Уилки Коллинз - The Law and the Lady

“You don’t know what it cost me to control my hatred of her, and to beg her to pay her visit here, without minding my illness. I could never have done it if I had not been so fond of you, and so fearful of irritating you against me by showing my jealousy. And how did you reward me? Let your Diary answer: ‘I tenderly embraced her this very morning; and I hope, poor soul, she did not discover the effort that it cost me.’

“Well, I have discovered it now. I know that you privately think your life with me ‘a purgatory.’ I know that you have compassionately hidden from me the ‘sense of shrinking that comes over you when you are obliged to submit to my caresses.’ I am nothing but an obstacle—an ‘utterly distasteful’ obstacle—between you and the woman whom you love so dearly that you ‘adore the earth which she touches with her foot.’ Be it so! I will stand in your way no longer. It is no sacrifice and no merit on my part. Life is unendurable to me, now I know that the man whom I love with all my heart and soul secretly shrinks from me whenever I touch him.

“I have got the means of death close at hand.

“The arsenic that I twice asked you to buy for me is in my dressing-case. I deceived you when I mentioned some commonplace domestic reasons for wanting it. My true reason was to try if I could not improve my ugly complexion—not from any vain feeling of mine: only to make myself look better and more lovable in your eyes. I have taken some of it for that purpose; but I have got plenty left to kill myself with. The poison will have its use at last. It might have failed to improve my complexion—it will not fail to relieve you of your ugly wife.

“Don’t let me be examined after death. Show this letter to the doctor who attends me. It will tell him that I have committed suicide; it will prevent any innocent persons from being suspected of poisoning me. I want nobody to be blamed or punished. I shall remove the chemist’s label, and carefully empty the bottle containing the poison, so that he may not suffer on my account.

“I must wait here, and rest a little while—then take up my letter again. It is far too long already. But these are my farewell words. I may surely dwell a little on my last talk with you!

“October 21. Two o’clock in the morning.

“I sent you out of the room yesterday when you came in to ask how I had passed the night. And I spoke of you shamefully, Eustace, after you had gone, to the hired nurse who attends on me. Forgive me. I am almost beside myself now. You know why.

“Half-past three.

“Oh, my husband, I have done the deed which will relieve you of the wife whom you hate! I have taken the poison—all of it that was left in the paper packet, which was the first that I found. If this is not enough to kill me, I have more left in the bottle.

“Ten minutes past five.

“You have just gone, after giving me my composing draught. My courage failed me at the sight of you. I thought to myself, ‘If he look at me kindly, I will confess what I have done, and let him save my life.’ You never looked at me at all. You only looked at the medicine. I let you go without saying a word.

“Half-past five.

“I begin to feel the first effects of the poison. The nurse is asleep at the foot of my bed. I won’t call for assistance; I won’t wake her. I will die.

“Half-past nine.

“The agony was beyond my endurance—I awoke the nurse. I have seen the doctor.

“Nobody suspects anything. Strange to say, the pain has left me; I have evidently taken too little of the poison. I must open the bottle which contains the larger quantity. Fortunately, you are not near me—my resolution to die, or, rather, my loathing of life, remains as bitterly unaltered as ever. To make sure of my courage, I have forbidden the nurse to send for you. She has just gone downstairs by my orders. I am free to get the poison out of my dressing-case.

“Ten minutes to ten.

“I had just time to hide the bottle (after the nurse had left me) when you came into my room.

“I had another moment of weakness when I saw you. I determined to give myself a last chance of life. That is to say, I determined to offer you a last opportunity of treating me kindly. I asked you to get me a cup of tea. If, in paying me this little attention, you only encouraged me by one fond word or one fond look, I resolved not to take the second dose of poison.

“You obeyed my wishes, but you were not kind. You gave me my tea, Eustace, as if you were giving a drink to your dog. And then you wondered in a languid way (thinking, I suppose, of Mrs. Beauly all the time), at my dropping the cup in handing it back to you. I really could not help it; my hand would tremble. In my place, your hand might have trembled too—with the arsenic under the bedclothes. You politely hoped, before you went away? that the tea would do me good—and, oh God, you could not even look at me when you said that! You looked at the broken bits of the tea-cup.

“The instant you were out of the room I took the poison—a double dose this time.

“I have a little request to make here, while I think of it.

“After removing the label from the bottle, and putting it back, clean, in my dressing-case, it struck me that I had failed to take the same precaution (in the early morning) with the empty paper-packet, bearing on it the name of the other chemist. I threw it aside on the counterpane of the bed, among some other loose papers. My ill-tempered nurse complained of the litter, and crumpled them all up and put them away somewhere. I hope the chemist will not suffer through my carelessness. Pray bear it in mind to say that he is not to blame.

“Dexter—something reminds me of Miserrimus Dexter. He has put your Diary back again in the drawer, and he presses me for an answer to his proposals. Has this false wretch any conscience? If he has, even he will suffer—when my death answers him.

“The nurse has been in my room again. I have sent her away. I have told her I want to be alone.

“How is the time going? I cannot find my watch. Is the pain coming back again and paralyzing me? I don’t feel it keenly yet.

“It may come back, though, at any moment. I have still to close my letter and to address it to you. And, besides, I must save up my strength to hide it under the pillow, so that nobody may find it until after my death.

“Farewell, my dear. I wish I had been a prettier woman. A more loving woman (toward you) I could not be. Even now I dread the sight of your dear face. Even now, if I allowed myself the luxury of looking at you, I don’t know that you might not charm me into confessing what I have done—before it is too late to save me.

“But you are not here. Better as it is! better as it is!

“Once more, farewell! Be happier than you have been with me. I love you, Eustace—I forgive you. When you have nothing else to think about, think sometimes, as kindly as you can, of your poor, ugly

“SARA MACALLAN.” *

* Note by Mr. Playmore:

The lost words and phrases supplied in this concluding portion of the letter are so few in number that it is needless to mention them. The fragments which were found accidentally stuck together by the gum, and which represent the part of the letter first completely reconstructed, begin at the phrase, “I spoke of you shamefully, Eustace;” and end with the broken sentence, “If in paying me this little attention, you only encouraged me by one fond word or one fond look, I resolved not to take—” With the assistance thus afforded to us, the labor of putting together the concluding half of the letter (dated “October 20”) was trifling, compared with the almost insurmountable difficulties which we encountered in dealing with the scattered wreck of the preceding pages.