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diff --git a/old/11364-0.txt b/old/11364-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6c77315 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/11364-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12436 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Clarissa, Volume 6 (of 9), by Samuel Richardson + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: Clarissa, Volume 6 (of 9) + The History Of A Young Lady + +Author: Samuel Richardson + +Release Date: February 28, 2004 [eBook #11364] +[Most recently updated: October 14, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: Julie C. Sparks and David Widger + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CLARISSA, VOLUME 6 (OF 9) *** + + + + +CLARISSA HARLOWE + +or the +HISTORY OF A YOUNG LADY + +By Samuel Richardson + +Volume VI. (of Nine Volumes) + + +CONTENTS + + DETAILED CONTENTS + THE HISTORY OF CLARISSA HARLOWE + LETTER I + LETTER II + LETTER III + LETTER IV + LETTER V + LETTER VI + LETTER VII + LETTER VIII + LETTER IX + LETTER X + LETTER XI + LETTER XII + LETTER XIII + LETTER XIV + LETTER XV + LETTER XVI + LETTER XVII + LETTER XVIII + LETTER XIX + LETTER XX + LETTER XXI + LETTER XXII + LETTER XXIII + LETTER XXIV + LETTER XXV + LETTER XXVI + LETTER XXVII + LETTER XXVIII + LETTER XXIX + LETTER XXX + LETTER XXXI + LETTER XXXII + LETTER XXXIII + LETTER XXXIV + LETTER XXXV + LETTER XXXVI + LETTER XXXVII + LETTER XXXVIII + LETTER XXXIX + LETTER XL + LETTER XLI + LETTER XLII + LETTER XLIII + LETTER XLIV + LETTER XLV + LETTER XLVI + LETTER XLVII + LETTER XLVIII + LETTER XLIX + LETTER L + LETTER LI + LETTER LII + LETTER LIII + LETTER LIV + LETTER LV + LETTER LVI + LETTER LVII + LETTER LVIII + LETTER LIX + LETTER LX + LETTER LXI + LETTER LXII + LETTER LXIII + LETTER LXIV + LETTER LXV + LETTER LXVI + LETTER LXVII + LETTER LXVIII + LETTER LXIX + LETTER LXX + LETTER LXXI + LETTER LXXII + LETTER LXXIII + + + + +DETAILED CONTENTS + + +LETTER I. II. Lovelace to Belford.—His conditional promise to Tomlinson +in the lady’s favour. His pleas and arguments on their present +situation, and on his darling and hitherto-baffled views. His whimsical +contest with his conscience. His latest adieu to it. His strange +levity, which he calls gravity, on the death of Belford’s uncle. + +LETTER III. IV. From the same.—She favours him with a meeting in the +garden. Her composure. Her conversation great and noble. But will not +determine any thing in his favour. It is however evident, he says, that +she has still some tenderness for him. His reasons. An affecting scene +between them. Her ingenuousness and openness of heart. She resolves to +go to church; but will not suffer him to accompany her thither. His +whimsical debate with the God of Love, whom he introduced as pleading +for the lady. + +LETTER V. VI. VII. From the same.—He has got the wished-for letter from +Miss Howe.—Informs him of the manner of obtaining it.—His remarks upon +it. Observations on female friendships. Comparison between Clarissa and +Miss Howe. + +LETTER VIII. From the same.—Another conversation with the lady. His +plausible arguments to re-obtain her favour ineffectual. His pride +piqued. His revenge incited. New arguments in favour of his wicked +prospects. His notice that a license is actually obtained. + +LETTER IX. X. From the same.—Copy of the license; with his observations +upon it. His scheme for annual marriages. He is preparing with Lady +Betty and Miss Montague to wait upon Clarissa. Who these pretended +ladies are. How dressed. They give themselves airs of quality. +Humourously instructs them how to act up their assumed characters. + +LETTER XI. XII. Lovelace to Belford.—Once more is the charmer of his +soul in her old lodgings. Brief account of the horrid imposture. Steels +his heart by revengeful recollections. Her agonizing apprehensions. +Temporary distraction. Is ready to fall into fits. But all her +distress, all her prayers, her innocence, her virtue, cannot save her +from the most villanous outrage. + +LETTER XIII. Belford to Lovelace.—Vehemently inveighs against him. +Grieves for the lady. Is now convinced that there must be a world after +this to do justice to injured merit. Beseeches him, if he be a man, and +not a devil, to do all the poor justice now in his power. + +LETTER XIV. Lovelace to Belford.—Regrets that he ever attempted her. +Aims at extenuation. Does he not see that he has journeyed on to this +stage, with one determined point in view from the first? She is at +present stupified, he says. + +LETTER XV. From the same.—The lady’s affecting behaviour in her +delirium. He owns that art has been used to her. Begins to feel +remorse. + +LETTER XVI. From the same.—The lady writes upon scraps of paper, which +she tears, and throws under the table. Copies of ten of these rambling +papers; and of a letter to him most affectingly incoherent. He attempts +farther to extenuate his villany. Tries to resume his usual levity; and +forms a scheme to decoy the people at Hampstead to the infamous woman’s +in town. The lady seems to be recovering. + +LETTER XVII. From the same.—She attempts to get away in his absence. Is +prevented by the odious Sinclair. He exults in the hope of looking her +into confusion when he sees her. Is told by Dorcas that she is coming +into the dining-room to find him out. + +LETTER XVIII. From the same.—A high scene of her exalted, and of his +depressed, behaviour. Offers to make her amends by matrimony. She +treats his offer with contempt. Afraid Belford plays him false. + +LETTER XIX. From the same.—Wishes he had never seen her. With all the +women he had known till now, it was once subdued, and always subdued. +His miserable dejection. His remorse. She attempts to escape. A mob +raised. His quick invention to pacify it. Out of conceit with himself +and his contrivances. + +LETTER XX. XXI. Lovelace to Belford.—Lord M. very ill. His presence +necessary at M. Hall. Puts Dorcas upon ingratiating herself with her +lady.—He re-urges marriage to her. She absolutely, from the most noble +motives, rejects him. + +LETTER XXII. From the same.—Reflects upon himself. It costs, he says, +more pain to be wicked than to be good. The lady’s solemn expostulation +with him. Extols her greatness of soul. Dorcas coming into favour with +her. He is alarmed by another attempt of the lady to get off. She is in +agonies at being prevented. He tried to intimidate her. Dorcas pleads +for her. On the point of drawing his sword against himself. The +occasion. + +LETTER XXIII. From the same.—Cannot yet persuade himself but the lady +will be his. Reasons for his opinion. Opens his heart to Belford, as to +his intentions by her. Mortified that she refuses his honest vows. Her +violation but notional. Her triumph greater than her sufferings. Her +will unviolated. He is a better man, he says, than most rakes; and why. + +LETTER XXIV. XXV. From the same.—The lady gives a promissory note to +Dorcas, to induce her to further her escape.—A fair trial of skill now, +he says. A conversation between the vile Dorcas and her lady: in which +she engages her lady’s pity. The bonds of wickedness stronger than the +ties of virtue. Observations on that subject. + +LETTER XXVI. XXVII. XXVIII. From the same.—A new contrivance to +advantage of the lady’s intended escape.—A letter from Tomlinson. +Intent of it.—He goes out to give opportunity for the lady to attempt +an escape. His designs frustrated. + +LETTER XXIX. From the same.—An interesting conversation between the +lady and him. No concession in his favour. By his soul, he swears, this +dear girl gives the lie to all their rakish maxims. He has laid all the +sex under obligation to him; and why. + +LETTER XXX. Lovelace to Belford.—Lord M. in extreme danger. The family +desire his presence. He intercepts a severe letter from Miss Howe to +her friend. Copy of it. + +LETTER XXXI. From the same.—The lady, suspecting Dorcas, tries to +prevail upon him to give her her liberty. She disclaims vengeance, and +affectingly tells him all her future views. Denied, she once more +attempts an escape. Prevented, and terrified with apprehensions of +instant dishonour, she is obliged to make some concession. + +LETTER XXXII. From the same.—Accuses her of explaining away her +concession. Made desperate, he seeks occasion to quarrel with her. She +exerts a spirit which overawes him. He is ridiculed by the infamous +copartnership. Calls to Belford to help a gay heart to a little of his +dismal, on the expected death of Lord M. + +LETTER XXXIII. From the same.—Another message from M. Hall, to engage +him to go down the next morning. + +LETTER XXXIV. XXXV. From the same.—The women’s instigations. His +farther schemes against the lady. What, he asks, is the injury which a +church-rite will not at any time repair? + +LETTER XXXVI. From the same.—Himself, the mother, her nymphs, all +assembled with intent to execute his detestable purposes. Her glorious +behaviour on the occasion. He execrates, detests, despises himself; and +admires her more than ever. Obliged to set out early that morning for +M. Hall, he will press her with letters to meet him next Thursday, her +uncle’s birthday, at the altar. + +LETTER XXXVII. XXXVIII. XXXIX. Lovelace to Clarissa, from M. +Hall.—Urging her accordingly, (the license in her hands,) by the most +engaging pleas and arguments. + +LETTER XL. Lovelace to Belford.—Begs he will wait on the lady, and +induce her to write but four words to him, signifying the church and +the day. Is now resolved on wedlock. Curses his plots and contrivances; +which all end, he says, in one grand plot upon himself. + +LETTER XLI. Belford to Lovelace. In answer.—Refuses to undertake for +him, unless he can be sure of his honour. Why he doubts it. + +LETTER XLII. Lovelace. In reply.—Curses him for scrupulousness. Is in +earnest to marry. After one more letter of entreaty to her, if she keep +sullen silence, she must take the consequence. + +LETTER XLIII. Lovelace to Clarissa.—Once more earnestly entreats her to +meet him at the altar. Not to be forbidden coming, he will take for +leave to come. + +LETTER XLIV. Lovelace to Patrick M’Donald.—Ordering him to visit the +lady, and instructing him what to say, and how to behave to her. + +LETTER XLV. To the same, as Captain Tomlinson.—Calculated to be shown +to the lady, as in confidence. + +LETTER XLVI. M’Donald to Lovelace.—Goes to attend the lady according to +direction. Finds the house in an uproar; and the lady escaped. + +LETTER XLVII. Mowbray to Lovelace.—With the same news. + +LETTER XLVIII. Belford to Lovelace.—Ample particulars of the lady’s +escape. Makes serious reflections on the distress she must be in; and +on his (Lovelace’s) ungrateful usage of her. What he takes the sum of +religion. + +LETTER XLIX. Lovelace to Belford.—Runs into affected levity and +ridicule, yet at last owns all his gayety but counterfeit. Regrets his +baseness to the lady. Inveighs against the women for their +instigations. Will still marry her, if she can be found out. One +misfortune seldom comes alone; Lord M. is recovering. He had bespoken +mourning for him. + +LETTER L. Clarissa to Miss Howe.—Writes with incoherence, to inquire +after her health. Lets her know whither to direct to her. But forgets, +in her rambling, her private address. By which means her letter falls +into the hands of Miss Howe’s mother. + +LETTER LI. Mrs. Howe to Clarissa.—Reproaches her for making all her +friends unhappy. Forbids her to write any more to her daughter. + +LETTER LII. Clarissa’s meek reply. + +LETTER LIII. Clarissa to Hannah Burton. + +LETTER LIV. Hannah Burton. In answer. + +LETTER LV. Clarissa to Miss Norton.—Excuses her long silence. Asks her +a question, with a view to detect Lovelace. Hints at his ungrateful +villany. Self-recrimination. + +LETTER LVI. Mrs. Norton to Clarissa.—Answers her question. Inveighs +against Lovelace. Hopes she has escaped with her honour. Consoles her +by a brief relation of her own case, and from motives truly pious. + +LETTER LVII. Clarissa to Lady Betty Lawrance.—Requests an answer to +three questions, with a view farther to detect Lovelace. + +LETTER LVIII. Lady Betty to Clarissa.—Answers her questions. In the +kindest manner offers to mediate between her nephew and her. + +LETTER LIX. LX. Clarissa to Mrs. Hodges, her uncle Harlowe’s +housekeeper; with a view of still farther detecting Lovelace.—Mrs. +Hodges’s answer. + +LETTER LXI. Clarissa to Lady Betty Lawrance.—Acquaints her with her +nephew’s baseness. Charitably wishes his reformation; but utterly, and +from principle, rejects him. + +LETTER LXII. Clarissa to Mrs. Norton.—Is comforted by her kind +soothings. Wishes she had been her child. Will not allow her to come up +to her; why. Some account of the people she is with; and of a worthy +woman, Mrs. Lovick, who lodges in the house. Briefly hints to her the +vile usage she has received from Lovelace. + +LETTER LXIII. Mrs. Norton to Clarissa.—Inveighs against Lovelace. +Wishes Miss Howe might be induced to refrain from freedoms that do +hurt, and can do no good. Farther piously consoles her. + +LETTER LXIV. Clarissa to Mrs. Norton.—A new trouble. An angry letter +from Miss Howe. The occasion. Her heart is broken. Shall be uneasy, +till she can get her father’s curse revoked. Casts about to whom she +can apply for this purpose. At last resolves to write to her sister to +beg her mediation. + +LETTER LXV. Miss Howe to Clarissa.—Her angry and reproachful letter +above-mentioned; demands from her the clearing up of her conduct. + +LETTER LXVI. Clarissa to Miss Howe.—Gently remonstrates upon her +severity. To this hour knows not all the methods taken to deceive and +ruin her. But will briefly, yet circumstantially, enter into the darker +part of her sad story, though her heart sinks under the thoughts of a +recollection so painful. + +LETTER LXVII. LXVIII. LXIX. LXX. From the same.—She gives the promised +particulars of her story. Begs that the blackest parts of it may be +kept secret; and why. Desires one friendly tear, and no more, may be +dropt from her gentle eye, on the happy day that shall shut up all her +sorrows. + +LETTER LXXI. LXXII. Miss Howe to Clarissa.—Execrates the abandoned +profligate. She must, she tells her, look to the world beyond this for +her reward. Unravels some of Lovelace’s plots; and detects his +forgeries. Is apprehensive for her own as well as Clarissa’s safety. +Advises her to pursue a legal vengeance. Laudable custom in the Isle of +Man. Offers personally to attend her in a court of justice. + +LETTER LXXIII. Clarissa to Miss Howe.—Cannot consent to a prosecution. +Discovers who it was that personated her at Hampstead. She is quite +sick of life, and of an earth in which innocent and benevolent spirits +are sure to be considered as aliens. + + + + + THE HISTORY OF CLARISSA HARLOWE + +VOLUME SIX + + + + + LETTER I + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. + + +Sat. Midnight. + + +No rest, says a text that I once heard preached upon, to the wicked—and +I cannot close my eyes (yet only wanted to compound for half an hour in +an elbow-chair)—so must scribble on. + +I parted with the Captain after another strong debate with him in +relation to what is to be the fate of this lady. As the fellow has an +excellent head, and would have made an eminent figure in any station of +life, had not his early days been tainted with a deep crime, and he +detected in it; and as he had the right side of the argument; I had a +good deal of difficulty with him; and at last brought myself to +promise, that if I could prevail upon her generously to forgive me, and +to reinstate me in her favour, I would make it my whole endeavour to +get off of my contrivances, as happily as I could; (only that Lady +Betty and Charlotte must come;) and then substituting him for her +uncle’s proxy, take shame to myself, and marry. + +But if I should, Jack, (with the strongest antipathy to the state that +ever man had,) what a figure shall I make in rakish annals? And can I +have taken all this pains for nothing? Or for a wife only, that, +however excellent, [and any woman, do I think I could make good, +because I could make any woman fear as well as love me,] might have +been obtained without the plague I have been at, and much more +reputably than with it? And hast thou not seen, that this haughty woman +[forgive me that I call her haughty! and a woman! Yet is she not +haughty?] knows not how to forgive with graciousness? Indeed has not at +all forgiven me? But holds my soul in a suspense which has been so +grievous to her own. + +At this silent moment, I think, that if I were to pursue my former +scheme, and resolve to try whether I cannot make a greater fault serve +as a sponge to wipe out the less; and then be forgiven for that; I can +justify myself to myself; and that, as the fair invincible would say, +is all in all. + +As it is my intention, in all my reflections, to avoid repeating, at +least dwelling upon, what I have before written to thee, though the +state of the case may not have varied; so I would have thee to +re-consider the old reasonings (particularly those contained in my +answer to thy last* expostulatory nonsense); and add the new as they +fall from my pen; and then I shall think myself invincible;—at least, +as arguing rake to rake. + +* See Vol. V. Letter XIV. + +I take the gaining of this lady to be essential to my happiness: and is +it not natural for all men to aim at obtaining whatever they think will +make them happy, be the object more or less considerable in the eyes of +others? + +As to the manner of endeavouring to obtain her, by falsification of +oaths, vows, and the like—do not the poets of two thousand years and +upwards tell us, that Jupiter laughs at the perjuries of lovers? And +let me add, to what I have heretofore mentioned on that head, a +question or two. + +Do not the mothers, the aunts, the grandmothers, the governesses of the +pretty innocents, always, from their very cradles to riper years, +preach to them the deceitfulness of men?—That they are not to regard +their oaths, vows, promises?—What a parcel of fibbers would all these +reverend matrons be, if there were not now and then a pretty credulous +rogue taken in for a justification of their preachments, and to serve +as a beacon lighted up for the benefit of the rest? + +Do we not then see, that an honest prowling fellow is a necessary evil +on many accounts? Do we not see that it is highly requisite that a +sweet girl should be now-and-then drawn aside by him?—And the more +eminent the girl, in the graces of person, mind, and fortune, is not +the example likely to be the more efficacious? + +If these postulata be granted me, who, I pray, can equal my charmer in +all these? Who therefore so fit for an example to the rest of her +sex?—At worst, I am entirely within my worthy friend Mandeville’s +assertion, that private vices are public benefits. + +Well, then, if this sweet creature must fall, as it is called, for the +benefit of all the pretty fools of the sex, she must; and there’s an +end of the matter. And what would there have been in it of uncommon or +rare, had I not been so long about it?—And so I dismiss all further +argumentation and debate upon the question: and I impose upon thee, +when thou writest to me, an eternal silence on this head. + +Wafer’d on, as an after-written introduction to the paragraphs which +follow, marked with turned commas, [thus, “]: + +Lord, Jack, what shall I do now! How one evil brings on another! +Dreadful news to tell thee! While I was meditating a simple robbery, +here have I (in my own defence indeed) been guilty of murder!—A bl—y +murder! So I believe it will prove. At her last gasp!—Poor impertinent +opposer!—Eternally resisting!—Eternally contradicting! There she lies +weltering in her blood! her death’s wound have I given her!—But she was +a thief, an impostor, as well as a tormentor. She had stolen my pen. +While I was sullenly meditating, doubting, as to my future measures, +she stole it; and thus she wrote with it in a hand exactly like my own; +and would have faced me down, that it was really my own hand-writing. + +“But let me reflect before it is too late. On the manifold perfections +of this ever-amiable creature let me reflect. The hand yet is only held +up. The blow is not struck. Miss Howe’s next letter may blow thee up. +In policy thou shouldest be now at least honest. Thou canst not live +without her. Thou wouldest rather marry her than lose her absolutely. +Thou mayest undoubtedly prevail upon her, inflexible as she seems to +be, for marriage. But if now she finds thee a villain, thou mayest +never more engage her attention, and she perhaps will refuse and abhor +thee. + +“Yet already have I not gone too far? Like a repentant thief, afraid of +his gang, and obliged to go on, in fear of hanging till he comes to be +hanged, I am afraid of the gang of my cursed contrivances. + +“As I hope to live, I am sorry, (at the present writing,) that I have +been such a foolish plotter, as to put it, as I fear I have done, out +of my own power to be honest. I hate compulsion in all forms; and +cannot bear, even to be compelled to be the wretch my choice has made +me! So now, Belford, as thou hast said, I am a machine at last, and no +free agent. + +“Upon my soul, Jack, it is a very foolish thing for a man of spirit to +have brought himself to such a height of iniquity, that he must +proceed, and cannot help himself, and yet to be next to certain, that +this very victory will undo him. + +“Why was such a woman as this thrown into my way, whose very fall will +be her glory, and, perhaps, not only my shame but my destruction? + +“What a happiness must that man know, who moves regularly to some +laudable end, and has nothing to reproach himself with in his progress +to do it! When, by honest means, he attains his end, how great and +unmixed must be his enjoyments! What a happy man, in this particular +case, had I been, had it been given me to be only what I wished to +appear to be!” + +Thus far had my conscience written with my pen; and see what a recreant +she had made of me!—I seized her by the throat—There!—There, said I, +thou vile impertinent!—take that, and that!—How often have I gave thee +warning!—and now, I hope, thou intruding varletess, have I done thy +business! + +Puling and low-voiced, rearing up thy detested head, in vain implorest +thou my mercy, who, in thy day hast showed me so little!—Take that, for +a rising blow!—And now will thy pain, and my pain for thee, soon be +over. Lie there!—Welter on!—Had I not given thee thy death’s wound, +thou wouldest have robbed me of all my joys. Thou couldest not have +mended me, ’tis plain. Thou couldest only have thrown me into despair. +Didst thou not see, that I had gone too far to recede?—Welter on, once +more I bid thee!—Gasp on!—That thy last gasp, surely!—How hard diest +thou! + +ADIEU!—Unhappy man! ADIEU! + +’Tis kind in thee, however, to bid me, Adieu! + +Adieu, Adieu, Adieu, to thee, O thou inflexible, and, till now, +unconquerable bosom intruder!—Adieu to thee for ever! + + + + + LETTER II + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. + + +SUNDAY MORN. (JUNE 11). FOUR O’CLOCK. + + +A few words to the verbal information thou sentest me last night +concerning thy poor old man; and then I rise from my seat, shake +myself, refresh, new-dress, and so to my charmer, whom, notwithstanding +her reserves, I hope to prevail upon to walk out with me on the Heath +this warm and fine morning. + +The birds must have awakened her before now. They are in full song. She +always gloried in accustoming herself to behold the sun rise—one of +God’s natural wonders, as once she called it. + +Her window salutes the east. The valleys must be gilded by his rays, by +the time I am with her; for already have they made the up-lands smile, +and the face of nature cheerful. + +How unsuitable will thou find this gay preface to a subject so gloomy +as that I am now turning to! + +I am glad to hear thy tedious expectations are at last answered. + +Thy servant tells me that thou are plaguily grieved at the old fellow’s +departure. + +I can’t say, but thou mayest look as if thou wert; harassed as thou +hast been for a number of days and nights with a close attendance upon +a dying man, beholding his drawing-on hour—pretending, for decency’s +sake, to whine over his excruciating pangs; to be in the way to answer +a thousand impertinent inquiries after the health of a man thou +wishedest to die—to pray by him—for so once thou wrotest to me!—To read +by him—to be forced to join in consultation with a crew of solemn and +parading doctors, and their officious zanies, the apothecaries, joined +with the butcherly tribe of scarficators; all combined to carry on the +physical farce, and to cut out thongs both from his flesh and his +estate—to have the superadded apprehension of dividing thy interest in +what he shall leave with a crew of eager-hoping, never-to-be-satisfied +relations, legatees, and the devil knows who, of private gratifiers of +passions laudable and illaudable—in these circumstances, I wonder not +that thou lookest before servants, (as little grieved as thou after +heirship,) as if thou indeed wert grieved; and as if the most wry-fac’d +woe had befallen thee. + +Then, as I have often thought, the reflection that must naturally arise +from such mortifying objects, as the death of one with whom we have +been familiar, must afford, when we are obliged to attend it in its +slow approaches, and in its face-twisting pangs, that it will one day +be our own case, goes a great way to credit the appearance of grief. + +And that it is this, seriously reflected upon, may temporally give a +fine air of sincerity to the wailings of lively widows, heart-exulting +heirs, and residuary legatees of all denominations; since, by keeping +down the inward joy, those interesting reflections must sadden the +aspect, and add an appearance of real concern to the assumed sables. + +Well, but, now thou art come to the reward of all thy watchings, +anxieties, and close attendances, tell me what it is; tell me if it +compensate thy trouble, and answer thy hope? + +As to myself, thou seest, by the gravity of my style, how the subject +has helped to mortify me. But the necessity I am under of committing +either speedy matrimony, or a rape, has saddened over my gayer +prospects, and, more than the case itself, contributed to make me +sympathize with the present joyful-sorrow. + +Adieu, Jack, I must be soon out of my pain; and my Clarissa shall be +soon out of her’s—for so does the arduousness of the case require. + + + + + LETTER III + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. + + +SUNDAY MORNING. + + +I have had the honour of my charmer’s company for two complete hours. +We met before six in Mrs. Moore’s garden. A walk on the Heath refused +me. + +The sedateness of her aspect and her kind compliance in this meeting +gave me hopes. And all that either the Captain and I had urged +yesterday to obtain a full and free pardon, that re-urged I; and I told +her, besides, that Captain Tomlinson was gone down with hopes to +prevail upon her uncle Harlowe to come up in person, in order to +present to me the greatest blessing that man ever received. + +But the utmost I could obtain was, that she would take no resolution in +my favour till she received Miss Howe’s next letter. + +I will not repeat the arguments I used; but I will give thee the +substance of what she said in answer to them. + +She had considered of every thing, she told me. My whole conduct was +before her. The house I carried her to must be a vile house. The people +early showed what they were capable of, in the earnest attempt made to +fasten Miss Partington upon her; as she doubted not, with my +approbation. [Surely, thought I, she has not received a duplicate of +Miss Howe’s letter of detection!] They heard her cries. My insult was +undoubtedly premeditated. By my whole recollected behaviour to her, +previous to it, it must be so. I had the vilest of views, no question. +And my treatment of her put it out of all doubt. + +Soul over all, Belford! She seems sensible of liberties that my passion +made me insensible of having taken, or she could not so deeply resent. + +She besought me to give over all thoughts of her. Sometimes, she said, +she thought herself cruelly treated by her nearest and dearest +relations; at such times, a spirit of repining and even of resentment +took place; and the reconciliation, at other times so desirable, was +not then so much the favourite wish of her heart, as was the scheme she +had formerly planned—of taking her good Norton for her directress and +guide, and living upon her own estate in the manner her grandfather had +intended she should live. + +This scheme she doubted not that her cousin Morden, who was one of her +trustees for that estate, would enable her, (and that, as she hoped, +without litigation,) to pursue. And if he can, and does, what, Sir, let +me ask you, said she, have I seen in your conduct, that should make me +prefer to it an union of interest, where there is such a disunion in +minds? + +So thou seest, Jack, there is reason, as well as resentment, in the +preference she makes against me!—Thou seest, that she presumes to think +that she can be happy without me; and that she must be unhappy with me! + +I had besought her, in the conclusion of my re-urged arguments, to +write to Miss Howe before Miss Howe’s answer could come, in order to +lay before her the present state of things; and if she would pay a +deference to her judgment, to let her have an opportunity to give it, +on the full knowledge of the case— + +So I would, Mr. Lovelace, was the answer, if I were in doubt myself, +which I would prefer—marriage, or the scheme I have mentioned. You +cannot think, Sir, but the latter must be my choice. I wish to part +with you with temper—don’t put me upon repeating— + +Part with me, Madam! interrupted I—I cannot bear those words!—But let +me beseech you, however, to write to Miss Howe. I hope, if Miss Howe is +not my enemy— + +She is not the enemy of your person, Sir;—as you would be convinced, if +you saw her last letter* to me. But were she not an enemy to your +actions, she would not be my friend, nor the friend of virtue. Why will +you provoke from me, Mr. Lovelace, the harshness of expression, which, +however, which, however deserved by you, I am unwilling just now to +use, having suffered enough in the two past days from my own vehemence? + +* The lady innocently means Mr. Lovelace’s forged one. See Vol. V. +Letter XXX. + +I bit my lip for vexation. And was silent. + +Miss Howe, proceeded she, knows the full state of matters already, Sir. +The answer I expect from her respects myself, not you. Her heart is too +warm in the cause of friendship, to leave me in suspense one moment +longer than is necessary as to what I want to know. Nor does her answer +absolutely depend upon herself. She must see a person first, and that +person perhaps see others. + +The cursed smuggler-woman, Jack!—Miss Howe’s Townsend, I doubt +not—Plot, contrivance, intrigue, stratagem!—Underground-moles these +women—but let the earth cover me!—let me be a mole too, thought I, if +they carry their point!—and if this lady escape me now! + +She frankly owned that she had once thought of embarking out of all our +ways for some one of our American colonies. But now that she had been +compelled to see me, (which had been her greatest dread), and which she +might be happiest in the resumption of her former favourite scheme, if +Miss Howe could find her a reputable and private asylum, till her +cousin Morden could come.—But if he came not soon, and if she had a +difficulty to get to a place of refuge, whether from her brother or +from any body else, [meaning me, I suppose,] she might yet perhaps go +abroad; for, to say the truth, she could not think of returning to her +father’s house, since her brother’s rage, her sister’s upbraidings, her +father’s anger, her mother’s still-more-affecting sorrowings, and her +own consciousness under them all, would be unsupportable to her. + +O Jack! I am sick to death, I pine, I die, for Miss Howe’s next letter! +I would bind, gag, strip, rob, and do any thing but murder, to +intercept it. + +But, determined as she seems to be, it was evident to me, nevertheless, +that she had still some tenderness for me. + +She often wept as she talked, and much oftener sighed. She looked at me +twice with an eye of undoubted gentleness, and three times with an eye +tending to compassion and softness; but its benign rays were as often +snatched back, as I may say, and her face averted, as if her sweet eyes +were not to be trusted, and could not stand against my eager eyes; +seeking, as they did, for a lost heart in her’s, and endeavouring to +penetrate to her very soul. + +More than once I took her hand. She struggled not much against the +freedom. I pressed it once with my lips—she was not very angry. A frown +indeed—but a frown that had more distress in it than indignation. + +How came the dear soul, (clothed as it is with such a silken vesture,) +by all its steadiness?* Was it necessary that the active gloom of such +a tyrant of a father, should commix with such a passive sweetness of a +will-less mother, to produce a constancy, an equanimity, a steadiness, +in the daughter, which never woman before could boast of? If so, she is +more obliged to that despotic father than I could have imagined a +creature to be, who gave distinction to every one related to her beyond +what the crown itself can confer. + +* See Vol. I. Letters IX. XIV. and XIX. for what she herself says on +that steadiness which Mr. Lovelace, though a deserved sufferer by it, +cannot help admiring. + +I hoped, I said, that she would admit of the intended visit, which I +had so often mentioned, of the two ladies. + +She was here. She had seen me. She could not help herself at present. +She even had the highest regard for the ladies of my family, because of +their worthy characters. There she turned away her sweet face, and +vanquished an half-risen sigh. + +I kneeled to her then. It was upon a verdant cushion; for we were upon +the grass walk. I caught her hand. I besought her with an earnestness +that called up, as I could feel, my heart to my eyes, to make me, by +her forgiveness and example, more worthy of them, and of her own kind +and generous wishes. By my soul, Madam, said I, you stab me with your +goodness—your undeserved goodness! and I cannot bear it! + +Why, why, thought I, as I did several times in this conversation, will +she not generously forgive me? Why will she make it necessary for me to +bring Lady Betty and my cousin to my assistance? Can the fortress +expect the same advantageous capitulation, which yields not to the +summons of a resistless conqueror, as if it gave not the trouble of +bringing up and raising its heavy artillery against it? + +What sensibilities, said the divine creature, withdrawing her hand, +must thou have suppressed! What a dreadful, what a judicial hardness of +heart must thine be! who canst be capable of such emotions, as +sometimes thou hast shown; and of such sentiments, as sometimes have +flowed from thy lips; yet canst have so far overcome them all as to be +able to act as thou hast acted, and that from settled purpose and +premeditation; and this, as it is said, throughout the whole of thy +life, from infancy to this time! + +I told her, that I had hoped, from the generous concern she had +expressed for me, when I was so suddenly and dangerously taken ill—[the +ipecacuanha experiment, Jack!] + +She interrupted me—Well have you rewarded me for the concern you speak +of!—However, I will frankly own, now that I am determined to think no +more of you, that you might, (unsatisfied as I nevertheless was with +you,) have made an interest— + +She paused. I besought her to proceed. + +Do you suppose, Sir, and turned away her sweet face as we walked,—Do +you suppose that I had not thought of laying down a plan to govern +myself by, when I found myself so unhappily over-reached and cheated, +as I may say, out of myself—When I found, that I could not be, and do, +what I wished to be, and to do, do you imagine that I had not cast +about, what was the next proper course to take?—And do you believe that +this next course has not caused me some pain to be obliged to— + +There again she stopt. + +But let us break off discourse, resumed she. The subject grows too—She +sighed—Let us break off discourse—I will go in—I will prepare for +church—[The devil! thought I.] Well, as I can appear in those +every-day-worn clothes—looking upon herself—I will go to church. + +She then turned from me to go into the house. + +Bless me, my beloved creature, bless me with the continuance of this +affecting conversation.—Remorse has seized my heart!—I have been +excessively wrong—give me farther cause to curse my heedless folly, by +the continuance of this calm but soul-penetrating conversation. + +No, no, Mr. Lovelace: I have said too much. Impatience begins to break +in upon me. If you can excuse me to the ladies, it will be better for +my mind’s sake, and for your credit’s sake, that I do not see them. +Call me to them over-nice, petulant, prudish—what you please call me to +them. Nobody but Miss Howe, to whom, next to the Almighty, and my own +mother, I wish to stand acquitted of wilful error, shall know the whole +of what has passed. Be happy, as you may!—Deserve to be happy, and +happy you will be, in your own reflection at least, were you to be ever +so unhappy in other respects. For myself, if I ever shall be enabled, +on due reflection, to look back upon my own conduct, without the great +reproach of having wilfully, and against the light of my own judgment, +erred, I shall be more happy than if I had all that the world accounts +desirable. + +The noble creature proceeded; for I could not speak. + +This self-acquittal, when spirits are lent me to dispel the darkness +which at present too often over-clouds my mind, will, I hope, make me +superior to all the calamities that can befal me. + +Her whole person was informed by her sentiments. She seemed to be +taller than before. How the God within her exalted her, not only above +me, but above herself! + +Divine creature! (as I thought her,) I called her. I acknowledged the +superiority of her mind; and was proceeding—but she interrupted me—All +human excellence, said she, is comparative only. My mind, I believe, is +indeed superior to your’s, debased as your’s is by evil habits: but I +had not known it to be so, if you had not taken pains to convince me of +the inferiority of your’s. + +How great, how sublimely great, this creature!—By my soul I cannot +forgive her for her virtues! There is no bearing the consciousness of +the infinite inferiority she charged me with.—But why will she break +from me, when good resolutions are taking place? The red-hot iron she +refuses to strike—O why will she suffer the yielding wax to harden? + +We had gone but a few paces towards the house, when we were met by the +impertinent women, with notice, that breakfast was ready. I could only, +with uplifted hands, beseech her to give me hope of a renewed +conversation after breakfast. + +No—she would go to church. + +And into the house she went, and up stairs directly. Nor would she +oblige me with her company at the tea-table. + +I offered, by Mrs. Moore, to quit both the table and the parlour, +rather than she should exclude herself, or deprive the two widows of +the favour of her company. + +That was not all the matter, she told Mrs. Moore. She had been +struggling to keep down her temper. It had cost her some pains to do +it. She was desirous to compose herself, in hopes to receive benefit by +the divine worship she was going to join in. + +Mrs. Moore hoped for her presence at dinner. + +She had rather be excused. Yet, if she could obtain the frame of mind +she hoped for, she might not be averse to show, that she had got above +those sensibilities, which gave consideration to a man who deserved not +to be to her what he had been. + +This said, no doubt, to let Mrs. Moore know, that the +garden-conversation had not been a reconciling one. + +Mrs. Moore seemed to wonder that we were not upon a better foot of +understanding, after so long a conference; and the more, as she +believed that the lady had given in to the proposal for the repetition +of the ceremony, which I had told them was insisted upon by her uncle +Harlowe.—But I accounted for this, by telling both widows that she was +resolved to keep on the reserve till she heard from Captain Tomlinson, +whether her uncle would be present in person at the solemnity, or would +name that worthy gentleman for his proxy. + +Again I enjoined strict secresy, as to this particular; which was +promised by the widows, as well as for themselves, as for Miss Rawlins; +of whose taciturnity they gave me such an account, as showed me, that +she was secret-keeper-general to all the women of fashion at Hampstead. + +The Lord, Jack! What a world of mischief, at this rate, must Miss +Rawlins know!—What a Pandora’s box must her bosom be!—Yet, had I +nothing that was more worthy of my attention to regard, I would engage +to open it, and make my uses of the discovery. + +And now, Belford, thou perceivest, that all my reliance is upon the +mediation of Lady Betty and Miss Montague, and upon the hope of +intercepting Miss Howe’s next letter. + + + + + LETTER IV + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. + + +This fair inexorable is actually gone to church with Mrs. Moore and +Mrs. Bevis; but Will. closely attends her motions; and I am in the way +to receive any occasional intelligence from him. + +She did not choose, [a mighty word with the sex! as if they were always +to have their own wills!] that I should wait upon her. I did not much +press it, that she might not apprehend that I thought I had reason to +doubt her voluntary return. + +I once had it in my head to have found the widow Bevis other +employment. And I believe she would have been as well pleased with my +company as to go to church; for she seemed irresolute when I told her +that two out of a family were enough to go to church for one day. But +having her things on, (as the women call every thing,) and her aunt +Moore expecting her company, she thought it best to go—lest it should +look oddly, you know, whispered she, to one who was above regarding how +it looked. + +So here am I in my dining-room; and have nothing to do but to write +till they return. + +And what will be my subject thinkest thou? Why, the old beaten one to +be sure; self-debate—through temporary remorse: for the blow being not +struck, her guardian angel is redoubling his efforts to save her. + +If it be not that, [and yet what power should her guardian angel have +over me?] I don’t know what it is that gives a check to my revenge, +whenever I meditate treason against so sovereign a virtue. Conscience +is dead and gone, as I told thee; so it cannot be that. A young +conscience growing up, like the phoenix, from the ashes of the old one, +it cannot be, surely. But if it were, it would be hard, if I could not +overlay a young conscience. + +Well, then, it must be LOVE, I fancy. LOVE itself, inspiring love of an +object so adorable—some little attention possibly paid likewise to thy +whining arguments in her favour. + +Let LOVE then be allowed to be the moving principle; and the rather, as +LOVE naturally makes the lover loth to disoblige the object of its +flame; and knowing, that to an offence of the meditated kind will be a +mortal offence to her, cannot bear that I should think of giving it. + +Let LOVE and me talk together a little on this subject—be it a young +conscience, or love, or thyself, Jack, thou seest that I am for giving +every whiffler audience. But this must be the last debate on this +subject; for is not her fate in a manner at its crisis? And must not my +next step be an irretrievable one, tend it which way it will? + + +And now the debate is over. + +A thousand charming things, (for LOVE is gentler than CONSCIENCE,) has +this little urchin suggested in her favour. He pretended to know both +our hearts: and he would have it, that though my love was a prodigious +strong and potent love; and though it has the merit of many months, +faithful service to plead, and has had infinite difficulties to +struggle with; yet that it is not THE RIGHT SORT OF LOVE. + +Right sort of love!—A puppy!—But, with due regard to your deityship, +said I, what merits has she with YOU, that you should be of her party? +Is her’s, I pray you, a right sort of love? Is it love at all? She +don’t pretend that it is. She owns not your sovereignty. What a d—l +moves you, to plead thus earnestly for a rebel, who despises your +power? + +And then he came with his If’s and And’s—and it would have been, and +still, as he believed, would be, love, and a love of the exalted kind, +if I would encourage it by the right sort of love he talked of: and, in +justification of his opinion, pleaded her own confessions, as well +those of yesterday, as of this morning: and even went so far back as to +my ipecacuanha illness. + +I never talked so familiarly with his godship before: thou mayest +think, therefore, that his dialect sounded oddly in my ears. And then +he told me, how often I had thrown cold water upon the most charming +flame that ever warmed a lady’s bosom, while but young and rising. + +I required a definition of this right sort of love, he tried at it: but +made a sorry hand of it: nor could I, for the soul of me, be convinced, +that what he meant to extol was LOVE. + +Upon the whole, we had a noble controversy upon this subject, in which +he insisted upon the unprecedented merit of the lady. Nevertheless I +got the better of him; for he was struck absolutely dumb, when (waving +her present perverseness, which yet was a sufficient answer to all his +pleas) I asserted, and offered to prove it, by a thousand instances +impromptu, that love was not governed by merit, nor could be under the +dominion of prudence, or any other reasoning power: and if the lady +were capable of love, it was of such a sort as he had nothing to do +with, and which never before reigned in a female heart. + +I asked him, what he thought of her flight from me, at a time when I +was more than half overcome by the right sort of love he talked of?—And +then I showed him the letter she wrote, and left behind her for me, +with an intention, no doubt, absolutely to break my heart, or to +provoke me to hang, drown, or shoot myself; to say nothing of a +multitude of declarations from her, defying his power, and imputing all +that looked like love in her behaviour to me, to the persecution and +rejection of her friends; which made her think of me but as a last +resort. + +LOVE then gave her up. The letter, he said, deserved neither pardon nor +excuse. He did not think he had been pleading for such a declared +rebel. And as to the rest, he should be a betrayer of the rights of his +own sovereignty, if what I had alleged were true, and he were still to +plead for her. + +I swore to the truth of all. And truly I swore: which perhaps I do not +always do. + +And now what thinkest thou must become of the lady, whom LOVE itself +gives up, and CONSCIENCE cannot plead for? + + + + + LETTER V + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. SUNDAY AFTERNOON. + +O Belford! what a hair’s-breadth escape have I had!—Such a one, that I +tremble between terror and joy, at the thought of what might have +happened, and did not. + +What a perverse girl is this, to contend with her fate; yet has reason +to think, that her very stars fight against her! I am the luckiest of +me!—But my breath almost fails me, when I reflect upon what a slender +thread my destiny hung. + +But not to keep thee in suspense; I have, within this half-hour, +obtained possession of the expected letter from Miss Howe—and by such +an accident! But here, with the former, I dispatch this; thy messenger +waiting. + + + + + LETTER VI + + +MR. LOVELACE [IN CONTINUATION.] + +Thus it was—My charmer accompanied Mrs. Moore again to church this +afternoon. I had been in very earnest, in the first place, to obtain +her company at dinner: but in vain. According to what she had said to +Mrs. Moore,* I was too considerable to her to be allowed that favour. +In the next place, I besought her to favour me, after dinner, with +another garden-walk. But she would again go to church. And what reason +have I to rejoice that she did! + +* See Letter III. of this volume. + +My worthy friend, Mrs. Bevis, thought one sermon a day, well observed, +enough; so staid at home to bear me company. + +The lady and Mrs. Moore had not been gone a quarter of an hour, when a +young country-fellow on horseback came to the door, and inquired for +Mrs. Harriot Lucas. The widow and I (undetermined how we were to +entertain each other) were in the parlour next the door; and hearing +the fellow’s inquiry, O my dear Mrs. Bevis, said I, I am undone, undone +for ever, if you don’t help me out!—Since here, in all probability, is +a messenger from that implacable Miss Howe with a letter; which, if +delivered to Mrs. Lovelace, may undo all we have been doing. + +What, said she, would you have me do? + +Call the maid in this moment, that I may give her her lesson; and if it +be as I imagined, I’ll tell you what you shall do. + +Wid. Margaret!—Margaret! come in this minute. + +Lovel. What answer, Mrs. Margaret, did you give the man, upon his +asking for Mrs. Harriot Lucas? + +Peggy. I only asked, What was his business, and who he came from? (for, +Sir, your honour’s servant had told me how things stood): and I came at +your call, Madam, before he answered me. + +Lovel. Well, child, if ever you wish to be happy in wedlock yourself, +and would have people disappointed who want to make mischief between +you and your husband, get out of him his message, or letter if he has +one, and bring it to me, and say nothing to Mrs. Lovelace, when she +comes in; and here is a guinea for you. + +Peggy. I will do all I can to serve your honour’s worship for nothing: +[nevertheless, with a ready hand, taking the guinea:] for Mr. William +tells me what a good gentleman you be. + +Away went Peggy to the fellow at the door. + +Peggy. What is your business, friend, with Mrs. Harry Lucas? + +Fellow. I must speak to her her own self. + +Lovel. My dearest widow, do you personate Mrs. Lovelace—for Heaven’s +sake do you personate Mrs. Lovelace. + +Wid. I personate Mrs. Lovelace, Sir! How can I do that?—She is fair; I +am brown. She is slender: I am plump— + +Lovel. No matter, no matter—The fellow may be a new-come servant: he is +not in livery, I see. He may not know her person. You can but be +bloated and in a dropsy. + +Wid. Dropsical people look not so fresh and ruddy as I do. + +Lovel. True—but the clown may not know that. ’Tis but for a present +deception. Peggy, Peggy, call’d I, in a female tone, softly at the +door. Madam, answer’d Peggy; and came up to me to the parlour-door. + +Lovel. Tell him the lady is ill; and has lain down upon the couch. And +get his business from him, whatever you do. + +Away went Peggy. + +Lovel. Now, my dear widow, lie along the settee, and put your +handkerchief over your face, that, if he will speak to you himself, he +may not see your eyes and your hair.—So—that’s right.—I’ll step into +the closet by you. + +I did so. + +Peggy. [Returning.] He won’t deliver his business to me. He will speak +to Mrs. Harriot Lucas her own self. + +Lovel. [Holding the door in my hand.] Tell him that this is Mrs. +Harriot Lucas; and let him come in. Whisper him (if he doubts) that she +is bloated, dropsical, and not the woman she was. + +Away went Margery. + +Lovel. And now, my dear widow, let me see what a charming Mrs. Lovelace +you’ll make!—Ask if he comes from Miss Howe. Ask if he lives with her. +Ask how she does. Call her, at every word, your dear Miss Howe. Offer +him money—take this half-guinea for him—complain of your head, to have +a pretence to hold it down; and cover your forehead and eyes with your +hand, where your handkerchief hides not your face.—That’s right—and +dismiss the rascal—[here he comes]—as soon as you can. + +In came the fellow, bowing and scraping, his hat poked out before him +with both his hands. + +Fellow. I am sorry, Madam, an’t please you, to find you ben’t well. + +Widow. What is your business with me, friend? + +Fellow. You are Mrs. Harriot Lucas, I suppose, Madam? + +Widow. Yes. Do you come from Miss Howe? + +Fellow. I do, Madam. + +Widow. Dost thou know my right name, friend? + +Fellow. I can give a shrewd guess. But that is none of my business. + +Widow. What is thy business? I hope Miss Howe is well? + +Fellow. Yes, Madam; pure well, I thank God. I wish you were so too. + +Widow. I am too full of grief to be well. + +Fellow. So belike I have hard to say. + +Widow. My head aches so dreadfully, I cannot hold it up. I must beg of +you to let me know your business. + +Fellow. Nay, and that be all, my business is soon known. It is but to +give this letter into your own partiklar hands—here it is. + +Widow. [Taking it.] From my dear friend Miss Howe?—Ah, my head! + +Fellow. Yes, Madam: but I am sorry you are so bad. + +Widow. Do you live with Miss Howe? + +Fellow. No, Madam: I am one of her tenants’ sons. Her lady-mother must +not know as how I came of this errand. But the letter, I suppose, will +tell you all. + +Widow. How shall I satisfy you for this kind trouble? + +Fellow. No how at all. What I do is for love of Miss Howe. She will +satisfy me more than enough. But, may-hap, you can send no answer, you +are so ill. + +Widow. Was you ordered to wait for an answer? + +Fellow. No, I cannot say as that I was. But I was bidden to observe how +you looked, and how you was; and if you did write a line or two, to +take care of it, and give it only to our young landlady in secret. + +Widow. You see I look strangely. Not so well as I used to do. + +Fellow. Nay, I don’t know that I ever saw you but once before; and that +was at a stile, where I met you and my young landlady; but knew better +than to stare a gentlewoman in the face; especially at a stile. + +Widow. Will you eat, or drink, friend? + +Fellow. A cup of small ale, I don’t care if I do. + +Widow. Margaret, take the young man down, and treat him with what the +house affords. + +Fellow. Your servant, Madam. But I staid to eat as I come along, just +upon the Heath yonder; or else, to say the truth, I had been here +sooner. [Thank my stars, thought I, thou didst.] A piece of powdered +beef was upon the table, at the sign of the Castle, where I stopt to +inquire for this house: and so, thoff I only intended to wet my +whistle, I could not help eating. So shall only taste of your ale; for +the beef was woundily corned. + +Prating dog! Pox on thee! thought I. + +He withdrew, bowing and scraping. + +Margaret, whispered I, in a female voice [whispering out of the closet, +and holding the parlour-door in my hand] get him out of the house as +fast as you can, lest they come from church, and catch him here. + +Peggy. Never fear, Sir. + +The fellow went down, and it seems, drank a large draught of ale; and +Margaret finding him very talkative, told him, she begged his pardon, +but she had a sweetheart just come from sea, whom she was forced to +hide in the pantry; so was sure he would excuse her from staying with +him. + +Ay, ay, to be sure, the clown said: for if he could not make sport, he +would spoil none. But he whispered her, that one ’Squire Lovelace was a +damnation rogue, if the truth might be told. + +For what? said Margaret. And could have given him, she told the widow +(who related to me all this) a good dowse of the chaps. + +For kissing all the women he came near. + +At the same time, the dog wrapped himself round Margery, and gave her a +smack, that, she told Mrs. Bevis afterwards, she might have heard into +the parlour. + +Such, Jack, is human nature: thus does it operate in all degrees; and +so does the clown, as well as his practises! Yet this sly dog knew not +but the wench had a sweetheart locked up in the pantry! If the truth +were known, some of the ruddy-faced dairy wenches might perhaps call +him a damnation rogue, as justly as their betters of the same sex might +’Squire Lovelace. + +The fellow told the maid, that, by what he discovered of the young +lady’s face, it looked very rosy to what he took it to be; and he +thought her a good deal fatter, as she lay, and not so tall. + +All women are born to intrigue, Jack; and practise it more or less, as +fathers, guardians, governesses, from dear experience, can tell; and in +love affairs are naturally expert, and quicker in their wits by half +than men. This ready, though raw wench, gave an instance of this, and +improved on the dropsical hint I had given her. The lady’s seeming +plumpness was owing to a dropsical disorder, and to the round posture +she lay in—very likely, truly. Her appearing to him to be shorter, he +might have observed, was owing to her drawing her feet up from pain, +and because the couch was too short, she supposed—Adso, he did not +think of that. Her rosy colour was owing to her grief and +head-ache.—Ay, that might very well be—but he was highly pleased that +he had given the letter into Mrs. Harriot’s own hand, as he should tell +Miss Howe. + +He desired once more to see the lady at his going away, and would not +be denied. The widow therefore sat up, with her handkerchief over her +face, leaning her head against the wainscot. + +He asked if she had any partiklar message? + +No: she was so ill she could not write; which was a great grief to her. + +Should he call the next day? for he was going to London, now he was so +near; and should stay at a cousin’s that night, who lived in a street +called Fetter-Lane. + +No: she would write as soon as able, and send by the post. + +Well, then, if she had nothing to send by him, mayhap he might stay in +town a day or two; for he had never seen the lions in the Tower, nor +Bedlam, nor the tombs; and he would make a holiday or two, as he had +leave to do, if she had no business or message that required his +posting down next day. + +She had not. + +She offered him the half-guinea I had given her for him; but he refused +it with great professions of disinterestedness, and love, as he called +it, to Miss Howe; to serve whom, he would ride to the world’s-end, or +even to Jericho. + +And so the shocking rascal went away: and glad at my heart was I when +he was gone; for I feared nothing so much as that he would have staid +till they came from church. + +Thus, Jack, got I my heart’s ease, the letter of Miss Howe; and through +such a train of accidents, as makes me say, that the lady’s stars fight +against her. But yet I must attribute a good deal to my own precaution, +in having taken right measures. For had I not secured the widow by my +stories, and the maid by my servant, all would have signified nothing. +And so heartily were they secured, the one by a single guinea, the +other by half a dozen warm kisses, and the aversion they both had to +such wicked creatures as delighted in making mischief between man and +wife, that they promised, that neither Mrs. Moore, Miss Rawlins, Mrs. +Lovelace, nor any body living, should know any thing of the matter. + +The widow rejoiced that I had got the mischief-maker’s letter. I +excused myself to her, and instantly withdrew with it; and, after I had +read it, fell to my short-hand, to acquaint thee with my good luck: and +they not returning so soon as church was done, (stepping, as it proved, +into Miss Rawlins’s, and tarrying there awhile, to bring that busy girl +with them to drink tea,) I wrote thus far to thee, that thou mightest, +when thou camest to this place, rejoice with me upon the occasion. + +They are all three just come in. + +I hasten to them. + + + + + LETTER VII + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. + + +I have begun another letter to thee, in continuation of my narrative: +but I believe I shall send thee this before I shall finish that. By the +enclosed thou wilt see, that neither of the correspondents deserve +mercy from me: and I am resolved to make the ending with one the +beginning with the other. + +If thou sayest that the provocations I have given to one of them will +justify her freedoms; I answer, so they will, to any other person but +myself. But he that is capable of giving those provocations, and has +the power to punish those who abuse him for giving them, will show his +resentment; and the more remorselessly, perhaps, as he has deserved the +freedoms. + +If thou sayest, it is, however, wrong to do so; I reply, that it is +nevertheless human nature:—And wouldst thou not have me to be a man, +Jack? + +Here read the letter, if thou wilt. But thou art not my friend, if thou +offerest to plead for either of the saucy creatures, after thou hast +read it. + +TO MRS. HARRIOT LUCAS, + +AT MRS. MOORE’S, AT HAMPSTEAD. JUNE 10. + +After the discoveries I had made of the villanous machinations of the +most abandoned of men, particularized in my long letter of Wednesday* +last, you will believe, my dearest friend, that my surprise upon +perusing your’s of Thursday evening from Hampstead** was not so great +as my indignation. Had the villain attempted to fire a city instead of +a house, I should not have wondered at it. All that I am amazed at is, +that he (whose boast, as I am told, it is, that no woman shall keep him +out of her bed-chamber, when he has made a resolution to be in it) did +not discover his foot before. And it is as strange to me, that, having +got you at such a shocking advantage, and in such a horrid house, you +could, at the time, escape dishonour, and afterwards get from such a +set of infernals. + +* See Vol. V. Letter XX. ** Ibid. See Letter XXI. + +I gave you, in my long letter of Wednesday and Thursday last, reasons +why you ought to mistrust that specious Tomlinson. That man, my dear, +must be a solemn villain. May lightning from Heaven blast the wretch, +who has set him and the rest of his REMORSELESS GANG at work, to +endeavour to destroy the most consummate virtue!—Heaven be praised! you +have escaped from all their snares, and now are out of danger.—So I +will not trouble you at present with the particulars I have further +collected relating to this abominable imposture. + +For the same reason, I forbear to communicate to you some new stories +of the abhorred wretch himself which have come to my ears. One, in +particular, of so shocking a nature!—Indeed, my dear, the man’s a +devil. + +The whole story of Mrs. Fretchville, and her house, I have no doubt to +pronounce, likewise, an absolute fiction.—Fellow!—How my soul spurns +the villain! + +Your thought of going abroad, and your reasons for so doing, most +sensibly affect me. But be comforted, my dear; I hope you will not be +under a necessity of quitting your native country. Were I sure that +that must be the cruel case, I would abandon all my better prospects, +and soon be with you. And I would accompany you whithersoever you went, +and share fortunes with you: for it is impossible that I should be +happy, if I knew that you were exposed not only to the perils of the +sea, but to the attempts of other vile men; your personal graces +attracting every eye; and exposing you to those hourly dangers, which +others, less distinguished by the gifts of nature, might avoid.—All +that I know that beauty (so greatly coveted, and so greatly admired) is +good for. + +O my dear, were I ever to marry, and to be the mother of a CLARISSA, +[Clarissa must be the name, if promisingly lovely,] how often would my +heart ache for the dear creature, as she grew up, when I reflected that +a prudence and discretion, unexampled in woman, had not, in you, been a +sufficient protection to that beauty, which had drawn after it as many +admirers as beholders!—How little should I regret the attacks of that +cruel distemper, as it is called, which frequently makes the greatest +ravages in the finest faces! + +SAT. AFTERNOON. + +I have just parted with Mrs. Townsend.* I thought you had once seen her +with me; but she says she never had the honour to be personally known +to you. She has a manlike spirit. She knows the world. And her two +brothers being in town, she is sure she can engage them in so good a +cause, and (if there should be occasion) both their ships’ crews, in +your service. + +* For the account of Mrs. Townsend, &c. see Vol. IV. Letter XLII. + +Give your consent, my dear; and the horrid villain shall be repaid with +broken bones, at least, for all his vileness! + +The misfortune is, Mrs. Townsend cannot be with you till Thursday next, +or Wednesday, at soonest: Are you sure you can be safe where you are +till then? I think you are too near London; and perhaps you had better +be in it. If you remove, let me, the very moment, know whither. + +How my heart is torn, to think of the necessity so dear a creature is +driven to of hiding herself! Devilish fellow! He must have been +sportive and wanton in his inventions—yet that cruel, that savage +sportiveness has saved you from the sudden violence to which he has had +recourse in the violation of others, of names and families not +contemptible. For such the villain always gloried to spread his snares. + +The vileness of this specious monster has done more, than any other +consideration could do, to bring Mr. Hickman into credit with me. Mr. +Hickman alone knows (from me) of your flight, and the reason of it. Had +I not given him the reason, he might have thought still worse of the +vile attempt. I communicated it to him by showing him your letter from +Hampstead. When he had read it, [and he trembled and reddened, as he +read,] he threw himself at my feet, and besought me to permit him to +attend you, and to give you the protection of his house. The +good-natured man had tears in his eyes, and was repeatedly earnest on +this subject; proposing to take his chariot-and-four, or a set, and in +person, in the face of all the world, give himself the glory of +protecting such an oppressed innocent. + +I could not but be pleased with him. And I let him know that I was. I +hardly expected so much spirit from him. But a man’s passiveness to a +beloved object of our sex may not, perhaps, argue want of courage on +proper occasions. + +I thought I ought, in return, to have some consideration for his +safety, as such an open step would draw upon him the vengeance of the +most villanous enterpriser in the world, who has always a gang of +fellows, such as himself, at his call, ready to support one another in +the vilest outrages. But yet, as Mr. Hickman might have strengthened +his hands by legal recourses, I should not have stood upon it, had I +not known your delicacy, [since such a step must have made a great +noise, and given occasion for scandal, as if some advantage had been +gained over you,] and were there not the greatest probability that all +might be more silently, and more effectually, managed, by Mrs. +Townsend’s means. + +Mrs. Townsend will in person attend you—she hopes, on Wednesday—her +brothers, and some of their people, will scatteringly, and as if they +knew nothing of you, [so we have contrived,] see you safe not only to +London, but to her house at Deptford. + +She has a kinswoman, who will take your commands there, if she herself +be obliged to leave you. And there you may stay, till the wretch’s +fury, on losing you, and his search, are over. + +He will very soon, ’tis likely, enter upon some new villany, which may +engross him: and it may be given out, that you are gone to lay claim to +the protection of your cousin Morden at Florence. + +Possibly, if he can be made to believe it, he will go over, in hopes to +find you there. + +After a while, I can procure you a lodging in one of our neighbouring +villages, where I may have the happiness to be your daily visiter. And +if this Hickman be not silly and apish, and if my mother do not do +unaccountable things, I may the sooner think of marrying, that I may, +without controul, receive and entertain the darling of my heart. + +Many, very many, happy days do I hope we shall yet see together; and as +this is my hope, I expect that it will be your consolation. + +As to your estate, since you are resolved not to litigate for it, we +will be patient, either till Colonel Morden arrives, or till shame +compels some people to be just. + +Upon the whole, I cannot but think your prospects now much happier than +they could have been, had you been actually married to such a man as +this. I must therefore congratulate you upon your escape, not only from +a horrid libertine, but from so vile a husband, as he must have made to +any woman; but more especially to a person of your virtue and delicacy. + +You hate him, heartily hate him, I hope, my dear—I am sure you do. It +would be strange, if so much purity of life and manners were not to +abhor what is so repugnant to itself. + +In your letter before me, you mention one written to me for a feint.* I +have not received any such. Depend upon it, therefore, that he must +have it. And if he has, it is a wonder that he did not likewise get my +long one of the 7th. Heaven be praised that he did not; and that it +came safe to your hands! + +* See Vol. V. Letters XXI. and XXII. + +I send this by a young fellow, whose father is one of our tenants, with +command to deliver it to no other hands but your’s. He is to return +directly, if you give him any letter. If not, he will proceed to London +upon his own pleasures. He is a simple fellow; but very honest. So you +may say anything to him. If you write not by him, I desire a line or +two, as soon as possible. + +My mother knows nothing of his going to you; nor yet of your abandoning +the fellow. Forgive me! But he is not entitled to good manners. + +I shall long to hear how you and Mrs. Townsend order matters. I wish +she could have been with you sooner. But I have lost no time in +engaging her, as you will suppose. I refer to her, what I have further +to say and advise. So shall conclude with my prayers, that Heaven will +direct and protect my dearest creature, and make your future days +happy! + +ANNA HOWE. + +And now, Jack, I will suppose that thou hast read this cursed letter. +Allow me to make a few observations upon some of its contents. + +It is strange to Miss Howe, that having got her friend at such a +shocking advantage, &c. And it is strange to me, too. If ever I have +such another opportunity given to me, the cause of both our wonder, I +believe, will cease. + +So thou seest Tomlinson is further detected.—No such person as Mrs. +Fretchville.—May lightning from Heaven—O Lord, O Lord, O Lord!—What a +horrid vixen is this!—My gang, my remorseless gang, too, is brought +in—and thou wilt plead for these girls again; wilt thou? heaven be +praised, she says, that her friend is out of danger—Miss Howe should be +sure of that, and that she herself is safe.—But for this termagant, (as +I often said,) I must surely have made a better hand of it.— + +New stories of me, Jack!—What can they be?—I have not found that my +generosity to my Rose-bud ever did me due credit with this pair of +friends. Very hard, Belford, that credits cannot be set against debits, +and a balance struck in a rake’s favour, as well as in that of every +common man!—But he, from whom no good is expected, is not allowed the +merit of the good he does. + +I ought to have been a little more attentive to character than I have +been. For, notwithstanding that the measures of right and wrong are +said to be so manifest, let me tell thee, that character biases and +runs away with all mankind. Let a man or woman once establish +themselves in the world’s opinion, and all that either of them do will +be sanctified. Nay, in the very courts of justice, does not character +acquit or condemn as often as facts, and sometimes even in spite of +facts?—Yet, [impolitic that I have been and am!] to be so careless of +mine!—And now, I doubt, it is irretrievable.—But to leave moralizing. + +Thou, Jack, knowest almost all my enterprises worth remembering. Can +this particular story, which this girl hints at, be that of Lucy +Villars?—Or can she have heard of my intrigue with the pretty gipsey, +who met me in Norwood, and of the trap I caught her cruel husband in, +[a fellow as gloomy and tyrannical as old Harlowe,] when he pursued a +wife, who would not have deserved ill of him, if he had deserved well +of her!—But he was not quite drowned. The man is alive at this day, and +Miss Howe mentions the story as a very shocking one. Besides, both +these are a twelve-month old, or more. + +But evil fame and scandal are always new. When the offender has forgot +a vile fact, it is often told to one and to another, who, having never +heard of it before, trumpet it about as a novelty to others. But well +said the honest corregidor at Madrid, [a saying with which I encroached +Lord M.’s collection,]—Good actions are remembered but for a day: bad +ones for many years after the life of the guilty. Such is the relish +that the world has for scandal. In other words, such is the desire +which every one has to exculpate himself by blackening his neighbour. +You and I, Belford, have been very kind to the world, in furnishing it +with opportunities to gratify its devil. + +[Miss Howe will abandon her own better prospects, and share fortunes +with her, were she to go abroad.]—Charming romancer!—I must set about +this girl, Jack. I have always had hopes of a woman whose passions +carry her to such altitudes.—Had I attacked Miss Howe first, her +passions, (inflamed and guided as I could have managed them,) would +have brought her into my lure in a fortnight. + +But thinkest thou, [and yet I think thou dost,] that there is any thing +in these high flights among the sex?—Verily, Jack, these vehement +friendships are nothing but chaff and stubble, liable to be blown away +by the very wind that raises them. Apes, mere apes of us! they think +the word friendship has a pretty sound with it; and it is much talked +of—a fashionable word. And so, truly, a single woman, who thinks she +has a soul, and knows that she wants something, would be thought to +have found a fellow-soul for it in her own sex. But I repeat, that the +word is a mere word, the thing a mere name with them; a cork-bottomed +shuttle-cock, which they are fond of striking to and fro, to make one +another glow in the frosty weather of a single-state; but which, when a +man comes in between the pretended inseparables, is given up, like +their music and other maidenly amusements; which, nevertheless, may be +necessary to keep the pretty rogues out of active mischief. They then, +in short, having caught the fish, lay aside the net.* + +* He alludes here to the story of a pope, who, (once a poor fisherman,) +through every preferment he rose to, even to that of the cardinalate, +hung up in view of all his guests his net, as a token of humility. But, +when he arrived at the pontificate, he took it down, saying, that there +was no need of the net, when he had caught the fish. + +Thou hast a mind, perhaps, to make an exception for these two +ladies.—With all my heart. My Clarissa has, if woman has, a soul +capable of friendship. Her flame is bright and steady. But Miss Howe’s, +were it not kept up by her mother’s opposition, is too vehement to +endure. How often have I known opposition not only cement friendship, +but create love? I doubt not but poor Hickman would fare the better +with this vixen, if her mother were as heartily against him, as she is +for him. + +Thus much, indeed, as to these two ladies, I will grant thee, that the +active spirit of the one, and the meek disposition of the other, may +make their friendship more durable than it would otherwise be; for this +is certain, that in every friendship, whether male or female, there +must be a man and a woman spirit, (that is to say, one of them must be +a forbearing one,) to make it permanent. + +But this I pronounce, as a truth, which all experience confirms, that +friendship between women never holds to the sacrifice of capital +gratifications, or to the endangering of life, limb, or estate, as it +often does in our nobler sex. + +Well, but next comes an indictment against poor beauty! What has beauty +done that Miss Howe should be offended at it?—Miss Howe, Jack, is a +charming girl. She has no reason to quarrel with beauty!—Didst ever see +her?—Too much fire and spirit in her eye, indeed, for a girl!—But +that’s no fault with a man that can lower that fire and spirit at +pleasure; and I know I am the man that can. + +For my own part, when I was first introduced to this lady, which was by +my goddess when she herself was a visiter at Mrs. Howe’s, I had not +been half an hour with her, but I even hungered and thirsted after a +romping ’bout with the lively rogue; and, in the second or third visit, +was more deterred by the delicacy of her friend, than by what I +apprehended from her own. This charming creature’s presence, thought I, +awes us both. And I wished her absence, though any other woman were +present, that I might try the differences in Miss Howe’s behaviour +before her friend’s face, or behind her back. + +Delicate women make delicate women, as well as decent men. With all +Miss Howe’s fire and spirit, it was easy to see, by her very eye, that +she watched for lessons and feared reproof from the penetrating eye of +her milder dispositioned friend;* and yet it was as easy to observe, in +the candour and sweet manners of the other, that the fear which Miss +Howe stood in of her, was more owing to her own generous apprehension +that she fell short of her excellencies, than to Miss Harlowe’s +consciousness of excellence over her. I have often since I came at Miss +Howe’s letters, revolved this just and fine praise contained in one of +them:** ‘Every one saw that the preference they gave you to themselves +exalted you not into any visible triumph over them; for you had always +something to say, on every point you carried, that raised the yielding +heart, and left every one pleased and satisfied with themselves, though +they carried not off the palm.’ + +* Miss Howe, in Vol. III. Letter XIX. says, That she was always more +afraid of Clarissa than of her mother; and, in Vol. III. Letter XLIV. +That she fears her almost as much as she loves her; and in many other +places, in her letters, verifies this observation of Lovelace. ** See +Vol. IV. Letter XXXI. + +As I propose, in a more advanced life, to endeavour to atone for my +useful freedoms with individuals of the sex, by giving cautions and +instructions to the whole, I have made a memorandum to enlarge upon +this doctrine;—to wit, that it is full as necessary to direct daughters +in the choice of their female companions, as it is to guard them +against the designs of men. + +I say not this, however, to the disparagement of Miss Howe. She has +from pride, what her friend has from principle. [The Lord help the sex, +if they had not pride!] But yet I am confident, that Miss Howe is +indebted to the conversation and correspondence of Miss Harlowe for her +highest improvements. But, both these ladies out of the question, I +make no scruple to aver, [and I, Jack, should know something of the +matter,] that there have been more girls ruined, at least prepared for +ruin, by their own sex, (taking in servants, as well as companions,) +than directly by the attempts and delusions of men. + +But it is time enough when I am old and joyless, to enlarge upon this +topic. + +As to the comparison between the two ladies, I will expatiate more on +that subject, (for I like it,) when I have had them both. Which this +letter of the vixen girl’s, I hope thou wilt allow, warrants me to try +for. + +I return to the consideration of a few more of its contents, to justify +my vengeances so nearly now in view. + +As to Mrs. Townsend,—her manlike spirit—her two brothers—and the ships’ +crews—I say nothing but this to the insolent threatening—Let ’em +come!—But as to her sordid menace—To repay the horrid villain, as she +calls me, for all my vileness by BROKEN BONES!—Broken bones, +Belford!—Who can bear this porterly threatening!—Broken bones, +Jack!—D—n the little vulgar!—Give me a name for her—but I banish all +furious resentment. If I get these two girls into my power, Heaven +forbid that I should be a second Phalaris, who turned his bull upon the +artist!—No bones of their’s will I break—They shall come off with me +upon much lighter terms!— + +But these fellows are smugglers, it seems. And am not I a smuggler +too?—I am—and have not the least doubt but I shall have secured my +goods before Thursday, or Wednesday either. + +But did I want a plot, what a charming new one does this letter of Miss +Howe strike me out! I am almost sorry, that I have fixed upon one.—For +here, how easy would it be for me to assemble a crew of swabbers, and +to create a Mrs. Townsend (whose person, thou seest, my beloved knows +not) to come on Tuesday, at Miss Howe’s repeated solicitations, in +order to carry my beloved to a warehouse of my own providing? + +This, however, is my triumphant hope, that at the very time that these +ragamuffins will be at Hampstead (looking for us) my dear Miss Harlowe +and I [so the Fates I imagine have ordained] shall be fast asleep in +each other’s arms in town.—Lie still, villain, till the time comes.—My +heart, Jack! my heart!—It is always thumping away on the remotest +prospects of this nature. + +But it seems that the vileness of this specious monster [meaning me, +Jack!] has brought Hickman into credit with her. So I have done some +good! But to whom I cannot tell: for this poor fellow, should I permit +him to have this termagant, will be punished, as many times we all are, +by the enjoyment of his own wishes—nor can she be happy, as I take it, +with him, were he to govern himself by her will, and have none of his +own; since never was there a directing wife who knew where to stop: +power makes such a one wanton—she despises the man she can govern. Like +Alexander, who wept, that he had no more worlds to conquer, she will be +looking out for new exercises for her power, till she grow uneasy to +herself, a discredit to her husband, and a plague to all about her. + +But this honest fellow, it seems, with tears in his eyes, and with +humble prostration, besought the vixen to permit him to set out in his +chariot-and-four, in order to give himself the glory of protecting such +an oppressed innocent, in the face of the whole world. Nay, he +reddened, it seems: and trembled too! as he read the fair complainant’s +letter.—How valiant is all this!—Women love brave men; and no wonder +that his tears, his trembling, and his prostration, gave him high +reputation with the meek Miss Howe. + +But dost think, Jack, that I in the like case (and equally affected +with the distress) should have acted thus? Dost think, that I should +not first have rescued the lady, and then, if needful, have asked +excuse for it, the lady in my hand?—Wouldst not thou have done thus, as +well as I? + +But, ’tis best as it is. Honest Hickman may now sleep in a whole skin. +And yet that is more perhaps than he would have done (the lady’s +deliverance unattempted) had I come at this requested permission of his +any other way than by a letter that it must not be known that I have +intercepted. + +Miss Howe thinks I may be diverted from pursuing my charmer, by some +new-started villany. Villany is a word that she is extremely fond of. +But I can tell her, that it is impossible I should, till the end of +this villany be obtained. Difficulty is a stimulus with such a spirit +as mine. I thought Miss Howe knew me better. Were she to offer herself, +person for person, in the romancing zeal of her friendship, to save her +friend, it should not do, while the dear creature is on this side the +moon. + +She thanks Heaven, that her friend has received her letter of the 7th. +We are all glad of it. She ought to thank me too. But I will not at +present claim her thanks. + +But when she rejoices that the letter went safe, does she not, in +effect, call out for vengeance, and expect it!—All in good time, Miss +Howe. When settest thou out for the Isle of Wight, love? + +I will close at this time with desiring thee to make a list of the +virulent terms with which the enclosed letter abounds: and then, if +thou supposest that I have made such another, and have added to it all +the flowers of the same blow, in the former letters of the same saucy +creature, and those in that of Miss Harlowe, which she left for me on +her elopement, thou wilt certainly think, that I have provocations +sufficient to justify me in all that I shall do to either. + +Return the enclosed the moment thou hast perused it. + + + + + LETTER VIII + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. SUNDAY NIGHT—MONDAY MORNING. + +I went down with revenge in my heart, the contents of Miss Howe’s +letter almost engrossing me, the moment that Miss Harlowe and Mrs. +Moore (accompanied by Miss Rawlins) came in: but in my countenance all +the gentle, the placid, the serene, that the glass could teach; and in +my behaviour all the polite, that such an unpolite creature, as she has +often told me I am, could put on. + +Miss Rawlins was sent for home almost as soon as she came in, to +entertain an unexpected visiter; to her great regret, as well as to the +disappointment of my fair-one, as I could perceive from the looks of +both: for they had agreed, it seems, if I went to town, as I said I +intended to do, to take a walk upon the Heath, at least in Mrs. Moore’s +garden; and who knows, what might have been the issue, had the spirit +of curiosity in the one met with the spirit of communication in the +other? + +Miss Rawlins promised to return, if possible: but sent to excuse +herself: her visiter intending to stay with her all night. + +I rejoiced in my heart at her message; and, after much supplication, +obtained the favour of my beloved’s company for another walk in the +garden, having, as I told her, abundance of things to say, to propose, +and to be informed of, in order ultimately to govern myself in my +future steps. + +She had vouchsafed, I should have told thee, with eyes turned from me, +and in a half-aside attitude, to sip two dishes of tea in my +company—Dear soul!—How anger unpolishes the most polite! for I never +saw Miss Harlowe behave so awkwardly. I imagined she knew not how to be +awkward. + +When we were in the garden, I poured my whole soul into her attentive +ear; and besought her returning favour. + +She told me, that she had formed her scheme for her future life: that, +vile as the treatment was which she had received from me, that was not +all the reason she had for rejecting my suit: but that, on the maturest +deliberation, she was convinced that she could neither be happy with +me, nor make me happy; and she injoined me, for both our sakes, to +think no more of her. + +The Captain, I told her, was rid down post, in a manner, to forward my +wishes with her uncle.—Lady Betty and Miss Montague were undoubtedly +arrived in town by this time. I would set out early in the morning to +attend them. They adored her. They longed to see her. They would see +her.—They would not be denied her company in Oxfordshire. Whither could +she better go, to be free from her brother’s insults?—Whither, to be +absolutely made unapprehensive of any body else?—Might I have any hopes +of her returning favour, if Miss Howe could be prevailed upon to +intercede for me? + +Miss Howe prevailed upon to intercede for you! repeated she, with a +scornful bridle, but a very pretty one.—And there she stopt. + +I repeated the concern it would be to me to be under a necessity of +mentioning the misunderstanding to Lady Betty and my cousin, as a +misunderstanding still to be made up; and as if I were of very little +consequence to a dear creature who was of so much to me; urging, that +these circumstances would extremely lower me not only in my own +opinion, but in that of my relations. + +But still she referred to Miss Howe’s next letter; and all the +concession I could bring her to in this whole conference, was, that she +would wait the arrival and visit of the two ladies, if they came in a +day or two, or before she received the expected letter from Miss Howe. + +Thank Heaven for this! thought I. And now may I go to town with hopes +at my return to find thee, dearest, where I shall leave thee. + +But yet, as she may find reasons to change her mind in my absence, I +shall not entirely trust to this. My fellow, therefore, who is in the +house, and who, by Mrs. Bevis’s kind intelligence, will know every step +she can take, shall have Andrew and a horse ready, to give me immediate +notice of her motions; and moreover, go whither she will, he shall be +one of her retinue, though unknown to herself, if possible. + +This was all I could make of the fair inexorable. Should I be glad of +it, or sorry for it?— + +Glad I believe: and yet my pride is confoundedly abated, to think that +I had so little hold in the affections of this daughter of the +Harlowes. + +Don’t tell me that virtue and principle are her guides on this +occasion!—’Tis pride, a greater pride than my own, that governs her. +Love, she has none, thou seest; nor ever had; at least not in a +superior degree. Love, that deserves the name, never was under the +dominion of prudence, or of any reasoning power. She cannot bear to be +thought a woman, I warrant! And if, in the last attempt, I find her not +one, what will she be the worse for the trial?—No one is to blame for +suffering an evil he cannot shun or avoid. + +Were a general to be overpowered, and robbed by a highwayman, would he +be less fit for the command of an army on that account?—If indeed the +general, pretending great valour, and having boasted that he never +would be robbed, were to make but faint resistance when he was brought +to the test, and to yield his purse when he was master of his own +sword, then indeed will the highwayman who robs him be thought the +braver man. + +But from these last conferences am I furnished with one argument in +defence of my favourite purpose, which I never yet pleaded. + +O Jack! what a difficulty must a man be allowed to have to conquer a +predominant passion, be it what it will, when the gratifying of it is +in his power, however wrong he knows it to be to resolve to gratify it! +Reflect upon this; and then wilt thou be able to account for, if not to +excuse, a projected crime, which has habit to plead for it, in a breast +as stormy as uncontroulable! + +This that follows is my new argument— + +Should she fail in the trial; should I succeed; and should she refuse +to go on with me; and even resolve not to marry me (of which I can have +no notion); and should she disdain to be obliged to me for the handsome +provision I should be proud to make for her, even to the half of my +estate; yet cannot she be altogether unhappy—Is she not entitled to an +independent fortune? Will not Col. Morden, as her trustee, put her in +possession of it? And did she not in our former conference point out +the way of life, that she always preferred to the married life—to wit, +‘To take her good Norton for her directress and guide, and to live upon +her own estate in the manner her grandfather desired she should live?’* + +* See Letter III. of this volume. + +It is moreover to be considered that she cannot, according to her own +notions, recover above one half of her fame, were we not to intermarry; +so much does she think she has suffered by her going off with me. And +will she not be always repining and mourning for the loss of the other +half?—And if she must live a life of such uneasiness and regret for +half, may she not as well repine and mourn for the whole? + +Nor, let me tell thee, will her own scheme or penitence, in this case, +be half so perfect, if she do not fall, as if she does: for what a +foolish penitent will she make, who has nothing to repent of!—She +piques herself, thou knowest, and makes it matter of reproach to me, +that she went not off with me by her own consent; but was tricked out +of herself. + +Nor upbraid thou me upon the meditated breach of vows so repeatedly +made. She will not, thou seest, permit me to fulfil them. And if she +would, this I have to say, that, at the time I made the most solemn of +them, I was fully determined to keep them. But what prince thinks +himself obliged any longer to observe the articles of treaties, the +most sacredly sworn to, than suits with his interest or inclination; +although the consequence of the infraction must be, as he knows, the +destruction of thousands. + +Is not this then the result of all, that Miss Clarissa Harlowe, if it +be not her own fault, may be as virtuous after she has lost her honour, +as it is called, as she was before? She may be a more eminent example +to her sex; and if she yield (a little yield) in the trial, may be a +completer penitent. Nor can she, but by her own wilfulness, be reduced +to low fortunes. + +And thus may her old nurse and she; an old coachman; and a pair of old +coach-horses; and two or three old maid-servants, and perhaps a very +old footman or two, (for every thing will be old and penitential about +her,) live very comfortably together; reading old sermons, and old +prayer-books; and relieving old men and old women; and giving old +lessons, and old warnings, upon new subjects, as well as old ones, to +the young ladies of her neighbourhood; and so pass on to a good old +age, doing a great deal of good both by precept and example in her +generation. + +And is a woman who can live thus prettily without controul; who ever +did prefer, and who still prefers, the single to the married life; and +who will be enabled to do every thing that the plan she had formed will +direct her to do; to be said to be ruined, undone, and such sort of +stuff?—I have no patience with the pretty fools, who use those strong +words, to describe a transitory evil; an evil which a mere church-form +makes none? + +At this rate of romancing, how many flourishing ruins dost thou, as +well as I, know? Let us but look about us, and we shall see some of the +haughtiest and most censorious spirits among our acquaintance of that +sex now passing for chaste wives, of whom strange stories might be +told; and others, whose husbands’ hearts have been made to ache for +their gaieties, both before and after marriage; and yet know not half +so much of them, as some of us honest fellows could tell them. + +But, having thus satisfied myself in relation to the worst that can +happen to this charming creature; and that it will be her own fault, if +she be unhappy; I have not at all reflected upon what is likely to be +my own lot. + +This has always been my notion, though Miss Howe grudges us rakes the +best of the sex, and says, that the worst is too good for us,* that the +wife of a libertine ought to be pure, spotless, uncontaminated. To what +purpose has such a one lived a free life, but to know the world, and to +make his advantages of it!—And, to be very serious, it would be a +misfortune to the public for two persons, heads of a family, to be both +bad; since, between two such, a race of varlets might be propagated +(Lovelaces and Belfords, if thou wilt) who might do great mischief in +the world. + +Thou seest at bottom that I am not an abandoned fellow; and that there +is a mixture of gravity in me. This, as I grow older, may increase; and +when my active capacity begins to abate, I may sit down with the +preacher, and resolve all my past life into vanity and vexation of +spirit. + +This is certain, that I shall never find a woman so well suited to my +taste as Miss Clarissa Harlowe. I only wish that I may have such a lady +as her to comfort and adorn my setting sun. I have often thought it +very unhappy for us both, that so excellent a creature sprang up a +little too late for my setting out, and a little too early in my +progress, before I can think of returning. And yet, as I have picked up +the sweet traveller in my way, I cannot help wishing that she would +bear me company in the rest of my journey, although she were stepping +out of her own path to oblige me. And then, perhaps, we could put up in +the evening at the same inn; and be very happy in each other’s +conversation; recounting the difficulties and dangers we had passed in +our way to it. + +I imagine that thou wilt be apt to suspect that some passages in this +letter were written in town. Why, Jack, I cannot but say that the +Westminster air is a little grosser than that at Hampstead; and the +conversation of Mrs. Sinclair and the nymphs less innocent than Mrs. +Moore’s and Miss Rawlins’s. And I think in my heart I can say and write +those things at one place which I cannot at the other, nor indeed any +where else. + +I came to town about seven this morning—all necessary directions and +precautions remembered to be given. + +I besought the favour of an audience before I set out. I was desirous +to see which of her lovely faces she was pleased to put on, after +another night had passed. But she was resolved, I found, to leave our +quarrel open. She would not give me an opportunity so much as to +entreat her again to close it, before the arrival of Lady Betty and my +cousin. + +I had notice from my proctor, by a few lines brought by a man and +horse, just before I set out, that all difficulties had been for two +days past surmounted; and that I might have the license for fetching. + +I sent up the letter to my beloved, by Mrs. Bevis, with a repeated +request for admittance to her presence upon it; but neither did this +stand me in stead. I suppose she thought it would be allowing of the +consequences that were naturally to be expected to follow the obtaining +of this instrument, if she had consented to see me on the contents of +this letter, having refused me that honour before I sent it up to +her.—No surprising her.—No advantage to be taken of her inattention to +the nicest circumstances. + +And now, Belford, I set out upon business. + + + + + LETTER IX + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. MONDAY, JUNE 12. + +Durst ever see a license, Jack? + +‘Edmund, by divine permission, Lord Bishop of London, to our +well-beloved in Christ, Robert Lovelace, [your servant, my good Lord! +What have I done to merit so much goodness, who never saw your Lordship +in my life?] of the parish of St. Martin’s in the Fields, bachelor, and +Clarissa Harlowe, of the same parish, spinster, sendeth +greeting.—WHEREAS ye are, as is alleged, determined to enter into the +holy state of Matrimony [this is only alleged, thou observest] by and +with the consent of, &c. &c. &c. and are very desirous of obtaining +your marriage to be solemnized in the face of the church: We are +willing that your honest desires [honest desires, Jack!] may more +speedily have their due effect: and therefore, that ye may be able to +procure such Marriage to be freely and lawfully solemnized in the +parish church of St. Martin’s in the Fields, or St. Giles’s in the +Fields, in the county of Middlesex, by the Rector, Vicar, or Curate +thereof, at any time of the year, [at ANY time of the year, Jack!] +without publication of bans: Provided, that by reason of any +pre-contract, [I verily think that I have had three or four +pre-contracts in my time; but the good girls have not claimed upon them +of a long while,] consanguinity, affinity, or any other lawful cause +whatsoever, there be no lawful impediment on this behalf; and that +there be not at this time any action, suit, plaint, quarrel, or demand, +moved or depending before any judge ecclesiastical or temporal, for or +concerning any marriage contracted by or with either of you; and that +the said marriage be openly solemnized in the church above-mentioned, +between the hours of eight and twelve in the forenoon; and without +prejudice to the minister of the place where the said woman is a +parishioner: We do hereby, for good causes, [it cost me—let me see, +Jack—what did it cost me?] give and grant our License, as well to you +as to the parties contracting, as to the Rector, Vicar, or Curate of +the said church, where the said marriage is intended to be solemnized, +to solemnize the same, in manner and form above specified, according to +the rites and ceremonies prescribed in the Book of Common Prayer in +that behalf published by authority of Parliament. Provided always, that +if hereafter any fraud shall appear to have been committed, at the time +of granting this License, either by false suggestions, or concealment +of the truth, [now this, Belford, is a little hard upon us; for I +cannot say that every one of our suggestions is literally true:—so, in +good conscience, I ought not to marry under this License;] the License +shall be void to all intents and purposes, as if the same had not been +granted. And in that case we do inhibit all ministers whatsoever, if +any thing of the premises shall come to their knowledge, from +proceeding to the celebration of the said Marriage; without first +consulting Us, or our Vicar-general. Given,’ &c. + +Then follow the register’s name, and a large pendent seal, with these +words round it—SEAL OF THE VICAR-GENERAL AND OFFICIAL PRINCIPAL OF THE +DIOCESE OF LONDON. + +A good whimsical instrument, take it altogether! But what, thinkest +thou, are the arms to this matrimonial harbinger?—Why, in the first +place, two crossed swords; to show that marriage is a state of offence +as well as defence; three lions; to denote that those who enter into +the state ought to have a triple proportion of courage. And [couldst +thou have imagined that these priestly fellows, in so solemn a case, +would cut their jokes upon poor souls who came to have their honest +desires put in a way to be gratified;] there are three crooked horns, +smartly top-knotted with ribands; which being the ladies’ wear, seem to +indicate that they may very probably adorn, as well as bestow, the +bull’s feather. + +To describe it according to heraldry art, if I am not mistaken—gules, +two swords, saltire-wise, or; second coat, a chevron sable between +three bugle-horns, OR [so it ought to be]: on a chief of the second, +three lions rampant of the first—but the devil take them for their +hieroglyphics, should I say, if I were determined in good earnest to +marry! + +And determined to marry I would be, were it not for this consideration, +that once married, and I am married for life. + +That’s the plague of it!—Could a man do as the birds do, change every +Valentine’s day, [a natural appointment! for birds have not the sense, +forsooth, to fetter themselves, as we wiseacre men take great and +solemn pains to do,] there would be nothing at all in it. And what a +glorious time would the lawyers have, on the one hand, with their +_noverini universi’s_, and suits commenceable on restitution of goods +and chattels; and the parsons, on the other, with their indulgencies +[renewable annually, as other licenses] to the honest desires of their +clients? + +Then, were a stated mullet, according to rank or fortune, to be paid on +every change, towards the exigencies of the state [but none on renewals +with the old lives, for the sake of encouraging constancy, especially +among the _minores_] the change would be made sufficiently difficult, +and the whole public would be the better for it; while those children, +which the parents could not agree about maintaining, might be +considered as the children of the public, and provided for like the +children of the antient Spartans; who were (as ours would in this case +be) a nation of heroes. How, Jack, could I have improved upon +Lycurgus’s institutions had I been a lawgiver! + +Did I never show thee a scheme which I drew up on such a notion as +this?—In which I demonstrated the conveniencies, and obviated the +inconveniencies, of changing the present mode to this? I believe I +never did. + +I remember I proved to a demonstration, that such a change would be a +mean of annihilating, absolutely annihilating, four or five very +atrocious and capital sins.—Rapes, vulgarly so called; adultery, and +fornication; nor would polygamy be panted after. Frequently would it +prevent murders and duelling; hardly any such thing as jealousy (the +cause of shocking violences) would be heard of: and hypocrisy between +man and wife be banished the bosoms of each. Nor, probably, would the +reproach of barrenness rest, as it now too often does, where it is +least deserved.—Nor would there possibly be such a person as a barren +woman. + +Moreover, what a multitude of domestic quarrels would be avoided, where +such a scheme carried into execution? Since both sexes would bear with +each other, in the view that they could help themselves in a few +months. + +And then what a charming subject for conversation would be the gallant +and generous last partings between man and wife! Each, perhaps, a new +mate in eye, and rejoicing secretly in the manumission, could afford to +be complaisantly sorrowful in appearance. ‘He presented her with this +jewel, it will be said by the reporter, for example sake: she him with +that. How he wept! How she sobb’d! How they looked after one another!’ +Yet, that’s the jest of it, neither of them wishing to stand another +twelvemonth’s trial. + +And if giddy fellows, or giddy girls, misbehave in a first marriage, +whether from noviceship, having expected to find more in the matter +than can be found; or from perverseness on her part, or positiveness on +his, each being mistaken in the other [a mighty difference, Jack, in +the same person, an inmate or a visiter]; what a fine opportunity will +each have, by this scheme, of recovering a lost character, and of +setting all right in the next adventure? + +And, O Jack! with what joy, with what rapture, would the changelings +(or changeables, if thou like that word better) number the weeks, the +days, the hours, as the annual obligation approached to its desirable +period! + +As for the spleen or vapours, no such malady would be known or heard +of. The physical tribe would, indeed, be the sufferers, and the only +sufferers; since fresh health and fresh spirits, the consequences of +sweet blood and sweet humours (the mind and body continually pleased +with each other) would perpetually flow in; and the joys of +expectation, the highest of all our joys, would invigorate and keep all +alive. + +But, that no body of men might suffer, the physicians, I thought, might +turn parsons, as there would be a great demand for parsons. Besides, as +they would be partakers in the general benefit, they must be sorry +fellows indeed if they preferred themselves to the public. + +Every one would be married a dozen times at least. Both men and women +would be careful of their characters and polite in their behaviour, as +well as delicate in their persons, and elegant in their dress, [a great +matter each of these, let me tell thee, to keep passion alive,] either +to induce a renewal with the old love, or to recommend themselves to a +new. While the newspapers would be crowded with paragraphs; all the +world their readers, as all the world would be concerned to see who and +who’s together— + +‘Yesterday, for instance, entered into the holy state of matrimony,’ +[we should all speak reverently of matrimony, then,] ‘the right +Honourable Robert Earl Lovelace’ [I shall be an earl by that time,] +‘with her Grace the Duchess Dowager of Fifty-manors; his Lordship’s +one-and-thirtieth wife.’—I shall then be contented, perhaps, to take +up, as it is called, with a widow. But she must not have had more than +one husband neither. Thou knowest that I am nice in these particulars. + +I know, Jack, that thou for thy part, wilt approve of my scheme. + +As Lord M. and I, between us, have three or four boroughs at command, I +think I will get into parliament, in order to bring in a bill for this +good purpose. + +Neither will the house of parliament, nor the houses of convocation, +have reason to object it. And all the courts, whether spiritual or +sensual, civil or uncivil, will find their account in it when passed +into a law. + +By my soul, Jack, I should be apprehensive of a general insurrection, +and that incited by the women, were such a bill to be thrown out.—For +here is the excellency of the scheme: the women will have equal reason +with the men to be pleased with it. + +Dost think, that old prerogative Harlowe, for example, must not, if +such a law were in being, have pulled in his horns?—So excellent a wife +as he has, would never else have renewed with such a gloomy tyrant: +who, as well as all other married tyrants, must have been upon good +behaviour from year to year. + +A termagant wife, if such a law were to pass, would be a phoenix. + +The churches would be the only market-place for the fair sex; and +domestic excellence the capital recommendation. + +Nor would there be an old maid in Great Britain, and all its +territories. For what an odd soul must she be who could not have her +twelvemonth’s trial? + +In short, a total alteration for the better, in the morals and way of +life in both sexes, must, in a very few years, be the consequence of +such a salutary law. + +Who would have expected such a one from me! I wish the devil owe me not +a spite for it. + +Then would not the distinction be very pretty, Jack? as in +flowers;—such a gentleman, or such a lady, is an ANNUAL—such a one is a +PERENNIAL. + +One difficulty, however, as I remember, occurred to me, upon the +probability that a wife might be _enceinte_, as the lawyers call it. +But thus I obviated it— + +That no man should be allowed to marry another woman without his then +wife’s consent, till she were brought-to-bed, and he had defrayed all +incident charges; and till it was agreed upon between them whether the +child should be his, her’s, or the public’s. The women in this case to +have what I call the coercive option; for I would not have it in the +man’s power to be a dog neither. + +And, indeed, I gave the turn of the scale in every part of my scheme in +the women’s favour: for dearly do I love the sweet rogues. + +How infinitely more preferable this my scheme to the polygamy one of +the old patriarchs; who had wives and concubines without number!—I +believe David and Solomon had their hundreds at a time. Had they not, +Jack? + +Let me add, that annual parliaments, and annual marriages, are the +projects next my heart. How could I expatiate upon the benefits that +would arise from both! + + + + + LETTER X + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. + + +Well, but now my plots thicken; and my employment of writing to thee on +this subject will soon come to a conclusion. For now, having got the +license; and Mrs. Townsend with her tars, being to come to Hampstead +next Wednesday or Thursday; and another letter possibly, or message +from Miss Howe, to inquire how Miss Harlowe does, upon the rustic’s +report of her ill health, and to express her wonder that she has not +heard from her in answer to her’s on her escape; I must soon blow up +the lady, or be blown up myself. And so I am preparing, with Lady Betty +and my cousin Montague, to wait upon my beloved with a coach-and-four, +or a sett; for Lady Betty will not stir out with a pair for the world; +though but for two or three miles. And this is a well-known part of her +character. + +But as to the arms and crest upon the coach and trappings? + +Dost thou not know that a Blunt’s must supply her, while her own is new +lining and repairing? An opportunity she is willing to take now she is +in town. Nothing of this kind can be done to her mind in the country. +Liveries nearly Lady Betty’s. + +Thou hast seen Lady Betty Lawrance several times—hast thou not, +Belford? + +No, never in my life. + +But thou hast—and lain with her too; or fame does thee more credit than +thou deservest—Why, Jack, knowest thou not Lady Betty’s other name? + +Other name!—Has she two? + +She has. And what thinkest thou of Lady Bab. Wallis? + +O the devil! + +Now thou hast it. Lady Barbara thou knowest, lifted up in +circumstances, and by pride, never appears or produces herself, but on +occasions special—to pass to men of quality or price, for a duchess, or +countess, at least. She has always been admired for a grandeur in her +air, that few women of quality can come up to; and never was supposed +to be other than what she passed for; though often and often a paramour +for lords. + +And who, thinkest thou, is my cousin Montague? + +Nay, how should I know? + +How indeed! Why, my little Johanetta Golding, a lively, yet +modest-looking girl, is my cousin Montague. + +There, Belford, is an aunt!—There’s a cousin!—Both have wit at will. +Both are accustomed to ape quality.—Both are genteelly descended. +Mistresses of themselves, and well educated—yet past pity.—True Spartan +dames; ashamed of nothing but detection—always, therefore, upon their +guard against that. And in their own conceit, when assuming top parts, +the very quality they ape. + +And how dost think I dress them out?—I’ll tell thee. + +Lady Betty in a rich gold tissue, adorned with jewels of high price. + +My cousin Montague in a pale pink, standing on end with silver flowers +of her own working. Charlotte as well as my beloved is admirable at her +needle. Not quite so richly jewell’d out as Lady Betty; but ear-rings +and solitaire very valuable, and infinitely becoming. + +Johanetta, thou knowest, has a good complexion, a fine neck, and ears +remarkably fine—so has Charlotte. She is nearly of Charlotte’s stature +too. + +Laces both, the richest that could be procured. + +Thou canst not imagine what a sum the loan of the jewels cost me, +though but for three days. + +This sweet girl will half ruin me. But seest thou not, by this time, +that her reign is short!—It must be so. And Mrs. Sinclair has already +prepared every thing for her reception once more. + + +Here come the ladies—attended by Susan Morrison, a tenant-farmer’s +daughter, as Lady Betty’s woman; with her hands before her, and +thoroughly instructed. + +How dress advantages women!—especially those who have naturally a +genteel air and turn, and have had education. + +Hadst thou seen how they paraded it—Cousin, and Cousin, and Nephew, at +every word; Lady Betty bridling and looking +haughtily-condescending.—Charlotte galanting her fan, and swimming over +the floor without touching it. + +How I long to see my niece-elect! cries one—for they are told that we +are not married; and are pleased that I have not put the slight upon +them that they had apprehended from me. + +How I long to see my dear cousin that is to be, the other! + +Your La’ship, and your La’ship, and an awkward courtesy at every +address—prim Susan Morrison. + +Top your parts, ye villains!—You know how nicely I distinguish. There +will be no passion in this case to blind the judgment, and to help on +meditated delusion, as when you engage with titled sinners. My charmer +is as cool and as distinguishing, though not quite so learned in her +own sex, as I am. Your commonly-assumed dignity won’t do for me now. +Airs of superiority, as if born to rank.—But no over-do!—Doubting +nothing. Let not your faces arraign your hearts. + +Easy and unaffected!—Your very dresses will give you pride enough. + +A little graver, Lady Betty.—More significance, less bridling in your +dignity. + +That’s the air! Charmingly hit——Again——You have it. + +Devil take you!—Less arrogance. You are got into airs of young quality. +Be less sensible of your new condition. People born to dignity command +respect without needing to require it. + +Now for your part, Cousin Charlotte!— + +Pretty well. But a little too frolicky that air.—Yet have I prepared my +beloved to expect in you both great vivacity and quality-freedom. + +Curse those eyes!—Those glancings will never do. A down-cast bashful +turn, if you can command it. Look upon me. Suppose me now to be my +beloved. + +Devil take that leer. Too significantly arch!—Once I knew you the girl +I would now have you to be. + +Sprightly, but not confident, cousin Charlotte!—Be sure forget not to +look down, or aside, when looked at. When eyes meet eyes, be your’s the +retreating ones. Your face will bear examination. + +O Lord! Lord! that so young a creature can so soon forget the innocent +appearance she first charmed by; and which I thought born with you +all!—Five years to ruin what twenty had been building up! How natural +the latter lesson! How difficult to regain the former! + +A stranger, as I hope to be saved, to the principal arts of your +sex!—Once more, what a devil has your heart to do in your eyes? + +Have I not told you, that my beloved is a great observer of the eyes? +She once quoted upon me a text,* which showed me how she came by her +knowledge—Dorcas’s were found guilty of treason the first moment she +saw her. + +* Eccles. xxvi. The whoredom of a woman may be known in her haughty +looks and eye-lids. Watch over an impudent eye, and marvel not if it +trespass against thee. + +Once more, suppose me to be my charmer.—Now you are to encounter my +examining eye, and my doubting heart— + +That’s my dear! + +Study that air in the pier-glass!— + +Charmingly!—Perfectly right! + +Your honours, now, devils!— + +Pretty well, Cousin Charlotte, for a young country lady! Till form +yields to familiarity, you may courtesy low. You must not be supposed +to have forgot your boarding-school airs. + +But too low, too low Lady Betty, for your years and your quality. The +common fault of your sex will be your danger: aiming to be young too +long!—The devil’s in you all, when you judge of yourselves by your +wishes, and by your vanity! Fifty, in that case, is never more than +fifteen. + +Graceful ease, conscious dignity, like that of my charmer, Oh! how hard +to hit! + +Both together now— + +Charming!—That’s the air, Lady Betty!—That’s the cue, Cousin Charlotte, +suited to the character of each!—But, once more, be sure to have a +guard upon your eyes. + +Never fear, Nephew!— + +Never fear, Cousin. + +A dram of Barbadoes each— + +And now we are gone— + + + + + LETTER XI + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. AT MRS. SINCLAIR’S, MONDAY +AFTERNOON. + +All’s right, as heart can wish!—In spite of all objection—in spite of a +reluctance next to faintings—in spite of all foresight, vigilance, +suspicion—once more is the charmer of my soul in her old lodgings! + +Now throbs away every pulse! Now thump, thump, thumps my bounding heart +for something! + +But I have not time for the particulars of our management. + +My beloved is now directing some of her clothes to be packed up—never +more to enter this house! Nor ever more will she, I dare say, when once +again out of it! + +Yet not so much as a condition of forgiveness!—The Harlowe-spirited +fair-one will not deserve my mercy!—She will wait for Miss Howe’s next +letter; and then, if she find a difficulty in her new schemes, [Thank +her for nothing,]—will—will what? Why even then will take time to +consider, whether I am to be forgiven, or for ever rejected. An +indifference that revives in my heart the remembrance of a thousand of +the like nature.—And yet Lady Betty and Miss Montague, [a man would be +tempted to think, Jack, that they wish her to provoke my vengeance,] +declare, that I ought to be satisfied with such a proud suspension! + +They are entirely attached to her. Whatever she says, is, must be, +gospel! They are guarantees for her return to Hampstead this night. +They are to go back with her. A supper bespoken by Lady Betty at Mrs. +Moore’s. All the vacant apartments there, by my permission, (for I had +engaged them for a month certain,) to be filled with them and their +attendants, for a week at least, or till they can prevail upon the dear +perverse, as they hope they shall, to restore me to her favour, and to +accompany Lady Betty to Oxfordshire. + +The dear creature has thus far condescended—that she will write to Miss +Howe and acquaint her with the present situation of things. + +If she write, I shall see what she writes. But I believe she will have +other employment soon. + +Lady Betty is sure, she tells her, that she shall prevail upon her to +forgive me; though she dares say, that I deserve not forgiveness. Lady +Betty is too delicate to inquire strictly into the nature of my +offence. But it must be an offence against herself, against Miss +Montague, against the virtuous of the whole sex, or it could not be so +highly resented. Yet she will not leave her till she forgive me, and +till she see our nuptials privately celebrated. Mean time, as she +approves of her uncle’s expedient, she will address her as already my +wife before strangers. + +Stedman, her solicitor, may attend her for orders in relation to her +chancery affair, at Hampstead. Not one hour they can be favoured with, +will they lose from the company and conversation of so dear, so +charming a new relation. + +Hard then if she had not obliged them with her company in their +coach-and-four, to and from their cousin Leeson’s, who longed, (as they +themselves had done,) to see a lady so justly celebrated. + +‘How will Lord M. be raptured when he sees her, and can salute her as +his niece! + +‘How will Lady Sarah bless herself!—She will now think her loss of the +dear daughter she mourns for happily supplied!’ + +Miss Montague dwells upon every word that falls from her lips. She +perfectly adores her new cousin—‘For her cousin she must be. And her +cousin will she call her! She answers for equal admiration in her +sister Patty. + +‘Ay, cry I, (whispering loud enough for her to hear,) how will my +cousin Patty’s dove’s eyes glisten and run over, on the very first +interview!—So gracious, so noble, so unaffected a dear creature!’ + +‘What a happy family,’ chorus we all, ‘will our’s be!’ + +These and such like congratulatory admirations every hour repeated. Her +modesty hurt by the ecstatic praises:—‘Her graces are too natural to +herself for her to be proud of them: but she must be content to be +punished for excellencies that cast a shade upon the most excellent!’ + +In short, we are here, as at Hampstead, all joy and rapture—all of us +except my beloved; in whose sweet face, [her almost fainting reluctance +to re-enter these doors not overcome,] reigns a kind of anxious +serenity!—But how will even that be changed in a few hours! + +Methinks I begin to pity the half-apprehensive beauty!—But avaunt, thou +unseasonably-intruding pity! Thou hast more than once already well nigh +undone me! And, adieu, reflection! Begone, consideration! and +commiseration! I dismiss ye all, for at least a week to come!—But +remembered her broken word! Her flight, when my fond soul was +meditating mercy to her!—Be remembered her treatment of me in her +letter on her escape to Hampstead! Her Hampstead virulence! What is it +she ought not to expect from an unchained Beelzebub, and a plotting +villain? + +Be her preference of the single life to me also remembered!—That she +despises me!—That she even refuses to be my WIFE!—A proud Lovelace to +be denied a wife!—To be more proudly rejected by a daughter of the +Harlowes!—The ladies of my own family, [she thinks them the ladies of +my family,] supplicating in vain for her returning favour to their +despised kinsman, and taking laws from her still prouder punctilio! + +Be the execrations of her vixen friend likewise remembered, poured out +upon me from her representations, and thereby made her own execrations! + +Be remembered still more particularly the Townsend plot, set on foot +between them, and now, in a day or two, ready to break out; and the +sordid threatening thrown out against me by that little fury! + +Is not this the crisis for which I have been long waiting? Shall +Tomlinson, shall these women be engaged; shall so many engines be set +at work, at an immense expense, with infinite contrivance; and all to +no purpose? + +Is not this the hour of her trial—and in her, of the trial of the +virtue of her whole sex, so long premeditated, so long +threatened?—Whether her frost be frost indeed? Whether her virtue be +principle? Whether, if once subdued, she will not be always subdued? +And will she not want the crown of her glory, the proof of her till now +all-surpassing excellence, if I stop short of the ultimate trial? + +Now is the end of purposes long over-awed, often suspended, at hand. +And need I go throw the sins of her cursed family into the too-weighty +scale? + +[Abhorred be force!—be the thoughts of force!—There’s no triumph over +the will in force!] This I know I have said.* But would I not have +avoided it, if I could? Have I not tried every other method? And have I +any other resource left me? Can she resent the last outrage more than +she has resented a fainter effort?—And if her resentments run ever so +high, cannot I repair by matrimony?—She will not refuse me, I know, +Jack: the haughty beauty will not refuse me, when her pride of being +corporally inviolate is brought down; when she can tell no tales, but +when, (be her resistance what it will,) even her own sex will suspect a +yielding in resistance; and when that modesty, which may fill her bosom +with resentment, will lock up her speech. + +* Vol. IV. Letter XLVIII. + +But how know I, that I have not made my own difficulties? Is she not a +woman! What redress lies for a perpetuated evil? Must she not live? Her +piety will secure her life.—And will not time be my friend! What, in a +word, will be her behaviour afterwards?—She cannot fly me!—She must +forgive me—and as I have often said, once forgiven, will be for ever +forgiven. + +Why then should this enervating pity unsteel my foolish heart? + +It shall not. All these things will I remember; and think of nothing +else, in order to keep up a resolution, which the women about me will +have it I shall be still unable to hold. + +I’ll teach the dear, charming creature to emulate me in contrivance; +I’ll teach her to weave webs and plots against her conqueror! I’ll show +her, that in her smuggling schemes she is but a spider compared to me, +and that she has all this time been spinning only a cobweb! + + +What shall we do now! we are immersed in the depth of grief and +apprehension! How ill do women bear disappointment!—Set upon going to +Hampstead, and upon quitting for ever a house she re-entered with +infinite reluctance; what things she intended to take with her ready +packed up, herself on tiptoe to be gone, and I prepared to attend her +thither; she begins to be afraid that she shall not go this night; and +in grief and despair has flung herself into her old apartment; locked +herself in; and through the key-hole Dorcas sees her on her knees, +praying, I suppose, for a safe deliverance. + +And from what? and wherefore these agonizing apprehensions? + +Why, here, this unkind Lady Betty, with the dear creature’s knowledge, +though to her concern, and this mad-headed cousin Montague without it, +while she was employed in directing her package, have hurried away in +the coach to their own lodgings, [only, indeed, to put up some +night-clothes, and so forth, in order to attend their sweet cousin to +Hampstead;] and, no less to my surprise than her’s, are not yet +returned. + +I have sent to know the meaning of it. + +In a great hurry of spirits, she would have had me to go myself. Hardly +any pacifying her! The girl, God bless her! is wild with her own idle +apprehensions! What is she afraid of? + +I curse them both for their delay. My tardy villain, how he stays! +Devil fetch them! let them send their coach, and we’ll go without them. +In her hearing I bid the fellow tell them so. Perhaps he stays to bring +the coach, if any thing happens to hinder the ladies from attending my +beloved this night. + + +Devil take them, again say I! They promised too they would not stay, +because it was but two nights ago that a chariot was robbed at the foot +of Hampstead-hill, which alarmed my fair-one when told of it! + +Oh! here’s Lady Betty’s servant, with a billet. + +TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. MONDAY NIGHT. + +Excuse us, my dear Nephew, I beseech you, to my dearest kinswoman. One +night cannot break squares: for here Miss Montague has been taken +violently ill with three fainting fits, one after another. The hurry of +her joy, I believe, to find your dear lady so much surpass all +expectations, [never did family love, you know, reign so strong as +among us,] and the too eager desire she had to attend her, have +occasioned it! For she has but weak spirits, poor girl! well as she +looks. + +If she be better, we will certainly go with you tomorrow morning, after +we have breakfasted with her, at your lodgings. But whether she be, or +not, I will do myself the pleasure to attend your lady to Hampstead; +and will be with you for that purpose about nine in the morning. With +due compliments to your most worthily beloved, I am + +Your’s affectionately, ELIZAB. LAWRANCE. + + +Faith and troth, Jack, I know not what to do with myself; for here, +just now having sent in the above note by Dorcas, out came my beloved +with it in her hand, in a fit of phrensy!—true, by my soul! + +She had indeed complained of her head all the evening. + +Dorcas ran to me, out of breath, to tell me, that her lady was coming +in some strange way; but she followed her so quick, that the frighted +wench had not time to say in what way. + +It seems, when she read the billet—Now indeed, said she, am I a lost +creature! O the poor Clarissa Harlowe! + +She tore off her head-clothes; inquired where I was; and in she came, +her shining tresses flowing about her neck; her ruffles torn, and +hanging in tatters about her snowy hands, with her arms spread out—her +eyes wildly turned, as if starting from their orbits—down sunk she at +my feet, as soon as she approached me; her charming bosom heaving to +her uplifted face; and clasping her arms about my knees, Dear Lovelace, +said she, if ever—if ever—if ever—and, unable to speak another word, +quitting her clasping hold—down—prostrate on the floor sunk she, +neither in a fit nor out of one. + +I was quite astonished.—All my purposes suspended for a few moments, I +knew neither what to say, nor what to do. But, recollecting myself, am +I again, thought I, in a way to be overcome, and made a fool of!—If I +now recede, I am gone for ever. + +I raised her; but down she sunk, as if quite disjointed—her limbs +failing her—yet not in a fit neither. I never heard of or saw such a +dear unaccountable; almost lifeless, and speechless too for a few +moments; what must her apprehensions be at that moment?—And for +what?—An high-notioned dear soul!—Pretty ignorance!—thought I. + +Never having met with so sincere, so unquestionable a repugnance, I was +staggered—I was confounded—yet how should I know that it would be so +till I tried?—And how, having proceeded thus far, could I stop, were I +not to have had the women to goad me on, and to make light of +circumstances, which they pretended to be better judges of than I? + +I lifted her, however, into a chair, and in words of disordered +passion, told her, all her fears were needless—wondered at them—begged +of her to be pacified—besought her reliance on my faith and honour—and +revowed all my old vows, and poured forth new ones. + +At last, with a heart-breaking sob, I see, I see, Mr. Lovelace, in +broken sentences she spoke—I see, I see—that at last—I am +ruined!—Ruined, if your pity—let me implore your pity!—and down on her +bosom, like a half-broken-stalked lily top-heavy with the overcharging +dews of the morning, sunk her head, with a sigh that went to my heart. + +All I could think of to re-assure her, when a little recovered, I said. + +Why did I not send for their coach, as I had intimated? It might return +in the morning for the ladies. + +I had actually done so, I told her, on seeing her strange uneasiness. +But it was then gone to fetch a doctor for Miss Montague, lest his +chariot should not be so ready. + +Ah! Lovelace! said she, with a doubting face; anguish in her imploring +eye. + +Lady Betty would think it very strange, I told her, if she were to know +it was so disagreeable to her to stay one night for her company in the +house where she had passed so many. + +She called me names upon this—she had called me names before.—I was +patient. + +Let her go to Lady Betty’s lodgings then; directly go; if the person I +called Lady Betty was really Lady Betty. + +If, my dear! Good Heaven! What a villain does that IF show you believe +me to be! + +I cannot help it—I beseech you once more, let me go to Mrs. Leeson’s, +if that IF ought not to be said. + +Then assuming a more resolute spirit—I will go! I will inquire my +way!—I will go by myself!—and would have rushed by me. + +I folded my arms about her to detain her; pleading the bad way I heard +poor Charlotte was in; and what a farther concern her impatience, if +she went, would give to poor Charlotte. + +She would believe nothing I said, unless I would instantly order a +coach, (since she was not to have Lady Betty’s, nor was permitted to go +to Mrs. Leeson’s,) and let her go in it to Hampstead, late as it was, +and all alone, so much the better; for in the house of people of whom +Lady Betty, upon inquiry, had heard a bad character, [Dropt foolishly +this, by my prating new relation, in order to do credit to herself, by +depreciating others,] every thing, and every face, looking with so much +meaning vileness, as well as my own, [thou art still too sensible, +thought I, my charmer!] she was resolved not to stay another night. + +Dreading what might happen as to her intellects, and being very +apprehensive that she might possibly go through a great deal before +morning, (though more violent she could not well be with the worst she +dreaded,) I humoured her, and ordered Will. to endeavour to get a coach +directly, to carry us to Hampstead; I cared not at what price. + +Robbers, with whom I would have terrified her, she feared not—I was all +her fear, I found; and this house her terror: for I saw plainly that +she now believed that Lady Betty and Miss Montague were both impostors. + +But her mistrust is a little of the latest to do her service! + +And, O Jack, the rage of love, the rage of revenge is upon me! by turns +they tear me! The progress already made—the women’s instigations—the +power I shall have to try her to the utmost, and still to marry her, if +she be not to be brought to cohabitation—let me perish, Belford, if she +escape me now! + + +Will. is not yet come back. Near eleven. + + +Will. is this moment returned. No coach to be got, either for love or +money. + +Once more she urges—to Mrs. Leeson’s, let me go, Lovelace! Good +Lovelace, let me go to Mrs. Leeson’s? What is Miss Montague’s illness +to my terror?—-For the Almighty’s sake, Mr. Lovelace!—her hands +clasped. + +O my angel! What a wildness is this! Do you know, do you see, my +dearest life, what appearances your causeless apprehensions have given +you?—Do you know it is past eleven o’clock? + +Twelve, one, two, three, four—any hour, I care not—If you mean me +honourably, let me go out of this hated house! + +Thou’lt observe, Belford, that though this was written afterwards, yet, +(as in other places,) I write it as it was spoken and happened, as if I +had retired to put down every sentence spoken. I know thou likest this +lively present-tense manner, as it is one of my peculiars. + +Just as she had repeated the last words, If you mean me honourably, let +me go out of this hated house, in came Mrs. Sinclair, in a great +ferment—And what, pray, Madam, has this house done to you? Mr. +Lovelace, you have known me some time; and, if I have not the niceness +of this lady, I hope I do not deserve to be treated thus! + +She set her huge arms akimbo: Hoh! Madam, let me tell you that I am +amazed at your freedoms with my character! And, Mr. Lovelace, [holding +up, and violently shaking her head,] if you are a gentleman, and a man +of honour—— + +Having never before seen any thing but obsequiousness in this woman, +little as she liked her, she was frighted at her masculine air, and +fierce look—God help me! cried she—what will become of me now! Then, +turning her head hither and thither, in a wild kind of amaze. Whom have +I for a protector! What will become of me now! + +I will be your protector, my dearest love!—But indeed you are +uncharitably severe upon poor Mrs. Sinclair! Indeed you are!—She is a +gentlewoman born, and the relict of a man of honour; and though left in +such circumstance as to oblige her to let lodgings, yet would she scorn +to be guilty of a wilful baseness. + +I hope so—it may be so—I may be mistaken—but—but there is no crime, I +presume, no treason, to say I don’t like her house. + +The old dragon straddled up to her, with her arms kemboed again—her +eye-brows erect, like the bristles upon a hog’s back, and, scouling +over her shortened nose, more than half-hid her ferret eyes. Her mouth +was distorted. She pouted out her blubber-lips, as if to bellows up +wind and sputter into her horse-nostrils; and her chin was curdled, and +more than usually prominent with passion. + +With two Hoh-Madams she accosted the frighted fair-one; who, terrified, +caught hold of my sleeve. + +I feared she would fall into fits; and, with a look of indignation, +told Mrs. Sinclair that these apartments were mine; and I could not +imagine what she meant, either by listening to what passed between me +and my spouse, or to come in uninvited; and still more I wondered at +her giving herself these strange liberties. + +I may be to blame, Jack, for suffering this wretch to give herself +these airs; but her coming in was without my orders. + +The old beldam, throwing herself into a chair, fell a blubbering and +exclaiming. And the pacifying of her, and endeavouring to reconcile the +lady to her, took up till near one o’clock. + +And thus, between terror, and the late hour, and what followed, she was +diverted from the thoughts of getting out of the house to Mrs. +Leeson’s, or any where else. + + + + + LETTER XII + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. TUESDAY MORNING, JUNE 13. + +And now, Belford, I can go no farther. The affair is over. Clarissa +lives. And I am + +Your humble servant, R. LOVELACE. + +[The whole of this black transaction is given by the injured lady to +Miss Howe, in her subsequent letters, dated Thursday, July 6. See +Letters LXVII. LXVIII. LXIX.] + + + + + LETTER XIII + + +MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. WATFORD, WEDN. JAN. 14. + +O thou savage-hearted monster! What work hast thou made in one guilty +hour, for a whole age of repentance! + +I am inexpressibly concerned at the fate of this matchless lady! She +could not have fallen into the hands of any other man breathing, and +suffered as she has done with thee. + +I had written a great part of another long letter to try to soften thy +flinty heart in her favour; for I thought it but too likely that thou +shouldst succeed in getting her back again to the accursed woman’s. But +I find it would have been too late, had I finished it, and sent it +away. Yet cannot I forbear writing, to urge thee to make the only +amends thou now canst make her, by a proper use of the license thou +hast obtained. + +Poor, poor lady! It is a pain to me that I ever saw her. Such an adorer +of virtue to be sacrificed to the vilest of her sex; and thou their +implement in the devil’s hand, for a purpose so base, so ungenerous, so +inhumane!—Pride thyself, O cruellest of men! in this reflection; and +that thy triumph over a woman, who for thy sake was abandoned of every +friend she had in the world, was effected; not by advantages taken of +her weakness and credulity; but by the blackest artifice; after a long +course of studied deceits had been tried to no purpose. + +I can tell thee, it is well either for thee or for me, that I am not +the brother of the lady. Had I been her brother, her violation must +have been followed by the blood of one of us. + +Excuse me, Lovelace; and let not the lady fare the worse for my concern +for her. And yet I have but one other motive to ask thy excuse; and +that is, because I owe to thy own communicative pen the knowledge I +have of thy barbarous villany, since thou mightest, if thou wouldst, +have passed it upon me for a common seduction. + +CLARISSA LIVES, thou sayest. That she does is my wonder: and these +words show that thou thyself (though thou couldst, nevertheless, +proceed) hardly expectedst she would have survived the outrage. What +must have been the poor lady’s distress (watchful as she had been over +her honour) when dreadful certainty took place of cruel +apprehension!—And yet a man may guess what must have been, by that +which thou paintest, when she suspected herself tricked, deserted, and +betrayed, by the pretended ladies. + +That thou couldst behold her phrensy on this occasion, and her +half-speechless, half-fainting prostration at thy feet, and yet retain +thy evil purposes, will hardly be thought credible, even by those who +know thee, if they have seen her. + +Poor, poor lady! With such noble qualities as would have adorned the +most exalted married life, to fall into the hands of the only man in +the world, who could have treated her as thou hast treated her!—And to +let loose the old dragon, as thou properly callest her, upon the +before-affrighted innocent, what a barbarity was that! What a poor +piece of barbarity! in order to obtain by terror, what thou dispairedst +to gain by love, though supported by stratagems the most insidious! + +O LOVELACE! LOVELACE! had I doubted it before, I should now be +convinced, that there must be a WORLD AFTER THIS, to do justice to +injured merit, and to punish barbarous perfidy! Could the divine +SOCRATES, and the divine CLARISSA, otherwise have suffered? + +But let me, if possible, for one moment, try to forget this villanous +outrage on the most excellent of women. + +I have business here which will hold me yet a few days; and then +perhaps I shall quit this house for ever. + +I have had a solemn and tedious time of it. I should never have known +that I had half the respect I really find I had for the old gentleman, +had I not so closely, at his earnest desire, attended him, and been a +witness of the tortures he underwent. + +This melancholy occasion may possibly have contributed to humanize me: +but surely I never could have been so remorseless a caitiff as thou +hast been, to a woman of half this lady’s excellence. + +But pr’ythee, dear Lovelace, if thou’rt a man, and not a devil, +resolve, out of hand, to repair thy sin of ingratitude, by conferring +upon thyself the highest honour thou canst receive, in making her +lawfully thine. + +But if thou canst not prevail upon thyself to do her this justice, I +think I should not scruple a tilt with thee, [an everlasting rupture at +least must follow] if thou sacrificest her to the accursed women. + +Thou art desirous to know what advantage I reap by my uncle’s demise. I +do not certainly know; for I have not been so greedily solicitous on +this subject as some of the kindred have been, who ought to have shown +more decency, as I have told them, and suffered the corpse to have been +cold before they had begun their hungry inquiries. But, by what I +gathered from the poor man’s talk to me, who oftener than I wished +touched upon the subject, I deem it will be upwards of 5000£. in cash, +and in the funds, after all legacies paid, besides the real estate, +which is a clear 1000£. a-year. + +I wish, from my heart, thou wert a money-lover! Were the estate to be +of double the value, thou shouldst have it every shilling; only upon +one condition [for my circumstances before were as easy as I wish them +to be while I am single]—that thou wouldst permit me the honour of +being this fatherless lady’s father, as it is called, at the altar. + +Think of this! my dear Lovelace! be honest: and let me present thee +with the brightest jewel that man ever possessed; and then, body and +soul, wilt thou bind to thee for ever thy + +BELFORD. + + + + + LETTER XIV + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. THURSDAY, JUNE 15. + +Let me alone, you great dog, you!—let me alone!—have I heard a lesser +boy, his coward arms held over his head and face, say to a bigger, who +was pommeling him, for having run away with his apple, his orange, or +his ginger-bread. + +So say I to thee, on occasion of thy severity to thy poor friend, who, +as thou ownest, has furnished thee (ungenerous as thou art!) with the +weapons thou brandishest so fearfully against him.—And to what purpose, +when the mischief is done? when, of consequence, the affair is +irretrievable? and when a CLARISSA could not move me? + +Well, but, after all, I must own, that there is something very singular +in this lady’s case: and, at times, I cannot help regretting that ever +I attempted her; since not one power either of body or soul could be +moved in my favour; and since, to use the expression of the +philosopher, on a much graver occasion, there is no difference to be +found between the skull of King Philip and that of another man. + +But people’s extravagant notions of things alter not facts, Belford: +and, when all’s done, Miss Clarissa Harlowe has but run the fate of a +thousand others of her sex—only that they did not set such a romantic +value upon what they call their honour; that’s all. + +And yet I will allow thee this—that if a person sets a high value upon +any thing, be it ever such a trifle in itself, or in the eye of others, +the robbing of that person of it is not a trifle to him. Take the +matter in this light, I own I have done wrong, great wrong, to this +admirable creature. + +But have I not known twenty and twenty of the sex, who have seemed to +carry their notions of virtue high; yet, when brought to the test, have +abated of their severity? And how should we be convinced that any of +them are proof till they are tried? + +A thousand times have I said, that I never yet met with such a woman as +this. If I had, I hardly ever should have attempted Miss Clarissa +Harlowe. Hitherto she is all angel: and was not that the point which at +setting out I proposed to try?* And was not cohabitation ever my +darling view? And am I not now, at last, in the high road to it?—It is +true, that I have nothing to boast of as to her will. The very +contrary. But now are we come to the test, whether she cannot be +brought to make the best of an irreparable evil. If she exclaim, [she +has reason to exclaim, and I will sit down with patience by the hour +together to hear her exclamations, till she is tired of them,] she will +then descend to expostulation perhaps: expostulation will give me hope: +expostulation will show that she hates me not. And, if she hate me not, +she will forgive: and, if she now forgive, then will all be over; and +she will be mine upon my own terms: and it shall then be the whole +study of my future life to make her happy. + +* See Vol. III. Letter XVIII. + +So, Belford, thou seest that I have journeyed on to this stage [indeed, +through infinite mazes, and as infinite remorses] with one determined +point in view from the first. To thy urgent supplication then, that I +will do her grateful justice by marriage, let me answer in Matt. +Prior’s two lines on his hoped-for auditorship; as put into the mouths +of his St. John and Harley; + +—Let that be done, which Matt. doth say. +YEA, quoth the Earl—BUT NOT TO-DAY. + + +Thou seest, Jack, that I make no resolutions, however, against doing +her, one time or other, the wished-for justice, even were I to succeed +in my principal view, cohabitation. And of this I do assure thee, that, +if I ever marry, it must, it shall be Miss Clarissa Harlowe.—Nor is her +honour at all impaired with me, by what she has so far suffered: but +the contrary. She must only take care that, if she be at last brought +to forgive me, she show me that her Lovelace is the only man on earth +whom she could have forgiven on the like occasion. + +But ah, Jack! what, in the mean time, shall I do with this admirable +creature? At present—[I am loth to say it—but, at present] she is quite +stupified. + +I had rather, methinks, she should have retained all her active powers, +though I had suffered by her nails and her teeth, than that she should +be sunk into such a state of absolute—insensibility (shall I call it?) +as she has been in every since Tuesday morning. Yet, as she begins a +little to revive, and now-and-then to call names, and to exclaim, I +dread almost to engage with the anguish of a spirit that owes its +extraordinary agitations to a niceness that has no example either in +ancient or modern story. For, after all, what is there in her case that +should stupify such a glowing, such a blooming charmer?—Excess of +grief, excess of terror, have made a person’s hair stand on end, and +even (as we have read) changed the colour of it. But that it should so +stupify, as to make a person, at times, insensible to those imaginary +wrongs, which would raise others from stupifaction, is very surprising! + +But I will leave this subject, least it should make me too grave. + +I was yesterday at Hampstead, and discharged all obligations there, +with no small applause. I told them that the lady was now as happy as +myself: and that is no great untruth; for I am not altogether so, when +I allow myself to think. + +Mrs. Townsend, with her tars, had not been then there. I told them what +I would have them say to her, if she came. + +Well, but, after all [how many after-all’s have I?] I could be very +grave, were I to give way to it.—The devil take me for a fool! What’s +the matter with me, I wonder!—I must breathe a fresher air for a few +days. + +But what shall I do with this admirable creature the while?—Hang me, if +I know!—For, if I stir, the venomous spider of this habitation will +want to set upon the charming fly, whose silken wings are already so +entangled in my enormous web, that she cannot move hand or foot: for so +much has grief stupified her, that she is at present destitute of will, +as she always seemed to be of desire. I must not therefore think of +leaving her yet for two days together. + + + + + LETTER XV + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. + + +I have just now had a specimen of what the resentment of this dear +creature will be when quite recovered: an affecting one!—For entering +her apartment after Dorcas; and endeavouring to soothe and pacify her +disordered mind; in the midst of my blandishments, she held up to +Heaven, in a speechless agony, the innocent license (which she has in +her own power); as the poor distressed Catalans held up their English +treaty, on an occasion that keeps the worst of my actions in +countenance. + +She seemed about to call down vengeance upon me; when, happily the +leaden god, in pity to her trembling Lovelace, waved over her +half-drowned eyes his somniferous wand, and laid asleep the fair +exclaimer, before she could go half through with her intended +imprecation. + +Thou wilt guess, by what I have written, that some little art has been +made use of: but it was with a generous design (if thou’lt allow me the +word on such an occasion) in order to lessen the too-quick sense she +was likely to have of what she was to suffer. A contrivance I never had +occasion for before, and had not thought of now, if Mrs. Sinclair had +not proposed it to me: to whom I left the management of it: and I have +done nothing but curse her ever since, lest the quantity should have +for ever dampened her charming intellects. + +Hence my concern—for I think the poor lady ought not to have been so +treated. Poor lady, did I say?—What have I to do with thy creeping +style?—But have not I the worst of it; since her insensibility has made +me but a thief to my own joys? + +I did not intend to tell thee of this little innocent trick; for such I +designed it to be; but that I hate disingenuousness: to thee, +especially: and as I cannot help writing in a more serious vein than +usual, thou wouldst perhaps, had I not hinted the true cause, have +imagined that I was sorry for the fact itself: and this would have +given thee a good deal of trouble in scribbling dull persuasives to +repair by matrimony; and me in reading thy cruel nonsense. Besides, one +day or other, thou mightest, had I not confessed it, have heard of it +in an aggravated manner; and I know thou hast such an high opinion of +this lady’s virtue, that thou wouldst be disappointed, if thou hadst +reason to think that she was subdued by her own consent, or any the +least yielding in her will. And so is she beholden to me in some +measure, that, at the expense of my honour, she may so justly form a +plea, which will entirely salve her’s. + +And now is the whole secret out. + +Thou wilt say I am a horrid fellow!—As the lady does, that I am the +unchained Beelzebub, and a plotting villain: and as this is what you +both said beforehand, and nothing worse can be said, I desire, if thou +wouldst not have me quite serious with thee, and that I should think +thou meanest more by thy tilting hint than I am willing to believe thou +dost, that thou wilt forbear thy invectives: For is not the thing +done?—Can it be helped?—And must I not now try to make the best of +it?—And the rather do I enjoin to make thee this, and inviolable +secrecy; because I begin to think that my punishment will be greater +than the fault, were it to be only from my own reflection. + + + + + LETTER XVI + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. FRIDAY, JUNE 16. + +I am sorry to hear of thy misfortune; but hope thou wilt not long lie +by it. Thy servant tells me what narrow escape thou hadst with thy +neck, I wish it may not be ominous: but I think thou seemest not to be +in so enterprising a way as formerly; and yet, merry or sad, thou seest +a rake’s neck is always in danger, if not from the hangman, from his +own horse. But, ’tis a vicious toad, it seems; and I think thou +shouldst never venture upon his back again; for ’tis a plaguy thing for +rider and horse both to be vicious. + +The fellow tells me, thou desirest me to continue to write to thee in +order to divert thy chagrin on thy forced confinement: but how can I +think it in my power to divert, when my subject is not pleasing to +myself? + +Caesar never knew what it was to be hipped, I will call it, till he +came to be what Pompey was; that is to say, till he arrived at the +height of his ambition: nor did thy Lovelace know what it was to be +gloomy, till he had completed his wishes upon the most charming +creature in the world. + +And yet why say I completed? when the will, the consent, is wanting—and +I have still views before me of obtaining that? + +Yet I could almost join with thee in the wish, which thou sendest me up +by thy servant, unfriendly as it is, that I had had thy misfortune +before Monday night last: for here, the poor lady has run into a +contrary extreme to that I told thee of in my last: for now is she as +much too lively, as before she was too stupid; and ’bating that she has +pretty frequent lucid intervals, would be deemed raving mad, and I +should be obliged to confine her. + +I am most confoundedly disturbed about it: for I begin to fear that her +intellects are irreparably hurt. + +Who the devil could have expected such strange effects from a cause so +common and so slight? + +But these high-souled and high-sensed girls, who had set up for shining +lights and examples to the rest of the sex, are with such difficulty +brought down to the common standard, that a wise man, who prefers his +peace of mind to his glory, in subduing one of that exalted class, +would have nothing to say to them. + +I do all in my power to quiet her spirits, when I force myself into her +presence. + +I go on, begging pardon one minute; and vowing truth and honour +another. + +I would at first have persuaded her, and offered to call witnesses to +the truth of it, that we were actually married. Though the license was +in her hands, I thought the assertion might go down in her disorder; +and charming consequences I hoped would follow. But this would not do.— + +I therefore gave up that hope: and now I declare to her, that it is my +resolution to marry her, the moment her uncle Harlowe informs me that +he will grace the ceremony with his presence. + +But she believes nothing I say; nor, (whether in her senses, or not) +bears me with patience in her sight. + +I pity her with all my soul; and I curse myself, when she is in her +wailing fits, and when I apprehend that intellects, so charming, are +for ever damped. + +But more I curse these women, who put me upon such an expedient! Lord! +Lord! what a hand have I made of it!—And all for what? + +Last night, for the first time since Monday night, she got to her pen +and ink; but she pursues her writing with such eagerness and hurry, as +show too evidently her discomposure. + +I hope, however, that this employment will help to calm her spirits. + + +Just now Dorcas tells me, that what she writes she tears, and throws +the paper in fragments under the table, either as not knowing what she +does, or disliking it: then gets up, wrings her hands, weeps, and +shifts her seat all round the room: then returns to her table, sits +down, and writes again. + + +One odd letter, as I may call it, Dorcas has this moment given me from +her—Carry this, said she, to the vilest of men. Dorcas, a toad, brought +it, without any further direction to me. I sat down, intending (though +’tis pretty long) to give thee a copy of it: but, for my life, I +cannot; ’tis so extravagant. And the original is too much an original +to let it go out of my hands. + +But some of the scraps and fragments, as either torn through, or flung +aside, I will copy, for the novelty of the thing, and to show thee how +her mind works now she is in the whimsical way. Yet I know I am still +furnishing thee with new weapons against myself. But spare thy +comments. My own reflections render them needless. Dorcas thinks her +lady will ask for them: so wishes to have them to lay again under the +table. + +By the first thou’lt guess that I have told her that Miss Howe is very +ill, and can’t write; that she may account the better for not having +received the letter designed for her. + +PAPER I (Torn in two pieces.) + +MY DEAREST MISS HOWE, + +O what dreadful, dreadful things have I to tell you! But yet I cannot +tell you neither. But say, are you really ill, as a vile, vile creature +informs me you are? + +But he never yet told me truth, and I hope has not in this: and yet, if +it were not true, surely I should have heard from you before now!—But +what have I to do to upbraid?—You may well be tired of me!—And if you +are, I can forgive you; for I am tired of myself: and all my own +relations were tired of me long before you were. + +How good you have always been to me, mine own dear Anna Howe!—But how I +ramble! + +I sat down to say a great deal—my heart was full—I did not know what to +say first—and thought, and grief, and confusion, and (O my poor head) I +cannot tell what—and thought, and grief and confusion, came crowding so +thick upon me; one would be first; another would be first; all would be +first; so I can write nothing at all.—Only that, whatever they have +done to me, I cannot tell; but I am no longer what I was—in any one +thing did I say? Yes, but I am; for I am still, and I ever will be, + +Your true—— + +Plague on it! I can write no more of this eloquent nonsense myself; +which rather shows a raised, than a quenched, imagination: but Dorcas +shall transcribe the others in separate papers, as written by the +whimsical charmer: and some time hence when all is over, and I can +better bear to read them, I may ask thee for a sight of them. Preserve +them, therefore; for we often look back with pleasure even upon the +heaviest griefs, when the cause of them is removed. + +PAPER II (Scratch’d through, and thrown under the table.) + +—And can you, my dear, honoured Papa, resolve for ever to reprobate +your poor child?—But I am sure you would not, if you knew what she has +suffered since her unhappy—And will nobody plead for your poor +suffering girl?—No one good body?—Why then, dearest Sir, let it be an +act of your own innate goodness, which I have so much experienced, and +so much abused. I don’t presume to think you should receive me—No, +indeed!—My name is—I don’t know what my name is!—I never dare to wish +to come into your family again!—But your heavy curse, my Papa—Yes, I +will call you Papa, and help yourself as you can—for you are my own +dear Papa, whether you will or not—and though I am an unworthy +child—yet I am your child— + +PAPER III + +A Lady took a great fancy to a young lion, or a bear, I forget +which—but a bear, or a tiger, I believe it was. It was made her a +present of when a whelp. She fed it with her own hand: she nursed up +the wicked cub with great tenderness; and would play with it without +fear or apprehension of danger: and it was obedient to all her +commands: and its tameness, as she used to boast, increased with its +growth; so that, like a lap-dog, it would follow her all over the +house. But mind what followed: at last, some how, neglecting to satisfy +its hungry maw, or having otherwise disobliged it on some occasion, it +resumed its nature; and on a sudden fell upon her, and tore her in +pieces.—And who was most to blame, I pray? The brute, or the lady? The +lady, surely!—For what she did was out of nature, out of character, at +least: what it did was in its own nature. + +PAPER IV + +How art thou now humbled in the dust, thou proud Clarissa Harlowe! Thou +that never steppedst out of thy father’s house but to be admired! Who +wert wont to turn thine eye, sparkling with healthful life, and +self-assurance, to different objects at once as thou passedst, as if +(for so thy penetrating sister used to say) to plume thyself upon the +expected applauses of all that beheld thee! Thou that usedst to go to +rest satisfied with the adulations paid thee in the past day, and +couldst put off every thing but thy vanity!—- + +PAPER V + +Rejoice not now, my Bella, my Sister, my Friend; but pity the humbled +creature, whose foolish heart you used to say you beheld through the +thin veil of humility which covered it. + +It must have been so! My fall had not else been permitted— + +You penetrated my proud heart with the jealousy of an elder sister’s +searching eye. + +You knew me better than I knew myself. + +Hence your upbraidings and your chidings, when I began to totter. + +But forgive now those vain triumphs of my heart. + +I thought, poor, proud wretch that I was, that what you said was owing +to your envy. + +I thought I could acquit my intention of any such vanity. + +I was too secure in the knowledge I thought I had of my own heart. + +My supposed advantages became a snare to me. + +And what now is the end of all?— + +PAPER VI + +What now is become of the prospects of a happy life, which once I +thought opening before me?—Who now shall assist in the solemn +preparations? Who now shall provide the nuptial ornaments, which soften +and divert the apprehensions of the fearful virgin? No court now to be +paid to my smiles! No encouraging compliments to inspire thee with hope +of laying a mind not unworthy of thee under obligation! No elevation +now for conscious merit, and applauded purity, to look down from on a +prostrate adorer, and an admiring world, and up to pleased and +rejoicing parents and relations! + +PAPER VII + +Thou pernicious caterpillar, that preyest upon the fair leaf of virgin +fame, and poisonest those leaves which thou canst not devour! + +Thou fell blight, thou eastern blast, thou overspreading mildew, that +destroyest the early promises of the shining year! that mockest the +laborious toil, and blastest the joyful hopes, of the painful +husbandman! + +Thou fretting moth, that corruptest the fairest garment! + +Thou eating canker-worm, that preyest upon the opening bud, and turnest +the damask-rose into livid yellowness! + +If, as religion teaches us, God will judge us, in a great measure, by +our benevolent or evil actions to one another—O wretch! bethink thee, +in time bethink thee, how great must be thy condemnation! + +PAPER VIIII + +At first, I saw something in your air and person that displeased me +not. Your birth and fortunes were no small advantages to you.—You acted +not ignobly by my passionate brother. Every body said you were brave: +every body said you were generous: a brave man, I thought, could not be +a base man: a generous man, could not, I believed, be ungenerous, where +he acknowledged obligation. Thus prepossessed, all the rest that my +soul loved and wished for in your reformation I hoped!—I knew not, but +by report, any flagrant instances of your vileness. You seemed frank, +as well as generous: frankness and generosity ever attracted me: +whoever kept up those appearances, I judged of their hearts by my own; +and whatever qualities I wished to find in them, I was ready to find; +and, when found, I believed them to be natives of the soil. + +My fortunes, my rank, my character, I thought a further security. I was +in none of those respects unworthy of being the niece of Lord M. and of +his two noble sisters.—Your vows, your imprecations—But, Oh! you have +barbarously and basely conspired against that honour, which you ought +to have protected: and now you have made me—What is it of vile that you +have not made me?— + +Yet, God knows my heart, I had no culpable inclinations!—I honoured +virtue!—I hated vice!—But I knew not, that you were vice itself! + +PAPER IX + +Had the happiness of any of the poorest outcast in the world, whom I +had never seen, never known, never before heard of, lain as much in my +power, as my happiness did in your’s, my benevolent heart would have +made me fly to the succour of such a poor distressed—with what pleasure +would I have raised the dejected head, and comforted the desponding +heart!—But who now shall pity the poor wretch, who has increased, +instead of diminished, the number of the miserable! + +PAPER X + +Lead me, where my own thoughts themselves may lose me; +Where I may dose out what I’ve left of life, +Forget myself, and that day’s guile!—— +Cruel remembrance!——how shall I appease thee? + + +[Death only can be dreadful to the bad;* +To innocence ’tis like a bugbear dress’d +To frighten children. Pull but off the mask, +And he’ll appear a friend.] + + +* Transcriber’s note: Portions set off in square brackets [ ] are +written at angles to the majority of the text, as if squeezed into +margins. + + +——Oh! you have done an act +That blots the face and blush of modesty; + Takes off the rose +From the fair forehead of an innocent love, +And makes a blister there! + + Then down I laid my head, +Down on cold earth, and for a while was dead; +And my freed soul to a strange somewhere fled! + Ah! sottish soul! said I, +When back to its cage again I saw it fly; + Fool! to resume her broken chain, +And row the galley here again! + Fool! to that body to return, +Where it condemn’d and destin’d is to mourn! + + +[I could a tale unfold—— +Would harrow up thy soul——] + + +O my Miss Howe! if thou hast friendship, help me, +And speak the words of peace to my divided soul, + That wars within me, +And raises ev’ry sense to my confusion. + I’m tott’ring on the brink +Of peace; an thou art all the hold I’ve left! +Assist me——in the pangs of my affliction! + +When honour’s lost, ’tis a relief to die: +Death’s but a sure retreat from infamy. + + +[By swift misfortunes + How I am pursu’d! +Which on each other + Are, like waves, renew’d!] + + +The farewell, youth, + And all the joys that dwell +With youth and life! + And life itself, farewell! + +For life can never be sincerely blest. +Heav’n punishes the bad, and proves the best. + + +After all, Belford, I have just skimmed over these transcriptions of +Dorcas: and I see there are method and good sense in some of them, wild +as others of them are; and that her memory, which serves her so well +for these poetical flights, is far from being impaired. And this gives +me hope, that she will soon recover her charming intellects—though I +shall be the sufferer by their restoration, I make no doubt. + +But, in the letter she wrote to me, there are yet greater +extravagancies; and though I said it was too affecting to give thee a +copy of it, yet, after I have let thee see the loose papers enclosed, I +think I may throw in a transcript of that. Dorcas therefore shall here +transcribe it. I cannot. The reading of it affected me ten times more +than the severest reproaches of a regular mind could do. + +TO MR. LOVELACE + +I never intended to write another line to you. I would not see you, if +I could help it—O that I never had! + +But tell me, of a truth, is Miss Howe really and truly ill?—Very +ill?—And is not her illness poison? And don’t you know who gave it to +her? + +What you, or Mrs. Sinclair, or somebody (I cannot tell who) have done +to my poor head, you best know: but I shall never be what I was. My +head is gone. I have wept away all my brain, I believe; for I can weep +no more. Indeed I have had my full share; so it is no matter. + +But, good now, Lovelace, don’t set Mrs. Sinclair upon me again.