no tendency to amendment; and according to all human foresight, no hope of recovery. We entertain no guests, and admit no company whom it is possible to exclude. God bless you, my dear old friend, and believe me always
Yours most affectionately,
Robert Southey.”
I now refer to an occurrence that gave me some uneasiness. It appears, from the following letter that the family of Mr. Coleridge felt uneasy at learning that I intended to disclose to the public, the full extent of Mr. C.’s subjection to opium.
“September 30, 1836.
My dear Cottle,
… Coleridge’s relations are uneasy at what they hear of your intention to publish an account of him. Yesterday I learnt personally, from an influential member of the family, what their objections particularly were. He specified as points on which they were uncomfortable, Coleridge’s own letter, or letters, respecting opium, and the circumstances of a gift of three hundred pounds from Mr. De Quincey.
The truth is, that Coleridge’s relations are placed in a most uncomfortable position. They cannot say that any one of themselves will bring out a full and authentic account of C. because they know how much there is, which all who have any regard for Coleridge’s memory, would wish to be buried with him. But we will talk over the subject when we meet. Meantime I have assured —— that your feelings toward Coleridge are, what they have ever been, friendly in the highest degree.
How like a dream does the past appear! through the last years of my life more than any other part. All hope of recovery, or even of amendment, is over! In all reason I am convinced of this; and yet at times when Edith speaks and looks like herself, I am almost ready to look for what, if it occurred, would be a miracle. It is quite necessary that I should be weaned from this constant object of solicitude; so far at least as to refresh myself, and recruit for another period of confinement. Like all other duties, it brings with it its reward: and when I consider with how many mercies this affliction has been tempered, I have cause indeed to be thankful. Believe me always, my dear Cottle,
Yours most affectionately,
Robert Southey.”
A few days after I received the following letter from Mr. Southey: —
“Keswick, Oct. 10, 1836.
My dear Cottle,
I have long foreseen that poor S. T. Coleridge would leave a large inheritance of uneasiness to his surviving friends, and those who were the most nearly connected with him.
The Head of the Family being in these parts, I have heard more concerning the affair of your Memoir, as it respects the feelings of that family than I should otherwise. He is a thoroughly good man; mild, unassuming, amiable, and judicious beyond most men. This matter interests him greatly, on account of his brother having married Mr. S. T. Coleridge’s daughter. Indeed it is in consequence of a letter from the —— that I am now writing. He cared nothing when a gross and wanton insult was offered to him in that … book, but on this occasion he is much concerned.
A few omissions (one letter in particular, respecting the habit of taking opium,) would spare them great pain, and leave your book little the poorer, rich as your materials are. Wilfully I am sure you never gave pain to any human being, nor any living creature…. You are not like a witness who is required to tell all which he knows. In those cases the moral law requires us to tell nothing but the truth, but does not demand the whole truth, unless the suppression of any part of it should be tantamount to falsehood.
Of this indeed you are fully aware. You have enough to tell that is harmless as well as interesting, and not only harmless, but valuable and instructive, and that ought to be told, and which no one but yourself can tell. Strike out only…. I will read over the Memoir when we meet. You have abundance of materials; and many things may come to mind which may supply the place of what should be withdrawn. You will understand my motive in pressing this upon you. God bless you, my dear old friend.
Your’s most affectionately,
Robert Southey.”
As I determined to publish nothing relating to Mr. Coleridge, without Mr. Southey’s sanction, my first impression, on the receipt of this letter, was, wholly to withdraw the work; — but as I expected soon to see Mr. S., I resolved to suspend my determination till he had an opportunity of inspecting the MS. once more, when his specific objections might be better understood.
Two or three weeks after receiving the former letter, Mr. S. addressed to me the following hasty line: —
“Friday, Nov. 1, 1836, Pipe Hayes.
My dear Cottle,
Here we are, six miles from Birmingham. Our places are taken for Thursday morning, in the coach which starts from the Hen and Chickens, Birmingham. To what Inn it comes in Bristol, I forgot to ask. So, if on our arrival, we do not find your vehicle, we shall pack ourselves, and our luggage, in a hackney-coach, without delay, and drive to Carlton Villa. So on Thursday evening I hope to see you.
God bless you, my dear old friend,
Robert Southey.”
