LETTER XXXVIII
MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.WEDNESDAY, SEPT. 20.
I write to demand back again my last letter. I own it was my mind atthe different times I wrote it; and, whatever ailed me, I could not helpwriting it. Such a gloomy impulse came upon me, and increased as Iwrote, that, for my soul, I could not forbear running into the miserable.
'Tis strange, very strange, that a man's conscience should be able toforce his fingers to write whether he will or not; and to run him into asubject he more than once, at the very time, resolved not to think of.
Nor is it less strange, that (no new reason occurring) he should, in aday or two more, so totally change his mind; have his mind, I shouldrather say, so wholly illuminated by gay hopes and rising prospects, asto be ashamed of what he had written.
For, on reperusal of a copy of my letter, which fell into my hands byaccident, in the hand-writing of my cousin Charlotte, who, unknown to me,had transcribed it, I find it to be such a letter as an enemy wouldrejoice to see.
This I know, that were I to have continued but one week more in the wayI was in when I wrote the latter part of it, I should have been confined,and in straw, the next; for I now recollect, that all my distemper wasreturning upon me with irresistible violence--and that in spite ofwater-gruel and soup-meagre.
I own I am still excessively grieved at the disappointment this admirablewoman made it so much her whimsical choice to give me.
But, since it has thus fallen out; since she was determined to leave theworld; and since she actually ceases to be; ought I, who have such ashare of life and health in hand, to indulge gloomy reflections upon anevent that is passed; and being passed, cannot be recalled?--Have I nothad a specimen of what will be my case, if I do.
For, Belford, ('tis a folly to deny it,) I have been, to use an old word,quite bestraught.
Why, why did my mother bring me up to bear no controul? Why was I soenabled, as that to my very tutors it was a request that I should notknow what contradiction or disappointment was?--Ought she not to haveknown what cruelty there was in her kindness?
What a punishment, to have my first very great disappointment touch myintellect!--And intellects, once touched--but that I cannot bear to thinkof--only thus far; the very repentance and amendment, wished me soheartily by my kind and cross dear, have been invalidated and postponed,and who knows for how long?--the amendment at least; can a madman becapable of either?
Once touched, therefore, I must endeavour to banish those gloomyreflections, which might otherwise have brought on the right turn ofmind: and this, to express myself in Lord M.'s style, that my wits maynot be sent a wool-gathering.
For, let me moreover own to thee, that Dr. Hale, who was my good Astolfo,[you read Ariosto, Jack,] and has brought me back my wit-jar, had muchado, by starving, diet, by profuse phlebotomy, by flaying-blisters,eyelet-hole-cupping, a dark room, a midnight solitude in a midday sun, toeffect my recovery. And now, for my comfort, he tells me, that I maystill have returns upon full moons--horrible! most horrible!--and must beas careful of myself at both equinoctials, as Caesar was warned to be ofthe Ides of March.
How my heart sickens at looking back upon what I was! Denied the sun,and all comfort: all my visiters low-born, tip-toe attendants: even thosetip-toe slaves never approaching me but periodically, armed withgallipots, boluses, and cephalic draughts; delivering their orders to mein hated whispers; and answering other curtain-holding impertinents,inquiring how I was, and how I took their execrable potions, whisperinglytoo! What a cursed still life was this!--Nothing active in me, or aboutme, but the worm that never dies.
Again I hasten from the recollection of scenes, which will, at times,obtrude themselves upon me.
Adieu, Belford!
But return me my last letter--and build nothing upon its contents. Imust, I will, I have already, overcome these fruitless gloominess. Everyhour my constitution rises stronger and stronger to befriend me; and,except a tributary sigh now-and-then to the memory of my heart's beloved,it gives me hope that I shall quickly be what I was--life, spirit,gaiety, and once more the plague of a sex that has been my plague, andwill be every man's plague at one time or other of his life. I repeat mydesire, however, that you will write to me as usual. I hope you havegood store of particulars by you to communicate, when I can better bearto hear of the dispositions that were made for all that was mortal of mybeloved Clarissa.
But it will be the joy of my heart to be told that her implacable friendsare plagued with remorse. Such things as those you may now send me: forcompany in misery is some relief; especially when a man can think thosehe hates as miserable as himself.
One more adieu, Jack!