Complete Works of Laurence Sterne

by Laurence Sterne

  CONTINUATION OF THE BRAMINES JOURNAL.

  ([S]he saild 23)

  Sunday Ap: 13.

  WROTE the last farewel to Eliza by Mr Wats who sails this day for Bombay — inclosed her likewise the Journal kept from the day we parted, to this — so from hence continue it till the time we meet again — Eliza does the same, so we shall have mutual testimonies to deliver hereafter to each other, That the Sun has not more constantly rose & set upon the earth, than we have thought of & remember’d, what is more chearing than Light itself — eternal Sunshine! Eliza! — dark to me is all this world without thee! & most heavily will every hour pass over my head, till that is come wch brings thee, dear Woman back to Albion dined with Hall &c at the brawn’s head — the whole Pandamonium assembled — supp’d together at Halls — worn out both in body & mind, & paid a severe reckoning all the night.

  Ap: 14. Got up tottering & feeble — then is it Eliza, that I feel the want of thy friendly hand & friendly Council — & yet, with thee beside me, thy Bramin would lose the merit of his virtue — he could not err — but I will take thee upon any terms Eliza! I shall be happy here — & I will be so just, so kind to thee, I will deserve not to be miserable hereafter — a Day dedicated to Abstinence & reflection — & what object will employ the greatest part of mine — full well does my Eliza know.

  Munday. Ap: 15.

  worn out with fevers of all kinds, but most, by that fever of the heart with wch I’m eternally wasting, & shall waste till I see Eliza again — dreadful Suffering of 15 months! — it may be more — great Controuler of Events! surely thou wilt proportion this, to my Strength, and to that of my Eliza, pass’d the whole afternoon in reading her Letters, & reducing them to the order in which they were wrote to me — staid the whole evening at home — no pleasure or Interest in either Society or Diversions — What a change, my dear Girl, hast thou made in me! — but the Truth is, thou hast only turn’d the tide of my passions a new way — they flow Eliza to thee — & ebb from every other Object in this world — & Reason tells me they do right — for my heart has rated thee at a Price, that all the world is not rich enough to purchase thee from me, at. In a high fever all the night.

  Ap: 16. and got up so ill, I could not go to Mrs James as I had promised her — took James’s Powder however — & leand the whole day with my head upon my hand, sitting most dejectedly at the Table with my Eliza’s Picture before me — sympathizing & soothing me — O my Bramine! my Friend! my Help-mate! — for that (if I’m a prophet) is the Lot mark’d out for thee; — & such I consider thee now, & thence it is, Eliza, I share so righteously with thee in all the evil or good which befalls thee — But all our portion is Evil now, & all our hours grief —

  I look forwards towards the Elysium we have so often and rapturously talk’d of — Cordelia’s spirit will fly to tell thee in some sweet Slumber, the moment the door is open’d for thee & The Bramin of the Vally, shall follow the track wherever it leads him, to get to his Eliza, & invite her to his Cottage —

  5 — in the afternoon — I have just been eating my Chicking, sitting over my repast upon it, with Tears — a bitter Sause — Eliza! but I could eat it with no other — when Molly spread the Table Cloath, my heart fainted within me — one solitary plate — one knife — one fork — one Glass! — O Eliza! twas painfully distressing, — I gave a thousand pensive penetrating Looks at the Arm chair thou so often graced on these quiet, sentimental Repasts — & sighed & laid down my knife & fork, — & took out my handkerchief, clap’d it across my face & wept like a child — I shall read the same affecting acct of many a sad Dinner wch Eliza has had no power to taste of, from the same feelings & recollections, how She and her Bramin have eat their bread in peace and Love together.

