The Collected Letters, Volume 27


TC TO JANE WELSH CARLYLE ; 31 August 1852; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18520831-TC-JWC-01; CL 27: 262-263


Rotterdam, 1 Septr [31 August] (Tuesday Evg) 1852—

Oh my Dearest, here I am, got safe to land at last, after such a 4 days of it (from my last writing) as I do not want to have again in a hurry! However, nothing fundamentally has gone wrong after all, and we should be very glad so ugly a business is finished thus far.

Dr Hunter, I hope, wrote to you; and ended your tremors to some degree on monday morning: Passport &c were perfectly exact to time (thanks for my poor little creature's ingenuity and diligence on that occasion): at (not 4 p.m. of Saturday but 1 a.m. of Sunday I did get on board the greasy little wretch of a Leith Steamer (laden to the waters-edge with pig iron and herrings), and till this day at noon she has had me at what Lord Ashburton's dog-doctor calls “tub practice”: ach Gott in Himmel!— But we did get out at noon (tho' not till now 7 p.m. could I get my things out of the Customhouse, to write to thee); I found a Letter from Neuberg, I have lain on chairs, I have strolled about (in weakness &c &c): finally I have dined, and my things are come; and I sit upstairs, 3d story, in a clean little bedroom with beautiful rearward aspects—and hope I shall sleep till tomorrow morning at 6. At 6 I embark up the Rhine again; take the rail so soon as I can possibly get it,—and in brief have written that I am to be with Neuberg at Bonn sometime on Thursday Evg. Thither write to me, my Dear; thither I hope you have written. I shall be immensely better when I have got some sleep; I will write then deliberately, at least more so than now. Adieu, Dearest. There were two Scotch Law-students in the Steamer with me; nice young lads,1 and a strange old Kirkcaldy man & his wife; who all came to this inn; and are positively a kind of comfort to me, more or less. The Town is one of [the]2 strangest (next to Venice) in the world; all cut into square islands by canals and streets: really very gay and pretty-looking with its trees, ships and houses all served up to one in one plate. I have seen Erasmus3 in bronze, all defiled with the nastiest pollutions; and many women washing clothes in the street, with very deep tubs and a hollow wooden pestle! Enough, enough: for I have still to write to my Mother (ah me!) and the minutes are waning.

Adieu, Dearest— Ever

T. Carlyle