Part 2

Before proceeding to describe the effect made on the public by the appearance of “Poems descriptive of Rural Life and Scenery,” it will be necessary to revert for a moment to the affairs of love. No sooner was the first quarrel between the sweethearts swept away by the broom of reconciliation than the flame of passion, burning to a conquering height, made a bonfire out of the broken materials of virtue. This disaster was followed by fresh bickerings. Martha Turner found it impossible to be for ever displaying a cheerful front. Her tears, her reproaches, her simple tricks to make CLARE jealous, resulted in a serious breach. CLARE, listening far too readily to glib and evil persuasions from within, appears to have convinced himself that he was the injured party; whereupon he began to wound Martha by flirting outrageously with Betty Sell, the daughter of a Southorp labourer. This inglorious behaviour received a sudden check, just after the publication of CLARE’S book, by reason of a letter from Martha Turner, in which she spoke of her coming motherhood, and implored the author of her shame to cleanse her in so far as he was able. Truth to tell, CLARE was by this time wellnigh assured that Betty was his favourite, but he had the manliness to follow the right star, and on the 16th of March, 1820, was united to Martha at Great Casterton Church. A month after the wedding Anna Maria Clare was born to him. As this marriage would hardly have been possible but for the stir occasioned by the poems, we may now give a short history of the events immediately following their issue.

Although the art of preliminary puffing was as yet in swaddling clothes, so to speak, Mr. Taylor contrived to interest a large number of his acquaintances, some of whom had access to the columns of certain periodicals. Moreover, Mr. Gilchrist’s magazine article had proved a useful forerunner. The book itself was born into a golden clime. The reading world happening to be sick of Metropolitan and modish fare, CLARE’S birds and mayblossoms came as a tonic to all who were desirous of a change. The triumph of the country over the town was of the completest sort; customers poured into Mr. Taylor’s shop in their anxiety to purchase copies of the labourer’s poems; for once the critics and the public were agreed. Journals of fine stature joined with insignificant prints in praising CLARE to the skies, and when this new writer actually succeeded in carrying the defences of the “Quarterly,” it was allowed on all sides that lion-hunters were in luck’s way. CLARE was fortunate in some of his advertisers. Rossini and Madame Vestris brought him into further prominence by means of a musical setting and of recitations at Covent Garden. Genius in hobnailed boots and a smock-frock shouldered aside the more usual figures of literary London. While all this was taking place in Fleet Street, as well as in the aristocratic sections of the capital, rumours of CLARE’S amazing success reached the county residences in the neighbourhood of Helpstone. General Birch Reynardson gave him to eat with his lackeys, and Viscount Milton flung seventeen guineas into his lap with as much feeling as he might have thrown seventeen crumbs to a cur. In great contrast to blue-blooded vulgarity of this stamp was the Marquis of Exeter’s treatment of the poet, although a more liberal display of tact upon his part would have enabled CLARE to leave his mansion with a heart given over completely to joy and gratitude. Friends of _Clare_ are not likely to forget the generosity of the Marquis. An annuity of fifteen guineas for life was indeed a handsome backing of the Muse. Because of this gift Anna Maria Clare was born in wedlock; without it her parents would not have been able to marry as soon as they did. Foolish folk spared the poet none of the customary agonies. He was pestered by inquisitive visitors; collectors of autographs bullied him for his signature, and the owners of albums plagued him to encourage them in their whim. Some persons of the goody-goody type improved the shining hour by sending him an assortment of tracts, the fate of which is wrapped in impenetrable mystery. CLARE was a simple child of nature, certainly, but we may almost take it for granted that he left these precious effusions undigested.

