Chapter 24
It was not long before Clare's old love of nature came back with such renewed ardour that he could not be made to stop a single day at home. Whenever the weather was moderately fine, he sallied forth, mostly unaccompanied by any one, and seldom returned before the sun had set. He extended his excursions as far as Helpston Heath on the one side, and Peterborough on the other, seemingly as much as ever acquainted with every nook and piece of ground for miles around the neighbourhood of his ancient haunts. One day, when rambling about on the confines of the cathedral city, he met and was recognised by Mrs. Marsh. The good old lady was delighted to see her poet again, and insisted that he should make up for his former neglect by accompanying her at once, and staying a few days at the episcopal mansion. Clare said he was expected home by his wife, and could not go the same day; but promised to pay a visit to Peterborough in the course of a week. He kept his word, and on the appointed time presented himself before Mrs. Marsh. She was exceedingly pleased, and to prevent her poet from running away again, kept him constantly in her company. Conversing with him on all subjects, Mrs. Marsh at times thought his remarks rather singular; while his sudden swerving from one topic to another often astonished her not a little. But all this the good lady held to be perfectly natural in a poet and a man of genius. To her a poet was nothing if not eccentric.
Clare remained for several days a guest at the residence of the bishop, and on the last evening of his visit was taken by Mrs. Marsh to the theatre. A select band of roving tragedians had taken possession of the Peterborough stage--converted, by a more prosaic living generation, into a corn-exchange--and were delighting the inhabitants of the episcopal city with Shakespeare, and the latest French melodramas. On the evening when Clare went to the theatre in company with Mrs. Marsh, the 'Merchant of Venice' was performed. Clare sat and listened quietly while the first three acts were being played, not even replying to the questions as to how he liked the piece, addressed to him by Mrs. Marsh. But at the commencement of the fourth act, he got restless and evidently excited, and in the scene where Portia delivered judgment, he suddenly sprang up on his seat, and began addressing the actor who performed the part of Shylock. Great was the astonishment of all the good citizens of Peterborough, when a shrill voice, coming from the box reserved to the wife of the Lord Bishop, exclaimed, 'You villain, you murderous villain!' Such an utter breach of decorum was never heard of within the walls of the episcopal city. It was in vain that those nearest to Clare tried to keep him on his seat and induce him to be quiet; he kept shouting, louder than ever, and ended by making attempts to get upon the stage. At last, the performance had to be suspended, and Mrs. Marsh, after some difficulty, got away with her guest. The old lady, in her innocence, even now did not apprehend the real cause of the exciting scene which she had witnessed, but, as before, attributed the behaviour of her unfortunate visitor to poetic eccentricity. But she began thinking that he was almost too eccentric.
The next morning, Clare went back to Northborough, having received an intimation from Mrs. Marsh that it would be best he should go home at once. He wandered forth from the city in a dreamy mood, and lost his way before he had gone far. Some acquaintances found him sitting in a meadow, near the hamlet of Gunthorpe, and seeing his wild haggard looks and strange manners, they took him by the arm, and led him back to Peterborough, delivering him over to the porter at the episcopal mansion. Mrs. Marsh, on hearing that her poet had again made his appearance, was somewhat alarmed; her guest had ceased to be ornamental to her establishment, and her chief object now was to get rid of him as soon as possible. She therefore ordered a servant to take charge of Clare and deliver him up to his wife, with instructions not to let him go, under any pretence, to Peterborough. The order was duly obeyed, and the poet soon found himself in his little cottage. Patty was frightened to see what a sad change the few days' absence had wrought in her husband. He no longer talked sensibly as before, but addressed her and the children in an abrupt manner, asking for his 'Mary,' and complaining that all his friend's had left him. The poor wife soothed him as best she could, and after some efforts succeeded in calming his mind. At the end of a few days, Clare seemed again sufficiently well to leave the house, and renewed his daily walks in company with one or the other of his children. The inhabitants of the village, together with most of his acquaintances in the neighbourhood, were still ignorant that the poet whom they saw daily roving through the fields was at madman.
The ignorance was so general as to be shared by most, of Clare's friends and patrons. One of the latter, the Rev. Mr. Mossop, Vicar of Helpston, had frequent occasions of seeing him, but never detected the slightest sign of mental derangement. Thus one morning, soon after the poet's return from Peterborough, he invited him to his house, to meet a friend who wished to make the acquaintance of the author of the 'Rural Muse.' Mrs. Clare was rather unwilling to let her husband depart; but had not the courage to detain him, remembering the exceeding kindness, always shown to her family by the vicar and his sister. The poet accordingly made his appearance at Mr. Mossop's house; but had not been long there before he showed unmistakeable signs of a wandering intellect. In the midst of an animated conversation, he suddenly broke off, and pointing to the ceiling, cried that he saw figures moving up and down. Surprised as the host and hostess were at this exclamation, they at once perceived the real condition of their unhappy visitor. The reverend gentleman, without loss of time, hurried off to get medical assistance, while his sister, Miss Jane Mossop, did her best to quiet the poet by conversing with him on his favourite topics, and drawing his attention to the plants and flowers in the garden. It was not long before a surgeon arrived, in the person of a Mr. Skrimshaw, resident at Market Deeping. He pronounced at once--what, indeed, was obvious to all the persons in the house--that the poor poet was a lunatic. The kind-hearted vicar thereupon had Clare carefully conveyed back to his own home, making further arrangements for his comfort and safety.
