VOLUME THE SECOND (of 4)

CONTENTS

CONTENTS

LITERARY REMAINS.

LITERARY REMAINS

SHAKSPEARE, WITH INTRODUCTORY MATTER ON POETRY, THE DRAMA, AND THE STAGE.

DEFINITION OF POETRY.

GREEK DRAMA.

PROGRESS OF THE DRAMA.

THE DRAMA GENERALLY, AND PUBLIC TASTE.

SHAKSPEARE, A POET GENERALLY.

SHAKSPEARE'S JUDGMENT EQUAL TO HIS GENIUS.

RECAPITULATION, AND SUMMARY OF THE CHARACTERISTICS OF SHAKSPEARE's DRAMAS. {1}

ORDER OF SHAKSPEARE'S PLAYS.

CLASSIFICATION ATTEMPTED, 1802.

CLASSIFICATION ATTEMPTED, 1810.

CLASSIFICATION ATTEMPTED, 1819.

NOTES ON THE TEMPEST.

LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.

MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.

COMEDY OF ERRORS.

AS YOU LIKE IT.

TWELFTH NIGHT.

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

CYMBELINE.

TITUS ANDRONICUS.

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

CORIOLANUS.

JULIUS CÆSAR.

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

TIMON OF ATHENS,

ROMEO AND JULIET.

SHAKSPEARE'S ENGLISH HISTORICAL PLAYS.

KING JOHN.

RICHARD II.

HENRY IV. PART I.

HENRY IV. PART II.

HENRY V.

HENRY VI. PART I.

RICHARD III.

LEAR.

HAMLET.

NOTES ON MACBETH.

NOTES ON THE WINTER'S TALE.

NOTES ON OTHELLO

NOTES ON BEN JONSON.

WHALLEY'S PREFACE.

WHALLEY'S LIFE OF JONSON.

EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR.

POETASTER.

FALL OF SEJANUS.

VOLPONE.

EPICÆNE.

THE ALCHEMIST.

CATILINE'S CONSPIRACY.

BARTHOLOMEW FAIR.

THE DEVIL IS AN ASS.

THE STAPLE OF NEWS.

THE NEW INN.

NOTES ON BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

HARRIS'S COMMENDATORY POEM ON FLETCHER.

LIFE OF FLETCHER IN STOCKDALE'S EDITION. 1811.

MAID'S TRAGEDY.

A KING AND NO KING.

THE SCORNFUL LADY.

THE CUSTOM OF THE COUNTRY.

THE ELDER BROTHER

THE SPANISH CURATE.

WIT WITHOUT MONEY.

THE HUMOROUS LIEUTENANT.

THE MAD LOVER.

THE LOYAL SUBJECT.

RULE A WIFE AND HAVE A WIFE.

THE LAWS OF CANDY.

THE LITTLE FRENCH LAWYER.

VALENTINIAN.

THE WILD GOOSE CHASE.

A WIFE FOR A MONTH.

THE PILGRIM.

THE NOBLE GENTLEMAN.

THE CORONATION.

WIT AT SEVERAL WEAPONS.

THE FAIR MAID OF THE INN.

THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN.

THE WOMAN HATER.

ON THE PROMETHEUS OF ÆSCHYLUS:

NOTE ON CHALMERS'S LIFE OF DANIEL.

BISHOP CORBET.

NOTE ON THEOLOGICAL LECTURES OF BENJAMIN WHEELER, D. D.

NOTE ON A SERMON ON THE PREVALENCE OF INFIDELITY AND ENTHUSIASM, BY WALTER BIRCH, B. D.

FÉNÉLON ON CHARITY.{1}

CHANGE OF THE CLIMATES.

WONDERFULNESS OF PROSE.

NOTES ON TOM JONES. {1}

JONATHAN WILD. {1}

BARRY CORNWALL.{1}

FULLER'S HOLY STATE.

FULLER'S PROFANE STATE.