  April 17. with my friend James in Gerard street, with a present of Colours & apparatus for painting: — Long Conversation about thee my Eliza — sunk my heart wth an infamous acct of Draper & his detested Character at Bombay — for what a wretch art thou hazarding thy life, my dear friend, & what thanks is his nature capable of returning? — thou wilt be repaid with Injuries & Insults! Still there is a blessing in store for the meek and gentle, and Eliza will not be disinherited of it: her Bramin is kept alive by this hope only — otherwise he is so sunk both in Spirits and looks, Eliza would scarce know him again, dined alone again to-day; & begin to feel a pleasure in this kind of resigned misery arising from this situation of heart unsupported by aught but its own tenderness — Thou owest me much Eliza! — & I will have patience; for thou wilt pay me all — But the Demand is equal; much I owe thee, & with much shalt thou be requited. — sent for a Chart of the Atlantic Ocean, to make conjectures upon what part of it my Treasure was floating — O! tis but a little way off — and I could venture after it in a Boat, methinks — I’m sure I could, was I to know Eliza was in distress — but fate has chalk’d out other roads for us — We must go on with many a weary step, each in his separate heartless track, till Nature —

  Ap: 18.

  This day set up my Carriage, — new Subject of heartache, That Eliza is not here to share it with me.

  Bought Orm’s account of India — why? Let not my Bramine ask me — her heart will tell her why I do this, & every Thing —

  Ap: 19 — poor sick-headed, sick hearted Yorick! Eliza has made a shadow of thee — I am absolutely good for nothing, as every mortal is who can think & talk but upon one thing! — how I shall rally my powers alarms me; for Eliza thou has melted them all into one — the power of loving thee & with such ardent affection as triumphs over all other feelings — was with our faithful friend all the morning; & dined with her & James — What is the Cause, that I can never talk abt my Eliza to her, but I am rent in pieces — I burst into tears a dozen different times after dinner, & such affectionate gusts of passion, That she was ready to leave the room, — & sympathize in private for us — I weep for you both, said she (in a whisper,) for Eliza’s anguish is as sharp as yours — her heart as tender — her constancy as great — heaven join your hands I’m sure together! — James was occupied in reading a pamphlet upon the East India affairs — so I answerd her with a kind look, a heavy sigh, and a stream of tears — what was passing in Eliza’s breast, at this affecting Crisis? — something kind, and pathetic,! I will lay my Life.

  8 o’clock — retired to my room, to tell my dear this — to run back the hours of Joy I have pass’d with her — & meditate upon those wch are still in reserve for Us. — By this time Mr James tells me, You will have got as far from me, as the Mad eras — & that in two months more, you will have doubled the Cape of good hope — I shall trace thy track every day in the map, & not allow one hour for contrary Winds, or Currants — every engine of nature shall work together for us — Tis the Language of Love — & I can speak no other. & so, good night to thee, & may the gentlest delusions of love impose upon thy dreams, as I forbode they will, this night, on those of thy Bramine.

  Ap: 20. Easter Sunday. was not disappointed — yet awoke in the most acute pain — Something Eliza is wrong with me — you should be ill, out of Sympathy — & yet you are too ill already — my dear friend — all day at home in extream dejection.

  Ap: 21. The Loss of Eliza, and attention to that one Idea, brought on a fever — a consequence, I have for some time, forseen — but had not a sufficient Stock of cold philosophy to remedy — to satisfy my friends, call’d in a Physician — Alas! alas! the only Physician, & who carries the Balm of my Life along with her, — is Eliza. — why did I suffer thee to go from me? surely thou hast more than once call’d thyself my Eliza, to the same account — twil cost us both dear! but it could not be otherwise — We have submitted — we shall be rewarded. Twas a prophetic spirit, wch dictated the acct of Corp! Trim’s uneasy night when the fair Beguin ran in his head, — for every night & almost every Slumber of mine, since the day we parted, is a repe[ti]tion of the same description — dear Eliza! I am very ill — very ill for thee — but I could still give thee greater proofs of my affection, parted with 12 Ounces
of blood, in order to quiet what was left in me — tis a vain experiment, — physicians cannot understand this; tis enough for me that Eliza does — I am worn down my dear Girl to a Shadow, & but that I’m certain thou wilt not read this, till I’m restored — thy Yorick would not let the Winds hear his Complaints — 4 °. clock — sorrowful meal! for twas upon our old dish. — we shall live to eat it, my dear Bramine, with comfort.

