thus it went on for some months at herstmonceux; but thus it could not last. we said there were already misgivings as to health, &c. in september: 12 that was but the fourth month, for it had begun only in june. the like clouds of misgiving, flights of dark vapor, chequering more and more the bright sky of this promised land, rose heavier and rifer month after month; till in february following, that is in the eighth month from starting, the sky had grown quite overshaded; and poor sterling had to think practically of departure from his promised land again, finding that the goal of his pilgrimage was not there. not there, wherever it may be! march again, therefore; the abiding city, and post at which we can live and die, is still ahead of us, it would appear!
"ill-health" was the external cause; and, to all parties concerned, to sterling himself i have no doubt as completely as to any, the one determining cause. nor was the ill-health wanting; it was there in too sad reality. and yet properly it was not there as the burden; it was there as the last ounce which broke the camel's back. i take it, in this as in other cases known to me, ill-health was not the primary cause but rather the ultimate one, the summing-up of innumerable far deeper conscious and unconscious causes,—the cause which could boldly show itself on the surface, and give the casting vote. such was often sterling's way, as one could observe in such cases: though the most guileless, undeceptive and transparent of men, he had a noticeable, almost childlike faculty of self-deception, and usually substituted for the primary determining motive and set of motives, some ultimate ostensible one, and gave that out to himself and others as the ruling impulse for important changes in life. as is the way with much more ponderous and deliberate men;—as is the way, in a degree, with all men!
enough, in february, 1835, sterling came up to london, to consult with his physicians,—and in fact in all ways to consider with himself and friends,—what was to be done in regard to this herstmonceux business. the oracle of the physicians, like that of delphi, was not exceedingly determinate: but it did bear, what was a sufficiently undeniable fact, that sterling's constitution, with a tendency to pulmonary ailments, was ill-suited for the office of a preacher; that total abstinence from preaching for a year or two would clearly be the safer course. to which effect he writes to mr. hare with a tone of sorrowful agitation; gives up his clerical duties at herstmonceux;—and never resumed them there or elsewhere. he had been in the church eight months in all: a brief section of his life, but an important one, which colored several of his subsequent years, and now strangely colors all his years in the memory of some.
this we may account the second grand crisis of his history. radicalism, not long since, had come to its consummation, and vanished from him in a tragic manner. "not by radicalism is the path to human nobleness for me!" and here now had english priesthood risen like a sun, over the waste ruins and extinct volcanoes of his dead radical world, with promise of new blessedness and healing under its wings; and this too has soon found itself an illusion: "not by priesthood either lies the way, then. once more, where does the way lie!"—to follow illusions till they burst and vanish is the lot of all new souls who, luckily or lucklessly, are left to their own choice in starting on this earth. the roads are many; the authentic finger-posts are few,—never fewer than in this era, when in so many senses the waters are out. sterling of all men had the quickest sense for nobleness, heroism and the human summum bonum; the liveliest headlong spirit of adventure and audacity; few gifted living men less stubbornness of perseverance. illusions, in his chase of the summum bonum, were not likely to be wanting; aberrations, and wasteful changes of course, were likely to be many! it is in the history of such vehement, trenchant, far-shining and yet intrinsically light and volatile souls, missioned into this epoch to seek their way there, that we best see what a confused epoch it is.
this clerical aberration,—for such it undoubtedly was in sterling,—we have ascribed to coleridge; and do clearly think that had there been no coleridge, neither had this been,—nor had english puseyism or some other strange enough universal portents been. nevertheless, let us say farther that it lay partly in the general bearing of the world for such a man. this battle, universal in our sad epoch of "all old things passing away" against "all things becoming new," has its summary and animating heart in that of radicalism against church; there, as in its flaming core, and point of focal splendor, does the heroic worth that lies in each side of the quarrel most clearly disclose itself; and sterling was the man, above many, to recognize such worth on both sides. natural enough, in such a one, that the light of radicalism having gone out in darkness for him, the opposite splendor should next rise as the chief, and invite his loyalty till it also failed. in one form or the other, such an aberration was not unlikely for him. but an aberration, especially in this form, we may certainly call it. no man of sterling's veracity, had he clearly consulted his own heart, or had his own heart been capable of clearly responding, and not been dazzled and bewildered by transient fantasies and theosophic moonshine, could have undertaken this function. his heart would have answered: "no, thou canst not. what is incredible to thee, thou shalt not, at thy soul's peril, attempt to believe!—elsewhither for a refuge, or die here. go to perdition if thou must,—but not with a lie in thy mouth; by the eternal maker, no!"
alas, once more! how are poor mortals whirled hither and thither in the tumultuous chaos of our era; and, under the thick smoke-canopy which has eclipsed all stars, how do they fly now after this poor meteor, now after that!—sterling abandoned his clerical office in february, 1835; having held it, and ardently followed it, so long as we say,—eight calendar months in all.
