MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.
WED. MORN. SEPT. 6, HALF AN HOUR AFTER THREE.
I am not the savage which you and my worst enemies think me. My soul is
too much penetrated by the contents of the letter which you enclosed in
your last, to say one word more to it, than that my heart has bled over
it from every vein!--I will fly from the subject--but what other can I
choose, that will not be as grievous, and lead into the same?
I could quarrel with all the world; with thee, as well as the rest;
obliging as thou supposest thyself for writing to me hourly. How darest
thou, (though unknown to her,) to presume to take an apartment under the
sane roof with her?--I cannot bear to think that thou shouldest be seen,
at all hours passing to and repassing from her apartments, while I, who
have so much reason to call her mine, and one was preferred by her to all
the world, am forced to keep aloof, and hardly dare to enter the city
where she is!
If there be any thing in Brand's letter that will divert me, hasten it to
me. But nothing now will ever divert me, will ever again give me joy or
pleasure! I can neither eat, drink, nor sleep. I am sick of all the
world.
Surely it will be better when all is over--when I know the worst the
Fates can do against me--yet how shall I bear that worst?--O Belford,
Belford! write it not to me!--But if it must happen, get somebody else to
write; for I shall curse the pen, the hand, the head, and the heart,
employed in communicating to me the fatal tidings. But what is this
saying, when already I curse the whole world except her--myself most?
In fine, I am a most miserable being. Life is a burden to me. I would
not bear it upon these terms for one week more, let what would be my lot;
for already is there a hell begun in my own mind. Never more mention it
to me, let her, or who will say it, the prison--I cannot bear it--May
d----n----n seize quick the cursed woman, who could set death upon taking
that large stride, as the dear creature calls it!--I had no hand in it!--
But her relations, her implacable relations, have done the business. All
else would have been got over. Never persuade me but it would. The fire
of youth, and the violence of passion, would have pleaded for me to good
purpose, with an individual of a sex, which loves to be addressed with
passionate ardour, even to tumult, had it not been for that cruelty and
unforgivingness, which, (the object and the penitence considered,) have
no example, and have aggravated the heinousness of my faults.
Unable to rest, though I went not to bed till two, I dispatch this ere
the day dawn--who knows what this night, this dismal night, may have
produced!
I must after my messenger. I have told the varlet I will meet him,
perhaps at Knightsbridge, perhaps in Piccadilly; and I trust not myself
with pistols, not only on his account, but my own--for pistols are too
ready a mischief.
I hope thou hast a letter ready for him. He goes to thy lodgings first--
for surely thou wilt not presume to take thy rest in an apartment near
her's. If he miss thee there, he flies to Smith's, and brings me word
whether in being, or not.
I shall look for him through the air as I ride, as well as on horseback;
for if the prince of it serve me, as well as I have served him, he will
bring the dog by his ears, like another Habakkuk, to my saddle-bow, with
the tidings that my heart pants after.
Nothing but the excruciating pangs the condemned soul fells, at its
entrance into the eternity of the torments we are taught to fear, can
exceed what I now feel, and have felt for almost this week past; and
mayest thou have a spice of those, if thou hast not a letter ready
written for thy