Nice. November the 30th 1783.

William it is given to none but yourself to excite
pain and pleasure in the same breath. You tell me you
do not come with so many unfeigned assurances of regret
that they serve in some measure to console me. I had
restrained my too sanguine hopes sufficiently to prevent
the disappointment from being intolerable, and I must now
endeavour to transport them to happier times. Active
as my imagination is it cannot represent you to me in
your present situation - married and likely to become a
father. Has it not altered you - are you still the
same wild youthful William, animated by the fire of
Genius and the love of pleasure? Your letters announce
you to be the same, how then can you brook the shackles
of matrimony and decorum - how do you behave under them?
All these are enigmas nothing but your presence can
solve. When - oh when! shall I be blessed with it.
Will hope for ever phantom-like elude my grasp, and by
its fascinating charms keep me in perpetual expectation.
All the fond dreams of enjoyment which our imaginations
once had formed are over. Let us substitute others in
their place. 'Tis most probable we shall meet some time
or other. We may then enjoy the pleasures of domestick
felicity together - see your children playing around us -
whilst their delighted parents contemplate in silent
extasy their beauty and innocence, and smile ineffable
on each other, well pleased at their handy work. My part
in this comedy will not be the most agreeable. But all
joking apart, I can now conceive no greater delight than
that of being together in peace and comfort. Could I
but persuade Ly. M. to lay aside her fears and judge me
impartially, I flatter myself I might in time gain her
friendship/

-2-

friendship and be restored to that place in her good
opinion which I once fancied I possest. In short let
me but see you sometimes and I care not how dearly I
purchase that pleasure. How I shall love a litte
Ganimede de votre facon', tho' I must ever regret it
was not my fate to give it birth. My little Deity
has been dangerously ill of a very terrestrial disorder -
a surfeit. He is beginning to recover and his languid
eyes have once more smiled upon me, but I am tired of
working upon his clay-cold soul. Like Pygmalions statue
to
'tis not be animated but by divine inspiration. How
can two fools produce any thing tolerable? His parents
have but one advantage over others of that denomination -
they are Royal ones. The Pembrokes are here, and I feel
a pleasure I cannot express in talking over with Lord
Herbert all the joys of Fonthill. He admires you and
enjoys those recollections, but I dare not let him
perceive how much more I do. Every thing I have seen
there becomes interesting and my poor affections are
ready to grasp at him for want of something better. Yet
'tis his conversation only that pleases me. Had he not
been at Fonthill he would lose the only charm he possesses
in my eyes. You William are the arbiter of all my
feeling and sentiments. The impression you have created
is interwoven with my existence, and all others must now
derive their source from that. Yes my William - our
attachment is of a nature to defy the ravages of time -
a spark of the same spirit animates both our souls - and
I feel as if in another happier world they would still
retain the same affections. I love to cherish and
encourage that idea. What a consolation it is on casting
ones/

-3-

ones eyes down the dark perpective of futurity to see
it brightened by the only object one can regret in
this existance'. It chases away all the horrors of
death, and enables one to support with fortitude all
the miseries of life. When I refflect on this
subject a holy ardour possesses me, and my religion
is carried to enthusiasm since you are the Deity I
adore. Adieu my best and only Love. I am better
and not likely to realize for some time these fond
dreams of my imagination.

(Unsigned).

(Addressed)- A Monsieur
Monsieur de Beckford
A Geneve
en Suisse.

Nice. December the 12th 1783.

The insipid uniformity of my life is become tiresome
to a degree I am unable to express. 'Time hangs like a
dead weight on my soul. I go to rest - rise - eat and
drink - the same dull round of occupations employ my
hours - the same set of uninteresting objects strike
my eyes without reaching my heart. My passions are
calm, but my soul is joyless. Like a pool of long
stagnant water covered with weeds its death -like
tranquillity remains unruffled. Even musick has lost
the power it once had over me - I feel it for a moment,
then sink again into a calm more terrible than the storm
of contending passions. 'Tis in vain I strive to rouze
my sensibility by flattering the hopes of those men who
bow their willing necks to my yoke. They are a set of
despicable slaves incapable of making any impression on
a heart which is the hallowed sanctuary of your image.
Their attentions and neglect are alike unfelt.

William I feel every hour more and more that the
aching void of my heart can be filled by none but you.
Yet I must never hope to live with you in comfort. The
deluding meteor that led me on to destruction is extinguish
ed. The path before me is dark and silent as the Tomb.
Its cold dews benumb my soul. Will it retain its
sensations beyond it, or will it sink into the original
chaos - forgetting - and forgotten? The more I reflect
on this interesting question the more I am convinced it
cannot admit of doubt. An undescribable something
within speaks us immortal. The few years we are doomed
tovdgetate on this globe of sorrow and pain are to
eternity as moments compared to ages. Why then permit
impatience and despair to embitter that short space of
time/

ish

-2-

time which might be employed in the expectation and
anticipation of future felicity? My William I will
be comforted. I will rekindle the flame of hope at
that comforting idea. Tho' I should never more behold
you on this planet, we shall exist together on some
happier. If such happiness is reserved for me how
I shall bless the hour when my eyes will close for
ever on this scene of sorrow and disappointment. Adieu.
My health is better. Write soon and tell me what are
your projects.

(Unsigned).

(Addressed) -

A Monsieur

Monsieur de Beckford

A Geneve

en Suisse.

Nice Jan: the 26th 1784.

Every day - every hour adds to my uneasiness. How to account
for your strange silence I know not. Have you abandoned me
or does some Fiend intercept our Letters? Your last was
full of kindness and affection. I have done nothing since
to deserve a change. It is incomprehensible - tho' not
more so than the unaccountable influence you have over every
motion of my soul. I feel I exist but for you. Judge then
of my misery, and if the Fates will permit - relieve it. I
venture to address you once more at Geneva not having heard
of your being yet arrived at Paris, and not knowing how to
direct to you there. Adieu - may my good Genius in spite of
the evil one convey this to you. I will not believe that
you can leave it unanswered.

(Unsigned - but in Louisa Beckford's writing).

(No address).

I burnt a letter from L. To Sophia
22 x 1838.
(In pencil in Beckford's hand).

Nice March the 3d. (1784. in
a different hand).

After having written four times without receiving any
answer to my Letters, I little expected my dearest William
my
to hear that silence had made you uneasy, and am more
rejoyced than I can express to find that it had that effect
upon you. Not knowing how to direct to you at Paris and
ignorant of your having left Geneva, I continued addressing
my Letters to you there, till I heard by Ly. Kerry that
you were gone from thence, that Lady Margaret was dangerous-
ly ill, and that you had sent an expres for Mrs. Beckford.
This intel igence and your silence made me apprehend that
a Letter from me at this critical juncture might be deemed
an intrusion. I therefore, not without the utmost
difficulty, refrained from expressing to you all the
anxiety and uneasiness I felt on your account. It is
now above two months since I heard from you - you know my
sentiments, judge then what I must have suffered. The
consciousness of not having deserved your indifference was
the only consolation I had left, and such is my strange
infatuation that in spite of this cruel neglect, I do -
and ever must prefer you to every other Being on Earth.
My imagination ever bent on your Image has so long
represented it cold - formal and indifferent, so unlike
what it formerly was, that I can scarcely persuade myself
that the letter which now lies before me is yours. Do
you really still feel for me that affection, which you
once thought I deserved, and which mine so justly claims?

(Six and a half lines follow which are deleted
and illegible).

-2-

Tis for yourself that I love you - be happy, and I cannot
be wholly miserable. I declare most solemnly that my most
fervent wish is to know you so well contented in your
present situation that your desires extend no farther. Is
it true that Ly. Margaret has been so dangerously ill?
Surely if she had you would not venture to take her to
England during this horrid weather. When I return there,
which however shall not be yet a while, I hope to see you
a Father. Not having attended the progress of your
transformation to this new character, I shall be at a loss how
to behave to you - it must I suppose, be with due respect
and decorum. You must give me a lesson my Love before
I appear in your presence, lest I should commit some fatal
blunder, that may draw down upon me the displeasure of
your friends. Much as I long to see you - I dread the
alteration I shall inevitably discover. Any change in
you must in my opinion be for the worse. Adieu write
soon for pity's sake, and if you do still repose any
confidence in me, acquaint me with the true state of your
soul. My health, tho' better, is still so precarious
that it is thought necessary for me to pass another Winter
abroad.

Unsigned.

Addressed. To William Beckford Esq.
Portman Square,
London.
Angleterre.

Villa Pitt, July the 24th

(1784. in a different
hand).

Some malevolent Genii certainly runs away with
your Letters my dear William, for I can solemnly assure
you that I have been four months without receiving a
line from you. Perfectly assured that you have the
best reasons for this silence I have never attempted
to interrupt it, and will now only assure you in a few
words, that my attachment to you is as warm and sincere
as ever it was; that I am as ready to prove it as ever
I was, and that the events I am most interested to in this
strange world are those which relate to you. Mesner
has cured me, - my health is now better than I ever
expected it to be; but unluckily for me, the waters of
oblivion are not part of his remedy. I shall return
to England in the course of next Spring. You will be
so good as to acquaint me how I am to act, - whether to
see you with the familiarity of a friend, or the reserve
of a distant relation. During the commerce which
subsisted between us, your happiness was always my first
and only view. I now support the interruption of that
commerce, which you will know was the joy of my life,
without murmur. I still fancy that your peace and
tranquillity require it. Think not however that my
heart feels no regret because my lamentations reach not
your ears - it bleeds in silence. Adieu I hope this
will reach you before your departure for Scotland,
where I wish you much pleasure.

Unsigned.

Back page with address missing.

Stepleton. Wednesday.

"It seems an age since I heard from you my dearest William. What can occasion your silence? You need not be apprehensive for the fate of your letters tho' you are without Franks. B — is generally out when the post arrives and I receive them with the most perfect safety. To-morrow's will I hope bring me one. I am more impatient for them now than ever, on account of your late indisposition. I dread a relapse and shall not be easy till I have seen you. When that happy period will arrive Heaven only knows. I expect it with an impatience which is not to be expressed. I know it must be soon but I wish B — to fix the day that I may enjoy it beforehand. I am just returned from a solitary walk. I viewed the setting Sun with an unusual emotion. I fancied you were at that instant employed in the same manner, and tho' I dared not flatter myself that I was the subject of your meditations, yet the thoughts that our eyes were directed on the same object gave me pleasure. This sensation lasted not long. The consideration that we were too far apart to communicate our ideas to each other destroyed it. I walked to the summit of the Hill and there saw its last beams linger on the spot which you inhabit. The view darkened imperceptibly, till the black cloud of night hid it entirely from my sight. I returned home and finding B — asleep on the couch I sat down to write to you. Thus am I occupied except when disturbed by company. There are but few people in the world whom I love, the society of others I think an intrusion. How much more pleasing it is to sit on the turf under the thick foliage of a spreading tree, thinking on an absent friend, than to converse about la pluie et le beau temps or any other subject equally/

-2-

equally uninteresting with people for whom you feel the
most perfect indifference. I am at present in that
predicament, - quite pestered with visitors, and shall
soon be obliged much against my will to pester them in
return. Adieu - it is late and the postman is impatient.
To-morrow morning my eyes may perhaps open on a letter
from you. Let me but hear that you are well, and that
you love me, - and I shall be happy."