—I never +did her any harm. She so affrights me, when I see her!—Ever since—when +was it? I cannot tell. You can, I suppose. She may be a good woman, as +far as I know. She was the wife of a man of honour—very likely—though +forced to let lodgings for a livelihood. Poor gentlewoman! Let her know +I pity her: but don’t let her come near me again—pray don’t! + +Yet she may be a very good woman— + +What would I say!—I forget what I was going to say. + +O Lovelace, you are Satan himself; or he helps you out in every thing; +and that’s as bad! + +But have you really and truly sold yourself to him? And for how long? +What duration is your reign to have? + +Poor man! The contract will be out: and then what will be your fate! + +O Lovelace! if you could be sorry for yourself, I would be sorry +too—but when all my doors are fast, and nothing but the key-hole open, +and the key of late put into that, to be where you are, in a manner +without opening any of them—O wretched, wretched Clarissa Harlowe! + +For I never will be Lovelace—let my uncle take it as he pleases. + +Well, but now I remember what I was going to say—it is for your +good—not mine—for nothing can do me good now!—O thou villanous man! +thou hated Lovelace! + +But Mrs. Sinclair may be a good woman—if you love me—but that you +don’t—but don’t let her bluster up with her worse than mannish airs to +me again! O she is a frightful woman! If she be a woman! She needed not +to put on that fearful mask to scare me out of my poor wits. But don’t +tell her what I say—I have no hatred to her—it is only fright, and +foolish fear, that’s all.—She may not be a bad woman—but neither are +all men, any more than all women alike—God forbid they should be like +you! + +Alas! you have killed my head among you—I don’t say who did it!—God +forgive you all!—But had it not been better to have put me out of all +your ways at once? You might safely have done it! For nobody would +require me at your hands—no, not a soul—except, indeed, Miss Howe would +have said, when she should see you, What, Lovelace, have you done with +Clarissa Harlowe?—And then you could have given any slight, gay +answer—sent her beyond sea; or, she has run away from me, as she did +from her parents. And this would have been easily credited; for you +know, Lovelace, she that could run away from them, might very well run +away from you. + +But this is nothing to what I wanted to say. Now I have it. + +I have lost it again—This foolish wench comes teasing me—for what +purpose should I eat? For what end should I wish to live?—I tell thee, +Dorcas, I will neither eat nor drink. I cannot be worse than I am. + +I will do as you’d have me—good Dorcas, look not upon me so +fiercely—but thou canst not look so bad as I have seen somebody look. + +Mr. Lovelace, now that I remember what I took pen in hand to say, let +me hurry off my thoughts, lest I lose them again—here I am sensible—and +yet I am hardly sensible neither—but I know my head is not as it should +be, for all that—therefore let me propose one thing to you: it is for +your good—not mine; and this is it: + +I must needs be both a trouble and an expense to you. And here my uncle +Harlowe, when he knows how I am, will never wish any man to have me: +no, not even you, who have been the occasion of it—barbarous and +ungrateful!—A less complicated villany cost a Tarquin—but I forget what +I would say again— + +Then this is it—I never shall be myself again: I have been a very +wicked creature—a vain, proud, poor creature, full of secret +pride—which I carried off under an humble guise, and deceived every +body—my sister says so—and now I am punished—so let me be carried out +of this house, and out of your sight; and let me be put into that +Bedlam privately, which once I saw: but it was a sad sight to me then! +Little as I thought what I should come to myself!—That is all I would +say: this is all I have to wish for—then I shall be out of all your +ways; and I shall be taken care of; and bread and water without your +tormentings, will be dainties: and my straw-bed the easiest I have lain +in—for—I cannot tell how long! + +My clothes will sell for what will keep me there, perhaps as long as I +shall live. But, Lovelace, dear Lovelace, I will call you; for you have +cost me enough, I’m sure!—don’t let me be made a show of, for my +family’s sake; nay, for your own sake, don’t do that—for when I know +all I have suffered, which yet I do not, and no matter if I never do—I +may be apt to rave against you by name, and tell of all your baseness +to a poor humbled creature, that once was as proud as any body—but of +what I can’t tell—except of my own folly and vanity—but let that +pass—since I am punished enough for it— + +So, suppose, instead of Bedlam, it were a private mad-house, where +nobody comes!—That will be better a great deal. + +But, another thing, Lovelace: don’t let them use me cruelly when I am +there—you have used me cruelly enough, you know!—Don’t let them use me +cruelly; for I will be very tractable; and do as any body would have me +to do—except what you would have me do—for that I never will.—Another +thing, Lovelace: don’t let this good woman, I was going to say vile +woman; but don’t tell her that—because she won’t let you send me to +this happy refuge, perhaps, if she were to know it— + +Another thing, Lovelace: and let me have pen, and ink, and paper, +allowed me—it will be all my amusement—but they need not send to any +body I shall write to, what I write, because it will but trouble them: +and somebody may do you a mischief, may be—I wish not that any body do +any body a mischief upon my account. + +You tell me, that Lady Betty Lawrance, and your cousin Montague, were +here to take leave of me; but that I was asleep, and could not be +waked. So you told me at first I was married, you know, and that you +were my husband—Ah! Lovelace! look to what you say.—But let not them, +(for they will sport with my misery,) let not that Lady Betty, let not +that Miss Montague, whatever the real ones may do; nor Mrs. Sinclair +neither, nor any of her lodgers, nor her nieces, come to see me in my +place—real ones, I say; for, Lovelace, I shall find out all your +villanies in time—indeed I shall—so put me there as soon as you can—it +is for your good—then all will pass for ravings that I can say, as, I +doubt no many poor creatures’ exclamations do pass, though there may be +too much truth in them for all that—and you know I began to be mad at +Hampstead—so you said.—Ah! villanous man! what have you not to answer +for! + + +A little interval seems to be lent me. I had begun to look over what I +have written. It is not fit for any one to see, so far as I have been +able to re-peruse it: but my head will not hold, I doubt, to go through +it all. If therefore I have not already mentioned my earnest desire, +let me tell you it is this: that I be sent out of this abominable house +without delay, and locked up in some private mad-house about this town; +for such, it seems, there are; never more to be seen, or to be produced +to any body, except in your own vindication, if you should be charged +with the murder of my person; a much lighter crime than that of honour, +which the greatest villain on earth has robbed me of. And deny me not +this my last request, I beseech you; and one other, and that is, never +to let me see you more! This surely may be granted to + +The miserably abused CLARISSA HARLOWE. + + +I will not bear thy heavy preachments, Belford, upon this affecting +letter. So, not a word of that sort! The paper, thou’lt see, is +blistered with the tears even of the hardened transcriber; which has +made her ink run here and there. + +Mrs. Sinclair is a true heroine, and, I think, shames us all. And she +is a woman too! Thou’lt say, the beset things corrupted become the +worst. But this is certain, that whatever the sex set their hearts +upon, they make thorough work of it. And hence it is, that a mischief +which would end in simple robbery among men rogues, becomes murder, if +a woman be in it. + +I know thou wilt blame me for having had recourse to art. But do not +physicians prescribe opiates in acute cases, where the violence of the +disorder would be apt to throw the patient into a fever or delirium? I +aver, that my motive for this expedient was mercy; nor could it be any +thing else. For a rape, thou knowest, to us rakes, is far from being an +undesirable thing. Nothing but the law stands in our way, upon that +account; and the opinion of what a modest woman will suffer rather than +become a _viva voce_ accuser, lessens much an honest fellow’s +apprehensions on that score. Then, if these somnivolencies [I hate the +word opiates on this occasion,] have turned her head, that is an effect +they frequently have upon some constitutions; and in this case was +rather the fault of the dose than the design of the giver. + +But is not wine itself an opiate in degree?—How many women have been +taken advantage of by wine, and other still more intoxicating +viands?—Let me tell thee, Jack, that the experience of many of the +passive sex, and the consciences of many more of the active, appealed +to, will testify that thy Lovelace is not the worst of villains. Nor +would I have thee put me upon clearing myself by comparisons. + +If she escape a settled delirium when my plots unravel, I think it is +all I ought to be concerned about. What therefore I desire of thee, is, +that, if two constructions may be made of my actions, thou wilt afford +me the most favourable. For this, not only friendship, but my own +ingenuousness, which has furnished thee with the knowledge of the facts +against which thou art so ready to inveigh, require of thee. + + +Will. is just returned from an errand to Hampstead; and acquaints me, +that Mrs. Townsend was yesterday at Mrs. Moore’s, accompanied by three +or four rough fellows; a greater number (as supposed) at a distance. +She was strangely surprised at the news that my spouse and I are +entirely reconciled; and that two fine ladies, my relations, came to +visit her, and went to town with her: where she is very happy with me. +She was sure we were not married, she said, unless it was while we were +at Hampstead: and they were sure the ceremony was not performed there. +But that the lady is happy and easy, is unquestionable: and a fling was +thrown out by Mrs. Moore and Mrs. Bevis at mischief-makers, as they +knew Mrs. Townsend to be acquainted with Miss Howe. + +Now, since my fair-one can neither receive, nor send away letters, I am +pretty easy as to this Mrs. Townsend and her employer. And I fancy Miss +Howe will be puzzled to know what to think of the matter, and afraid of +sending by Wilson’s conveyance; and perhaps suppose that her friend +slights her; or has changed her mind in my favour, and is ashamed to +own it; as she has not had an answer to what she wrote; and will +believe that the rustic delivered her last letter into her own hand. + +Mean time I have a little project come into my head, of a new kind; +just for amusement-sake, that’s all: variety has irresistible charms. I +cannot live without intrigue. My charmer has no passions; that is to +say, none of the passions that I want her to have. She engages all my +reverence. I am at present more inclined to regret what I have done, +than to proceed to new offences: and shall regret it till I see how she +takes it when recovered. + +Shall I tell thee my project? ’Tis not a high one.—’Tis this—to get +hither to Mrs. Moore, Miss Rawlins, and my widow Bevis; for they are +desirous to make a visit to my spouse, now we are so happy together. +And, if I can order it right, Belton, Mowbray, Tourville, and I, will +show them a little more of the ways of this wicked town, than they at +present know. Why should they be acquainted with a man of my character, +and not be the better and wiser for it?—I would have every body rail +against rakes with judgment and knowledge, if they will rail. Two of +these women gave me a great deal of trouble: and the third, I am +confident, will forgive a merry evening. + +Thou wilt be curious to know what the persons of these women are, to +whom I intend so much distinction. I think I have not heretofore +mentioned any thing characteristic of their persons. + +Mrs. Moore is a widow of about thirty-eight; a little mortified by +misfortunes; but those are often the merriest folks, when warmed. She +has good features still; and is what they call much of a gentlewoman, +and very neat in her person and dress. She has given over, I believe, +all thoughts of our sex: but when the dying embers are raked up about +the half-consumed stump, there will be fuel enough left, I dare say, to +blaze out, and give a comfortable warmth to a half-starved by-stander. + +Mrs. Bevis is comely; that is to say, plump; a lover of mirth, and one +whom no grief ever dwelt with, I dare say, for a week together; about +twenty-five years of age: Mowbray will have very little difficulty with +her, I believe; for one cannot do every thing one’s self. And yet +sometimes women of this free cast, when it comes to the point, answer +not the promises their cheerful forwardness gives a man who has a view +upon them. + +Miss Rawlins is an agreeable young lady enough; but not beautiful. She +has sense, and would be thought to know the world, as it is called; +but, for her knowledge, is more indebted to theory than experience. A +mere whipt-syllabub knowledge this, Jack, that always fails the person +who trusts to it, when it should hold to do her service. For such young +ladies have so much dependence upon their own understanding and +wariness, are so much above the cautions that the less opinionative may +be benefited by, that their presumption is generally their overthrow, +when attempted by a man of experience, who knows how to flatter their +vanity, and to magnify their wisdom, in order to take advantage of +their folly. But, for Miss Rawlins, if I can add experience to her +theory, what an accomplished person will she be!—And how much will she +be obliged to me; and not only she, but all those who may be the better +for the precepts she thinks herself already so well qualified to give! +Dearly, Jack, do I love to engage with these precept-givers, and +example-setters. + +Now, Belford, although there is nothing striking in any of these +characters; yet may we, at a pinch, make a good frolicky half-day with +them, if, after we have softened their wax at table by encouraging +viands, we can set our women and them into dancing: dancing, which all +women love, and all men should therefore promote, for both their sakes. + +And thus, when Tourville sings, Belton fiddles, Mowbray makes rough +love, and I smooth; and thou, Jack, wilt be by that time well enough to +join in the chorus; the devil’s in’t if we don’t mould them into what +shape we please—our own women, by their laughing freedoms, encouraging +them to break through all their customary reserves. For women to women, +thou knowest, are great darers and incentives: not one of them loving +to be outdone or outdared, when their hearts are thoroughly warmed. + +I know, at first, the difficulty will be the accidental absence of my +dear Mrs. Lovelace, to whom principally they will design their visit: +but if we can exhilarate them, they won’t then wish to see her; and I +can form twenty accidents and excuses, from one hour to another, for +her absence, till each shall have a subject to take up all her +thoughts. + +I am really sick at heart for a frolic, and have no doubt but this will +be an agreeable one. These women already think me a wild fellow; nor do +they like me the less for it, as I can perceive; and I shall take care, +that they shall be treated with so much freedom before one another’s +faces, that in policy they shall keep each other’s counsel. And won’t +this be doing a kind thing by them? since it will knit an indissoluble +band of union and friendship between three women who are neighbours, +and at present have only common obligations to one another: for thou +wantest not to be told, that secrets of love, and secrets of this +nature, are generally the strongest cement of female friendships. + +But, after all, if my beloved should be happily restored to her +intellects, we may have scenes arise between us that will be +sufficiently busy to employ all the faculties of thy friend, without +looking out for new occasions. Already, as I have often observed, has +she been the means of saving scores of her sex, yet without her own +knowledge. + +SATURDAY NIGHT. + +By Dorcas’s account of her lady’s behaviour, the dear creature seems to +be recovering. I shall give the earliest notice of this to the worthy +Capt. Tomlinson, that he may apprize uncle John of it. I must be +properly enabled, from that quarter, to pacify her, or, at least, to +rebate her first violence. + + + + + LETTER XVII + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. SUNDAY AFTERNOON, SIX O’CLOCK, +(JUNE 18.) + +I went out early this morning, and returned not till just now; when I +was informed that my beloved, in my absence, had taken it into her head +to attempt to get away. + +She tripped down, with a parcel tied up in a handkerchief, her hood on; +and was actually in the entry, when Mrs. Sinclair saw her. + +Pray, Madam, whipping between her and the street-door, be pleased to +let me know where you are going? + +Who has a right to controul me? was the word. + +I have, Madam, by order of your spouse: and, kemboing her arms, as she +owned, I desire you will be pleased to walk up again. + +She would have spoken; but could not: and, bursting into tears, turned +back, and went up to her chamber: and Dorcas was taken to task for +suffering her to be in the passage before she was seen. + +This shows, as we hoped last night, that she is recovering her charming +intellects. + +Dorcas says, she was visible to her but once before the whole day; and +then she seemed very solemn and sedate. + +I will endeavour to see her. It must be in her own chamber, I suppose; +for she will hardly meet me in the dining-room. What advantage will the +confidence of our sex give me over the modesty of her’s, if she be +recovered!—I, the most confident of men: she, the most delicate of +women. Sweet soul! methinks I have her before me: her face averted: +speech lost in sighs—abashed—conscious—what a triumphant aspect will +this give me, when I gaze on her downcast countenance! + + +This moment Dorcas tells me she believes she is coming to find me out. +She asked her after me: and Dorcas left her, drying her red-swoln eyes +at her glass; [no design of moving me by tears!] sighing too sensibly +for my courage. But to what purpose have I gone thus far, if I pursue +not my principal end? Niceness must be a little abated. She knows the +worst. That she cannot fly me; that she must see me; and that I can +look her into a sweet confusion; are circumstances greatly in my +favour. What can she do but rave and exclaim? I am used to raving and +exclaiming—but, if recovered, I shall see how she behaves upon this our +first sensible interview after what she has suffered. + +Here she comes. + + + + + LETTER XVIII + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. SUNDAY NIGHT. + +Never blame me for giving way to have art used with this admirable +creature. All the princes of the air, or beneath it, joining with me, +could never have subdued her while she had her senses. + +I will not anticipate—only to tell thee, that I am too much awakened by +her to think of sleep, were I to go to bed; and so shall have nothing +to do but to write an account of our odd conversation, while it is so +strong upon my mind that I can think of nothing else. + +She was dressed in a white damask night-gown, with less negligence than +for some days past. I was sitting with my pen in my fingers; and stood +up when I first saw her, with great complaisance, as if the day were +still her own. And so indeed it is. + +She entered with such dignity in her manner as struck me with great +awe, and prepared me for the poor figure I made in the subsequent +conversation. A poor figure indeed!—But I will do her justice. + +She came up with quick steps, pretty close to me; a white handkerchief +in her hand; her eyes neither fierce nor mild, but very earnest; and a +fixed sedateness in her whole aspect, which seemed to be the effect of +deep contemplation: and thus she accosted me, with an air and action +that I never saw equalled. + +You see before you, Sir, the wretch, whose preference of you to all +your sex you have rewarded—as it indeed deserved to be rewarded. My +father’s dreadful curse has already operated upon me in the very letter +of it, as to this life; and it seems to me too evident that it will not +be your fault that it is not entirely completed in the loss of my soul, +as well as of my honour—which you, villanous man! have robbed me of, +with a baseness so unnatural, so inhuman, that it seems you, even you, +had not the heart to attempt it, till my senses were made the previous +sacrifice. + +Here I made an hesitating effort to speak, laying down my pen: but she +proceeded!—Hear me out, guilty wretch!—abandoned man!—Man, did I +say?—Yet what name else can I? since the mortal worryings of the +fiercest beast would have been more natural, and infinitely more +welcome, that what you have acted by me; and that with a premeditation +and contrivance worthy only of that single heart which now, base as +well as ungrateful as thou art, seems to quake within thee.—And well +may’st thou quake; well may’st thou tremble, and falter, and hesitate, +as thou dost, when thou reflectest upon what I have suffered for thy +sake, and upon the returns thou hast made me! + +By my soul, Belford, my whole frame was shaken: for not only her looks +and her action, but her voice, so solemn, was inexpressibly affecting: +and then my cursed guilt, and her innocence, and merit, and rank, and +superiority of talents, all stared me at that instant in the face so +formidably, that my present account, to which she unexpectedly called +me, seemed, as I then thought, to resemble that general one, to which +we are told we shall be summoned, when our conscience shall be our +accuser. + +But she had had time to collect all the powers of her eloquence. The +whole day probably in her intellects. And then I was the more +disappointed, as I had thought I could have gazed the dear creature +into confusion—but it is plain, that the sense she has of her wrongs +sets this matchless woman above all lesser, all weaker considerations. + +My dear—my love—I—I—I never—no never—lips trembling, limbs quaking, +voice inward, hesitating, broken—never surely did miscreant look so +like a miscreant! while thus she proceeded, waving her snowy hand, with +all the graces of moving oratory. + +I have no pride in the confusion visible in thy whole person. I have +been all the day praying for a composure, if I could not escape from +this vile house, that should once more enable me to look up to my +destroyer with the consciousness of an innocent sufferer. Thou seest +me, since my wrongs are beyond the power of words to express, thou +seest me, calm enough to wish, that thou may’st continue harassed by +the workings of thy own conscience, till effectual repentance take hold +of thee, that so thou may’st not forfeit all title to that mercy which +thou hast not shown to the poor creature now before thee, who had so +well deserved to meet with a faithful friend where she met with the +worst of enemies. + +But tell me, (for no doubt thou hast some scheme to pursue,) tell me, +since I am a prisoner, as I find, in the vilest of houses, and have not +a friend to protect or save me, what thou intendest shall become of the +remnant of a life not worth the keeping!—Tell me, if yet there are more +evils reserved for me; and whether thou hast entered into a compact +with the grand deceiver, in the person of his horrid agent in this +house; and if the ruin of my soul, that my father’s curse may be +fulfilled, is to complete the triumphs of so vile a confederacy?—Answer +me!—Say, if thou hast courage to speak out to her whom thou hast +ruined, tell me what farther I am to suffer from thy barbarity? + +She stopped here, and, sighing, turned her sweet face from me, drying +up with her handkerchief those tears which she endeavoured to restrain; +and, when she could not, to conceal from my sight. + +As I told thee, I had prepared myself for high passions, raving, +flying, tearing execration; these transient violences, the workings of +sudden grief, and shame, and vengeance, would have set us upon a par +with each other, and quitted scores. These have I been accustomed to; +and as nothing violent is lasting, with these I could have wished to +encounter. But such a majestic composure—seeking me—whom, yet it is +plain, by her attempt to get away, she would have avoided seeking—no +Lucretia-like vengeance upon herself in her thought—yet swallowed up, +her whole mind swallowed up, as I may say, by a grief so heavy, as, in +her own words, to be beyond the power of speech to express—and to be +able, discomposed as she was, to the very morning, to put such a +home-question to me, as if she had penetrated my future view—how could +I avoid looking like a fool, and answering, as before, in broken +sentences and confusion? + +What—what-a—what has been done—I, I, I—cannot but say—must own—must +confess—hem—hem——is not right—is not what should have +been—but-a—but—but—I am truly—truly—sorry for it—upon my soul I +am—and—and—will do all—do every thing—do what—whatever is incumbent +upon me—all that you—that you—that you shall require, to make you +amends!—— + +O Belford! Belford! whose the triumph now! HER’S, or MINE? + +Amends! O thou truly despicable wretch! Then lifting up her eyes—Good +Heaven! who shall pity the creature who could fall by so base a +mind!—Yet—[and then she looked indignantly upon me!] yet, I hate thee +not (base and low-souled as thou art!) half so much as I hate myself, +that I saw thee not sooner in thy proper colours! That I hoped either +morality, gratitude, or humanity, from a libertine, who, to be a +libertine, must have got over and defied all moral sanctions.* + +* Her cousin Morden’s words to her in his letter from Florence. See +Vol. IV. Letter XIX. + +She then called upon her cousin Morden’s name, as if he had warned her +against a man of free principles; and walked towards the window; her +handkerchief at her eyes. But, turning short towards me, with an air of +mingled scorn and majesty, [what, at the moment, would I have given +never to have injured her!] What amends hast thou to propose! What +amends can such a one as thou make to a person of spirit, or common +sense, for the evils thou hast so inhumanely made me suffer? + +As soon, Madam—as soon—as—as soon as your uncle—or—not waiting—— + +Thou wouldest tell me, I suppose—I know what thou wouldest tell me—But +thinkest thou, that marriage will satisfy for a guilt like thine? +Destitute as thou hast made me both of friends and fortune, I too much +despise the wretch, who could rob himself of his wife’s virtue, to +endure the thoughts of thee in the light thou seemest to hope I will +accept thee in!— + +I hesitated an interruption; but my meaning died away upon my trembling +lips. I could only pronounce the word marriage—and thus she proceeded: + +Let me, therefore, know whether I am to be controuled in the future +disposal of myself? Whether, in a country of liberty, as this, where +the sovereign of it must not be guilty of your wickedness, and where +you neither durst have attempted it, had I one friend or relation to +look upon me, I am to be kept here a prisoner, to sustain fresh +injuries? Whether, in a word, you intend to hinder me from going where +my destiny shall lead me? + +After a pause—for I was still silent: + +Can you not answer me this plain question?—I quit all claim, all +expectation, upon you—what right have you to detain me here? + +I could not speak. What could I say to such a question? + +O wretch! wringing her uplifted hands, had I not been robbed of my +senses, and that in the basest manner—you best know how—had I been able +to account for myself, and your proceedings, or to have known but how +the days passed—a whole week should not have gone over my head, as I +find it has done, before I had told you, what I now tell you—That the +man who has been the villain to me you have been, shall never make me +his wife.—I will write to my uncle, to lay aside his kind intentions in +my favour—all my prospects are shut in—I give myself up for a lost +creature as to this world—hinder me not from entering upon a life of +severe penitence, for corresponding, after prohibition, with a wretch +who has too well justified all their warnings and inveteracy; and for +throwing myself into the power of your vile artifices. Let me try to +secure the only hope I have left. This is all the amends I ask of you. +I repeat, therefore, Am I now at liberty to dispose of myself as I +please? + +Now comes the fool, the miscreant again, hesitating his broken answer: +My dearest love, I am confounded, quite confounded, at the thought of +what—of what has been done; and at the thought of—to whom. I see, I +see, there is no withstanding your eloquence!—Such irresistible proofs +of the love of virtue, for its own sake, did I never hear of, nor meet +with, in all my reading. And if you can forgive a repentant villain, +who thus on his knees implores your forgiveness, [then down I dropt, +absolutely in earnest in all I said,] I vow by all that’s sacred and +just, (and may a thunderbolt strike me dead at your feet, if I am not +sincere!) that I will by marriage before to-morrow noon, without +waiting for your uncle, or any body, do you all the justice I now can +do you. And you shall ever after controul and direct me as you please, +till you have made me more worthy of your angelic purity than now I am: +nor will I presume so much as to touch your garment, till I have the +honour to call so great a blessing lawfully mine. + +O thou guileful betrayer! there is a just God, whom thou invokest: yet +the thunderbolt descends not; and thou livest to imprecate and deceive! + +My dearest life! rising; for I hoped she was relenting—— + +Hadst thou not sinned beyond the possibility of forgiveness, +interrupted she; and this had been the first time that thus thou +solemnly promisest and invokest the vengeance thou hast as often +defied; the desperateness of my condition might have induced me to +think of taking a wretched chance with a man so profligate. But, after +what I have suffered by thee, it would be criminal in me to wish to +bind my soul in covenant to a man so nearly allied to perdition. + +Good God!—how uncharitable!—I offer not to defend—would to Heaven that +I could recall—so nearly allied to perdition, Madam!—So profligate a +man, Madam!—— + +O how short is expression of thy crimes, and of my sufferings! Such +premeditation is thy baseness! To prostitute the characters of persons +of honour of thy own family—and all to delude a poor creature, whom +thou oughtest—But why talk I to thee? Be thy crimes upon thy head! Once +more I ask thee, Am I, or am I not, at my own liberty now? + +I offered to speak in defence of the women, declaring that they really +were the very persons—— + +Presume not, interrupted she, base as thou art, to say one word in +thine own vindication. I have been contemplating their behaviour, their +conversation, their over-ready acquiescences, to my declarations in thy +disfavour; their free, yet affectedly-reserved light manners: and now +that the sad event has opened my eyes, and I have compared facts and +passages together, in the little interval that has been lent me, I +wonder I could not distinguish the behaviour of the unmatron-like jilt, +whom thou broughtest to betray me, from the worthy lady whom thou hast +the honour to call thy aunt: and that I could not detect the +superficial creature whom thou passedst upon me for the virtuous Miss +Montague. + +Amazing uncharitableness in a lady so good herself!—That the high +spirits those ladies were in to see you, should subject them to such +censures!—I do must solemnly vow, Madam—— + +That they were, interrupting me, verily and indeed Lady Betty Lawrance +and thy cousin Montague!—O wretch! I see by thy solemn averment [I had +not yet averred it,] what credit ought to be given to all the rest. Had +I no other proof—— + +Interrupting her, I besought her patient ear. ‘I had found myself, I +told her, almost avowedly despised and hated. I had no hope of gaining +her love, or her confidence. The letter she had left behind her, on her +removal to Hampstead, sufficiently convinced me that she was entirely +under Miss Howe’s influence, and waited but the return of a letter from +her to enter upon measures that would deprive me of her for ever: Miss +Howe had ever been my enemy: more so then, no doubt, from the contents +of the letter she had written to her on her first coming to Hampstead; +that I dared not to stand the event of such a letter; and was glad of +an opportunity, by Lady Betty’s and my cousin’s means (though they knew +not my motive) to get her back to town; far, at the time, from +intending the outrage which my despair, and her want of confidence in +me, put me so vilely upon’— + +I would have proceeded; and particularly would have said something of +Captain Tomlinson and her uncle; but she would not hear me further. And +indeed it was with visible indignation, and not without several angry +interruptions, that she heard me say so much. + +Would I dare, she asked me, to offer at a palliation of my baseness? +The two women, she was convinced, were impostors. She knew not but +Captain Tomlinson and Mr. Mennell were so too. But whether they were so +or not, I was. And she insisted upon being at her own disposal for the +remainder of her short life—for indeed she abhorred me in every light; +and more particularly in that in which I offered myself to her +acceptance. + +And, saying this, she flung from me; leaving me absolutely shocked and +confounded at her part of a conversation which she began with such +uncommon, however severe, composure, and concluded with so much sincere +and unaffected indignation. + +And now, Jack, I must address one serious paragraph particularly to +thee. + +I have not yet touched upon cohabitation—her uncle’s mediation she does +not absolutely discredit, as I had the pleasure to find by one hint in +this conversation—yet she suspects my future views, and has doubt about +Mennell and Tomlinson. + +I do say, if she come fairly at her lights, at her clues, or what shall +I call them? her penetration is wonderful. + +But if she do not come at them fairly, then is her incredulity, then is +her antipathy to me evidently accounted for. + +I will speak out—thou couldst not, surely, play me booty, Jack?—Surely +thou couldst not let thy weak pity for her lead thee to an unpardonable +breach of trust to thy friend, who has been so unreserved in his +communications to thee? + +I cannot believe thee capable of such a baseness. Satisfy me, however, +upon this head. I must make a cursed figure in her eye, vowing and +protesting, as I shall not scruple occasionally to vow and protest, if +all the time she has had unquestionable informations of my perfidy. I +know thou as little fearest me, as I do thee, if any point of manhood; +and wilt scorn to deny it, if thou hast done it, when thus +home-pressed. + +And here I have a good mind to stop, and write no farther, till I have +thy answer. + +And so I will. + +MONDAY MORN. PAST THREE. + + + + + LETTER XIX + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. MONDAY MORN. FIVE O’CLOCK (JUNE +19.) + +I must write on. Nothing else can divert me: and I think thou canst not +have been a dog to me. + +I would fain have closed my eyes: but sleep flies me. Well says Horace, +as translated by Cowley: + +The halcyon sleep will never build his nest +In any stormy breast. +’Tis not enough that he does find +Clouds and darkness in the mind: +Darkness but half his work will do. +’Tis not enough: he must find quiet too. + + +Now indeed do I from my heart wish that I had never known this lady. +But who would have thought there had been such a woman in the world? Of +all the sex I have hitherto known, or heard, or read of, it was once +subdued, and always subdued. The first struggle was generally the last; +or, at least, the subsequent struggles were so much fainter and +fainter, that a man would rather have them than be without them. But +how know I yet—— + + +It is now near six—the sun for two hours past has been illuminating +every thing about me: for that impartial orb shines upon Mother +Sinclair’s house as well as upon any other: but nothing within me can +it illuminate. + +At day-dawn I looked through the key-hole of my beloved’s door. She had +declared she would not put off her clothes any more in this house. +There I beheld her in a sweet slumber, which I hope will prove +refreshing to her disturbed senses; sitting in her elbow-chair, her +apron over her head; her head supported by one sweet hand, the other +hand hanging down upon her side, in a sleepy lifelessness; half of one +pretty foot only visible. + +See the difference in our cases! thought I: she, the charming injured, +can sweetly sleep, while the varlet injurer cannot close his eyes; and +has been trying, to no purpose, the whole night to divert his +melancholy, and to fly from himself! + +As every vice generally brings on its own punishment, even in this +life; if any thing were to tempt me to doubt of future punishment, it +would be, that there can hardly be a greater than that in which I at +this instant experience in my own remorse. + +I hope it will go off. If not, well will the dear creature be avenged; +for I shall be the most miserable of men. + +*** SIX O’CLOCK. + +Just now Dorcas tells me, that her lady is preparing openly, and +without disguise, to be gone. Very probable. The humour she flew away +from me in last night has given me expectation of such an enterprize. + +Now, Jack, to be thus hated and despised!—And if I have sinned beyond +forgiveness—— + +But she has sent me a message by Dorcas, that she will meet me in the +dining-room; and desires [odd enough] that the wretch may be present at +the conversation that shall pass between us. This message gives me +hope. + +NINE O’CLOCK. + +Confounded art, cunning villany!—By my soul, she had like to have +slipped through my fingers! She meant nothing by her message but to get +Dorcas out of the way, and a clear coast. Is a fancied distress, +sufficient to justify this lady for dispensing with her principles? +Does she not show me that she can wilfully deceive, as well as I? + +Had she been in the fore-house, and no passage to go through to get at +the street-door, she had certainly been gone. But her haste betrayed +her: for Sally Martin happening to be in the fore-parlour, and hearing +a swifter motion than usual, and a rustling of silks, as if from +somebody in a hurry, looked out; and seeing who it was, stept between +her and the door, and set her back against it. + +You must not go, Madam. Indeed you must not. + +By what right?—And how dare you?—And such-like imperious airs the dear +creature gave herself.—While Sally called out for her aunt; and half a +dozen voiced joined instantly in the cry, for me to hasten down, to +hasten down in a moment. + +I was gravely instructing Dorcas above stairs, and wondering what would +be the subject of the conversation to which the wench was to be a +witness, when these outcries reached my ears. And down I flew.—And +there was the charming creature, the sweet deceiver, panting for +breath, her back against the partition, a parcel in her hand, [women +make no excursions without their parcels,] Sally, Polly, (but Polly +obligingly pleaded for her,) the mother, Mabell, and Peter, (the +footman of the house,) about her; all, however, keeping their distance; +the mother and Sally between her and the door—in her soft rage the dear +soul repeating, I will go—nobody has a right—I will go—if you kill me, +women, I won’t go up again! + +As soon as she saw me, she stept a pace or two towards me; Mr. +Lovelace, I will go! said she—do you authorize these women—what right +have they, or you either, to stop me? + +Is this, my dear, preparative to the conversation you led me to expect +in the dining-room? And do you think I can part with you thus?—Do you +think I will. + +And am I, Sir, to be thus beset?—Surrounded thus?—What have these women +to do with me? + +I desired them to leave us, all but Dorcas, who was down as soon as I. +I then thought it right to assume an air of resolution, having found my +tameness so greatly triumphed over. And now, my dear, said I, (urging +her reluctant feet,) be pleased to walk into the fore-parlour. Here, +since you will not go up stairs, here we may hold our parley; and +Dorcas will be witness to it. And now, Madam, seating her, and sticking +my hands in my sides, your pleasure! + +Insolent villain! said the furious lady. And rising, ran to the window, +and threw up the sash, [she knew not, I suppose, that there were iron +rails before the windows.] And, when she found she could not get out +into the street, clasping her uplifted hands together, having dropt her +parcel—For the love of God, good honest man!—For the love of God, +mistress—[to two passers by,] a poor, a poor creature, said she, +ruined!—— + +I clasped her in my arms, people beginning to gather about the window: +and then she cried out Murder! help! help! and carried her up to the +dining-room, in spite of her little plotting heart, (as I may now call +it,) although she violently struggled, catching hold of the banisters +here and there, as she could. I would have seated her there; but she +sunk down half-motionless, pale as ashes. And a violent burst of tears +happily relieved her. + +Dorcas wept over her. The wench was actually moved for her! + +Violent hysterics succeeded. I left her to Mabell, Dorcas, and Polly; +the latter the most supportable to her of the sisterhood. + +This attempt, so resolutely made, alarmed me not a little. + +Mrs. Sinclair and her nymphs, are much more concerned; because of the +reputation of their house as they call it, having received some insults +(broken windows threatened) to make them produce the young creature who +cried out. + +While the mobbish inquisitors were in the height of their office, the +women came running up to me, to know what they should do; a constable +being actually fetched. + +Get the constable into the parlour, said I, with three or four of the +forwardest of the mob, and produce one of the nymphs, onion-eyed, in a +moment, with disordered head-dress and handkerchief, and let her own +herself the person: the occasion, a female skirmish: but satisfied with +the justice done her. Then give a dram or two to each fellow, and all +will be well. + +ELEVEN O’CLOCK. + +All done as I advised; and all is well. + +Mrs. Sinclair wishes she had never seen the face of so skittish a lady; +and she and Sally are extremely pressing with me, to leave the perverse +beauty to their breaking, as they call it, for four or five days. But I +cursed them into silence; only ordering double precaution for the +future. + +Polly, though she consoled the dear perverse one all she could, when +with her, insists upon it to me, that nothing but terror will procure +me tolerable usage. + +Dorcas was challenged by the women upon her tears. She owned them real. +Said she was ashamed of herself: but could not help it. So sincere, so +unyielding a grief, in so sweet a lady!— + +The women laughed at her; but I bid her make no apologies for her +tears, nor mind their laughing. I was glad to see them so ready. Good +use might be made of such strangers. In short, I would not have her +indulge them often, and try if it were not possible to gain her lady’s +confidence by her concern for her. + +She said that her lady did take kind notice of them to her; and was +glad to see such tokens of humanity in her. + +Well then, said I, your part, whether any thing come of it or not, is +to be tender-hearted. It can do no harm, if no good. But take care you +are not too suddenly, or too officiously compassionate. + +So Dorcas will be a humane, good sort of creature, I believe, very +quickly with her lady. And as it becomes women to be so, and as my +beloved is willing to think highly of her own sex; it will the more +readily pass with her. + +I thought to have had one trial (having gone so far) for cohabitation. +But what hope can there be of succeeding?—She is invincible!—Against +all my motions, against all my conceptions, (thinking of her as a +woman, and in the very bloom of her charms,) she is absolutely +invincible. My whole view, at the present, is to do her legal justice, +if I can but once more get her out of her altitudes. + +The consent of such a woman must make her ever new, ever charming. But +astonishing! Can the want of a church-ceremony make such a difference! + +She owes me her consent; for hitherto I have had nothing to boast of. +All of my side, has been deep remorse, anguish of mind, and love +increased rather than abated. + +How her proud rejection stings me!—And yet I hope still to get her to +listen to my stories of the family-reconciliation, and of her uncle and +Capt. Tomlinson—and as she has given me a pretence to detain her +against her will, she must see me, whether in temper or not.—She cannot +help it. And if love will not do, terror, as the women advise, must be +tried. + +A nice part, after all, has my beloved to act. If she forgive me +easily, I resume perhaps my projects:—if she carry her rejection into +violence, that violence may make me desperate, and occasion fresh +violence. She ought, since she thinks she has found the women out, to +consider where she is. + +I am confoundedly out of conceit with myself. If I give up my +contrivances, my joy in stratagem, and plot, and invention, I shall be +but a common man; such another dull heavy creature as thyself. Yet what +does even my success in my machinations bring me but regret, disgrace, +repentance? But I am overmatched, egregiously overmatched, by this +woman. What to do with her, or without her, I know not. + + + + + LETTER XX + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. + + +I have this moment intelligence from Simon Parsons, one of Lord M.’s +stewards, that his Lordship is very ill. Simon, who is my obsequious +servant, in virtue of my presumptive heirship, gives me a hint in his +letter, that my presence at M. Hall will not be amiss. So I must +accelerate, whatever be the course I shall be allowed or compelled to +take. + +No bad prospects for this charming creature, if the old peer would be +so kind as to surrender; and many a summons has this gout given him. A +good 8000£. a-year, and perhaps the title reversionary, or a still +higher, would help me up with her. + +Proudly as this lady pretends to be above all pride, grandeur will have +its charms with her; for grandeur always makes a man’s face shine in a +woman’s eye. I have a pretty good, because a clear, estate, as it is. +But what a noble variety of mischief will 8000£. a-year, enable a man +to do? + +Perhaps thou’lt say, I do already all that comes into my head; but +that’s a mistake—not one half I will assure thee. And even good folks, +as I have heard, love to have the power of doing mischief, whether they +make use of it or not. The late Queen Anne, who was a very good woman, +was always fond of prerogative. And her ministers, in her name, in more +instances than one, made a ministerial use of this her foible. + + +But now, at last, am I to be admitted to the presence of my angry +fair-one; after three denials, nevertheless; and a peremptory from me, +by Dorcas, that I must see her in her chamber, if I cannot see her in +the dining-room. + +Dorcas, however, tells me that she says, if she were at her own +liberty, she would never see me more; and that she had been asking +after the characters and conditions of the neighbours. I suppose, now +she has found her voice, to call out for help from them, if there were +any to hear her. + +She will have it now, it seems, that I had the wickedness from the very +beginning, to contrive, for her ruin, a house so convenient for +dreadful mischief. + +Dorcas begs of her to be pacified—entreats her to see me with +patience—tells her that I am one of the most determined of men, as she +has heard say. That gentleness may do with me; but that nothing else +will, she believes. And what, as her ladyship (as she always styles +her,) is married, if I had broken my oath, or intended to break it!— + +She hinted plain enough to the honest wench, that she was not married. +But Dorcas would not understand her. + +This shows she is resolved to keep no measures. And now is to be a +trial of skill, whether she shall or not. + +Dorcas has hinted to her my Lord’s illness, as a piece of intelligence +that dropt in conversation from me. + +But here I stop. My beloved, pursuant to my peremptory message, is just +gone up into the dining-room. + + + + + LETTER XXI + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. MONDAY AFTERNOON. + +Pity me, Jack, for pity’s sake; since, if thou dost not, nobody else +will: and yet never was there a man of my genius and lively temper that +wanted it more. We are apt to attribute to the devil every thing +happens to us, which we would not have happen: but here, being, (as +perhaps thou’lt say,) the devil myself, my plagues arise from an angel. +I suppose all mankind is to be plagued by its contrary. + +She began with me like a true woman, [she in the fault, I to be +blamed,] the moment I entered the dining-room: not the least apology, +not the least excuse, for the uproar she had made, and the trouble she +had given me. + +I come, said she, into thy detested presence, because I cannot help it. +But why am I to be imprisoned here?—Although to no purpose, I cannot +help—— + +Dearest Madam, interrupted I, give not way to so much violence. You +must know, that your detention is entirely owing to the desire I have +to make you all the amends that is in my power to make you. And this, +as well for your sake as my own. Surely there is still one way left to +repair the wrongs you have suffered—— + +Canst thou blot out the past week! Several weeks past, I should say; +ever since I have been with thee? Canst thou call back time?—If thou +canst—— + +Surely, Madam, again interrupting her, if I may be permitted to call +you legally mine, I might have but anticip—— + +Wretch, that thou art! Say not another word upon this subject. When +thou vowedst, when thou promisedst at Hampstead, I had begun to think +that I must be thine. If I had consented, at the request of those I +thought thy relations, this would have been a principal inducement, +that I could then have brought thee, what was most wanted, an unsullied +honour in dowry, to a wretch destitute of all honour; and could have +met the gratulations of a family to which thy life has been one +continued disgrace, with a consciousness of deserving their +gratulations. But thinkest thou, that I will give a harlot niece to thy +honourable uncle, and to thy real aunts; and a cousin to thy cousins +from a brothel? for such, in my opinion, is this detested house!—Then, +lifting up her clasped hands, ‘Great and good God of Heaven,’ said she, +‘give me patience to support myself under the weight of those +afflictions, which thou, for wise and good ends, though at present +impenetrable by me, hast permitted!’ + +Then, turning towards me, who knew neither what to say to her, nor for +myself, I renounce thee for ever, Lovelace!—Abhorred of my soul! for +ever I renounce thee!—Seek thy fortunes wheresoever thou wilt!—only +now, that thou hast already ruined me!— + +Ruined you, Madam—the world need not—I knew not what to say. + +Ruined me in my own eyes; and that is the same to me as if all the +world knew it—hinder me not from going whither my mysterious destiny +shall lead me. + +Why hesitate you, Sir? What right have you to stop me, as you lately +did; and to bring me up by force, my hands and arms bruised by your +violence? What right have you to detain me here? + +I am cut to the heart, Madam, with invectives so violent. I am but too +sensible of the wrong I have done you, or I could not bear your +reproaches. The man who perpetrates a villany, and resolves to go on +with it, shows not the compunction I show. Yet, if you think yourself +in my power, I would caution you, Madam, not to make me desperate. For +you shall be mine, or my life shall be the forfeit! Nor is life worth +having without you!— + +Be thine!—I be thine!—said the passionate beauty. O how lovely in her +violence! + +Yes, Madam, be mine! I repeat you shall be mine! My very crime is your +glory. My love, my admiration of you is increased by what has +passed—and so it ought. I am willing, Madam, to court your returning +favour; but let me tell you, were the house beset by a thousand armed +men, resolved to take you from me, they should not effect their +purpose, while I had life. + +I never, never will be your’s, said she, clasping her hands together, +and lifting up her eyes!—I never will be your’s! + +We may yet see many happy years, Madam. All your friends may be +reconciled to you. The treaty for that purpose is in greater +forwardness than you imagine. You know better than to think the worse +of yourself for suffering what you could not help. Enjoin but the terms +I can make my peace with you upon, and I will instantly comply. + +Never, never, repeated she, will I be your’s! + +Only forgive me, my dearest life, this one time!—A virtue so +invincible! what further view can I have against you?—Have I attempted +any further outrage?—If you will be mine, your injuries will be +injuries done to myself. You have too well guessed at the unnatural +arts that have been used. But can a greater testimony be given of your +virtue?—And now I have only to hope, that although I cannot make you +complete amends, yet you will permit me to make you all the amends that +can possibly be made. + +Hear me out, I beseech you, Madam; for she was going to speak with an +aspect unpacifiedly angry: the God, whom you serve, requires but +repentance and amendment. Imitate him, my dearest love, and bless me +with the means of reforming a course of life that begins to be hateful +to me. That was once your favourite point. Resume it, dearest creature, +in charity to a soul, as well as body, which once, as I flattered +myself, was more than indifferent to you, resume it. And let +to-morrow’s sun witness to our espousals. + +I cannot judge thee, said she; but the GOD to whom thou so boldly +referrest can, and, assure thyself, He will. But, if compunction has +really taken hold of thee—if, indeed, thou art touched for thy +ungrateful baseness, and meanest any thing by this pleading the holy +example thou recommendest to my imitation; in this thy pretended +repentant moment, let me sift thee thoroughly, and by thy answer I +shall judge of the sincerity of thy pretended declarations. + +Tell me, then, is there any reality in the treaty thou has pretended to +be on foot between my uncle and Capt. Tomlinson, and thyself?—Say, and +hesitate not, is there any truth in that story?—But, remember, if there +be not, and thou avowest that there is, what further condemnation +attends to thy averment, if it be as solemn as I require it to be! + +This was a cursed thrust! What could I say!—Surely this merciless lady +is resolved to d—n me, thought I, and yet accuses me of a design +against her soul!—But was I not obliged to proceed as I had begun? + +In short, I solemnly averred that there was!—How one crime, as the good +folks say, brings on another! + +I added, that the Captain had been in town, and would have waited on +her, had she not been indisposed; that he went down much afflicted, as +well on her account, as on that of her uncle; though I had not +acquainted him either with the nature of her disorder, or the +ever-to-be-regretted occasion of it, having told him that it was a +violent fever; That he had twice since, by her uncle’s desire, sent up +to inquire after her health; and that I had already dispatched a man +and horse with a letter, to acquaint him, (and her uncle through him,) +with her recovery; making it my earnest request, that he would renew +his application to her uncle for the favour of his presence at the +private celebrations of our nuptials; and that I expected an answer, if +not this night, as to-morrow. + +Let me ask thee next, said she, (thou knowest the opinion I have of the +women thou broughtest to me at Hampstead; and who have seduced me +hither to my ruin; let me ask thee,) If, really and truly, they were +Lady Betty Lawrance and thy cousin Montague?—What sayest thou—hesitate +not—what sayest thou to this question? + +Astonishing, my dear, that you should suspect them!—But, knowing your +strange opinion of them, what can I say to be believed? + +And is this the answer thou returnest me? Dost thou thus evade my +question? But let me know, for I am trying thy sincerity now, and all +shall judge of thy new professions by thy answer to this question; let +me know, I repeat, whether those women be really Lady Betty Lawrance +and thy cousin Montague? + +Let me, my dearest love, be enabled to-morrow to call you lawfully +mine, and we will set out the next day, if you please, to Berkshire to +my Lord M.’s, where they both are at this time; and you shall convince +yourself by your own eyes, and by your own ears; which you will believe +sooner than all I can say or swear. + +Now, Belford, I had really some apprehension of treachery from thee; +which made me so miserably evade; for else, I could as safely have +sworn to the truth of this, as to that of the former: but she pressing +me still for a categorical answer, I ventured plumb; and swore to it, +[lover’s oaths, Jack!] that they were really and truly Lady Betty +Lawrance and my cousin Montague. + +She lifted up her hands and eyes—What can I think!—what can I think! + +You think me a devil, Madam; a very devil! or you could not after you +have put these questions to me, seem to doubt the truth of answers so +solemnly sworn to. + +And if I do think thee so, have I not cause? Is there another man in +the world, (I hope for the sake of human nature, there is not,) who +could act by any poor friendless creature as thou hast acted by me, +whom thou hast made friendless—and who, before I knew thee, had for a +friend every one who knew me? + +I told you, Madam, before that Lady Betty and my cousin were actually +here, in order to take leave of you, before they set out for Berkshire: +but the effects of my ungrateful crime, (such, with shame and remorse, +I own it to be,) were the reason you could not see them. Nor could I be +fond that they should see you; since they never would have forgiven me, +had they known what had passed—and what reason had I to expect your +silence on the subject, had you been recovered? + +It signifies nothing now, that the cause of their appearance has been +answered in my ruin, who or what they are: but if thou hast averred +thus solemnly to two falsehoods, what a wretch do I see before me! + +I thought she had now reason to be satisfied; and I begged her to allow +me to talk to her of to-morrow, as of the happiest day of my life. We +have the license, Madam—and you must excuse me, that I cannot let you +go hence till I have tried every way I can to obtain your forgiveness. + +And am I then, [with a kind of frantic wildness,] to be detained a +prisoner in this horrid house—am I, Sir?—Take care! take care! holding +up her hand, menacing, how you make me desperate! If I fall, though by +my own hand, inquisition will be made for my blood; and be not out in +thy plot, Lovelace, if it should be so—make sure work, I charge +thee—dig a hole deep enough to cram in and conceal this unhappy body; +for, depend upon it, that some of those who will not stir to protect me +living, will move heaven and earth to avenge me dead! + +A horrid dear creature!—By my soul she made me shudder! She had need +indeed to talk of her unhappiness in falling into the hands of the only +man in the world, who could have used her as I have used her—she is the +only woman in the world, who could have shocked and disturbed me as she +has done. So we are upon a foot in that respect. And I think I have the +worst of it by much: since very little has been my joy—very much my +trouble. And her punishment, as she calls it, is over: but when mine +will, or what it may be, who can tell? + +Here, only recapitulating, (think, then, how I must be affected at the +time,) I was forced to leave off, and sing a song to myself. I aimed at +a lively air; but I croaked rather than sung. And fell into the old +dismal thirtieth of January strain; I hemmed up for a sprightlier note; +but it would not do; and at last I ended, like a malefactor, in a dead +psalm melody. + +Heigh-ho!—I gape like an unfledged kite in its nest, wanting to swallow +a chicken, bobbed at its mouth by its marauding dam!— + +What a-devil ails me?—I can neither think nor write! + +Lie down, pen, for a moment! + + + + + LETTER XXII + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. + + +There is certainly a good deal in the observation, that it costs a man +ten times more pains to be wicked, than it would cost him to be good. +What a confounded number of contrivances have I had recourse to, in +order to carry my point with this charming creature; and yet after all, +how have I puzzled myself by it; and yet am near tumbling into the pit +which it was the end of all my plots to shun! What a happy man had I +been with such an excellence, could I have brought my mind to marry +when I first prevailed upon her to quit her father’s house! But then, +as I have often reflected, how had I known, that a but blossoming +beauty, who could carry on a private correspondence, and run such +risques with a notorious wild fellow, was not prompted by inclination, +which one day might give such a free-liver as myself as much pain to +reflect upon, as, at the time it gave me pleasure? Thou rememberest the +host’s tale in Ariosto. And thy experience, as well as mine, can +furnish out twenty Fiametta’s in proof of the imbecility of the sex. + +But to proceed with my narrative. + +The dear creature resumed the topic her heart was so firmly fixed upon; +and insisted upon quitting the odious house, and that in very high +terms. + +I urged her to meet me the next day at the altar in either of the two +churches mentioned in the license. And I besought her, whatever was her +resolution, to let me debate this matter calmly with her. + +If, she said, I would have her give what I desired the least moment’s +consideration, I must not hinder her from being her own mistress. To +what purpose did I ask her consent, if she had not a power over either +her own person or actions? + +Will you give me your honour, Madam, if I consent to your quitting a +house so disagreeable to you?— + +My honour, Sir! said the dear creature—Alas!—And turned weeping from me +with inimitable grace—as if she had said—Alas!—you have robbed me of my +honour! + +I hoped then, that her angry passions were subsiding; but I was +mistaken; for, urging her warmly for the day; and that for the sake of +our mutual honour, and the honour of both our families; in this +high-flown and high-souled strain she answered me: + +And canst thou, Lovelace, be so mean—as to wish to make a wife of the +creature thou hast insulted, dishonoured, and abused, as thou hast me? +Was it necessary to humble me down to the low level of thy baseness, +before I could be a wife meet for thee? Thou hadst a father, who was a +man of honour: a mother, who deserved a better son. Thou hast an uncle, +who is no dishonour to the Peerage of a kingdom, whose peers are more +respectable than the nobility of any other country. Thou hast other +relations also, who may be thy boast, though thou canst not be +theirs—and canst thou not imagine, that thou hearest them calling upon +thee; the dead from their monuments; the living from their laudable +pride; not to dishonour thy ancient and splendid house, by entering +into wedlock with a creature whom thou hast levelled with the dirt of +the street, and classed with the vilest of her sex? + +I extolled her greatness of soul, and her virtue. I execrated myself +for my guilt: and told her, how grateful to the manes of my ancestors, +as well as to the wishes of the living, the honour I supplicated for +would be. + +But still she insisted upon being a free agent; of seeing herself in +other lodgings before she would give what I urged the least +consideration. Nor would she promise me favour even then, or to permit +my visits. How then, as I asked her, could I comply, without resolving +to lose her for ever? + +She put her hand to her forehead often as she talked; and at last, +pleading disorder in her head, retired; neither of us satisfied with +the other. But she ten times more dissatisfied with me, than I with +her. + +Dorcas seems to be coming into favour with her— + +What now!—What now! + +MONDAY NIGHT. + +How determined is this lady!—Again had she like to have escaped +us!—What a fixed resentment!—She only, I find, assumed a little calm, +in order to quiet suspicion. She was got down, and actually had +unbolted the street-door, before I could get to her; alarmed as I was +by Mrs. Sinclair’s cookmaid, who was the only one that saw her fly +through the passage: yet lightning was not quicker than I. + +Again I brought her back to the dining-room, with infinite reluctance +on her part. And, before her face, ordered a servant to be placed +constantly at the bottom of the stairs for the future. + +She seemed even choked with grief and disappointment. + +Dorcas was exceedingly assiduous about her; and confidently gave it as +her own opinion, that her dear lady should be permitted to go to +another lodging, since this was so disagreeable to her: were she to be +killed for saying so, she would say it. And was good Dorcas for this +afterwards. + +But for some time the dear creature was all passion and violence— + +I see, I see, said she, when I had brought her up, what I am to expect +from your new professions, O vilest of men!— + +Have I offered to you, my beloved creature, any thing that can justify +this impatience after a more hopeful calm? + +She wrung her hands. She disordered her head-dress. She tore her +ruffles. She was in a perfect phrensy. + +I dreaded her returning malady: but, entreaty rather exasperating, I +affected an angry air.—I bid her expect the worst she had to fear—and +was menacing on, in hopes to intimidate her; when, dropping to my feet, + +’Twill be a mercy, said she, the highest act of mercy you can do, to +kill me outright upon this spot—this happy spot, as I will, in my last +moments, call it!—Then, baring, with a still more frantic violence, +part of her enchanting neck—Here, here, said the soul-harrowing beauty, +let thy pointed mercy enter! and I will thank thee, and forgive thee +for all the dreadful past!—With my latest gasp will I forgive and thank +thee!—Or help me to the means, and I will myself put out of the way so +miserable a wretch! And bless thee for those means! + +Why all this extravagant passion? Why all these exclamations? Have I +offered any new injury to you, my dearest life? What a phrensy is this! +Am I not ready to make you all the reparation that I can make you? Had +I not reason to hope— + +No, no, no, no, as before, shaking her head with wild impatience, as +resolved not to attend to what I said. + +My resolutions are so honourable, if you will permit them to take +effect, that I need not be solicitous where you go, if you will but +permit my visits, and receive my vows.—And God is my witness, that I +bring you not back from the door with any view to your dishonour, but +the contrary: and this moment I will send for a minister to put an end +to all your doubts and fears. + +Say this, and say a thousand times more, and bind every word with a +solemn appeal to that God whom thou art accustomed to invoke to the +truth of the vilest falsehoods, and all will still be short of what +thou has vowed and promised to me. And, were not my heart to abhor +thee, and to rise against thee, for thy perjuries, as it does, I would +not, I tell thee once more, I would not, bind my soul in covenant with +such a man, for a thousand worlds! + +Compose yourself, however, Madam; for your own sake, compose yourself. +Permit me to raise you up; abhorred as I am of your soul! + +Nay, if I must not touch you; for she wildly slapt my hands; but with +such a sweet passionate air, her bosom heaving and throbbing as she +looked up to me, that although I was most sincerely enraged, I could +with transport have pressed her to mine. + +If I must not touch you, I will not.—But depend upon it, [and I assumed +the sternest air I could assume, to try what it would do,] depend upon +it, Madam, that this is not the way to avoid the evils you dread. Let +me do what I will, I cannot be used worse—Dorcas, begone! + +She arose, Dorcas being about to withdraw; and wildly caught hold of +her arm: O Dorcas! If thou art of mine own sex, leave me not, I charge +thee!—Then quitting Dorcas, down she threw herself upon her knees, in +the furthermost corner of the room, clasping a chair with her face laid +upon the bottom of it!—O where can I be safe?—Where, where can I be +safe, from this man of violence?— + +This gave Dorcas an opportunity to confirm herself in her lady’s +confidence: the wench threw herself at my feet, while I seemed in +violent wrath; and embracing my knees, Kill me, Sir, kill me, Sir, if +you please!—I must throw myself in your way, to save my lady. I beg +your pardon, Sir—but you must be set on!—God forgive the +mischief-makers!—But your own heart, if left to itself, would not +permit these things—spare, however, Sir! spare my lady, I beseech +you!—bustling on her knees about me, as if I were intending to approach +her lady, had I not been restrained by her. + +This, humoured by me, Begone, devil!—Officious devil, begone!—startled +the dear creature: who, snatching up hastily her head from the chair, +and as hastily popping it down again in terror, hit her nose, I +suppose, against the edge of the chair; and it gushed out with blood, +running in a stream down her bosom; she herself was too much frighted +to heed it! + +Never was mortal man in such terror and agitation as I; for I instantly +concluded, that she had stabbed herself with some concealed instrument. + +I ran to her in a wild agony—for Dorcas was frighted out of all her +mock interposition—— + +What have you done!—O what have you done!—Look up to me, my dearest +life!—Sweet injured innocence, look up to me! What have you done!—Long +will I not survive you!—And I was upon the point of drawing my sword to +dispatch myself, when I discovered—[What an unmanly blockhead does this +charming creature make me at her pleasure!] that all I apprehended was +but a bloody nose, which, as far as I know (for it could not be stopped +in a quarter of an hour) may have saved her head and her intellects. + +But I see by this scene, that the sweet creature is but a pretty coward +at bottom; and that I can terrify her out of her virulence against me, +whenever I put on sternness and anger. But then, as a qualifier to the +advantage this gives me over her, I find myself to be a coward too, +which I had not before suspected, since I was capable of being so +easily terrified by the apprehensions of her offering violence to +herself. + + + + + LETTER XXIII + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. + + +But with all this dear creature’s resentment against me, I cannot, for +my heart, think but she will get all over, and consent to enter the +pale with me. Were she even to die to-morrow, and to know she should, +would not a woman of her sense, of her punctilio, and in her situation, +and of so proud a family, rather die married, than otherwise?—No doubt +but she would; although she were to hate the man ever so heartily. If +so, there is now but one man in the world whom she can have—and that is +me. + +Now I talk [familiar writing is but talking, Jack] thus glibly of +entering the pale, thou wilt be ready to question me, I know, as to my +intentions on this head. + +As much of my heart, as I know of it myself, will I tell thee.—When I +am from her, I cannot still help hesitating about marriage; and I even +frequently resolve against it, and determine to press my favourite +scheme for cohabitation. But when I am with her, I am ready to say, to +swear, and to do, whatever I think will be the most acceptable to her, +and were a parson at hand, I should plunge at once, no doubt of it, +into the state. + +I have frequently thought, in common cases, that it is happy for many +giddy fellows [there are giddy fellows, as well as giddy girls, Jack; +and perhaps those are as often drawn in, as these] that ceremony and +parade are necessary to the irrevocable solemnity; and that there is +generally time for a man to recollect himself in the space between the +heated over-night, and the cooler next morning; or I know not who could +escape the sweet gypsies, whose fascinating powers are so much aided by +our own raised imaginations. + +A wife at any time, I used to say. I had ever confidence and vanity +enough to think that no woman breathing could deny her hand when I held +out mine. I am confoundedly mortified to find that this lady is able to +hold me at bay, and to refuse all my honest vows. + +What force [allow me a serious reflection, Jack: it will be put down! +What force] have evil habits upon the human mind! When we enter upon a +devious course, we think we shall have it in our power when we will +return to the right path. But it is not so, I plainly see: For, who can +acknowledge with more justice this dear creature’s merits, and his own +errors, than I? Whose regret, at times, can be deeper than mine, for +the injuries I have done her? Whose resolutions to repair those +injuries stronger?—Yet how transitory is my penitence!—How am I hurried +away—Canst thou tell by what?—O devil of youth, and devil of intrigue, +how do you mislead me!—How often do we end in occasions for the deepest +remorse, what we begin in wantonness!— + +At the present writing, however, the turn of the scale is in behalf of +matrimony—for I despair of carrying with her my favourite point. + +The lady tells Dorcas, that her heart is broken: and that she shall +live but a little while. I think nothing of that, if we marry. In the +first place, she knows not what a mind unapprehensive will do for her, +in a state to which all the sex look forwards with high satisfaction. +How often have the whole of the sacred conclave been thus deceived in +their choice of a pope; not considering that the new dignity is of +itself sufficient to give new life! A few months’ heart’s ease will +give my charmer a quite different notion of things: and I dare say, as +I have heretofore said,* once married, and I am married for life. + +* See Letter IX. of this volume. + +I will allow that her pride, in one sense, has suffered abasement: but +her triumph is the greater in every other. And while I can think that +all her trials are but additions to her honour, and that I have laid +the foundations of her glory in my own shame, can I be called cruel, if +I am not affected with her grief as some men would be? + +And for what should her heart be broken? Her will is unviolated;—at +present, however, her will is unviolated. The destroying of good +habits, and the introducing of bad, to the corrupting of the whole +heart, is the violation. That her will is not to be corrupted, that her +mind is not to be debased, she has hitherto unquestionably proved. And +if she give cause for farther trials, and hold fast her integrity, what +ideas will she have to dwell upon, that will be able to corrupt her +morals? What vestigia, what remembrances, but such as will inspire +abhorrence of the attempter? + +What nonsense then to suppose that such a mere notional violation as +she has suffered should be able to cut asunder the strings of life? + +Her religion, married, or not married, will set her above making such a +trifling accident, such an involuntary suffering fatal to her. + +Such considerations as these they are that support me against all +apprehensions of bugbear consequences; and I would have them have +weight with thee; who are such a doughty advocate for her. And yet I +allow thee this; that she really makes too much of it; takes it too +much to heart. To be sure she ought to have forgot it by this time, +except the charming, charming consequence happen, that still I am in +hopes will happen, were I to proceed no farther. And, if she +apprehended this herself, then has the dear over-nice soul some reason +for taking it so much to heart; and yet would not, I think, refuse to +legitimate. + +O Jack! had I am imperial diadem, I swear to thee, that I would give it +up, even to my enemy, to have one charming boy by this lady. And should +she escape me, and no such effect follow, my revenge on her family, +and, in such a case, on herself, would be incomplete, and I should +reproach myself as long as I lived. + +Were I to be sure that this foundation is laid [And why may I not hope +it is?] I should not doubt to have her still (should she withstand her +day of grace) on my own conditions; nor should I, if it were so, +question that revived affection in her, which a woman seldom fails to +have for the father of her first child, whether born in wedlock, or out +of it. + +And pr’ythee, Jack, see in this my ardent hope, a distinction in my +favour from other rakes; who, almost to a man, follow their +inclinations without troubling themselves about consequences. In +imitation, as one would think, of the strutting villain of a bird, +which from feathered lady to feathered lady pursues his imperial +pleasures, leaving it to his sleek paramours to hatch the genial +product in holes and corners of their own finding out. + + + + + LETTER XXIV + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. TUESDAY MORN. JUNE 20. + +Well, Jack, now are we upon another footing together. This dear +creature will not let me be good. She is now authorizing all my plots +by her own example. + +Thou must be partial in the highest degree, if now thou blamest me for +resuming my former schemes, since in that case I shall but follow her +cue. No forced construction of her actions do I make on this occasion, +in order to justify a bad cause or a worse intention. A slight +pretence, indeed, served the wolf when he had a mind to quarrel with +the lamb; but this is not now my case. + +For here (wouldst thou have thought it?) taking advantage of Dorcas’s +compassionate temper, and of some warm expressions which the +tender-hearted wench let fall against the cruelty of men, and wishing +to have it in her power to serve her, has she given her the following +note, signed by her maiden name: for she has thought fit, in positive +and plain words, to own to the pitying Dorcas that she is not married. + +MONDAY, JUNE 19. + +I then underwritten do hereby promise, that, on my coming into +possession of my own estate, I will provide for Dorcas Martindale in a +gentlewoman-like manner, in my own house: or, if I do not soon obtain +that possession, or should first die, I do hereby bind myself, my +executors, and administrators, to pay to her, or her order, during the +term of her natural life, the sum of five pounds on each of the four +usual quarterly days in the year; on condition that she faithfully +assist me in my escape from an illegal confinement under which I now +labour. The first quarterly payment to commence and be payable at the +end of three months immediately following the day of my deliverance. +And I do also promise to give her, as a testimony of my honour in the +rest, a diamond ring, which I have showed her. Witness my hand this +nineteenth day of June, in the year above written. + +CLARISSA HARLOWE. + +Now, Jack, what terms wouldst thou have me to keep with such a sweet +corruptress? Seest thou not how she hates me? Seest thou not that she +is resolved never to forgive me? Seest thou not, however, that she must +disgrace herself in the eye of the world, if she actually should +escape? That she must be subjected to infinite distress and hazard! For +whom has she to receive and protect her? Yet to determine to risque all +these evils! and furthermore to stoop to artifice, to be guilty of the +reigning vice of the times, of bribery and corruption! O Jack, Jack! +say not, write not another word in her favour! + +Thou hast blamed me for bringing her to this house: but had I carried +her to any other in England, where there would have been one servant or +inmate capable either of compassion or corruption, what must have been +the consequence? + +But seest thou not, however, that in this flimsy contrivance, the dear +implacable, like a drowning man, catches at a straw to save herself!—A +straw shall she find to be the refuge she has resorted to. + + + + + LETTER XXV + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. TUES. MORN. TEN O’CLOCK + +Very ill—exceedingly ill—as Dorcas tells me, in order to avoid seeing +me—and yet the dear soul may be so in her mind. But is not that +equivocation? Some one passion predominating in every human breast, +breaks through principle, and controuls us all. Mine is love and +revenge taking turns. Her’s is hatred.—But this is my consolation, that +hatred appeased is love begun; or love renewed, I may rather say, if +love ever had footing here. + +But reflectioning apart, thou seest, Jack, that her plot is beginning +to work. To-morrow is to break out. + +I have been abroad, to set on foot a plot of circumvention. All fair +now, Belford! + +I insisted upon visiting my indisposed fair-one. Dorcas made officious +excuses for her. I cursed the wench in her hearing for her +impertinence; and stamped and made a clutter; which was improved into +an apprehension to the lady that I would have flung her faithful +confidante from the top of the stairs to the bottom. + +He is a violent wretch!—But, Dorcas, [dear Dorcas, now it is,] thou +shalt have a friend in me to the last day of my life. + +And what now, Jack, dost think the name of her good angel is!—Why +Dorcas Martindale, christian and super (no more Wykes) as in the +promissory note in my former—and the dear creature has bound her to her +by the most solemn obligations, besides the tie of interest. + +Whither, Madam, do you design to go when you get out of this house? + +I will throw myself into the first open house I can find; and beg +protection till I can get a coach, or a lodging in some honest family. + +What will you do for clothes, Madam? I doubt you’ll be able to take any +away with you, but what you’ll have on. + +O, no matter for clothes, if I can but get out of this house. + +What will you do for money, Madam? I have heard his honour express his +concern, that he could not prevail upon you to be obliged to him, +though he apprehended that you must be short of money. + +O, I have rings and other valuables. Indeed I have but four guineas, +and two of them I found lately wrapt up in a bit of lace, designed for +a charitable use. But now, alas! charity begins at home!—But I have one +dear friend left, if she be living, as I hope in God she is! to whom I +can be obliged, if I want. O Dorcas! I must ere now have heard from +her, if I had had fair play. + +Well, Madam, your’s is a hard lot. I pity you at my heart! + +Thank you, Dorcas!—I am unhappy, that I did not think before, that I +might have confided in thy pity, and in thy sex! + +I pitied you, Madam, often and often: but you were always, as I +thought, diffident of me. And then I doubted not but you were married; +and I thought his honour was unkindly used by you. So that I thought it +my duty to wish well to his honour, rather than to what I thought to be +your humours, Madam. Would to Heaven that I had known before that you +were not married!—Such a lady! such a fortune! to be so sadly +betrayed;—— + +Ah, Dorcas! I was basely drawn in! My youth—my ignorance of the +world—and I have some things to reproach myself with when I look back. + +Lord, Madam, what deceitful creatures are these men!—Neither oaths, nor +vows—I am sure! I am sure! [and then with her apron she gave her eyes +half a dozen hearty rubs] I may curse the time that I came into this +house! + +Here was accounting for her bold eyes! And was it not better for Dorcas +to give up a house which her lady could not think worse of than she +did, in order to gain the reputation of sincerity, than by offering to +vindicate it, to make her proffered services suspected. + +Poor Dorcas!—Bless me! how little do we, who have lived all our time in +the country, know of this wicked town! + +Had I been able to write, cried the veteran wench, I should certainly +have given some other near relations I have in Wales a little inkling +of matters; and they would have saved me from——from——from—— + +Her sobs were enough. The apprehensions of women on such subjects are +ever aforehand with speech. + +And then, sobbing on, she lifted her apron to her face again. She +showed me how. + +Poor Dorcas!—Again wiping her own charming eyes. + +All love, all compassion, is this dear creature to every one in +affliction but me. + +And would not an aunt protect her kinswoman?—Abominable wretch! + +I can’t—I can’t—I can’t—say, my aunt was privy to it. She gave me good +advice. She knew not for a great while that I was—that I was—that I +was—ugh!—ugh!—ugh!— + +No more, no more, good Dorcas—What a world do we live in!—What a house +am I in!—But come, don’t weep, (though she herself could not forbear:) +my being betrayed into it, though to my own ruin, may be a happy event +for thee: and, if I live, it shall. + +I thank you, my good lady, blubbering. I am sorry, very sorry, you have +had so hard a lot. But it may be the saving of my soul, if I can get to +your ladyship’s house. Had I but known that your ladyship was not +married, I would have eat my own flesh, before——before——before—— + +Dorcas sobbed and wept. The lady sighed and wept also. + +But now, Jack, for a serious reflection upon the premises. + +How will the good folks account for it, that Satan has such faithful +instruments, and that the bond of wickedness is a stronger bond than +the ties of virtue; as if it were the nature of the human mind to be +villanous? For here, had Dorcas been good, and been tempted as she was +tempted to any thing evil, I make no doubt but she would have yielded +to the temptation. + +And cannot our fraternity in an hundred instances give proof of the +like predominance of vice over virtue? And that we have risked more to +serve and promote the interests of the former, than ever a good man did +to serve a good man or a good cause? For have we not been prodigal of +life and fortune? have we not defied the civil magistrate upon +occasion? and have we not attempted rescues, and dared all things, only +to extricate a pounded profligate? + +Whence, Jack, can this be? + +O! I have it, I believe. The vicious are as bad as they can be; and do +the Devil’s work without looking after; while he is continually +spreading snares for the others; and, like a skilful angler, suiting +his baits to the fish he angles for. + +Nor let even honest people, so called, blame poor Dorcas for her +fidelity in a bad cause. For does not the general, who implicitly +serves an ambitious prince in his unjust designs upon his neighbours, +or upon his own oppressed subjects; and even the lawyer, who, for the +sake of a paltry fee, undertakes to whiten a black cause, and to defend +it against one he knows to be good, do the very same thing as Dorcas? +And are they not both every whit as culpable? Yet the one shall be +dubbed a hero, the other called an admirable fellow, and be contended +for by every client, and his double-tongued abilities shall carry him +through all the high preferments of the law with reputation and +applause. + +Well, but what shall be done, since the lady is so much determined on +removing!—Is there no way to oblige her, and yet to make the very act +subservient to my other views? I fancy such a way may be found out. + +I will study for it—— + +Suppose I suffer her to make an escape? Her heart is in it. If she +effect it, the triumph she will have over me upon it will be a +counterbalance for all she has suffered. + +I will oblige her if I can. + + + + + LETTER XXVI + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. + + +Tired with a succession of fatiguing days and sleepless nights, and +with contemplating the precarious situation I stand in with my beloved, +I fell into a profound reverie; which brought on sleep; and that +produced a dream; a fortunate dream; which, as I imagine, will afford +my working mind the means to effect the obliging double purpose my +heart is now once more set upon. + +What, as I have often contemplated, is the enjoyment of the finest +woman in the world, to the contrivance, the bustle, the surprises, and +at last the happy conclusion of a well-laid plot!—The charming +round-abouts, to come to the nearest way home;—the doubts; the +apprehensions; the heart-achings; the meditated triumphs—these are the +joys that make the blessing dear.—For all the rest, what is it?—What +but to find an angel in imagination dwindled down to a woman in +fact?——But to my dream—— + +Methought it was about nine on Wednesday morning that a chariot, with a +dowager’s arms upon the doors, and in it a grave matronly lady [not +unlike mother H. in the face; but, in her heart, Oh! how unlike!] +stopped at a grocer’s shop, about ten doors on the other side of the +way, in order to buy some groceries: and methought Dorcas, having been +out to see if the coast were clear for her lady’s flight, and if a +coach were to be got near the place, espied the chariot with the +dowager’s arms, and this matronly lady: and what, methought, did +Dorcas, that subtle traitress, do, but whip up to the old matronly +lady, and lifting up her voice, say, Good my Lady, permit me one word +with your Ladyship! + +What thou hast to say to me, say on, quoth the old lady; the grocer +retiring, and standing aloof, to give Dorcas leave to speak; who, +methought, in words like these accosted the lady: + +‘You seem, Madam, to be a very good lady; and here, in this +neighbourhood, at a house of no high repute, is an innocent lady of +rank and fortune, beautiful as a May morning, and youthful as a +rose-bud, and full as sweet and lovely, who has been tricked thither by +a wicked gentleman, practised in the ways of the town, and this very +night will she be ruined if she get not out of his hands. Now, O Lady! +if you will extend your compassionate goodness to this fair young lady, +in whom, the moment you behold her, you will see cause to believe all I +say, and let her but have a place in your chariot, and remain in your +protection for one day only, till she can send a man and horse to her +rich and powerful friends, you may save from ruin a lady who has no +equal for virtue as well as beauty.’ + +Methought the old lady, moved with Dorcas’s story, answered and said, +‘Hasten, O damsel, who in a happy moment art come to put it in my power +to serve the innocent and virtuous, which it has always been my delight +to do: hasten to this young lady, and bid her hie hither to me with all +speed; and tell her, that my chariot shall be her asylum: and if I find +all that thou sayest true, my house shall be her sanctuary, and I will +protect her from all her oppressors.’ + +Hereupon, methought, this traitress Dorcas hied back to the lady, and +made report of what she had done. And, methought, the lady highly +approved of Dorcas’s proceeding and blessed her for her good thought. + +And I lifted up mine eyes, and behold the lady issued out of the house, +and without looking back, ran to the chariot with the dowager’s coat +upon it; and was received by the matronly lady with open arms, and +‘Welcome, welcome, welcome, fair young lady, who so well answer the +description of the faithful damsel: and I will carry you instantly to +my house, where you shall meet with all the good usage your heart can +wish for, till you can apprize your rich and powerful friends of your +past dangers, and present escape.’ + +‘Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, worthy, thrice worthy +lady, who afford so kindly your protection to a most unhappy young +creature, who has been basely seduced and betrayed, and brought to the +very brink of destruction.’ + +Methought, then, the matronly lady, who had, by the time the young lady +came to her, bought and paid for the goods she wanted, ordered her +coachman to drive home with all speed; who stopped not till he had +arrived in a certain street not far from Lincoln’s-inn-fields, where +the matronly lady lived in a sumptuous dwelling, replete with damsels +who wrought curiously in muslins, cambrics, and fine linen, and in +every good work that industrious damsels love to be employed about, +except the loom and the spinning-wheel. + +And, methought, all the way the young lady and the old lady rode, and +after they came in, till dinner was ready, the young lady filled up the +time with the dismal account of her wrongs and her sufferings, the like +of which was never heard by mortal ear; and this in so moving a manner, +that the good old lady did nothing but weep, and sigh, and sob, and +inveigh against the arts of wicked men, and against that abominable +’Squire Lovelace, who was a plotting villain, methought she said; and +more than that, an unchained Beelzebub. + +Methought I was in a dreadful agony, when I found the lady had escaped, +and in my wrath had like to have slain Dorcas, and our mother, and +every one I met. But, by some quick transition, and strange +metamorphosis, which dreams do not usually account for, methought, all +of a sudden, this matronly lady turned into the famous mother H. +herself; and, being an old acquaintance of mother Sinclair, was +prevailed upon to assist in my plot upon the young lady. + +Then, methought, followed a strange scene; for mother H. longing to +hear more of the young lady’s story, and night being come, besought her +to accept of a place in her own bed, in order to have all the talk to +themselves. For, methought, two young nieces of her’s had broken in +upon them, in the middle of the dismal tale. + +Accordingly, going early to bed, and the sad story being resumed, with +as great earnestness on one side as attention on the other, before the +young lady had gone far in it, mother H. methought was taken with a fit +of the colic; and her tortures increasing, was obliged to rise to get a +cordial she used to find specific in this disorder, to which she was +unhappily subject. + +Having thus risen, and stept to her closet, methought she let fall the +wax taper in her return; and then [O metamorphosis still stranger than +the former! what unaccountable things are dreams!] coming to bed again +in the dark, the young lady, to her infinite astonishment, grief, and +surprise, found mother H. turned into a young person of the other sex; +and although Lovelace was the abhorred of her soul, yet, fearing it was +some other person, it was matter of consolation to her, when she found +it was no other than himself, and that she had been still the +bed-fellow of but one and the same man. + +A strange promiscuous huddle of adventures followed, scenes perpetually +shifting; now nothing heard from the lady, but sighs, groans, +exclamations, faintings, dyings—From the gentleman, but vows, promises, +protestations, disclaimers of purposes pursued, and all the gentle and +ungentle pressures of the lover’s warfare. + +Then, as quick as thought (for dreams, thou knowest confine not +themselves to the rules of the drama) ensued recoveries, lyings-in, +christenings, the smiling boy, amply, even in her own opinion, +rewarding the suffering mother. + +Then the grandfather’s estate yielded up, possession taken of it: +living very happily upon it: her beloved Norton her companion; Miss +Howe her visiter; and (admirable! thrice admirable!) enabled to compare +notes with her; a charming girl, by the same father, to her friend’s +charming boy; who, as they grow up, in order to consolidate their +mamma’s friendships, (for neither have dreams regard to consanguinity,) +intermarry; change names by act of parliament, to enjoy my estate—and I +know not what of the like incongruous stuff. + +I awoke, as thou mayest believe, in great disorder, and rejoiced to +find my charmer in the next room, and Dorcas honest. + +Now thou wilt say this was a very odd dream. And yet, (for I am a +strange dreamer,) it is not altogether improbable that something like +it may happen; as the pretty simpleton has the weakness to confide in +Dorcas, whom till now she disliked. + +But I forgot to tell thee one part of my dream; and that was, that, the +next morning, the lady gave way to such transports of grief and +resentment, that she was with difficulty diverted from making an +attempt upon her own life. But, however, at last was prevailed upon to +resolve to live, and make the best of the matter: a letter, methought, +from Captain Tomlinson helping to pacify her, written to apprize me, +that her uncle Harlowe would certainly be at Kentish-town on Wednesday +night, June 28, the following day (the 29th) being his birth-day; and +be doubly desirous, on that account, that our nuptials should be then +privately solemnized in his presence. + +But is Thursday, the 29th, her uncle’s anniversary, methinks thou +askest?—It is; or else the day of celebration should have been earlier +still. Three weeks ago I heard her say it was: and I have down the +birthday of every one in the family, and the wedding-day of her father +and mother. The minutest circumstances are often of great service in +matters of the last importance. + +And what sayest thou now to my dream? + +Who says that, sleeping and waking, I have not fine helps from +somebody, some spirit rather, as thou’lt be apt to say? But no wonder +that a Beelzebub has his devilkins to attend his call. + +I can have no manner of doubt of succeeding in mother H.’s part of the +scheme; for will the lady (who resolves to throw herself into the first +house she can enter, or to bespeak the protection of the first person +she meets, and who thinks there can be no danger out of this house, +equal to what she apprehends from me in it) scruple to accept of the +chariot of a dowager, accidentally offered? and the lady’s protection +engaged by her faithful Dorcas, so highly bribed to promote her +escape?—And then Mrs. H. has the air and appearance of a venerable +matron, and is not such a forbidding devil as Mrs. Sinclair. + +The pretty simpleton knows nothing in the world; nor that people who +have money never want assistants in their views, be they what they +will. How else could the princes of the earth be so implicitly served +as they are, change they hands every so often, and be their purposes +ever so wicked. + +If I can but get her to go on with me till Wednesday next week, we +shall be settled together pretty quietly by that time. And indeed if +she has any gratitude, and has in her the least of her sex’s foibles, +she must think I deserve her favour, by the pains she has cost me. For +dearly do they all love that men should take pains about them and for +them. + +And here, for the present, I will lay down my pen, and congratulate +myself upon my happy invention (since her obstinacy puts me once more +upon exercising it.)—But with this resolution, I think, that, if the +present contrivance fail me, I will exert all the faculties of my mind, +all my talents, to procure for myself a regal right to her favour and +that in defiance of all my antipathies to the married state; and of the +suggestions of the great devil out of the house, and of his secret +agents in it.—Since, if now she is not to be prevailed upon, or drawn +in, it will be in vain to attempt her further. + + + + + LETTER XXVII + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. TUESDAY NIGHT, JUNE 20. + +No admittance yet to my charmer! she is very ill—in a violent fever, +Dorcas thinks. Yet will have no advice. + +Dorcas tells her how much I am concerned at it. + +But again let me ask, Does this lady do right to make herself ill, when +she is not ill? For my own part, libertine as people think me, when I +had occasion to be sick, I took a dose of ipecacuanha, that I might not +be guilty of a falsehood; and most heartily sick was I; as she, who +then pitied me, full well knew. But here to pretend to be very ill, +only to get an opportunity to run away, in order to avoid forgiving a +man who has offended her, how unchristian!—If good folks allow +themselves in these breaches of a known duty, and in these presumptuous +contrivances to deceive, who, Belford, shall blame us? + +I have a strange notion that the matronly lady will be certainly at the +grocer’s shop at the hour of nine tomorrow morning: for Dorcas heard me +tell Mrs. Sinclair, that I should go out at eight precisely; and then +she is to try for a coach: and if the dowager’s chariot should happen +to be there, how lucky will it be for my charmer! how strangely will my +dream be made out! + + +I have just received a letter from Captain Tomlinson. Is it not +wonderful? for that was part of my dream. + +I shall always have a prodigious regard to dreams henceforward. I know +not but I may write a book upon that subject; for my own experience +will furnish out a great part of it. ‘Glanville of Witches,’ ‘Baxter’s +History of Spirits and Apparitions,’ and the ‘Royal Pedant’s +Demonology,’ will be nothing at all to Lovelace’s Reveries. + +The letter is just what I dreamed it to be. I am only concerned that +uncle John’s anniversary did not happen three or four days sooner; for +should any new misfortune befal my charmer, she may not be able to +support her spirits so long as till Thursday in the next week. Yet it +will give me the more time for new expedients, should my present +contrivance fail; which I cannot however suppose. + +TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. MONDAY, JUNE 19. + +Dear Sir, + +I can now return your joy, for the joy you have given me, as well as my +dear friend Mr. Harlowe, in the news of his beloved niece’s happy +recovery; for he is determined to comply with her wishes and your’s, +and to give her to you with his own hand. + +As the ceremony has been necessarily delayed by reason of her illness, +and as Mr. Harlowe’s birth-day is on Thursday the 29th of this instant +June, when he enters into the seventy-fourth year of his age; and as +time may be wanted to complete the dear lady’s recovery; he is very +desirous that the marriage shall be solemnized upon it; that he may +afterwards have double joy on that day to the end of his life. + +For this purpose he intends to set out privately, so as to be at +Kentish-town on Wednesday se’nnight in the evening. + +All the family used, he says, to meet to celebrate it with him; but as +they are at present in too unhappy a situation for that, he will give +out, that, not being able to bear the day at home, he has resolved to +be absent for two or three days. + +He will set out on horseback, attended only with one trusty servant, +for the greater privacy. He will be at the most creditable-looking +public house there, expecting you both next morning, if he hear nothing +from me to prevent him. And he will go to town with you after the +ceremony is performed, in the coach he supposes you will come in. + +He is very desirous that I should be present on the occasion. But this +I have promised him, at his request, that I will be up before the day, +in order to see the settlements executed, and every thing properly +prepared. + +He is very glad you have the license ready. + +He speaks very kindly of you, Mr. Lovelace; and says, that, if any of +the family stand out after he has seen the ceremony performed, he will +separate from them, and unite himself to his dear niece and her +interests. + +I owned to you, when in town last, that I took slight notice to my dear +friend of the misunderstanding between you and his niece; and that I +did this, for fear the lady should have shown any little discontent in +his presence, had I been able to prevail upon him to go up in person, +as then was doubtful. But I hope nothing of that discontent remains +now. + +My absence, when your messenger came, must excuse me for not writing by +him. + +Be pleased to make my most respectful compliments acceptable to the +admirable lady, and believe me to be + +Your most faithful and obedient servant, ANTONY TOMLINSON. + + +This letter I sealed, and broke open. It was brought, thou mayest +suppose, by a particular messenger; the seal such a one as the writer +need be ashamed of. I took care to inquire after the Captain’s health, +in my beloved’s hearing; and it is now ready to be produced as a +pacifier, according as she shall take on or resent, if the two +metamorphoses happen pursuant to my wonderful dream; as, having great +faith in dreams, I dare say they will.—I think it will not be amiss, in +changing my clothes, to have this letter of the worthy Captain lie in +my beloved’s way. + + + + + LETTER XXVIII + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. WEDN. NOON, JUNE 21. + +What shall I say now!—I, who but a few hours ago had such faith in +dreams, and had proposed out of hand to begin my treatise of dreams +sleeping and dreams waking, and was pleasing myself with the dialogues +between the old matronal lady and the young lady, and with the +metamorphoses, (absolutely assured that every thing would happen as my +dream chalked it out,) shall never more depend upon those flying +follies, those illusions of a fancy depraved, and run mad. + +Thus confoundedly have matters happened. + +I went out at eight o’clock in high good humour with myself, in order +to give the sought-for opportunity to the plotting mistress and +corrupted maid; only ordering Will. to keep a good look-out for fear +his lady should mistrust my plot, or mistake a hackney-coach for the +dowager-lady’s chariot. But first I sent to know how she did; and +receiving for answer, Very ill: had a very bad night: which latter was +but too probable; since this I know, that people who have plots in +their heads as seldom have as deserve good ones. + +I desired a physician might be called in; but was refused. + +I took a walk in St. James’s Park, congratulating myself all the way on +my rare inventions: then, impatient, I took coach, with one of the +windows quite up, the other almost up, playing at bo-peep in every +chariot I saw pass in my way to Lincoln’s-inn-fields: and when arrived +there I sent the coachman to desire any one of Mother H.’s family to +come to me to the coach-side, not doubting but I should have +intelligence of my fair fugitive there; it being then half an hour +after ten. + +A servant came, who gave me to understand that the matronly lady was +just returned by herself in the chariot. + +Frighted out of my wits, I alighted, and heard from the mother’s own +mouth, that Dorcas had engaged her to protect the lady; but came to +tell her afterwards, that she had changed her mind, and would not quit +the house. + +Quite astonished, not knowing what might have happened, I ordered the +coachman to lash away to our mother’s. + +Arriving here in an instant, the first word I asked, was, If the lady +was safe? + +[Mr. Lovelace here gives a very circumstantial relation of all that +passed between the Lady and Dorcas. But as he could only guess at her +motives for refusing to go off, when Dorcas told her that she had +engaged for her the protection of the dowager-lady, it is thought +proper to omit this relation, and to supply it by some memoranda of the +Lady’s. But it is first necessary to account for the occasion on which +those memoranda were made. + +The reader may remember, that in the letter written to Miss Howe, on +her escape to Hampstead,* she promises to give her the particulars of +her flight at leisure. She had indeed thoughts of continuing her +account of every thing that had passed between her and Mr. Lovelace +since her last narrative letter. But the uncertainty she was in from +that time, with the execrable treatment she met with on her being +deluded back again, followed by a week’s delirium, had hitherto +hindered her from prosecuting her intention. But, nevertheless, having +it still in her view to perform her promise as soon as she had +opportunity, she made minutes of every thing as it passed, in order to +help her memory:—‘Which,’ as she observes in one place, ‘she could less +trust to since her late disorders than before.’ In these minutes, or +book of memoranda, she observes, ‘That having apprehensions that Dorcas +might be a traitress, she would have got away while she was gone out to +see for a coach; and actually slid down stairs with that intent. But +that, seeing Mrs. Sinclair in the entry, (whom Dorcas had planted there +while she went out,) she speeded up again unseen.’ + +* See Vol. V. Letter XXI. + +She then went up to the dining-room, and saw the letter of Captain +Tomlinson: on which she observes in her memorandum-book as follows:] + +‘How am I puzzled now!—He might leave this letter on purpose: none of +the other papers left with it being of any consequence: What is the +alternative?—To stay, and be the wife of the vilest of men—how my heart +resists that!—To attempt to get off, and fail, ruin inevitable!—Dorcas +may betray me!—I doubt she is still his implement!—At his going out, he +whispered her, as I saw, unobserved—in a very familiar manner too—Never +fear, Sir, with a courtesy. + +‘In her agreeing to connive at my escape, she provided not for her own +safety, if I got away: yet had reason, in that case, to expect his +vengeance. And wants not forethought.—To have taken her with me, was to +be in the power of her intelligence, if a faithless creature.—Let me, +however, though I part not with my caution, keep my charity!—Can there +be any woman so vile to a woman?—O yes!—Mrs. Sinclair: her aunt.—The +Lord deliver me!—But, alas!—I have put myself out of the course of his +protection by the natural means—and am already ruined! A father’s curse +likewise against me! Having made vain all my friends’ cautions and +solicitudes, I must not hope for miracles in my favour! + +‘If I do escape, what may become of me, a poor, helpless, deserted +creature!—Helpless from sex!—from circumstances!—Exposed to every +danger!—Lord protect me! + +‘His vile man not gone with him!—Lurking hereabouts, no doubt, to watch +my steps!—I will not go away by the chariot, however.—— + +‘That the chariot should come so opportunely! So like his many +opportunities!—That Dorcas should have the sudden thought!—Should have +the courage with the thought, to address a lady in behalf of an +absolute stranger to that lady! That the lady should so readily +consent! Yet the transaction between them to take up so much time, +their distance in degree considered: for, arduous as the case was, and +precious as the time, Dorcas was gone above half an hour! Yet the +chariot was said to be ready at a grocer’s not many doors off! + +‘Indeed some elderly ladies are talkative: and there are, no doubt, +some good people in the world.—— + +‘But that it should chance to be a widow lady, who could do what she +pleased! That Dorcas should know her to be so by the lozenge! Persons +in her station are not usually so knowing, I believe, in heraldry. + +‘Yet some may! for servants are fond of deriving collateral honours and +distinctions, as I may call them, from the quality, or people of rank, +whom they serve. But this sly servant not gone with him! Then this +letter of Tomlinson!—— + +‘Although I am resolved never to have this wretch, yet, may I not throw +myself into my uncle’s protection at Kentish-town, or Highgate, if I +cannot escape before: and so get clear of him? May not the evil I know +be less than what I may fall into, if I can avoid farther villany? +Farther villany he has not yet threatened; freely and justly as I have +treated him!—I will not go, I think. At least, unless I can send this +fellow away.*—— + +* She tried to do this; but was prevented by the fellow’s pretending to +put his ankle out, by a slip down stairs—A trick, says his contriving +master, in his omitted relation, I had taught him, on a like occasion, +at Amiens. + +‘The fellow a villain! The wench, I doubt, a vile wench. At last +concerned for her own safety. Plays off and on about a coach. + +‘All my hopes of getting off at present over!—Unhappy creature! to what +farther evils art thou reserved! Oh! how my heart rises at the +necessity I must still be under to see and converse with so very vile a +man!’ + + + + + LETTER XXIX + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON. + +Disappointed in her meditated escape; obliged, against her will, to +meet me in the dining-room; and perhaps apprehensive of being upbraided +for her art in feigning herself ill; I expected that the dear perverse +would begin with me with spirit and indignation. But I was in hopes, +from the gentleness of her natural disposition; from the consideration +which I expected from her on her situation; from the contents of the +letter of Captain Tomlinson, which Dorcas told me she had seen; and +from the time she had had to cool and reflect since she last admitted +me to her presence, that she would not have carried it so strongly +through as she did. + +As I entered the dining-room, I congratulated her and myself upon her +sudden recovery. And would have taken her hand, with an air of +respectful tenderness; but she was resolved to begin where she left +off. + +She turned from me, drawing in her hand, with a repulsing and indignant +aspect—I meet you once more, said she, because I cannot help it. What +have you to say to me? Why am I to be thus detained against my will? + +With the utmost solemnity of speech and behaviour, I urged the +ceremony. I saw I had nothing else for it. I had a letter in my pocket +I said, [feeling for it, although I had not taken it from the table +where I left it in the same room,] the contents of which, if attended +to, would make us both happy. I had been loth to show it to her before, +because I hoped to prevail upon her to be mine sooner than the day +mentioned in it. + +I felt for it in all my pockets, watching her eye mean time, which I +saw glance towards the table where it lay. + +I was uneasy that I could not find it—at last, directed again by her +sly eye, I spied it on the table at the farther end of the room. + +With joy I fetched it. Be pleased to read that letter, Madam; with an +air of satisfied assurance. + +She took it, and cast her eye over it, in such a careless way, as made +it evident, that she had read it before: and then unthankfully tossed +it into the window-seat before her. + +I urged her to bless me to-morrow, or Friday morning; at least, that +she would not render vain her uncle’s journey, and kind endeavours to +bring about a reconciliation among us all. + +Among us all! repeated she, with an air equally disdainful and +incredulous. O Lovelace, thou art surely nearly allied to the grand +deceiver, in thy endeavour to suit temptations to inclinations?—But +what honour, what faith, what veracity, were it possible that I could +enter into parley with thee on this subject, (which it is not,) may I +expect from such a man as thou hast shown thyself to be? + +I was touched to the quick. A lady of your perfect character, Madam, +who has feigned herself sick, on purpose to avoid seeing the man who +adored her, should not— + +I know what thou wouldst say, interrupted she—Twenty and twenty low +things, that my soul would have been above being guilty of, and which I +have despised myself for, have I been brought into by the infection of +thy company, and by the necessity thou hadst laid me under, of +appearing mean. But, I thank God, destitute as I am, that I am not, +however, sunk so low, as to wish to be thine. + +I, Madam, as the injurer, ought to have patience. It is for the injured +to reproach. But your uncle is not in a plot against you, it is to be +hoped. There are circumstances in the letter you cast your eyes over—— + +Again she interrupted me, Why, once more I ask you, am I detained in +this house?—Do I not see myself surrounded by wretches, who, though +they wear the habit of my sex, may yet, as far as I know, lie in wait +for my perdition? + +She would be very loth, I said, that Mrs. Sinclair and her nieces +should be called up to vindicate themselves and their house. + +Would but they kill me, let them come, and welcome, I will bless the +hand that will strike the blow! Indeed I will. + +’Tis idle, very idle, to talk of dying. Mere young-lady talk, when +controuled by those they hate. But let me beseech you, dearest +creature—— + +Beseech me nothing. Let me not be detained thus against my +will!—Unhappy creature that I am, said she, in a kind of phrensy, +wringing her hands at the same time, and turning from me, her eyes +lifted up! ‘Thy curse, O my cruel father, seems to be now in the height +of its operation!—My weakened mind is full of forebodings, that I am in +the way of being a lost creature as to both worlds! Blessed, blessed +God, said she, falling on her knees, save me, O save me, from myself +and from this man!’ + +I sunk down on my knees by her, excessively affecting—O that I could +recall yesterday!—Forgive me, my dearest creature, forgive what is +past, as it cannot now, but by one way, be retrieved. Forgive me only +on this condition—That my future faith and honour— + +She interrupted me, rising—If you mean to beg of me never to seek to +avenge myself by law, or by an appeal to my relations, to my cousin +Morden in particular, when he comes to England—— + +D—n the law, rising also, [she started,] and all those to whom you talk +of appealing!—I defy both the one and the other—All I beg is YOUR +forgiveness; and that you will, on my unfeigned contrition, +re-establish me in your favour—— + +O no, no, no! lifting up her clasped hands, I never never will, never, +never can forgive you!—and it is a punishment worse than death to me, +that I am obliged to meet you, or to see you. + +This is the last time, my dearest life, that you will ever see me in +this posture, on this occasion: and again I kneeled to her. Let me +hope, that you will be mine next Thursday, your uncle’s birth-day, if +not before. Would to Heaven I had never been a villain! Your +indignation is not, cannot be greater, than my remorse—and I took hold +of her gown for she was going from me. + +Be remorse thy portion!—For thine own sake, be remorse thy portion!—I +never, never will forgive thee!—I never, never will be thine!—Let me +retire!—Why kneelest thou to the wretch whom thou hast so vilely +humbled? + +Say but, dearest creature, you will consider—say but you will take time +to reflect upon what the honour of both our families requires of you. I +will not rise. I will not permit you to withdraw [still holding her +gown] till you tell me you will consider.—Take this letter. Weigh well +your situation, and mine. Say you will withdraw to consider; and then I +will not presume to withhold you. + +Compulsion shall do nothing with me. Though a slave, a prisoner, in +circumstance, I am no slave in my will!—Nothing will I promise +thee!—Withheld, compelled—nothing will I promise thee! + +Noble creature! but not implacable, I hope!—Promise me but to return in +an hour! + +Nothing will I promise thee! + +Say but that you will see me again this evening! + +O that I could say—that it were in my power to say—I never will see +thee more!—Would to Heaven I never were to see thee more! + +Passionate beauty!—still holding her— + +I speak, though with vehemence, the deliberate wish of my heart.—O that +I could avoid looking down upon thee, mean groveler, and abject as +insulting—Let me withdraw! My soul is in tumults! Let me withdraw! + +I quitted my hold to clasp my hands together—Withdraw, O sovereign of +my fate!—Withdraw, if you will withdraw! My destiny is in your +power!—It depends upon your breath!—Your scorn but augments my love! +Your resentment is but too well founded!—But, dearest creature, return, +return, return, with a resolution to bless with pardon and peace your +faithful adorer! + +She flew from me. The angel, as soon as she found her wings, flew from +me. I, the reptile kneeler, the despicable slave, no more the proud +victor, arose; and, retiring, tried to comfort myself, that, +circumstanced as she is, destitute of friends and fortune; her uncle +moreover, who is to reconcile all so soon, (as I thank my stars she +still believes,) expected. + +O that she would forgive me!—Would she but generously forgive me, and +receive my vows at the altar, at the instant of her forgiving me, that +I might not have time to relapse into my old prejudices! By my soul, +Belford, this dear girl gives the lie to all our rakish maxims. There +must be something more than a name in virtue!—I now see that there +is!—Once subdued, always subdued—’Tis an egregious falsehood!—But, O +Jack, she never was subdued. What have I obtained but an increase of +shame and confusion!—While her glory has been established by her +sufferings! + +This one merit is, however, left me, that I have laid all her sex under +obligation to me, by putting this noble creature to trials, which, so +gloriously supported, have done honour to them all. + +However—But no more will I add—What a force have evil habits!—I will +take an airing, and try to fly from myself!—Do not thou upbraid me on +my weak fits—on my contradictory purposes—on my irresolution—and all +will be well. + + + + + LETTER XXX + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. WEDNESDAY NIGHT. + +A man is just now arrived from M. Hall, who tells me, that my Lord is +in a very dangerous way. The gout in his stomach to an extreme degree, +occasioned by drinking a great quantity of lemonade. + +A man of 8000£. a year to prefer his appetite to his health!—He +deserves to die!—But we have all of us our inordinate passions to +gratify: and they generally bring their punishment along with them—so +witnesses the nephew, as well as the uncle. + +The fellow was sent upon other business; but stretched his orders a +little, to make his court to a successor. + +I am glad I was not at M. Hall, at the time my Lord took the grateful +dose: [it was certainly grateful to him at the time:] there are people +in the world, who would have had the wickedness to say, that I had +persuaded him to drink. + +The man says, that his Lordship was so bad when he came away, that the +family began to talk of sending for me in post haste. As I know the old +peer has a good deal of cash by him, of which he seldom keeps account, +it behoves me to go down as soon as I can. But what shall I do with +this dear creature the while?—To-morrow over, I shall, perhaps, be able +to answer my own question. I am afraid she will make me desperate. + +For here have I sent to implore her company, and am denied with scorn. + + +I have been so happy as to receive, this moment, a third letter from +the dear correspondent Miss Howe. A little severe devil!—It would have +broken the heart of my beloved, had it fallen into her hands. I will +enclose a copy of it. Read it here. + +TUESDAY, JUNE 20. MY DEAREST MISS HARLOWE, + +Again I venture to you, (almost against inclination;) and that by your +former conveyance, little as I like it. + +I know not how it is with you. It may be bad; and then it would be hard +to upbraid you, for a silence you may not be able to help. But if not, +what shall I say severe enough, that you have not answered either of my +last letters? the first* of which [and I think it imported you too much +to be silent upon it] you owned the receipt of. The other which was +delivered into your own hands,** was so pressing for the favour of a +line from you, that I am amazed I could not be obliged; and still more, +that I have not heard from you since. + +* See Vol. V. Letter XX. ** See Vol. VI. Letter VII. + +The fellow made so strange a story of the condition he saw you in, and +of your speech to him, that I know not what to conclude from it: only, +that he is a simple, blundering, and yet conceited fellow, who, aiming +at description, and the rustic wonderful, gives an air of bumkinly +romance to all he tells. That this is his character, you will believe, +when you are informed that he described you in grief excessive,* yet so +improved in your person and features, and so rosy, that was his word, +in your face, and so flush-coloured, and so plump in your arms, that +one would conclude you were labouring under the operation of some +malignant poison; and so much the rather, as he was introduced to you, +when you were upon a couch, from which you offered not to rise, or sit +up. + +* See Vol. VI. Letter VI. + +Upon my word, Miss Harlowe, I am greatly distressed upon your account; +for I must be so free as to say, that in your ready return with your +deceiver, you have not at all answered my expectations, nor acted up to +your own character; for Mrs. Townsend tells me, from the women at +Hampstead, how cheerfully you put yourself into his hands again: yet, +at the time, it was impossible you should be married!— + +Lord, my dear, what pity it is, that you took much pains to get from +the man!—But you know best!—Sometimes I think it could not be you to +whom the rustic delivered my letter. But it must too: yet, it is +strange I could not have one line by him:—not one:—and you so soon well +enough to go with the wretch back again! + +I am not sure that the letter I am now writing will come to your hands: +so shall not say half that I have upon my mind to say. But, if you +think it worth your while to write to me, pray let me know what fine +ladies his relations those were who visited you at Hampstead, and +carried you back again so joyfully to a place that I had so fully +warned you.—But I will say no more: at least till I know more: for I +can do nothing but wonder and stand amazed. + +Notwithstanding all the man’s baseness, ’tis plain there was more than +a lurking love—Good Heaven!—But I have done!—Yet I know not how to have +done neither!—Yet I must—I will. + +Only account to me, my dear, for what I cannot at all account for: and +inform me, whether you are really married, or not.—And then I shall +know whether there must or must not, be a period shorter than that of +one of our lives, to a friendship which has hitherto been the pride and +boast of + +Your ANNA HOWE. + + +Dorcas tells me, that she has just now had a searching conversation, as +she calls it, with her lady. She is willing, she tells the wench, still +to place her confidence in her. Dorcas hopes she has re-assured her: +but wishes me not to depend upon it. Yet Captain Tomlinson’s letter +must assuredly weigh with her. + +I sent it in just now by Dorcas, desiring her to re-peruse it. And it +was not returned me, as I feared it would be. And that’s a good sign, I +think. + +I say I think, and I think; for this charming creature, entangled as I +am in my own inventions, puzzles me ten thousand times more than I her. + + + + + LETTER XXXI + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. THURSDAY NOON, JUNE 22. + +Let me perish if I know what to make either of myself or of this +surprising creature—now calm, now tempestuous.—But I know thou lovest +not anticipation any more than I. + +At my repeated requests, she met me at six this morning. + +She was ready dressed; for she had not her clothes off every since she +declared, that they never more should be off in this house. And +charmingly she looked, with all the disadvantages of a three-hours +violent stomach-ache—(for Dorcas told me that she had been really +ill)—no rest, and eyes red and swelled with weeping. Strange to me that +those charming fountains have not been so long ago exhausted! But she +is a woman. And I believe anatomists allow, that women have more watry +heads than men. + +Well, my dearest creature, I hope you have now thoroughly considered of +the contents of Captain Tomlinson’s letter. But as we are thus early +met, let me beseech you to make this my happy day. + +She looked not favourably upon me. A cloud hung upon her brow at her +entrance: but as she was going to answer me, a still greater solemnity +took possession of her charming features. + +Your air, and your countenance, my beloved creature, are not propitious +to me. Let me beg of you, before you speak, to forbear all further +recriminations: for already I have such a sense of my vileness to you, +that I know not how to bear the reproaches of my own mind. + +I have been endeavouring, said she, since I am not permitted to avoid +you, to obtain a composure which I never more expected to see you in. +How long I may enjoy it, I cannot tell. But I hope I shall be enabled +to speak to you without that vehemence which I expressed yesterday, and +could not help it.* + +* The Lady, in her minutes, says, ‘I fear Dorcas is a false one. May I +not be able to prevail upon him to leave me at my liberty? Better to +try than to trust to her. If I cannot prevail, but must meet him and my +uncle, I hope I shall have fortitude enough to renounce him then. But I +would fain avoid qualifying with the wretch, or to give him an +expectation which I intend not to answer. If I am mistress of my own +resolutions, my uncle himself shall not prevail with me to bind my soul +in covenant with so vile a man.’ + +After a pause (for I was all attention) thus she proceeded: + +It is easy for me, Mr. Lovelace, to see that further violences are +intended me, if I comply not with your purposes, whatever they are, I +will suppose them to be what you solemnly profess they are. But I have +told you as solemnly my mind, that I never will, that I never can be +your’s; nor, if so, any man’s upon earth. All vengeance, nevertheless, +for the wrongs you have done me, I disclaim. I want but to slide into +some obscure corner, to hide myself from you and from every one who +once loved me. The desire lately so near my heart, of a reconciliation +with my friends, is much abated. They shall not receive me now, if they +would. Sunk in mine own eyes, I now think myself unworthy of their +favour. In the anguish of my soul, therefore, I conjure you, Lovelace, +[tears in her eyes,] to leave me to my fate. In doing so, you will give +me a pleasure the highest I now can know. + +Where, my dearest life—— + +No matter where. I will leave to Providence, when I am out of this +house, the direction of my future steps. I am sensible enough of my +destitute condition. I know that I have not now a friend in the world. +Even Miss Howe has given me up—or you are—But I would fain keep my +temper!—By your means I have lost them all—and you have been a +barbarous enemy to me. You know you have. + +She paused. + +I could not speak. + +The evils I have suffered, proceeded she, [turning from me,] however +irreparable, are but temporarily evils. Leave me to my hopes of being +enabled to obtain the Divine forgiveness for the offence I have been +drawn in to give to my parents and to virtue; that so I may avoid the +evils that are more than temporary. This is now all I have to wish for. +And what is it that I demand, that I have not a right to, and from +which it is an illegal violence to withhold me? + +It was impossible for me, I told her plainly, to comply. + +I besought her to give me her hand as this very day. I could not live +without her. I communicated to her my Lord’s illness, as a reason why I +wished not to stay for her uncle’s anniversary. I besought her to bless +me with her consent; and, after the ceremony was passed, to accompany +me down to Berks. And thus, my dearest life, said I, will you be freed +from a house, to which you have conceived so great an antipathy. + +This, thou wilt own, was a princely offer. And I was resolved to be as +good as my word. I thought I had killed my conscience, as I told thee, +Belford, some time ago. But conscience, I find, though it may be +temporarily stifled, cannot die, and, when it dare not speak aloud, +will whisper. And at this instant I thought I felt the revived +varletess (on but a slight retrograde motion) writhing round my +pericardium like a serpent; and in the action of a dying one, +(collecting all its force into its head,) fix its plaguy fangs into my +heart. + +She hesitated, and looked down, as if irresolute. And this set my heart +up at my mouth. And, believe me, I had instantly popt in upon me, in +imagination, an old spectacled parson, with a white surplice thrown +over a black habit, [a fit emblem of the halcyon office, which, under a +benign appearance, often introduced a life of storms and tempests,] +whining and snuffling through his nose the irrevocable ceremony. + +I hope now, my dearest life, said I, snatching her hand, and pressing +it to my lips, that your silence bodes me good. Let me, my beloved +creature, have but your tacit consent; and this moment I will step out +and engage a minister. And then I promised how much my whole future +life should be devoted to her commands, and that I would make her the +best and tenderest of husbands. + +At last, turning to me, I have told you my mind, Mr. Lovelace, said +she. Think you, that I could thus solemnly—There she stopt—I am too +much in your power, proceeded she; your prisoner, rather than a person +free to choose for myself, or to say what I will do or be. But as a +testimony that you mean me well, let me instantly quit this house; and +I will then give you such an answer in writing, as best befits my +unhappy circumstances. + +And imaginest thou, fairest, thought I, that this will go down with a +Lovelace? Thou oughtest to have known that free-livers, like ministers +of state, never part with a power put into their hands, without an +equivalent of twice the value. + +I pleaded, that if we joined hands this morning, (if not, to-morrow; if +not, on Thursday, her uncle’s birth-day, and in his presence); and +afterwards, as I had proposed, set out for Berks; we should, of course, +quit this house; and, on our return to town, should have in readiness +the house I was in treaty for. + +She answered me not, but with tears and sighs; fond of believing what I +hoped I imputed her silence to the modesty of her sex. The dear +creature, (thought I,) solemnly as she began with me, is ruminating, in +a sweet suspence, how to put into fit words the gentle purposes of her +condescending heart. But, looking in her averted face with a soothing +gentleness, I plainly perceived, that it was resentment, and not +bashfulness, that was struggling in her bosom.* + +* The Lady, in her minutes, owns the difficulty she lay under to keep +her temper in this conference. ‘But when I found,’ says she, ‘that all +my entreaties were ineffectual, and that he was resolved to detain me, +I could no longer withhold my impatience.’ + +At last she broke silence—I have no patience, said she, to find myself +a slave, a prisoner, in a vile house—Tell me, Sir, in so many words +tell me, whether it be, or be not, your intention to permit me to quit +it?—To permit me the freedom which is my birthright as an English +subject? + +Will not the consequence of your departure hence be that I shall lose +you for ever, Madam?—And can I bear the thoughts of that? + +She flung from me—My soul disdains to hold parley with thee! were her +violent words.—But I threw myself at her feet, and took hold of her +reluctant hand, and began to imprecate, avow, to promise—But thus the +passionate beauty, interrupting me, went on: + +I am sick of thee, MAN!—One continued string of vows, oaths, and +protestations, varied only by time and place, fills thy mouth!—Why +detainest thou me? My heart rises against thee, O thou cruel implement +of my brother’s causeless vengeance.—All I beg of thee is, that thou +wilt remit me the future part of my father’s dreadful curse! the +temporary part, base and ungrateful as thou art! thou hast completed! + +I was speechless!—Well I might!—Her brother’s implement!—James +Harlowe’s implement!—Zounds, Jack! what words were these! + +I let go her struggling hand. She took two or three turns cross the +room, her whole haughty soul in her air. Then approaching me, but in +silence, turning from me, and again to me, in a milder voice—I see thy +confusion, Lovelace. Or is it thy remorse?—I have but one request to +make thee—the request so often repeated—That thou wilt this moment +permit me to quit this house. Adieu, then, let me say, for ever adieu! +And mayest thou enjoy that happiness in this world, which thou hast +robbed me of; as thou hast of every friend I have in it! + +And saying this, away she flung, leaving me in a confusion so great, +that I knew not what to think, say, or do! + +But Dorcas soon roused me—Do you know, Sir, running in hastily, that my +lady is gone down stairs! + +No, sure!—And down I flew, and found her once more at the street-door, +contending with Polly Horton to get out. + +She rushed by me into the fore parlour, and flew to the window, and +attempted once more to throw up the sash—Good people! good people! +cried she. + +I caught her in my arms, and lifted her from the window. But being +afraid of hurting the charming creature, (charming in her very rage,) +she slid through my arms on the floor.—Let me die here! let me die +here! were her words; remaining jointless and immovable, till Sally and +Mrs. Sinclair hurried in. + +She was visibly terrified at the sight of the old wretch; while I +(sincerely affected) appealed, Bear witness, Mrs. Sinclair!—bear +witness, Miss Martin!—Miss Horton!—Every one bear witness, that I offer +not violence to this beloved creature! + +She then found her feet—O house [look towards the windows, and all +round her, O house,] contrived on purpose for my ruin! said she—but let +not that woman come into my presence—not that Miss Horton neither, who +would not have dared to controul me, had she not been a base one!— + +Hoh, Sir! Hoh, Madam! vociferated the old dragon, her armed kemboed, +and flourishing with one foot to the extent of her petticoats—What’s +ado here about nothing! I never knew such work in my life, between a +chicken of a gentleman and a tiger of a lady!— + +She was visibly affrighted: and up stairs she hastened. A bad woman is +certainly, Jack, more terrible to her own sex than even a bad man. + +I followed her up. She rushed by her own apartment into the +dining-room: no terror can make her forget her punctilio. + +To recite what passed there of invective, exclamations, threatenings, +even of her own life, on one side; of expostulations, supplications, +and sometimes menaces, on the other; would be too affecting; and, after +my particularity in like scenes, these things may as well be imagined +as expressed. + +I will therefore only mention, that, at length, I extorted a concession +from her. She had reason* to think it would have been worse for her on +the spot, if she had not made it. It was, That she would endeavour to +make herself easy till she saw what next Thursday, her uncle’s +birth-day, would produce. But Oh! that it were not a sin, she +passionately exclaimed on making this poor concession, to put and end +to her own life, rather than yield to give me but that assurance! + +* The Lady mentions, in her memorandum-book, that she had no other way, +as is apprehended, to save herself from instant dishonour, but by +making this concession. Her only hope, now, she says, if she cannot +escape by Dorcas’s connivance, (whom, nevertheless she suspects,) is to +find a way to engage the protection of her uncle, and even of the civil +magistrate, on Thursday next, if necessary. ‘He shall see,’ says she, +‘tame and timid as he thought me, what I dare to do, to avoid so hated +a compulsion, and a man capable of a baseness so premeditatedly vile +and inhuman.’ + +This, however, shows me, that she is aware that the reluctantly-given +assurance may be fairly construed into a matrimonial expectation on my +side. And if she will now, even now, look forward, I think, from my +heart, that I will put on her livery, and wear it for life. + +What a situation am I in, with all my cursed inventions! I am puzzled, +confounded, and ashamed of myself, upon the whole. To take such pains +to be a villain!—But (for the fiftieth time) let me ask thee, Who would +have thought that there had been such a woman in the +world?—Nevertheless, she had best take care that she carries not her +obstinacy much farther. She knows not what revenge for slighted love +will make me do. + +The busy scenes I have just passed through have given emotions to my +heart, which will not be quieted one while. My heart, I see, (on +re-perusing what I have written,) has communicated its tremors to my +fingers; and in some places the characters are so indistinct and +unformed, that thou’lt hardly be able to make them out. But if one half +of them is only intelligible, that will be enough to expose me to thy +contempt, for the wretched hand I have made of my plots and +contrivances.—But surely, Jack, I have gained some ground by this +promise. + +And now, one word to the assurances thou sendest me, that thou hast not +betrayed my secrets in relation to this charming creature. Thou +mightest have spared them, Belford. My suspicions held no longer than +while I wrote about them.* For well I knew, when I allowed myself time +to think, that thou hadst no principles, no virtue, to be misled by. A +great deal of strong envy, and a little of weak pity, I knew to be thy +motives. Thou couldst not provoke my anger, and my compassion thou ever +hadst; and art now more especially entitled to it; because thou art a +pityful fellow. + +All thy new expostulations in my beloved’s behalf I will answer when I +see thee. + + + + + LETTER XXXII + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. THURSDAY NIGHT. + +Confoundedly out of humour with this perverse woman!—Nor wilt thou +blame me, if thou art my friend. She regards the concession she made, +as a concession extorted from her: and we are but just where we were +before she made it. + +With great difficulty I prevailed upon her to favour me with her +company for one half hour this evening. The necessity I was under to go +down to M. Hall was the subject I wanted to talk upon. + +I told her, that as she had been so good as to promise that she would +endeavour to make herself easy till she saw the Thursday in next week +over, I hoped that she would not scruple to oblige me with her word, +that I should find her here at my return from M. Hall. + +Indeed she would make no such promise. Nothing of this house was +mentioned to me, said she: you know it was not. And do you think that I +would have given my consent to my imprisonment in it? + +I was plaguily nettled, and disappointed too. If I go not down to Mr. +Hall, Madam, you’ll have no scruple to stay here, I suppose, till +Thursday is over? + +If I cannot help myself I must—but I insist upon being permitted to go +out of this house, whether you leave it or not. + +Well, Madam, then I will comply with your commands. And I will go out +this very evening in quest of lodgings that you shall have no +objections to. + +I will have no lodgings of your providing, Sir—I will go to Mrs. +Moore’s, at Hampstead. + +Mrs. Moore’s, Madam!—I have no objection to Mrs. Moore’s—but will you +give me your promise, to admit me there to your presence? + +As I do here—when I cannot help it. + +Very well, Madam—Will you be so good as to let me know what you intend +by your promise to make yourself easy. + +To endeavour, Sir, to make myself easy—were the words—— + +Till you saw what next Thursday would produce? + +Ask me no questions that may ensnare me. I am too sincere for the +company I am in. + +Let me ask you, Madam, What meant you, when you said, ‘that, were it +not a sin, you would die before you gave me that assurance?’ + +She was indignantly silent. + +You thought, Madam, you had given me room to hope your pardon by it? + +When I think I ought to answer you with patience I will speak. + +Do you think yourself in my power, Madam? + +If I were not—And there she stopt—— + +Dearest creature, speak out—I beseech you, dearest creature, speak +out—— + +She was silent; her charming face all in a glow. + +Have you, Madam, any reliance upon my honour? + +Still silent. + +You hate me, Madam! You despise me more than you do the most odious of +God’s creatures! + +You ought to despise me, if I did not. + +You say, Madam, you are in a bad house. You have no reliance upon my +honour—you believe you cannot avoid me—— + +She arose. I beseech you, let me withdraw. + +I snatched her hand, rising, and pressed it first to my lips, and then +to my heart, in wild disorder. She might have felt the bounding +mischief ready to burst its bars—You shall go—to your own apartment, if +you please—But, by the great God of Heaven, I will accompany you +thither! + +She trembled—Pray, pray, Mr. Lovelace, don’t terrify me so! + +Be seated, Madam! I beseech you, be seated!—— + +I will sit down—— + +Do then—All my soul is in my eyes, and my heart’s blood throbbing at my +fingers’ ends. + +I will—I will—You hurt me—Pray, Mr. Lovelace, don’t—don’t frighten me +so—And down she sat, trembling; my hand still grasping her’s. + +I hung over her throbbing bosom, and putting my other arm round her +waist—And you say, you hate me, Madam—and you say, you despise me—and +you say, you promise me nothing—— + +Yes, yes, I did promise you—let me not be held down thus—you see I sat +down when you bid me—Why [struggling] need you hold me down thus?—I did +promise to endeavour to be easy till Thursday was over! But you won’t +let me!—How can I be easy?—Pray, let me not be thus terrified. + +And what, Madam, meant you by your promise? Did you mean any thing in +my favour?—You designed that I should, at that time, think you did. Did +you mean any thing in my favour, Madam?—Did you intend that I should +think you did? + +Let go my hand, Sir—Take away your arm from about me, [struggling, yet +trembling,]—Why do you gaze upon me so? + +Answer me, Madam—Did you mean any thing in my favour by your promise? + +Let me be not thus constrained to answer. + +Then pausing, and gaining more spirit, Let me go, said she: I am but a +woman—but a weak woman. + +But my life is in my own power, though my person is not—I will not be +thus constrained. + +You shall not, Madam, quitting her hand, bowing; but my heart is at my +mouth, and hoping farther provocation. + +She arose, and was hurrying away. + +I pursue you not, Madam—I will try your generosity. Stop—return—this +moment stop, return, if, Madam, you would not make me desperate. + +She stopt at the door; burst into tears—O Lovelace!—How, how, have I +deserved—— + +Be pleased, dearest angel, to return. + +She came back—but with declared reluctance; and imputing her compliance +to terror. + +Terror, Jack, as I have heretofore found out, though I have so little +benefited by the discovery, must be my resort, if she make it +necessary—nothing else will do with the inflexible charmer. + +She seated herself over-against me; extremely discomposed—but +indignation had a visible predominance in her features. + +I was going towards her, with a countenance intendedly changed to love +and softness: Sweetest, dearest angel, were my words, in the tenderest +accent:—But, rising up, she insisted upon my being seated at a distance +from her. + +I obeyed, and begged her hand over the table, to my extended hand; to +see, if in any thing she would oblige me. But nothing gentle, soft, or +affectionate, would do. She refused me her hand!—Was she wise, Jack, to +confirm to me, that nothing but terror would do? + +Let me only know, Madam, if your promise to endeavour to wait with +patience the event of next Thursday meant me favour? + +Do you expect any voluntary favour from one to whom you give not a free +choice? + +Do you intend, Madam, to honour me with your hand, in your uncle’s +presence, or do you not? + +My heart and my hand shall never be separated. Why, think you, did I +stand in opposition to the will of my best, my natural friends. + +I know what you mean, Madam—Am I then as hateful to you as the vile +Solmes? + +Ask me not such a question, Mr. Lovelace. + +I must be answered. Am I as hateful to you as the vile Solmes? + +Why do you call Mr. Solmes vile? + +Don’t you think him so, Madam? + +Why should I? Did Mr. Solmes ever do vilely by me? + +Dearest creature! don’t distract me by hateful comparisons! and perhaps +by a more hateful preference. + +Don’t you, Sir, put questions to me that you know I will answer truly, +though my answer were ever so much to enrage you. + +My heart, Madam, my soul is all your’s at present. But you must give me +hope, that your promise, in your own construction, binds you, no new +cause to the contrary, to be mine on Thursday. How else can I leave +you? + +Let me go to Hampstead; and trust to my favour. + +May I trust to it?—Say only may I trust to it? + +How will you trust to it, if you extort an answer to this question? + +Say only, dearest creature, say only, may I trust to your favour, if +you go to Hampstead? + +How dare you, Sir, if I must speak out, expect a promise of favour from +me?—What a mean creature must you think me, after the ungrateful +baseness to me, were I to give you such a promise? + +Then standing up, Thou hast made me, O vilest of men! [her hands +clasped, and a face crimsoned with indignation,] an inmate of the +vilest of houses—nevertheless, while I am in it, I shall have a heart +incapable of any thing but abhorrence of that and of thee! + +And round her looked the angel, and upon me, with fear in her sweet +aspect of the consequence of her free declaration—But what a devil must +I have been, I who love bravery in a man, had I not been more struck +with admiration of her fortitude at the instant, than stimulated by +revenge? + +Noblest of creatures!—And do you think I can leave you, and my interest +in such an excellence, precarious? No promise!—no hope!—If you make me +not desperate, may lightning blast me, if I do you not all the justice +’tis in my power to do you! + +If you have any intention to oblige me, leave me at my own liberty, and +let me not be detained in this abominable house. To be constrained as I +have been constrained! to be stopt by your vile agents! to be brought +up by force, and be bruised in my own defence against such illegal +violence!—I dare to die, Lovelace—and she who fears not death, is not +to be intimidated into a meanness unworthy of her heart and principles! + +Wonderful creature! But why, Madam, did you lead me to hope for +something favourable for next Thursday?—Once more, make me not +desperate—With all your magnanimity, glorious creature! [I was more +than half frantic, Belford,] you may, you may—but do not, do not make +me brutally threaten you—do not, do not make me desperate! + +My aspect, I believe, threatened still more than my words. I was +rising—She rose—Mr. Lovelace, be pacified—you are even more dreadful +than the Lovelace I have long dreaded—let me retire—I ask your leave to +retire—you really frighten me—yet I give you no hope—from my heart I +ab—— + +Say not, Madam, you abhor me. You must, for your own sake, conceal your +hatred—at least not avow it. I seized her hand. + +Let me retire—let me, retire, said she, in a manner out of breath. + +I will only say, Madam, that I refer myself to your generosity. My +heart is not to be trusted at this instant. As a mark of my submission +to your will, you shall, if you please, withdraw—but I will not go to +M. Hall—live or die my Lord M. I will not go to M. Hall—but will attend +the effect of your promise. Remember, Madam, you have promised to +endeavour to make yourself easy till you see the event of next +Thursday—next Thursday, remember, your uncle comes up, to see us +married—that’s the event.—You think ill of your Lovelace—do not, Madam, +suffer your own morals to be degraded by the infection, as you called +it, of his example. + +Away flew the charmer with this half permission—and no doubt thought +that she had an escape—nor without reason. + +I knew not for half an hour what to do with myself. Vexed at the heart, +nevertheless, (now she was from me, and when I reflected upon her +hatred of me, and her defiances,) that I suffered myself to be so +overawed, checked, restrained—— + +And now I have written thus far, (have of course recollected the whole +of our conversation,) I am more and more incensed against myself. + +But I will go down to these women—and perhaps suffer myself to be +laughed at by them. + +Devil fetch them, they pretend to know their own sex. Sally was a woman +well educated—Polly also—both have read—both have sense—of parentage +not mean—once modest both—still, they say, had been modest, but for +me—not entirely indelicate now; though too little nice for my personal +intimacy, loth as they both are to have me think so—the old one, too, a +woman of family, though thus (from bad inclination as well as at first +from low circumstances) miserably sunk:—and hence they all pretend to +remember what once they were; and vouch for the inclinations and +hypocrisy of the whole sex, and wish for nothing so ardently, as that I +will leave the perverse lady to their management while I am gone to +Berkshire; undertaking absolutely for her humility and passiveness on +my return; and continually boasting of the many perverse creatures whom +they have obliged to draw in their traces. + + +I am just come from the sorceresses. + +I was forced to take the mother down; for she began with her Hoh, Sir! +with me; and to catechize and upbraid me, with as much insolence as if +I owed her money. + +I made her fly the pit at last. Strange wishes wished we against each +other at her quitting it——What were they?—I’ll tell thee——She wished me +married, and to be jealous of my wife; and my heir-apparent the child +of another man. I was even with her with a vengeance. And yet thou wilt +think that could not well be.—As how?—As how, Jack!—Why, I wished for +her conscience come to life! And I know, by the gripes mine gives me +every half-hour, that she would then have a cursed time of it. + +Sally and Polly gave themselves high airs too. Their first favours were +thrown at me, [women to boast of those favours which they were as +willing to impart, first forms all the difficulty with them! as I to +receive!] I was upbraided with ingratitude, dastardice and all my +difficulties with my angel charged upon myself, for want of following +my blows; and for leaving the proud lady mistress of her own will, and +nothing to reproach herself with. And all agreed, that the arts used +against her on a certain occasion, had too high an operation for them +or me to judge what her will would have been in the arduous trial. And +then they blamed one another; as I cursed them all. + +They concluded, that I should certainly marry, and be a lost man. And +Sally, on this occasion, with an affected and malicious laugh, snapt +her fingers at me, and pointing two of each hand forkedly at me, bid me +remember the lines I once showed her of my favourite Jack Dryden, as +she always familiarly calls that celebrated poet: + +We women to new joys unseen may move: +There are no prints left in the paths of love. +All goods besides by public marks are known: +But those men most desire to keep, have none. + + +This infernal implement had the confidence further to hint, that when a +wife, some other man would not find half the difficulty with my angel +that I had found. Confidence indeed! But yet, I must say, if a man +gives himself up to the company of these devils, they never let him +rest till he either suspects or hate his wife. + +But a word or two of other matters, if possible. + +Methinks I long to know how causes go at M. Hall. I have another +private intimation, that the old peer is in the greatest danger. + +I must go down. Yet what to do with this lady the mean while! These +cursed women are full of cruelty and enterprise. She will never be easy +with them in my absence. They will have provocation and pretence +therefore. But woe be to them, if—— + +Yet what will vengeance do, after an insult committed? The two nymphs +will have jealous rage to goad them on. And what will withhold a +jealous and already-ruined woman? + +To let her go elsewhere; that cannot be done. I am still too resolved +to be honest, if she’ll give me hope: if yet she’ll let me be honest. +But I’ll see how she’ll be after the contention she will certainly have +between her resentment and the terror she has reason for from our last +conversation. So let this subject rest till the morning. And to the old +peer once more. + +I shall have a good deal of trouble, I reckon, though no sordid man, to +be decent on the expected occasion. Then how to act (I who am no +hypocrite) in the days of condolement! What farces have I to go +through; and to be the principal actor in them! I’ll try to think of my +own latter end; a gray beard, and a graceless heir; in order to make me +serious. + +Thou, Belford, knowest a good deal of this sort of grimace; and canst +help a gay heart to a little of the dismal. But then every feature of +thy face is cut out for it. My heart may be touched, perhaps, sooner +than thine; for, believe me or not, I have a very tender one. But then, +no man looking into my face, be the occasion for grief ever so great, +will believe that heart to be deeply distressed. + +All is placid, easy, serene, in my countenance. Sorrow cannot sit half +an hour together upon it. Nay, I believe, that Lord M.’s recovery, +should it happen, would not affect me above a quarter of an hour. Only +the new scenery, (and the pleasure of aping an Heraclitus to the +family, while I am a Democritus among my private friends,) or I want +nothing that the old peer can leave me. Wherefore then should grief +sadden and distort such blythe, such jocund, features as mine? + +But as for thine, were there murder committed in the street, and thou +wert but passing by, the murderer even in sight, the pursuers would +quit him, and lay hold of thee: and thy very looks would hang, as well +as apprehend thee. + +But one word to business, Jack. Whom dealest thou with for thy +blacks?—Wert thou well used?—I shall want a plaguy parcel of them. For +I intend to make every soul of the family mourn—outside, if not in. + + + + + LETTER XXXIII + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. JUNE 23, FRIDAY MORNING. + +I went out early this morning, on a design that I know not yet whether +I shall or shall not pursue; and on my return found Simon Parsons, my +Lord’s Berkshire bailiff, (just before arrived,) waiting for me with a +message in form, sent by all the family, to press me to go down, and +that at my Lord’s particular desire, who wants to see me before he +dies. + +Simon has brought my Lord’s chariot-and-six [perhaps my own by this +time,] to carry me down. I have ordered it to be in readiness by four +to-morrow morning. The cattle shall smoke for the delay; and by the +rest they’ll have in the interim, will be better able to bear it. + +I am still resolved upon matrimony, if my fair perverse will accept of +me. But, if she will not——why then I must give an uninterrupted +hearing, not to my conscience, but to these women below. + +Dorcas had acquainted her lady with Simon’s arrival and errand. My +beloved had desired to see him. But my coming in prevented his +attendance on her, just as Dorcas was instructing him what questions he +should not answer to, that might be asked of him. + +I am to be admitted to her presence immediately, at my repeated +request. Surely the acquisition in view will help me to make up all +with her. She is just gone up to the dining-room. + + +Nothing will do, Jack!—I can procure no favour from her, though she has +obtained from me the point which she had set her heart upon. + +I will give thee a brief account of what passed between us. + +I first proposed instant marriage; and this in the most fervent manner: +but was denied as fervently. + +Would she be pleased to assure me that she would stay here only till +Tuesday morning? I would but just go down to see how my Lord was—to +know whether he had any thing particular to say, or enjoin me, while +yet he was sensible, as he was very earnest to see me: perhaps I might +be up on Sunday.—Concede in something!—I beseech you, Madam, show me +some little consideration. + +Why, Mr. Lovelace, must I be determined by your motions?—Think you that +I will voluntarily give a sanction to the imprisonment of my person? Of +what importance to me ought to be your stay or your return. + +Give a sanction to the imprisonment of your person! Do you think, +Madam, that I fear the law? + +I might have spared this foolish question of defiance: but my pride +would not let me. I thought she threatened me, Jack. + +I don’t think you fear the law, Sir.—You are too brave to have any +regard either to moral or divine sanctions. + +’Tis well, Madam! But ask me any thing I can do to oblige you; and I +will oblige you, though in nothing will you oblige me. + +Then I ask you, then I request of you, to let me go to Hampstead. + +I paused—And at last—By my soul you shall—this very moment I will wait +upon you, and see you fixed there, if you’ll promise me your hand on +Thursday, in presence of your uncle. + +I want not you to see me fixed. I will promise nothing. + +Take care, Madam, that you don’t let me see that I can have no reliance +upon your future favour. + +I have been used to be threatened by you, Sir—but I will accept of your +company to Hampstead—I will be ready to go in a quarter of an hour—my +clothes may be sent after me. + +You know the condition, Madam—Next Thursday. + +You dare not trust—— + +My infinite demerits tell me, that I ought not—nevertheless I will +confide in your generosity.—To-morrow morning (no new cause arising to +give reason to the contrary) as early as you please you may go to +Hampstead. + +This seemed to oblige her. But yet she looked with a face of doubt. + +I will go down to the women, Belford. And having no better judges at +hand, will hear what they say upon my critical situation with this +proud beauty, who has so insolently rejected a Lovelace kneeling at her +feet, though making an earnest tender of himself for a husband, in +spite of all his prejudices to the state of shackles. + + + + + LETTER XXXIV + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. + + +Just come from the women. + +‘Have I gone so far, and am I afraid to go farther?—Have I not already, +as it is evident by her behaviour, sinned beyond forgiveness?—A woman’s +tears used to be to me but as water sprinkled on a glowing fire, which +gives it a fiercer and brighter blaze: What defence has this lady but +her tears and her eloquence? She was before taken at no weak advantage. +She was insensible in her moments of trial. Had she been sensible, she +must have been sensible. So they say. The methods taken with her have +augmented her glory and her pride. She has now a tale to tell, that she +may tell with honour to herself. No accomplice-inclination. She can +look me into confusion, without being conscious of so much as a thought +which she need to be ashamed of.’ + +This, Jack, is the substance of the women’s reasonings with me. + +To which let me add, that the dear creature now sees the necessity I am +in to leave her. Detecting me is in her head. My contrivances are of +such a nature, that I must appear to be the most odious of men if I am +detected on this side matrimony. And yet I have promised, as thou +seest, that she shall set out to Hampstead as soon as she pleases in +the morning, and that without condition on her side. + +Dost thou ask, What I meant by this promise? + +No new cause arising, was the proviso on my side, thou’lt remember. But +there will be a new cause. + +Suppose Dorcas should drop the promissory note given her by her lady? +Servants, especially those who cannot read or write, are the most +careless people in the world of written papers. Suppose I take it +up?—at a time, too, that I was determined that the dear creature should +be her own mistress?—Will not this detection be a new cause?—A cause +that will carry with it against her the appearance of ingratitude! + +That she designed it a secret to me, argues a fear of detection, and +indirectly a sense of guilt. I wanted a pretence. Can I have a +better?—If I am in a violent passion upon the detection, is not passion +an universally-allowed extenuator of violence? Is not every man and +woman obliged to excuse that fault in another, which at times they find +attended with such ungovernable effects in themselves? + +The mother and sisterhood, suppose, brought to sit in judgment upon the +vile corrupted—the least benefit that must accrue from the accidental +discovery, if not a pretence for perpetration, [which, however, may be +the case,] an excuse for renewing my orders for her detention till my +return from M. Hall, [the fault her own,] and for keeping a stricter +watch over her than before; with direction to send me any letters that +may be written by her or to her.—And when I return, the devil’s in it +if I find not a way to make her choose lodgings for herself, (since +these are so hateful to her,) that shall answer all my purposes; and +yet I no more appear to direct her choice, than I did before in these. + +Thou wilt curse me when thou comest to this place. I know thou wilt. +But thinkest thou that, after such a series of contrivance, I will lose +this inimitable woman for want of a little more? A rake’s a rake, +Jack!—And what rake is withheld by principle from the perpetration of +any evil his heart is set upon, and in which he thinks he can +succeed?—Besides, am I not in earnest as to marriage?—Will not the +generality of the world acquit me, if I do marry? And what is that +injury which a church-rite will not at any time repair? Is not the +catastrophe of every story that ends in wedlock accounted happy, be the +difficulties in the progress of it ever so great. + +But here, how am I engrossed by this lady, while poor Lord M. as Simon +tells me, lies groaning in the most dreadful agonies!—What must he +suffer!—Heaven relieve him!—I have a too compassionate heart. And so +would the dear creature have found, could I have thought that the worst +of her sufferings is equal to the lightest of his. I mean as to fact; +for as to that part of her’s, which arises from extreme sensibility, I +know nothing of that; and cannot therefore be answerable for it. + + + + + LETTER XXXV + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. + + +Just come from my charmer. She will not suffer me to say half the +obliging, the tender things, which my honest heart is ready to overflow +with. A confounded situation that, when a man finds himself in humour +to be eloquent, and pathetic at the same time, yet cannot engage the +mistress of his fate to lend an ear to his fine speeches. + +I can account now how it comes about that lovers, when their mistresses +are cruel, run into solitude, and disburthen their minds to stocks and +stones: For am I not forced to make my complaints to thee? + +She claimed the performance of my promise, the moment she saw me, of +permitting her [haughtily she spoke the word] to go to Hampstead as +soon as I was gone to Berks. + +Most cheerfully I renewed it. + +She desired me to give orders in her hearing. + +I sent for Dorcas and Will. They came.—Do you both take notice, (but, +perhaps, Sir, I may take you with me,) that your lady is to be obeyed +in all her commands. She purposes to return to Hampstead as soon as I +am gone—My dear, will you not have a servant to attend you? + +I shall want no servant there. + +Will you take Dorcas? + +If I should want Dorcas, I can send for her. + +Dorcas could not but say, She should be very proud— + +Well, well, that may be at my return, if your lady permit.—Shall I, my +dear, call up Mrs. Sinclair, and give her orders, to the same effect, +in your hearing? + +I desire not to see Mrs. Sinclair; nor any that belong to her. + +As you please, Madam. + +And then (the servants being withdrawn) I urged her again for the +assurance, that she would meet me at the altar on Thursday next. But to +no purpose.