it was on this his february expedition to london that i first saw sterling,—at the india house incidentally, one afternoon, where i found him in company with john mill, whom i happened like himself to be visiting for a few minutes. the sight of one whose fine qualities i had often heard of lately, was interesting enough; and, on the whole, proved not disappointing, though it was the translation of dream into fact, that is of poetry into prose, and showed its unrhymed side withal. a loose, careless-looking, thin figure, in careless dim costume, sat, in a lounging posture, carelessly and copiously talking. i was struck with the kindly but restless swift-glancing eyes, which looked as if the spirits were all out coursing like a pack of merry eager beagles, beating every bush. the brow, rather sloping in form, was not of imposing character, though again the head was longish, which is always the best sign of intellect; the physiognomy in general indicated animation rather than strength.
we talked rapidly of various unmemorable things: i remember coming on the negroes, and noticing that sterling's notion on the slavery question had not advanced into the stage of mine. in reference to the question whether an "engagement for life," on just terms, between parties who are fixed in the character of master and servant, as the whites and the negroes are, is not really better than one from day to day,—he said with a kindly jeer, "i would have the negroes themselves consulted as to that!"—and would not in the least believe that the negroes were by no means final or perfect judges of it.—his address, i perceived, was abrupt, unceremonious; probably not at all disinclined to logic, and capable of dashing in upon you like a charge of cossacks, on occasion: but it was also eminently ingenious, social, guileless. we did all very well together: and sterling and i walked westward in company, choosing whatever lanes or quietest streets there were, as far as knightsbridge where our roads parted; talking on moralities, theological philosophies; arguing copiously, but except in opinion not disagreeing
in his notions on such subjects, the expected coleridge cast of thought was very visible; and he seemed to express it even with exaggeration, and in a fearless dogmatic manner. identity of sentiment, difference of opinion: these are the known elements of a pleasant dialogue. we parted with the mutual wish to meet again;—which accordingly, at his father's house and at mine, we soon repeatedly did; and already, in the few days before his return to herstmonceux, had laid the foundations of a frank intercourse, pointing towards pleasant intimacies both with himself and with his circle, which in the future were abundantly fulfilled. his mother, essentially and even professedly "scotch," took to my wife gradually with a most kind maternal relation; his father, a gallant showy stirring gentleman, the magus of the times, had talk and argument ever ready, was an interesting figure, and more and more took interest in us. we had unconsciously made an acquisition, which grew richer and wholesomer with every new year; and ranks now, seen in the pale moonlight of memory, and must ever rank, among the precious possessions of life.
sterling's bright ingenuity, and also his audacity, velocity and alacrity, struck me more and more. it was, i think, on the occasion of a party given one of these evenings at his father's, where i remember john mill, john crawford, mrs. crawford, and a number of young and elderly figures of distinction,—that a group having formed on the younger side of the room, and transcendentalisms and theologies forming the topic, a number of deep things were said in abrupt conversational style, sterling in the thick of it. for example, one sceptical figure praised the church of england, in hume's phrase, "as a church tending to keep down fanaticism," and recommendable for its very indifferency; whereupon a transcendental figure urges him: "you are afraid of the horse's kicking: but will you sacrifice all qualities to being safe from that? then get a dead horse. none comparable to that for not kicking in your stable!" upon which, a laugh; with new laughs on other the like occasions;—and at last, in the fire of some discussion, sterling, who was unusually eloquent and animated, broke out with this wild phrase, "i could plunge into the bottom of hell, if i were sure of finding the devil there and getting him strangled!" which produced the loudest laugh of all; and had to be repeated, on mrs. crawford's inquiry, to the house at large; and, creating among the elders a kind of silent shudder,—though we urged that the feat would really be a good investment of human industry,—checked or stopt these theologic thunders for the evening. i still remember sterling as in one of his most animated moods that evening. he probably returned to herstmonceux next day, where he proposed yet to reside for some indefinite time.
arrived at herstmonceux, he had not forgotten us. one of his letters written there soon after was the following, which much entertained me, in various ways. it turns on a poor book of mine, called sartor resartus; which was not then even a book, but was still hanging desolately under bibliopolic difficulties, now in its fourth or fifth year, on the wrong side of the river, as a mere aggregate of magazine articles; having at last been slit into that form, and lately completed so, and put together into legibility. i suppose sterling had borrowed it of me. the adventurous hunter spirit which had started such a bemired auerochs, or urus of the german woods, and decided on chasing that as game, struck me not a little;—and the poor wood-ox, so bemired in the forests, took it as a compliment rather:—
"to thomas carlyle, esq., chelsea, london.
"herstmonceux near battle, 29th may, 1835.
"my dear carlyle,—i have now read twice, with care, the wondrous account of teufelsdrockh and his opinions; and i need not say that it has given me much to think of. it falls in with the feelings and tastes which were, for years, the ruling ones of my life; but which you will not be angry with me when i say that i am infinitely and hourly thankful for having escaped from. not that i think of this state of mind as one with which i have no longer any concern. the sense of a oneness of life and power in all existence; and of a boundless exuberance of beauty around us, to which most men are well-nigh dead, is a possession which no one that has ever enjoyed it would wish to lose. when to this we add the deep feeling of the difference between the actual and the ideal in nature, and still more in man; and bring in, to explain this, the principle of duty, as that which connects us with a possible higher state, and sets us in progress towards it,—we have a cycle of thoughts which was the whole spiritual empire of the wisest pagans, and which might well supply food for the wide speculations and richly creative fancy of teufelsdrockh, or his prototype jean paul.