(Unsigned).

(No address)

V. L.

Stepleton, Saturday.

December 1781

Ten thousand worlds would I give my lovely William
to be at Fonthill the 14th. With a little good con-
trivance I do not absolutely despair of gaining
permission were you to write me word that you intended
being down at that time and wished us to come. I fancy
it might be of use. I say us because if he is not
included in the invitation he will be offended and
perhaps prevent my going. You need not fear his
accepting it. I know he is engaged at Bath about
that time. He goes from home to-morrow sen'night
for ten days. Write by the return of the post that
I may know my doom before his departure. We cannot
attack him at a better time. He is in high spirits,
surrounded by hounds and foxes and foxhunters. Every
hour of the day do I curse the fetters that bind me to
a being so unlike myself and prevent my being continually
with the only one I love. My heart bounds with transport
at the thoughts of seeing you once more. I have a
thousand things to say and questions to ask which I dare
not commit to paper. What shall we do with the Trium-
virate at Bath? You must determine their fate one way
or another. The longer you keep them in suspence the
more difficult they will be to shake off. Say a
thousand things from me to our Mary. 'Tis convenient
to have such an Amazon to fight ones battles, and I
really feel myself obliged to her for taking my part
against the old Virgin Witch. Adieu - I am interrupted.
How I hate everything but you'.
Mr. Portman desired me to send you the enclosed letter
which he received from Wyatt. 'Tis about an estate
which you might perhaps wish to purchase.

(Unsigned).

(No address).

Stepleton. Saturday.

Augst. 1781.

"The first and most welcome object I beheld yesterday on
my arrival at this place was a letter from you. Your last
had made me so excessively uneasy from the bad account you
gave of your health that I was rejoiced beyond expression to
find by your silence on that subject and your journey to Bath
that it was mended. I had seen Lady M. Hume the day before
at Salisbury. She told me that her daughter had been at
Fonthill a week and left you rather better than you had been.
I envied her, and felt a sensation not unlike jealousy. A
whole week with you - perhaps alone - it is impossible but
she must love you, yet if you return it not I am satisfied,
and will flatter myself I have no reason to fear any rival
save one. But do not for pity's sake my dearest William
let me foresee a possibility of supplanting that one, and
holding the first place in your affections. At present I
am content to share them with another, but were I once to
indulge the pleasing idea of possessing them alone, and find
my hopes deceived, jealousy, disappointment, and misery would
be the consequence. Your love is become absolutely necessary
to my existence. Every proof I receive of it binds me more
strongly to you. Yet I fancy I can bear to share it - do
I not deceive myself? I dare not ask my heart the question
lest the result should turn out but very little to the advantage
of my happiness. Adieu. I will write no more. I might
infect you with the melancholy which hangs on my spirits.
I cannot account for it. Am I not to see you soon? I will
anticipate that pleasure, and if possible think myself into
happiness."

(Unsigned).

(No Address).

Stepleton. Wednesday.

"The day which I so impatiently long for is not yet fixed, and I tremble lest something should happen during this tedious delay to prevent our meeting. You talked in Town of going to Powderham the end of this month; do you still intend it? If so, I greatly fear that my presentiment will be realized, for I despair of prevailing on B — to hasten the time of our departure; his determinations are fixed as the decrees of Fate, and the week when he intends being at Mr. Drax's to hunt is that which he proposes for my absence. If you would mention in a letter which could be shewn your intention of being from home the end of this month, and that you wished us to come to Fonthill before that time it might perhaps hasten him. I rack my brain for expedients to shorten our absence, and the dread of not succeeding makes me more miserable than I can express. This disagreeable situation is rendered still more so by being obliged to go and return the visits of neighbours whom I never wish to see again. Could the briars and brambles you wish to be surrounded by enclose me also, I should be happy, but alas! happiness seems to fly from me, and leaves me a pray to disappointment. I feel as if I should not see you till the end of September. Last night as I walked on the Hill, a black cloud intercepted my favourite view, the Sun set in tears, and its beams shone not on Fonthill. May some propitious Deity avert the dire omen and restore me to hope and to happiness. Adieu.

"The day of our meeting is fixed my Dearest William. Friday ten'night I shall be happy. Since I wrote the above Mr. Hill arrived, As he returns to-morrow B — has commissioned me to write by him and acquaint you with his present/

Stepleton. Monday.

"William - my lovely infernal', how gloriously you
write of iniquities. Not all the saints in Paradise
could withstand your persuasive eloquence, and like
another Lucifer you would tempt Angels to forsake their
Celestial abode, and sink with you in the black infernal
Gulph. Converts to your faith would crowd from every
starry world, and the wide expanse of Heaven be left
desolate and forlorn. My Love - you are irresistible,
(and if I can but lure Harriot within the attractive
sphere of your influence I do not doubt but she will
fall into your arms an easy prey to your seductions and
her own desires deleted).

"Fear not that I should mislay your letters, or suffer
them to be viewed by prophane eyes. I would not for all
the pleasures which you can dispense trust them one
instant out of my watchful custody. Enclosed within a
casket which they have rendered sacred, I prize them as
the Jews did the Decalogue and the Romans the Sibyl's
leaves. When my soul is torn with anguish, or sunk into
a tedious indifference, I approach with trembling steps
and fervent devotion the holy sanctuary that contains
them, unlock the precious store, and read with reverential
awe the blessed word of my William, which like the honied
notes of Syrens lulls me to peace and tranquillity.

"There exists not so strange and unaccountable a being
as George. His passions either coldly insensible or
madly impetuous hurry him on to fury and distraction. He
is not easily attached, but when once his affections are
seriously engaged - suspicion - jealousy - and even
remorse works up his soul to phrenzy. Sophia adores
him, and has been lavish of every proof that could
convince him of her constancy and sincerity. He accuses
her/

-2-

her of no particular fault either with respect to himself
or others; yet the most unjust fears and suspicions haunt
his wayward fancy. He sees in every man who approaches
her a favoured lover, and even in the Zophyr that breathes
on her lips and wantons in her ringlets a happy rival.
Sometimes it is remorse that distracts him, and he is on
the point of wreaking his vengeance on himself, for having
involved her in wretchedness and ruin. Yet if she is
wretched his suspicions alone make her so. It is in
vain to reason with him on this subject. He owns his
folly, but cannot conquer it. His situation is truly
deplorable, and tho' I condemn yet cannot but pity him.
My Torments motions are still uncertain. As soon as
it pleases him to make them known to me, I shall hasten
to acquaint you of them. My William - when I again
behold you I shall expire with pleasure. (Three words
follow which are deleted and indecipherable).

(Unsigned)

(Addressed) - William Beckford Esqr.
Wimpole Street

London

VIB

Stepleton. Saturday Night.

Jany. 1781. [m-d 6r 1782]

Pity me my William. There exists not on earth a
being more truly an object of it. Since the moment I
left you I have been wretched. Sick of my husband the
world and myself. Were it not for the hope of seeing
you next month I should lay myself down and wish to sink
into another world; but when I recollect that we are in
the same kingdom, nearly related, and that I possess
some share in your affections, a gleam of pleasure
breaks thro' the gloom of my soul, and lights it to
hope and comfort. I found my torment at home, going
to a Blandford Assembly, to which he dragged me much
against my will. I was received like a Divinity just
dropped from the skies - but the momentary satisfaction
my vanity experienced from the reception I met with
could not lighten the weight which our parting had left
on my spirits. I was forced to put on the appearance
of cheerfulness, not that I mind the opinion of the
world but that B [eckford] should be deceived is absolutely
necessary. I am unfortunately in his power, and he may
make me as miserable as he chooses. I do not believe
he thinks me so much attached to you as I really am, else
he could never permit me to be with you as I lately have
been. It is now ten o'clock. You are either perfectly
happy or upon the point of being so. That thought consoles
me for your loss, as my own satisfaction in competition
with yours is but a secondary consideration. Adieu my
Love. Write to me soon and take care of yourself.
Beckford sends his love and begs leave to borrow four
tent beds from Fonthill which shall be returned the
beginning of next month. This house is soon to be filled
with/

Stepleton. Wednesday.
(25 January in pencil).

My torment is returned and with him every thing my soul
most abhors. The more I love you the more I detest him.
Tis his cursed power that prevents me from flying into your
arms, and keeps me immured in this detestable place - far
from the object of my adoration. Could my wishes avail, death
and destruction should be showered on his head - my heavy chains
should be broken, and I would fly, - wild with joy and new
tasted liberty to hide my head in the bosom of my William and
conceal a countenance unable to assume the mournful hue of
sorrowing widowhood. Sometimes in the silent hour of night
when these destructive ideas occur, I am plunged into an abyss
of impatience and misery which is not to be described. One
instant I feel myself sufficiently irritated and courageous
hated to attempt any thing to rescue myself from this thraldom. The
next instant the impossibility of pursuing any plan that would
not be discovered - the hellish blackness of the crime, and
the fear of punishment, are presented to my imagination with
every aggravating circumstance that can encrease my horror.
I see his pale emaciated form at the foot of my bed - his eyes
flashing with anger, and hear his low faltering voice accusing
me of having sent him to an untimely grave with all his imper-
fections on his head - and denouncing that vengeance which the
consciousness of having deserved would render still more
terrifying. I can conceive crimes but am too timid to execute
them, and am persuaded were I ever to commit a premeditated
murder, even with the certainty of not being discovered, I
should ever after experience a horror which would make life
hateful, and prevent my reaping the fruits of it.

"Harriet has not yet been to see me. I am vexed at this
disappointment, but as she stands in great awe of her father
and/

-2-

and mother I do not blame her for it, and suppose they
had some scheme which prevented her from following what I
am sure was her inclination.

"La Musters has written me a full true and faithful
account of all your proceedings at Bath. She has no
little George coming which seems to be a woeful disappoint-
ment, having taken it for granted she had secured that
point at Fonthill. She however is resolved to do her
best to morrow night at Salt-Hill in her way to Town to
procure that blessing, and hopes with the help of George
and the grace of God to succeed in this pious undertaking.
Adieu my lovely William. Remember me to all our friends
and do not forget that you are my only comfort.

(Unsigned).