The news that CLARE was about to trust his bones to London almost paralysed his rustic intimates. Generations of romancers had made strange impressions upon the provincial mind. Particularly full of odious vaticinations was James Burridge, an old farm labourer whose head was stuffed to the bursting point with stories horrifying enough to make CLARE’S flesh creep. According to this authority, London thoroughly deserved the doubtful compliment of being compared with Babylon. He declared that there were trap-doors in the streets, down which wayfarers flopped into cauldrons of boiling water amid the plaudits of ministering cut-throats! CLARE quailed, his parents wept, and his wife approached within measurable distance of hysterics. But even the prospect of being cooked in this casual manner did not suffice to deter the poet from visiting Mr. Taylor, of Fleet Street. That he set some value upon the legends of James Burridge is proved by his adoption of a small device to baffle the trapdoor operators. Believing safety to be resident in a smock-frock and in boots the soles of which sustained grinning rows of hobnails, he set forth upon his journey thus attired. He was not long in regretting his precautions, for he soon perceived that his costume evoked from onlookers merry comments and derisive glances. In the end, Mr. Taylor supplied him with an overcoat which covered the defects of his attire. Whatever the heat of theatre or drawing-room, whether among lords or commoners, JOHN CLARE clung to this garment with the courage of despair. What his agonies were, because of his raiment, when driven into a corner by a countess for a _tête-à-tête_, we can do no more than dimly conjecture. In the course of this visit CLARE was introduced to Admiral Lord Radstock, who took a great fancy to him and remained a firm friend, and to Mrs. Emmerson, a lady who, seeing that her purse and sympathies were always ready to alleviate the mischances of young poets and artists, might be described as a female Maecenas. To this rather gushing and sentimental patroness of the arts CLARE from time to time addressed letters which were not devoid of the elements of wildness and Platonic passion. At last his emphasis became so absurd that Mrs. Emmerson requested him to send back her portrait. Had a jug of cold water been poured down the poet’s neck he could not have been more cooled than he was by this piece of diplomacy. The shrine was despoiled. The picture was despatched by the next carrier; and doubtless Martha, who must have hated the sight of Mrs. Emmerson’s face, congratulated herself in secret. There is no need to say more about CLARE’S first visit to London, if we except mention of the fact that the mighty city’s chief effect upon him was to fill his breast with yearning for the oaks and rivulets round about his native village. A week in the Metropolis had been more than enough for the countryman. As he rumbled homeward in the coach, he had dreams of unsullied waters and unsmoked rainbows; and he counted over his country joys as a miser adds up the total of his various coins. At the top of his treasures stood his wife and baby, for, with all his Platonic declensions from the state most comfortable to Martha, he was an affectionate husband and father. About this time several hearty friends strove with might and main to secure a competence for the poet. A sum of four hundred and twenty pounds was the result of their earnestness; but when it is remembered that Earl Fitzwilliam and CLARE’S publishers were between them responsible for no less than two hundred of this amount, the harvest of solicitation is not notable for bounteousness. Dr. Bell--a friend of the right complexion--extracted an annual ten pounds from Earl Spencer, so that, what with this gift, the Marquis of Exeter’s donation, and the fund, the genius of Helpstone was possessed of an income of forty-five pounds per annum. CLARE felt a very mendicant throughout all these transactions, and even went so far as to disavow them in letters despatched to his noble helpers. Had it not been for the persuasions of Mr. Gilchrist and the amusing invectives of Dr. Bell, he would have kicked with greater persistence against the pricks of charity.