—May she not thank herself for all that may follow? + +One favour, however, I would not be denied, to be admitted to pass the +evening with her. + +All sweetness and obsequiousness will I be on this occasion. My whole +soul shall be poured out to move her to forgive me. If she will not, +and if the promissory note should fall in my way, my revenge will +doubtless take total possession of me. + +All the house in my interest, and every one in it not only engaging to +intimidate and assist, as occasion shall offer, but staking all their +experience upon my success, if it be not my own fault, what must be the +consequence? + +This, Jack, however, shall be her last trial; and if she behave as +nobly in and after this second attempt (all her senses about her) as +she has done after the first, she will come out an angel upon full +proof, in spite of man, woman, and devil: then shall there be an end of +all her sufferings. I will then renounce that vanquished devil, and +reform. And if any vile machination start up, presuming to mislead me, +I will sooner stab it in my heart, as it rises, than give way to it. + +A few hours will now decide all. But whatever be the event, I shall be +too busy to write again, till I get to M. Hall. + +Mean time, I am in strange agitations. I must suppress them, if +possible, before I venture into her presence.—My heart bounces my bosom +from the table. I will lay down my pen, and wholly resign to its +impulses. + + + + + LETTER XXXVI + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. FRIDAY NIGHT, OR RATHER SAT. MORN. +ONE O’CLOCK. + +I thought I should not have had either time or inclination to write +another line before I got to M. Hall. But, having the first, must find +the last; since I can neither sleep, nor do any thing but write, if I +can do that. I am most confoundedly out of humour. The reason let it +follow; if it will follow—nor preparation for it from me. + +I tried by gentleness and love to soften—What?—Marble. A heart +incapable either of love or gentleness. Her past injuries for ever in +her head. Ready to receive a favour; the permission to go to Hampstead: +but neither to deserve it, nor return any. So my scheme of the gentle +kind was soon given over. + +I then wanted to provoke her: like a coward boy, who waits for the +first blow before he can persuade himself to fight, I half challenged +her to challenge or defy me. She seemed aware of her danger; and would +not directly brave my resentment: but kept such a middle course, that I +neither could find a pretence to offend, nor reason to hope: yet she +believed my tale, that her uncle would come to Kentish-town, and seemed +not to apprehend that Tomlinson was an impostor. + +She was very uneasy, upon the whole, in my company: wanted often to +break from me: yet so held me to my purpose of permitting her to go to +Hampstead, that I knew not how to get off it; although it was +impossible, in my precarious situation with her, to think of performing +it. + +In this situation; the women ready to assist; and, if I proceeded not, +as ready to ridicule me; what had I left me, but to pursue the +concerted scheme, and to seek a pretence to quarrel with her, in order +to revoke my promised permission, and to convince her that I would not +be upbraided as the most brutal of ravishers for nothing? + +I had agreed with the women, that if I could not find a pretence in her +presence to begin my operations, the note should lie in my way, and I +was to pick it up, soon after her retiring from me. But I began to +doubt at near ten o’clock, (so earnest was she to leave me, suspecting +my over-warm behaviour to her, and eager grasping of her hand two or +three times, with eye-strings, as I felt, on the strain, while her eyes +showed uneasiness and apprehension,) that if she actually retired for +the night, it might be a chance whether it would be easy to come at her +again. Loth, therefore, to run such a risk, I stept out a little after +ten, with intent to alter the preconcerted disposition a little; saying +I would attend her again instantly. But as I returned I met her at the +door, intending to withdraw for the night. I could not persuade her to +go back: nor had I presence of mind (so full of complaisance as I was +to her just before) to stay her by force: so she slid through my hands +into her own apartment. I had nothing to do, therefore, but to let my +former concert take place. + +I should have promised (but care not for order of time, connection, or +any thing else) that, between eight and nine in the evening, another +servant of Lord M. on horseback came, to desire me to carry down with +me Dr. S., the old peer having been once (in extremis, as they judge he +is now) relieved and reprieved by him. I sent and engaged the doctor to +accompany me down: and am to call upon him by four this morning: or the +devil should have both my Lord and the Doctor, if I’d stir till I got +all made up. + +Poke thy damn’d nose forward into the event, if thou wilt—Curse me if +thou shalt have it till its proper time and place. And too soon then. + +She had hardly got into her chamber, but I found a little paper, as I +was going into mine, which I took up; and opening it, (for it was +carefully pinned in another paper,) what should it be but a promissory +note, given as a bribe, with a further promise of a diamond ring, to +induce Dorcas to favour her mistress’s escape? + +How my temper changed in a moment!—Ring, ring, ring, ring, I my bell, +with a violence enough to break the string, and as if the house were on +fire. + +Every devil frighted into active life: the whole house in an uproar. Up +runs Will.—Sir—Sir—Sir!—Eyes goggling, mouth distended—Bid the damn’d +toad Dorcas come hither, (as I stood at the stair-head,) in a horrible +rage, and out of breath, cried I. + +In sight came the trembling devil—but standing aloof, from the report +made her by Will. of the passion I was in, as well as from what she had +heard. + +Flash came out my sword immediately; for I had it ready on—Cursed, +confounded, villanous bribery and corruption—— + +Up runs she to her lady’s door, screaming out for safety and +protection. + +Good your honour, interposed Will., for God’s sake!—O Lord, O +Lord!—receiving a good cuff.— + +Take that, varlet, for saving the ungrateful wretch from my vengeance. + +Wretch! I intended to say; but if it were some other word of like +ending, passion must be my excuse. + +Up ran two or three of the sisterhood, What’s the matter! What’s the +matter! + +The matter! (for still my beloved opened not the door; on the contrary, +drew another bolt,) This abominable Dorcas!—(call her aunt up!—let her +see what a traitress she has placed about me!—and let her bring the +toad to answer for herself)—has taken a bribe, a provision for life, to +betray her trust; by that means to perpetuate a quarrel between a man +and his wife, and frustrate for ever all hopes of reconciliation +between us! + +Let me perish, Belford, if I have patience to proceed with the farce! + + +If I must resume, I must—— + +Up came the aunt, puffing and blowing—As she hoped for mercy, she was +not privy to it! She never knew such a plotting, perverse lady in her +life!—Well might servants be at the pass they were, when such ladies as +Mrs. Lovelace made no conscience of corrupting them. For her part she +desired no mercy for the wretch; no niece of her’s, if she were not +faithful to her trust!—But what was the proof?—— + +She was shown the paper—— + +But too evident!—Cursed, cursed toad, devil, jade, passed from each +mouth:—and the vileness of the corrupted, and the unworthiness of the +corruptress, were inveighed against. + +Up we all went, passing the lady’s door into the dining-room, to +proceed to trial.—— + +Stamp, stamp, stamp up, each on her heels; rave, rave, rave, every +tongue—— + +Bring up the creature before us all this instant!—— + +And would she have got out of the house, say you?— + +These the noises and the speeches as we clattered by the door of the +fair bribress. + +Up was brought Dorcas (whimpering) between two, both bawling out—You +must go—You shall go—’Tis fit you should answer for yourself—You are a +discredit to all worthy servants—as they pulled and pushed her up +stairs.—She whining, I cannot see his honour—I cannot look so good and +so generous a gentleman in the face—O how shall I bear my aunt’s +ravings?—— + +Come up, and be d—n’d—Bring her forward, her imperial judge—What a +plague, it is the detection, not the crime, that confounds you. You +could be quiet enough for days together, as I see by the date, under +the villany. Tell me, ungrateful devil, tell me who made the first +advances? + +Ay, disgrace to my family and blood, cried the old one—tell his +honour—tell the truth!—Who made the first advances?—— + +Ay, cursed creature, cried Sally, who made the first advances? + +I have betrayed one trust already!—O let me not betray another!—My lady +is a good lady!—O let not her suffer!— + +Tell all you know. Tell the whole truth, Dorcas, cried Polly +Horton.—His honour loves his lady too well to make her suffer much: +little as she requites his love!—— + +Every body sees that, cried Sally—too well, indeed, for his honour, I +was going to say. + +Till now, I thought she deserved my love—But to bribe a servant thus, +who she supposed had orders to watch her steps, for fear of another +elopement; and to impute that precaution to me as a crime!—Yet I must +love her—Ladies, forgive my weakness!—— + +Curse upon my grimaces!—if I have patience to repeat them!—But thou +shalt have it all—thou canst not despise me more than I despise myself! + + +But suppose, Sir, said Sally, you have my lady and the wench face to +face! You see she cares not to confess. + +O my carelessness! cried Dorcas—Don’t let my poor lady suffer!—Indeed, +if you all knew what I know, you would say her ladyship has been +cruelly treated— + +See, see, see, see!—repeatedly, every one at once—Only sorry for the +detection, as your honour said—not for the fault. + +Cursed creature, and devilish creature, from every mouth. + +Your lady won’t, she dare not come out to save you, cried Sally; though +it is more his honour’s mercy, than your desert, if he does not cut +your vile throat this instant. + +Say, repeated Polly, was it your lady that made the first advances, or +was it you, you creature—— + +If the lady had so much honour, bawled the mother, excuse me, so—Excuse +me, Sir, [confound the old wretch! she had like to have said son!]—If +the lady has so much honour, as we have supposed, she will appear to +vindicate a poor servant, misled, as she has been, by such large +promises!—But I hope, Sir, you will do them both justice: I hope you +will!—Good lack!—Good lack! clapping her hands together, to grant her +every thing she could ask—to indulge her in her unworthy hatred to my +poor innocent house!—to let her go to Hampstead, though your honour +told us, you could get no condescension from her; no, not the least—O +Sir, O Sir—I hope—I hope—if your lady will not come out—I hope you will +find a way to hear this cause in her presence. I value not my doors on +such an occasion as this. Justice I ever loved. I desire you will come +to the bottom of it in clearance to me. I’ll be sworn I had no privity +in this black corruption. + +Just then we heard the lady’s door, unbar, unlock, unbolt—— + +Now, Sir! + +Now, Mr. Lovelace! + +Now, Sir! from every encouraging mouth!—— + +But, O Jack! Jack! Jack! I can write no more! + + +If you must have it all, you must! + +Now, Belford, see us all sitting in judgment, resolved to punish the +fair bribress—I, and the mother, the hitherto dreaded mother, the +nieces Sally, Polly, the traitress Dorcas, and Mabell, a guard, as it +were, over Dorcas, that she might not run away, and hide herself:—all +pre-determined, and of necessity pre-determined, from the journey I was +going to take, and my precarious situation with her—and hear her +unbolt, unlock, unbar, the door; then, as it proved afterwards, put the +key into the lock on the outside, lock the door, and put it in her +pocket—Will. I knew, below, who would give me notice, if, while we were +all above, she should mistake her way, and go down stairs, instead of +coming into the dining-room: the street-door also doubly secured, and +every shutter to the windows round the house fastened, that no noise or +screaming should be heard—[such was the brutal preparation]—and then +hear her step towards us, and instantly see her enter among us, +confiding in her own innocence; and with a majesty in her person and +manner, that is natural to her; but which then shone out in all its +glory!—Every tongue silent, every eye awed, every heart quaking, mine, +in a particular manner sunk, throbless, and twice below its usual +region, to once at my throat:—a shameful recreant:—She silent too, +looking round her, first on me; then on the mother, no longer fearing +her; then on Sally, Polly, and the culprit Dorcas!—such the glorious +power of innocence exerted at that awful moment! + +She would have spoken, but could not, looking down my guilt into +confusion. A mouse might have been heard passing over the floor: her +own light feet and rustling silks could not have prevented it; for she +seemed to tread air, and to be all soul. She passed backwards and +forwards, now towards me, now towards the door several times, before +speech could get the better of indignation; and at last, after twice or +thrice hemming to recover her articulate voice—‘O thou contemptible and +abandoned Lovelace, thinkest thou that I see not through this poor +villanous plot of thine, and of these thy wicked accomplices? + +‘Thou, woman, [looking at the mother] once my terror! always my +dislike! but now my detestation! shouldst once more (for thine perhaps +was the preparation) have provided for me intoxicating potions, to rob +me of my senses—— + +‘And then, thus, wretch, [turning to me,] mightest thou more securely +have depended upon such a low contrivance as this! + +‘And ye, vile women, who perhaps have been the ruin, body and soul, of +hundreds of innocents, (you show me how, in full assembly,) know, that +I am not married—ruined as I am, by your help, I bless God, I am not +married to this miscreant—and I have friends that will demand my honour +at your hands!—and to whose authority I will apply; for none has this +man over me. Look to it then, what farther insults you offer me, or +incite him to offer me. I am a person, though thus vilely betrayed, of +rank and fortune. I never will be his; and, to your utter ruin, will +find friends to pursue you: and now I have this full proof of your +detestable wickedness, and have heard your base incitements, will have +no mercy upon you!’ + +They could not laugh at the poor figure I made.—Lord! how every devil, +conscience-shaken, trembled!— + +What a dejection must ever fall to the lot of guilt, were it given to +innocence always thus to exert itself! + +‘And as for thee, thou vile Dorcas! Thou double deceiver!—whining out +thy pretended love for me!—Begone, wretch!—Nobody will hurt +thee!—Begone, I say!—thou has too well acted thy part to be blamed by +any here but myself—thou art safe: thy guilt is thy security in such a +house as this!—thy shameful, thy poor part, thou hast as well acted as +the low farce could give thee to act!—as well as they each of them (thy +superiors, though not thy betters), thou seest, can act theirs.—Steal +away into darkness! No inquiry after this will be made, whose the first +advances, thine or mine.’ + +And, as I hope to live, the wench, confoundedly frightened, slunk away; +so did her sentinel Mabell; though I, endeavouring to rally, cried out +for Dorcas to stay—but I believe the devil could not have stopt her, +when an angel bid her begone. + +Madam, said I, let me tell you; and was advancing towards her with a +fierce aspect, most cursedly vexed, and ashamed too—— + +But she turned to me: ‘Stop where thou art, O vilest and most abandoned +of men!—Stop where thou art!—nor, with that determined face, offer to +touch me, if thou wouldst not that I should be a corps at thy feet!’ + +To my astonishment, she held forth a penknife in her hand, the point to +her own bosom, grasping resolutely the whole handle, so that there was +no offering to take it from her. + +‘I offer not mischief to any body but myself. You, Sir, and ye women, +are safe from every violence of mine. The LAW shall be all my resource: +the LAW,’ and she spoke the word with emphasis, the LAW! that to such +people carries natural terror with it, and now struck a panic into +them. + +No wonder, since those who will damn themselves to procure ease and +plenty in this world, will tremble at every thing that seems to +threaten their methods of obtaining that ease and plenty.—— + +‘The LAW only shall be my refuge!’—— + +The infamous mother whispered me, that it were better to make terms +with this strange lady, and let her go. + +Sally, notwithstanding all her impudent bravery at other times, said, +If Mr. Lovelace had told them what was not true, of her being his +wife—— + +And Polly Horton, That she must needs say, the lady, if she were not my +wife, had been very much injured; that was all. + +That is not now a matter to be disputed, cried I: you and I know, +Madam—— + +‘We do, said she; and I thank God, I am not thine—once more I thank God +for it—I have no doubt of the farther baseness that thou hast intended +me, by this vile and low trick: but I have my SENSES, Lovelace: and +from my heart I despise thee, thou very poor Lovelace!—How canst thou +stand in my presence!—Thou, that’—— + +Madam, Madam, Madam—these are insults not to be borne—and was +approaching her. + +She withdrew to the door, and set her back against it, holding the +pointed knife to her heaving bosom; while the women held me, beseeching +me not to provoke the violent lady—for their house sake, and be curs’d +to them, they besought me—and all three hung upon me—while the truly +heroic lady braved me at that distance: + +‘Approach me, Lovelace, with resentment, if thou wilt. I dare die. It +is in defence of my honour. God will be merciful to my poor soul! I +expect no more mercy from thee! I have gained this distance, and two +steps nearer me, and thou shalt see what I dare do!’—— + +Leave me, women, to myself, and to my angel!—[They retired at a +distance.]—O my beloved creature, how you terrify me! Holding out my +arms, and kneeling on one knee—not a step, not a step farther, except +to receive my death at that injured hand which is thus held up against +a life far dearer to me than my own! I am a villain! the blackest of +villains!—Say you will sheath your knife in the injurer’s, not the +injured’s heart, and then will I indeed approach you, but not else. + +The mother twanged her d—n’d nose; and Sally and Polly pulled out their +handkerchiefs, and turned from us. They never in their lives, they told +me afterwards, beheld such a scene—— + +Innocence so triumphant: villany so debased, they must mean! + +Unawares to myself, I had moved onward to my angel—‘And dost thou, dost +thou, still disclaiming, still advancing—dost thou, dost thou, still +insidiously move towards me?’—[And her hand was extended] ‘I dare—I +dare—not rashly neither—my heart from principle abhors the act, which +thou makest necessary!—God, in thy mercy! [lifting up her eyes and +hands] God, in thy mercy!’ + +I threw myself to the farther end of the room. An ejaculation, a silent +ejaculation, employing her thoughts that moment; Polly says the whites +of her lovely eyes were only visible: and, in the instant that she +extended her hand, assuredly to strike the fatal blow, [how the very +recital terrifies me!] she cast her eye towards me, and saw me at the +utmost distance the room would allow, and heard my broken voice—my +voice was utterly broken; nor knew I what I said, or whether to the +purpose or not—and her charming cheeks, that were all in a glow before, +turned pale, as if terrified at her own purpose; and lifting up her +eyes—‘Thank God!—thank God! said the angel—delivered for the present; +for the present delivered—from myself—keep, Sir, that distance;’ +[looking down towards me, who was prostrate on the floor, my heart +pierced, as with an hundred daggers;] ‘that distance has saved a life; +to what reserved, the Almighty only knows!’— + +To be happy, Madam; and to make happy!—And, O let me hope for your +favour for to-morrow—I will put off my journey till then—and may God— + +Swear not, Sir!—with an awful and piercing aspect—you have too often +sworn!—God’s eye is upon us!—His more immediate eye; and looked +wildly.—But the women looked up to the ceiling, as if afraid of God’s +eye, and trembled. And well they might, and I too, who so very lately +had each of us the devil in our hearts. + +If not to-morrow, Madam, say but next Thursday, your uncle’s birth-day; +say but next Thursday! + +‘This I say, of this you may assure yourself, I never, never will be +your’s.—And let me hope, that I may be entitled to the performance of +your promise, to be permitted to leave this innocent house, as one +called it, (but long have my ears been accustomed to such inversions of +words), as soon as the day breaks.’ + +Did my perdition depend upon it, that you cannot, Madam, but upon +terms. And I hope you will not terrify me—still dreading the accursed +knife. + +‘Nothing less than an attempt upon my honour shall make me desperate. I +have no view but to defend my honour: with such a view only I entered +into treaty with your infamous agent below. The resolution you have +seen, I trust, God will give me again, upon the same occasion. But for +a less, I wish not for it.—Only take notice, women, that I am no wife +of this man: basely as he has used me, I am not his wife. He has no +authority over me. If he go away by-and-by, and you act by his +authority to detain me, look to it.’ + +Then, taking one of the lights, she turned from us; and away she went, +unmolested.—Not a soul was able to molest her. + +Mabell saw her, tremblingly, and in a hurry, take the key of her +chamber-door out of her pocket, and unlock it; and, as soon as she +entered, heard her double-lock, bar, and bolt it. + +By her taking out her key, when she came out of her chamber to us, she +no doubt suspected my design: which was, to have carried her in my arms +thither, if she made such force necessary, after I had intimidated her; +and to have been her companion for that night. + +She was to have had several bedchamber-women to assist to undress her +upon occasion: but from the moment she entered the dining-room with so +much intrepidity, it was absolutely impossible to think of prosecuting +my villanous designs against her. + + +This, this, Belford, was the hand I made of a contrivance from which I +expected so much!—And now I am ten times worse off than before. + +Thou never sawest people in thy life look so like fools upon one +another, as the mother, her partners, and I, did, for a few minutes. +And at last, the two devilish nymphs broke out into insulting ridicule +upon me; while the old wretch was concerned for her house, the +reputation of her house. I cursed them all together; and, retiring to +my chamber, locked myself in. + +And now it is time to set out: all I have gained, detection, disgrace, +fresh guilt by repeated perjuries, and to be despised by her I doat +upon; and, what is still worse to a proud heart, by myself. + +Success, success in projects, is every thing. What an admirable +contriver did I think myself till now! Even for this scheme among the +rest! But how pitifully foolish does it now appear to me!—Scratch out, +erase, never to be read, every part of my preceding letters, where I +have boastingly mentioned it. And never presume to rally me upon the +cursed subject: for I cannot bear it. + +But for the lady, by my soul, I love her. I admire her more than ever! +I must have her. I will have her still—with honour or without, as I +have often vowed. My cursed fright at her accidental bloody nose, so +lately, put her upon improving upon me thus. Had she threatened ME, I +should have soon been master of one arm, and in both! But for so +sincere a virtue to threaten herself, and not to offer to intimidate +any other, and with so much presence of mind, as to distinguish, in the +very passionate intention, the necessity of the act, defence of her +honour, and so fairly to disavow lesser occasions: showed such a +deliberation, such a choice, such a principle; and then keeping me so +watchfully at a distance that I could not seize her hand, so soon as +she could have given the fatal blow; how impossible not to be subdued +by so true and so discreet a magnanimity! + +But she is not gone. She shall not go. I will press her with letters +for the Thursday. She shall yet be mine, legally mine. For, as to +cohabitation, there is no such thing to be thought of. + +The Captain shall give her away, as proxy for her uncle. My Lord will +die. My fortune will help my will, and set me above every thing and +every body. + +But here is the curse—she despises me, Jack!—What man, as I have +heretofore said, can bear to be despised—especially by his wife!—O +Lord!—O Lord! What a hand, what a cursed hand, have I made of this +plot!—And here ends + +The history of the lady and the penknife!—The devil take the +penknife!—It goes against me to say, + +God bless the lady! + +NEAR 5, SAT. MORN. + + + + + LETTER XXXVII + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE [SUPERSCRIBED TO MRS. LOVELACE.] +M. HALL, SAT. NIGHT, JUNE 24. + +MY DEAREST LIFE, + +If you do not impute to live, and to terror raised by love, the poor +figure I made before you last night, you will not do me justice. I +thought I would try to the very last moment, if, by complying with you +in every thing, I could prevail upon you to promise to be mine on +Thursday next, since you refused me an earlier day. Could I have been +so happy, you had not been hindered going to Hampstead, or wherever +else you pleased. But when I could not prevail upon you to give me this +assurance, what room had I, (my demerit so great,) to suppose, that +your going thither would not be to lose you for ever? + +I will own to you, Madam, that yesterday afternoon I picked up the +paper dropt by Dorcas; who has confessed that she would have assisted +you in getting away, if she had had opportunity so to do; and +undoubtedly dropped it by accident. And could I have prevailed upon you +as to Thursday next, I would have made no use of it; secure as I should +have been in your word given, to be mine. But when I found you +inflexible, I was resolved to try, if, by resenting Dorcas’s treachery, +I could not make your pardon of me the condition of mine to her: and if +not, to make a handle of it to revoke my consent to your going away +from Mrs. Sinclair’s; since the consequence of that must have been so +fatal to me. + +So far, indeed, was my proceeding low and artful: and when I was +challenged with it, as such, in so high and noble a manner, I could not +avoid taking shame to myself upon it. + +But you must permit me, Madam, to hope, that you will not punish me too +heavily for so poor a contrivance, since no dishonour was meant you: +and since, in the moment of its execution, you had as great an instance +of my incapacity to defend a wrong, a low measure, and, at the same +time, in your power over me, as mortal man could give—in a word, since +you must have seen, that I was absolutely under the controul both of +conscience and of love. + +I will not offer to defend myself, for wishing you to remain where you +are, till either you give me your word to meet me at the altar on +Thursday; or till I have the honour of attending you, preparative to +the solemnity which will make that day the happiest of my life. + +I am but too sensible, that this kind of treatment may appear to you +with the face of an arbitrary and illegal imposition: but as the +consequences, not only to ourselves, but to both our families, may be +fatal, if you cannot be moved in my favour; let me beseech you to +forgive this act of compulsion, on the score of the necessity you your +dear self have laid me under to be guilty of it; and to permit the +solemnity of next Thursday to include an act of oblivion for all past +offences. + +The orders I have given to the people of the house are: ‘That you shall +be obeyed in every particular that is consistent with my expectations +of finding you there on my return on Wednesday next: that Mrs. Sinclair +and her nieces, having incurred your just displeasure, shall not, +without your orders, come into your presence: that neither shall +Dorcas, till she has fully cleared her conduct to your satisfaction, be +permitted to attend you: but Mabell, in her place; of whom you seemed +some time ago to express some liking. Will. I have left behind me to +attend your commands. If he be either negligent or impertinent, your +dismission shall be a dismission of him from my service for ever. But, +as to letters which may be sent you, or any which you may have to send, +I must humbly entreat, that none such pass from or to you, for the few +days that I shall be absent.’ But I do assure you, madam, that the +seals of both sorts shall be sacred: and the letters, if such be sent, +shall be given into your own hands the moment the ceremony is +performed, or before, if you require it. + +Mean time I will inquire, and send you word, how Miss Howe does; and to +what, if I can be informed, her long silence is owing. + +Dr. Perkins I found here, attending my Lord, when I arrived with Dr. S. +He acquaints me that your father, mother, uncles, and the still less +worthy persons of your family, are well; and intend to be all at your +uncle Harlowe’s next week; I presume, with intent to keep his +anniversary. This can make no alteration, but a happy one, as to +persons, on Thursday; because Mr. Tomlinson assured me, that if any +thing fell out to hinder your uncle’s coming up in person, (which, +however, he did not then expect,) he would be satisfied if his friend +the Captain were proxy for him. I shall send a man and horse to-morrow +to the Captain, to be at greater certainty. + +I send this by a special messenger, who will wait your pleasure in +relation to the impatiently-wished-for Thursday: which I humbly hope +will be signified by a line. + +My Lord, though hardly sensible, and unmindful of every thing but of +your felicity, desires his most affectionate compliments to you. He has +in readiness to present to you a very valuable set of jewels, which he +hopes will be acceptable, whether he lives to see you adorn them or +not. + +Lady Sarah and Lady Betty have also their tokens of respect ready to +court your acceptance: but may Heaven incline you to give the +opportunity of receiving their personal compliments, and those of my +cousins Montague, before the next week be out! + +His Lordship is exceeding ill. Dr. S. has no hopes of him. The only +consolation I can have for the death of a relation who loves me so +well, if he do die, must arise from the additional power it will put +into my hands of showing how much I am, + +My dearest life, Your ever-affectionate, faithful, LOVELACE. + + + + + LETTER XXXVIII + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE [SUPERSCRIBED TO MRS. LOVELACE.] +M. HALL, SUNDAY NIGHT, JUNE 25. + +MY DEAREST LOVE, + +I cannot find words to express how much I am mortified at the return of +my messenger without a line from you. + +Thursday is so near, that I will send messenger after messenger every +four hours, till I have a favourable answer; the one to meet the other, +till its eve arrives, to know if I may venture to appear in your +presence with the hope of having my wishes answered on that day. + +Your love, Madam, I neither expect, nor ask for; nor will, till my +future behaviour gives you cause to think I deserve it. All I at +present presume to wish is, to have it in my power to do you all the +justice I can now do you: and to your generosity will I leave it, to +reward me, as I shall merit, with your affection. + +At present, revolving my poor behaviour of Friday night before you, I +think I should sooner choose to go to my last audit, unprepared for it +as I am, than to appear in your presence, unless you give me some hope, +that I shall be received as your elected husband, rather than, (however +deserved,) as a detested criminal. + +Let me, therefore, propose an expedient, in order to spare my own +confusion; and to spare you the necessity for that soul-harrowing +recrimination, which I cannot stand, and which must be disagreeable to +yourself—to name the church, and I will have every thing in readiness; +so that our next interview will be, in a manner, at the very altar; and +then you will have the kind husband to forgive for the faults of the +ungrateful lover. If your resentment be still too high to write more, +let it only be in your own dear hand, these words, St. Martin’s church, +Thursday—or these, St. Giles’s church, Thursday; nor will I insist upon +any inscription or subscription, or so much as the initials of your +name. This shall be all the favour I will expect, till the dear hand +itself is given to mine, in presence of that Being whom I invoke as a +witness of the inviolable faith and honour of + +Your adoring LOVELACE. + + + + + LETTER XXXIX + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE [SUPERSCRIBED TO MRS. LOVELACE.] +M. HALL, MONDAY, JUNE 26. + +Once more, my dearest love, do I conjure you to send me the four +requested words. There is no time to be lost. And I would not have next +Thursday go over, without being entitled to call you mine, for the +world; and that as well for your sake as for my own. Hitherto all that +has passed is between you and me only; but, after Thursday, if my +wishes are unanswered, the whole will be before the world. + +My Lord is extremely ill, and endures not to have me out of his sight +for one half hour. But this shall not have the least weight with me, if +you be pleased to hold out the olive-branch to me in the four requested +words. + +I have the following intelligence from Captain Tomlinson. + +‘All your family are at your uncle Harlowe’s. Your uncle finds he +cannot go up; and names Captain Tomlinson for his proxy. He proposes to +keep all your family with him till the Captain assures him that the +ceremony is over. + +‘Already he has begun, with hope of success, to try to reconcile your +mother to you.’ + +My Lord M. but just now has told me how happy he should think himself +to have an opportunity, before he dies, to salute you as his niece. I +have put him in hopes that he shall see you; and have told him that I +will go to town on Wednesday, in order to prevail upon you to accompany +me down on Thursday or Friday. I have ordered a set to be in readiness +to carry me up; and, were not my Lord so very ill, my cousin Montague +tells me that she would offer her attendance on you. If you please, +therefore, we can set out for this place the moment the solemnity is +performed. + +Do not, dearest creature, dissipate all those promising appearances, +and by refusing to save your own and your family’s reputation in the +eye of the world, use yourself worse than the ungratefullest wretch on +earth has used you. For if we were married, all the disgrace you +imagine you have suffered while a single lady, will be my own, and only +known to ourselves. + +Once more, then, consider well the situation we are both in; and +remember, my dearest life, that Thursday will be soon here; and that +you have no time to lose. + +In a letter sent by the messenger whom I dispatch with this, I have +desired that my friend, Mr. Belford, who is your very great admirer, +and who knows all the secrets of my heart, will wait upon you, to know +what I am to depend upon as to the chosen day. + +Surely, my dear, you never could, at any time, suffer half so much from +cruel suspense, as I do. + +If I have not an answer to this, either from your own goodness, or +through Mr. Belford’s intercession, it will be too late for me to set +out: and Captain Tomlinson will be disappointed, who goes to town on +purpose to attend your pleasure. + +One motive for the gentle resistance I have presumed to lay you under +is, to prevent the mischiefs that might ensue (as probably to the more +innocent, as to the less) were you to write to any body while your +passions were so much raised and inflamed against me. Having apprized +you of my direction to the women in town on this head, I wonder you +should have endeavoured to send a letter to Miss Howe, although in a +cover directed to that young lady’s* servant; as you must think it +would be likely to fall into my hands. + +* The lady had made an attempt to send away a letter. + +The just sense of what I have deserved the contents should be, leaves +me no room to doubt what they are. Nevertheless, I return it you +enclosed, with the seal, as you will see, unbroken. + +Relieve, I beseech you, dearest Madam, by the four requested words, or +by Mr. Belford, the anxiety of + +Your ever-affectionate and obliged LOVELACE. + +Remember, there will not, there cannot be time for further writing, and +for coming up by Thursday, your uncle’s birth-day. + + + + + LETTER XL + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. MONDAY, JUNE 26. + +Thou wilt see the situation I am in with Miss Harlowe by the enclosed +copies of three letters; to two of which I am so much scorned as not to +have one word given me in answer; and of the third (now sent by the +messenger who brings thee this) I am afraid as little notice will be +taken—and if so, her day of grace is absolutely over. + +One would imagine (so long used to constraint too as she has been) that +she might have been satisfied with the triumph she had over us all on +Friday night! a triumph that to this hour has sunk my pride and my +vanity so much, that I almost hate the words, plot, contrivance, +scheme; and shall mistrust myself in future for every one that rises to +my inventive head. + +But seest thou not that I am under a necessity to continue her at +Sinclair’s and to prohibit all her correspondencies? + +Now, Belford, as I really, in my present mood, think of nothing less +than marrying her, if she let not Thursday slip, I would have thee +attend her, in pursuance of the intimation I have given her in my +letter of this date; and vow for me, swear for me, bind thy soul to her +for my honour, and use what arguments thy friendly heart can suggest, +in order to procure me an answer from her; which, as thou wilt see, she +may give in four words only. And then I purpose to leave Lord M. +(dangerously ill as he is,) and meet her at her appointed church, in +order to solemnize. If she will but sign Cl. H. to thy writing the four +words, that shall do: for I would not come up to be made a fool of in +the face of all my family and friends. + +If she should let the day go off, I shall be desperate. I am entangled +in my own devices, and cannot bear that she should detect me. + +O that I had been honest!—What a devil are all my plots come to! What +do they end in, but one grand plot upon myself, and a title to eternal +infamy and disgrace! But, depending on thy friendly offices, I will say +no more of this.—Let her send me but one line!—But one line!—To treat +me as unworthy of her notice;—yet be altogether in my power—I cannot—I +will not bear that. + +My Lord, as I said, is extremely ill. The doctors give him over. He +gives himself over. Those who would not have him die, are afraid he +will die. But as to myself, I am doubtful: for these long and violent +struggles between the constitution and the disease (though the latter +has three physicians and an apothecary to help it forward, and all +three, as to their prescriptions, of different opinions too) indicate a +plaguy habit, and savour more of recovery than death: and the more so, +as he has no sharp or acute mental organs to whet out his bodily ones, +and to raise his fever above the sympathetic helpful one. + +Thou wilt see in the enclosed what pains I am at to dispatch +messengers; who are constantly on the road to meet each other, and one +of them to link in the chain with the fourth, whose station is in +London, and five miles onwards, or till met. But in truth I have some +other matters for them to perform at the same time, with my Lord’s +banker and his lawyer; which will enable me, if his Lordship is so good +as to die this bout, to be an over match for some of my other +relations. I don’t mean Charlotte and Patty; for they are noble girls: +but others, who have been scratching and clawing under-ground like so +many moles in my absence; and whose workings I have discovered since I +have been down, by the little heaps of dirt they have thrown up. + +A speedy account of thy commission, dear Jack! The letter travels all +night. + + + + + LETTER XLI + + +MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. LONDON, JUNE 27. TUESDAY. + +You must excuse me, Lovelace, from engaging in the office you would +have me undertake, till I can be better assured you really intend +honourably at last by this much-injured lady. + +I believe you know your friend Belford too well to think he would be +easy with you, or with any man alive, who should seek to make him +promise for him what he never intended to perform. And let me tell +thee, that I have not much confidence in the honour of a man, who by +imitation of hands (I will only call it) has shown so little regard to +the honour of his own relations. + +Only that thou hast such jesuitical qualifyings, or I should think thee +at last touched with remorse, and brought within view of being ashamed +of thy cursed inventions by the ill success of thy last: which I +heartily congratulate thee upon. + +O the divine lady!—But I will not aggravate! + +Nevertheless, when thou writest that, in thy present mood, thou +thinkest of marrying, and yet canst so easily change thy mood; when I +know thy heart is against the state: that the four words thou courtest +from the lady are as much to thy purpose, as if she wrote forty; since +it will show she can forgive the highest injury that can be offered to +woman; and when I recollect how easily thou canst find excuses to +postpone; thou must be more explicit a good deal, as to thy real +intentions, and future honour, than thou art: for I cannot trust to +temporary remorse; which brought on by disappointment too, and not by +principle, and the like of which thou hast so often got over. + +If thou canst convince me time enough for the day, that thou meanest to +do honourably by her, in her own sense of the word; or, if not time +enough, wilt fix some other day, (which thou oughtest to leave to her +option, and not bind her down for the Thursday; and the rather, as thy +pretence for so doing is founded on an absolute fiction;) I will then +most cheerfully undertake thy cause; by person, if she will admit me to +her presence; if she will not, by pen. But, in this case, thou must +allow me to be guarantee for thy family. And, if so, so much as I value +thee, and respect thy skill in all the qualifications of a gentleman, +thou mayest depend upon it, that I will act up to the character of a +guarantee, with more honour than the princes of our day usually do——to +their shame be it spoken. + +Mean time let me tell thee, that my heart bleeds for the wrong this +angelic lady has received: and if thou dost not marry her, if she will +have thee, and, when married, make her the best and tenderest of +husbands, I would rather be a dog, a monkey, a bear, a viper, or a +toad, than thee. + +Command me with honour, and thou shalt find none readier to oblige thee +than + +Thy sincere friend, JOHN BELFORD. + + + + + LETTER XLII + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. M. HALL, JUNE 27. TUESDAY NIGHT, +NEAR 12. + +Your’s reached me this moment, by an extraordinary push in the +messengers. + +What a man of honour thou of a sudden!—— + +And so, in the imaginary shape of a guarantee, thou threatenest me! + +Had I not been in earnest as to the lady, I should not have offered to +employ thee in the affair. But, let me say, that hadst thou undertaken +the task, and I hadst afterwards thought fit to change my mind, I +should have contented myself to tell thee, that that was my mind when +thou engagedst for me, and to have given thee the reasons for the +change, and then left thee to thy own discretion: for never knew I what +fear of man was—nor fear of woman neither, till I became acquainted +with Miss Clarissa Harlowe, nay, what is most surprising, till I came +to have her in my power. + +And so thou wilt not wait upon the charmer of my heart, but upon terms +and conditions!—Let it alone and be curs’d; I care not.—But so much +credit did I give to the value thou expressedst for her, that I thought +the office would have been acceptable to thee, as serviceable to me; +for what was it, but to endeavour to persuade her to consent to the +reparation of her own honour? For what have I done but disgraced +myself, and been a thief to my own joys?—And if there be a union of +hearts, and an intention to solemnize, what is there wanting but the +foolish ceremony?—and that I still offer. But, if she will keep back +her hand, if she will make me hold out mine in vain, how can I help it? + +I write her one more letter; and if, after she has received that, she +keeps sullen silence, she must thank herself for what is to follow. + +But, after all, my heart is not wholly her’s. I love her beyond +expression; and cannot help it. I hope therefore she will receive this +last tender as I wish. I hope she intends not, like a true woman, to +plague, and vex, and tease me, now she has found her power. If she will +take me to mercy now these remorses are upon me, (though I scorn to +condition with thee for my sincerity,) all her trials, as I have +heretofore declared, shall be over, and she shall be as happy as I can +make her: for, ruminating upon all that has passed between us, from the +first hour of our acquaintance till the present, I must pronounce, That +she is virtue itself and once more I say, has no equal. + +As to what you hint, of leaving to her choice another day, do you +consider, that it will be impossible that my contrivances and +stratagems should be much longer concealed?—This makes me press that +day, though so near; and the more, as I have made so much ado about her +uncle’s anniversary. If she send me the four words, I will spare no +fatigue to be in time, if not for the canonical hour at church, for +some other hour of the day in her own apartment, or any other: for +money will do every thing: and that I have never spared in this affair. + +To show thee, that I am not at enmity with thee, I enclose the copies +of two letters—one to her: it is the fourth, and must be the last on +the subject——The other to Captain Tomlinson; calculated, as thou wilt +see, for him to show her. + +And now, Jack, interfere; in this case or not, thou knowest the mind of + +R. LOVELACE. + + + + + LETTER XLIII + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE [SUPERSCRIBED TO MRS. LOVELACE.] +M. HALL, WED. MORNING, ONE O’CLOCK, JUNE 28. + +Not one line, my dearest life, not one word, in answer to three letters +I have written! The time is now so short, that this must be the last +letter that can reach you on this side the important hour that might +make us legally one. + +My friend, Mr. Belford, is apprehensive, that he cannot wait upon you +in time, by reason of some urgent affairs of his own. + +I the less regret the disappointment, because I have procured a more +acceptable person, as I hope, to attend you; Captain Tomlinson I mean: +to whom I had applied for this purpose, before I had Mr. Belford’s +answer. + +I was the more solicitous to obtain his favour form him, because of the +office he is to take upon him, as I humbly presume to hope, to-morrow. +That office obliged him to be in town as this day: and I acquainted him +with my unhappy situation with you; and desired that he would show me, +on this occasion, that I had as much of his favour and friendship as +your uncle had; since the whole treaty must be broken off, if he could +not prevail upon you in my behalf. + +He will dispatch the messenger directly; whom I propose to meet in +person at Slough; either to proceed onward to London with a joyful +heart, or to return back to M. Hall with a broken one. + +I ought not (but cannot help it) to anticipate the pleasure Mr. +Tomlinson proposes to himself, in acquainting you with the likelihood +there is of your mother’s seconding your uncle’s views. For, it seems, +he has privately communicated to her his laudable intentions: and her +resolution depends, as well as his, upon what to-morrow will produce. + +Disappoint not then, I beseech you, for an hundred persons’ sakes, as +well as for mine, that uncle and that mother, whose displeasure I have +heard you so often deplore. + +You may think it impossible for me to reach London by the canonical +hour. If it should, the ceremony may be performed in your own +apartments, at any time in the day, or at night: so that Captain +Tomlinson may have it to aver to your uncle, that it was performed on +his anniversary. + +Tell but the Captain, that you forbid me not to attend you: and that +shall be sufficient for bringing to you, on the wings of love, + +Your ever-grateful and affectionate LOVELACE. + + + + + LETTER XLIV + + +TO MR. PATRICK M’DONALD, +AT HIS LODGINGS, AT MR. BROWN’S, PERUKE-MAKER, IN ST. MARTIN’S LANE, +WESTMINSTER + + +M. Hall, Wedn. Morning, Two o’clock. + +DEAR M’DONALD, + +The bearer of this has a letter to carry to the lady.* I have been at +the trouble of writing a copy of it: which I enclose, that you may not +mistake your cue. + +* See the preceding Letter. + +You will judge of my reasons for ante-dating the enclosed sealed one,* +directed to you by the name of Tomlinson; which you are to show to the +lady, as in confidence. You will open it of course. + +* See the next Letter. + +I doubt not your dexterity and management, dear M’Donald; nor your +zeal; especially as the hope of cohabitation must now be given up. +Impossible to be carried is that scheme. I might break her heart, but +not incline her will—am in earnest therefore to marry her, if she let +not the day slip. + +Improve upon the hint of her mother. That may touch her. But John +Harlowe, remember, has privately engaged that lady—privately, I say; +else, (not to mention the reason for her uncle Harlowe’s former +expedient,) you know, she might find means to get a letter away to the +one or to the other, to know the truth; or to Miss Howe, to engage her +to inquire into it: and, if she should, the word privately will account +for the uncle’s and mother’s denying it. + +However, fail not, as from me, to charge our mother and her nymphs to +redouble their vigilance both as to her person and letters. All’s upon +a crisis now. But she must not be treated ill neither. + +Thursday over, I shall know what to resolve upon. + +If necessary, you must assume authority. The devil’s in’t, if such a +girl as this shall awe a man of your years and experience. You are not +in love with her as I am. Fly out, if she doubt your honour. Spirits +naturally soft may be beat out of their play and borne down (though +ever so much raised) by higher anger. All women are cowards at bottom; +only violent where they may. I have often stormed a girl out of her +mistrust, and made her yield (before she knew where she was) to the +point indignantly mistrusted; and that to make up with me, though I was +the aggressor. + +If this matter succeed as I’d have it, (or if not, and do not fail by +your fault,) I will take you off the necessity of pursuing your cursed +smuggling; which otherwise may one day end fatally for you. + +We are none of us perfect, M’Donald. This sweet lady makes me serious +sometimes in spite of my heart. But as private vices are less blamable +than public; and as I think smuggling (as it is called) a national +evil; I have no doubt to pronounce you a much worse man than myself, +and as such shall take pleasure in reforming you. + +I send you enclosed ten guineas, as a small earnest of further favours. +Hitherto you have been a very clever fellow. + +As to clothes for Thursday, Monmouth-street will afford a ready supply. +Clothes quite new would make your condition suspected. But you may +defer that care, till you see if she can be prevailed upon. Your +riding-dress will do for the first visit. Nor let your boots be over +clean. I have always told you the consequence of attending to the +minutiae, where art (or imposture, as the ill-mannered would call it) +is designed—your linen rumpled and soily, when you wait upon her—easy +terms these—just come to town—remember (as formerly) to loll, to throw +out your legs, to stroke and grasp down your ruffles, as if of +significance enough to be careless. What though the presence of a fine +lady would require a different behaviour, are you not of years to +dispense with politeness? You can have no design upon her, you know. +You are a father yourself of daughters as old as she. Evermore is +parade and obsequiousness suspectable: it must show either a foolish +head, or a knavish heart. Assume airs of consequence therefore; and you +will be treated as a man of consequence. I have often more than half +ruined myself by my complaisance; and, being afraid of controul, have +brought controul upon myself. + +I think I have no more to say at present. I intend to be at Slough, or +on the way to it, as by mine to the lady. Adieu, honest M’Donald. + +R.L. + + + + + LETTER XLV + + +TO CAPTAIN TOMLINSON [ENCLOSED IN THE PRECEDING; TO BE SHOWN TO THE +LADY AS IN CONFIDENCE.] M. HALL, TUESDAY MORN., JUNE 27. + +DEAR CAPTAIN TOMLINSON, + +An unhappy misunderstanding has arisen between the dearest lady in the +world and me (the particulars of which she perhaps may give you, but I +will not, because I might be thought partial to myself;) and she +refusing to answer my most pressing and respectful letters; I am at a +most perplexing uncertainty whether she will meet us or not next +Thursday to solemnize. + +My Lord is so extremely ill, that if I thought she would not oblige me, +I would defer going up to town for two or three days. He cares not to +have me out of his sight: yet is impatient to salute my beloved as his +niece before he dies. This I have promised to give him an opportunity +to do: intending, if the dear creature will make me happy, to set out +with her for this place directly from church. + +With regret I speak it of the charmer of my soul, that +irreconcilableness is her family-fault—the less excusable indeed for +her, as she herself suffers by it in so high a degree from her own +relations. + +Now, Sir, as you intended to be in town some time before Thursday, if +it be not too great an inconvenience to you, I could be glad you would +go up as soon as possible, for my sake: and this I the more boldly +request, as I presume that a man who has so many great affairs of his +own in hand as you have, would be glad to be at a certainty as to the +day. + +You, Sir, can so pathetically and justly set before her the unhappy +consequences that will follow if the day be postponed, as well with +regard to her uncle’s disappointment, as to the part you have assured +me her mother is willing to take in the wished-for reconciliation, that +I have great hopes she will suffer herself to be prevailed upon. And a +man and horse shall be in waiting to take your dispatches and bring +them to me. + +But if you cannot prevail in my favour, you will be pleased to satisfy +your friend, Mr. John Harlowe, that it is not my fault that he is not +obliged. I am, dear Sir, + +Your extremely obliged and faithful servant, R. LOVELACE. + + + + + LETTER XLVI + + +TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. WEDN. JUNE 28, NEAR TWELVE O’CLOCK. + +HONOURED SIR, + +I received your’s, as your servant desired me to acquaint you, by ten +this morning. Horse and man were in a foam. + +I instantly equipped myself, as if come off from a journey, and posted +away to the lady, intending to plead great affairs that I came not +before, in order to favour your antedate; and likewise to be in a +hurry, to have a pretence to hurry her ladyship, and to take no denial +for her giving a satisfactory return to your messenger. But, upon my +entering Mrs. Sinclair’s house, I found all in the greatest +consternation. + +You must not, Sir, be surprised. It is a trouble to me to be the +relater of the bad news; but so it is—The lady is gone off! She was +missed but half an hour before I came. + +Her waiting-maid is run away, or hitherto is not to be found: so that +they conclude it was by her connivance. + +They had sent, before I came, to my honoured masters Mr. Belton, Mr. +Mowbray, and Mr. Belford. Mr. Tourville is out of town. + +High words are passing between Madam Sinclair, and Madam Horton, and +Madam Martin; as also with Dorcas. And your servant William threatens +to hang or drown himself. + +They have sent to know if they can hear of Mabell, the waiting-maid, at +her mother’s, who it seems lives in Chick-lane, West-Smithfield; and to +an uncle of her’s also, who keeps an alehouse at Cow-cross, had by, and +with whom she lived last. + +Your messenger having just changed his horse, is come back: so I will +not detain him longer than to add, that I am, with great concern for +this misfortune, and thanks for your seasonable favour and kind +intentions towards me—I am sure this was not my fault— + +Honoured Sir, Your most obliged, humble servant, PATRICK M’DONALD. + + + + + LETTER XLVII + + +MR. MOWBRAY, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. WEDNESDAY, TWELVE O’CLOCK. + +DEAR LOVELACE, + +I have plaguy news to acquaint thee with. Miss Harlowe is gone +off!—Quite gone, by soul!—I have no time for particulars, your servant +being gone off. But if I had, we are not yet come to the bottom of the +matter. The ladies here are all blubbering like devills, accusing one +another most confoundedly: whilst Belton and I damn them all together +in thy name. + +If thou shouldst hear that thy fellow Will. is taken dead out of some +horse-pond, and Dorcas cut down from her bed’s teaster, from dangling +in her own garters, be not surprised. Here’s the devil to pay. Nobody +serene but Jack Belford, who is taking minutes of examinations, +accusations, and confessions, with the significant air of a Middlesex +Justice; and intends to write at large all particulars, I suppose. + +I heartily condole with thee: so does Belton. But it may turn out for +the best: for she is gone away with thy marks, I understand. A foolish +little devill! Where will she mend herself? for nobody will look upon +her. And they tell me that thou wouldst certainly have married her, had +she staid. But I know thee better. + +Dear Bobby, adieu. If Lord M. will die now, to comfort thee for this +loss, what a seasonable exit would he make! Let’s have a letter from +thee. Pr’ythee do. Thou can’st write devill-like to Belford, who shews +us nothing at all. Thine heartily, + +RD. MOWBRAY. + + + + + LETTER XLVIII + + +MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. THURSDAY, JUNE 29. + +Thou hast heard from M’Donald and Mowbray the news. Bad or good, I know +not which thou’lt deem it. I only wish I could have given thee joy upon +the same account, before the unhappy lady was seduced from Hampstead; +for then of what an ungrateful villany hadst thou been spared the +perpetration, which now thou hast to answer for! + +I came to town purely to serve thee with her, expecting that thy next +would satisfy me that I might endeavour it without dishonour. And at +first when I found her gone, I half pitied thee; for now wilt thou be +inevitably blown up: and in what an execrable light wilt thou appear to +all the world!—Poor Lovelace! caught in thy own snares! thy punishment +is but beginning. + +But to my narrative: for I suppose thou expectest all particulars from +me, since Mowbray has informed thee that I have been collecting them. + +‘The noble exertion of spirit she has made on Friday night, had, it +seems, greatly disordered her; insomuch that she was not visible till +Saturday evening; when Mabell saw her; and she seemed to be very ill: +but on Sunday morning, having dressed herself, as if designing to go to +church, she ordered Mabell to get her a coach to the door. + +‘The wench told her, She was to obey her in every thing but the calling +of a coach or chair, or in relation to letters. + +‘She sent for Will. and gave him the same command. + +‘He pleaded his master’s orders to the contrary, and desired to be +excused. + +‘Upon this, down she went, herself, and would have gone out without +observation; but finding the street-door double-locked, and the key not +in the lock, she stept into the street-parlour, and would have thrown +up the sash to call out to the people passing by, as they doubted not: +but that, since her last attempt of the same nature, had been fastened +down. + +‘Hereupon she resolutely stept into Mrs. Sinclair’s parlour in the +back-house; where were the old devil and her two partners; and demanded +the key of the street-door, or to have it opened for her. + +‘They were all surprised; but desired to be excused, and pleaded your +orders. + +‘She asserted, that you had no authority over her; and never should +have any: that their present refusal was their own act and deed: she +saw the intent of their back house, and the reason of putting her +there: she pleaded her condition and fortune; and said, they had no way +to avoid utter ruin, but by opening their doors to her, or by murdering +her, and burying her in their garden or cellar, too deep for detection: +that already what had been done to her was punishable by death: and bid +them at their peril detain her.’ + +What a noble, what a right spirit has this charming creature, in cases +that will justify an exertion of spirit!— + +‘They answered that Mr. Lovelace could prove his marriage, and would +indemnify them. And they all would have vindicated their behaviour on +Friday night, and the reputation of their house. But refusing to hear +them on that topic, she flung from them threatening. + +‘She then went up half a dozen stairs in her way to her own apartment: +but, as if she had bethought herself, down she stept again, and +proceeded towards the street-parlour; saying, as she passed by the +infamous Dorcas, I’ll make myself protectors, though the windows +suffer. But that wench, of her own head, on the lady’s going out of +that parlour to Mrs. Sinclair’s, had locked the door, and taken out the +key: so that finding herself disappointed, she burst into tears, and +went sobbing and menacing up stairs again. + +‘She made no other attempt till the effectual one. Your letters and +messages, they suppose, coming so fast upon one another (though she +would not answer one of them) gave her some amusement, and an assurance +to them, that she would at last forgive you; and that then all would +end as you wished. + +‘The women, in pursuance of your orders, offered not to obtrude +themselves upon her; and Dorcas also kept out of her sight all the rest +of Sunday; also on Monday and Tuesday. But by the lady’s condescension, +(even to familiarity) to Mabell, they imagined, that she must be +working in her mind all that time to get away. They therefore redoubled +their cautions to the wench; who told them so faithfully all that +passed between her lady and her, that they had no doubt of her fidelity +to her wicked trust. + +‘’Tis probable she might have been contriving something all this time; +but saw no room for perfecting any scheme. The contrivance by which she +effected her escape seems to me not to have been fallen upon till the +very day; since it depended partly upon the weather, as it proved. But +it is evident she hoped something from Mabell’s simplicity, or +gratitude, or compassion, by cultivating all the time her civility to +her. + +‘Polly waited on her early on Wednesday morning; and met with a better +reception than she had reason to expect. She complained however, with +warmth, of her confinement. Polly said there would be an happy end to +it (if it were a confinement,) next day, she presumed. She absolutely +declared to the contrary, in the way Polly meant it; and said, That Mr. +Lovelace, on his return [which looked as if she intended to wait for +it] should have reason to repent the orders he had given, as they all +should their observance of them: let him send twenty letters, she would +not answer one, be the consequence what it would; nor give him hope of +the least favour, while she was in that house. She had given Mrs. +Sinclair and themselves fair warning, she said: no orders of another +ought to make them detain a free person: but having made an open +attempt to go, and been detained by them, she was the calmer, she told +Polly; let them look to the consequence. + +‘But yet she spoke this with temper; and Polly gave it as her opinion, +(with apprehension for their own safety,) that having so good a handle +to punish them all, she would not go away if she might. And what, +inferred Polly, is the indemnity of a man who has committed the vilest +of rapes on a person of condition; and must himself, if prosecuted for +it, either fly, or be hanged? + +‘Sinclair, [so I will still call her,] upon this representation of +Polly, foresaw, she said, the ruin of her poor house in the issue of +this strange business; and the infamous Sally and Dorcas bore their +parts in the apprehension: and this put them upon thinking it advisable +for the future, that the street-door should generally in the day-time +be only left upon a bolt-latch, as they called it, which any body might +open on the inside; and that the key should be kept in the door; that +their numerous comers and goers, as they called their guests, should be +able to give evidence, that she might have gone out if she would: not +forgetting, however, to renew their orders to Will. to Dorcas, to +Mabell, and the rest, to redouble their vigilance on this occasion, to +prevent her escape: none of them doubting, at the same time, that her +love of a man so considerable in their eyes, and the prospect of what +was to happen, as she had reason to believe, on Thursday, her uncle’s +birth-day, would (though perhaps not till the last hour, for her pride +sake, was their word) engage her to change her temper. + +‘They believe, that she discovered the key to be left in the door; for +she was down more than once to walk in the little garden, and seemed to +cast her eye each time to the street-door. + +‘About eight yesterday morning, an hour after Polly had left her, she +told Mabell, she was sure she should not live long; and having a good +many suits of apparel, which after her death would be of no use to any +body she valued, she would give her a brown lustring gown, which, with +some alterations to make it more suitable to her degree, would a great +while serve her for a Sunday wear; for that she (Mabell) was the only +person in that house of whom she could think without terror or +antipathy. + +‘Mabell expressing her gratitude upon the occasion, the lady said, she +had nothing to employ herself about, and if she could get a workwoman +directly, she would look over her things then, and give her what she +intended for her. + +‘Her mistress’s mantua-maker, the maid replied, lived but a little way +off: and she doubted not that she could procure her, or one of the +journey-women to alter the gown out of hand. + +‘I will give you also, said she, a quilted coat, which will require but +little alteration, if any; for you are much about my stature: but the +gown I will give directions about, because the sleeves and the robings +and facings must be altered for your wear, being, I believe, above your +station: and try, said she, if you can get the workwoman, and we’ll +advise about it. If she cannot come now, let her come in the afternoon; +but I had rather now, because it will amuse me to give you a lift. + +‘Then stepping to the window, it rains, said she, [and so it had done +all the morning:] slip on the hood and short cloak I have seen you +wear, and come to me when you are ready to go out, because you shall +bring me in something that I want. + +‘Mabell equipped herself accordingly, and received her commands to buy +her some trifles, and then left her; but in her way out, stept into the +back parlour, where Dorcas was with Mrs. Sinclair, telling her where +she was going, and on what account, bidding Dorcas look out till she +came back. So faithful as the wench to the trust reposed in her, and so +little had the lady’s generosity wrought upon her. + +‘Mrs. Sinclair commended her; Dorcas envied her, and took her cue: and +Mabell soon returned with the mantua-maker’s journey-woman; (she +resolved, she said, but she would not come without her); and then +Dorcas went off guard. + +‘The lady looked out the gown and petticoat, and before the workwoman +caused Mabell to try it on; and, that it might fit the better, made the +willing wench pull off her upper-petticoat, and put on that she gave +her. Then she bid them go into Mr. Lovelace’s apartment, and contrive +about it before the pier-glass there, and stay till she came to them, +to give them her opinion. + +‘Mabell would have taken her own clothes, and hood, and short cloak +with her: but her lady said, No matter; you may put them on again here, +when we have considered about the alterations: there’s no occasion to +litter the other room. + +‘They went; and instantly, as it is supposed, she slipt on Mabell’s +gown and petticoat over her own, which was white damask, and put on the +wench’s hood, short cloak, and ordinary apron, and down she went. + +‘Hearing somebody tripping along the passage, both Will. and Dorcas +whipt to the inner-hall door, and saw her; but, taking her for Mabell, +Are you going far, Mabell? cried Will. + +‘Without turning her face, or answering, she held out her hand, +pointing to the stairs; which they construed as a caution for them to +look out in her absence; and supposing she would not be long gone, as +she had not in form, repeated her caution to them, up went Will, +tarrying at the stairs-head in expectation of the supposed Mabell’s +return. + +‘Mabell and the workwoman waited a good while, amusing themselves not +disagreeably, the one with contriving in the way of her business, the +other delighting herself with her fine gown and coat. But at last, +wondering the lady did not come in to them, Mabell tiptoed it to her +door, and tapping, and not being answered, stept into the chamber. + +‘Will. at that instant, from his station at the stairs-head, seeing +Mabell in her lady’s clothes; for he had been told of the present, +[gifts to servants fly from servant to servant in a minute,] was very +much surprised, having, as he thought, just seen her go out in her own; +and stepping up, met her at the door. How the devil can this be? said +he: just now you went out in your own dress! How came you here in this? +and how could you pass me unseen? but nevertheless, kissing her, said, +he would now brag he had kissed his lady, or one in her clothes. + +‘I am glad, Mr. William, cried Mabell, to see you here so diligently. +But know you where my lady is? + +‘In my master’s apartment, answered Will. Is she not? Was she not +talking with you this moment? + +‘No, that’s Mrs. Dolins’s journey-woman. + +‘They both stood aghast, as they said; Will, again recollecting he had +seen Mabell, as he thought, go out in her own clothes. And while they +were debating and wondering, up comes Dorcas with your fourth letter, +just then brought for the lady, and seeing Mabell dressed out, (whom +she had likewise beheld a little before), as she supposed, in her +common clothes; she joined in the wonder; till Mabell, re-entering the +lady’s apartment, missed her own clothes; and then suspecting what had +happened, and letting the others into the ground of the suspicion, they +all agreed that she had certainly escaped. And then followed such an +uproar of mutual accusation, and you should have done this, and you +have done that, as alarmed the whole house; every apartment in both +houses giving up its devil, to the number of fourteen or fifteen, +including the mother and her partners. + +‘Will. told them his story; and then ran out, as on the like occasion +formerly, to make inquiry whether the lady was seen by any of the +coachmen, chairmen, or porters, plying in that neighbourhood: while +Dorcas cleared herself immediately, and that at the poor Mabell’s +expense, who made a figure as guilty as awkward, having on the +suspected price of her treachery; which Dorcas, out of envy, was ready +to tear from her back. + +‘Hereupon all the pack opened at the poor wench, while the mother +foamed at the mouth, bellowed out her orders for seizing the suspected +offender; who could neither be heard in her own defence, nor had she +been heard, would have been believed. + +‘That such a perfidious wretch should ever disgrace her house, was the +mother’s cry; good people might be corrupted; but it was a fine thing +if such a house as her’s could not be faithfully served by cursed +creatures who were hired knowing the business they were to be employed +in, and who had no pretence to principle!—D—n her, the wretch +proceeded!—She had no patience with her! call the cook, and call the +scullion! + +‘They were at hand. + +‘See, that guilty pyeball devil, was her word—(her lady’s gown upon her +back)—but I’ll punish her for a warning to all betrayers of their +trust. Put on the great gridiron this moment, [an oath or a curse at +every word:] make up a roaring fire—the cleaver bring me this +instant—I’ll cut her into quarters with my own hands; and carbonade and +broil the traitress for a feast to all the dogs and cats in the +neighbourhood, and eat the first slice of the toad myself, without salt +or pepper. + +‘The poor Mabell, frighted out of her wits, expected every moment to be +torn in pieces, having half a score open-clawed paws upon her all at +once. She promised to confess all. But that all, when she had obtained +a hearing, was nothing: for nothing had she to confess. + +‘Sally, hereupon with a curse of mercy, ordered her to retire; +undertaking that she and Polly would examine her themselves, that they +might be able to write all particulars to his honour; and then, if she +could not clear herself, or, if guilty, give some account of the lady, +(who had been so wicked as to give them all this trouble,) so as they +might get her again, then the cleaver and gridiron might go to work +with all their heart. + +‘The wench, glad of this reprieve, went up stairs; and while Sally was +laying out the law, and prating away in her usual dictorial manner, +whipt on another gown, and sliding down the stairs, escaped to her +relations. And this flight, which was certainly more owing to terror +than guilt, was, in the true Old Bailey construction, made a +confirmation of the latter.’ + + +These are the particulars of Miss Harlowe’s flight. Thou’lt hardly +think me too minute.—How I long to triumph over thy impatience and fury +on the occasion! + +Let me beseech thee, my dear Lovelace, in thy next letter, to rave most +gloriously!—I shall be grievously disappointed if thou dost not. + + +Where, Lovelace, can the poor lady be gone? And who can describe the +distress she must be in? + +By thy former letters, it may be supposed, that she can have very +little money: nor, by the suddenness of her flight, more clothes than +those she has on. And thou knowest who once said,* ‘Her parents will +not receive her. Her uncles will not entertain her. Her Norton is in +their direction, and cannot. Miss Howe dare not. She has not one friend +or intimate in town—entirely a stranger to it.’ And, let me add, has +been despoiled of her honour by the man for whom she had made all these +sacrifices; and who stood bound to her by a thousand oaths and vows, to +be her husband, her protector, and friend! + +* See Vol. IV. Letter XXI. + +How strong must be her resentment of the barbarous treatment she has +received! how worthy of herself, that it has made her hate the man she +once loved! and, rather than marry him, choose to expose her disgrace +to the whole world: to forego the reconciliation with her friends which +her heart was so set upon: and to hazard a thousand evils to which her +youth and her sex may too probably expose an indigent and friendly +beauty! + +Rememberest thou not that home push upon thee, in one of the papers +written in her delirium; of which, however it savours not?—— + +I will assure thee, that I have very often since most seriously +reflected upon it: and as thy intended second outrage convinces me that +it made no impression upon thee then, and perhaps thou hast never +thought of it since, I will transcribe the sentence. + +‘If, as religion teaches us, God will judge us, in a great measure! by +our benevolent or evil actions to one another—O wretch! bethink thee, +in time bethink thee, how great must be thy condemnation.’* + +* See Vol. VI. Letter XVI. + +And is this amiable doctrine the sum of religion? Upon my faith, +believe it is. For, to indulge a serious thought, since we are not +atheists, except in practice, does God, the BEING of Beings, want any +thing of us for HIMSELF! And does he not enjoin us works of mercy to +one another, as the means to obtain his mercy? A sublime principle, and +worthy of the SUPREME SUPERINTENDENT and FATHER of all things!—But if +we are to be judged by this noble principle, what, indeed, must be thy +condemnation on the score of this lady only? and what mine, and what +all our confraternity’s, on the score of other women: though we are +none of us half so bad as thou art, as well for want of inclination, I +hope, as of opportunity! + +I must add, that, as well for thy own sake, as for the lady’s, I wish +ye were yet to be married to each other. It is the only medium that can +be hit upon to salve the honour of both. All that’s past may yet be +concealed from the world, and from all her sufferings, if thou +resolvest to be a tender and kind husband to her. + +And if this really be thy intention, I will accept with pleasure of a +commission from thee that shall tend to promote so good an end, +whenever she can be found; that is to say, if she will admit to her +presence a man who professes friendship to thee. Nor can I give a +greater demonstration, that I am + +Thy sincere friend, J. BELFORD. + +P.S. Mabell’s clothes were thrown into the passage this morning: nobody +knows by whom. + + + + + LETTER XLIX + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. FRIDAY, JUNE 30. + +I am ruined, undone, blown up, destroyed, and worse than annihilated, +that’s certain!—But was not the news shocking enough, dost thou think, +without thy throwing into the too-weighty scale reproaches, which thou +couldst have had no opportunity to make but for my own voluntary +communications? at a time too, when, as it falls out, I have another +very sensible disappointment to struggle with? + +I imagine, if there be such a thing as future punishment, it must be +none of the smallest mortifications, that a new devil shall be punished +by a worse old one. And, take that! And, take that! to have the old +satyr cry to the screaming sufferer, laying on with a +cat-o’-nine-tails, with a star of burning brass at the end of each: +and, for what! for what!—-Why, if the truth may be fairly told, for not +being so bad a devil as myself. + +Thou art, surely, casuist good enough to know, (what I have insisted +upon* heretofore,) that the sin of seducing a credulous and easy girl, +is as great as that of bringing to your lure an incredulous and +watchful one. + +* See Vol. IV. Letter XVII. + +However ungenerous an appearance what I am going to say may have from +my pen, let me tell thee, that if such a woman as Miss Harlowe chose to +enter into the matrimonial state, [I am resolved to disappoint thee in +thy meditated triumph over my rage and despair!] and, according to the +old patriarchal system, to go on contributing to get sons and +daughters, with no other view than to bring them up piously, and to be +good and useful members of the commonwealth, what a devil had she to +do, to let her fancy run a gadding after a rake? one whom she knew to +be a rake? + +Oh! but truly she hoped to have the merit of reclaiming him. She had +formed pretty notions how charming it would look to have a penitent of +her own making dangling at her side at church, through an applauding +neighbourhood: and, as their family increased, marching with her +thither, at the head of their boys and girls, processionally, as it +were, boasting of the fruits of their honest desires, as my good lord +bishop has it in his license. And then, what a comely sight, all +kneeling down together in one pew, according to eldership as we have +seen in effigy, a whole family upon some old monument, where the honest +chevalier in armour is presented kneeling, with up-lifted hands, and +half a dozen jolter-headed crop-eared boys behind him, ranged gradatim, +or step-fashion according to age and size, all in the same +posture—facing his pious dame, with a ruff about her neck, and as many +whey-faced girls all kneeling behind her: an altar between them, and an +open book upon it: over their heads semiluminary rays darting from +gilded clouds, surrounding an achievement-motto, IN COELO SALUS—or +QUIES—perhaps, if they have happened to live the usual married life of +brawl and contradiction. + +It is certainly as much my misfortune to have fallen in with Miss +Clarissa Harlowe, were I to have valued my reputation or ease, as it is +that of Miss Harlowe to have been acquainted with me. And, after all, +what have I done more than prosecute the maxim, by which thou and I and +every rake are governed, and which, before I knew this lady, we have +pursued from pretty girl to pretty girl, as fast as we have set one +down, taking another up;—just as the fellows do with their flying +coaches and flying horses at a country fair——with a Who rides next! Who +rides next! + +But here in the present case, to carry on the volant metaphor, (for I +must either be merry, or mad,) is a pretty little miss just come out of +her hanging-sleeve-coat, brought to buy a pretty little fairing; for +the world, Jack, is but a great fair, thou knowest; and, to give thee +serious reflection for serious, all its joys but tinselled +hobby-horses, gilt gingerbread, squeaking trumpets, painted drums, and +so forth. + +Now behold this pretty little miss skimming from booth to booth, in a +very pretty manner. One pretty little fellow called Wyerley, perhaps; +another jiggeting rascal called Biron, a third simpering varlet of the +name of Symmes, and a more hideous villain than any of the reset, with +a long bag under his arm, and parchment settlements tagged to his +heels, yelped Solmes: pursue her from raree-show to raree-show, +shouldering upon one another at every turn, stopping when she stops, +and set a spinning again when she moves. And thus dangled after, but +still in the eye of her watchful guardians, traverses the pretty little +miss through the whole fair, equally delighted and delighting: till at +last, taken with the invitation of the laced-hat orator, and seeing +several pretty little bib-wearers stuck together in the flying-coaches, +cutting safely the yielding air, in the one-go-up the other go-down +picture-of-the-world vehicle, and all with as little fear as wit, is +tempted to ride next. + +In then suppose she slily pops, when none of her friends are near her: +And if, after two or three ups and downs, her pretty head turns giddy, +and she throws herself out of the coach when at its elevation, and so +dashes out her pretty little brains, who can help it?—And would you +hang the poor fellow, whose professed trade it was to set the pretty +little creature a flying? + +’Tis true, this pretty little miss, being a very pretty little miss, +being a very much-admired little miss, being a very good little miss, +who always minded her book, and had passed through her sampler-doctrine +with high applause; had even stitched out, in gaudy propriety of +colors, an Abraham offering up Isaac, a Sampson and the Philistines; +and flowers, and knots, and trees, and the sun and the moon, and the +seven stars, all hung up in frames with glasses before them, for the +admiration of her future grand children: who likewise was entitled to a +very pretty little estate: who was descended from a pretty little +family upwards of one hundred years gentility; which lived in a very +pretty little manner, respected a very little on their own accounts, a +great deal on her’s:—— + +For such a pretty little miss as this to come to so great a misfortune, +must be a very sad thing: But, tell me, would not the losing of any +ordinary child, of any other less considerable family, or less shining +or amiable qualities, have been as great and heavy a loss to that +family, as the losing this pretty little miss could be to her’s? + +To descend to a very low instance, and that only as to personality; +hast thou any doubt, that thy strong-muscled bony-faced was as much +admired by thy mother, as if it had been the face of a Lovelace, or any +other handsome fellow? And had thy picture been drawn, would she have +forgiven the painter, had he not expressed so exactly thy lineaments, +as that every one should have discerned the likeness? The handsome +likeness is all that is wished for. Ugliness made familiar to us, with +the partiality natural to fond parents, will be beauty all the world +over.—Do thou apply. + +But, alas! Jack, all this is but a copy of my countenance, drawn to +evade thy malice!—Though it answer thy unfriendly purpose to own it, I +cannot forbear to own it, that I am stung to the very soul with this +unhappy—accident, must I call it!—Have I nobody, whose throat, either +for carelessness or treachery, I ought to cut, in order to pacify my +vengeance? + +When I reflect upon my last iniquitous intention, the first outrage so +nobly resented, as well as, so far as she was able, so nobly resisted, +I cannot but conclude, that I was under the power of fascination from +these accursed Circes; who, pretending to know their own sex, would +have it, that there is in every woman a yielding, or a weak-resisting +moment to be met with: and that yet, and yet, and yet, I had not tried +enough; but that, if neither love nor terror should enable me to hit +that lucky moment, when, by help of their cursed arts, she was once +overcome, she would be for ever overcome:—appealing to all my +experience, to all my knowledge of the sex, for justification of their +assertion. + +My appeal to experience, I own, was but too favourable to their +argument: For dost thou think I could have held my purpose against such +an angel as this, had I ever before met with a woman so much in earnest +to defend her honour against the unwearied artifices and perseverance +of the man she loved? Why then were there not more examples of a virtue +so immovable? Or, why was this singular one to fall to my lot? except +indeed to double my guilt; and at the same time to convince all that +should hear her story, that there are angels as well as devils in the +flesh? + +So much for confession; and for the sake of humouring my conscience; +with a view likewise to disarm thy malice by acknowledgement: since no +one shall say worse of me, than I will of myself on this occasion. + +One thing I will nevertheless add, to show the sincerity of my +contrition—’Tis this, that if thou canst by any means find her out +within these three days, or any time before she has discovered the +stories relating to Captain Tomlinson and her uncle to be what they +are; and if thou canst prevail upon her to consent, I will actually, in +thy presence and his, (he to represent her uncle,) marry her. + +I am still in hopes it may be so—she cannot be long concealed—I have +already set all engines at work to find her out! and if I do, what +indifferent persons, [and no one of her friends, as thou observest, +will look upon her,] will care to embroil themselves with a man of my +figure, fortune, and resolution? Show her this part, then, or any other +part of this letter, at thy own discretion, if thou canst find her: +for, after all, methinks, I would be glad that this affair, which is +bad enough in itself, should go off without worse personal consequences +to any body else: and yet it runs in my mind, I know not why, that, +sooner or later it will draw a few drops of blood after it; except she +and I can make it up between ourselves. And this may be another reason +why she should not carry her resentment too far—not that such an affair +would give me much concern neither, were I to choose any man of men, +for I heartily hate all her family, but herself; and ever shall. + + +Let me add, that the lady’s plot to escape appears to me no +extraordinary one. There was much more luck than probability that it +should do: since, to make it succeed, it was necessary that Dorcas and +Will., and Sinclair and her nymphs, should be all deceived, or off +their guard. It belongs to me, when I see them, to give them my hearty +thanks that they were; and that their selfish care to provide for their +own future security, should induce them to leave their outward door +upon their bolt-latch, and be curs’d to them. + +Mabell deserves a pitch suit and a bonfire, rather than the lustring; +and as her clothes are returned, let the lady’s be put to her others, +to be sent to her when it can be told whither—but not till I give the +word neither; for we must get the dear fugitive back again if possible. + +I suppose that my stupid villain, who knew not such a goddess-shaped +lady with a mien so noble, from the awkward and bent-shouldered Mabell, +has been at Hampstead to see after her. And yet I hardly think she +would go thither. He ought to go through every street where bills for +lodgings are up, to inquire after a new-comer. The houses of such as +deal in women’s matters, and tea, coffee, and such-like, are those to +be inquired at for her. If some tidings be not quickly heard of her, I +would not have either Dorcas, Will., or Mabell, appear in my sight, +whatever their superiors think fit to do. + +This, though written in character, is a very long letter, considering +it is not a narrative one, or a journal of proceedings, like most of my +former; for such will unavoidably and naturally, as I may say, run into +length. But I have so used myself to write a great deal of late, that I +know not how to help it. Yet I must add to its length, in order to +explain myself on a hint I gave at the beginning of it; which was, that +I have another disappointment, besides this of Miss Harlowe’s escape, +to bemoan. + +And what dost thou think it is? Why, the old Peer, pox of his tough +constitution, (for that malady would have helped him on,) has made +shift by fire and brimstone, and the devil knows what, to force the +gout to quit the counterscarp of his stomach, just as it had collected +all its strength, in order to storm the citadel of his heart. In short, +they have, by the mere force of stink-pots, hand-granades, and +pop-guns, driven the slow-working pioneer quite out of the trunk into +the extremities; and there it lies nibbling and gnawing upon his great +toe; when I had a fair end of the distemper and the distempered. + +But I, who could write to thee of laudanum, and the wet cloth, +formerly, yet let 8000£. a year slip through my fingers, when I had +entered upon it more than in imagination, [for I had begun to ask the +stewards questions, and to hear them talk of fines and renewals, and +such sort of stuff,] deserve to be mortified. + +Thou canst not imagine how differently the servants, and even my +cousins, look upon me, since yesterday, to what they did before. +Neither the one nor the other bow or courtesy half so low—nor am I a +quarter so often his honour and your honour, as I was within these few +hours, with the former: and as to the latter—it is cousin Bobby again, +with the usual familiarity, instead of Sir, and Sir, and If you please, +Mr. Lovelace. And now they have the insolence to congratulate me on the +recovery of the best of uncles; while I am forced to seem as much +delighted as they, when, would it do me good, I could sit down and cry +my eyes out. + +I had bespoke my mourning in imagination, after the example of a +certain foreign minister, who, before the death, or even last illness +of Charles II., as honest White Kennet tells us, had half exhausted +Blackwell-hall of its sables—an indication, as the historian would +insinuate, that the monarch was to be poisoned, and the ambassador in +the secret.—And yet, fool that I was, I could not take the hint—What +the devil does a man read history for, if he cannot profit by the +examples he find in it? + +But thus, Jack, is an observation of the old Peer’s verified, that one +misfortune seldom comes alone: and so concludes + +Thy doubly mortified LOVELACE. + + + + + LETTER L + + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE WEDNESDAY NIGHT, JUNE 28. + +O MY DEAREST MISS HOWE! + +Once more have I escaped—But, alas! I, my best self, have not +escaped!—Oh! your poor Clarissa Harlowe! you also will hate me, I +fear!—— + +Yet you won’t, when you know all! + +But no more of my self! my lost self. You that can rise in a morning to +be blest, and to bless; and go to rest delighted with your own +reflections, and in your unbroken, unstarting slumbers, conversing with +saints and angels, the former only more pure than yourself, as they +have shaken off the incumbrance of body; you shall be my subject, as +you have long, long, been my only pleasure. And let me, at awful +distance, revere my beloved Anna Howe, and in her reflect upon what her +Clarissa Harlowe once was! + + +Forgive, O forgive my rambling. My peace is destroyed. My intellects +are touched. And what flighty nonsense must you read, if you now will +vouchsafe to correspond with me, as formerly! + +O my best, my dearest, my only friend! what a tale have I to +unfold!—But still upon self, this vile, this hated self!—I will shake +it off, if possible; and why should I not, since I think, except one +wretch, I hate nothing so much? Self, then, be banished from self one +moment (for I doubt it will be for no longer) to inquire after a dearer +object, my beloved Anna Howe!—whose mind, all robed in spotless white, +charms and irradiates—But what would I say?—— + + +And how, my dearest friend, after this rhapsody, which on re-perusal, I +would not let go, but to show you what a distracted mind dictates to my +trembling pen! How do you? You have been very ill, it seems. That you +are recovered, my dear, let me hear. That your mother is well, pray let +me hear, and hear quickly. This comfort surely is owing to me; for if +life is no worse than chequer-work, I must now have a little white to +come, having seen nothing but black, all unchequered dismal black, for +a great, great while. + + +And what is all this wild incoherence for? It is only to beg to know +how you have been, and how you do now, by a line directed for Mrs. +Rachel Clark, at Mr. Smith’s, a glove-shop, in King-street, +Covent-garden; which (although my abode is secret to every body else) +will reach the hands of—your unhappy—but that’s not enough—— + +Your miserable CLARISSA HARLOWE. + + + + + LETTER LI + + +MRS. HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE [SUPERSCRIBED AS DIRECTED IN THE +PRECEDING.] FRIDAY, JUNE 30. + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, + +You will wonder to receive a letter from me. I am sorry for the great +distress you seem to be in. Such a hopeful young lady as you were! But +see what comes of disobedience to parents! + +For my part; although I pity you, yet I much more pity your poor father +and mother. Such education as they gave you! such improvement as you +made! and such delight as they took in you!—And all come to this!— + +But pray, Miss, don’t make my Nancy guilt of your fault; which is that +of disobedience. I have charged her over and over not to correspond +with one who had made such a giddy step. It is not to her reputation, I +am sure. You know that I so charged her; yet you go on corresponding +together, to my very great vexation; for she has been very perverse +upon it more than once. Evil communication, Miss—you know the rest. + +Here, people cannot be unhappy by themselves, but they must invoke +their friends and acquaintance whose discretion has kept them clear of +their errors, into near as much unhappiness as if they had run into the +like of their own heads! Thus my poor daughter is always in tears and +grief. And she has postponed her own felicity, truly, because you are +unhappy. + +If people, who seek their own ruin, could be the only sufferers by +their headstrong doings, it were something: But, O Miss, Miss! what +have you to answer for, who have made as many grieved hearts as have +known you! The whole sex is indeed wounded by you: For, who but Miss +Clarissa Harlowe was proposed by every father and mother for a pattern +for their daughters? + +I write a long letter, where I proposed to say but a few words; and +those to forbid your writing to my Nancy: and this as well because of +the false step you have made, as because it will grieve her poor heart, +and do you no good. If you love her, therefore, write not to her. Your +sad letter came into my hands, Nancy being abroad: and I shall not show +it her: for there would be no comfort for her, if she saw it, nor for +me, whose delight she is—as you once was to your parents.— + +But you seem to be sensible enough of your errors now.—So are all giddy +girls, when it is too late: and what a crest-fallen figure then do the +consequences of their self-willed obstinacy and headstrongness compel +them to make! + +I may say too much: only as I think it proper to bear that testimony +against your rashness which it behoves every careful parent to bear: +and none more than + +Your compassionating, well-wishing ANNABELLA HOWE. + +I send this by a special messenger, who has business only so far as +Barnet, because you shall have no need to write again; knowing how you +love writing: and knowing, likewise, that misfortune makes people +plaintive. + + + + + LETTER LII + + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MRS. HOWE. SATURDAY, JULY 1. + +Permit me, Madam, to trouble you with a few lines, were it only to +thank you for your reproofs; which have nevertheless drawn fresh +streams of blood from a bleeding heart. + +My story is a dismal story. It has circumstances in it that would +engage pity, and possibly a judgment not altogether unfavourable, were +those circumstances known. But it is my business, and shall be all my +business, to repent of my failings, and not endeavour to extenuate +them. + +Nor will I seek to distress your worthy mind. If I cannot suffer alone, +I will make as few parties as I can in my sufferings. And, indeed, I +took up my pen with this resolution when I wrote the letter which has +fallen into your hands. It was only to know, and that for a very +particular reason, as well as for affection unbounded, if my dear Miss +Howe, from whom I had not heard of a long time, were ill; as I had been +told she was; and if so, how she now does. But my injuries being +recent, and my distresses having been exceeding great, self would crowd +into my letter. When distressed, the human mind is apt to turn itself +to every one, in whom it imagined or wished an interest, for pity and +consolation.—Or, to express myself better, and more concisely, in your +own words, misfortune makes people plaintive: And to whom, if not to a +friend, can the afflicted complain? + +Miss Howe being abroad when my letter came, I flatter myself that she +is recovered. But it would be some satisfaction to me to be informed if +she has been ill. Another line from your hand would be too great a +favour: but if you will be pleased to direct any servant to answer yes, +or no, to that question, I will not be farther troublesome. + +Nevertheless, I must declare, that my Miss Howe’s friendship was all +the comfort I had, or expected to have in this world; and a line from +her would have been a cordial to my fainting heart. Judge then, dearest +Madam, how reluctantly I must obey your prohibition—but yet I will +endeavour to obey it; although I should have hoped, as well from the +tenor of all that has passed between Miss Howe and me, as from her +established virtue, that she could not be tainted by evil +communication, had one or two letters been permitted. This, however, I +ask not for, since I think I have nothing to do but to beg of God (who, +I hope, has not yet withdrawn his grace from me, although he has +pleaded to let loose his justice upon my faults) to give me a truly +broken spirit, if it be not already broken enough, and then to take to +his mercy + +The unhappy + +CLARISSA HARLOWE. + +Two favours, good Madam, I have to beg of you.—The first,—that you will +not let any of my relations know that you have heard from me. The +other,—that no living creature be apprized where I am to be heard of, +or directed to. This is a point that concerns me more than I can +express.—In short, my preservation from further evils may depend upon +it. + + + + + LETTER LIII + + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO HANNAH BURTON THURSDAY, JUNE 29. + +MY GOOD HANNAH, + +Strange things have happened to me, since you were dismissed my service +(so sorely against my will) and your pert fellow servant set over me. +But that must all be forgotten now— + +How do you, my Hannah? Are you recovered of your illness? If you are, +do you choose to come and be with me? Or can you conveniently? + +I am a very unhappy creature, and, being among all strangers, should be +very glad to have you with me, of whose fidelity and love I have had so +many acceptable instances. + +Living or dying, I will endeavour to make it worth your while, my +Hannah. + +If you are recovered, as I hope, and if you have a good place, it may +be they would bear with your absence, and suffer somebody in your room +for a month or so: and, by that time, I hope to be provided for, and +you may then return to your place. + +Don’t let any of my friends know of this my desire: whether you can +come or not. + +I am at Mr. Smith’s, a hosier’s and glove shop, in King-street, +Covent-garden. + +You must direct to me by the name of Rachel Clark. + +Do, my good Hannah, come if you can to your poor young mistress, who +always valued you, and always will whether you come or not. + +I send this to your mother at St. Alban’s, not knowing where to direct +to you. Return me a line, that I may know what to depend upon: and I +shall see you have not forgotten the pretty hand you were taught, in +happy days, by + +Your true friend, CLARISSA HARLOWE. + + + + + LETTER LIV + + +HANNAH BURTON [IN ANSWER.] MONDAY, JULY 3. + +HONORED MADDAM, + +I have not forgot to write, and never will forget any thing you, my +dear young lady, was so good as to larn me. I am very sorrowful for +your misfortens, my dearest young lady; so sorrowfull, I do not know +what to do. Gladd at harte would I be to be able to come to you. But +indeed I have not been able to stir out of my rome here at my mother’s +ever since I was forsed to leave my plase with a roomatise, which has +made me quite and clene helpless. I will pray for you night and day, my +dearest, my kindest, my goodest young lady, who have been so badly +used; and I am very sorry I cannot come to do you love and sarvice; +which will ever be in the harte of mee to do, if it was in my power: +who am + +Your most dutiful servant to command, HANNAH BURTON. + + + + + LETTER LV + + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MRS. JUDITH NORTON THURSDAY, JUNE 29. + +MY DEAR MRS. NORTON, + +I address myself to you, after a very long silence, (which, however, +was not owing either to want of love or duty,) principally to desire +you to satisfy me in two or three points, which it behoves me to know. + +My father, and all the family, I am informed, are to be at my uncle +Harlowe’s this day, as usual. Pray acquaint me, if they have been +there? And if they were cheerful on the anniversary occasion? And also, +if you have heard of any journey, or intended journey, of my brother, +in company with Captain Singleton and Mr. Solmes? + +Strange things have happened to me, my dear, worthy and maternal +friend—very strange things!—Mr. Lovelace has proved a very barbarous +and ungrateful man to me. But, God be praised, I have escaped from him. +Being among absolute strangers (though I think worthy folks) I have +written to Hannah Burton to come and be with me. If the good creature +fall in your way, pray encourage her to come to me. I always intended +to have her, she knows: but hoped to be in happier circumstances. + +Say nothing to any of my friends that you have heard from me. + +Pray, do you think my father would be prevailed upon, if I were to +supplicate him by letter, to take off the heavy curse he laid upon me +at my going from Harlowe-place? I can expect no other favour from him. +But that being literally fulfilled as to my prospects in this life, I +hope it will be thought to have operated far enough; and my heart is so +weak!—it is very weak!—But for my father’s own sake—what should I +say!—Indeed I hardly know how I ought to express myself on this sad +subject!—but it will give ease to my mind to be released from it. + +I am afraid my Poor, as I used to call the good creatures to whose +necessities I was wont to administer by your faithful hands, have +missed me of late. But now, alas! I am poor myself. It is not the least +aggravation of my fault, nor of my regrets, that with such inclinations +as God has given me, I have put it out of my power to do the good I +once pleased myself to think I was born to do. It is a sad thing, my +dearest Mrs. Nortin, to render useless to ourselves and the world, by +our own rashness, the talents which Providence has intrusted to us, for +the service of both. + +But these reflections are now too late; and perhaps I ought to have +kept them to myself. Let me, however, hope that you love me still. Pray +let me hope that you do. And then, notwithstanding my misfortunes, +which have made me seem ungrateful to the kind and truly maternal pains +you have taken with me from my cradle, I shall have the happiness to +think that there is one worthy person, who hates not + +The unfortunate CLARISSA HARLOWE. + +Pray remember me to my foster-brother. I hope he continues dutiful and +good to you. + +Be pleased to direct for Rachel Clark, at Mr. Smith’s, in King-street, +Covent-garden. But keep the direction an absolute secret. + + + + + LETTER LVI + + +MRS. NORTON [IN ANSWER.] SATURDAY, JULY 1. + +Your letter, my dearest young lady, cuts me to the heart! Why will you +not let me know all your distresses?—Yet you have said enough! + +My son is very good to me. A few hours ago he was taken with a feverish +disorder. But I hope it will go off happily, if his ardour for business +will give him the recess from it which his good master is willing to +allow him. He presents his duty to you, and shed tears at hearing your +sad letter read. + +You have been misinformed as to your family’s being at your uncle +Harlowe’s. They did not intend to be there. Nor was the day kept at +all. Indeed, they have not stirred out, but to church (and that but +three times) ever since the day you went away.—Unhappy day for them, +and for all who know you!—To me, I am sure, most particularly so!—My +heart now bleeds more and more for you. + +I have not heard a syllable of such a journey as you mentioned of your +brother, Captain Singleton, and Mr. Solmes. There has been some talk +indeed of your brother’s setting out for his northern estates: but I +have not heard of it lately. + +I am afraid no letter will be received from you. It grieves me to tell +you so, my dearest young lady. No evil can have happened to you, which +they do not expect to hear of; so great is their antipathy to the +wicked man, and so bad is his character. + +I cannot but think hardly of their unforgiveness: but there is no +judging for others by one’s self. Nevertheless I will add, that, if you +had had as gentle spirits as mine, these evils had never happened +either to them or to you. I knew your virtue, and your love of virtue, +from your very cradle; and I doubted not but that, with God’s grace, +would always be your guard. But you could never be driven; nor was +there occasion to drive you—so generous, so noble, so discreet.—But how +does my love of your amiable qualities increase my affliction; as these +recollections must do your’s! + +You are escaped, my dearest Miss—happily, I hope—that is to say, with +your honour—else, how great must be your distress!—Yet, from your +letter, I dread the worst. + +I am very seldom at Harlowe-place. The house is not the house it used +to be, since you went from it. Then they are so relentless! And, as I +cannot say harsh things of the beloved child of my heart, as well as +bosom, they do not take it amiss that I stay away. + +Your Hannah left her place ill some time ago! and, as she is still at +her mother’s at St. Alban’s, I am afraid she continues ill. If so, as +you are among strangers, and I cannot encourage you at present to come +into these parts, I shall think it my duty to attend you (let it be +taken as it will) as soon as my Tommy’s indisposition will permit; +which I hope will be soon. + +I have a little money by me. You say you are poor yourself.—How +grievous are those words from one entitled and accustomed to +affluence!—Will you be so good to command it, my beloved young lady?—It +is most of it your own bounty to me. And I should take a pride to +restore it to its original owner. + +Your Poor bless you, and pray for you continually. I have so managed +your last benevolence, and they have been so healthy, and have had such +constant employ, that it has held out; and will hold out till the +happier times return, which I continually pray for. + +Let me beg of you, my dearest young lady, to take to yourself all those +aids which good persons, like you, draw from RELIGION, in support of +their calamities. Let your sufferings be what they will, I am sure you +have been innocent in your intention. So do not despond. None are made +to suffer above what they can, and therefore ought to bear. + +We know not the methods of Providence, nor what wise ends it may have +to serve in its seemingly-severe dispensations to its poor creatures. + +Few persons have greater reason to say this than myself. And since we +are apt in calamities to draw more comfort from example than precept, +you will permit me to remind you of my own lot: For who has had a +greater share of afflictions than myself? + +To say nothing of the loss of an excellent mother, at a time of life +when motherly care is most wanted; the death of a dear father, who was +an ornament to his cloth, (and who had qualified me to be his scribe +and amanuensis,) just as he came within view of a preferment which +would have made his family easy, threw me friendless into the wide +world; threw me upon a very careless, and, which was much worse, a very +unkind husband. Poor man!—but he was spared long enough, thank God, in +a tedious illness, to repent of his neglected opportunities, and his +light principles; which I have always thought of with pleasure, +although I was left the more destitute for his chargeable illness, and +ready to be brought to bed, when he died, of my Tommy. + +But this very circumstance, which I thought the unhappiest that I could +have been left in, (so short-sighted is human prudence!) became the +happy means of recommending me to your mother, who, in regard to my +character, and in compassion to my very destitute circumstances, +permitted me, as I made a conscience of not parting with my poor boy, +to nurse both you and him, born within a few days of each other. And I +have never since wanted any of the humble blessings which God has made +me contented with. + +Nor have I known what a very great grief was, from the day of my poor +husband’s death till the day that your parents told me how much they +were determined that you should have Mr. Solmes; when I was apprized +not only of your aversion to him, but how unworthy he was of you: for +then I began to dread the consequences of forcing so generous a spirit; +and, till then, I never feared Mr. Lovelace, attracting as was his +person, and specious his manners and address. For I was sure you would +never have him, if he gave you not good reason to be convinced of his +reformation: nor till your friends were as well satisfied in it as +yourself. But that unhappy misunderstanding between your brother and +Mr. Lovelace, and their joining so violently to force you upon Mr. +Solmes, did all that mischief, which has cost you and them so dear, and +poor me all my peace! Oh! what has not this ungrateful, this +double-guilty man to answer for! + +Nevertheless, you know not what God has in store for you yet!—But if +you are to be punished all your days here, for example sake, in a case +of such importance, for your one false step, be pleased to consider, +that this life is but a state of probation; and if you have your +purification in it, you will be the more happy. Nor doubt I, that you +will have the higher reward hereafter for submitting to the will of +Providence here with patience and resignation. + +You see, my dearest Miss Clary, that I make no scruple to call the step +you took a false one. In you it was less excusable than it would have +been in any other young lady; not only because of your superior +talents, but because of the opposition between your character and his: +so that, if you had been provoked to quit your father’s house, it need +not to have been with him. Nor needed I, indeed, but as an instance of +my impartial love, to have written this to you.* + +* Mrs. Norton, having only the family representation and invectives to +form her judgment upon, knew not that Clarissa had determined against +going off with Mr. Lovelace; nor how solicitous she had been to procure +for herself any other protection than his, when she apprehended that, +if she staid, she had no way to avoid being married to Mr. Solmes. + +After this, it will have an unkind, and perhaps at this time an +unseasonable appearance, to express my concern that you have not before +favoured me with a line. Yet if you can account to yourself for your +silence, I dare say I ought to be satisfied; for I am sure you love me: +as I both love and honour you, and ever will, and the more for your +misfortunes. + +One consolation, methinks, I have, even when I am sorrowing for your +calamities; and that is, that I know not any young person so qualified +to shine the brighter for the trials she may be exercised with: and yet +it is a consolation that ends in adding to my regrets for your +afflictions, because you are blessed with a mind so well able to bear +prosperity, and to make every body round you the better for it!—But I +will forbear till I know more. + +Ruminating on every thing your melancholy letter suggests, and +apprehending, from the gentleness of your mind, the amiableness of your +person, and your youth, the farther misfortunes and inconveniencies to +which you may possibly be subjected, I cannot conclude without asking +for your leave to attend you, and that in a very earnest manner—and I +beg of you not to deny me, on any consideration relating to myself, or +even to the indisposition of my other beloved child, if I can be either +of use or of comfort to you. Were it, my dearest young lady, but for +two or three days, permit me to attend you, although my son’s illness +should increase, and compel me to come down again at the end of those +two or three days.—I repeat my request, likewise, that you will command +from me the little sum remaining in the hands of your bounty to your +Poor, as well as that dispensed to + +Your ever-affectionate and faithful servant, JUDITH NORTON. + + + + + LETTER LVII + + +MISS CL. HARLOWE, TO LADY BETTY LAWRANCE THURSDAY, JUNE 29. + +MADAM, + +I hope you’ll excuse the freedom of this address, from one who has not +the honour to be personally known to you, although you must have heard +much of Clarissa Harlowe. It is only to beg the favour of a line from +your Ladyship’s hand, (by the next post, if convenient,) in answer to +the following questions: + +1. Whether you wrote a letter, dated, as I have a memorandum, Wedn. +June 7, congratulating your nephew Lovelace on his supposed nuptials, +as reported to you by Mr. Spurrier, your Ladyship’s steward, as from +one Captain Tomlinson:—and in it reproaching Mr. Lovelace, as guilty of +slight, &c. in not having acquainted your Ladyship and the family with +his marriage? + +2. Whether your ladyship wrote to Miss Montague to meet you at Reading, +in order to attend you to your cousin Leeson’s, in Albemarle-street; on +your being obliged to be in town on your old chancery affair, I +remember are the words? and whether you bespoke your nephew’s +attendance there on Sunday night the 11th? + +3. Whether your Ladyship and Miss Montague did come to town at that +time; and whether you went to Hampstead, on Monday, in a hired coach +and four, your own being repairing, and took from thence to town with +the young creature whom you visited there? + +Your Ladyship will probably guess, that the questions are not asked for +reasons favourable to your nephew Lovelace. But be the answer what it +will, it can do him no hurt, nor me any good; only that I think I owe +it to my former hopes, (however deceived in them,) and even to charity, +that a person, of whom I was once willing to think better, should not +prove so egregiously abandoned, as to be wanting, in every instance, to +that veracity which is indispensable in the character of a gentleman. + +Be pleased, Madam, to direct to me, (keeping the direction a secret for +the present,) to be left at the Belle-Savage, on Ludgate hill, till +called for. I am + +Your Ladyship’s most humble servant, CLARISSA HARLOWE. + + + + + LETTER LVIII + + +LADY BETTY LAWRANCE, TO MISS CL. HARLOWE SATURDAY, JULY 1. + +DEAR MADAM, + +I find that all is not as it should be between you and my nephew +Lovelace. It will very much afflict me, and all his friends, if he has +been guilty of any designed baseness to a lady of your character and +merit. + +We have been long in expectation of an opportunity to congratulate you +and ourselves upon an event most earnestly wished for by us all; since +our hopes of him are built upon the power you have over him: for if +ever man adored a woman, he is that man, and you, Madam, are that +woman. + +Miss Montague, in her last letter to me, in answer to one of mine, +inquiring if she knew from him whether he could call you his, or was +likely soon to have that honour, has these words: ‘I know not what to +make of my cousin Lovelace, as to the point your Ladyship is so earnest +about. He sometimes says he is actually married to Miss Cl. Harlowe: at +other times, that it is her own fault if he be not.—He speaks of her +not only with love but with reverence: yet owns, that there is a +misunderstanding between them; but confesses that she is wholly +faultless. An angel, and not a woman, he says she is: and that no man +living can be worthy of her.’— + +This is what my niece Montague writes. + +God grant, my dearest young lady, that he may not have so heinously +offended you that you cannot forgive him! If you are not already +married, and refuse to be his, I shall lose all hopes that he ever will +marry, or be the man I wish him to be. So will Lord M. So will Lady +Sarah Sadleir. + +I will now answer your questions: but indeed I hardly know what to +write, for fear of widening still more the unhappy difference between +you. But yet such a young lady must command every thing from me. This +then is my answer: + +I wrote not any letter to him on or about the 7th of June. + +Neither I nor my steward know any such man as Captain Tomlinson. + +I wrote not to my niece to meet me at Reading, nor to accompany me to +my cousin Leeson’s in town. + +My chancery affair, though, like most chancery affairs, it be of long +standing, is, nevertheless, now in so good a way, that it cannot give +me occasion to go to town. + +Nor have I been in town these six months: nor at Hampstead for years. + +Neither shall I have any temptation to go to town, except to pay my +congratulatory compliments to Mrs. Lovelace. On which occasion I should +go with the greatest pleasure; and should hope for the favour of your +accompanying me to Glenham-hall, for a month at least. + +Be what will the reason of your inquiry, let me entreat you, my dear +young lady, for Lord M.’s sake; for my sake; for this giddy man’s sake, +soul as well as body; and for all our family’s sakes; not to suffer +this answer to widen differences so far as to make you refuse him, if +he already has not the honour of calling you his; as I am apprehensive +he has not, by your signing by your family-name. + +And here let me offer to you my mediation to compose the difference +between you, be it what it will. Your cause, my dear young lady, cannot +be put into the hands of any body living more devoted to your service, +than into those of + +Your sincere admirer, and humble servant, ELIZ. LAWRANCE. + + + + + LETTER LIX + + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MRS. HODGES ENFIELD, JUNE 22. + +MRS. HODGES, + +I am under a kind of necessity to write to you, having no one among my +relations to whom I dare write, or hope a line from if I did. It is but +to answer a question. It is this: + +Whether you know any such man as Captain Tomlinson? and, if you do, +whether he be very intimate with my uncle Harlowe? + +I will describe his person lest, possibly, he should go by another name +among you; although I know not why he should. + +‘He is a thin, tallish man, a little pock-fretten, of a sallowish +complexion. Fifty years of age, or more. Of good aspect when he looks +up. He seems to be a serious man, and one who knows the world. He +stoops a little in the shoulders. Is of Berkshire. His wife of +Oxfordshire; and has several children. He removed lately into your +parts form Northamptonshire.’ + +I must desire you, Mrs. Hodges, that you will not let my uncle, nor any +of my relations, know that I write to you. + +You used to say, that you would be glad to have it in your power to +serve me. That, indeed, was in my prosperity. But, I dare say, you will +not refuse me in a particular that will oblige me, without hurting +yourself. + +I understand that my father, mother, and sister, and I presume, my +brother, and my uncle Antony, are to be at my uncle Harlowe’s this day. +God preserve them all, and may they rejoice in many happy birth-days! +You will write six words to me concerning their healths. + +Direct, for a particular reason, to Mrs. Dorothy Salcombe, to be left +till called for, at the Four Swans Inn, Bishopsgate-street. + +You know my hand-writing well enough, were not the contents of the +letter sufficient to excuse my name, or any other subscription, than +that of + +Your friend. + + + + + LETTER LX + + +MRS. HODGES [IN ANSWER.] SAT. JULY 2. + +MADDAM, + +I return you an anser, as you wish me to doe. Master is acquented with +no sitch man. I am shure no sitch ever came to our house. And master +sturs very little out. He has no harte to stur out. For why? Your +obstinacy makes um not care to see one another. Master’s birth-day +never was kept soe before: for not a sole heere: and nothing but +sikeing and sorrowin from master to think how it yused to bee. + +I axed master, if soe bee he knowed sitch a man as one Captain +Tomlinson? but said not whirfor I axed. He sed, No, not he. + +Shure this is no trix nor forgery bruing against master by one +Tomlinson—Won knows not what company you may have been forsed to keep, +sen you went away, you knoe, Maddam; but Lundon is a pestilent plase; +and that ’Squire Luvless is a devil (for all he is sitch a like +gentleman to look to) as I hev herd every boddy say; and think as how +you have found by thiss. + +I truste, Maddam, you wulde not let master cum to harme, if you knoed +it, by any body who may pretend to be acquented with him: but for fere, +I querid with myself if I shulde not tell him. But I was willin to show +you, that I wulde plessure you in advarsity, if advarsity be your lott, +as well as prosperity; for I am none of those that woulde doe +otherwiss. Soe no more from + +Your humble sarvent, to wish you well, SARAH HODGES. + + + + + LETTER LXI + + +MISS CL. HARLOWE, TO LADY BETTY LAWRANCE. MONDAY, JULY 3. + +MADAM, + +I cannot excuse myself from giving your Ladyship this one trouble more; +to thank you, as I most heartily do, for your kind letter. + +I must own to you, Madam, that the honour of being related to ladies as +eminent for their virtue as for their descent, was at first no small +inducement with me to lend an ear to Mr. Lovelace’s address. And the +rather, as I was determined, had it come to effect, to do every thing +in my power to deserve your favourable opinion. + +I had another motive, which I knew would of itself give me merit with +your whole family; a presumptuous one, (a punishably presumptuous one, +as it has proved,) in the hope that I might be an humble mean in the +hand of Providence to reclaim a man, who had, as I thought, good sense +enough to acknowledge the intended obligation, whether the generous +hope were to succeed or not. + +But I have been most egregiously mistaken in Mr. Lovelace; the only +man, I persuade myself, pretending to be a gentleman, in whom I could +have been so much mistaken: for while I was endeavouring to save a +drowning wretch, I have been, not accidentally, but premeditatedly, and +of set purpose, drawn in after him. And he has had the glory to add to +the list of those he has ruined, a name, that, I will be bold to say, +would not have disparaged his own. And this, Madam, by means that would +shock humanity to be made acquainted with. + +My whole end is served by your Ladyship’s answer to the questions I +took the liberty to put to you in writing. Nor have I a wish to make +the unhappy man more odious to you than is necessary to excuse myself +for absolutely declining your offered mediation. + +When your Ladyship shall be informed of the following particulars: + +That after he had compulsorily, as I may say, tricked me into the act +of going off with him, he could carry me to one of the vilest houses, +as it proved, in London: + +That he could be guilty of a wicked attempt, in resentment of which, I +found means to escape from him to Hampstead: + +That, after he had found me out there (I know not how) he could procure +two women, dressed out richly, to personate your Ladyship and Miss +Montague; who, under pretence of engaging me to make a visit in town to +your cousin Leeson, (promising to return with me that evening to +Hampstead,) betrayed me back again to the vile house: where, again made +a prisoner, I was first robbed of my senses; and then of my honour. Why +should I seek to conceal that disgrace from others which I cannot hide +from myself? + +When your Ladyship shall know, that, in the shocking progress to this +ruin, wilful falsehoods, repeated forgeries, (particularly of one +letter from your Ladyship, another from Miss Montague, and a third from +Lord M.) and numberless perjuries, were not the least of his crimes: +you will judge, that I can have no principles that will make me worthy +of an alliance with ladies of your’s and your noble sister’s character, +if I could not from my soul declare, that such an alliance can never +now take place. + +I will not offer to clear myself entirely of blame: but, as to him, I +have no fault to accuse myself of: my crime was, the corresponding with +him at first, when prohibited so to do by those who had a right to my +obedience; made still more inexcusable, by giving him a clandestine +meeting, which put me into the power of his arts. And for this I am +content to be punished: thankful, that at last I have escaped from him; +and have it in my power to reject so wicked a man for my husband: and +glad, if I may be a warning, since I cannot be an example: which once +(very vain, and very conceited, as I was) I proposed to myself to be. + +All the ill I wish him is, that he may reform; and that I may be the +last victim to his baseness. Perhaps this desirable wish may be +obtained, when he shall see how his wickedness, his unmerited +wickedness! to a poor creature, made friendless by his cruel arts, will +end. + +I conclude with my humble thanks to your Ladyship for your favourable +opinion of me; and with the assurance that I will be, while life is +lent me, + +Your Ladyship’s grateful and obliged servant, CLARISSA HARLOWE. + + + + + LETTER LXII + + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MRS. NORTON SUNDAY EVENING, JULY 2. + +How kindly, my beloved Mrs. Norton, do you soothe the anguish of a +bleeding heart! Surely you are mine own mother; and, by some +unaccountable mistake, I must have been laid to a family that, having +newly found out, or at least suspected, the imposture, cast me from +their hearts, with the indignation that such a discovery will warrant. + +Oh! that I had been indeed your own child, born to partake of your +humble fortunes, an heiress only to that content in which you are so +happy! then should I have had a truly gentle spirit to have guided my +ductile heart, which force and ungenerous usage sit so ill upon: and +nothing of what has happened would have been. + +But let me take heed that I enlarge not, by impatience, the breach +already made in my duty by my rashness! since, had I not erred, my +mother, at least, could never have been thought hard-hearted and +unforgiving. Am I not then answerable, not only for my own faults, but +for the consequences of them; which tend to depreciate and bring +disgrace upon a maternal character never before called in question? + +It is kind, however, in you to endeavour to extenuate the faults of one +so greatly sensible of it: and could it be wiped off entirely, it would +render me more worthy of the pains you have taken in my education: for +it must add to your grief, as it does to my confusion, that, after such +promising beginnings, I should have so behaved as to be a disgrace +instead of a credit to you and my other friends. + +But that I may not make you think me more guilty than I am, give me +leave briefly to assure you, that, when my story is known, I shall be +to more compassion than blame, even on the score of going away with Mr. +Lovelace. + +As to all that happened afterwards, let me only say, that although I +must call myself a lost creature as to this world, yet have I this +consolation left me, that I have not suffered either for want of +circumspection, or through careful credulity or weakness. Not one +moment was I off my guard, or unmindful of your early precepts. But +(having been enabled to baffle many base contrivances) I was at last +ruined by arts the most inhuman. But had I not been rejected by every +friend, this low-hearted man had not dared, nor would have had +opportunity, to treat me as he has treated me. + +More I cannot, at this time, nor need I say: and this I desire you to +keep to yourself, lest resentments should be taken up when I am gone, +that may spread the evil which I hope will end with me. + +I have been misinformed, you say, as to my principal relations being at +my uncle Harlowe’s. The day, you say, was not kept. Nor have my brother +and Mr. Solmes—Astonishing!—What complicated wickedness has this +wretched man to answer for!—Were I to tell you, you would hardly +believe that there could have been such a heart in man.— + +But one day you may know the whole story!—At present I have neither +inclination nor words—O my bursting heart!—Yet a happy, a wished +relief!—Were you present my tears would supply the rest! + + +I resume my pen! + +And so you fear no letter will be received from me. But DON’T grieve to +tell me so! I expect every thing bad—and such is my distress, that had +you not bid me hope for mercy from the throne of mercy, I should have +been afraid that my father’s dreadful curse would be completed with +regard to both worlds. + +For here, an additional misfortune!—In a fit of phrensical +heedlessness, I sent a letter to my beloved Miss Howe, without +recollecting her private address; and it has fallen into her angry +mother’s hands: and so that dear friend perhaps has anew incurred +displeasure on my account. And here too your worthy son is ill; and my +poor Hannah, you think, cannot come to me—O my dear Mrs. Norton, will +you, can you censure those whose resentments against me Heaven seems to +approve of? and will you acquit her whom that condemns? + +Yet you bid me not despond.—I will not, if I can help it. And, indeed, +most seasonable consolation has your kind letter afforded me.—Yet to +God Almighty do I appeal, to avenge my wrongs, and vindicate my inno—— + +But hushed be my stormy passions!—Have I not but this moment said that +your letter gave me consolation?—May those be forgiven who hinder my +father from forgiving me!—and this, as to them, shall be the harshest +thing that shall drop from my pen. + +But although your son should recover, I charge you, my dear Mrs. +Norton, that you do not think of coming to me. I don’t know still but +your mediation with my mother (although at present your interposition +would be so little attended to) may be of use to procure me the +revocation of that most dreadful part of my father’s curse, which only +remains to be fulfilled. The voice of Nature must at last be heard in +my favour, surely. It will only plead at first to my friends in the +still conscious plaintiveness of a young and unhardened beggar. But it +will grow more clamorous when I have the courage to be so, and shall +demand, perhaps, the paternal protection from farther ruin; and that +forgiveness, which those will be little entitled to expect, for their +own faults, who shall interpose to have it refused to me, for an +accidental, not a premeditated error: and which, but for them, I had +never fallen into. + +But again, impatiency, founded perhaps on self-partiality, that strange +misleader! prevails. + +Let me briefly say, that it is necessary to my present and future hopes +that you keep well with my family. And moreover, should you come, I may +be traced out by that means by the most abandoned of men. Say not then +that you think you ought to come up to me, let it be taken as it +will:—For my sake, let me repeat, (were my foster-brother recovered, as +I hope he is,) you must not come. Nor can I want your advice, while I +can write, and you can answer me. And write I will as often as I stand +in need of your counsel. + +Then the people I am now with seem to be both honest and humane: and +there is in the same house a widow-lodger, of low fortunes, but of +great merit:—almost such another serious and good woman as the dear one +to whom I am now writing; who has, as she says, given over all other +thoughts of the world but such as should assist her to leave it +happily.—How suitable to my own views!—There seems to be a comfortable +providence in this at least—so that at present there is nothing of +exigence; nothing that can require, or even excuse, your coming, when +so many better ends may be answered by your staying where you are. A +time may come, when I shall want your last and best assistance: and +then, my dear Mrs. Norton—and then, I will speak it, and embrace it +with all my whole heart—and then, will it not be denied me by any body. + +You are very obliging in your offer of money. But although I was forced +to leave my clothes behind me, yet I took several things of value with +me, which will keep me from present want. You’ll say, I have made a +miserable hand of it—so indeed I have—and, to look backwards, in a very +little while too. + +But what shall I do, if my father cannot be prevailed upon to recall +his malediction? O my dear Mrs. Norton, what a weight must a father’s +curse have upon a heart so appreciative as mine!—Did I think I should +ever have a father’s curse to deprecate? And yet, only that the +temporary part of it is so terribly fulfilled, or I should be as +earnest for its recall, for my father’s sake, as for my own! + +You must not be angry with me that I wrote not to you before. You are +very right and very kind to say you are sure I love you. Indeed I do. +And what a generosity, [so like yourself!] is there in your praise, to +attribute to me more than I merit, in order to raise an emulation to me +to deserve your praises!—you tell me what you expect from me in the +calamities I am called upon to bear. May I behave answerably! + +I can a little account to myself for my silence to you, my kind, my +dear maternal friend! How equally sweetly and politely do you express +yourself on this occasion! I was very desirous, for your sake, as well +as for my own, that you should have it to say that we did not +correspond: had they thought we did, every word you could have dropt in +my favour would have been rejected; and my mother would have been +forbid to see you, or pay any regard to what you should say. + +Then I had sometimes better and sometimes worse prospects before me. My +worst would only have troubled you to know: my better made me +frequently hope, that, by the next post, or the next, and so on for +weeks, I should have the best news to impart to you that then could +happen: cold as the wretch had made my heart to that best.—For how +could I think to write to you, with a confession that I was not +married, yet lived in the house (for I could not help it) with such a +man?—Who likewise had given it out to several, that we were actually +married, although with restrictions that depended on the reconciliation +with my friends? And to disguise the truth, or be guilty of a +falsehood, either direct or equivocal, that was what you had never +taught me. + +But I might have written to you for advice, in my precarious situation, +perhaps you will think. But, indeed, my dear Mrs. Norton, I was not +lost for want of advice. And this will appear clear to you from what I +have already hinted, were I to explain myself no further:—For what need +had the cruel spoiler to have recourse to unprecedented arts—I will +speak out plainer still, (but you must not at present report it,) to +stupifying potions, and to the most brutal and outrageous force, had I +been wanting in my duty? + +A few words more upon this grievous subject— + +When I reflect upon all that has happened to me, it is apparent, that +this generally-supposed thoughtless seducer has acted by me upon a +regular and preconcerted plan of villany. + +In order to set all his vile plots in motion, nothing was wanting, from +the first, but to prevail upon me, either by force or fraud, to throw +myself into his power: and when this was effected, nothing less than +the intervention of the paternal authority, (which I had not deserved +to be exerted in my behalf,) could have saved me from the effect of his +deep machinations. Opposition from any other quarter would but too +probably have precipitated his barbarous and ungrateful violence: and +had you yourself been with me, I have reason now to think, that somehow +or other you would have suffered in endeavouring to save me: for never +was there, as now I see, a plan of wickedness more steadily and +uniformly pursued than his has been, against an unhappy creature who +merited better of him: but the Almighty has thought fit, according to +the general course of His providence, to make the fault bring on its +own punishment: but surely not in consequence of my father’s dreadful +imprecation, ‘That I might be punished here,’ [O my mamma Norton, pray +with me, if so, that here it stop!] ‘by the very wretch in whom I had +placed my wicked confidence!’ + +I am sorry, for your sake, to leave off so heavily. Yet the rest must +be brief. + +Let me desire you to be secret in what I have communicated to you; at +least till you have my consent to divulge it. + +God preserve to you your more faultless child! + +I will hope for His mercy, although I should not obtain that of any +earthly person. + +And I repeat my prohibition:—You must not think of coming up to + +Your ever dutiful CL. HARLOWE. + +The obliging person, who left your’s for me this day, promised to call +to-morrow, to see if I should have any thing to return. I would not +lose so good an opportunity. + + + + + LETTER LXIII + + +MRS. NORTON, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE MONDAY NIGHT, JULY 3. + +O the barbarous villany of this detestable man! And is there a man in +the world who could offer violence to so sweet a creature! + +And are you sure you are now out of his reach? + +You command me to keep secret the particulars of the vile treatment you +have met with; or else, upon an unexpected visit which Miss Harlowe +favoured me with, soon after I had received your melancholy letter, I +should have been tempted to own I had heard from you, and to have +communicated to her such parts of your two letters as would have +demonstrated your penitence, and your earnestness to obtain the +revocation of your father’s malediction, as well as his protection from +outrages that may still be offered to you. But then your sister would +probably have expected a sight of the letters, and even to have been +permitted to take them with her to the family. + +Yet they must one day be acquainted with the sad story:—and it is +impossible but they must pity you, and forgive you, when they know your +early penitence, and your unprecedented sufferings; and that you have +fallen by the brutal force of a barbarous ravisher, and not by the vile +arts of a seducing lover. + +The wicked man gives it out at Lord M.’s, as Miss Harlowe tells me, +that he is actually married to you—yet she believes it not: nor had I +the heart to let her know the truth. + +She put it close to me, Whether I had not corresponded with you from +the time of your going away? I could safely tell her, (as I did,) that +I had not: but I said, that I was well informed, that you took +extremely to heart your father’s imprecation; and that, if she would +excuse me, I would say it would be a kind and sisterly part, if she +would use her interest to get you discharged from it. + +Among other severe things, she told me, that my partial fondness for +you made me very little consider the honour of the rest of the family: +but, if I had not heard this from you, she supposed I was set on by +Miss Howe. + +She expressed herself with a good deal of bitterness against that young +lady: who, it seems, every where, and to every body, (for you must +think that your story is the subject of all conversations,) rails +against your family; treating them, as your sister says, with contempt, +and even with ridicule. + +I am sorry such angry freedoms are taken, for two reasons; first, +because such liberties never do any good. I have heard you own, that +Miss Howe has a satirical vein; but I should hope that a young lady of +her sense, and right cast of mind, must know that the end of satire is +not to exasperate, but amend; and should never be personal. If it be, +as my good father used to say, it may make an impartial person suspect +that the satirist has a natural spleen to gratify; which may be as +great a fault in him, as any of those which he pretends to censure and +expose in others. + +Perhaps a hint of this from you will not be thrown away. + +My second reason is, That these freedoms, from so warm a friend to you +as Miss Howe is known to be, are most likely to be charged to your +account. + +My resentments are so strong against this vilest of men, that I dare +not touch upon the shocking particulars which you mention of his +baseness. What defence, indeed, could there be against so determined a +wretch, after you was in his power? I will only repeat my earnest +supplication to you, that, black as appearances are, you will not +despair. Your calamities are exceeding great; but then you have talents +proportioned to your trials. This every body allows. + +Suppose the worst, and that your family will not be moved in your +favour, your cousin Morden will soon arrive, as Miss Harlowe told me. +If he should even be got over to their side, he will however see +justice done you; and then may you live an exemplary life, making +hundreds happy, and teaching young ladies to shun the snares in which +you have been so dreadfully entangled. + +As to the man you have lost, is an union with such a perjured heart as +his, with such an admirable one as your’s, to be wished for? A base, +low-hearted wretch, as you justly call him, with all his pride of +ancestry; and more an enemy to himself with regard to his present and +future happiness than to you, in the barbarous and ungrateful wrongs he +has done you: I need not, I am sure, exhort you to despise such a man +as this, since not to be able to do so, would be a reflection upon a +sex to which you have always been an honour. + +Your moral character is untainted: the very nature of your sufferings, +as you will observe, demonstrates that. Cheer up, therefore, your dear +heart, and do not despair; for is it not GOD who governs the world, and +permits some things, and directs others, as He pleases? and will He not +reward temporary sufferings, innocently incurred, and piously +supported, with eternal felicity?—And what, my dear, is this poor +needle’s point of NOW to a boundless eternity? + +My heart, however, labours under a double affliction: For my poor boy +is very, very bad—a violent fever—nor can it be brought to +intermit.—Pray for him, my dearest Miss—for his recovery, if God see +fit.—I hope God will see fit—if not (how can I bear to suppose that!) +Pray for me, that he will give me that patience and resignation which I +have been wishing to you. I am, my dearest young lady, + +Your ever affectionate JUDITH NORTON. + + + + + LETTER LXIV + + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MRS. JUDITH NORTON THURSDAY, JULY 6. + +I ought not, especially at this time, to add to your afflictions—but +yet I cannot help communicating to you (who now are my only soothing +friend) a new trouble that has befallen me. + +I had but one friend in the world, beside you; and she is utterly +displeased with me.* It is grievous, but for one moment, to lie under a +beloved person’s censure; and this through imputations that affect +one’s honour and prudence. There are points so delicate, you know, my +dear Mrs. Norton, that it is a degree of dishonour to have a +vindication of one’s self from them appear to be necessary. In the +present case, my misfortune is, that I know not how to account, but by +guess (so subtle have been the workings of the dark spirit I have been +unhappily entangled by) for some of the facts that I am called upon to +explain. + +Miss Howe, in short, supposes she has found a flaw in my character. I +have just now received her severe letter—but I shall answer it, +perhaps, in better temper, if I first consider your’s: for indeed my +patience is almost at an end. And yet I ought to consider, that +faithful are the wounds of a friend. But so many things at once! O my +dear Mrs. Norton, how shall so young a scholar in the school of +affliction be able to bear such heavy and such various evils! + +But to leave this subject for a while, and turn to your letter. + +I am very sorry Miss Howe is so lively in her resentments on my +account. I have always blamed her very freely for her liberties of this +sort with my friends. I once had a good deal of influence over her kind +heart, and she made all I said a law to her. But people in calamity +have little weight in any thing, or with any body. Prosperity and +independence are charming things on this account, that they give force +to the counsels of a friendly heart; while it is thought insolence in +the miserable to advise, or so much as to remonstrate. + +Yet is Miss Howe an invaluable person: And is it to be expected that +she should preserve the same regard for my judgment that she had before +I forfeited all title to discretion? With what face can I take upon me +to reproach a want of prudence in her? But if I can be so happy as to +re-establish myself in her ever-valued opinion, I shall endeavour to +enforce upon her your just observation on this head. + +You need not, you say, exhort me to despise such a man as him, by whom +I have suffered—indeed you need not: for I would choose the cruellest +death rather than to be his. And yet, my dear Mrs. Norton, I will own +to you, that once I could have loved him.—Ungrateful man!—had he +permitted me to love him, I once could have loved him. Yet he never +deserved love. And was not this a fault?—But now, if I can but keep out +of his hands, and obtain a last forgiveness, and that as well for the +sake of my dear friends’ future reflections, as for my own present +comfort, it is all I wish for. + +Reconciliation with my friends I do not expect; nor pardon from them; +at least, till in extremity, and as a _viaticum_. + +O my beloved Mrs. Norton, you cannot imagine what I have suffered!—But +indeed my heart is broken!—I am sure I shall not live to take +possession of that independence, which you think would enable me to +atone, in some measure, for my past conduct. + +While this is my opinion, you may believe I shall not be easy till I +can obtain a last forgiveness. + +I wish to be left to take my own course in endeavouring to procure this +grace. Yet know I not, at present, what that course shall be. + +I will write. But to whom is my doubt. Calamity has not yet given me +the assurance to address myself to my FATHER. My UNCLES (well as they +once loved me) are hard hearted. They never had their masculine +passions humanized by the tender name of FATHER. Of my BROTHER I have +no hope. I have then but my MOTHER, and my SISTER, to whom I can +apply.—‘And may I not, my dearest Mamma, be permitted to lift up my +trembling eye to your all-cheering, and your once more than indulgent, +your fond eye, in hopes of seasonable mercy to the poor sick heart that +yet beats with life drawn from your own dearer heart?—Especially when +pardon only, and not restoration, is implored?’ + +Yet were I able to engage my mother’s pity, would it not be a mean to +make her still more unhappy than I have already made her, by the +opposition she would meet with, were she to try to give force to that +pity? + +To my SISTER, then, I think, I will apply—Yet how hard-hearted has my +sister been!—But I will not ask for protection; and yet I am in hourly +dread that I shall want protection.—All I will ask for at present +(preparative to the last forgiveness I will implore) shall be only to +be freed from the heavy curse that seems to have operated as far is it +can operate as to this life—and, surely, it was passion, and not +intention, that carried it so far as to the other! + +But why do I thus add to your distresses?—It is not, my dear Mrs. +Norton, that I have so much feeling for my own calamity that I have +none for your’s: since your’s is indeed an addition to my own. But you +have one consolation (a very great one) which I have not:—That your +afflictions, whether respecting your more or your less deserving child, +rise not from any fault of your own. + +But what can I do for you more than pray?—Assure yourself, that in +every supplication I put up for myself, I will with equal fervour +remember both you and your son. For I am and ever will be + +Your truly sympathising and dutiful CLARISSA HARLOWE. + + + + + LETTER LXV + + +MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE [SUPERSCRIBED FOR MRS. RACHEL +CLARK, &c.] WEDNESDAY, JULY 5. + +MY DEAR CLARISSA, + +I have at last heard from you from a quarter I little expected. + +From my mother! + +She had for some time seen me uneasy and grieving; and justly supposed +it was about you: and this morning dropt a hint, which made me +conjecture that she must have heard something of you more than I knew. +And when she found that this added to my uneasiness, she owned she had +a letter in her hands of your’s, dated the 29th of June, directed for +me. + +You may guess, that this occasioned a little warmth, that could not be +wished for by either. + +[It is surprising, my dear, mighty surprising! that knowing the +prohibition I lay under of corresponding with you, you could send a +letter for me to our own house: since it must be fifty to one that it +would fall into my mother’s hands, as you find it did.] + +In short, she resented that I should disobey her: I was as much +concerned that she should open and withhold from me my letters: and at +last she was pleased to compromise the matter with me by giving up the +letter, and permitting me to write to you once or twice: she to see the +contents of what I wrote. For, besides the value she has for you, she +could not but have greater curiosity to know the occasion of so sad a +situation as your melancholy letter shows you to be in. + +[But I shall get her to be satisfied with hearing me read what I write; +putting in between hooks, { }, what I intend not to read to her.] + +Need I to remind you, Miss Clarissa Harlowe, of three letters I wrote +to you, to none of which I had any answer; except to the first, and +that of a few lines only, promising a letter at large, though you were +well enough, the day after you received my second, to go joyfully back +again with him to the vile house? But more of these by-and-by. I must +hasten to take notice of your letter of Wednesday last week; which you +could contrive should fall into my mother’s hands. + +Let me tell you, that that letter has almost broken my heart. Good +God!—What have you brought yourself to, Miss Clarissa Harlowe?—Could I +have believed, that after you had escaped from the miscreant, (with +such mighty pains and earnestness escaped,) and after such an attempt +as he had made, you would have been prevailed upon not only to forgive +him, but (without being married too) to return with him to that horrid +house!—A house I had given you such an account of!—Surprising!——What an +intoxicating thing is this love?—I always feared, that you, even you, +were not proof against its inconsistent effects. + +You your best self have not escaped!—Indeed I see not how you could +expect to escape. + +What a tale have you to unfold!—You need not unfold it, my dear: I +would have engaged to prognosticate all that has happened, had you but +told me that you would once more have put yourself in his power, after +you had taken such pains to get out of it. + +Your peace is destroyed!—I wonder not at it: since now you must +reproach yourself for a credulity so ill-placed. + +Your intellect is touched!—I am sure my heart bleeds for you! But, +excuse me, my dear, I doubt your intellect was touched before you left +Hampstead: or you would never have let him find you out there; or, when +he did, suffer him to prevail upon you to return to the horrid brothel. + +I tell you, I sent you three letters: The first of which, dated the 7th +and 8th of June* (for it was written at twice) came safely to your +hands, as you sent me word by a few lines dated the 9th: had it not, I +should have doubted my own safety; since in it I give you such an +account of the abominable house, and threw such cautions in your way, +in relation to that Tomlinson, as the more surprised me that you could +think of going back to it again, after you had escaped from it, and +from Lovelace.—O my dear—but nothing now will I ever wonder at! + +* See Vol. V. Letter XX. + +The second, dated June 10,* was given into your own hand at Hampstead, +on Sunday the 11th, as you was lying upon a couch, in a strange way, +according to my messenger’s account of you, bloated, and +flush-coloured; I don’t know how. + +* See Letter VII. of this volume. + +The third was dated the 20th of June.* Having not heard one word from +you since the promising billet of the 9th, I own I did not spare you in +it. I ventured it by the usual conveyance, by that Wilson’s, having no +other: so cannot be sure you received it. Indeed I rather think you +might not; because in your’s, which fell into my mother’s hands, you +make no mention of it: and if you had had it, I believe it would have +touched you too much to have been passed by unnoticed. + +* See Letter XXX. of this volume. + +You have heard, that I have been ill, you say. I had a cold, indeed; +but it was so slight a one that it confined me not an hour. But I doubt +not that strange things you have heard, and been told, to induce you to +take the step you took. And, till you did take that step (the going +back with this villain, I mean,) I knew not a more pitiable case than +your’s: since every body must have excused you before, who knew how you +were used at home, and was acquainted with your prudence and vigilance. +But, alas! my dear, we see that the wisest people are not to be +depended upon, when love, like an _ignis fatuus_, holds up its +misleading lights before their eyes. + +My mother tells me, she sent you an answer, desiring you not to write +to me, because it would grieve me. To be sure I am grieved; exceedingly +grieved; and, disappointed too, you must permit me to say. For I had +always thought that there never was such a woman, at your years, in the +world. + +But I remember once an argument you held, on occasion of a censure +passed in company upon an excellent preacher, who was not a very +excellent liver: preaching and practising, you said, required very +different talents:* which, when united in the same person, made the man +a saint; as wit and judgment, going together, constituted a genius. + +* See Vol. II. Letter IV. + +You made it out, I remember, very prettily: but you never made it out, +excuse me, my dear, more convincingly, than by that part of your late +conduct, which I complain of. + +My love for you, and my concern for your honour, may possibly have made +me a little of the severest. If you think so, place it to its proper +account; to that love, and to that concern: which will but do justice +to + +Your afflicted and faithful A.H. + +P.S. My mother would not be satisfied without reading my letter +herself; and that before I had fixed all the proposed hooks. She knows, +by this means, and has excused, our former correspondence. + +She indeed suspected it before: and so she very well might; knowing my +love of you. + +She has so much real concern for your misfortunes, that, thinking it +will be a consolation to you, and that it will oblige me, she consents +that you shall write to me the particulars at large of your sad story. +But it is on condition that I show her all that has passed between us, +relating to yourself and the vilest of men. I have the more cheerfully +complied, as the communication cannot be to your disadvantage. + +You may therefore write freely, and direct to our own house. + +My mother promises to show me the copy of her letter to you, and your +reply to it; which latter she has but just told me of. She already +apologizes for the severity of her’s: and thinks the sight of your +reply will affect me too much. But, having her promise, I will not +dispense with it. + +I doubt her’s is severe enough. So I fear you will think mine: but you +have taught me never to spare the fault for the friend’s sake; and that +a great error ought rather to be the more inexcusable in the person we +value, than in one we are indifferent to; because it is a reflection +upon our choice of that person, and tends to a breach of the love of +mind, and to expose us to the world for our partiality. To the love of +mind, I repeat; since it is impossible but the errors of the dearest +friend must weaken our inward opinion of that friend; and thereby lay a +foundation for future distance, and perhaps disgust. + +God grant that you may be able to clear your conduct after you had +escaped from Hampstead; as all before that time was noble, generous, +and prudent; the man a devil and you a saint!——Yet I hope you can; and +therefore expect it from you. + +I send by a particular hand. He will call for your answer at your own +appointment. + +I am afraid this horrid wretch will trace out by the post-offices where +you are, if not careful. + +To have money, and will, and head, to be a villain, is too much for the +rest of the world, when they meet in one man. + + + + + LETTER LXVI + + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE THURSDAY, JULY 6. + +Few young persons have been able to give more convincing proofs than +myself how little true happiness lies in the enjoyment of our own +wishes. + +To produce one instance only of the truth of this observation; what +would I have given for weeks past, for the favour of a letter from my +dear Miss Howe, in whose friendship I placed all my remaining comfort! +Little did I think, that the next letter she would honour me with, +should be in such a style, as should make me look more than once at the +subscription, that I might be sure (the name not being written at +length) that it was not signed by another A.H. For surely, thought I, +this is my sister Arabella’s style: surely Miss Howe (blame me as she +pleases in other points) could never repeat so sharply upon her friend, +words written in the bitterness of spirit, and in the disorder of head; +nor remind her, with asperity, and with mingled strokes of wit, of an +argument held in the gaiety of a heart elated with prosperous fortunes, +(as mine then was,) and very little apprehensive of the severe turn +that argument would one day take against herself. + +But what have I, sink in my fortunes; my character forfeited; my honour +lost, [while I know it, I care not who knows it;] destitute of friends, +and even of hope; what have I to do to show a spirit of repining and +expostulation to a dear friend, because she is not more kind than a +sister?—— + +You have till now, my dear, treated me with great indulgence. If it was +with greater than I had deserved, I may be to blame to have built upon +it, on the consciousness that I deserve it now as much as ever. But I +find, by the rising bitterness which will mingle with the gall in my +ink, that I am not yet subdued enough to my condition.—I lay down my +pen for one moment. + + +Pardon me, my Miss Howe. I have recollected myself: and will endeavour +to give a particular answer to your letter; although it will take me up +too much time to think of sending it by your messenger to-morrow: he +can put off his journey, he says, till Saturday. I will endeavour to +have the whole narrative ready for you by Saturday. + +But how to defend myself in every thing that has happened, I cannot +tell: since in some part of the time, in which my conduct appears to +have been censurable, I was not myself; and to this hour know not all +the methods taken to deceive and ruin me. + +You tell me, that in your first letter you gave me such an account of +the vile house I was in, and such cautions about that Tomlinson, as +made you wonder how I could think of going back. + +Alas, my dear! I was tricked, most vilely tricked back, as you shall +hear in its place. + +Without knowing the house was so very vile a house from your intended +information, I disliked the people too much, ever voluntarily to have +returned to it. But had you really written such cautions about +Tomlinson, and the house, as you seem to have purposed to do, they +must, had they come in time, have been of infinite service to me. But +not one word of either, whatever was your intention, did you mention to +me, in that first of the three letters you so warmly TELL me you did +send me. I will enclose it to convince you.* + +* The letter she encloses was Mr. Lovelace’s forged one. See Vol. V. +Letter XXX. + +But your account of your messenger’s delivering to me your second +letter, and the description he gives of me, as lying upon a couch, in a +strange way, bloated, and flush-coloured; you don’t know how, +absolutely puzzles and confounds me. + +Lord have mercy upon the poor Clarissa Harlowe! What can this mean!—Who +was the messenger you sent? Was he one of Lovelace’s creatures +too!—Could nobody come near me but that man’s confederates, either +setting out so, or made so? I know not what to make of any one syllable +of this! Indeed I don’t. + +Let me see. You say, this was before I went from Hampstead! My +intellects had not then been touched!—nor had I ever been surprised by +wine, [strange if I had!]: How then could I be found in such a strange +way, bloated and flush-coloured; you don’t know how!—Yet what a vile, +what a hateful figure has your messenger represented me to have made! + +But indeed I know nothing of any messenger from you. + +Believing myself secure at Hampstead, I staid longer there than I would +have done, in hopes of the letter promised me in your short one of the +9th, brought me by my own messenger, in which you undertake to send for +and engage Mrs. Townsend in my favour.* + +* See Vol. V. Letter XXIX. + +I wondered I had not heard from you: and was told you were sick; and, +at another time, that your mother and you had had words on my account, +and that you had refused to admit Mr. Hickman’s visits upon it: so that +I supposed, at one time, that you were not able to write; at another, +that your mother’s prohibition had its due force with you. But now I +have no doubt that the wicked man must have intercepted your letter; +and I wish he found not means to corrupt your messenger to tell you so +strange a story. + +It was on Sunday, June 11, you say, that the man gave it me. I was at +church twice that day with Mrs. Moore. Mr. Lovelace was at her house +the while, where he boarded, and wanted to have lodged; but I would not +permit that, though I could not help the other. In one of these spaces +it must be that he had time to work upon the man. You’ll easily, my +dear, find that out, by inquiring the time of his arrival at Mrs. +Moore’s and other circumstances of the strange way he pretended to see +me in, on a couch, and the rest. + +Had any body seen me afterwards, when I was betrayed back to the vile +house, struggling under the operation of wicked potions, and robbed +indeed of my intellects (for this, as you shall hear, was my dreadful +case,) I might then, perhaps, have appeared bloated and flush-coloured, +and I know not how myself. But were you to see your poor Clarissa, now +(or even to have seen her at Hampstead before she suffered the vilest +of all outrages,) you would not think her bloated or flush-coloured: +indeed you would not. + +In a word, it could not be me your messenger saw; nor (if any body) who +it was can I divine. + +I will now, as briefly as the subject will permit, enter into the +darker part of my sad story: and yet I must be somewhat circumstantial, +that you may not think me capable of reserve or palliation. The latter +I am not conscious that I need. I should be utterly inexcusable were I +guilty of the former to you. And yet, if you know how my heart sinks +under the thoughts of a recollection so painful, you would pity me. + +As I shall not be able, perhaps, to conclude what I have to write in +even two or three letters, I will begin a new one with my story; and +send the whole of it together, although written at different periods, +as I am able. + +Allow me a little pause, my dear, at this place; and to subscribe +myself + +Your ever affectionate and obliged, CLARISSA HARLOWE. + + + + + LETTER LXVII + + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE [REFERRED TO IN LETTER XII.] +THURSDAY NIGHT. + +He had found me out at Hampstead: strangely found me out; for I am +still at a loss to know by what means. + +I was loth, in my billet of the 6th,* to tell you so, for fear of +giving you apprehensions for me; and besides, I hoped then to have a +shorter and happier issue to account to you for, through your +assistance, than I met with. + +* See Vol. V. Letter XXXI. + +[She then gives a narrative of all that passed at Hampstead between +herself, Mr. Lovelace, Capt. Tomlinson, and the women there, to the +same effect with that so amply given by Mr. Lovelace.] + +Mr. Lovelace, finding all he could say, and all Captain Tomlinson could +urge, ineffectual, to prevail upon me to forgive an outrage so +flagrantly premeditated; rested all his hopes on a visit which was to +be paid me by Lady Betty Lawrance and Miss Montague. + +In my uncertain situation, my prospects all so dark, I knew not to whom +I might be obliged to have recourse in the last resort: and as those +ladies had the best of characters, insomuch that I had reason to regret +that I had not from the first thrown myself upon their protection, +(when I had forfeited that of my own friends,) I thought I would not +shun an interview with them, though I was too indifferent to their +kinsman to seek it, as I doubted not that one end of their visit would +be to reconcile me to him. + +On Monday, the 12th of June, these pretended ladies came to Hampstead; +and I was presented to them, and they to me by their kinsman. + +They were richly dressed, and stuck out with jewels; the pretended Lady +Betty’s were particularly very fine. + +They came in a coach-and-four, hired, as was confessed, while their own +was repairing in town: a pretence made, I now perceive, that I should +not guess at the imposture by the want of the real lady’s arms upon it. +Lady Betty was attended by her woman, who she called Morrison; a modest +country-looking person. + +I had heard, that Lady Betty was a fine woman, and that Miss Montague +was a beautiful young lady, genteel, and graceful, and full of +vivacity.