_Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_
_London, Dover Street_
I have received your dissuasive epistle, Fairfax. It found me moody and
did not contribute to make me merry. To own the truth, no ghost need
rise to tell me the methods I use are inclined to the violent. Can you
find me better? Nay can you find any other? I care not for
consequences; I brave them all.
Time was that I could have been happy with her! Ay and should, but for
this fiend Henley. He sleeps securely! Let him sleep on! I will soon
awaken him!
I thought I should have been tortured but by one chief passion, and
that the love of vengeance would have enveloped me wholly: but they are
all devouring me by turns. I certainly hate her, and him I abhor. Yet
pictures of imaginary happiness, that might have been, are continually
rising, and vanishing in gloomy regret. He too, at the very moment that
I could murder him, I am obliged to admire!
Still he shall not have her! Though death overtake him, her and me, he
shall not have her! But what is death? A thing to covet, not to dread.
'Tis existence only that is hateful!--Would that my bones were now
mouldering!--Why have I brains and nerves and sensibilities?--Oh that I
were in the poisonous desert, where I might gulp mephitic winds and
drop dead; or in a moment be buried in tornados of burning sand! Would
that my scull were grinning there, and blanching; rather than as it is
consciously parching, scorched by fires itself has kindled!
I spent all yesterday with that Irish scoundrel. Malignity is his
element, and mischief his delight! I suspect by his assiduity that he
is poor just at present; for a more industrious demon black Cocytus
does not yield. He is already provided with associates, and has found
another principal agent for the great work. It is a strange expedient!
But these are strange fellows! And yet it is a lucky one; superior to
any that I had projected.
When I mentioned the Knightsbridge road at our first interview, Mac
Fane recollected that an intimate of his had just set up what was to
him a new trade, in the neighbourhood; that of being the keeper of a
madhouse. He determined to go and propose the business to him; and as
the fellow was preparing to advertise for lunatics, but had not yet got
a single patient, there was a complete opening for such a plan.
He proposed taking me to see this intended guardian of maniacs, and his
house; and I ordered a post-chaise for that purpose, that I might hide
myself in one corner of it, and not let a living soul detect me with
such a companion.
As we were going, I enquired if this keeper were an Irishman? He took
offence, and retorted--'What did I mane by an Irishman? Becase he is a
rogue you think he is an Irishman! By the holy carpenter you need not
come to Ireland for that kind of ware! You have a viry pritty breed of
rogues of your own! But he is not Irish. He is one of your own sulky
English bugs.'
The description was not inapplicable, for I think I never beheld a more
lowering, black-browed, evil-eyed fellow, since the hour I first saw
light. He had all the gloom of the most irrascible bulldog, but without
his generous courage. He seemed more proper to make men mad than cure
them of madness. But he had two excellent qualities for my purpose;
poverty and a disposition to all ill.
I am got into excellent company! But I care not! I will on! All this
seems as if it were but the prologue to the tragedy. But be it that, or
be it what it will--I care nothing for myself; and I have little cause
to care more for them. She never had any mercy on me; and least this
last interview, when I was pleading before her pompous uncle.
I have been obliged to hold consultations with these Satanic rascals,
to concert ways and means. The most secure we have been able to devise,
relative to Henley, is to have a straight waistcoat, to come upon him
suddenly, and to encrust him in it before he shall know what we are
about. This with a gag will make him safe. But there must not be less
than four fellows, and those stout ones. Nothing must be left to
chance.
Three more must be provided for the lady, of whom Mac Fane himself
proposes to be one. But he means to keep out of sight of Henley, till
he is in custody.
I have various preparations yet to make. Mac Fane is to go and hire me
the empty house tomorrow. It is furnished; but it must be aired, for I
would not have her die a paltry catch-cold death. I would treat her
like a gentlewoman in every respect but one; and in that I will have as
little compassion on her as she has had on me.
It might have been otherwise! I came to her a generous lover! I saw her
and was amazed at her beauties, captivated by her enchanting manners,
soothed by her unvaried sweetness! But this sweetness she has turned to
gall! I adored her, and was prepared eternally to adore! But injury
followed injury in such quick succession that apathy itself called
aloud for vengeance!
I own it is true what she said at her uncle's, that I had made a
resolution not to marry her. But what were my resolutions? She herself
could not but feel she had the power to break them all. But she had not
the will, Fairfax! It rankles there! She hates me, and what is more
damnable she loves another!
I must turn my thoughts again to this detested mad-house man, and
the scenery around it. All the avenues must be examined, and all the
bye-paths and open roads that lead toward both houses inspected, that
Mac Fane and his emissaries may make no blunder. I will if possible
keep out of the action, but I will be near at hand.
I have a secret wish, the moment all is over, to fly the odious scene;
for horribly odious it will be: but it would have the appearance of
cowardice. It must end tragically! Not even the poor creatures who
stand in the place of her natural guardians, tame as they are, can
suffer such an insult. Yet which of them dare look me in the face, and
call himself my enemy? And, after injuring her, shall I hesitate at
trampling upon them?
I must steel my heart, Fairfax, when I go to the encounter; must
recapitulate all my wrongs. I have them noted down severally as they
occurred! I need but read to rage! What do I talk?--Read?--Can I forget
them? No; night nor day! They are my familiars. They wake with me,
sleep with me, walk with me, ride with me, glower with me, curse with
me--but never smile with me. They are become my dearest intimates. I
cherish and hug them to my heart! Their biting is my only pleasure!
I cannot forget this keeper. He is a foul-faced fellow! Has a wry look;
a dogged, dungeon hue; of the deepest dusk and progeny of Beelzebub! I
wonder by whom, where, and why such fellows are begotten!
There are horrid villains in the world! Villains by trade; that never
felt the strong impulse of high-minded passion; that could breakfast in
an hospital, dine in a slaughter-house, and sup in the sanguinary field
of battle, listening to the groans of the mangled; or toss them on the
point of forks, to smelt in a heap! I have heard her talk something of
these depraved natures, and of the times when they are all to be
humanised. Can you conjecture when, Fairfax? Yet she said they should
be, and I was half inclined to believe her.