July 1. — But who can foretell what a a month may produce — Eliza — I have no less than seven different chances — not one of wch is improbable — and any one of [‘em] would set me much at Liberty — & some of ‘em render me compleatly happy — as they wd facilitate & open the road to thee — what these chances are I leave thee to conjecture, my Eliza — some of them You cannot divine — tho’ I once hinted them to You — but those are pecuniary chances arising out of my Prebend — & so not likely to stick in thy brain — nor could they occupy mine a moment, but on thy acct. I hope before I meet thee Eliza on the Beach, to have every thing plann’d; that depends on me properly — & for what depends upon him who orders every Event for us, to him I leave & trust it — We shall be happy at last I know — tis the Corner Stone of all my Castles — & tis all I bargain for. I am perfectly recoverd — or more than recover’d — for never did T feel such Indications of health or Strength & promptness of mind — notwithstanding the Cloud hanging over me of a Visit — & all its tormenting consequences — Hall has wrote an affecting little poem upon it — the next time I see him, I will get it, & transcbe it in this Journal, for You.. He has persuaded me to trust her with no more than fifteen hundred pounds into Franc[e] — twil purchase 150 pds a year — & to let the rest come annually from myself — the advice is wise enough, If I can get her off with it — I 11 summon up the Husband a little (if I can) — & keep the 500 pds remaining for emergencies — who knows, Eliza, what sort of Emergencies may cry out for it — I conceive some — & you Eliza are not backward in Conception — so may conceive others. I wish I was in Arno’s Vale! —
July 2d — But I am in the Vale of Coxwould & wish You saw in how princely a manner I live in it — tis a Land of Plenty — I sit down alone to Venison, fish or wild foul — or a couple of fouls — with curds, and strawberrys & cream, (and all the simple clean plenty wch a rich Vally can produce, — with a Bottle of wine on my right hand (as in Bond street) to drink yr health — I have a hundred hens & chickens ab my yard — and not a parishoner catches a hare a rabbit or a Trout — but he brings it as an offering — In short tis a golden Vally — & will be the golden Age when You govern the rural feast, my Bramine, & are the Mistress of my table & spread it with elegancy and that natural grace & bounty wth wch heaven has distinguish’d You..
— Time goes on slowly — every thing stands still — hours seem days & days seem Years whilst you lengthen the Distance between us — from Madras to Bombay — I shall think it shortening — and then desire & expectation will be upon the rack again — come — come —
July 3d Hail! Hail! my dear Eliza — I steal something every day from my sentimental Journey — to obey a more sentimental impulse in writing to you — & giving you the present Picture of myself — my wishes — my Love, my sincerity — my hopes — my fears — tell me, have I varied in any one Lineament, from the first sitting — to this last — have I been less warm — less tender and affectionate than you expected or could have wish’d me in any one of ‘em — or, however varied in the expressions of what I was & what I felt, have I not still presented the same air and face towards thee? — take it as a Sample of what I ever shall be — My dear Bramine — & that is — such as my honour, my Engagements & promisses & desires have fix’d me —— I want You to be on the other side of my little table, to hear how sweetly yr Voice will be in Unison to all this — I want to hear what You have to say to yr. Yorick upon this Text. — what heavenly Consolation wd drop from yr. Lips — & how pathetically you wd enforce yr. Truth & Love upon my heart to free it from every Aching doubt — Doubt! did 1 say — but I have none — and as soon wd I doubt the Scripture I have preach’d on — as question thy promisses or suppose one Thought in thy heart during thy absence from me, unworthy of my Eliza — for if thou art false, my Bramine — the whole world — and Nature itself are lyars — and I will trust to nothing on this side of heaven — but turn aside from all Commerce with expectation, & go quietly on my way alone towards a State where no disappointments can follow me — you are grieved when I talk thus; it implies what does not exist in either of us — so cross it out if thou wilt — or leave it as a part of the picture of a heart that again Languishes for Possession — and is disturbed at every Idea of its uncertainty — So heaven bless thee — & ballance thy passions better than I have power to regulate mine — farewel my dear Girl — I sit in dread of tomorrows post which is to bring me an acc when Madame is to arrive. —
July 4th Hear nothing of her — so am tortured from post to post, for I want to know certainly the day & hour of this Judgment — She is moreover ill, as my Lydia writes me word — & I’m impatient to know whether tis that — or what other Cause detains her, & keeps me in this vile state of Ignorance — I’m pitied by every Soul in proportion as her Character is detested — & her Errand known — She is coming, every one says, to flea poor Yorick or stay him — & I am spirited up by every friend I have to sell my Life dear & fight valiantly in defence both of my property & Life — Now my Maxim, Eliza, is quietly [sic] in three— “Spare my Life, and take all I have[“] — If she is not content to decamp with that — One Kingdome shall not hold us — for If she will not betake herself to France — I will.
