_Frank Henley to Oliver Trenchard_
_London, Grosvenor Street_
How violent and reiterated are the conflicts, between truth and error,
in every mind of ardour!--And, of all errors, the love of self is the
most rooted, the least easy to detect, and supremely difficult to
eradicate. We can pardon ourselves any thing, except a want of
self-respect; but that is intolerable.
I described, in my last,[1] the dissatisfied state of mind of Mr.
Clifton. But, while he imagined he should die and soon lose all memory
of a scene become so irksome to him, his dissatisfaction was trifling,
compared to what it is at present. Repugnant as the idea was to his
habitual feelings, still I have more than half convinced him that
suicide is an act as cowardly as it is criminal. Yet to live and face
the world, loaded as he imagines with unpardonable crimes and
everlasting ignominy, is a thing to which he knows not how to consent.
To combat this new mistake, into which he has fallen, has for some time
past been my chief employment. No common efforts could assuage the
turbulence of his tempestuous soul. Energy superior even to his own was
necessary, to subject and calm this perturbation. But, in the
simplicity of truth, this energy was easy to be found: it is from
self-distrust, confusion or cowardice, if it ever fail.
[Footnote 1: Omitted.]
I have just left him, and our conversation will give you the best
history of his mind, which is well worthy our study. I found him
verging even toward delirium, and a fever coming on, which if not
impeded might soon be fatal. He keeps his bed; but instead of lying at
his ease, he remained raised on his elbow, having just finished a
letter to his friend. Louisa had described the state of his mind, and I
resolved to catch its tone, that I might the more certainly command his
attention. Without preface, and as if continuing a chain of reasoning,
he addressed me; with his eye fixed, in all the ardour of enquiry.
What is man?--What are his functions, qualities, and uses?--Does he not
sleep trembling, live envying, and die cursing?--And is this worth
aught?--Is it to be endured?--Why do I suffer life thus to be imposed
upon me?
It is not suffering: or, if it be, such sufferings are of our own
creation--To the virtuous and the wise, life is joy and bliss.
Perhaps so--Wisdom there may be, and truth and virtue. And, for the
virtuous and the wise, the full stream of pleasure may richly flow: but
not for me! Pretend not that I may walk with the gods! I who have been
the inmate of fiends! I, who proposed glory to myself from the most
contemptible of pursuits! I, who could dangle after coquettes and
prudes; feed on and inflate myself with the baubles of a beauty's
toilette; and, in the book of vanity, inscribe myself a great hero, a
mighty conqueror, for having heaped ridicule on the ridiculous; or
brought innocence to shame, misery, and destruction! And this I did
with a light and vain heart! Did it laughing, boasting, exulting!
Satanic dog! Pest of hell! What! Stretch souls on the rack, and then
girn and mock at them for lying there! 'Tis the sport of devils, and by
devils invented!
Your present indignation is honourable both to your heart and
understanding.
Oh, flatter me not!--Vain, supercilious coxcomb!--I spread my wings,
crowed in conceit, threatened, resolved, laughed at opposition, and
kicked the world before me!--Oh, it was who but I!--And what was it I
proposed?--Fair conquest?--Honourable opposition?--No!--It was
treachery, covert malice, and cowardly conspiracy!--A league with
hell-dogs!--Horrible, blood-thirsty villains!--And baffled too;
defeated, after all this infernal enginery! Nay, had I been so wholly
devil as to have joined in murder, what would have followed? Why they
would next have murdered me; and for the justice of the second murder
would have hoped pardon, even for the hell-born guilt of the first!
Do not, while you detest and shun one crime, plunge into a greater.
This agony is for having been unjust to others; you are now still more
unjust to yourself. You will not suppose yourself capable of a single
virtue: yet, in your most mistaken moments, you never could be so
illiberal to your enemies.
Would you persuade me I am not a most guilty, foul, and hateful
monster?--Oh be more worthy of yourself, avoid me, detest me, curse me!