Part 7 (2/2)

Describing the cottage, De Quincey says: ”A little semi-vestibule between two doors prefaces the entrance into what may be considered the princ.i.p.al room. It was an oblong square, not above eight and a-half feet high, sixteen feet long, and twelve feet broad; very prettily wainscotted from the floor to the ceiling with dark-polished oak, slightly embellished with carving. One window there was, a perfect and unpretending cottage window, with little diamond panes, embowered at almost every season of the year with roses, and, in the summer and autumn, with a profusion of jasmine, and other fragrant shrubs.”

After a description of Mrs. Wordsworth, as before alluded to, he follows with a most interesting account of the appearance of Miss Wordsworth: ”Immediately behind her moved a lady shorter, slighter, and, perhaps, in all other respects, as different from her in personal characteristics, as could have been wished for the most effective contrast. Her face was of Egyptian brown; rarely in a woman of English birth had I seen a more determinate Gipsy tan. Her eyes were not soft, as Mrs. Wordsworth's, nor were they fierce or bold; but they were wild and startling, and hurried in their motion. Her manner was warm, and even ardent; her sensibility seemed const.i.tutionally deep; and some subtle fire of impa.s.sioned intellect apparently burned within her, which, being alternately pushed forward into a conspicuous expression, by the irrepressible instincts of her temperament, and then immediately checked, in obedience to the decorum of her s.e.x and age, and her maidenly condition, gave to her whole demeanour, and to her conversation, an air of embarra.s.sment, and even of self-conflict, that was almost distressing to witness. Even her very utterance and enunciation often suffered in point of clearness and steadiness from the agitation of her excessive organic sensibility. At times the self-counteraction and self-baffling of her feelings caused her even to stammer, and so determinately to stammer, that a stranger who should have seen her, and quitted her in that state of feeling, would certainly have set her down for one plagued with that infirmity of speech as distressingly as Charles Lamb himself. This was Miss Wordsworth, the only sister of the poet--his 'Dorothy,' who naturally owed so much to the life-long intercourse with her great brother, in his most solitary and sequestered years; but, on the other hand, to whom he has acknowledged obligations of the profoundest nature; and, in particular, this mighty one, through which we also, the admirers and wors.h.i.+ppers of this great poet, are become equally her debtors--that whereas the intellect of Wordsworth was, by its original tendency, too stern, too austere, too much enamoured of an ascetic harsh sublimity, she it was,--the lady who paced by his side continually through sylvan and mountain tracts--in Highland glens and in the dim recesses of German charcoal burners--that first _couched_ his eye to the sense of beauty, humanised him by the gentler charities, and engrafted with her delicate female touch those graces upon the ruder growths of his nature, which have since clothed the forest of his genius with a foliage corresponding in loveliness and beauty to the strength of its boughs and the ma.s.siness of its trunks. The greatest deductions from Miss Wordsworth's attractions, and from the exceeding interest which surrounded her in right of her character, of her history, and of the relation which she fulfilled towards her brother, were the glancing quickness of her motions, and other circ.u.mstances in her deportment (such as her stooping att.i.tude when walking) which gave an ungraceful, and even uns.e.xual, character to her appearance when out of doors. She did not cultivate the graces which preside over the person and its carriage. But, on the other hand, she was a person of very remarkable endowments, intellectually; and, in addition to the other great services which she rendered to her brother, this I may mention as greater than all the rest, and it was one which equally operated to the benefit of every casual companion in a walk--viz., the exceeding sympathy, always ready and always profound, by which she made all that one could tell her, all that one could describe, all that one could quote from a foreign author, reverberate, as it were, _a plusieurs reprises_, to one's own feelings, by the manifest impression it made upon _hers_. The pulses of light are not more quick or more inevitable in their flow and undulation than were the answering and echoing movements of her sympathising attention. Her knowledge of literature was irregular and thoroughly unsystematic. She was content to be ignorant of many things; but what she knew and had really mastered lay where it could not be disturbed--in the temple of her own most fervid heart.”