P.S. “I saw Wordsworth on my way, and mentioned your wish about engraving his portrait. He referred it entirely to my opinion of its likeness.”
On his arrival, Mr. Southey deliberately re-read the whole of my MS., and objected alone to a few trifles, which were expunged. He read the series of opium letters with a mind evidently affected, but no part did he interdict. He now arrived at, and read the solemn Testamentary Letter,(p. 394 [Letter dating “Bristol, June 26th, 1814. Transcriber.]). I said to him, “Southey shall I, or shall I not, omit this letter.” He paused for a few moments, and then distinctly said. “You must print it. It is your authority for what you have done.” He then continued, “You must print it also, for the sake of faithful biography, and for the beneficial effect this, and the other opium letters must inevitably produce.” This unqualified approval determined me to publish the whole of the opium letters.
I here give the next letter I received from Mr. Southey, when he had returned home, after his long excursion to Bristol, and the West of England, by which it will be perceived that no after inclination existed in Mr. S.’s mind to alter the opinion he had given.
“Keswick, May 9, 1837.
My dear Cottle,
It is scarcely possible that a day should pass, in which some circumstance, some object, or train of recollection, does not bring you to my mind. You may suppose then how much I thought of you during the employment I recently got through of correcting “Joan of Arc” for the last time….
Our journey, after we left your comfortable house, was as prosperous as it could be at that time of the year. We have reason, indeed, to be thankful, that travelling so many hundred miles, in all sorts of ways, and over all kinds of roads, we met with no mischief of any kind; nor any difficulties greater than what served for matter of amusement. During the great hurricane, we were at Dawlish, in a house on the beach, from which we saw the full effect of its force on the sea.
The great snow-storm caught us at Tavistock, and rendered it impossible for us to make our intended excursion on Dartmoor. Cuthbert and I parted company at my friend, Miss Caroline Bowles’s, near Lymington, he going to his brother-in-law, (at Terring, where he is preparing for the University,) I, the next day, to London. I joined him again at Terring, three weeks afterward; and, after a week, made the best of my way home.
The objects of my journey were fully accomplished. Cuthbert has seen most of the spots which I desired to show him, and has been introduced to the few old friends whom I have left in the West of England. I had much pleasure, but not unmingled with pain, in visiting many places which brought back vividly the remembrance of former days; but to Cuthbert, all was pure pleasure.
God bless you, my dear old friend,
Yours affectionately,
Robert Southey.”
In a previous letter Mr. Southey
had said in a contemplative mood,
“… Little progress is made in my ‘Life of George Fox’ but considerable preparation. This, and some sketches of Monastic history, will probably complete the ecclesiastical portion of my labours. Alas! I have undertaken more than there is any reasonable likelihood of completing. My head will soon be white, and I feel a disposition to take more thought for the morrow than I was wont to do; not as if distrusting providence, which has hitherto supported me, but my own powers of exertion!”
I pass over the intervening period between this, and my old friend’s mental affliction, as more properly belonging to Mr. Southey’s regular biographer, but this much I may observe.
Having heard, with the deepest concern, that Mr. Southey’s mind was affected, I addressed a kind letter to him, to inquire after his health, and requested only one line from him, to relieve my anxiety, if only the signing of his name. I received a letter in reply, from his kindest friend, of which the following is an extract.
“… With deep and affectionate interest he read and re-read your letter, and many times in the course of the evening he received it I observed tears in his eyes. ‘I will write to Cottle,’ he has often repeated since, but alas! the purpose remains unfulfilled, and from me, dear sir, you must receive the explanation of his silence….”
On communicating this melancholy intelligence to my old and valued friend, Mr. Foster, he thus replied.
“My dear sir,
I am obliged for your kind note, and the letter, which I here return. I can well believe that you must feel it a mournful communication. A friend in early life: a friend ever since; a man highly, and in considerable part, meritoriously conspicuous in the literature of the age; and now at length prostrated, and on the borders of the grave; for there can be no doubt the bodily catastrophe will soon follow the mental one. It is a most wonderful career that he has run in literary achievement, and it is striking to see such a man disabled at last, even to write a letter to an old friend! It is interesting to myself, as it must be to every one accustomed to contemplate the labours and productions of mind, to see such a spirit finally resigning its favourite occupations, and retiring from its fame!…”
Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey Page 346