Narrative and Miscellaneous PapersDe Quincey, Thomas
General
Narrative and Miscellaneous Papers
De Quincey, Thomas
English essays; English fiction
no proper judge of his own condition, which he neither will nor can
appreciate. Tooth-ache extorts more groans than dropsy.
VIII. Another important caution is, not to confound with the effects of
intemperance any other natural effects of debility from advanced years.
Many a man, having begun to be intemperate at thirty, enters at sixty
or upwards upon a career of self-restoration. And by self-restoration he
understands a renewal of that state in which he was when first swerving
from temperance. But that state, for his memory, is coincident with his
state of youth. The two states are coadunated. In his recollections they
are intertwisted too closely. But life, without any intemperance at
all, would soon have untwisted them. Charles Lamb, for instance, at
forty-five, and Coleridge at sixty, measured their several conditions
by such tests as the loss of all disposition to involuntary murmuring of
musical airs or fragments when rising from bed. Once they had sung
when rising in the morning light; now they sang no more. The _vocal_
utterance of joy, for _them_, was silenced for ever. But these are
amongst the changes that life, stern power, inflicts at any rate;
these would have happened, and above all, to men worn by the unequal
irritations of too much thinking, and by those modes of care
That kill the bloom before its time,
And blanch without the owner's crime
The most resplendent hair,
not at all the less had the one drunk no brandy, nor the other any
laudanum. A man must submit to the conditions of humanity, and not
quarrel with a cure as incomplete, because in his climacteric year of
sixty-three, he cannot recover, entirely, the vivacities of thirty-five.
If, by dipping seven times in Jordan, he had cleansed his whole leprosy
of intemperance; if, by going down into Bethesda, he were able to mount
again upon the pinions of his youth,--even then he might querulously
say,--'But, after all these marvels in my favor, I suppose that one
of these fine mornings I, like other people, shall have to bespeak
a coffin.' Why, yes, undoubtedly he will, or somebody _for_ him. But
privileges so especial were not promised even by the mysterious waters
of Palestine. Die he must. And counsels tendered to the intemperate do
not hope to accomplish what might have been beyond the baths of Jordan
or Bethesda. They do enough, if, being executed by efforts in the spirit
of earnest sincerity, they make a life of _growing_ misery moderately
happy for the patient; and, through that great change, perhaps, more
than moderately useful for others.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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