FULLER'S APPEAL OF INJURED INNOCENCE.

FULLER'S CHURCH HISTORY.

ASGILL'S ARGUMENT.

INTRODUCTION TO ASGILL'S DEFENCE UPON HIS EXPULSION FROM THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.

NOTES ON SIR THOMAS BROWN'S RELIGIO MEDICI, MADE DURING A SECOND PERUSAL. 1808. {1}

NOTES ON SIR THOMAS BROWNE'S GARDEN OF CYRUS,

NOTES ON SIR THOMAS BROWNE'S VULGAR ERRORS.

LITERARY REMAINS.

Extract from a Letter written by Mr. Coleridge, in February, 1818, to a Gentleman who attended the Course of Lectures given in the Spring of that Year.

Extract from a Letter to J. Britton, Esq.

SHAKSPEARE, WITH INTRODUCTORY MATTER ON POETRY, THE DRAMA, AND THE STAGE

Definition of Poetry Greek Drama Progress of the Drama The Drama generally, and Public Taste Shakspeare, a Poet generally Shakspeare's Judgment equal to his Genius Recapitulation, and Summary of the Characteristics of Shakspeare's Dramas Order of Shakspeare's Plays Notes on the Tempest Love's Labour's Lost Midsummer Night's Dream Comedy of Errors As You Like It Twelfth Night All's Well that Ends Well Merry Wives of Windsor Measure for Measure Cymbeline Titus Andronicus Troilus and Cressida Coriolanus Julius Cæsar Antony and Cleopatra Timon of Athens Romeo and Juliet Shakspeare's English Historical Plays King John Richard II. Henry IV. Part I. Henry IV. Part II. Henry V. Henry VI. Part I. Richard III. Lear Hamlet Notes on Macbeth Notes on the Winter's Tale Notes on Othello

NOTES ON BEN JONSON

Whalley's Preface Whalley's Life of Jonson Every Man out of His Humour Poetaster Fall of Sejanus Volpone Epicène The Alchemist Catiline's Conspiracy Bartholomew Fair The Devil is an Ass The Staple of News The New Inn

NOTES ON BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER

Harris's Commendatory Poem on Fletcher Life of Fletcher in Stockdale's Edition. 1811 Maid's Tragedy A King and no King The Scornful Lady The Custom of the Country The Elder Brother The Spanish Curate Wit Without Money The Humorous Lieutenant The Mad Lover The Loyal Subject Rule a Wife and have a Wife The Laws of Candy The Little French Lawyer Valentinian Rollo The Wildgoose Chase A Wife for a Month The Pilgrim The Queen of Corinth The Noble Gentleman The Coronation Wit at Several Weapons The Fair Maid of the Inn The Two Noble Kinsmen The Woman Hater On the 'Prometheus' of Æschylus Note on Chalmers's 'Life of Daniel' Bishop Corbet Notes on Selden's 'Table Talk' Note on Theological Lectures of Benjamin Wheeler, D.D. Note on a Sermon on the Prevalence of Infidelity and Enthusiasm, by Walter Birch, B. D. Fénélon on Charity Change of the Climates Wonderfulness of Prose Notes on Tom Jones Jonathan Wild Barry Cornwall The Primitive Christian's Address to the Cross Fuller's Holy State Fuller's Profane State Fuller's Appeal of Injured Innocence Fuller's Church History Asgill's Argument

Introduction to Asgill's Defence upon his Expulsion from the House of Commons. Notes on Sir Thomas Browne's 'Religio Medici' Notes on Sir Thomas Browne's Garden of Cyrus Notes on Sir Thomas Browne's Vulgar Errors

LITERARY REMAINS

Extract from a Letter written by Mr. Coleridge, in February, 1818, to a gentleman who attended the course of Lectures given in the spring of that year.

See the 'Canterbury Magazine', September, 1834. Ed.

