{"id":69508,"date":"2014-04-10T11:15:29","date_gmt":"2014-04-10T15:15:29","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=69508"},"modified":"2014-04-10T11:23:08","modified_gmt":"2014-04-10T15:23:08","slug":"meeting-coleridge","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2014\/04\/10\/meeting-coleridge\/","title":{"rendered":"Meeting Coleridge"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"william12-800x1024\"<\/a>

Hazlitt\u2019s self-portrait, 1802<\/p><\/div>\n

William Hazlitt, born in England on April 10, 1778, had a diverse and storied career in the arts: he was an essayist, a philosopher, an art critic, a literary critic, a drama critic, a cultural critic, and\u2014just to even things out\u2014a painter. Despite their age, his essays remain surprisingly readable. They are, in their sense of purpose and their tweedy vastness, distinctly nineteenth-century English; Hazlitt\u2019s subjects are so broad, so plainly monumental, that any undergraduate who dared to write on them today would be flunked immediately. (His essay \u201cOn Great and Little Things\u201d begins, \u201cThe great and the little have, no doubt, a real existence in the nature of things.\u201d)<\/p>\n

Hazlitt also chose his acquaintances wisely, at least insofar as many of them wound up ascending into the canon: Wordsworth, Stendhal, Charles and Mary Lamb. His landlord was Jeremy Bentham. But then there was Coleridge, ah, Coleridge! In his 1823 essay \u201cMy First Acquaintance with Poets<\/a>,\u201d Hazlitt rhapsodizes about his first encounter with the poet, who would become a kind of distant mentor, though later there came the requisite falling-out. It\u2019s a gushing account, endearingly thorough and fanboy-ish, full of deft turns of phrase\u2014and it humanizes both men, reminding us that these two Dead White Guys were once\u00a0\u2026 Living White Guys, with fears and ambitions and impressive heads of hair. <\/p>\n

\n

I was at that time dumb, inarticulate, helpless, like a worm by the way-side, crushed, bleeding, lifeless \u2026 that my understanding also did not remain dumb and brutish, or at length found a language to express itself, I owe to Coleridge \u2026 I could not have been more delighted if I had heard the music of the spheres.<\/p>\n

I was called down into the room where he was, and went half-hoping, half-afraid. He received me very graciously, and I listened for a long time without uttering a word. I did not suffer in his opinion by my silence. \u201cFor those two hours,\u201d he afterwards was pleased to say, \u201che was conversing with William Hazlitt\u2019s forehead!\u201d His appearance was different from what I had anticipated from seeing him before. At a distance, and in the dim light of the chapel, there was to me a strange wildness in his aspect, a dusky obscurity, and I thought him pitted with the smallpox. His complexion was at that time clear, and even bright <\/i>\u2026 His forehead was broad and high, light as if built of ivory, with large projecting eyebrows, and his eyes rolling beneath them, like a sea with darkened lustre. \u201cA certain tender bloom his face o\u2019erspread,\u201d a purple tinge as we see it in the pale, thoughtful complexions of the Spanish portrait-painters, Murillo and Velasquez. His mouth was gross, voluptuous, open, eloquent; his chin good-humoured and round; but his nose, the rudder of the face, the index of the will, was small, feeble, nothing-like what he has done \u2026 His hair (now, alas! grey) was then black and glossy as the raven\u2019s, and fell in smooth masses over his forehead. This long pendulous hair is peculiar to enthusiasts, to those whose minds tend heavenward; and is traditionally inseparable though of a different colour) from the pictures of Christ. It ought to belong, as a character, to all who preach Christ crucified<\/i>, and Coleridge was at that time one of those!<\/p>\n

I ventured to say that I had always entertained a great opinion of Burke, and that (as far as I could find) the speaking of him with contempt might be made the test of a vulgar democratical mind. This was the first observation I ever made to Coleridge, and he said it was a very just and striking one. I remember the leg of Welsh mutton and the turnips on the table that day had the finest flavour imaginable \u2026<\/p>\n

The next morning Mr. Coleridge was to return to Shrewsbury \u2026 Asking for a pen and ink, and going to a table to write something on a bit of card, [he] advanced towards me with undulating step, and giving me the precious document, said that that was his address, Mr. Coleridge, Nether Stowey Somersetshire<\/i>, and that he should be glad to see me there in a few weeks\u2019 time, and, if I chose, would come half-way to meet me. I was not less surprised than the shepherd-boy (this simile is to be found in Cassandra<\/i>), when he sees a thunderbolt fall close at his feet. I stammered out my acknowledgments and acceptance of this offer (I thought Mr. Wedgwood\u2019s annuity a trifle to it) as well as I could; and this mighty business being settled, the poet preacher took leave, and I accompanied him six miles on the road. It was a fine morning in the middle of winter, and he talked the whole way.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

William Hazlitt, born in England on April 10, 1778, had a diverse and storied career in the arts: he was an essayist, a philosopher, an art critic, a literary critic, a drama critic, a cultural critic, and\u2014just to even things out\u2014a painter. Despite their age, his essays remain surprisingly readable. They are, in their sense […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":38,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[118],"tags":[13497,13498,12985,2047,13496,7635],"class_list":["post-69508","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-my-literary-hero","tag-essayists","tag-fanboys","tag-nineteenth-century","tag-poets","tag-samuel-coleridge","tag-william-hazlitt"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nWilliam Hazlitt on Meeting Poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"An excerpt from William Hazlitt\u2019s 1823 essay \u201cMy First Acquaintance,\u201d about his first encounter with the poet, who would become a kind of distant mentor.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" 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