but these, I verlily [sic] believe my fears & nothing more — for she will be as impatient to quit England — as I could with her — but of this — you will know more, before I have gone thro’ this month’s Journal. — I get 2000 pounds for my Estate — that is, I had the offer this morning of it — & think tis enough. — when that is gone — I will begin saving for thee — but in Saving myself for thee, That & every other kind Act is implied. — get on slowly with my Work — but my head is too full of other Matters — yet will I finish it before I see London — for I am of too scrupulous honour to break faith with the world — great Authors make no scruple of it — but if they are great Authors — I’m sure they are little Men. — & I’m sure also of another Point wch concerns yrself — & that is Eliza, that You shall never find me one hair breadth a less Man than you — farewell — I love thee eternally —
July 5. Two letters from the South of France by this post, by which by some fatality, I find not one of my Letters have got to them this month — This gives me concern — because it has the aspect of an unseasonable unkindness in me — to take no notice of what has the appearance at least of a Civility in desiring to pay me a Visit — my daughter besides has not deserved ill of me — & tho’ her mother has, I wd not ungenerously take that Opportunity, which would most overwhelm her, to give any mark of my resentment — I have besides long since forgiven her — & am the more inclined now as she proposes a plan, by which I shall never more be disquieted — in these 2 last, she renews her request to have leave to live where she has transfer’d her fortune — & purposes, with my leave she says, to end her days in the South of france — to all which I have just been writing her a Letter of Consolation & good will — & to crown my professions, intreat her to take post with my girl to be here time enough to enjoy York races — & so having done my duty to them — I continue writing, to do it to thee Eliza who art the Woman of my heart, & for whom I am ordering & planning this, & every thing else — be assured my Bramine that ere every thing is ripe for our Drama, I shall work hard to fit out & decorate a little Theatre for us to act on — but not before a crouded house — no Eliza — it shall be as secluded as the elysian fields — retirement is the nurse of Love and kindness — & I will Woo & caress thee in it in such sort, that every thicket & grotto we pass by shall sollicit the remembrance of the mutual pledges We have exchanged of Affection with one another — oh! these expectations — make me sigh as I recite them — & many a heart-felt Interjection! do they cost me, as I saunter alone in the tracks we are to tread together hereafter — still I think thy heart is with me — & whilst I think so, I prefer it to all the Society this world can offer — & tis in truth my dear oweing to this — that the I’ve recd half a dozen Letters to press me to join my friends at Scarborough — that Iv
e found pretences not to quit You here — and sacrifice the many sweet occasions I have of giving my thoughts up to You — , for Company I cannot rellish since I have tasted my dear Girl, the sweets of thine. —
July 6.
Three long Months and three long days are passed gone, since my Eliza sighed on taking her Leave of Albions Cliffs, & of all in Albion, which was dear to her — How oft have I smarted at the Idea, of that last longing Look by wch thou badest adieu to all thy heart sufferd at that dismal Crisis — twas the Separation of Soul & Body — & equal to nothing but what passes on that tremendous Moment. — & like it in one Consequence, that thou art in another world; where I wd give a world to follow thee, or hear even an Acct of thee — for this I shall write in a few days to our dear friend Mrs James — she possibly may have heard a single Syllable or two abt You — but it cannot be; the same must have been directed towards Yoricks ear, to whom you wd have wrote the Name of Eliza, had there been no time for more. I wd almost now compound wth Fate — & was I sure Eliza only breathd — I wd thank heaven & acquiesce. I kiss your Picture — your Shawl — & every trinket I exchanged with You — every day I live — alas! I shall soon be debarrd of that — in a fortnight I must lock them up & clap my seal & yrs upon them in the most secret Cabinet of my Bureau — You may divine the reason, Eliza! adieu — adieu!