As soon as the harvest was over, CLARE made an end of labouring in the fields. He was under agreement to hand over another volume of poetry to Messrs. Taylor and Hessey for publication early in 1821. It was now his earnest endeavour to fulfil his share of the bargain, and he bared his forehead to inspiration. CLARE always felt himself cheated and empty of ideas when shut up within four walls. The Muse would not follow him to his fireside, but she would frolic with him the live-long day in the open air, filling him with buoyancy, kissing his lips, and smoothing out his wrinkles. Seated inside an old oak, whose heart had gradually passed into the atmosphere, CLARE was wont to pour his soul in song, and so fruitful were the hints of his unseen companion that he soon had a great collection of new verses. All that he approved he desired to publish, but Mr. Taylor spoke a few strong words in favour of weeding, suggesting to CLARE that he should play the part of Herod toward some of the children of his imagination. A deadlock ensued. For a time the poet was adamant, the publishers marble. In this difficulty CLARE bethought himself of Mr. Gilchrist as an excellent agent for the casting of oil on the troubled waters. This gentleman, however, was thick in a squabble of his own, and when CLARE appeared unsympathetic he displayed a spirit very much huffed. At last the tension between poet and publishers became less, with the result that in the middle of September “The Village Minstrel” was ready for purchasers. The two volumes were handsomely presented; the type was beautiful, and a couple of steel engravings made a brave show. Despite the attractions of genius, despite the various ornaments, “The Village Minstrel” met with rather an icy greeting. Among the several explanations of this coldness put forward by the publishers and by certain friends, the likeliest is that the season of issue was not wisely chosen. In this year such gods of the pen as Scott, Byron, Shelley, Wordsworth, Keats, and Lamb distributed joy to many a reader, so that poor JOHN CLARE naturally ran a great risk of being overlooked. It was now proved how dangerous had been the heat of his first welcome. Superlatives had been done to death; the lion-hunters had exhausted their treacly compliments, and were now eagerly scanning the literary horizon in the hope of seeing approach a fresh victim. Moreover, some injudicious persons had descanted more upon CLARE’S poverty than upon his remarkable powers. It was the general opinion, as Mr. Martin points out in his biography, that a really capable poet should be able to support himself. If he did not succeed in so doing, then he was but a dabbler while pretending to be a priest. The logic was of the sort to shrink from scrutiny, but it contented the shallow sufficiently well. To my thinking, the charge of twelve shillings for these two volumes was a factor in the neglect which overtook them. Be this as it may, a collection of verse containing some exquisite and lovely pieces, and marking in some respects an advance upon the forerunning book, fell upon the stony patch of indifference, there to remain while verse of fifty times less merit enjoyed a vogue out of proportion to its worth. In a word, CLARE’S second luck was the exact opposite of his first. In days saddened by the reflection that he had failed to hold by the glory which he obtained at his first venture, it was balm to CLARE to know that Robert Bloomfield at least warmly approved of what lukewarm triflers failed to appreciate.

In the summer of 1821, not long after the meteoric appearance at Helpstone of a minor poet, who presented CLARE with a sonnet and a one-pound note in a glorious burst of bounty and condescension, Mr. John Taylor passed a few hours in the little Northamptonshire village. Under the guidance of CLARE he reviewed many of the spots which the poet had celebrated in song, and, in some cases, he was amazed to find how CLARE had compelled dull localities to yield strains both abundant and beautiful. But to gather roses in a desert is child’s play for a genius. Upon taking leave, Mr. Taylor invited CLARE to spend a few weeks in Fleet Street. Luckily the poet decided to avail himself of this offer, for about this time he was far too frequent a visitor at the “Blue Bell,” where he had his corner reserved, and passed for the chief of the assembly. This meant more than sufficient exercise for the gullet. The bad habit contracted at Burghley Hall was strengthened at these sittings, and CLARE, deplorably unstable in some mental particulars, approached nearer and nearer to that abyss which has engulfed so many great wits. The winter being over, CLARE departed for London. He was something of a bolt from the blue to Mr. Taylor, but that gentleman was not slow in welcoming his client, though he looked askance at the gay pocket handkerchief in which was contained the whole of his friend’s luggage. As the publisher was very busy, he delivered CLARE into the keeping of Thomas Hood, who, in turn, handed him over to the head porter of the firm. The poet was not long in finding his way to the house of Mrs. Emmerson, whose hospitality was as frank and unstinted as ever. Here CLARE met Mr. Rippingille, a young artist with a dash of Dick Swiveller in him, who had a strong appetite for noisy pranks. In company with this unreflective spirit the peasant from the Midlands attended some very dubious functions, penetrating to quarters