Summary
Now, France has more lenient leaders than it did in the most radical phase of the Revolution. Still, the current leadership isn't especially promising for idealists. The speaker, however, remains hopeful against all odds, sure that justice will eventually prevail. He reflects that this idealism actually blinded him to the worst excesses of the Revolution—believing in its professed goals, he was willing to ignore the means used to achieve them. He even supported dangerous ideas and movements simply because his political enemies opposed them. On the other hand, he is scornful of those in England who gleefully use the Revolution's mistakes to advance regressive political agendas, and sharply condemns British politicians who have used the power of the law to "sow death" and constrain freedom.
Returning to the specifics of autobiography, the speaker says that he, like many young people, would have been willing to fight to the death to defend human nature, which he saw as fundamentally good. At the same time, experiences witnessing evil and injustice prompted the speaker to think more deeply about the purpose of government and the best way to govern. This was a period of blissful, hopeful idealism in which a new political age seemed poised to begin, and it was a perfect time to be young. Everything on earth seemed filled with anticipation. People who had long dreamed of utopia now felt that they could help create it. As a result, the speaker interpreted the actions of those around them with a forgiving attitude, convinced that all would ultimately work out. But things changed when Britain decided to go to war with France in order to stamp out the Revolution. This fundamentally altered his outlook, since it wasn't merely an instance of a flaw within something he loved, but seemingly a complete betrayal. To make matters worse, the French people who had once battled against their own oppression were now seeking to oppress others. He clung desperately to his old principles, trying to reconcile them with new events.
In this period, the speaker welcomed a philosophy of rationality. He felt that human reason and intellect are the necessary tools for building the world that he longs for. He wanted mankind to overcome its limitations in a nearly supernatural way. After all, every institution had disgraced itself, and every previously accepted norm has been challenged. The speaker tried to probe society for truth with his new tools of rationality, but his methods were almost violent and he was obsessed with rational proof rather than moral right. Feeling lost, he distracted himself by studying mathematics, which was comforting because it had clear rules and answers. He was also comforted by his addressee—Coleridge—and by a "beloved Woman," likely Dorothy Wordsworth. It was she who firmly kept the speaker in touch with his true self and with his role as poet. Finally, nature itself comforted and grounded the speaker. These comforting forces help him even when France returns to monarchy, erasing the progress of the Revolution. But now, the speaker says, addressing Coleridge, he faces an even greater sadness. Coleridge is departing for the once-glorious, decaying land of Italy, which the speaker hopes will have a positive effect on his health and spirits. Without his friend, the speaker's usual pleasures feel muted. He begs the forests and mountains of Italy to protect his friend. It is by thinking of Sicily's beauty and rich history that the speaker comforts himself, imagining his friend roaming the land like an ancient poet or philosopher.
Analysis
While the past several books have been full of action, packed with historical events, this one is far more introspective. It is concerned less with the events happening in France and England than with the ways that these events affect the speaker emotionally and intellectually. Indeed, it is largely the chronicle of an internal crisis, in which the speaker has to reevaluate both everything he cares about and the very mechanisms through which he has come to care about them.
A frequent theme here is extremism, or, perhaps more precisely, overcorrection. First, the speaker describes France's political turmoil as a series of extreme events driven by a desire to overcorrect previous mistakes. At first, the Revolution arises as a justified, self-defensive response to the extreme injustice of France's monarchy and feudal system. But the Revolution goes too far, meeting cruelty and injustice with more cruelty and injustice. Eventually, Napoleon comes to power, with monarchy and hierarchy reasserting themselves in the wake of the Revolution's extremism and instability. Meanwhile, while the French political system veers back and forth from one extreme to the other, the speaker's own feelings do the same. At first, he explains, he is consumed with hope and blinded by optimism to such an intense degree that he cannot fully see the excesses of the Revolution. Suddenly, he is unable to ignore the flaws tarnishing the things he loves—namely, the Reign of Terror and Britain's attempt to quash the revolution. These combined betrayals rob him of his blind enthusiasm, and he overcorrects, becoming instead a proponent of rationalism (and, according to many scholars, a disciple of the utilitarian writer and thinker William Godwin). At first, rationalism seems like a refreshing new outlook following the raw emotion and excess of radical politics. But, perhaps because the speaker turns to it so wholeheartedly in a moment of loss and fear, it becomes merely another source of extreme and all-consuming behavior for him. He adopts the idea that humans are capable of an unprecedented degree of purity and intellectual perfection. But this, he realizes later, isn't just overly optimistic. It's a solution that reaches beyond anything nature offers. By turning back to nature, and back to individuals who also value nature and poetry, the speaker is able to return to a kind of reasonable middle ground—a place where he can stop and think, without having to constantly hop from one obsession to the next.
From that place of stillness and moderation, he experiences two fresh disappointments, one political and the other personal. The first is Napoleon's rise to power as Emperor of France. The installment of a new monarch, after all the speaker's hopes for a democratic France, is a bitter disappointment. We can see this in the strikingly visceral, disgusted tone of the simile he uses to describe this moment, comparing it to "the dog/Returning to his vomit." Still, having achieved a base level of comfort, the speaker appears to feel rather distant from these events, or at least is able to experience distress over them without it altering his worldview entirely. The second disappointment is Coleridge's departure for Italy. The speaker manages to wish his friend well and feel cautiously optimistic about his departure, even while clearly full of melancholy over it. But the method by which he comforts himself is just as telling as the general fact of his calm manner. He returns to the images and narratives of his childhood, noting that he dreamed of Sicily as a young child. He resorts to his own imagination, picturing his friend in fanciful scenarios in order to reframe his exile as a thrilling, artistic adventure. He speaks apostrophically to Italy's natural wonders, turning to his most trustworthy comfort of all, nature. And he meditates on the poetic and artistic history of Italy, suggesting that he's back in touch with his own destiny as a poet. All in all, his techniques for forcing himself into a hopeful mood are reminiscent of his most authentic, happy childhood self. It appears that, following the crisis he has endured, the speaker has recovered some central part of his own being.