(Addressed)- William Beckford Esqr.
Wimpole Street,
London.

VI

Post-mark: 4 FE [?DE] BLAND ....

Stepleton . Saturday.

Your letter my beloved William has revived my drooping
spirits - sunk to the lowest abyss by illness and impatience
of my miserable situation. Your assurances of affection
like gleams of sun shine on a dreary Winter's day gilds the
gloomy prospect of my soul, and for a moment wakes it to new
life and comfort. I will take care of myself, and if
possible shake off this lethargick insensibility to every
thing but grief. Beloved by my William - what greater
blessing can I ask of Heaven? Yet in spite of this
comforting reflection, and the hopes I entertain of seeing
you ere long - a fixed melancholy absorbs all my faculties,
and renders me unable to exert them in dispelling the
visionary fears that haunt me. I ever was inclined to it -
but never till now did it cast so dark a shade on my soul.
Time which is said to heal all wounds has no effect on mine -
that of our separation still bleeds - the keen sensibility
of my feelings destroy me - and the ardent desire I have
to behold you once more - prays on my spirits and consumes
my vitals. I behold every object thro' the jaundiced
eyes of misery - and were you not existing - I should wish
to close mine for ever, but my William. I will not give
way to this weakness I shall again see you - again clasp
you in my arms, and again hear that I am dear to you. (I
am all ... have been this night blessed with the
complete enjoyment of our lovely Kitty. Doubt not her
sincerity when she assures you of her affection. I am
persuaded she loves you to the full extent of her [power?] -
that her feelings when compared to yours are not any ....
two words illegible. Still my opinion is that it not
sufficient that you hold the first place in her heart.
without examining any further? A sentence follows which
is illegible. All deleted).

George/

-2-

George and Sophia are flourishing. They lay - wantonly basking in the beams of prosperity - heedless of the storm that is gathering from afar. Musters well knows her partiality to George, and took her out of Town last year merely on his account. Should he watch them and discover their private meetings - they are undone for ever. He is ill-tempered - unfeeling - and jealous of his own honour as well of her. He will be supported in his revenge not only by the whole herd of converted husbands - but by all her family whom he has gained over to his interest. If she escapes with her liberty - and George with his life it will be more than I expect. I do not however damp the warm flow of their present enjoyments by the smallest intimation of my fears - but content myself with preaching up art - and discretion without end or mercy. Beckford finding himself repulsed by her - has abused her to me with all the virulence of malice and disappointment. He little suspects I am acquainted with his motives for it. Adieu my Love. Continue writing to me. Tis the only comfort I have. To morrow I expect George her and Cumberland. I would willingly dispense with their company.

Unsigned.

Addressed. William Beckford Esqr.
Wimpole Street,
London.

VIEI

Stepleton. Monday.

(6 Feb. 1781 in a different hand).

[Sharon 6/1782]

"By a letter I have just received from Sophia (Musters written above in a different hand) I find she has acquainted you with the contents of some of mine to her. You see my William that you are perfectly safe in that quarter, and whatever may hereafter be said to your disadvantage will be most strenuously contradicted by her and George whose former opinion seems - by what I have written to her - to be entirely changed. To contribute to your comfort and safety is the greatest pleasure of my life, and I should not hesitate accusing myself of any crime whatever to screen you from the censure of an envious malicious world. Do you think there moves on the face of the earth a being who loves you with so real and disinterested an affection as myself?

"Tis the height of my ambition, and my reward is your friendship and confidence. I possess them, and am as happy as I can be whilst absent from you. You cannot form an idea of the satisfaction I feel in hearing that you sometimes experience the want of me and that I am in some degree necessary to your happiness. Never my William will I forfeit this blessing - and were whole legions of devils or angels leagued against us I should stand unmoved and firm to the trust you renose in me, So great is my infatuation that I really believe I could support the being deprived of your presence - were it necessary for your interest. No other sacrifice I could make would be so strong a proof of my sincerity. (I am miserable now I have a little victim in training to sacrifice on your altar. I wish to God my William was old enough for it. He grows every day more and more beautiful, and will in a few years answer your purpose to perfection deleted), but what an age it is to look forward. Perhaps before that time one or both of us - sunk into another world - separated to all eternity. My William/

-2-

Can we ever forget each other, and if not
William can it be? Can our souls exist in an eternal
separation. If it be permitted after death to stalk
invisible about this earth and haunt those places we once
delighted in - never shall I quit your side. I will follow
your steps by day and watch over your slumbers at night.
Could I by disclosing the misterious secrets of Fate and
breaking thro' the bounds prescribed me, incur eternal
damnation to preserve you from harm - I would bear the pangs
and tortures of Hell with resignation and even thankfulness
at having contributed to your welfare. Were I certain of
being thus always near you Death would lose all its horror
and become welcome - but to be separated by the vast gulph
of eternity is a thought I cannot endure.

"Adieu my love. These interesting reflexions have encreased
my usual melancholly and render me unable to add another word."

(unsigned).

(Addressed) - To William Beckford Esqr.

Wimpole Street

London.

London May the 17th 1782. in a different hand.

Never did I pass so melancholy a day as that cruel one,
on which I parted from you. Yet the moment of separation tho'
dreadful was not equal to those I have passed since. Whilst
I still beheld you I was not wholly miserable, but no sooner
was I left to myself than all the horror of my situation
appeared in its full force, and my regret instead of diminishing
encreases every hour. When alone, your Image at an unattainable
distance haunts my fancy, and when against my will I am dragged
into a world I detest the prying eyes of a curious despicable
multitude impertinently seek to read on my countenance the
pangs that rend my heart. Did I not indulge the pleasing
hope of seeing you ere many months are elapsed I should sink
into despair and wish to end an existence whose only charm
is centered in you, but when I recollect our delightful scheme,
a ray of pleasure restores me to life, and all my faculties
are exerted for means of accomplishing it. Your assurances
of affection and wishes to have me with you, urge me to run
any risk whatever, rather than fail in the attempt. It will
be some time before this letter can reach you, but when I
cannot speak to you I must write. Why should we ever be
seperated, nature surely intended us to live together'. Good
Night my Love. (I wish I could send you some account of kitty
deleted).

London. May the 28th.

Since I wrote the above I have been excessively ill, so bad, as
to authorize me to declare that I have no hopes of recovering
whilst I remain under the influence of this wretched climate.
My reasons are so plausible and my pale, emaciated countenance
so much in my favour, that my Tyrant attends to my suit with
a/

-2-

a degree of complaisance he never did before. I am seconded
by George, and a long train of Aunts and Uncles, all warmly
interested in my recovery, and thoroughly persuaded # it is
not to be effected in this country. In short my William the
most pleasing expectations fill my soul, and I begin to feel
as if I should once in my life taste of supreme felicity. Your
letter which I received yesterday has done me more good than all
the medicines of the Faculty. Rumbutter I have not seen, having
been confined almost ever since your departure. Kitty is not
yet returned but you may depend on my ... (twelve words
follow which are deleted and illegible). Adieu my Love. I am
too weak and languid to add another word.

Unsigned.

Addressed.

William Beckford Esqr.

V6

Stratfieldsea, Wednesday,

I have this instant received your letter which was sent
me from Stepleton. The account you give of yourself grieves
me more than I can express. Keep up your spirits for
Heaven's sake. We are certainly to be with you in ten or
twelve days. B — stays but a short time and leaves me
at Fonthill for a week. You cannot conceive with what
difficulty I concealed the excessive pleasure I felt at this
intelligence. Be not under any apprehension on his account.
He never can come at your letters, and nothing but a sight
of them could possibly disturb his present tranquillity.

My William is in pain and there is no one by who can afford
him any consolation. This thought distracts me. Time seems
to fly on leaden wings. Would I had power to make it move
with the rapidity of my wishes. I hope to God that you
take care of yourself if not for your own sake — do it for
mine. A Adieu. We are going to dine out. I have a thousand
things to say — but they are impatient and call me away. One
whole week together. How soon it will be passed!

(Unsigned).
(No address).

*All carefully deleted.*

Stepleton. Wednesday.

I have began copying your letters and it is next to
receiving them - the occupation that pleases me the most.
Every line brings you full to my view and every expression
of kindness thrills on my nerves. I dwell on them with
a satisfaction which is not to be conceived, and the more
I write the more I am absorbed in you. Yet - will you
forgive me my William when I say, that there are
almost wish to break the fetters that bind me so entirely
and solely to you - and vainly strive to rush out of a
shameful bondage, which my imminent efforts too plainly
evince is doomed to be eternal.
---
(five lines
---
deleted) consuming away amidst the flames of an unconquerable
---
(Five words deleted and indecipherable).
passion.
---
Yet when I reflect how much less cause I have
to lament my infatuation than the other miserable females
who swell your train of victims a gleam of comfort breaks
thro' the gloom that envelop's me, and I exult over them,
as you may do over me. Do not blame this unfortunate
disposition - it is too much like your own not to meet
with pity and indulgence. Write soon and tell me all you
do - and all you think.
---
(Nine lines follow but are
deleted and are indecipherable).

(Unsigned).

(No address).

(Could I but restrain my sentiments within the
bounds of friendship the consciousness of
possessing yours might make me happy but the
bewitching poison of love will insinuate
itself into my veins in spite of every
precaution and my soul is

Post-mark: 8 MR BLANDFORD.

Stepleton. Wednesday.

William - I am distracted. Ever since the receipt of your letter, my sleepless eyes have been bathed in tears - and my aching breast swelled with sighs. I do more than pity you - I feel every pang that rends your soul, and my sympathetic heart burns with anger - and pants for revenge. Is there no shelter from this dreadful storm - must we shamefully sink beneath its blasting weight - and suffer the detested authors of it to rejoice at our fall? If there is an Infernal Power who protects the daring soul, unshackled by the vulgar trammels of virtue - that power will yet rescue us - it will exalt us above their feeble arts, and we shall triumphantly exult over their tottering schemes. Every drop of blood that flows in my heart, where you reign with such despotick sway - shall be expended in the service of its sovereign.

(Ten lines deleted and illemissible).

I am on the rack of curiosity and impatience - and would give the Universe for one hour's conversation with you. But why/

Stepleton. Saturday.