My next Friday's lecture will, if I do not grossly flatter-blind myself, be interesting, and the points of view not only original, but new to the audience. I make this distinction, because sixteen or rather seventeen years ago, I delivered eighteen lectures on Shakspeare, at the Royal Institution; three-fourths of which appeared at that time startling paradoxes, although they have since been adopted even by men, who then made use of them as proofs of my flighty and paradoxical turn of mind; all tending to prove that Shakspeare's judgment was, if possible, still more wonderful than his genius; or rather, that the contradistinction itself between judgment and genius rested on an utterly false theory. This, and its proofs and grounds have been—I should not have said adopted, but produced as their own legitimate children by some, and by others the merit of them attributed to a foreign writer, whose lectures were not given orally till two years after mine, rather than to their countryman; though I dare appeal to the most adequate judges, as Sir George Beaumont, the

Bishop of Durham, Mr. Sotheby, and afterwards to Mr. Rogers and Lord Byron, whether there is one single principle in Schlegel's work (which is not an admitted drawback from its merits), that was not established and applied in detail by me. Plutarch tells us, that egotism is a venial fault in the unfortunate, and justifiable in the calumniated, &c. ...

Extract from a Letter to J. Britton, Esq.

28th Feb., 1819, Highgate.

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 philosophic 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.'

DEFINITION OF POETRY.

Poetry is not the proper antithesis to prose, but to science. Poetry is opposed to science, and prose to metre. The proper and immediate object of science is the acquirement, or communication, of truth; the proper and immediate object of poetry is the communication of immediate pleasure. This definition is useful; but as it would include novels and other works of fiction, which yet we do not call poems, there must be some additional character by which poetry is not only divided from opposites, but likewise distinguished from disparate, though similar, modes of composition. Now how is this to be effected? In animated prose, the beauties of nature, and the passions and accidents of human nature, are often expressed in that natural language which the contemplation of them would suggest to a pure and benevolent mind; yet still neither we nor the writers call such a work a poem, though no work could deserve that name which did not include all this, together with something else. What is this? It is that pleasurable emotion, that peculiar state and degree of excitement, which arises in the

poet himself in the act of composition;—and in order to understand this, we must combine a more than ordinary sympathy with the objects, emotions, or incidents contemplated by the poet, consequent on a more than common sensibility, with a more than ordinary activity of the mind in respect of the fancy and the imagination. Hence is produced a more vivid reflection of the truths of nature and of the human heart, united with a constant activity modifying and correcting these truths by that sort of pleasurable emotion, which the exertion of all our faculties gives in a certain degree; but which can only be felt in perfection under the full play of those powers of mind, which are spontaneous rather than voluntary, and in which the effort required bears no proportion to the activity enjoyed. This is the state which permits the production of a highly pleasurable whole, of which each part shall also communicate for itself a distinct and conscious pleasure; and hence arises the definition, which I trust is now intelligible, that poetry, or rather a poem, is a species of

composition, opposed to science, as having intellectual pleasure for its object, and as attaining its end by the use of language natural to us in a state of excitement,—but distinguished from other species of composition, not excluded by the former criterion, by permitting a pleasure from the whole consistent with a consciousness of pleasure from the component parts;—and the perfection of which is, to communicate from each part the greatest immediate pleasure compatible with the largest sum of pleasure on the whole. This, of course, will vary with the different modes of poetry;—and that splendour of particular lines, which would be worthy of admiration in an impassioned elegy, or a short indignant satire, would be a blemish and proof of vile taste in a tragedy or an epic poem.