  8 at night, our dear friend Mrs James, from the forbodings of a good heart, thinking I was ill; sent her maid to enquire after me — I had alarm’d her on Saturday; & not being with her on Sunday, — her friendship supposed the Condition I was in — She suffers most tenderly for Us, my Eliza! — & we owe her more than all the Sex — or indeed both Sexes, if not, all the world put together — adieu! my sweet Eliza! for this night — thy Yorick is going to waste himself on a restless bed, where he will turn from side to side a thousand times — & dream by Intervals of things terrible & impossible — That Eliza is false to Yorick, or Yorick is false to Eliza.

  Ap: 22nd? — rose with utmost difficulty — my Physician order’d me back to bed as soon as I had got a dish of Tea — was bled again; my arm broke loose & I half bled to death in bed before I felt it. O! Eliza! how did thy Bramine mourn the want of thee to tye up his wounds, & comfort his dejected heart — still something bids me hope — and hope, I will — & it shall be the last pleasurable sensation I part with.

  4 o’clock. They are making my bed — how shall I be able to continue my Journal in it? — If there remains a chasm here — think Eliza, how ill thy Yorick must have been. — this moment recd a Card from our dear friend, beging me to take [care] of a Life so valuable to my friends — but most so — she adds, to my poor dear Eliza. — not a word from the Newnhams! but they had no such exhortations in their harts, to send thy Bramine — adieu to em!

  Ap: 23. — a poor night, and am only able to quit my bed at 4 this afternoon — to say a word to my dear — & fulfill my engagement to her, of letting no day pass over my head without some kind communication with thee — faint resemblance, my dear girl, of how our days are to pass, when one kingdom holds us — visited in bed by 40 friends, in the Course of the Day — is not one warm affectionate call, of that friend, for whom I sustain Life, worth ‘em all? — What thinkest thou my Eliza.

  Ap: 24.

  So ill, I could not write a word all this morning — not so much, as Eliza! farewel to thee; — I’m going — am a little better.

  — so shall not depart, as I apprehended — being this morning something better — & my Symptoms become milder, by a tolerable easy night. — and now, if I have strength & Spirits to trail my pen down to the bottom of the page, I have as whimsical a Story to tell you, and as comically disastrous as ever befell one of our family — Shandy’s nose — his name — his Sash-Window — are fools to it. It will serve at least to amuse you. The Injury I did myself in catching cold upon James’s pouder, fell, you must know, upon the worst part it could — the most painful, & most dangerous of any in the human Body — It was on this Crisis, I call’d in an able Surgeon & with him an able physician (both my friends) to inspect my disaster — tis a venerial Case, cried my two Scientifick friends— ’tis impossible at least to be that, replied I — for I have had no commerce whatever with the Sex — not even with my wife, added I, these 15 years — You are * * * * * however my good friend, said the Surgeon, or there is no such Case in the world — what the Devil! said I without knowing Woman — we will not reason abt it, said the Physician, but you must undergo a course of Mercury, — I’ll lose my life first, said I — & trust to Nature, to Time — or at the worst — to Death, — so I put an end with some Indignation to the Conference; and determined to bear all the torments I underwent, & ten times more rather than, submit to be treated as a Sinner, in a point where I had acted like a Saint. Now as the father of mischief wd have it, who has no pleasure like that of dishonouring the righteous — it so fell out, That from the moment I dismiss’d my Doctors — my pains began to rage with a violence not to be express’d, or supported — every hour became more intolerable — I was got to bed — cried out & raved the whole night — & was got up so near dead, That my friends insisted upon my sending again for my Physician & Surgeon — I told them upon the word of a man of Strict honour, They were both mistaken as to my case — but tho’ they had reason’d wrong — they might act right — but that sharp as my sufferings were, I felt them not so sharp as the Imputation, wch a venerial treatment of my case, laid me under — They answerd that these taints of the blood laid dormant 20 years — but that they would not reason with me in a matter wherein I was so delicate — but would do all the office for wch they were call’d in — & namely, to put an end to my torment, wch otherwise would put an end to me. — & so have I been compell’d to surrender myself — & thus Eliza is your Yorick, yr. Bramine — your friend with all his sensibilities, suffering the chastisement of the grossest Sensualist — Is it not a most ridiculous Embarassmt as ever Yorick’s Spirit could be involved in — Tis needless to tell Eliza, that nothing but the purest consciousness of Virtue, could have tempted Eliza’s friend to have told her this Story — Thou art too good my Eliza to love aught but Virtue — & too discerning not to distinguish the open character wch bears it, from the artful & double one wch affects it — This, by the way, w*? make no bad anecdote in T. Shandy’s Life — however I thought at least it would amuse you, in a country where less Matters serve. — This has taken me three Sittings — it ought to be a good picture — I’m more proud, That it is a true one. In ten Days I shall be able to get out — my room allways full of friendly Visitors — & my rapper eternally going with Cards & enquiries after me. I shd be glad of the Testimonies — without the Tax.