Through Mr. Mossop, the Earl Fitzwilliam and other patrons of Clare were made acquainted with the mental state of the poet, of which they had been so long ignorant. The earl at once proposed to send the poet to the county lunatic asylum, at Northampton, where he would be kept under safe restraint; but this scheme met with some opposition on the part of Mrs. Clare, who thought that her husband might yet recover by being left quietly at home. For a short time, indeed, it seemed as if this was the case. During the next four or five months, and up to the spring of 1837, the cottage at Northborough bore as quiet an aspect as if disease and misery had never entered it. Clare kept working in his garden, and reading in his little study, week after week, speaking to his family in the most rational manner, and occasionally writing verses as sweet and beautiful as any that had ever come from his pen. But with the warm days of summer, his mind seemed again to get distracted, and the report reaching Milton Park, imprisonment at the Northampton asylum was once more advised, or ordered. By desire of the noble earl, negotiations were entered into with the authorities at the county establishment to receive Clare, against payment of a small weekly sum, at a somewhat better footing than the ordinary paupers; but while these were pending, there came letters from London offering to do a little more for the unhappy poet. Mr. John Taylor and other old friends and patrons, having now become fully acquainted with the condition of Clare, proposed to place him in a private lunatic asylum, near the metropolis, discharging all the expenses of his maintenance there. The earl, being a clear gainer by this new arrangement, had no objection whatever to make against it, and signified his desire of having his pensioner at Northborough at once removed to the new place of safety. This was done without loss of time. Early on the morning of the 16th of July, 1837, Clare was led away from his wife and children, by two stern-looking men, who placed him in a small carriage and drove rapidly away southward. Late the same day, the poet found himself an inmate of Dr. Allen's private lunatic asylum, at Fair Mead House, High Beech, in the centre of Epping Forest.
GLIMMERS OF COUNTY PATRONAGE.
The news that Clare had been taken to a lunatic asylum did not become generally known till many months after the event had taken place. In the meanwhile, however, the few persons who still took an interest in the 'Northamptonshire Peasant' heard vague rumours that he was living at home in a state of extreme destitution, productive at times of mental derangement, and on the initiative of the most energetic of these old friends another appeal was made to the public for pecuniary aid. Allan Cunningham was the first to call upon the admirers of Clare to help him in his distress, and the editors of various more or less fashionable annuals, published in the autumn of 1837, followed the example. Though it did not lead to the desired result, the movement thus set on foot was curious, as showing the estimation in which the poet was held by some of those who wished to figure as his patrons. Among them was the Marquis of Northampton, a nobleman who, though never having in the least assisted Clare, fancied himself a sort of protector of the poet, for the sole reason that he was living in the county. This sort of county-property feeling, common to not a few of Clare's noble patrons, was expressed to a notable degree in a letter which the marquis wrote in reply to one of the appeals in favour of the 'Northamptonshire Peasant.'
The appeal in question appeared in the 'Book of Gems,' an annual edited by Mr. S. C. Hall. The writer, after stating that Clare had 'for many years existed in a state of poverty, as utter and hopeless as that in which he passed his youth;' that he had 'a wife and a very large family;' and that 'at times his mind is giving way under the sickness of hope deferred,' finished with an eloquent address to some nobleminded patron of poetry to come forward and help Clare. 'It is not yet too late,' the writer exclaimed, 'for a hand to reach him: a very envied celebrity may be obtained by some wealthy and good Samaritan. Strawberry Hill might be gladly sacrificed for the fame of having saved Chatterton.' The Marquis of Northampton replied to this address. His lordship evidently was hankering after the 'envied celebrity,' but wished to get it as cheap as possible. So he wrote a long letter to the editor of the 'Book of Gems,' making his bid for fame, and expressing at the same time his opinion about one whom he considered a '_county poet_.' His lordship's letter--in which, it will be noticed, the _county_ predominates over all heavenly and earthly things--ran as follows:--
'_Castle Ashby, Northampton, Oct. 17th, 1837_.