—Such were these impostors: and having never seen either of +them, I had not the least suspicion, that they were not the ladies they +personated; and being put a little out of countenance by the richness +of their dresses, I could not help, (fool that I was!) to apologize for +my own. + +The pretended Lady Betty then told me, that her nephew had acquainted +them with the situation of affairs between us. And although she could +not but say, that she was very glad that she had not put such a slight +upon his Lordship and them, as report had given them cause to +apprehend, (the reasons for which report, however, she must have +approved of;) yet it had been matter of great concern to her, and to +her niece Montague, and would to the whole family, to find so great a +misunderstanding subsisting between us, as, if not made up, might +distance all their hopes. + +She could easily tell who was in fault, she said. And gave him a look +both of anger and disdain; asking him, How it was possible for him to +give an offence of such a nature to so charming a lady, [so she called +me,] as should occasion a resentment so strong? + +He pretended to be awed into shame and silence. + +My dearest niece, said she, and took my hand, (I must call you niece, +as well from love, as to humour your uncle’s laudable expedient,) +permit me to be, not an advocate, but a mediatrix for him; and not for +his sake, so much as for my own, my Charlotte’s, and all our family’s. +The indignity he has offered to you, may be of too tender a nature to +be inquired into. But as he declares, that it was not a premeditated +offence; whether, my dear, [for I was going to rise upon it in my +temper,] it were or not; and as he declares his sorrows for it, (and +never did creature express a deeper sorrow for any offence than he); +and as it is a repairable one; let us, for this one time, forgive him; +and thereby lay an obligation upon this man of errors—Let US, I say, my +dear: for, Sir, [turning to him,] an offence against such a peerless +lady as this, must be an offence against me, against your cousin here, +and against all the virtuous of our sex. + +See, my dear, what a creature he had picked out! Could you have thought +there was a woman in the world who could thus express herself, and yet +be vile? But she had her principal instructions from him, and those +written down too, as I have reason to think: for I have recollected +since, that I once saw this Lady Betty, (who often rose from her seat, +and took a turn to the other end of the room with such an emotion, as +if the joy of her heart would not let her sit still) take out a paper +from her stays, and look into it, and put it there again. She might +oftener, and I not observe it; for I little thought that there could be +such impostors in the world. + +I could not forbear paying great attention to what she said. I found my +tears ready to start; I drew out my handkerchief, and was silent. I had +not been so indulgently treated a great while by a person of character +and distinction, [such I thought her;] and durst not trust to the +accent of my voice. + +The pretended Miss Montague joined in on this occasion: and drawing her +chair close to me, took my other hand, and besought me to forgive her +cousin; and consent to rank myself as one of the principals of a family +that had long, very long, coveted the honour of my alliance. + +I am ashamed to repeat to you, my dear, now I know what wretches they +are, the tender, the obliging, and the respectful things I said to +them. + +The wretch himself then came forward. He threw himself at my feet. How +was I beset!—The women grasping, one my right hand, the other my left: +the pretended Miss Montague pressing to her lips more than once the +hand she held: the wicked man on his knees, imploring my forgiveness; +and setting before me my happy and my unhappy prospects, as I should +forgive and not forgive him. All that he thought would affect me in +former pleas, and those of Capt. Tomlinson, he repeated. He vowed, he +promised, he bespoke the pretended ladies to answer for him; and they +engaged their honours in his behalf. + +Indeed, my dear, I was distressed, perfectly distressed. I was sorry +that I had given way to this visit. For I knew not how, in tenderness +to relations, (as I thought them,) so worthy, to treat so freely as he +deserved, a man nearly allied to them: so that my arguments and my +resolutions were deprived of their greatest force. + +I pleaded, however, my application to you. I expected every hour, I +told them, an answer from you to a letter I had written, which would +decide my future destiny. + +They offered to apply to you themselves in person, in their own behalf, +as they politely termed it. They besought me to write to you to hasten +your answer. + +I said, I was sure that you would write the moment that the event of an +application to be made to a third person enabled you to write. But as +to the success of their request in behalf of their kinsman, that +depended not upon the expected answer; for that, I begged their pardon, +was out of the question. I wished him well. I wished him happy. But I +was convinced, that I neither could make him so, nor he me. + +Then! how the wretch promised!—How he vowed!—How he entreated!—And how +the women pleaded!—And they engaged themselves, and the honour of their +whole family, for his just, his kind, his tender behaviour to me. + +In short, my dear, I was so hard set, that I was obliged to come to a +more favourable compromise with them than I had intended. I would wait +for your answer to my letter, I said: and if that made doubtful or +difficult the change of measures I had resolved upon, and the scheme of +life I had formed, I would then consider of the matter; and, if they +would permit me, lay all before them, and take their advice upon it, in +conjunction with your’s, as if the one were my own aunt, and the other +were my own cousin. + +They shed tears upon this—of joy they called them:—But since, I +believe, to their credit, bad as they are, that they were tears of +temporary remorse; for, the pretended Miss Montague turned about, and, +as I remember, said, There was no standing it. + +But Mr. Lovelace was not so easily satisfied. He was fixed upon his +villanous measures perhaps; and so might not be sorry to have a +pretence against me. He bit his lip—he had been but too much used, he +said, to such indifference, such coldness, in the very midst of his +happiest prospects. I had on twenty occasions shown him, to his +infinite regret, that any favour I was to confer upon him was to be the +result of—there he stopt—and not of my choice. + +This had like to have set all back again. I was exceedingly offended. +But the pretended ladies interposed. The elder severely took him to +task. He ought, she told him, to be satisfied with what I had said. She +desired no other condition. And what, Sir, said she, with an air of +authority, would you commit errors, and expect to be rewarded for them? + +They then engaged me in a more agreeable conversation—the pretended +lady declared, that she, Lord M. and Lady Sarah, would directly and +personally interest themselves to bring about a general reconciliation +between the two families, and this either in open or private concert +with my uncle Harlowe, as should be thought fit. Animosities on one +side had been carried a great way, she said; and too little care had +been shown on the other to mollify or heal. My father should see that +they could treat him as a brother and a friend; and my brother and +sister should be convinced that there was no room either for the +jealousy or envy they had conceived from motives too unworthy to be +avowed. + +Could I help, my dear, being pleased with them?— + +Permit me here to break off. The task grows too heavy, at present, for +the heart of + +Your CLARISSA HARLOWE. + + + + + LETTER LXVIII + + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE [IN CONTINUATION.] + +I was very ill, and obliged to lay down my pen. I thought I should have +fainted. But am better now—so will proceed. + +The pretended ladies, the more we talked, the fonder they seemed to be +of me. And the Lady Betty had Mrs. Moore called up; and asked her, If +she had accommodations for her niece and self, her woman, and two men +servants, for three or four days? + +Mr. Lovelace answered for her that she had. + +She would not ask her dear niece Lovelace, [Permit me, my dear, +whispered she, this charming style before strangers! I will keep your +uncle’s secret,] whether she should be welcome or not to be so near +her. But for the time she should stay in these parts, she would come up +every night—What say you, niece Charlotte? + +The pretended Charlotte answered, she should like to do so, of all +things. + +The Lady Betty called her an obliging girl. She liked the place, she +said. Her cousin Leeson would excuse her. The air, and my company, +would do her good. She never chose to lie in the smoky town, if she +could help it. In short, my dear, said she to me, I will stay with you +till you hear from Miss Howe; and till I have your consent to go with +me to Glenham-hall. Not one moment will I be out of your company, when +I can have it. Stedman, my solicitor, as the distance from town is so +small, may attend me here for instructions. Niece Charlotte, one word +with you, child. + +They retired to the further end of the room, and talked about their +night-dresses. + +The Miss Charlotte said, Morrison might be dispatched for them. + +True, said the other—but I have some letters in my private box, which I +must have up. And you know, Charlotte, that I trust nobody with the +keys of that. + +Could not Morrison bring up the box? + +No. She thought it safest where it was. She had heard of a robbery +committed but two days ago at the food of Hampstead-hill; and she +should be ruined if she lost her box. + +Well, then, it was but going to town to undress, and she would leave +her jewels behind her, and return; and should be easier a great deal on +all accounts. + +For my part, I wondered they came up with them. But that was to be +taken as a respect paid to me. And then they hinted at another visit of +ceremony which they had thought to make, had they not found me so +inexpressibly engaging. + +They talked loud enough for me to hear them; on purpose, no doubt, +though in affected whispers; and concluded with high praises of me. + +I was not fool enough to believe, or to be puffed up with their +encomiums; yet not suspecting them, I was not displeased at so +favourable a beginning of acquaintance with Ladies (whether I were to +be related to them or not) of whom I had always heard honourable +mention. And yet at the time, I thought, highly as they exalted me, +that in some respects (though I hardly know in what) they fell short of +what I expected them to be. + +The grand deluder was at the farther end of the room, another way; +probably to give me an opportunity to hear these preconcerted +praises—looking into a book, which had there not been a preconcert, +would not have taken his attention for one moment. It was Taylor’s Holy +Living and Dying. + +When the pretended ladies joined me, he approached me with it in his +hand—a smart book, this, my dear!—this old divine affects, I see, a +mighty flowery style of an ordinary country funeral, where, the young +women, in honour of a defunct companion, especially if she were a +virgin, or passed for such, make a flower-bed of her coffin. + +And then, laying down the book, turning upon his heel, with one of his +usual airs of gaiety, And are you determined, Ladies, to take up your +lodgings with my charming creature? + +Indeed they were. + +Never were there more cunning, more artful impostors, than these women. +Practised creatures, to be sure: yet genteel; and they must have been +well-educated—once, perhaps, as much the delight of their parents, as I +was of mine: and who knows by what arts ruined, body and mind—O my +dear! how pregnant is this reflection! + +But the man!—Never was there a man so deep. Never so consummate a +deceiver; except that detested Tomlinson; whose years and seriousness, +joined with a solidity of sense and judgment that seemed uncommon, gave +him, one would have thought, advantages in villany, the other had not +time for. Hard, very hard, that I should fall into the knowledge of two +such wretches; when two more such I hope are not to be met with in the +world!—both so determined to carry on the most barbarous and perfidious +projects against a poor young creature, who never did or wished harm to +either. + +Take the following slight account of these women’s and of this man’s +behaviour to each other before me. + +Mr. Lovelace carried himself to his pretended aunt with high respect, +and paid a great deference to all she said. He permitted her to have +all the advantage over him in the repartees and retorts that passed +between them. I could, indeed, easily see, that it was permitted; and +that he forbore that vivacity, that quickness, which he never spared +showing to his pretended Miss Montague; and which a man of wit seldom +knows how to spare showing, when an opportunity offers to display his +wit. + +The pretended Miss Montague was still more respectful in her behaviour +to her pretended aunt. While the aunt kept up the dignity of the +character she had assumed, rallying both of them with the air of a +person who depends upon the superiority which years and fortune give +over younger persons, who might have a view to be obliged to her, +either in her life, or at her death. + +The severity of her raillery, however, was turned upon Mr. Lovelace, on +occasion of the character of the people who kept the lodgings, which, +she said, I had thought myself so well warranted to leave privately. + +This startled me. For having then no suspicion of the vile Tomlinson, I +concluded (and your letter of the 7th* favoured my conclusion) that if +the house were notorious, either he, or Mr. Mennell, would have given +me or him some hints of it—nor, although I liked not the people, did I +observe any thing in them very culpable, till the Wednesday night +before, that they offered not to come to my assistance, although within +hearing of my distress, (as I am sure they were,) and having as much +reason as I to be frighted at the fire, had it been real. + +* His forged letter. See Vol. V. Letter XXX. + +I looked with indignation upon Mr. Lovelace, at this hint. + +He seemed abashed. I have not patience, but to recollect the specious +looks of this vile deceiver. But how was it possible, that even that +florid countenance of his should enable him to command a blush at his +pleasure? for blush he did, more than once: and the blush, on this +occasion, was a deep-dyed crimson, unstrained for, and natural, as I +thought—but he is so much of the actor, that he seems able to enter +into any character; and his muscles and features appear entirely under +obedience to his wicked will.* + +* It is proper to observe, that there was a more natural reason than +this that the Lady gives for Mr. Lovelace’s blushing. It was a blush of +indignation, as he owned afterwards to his friend Belford, in +conversation; for the pretended Lady Betty had mistaken her cue, in +condemning the house; and he had much ado to recover the blunder; being +obliged to follow her lead, and vary from his first design; which was +to have the people of the house spoken well of, in order to induce her +to return to it, were it but on pretence to direct her clothes to be +carried to Hampstead. + +The pretended lady went on, saying, she had taken upon herself to +inquire after the people, on hearing that I had left the house in +disgust; and though she heard not any thing much amiss, yet she heard +enough to make her wonder that he could carry his spouse, a person of +so much delicacy, to a house, that, if it had not a bad fame, had not a +good one. + +You must think, my dear, that I liked the pretended Lady Betty the +better for this. I suppose it was designed that I should. + +He was surprised, he said, that her Ladyship should hear a bad +character of the people. It was what he had never before heard that +they deserved. It was easy, indeed, to see, that they had not very +great delicacy, though they were not indelicate. The nature of their +livelihood, letting lodgings, and taking people to board, (and yet he +had understood that they were nice in these particulars,) led them to +aim at being free and obliging: and it was difficult, he said, for +persons of cheerful dispositions, so to behave as to avoid censure: +openness of heart and countenance in the sex (more was the pity) too +often subjected good people, whose fortunes did not set them above the +world, to uncharitable censure. + +He wished, however, that her Ladyship would tell what she had heard: +although now it signified but little, because he would never ask me to +set foot within their doors again: and he begged she would not mince +the matter. + +Nay, no great matter, she said. But she had been informed, that there +were more women-lodgers in the house than men: yet that their visiters +were more men than women. And this had been hinted to her (perhaps by +ill-wishers, she could not answer for that) in such a way, as if +somewhat further were meant by it than was spoken. + +This, he said, was the true innuendo-way of characterizing, used by +detractors. Every body and every thing had a black and a white side, of +which well wishers and ill wishers may make their advantage. He had +observed that the front house was well let, and he believed more to the +one sex than to the other; for he had seen, occasionally passing to or +fro, several genteel modest looking women; and who, it was very +probable, were not so ill-beloved, but they might have visiters and +relations of both sexes: but they were none of them any thing to us, or +we to them: we were not once in any of their companies: but in the +genteelest and most retired house of the two, which we had in a manner +to ourselves, with the use of a parlour to the street, to serve us for +a servants’ hall, or to receive common visiters, or our traders only, +whom we admitted not up stairs. + +He always loved to speak as he found. No man in the world had suffered +more from calumny than he himself had done. + +Women, he owned, ought to be more scrupulous than men needed to be +where they lodged. Nevertheless he wished that fact, rather than +surmise, were to be the foundation of their judgments, especially when +they spoke of one another. + +He meant no reflection upon her Ladyship’s informants, or rather +surmisants, (as he might call them,) be they who they would: nor did he +think himself obliged to defend characters impeached, or not thought +well of, by women of virtue and honour. Neither were these people of +importance enough to have so much said about them. + +The pretended Lady Betty said, all who knew her, would clear her of +censoriousness: that it gave her some opinion, she must needs say, of +the people, that he had continued there so long with me; that I had +rather negative than positive reasons of dislike to them; and that so +shrewd a man as she heard Captain Tomlinson was had not objected to +them. + +I think, niece Charlotte, proceeded she, as my nephew had not parted +with these lodgings, you and I, (for, as my dear Miss Harlowe dislikes +the people, I would not ask her for her company) will take a dish of +tea with my nephew there, before we go out of town; and then we shall +see what sort of people they are. I have heard that Mrs. Sinclair is a +mighty forbidding creature. + +With all my heart, Madam. In your Ladyship’s company I shall make no +scruple of going any where. + +It was Ladyship at every word; and as she seemed proud of her title, +and of her dress too, I might have guessed that she was not used to +either. + +What say you, cousin Lovelace? Lady Sarah, though a melancholy woman, +is very inquisitive about all your affairs. I must acquaint her with +every particular circumstance when I go down. + +With all his heart. He would attend her whenever she pleased. She would +see very handsome apartments, and very civil people. + +The deuce is in them, said the Miss Montague, if they appear other to +us. + +She then fell into family talk; family happiness on my hoped-for +accession into it. They mentioned Lord M.’s and Lady Sarah’s great +desire to see me: how many friends and admirers, with uplift hands, I +should have! [Oh! my dear, what a triumph must these creatures, and he, +have over the poor devoted all the time!]—What a happy man he would +be!—They would not, the Lady Betty said, give themselves the +mortification but to suppose that I should not be one of them! + +Presents were hinted at. She resolved that I should go with her to +Glenham-hall. She would not be refused, although she were to stay a +week beyond her time for me. + +She longed for the expected letter from you. I must write to hasten it, +and to let Miss Howe know how every thing stood since I wrote last. +That might dispose me absolutely in her favour and in her nephew’s; and +then she hoped there would be no occasion for me to think of entering +upon any new measures. + +Indeed, my dear, I did at the time intend, if I heard not from you by +morning, to dispatch a man and horse to you, with the particulars of +all, that you might (if you thought proper) at least put off Mrs. +Townsend’s coming up to another day.—But I was miserably prevented. + +She made me promise that I would write to you upon this subject, +whether I heard from you or not. One of her servants should ride post +with my letter, and wait for Miss Howe’s answer. + +She then launched out in deserved praises of you, my dear. How fond she +should be of the honour of your acquaintance. + +The pretended Miss Montague joined in with her, as well for herself as +for her sister. + +Abominably well instructed were they both! + +O my dear! what risks may poor giddy girls run, when they throw +themselves out of the protection of their natural friends, and into the +wide world! + +They then talked again of reconciliation and intimacy with every one of +my friends; with my mother particularly; and gave the dear good lady +the praises that every one gives her, who has the happiness to know +her. + +Ah, my dear Miss Howe! I had almost forgot my resentments against the +pretended nephew!—So many agreeable things said, made me think, that, +if you should advise it, and if I could bring my mind to forgive the +wretch for an outrage so premeditatedly vile, and could forbear +despising him for that and his other ungrateful and wicked ways, I +might not be unhappy in an alliance with such a family. Yet, thought I +at the time, with what intermixture does every thing come to me that +had the appearance of good!——However, as my lucid hopes made me see +fewer faults in the behaviour of these pretended ladies, than +recollection and abhorrence have helped me since to see, I began to +reproach myself, that I had not at first thrown myself into their +protection. + +But amidst all these delightful prospects, I must not, said the Lady +Betty, forget that I am to go to town. + +She then ordered her coach to be got to the door.—We will all go to +town together, said she, and return together. Morrison shall stay here, +and see every thing as I am used to have it, in relation to my +apartment, and my bed; for I am very particular in some respects. My +cousin Leeson’s servants can do all I want to be done with regard to my +night-dresses, and the like. And it will be a little airing for you, my +dear, and a want of your apparel to be sent from your former lodgings +to Mrs. Leeson’s; and we can bring it up with us from thence. + +I had no intention to comply. But as I did not imagine that she would +insist upon my going to town with them, I made no answer to that part +of her speech. + +I must here lay down my tired pen! + +Recollection! heart-affecting recollection! how it pains me! + + + + + LETTER LXIX + + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE + + +In the midst of this agreeableness, the coach came to the door. The +pretended Lady Betty besought me to give them my company to their +cousin Leeson’s. I desired to be excused: yet suspected nothing. She +would not be denied. How happy would a visit so condescending make her +cousin Leeson!——Her cousin Leeson was not unworthy of my acquaintance: +and would take it for the greatest favour in the world. + +I objected my dress. But the objection was not admitted. She bespoke a +supper of Mrs. Moore to be ready at nine. + +Mr. Lovelace, vile hypocrite, and wicked deceiver! seeing, as he said, +my dislike to go, desired his Ladyship not to insist upon it. + +Fondness for my company was pleaded. She begged me to oblige her: made +a motion to help me to my fan herself: and, in short, was so very +urgent, that my feet complied against my speech and my mind: and being, +in a manner, led to the coach by her, and made to step in first, she +followed me: and her pretended niece, and the wretch, followed her: and +away it drove. + +Nothing but the height of affectionate complaisance passed all the way: +over and over, what a joy would this unexpected visit give her cousin +Leeson! What a pleasure must it be to such a mind as mine, to be able +to give so much joy to every body I came near! + +The cruel, the savage seducer (as I have since recollected) was in a +rapture all the way; but yet such a sort of rapture, as he took visible +pains to check. + +Hateful villain! how I abhor him!—What mischief must be then in his +plotting heart!—What a devoted victim must I be in all their eyes! + +Though not pleased, I was nevertheless just then thoughtless of danger; +they endeavouring thus to lift me up above all apprehensions of that, +and above myself too. + +But think, my dear, what a dreadful turn all had upon me, when, through +several streets and ways I knew nothing of, the coach slackening its +pace, came within sight of the dreadful house of the dreadfullest woman +in the world; as she proved to me. + +Lord be good unto me! cried the poor fool, looking out of the coach—Mr. +Lovelace!—Madam! turning to the pretended Lady Betty!—Madam! turning to +the niece, my hands and eyes lifted up—Lord be good unto me! + +What! What! What! my dear. + +He pulled the string—What need to have come this way? said he—But since +we are, I will but ask a question—My dearest life, why this +apprehension? + +The coachman stopped: his servant, who, with one of her’s was behind, +alighted—Ask, said he, if I have any letters? Who knows, my dearest +creature, turning to me, but we may already have one from the +Captain?—We will not go out of the coach!—Fear nothing—Why so +apprehensive?—Oh! these fine spirits!—cried the execrable insulter. + +Dreadfully did my heart then misgive me: I was ready to faint. Why this +terror, my life? you shall not stir out of the coach but one question, +now the fellow has drove us this way. + +Your lady will faint, cried the execrable Lady Betty, turning to him—My +dearest Niece! (niece I will call you, taking my hand)—we must alight, +if you are so ill.—Let us alight—only for a glass of water and +hartshorn—indeed we must alight. + +No, no, no—I am well—quite well—Won’t the man drive on?—I am well—quite +well—indeed I am.—Man, drive on, putting my head out of the coach—Man, +drive on!—though my voice was too low to be heard. + +The coach stopt at the door. How I trembled! + +Dorcas came to the door, on its stopping. + +My dearest creature, said the vile man, gasping, as it were for breath, +you shall not alight—Any letters for me, Dorcas? + +There are two, Sir. And here is a gentleman, Mr. Belton, Sir, waits for +your honour; and has done so above an hour. + +I’ll just speak to him. Open the door—You sha’n’t step out, my dear—A +letter perhaps from Captain already!—You sha’n’t step out, my dear. + +I sighed as if my heart would burst. + +But we must step out, Nephew: your lady will faint. Maid, a glass of +hartshorn and water!—My dear you must step out—You will faint, child—We +must cut your laces.—[I believe my complexion was all manner of colours +by turns]—Indeed, you must step out, my dear. + +He knew, said I, I should be well, the moment the coach drove from the +door. I should not alight. By his soul, I should not. + +Lord, Lord, Nephew, Lord, Lord, Cousin, both women in a breath, what +ado you make about nothing! You persuade your lady to be afraid of +alighting.—See you not that she is just fainting? + +Indeed, Madam, said the vile seducer, my dearest love must not be moved +in this point against her will. I beg it may not be insisted upon. + +Fiddle-faddle, foolish man—What a pother is here! I guess how it is: +you are ashamed to let us see what sort of people you carried your lady +among—but do you go out, and speak to your friend, and take your +letters. + +He stept out; but shut the coach-door after him, to oblige me. + +The coach may go on, Madam, said I. + +The coach shall go on, my dear life, said he.—But he gave not, nor +intended to give, orders that it should. + +Let the coach go on! said I—Mr. Lovelace may come after us. + +Indeed, my dear, you are ill!—Indeed you must alight—alight but for one +quarter of an hour.—Alight but to give orders yourself about your +things. Whom can you be afraid of in my company, and my niece’s; these +people must have behaved shockingly to you! Please the Lord, I’ll +inquire into it!—I’ll see what sort of people they are! + +Immediately came the old creature to the door. A thousand pardons, dear +Madam, stepping to the coach-side, if we have any way offended you—Be +pleased, Ladies, [to the other two] to alight. + +Well, my dear, whispered the Lady Betty, I now find that an hideous +description of a person we never saw is an advantage to them. I thought +the woman was a monster—but, really, she seems tolerable. + +I was afraid I should have fallen into fits: but still refused to go +out—Man!—Man!—Man!—cried I, gaspingly, my head out of the coach and in, +by turns, half a dozen times running, drive on!—Let us go! + +My heart misgave me beyond the power of my own accounting for it; for +still I did not suspect these women. But the antipathy I had taken to +the vile house, and to find myself so near it, when I expected no such +matter, with the sight of the old creature, all together made me behave +like a distracted person. + +The hartshorn and water was brought. The pretended Lady Betty made me +drink it. Heaven knows if there was any thing else in it! + +Besides, said she, whisperingly, I must see what sort of creatures the +nieces are. Want of delicacy cannot be hid from me. You could not +surely, my dear, have this aversion to re-enter a house, for a few +minutes, in our company, in which you lodged and boarded several weeks, +unless these women could be so presumptuously vile, as my nephew ought +not to know. + +Out stept the pretended lady; the servant, at her command, having +opened the door. + +Dearest Madam, said the other to me, let me follow you, [for I was next +the door.] Fear nothing: I will not stir from your presence. + +Come, my dear, said the pretended lady, give me your hand; holding out +her’s. Oblige me this once. + +I will bless your footsteps, said the old creature, if once more you +honour my house with your presence. + +A crowd by this time was gathered about us; but I was too much affected +to mind that. + +Again the pretended Miss Montague urged me; standing up as ready to go +out if I would give her room.—Lord, my dear, said she, who can bear +this crowd?—What will people think? + +The pretended Lady again pressed me, with both her hands held out—Only, +my dear, to give orders about your things. + +And thus pressed, and gazed at, (for then I looked about me,) the women +so richly dressed, people whispering; in an evil moment, out stepped I, +trembling, forced to lean with both my hands (frighted too much for +ceremony) on the pretended Lady Betty’s arm—Oh! that I had dropped down +dead upon the guilty threshold! + +We shall stay but a few minutes, my dear!—but a few minutes! said the +same specious jilt—out of breath with her joy, as I have since thought, +that they had thus triumphed over the unhappy victim! + +Come, Mrs. Sinclair, I think your name is, show us the way——following +her, and leading me. I am very thirsty. You have frighted me, my dear, +with your strange fears. I must have tea made, if it can be done in a +moment. We have farther to go, Mrs. Sinclair, and must return to +Hampstead this night. + +It shall be ready in a moment, cried the wretch. We have water boiling. + +Hasten, then—Come, my dear, to me, as she led me through the passage to +the fatal inner house—lean upon me—how you tremble!—how you falter in +your steps!—Dearest niece Lovelace, [the old wretch being in hearing,] +why these hurries upon your spirits?—We’ll be gone in a minute. + +And thus she led the poor sacrifice into the old wretch’s +too-well-known parlour. + +Never was any body so gentle, so meek, so low voiced, as the odious +woman; drawling out, in a puling accent, all the obliging things she +could say: awed, I then thought, by the conscious dignity of a woman of +quality; glittering with jewels. + +The called-for tea was ready presently. + +There was no Mr. Belton, I believe: for the wretch went not to any +body, unless it were while we were parlying in the coach. No such +person however, appeared at the tea-table. + +I was made to drink two dishes, with milk, complaisantly urged by the +pretended ladies helping me each to one. I was stupid to their hands; +and, when I took the tea, almost choked with vapours; and could hardly +swallow. + +I thought, transiently thought, that the tea, the last dish +particularly, had an odd taste. They, on my palating it, observed, that +the milk was London-milk; far short in goodness of what they were +accustomed to from their own dairies. + +I have no doubt that my two dishes, and perhaps my hartshorn, were +prepared for me; in which case it was more proper for their purpose, +that they should help me, than that I should help myself. Ill before, I +found myself still more and more disordered in my head; a heavy torpid +pain increasing fast upon me. But I imputed it to my terror. + +Nevertheless, at the pretended Lady’s motion, I went up stairs, +attended by Dorcas; who affected to weep for joy, that she once more +saw my blessed face; that was the vile creature’s word: and immediately +I set about taking out some of my clothes, ordering what should be put +up, and what sent after me. + +While I was thus employed, up came the pretended Lady Betty, in a +hurrying way——My dear, you won’t be long before you are ready. My +nephew is very busy in writing answers to his letters: so, I’ll just +whip away, and change my dress, and call upon you in an instant. + +O Madam!—I am ready! I am now ready!—You must not leave me here. And +down I sunk, affrighted, into a chair. + +This instant, this instant, I will return—before you can be +ready—before you can have packed up your things—we would not be +late—the robbers we have heard of may be out—don’t let us be late. + +And away she hurried before I could say another word. Her pretended +niece went with her, without taking notice to me of her going. + +I had no suspicion yet that these women were not indeed the ladies they +personated; and I blamed myself for my weak fears.—It cannot be, +thought I, that such ladies will abet treachery against a poor creature +they are so fond of. They must undoubtedly be the persons they appear +to be—what folly to doubt it! The air, the dress, the dignity of women +of quality. How unworthy of them, and of my charity, concluded I, is +this ungenerous shadow of suspicion! + +So, recovering my stupefied spirits, as well as they could be +recovered, (for I was heavier and heavier! and wondered to Dorcas what +ailed me, rubbing my eyes, and taking some of her snuff, pinch after +pinch, to very little purpose,) I pursued my employment: but when that +was over, all packed up that I designed to be packed up; and I had +nothing to do but to think; and found them tarry so long; I thought I +should have gone distracted. I shut myself into the chamber that had +been mine; I kneeled, I prayed; yet knew not what I prayed for: then +ran out again: it was almost dark night, I said: where, where, where +was Mr. Lovelace? + +He came to me, taking no notice at first of my consternation and +wildness, [what they had given me made me incoherent and wild:] All +goes well, said he, my dear!—A line from Capt. Tomlinson! + +All indeed did go well for the villanous project of the most cruel and +most villanous of men! + +I demanded his aunt!—I demanded his cousin!—The evening, I said, was +closing!—My head was very, very bad, I remember I said—and it grew +worse and worse.— + +Terror, however, as yet kept up my spirits; and I insisted upon his +going himself to hasten them. + +He called his servant. He raved at the sex for their delay: ’twas well +that business of consequence seldom depended upon such parading, +unpunctual triflers! + +His servant came. + +He ordered him to fly to his cousin Leeson’s, and to let Lady Betty and +his cousin know how uneasy we both were at their delay: adding, of his +own accord, desire them, if they don’t come instantly, to send their +coach, and we will go without them. Tell them I wonder they’ll serve me +so! + +I thought this was considerately and fairly put. But now, indifferent +as my head was, I had a little time to consider the man and his +behaviour. He terrified me with his looks, and with his violent +emotions, as he gazed upon me. Evident joy-suppressed emotions, as I +have since recollected. His sentences short, and pronounced as if his +breath were touched. Never saw I his abominable eyes look as then they +looked—Triumph in them!—fierce and wild; and more disagreeable than the +women’s at the vile house appeared to me when I first saw them: and at +times, such a leering, mischief-boding cast!—I would have given the +world to have been an hundred miles from him. Yet his behaviour was +decent—a decency, however, that I might have seen to be struggled +for—for he snatched my hand two or three times, with a vehemence in his +grasp that hurt me; speaking words of tenderness through his shut +teeth, as it seemed; and let it go with a beggar-voiced humbled accent, +like the vile woman’s just before; half-inward; yet his words and +manner carrying the appearance of strong and almost convulsed +passion!—O my dear! what mischief was he not then meditating! + +I complained once or twice of thirst. My mouth seemed parched. At the +time, I supposed that it was my terror (gasping often as I did for +breath) that parched up the roof of my mouth. I called for water: some +table-beer was brought me: beer, I suppose, was a better vehicle for +their potions. I told the maid, that she knew I seldom tasted malt +liquor: yet, suspecting nothing of this nature, being extremely +thirsty, I drank it, as what came next: and instantly, as it were, +found myself much worse than before: as if inebriated, I should fancy: +I know not how. + +His servant was gone twice as long as he needed: and, just before his +return, came one of the pretended Lady Betty’s with a letter for Mr. +Lovelace. + +He sent it up to me. I read it: and then it was that I thought myself a +lost creature; it being to put off her going to Hampstead that night, +on account of violent fits which Miss Montague was pretended to be +seized with; for then immediately came into my head his vile attempt +upon me in this house; the revenge that my flight might too probably +inspire him with on that occasion, and because of the difficulty I made +to forgive him, and to be reconciled to him; his very looks wild and +dreadful to me; and the women of the house such as I had more reason +than ever, even from the pretended Lady Betty’s hint, to be afraid of: +all these crowding together in my apprehensive mind, I fell into a kind +of phrensy. + +I have no remembrance how I was for this time it lasted: but I know +that, in my first agitations, I pulled off my head-dress, and tore my +ruffles in twenty tatters, and ran to find him out. + +When a little recovered, I insisted upon the hint he had given me of +their coach. But the messenger, he said, had told him, that it was sent +to fetch a physician, lest his chariot should be put up, or not ready. + +I then insisted upon going directly to Lady Betty’s lodgings. + +Mrs. Leeson’s was now a crowded house, he said: and as my earnestness +could be owing to nothing but groundless apprehensions, [and Oh! what +vows, what protestations of his honour, did he then make!] he hoped I +would not add to their present concern. Charlotte, indeed, was used to +fits, he said, upon any great surprises, whether of joy or grief; and +they would hold her for one week together, if not got off in a few +hours. + +You are an observer of eyes, my dear, said the villain; perhaps in +secret insult: Saw you not in Miss Montague’s, now-and-then at +Hampstead, something wildish? I was afraid for her then. Silence and +quiet only do her good: your concern for her, and her love for you, +will but augment the poor girl’s disorder, if you should go. + +All impatient with grief and apprehension, I still declared myself +resolved not to stay in that house till morning. All I had in the +world, my rings, my watch, my little money, for a coach; or, if one +were not to be got, I would go on foot to Hampstead that night, though +I walked it by myself. + +A coach was hereupon sent for, or pretended to be sent for. Any price, +he said, he would give to oblige me, late as it was; and he would +attend me with all his soul. But no coach was to be got. + +Let me cut short the rest. I grew worse and worse in my head! now +stupid, now raving, now senseless. The vilest of vile women was brought +to frighten me. Never was there so horrible a creature as she appeared +to me at this time. + +I remember I pleaded for mercy. I remember that I said I would be +his—indeed I would be his—to obtain his mercy. But no mercy found I! My +strength, my intellects failed me—And then such scenes followed—O my +dear, such dreadful scenes!—fits upon fits, (faintly indeed and +imperfectly remembered,) procuring me no compassion—But death was +withheld from me. That would have been too great a mercy! + + +Thus was I tricked and deluded back by blacker hearts of my own sex +than I thought there were in the world; who appeared to me to be +persons of honour; and, when in his power, thus barbarously was I +treated by this villanous man! + +I was so senseless, that I dare not aver, that the horrid creatures of +the house were personally aiding and abetting: but some visionary +remembrances I have of female figures, flitting, as I may say, before +my sight; the wretched woman’s particularly. But as these confused +ideas might be owing to the terror I had conceived of the worse than +masculine violence she had been permitted to assume to me, for +expressing my abhorrence of her house; and as what I suffered from his +barbarity wants not that aggravation; I will say no more on a subject +so shocking as this must ever be to my remembrance. + +I never saw the personating wretches afterwards. He persisted to the +last, (dreadfully invoking Heaven as a witness to the truth of his +assertion) that they were really and truly the ladies they pretended to +be; declaring, that they could not take leave of me, when they left +town, because of the state of senselessness and phrensy I was in. For +their intoxicating, or rather stupefying, potions had almost +deleterious effects upon my intellects, as I have hinted; insomuch +that, for several days together, I was under a strange delirium; now +moping, now dozing, now weeping, now raving, now scribbling, tearing +what I scribbled as fast as I wrote it: most miserable when +now-and-then a ray of reason brought confusedly to my remembrance what +I had suffered. + + + + + LETTER LXX + + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE [IN CONTINUATION.] + +[The lady next gives an account, + +Of her recovery from her delirium and sleepy disorder: + +Of her attempt to get away in his absence: + +Of the conversations that followed, at his return, between them: + +Of the guilty figure he made: + +Of her resolution not to have him: + +Of her several efforts to escape: + +Of her treaty with Dorcas to assist her in it: + +Of Dorcas’s dropping the promissory note, undoubtedly, as she says, on +purpose to betray her: + +Of her triumph over all the creatures of the house, assembled to +terrify her; and perhaps to commit fresh outrages upon her: + +Of his setting out for M. Hall: + +Of his repeated letters to induce her to meet him at the altar, on her +uncle’s anniversary: + +Of her determined silence to them all: + +Of her second escape, effected, as she says, contrary to her own +expectation: the attempt being at first but the intended prelude to a +more promising one, which she had formed in her mind: + +And of other particulars; which being to be found in Mr. Lovelace’s +letters preceding, and the letter of his friend Belford, are omitted. +She then proceeds:] + +The very hour that I found myself in a place of safety, I took pen to +write to you. When I began, I designed only to write six or eight +lines, to inquire after your health: for, having heard nothing from +you, I feared indeed, that you had been, and still were, too ill to +write. But no sooner did my pen begin to blot the paper, but my sad +heart hurried it into length. The apprehensions I had lain under, that +I should not be able to get away; the fatigue I had in effecting my +escape: the difficulty of procuring a lodging for myself; having +disliked the people of two houses, and those of a third disliking me; +for you must think I made a frighted appearance—these, together with +the recollection of what I had suffered from him, and my farther +apprehensions of my insecurity, and my desolate circumstances, had so +disordered me, that I remember I rambled strangely in that letter. + +In short, I thought it, on re-perusal, a half-distracted one: but I +then despaired, (were I to begin again,) of writing better: so I let it +go: and can have no excuse for directing it as I did, if the cause of +the incoherence in it will not furnish me with a very pitiable one. + +The letter I received from your mother was a dreadful blow to me. But +nevertheless it had the good effect upon me (labouring, as I did just +then, under a violent fit of vapourish despondency, and almost yielding +to it) which profuse bleeding and blisterings have in paralytic or +apoplectical strokes; reviving my attention, and restoring me to +spirits to combat the evils I was surrounded by—sluicing off, and +diverting into a new channel, (if I may be allowed another metaphor,) +the overcharging woes which threatened once more to overwhelm my +intellects. + +But yet I most sincerely lamented, (and still lament,) in your mother’s +words, That I cannot be unhappy by myself: and was grieved, not only +for the trouble I had given you before; but for the new one I had +brought upon you by my inattention. + +[She then gives the substance of the letters she wrote to Mrs. Norton, +to Lady Betty Lawrance, and to Mrs. Hodges; as also of their answers; +whereby she detected all Mr. Lovelace’s impostures. She proceeds as +follows:] + +I cannot, however, forbear to wonder how the vile Tomlinson could come +at the knowledge of several of the things he told me of, and which +contributed to give me confidence in him.* + +* The attentive reader need not be referred back for what the Lady +nevertheless could not account for, as she knew not that Mr. Lovelace +had come at Miss Howe’s letters; particularly that in Vol. IV. Letter +XXIX. which he comments upon in Letter XLIV. of the same volume. + +I doubt not that the stories of Mrs. Fretchville and her house would be +found as vile as any of the rest, were I to inquire; and had I not +enough, and too much, already against the perjured man. + +How have I been led on!—What will be the end of such a false and +perjured creature! Heaven not less profaned and defied by him than +myself deceived and abused! This, however, against myself I must say, +That if what I have suffered be the natural consequence of my first +error, I never can forgive myself, although you are so partial in my +favour, as to say, that I was not censurable for what passed before my +first escape. + +And now, honoured Madam, and my dearest Miss Howe, who are to sit in +judgment upon my case, permit me to lay down my pen with one request, +which, with the greatest earnestness, I make to you both: and that is, +That you will neither of you open your lips in relation to the potions +and the violences I have hinted at.—Not that I am solicitous, that my +disgrace should be hidden from the world, or that it should not be +generally known, that the man has proved a villain to me: for this, it +seems, every body but myself expected from his character. But suppose, +as his actions by me are really of a capital nature, it were insisted +upon that I should appear to prosecute him and his accomplices in a +court of justice, how do you think I could bear that? + +But since my character, before the capital enormity, was lost in the +eye of the world; and that from the very hour I left my father’s house; +and since all my own hopes of worldly happiness are entirely over; let +me slide quietly into my grave; and let it be not remembered, except by +one friendly tear, and no more, dropt from your gentle eye, mine own +dear Anna Howe, on the happy day that shall shut up all my sorrows, +that there was such a creature as + +CLARISSA HARLOWE SATURDAY, JULY 8. + + + + + LETTER LXXI + + +MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE SUNDAY, JULY 9. + +May Heaven signalize its vengeance, in the face of all the world, upon +the most abandoned and profligate of men!—And in its own time, I doubt +not but it will.—And we must look to a WORLD BEYOND THIS for the reward +of your sufferings! + +Another shocking detection, my dear!—How have you been deluded!—Very +watchful I have thought you; very sagacious:—but, alas! not watchful, +not sagacious enough, for the horrid villain you have had to deal +with!—— + +The letter you sent me enclosed as mine, of the 7th of June, is a +villanous forgery.* + +* See Vol. V. Letter XXX. + +The hand, indeed, is astonishingly like mine; and the cover, I see, is +actually my cover: but yet the letter is not so exactly imitated, but +that, (had you had any suspicions about his vileness at the time,) you, +who so well know my hand, might have detected it. + +In short, this vile, forged letter, though a long one, contains but a +few extracts from mine. Mine was a very long one. He has omitted every +thing, I see, in it that could have shown you what a detestable house +the house is; and given you suspicions of the vile Tomlinson.—You will +see this, and how he has turned Miss Lardner’s information, and my +advices to you, [execrable villain!] to his own horrid ends, by the +rough draught of the genuine letter, which I shall enclose.* + +* See Vol. V. Letter XX. + +Apprehensive for both our safeties from the villany of such a daring +and profligate contriver, I must call upon you, my dear, to resolve +upon taking legal vengeance of the infernal wretch. And this not only +for our own sakes, but for the sakes of innocents who otherwise may yet +be deluded and outraged by him. + +[She then gives the particulars of the report made by the young fellow +whom she sent to Hampstead with her letter; and who supposed he had +delivered it into her own hand;* and then proceeds:] + +* See Vol. VI. Letter VI. + +I am astonished, that the vile wretch, who could know nothing of the +time my messenger, (whose honesty I can vouch for) would come, could +have a creature ready to personate you! Strange, that the man should +happen to arrive just as you were gone to church, (as I find was the +fact, on comparing what he says with your hint that you were at church +twice that day,) when he might have got to Mrs. Moore’s two hours +before!—But had you told me, my dear, that the villain had found you +out, and was about you!—You should have done that—yet I blame you upon +a judgment founded on the event only! + +I never had any faith in the stories that go current among country +girls, of specters, familiars, and demons; yet I see not any other way +to account for this wretch’s successful villany, and for his means of +working up his specious delusions, but by supposing, (if he be not the +devil himself,) that he has a familiar constantly at his elbow. +Sometimes it seems to me that this familiar assumes the shape of that +solemn villain Tomlinson: sometimes that of the execrable Sinclair, as +he calls her: sometimes it is permitted to take that of Lady Betty +Lawrance—but, when it would assume the angelic shape and mien of my +beloved friend, see what a bloated figure it made! + +’Tis my opinion, my dear, that you will be no longer safe where you +are, than while the V. is in the country. Words are poor!—or how could +I execrate him! I have hardly any doubt that he has sold himself for a +time. Oh! may the time be short!—or may his infernal prompter no more +keep covenant with him than he does with others! + +I enclose not only the rough draught of my long letter mentioned above, +but the heads of that which the young fellow thought he delivered into +your own hands at Hampstead. And when you have perused them, I will +leave to you to judge how much reason I had to be surprised that you +wrote me not an answer to either of those letters; one of which you +owned you had received, (though it proved to be his forged one,) the +other delivered into your own hands, as I was assured; and both of them +of so much concern to your honour; and still now much more surprised I +must be, when I received a letter from Mrs. Townsend, dated June 15, +from Hampstead, importing, ‘That Mr. Lovelace, who had been with you +several days, had, on the Monday before, brought Lady Betty and his +cousin, richly dressed, and in a coach-and-four, to visit you: who, +with your own consent, had carried you to town with them—to your former +lodgings; where you still were: that the Hampstead women believed you +to be married; and reflected upon me as a fomenter of differences +between man and wife: that he himself was at Hampstead the day before; +viz. Wednesday the 14th; and boasted of his happiness with you; +inviting Mrs. Moore, Mrs. Bevis, and Miss Rawlins, to go to town, to +visit his spouse; which they promised to do: that he declared that you +were entirely reconciled to your former lodgings:—and that, finally, +the women at Hampstead told Mrs. Townsend, that he had very handsomely +discharged theirs.’ + +I own to you, my dear, that I was so much surprised and disgusted at +these appearances against a conduct till then unexceptionable, that I +was resolved to make myself as easy as I could, and wait till you +should think fit to write to me. But I could rein-in my impatience but +for a few days; and on the 20th of June I wrote a sharp letter to you; +which I find you did not receive. + +What a fatality, my dear, has appeared in your case, from the very +beginning till this hour! Had my mother permitted—— + +But can I blame her; when you have a father and mother living, who have +so much to answer for?—So much!—as no father and mother, considering +the child they have driven, persecuted, exposed, renounced, ever had to +answer for! + +But again I must execrate the abandoned villain—yet, as I said before, +all words are poor, and beneath the occasion. + +But see we not, in the horrid perjuries and treachery of this man, what +rakes and libertines will do, when they get a young creature into their +power! It is probable that he might have the intolerable presumption to +hope an easier conquest: but, when your unexampled vigilance and +exalted virtue made potions, and rapes, and the utmost violences, +necessary to the attainment of his detestable end, we see that he never +boggled at them. I have no doubt that the same or equal wickedness +would be oftener committed by men of his villanous cast, if the folly +and credulity of the poor inconsiderates who throw themselves into +their hands, did not give them an easier triumph. + +With what comfort must those parents reflect upon these things who have +happily disposed of their daughters in marriage to a virtuous man! And +how happy the young women who find themselves safe in a worthy +protection!—If such a person as Miss Clarissa Harlowe could not escape, +who can be secure?—Since, though every rake is not a LOVELACE, neither +is every woman a CLARISSA: and his attempts were but proportioned to +your resistance and vigilance. + +My mother has commanded me to let you know her thoughts upon the whole +of your sad story. I will do it in another letter; and send it to you +with this, by a special messenger. + +But, for the future, if you approve of it, I will send my letters by +the usual hand, (Collins’s,) to be left at the Saracen’s Head, on +Snow-hill: whither you may send your’s, (as we both used to do, to +Wilson’s,) except such as we shall think fit to transmit by the post: +which I am afraid, after my next, must be directed to Mr. Hickman, as +before: since my mother is fixing a condition to our correspondence, +which, I doubt, you will not comply with, though I wish you would. This +condition I shall acquaint you with by-and-by. + +Mean time, begging excuse for all the harsh things in my last, of which +your sweet meekness and superior greatness of soul have now made me +most heartily ashamed, I beseech you, my dearest creature, to believe +me to be + +Your truly sympathising, and unalterable friend, ANNA HOWE. + + + + + LETTER LXXII + + +MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE MONDAY, JULY 10. + +I now, my dearest friend, resume my pen, to obey my mother, in giving +you her opinion upon your unhappy story. + +She still harps upon the old string, and will have it that all your +calamities are owing to your first fatal step; for she believes, (what +I cannot,) that your relations had intended after one general trial +more, to comply with your aversion, if they had found it to be as +riveted a one, as, let me say, it was a folly to suppose it would not +be found to be, after so many ridiculously-repeated experiments. + +As to your latter sufferings from that vilest of miscreants, she is +unalterably of opinion that if all be as you have related (which she +doubts not) with regard to the potions, and to the violences you have +sustained, you ought by all means to set on foot a prosecution against +him, and against his devilish accomplices. + +She asks, What murderers, what ravishers, would be brought to justice, +if modesty were to be a general plea, and allowable, against appearing +in a court to prosecute? + +She says, that the good of society requires, that such a beast of prey +should be hunted out of it: and, if you do not prosecute him, she +thinks you will be answerable for all the mischiefs he may do in the +course of his future villanous life. + +Will it be thought, Nancy, said she, that Miss Clarissa Harlowe can be +in earnest, when she says, she is not solicitous to have her disgraces +concealed from the world, if she be afraid or ashamed to appear in +court, to do justice to herself and her sex against him? Will it not be +rather surmised, that she may be apprehensive that some weakness, or +lurking love, will appear upon the trial of the strange cause? If, +inferred she, such complicated villany as this (where perjury, potions, +forgery, subornation, are all combined to effect the ruin of an +innocent creature, and to dishonour a family of eminence, and where the +very crimes, as may be supposed, are proofs of her innocence) is to go +off with impunity, what case will deserve to be brought into judgment? +or what malefactor ought to be hanged? + +Then she thinks, and so do I, that the vile creatures, his accomplices, +ought, by all means, to be brought to condign punishment, as they must +and will be upon bringing him to trial: and this may be a mean to blow +up and root out a whole nest of vipers, and save many innocent +creatures. + +She added, that if Miss Clarissa Harlowe could be so indifferent about +having this public justice done upon such a wretch for her own sake, +she ought to overcome her scruples out of regard to her family, her +acquaintance, and her sex, which are all highly injured and scandalized +by his villany to her. + +For her own part, she declares, that were she your mother, she would +forgive you upon no other terms: and, upon your compliance with these, +she herself will undertake to reconcile all your family to you. + +These, my dear, are my mother’s sentiments upon your sad story. + +I cannot say but there are reason and justice in them: and it is my +opinion, that it would be very right for the law to oblige an injured +woman to prosecute, and to make seduction on the man’s part capital, +where his studied baseness, and no fault in her will, appeared. + +To this purpose the custom in the Isle of Man is a very good one—— + +‘If a single woman there prosecutes a single man for a rape, the +ecclesiastical judges impannel a jury; and, if this jury find him +guilty, he is returned guilty to the temporal courts: where if he be +convicted, the deemster, or judge, delivers to the woman a rope, a +sword, and a ring; and she has it in her choice to have him hanged, +beheaded, or to marry him.’ + +One of the two former, I think, should always be her option. + +I long for the particulars of your story. You must have too much time +upon your hands for a mind so active as your’s, if tolerable health and +spirits be afforded you. + +The villany of the worst of men, and the virtue of the most excellent +of women, I expect will be exemplified in it, were it to be written in +the same connected and particular manner in which you used to write to +me. + +Try for it, my dearest friend; and since you cannot give the example +without the warning, give both, for the sakes of all those who shall +hear of your unhappy fate; beginning from your’s of June 5, your +prospects then not disagreeable. I pity you for the task; though I +cannot willingly exempt you from it. + + +My mother will have me add, that she must insist upon your prosecuting +the villain. She repeats, that she makes that a condition on which she +permits our future correspondence. Let me therefore know your thoughts +upon it. I asked her, if she would be willing that I should appear to +support you in court, if you complied?—By all means, she said, if that +would induce you to begin with him, and with the horrid women. I think +I could probably attend you, I am sure I could, were there but a +probability of bringing the monster to his deserved end. + +Once more your thoughts of it, supposing it were to meet with the +approbation of your relations. + +But whatever be your determination on this head, it shall be my +constant prayer, that God will give you patience to bear your heavy +afflictions, as a person ought to do who has not brought them upon +herself by a faulty will: that He will speak peace and comfort to your +wounded mind; and give you many happy years. I am, and ever will be, + +Your affectionate and faithful ANNA HOWE. + + +[The two preceding letters were sent by a special messenger: in the +cover were written the following lines:] + +MONDAY, JULY 10. + +I cannot, my dearest friend, suffer the enclosed to go unaccompanied by +a few lines, to signify to you that they are both less tender in some +places than I would have written, had they not been to pass my mother’s +inspection. The principal reason, however, of my writing thus +separately is, to beg of you to permit me to send you money and +necessaries, which you must needs want; and that you will let me know, +if either I, or any body I can influence, can be of service to you. I +am excessively apprehensive that you are not enough out of the +villain’s reach where you are. Yet London, I am persuaded, is the +place, of all others, to be private in. + +I could tear my hair for vexation, that I have it not in my power to +afford you personal protection!—I am + +Your ever devoted ANNA HOWE. + +Once more forgive me, my dearest creature, for my barbarous taunting in +mine of the 5th! Yet I can hardly forgive myself. I to be so cruel, yet +to know you so well!—Whence, whence, had I this vile impatiency of +spirit!— + + + + + LETTER LXXIII + + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE TUESDAY, JULY 11. + +Forgive you, my dear!—Most cordially do I forgive you—Will you forgive +me for some sharp things I wrote in return to your’s of the 5th? You +could not have loved me as you do, nor had the concern you have always +shown for my honour, if you had not been utterly displeased with me, on +the appearance which my conduct wore to you when you wrote that letter. +I most heartily thank you, my best and only love, for the opportunity +you gave me of clearing it up; and for being generously ready to acquit +me of intentional blame, the moment you had read my melancholy +narrative. + +As you are so earnest to have all the particulars of my sad story +before you, I will, if life and spirits be lent me, give you an ample +account of all that has befallen me, from the time you mention. But +this, it is very probable, you will not see, till after the close of my +last scene: and as I shall write with a view to that, I hope no other +voucher will be wanted for the veracity of the writer, be who will the +reader. + +I am far from thinking myself out of the reach of this man’s further +violence. But what can I do? Whither can I fly?—Perhaps my bad state of +health (which must grow worse, as recollection of the past evils, and +reflections upon them, grow heavier and heavier upon me) may be my +protection. Once, indeed, I thought of going abroad; and, had I the +prospect of many years before me, I would go.—But, my dear, the blow is +given.—Nor have you reason now, circumstanced as I am, to be concerned +that it is. What a heart must I have, if it be not broken—and indeed, +my dear friend, I do so earnestly wish for the last closing scene, and +with so much comfort find myself in a declining way, that I even +sometimes ungratefully regret that naturally-healthy constitution, +which used to double upon me all my enjoyments. + +As to the earnestly-recommended prosecution, I may possibly touch upon +it more largely hereafter, if ever I shall have better spirits; for +they are at present extremely sunk and low. But just now, I will only +say, that I would sooner suffer every evil (the repetition of the +capital one excepted) than appear publicly in a court to do myself +justice.* And I am heartily grieved that your mother prescribes such a +measure as the condition of our future correspondence: for the +continuance of your friendship, my dear, and the desire I had to +correspond with you to my life’s end, were all my remaining hopes and +consolation. Nevertheless, as that friendship is in the power of the +heart, not of the hand only, I hope I shall not forfeit that. + +* Dr. Lewen, in Letter XXIV. of Vol. VIII. presses her to this public +prosecution, by arguments worthy of his character; which she answers in +a manner worthy of her’s. See Letter XXV. of that volume. + +O my dear! what would I give to obtain a revocation of my father’s +malediction! a reconciliation is not to be hoped for. You, who never +loved my father, may think my solicitude on this head a weakness: but +the motive for it, sunk as my spirits at times are, is not always weak. + + +I approve of the method you prescribe for the conveyance of our +letters; and have already caused the porter of the inn to be engaged to +bring to me your’s, the moment that Collins arrives with them. And the +servant of the house where I am will be permitted to carry mine to +Collins for you. + +I have written a letter to Miss Rawlins, of Hampstead; the answer to +which, just now received, has helped me to the knowledge of the vile +contrivance, by which the wicked man got your letter of June the 10th. +I will give you the contents of both. + +In mine to her, I briefly acquainted her ‘with what had befallen me, +through the vileness of the women who had passed upon me as the aunt +and cousin of the wickedest of men; and own, that I never was married +to him. I desire her to make particular inquiry, and to let me know, +who it was at Mrs. Moore’s that, on Sunday afternoon, June 11, while I +was at church, received a letter from Miss Howe, pretending to be me, +and lying on a couch:—which letter, had it come to my hands, would have +saved me from ruin. I excuse myself (on the score of the delirium, +which the horrid usage I had received threw me into, and from a +confinement as barbarous as illegal) that I had not before applied to +Mrs. Moore for an account of what I was indebted to her: which account +I now desired. And, for fear of being traced by Mr. Lovelace, I +directed her to superscribe her answer, To Mrs. Mary Atkins; to be left +till called for, at the Belle Savage Inn, on Ludgate-hill.’ + +In her answer, she tells me, ‘that the vile wretch prevailed upon Mrs. +Bevis to personate me, [a sudden motion of his, it seems, on the +appearance of your messenger,] and persuaded her to lie along a couch: +a handkerchief over her neck and face; pretending to be ill; the +credulous woman drawn in by false notions of your ill offices to keep +up a variance between a man and his wife—and so taking the letter from +your messenger as me. + +‘Miss Rawlins takes pains to excuse Mrs. Bevis’s intention. She +expresses their astonishment, and concern at what I communicate: but is +glad, however, and so they are all, that they know in time the vileness +of the base man; the two widows and herself having, at his earnest +invitation, designed me a visit at Mrs. Sinclair’s: supposing all to be +happy between him and me; as he assured them was the case. Mr. +Lovelace, she informs me, had handsomely satisfied Mrs. Moore. And Miss +Rawlins concludes with wishing to be favoured with the particulars of +so extraordinary a story, as these particulars may be of use, to let +her see what wicked creatures (women as well as men) there are in the +world.’ + +I thank you, my dear, for the draughts of your two letters which were +intercepted by this horrid man. I see the great advantage they were of +to him, in the prosecution of his villanous designs against the poor +wretch whom he had so long made the sport of his abhorred inventions. + +Let me repeat, that I am quite sick of life; and of an earth, in which +innocent and benevolent spirits are sure to be considered as aliens, +and to be made sufferers by the genuine sons and daughters of that +earth. + +How unhappy, that those letters only which could have acquainted me +with his horrid views, and armed me against them, and against the +vileness of the base women, should fall into his hands!—Unhappier +still, in that my very escape to Hampstead gave him the opportunity of +receiving them. + +Nevertheless, I cannot but still wonder, how it was possible for that +Tomlinson to know what passed between Mr. Hickman and my uncle +Harlowe:* a circumstance which gave the vile impostor most of his +credit with me. + +* See the note in Letter LXX. of this volume. + +How the wicked wretch himself could find me out at Hampstead, must also +remain wholly a mystery to me. He may glory in his contrivances—he, who +has more wickedness than wit, may glory in his contrivances!—But, after +all, I shall, I humbly presume to hope, be happy, when he, poor wretch, +will be—alas!—who can say what!—— + +Adieu, my dearest friend!—May you be happy!—And then your Clarissa +cannot be wholly miserable! + +END OF VOL. 6. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CLARISSA, VOLUME 6 (OF 9) *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Clarissa, Volume 6 (of 9)<br /> + The History Of A Young Lady</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Samuel Richardson</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February 28, 2004 [eBook #11364]<br /> +[Most recently updated: October 14, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Julie C. Sparks and David Widger</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CLARISSA, VOLUME 6 (OF 9) ***</div> + +<h1>CLARISSA HARLOWE</h1> + +<h3>or the<br /> +HISTORY OF A YOUNG LADY</h3> + +<h2 class="no-break">By Samuel Richardson</h2> + +<h3>Volume VI. (of Nine Volumes)</h3> + +<hr /> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0001">DETAILED CONTENTS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0002">THE HISTORY OF CLARISSA HARLOWE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0003">LETTER I</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0004">LETTER II</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0005">LETTER III</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0007">LETTER IV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0008">LETTER V</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0009">LETTER VI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0010">LETTER VII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0011">LETTER VIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0012">LETTER IX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0013">LETTER X</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0014">LETTER XI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0015">LETTER XII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0016">LETTER XIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0017">LETTER XIV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0018">LETTER XV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0019">LETTER XVI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0020">LETTER XVII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0021">LETTER XVIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0022">LETTER XIX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0023">LETTER XX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0024">LETTER XXI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0025">LETTER XXII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0026">LETTER XXIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0027">LETTER XXIV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0028">LETTER XXV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0029">LETTER XXVI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0030">LETTER XXVII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0031">LETTER XXVIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0032">LETTER XXIX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0033">LETTER XXX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0034">LETTER XXXI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0035">LETTER XXXII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0036">LETTER XXXIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0037">LETTER XXXIV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0038">LETTER XXXV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0039">LETTER XXXVI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0040">LETTER XXXVII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0041">LETTER XXXVIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0042">LETTER XXXIX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0043">LETTER XL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0044">LETTER XLI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0045">LETTER XLII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0046">LETTER XLIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0047">LETTER XLIV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0048">LETTER XLV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0049">LETTER XLVI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0050">LETTER XLVII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0051">LETTER XLVIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0052">LETTER XLIX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0053">LETTER L</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0054">LETTER LI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0055">LETTER LII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0056">LETTER LIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0057">LETTER LIV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0058">LETTER LV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0059">LETTER LVI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0060">LETTER LVII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0061">LETTER LVIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0062">LETTER LIX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0063">LETTER LX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0064">LETTER LXI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0065">LETTER LXII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0066">LETTER LXIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0067">LETTER LXIV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0068">LETTER LXV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0069">LETTER LXVI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0070">LETTER LXVII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0071">LETTER LXVIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0072">LETTER LXIX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0073">LETTER LXX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0074">LETTER LXXI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0075">LETTER LXXII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0076">LETTER LXXIII</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"></a>DETAILED CONTENTS</h2> + +<p> +LETTER I. II. Lovelace to Belford.—His conditional promise to Tomlinson +in the lady’s favour. His pleas and arguments on their present situation, +and on his darling and hitherto-baffled views. His whimsical contest with his +conscience. His latest adieu to it. His strange levity, which he calls gravity, +on the death of Belford’s uncle. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER III. IV. From the same.—She favours him with a meeting in the +garden. Her composure. Her conversation great and noble. But will not determine +any thing in his favour. It is however evident, he says, that she has still +some tenderness for him. His reasons. An affecting scene between them. Her +ingenuousness and openness of heart. She resolves to go to church; but will not +suffer him to accompany her thither. His whimsical debate with the God of Love, +whom he introduced as pleading for the lady. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER V. VI. VII. From the same.—He has got the wished-for letter from +Miss Howe.—Informs him of the manner of obtaining it.—His remarks +upon it. Observations on female friendships. Comparison between Clarissa and +Miss Howe. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER VIII. From the same.—Another conversation with the lady. His +plausible arguments to re-obtain her favour ineffectual. His pride piqued. His +revenge incited. New arguments in favour of his wicked prospects. His notice +that a license is actually obtained. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER IX. X. From the same.—Copy of the license; with his observations +upon it. His scheme for annual marriages. He is preparing with Lady Betty and +Miss Montague to wait upon Clarissa. Who these pretended ladies are. How +dressed. They give themselves airs of quality. Humourously instructs them how +to act up their assumed characters. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER XI. XII. Lovelace to Belford.—Once more is the charmer of his +soul in her old lodgings. Brief account of the horrid imposture. Steels his +heart by revengeful recollections. Her agonizing apprehensions. Temporary +distraction. Is ready to fall into fits. But all her distress, all her prayers, +her innocence, her virtue, cannot save her from the most villanous outrage. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER XIII. Belford to Lovelace.—Vehemently inveighs against him. +Grieves for the lady. Is now convinced that there must be a world after this to +do justice to injured merit. Beseeches him, if he be a man, and not a devil, to +do all the poor justice now in his power. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER XIV. Lovelace to Belford.—Regrets that he ever attempted her. +Aims at extenuation. Does he not see that he has journeyed on to this stage, +with one determined point in view from the first? She is at present stupified, +he says. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER XV. From the same.—The lady’s affecting behaviour in her +delirium. He owns that art has been used to her. Begins to feel remorse. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER XVI. From the same.—The lady writes upon scraps of paper, which +she tears, and throws under the table. Copies of ten of these rambling papers; +and of a letter to him most affectingly incoherent. He attempts farther to +extenuate his villany. Tries to resume his usual levity; and forms a scheme to +decoy the people at Hampstead to the infamous woman’s in town. The lady +seems to be recovering. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER XVII. From the same.—She attempts to get away in his absence. Is +prevented by the odious Sinclair. He exults in the hope of looking her into +confusion when he sees her. Is told by Dorcas that she is coming into the +dining-room to find him out. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER XVIII. From the same.—A high scene of her exalted, and of his +depressed, behaviour. Offers to make her amends by matrimony. She treats his +offer with contempt. Afraid Belford plays him false. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER XIX. From the same.—Wishes he had never seen her. With all the +women he had known till now, it was once subdued, and always subdued. His +miserable dejection. His remorse. She attempts to escape. A mob raised. His +quick invention to pacify it. Out of conceit with himself and his contrivances. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER XX. XXI. Lovelace to Belford.—Lord M. very ill. His presence +necessary at M. Hall. Puts Dorcas upon ingratiating herself with her +lady.—He re-urges marriage to her. She absolutely, from the most noble +motives, rejects him. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER XXII. From the same.—Reflects upon himself. It costs, he says, +more pain to be wicked than to be good. The lady’s solemn expostulation +with him. Extols her greatness of soul. Dorcas coming into favour with her. He +is alarmed by another attempt of the lady to get off. She is in agonies at +being prevented. He tried to intimidate her. Dorcas pleads for her. On the +point of drawing his sword against himself. The occasion. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER XXIII. From the same.—Cannot yet persuade himself but the lady +will be his. Reasons for his opinion. Opens his heart to Belford, as to his +intentions by her. Mortified that she refuses his honest vows. Her violation +but notional. Her triumph greater than her sufferings. Her will unviolated. He +is a better man, he says, than most rakes; and why. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER XXIV. XXV. From the same.—The lady gives a promissory note to +Dorcas, to induce her to further her escape.—A fair trial of skill now, +he says. A conversation between the vile Dorcas and her lady: in which she +engages her lady’s pity. The bonds of wickedness stronger than the ties +of virtue. Observations on that subject. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER XXVI. XXVII. XXVIII. From the same.—A new contrivance to +advantage of the lady’s intended escape.—A letter from Tomlinson. +Intent of it.—He goes out to give opportunity for the lady to attempt an +escape. His designs frustrated. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER XXIX. From the same.—An interesting conversation between the lady +and him. No concession in his favour. By his soul, he swears, this dear girl +gives the lie to all their rakish maxims. He has laid all the sex under +obligation to him; and why. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER XXX. Lovelace to Belford.—Lord M. in extreme danger. The family +desire his presence. He intercepts a severe letter from Miss Howe to her +friend. Copy of it. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER XXXI. From the same.—The lady, suspecting Dorcas, tries to +prevail upon him to give her her liberty. She disclaims vengeance, and +affectingly tells him all her future views. Denied, she once more attempts an +escape. Prevented, and terrified with apprehensions of instant dishonour, she +is obliged to make some concession. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER XXXII. From the same.—Accuses her of explaining away her +concession. Made desperate, he seeks occasion to quarrel with her. She exerts a +spirit which overawes him. He is ridiculed by the infamous copartnership. Calls +to Belford to help a gay heart to a little of his dismal, on the expected death +of Lord M. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER XXXIII. From the same.—Another message from M. Hall, to engage +him to go down the next morning. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER XXXIV. XXXV. From the same.—The women’s instigations. His +farther schemes against the lady. What, he asks, is the injury which a +church-rite will not at any time repair? +</p> + +<p> +LETTER XXXVI. From the same.—Himself, the mother, her nymphs, all +assembled with intent to execute his detestable purposes. Her glorious +behaviour on the occasion. He execrates, detests, despises himself; and admires +her more than ever. Obliged to set out early that morning for M. Hall, he will +press her with letters to meet him next Thursday, her uncle’s birthday, +at the altar. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER XXXVII. XXXVIII. XXXIX. Lovelace to Clarissa, from M. Hall.—Urging +her accordingly, (the license in her hands,) by the most engaging pleas and +arguments. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER XL. Lovelace to Belford.—Begs he will wait on the lady, and +induce her to write but four words to him, signifying the church and the day. +Is now resolved on wedlock. Curses his plots and contrivances; which all end, +he says, in one grand plot upon himself. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER XLI. Belford to Lovelace. In answer.—Refuses to undertake for +him, unless he can be sure of his honour. Why he doubts it. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER XLII. Lovelace. In reply.—Curses him for scrupulousness. Is in +earnest to marry. After one more letter of entreaty to her, if she keep sullen +silence, she must take the consequence. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER XLIII. Lovelace to Clarissa.—Once more earnestly entreats her to +meet him at the altar. Not to be forbidden coming, he will take for leave to +come. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER XLIV. Lovelace to Patrick M’Donald.—Ordering him to visit +the lady, and instructing him what to say, and how to behave to her. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER XLV. To the same, as Captain Tomlinson.—Calculated to be shown to +the lady, as in confidence. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER XLVI. M’Donald to Lovelace.—Goes to attend the lady +according to direction. Finds the house in an uproar; and the lady escaped. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER XLVII. Mowbray to Lovelace.—With the same news. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER XLVIII. Belford to Lovelace.—Ample particulars of the +lady’s escape. Makes serious reflections on the distress she must be in; +and on his (Lovelace’s) ungrateful usage of her. What he takes the sum of +religion. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER XLIX. Lovelace to Belford.—Runs into affected levity and +ridicule, yet at last owns all his gayety but counterfeit. Regrets his baseness +to the lady. Inveighs against the women for their instigations. Will still +marry her, if she can be found out. One misfortune seldom comes alone; Lord M. +is recovering. He had bespoken mourning for him. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER L. Clarissa to Miss Howe.—Writes with incoherence, to inquire +after her health. Lets her know whither to direct to her. But forgets, in her +rambling, her private address. By which means her letter falls into the hands +of Miss Howe’s mother. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER LI. Mrs. Howe to Clarissa.—Reproaches her for making all her +friends unhappy. Forbids her to write any more to her daughter. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER LII. Clarissa’s meek reply. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER LIII. Clarissa to Hannah Burton. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER LIV. Hannah Burton. In answer. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER LV. Clarissa to Miss Norton.—Excuses her long silence. Asks her a +question, with a view to detect Lovelace. Hints at his ungrateful villany. +Self-recrimination. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER LVI. Mrs. Norton to Clarissa.—Answers her question. Inveighs +against Lovelace. Hopes she has escaped with her honour. Consoles her by a +brief relation of her own case, and from motives truly pious. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER LVII. Clarissa to Lady Betty Lawrance.—Requests an answer to +three questions, with a view farther to detect Lovelace. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER LVIII. Lady Betty to Clarissa.—Answers her questions. In the +kindest manner offers to mediate between her nephew and her. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER LIX. LX. Clarissa to Mrs. Hodges, her uncle Harlowe’s housekeeper; +with a view of still farther detecting Lovelace.—Mrs. Hodges’s +answer. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER LXI. Clarissa to Lady Betty Lawrance.—Acquaints her with her +nephew’s baseness. Charitably wishes his reformation; but utterly, and +from principle, rejects him. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER LXII. Clarissa to Mrs. Norton.—Is comforted by her kind +soothings. Wishes she had been her child. Will not allow her to come up to her; +why. Some account of the people she is with; and of a worthy woman, Mrs. +Lovick, who lodges in the house. Briefly hints to her the vile usage she has +received from Lovelace. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER LXIII. Mrs. Norton to Clarissa.—Inveighs against Lovelace. Wishes +Miss Howe might be induced to refrain from freedoms that do hurt, and can do no +good. Farther piously consoles her. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER LXIV. Clarissa to Mrs. Norton.—A new trouble. An angry letter +from Miss Howe. The occasion. Her heart is broken. Shall be uneasy, till she +can get her father’s curse revoked. Casts about to whom she can apply for +this purpose. At last resolves to write to her sister to beg her mediation. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER LXV. Miss Howe to Clarissa.—Her angry and reproachful letter +above-mentioned; demands from her the clearing up of her conduct. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER LXVI. Clarissa to Miss Howe.—Gently remonstrates upon her +severity. To this hour knows not all the methods taken to deceive and ruin her. +But will briefly, yet circumstantially, enter into the darker part of her sad +story, though her heart sinks under the thoughts of a recollection so painful. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER LXVII. LXVIII. LXIX. LXX. From the same.—She gives the promised +particulars of her story. Begs that the blackest parts of it may be kept +secret; and why. Desires one friendly tear, and no more, may be dropt from her +gentle eye, on the happy day that shall shut up all her sorrows. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER LXXI. LXXII. Miss Howe to Clarissa.—Execrates the abandoned +profligate. She must, she tells her, look to the world beyond this for her +reward. Unravels some of Lovelace’s plots; and detects his forgeries. Is +apprehensive for her own as well as Clarissa’s safety. Advises her to +pursue a legal vengeance. Laudable custom in the Isle of Man. Offers personally +to attend her in a court of justice. +</p> + +<p> +LETTER LXXIII. Clarissa to Miss Howe.—Cannot consent to a prosecution. +Discovers who it was that personated her at Hampstead. She is quite sick of +life, and of an earth in which innocent and benevolent spirits are sure to be +considered as aliens. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"></a> THE HISTORY OF CLARISSA +HARLOWE</h2> + +<h3>VOLUME SIX</h3> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"></a> LETTER I</h2> + +<p class="center"> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +Sat. Midnight. +</p> + +<p> +No rest, says a text that I once heard preached upon, to the wicked—and I +cannot close my eyes (yet only wanted to compound for half an hour in an +elbow-chair)—so must scribble on. +</p> + +<p> +I parted with the Captain after another strong debate with him in relation to +what is to be the fate of this lady. As the fellow has an excellent head, and +would have made an eminent figure in any station of life, had not his early +days been tainted with a deep crime, and he detected in it; and as he had the +right side of the argument; I had a good deal of difficulty with him; and at +last brought myself to promise, that if I could prevail upon her generously to +forgive me, and to reinstate me in her favour, I would make it my whole +endeavour to get off of my contrivances, as happily as I could; (only that Lady +Betty and Charlotte must come;) and then substituting him for her uncle’s +proxy, take shame to myself, and marry. +</p> + +<p> +But if I should, Jack, (with the strongest antipathy to the state that ever man +had,) what a figure shall I make in rakish annals? And can I have taken all +this pains for nothing? Or for a wife only, that, however excellent, [and any +woman, do I think I could make good, because I could make any woman fear as +well as love me,] might have been obtained without the plague I have been at, +and much more reputably than with it? And hast thou not seen, that this haughty +woman [forgive me that I call her haughty! and a woman! Yet is she not +haughty?] knows not how to forgive with graciousness? Indeed has not at all +forgiven me? But holds my soul in a suspense which has been so grievous to her +own. +</p> + +<p> +At this silent moment, I think, that if I were to pursue my former scheme, and +resolve to try whether I cannot make a greater fault serve as a sponge to wipe +out the less; and then be forgiven for that; I can justify myself to myself; +and that, as the fair invincible would say, is all in all. +</p> + +<p> +As it is my intention, in all my reflections, to avoid repeating, at least +dwelling upon, what I have before written to thee, though the state of the case +may not have varied; so I would have thee to re-consider the old reasonings +(particularly those contained in my answer to thy last* expostulatory +nonsense); and add the new as they fall from my pen; and then I shall think +myself invincible;—at least, as arguing rake to rake. +</p> + +<p> +* See Vol. V. Letter XIV. +</p> + +<p> +I take the gaining of this lady to be essential to my happiness: and is it not +natural for all men to aim at obtaining whatever they think will make them +happy, be the object more or less considerable in the eyes of others? +</p> + +<p> +As to the manner of endeavouring to obtain her, by falsification of oaths, +vows, and the like—do not the poets of two thousand years and upwards +tell us, that Jupiter laughs at the perjuries of lovers? And let me add, to +what I have heretofore mentioned on that head, a question or two. +</p> + +<p> +Do not the mothers, the aunts, the grandmothers, the governesses of the pretty +innocents, always, from their very cradles to riper years, preach to them the +deceitfulness of men?—That they are not to regard their oaths, vows, +promises?—What a parcel of fibbers would all these reverend matrons be, +if there were not now and then a pretty credulous rogue taken in for a +justification of their preachments, and to serve as a beacon lighted up for the +benefit of the rest? +</p> + +<p> +Do we not then see, that an honest prowling fellow is a necessary evil on many +accounts? Do we not see that it is highly requisite that a sweet girl should be +now-and-then drawn aside by him?—And the more eminent the girl, in the +graces of person, mind, and fortune, is not the example likely to be the more +efficacious? +</p> + +<p> +If these postulata be granted me, who, I pray, can equal my charmer in all +these? Who therefore so fit for an example to the rest of her sex?—At +worst, I am entirely within my worthy friend Mandeville’s assertion, that +private vices are public benefits. +</p> + +<p> +Well, then, if this sweet creature must fall, as it is called, for the benefit +of all the pretty fools of the sex, she must; and there’s an end of the +matter. And what would there have been in it of uncommon or rare, had I not +been so long about it?—And so I dismiss all further argumentation and +debate upon the question: and I impose upon thee, when thou writest to me, an +eternal silence on this head. +</p> + +<p> +Wafer’d on, as an after-written introduction to the paragraphs which +follow, marked with turned commas, [thus, “]: +</p> + +<p> +Lord, Jack, what shall I do now! How one evil brings on another! Dreadful news +to tell thee! While I was meditating a simple robbery, here have I (in my own +defence indeed) been guilty of murder!—A bl—y murder! So I believe +it will prove. At her last gasp!—Poor impertinent +opposer!—Eternally resisting!—Eternally contradicting! There she +lies weltering in her blood! her death’s wound have I given +her!—But she was a thief, an impostor, as well as a tormentor. She had +stolen my pen. While I was sullenly meditating, doubting, as to my future +measures, she stole it; and thus she wrote with it in a hand exactly like my +own; and would have faced me down, that it was really my own hand-writing. +</p> + +<p> +“But let me reflect before it is too late. On the manifold perfections of +this ever-amiable creature let me reflect. The hand yet is only held up. The +blow is not struck. Miss Howe’s next letter may blow thee up. In policy +thou shouldest be now at least honest. Thou canst not live without her. Thou +wouldest rather marry her than lose her absolutely. Thou mayest undoubtedly +prevail upon her, inflexible as she seems to be, for marriage. But if now she +finds thee a villain, thou mayest never more engage her attention, and she +perhaps will refuse and abhor thee. +</p> + +<p> +“Yet already have I not gone too far? Like a repentant thief, afraid of +his gang, and obliged to go on, in fear of hanging till he comes to be hanged, +I am afraid of the gang of my cursed contrivances. +</p> + +<p> +“As I hope to live, I am sorry, (at the present writing,) that I have +been such a foolish plotter, as to put it, as I fear I have done, out of my own +power to be honest. I hate compulsion in all forms; and cannot bear, even to be +compelled to be the wretch my choice has made me! So now, Belford, as thou hast +said, I am a machine at last, and no free agent. +</p> + +<p> +“Upon my soul, Jack, it is a very foolish thing for a man of spirit to +have brought himself to such a height of iniquity, that he must proceed, and +cannot help himself, and yet to be next to certain, that this very victory will +undo him. +</p> + +<p> +“Why was such a woman as this thrown into my way, whose very fall will be +her glory, and, perhaps, not only my shame but my destruction? +</p> + +<p> +“What a happiness must that man know, who moves regularly to some +laudable end, and has nothing to reproach himself with in his progress to do +it! When, by honest means, he attains his end, how great and unmixed must be +his enjoyments! What a happy man, in this particular case, had I been, had it +been given me to be only what I wished to appear to be!” +</p> + +<p> +Thus far had my conscience written with my pen; and see what a recreant she had +made of me!—I seized her by the throat—There!—There, said I, +thou vile impertinent!—take that, and that!—How often have I gave +thee warning!—and now, I hope, thou intruding varletess, have I done thy +business! +</p> + +<p> +Puling and low-voiced, rearing up thy detested head, in vain implorest thou my +mercy, who, in thy day hast showed me so little!—Take that, for a rising +blow!—And now will thy pain, and my pain for thee, soon be over. Lie +there!—Welter on!—Had I not given thee thy death’s wound, +thou wouldest have robbed me of all my joys. Thou couldest not have mended me, +’tis plain. Thou couldest only have thrown me into despair. Didst thou +not see, that I had gone too far to recede?—Welter on, once more I bid +thee!—Gasp on!—That thy last gasp, surely!—How hard diest +thou! +</p> + +<p> +ADIEU!—Unhappy man! ADIEU! +</p> + +<p> +’Tis kind in thee, however, to bid me, Adieu! +</p> + +<p> +Adieu, Adieu, Adieu, to thee, O thou inflexible, and, till now, unconquerable +bosom intruder!—Adieu to thee for ever! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"></a> LETTER II</h2> + +<p class="center"> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +SUNDAY MORN. (JUNE 11). FOUR O’CLOCK. +</p> + +<p> +A few words to the verbal information thou sentest me last night concerning thy +poor old man; and then I rise from my seat, shake myself, refresh, new-dress, +and so to my charmer, whom, notwithstanding her reserves, I hope to prevail +upon to walk out with me on the Heath this warm and fine morning. +</p> + +<p> +The birds must have awakened her before now. They are in full song. She always +gloried in accustoming herself to behold the sun rise—one of God’s +natural wonders, as once she called it. +</p> + +<p> +Her window salutes the east. The valleys must be gilded by his rays, by the +time I am with her; for already have they made the up-lands smile, and the face +of nature cheerful. +</p> + +<p> +How unsuitable will thou find this gay preface to a subject so gloomy as that I +am now turning to! +</p> + +<p> +I am glad to hear thy tedious expectations are at last answered. +</p> + +<p> +Thy servant tells me that thou are plaguily grieved at the old fellow’s +departure. +</p> + +<p> +I can’t say, but thou mayest look as if thou wert; harassed as thou hast +been for a number of days and nights with a close attendance upon a dying man, +beholding his drawing-on hour—pretending, for decency’s sake, to +whine over his excruciating pangs; to be in the way to answer a thousand +impertinent inquiries after the health of a man thou wishedest to die—to +pray by him—for so once thou wrotest to me!—To read by him—to +be forced to join in consultation with a crew of solemn and parading doctors, +and their officious zanies, the apothecaries, joined with the butcherly tribe +of scarficators; all combined to carry on the physical farce, and to cut out +thongs both from his flesh and his estate—to have the superadded +apprehension of dividing thy interest in what he shall leave with a crew of +eager-hoping, never-to-be-satisfied relations, legatees, and the devil knows +who, of private gratifiers of passions laudable and illaudable—in these +circumstances, I wonder not that thou lookest before servants, (as little +grieved as thou after heirship,) as if thou indeed wert grieved; and as if the +most wry-fac’d woe had befallen thee. +</p> + +<p> +Then, as I have often thought, the reflection that must naturally arise from +such mortifying objects, as the death of one with whom we have been familiar, +must afford, when we are obliged to attend it in its slow approaches, and in +its face-twisting pangs, that it will one day be our own case, goes a great way +to credit the appearance of grief. +</p> + +<p> +And that it is this, seriously reflected upon, may temporally give a fine air +of sincerity to the wailings of lively widows, heart-exulting heirs, and +residuary legatees of all denominations; since, by keeping down the inward joy, +those interesting reflections must sadden the aspect, and add an appearance of +real concern to the assumed sables. +</p> + +<p> +Well, but, now thou art come to the reward of all thy watchings, anxieties, and +close attendances, tell me what it is; tell me if it compensate thy trouble, +and answer thy hope? +</p> + +<p> +As to myself, thou seest, by the gravity of my style, how the subject has +helped to mortify me. But the necessity I am under of committing either speedy +matrimony, or a rape, has saddened over my gayer prospects, and, more than the +case itself, contributed to make me sympathize with the present joyful-sorrow. +</p> + +<p> +Adieu, Jack, I must be soon out of my pain; and my Clarissa shall be soon out +of her’s—for so does the arduousness of the case require. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"></a> LETTER III</h2> + +<p class="center"> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +SUNDAY MORNING. +</p> + +<p> +I have had the honour of my charmer’s company for two complete hours. We +met before six in Mrs. Moore’s garden. A walk on the Heath refused me. +</p> + +<p> +The sedateness of her aspect and her kind compliance in this meeting gave me +hopes. And all that either the Captain and I had urged yesterday to obtain a +full and free pardon, that re-urged I; and I told her, besides, that Captain +Tomlinson was gone down with hopes to prevail upon her uncle Harlowe to come up +in person, in order to present to me the greatest blessing that man ever +received. +</p> + +<p> +But the utmost I could obtain was, that she would take no resolution in my +favour till she received Miss Howe’s next letter. +</p> + +<p> +I will not repeat the arguments I used; but I will give thee the substance of +what she said in answer to them. +</p> + +<p> +She had considered of every thing, she told me. My whole conduct was before +her. The house I carried her to must be a vile house. The people early showed +what they were capable of, in the earnest attempt made to fasten Miss +Partington upon her; as she doubted not, with my approbation. [Surely, thought +I, she has not received a duplicate of Miss Howe’s letter of detection!] +They heard her cries. My insult was undoubtedly premeditated. By my whole +recollected behaviour to her, previous to it, it must be so. I had the vilest +of views, no question. And my treatment of her put it out of all doubt. +</p> + +<p> +Soul over all, Belford! She seems sensible of liberties that my passion made me +insensible of having taken, or she could not so deeply resent. +</p> + +<p> +She besought me to give over all thoughts of her. Sometimes, she said, she +thought herself cruelly treated by her nearest and dearest relations; at such +times, a spirit of repining and even of resentment took place; and the +reconciliation, at other times so desirable, was not then so much the favourite +wish of her heart, as was the scheme she had formerly planned—of taking +her good Norton for her directress and guide, and living upon her own estate in +the manner her grandfather had intended she should live. +</p> + +<p> +This scheme she doubted not that her cousin Morden, who was one of her trustees +for that estate, would enable her, (and that, as she hoped, without +litigation,) to pursue. And if he can, and does, what, Sir, let me ask you, +said she, have I seen in your conduct, that should make me prefer to it an +union of interest, where there is such a disunion in minds? +</p> + +<p> +So thou seest, Jack, there is reason, as well as resentment, in the preference +she makes against me!—Thou seest, that she presumes to think that she can +be happy without me; and that she must be unhappy with me! +</p> + +<p> +I had besought her, in the conclusion of my re-urged arguments, to write to +Miss Howe before Miss Howe’s answer could come, in order to lay before +her the present state of things; and if she would pay a deference to her +judgment, to let her have an opportunity to give it, on the full knowledge of +the case— +</p> + +<p> +So I would, Mr. Lovelace, was the answer, if I were in doubt myself, which I +would prefer—marriage, or the scheme I have mentioned. You cannot think, +Sir, but the latter must be my choice. I wish to part with you with +temper—don’t put me upon repeating— +</p> + +<p> +Part with me, Madam! interrupted I—I cannot bear those words!—But +let me beseech you, however, to write to Miss Howe. I hope, if Miss Howe is not +my enemy— +</p> + +<p> +She is not the enemy of your person, Sir;—as you would be convinced, if +you saw her last letter* to me. But were she not an enemy to your actions, she +would not be my friend, nor the friend of virtue. Why will you provoke from me, +Mr. Lovelace, the harshness of expression, which, however, which, however +deserved by you, I am unwilling just now to use, having suffered enough in the +two past days from my own vehemence? +</p> + +<p> +* The lady innocently means Mr. Lovelace’s forged one. See Vol. V. Letter +XXX. +</p> + +<p> +I bit my lip for vexation. And was silent. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Howe, proceeded she, knows the full state of matters already, Sir. The +answer I expect from her respects myself, not you. Her heart is too warm in the +cause of friendship, to leave me in suspense one moment longer than is +necessary as to what I want to know. Nor does her answer absolutely depend upon +herself. She must see a person first, and that person perhaps see others. +</p> + +<p> +The cursed smuggler-woman, Jack!—Miss Howe’s Townsend, I doubt +not—Plot, contrivance, intrigue, stratagem!—Underground-moles +these women—but let the earth cover me!—let me be a mole too, +thought I, if they carry their point!—and if this lady escape me now! +</p> + +<p> +She frankly owned that she had once thought of embarking out of all our ways +for some one of our American colonies. But now that she had been compelled to +see me, (which had been her greatest dread), and which she might be happiest in +the resumption of her former favourite scheme, if Miss Howe could find her a +reputable and private asylum, till her cousin Morden could come.—But if +he came not soon, and if she had a difficulty to get to a place of refuge, +whether from her brother or from any body else, [meaning me, I suppose,] she +might yet perhaps go abroad; for, to say the truth, she could not think of +returning to her father’s house, since her brother’s rage, her +sister’s upbraidings, her father’s anger, her mother’s +still-more-affecting sorrowings, and her own consciousness under them all, +would be unsupportable to her. +</p> + +<p> +O Jack! I am sick to death, I pine, I die, for Miss Howe’s next letter! I +would bind, gag, strip, rob, and do any thing but murder, to intercept it. +</p> + +<p> +But, determined as she seems to be, it was evident to me, nevertheless, that +she had still some tenderness for me. +</p> + +<p> +She often wept as she talked, and much oftener sighed. She looked at me twice +with an eye of undoubted gentleness, and three times with an eye tending to +compassion and softness; but its benign rays were as often snatched back, as I +may say, and her face averted, as if her sweet eyes were not to be trusted, and +could not stand against my eager eyes; seeking, as they did, for a lost heart +in her’s, and endeavouring to penetrate to her very soul. +</p> + +<p> +More than once I took her hand. She struggled not much against the freedom. I +pressed it once with my lips—she was not very angry. A frown +indeed—but a frown that had more distress in it than indignation. +</p> + +<p> +How came the dear soul, (clothed as it is with such a silken vesture,) by all +its steadiness?* Was it necessary that the active gloom of such a tyrant of a +father, should commix with such a passive sweetness of a will-less mother, to +produce a constancy, an equanimity, a steadiness, in the daughter, which never +woman before could boast of? If so, she is more obliged to that despotic father +than I could have imagined a creature to be, who gave distinction to every one +related to her beyond what the crown itself can confer. +</p> + +<p> +* See Vol. I. Letters IX. XIV. and XIX. for what she herself says on that +steadiness which Mr. Lovelace, though a deserved sufferer by it, cannot help +admiring. +</p> + +<p> +I hoped, I said, that she would admit of the intended visit, which I had so +often mentioned, of the two ladies. +</p> + +<p> +She was here. She had seen me. She could not help herself at present. She even +had the highest regard for the ladies of my family, because of their worthy +characters. There she turned away her sweet face, and vanquished an half-risen +sigh. +</p> + +<p> +I kneeled to her then. It was upon a verdant cushion; for we were upon the +grass walk. I caught her hand. I besought her with an earnestness that called +up, as I could feel, my heart to my eyes, to make me, by her forgiveness and +example, more worthy of them, and of her own kind and generous wishes. By my +soul, Madam, said I, you stab me with your goodness—your undeserved +goodness! and I cannot bear it! +</p> + +<p> +Why, why, thought I, as I did several times in this conversation, will she not +generously forgive me? Why will she make it necessary for me to bring Lady +Betty and my cousin to my assistance? Can the fortress expect the same +advantageous capitulation, which yields not to the summons of a resistless +conqueror, as if it gave not the trouble of bringing up and raising its heavy +artillery against it? +</p> + +<p> +What sensibilities, said the divine creature, withdrawing her hand, must thou +have suppressed! What a dreadful, what a judicial hardness of heart must thine +be! who canst be capable of such emotions, as sometimes thou hast shown; and of +such sentiments, as sometimes have flowed from thy lips; yet canst have so far +overcome them all as to be able to act as thou hast acted, and that from +settled purpose and premeditation; and this, as it is said, throughout the +whole of thy life, from infancy to this time! +</p> + +<p> +I told her, that I had hoped, from the generous concern she had expressed for +me, when I was so suddenly and dangerously taken ill—[the ipecacuanha +experiment, Jack!] +</p> + +<p> +She interrupted me—Well have you rewarded me for the concern you speak +of!—However, I will frankly own, now that I am determined to think no +more of you, that you might, (unsatisfied as I nevertheless was with you,) have +made an interest— +</p> + +<p> +She paused. I besought her to proceed. +</p> + +<p> +Do you suppose, Sir, and turned away her sweet face as we walked,—Do you +suppose that I had not thought of laying down a plan to govern myself by, when +I found myself so unhappily over-reached and cheated, as I may say, out of +myself—When I found, that I could not be, and do, what I wished to be, +and to do, do you imagine that I had not cast about, what was the next proper +course to take?—And do you believe that this next course has not caused +me some pain to be obliged to— +</p> + +<p> +There again she stopt. +</p> + +<p> +But let us break off discourse, resumed she. The subject grows too—She +sighed—Let us break off discourse—I will go in—I will prepare +for church—[The devil! thought I.] Well, as I can appear in those +every-day-worn clothes—looking upon herself—I will go to church. +</p> + +<p> +She then turned from me to go into the house. +</p> + +<p> +Bless me, my beloved creature, bless me with the continuance of this affecting +conversation.—Remorse has seized my heart!—I have been excessively +wrong—give me farther cause to curse my heedless folly, by the +continuance of this calm but soul-penetrating conversation. +</p> + +<p> +No, no, Mr. Lovelace: I have said too much. Impatience begins to break in upon +me. If you can excuse me to the ladies, it will be better for my mind’s +sake, and for your credit’s sake, that I do not see them. Call me to them +over-nice, petulant, prudish—what you please call me to them. Nobody but +Miss Howe, to whom, next to the Almighty, and my own mother, I wish to stand +acquitted of wilful error, shall know the whole of what has passed. Be happy, +as you may!—Deserve to be happy, and happy you will be, in your own +reflection at least, were you to be ever so unhappy in other respects. For +myself, if I ever shall be enabled, on due reflection, to look back upon my own +conduct, without the great reproach of having wilfully, and against the light +of my own judgment, erred, I shall be more happy than if I had all that the +world accounts desirable. +</p> + +<p> +The noble creature proceeded; for I could not speak. +</p> + +<p> +This self-acquittal, when spirits are lent me to dispel the darkness which at +present too often over-clouds my mind, will, I hope, make me superior to all +the calamities that can befal me. +</p> + +<p> +Her whole person was informed by her sentiments. She seemed to be taller than +before. How the God within her exalted her, not only above me, but above +herself! +</p> + +<p> +Divine creature! (as I thought her,) I called her. I acknowledged the +superiority of her mind; and was proceeding—but she interrupted +me—All human excellence, said she, is comparative only. My mind, I +believe, is indeed superior to your’s, debased as your’s is by evil +habits: but I had not known it to be so, if you had not taken pains to convince +me of the inferiority of your’s. +</p> + +<p> +How great, how sublimely great, this creature!—By my soul I cannot +forgive her for her virtues! There is no bearing the consciousness of the +infinite inferiority she charged me with.—But why will she break from me, +when good resolutions are taking place? The red-hot iron she refuses to +strike—O why will she suffer the yielding wax to harden? +</p> + +<p> +We had gone but a few paces towards the house, when we were met by the +impertinent women, with notice, that breakfast was ready. I could only, with +uplifted hands, beseech her to give me hope of a renewed conversation after +breakfast. +</p> + +<p> +No—she would go to church. +</p> + +<p> +And into the house she went, and up stairs directly. Nor would she oblige me +with her company at the tea-table. +</p> + +<p> +I offered, by Mrs. Moore, to quit both the table and the parlour, rather than +she should exclude herself, or deprive the two widows of the favour of her +company. +</p> + +<p> +That was not all the matter, she told Mrs. Moore. She had been struggling to +keep down her temper. It had cost her some pains to do it. She was desirous to +compose herself, in hopes to receive benefit by the divine worship she was +going to join in. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Moore hoped for her presence at dinner. +</p> + +<p> +She had rather be excused. Yet, if she could obtain the frame of mind she hoped +for, she might not be averse to show, that she had got above those +sensibilities, which gave consideration to a man who deserved not to be to her +what he had been. +</p> + +<p> +This said, no doubt, to let Mrs. Moore know, that the garden-conversation had +not been a reconciling one. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Moore seemed to wonder that we were not upon a better foot of +understanding, after so long a conference; and the more, as she believed that +the lady had given in to the proposal for the repetition of the ceremony, which +I had told them was insisted upon by her uncle Harlowe.—But I accounted +for this, by telling both widows that she was resolved to keep on the reserve +till she heard from Captain Tomlinson, whether her uncle would be present in +person at the solemnity, or would name that worthy gentleman for his proxy. +</p> + +<p> +Again I enjoined strict secresy, as to this particular; which was promised by +the widows, as well as for themselves, as for Miss Rawlins; of whose +taciturnity they gave me such an account, as showed me, that she was +secret-keeper-general to all the women of fashion at Hampstead. +</p> + +<p> +The Lord, Jack! What a world of mischief, at this rate, must Miss Rawlins +know!—What a Pandora’s box must her bosom be!—Yet, had I +nothing that was more worthy of my attention to regard, I would engage to open +it, and make my uses of the discovery. +</p> + +<p> +And now, Belford, thou perceivest, that all my reliance is upon the mediation +of Lady Betty and Miss Montague, and upon the hope of intercepting Miss +Howe’s next letter. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"></a> LETTER IV</h2> + +<p class="center"> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +</p> + +<p> +This fair inexorable is actually gone to church with Mrs. Moore and Mrs. Bevis; +but Will. closely attends her motions; and I am in the way to receive any +occasional intelligence from him. +</p> + +<p> +She did not choose, [a mighty word with the sex! as if they were always to have +their own wills!] that I should wait upon her. I did not much press it, that +she might not apprehend that I thought I had reason to doubt her voluntary +return. +</p> + +<p> +I once had it in my head to have found the widow Bevis other employment. And I +believe she would have been as well pleased with my company as to go to church; +for she seemed irresolute when I told her that two out of a family were enough +to go to church for one day. But having her things on, (as the women call every +thing,) and her aunt Moore expecting her company, she thought it best to +go—lest it should look oddly, you know, whispered she, to one who was +above regarding how it looked. +</p> + +<p> +So here am I in my dining-room; and have nothing to do but to write till they +return. +</p> + +<p> +And what will be my subject thinkest thou? Why, the old beaten one to be sure; +self-debate—through temporary remorse: for the blow being not struck, her +guardian angel is redoubling his efforts to save her. +</p> + +<p> +If it be not that, [and yet what power should her guardian angel have over me?] +I don’t know what it is that gives a check to my revenge, whenever I +meditate treason against so sovereign a virtue. Conscience is dead and gone, as +I told thee; so it cannot be that. A young conscience growing up, like the +phoenix, from the ashes of the old one, it cannot be, surely. But if it were, +it would be hard, if I could not overlay a young conscience. +</p> + +<p> +Well, then, it must be LOVE, I fancy. LOVE itself, inspiring love of an object +so adorable—some little attention possibly paid likewise to thy whining +arguments in her favour. +</p> + +<p> +Let LOVE then be allowed to be the moving principle; and the rather, as LOVE +naturally makes the lover loth to disoblige the object of its flame; and +knowing, that to an offence of the meditated kind will be a mortal offence to +her, cannot bear that I should think of giving it. +</p> + +<p> +Let LOVE and me talk together a little on this subject—be it a young +conscience, or love, or thyself, Jack, thou seest that I am for giving every +whiffler audience. But this must be the last debate on this subject; for is not +her fate in a manner at its crisis? And must not my next step be an +irretrievable one, tend it which way it will? +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +And now the debate is over. +</p> + +<p> +A thousand charming things, (for LOVE is gentler than CONSCIENCE,) has this +little urchin suggested in her favour. He pretended to know both our hearts: +and he would have it, that though my love was a prodigious strong and potent +love; and though it has the merit of many months, faithful service to plead, +and has had infinite difficulties to struggle with; yet that it is not THE +RIGHT SORT OF LOVE. +</p> + +<p> +Right sort of love!—A puppy!—But, with due regard to your +deityship, said I, what merits has she with YOU, that you should be of her +party? Is her’s, I pray you, a right sort of love? Is it love at all? She +don’t pretend that it is. She owns not your sovereignty. What a +d—l moves you, to plead thus earnestly for a rebel, who despises your +power? +</p> + +<p> +And then he came with his If’s and And’s—and it would have +been, and still, as he believed, would be, love, and a love of the exalted +kind, if I would encourage it by the right sort of love he talked of: and, in +justification of his opinion, pleaded her own confessions, as well those of +yesterday, as of this morning: and even went so far back as to my ipecacuanha +illness. +</p> + +<p> +I never talked so familiarly with his godship before: thou mayest think, +therefore, that his dialect sounded oddly in my ears. And then he told me, how +often I had thrown cold water upon the most charming flame that ever warmed a +lady’s bosom, while but young and rising. +</p> + +<p> +I required a definition of this right sort of love, he tried at it: but made a +sorry hand of it: nor could I, for the soul of me, be convinced, that what he +meant to extol was LOVE. +</p> + +<p> +Upon the whole, we had a noble controversy upon this subject, in which he +insisted upon the unprecedented merit of the lady. Nevertheless I got the +better of him; for he was struck absolutely dumb, when (waving her present +perverseness, which yet was a sufficient answer to all his pleas) I asserted, +and offered to prove it, by a thousand instances impromptu, that love was not +governed by merit, nor could be under the dominion of prudence, or any other +reasoning power: and if the lady were capable of love, it was of such a sort as +he had nothing to do with, and which never before reigned in a female heart. +</p> + +<p> +I asked him, what he thought of her flight from me, at a time when I was more +than half overcome by the right sort of love he talked of?—And then I +showed him the letter she wrote, and left behind her for me, with an intention, +no doubt, absolutely to break my heart, or to provoke me to hang, drown, or +shoot myself; to say nothing of a multitude of declarations from her, defying +his power, and imputing all that looked like love in her behaviour to me, to +the persecution and rejection of her friends; which made her think of me but as +a last resort. +</p> + +<p> +LOVE then gave her up. The letter, he said, deserved neither pardon nor excuse. +He did not think he had been pleading for such a declared rebel. And as to the +rest, he should be a betrayer of the rights of his own sovereignty, if what I +had alleged were true, and he were still to plead for her. +</p> + +<p> +I swore to the truth of all. And truly I swore: which perhaps I do not always +do. +</p> + +<p> +And now what thinkest thou must become of the lady, whom LOVE itself gives up, +and CONSCIENCE cannot plead for? +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"></a> LETTER V</h2> + +<p> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. SUNDAY AFTERNOON. +</p> + +<p> +O Belford! what a hair’s-breadth escape have I had!—Such a one, +that I tremble between terror and joy, at the thought of what might have +happened, and did not. +</p> + +<p> +What a perverse girl is this, to contend with her fate; yet has reason to +think, that her very stars fight against her! I am the luckiest of +me!—But my breath almost fails me, when I reflect upon what a slender +thread my destiny hung. +</p> + +<p> +But not to keep thee in suspense; I have, within this half-hour, obtained +possession of the expected letter from Miss Howe—and by such an accident! +But here, with the former, I dispatch this; thy messenger waiting. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"></a> LETTER VI</h2> + +<p> +MR. LOVELACE [IN CONTINUATION.] +</p> + +<p> +Thus it was—My charmer accompanied Mrs. Moore again to church this +afternoon. I had been in very earnest, in the first place, to obtain her +company at dinner: but in vain. According to what she had said to Mrs. Moore,* +I was too considerable to her to be allowed that favour. In the next place, I +besought her to favour me, after dinner, with another garden-walk. But she +would again go to church. And what reason have I to rejoice that she did! +</p> + +<p> +* See Letter III. of this volume. +</p> + +<p> +My worthy friend, Mrs. Bevis, thought one sermon a day, well observed, enough; +so staid at home to bear me company. +</p> + +<p> +The lady and Mrs. Moore had not been gone a quarter of an hour, when a young +country-fellow on horseback came to the door, and inquired for Mrs. Harriot +Lucas. The widow and I (undetermined how we were to entertain each other) were +in the parlour next the door; and hearing the fellow’s inquiry, O my dear +Mrs. Bevis, said I, I am undone, undone for ever, if you don’t help me +out!—Since here, in all probability, is a messenger from that implacable +Miss Howe with a letter; which, if delivered to Mrs. Lovelace, may undo all we +have been doing. +</p> + +<p> +What, said she, would you have me do? +</p> + +<p> +Call the maid in this moment, that I may give her her lesson; and if it be as I +imagined, I’ll tell you what you shall do. +</p> + +<p> +Wid. Margaret!—Margaret! come in this minute. +</p> + +<p> +Lovel. What answer, Mrs. Margaret, did you give the man, upon his asking for +Mrs. Harriot Lucas? +</p> + +<p> +Peggy. I only asked, What was his business, and who he came from? (for, Sir, +your honour’s servant had told me how things stood): and I came at your +call, Madam, before he answered me. +</p> + +<p> +Lovel. Well, child, if ever you wish to be happy in wedlock yourself, and would +have people disappointed who want to make mischief between you and your +husband, get out of him his message, or letter if he has one, and bring it to +me, and say nothing to Mrs. Lovelace, when she comes in; and here is a guinea +for you. +</p> + +<p> +Peggy. I will do all I can to serve your honour’s worship for nothing: +[nevertheless, with a ready hand, taking the guinea:] for Mr. William tells me +what a good gentleman you be. +</p> + +<p> +Away went Peggy to the fellow at the door. +</p> + +<p> +Peggy. What is your business, friend, with Mrs. Harry Lucas? +</p> + +<p> +Fellow. I must speak to her her own self. +</p> + +<p> +Lovel. My dearest widow, do you personate Mrs. Lovelace—for +Heaven’s sake do you personate Mrs. Lovelace. +</p> + +<p> +Wid. I personate Mrs. Lovelace, Sir! How can I do that?—She is fair; I am +brown. She is slender: I am plump— +</p> + +<p> +Lovel. No matter, no matter—The fellow may be a new-come servant: he is +not in livery, I see. He may not know her person. You can but be bloated and in +a dropsy. +</p> + +<p> +Wid. Dropsical people look not so fresh and ruddy as I do. +</p> + +<p> +Lovel. True—but the clown may not know that. ’Tis but for a present +deception. Peggy, Peggy, call’d I, in a female tone, softly at the door. +Madam, answer’d Peggy; and came up to me to the parlour-door. +</p> + +<p> +Lovel. Tell him the lady is ill; and has lain down upon the couch. And get his +business from him, whatever you do. +</p> + +<p> +Away went Peggy. +</p> + +<p> +Lovel. Now, my dear widow, lie along the settee, and put your handkerchief over +your face, that, if he will speak to you himself, he may not see your eyes and +your hair.—So—that’s right.—I’ll step into the +closet by you. +</p> + +<p> +I did so. +</p> + +<p> +Peggy. [Returning.] He won’t deliver his business to me. He will speak to +Mrs. Harriot Lucas her own self. +</p> + +<p> +Lovel. [Holding the door in my hand.] Tell him that this is Mrs. Harriot Lucas; +and let him come in. Whisper him (if he doubts) that she is bloated, dropsical, +and not the woman she was. +</p> + +<p> +Away went Margery. +</p> + +<p> +Lovel. And now, my dear widow, let me see what a charming Mrs. Lovelace +you’ll make!—Ask if he comes from Miss Howe. Ask if he lives with +her. Ask how she does. Call her, at every word, your dear Miss Howe. Offer him +money—take this half-guinea for him—complain of your head, to have +a pretence to hold it down; and cover your forehead and eyes with your hand, +where your handkerchief hides not your face.—That’s right—and +dismiss the rascal—[here he comes]—as soon as you can. +</p> + +<p> +In came the fellow, bowing and scraping, his hat poked out before him with both +his hands. +</p> + +<p> +Fellow. I am sorry, Madam, an’t please you, to find you ben’t well. +</p> + +<p> +Widow. What is your business with me, friend? +</p> + +<p> +Fellow. You are Mrs. Harriot Lucas, I suppose, Madam? +</p> + +<p> +Widow. Yes. Do you come from Miss Howe? +</p> + +<p> +Fellow. I do, Madam. +</p> + +<p> +Widow. Dost thou know my right name, friend? +</p> + +<p> +Fellow. I can give a shrewd guess. But that is none of my business. +</p> + +<p> +Widow. What is thy business? I hope Miss Howe is well? +</p> + +<p> +Fellow. Yes, Madam; pure well, I thank God. I wish you were so too. +</p> + +<p> +Widow. I am too full of grief to be well. +</p> + +<p> +Fellow. So belike I have hard to say. +</p> + +<p> +Widow. My head aches so dreadfully, I cannot hold it up. I must beg of you to +let me know your business. +</p> + +<p> +Fellow. Nay, and that be all, my business is soon known. It is but to give this +letter into your own partiklar hands—here it is. +</p> + +<p> +Widow. [Taking it.] From my dear friend Miss Howe?—Ah, my head! +</p> + +<p> +Fellow. Yes, Madam: but I am sorry you are so bad. +</p> + +<p> +Widow. Do you live with Miss Howe? +</p> + +<p> +Fellow. No, Madam: I am one of her tenants’ sons. Her lady-mother must +not know as how I came of this errand. But the letter, I suppose, will tell you +all. +</p> + +<p> +Widow. How shall I satisfy you for this kind trouble? +</p> + +<p> +Fellow. No how at all. What I do is for love of Miss Howe. She will satisfy me +more than enough. But, may-hap, you can send no answer, you are so ill. +</p> + +<p> +Widow. Was you ordered to wait for an answer? +</p> + +<p> +Fellow. No, I cannot say as that I was. But I was bidden to observe how you +looked, and how you was; and if you did write a line or two, to take care of +it, and give it only to our young landlady in secret. +</p> + +<p> +Widow. You see I look strangely. Not so well as I used to do. +</p> + +<p> +Fellow. Nay, I don’t know that I ever saw you but once before; and that +was at a stile, where I met you and my young landlady; but knew better than to +stare a gentlewoman in the face; especially at a stile. +</p> + +<p> +Widow. Will you eat, or drink, friend? +</p> + +<p> +Fellow. A cup of small ale, I don’t care if I do. +</p> + +<p> +Widow. Margaret, take the young man down, and treat him with what the house +affords. +</p> + +<p> +Fellow. Your servant, Madam. But I staid to eat as I come along, just upon the +Heath yonder; or else, to say the truth, I had been here sooner. [Thank my +stars, thought I, thou didst.] A piece of powdered beef was upon the table, at +the sign of the Castle, where I stopt to inquire for this house: and so, thoff +I only intended to wet my whistle, I could not help eating. So shall only taste +of your ale; for the beef was woundily corned. +</p> + +<p> +Prating dog! Pox on thee! thought I. +</p> + +<p> +He withdrew, bowing and scraping. +</p> + +<p> +Margaret, whispered I, in a female voice [whispering out of the closet, and +holding the parlour-door in my hand] get him out of the house as fast as you +can, lest they come from church, and catch him here. +</p> + +<p> +Peggy. Never fear, Sir. +</p> + +<p> +The fellow went down, and it seems, drank a large draught of ale; and Margaret +finding him very talkative, told him, she begged his pardon, but she had a +sweetheart just come from sea, whom she was forced to hide in the pantry; so +was sure he would excuse her from staying with him. +</p> + +<p> +Ay, ay, to be sure, the clown said: for if he could not make sport, he would +spoil none. But he whispered her, that one ’Squire Lovelace was a +damnation rogue, if the truth might be told. +</p> + +<p> +For what? said Margaret. And could have given him, she told the widow (who +related to me all this) a good dowse of the chaps. +</p> + +<p> +For kissing all the women he came near. +</p> + +<p> +At the same time, the dog wrapped himself round Margery, and gave her a smack, +that, she told Mrs. Bevis afterwards, she might have heard into the parlour. +</p> + +<p> +Such, Jack, is human nature: thus does it operate in all degrees; and so does +the clown, as well as his practises! Yet this sly dog knew not but the wench +had a sweetheart locked up in the pantry! If the truth were known, some of the +ruddy-faced dairy wenches might perhaps call him a damnation rogue, as justly +as their betters of the same sex might ’Squire Lovelace. +</p> + +<p> +The fellow told the maid, that, by what he discovered of the young lady’s +face, it looked very rosy to what he took it to be; and he thought her a good +deal fatter, as she lay, and not so tall. +</p> + +<p> +All women are born to intrigue, Jack; and practise it more or less, as fathers, +guardians, governesses, from dear experience, can tell; and in love affairs are +naturally expert, and quicker in their wits by half than men. This ready, +though raw wench, gave an instance of this, and improved on the dropsical hint +I had given her. The lady’s seeming plumpness was owing to a dropsical +disorder, and to the round posture she lay in—very likely, truly. Her +appearing to him to be shorter, he might have observed, was owing to her +drawing her feet up from pain, and because the couch was too short, she +supposed—Adso, he did not think of that. Her rosy colour was owing to her +grief and head-ache.—Ay, that might very well be—but he was highly +pleased that he had given the letter into Mrs. Harriot’s own hand, as he +should tell Miss Howe. +</p> + +<p> +He desired once more to see the lady at his going away, and would not be +denied. The widow therefore sat up, with her handkerchief over her face, +leaning her head against the wainscot. +</p> + +<p> +He asked if she had any partiklar message? +</p> + +<p> +No: she was so ill she could not write; which was a great grief to her. +</p> + +<p> +Should he call the next day? for he was going to London, now he was so near; +and should stay at a cousin’s that night, who lived in a street called +Fetter-Lane. +</p> + +<p> +No: she would write as soon as able, and send by the post. +</p> + +<p> +Well, then, if she had nothing to send by him, mayhap he might stay in town a +day or two; for he had never seen the lions in the Tower, nor Bedlam, nor the +tombs; and he would make a holiday or two, as he had leave to do, if she had no +business or message that required his posting down next day. +</p> + +<p> +She had not. +</p> + +<p> +She offered him the half-guinea I had given her for him; but he refused it with +great professions of disinterestedness, and love, as he called it, to Miss +Howe; to serve whom, he would ride to the world’s-end, or even to +Jericho. +</p> + +<p> +And so the shocking rascal went away: and glad at my heart was I when he was +gone; for I feared nothing so much as that he would have staid till they came +from church. +</p> + +<p> +Thus, Jack, got I my heart’s ease, the letter of Miss Howe; and through +such a train of accidents, as makes me say, that the lady’s stars fight +against her. But yet I must attribute a good deal to my own precaution, in +having taken right measures. For had I not secured the widow by my stories, and +the maid by my servant, all would have signified nothing. And so heartily were +they secured, the one by a single guinea, the other by half a dozen warm +kisses, and the aversion they both had to such wicked creatures as delighted in +making mischief between man and wife, that they promised, that neither Mrs. +Moore, Miss Rawlins, Mrs. Lovelace, nor any body living, should know any thing +of the matter. +</p> + +<p> +The widow rejoiced that I had got the mischief-maker’s letter. I excused +myself to her, and instantly withdrew with it; and, after I had read it, fell +to my short-hand, to acquaint thee with my good luck: and they not returning so +soon as church was done, (stepping, as it proved, into Miss Rawlins’s, +and tarrying there awhile, to bring that busy girl with them to drink tea,) I +wrote thus far to thee, that thou mightest, when thou camest to this place, +rejoice with me upon the occasion. +</p> + +<p> +They are all three just come in. +</p> + +<p> +I hasten to them. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"></a> LETTER VII</h2> + +<p class="center"> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +</p> + +<p> +I have begun another letter to thee, in continuation of my narrative: but I +believe I shall send thee this before I shall finish that. By the enclosed thou +wilt see, that neither of the correspondents deserve mercy from me: and I am +resolved to make the ending with one the beginning with the other. +</p> + +<p> +If thou sayest that the provocations I have given to one of them will justify +her freedoms; I answer, so they will, to any other person but myself. But he +that is capable of giving those provocations, and has the power to punish those +who abuse him for giving them, will show his resentment; and the more +remorselessly, perhaps, as he has deserved the freedoms. +</p> + +<p> +If thou sayest, it is, however, wrong to do so; I reply, that it is +nevertheless human nature:—And wouldst thou not have me to be a man, +Jack? +</p> + +<p> +Here read the letter, if thou wilt. But thou art not my friend, if thou +offerest to plead for either of the saucy creatures, after thou hast read it. +</p> + +<p> +TO MRS. HARRIOT LUCAS, +</p> + +<p> +AT MRS. MOORE’S, AT HAMPSTEAD. JUNE 10. +</p> + +<p> +After the discoveries I had made of the villanous machinations of the most +abandoned of men, particularized in my long letter of Wednesday* last, you will +believe, my dearest friend, that my surprise upon perusing your’s of +Thursday evening from Hampstead** was not so great as my indignation. Had the +villain attempted to fire a city instead of a house, I should not have wondered +at it. All that I am amazed at is, that he (whose boast, as I am told, it is, +that no woman shall keep him out of her bed-chamber, when he has made a +resolution to be in it) did not discover his foot before. And it is as strange +to me, that, having got you at such a shocking advantage, and in such a horrid +house, you could, at the time, escape dishonour, and afterwards get from such a +set of infernals. +</p> + +<p> +* See Vol. V. Letter XX. ** Ibid. See Letter XXI. +</p> + +<p> +I gave you, in my long letter of Wednesday and Thursday last, reasons why you +ought to mistrust that specious Tomlinson. That man, my dear, must be a solemn +villain. May lightning from Heaven blast the wretch, who has set him and the +rest of his REMORSELESS GANG at work, to endeavour to destroy the most +consummate virtue!—Heaven be praised! you have escaped from all their +snares, and now are out of danger.—So I will not trouble you at present +with the particulars I have further collected relating to this abominable +imposture. +</p> + +<p> +For the same reason, I forbear to communicate to you some new stories of the +abhorred wretch himself which have come to my ears. One, in particular, of so +shocking a nature!—Indeed, my dear, the man’s a devil. +</p> + +<p> +The whole story of Mrs. Fretchville, and her house, I have no doubt to +pronounce, likewise, an absolute fiction.—Fellow!—How my soul +spurns the villain! +</p> + +<p> +Your thought of going abroad, and your reasons for so doing, most sensibly +affect me. But be comforted, my dear; I hope you will not be under a necessity +of quitting your native country. Were I sure that that must be the cruel case, +I would abandon all my better prospects, and soon be with you. And I would +accompany you whithersoever you went, and share fortunes with you: for it is +impossible that I should be happy, if I knew that you were exposed not only to +the perils of the sea, but to the attempts of other vile men; your personal +graces attracting every eye; and exposing you to those hourly dangers, which +others, less distinguished by the gifts of nature, might avoid.—All that +I know that beauty (so greatly coveted, and so greatly admired) is good for. +</p> + +<p> +O my dear, were I ever to marry, and to be the mother of a CLARISSA, [Clarissa +must be the name, if promisingly lovely,] how often would my heart ache for the +dear creature, as she grew up, when I reflected that a prudence and discretion, +unexampled in woman, had not, in you, been a sufficient protection to that +beauty, which had drawn after it as many admirers as beholders!—How +little should I regret the attacks of that cruel distemper, as it is called, +which frequently makes the greatest ravages in the finest faces! +</p> + +<p> +SAT. AFTERNOON. +</p> + +<p> +I have just parted with Mrs. Townsend.* I thought you had once seen her with +me; but she says she never had the honour to be personally known to you. She +has a manlike spirit. She knows the world. And her two brothers being in town, +she is sure she can engage them in so good a cause, and (if there should be +occasion) both their ships’ crews, in your service. +</p> + +<p> +* For the account of Mrs. Townsend, &c. see Vol. IV. Letter XLII. +</p> + +<p> +Give your consent, my dear; and the horrid villain shall be repaid with broken +bones, at least, for all his vileness! +</p> + +<p> +The misfortune is, Mrs. Townsend cannot be with you till Thursday next, or +Wednesday, at soonest: Are you sure you can be safe where you are till then? I +think you are too near London; and perhaps you had better be in it. If you +remove, let me, the very moment, know whither. +</p> + +<p> +How my heart is torn, to think of the necessity so dear a creature is driven to +of hiding herself! Devilish fellow! He must have been sportive and wanton in +his inventions—yet that cruel, that savage sportiveness has saved you +from the sudden violence to which he has had recourse in the violation of +others, of names and families not contemptible. For such the villain always +gloried to spread his snares. +</p> + +<p> +The vileness of this specious monster has done more, than any other +consideration could do, to bring Mr. Hickman into credit with me. Mr. Hickman +alone knows (from me) of your flight, and the reason of it. Had I not given him +the reason, he might have thought still worse of the vile attempt. I +communicated it to him by showing him your letter from Hampstead. When he had +read it, [and he trembled and reddened, as he read,] he threw himself at my +feet, and besought me to permit him to attend you, and to give you the +protection of his house. The good-natured man had tears in his eyes, and was +repeatedly earnest on this subject; proposing to take his chariot-and-four, or +a set, and in person, in the face of all the world, give himself the glory of +protecting such an oppressed innocent. +</p> + +<p> +I could not but be pleased with him. And I let him know that I was. I hardly +expected so much spirit from him. But a man’s passiveness to a beloved +object of our sex may not, perhaps, argue want of courage on proper occasions. +</p> + +<p> +I thought I ought, in return, to have some consideration for his safety, as +such an open step would draw upon him the vengeance of the most villanous +enterpriser in the world, who has always a gang of fellows, such as himself, at +his call, ready to support one another in the vilest outrages. But yet, as Mr. +Hickman might have strengthened his hands by legal recourses, I should not have +stood upon it, had I not known your delicacy, [since such a step must have made +a great noise, and given occasion for scandal, as if some advantage had been +gained over you,] and were there not the greatest probability that all might be +more silently, and more effectually, managed, by Mrs. Townsend’s means. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Townsend will in person attend you—she hopes, on Wednesday—her +brothers, and some of their people, will scatteringly, and as if they knew +nothing of you, [so we have contrived,] see you safe not only to London, but to +her house at Deptford. +</p> + +<p> +She has a kinswoman, who will take your commands there, if she herself be +obliged to leave you. And there you may stay, till the wretch’s fury, on +losing you, and his search, are over. +</p> + +<p> +He will very soon, ’tis likely, enter upon some new villany, which may +engross him: and it may be given out, that you are gone to lay claim to the +protection of your cousin Morden at Florence. +</p> + +<p> +Possibly, if he can be made to believe it, he will go over, in hopes to find +you there. +</p> + +<p> +After a while, I can procure you a lodging in one of our neighbouring villages, +where I may have the happiness to be your daily visiter. And if this Hickman be +not silly and apish, and if my mother do not do unaccountable things, I may the +sooner think of marrying, that I may, without controul, receive and entertain +the darling of my heart. +</p> + +<p> +Many, very many, happy days do I hope we shall yet see together; and as this is +my hope, I expect that it will be your consolation. +</p> + +<p> +As to your estate, since you are resolved not to litigate for it, we will be +patient, either till Colonel Morden arrives, or till shame compels some people +to be just. +</p> + +<p> +Upon the whole, I cannot but think your prospects now much happier than they +could have been, had you been actually married to such a man as this. I must +therefore congratulate you upon your escape, not only from a horrid libertine, +but from so vile a husband, as he must have made to any woman; but more +especially to a person of your virtue and delicacy. +</p> + +<p> +You hate him, heartily hate him, I hope, my dear—I am sure you do. It +would be strange, if so much purity of life and manners were not to abhor what +is so repugnant to itself. +</p> + +<p> +In your letter before me, you mention one written to me for a feint.* I have +not received any such. Depend upon it, therefore, that he must have it. And if +he has, it is a wonder that he did not likewise get my long one of the 7th. +Heaven be praised that he did not; and that it came safe to your hands! +</p> + +<p> +* See Vol. V. Letters XXI. and XXII. +</p> + +<p> +I send this by a young fellow, whose father is one of our tenants, with command +to deliver it to no other hands but your’s. He is to return directly, if +you give him any letter. If not, he will proceed to London upon his own +pleasures. He is a simple fellow; but very honest. So you may say anything to +him. If you write not by him, I desire a line or two, as soon as possible. +</p> + +<p> +My mother knows nothing of his going to you; nor yet of your abandoning the +fellow. Forgive me! But he is not entitled to good manners. +</p> + +<p> +I shall long to hear how you and Mrs. Townsend order matters. I wish she could +have been with you sooner. But I have lost no time in engaging her, as you will +suppose. I refer to her, what I have further to say and advise. So shall +conclude with my prayers, that Heaven will direct and protect my dearest +creature, and make your future days happy! +</p> + +<p> +ANNA HOWE. +</p> + +<p> +And now, Jack, I will suppose that thou hast read this cursed letter. Allow me +to make a few observations upon some of its contents. +</p> + +<p> +It is strange to Miss Howe, that having got her friend at such a shocking +advantage, &c. And it is strange to me, too. If ever I have such another +opportunity given to me, the cause of both our wonder, I believe, will cease. +</p> + +<p> +So thou seest Tomlinson is further detected.—No such person as Mrs. +Fretchville.—May lightning from Heaven—O Lord, O Lord, O +Lord!—What a horrid vixen is this!—My gang, my remorseless gang, +too, is brought in—and thou wilt plead for these girls again; wilt thou? +heaven be praised, she says, that her friend is out of danger—Miss Howe +should be sure of that, and that she herself is safe.—But for this +termagant, (as I often said,) I must surely have made a better hand of +it.— +</p> + +<p> +New stories of me, Jack!—What can they be?—I have not found that my +generosity to my Rose-bud ever did me due credit with this pair of friends. +Very hard, Belford, that credits cannot be set against debits, and a balance +struck in a rake’s favour, as well as in that of every common +man!—But he, from whom no good is expected, is not allowed the merit of +the good he does. +</p> + +<p> +I ought to have been a little more attentive to character than I have been. +For, notwithstanding that the measures of right and wrong are said to be so +manifest, let me tell thee, that character biases and runs away with all +mankind. Let a man or woman once establish themselves in the world’s +opinion, and all that either of them do will be sanctified. Nay, in the very +courts of justice, does not character acquit or condemn as often as facts, and +sometimes even in spite of facts?—Yet, [impolitic that I have been and +am!] to be so careless of mine!—And now, I doubt, it is +irretrievable.—But to leave moralizing. +</p> + +<p> +Thou, Jack, knowest almost all my enterprises worth remembering. Can this +particular story, which this girl hints at, be that of Lucy Villars?—Or +can she have heard of my intrigue with the pretty gipsey, who met me in +Norwood, and of the trap I caught her cruel husband in, [a fellow as gloomy and +tyrannical as old Harlowe,] when he pursued a wife, who would not have deserved +ill of him, if he had deserved well of her!—But he was not quite drowned. +The man is alive at this day, and Miss Howe mentions the story as a very +shocking one. Besides, both these are a twelve-month old, or more. +</p> + +<p> +But evil fame and scandal are always new. When the offender has forgot a vile +fact, it is often told to one and to another, who, having never heard of it +before, trumpet it about as a novelty to others. But well said the honest +corregidor at Madrid, [a saying with which I encroached Lord M.’s +collection,]—Good actions are remembered but for a day: bad ones for many +years after the life of the guilty. Such is the relish that the world has for +scandal. In other words, such is the desire which every one has to exculpate +himself by blackening his neighbour. You and I, Belford, have been very kind to +the world, in furnishing it with opportunities to gratify its devil. +</p> + +<p> +[Miss Howe will abandon her own better prospects, and share fortunes with her, +were she to go abroad.]—Charming romancer!—I must set about this +girl, Jack. I have always had hopes of a woman whose passions carry her to such +altitudes.—Had I attacked Miss Howe first, her passions, (inflamed and +guided as I could have managed them,) would have brought her into my lure in a +fortnight. +</p> + +<p> +But thinkest thou, [and yet I think thou dost,] that there is any thing in +these high flights among the sex?—Verily, Jack, these vehement +friendships are nothing but chaff and stubble, liable to be blown away by the +very wind that raises them. Apes, mere apes of us! they think the word +friendship has a pretty sound with it; and it is much talked of—a +fashionable word. And so, truly, a single woman, who thinks she has a soul, and +knows that she wants something, would be thought to have found a fellow-soul +for it in her own sex. But I repeat, that the word is a mere word, the thing a +mere name with them; a cork-bottomed shuttle-cock, which they are fond of +striking to and fro, to make one another glow in the frosty weather of a +single-state; but which, when a man comes in between the pretended +inseparables, is given up, like their music and other maidenly amusements; +which, nevertheless, may be necessary to keep the pretty rogues out of active +mischief. They then, in short, having caught the fish, lay aside the net.* +</p> + +<p> +* He alludes here to the story of a pope, who, (once a poor fisherman,) through +every preferment he rose to, even to that of the cardinalate, hung up in view +of all his guests his net, as a token of humility. But, when he arrived at the +pontificate, he took it down, saying, that there was no need of the net, when +he had caught the fish. +</p> + +<p> +Thou hast a mind, perhaps, to make an exception for these two +ladies.—With all my heart. My Clarissa has, if woman has, a soul capable +of friendship. Her flame is bright and steady. But Miss Howe’s, were it +not kept up by her mother’s opposition, is too vehement to endure. How +often have I known opposition not only cement friendship, but create love? I +doubt not but poor Hickman would fare the better with this vixen, if her mother +were as heartily against him, as she is for him. +</p> + +<p> +Thus much, indeed, as to these two ladies, I will grant thee, that the active +spirit of the one, and the meek disposition of the other, may make their +friendship more durable than it would otherwise be; for this is certain, that +in every friendship, whether male or female, there must be a man and a woman +spirit, (that is to say, one of them must be a forbearing one,) to make it +permanent. +</p> + +<p> +But this I pronounce, as a truth, which all experience confirms, that +friendship between women never holds to the sacrifice of capital +gratifications, or to the endangering of life, limb, or estate, as it often +does in our nobler sex. +</p> + +<p> +Well, but next comes an indictment against poor beauty! What has beauty done +that Miss Howe should be offended at it?—Miss Howe, Jack, is a charming +girl. She has no reason to quarrel with beauty!—Didst ever see +her?—Too much fire and spirit in her eye, indeed, for a girl!—But +that’s no fault with a man that can lower that fire and spirit at +pleasure; and I know I am the man that can. +</p> + +<p> +For my own part, when I was first introduced to this lady, which was by my +goddess when she herself was a visiter at Mrs. Howe’s, I had not been +half an hour with her, but I even hungered and thirsted after a romping +’bout with the lively rogue; and, in the second or third visit, was more +deterred by the delicacy of her friend, than by what I apprehended from her +own. This charming creature’s presence, thought I, awes us both. And I +wished her absence, though any other woman were present, that I might try the +differences in Miss Howe’s behaviour before her friend’s face, or +behind her back. +</p> + +<p> +Delicate women make delicate women, as well as decent men. With all Miss +Howe’s fire and spirit, it was easy to see, by her very eye, that she +watched for lessons and feared reproof from the penetrating eye of her milder +dispositioned friend;* and yet it was as easy to observe, in the candour and +sweet manners of the other, that the fear which Miss Howe stood in of her, was +more owing to her own generous apprehension that she fell short of her +excellencies, than to Miss Harlowe’s consciousness of excellence over +her. I have often since I came at Miss Howe’s letters, revolved this just +and fine praise contained in one of them:** ‘Every one saw that the +preference they gave you to themselves exalted you not into any visible triumph +over them; for you had always something to say, on every point you carried, +that raised the yielding heart, and left every one pleased and satisfied with +themselves, though they carried not off the palm.’ +</p> + +<p> +* Miss Howe, in Vol. III. Letter XIX. says, That she was always more afraid of +Clarissa than of her mother; and, in Vol. III. Letter XLIV. That she fears her +almost as much as she loves her; and in many other places, in her letters, +verifies this observation of Lovelace. ** See Vol. IV. Letter XXXI. +</p> + +<p> +As I propose, in a more advanced life, to endeavour to atone for my useful +freedoms with individuals of the sex, by giving cautions and instructions to +the whole, I have made a memorandum to enlarge upon this doctrine;—to +wit, that it is full as necessary to direct daughters in the choice of their +female companions, as it is to guard them against the designs of men. +</p> + +<p> +I say not this, however, to the disparagement of Miss Howe. She has from pride, +what her friend has from principle. [The Lord help the sex, if they had not +pride!] But yet I am confident, that Miss Howe is indebted to the conversation +and correspondence of Miss Harlowe for her highest improvements. But, both +these ladies out of the question, I make no scruple to aver, [and I, Jack, +should know something of the matter,] that there have been more girls ruined, +at least prepared for ruin, by their own sex, (taking in servants, as well as +companions,) than directly by the attempts and delusions of men. +</p> + +<p> +But it is time enough when I am old and joyless, to enlarge upon this topic. +</p> + +<p> +As to the comparison between the two ladies, I will expatiate more on that +subject, (for I like it,) when I have had them both. Which this letter of the +vixen girl’s, I hope thou wilt allow, warrants me to try for. +</p> + +<p> +I return to the consideration of a few more of its contents, to justify my +vengeances so nearly now in view. +</p> + +<p> +As to Mrs. Townsend,—her manlike spirit—her two brothers—and +the ships’ crews—I say nothing but this to the insolent +threatening—Let ’em come!—But as to her sordid +menace—To repay the horrid villain, as she calls me, for all my vileness +by BROKEN BONES!—Broken bones, Belford!—Who can bear this porterly +threatening!—Broken bones, Jack!—D—n the little +vulgar!—Give me a name for her—but I banish all furious resentment. +If I get these two girls into my power, Heaven forbid that I should be a second +Phalaris, who turned his bull upon the artist!—No bones of their’s +will I break—They shall come off with me upon much lighter terms!— +</p> + +<p> +But these fellows are smugglers, it seems. And am not I a smuggler too?—I +am—and have not the least doubt but I shall have secured my goods before +Thursday, or Wednesday either. +</p> + +<p> +But did I want a plot, what a charming new one does this letter of Miss Howe +strike me out! I am almost sorry, that I have fixed upon one.—For here, +how easy would it be for me to assemble a crew of swabbers, and to create a +Mrs. Townsend (whose person, thou seest, my beloved knows not) to come on +Tuesday, at Miss Howe’s repeated solicitations, in order to carry my +beloved to a warehouse of my own providing? +</p> + +<p> +This, however, is my triumphant hope, that at the very time that these +ragamuffins will be at Hampstead (looking for us) my dear Miss Harlowe and I +[so the Fates I imagine have ordained] shall be fast asleep in each +other’s arms in town.—Lie still, villain, till the time +comes.—My heart, Jack! my heart!—It is always thumping away on the +remotest prospects of this nature. +</p> + +<p> +But it seems that the vileness of this specious monster [meaning me, Jack!] has +brought Hickman into credit with her. So I have done some good! But to whom I +cannot tell: for this poor fellow, should I permit him to have this termagant, +will be punished, as many times we all are, by the enjoyment of his own +wishes—nor can she be happy, as I take it, with him, were he to govern +himself by her will, and have none of his own; since never was there a +directing wife who knew where to stop: power makes such a one wanton—she +despises the man she can govern. Like Alexander, who wept, that he had no more +worlds to conquer, she will be looking out for new exercises for her power, +till she grow uneasy to herself, a discredit to her husband, and a plague to +all about her. +</p> + +<p> +But this honest fellow, it seems, with tears in his eyes, and with humble +prostration, besought the vixen to permit him to set out in his +chariot-and-four, in order to give himself the glory of protecting such an +oppressed innocent, in the face of the whole world. Nay, he reddened, it seems: +and trembled too! as he read the fair complainant’s letter.—How +valiant is all this!—Women love brave men; and no wonder that his tears, +his trembling, and his prostration, gave him high reputation with the meek Miss +Howe. +</p> + +<p> +But dost think, Jack, that I in the like case (and equally affected with the +distress) should have acted thus? Dost think, that I should not first have +rescued the lady, and then, if needful, have asked excuse for it, the lady in +my hand?—Wouldst not thou have done thus, as well as I? +</p> + +<p> +But, ’tis best as it is. Honest Hickman may now sleep in a whole skin. +And yet that is more perhaps than he would have done (the lady’s +deliverance unattempted) had I come at this requested permission of his any +other way than by a letter that it must not be known that I have intercepted. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Howe thinks I may be diverted from pursuing my charmer, by some +new-started villany. Villany is a word that she is extremely fond of. But I can +tell her, that it is impossible I should, till the end of this villany be +obtained. Difficulty is a stimulus with such a spirit as mine. I thought Miss +Howe knew me better. Were she to offer herself, person for person, in the +romancing zeal of her friendship, to save her friend, it should not do, while +the dear creature is on this side the moon. +</p> + +<p> +She thanks Heaven, that her friend has received her letter of the 7th. We are +all glad of it. She ought to thank me too. But I will not at present claim her +thanks. +</p> + +<p> +But when she rejoices that the letter went safe, does she not, in effect, call +out for vengeance, and expect it!—All in good time, Miss Howe. When +settest thou out for the Isle of Wight, love? +</p> + +<p> +I will close at this time with desiring thee to make a list of the virulent +terms with which the enclosed letter abounds: and then, if thou supposest that +I have made such another, and have added to it all the flowers of the same +blow, in the former letters of the same saucy creature, and those in that of +Miss Harlowe, which she left for me on her elopement, thou wilt certainly +think, that I have provocations sufficient to justify me in all that I shall do +to either. +</p> + +<p> +Return the enclosed the moment thou hast perused it. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"></a> LETTER VIII</h2> + +<p> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. SUNDAY NIGHT—MONDAY MORNING. +</p> + +<p> +I went down with revenge in my heart, the contents of Miss Howe’s letter +almost engrossing me, the moment that Miss Harlowe and Mrs. Moore (accompanied +by Miss Rawlins) came in: but in my countenance all the gentle, the placid, the +serene, that the glass could teach; and in my behaviour all the polite, that +such an unpolite creature, as she has often told me I am, could put on. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Rawlins was sent for home almost as soon as she came in, to entertain an +unexpected visiter; to her great regret, as well as to the disappointment of my +fair-one, as I could perceive from the looks of both: for they had agreed, it +seems, if I went to town, as I said I intended to do, to take a walk upon the +Heath, at least in Mrs. Moore’s garden; and who knows, what might have +been the issue, had the spirit of curiosity in the one met with the spirit of +communication in the other? +</p> + +<p> +Miss Rawlins promised to return, if possible: but sent to excuse herself: her +visiter intending to stay with her all night. +</p> + +<p> +I rejoiced in my heart at her message; and, after much supplication, obtained +the favour of my beloved’s company for another walk in the garden, +having, as I told her, abundance of things to say, to propose, and to be +informed of, in order ultimately to govern myself in my future steps. +</p> + +<p> +She had vouchsafed, I should have told thee, with eyes turned from me, and in a +half-aside attitude, to sip two dishes of tea in my company—Dear +soul!—How anger unpolishes the most polite! for I never saw Miss Harlowe +behave so awkwardly. I imagined she knew not how to be awkward. +</p> + +<p> +When we were in the garden, I poured my whole soul into her attentive ear; and +besought her returning favour. +</p> + +<p> +She told me, that she had formed her scheme for her future life: that, vile as +the treatment was which she had received from me, that was not all the reason +she had for rejecting my suit: but that, on the maturest deliberation, she was +convinced that she could neither be happy with me, nor make me happy; and she +injoined me, for both our sakes, to think no more of her. +</p> + +<p> +The Captain, I told her, was rid down post, in a manner, to forward my wishes +with her uncle.—Lady Betty and Miss Montague were undoubtedly arrived in +town by this time. I would set out early in the morning to attend them. They +adored her. They longed to see her. They would see her.