of the Metropolis which were famous for the topmost achievements of rascality, where he ran riot among various intoxicants. After besieging a certain beauteous actress with all the languishing glances at their command, these foolish comrades would pledge her in pale ale till, like Byron, they seemed to walk upon the ceiling. Thus were buttresses added to CLARE’S unfortunate predilection. Those who revel by gaslight are not fond of returning home before midnight, and CLARE was no exception to the rule. But the hours of his choice were not grateful to Mr. Taylor, whose sense of the fitness of things was offended by his visitor’s conduct. Therefore, Thomas Hood was deputed to inform CLARE that he was vexing his host, an intimation which resulted in the poet carrying his handkerchief full of belongings to Mrs. Emmerson’s house, where his manners did not improve. Under the accomplished tuition of Mr. Rippingille he found how easy the descent of Avernus was. His next move was to Chiswick, where the Rev. H. T. Cary entertained him. His stay here was brief, owing to an amusing episode. Strangely enough CLARE was ignorant of the fact that his elderly host had a young and handsome wife. In the belief that he was doing homage to the charms of one of Mr. Cary’s grown-up daughters, he addressed several poems, which were not without the quality of ardour, to the wife of the translator’s bosom. After this, although his explanation was accepted and understood, CLARE thought he had better depart from Chiswick. During this stay in London the Northamptonshire poet was introduced to William Gifford and Charles Lamb, the latter of whom, if report may be trusted, was guilty of a rather coarse jape at his expense. Not long after this, CLARE returned to Helpstone. It is worthy to note that, whereas his first visit to London had only accentuated his country raptures, the village minstrel now actually pined for the fatted calves, the theatres, the glitter, and the merry companions of the city. The taint of Rippingille was upon him. Reaction came in time; the meadows captured him again; but this small piece of history is significant of much.

As soon as he was once more in possession of his best self, CLARE began to face his troubles--most of which sprang from insufficient means at this time--with as much courage as he could summon. He was rather slow in being convinced that he could not derive a steady income from the composition of poetry; but when this truth was driven home his mind at once became agile in devising numberless plans for the betterment of his state, for he suffered from a torturing anxiety when he remembered for how many his fate had appointed him the bread-winner. He was now fighting hand to hand with poverty, valorous in behalf of his aged mother, his wife, and his little children, who enjoyed the fruits of whatsoever victories were gained far more than did their defender--since he secretly starved himself in order to increase the tale of loaves presided over by Patty. In the year 1823, worn out by his failures to extract a supporting flow of guineas from either poetry or agriculture, he fell very ill, just after the shock occasioned by the death of Mr. Gilchrist. His recovery was of the slowest, and it was not till he was put by Mr. Taylor under the care of Dr. Darling, in London, that the poet mended in a manner to satisfy his friends. It was during this third visit to the Metropolis that CLARE came in contact with De Quincey, Coleridge, William Hazlitt, and Allan Cunningham, to mention only four of the prominent men whom Mr. Taylor delighted to make members of his evening parties. CLARE found his imaginary portraits to be very deceptive, especially so in the case of De Quincey. The bulk and dull appearance of Coleridge also surprised, as well as disappointed, him, for he had pictured the great man in a guise completely opposite to reality. There is little need to say that in Mr. Taylor’s house nothing of a bacchanalian tinge was likely to occur; but even the moderate pleasures of the publisher’s entertainments threatened to destroy the good brought about by the skill and care of Dr. Darling, and therefore Clare was induced to return to Helpstone, where he once more renewed his search for employment, encountered thoughtless snubs from the high and mighty of the district, and gradually approached the line which separates mental health from mental disease. He was for ever engaged in keeping the wolf from the door. He did not eat a due share of what his means supplied, denying himself from day to day with a rigidity which could not fail to injure both body and brain. At the end of the year 1825, after working in the cornfields throughout the harvest, CLARE turned to the composition of poetry, and produced “The Shepherd’s Calendar,” a volume in which he used the file to excellent purpose. Already bruised and wounded by the rough edges of life, the poet found an additional hardship in the fact that Mr. Taylor long delayed to publish this third book of verse; for to make both ends meet was now a miracle beyond his accomplishing. Although several editors of those elegant annuals which were then so much in favour had asked CLARE to assist in making their sugary volumes attractive, they were by no means quick to send him the money he had earned. He had only his annuity and a few shillings gained by doing odd jobs for the farmers of the neighbourhood. At this juncture Patty bore him a third child.