Proceeding to compare his impressions of the two ladies he adds:--”Miss Wordsworth had seen more of life, and even of good company; for she had lived, when quite a girl, under the protection of Dr. Cookson, a near relative, Canon of Windsor, and a personal favourite of the Royal family, especially of George III. Consequently she ought to have been the more polished of the two; and yet, from greater natural apt.i.tudes for refinement of manner in her sister-in-law, and partly, perhaps, from her more quiet and subdued manner, Mrs. Wordsworth would have been p.r.o.nounced very much the more lady-like person.”

De Quincey excuses the large lat.i.tude used in his descriptions on the ground of ”the interest which attaches to any one so nearly connected with a great poet,” and the repet.i.tion of them is, perhaps, to be justified only for the same reason.

In further allusion to Miss Wordsworth he says:--”Miss Wordsworth was too ardent and fiery a creature to maintain the reserve essential to dignity; and dignity was the last thing one thought of in the presence of one so natural, so fervent in her feelings, and so embarra.s.sed in their utterance--sometimes, also, in the attempt to check them. It must not, however, be supposed, that there was any silliness, or weakness of enthusiasm, about her. She was under the continual restraint of severe good sense, though liberated from that false shame which, in so many persons, accompanies all expressions of natural emotion; and she had too long enjoyed the enn.o.bling conversation of her brother, and his admirable comments on the poets, which they read in common, to fail in any essential point of logic or propriety of thought. Accordingly, her letters, though the most careless and unelaborate--nay, the most hearty that can be imagined--are models of good sense and just feeling. In short, beyond any person I have known in this world, Miss Wordsworth was the creature of impulse; but, as a woman most thoroughly virtuous and well principled, as one who could not fail to be kept right by her own excellent heart, and as an intellectual creature from her cradle, with much of her ill.u.s.trious brother's peculiarity of mind--finally as one who had been, in effect, educated and trained by that very brother--she won the sympathy and respectful regard of every man worthy to approach her.”

De Quincey subsequently relates how he was entertained for the night in the best bedroom of the poet's home, and on the following morning discovered Miss Wordsworth preparing the breakfast in the little sitting-room. He adds:--”On the third morning the whole family, except the two children, prepared for the expedition across the mountains. I had heard of no horses, and took it for granted that we were to walk; however, at the moment of starting, a cart--the common farmer's cart of the country--made its appearance; and the driver was a bonny young woman of the vale. Accordingly, we were carted along to the little town, or village, of Ambleside--three and a half miles distant. Our style of travelling occasioned no astonishment; on the contrary, we met a smiling salutation wherever we appeared--Miss Wordsworth being, as I observed, the person the most familiarly known of our party, and the one who took upon herself the whole expenses of the flying colloquies exchanged with stragglers on the road.”

Although the little home at Town End is so closely identified with Wordsworth as being his residence in his poetic prime he this year (1807) found it necessary, in consequence of his increasing family, to remove to a larger house. He went to Allan Bank, about a mile distant, and remained there four years. This residence is not nearly so closely connected with the memory of the Wordsworths as either Dove Cottage or Rydal Mount. The time was not, however, by any means an unproductive one, for here he composed the greater part of the ”Excursion,” the whole of which poem is said to have been transcribed by his faithful and industrious sister. It is interesting to know that the now historic cottage, which is possessed of such a charm as the first mountain home of Miss Wordsworth in this district, was afterwards for some years the residence of De Quincey himself. After his first visit, of which he has given such a graphic account, it appears that he paid another towards the end of 1808; and that he then enjoyed the hospitality of the Wordsworths until the February following, when, having a.s.sisted during a stay in London in the correction in its progress through the press of Wordsworth's pamphlet, ”The Convention of Cintra,” he formed the project of settling in Grasmere. Writing to him Miss Wordsworth says:--”Soon you must have rest, and we shall all be thankful. You have indeed been a treasure to us while you have been in London, having spared my brother so much anxiety and care. We are very grateful to you.”