Sir,--Though an utter stranger, I think you will excuse my troubling you with this present letter: but I will not waste your time with a lengthened apology. I was this morning reading the collection of poetry which you have lately published--"The Book of Gems, 1838,"--and I was at the same time struck and shocked by what you say on the subject of our county poet, Clare. I must confess that I am not of his exceeding admirers, and should by no means be disposed to place him in the same rank with Hogg, or even with Bloomfield and Crockford. Still he is undoubtedly a great credit to our county, and it would, I think, be a great disgrace to it if Clare was left in the state in which you mention him to be. Now it appears to me that the most feasible means of relieving him would be for him to publish a collection of all his poems in a volume by subscription. Probably there would be found a good many persons in this county who would subscribe for five or ten copies each. Northamptonshire is not a large county, nor is it either wealthy from manufactures or from a dense population. It has, however, some considerable source of wealth. Many of its resident nobility and gentry have considerable properties elsewhere, as for instance the Dukes of Buccleuch and Grafton, and Lords Spencer, Fitzwilliam, Winchelsea; and you will see that the resources of the county are really in that sense larger than they appear. However, I must confess that I do not think that we are very literary, and probably such a speculation would hardly succeed unless in addition to the copies taken here there were hopes of a sale elsewhere. On this subject you are far better able to judge than I can be. You know also more exactly how Clare is situated, at least you could find out. If Her Majesty would allow the book to be dedicated to her that would probably be a considerable advantage, and through Lord Lilford, who, I think, is a Lord of the Bedchamber, permission might be obtained. But in this I speak at random. If such a plan was taken up, I should myself be willing to subscribe for ten or twenty copies, and I have no doubt that I could obtain subscriptions from others. But I could not myself do more for this scheme. In fact I should not be able to do quite so much now in this way in consequence of a late publication of mine, as I could not in general apply to the same subscribers. Still I could apply to many on the ground of it being a county question. But still, as I said before, the question is whether the public in general would be likely to join the effort. Pray let me know what you think of the matter. If a direct subscription for Clare should be proposed in lieu of the publication I should be happy to contribute towards it, but I should doubt its being as productive as the book. It would be probably well if there were some new poems in the book in addition to the old ones. Perhaps there may be a difficulty to get the copyright if he has sold it to a bookseller.
I am, Sir, your humble servant
Northampton.'
The philanthropic scheme of the Marquis of Northampton in favour of 'our county poet' was destined not to be realized. Whether the failure was owing to the mysterious 'Lord of the Bedchamber,' or to differences of opinion in respect to Clare being 'a great credit to our county,' and his relief 'a county question,' so much is certain, the not '_very_ literary' county subscribers declined to come forward, although a number of prospectuses were printed and issued to them. Thus there remained the 'great disgrace.' To Professor Wilson it simply was a 'national disgrace' but the most honourable the Marquis of Northampton undoubtedly felt it deeper by declaring it to be a 'disgrace to our county.'
DR. ALLEN'S ASYLUM.
Dr. Matthew Allen, of Fair Mead House, into whose asylum Clare had been taken, was among the first reformers who adopted the mild system of treatment for the insane, both on medical and philanthropic grounds. He argued, in the teeth of a whole legion of irate professional brethren, that kindness would be more powerful than cruelty in curing human beings deranged in intellect, and that, even if incurable, the poor creatures whom God had afflicted did not deserve being laid in fetters and treated like savage animals. The doctor necessarily made a great many enemies by preaching this new doctrine; but he likewise was fortunate enough to gain a few friends, who advocated his cause and rendered active aid in carrying it into practice. It was with the help of these friends that Dr. Allen was enabled to set up a large private asylum in the centre of Epping Forest, the establishment consisting of half-a-dozen houses, connected together, and surrounded by large gardens. Here the unhappy sufferers from mental derangement were kept under no more restraint than was absolutely necessary for their own safety and that of others; and, while under the best medical care and attention, were allowed an abundant amount of indoor recreation as well as out-door exercise. When Clare arrived, there were about fifty inmates at Fair Mead House, all of them belonging to the middle and upper classes. Feeling deep sympathy with the unfortunate position of the poet, Dr. Allen admitted him at a mere nominal rate of payment, treating him nevertheless exactly on the same footing as the most favoured of his patients.
