Dear Bill
John Stewart Collis
The Love Letters of William and Mary Wordsworth Edited by Beth Darlington (Chatto & Windus £10.95)
And high time too. I mean we do know a .L.great deal about Dorothy Words- worth, while in comparison his wife, Mary, has hardly received a speck of limelight. The closeness in terms of love and of in- terests and also of space, between the brother and sister, were so unusual as to suggest that there was little room for a wife.
Consider what Dorothy had to say about William — 'He was never tired of comfort- ing his sister; he never left her in anger; he always met her with joy; he preferred her society to every other pleasure.' Consider what he had to say about her — 'Oh my dear, dear sister! with what transport shall I again meet you! with what rapture shall I again wear out the day in your sight! I see you in a moment running, or rather flying, to my arms.' We are all familiar with his deathless passage to her in `Tintern Abbey' ending with ... the shooting lights of thy wild eyes.' Consider also the similarity of their poetic approach to reality. There were occasions when she was his eyes and his ears, and he was her voice and her scribe as if they were two in one and one in two.
Nevertheless, in 1802, at the age of 32, Wordsworth married Mary Hutchinson who was 31. They had known each other since childhood, but it was not easy for Dorothy to face the marriage. William had put the wedding-ring on her finger the night before, and she was unwilling to yield it up until the last minute; she declined to attend the ceremony, and treasuring a half-bitten apple left by her brother, she threw herself on her bed almost in a swoon; but when told that they were returning from the church she went out to meet them, collaps- ing into William's arms. With the assistance of John Hutchinson he hauled her back in- to the house. Thus it was not a particularly happy day for the bride, either. And it Is fair to say that our view of Mary has been quite over-shadowed in biography by Dorothy, and that the only pictorial rem- nant is a water-colour of William and Mart' in their old age, which is extremely depress- ing to contemplate. But in 1977 an anonymous stamp dealer in Carlisle steps forward, and we come in for a surprise. A large cluster of Wordswor- thian family papers was offered for auction at Sotheby's. The vendor bought the lot as scrap for five pounds. Sorting it through for old postage stamps he came upon 31 let- ters exchanged between William and Mary seven of them in 1810 while he was away in Leicestershire, and 24 while he was in Lon- don and she was in Wales.
Reading these letters we get a further sur- prise. Wordsworth's expressions of dev°' tion to his wife are every bit as ardent as those to his sister. He was interested in all the details of family affairs and the health of the children, while his love for Mary TOY be judged by a few quotations taken almost at random. 'Our friends here look forward to a repetition of this visit next year; but I cannot think of anything of the kind; not will I ever, except from a principle of dutY, part from you again, to stay anywhere More than a week. I cannot bear it.' I am never instructed, never delighted, never touched by a tender feeling but my heart instinctive- ly turns to you. I never see a flower that pleases me but I wish for you.' Fail not to write to me without reserve; never have 1 been able to receive such a letter from Y°°' let me not then be disappointed, but give me your heart that I may kiss the words a thousand times! ... I must bid you farewell with a thousand kisses, on this side the paper. W . W. x. x.' Mary was overpowered with joy at the receipt of this letter, for hitherto they had not had the opportunity to correspond. Amongst the letters exchanged in 1812 the is one of unrestrained and indisguised eroticism such as Dorothy could never have received. These 1812 letters from London are also of more general interest because he was moving in society. At an Assembly held by Lady Crewe he speaks of a woman `13i tolerable face and features' who would have shocked Mary, for 'her breasts were like two great haycocks or rather hay- stacks, protruding themselves upon the spectator, and yet nobody seemed to notice them. Wordsworth was not the stiff egoist arid, egotist of repute, but a very alive. rounded man, capable of adoring a sister, getting a lover with child and finally abandoning het (now fat and with a moustache) in favour of another woman — eventually expressing his feeling of guilt in many passionate, poems. He was the only poet in Englan° who had the interest and courage to go to Paris during the French Revolution, walk- ing the streets at the risk of his life. CarlYle saw him in London in 1812 and in his Reminiscences referred 'to the poet as 'a ge- nuitle but small, diluted man.' Carlyle might have learnt a thing or two from Wordsworth about domestic solicitude, and though he could write The French Revolu- tion he told Jane Carlyle that he could not because upon a certain riot in London oecause it was raining and he had gone out without his umbrella. The fact is few people knew much about Wordsworth in those days. It was Coleridge's fault. He encourag- ed him to regard himself as a philospher and write and publish 'The Excursion' while leaving 'The Prelude' on the shelf, not published until after his death — a truly terrible mistake! Beth Darlington, an American literary ar- chaeologist, has edited these Letters in the most marvellous way, explaining the con- text and personae of everything in the cor- respondence, even clearing up who 'Young Roscius' was (mentioned in a letter). He was so bewitching an actor that on one oc- casion Pitt adjourned the House of Com- mons so that members could witness his Hamlet. Those were the days!
Previous page
