The Life and Correspondence of Robert Southey
Robert Southey, “Memoir: My Mother,” [1820]
My mother
was born in 1752. She was a remarkably beautiful infant, till, when she was
between one and two years old, an abominable nursemaid carried her, of all
places in the world, to Newgate (as was afterwards discovered); and there she
took the smallpox in its most malignant form. It seemed almost miraculous that
she escaped with life and eyesight, so dreadfully severe was the disease; but
her eyebrows were almost destroyed, and the whole face seamed with scars. While
she was a mere child, she had a paralytic affection, which deadened one side
from the hip downward, and crippled her for about twelvemonths. Some person
advised that she should be placed out of doors in the sunshine as much as
possible; and one day, when she had been carried out as usual into the
fore-court, in her little armchair, and left there to see her brothers at play,
she rose from her seat to the astonishment of the family, and walked into the
house. The recovery from that time was complete. The fact is worthy of notice,
because some persons may derive hope from it in similar cases, and because it
is by no means improbable that the sunshine really effected the cure. The
manner by which I should explain this, would lead to a theory somewhat akin to
that of Bishop Berkeley upon the virtues
of tar-water.
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LIFE AND CORRESPONDENCE |
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There are two portraits of my mother, both taken by Robert
Hancock in 1798. My brother Tom has the one; the other hangs opposite me where I am now
seated in my usual position at my desk. Neither of these would convey to a
stranger a just idea of her countenance. That in my possession is very much the
best: it represents her as she then was, with features care-worn and fallen
away, and with an air of melancholy which was not natural to her; for never was
any human being blest with a sweeter temper, or a happier disposition. She had
an excellent understanding, and a readiness of apprehension, which I have
rarely known surpassed. In quickness of capacity, in the kindness of her
nature, and in that kind of moral magnetism which wins the affections of all
within its sphere, I never knew her equal. To strangers she must probably have
appeared much disfigured by the smallpox. I, of course, could not be sensible
of this. Her complexion was very good, and nothing could be more expressive
than her fine clear hazel eyes.
Female education was not much regarded in her childhood.
The ladies who kept boarding-schools in those days did not consider it
necessary to possess any other knowledge themselves than that of ornamental
needlework. Two sisters, who had been mistresses of the most fashionable school
in Herefordshire, fifty years ago, used to say when they spoke of a former
pupil, “Her went to school to we:” and the mistress of which, some ten years later,
was thought the best school near Bristol (where Mrs. Siddons sent her daughter), spoke, to my perfect
recollection, much such English as this. My mother, I
believe, never went to any but a dancing-school, and her state was the more
gracious. But her half-sister, Miss
Tyler, was placed at one in the neighbourhood under a
Mrs. ——, whom I mention because her history is
characteristic of those times. Her husband carried on the agreeable business of
a butcher in Bristol, while she managed a school for young ladies about a mile
out of the town. His business would not necessarily have disqualified her for
this occupation (though it would be no recommendation), Kirke White’s mother, a truly admirable
woman, being in this respect just under like circumstances. But Mrs.
—— might, with more propriety, have been a blacksmith’s
wife; as, in that case, Vulcan might have
served for a type of her husband in his fate, but not in the complacency with
which he submitted to it, horns sitting as easily on his head as upon the
beasts which he slaughtered. She was a handsome woman, and her children were,
like the Harleian Miscellany, by
different authors. This was notorious; yet her school flourished
notwithstanding, and she retired from it at last with a competent fortune, and
was visited as long as she lived by her former pupils. This may serve to show a
great improvement in the morals of middle life.
Two things concerning my mother’s childhood and youth
may be worthy of mention. One is, that she had for a fellow-scholar at the
dancing-school Mary Darby (I think her
name was), then in her beauty and innocence, soon afterwards notorious as the
Prince of
Wales’s Perdita, and to be
remembered
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hereafter, though a poor poetess, as having,
perhaps, a finer feeling of metre, and more command of it, than any of her
contemporaries. The other is, that my mother, who had a good ear for music, was
taught by her father to whistle; and he succeeded in making her such a
proficient in this unusual accomplishment, that it was his delight to place her
upon his knee, and make her entertain his visitors with a display. This art she
never lost, and she could whistle a song-tune as sweetly as a skilful player
could have performed it upon the flute.
My grandmother continued to live in the house at
Bedminster, which her husband had built, and which after his death had been
purchased by Edward Tyler. It was about half an
hour’s walk, εύζώνω άνδρί, from Bristol; and my
father, having been introduced there, became in process of time a regular
Sabbath guest. How long he had been acquainted with the family before he
thought of connecting himself with it, I do not know; but in the year 1772,
being the 27th of his own age, and the 20th of my mother’s, they were
married at Bedminster church. He had previously left
Britton’s service, and opened a shop for himself
in the same business and in the same street, three doors above. Cannon Southey had left him 100l.; my mother had a legacy of 50l. from her uncle Bradford; my
father formed a partnership with his
younger brother Thomas, who had such
another bequest as his from the same quarter; perhaps also he might have saved
something during his years of service, and the business may have begun with a
capital of 500l.; I should think not more. Shop
signs were general in those days; but the custom of
suspending them over the street, as is still done at inns in the country, was
falling into disuse. My father, true to his boyish feelings, and his passion
for field sports (which continued unabated, notwithstanding the uncongenial way
of life in which his lot had fallen), took a hare for his device. It was
painted on a pane in the window on each side of the door, and was engraved on
his shopbills. This became interesting when he told me of his shedding tears at
the sight of the hare in the porter’s hand in London; and I often think
of having one cut upon a seal, in remembrance of him and of the old shop.
