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Page 6
The family life was sadly broken in 1837 by the death of De Quincey's
wife. He who was now left as guardian of the little household of six
children, was himself so helpless in all practical matters that it
seemed as though he were in their childish care rather than protector
of them. Scores of anecdotes are related of his odd and unpractical
behavior. One of his curious habits had been the multiplication of
lodgings; as books and manuscripts accumulated about him so that there
remained room for no more, he would turn the key upon his possessions
and migrate elsewhere to repeat the performance later on. It is known
that as many as four separate rents were at one and the same time
being paid by this odd, shy little man, rather than allow the
disturbance or contraction of his domain. Sometimes an anxious journey
in search of a manuscript had to be made by author and publisher in
conjunction before the missing paper could be located. The home life
of this eccentric yet lovable man of genius seems to have been always
affectionate and tender in spite even of his bondage to opium; it was
especially beautiful and childlike in his latest years. His eldest
daughter, Margaret, assumed quietly the place of headship, and with a
discretion equal to her devotion she watched over her father's
welfare. With reference to De Quincey's circumstances at this time,
his biographer, Mr. Masson, says: "Very soon, if left to himself, he
would have taken possession of every room in the house, one after
another, and 'snowed up' each with his papers; but, that having been
gently prevented, he had one room to work in all day and all night to
his heart's content. The evenings, or the intervals between his daily
working time and his nightly working time, or stroll, he generally
spent in the drawing-room with his daughters, either alone or in
company with any friends that chanced to be with him. At such times,
we are told, he was unusually charming. 'The newspaper was brought
out, and he, telling in his own delightful way, rather than reading,
the news, would, on questions from this one or that one of the party,
often including young friends of his children, neighbors, or visitors
from distant places, illuminate the subject with such a wealth of
memories, of old stories of past or present experiences, of humor, of
suggestion, even of prophecy, as by its very wealth makes it
impossible to give any taste of it.' The description is by one of his
daughters; and she adds a touch which is inimitable in its fidelity
and tenderness. 'He was not,' she says, 'a reassuring man for nervous
people to live with, as those nights were exceptional on which he did
not set something on fire, the commonest incident being for some one
to look up from book or work, to say casually, _Papa, your hair is on
fire_; of which a calm _Is it, my love?_ and a hand rubbing out the
blaze was all the notice taken.'"[4]
Of his personal appearance Professor Minto says:
"He was a slender little man, with small, clearly chiselled features,
a large head, and a remarkably high, square forehead. There was a
peculiarly high and regular arch in the wrinkles of his brow, which
was also slightly contracted. The lines of his countenance fell
naturally into an expression of mild suffering, of endurance sweetened
by benevolence, or, according to the fancy of the interpreter, of
gentle, melancholy sweetness. All that met him seem to have been
struck with the measured, silvery, yet somewhat hollow and unearthly
tones of his voice, the more impressive that the flow of his talk was
unhesitating and unbroken."
* * * * *
The literary labors were continuous. In 1845 the beautiful _Suspiria
de Profundis_ (Sighs from the Depths) appeared in _Blackwood's_; _The
English Mail Coach_ and _The Vision of Sudden Death_, in 1849. Among
other papers contributed to _Tait's Magazine_, the _Joan of Arc_
appeared in 1847. During the last ten years of his life, De Quincey
was occupied chiefly in preparing for the publishers a complete
edition of his works. Ticknor & Fields, of Boston, the most
distinguished of our American publishing firms, had put forth,
1851-55, the first edition of De Quincey's collected writings, in
twenty volumes. The first British edition was undertaken by Mr. James
Hogg, of Edinburgh, in 1853, with the co-operation of the author, and
under his direction; the final volume of this edition was not issued
until the year following De Quincey's death.
In the autumn of 1859 the frail physique of the now famous
Opium-Eater grew gradually feeble, although suffering from no definite
disease. It became evident that his life was drawing to its end. On
December 8, his two daughters standing by his side, he fell into a
doze. His mind had been wandering amid the scenes of his childhood,
and his last utterance was the cry, "Sister, sister, sister!" as if in
recognition of one awaiting him, one who had been often in his dreams,
the beloved Elizabeth, whose death had made so profound and lasting an
impression on his imagination as a child.
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