Chapter IV (3)

In Feb. 1819, application was made to Mr. Coleridge to give a course of lectures at the Russell Institution, 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 passages had been given by me at
the Royal Institution 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 mass 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 scrap 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, illustrations, &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 assure 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 Institution. '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, partitioned 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 passed 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 partition, 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
passed 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 fashionable 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 substitutes 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 seashore 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 title, 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 God through Christ, he must go either to
heaven or hell; 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
'constitutes' 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 God. 2.
Love of our neighbour for the love of God. 3. An undefiled
conscience, which prizes above every comprehensible advantage 'that
peace' of God which passeth 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 snatch 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 substitutes."

[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.]