ROANOKE, June 2d, 1813.
I did not receive your letter of the 26th until last evening, and then
I was obliged for it to my good old neighbor Col. Morton, who never
omits an occasion of doing a favor however small. The gentleman by
whom you wrote is very shy of me, nor can I blame him for it: no man
likes to feel the embarrassment which a consciousness of having done
wrong to another is sure to inspire, and which the sight of the object
towards whom the wrong has been done never fails to excite in the most
lively and painful degree. My neighbor Col. C., who goes down to
Petersburg and Richmond tomorrow, enables me to answer (after a
fashion) your question—“how and where I shall pass the summer months?”
To which I can only reply—_as it pleases God!_ If I go to any watering
place it will be to our Hot Springs, for the purpose of stewing the
rheumatism out of my carcase, if it be practicable.
It would have been peculiarly gratifying to me to have been with you
when Leigh, Garnett, W. Meade and I must add M——, were in Richmond. If
we exclude every “party man and man of ambition” from our church, I
fear we shall have as thin a congregation as Dean Swift had when he
addressed his clerk “Dearly beloved Roger!” What I like M. for, is
neither his _courtesy_ nor his _intelligence_, but a certain
warm-heartedness, which is, now-a-days, the rarest of human qualities.
His manner I think peculiarly unfortunate. There is an ostentation of
ornament (which school boys lay aside when they reach the senior
class) and a labored infelicity of expression that is hurtful to one's
feelings—we are in terror for the speaker—but this fault he has
already in some degree corrected, and by the time he is as old as you
or I, it will have worn off. I was greatly revolted by it, on our
first acquaintance, and even now, am occasionally offended—but the
zeal with which he devotes himself to the service of his friends and
of his country makes amends for all. It is sometimes a bustling
activity of little import to its _object_, but which is to be valued
in reference to its motive.
* * * * *
I am not surprised at what you tell me of our friend. We live in
fearful times, and it is a perilous adventure that he is about to
undertake. In a few years more, those of us who are alive will have to
move off to _Kaintuck_ or the _Massissippi_, where corn can be had for
sixpence a bushel, and pork for a penny a pound. I do not wonder at
the rage for emigration—what do the bulk of the people get here, that
they cannot have for one-fifth of the labor in the western country?
Surely that must be the Yahoo's paradise where he can get dead drunk
for the hundredth part of a dollar.
What you tell me of Milnor is quite unexpected. He was one of the last
men whom I should have expected to take orders—not so much on account
of his quitting a lucrative profession as from his fondness for gay
life. I am not sure that it is the safest path—The responsibility is
awful—it is tremendous.
Thanks for your intelligence respecting my poor sister. If human skill
could save her, Dr. Robinson would do it: but there is nothing left to
smooth her path to that dwelling whither we must all soon follow her.
I can give Mrs. B. no comfort on the subject of ——. For my part, it
requires an effort to take an interest in any thing—and it seems to me
strange, that there should be found inducements strong enough to carry
on the business of the world. I believe you have given the true
solution of this problem, by way of corollary from another—when you
pronounce that free will and necessity are much the same. I used
formerly to puzzle myself, as abler men have puzzled others, by
speculations on this opprobrium of philosophy. If you have not untied
the Gordian knot, you have cut it, which is the approved methodus
medendi of this disease.
My neighbor C., who is the bearer of this, is called by the world a
_hard man_—but I like him because he has a manliness of character—not
common in this age of base compliance with what is and what is not
(but supposed to be) the ruling opinions.
Write to me when you can do no better. Worse you cannot do for
yourself, nor better for me. You can't imagine what an epoch in my
present life a letter from you or Leigh constitutes. If I did not know
that you could find nothing here beyond the satisfaction of mere
animal necessity, I should entreat Mrs. B. and yourself to visit my
solitary habitation. May every blessing attend you both.
Your's unchangeably,
JOHN RANDOLPH, of Roanoke.
{570} LETTER VI.
ROANOKE, July 15, 1814.
I had begun to fear that my long visitation of last winter and spring,
had put you so much out of the habit of writing to me, that you would
never resume it—but your letter of the sixth (just received)
encourages me to hope that I shall hear from you as formerly. It was a
sensible relief to me—but I will say nothing about my situation.
Poor St. George continues quite irrational. He is however very little
mischievous, and governed pretty easily. His memory of persons,
things, events and words, is not at all impaired—but he has no power
of _combination_, and is entirely incoherent. _His_ going to the
Springs is out of the question—and mine, I fear, equally so—although
my rheumatism requires the warm bath. By this time, you are on your
way thither—except that it is too _cold_, the weather could not have
been finer. What a climate we live under!