July 7.
— But not Yet — for I will find means to write to you every night whilst my people are here — if I sit up till midnight, till they are asleep. — I should not dare to face you, if I was worse than my word in the smallest Item — & this Journal I promised You Eliza should be kept without a chasm of a day in it — & had I my time to myself & nothing to do but gratify my propensity — I shd write from sun rise to sun set to thee — But a Book to write — a Wife to receive & make Treaties with — an estate to sell — a Parish to superintend — and a disquieted heart perpetually to reason with, are eternal calls upon me — & yet I have you more in my mind than ever — and in proportion as I am thus torn from yr embraces — I cling the closer to the Idea of you. Y our Figure is ever before my eyes — the sound of yr voice vibrates with its sweetest tones the live long day in my ear — I can see & hear nothing but my Eliza, remember this, when you think my Journal too short & compare it not with thine, wch tho’ it will exceed it in length, can do no more than equal it in Love and truth of esteem — for esteem thee I do beyond all the powers of eloquence to tell thee how much — & I love thee my dear Girl, & prefer thy Love, to me more than the whole world —
night — have not eat or drunk all day thro’ vexation of heart at a couple of ungrateful unfeeling Letters from that Quarter, from whence, had it pleas’d God, I should have lookd for all my Comforts — but he has will’d they shd come from the east — & he knows how I am satisfyed with all his Dispensations — but with none, my dear Bramine, so much as this — with wch Cordial upon my Spirits — I go to bed, in hopes of seeing thee in my Dreams.
July 8th — eating my fowl, and my trouts & my cream & my strawberries, as melancholly as a Cat; for want of you — by the by, I have got one which sits quietly besides me, purring all day to my sorrows — & looking up gravely from time to time in my face, as if she knew my Situation. — how soothable my heart is Eliza, when such little things sooth it! for in some pathetic sinkings I feel even some support from this poor Cat — I attend to her purrings — & think they harmonize me — they are pianissimo at least, & do not disturb me. — poor Yorick! to be driven, wth all his sensibilities, to these resources — all powerful Eliza, that has had this Magic, authority over him; to bend him thus to the dust — But I’ll have my revenge, Hussy!
July 9. I have been all day making a sweet Pavillion in a retired Corner of my garden, — but my Partner & Companion & friend for whom I make it, is fled from me, & when she return to me again, Heaven who first brought us together, best knows — when that hour is foreknown what a Paradise will I plant for thee — till then I walk as Adam did whilst there was no help-meet found for it, and could almost wish a days Sleep would come upon me till that Moment When I can say as he did— “Behold the Woman Thou has given me for Wife” She shall be call’d La Bramine. Indeed Indeed Eliza! my Life will be little better than a dream, till we approach nearer to each other — I live scarse conscious of my existence — or as if I wanted a vital part; & could not live above a few hours — & yet I live, & live, & live on, for thy Sake, and the sake of thy truth to me; which I measure by my own, — & I fight agst every evil and every danger, that I may be able to support & shelter thee from danger and evil also. — upon my word, dear Girl, thou owest me much — but tis cruel to dun thee when thou art not in a condition to pay — I think Eliza has not run off in her Yoricks debt —
July 10.
I cannot suffer you to be longer upon the Water — in 10 days time, You shall be at Madrass — the element roles in my head as much as yrs, & I am sick at the sight & smell of it — for all this, my Eliza, I feel in Imagination & so strongly I can bear it no longer — on the 20th therefore Inst I begin to write to you as a terrestrial Being — I must deceive myself — & think so I will notwithstanding all that Lascelles has told me — but there is no truth in him. — I have just kiss’d yr picture — even that sooths many an anxiety — I have found out the Body is too little for the head — it shall not be rectified, till I sit by the Original, & direct the Painter’s Pencil and that done, will take a Scamper to Enfield & see yr dear children — if You tire by the Way, there are one or two places to rest at. — I never stand out. God bless thee — I am thine as ever
July 11.
