and aesthetics. Coleridge’s sketches were verbal ones, describing the green panorama of the Olevano valley – “a Labyrinth of sweet Walks, glens, green Lanes, with Hillsides” – much as it still is. While Allston painted, Coleridge lounged, making notes on chiaroscuro, painter’s easels, goddesses, ruins and harmony.
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In March, primroses came out and it snowed on the blossom of the almond trees.171 Coleridge seems to have been perfectly happy, suspended briefly from all sense of duty or guilt; and Allston asked him to sit for a half-length portrait, relaxed and meditative, in a window overlooking the valley. His face looks puffy and pale, yet handsome and almost raffish, with an extravagant tangle of silk scarves knotted casually round his neck. The mouth is full, and the eyes gaze into the distance with the hint of a smile. The Public Secretary has reverted to his persona of footloose artist on his travels. Coleridge later said it was one of his best likenesses, perhaps partly because it was unfinished.172
But Allston felt he had not captured his friend’s animation, and some ten years after he would try again. He would also try to describe Coleridge in verse, comparing his nightlong talks to a great ship, launched out into the dark of “the Human Soul” but radiating light over the shadowy waters:
…For oft we seemed
As on some starless sea, – all dark above,
All dark below, – yet, onward as we drove,
To plough up light that ever round us streamed.173
They returned to Rome in March for the Easter celebrations, and found the city now occupied by the French army. But Napoleon had not yet ordered the expulsion of English nationals, and Coleridge continued to visit the galleries and the Sistine Chapel, making notes on Michelangelo, Raphael and the Apollo Belvedere, apparently unperturbed. He regarded the French with increasing contempt. On one occasion, he was delivering a learned analysis of the monumental statue of Moses by Michelangelo, which is part of Julius II’s tomb in San Pietro. Coleridge observed that the Moses was remarkable for its beard and horns, which could be interpreted as an ancient sun-sign from Greek, Abyssinian and Middle Eastern mythologies, symbolizing a “darker power than the conscious intellect of man”, and the equivalent to the horned figure of Pan.
At this juncture, two elegant French officers swaggered into the church, and leeringly remarked that Moses wore the beard of a goat and the horns of a cuckold. Coleridge thought this a typical example of “degraded” French wit, not only because it exhibited their taste for “burlesque and travesty”, but because it indicated an inability to grasp a “unified” symbolic pattern as opposed to vulgar and fragmentary “generalizations”. The French were “passive Slaves of Association”. That was why they would never match German literary criticism, or British naval strategy. They saw everything in fixed “parts” without a sense of the fluid “whole”: they had fancy without imagination, wit without intuition.174
He had the same criticism of Bernini’s baroque hemisphere of Papal statues outside St Peter’s: “a great genius bewildered – and lost by an excess of fancy over imagination”.175 Other entries in his Notebooks show him trying to forge a new language of art criticism, obviously in conversation with Allston. How can one use terms like “truth”, “beauty” the “ideal” with proper philosophical accuracy; “without possibility of misconception”?176 And why were direct images from nature always so symbolically powerful? There was a shopkeeper’s sign near the Castello St Angelo, advertising “Aqua Vita, Rosoli, Spiriti, e Tabacchi”, but broken off its wall and “more than half veiled by tall nettles”. Why did this produce the exact image “of a deserted City”?177
But Coleridge was now running short of funds. He gave up his lodgings, and moved in with Wallis’s family, borrowing money from Thomas Russell. Russell would later recall his “destitute condition” and increasing moods of depression.178 Bad dreams and opium returned, and the sense of indecision. “A Kettle is on the slow Fire; & I turn from my Book, & loiter from going to my bed, in order to see whether it will boil: & on that my Hope hovers – on the Candle burning in the socket – or will this or that Person come this evening.“179 Once again he was being forced to meet the necessity of returning home. But still he did not write, and back in England it was only through Stoddart’s letters that there were rumours of him in Rome, being “much noticed” among the German and American colony.
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On 18 May 1806, Coleridge finally set out with Russell for the port of Livorno, making a leisurely journey by vetturino, and stopping off to visit the waterfall at Terni and the galleries of Perugia and Florence. At Pisa he saw the leaning tower by moonlight, “something of a supernatural look”, but was more interested by “the perfect cleanliness & good order” of the two hospitals for men and women. He contemplated the “great door of open iron work” to the wards, through which all must pass.
He was transfixed by the huge fresco in the Camposanto at Pisa, said to be by Giotto and his pupils, “The Triumph of Death”. The faded condition of the tempera, the flat glimmering of human forms without colour or perspective, all processing towards inevitable death, impressed him even more than Dante. He was haunted by it, and over a decade later recalled his impressions at length in a set of Philosophical Lectures. The frescoes presented that sense of inexhaustible and hypnotic power, “which we are reminded of when in the South of Europe we look at the deep blue sky…The same unwearied form presents itself, yet still we look on, sinking deeper and deeper, and therein offering homage to the infinity of our souls which no mere form can satisfy.”180
At Pisa he had less Platonic detachment, and felt that he was now drifting into Death’s cortège. By the time he reached Livorno on 7 June, he was in a mood of “black” despair equal to any experienced in Malta. While Russell looked for a ship to take them back, Coleridge plunged into a suicidal state of gloom, dreading the dangers of the voyage, and dreading even more its safe completion. Nothing could more clearly reveal his reluctance to leave the South, which he had so long half-hidden from himself, disguising it as his duty to Ball, or the difficulties of travel, or his new friendship with Allston. Now all his thoughts turned to his children, the one thing he felt he could not abandon. “O my Children, my Children! I gave you life once, unconscious of the Life I was giving; and you as unconsciously have given Life to me…Many months past I should have essayed whether Death is what I groan for, absorption and transfiguration of Consciousness…Even this moment I could commit Suicide but for you, my Darlings.”181
Even the thought of returning to the Wordsworths and Asra was no comfort. “Of Wordsworths – of Sara Hutchinson: that is passed – or of remembered thoughts to make a Hell of.” He felt racked with pain and self-disgust: “no other Refuge than Poisons that degrade the Being, while they suspend the torment”.182 Grimly, he went out and purchased a brass enema and pipe.
It was not easy to find a ship, as the navy had suspended its operations off Italy, and neutral merchantmen were nervous of taking British nationals. They shuttled between inns at
