May 2d.
I fear I have relapsed—sent afresh for my Doctor—who has confined me to my sopha—being able neither to walk, stand or sit upright, without aggravating my Symptoms—I’m still to be treated as if I was a Sinner—& in truth have some appearances so strongly implying it, That was I not conscious I had had no Commerce with the Sex these 15 Years, I would decamp to morrow for Montpellier in the South of France, where Maladies of this sort are better treated & all taints more radically driven out of the Blood—than in this Country; but If I continue long ill—I am still determined to repair there—not to undergo a Cure of a distemper I cannot have, but for the bettering my Constitution by a better Climate.—I write this as I lie upon my back—in wch. posture I must continue, I fear some days—If I am able—will take up my pen again before night—
4 o’clock.—an hour dedicated to Eliza! for I have dined alone—& ever since the Cloath has been laid, have done nothing but call upon thy dear Name—and ask why ’tis not permitted thou shouldst sit down, & share my Macarel & fowl—there would be enough, said Molly as she placed it upon the Table to have served both You & poor Mrs. Draper—I never bring in the knives & forks, added she, but I think of her—There was no more trouble with you both, than wth. one of You—I never heard a high or a hasty word from either of You—You were surely made, added Molly, for one another, you are both so kind so quiet & so friendly—Molly furnished me with Sause to my Meat—for I wept my plate full, Eliza! & now I have begun, could shed tears till Supper again—& then go to bed weeping for thy absence till morning. Thou hast bewitch’d me with powers, my dear Girl, from which no power shall unlose me—and if fate can put this Journel of my Love into thy hands, before we meet, I know with what warmth it will inflame the kindest of hearts, to receive me. peace be with thee, my Eliza, till that happy moment!
9 at night. I shall never get possession of myself, Eliza! at this rate—I want to Call off my Thoughts from thee, that I may now & then apply them to some concerns wch. require both my attention & genius, but to no purpose—I had a Letter to write to Lord Shelburn—& had got my apparatus in order to begin—when a Map of India coming in my Way—I begun to study the length & dangers of my Eliza’s Voyage to it, and have been amusing & frightening myself by turns, as I traced the path-way of the Earl of Chatham, the whole afternoon—good god! what a voyage for any one!—but for the poor relax’d frame of my tender Bramine to cross the Line twice, & be subject to the Intolerant heats, & the hazards wch. must be the consequence of em to such an unsupported Being! O Eliza! ’tis too much—& if thou conquerest these, and all the other difficulties of so tremendous an alienation from thy Country, thy Children & thy friends,’tis the hand of Providence wch. watches over thee for most merciful purposes—Let this persuasion, my dear Eliza! stick close to thee in all thy tryals—as it shall in those thy faithful Bramin is put to—till the mark’d hour of deliverance comes. I’m going to sleep upon this religious Elixir—may the Infusion of it distil into the gentlest of hearts—for that Eliza! is thine—sweet, dear, faithful Girl, most kindly does thy Yorick greet thee with the wishes of a good night & of Millions yet to come——
May 3d. Sunday. What can be the matter with me! Something is wrong, Eliza! in every part of me—I do not gain strength; nor have I the feelings of health returning back to me; even my best moments seem merely the efforts of my mind to get well again, because I cannot reconcile myself to the thoughts of never seeing thee Eliza more.—for something is out of tune in every Chord of me—still with thee to nurse & sooth me, I should soon do well—The want of thee is half my distemper—but not the whole of it—I must see Mrs. James to night, tho’ I know not how to get there—but I shall not sleep, if I don’t talk of you to her—so shall finish this Days Journal on my return—
May 4th. Directed by Mrs. James how to write Over-Land to thee, my Eliza!—would gladly tear out thus much of my Journal to send to thee—but the Chances are too many against it’s getting to Bombay—or of being deliverd into yr. own hands——shall write a long long Letter—& trust it to fate & thee. was not able to say three words at Mrs. James, thro’ utter weakness of body & mind; & when I got home—could not get up stairs wth. Molly’s aid—have rose a little better, my dear girl—& will live for thee—do the same for thy Bramin, I beseech thee. a Line from thee now, in this state of my Dejection,—would be worth a kingdome to me!—