Sooth me — calm me — pour thy healing Balm Eliza, into the sorest of hearts — I’m pierced with the Ingratitude and unquiet Spirit of a restless unreasonable Wife whom neither gentleness or generosity can conquer — She has now enterd upon a new plan of waging War with me, a thousand miles — thrice a week this last month, has the quietest man under heaven been outraged by her Letters — I have offer’d to give her every Shilling I was worth except my preferment, to be let alone & left in peace by her — Bad Woman! nothing must now purchace this, unless I borrow 400 pds to give her & carry into france — more — ! Wd perish first, my Eliza! ‘ere I would give her a shilling of another man’s, wch I must do if I give her a shillg more than I am worth.
— How I now feel the want of thee! my dear Bramine — my generous unworldly honest creature — I shall die for want of thee for a thousand reasons — every emergency & every Sorrow each day brings along with it — tells me what a Treasure I am bereft off, — whilst I want thy friendship & Love to keep my head up sinking — Gods will be done, but I think she will send me to my grave. — She will now keep me in torture till the end of Sept? — & writes me word to day — She will delay her Journey two Months beyond her 1st Intention — it keeps me in eternal suspence all the while — for she will come unawars at last upon me — & then adieu to the dear sweets of my retirement.
How cruelly are our Lots drawn, my dear — both made for happiness — & neither of us made to taste it! In feeling so acutely for my own disapptment I drop blood for thine, I call thee in to my Aid — & thou wantest mine as much — Were we together we shd recover — but never, never till then nor by any other Recipe. —
July 12.
Am ill all day with the Impressions of Yesterday’s account. — can neither eat or drink or sit still & write or read — I walk like a disturbed Spirit abt my Garden — calling upon heaven & thee, — to come to my Succour — couldst Thou but write one word to me, it would be worth half the world to me — my friends write me millions — & every one invites me to flee from my Solitude & come to them — I obey the comands of my friend Hall who has sent over on purpose to fetch me — or he will come himself for me — so I set off to morrow morning to take Sanctuary in Crasy Castle — The news papers have sent me there already by putting in the following paragraph
“We hear from Yorkshire, That Skelton Castle is the present Rendevouz, of the most brilliant Wits of the A
ge — the admired Author of Tristram — Mr Garrick &c beening [sic] there; & Mr Coleman & many other men of Wit & Learning being every day expected” — when I get there, wch will be to morrow night, my Eliza will hear from her Yorick — her Yorick — who loves her more than ever.
July 13. Skelton Castle. Your picture has gone round the Table after supper — & y? health after it, my invaluable friend! — even the Ladies, who hate grace in another, seemed struck with it in You — but Alas! you are as a dead Person — & Justice (as in all such Cases) is paid you in course — when thou returnest it will be render’d more sparingly — but I’ll make up all déficiences — by honouring You more than ever Woman was honourd by man — every good Quality That ever good heart possess’d — thou possessest my dear Girl; & so sovereignly does thy temper & sweet sociability, which harmonize all thy other properties make me thine, that whilst thou art true to thyself and thy Bramin — he thinks thee worth a world — & wd give a World was he master of it, for the undisturbed possession of thee — Time and Chance are busy throwing this Die for me — a fortunate Cast, or two, at the most, makes our fortune — it gives us each other — & then for the World, I will not give a pinch of Snuff. — Do take care of thyself — keep this prospect before thy eyes — have a view to it in all yr. Transactions, Eliza, — In a word Remember You are mine — and stand answerable for all you say & do to me — I govern myself by the same Rule — & such a History of myself can I lay before you as shall create no blushes, but those of pleasure — tis midnight — & so sweet Sleep to thee the remaining hours of it. I am more thine, my dear Eliza! than ever — but that cannot be —
Complete Works of Laurence Sterne Page 121