It is remarkable, by the way, that Milton in three incidental words has implied all which for the purposes of more distinct apprehension, which at first must be slow-paced in order to be distinct, I have endeavoured to develope in a precise and strictly adequate definition. Speaking of poetry, he says, as in a parenthesis, "which is simple, sensuous, passionate." How awful is the power of words!—fearful often in their consequences when merely felt, not understood; but most awful when both felt and understood!—Had these three words only been properly understood by, and present in the minds of, general readers, not only almost a library of false poetry would have been either precluded or still-born, but, what is of more consequence, works truly excellent and capable of enlarging the understanding, warming and purifying the heart, and placing in the centre of the whole being the germs of noble and manlike actions, would have been the common diet of the intellect instead. For the first condition, simplicity,—while, on the one hand, it

distinguishes poetry from the arduous processes of science, labouring towards an end not yet arrived at, and supposes a smooth and finished road, on which the reader is to walk onward easily, with streams murmuring by his side, and trees and flowers and human dwellings to make his journey as delightful as the object of it is desirable, instead of having to toil, with the pioneers and painfully make the road on which others are to travel,—precludes, on the other hand, every affectation and morbid peculiarity;—the second condition, sensuousness, insures that framework of objectivity, that definiteness and articulation of imagery, and that modification of the images themselves, without which poetry becomes flattened into mere didactics of practice, or evaporated into a hazy, unthoughtful, daydreaming; and the third condition, passion, provides that neither thought nor imagery shall be simply objective, but that the passio vera of humanity shall warm and animate both.

To return, however, to the previous definition, this most general and distinctive character of a poem originates in the poetic genius itself; and though it comprises whatever can with any propriety be called a poem, (unless that word be a mere lazy synonyme for a composition in metre,) it yet becomes a just, and not merely discriminative, but full and adequate, definition of poetry in its highest and most peculiar sense, only so far as the distinction still results from the poetic genius, which sustains and modifies the emotions, thoughts, and vivid representations of the poem by the energy without effort of the poet's own mind,—by the spontaneous activity of his imagination and fancy, and by whatever else with these reveals itself in the balancing and reconciling of opposite or discordant qualities, sameness with difference, a sense of novelty and freshness with old or customary objects, a more than usual state of emotion with more than usual order, self-possession and judgment with enthusiasm and vehement feeling,—and which, while it blends and

harmonizes the natural and the artificial, still subordinates art to nature, the manner to the matter, and our admiration of the poet to our sympathy with the images, passions, characters, and incidents of the poem:—

Doubtless, this could not be, but that she turns Bodies to spirit by sublimation strange, As fire converts to fire the things it burns— As we our food into our nature change! From their gross matter she abstracts their forms, And draws a kind of quintessence from things, Which to her proper nature she transforms To bear them light on her celestial wings! Thus doth she, when from individual states She doth abstract the universal kinds, Which then reclothed in diverse names and fates Steal access thro' our senses to our minds. {1}

{Footnote 1: Sir John Davies on the Immortality of the Soul, sect. iv. The words and lines in italics (between) are substituted to apply these verses to the poetic genius. The greater part of this latter paragraph may be found adopted, with some alterations, in the 'Biographia Literaria', vol. ii. c. 14; but I have thought it better in this instance and some others, to run the chance of bringing a few passages twice over to the recollection of the reader, than to weaken the force of the original argument by breaking the connection. Ed.}

GREEK DRAMA.

It is truly singular that Plato,—whose philosophy and religion were but exotic at home, and a mere opposition to the finite in all things, genuine prophet and anticipator as he was of the Protestant Christian aera,—should have given in his Dialogue of the Banquet, a justification of our Shakspeare. For he relates that, when all the other guests had either dispersed or fallen asleep, Socrates only, together with Aristophanes and Agathon, remained awake, and that, while he continued to drink with them out of a large goblet, he compelled them, though most reluctantly, to admit that it was the business of one and the same genius to excel in tragic and comic poetry, or that the tragic poet ought, at the same time, to contain within himself the powers of comedy. {1} Now, as this was directly repugnant to the entire theory of the ancient critics, and contrary to all their experience, it is evident that Plato must have fixed the eye of his contemplation on the innermost essentials of the drama, abstracted from the forms of age or country. In another passage he

even adds the reason, namely, that opposites illustrate each other's nature, and in their struggle draw forth the strength of the combatants, and display the conqueror as sovereign even on the territories of the rival power.