1850 was a bad year. Carlyle was writing his Latter Day Pamphlets. His biographer Froude believed that he needed a 'discharge of bile (spiritual)' between his major works. This catharsis, and the criticism that the pamphlets evoked, seemed to worsen rather than improve his health.
He tells his doctor brother in February:
'That sad concern, prolapsus [hernia] as your faculty names it, has
plagued me incessantly all winter through; but I have contrived a truss, and by
aid of poor Jane's needle got it put in active order, whereby the misery is
very greatly helped, indeed it is almost abolished so far as the outward
suffering goes. Which is real deliverance to me. My very feet have been
threatening to fail me; and I have got a pair of specs this winter for
the first time.'
He keeps his sense of humour, saying that his first ‘specs’ mark an epoch like
his first razor, but not so joyful. Plagued by minor ills, he complains of
corns on his feet, and of his shoes pinching his little toe. He asks for old
patched shoes to be sent to him urgently.
Despite these new distractions, he does not forget his liver. In February he is
'not strong in the liver department' and in March he tells John that his liver
is very bad and that he is only able to treat it with exercise thanks to the
new truss.
In May he tells Lady Ashburton that he is 'very sick; ill in body and mind'.
In the same month he apologises to Lord Mahon: '....my poor nerves so tattered
to pieces, I cannot venture out at all, especially on a morning, except at a
ruinous expense of headaches, etc.' And in another letter two days later: 'The
truth is, my liver and stomach and whole inside machinery is far out of order,
which aggravates every other distress and confusion...' In June he is feeling
ill in the hot weather. By July he tries to reassure his mother: 'There is
fundamentally nothing whatever wrong with my health; a good spell of rest, and solitary
quiet somewhere, will.... set me up again and more!'
But ten days later he is complaining and blaming his symptoms on the uproar
that the pamphlets have provoked: 'My poor liver is gone almost to
distraction with all this, and with the summer heats and other fell etceteras.'
On holiday at Boverton in August he cannot sleep. He had shoved up the big
window in the sitting room there, causing a return of his back pain, and
reports that he is walking with his back bent 'at an angle of 75 degrees but
feels better in his health otherwise.'
On the 23rd of August he has fallen in a ditch while walking and hurt his
'knee-pan', and is complaining to Jane of 'flying rheumatisms' and insomnia,
but hoping that the abundant porridge at Scotbrig will do him good.
Correspondence between husband and wife in September, 1850 - she in Chelsea,
he at Scotbrig in Dumfriesshire
Just when patience with this detailed analysis of a very minor complaint is
running out, it is a relief to find that Carlyle retains a sense of humour
about his hypochondriasis! But Jane does not treat the matter lightly when she
replies two days later:
'That toe Dear! - it may be a trifling enough matter in itself; but
anything that prevents you from walking must be felt by you as a serious
nuisance - I don't believe the least in the world that it has been
"pricked"; if it had, you would have felt the prick at the time; I
think it must be a little case of rheumatism in one particular sinew,
and I would have you keep it warm with cotton, and rub it a great deal, and all
up the foot, with a bit of hot flannel and some laudnum(sic) on it - that is my
advice, and recollect that at C'puttock I was considered a skilful Dr;.....'
A week later Lady Ashburton is spared the details but told: 'Really I believe
my liver and nervous system are far out of order.'
Toward the end of this unhappy year he sums up his health in
letters to his brothers. First to John:
'....the wretched state of my "digestive apparatus", which plagues me
beyond all else, and sometimes won't behave handsomely at all! But that is an
old story now, and I must try to make the best of it, as formerly.' And to Alex
Carlyle on 15 Nov. he writes of 'sickness of body and mind', and of the
'approach of old age': 'Oh, it is an earnest tussle this Life of ours here
below; and if a man's body fail him, and he gets continual grinding
misery of ill-health to encompass him for thirty and odd years, and drag down
every step of his poor limbs - But let me not complain.'
And finally to John again:
'Cor inquietum est, [the heart is unquiet] saith St Augustine, - especially when
the bowels are gone to ruin!'
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