Bryan the Prophet told me, in the days of Richard Brothers, that I was of the tribe of
Judah,—a sort of nobility which those prophets
had the privilege of discovering without any assistance from the Herald’s
office. Had he derived me from Esau instead of
Jacob, my father’s instincts might have induced
me to lend a less incredulous ear.
The first child of this marriage was born August 1. 1773,
and christened John Cannon. He lived only to be nine or
ten months old. He was singularly beautiful; so much so, that, when I made my
appearance on the 12th of August, 1774*, I was sadly dis-
* My birth-day was Friday the 12th of August,
1774,—the time of my birth half-past eight in the morning,
according to the family Bible. According to my astrological friend
Gilbert, it was a few
minutes before the half hour, in consequence of which I am to have a
pain in my bowels when I am about thirty, and Jupiter is my deadly antagonist; but I may thank the
stars for “a gloomy capability of walking through
desolation.”—Letter
to Grosvenor
C. Bedford, Esq., Sept. 30. 1797. |
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paraged by comparison with him. My mother asking if it was a
boy, was answered by her nurse in a tone as little favourable to me as the
opinion was flattering. “Ay, a great ugly boy!” and she
added, when she told me this, “God forgive me!—when I saw what a
great red creature it was, covered with rolls of fat, I thought I should
never be able to love him.”
Grosvenor Charles Bedford (1773-1839)
The son of Horace Walpole's correspondent Charles Bedford; he was auditor of the
Exchequer and a friend of Robert Southey who contributed to several of Southey's
publications.
George Berkeley, bishop of Cloyne (1685-1753)
Bishop of Cloyne and philosopher; author of
A New Theory of Vision
(1709, 1710, 1732),
A Treatise concerning the Principles of Human
Knowledge (1710, 1734), and
Three Dialogues between Hylas and
Philonous (1713, 1725, 1734).
Herbert Bradford (1708 c.-1778)
Educated at Trinity College, Oxford, he was curate of Shobdon and vicar of Aylminster (or
Aymestrey) in Herefordshire (1762). After the death of his wife, Robert Southey's Aunt
Tyler was his housekeeper and afterwards his heir.
Richard Brothers (1757-1824)
Religious enthusiast who declared that George III must yield the crown to him, and who
was arrested and confined as a lunatic in 1795. He was the author of
Revealed Knowledge of the Prophecies and Times, 2 vols (1794).
William Gilbert (1763 c.-1825 c.)
Born in Antigua, he was an occultist and poet who published
The
Hurricane: a Theosophical and Western Eclogue (1796); he was a Bristol
acquaintance of Coleridge and Southey.
Robert Hancock (1793-1858)
English engraver and portraitist; he illustrated books and while working in Bristol made
drawings of Coleridge, Southey, and Lamb.
Mary Robinson [née Darby] [Perdita] (1758-1800)
English actress and poet; shortly after her marriage she became the mistress of the young
Prince of Wales, who afterwards supplied her with a pension. She was a prominent Della
Cruscan poet, crippled in her later years.
Sarah Siddons [née Kemble] (1755-1831)
English tragic actress, sister of John Philip Kemble, famous roles as Desdemona, Lady
Macbeth, and Ophelia. She retired from the stage in 1812.
John Cannon Southey (d. 1760)
A lawyer and substantial citizen who was Robert Southey's grandfather's brother.
Margaret Southey [née Hill] (1752-1802)
The daughter of Edward Hill, she married the elder Robert Southey in 1772; after the
death of her husband in 1792 she operated a boarding house in Bath.
Robert Southey (1744-1792)
The father of the poet Robert Southey; he was a Bristol linen-draper who died a
bankrupt.
Thomas Southey (d. 1811)
The younger brother and one-time business partner of the elder Robert Southey; he
excluded the poet and his other nephews from his will.
Thomas Southey (1777-1838)
The younger brother of Robert Southey; he was a naval captain (1811) and afterwards a
Customs officer. He published
A Chronological History of the West
Indies (1828).
Elizabeth Tyler (1739-1821)
Robert Southey's aunt, his mother's elder half-sister, with whom he spent much time as a
child.
Henry Kirke White (1785-1806)
Originally a stocking-weaver; trained for the law at Cambridge where he was a
contemporary of Byron; after his early death his poetical
Remains
were edited by Robert Southey (2 vols, 1807) with a biography that made the poet
famous.