—They would not be +denied her company in Oxfordshire. Whither could she better go, to be free from +her brother’s insults?—Whither, to be absolutely made +unapprehensive of any body else?—Might I have any hopes of her returning +favour, if Miss Howe could be prevailed upon to intercede for me? +</p> + +<p> +Miss Howe prevailed upon to intercede for you! repeated she, with a scornful +bridle, but a very pretty one.—And there she stopt. +</p> + +<p> +I repeated the concern it would be to me to be under a necessity of mentioning +the misunderstanding to Lady Betty and my cousin, as a misunderstanding still +to be made up; and as if I were of very little consequence to a dear creature +who was of so much to me; urging, that these circumstances would extremely +lower me not only in my own opinion, but in that of my relations. +</p> + +<p> +But still she referred to Miss Howe’s next letter; and all the concession +I could bring her to in this whole conference, was, that she would wait the +arrival and visit of the two ladies, if they came in a day or two, or before +she received the expected letter from Miss Howe. +</p> + +<p> +Thank Heaven for this! thought I. And now may I go to town with hopes at my +return to find thee, dearest, where I shall leave thee. +</p> + +<p> +But yet, as she may find reasons to change her mind in my absence, I shall not +entirely trust to this. My fellow, therefore, who is in the house, and who, by +Mrs. Bevis’s kind intelligence, will know every step she can take, shall +have Andrew and a horse ready, to give me immediate notice of her motions; and +moreover, go whither she will, he shall be one of her retinue, though unknown +to herself, if possible. +</p> + +<p> +This was all I could make of the fair inexorable. Should I be glad of it, or +sorry for it?— +</p> + +<p> +Glad I believe: and yet my pride is confoundedly abated, to think that I had so +little hold in the affections of this daughter of the Harlowes. +</p> + +<p> +Don’t tell me that virtue and principle are her guides on this +occasion!—’Tis pride, a greater pride than my own, that governs +her. Love, she has none, thou seest; nor ever had; at least not in a superior +degree. Love, that deserves the name, never was under the dominion of prudence, +or of any reasoning power. She cannot bear to be thought a woman, I warrant! +And if, in the last attempt, I find her not one, what will she be the worse for +the trial?—No one is to blame for suffering an evil he cannot shun or +avoid. +</p> + +<p> +Were a general to be overpowered, and robbed by a highwayman, would he be less +fit for the command of an army on that account?—If indeed the general, +pretending great valour, and having boasted that he never would be robbed, were +to make but faint resistance when he was brought to the test, and to yield his +purse when he was master of his own sword, then indeed will the highwayman who +robs him be thought the braver man. +</p> + +<p> +But from these last conferences am I furnished with one argument in defence of +my favourite purpose, which I never yet pleaded. +</p> + +<p> +O Jack! what a difficulty must a man be allowed to have to conquer a +predominant passion, be it what it will, when the gratifying of it is in his +power, however wrong he knows it to be to resolve to gratify it! Reflect upon +this; and then wilt thou be able to account for, if not to excuse, a projected +crime, which has habit to plead for it, in a breast as stormy as +uncontroulable! +</p> + +<p> +This that follows is my new argument— +</p> + +<p> +Should she fail in the trial; should I succeed; and should she refuse to go on +with me; and even resolve not to marry me (of which I can have no notion); and +should she disdain to be obliged to me for the handsome provision I should be +proud to make for her, even to the half of my estate; yet cannot she be +altogether unhappy—Is she not entitled to an independent fortune? Will +not Col. Morden, as her trustee, put her in possession of it? And did she not +in our former conference point out the way of life, that she always preferred +to the married life—to wit, ‘To take her good Norton for her +directress and guide, and to live upon her own estate in the manner her +grandfather desired she should live?’* +</p> + +<p> +* See Letter III. of this volume. +</p> + +<p> +It is moreover to be considered that she cannot, according to her own notions, +recover above one half of her fame, were we not to intermarry; so much does she +think she has suffered by her going off with me. And will she not be always +repining and mourning for the loss of the other half?—And if she must +live a life of such uneasiness and regret for half, may she not as well repine +and mourn for the whole? +</p> + +<p> +Nor, let me tell thee, will her own scheme or penitence, in this case, be half +so perfect, if she do not fall, as if she does: for what a foolish penitent +will she make, who has nothing to repent of!—She piques herself, thou +knowest, and makes it matter of reproach to me, that she went not off with me +by her own consent; but was tricked out of herself. +</p> + +<p> +Nor upbraid thou me upon the meditated breach of vows so repeatedly made. She +will not, thou seest, permit me to fulfil them. And if she would, this I have +to say, that, at the time I made the most solemn of them, I was fully +determined to keep them. But what prince thinks himself obliged any longer to +observe the articles of treaties, the most sacredly sworn to, than suits with +his interest or inclination; although the consequence of the infraction must +be, as he knows, the destruction of thousands. +</p> + +<p> +Is not this then the result of all, that Miss Clarissa Harlowe, if it be not +her own fault, may be as virtuous after she has lost her honour, as it is +called, as she was before? She may be a more eminent example to her sex; and if +she yield (a little yield) in the trial, may be a completer penitent. Nor can +she, but by her own wilfulness, be reduced to low fortunes. +</p> + +<p> +And thus may her old nurse and she; an old coachman; and a pair of old +coach-horses; and two or three old maid-servants, and perhaps a very old +footman or two, (for every thing will be old and penitential about her,) live +very comfortably together; reading old sermons, and old prayer-books; and +relieving old men and old women; and giving old lessons, and old warnings, upon +new subjects, as well as old ones, to the young ladies of her neighbourhood; +and so pass on to a good old age, doing a great deal of good both by precept +and example in her generation. +</p> + +<p> +And is a woman who can live thus prettily without controul; who ever did +prefer, and who still prefers, the single to the married life; and who will be +enabled to do every thing that the plan she had formed will direct her to do; +to be said to be ruined, undone, and such sort of stuff?—I have no +patience with the pretty fools, who use those strong words, to describe a +transitory evil; an evil which a mere church-form makes none? +</p> + +<p> +At this rate of romancing, how many flourishing ruins dost thou, as well as I, +know? Let us but look about us, and we shall see some of the haughtiest and +most censorious spirits among our acquaintance of that sex now passing for +chaste wives, of whom strange stories might be told; and others, whose +husbands’ hearts have been made to ache for their gaieties, both before +and after marriage; and yet know not half so much of them, as some of us honest +fellows could tell them. +</p> + +<p> +But, having thus satisfied myself in relation to the worst that can happen to +this charming creature; and that it will be her own fault, if she be unhappy; I +have not at all reflected upon what is likely to be my own lot. +</p> + +<p> +This has always been my notion, though Miss Howe grudges us rakes the best of +the sex, and says, that the worst is too good for us,* that the wife of a +libertine ought to be pure, spotless, uncontaminated. To what purpose has such +a one lived a free life, but to know the world, and to make his advantages of +it!—And, to be very serious, it would be a misfortune to the public for +two persons, heads of a family, to be both bad; since, between two such, a race +of varlets might be propagated (Lovelaces and Belfords, if thou wilt) who might +do great mischief in the world. +</p> + +<p> +Thou seest at bottom that I am not an abandoned fellow; and that there is a +mixture of gravity in me. This, as I grow older, may increase; and when my +active capacity begins to abate, I may sit down with the preacher, and resolve +all my past life into vanity and vexation of spirit. +</p> + +<p> +This is certain, that I shall never find a woman so well suited to my taste as +Miss Clarissa Harlowe. I only wish that I may have such a lady as her to +comfort and adorn my setting sun. I have often thought it very unhappy for us +both, that so excellent a creature sprang up a little too late for my setting +out, and a little too early in my progress, before I can think of returning. +And yet, as I have picked up the sweet traveller in my way, I cannot help +wishing that she would bear me company in the rest of my journey, although she +were stepping out of her own path to oblige me. And then, perhaps, we could put +up in the evening at the same inn; and be very happy in each other’s +conversation; recounting the difficulties and dangers we had passed in our way +to it. +</p> + +<p> +I imagine that thou wilt be apt to suspect that some passages in this letter +were written in town. Why, Jack, I cannot but say that the Westminster air is a +little grosser than that at Hampstead; and the conversation of Mrs. Sinclair +and the nymphs less innocent than Mrs. Moore’s and Miss Rawlins’s. +And I think in my heart I can say and write those things at one place which I +cannot at the other, nor indeed any where else. +</p> + +<p> +I came to town about seven this morning—all necessary directions and +precautions remembered to be given. +</p> + +<p> +I besought the favour of an audience before I set out. I was desirous to see +which of her lovely faces she was pleased to put on, after another night had +passed. But she was resolved, I found, to leave our quarrel open. She would not +give me an opportunity so much as to entreat her again to close it, before the +arrival of Lady Betty and my cousin. +</p> + +<p> +I had notice from my proctor, by a few lines brought by a man and horse, just +before I set out, that all difficulties had been for two days past surmounted; +and that I might have the license for fetching. +</p> + +<p> +I sent up the letter to my beloved, by Mrs. Bevis, with a repeated request for +admittance to her presence upon it; but neither did this stand me in stead. I +suppose she thought it would be allowing of the consequences that were +naturally to be expected to follow the obtaining of this instrument, if she had +consented to see me on the contents of this letter, having refused me that +honour before I sent it up to her.—No surprising her.—No advantage +to be taken of her inattention to the nicest circumstances. +</p> + +<p> +And now, Belford, I set out upon business. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"></a> LETTER IX</h2> + +<p> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. MONDAY, JUNE 12. +</p> + +<p> +Durst ever see a license, Jack? +</p> + +<p> +‘Edmund, by divine permission, Lord Bishop of London, to our well-beloved +in Christ, Robert Lovelace, [your servant, my good Lord! What have I done to +merit so much goodness, who never saw your Lordship in my life?] of the parish +of St. Martin’s in the Fields, bachelor, and Clarissa Harlowe, of the +same parish, spinster, sendeth greeting.—WHEREAS ye are, as is alleged, +determined to enter into the holy state of Matrimony [this is only alleged, +thou observest] by and with the consent of, &c. &c. &c. and are +very desirous of obtaining your marriage to be solemnized in the face of the +church: We are willing that your honest desires [honest desires, Jack!] may +more speedily have their due effect: and therefore, that ye may be able to +procure such Marriage to be freely and lawfully solemnized in the parish church +of St. Martin’s in the Fields, or St. Giles’s in the Fields, in the +county of Middlesex, by the Rector, Vicar, or Curate thereof, at any time of +the year, [at ANY time of the year, Jack!] without publication of bans: +Provided, that by reason of any pre-contract, [I verily think that I have had +three or four pre-contracts in my time; but the good girls have not claimed +upon them of a long while,] consanguinity, affinity, or any other lawful cause +whatsoever, there be no lawful impediment on this behalf; and that there be not +at this time any action, suit, plaint, quarrel, or demand, moved or depending +before any judge ecclesiastical or temporal, for or concerning any marriage +contracted by or with either of you; and that the said marriage be openly +solemnized in the church above-mentioned, between the hours of eight and twelve +in the forenoon; and without prejudice to the minister of the place where the +said woman is a parishioner: We do hereby, for good causes, [it cost +me—let me see, Jack—what did it cost me?] give and grant our +License, as well to you as to the parties contracting, as to the Rector, Vicar, +or Curate of the said church, where the said marriage is intended to be +solemnized, to solemnize the same, in manner and form above specified, +according to the rites and ceremonies prescribed in the Book of Common Prayer +in that behalf published by authority of Parliament. Provided always, that if +hereafter any fraud shall appear to have been committed, at the time of +granting this License, either by false suggestions, or concealment of the +truth, [now this, Belford, is a little hard upon us; for I cannot say that +every one of our suggestions is literally true:—so, in good conscience, I +ought not to marry under this License;] the License shall be void to all +intents and purposes, as if the same had not been granted. And in that case we +do inhibit all ministers whatsoever, if any thing of the premises shall come to +their knowledge, from proceeding to the celebration of the said Marriage; +without first consulting Us, or our Vicar-general. Given,’ &c. +</p> + +<p> +Then follow the register’s name, and a large pendent seal, with these +words round it—SEAL OF THE VICAR-GENERAL AND OFFICIAL PRINCIPAL OF THE +DIOCESE OF LONDON. +</p> + +<p> +A good whimsical instrument, take it altogether! But what, thinkest thou, are +the arms to this matrimonial harbinger?—Why, in the first place, two +crossed swords; to show that marriage is a state of offence as well as defence; +three lions; to denote that those who enter into the state ought to have a +triple proportion of courage. And [couldst thou have imagined that these +priestly fellows, in so solemn a case, would cut their jokes upon poor souls +who came to have their honest desires put in a way to be gratified;] there are +three crooked horns, smartly top-knotted with ribands; which being the +ladies’ wear, seem to indicate that they may very probably adorn, as well +as bestow, the bull’s feather. +</p> + +<p> +To describe it according to heraldry art, if I am not mistaken—gules, two +swords, saltire-wise, or; second coat, a chevron sable between three +bugle-horns, OR [so it ought to be]: on a chief of the second, three lions +rampant of the first—but the devil take them for their hieroglyphics, +should I say, if I were determined in good earnest to marry! +</p> + +<p> +And determined to marry I would be, were it not for this consideration, that +once married, and I am married for life. +</p> + +<p> +That’s the plague of it!—Could a man do as the birds do, change +every Valentine’s day, [a natural appointment! for birds have not the +sense, forsooth, to fetter themselves, as we wiseacre men take great and solemn +pains to do,] there would be nothing at all in it. And what a glorious time +would the lawyers have, on the one hand, with their <i>noverini +universi’s</i>, and suits commenceable on restitution of goods and +chattels; and the parsons, on the other, with their indulgencies [renewable +annually, as other licenses] to the honest desires of their clients? +</p> + +<p> +Then, were a stated mullet, according to rank or fortune, to be paid on every +change, towards the exigencies of the state [but none on renewals with the old +lives, for the sake of encouraging constancy, especially among the +<i>minores</i>] the change would be made sufficiently difficult, and the whole +public would be the better for it; while those children, which the parents +could not agree about maintaining, might be considered as the children of the +public, and provided for like the children of the antient Spartans; who were +(as ours would in this case be) a nation of heroes. How, Jack, could I have +improved upon Lycurgus’s institutions had I been a lawgiver! +</p> + +<p> +Did I never show thee a scheme which I drew up on such a notion as +this?—In which I demonstrated the conveniencies, and obviated the +inconveniencies, of changing the present mode to this? I believe I never did. +</p> + +<p> +I remember I proved to a demonstration, that such a change would be a mean of +annihilating, absolutely annihilating, four or five very atrocious and capital +sins.—Rapes, vulgarly so called; adultery, and fornication; nor would +polygamy be panted after. Frequently would it prevent murders and duelling; +hardly any such thing as jealousy (the cause of shocking violences) would be +heard of: and hypocrisy between man and wife be banished the bosoms of each. +Nor, probably, would the reproach of barrenness rest, as it now too often does, +where it is least deserved.—Nor would there possibly be such a person as +a barren woman. +</p> + +<p> +Moreover, what a multitude of domestic quarrels would be avoided, where such a +scheme carried into execution? Since both sexes would bear with each other, in +the view that they could help themselves in a few months. +</p> + +<p> +And then what a charming subject for conversation would be the gallant and +generous last partings between man and wife! Each, perhaps, a new mate in eye, +and rejoicing secretly in the manumission, could afford to be complaisantly +sorrowful in appearance. ‘He presented her with this jewel, it will be +said by the reporter, for example sake: she him with that. How he wept! How she +sobb’d! How they looked after one another!’ Yet, that’s the +jest of it, neither of them wishing to stand another twelvemonth’s trial. +</p> + +<p> +And if giddy fellows, or giddy girls, misbehave in a first marriage, whether +from noviceship, having expected to find more in the matter than can be found; +or from perverseness on her part, or positiveness on his, each being mistaken +in the other [a mighty difference, Jack, in the same person, an inmate or a +visiter]; what a fine opportunity will each have, by this scheme, of recovering +a lost character, and of setting all right in the next adventure? +</p> + +<p> +And, O Jack! with what joy, with what rapture, would the changelings (or +changeables, if thou like that word better) number the weeks, the days, the +hours, as the annual obligation approached to its desirable period! +</p> + +<p> +As for the spleen or vapours, no such malady would be known or heard of. The +physical tribe would, indeed, be the sufferers, and the only sufferers; since +fresh health and fresh spirits, the consequences of sweet blood and sweet +humours (the mind and body continually pleased with each other) would +perpetually flow in; and the joys of expectation, the highest of all our joys, +would invigorate and keep all alive. +</p> + +<p> +But, that no body of men might suffer, the physicians, I thought, might turn +parsons, as there would be a great demand for parsons. Besides, as they would +be partakers in the general benefit, they must be sorry fellows indeed if they +preferred themselves to the public. +</p> + +<p> +Every one would be married a dozen times at least. Both men and women would be +careful of their characters and polite in their behaviour, as well as delicate +in their persons, and elegant in their dress, [a great matter each of these, +let me tell thee, to keep passion alive,] either to induce a renewal with the +old love, or to recommend themselves to a new. While the newspapers would be +crowded with paragraphs; all the world their readers, as all the world would be +concerned to see who and who’s together— +</p> + +<p> +‘Yesterday, for instance, entered into the holy state of +matrimony,’ [we should all speak reverently of matrimony, then,] +‘the right Honourable Robert Earl Lovelace’ [I shall be an earl by +that time,] ‘with her Grace the Duchess Dowager of Fifty-manors; his +Lordship’s one-and-thirtieth wife.’—I shall then be +contented, perhaps, to take up, as it is called, with a widow. But she must not +have had more than one husband neither. Thou knowest that I am nice in these +particulars. +</p> + +<p> +I know, Jack, that thou for thy part, wilt approve of my scheme. +</p> + +<p> +As Lord M. and I, between us, have three or four boroughs at command, I think I +will get into parliament, in order to bring in a bill for this good purpose. +</p> + +<p> +Neither will the house of parliament, nor the houses of convocation, have +reason to object it. And all the courts, whether spiritual or sensual, civil or +uncivil, will find their account in it when passed into a law. +</p> + +<p> +By my soul, Jack, I should be apprehensive of a general insurrection, and that +incited by the women, were such a bill to be thrown out.—For here is the +excellency of the scheme: the women will have equal reason with the men to be +pleased with it. +</p> + +<p> +Dost think, that old prerogative Harlowe, for example, must not, if such a law +were in being, have pulled in his horns?—So excellent a wife as he has, +would never else have renewed with such a gloomy tyrant: who, as well as all +other married tyrants, must have been upon good behaviour from year to year. +</p> + +<p> +A termagant wife, if such a law were to pass, would be a phoenix. +</p> + +<p> +The churches would be the only market-place for the fair sex; and domestic +excellence the capital recommendation. +</p> + +<p> +Nor would there be an old maid in Great Britain, and all its territories. For +what an odd soul must she be who could not have her twelvemonth’s trial? +</p> + +<p> +In short, a total alteration for the better, in the morals and way of life in +both sexes, must, in a very few years, be the consequence of such a salutary +law. +</p> + +<p> +Who would have expected such a one from me! I wish the devil owe me not a spite +for it. +</p> + +<p> +Then would not the distinction be very pretty, Jack? as in flowers;—such +a gentleman, or such a lady, is an ANNUAL—such a one is a PERENNIAL. +</p> + +<p> +One difficulty, however, as I remember, occurred to me, upon the probability +that a wife might be <i>enceinte</i>, as the lawyers call it. But thus I +obviated it— +</p> + +<p> +That no man should be allowed to marry another woman without his then +wife’s consent, till she were brought-to-bed, and he had defrayed all +incident charges; and till it was agreed upon between them whether the child +should be his, her’s, or the public’s. The women in this case to +have what I call the coercive option; for I would not have it in the +man’s power to be a dog neither. +</p> + +<p> +And, indeed, I gave the turn of the scale in every part of my scheme in the +women’s favour: for dearly do I love the sweet rogues. +</p> + +<p> +How infinitely more preferable this my scheme to the polygamy one of the old +patriarchs; who had wives and concubines without number!—I believe David +and Solomon had their hundreds at a time. Had they not, Jack? +</p> + +<p> +Let me add, that annual parliaments, and annual marriages, are the projects +next my heart. How could I expatiate upon the benefits that would arise from +both! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"></a> LETTER X</h2> + +<p class="center"> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +</p> + +<p> +Well, but now my plots thicken; and my employment of writing to thee on this +subject will soon come to a conclusion. For now, having got the license; and +Mrs. Townsend with her tars, being to come to Hampstead next Wednesday or +Thursday; and another letter possibly, or message from Miss Howe, to inquire +how Miss Harlowe does, upon the rustic’s report of her ill health, and to +express her wonder that she has not heard from her in answer to her’s on +her escape; I must soon blow up the lady, or be blown up myself. And so I am +preparing, with Lady Betty and my cousin Montague, to wait upon my beloved with +a coach-and-four, or a sett; for Lady Betty will not stir out with a pair for +the world; though but for two or three miles. And this is a well-known part of +her character. +</p> + +<p> +But as to the arms and crest upon the coach and trappings? +</p> + +<p> +Dost thou not know that a Blunt’s must supply her, while her own is new +lining and repairing? An opportunity she is willing to take now she is in town. +Nothing of this kind can be done to her mind in the country. Liveries nearly +Lady Betty’s. +</p> + +<p> +Thou hast seen Lady Betty Lawrance several times—hast thou not, Belford? +</p> + +<p> +No, never in my life. +</p> + +<p> +But thou hast—and lain with her too; or fame does thee more credit than +thou deservest—Why, Jack, knowest thou not Lady Betty’s other name? +</p> + +<p> +Other name!—Has she two? +</p> + +<p> +She has. And what thinkest thou of Lady Bab. Wallis? +</p> + +<p> +O the devil! +</p> + +<p> +Now thou hast it. Lady Barbara thou knowest, lifted up in circumstances, and by +pride, never appears or produces herself, but on occasions special—to +pass to men of quality or price, for a duchess, or countess, at least. She has +always been admired for a grandeur in her air, that few women of quality can +come up to; and never was supposed to be other than what she passed for; though +often and often a paramour for lords. +</p> + +<p> +And who, thinkest thou, is my cousin Montague? +</p> + +<p> +Nay, how should I know? +</p> + +<p> +How indeed! Why, my little Johanetta Golding, a lively, yet modest-looking +girl, is my cousin Montague. +</p> + +<p> +There, Belford, is an aunt!—There’s a cousin!—Both have wit +at will. Both are accustomed to ape quality.—Both are genteelly +descended. Mistresses of themselves, and well educated—yet past +pity.—True Spartan dames; ashamed of nothing but detection—always, +therefore, upon their guard against that. And in their own conceit, when +assuming top parts, the very quality they ape. +</p> + +<p> +And how dost think I dress them out?—I’ll tell thee. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Betty in a rich gold tissue, adorned with jewels of high price. +</p> + +<p> +My cousin Montague in a pale pink, standing on end with silver flowers of her +own working. Charlotte as well as my beloved is admirable at her needle. Not +quite so richly jewell’d out as Lady Betty; but ear-rings and solitaire +very valuable, and infinitely becoming. +</p> + +<p> +Johanetta, thou knowest, has a good complexion, a fine neck, and ears +remarkably fine—so has Charlotte. She is nearly of Charlotte’s +stature too. +</p> + +<p> +Laces both, the richest that could be procured. +</p> + +<p> +Thou canst not imagine what a sum the loan of the jewels cost me, though but +for three days. +</p> + +<p> +This sweet girl will half ruin me. But seest thou not, by this time, that her +reign is short!—It must be so. And Mrs. Sinclair has already prepared +every thing for her reception once more. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +Here come the ladies—attended by Susan Morrison, a tenant-farmer’s +daughter, as Lady Betty’s woman; with her hands before her, and +thoroughly instructed. +</p> + +<p> +How dress advantages women!—especially those who have naturally a genteel +air and turn, and have had education. +</p> + +<p> +Hadst thou seen how they paraded it—Cousin, and Cousin, and Nephew, at +every word; Lady Betty bridling and looking +haughtily-condescending.—Charlotte galanting her fan, and swimming over +the floor without touching it. +</p> + +<p> +How I long to see my niece-elect! cries one—for they are told that we are +not married; and are pleased that I have not put the slight upon them that they +had apprehended from me. +</p> + +<p> +How I long to see my dear cousin that is to be, the other! +</p> + +<p> +Your La’ship, and your La’ship, and an awkward courtesy at every +address—prim Susan Morrison. +</p> + +<p> +Top your parts, ye villains!—You know how nicely I distinguish. There +will be no passion in this case to blind the judgment, and to help on meditated +delusion, as when you engage with titled sinners. My charmer is as cool and as +distinguishing, though not quite so learned in her own sex, as I am. Your +commonly-assumed dignity won’t do for me now. Airs of superiority, as if +born to rank.—But no over-do!—Doubting nothing. Let not your faces +arraign your hearts. +</p> + +<p> +Easy and unaffected!—Your very dresses will give you pride enough. +</p> + +<p> +A little graver, Lady Betty.—More significance, less bridling in your +dignity. +</p> + +<p> +That’s the air! Charmingly hit——Again——You have +it. +</p> + +<p> +Devil take you!—Less arrogance. You are got into airs of young quality. +Be less sensible of your new condition. People born to dignity command respect +without needing to require it. +</p> + +<p> +Now for your part, Cousin Charlotte!— +</p> + +<p> +Pretty well. But a little too frolicky that air.—Yet have I prepared my +beloved to expect in you both great vivacity and quality-freedom. +</p> + +<p> +Curse those eyes!—Those glancings will never do. A down-cast bashful +turn, if you can command it. Look upon me. Suppose me now to be my beloved. +</p> + +<p> +Devil take that leer. Too significantly arch!—Once I knew you the girl I +would now have you to be. +</p> + +<p> +Sprightly, but not confident, cousin Charlotte!—Be sure forget not to +look down, or aside, when looked at. When eyes meet eyes, be your’s the +retreating ones. Your face will bear examination. +</p> + +<p> +O Lord! Lord! that so young a creature can so soon forget the innocent +appearance she first charmed by; and which I thought born with you +all!—Five years to ruin what twenty had been building up! How natural the +latter lesson! How difficult to regain the former! +</p> + +<p> +A stranger, as I hope to be saved, to the principal arts of your +sex!—Once more, what a devil has your heart to do in your eyes? +</p> + +<p> +Have I not told you, that my beloved is a great observer of the eyes? She once +quoted upon me a text,* which showed me how she came by her +knowledge—Dorcas’s were found guilty of treason the first moment +she saw her. +</p> + +<p> +* Eccles. xxvi. The whoredom of a woman may be known in her haughty looks and +eye-lids. Watch over an impudent eye, and marvel not if it trespass against +thee. +</p> + +<p> +Once more, suppose me to be my charmer.—Now you are to encounter my +examining eye, and my doubting heart— +</p> + +<p> +That’s my dear! +</p> + +<p> +Study that air in the pier-glass!— +</p> + +<p> +Charmingly!—Perfectly right! +</p> + +<p> +Your honours, now, devils!— +</p> + +<p> +Pretty well, Cousin Charlotte, for a young country lady! Till form yields to +familiarity, you may courtesy low. You must not be supposed to have forgot your +boarding-school airs. +</p> + +<p> +But too low, too low Lady Betty, for your years and your quality. The common +fault of your sex will be your danger: aiming to be young too long!—The +devil’s in you all, when you judge of yourselves by your wishes, and by +your vanity! Fifty, in that case, is never more than fifteen. +</p> + +<p> +Graceful ease, conscious dignity, like that of my charmer, Oh! how hard to hit! +</p> + +<p> +Both together now— +</p> + +<p> +Charming!—That’s the air, Lady Betty!—That’s the cue, +Cousin Charlotte, suited to the character of each!—But, once more, be +sure to have a guard upon your eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Never fear, Nephew!— +</p> + +<p> +Never fear, Cousin. +</p> + +<p> +A dram of Barbadoes each— +</p> + +<p> +And now we are gone— +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"></a> LETTER XI</h2> + +<p> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. AT MRS. SINCLAIR’S, MONDAY AFTERNOON. +</p> + +<p> +All’s right, as heart can wish!—In spite of all objection—in +spite of a reluctance next to faintings—in spite of all foresight, +vigilance, suspicion—once more is the charmer of my soul in her old +lodgings! +</p> + +<p> +Now throbs away every pulse! Now thump, thump, thumps my bounding heart for +something! +</p> + +<p> +But I have not time for the particulars of our management. +</p> + +<p> +My beloved is now directing some of her clothes to be packed up—never +more to enter this house! Nor ever more will she, I dare say, when once again +out of it! +</p> + +<p> +Yet not so much as a condition of forgiveness!—The Harlowe-spirited +fair-one will not deserve my mercy!—She will wait for Miss Howe’s +next letter; and then, if she find a difficulty in her new schemes, [Thank her +for nothing,]—will—will what? Why even then will take time to +consider, whether I am to be forgiven, or for ever rejected. An indifference +that revives in my heart the remembrance of a thousand of the like +nature.—And yet Lady Betty and Miss Montague, [a man would be tempted to +think, Jack, that they wish her to provoke my vengeance,] declare, that I ought +to be satisfied with such a proud suspension! +</p> + +<p> +They are entirely attached to her. Whatever she says, is, must be, gospel! They +are guarantees for her return to Hampstead this night. They are to go back with +her. A supper bespoken by Lady Betty at Mrs. Moore’s. All the vacant +apartments there, by my permission, (for I had engaged them for a month +certain,) to be filled with them and their attendants, for a week at least, or +till they can prevail upon the dear perverse, as they hope they shall, to +restore me to her favour, and to accompany Lady Betty to Oxfordshire. +</p> + +<p> +The dear creature has thus far condescended—that she will write to Miss +Howe and acquaint her with the present situation of things. +</p> + +<p> +If she write, I shall see what she writes. But I believe she will have other +employment soon. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Betty is sure, she tells her, that she shall prevail upon her to forgive +me; though she dares say, that I deserve not forgiveness. Lady Betty is too +delicate to inquire strictly into the nature of my offence. But it must be an +offence against herself, against Miss Montague, against the virtuous of the +whole sex, or it could not be so highly resented. Yet she will not leave her +till she forgive me, and till she see our nuptials privately celebrated. Mean +time, as she approves of her uncle’s expedient, she will address her as +already my wife before strangers. +</p> + +<p> +Stedman, her solicitor, may attend her for orders in relation to her chancery +affair, at Hampstead. Not one hour they can be favoured with, will they lose +from the company and conversation of so dear, so charming a new relation. +</p> + +<p> +Hard then if she had not obliged them with her company in their coach-and-four, +to and from their cousin Leeson’s, who longed, (as they themselves had +done,) to see a lady so justly celebrated. +</p> + +<p> +‘How will Lord M. be raptured when he sees her, and can salute her as his +niece! +</p> + +<p> +‘How will Lady Sarah bless herself!—She will now think her loss of +the dear daughter she mourns for happily supplied!’ +</p> + +<p> +Miss Montague dwells upon every word that falls from her lips. She perfectly +adores her new cousin—‘For her cousin she must be. And her cousin +will she call her! She answers for equal admiration in her sister Patty. +</p> + +<p> +‘Ay, cry I, (whispering loud enough for her to hear,) how will my cousin +Patty’s dove’s eyes glisten and run over, on the very first +interview!—So gracious, so noble, so unaffected a dear creature!’ +</p> + +<p> +‘What a happy family,’ chorus we all, ‘will our’s +be!’ +</p> + +<p> +These and such like congratulatory admirations every hour repeated. Her modesty +hurt by the ecstatic praises:—‘Her graces are too natural to +herself for her to be proud of them: but she must be content to be punished for +excellencies that cast a shade upon the most excellent!’ +</p> + +<p> +In short, we are here, as at Hampstead, all joy and rapture—all of us +except my beloved; in whose sweet face, [her almost fainting reluctance to +re-enter these doors not overcome,] reigns a kind of anxious +serenity!—But how will even that be changed in a few hours! +</p> + +<p> +Methinks I begin to pity the half-apprehensive beauty!—But avaunt, thou +unseasonably-intruding pity! Thou hast more than once already well nigh undone +me! And, adieu, reflection! Begone, consideration! and commiseration! I dismiss +ye all, for at least a week to come!—But remembered her broken word! Her +flight, when my fond soul was meditating mercy to her!—Be remembered her +treatment of me in her letter on her escape to Hampstead! Her Hampstead +virulence! What is it she ought not to expect from an unchained Beelzebub, and +a plotting villain? +</p> + +<p> +Be her preference of the single life to me also remembered!—That she +despises me!—That she even refuses to be my WIFE!—A proud Lovelace +to be denied a wife!—To be more proudly rejected by a daughter of the +Harlowes!—The ladies of my own family, [she thinks them the ladies of my +family,] supplicating in vain for her returning favour to their despised +kinsman, and taking laws from her still prouder punctilio! +</p> + +<p> +Be the execrations of her vixen friend likewise remembered, poured out upon me +from her representations, and thereby made her own execrations! +</p> + +<p> +Be remembered still more particularly the Townsend plot, set on foot between +them, and now, in a day or two, ready to break out; and the sordid threatening +thrown out against me by that little fury! +</p> + +<p> +Is not this the crisis for which I have been long waiting? Shall Tomlinson, +shall these women be engaged; shall so many engines be set at work, at an +immense expense, with infinite contrivance; and all to no purpose? +</p> + +<p> +Is not this the hour of her trial—and in her, of the trial of the virtue +of her whole sex, so long premeditated, so long threatened?—Whether her +frost be frost indeed? Whether her virtue be principle? Whether, if once +subdued, she will not be always subdued? And will she not want the crown of her +glory, the proof of her till now all-surpassing excellence, if I stop short of +the ultimate trial? +</p> + +<p> +Now is the end of purposes long over-awed, often suspended, at hand. And need I +go throw the sins of her cursed family into the too-weighty scale? +</p> + +<p> +[Abhorred be force!—be the thoughts of force!—There’s no +triumph over the will in force!] This I know I have said.* But would I not have +avoided it, if I could? Have I not tried every other method? And have I any +other resource left me? Can she resent the last outrage more than she has +resented a fainter effort?—And if her resentments run ever so high, +cannot I repair by matrimony?—She will not refuse me, I know, Jack: the +haughty beauty will not refuse me, when her pride of being corporally inviolate +is brought down; when she can tell no tales, but when, (be her resistance what +it will,) even her own sex will suspect a yielding in resistance; and when that +modesty, which may fill her bosom with resentment, will lock up her speech. +</p> + +<p> +* Vol. IV. Letter XLVIII. +</p> + +<p> +But how know I, that I have not made my own difficulties? Is she not a woman! +What redress lies for a perpetuated evil? Must she not live? Her piety will +secure her life.—And will not time be my friend! What, in a word, will be +her behaviour afterwards?—She cannot fly me!—She must forgive +me—and as I have often said, once forgiven, will be for ever forgiven. +</p> + +<p> +Why then should this enervating pity unsteel my foolish heart? +</p> + +<p> +It shall not. All these things will I remember; and think of nothing else, in +order to keep up a resolution, which the women about me will have it I shall be +still unable to hold. +</p> + +<p> +I’ll teach the dear, charming creature to emulate me in contrivance; +I’ll teach her to weave webs and plots against her conqueror! I’ll +show her, that in her smuggling schemes she is but a spider compared to me, and +that she has all this time been spinning only a cobweb! +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +What shall we do now! we are immersed in the depth of grief and apprehension! +How ill do women bear disappointment!—Set upon going to Hampstead, and +upon quitting for ever a house she re-entered with infinite reluctance; what +things she intended to take with her ready packed up, herself on tiptoe to be +gone, and I prepared to attend her thither; she begins to be afraid that she +shall not go this night; and in grief and despair has flung herself into her +old apartment; locked herself in; and through the key-hole Dorcas sees her on +her knees, praying, I suppose, for a safe deliverance. +</p> + +<p> +And from what? and wherefore these agonizing apprehensions? +</p> + +<p> +Why, here, this unkind Lady Betty, with the dear creature’s knowledge, +though to her concern, and this mad-headed cousin Montague without it, while +she was employed in directing her package, have hurried away in the coach to +their own lodgings, [only, indeed, to put up some night-clothes, and so forth, +in order to attend their sweet cousin to Hampstead;] and, no less to my +surprise than her’s, are not yet returned. +</p> + +<p> +I have sent to know the meaning of it. +</p> + +<p> +In a great hurry of spirits, she would have had me to go myself. Hardly any +pacifying her! The girl, God bless her! is wild with her own idle +apprehensions! What is she afraid of? +</p> + +<p> +I curse them both for their delay. My tardy villain, how he stays! Devil fetch +them! let them send their coach, and we’ll go without them. In her +hearing I bid the fellow tell them so. Perhaps he stays to bring the coach, if +any thing happens to hinder the ladies from attending my beloved this night. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +Devil take them, again say I! They promised too they would not stay, because it +was but two nights ago that a chariot was robbed at the foot of Hampstead-hill, +which alarmed my fair-one when told of it! +</p> + +<p> +Oh! here’s Lady Betty’s servant, with a billet. +</p> + +<p> +TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. MONDAY NIGHT. +</p> + +<p> +Excuse us, my dear Nephew, I beseech you, to my dearest kinswoman. One night +cannot break squares: for here Miss Montague has been taken violently ill with +three fainting fits, one after another. The hurry of her joy, I believe, to +find your dear lady so much surpass all expectations, [never did family love, +you know, reign so strong as among us,] and the too eager desire she had to +attend her, have occasioned it! For she has but weak spirits, poor girl! well +as she looks. +</p> + +<p> +If she be better, we will certainly go with you tomorrow morning, after we have +breakfasted with her, at your lodgings. But whether she be, or not, I will do +myself the pleasure to attend your lady to Hampstead; and will be with you for +that purpose about nine in the morning. With due compliments to your most +worthily beloved, I am +</p> + +<p> +Your’s affectionately, ELIZAB. LAWRANCE. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +Faith and troth, Jack, I know not what to do with myself; for here, just now +having sent in the above note by Dorcas, out came my beloved with it in her +hand, in a fit of phrensy!—true, by my soul! +</p> + +<p> +She had indeed complained of her head all the evening. +</p> + +<p> +Dorcas ran to me, out of breath, to tell me, that her lady was coming in some +strange way; but she followed her so quick, that the frighted wench had not +time to say in what way. +</p> + +<p> +It seems, when she read the billet—Now indeed, said she, am I a lost +creature! O the poor Clarissa Harlowe! +</p> + +<p> +She tore off her head-clothes; inquired where I was; and in she came, her +shining tresses flowing about her neck; her ruffles torn, and hanging in +tatters about her snowy hands, with her arms spread out—her eyes wildly +turned, as if starting from their orbits—down sunk she at my feet, as +soon as she approached me; her charming bosom heaving to her uplifted face; and +clasping her arms about my knees, Dear Lovelace, said she, if ever—if +ever—if ever—and, unable to speak another word, quitting her +clasping hold—down—prostrate on the floor sunk she, neither in a +fit nor out of one. +</p> + +<p> +I was quite astonished.—All my purposes suspended for a few moments, I +knew neither what to say, nor what to do. But, recollecting myself, am I again, +thought I, in a way to be overcome, and made a fool of!—If I now recede, +I am gone for ever. +</p> + +<p> +I raised her; but down she sunk, as if quite disjointed—her limbs failing +her—yet not in a fit neither. I never heard of or saw such a dear +unaccountable; almost lifeless, and speechless too for a few moments; what must +her apprehensions be at that moment?—And for what?—An +high-notioned dear soul!—Pretty ignorance!—thought I. +</p> + +<p> +Never having met with so sincere, so unquestionable a repugnance, I was +staggered—I was confounded—yet how should I know that it would be +so till I tried?—And how, having proceeded thus far, could I stop, were I +not to have had the women to goad me on, and to make light of circumstances, +which they pretended to be better judges of than I? +</p> + +<p> +I lifted her, however, into a chair, and in words of disordered passion, told +her, all her fears were needless—wondered at them—begged of her to +be pacified—besought her reliance on my faith and honour—and +revowed all my old vows, and poured forth new ones. +</p> + +<p> +At last, with a heart-breaking sob, I see, I see, Mr. Lovelace, in broken +sentences she spoke—I see, I see—that at last—I am +ruined!—Ruined, if your pity—let me implore your pity!—and +down on her bosom, like a half-broken-stalked lily top-heavy with the +overcharging dews of the morning, sunk her head, with a sigh that went to my +heart. +</p> + +<p> +All I could think of to re-assure her, when a little recovered, I said. +</p> + +<p> +Why did I not send for their coach, as I had intimated? It might return in the +morning for the ladies. +</p> + +<p> +I had actually done so, I told her, on seeing her strange uneasiness. But it +was then gone to fetch a doctor for Miss Montague, lest his chariot should not +be so ready. +</p> + +<p> +Ah! Lovelace! said she, with a doubting face; anguish in her imploring eye. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Betty would think it very strange, I told her, if she were to know it was +so disagreeable to her to stay one night for her company in the house where she +had passed so many. +</p> + +<p> +She called me names upon this—she had called me names before.—I was +patient. +</p> + +<p> +Let her go to Lady Betty’s lodgings then; directly go; if the person I +called Lady Betty was really Lady Betty. +</p> + +<p> +If, my dear! Good Heaven! What a villain does that IF show you believe me to +be! +</p> + +<p> +I cannot help it—I beseech you once more, let me go to Mrs. +Leeson’s, if that IF ought not to be said. +</p> + +<p> +Then assuming a more resolute spirit—I will go! I will inquire my +way!—I will go by myself!—and would have rushed by me. +</p> + +<p> +I folded my arms about her to detain her; pleading the bad way I heard poor +Charlotte was in; and what a farther concern her impatience, if she went, would +give to poor Charlotte. +</p> + +<p> +She would believe nothing I said, unless I would instantly order a coach, +(since she was not to have Lady Betty’s, nor was permitted to go to Mrs. +Leeson’s,) and let her go in it to Hampstead, late as it was, and all +alone, so much the better; for in the house of people of whom Lady Betty, upon +inquiry, had heard a bad character, [Dropt foolishly this, by my prating new +relation, in order to do credit to herself, by depreciating others,] every +thing, and every face, looking with so much meaning vileness, as well as my +own, [thou art still too sensible, thought I, my charmer!] she was resolved not +to stay another night. +</p> + +<p> +Dreading what might happen as to her intellects, and being very apprehensive +that she might possibly go through a great deal before morning, (though more +violent she could not well be with the worst she dreaded,) I humoured her, and +ordered Will. to endeavour to get a coach directly, to carry us to Hampstead; I +cared not at what price. +</p> + +<p> +Robbers, with whom I would have terrified her, she feared not—I was all +her fear, I found; and this house her terror: for I saw plainly that she now +believed that Lady Betty and Miss Montague were both impostors. +</p> + +<p> +But her mistrust is a little of the latest to do her service! +</p> + +<p> +And, O Jack, the rage of love, the rage of revenge is upon me! by turns they +tear me! The progress already made—the women’s +instigations—the power I shall have to try her to the utmost, and still +to marry her, if she be not to be brought to cohabitation—let me perish, +Belford, if she escape me now! +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +Will. is not yet come back. Near eleven. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +Will. is this moment returned. No coach to be got, either for love or money. +</p> + +<p> +Once more she urges—to Mrs. Leeson’s, let me go, Lovelace! Good +Lovelace, let me go to Mrs. Leeson’s? What is Miss Montague’s +illness to my terror?—-For the Almighty’s sake, Mr. +Lovelace!—her hands clasped. +</p> + +<p> +O my angel! What a wildness is this! Do you know, do you see, my dearest life, +what appearances your causeless apprehensions have given you?—Do you know +it is past eleven o’clock? +</p> + +<p> +Twelve, one, two, three, four—any hour, I care not—If you mean me +honourably, let me go out of this hated house! +</p> + +<p> +Thou’lt observe, Belford, that though this was written afterwards, yet, +(as in other places,) I write it as it was spoken and happened, as if I had +retired to put down every sentence spoken. I know thou likest this lively +present-tense manner, as it is one of my peculiars. +</p> + +<p> +Just as she had repeated the last words, If you mean me honourably, let me go +out of this hated house, in came Mrs. Sinclair, in a great ferment—And +what, pray, Madam, has this house done to you? Mr. Lovelace, you have known me +some time; and, if I have not the niceness of this lady, I hope I do not +deserve to be treated thus! +</p> + +<p> +She set her huge arms akimbo: Hoh! Madam, let me tell you that I am amazed at +your freedoms with my character! And, Mr. Lovelace, [holding up, and violently +shaking her head,] if you are a gentleman, and a man of honour—— +</p> + +<p> +Having never before seen any thing but obsequiousness in this woman, little as +she liked her, she was frighted at her masculine air, and fierce look—God +help me! cried she—what will become of me now! Then, turning her head +hither and thither, in a wild kind of amaze. Whom have I for a protector! What +will become of me now! +</p> + +<p> +I will be your protector, my dearest love!—But indeed you are +uncharitably severe upon poor Mrs. Sinclair! Indeed you are!—She is a +gentlewoman born, and the relict of a man of honour; and though left in such +circumstance as to oblige her to let lodgings, yet would she scorn to be guilty +of a wilful baseness. +</p> + +<p> +I hope so—it may be so—I may be mistaken—but—but there +is no crime, I presume, no treason, to say I don’t like her house. +</p> + +<p> +The old dragon straddled up to her, with her arms kemboed again—her +eye-brows erect, like the bristles upon a hog’s back, and, scouling over +her shortened nose, more than half-hid her ferret eyes. Her mouth was +distorted. She pouted out her blubber-lips, as if to bellows up wind and +sputter into her horse-nostrils; and her chin was curdled, and more than +usually prominent with passion. +</p> + +<p> +With two Hoh-Madams she accosted the frighted fair-one; who, terrified, caught +hold of my sleeve. +</p> + +<p> +I feared she would fall into fits; and, with a look of indignation, told Mrs. +Sinclair that these apartments were mine; and I could not imagine what she +meant, either by listening to what passed between me and my spouse, or to come +in uninvited; and still more I wondered at her giving herself these strange +liberties. +</p> + +<p> +I may be to blame, Jack, for suffering this wretch to give herself these airs; +but her coming in was without my orders. +</p> + +<p> +The old beldam, throwing herself into a chair, fell a blubbering and +exclaiming. And the pacifying of her, and endeavouring to reconcile the lady to +her, took up till near one o’clock. +</p> + +<p> +And thus, between terror, and the late hour, and what followed, she was +diverted from the thoughts of getting out of the house to Mrs. Leeson’s, +or any where else. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"></a> LETTER XII</h2> + +<p> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. TUESDAY MORNING, JUNE 13. +</p> + +<p> +And now, Belford, I can go no farther. The affair is over. Clarissa lives. And +I am +</p> + +<p> +Your humble servant, R. LOVELACE. +</p> + +<p> +[The whole of this black transaction is given by the injured lady to Miss Howe, +in her subsequent letters, dated Thursday, July 6. See Letters LXVII. LXVIII. +LXIX.] +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"></a> LETTER XIII</h2> + +<p> +MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. WATFORD, WEDN. JAN. 14. +</p> + +<p> +O thou savage-hearted monster! What work hast thou made in one guilty hour, for +a whole age of repentance! +</p> + +<p> +I am inexpressibly concerned at the fate of this matchless lady! She could not +have fallen into the hands of any other man breathing, and suffered as she has +done with thee. +</p> + +<p> +I had written a great part of another long letter to try to soften thy flinty +heart in her favour; for I thought it but too likely that thou shouldst succeed +in getting her back again to the accursed woman’s. But I find it would +have been too late, had I finished it, and sent it away. Yet cannot I forbear +writing, to urge thee to make the only amends thou now canst make her, by a +proper use of the license thou hast obtained. +</p> + +<p> +Poor, poor lady! It is a pain to me that I ever saw her. Such an adorer of +virtue to be sacrificed to the vilest of her sex; and thou their implement in +the devil’s hand, for a purpose so base, so ungenerous, so +inhumane!—Pride thyself, O cruellest of men! in this reflection; and that +thy triumph over a woman, who for thy sake was abandoned of every friend she +had in the world, was effected; not by advantages taken of her weakness and +credulity; but by the blackest artifice; after a long course of studied deceits +had been tried to no purpose. +</p> + +<p> +I can tell thee, it is well either for thee or for me, that I am not the +brother of the lady. Had I been her brother, her violation must have been +followed by the blood of one of us. +</p> + +<p> +Excuse me, Lovelace; and let not the lady fare the worse for my concern for +her. And yet I have but one other motive to ask thy excuse; and that is, +because I owe to thy own communicative pen the knowledge I have of thy +barbarous villany, since thou mightest, if thou wouldst, have passed it upon me +for a common seduction. +</p> + +<p> +CLARISSA LIVES, thou sayest. That she does is my wonder: and these words show +that thou thyself (though thou couldst, nevertheless, proceed) hardly +expectedst she would have survived the outrage. What must have been the poor +lady’s distress (watchful as she had been over her honour) when dreadful +certainty took place of cruel apprehension!—And yet a man may guess what +must have been, by that which thou paintest, when she suspected herself +tricked, deserted, and betrayed, by the pretended ladies. +</p> + +<p> +That thou couldst behold her phrensy on this occasion, and her half-speechless, +half-fainting prostration at thy feet, and yet retain thy evil purposes, will +hardly be thought credible, even by those who know thee, if they have seen her. +</p> + +<p> +Poor, poor lady! With such noble qualities as would have adorned the most +exalted married life, to fall into the hands of the only man in the world, who +could have treated her as thou hast treated her!—And to let loose the old +dragon, as thou properly callest her, upon the before-affrighted innocent, what +a barbarity was that! What a poor piece of barbarity! in order to obtain by +terror, what thou dispairedst to gain by love, though supported by stratagems +the most insidious! +</p> + +<p> +O LOVELACE! LOVELACE! had I doubted it before, I should now be convinced, that +there must be a WORLD AFTER THIS, to do justice to injured merit, and to punish +barbarous perfidy! Could the divine SOCRATES, and the divine CLARISSA, +otherwise have suffered? +</p> + +<p> +But let me, if possible, for one moment, try to forget this villanous outrage +on the most excellent of women. +</p> + +<p> +I have business here which will hold me yet a few days; and then perhaps I +shall quit this house for ever. +</p> + +<p> +I have had a solemn and tedious time of it. I should never have known that I +had half the respect I really find I had for the old gentleman, had I not so +closely, at his earnest desire, attended him, and been a witness of the +tortures he underwent. +</p> + +<p> +This melancholy occasion may possibly have contributed to humanize me: but +surely I never could have been so remorseless a caitiff as thou hast been, to a +woman of half this lady’s excellence. +</p> + +<p> +But pr’ythee, dear Lovelace, if thou’rt a man, and not a devil, +resolve, out of hand, to repair thy sin of ingratitude, by conferring upon +thyself the highest honour thou canst receive, in making her lawfully thine. +</p> + +<p> +But if thou canst not prevail upon thyself to do her this justice, I think I +should not scruple a tilt with thee, [an everlasting rupture at least must +follow] if thou sacrificest her to the accursed women. +</p> + +<p> +Thou art desirous to know what advantage I reap by my uncle’s demise. I +do not certainly know; for I have not been so greedily solicitous on this +subject as some of the kindred have been, who ought to have shown more decency, +as I have told them, and suffered the corpse to have been cold before they had +begun their hungry inquiries. But, by what I gathered from the poor man’s +talk to me, who oftener than I wished touched upon the subject, I deem it will +be upwards of 5000£. in cash, and in the funds, after all legacies paid, +besides the real estate, which is a clear 1000£. a-year. +</p> + +<p> +I wish, from my heart, thou wert a money-lover! Were the estate to be of double +the value, thou shouldst have it every shilling; only upon one condition [for +my circumstances before were as easy as I wish them to be while I am +single]—that thou wouldst permit me the honour of being this fatherless +lady’s father, as it is called, at the altar. +</p> + +<p> +Think of this! my dear Lovelace! be honest: and let me present thee with the +brightest jewel that man ever possessed; and then, body and soul, wilt thou +bind to thee for ever thy +</p> + +<p> +BELFORD. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"></a> LETTER XIV</h2> + +<p> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. THURSDAY, JUNE 15. +</p> + +<p> +Let me alone, you great dog, you!—let me alone!—have I heard a +lesser boy, his coward arms held over his head and face, say to a bigger, who +was pommeling him, for having run away with his apple, his orange, or his +ginger-bread. +</p> + +<p> +So say I to thee, on occasion of thy severity to thy poor friend, who, as thou +ownest, has furnished thee (ungenerous as thou art!) with the weapons thou +brandishest so fearfully against him.—And to what purpose, when the +mischief is done? when, of consequence, the affair is irretrievable? and when a +CLARISSA could not move me? +</p> + +<p> +Well, but, after all, I must own, that there is something very singular in this +lady’s case: and, at times, I cannot help regretting that ever I +attempted her; since not one power either of body or soul could be moved in my +favour; and since, to use the expression of the philosopher, on a much graver +occasion, there is no difference to be found between the skull of King Philip +and that of another man. +</p> + +<p> +But people’s extravagant notions of things alter not facts, Belford: and, +when all’s done, Miss Clarissa Harlowe has but run the fate of a thousand +others of her sex—only that they did not set such a romantic value upon +what they call their honour; that’s all. +</p> + +<p> +And yet I will allow thee this—that if a person sets a high value upon +any thing, be it ever such a trifle in itself, or in the eye of others, the +robbing of that person of it is not a trifle to him. Take the matter in this +light, I own I have done wrong, great wrong, to this admirable creature. +</p> + +<p> +But have I not known twenty and twenty of the sex, who have seemed to carry +their notions of virtue high; yet, when brought to the test, have abated of +their severity? And how should we be convinced that any of them are proof till +they are tried? +</p> + +<p> +A thousand times have I said, that I never yet met with such a woman as this. +If I had, I hardly ever should have attempted Miss Clarissa Harlowe. Hitherto +she is all angel: and was not that the point which at setting out I proposed to +try?* And was not cohabitation ever my darling view? And am I not now, at last, +in the high road to it?—It is true, that I have nothing to boast of as to +her will. The very contrary. But now are we come to the test, whether she +cannot be brought to make the best of an irreparable evil. If she exclaim, [she +has reason to exclaim, and I will sit down with patience by the hour together +to hear her exclamations, till she is tired of them,] she will then descend to +expostulation perhaps: expostulation will give me hope: expostulation will show +that she hates me not. And, if she hate me not, she will forgive: and, if she +now forgive, then will all be over; and she will be mine upon my own terms: and +it shall then be the whole study of my future life to make her happy. +</p> + +<p> +* See Vol. III. Letter XVIII. +</p> + +<p> +So, Belford, thou seest that I have journeyed on to this stage [indeed, through +infinite mazes, and as infinite remorses] with one determined point in view +from the first. To thy urgent supplication then, that I will do her grateful +justice by marriage, let me answer in Matt. Prior’s two lines on his +hoped-for auditorship; as put into the mouths of his St. John and Harley; +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +—Let that be done, which Matt. doth say.<br/> +Y<small>EA</small>, quoth the Earl—<small>BUT NOT TO-DAY</small>. +</p> + +<p> +Thou seest, Jack, that I make no resolutions, however, against doing her, one +time or other, the wished-for justice, even were I to succeed in my principal +view, cohabitation. And of this I do assure thee, that, if I ever marry, it +must, it shall be Miss Clarissa Harlowe.—Nor is her honour at all +impaired with me, by what she has so far suffered: but the contrary. She must +only take care that, if she be at last brought to forgive me, she show me that +her Lovelace is the only man on earth whom she could have forgiven on the like +occasion. +</p> + +<p> +But ah, Jack! what, in the mean time, shall I do with this admirable creature? +At present—[I am loth to say it—but, at present] she is quite +stupified. +</p> + +<p> +I had rather, methinks, she should have retained all her active powers, though +I had suffered by her nails and her teeth, than that she should be sunk into +such a state of absolute—insensibility (shall I call it?) as she has been +in every since Tuesday morning. Yet, as she begins a little to revive, and +now-and-then to call names, and to exclaim, I dread almost to engage with the +anguish of a spirit that owes its extraordinary agitations to a niceness that +has no example either in ancient or modern story. For, after all, what is there +in her case that should stupify such a glowing, such a blooming +charmer?—Excess of grief, excess of terror, have made a person’s +hair stand on end, and even (as we have read) changed the colour of it. But +that it should so stupify, as to make a person, at times, insensible to those +imaginary wrongs, which would raise others from stupifaction, is very +surprising! +</p> + +<p> +But I will leave this subject, least it should make me too grave. +</p> + +<p> +I was yesterday at Hampstead, and discharged all obligations there, with no +small applause. I told them that the lady was now as happy as myself: and that +is no great untruth; for I am not altogether so, when I allow myself to think. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Townsend, with her tars, had not been then there. I told them what I would +have them say to her, if she came. +</p> + +<p> +Well, but, after all [how many after-all’s have I?] I could be very +grave, were I to give way to it.—The devil take me for a fool! +What’s the matter with me, I wonder!—I must breathe a fresher air +for a few days. +</p> + +<p> +But what shall I do with this admirable creature the while?—Hang me, if I +know!—For, if I stir, the venomous spider of this habitation will want to +set upon the charming fly, whose silken wings are already so entangled in my +enormous web, that she cannot move hand or foot: for so much has grief +stupified her, that she is at present destitute of will, as she always seemed +to be of desire. I must not therefore think of leaving her yet for two days +together. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"></a> LETTER XV</h2> + +<p class="center"> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +</p> + +<p> +I have just now had a specimen of what the resentment of this dear creature +will be when quite recovered: an affecting one!—For entering her +apartment after Dorcas; and endeavouring to soothe and pacify her disordered +mind; in the midst of my blandishments, she held up to Heaven, in a speechless +agony, the innocent license (which she has in her own power); as the poor +distressed Catalans held up their English treaty, on an occasion that keeps the +worst of my actions in countenance. +</p> + +<p> +She seemed about to call down vengeance upon me; when, happily the leaden god, +in pity to her trembling Lovelace, waved over her half-drowned eyes his +somniferous wand, and laid asleep the fair exclaimer, before she could go half +through with her intended imprecation. +</p> + +<p> +Thou wilt guess, by what I have written, that some little art has been made use +of: but it was with a generous design (if thou’lt allow me the word on +such an occasion) in order to lessen the too-quick sense she was likely to have +of what she was to suffer. A contrivance I never had occasion for before, and +had not thought of now, if Mrs. Sinclair had not proposed it to me: to whom I +left the management of it: and I have done nothing but curse her ever since, +lest the quantity should have for ever dampened her charming intellects. +</p> + +<p> +Hence my concern—for I think the poor lady ought not to have been so +treated. Poor lady, did I say?—What have I to do with thy creeping +style?—But have not I the worst of it; since her insensibility has made +me but a thief to my own joys? +</p> + +<p> +I did not intend to tell thee of this little innocent trick; for such I +designed it to be; but that I hate disingenuousness: to thee, especially: and +as I cannot help writing in a more serious vein than usual, thou wouldst +perhaps, had I not hinted the true cause, have imagined that I was sorry for +the fact itself: and this would have given thee a good deal of trouble in +scribbling dull persuasives to repair by matrimony; and me in reading thy cruel +nonsense. Besides, one day or other, thou mightest, had I not confessed it, +have heard of it in an aggravated manner; and I know thou hast such an high +opinion of this lady’s virtue, that thou wouldst be disappointed, if thou +hadst reason to think that she was subdued by her own consent, or any the least +yielding in her will. And so is she beholden to me in some measure, that, at +the expense of my honour, she may so justly form a plea, which will entirely +salve her’s. +</p> + +<p> +And now is the whole secret out. +</p> + +<p> +Thou wilt say I am a horrid fellow!—As the lady does, that I am the +unchained Beelzebub, and a plotting villain: and as this is what you both said +beforehand, and nothing worse can be said, I desire, if thou wouldst not have +me quite serious with thee, and that I should think thou meanest more by thy +tilting hint than I am willing to believe thou dost, that thou wilt forbear thy +invectives: For is not the thing done?—Can it be helped?—And must I +not now try to make the best of it?—And the rather do I enjoin to make +thee this, and inviolable secrecy; because I begin to think that my punishment +will be greater than the fault, were it to be only from my own reflection. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"></a> LETTER XVI</h2> + +<p> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. FRIDAY, JUNE 16. +</p> + +<p> +I am sorry to hear of thy misfortune; but hope thou wilt not long lie by it. +Thy servant tells me what narrow escape thou hadst with thy neck, I wish it may +not be ominous: but I think thou seemest not to be in so enterprising a way as +formerly; and yet, merry or sad, thou seest a rake’s neck is always in +danger, if not from the hangman, from his own horse. But, ’tis a vicious +toad, it seems; and I think thou shouldst never venture upon his back again; +for ’tis a plaguy thing for rider and horse both to be vicious. +</p> + +<p> +The fellow tells me, thou desirest me to continue to write to thee in order to +divert thy chagrin on thy forced confinement: but how can I think it in my +power to divert, when my subject is not pleasing to myself? +</p> + +<p> +Caesar never knew what it was to be hipped, I will call it, till he came to be +what Pompey was; that is to say, till he arrived at the height of his ambition: +nor did thy Lovelace know what it was to be gloomy, till he had completed his +wishes upon the most charming creature in the world. +</p> + +<p> +And yet why say I completed? when the will, the consent, is wanting—and I +have still views before me of obtaining that? +</p> + +<p> +Yet I could almost join with thee in the wish, which thou sendest me up by thy +servant, unfriendly as it is, that I had had thy misfortune before Monday night +last: for here, the poor lady has run into a contrary extreme to that I told +thee of in my last: for now is she as much too lively, as before she was too +stupid; and ’bating that she has pretty frequent lucid intervals, would +be deemed raving mad, and I should be obliged to confine her. +</p> + +<p> +I am most confoundedly disturbed about it: for I begin to fear that her +intellects are irreparably hurt. +</p> + +<p> +Who the devil could have expected such strange effects from a cause so common +and so slight? +</p> + +<p> +But these high-souled and high-sensed girls, who had set up for shining lights +and examples to the rest of the sex, are with such difficulty brought down to +the common standard, that a wise man, who prefers his peace of mind to his +glory, in subduing one of that exalted class, would have nothing to say to +them. +</p> + +<p> +I do all in my power to quiet her spirits, when I force myself into her +presence. +</p> + +<p> +I go on, begging pardon one minute; and vowing truth and honour another. +</p> + +<p> +I would at first have persuaded her, and offered to call witnesses to the truth +of it, that we were actually married. Though the license was in her hands, I +thought the assertion might go down in her disorder; and charming consequences +I hoped would follow. But this would not do.— +</p> + +<p> +I therefore gave up that hope: and now I declare to her, that it is my +resolution to marry her, the moment her uncle Harlowe informs me that he will +grace the ceremony with his presence. +</p> + +<p> +But she believes nothing I say; nor, (whether in her senses, or not) bears me +with patience in her sight. +</p> + +<p> +I pity her with all my soul; and I curse myself, when she is in her wailing +fits, and when I apprehend that intellects, so charming, are for ever damped. +</p> + +<p> +But more I curse these women, who put me upon such an expedient! Lord! Lord! +what a hand have I made of it!—And all for what? +</p> + +<p> +Last night, for the first time since Monday night, she got to her pen and ink; +but she pursues her writing with such eagerness and hurry, as show too +evidently her discomposure. +</p> + +<p> +I hope, however, that this employment will help to calm her spirits. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +Just now Dorcas tells me, that what she writes she tears, and throws the paper +in fragments under the table, either as not knowing what she does, or disliking +it: then gets up, wrings her hands, weeps, and shifts her seat all round the +room: then returns to her table, sits down, and writes again. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +One odd letter, as I may call it, Dorcas has this moment given me from +her—Carry this, said she, to the vilest of men. Dorcas, a toad, brought +it, without any further direction to me. I sat down, intending (though +’tis pretty long) to give thee a copy of it: but, for my life, I cannot; +’tis so extravagant. And the original is too much an original to let it +go out of my hands. +</p> + +<p> +But some of the scraps and fragments, as either torn through, or flung aside, I +will copy, for the novelty of the thing, and to show thee how her mind works +now she is in the whimsical way. Yet I know I am still furnishing thee with new +weapons against myself. But spare thy comments. My own reflections render them +needless. Dorcas thinks her lady will ask for them: so wishes to have them to +lay again under the table. +</p> + +<p> +By the first thou’lt guess that I have told her that Miss Howe is very +ill, and can’t write; that she may account the better for not having +received the letter designed for her. +</p> + +<p> +PAPER I (Torn in two pieces.) +</p> + +<p> +MY DEAREST MISS HOWE, +</p> + +<p> +O what dreadful, dreadful things have I to tell you! But yet I cannot tell you +neither. But say, are you really ill, as a vile, vile creature informs me you +are? +</p> + +<p> +But he never yet told me truth, and I hope has not in this: and yet, if it were +not true, surely I should have heard from you before now!—But what have I +to do to upbraid?—You may well be tired of me!—And if you are, I +can forgive you; for I am tired of myself: and all my own relations were tired +of me long before you were. +</p> + +<p> +How good you have always been to me, mine own dear Anna Howe!—But how I +ramble! +</p> + +<p> +I sat down to say a great deal—my heart was full—I did not know +what to say first—and thought, and grief, and confusion, and (O my poor +head) I cannot tell what—and thought, and grief and confusion, came +crowding so thick upon me; one would be first; another would be first; all +would be first; so I can write nothing at all.—Only that, whatever they +have done to me, I cannot tell; but I am no longer what I was—in any one +thing did I say? Yes, but I am; for I am still, and I ever will be, +</p> + +<p> +Your true—— +</p> + +<p> +Plague on it! I can write no more of this eloquent nonsense myself; which +rather shows a raised, than a quenched, imagination: but Dorcas shall +transcribe the others in separate papers, as written by the whimsical charmer: +and some time hence when all is over, and I can better bear to read them, I may +ask thee for a sight of them. Preserve them, therefore; for we often look back +with pleasure even upon the heaviest griefs, when the cause of them is removed. +</p> + +<p> +PAPER II (Scratch’d through, and thrown under the table.) +</p> + +<p> +—And can you, my dear, honoured Papa, resolve for ever to reprobate your +poor child?—But I am sure you would not, if you knew what she has +suffered since her unhappy—And will nobody plead for your poor suffering +girl?—No one good body?—Why then, dearest Sir, let it be an act of +your own innate goodness, which I have so much experienced, and so much abused. +I don’t presume to think you should receive me—No, indeed!—My +name is—I don’t know what my name is!—I never dare to wish to +come into your family again!—But your heavy curse, my Papa—Yes, I +will call you Papa, and help yourself as you can—for you are my own dear +Papa, whether you will or not—and though I am an unworthy child—yet +I am your child— +</p> + +<p> +PAPER III +</p> + +<p> +A Lady took a great fancy to a young lion, or a bear, I forget which—but +a bear, or a tiger, I believe it was. It was made her a present of when a +whelp. She fed it with her own hand: she nursed up the wicked cub with great +tenderness; and would play with it without fear or apprehension of danger: and +it was obedient to all her commands: and its tameness, as she used to boast, +increased with its growth; so that, like a lap-dog, it would follow her all +over the house. But mind what followed: at last, some how, neglecting to +satisfy its hungry maw, or having otherwise disobliged it on some occasion, it +resumed its nature; and on a sudden fell upon her, and tore her in +pieces.—And who was most to blame, I pray? The brute, or the lady? The +lady, surely!—For what she did was out of nature, out of character, at +least: what it did was in its own nature. +</p> + +<p> +PAPER IV +</p> + +<p> +How art thou now humbled in the dust, thou proud Clarissa Harlowe! Thou that +never steppedst out of thy father’s house but to be admired! Who wert +wont to turn thine eye, sparkling with healthful life, and self-assurance, to +different objects at once as thou passedst, as if (for so thy penetrating +sister used to say) to plume thyself upon the expected applauses of all that +beheld thee! Thou that usedst to go to rest satisfied with the adulations paid +thee in the past day, and couldst put off every thing but thy vanity!—- +</p> + +<p> +PAPER V +</p> + +<p> +Rejoice not now, my Bella, my Sister, my Friend; but pity the humbled creature, +whose foolish heart you used to say you beheld through the thin veil of +humility which covered it. +</p> + +<p> +It must have been so! My fall had not else been permitted— +</p> + +<p> +You penetrated my proud heart with the jealousy of an elder sister’s +searching eye. +</p> + +<p> +You knew me better than I knew myself. +</p> + +<p> +Hence your upbraidings and your chidings, when I began to totter. +</p> + +<p> +But forgive now those vain triumphs of my heart. +</p> + +<p> +I thought, poor, proud wretch that I was, that what you said was owing to your +envy. +</p> + +<p> +I thought I could acquit my intention of any such vanity. +</p> + +<p> +I was too secure in the knowledge I thought I had of my own heart. +</p> + +<p> +My supposed advantages became a snare to me. +</p> + +<p> +And what now is the end of all?— +</p> + +<p> +PAPER VI +</p> + +<p> +What now is become of the prospects of a happy life, which once I thought +opening before me?—Who now shall assist in the solemn preparations? Who +now shall provide the nuptial ornaments, which soften and divert the +apprehensions of the fearful virgin? No court now to be paid to my smiles! No +encouraging compliments to inspire thee with hope of laying a mind not unworthy +of thee under obligation! No elevation now for conscious merit, and applauded +purity, to look down from on a prostrate adorer, and an admiring world, and up +to pleased and rejoicing parents and relations! +</p> + +<p> +PAPER VII +</p> + +<p> +Thou pernicious caterpillar, that preyest upon the fair leaf of virgin fame, +and poisonest those leaves which thou canst not devour! +</p> + +<p> +Thou fell blight, thou eastern blast, thou overspreading mildew, that +destroyest the early promises of the shining year! that mockest the laborious +toil, and blastest the joyful hopes, of the painful husbandman! +</p> + +<p> +Thou fretting moth, that corruptest the fairest garment! +</p> + +<p> +Thou eating canker-worm, that preyest upon the opening bud, and turnest the +damask-rose into livid yellowness! +</p> + +<p> +If, as religion teaches us, God will judge us, in a great measure, by our +benevolent or evil actions to one another—O wretch! bethink thee, in time +bethink thee, how great must be thy condemnation! +</p> + +<p> +PAPER VIIII +</p> + +<p> +At first, I saw something in your air and person that displeased me not. Your +birth and fortunes were no small advantages to you.—You acted not ignobly +by my passionate brother. Every body said you were brave: every body said you +were generous: a brave man, I thought, could not be a base man: a generous man, +could not, I believed, be ungenerous, where he acknowledged obligation. Thus +prepossessed, all the rest that my soul loved and wished for in your +reformation I hoped!—I knew not, but by report, any flagrant instances of +your vileness. You seemed frank, as well as generous: frankness and generosity +ever attracted me: whoever kept up those appearances, I judged of their hearts +by my own; and whatever qualities I wished to find in them, I was ready to +find; and, when found, I believed them to be natives of the soil. +</p> + +<p> +My fortunes, my rank, my character, I thought a further security. I was in none +of those respects unworthy of being the niece of Lord M. and of his two noble +sisters.—Your vows, your imprecations—But, Oh! you have barbarously +and basely conspired against that honour, which you ought to have protected: +and now you have made me—What is it of vile that you have not made +me?— +</p> + +<p> +Yet, God knows my heart, I had no culpable inclinations!—I honoured +virtue!—I hated vice!—But I knew not, that you were vice itself! +</p> + +<p> +PAPER IX +</p> + +<p> +Had the happiness of any of the poorest outcast in the world, whom I had never +seen, never known, never before heard of, lain as much in my power, as my +happiness did in your’s, my benevolent heart would have made me fly to +the succour of such a poor distressed—with what pleasure would I have +raised the dejected head, and comforted the desponding heart!—But who now +shall pity the poor wretch, who has increased, instead of diminished, the +number of the miserable! +</p> + +<p> +PAPER X +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Lead me, where my own thoughts themselves may lose me;<br/> +Where I may dose out what I’ve left of life,<br/> +Forget myself, and that day’s guile!——<br/> +Cruel remembrance!——how shall I appease thee? +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +[Death only can be dreadful to the bad;*<br/> +To innocence ’tis like a bugbear dress’d<br/> +To frighten children. Pull but off the mask,<br/> +And he’ll appear a friend.] +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +* Transcriber’s note: Portions set off in square brackets [ ] are written +at angles to the majority of the text, as if squeezed into margins. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +——Oh! you have done an act<br/> +That blots the face and blush of modesty;<br/> + Takes off the rose<br/> +From the fair forehead of an innocent love,<br/> +And makes a blister there!<br/> +<br/> + Then down I laid my head,<br/> +Down on cold earth, and for a while was dead;<br/> +And my freed soul to a strange somewhere fled!<br/> + Ah! sottish soul! said I,<br/> +When back to its cage again I saw it fly;<br/> + Fool! to resume her broken chain,<br/> +And row the galley here again!<br/> + Fool! to that body to return,<br/> +Where it condemn’d and destin’d is to mourn! +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +[I could a tale unfold——<br/> +Would harrow up thy soul——] +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +O my Miss Howe! if thou hast friendship, help me,<br/> +And speak the words of peace to my divided soul,<br/> + That wars within me,<br/> +And raises ev’ry sense to my confusion.<br/> + I’m tott’ring on the brink<br/> +Of peace; an thou art all the hold I’ve left!<br/> +Assist me——in the pangs of my affliction!<br/> +<br/> +When honour’s lost, ’tis a relief to die:<br/> +Death’s but a sure retreat from infamy. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +[By swift misfortunes<br/> + How I am pursu’d!<br/> +Which on each other<br/> + Are, like waves, renew’d!] +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +The farewell, youth,<br/> + And all the joys that dwell<br/> +With youth and life!<br/> + And life itself, farewell!<br/> +<br/> +For life can never be sincerely blest.<br/> +Heav’n punishes the bad, and proves the best. +</p> + +<p> +After all, Belford, I have just skimmed over these transcriptions of Dorcas: +and I see there are method and good sense in some of them, wild as others of +them are; and that her memory, which serves her so well for these poetical +flights, is far from being impaired. And this gives me hope, that she will soon +recover her charming intellects—though I shall be the sufferer by their +restoration, I make no doubt. +</p> + +<p> +But, in the letter she wrote to me, there are yet greater extravagancies; and +though I said it was too affecting to give thee a copy of it, yet, after I have +let thee see the loose papers enclosed, I think I may throw in a transcript of +that. Dorcas therefore shall here transcribe it. I cannot. The reading of it +affected me ten times more than the severest reproaches of a regular mind could +do. +</p> + +<p> +TO MR. LOVELACE +</p> + +<p> +I never intended to write another line to you. I would not see you, if I could +help it—O that I never had! +</p> + +<p> +But tell me, of a truth, is Miss Howe really and truly ill?—Very +ill?—And is not her illness poison? And don’t you know who gave it +to her? +</p> + +<p> +What you, or Mrs. Sinclair, or somebody (I cannot tell who) have done to my +poor head, you best know: but I shall never be what I was. My head is gone. I +have wept away all my brain, I believe; for I can weep no more. Indeed I have +had my full share; so it is no matter. +</p> + +<p> +But, good now, Lovelace, don’t set Mrs. Sinclair upon me again.—I +never did her any harm. She so affrights me, when I see her!—Ever +since—when was it? I cannot tell. You can, I suppose. She may be a good +woman, as far as I know. She was the wife of a man of honour—very +likely—though forced to let lodgings for a livelihood. Poor gentlewoman! +Let her know I pity her: but don’t let her come near me again—pray +don’t! +</p> + +<p> +Yet she may be a very good woman— +</p> + +<p> +What would I say!—I forget what I was going to say. +</p> + +<p> +O Lovelace, you are Satan himself; or he helps you out in every thing; and +that’s as bad! +</p> + +<p> +But have you really and truly sold yourself to him? And for how long? What +duration is your reign to have? +</p> + +<p> +Poor man! The contract will be out: and then what will be your fate! +</p> + +<p> +O Lovelace! if you could be sorry for yourself, I would be sorry too—but +when all my doors are fast, and nothing but the key-hole open, and the key of +late put into that, to be where you are, in a manner without opening any of +them—O wretched, wretched Clarissa Harlowe! +</p> + +<p> +For I never will be Lovelace—let my uncle take it as he pleases. +</p> + +<p> +Well, but now I remember what I was going to say—it is for your +good—not mine—for nothing can do me good now!—O thou +villanous man! thou hated Lovelace! +</p> + +<p> +But Mrs. Sinclair may be a good woman—if you love me—but that you +don’t—but don’t let her bluster up with her worse than +mannish airs to me again! O she is a frightful woman! If she be a woman! She +needed not to put on that fearful mask to scare me out of my poor wits. But +don’t tell her what I say—I have no hatred to her—it is only +fright, and foolish fear, that’s all.—She may not be a bad +woman—but neither are all men, any more than all women alike—God +forbid they should be like you! +</p> + +<p> +Alas! you have killed my head among you—I don’t say who did +it!—God forgive you all!—But had it not been better to have put me +out of all your ways at once? You might safely have done it! For nobody would +require me at your hands—no, not a soul—except, indeed, Miss Howe +would have said, when she should see you, What, Lovelace, have you done with +Clarissa Harlowe?—And then you could have given any slight, gay +answer—sent her beyond sea; or, she has run away from me, as she did +from her parents. And this would have been easily credited; for you know, +Lovelace, she that could run away from them, might very well run away from you. +</p> + +<p> +But this is nothing to what I wanted to say. Now I have it. +</p> + +<p> +I have lost it again—This foolish wench comes teasing me—for what +purpose should I eat? For what end should I wish to live?—I tell thee, +Dorcas, I will neither eat nor drink. I cannot be worse than I am. +</p> + +<p> +I will do as you’d have me—good Dorcas, look not upon me so +fiercely—but thou canst not look so bad as I have seen somebody look. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Lovelace, now that I remember what I took pen in hand to say, let me hurry +off my thoughts, lest I lose them again—here I am sensible—and yet +I am hardly sensible neither—but I know my head is not as it should be, +for all that—therefore let me propose one thing to you: it is for your +good—not mine; and this is it: +</p> + +<p> +I must needs be both a trouble and an expense to you. And here my uncle +Harlowe, when he knows how I am, will never wish any man to have me: no, not +even you, who have been the occasion of it—barbarous and +ungrateful!—A less complicated villany cost a Tarquin—but I forget +what I would say again— +</p> + +<p> +Then this is it—I never shall be myself again: I have been a very wicked +creature—a vain, proud, poor creature, full of secret pride—which I +carried off under an humble guise, and deceived every body—my sister says +so—and now I am punished—so let me be carried out of this house, +and out of your sight; and let me be put into that Bedlam privately, which once +I saw: but it was a sad sight to me then! Little as I thought what I should +come to myself!—That is all I would say: this is all I have to wish +for—then I shall be out of all your ways; and I shall be taken care of; +and bread and water without your tormentings, will be dainties: and my +straw-bed the easiest I have lain in—for—I cannot tell how long! +</p> + +<p> +My clothes will sell for what will keep me there, perhaps as long as I shall +live. But, Lovelace, dear Lovelace, I will call you; for you have cost me +enough, I’m sure!—don’t let me be made a show of, for my +family’s sake; nay, for your own sake, don’t do that—for when +I know all I have suffered, which yet I do not, and no matter if I never +do—I may be apt to rave against you by name, and tell of all your +baseness to a poor humbled creature, that once was as proud as any +body—but of what I can’t tell—except of my own folly and +vanity—but let that pass—since I am punished enough for it— +</p> + +<p> +So, suppose, instead of Bedlam, it were a private mad-house, where nobody +comes!—That will be better a great deal. +</p> + +<p> +But, another thing, Lovelace: don’t let them use me cruelly when I am +there—you have used me cruelly enough, you know!—Don’t let +them use me cruelly; for I will be very tractable; and do as any body would +have me to do—except what you would have me do—for that I never +will.—Another thing, Lovelace: don’t let this good woman, I was +going to say vile woman; but don’t tell her that—because she +won’t let you send me to this happy refuge, perhaps, if she were to know +it— +</p> + +<p> +Another thing, Lovelace: and let me have pen, and ink, and paper, allowed +me—it will be all my amusement—but they need not send to any body I +shall write to, what I write, because it will but trouble them: and somebody +may do you a mischief, may be—I wish not that any body do any body a +mischief upon my account. +</p> + +<p> +You tell me, that Lady Betty Lawrance, and your cousin Montague, were here to +take leave of me; but that I was asleep, and could not be waked. So you told me +at first I was married, you know, and that you were my husband—Ah! +Lovelace! look to what you say.—But let not them, (for they will sport +with my misery,) let not that Lady Betty, let not that Miss Montague, whatever +the real ones may do; nor Mrs. Sinclair neither, nor any of her lodgers, nor +her nieces, come to see me in my place—real ones, I say; for, Lovelace, I +shall find out all your villanies in time—indeed I shall—so put me +there as soon as you can—it is for your good—then all will pass +for ravings that I can say, as, I doubt no many poor creatures’ +exclamations do pass, though there may be too much truth in them for all +that—and you know I began to be mad at Hampstead—so you +said.—Ah! villanous man! what have you not to answer for! +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +A little interval seems to be lent me. I had begun to look over what I have +written. It is not fit for any one to see, so far as I have been able to +re-peruse it: but my head will not hold, I doubt, to go through it all. If +therefore I have not already mentioned my earnest desire, let me tell you it is +this: that I be sent out of this abominable house without delay, and locked up +in some private mad-house about this town; for such, it seems, there are; never +more to be seen, or to be produced to any body, except in your own vindication, +if you should be charged with the murder of my person; a much lighter crime +than that of honour, which the greatest villain on earth has robbed me of. And +deny me not this my last request, I beseech you; and one other, and that is, +never to let me see you more! This surely may be granted to +</p> + +<p> +The miserably abused CLARISSA HARLOWE. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +I will not bear thy heavy preachments, Belford, upon this affecting letter. So, +not a word of that sort! The paper, thou’lt see, is blistered with the +tears even of the hardened transcriber; which has made her ink run here and +there. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Sinclair is a true heroine, and, I think, shames us all. And she is a +woman too! Thou’lt say, the beset things corrupted become the worst. But +this is certain, that whatever the sex set their hearts upon, they make +thorough work of it. And hence it is, that a mischief which would end in simple +robbery among men rogues, becomes murder, if a woman be in it. +</p> + +<p> +I know thou wilt blame me for having had recourse to art. But do not physicians +prescribe opiates in acute cases, where the violence of the disorder would be +apt to throw the patient into a fever or delirium? I aver, that my motive for +this expedient was mercy; nor could it be any thing else. For a rape, thou +knowest, to us rakes, is far from being an undesirable thing. Nothing but the +law stands in our way, upon that account; and the opinion of what a modest +woman will suffer rather than become a <i>viva voce</i> accuser, lessens much +an honest fellow’s apprehensions on that score. Then, if these +somnivolencies [I hate the word opiates on this occasion,] have turned her +head, that is an effect they frequently have upon some constitutions; and in +this case was rather the fault of the dose than the design of the giver. +</p> + +<p> +But is not wine itself an opiate in degree?—How many women have been +taken advantage of by wine, and other still more intoxicating viands?—Let +me tell thee, Jack, that the experience of many of the passive sex, and the +consciences of many more of the active, appealed to, will testify that thy +Lovelace is not the worst of villains. Nor would I have thee put me upon +clearing myself by comparisons. +</p> + +<p> +If she escape a settled delirium when my plots unravel, I think it is all I +ought to be concerned about. What therefore I desire of thee, is, that, if two +constructions may be made of my actions, thou wilt afford me the most +favourable. For this, not only friendship, but my own ingenuousness, which has +furnished thee with the knowledge of the facts against which thou art so ready +to inveigh, require of thee. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +Will. is just returned from an errand to Hampstead; and acquaints me, that Mrs. +Townsend was yesterday at Mrs. Moore’s, accompanied by three or four +rough fellows; a greater number (as supposed) at a distance. She was strangely +surprised at the news that my spouse and I are entirely reconciled; and that +two fine ladies, my relations, came to visit her, and went to town with her: +where she is very happy with me. She was sure we were not married, she said, +unless it was while we were at Hampstead: and they were sure the ceremony was +not performed there. But that the lady is happy and easy, is unquestionable: +and a fling was thrown out by Mrs. Moore and Mrs. Bevis at mischief-makers, as +they knew Mrs. Townsend to be acquainted with Miss Howe. +</p> + +<p> +Now, since my fair-one can neither receive, nor send away letters, I am pretty +easy as to this Mrs. Townsend and her employer. And I fancy Miss Howe will be +puzzled to know what to think of the matter, and afraid of sending by +Wilson’s conveyance; and perhaps suppose that her friend slights her; or +has changed her mind in my favour, and is ashamed to own it; as she has not had +an answer to what she wrote; and will believe that the rustic delivered her +last letter into her own hand. +</p> + +<p> +Mean time I have a little project come into my head, of a new kind; just for +amusement-sake, that’s all: variety has irresistible charms. I cannot +live without intrigue. My charmer has no passions; that is to say, none of the +passions that I want her to have. She engages all my reverence. I am at present +more inclined to regret what I have done, than to proceed to new offences: and +shall regret it till I see how she takes it when recovered. +</p> + +<p> +Shall I tell thee my project? ’Tis not a high one.—’Tis +this—to get hither to Mrs. Moore, Miss Rawlins, and my widow Bevis; for +they are desirous to make a visit to my spouse, now we are so happy together. +And, if I can order it right, Belton, Mowbray, Tourville, and I, will show them +a little more of the ways of this wicked town, than they at present know. Why +should they be acquainted with a man of my character, and not be the better and +wiser for it?—I would have every body rail against rakes with judgment +and knowledge, if they will rail. Two of these women gave me a great deal of +trouble: and the third, I am confident, will forgive a merry evening. +</p> + +<p> +Thou wilt be curious to know what the persons of these women are, to whom I +intend so much distinction. I think I have not heretofore mentioned any thing +characteristic of their persons. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Moore is a widow of about thirty-eight; a little mortified by misfortunes; +but those are often the merriest folks, when warmed. She has good features +still; and is what they call much of a gentlewoman, and very neat in her person +and dress. She has given over, I believe, all thoughts of our sex: but when the +dying embers are raked up about the half-consumed stump, there will be fuel +enough left, I dare say, to blaze out, and give a comfortable warmth to a +half-starved by-stander. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Bevis is comely; that is to say, plump; a lover of mirth, and one whom no +grief ever dwelt with, I dare say, for a week together; about twenty-five years +of age: Mowbray will have very little difficulty with her, I believe; for one +cannot do every thing one’s self. And yet sometimes women of this free +cast, when it comes to the point, answer not the promises their cheerful +forwardness gives a man who has a view upon them. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Rawlins is an agreeable young lady enough; but not beautiful. She has +sense, and would be thought to know the world, as it is called; but, for her +knowledge, is more indebted to theory than experience. A mere whipt-syllabub +knowledge this, Jack, that always fails the person who trusts to it, when it +should hold to do her service. For such young ladies have so much dependence +upon their own understanding and wariness, are so much above the cautions that +the less opinionative may be benefited by, that their presumption is generally +their overthrow, when attempted by a man of experience, who knows how to +flatter their vanity, and to magnify their wisdom, in order to take advantage +of their folly. But, for Miss Rawlins, if I can add experience to her theory, +what an accomplished person will she be!—And how much will she be obliged +to me; and not only she, but all those who may be the better for the precepts +she thinks herself already so well qualified to give! Dearly, Jack, do I love +to engage with these precept-givers, and example-setters. +</p> + +<p> +Now, Belford, although there is nothing striking in any of these characters; +yet may we, at a pinch, make a good frolicky half-day with them, if, after we +have softened their wax at table by encouraging viands, we can set our women +and them into dancing: dancing, which all women love, and all men should +therefore promote, for both their sakes. +</p> + +<p> +And thus, when Tourville sings, Belton fiddles, Mowbray makes rough love, and I +smooth; and thou, Jack, wilt be by that time well enough to join in the chorus; +the devil’s in’t if we don’t mould them into what shape we +please—our own women, by their laughing freedoms, encouraging them to +break through all their customary reserves. For women to women, thou knowest, +are great darers and incentives: not one of them loving to be outdone or +outdared, when their hearts are thoroughly warmed. +</p> + +<p> +I know, at first, the difficulty will be the accidental absence of my dear Mrs. +Lovelace, to whom principally they will design their visit: but if we can +exhilarate them, they won’t then wish to see her; and I can form twenty +accidents and excuses, from one hour to another, for her absence, till each +shall have a subject to take up all her thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +I am really sick at heart for a frolic, and have no doubt but this will be an +agreeable one. These women already think me a wild fellow; nor do they like me +the less for it, as I can perceive; and I shall take care, that they shall be +treated with so much freedom before one another’s faces, that in policy +they shall keep each other’s counsel. And won’t this be doing a +kind thing by them? since it will knit an indissoluble band of union and +friendship between three women who are neighbours, and at present have only +common obligations to one another: for thou wantest not to be told, that +secrets of love, and secrets of this nature, are generally the strongest cement +of female friendships. +</p> + +<p> +But, after all, if my beloved should be happily restored to her intellects, we +may have scenes arise between us that will be sufficiently busy to employ all +the faculties of thy friend, without looking out for new occasions. Already, as +I have often observed, has she been the means of saving scores of her sex, yet +without her own knowledge. +</p> + +<p> +SATURDAY NIGHT. +</p> + +<p> +By Dorcas’s account of her lady’s behaviour, the dear creature +seems to be recovering. I shall give the earliest notice of this to the worthy +Capt. Tomlinson, that he may apprize uncle John of it. I must be properly +enabled, from that quarter, to pacify her, or, at least, to rebate her first +violence. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"></a> LETTER XVII</h2> + +<p> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. SUNDAY AFTERNOON, SIX O’CLOCK, (JUNE +18.) +</p> + +<p> +I went out early this morning, and returned not till just now; when I was +informed that my beloved, in my absence, had taken it into her head to attempt +to get away. +</p> + +<p> +She tripped down, with a parcel tied up in a handkerchief, her hood on; and was +actually in the entry, when Mrs. Sinclair saw her. +</p> + +<p> +Pray, Madam, whipping between her and the street-door, be pleased to let me +know where you are going? +</p> + +<p> +Who has a right to controul me? was the word. +</p> + +<p> +I have, Madam, by order of your spouse: and, kemboing her arms, as she owned, I +desire you will be pleased to walk up again. +</p> + +<p> +She would have spoken; but could not: and, bursting into tears, turned back, +and went up to her chamber: and Dorcas was taken to task for suffering her to +be in the passage before she was seen. +</p> + +<p> +This shows, as we hoped last night, that she is recovering her charming +intellects. +</p> + +<p> +Dorcas says, she was visible to her but once before the whole day; and then she +seemed very solemn and sedate. +</p> + +<p> +I will endeavour to see her. It must be in her own chamber, I suppose; for she +will hardly meet me in the dining-room. What advantage will the confidence of +our sex give me over the modesty of her’s, if she be recovered!—I, +the most confident of men: she, the most delicate of women. Sweet soul! +methinks I have her before me: her face averted: speech lost in +sighs—abashed—conscious—what a triumphant aspect will this +give me, when I gaze on her downcast countenance! +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +This moment Dorcas tells me she believes she is coming to find me out. She +asked her after me: and Dorcas left her, drying her red-swoln eyes at her +glass; [no design of moving me by tears!] sighing too sensibly for my courage. +But to what purpose have I gone thus far, if I pursue not my principal end? +Niceness must be a little abated. She knows the worst. That she cannot fly me; +that she must see me; and that I can look her into a sweet confusion; are +circumstances greatly in my favour. What can she do but rave and exclaim? I am +used to raving and exclaiming—but, if recovered, I shall see how she +behaves upon this our first sensible interview after what she has suffered. +</p> + +<p> +Here she comes. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"></a> LETTER XVIII</h2> + +<p> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. SUNDAY NIGHT. +</p> + +<p> +Never blame me for giving way to have art used with this admirable creature. +All the princes of the air, or beneath it, joining with me, could never have +subdued her while she had her senses. +</p> + +<p> +I will not anticipate—only to tell thee, that I am too much awakened by +her to think of sleep, were I to go to bed; and so shall have nothing to do but +to write an account of our odd conversation, while it is so strong upon my mind +that I can think of nothing else. +</p> + +<p> +She was dressed in a white damask night-gown, with less negligence than for +some days past. I was sitting with my pen in my fingers; and stood up when I +first saw her, with great complaisance, as if the day were still her own. And +so indeed it is. +</p> + +<p> +She entered with such dignity in her manner as struck me with great awe, and +prepared me for the poor figure I made in the subsequent conversation. A poor +figure indeed!—But I will do her justice. +</p> + +<p> +She came up with quick steps, pretty close to me; a white handkerchief in her +hand; her eyes neither fierce nor mild, but very earnest; and a fixed +sedateness in her whole aspect, which seemed to be the effect of deep +contemplation: and thus she accosted me, with an air and action that I never +saw equalled. +</p> + +<p> +You see before you, Sir, the wretch, whose preference of you to all your sex +you have rewarded—as it indeed deserved to be rewarded. My father’s +dreadful curse has already operated upon me in the very letter of it, as to +this life; and it seems to me too evident that it will not be your fault that +it is not entirely completed in the loss of my soul, as well as of my +honour—which you, villanous man! have robbed me of, with a baseness so +unnatural, so inhuman, that it seems you, even you, had not the heart to +attempt it, till my senses were made the previous sacrifice. +</p> + +<p> +Here I made an hesitating effort to speak, laying down my pen: but she +proceeded!—Hear me out, guilty wretch!—abandoned man!—Man, +did I say?—Yet what name else can I? since the mortal worryings of the +fiercest beast would have been more natural, and infinitely more welcome, that +what you have acted by me; and that with a premeditation and contrivance worthy +only of that single heart which now, base as well as ungrateful as thou art, +seems to quake within thee.—And well may’st thou quake; well +may’st thou tremble, and falter, and hesitate, as thou dost, when thou +reflectest upon what I have suffered for thy sake, and upon the returns thou +hast made me! +</p> + +<p> +By my soul, Belford, my whole frame was shaken: for not only her looks and her +action, but her voice, so solemn, was inexpressibly affecting: and then my +cursed guilt, and her innocence, and merit, and rank, and superiority of +talents, all stared me at that instant in the face so formidably, that my +present account, to which she unexpectedly called me, seemed, as I then +thought, to resemble that general one, to which we are told we shall be +summoned, when our conscience shall be our accuser. +</p> + +<p> +But she had had time to collect all the powers of her eloquence. The whole day +probably in her intellects. And then I was the more disappointed, as I had +thought I could have gazed the dear creature into confusion—but it is +plain, that the sense she has of her wrongs sets this matchless woman above all +lesser, all weaker considerations. +</p> + +<p> +My dear—my love—I—I—I never—no never—lips +trembling, limbs quaking, voice inward, hesitating, broken—never surely +did miscreant look so like a miscreant! while thus she proceeded, waving her +snowy hand, with all the graces of moving oratory. +</p> + +<p> +I have no pride in the confusion visible in thy whole person. I have been all +the day praying for a composure, if I could not escape from this vile house, +that should once more enable me to look up to my destroyer with the +consciousness of an innocent sufferer. Thou seest me, since my wrongs are +beyond the power of words to express, thou seest me, calm enough to wish, that +thou may’st continue harassed by the workings of thy own conscience, till +effectual repentance take hold of thee, that so thou may’st not forfeit +all title to that mercy which thou hast not shown to the poor creature now +before thee, who had so well deserved to meet with a faithful friend where she +met with the worst of enemies. +</p> + +<p> +But tell me, (for no doubt thou hast some scheme to pursue,) tell me, since I +am a prisoner, as I find, in the vilest of houses, and have not a friend to +protect or save me, what thou intendest shall become of the remnant of a life +not worth the keeping!—Tell me, if yet there are more evils reserved for +me; and whether thou hast entered into a compact with the grand deceiver, in +the person of his horrid agent in this house; and if the ruin of my soul, that +my father’s curse may be fulfilled, is to complete the triumphs of so +vile a confederacy?—Answer me!—Say, if thou hast courage to speak +out to her whom thou hast ruined, tell me what farther I am to suffer from thy +barbarity? +</p> + +<p> +She stopped here, and, sighing, turned her sweet face from me, drying up with +her handkerchief those tears which she endeavoured to restrain; and, when she +could not, to conceal from my sight. +</p> + +<p> +As I told thee, I had prepared myself for high passions, raving, flying, +tearing execration; these transient violences, the workings of sudden grief, +and shame, and vengeance, would have set us upon a par with each other, and +quitted scores. These have I been accustomed to; and as nothing violent is +lasting, with these I could have wished to encounter. But such a majestic +composure—seeking me—whom, yet it is plain, by her attempt to get +away, she would have avoided seeking—no Lucretia-like vengeance upon +herself in her thought—yet swallowed up, her whole mind swallowed up, as +I may say, by a grief so heavy, as, in her own words, to be beyond the power of +speech to express—and to be able, discomposed as she was, to the very +morning, to put such a home-question to me, as if she had penetrated my future +view—how could I avoid looking like a fool, and answering, as before, in +broken sentences and confusion? +</p> + +<p> +What—what-a—what has been done—I, I, I—cannot but +say—must own—must confess—hem—hem——is not +right—is not what should have +been—but-a—but—but—I am truly—truly—sorry +for it—upon my soul I am—and—and—will do all—do +every thing—do what—whatever is incumbent upon me—all that +you—that you—that you shall require, to make you +amends!—— +</p> + +<p> +O Belford! Belford! whose the triumph now! HER’S, or MINE? +</p> + +<p> +Amends! O thou truly despicable wretch! Then lifting up her eyes—Good +Heaven! who shall pity the creature who could fall by so base a +mind!—Yet—[and then she looked indignantly upon me!] yet, I hate +thee not (base and low-souled as thou art!) half so much as I hate myself, that +I saw thee not sooner in thy proper colours! That I hoped either morality, +gratitude, or humanity, from a libertine, who, to be a libertine, must have got +over and defied all moral sanctions.* +</p> + +<p> +* Her cousin Morden’s words to her in his letter from Florence. See Vol. +IV. Letter XIX. +</p> + +<p> +She then called upon her cousin Morden’s name, as if he had warned her +against a man of free principles; and walked towards the window; her +handkerchief at her eyes. But, turning short towards me, with an air of mingled +scorn and majesty, [what, at the moment, would I have given never to have +injured her!] What amends hast thou to propose! What amends can such a one as +thou make to a person of spirit, or common sense, for the evils thou hast so +inhumanely made me suffer? +</p> + +<p> +As soon, Madam—as soon—as—as soon as your +uncle—or—not waiting—— +</p> + +<p> +Thou wouldest tell me, I suppose—I know what thou wouldest tell +me—But thinkest thou, that marriage will satisfy for a guilt like thine? +Destitute as thou hast made me both of friends and fortune, I too much despise +the wretch, who could rob himself of his wife’s virtue, to endure the +thoughts of thee in the light thou seemest to hope I will accept thee +in!— +</p> + +<p> +I hesitated an interruption; but my meaning died away upon my trembling lips. I +could only pronounce the word marriage—and thus she proceeded: +</p> + +<p> +Let me, therefore, know whether I am to be controuled in the future disposal of +myself? Whether, in a country of liberty, as this, where the sovereign of it +must not be guilty of your wickedness, and where you neither durst have +attempted it, had I one friend or relation to look upon me, I am to be kept +here a prisoner, to sustain fresh injuries? Whether, in a word, you intend to +hinder me from going where my destiny shall lead me? +</p> + +<p> +After a pause—for I was still silent: +</p> + +<p> +Can you not answer me this plain question?—I quit all claim, all +expectation, upon you—what right have you to detain me here? +</p> + +<p> +I could not speak. What could I say to such a question? +</p> + +<p> +O wretch! wringing her uplifted hands, had I not been robbed of my senses, and +that in the basest manner—you best know how—had I been able to +account for myself, and your proceedings, or to have known but how the days +passed—a whole week should not have gone over my head, as I find it has +done, before I had told you, what I now tell you—That the man who has +been the villain to me you have been, shall never make me his wife.—I +will write to my uncle, to lay aside his kind intentions in my favour—all +my prospects are shut in—I give myself up for a lost creature as to this +world—hinder me not from entering upon a life of severe penitence, for +corresponding, after prohibition, with a wretch who has too well justified all +their warnings and inveteracy; and for throwing myself into the power of your +vile artifices. Let me try to secure the only hope I have left. This is all the +amends I ask of you. I repeat, therefore, Am I now at liberty to dispose of +myself as I please? +</p> + +<p> +Now comes the fool, the miscreant again, hesitating his broken answer: My +dearest love, I am confounded, quite confounded, at the thought of +what—of what has been done; and at the thought of—to whom. I see, I +see, there is no withstanding your eloquence!—Such irresistible proofs of +the love of virtue, for its own sake, did I never hear of, nor meet with, in +all my reading. And if you can forgive a repentant villain, who thus on his +knees implores your forgiveness, [then down I dropt, absolutely in earnest in +all I said,] I vow by all that’s sacred and just, (and may a thunderbolt +strike me dead at your feet, if I am not sincere!) that I will by marriage +before to-morrow noon, without waiting for your uncle, or any body, do you all +the justice I now can do you. And you shall ever after controul and direct me +as you please, till you have made me more worthy of your angelic purity than +now I am: nor will I presume so much as to touch your garment, till I have the +honour to call so great a blessing lawfully mine. +</p> + +<p> +O thou guileful betrayer! there is a just God, whom thou invokest: yet the +thunderbolt descends not; and thou livest to imprecate and deceive! +</p> + +<p> +My dearest life! rising; for I hoped she was relenting—— +</p> + +<p> +Hadst thou not sinned beyond the possibility of forgiveness, interrupted she; +and this had been the first time that thus thou solemnly promisest and invokest +the vengeance thou hast as often defied; the desperateness of my condition +might have induced me to think of taking a wretched chance with a man so +profligate. But, after what I have suffered by thee, it would be criminal in me +to wish to bind my soul in covenant to a man so nearly allied to perdition. +</p> + +<p> +Good God!—how uncharitable!—I offer not to defend—would to +Heaven that I could recall—so nearly allied to perdition, Madam!—So +profligate a man, Madam!—— +</p> + +<p> +O how short is expression of thy crimes, and of my sufferings! Such +premeditation is thy baseness! To prostitute the characters of persons of +honour of thy own family—and all to delude a poor creature, whom thou +oughtest—But why talk I to thee? Be thy crimes upon thy head! Once more I +ask thee, Am I, or am I not, at my own liberty now? +</p> + +<p> +I offered to speak in defence of the women, declaring that they really were the +very persons—— +</p> + +<p> +Presume not, interrupted she, base as thou art, to say one word in thine own +vindication. I have been contemplating their behaviour, their conversation, +their over-ready acquiescences, to my declarations in thy disfavour; their +free, yet affectedly-reserved light manners: and now that the sad event has +opened my eyes, and I have compared facts and passages together, in the little +interval that has been lent me, I wonder I could not distinguish the behaviour +of the unmatron-like jilt, whom thou broughtest to betray me, from the worthy +lady whom thou hast the honour to call thy aunt: and that I could not detect +the superficial creature whom thou passedst upon me for the virtuous Miss +Montague. +</p> + +<p> +Amazing uncharitableness in a lady so good herself!—That the high spirits +those ladies were in to see you, should subject them to such censures!—I +do must solemnly vow, Madam—— +</p> + +<p> +That they were, interrupting me, verily and indeed Lady Betty Lawrance and thy +cousin Montague!—O wretch! I see by thy solemn averment [I had not yet +averred it,] what credit ought to be given to all the rest. Had I no other +proof—— +</p> + +<p> +Interrupting her, I besought her patient ear. ‘I had found myself, I told +her, almost avowedly despised and hated. I had no hope of gaining her love, or +her confidence. The letter she had left behind her, on her removal to +Hampstead, sufficiently convinced me that she was entirely under Miss +Howe’s influence, and waited but the return of a letter from her to enter +upon measures that would deprive me of her for ever: Miss Howe had ever been my +enemy: more so then, no doubt, from the contents of the letter she had written +to her on her first coming to Hampstead; that I dared not to stand the event of +such a letter; and was glad of an opportunity, by Lady Betty’s and my +cousin’s means (though they knew not my motive) to get her back to town; +far, at the time, from intending the outrage which my despair, and her want of +confidence in me, put me so vilely upon’— +</p> + +<p> +I would have proceeded; and particularly would have said something of Captain +Tomlinson and her uncle; but she would not hear me further. And indeed it was +with visible indignation, and not without several angry interruptions, that she +heard me say so much. +</p> + +<p> +Would I dare, she asked me, to offer at a palliation of my baseness? The two +women, she was convinced, were impostors. She knew not but Captain Tomlinson +and Mr. Mennell were so too. But whether they were so or not, I was. And she +insisted upon being at her own disposal for the remainder of her short +life—for indeed she abhorred me in every light; and more particularly in +that in which I offered myself to her acceptance. +</p> + +<p> +And, saying this, she flung from me; leaving me absolutely shocked and +confounded at her part of a conversation which she began with such uncommon, +however severe, composure, and concluded with so much sincere and unaffected +indignation. +</p> + +<p> +And now, Jack, I must address one serious paragraph particularly to thee. +</p> + +<p> +I have not yet touched upon cohabitation—her uncle’s mediation she +does not absolutely discredit, as I had the pleasure to find by one hint in +this conversation—yet she suspects my future views, and has doubt about +Mennell and Tomlinson. +</p> + +<p> +I do say, if she come fairly at her lights, at her clues, or what shall I call +them? her penetration is wonderful. +</p> + +<p> +But if she do not come at them fairly, then is her incredulity, then is her +antipathy to me evidently accounted for. +</p> + +<p> +I will speak out—thou couldst not, surely, play me booty, +Jack?—Surely thou couldst not let thy weak pity for her lead thee to an +unpardonable breach of trust to thy friend, who has been so unreserved in his +communications to thee? +</p> + +<p> +I cannot believe thee capable of such a baseness. Satisfy me, however, upon +this head. I must make a cursed figure in her eye, vowing and protesting, as I +shall not scruple occasionally to vow and protest, if all the time she has had +unquestionable informations of my perfidy. I know thou as little fearest me, as +I do thee, if any point of manhood; and wilt scorn to deny it, if thou hast +done it, when thus home-pressed. +</p> + +<p> +And here I have a good mind to stop, and write no farther, till I have thy +answer. +</p> + +<p> +And so I will. +</p> + +<p> +MONDAY MORN. PAST THREE. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"></a> LETTER XIX</h2> + +<p> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. MONDAY MORN. FIVE O’CLOCK (JUNE 19.) +</p> + +<p> +I must write on. Nothing else can divert me: and I think thou canst not have +been a dog to me. +</p> + +<p> +I would fain have closed my eyes: but sleep flies me. Well says Horace, as +translated by Cowley: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +The halcyon sleep will never build his nest<br/> +In any stormy breast.<br/> +’Tis not enough that he does find<br/> +Clouds and darkness in the mind:<br/> +Darkness but half his work will do.<br/> +’Tis not enough: he must find quiet too. +</p> + +<p> +Now indeed do I from my heart wish that I had never known this lady. But who +would have thought there had been such a woman in the world? Of all the sex I +have hitherto known, or heard, or read of, it was once subdued, and always +subdued. The first struggle was generally the last; or, at least, the +subsequent struggles were so much fainter and fainter, that a man would rather +have them than be without them. But how know I yet—— +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +It is now near six—the sun for two hours past has been illuminating every +thing about me: for that impartial orb shines upon Mother Sinclair’s +house as well as upon any other: but nothing within me can it illuminate. +</p> + +<p> +At day-dawn I looked through the key-hole of my beloved’s door. She had +declared she would not put off her clothes any more in this house. There I +beheld her in a sweet slumber, which I hope will prove refreshing to her +disturbed senses; sitting in her elbow-chair, her apron over her head; her head +supported by one sweet hand, the other hand hanging down upon her side, in a +sleepy lifelessness; half of one pretty foot only visible. +</p> + +<p> +See the difference in our cases! thought I: she, the charming injured, can +sweetly sleep, while the varlet injurer cannot close his eyes; and has been +trying, to no purpose, the whole night to divert his melancholy, and to fly +from himself! +</p> + +<p> +As every vice generally brings on its own punishment, even in this life; if any +thing were to tempt me to doubt of future punishment, it would be, that there +can hardly be a greater than that in which I at this instant experience in my +own remorse. +</p> + +<p> +I hope it will go off. If not, well will the dear creature be avenged; for I +shall be the most miserable of men. +</p> + +<p> +*** SIX O’CLOCK. +</p> + +<p> +Just now Dorcas tells me, that her lady is preparing openly, and without +disguise, to be gone. Very probable. The humour she flew away from me in last +night has given me expectation of such an enterprize. +</p> + +<p> +Now, Jack, to be thus hated and despised!—And if I have sinned beyond +forgiveness—— +</p> + +<p> +But she has sent me a message by Dorcas, that she will meet me in the +dining-room; and desires [odd enough] that the wretch may be present at the +conversation that shall pass between us. This message gives me hope. +</p> + +<p> +NINE O’CLOCK. +</p> + +<p> +Confounded art, cunning villany!—By my soul, she had like to have slipped +through my fingers! She meant nothing by her message but to get Dorcas out of +the way, and a clear coast. Is a fancied distress, sufficient to justify this +lady for dispensing with her principles? Does she not show me that she can +wilfully deceive, as well as I? +</p> + +<p> +Had she been in the fore-house, and no passage to go through to get at the +street-door, she had certainly been gone. But her haste betrayed her: for Sally +Martin happening to be in the fore-parlour, and hearing a swifter motion than +usual, and a rustling of silks, as if from somebody in a hurry, looked out; and +seeing who it was, stept between her and the door, and set her back against it. +</p> + +<p> +You must not go, Madam. Indeed you must not. +</p> + +<p> +By what right?—And how dare you?—And such-like imperious airs the +dear creature gave herself.—While Sally called out for her aunt; and half +a dozen voiced joined instantly in the cry, for me to hasten down, to hasten +down in a moment. +</p> + +<p> +I was gravely instructing Dorcas above stairs, and wondering what would be the +subject of the conversation to which the wench was to be a witness, when these +outcries reached my ears. And down I flew.—And there was the charming +creature, the sweet deceiver, panting for breath, her back against the +partition, a parcel in her hand, [women make no excursions without their +parcels,] Sally, Polly, (but Polly obligingly pleaded for her,) the mother, +Mabell, and Peter, (the footman of the house,) about her; all, however, keeping +their distance; the mother and Sally between her and the door—in her soft +rage the dear soul repeating, I will go—nobody has a right—I will +go—if you kill me, women, I won’t go up again! +</p> + +<p> +As soon as she saw me, she stept a pace or two towards me; Mr. Lovelace, I will +go! said she—do you authorize these women—what right have they, or +you either, to stop me? +</p> + +<p> +Is this, my dear, preparative to the conversation you led me to expect in the +dining-room? And do you think I can part with you thus?—Do you think I +will. +</p> + +<p> +And am I, Sir, to be thus beset?—Surrounded thus?—What have these +women to do with me? +</p> + +<p> +I desired them to leave us, all but Dorcas, who was down as soon as I. I then +thought it right to assume an air of resolution, having found my tameness so +greatly triumphed over. And now, my dear, said I, (urging her reluctant feet,) +be pleased to walk into the fore-parlour. Here, since you will not go up +stairs, here we may hold our parley; and Dorcas will be witness to it. And now, +Madam, seating her, and sticking my hands in my sides, your pleasure! +</p> + +<p> +Insolent villain! said the furious lady. And rising, ran to the window, and +threw up the sash, [she knew not, I suppose, that there were iron rails before +the windows.] And, when she found she could not get out into the street, +clasping her uplifted hands together, having dropt her parcel—For the +love of God, good honest man!—For the love of God, mistress—[to two +passers by,] a poor, a poor creature, said she, ruined!—— +</p> + +<p> +I clasped her in my arms, people beginning to gather about the window: and then +she cried out Murder! help! help! and carried her up to the dining-room, in +spite of her little plotting heart, (as I may now call it,) although she +violently struggled, catching hold of the banisters here and there, as she +could. I would have seated her there; but she sunk down half-motionless, pale +as ashes. And a violent burst of tears happily relieved her. +</p> + +<p> +Dorcas wept over her. The wench was actually moved for her! +</p> + +<p> +Violent hysterics succeeded. I left her to Mabell, Dorcas, and Polly; the +latter the most supportable to her of the sisterhood. +</p> + +<p> +This attempt, so resolutely made, alarmed me not a little. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Sinclair and her nymphs, are much more concerned; because of the +reputation of their house as they call it, having received some insults (broken +windows threatened) to make them produce the young creature who cried out. +</p> + +<p> +While the mobbish inquisitors were in the height of their office, the women +came running up to me, to know what they should do; a constable being actually +fetched. +</p> + +<p> +Get the constable into the parlour, said I, with three or four of the +forwardest of the mob, and produce one of the nymphs, onion-eyed, in a moment, +with disordered head-dress and handkerchief, and let her own herself the +person: the occasion, a female skirmish: but satisfied with the justice done +her. Then give a dram or two to each fellow, and all will be well. +</p> + +<p> +ELEVEN O’CLOCK. +</p> + +<p> +All done as I advised; and all is well. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Sinclair wishes she had never seen the face of so skittish a lady; and she +and Sally are extremely pressing with me, to leave the perverse beauty to their +breaking, as they call it, for four or five days. But I cursed them into +silence; only ordering double precaution for the future. +</p> + +<p> +Polly, though she consoled the dear perverse one all she could, when with her, +insists upon it to me, that nothing but terror will procure me tolerable usage. +</p> + +<p> +Dorcas was challenged by the women upon her tears. She owned them real. Said +she was ashamed of herself: but could not help it. So sincere, so unyielding a +grief, in so sweet a lady!— +</p> + +<p> +The women laughed at her; but I bid her make no apologies for her tears, nor +mind their laughing. I was glad to see them so ready. Good use might be made of +such strangers. In short, I would not have her indulge them often, and try if +it were not possible to gain her lady’s confidence by her concern for +her. +</p> + +<p> +She said that her lady did take kind notice of them to her; and was glad to see +such tokens of humanity in her. +</p> + +<p> +Well then, said I, your part, whether any thing come of it or not, is to be +tender-hearted. It can do no harm, if no good. But take care you are not too +suddenly, or too officiously compassionate. +</p> + +<p> +So Dorcas will be a humane, good sort of creature, I believe, very quickly with +her lady. And as it becomes women to be so, and as my beloved is willing to +think highly of her own sex; it will the more readily pass with her. +</p> + +<p> +I thought to have had one trial (having gone so far) for cohabitation. But what +hope can there be of succeeding?—She is invincible!—Against all my +motions, against all my conceptions, (thinking of her as a woman, and in the +very bloom of her charms,) she is absolutely invincible. My whole view, at the +present, is to do her legal justice, if I can but once more get her out of her +altitudes. +</p> + +<p> +The consent of such a woman must make her ever new, ever charming. But +astonishing! Can the want of a church-ceremony make such a difference! +</p> + +<p> +She owes me her consent; for hitherto I have had nothing to boast of. All of my +side, has been deep remorse, anguish of mind, and love increased rather than +abated. +</p> + +<p> +How her proud rejection stings me!—And yet I hope still to get her to +listen to my stories of the family-reconciliation, and of her uncle and Capt. +Tomlinson—and as she has given me a pretence to detain her against her +will, she must see me, whether in temper or not.—She cannot help it. And +if love will not do, terror, as the women advise, must be tried. +</p> + +<p> +A nice part, after all, has my beloved to act. If she forgive me easily, I +resume perhaps my projects:—if she carry her rejection into violence, +that violence may make me desperate, and occasion fresh violence. She ought, +since she thinks she has found the women out, to consider where she is. +</p> + +<p> +I am confoundedly out of conceit with myself. If I give up my contrivances, my +joy in stratagem, and plot, and invention, I shall be but a common man; such +another dull heavy creature as thyself. Yet what does even my success in my +machinations bring me but regret, disgrace, repentance? But I am overmatched, +egregiously overmatched, by this woman. What to do with her, or without her, I +know not. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"></a> LETTER XX</h2> + +<p class="center"> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +</p> + +<p> +I have this moment intelligence from Simon Parsons, one of Lord M.’s +stewards, that his Lordship is very ill. Simon, who is my obsequious servant, +in virtue of my presumptive heirship, gives me a hint in his letter, that my +presence at M. Hall will not be amiss. So I must accelerate, whatever be the +course I shall be allowed or compelled to take. +</p> + +<p> +No bad prospects for this charming creature, if the old peer would be so kind +as to surrender; and many a summons has this gout given him. A good 8000£. +a-year, and perhaps the title reversionary, or a still higher, would help me up +with her. +</p> + +<p> +Proudly as this lady pretends to be above all pride, grandeur will have its +charms with her; for grandeur always makes a man’s face shine in a +woman’s eye. I have a pretty good, because a clear, estate, as it is. But +what a noble variety of mischief will 8000£. a-year, enable a man to do? +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps thou’lt say, I do already all that comes into my head; but +that’s a mistake—not one half I will assure thee. And even good +folks, as I have heard, love to have the power of doing mischief, whether they +make use of it or not. The late Queen Anne, who was a very good woman, was +always fond of prerogative. And her ministers, in her name, in more instances +than one, made a ministerial use of this her foible. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +But now, at last, am I to be admitted to the presence of my angry fair-one; +after three denials, nevertheless; and a peremptory from me, by Dorcas, that I +must see her in her chamber, if I cannot see her in the dining-room. +</p> + +<p> +Dorcas, however, tells me that she says, if she were at her own liberty, she +would never see me more; and that she had been asking after the characters and +conditions of the neighbours. I suppose, now she has found her voice, to call +out for help from them, if there were any to hear her. +</p> + +<p> +She will have it now, it seems, that I had the wickedness from the very +beginning, to contrive, for her ruin, a house so convenient for dreadful +mischief. +</p> + +<p> +Dorcas begs of her to be pacified—entreats her to see me with +patience—tells her that I am one of the most determined of men, as she +has heard say. That gentleness may do with me; but that nothing else will, she +believes. And what, as her ladyship (as she always styles her,) is married, if +I had broken my oath, or intended to break it!— +</p> + +<p> +She hinted plain enough to the honest wench, that she was not married. But +Dorcas would not understand her. +</p> + +<p> +This shows she is resolved to keep no measures. And now is to be a trial of +skill, whether she shall or not. +</p> + +<p> +Dorcas has hinted to her my Lord’s illness, as a piece of intelligence +that dropt in conversation from me. +</p> + +<p> +But here I stop. My beloved, pursuant to my peremptory message, is just gone up +into the dining-room. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"></a> LETTER XXI</h2> + +<p> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. MONDAY AFTERNOON. +</p> + +<p> +Pity me, Jack, for pity’s sake; since, if thou dost not, nobody else +will: and yet never was there a man of my genius and lively temper that wanted +it more. We are apt to attribute to the devil every thing happens to us, which +we would not have happen: but here, being, (as perhaps thou’lt say,) the +devil myself, my plagues arise from an angel. I suppose all mankind is to be +plagued by its contrary. +</p> + +<p> +She began with me like a true woman, [she in the fault, I to be blamed,] the +moment I entered the dining-room: not the least apology, not the least excuse, +for the uproar she had made, and the trouble she had given me. +</p> + +<p> +I come, said she, into thy detested presence, because I cannot help it. But why +am I to be imprisoned here?—Although to no purpose, I cannot +help—— +</p> + +<p> +Dearest Madam, interrupted I, give not way to so much violence. You must know, +that your detention is entirely owing to the desire I have to make you all the +amends that is in my power to make you. And this, as well for your sake as my +own. Surely there is still one way left to repair the wrongs you have +suffered—— +</p> + +<p> +Canst thou blot out the past week! Several weeks past, I should say; ever since +I have been with thee? Canst thou call back time?—If thou +canst—— +</p> + +<p> +Surely, Madam, again interrupting her, if I may be permitted to call you +legally mine, I might have but anticip—— +</p> + +<p> +Wretch, that thou art! Say not another word upon this subject. When thou +vowedst, when thou promisedst at Hampstead, I had begun to think that I must be +thine. If I had consented, at the request of those I thought thy relations, +this would have been a principal inducement, that I could then have brought +thee, what was most wanted, an unsullied honour in dowry, to a wretch destitute +of all honour; and could have met the gratulations of a family to which thy +life has been one continued disgrace, with a consciousness of deserving their +gratulations. But thinkest thou, that I will give a harlot niece to thy +honourable uncle, and to thy real aunts; and a cousin to thy cousins from a +brothel? for such, in my opinion, is this detested house!—Then, lifting +up her clasped hands, ‘Great and good God of Heaven,’ said she, +‘give me patience to support myself under the weight of those +afflictions, which thou, for wise and good ends, though at present impenetrable +by me, hast permitted!’ +</p> + +<p> +Then, turning towards me, who knew neither what to say to her, nor for myself, +I renounce thee for ever, Lovelace!—Abhorred of my soul! for ever I +renounce thee!—Seek thy fortunes wheresoever thou wilt!—only now, +that thou hast already ruined me!— +</p> + +<p> +Ruined you, Madam—the world need not—I knew not what to say. +</p> + +<p> +Ruined me in my own eyes; and that is the same to me as if all the world knew +it—hinder me not from going whither my mysterious destiny shall lead me. +</p> + +<p> +Why hesitate you, Sir? What right have you to stop me, as you lately did; and +to bring me up by force, my hands and arms bruised by your violence? What right +have you to detain me here? +</p> + +<p> +I am cut to the heart, Madam, with invectives so violent. I am but too sensible +of the wrong I have done you, or I could not bear your reproaches. The man who +perpetrates a villany, and resolves to go on with it, shows not the compunction +I show. Yet, if you think yourself in my power, I would caution you, Madam, not +to make me desperate. For you shall be mine, or my life shall be the forfeit! +Nor is life worth having without you!— +</p> + +<p> +Be thine!—I be thine!—said the passionate beauty. O how lovely in +her violence! +</p> + +<p> +Yes, Madam, be mine! I repeat you shall be mine! My very crime is your glory. +My love, my admiration of you is increased by what has passed—and so it +ought. I am willing, Madam, to court your returning favour; but let me tell +you, were the house beset by a thousand armed men, resolved to take you from +me, they should not effect their purpose, while I had life. +</p> + +<p> +I never, never will be your’s, said she, clasping her hands together, and +lifting up her eyes!—I never will be your’s! +</p> + +<p> +We may yet see many happy years, Madam. All your friends may be reconciled to +you. The treaty for that purpose is in greater forwardness than you imagine. +You know better than to think the worse of yourself for suffering what you +could not help. Enjoin but the terms I can make my peace with you upon, and I +will instantly comply. +</p> + +<p> +Never, never, repeated she, will I be your’s! +</p> + +<p> +Only forgive me, my dearest life, this one time!—A virtue so invincible! +what further view can I have against you?—Have I attempted any further +outrage?—If you will be mine, your injuries will be injuries done to +myself. You have too well guessed at the unnatural arts that have been used. +But can a greater testimony be given of your virtue?—And now I have only +to hope, that although I cannot make you complete amends, yet you will permit +me to make you all the amends that can possibly be made. +</p> + +<p> +Hear me out, I beseech you, Madam; for she was going to speak with an aspect +unpacifiedly angry: the God, whom you serve, requires but repentance and +amendment. Imitate him, my dearest love, and bless me with the means of +reforming a course of life that begins to be hateful to me. That was once your +favourite point. Resume it, dearest creature, in charity to a soul, as well as +body, which once, as I flattered myself, was more than indifferent to you, +resume it. And let to-morrow’s sun witness to our espousals. +</p> + +<p> +I cannot judge thee, said she; but the GOD to whom thou so boldly referrest +can, and, assure thyself, He will. But, if compunction has really taken hold of +thee—if, indeed, thou art touched for thy ungrateful baseness, and +meanest any thing by this pleading the holy example thou recommendest to my +imitation; in this thy pretended repentant moment, let me sift thee thoroughly, +and by thy answer I shall judge of the sincerity of thy pretended declarations. +</p> + +<p> +Tell me, then, is there any reality in the treaty thou has pretended to be on +foot between my uncle and Capt. Tomlinson, and thyself?—Say, and hesitate +not, is there any truth in that story?—But, remember, if there be not, +and thou avowest that there is, what further condemnation attends to thy +averment, if it be as solemn as I require it to be! +</p> + +<p> +This was a cursed thrust! What could I say!—Surely this merciless lady is +resolved to d—n me, thought I, and yet accuses me of a design against her +soul!—But was I not obliged to proceed as I had begun? +</p> + +<p> +In short, I solemnly averred that there was!—How one crime, as the good +folks say, brings on another! +</p> + +<p> +I added, that the Captain had been in town, and would have waited on her, had +she not been indisposed; that he went down much afflicted, as well on her +account, as on that of her uncle; though I had not acquainted him either with +the nature of her disorder, or the ever-to-be-regretted occasion of it, having +told him that it was a violent fever; That he had twice since, by her +uncle’s desire, sent up to inquire after her health; and that I had +already dispatched a man and horse with a letter, to acquaint him, (and her +uncle through him,) with her recovery; making it my earnest request, that he +would renew his application to her uncle for the favour of his presence at the +private celebrations of our nuptials; and that I expected an answer, if not +this night, as to-morrow. +</p> + +<p> +Let me ask thee next, said she, (thou knowest the opinion I have of the women +thou broughtest to me at Hampstead; and who have seduced me hither to my ruin; +let me ask thee,) If, really and truly, they were Lady Betty Lawrance and thy +cousin Montague?—What sayest thou—hesitate not—what sayest +thou to this question? +</p> + +<p> +Astonishing, my dear, that you should suspect them!—But, knowing your +strange opinion of them, what can I say to be believed? +</p> + +<p> +And is this the answer thou returnest me? Dost thou thus evade my question? But +let me know, for I am trying thy sincerity now, and all shall judge of thy new +professions by thy answer to this question; let me know, I repeat, whether +those women be really Lady Betty Lawrance and thy cousin Montague? +</p> + +<p> +Let me, my dearest love, be enabled to-morrow to call you lawfully mine, and we +will set out the next day, if you please, to Berkshire to my Lord M.’s, +where they both are at this time; and you shall convince yourself by your own +eyes, and by your own ears; which you will believe sooner than all I can say or +swear. +</p> + +<p> +Now, Belford, I had really some apprehension of treachery from thee; which made +me so miserably evade; for else, I could as safely have sworn to the truth of +this, as to that of the former: but she pressing me still for a categorical +answer, I ventured plumb; and swore to it, [lover’s oaths, Jack!] that +they were really and truly Lady Betty Lawrance and my cousin Montague. +</p> + +<p> +She lifted up her hands and eyes—What can I think!—what can I +think! +</p> + +<p> +You think me a devil, Madam; a very devil! or you could not after you have put +these questions to me, seem to doubt the truth of answers so solemnly sworn to. +</p> + +<p> +And if I do think thee so, have I not cause? Is there another man in the world, +(I hope for the sake of human nature, there is not,) who could act by any poor +friendless creature as thou hast acted by me, whom thou hast made +friendless—and who, before I knew thee, had for a friend every one who +knew me? +</p> + +<p> +I told you, Madam, before that Lady Betty and my cousin were actually here, in +order to take leave of you, before they set out for Berkshire: but the effects +of my ungrateful crime, (such, with shame and remorse, I own it to be,) were +the reason you could not see them. Nor could I be fond that they should see +you; since they never would have forgiven me, had they known what had +passed—and what reason had I to expect your silence on the subject, had +you been recovered? +</p> + +<p> +It signifies nothing now, that the cause of their appearance has been answered +in my ruin, who or what they are: but if thou hast averred thus solemnly to two +falsehoods, what a wretch do I see before me! +</p> + +<p> +I thought she had now reason to be satisfied; and I begged her to allow me to +talk to her of to-morrow, as of the happiest day of my life. We have the +license, Madam—and you must excuse me, that I cannot let you go hence +till I have tried every way I can to obtain your forgiveness. +</p> + +<p> +And am I then, [with a kind of frantic wildness,] to be detained a prisoner in +this horrid house—am I, Sir?—Take care! take care! holding up her +hand, menacing, how you make me desperate! If I fall, though by my own hand, +inquisition will be made for my blood; and be not out in thy plot, Lovelace, if +it should be so—make sure work, I charge thee—dig a hole deep +enough to cram in and conceal this unhappy body; for, depend upon it, that some +of those who will not stir to protect me living, will move heaven and earth to +avenge me dead! +</p> + +<p> +A horrid dear creature!—By my soul she made me shudder! She had need +indeed to talk of her unhappiness in falling into the hands of the only man in +the world, who could have used her as I have used her—she is the only +woman in the world, who could have shocked and disturbed me as she has done. So +we are upon a foot in that respect. And I think I have the worst of it by much: +since very little has been my joy—very much my trouble. And her +punishment, as she calls it, is over: but when mine will, or what it may be, +who can tell? +</p> + +<p> +Here, only recapitulating, (think, then, how I must be affected at the time,) I +was forced to leave off, and sing a song to myself. I aimed at a lively air; +but I croaked rather than sung. And fell into the old dismal thirtieth of +January strain; I hemmed up for a sprightlier note; but it would not do; and at +last I ended, like a malefactor, in a dead psalm melody. +</p> + +<p> +Heigh-ho!—I gape like an unfledged kite in its nest, wanting to swallow a +chicken, bobbed at its mouth by its marauding dam!— +</p> + +<p> +What a-devil ails me?—I can neither think nor write! +</p> + +<p> +Lie down, pen, for a moment! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"></a> LETTER XXII</h2> + +<p class="center"> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +</p> + +<p> +There is certainly a good deal in the observation, that it costs a man ten +times more pains to be wicked, than it would cost him to be good. What a +confounded number of contrivances have I had recourse to, in order to carry my +point with this charming creature; and yet after all, how have I puzzled myself +by it; and yet am near tumbling into the pit which it was the end of all my +plots to shun! What a happy man had I been with such an excellence, could I +have brought my mind to marry when I first prevailed upon her to quit her +father’s house! But then, as I have often reflected, how had I known, +that a but blossoming beauty, who could carry on a private correspondence, and +run such risques with a notorious wild fellow, was not prompted by inclination, +which one day might give such a free-liver as myself as much pain to reflect +upon, as, at the time it gave me pleasure? Thou rememberest the host’s +tale in Ariosto. And thy experience, as well as mine, can furnish out twenty +Fiametta’s in proof of the imbecility of the sex. +</p> + +<p> +But to proceed with my narrative. +</p> + +<p> +The dear creature resumed the topic her heart was so firmly fixed upon; and +insisted upon quitting the odious house, and that in very high terms. +</p> + +<p> +I urged her to meet me the next day at the altar in either of the two churches +mentioned in the license. And I besought her, whatever was her resolution, to +let me debate this matter calmly with her. +</p> + +<p> +If, she said, I would have her give what I desired the least moment’s +consideration, I must not hinder her from being her own mistress. To what +purpose did I ask her consent, if she had not a power over either her own +person or actions? +</p> + +<p> +Will you give me your honour, Madam, if I consent to your quitting a house so +disagreeable to you?— +</p> + +<p> +My honour, Sir! said the dear creature—Alas!—And turned weeping +from me with inimitable grace—as if she had said—Alas!—you +have robbed me of my honour! +</p> + +<p> +I hoped then, that her angry passions were subsiding; but I was mistaken; for, +urging her warmly for the day; and that for the sake of our mutual honour, and +the honour of both our families; in this high-flown and high-souled strain she +answered me: +</p> + +<p> +And canst thou, Lovelace, be so mean—as to wish to make a wife of the +creature thou hast insulted, dishonoured, and abused, as thou hast me? Was it +necessary to humble me down to the low level of thy baseness, before I could be +a wife meet for thee? Thou hadst a father, who was a man of honour: a mother, +who deserved a better son. Thou hast an uncle, who is no dishonour to the +Peerage of a kingdom, whose peers are more respectable than the nobility of any +other country. Thou hast other relations also, who may be thy boast, though +thou canst not be theirs—and canst thou not imagine, that thou hearest +them calling upon thee; the dead from their monuments; the living from their +laudable pride; not to dishonour thy ancient and splendid house, by entering +into wedlock with a creature whom thou hast levelled with the dirt of the +street, and classed with the vilest of her sex? +</p> + +<p> +I extolled her greatness of soul, and her virtue. I execrated myself for my +guilt: and told her, how grateful to the manes of my ancestors, as well as to +the wishes of the living, the honour I supplicated for would be. +</p> + +<p> +But still she insisted upon being a free agent; of seeing herself in other +lodgings before she would give what I urged the least consideration. Nor would +she promise me favour even then, or to permit my visits. How then, as I asked +her, could I comply, without resolving to lose her for ever? +</p> + +<p> +She put her hand to her forehead often as she talked; and at last, pleading +disorder in her head, retired; neither of us satisfied with the other. But she +ten times more dissatisfied with me, than I with her. +</p> + +<p> +Dorcas seems to be coming into favour with her— +</p> + +<p> +What now!—What now! +</p> + +<p> +MONDAY NIGHT. +</p> + +<p> +How determined is this lady!—Again had she like to have escaped +us!—What a fixed resentment!—She only, I find, assumed a little +calm, in order to quiet suspicion. She was got down, and actually had unbolted +the street-door, before I could get to her; alarmed as I was by Mrs. +Sinclair’s cookmaid, who was the only one that saw her fly through the +passage: yet lightning was not quicker than I. +</p> + +<p> +Again I brought her back to the dining-room, with infinite reluctance on her +part. And, before her face, ordered a servant to be placed constantly at the +bottom of the stairs for the future. +</p> + +<p> +She seemed even choked with grief and disappointment. +</p> + +<p> +Dorcas was exceedingly assiduous about her; and confidently gave it as her own +opinion, that her dear lady should be permitted to go to another lodging, since +this was so disagreeable to her: were she to be killed for saying so, she would +say it. And was good Dorcas for this afterwards. +</p> + +<p> +But for some time the dear creature was all passion and violence— +</p> + +<p> +I see, I see, said she, when I had brought her up, what I am to expect from +your new professions, O vilest of men!— +</p> + +<p> +Have I offered to you, my beloved creature, any thing that can justify this +impatience after a more hopeful calm? +</p> + +<p> +She wrung her hands. She disordered her head-dress. She tore her ruffles. She +was in a perfect phrensy. +</p> + +<p> +I dreaded her returning malady: but, entreaty rather exasperating, I affected +an angry air.—I bid her expect the worst she had to fear—and was +menacing on, in hopes to intimidate her; when, dropping to my feet, +</p> + +<p> +’Twill be a mercy, said she, the highest act of mercy you can do, to kill +me outright upon this spot—this happy spot, as I will, in my last +moments, call it!—Then, baring, with a still more frantic violence, part +of her enchanting neck—Here, here, said the soul-harrowing beauty, let +thy pointed mercy enter! and I will thank thee, and forgive thee for all the +dreadful past!—With my latest gasp will I forgive and thank +thee!—Or help me to the means, and I will myself put out of the way so +miserable a wretch! And bless thee for those means! +</p> + +<p> +Why all this extravagant passion? Why all these exclamations? Have I offered +any new injury to you, my dearest life? What a phrensy is this! Am I not ready +to make you all the reparation that I can make you? Had I not reason to +hope— +</p> + +<p> +No, no, no, no, as before, shaking her head with wild impatience, as resolved +not to attend to what I said. +</p> + +<p> +My resolutions are so honourable, if you will permit them to take effect, that +I need not be solicitous where you go, if you will but permit my visits, and +receive my vows.—And God is my witness, that I bring you not back from +the door with any view to your dishonour, but the contrary: and this moment I +will send for a minister to put an end to all your doubts and fears. +</p> + +<p> +Say this, and say a thousand times more, and bind every word with a solemn +appeal to that God whom thou art accustomed to invoke to the truth of the +vilest falsehoods, and all will still be short of what thou has vowed and +promised to me. And, were not my heart to abhor thee, and to rise against thee, +for thy perjuries, as it does, I would not, I tell thee once more, I would not, +bind my soul in covenant with such a man, for a thousand worlds! +</p> + +<p> +Compose yourself, however, Madam; for your own sake, compose yourself. Permit +me to raise you up; abhorred as I am of your soul! +</p> + +<p> +Nay, if I must not touch you; for she wildly slapt my hands; but with such a +sweet passionate air, her bosom heaving and throbbing as she looked up to me, +that although I was most sincerely enraged, I could with transport have pressed +her to mine. +</p> + +<p> +If I must not touch you, I will not.—But depend upon it, [and I assumed +the sternest air I could assume, to try what it would do,] depend upon it, +Madam, that this is not the way to avoid the evils you dread. Let me do what I +will, I cannot be used worse—Dorcas, begone! +</p> + +<p> +She arose, Dorcas being about to withdraw; and wildly caught hold of her arm: O +Dorcas! If thou art of mine own sex, leave me not, I charge thee!—Then +quitting Dorcas, down she threw herself upon her knees, in the furthermost +corner of the room, clasping a chair with her face laid upon the bottom of +it!—O where can I be safe?—Where, where can I be safe, from this +man of violence?— +</p> + +<p> +This gave Dorcas an opportunity to confirm herself in her lady’s +confidence: the wench threw herself at my feet, while I seemed in violent +wrath; and embracing my knees, Kill me, Sir, kill me, Sir, if you +please!—I must throw myself in your way, to save my lady. I beg your +pardon, Sir—but you must be set on!—God forgive the +mischief-makers!—But your own heart, if left to itself, would not permit +these things—spare, however, Sir! spare my lady, I beseech +you!—bustling on her knees about me, as if I were intending to approach +her lady, had I not been restrained by her. +</p> + +<p> +This, humoured by me, Begone, devil!—Officious devil, +begone!—startled the dear creature: who, snatching up hastily her head +from the chair, and as hastily popping it down again in terror, hit her nose, I +suppose, against the edge of the chair; and it gushed out with blood, running +in a stream down her bosom; she herself was too much frighted to heed it! +</p> + +<p> +Never was mortal man in such terror and agitation as I; for I instantly +concluded, that she had stabbed herself with some concealed instrument. +</p> + +<p> +I ran to her in a wild agony—for Dorcas was frighted out of all her mock +interposition—— +</p> + +<p> +What have you done!—O what have you done!—Look up to me, my dearest +life!—Sweet injured innocence, look up to me! What have you +done!—Long will I not survive you!—And I was upon the point of +drawing my sword to dispatch myself, when I discovered—[What an unmanly +blockhead does this charming creature make me at her pleasure!] that all I +apprehended was but a bloody nose, which, as far as I know (for it could not be +stopped in a quarter of an hour) may have saved her head and her intellects. +</p> + +<p> +But I see by this scene, that the sweet creature is but a pretty coward at +bottom; and that I can terrify her out of her virulence against me, whenever I +put on sternness and anger. But then, as a qualifier to the advantage this +gives me over her, I find myself to be a coward too, which I had not before +suspected, since I was capable of being so easily terrified by the +apprehensions of her offering violence to herself. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"></a> LETTER XXIII</h2> + +<p class="center"> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +</p> + +<p> +But with all this dear creature’s resentment against me, I cannot, for my +heart, think but she will get all over, and consent to enter the pale with me. +Were she even to die to-morrow, and to know she should, would not a woman of +her sense, of her punctilio, and in her situation, and of so proud a family, +rather die married, than otherwise?—No doubt but she would; although she +were to hate the man ever so heartily. If so, there is now but one man in the +world whom she can have—and that is me. +</p> + +<p> +Now I talk [familiar writing is but talking, Jack] thus glibly of entering the +pale, thou wilt be ready to question me, I know, as to my intentions on this +head. +</p> + +<p> +As much of my heart, as I know of it myself, will I tell thee.—When I am +from her, I cannot still help hesitating about marriage; and I even frequently +resolve against it, and determine to press my favourite scheme for +cohabitation. But when I am with her, I am ready to say, to swear, and to do, +whatever I think will be the most acceptable to her, and were a parson at hand, +I should plunge at once, no doubt of it, into the state. +</p> + +<p> +I have frequently thought, in common cases, that it is happy for many giddy +fellows [there are giddy fellows, as well as giddy girls, Jack; and perhaps +those are as often drawn in, as these] that ceremony and parade are necessary +to the irrevocable solemnity; and that there is generally time for a man to +recollect himself in the space between the heated over-night, and the cooler +next morning; or I know not who could escape the sweet gypsies, whose +fascinating powers are so much aided by our own raised imaginations. +</p> + +<p> +A wife at any time, I used to say. I had ever confidence and vanity enough to +think that no woman breathing could deny her hand when I held out mine. I am +confoundedly mortified to find that this lady is able to hold me at bay, and to +refuse all my honest vows. +</p> + +<p> +What force [allow me a serious reflection, Jack: it will be put down! What +force] have evil habits upon the human mind! When we enter upon a devious +course, we think we shall have it in our power when we will return to the right +path. But it is not so, I plainly see: For, who can acknowledge with more +justice this dear creature’s merits, and his own errors, than I? Whose +regret, at times, can be deeper than mine, for the injuries I have done her? +Whose resolutions to repair those injuries stronger?—Yet how transitory +is my penitence!—How am I hurried away—Canst thou tell by +what?—O devil of youth, and devil of intrigue, how do you mislead +me!—How often do we end in occasions for the deepest remorse, what we +begin in wantonness!— +</p> + +<p> +At the present writing, however, the turn of the scale is in behalf of +matrimony—for I despair of carrying with her my favourite point. +</p> + +<p> +The lady tells Dorcas, that her heart is broken: and that she shall live but a +little while. I think nothing of that, if we marry. In the first place, she +knows not what a mind unapprehensive will do for her, in a state to which all +the sex look forwards with high satisfaction. How often have the whole of the +sacred conclave been thus deceived in their choice of a pope; not considering +that the new dignity is of itself sufficient to give new life! A few +months’ heart’s ease will give my charmer a quite different notion +of things: and I dare say, as I have heretofore said,* once married, and I am +married for life. +</p> + +<p> +* See Letter IX. of this volume. +</p> + +<p> +I will allow that her pride, in one sense, has suffered abasement: but her +triumph is the greater in every other. And while I can think that all her +trials are but additions to her honour, and that I have laid the foundations of +her glory in my own shame, can I be called cruel, if I am not affected with her +grief as some men would be? +</p> + +<p> +And for what should her heart be broken? Her will is unviolated;—at +present, however, her will is unviolated. The destroying of good habits, and +the introducing of bad, to the corrupting of the whole heart, is the violation. +That her will is not to be corrupted, that her mind is not to be debased, she +has hitherto unquestionably proved. And if she give cause for farther trials, +and hold fast her integrity, what ideas will she have to dwell upon, that will +be able to corrupt her morals? What vestigia, what remembrances, but such as +will inspire abhorrence of the attempter? +</p> + +<p> +What nonsense then to suppose that such a mere notional violation as she has +suffered should be able to cut asunder the strings of life? +</p> + +<p> +Her religion, married, or not married, will set her above making such a +trifling accident, such an involuntary suffering fatal to her. +</p> + +<p> +Such considerations as these they are that support me against all apprehensions +of bugbear consequences; and I would have them have weight with thee; who are +such a doughty advocate for her. And yet I allow thee this; that she really +makes too much of it; takes it too much to heart. To be sure she ought to have +forgot it by this time, except the charming, charming consequence happen, that +still I am in hopes will happen, were I to proceed no farther. And, if she +apprehended this herself, then has the dear over-nice soul some reason for +taking it so much to heart; and yet would not, I think, refuse to legitimate. +</p> + +<p> +O Jack! had I am imperial diadem, I swear to thee, that I would give it up, +even to my enemy, to have one charming boy by this lady. And should she escape +me, and no such effect follow, my revenge on her family, and, in such a case, +on herself, would be incomplete, and I should reproach myself as long as I +lived. +</p> + +<p> +Were I to be sure that this foundation is laid [And why may I not hope it is?] +I should not doubt to have her still (should she withstand her day of grace) on +my own conditions; nor should I, if it were so, question that revived affection +in her, which a woman seldom fails to have for the father of her first child, +whether born in wedlock, or out of it. +</p> + +<p> +And pr’ythee, Jack, see in this my ardent hope, a distinction in my +favour from other rakes; who, almost to a man, follow their inclinations +without troubling themselves about consequences. In imitation, as one would +think, of the strutting villain of a bird, which from feathered lady to +feathered lady pursues his imperial pleasures, leaving it to his sleek +paramours to hatch the genial product in holes and corners of their own finding +out. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"></a> LETTER XXIV</h2> + +<p> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. TUESDAY MORN. JUNE 20. +</p> + +<p> +Well, Jack, now are we upon another footing together. This dear creature will +not let me be good. She is now authorizing all my plots by her own example. +</p> + +<p> +Thou must be partial in the highest degree, if now thou blamest me for resuming +my former schemes, since in that case I shall but follow her cue. No forced +construction of her actions do I make on this occasion, in order to justify a +bad cause or a worse intention. A slight pretence, indeed, served the wolf when +he had a mind to quarrel with the lamb; but this is not now my case. +</p> + +<p> +For here (wouldst thou have thought it?) taking advantage of Dorcas’s +compassionate temper, and of some warm expressions which the tender-hearted +wench let fall against the cruelty of men, and wishing to have it in her power +to serve her, has she given her the following note, signed by her maiden name: +for she has thought fit, in positive and plain words, to own to the pitying +Dorcas that she is not married. +</p> + +<p> +MONDAY, JUNE 19. +</p> + +<p> +I then underwritten do hereby promise, that, on my coming into possession of my +own estate, I will provide for Dorcas Martindale in a gentlewoman-like manner, +in my own house: or, if I do not soon obtain that possession, or should first +die, I do hereby bind myself, my executors, and administrators, to pay to her, +or her order, during the term of her natural life, the sum of five pounds on +each of the four usual quarterly days in the year; on condition that she +faithfully assist me in my escape from an illegal confinement under which I now +labour. The first quarterly payment to commence and be payable at the end of +three months immediately following the day of my deliverance. And I do also +promise to give her, as a testimony of my honour in the rest, a diamond ring, +which I have showed her. Witness my hand this nineteenth day of June, in the +year above written. +</p> + +<p> +CLARISSA HARLOWE. +</p> + +<p> +Now, Jack, what terms wouldst thou have me to keep with such a sweet +corruptress? Seest thou not how she hates me? Seest thou not that she is +resolved never to forgive me? Seest thou not, however, that she must disgrace +herself in the eye of the world, if she actually should escape? That she must +be subjected to infinite distress and hazard! For whom has she to receive and +protect her? Yet to determine to risque all these evils! and furthermore to +stoop to artifice, to be guilty of the reigning vice of the times, of bribery +and corruption! O Jack, Jack! say not, write not another word in her favour! +</p> + +<p> +Thou hast blamed me for bringing her to this house: but had I carried her to +any other in England, where there would have been one servant or inmate capable +either of compassion or corruption, what must have been the consequence? +</p> + +<p> +But seest thou not, however, that in this flimsy contrivance, the dear +implacable, like a drowning man, catches at a straw to save herself!—A +straw shall she find to be the refuge she has resorted to. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"></a> LETTER XXV</h2> + +<p> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. TUES. MORN. TEN O’CLOCK +</p> + +<p> +Very ill—exceedingly ill—as Dorcas tells me, in order to avoid +seeing me—and yet the dear soul may be so in her mind. But is not that +equivocation? Some one passion predominating in every human breast, breaks +through principle, and controuls us all. Mine is love and revenge taking turns. +Her’s is hatred.—But this is my consolation, that hatred appeased +is love begun; or love renewed, I may rather say, if love ever had footing +here. +</p> + +<p> +But reflectioning apart, thou seest, Jack, that her plot is beginning to work. +To-morrow is to break out. +</p> + +<p> +I have been abroad, to set on foot a plot of circumvention. All fair now, +Belford! +</p> + +<p> +I insisted upon visiting my indisposed fair-one. Dorcas made officious excuses +for her. I cursed the wench in her hearing for her impertinence; and stamped +and made a clutter; which was improved into an apprehension to the lady that I +would have flung her faithful confidante from the top of the stairs to the +bottom. +</p> + +<p> +He is a violent wretch!—But, Dorcas, [dear Dorcas, now it is,] thou shalt +have a friend in me to the last day of my life. +</p> + +<p> +And what now, Jack, dost think the name of her good angel is!—Why Dorcas +Martindale, christian and super (no more Wykes) as in the promissory note in my +former—and the dear creature has bound her to her by the most solemn +obligations, besides the tie of interest. +</p> + +<p> +Whither, Madam, do you design to go when you get out of this house? +</p> + +<p> +I will throw myself into the first open house I can find; and beg protection +till I can get a coach, or a lodging in some honest family. +</p> + +<p> +What will you do for clothes, Madam? I doubt you’ll be able to take any +away with you, but what you’ll have on. +</p> + +<p> +O, no matter for clothes, if I can but get out of this house. +</p> + +<p> +What will you do for money, Madam? I have heard his honour express his concern, +that he could not prevail upon you to be obliged to him, though he apprehended +that you must be short of money. +</p> + +<p> +O, I have rings and other valuables. Indeed I have but four guineas, and two of +them I found lately wrapt up in a bit of lace, designed for a charitable use. +But now, alas! charity begins at home!—But I have one dear friend left, +if she be living, as I hope in God she is! to whom I can be obliged, if I want. +O Dorcas! I must ere now have heard from her, if I had had fair play. +</p> + +<p> +Well, Madam, your’s is a hard lot. I pity you at my heart! +</p> + +<p> +Thank you, Dorcas!—I am unhappy, that I did not think before, that I +might have confided in thy pity, and in thy sex! +</p> + +<p> +I pitied you, Madam, often and often: but you were always, as I thought, +diffident of me. And then I doubted not but you were married; and I thought his +honour was unkindly used by you. So that I thought it my duty to wish well to +his honour, rather than to what I thought to be your humours, Madam. Would to +Heaven that I had known before that you were not married!—Such a lady! +such a fortune! to be so sadly betrayed;—— +</p> + +<p> +Ah, Dorcas! I was basely drawn in! My youth—my ignorance of the +world—and I have some things to reproach myself with when I look back. +</p> + +<p> +Lord, Madam, what deceitful creatures are these men!—Neither oaths, nor +vows—I am sure! I am sure! [and then with her apron she gave her eyes +half a dozen hearty rubs] I may curse the time that I came into this house! +</p> + +<p> +Here was accounting for her bold eyes! And was it not better for Dorcas to give +up a house which her lady could not think worse of than she did, in order to +gain the reputation of sincerity, than by offering to vindicate it, to make her +proffered services suspected. +</p> + +<p> +Poor Dorcas!—Bless me! how little do we, who have lived all our time in +the country, know of this wicked town! +</p> + +<p> +Had I been able to write, cried the veteran wench, I should certainly have +given some other near relations I have in Wales a little inkling of matters; +and they would have saved me +from——from——from—— +</p> + +<p> +Her sobs were enough. The apprehensions of women on such subjects are ever +aforehand with speech. +</p> + +<p> +And then, sobbing on, she lifted her apron to her face again. She showed me +how. +</p> + +<p> +Poor Dorcas!—Again wiping her own charming eyes. +</p> + +<p> +All love, all compassion, is this dear creature to every one in affliction but +me. +</p> + +<p> +And would not an aunt protect her kinswoman?—Abominable wretch! +</p> + +<p> +I can’t—I can’t—I can’t—say, my aunt was +privy to it. She gave me good advice. She knew not for a great while that I +was—that I was—that I was—ugh!—ugh!—ugh!— +</p> + +<p> +No more, no more, good Dorcas—What a world do we live in!—What a +house am I in!—But come, don’t weep, (though she herself could not +forbear:) my being betrayed into it, though to my own ruin, may be a happy +event for thee: and, if I live, it shall. +</p> + +<p> +I thank you, my good lady, blubbering. I am sorry, very sorry, you have had so +hard a lot. But it may be the saving of my soul, if I can get to your +ladyship’s house. Had I but known that your ladyship was not married, I +would have eat my own flesh, +before——before——before—— +</p> + +<p> +Dorcas sobbed and wept. The lady sighed and wept also. +</p> + +<p> +But now, Jack, for a serious reflection upon the premises. +</p> + +<p> +How will the good folks account for it, that Satan has such faithful +instruments, and that the bond of wickedness is a stronger bond than the ties +of virtue; as if it were the nature of the human mind to be villanous? For +here, had Dorcas been good, and been tempted as she was tempted to any thing +evil, I make no doubt but she would have yielded to the temptation. +</p> + +<p> +And cannot our fraternity in an hundred instances give proof of the like +predominance of vice over virtue? And that we have risked more to serve and +promote the interests of the former, than ever a good man did to serve a good +man or a good cause? For have we not been prodigal of life and fortune? have we +not defied the civil magistrate upon occasion? and have we not attempted +rescues, and dared all things, only to extricate a pounded profligate? +</p> + +<p> +Whence, Jack, can this be? +</p> + +<p> +O! I have it, I believe. The vicious are as bad as they can be; and do the +Devil’s work without looking after; while he is continually spreading +snares for the others; and, like a skilful angler, suiting his baits to the +fish he angles for. +</p> + +<p> +Nor let even honest people, so called, blame poor Dorcas for her fidelity in a +bad cause. For does not the general, who implicitly serves an ambitious prince +in his unjust designs upon his neighbours, or upon his own oppressed subjects; +and even the lawyer, who, for the sake of a paltry fee, undertakes to whiten a +black cause, and to defend it against one he knows to be good, do the very same +thing as Dorcas? And are they not both every whit as culpable? Yet the one +shall be dubbed a hero, the other called an admirable fellow, and be contended +for by every client, and his double-tongued abilities shall carry him through +all the high preferments of the law with reputation and applause. +</p> + +<p> +Well, but what shall be done, since the lady is so much determined on +removing!—Is there no way to oblige her, and yet to make the very act +subservient to my other views? I fancy such a way may be found out. +</p> + +<p> +I will study for it—— +</p> + +<p> +Suppose I suffer her to make an escape? Her heart is in it. If she effect it, +the triumph she will have over me upon it will be a counterbalance for all she +has suffered. +</p> + +<p> +I will oblige her if I can. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"></a> LETTER XXVI</h2> + +<p class="center"> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +</p> + +<p> +Tired with a succession of fatiguing days and sleepless nights, and with +contemplating the precarious situation I stand in with my beloved, I fell into +a profound reverie; which brought on sleep; and that produced a dream; a +fortunate dream; which, as I imagine, will afford my working mind the means to +effect the obliging double purpose my heart is now once more set upon. +</p> + +<p> +What, as I have often contemplated, is the enjoyment of the finest woman in the +world, to the contrivance, the bustle, the surprises, and at last the happy +conclusion of a well-laid plot!—The charming round-abouts, to come to the +nearest way home;—the doubts; the apprehensions; the heart-achings; the +meditated triumphs—these are the joys that make the blessing +dear.—For all the rest, what is it?—What but to find an angel in +imagination dwindled down to a woman in fact?——But to my +dream—— +</p> + +<p> +Methought it was about nine on Wednesday morning that a chariot, with a +dowager’s arms upon the doors, and in it a grave matronly lady [not +unlike mother H. in the face; but, in her heart, Oh! how unlike!] stopped at a +grocer’s shop, about ten doors on the other side of the way, in order to +buy some groceries: and methought Dorcas, having been out to see if the coast +were clear for her lady’s flight, and if a coach were to be got near the +place, espied the chariot with the dowager’s arms, and this matronly +lady: and what, methought, did Dorcas, that subtle traitress, do, but whip up +to the old matronly lady, and lifting up her voice, say, Good my Lady, permit +me one word with your Ladyship! +</p> + +<p> +What thou hast to say to me, say on, quoth the old lady; the grocer retiring, +and standing aloof, to give Dorcas leave to speak; who, methought, in words +like these accosted the lady: +</p> + +<p> +‘You seem, Madam, to be a very good lady; and here, in this +neighbourhood, at a house of no high repute, is an innocent lady of rank and +fortune, beautiful as a May morning, and youthful as a rose-bud, and full as +sweet and lovely, who has been tricked thither by a wicked gentleman, practised +in the ways of the town, and this very night will she be ruined if she get not +out of his hands. Now, O Lady! if you will extend your compassionate goodness +to this fair young lady, in whom, the moment you behold her, you will see cause +to believe all I say, and let her but have a place in your chariot, and remain +in your protection for one day only, till she can send a man and horse to her +rich and powerful friends, you may save from ruin a lady who has no equal for +virtue as well as beauty.’ +</p> + +<p> +Methought the old lady, moved with Dorcas’s story, answered and said, +‘Hasten, O damsel, who in a happy moment art come to put it in my power +to serve the innocent and virtuous, which it has always been my delight to do: +hasten to this young lady, and bid her hie hither to me with all speed; and +tell her, that my chariot shall be her asylum: and if I find all that thou +sayest true, my house shall be her sanctuary, and I will protect her from all +her oppressors.’ +</p> + +<p> +Hereupon, methought, this traitress Dorcas hied back to the lady, and made +report of what she had done. And, methought, the lady highly approved of +Dorcas’s proceeding and blessed her for her good thought. +</p> + +<p> +And I lifted up mine eyes, and behold the lady issued out of the house, and +without looking back, ran to the chariot with the dowager’s coat upon it; +and was received by the matronly lady with open arms, and ‘Welcome, +welcome, welcome, fair young lady, who so well answer the description of the +faithful damsel: and I will carry you instantly to my house, where you shall +meet with all the good usage your heart can wish for, till you can apprize your +rich and powerful friends of your past dangers, and present escape.’ +</p> + +<p> +‘Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, worthy, thrice worthy lady, +who afford so kindly your protection to a most unhappy young creature, who has +been basely seduced and betrayed, and brought to the very brink of +destruction.’ +</p> + +<p> +Methought, then, the matronly lady, who had, by the time the young lady came to +her, bought and paid for the goods she wanted, ordered her coachman to drive +home with all speed; who stopped not till he had arrived in a certain street +not far from Lincoln’s-inn-fields, where the matronly lady lived in a +sumptuous dwelling, replete with damsels who wrought curiously in muslins, +cambrics, and fine linen, and in every good work that industrious damsels love +to be employed about, except the loom and the spinning-wheel. +</p> + +<p> +And, methought, all the way the young lady and the old lady rode, and after +they came in, till dinner was ready, the young lady filled up the time with the +dismal account of her wrongs and her sufferings, the like of which was never +heard by mortal ear; and this in so moving a manner, that the good old lady did +nothing but weep, and sigh, and sob, and inveigh against the arts of wicked +men, and against that abominable ’Squire Lovelace, who was a plotting +villain, methought she said; and more than that, an unchained Beelzebub. +</p> + +<p> +Methought I was in a dreadful agony, when I found the lady had escaped, and in +my wrath had like to have slain Dorcas, and our mother, and every one I met. +But, by some quick transition, and strange metamorphosis, which dreams do not +usually account for, methought, all of a sudden, this matronly lady turned into +the famous mother H. herself; and, being an old acquaintance of mother +Sinclair, was prevailed upon to assist in my plot upon the young lady. +</p> + +<p> +Then, methought, followed a strange scene; for mother H. longing to hear more +of the young lady’s story, and night being come, besought her to accept +of a place in her own bed, in order to have all the talk to themselves. For, +methought, two young nieces of her’s had broken in upon them, in the +middle of the dismal tale. +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly, going early to bed, and the sad story being resumed, with as great +earnestness on one side as attention on the other, before the young lady had +gone far in it, mother H. methought was taken with a fit of the colic; and her +tortures increasing, was obliged to rise to get a cordial she used to find +specific in this disorder, to which she was unhappily subject. +</p> + +<p> +Having thus risen, and stept to her closet, methought she let fall the wax +taper in her return; and then [O metamorphosis still stranger than the former! +what unaccountable things are dreams!] coming to bed again in the dark, the +young lady, to her infinite astonishment, grief, and surprise, found mother H. +turned into a young person of the other sex; and although Lovelace was the +abhorred of her soul, yet, fearing it was some other person, it was matter of +consolation to her, when she found it was no other than himself, and that she +had been still the bed-fellow of but one and the same man. +</p> + +<p> +A strange promiscuous huddle of adventures followed, scenes perpetually +shifting; now nothing heard from the lady, but sighs, groans, exclamations, +faintings, dyings—From the gentleman, but vows, promises, protestations, +disclaimers of purposes pursued, and all the gentle and ungentle pressures of +the lover’s warfare. +</p> + +<p> +Then, as quick as thought (for dreams, thou knowest confine not themselves to +the rules of the drama) ensued recoveries, lyings-in, christenings, the smiling +boy, amply, even in her own opinion, rewarding the suffering mother. +</p> + +<p> +Then the grandfather’s estate yielded up, possession taken of it: living +very happily upon it: her beloved Norton her companion; Miss Howe her visiter; +and (admirable! thrice admirable!) enabled to compare notes with her; a +charming girl, by the same father, to her friend’s charming boy; who, as +they grow up, in order to consolidate their mamma’s friendships, (for +neither have dreams regard to consanguinity,) intermarry; change names by act +of parliament, to enjoy my estate—and I know not what of the like +incongruous stuff. +</p> + +<p> +I awoke, as thou mayest believe, in great disorder, and rejoiced to find my +charmer in the next room, and Dorcas honest. +</p> + +<p> +Now thou wilt say this was a very odd dream. And yet, (for I am a strange +dreamer,) it is not altogether improbable that something like it may happen; as +the pretty simpleton has the weakness to confide in Dorcas, whom till now she +disliked. +</p> + +<p> +But I forgot to tell thee one part of my dream; and that was, that, the next +morning, the lady gave way to such transports of grief and resentment, that she +was with difficulty diverted from making an attempt upon her own life. But, +however, at last was prevailed upon to resolve to live, and make the best of +the matter: a letter, methought, from Captain Tomlinson helping to pacify her, +written to apprize me, that her uncle Harlowe would certainly be at +Kentish-town on Wednesday night, June 28, the following day (the 29th) being +his birth-day; and be doubly desirous, on that account, that our nuptials +should be then privately solemnized in his presence. +</p> + +<p> +But is Thursday, the 29th, her uncle’s anniversary, methinks thou +askest?—It is; or else the day of celebration should have been earlier +still. Three weeks ago I heard her say it was: and I have down the birthday of +every one in the family, and the wedding-day of her father and mother. The +minutest circumstances are often of great service in matters of the last +importance. +</p> + +<p> +And what sayest thou now to my dream? +</p> + +<p> +Who says that, sleeping and waking, I have not fine helps from somebody, some +spirit rather, as thou’lt be apt to say? But no wonder that a Beelzebub +has his devilkins to attend his call. +</p> + +<p> +I can have no manner of doubt of succeeding in mother H.’s part of the +scheme; for will the lady (who resolves to throw herself into the first house +she can enter, or to bespeak the protection of the first person she meets, and +who thinks there can be no danger out of this house, equal to what she +apprehends from me in it) scruple to accept of the chariot of a dowager, +accidentally offered? and the lady’s protection engaged by her faithful +Dorcas, so highly bribed to promote her escape?—And then Mrs. H. has the +air and appearance of a venerable matron, and is not such a forbidding devil as +Mrs. Sinclair. +</p> + +<p> +The pretty simpleton knows nothing in the world; nor that people who have money +never want assistants in their views, be they what they will. How else could +the princes of the earth be so implicitly served as they are, change they hands +every so often, and be their purposes ever so wicked. +</p> + +<p> +If I can but get her to go on with me till Wednesday next week, we shall be +settled together pretty quietly by that time. And indeed if she has any +gratitude, and has in her the least of her sex’s foibles, she must think +I deserve her favour, by the pains she has cost me. For dearly do they all love +that men should take pains about them and for them. +</p> + +<p> +And here, for the present, I will lay down my pen, and congratulate myself upon +my happy invention (since her obstinacy puts me once more upon exercising +it.)—But with this resolution, I think, that, if the present contrivance +fail me, I will exert all the faculties of my mind, all my talents, to procure +for myself a regal right to her favour and that in defiance of all my +antipathies to the married state; and of the suggestions of the great devil out +of the house, and of his secret agents in it.—Since, if now she is not to +be prevailed upon, or drawn in, it will be in vain to attempt her further. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"></a> LETTER XXVII</h2> + +<p> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. TUESDAY NIGHT, JUNE 20. +</p> + +<p> +No admittance yet to my charmer! she is very ill—in a violent fever, +Dorcas thinks. Yet will have no advice. +</p> + +<p> +Dorcas tells her how much I am concerned at it. +</p> + +<p> +But again let me ask, Does this lady do right to make herself ill, when she is +not ill? For my own part, libertine as people think me, when I had occasion to +be sick, I took a dose of ipecacuanha, that I might not be guilty of a +falsehood; and most heartily sick was I; as she, who then pitied me, full well +knew. But here to pretend to be very ill, only to get an opportunity to run +away, in order to avoid forgiving a man who has offended her, how +unchristian!—If good folks allow themselves in these breaches of a known +duty, and in these presumptuous contrivances to deceive, who, Belford, shall +blame us? +</p> + +<p> +I have a strange notion that the matronly lady will be certainly at the +grocer’s shop at the hour of nine tomorrow morning: for Dorcas heard me +tell Mrs. Sinclair, that I should go out at eight precisely; and then she is to +try for a coach: and if the dowager’s chariot should happen to be there, +how lucky will it be for my charmer! how strangely will my dream be made out! +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +I have just received a letter from Captain Tomlinson. Is it not wonderful? for +that was part of my dream. +</p> + +<p> +I shall always have a prodigious regard to dreams henceforward. I know not but +I may write a book upon that subject; for my own experience will furnish out a +great part of it. ‘Glanville of Witches,’ ‘Baxter’s +History of Spirits and Apparitions,’ and the ‘Royal Pedant’s +Demonology,’ will be nothing at all to Lovelace’s Reveries. +</p> + +<p> +The letter is just what I dreamed it to be. I am only concerned that uncle +John’s anniversary did not happen three or four days sooner; for should +any new misfortune befal my charmer, she may not be able to support her spirits +so long as till Thursday in the next week. Yet it will give me the more time +for new expedients, should my present contrivance fail; which I cannot however +suppose. +</p> + +<p> +TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. MONDAY, JUNE 19. +</p> + +<p> +Dear Sir, +</p> + +<p> +I can now return your joy, for the joy you have given me, as well as my dear +friend Mr. Harlowe, in the news of his beloved niece’s happy recovery; +for he is determined to comply with her wishes and your’s, and to give +her to you with his own hand. +</p> + +<p> +As the ceremony has been necessarily delayed by reason of her illness, and as +Mr. Harlowe’s birth-day is on Thursday the 29th of this instant June, +when he enters into the seventy-fourth year of his age; and as time may be +wanted to complete the dear lady’s recovery; he is very desirous that the +marriage shall be solemnized upon it; that he may afterwards have double joy on +that day to the end of his life. +</p> + +<p> +For this purpose he intends to set out privately, so as to be at Kentish-town +on Wednesday se’nnight in the evening. +</p> + +<p> +All the family used, he says, to meet to celebrate it with him; but as they are +at present in too unhappy a situation for that, he will give out, that, not +being able to bear the day at home, he has resolved to be absent for two or +three days. +</p> + +<p> +He will set out on horseback, attended only with one trusty servant, for the +greater privacy. He will be at the most creditable-looking public house there, +expecting you both next morning, if he hear nothing from me to prevent him. And +he will go to town with you after the ceremony is performed, in the coach he +supposes you will come in. +</p> + +<p> +He is very desirous that I should be present on the occasion. But this I have +promised him, at his request, that I will be up before the day, in order to see +the settlements executed, and every thing properly prepared. +</p> + +<p> +He is very glad you have the license ready. +</p> + +<p> +He speaks very kindly of you, Mr. Lovelace; and says, that, if any of the +family stand out after he has seen the ceremony performed, he will separate +from them, and unite himself to his dear niece and her interests. +</p> + +<p> +I owned to you, when in town last, that I took slight notice to my dear friend +of the misunderstanding between you and his niece; and that I did this, for +fear the lady should have shown any little discontent in his presence, had I +been able to prevail upon him to go up in person, as then was doubtful. But I +hope nothing of that discontent remains now. +</p> + +<p> +My absence, when your messenger came, must excuse me for not writing by him. +</p> + +<p> +Be pleased to make my most respectful compliments acceptable to the admirable +lady, and believe me to be +</p> + +<p> +Your most faithful and obedient servant, ANTONY TOMLINSON. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +This letter I sealed, and broke open. It was brought, thou mayest suppose, by a +particular messenger; the seal such a one as the writer need be ashamed of. I +took care to inquire after the Captain’s health, in my beloved’s +hearing; and it is now ready to be produced as a pacifier, according as she +shall take on or resent, if the two metamorphoses happen pursuant to my +wonderful dream; as, having great faith in dreams, I dare say they +will.—I think it will not be amiss, in changing my clothes, to have this +letter of the worthy Captain lie in my beloved’s way. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"></a> LETTER XXVIII</h2> + +<p> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. WEDN. NOON, JUNE 21. +</p> + +<p> +What shall I say now!—I, who but a few hours ago had such faith in +dreams, and had proposed out of hand to begin my treatise of dreams sleeping +and dreams waking, and was pleasing myself with the dialogues between the old +matronal lady and the young lady, and with the metamorphoses, (absolutely +assured that every thing would happen as my dream chalked it out,) shall never +more depend upon those flying follies, those illusions of a fancy depraved, and +run mad. +</p> + +<p> +Thus confoundedly have matters happened. +</p> + +<p> +I went out at eight o’clock in high good humour with myself, in order to +give the sought-for opportunity to the plotting mistress and corrupted maid; +only ordering Will. to keep a good look-out for fear his lady should mistrust +my plot, or mistake a hackney-coach for the dowager-lady’s chariot. But +first I sent to know how she did; and receiving for answer, Very ill: had a +very bad night: which latter was but too probable; since this I know, that +people who have plots in their heads as seldom have as deserve good ones. +</p> + +<p> +I desired a physician might be called in; but was refused. +</p> + +<p> +I took a walk in St. James’s Park, congratulating myself all the way on +my rare inventions: then, impatient, I took coach, with one of the windows +quite up, the other almost up, playing at bo-peep in every chariot I saw pass +in my way to Lincoln’s-inn-fields: and when arrived there I sent the +coachman to desire any one of Mother H.’s family to come to me to the +coach-side, not doubting but I should have intelligence of my fair fugitive +there; it being then half an hour after ten. +</p> + +<p> +A servant came, who gave me to understand that the matronly lady was just +returned by herself in the chariot. +</p> + +<p> +Frighted out of my wits, I alighted, and heard from the mother’s own +mouth, that Dorcas had engaged her to protect the lady; but came to tell her +afterwards, that she had changed her mind, and would not quit the house. +</p> + +<p> +Quite astonished, not knowing what might have happened, I ordered the coachman +to lash away to our mother’s. +</p> + +<p> +Arriving here in an instant, the first word I asked, was, If the lady was safe? +</p> + +<p> +[Mr. Lovelace here gives a very circumstantial relation of all that passed +between the Lady and Dorcas. But as he could only guess at her motives for +refusing to go off, when Dorcas told her that she had engaged for her the +protection of the dowager-lady, it is thought proper to omit this relation, and +to supply it by some memoranda of the Lady’s. But it is first necessary +to account for the occasion on which those memoranda were made. +</p> + +<p> +The reader may remember, that in the letter written to Miss Howe, on her escape +to Hampstead,* she promises to give her the particulars of her flight at +leisure. She had indeed thoughts of continuing her account of every thing that +had passed between her and Mr. Lovelace since her last narrative letter. But +the uncertainty she was in from that time, with the execrable treatment she met +with on her being deluded back again, followed by a week’s delirium, had +hitherto hindered her from prosecuting her intention. But, nevertheless, having +it still in her view to perform her promise as soon as she had opportunity, she +made minutes of every thing as it passed, in order to help her +memory:—‘Which,’ as she observes in one place, ‘she +could less trust to since her late disorders than before.’ In these +minutes, or book of memoranda, she observes, ‘That having apprehensions +that Dorcas might be a traitress, she would have got away while she was gone +out to see for a coach; and actually slid down stairs with that intent. But +that, seeing Mrs. Sinclair in the entry, (whom Dorcas had planted there while +she went out,) she speeded up again unseen.’ +</p> + +<p> +* See Vol. V. Letter XXI. +</p> + +<p> +She then went up to the dining-room, and saw the letter of Captain Tomlinson: +on which she observes in her memorandum-book as follows:] +</p> + +<p> +‘How am I puzzled now!—He might leave this letter on purpose: none +of the other papers left with it being of any consequence: What is the +alternative?—To stay, and be the wife of the vilest of men—how my +heart resists that!—To attempt to get off, and fail, ruin +inevitable!—Dorcas may betray me!—I doubt she is still his +implement!—At his going out, he whispered her, as I saw, +unobserved—in a very familiar manner too—Never fear, Sir, with a +courtesy. +</p> + +<p> +‘In her agreeing to connive at my escape, she provided not for her own +safety, if I got away: yet had reason, in that case, to expect his vengeance. +And wants not forethought.—To have taken her with me, was to be in the +power of her intelligence, if a faithless creature.—Let me, however, +though I part not with my caution, keep my charity!—Can there be any +woman so vile to a woman?—O yes!—Mrs. Sinclair: her aunt.—The +Lord deliver me!—But, alas!—I have put myself out of the course of +his protection by the natural means—and am already ruined! A +father’s curse likewise against me! Having made vain all my +friends’ cautions and solicitudes, I must not hope for miracles in my +favour! +</p> + +<p> +‘If I do escape, what may become of me, a poor, helpless, deserted +creature!—Helpless from sex!—from circumstances!—Exposed to +every danger!—Lord protect me! +</p> + +<p> +‘His vile man not gone with him!—Lurking hereabouts, no doubt, to +watch my steps!—I will not go away by the chariot, however.—— +</p> + +<p> +‘That the chariot should come so opportunely! So like his many +opportunities!—That Dorcas should have the sudden thought!—Should +have the courage with the thought, to address a lady in behalf of an absolute +stranger to that lady! That the lady should so readily consent! Yet the +transaction between them to take up so much time, their distance in degree +considered: for, arduous as the case was, and precious as the time, Dorcas was +gone above half an hour! Yet the chariot was said to be ready at a +grocer’s not many doors off! +</p> + +<p> +‘Indeed some elderly ladies are talkative: and there are, no doubt, some +good people in the world.—— +</p> + +<p> +‘But that it should chance to be a widow lady, who could do what she +pleased! That Dorcas should know her to be so by the lozenge! Persons in her +station are not usually so knowing, I believe, in heraldry. +</p> + +<p> +‘Yet some may! for servants are fond of deriving collateral honours and +distinctions, as I may call them, from the quality, or people of rank, whom +they serve. But this sly servant not gone with him! Then this letter of +Tomlinson!—— +</p> + +<p> +‘Although I am resolved never to have this wretch, yet, may I not throw +myself into my uncle’s protection at Kentish-town, or Highgate, if I +cannot escape before: and so get clear of him? May not the evil I know be less +than what I may fall into, if I can avoid farther villany? Farther villany he +has not yet threatened; freely and justly as I have treated him!—I will +not go, I think. At least, unless I can send this fellow away.*—— +</p> + +<p> +* She tried to do this; but was prevented by the fellow’s pretending to +put his ankle out, by a slip down stairs—A trick, says his contriving +master, in his omitted relation, I had taught him, on a like occasion, at +Amiens. +</p> + +<p> +‘The fellow a villain! The wench, I doubt, a vile wench. At last +concerned for her own safety. Plays off and on about a coach. +</p> + +<p> +‘All my hopes of getting off at present over!—Unhappy creature! to +what farther evils art thou reserved! Oh! how my heart rises at the necessity I +must still be under to see and converse with so very vile a man!’ +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"></a> LETTER XXIX</h2> + +<p> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON. +</p> + +<p> +Disappointed in her meditated escape; obliged, against her will, to meet me in +the dining-room; and perhaps apprehensive of being upbraided for her art in +feigning herself ill; I expected that the dear perverse would begin with me +with spirit and indignation. But I was in hopes, from the gentleness of her +natural disposition; from the consideration which I expected from her on her +situation; from the contents of the letter of Captain Tomlinson, which Dorcas +told me she had seen; and from the time she had had to cool and reflect since +she last admitted me to her presence, that she would not have carried it so +strongly through as she did. +</p> + +<p> +As I entered the dining-room, I congratulated her and myself upon her sudden +recovery. And would have taken her hand, with an air of respectful tenderness; +but she was resolved to begin where she left off. +</p> + +<p> +She turned from me, drawing in her hand, with a repulsing and indignant +aspect—I meet you once more, said she, because I cannot help it. What +have you to say to me? Why am I to be thus detained against my will? +</p> + +<p> +With the utmost solemnity of speech and behaviour, I urged the ceremony. I saw +I had nothing else for it. I had a letter in my pocket I said, [feeling for it, +although I had not taken it from the table where I left it in the same room,] +the contents of which, if attended to, would make us both happy. I had been +loth to show it to her before, because I hoped to prevail upon her to be mine +sooner than the day mentioned in it. +</p> + +<p> +I felt for it in all my pockets, watching her eye mean time, which I saw glance +towards the table where it lay. +</p> + +<p> +I was uneasy that I could not find it—at last, directed again by her sly +eye, I spied it on the table at the farther end of the room. +</p> + +<p> +With joy I fetched it. Be pleased to read that letter, Madam; with an air of +satisfied assurance. +</p> + +<p> +She took it, and cast her eye over it, in such a careless way, as made it +evident, that she had read it before: and then unthankfully tossed it into the +window-seat before her. +</p> + +<p> +I urged her to bless me to-morrow, or Friday morning; at least, that she would +not render vain her uncle’s journey, and kind endeavours to bring about a +reconciliation among us all. +</p> + +<p> +Among us all! repeated she, with an air equally disdainful and incredulous. O +Lovelace, thou art surely nearly allied to the grand deceiver, in thy endeavour +to suit temptations to inclinations?—But what honour, what faith, what +veracity, were it possible that I could enter into parley with thee on this +subject, (which it is not,) may I expect from such a man as thou hast shown +thyself to be? +</p> + +<p> +I was touched to the quick. A lady of your perfect character, Madam, who has +feigned herself sick, on purpose to avoid seeing the man who adored her, should +not— +</p> + +<p> +I know what thou wouldst say, interrupted she—Twenty and twenty low +things, that my soul would have been above being guilty of, and which I have +despised myself for, have I been brought into by the infection of thy company, +and by the necessity thou hadst laid me under, of appearing mean. But, I thank +God, destitute as I am, that I am not, however, sunk so low, as to wish to be +thine. +</p> + +<p> +I, Madam, as the injurer, ought to have patience. It is for the injured to +reproach. But your uncle is not in a plot against you, it is to be hoped. There +are circumstances in the letter you cast your eyes over—— +</p> + +<p> +Again she interrupted me, Why, once more I ask you, am I detained in this +house?—Do I not see myself surrounded by wretches, who, though they wear +the habit of my sex, may yet, as far as I know, lie in wait for my perdition? +</p> + +<p> +She would be very loth, I said, that Mrs. Sinclair and her nieces should be +called up to vindicate themselves and their house. +</p> + +<p> +Would but they kill me, let them come, and welcome, I will bless the hand that +will strike the blow! Indeed I will. +</p> + +<p> +’Tis idle, very idle, to talk of dying. Mere young-lady talk, when +controuled by those they hate. But let me beseech you, dearest +creature—— +</p> + +<p> +Beseech me nothing. Let me not be detained thus against my will!—Unhappy +creature that I am, said she, in a kind of phrensy, wringing her hands at the +same time, and turning from me, her eyes lifted up! ‘Thy curse, O my +cruel father, seems to be now in the height of its operation!—My +weakened mind is full of forebodings, that I am in the way of being a lost +creature as to both worlds! Blessed, blessed God, said she, falling on her +knees, save me, O save me, from myself and from this man!’ +</p> + +<p> +I sunk down on my knees by her, excessively affecting—O that I could +recall yesterday!—Forgive me, my dearest creature, forgive what is past, +as it cannot now, but by one way, be retrieved. Forgive me only on this +condition—That my future faith and honour— +</p> + +<p> +She interrupted me, rising—If you mean to beg of me never to seek to +avenge myself by law, or by an appeal to my relations, to my cousin Morden in +particular, when he comes to England—— +</p> + +<p> +D—n the law, rising also, [she started,] and all those to whom you talk +of appealing!—I defy both the one and the other—All I beg is YOUR +forgiveness; and that you will, on my unfeigned contrition, re-establish me in +your favour—— +</p> + +<p> +O no, no, no! lifting up her clasped hands, I never never will, never, never +can forgive you!—and it is a punishment worse than death to me, that I am +obliged to meet you, or to see you. +</p> + +<p> +This is the last time, my dearest life, that you will ever see me in this +posture, on this occasion: and again I kneeled to her. Let me hope, that you +will be mine next Thursday, your uncle’s birth-day, if not before. Would +to Heaven I had never been a villain! Your indignation is not, cannot be +greater, than my remorse—and I took hold of her gown for she was going +from me. +</p> + +<p> +Be remorse thy portion!—For thine own sake, be remorse thy +portion!—I never, never will forgive thee!—I never, never will be +thine!—Let me retire!—Why kneelest thou to the wretch whom thou +hast so vilely humbled? +</p> + +<p> +Say but, dearest creature, you will consider—say but you will take time +to reflect upon what the honour of both our families requires of you. I will +not rise. I will not permit you to withdraw [still holding her gown] till you +tell me you will consider.—Take this letter. Weigh well your situation, +and mine. Say you will withdraw to consider; and then I will not presume to +withhold you. +</p> + +<p> +Compulsion shall do nothing with me. Though a slave, a prisoner, in +circumstance, I am no slave in my will!—Nothing will I promise +thee!—Withheld, compelled—nothing will I promise thee! +</p> + +<p> +Noble creature! but not implacable, I hope!—Promise me but to return in +an hour! +</p> + +<p> +Nothing will I promise thee! +</p> + +<p> +Say but that you will see me again this evening! +</p> + +<p> +O that I could say—that it were in my power to say—I never will see +thee more!—Would to Heaven I never were to see thee more! +</p> + +<p> +Passionate beauty!—still holding her— +</p> + +<p> +I speak, though with vehemence, the deliberate wish of my heart.—O that I +could avoid looking down upon thee, mean groveler, and abject as +insulting—Let me withdraw! My soul is in tumults! Let me withdraw! +</p> + +<p> +I quitted my hold to clasp my hands together—Withdraw, O sovereign of my +fate!—Withdraw, if you will withdraw! My destiny is in your +power!—It depends upon your breath!—Your scorn but augments my +love! Your resentment is but too well founded!—But, dearest creature, +return, return, return, with a resolution to bless with pardon and peace your +faithful adorer! +</p> + +<p> +She flew from me. The angel, as soon as she found her wings, flew from me. I, +the reptile kneeler, the despicable slave, no more the proud victor, arose; +and, retiring, tried to comfort myself, that, circumstanced as she is, +destitute of friends and fortune; her uncle moreover, who is to reconcile all +so soon, (as I thank my stars she still believes,) expected. +</p> + +<p> +O that she would forgive me!—Would she but generously forgive me, and +receive my vows at the altar, at the instant of her forgiving me, that I might +not have time to relapse into my old prejudices! By my soul, Belford, this dear +girl gives the lie to all our rakish maxims. There must be something more than +a name in virtue!—I now see that there is!—Once subdued, always +subdued—’Tis an egregious falsehood!—But, O Jack, she never +was subdued. What have I obtained but an increase of shame and +confusion!—While her glory has been established by her sufferings! +</p> + +<p> +This one merit is, however, left me, that I have laid all her sex under +obligation to me, by putting this noble creature to trials, which, so +gloriously supported, have done honour to them all. +</p> + +<p> +However—But no more will I add—What a force have evil +habits!—I will take an airing, and try to fly from myself!—Do not +thou upbraid me on my weak fits—on my contradictory purposes—on my +irresolution—and all will be well. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"></a> LETTER XXX</h2> + +<p> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. WEDNESDAY NIGHT. +</p> + +<p> +A man is just now arrived from M. Hall, who tells me, that my Lord is in a very +dangerous way. The gout in his stomach to an extreme degree, occasioned by +drinking a great quantity of lemonade. +</p> + +<p> +A man of 8000£. a year to prefer his appetite to his health!—He deserves +to die!—But we have all of us our inordinate passions to gratify: and +they generally bring their punishment along with them—so witnesses the +nephew, as well as the uncle. +</p> + +<p> +The fellow was sent upon other business; but stretched his orders a little, to +make his court to a successor. +</p> + +<p> +I am glad I was not at M. Hall, at the time my Lord took the grateful dose: [it +was certainly grateful to him at the time:] there are people in the world, who +would have had the wickedness to say, that I had persuaded him to drink. +</p> + +<p> +The man says, that his Lordship was so bad when he came away, that the family +began to talk of sending for me in post haste. As I know the old peer has a +good deal of cash by him, of which he seldom keeps account, it behoves me to go +down as soon as I can. But what shall I do with this dear creature the +while?—To-morrow over, I shall, perhaps, be able to answer my own +question. I am afraid she will make me desperate. +</p> + +<p> +For here have I sent to implore her company, and am denied with scorn. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +I have been so happy as to receive, this moment, a third letter from the dear +correspondent Miss Howe. A little severe devil!—It would have broken the +heart of my beloved, had it fallen into her hands. I will enclose a copy of it. +Read it here. +</p> + +<p> +TUESDAY, JUNE 20. MY DEAREST MISS HARLOWE, +</p> + +<p> +Again I venture to you, (almost against inclination;) and that by your former +conveyance, little as I like it. +</p> + +<p> +I know not how it is with you. It may be bad; and then it would be hard to +upbraid you, for a silence you may not be able to help. But if not, what shall +I say severe enough, that you have not answered either of my last letters? the +first* of which [and I think it imported you too much to be silent upon it] you +owned the receipt of. The other which was delivered into your own hands,** was +so pressing for the favour of a line from you, that I am amazed I could not be +obliged; and still more, that I have not heard from you since. +</p> + +<p> +* See Vol. V. Letter XX. ** See Vol. VI. Letter VII. +</p> + +<p> +The fellow made so strange a story of the condition he saw you in, and of your +speech to him, that I know not what to conclude from it: only, that he is a +simple, blundering, and yet conceited fellow, who, aiming at description, and +the rustic wonderful, gives an air of bumkinly romance to all he tells. That +this is his character, you will believe, when you are informed that he +described you in grief excessive,* yet so improved in your person and features, +and so rosy, that was his word, in your face, and so flush-coloured, and so +plump in your arms, that one would conclude you were labouring under the +operation of some malignant poison; and so much the rather, as he was +introduced to you, when you were upon a couch, from which you offered not to +rise, or sit up. +</p> + +<p> +* See Vol. VI. Letter VI. +</p> + +<p> +Upon my word, Miss Harlowe, I am greatly distressed upon your account; for I +must be so free as to say, that in your ready return with your deceiver, you +have not at all answered my expectations, nor acted up to your own character; +for Mrs. Townsend tells me, from the women at Hampstead, how cheerfully you put +yourself into his hands again: yet, at the time, it was impossible you should +be married!— +</p> + +<p> +Lord, my dear, what pity it is, that you took much pains to get from the +man!—But you know best!—Sometimes I think it could not be you to +whom the rustic delivered my letter. But it must too: yet, it is strange I +could not have one line by him:—not one:—and you so soon well +enough to go with the wretch back again! +</p> + +<p> +I am not sure that the letter I am now writing will come to your hands: so +shall not say half that I have upon my mind to say. But, if you think it worth +your while to write to me, pray let me know what fine ladies his relations +those were who visited you at Hampstead, and carried you back again so joyfully +to a place that I had so fully warned you.—But I will say no more: at +least till I know more: for I can do nothing but wonder and stand amazed. +</p> + +<p> +Notwithstanding all the man’s baseness, ’tis plain there was more +than a lurking love—Good Heaven!—But I have done!—Yet I know +not how to have done neither!—Yet I must—I will. +</p> + +<p> +Only account to me, my dear, for what I cannot at all account for: and inform +me, whether you are really married, or not.—And then I shall know whether +there must or must not, be a period shorter than that of one of our lives, to a +friendship which has hitherto been the pride and boast of +</p> + +<p> +Your ANNA HOWE. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +Dorcas tells me, that she has just now had a searching conversation, as she +calls it, with her lady. She is willing, she tells the wench, still to place +her confidence in her. Dorcas hopes she has re-assured her: but wishes me not +to depend upon it. Yet Captain Tomlinson’s letter must assuredly weigh +with her. +</p> + +<p> +I sent it in just now by Dorcas, desiring her to re-peruse it. And it was not +returned me, as I feared it would be. And that’s a good sign, I think. +</p> + +<p> +I say I think, and I think; for this charming creature, entangled as I am in my +own inventions, puzzles me ten thousand times more than I her. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"></a> LETTER XXXI</h2> + +<p> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. THURSDAY NOON, JUNE 22. +</p> + +<p> +Let me perish if I know what to make either of myself or of this surprising +creature—now calm, now tempestuous.—But I know thou lovest not +anticipation any more than I. +</p> + +<p> +At my repeated requests, she met me at six this morning. +</p> + +<p> +She was ready dressed; for she had not her clothes off every since she +declared, that they never more should be off in this house. And charmingly she +looked, with all the disadvantages of a three-hours violent +stomach-ache—(for Dorcas told me that she had been really ill)—no +rest, and eyes red and swelled with weeping. Strange to me that those charming +fountains have not been so long ago exhausted! But she is a woman. And I +believe anatomists allow, that women have more watry heads than men. +</p> + +<p> +Well, my dearest creature, I hope you have now thoroughly considered of the +contents of Captain Tomlinson’s letter. But as we are thus early met, let +me beseech you to make this my happy day. +</p> + +<p> +She looked not favourably upon me. A cloud hung upon her brow at her entrance: +but as she was going to answer me, a still greater solemnity took possession of +her charming features. +</p> + +<p> +Your air, and your countenance, my beloved creature, are not propitious to me. +Let me beg of you, before you speak, to forbear all further recriminations: for +already I have such a sense of my vileness to you, that I know not how to bear +the reproaches of my own mind. +</p> + +<p> +I have been endeavouring, said she, since I am not permitted to avoid you, to +obtain a composure which I never more expected to see you in. How long I may +enjoy it, I cannot tell. But I hope I shall be enabled to speak to you without +that vehemence which I expressed yesterday, and could not help it.* +</p> + +<p> +* The Lady, in her minutes, says, ‘I fear Dorcas is a false one. May I +not be able to prevail upon him to leave me at my liberty? Better to try than +to trust to her. If I cannot prevail, but must meet him and my uncle, I hope I +shall have fortitude enough to renounce him then. But I would fain avoid +qualifying with the wretch, or to give him an expectation which I intend not to +answer. If I am mistress of my own resolutions, my uncle himself shall not +prevail with me to bind my soul in covenant with so vile a man.’ +</p> + +<p> +After a pause (for I was all attention) thus she proceeded: +</p> + +<p> +It is easy for me, Mr. Lovelace, to see that further violences are intended me, +if I comply not with your purposes, whatever they are, I will suppose them to +be what you solemnly profess they are. But I have told you as solemnly my mind, +that I never will, that I never can be your’s; nor, if so, any +man’s upon earth. All vengeance, nevertheless, for the wrongs you have +done me, I disclaim. I want but to slide into some obscure corner, to hide +myself from you and from every one who once loved me. The desire lately so near +my heart, of a reconciliation with my friends, is much abated. They shall not +receive me now, if they would. Sunk in mine own eyes, I now think myself +unworthy of their favour. In the anguish of my soul, therefore, I conjure you, +Lovelace, [tears in her eyes,] to leave me to my fate. In doing so, you will +give me a pleasure the highest I now can know. +</p> + +<p> +Where, my dearest life—— +</p> + +<p> +No matter where. I will leave to Providence, when I am out of this house, the +direction of my future steps. I am sensible enough of my destitute condition. I +know that I have not now a friend in the world. Even Miss Howe has given me +up—or you are—But I would fain keep my temper!—By your means +I have lost them all—and you have been a barbarous enemy to me. You know +you have. +</p> + +<p> +She paused. +</p> + +<p> +I could not speak. +</p> + +<p> +The evils I have suffered, proceeded she, [turning from me,] however +irreparable, are but temporarily evils. Leave me to my hopes of being enabled +to obtain the Divine forgiveness for the offence I have been drawn in to give +to my parents and to virtue; that so I may avoid the evils that are more than +temporary. This is now all I have to wish for. And what is it that I demand, +that I have not a right to, and from which it is an illegal violence to +withhold me? +</p> + +<p> +It was impossible for me, I told her plainly, to comply. +</p> + +<p> +I besought her to give me her hand as this very day. I could not live without +her. I communicated to her my Lord’s illness, as a reason why I wished +not to stay for her uncle’s anniversary. I besought her to bless me with +her consent; and, after the ceremony was passed, to accompany me down to Berks. +And thus, my dearest life, said I, will you be freed from a house, to which you +have conceived so great an antipathy. +</p> + +<p> +This, thou wilt own, was a princely offer. And I was resolved to be as good as +my word. I thought I had killed my conscience, as I told thee, Belford, some +time ago. But conscience, I find, though it may be temporarily stifled, cannot +die, and, when it dare not speak aloud, will whisper. And at this instant I +thought I felt the revived varletess (on but a slight retrograde motion) +writhing round my pericardium like a serpent; and in the action of a dying one, +(collecting all its force into its head,) fix its plaguy fangs into my heart. +</p> + +<p> +She hesitated, and looked down, as if irresolute. And this set my heart up at +my mouth. And, believe me, I had instantly popt in upon me, in imagination, an +old spectacled parson, with a white surplice thrown over a black habit, [a fit +emblem of the halcyon office, which, under a benign appearance, often +introduced a life of storms and tempests,] whining and snuffling through his +nose the irrevocable ceremony. +</p> + +<p> +I hope now, my dearest life, said I, snatching her hand, and pressing it to my +lips, that your silence bodes me good. Let me, my beloved creature, have but +your tacit consent; and this moment I will step out and engage a minister. And +then I promised how much my whole future life should be devoted to her +commands, and that I would make her the best and tenderest of husbands. +</p> + +<p> +At last, turning to me, I have told you my mind, Mr. Lovelace, said she. Think +you, that I could thus solemnly—There she stopt—I am too much in +your power, proceeded she; your prisoner, rather than a person free to choose +for myself, or to say what I will do or be. But as a testimony that you mean me +well, let me instantly quit this house; and I will then give you such an answer +in writing, as best befits my unhappy circumstances. +</p> + +<p> +And imaginest thou, fairest, thought I, that this will go down with a Lovelace? +Thou oughtest to have known that free-livers, like ministers of state, never +part with a power put into their hands, without an equivalent of twice the +value. +</p> + +<p> +I pleaded, that if we joined hands this morning, (if not, to-morrow; if not, on +Thursday, her uncle’s birth-day, and in his presence); and afterwards, as +I had proposed, set out for Berks; we should, of course, quit this house; and, +on our return to town, should have in readiness the house I was in treaty for. +</p> + +<p> +She answered me not, but with tears and sighs; fond of believing what I hoped I +imputed her silence to the modesty of her sex. The dear creature, (thought I,) +solemnly as she began with me, is ruminating, in a sweet suspence, how to put +into fit words the gentle purposes of her condescending heart. But, looking in +her averted face with a soothing gentleness, I plainly perceived, that it was +resentment, and not bashfulness, that was struggling in her bosom.* +</p> + +<p> +* The Lady, in her minutes, owns the difficulty she lay under to keep her +temper in this conference. ‘But when I found,’ says she, +‘that all my entreaties were ineffectual, and that he was resolved to +detain me, I could no longer withhold my impatience.’ +</p> + +<p> +At last she broke silence—I have no patience, said she, to find myself a +slave, a prisoner, in a vile house—Tell me, Sir, in so many words tell +me, whether it be, or be not, your intention to permit me to quit it?—To +permit me the freedom which is my birthright as an English subject? +</p> + +<p> +Will not the consequence of your departure hence be that I shall lose you for +ever, Madam?—And can I bear the thoughts of that? +</p> + +<p> +She flung from me—My soul disdains to hold parley with thee! were her +violent words.—But I threw myself at her feet, and took hold of her +reluctant hand, and began to imprecate, avow, to promise—But thus the +passionate beauty, interrupting me, went on: +</p> + +<p> +I am sick of thee, MAN!—One continued string of vows, oaths, and +protestations, varied only by time and place, fills thy mouth!—Why +detainest thou me? My heart rises against thee, O thou cruel implement of my +brother’s causeless vengeance.—All I beg of thee is, that thou wilt +remit me the future part of my father’s dreadful curse! the temporary +part, base and ungrateful as thou art! thou hast completed! +</p> + +<p> +I was speechless!—Well I might!—Her brother’s +implement!—James Harlowe’s implement!—Zounds, Jack! what +words were these! +</p> + +<p> +I let go her struggling hand. She took two or three turns cross the room, her +whole haughty soul in her air. Then approaching me, but in silence, turning +from me, and again to me, in a milder voice—I see thy confusion, +Lovelace. Or is it thy remorse?—I have but one request to make +thee—the request so often repeated—That thou wilt this moment +permit me to quit this house. Adieu, then, let me say, for ever adieu! And +mayest thou enjoy that happiness in this world, which thou hast robbed me of; +as thou hast of every friend I have in it! +</p> + +<p> +And saying this, away she flung, leaving me in a confusion so great, that I +knew not what to think, say, or do! +</p> + +<p> +But Dorcas soon roused me—Do you know, Sir, running in hastily, that my +lady is gone down stairs! +</p> + +<p> +No, sure!—And down I flew, and found her once more at the street-door, +contending with Polly Horton to get out. +</p> + +<p> +She rushed by me into the fore parlour, and flew to the window, and attempted +once more to throw up the sash—Good people! good people! cried she. +</p> + +<p> +I caught her in my arms, and lifted her from the window. But being afraid of +hurting the charming creature, (charming in her very rage,) she slid through my +arms on the floor.—Let me die here! let me die here! were her words; +remaining jointless and immovable, till Sally and Mrs. Sinclair hurried in. +</p> + +<p> +She was visibly terrified at the sight of the old wretch; while I (sincerely +affected) appealed, Bear witness, Mrs. Sinclair!—bear witness, Miss +Martin!—Miss Horton!—Every one bear witness, that I offer not +violence to this beloved creature! +</p> + +<p> +She then found her feet—O house [look towards the windows, and all round +her, O house,] contrived on purpose for my ruin! said she—but let not +that woman come into my presence—not that Miss Horton neither, who would +not have dared to controul me, had she not been a base one!— +</p> + +<p> +Hoh, Sir! Hoh, Madam! vociferated the old dragon, her armed kemboed, and +flourishing with one foot to the extent of her petticoats—What’s +ado here about nothing! I never knew such work in my life, between a chicken of +a gentleman and a tiger of a lady!— +</p> + +<p> +She was visibly affrighted: and up stairs she hastened. A bad woman is +certainly, Jack, more terrible to her own sex than even a bad man. +</p> + +<p> +I followed her up. She rushed by her own apartment into the dining-room: no +terror can make her forget her punctilio. +</p> + +<p> +To recite what passed there of invective, exclamations, threatenings, even of +her own life, on one side; of expostulations, supplications, and sometimes +menaces, on the other; would be too affecting; and, after my particularity in +like scenes, these things may as well be imagined as expressed. +</p> + +<p> +I will therefore only mention, that, at length, I extorted a concession from +her. She had reason* to think it would have been worse for her on the spot, if +she had not made it. It was, That she would endeavour to make herself easy till +she saw what next Thursday, her uncle’s birth-day, would produce. But Oh! +that it were not a sin, she passionately exclaimed on making this poor +concession, to put and end to her own life, rather than yield to give me but +that assurance! +</p> + +<p> +* The Lady mentions, in her memorandum-book, that she had no other way, as is +apprehended, to save herself from instant dishonour, but by making this +concession. Her only hope, now, she says, if she cannot escape by +Dorcas’s connivance, (whom, nevertheless she suspects,) is to find a way +to engage the protection of her uncle, and even of the civil magistrate, on +Thursday next, if necessary. ‘He shall see,’ says she, ‘tame +and timid as he thought me, what I dare to do, to avoid so hated a compulsion, +and a man capable of a baseness so premeditatedly vile and inhuman.’ +</p> + +<p> +This, however, shows me, that she is aware that the reluctantly-given assurance +may be fairly construed into a matrimonial expectation on my side. And if she +will now, even now, look forward, I think, from my heart, that I will put on +her livery, and wear it for life. +</p> + +<p> +What a situation am I in, with all my cursed inventions! I am puzzled, +confounded, and ashamed of myself, upon the whole. To take such pains to be a +villain!—But (for the fiftieth time) let me ask thee, Who would have +thought that there had been such a woman in the world?—Nevertheless, she +had best take care that she carries not her obstinacy much farther. She knows +not what revenge for slighted love will make me do. +</p> + +<p> +The busy scenes I have just passed through have given emotions to my heart, +which will not be quieted one while. My heart, I see, (on re-perusing what I +have written,) has communicated its tremors to my fingers; and in some places +the characters are so indistinct and unformed, that thou’lt hardly be +able to make them out. But if one half of them is only intelligible, that will +be enough to expose me to thy contempt, for the wretched hand I have made of my +plots and contrivances.—But surely, Jack, I have gained some ground by +this promise. +</p> + +<p> +And now, one word to the assurances thou sendest me, that thou hast not +betrayed my secrets in relation to this charming creature. Thou mightest have +spared them, Belford. My suspicions held no longer than while I wrote about +them.* For well I knew, when I allowed myself time to think, that thou hadst no +principles, no virtue, to be misled by. A great deal of strong envy, and a +little of weak pity, I knew to be thy motives. Thou couldst not provoke my +anger, and my compassion thou ever hadst; and art now more especially entitled +to it; because thou art a pityful fellow. +</p> + +<p> +All thy new expostulations in my beloved’s behalf I will answer when I +see thee. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"></a> LETTER XXXII</h2> + +<p> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. THURSDAY NIGHT. +</p> + +<p> +Confoundedly out of humour with this perverse woman!—Nor wilt thou blame +me, if thou art my friend. She regards the concession she made, as a concession +extorted from her: and we are but just where we were before she made it. +</p> + +<p> +With great difficulty I prevailed upon her to favour me with her company for +one half hour this evening. The necessity I was under to go down to M. Hall was +the subject I wanted to talk upon. +</p> + +<p> +I told her, that as she had been so good as to promise that she would endeavour +to make herself easy till she saw the Thursday in next week over, I hoped that +she would not scruple to oblige me with her word, that I should find her here +at my return from M. Hall. +</p> + +<p> +Indeed she would make no such promise. Nothing of this house was mentioned to +me, said she: you know it was not. And do you think that I would have given my +consent to my imprisonment in it? +</p> + +<p> +I was plaguily nettled, and disappointed too. If I go not down to Mr. Hall, +Madam, you’ll have no scruple to stay here, I suppose, till Thursday is +over? +</p> + +<p> +If I cannot help myself I must—but I insist upon being permitted to go +out of this house, whether you leave it or not. +</p> + +<p> +Well, Madam, then I will comply with your commands. And I will go out this very +evening in quest of lodgings that you shall have no objections to. +</p> + +<p> +I will have no lodgings of your providing, Sir—I will go to Mrs. +Moore’s, at Hampstead. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Moore’s, Madam!—I have no objection to Mrs. +Moore’s—but will you give me your promise, to admit me there to +your presence? +</p> + +<p> +As I do here—when I cannot help it. +</p> + +<p> +Very well, Madam—Will you be so good as to let me know what you intend by +your promise to make yourself easy. +</p> + +<p> +To endeavour, Sir, to make myself easy—were the words—— +</p> + +<p> +Till you saw what next Thursday would produce? +</p> + +<p> +Ask me no questions that may ensnare me. I am too sincere for the company I am +in. +</p> + +<p> +Let me ask you, Madam, What meant you, when you said, ‘that, were it not +a sin, you would die before you gave me that assurance?’ +</p> + +<p> +She was indignantly silent. +</p> + +<p> +You thought, Madam, you had given me room to hope your pardon by it? +</p> + +<p> +When I think I ought to answer you with patience I will speak. +</p> + +<p> +Do you think yourself in my power, Madam? +</p> + +<p> +If I were not—And there she stopt—— +</p> + +<p> +Dearest creature, speak out—I beseech you, dearest creature, speak +out—— +</p> + +<p> +She was silent; her charming face all in a glow. +</p> + +<p> +Have you, Madam, any reliance upon my honour? +</p> + +<p> +Still silent. +</p> + +<p> +You hate me, Madam! You despise me more than you do the most odious of +God’s creatures! +</p> + +<p> +You ought to despise me, if I did not. +</p> + +<p> +You say, Madam, you are in a bad house. You have no reliance upon my +honour—you believe you cannot avoid me—— +</p> + +<p> +She arose. I beseech you, let me withdraw. +</p> + +<p> +I snatched her hand, rising, and pressed it first to my lips, and then to my +heart, in wild disorder. She might have felt the bounding mischief ready to +burst its bars—You shall go—to your own apartment, if you +please—But, by the great God of Heaven, I will accompany you thither! +</p> + +<p> +She trembled—Pray, pray, Mr. Lovelace, don’t terrify me so! +</p> + +<p> +Be seated, Madam! I beseech you, be seated!—— +</p> + +<p> +I will sit down—— +</p> + +<p> +Do then—All my soul is in my eyes, and my heart’s blood throbbing +at my fingers’ ends. +</p> + +<p> +I will—I will—You hurt me—Pray, Mr. Lovelace, +don’t—don’t frighten me so—And down she sat, trembling; +my hand still grasping her’s. +</p> + +<p> +I hung over her throbbing bosom, and putting my other arm round her +waist—And you say, you hate me, Madam—and you say, you despise +me—and you say, you promise me nothing—— +</p> + +<p> +Yes, yes, I did promise you—let me not be held down thus—you see I +sat down when you bid me—Why [struggling] need you hold me down +thus?—I did promise to endeavour to be easy till Thursday was over! But +you won’t let me!—How can I be easy?—Pray, let me not be thus +terrified. +</p> + +<p> +And what, Madam, meant you by your promise? Did you mean any thing in my +favour?—You designed that I should, at that time, think you did. Did you +mean any thing in my favour, Madam?—Did you intend that I should think +you did? +</p> + +<p> +Let go my hand, Sir—Take away your arm from about me, [struggling, yet +trembling,]—Why do you gaze upon me so? +</p> + +<p> +Answer me, Madam—Did you mean any thing in my favour by your promise? +</p> + +<p> +Let me be not thus constrained to answer. +</p> + +<p> +Then pausing, and gaining more spirit, Let me go, said she: I am but a +woman—but a weak woman. +</p> + +<p> +But my life is in my own power, though my person is not—I will not be +thus constrained. +</p> + +<p> +You shall not, Madam, quitting her hand, bowing; but my heart is at my mouth, +and hoping farther provocation. +</p> + +<p> +She arose, and was hurrying away. +</p> + +<p> +I pursue you not, Madam—I will try your generosity. +Stop—return—this moment stop, return, if, Madam, you would not make +me desperate. +</p> + +<p> +She stopt at the door; burst into tears—O Lovelace!—How, how, have +I deserved—— +</p> + +<p> +Be pleased, dearest angel, to return. +</p> + +<p> +She came back—but with declared reluctance; and imputing her compliance +to terror. +</p> + +<p> +Terror, Jack, as I have heretofore found out, though I have so little benefited +by the discovery, must be my resort, if she make it necessary—nothing +else will do with the inflexible charmer. +</p> + +<p> +She seated herself over-against me; extremely discomposed—but indignation +had a visible predominance in her features. +</p> + +<p> +I was going towards her, with a countenance intendedly changed to love and +softness: Sweetest, dearest angel, were my words, in the tenderest +accent:—But, rising up, she insisted upon my being seated at a distance +from her. +</p> + +<p> +I obeyed, and begged her hand over the table, to my extended hand; to see, if +in any thing she would oblige me. But nothing gentle, soft, or affectionate, +would do. She refused me her hand!—Was she wise, Jack, to confirm to me, +that nothing but terror would do? +</p> + +<p> +Let me only know, Madam, if your promise to endeavour to wait with patience the +event of next Thursday meant me favour? +</p> + +<p> +Do you expect any voluntary favour from one to whom you give not a free choice? +</p> + +<p> +Do you intend, Madam, to honour me with your hand, in your uncle’s +presence, or do you not? +</p> + +<p> +My heart and my hand shall never be separated. Why, think you, did I stand in +opposition to the will of my best, my natural friends. +</p> + +<p> +I know what you mean, Madam—Am I then as hateful to you as the vile +Solmes? +</p> + +<p> +Ask me not such a question, Mr. Lovelace. +</p> + +<p> +I must be answered. Am I as hateful to you as the vile Solmes? +</p> + +<p> +Why do you call Mr. Solmes vile? +</p> + +<p> +Don’t you think him so, Madam? +</p> + +<p> +Why should I? Did Mr. Solmes ever do vilely by me? +</p> + +<p> +Dearest creature! don’t distract me by hateful comparisons! and perhaps +by a more hateful preference. +</p> + +<p> +Don’t you, Sir, put questions to me that you know I will answer truly, +though my answer were ever so much to enrage you. +</p> + +<p> +My heart, Madam, my soul is all your’s at present. But you must give me +hope, that your promise, in your own construction, binds you, no new cause to +the contrary, to be mine on Thursday. How else can I leave you? +</p> + +<p> +Let me go to Hampstead; and trust to my favour. +</p> + +<p> +May I trust to it?—Say only may I trust to it? +</p> + +<p> +How will you trust to it, if you extort an answer to this question? +</p> + +<p> +Say only, dearest creature, say only, may I trust to your favour, if you go to +Hampstead? +</p> + +<p> +How dare you, Sir, if I must speak out, expect a promise of favour from +me?—What a mean creature must you think me, after the ungrateful baseness +to me, were I to give you such a promise? +</p> + +<p> +Then standing up, Thou hast made me, O vilest of men! [her hands clasped, and a +face crimsoned with indignation,] an inmate of the vilest of +houses—nevertheless, while I am in it, I shall have a heart incapable of +any thing but abhorrence of that and of thee! +</p> + +<p> +And round her looked the angel, and upon me, with fear in her sweet aspect of +the consequence of her free declaration—But what a devil must I have +been, I who love bravery in a man, had I not been more struck with admiration +of her fortitude at the instant, than stimulated by revenge? +</p> + +<p> +Noblest of creatures!—And do you think I can leave you, and my interest +in such an excellence, precarious? No promise!—no hope!—If you make +me not desperate, may lightning blast me, if I do you not all the justice +’tis in my power to do you! +</p> + +<p> +If you have any intention to oblige me, leave me at my own liberty, and let me +not be detained in this abominable house. To be constrained as I have been +constrained! to be stopt by your vile agents! to be brought up by force, and be +bruised in my own defence against such illegal violence!—I dare to die, +Lovelace—and she who fears not death, is not to be intimidated into a +meanness unworthy of her heart and principles! +</p> + +<p> +Wonderful creature! But why, Madam, did you lead me to hope for something +favourable for next Thursday?—Once more, make me not desperate—With +all your magnanimity, glorious creature! [I was more than half frantic, +Belford,] you may, you may—but do not, do not make me brutally threaten +you—do not, do not make me desperate! +</p> + +<p> +My aspect, I believe, threatened still more than my words. I was +rising—She rose—Mr. Lovelace, be pacified—you are even more +dreadful than the Lovelace I have long dreaded—let me retire—I ask +your leave to retire—you really frighten me—yet I give you no +hope—from my heart I ab—— +</p> + +<p> +Say not, Madam, you abhor me. You must, for your own sake, conceal your +hatred—at least not avow it. I seized her hand. +</p> + +<p> +Let me retire—let me, retire, said she, in a manner out of breath. +</p> + +<p> +I will only say, Madam, that I refer myself to your generosity. My heart is not +to be trusted at this instant. As a mark of my submission to your will, you +shall, if you please, withdraw—but I will not go to M. Hall—live +or die my Lord M. I will not go to M. Hall—but will attend the effect of +your promise. Remember, Madam, you have promised to endeavour to make yourself +easy till you see the event of next Thursday—next Thursday, remember, +your uncle comes up, to see us married—that’s the event.—You +think ill of your Lovelace—do not, Madam, suffer your own morals to be +degraded by the infection, as you called it, of his example. +</p> + +<p> +Away flew the charmer with this half permission—and no doubt thought that +she had an escape—nor without reason. +</p> + +<p> +I knew not for half an hour what to do with myself. Vexed at the heart, +nevertheless, (now she was from me, and when I reflected upon her hatred of me, +and her defiances,) that I suffered myself to be so overawed, checked, +restrained—— +</p> + +<p> +And now I have written thus far, (have of course recollected the whole of our +conversation,) I am more and more incensed against myself. +</p> + +<p> +But I will go down to these women—and perhaps suffer myself to be laughed +at by them. +</p> + +<p> +Devil fetch them, they pretend to know their own sex. Sally was a woman well +educated—Polly also—both have read—both have sense—of +parentage not mean—once modest both—still, they say, had been +modest, but for me—not entirely indelicate now; though too little nice +for my personal intimacy, loth as they both are to have me think so—the +old one, too, a woman of family, though thus (from bad inclination as well as +at first from low circumstances) miserably sunk:—and hence they all +pretend to remember what once they were; and vouch for the inclinations and +hypocrisy of the whole sex, and wish for nothing so ardently, as that I will +leave the perverse lady to their management while I am gone to Berkshire; +undertaking absolutely for her humility and passiveness on my return; and +continually boasting of the many perverse creatures whom they have obliged to +draw in their traces. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +I am just come from the sorceresses. +</p> + +<p> +I was forced to take the mother down; for she began with her Hoh, Sir! with me; +and to catechize and upbraid me, with as much insolence as if I owed her money. +</p> + +<p> +I made her fly the pit at last. Strange wishes wished we against each other at +her quitting it——What were they?—I’ll tell +thee——She wished me married, and to be jealous of my wife; and my +heir-apparent the child of another man. I was even with her with a vengeance. +And yet thou wilt think that could not well be.—As how?—As how, +Jack!—Why, I wished for her conscience come to life! And I know, by the +gripes mine gives me every half-hour, that she would then have a cursed time of +it. +</p> + +<p> +Sally and Polly gave themselves high airs too. Their first favours were thrown +at me, [women to boast of those favours which they were as willing to impart, +first forms all the difficulty with them! as I to receive!] I was upbraided +with ingratitude, dastardice and all my difficulties with my angel charged upon +myself, for want of following my blows; and for leaving the proud lady mistress +of her own will, and nothing to reproach herself with. And all agreed, that the +arts used against her on a certain occasion, had too high an operation for them +or me to judge what her will would have been in the arduous trial. And then +they blamed one another; as I cursed them all. +</p> + +<p> +They concluded, that I should certainly marry, and be a lost man. And Sally, on +this occasion, with an affected and malicious laugh, snapt her fingers at me, +and pointing two of each hand forkedly at me, bid me remember the lines I once +showed her of my favourite Jack Dryden, as she always familiarly calls that +celebrated poet: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +We women to new joys unseen may move:<br/> +There are no prints left in the paths of love.<br/> +All goods besides by public marks are known:<br/> +But those men most desire to keep, have none. +</p> + +<p> +This infernal implement had the confidence further to hint, that when a wife, +some other man would not find half the difficulty with my angel that I had +found. Confidence indeed! But yet, I must say, if a man gives himself up to the +company of these devils, they never let him rest till he either suspects or +hate his wife. +</p> + +<p> +But a word or two of other matters, if possible. +</p> + +<p> +Methinks I long to know how causes go at M. Hall. I have another private +intimation, that the old peer is in the greatest danger. +</p> + +<p> +I must go down. Yet what to do with this lady the mean while! These cursed +women are full of cruelty and enterprise. She will never be easy with them in +my absence. They will have provocation and pretence therefore. But woe be to +them, if—— +</p> + +<p> +Yet what will vengeance do, after an insult committed? The two nymphs will have +jealous rage to goad them on. And what will withhold a jealous and +already-ruined woman? +</p> + +<p> +To let her go elsewhere; that cannot be done. I am still too resolved to be +honest, if she’ll give me hope: if yet she’ll let me be honest. But +I’ll see how she’ll be after the contention she will certainly have +between her resentment and the terror she has reason for from our last +conversation. So let this subject rest till the morning. And to the old peer +once more. +</p> + +<p> +I shall have a good deal of trouble, I reckon, though no sordid man, to be +decent on the expected occasion. Then how to act (I who am no hypocrite) in the +days of condolement! What farces have I to go through; and to be the principal +actor in them! I’ll try to think of my own latter end; a gray beard, and +a graceless heir; in order to make me serious. +</p> + +<p> +Thou, Belford, knowest a good deal of this sort of grimace; and canst help a +gay heart to a little of the dismal. But then every feature of thy face is cut +out for it. My heart may be touched, perhaps, sooner than thine; for, believe +me or not, I have a very tender one. But then, no man looking into my face, be +the occasion for grief ever so great, will believe that heart to be deeply +distressed. +</p> + +<p> +All is placid, easy, serene, in my countenance. Sorrow cannot sit half an hour +together upon it. Nay, I believe, that Lord M.’s recovery, should it +happen, would not affect me above a quarter of an hour. Only the new scenery, +(and the pleasure of aping an Heraclitus to the family, while I am a Democritus +among my private friends,) or I want nothing that the old peer can leave me. +Wherefore then should grief sadden and distort such blythe, such jocund, +features as mine? +</p> + +<p> +But as for thine, were there murder committed in the street, and thou wert but +passing by, the murderer even in sight, the pursuers would quit him, and lay +hold of thee: and thy very looks would hang, as well as apprehend thee. +</p> + +<p> +But one word to business, Jack. Whom dealest thou with for thy +blacks?—Wert thou well used?—I shall want a plaguy parcel of them. +For I intend to make every soul of the family mourn—outside, if not in. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"></a> LETTER XXXIII</h2> + +<p> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. JUNE 23, FRIDAY MORNING. +</p> + +<p> +I went out early this morning, on a design that I know not yet whether I shall +or shall not pursue; and on my return found Simon Parsons, my Lord’s +Berkshire bailiff, (just before arrived,) waiting for me with a message in +form, sent by all the family, to press me to go down, and that at my +Lord’s particular desire, who wants to see me before he dies. +</p> + +<p> +Simon has brought my Lord’s chariot-and-six [perhaps my own by this +time,] to carry me down. I have ordered it to be in readiness by four to-morrow +morning. The cattle shall smoke for the delay; and by the rest they’ll +have in the interim, will be better able to bear it. +</p> + +<p> +I am still resolved upon matrimony, if my fair perverse will accept of me. But, +if she will not——why then I must give an uninterrupted hearing, not +to my conscience, but to these women below. +</p> + +<p> +Dorcas had acquainted her lady with Simon’s arrival and errand. My +beloved had desired to see him. But my coming in prevented his attendance on +her, just as Dorcas was instructing him what questions he should not answer to, +that might be asked of him. +</p> + +<p> +I am to be admitted to her presence immediately, at my repeated request. Surely +the acquisition in view will help me to make up all with her. She is just gone +up to the dining-room. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +Nothing will do, Jack!—I can procure no favour from her, though she has +obtained from me the point which she had set her heart upon. +</p> + +<p> +I will give thee a brief account of what passed between us. +</p> + +<p> +I first proposed instant marriage; and this in the most fervent manner: but was +denied as fervently. +</p> + +<p> +Would she be pleased to assure me that she would stay here only till Tuesday +morning? I would but just go down to see how my Lord was—to know whether +he had any thing particular to say, or enjoin me, while yet he was sensible, as +he was very earnest to see me: perhaps I might be up on Sunday.—Concede +in something!—I beseech you, Madam, show me some little consideration. +</p> + +<p> +Why, Mr. Lovelace, must I be determined by your motions?—Think you that I +will voluntarily give a sanction to the imprisonment of my person? Of what +importance to me ought to be your stay or your return. +</p> + +<p> +Give a sanction to the imprisonment of your person! Do you think, Madam, that I +fear the law? +</p> + +<p> +I might have spared this foolish question of defiance: but my pride would not +let me. I thought she threatened me, Jack. +</p> + +<p> +I don’t think you fear the law, Sir.—You are too brave to have any +regard either to moral or divine sanctions. +</p> + +<p> +’Tis well, Madam! But ask me any thing I can do to oblige you; and I will +oblige you, though in nothing will you oblige me. +</p> + +<p> +Then I ask you, then I request of you, to let me go to Hampstead. +</p> + +<p> +I paused—And at last—By my soul you shall—this very moment I +will wait upon you, and see you fixed there, if you’ll promise me your +hand on Thursday, in presence of your uncle. +</p> + +<p> +I want not you to see me fixed. I will promise nothing. +</p> + +<p> +Take care, Madam, that you don’t let me see that I can have no reliance +upon your future favour. +</p> + +<p> +I have been used to be threatened by you, Sir—but I will accept of your +company to Hampstead—I will be ready to go in a quarter of an +hour—my clothes may be sent after me. +</p> + +<p> +You know the condition, Madam—Next Thursday. +</p> + +<p> +You dare not trust—— +</p> + +<p> +My infinite demerits tell me, that I ought not—nevertheless I will +confide in your generosity.—To-morrow morning (no new cause arising to +give reason to the contrary) as early as you please you may go to Hampstead. +</p> + +<p> +This seemed to oblige her. But yet she looked with a face of doubt. +</p> + +<p> +I will go down to the women, Belford. And having no better judges at hand, will +hear what they say upon my critical situation with this proud beauty, who has +so insolently rejected a Lovelace kneeling at her feet, though making an +earnest tender of himself for a husband, in spite of all his prejudices to the +state of shackles. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"></a> LETTER XXXIV</h2> + +<p class="center"> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +</p> + +<p> +Just come from the women. +</p> + +<p> +‘Have I gone so far, and am I afraid to go farther?—Have I not +already, as it is evident by her behaviour, sinned beyond forgiveness?—A +woman’s tears used to be to me but as water sprinkled on a glowing fire, +which gives it a fiercer and brighter blaze: What defence has this lady but her +tears and her eloquence? She was before taken at no weak advantage. She was +insensible in her moments of trial. Had she been sensible, she must have been +sensible. So they say. The methods taken with her have augmented her glory and +her pride. She has now a tale to tell, that she may tell with honour to +herself. No accomplice-inclination. She can look me into confusion, without +being conscious of so much as a thought which she need to be ashamed of.’ +</p> + +<p> +This, Jack, is the substance of the women’s reasonings with me. +</p> + +<p> +To which let me add, that the dear creature now sees the necessity I am in to +leave her. Detecting me is in her head. My contrivances are of such a nature, +that I must appear to be the most odious of men if I am detected on this side +matrimony. And yet I have promised, as thou seest, that she shall set out to +Hampstead as soon as she pleases in the morning, and that without condition on +her side. +</p> + +<p> +Dost thou ask, What I meant by this promise? +</p> + +<p> +No new cause arising, was the proviso on my side, thou’lt remember. But +there will be a new cause. +</p> + +<p> +Suppose Dorcas should drop the promissory note given her by her lady? Servants, +especially those who cannot read or write, are the most careless people in the +world of written papers. Suppose I take it up?—at a time, too, that I +was determined that the dear creature should be her own mistress?—Will +not this detection be a new cause?—A cause that will carry with it +against her the appearance of ingratitude! +</p> + +<p> +That she designed it a secret to me, argues a fear of detection, and indirectly +a sense of guilt. I wanted a pretence. Can I have a better?—If I am in a +violent passion upon the detection, is not passion an universally-allowed +extenuator of violence? Is not every man and woman obliged to excuse that fault +in another, which at times they find attended with such ungovernable effects in +themselves? +</p> + +<p> +The mother and sisterhood, suppose, brought to sit in judgment upon the vile +corrupted—the least benefit that must accrue from the accidental +discovery, if not a pretence for perpetration, [which, however, may be the +case,] an excuse for renewing my orders for her detention till my return from +M. Hall, [the fault her own,] and for keeping a stricter watch over her than +before; with direction to send me any letters that may be written by her or to +her.—And when I return, the devil’s in it if I find not a way to +make her choose lodgings for herself, (since these are so hateful to her,) that +shall answer all my purposes; and yet I no more appear to direct her choice, +than I did before in these. +</p> + +<p> +Thou wilt curse me when thou comest to this place. I know thou wilt. But +thinkest thou that, after such a series of contrivance, I will lose this +inimitable woman for want of a little more? A rake’s a rake, +Jack!—And what rake is withheld by principle from the perpetration of any +evil his heart is set upon, and in which he thinks he can +succeed?—Besides, am I not in earnest as to marriage?—Will not the +generality of the world acquit me, if I do marry? And what is that injury which +a church-rite will not at any time repair? Is not the catastrophe of every +story that ends in wedlock accounted happy, be the difficulties in the progress +of it ever so great. +</p> + +<p> +But here, how am I engrossed by this lady, while poor Lord M. as Simon tells +me, lies groaning in the most dreadful agonies!—What must he +suffer!—Heaven relieve him!—I have a too compassionate heart. And +so would the dear creature have found, could I have thought that the worst of +her sufferings is equal to the lightest of his. I mean as to fact; for as to +that part of her’s, which arises from extreme sensibility, I know nothing +of that; and cannot therefore be answerable for it. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"></a> LETTER XXXV</h2> + +<p class="center"> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +</p> + +<p> +Just come from my charmer. She will not suffer me to say half the obliging, the +tender things, which my honest heart is ready to overflow with. A confounded +situation that, when a man finds himself in humour to be eloquent, and pathetic +at the same time, yet cannot engage the mistress of his fate to lend an ear to +his fine speeches. +</p> + +<p> +I can account now how it comes about that lovers, when their mistresses are +cruel, run into solitude, and disburthen their minds to stocks and stones: For +am I not forced to make my complaints to thee? +</p> + +<p> +She claimed the performance of my promise, the moment she saw me, of permitting +her [haughtily she spoke the word] to go to Hampstead as soon as I was gone to +Berks. +</p> + +<p> +Most cheerfully I renewed it. +</p> + +<p> +She desired me to give orders in her hearing. +</p> + +<p> +I sent for Dorcas and Will. They came.—Do you both take notice, (but, +perhaps, Sir, I may take you with me,) that your lady is to be obeyed in all +her commands. She purposes to return to Hampstead as soon as I am gone—My +dear, will you not have a servant to attend you? +</p> + +<p> +I shall want no servant there. +</p> + +<p> +Will you take Dorcas? +</p> + +<p> +If I should want Dorcas, I can send for her. +</p> + +<p> +Dorcas could not but say, She should be very proud— +</p> + +<p> +Well, well, that may be at my return, if your lady permit.—Shall I, my +dear, call up Mrs. Sinclair, and give her orders, to the same effect, in your +hearing? +</p> + +<p> +I desire not to see Mrs. Sinclair; nor any that belong to her. +</p> + +<p> +As you please, Madam. +</p> + +<p> +And then (the servants being withdrawn) I urged her again for the assurance, +that she would meet me at the altar on Thursday next. But to no +purpose.—May she not thank herself for all that may follow? +</p> + +<p> +One favour, however, I would not be denied, to be admitted to pass the evening +with her. +</p> + +<p> +All sweetness and obsequiousness will I be on this occasion. My whole soul +shall be poured out to move her to forgive me. If she will not, and if the +promissory note should fall in my way, my revenge will doubtless take total +possession of me. +</p> + +<p> +All the house in my interest, and every one in it not only engaging to +intimidate and assist, as occasion shall offer, but staking all their +experience upon my success, if it be not my own fault, what must be the +consequence? +</p> + +<p> +This, Jack, however, shall be her last trial; and if she behave as nobly in and +after this second attempt (all her senses about her) as she has done after the +first, she will come out an angel upon full proof, in spite of man, woman, and +devil: then shall there be an end of all her sufferings. I will then renounce +that vanquished devil, and reform. And if any vile machination start up, +presuming to mislead me, I will sooner stab it in my heart, as it rises, than +give way to it. +</p> + +<p> +A few hours will now decide all. But whatever be the event, I shall be too busy +to write again, till I get to M. Hall. +</p> + +<p> +Mean time, I am in strange agitations. I must suppress them, if possible, +before I venture into her presence.—My heart bounces my bosom from the +table. I will lay down my pen, and wholly resign to its impulses. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"></a> LETTER XXXVI</h2> + +<p> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. FRIDAY NIGHT, OR RATHER SAT. MORN. ONE +O’CLOCK. +</p> + +<p> +I thought I should not have had either time or inclination to write another +line before I got to M. Hall. But, having the first, must find the last; since +I can neither sleep, nor do any thing but write, if I can do that. I am most +confoundedly out of humour. The reason let it follow; if it will +follow—nor preparation for it from me. +</p> + +<p> +I tried by gentleness and love to soften—What?—Marble. A heart +incapable either of love or gentleness. Her past injuries for ever in her head. +Ready to receive a favour; the permission to go to Hampstead: but neither to +deserve it, nor return any. So my scheme of the gentle kind was soon given +over. +</p> + +<p> +I then wanted to provoke her: like a coward boy, who waits for the first blow +before he can persuade himself to fight, I half challenged her to challenge or +defy me. She seemed aware of her danger; and would not directly brave my +resentment: but kept such a middle course, that I neither could find a pretence +to offend, nor reason to hope: yet she believed my tale, that her uncle would +come to Kentish-town, and seemed not to apprehend that Tomlinson was an +impostor. +</p> + +<p> +She was very uneasy, upon the whole, in my company: wanted often to break from +me: yet so held me to my purpose of permitting her to go to Hampstead, that I +knew not how to get off it; although it was impossible, in my precarious +situation with her, to think of performing it. +</p> + +<p> +In this situation; the women ready to assist; and, if I proceeded not, as ready +to ridicule me; what had I left me, but to pursue the concerted scheme, and to +seek a pretence to quarrel with her, in order to revoke my promised permission, +and to convince her that I would not be upbraided as the most brutal of +ravishers for nothing? +</p> + +<p> +I had agreed with the women, that if I could not find a pretence in her +presence to begin my operations, the note should lie in my way, and I was to +pick it up, soon after her retiring from me. But I began to doubt at near ten +o’clock, (so earnest was she to leave me, suspecting my over-warm +behaviour to her, and eager grasping of her hand two or three times, with +eye-strings, as I felt, on the strain, while her eyes showed uneasiness and +apprehension,) that if she actually retired for the night, it might be a chance +whether it would be easy to come at her again. Loth, therefore, to run such a +risk, I stept out a little after ten, with intent to alter the preconcerted +disposition a little; saying I would attend her again instantly. But as I +returned I met her at the door, intending to withdraw for the night. I could +not persuade her to go back: nor had I presence of mind (so full of +complaisance as I was to her just before) to stay her by force: so she slid +through my hands into her own apartment. I had nothing to do, therefore, but to +let my former concert take place. +</p> + +<p> +I should have promised (but care not for order of time, connection, or any +thing else) that, between eight and nine in the evening, another servant of +Lord M. on horseback came, to desire me to carry down with me Dr. S., the old +peer having been once (in extremis, as they judge he is now) relieved and +reprieved by him. I sent and engaged the doctor to accompany me down: and am to +call upon him by four this morning: or the devil should have both my Lord and +the Doctor, if I’d stir till I got all made up. +</p> + +<p> +Poke thy damn’d nose forward into the event, if thou wilt—Curse me +if thou shalt have it till its proper time and place. And too soon then. +</p> + +<p> +She had hardly got into her chamber, but I found a little paper, as I was going +into mine, which I took up; and opening it, (for it was carefully pinned in +another paper,) what should it be but a promissory note, given as a bribe, with +a further promise of a diamond ring, to induce Dorcas to favour her +mistress’s escape? +</p> + +<p> +How my temper changed in a moment!—Ring, ring, ring, ring, I my bell, +with a violence enough to break the string, and as if the house were on fire. +</p> + +<p> +Every devil frighted into active life: the whole house in an uproar. Up runs +Will.—Sir—Sir—Sir!—Eyes goggling, mouth +distended—Bid the damn’d toad Dorcas come hither, (as I stood at +the stair-head,) in a horrible rage, and out of breath, cried I. +</p> + +<p> +In sight came the trembling devil—but standing aloof, from the report +made her by Will. of the passion I was in, as well as from what she had heard. +</p> + +<p> +Flash came out my sword immediately; for I had it ready on—Cursed, +confounded, villanous bribery and corruption—— +</p> + +<p> +Up runs she to her lady’s door, screaming out for safety and protection. +</p> + +<p> +Good your honour, interposed Will., for God’s sake!—O Lord, O +Lord!—receiving a good cuff.— +</p> + +<p> +Take that, varlet, for saving the ungrateful wretch from my vengeance. +</p> + +<p> +Wretch! I intended to say; but if it were some other word of like ending, +passion must be my excuse. +</p> + +<p> +Up ran two or three of the sisterhood, What’s the matter! What’s +the matter! +</p> + +<p> +The matter! (for still my beloved opened not the door; on the contrary, drew +another bolt,) This abominable Dorcas!—(call her aunt up!—let her +see what a traitress she has placed about me!—and let her bring the toad +to answer for herself)—has taken a bribe, a provision for life, to betray +her trust; by that means to perpetuate a quarrel between a man and his wife, +and frustrate for ever all hopes of reconciliation between us! +</p> + +<p> +Let me perish, Belford, if I have patience to proceed with the farce! +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +If I must resume, I must—— +</p> + +<p> +Up came the aunt, puffing and blowing—As she hoped for mercy, she was not +privy to it! She never knew such a plotting, perverse lady in her +life!—Well might servants be at the pass they were, when such ladies as +Mrs. Lovelace made no conscience of corrupting them. For her part she desired +no mercy for the wretch; no niece of her’s, if she were not faithful to +her trust!—But what was the proof?—— +</p> + +<p> +She was shown the paper—— +</p> + +<p> +But too evident!—Cursed, cursed toad, devil, jade, passed from each +mouth:—and the vileness of the corrupted, and the unworthiness of the +corruptress, were inveighed against. +</p> + +<p> +Up we all went, passing the lady’s door into the dining-room, to proceed +to trial.—— +</p> + +<p> +Stamp, stamp, stamp up, each on her heels; rave, rave, rave, every +tongue—— +</p> + +<p> +Bring up the creature before us all this instant!—— +</p> + +<p> +And would she have got out of the house, say you?— +</p> + +<p> +These the noises and the speeches as we clattered by the door of the fair +bribress. +</p> + +<p> +Up was brought Dorcas (whimpering) between two, both bawling out—You must +go—You shall go—’Tis fit you should answer for +yourself—You are a discredit to all worthy servants—as they pulled +and pushed her up stairs.—She whining, I cannot see his honour—I +cannot look so good and so generous a gentleman in the face—O how shall I +bear my aunt’s ravings?—— +</p> + +<p> +Come up, and be d—n’d—Bring her forward, her imperial +judge—What a plague, it is the detection, not the crime, that confounds +you. You could be quiet enough for days together, as I see by the date, under +the villany. Tell me, ungrateful devil, tell me who made the first advances? +</p> + +<p> +Ay, disgrace to my family and blood, cried the old one—tell his +honour—tell the truth!—Who made the first advances?—— +</p> + +<p> +Ay, cursed creature, cried Sally, who made the first advances? +</p> + +<p> +I have betrayed one trust already!—O let me not betray another!—My +lady is a good lady!—O let not her suffer!— +</p> + +<p> +Tell all you know. Tell the whole truth, Dorcas, cried Polly Horton.—His +honour loves his lady too well to make her suffer much: little as she requites +his love!—— +</p> + +<p> +Every body sees that, cried Sally—too well, indeed, for his honour, I was +going to say. +</p> + +<p> +Till now, I thought she deserved my love—But to bribe a servant thus, who +she supposed had orders to watch her steps, for fear of another elopement; and +to impute that precaution to me as a crime!—Yet I must love +her—Ladies, forgive my weakness!—— +</p> + +<p> +Curse upon my grimaces!—if I have patience to repeat them!—But thou +shalt have it all—thou canst not despise me more than I despise myself! +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +But suppose, Sir, said Sally, you have my lady and the wench face to face! You +see she cares not to confess. +</p> + +<p> +O my carelessness! cried Dorcas—Don’t let my poor lady +suffer!—Indeed, if you all knew what I know, you would say her ladyship +has been cruelly treated— +</p> + +<p> +See, see, see, see!—repeatedly, every one at once—Only sorry for +the detection, as your honour said—not for the fault. +</p> + +<p> +Cursed creature, and devilish creature, from every mouth. +</p> + +<p> +Your lady won’t, she dare not come out to save you, cried Sally; though +it is more his honour’s mercy, than your desert, if he does not cut your +vile throat this instant. +</p> + +<p> +Say, repeated Polly, was it your lady that made the first advances, or was it +you, you creature—— +</p> + +<p> +If the lady had so much honour, bawled the mother, excuse me, so—Excuse +me, Sir, [confound the old wretch! she had like to have said son!]—If the +lady has so much honour, as we have supposed, she will appear to vindicate a +poor servant, misled, as she has been, by such large promises!—But I +hope, Sir, you will do them both justice: I hope you will!—Good +lack!—Good lack! clapping her hands together, to grant her every thing +she could ask—to indulge her in her unworthy hatred to my poor innocent +house!—to let her go to Hampstead, though your honour told us, you could +get no condescension from her; no, not the least—O Sir, O Sir—I +hope—I hope—if your lady will not come out—I hope you will +find a way to hear this cause in her presence. I value not my doors on such an +occasion as this. Justice I ever loved. I desire you will come to the bottom of +it in clearance to me. I’ll be sworn I had no privity in this black +corruption. +</p> + +<p> +Just then we heard the lady’s door, unbar, unlock, unbolt—— +</p> + +<p> +Now, Sir! +</p> + +<p> +Now, Mr. Lovelace! +</p> + +<p> +Now, Sir! from every encouraging mouth!—— +</p> + +<p> +But, O Jack! Jack! Jack! I can write no more! +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +If you must have it all, you must! +</p> + +<p> +Now, Belford, see us all sitting in judgment, resolved to punish the fair +bribress—I, and the mother, the hitherto dreaded mother, the nieces +Sally, Polly, the traitress Dorcas, and Mabell, a guard, as it were, over +Dorcas, that she might not run away, and hide herself:—all +pre-determined, and of necessity pre-determined, from the journey I was going +to take, and my precarious situation with her—and hear her unbolt, +unlock, unbar, the door; then, as it proved afterwards, put the key into the +lock on the outside, lock the door, and put it in her pocket—Will. I +knew, below, who would give me notice, if, while we were all above, she should +mistake her way, and go down stairs, instead of coming into the dining-room: +the street-door also doubly secured, and every shutter to the windows round the +house fastened, that no noise or screaming should be heard—[such was the +brutal preparation]—and then hear her step towards us, and instantly see +her enter among us, confiding in her own innocence; and with a majesty in her +person and manner, that is natural to her; but which then shone out in all its +glory!—Every tongue silent, every eye awed, every heart quaking, mine, in +a particular manner sunk, throbless, and twice below its usual region, to once +at my throat:—a shameful recreant:—She silent too, looking round +her, first on me; then on the mother, no longer fearing her; then on Sally, +Polly, and the culprit Dorcas!—such the glorious power of innocence +exerted at that awful moment! +</p> + +<p> +She would have spoken, but could not, looking down my guilt into confusion. A +mouse might have been heard passing over the floor: her own light feet and +rustling silks could not have prevented it; for she seemed to tread air, and to +be all soul. She passed backwards and forwards, now towards me, now towards the +door several times, before speech could get the better of indignation; and at +last, after twice or thrice hemming to recover her articulate +voice—‘O thou contemptible and abandoned Lovelace, thinkest thou +that I see not through this poor villanous plot of thine, and of these thy +wicked accomplices? +</p> + +<p> +‘Thou, woman, [looking at the mother] once my terror! always my dislike! +but now my detestation! shouldst once more (for thine perhaps was the +preparation) have provided for me intoxicating potions, to rob me of my +senses—— +</p> + +<p> +‘And then, thus, wretch, [turning to me,] mightest thou more securely +have depended upon such a low contrivance as this! +</p> + +<p> +‘And ye, vile women, who perhaps have been the ruin, body and soul, of +hundreds of innocents, (you show me how, in full assembly,) know, that I am not +married—ruined as I am, by your help, I bless God, I am not married to +this miscreant—and I have friends that will demand my honour at your +hands!—and to whose authority I will apply; for none has this man over +me. Look to it then, what farther insults you offer me, or incite him to offer +me. I am a person, though thus vilely betrayed, of rank and fortune. I never +will be his; and, to your utter ruin, will find friends to pursue you: and now +I have this full proof of your detestable wickedness, and have heard your base +incitements, will have no mercy upon you!’ +</p> + +<p> +They could not laugh at the poor figure I made.—Lord! how every devil, +conscience-shaken, trembled!— +</p> + +<p> +What a dejection must ever fall to the lot of guilt, were it given to innocence +always thus to exert itself! +</p> + +<p> +‘And as for thee, thou vile Dorcas! Thou double deceiver!—whining +out thy pretended love for me!—Begone, wretch!—Nobody will hurt +thee!—Begone, I say!—thou has too well acted thy part to be blamed +by any here but myself—thou art safe: thy guilt is thy security in such a +house as this!—thy shameful, thy poor part, thou hast as well acted as +the low farce could give thee to act!—as well as they each of them (thy +superiors, though not thy betters), thou seest, can act theirs.—Steal +away into darkness! No inquiry after this will be made, whose the first +advances, thine or mine.’ +</p> + +<p> +And, as I hope to live, the wench, confoundedly frightened, slunk away; so did +her sentinel Mabell; though I, endeavouring to rally, cried out for Dorcas to +stay—but I believe the devil could not have stopt her, when an angel bid +her begone. +</p> + +<p> +Madam, said I, let me tell you; and was advancing towards her with a fierce +aspect, most cursedly vexed, and ashamed too—— +</p> + +<p> +But she turned to me: ‘Stop where thou art, O vilest and most abandoned +of men!—Stop where thou art!—nor, with that determined face, offer +to touch me, if thou wouldst not that I should be a corps at thy feet!’ +</p> + +<p> +To my astonishment, she held forth a penknife in her hand, the point to her own +bosom, grasping resolutely the whole handle, so that there was no offering to +take it from her. +</p> + +<p> +‘I offer not mischief to any body but myself. You, Sir, and ye women, are +safe from every violence of mine. The LAW shall be all my resource: the +LAW,’ and she spoke the word with emphasis, the LAW! that to such people +carries natural terror with it, and now struck a panic into them. +</p> + +<p> +No wonder, since those who will damn themselves to procure ease and plenty in +this world, will tremble at every thing that seems to threaten their methods of +obtaining that ease and plenty.—— +</p> + +<p> +‘The LAW only shall be my refuge!’—— +</p> + +<p> +The infamous mother whispered me, that it were better to make terms with this +strange lady, and let her go. +</p> + +<p> +Sally, notwithstanding all her impudent bravery at other times, said, If Mr. +Lovelace had told them what was not true, of her being his wife—— +</p> + +<p> +And Polly Horton, That she must needs say, the lady, if she were not my wife, +had been very much injured; that was all. +</p> + +<p> +That is not now a matter to be disputed, cried I: you and I know, +Madam—— +</p> + +<p> +‘We do, said she; and I thank God, I am not thine—once more I thank +God for it—I have no doubt of the farther baseness that thou hast +intended me, by this vile and low trick: but I have my SENSES, Lovelace: and +from my heart I despise thee, thou very poor Lovelace!—How canst thou +stand in my presence!—Thou, that’—— +</p> + +<p> +Madam, Madam, Madam—these are insults not to be borne—and was +approaching her. +</p> + +<p> +She withdrew to the door, and set her back against it, holding the pointed +knife to her heaving bosom; while the women held me, beseeching me not to +provoke the violent lady—for their house sake, and be curs’d to +them, they besought me—and all three hung upon me—while the truly +heroic lady braved me at that distance: +</p> + +<p> +‘Approach me, Lovelace, with resentment, if thou wilt. I dare die. It is +in defence of my honour. God will be merciful to my poor soul! I expect no more +mercy from thee! I have gained this distance, and two steps nearer me, and thou +shalt see what I dare do!’—— +</p> + +<p> +Leave me, women, to myself, and to my angel!—[They retired at a +distance.]—O my beloved creature, how you terrify me! Holding out my +arms, and kneeling on one knee—not a step, not a step farther, except to +receive my death at that injured hand which is thus held up against a life far +dearer to me than my own! I am a villain! the blackest of villains!—Say +you will sheath your knife in the injurer’s, not the injured’s +heart, and then will I indeed approach you, but not else. +</p> + +<p> +The mother twanged her d—n’d nose; and Sally and Polly pulled out +their handkerchiefs, and turned from us. They never in their lives, they told +me afterwards, beheld such a scene—— +</p> + +<p> +Innocence so triumphant: villany so debased, they must mean! +</p> + +<p> +Unawares to myself, I had moved onward to my angel—‘And dost thou, +dost thou, still disclaiming, still advancing—dost thou, dost thou, still +insidiously move towards me?’—[And her hand was extended] ‘I +dare—I dare—not rashly neither—my heart from principle abhors +the act, which thou makest necessary!—God, in thy mercy! [lifting up her +eyes and hands] God, in thy mercy!’ +</p> + +<p> +I threw myself to the farther end of the room. An ejaculation, a silent +ejaculation, employing her thoughts that moment; Polly says the whites of her +lovely eyes were only visible: and, in the instant that she extended her hand, +assuredly to strike the fatal blow, [how the very recital terrifies me!] she +cast her eye towards me, and saw me at the utmost distance the room would +allow, and heard my broken voice—my voice was utterly broken; nor knew I +what I said, or whether to the purpose or not—and her charming cheeks, +that were all in a glow before, turned pale, as if terrified at her own +purpose; and lifting up her eyes—‘Thank God!—thank God! said +the angel—delivered for the present; for the present delivered—from +myself—keep, Sir, that distance;’ [looking down towards me, who was +prostrate on the floor, my heart pierced, as with an hundred daggers;] +‘that distance has saved a life; to what reserved, the Almighty only +knows!’— +</p> + +<p> +To be happy, Madam; and to make happy!—And, O let me hope for your favour +for to-morrow—I will put off my journey till then—and may +God— +</p> + +<p> +Swear not, Sir!—with an awful and piercing aspect—you have too +often sworn!—God’s eye is upon us!—His more immediate eye; +and looked wildly.—But the women looked up to the ceiling, as if afraid +of God’s eye, and trembled. And well they might, and I too, who so very +lately had each of us the devil in our hearts. +</p> + +<p> +If not to-morrow, Madam, say but next Thursday, your uncle’s birth-day; +say but next Thursday! +</p> + +<p> +‘This I say, of this you may assure yourself, I never, never will be +your’s.—And let me hope, that I may be entitled to the performance +of your promise, to be permitted to leave this innocent house, as one called +it, (but long have my ears been accustomed to such inversions of words), as +soon as the day breaks.’ +</p> + +<p> +Did my perdition depend upon it, that you cannot, Madam, but upon terms. And I +hope you will not terrify me—still dreading the accursed knife. +</p> + +<p> +‘Nothing less than an attempt upon my honour shall make me desperate. I +have no view but to defend my honour: with such a view only I entered into +treaty with your infamous agent below. The resolution you have seen, I trust, +God will give me again, upon the same occasion. But for a less, I wish not for +it.—Only take notice, women, that I am no wife of this man: basely as he +has used me, I am not his wife. He has no authority over me. If he go away +by-and-by, and you act by his authority to detain me, look to it.’ +</p> + +<p> +Then, taking one of the lights, she turned from us; and away she went, +unmolested.—Not a soul was able to molest her. +</p> + +<p> +Mabell saw her, tremblingly, and in a hurry, take the key of her chamber-door +out of her pocket, and unlock it; and, as soon as she entered, heard her +double-lock, bar, and bolt it. +</p> + +<p> +By her taking out her key, when she came out of her chamber to us, she no doubt +suspected my design: which was, to have carried her in my arms thither, if she +made such force necessary, after I had intimidated her; and to have been her +companion for that night. +</p> + +<p> +She was to have had several bedchamber-women to assist to undress her upon +occasion: but from the moment she entered the dining-room with so much +intrepidity, it was absolutely impossible to think of prosecuting my villanous +designs against her. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +This, this, Belford, was the hand I made of a contrivance from which I expected +so much!—And now I am ten times worse off than before. +</p> + +<p> +Thou never sawest people in thy life look so like fools upon one another, as +the mother, her partners, and I, did, for a few minutes. And at last, the two +devilish nymphs broke out into insulting ridicule upon me; while the old wretch +was concerned for her house, the reputation of her house. I cursed them all +together; and, retiring to my chamber, locked myself in. +</p> + +<p> +And now it is time to set out: all I have gained, detection, disgrace, fresh +guilt by repeated perjuries, and to be despised by her I doat upon; and, what +is still worse to a proud heart, by myself. +</p> + +<p> +Success, success in projects, is every thing. What an admirable contriver did I +think myself till now! Even for this scheme among the rest! But how pitifully +foolish does it now appear to me!—Scratch out, erase, never to be read, +every part of my preceding letters, where I have boastingly mentioned it. And +never presume to rally me upon the cursed subject: for I cannot bear it. +</p> + +<p> +But for the lady, by my soul, I love her. I admire her more than ever! I must +have her. I will have her still—with honour or without, as I have often +vowed. My cursed fright at her accidental bloody nose, so lately, put her upon +improving upon me thus. Had she threatened ME, I should have soon been master +of one arm, and in both! But for so sincere a virtue to threaten herself, and +not to offer to intimidate any other, and with so much presence of mind, as to +distinguish, in the very passionate intention, the necessity of the act, +defence of her honour, and so fairly to disavow lesser occasions: showed such a +deliberation, such a choice, such a principle; and then keeping me so +watchfully at a distance that I could not seize her hand, so soon as she could +have given the fatal blow; how impossible not to be subdued by so true and so +discreet a magnanimity! +</p> + +<p> +But she is not gone. She shall not go. I will press her with letters for the +Thursday. She shall yet be mine, legally mine. For, as to cohabitation, there +is no such thing to be thought of. +</p> + +<p> +The Captain shall give her away, as proxy for her uncle. My Lord will die. My +fortune will help my will, and set me above every thing and every body. +</p> + +<p> +But here is the curse—she despises me, Jack!—What man, as I have +heretofore said, can bear to be despised—especially by his wife!—O +Lord!—O Lord! What a hand, what a cursed hand, have I made of this +plot!—And here ends +</p> + +<p> +The history of the lady and the penknife!—The devil take the +penknife!—It goes against me to say, +</p> + +<p> +God bless the lady! +</p> + +<p> +NEAR 5, SAT. MORN. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"></a> LETTER XXXVII</h2> + +<p> +MR. LOVELACE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE [SUPERSCRIBED TO MRS. LOVELACE.] M. +HALL, SAT. NIGHT, JUNE 24. +</p> + +<p> +MY DEAREST LIFE, +</p> + +<p> +If you do not impute to live, and to terror raised by love, the poor figure I +made before you last night, you will not do me justice. I thought I would try +to the very last moment, if, by complying with you in every thing, I could +prevail upon you to promise to be mine on Thursday next, since you refused me +an earlier day. Could I have been so happy, you had not been hindered going to +Hampstead, or wherever else you pleased. But when I could not prevail upon you +to give me this assurance, what room had I, (my demerit so great,) to suppose, +that your going thither would not be to lose you for ever? +</p> + +<p> +I will own to you, Madam, that yesterday afternoon I picked up the paper dropt +by Dorcas; who has confessed that she would have assisted you in getting away, +if she had had opportunity so to do; and undoubtedly dropped it by accident. +And could I have prevailed upon you as to Thursday next, I would have made no +use of it; secure as I should have been in your word given, to be mine. But +when I found you inflexible, I was resolved to try, if, by resenting +Dorcas’s treachery, I could not make your pardon of me the condition of +mine to her: and if not, to make a handle of it to revoke my consent to your +going away from Mrs. Sinclair’s; since the consequence of that must have +been so fatal to me. +</p> + +<p> +So far, indeed, was my proceeding low and artful: and when I was challenged +with it, as such, in so high and noble a manner, I could not avoid taking shame +to myself upon it. +</p> + +<p> +But you must permit me, Madam, to hope, that you will not punish me too heavily +for so poor a contrivance, since no dishonour was meant you: and since, in the +moment of its execution, you had as great an instance of my incapacity to +defend a wrong, a low measure, and, at the same time, in your power over me, as +mortal man could give—in a word, since you must have seen, that I was +absolutely under the controul both of conscience and of love. +</p> + +<p> +I will not offer to defend myself, for wishing you to remain where you are, +till either you give me your word to meet me at the altar on Thursday; or till +I have the honour of attending you, preparative to the solemnity which will +make that day the happiest of my life. +</p> + +<p> +I am but too sensible, that this kind of treatment may appear to you with the +face of an arbitrary and illegal imposition: but as the consequences, not only +to ourselves, but to both our families, may be fatal, if you cannot be moved in +my favour; let me beseech you to forgive this act of compulsion, on the score +of the necessity you your dear self have laid me under to be guilty of it; and +to permit the solemnity of next Thursday to include an act of oblivion for all +past offences. +</p> + +<p> +The orders I have given to the people of the house are: ‘That you shall +be obeyed in every particular that is consistent with my expectations of +finding you there on my return on Wednesday next: that Mrs. Sinclair and her +nieces, having incurred your just displeasure, shall not, without your orders, +come into your presence: that neither shall Dorcas, till she has fully cleared +her conduct to your satisfaction, be permitted to attend you: but Mabell, in +her place; of whom you seemed some time ago to express some liking. Will. I +have left behind me to attend your commands. If he be either negligent or +impertinent, your dismission shall be a dismission of him from my service for +ever. But, as to letters which may be sent you, or any which you may have to +send, I must humbly entreat, that none such pass from or to you, for the few +days that I shall be absent.’ But I do assure you, madam, that the seals +of both sorts shall be sacred: and the letters, if such be sent, shall be given +into your own hands the moment the ceremony is performed, or before, if you +require it. +</p> + +<p> +Mean time I will inquire, and send you word, how Miss Howe does; and to what, +if I can be informed, her long silence is owing. +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Perkins I found here, attending my Lord, when I arrived with Dr. S. He +acquaints me that your father, mother, uncles, and the still less worthy +persons of your family, are well; and intend to be all at your uncle +Harlowe’s next week; I presume, with intent to keep his anniversary. This +can make no alteration, but a happy one, as to persons, on Thursday; because +Mr. Tomlinson assured me, that if any thing fell out to hinder your +uncle’s coming up in person, (which, however, he did not then expect,) he +would be satisfied if his friend the Captain were proxy for him. I shall send a +man and horse to-morrow to the Captain, to be at greater certainty. +</p> + +<p> +I send this by a special messenger, who will wait your pleasure in relation to +the impatiently-wished-for Thursday: which I humbly hope will be signified by a +line. +</p> + +<p> +My Lord, though hardly sensible, and unmindful of every thing but of your +felicity, desires his most affectionate compliments to you. He has in readiness +to present to you a very valuable set of jewels, which he hopes will be +acceptable, whether he lives to see you adorn them or not. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Sarah and Lady Betty have also their tokens of respect ready to court your +acceptance: but may Heaven incline you to give the opportunity of receiving +their personal compliments, and those of my cousins Montague, before the next +week be out! +</p> + +<p> +His Lordship is exceeding ill. Dr. S. has no hopes of him. The only consolation +I can have for the death of a relation who loves me so well, if he do die, must +arise from the additional power it will put into my hands of showing how much I +am, +</p> + +<p> +My dearest life, Your ever-affectionate, faithful, LOVELACE. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041"></a> LETTER XXXVIII</h2> + +<p> +MR. LOVELACE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE [SUPERSCRIBED TO MRS. LOVELACE.] M. +HALL, SUNDAY NIGHT, JUNE 25. +</p> + +<p> +MY DEAREST LOVE, +</p> + +<p> +I cannot find words to express how much I am mortified at the return of my +messenger without a line from you. +</p> + +<p> +Thursday is so near, that I will send messenger after messenger every four +hours, till I have a favourable answer; the one to meet the other, till its eve +arrives, to know if I may venture to appear in your presence with the hope of +having my wishes answered on that day. +</p> + +<p> +Your love, Madam, I neither expect, nor ask for; nor will, till my future +behaviour gives you cause to think I deserve it. All I at present presume to +wish is, to have it in my power to do you all the justice I can now do you: and +to your generosity will I leave it, to reward me, as I shall merit, with your +affection. +</p> + +<p> +At present, revolving my poor behaviour of Friday night before you, I think I +should sooner choose to go to my last audit, unprepared for it as I am, than to +appear in your presence, unless you give me some hope, that I shall be received +as your elected husband, rather than, (however deserved,) as a detested +criminal. +</p> + +<p> +Let me, therefore, propose an expedient, in order to spare my own confusion; +and to spare you the necessity for that soul-harrowing recrimination, which I +cannot stand, and which must be disagreeable to yourself—to name the +church, and I will have every thing in readiness; so that our next interview +will be, in a manner, at the very altar; and then you will have the kind +husband to forgive for the faults of the ungrateful lover. If your resentment +be still too high to write more, let it only be in your own dear hand, these +words, St. Martin’s church, Thursday—or these, St. Giles’s +church, Thursday; nor will I insist upon any inscription or subscription, or so +much as the initials of your name. This shall be all the favour I will expect, +till the dear hand itself is given to mine, in presence of that Being whom I +invoke as a witness of the inviolable faith and honour of +</p> + +<p> +Your adoring LOVELACE. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0042" id="link2H_4_0042"></a> LETTER XXXIX</h2> + +<p> +MR. LOVELACE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE [SUPERSCRIBED TO MRS. LOVELACE.] M. +HALL, MONDAY, JUNE 26. +</p> + +<p> +Once more, my dearest love, do I conjure you to send me the four requested +words. There is no time to be lost. And I would not have next Thursday go over, +without being entitled to call you mine, for the world; and that as well for +your sake as for my own. Hitherto all that has passed is between you and me +only; but, after Thursday, if my wishes are unanswered, the whole will be +before the world. +</p> + +<p> +My Lord is extremely ill, and endures not to have me out of his sight for one +half hour. But this shall not have the least weight with me, if you be pleased +to hold out the olive-branch to me in the four requested words. +</p> + +<p> +I have the following intelligence from Captain Tomlinson. +</p> + +<p> +‘All your family are at your uncle Harlowe’s. Your uncle finds he +cannot go up; and names Captain Tomlinson for his proxy. He proposes to keep +all your family with him till the Captain assures him that the ceremony is +over. +</p> + +<p> +‘Already he has begun, with hope of success, to try to reconcile your +mother to you.’ +</p> + +<p> +My Lord M. but just now has told me how happy he should think himself to have +an opportunity, before he dies, to salute you as his niece. I have put him in +hopes that he shall see you; and have told him that I will go to town on +Wednesday, in order to prevail upon you to accompany me down on Thursday or +Friday. I have ordered a set to be in readiness to carry me up; and, were not +my Lord so very ill, my cousin Montague tells me that she would offer her +attendance on you. If you please, therefore, we can set out for this place the +moment the solemnity is performed. +</p> + +<p> +Do not, dearest creature, dissipate all those promising appearances, and by +refusing to save your own and your family’s reputation in the eye of the +world, use yourself worse than the ungratefullest wretch on earth has used you. +For if we were married, all the disgrace you imagine you have suffered while a +single lady, will be my own, and only known to ourselves. +</p> + +<p> +Once more, then, consider well the situation we are both in; and remember, my +dearest life, that Thursday will be soon here; and that you have no time to +lose. +</p> + +<p> +In a letter sent by the messenger whom I dispatch with this, I have desired +that my friend, Mr. Belford, who is your very great admirer, and who knows all +the secrets of my heart, will wait upon you, to know what I am to depend upon +as to the chosen day. +</p> + +<p> +Surely, my dear, you never could, at any time, suffer half so much from cruel +suspense, as I do. +</p> + +<p> +If I have not an answer to this, either from your own goodness, or through Mr. +Belford’s intercession, it will be too late for me to set out: and +Captain Tomlinson will be disappointed, who goes to town on purpose to attend +your pleasure. +</p> + +<p> +One motive for the gentle resistance I have presumed to lay you under is, to +prevent the mischiefs that might ensue (as probably to the more innocent, as to +the less) were you to write to any body while your passions were so much raised +and inflamed against me. Having apprized you of my direction to the women in +town on this head, I wonder you should have endeavoured to send a letter to +Miss Howe, although in a cover directed to that young lady’s* servant; as +you must think it would be likely to fall into my hands. +</p> + +<p> +* The lady had made an attempt to send away a letter. +</p> + +<p> +The just sense of what I have deserved the contents should be, leaves me no +room to doubt what they are. Nevertheless, I return it you enclosed, with the +seal, as you will see, unbroken. +</p> + +<p> +Relieve, I beseech you, dearest Madam, by the four requested words, or by Mr. +Belford, the anxiety of +</p> + +<p> +Your ever-affectionate and obliged LOVELACE. +</p> + +<p> +Remember, there will not, there cannot be time for further writing, and for +coming up by Thursday, your uncle’s birth-day. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0043" id="link2H_4_0043"></a> LETTER XL</h2> + +<p> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. MONDAY, JUNE 26. +</p> + +<p> +Thou wilt see the situation I am in with Miss Harlowe by the enclosed copies of +three letters; to two of which I am so much scorned as not to have one word +given me in answer; and of the third (now sent by the messenger who brings thee +this) I am afraid as little notice will be taken—and if so, her day of +grace is absolutely over. +</p> + +<p> +One would imagine (so long used to constraint too as she has been) that she +might have been satisfied with the triumph she had over us all on Friday night! +a triumph that to this hour has sunk my pride and my vanity so much, that I +almost hate the words, plot, contrivance, scheme; and shall mistrust myself in +future for every one that rises to my inventive head. +</p> + +<p> +But seest thou not that I am under a necessity to continue her at +Sinclair’s and to prohibit all her correspondencies? +</p> + +<p> +Now, Belford, as I really, in my present mood, think of nothing less than +marrying her, if she let not Thursday slip, I would have thee attend her, in +pursuance of the intimation I have given her in my letter of this date; and vow +for me, swear for me, bind thy soul to her for my honour, and use what +arguments thy friendly heart can suggest, in order to procure me an answer from +her; which, as thou wilt see, she may give in four words only. And then I +purpose to leave Lord M. (dangerously ill as he is,) and meet her at her +appointed church, in order to solemnize. If she will but sign Cl. H. to thy +writing the four words, that shall do: for I would not come up to be made a +fool of in the face of all my family and friends. +</p> + +<p> +If she should let the day go off, I shall be desperate. I am entangled in my +own devices, and cannot bear that she should detect me. +</p> + +<p> +O that I had been honest!—What a devil are all my plots come to! What do +they end in, but one grand plot upon myself, and a title to eternal infamy and +disgrace! But, depending on thy friendly offices, I will say no more of +this.—Let her send me but one line!—But one line!—To treat me +as unworthy of her notice;—yet be altogether in my power—I +cannot—I will not bear that. +</p> + +<p> +My Lord, as I said, is extremely ill. The doctors give him over. He gives +himself over. Those who would not have him die, are afraid he will die. But as +to myself, I am doubtful: for these long and violent struggles between the +constitution and the disease (though the latter has three physicians and an +apothecary to help it forward, and all three, as to their prescriptions, of +different opinions too) indicate a plaguy habit, and savour more of recovery +than death: and the more so, as he has no sharp or acute mental organs to whet +out his bodily ones, and to raise his fever above the sympathetic helpful one. +</p> + +<p> +Thou wilt see in the enclosed what pains I am at to dispatch messengers; who +are constantly on the road to meet each other, and one of them to link in the +chain with the fourth, whose station is in London, and five miles onwards, or +till met. But in truth I have some other matters for them to perform at the +same time, with my Lord’s banker and his lawyer; which will enable me, if +his Lordship is so good as to die this bout, to be an over match for some of my +other relations. I don’t mean Charlotte and Patty; for they are noble +girls: but others, who have been scratching and clawing under-ground like so +many moles in my absence; and whose workings I have discovered since I have +been down, by the little heaps of dirt they have thrown up. +</p> + +<p> +A speedy account of thy commission, dear Jack! The letter travels all night. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0044" id="link2H_4_0044"></a> LETTER XLI</h2> + +<p> +MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. LONDON, JUNE 27. TUESDAY. +</p> + +<p> +You must excuse me, Lovelace, from engaging in the office you would have me +undertake, till I can be better assured you really intend honourably at last by +this much-injured lady. +</p> + +<p> +I believe you know your friend Belford too well to think he would be easy with +you, or with any man alive, who should seek to make him promise for him what he +never intended to perform. And let me tell thee, that I have not much +confidence in the honour of a man, who by imitation of hands (I will only call +it) has shown so little regard to the honour of his own relations. +</p> + +<p> +Only that thou hast such jesuitical qualifyings, or I should think thee at last +touched with remorse, and brought within view of being ashamed of thy cursed +inventions by the ill success of thy last: which I heartily congratulate thee +upon. +</p> + +<p> +O the divine lady!—But I will not aggravate! +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, when thou writest that, in thy present mood, thou thinkest of +marrying, and yet canst so easily change thy mood; when I know thy heart is +against the state: that the four words thou courtest from the lady are as much +to thy purpose, as if she wrote forty; since it will show she can forgive the +highest injury that can be offered to woman; and when I recollect how easily +thou canst find excuses to postpone; thou must be more explicit a good deal, as +to thy real intentions, and future honour, than thou art: for I cannot trust to +temporary remorse; which brought on by disappointment too, and not by +principle, and the like of which thou hast so often got over. +</p> + +<p> +If thou canst convince me time enough for the day, that thou meanest to do +honourably by her, in her own sense of the word; or, if not time enough, wilt +fix some other day, (which thou oughtest to leave to her option, and not bind +her down for the Thursday; and the rather, as thy pretence for so doing is +founded on an absolute fiction;) I will then most cheerfully undertake thy +cause; by person, if she will admit me to her presence; if she will not, by +pen. But, in this case, thou must allow me to be guarantee for thy family. And, +if so, so much as I value thee, and respect thy skill in all the qualifications +of a gentleman, thou mayest depend upon it, that I will act up to the character +of a guarantee, with more honour than the princes of our day usually +do——to their shame be it spoken. +</p> + +<p> +Mean time let me tell thee, that my heart bleeds for the wrong this angelic +lady has received: and if thou dost not marry her, if she will have thee, and, +when married, make her the best and tenderest of husbands, I would rather be a +dog, a monkey, a bear, a viper, or a toad, than thee. +</p> + +<p> +Command me with honour, and thou shalt find none readier to oblige thee than +</p> + +<p> +Thy sincere friend, JOHN BELFORD. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0045" id="link2H_4_0045"></a> LETTER XLII</h2> + +<p> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. M. HALL, JUNE 27. TUESDAY NIGHT, NEAR 12. +</p> + +<p> +Your’s reached me this moment, by an extraordinary push in the +messengers. +</p> + +<p> +What a man of honour thou of a sudden!—— +</p> + +<p> +And so, in the imaginary shape of a guarantee, thou threatenest me! +</p> + +<p> +Had I not been in earnest as to the lady, I should not have offered to employ +thee in the affair. But, let me say, that hadst thou undertaken the task, and I +hadst afterwards thought fit to change my mind, I should have contented myself +to tell thee, that that was my mind when thou engagedst for me, and to have +given thee the reasons for the change, and then left thee to thy own +discretion: for never knew I what fear of man was—nor fear of woman +neither, till I became acquainted with Miss Clarissa Harlowe, nay, what is most +surprising, till I came to have her in my power. +</p> + +<p> +And so thou wilt not wait upon the charmer of my heart, but upon terms and +conditions!—Let it alone and be curs’d; I care not.—But so +much credit did I give to the value thou expressedst for her, that I thought +the office would have been acceptable to thee, as serviceable to me; for what +was it, but to endeavour to persuade her to consent to the reparation of her +own honour? For what have I done but disgraced myself, and been a thief to my +own joys?—And if there be a union of hearts, and an intention to +solemnize, what is there wanting but the foolish ceremony?—and that I +still offer. But, if she will keep back her hand, if she will make me hold out +mine in vain, how can I help it? +</p> + +<p> +I write her one more letter; and if, after she has received that, she keeps +sullen silence, she must thank herself for what is to follow. +</p> + +<p> +But, after all, my heart is not wholly her’s. I love her beyond +expression; and cannot help it. I hope therefore she will receive this last +tender as I wish. I hope she intends not, like a true woman, to plague, and +vex, and tease me, now she has found her power. If she will take me to mercy +now these remorses are upon me, (though I scorn to condition with thee for my +sincerity,) all her trials, as I have heretofore declared, shall be over, and +she shall be as happy as I can make her: for, ruminating upon all that has +passed between us, from the first hour of our acquaintance till the present, I +must pronounce, That she is virtue itself and once more I say, has no equal. +</p> + +<p> +As to what you hint, of leaving to her choice another day, do you consider, +that it will be impossible that my contrivances and stratagems should be much +longer concealed?—This makes me press that day, though so near; and the +more, as I have made so much ado about her uncle’s anniversary. If she +send me the four words, I will spare no fatigue to be in time, if not for the +canonical hour at church, for some other hour of the day in her own apartment, +or any other: for money will do every thing: and that I have never spared in +this affair. +</p> + +<p> +To show thee, that I am not at enmity with thee, I enclose the copies of two +letters—one to her: it is the fourth, and must be the last on the +subject——The other to Captain Tomlinson; calculated, as thou wilt +see, for him to show her. +</p> + +<p> +And now, Jack, interfere; in this case or not, thou knowest the mind of +</p> + +<p> +R. LOVELACE. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0046" id="link2H_4_0046"></a> LETTER XLIII</h2> + +<p> +MR. LOVELACE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE [SUPERSCRIBED TO MRS. LOVELACE.] M. +HALL, WED. MORNING, ONE O’CLOCK, JUNE 28. +</p> + +<p> +Not one line, my dearest life, not one word, in answer to three letters I have +written! The time is now so short, that this must be the last letter that can +reach you on this side the important hour that might make us legally one. +</p> + +<p> +My friend, Mr. Belford, is apprehensive, that he cannot wait upon you in time, +by reason of some urgent affairs of his own. +</p> + +<p> +I the less regret the disappointment, because I have procured a more acceptable +person, as I hope, to attend you; Captain Tomlinson I mean: to whom I had +applied for this purpose, before I had Mr. Belford’s answer. +</p> + +<p> +I was the more solicitous to obtain his favour form him, because of the office +he is to take upon him, as I humbly presume to hope, to-morrow. That office +obliged him to be in town as this day: and I acquainted him with my unhappy +situation with you; and desired that he would show me, on this occasion, that I +had as much of his favour and friendship as your uncle had; since the whole +treaty must be broken off, if he could not prevail upon you in my behalf. +</p> + +<p> +He will dispatch the messenger directly; whom I propose to meet in person at +Slough; either to proceed onward to London with a joyful heart, or to return +back to M. Hall with a broken one. +</p> + +<p> +I ought not (but cannot help it) to anticipate the pleasure Mr. Tomlinson +proposes to himself, in acquainting you with the likelihood there is of your +mother’s seconding your uncle’s views. For, it seems, he has +privately communicated to her his laudable intentions: and her resolution +depends, as well as his, upon what to-morrow will produce. +</p> + +<p> +Disappoint not then, I beseech you, for an hundred persons’ sakes, as +well as for mine, that uncle and that mother, whose displeasure I have heard +you so often deplore. +</p> + +<p> +You may think it impossible for me to reach London by the canonical hour. If it +should, the ceremony may be performed in your own apartments, at any time in +the day, or at night: so that Captain Tomlinson may have it to aver to your +uncle, that it was performed on his anniversary. +</p> + +<p> +Tell but the Captain, that you forbid me not to attend you: and that shall be +sufficient for bringing to you, on the wings of love, +</p> + +<p> +Your ever-grateful and affectionate LOVELACE. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0047" id="link2H_4_0047"></a> LETTER XLIV</h2> + +<p class="center"> +TO MR. PATRICK M’DONALD,<br/> +AT HIS LODGINGS, AT MR. BROWN’S, PERUKE-MAKER, IN ST. MARTIN’S +LANE, WESTMINSTER +</p> + +<p> +M. Hall, Wedn. Morning, Two o’clock. +</p> + +<p> +DEAR M’DONALD, +</p> + +<p> +The bearer of this has a letter to carry to the lady.* I have been at the +trouble of writing a copy of it: which I enclose, that you may not mistake your +cue. +</p> + +<p> +* See the preceding Letter. +</p> + +<p> +You will judge of my reasons for ante-dating the enclosed sealed one,* directed +to you by the name of Tomlinson; which you are to show to the lady, as in +confidence. You will open it of course. +</p> + +<p> +* See the next Letter. +</p> + +<p> +I doubt not your dexterity and management, dear M’Donald; nor your zeal; +especially as the hope of cohabitation must now be given up. Impossible to be +carried is that scheme. I might break her heart, but not incline her +will—am in earnest therefore to marry her, if she let not the day slip. +</p> + +<p> +Improve upon the hint of her mother. That may touch her. But John Harlowe, +remember, has privately engaged that lady—privately, I say; else, (not to +mention the reason for her uncle Harlowe’s former expedient,) you know, +she might find means to get a letter away to the one or to the other, to know +the truth; or to Miss Howe, to engage her to inquire into it: and, if she +should, the word privately will account for the uncle’s and +mother’s denying it. +</p> + +<p> +However, fail not, as from me, to charge our mother and her nymphs to redouble +their vigilance both as to her person and letters. All’s upon a crisis +now. But she must not be treated ill neither. +</p> + +<p> +Thursday over, I shall know what to resolve upon. +</p> + +<p> +If necessary, you must assume authority. The devil’s in’t, if such +a girl as this shall awe a man of your years and experience. You are not in +love with her as I am. Fly out, if she doubt your honour. Spirits naturally +soft may be beat out of their play and borne down (though ever so much raised) +by higher anger. All women are cowards at bottom; only violent where they may. +I have often stormed a girl out of her mistrust, and made her yield (before she +knew where she was) to the point indignantly mistrusted; and that to make up +with me, though I was the aggressor. +</p> + +<p> +If this matter succeed as I’d have it, (or if not, and do not fail by +your fault,) I will take you off the necessity of pursuing your cursed +smuggling; which otherwise may one day end fatally for you. +</p> + +<p> +We are none of us perfect, M’Donald. This sweet lady makes me serious +sometimes in spite of my heart. But as private vices are less blamable than +public; and as I think smuggling (as it is called) a national evil; I have no +doubt to pronounce you a much worse man than myself, and as such shall take +pleasure in reforming you. +</p> + +<p> +I send you enclosed ten guineas, as a small earnest of further favours. +Hitherto you have been a very clever fellow. +</p> + +<p> +As to clothes for Thursday, Monmouth-street will afford a ready supply. Clothes +quite new would make your condition suspected. But you may defer that care, +till you see if she can be prevailed upon. Your riding-dress will do for the +first visit. Nor let your boots be over clean. I have always told you the +consequence of attending to the minutiae, where art (or imposture, as the +ill-mannered would call it) is designed—your linen rumpled and soily, +when you wait upon her—easy terms these—just come to +town—remember (as formerly) to loll, to throw out your legs, to stroke +and grasp down your ruffles, as if of significance enough to be careless. What +though the presence of a fine lady would require a different behaviour, are you +not of years to dispense with politeness? You can have no design upon her, you +know. You are a father yourself of daughters as old as she. Evermore is parade +and obsequiousness suspectable: it must show either a foolish head, or a +knavish heart. Assume airs of consequence therefore; and you will be treated as +a man of consequence. I have often more than half ruined myself by my +complaisance; and, being afraid of controul, have brought controul upon myself. +</p> + +<p> +I think I have no more to say at present. I intend to be at Slough, or on the +way to it, as by mine to the lady. Adieu, honest M’Donald. +</p> + +<p> +R.L. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0048" id="link2H_4_0048"></a> LETTER XLV</h2> + +<p> +TO CAPTAIN TOMLINSON [ENCLOSED IN THE PRECEDING; TO BE SHOWN TO THE LADY AS IN +CONFIDENCE.] M. HALL, TUESDAY MORN., JUNE 27. +</p> + +<p> +DEAR CAPTAIN TOMLINSON, +</p> + +<p> +An unhappy misunderstanding has arisen between the dearest lady in the world +and me (the particulars of which she perhaps may give you, but I will not, +because I might be thought partial to myself;) and she refusing to answer my +most pressing and respectful letters; I am at a most perplexing uncertainty +whether she will meet us or not next Thursday to solemnize. +</p> + +<p> +My Lord is so extremely ill, that if I thought she would not oblige me, I would +defer going up to town for two or three days. He cares not to have me out of +his sight: yet is impatient to salute my beloved as his niece before he dies. +This I have promised to give him an opportunity to do: intending, if the dear +creature will make me happy, to set out with her for this place directly from +church. +</p> + +<p> +With regret I speak it of the charmer of my soul, that irreconcilableness is +her family-fault—the less excusable indeed for her, as she herself +suffers by it in so high a degree from her own relations. +</p> + +<p> +Now, Sir, as you intended to be in town some time before Thursday, if it be not +too great an inconvenience to you, I could be glad you would go up as soon as +possible, for my sake: and this I the more boldly request, as I presume that a +man who has so many great affairs of his own in hand as you have, would be glad +to be at a certainty as to the day. +</p> + +<p> +You, Sir, can so pathetically and justly set before her the unhappy +consequences that will follow if the day be postponed, as well with regard to +her uncle’s disappointment, as to the part you have assured me her mother +is willing to take in the wished-for reconciliation, that I have great hopes +she will suffer herself to be prevailed upon. And a man and horse shall be in +waiting to take your dispatches and bring them to me. +</p> + +<p> +But if you cannot prevail in my favour, you will be pleased to satisfy your +friend, Mr. John Harlowe, that it is not my fault that he is not obliged. I am, +dear Sir, +</p> + +<p> +Your extremely obliged and faithful servant, R. LOVELACE. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0049" id="link2H_4_0049"></a> LETTER XLVI</h2> + +<p> +TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. WEDN. JUNE 28, NEAR TWELVE O’CLOCK. +</p> + +<p> +HONOURED SIR, +</p> + +<p> +I received your’s, as your servant desired me to acquaint you, by ten +this morning. Horse and man were in a foam. +</p> + +<p> +I instantly equipped myself, as if come off from a journey, and posted away to +the lady, intending to plead great affairs that I came not before, in order to +favour your antedate; and likewise to be in a hurry, to have a pretence to +hurry her ladyship, and to take no denial for her giving a satisfactory return +to your messenger. But, upon my entering Mrs. Sinclair’s house, I found +all in the greatest consternation. +</p> + +<p> +You must not, Sir, be surprised. It is a trouble to me to be the relater of the +bad news; but so it is—The lady is gone off! She was missed but half an +hour before I came. +</p> + +<p> +Her waiting-maid is run away, or hitherto is not to be found: so that they +conclude it was by her connivance. +</p> + +<p> +They had sent, before I came, to my honoured masters Mr. Belton, Mr. Mowbray, +and Mr. Belford. Mr. Tourville is out of town. +</p> + +<p> +High words are passing between Madam Sinclair, and Madam Horton, and Madam +Martin; as also with Dorcas. And your servant William threatens to hang or +drown himself. +</p> + +<p> +They have sent to know if they can hear of Mabell, the waiting-maid, at her +mother’s, who it seems lives in Chick-lane, West-Smithfield; and to an +uncle of her’s also, who keeps an alehouse at Cow-cross, had by, and with +whom she lived last. +</p> + +<p> +Your messenger having just changed his horse, is come back: so I will not +detain him longer than to add, that I am, with great concern for this +misfortune, and thanks for your seasonable favour and kind intentions towards +me—I am sure this was not my fault— +</p> + +<p> +Honoured Sir, Your most obliged, humble servant, PATRICK M’DONALD. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0050" id="link2H_4_0050"></a> LETTER XLVII</h2> + +<p> +MR. MOWBRAY, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. WEDNESDAY, TWELVE O’CLOCK. +</p> + +<p> +DEAR LOVELACE, +</p> + +<p> +I have plaguy news to acquaint thee with. Miss Harlowe is gone off!—Quite +gone, by soul!—I have no time for particulars, your servant being gone +off. But if I had, we are not yet come to the bottom of the matter. The ladies +here are all blubbering like devills, accusing one another most confoundedly: +whilst Belton and I damn them all together in thy name. +</p> + +<p> +If thou shouldst hear that thy fellow Will. is taken dead out of some +horse-pond, and Dorcas cut down from her bed’s teaster, from dangling in +her own garters, be not surprised. Here’s the devil to pay. Nobody serene +but Jack Belford, who is taking minutes of examinations, accusations, and +confessions, with the significant air of a Middlesex Justice; and intends to +write at large all particulars, I suppose. +</p> + +<p> +I heartily condole with thee: so does Belton. But it may turn out for the best: +for she is gone away with thy marks, I understand. A foolish little devill! +Where will she mend herself? for nobody will look upon her. And they tell me +that thou wouldst certainly have married her, had she staid. But I know thee +better. +</p> + +<p> +Dear Bobby, adieu. If Lord M. will die now, to comfort thee for this loss, what +a seasonable exit would he make! Let’s have a letter from thee. +Pr’ythee do. Thou can’st write devill-like to Belford, who shews us +nothing at all. Thine heartily, +</p> + +<p> +RD. MOWBRAY. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0051" id="link2H_4_0051"></a> LETTER XLVIII</h2> + +<p> +MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. THURSDAY, JUNE 29. +</p> + +<p> +Thou hast heard from M’Donald and Mowbray the news. Bad or good, I know +not which thou’lt deem it. I only wish I could have given thee joy upon +the same account, before the unhappy lady was seduced from Hampstead; for then +of what an ungrateful villany hadst thou been spared the perpetration, which +now thou hast to answer for! +</p> + +<p> +I came to town purely to serve thee with her, expecting that thy next would +satisfy me that I might endeavour it without dishonour. And at first when I +found her gone, I half pitied thee; for now wilt thou be inevitably blown up: +and in what an execrable light wilt thou appear to all the world!—Poor +Lovelace! caught in thy own snares! thy punishment is but beginning. +</p> + +<p> +But to my narrative: for I suppose thou expectest all particulars from me, +since Mowbray has informed thee that I have been collecting them. +</p> + +<p> +‘The noble exertion of spirit she has made on Friday night, had, it +seems, greatly disordered her; insomuch that she was not visible till Saturday +evening; when Mabell saw her; and she seemed to be very ill: but on Sunday +morning, having dressed herself, as if designing to go to church, she ordered +Mabell to get her a coach to the door. +</p> + +<p> +‘The wench told her, She was to obey her in every thing but the calling +of a coach or chair, or in relation to letters. +</p> + +<p> +‘She sent for Will. and gave him the same command. +</p> + +<p> +‘He pleaded his master’s orders to the contrary, and desired to be +excused. +</p> + +<p> +‘Upon this, down she went, herself, and would have gone out without +observation; but finding the street-door double-locked, and the key not in the +lock, she stept into the street-parlour, and would have thrown up the sash to +call out to the people passing by, as they doubted not: but that, since her +last attempt of the same nature, had been fastened down. +</p> + +<p> +‘Hereupon she resolutely stept into Mrs. Sinclair’s parlour in the +back-house; where were the old devil and her two partners; and demanded the key +of the street-door, or to have it opened for her. +</p> + +<p> +‘They were all surprised; but desired to be excused, and pleaded your +orders. +</p> + +<p> +‘She asserted, that you had no authority over her; and never should have +any: that their present refusal was their own act and deed: she saw the intent +of their back house, and the reason of putting her there: she pleaded her +condition and fortune; and said, they had no way to avoid utter ruin, but by +opening their doors to her, or by murdering her, and burying her in their +garden or cellar, too deep for detection: that already what had been done to +her was punishable by death: and bid them at their peril detain her.’ +</p> + +<p> +What a noble, what a right spirit has this charming creature, in cases that +will justify an exertion of spirit!— +</p> + +<p> +‘They answered that Mr. Lovelace could prove his marriage, and would +indemnify them. And they all would have vindicated their behaviour on Friday +night, and the reputation of their house. But refusing to hear them on that +topic, she flung from them threatening. +</p> + +<p> +‘She then went up half a dozen stairs in her way to her own apartment: +but, as if she had bethought herself, down she stept again, and proceeded +towards the street-parlour; saying, as she passed by the infamous Dorcas, +I’ll make myself protectors, though the windows suffer. But that wench, +of her own head, on the lady’s going out of that parlour to Mrs. +Sinclair’s, had locked the door, and taken out the key: so that finding +herself disappointed, she burst into tears, and went sobbing and menacing up +stairs again. +</p> + +<p> +‘She made no other attempt till the effectual one. Your letters and +messages, they suppose, coming so fast upon one another (though she would not +answer one of them) gave her some amusement, and an assurance to them, that she +would at last forgive you; and that then all would end as you wished. +</p> + +<p> +‘The women, in pursuance of your orders, offered not to obtrude +themselves upon her; and Dorcas also kept out of her sight all the rest of +Sunday; also on Monday and Tuesday. But by the lady’s condescension, +(even to familiarity) to Mabell, they imagined, that she must be working in her +mind all that time to get away. They therefore redoubled their cautions to the +wench; who told them so faithfully all that passed between her lady and her, +that they had no doubt of her fidelity to her wicked trust. +</p> + +<p> +‘’Tis probable she might have been contriving something all this +time; but saw no room for perfecting any scheme. The contrivance by which she +effected her escape seems to me not to have been fallen upon till the very day; +since it depended partly upon the weather, as it proved. But it is evident she +hoped something from Mabell’s simplicity, or gratitude, or compassion, by +cultivating all the time her civility to her. +</p> + +<p> +‘Polly waited on her early on Wednesday morning; and met with a better +reception than she had reason to expect. She complained however, with warmth, +of her confinement. Polly said there would be an happy end to it (if it were a +confinement,) next day, she presumed. She absolutely declared to the contrary, +in the way Polly meant it; and said, That Mr. Lovelace, on his return [which +looked as if she intended to wait for it] should have reason to repent the +orders he had given, as they all should their observance of them: let him send +twenty letters, she would not answer one, be the consequence what it would; nor +give him hope of the least favour, while she was in that house. She had given +Mrs. Sinclair and themselves fair warning, she said: no orders of another ought +to make them detain a free person: but having made an open attempt to go, and +been detained by them, she was the calmer, she told Polly; let them look to the +consequence. +</p> + +<p> +‘But yet she spoke this with temper; and Polly gave it as her opinion, +(with apprehension for their own safety,) that having so good a handle to +punish them all, she would not go away if she might. And what, inferred Polly, +is the indemnity of a man who has committed the vilest of rapes on a person of +condition; and must himself, if prosecuted for it, either fly, or be hanged? +</p> + +<p> +‘Sinclair, [so I will still call her,] upon this representation of Polly, +foresaw, she said, the ruin of her poor house in the issue of this strange +business; and the infamous Sally and Dorcas bore their parts in the +apprehension: and this put them upon thinking it advisable for the future, that +the street-door should generally in the day-time be only left upon a +bolt-latch, as they called it, which any body might open on the inside; and +that the key should be kept in the door; that their numerous comers and goers, +as they called their guests, should be able to give evidence, that she might +have gone out if she would: not forgetting, however, to renew their orders to +Will. to Dorcas, to Mabell, and the rest, to redouble their vigilance on this +occasion, to prevent her escape: none of them doubting, at the same time, that +her love of a man so considerable in their eyes, and the prospect of what was +to happen, as she had reason to believe, on Thursday, her uncle’s +birth-day, would (though perhaps not till the last hour, for her pride sake, +was their word) engage her to change her temper. +</p> + +<p> +‘They believe, that she discovered the key to be left in the door; for +she was down more than once to walk in the little garden, and seemed to cast +her eye each time to the street-door. +</p> + +<p> +‘About eight yesterday morning, an hour after Polly had left her, she +told Mabell, she was sure she should not live long; and having a good many +suits of apparel, which after her death would be of no use to any body she +valued, she would give her a brown lustring gown, which, with some alterations +to make it more suitable to her degree, would a great while serve her for a +Sunday wear; for that she (Mabell) was the only person in that house of whom +she could think without terror or antipathy. +</p> + +<p> +‘Mabell expressing her gratitude upon the occasion, the lady said, she +had nothing to employ herself about, and if she could get a workwoman directly, +she would look over her things then, and give her what she intended for her. +</p> + +<p> +‘Her mistress’s mantua-maker, the maid replied, lived but a little +way off: and she doubted not that she could procure her, or one of the +journey-women to alter the gown out of hand. +</p> + +<p> +‘I will give you also, said she, a quilted coat, which will require but +little alteration, if any; for you are much about my stature: but the gown I +will give directions about, because the sleeves and the robings and facings +must be altered for your wear, being, I believe, above your station: and try, +said she, if you can get the workwoman, and we’ll advise about it. If she +cannot come now, let her come in the afternoon; but I had rather now, because +it will amuse me to give you a lift. +</p> + +<p> +‘Then stepping to the window, it rains, said she, [and so it had done all +the morning:] slip on the hood and short cloak I have seen you wear, and come +to me when you are ready to go out, because you shall bring me in something +that I want. +</p> + +<p> +‘Mabell equipped herself accordingly, and received her commands to buy +her some trifles, and then left her; but in her way out, stept into the back +parlour, where Dorcas was with Mrs. Sinclair, telling her where she was going, +and on what account, bidding Dorcas look out till she came back. So faithful as +the wench to the trust reposed in her, and so little had the lady’s +generosity wrought upon her. +</p> + +<p> +‘Mrs. Sinclair commended her; Dorcas envied her, and took her cue: and +Mabell soon returned with the mantua-maker’s journey-woman; (she +resolved, she said, but she would not come without her); and then Dorcas went +off guard. +</p> + +<p> +‘The lady looked out the gown and petticoat, and before the workwoman +caused Mabell to try it on; and, that it might fit the better, made the willing +wench pull off her upper-petticoat, and put on that she gave her. Then she bid +them go into Mr. Lovelace’s apartment, and contrive about it before the +pier-glass there, and stay till she came to them, to give them her opinion. +</p> + +<p> +‘Mabell would have taken her own clothes, and hood, and short cloak with +her: but her lady said, No matter; you may put them on again here, when we have +considered about the alterations: there’s no occasion to litter the other +room. +</p> + +<p> +‘They went; and instantly, as it is supposed, she slipt on Mabell’s +gown and petticoat over her own, which was white damask, and put on the +wench’s hood, short cloak, and ordinary apron, and down she went. +</p> + +<p> +‘Hearing somebody tripping along the passage, both Will. and Dorcas whipt +to the inner-hall door, and saw her; but, taking her for Mabell, Are you going +far, Mabell? cried Will. +</p> + +<p> +‘Without turning her face, or answering, she held out her hand, pointing +to the stairs; which they construed as a caution for them to look out in her +absence; and supposing she would not be long gone, as she had not in form, +repeated her caution to them, up went Will, tarrying at the stairs-head in +expectation of the supposed Mabell’s return. +</p> + +<p> +‘Mabell and the workwoman waited a good while, amusing themselves not +disagreeably, the one with contriving in the way of her business, the other +delighting herself with her fine gown and coat. But at last, wondering the lady +did not come in to them, Mabell tiptoed it to her door, and tapping, and not +being answered, stept into the chamber. +</p> + +<p> +‘Will. at that instant, from his station at the stairs-head, seeing +Mabell in her lady’s clothes; for he had been told of the present, [gifts +to servants fly from servant to servant in a minute,] was very much surprised, +having, as he thought, just seen her go out in her own; and stepping up, met +her at the door. How the devil can this be? said he: just now you went out in +your own dress! How came you here in this? and how could you pass me unseen? +but nevertheless, kissing her, said, he would now brag he had kissed his lady, +or one in her clothes. +</p> + +<p> +‘I am glad, Mr. William, cried Mabell, to see you here so diligently. But +know you where my lady is? +</p> + +<p> +‘In my master’s apartment, answered Will. Is she not? Was she not +talking with you this moment? +</p> + +<p> +‘No, that’s Mrs. Dolins’s journey-woman. +</p> + +<p> +‘They both stood aghast, as they said; Will, again recollecting he had +seen Mabell, as he thought, go out in her own clothes. And while they were +debating and wondering, up comes Dorcas with your fourth letter, just then +brought for the lady, and seeing Mabell dressed out, (whom she had likewise +beheld a little before), as she supposed, in her common clothes; she joined in +the wonder; till Mabell, re-entering the lady’s apartment, missed her own +clothes; and then suspecting what had happened, and letting the others into the +ground of the suspicion, they all agreed that she had certainly escaped. And +then followed such an uproar of mutual accusation, and you should have done +this, and you have done that, as alarmed the whole house; every apartment in +both houses giving up its devil, to the number of fourteen or fifteen, +including the mother and her partners. +</p> + +<p> +‘Will. told them his story; and then ran out, as on the like occasion +formerly, to make inquiry whether the lady was seen by any of the coachmen, +chairmen, or porters, plying in that neighbourhood: while Dorcas cleared +herself immediately, and that at the poor Mabell’s expense, who made a +figure as guilty as awkward, having on the suspected price of her treachery; +which Dorcas, out of envy, was ready to tear from her back. +</p> + +<p> +‘Hereupon all the pack opened at the poor wench, while the mother foamed +at the mouth, bellowed out her orders for seizing the suspected offender; who +could neither be heard in her own defence, nor had she been heard, would have +been believed. +</p> + +<p> +‘That such a perfidious wretch should ever disgrace her house, was the +mother’s cry; good people might be corrupted; but it was a fine thing if +such a house as her’s could not be faithfully served by cursed creatures +who were hired knowing the business they were to be employed in, and who had no +pretence to principle!