* * * * *
As to peace, I have not a doubt that we shall have it forthwith. Our
folks are prepared to say that the pacification of Europe has swept
away the _matters in contestation_, as M. the Secretary of State has
it. All that we see in the government prints, is to reconcile us the
better to the terms which they must receive from the enemy. From the
time of his flight from Egypt, my opinion of the character of
Bonaparte has never changed, except for the worse. I have considered
him from that date a coward, and ascribed his success to the deity he
worships—Fortune. His insolence and rashness have met their just
reward. Had he found an efficient government in France on his
abandonment of his brave companions in arms in Egypt, and return to
Paris, he would have been cashiered for ruining the best appointed
armament that ever left an European port. But all was confusion and
anarchy at Paris, and, instead of a coup de fusil, he was rewarded
with a sceptre. He succeeded in throwing the blame of Aboukir on poor
Brueys. He could safely talk of “his orders to the admiral,” after
L'Orient had blown up. His Russian and German campaign is another such
commentary on his character; it is all of a piece.
If the Allies adhere to their treaty of Chaumont, the peace of Europe
will be preserved—but in France I think the seeds of disorder must
abound. Instead of the triple aristocracy of the Noblesse, the Church
and the Parliaments, I see nothing but janissaries and a divan of
ruffians: Algiers on a great scale. Moral causes I see none—and I am
well persuaded that these are not created in a day. Matters of
inveterate opinion, when once rooted up, are _dead_ never to revive:
_other_ opinions must succeed them. But I am prosing—uttering a string
of common place, that every one can write, and no one can deny. But
you brought it on yourself—you expected I would say something, and I
resolved to try. I can bear witness to the fact of Mrs. B's prediction
respecting Bonaparte's retirement. I wish I were permitted to name
five ladies who should constitute the Cabinet of this country: our
affairs would be conducted in another guess manner. This reminds me of
Mrs. G., of whom I have at last heard. Mr. G. wrote me late in
February from London. They were going to Bath, and “if circumstances
on the continent would permit, meant to take a tour through France.”
How well timed their trip to Europe has been.
I am here completely _hors du monde_. My neighbor Clark, with whom I
have made a violent effort to establish an intercourse, has been here
_twice by invitation_. W. Leigh as often, on his way to court, and on
Saturday I was agreeably surprised by stumbling on Frank Gilmer, who
was wandering to and fro in the woods, seeking my cabin. He left me on
Tuesday for his brother's in Henry. Except my standing dish, you have
my whole society for _nine weeks_. On the terms by which I hold it,
life is a curse, from which I would willingly escape, if I _knew where
to fly_. I have lost my relish for reading—indeed I could not devour
even the Corsair[3] with the zest that Lord Byron's pen generally
inspires. My plantation affairs always irksome are now revolting. I
have lost ¾ of the finest and largest crop I ever had.
[Footnote 3: It is very inferior to the Giaour or the Bride. The
character of Conrad is unnatural. Blessed with his mistress, he has no
motive for desperation.]
My best respects and regards to Mrs. B.
I am as ever, yours,
JOHN RANDOLPH, of Roanoke.
Dr. Dudley is (as you may suppose) a treasure to me above all price.
Without him what should I do? He desires his respects to you both.
As to an English constitution for France, they will have one when they
all speak the English language, and not before. Have you read Morris's
oration on the 29th of June? His description of Bonaparte's “taking
money for his crown” is very fine. It is a picture. I see him. There
are some cuts in the same page that our _fulminating_ statesman will
not like.
SUNDAY, the 17th.
I am compelled to be at Prince Edward Court tomorrow, and the weather
is _now_ so intensely hot that I shall go a part of the way this
afternoon, and put my letter in the Farmville P. O. whence it will go
direct to Richmond, instead of waiting five days on the road. Our
crops lately drowned, are now burning up, and I begin to feel the
effects of the fresh in my _health_ as well as my purse. Dudley and
myself have both experienced the ill consequences of our daily visits
to the low grounds. The negroes, however, continue healthy: out of
more than 200, not a patient since I came home. Who is it that says
“il-y-a tant de plaisir à bavarder avec un ami!” Perhaps you will
reply that the pleasure is not so great _etre bavardè_.
* * * * *
At Charlotte Court House yesterday, I saw Dr. Merry, who told me that
your trip to the Springs was postponed. Pray let me hear from you. If
you write by Saturday morning's post, address your letter to this
place—otherwise, to Roanoke. We hear that you are in great
consternation at Richmond, in consequence of Cochrane's appearance in
the Chesapeake. Not a week ago it was ostentatiously announced that
Porter was master of the South Pacific! The mail will arrive in less
than half an hour, which brings the official account of his capture.
Again my best wishes and respects to Mrs. B., with whom, I fear, I
have fallen out of favor. Compliments to Mr. and Mrs. Wickham.
{571} 18me May 1804.
_Messieurs_,—Vous étes priés d'assister au convoi et enterrement de la
trés haute et trés illustre et trés puissante Citoyenne République
Française; une, indivisible et iméprissable, décédée le 28me Floreal
(18 May) en son Palais Conservateur—et á son service, qui se sera le
14me Juillet prochain.