My uneasiness increases every hour. I anxiously expect
the arrival of another letter, yet dread to hear of some new,
and more fatal disaster. Why did I weakly flatter myself
that you would escape unsuspected and uncensured; that
foolish ill-grounded hope has encreased my misery by
adding to it the sting of disappointment. Could I see you
but one instant. It would be such a relief. I feel
(A thousand apprehensions alarms which your presence only can remove. I also flatter of the dreadful circumstances which may attend this discovery sufferings mitigate them, and administer some degree of are suggested by my fearful fancy deleted). I conduct (and security, deleted). In short I perceive so many reasons that render our meeting in some measure necessary that I shall expire with vexation if it cannot be accomplished. Thank Heaven! my torment is departed, and has left me at liberty to indulge my grief in peace.
The difficulty I found in concealing it is not to be expressed, nor could I do it so effectually, but that he asked whether something was not the matter with me. I took the hint and complained of a violent headache that had affected my eyes and made them red. William - you don't know the excess of my affection for you. From morn to eve: my thoughts are engrossed by you alone. Even my dreams are full of your image. There is not a blessing on earth - pleasure - fame - health, even life itself - that I would not willingly relinquish for your service. You may be, and undoubtedly are beloved by others - but I am convinced there exists not a being who is so ardently and entirely devoted to you as I am. The pleasing consciousness that you cherish and return my love is my greatest joy in prosperity, and my only consolation in adversity. Adieu - write soon.
(Unsigned).
(No address).

VI.ML

February 20, 1917

Stepleton. Wednesday.

(March 1781 in a different hand).

"The glimpse I have had of you my beloved William has only served to render me more miserable than ever. I now recollect a thousand things I had to say, and questions to ask, which escaped my memory during the tumult of pleasure which your presence occasioned. Your resolution of going to Naples, though prudent, and in some measure necessary adds to my misery, and I behold not one single ray of consolation to brighten the dreary prospect that lies extended before me. Hopes, I have none. [B[ekaid]] will never be prevailed on to go, and if he were his jealousy and distrust would encrease in proportion to my satisfaction. Now, I really do owe a sacrifice to the Furies - and am ripe for any mischievous undertaking which you my lovely Prompter may choose to suggest. Do you point out the victims. It shall be my care to lure them into your snares, and you shall find them at your return, panting on your altars.

"As a drowning wretch catches at every twig he sees reflected in the water, I eagerly seize every appearance of comfort, and am inclined to flatter myself that you really feel all the affection for me which you express. How my heart bounds with transport when I fancy that (after .... Kitty [deleted]) I am the being you prefer to all others'. William - I am determined to believe you - should I ever discover that I have been deceived - I shall at least have repaid pleasure from the deception. Forgive my renewing a subject on which you have so lately given me such ample satisfaction, and if my doubts were unjust, place them to the account of a love too excessive to be perfectly at ease. [Do you not sometimes doubt the affection of your kitty?] You know best whether with/

1917

VI N

Stepleton. Sunday -(March 1782.

Good God'. William how you have schocked me. The
tears swelled in my eyes as I glanced them over,your
letter and entirely obstructed their sight - ere I had
half read your affecting account. It is not in language
to express how much I feel for our dear little William.
Next to you he loved his Mother better than any Being on
Earth - and I have often heard him mention her in the
warmest and most affectionate terms. My William'. what
would I not give to be at your side. You want consolation -
I might perhaps administer it - and am banished from your
presence. Loving you as I do that idea alone is sufficient
to drive me wild and distracted - but this sudden - unexpect-
ed event - occasions refflexions still more melancholly and
alarming. One day I see you - hear you - feel your heart
beat against my bosom - the next may behold me hanging
over your lifeless form in all the agonies of unutterable
despair - William - William - in vain I call - no one
answers, and my heart is ready to break. How weak I am.
Write for pity's sake. Tell me you are well or I shall
expire with apprehension.

Unsigned.

Address page missing.

Vis

Stepleton. Wednesday.

"My conscientious Brother left me two days ago - and tho' not quite so superiorily wicked as yourself - by no means deserves the epithet you have thought proper to honour him with.

Sophia's reign is almost over - and what he mistook for the things of conscience were in fact the loathings of satiety. Yet some small remains of honour and pity still attach him to her - and he rattles his chains without daring to break them. That he would is my most earnest wish. Her husband is on the watch. My father terrified and incensed - her character going to the dogs - and my own following with hasty strides. Forsake her I must - however cruel it may be. Yet William, you may laugh if you please - but my nature revolts at the selfish idea - and I hate myself for being capable of withdrawing my support and assistance from one, whom I myself have encouraged in wickedness, and urged on to ruin and contempt. Let not this momentary gleam of virtue alarm you my William. I am as much as ever your's and Sir Nicholas's - but so completely out of humour with myself - the world - and my existence - that I could find in my heart to turn Methodist for the pleasure of railing, and denouncing vengeance on all mankind. Should I be banished much longer from your presence - I know not what may become of me. (Two lines follow which are deleted and illegible, except that it is possible to discern a reference to Kitty.)

Unsigned.

Address page missing.

Stepleton. Wednesday.

I become every instant more and more miserable.
Harriot is gone. I cast my eyes around me, but behold
not one object that interests me. I think of you
incessantly and when I recollect the distance that
separates us and the number of tedious days I have
still to linger on without you I burst into tears, and
call aloud for an end of my misery or my existence.
Your image is for ever present to my imagination. I
see your elegant form wantonning in the air as if borne
on the downy wings of Young Zephyrs. I feel your
insinuating voice thrilling on my heart, and waking it
to those passions you feel so forcibly and express so
enchantingly. Wild with delight I stretch out my arms
to embrace the lovely phantom of my fond fancy, when
alas! it vanishes and leaves me a prey to all the horror
of grief and disappointment. Thus do I pass the tedious
day. Night arrives, but brings not her wonted repose.
I bathe my pillow with tears. If for a moment my eyes
are closed by the oppressive weight of sorrow fearful
visions disturb my slumbers. I wake suddenly - convulsive
starts of terror and apprehension shake my whole frame.
When the morning dawns I rise - my body unrefreshed - and
my soul torn with anguish. William - however exaggerated
this account may appear - yet it is a faithful image of my
feelings. Never did I love you so ardently - and never
was I so miserable.

(Unsigned).

(No address).

Stapleton. Saturday.

At length my William I may indulge the pleasing hope
of embracing you ere many days are elapsed. Wednesday
I leave this detestable place - pass a few days at
Stratfieldsay, and reach Town Sunday at farthest. Yet
how greatly is my joy damped by the cruel recollection
of your departure. No sooner shall I have set my longing
eyes on your lovely form than it will be torn from me.
O William William. Did you know but half the pangs
that rend my soul you would own they are more than equal
to yours. You are (a line deleted and indecipherable).
(Three words deleted and indecipherable)(I am doomed to
... alone. Yet, were I certain that you would
continue to prefer me to the rest of my sex I would be
contented with that blessing and ask no greater deleted).
But the most cruel doubts distract me. Speak comfort
to me. Tell me that I shall ever retain your friendship.
Deceive me into happiness, and save me from expiring in the
agonies of jealousy and despair. Be not offended my only
Love. Tho' your heart may be insensible to my excessive
passion, your vanity will, I trust, prevent its being
troublesome. Adieu, my eyes are bathed in tears. They
obstruct my sight, and I cannot write another syllable.
(Unsigned).
(No address).

Stepleton. Sunday.

My William - my dearest Love - how shall I express
the raptures I felt on reading your assurances of
affection. All my doubts are vanished. Never more
will I give way to feverish ill grounded fears but
believe in your love and bless the hour that brought
our souls in contact. The Indies would I give to
recall the letter I wrote yesterday. I know not why
but I fancied yours had lately been colder than usual.
I trembled at the most distant idea of losing your
affection, and could not keep my fears and complaints
to myself. But now - thanks to the Gods - I breathe
my a freer air, and joy revels in bosom. Fear me not
William. I would offer my body to the most excruciating
tortures, and my soul to eternal punishment, sooner than
desert you one instant. We will join in heaping miseries
on this devoted world, and it shall not be said that we
are sunk into the dark abyss without having experienced to
the utmost the diabolical pleasure of revenge. I honour
your dauntless assurance - truly worthy, a descendant of
the great Lucifer. Your appartment adorned with the
youthful victims you have sacrificed on his altars may
perhaps ere long be sanctified by his presence - where -
transformed in the mystick shape of a goat - he will
receive in person our adorations. Monday you come down
to Fonthill. Sunday I shall be in Town. How soon after
that will my impatience be satisfied? Adieu my Life - and
remember that I am yours body and soul.

(Unsigned).

(No address).

50

Nice. Jan: the 11th 1783.

At the receipt of your letter my lovely William, all
my pains and anxieties gave way to the pleasure of hearing
that you are better, and that you love me. There is not
a misery on earth that would not vanish before this
consoling assurance: yet when I think that I might have
possessed you here, and perhaps at this moment been at
your side, I am ready to fly distracted. If by remaining
in England you could have enjoyed in peace and security
the being you doat upon, your happiness would have
rendered me less miserable; but to know how you are
persecuted, how much you suffer, and how little you enjoy,
makes me regret most bitterly that you did not determine
to pass the winter here. Your health I am convinced
would have been the better for it. You can have no
notion of the loveliness of this climate: even at this
season, I am sitting at the open window, my table covered
with roses and carnations, and looking on the most
beautiful country imaginable. What pleasure I should
have felt in exploring it with you, in gathering wild
flowers on the cliffs that hang over the sea, and listen-
ing to the dashing waves. William, when shall I enjoy
these blessings. How much longer must I be deprived of
the only joy of my life? When these cruel effluxions
occur, the blackest melancholy takes possession of my
soul, I abhor the sight of human beings, and loath every
thing allied to mirth. Under pretext of illness, I
retire to my apartment, and there without interruption
retrace every happy hour I have spent with you. These
gleams of happiness are passed, they flew before me like
shining meteors, not a trace have they left. The inter-
mediate space is dark and gloomy as night. Write often.
Tell me you are happy. That alone can render my
existence supportable.

(Unsigned).

(No address).

Vii

Brignoles. Xmas Day 1782.

There was a time when I fondly expected to have
passed this day by your side, but alas, how cruelly
are my expectations deceived. Banished ten thousand
miles from the lovely spot you inhabit, I have not
even the consolation of thinking that you are rendered
happy by the presence of your K —. Recollect how we
spent this day last year, and think what I must suffer
when I compare it with this. Joy and exultation then
swelled in every vein, and sparkled in our eyes. K —
like a young divinity sat beside us at a table gleaming
with silver. We triumphed with unholy joy at the
success of our iniquitous schemes, and all our thoughts
were bent on forming new plans for future enjoyments, but
the moments I regret the most bitterly are those, when
retiring from the surrounding crowd, we entered your
silken apartments to enjoy our happiness in calmness and
tranquillity. At this instant (midnight), I am at an
inn, writing by the dim light of one single taper in a
room hung with dark tapestry, stunned by the noise of
men drinking in the adjoining room; a dirty bed before me
on which I must stretch my wearied limbs, but without
any hope of closing my eyes, or forgetting for a moment
my miseries. William — think of my situation and pity
it. Adieu. I must carry this letter to Nice. There
is no foreign post in this town.