Whatever service De Quincey rendered to Wordsworth in a.s.sisting in the publication of ”The Convention of Cintra” was much more than repaid in the active kindness of Miss Wordsworth herself, who, was for some months engaged in preparing the cottage at Town End for its new resident. It was, indeed, no small service for her to undertake the multifarious and exhausting duties in connection with the furnis.h.i.+ng and fitting up of a home; and shows not only her unflagging activity and energy, but also her sound sense and excellent judgment. As an instance of her thoughtful economy on the occasion may be mentioned her reason for choosing mahogany for book shelves instead of deal, for she says:--”Native woods are dear; and that in case De Quincey should leave the country and have a sale, no sort of wood sells so well at second-hand as mahogany.” To Miss Wordsworth was also entrusted the duty of engaging a housekeeper for De Quincey.

The frequent allusions in these pages to De Quincey, and his close a.s.sociation for some years with the Wordsworths, render it necessary that some further reference should be made to his subsequent connection with Grasmere. The following is a description given by him of his own life in 1812:--

”And what am I doing among the mountains? Taking opium. Yes; but what else? Why, reader, in 1812, the year we are now arrived at, as well as for some years previous, I have been chiefly studying German metaphysics, as the writings of Kant, Fichte, Sch.e.l.ling, &c. And how, and in what manner do I live? In short, what cla.s.s or description of men do I belong to? I am at this period,--viz., in 1812,--living in a cottage; and with a single female servant, who, amongst my neighbours, pa.s.ses by the name of my 'housekeeper.' And, as a scholar and a man of learned education, I may presume to cla.s.s myself as an unworthy member of that indefinite body called _gentlemen_. Partly on the ground I have a.s.signed,--partly because, from having no visible calling or business, it is rightly judged that I must be living on my private fortune,--I am so cla.s.sed by my neighbours; and by the courtesy of modern England, I am usually addressed on letters, &c., _Esquire_.... Am I married? Not yet.

And I still take opium? On Sat.u.r.day nights.... And how do I find my health after all this opium-eating? In short, how do I do? Why, pretty well, I thank you, reader. In fact, if I dared to say the simple truth (though, in order to satisfy the theories of some medical men, I ought to be ill), I was never better in my life than in the spring of 1812; and I hope, sincerely, that the quant.i.ty of claret, port, or 'London particular Madeira,' which, in all probability, you, good reader, have taken, and design to take, for every term of eight years during your natural life, may as little disorder your health as mine was disordered by all the opium I had taken (though in quant.i.ty such that I might well have bathed and swum in it) for the eight years between 1804 and 1812.”

In 1816 De Quincey married a young woman named Margaret Simpson, the daughter of a farmer living in a cottage under Nab Scar, not far from his own at Town End, who became devoted to his interests. He continued to reside partly at Grasmere until the year 1830, although his literary duties necessitated his being much at London and Edinburgh. It was in 1821 that his now famous ”Confessions of an Opium Eater” began to appear in the pages of the _London Magazine_. Afterwards his connection with Blackwood took him a good deal to Edinburgh. Although he and his wife did not like the idea of quitting altogether the peaceful vale where she had been reared, it became evident that it was undesirable to keep up two houses, leaving his wife and children so much alone at Grasmere. The following extract from a letter written by Miss Wordsworth to him in November of this year shows her warm interest in him and his family, and her readiness to give well-timed sympathy and aid. After alluding to a visit paid by her to Mrs. De Quincey, and the health of the children, she says:--”Mrs. De Quincey seemed, on the whole, in very good spirits; but, with something of sadness in her manner, she told me you were not likely very soon to be at home. She then said that you had, at present, some literary employments at Edinburgh, and had, besides, an offer (or something to this effect) of a permanent engagement, the nature of which she did not know, but that you hesitated about accepting it, as it might necessitate you to settle in Edinburgh. To this I replied, 'Why not settle there, for the time, at least, that this engagement lasts?