The poet's existence at Fair Mead House for several years flowed on monotonous enough; even more so than that of the other inmates of the asylum. He longed to see his family, to meet familiar faces, and to read and write poetry; but neither wife, nor children, nor any friends ever came to visit him, and the supply of books was necessarily scant and not altogether to his taste. Dr. Allen's treatment of his patients was based on the principle of giving them as much physical labour and exercise as possible, so as to destroy all tendency to a morbid concentration of thought; and thus Clare was kept away from books and paper, and made to go into the garden, to plant, and dig, and water the flowers. He seemed to fret at first on being deprived of the solace of his poetry, and eagerly seized every occasion to scribble verses upon odd slips of paper, or with, chalk against the wall. But as the months passed on, his new forced habits grew upon him, and he left off writing to a great extent, and was foremost among the workers in the fields and garden. His mental state, however, did not improve, although his physical strength appeared to gain by this change. He got stout and robust, and able to go through a greater amount of physical labour than in former days. What seemed to contribute to sooth and quiet--or, perhaps, deaden--his mental energies, was the habit of smoking, which he acquired from his companions. He would smoke for whole days and weeks, either working in the garden, or sitting on the stump of a tree in Epping Forest, without uttering a word.
Yet notwithstanding the visible and increasing derangement of his mental faculties, Clare's poetical powers seemed to be nearly as great and as brilliant as ever. Rare as were the opportunities when he was allowed to indulge in the luxury of writing verses, whenever they offered, the stream of poetry came flowing on swiftly and sweetly. Some accidental visitors to Fair Mead House one day offered him a pencil and sheet of paper, when he sat down on a bench in the garden, and without further musing wrote the following lines:--
'By a cottage near the wood Where lark and thrushes sing, In dreaming hours I stood, Through summer and through spring: There dwells a lovely maiden Whose name I sought in vain-- Some call her pretty Lucy, And others honest Jane.
By that cottage near a wood I often stood alone In sad or happy mood, And wished she was my own. The birds kept sweetly singing, But nature pleased in vain; For the dark and lovely maiden I never saw again.
By the cottage near the wood I wished in peace to be: The blossoms where she stood Were more than gems to me. More fair or sweeter blossoms My rambles sought in vain; But the dark and lovely maiden I never found again.
By that cottage near a wood The children held her gown, And on the turf before her Ran laughing up and down. They played around her beauty, While I sought joys in vain; She fled--the lovely maiden I could not find again.
By that cottage near the wood, Where children used to play, Spring often burst the bud, And as often passed away. And with them passed my visions Of her whom I adore; For the dark and lovely maiden, I love her evermore.'
When Clare had been above a year at the asylum, and it was found that he was perfectly harmless and inoffensive, he was allowed to roam at his will all over the neighbourhood and through the whole of the forest. This freedom he greatly enjoyed, and not a day passed without his taking long excursions in all directions. In these wanderings he was mostly accompanied by T. Campbell, the only son of the author of 'The Pleasures of Hope,' with whom he had come to form an intimate acquaintance. Clare wrote a sketch of his forest promenades in a sonnet which he handed to Dr. Allen. It ran:--
'I love the forest and its airy hounds, Where friendly Campbell takes his daily rounds; I love the break-neck hills, that headlong go, And leave me high, and half the world below.
I love to see the Beech Hill mounting high, The brook without a bridge, and nearly dry. There's Bucket's Hill, a place of furze and clouds, Which evening in a golden blaze enshrouds:
I hear the cows go home with tinkling bell, And see the woodman in the forest dwell, Whose dog runs eager where the rabbit's gone; He eats the grass, then kicks and hurries on; Then scrapes for hoarded bone, and tries to play, And barks at larger dogs and runs away.
His acquaintance with young Thomas Campbell brought to Clare occasional presents, and now and then, the pleasant face of a visitor. Among them was Mr. Cyrus Bedding, who left a record of his visit in the 'English Journal.' Describing Dr. Allen's asylum, he says:--'The situation is lofty; and the patients inhabit several houses at some distance from each other. These houses stand in the midst of gardens, where the invalids may be seen walking about, or cultivating the flowers, just as they feel inclined.'
The visitor, who was accompanied by a friend who had known Clare previously, found him working in a field, 'apart from his companions, busily engaged with a hoe, and smoking. On being called, he came at once, and very readily entered into conversation. Our friend was surprised to see how much the poet was changed in personal appearance, having gained flesh, and being no longer, as he was formerly, attenuated and pale of complexion. We found a little man, of muscular frame and firmly set, his complexion fresh and forehead high, a nose somewhat aquiline, and long full chin. The expression of his countenance was more pleasing but somewhat less intellectual than that in the engraved portrait prefixed to his works in the edition of "The Village Minstrel," published in 1821. He was communicative, and answered every question put to him in a manner perfectly unembarrassed. He spoke of the quality of the ground which he was amusing himself by hoeing, and the probability of its giving an increased crop the present year, a continued smile playing upon his lips. He made some remarks illustrative of the difference between the aspect of the country at High Beech and that in the fens from whence he had come--alluded to Northborough and Peterborough--and spoke of his loneliness away from his wife, expressing a great desire to go home, and to have the society of women. He said his solace was his pipe--he had no other: he wanted books. On being asked what books, he said Byron; and we promised to send that poet's works to him.