Nice the 30th.

No sooner did I arrive but I enquired for my letters
and was cruelly disappointed on finding none from you.
I will, not however render myself more miserable by
<sup>Δ</sup>evils, but hope that you are better, that you love me and
anticipating that the packets are retarded by contrary
winds. Next post may perhaps bring me some consolation.
Never was I so much in need of it. The climate and
situation/

Viee

L.B. 23 / 10/82

Stratfildsay. October the 23rd 1782.

Tho' scarcely able to hold the pen, I cannot permit any
one but myself to prepare you for an event which will in all
probability very shortly come to pass. My William - I must
leave you. The gates of Death are opened before me, and
whilst a meagre spectre drives me on towards that dark and
silent habitation, I fancy I hear at an awful distance the
busy murmur of the world I am quitting. I can distinguish
your voice, and strive to linger in it, till I have once more
beheld you. Must that blessing be denied me, and must I
perhaps in this letter bid you an eternal Adieu?

I have had another relapse more dangerous and alarming
that any of the former ones. That form you once admired is
now borne down to the grave by pain and sickness. I feel my
last moments approaching, and the physicians after trying in
vain every method to recover me have at length declared that
I must be carried abroad, when perhaps change of climate and
youth may effect what medicine cannot. I am therefore, if
still in being and able to undertake the journey, to set off
next month for Nice. Pleased as I should have been at such
an order some months ago, I now detest the idea of quitting a
country to which you are returning: my weak frame cannot
support the agonizing sensations this cruel reflexion occasions.
O God! must I then quit you for ever, without even the satisf-
faction of hearing from yourself that you will sometimes
recollect how much I loved you, and perhaps shed a tear at the
recollection. I soothe myself with the idea that when I am no
more, my soul may still be permitted to hover round you.
William - I might then be happy. I have sealed up your
picture and letters in a packet which Macia shall deliver
into your hands after my death. I must leave off - my
weakness is excessive. Write immediately and soothe my last
moments/

Stepleton. November the 9th 1782.

The two affectionate letters I have this instant received
from you, have recalled my spirit from the utmost verge of
existence, my beloved William'. I may still behold you. A
gleam of hope brightens the gloom of my soul. I am better -
perhaps I may recover - heaven knows tis for you alone I wish
to live. I cannot bear to leave you William. I will take
care of myself. I am young. Your presence will revive me.
That only can snatch me from the jaws of death. Thank God
I shall not leave England so soon as I expected. A delay in
my Mother's answer retards my departure a few days. Would
to God I might be permitted to remain in this climate, tho'
I am convinced it destroys me. But how can I hope to recover
when absent from you. I am surrounded by difficulties. I
dread the idea of leaving you, yet know not how to avoid it.
Hasten to my relief. I shall leave this place next Tuesday -
from Stratfieldsay. I shall write again - should you dislike
to comd to me there? My Father would be rejoyced to possess you
and Peter remains at Stepleton. I must not lose one instant
of your presence. Few perhaps are those I have to enjoy. Oh
William - I cannot bear to die - save me - take me to your arms -
in them I can expire but of pleasure. The little antique is
yours - all I possess - my soul - my very existence is yours'.
(Unsigned).

Avignon. December the 20th 1782.

Not the reviving beams of the Sun, the hopes of returning
health, nor the change of objects, can dissipate for an
instant the gloom that hangs over my mind. In vain I strive
to think on a less interesting subject, — your image ever
recurring, and renders me miserable. When I recollect the
months, the days, I must still support your absence, the most
lively impatience consumes my soul, and corrodes my existence.
My only hopes are in your letters. They will afford me some
consolation. No words can express how I languish after
them. We remain at this place till Sunday. My mother is
afraid of fatiguing me, but she knows not that her kindness
is cruelty. Till I reach Nice I cannot hear from you. Did
I tell you that I had dined with Miss Seymour during my stay
at Paris. She pretended to be very fond of me, talked of
you, and said she was grieved to hear so bad an account of
your health. During this conversation she fixed her eyes
upon me, as if she wished to discover by my countenance
whether I knew any thing of her history. She added with a
very significant look that you had also been ordered to Nice,
and wondered what could retain you in England. My mother
is dying to see you. She admires your picture, and will not
believe it is not so handsome as yourself. My William —
how I love to hear your praises'. The idea that I possess
a large share in your affections elevates me in my own
opinion. If you did not love me I should feel myself
abject. How I pity the beings you dislike'. Adieu my Love.
Tell me you are better and I shall not be so miserable.
(Unsigned).
(No address).

Marseille April the 24th [1708]

The' scarcely able to hold the pen, I cannot quit this
place without writing a few lines to my William. I am
hastening to Vichy where if the Waters should fail to
recover me, I must for ever give up the pleasing hope of
living for you. Every day - every hour, adds to my weakness
a universal languour and listlesness possesses me, and my
life is become a torment. Were it not for you how gladly
would I quit it'. I am fatigued with my journey, and going
to get into a warm bath, the only thing from which I find
some relief. Adieu my only Love In the midst of pain
and sickness, you are still the sole object towards which
tend all my hopes and wishes.

Unsigned.

53

Lyon's. May the 4th 1783.

Never was surprize equal to mine at the receipt of your
letter. It dropped from my hands and chilled me, as tho'
it were a blast from the Infernal regions. William William
what have you done. Cast a look into futurity and see, but
i will not renroach you. I will ever continue to be your
truest friend, and advise you now most seriously to turn all
your thoughts and affections towards the happy being you are
going to take to your arms. Forget what you once were to
remember what you now must be. Yet my William I beseech
you let me still retain some small share in your heart. You
know not what mine suffers on your account. I fancied your
letter was colder than usual. Your wife must detest me. She
will persuade you to abandon me, and I shall never more
behold you, but thro' the cold medium of a formal relationship.
How is that idea to be borne. The tortures of Hell are
pleasures to what I feel. O Memory Memory what a curse art
thou become'. Must hope be for ever excluded from thy pleasing
recollections, and must I look for happiness only in annihil-
ation? Yet if I thought you possessed it, I should be
content to suffer, but William, if you do, you must be
strangely altered. For Mercy's sake write immediately - 'tis
I that ask you for consolation. Tell me that I am not
entirely forgotten - that you sometimes cast a thought on a
being whose whole soul is devoted to you. Adieu - I am but
this instant arrived and the pen drops from my hand with
fatigue. Your letter has not served to recover me. O God
why do my senses, which seem ever on the point of quitting
me, still cling to this weak frame only to make it feel more
keenly. William - I love - I pity you more than I can
express.

(Unsigned).

(No Address).

Vila Pitt, May the 12th 1783.

Yes my William - I love - i adore you. No bosom ever
glowed with a purer and more disinterested affection than
have
that you, kindled in mine. I would resign with transport
the last breath of this weakened frame to render you happy.
Yet the assurances of your unabated affection attach me to
an existence devoted solely to you. How eagerly I dwell on
every expression of kindness - how luxuriously my soul imbibes
them. Much as you love your k - I doubt whether your ardour
is equal to mine. I am not surprized at your resolution of
quitting England the instant the fatal ceremony is performed
it appears like flying from your torments, but William it has
the appearance only. You have espoused the reality and it
now
will follow you wherever you go. You may perhaps be happy.
I can neither foresee nor conceive it, but what have I done
to deserve being banished from your presence. What fear
can I excite - is not your mother contented - have not all
her schemes succeeded - is it in my power to rival her happy
favourite even supposing I had the inclination? No William,
she knows me not. All my wishes are centered in your
happiness. That must now depend in a great measure on the
being you have espoused. Far be it then from me to form a
breach between you. I dare not relate the agitation I was
thrown into at that part of your letter which mentions the
possibility of my seeing you. Ten thousand worlds would
i give for one instant of your presence, but if you have made
a promise to fly from me, and that by breaking thro' it you
incur the displeasure of your mother, leave me to suffer my
misery's alone; only do not forget me. My mother is in
terrors at the idea of my encountering Ly. M. I really
believe she fancies her eyes will dart daggers and poison
at every look. She has beseeched me to dissuade you from
coming to me, but I have made no promise, nor have I the
resolution even to conceal from you that the hope of seeing
you/

-2-

you once more would give me strength to brave even the
power of death. We set off for Vichy the 19th of this
month. I believe the waters will be of use to me, for
notwithstanding the misers that surround me, my disorder
seems to lessen. Whilst I possess your love I cannot be
wholly indifferent to life, and as you wish it I will
endeavour to preserve it. How my heart bounds when I
think that you are approaching towards me. How I long
to hear every particular of your distress. How cruel
to tear us from each other - to have extorted such a
promise'. (A line here deleted and indecipherable). Adieu.
Tell me whither you are tending your stens, and let me know
what I am to expect. I am in an agitation not to be described,
and dread almost as much as I wish to receive an answer.

(Unsigned).

(No address).

Villa Pitt. August the 2d. 1783.

I did not think it possible for me to receive a letter
from you, I could wish had never been written. That which
now lies before me is wet with the bitterest tears of
anguish I ever shed. You doubt my affection, and because
I cannot fly into your arms, you think I will not; since
when William do you suppose that I exist for myself, and
am no longer subject to the caprices of those I am doomed
to pass my days with? Entrusted by a husband to a mother's
care, I have only exchanged the matrimonial for the parental
chain. 'Tis true she loves me, but it is as she pretends,
that affection which obliges her to deny my request. You
know that some of her youthful actions have been censured,
and willing that I should profit by her experience, she
makes me shun the rosy path she trod, to follow the rugged
one of wordly decorum. Fame becomes dear when the pleasures
for which we neglected it are passed; have you never thought
in the prime of youth, sacrificed your inclinations to that
exacting Goddess? If not, your present situation is
perfectly happy. Think not however that prudence retains
me; could I persuade my mother to take me to Switzerland,
be assured neither that, nor the menaces of my most
inveterate enemies should deter me from following my inclin-
ations, but what can I do, - tell me, - must I to convince
you of the sincerity of my assurances sacrifice the esteem of
the world, the affection of my mother and my future peace?
If you have forgotten the proofs I have already given you of
my love, and exact these fresh ones, I am ready to give them,
but cannot hope to alter my mother's sentiments or obtain her
permission to visit Switzerland whilst you remain in it. Oh
William William', if you knew all I suffer on your account
you would not so cruelly add to my miseries by your unjust
suspicions. You accuse me of saying nothing of my health
or/

-2-

or my occupations; whilst I am writing to you my pains cease,
and I am following the only occupation that interests me.
Some of my solitary hours are dedicated to the recollection
of past pleasures, cruelly embittered by the idea that they
are never to return; others are passed in looking thro' a
telescope at the Mont Blanc which I discover from my window.
I can see the valley that contains all I love, yet am forbidden
to approach it. During these moments the torments of
Tantalus do not equal mine. Comfort me my William - exert
not your well known power to torment me. Say that tho' I
cannot fly to you, yet you doubt not my affection. I can
receive no consolation by looking into futurity - the sunshine
of my life is passed - a dark settled cloud hangs over the
remainder of it. You pass your winter at Paris. I follow
my mother to Nice. What my future destination may be, I neither
know nor care; if I must be absent from you, one part of the
globe is as good to vegetate in as another. The 13th of this
month I return to Vichy, as its waters have of use to my health.
Adieu. Write soon, and for pity's sake say that you believe me.