  Every thing convinces me, Eliza, We shall live to meet again — So — Take care of yr health, to add to the comfort of it.

  Ap: 25. after a tolerable night, I am able, Eliza, to sit up and hold a discourse with the sweet Picture thou hast left behind thee of thyself, & tell it how much I had dreaded the catastrophe, of never seeing its dear Original more in this world — never did that look of sweet resignation appear so eloquent as now; it has said more to my heart — & cheard it up more effectually above little fears & may be’s — Than all the Lectures of philosophy I have strength to apply to it, in my present Debility of mind and body. — as for the latter — my men of Science, will set it properly agoing again — tho’ upon what principles — the Wise Men of Gotham know as much as they — If they act right — what is it to me, how wrong they think, for finding my machine a much less tormenting one to me than before, I become reconciled to my Situation, and to their Ideas of it — but don’t you pity me, after all, my dearest and my best of friends? I know to what an amount thou wilt shed over me, this tender Tax — & tis the Consolation springing out of that, of what a good heart it is which pours this friendly balm on mine, That has already, & — will for ever heal every evil of my Life.

  And what is becoming, of my Eliza, all this time! — where is she sailing? — what Sickness or other evils have befallen her? I weep often my dear Girl, for thee my Imagination surrounds them with — What wd be the measure of my Sorrow, did I know thou wast distressed? — adieu — adieu — & trust my dear friend — my dear Bramine, that there still wants nothing to kill me in a few days, but the certainty, That thou Avast suffering, what I am — & yet I know thou art ill — but when thou returnest back to England, all shall be set right — so heaven waft thee to us upon the wings of Mercy — that is, as speedily as the winds & tides can do thee this friendly office. This is the 7th day That I have tasted nothing better than Water gruel — am going, at the solicitation of Hall, to eat of a boild fowl — so he dines with me on it — and a dish of Macaruls —

  7 — o’clock — I have drank to thy Name Eliza! everlasting peace & happiness (for my Toast) in the first glass of Wine I have adventured to drink. My friend has left me —

  & I am alone, — like thee in thy solitary Cabbin after thy retu
rn from a tasteless meal in the round house b like thee I fly to my Journal, to tell thee, I never prized thy friendship so high, or loved thee more — or wish’d so ardently to be a Sharer of all the weights wch Providence has laid upon thy tender frame — Than this moment — when upon taking up my pen, my poor pulse quickend — my pale face glowed — and tears stood ready in my Eyes to fall upon the paper, as I traced the word Eliza. O Eliza! Eliza! ever best b blessed of all thy Sex! blessed in thyself and in thy Virtues — & blessed and endearing to all who know thee — to Me, Eliza, most so; because I know more of thee than any other — This is the true philtre by which Thou hast charm’d me b wilt for ever charm b hold me thine, whilst Virtue b faith hold this world together; tis the simple Magick, by which I trust, I have won a place in that heart of thine on wch I depend so satisfied, That Time b distance, or change of every thing wch might allarm the little hearts of little men, create no unasy suspence in mine — It scorns to doubt — & scorns to be doubted — tis the only exception — where Security is not the parent of Danger.

  My Illness will keep me three weeks longer in town. — but a Journey in less time would be hazardous, unless a short one across the Desert wch I should set out upon to morrow, could I carry a Medicine with me which I was sure would prolong one month of yr. Life — or should it happen —