Lodgings are cheap at Edinburgh, and provisions and coals not dear. Of this fact I had some weeks' experience four years ago.' I then added that it was my firm opinion that you could never regularly keep up your engagements at a distance from the press, and, said I, 'pray tell him so when you write.' She replied, 'do write yourself.' Now I could not refuse to give her pleasure by so doing, especially being a.s.sured that my letter would not be wholly worthless to you, having such agreeable news to send of your family.”

This excellent advice was soon afterwards acted upon, and Edinburgh became the scene of De Quincey's further life and labours. Here he died on the 8th of December, 1859, aged 74 years.

CHAPTER XII.

THE CHILDREN OF BLENTARN GHYLL.

DEATH OF WORDSWORTH'S CHILDREN.

A melancholy incident which occurred during her residence at Allan Bank may be mentioned, since Miss Wordsworth took such an active, sympathetic interest in the relief and succour of the sufferers. It is not, however, necessary to relate in detail the sad story, as this has been done by De Quincey and others.

Nestling in the valley of Easedale still stands a humble farm-house called Blentarn Ghyll, which takes its name from a mountain ravine near by. Here, in the year 1808, lived an industrious farmer and his wife named George and Sarah Green, with their six children, the youngest a baby, and the eldest a girl of nine or ten. On the morning of a day long to be remembered George Green and his wife started off over the mountains--a distance of five or six miles--to Langdale, to attend a sale of furniture (on which occasions these scattered neighbours used to meet) intending to return the same evening. Notwithstanding that some of their friends endeavoured to dissuade them from returning by the mountains, they, in the afternoon, started on their return journey. And neither of them was ever seen in life again. A fall of snow came, in which they hopelessly lost their way, and, as De Quincey says, ”they disappeared into the cloud of death.” Meanwhile, the poor little children sat round the fire waiting in vain for their parents' return.

The eldest, little Agnes Green, whose emotions were, during that and subsequent days, changed from those of a child of tender years to those of a mother, became heroic in her devotion to her tiny brothers and sisters. The lonely farmhouse, with its little inhabitants, was for some days surrounded by drifts of snow, which prevented their leaving it.

Meantime, as day succeeded day, the brave Agnes cheered up the others as best she could, preparing their scanty meals, and making the elder ones say their prayers night and morning. It was not until the third day that she was able to force her way through the snow and tell the sad tale, inquiring with tearful face whether her father and mother had been seen.

Such was the interest felt in the story of their loss, that all the able-bodied men of Grasmere formed themselves into a search band; but it was not until after the expiration of three days that the bodies of the faithful couple were found near Dungeon Ghyll, the husband being at the bottom of a rock, from which he had fallen, where his wife had crept round to him. They were only a few hundred yards from a farmhouse, to which, however, their cries for help had not reached, or had been mistaken. In the future of the helpless orphans Miss Wordsworth took an active interest, and raised a considerable sum of money for their benefit. The Royal Family were made acquainted with the sad history, and the Queen herself and her daughters became subscribers to the fund. The children were taken into different families in the neighbourhood, one of them going to live with the Wordsworths. The heroic little Agnes died many years ago, and is buried in Grasmere Churchyard beside her parents.

Three of these children yet survive, the eldest of whom, now 85 years old, has given me some of the foregoing particulars. He still well remembers the circ.u.mstances of that fatal journey, and the vain waiting, during the hours of night, for the father and mother who never returned.

Another survivor--the one who was at the time a little baby girl--is now blind, and, I believe, a great grandmother.

Among other lasting friends.h.i.+ps of the Wordsworths which we find existing about this period is that with Mr. Henry Crabb Robinson, whose ”Diary and Reminiscences” afford some pleasant recollections of many of the _literati_ of his time among whom he had a very extensive acquaintance. In 1810 Miss Wordsworth had been paying a visit to Mr. and Mrs. Clarkson (of anti-slave trade celebrity) at Bury. Mr. Robinson met her there, and, being about to return to London when Miss Wordsworth was intending to pay a visit to Charles and Mary Lamb, he undertook to escort her thither. Upon her return home she wrote to him the following letter:--

”_Grasmere, November 6, 1810_.

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