(Unsigned).

VII. L.

Vichy. September the 6th 1783.

To describe the transports my beloved William's letter
has occasioned is not in the power of language. Never
did I experience so heart felt a satisfaction. After
passing six tedious weeks without hearing from you, and
lamenting the loss of your affection which this cruel
silence served to confirm, think what I must have felt on
finding you restored to me, and affectionate as my most
sanguine wishes could desire. I am distracted with joy
and could find in my heart to break thro' all my prudent
resolutions, and fly into your arms did not your future
tranquillity restrain me. Never more will I be so unjust
to you, and cruel to myself as to doubt your affection.
I possess it, and it is not in the power of Fate to render
me miserable. What a description you give of your Fête
and how I should have enjoyed your surprize could some
benevolent Genii have transported me there, at the moment
when you quitted the crowd to indulge those recollections,
in which I am so often totally absorbed. You have no
idea how gratefull I feel for your offer of coming to
Lyons, nor how eagerly I would run any risk to behold you
once more. I do not return to Villa Pitt to till the end of
this month. If you were to come to Lyons I could see you
but for a very few hours at a time, as I am well persuaded
my mother would not dare invite you to her house. I am
at this place alone; it is but fifteen posts from Lyons.
Might you not journey on, and afford me the only pleasure
my soul pants after. Not a being on earth besides our-
selves and Marcia need be acquainted with it. If this
project meets with your approbation, and should succeed,
I/

-2-

I shall never more repine at the cruelty of my destiny,
but suffer with resignation and patience whatever future
ills it may have in store for me. I shall in a few hours
conversation with you take a dose of happiness which will
serve me to feed upon for years. I dare not indulge this
blessed idea, but am dying with impatience for your answer,
and dread that this letter should share the fate of some of
those which you have written. Direct your answer to me
here to save time, and send a duplicate of it to Lyons
by the usual direction; I cannot be so unlucky as to lose
them both. My direction here is, chez Mr. Georgson a
Vichy les Bains en Bourbonnois par St. Gerand. I am so
full of this scheme that I can think nor dream of nothing
else and am in terrors lest this letter should be detained
too long to admit of putting it in execution. To see you
after so long an absence, to learn a thousand things I
would give half my existence to know, is a pleasure I cannot
think of with any degree of compulsion. No further demands
of threats from your mother. I have promised nothing and
am at liberty to say how eagerly my soul longs for a sight
of you. (Poor kitty I cannot victimise her. I pity her
situation. I .................... her of .... and tell
her that her idea is ever owned to yours in my thoughts.
I am flattered by .................... ).
These waters do me good, and your letter has (given) me new
life and spirit. I would sacrifice it all in the accomplish-
ment of the project which fills my imagination. Adieu my best
Love, second my impatience and write soon.

(Unsigned).

(Addressed) - A Monsieur Monsieur de Beckford
Franche - A Geneve
en Suisse.

What is enclosed within brackets is deleted and where
dotted is indecipherable.

VII. M

Villa Pitt. September the 25th.

Come to Lyons my beloved William, and we shall contrive
to pass many happy hours together. My Mother's scruples
extend only from the setting to the rising Sun - provided we
do not sleep under the same roof, we may be together all day.
Villa Pitt is but four miles from Lyons. I hope you will
not think it very inconvenient to come there in the morning
and go back at night. Think what pleasure it will give me ?
I arrived last night. The Glocesters are at Lyons, and my
Mother obliged to attend them every where. Under protest
of illness and fatigue I escape this day's ennui, and shall
pass it alone in looking at the Swiss mountains and thinking
of you without interruption. I hear by Lady Kerry that you
have taken a house for the winter at Evian, and that you
intend going to the East Indies by land. If you should not
come let me know your projects. My Mother says "Why does he
not pass his winter at Nice?" Her daughter's heart re-resounds
the indiscreet wish, tho' her lips dare not utter it. Adieu
my only love. The post is going. When I think that I may
soon behold you, my transports are not to be described. Our
departure from this place is fixed for the 8th of next month.
Write soon. Keep me not long in the torture of suspense.

I have just learnt by my Mother that business requires
her passing a few days in the town of Lyons before her departure.
If you lodge at the Hotel d'York we shall be together. Come
as soon as you can. Think how many things we have to say to
each other, and how short a time to say them in. Perhaps we
may never again be so happy'.

(Unsigned and no address).

Lyons. Thursday the 9th
Octr. 1783.

To morrow William I leave this place without having
seen you - and without any prospect of seeing you. This
long - long while - surely there is some strange fatality
prevents our meeting. Yet pardon me when I say that had
you chose we might have evaded it, and passed a few days
at least together in comfort. My mother had consented to
your coming. All my letters could not miscarry unless
some Deamon flew away with them. Had you set off immediate-
ly we might have met. What have you to fear - who has the
power to controul you? Ah William - were I as much mistress
of my actions as you are of yours I should long ere this
have been in your arms'. This disappointment is so much
the greater as I had, contrary to my usual prudent custom,
indulged the most sanguine hopes. My mother herself helped
to deceive me. She repeated every morning - this day will
certainly bring him'. But alas - they are all passed and I
have no shadow of hope left. You ask what are my schemes -
for all my motions depend on others - theirs I will let you
know. in April we come to Villa Pitt - pass some part of
the Summdr in Switzerland - go to Nice for the Winter, then
most probably return to England.

William (tenlines which follow are deleted and indeciper-
able). Could I but tempt you there I should wish for no
other Paradise, and relinquish all my hopes of a future one.
But what am I saying - and to whom do I speak? I forget
that we are no longer in those golden days when we dared
without fear utter every thought. Alas how changed'.
Suspicion envy and revenge are now laying in wait to fasten
upon us. I seem to hear the hiss of their serments, and
feel/

-2-

feel their cold venom benumbing my heart. Think of
our situation this time two years - then William -
tell me whether you are happy? I am flattered by
Hamilton's constancy. Tell him so with my best Love,
and that the locks he was so partial to have recovered
the few charms they ever possessed. Why does he not
come abroad? It is time for him to travel. Adieu my
only Love. If you wish me to live give me some hopes of
seeing you. I hope to God this letter will reach you.
Burn it immediately for fear of accidents. Direct your
next to A Nice en Provence.

Friday the 10th.

Your letter is this instant brought me. I find the
Fates are seriously leagued against us, and begin to
fancy their malign influence will follow us throughout
our lives. They might however have spared that of the
poor innocent Dog which I am tempted to curse as did the
witty Duke of Buckingham - meeting one in the streets
that splashed his stockings or played him some dirty
trick - he got of his way very calmly exclaiming - I
wish you was married and settled in the country. You
are too domestick to feel (the) force of that curse.
But all joking apart this event is really unlucky both
on my account and that of Ly. M. I sincerely hope her
fright will be attended with no bad consequences and
that she may in due time bless the world with another
William. (Two and a half lines which follow are deleted
and indecipherable).

(unsigned).

(Addressed)-

A Monsieur

Monsieur de Beckfort

A Geneve

en Suisse.

5

Marseilles. Oct. the 17th 1783.

My last letter was written in such haste and I was at
that moment so out of humour with you - myself, and the
whole world - that I fear the having let drop some expression
that may have displeased you. If I have pardon me in favour
of the motives that extorted them - sorrow and disappointment.
But why attempt to deceive me, my dearest William. Believe
me I know you too well to render it possible. Prudence and
the fear of displeasing Ly. M. and your mother, prevented
your coming to Lyons. Could you suppose so laudable a
motive would either displease or make me doubt your affection?
Tho' I might have lamented the hardness of my Fate I should
not have accused you of it; why then invent an excuse which,
with the greatest good will imaginable I really cannot bring
myself to be satisfied with? I suspected from the beginning
that your promise of coming to Lyons, tho' voluntary, would
never be accomplished. Determined to try its sincerity I
moved Heaven and Earth to obtain my mother's consent. I
succeeded, and the result has confirmed my opinion. Yet
you possess in such perfection the art of deceit and
persuasion that your letters staggered me, and in spite of
my reason, I was weak enough to indulge the fond hope of
being happy. Your desire of seeing me in Switzerland was
not feigned; all the blame in that case must have fallen upon
me, and you would have enjoyed in security the triumph of
receiving so evident and indiscreet a proof of affection from
a woman neither old nor ugly. That I would have given it
with transport you cannot doubt - the inmost recesses of my
soul have ever been opened to you - your image alone occupies
it - and I would incur the contempt of the universe to afford
you one moments real satisfaction.

1/

-2-

I know - I feel I never shall be happy. Your affections are, and ought to be divided. Mine are ( and ought not to be) all centered in you. If we ever meet, which I begin to doubt - 'twill be in fear and trembling - the moments that might be devoted to pleasure will be passed in lamenting the uncertainty of their ever returning, and I shall only taste the happiness I must never hope to possess. Yet, by a strange caprice of Fate, I wish not to alter my sentiments. I love to suffer on your account - and weakly cherish the chains I ought to abhor. Shameful infatuation'. How unlike what I ever experienced before. The voice of Honour - Fame - and even Pride is silenced - my soul listens but to that of Love. All I ask in return is your friendship and confidence - with me lay aside all deceit - be to me what Nature has made you and I shall be content. United, we might deceive the whole world. Let us then for Heaven's sake remain true to each other, and be persuaded there exists not a being more sincerely and firmly attached to you than myself. Adieu my Love. We are at this place for four days with the Glocesters, who follow us incessantly to Nice.

(Unsigned).

(Addressed)-

A Monsieur

Monsieur de Beckfort

A Geneve

en Suisse.

VII Q.

Nice. Oct. the 26th 1783.

Ten years of my existence would I willingly give to recall the fatal letter which has so justly incensed you against me. Forgive me my William - forgive a woman driven to desperation by the disappointment of her fondest wishes and expectations. I do believe every thing you affirm. Your power over me is absolute, and all I wish is to convince you of the ardour and sincerity of my affection. Why - notwithstanding all the proofs I have received of yours am I ever so cruel to myself as to doubt it? I believe that doubt inseparable from such a love as mine. My imagination ever full of your image cannot always represent it as I would (wish) to see it. Could I express how wretched I have been on your account you would pity and forgive me. The latter part of your letter might again raise my expectations did I not keep the strictest guard over them. They must be disappointed. I am not doomed to be happy. If you really have any thoughts of coming to Nice let not Mr. Lettice or any of the wise ones deter you from it on account of the dangers attending the journey. Robbers and ravishers you need not fear - our purses and honours are entire. The roads you may easily judge cannot be very bad, since my mother has passed them twelve times in six years without ever meeting with the smallest accident. The accommodations are not so good as in England, but to a person who has travelled in Switzerland they will appear comfortable. You had better go by water from Lyons to the Pont St. Esprit if the weather is fine tis the pleasantest and most expeditious manner of travelling - from thence to Nismes and St. Remy where there are some remains of antiquity well worth your visiting. The roads are excellent. Towards the latter part of the journey they are rough, but the romantick beautys of the country will commensate for this disagreement, and I can with truth assure you they are perfectly safe.

From/

-2-

From the Pont St. Esprit you may sleep at Nismes, the next
night at Orgon (St. Remy in the way) then at Aix - from Aix
to le Luc - from le Luc to Frejus - and from Frejus to Antibes
or Nice. I will get you good lodgings at Nice, provided you
let me know how many people you bring. My mother would be
delighted to see you and Marcia loves me too well not to
rejoice at my happiness. What care I for Scrag(Pewsey and
the whole clan of aunts and cousins you threaten me with'.
One day's conversation with you will amply repay me for all
that their utmost malice can suggest. But William your
near connexion with them renders it a matter of more
consequence, and if you have the least reason to apprehend
any persecution from rambling this way let not your compassion
for me tempt you to it. I should be unworthy your affection
were I capable of preferring my own happiness to yours. We
passed four days at Marseilles with my little Prince. He is
lovely as an Angel, but wild and timid as a young fawn. Is it
possible that you still glow at the description of an Ivory
idol? How I burn to be acquainted with a thousand things I
can learn from none but you. I have fretted myself ill
again - the pain in my side is returned with a cough that
alarms my mother. I am perfectly easy about it. All I
wish is to see you once more. What do I possess in this
world worth regretting? Your affection might make it a
Paradise - were we not so unfortunately circumstanced. At
present I can never hope but for transient gleams of happiness,
and perhaps even those may be denied me. Adieu. Say you
forgive me, and that you are persuaded my unjust suspicions
proceeded only from an excess of affection much more distressing
to myself than to others'. We expect the Glocesters the 15th
of next month. We did not arrive till yesterday and I fear,
thus your letter will have been long unanswered.

(Unsigned).

(Addressed) - A Monsieur

Monsieur de Beckford
A Genève
en Suisse.

5

Nice. Nov. the 10th 1783.

How will these cruel doubts and perplexities end -
and should the result turn out as I wish - what will
become of us. I foresee storms - persecutions and abuses
but want resolution to avoid them. I see the abyss - yet
an irresistible impulse drives me to it. Why was a degree
of perception into futurity granted us, since we are denied
the power of avoiding its miserys? I repeat it William
let not pity induce you to take a step that may draw them
down upon you, but I will say no more on that subject.
When I think of it my head turns round.

Poor Ly. M. how I pity her if she really feels the
horrors of jealousy. She is rather in a situation to
inspire it. Were she to see me now all her fears would
vanish and her triumph would be compleat. But just
recovered from a fever, the traces of that beauty you once
admired and she still dreads are scarcely perceptible. I
regret it not if your affection be founded as I flatter
myself it is, on simpathy and similarity of disposition.
I sometimes fancy my soul was formed for yours and accuse
the Fates of injustice for having seperated them. Had I
entered this strange existance a few years later, or you
a few years earlier, I might perhans occupy Ly. M. place.
Never William shall I be reconciled to the idea of your
being in the arms of another. 'Tis like a bar of iron
dropped between me and happiness. (Kitty and four words
more which are indecipherable are deleted) - can there be
a more convincing proof of a future state than the few
comforts we find in this ? William if you stretch not
forth your hand to sustain me in the broad road we have
so long trodden together, I verily believe I shall become
holy - repent of my sins - and seek for consolation in
the narrow path that leads to everlasting life. Come
then/

-2-

then my lovely Deamon if you still wish me to follow
you, and by your presence blow up in my soul the dying
embers of Paganism. This place swarms with English.
If you come let me know in time the day of your arrival
that every thing may be ready for your reception. Do
you and Ly. M. occupy the same Room? Gods', what a
question'. Fool that I am. Why do I dread the
answer. What difference will it make in my situation -
can it be more wretched? Adieu my Love. The pain in
my side is better, but the fever has left me low and
weak.

(Unsigned).

(Addressed) - A Monsieur

Nice. November the 30th 1783.

-2-

friendship and be restored to that place in her good opinion which I once fancied I possest. In short let me but see you sometimes and I care not how dearly I purchase that pleasure. How I shall love a little Ganimede de votre façon, tho' I must ever regret it was not my fate to give it birth. My little Deity has been dangerously ill of a very terrestrial disorder - a surfeit. He is beginning to recover and his languid eyes have once more smiled upon me, but I am tired of working upon his clay-cold soul. Like Pygmalions statue to 'tis not be animated but by divine inspiration. How can two fools produce any thing tolerable? His parents have but one advantage over others of that denomination - they are Royal ones. The Pembrokes are here, and I feel a pleasure I cannot express in talking over with Lord Herbert all the joys of Fonthill. He admires you and enjoys those recollections, but I dare not let him perceive how much more I do. Every thing I have seen there becomes interesting and my poor affections are ready to grasp at him for want of something better. Yet 'tis his conversation only that pleases me. Had he not been at Fonthill he would lose the only charm he possesses in my eyes. You William are the arbiter of all my feeling and sentiments. The impression you have created is interwoven with my existence, and all others must now derive their source from that. Yes my William - our attachment is of a nature to defy the ravages of time - a spark of the same spirit animates both our souls - and I feel as if in another happier world they would still retain the same affections. I love to cherish and encourage that idea. What a consolation it is on casting ones/

-3-

(Unsigned).

Nice. December the 12th 1783.

William I feel every hour more and more that the
aching void of my heart can be filled by none but you.
Yet I must never hope to live with you in comfort. The
deluding meteor that led me on to destruction is extinguish
ed. The path before me is dark and silent as the Tomb.
Its cold dews benumb my soul. Will it retain its
sensations beyond it, or will it sink into the original
chaos - forgetting - and forgotten? The more I reflect
on this interesting question the more I am convinced it
cannot admit of doubt. An undescribable something
within speaks us immortal. The few years we are doomed
to vėgetate on this globe of sorrow and pain are to
eternity as moments compared to ages. Why then permit
impatience and despair to embitter that short space of
time/

VII. X

Nice Jan: the 26th 1784.

(No address).

I burnt a letter from L. To Sophia
22_x 1838.
(In pencil in Beckford's hand).

After having written four times without receiving any
answer to my Letters, I little expected my dearest William
my
to hear that silence had made you uneasy, and am more
rejoyced than I can express to find that it had that effect
upon you. Not knowing how to direct to you at Paris and
ignorant of your having left Geneva, I continued addressing
my Letters to you there, till I heard by Ly. Kerry that
you were gone from thence, that Lady Margaret was dangerously ill, and that you had sent an expres for Mrs. Beckford.
This intelligence and your silence made me apprehend that
a Letter from me at this critical juncture might be deemed
an intrusion. I therefore, not without the utmost
difficulty, refrained from expressing to you all the
anxiety and uneasiness I felt on your account. It is
now above two months since I heard from you - you know my
sentiments, judge then what I must have suffered. The
consciousness of not having deserved your indifference was
the only consolation I had left, and such is my strange
infatuation that in spite of this cruel neglect, I do -
and ever must prefer you to every other Being on Earth.
My imagination ever bent on your Image has so long
represented it cold - formal and indifferent, so unlike
what it formerly was, that I can scarcely persuade myself
that the letter which now lies before me is yours. Do
you really still feel for me that affection, which you
once thought I deserved, and which mine so justly claims?

To

-2-

Tis for yourself that I love you - be happy, and I cannot
be wholly miserable I declare most solemnly that my most
fervent wish is to know you so well contented in your
present situation that your desires extend no farther. Is
it true that Ly. Margaret has been so dangerously ill?
Surely if she had you would not venture to take her to
England during this horrid weather. When I return there,
which however shall not be yet a while, I hope to see you
a Father. Not having attended the progress of your
transformation to this new character, I shall be at a loss how
to behave to you - it must I suppose, be with due respect
and decorum. You must give me a lesson my Love before
I appear in your presence, lest I should commit some fatal
blunder, that may draw down upon me the displeasure of
your friends. Much as I long to see you - I dread the
alteration I shall inevitably discover. Any change in
you must in my opinion be for the worse. Adieu write
soon for pity's sake, and if you do still repose any
confidence in me, acquaint me with the true state of your
soul. My health, tho' better, is still so precarious
that it is thought necessary for me to pass another Winter
abroad.

Unsigned.

Addressed. To William Beckford Esq.
Portman Square,
Angleterre.
London.

Villa Pitt, July the 24th

(1784. in a different
hand).

Unsigned.

Nice. Feb. the 25th. [785]

It is impossible my dearest William to express the pleasure I receive from your letters, and the good accounts they give me of your health; how very happy should I be could I hear that you were so. This lovely climate is doing all it can do for me, and in spite of the rains of the mind, those of the body decrease daily. I have but few wishes; they are all centered in you. Were I authorised to indulge the pleasing hope of seeing you here, my warmest dreams of happiness would be realized. I cannot however tempt you by the beautiful objects you might meet with, as I have literally not seen any human being worth looking at twice, and the more I see the more I am convinced that England is, in every respect but that of climate, the only country to reside in. No delicate soft-eyed K —'s are here seen wantoning in meads of flowers, but the parched turf is pressed by glowing, full formed children of the Sun. H — Morris whose character you know has been accused by an anonymous letter d'avoir conté fleurettes to my mother's coachman, a large, rawboned Swiss six feet high, totally unfit for Mr. Morris's service, who, finding himself, perhaps for the first time perfectly innocent of the accusation, has lain the letter before the Senate and is taking every method to discover and punish the infamous accuser; what will be the result of this strange affair is yet unknown, but I will acquaint you of it when decided.

You say nothing of Mrs. P. Has she ceased her persecution or does she still feed Lady Margaret with delusive hopes? I wish to know every thing you do, every thing you think; I am interested in the most trifling circumstances, and forgetting for an instant the cruel distance that separates us, ask questions which must remain for months unanswered. Yet my thoughts, quick as air, traverse/

-2-

traverse the trackless space, and follow you through every
occupation of the day. I see your eyes opening on the
dawn,(and hear the sigh drawn by the recollection of your
Kitty(?) deleted); in the evening I see you stretched on
the turf, plunged in that pleasing melancholly, which that,
our favourite hour inspires: inshort my William you are
ever present to my imagination, and even my dreams are full
of your image. There are moments I could wish not to love
you with so unbounded an affection, but when I refflect that
i am dear to you, and that we shall not always be seperated,
my heart expands with joy. i glory in my affection, and
triumph in the possession of yours. Adieu my only Love.
keep up my spirits by your letters and I will anticipate
future happiness.

(Unsigned) .

(No address) .

My dear Friend,

You may rely I have thought as intensely as
my mind is capable, on the business which so nearly concerns
you, and so much interests you. It is my decided judgment
I have submitted to the tide in compliance with your advice. I was long since ready
that as you have submitted to the tide so long that the time
to start at every moment had you given me the signal.
for resistance is not yet come, and those of your best
friends that I can talk to on the subject quite agree with
me, that we should give our enemies every advantage by
coming forth just at this time, as they would have every
justification from circumstances for interfering and as
effectually as they might chuse.

To give you every satisfaction in my power,
I will do every thing that I can by possibility do, consistent
with that station in which you found me, and in which I yet
continue. Now I could give many very good reasons, why you
should give me the meeting at St. Omers - in the first place
I think it might be of real advantage to your health; in the
yes - because I was enticed and inspired by Hope a closing which has not if me
2d place you promised to give Mr. Lettice the meeting there
to me as far as regards Mr. Lettice
who could have no real business for others, to demand his
presence elsewhere; in the 3d your own affairs in London
demand a constant attention and a never ceasing vigilance.
The Privy Counsel sit again on the 21st inst. and the business
of Mr. Sturts is still standing before them. The Slave
trade is appointed for the 23d. but will be I imagine
postponed for a few days for the general thanksgiving which
will be most cordially kept by all ranks of people, and after
that we must certainly meet the subject of the Slave business
with all its unpopularity belonging to it. I will only add
call on me to do all that lays in my power to do, consistent
with that duty for which alone I live, and you may with
confidence rely upon me.

I/

The manuscript notes written in Beckford's hand are
shown as they appear in the original

I was quite concerned that I had not the pleasure of
seeing you the other day when you call'd, especially as
I want very much to talk with you, my opinion of you being
such that I am certain a few weeks has not deprived me of
the place you favoured me with in your good wishes, but
that I may freely venture to communicate my future plans
and past adventures. You see how unlike the world I
think you. Will you call here this morning as soon
after receipt of this as you can? If you are not here
before 12 let it be ½ past twelve, and if anybody is with
me stay till I am alone. In my own justification for
this request I must of necessity sign myself

Your sincere Friend

F.M. Lewis.

If you are at home when this arrives send me word what
time I may expect you. Come soon if you can.

Wednesday morning.

Holograph. Undated.

Addressed —

Wm. Beckford Esq.

My dear Friend,

I am favored with your two letters of the 1st and 2d May. I have had several consultations with Mr. Bearcroft and have had a long interview with Lord Thurlow. He is certainly your very sincere friend, and I think you still enviable from that circumstance. He said in direct terms he should be ready to do you any act of friendship in his power. He said he was not in the habit of knowing the etiquette of Courts, but he would make himself acquainted with the business, and if it could be, and he must freely declare he saw no reason why it should not be, it ought to be done directly. If there did exist reasons why it could not be done - (I mean giving you the letter of introduction) you should be made acquainted with them. No man on earth could treat you with more real friendship than Lord Thurlow did - in every turn the conversation took - and I am sure you will ever have a true and steady support from him when you make your effort to reestablish yourself. As to the idea of renouncing the Country - it is too serious a business for you to run head long into from pique or resentment; better motives should govern when so very serious a matter is thought of.

You may expect a letter from me every mail till this matter now on the tapis is perfectly settled. I have the most sanguine hopes of Lord Thurlow's accomplishing what you so earnestly wish. No efforts of mine shall be wanting.

I am with the most sincere regard

My dear Friend

Thos. Wildman

Lincolns Inn.

20th May 1788.

Your mother and children are vastly well.

(No address).

A 8 heur

Vendredi 30 de Mai 88.

Je suis encore toute étourdi des coups de cçon et de
bombe dont on vient de nous regaler a l'embarcadero,
en honneur du St.Ferdinand toute la cour y etoit, mais
le tems nous a point du tout été favorable, il a plutôt,
teriblement les personnes royale qui seule entrent avec
leurs voiture a l'endroit même y sont monté bien vite,
mais nous autre avons du chercher nos voitures jusqu'à
la caisse de la Rima , et malgré un pauvre petit parapluyl
que j'avais, je me suis mouillé et éroté, come un petit
chien barbit, et je vient de m'habiller depuis les pied
jusqu'à la tête. C'est la troisième toilete que j'ai fait
depuis celle de le matin pour la cour, il y avoit un monde
infinie et j'ai bien insolente tous ceux qui le mépito
(five lines deleted and indecipherable). Après la Cour
Chrency est encore venu et m'a mené le Simon que j'ai bien
recue puisque vous me l'avez recomendé, nous avons ait
aujourd'hui tout plain d'ennuy eux, a dîne à randa hijor,
Montijo, Alba, ses deux frères et 3 ou 4 autre figure,
Infantado
le mouton et son pere dinent ches france, le Tondue, est
toujours désolé, et m'anable de ses plainte, mais je suis
inexorable, vous avez donc enfin rencontré encore ce-portrait
du .... (sic) si l'original va à Vienne, j'en aurai sûrement
des nouvelles si vous voulez voire celle que j'ai recue
aujourd'hui je vous envoy la lettre de ma mere, elle me
parle aussi, sur les Hamilton, et vous dirai mot à mot ce
qu'il m'en dit, (toute la branche établie ches nous, c'teinte
il n'en reste que 4 petites femmes et la veuve de leurs frère
née Comtesse de Sinzendorff, des 4 petites il y en a une
puelle jadis dame de Cour, l'autre veuve d'un M's Doria
la 3ème d'un Comte Colnitz, et la 4ème d'un Comte Melessimo
cette dernière ayant une autre mere nous est effectivement
parente du côté de Liechtenstein toute la succession de
les Hamilton est apresent entre les mains de les veuves
qui/

-2-

ont
qui toutes des enfants cependent le jeune Colnitz en
aura la plus grande part, pas substitution de son oncle
le chevalier de Malthe. Je n'ai point vue hier le
chevalier de Silva il etoit malade, mais je suis charme
que vous ayé enfin reue la lettre, et en soyé content,
il est sur que ce serai charmant de nous reffugier en
Portagal, mais dans quelque endroit que cela fut pour
pouvoir vivre paisiblement avec mon Dom et cher p'ti a
cu-bri de toute les persecution, quand serais-je done
assi heureuse pour voire cela il ne faut disesperir,
de rien dans le monde mes jambes sont extremement enflé,
Meurs(2) les ouvreurs de lettre vont me donner une bone
reputation s'il publient cette infirmite et le séjour
et le tems actuelle est tres contraire a les m...(2)..
la, ou favorable si vous voules, mais je ne me fio
cependent point au prophesies. Continuez a faire des
veux a St. Antoine c'est le tems a quoi en été vous
de la neuvene, faite vous bien des penitence, je crois
que non souvenir vous de ce que vous m'avez dit venés
ici j'aurai soin de vous rapeler les promisses que
vous lui fite, venés done je vous en prie, ni beo, ni
respiro, ni hoigo ni siento porque esta suí alma todo
mi cuerpo Cela est bien vray, et le petit dit es tanto
lo que quiero a esta jitana ainsi venis consolar la, je
m'en vais chés france mais jay bien de la peine a maquiter
Mde. de Listenois
de votre comission pour felk...(sic) Je lui dirai
cependent quelque chose pour vous faire plaisir, le
p'ti n'est pas mal fin, n'est ce pas. Il faut se venger
dit il des perfidie du papa. J'entend ..... a Dieu
aimable p'ti.

-3-

À 8 heures
de
Jeudi 5 Juin-88.

On a donc vue tout de suite Ki-Ki ..., et on ne saVOIT
rien de tout cela, mais ComENT pouVOIT il deviner que
le petit ETOIT arIVÉ, en voila assi sur cette article,
JAY TROP de peine a en parler - - je me suis PROMENÉ
de matin solitairement avec mon DOH Pedro du sitio,
sur toute les colines qui entourent ARANJUEZ, je me suis
ASSIE a considerER les environs, PENSENT continuellement
a vous, J'ETOIS tres FATIGUÉ de ma PROMENADE, et bien
TRISTE des RÉFLEXIONS que je RÉSOIT, JAY vue hier le
RENARD au moment que je M'EN aloit de ces PORTUGAL
je lui ai REMIT le Passe PORTUI disant qu'il POUVOIT
SERVIR d'exemple, nous VOIRONS ce qu'il me dira ce soire,
et TACHERAI de lui FAIRE entreprendre certaine conversation
il a deja dit au Clavel ce que je lui ai dit sur MA
FAçon d'AGIR avec le tendRE MÉNAGE et je s'AI que C'EST
eUX qui y ont été sensible, et L'ON PRIÉ de me SONDER a
le SUJET, je COMpte dire ce soire au Mqis. que L'OPERA
nouveAU est SAMEDI, et que je COMpte partir d'ICI
DIMancheMATIN, dieu VEULLE que cela preue bien, MAIS
C'EST AGALE rien ne M'EMPECHEROIT d'ALIer vous VOIRE
je DESIRE que vous M'ATTENDIS avec autant D'IMPATIENCE,
que J'EN AI a vous REJOINDRE car je ne suis HEUREUSE
QU'AUPRÈS de vous. Vous le CROIRES sENS PEINE s'ACHANT
à QU'ELLE point je vous AIME, C'EST bien PASSIONEMENT,
AVEC toute la tendResse de MON COEUR et de MON âme, et
je ne CRAIT point de vous ASSURER que C'EST POUR la
VIE.

3-1

Vendredi 13 de Juin 1788.

De ma vie je n'ai éprouvé de situation plus cruelle qu'
aujourd'hui en me separant de vous, qui faisiez tout mon
bonheur je ne puis vous depeindre tout ce que mon coeur
souffre, combien je suis inconsolable, dans le moment mes
larmes me laissent ce peine voire ce que j'ecrit, je suis
dans mon lit ou je me suis mit bien vite pour pouvoir
vous c'erire, et soulager mon pauvre coeur. A fiere je
n'ai pas la force de vous en dire d'avantage aimez moi C'est
touts ce que je vous prie, pour moi rien ne pourra me
dedomager de la perte que je fait.