—D—n her, the wretch proceeded!—She had +no patience with her! call the cook, and call the scullion! +</p> + +<p> +‘They were at hand. +</p> + +<p> +‘See, that guilty pyeball devil, was her word—(her lady’s +gown upon her back)—but I’ll punish her for a warning to all +betrayers of their trust. Put on the great gridiron this moment, [an oath or a +curse at every word:] make up a roaring fire—the cleaver bring me this +instant—I’ll cut her into quarters with my own hands; and carbonade +and broil the traitress for a feast to all the dogs and cats in the +neighbourhood, and eat the first slice of the toad myself, without salt or +pepper. +</p> + +<p> +‘The poor Mabell, frighted out of her wits, expected every moment to be +torn in pieces, having half a score open-clawed paws upon her all at once. She +promised to confess all. But that all, when she had obtained a hearing, was +nothing: for nothing had she to confess. +</p> + +<p> +‘Sally, hereupon with a curse of mercy, ordered her to retire; +undertaking that she and Polly would examine her themselves, that they might be +able to write all particulars to his honour; and then, if she could not clear +herself, or, if guilty, give some account of the lady, (who had been so wicked +as to give them all this trouble,) so as they might get her again, then the +cleaver and gridiron might go to work with all their heart. +</p> + +<p> +‘The wench, glad of this reprieve, went up stairs; and while Sally was +laying out the law, and prating away in her usual dictorial manner, whipt on +another gown, and sliding down the stairs, escaped to her relations. And this +flight, which was certainly more owing to terror than guilt, was, in the true +Old Bailey construction, made a confirmation of the latter.’ +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +These are the particulars of Miss Harlowe’s flight. Thou’lt hardly +think me too minute.—How I long to triumph over thy impatience and fury +on the occasion! +</p> + +<p> +Let me beseech thee, my dear Lovelace, in thy next letter, to rave most +gloriously!—I shall be grievously disappointed if thou dost not. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +Where, Lovelace, can the poor lady be gone? And who can describe the distress +she must be in? +</p> + +<p> +By thy former letters, it may be supposed, that she can have very little money: +nor, by the suddenness of her flight, more clothes than those she has on. And +thou knowest who once said,* ‘Her parents will not receive her. Her +uncles will not entertain her. Her Norton is in their direction, and cannot. +Miss Howe dare not. She has not one friend or intimate in town—entirely a +stranger to it.’ And, let me add, has been despoiled of her honour by the +man for whom she had made all these sacrifices; and who stood bound to her by a +thousand oaths and vows, to be her husband, her protector, and friend! +</p> + +<p> +* See Vol. IV. Letter XXI. +</p> + +<p> +How strong must be her resentment of the barbarous treatment she has received! +how worthy of herself, that it has made her hate the man she once loved! and, +rather than marry him, choose to expose her disgrace to the whole world: to +forego the reconciliation with her friends which her heart was so set upon: and +to hazard a thousand evils to which her youth and her sex may too probably +expose an indigent and friendly beauty! +</p> + +<p> +Rememberest thou not that home push upon thee, in one of the papers written in +her delirium; of which, however it savours not?—— +</p> + +<p> +I will assure thee, that I have very often since most seriously reflected upon +it: and as thy intended second outrage convinces me that it made no impression +upon thee then, and perhaps thou hast never thought of it since, I will +transcribe the sentence. +</p> + +<p> +‘If, as religion teaches us, God will judge us, in a great measure! by +our benevolent or evil actions to one another—O wretch! bethink thee, in +time bethink thee, how great must be thy condemnation.’* +</p> + +<p> +* See Vol. VI. Letter XVI. +</p> + +<p> +And is this amiable doctrine the sum of religion? Upon my faith, believe it is. +For, to indulge a serious thought, since we are not atheists, except in +practice, does God, the BEING of Beings, want any thing of us for HIMSELF! And +does he not enjoin us works of mercy to one another, as the means to obtain his +mercy? A sublime principle, and worthy of the SUPREME SUPERINTENDENT and FATHER +of all things!—But if we are to be judged by this noble principle, what, +indeed, must be thy condemnation on the score of this lady only? and what mine, +and what all our confraternity’s, on the score of other women: though we +are none of us half so bad as thou art, as well for want of inclination, I +hope, as of opportunity! +</p> + +<p> +I must add, that, as well for thy own sake, as for the lady’s, I wish ye +were yet to be married to each other. It is the only medium that can be hit +upon to salve the honour of both. All that’s past may yet be concealed +from the world, and from all her sufferings, if thou resolvest to be a tender +and kind husband to her. +</p> + +<p> +And if this really be thy intention, I will accept with pleasure of a +commission from thee that shall tend to promote so good an end, whenever she +can be found; that is to say, if she will admit to her presence a man who +professes friendship to thee. Nor can I give a greater demonstration, that I am +</p> + +<p> +Thy sincere friend, J. BELFORD. +</p> + +<p> +P.S. Mabell’s clothes were thrown into the passage this morning: nobody +knows by whom. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0052" id="link2H_4_0052"></a> LETTER XLIX</h2> + +<p> +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. FRIDAY, JUNE 30. +</p> + +<p> +I am ruined, undone, blown up, destroyed, and worse than annihilated, +that’s certain!—But was not the news shocking enough, dost thou +think, without thy throwing into the too-weighty scale reproaches, which thou +couldst have had no opportunity to make but for my own voluntary +communications? at a time too, when, as it falls out, I have another very +sensible disappointment to struggle with? +</p> + +<p> +I imagine, if there be such a thing as future punishment, it must be none of +the smallest mortifications, that a new devil shall be punished by a worse old +one. And, take that! And, take that! to have the old satyr cry to the screaming +sufferer, laying on with a cat-o’-nine-tails, with a star of burning +brass at the end of each: and, for what! for what!—-Why, if the truth may +be fairly told, for not being so bad a devil as myself. +</p> + +<p> +Thou art, surely, casuist good enough to know, (what I have insisted upon* +heretofore,) that the sin of seducing a credulous and easy girl, is as great as +that of bringing to your lure an incredulous and watchful one. +</p> + +<p> +* See Vol. IV. Letter XVII. +</p> + +<p> +However ungenerous an appearance what I am going to say may have from my pen, +let me tell thee, that if such a woman as Miss Harlowe chose to enter into the +matrimonial state, [I am resolved to disappoint thee in thy meditated triumph +over my rage and despair!] and, according to the old patriarchal system, to go +on contributing to get sons and daughters, with no other view than to bring +them up piously, and to be good and useful members of the commonwealth, what a +devil had she to do, to let her fancy run a gadding after a rake? one whom she +knew to be a rake? +</p> + +<p> +Oh! but truly she hoped to have the merit of reclaiming him. She had formed +pretty notions how charming it would look to have a penitent of her own making +dangling at her side at church, through an applauding neighbourhood: and, as +their family increased, marching with her thither, at the head of their boys +and girls, processionally, as it were, boasting of the fruits of their honest +desires, as my good lord bishop has it in his license. And then, what a comely +sight, all kneeling down together in one pew, according to eldership as we have +seen in effigy, a whole family upon some old monument, where the honest +chevalier in armour is presented kneeling, with up-lifted hands, and half a +dozen jolter-headed crop-eared boys behind him, ranged gradatim, or +step-fashion according to age and size, all in the same posture—facing +his pious dame, with a ruff about her neck, and as many whey-faced girls all +kneeling behind her: an altar between them, and an open book upon it: over +their heads semiluminary rays darting from gilded clouds, surrounding an +achievement-motto, IN COELO SALUS—or QUIES—perhaps, if they have +happened to live the usual married life of brawl and contradiction. +</p> + +<p> +It is certainly as much my misfortune to have fallen in with Miss Clarissa +Harlowe, were I to have valued my reputation or ease, as it is that of Miss +Harlowe to have been acquainted with me. And, after all, what have I done more +than prosecute the maxim, by which thou and I and every rake are governed, and +which, before I knew this lady, we have pursued from pretty girl to pretty +girl, as fast as we have set one down, taking another up;—just as the +fellows do with their flying coaches and flying horses at a country +fair——with a Who rides next! Who rides next! +</p> + +<p> +But here in the present case, to carry on the volant metaphor, (for I must +either be merry, or mad,) is a pretty little miss just come out of her +hanging-sleeve-coat, brought to buy a pretty little fairing; for the world, +Jack, is but a great fair, thou knowest; and, to give thee serious reflection +for serious, all its joys but tinselled hobby-horses, gilt gingerbread, +squeaking trumpets, painted drums, and so forth. +</p> + +<p> +Now behold this pretty little miss skimming from booth to booth, in a very +pretty manner. One pretty little fellow called Wyerley, perhaps; another +jiggeting rascal called Biron, a third simpering varlet of the name of Symmes, +and a more hideous villain than any of the reset, with a long bag under his +arm, and parchment settlements tagged to his heels, yelped Solmes: pursue her +from raree-show to raree-show, shouldering upon one another at every turn, +stopping when she stops, and set a spinning again when she moves. And thus +dangled after, but still in the eye of her watchful guardians, traverses the +pretty little miss through the whole fair, equally delighted and delighting: +till at last, taken with the invitation of the laced-hat orator, and seeing +several pretty little bib-wearers stuck together in the flying-coaches, cutting +safely the yielding air, in the one-go-up the other go-down +picture-of-the-world vehicle, and all with as little fear as wit, is tempted to +ride next. +</p> + +<p> +In then suppose she slily pops, when none of her friends are near her: And if, +after two or three ups and downs, her pretty head turns giddy, and she throws +herself out of the coach when at its elevation, and so dashes out her pretty +little brains, who can help it?—And would you hang the poor fellow, whose +professed trade it was to set the pretty little creature a flying? +</p> + +<p> +’Tis true, this pretty little miss, being a very pretty little miss, +being a very much-admired little miss, being a very good little miss, who +always minded her book, and had passed through her sampler-doctrine with high +applause; had even stitched out, in gaudy propriety of colors, an Abraham +offering up Isaac, a Sampson and the Philistines; and flowers, and knots, and +trees, and the sun and the moon, and the seven stars, all hung up in frames +with glasses before them, for the admiration of her future grand children: who +likewise was entitled to a very pretty little estate: who was descended from a +pretty little family upwards of one hundred years gentility; which lived in a +very pretty little manner, respected a very little on their own accounts, a +great deal on her’s:—— +</p> + +<p> +For such a pretty little miss as this to come to so great a misfortune, must be +a very sad thing: But, tell me, would not the losing of any ordinary child, of +any other less considerable family, or less shining or amiable qualities, have +been as great and heavy a loss to that family, as the losing this pretty little +miss could be to her’s? +</p> + +<p> +To descend to a very low instance, and that only as to personality; hast thou +any doubt, that thy strong-muscled bony-faced was as much admired by thy +mother, as if it had been the face of a Lovelace, or any other handsome fellow? +And had thy picture been drawn, would she have forgiven the painter, had he not +expressed so exactly thy lineaments, as that every one should have discerned +the likeness? The handsome likeness is all that is wished for. Ugliness made +familiar to us, with the partiality natural to fond parents, will be beauty all +the world over.—Do thou apply. +</p> + +<p> +But, alas! Jack, all this is but a copy of my countenance, drawn to evade thy +malice!—Though it answer thy unfriendly purpose to own it, I cannot +forbear to own it, that I am stung to the very soul with this +unhappy—accident, must I call it!—Have I nobody, whose throat, +either for carelessness or treachery, I ought to cut, in order to pacify my +vengeance? +</p> + +<p> +When I reflect upon my last iniquitous intention, the first outrage so nobly +resented, as well as, so far as she was able, so nobly resisted, I cannot but +conclude, that I was under the power of fascination from these accursed Circes; +who, pretending to know their own sex, would have it, that there is in every +woman a yielding, or a weak-resisting moment to be met with: and that yet, and +yet, and yet, I had not tried enough; but that, if neither love nor terror +should enable me to hit that lucky moment, when, by help of their cursed arts, +she was once overcome, she would be for ever overcome:—appealing to all +my experience, to all my knowledge of the sex, for justification of their +assertion. +</p> + +<p> +My appeal to experience, I own, was but too favourable to their argument: For +dost thou think I could have held my purpose against such an angel as this, had +I ever before met with a woman so much in earnest to defend her honour against +the unwearied artifices and perseverance of the man she loved? Why then were +there not more examples of a virtue so immovable? Or, why was this singular one +to fall to my lot? except indeed to double my guilt; and at the same time to +convince all that should hear her story, that there are angels as well as +devils in the flesh? +</p> + +<p> +So much for confession; and for the sake of humouring my conscience; with a +view likewise to disarm thy malice by acknowledgement: since no one shall say +worse of me, than I will of myself on this occasion. +</p> + +<p> +One thing I will nevertheless add, to show the sincerity of my +contrition—’Tis this, that if thou canst by any means find her out +within these three days, or any time before she has discovered the stories +relating to Captain Tomlinson and her uncle to be what they are; and if thou +canst prevail upon her to consent, I will actually, in thy presence and his, +(he to represent her uncle,) marry her. +</p> + +<p> +I am still in hopes it may be so—she cannot be long concealed—I +have already set all engines at work to find her out! and if I do, what +indifferent persons, [and no one of her friends, as thou observest, will look +upon her,] will care to embroil themselves with a man of my figure, fortune, +and resolution? Show her this part, then, or any other part of this letter, at +thy own discretion, if thou canst find her: for, after all, methinks, I would +be glad that this affair, which is bad enough in itself, should go off without +worse personal consequences to any body else: and yet it runs in my mind, I +know not why, that, sooner or later it will draw a few drops of blood after it; +except she and I can make it up between ourselves. And this may be another +reason why she should not carry her resentment too far—not that such an +affair would give me much concern neither, were I to choose any man of men, for +I heartily hate all her family, but herself; and ever shall. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +Let me add, that the lady’s plot to escape appears to me no extraordinary +one. There was much more luck than probability that it should do: since, to +make it succeed, it was necessary that Dorcas and Will., and Sinclair and her +nymphs, should be all deceived, or off their guard. It belongs to me, when I +see them, to give them my hearty thanks that they were; and that their selfish +care to provide for their own future security, should induce them to leave +their outward door upon their bolt-latch, and be curs’d to them. +</p> + +<p> +Mabell deserves a pitch suit and a bonfire, rather than the lustring; and as +her clothes are returned, let the lady’s be put to her others, to be sent +to her when it can be told whither—but not till I give the word neither; +for we must get the dear fugitive back again if possible. +</p> + +<p> +I suppose that my stupid villain, who knew not such a goddess-shaped lady with +a mien so noble, from the awkward and bent-shouldered Mabell, has been at +Hampstead to see after her. And yet I hardly think she would go thither. He +ought to go through every street where bills for lodgings are up, to inquire +after a new-comer. The houses of such as deal in women’s matters, and +tea, coffee, and such-like, are those to be inquired at for her. If some +tidings be not quickly heard of her, I would not have either Dorcas, Will., or +Mabell, appear in my sight, whatever their superiors think fit to do. +</p> + +<p> +This, though written in character, is a very long letter, considering it is not +a narrative one, or a journal of proceedings, like most of my former; for such +will unavoidably and naturally, as I may say, run into length. But I have so +used myself to write a great deal of late, that I know not how to help it. Yet +I must add to its length, in order to explain myself on a hint I gave at the +beginning of it; which was, that I have another disappointment, besides this of +Miss Harlowe’s escape, to bemoan. +</p> + +<p> +And what dost thou think it is? Why, the old Peer, pox of his tough +constitution, (for that malady would have helped him on,) has made shift by +fire and brimstone, and the devil knows what, to force the gout to quit the +counterscarp of his stomach, just as it had collected all its strength, in +order to storm the citadel of his heart. In short, they have, by the mere force +of stink-pots, hand-granades, and pop-guns, driven the slow-working pioneer +quite out of the trunk into the extremities; and there it lies nibbling and +gnawing upon his great toe; when I had a fair end of the distemper and the +distempered. +</p> + +<p> +But I, who could write to thee of laudanum, and the wet cloth, formerly, yet +let 8000£. a year slip through my fingers, when I had entered upon it more than +in imagination, [for I had begun to ask the stewards questions, and to hear +them talk of fines and renewals, and such sort of stuff,] deserve to be +mortified. +</p> + +<p> +Thou canst not imagine how differently the servants, and even my cousins, look +upon me, since yesterday, to what they did before. Neither the one nor the +other bow or courtesy half so low—nor am I a quarter so often his honour +and your honour, as I was within these few hours, with the former: and as to +the latter—it is cousin Bobby again, with the usual familiarity, instead +of Sir, and Sir, and If you please, Mr. Lovelace. And now they have the +insolence to congratulate me on the recovery of the best of uncles; while I am +forced to seem as much delighted as they, when, would it do me good, I could +sit down and cry my eyes out. +</p> + +<p> +I had bespoke my mourning in imagination, after the example of a certain +foreign minister, who, before the death, or even last illness of Charles II., +as honest White Kennet tells us, had half exhausted Blackwell-hall of its +sables—an indication, as the historian would insinuate, that the monarch +was to be poisoned, and the ambassador in the secret.—And yet, fool that +I was, I could not take the hint—What the devil does a man read history +for, if he cannot profit by the examples he find in it? +</p> + +<p> +But thus, Jack, is an observation of the old Peer’s verified, that one +misfortune seldom comes alone: and so concludes +</p> + +<p> +Thy doubly mortified LOVELACE. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0053" id="link2H_4_0053"></a> LETTER L</h2> + +<p> +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE WEDNESDAY NIGHT, JUNE 28. +</p> + +<p> +O MY DEAREST MISS HOWE! +</p> + +<p> +Once more have I escaped—But, alas! I, my best self, have not +escaped!—Oh! your poor Clarissa Harlowe! you also will hate me, I +fear!—— +</p> + +<p> +Yet you won’t, when you know all! +</p> + +<p> +But no more of my self! my lost self. You that can rise in a morning to be +blest, and to bless; and go to rest delighted with your own reflections, and in +your unbroken, unstarting slumbers, conversing with saints and angels, the +former only more pure than yourself, as they have shaken off the incumbrance of +body; you shall be my subject, as you have long, long, been my only pleasure. +And let me, at awful distance, revere my beloved Anna Howe, and in her reflect +upon what her Clarissa Harlowe once was! +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +Forgive, O forgive my rambling. My peace is destroyed. My intellects are +touched. And what flighty nonsense must you read, if you now will vouchsafe to +correspond with me, as formerly! +</p> + +<p> +O my best, my dearest, my only friend! what a tale have I to unfold!—But +still upon self, this vile, this hated self!—I will shake it off, if +possible; and why should I not, since I think, except one wretch, I hate +nothing so much? Self, then, be banished from self one moment (for I doubt it +will be for no longer) to inquire after a dearer object, my beloved Anna +Howe!—whose mind, all robed in spotless white, charms and +irradiates—But what would I say?—— +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +And how, my dearest friend, after this rhapsody, which on re-perusal, I would +not let go, but to show you what a distracted mind dictates to my trembling +pen! How do you? You have been very ill, it seems. That you are recovered, my +dear, let me hear. That your mother is well, pray let me hear, and hear +quickly. This comfort surely is owing to me; for if life is no worse than +chequer-work, I must now have a little white to come, having seen nothing but +black, all unchequered dismal black, for a great, great while. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +And what is all this wild incoherence for? It is only to beg to know how you +have been, and how you do now, by a line directed for Mrs. Rachel Clark, at Mr. +Smith’s, a glove-shop, in King-street, Covent-garden; which (although my +abode is secret to every body else) will reach the hands of—your +unhappy—but that’s not enough—— +</p> + +<p> +Your miserable CLARISSA HARLOWE. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0054" id="link2H_4_0054"></a> LETTER LI</h2> + +<p> +MRS. HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE [SUPERSCRIBED AS DIRECTED IN THE +PRECEDING.] FRIDAY, JUNE 30. +</p> + +<p> +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, +</p> + +<p> +You will wonder to receive a letter from me. I am sorry for the great distress +you seem to be in. Such a hopeful young lady as you were! But see what comes of +disobedience to parents! +</p> + +<p> +For my part; although I pity you, yet I much more pity your poor father and +mother. Such education as they gave you! such improvement as you made! and such +delight as they took in you!—And all come to this!— +</p> + +<p> +But pray, Miss, don’t make my Nancy guilt of your fault; which is that of +disobedience. I have charged her over and over not to correspond with one who +had made such a giddy step. It is not to her reputation, I am sure. You know +that I so charged her; yet you go on corresponding together, to my very great +vexation; for she has been very perverse upon it more than once. Evil +communication, Miss—you know the rest. +</p> + +<p> +Here, people cannot be unhappy by themselves, but they must invoke their +friends and acquaintance whose discretion has kept them clear of their errors, +into near as much unhappiness as if they had run into the like of their own +heads! Thus my poor daughter is always in tears and grief. And she has +postponed her own felicity, truly, because you are unhappy. +</p> + +<p> +If people, who seek their own ruin, could be the only sufferers by their +headstrong doings, it were something: But, O Miss, Miss! what have you to +answer for, who have made as many grieved hearts as have known you! The whole +sex is indeed wounded by you: For, who but Miss Clarissa Harlowe was proposed +by every father and mother for a pattern for their daughters? +</p> + +<p> +I write a long letter, where I proposed to say but a few words; and those to +forbid your writing to my Nancy: and this as well because of the false step you +have made, as because it will grieve her poor heart, and do you no good. If you +love her, therefore, write not to her. Your sad letter came into my hands, +Nancy being abroad: and I shall not show it her: for there would be no comfort +for her, if she saw it, nor for me, whose delight she is—as you once was +to your parents.— +</p> + +<p> +But you seem to be sensible enough of your errors now.—So are all giddy +girls, when it is too late: and what a crest-fallen figure then do the +consequences of their self-willed obstinacy and headstrongness compel them to +make! +</p> + +<p> +I may say too much: only as I think it proper to bear that testimony against +your rashness which it behoves every careful parent to bear: and none more than +</p> + +<p> +Your compassionating, well-wishing ANNABELLA HOWE. +</p> + +<p> +I send this by a special messenger, who has business only so far as Barnet, +because you shall have no need to write again; knowing how you love writing: +and knowing, likewise, that misfortune makes people plaintive. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0055" id="link2H_4_0055"></a> LETTER LII</h2> + +<p> +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MRS. HOWE. SATURDAY, JULY 1. +</p> + +<p> +Permit me, Madam, to trouble you with a few lines, were it only to thank you +for your reproofs; which have nevertheless drawn fresh streams of blood from a +bleeding heart. +</p> + +<p> +My story is a dismal story. It has circumstances in it that would engage pity, +and possibly a judgment not altogether unfavourable, were those circumstances +known. But it is my business, and shall be all my business, to repent of my +failings, and not endeavour to extenuate them. +</p> + +<p> +Nor will I seek to distress your worthy mind. If I cannot suffer alone, I will +make as few parties as I can in my sufferings. And, indeed, I took up my pen +with this resolution when I wrote the letter which has fallen into your hands. +It was only to know, and that for a very particular reason, as well as for +affection unbounded, if my dear Miss Howe, from whom I had not heard of a long +time, were ill; as I had been told she was; and if so, how she now does. But my +injuries being recent, and my distresses having been exceeding great, self +would crowd into my letter. When distressed, the human mind is apt to turn +itself to every one, in whom it imagined or wished an interest, for pity and +consolation.—Or, to express myself better, and more concisely, in your +own words, misfortune makes people plaintive: And to whom, if not to a friend, +can the afflicted complain? +</p> + +<p> +Miss Howe being abroad when my letter came, I flatter myself that she is +recovered. But it would be some satisfaction to me to be informed if she has +been ill. Another line from your hand would be too great a favour: but if you +will be pleased to direct any servant to answer yes, or no, to that question, I +will not be farther troublesome. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, I must declare, that my Miss Howe’s friendship was all the +comfort I had, or expected to have in this world; and a line from her would +have been a cordial to my fainting heart. Judge then, dearest Madam, how +reluctantly I must obey your prohibition—but yet I will endeavour to obey +it; although I should have hoped, as well from the tenor of all that has passed +between Miss Howe and me, as from her established virtue, that she could not be +tainted by evil communication, had one or two letters been permitted. This, +however, I ask not for, since I think I have nothing to do but to beg of God +(who, I hope, has not yet withdrawn his grace from me, although he has pleaded +to let loose his justice upon my faults) to give me a truly broken spirit, if +it be not already broken enough, and then to take to his mercy +</p> + +<p> +The unhappy +</p> + +<p> +CLARISSA HARLOWE. +</p> + +<p> +Two favours, good Madam, I have to beg of you.—The first,—that you +will not let any of my relations know that you have heard from me. The +other,—that no living creature be apprized where I am to be heard of, or +directed to. This is a point that concerns me more than I can express.—In +short, my preservation from further evils may depend upon it. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0056" id="link2H_4_0056"></a> LETTER LIII</h2> + +<p> +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO HANNAH BURTON THURSDAY, JUNE 29. +</p> + +<p> +MY GOOD HANNAH, +</p> + +<p> +Strange things have happened to me, since you were dismissed my service (so +sorely against my will) and your pert fellow servant set over me. But that must +all be forgotten now— +</p> + +<p> +How do you, my Hannah? Are you recovered of your illness? If you are, do you +choose to come and be with me? Or can you conveniently? +</p> + +<p> +I am a very unhappy creature, and, being among all strangers, should be very +glad to have you with me, of whose fidelity and love I have had so many +acceptable instances. +</p> + +<p> +Living or dying, I will endeavour to make it worth your while, my Hannah. +</p> + +<p> +If you are recovered, as I hope, and if you have a good place, it may be they +would bear with your absence, and suffer somebody in your room for a month or +so: and, by that time, I hope to be provided for, and you may then return to +your place. +</p> + +<p> +Don’t let any of my friends know of this my desire: whether you can come +or not. +</p> + +<p> +I am at Mr. Smith’s, a hosier’s and glove shop, in King-street, +Covent-garden. +</p> + +<p> +You must direct to me by the name of Rachel Clark. +</p> + +<p> +Do, my good Hannah, come if you can to your poor young mistress, who always +valued you, and always will whether you come or not. +</p> + +<p> +I send this to your mother at St. Alban’s, not knowing where to direct to +you. Return me a line, that I may know what to depend upon: and I shall see you +have not forgotten the pretty hand you were taught, in happy days, by +</p> + +<p> +Your true friend, CLARISSA HARLOWE. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0057" id="link2H_4_0057"></a> LETTER LIV</h2> + +<p> +HANNAH BURTON [IN ANSWER.] MONDAY, JULY 3. +</p> + +<p> +HONORED MADDAM, +</p> + +<p> +I have not forgot to write, and never will forget any thing you, my dear young +lady, was so good as to larn me. I am very sorrowful for your misfortens, my +dearest young lady; so sorrowfull, I do not know what to do. Gladd at harte +would I be to be able to come to you. But indeed I have not been able to stir +out of my rome here at my mother’s ever since I was forsed to leave my +plase with a roomatise, which has made me quite and clene helpless. I will pray +for you night and day, my dearest, my kindest, my goodest young lady, who have +been so badly used; and I am very sorry I cannot come to do you love and +sarvice; which will ever be in the harte of mee to do, if it was in my power: +who am +</p> + +<p> +Your most dutiful servant to command, HANNAH BURTON. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0058" id="link2H_4_0058"></a> LETTER LV</h2> + +<p> +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MRS. JUDITH NORTON THURSDAY, JUNE 29. +</p> + +<p> +MY DEAR MRS. NORTON, +</p> + +<p> +I address myself to you, after a very long silence, (which, however, was not +owing either to want of love or duty,) principally to desire you to satisfy me +in two or three points, which it behoves me to know. +</p> + +<p> +My father, and all the family, I am informed, are to be at my uncle +Harlowe’s this day, as usual. Pray acquaint me, if they have been there? +And if they were cheerful on the anniversary occasion? And also, if you have +heard of any journey, or intended journey, of my brother, in company with +Captain Singleton and Mr. Solmes? +</p> + +<p> +Strange things have happened to me, my dear, worthy and maternal +friend—very strange things!—Mr. Lovelace has proved a very +barbarous and ungrateful man to me. But, God be praised, I have escaped from +him. Being among absolute strangers (though I think worthy folks) I have +written to Hannah Burton to come and be with me. If the good creature fall in +your way, pray encourage her to come to me. I always intended to have her, she +knows: but hoped to be in happier circumstances. +</p> + +<p> +Say nothing to any of my friends that you have heard from me. +</p> + +<p> +Pray, do you think my father would be prevailed upon, if I were to supplicate +him by letter, to take off the heavy curse he laid upon me at my going from +Harlowe-place? I can expect no other favour from him. But that being literally +fulfilled as to my prospects in this life, I hope it will be thought to have +operated far enough; and my heart is so weak!—it is very weak!—But +for my father’s own sake—what should I say!—Indeed I hardly +know how I ought to express myself on this sad subject!—but it will give +ease to my mind to be released from it. +</p> + +<p> +I am afraid my Poor, as I used to call the good creatures to whose necessities +I was wont to administer by your faithful hands, have missed me of late. But +now, alas! I am poor myself. It is not the least aggravation of my fault, nor +of my regrets, that with such inclinations as God has given me, I have put it +out of my power to do the good I once pleased myself to think I was born to do. +It is a sad thing, my dearest Mrs. Nortin, to render useless to ourselves and +the world, by our own rashness, the talents which Providence has intrusted to +us, for the service of both. +</p> + +<p> +But these reflections are now too late; and perhaps I ought to have kept them +to myself. Let me, however, hope that you love me still. Pray let me hope that +you do. And then, notwithstanding my misfortunes, which have made me seem +ungrateful to the kind and truly maternal pains you have taken with me from my +cradle, I shall have the happiness to think that there is one worthy person, +who hates not +</p> + +<p> +The unfortunate CLARISSA HARLOWE. +</p> + +<p> +Pray remember me to my foster-brother. I hope he continues dutiful and good to +you. +</p> + +<p> +Be pleased to direct for Rachel Clark, at Mr. Smith’s, in King-street, +Covent-garden. But keep the direction an absolute secret. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0059" id="link2H_4_0059"></a> LETTER LVI</h2> + +<p> +MRS. NORTON [IN ANSWER.] SATURDAY, JULY 1. +</p> + +<p> +Your letter, my dearest young lady, cuts me to the heart! Why will you not let +me know all your distresses?—Yet you have said enough! +</p> + +<p> +My son is very good to me. A few hours ago he was taken with a feverish +disorder. But I hope it will go off happily, if his ardour for business will +give him the recess from it which his good master is willing to allow him. He +presents his duty to you, and shed tears at hearing your sad letter read. +</p> + +<p> +You have been misinformed as to your family’s being at your uncle +Harlowe’s. They did not intend to be there. Nor was the day kept at all. +Indeed, they have not stirred out, but to church (and that but three times) +ever since the day you went away.—Unhappy day for them, and for all who +know you!—To me, I am sure, most particularly so!—My heart now +bleeds more and more for you. +</p> + +<p> +I have not heard a syllable of such a journey as you mentioned of your brother, +Captain Singleton, and Mr. Solmes. There has been some talk indeed of your +brother’s setting out for his northern estates: but I have not heard of +it lately. +</p> + +<p> +I am afraid no letter will be received from you. It grieves me to tell you so, +my dearest young lady. No evil can have happened to you, which they do not +expect to hear of; so great is their antipathy to the wicked man, and so bad is +his character. +</p> + +<p> +I cannot but think hardly of their unforgiveness: but there is no judging for +others by one’s self. Nevertheless I will add, that, if you had had as +gentle spirits as mine, these evils had never happened either to them or to +you. I knew your virtue, and your love of virtue, from your very cradle; and I +doubted not but that, with God’s grace, would always be your guard. But +you could never be driven; nor was there occasion to drive you—so +generous, so noble, so discreet.—But how does my love of your amiable +qualities increase my affliction; as these recollections must do your’s! +</p> + +<p> +You are escaped, my dearest Miss—happily, I hope—that is to say, +with your honour—else, how great must be your distress!—Yet, from +your letter, I dread the worst. +</p> + +<p> +I am very seldom at Harlowe-place. The house is not the house it used to be, +since you went from it. Then they are so relentless! And, as I cannot say harsh +things of the beloved child of my heart, as well as bosom, they do not take it +amiss that I stay away. +</p> + +<p> +Your Hannah left her place ill some time ago! and, as she is still at her +mother’s at St. Alban’s, I am afraid she continues ill. If so, as +you are among strangers, and I cannot encourage you at present to come into +these parts, I shall think it my duty to attend you (let it be taken as it +will) as soon as my Tommy’s indisposition will permit; which I hope will +be soon. +</p> + +<p> +I have a little money by me. You say you are poor yourself.—How grievous +are those words from one entitled and accustomed to affluence!—Will you +be so good to command it, my beloved young lady?—It is most of it your +own bounty to me. And I should take a pride to restore it to its original +owner. +</p> + +<p> +Your Poor bless you, and pray for you continually. I have so managed your last +benevolence, and they have been so healthy, and have had such constant employ, +that it has held out; and will hold out till the happier times return, which I +continually pray for. +</p> + +<p> +Let me beg of you, my dearest young lady, to take to yourself all those aids +which good persons, like you, draw from RELIGION, in support of their +calamities. Let your sufferings be what they will, I am sure you have been +innocent in your intention. So do not despond. None are made to suffer above +what they can, and therefore ought to bear. +</p> + +<p> +We know not the methods of Providence, nor what wise ends it may have to serve +in its seemingly-severe dispensations to its poor creatures. +</p> + +<p> +Few persons have greater reason to say this than myself. And since we are apt +in calamities to draw more comfort from example than precept, you will permit +me to remind you of my own lot: For who has had a greater share of afflictions +than myself? +</p> + +<p> +To say nothing of the loss of an excellent mother, at a time of life when +motherly care is most wanted; the death of a dear father, who was an ornament +to his cloth, (and who had qualified me to be his scribe and amanuensis,) just +as he came within view of a preferment which would have made his family easy, +threw me friendless into the wide world; threw me upon a very careless, and, +which was much worse, a very unkind husband. Poor man!—but he was spared +long enough, thank God, in a tedious illness, to repent of his neglected +opportunities, and his light principles; which I have always thought of with +pleasure, although I was left the more destitute for his chargeable illness, +and ready to be brought to bed, when he died, of my Tommy. +</p> + +<p> +But this very circumstance, which I thought the unhappiest that I could have +been left in, (so short-sighted is human prudence!) became the happy means of +recommending me to your mother, who, in regard to my character, and in +compassion to my very destitute circumstances, permitted me, as I made a +conscience of not parting with my poor boy, to nurse both you and him, born +within a few days of each other. And I have never since wanted any of the +humble blessings which God has made me contented with. +</p> + +<p> +Nor have I known what a very great grief was, from the day of my poor +husband’s death till the day that your parents told me how much they were +determined that you should have Mr. Solmes; when I was apprized not only of +your aversion to him, but how unworthy he was of you: for then I began to dread +the consequences of forcing so generous a spirit; and, till then, I never +feared Mr. Lovelace, attracting as was his person, and specious his manners and +address. For I was sure you would never have him, if he gave you not good +reason to be convinced of his reformation: nor till your friends were as well +satisfied in it as yourself. But that unhappy misunderstanding between your +brother and Mr. Lovelace, and their joining so violently to force you upon Mr. +Solmes, did all that mischief, which has cost you and them so dear, and poor me +all my peace! Oh! what has not this ungrateful, this double-guilty man to +answer for! +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, you know not what God has in store for you yet!—But if you +are to be punished all your days here, for example sake, in a case of such +importance, for your one false step, be pleased to consider, that this life is +but a state of probation; and if you have your purification in it, you will be +the more happy. Nor doubt I, that you will have the higher reward hereafter for +submitting to the will of Providence here with patience and resignation. +</p> + +<p> +You see, my dearest Miss Clary, that I make no scruple to call the step you +took a false one. In you it was less excusable than it would have been in any +other young lady; not only because of your superior talents, but because of the +opposition between your character and his: so that, if you had been provoked to +quit your father’s house, it need not to have been with him. Nor needed +I, indeed, but as an instance of my impartial love, to have written this to +you.* +</p> + +<p> +* Mrs. Norton, having only the family representation and invectives to form her +judgment upon, knew not that Clarissa had determined against going off with Mr. +Lovelace; nor how solicitous she had been to procure for herself any other +protection than his, when she apprehended that, if she staid, she had no way to +avoid being married to Mr. Solmes. +</p> + +<p> +After this, it will have an unkind, and perhaps at this time an unseasonable +appearance, to express my concern that you have not before favoured me with a +line. Yet if you can account to yourself for your silence, I dare say I ought +to be satisfied; for I am sure you love me: as I both love and honour you, and +ever will, and the more for your misfortunes. +</p> + +<p> +One consolation, methinks, I have, even when I am sorrowing for your +calamities; and that is, that I know not any young person so qualified to shine +the brighter for the trials she may be exercised with: and yet it is a +consolation that ends in adding to my regrets for your afflictions, because you +are blessed with a mind so well able to bear prosperity, and to make every body +round you the better for it!—But I will forbear till I know more. +</p> + +<p> +Ruminating on every thing your melancholy letter suggests, and apprehending, +from the gentleness of your mind, the amiableness of your person, and your +youth, the farther misfortunes and inconveniencies to which you may possibly be +subjected, I cannot conclude without asking for your leave to attend you, and +that in a very earnest manner—and I beg of you not to deny me, on any +consideration relating to myself, or even to the indisposition of my other +beloved child, if I can be either of use or of comfort to you. Were it, my +dearest young lady, but for two or three days, permit me to attend you, +although my son’s illness should increase, and compel me to come down +again at the end of those two or three days.—I repeat my request, +likewise, that you will command from me the little sum remaining in the hands +of your bounty to your Poor, as well as that dispensed to +</p> + +<p> +Your ever-affectionate and faithful servant, JUDITH NORTON. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0060" id="link2H_4_0060"></a> LETTER LVII</h2> + +<p> +MISS CL. HARLOWE, TO LADY BETTY LAWRANCE THURSDAY, JUNE 29. +</p> + +<p> +MADAM, +</p> + +<p> +I hope you’ll excuse the freedom of this address, from one who has not +the honour to be personally known to you, although you must have heard much of +Clarissa Harlowe. It is only to beg the favour of a line from your +Ladyship’s hand, (by the next post, if convenient,) in answer to the +following questions: +</p> + +<p> +1. Whether you wrote a letter, dated, as I have a memorandum, Wedn. June 7, +congratulating your nephew Lovelace on his supposed nuptials, as reported to +you by Mr. Spurrier, your Ladyship’s steward, as from one Captain +Tomlinson:—and in it reproaching Mr. Lovelace, as guilty of slight, +&c. in not having acquainted your Ladyship and the family with his +marriage? +</p> + +<p> +2. Whether your ladyship wrote to Miss Montague to meet you at Reading, in +order to attend you to your cousin Leeson’s, in Albemarle-street; on your +being obliged to be in town on your old chancery affair, I remember are the +words? and whether you bespoke your nephew’s attendance there on Sunday +night the 11th? +</p> + +<p> +3. Whether your Ladyship and Miss Montague did come to town at that time; and +whether you went to Hampstead, on Monday, in a hired coach and four, your own +being repairing, and took from thence to town with the young creature whom you +visited there? +</p> + +<p> +Your Ladyship will probably guess, that the questions are not asked for reasons +favourable to your nephew Lovelace. But be the answer what it will, it can do +him no hurt, nor me any good; only that I think I owe it to my former hopes, +(however deceived in them,) and even to charity, that a person, of whom I was +once willing to think better, should not prove so egregiously abandoned, as to +be wanting, in every instance, to that veracity which is indispensable in the +character of a gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +Be pleased, Madam, to direct to me, (keeping the direction a secret for the +present,) to be left at the Belle-Savage, on Ludgate hill, till called for. I +am +</p> + +<p> +Your Ladyship’s most humble servant, CLARISSA HARLOWE. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0061" id="link2H_4_0061"></a> LETTER LVIII</h2> + +<p> +LADY BETTY LAWRANCE, TO MISS CL. HARLOWE SATURDAY, JULY 1. +</p> + +<p> +DEAR MADAM, +</p> + +<p> +I find that all is not as it should be between you and my nephew Lovelace. It +will very much afflict me, and all his friends, if he has been guilty of any +designed baseness to a lady of your character and merit. +</p> + +<p> +We have been long in expectation of an opportunity to congratulate you and +ourselves upon an event most earnestly wished for by us all; since our hopes of +him are built upon the power you have over him: for if ever man adored a woman, +he is that man, and you, Madam, are that woman. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Montague, in her last letter to me, in answer to one of mine, inquiring if +she knew from him whether he could call you his, or was likely soon to have +that honour, has these words: ‘I know not what to make of my cousin +Lovelace, as to the point your Ladyship is so earnest about. He sometimes says +he is actually married to Miss Cl. Harlowe: at other times, that it is her own +fault if he be not.—He speaks of her not only with love but with +reverence: yet owns, that there is a misunderstanding between them; but +confesses that she is wholly faultless. An angel, and not a woman, he says she +is: and that no man living can be worthy of her.’— +</p> + +<p> +This is what my niece Montague writes. +</p> + +<p> +God grant, my dearest young lady, that he may not have so heinously offended +you that you cannot forgive him! If you are not already married, and refuse to +be his, I shall lose all hopes that he ever will marry, or be the man I wish +him to be. So will Lord M. So will Lady Sarah Sadleir. +</p> + +<p> +I will now answer your questions: but indeed I hardly know what to write, for +fear of widening still more the unhappy difference between you. But yet such a +young lady must command every thing from me. This then is my answer: +</p> + +<p> +I wrote not any letter to him on or about the 7th of June. +</p> + +<p> +Neither I nor my steward know any such man as Captain Tomlinson. +</p> + +<p> +I wrote not to my niece to meet me at Reading, nor to accompany me to my cousin +Leeson’s in town. +</p> + +<p> +My chancery affair, though, like most chancery affairs, it be of long standing, +is, nevertheless, now in so good a way, that it cannot give me occasion to go +to town. +</p> + +<p> +Nor have I been in town these six months: nor at Hampstead for years. +</p> + +<p> +Neither shall I have any temptation to go to town, except to pay my +congratulatory compliments to Mrs. Lovelace. On which occasion I should go with +the greatest pleasure; and should hope for the favour of your accompanying me +to Glenham-hall, for a month at least. +</p> + +<p> +Be what will the reason of your inquiry, let me entreat you, my dear young +lady, for Lord M.’s sake; for my sake; for this giddy man’s sake, +soul as well as body; and for all our family’s sakes; not to suffer this +answer to widen differences so far as to make you refuse him, if he already has +not the honour of calling you his; as I am apprehensive he has not, by your +signing by your family-name. +</p> + +<p> +And here let me offer to you my mediation to compose the difference between +you, be it what it will. Your cause, my dear young lady, cannot be put into the +hands of any body living more devoted to your service, than into those of +</p> + +<p> +Your sincere admirer, and humble servant, ELIZ. LAWRANCE. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0062" id="link2H_4_0062"></a> LETTER LIX</h2> + +<p> +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MRS. HODGES ENFIELD, JUNE 22. +</p> + +<p> +MRS. HODGES, +</p> + +<p> +I am under a kind of necessity to write to you, having no one among my +relations to whom I dare write, or hope a line from if I did. It is but to +answer a question. It is this: +</p> + +<p> +Whether you know any such man as Captain Tomlinson? and, if you do, whether he +be very intimate with my uncle Harlowe? +</p> + +<p> +I will describe his person lest, possibly, he should go by another name among +you; although I know not why he should. +</p> + +<p> +‘He is a thin, tallish man, a little pock-fretten, of a sallowish +complexion. Fifty years of age, or more. Of good aspect when he looks up. He +seems to be a serious man, and one who knows the world. He stoops a little in +the shoulders. Is of Berkshire. His wife of Oxfordshire; and has several +children. He removed lately into your parts form Northamptonshire.’ +</p> + +<p> +I must desire you, Mrs. Hodges, that you will not let my uncle, nor any of my +relations, know that I write to you. +</p> + +<p> +You used to say, that you would be glad to have it in your power to serve me. +That, indeed, was in my prosperity. But, I dare say, you will not refuse me in +a particular that will oblige me, without hurting yourself. +</p> + +<p> +I understand that my father, mother, and sister, and I presume, my brother, and +my uncle Antony, are to be at my uncle Harlowe’s this day. God preserve +them all, and may they rejoice in many happy birth-days! You will write six +words to me concerning their healths. +</p> + +<p> +Direct, for a particular reason, to Mrs. Dorothy Salcombe, to be left till +called for, at the Four Swans Inn, Bishopsgate-street. +</p> + +<p> +You know my hand-writing well enough, were not the contents of the letter +sufficient to excuse my name, or any other subscription, than that of +</p> + +<p> +Your friend. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0063" id="link2H_4_0063"></a> LETTER LX</h2> + +<p> +MRS. HODGES [IN ANSWER.] SAT. JULY 2. +</p> + +<p> +MADDAM, +</p> + +<p> +I return you an anser, as you wish me to doe. Master is acquented with no sitch +man. I am shure no sitch ever came to our house. And master sturs very little +out. He has no harte to stur out. For why? Your obstinacy makes um not care to +see one another. Master’s birth-day never was kept soe before: for not a +sole heere: and nothing but sikeing and sorrowin from master to think how it +yused to bee. +</p> + +<p> +I axed master, if soe bee he knowed sitch a man as one Captain Tomlinson? but +said not whirfor I axed. He sed, No, not he. +</p> + +<p> +Shure this is no trix nor forgery bruing against master by one +Tomlinson—Won knows not what company you may have been forsed to keep, +sen you went away, you knoe, Maddam; but Lundon is a pestilent plase; and that +’Squire Luvless is a devil (for all he is sitch a like gentleman to look +to) as I hev herd every boddy say; and think as how you have found by thiss. +</p> + +<p> +I truste, Maddam, you wulde not let master cum to harme, if you knoed it, by +any body who may pretend to be acquented with him: but for fere, I querid with +myself if I shulde not tell him. But I was willin to show you, that I wulde +plessure you in advarsity, if advarsity be your lott, as well as prosperity; +for I am none of those that woulde doe otherwiss. Soe no more from +</p> + +<p> +Your humble sarvent, to wish you well, SARAH HODGES. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0064" id="link2H_4_0064"></a> LETTER LXI</h2> + +<p> +MISS CL. HARLOWE, TO LADY BETTY LAWRANCE. MONDAY, JULY 3. +</p> + +<p> +MADAM, +</p> + +<p> +I cannot excuse myself from giving your Ladyship this one trouble more; to +thank you, as I most heartily do, for your kind letter. +</p> + +<p> +I must own to you, Madam, that the honour of being related to ladies as eminent +for their virtue as for their descent, was at first no small inducement with me +to lend an ear to Mr. Lovelace’s address. And the rather, as I was +determined, had it come to effect, to do every thing in my power to deserve +your favourable opinion. +</p> + +<p> +I had another motive, which I knew would of itself give me merit with your +whole family; a presumptuous one, (a punishably presumptuous one, as it has +proved,) in the hope that I might be an humble mean in the hand of Providence +to reclaim a man, who had, as I thought, good sense enough to acknowledge the +intended obligation, whether the generous hope were to succeed or not. +</p> + +<p> +But I have been most egregiously mistaken in Mr. Lovelace; the only man, I +persuade myself, pretending to be a gentleman, in whom I could have been so +much mistaken: for while I was endeavouring to save a drowning wretch, I have +been, not accidentally, but premeditatedly, and of set purpose, drawn in after +him. And he has had the glory to add to the list of those he has ruined, a +name, that, I will be bold to say, would not have disparaged his own. And this, +Madam, by means that would shock humanity to be made acquainted with. +</p> + +<p> +My whole end is served by your Ladyship’s answer to the questions I took +the liberty to put to you in writing. Nor have I a wish to make the unhappy man +more odious to you than is necessary to excuse myself for absolutely declining +your offered mediation. +</p> + +<p> +When your Ladyship shall be informed of the following particulars: +</p> + +<p> +That after he had compulsorily, as I may say, tricked me into the act of going +off with him, he could carry me to one of the vilest houses, as it proved, in +London: +</p> + +<p> +That he could be guilty of a wicked attempt, in resentment of which, I found +means to escape from him to Hampstead: +</p> + +<p> +That, after he had found me out there (I know not how) he could procure two +women, dressed out richly, to personate your Ladyship and Miss Montague; who, +under pretence of engaging me to make a visit in town to your cousin Leeson, +(promising to return with me that evening to Hampstead,) betrayed me back again +to the vile house: where, again made a prisoner, I was first robbed of my +senses; and then of my honour. Why should I seek to conceal that disgrace from +others which I cannot hide from myself? +</p> + +<p> +When your Ladyship shall know, that, in the shocking progress to this ruin, +wilful falsehoods, repeated forgeries, (particularly of one letter from your +Ladyship, another from Miss Montague, and a third from Lord M.) and numberless +perjuries, were not the least of his crimes: you will judge, that I can have no +principles that will make me worthy of an alliance with ladies of your’s +and your noble sister’s character, if I could not from my soul declare, +that such an alliance can never now take place. +</p> + +<p> +I will not offer to clear myself entirely of blame: but, as to him, I have no +fault to accuse myself of: my crime was, the corresponding with him at first, +when prohibited so to do by those who had a right to my obedience; made still +more inexcusable, by giving him a clandestine meeting, which put me into the +power of his arts. And for this I am content to be punished: thankful, that at +last I have escaped from him; and have it in my power to reject so wicked a man +for my husband: and glad, if I may be a warning, since I cannot be an example: +which once (very vain, and very conceited, as I was) I proposed to myself to +be. +</p> + +<p> +All the ill I wish him is, that he may reform; and that I may be the last +victim to his baseness. Perhaps this desirable wish may be obtained, when he +shall see how his wickedness, his unmerited wickedness! to a poor creature, +made friendless by his cruel arts, will end. +</p> + +<p> +I conclude with my humble thanks to your Ladyship for your favourable opinion +of me; and with the assurance that I will be, while life is lent me, +</p> + +<p> +Your Ladyship’s grateful and obliged servant, CLARISSA HARLOWE. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0065" id="link2H_4_0065"></a> LETTER LXII</h2> + +<p> +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MRS. NORTON SUNDAY EVENING, JULY 2. +</p> + +<p> +How kindly, my beloved Mrs. Norton, do you soothe the anguish of a bleeding +heart! Surely you are mine own mother; and, by some unaccountable mistake, I +must have been laid to a family that, having newly found out, or at least +suspected, the imposture, cast me from their hearts, with the indignation that +such a discovery will warrant. +</p> + +<p> +Oh! that I had been indeed your own child, born to partake of your humble +fortunes, an heiress only to that content in which you are so happy! then +should I have had a truly gentle spirit to have guided my ductile heart, which +force and ungenerous usage sit so ill upon: and nothing of what has happened +would have been. +</p> + +<p> +But let me take heed that I enlarge not, by impatience, the breach already made +in my duty by my rashness! since, had I not erred, my mother, at least, could +never have been thought hard-hearted and unforgiving. Am I not then answerable, +not only for my own faults, but for the consequences of them; which tend to +depreciate and bring disgrace upon a maternal character never before called in +question? +</p> + +<p> +It is kind, however, in you to endeavour to extenuate the faults of one so +greatly sensible of it: and could it be wiped off entirely, it would render me +more worthy of the pains you have taken in my education: for it must add to +your grief, as it does to my confusion, that, after such promising beginnings, +I should have so behaved as to be a disgrace instead of a credit to you and my +other friends. +</p> + +<p> +But that I may not make you think me more guilty than I am, give me leave +briefly to assure you, that, when my story is known, I shall be to more +compassion than blame, even on the score of going away with Mr. Lovelace. +</p> + +<p> +As to all that happened afterwards, let me only say, that although I must call +myself a lost creature as to this world, yet have I this consolation left me, +that I have not suffered either for want of circumspection, or through careful +credulity or weakness. Not one moment was I off my guard, or unmindful of your +early precepts. But (having been enabled to baffle many base contrivances) I +was at last ruined by arts the most inhuman. But had I not been rejected by +every friend, this low-hearted man had not dared, nor would have had +opportunity, to treat me as he has treated me. +</p> + +<p> +More I cannot, at this time, nor need I say: and this I desire you to keep to +yourself, lest resentments should be taken up when I am gone, that may spread +the evil which I hope will end with me. +</p> + +<p> +I have been misinformed, you say, as to my principal relations being at my +uncle Harlowe’s. The day, you say, was not kept. Nor have my brother and +Mr. Solmes—Astonishing!—What complicated wickedness has this +wretched man to answer for!—Were I to tell you, you would hardly believe +that there could have been such a heart in man.— +</p> + +<p> +But one day you may know the whole story!—At present I have neither +inclination nor words—O my bursting heart!—Yet a happy, a wished +relief!—Were you present my tears would supply the rest! +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +I resume my pen! +</p> + +<p> +And so you fear no letter will be received from me. But DON’T grieve to +tell me so! I expect every thing bad—and such is my distress, that had +you not bid me hope for mercy from the throne of mercy, I should have been +afraid that my father’s dreadful curse would be completed with regard to +both worlds. +</p> + +<p> +For here, an additional misfortune!—In a fit of phrensical heedlessness, +I sent a letter to my beloved Miss Howe, without recollecting her private +address; and it has fallen into her angry mother’s hands: and so that +dear friend perhaps has anew incurred displeasure on my account. And here too +your worthy son is ill; and my poor Hannah, you think, cannot come to +me—O my dear Mrs. Norton, will you, can you censure those whose +resentments against me Heaven seems to approve of? and will you acquit her whom +that condemns? +</p> + +<p> +Yet you bid me not despond.—I will not, if I can help it. And, indeed, +most seasonable consolation has your kind letter afforded me.—Yet to God +Almighty do I appeal, to avenge my wrongs, and vindicate my inno—— +</p> + +<p> +But hushed be my stormy passions!—Have I not but this moment said that +your letter gave me consolation?—May those be forgiven who hinder my +father from forgiving me!—and this, as to them, shall be the harshest +thing that shall drop from my pen. +</p> + +<p> +But although your son should recover, I charge you, my dear Mrs. Norton, that +you do not think of coming to me. I don’t know still but your mediation +with my mother (although at present your interposition would be so little +attended to) may be of use to procure me the revocation of that most dreadful +part of my father’s curse, which only remains to be fulfilled. The voice +of Nature must at last be heard in my favour, surely. It will only plead at +first to my friends in the still conscious plaintiveness of a young and +unhardened beggar. But it will grow more clamorous when I have the courage to +be so, and shall demand, perhaps, the paternal protection from farther ruin; +and that forgiveness, which those will be little entitled to expect, for their +own faults, who shall interpose to have it refused to me, for an accidental, +not a premeditated error: and which, but for them, I had never fallen into. +</p> + +<p> +But again, impatiency, founded perhaps on self-partiality, that strange +misleader! prevails. +</p> + +<p> +Let me briefly say, that it is necessary to my present and future hopes that +you keep well with my family. And moreover, should you come, I may be traced +out by that means by the most abandoned of men. Say not then that you think you +ought to come up to me, let it be taken as it will:—For my sake, let me +repeat, (were my foster-brother recovered, as I hope he is,) you must not come. +Nor can I want your advice, while I can write, and you can answer me. And write +I will as often as I stand in need of your counsel. +</p> + +<p> +Then the people I am now with seem to be both honest and humane: and there is +in the same house a widow-lodger, of low fortunes, but of great +merit:—almost such another serious and good woman as the dear one to whom +I am now writing; who has, as she says, given over all other thoughts of the +world but such as should assist her to leave it happily.—How suitable to +my own views!—There seems to be a comfortable providence in this at +least—so that at present there is nothing of exigence; nothing that can +require, or even excuse, your coming, when so many better ends may be answered +by your staying where you are. A time may come, when I shall want your last and +best assistance: and then, my dear Mrs. Norton—and then, I will speak it, +and embrace it with all my whole heart—and then, will it not be denied me +by any body. +</p> + +<p> +You are very obliging in your offer of money. But although I was forced to +leave my clothes behind me, yet I took several things of value with me, which +will keep me from present want. You’ll say, I have made a miserable hand +of it—so indeed I have—and, to look backwards, in a very little +while too. +</p> + +<p> +But what shall I do, if my father cannot be prevailed upon to recall his +malediction? O my dear Mrs. Norton, what a weight must a father’s curse +have upon a heart so appreciative as mine!—Did I think I should ever have +a father’s curse to deprecate? And yet, only that the temporary part of +it is so terribly fulfilled, or I should be as earnest for its recall, for my +father’s sake, as for my own! +</p> + +<p> +You must not be angry with me that I wrote not to you before. You are very +right and very kind to say you are sure I love you. Indeed I do. And what a +generosity, [so like yourself!] is there in your praise, to attribute to me +more than I merit, in order to raise an emulation to me to deserve your +praises!—you tell me what you expect from me in the calamities I am +called upon to bear. May I behave answerably! +</p> + +<p> +I can a little account to myself for my silence to you, my kind, my dear +maternal friend! How equally sweetly and politely do you express yourself on +this occasion! I was very desirous, for your sake, as well as for my own, that +you should have it to say that we did not correspond: had they thought we did, +every word you could have dropt in my favour would have been rejected; and my +mother would have been forbid to see you, or pay any regard to what you should +say. +</p> + +<p> +Then I had sometimes better and sometimes worse prospects before me. My worst +would only have troubled you to know: my better made me frequently hope, that, +by the next post, or the next, and so on for weeks, I should have the best news +to impart to you that then could happen: cold as the wretch had made my heart +to that best.—For how could I think to write to you, with a confession +that I was not married, yet lived in the house (for I could not help it) with +such a man?—Who likewise had given it out to several, that we were +actually married, although with restrictions that depended on the +reconciliation with my friends? And to disguise the truth, or be guilty of a +falsehood, either direct or equivocal, that was what you had never taught me. +</p> + +<p> +But I might have written to you for advice, in my precarious situation, perhaps +you will think. But, indeed, my dear Mrs. Norton, I was not lost for want of +advice. And this will appear clear to you from what I have already hinted, were +I to explain myself no further:—For what need had the cruel spoiler to +have recourse to unprecedented arts—I will speak out plainer still, (but +you must not at present report it,) to stupifying potions, and to the most +brutal and outrageous force, had I been wanting in my duty? +</p> + +<p> +A few words more upon this grievous subject— +</p> + +<p> +When I reflect upon all that has happened to me, it is apparent, that this +generally-supposed thoughtless seducer has acted by me upon a regular and +preconcerted plan of villany. +</p> + +<p> +In order to set all his vile plots in motion, nothing was wanting, from the +first, but to prevail upon me, either by force or fraud, to throw myself into +his power: and when this was effected, nothing less than the intervention of +the paternal authority, (which I had not deserved to be exerted in my behalf,) +could have saved me from the effect of his deep machinations. Opposition from +any other quarter would but too probably have precipitated his barbarous and +ungrateful violence: and had you yourself been with me, I have reason now to +think, that somehow or other you would have suffered in endeavouring to save +me: for never was there, as now I see, a plan of wickedness more steadily and +uniformly pursued than his has been, against an unhappy creature who merited +better of him: but the Almighty has thought fit, according to the general +course of His providence, to make the fault bring on its own punishment: but +surely not in consequence of my father’s dreadful imprecation, +‘That I might be punished here,’ [O my mamma Norton, pray with me, +if so, that here it stop!] ‘by the very wretch in whom I had placed my +wicked confidence!’ +</p> + +<p> +I am sorry, for your sake, to leave off so heavily. Yet the rest must be brief. +</p> + +<p> +Let me desire you to be secret in what I have communicated to you; at least +till you have my consent to divulge it. +</p> + +<p> +God preserve to you your more faultless child! +</p> + +<p> +I will hope for His mercy, although I should not obtain that of any earthly +person. +</p> + +<p> +And I repeat my prohibition:—You must not think of coming up to +</p> + +<p> +Your ever dutiful CL. HARLOWE. +</p> + +<p> +The obliging person, who left your’s for me this day, promised to call +to-morrow, to see if I should have any thing to return. I would not lose so +good an opportunity. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0066" id="link2H_4_0066"></a> LETTER LXIII</h2> + +<p> +MRS. NORTON, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE MONDAY NIGHT, JULY 3. +</p> + +<p> +O the barbarous villany of this detestable man! And is there a man in the world +who could offer violence to so sweet a creature! +</p> + +<p> +And are you sure you are now out of his reach? +</p> + +<p> +You command me to keep secret the particulars of the vile treatment you have +met with; or else, upon an unexpected visit which Miss Harlowe favoured me +with, soon after I had received your melancholy letter, I should have been +tempted to own I had heard from you, and to have communicated to her such parts +of your two letters as would have demonstrated your penitence, and your +earnestness to obtain the revocation of your father’s malediction, as +well as his protection from outrages that may still be offered to you. But then +your sister would probably have expected a sight of the letters, and even to +have been permitted to take them with her to the family. +</p> + +<p> +Yet they must one day be acquainted with the sad story:—and it is +impossible but they must pity you, and forgive you, when they know your early +penitence, and your unprecedented sufferings; and that you have fallen by the +brutal force of a barbarous ravisher, and not by the vile arts of a seducing +lover. +</p> + +<p> +The wicked man gives it out at Lord M.’s, as Miss Harlowe tells me, that +he is actually married to you—yet she believes it not: nor had I the +heart to let her know the truth. +</p> + +<p> +She put it close to me, Whether I had not corresponded with you from the time +of your going away? I could safely tell her, (as I did,) that I had not: but I +said, that I was well informed, that you took extremely to heart your +father’s imprecation; and that, if she would excuse me, I would say it +would be a kind and sisterly part, if she would use her interest to get you +discharged from it. +</p> + +<p> +Among other severe things, she told me, that my partial fondness for you made +me very little consider the honour of the rest of the family: but, if I had not +heard this from you, she supposed I was set on by Miss Howe. +</p> + +<p> +She expressed herself with a good deal of bitterness against that young lady: +who, it seems, every where, and to every body, (for you must think that your +story is the subject of all conversations,) rails against your family; treating +them, as your sister says, with contempt, and even with ridicule. +</p> + +<p> +I am sorry such angry freedoms are taken, for two reasons; first, because such +liberties never do any good. I have heard you own, that Miss Howe has a +satirical vein; but I should hope that a young lady of her sense, and right +cast of mind, must know that the end of satire is not to exasperate, but amend; +and should never be personal. If it be, as my good father used to say, it may +make an impartial person suspect that the satirist has a natural spleen to +gratify; which may be as great a fault in him, as any of those which he +pretends to censure and expose in others. +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps a hint of this from you will not be thrown away. +</p> + +<p> +My second reason is, That these freedoms, from so warm a friend to you as Miss +Howe is known to be, are most likely to be charged to your account. +</p> + +<p> +My resentments are so strong against this vilest of men, that I dare not touch +upon the shocking particulars which you mention of his baseness. What defence, +indeed, could there be against so determined a wretch, after you was in his +power? I will only repeat my earnest supplication to you, that, black as +appearances are, you will not despair. Your calamities are exceeding great; but +then you have talents proportioned to your trials. This every body allows. +</p> + +<p> +Suppose the worst, and that your family will not be moved in your favour, your +cousin Morden will soon arrive, as Miss Harlowe told me. If he should even be +got over to their side, he will however see justice done you; and then may you +live an exemplary life, making hundreds happy, and teaching young ladies to +shun the snares in which you have been so dreadfully entangled. +</p> + +<p> +As to the man you have lost, is an union with such a perjured heart as his, +with such an admirable one as your’s, to be wished for? A base, +low-hearted wretch, as you justly call him, with all his pride of ancestry; and +more an enemy to himself with regard to his present and future happiness than +to you, in the barbarous and ungrateful wrongs he has done you: I need not, I +am sure, exhort you to despise such a man as this, since not to be able to do +so, would be a reflection upon a sex to which you have always been an honour. +</p> + +<p> +Your moral character is untainted: the very nature of your sufferings, as you +will observe, demonstrates that. Cheer up, therefore, your dear heart, and do +not despair; for is it not GOD who governs the world, and permits some things, +and directs others, as He pleases? and will He not reward temporary sufferings, +innocently incurred, and piously supported, with eternal felicity?—And +what, my dear, is this poor needle’s point of NOW to a boundless +eternity? +</p> + +<p> +My heart, however, labours under a double affliction: For my poor boy is very, +very bad—a violent fever—nor can it be brought to +intermit.—Pray for him, my dearest Miss—for his recovery, if God +see fit.—I hope God will see fit—if not (how can I bear to suppose +that!) Pray for me, that he will give me that patience and resignation which I +have been wishing to you. I am, my dearest young lady, +</p> + +<p> +Your ever affectionate JUDITH NORTON. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0067" id="link2H_4_0067"></a> LETTER LXIV</h2> + +<p> +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MRS. JUDITH NORTON THURSDAY, JULY 6. +</p> + +<p> +I ought not, especially at this time, to add to your afflictions—but yet +I cannot help communicating to you (who now are my only soothing friend) a new +trouble that has befallen me. +</p> + +<p> +I had but one friend in the world, beside you; and she is utterly displeased +with me.* It is grievous, but for one moment, to lie under a beloved +person’s censure; and this through imputations that affect one’s +honour and prudence. There are points so delicate, you know, my dear Mrs. +Norton, that it is a degree of dishonour to have a vindication of one’s +self from them appear to be necessary. In the present case, my misfortune is, +that I know not how to account, but by guess (so subtle have been the workings +of the dark spirit I have been unhappily entangled by) for some of the facts +that I am called upon to explain. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Howe, in short, supposes she has found a flaw in my character. I have just +now received her severe letter—but I shall answer it, perhaps, in better +temper, if I first consider your’s: for indeed my patience is almost at +an end. And yet I ought to consider, that faithful are the wounds of a friend. +But so many things at once! O my dear Mrs. Norton, how shall so young a scholar +in the school of affliction be able to bear such heavy and such various evils! +</p> + +<p> +But to leave this subject for a while, and turn to your letter. +</p> + +<p> +I am very sorry Miss Howe is so lively in her resentments on my account. I have +always blamed her very freely for her liberties of this sort with my friends. I +once had a good deal of influence over her kind heart, and she made all I said +a law to her. But people in calamity have little weight in any thing, or with +any body. Prosperity and independence are charming things on this account, that +they give force to the counsels of a friendly heart; while it is thought +insolence in the miserable to advise, or so much as to remonstrate. +</p> + +<p> +Yet is Miss Howe an invaluable person: And is it to be expected that she should +preserve the same regard for my judgment that she had before I forfeited all +title to discretion? With what face can I take upon me to reproach a want of +prudence in her? But if I can be so happy as to re-establish myself in her +ever-valued opinion, I shall endeavour to enforce upon her your just +observation on this head. +</p> + +<p> +You need not, you say, exhort me to despise such a man as him, by whom I have +suffered—indeed you need not: for I would choose the cruellest death +rather than to be his. And yet, my dear Mrs. Norton, I will own to you, that +once I could have loved him.—Ungrateful man!—had he permitted me to +love him, I once could have loved him. Yet he never deserved love. And was not +this a fault?—But now, if I can but keep out of his hands, and obtain a +last forgiveness, and that as well for the sake of my dear friends’ +future reflections, as for my own present comfort, it is all I wish for. +</p> + +<p> +Reconciliation with my friends I do not expect; nor pardon from them; at least, +till in extremity, and as a <i>viaticum</i>. +</p> + +<p> +O my beloved Mrs. Norton, you cannot imagine what I have suffered!—But +indeed my heart is broken!—I am sure I shall not live to take possession +of that independence, which you think would enable me to atone, in some +measure, for my past conduct. +</p> + +<p> +While this is my opinion, you may believe I shall not be easy till I can obtain +a last forgiveness. +</p> + +<p> +I wish to be left to take my own course in endeavouring to procure this grace. +Yet know I not, at present, what that course shall be. +</p> + +<p> +I will write. But to whom is my doubt. Calamity has not yet given me the +assurance to address myself to my FATHER. My UNCLES (well as they once loved +me) are hard hearted. They never had their masculine passions humanized by the +tender name of FATHER. Of my BROTHER I have no hope. I have then but my MOTHER, +and my SISTER, to whom I can apply.—‘And may I not, my dearest +Mamma, be permitted to lift up my trembling eye to your all-cheering, and your +once more than indulgent, your fond eye, in hopes of seasonable mercy to the +poor sick heart that yet beats with life drawn from your own dearer +heart?—Especially when pardon only, and not restoration, is +implored?’ +</p> + +<p> +Yet were I able to engage my mother’s pity, would it not be a mean to +make her still more unhappy than I have already made her, by the opposition she +would meet with, were she to try to give force to that pity? +</p> + +<p> +To my SISTER, then, I think, I will apply—Yet how hard-hearted has my +sister been!—But I will not ask for protection; and yet I am in hourly +dread that I shall want protection.—All I will ask for at present +(preparative to the last forgiveness I will implore) shall be only to be freed +from the heavy curse that seems to have operated as far is it can operate as to +this life—and, surely, it was passion, and not intention, that carried it +so far as to the other! +</p> + +<p> +But why do I thus add to your distresses?—It is not, my dear Mrs. Norton, +that I have so much feeling for my own calamity that I have none for +your’s: since your’s is indeed an addition to my own. But you have +one consolation (a very great one) which I have not:—That your +afflictions, whether respecting your more or your less deserving child, rise +not from any fault of your own. +</p> + +<p> +But what can I do for you more than pray?—Assure yourself, that in every +supplication I put up for myself, I will with equal fervour remember both you +and your son. For I am and ever will be +</p> + +<p> +Your truly sympathising and dutiful CLARISSA HARLOWE. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0068" id="link2H_4_0068"></a> LETTER LXV</h2> + +<p> +MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE [SUPERSCRIBED FOR MRS. RACHEL CLARK, +&c.] WEDNESDAY, JULY 5. +</p> + +<p> +MY DEAR CLARISSA, +</p> + +<p> +I have at last heard from you from a quarter I little expected. +</p> + +<p> +From my mother! +</p> + +<p> +She had for some time seen me uneasy and grieving; and justly supposed it was +about you: and this morning dropt a hint, which made me conjecture that she +must have heard something of you more than I knew. And when she found that this +added to my uneasiness, she owned she had a letter in her hands of +your’s, dated the 29th of June, directed for me. +</p> + +<p> +You may guess, that this occasioned a little warmth, that could not be wished +for by either. +</p> + +<p> +[It is surprising, my dear, mighty surprising! that knowing the prohibition I +lay under of corresponding with you, you could send a letter for me to our own +house: since it must be fifty to one that it would fall into my mother’s +hands, as you find it did.] +</p> + +<p> +In short, she resented that I should disobey her: I was as much concerned that +she should open and withhold from me my letters: and at last she was pleased to +compromise the matter with me by giving up the letter, and permitting me to +write to you once or twice: she to see the contents of what I wrote. For, +besides the value she has for you, she could not but have greater curiosity to +know the occasion of so sad a situation as your melancholy letter shows you to +be in. +</p> + +<p> +[But I shall get her to be satisfied with hearing me read what I write; putting +in between hooks, { }, what I intend not to read to her.] +</p> + +<p> +Need I to remind you, Miss Clarissa Harlowe, of three letters I wrote to you, +to none of which I had any answer; except to the first, and that of a few lines +only, promising a letter at large, though you were well enough, the day after +you received my second, to go joyfully back again with him to the vile house? +But more of these by-and-by. I must hasten to take notice of your letter of +Wednesday last week; which you could contrive should fall into my +mother’s hands. +</p> + +<p> +Let me tell you, that that letter has almost broken my heart. Good +God!—What have you brought yourself to, Miss Clarissa +Harlowe?—Could I have believed, that after you had escaped from the +miscreant, (with such mighty pains and earnestness escaped,) and after such an +attempt as he had made, you would have been prevailed upon not only to forgive +him, but (without being married too) to return with him to that horrid +house!—A house I had given you such an account +of!—Surprising!——What an intoxicating thing is this +love?—I always feared, that you, even you, were not proof against its +inconsistent effects. +</p> + +<p> +You your best self have not escaped!—Indeed I see not how you could +expect to escape. +</p> + +<p> +What a tale have you to unfold!—You need not unfold it, my dear: I would +have engaged to prognosticate all that has happened, had you but told me that +you would once more have put yourself in his power, after you had taken such +pains to get out of it. +</p> + +<p> +Your peace is destroyed!—I wonder not at it: since now you must reproach +yourself for a credulity so ill-placed. +</p> + +<p> +Your intellect is touched!—I am sure my heart bleeds for you! But, excuse +me, my dear, I doubt your intellect was touched before you left Hampstead: or +you would never have let him find you out there; or, when he did, suffer him to +prevail upon you to return to the horrid brothel. +</p> + +<p> +I tell you, I sent you three letters: The first of which, dated the 7th and 8th +of June* (for it was written at twice) came safely to your hands, as you sent +me word by a few lines dated the 9th: had it not, I should have doubted my own +safety; since in it I give you such an account of the abominable house, and +threw such cautions in your way, in relation to that Tomlinson, as the more +surprised me that you could think of going back to it again, after you had +escaped from it, and from Lovelace.—O my dear—but nothing now will +I ever wonder at! +</p> + +<p> +* See Vol. V. Letter XX. +</p> + +<p> +The second, dated June 10,* was given into your own hand at Hampstead, on +Sunday the 11th, as you was lying upon a couch, in a strange way, according to +my messenger’s account of you, bloated, and flush-coloured; I don’t +know how. +</p> + +<p> +* See Letter VII. of this volume. +</p> + +<p> +The third was dated the 20th of June.* Having not heard one word from you since +the promising billet of the 9th, I own I did not spare you in it. I ventured it +by the usual conveyance, by that Wilson’s, having no other: so cannot be +sure you received it. Indeed I rather think you might not; because in +your’s, which fell into my mother’s hands, you make no mention of +it: and if you had had it, I believe it would have touched you too much to have +been passed by unnoticed. +</p> + +<p> +* See Letter XXX. of this volume. +</p> + +<p> +You have heard, that I have been ill, you say. I had a cold, indeed; but it was +so slight a one that it confined me not an hour. But I doubt not that strange +things you have heard, and been told, to induce you to take the step you took. +And, till you did take that step (the going back with this villain, I mean,) I +knew not a more pitiable case than your’s: since every body must have +excused you before, who knew how you were used at home, and was acquainted with +your prudence and vigilance. But, alas! my dear, we see that the wisest people +are not to be depended upon, when love, like an <i>ignis fatuus</i>, holds up +its misleading lights before their eyes. +</p> + +<p> +My mother tells me, she sent you an answer, desiring you not to write to me, +because it would grieve me. To be sure I am grieved; exceedingly grieved; and, +disappointed too, you must permit me to say. For I had always thought that +there never was such a woman, at your years, in the world. +</p> + +<p> +But I remember once an argument you held, on occasion of a censure passed in +company upon an excellent preacher, who was not a very excellent liver: +preaching and practising, you said, required very different talents:* which, +when united in the same person, made the man a saint; as wit and judgment, +going together, constituted a genius. +</p> + +<p> +* See Vol. II. Letter IV. +</p> + +<p> +You made it out, I remember, very prettily: but you never made it out, excuse +me, my dear, more convincingly, than by that part of your late conduct, which I +complain of. +</p> + +<p> +My love for you, and my concern for your honour, may possibly have made me a +little of the severest. If you think so, place it to its proper account; to +that love, and to that concern: which will but do justice to +</p> + +<p> +Your afflicted and faithful A.H. +</p> + +<p> +P.S. My mother would not be satisfied without reading my letter herself; and +that before I had fixed all the proposed hooks. She knows, by this means, and +has excused, our former correspondence. +</p> + +<p> +She indeed suspected it before: and so she very well might; knowing my love of +you. +</p> + +<p> +She has so much real concern for your misfortunes, that, thinking it will be a +consolation to you, and that it will oblige me, she consents that you shall +write to me the particulars at large of your sad story. But it is on condition +that I show her all that has passed between us, relating to yourself and the +vilest of men. I have the more cheerfully complied, as the communication cannot +be to your disadvantage. +</p> + +<p> +You may therefore write freely, and direct to our own house. +</p> + +<p> +My mother promises to show me the copy of her letter to you, and your reply to +it; which latter she has but just told me of. She already apologizes for the +severity of her’s: and thinks the sight of your reply will affect me too +much. But, having her promise, I will not dispense with it. +</p> + +<p> +I doubt her’s is severe enough. So I fear you will think mine: but you +have taught me never to spare the fault for the friend’s sake; and that a +great error ought rather to be the more inexcusable in the person we value, +than in one we are indifferent to; because it is a reflection upon our choice +of that person, and tends to a breach of the love of mind, and to expose us to +the world for our partiality. To the love of mind, I repeat; since it is +impossible but the errors of the dearest friend must weaken our inward opinion +of that friend; and thereby lay a foundation for future distance, and perhaps +disgust. +</p> + +<p> +God grant that you may be able to clear your conduct after you had escaped from +Hampstead; as all before that time was noble, generous, and prudent; the man a +devil and you a saint!——Yet I hope you can; and therefore expect it +from you. +</p> + +<p> +I send by a particular hand. He will call for your answer at your own +appointment. +</p> + +<p> +I am afraid this horrid wretch will trace out by the post-offices where you +are, if not careful. +</p> + +<p> +To have money, and will, and head, to be a villain, is too much for the rest of +the world, when they meet in one man. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0069" id="link2H_4_0069"></a> LETTER LXVI</h2> + +<p> +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE THURSDAY, JULY 6. +</p> + +<p> +Few young persons have been able to give more convincing proofs than myself how +little true happiness lies in the enjoyment of our own wishes. +</p> + +<p> +To produce one instance only of the truth of this observation; what would I +have given for weeks past, for the favour of a letter from my dear Miss Howe, +in whose friendship I placed all my remaining comfort! Little did I think, that +the next letter she would honour me with, should be in such a style, as should +make me look more than once at the subscription, that I might be sure (the name +not being written at length) that it was not signed by another A.H. For surely, +thought I, this is my sister Arabella’s style: surely Miss Howe (blame me +as she pleases in other points) could never repeat so sharply upon her friend, +words written in the bitterness of spirit, and in the disorder of head; nor +remind her, with asperity, and with mingled strokes of wit, of an argument held +in the gaiety of a heart elated with prosperous fortunes, (as mine then was,) +and very little apprehensive of the severe turn that argument would one day +take against herself. +</p> + +<p> +But what have I, sink in my fortunes; my character forfeited; my honour lost, +[while I know it, I care not who knows it;] destitute of friends, and even of +hope; what have I to do to show a spirit of repining and expostulation to a +dear friend, because she is not more kind than a sister?—— +</p> + +<p> +You have till now, my dear, treated me with great indulgence. If it was with +greater than I had deserved, I may be to blame to have built upon it, on the +consciousness that I deserve it now as much as ever. But I find, by the rising +bitterness which will mingle with the gall in my ink, that I am not yet subdued +enough to my condition.—I lay down my pen for one moment. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +Pardon me, my Miss Howe. I have recollected myself: and will endeavour to give +a particular answer to your letter; although it will take me up too much time +to think of sending it by your messenger to-morrow: he can put off his journey, +he says, till Saturday. I will endeavour to have the whole narrative ready for +you by Saturday. +</p> + +<p> +But how to defend myself in every thing that has happened, I cannot tell: since +in some part of the time, in which my conduct appears to have been censurable, +I was not myself; and to this hour know not all the methods taken to deceive +and ruin me. +</p> + +<p> +You tell me, that in your first letter you gave me such an account of the vile +house I was in, and such cautions about that Tomlinson, as made you wonder how +I could think of going back. +</p> + +<p> +Alas, my dear! I was tricked, most vilely tricked back, as you shall hear in +its place. +</p> + +<p> +Without knowing the house was so very vile a house from your intended +information, I disliked the people too much, ever voluntarily to have returned +to it. But had you really written such cautions about Tomlinson, and the house, +as you seem to have purposed to do, they must, had they come in time, have been +of infinite service to me. But not one word of either, whatever was your +intention, did you mention to me, in that first of the three letters you so +warmly TELL me you did send me. I will enclose it to convince you.* +</p> + +<p> +* The letter she encloses was Mr. Lovelace’s forged one. See Vol. V. +Letter XXX. +</p> + +<p> +But your account of your messenger’s delivering to me your second letter, +and the description he gives of me, as lying upon a couch, in a strange way, +bloated, and flush-coloured; you don’t know how, absolutely puzzles and +confounds me. +</p> + +<p> +Lord have mercy upon the poor Clarissa Harlowe! What can this mean!—Who +was the messenger you sent? Was he one of Lovelace’s creatures +too!—Could nobody come near me but that man’s confederates, either +setting out so, or made so? I know not what to make of any one syllable of +this! Indeed I don’t. +</p> + +<p> +Let me see. You say, this was before I went from Hampstead! My intellects had +not then been touched!—nor had I ever been surprised by wine, [strange if +I had!]: How then could I be found in such a strange way, bloated and +flush-coloured; you don’t know how!—Yet what a vile, what a hateful +figure has your messenger represented me to have made! +</p> + +<p> +But indeed I know nothing of any messenger from you. +</p> + +<p> +Believing myself secure at Hampstead, I staid longer there than I would have +done, in hopes of the letter promised me in your short one of the 9th, brought +me by my own messenger, in which you undertake to send for and engage Mrs. +Townsend in my favour.* +</p> + +<p> +* See Vol. V. Letter XXIX. +</p> + +<p> +I wondered I had not heard from you: and was told you were sick; and, at +another time, that your mother and you had had words on my account, and that +you had refused to admit Mr. Hickman’s visits upon it: so that I +supposed, at one time, that you were not able to write; at another, that your +mother’s prohibition had its due force with you. But now I have no doubt +that the wicked man must have intercepted your letter; and I wish he found not +means to corrupt your messenger to tell you so strange a story. +</p> + +<p> +It was on Sunday, June 11, you say, that the man gave it me. I was at church +twice that day with Mrs. Moore. Mr. Lovelace was at her house the while, where +he boarded, and wanted to have lodged; but I would not permit that, though I +could not help the other. In one of these spaces it must be that he had time to +work upon the man. You’ll easily, my dear, find that out, by inquiring +the time of his arrival at Mrs. Moore’s and other circumstances of the +strange way he pretended to see me in, on a couch, and the rest. +</p> + +<p> +Had any body seen me afterwards, when I was betrayed back to the vile house, +struggling under the operation of wicked potions, and robbed indeed of my +intellects (for this, as you shall hear, was my dreadful case,) I might then, +perhaps, have appeared bloated and flush-coloured, and I know not how myself. +But were you to see your poor Clarissa, now (or even to have seen her at +Hampstead before she suffered the vilest of all outrages,) you would not think +her bloated or flush-coloured: indeed you would not. +</p> + +<p> +In a word, it could not be me your messenger saw; nor (if any body) who it was +can I divine. +</p> + +<p> +I will now, as briefly as the subject will permit, enter into the darker part +of my sad story: and yet I must be somewhat circumstantial, that you may not +think me capable of reserve or palliation. The latter I am not conscious that I +need. I should be utterly inexcusable were I guilty of the former to you. And +yet, if you know how my heart sinks under the thoughts of a recollection so +painful, you would pity me. +</p> + +<p> +As I shall not be able, perhaps, to conclude what I have to write in even two +or three letters, I will begin a new one with my story; and send the whole of +it together, although written at different periods, as I am able. +</p> + +<p> +Allow me a little pause, my dear, at this place; and to subscribe myself +</p> + +<p> +Your ever affectionate and obliged, CLARISSA HARLOWE. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0070" id="link2H_4_0070"></a> LETTER LXVII</h2> + +<p> +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE [REFERRED TO IN LETTER XII.] THURSDAY +NIGHT. +</p> + +<p> +He had found me out at Hampstead: strangely found me out; for I am still at a +loss to know by what means. +</p> + +<p> +I was loth, in my billet of the 6th,* to tell you so, for fear of giving you +apprehensions for me; and besides, I hoped then to have a shorter and happier +issue to account to you for, through your assistance, than I met with. +</p> + +<p> +* See Vol. V. Letter XXXI. +</p> + +<p> +[She then gives a narrative of all that passed at Hampstead between herself, +Mr. Lovelace, Capt. Tomlinson, and the women there, to the same effect with +that so amply given by Mr. Lovelace.] +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Lovelace, finding all he could say, and all Captain Tomlinson could urge, +ineffectual, to prevail upon me to forgive an outrage so flagrantly +premeditated; rested all his hopes on a visit which was to be paid me by Lady +Betty Lawrance and Miss Montague. +</p> + +<p> +In my uncertain situation, my prospects all so dark, I knew not to whom I might +be obliged to have recourse in the last resort: and as those ladies had the +best of characters, insomuch that I had reason to regret that I had not from +the first thrown myself upon their protection, (when I had forfeited that of my +own friends,) I thought I would not shun an interview with them, though I was +too indifferent to their kinsman to seek it, as I doubted not that one end of +their visit would be to reconcile me to him. +</p> + +<p> +On Monday, the 12th of June, these pretended ladies came to Hampstead; and I +was presented to them, and they to me by their kinsman. +</p> + +<p> +They were richly dressed, and stuck out with jewels; the pretended Lady +Betty’s were particularly very fine. +</p> + +<p> +They came in a coach-and-four, hired, as was confessed, while their own was +repairing in town: a pretence made, I now perceive, that I should not guess at +the imposture by the want of the real lady’s arms upon it. Lady Betty was +attended by her woman, who she called Morrison; a modest country-looking +person. +</p> + +<p> +I had heard, that Lady Betty was a fine woman, and that Miss Montague was a +beautiful young lady, genteel, and graceful, and full of vivacity.—Such +were these impostors: and having never seen either of them, I had not the least +suspicion, that they were not the ladies they personated; and being put a +little out of countenance by the richness of their dresses, I could not help, +(fool that I was!) to apologize for my own. +</p> + +<p> +The pretended Lady Betty then told me, that her nephew had acquainted them with +the situation of affairs between us. And although she could not but say, that +she was very glad that she had not put such a slight upon his Lordship and +them, as report had given them cause to apprehend, (the reasons for which +report, however, she must have approved of;) yet it had been matter of great +concern to her, and to her niece Montague, and would to the whole family, to +find so great a misunderstanding subsisting between us, as, if not made up, +might distance all their hopes. +</p> + +<p> +She could easily tell who was in fault, she said. And gave him a look both of +anger and disdain; asking him, How it was possible for him to give an offence +of such a nature to so charming a lady, [so she called me,] as should occasion +a resentment so strong? +</p> + +<p> +He pretended to be awed into shame and silence. +</p> + +<p> +My dearest niece, said she, and took my hand, (I must call you niece, as well +from love, as to humour your uncle’s laudable expedient,) permit me to +be, not an advocate, but a mediatrix for him; and not for his sake, so much as +for my own, my Charlotte’s, and all our family’s. The indignity he +has offered to you, may be of too tender a nature to be inquired into. But as +he declares, that it was not a premeditated offence; whether, my dear, [for I +was going to rise upon it in my temper,] it were or not; and as he declares his +sorrows for it, (and never did creature express a deeper sorrow for any offence +than he); and as it is a repairable one; let us, for this one time, forgive +him; and thereby lay an obligation upon this man of errors—Let US, I say, +my dear: for, Sir, [turning to him,] an offence against such a peerless lady as +this, must be an offence against me, against your cousin here, and against all +the virtuous of our sex. +</p> + +<p> +See, my dear, what a creature he had picked out! Could you have thought there +was a woman in the world who could thus express herself, and yet be vile? But +she had her principal instructions from him, and those written down too, as I +have reason to think: for I have recollected since, that I once saw this Lady +Betty, (who often rose from her seat, and took a turn to the other end of the +room with such an emotion, as if the joy of her heart would not let her sit +still) take out a paper from her stays, and look into it, and put it there +again. She might oftener, and I not observe it; for I little thought that there +could be such impostors in the world. +</p> + +<p> +I could not forbear paying great attention to what she said. I found my tears +ready to start; I drew out my handkerchief, and was silent. I had not been so +indulgently treated a great while by a person of character and distinction, +[such I thought her;] and durst not trust to the accent of my voice. +</p> + +<p> +The pretended Miss Montague joined in on this occasion: and drawing her chair +close to me, took my other hand, and besought me to forgive her cousin; and +consent to rank myself as one of the principals of a family that had long, very +long, coveted the honour of my alliance. +</p> + +<p> +I am ashamed to repeat to you, my dear, now I know what wretches they are, the +tender, the obliging, and the respectful things I said to them. +</p> + +<p> +The wretch himself then came forward. He threw himself at my feet. How was I +beset!—The women grasping, one my right hand, the other my left: the +pretended Miss Montague pressing to her lips more than once the hand she held: +the wicked man on his knees, imploring my forgiveness; and setting before me my +happy and my unhappy prospects, as I should forgive and not forgive him. All +that he thought would affect me in former pleas, and those of Capt. Tomlinson, +he repeated. He vowed, he promised, he bespoke the pretended ladies to answer +for him; and they engaged their honours in his behalf. +</p> + +<p> +Indeed, my dear, I was distressed, perfectly distressed. I was sorry that I had +given way to this visit. For I knew not how, in tenderness to relations, (as I +thought them,) so worthy, to treat so freely as he deserved, a man nearly +allied to them: so that my arguments and my resolutions were deprived of their +greatest force. +</p> + +<p> +I pleaded, however, my application to you. I expected every hour, I told them, +an answer from you to a letter I had written, which would decide my future +destiny. +</p> + +<p> +They offered to apply to you themselves in person, in their own behalf, as they +politely termed it. They besought me to write to you to hasten your answer. +</p> + +<p> +I said, I was sure that you would write the moment that the event of an +application to be made to a third person enabled you to write. But as to the +success of their request in behalf of their kinsman, that depended not upon the +expected answer; for that, I begged their pardon, was out of the question. I +wished him well. I wished him happy. But I was convinced, that I neither could +make him so, nor he me. +</p> + +<p> +Then! how the wretch promised!—How he vowed!—How he +entreated!—And how the women pleaded!—And they engaged themselves, +and the honour of their whole family, for his just, his kind, his tender +behaviour to me. +</p> + +<p> +In short, my dear, I was so hard set, that I was obliged to come to a more +favourable compromise with them than I had intended. I would wait for your +answer to my letter, I said: and if that made doubtful or difficult the change +of measures I had resolved upon, and the scheme of life I had formed, I would +then consider of the matter; and, if they would permit me, lay all before them, +and take their advice upon it, in conjunction with your’s, as if the one +were my own aunt, and the other were my own cousin. +</p> + +<p> +They shed tears upon this—of joy they called them:—But since, I +believe, to their credit, bad as they are, that they were tears of temporary +remorse; for, the pretended Miss Montague turned about, and, as I remember, +said, There was no standing it. +</p> + +<p> +But Mr. Lovelace was not so easily satisfied. He was fixed upon his villanous +measures perhaps; and so might not be sorry to have a pretence against me. He +bit his lip—he had been but too much used, he said, to such indifference, +such coldness, in the very midst of his happiest prospects. I had on twenty +occasions shown him, to his infinite regret, that any favour I was to confer +upon him was to be the result of—there he stopt—and not of my +choice. +</p> + +<p> +This had like to have set all back again. I was exceedingly offended. But the +pretended ladies interposed. The elder severely took him to task. He ought, she +told him, to be satisfied with what I had said. She desired no other condition. +And what, Sir, said she, with an air of authority, would you commit errors, and +expect to be rewarded for them? +</p> + +<p> +They then engaged me in a more agreeable conversation—the pretended lady +declared, that she, Lord M. and Lady Sarah, would directly and personally +interest themselves to bring about a general reconciliation between the two +families, and this either in open or private concert with my uncle Harlowe, as +should be thought fit. Animosities on one side had been carried a great way, +she said; and too little care had been shown on the other to mollify or heal. +My father should see that they could treat him as a brother and a friend; and +my brother and sister should be convinced that there was no room either for the +jealousy or envy they had conceived from motives too unworthy to be avowed. +</p> + +<p> +Could I help, my dear, being pleased with them?— +</p> + +<p> +Permit me here to break off. The task grows too heavy, at present, for the +heart of +</p> + +<p> +Your CLARISSA HARLOWE. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0071" id="link2H_4_0071"></a> LETTER LXVIII</h2> + +<p> +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE [IN CONTINUATION.] +</p> + +<p> +I was very ill, and obliged to lay down my pen. I thought I should have +fainted. But am better now—so will proceed. +</p> + +<p> +The pretended ladies, the more we talked, the fonder they seemed to be of me. +And the Lady Betty had Mrs. Moore called up; and asked her, If she had +accommodations for her niece and self, her woman, and two men servants, for +three or four days? +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Lovelace answered for her that she had. +</p> + +<p> +She would not ask her dear niece Lovelace, [Permit me, my dear, whispered she, +this charming style before strangers! I will keep your uncle’s secret,] +whether she should be welcome or not to be so near her. But for the time she +should stay in these parts, she would come up every night—What say you, +niece Charlotte? +</p> + +<p> +The pretended Charlotte answered, she should like to do so, of all things. +</p> + +<p> +The Lady Betty called her an obliging girl. She liked the place, she said. Her +cousin Leeson would excuse her. The air, and my company, would do her good. She +never chose to lie in the smoky town, if she could help it. In short, my dear, +said she to me, I will stay with you till you hear from Miss Howe; and till I +have your consent to go with me to Glenham-hall. Not one moment will I be out +of your company, when I can have it. Stedman, my solicitor, as the distance +from town is so small, may attend me here for instructions. Niece Charlotte, +one word with you, child. +</p> + +<p> +They retired to the further end of the room, and talked about their +night-dresses. +</p> + +<p> +The Miss Charlotte said, Morrison might be dispatched for them. +</p> + +<p> +True, said the other—but I have some letters in my private box, which I +must have up. And you know, Charlotte, that I trust nobody with the keys of +that. +</p> + +<p> +Could not Morrison bring up the box? +</p> + +<p> +No. She thought it safest where it was. She had heard of a robbery committed +but two days ago at the food of Hampstead-hill; and she should be ruined if she +lost her box. +</p> + +<p> +Well, then, it was but going to town to undress, and she would leave her jewels +behind her, and return; and should be easier a great deal on all accounts. +</p> + +<p> +For my part, I wondered they came up with them. But that was to be taken as a +respect paid to me. And then they hinted at another visit of ceremony which +they had thought to make, had they not found me so inexpressibly engaging. +</p> + +<p> +They talked loud enough for me to hear them; on purpose, no doubt, though in +affected whispers; and concluded with high praises of me. +</p> + +<p> +I was not fool enough to believe, or to be puffed up with their encomiums; yet +not suspecting them, I was not displeased at so favourable a beginning of +acquaintance with Ladies (whether I were to be related to them or not) of whom +I had always heard honourable mention. And yet at the time, I thought, highly +as they exalted me, that in some respects (though I hardly know in what) they +fell short of what I expected them to be. +</p> + +<p> +The grand deluder was at the farther end of the room, another way; probably to +give me an opportunity to hear these preconcerted praises—looking into a +book, which had there not been a preconcert, would not have taken his attention +for one moment. It was Taylor’s Holy Living and Dying. +</p> + +<p> +When the pretended ladies joined me, he approached me with it in his +hand—a smart book, this, my dear!—this old divine affects, I see, a +mighty flowery style of an ordinary country funeral, where, the young women, in +honour of a defunct companion, especially if she were a virgin, or passed for +such, make a flower-bed of her coffin. +</p> + +<p> +And then, laying down the book, turning upon his heel, with one of his usual +airs of gaiety, And are you determined, Ladies, to take up your lodgings with +my charming creature? +</p> + +<p> +Indeed they were. +</p> + +<p> +Never were there more cunning, more artful impostors, than these women. +Practised creatures, to be sure: yet genteel; and they must have been +well-educated—once, perhaps, as much the delight of their parents, as I +was of mine: and who knows by what arts ruined, body and mind—O my dear! +how pregnant is this reflection! +</p> + +<p> +But the man!—Never was there a man so deep. Never so consummate a +deceiver; except that detested Tomlinson; whose years and seriousness, joined +with a solidity of sense and judgment that seemed uncommon, gave him, one would +have thought, advantages in villany, the other had not time for. Hard, very +hard, that I should fall into the knowledge of two such wretches; when two more +such I hope are not to be met with in the world!—both so determined to +carry on the most barbarous and perfidious projects against a poor young +creature, who never did or wished harm to either. +</p> + +<p> +Take the following slight account of these women’s and of this +man’s behaviour to each other before me. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Lovelace carried himself to his pretended aunt with high respect, and paid +a great deference to all she said. He permitted her to have all the advantage +over him in the repartees and retorts that passed between them. I could, +indeed, easily see, that it was permitted; and that he forbore that vivacity, +that quickness, which he never spared showing to his pretended Miss Montague; +and which a man of wit seldom knows how to spare showing, when an opportunity +offers to display his wit. +</p> + +<p> +The pretended Miss Montague was still more respectful in her behaviour to her +pretended aunt. While the aunt kept up the dignity of the character she had +assumed, rallying both of them with the air of a person who depends upon the +superiority which years and fortune give over younger persons, who might have a +view to be obliged to her, either in her life, or at her death. +</p> + +<p> +The severity of her raillery, however, was turned upon Mr. Lovelace, on +occasion of the character of the people who kept the lodgings, which, she said, +I had thought myself so well warranted to leave privately. +</p> + +<p> +This startled me. For having then no suspicion of the vile Tomlinson, I +concluded (and your letter of the 7th* favoured my conclusion) that if the +house were notorious, either he, or Mr. Mennell, would have given me or him +some hints of it—nor, although I liked not the people, did I observe any +thing in them very culpable, till the Wednesday night before, that they offered +not to come to my assistance, although within hearing of my distress, (as I am +sure they were,) and having as much reason as I to be frighted at the fire, had +it been real. +</p> + +<p> +* His forged letter. See Vol. V. Letter XXX. +</p> + +<p> +I looked with indignation upon Mr. Lovelace, at this hint. +</p> + +<p> +He seemed abashed. I have not patience, but to recollect the specious looks of +this vile deceiver. But how was it possible, that even that florid countenance +of his should enable him to command a blush at his pleasure? for blush he did, +more than once: and the blush, on this occasion, was a deep-dyed crimson, +unstrained for, and natural, as I thought—but he is so much of the actor, +that he seems able to enter into any character; and his muscles and features +appear entirely under obedience to his wicked will.* +</p> + +<p> +* It is proper to observe, that there was a more natural reason than this that +the Lady gives for Mr. Lovelace’s blushing. It was a blush of +indignation, as he owned afterwards to his friend Belford, in conversation; for +the pretended Lady Betty had mistaken her cue, in condemning the house; and he +had much ado to recover the blunder; being obliged to follow her lead, and vary +from his first design; which was to have the people of the house spoken well +of, in order to induce her to return to it, were it but on pretence to direct +her clothes to be carried to Hampstead. +</p> + +<p> +The pretended lady went on, saying, she had taken upon herself to inquire after +the people, on hearing that I had left the house in disgust; and though she +heard not any thing much amiss, yet she heard enough to make her wonder that he +could carry his spouse, a person of so much delicacy, to a house, that, if it +had not a bad fame, had not a good one. +</p> + +<p> +You must think, my dear, that I liked the pretended Lady Betty the better for +this. I suppose it was designed that I should. +</p> + +<p> +He was surprised, he said, that her Ladyship should hear a bad character of the +people. It was what he had never before heard that they deserved. It was easy, +indeed, to see, that they had not very great delicacy, though they were not +indelicate. The nature of their livelihood, letting lodgings, and taking people +to board, (and yet he had understood that they were nice in these particulars,) +led them to aim at being free and obliging: and it was difficult, he said, for +persons of cheerful dispositions, so to behave as to avoid censure: openness of +heart and countenance in the sex (more was the pity) too often subjected good +people, whose fortunes did not set them above the world, to uncharitable +censure. +</p> + +<p> +He wished, however, that her Ladyship would tell what she had heard: although +now it signified but little, because he would never ask me to set foot within +their doors again: and he begged she would not mince the matter. +</p> + +<p> +Nay, no great matter, she said. But she had been informed, that there were more +women-lodgers in the house than men: yet that their visiters were more men than +women. And this had been hinted to her (perhaps by ill-wishers, she could not +answer for that) in such a way, as if somewhat further were meant by it than +was spoken. +</p> + +<p> +This, he said, was the true innuendo-way of characterizing, used by detractors. +Every body and every thing had a black and a white side, of which well wishers +and ill wishers may make their advantage. He had observed that the front house +was well let, and he believed more to the one sex than to the other; for he had +seen, occasionally passing to or fro, several genteel modest looking women; and +who, it was very probable, were not so ill-beloved, but they might have +visiters and relations of both sexes: but they were none of them any thing to +us, or we to them: we were not once in any of their companies: but in the +genteelest and most retired house of the two, which we had in a manner to +ourselves, with the use of a parlour to the street, to serve us for a +servants’ hall, or to receive common visiters, or our traders only, whom +we admitted not up stairs. +</p> + +<p> +He always loved to speak as he found. No man in the world had suffered more +from calumny than he himself had done. +</p> + +<p> +Women, he owned, ought to be more scrupulous than men needed to be where they +lodged. Nevertheless he wished that fact, rather than surmise, were to be the +foundation of their judgments, especially when they spoke of one another. +</p> + +<p> +He meant no reflection upon her Ladyship’s informants, or rather +surmisants, (as he might call them,) be they who they would: nor did he think +himself obliged to defend characters impeached, or not thought well of, by +women of virtue and honour. Neither were these people of importance enough to +have so much said about them. +</p> + +<p> +The pretended Lady Betty said, all who knew her, would clear her of +censoriousness: that it gave her some opinion, she must needs say, of the +people, that he had continued there so long with me; that I had rather negative +than positive reasons of dislike to them; and that so shrewd a man as she heard +Captain Tomlinson was had not objected to them. +</p> + +<p> +I think, niece Charlotte, proceeded she, as my nephew had not parted with these +lodgings, you and I, (for, as my dear Miss Harlowe dislikes the people, I would +not ask her for her company) will take a dish of tea with my nephew there, +before we go out of town; and then we shall see what sort of people they are. I +have heard that Mrs. Sinclair is a mighty forbidding creature. +</p> + +<p> +With all my heart, Madam. In your Ladyship’s company I shall make no +scruple of going any where. +</p> + +<p> +It was Ladyship at every word; and as she seemed proud of her title, and of her +dress too, I might have guessed that she was not used to either. +</p> + +<p> +What say you, cousin Lovelace? Lady Sarah, though a melancholy woman, is very +inquisitive about all your affairs. I must acquaint her with every particular +circumstance when I go down. +</p> + +<p> +With all his heart. He would attend her whenever she pleased. She would see +very handsome apartments, and very civil people. +</p> + +<p> +The deuce is in them, said the Miss Montague, if they appear other to us. +</p> + +<p> +She then fell into family talk; family happiness on my hoped-for accession into +it. They mentioned Lord M.’s and Lady Sarah’s great desire to see +me: how many friends and admirers, with uplift hands, I should have! [Oh! my +dear, what a triumph must these creatures, and he, have over the poor devoted +all the time!]—What a happy man he would be!—They would not, the +Lady Betty said, give themselves the mortification but to suppose that I should +not be one of them! +</p> + +<p> +Presents were hinted at. She resolved that I should go with her to +Glenham-hall. She would not be refused, although she were to stay a week beyond +her time for me. +</p> + +<p> +She longed for the expected letter from you. I must write to hasten it, and to +let Miss Howe know how every thing stood since I wrote last. That might dispose +me absolutely in her favour and in her nephew’s; and then she hoped there +would be no occasion for me to think of entering upon any new measures. +</p> + +<p> +Indeed, my dear, I did at the time intend, if I heard not from you by morning, +to dispatch a man and horse to you, with the particulars of all, that you might +(if you thought proper) at least put off Mrs. Townsend’s coming up to +another day.—But I was miserably prevented. +</p> + +<p> +She made me promise that I would write to you upon this subject, whether I +heard from you or not. One of her servants should ride post with my letter, and +wait for Miss Howe’s answer. +</p> + +<p> +She then launched out in deserved praises of you, my dear. How fond she should +be of the honour of your acquaintance. +</p> + +<p> +The pretended Miss Montague joined in with her, as well for herself as for her +sister. +</p> + +<p> +Abominably well instructed were they both! +</p> + +<p> +O my dear! what risks may poor giddy girls run, when they throw themselves out +of the protection of their natural friends, and into the wide world! +</p> + +<p> +They then talked again of reconciliation and intimacy with every one of my +friends; with my mother particularly; and gave the dear good lady the praises +that every one gives her, who has the happiness to know her. +</p> + +<p> +Ah, my dear Miss Howe! I had almost forgot my resentments against the pretended +nephew!—So many agreeable things said, made me think, that, if you should +advise it, and if I could bring my mind to forgive the wretch for an outrage so +premeditatedly vile, and could forbear despising him for that and his other +ungrateful and wicked ways, I might not be unhappy in an alliance with such a +family. Yet, thought I at the time, with what intermixture does every thing +come to me that had the appearance of good!——However, as my lucid +hopes made me see fewer faults in the behaviour of these pretended ladies, than +recollection and abhorrence have helped me since to see, I began to reproach +myself, that I had not at first thrown myself into their protection. +</p> + +<p> +But amidst all these delightful prospects, I must not, said the Lady Betty, +forget that I am to go to town. +</p> + +<p> +She then ordered her coach to be got to the door.—We will all go to town +together, said she, and return together. Morrison shall stay here, and see +every thing as I am used to have it, in relation to my apartment, and my bed; +for I am very particular in some respects. My cousin Leeson’s servants +can do all I want to be done with regard to my night-dresses, and the like. And +it will be a little airing for you, my dear, and a want of your apparel to be +sent from your former lodgings to Mrs. Leeson’s; and we can bring it up +with us from thence. +</p> + +<p> +I had no intention to comply. But as I did not imagine that she would insist +upon my going to town with them, I made no answer to that part of her speech. +</p> + +<p> +I must here lay down my tired pen! +</p> + +<p> +Recollection! heart-affecting recollection! how it pains me! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0072" id="link2H_4_0072"></a> LETTER LXIX</h2> + +<p class="center"> +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE +</p> + +<p> +In the midst of this agreeableness, the coach came to the door. The pretended +Lady Betty besought me to give them my company to their cousin Leeson’s. +I desired to be excused: yet suspected nothing. She would not be denied. How +happy would a visit so condescending make her cousin Leeson!——Her +cousin Leeson was not unworthy of my acquaintance: and would take it for the +greatest favour in the world. +</p> + +<p> +I objected my dress. But the objection was not admitted. She bespoke a supper +of Mrs. Moore to be ready at nine. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Lovelace, vile hypocrite, and wicked deceiver! seeing, as he said, my +dislike to go, desired his Ladyship not to insist upon it. +</p> + +<p> +Fondness for my company was pleaded. She begged me to oblige her: made a motion +to help me to my fan herself: and, in short, was so very urgent, that my feet +complied against my speech and my mind: and being, in a manner, led to the +coach by her, and made to step in first, she followed me: and her pretended +niece, and the wretch, followed her: and away it drove. +</p> + +<p> +Nothing but the height of affectionate complaisance passed all the way: over +and over, what a joy would this unexpected visit give her cousin Leeson! What a +pleasure must it be to such a mind as mine, to be able to give so much joy to +every body I came near! +</p> + +<p> +The cruel, the savage seducer (as I have since recollected) was in a rapture +all the way; but yet such a sort of rapture, as he took visible pains to check. +</p> + +<p> +Hateful villain! how I abhor him!—What mischief must be then in his +plotting heart!—What a devoted victim must I be in all their eyes! +</p> + +<p> +Though not pleased, I was nevertheless just then thoughtless of danger; they +endeavouring thus to lift me up above all apprehensions of that, and above +myself too. +</p> + +<p> +But think, my dear, what a dreadful turn all had upon me, when, through several +streets and ways I knew nothing of, the coach slackening its pace, came within +sight of the dreadful house of the dreadfullest woman in the world; as she +proved to me. +</p> + +<p> +Lord be good unto me! cried the poor fool, looking out of the coach—Mr. +Lovelace!—Madam! turning to the pretended Lady Betty!—Madam! +turning to the niece, my hands and eyes lifted up—Lord be good unto me! +</p> + +<p> +What! What! What! my dear. +</p> + +<p> +He pulled the string—What need to have come this way? said he—But +since we are, I will but ask a question—My dearest life, why this +apprehension? +</p> + +<p> +The coachman stopped: his servant, who, with one of her’s was behind, +alighted—Ask, said he, if I have any letters? Who knows, my dearest +creature, turning to me, but we may already have one from the Captain?—We +will not go out of the coach!—Fear nothing—Why so +apprehensive?—Oh! these fine spirits!—cried the execrable insulter. +</p> + +<p> +Dreadfully did my heart then misgive me: I was ready to faint. Why this terror, +my life? you shall not stir out of the coach but one question, now the fellow +has drove us this way. +</p> + +<p> +Your lady will faint, cried the execrable Lady Betty, turning to him—My +dearest Niece! (niece I will call you, taking my hand)—we must alight, if +you are so ill.—Let us alight—only for a glass of water and +hartshorn—indeed we must alight. +</p> + +<p> +No, no, no—I am well—quite well—Won’t the man drive +on?—I am well—quite well—indeed I am.—Man, drive on, +putting my head out of the coach—Man, drive on!—though my voice +was too low to be heard. +</p> + +<p> +The coach stopt at the door. How I trembled! +</p> + +<p> +Dorcas came to the door, on its stopping. +</p> + +<p> +My dearest creature, said the vile man, gasping, as it were for breath, you +shall not alight—Any letters for me, Dorcas? +</p> + +<p> +There are two, Sir. And here is a gentleman, Mr. Belton, Sir, waits for your +honour; and has done so above an hour. +</p> + +<p> +I’ll just speak to him. Open the door—You sha’n’t step +out, my dear—A letter perhaps from Captain already!—You +sha’n’t step out, my dear. +</p> + +<p> +I sighed as if my heart would burst. +</p> + +<p> +But we must step out, Nephew: your lady will faint. Maid, a glass of hartshorn +and water!—My dear you must step out—You will faint, child—We +must cut your laces.—[I believe my complexion was all manner of colours +by turns]—Indeed, you must step out, my dear. +</p> + +<p> +He knew, said I, I should be well, the moment the coach drove from the door. I +should not alight. By his soul, I should not. +</p> + +<p> +Lord, Lord, Nephew, Lord, Lord, Cousin, both women in a breath, what ado you +make about nothing! You persuade your lady to be afraid of alighting.—See +you not that she is just fainting? +</p> + +<p> +Indeed, Madam, said the vile seducer, my dearest love must not be moved in this +point against her will. I beg it may not be insisted upon. +</p> + +<p> +Fiddle-faddle, foolish man—What a pother is here! I guess how it is: you +are ashamed to let us see what sort of people you carried your lady +among—but do you go out, and speak to your friend, and take your letters. +</p> + +<p> +He stept out; but shut the coach-door after him, to oblige me. +</p> + +<p> +The coach may go on, Madam, said I. +</p> + +<p> +The coach shall go on, my dear life, said he.—But he gave not, nor +intended to give, orders that it should. +</p> + +<p> +Let the coach go on! said I—Mr. Lovelace may come after us. +</p> + +<p> +Indeed, my dear, you are ill!—Indeed you must alight—alight but for +one quarter of an hour.—Alight but to give orders yourself about your +things. Whom can you be afraid of in my company, and my niece’s; these +people must have behaved shockingly to you! Please the Lord, I’ll inquire +into it!—I’ll see what sort of people they are! +</p> + +<p> +Immediately came the old creature to the door. A thousand pardons, dear Madam, +stepping to the coach-side, if we have any way offended you—Be pleased, +Ladies, [to the other two] to alight. +</p> + +<p> +Well, my dear, whispered the Lady Betty, I now find that an hideous description +of a person we never saw is an advantage to them. I thought the woman was a +monster—but, really, she seems tolerable. +</p> + +<p> +I was afraid I should have fallen into fits: but still refused to go +out—Man!—Man!—Man!—cried I, gaspingly, my head out of +the coach and in, by turns, half a dozen times running, drive on!—Let us +go! +</p> + +<p> +My heart misgave me beyond the power of my own accounting for it; for still I +did not suspect these women. But the antipathy I had taken to the vile house, +and to find myself so near it, when I expected no such matter, with the sight +of the old creature, all together made me behave like a distracted person. +</p> + +<p> +The hartshorn and water was brought. The pretended Lady Betty made me drink it. +Heaven knows if there was any thing else in it! +</p> + +<p> +Besides, said she, whisperingly, I must see what sort of creatures the nieces +are. Want of delicacy cannot be hid from me. You could not surely, my dear, +have this aversion to re-enter a house, for a few minutes, in our company, in +which you lodged and boarded several weeks, unless these women could be so +presumptuously vile, as my nephew ought not to know. +</p> + +<p> +Out stept the pretended lady; the servant, at her command, having opened the +door. +</p> + +<p> +Dearest Madam, said the other to me, let me follow you, [for I was next the +door.] Fear nothing: I will not stir from your presence. +</p> + +<p> +Come, my dear, said the pretended lady, give me your hand; holding out +her’s. Oblige me this once. +</p> + +<p> +I will bless your footsteps, said the old creature, if once more you honour my +house with your presence. +</p> + +<p> +A crowd by this time was gathered about us; but I was too much affected to mind +that. +</p> + +<p> +Again the pretended Miss Montague urged me; standing up as ready to go out if I +would give her room.—Lord, my dear, said she, who can bear this +crowd?—What will people think? +</p> + +<p> +The pretended Lady again pressed me, with both her hands held out—Only, +my dear, to give orders about your things. +</p> + +<p> +And thus pressed, and gazed at, (for then I looked about me,) the women so +richly dressed, people whispering; in an evil moment, out stepped I, trembling, +forced to lean with both my hands (frighted too much for ceremony) on the +pretended Lady Betty’s arm—Oh! that I had dropped down dead upon +the guilty threshold! +</p> + +<p> +We shall stay but a few minutes, my dear!—but a few minutes! said the +same specious jilt—out of breath with her joy, as I have since thought, +that they had thus triumphed over the unhappy victim! +</p> + +<p> +Come, Mrs. Sinclair, I think your name is, show us the +way——following her, and leading me. I am very thirsty. You have +frighted me, my dear, with your strange fears. I must have tea made, if it can +be done in a moment. We have farther to go, Mrs. Sinclair, and must return to +Hampstead this night. +</p> + +<p> +It shall be ready in a moment, cried the wretch. We have water boiling. +</p> + +<p> +Hasten, then—Come, my dear, to me, as she led me through the passage to +the fatal inner house—lean upon me—how you tremble!—how you +falter in your steps!—Dearest niece Lovelace, [the old wretch being in +hearing,] why these hurries upon your spirits?—We’ll be gone in a +minute. +</p> + +<p> +And thus she led the poor sacrifice into the old wretch’s too-well-known +parlour. +</p> + +<p> +Never was any body so gentle, so meek, so low voiced, as the odious woman; +drawling out, in a puling accent, all the obliging things she could say: awed, +I then thought, by the conscious dignity of a woman of quality; glittering with +jewels. +</p> + +<p> +The called-for tea was ready presently. +</p> + +<p> +There was no Mr. Belton, I believe: for the wretch went not to any body, unless +it were while we were parlying in the coach. No such person however, appeared +at the tea-table. +</p> + +<p> +I was made to drink two dishes, with milk, complaisantly urged by the pretended +ladies helping me each to one. I was stupid to their hands; and, when I took +the tea, almost choked with vapours; and could hardly swallow. +</p> + +<p> +I thought, transiently thought, that the tea, the last dish particularly, had +an odd taste. They, on my palating it, observed, that the milk was London-milk; +far short in goodness of what they were accustomed to from their own dairies. +</p> + +<p> +I have no doubt that my two dishes, and perhaps my hartshorn, were prepared for +me; in which case it was more proper for their purpose, that they should help +me, than that I should help myself. Ill before, I found myself still more and +more disordered in my head; a heavy torpid pain increasing fast upon me. But I +imputed it to my terror. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, at the pretended Lady’s motion, I went up stairs, attended +by Dorcas; who affected to weep for joy, that she once more saw my blessed +face; that was the vile creature’s word: and immediately I set about +taking out some of my clothes, ordering what should be put up, and what sent +after me. +</p> + +<p> +While I was thus employed, up came the pretended Lady Betty, in a hurrying +way——My dear, you won’t be long before you are ready. My +nephew is very busy in writing answers to his letters: so, I’ll just whip +away, and change my dress, and call upon you in an instant. +</p> + +<p> +O Madam!—I am ready! I am now ready!—You must not leave me here. +And down I sunk, affrighted, into a chair. +</p> + +<p> +This instant, this instant, I will return—before you can be +ready—before you can have packed up your things—we would not be +late—the robbers we have heard of may be out—don’t let us be +late. +</p> + +<p> +And away she hurried before I could say another word. Her pretended niece went +with her, without taking notice to me of her going. +</p> + +<p> +I had no suspicion yet that these women were not indeed the ladies they +personated; and I blamed myself for my weak fears.—It cannot be, thought +I, that such ladies will abet treachery against a poor creature they are so +fond of. They must undoubtedly be the persons they appear to be—what +folly to doubt it! The air, the dress, the dignity of women of quality. How +unworthy of them, and of my charity, concluded I, is this ungenerous shadow of +suspicion! +</p> + +<p> +So, recovering my stupefied spirits, as well as they could be recovered, (for I +was heavier and heavier! and wondered to Dorcas what ailed me, rubbing my eyes, +and taking some of her snuff, pinch after pinch, to very little purpose,) I +pursued my employment: but when that was over, all packed up that I designed to +be packed up; and I had nothing to do but to think; and found them tarry so +long; I thought I should have gone distracted. I shut myself into the chamber +that had been mine; I kneeled, I prayed; yet knew not what I prayed for: then +ran out again: it was almost dark night, I said: where, where, where was Mr. +Lovelace? +</p> + +<p> +He came to me, taking no notice at first of my consternation and wildness, +[what they had given me made me incoherent and wild:] All goes well, said he, +my dear!—A line from Capt. Tomlinson! +</p> + +<p> +All indeed did go well for the villanous project of the most cruel and most +villanous of men! +</p> + +<p> +I demanded his aunt!—I demanded his cousin!—The evening, I said, +was closing!—My head was very, very bad, I remember I said—and it +grew worse and worse.— +</p> + +<p> +Terror, however, as yet kept up my spirits; and I insisted upon his going +himself to hasten them. +</p> + +<p> +He called his servant. He raved at the sex for their delay: ’twas well +that business of consequence seldom depended upon such parading, unpunctual +triflers! +</p> + +<p> +His servant came. +</p> + +<p> +He ordered him to fly to his cousin Leeson’s, and to let Lady Betty and +his cousin know how uneasy we both were at their delay: adding, of his own +accord, desire them, if they don’t come instantly, to send their coach, +and we will go without them. Tell them I wonder they’ll serve me so! +</p> + +<p> +I thought this was considerately and fairly put. But now, indifferent as my +head was, I had a little time to consider the man and his behaviour. He +terrified me with his looks, and with his violent emotions, as he gazed upon +me. Evident joy-suppressed emotions, as I have since recollected. His sentences +short, and pronounced as if his breath were touched. Never saw I his abominable +eyes look as then they looked—Triumph in them!—fierce and wild; +and more disagreeable than the women’s at the vile house appeared to me +when I first saw them: and at times, such a leering, mischief-boding +cast!—I would have given the world to have been an hundred miles from +him. Yet his behaviour was decent—a decency, however, that I might have +seen to be struggled for—for he snatched my hand two or three times, with +a vehemence in his grasp that hurt me; speaking words of tenderness through his +shut teeth, as it seemed; and let it go with a beggar-voiced humbled accent, +like the vile woman’s just before; half-inward; yet his words and manner +carrying the appearance of strong and almost convulsed passion!—O my +dear! what mischief was he not then meditating! +</p> + +<p> +I complained once or twice of thirst. My mouth seemed parched. At the time, I +supposed that it was my terror (gasping often as I did for breath) that parched +up the roof of my mouth. I called for water: some table-beer was brought me: +beer, I suppose, was a better vehicle for their potions. I told the maid, that +she knew I seldom tasted malt liquor: yet, suspecting nothing of this nature, +being extremely thirsty, I drank it, as what came next: and instantly, as it +were, found myself much worse than before: as if inebriated, I should fancy: I +know not how. +</p> + +<p> +His servant was gone twice as long as he needed: and, just before his return, +came one of the pretended Lady Betty’s with a letter for Mr. Lovelace. +</p> + +<p> +He sent it up to me. I read it: and then it was that I thought myself a lost +creature; it being to put off her going to Hampstead that night, on account of +violent fits which Miss Montague was pretended to be seized with; for then +immediately came into my head his vile attempt upon me in this house; the +revenge that my flight might too probably inspire him with on that occasion, +and because of the difficulty I made to forgive him, and to be reconciled to +him; his very looks wild and dreadful to me; and the women of the house such as +I had more reason than ever, even from the pretended Lady Betty’s hint, +to be afraid of: all these crowding together in my apprehensive mind, I fell +into a kind of phrensy. +</p> + +<p> +I have no remembrance how I was for this time it lasted: but I know that, in my +first agitations, I pulled off my head-dress, and tore my ruffles in twenty +tatters, and ran to find him out. +</p> + +<p> +When a little recovered, I insisted upon the hint he had given me of their +coach. But the messenger, he said, had told him, that it was sent to fetch a +physician, lest his chariot should be put up, or not ready. +</p> + +<p> +I then insisted upon going directly to Lady Betty’s lodgings. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Leeson’s was now a crowded house, he said: and as my earnestness +could be owing to nothing but groundless apprehensions, [and Oh! what vows, +what protestations of his honour, did he then make!] he hoped I would not add +to their present concern. Charlotte, indeed, was used to fits, he said, upon +any great surprises, whether of joy or grief; and they would hold her for one +week together, if not got off in a few hours. +</p> + +<p> +You are an observer of eyes, my dear, said the villain; perhaps in secret +insult: Saw you not in Miss Montague’s, now-and-then at Hampstead, +something wildish? I was afraid for her then. Silence and quiet only do her +good: your concern for her, and her love for you, will but augment the poor +girl’s disorder, if you should go. +</p> + +<p> +All impatient with grief and apprehension, I still declared myself resolved not +to stay in that house till morning. All I had in the world, my rings, my watch, +my little money, for a coach; or, if one were not to be got, I would go on foot +to Hampstead that night, though I walked it by myself. +</p> + +<p> +A coach was hereupon sent for, or pretended to be sent for. Any price, he said, +he would give to oblige me, late as it was; and he would attend me with all his +soul. But no coach was to be got. +</p> + +<p> +Let me cut short the rest. I grew worse and worse in my head! now stupid, now +raving, now senseless. The vilest of vile women was brought to frighten me. +Never was there so horrible a creature as she appeared to me at this time. +</p> + +<p> +I remember I pleaded for mercy. I remember that I said I would be +his—indeed I would be his—to obtain his mercy. But no mercy found +I! My strength, my intellects failed me—And then such scenes +followed—O my dear, such dreadful scenes!—fits upon fits, (faintly +indeed and imperfectly remembered,) procuring me no compassion—But death +was withheld from me. That would have been too great a mercy! +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +Thus was I tricked and deluded back by blacker hearts of my own sex than I +thought there were in the world; who appeared to me to be persons of honour; +and, when in his power, thus barbarously was I treated by this villanous man! +</p> + +<p> +I was so senseless, that I dare not aver, that the horrid creatures of the +house were personally aiding and abetting: but some visionary remembrances I +have of female figures, flitting, as I may say, before my sight; the wretched +woman’s particularly. But as these confused ideas might be owing to the +terror I had conceived of the worse than masculine violence she had been +permitted to assume to me, for expressing my abhorrence of her house; and as +what I suffered from his barbarity wants not that aggravation; I will say no +more on a subject so shocking as this must ever be to my remembrance. +</p> + +<p> +I never saw the personating wretches afterwards. He persisted to the last, +(dreadfully invoking Heaven as a witness to the truth of his assertion) that +they were really and truly the ladies they pretended to be; declaring, that +they could not take leave of me, when they left town, because of the state of +senselessness and phrensy I was in. For their intoxicating, or rather +stupefying, potions had almost deleterious effects upon my intellects, as I +have hinted; insomuch that, for several days together, I was under a strange +delirium; now moping, now dozing, now weeping, now raving, now scribbling, +tearing what I scribbled as fast as I wrote it: most miserable when +now-and-then a ray of reason brought confusedly to my remembrance what I had +suffered. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0073" id="link2H_4_0073"></a> LETTER LXX</h2> + +<p> +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE [IN CONTINUATION.] +</p> + +<p> +[The lady next gives an account, +</p> + +<p> +Of her recovery from her delirium and sleepy disorder: +</p> + +<p> +Of her attempt to get away in his absence: +</p> + +<p> +Of the conversations that followed, at his return, between them: +</p> + +<p> +Of the guilty figure he made: +</p> + +<p> +Of her resolution not to have him: +</p> + +<p> +Of her several efforts to escape: +</p> + +<p> +Of her treaty with Dorcas to assist her in it: +</p> + +<p> +Of Dorcas’s dropping the promissory note, undoubtedly, as she says, on +purpose to betray her: +</p> + +<p> +Of her triumph over all the creatures of the house, assembled to terrify her; +and perhaps to commit fresh outrages upon her: +</p> + +<p> +Of his setting out for M. Hall: +</p> + +<p> +Of his repeated letters to induce her to meet him at the altar, on her +uncle’s anniversary: +</p> + +<p> +Of her determined silence to them all: +</p> + +<p> +Of her second escape, effected, as she says, contrary to her own expectation: +the attempt being at first but the intended prelude to a more promising one, +which she had formed in her mind: +</p> + +<p> +And of other particulars; which being to be found in Mr. Lovelace’s +letters preceding, and the letter of his friend Belford, are omitted. She then +proceeds:] +</p> + +<p> +The very hour that I found myself in a place of safety, I took pen to write to +you. When I began, I designed only to write six or eight lines, to inquire +after your health: for, having heard nothing from you, I feared indeed, that +you had been, and still were, too ill to write. But no sooner did my pen begin +to blot the paper, but my sad heart hurried it into length. The apprehensions I +had lain under, that I should not be able to get away; the fatigue I had in +effecting my escape: the difficulty of procuring a lodging for myself; having +disliked the people of two houses, and those of a third disliking me; for you +must think I made a frighted appearance—these, together with the +recollection of what I had suffered from him, and my farther apprehensions of +my insecurity, and my desolate circumstances, had so disordered me, that I +remember I rambled strangely in that letter. +</p> + +<p> +In short, I thought it, on re-perusal, a half-distracted one: but I then +despaired, (were I to begin again,) of writing better: so I let it go: and can +have no excuse for directing it as I did, if the cause of the incoherence in it +will not furnish me with a very pitiable one. +</p> + +<p> +The letter I received from your mother was a dreadful blow to me. But +nevertheless it had the good effect upon me (labouring, as I did just then, +under a violent fit of vapourish despondency, and almost yielding to it) which +profuse bleeding and blisterings have in paralytic or apoplectical strokes; +reviving my attention, and restoring me to spirits to combat the evils I was +surrounded by—sluicing off, and diverting into a new channel, (if I may +be allowed another metaphor,) the overcharging woes which threatened once more +to overwhelm my intellects. +</p> + +<p> +But yet I most sincerely lamented, (and still lament,) in your mother’s +words, That I cannot be unhappy by myself: and was grieved, not only for the +trouble I had given you before; but for the new one I had brought upon you by +my inattention. +</p> + +<p> +[She then gives the substance of the letters she wrote to Mrs. Norton, to Lady +Betty Lawrance, and to Mrs. Hodges; as also of their answers; whereby she +detected all Mr. Lovelace’s impostures. She proceeds as follows:] +</p> + +<p> +I cannot, however, forbear to wonder how the vile Tomlinson could come at the +knowledge of several of the things he told me of, and which contributed to give +me confidence in him.* +</p> + +<p> +* The attentive reader need not be referred back for what the Lady nevertheless +could not account for, as she knew not that Mr. Lovelace had come at Miss +Howe’s letters; particularly that in Vol. IV. Letter XXIX. which he +comments upon in Letter XLIV. of the same volume. +</p> + +<p> +I doubt not that the stories of Mrs. Fretchville and her house would be found +as vile as any of the rest, were I to inquire; and had I not enough, and too +much, already against the perjured man. +</p> + +<p> +How have I been led on!—What will be the end of such a false and perjured +creature! Heaven not less profaned and defied by him than myself deceived and +abused! This, however, against myself I must say, That if what I have suffered +be the natural consequence of my first error, I never can forgive myself, +although you are so partial in my favour, as to say, that I was not censurable +for what passed before my first escape. +</p> + +<p> +And now, honoured Madam, and my dearest Miss Howe, who are to sit in judgment +upon my case, permit me to lay down my pen with one request, which, with the +greatest earnestness, I make to you both: and that is, That you will neither of +you open your lips in relation to the potions and the violences I have hinted +at.—Not that I am solicitous, that my disgrace should be hidden from the +world, or that it should not be generally known, that the man has proved a +villain to me: for this, it seems, every body but myself expected from his +character. But suppose, as his actions by me are really of a capital nature, it +were insisted upon that I should appear to prosecute him and his accomplices in +a court of justice, how do you think I could bear that? +</p> + +<p> +But since my character, before the capital enormity, was lost in the eye of the +world; and that from the very hour I left my father’s house; and since +all my own hopes of worldly happiness are entirely over; let me slide quietly +into my grave; and let it be not remembered, except by one friendly tear, and +no more, dropt from your gentle eye, mine own dear Anna Howe, on the happy day +that shall shut up all my sorrows, that there was such a creature as +</p> + +<p> +CLARISSA HARLOWE SATURDAY, JULY 8. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0074" id="link2H_4_0074"></a> LETTER LXXI</h2> + +<p> +MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE SUNDAY, JULY 9. +</p> + +<p> +May Heaven signalize its vengeance, in the face of all the world, upon the most +abandoned and profligate of men!—And in its own time, I doubt not but it +will.—And we must look to a WORLD BEYOND THIS for the reward of your +sufferings! +</p> + +<p> +Another shocking detection, my dear!—How have you been +deluded!—Very watchful I have thought you; very sagacious:—but, +alas! not watchful, not sagacious enough, for the horrid villain you have had +to deal with!—— +</p> + +<p> +The letter you sent me enclosed as mine, of the 7th of June, is a villanous +forgery.* +</p> + +<p> +* See Vol. V. Letter XXX. +</p> + +<p> +The hand, indeed, is astonishingly like mine; and the cover, I see, is actually +my cover: but yet the letter is not so exactly imitated, but that, (had you had +any suspicions about his vileness at the time,) you, who so well know my hand, +might have detected it. +</p> + +<p> +In short, this vile, forged letter, though a long one, contains but a few +extracts from mine. Mine was a very long one. He has omitted every thing, I +see, in it that could have shown you what a detestable house the house is; and +given you suspicions of the vile Tomlinson.—You will see this, and how he +has turned Miss Lardner’s information, and my advices to you, [execrable +villain!] to his own horrid ends, by the rough draught of the genuine letter, +which I shall enclose.* +</p> + +<p> +* See Vol. V. Letter XX. +</p> + +<p> +Apprehensive for both our safeties from the villany of such a daring and +profligate contriver, I must call upon you, my dear, to resolve upon taking +legal vengeance of the infernal wretch. And this not only for our own sakes, +but for the sakes of innocents who otherwise may yet be deluded and outraged by +him. +</p> + +<p> +[She then gives the particulars of the report made by the young fellow whom she +sent to Hampstead with her letter; and who supposed he had delivered it into +her own hand;* and then proceeds:] +</p> + +<p> +* See Vol. VI. Letter VI. +</p> + +<p> +I am astonished, that the vile wretch, who could know nothing of the time my +messenger, (whose honesty I can vouch for) would come, could have a creature +ready to personate you! Strange, that the man should happen to arrive just as +you were gone to church, (as I find was the fact, on comparing what he says +with your hint that you were at church twice that day,) when he might have got +to Mrs. Moore’s two hours before!—But had you told me, my dear, +that the villain had found you out, and was about you!—You should have +done that—yet I blame you upon a judgment founded on the event only! +</p> + +<p> +I never had any faith in the stories that go current among country girls, of +specters, familiars, and demons; yet I see not any other way to account for +this wretch’s successful villany, and for his means of working up his +specious delusions, but by supposing, (if he be not the devil himself,) that he +has a familiar constantly at his elbow. Sometimes it seems to me that this +familiar assumes the shape of that solemn villain Tomlinson: sometimes that of +the execrable Sinclair, as he calls her: sometimes it is permitted to take that +of Lady Betty Lawrance—but, when it would assume the angelic shape and +mien of my beloved friend, see what a bloated figure it made! +</p> + +<p> +’Tis my opinion, my dear, that you will be no longer safe where you are, +than while the V. is in the country. Words are poor!—or how could I +execrate him! I have hardly any doubt that he has sold himself for a time. Oh! +may the time be short!—or may his infernal prompter no more keep covenant +with him than he does with others! +</p> + +<p> +I enclose not only the rough draught of my long letter mentioned above, but the +heads of that which the young fellow thought he delivered into your own hands +at Hampstead. And when you have perused them, I will leave to you to judge how +much reason I had to be surprised that you wrote me not an answer to either of +those letters; one of which you owned you had received, (though it proved to be +his forged one,) the other delivered into your own hands, as I was assured; and +both of them of so much concern to your honour; and still now much more +surprised I must be, when I received a letter from Mrs. Townsend, dated June +15, from Hampstead, importing, ‘That Mr. Lovelace, who had been with you +several days, had, on the Monday before, brought Lady Betty and his cousin, +richly dressed, and in a coach-and-four, to visit you: who, with your own +consent, had carried you to town with them—to your former lodgings; where +you still were: that the Hampstead women believed you to be married; and +reflected upon me as a fomenter of differences between man and wife: that he +himself was at Hampstead the day before; viz. Wednesday the 14th; and boasted +of his happiness with you; inviting Mrs. Moore, Mrs. Bevis, and Miss Rawlins, +to go to town, to visit his spouse; which they promised to do: that he declared +that you were entirely reconciled to your former lodgings:—and that, +finally, the women at Hampstead told Mrs. Townsend, that he had very handsomely +discharged theirs.’ +</p> + +<p> +I own to you, my dear, that I was so much surprised and disgusted at these +appearances against a conduct till then unexceptionable, that I was resolved to +make myself as easy as I could, and wait till you should think fit to write to +me. But I could rein-in my impatience but for a few days; and on the 20th of +June I wrote a sharp letter to you; which I find you did not receive. +</p> + +<p> +What a fatality, my dear, has appeared in your case, from the very beginning +till this hour! Had my mother permitted—— +</p> + +<p> +But can I blame her; when you have a father and mother living, who have so much +to answer for?—So much!—as no father and mother, considering the +child they have driven, persecuted, exposed, renounced, ever had to answer for! +</p> + +<p> +But again I must execrate the abandoned villain—yet, as I said before, +all words are poor, and beneath the occasion. +</p> + +<p> +But see we not, in the horrid perjuries and treachery of this man, what rakes +and libertines will do, when they get a young creature into their power! It is +probable that he might have the intolerable presumption to hope an easier +conquest: but, when your unexampled vigilance and exalted virtue made potions, +and rapes, and the utmost violences, necessary to the attainment of his +detestable end, we see that he never boggled at them. I have no doubt that the +same or equal wickedness would be oftener committed by men of his villanous +cast, if the folly and credulity of the poor inconsiderates who throw +themselves into their hands, did not give them an easier triumph. +</p> + +<p> +With what comfort must those parents reflect upon these things who have happily +disposed of their daughters in marriage to a virtuous man! And how happy the +young women who find themselves safe in a worthy protection!—If such a +person as Miss Clarissa Harlowe could not escape, who can be +secure?—Since, though every rake is not a LOVELACE, neither is every +woman a CLARISSA: and his attempts were but proportioned to your resistance and +vigilance. +</p> + +<p> +My mother has commanded me to let you know her thoughts upon the whole of your +sad story. I will do it in another letter; and send it to you with this, by a +special messenger. +</p> + +<p> +But, for the future, if you approve of it, I will send my letters by the usual +hand, (Collins’s,) to be left at the Saracen’s Head, on Snow-hill: +whither you may send your’s, (as we both used to do, to Wilson’s,) +except such as we shall think fit to transmit by the post: which I am afraid, +after my next, must be directed to Mr. Hickman, as before: since my mother is +fixing a condition to our correspondence, which, I doubt, you will not comply +with, though I wish you would. This condition I shall acquaint you with +by-and-by. +</p> + +<p> +Mean time, begging excuse for all the harsh things in my last, of which your +sweet meekness and superior greatness of soul have now made me most heartily +ashamed, I beseech you, my dearest creature, to believe me to be +</p> + +<p> +Your truly sympathising, and unalterable friend, ANNA HOWE. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0075" id="link2H_4_0075"></a> LETTER LXXII</h2> + +<p> +MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE MONDAY, JULY 10. +</p> + +<p> +I now, my dearest friend, resume my pen, to obey my mother, in giving you her +opinion upon your unhappy story. +</p> + +<p> +She still harps upon the old string, and will have it that all your calamities +are owing to your first fatal step; for she believes, (what I cannot,) that +your relations had intended after one general trial more, to comply with your +aversion, if they had found it to be as riveted a one, as, let me say, it was a +folly to suppose it would not be found to be, after so many +ridiculously-repeated experiments. +</p> + +<p> +As to your latter sufferings from that vilest of miscreants, she is unalterably +of opinion that if all be as you have related (which she doubts not) with +regard to the potions, and to the violences you have sustained, you ought by +all means to set on foot a prosecution against him, and against his devilish +accomplices. +</p> + +<p> +She asks, What murderers, what ravishers, would be brought to justice, if +modesty were to be a general plea, and allowable, against appearing in a court +to prosecute? +</p> + +<p> +She says, that the good of society requires, that such a beast of prey should +be hunted out of it: and, if you do not prosecute him, she thinks you will be +answerable for all the mischiefs he may do in the course of his future +villanous life. +</p> + +<p> +Will it be thought, Nancy, said she, that Miss Clarissa Harlowe can be in +earnest, when she says, she is not solicitous to have her disgraces concealed +from the world, if she be afraid or ashamed to appear in court, to do justice +to herself and her sex against him? Will it not be rather surmised, that she +may be apprehensive that some weakness, or lurking love, will appear upon the +trial of the strange cause? If, inferred she, such complicated villany as this +(where perjury, potions, forgery, subornation, are all combined to effect the +ruin of an innocent creature, and to dishonour a family of eminence, and where +the very crimes, as may be supposed, are proofs of her innocence) is to go off +with impunity, what case will deserve to be brought into judgment? or what +malefactor ought to be hanged? +</p> + +<p> +Then she thinks, and so do I, that the vile creatures, his accomplices, ought, +by all means, to be brought to condign punishment, as they must and will be +upon bringing him to trial: and this may be a mean to blow up and root out a +whole nest of vipers, and save many innocent creatures. +</p> + +<p> +She added, that if Miss Clarissa Harlowe could be so indifferent about having +this public justice done upon such a wretch for her own sake, she ought to +overcome her scruples out of regard to her family, her acquaintance, and her +sex, which are all highly injured and scandalized by his villany to her. +</p> + +<p> +For her own part, she declares, that were she your mother, she would forgive +you upon no other terms: and, upon your compliance with these, she herself will +undertake to reconcile all your family to you. +</p> + +<p> +These, my dear, are my mother’s sentiments upon your sad story. +</p> + +<p> +I cannot say but there are reason and justice in them: and it is my opinion, +that it would be very right for the law to oblige an injured woman to +prosecute, and to make seduction on the man’s part capital, where his +studied baseness, and no fault in her will, appeared. +</p> + +<p> +To this purpose the custom in the Isle of Man is a very good one—— +</p> + +<p> +‘If a single woman there prosecutes a single man for a rape, the +ecclesiastical judges impannel a jury; and, if this jury find him guilty, he is +returned guilty to the temporal courts: where if he be convicted, the deemster, +or judge, delivers to the woman a rope, a sword, and a ring; and she has it in +her choice to have him hanged, beheaded, or to marry him.’ +</p> + +<p> +One of the two former, I think, should always be her option. +</p> + +<p> +I long for the particulars of your story. You must have too much time upon your +hands for a mind so active as your’s, if tolerable health and spirits be +afforded you. +</p> + +<p> +The villany of the worst of men, and the virtue of the most excellent of women, +I expect will be exemplified in it, were it to be written in the same connected +and particular manner in which you used to write to me. +</p> + +<p> +Try for it, my dearest friend; and since you cannot give the example without +the warning, give both, for the sakes of all those who shall hear of your +unhappy fate; beginning from your’s of June 5, your prospects then not +disagreeable. I pity you for the task; though I cannot willingly exempt you +from it. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +My mother will have me add, that she must insist upon your prosecuting the +villain. She repeats, that she makes that a condition on which she permits our +future correspondence. Let me therefore know your thoughts upon it. I asked +her, if she would be willing that I should appear to support you in court, if +you complied?—By all means, she said, if that would induce you to begin +with him, and with the horrid women. I think I could probably attend you, I am +sure I could, were there but a probability of bringing the monster to his +deserved end. +</p> + +<p> +Once more your thoughts of it, supposing it were to meet with the approbation +of your relations. +</p> + +<p> +But whatever be your determination on this head, it shall be my constant +prayer, that God will give you patience to bear your heavy afflictions, as a +person ought to do who has not brought them upon herself by a faulty will: that +He will speak peace and comfort to your wounded mind; and give you many happy +years. I am, and ever will be, +</p> + +<p> +Your affectionate and faithful ANNA HOWE. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +[The two preceding letters were sent by a special messenger: in the cover were +written the following lines:] +</p> + +<p> +MONDAY, JULY 10. +</p> + +<p> +I cannot, my dearest friend, suffer the enclosed to go unaccompanied by a few +lines, to signify to you that they are both less tender in some places than I +would have written, had they not been to pass my mother’s inspection. The +principal reason, however, of my writing thus separately is, to beg of you to +permit me to send you money and necessaries, which you must needs want; and +that you will let me know, if either I, or any body I can influence, can be of +service to you. I am excessively apprehensive that you are not enough out of +the villain’s reach where you are. Yet London, I am persuaded, is the +place, of all others, to be private in. +</p> + +<p> +I could tear my hair for vexation, that I have it not in my power to afford you +personal protection!—I am +</p> + +<p> +Your ever devoted ANNA HOWE. +</p> + +<p> +Once more forgive me, my dearest creature, for my barbarous taunting in mine of +the 5th! Yet I can hardly forgive myself. I to be so cruel, yet to know you so +well!—Whence, whence, had I this vile impatiency of spirit!— +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0076" id="link2H_4_0076"></a> LETTER LXXIII</h2> + +<p> +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE TUESDAY, JULY 11. +</p> + +<p> +Forgive you, my dear!—Most cordially do I forgive you—Will you +forgive me for some sharp things I wrote in return to your’s of the 5th? +You could not have loved me as you do, nor had the concern you have always +shown for my honour, if you had not been utterly displeased with me, on the +appearance which my conduct wore to you when you wrote that letter. I most +heartily thank you, my best and only love, for the opportunity you gave me of +clearing it up; and for being generously ready to acquit me of intentional +blame, the moment you had read my melancholy narrative. +</p> + +<p> +As you are so earnest to have all the particulars of my sad story before you, I +will, if life and spirits be lent me, give you an ample account of all that has +befallen me, from the time you mention. But this, it is very probable, you will +not see, till after the close of my last scene: and as I shall write with a +view to that, I hope no other voucher will be wanted for the veracity of the +writer, be who will the reader. +</p> + +<p> +I am far from thinking myself out of the reach of this man’s further +violence. But what can I do? Whither can I fly?—Perhaps my bad state of +health (which must grow worse, as recollection of the past evils, and +reflections upon them, grow heavier and heavier upon me) may be my protection. +Once, indeed, I thought of going abroad; and, had I the prospect of many years +before me, I would go.—But, my dear, the blow is given.—Nor have +you reason now, circumstanced as I am, to be concerned that it is. What a heart +must I have, if it be not broken—and indeed, my dear friend, I do so +earnestly wish for the last closing scene, and with so much comfort find myself +in a declining way, that I even sometimes ungratefully regret that +naturally-healthy constitution, which used to double upon me all my enjoyments. +</p> + +<p> +As to the earnestly-recommended prosecution, I may possibly touch upon it more +largely hereafter, if ever I shall have better spirits; for they are at present +extremely sunk and low. But just now, I will only say, that I would sooner +suffer every evil (the repetition of the capital one excepted) than appear +publicly in a court to do myself justice.* And I am heartily grieved that your +mother prescribes such a measure as the condition of our future correspondence: +for the continuance of your friendship, my dear, and the desire I had to +correspond with you to my life’s end, were all my remaining hopes and +consolation. Nevertheless, as that friendship is in the power of the heart, not +of the hand only, I hope I shall not forfeit that. +</p> + +<p> +* Dr. Lewen, in Letter XXIV. of Vol. VIII. presses her to this public +prosecution, by arguments worthy of his character; which she answers in a +manner worthy of her’s. See Letter XXV. of that volume. +</p> + +<p> +O my dear! what would I give to obtain a revocation of my father’s +malediction! a reconciliation is not to be hoped for. You, who never loved my +father, may think my solicitude on this head a weakness: but the motive for it, +sunk as my spirits at times are, is not always weak. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +I approve of the method you prescribe for the conveyance of our letters; and +have already caused the porter of the inn to be engaged to bring to me +your’s, the moment that Collins arrives with them. And the servant of the +house where I am will be permitted to carry mine to Collins for you. +</p> + +<p> +I have written a letter to Miss Rawlins, of Hampstead; the answer to which, +just now received, has helped me to the knowledge of the vile contrivance, by +which the wicked man got your letter of June the 10th. I will give you the +contents of both. +</p> + +<p> +In mine to her, I briefly acquainted her ‘with what had befallen me, +through the vileness of the women who had passed upon me as the aunt and cousin +of the wickedest of men; and own, that I never was married to him. I desire her +to make particular inquiry, and to let me know, who it was at Mrs. +Moore’s that, on Sunday afternoon, June 11, while I was at church, +received a letter from Miss Howe, pretending to be me, and lying on a +couch:—which letter, had it come to my hands, would have saved me from +ruin. I excuse myself (on the score of the delirium, which the horrid usage I +had received threw me into, and from a confinement as barbarous as illegal) +that I had not before applied to Mrs. Moore for an account of what I was +indebted to her: which account I now desired. And, for fear of being traced by +Mr. Lovelace, I directed her to superscribe her answer, To Mrs. Mary Atkins; to +be left till called for, at the Belle Savage Inn, on Ludgate-hill.’ +</p> + +<p> +In her answer, she tells me, ‘that the vile wretch prevailed upon Mrs. +Bevis to personate me, [a sudden motion of his, it seems, on the appearance of +your messenger,] and persuaded her to lie along a couch: a handkerchief over +her neck and face; pretending to be ill; the credulous woman drawn in by false +notions of your ill offices to keep up a variance between a man and his +wife—and so taking the letter from your messenger as me. +</p> + +<p> +‘Miss Rawlins takes pains to excuse Mrs. Bevis’s intention. She +expresses their astonishment, and concern at what I communicate: but is glad, +however, and so they are all, that they know in time the vileness of the base +man; the two widows and herself having, at his earnest invitation, designed me +a visit at Mrs. Sinclair’s: supposing all to be happy between him and me; +as he assured them was the case. Mr. Lovelace, she informs me, had handsomely +satisfied Mrs. Moore. And Miss Rawlins concludes with wishing to be favoured +with the particulars of so extraordinary a story, as these particulars may be +of use, to let her see what wicked creatures (women as well as men) there are +in the world.’ +</p> + +<p> +I thank you, my dear, for the draughts of your two letters which were +intercepted by this horrid man. I see the great advantage they were of to him, +in the prosecution of his villanous designs against the poor wretch whom he had +so long made the sport of his abhorred inventions. +</p> + +<p> +Let me repeat, that I am quite sick of life; and of an earth, in which innocent +and benevolent spirits are sure to be considered as aliens, and to be made +sufferers by the genuine sons and daughters of that earth. +</p> + +<p> +How unhappy, that those letters only which could have acquainted me with his +horrid views, and armed me against them, and against the vileness of the base +women, should fall into his hands!—Unhappier still, in that my very +escape to Hampstead gave him the opportunity of receiving them. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, I cannot but still wonder, how it was possible for that Tomlinson +to know what passed between Mr. Hickman and my uncle Harlowe:* a circumstance +which gave the vile impostor most of his credit with me. +</p> + +<p> +* See the note in Letter LXX. of this volume. +</p> + +<p> +How the wicked wretch himself could find me out at Hampstead, must also remain +wholly a mystery to me. He may glory in his contrivances—he, who has more +wickedness than wit, may glory in his contrivances!—But, after all, I +shall, I humbly presume to hope, be happy, when he, poor wretch, will +be—alas!—who can say what!—— +</p> + +<p> +Adieu, my dearest friend!—May you be happy!—And then your Clarissa +cannot be wholly miserable! +</p> + +<p> +END OF VOL. 6. +</p> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CLARISSA, VOLUME 6 (OF 9) ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Clarissa, Volume 6 (of 9) + The History Of A Young Lady + +Author: Samuel Richardson + +Release Date: February 28, 2004 [EBook #11364] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CLARISSA, VOLUME 6 (OF 9) *** + + + + +Produced by Produced by Julie C. Sparks. + + + + +CLARISSA HARLOWE + +or the + +HISTORY OF A YOUNG LADY + +Nine Volumes +Volume VI. + + + +CONTENTS OF VOLUME VI + + +LETTER I. II. Lovelace to Belford.-- +His conditional promise to Tomlinson in the lady's favour. His pleas +and arguments on their present situation, and on his darling and +hitherto-baffled views. His whimsical contest with his conscience. His +latest adieu to it. His strange levity, which he calls gravity, on the +death of Belford's uncle. + +LETTER III. IV. From the same.-- +She favours him with a meeting in the garden. Her composure. Her +conversation great and noble. But will not determine any thing in his +favour. It is however evident, he says, that she has still some +tenderness for him. His reasons. An affecting scene between them. Her +ingenuousness and openness of heart. She resolves to go to church; but +will not suffer him to accompany her thither. His whimsical debate with +the God of Love, whom he introduced as pleading for the lady. + +LETTER V. VI. VII. From the same.-- +He has got the wished-for letter from Miss Howe.--Informs him of the +manner of obtaining it.--His remarks upon it. Observations on female +friendships. Comparison between Clarissa and Miss Howe. + +LETTER VIII. From the same.-- +Another conversation with the lady. His plausible arguments to re-obtain +her favour ineffectual. His pride piqued. His revenge incited. New +arguments in favour of his wicked prospects. His notice that a license +is actually obtained. + +LETTER IX. X. From the same.-- +Copy of the license; with his observations upon it. His scheme for +annual marriages. He is preparing with Lady Betty and Miss Montague to +wait upon Clarissa. Who these pretended ladies are. How dressed. They +give themselves airs of quality. Humourously instructs them how to act +up their assumed characters. + +LETTER XI. XII. Lovelace to Belford.-- +Once more is the charmer of his soul in her old lodgings. Brief account +of the horrid imposture. Steels his heart by revengeful recollections. +Her agonizing apprehensions. Temporary distraction. Is ready to fall +into fits. But all her distress, all her prayers, her innocence, her +virtue, cannot save her from the most villanous outrage. + +LETTER XIII. Belford to Lovelace.-- +Vehemently inveighs against him. Grieves for the lady. Is now convinced +that there must be a world after this to do justice to injured merit. +Beseeches him, if he be a man, and not a devil, to do all the poor +justice now in his power. + +LETTER XIV. Lovelace to Belford.-- +Regrets that he ever attempted her. Aims at extenuation. Does he not +see that he has journeyed on to this stage, with one determined point in +view from the first? She is at present stupified, he says. + +LETTER XV. From the same.-- +The lady's affecting behaviour in her delirium. He owns that art has +been used to her. Begins to feel remorse. + +LETTER XVI. From the same.-- +The lady writes upon scraps of paper, which she tears, and throws under +the table. Copies of ten of these rambling papers; and of a letter to +him most affectingly incoherent. He attempts farther to extenuate his +villany. Tries to resume his usual levity; and forms a scheme to decoy +the people at Hampstead to the infamous woman's in town. The lady seems +to be recovering. + +LETTER XVII. From the same.-- +She attempts to get away in his absence. Is prevented by the odious +Sinclair. He exults in the hope of looking her into confusion when he +sees her. Is told by Dorcas that she is coming into the dining-room to +find him out. + +LETTER XVIII. From the same.-- +A high scene of her exalted, and of his depressed, behaviour. Offers to +make her amends by matrimony. She treats his offer with contempt. +Afraid Belford plays him false. + +LETTER XIX. From the same.-- +Wishes he had never seen her. With all the women he had known till now, +it was once subdued, and always subdued. His miserable dejection. His +remorse. She attempts to escape. A mob raised. His quick invention to +pacify it. Out of conceit with himself and his contrivances. + +LETTER XX. XXI. Lovelace to Belford.-- +Lord M. very ill. His presence necessary at M. Hall. Puts Dorcas upon +ingratiating herself with her lady.--He re-urges marriage to her. She +absolutely, from the most noble motives, rejects him. + +LETTER XXII. From the same.-- +Reflects upon himself. It costs, he says, more pain to be wicked than to +be good. The lady's solemn expostulation with him. Extols her greatness +of soul. Dorcas coming into favour with her. He is alarmed by another +attempt of the lady to get off. She is in agonies at being prevented. +He tried to intimidate her. Dorcas pleads for her. On the point of +drawing his sword against himself. The occasion. + +LETTER XXIII. From the same.-- +Cannot yet persuade himself but the lady will be his. Reasons for his +opinion. Opens his heart to Belford, as to his intentions by her. +Mortified that she refuses his honest vows. Her violation but notional. +Her triumph greater than her sufferings. Her will unviolated. He is a +better man, he says, than most rakes; and why. + +LETTER XXIV. XXV. From the same.-- +The lady gives a promissory note to Dorcas, to induce her to further her +escape.--A fair trial of skill now, he says. A conversation between the +vile Dorcas and her lady: in which she engages her lady's pity. The +bonds of wickedness stronger than the ties of virtue. Observations on +that subject. + +LETTER XXVI. XXVII. XXVIII. From the same.-- +A new contrivance to advantage of the lady's intended escape.--A letter +from Tomlinson. Intent of it.--He goes out to give opportunity for the +lady to attempt an escape. His designs frustrated. + +LETTER XXIX. From the same.-- +An interesting conversation between the lady and him. No concession in +his favour. By his soul, he swears, this dear girl gives the lie to all +their rakish maxims. He has laid all the sex under obligation to him; +and why. + +LETTER XXX. Lovelace to Belford.-- +Lord M. in extreme danger. The family desire his presence. He +intercepts a severe letter from Miss Howe to her friend. Copy of it. + +LETTER XXXI. From the same.-- +The lady, suspecting Dorcas, tries to prevail upon him to give her her +liberty. She disclaims vengeance, and affectingly tells him all her +future views. Denied, she once more attempts an escape. Prevented, and +terrified with apprehensions of instant dishonour, she is obliged to make +some concession. + +LETTER XXXII. From the same.-- +Accuses her of explaining away her concession. Made desperate, he seeks +occasion to quarrel with her. She exerts a spirit which overawes him. +He is ridiculed by the infamous copartnership. Calls to Belford to help +a gay heart to a little of his dismal, on the expected death of Lord M. + +LETTER XXXIII. From the same.-- +Another message from M. Hall, to engage him to go down the next morning. + +LETTER XXXIV. XXXV. From the same.-- +The women's instigations. His farther schemes against the lady. What, +he asks, is the injury which a church-rite will not at any time repair? + +LETTER XXXVI. From the same.-- +Himself, the mother, her nymphs, all assembled with intent to execute his +detestable purposes. Her glorious behaviour on the occasion. He +execrates, detests, despises himself; and admires her more than ever. +Obliged to set out early that morning for M. Hall, he will press her with +letters to meet him next Thursday, her uncle's birthday, at the altar. + +LETTER XXXVII. XXXVIII. XXXIX. Lovelace to Clarissa, from M. Hall.-- +Urging her accordingly, (the license in her hands,) by the most engaging +pleas and arguments. + +LETTER XL. Lovelace to Belford.-- +Begs he will wait on the lady, and induce her to write but four words to +him, signifying the church and the day. Is now resolved on wedlock. +Curses his plots and contrivances; which all end, he says, in one grand +plot upon himself. + +LETTER XLI. Belford to Lovelace. In answer.-- +Refuses to undertake for him, unless he can be sure of his honour. Why +he doubts it. + +LETTER XLII. Lovelace. In reply.-- +Curses him for scrupulousness. Is in earnest to marry. After one more +letter of entreaty to her, if she keep sullen silence, she must take the +consequence. + +LETTER XLIII. Lovelace to Clarissa.-- +Once more earnestly entreats her to meet him at the altar. Not to be +forbidden coming, he will take for leave to come. + +LETTER XLIV. Lovelace to Patrick M'Donald.-- +Ordering him to visit the lady, and instructing him what to say, and how +to behave to her. + +LETTER XLV. To the same, as Captain Tomlinson.-- +Calculated to be shown to the lady, as in confidence. + +LETTER XLVI. M'Donald to Lovelace.-- +Goes to attend the lady according to direction. Finds the house in an +uproar; and the lady escaped. + +LETTER XLVII. Mowbray to Lovelace.-- +With the same news. + +LETTER XLVIII. Belford to Lovelace.-- +Ample particulars of the lady's escape. Makes serious reflections on the +distress she must be in; and on his (Lovelace's) ungrateful usage of her. +What he takes the sum of religion. + +LETTER XLIX. Lovelace to Belford.-- +Runs into affected levity and ridicule, yet at last owns all his gayety +but counterfeit. Regrets his baseness to the lady. Inveighs against the +women for their instigations. Will still marry her, if she can be found +out. One misfortune seldom comes alone; Lord M. is recovering. He had +bespoken mourning for him. + +LETTER L. Clarissa to Miss Howe.-- +Writes with incoherence, to inquire after her health. Lets her know +whither to direct to her. But forgets, in her rambling, her private +address. By which means her letter falls into the hands of Miss Howe's +mother. + +LETTER LI. Mrs. Howe to Clarissa.-- +Reproaches her for making all her friends unhappy. Forbids her to write +any more to her daughter. + +LETTER LII. Clarissa's meek reply. + +LETTER LIII. Clarissa to Hannah Burton. + +LETTER LIV. Hannah Burton. In answer. + +LETTER LV. Clarissa to Miss Norton.-- +Excuses her long silence. Asks her a question, with a view to detect +Lovelace. Hints at his ungrateful villany. Self-recrimination. + +LETTER LVI. Mrs. Norton to Clarissa.-- +Answers her question. Inveighs against Lovelace. Hopes she has escaped +with her honour. Consoles her by a brief relation of her own case, and +from motives truly pious. + +LETTER LVII. Clarissa to Lady Betty Lawrance.-- +Requests an answer to three questions, with a view farther to detect +Lovelace. + +LETTER LVIII. Lady Betty to Clarissa.-- +Answers her questions. In the kindest manner offers to mediate between +her nephew and her. + +LETTER LIX. LX. Clarissa to Mrs. Hodges, +her uncle Harlowe's housekeeper; with a view of still farther detecting +Lovelace. --- Mrs. Hodges's answer. + +LETTER LXI. Clarissa to Lady Betty Lawrance.-- +Acquaints her with her nephew's baseness. Charitably wishes his +reformation; but utterly, and from principle, rejects him. + +LETTER LXII. Clarissa to Mrs. Norton.-- +Is comforted by her kind soothings. Wishes she had been her child. Will +not allow her to come up to her; why. Some account of the people she is +with; and of a worthy woman, Mrs. Lovick, who lodges in the house. +Briefly hints to her the vile usage she has received from Lovelace. + +LETTER LXIII. Mrs. Norton to Clarissa.-- +Inveighs against Lovelace. Wishes Miss Howe might be induced to refrain +from freedoms that do hurt, and can do no good. Farther piously consoles +her. + +LETTER LXIV. Clarissa to Mrs. Norton.-- +A new trouble. An angry letter from Miss Howe. The occasion. Her heart +is broken. Shall be uneasy, till she can get her father's curse revoked. +Casts about to whom she can apply for this purpose. At last resolves to +write to her sister to beg her mediation. + +LETTER LXV. Miss Howe to Clarissa.-- +Her angry and reproachful letter above-mentioned; demands from her the +clearing up of her conduct. + +LETTER LXVI. Clarissa to Miss Howe.-- +Gently remonstrates upon her severity. To this hour knows not all the +methods taken to deceive and ruin her. But will briefly, yet +circumstantially, enter into the darker part of her sad story, though her +heart sinks under the thoughts of a recollection so painful. + +LETTER LXVII. LXVIII. LXIX. LXX. From the same.-- +She gives the promised particulars of her story. Begs that the blackest +parts of it may be kept secret; and why. Desires one friendly tear, and +no more, may be dropt from her gentle eye, on the happy day that shall +shut up all her sorrows. + +LETTER LXXI. LXXII. Miss Howe to Clarissa.-- +Execrates the abandoned profligate. She must, she tells her, look to the +world beyond this for her reward. Unravels some of Lovelace's plots; and +detects his forgeries. Is apprehensive for her own as well as Clarissa's +safety. Advises her to pursue a legal vengeance. Laudable custom in the +Isle of Man. Offers personally to attend her in a court of justice. + +LETTER LXXIII. Clarissa to Miss Howe.-- +Cannot consent to a prosecution. Discovers who it was that personated +her at Hampstead. She is quite sick of life, and of an earth in which +innocent and benevolent spirits are sure to be considered as aliens. + + + + +THE HISTORY + +OF + +CLARISSA HARLOWE + + + +LETTER I + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +SAT. MIDNIGHT. + + +No rest, says a text that I once heard preached upon, to the wicked--and +I cannot close my eyes (yet only wanted to compound for half an hour in +an elbow-chair)--so must scribble on. + +I parted with the Captain after another strong debate with him in +relation to what is to be the fate of this lady. As the fellow has an +excellent head, and would have made an eminent figure in any station of +life, had not his early days been tainted with a deep crime, and he +detected in it; and as he had the right side of the argument; I had a +good deal of difficulty with him; and at last brought myself to promise, +that if I could prevail upon her generously to forgive me, and to +reinstate me in her favour, I would make it my whole endeavour to get off +of my contrivances, as happily as I could; (only that Lady Betty and +Charlotte must come;) and then substituting him for her uncle's proxy, +take shame to myself, and marry. + +But if I should, Jack, (with the strongest antipathy to the state that +ever man had,) what a figure shall I make in rakish annals? And can I +have taken all this pains for nothing? Or for a wife only, that, however +excellent, [and any woman, do I think I could make good, because I could +make any woman fear as well as love me,] might have been obtained without +the plague I have been at, and much more reputably than with it? And +hast thou not seen, that this haughty woman [forgive me that I call her +haughty! and a woman! Yet is she not haughty?] knows not how to forgive +with graciousness? Indeed has not at all forgiven me? But holds my soul +in a suspense which has been so grievous to her own. + +At this silent moment, I think, that if I were to pursue my former +scheme, and resolve to try whether I cannot make a greater fault serve as +a sponge to wipe out the less; and then be forgiven for that; I can +justify myself to myself; and that, as the fair invincible would say, is +all in all. + +As it is my intention, in all my reflections, to avoid repeating, at +least dwelling upon, what I have before written to thee, though the state +of the case may not have varied; so I would have thee to re-consider the +old reasonings (particularly those contained in my answer to thy last* +expostulatory nonsense); and add the new as they fall from my pen; and +then I shall think myself invincible;--at least, as arguing rake to rake. + + +* See Vol. V. Letter XIV. + + +I take the gaining of this lady to be essential to my happiness: and is +it not natural for all men to aim at obtaining whatever they think will +make them happy, be the object more or less considerable in the eyes of +others? + +As to the manner of endeavouring to obtain her, by falsification of +oaths, vows, and the like--do not the poets of two thousand years and +upwards tell us, that Jupiter laughs at the perjuries of lovers? And let +me add, to what I have heretofore mentioned on that head, a question or +two. + +Do not the mothers, the aunts, the grandmothers, the governesses of the +pretty innocents, always, from their very cradles to riper years, preach +to them the deceitfulness of men?--That they are not to regard their +oaths, vows, promises?--What a parcel of fibbers would all these reverend +matrons be, if there were not now and then a pretty credulous rogue taken +in for a justification of their preachments, and to serve as a beacon +lighted up for the benefit of the rest? + +Do we not then see, that an honest prowling fellow is a necessary evil on +many accounts? Do we not see that it is highly requisite that a sweet +girl should be now-and-then drawn aside by him?--And the more eminent the +girl, in the graces of person, mind, and fortune, is not the example +likely to be the more efficacious? + +If these postulata be granted me, who, I pray, can equal my charmer in +all these? Who therefore so fit for an example to the rest of her sex? +--At worst, I am entirely within my worthy friend Mandeville's assertion, +that private vices are public benefits. + +Well, then, if this sweet creature must fall, as it is called, for the +benefit of all the pretty fools of the sex, she must; and there's an end +of the matter. And what would there have been in it of uncommon or rare, +had I not been so long about it?--And so I dismiss all further +argumentation and debate upon the question: and I impose upon thee, when +thou writest to me, an eternal silence on this head. + + +Wafer'd on, as an after-written introduction to the paragraphs which +follow, marked with turned commas, [thus, ']: + +Lord, Jack, what shall I do now! How one evil brings on another! +Dreadful news to tell thee! While I was meditating a simple robbery, +here have I (in my own defence indeed) been guilty of murder!--A bl--y +murder! So I believe it will prove. At her last gasp!--Poor impertinent +opposer!--Eternally resisting!--Eternally contradicting! There she lies +weltering in her blood! her death's wound have I given her!--But she was +a thief, an impostor, as well as a tormentor. She had stolen my pen. +While I was sullenly meditating, doubting, as to my future measures, she +stole it; and thus she wrote with it in a hand exactly like my own; and +would have faced me down, that it was really my own hand-writing. + +'But let me reflect before it is too late. On the manifold perfections +of this ever-amiable creature let me reflect. The hand yet is only held +up. The blow is not struck. Miss Howe's next letter may blow thee up. +In policy thou shouldest be now at least honest. Thou canst not live +without her. Thou wouldest rather marry her than lose her absolutely. +Thou mayest undoubtedly prevail upon her, inflexible as she seems to be, +for marriage. But if now she finds thee a villain, thou mayest never +more engage her attention, and she perhaps will refuse and abhor thee. + +'Yet already have I not gone too far? Like a repentant thief, afraid of +his gang, and obliged to go on, in fear of hanging till he comes to be +hanged, I am afraid of the gang of my cursed contrivances. + +'As I hope to live, I am sorry, (at the present writing,) that I have +been such a foolish plotter, as to put it, as I fear I have done, out of +my own power to be honest. I hate compulsion in all forms; and cannot +bear, even to be compelled to be the wretch my choice has made me! So +now, Belford, as thou hast said, I am a machine at last, and no free +agent. + +'Upon my soul, Jack, it is a very foolish thing for a man of spirit to +have brought himself to such a height of iniquity, that he must proceed, +and cannot help himself, and yet to be next to certain, that this very +victory will undo him. + +'Why was such a woman as this thrown into my way, whose very fall will +be her glory, and, perhaps, not only my shame but my destruction? + +'What a happiness must that man know, who moves regularly to some +laudable end, and has nothing to reproach himself with in his progress +to do it! When, by honest means, he attains his end, how great and +unmixed must be his enjoyments! What a happy man, in this particular +case, had I been, had it been given me to be only what I wished to appear +to be!' + +Thus far had my conscience written with my pen; and see what a recreant +she had made of me!--I seized her by the throat--There!--There, said I, +thou vile impertinent!--take that, and that!--How often have I gave thee +warning!--and now, I hope, thou intruding varletess, have I done thy +business! + +Puling and low-voiced, rearing up thy detested head, in vain implorest +thou my mercy, who, in thy day hast showed me so little!--Take that, for +a rising blow!--And now will thy pain, and my pain for thee, soon be +over. Lie there!--Welter on!--Had I not given thee thy death's wound, +thou wouldest have robbed me of all my joys. Thou couldest not have +mended me, 'tis plain. Thou couldest only have thrown me into despair. +Didst thou not see, that I had gone too far to recede?--Welter on, once +more I bid thee!--Gasp on!--That thy last gasp, surely!--How hard diest +thou! + +ADIEU!--Unhappy man! ADIEU! + +'Tis kind in thee, however, to bid me, Adieu! + +Adieu, Adieu, Adieu, to thee, O thou inflexible, and, till now, +unconquerable bosom intruder!--Adieu to thee for ever! + + + +LETTER II + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +SUNDAY MORN. (JUNE 11). FOUR O'CLOCK. + + +A few words to the verbal information thou sentest me last night +concerning thy poor old man; and then I rise from my seat, shake myself, +refresh, new-dress, and so to my charmer, whom, notwithstanding her +reserves, I hope to prevail upon to walk out with me on the Heath this +warm and fine morning. + +The birds must have awakened her before now. They are in full song. She +always gloried in accustoming herself to behold the sun rise--one of +God's natural wonders, as once she called it. + +Her window salutes the east. The valleys must be gilded by his rays, by +the time I am with her; for already have they made the up-lands smile, and +the face of nature cheerful. + +How unsuitable will thou find this gay preface to a subject so gloomy as +that I am now turning to! + +I am glad to hear thy tedious expectations are at last answered. + +Thy servant tells me that thou are plaguily grieved at the old fellow's +departure. + +I can't say, but thou mayest look as if thou wert; harassed as thou hast +been for a number of days and nights with a close attendance upon a dying +man, beholding his drawing-on hour--pretending, for decency's sake, to +whine over his excruciating pangs; to be in the way to answer a thousand +impertinent inquiries after the health of a man thou wishedest to die--to +pray by him--for so once thou wrotest to me!--To read by him--to be +forced to join in consultation with a crew of solemn and parading +doctors, and their officious zanies, the apothecaries, joined with the +butcherly tribe of scarficators; all combined to carry on the physical +farce, and to cut out thongs both from his flesh and his estate--to have +the superadded apprehension of dividing thy interest in what he shall +leave with a crew of eager-hoping, never-to-be-satisfied relations, +legatees, and the devil knows who, of private gratifiers of passions +laudable and illaudable--in these circumstances, I wonder not that thou +lookest before servants, (as little grieved as thou after heirship,) as +if thou indeed wert grieved; and as if the most wry-fac'd woe had +befallen thee. + +Then, as I have often thought, the reflection that must naturally arise +from such mortifying objects, as the death of one with whom we have been +familiar, must afford, when we are obliged to attend it in its slow +approaches, and in its face-twisting pangs, that it will one day be our +own case, goes a great way to credit the appearance of grief. + +And that it is this, seriously reflected upon, may temporally give a fine +air of sincerity to the wailings of lively widows, heart-exulting heirs, +and residuary legatees of all denominations; since, by keeping down the +inward joy, those interesting reflections must sadden the aspect, and add +an appearance of real concern to the assumed sables. + +Well, but, now thou art come to the reward of all thy watchings, +anxieties, and close attendances, tell me what it is; tell me if it +compensate thy trouble, and answer thy hope? + +As to myself, thou seest, by the gravity of my style, how the subject has +helped to mortify me. But the necessity I am under of committing either +speedy matrimony, or a rape, has saddened over my gayer prospects, and, +more than the case itself, contributed to make me sympathize with the +present joyful-sorrow. + +Adieu, Jack, I must be soon out of my pain; and my Clarissa shall be soon +out of her's--for so does the arduousness of the case require. + + + +LETTER III + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +SUNDAY MORNING. + + +I have had the honour of my charmer's company for two complete hours. We +met before six in Mrs. Moore's garden. A walk on the Heath refused me. + +The sedateness of her aspect and her kind compliance in this meeting gave +me hopes. And all that either the Captain and I had urged yesterday to +obtain a full and free pardon, that re-urged I; and I told her, besides, +that Captain Tomlinson was gone down with hopes to prevail upon her uncle +Harlowe to come up in person, in order to present to me the greatest +blessing that man ever received. + +But the utmost I could obtain was, that she would take no resolution in +my favour till she received Miss Howe's next letter. + +I will not repeat the arguments I used; but I will give thee the +substance of what she said in answer to them. + +She had considered of every thing, she told me. My whole conduct was +before her. The house I carried her to must be a vile house. The people +early showed what they were capable of, in the earnest attempt made to +fasten Miss Partington upon her; as she doubted not, with my approbation. +[Surely, thought I, she has not received a duplicate of Miss Howe's +letter of detection!] They heard her cries. My insult was undoubtedly +premeditated. By my whole recollected behaviour to her, previous to it, +it must be so. I had the vilest of views, no question. And my treatment +of her put it out of all doubt. + +Soul over all, Belford! She seems sensible of liberties that my passion +made me insensible of having taken, or she could not so deeply resent. + +She besought me to give over all thoughts of her. Sometimes, she said, +she thought herself cruelly treated by her nearest and dearest relations; +at such times, a spirit of repining and even of resentment took place; +and the reconciliation, at other times so desirable, was not then so much +the favourite wish of her heart, as was the scheme she had formerly +planned--of taking her good Norton for her directress and guide, and +living upon her own estate in the manner her grandfather had intended she +should live. + +This scheme she doubted not that her cousin Morden, who was one of her +trustees for that estate, would enable her, (and that, as she hoped, +without litigation,) to pursue. And if he can, and does, what, Sir, let +me ask you, said she, have I seen in your conduct, that should make me +prefer to it an union of interest, where there is such a disunion in +minds? + +So thou seest, Jack, there is reason, as well as resentment, in the +preference she makes against me!--Thou seest, that she presumes to think +that she can be happy without me; and that she must be unhappy with me! + +I had besought her, in the conclusion of my re-urged arguments, to write +to Miss Howe before Miss Howe's answer could come, in order to lay before +her the present state of things; and if she would pay a deference to her +judgment, to let her have an opportunity to give it, on the full knowledge +of the case-- + +So I would, Mr. Lovelace, was the answer, if I were in doubt myself, +which I would prefer--marriage, or the scheme I have mentioned. You +cannot think, Sir, but the latter must be my choice. I wish to part with +you with temper--don't put me upon repeating-- + +Part with me, Madam! interrupted I--I cannot bear those words!--But let +me beseech you, however, to write to Miss Howe. I hope, if Miss Howe is +not my enemy-- + +She is not the enemy of your person, Sir;--as you would be convinced, if +you saw her last letter* to me. But were she not an enemy to your +actions, she would not be my friend, nor the friend of virtue. Why will +you provoke from me, Mr. Lovelace, the harshness of expression, which, +however, which, however deserved by you, I am unwilling just now to use, +having suffered enough in the two past days from my own vehemence? + + +* The lady innocently means Mr. Lovelace's forged one. See Vol. V. +Letter XXX. + + +I bit my lip for vexation. And was silent. + +Miss Howe, proceeded she, knows the full state of matters already, Sir. +The answer I expect from her respects myself, not you. Her heart is too +warm in the cause of friendship, to leave me in suspense one moment +longer than is necessary as to what I want to know. Nor does her answer +absolutely depend upon herself. She must see a person first, and that +person perhaps see others. + +The cursed smuggler-woman, Jack!--Miss Howe's Townsend, I doubt not-- +Plot, contrivance, intrigue, stratagem!--Underground-moles these women-- +but let the earth cover me!--let me be a mole too, thought I, if they +carry their point!--and if this lady escape me now! + +She frankly owned that she had once thought of embarking out of all our +ways for some one of our American colonies. But now that she had been +compelled to see me, (which had been her greatest dread), and which she +might be happiest in the resumption of her former favourite scheme, if +Miss Howe could find her a reputable and private asylum, till her cousin +Morden could come.--But if he came not soon, and if she had a difficulty +to get to a place of refuge, whether from her brother or from any body +else, [meaning me, I suppose,] she might yet perhaps go abroad; for, to +say the truth, she could not think of returning to her father's house, +since her brother's rage, her sister's upbraidings, her father's anger, +her mother's still-more-affecting sorrowings, and her own consciousness +under them all, would be unsupportable to her. + +O Jack! I am sick to death, I pine, I die, for Miss Howe's next letter! +I would bind, gag, strip, rob, and do any thing but murder, to intercept +it. + +But, determined as she seems to be, it was evident to me, nevertheless, +that she had still some tenderness for me. + +She often wept as she talked, and much oftener sighed. She looked at me +twice with an eye of undoubted gentleness, and three times with an eye +tending to compassion and softness; but its benign rays were as often +snatched back, as I may say, and her face averted, as if her sweet eyes +were not to be trusted, and could not stand against my eager eyes; +seeking, as they did, for a lost heart in her's, and endeavouring to +penetrate to her very soul. + +More than once I took her hand. She struggled not much against the +freedom. I pressed it once with my lips--she was not very angry. A +frown indeed--but a frown that had more distress in it than indignation. + +How came the dear soul, (clothed as it is with such a silken vesture,) by +all its steadiness?* Was it necessary that the active gloom of such a +tyrant of a father, should commix with such a passive sweetness of a +will-less mother, to produce a constancy, an equanimity, a steadiness, in +the daughter, which never woman before could boast of? If so, she is +more obliged to that despotic father than I could have imagined a +creature to be, who gave distinction to every one related to her beyond +what the crown itself can confer. + + +* See Vol. I. Letters IX. XIV. and XIX. for what she herself says on that +steadiness which Mr. Lovelace, though a deserved sufferer by it, cannot +help admiring. + + +I hoped, I said, that she would admit of the intended visit, which I had +so often mentioned, of the two ladies. + +She was here. She had seen me. She could not help herself at present. +She even had the highest regard for the ladies of my family, because of +their worthy characters. There she turned away her sweet face, and +vanquished an half-risen sigh. + +I kneeled to her then. It was upon a verdant cushion; for we were upon +the grass walk. I caught her hand. I besought her with an earnestness +that called up, as I could feel, my heart to my eyes, to make me, by her +forgiveness and example, more worthy of them, and of her own kind and +generous wishes. By my soul, Madam, said I, you stab me with your +goodness--your undeserved goodness! and I cannot bear it! + +Why, why, thought I, as I did several times in this conversation, will +she not generously forgive me? Why will she make it necessary for me to +bring Lady Betty and my cousin to my assistance? Can the fortress expect +the same advantageous capitulation, which yields not to the summons of a +resistless conqueror, as if it gave not the trouble of bringing up and +raising its heavy artillery against it? + +What sensibilities, said the divine creature, withdrawing her hand, must +thou have suppressed! What a dreadful, what a judicial hardness of heart +must thine be! who canst be capable of such emotions, as sometimes thou +hast shown; and of such sentiments, as sometimes have flowed from thy +lips; yet canst have so far overcome them all as to be able to act as +thou hast acted, and that from settled purpose and premeditation; and +this, as it is said, throughout the whole of thy life, from infancy to +this time! + +I told her, that I had hoped, from the generous concern she had expressed +for me, when I was so suddenly and dangerously taken ill--[the +ipecacuanha experiment, Jack!] + +She interrupted me--Well have you rewarded me for the concern you speak +of!--However, I will frankly own, now that I am determined to think no +more of you, that you might, (unsatisfied as I nevertheless was with +you,) have made an interest-- + +She paused. I besought her to proceed. + +Do you suppose, Sir, and turned away her sweet face as we walked,--Do you +suppose that I had not thought of laying down a plan to govern myself by, +when I found myself so unhappily over-reached and cheated, as I may say, +out of myself--When I found, that I could not be, and do, what I wished +to be, and to do, do you imagine that I had not cast about, what was the +next proper course to take?--And do you believe that this next course has +not caused me some pain to be obliged to-- + +There again she stopt. + +But let us break off discourse, resumed she. The subject grows too--She +sighed--Let us break off discourse--I will go in--I will prepare for +church--[The devil! thought I.] Well, as I can appear in those +every-day-worn clothes--looking upon herself--I will go to church. + +She then turned from me to go into the house. + +Bless me, my beloved creature, bless me with the continuance of this +affecting conversation.--Remorse has seized my heart!--I have been +excessively wrong--give me farther cause to curse my heedless folly, by +the continuance of this calm but soul-penetrating conversation. + +No, no, Mr. Lovelace: I have said too much. Impatience begins to break +in upon me. If you can excuse me to the ladies, it will be better for +my mind's sake, and for your credit's sake, that I do not see them. Call +me to them over-nice, petulant, prudish--what you please call me to them. +Nobody but Miss Howe, to whom, next to the Almighty, and my own mother, I +wish to stand acquitted of wilful error, shall know the whole of what has +passed. Be happy, as you may!--Deserve to be happy, and happy you will +be, in your own reflection at least, were you to be ever so unhappy in +other respects. For myself, if I ever shall be enabled, on due +reflection, to look back upon my own conduct, without the great reproach +of having wilfully, and against the light of my own judgment, erred, I +shall be more happy than if I had all that the world accounts desirable. + +The noble creature proceeded; for I could not speak. + +This self-acquittal, when spirits are lent me to dispel the darkness +which at present too often over-clouds my mind, will, I hope, make me +superior to all the calamities that can befal me. + +Her whole person was informed by her sentiments. She seemed to be taller +than before. How the God within her exalted her, not only above me, but +above herself! + +Divine creature! (as I thought her,) I called her. I acknowledged the +superiority of her mind; and was proceeding--but she interrupted me--All +human excellence, said she, is comparative only. My mind, I believe, is +indeed superior to your's, debased as your's is by evil habits: but I had +not known it to be so, if you had not taken pains to convince me of the +inferiority of your's. + +How great, how sublimely great, this creature!--By my soul I cannot +forgive her for her virtues! There is no bearing the consciousness of +the infinite inferiority she charged me with.--But why will she break +from me, when good resolutions are taking place? The red-hot iron she +refuses to strike--O why will she suffer the yielding wax to harden? + +We had gone but a few paces towards the house, when we were met by the +impertinent women, with notice, that breakfast was ready. I could only, +with uplifted hands, beseech her to give me hope of a renewed +conversation after breakfast. + +No--she would go to church. + +And into the house she went, and up stairs directly. Nor would she +oblige me with her company at the tea-table. + +I offered, by Mrs. Moore, to quit both the table and the parlour, rather +than she should exclude herself, or deprive the two widows of the favour +of her company. + +That was not all the matter, she told Mrs. Moore. She had been +struggling to keep down her temper. It had cost her some pains to do it. +She was desirous to compose herself, in hopes to receive benefit by the +divine worship she was going to join in. + +Mrs. Moore hoped for her presence at dinner. + +She had rather be excused. Yet, if she could obtain the frame of mind +she hoped for, she might not be averse to show, that she had got above +those sensibilities, which gave consideration to a man who deserved not +to be to her what he had been. + +This said, no doubt, to let Mrs. Moore know, that the garden-conversation +had not been a reconciling one. + +Mrs. Moore seemed to wonder that we were not upon a better foot of +understanding, after so long a conference; and the more, as she believed +that the lady had given in to the proposal for the repetition of the +ceremony, which I had told them was insisted upon by her uncle Harlowe.-- +But I accounted for this, by telling both widows that she was resolved to +keep on the reserve till she heard from Captain Tomlinson, whether her +uncle would be present in person at the solemnity, or would name that +worthy gentleman for his proxy. + +Again I enjoined strict secresy, as to this particular; which was +promised by the widows, as well as for themselves, as for Miss Rawlins; +of whose taciturnity they gave me such an account, as showed me, that she +was secret-keeper-general to all the women of fashion at Hampstead. + +The Lord, Jack! What a world of mischief, at this rate, must Miss +Rawlins know!--What a Pandora's box must her bosom be!--Yet, had I +nothing that was more worthy of my attention to regard, I would engage to +open it, and make my uses of the discovery. + +And now, Belford, thou perceivest, that all my reliance is upon the +mediation of Lady Betty and Miss Montague, and upon the hope of +intercepting Miss Howe's next letter. + + + +LETTER IV + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. + + +This fair inexorable is actually gone to church with Mrs. Moore and Mrs. +Bevis; but Will. closely attends her motions; and I am in the way to +receive any occasional intelligence from him. + +She did not choose, [a mighty word with the sex! as if they were always +to have their own wills!] that I should wait upon her. I did not much +press it, that she might not apprehend that I thought I had reason to +doubt her voluntary return. + +I once had it in my head to have found the widow Bevis other employment. +And I believe she would have been as well pleased with my company as to +go to church; for she seemed irresolute when I told her that two out of +a family were enough to go to church for one day. But having her things +on, (as the women call every thing,) and her aunt Moore expecting her +company, she thought it best to go--lest it should look oddly, you know, +whispered she, to one who was above regarding how it looked. + +So here am I in my dining-room; and have nothing to do but to write till +they return. + +And what will be my subject thinkest thou? Why, the old beaten one to be +sure; self-debate--through temporary remorse: for the blow being not +struck, her guardian angel is redoubling his efforts to save her. + +If it be not that, [and yet what power should her guardian angel have +over me?] I don't know what it is that gives a check to my revenge, +whenever I meditate treason against so sovereign a virtue. Conscience is +dead and gone, as I told thee; so it cannot be that. A young conscience +growing up, like the phoenix, from the ashes of the old one, it cannot +be, surely. But if it were, it would be hard, if I could not overlay a +young conscience. + +Well, then, it must be LOVE, I fancy. LOVE itself, inspiring love of an +object so adorable--some little attention possibly paid likewise to thy +whining arguments in her favour. + +Let LOVE then be allowed to be the moving principle; and the rather, as +LOVE naturally makes the lover loth to disoblige the object of its flame; +and knowing, that to an offence of the meditated kind will be a mortal +offence to her, cannot bear that I should think of giving it. + +Let LOVE and me talk together a little on this subject--be it a young +conscience, or love, or thyself, Jack, thou seest that I am for giving +every whiffler audience. But this must be the last debate on this +subject; for is not her fate in a manner at its crisis? And must not my +next step be an irretrievable one, tend it which way it will? + + +*** + + +And now the debate is over. + +A thousand charming things, (for LOVE is gentler than CONSCIENCE,) has +this little urchin suggested in her favour. He pretended to know both +our hearts: and he would have it, that though my love was a prodigious +strong and potent love; and though it has the merit of many months, +faithful service to plead, and has had infinite difficulties to struggle +with; yet that it is not THE RIGHT SORT OF LOVE. + +Right sort of love!--A puppy!--But, with due regard to your deityship, +said I, what merits has she with YOU, that you should be of her party? +Is her's, I pray you, a right sort of love? Is it love at all? She +don't pretend that it is. She owns not your sovereignty. What a d---l +I moves you, to plead thus earnestly for a rebel, who despises your +power? + +And then he came with his If's and And's--and it would have been, and +still, as he believed, would be, love, and a love of the exalted kind, if +I would encourage it by the right sort of love he talked of: and, in +justification of his opinion, pleaded her own confessions, as well those +of yesterday, as of this morning: and even went so far back as to my +ipecacuanha illness. + +I never talked so familiarly with his godship before: thou mayest think, +therefore, that his dialect sounded oddly in my ears. And then he told +me, how often I had thrown cold water upon the most charming flame that +ever warmed a lady's bosom, while but young and rising. + +I required a definition of this right sort of love, he tried at it: but +made a sorry hand of it: nor could I, for the soul of me, be convinced, +that what he meant to extol was LOVE. + +Upon the whole, we had a noble controversy upon this subject, in which +he insisted upon the unprecedented merit of the lady. Nevertheless I got +the better of him; for he was struck absolutely dumb, when (waving her +present perverseness, which yet was a sufficient answer to all his pleas) +I asserted, and offered to prove it, by a thousand instances impromptu, +that love was not governed by merit, nor could be under the dominion of +prudence, or any other reasoning power: and if the lady were capable of +love, it was of such a sort as he had nothing to do with, and which never +before reigned in a female heart. + +I asked him, what he thought of her flight from me, at a time when I was +more than half overcome by the right sort of love he talked of?--And then +I showed him the letter she wrote, and left behind her for me, with an +intention, no doubt, absolutely to break my heart, or to provoke me to +hang, drown, or shoot myself; to say nothing of a multitude of +declarations from her, defying his power, and imputing all that looked +like love in her behaviour to me, to the persecution and rejection of her +friends; which made her think of me but as a last resort. + +LOVE then gave her up. The letter, he said, deserved neither pardon nor +excuse. He did not think he had been pleading for such a declared rebel. +And as to the rest, he should be a betrayer of the rights of his own +sovereignty, if what I had alleged were true, and he were still to plead +for her. + +I swore to the truth of all. And truly I swore: which perhaps I do not +always do. + +And now what thinkest thou must become of the lady, whom LOVE itself +gives up, and CONSCIENCE cannot plead for? + + + +LETTER V + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +SUNDAY AFTERNOON. + + +O Belford! what a hair's-breadth escape have I had!--Such a one, that I +tremble between terror and joy, at the thought of what might have +happened, and did not. + +What a perverse girl is this, to contend with her fate; yet has reason +to think, that her very stars fight against her! I am the luckiest of +me!--But my breath almost fails me, when I reflect upon what a slender +thread my destiny hung. + +But not to keep thee in suspense; I have, within this half-hour, obtained +possession of the expected letter from Miss Howe--and by such an +accident! But here, with the former, I dispatch this; thy messenger +waiting. + + + +LETTER VI + +MR. LOVELACE +[IN CONTINUATION.] + + +Thus it was--My charmer accompanied Mrs. Moore again to church this +afternoon. I had been in very earnest, in the first place, to obtain her +company at dinner: but in vain. According to what she had said to Mrs. +Moore,* I was too considerable to her to be allowed that favour. In the +next place, I besought her to favour me, after dinner, with another +garden-walk. But she would again go to church. And what reason have I +to rejoice that she did! + + +* See Letter III. of this volume. + + +My worthy friend, Mrs. Bevis, thought one sermon a day, well observed, +enough; so staid at home to bear me company. + +The lady and Mrs. Moore had not been gone a quarter of an hour, when a +young country-fellow on horseback came to the door, and inquired for Mrs. +Harriot Lucas. The widow and I (undetermined how we were to entertain +each other) were in the parlour next the door; and hearing the fellow's +inquiry, O my dear Mrs. Bevis, said I, I am undone, undone for ever, if +you don't help me out!--Since here, in all probability, is a messenger +from that implacable Miss Howe with a letter; which, if delivered to Mrs. +Lovelace, may undo all we have been doing. + +What, said she, would you have me do? + +Call the maid in this moment, that I may give her her lesson; and if it +be as I imagined, I'll tell you what you shall do. + +Wid. Margaret!--Margaret! come in this minute. + +Lovel. What answer, Mrs. Margaret, did you give the man, upon his +asking for Mrs. Harriot Lucas? + +Peggy. I only asked, What was his business, and who he came from? (for, +Sir, your honour's servant had told me how things stood): and I came at +your call, Madam, before he answered me. + +Lovel. Well, child, if ever you wish to be happy in wedlock yourself, +and would have people disappointed who want to make mischief between you +and your husband, get out of him his message, or letter if he has one, +and bring it to me, and say nothing to Mrs. Lovelace, when she comes in; +and here is a guinea for you. + +Peggy. I will do all I can to serve your honour's worship for nothing: +[nevertheless, with a ready hand, taking the guinea:] for Mr. William +tells me what a good gentleman you be. + +Away went Peggy to the fellow at the door. + +Peggy. What is your business, friend, with Mrs. Harry Lucas? + +Fellow. I must speak to her her own self. + +Lovel. My dearest widow, do you personate Mrs. Lovelace--for Heaven's +sake do you personate Mrs. Lovelace. + +Wid. I personate Mrs. Lovelace, Sir! How can I do that?--She is fair; +I am brown. She is slender: I am plump-- + +Lovel. No matter, no matter--The fellow may be a new-come servant: he +is not in livery, I see. He may not know her person. You can but be +bloated and in a dropsy. + +Wid. Dropsical people look not so fresh and ruddy as I do. + +Lovel. True--but the clown may not know that. 'Tis but for a present +deception. Peggy, Peggy, call'd I, in a female tone, softly at the door. +Madam, answer'd Peggy; and came up to me to the parlour-door. + +Lovel. Tell him the lady is ill; and has lain down upon the couch. And +get his business from him, whatever you do. + +Away went Peggy. + +Lovel. Now, my dear widow, lie along the settee, and put your +handkerchief over your face, that, if he will speak to you himself, he +may not see your eyes and your hair.--So--that's right.--I'll step into +the closet by you. + +I did so. + +Peggy. [Returning.] He won't deliver his business to me. He will +speak to Mrs. Harriot Lucas her own self. + +Lovel. [Holding the door in my hand.] Tell him that this is Mrs. +Harriot Lucas; and let him come in. Whisper him (if he doubts) that she +is bloated, dropsical, and not the woman she was. + +Away went Margery. + +Lovel. And now, my dear widow, let me see what a charming Mrs. Lovelace +you'll make!--Ask if he comes from Miss Howe. Ask if he lives with her. +Ask how she does. Call her, at every word, your dear Miss Howe. Offer +him money--take this half-guinea for him--complain of your head, to have +a pretence to hold it down; and cover your forehead and eyes with your +hand, where your handkerchief hides not your face.--That's right--and +dismiss the rascal--[here he comes]--as soon as you can. + +In came the fellow, bowing and scraping, his hat poked out before him +with both his hands. + +Fellow. I am sorry, Madam, an't please you, to find you ben't well. + +Widow. What is your business with me, friend? + +Fellow. You are Mrs. Harriot Lucas, I suppose, Madam? + +Widow. Yes. Do you come from Miss Howe? + +Fellow. I do, Madam. + +Widow. Dost thou know my right name, friend? + +Fellow. I can give a shrewd guess. But that is none of my business. + +Widow. What is thy business? I hope Miss Howe is well? + +Fellow. Yes, Madam; pure well, I thank God. I wish you were so too. + +Widow. I am too full of grief to be well. + +Fellow. So belike I have hard to say. + +Widow. My head aches so dreadfully, I cannot hold it up. I must beg +of you to let me know your business. + +Fellow. Nay, and that be all, my business is soon known. It is but to +give this letter into your own partiklar hands--here it is. + +Widow. [Taking it.] From my dear friend Miss Howe?--Ah, my head! + +Fellow. Yes, Madam: but I am sorry you are so bad. + +Widow. Do you live with Miss Howe? + +Fellow. No, Madam: I am one of her tenants' sons. Her lady-mother must +not know as how I came of this errand. But the letter, I suppose, will +tell you all. + +Widow. How shall I satisfy you for this kind trouble? + +Fellow. No how at all. What I do is for love of Miss Howe. She will +satisfy me more than enough. But, may-hap, you can send no answer, you +are so ill. + +Widow. Was you ordered to wait for an answer? + +Fellow. No, I cannot say as that I was. But I was bidden to observe +how you looked, and how you was; and if you did write a line or two, to +take care of it, and give it only to our young landlady in secret. + +Widow. You see I look strangely. Not so well as I used to do. + +Fellow. Nay, I don't know that I ever saw you but once before; and that +was at a stile, where I met you and my young landlady; but knew better +than to stare a gentlewoman in the face; especially at a stile. + +Widow. Will you eat, or drink, friend? + +Fellow. A cup of small ale, I don't care if I do. + +Widow. Margaret, take the young man down, and treat him with what the +house affords. + +Fellow. Your servant, Madam. But I staid to eat as I come along, just +upon the Heath yonder; or else, to say the truth, I had been here sooner. +[Thank my stars, thought I, thou didst.] A piece of powdered beef was +upon the table, at the sign of the Castle, where I stopt to inquire for +this house: and so, thoff I only intended to wet my whistle, I could not +help eating. So shall only taste of your ale; for the beef was woundily +corned. + +Prating dog! Pox on thee! thought I. + +He withdrew, bowing and scraping. + +Margaret, whispered I, in a female voice [whispering out of the closet, +and holding the parlour-door in my hand] get him out of the house as fast +as you can, lest they come from church, and catch him here. + +Peggy. Never fear, Sir. + +The fellow went down, and it seems, drank a large draught of ale; and +Margaret finding him very talkative, told him, she begged his pardon, but +she had a sweetheart just come from sea, whom she was forced to hide in +the pantry; so was sure he would excuse her from staying with him. + +Ay, ay, to be sure, the clown said: for if he could not make sport, he +would spoil none. But he whispered her, that one 'Squire Lovelace was a +damnation rogue, if the truth might be told. + +For what? said Margaret. And could have given him, she told the widow +(who related to me all this) a good dowse of the chaps. + +For kissing all the women he came near. + +At the same time, the dog wrapped himself round Margery, and gave her a +smack, that, she told Mrs. Bevis afterwards, she might have heard into +the parlour. + +Such, Jack, is human nature: thus does it operate in all degrees; and so +does the clown, as well as his practises! Yet this sly dog knew not but +the wench had a sweetheart locked up in the pantry! If the truth were +known, some of the ruddy-faced dairy wenches might perhaps call him a +damnation rogue, as justly as their betters of the same sex might 'Squire +Lovelace. + +The fellow told the maid, that, by what he discovered of the young lady's +face, it looked very rosy to what he took it to be; and he thought her a +good deal fatter, as she lay, and not so tall. + +All women are born to intrigue, Jack; and practise it more or less, as +fathers, guardians, governesses, from dear experience, can tell; and in +love affairs are naturally expert, and quicker in their wits by half than +men. This ready, though raw wench, gave an instance of this, and +improved on the dropsical hint I had given her. The lady's seeming +plumpness was owing to a dropsical disorder, and to the round posture she +lay in--very likely, truly. Her appearing to him to be shorter, he might +have observed, was owing to her drawing her feet up from pain, and +because the couch was too short, she supposed--Adso, he did not think of +that. Her rosy colour was owing to her grief and head-ache.--Ay, that +might very well be--but he was highly pleased that he had given the +letter into Mrs. Harriot's own hand, as he should tell Miss Howe. + +He desired once more to see the lady at his going away, and would not be +denied. The widow therefore sat up, with her handkerchief over her face, +leaning her head against the wainscot. + +He asked if she had any partiklar message? + +No: she was so ill she could not write; which was a great grief to her. + +Should he call the next day? for he was going to London, now he was so +near; and should stay at a cousin's that night, who lived in a street +called Fetter-Lane. + +No: she would write as soon as able, and send by the post. + +Well, then, if she had nothing to send by him, mayhap he might stay in +town a day or two; for he had never seen the lions in the Tower, nor +Bedlam, nor the tombs; and he would make a holiday or two, as he had +leave to do, if she had no business or message that required his posting +down next day. + +She had not. + +She offered him the half-guinea I had given her for him; but he refused +it with great professions of disinterestedness, and love, as he called +it, to Miss Howe; to serve whom, he would ride to the world's-end, or +even to Jericho. + +And so the shocking rascal went away: and glad at my heart was I when he +was gone; for I feared nothing so much as that he would have staid till +they came from church. + +Thus, Jack, got I my heart's ease, the letter of Miss Howe; ad through +such a train of accidents, as makes me say, that the lady's stars fight +against her. But yet I must attribute a good deal to my own precaution, +in having taken right measures. For had I not secured the widow by my +stories, and the maid by my servant, all would have signified nothing. +And so heartily were they secured, the one by a single guinea, the other +by half a dozen warm kisses, and the aversion they both had to such +wicked creatures as delighted in making mischief between man and wife, +that they promised, that neither Mrs. Moore, Miss Rawlins, Mrs. Lovelace, +nor any body living, should know any thing of the matter. + +The widow rejoiced that I had got the mischief-maker's letter. I excused +myself to her, and instantly withdrew with it; and, after I had read it, +fell to my short-hand, to acquaint thee with my good luck: and they not +returning so soon as church was done, (stepping, as it proved, into Miss +Rawlins's, and tarrying there awhile, to bring that busy girl with them +to drink tea,) I wrote thus far to thee, that thou mightest, when thou +camest to this place, rejoice with me upon the occasion. + +They are all three just come in. + +I hasten to them. + + + +LETTER VII + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. + + +I have begun another letter to thee, in continuation of my narrative: but +I believe I shall send thee this before I shall finish that. By the +enclosed thou wilt see, that neither of the correspondents deserve mercy +from me: and I am resolved to make the ending with one the beginning with +the other. + +If thou sayest that the provocations I have given to one of them will +justify her freedoms; I answer, so they will, to any other person but +myself. But he that is capable of giving those provocations, and has the +power to punish those who abuse him for giving them, will show his +resentment; and the more remorselessly, perhaps, as he has deserved the +freedoms. + +If thou sayest, it is, however, wrong to do so; I reply, that it is +nevertheless human nature:--And wouldst thou not have me to be a man, +Jack? + +Here read the letter, if thou wilt. But thou art not my friend, if thou +offerest to plead for either of the saucy creatures, after thou hast read +it. + + +TO MRS. HARRIOT LUCAS, + +AT MRS. MOORE'S, AT HAMPSTEAD. +JUNE 10. + +After the discoveries I had made of the villanous machinations of the +most abandoned of men, particularized in my long letter of Wednesday* +last, you will believe, my dearest friend, that my surprise upon perusing +your's of Thursday evening from Hampstead** was not so great as my +indignation. Had the villain attempted to fire a city instead of a +house, I should not have wondered at it. All that I am amazed at is, +that he (whose boast, as I am told, it is, that no woman shall keep him +out of her bed-chamber, when he has made a resolution to be in it) did +not discover his foot before. And it is as strange to me, that, having +got you at such a shocking advantage, and in such a horrid house, you +could, at the time, escape dishonour, and afterwards get from such a set +of infernals. + + +* See Vol. V. Letter XX. +** Ibid. See Letter XXI. + + +I gave you, in my long letter of Wednesday and Thursday last, reasons why +you ought to mistrust that specious Tomlinson. That man, my dear, must +be a solemn villain. May lightning from Heaven blast the wretch, who has +set him and the rest of his REMORSELESS GANG at work, to endeavour to +destroy the most consummate virtue!--Heaven be praised! you have escaped +from all their snares, and now are out of danger.--So I will not trouble +you at present with the particulars I have further collected relating to +this abominable imposture. + +For the same reason, I forbear to communicate to you some new stories of +the abhorred wretch himself which have come to my ears. One, in +particular, of so shocking a nature!--Indeed, my dear, the man's a devil. + +The whole story of Mrs. Fretchville, and her house, I have no doubt to +pronounce, likewise, an absolute fiction.--Fellow!--How my soul spurns +the villain! + +Your thought of going abroad, and your reasons for so doing, most +sensibly affect me. But be comforted, my dear; I hope you will not be +under a necessity of quitting your native country. Were I sure that that +must be the cruel case, I would abandon all my better prospects, and soon +be with you. And I would accompany you whithersoever you went, and share +fortunes with you: for it is impossible that I should be happy, if I knew +that you were exposed not only to the perils of the sea, but to the +attempts of other vile men; your personal graces attracting every eye; +and exposing you to those hourly dangers, which others, less +distinguished by the gifts of nature, might avoid.--All that I know that +beauty (so greatly coveted, and so greatly admired) is good for. + +O my dear, were I ever to marry, and to be the mother of a CLARISSA, +[Clarissa must be the name, if promisingly lovely,] how often would my +heart ache for the dear creature, as she grew up, when I reflected that a +prudence and discretion, unexampled in woman, had not, in you, been a +sufficient protection to that beauty, which had drawn after it as many +admirers as beholders!--How little should I regret the attacks of that +cruel distemper, as it is called, which frequently makes the greatest +ravages in the finest faces! + + +SAT. AFTERNOON. + +I have just parted with Mrs. Townsend.* I thought you had once seen her +with me; but she says she never had the honour to be personally known to +you. She has a manlike spirit. She knows the world. And her two +brothers being in town, she is sure she can engage them in so good a +cause, and (if there should be occasion) both their ships' crews, in your +service. + + +* For the account of Mrs. Townsend, &c. see Vol. IV. Letter XLII. + + +Give your consent, my dear; and the horrid villain shall be repaid with +broken bones, at least, for all his vileness! + +The misfortune is, Mrs. Townsend cannot be with you till Thursday next, +or Wednesday, at soonest: Are you sure you can be safe where you are till +then? I think you are too near London; and perhaps you had better be in +it. If you remove, let me, the very moment, know whither. + +How my heart is torn, to think of the necessity so dear a creature is +driven to of hiding herself! Devilish fellow! He must have been +sportive and wanton in his inventions--yet that cruel, that savage +sportiveness has saved you from the sudden violence to which he has had +recourse in the violation of others, of names and families not +contemptible. For such the villain always gloried to spread his snares. + +The vileness of this specious monster has done more, than any other +consideration could do, to bring Mr. Hickman into credit with me. Mr. +Hickman alone knows (from me) of your flight, and the reason of it. Had +I not given him the reason, he might have thought still worse of the vile +attempt. I communicated it to him by showing him your letter from +Hampstead. When he had read it, [and he trembled and reddened, as he +read,] he threw himself at my feet, and besought me to permit him to +attend you, and to give you the protection of his house. The +good-natured man had tears in his eyes, and was repeatedly earnest on this +subject; proposing to take his chariot-and-four, or a set, and in person, +in the face of all the world, give himself the glory of protecting such +an oppressed innocent. + +I could not but be pleased with him. And I let him know that I was. I +hardly expected so much spirit from him. But a man's passiveness to a +beloved object of our sex may not, perhaps, argue want of courage on +proper occasions. + +I thought I ought, in return, to have some consideration for his safety, +as such an open step would draw upon him the vengeance of the most +villanous enterpriser in the world, who has always a gang of fellows, +such as himself, at his call, ready to support one another in the vilest +outrages. But yet, as Mr. Hickman might have strengthened his hands by +legal recourses, I should not have stood upon it, had I not known your +delicacy, [since such a step must have made a great noise, and given +occasion for scandal, as if some advantage had been gained over you,] and +were there not the greatest probability that all might be more silently, +and more effectually, managed, by Mrs. Townsend's means. + +Mrs. Townsend will in person attend you--she hopes, on Wednesday--her +brothers, and some of their people, will scatteringly, and as if they +knew nothing of you, [so we have contrived,] see you safe not only to +London, but to her house at Deptford. + +She has a kinswoman, who will take your commands there, if she herself +be obliged to leave you. And there you may stay, till the wretch's fury, +on losing you, and his search, are over. + +He will very soon, 'tis likely, enter upon some new villany, which may +engross him: and it may be given out, that you are gone to lay claim to +the protection of your cousin Morden at Florence. + +Possibly, if he can be made to believe it, he will go over, in hopes to +find you there. + +After a while, I can procure you a lodging in one of our neighbouring +villages, where I may have the happiness to be your daily visiter. And +if this Hickman be not silly and apish, and if my mother do not do +unaccountable things, I may the sooner think of marrying, that I may, +without controul, receive and entertain the darling of my heart. + +Many, very many, happy days do I hope we shall yet see together; and as +this is my hope, I expect that it will be your consolation. + +As to your estate, since you are resolved not to litigate for it, we will +be patient, either till Colonel Morden arrives, or till shame compels +some people to be just. + +Upon the whole, I cannot but think your prospects now much happier than +they could have been, had you been actually married to such a man as +this. I must therefore congratulate you upon your escape, not only from +a horrid libertine, but from so vile a husband, as he must have made to +any woman; but more especially to a person of your virtue and delicacy. + +You hate him, heartily hate him, I hope, my dear--I am sure you do. It +would be strange, if so much purity of life and manners were not to abhor +what is so repugnant to itself. + +In your letter before me, you mention one written to me for a feint.* I +have not received any such. Depend upon it, therefore, that he must have +it. And if he has, it is a wonder that he did not likewise get my long +one of the 7th. Heaven be praised that he did not; and that it came safe +to your hands! + + +* See Vol. V. Letters XXI. and XXII. + + +I send this by a young fellow, whose father is one of our tenants, with +command to deliver it to no other hands but your's. He is to return +directly, if you give him any letter. If not, he will proceed to London +upon his own pleasures. He is a simple fellow; but very honest. So you +may say anything to him. If you write not by him, I desire a line or +two, as soon as possible. + +My mother knows nothing of his going to you; nor yet of your abandoning +the fellow. Forgive me! But he is not entitled to good manners. + +I shall long to hear how you and Mrs. Townsend order matters. I wish +she could have been with you sooner. But I have lost no time in engaging +her, as you will suppose. I refer to her, what I have further to say and +advise. So shall conclude with my prayers, that Heaven will direct and +protect my dearest creature, and make your future days happy! + +ANNA HOWE. + + +And now, Jack, I will suppose that thou hast read this cursed letter. +Allow me to make a few observations upon some of its contents. + + +It is strange to Miss Howe, that having got her friend at such a shocking +advantage, &c. And it is strange to me, too. If ever I have such +another opportunity given to me, the cause of both our wonder, I believe, +will cease. + +So thou seest Tomlinson is further detected.--No such person as Mrs. +Fretchville.--May lightning from Heaven--O Lord, O Lord, O Lord!--What a +horrid vixen is this!--My gang, my remorseless gang, too, is brought in-- +and thou wilt plead for these girls again; wilt thou? heaven be praised, +she says, that her friend is out of danger--Miss Howe should be sure of +that, and that she herself is safe.--But for this termagant, (as I often +said,) I must surely have made a better hand of it.-- + +New stories of me, Jack!--What can they be?--I have not found that my +generosity to my Rose-bud ever did me due credit with this pair of +friends. Very hard, Belford, that credits cannot be set against debits, +and a balance struck in a rake's favour, as well as in that of every +common man!--But he, from whom no good is expected, is not allowed the +merit of the good he does. + +I ought to have been a little more attentive to character than I have +been. For, notwithstanding that the measures of right and wrong are said +to be so manifest, let me tell thee, that character biases and runs away +with all mankind. Let a man or woman once establish themselves in the +world's opinion, and all that either of them do will be sanctified. Nay, +in the very courts of justice, does not character acquit or condemn as +often as facts, and sometimes even in spite of facts?--Yet, [impolitic +that I have been and am!] to be so careless of mine!--And now, I doubt, +it is irretrievable.--But to leave moralizing. + +Thou, Jack, knowest almost all my enterprises worth remembering. Can +this particular story, which this girl hints at, be that of Lucy Villars? +--Or can she have heard of my intrigue with the pretty gipsey, who met me +in Norwood, and of the trap I caught her cruel husband in, [a fellow as +gloomy and tyrannical as old Harlowe,] when he pursued a wife, who would +not have deserved ill of him, if he had deserved well of her!--But he was +not quite drowned. The man is alive at this day, and Miss Howe mentions +the story as a very shocking one. Besides, both these are a twelve-month +old, or more. + +But evil fame and scandal are always new. When the offender has forgot a +vile fact, it is often told to one and to another, who, having never +heard of it before, trumpet it about as a novelty to others. But well +said the honest corregidor at Madrid, [a saying with which I encroached +Lord M.'s collection,]--Good actions are remembered but for a day: bad +ones for many years after the life of the guilty. Such is the relish +that the world has for scandal. In other words, such is the desire which +every one has to exculpate himself by blackening his neighbour. You and +I, Belford, have been very kind to the world, in furnishing it with +opportunities to gratify its devil. + +[Miss Howe will abandon her own better prospects, and share fortunes with +her, were she to go abroad.]--Charming romancer!--I must set about this +girl, Jack. I have always had hopes of a woman whose passions carry her +to such altitudes.--Had I attacked Miss Howe first, her passions, +(inflamed and guided as I could have managed them,) would have brought +her into my lure in a fortnight. + +But thinkest thou, [and yet I think thou dost,] that there is any thing +in these high flights among the sex?--Verily, Jack, these vehement +friendships are nothing but chaff and stubble, liable to be blown away by +the very wind that raises them. Apes, mere apes of us! they think the +word friendship has a pretty sound with it; and it is much talked of--a +fashionable word. And so, truly, a single woman, who thinks she has a +soul, and knows that she wants something, would be thought to have found +a fellow-soul for it in her own sex. But I repeat, that the word is a +mere word, the thing a mere name with them; a cork-bottomed shuttle-cock, +which they are fond of striking to and fro, to make one another glow in +the frosty weather of a single-state; but which, when a man comes in +between the pretended inseparables, is given up, like their music and +other maidenly amusements; which, nevertheless, may be necessary to keep +the pretty rogues out of active mischief. They then, in short, having +caught the fish, lay aside the net.* + + +* He alludes here to the story of a pope, who, (once a poor fisherman,) +through every preferment he rose to, even to that of the cardinalate, +hung up in view of all his guests his net, as a token of humility. But, +when he arrived at the pontificate, he took it down, saying, that there +was no need of the net, when he had caught the fish. + + +Thou hast a mind, perhaps, to make an exception for these two ladies.-- +With all my heart. My Clarissa has, if woman has, a soul capable of +friendship. Her flame is bright and steady. But Miss Howe's, were it +not kept up by her mother's opposition, is too vehement to endure. How +often have I known opposition not only cement friendship, but create +love? I doubt not but poor Hickman would fare the better with this +vixen, if her mother were as heartily against him, as she is for him. + +Thus much, indeed, as to these two ladies, I will grant thee, that the +active spirit of the one, and the meek disposition of the other, may make +their friendship more durable than it would otherwise be; for this is +certain, that in every friendship, whether male or female, there must be +a man and a woman spirit, (that is to say, one of them must be a +forbearing one,) to make it permanent. + +But this I pronounce, as a truth, which all experience confirms, that +friendship between women never holds to the sacrifice of capital +gratifications, or to the endangering of life, limb, or estate, as it +often does in our nobler sex. + +Well, but next comes an indictment against poor beauty! What has beauty +done that Miss Howe should be offended at it?--Miss Howe, Jack, is a +charming girl. She has no reason to quarrel with beauty!--Didst ever see +her?--Too much fire and spirit in her eye, indeed, for a girl!--But +that's no fault with a man that can lower that fire and spirit at +pleasure; and I know I am the man that can. + +For my own part, when I was first introduced to this lady, which was by +my goddess when she herself was a visiter at Mrs. Howe's, I had not been +half an hour with her, but I even hungered and thirsted after a romping +'bout with the lively rogue; and, in the second or third visit, was more +deterred by the delicacy of her friend, than by what I apprehended from +her own. This charming creature's presence, thought I, awes us both. +And I wished her absence, though any other woman were present, that I +might try the differences in Miss Howe's behaviour before her friend's +face, or behind her back. + +Delicate women make delicate women, as well as decent men. With all Miss +Howe's fire and spirit, it was easy to see, by her very eye, that she +watched for lessons and feared reproof from the penetrating eye of her +milder dispositioned friend;* and yet it was as easy to observe, in the +candour and sweet manners of the other, that the fear which Miss Howe +stood in of her, was more owing to her own generous apprehension that she +fell short of her excellencies, than to Miss Harlowe's consciousness of +excellence over her. I have often since I came at Miss Howe's letters, +revolved this just and fine praise contained in one of them:** 'Every one +saw that the preference they gave you to themselves exalted you not into +any visible triumph over them; for you had always something to say, on +every point you carried, that raised the yielding heart, and left every +one pleased and satisfied with themselves, though they carried not off +the palm.' + + +* Miss Howe, in Vol. III. Letter XIX. says, That she was always more +afraid of Clarissa than of her mother; and, in Vol. III. Letter XLIV. +That she fears her almost as much as she loves her; and in many other +places, in her letters, verifies this observation of Lovelace. +** See Vol. IV. Letter XXXI. + + +As I propose, in a more advanced life, to endeavour to atone for my +useful freedoms with individuals of the sex, by giving cautions and +instructions to the whole, I have made a memorandum to enlarge upon this +doctrine;--to wit, that it is full as necessary to direct daughters in +the choice of their female companions, as it is to guard them against the +designs of men. + +I say not this, however, to the disparagement of Miss Howe. She has from +pride, what her friend has from principle. [The Lord help the sex, if +they had not pride!] But yet I am confident, that Miss Howe is indebted +to the conversation and correspondence of Miss Harlowe for her highest +improvements. But, both these ladies out of the question, I make no +scruple to aver, [and I, Jack, should know something of the matter,] that +there have been more girls ruined, at least prepared for ruin, by their +own sex, (taking in servants, as well as companions,) than directly by +the attempts and delusions of men. + +But it is time enough when I am old and joyless, to enlarge upon this +topic. + +As to the comparison between the two ladies, I will expatiate more on +that subject, (for I like it,) when I have had them both. Which this +letter of the vixen girl's, I hope thou wilt allow, warrants me to try +for. + +I return to the consideration of a few more of its contents, to justify +my vengeances so nearly now in view. + +As to Mrs. Townsend,--her manlike spirit--her two brothers--and the +ships' crews--I say nothing but this to the insolent threatening--Let 'em +come!--But as to her sordid menace--To repay the horrid villain, as she +calls me, for all my vileness by BROKEN BONES!--Broken bones, Belford!-- +Who can bear this porterly threatening!--Broken bones, Jack!--D--n the +little vulgar!--Give me a name for her--but I banish all furious +resentment. If I get these two girls into my power, Heaven forbid that I +should be a second Phalaris, who turned his bull upon the artist!--No +bones of their's will I break--They shall come off with me upon much +lighter terms!-- + +But these fellows are smugglers, it seems. And am not I a smuggler too? +--I am--and have not the least doubt but I shall have secured my goods +before Thursday, or Wednesday either. + +But did I want a plot, what a charming new one does this letter of Miss +Howe strike me out! I am almost sorry, that I have fixed upon one.--For +here, how easy would it be for me to assemble a crew of swabbers, and to +create a Mrs. Townsend (whose person, thou seest, my beloved knows not) +to come on Tuesday, at Miss Howe's repeated solicitations, in order to +carry my beloved to a warehouse of my own providing? + +This, however, is my triumphant hope, that at the very time that these +ragamuffins will be at Hampstead (looking for us) my dear Miss Harlowe +and I [so the Fates I imagine have ordained] shall be fast asleep in +each other's arms in town.--Lie still, villain, till the time comes.-- +My heart, Jack! my heart!--It is always thumping away on the remotest +prospects of this nature. + +But it seems that the vileness of this specious monster [meaning me, +Jack!] has brought Hickman into credit with her. So I have done some +good! But to whom I cannot tell: for this poor fellow, should I permit +him to have this termagant, will be punished, as many times we all are, +by the enjoyment of his own wishes--nor can she be happy, as I take it, +with him, were he to govern himself by her will, and have none of his +own; since never was there a directing wife who knew where to stop: power +makes such a one wanton--she despises the man she can govern. Like +Alexander, who wept, that he had no more worlds to conquer, she will be +looking out for new exercises for her power, till she grow uneasy to +herself, a discredit to her husband, and a plague to all about her. + +But this honest fellow, it seems, with tears in his eyes, and with humble +prostration, besought the vixen to permit him to set out in his +chariot-and-four, in order to give himself the glory of protecting such an +oppressed innocent, in the face of the whole world. Nay, he reddened, it +seems: and trembled too! as he read the fair complainant's letter.--How +valiant is all this!--Women love brave men; and no wonder that his tears, +his trembling, and his prostration, gave him high reputation with the meek +Miss Howe. + +But dost think, Jack, that I in the like case (and equally affected with +the distress) should have acted thus? Dost think, that I should not +first have rescued the lady, and then, if needful, have asked excuse for +it, the lady in my hand?--Wouldst not thou have done thus, as well as I? + +But, 'tis best as it is. Honest Hickman may now sleep in a whole skin. +And yet that is more perhaps than he would have done (the lady's +deliverance unattempted) had I come at this requested permission of his +any other way than by a letter that it must not be known that I have +intercepted. + +Miss Howe thinks I may be diverted from pursuing my charmer, by some +new-started villany. Villany is a word that she is extremely fond of. +But I can tell her, that it is impossible I should, till the end of this +villany be obtained. Difficulty is a stimulus with such a spirit as mine. +I thought Miss Howe knew me better. Were she to offer herself, person for +person, in the romancing zeal of her friendship, to save her friend, it +should not do, while the dear creature is on this side the moon. + +She thanks Heaven, that her friend has received her letter of the 7th. +We are all glad of it. She ought to thank me too. But I will not at +present claim her thanks. + +But when she rejoices that the letter went safe, does she not, in effect, +call out for vengeance, and expect it!--All in good time, Miss Howe. +When settest thou out for the Isle of Wight, love? + +I will close at this time with desiring thee to make a list of the +virulent terms with which the enclosed letter abounds: and then, if thou +supposest that I have made such another, and have added to it all the +flowers of the same blow, in the former letters of the same saucy +creature, and those in that of Miss Harlowe, which she left for me on her +elopement, thou wilt certainly think, that I have provocations sufficient +to justify me in all that I shall do to either. + +Return the enclosed the moment thou hast perused it. + + + +LETTER VIII + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +SUNDAY NIGHT--MONDAY MORNING. + + +I went down with revenge in my heart, the contents of Miss Howe's letter +almost engrossing me, the moment that Miss Harlowe and Mrs. Moore +(accompanied by Miss Rawlins) came in: but in my countenance all the +gentle, the placid, the serene, that the glass could teach; and in my +behaviour all the polite, that such an unpolite creature, as she has +often told me I am, could put on. + +Miss Rawlins was sent for home almost as soon as she came in, to +entertain an unexpected visiter; to her great regret, as well as to the +disappointment of my fair-one, as I could perceive from the looks of +both: for they had agreed, it seems, if I went to town, as I said I +intended to do, to take a walk upon the Heath, at least in Mrs. Moore's +garden; and who knows, what might have been the issue, had the spirit of +curiosity in the one met with the spirit of communication in the other? + +Miss Rawlins promised to return, if possible: but sent to excuse herself: +her visiter intending to stay with her all night. + +I rejoiced in my heart at her message; and, after much supplication, +obtained the favour of my beloved's company for another walk in the +garden, having, as I told her, abundance of things to say, to propose, +and to be informed of, in order ultimately to govern myself in my future +steps. + +She had vouchsafed, I should have told thee, with eyes turned from me, +and in a half-aside attitude, to sip two dishes of tea in my company-- +Dear soul!--How anger unpolishes the most polite! for I never saw Miss +Harlowe behave so awkwardly. I imagined she knew not how to be awkward. + +When we were in the garden, I poured my whole soul into her attentive +ear; and besought her returning favour. + +She told me, that she had formed her scheme for her future life: that, +vile as the treatment was which she had received from me, that was not +all the reason she had for rejecting my suit: but that, on the maturest +deliberation, she was convinced that she could neither be happy with me, +nor make me happy; and she injoined me, for both our sakes, to think no +more of her. + +The Captain, I told her, was rid down post, in a manner, to forward my +wishes with her uncle.--Lady Betty and Miss Montague were undoubtedly +arrived in town by this time. I would set out early in the morning to +attend them. They adored her. They longed to see her. They would see +her.--They would not be denied her company in Oxfordshire. Whither could +she better go, to be free from her brother's insults?--Whither, to be +absolutely made unapprehensive of any body else?--Might I have any hopes +of her returning favour, if Miss Howe could be prevailed upon to +intercede for me? + +Miss Howe prevailed upon to intercede for you! repeated she, with a +scornful bridle, but a very pretty one.--And there she stopt. + +I repeated the concern it would be to me to be under a necessity of +mentioning the misunderstanding to Lady Betty and my cousin, as a +misunderstanding still to be made up; and as if I were of very little +consequence to a dear creature who was of so much to me; urging, that +these circumstances would extremely lower me not only in my own opinion, +but in that of my relations. + +But still she referred to Miss Howe's next letter; and all the concession +I could bring her to in this whole conference, was, that she would wait +the arrival and visit of the two ladies, if they came in a day or two, or +before she received the expected letter from Miss Howe. + +Thank Heaven for this! thought I. And now may I go to town with hopes at +my return to find thee, dearest, where I shall leave thee. + +But yet, as she may find reasons to change her mind in my absence, I +shall not entirely trust to this. My fellow, therefore, who is in the +house, and who, by Mrs. Bevis's kind intelligence, will know every step +she can take, shall have Andrew and a horse ready, to give me immediate +notice of her motions; and moreover, go whither she will, he shall be one +of her retinue, though unknown to herself, if possible. + +This was all I could make of the fair inexorable. Should I be glad of +it, or sorry for it?-- + +Glad I believe: and yet my pride is confoundedly abated, to think that I +had so little hold in the affections of this daughter of the Harlowes. + +Don't tell me that virtue and principle are her guides on this occasion! +--'Tis pride, a greater pride than my own, that governs her. Love, she +has none, thou seest; nor ever had; at least not in a superior degree. +Love, that deserves the name, never was under the dominion of prudence, +or of any reasoning power. She cannot bear to be thought a woman, I +warrant! And if, in the last attempt, I find her not one, what will she +be the worse for the trial?--No one is to blame for suffering an evil he +cannot shun or avoid. + +Were a general to be overpowered, and robbed by a highwayman, would he be +less fit for the command of an army on that account?--If indeed the +general, pretending great valour, and having boasted that he never would +be robbed, were to make but faint resistance when he was brought to the +test, and to yield his purse when he was master of his own sword, then +indeed will the highwayman who robs him be thought the braver man. + +But from these last conferences am I furnished with one argument in +defence of my favourite purpose, which I never yet pleaded. + +O Jack! what a difficulty must a man be allowed to have to conquer a +predominant passion, be it what it will, when the gratifying of it is in +his power, however wrong he knows it to be to resolve to gratify it! +Reflect upon this; and then wilt thou be able to account for, if not to +excuse, a projected crime, which has habit to plead for it, in a breast +as stormy as uncontroulable! + +This that follows is my new argument-- + +Should she fail in the trial; should I succeed; and should she refuse to +go on with me; and even resolve not to marry me (of which I can have no +notion); and should she disdain to be obliged to me for the handsome +provision I should be proud to make for her, even to the half of my +estate; yet cannot she be altogether unhappy--Is she not entitled to an +independent fortune? Will not Col. Morden, as her trustee, put her in +possession of it? And did she not in our former conference point out the +way of life, that she always preferred to the married life--to wit, 'To +take her good Norton for her directress and guide, and to live upon her +own estate in the manner her grandfather desired she should live?'* + + +* See Letter III. of this volume. + + +It is moreover to be considered that she cannot, according to her own +notions, recover above one half of her fame, were we not to intermarry; +so much does she think she has suffered by her going off with me. And +will she not be always repining and mourning for the loss of the other +half?--And if she must live a life of such uneasiness and regret for +half, may she not as well repine and mourn for the whole? + +Nor, let me tell thee, will her own scheme or penitence, in this case, be +half so perfect, if she do not fall, as if she does: for what a foolish +penitent will she make, who has nothing to repent of!--She piques +herself, thou knowest, and makes it matter of reproach to me, that she +went not off with me by her own consent; but was tricked out of herself. + +Nor upbraid thou me upon the meditated breach of vows so repeatedly made. +She will not, thou seest, permit me to fulfil them. And if she would, +this I have to say, that, at the time I made the most solemn of them, I +was fully determined to keep them. But what prince thinks himself +obliged any longer to observe the articles of treaties, the most sacredly +sworn to, than suits with his interest or inclination; although the +consequence of the infraction must be, as he knows, the destruction of +thousands. + +Is not this then the result of all, that Miss Clarissa Harlowe, if it be +not her own fault, may be as virtuous after she has lost her honour, as +it is called, as she was before? She may be a more eminent example to +her sex; and if she yield (a little yield) in the trial, may be a +completer penitent. Nor can she, but by her own wilfulness, be reduced +to low fortunes. + +And thus may her old nurse and she; an old coachman; and a pair of old +coach-horses; and two or three old maid-servants, and perhaps a very old +footman or two, (for every thing will be old and penitential about her,) +live very comfortably together; reading old sermons, and old +prayer-books; and relieving old men and old women; and giving old lessons, +and old warnings, upon new subjects, as well as old ones, to the young +ladies of her neighbourhood; and so pass on to a good old age, doing a +great deal of good both by precept and example in her generation. + +And is a woman who can live thus prettily without controul; who ever did +prefer, and who still prefers, the single to the married life; and who +will be enabled to do every thing that the plan she had formed will +direct her to do; to be said to be ruined, undone, and such sort of +stuff?--I have no patience with the pretty fools, who use those strong +words, to describe a transitory evil; an evil which a mere church-form +makes none? + +At this rate of romancing, how many flourishing ruins dost thou, as well +as I, know? Let us but look about us, and we shall see some of the +haughtiest and most censorious spirits among out acquaintance of that sex +now passing for chaste wives, of whom strange stories might be told; and +others, whose husbands' hearts have been made to ache for their gaieties, +both before and after marriage; and yet know not half so much of them, as +some of us honest fellows could tell them. + +But, having thus satisfied myself in relation to the worst that can +happen to this charming creature; and that it will be her own fault, if +she be unhappy; I have not at all reflected upon what is likely to be my +own lot. + +This has always been my notion, though Miss Howe grudges us rakes the +best of the sex, and says, that the worst is too good for us,* that the +wife of a libertine ought to be pure, spotless, uncontaminated. To what +purpose has such a one lived a free life, but to know the world, and to +make his advantages of it!--And, to be very serious, it would be a +misfortune to the public for two persons, heads of a family, to be both +bad; since, between two such, a race of varlets might be propagated +(Lovelaces and Belfords, if thou wilt) who might do great mischief in the +world. + +Thou seest at bottom that I am not an abandoned fellow; and that there is +a mixture of gravity in me. This, as I grow older, may increase; and +when my active capacity begins to abate, I may sit down with the +preacher, and resolve all my past life into vanity and vexation of +spirit. + +This is certain, that I shall never find a woman so well suited to my +taste as Miss Clarissa Harlowe. I only wish that I may have such a lady +as her to comfort and adorn my setting sun. I have often thought it very +unhappy for us both, that so excellent a creature sprang up a little too +late for my setting out, and a little too early in my progress, before I +can think of returning. And yet, as I have picked up the sweet traveller +in my way, I cannot help wishing that she would bear me company in the +rest of my journey, although she were stepping out of her own path to +oblige me. And then, perhaps, we could put up in the evening at the same +inn; and be very happy in each other's conversation; recounting the +difficulties and dangers we had passed in our way to it. + +I imagine that thou wilt be apt to suspect that some passages in this +letter were written in town. Why, Jack, I cannot but say that the +Westminster air is a little grosser than that at Hampstead; and the +conversation of Mrs. Sinclair and the nymphs less innocent than Mrs. +Moore's and Miss Rawlins's. And I think in my heart I can say and write +those things at one place which I cannot at the other, nor indeed any +where else. + +I came to town about seven this morning--all necessary directions and +precautions remembered to be given. + +I besought the favour of an audience before I set out. I was desirous +to see which of her lovely faces she was pleased to put on, after another +night had passed. But she was resolved, I found, to leave our quarrel +open. She would not give me an opportunity so much as to entreat her +again to close it, before the arrival of Lady Betty and my cousin. + +I had notice from my proctor, by a few lines brought by a man and horse, +just before I set out, that all difficulties had been for two days past +surmounted; and that I might have the license for fetching. + +I sent up the letter to my beloved, by Mrs. Bevis, with a repeated +request for admittance to her presence upon it; but neither did this +stand me in stead. I suppose she thought it would be allowing of the +consequences that were naturally to be expected to follow the obtaining +of this instrument, if she had consented to see me on the contents of +this letter, having refused me that honour before I sent it up to her.-- +No surprising her.--No advantage to be taken of her inattention to the +nicest circumstances. + +And now, Belford, I set out upon business. + + + +LETTER IX + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +MONDAY, JUNE 12. + + +Durst ever see a license, Jack? + +'Edmund, by divine permission, Lord Bishop of London, to our well-beloved +in Christ, Robert Lovelace, [your servant, my good Lord! What have I +done to merit so much goodness, who never saw your Lordship in my life?] +of the parish of St. Martin's in the Fields, bachelor, and Clarissa +Harlowe, of the same parish, spinster, sendeth greeting.--WHEREAS ye are, +as is alleged, determined to enter into the holy state of Matrimony [this +is only alleged, thou observest] by and with the consent of, &c. &c. &c. +and are very desirous of obtaining your marriage to be solemnized in the +face of the church: We are willing that your honest desires [honest +desires, Jack!] may more speedily have their due effect: and therefore, +that ye may be able to procure such Marriage to be freely and lawfully +solemnized in the parish church of St. Martin's in the Fields, or St. +Giles's in the Fields, in the county of Middlesex, by the Rector, Vicar, +or Curate thereof, at any time of the year, [at ANY time of the year, +Jack!] without publication of bans: Provided, that by reason of any +pre-contract, [I verily think that I have had three or four pre-contracts +in my time; but the good girls have not claimed upon them of a long +while,] consanguinity, affinity, or any other lawful cause whatsoever, +there be no lawful impediment on this behalf; and that there be not at +this time any action, suit, plaint, quarrel, or demand, moved or depending +before any judge ecclesiastical or temporal, for or concerning any +marriage contracted by or with either of you; and that the said marriage +be openly solemnized in the church above-mentioned, between the hours of +eight and twelve in the forenoon; and without prejudice to the minister of +the place where the said woman is a parishioner: We do hereby, for good +causes, [it cost me--let me see, Jack--what did it cost me?] give and +grant our License, as well to you as to the parties contracting, as to the +Rector, Vicar, or Curate of the said church, where the said marriage is +intended to be solemnized, to solemnize the same, in manner and form above +specified, according to the rites and ceremonies prescribed in the Book of +Common Prayer in that behalf published by authority of Parliament. +Provided always, that if hereafter any fraud shall appear to have been +committed, at the time of granting this License, either by false +suggestions, or concealment of the truth, [now this, Belford, is a little +hard upon us; for I cannot say that every one of our suggestions is +literally true:--so, in good conscience, I ought not to marry under this +License;] the License shall be void to all intents and purposes, as if the +same had not been granted. And in that case we do inhibit all ministers +whatsoever, if any thing of the premises shall come to their knowledge, +from proceeding to the celebration of the said Marriage; without first +consulting Us, or our Vicar-general. Given,' &c. + +Then follow the register's name, and a large pendent seal, with these +words round it--SEAL OF THE VICAR-GENERAL AND OFFICIAL PRINCIPAL OF THE +DIOCESE OF LONDON. + +A good whimsical instrument, take it altogether! But what, thinkest +thou, are the arms to this matrimonial harbinger?--Why, in the first +place, two crossed swords; to show that marriage is a state of offence +as well as defence; three lions; to denote that those who enter into the +state ought to have a triple proportion of courage. And [couldst thou +have imagined that these priestly fellows, in so solemn a case, would cut +their jokes upon poor souls who came to have their honest desires put in +a way to be gratified;] there are three crooked horns, smartly +top-knotted with ribands; which being the ladies' wear, seem to indicate +that they may very probably adorn, as well as bestow, the bull's feather. + +To describe it according to heraldry art, if I am not mistaken--gules, +two swords, saltire-wise, or; second coat, a chevron sable between three +bugle-horns, OR [so it ought to be]: on a chief of the second, three +lions rampant of the first--but the devil take them for their +hieroglyphics, should I say, if I were determined in good earnest to +marry! + +And determined to marry I would be, were it not for this consideration, +that once married, and I am married for life. + +That's the plague of it!--Could a man do as the birds do, change every +Valentine's day, [a natural appointment! for birds have not the sense, +forsooth, to fetter themselves, as we wiseacre men take great and solemn +pains to do,] there would be nothing at all in it. And what a glorious +time would the lawyers have, on the one hand, with their noverini +universi's, and suits commenceable on restitution of goods and chattels; +and the parsons, on the other, with their indulgencies [renewable +annually, as other licenses] to the honest desires of their clients? + +Then, were a stated mullet, according to rank or fortune, to be paid on +every change, towards the exigencies of the state [but none on renewals +with the old lives, for the sake of encouraging constancy, especially +among the minores] the change would be made sufficiently difficult, and +the whole public would be the better for it; while those children, which +the parents could not agree about maintaining, might be considered as the +children of the public, and provided for like the children of the antient +Spartans; who were (as ours would in this case be) a nation of heroes. +How, Jack, could I have improved upon Lycurgus's institutions had I been +a lawgiver! + +Did I never show thee a scheme which I drew up on such a notion as this? +--In which I demonstrated the conveniencies, and obviated the +inconveniencies, of changing the present mode to this? I believe I never +did. + +I remember I proved to a demonstration, that such a change would be a +mean of annihilating, absolutely annihilating, four or five very +atrocious and capital sins.--Rapes, vulgarly so called; adultery, and +fornication; nor would polygamy be panted after. Frequently would it +prevent murders and duelling; hardly any such thing as jealousy (the +cause of shocking violences) would be heard of: and hypocrisy between man +and wife be banished the bosoms of each. Nor, probably, would the +reproach of barrenness rest, as it now too often does, where it is least +deserved.--Nor would there possibly be such a person as a barren woman. + +Moreover, what a multitude of domestic quarrels would be avoided, where +such a scheme carried into execution? Since both sexes would bear with +each other, in the view that they could help themselves in a few months. + +And then what a charming subject for conversation would be the gallant +and generous last partings between man and wife! Each, perhaps, a new +mate in eye, and rejoicing secretly in the manumission, could afford to +be complaisantly sorrowful in appearance. 'He presented her with this +jewel, it will be said by the reporter, for example sake: she him with +that. How he wept! How she sobb'd! How they looked after one another!' +Yet, that's the jest of it, neither of them wishing to stand another +twelvemonth's trial. + +And if giddy fellows, or giddy girls, misbehave in a first marriage, +whether from noviceship, having expected to find more in the matter than +can be found; or from perverseness on her part, or positiveness on his, +each being mistaken in the other [a mighty difference, Jack, in the same +person, an inmate or a visiter]; what a fine opportunity will each have, +by this scheme, of recovering a lost character, and of setting all right +in the next adventure? + +And, O Jack! with what joy, with what rapture, would the changelings (or +changeables, if thou like that word better) number the weeks, the days, +the hours, as the annual obligation approached to its desirable period! + +As for the spleen or vapours, no such malady would be known or heard of. +The physical tribe would, indeed, be the sufferers, and the only +sufferers; since fresh health and fresh spirits, the consequences of +sweet blood and sweet humours (the mind and body continually pleased with +each other) would perpetually flow in; and the joys of expectation, the +highest of all our joys, would invigorate and keep all alive. + +But, that no body of men might suffer, the physicians, I thought, might +turn parsons, as there would be a great demand for parsons. Besides, as +they would be partakers in the general benefit, they must be sorry +fellows indeed if they preferred themselves to the public. + +Every one would be married a dozen times at least. Both men and women +would be careful of their characters and polite in their behaviour, as +well as delicate in their persons, and elegant in their dress, [a great +matte each of these, let me tell thee, to keep passion alive,] either to +induce a renewal with the old love, or to recommend themselves to a new. +While the newspapers would be crowded with paragraphs; all the world +their readers, as all the world would be concerned to see who and who's +together-- + +'Yesterday, for instance, entered into the holy state of matrimony,' [we +should all speak reverently of matrimony, then,] 'the right Honourable +Robert Earl Lovelace' [I shall be an earl by that time,] 'with her Grace +the Duchess Dowager of Fifty-manors; his Lordship's one-and-thirtieth +wife.'--I shall then be contented, perhaps, to take up, as it is called, +with a widow. But she must not have had more than one husband neither. +Thou knowest that I am nice in these particulars. + +I know, Jack, that thou for thy part, wilt approve of my scheme. + +As Lord M. and I, between us, have three or four boroughs at command, I +think I will get into parliament, in order to bring in a bill for this +good purpose. + +Neither will the house of parliament, nor the houses of convocation, have +reason to object it. And all the courts, whether spiritual or sensual, +civil or uncivil, will find their account in it when passed into a law. + +By my soul, Jack, I should be apprehensive of a general insurrection, and +that incited by the women, were such a bill to be thrown out.--For here +is the excellency of the scheme: the women will have equal reason with +the men to be pleased with it. + +Dost think, that old prerogative Harlowe, for example, must not, if such +a law were in being, have pulled in his horns?--So excellent a wife as he +has, would never else have renewed with such a gloomy tyrant: who, as +well as all other married tyrants, must have been upon good behaviour +from year to year. + +A termagant wife, if such a law were to pass, would be a phoenix. + +The churches would be the only market-place for the fair sex; and +domestic excellence the capital recommendation. + +Nor would there be an old maid in Great Britain, and all its territories. +For what an odd soul must she be who could not have her twelvemonth's +trial? + +In short, a total alteration for the better, in the morals and way of +life in both sexes, must, in a very few years, be the consequence of such +a salutary law. + +Who would have expected such a one from me! I wish the devil owe me not +a spite for it. + +The would not the distinction be very pretty, Jack? as in flowers;--such +a gentleman, or such a lady, is an ANNUAL--such a one is a PERENNIAL. + +One difficulty, however, as I remember, occurred to me, upon the +probability that a wife might be enceinte, as the lawyers call it. But +thus I obviated it-- + +That no man should be allowed to marry another woman without his then +wife's consent, till she were brought-to-bed, and he had defrayed all +incident charges; and till it was agreed upon between them whether the +child should be his, her's, or the public's. The women in this case to +have what I call the coercive option; for I would not have it in the +man's power to be a dog neither. + +And, indeed, I gave the turn of the scale in every part of my scheme in +the women's favour: for dearly do I love the sweet rogues. + +How infinitely more preferable this my scheme to the polygamy one of the +old patriarchs; who had wives and concubines without number!--I believe +David and Solomon had their hundreds at a time. Had they not, Jack? + +Let me add, that annual parliaments, and annual marriages, are the +projects next my heart. How could I expatiate upon the benefits that +would arise from both! + + + +LETTER X + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. + + +Well, but now my plots thicken; and my employment of writing to thee on +this subject will soon come to a conclusion. For now, having got the +license; and Mrs. Townsend with her tars, being to come to Hampstead next +Wednesday or Thursday; and another letter possibly, or message from Miss +Howe, to inquire how Miss Harlowe does, upon the rustic's report of her +ill health, and to express her wonder that she has not heard form her in +answer to her's on her escape; I must soon blow up the lady, or be blown +up myself. And so I am preparing, with Lady Betty and my cousin +Montague, to wait upon my beloved with a coach-and-four, or a sett; for +Lady Betty will not stir out with a pair for the world; though but for +two or three miles. And this is a well-known part of her character. + +But as to the arms and crest upon the coach and trappings? + +Dost thou not know that a Blunt's must supply her, while her own is new +lining and repairing? An opportunity she is willing to take now she is +in town. Nothing of this kind can be done to her mind in the country. +Liveries nearly Lady Betty's. + +Thou hast seen Lady Betty Lawrance several times--hast thou not, Belford? + +No, never in my life. + +But thou hast--and lain with her too; or fame does thee more credit than +thou deservest--Why, Jack, knowest thou not Lady Betty's other name? + +Other name!--Has she two? + +She has. And what thinkest thou of Lady Bab. Wallis? + +O the devil! + +Now thou hast it. Lady Barbara thou knowest, lifted up in circumstances, +and by pride, never appears or produces herself, but on occasions special +--to pass to men of quality or price, for a duchess, or countess, at +least. She has always been admired for a grandeur in her air, that few +women of quality can come up to; and never was supposed to be other than +what she passed for; though often and often a paramour for lords. + +And who, thinkest thou, is my cousin Montague? + +Nay, how should I know? + +How indeed! Why, my little Johanetta Golding, a lively, yet +modest-looking girl, is my cousin Montague. + +There, Belford, is an aunt!--There's a cousin!--Both have wit at will. +Both are accustomed to ape quality.--Both are genteelly descended. +Mistresses of themselves, and well educated--yet past pity.--True Spartan +dames; ashamed of nothing but detection--always, therefore, upon their +guard against that. And in their own conceit, when assuming top parts, +the very quality they ape. + +And how dost think I dress them out?--I'll tell thee. + +Lady Betty in a rich gold tissue, adorned with jewels of high price. + +My cousin Montague in a pale pink, standing on end with silver flowers of +her own working. Charlotte as well as my beloved is admirable at her +needle. Not quite so richly jewell'd out as Lady Betty; but ear-rings +and solitaire very valuable, and infinitely becoming. + +Johanetta, thou knowest, has a good complexion, a fine neck, and ears +remarkably fine--so has Charlotte. She is nearly of Charlotte's stature +too. + +Laces both, the richest that could be procured. + +Thou canst not imagine what a sum the loan of the jewels cost me, though +but for three days. + +This sweet girl will half ruin me. But seest thou not, by this time, +that her reign is short!--It must be so. And Mrs. Sinclair has already +prepared every thing for her reception once more. + + +*** + + +Here come the ladies--attended by Susan Morrison, a tenant-farmer's +daughter, as Lady Betty's woman; with her hands before her, and +thoroughly instructed. + +How dress advantages women!--especially those who have naturally a +genteel air and turn, and have had education. + +Hadst thou seen how they paraded it--Cousin, and Cousin, and Nephew, at +every word; Lady Betty bridling and looking haughtily-condescending.-- +Charlotte galanting her fan, and swimming over the floor without touching +it. + +How I long to see my niece-elect! cries one--for they are told that we +are not married; and are pleased that I have not put the slight upon them +that they had apprehended from me. + +How I long to see my dear cousin that is to be, the other! + +Your La'ship, and your La'ship, and an awkward courtesy at every address +--prim Susan Morrison. + +Top your parts, ye villains!--You know how nicely I distinguish. There +will be no passion in this case to blind the judgment, and to help on +meditated delusion, as when you engage with titled sinners. My charmer +is as cool and as distinguishing, though not quite so learned in her own +sex, as I am. Your commonly-assumed dignity won't do for me now. Airs +of superiority, as if born to rank.--But no over-do!--Doubting nothing. +Let not your faces arraign your hearts. + +Easy and unaffected!--Your very dresses will give you pride enough. + +A little graver, Lady Betty.--More significance, less bridling in your +dignity. + +That's the air! Charmingly hit----Again----You have it. + +Devil take you!--Less arrogance. You are got into airs of young quality. +Be less sensible of your new condition. People born to dignity command +respect without needing to require it. + +Now for your part, Cousin Charlotte!-- + +Pretty well. But a little too frolicky that air.--Yet have I prepared my +beloved to expect in you both great vivacity and quality-freedom. + +Curse those eyes!--Those glancings will never do. A down-cast bashful +turn, if you can command it. Look upon me. Suppose me now to be my +beloved. + +Devil take that leer. Too significantly arch!--Once I knew you the girl +I would now have you to be. + +Sprightly, but not confident, cousin Charlotte!--Be sure forget not to +look down, or aside, when looked at. When eyes meet eyes, be your's the +retreating ones. Your face will bear examination. + +O Lord! Lord! that so young a creature can so soon forget the innocent +appearance she first charmed by; and which I thought born with you all!-- +Five years to ruin what twenty had been building up! How natural the +latter lesson! How difficult to regain the former! + +A stranger, as I hope to be saved, to the principal arts of your sex!-- +Once more, what a devil has your heart to do in your eyes? + +Have I not told you, that my beloved is a great observer of the eyes? +She once quoted upon me a text,* which showed me how she came by her +knowledge--Dorcas's were found guilty of treason the first moment she +saw her. + + +* Eccles. xxvi. The whoredom of a woman may be known in her haughty +looks and eye-lids. Watch over an impudent eye, and marvel not if it +trespass against thee. + + +Once more, suppose me to be my charmer.--Now you are to encounter my +examining eye, and my doubting heart-- + +That's my dear! + +Study that air in the pier-glass!-- + +Charmingly!--Perfectly right! + +Your honours, now, devils!-- + +Pretty well, Cousin Charlotte, for a young country lady! Till form +yields to familiarity, you may courtesy low. You must not be supposed +to have forgot your boarding-school airs. + +But too low, too low Lady Betty, for your years and your quality. The +common fault of your sex will be your danger: aiming to be young too +long!--The devil's in you all, when you judge of yourselves by your +wishes, and by your vanity! Fifty, in that case, is never more than +fifteen. + +Graceful ease, conscious dignity, like that of my charmer, Oh! how hard +to hit! + +Both together now-- + +Charming!--That's the air, Lady Betty!--That's the cue, Cousin Charlotte, +suited to the character of each!--But, once more, be sure to have a guard +upon your eyes. + +Never fear, Nephew!-- + +Never fear, Cousin. + +A dram of Barbadoes each-- + +And now we are gone-- + + + +LETTER XI + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +AT MRS. SINCLAIR'S, MONDAY AFTERNOON. + + +All's right, as heart can wish!--In spite of all objection--in spite of a +reluctance next to faintings--in spite of all foresight, vigilance, +suspicion--once more is the charmer of my soul in her old lodgings! + +Now throbs away every pulse! Now thump, thump, thumps my bounding heart +for something! + +But I have not time for the particulars of our management. + +My beloved is now directing some of her clothes to be packed up--never +more to enter this house! Nor ever more will she, I dare say, when once +again out of it! + +Yet not so much as a condition of forgiveness!--The Harlowe-spirited +fair-one will not deserve my mercy!--She will wait for Miss Howe's next +letter; and then, if she find a difficulty in her new schemes, [Thank her +for nothing,]--will--will what? Why even then will take time to +consider, whether I am to be forgiven, or for ever rejected. An +indifference that revives in my heart the remembrance of a thousand of +the like nature.--And yet Lady Betty and Miss Montague, [a man would be +tempted to think, Jack, that they wish her to provoke my vengeance,] +declare, that I ought to be satisfied with such a proud suspension! + +They are entirely attached to her. Whatever she says, is, must be, +gospel! They are guarantees for her return to Hampstead this night. +They are to go back with her. A supper bespoken by Lady Betty at Mrs. +Moore's. All the vacant apartments there, by my permission, (for I had +engaged them for a month certain,) to be filled with them and their +attendants, for a week at least, or till they can prevail upon the dear +perverse, as they hope they shall, to restore me to her favour, and to +accompany Lady Betty to Oxfordshire. + +The dear creature has thus far condescended--that she will write to Miss +Howe and acquaint her with the present situation of things. + +If she write, I shall see what she writes. But I believe she will have +other employment soon. + +Lady Betty is sure, she tells her, that she shall prevail upon her to +forgive me; though she dares say, that I deserve not forgiveness. Lady +Betty is too delicate to inquire strictly into the nature of my offence. +But it must be an offence against herself, against Miss Montague, against +the virtuous of the whole sex, or it could not be so highly resented. +Yet she will not leave her till she forgive me, and till she see our +nuptials privately celebrated. Mean time, as she approves of her uncle's +expedient, she will address her as already my wife before strangers. + +Stedman, her solicitor, may attend her for orders in relation to her +chancery affair, at Hampstead. Not one hour they can be favoured with, +will they lose from the company and conversation of so dear, so charming +a new relation. + +Hard then if she had not obliged them with her company in their +coach-and-four, to and from their cousin Leeson's, who longed, (as they +themselves had done,) to see a lady so justly celebrated. + +'How will Lord M. be raptured when he sees her, and can salute her as his +niece! + +'How will Lady Sarah bless herself!--She will now think her loss of the +dear daughter she mourns for happily supplied!' + +Miss Montague dwells upon every word that falls from her lips. She +perfectly adores her new cousin--'For her cousin she must be. And her +cousin will she call her! She answers for equal admiration in her sister +Patty. + +'Ay, cry I, (whispering loud enough for her to hear,) how will my cousin +Patty's dove's eyes glisten and run over, on the very first interview!-- +So gracious, so noble, so unaffected a dear creature!' + +'What a happy family,' chorus we all, 'will our's be!' + +These and such like congratulatory admirations every hour repeated. Her +modesty hurt by the ecstatic praises:--'Her graces are too natural to +herself for her to be proud of them: but she must be content to be +punished for excellencies that cast a shade upon the most excellent!' + +In short, we are here, as at Hampstead, all joy and rapture--all of us +except my beloved; in whose sweet face, [her almost fainting reluctance +to re-enter these doors not overcome,] reigns a kind of anxious serenity! +--But how will even that be changed in a few hours! + +Methinks I begin to pity the half-apprehensive beauty!--But avaunt, thou +unseasonably-intruding pity! Thou hast more than once already well nigh +undone me! And, adieu, reflection! Begone, consideration! and +commiseration! I dismiss ye all, for at least a week to come!--But +remembered her broken word! Her flight, when my fond soul was meditating +mercy to her!--Be remembered her treatment of me in her letter on her +escape to Hampstead! Her Hampstead virulence! What is it she ought not +to expect from an unchained Beelzebub, and a plotting villain? + +Be her preference of the single life to me also remembered!--That she +despises me!--That she even refuses to be my WIFE!--A proud Lovelace to +be denied a wife!--To be more proudly rejected by a daughter of the +Harlowes!--The ladies of my own family, [she thinks them the ladies of +my family,] supplicating in vain for her returning favour to their +despised kinsman, and taking laws from her still prouder punctilio! + +Be the execrations of her vixen friend likewise remembered, poured out +upon me from her representations, and thereby made her own execrations! + +Be remembered still more particularly the Townsend plot, set on foot +between them, and now, in a day or two, ready to break out; and the +sordid threatening thrown out against me by that little fury! + +Is not this the crisis for which I have been long waiting? Shall +Tomlinson, shall these women be engaged; shall so many engines be set +at work, at an immense expense, with infinite contrivance; and all to +no purpose? + +Is not this the hour of her trial--and in her, of the trial of the virtue +of her whole sex, so long premeditated, so long threatened?--Whether her +frost be frost indeed? Whether her virtue be principle? Whether, if +once subdued, she will not be always subdued? And will she not want the +crown of her glory, the proof of her till now all-surpassing excellence, +if I stop short of the ultimate trial? + +Now is the end of purposes long over-awed, often suspended, at hand. And +need I go throw the sins of her cursed family into the too-weighty scale? + +[Abhorred be force!--be the thoughts of force!--There's no triumph over +the will in force!] This I know I have said.* But would I not have +avoided it, if I could? Have I not tried every other method? And have I +any other resource left me? Can she resent the last outrage more than +she has resented a fainter effort?--And if her resentments run ever so +high, cannot I repair by matrimony?--She will not refuse me, I know, +Jack: the haughty beauty will not refuse me, when her pride of being +corporally inviolate is brought down; when she can tell no tales, but +when, (be her resistance what it will,) even her own sex will suspect a +yielding in resistance; and when that modesty, which may fill her bosom +with resentment, will lock up her speech. + + +* Vol. IV. Letter XLVIII. + + +But how know I, that I have not made my own difficulties? Is she not a +woman! What redress lies for a perpetuated evil? Must she not live? +Her piety will secure her life.--And will not time be my friend! What, +in a word, will be her behaviour afterwards?--She cannot fly me!--She +must forgive me--and as I have often said, once forgiven, will be for +ever forgiven. + +Why then should this enervating pity unsteel my foolish heart? + +It shall not. All these things will I remember; and think of nothing +else, in order to keep up a resolution, which the women about me will +have it I shall be still unable to hold. + +I'll teach the dear, charming creature to emulate me in contrivance; I'll +teach her to weave webs and plots against her conqueror! I'll show her, +that in her smuggling schemes she is but a spider compared to me, and +that she has all this time been spinning only a cobweb! + + +*** + + +What shall we do now! we are immersed in the depth of grief and +apprehension! How ill do women bear disappointment!--Set upon going to +Hampstead, and upon quitting for ever a house she re-entered with +infinite reluctance; what things she intended to take with her ready +packed up, herself on tiptoe to be gone, and I prepared to attend her +thither; she begins to be afraid that she shall not go this night; and in +grief and despair has flung herself into her old apartment; locked +herself in; and through the key-hole Dorcas sees her on her knees, +praying, I suppose, for a safe deliverance. + +And from what? and wherefore these agonizing apprehensions? + +Why, here, this unkind Lady Betty, with the dear creature's knowledge, +though to her concern, and this mad-headed cousin Montague without it, +while she was employed in directing her package, have hurried away in the +coach to their own lodgings, [only, indeed, to put up some night-clothes, +and so forth, in order to attend their sweet cousin to Hampstead;] and, +no less to my surprise than her's, are not yet returned. + +I have sent to know the meaning of it. + +In a great hurry of spirits, she would have had me to go myself. Hardly +any pacifying her! The girl, God bless her! is wild with her own idle +apprehensions! What is she afraid of? + +I curse them both for their delay. My tardy villain, how he stays! +Devil fetch them! let them send their coach, and we'll go without them. +In her hearing I bid the fellow tell them so. Perhaps he stays to bring +the coach, if any thing happens to hinder the ladies from attending my +beloved this night. + + +*** + + +Devil take them, again say I! They promised too they would not stay, +because it was but two nights ago that a chariot was robbed at the foot +of Hampstead-hill, which alarmed my fair-one when told of it! + +Oh! here's Lady Betty's servant, with a billet. + + +TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. +MONDAY NIGHT. + +Excuse us, my dear Nephew, I beseech you, to my dearest kinswoman. One +night cannot break squares: for here Miss Montague has been taken +violently ill with three fainting fits, one after another. The hurry of +her joy, I believe, to find your dear lady so much surpass all +expectations, [never did family love, you know, reign so strong as among +us,] and the too eager desire she had to attend her, have occasioned it! +For she has but weak spirits, poor girl! well as she looks. + +If she be better, we will certainly go with you tomorrow morning, after +we have breakfasted with her, at your lodgings. But whether she be, or +not, I will do myself the pleasure to attend your lady to Hampstead; and +will be with you for that purpose about nine in the morning. With due +compliments to your most worthily beloved, I am + +Your's affectionately, +ELIZAB. LAWRANCE. + + +*** + + +Faith and troth, Jack, I know not what to do with myself; for here, just +now having sent in the above note by Dorcas, out came my beloved with it +in her hand, in a fit of phrensy!--true, by my soul! + +She had indeed complained of her head all the evening. + +Dorcas ran to me, out of breath, to tell me, that her lady was coming in +some strange way; but she followed her so quick, that the frighted wench +had not time to say in what way. + +It seems, when she read the billet--Now indeed, said she, am I a lost +creature! O the poor Clarissa Harlowe! + +She tore off her head-clothes; inquired where I was; and in she came, her +shining tresses flowing about her neck; her ruffles torn, and hanging in +tatters about her snowy hands, with her arms spread out--her eyes wildly +turned, as if starting from their orbits--down sunk she at my feet, as +soon as she approached me; her charming bosom heaving to her uplifted +face; and clasping her arms about my knees, Dear Lovelace, said she, if +ever--if ever--if ever--and, unable to speak another word, quitting her +clasping hold--down--prostrate on the floor sunk she, neither in a fit +nor out of one. + +I was quite astonished.--All my purposes suspended for a few moments, I +knew neither what to say, nor what to do. But, recollecting myself, am I +again, thought I, in a way to be overcome, and made a fool of!--If I now +recede, I am gone for ever. + +I raised her; but down she sunk, as if quite disjointed--her limbs +failing her--yet not in a fit neither. I never heard of or saw such a +dear unaccountable; almost lifeless, and speechless too for a few +moments; what must her apprehensions be at that moment?--And for what?-- +An high-notioned dear soul!--Pretty ignorance!--thought I. + +Never having met with so sincere, so unquestionable a repugnance, I was +staggered--I was confounded--yet how should I know that it would be so +till I tried?--And how, having proceeded thus far, could I stop, were I +not to have had the women to goad me on, and to make light of +circumstances, which they pretended to be better judges of than I? + +I lifted her, however, into a chair, and in words of disordered passion, +told her, all her fears were needless--wondered at them--begged of her to +be pacified--besought her reliance on my faith and honour--and revowed +all my old vows, and poured forth new ones. + +At last, with a heart-breaking sob, I see, I see, Mr. Lovelace, in broken +sentences she spoke--I see, I see--that at last--I am ruined!--Ruined, if +your pity--let me implore your pity!--and down on her bosom, like a +half-broken-stalked lily top-heavy with the overcharging dews of the +morning, sunk her head, with a sigh that went to my heart. + +All I could think of to re-assure her, when a little recovered, I said. + +Why did I not send for their coach, as I had intimated? It might return +in the morning for the ladies. + +I had actually done so, I told her, on seeing her strange uneasiness. +But it was then gone to fetch a doctor for Miss Montague, lest his +chariot should not be so ready. + +Ah! Lovelace! said she, with a doubting face; anguish in her imploring +eye. + +Lady Betty would think it very strange, I told her, if she were to know +it was so disagreeable to her to stay one night for her company in the +house where she had passed so many. + +She called me names upon this--she had called me names before.--I was +patient. + +Let her go to Lady Betty's lodgings then; directly go; if the person I +called Lady Betty was really Lady Betty. + +If, my dear! Good Heaven! What a villain does that IF show you believe +me to be! + +I cannot help it--I beseech you once more, let me go to Mrs. Leeson's, if +that IF ought not to be said. + +Then assuming a more resolute spirit--I will go! I will inquire my way! +--I will go by myself!--and would have rushed by me. + +I folded my arms about her to detain her; pleading the bad way I heard +poor Charlotte was in; and what a farther concern her impatience, if she +went, would give to poor Charlotte. + +She would believe nothing I said, unless I would instantly order a coach, +(since she was not to have Lady Betty's, nor was permitted to go to Mrs. +Leeson's,) and let her go in it to Hampstead, late as it was, and all +alone, so much the better; for in the house of people of whom Lady Betty, +upon inquiry, had heard a bad character, [Dropt foolishly this, by my +prating new relation, in order to do credit to herself, by depreciating +others,] every thing, and every face, looking with so much meaning +vileness, as well as my own, [thou art still too sensible, thought I, my +charmer!] she was resolved not to stay another night. + +Dreading what might happen as to her intellects, and being very +apprehensive that she might possibly go through a great deal before +morning, (though more violent she could not well be with the worst she +dreaded,) I humoured her, and ordered Will. to endeavour to get a coach +directly, to carry us to Hampstead; I cared not at what price. + +Robbers, with whom I would have terrified her, she feared not--I was all +her fear, I found; and this house her terror: for I saw plainly that she +now believed that Lady Betty and Miss Montague were both impostors. + +But her mistrust is a little of the latest to do her service! + +And, O Jack, the rage of love, the rage of revenge is upon me! by turns +they tear me! The progress already made--the women's instigations--the +power I shall have to try her to the utmost, and still to marry her, if +she be not to be brought to cohabitation--let me perish, Belford, if she +escape me now! + + +*** + + +Will. is not yet come back. Near eleven. + + +*** + + +Will. is this moment returned. No coach to be got, either for love or +money. + +Once more she urges--to Mrs. Leeson's, let me go, Lovelace! Good +Lovelace, let me go to Mrs. Leeson's? What is Miss Montague's illness +to my terror?---For the Almighty's sake, Mr. Lovelace!--her hands +clasped. + +O my angel! What a wildness is this! Do you know, do you see, my +dearest life, what appearances your causeless apprehensions have given +you?--Do you know it is past eleven o'clock? + +Twelve, one, two, three, four--any hour, I care not--If you mean me +honourably, let me go out of this hated house! + +Thou'lt observe, Belford, that though this was written afterwards, yet, +(as in other places,) I write it as it was spoken and happened, as if I +had retired to put down every sentence spoken. I know thou likest this +lively present-tense manner, as it is one of my peculiars. + +Just as she had repeated the last words, If you mean me honourably, let +me go out of this hated house, in came Mrs. Sinclair, in a great ferment +--And what, pray, Madam, has this house done to you? Mr. Lovelace, you +have known me some time; and, if I have not the niceness of this lady, I +hope I do not deserve to be treated thus! + +She set her huge arms akimbo: Hoh! Madam, let me tell you that I am +amazed at your freedoms with my character! And, Mr. Lovelace, [holding +up, and violently shaking her head,] if you are a gentleman, and a man of +honour---- + +Having never before seen any thing but obsequiousness in this woman, +little as she liked her, she was frighted at her masculine air, and +fierce look--God help me! cried she--what will become of me now! Then, +turning her head hither and thither, in a wild kind of amaze. Whom have +I for a protector! What will become of me now! + +I will be your protector, my dearest love!--But indeed you are +uncharitably severe upon poor Mrs. Sinclair! Indeed you are!--She is a +gentlewoman born, and the relict of a man of honour; and though left in +such circumstance as to oblige her to let lodgings, yet would she scorn +to be guilty of a wilful baseness. + +I hope so--it may be so--I may be mistaken--but--but there is no crime, I +presume, no treason, to say I don't like her house. + +The old dragon straddled up to her, with her arms kemboed again--her +eye-brows erect, like the bristles upon a hog's back, and, scouling over +her shortened nose, more than half-hid her ferret eyes. Her mouth was +distorted. She pouted out her blubber-lips, as if to bellows up wind and +sputter into her horse-nostrils; and her chin was curdled, and more than +usually prominent with passion. + +With two Hoh-Madams she accosted the frighted fair-one; who, terrified, +caught hold of my sleeve. + +I feared she would fall into fits; and, with a look of indignation, told +Mrs. Sinclair that these apartments were mine; and I could not imagine +what she meant, either by listening to what passed between me and my +spouse, or to come in uninvited; and still more I wondered at her giving +herself these strange liberties. + +I may be to blame, Jack, for suffering this wretch to give herself these +airs; but her coming in was without my orders. + +The old beldam, throwing herself into a chair, fell a blubbering and +exclaiming. And the pacifying of her, and endeavouring to reconcile the +lady to her, took up till near one o'clock. + +And thus, between terror, and the late hour, and what followed, she was +diverted from the thoughts of getting out of the house to Mrs. Leeson's, +or any where else. + + + +LETTER XII + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +TUESDAY MORNING, JUNE 13. + + +And now, Belford, I can go no farther. The affair is over. Clarissa +lives. And I am + +Your humble servant, +R. LOVELACE. + + +[The whole of this black transaction is given by the injured lady to Miss +Howe, in her subsequent letters, dated Thursday, July 6. See Letters +LXVII. LXVIII. LXIX.] + + + +LETTER XIII + +MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. +WATFORD, WEDN. JAN. 14. + + +O thou savage-hearted monster! What work hast thou made in one guilty +hour, for a whole age of repentance! + +I am inexpressibly concerned at the fate of this matchless lady! She +could not have fallen into the hands of any other man breathing, and +suffered as she has done with thee. + +I had written a great part of another long letter to try to soften thy +flinty heart in her favour; for I thought it but too likely that thou +shouldst succeed in getting her back again to the accursed woman's. But +I find it would have been too late, had I finished it, and sent it away. +Yet cannot I forbear writing, to urge thee to make the only amends thou +now canst make her, by a proper use of the license thou hast obtained. + +Poor, poor lady! It is a pain to me that I ever saw her. Such an adorer +of virtue to be sacrificed to the vilest of her sex; and thou their +implement in the devil's hand, for a purpose so base, so ungenerous, so +inhumane!--Pride thyself, O cruellest of men! in this reflection; and +that thy triumph over a woman, who for thy sake was abandoned of every +friend she had in the world, was effected; not by advantages taken of her +weakness and credulity; but by the blackest artifice; after a long course +of studied deceits had been tried to no purpose. + +I can tell thee, it is well either for thee or for me, that I am not the +brother of the lady. Had I been her brother, her violation must have +been followed by the blood of one of us. + +Excuse me, Lovelace; and let not the lady fare the worse for my concern +for her. And yet I have but one other motive to ask thy excuse; and that +is, because I owe to thy own communicative pen the knowledge I have of +thy barbarous villany, since thou mightest, if thou wouldst, have passed +it upon me for a common seduction. + +CLARISSA LIVES, thou sayest. That she does is my wonder: and these words +show that thou thyself (though thou couldst, nevertheless, proceed) +hardly expectedst she would have survived the outrage. What must have +been the poor lady's distress (watchful as she had been over her honour) +when dreadful certainty took place of cruel apprehension!--And yet a man +may guess what must have been, by that which thou paintest, when she +suspected herself tricked, deserted, and betrayed, by the pretended +ladies. + +That thou couldst behold her phrensy on this occasion, and her +half-speechless, half-fainting prostration at thy feet, and yet retain thy +evil purposes, will hardly be thought credible, even by those who know +thee, if they have seen her. + +Poor, poor lady! With such noble qualities as would have adorned the +most exalted married life, to fall into the hands of the only man in the +world, who could have treated her as thou hast treated her!--And to let +loose the old dragon, as thou properly callest her, upon the +before-affrighted innocent, what a barbarity was that! What a poor piece +of barbarity! in order to obtain by terror, what thou dispairedst to gain +by love, though supported by stratagems the most insidious! + +O LOVELACE! LOVELACE! had I doubted it before, I should now be +convinced, that there must be a WORLD AFTER THIS, to do justice to +injured merit, and to punish barbarous perfidy! Could the divine +SOCRATES, and the divine CLARISSA, otherwise have suffered? + +But let me, if possible, for one moment, try to forget this villanous +outrage on the most excellent of women. + +I have business here which will hold me yet a few days; and then perhaps +I shall quit this house for ever. + +I have had a solemn and tedious time of it. I should never have known +that I had half the respect I really find I had for the old gentleman, +had I not so closely, at his earnest desire, attended him, and been a +witness of the tortures he underwent. + +This melancholy occasion may possibly have contributed to humanize me: +but surely I never could have been so remorseless a caitiff as thou hast +been, to a woman of half this lady's excellence. + +But pr'ythee, dear Lovelace, if thou'rt a man, and not a devil, resolve, +out of hand, to repair thy sin of ingratitude, by conferring upon thyself +the highest honour thou canst receive, in making her lawfully thine. + +But if thou canst not prevail upon thyself to do her this justice, I +think I should not scruple a tilt with thee, [an everlasting rupture at +least must follow] if thou sacrificest her to the accursed women. + +Thou art desirous to know what advantage I reap by my uncle's demise. I +do not certainly know; for I have not been so greedily solicitous on this +subject as some of the kindred have been, who ought to have shown more +decency, as I have told them, and suffered the corpse to have been cold +before they had begun their hungry inquiries. But, by what I gathered +from the poor man's talk to me, who oftener than I wished touched upon +the subject, I deem it will be upwards of 5000. in cash, and in the +funds, after all legacies paid, besides the real estate, which is a clear +1000. a-year. + +I wish, from my heart, thou wert a money-lover! Were the estate to be of +double the value, thou shouldst have it every shilling; only upon one +condition [for my circumstances before were as easy as I wish them to be +while I am single]--that thou wouldst permit me the honour of being this +fatherless lady's father, as it is called, at the altar. + +Think of this! my dear Lovelace! be honest: and let me present thee with +the brightest jewel that man ever possessed; and then, body and soul, +wilt thou bind to thee for ever thy + +BELFORD. + + + +LETTER XIV + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +THURSDAY, JUNE 15. + + +Let me alone, you great dog, you!--let me alone!--have I heard a lesser +boy, his coward arms held over his head and face, say to a bigger, who +was pommeling him, for having run away with his apple, his orange, or his +ginger-bread. + +So say I to thee, on occasion of thy severity to thy poor friend, who, as +thou ownest, has furnished thee (ungenerous as thou art!) with the +weapons thou brandishest so fearfully against him.--And to what purpose, +when the mischief is done? when, of consequence, the affair is +irretrievable? and when a CLARISSA could not move me? + +Well, but, after all, I must own, that there is something very singular +in this lady's case: and, at times, I cannot help regretting that ever I +attempted her; since not one power either of body or soul could be moved +in my favour; and since, to use the expression of the philosopher, on a +much graver occasion, there is no difference to be found between the +skull of King Philip and that of another man. + +But people's extravagant notions of things alter not facts, Belford: and, +when all's done, Miss Clarissa Harlowe has but run the fate of a thousand +others of her sex--only that they did not set such a romantic value upon +what they call their honour; that's all. + +And yet I will allow thee this--that if a person sets a high value upon +any thing, be it ever such a trifle in itself, or in the eye of others, +the robbing of that person of it is not a trifle to him. Take the matter +in this light, I own I have done wrong, great wrong, to this admirable +creature. + +But have I not known twenty and twenty of the sex, who have seemed to +carry their notions of virtue high; yet, when brought to the test, have +abated of their severity? And how should we be convinced that any of +them are proof till they are tried? + +A thousand times have I said, that I never yet met with such a woman as +this. If I had, I hardly ever should have attempted Miss Clarissa +Harlowe. Hitherto she is all angel: and was not that the point which at +setting out I proposed to try?* And was not cohabitation ever my darling +view? And am I not now, at last, in the high road to it?--It is true, +that I have nothing to boast of as to her will. The very contrary. But +now are we come to the test, whether she cannot be brought to make the +best of an irreparable evil. If she exclaim, [she has reason to exclaim, +and I will sit down with patience by the hour together to hear her +exclamations, till she is tired of them,] she will then descend to +expostulation perhaps: expostulation will give me hope: expostulation +will show that she hates me not. And, if she hate me not, she will +forgive: and, if she now forgive, then will all be over; and she will be +mine upon my own terms: and it shall then be the whole study of my future +life to make her happy. + + +* See Vol. III. Letter XVIII. + + +So, Belford, thou seest that I have journeyed on to this stage [indeed, +through infinite mazes, and as infinite remorses] with one determined +point in view from the first. To thy urgent supplication then, that I +will do her grateful justice by marriage, let me answer in Matt. Prior's +two lines on his hoped-for auditorship; as put into the mouths of his St. +John and Harley; + + ---Let that be done, which Matt. doth say. + YEA, quoth the Earl--BUT NOT TO-DAY. + +Thou seest, Jack, that I make no resolutions, however, against doing her, +one time or other, the wished-for justice, even were I to succeed in my +principal view, cohabitation. And of this I do assure thee, that, if I +ever marry, it must, it shall be Miss Clarissa Harlowe.--Nor is her +honour at all impaired with me, by what she has so far suffered: but the +contrary. She must only take care that, if she be at last brought to +forgive me, she show me that her Lovelace is the only man on earth whom +she could have forgiven on the like occasion. + +But ah, Jack! what, in the mean time, shall I do with this admirable +creature? At present--[I am loth to say it--but, at present] she is +quite stupified. + +I had rather, methinks, she should have retained all her active powers, +though I had suffered by her nails and her teeth, than that she should be +sunk into such a state of absolute--insensibility (shall I call it?) as +she has been in every since Tuesday morning. Yet, as she begins a little +to revive, and now-and-then to call names, and to exclaim, I dread almost +to engage with the anguish of a spirit that owes its extraordinary +agitations to a niceness that has no example either in ancient or modern +story. For, after all, what is there in her case that should stupify +such a glowing, such a blooming charmer?--Excess of grief, excess of +terror, have made a person's hair stand on end, and even (as we have +read) changed the colour of it. But that it should so stupify, as to +make a person, at times, insensible to those imaginary wrongs, which +would raise others from stupifaction, is very surprising! + +But I will leave this subject, least it should make me too grave. + +I was yesterday at Hampstead, and discharged all obligations there, with +no small applause. I told them that the lady was now as happy as myself: +and that is no great untruth; for I am not altogether so, when I allow +myself to think. + +Mrs. Townsend, with her tars, had not been then there. I told them what +I would have them say to her, if she came. + +Well, but, after all [how many after-all's have I?] I could be very +grave, were I to give way to it.--The devil take me for a fool! What's +the matte with me, I wonder!--I must breathe a fresher air for a few +days. + +But what shall I do with this admirable creature the while?--Hang me, if +I know!--For, if I stir, the venomous spider of this habitation will want +to set upon the charming fly, whose silken wings are already so entangled +in my enormous web, that she cannot move hand or foot: for so much has +grief stupified her, that she is at present destitute of will, as she +always seemed to be of desire. I must not therefore think of leaving her +yet for two days together. + + + +LETTER XV + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. + + +I have just now had a specimen of what the resentment of this dear +creature will be when quite recovered: an affecting one!--For entering +her apartment after Dorcas; and endeavouring to soothe and pacify her +disordered mind; in the midst of my blandishments, she held up to Heaven, +in a speechless agony, the innocent license (which she has in her own +power); as the poor distressed Catalans held up their English treaty, +on an occasion that keeps the worst of my actions in countenance. + +She seemed about to call down vengeance upon me; when, happily the leaden +god, in pity to her trembling Lovelace, waved over her half-drowned eyes +his somniferous want, and laid asleep the fair exclaimer, before she +could go half through with her intended imprecation. + +Thou wilt guess, by what I have written, that some little art has been +made use of: but it was with a generous design (if thou'lt allow me the +word on such an occasion) in order to lessen the too-quick sense she was +likely to have of what she was to suffer. A contrivance I never had +occasion for before, and had not thought of now, if Mrs. Sinclair had not +proposed it to me: to whom I left the management of it: and I have done +nothing but curse her ever since, lest the quantity should have for ever +dampened her charming intellects. + +Hence my concern--for I think the poor lady ought not to have been so +treated. Poor lady, did I say?--What have I to do with thy creeping +style?--But have not I the worst of it; since her insensibility has made +me but a thief to my own joys? + +I did not intend to tell thee of this little innocent trick; for such I +designed it to be; but that I hate disingenuousness: to thee, especially: +and as I cannot help writing in a more serious vein than usual, thou +wouldst perhaps, had I not hinted the true cause, have imagined that I +was sorry for the fact itself: and this would have given thee a good deal +of trouble in scribbling dull persuasives to repair by matrimony; and me +in reading thy cruel nonsense. Besides, one day or other, thou mightest, +had I not confessed it, have heard of it in an aggravated manner; and I +know thou hast such an high opinion of this lady's virtue, that thou +wouldst be disappointed, if thou hadst reason to think that she was +subdued by her own consent, or any the least yielding in her will. And +so is she beholden to me in some measure, that, at the expense of my +honour, she may so justly form a plea, which will entirely salve her's. + +And now is the whole secret out. + +Thou wilt say I am a horrid fellow!--As the lady does, that I am the +unchained Beelzebub, and a plotting villain: and as this is what you both +said beforehand, and nothing worse can be said, I desire, if thou wouldst +not have me quite serious with thee, and that I should think thou meanest +more by thy tilting hint than I am willing to believe thou dost, that +thou wilt forbear thy invectives: For is not the thing done?--Can it be +helped?--And must I not now try to make the best of it?--And the rather +do I enjoin to make thee this, and inviolable secrecy; because I begin +to think that my punishment will be greater than the fault, were it to be +only from my own reflection. + + + +LETTER XVI + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +FRIDAY, JUNE 16. + + +I am sorry to hear of thy misfortune; but hope thou wilt not long lie by +it. Thy servant tells me what narrow escape thou hadst with thy neck, I +wish it may not be ominous: but I think thou seemest not to be in so +enterprising a way as formerly; and yet, merry or sad, thou seest a +rake's neck is always in danger, if not from the hangman, from his own +horse. But, 'tis a vicious toad, it seems; and I think thou shouldst +never venture upon his back again; for 'tis a plaguy thing for rider and +horse both to be vicious. + +The fellow tells me, thou desirest me to continue to write to thee in +order to divert thy chagrin on thy forced confinement: but how can I +think it in my power to divert, when my subject is not pleasing to +myself? + +Caesar never knew what it was to be hipped, I will call it, till he +came to be what Pompey was; that is to say, till he arrived at the +height of his ambition: nor did thy Lovelace know what it was to be +gloomy, till he had completed his wishes upon the most charming +creature in the world. + +And yet why say I completed? when the will, the consent, is +wanting--and I have still views before me of obtaining that? + +Yet I could almost join with thee in the wish, which thou sendest me up +by thy servant, unfriendly as it is, that I had had thy misfortune +before Monday night last: for here, the poor lady has run into a +contrary extreme to that I told thee of in my last: for now is she as +much too lively, as before she was too stupid; and 'bating that she has +pretty frequent lucid intervals, would be deemed raving mad, and I +should be obliged to confine her. + +I am most confoundedly disturbed about it: for I begin to fear that her +intellects are irreparably hurt. + +Who the devil could have expected such strange effects from a cause so +common and so slight? + +But these high-souled and high-sensed girls, who had set up for shining +lights and examples to the rest of the sex, are with such difficulty +brought down to the common standard, that a wise man, who prefers his +peace of mind to his glory, in subduing one of that exalted class, +would have nothing to say to them. + +I do all in my power to quiet her spirits, when I force myself into her +presence. + +I go on, begging pardon one minute; and vowing truth and honour another. + +I would at first have persuaded her, and offered to call witnesses to +the truth of it, that we were actually married. Though the license was +in her hands, I thought the assertion might go down in her disorder; +and charming consequences I hoped would follow. But this would not +do.-- + +I therefore gave up that hope: and now I declare to her, that it is my +resolution to marry her, the moment her uncle Harlowe informs me that +he will grace the ceremony with his presence. + +But she believes nothing I say; nor, (whether in her senses, or not) +bears me with patience in her sight. + +I pity her with all my soul; and I curse myself, when she is in her +wailing fits, and when I apprehend that intellects, so charming, are +for ever damped. + +But more I curse these women, who put me upon such an expedient! Lord! +Lord! what a hand have I made of it!--And all for what? + +Last night, for the first time since Monday night, she got to her pen +and ink; but she pursues her writing with such eagerness and hurry, as +show too evidently her discomposure. + +I hope, however, that this employment will help to calm her spirits. + + +*** + + +Just now Dorcas tells me, that what she writes she tears, and throws +the paper in fragments under the table, either as not knowing what she +does, or disliking it: then gets up, wrings her hands, weeps, and +shifts her seat all round the room: then returns to her table, sits +down, and writes again. + + +*** + + +One odd letter, as I may call it, Dorcas has this moment given me from +her--Carry this, said she, to the vilest of men. Dorcas, a toad, +brought it, without any further direction to me. I sat down, intending +(though 'tis pretty long) to give thee a copy of it: but, for my life, +I cannot; 'tis so extravagant. And the original is too much an +original to let it go out of my hands. + +But some of the scraps and fragments, as either torn through, or flung +aside, I will copy, for the novelty of the thing, and to show thee how +her mind works now she is in the whimsical way. Yet I know I am still +furnishing thee with new weapons against myself. But spare thy comments. +My own reflections render them needless. Dorcas thinks her lady will +ask for them: so wishes to have them to lay again under the table. + +By the first thou'lt guess that I have told her that Miss Howe is very +ill, and can't write; that she may account the better for not having +received the letter designed for her. + + +PAPER I +(Torn in two pieces.) + + +MY DEAREST MISS HOWE, + +O what dreadful, dreadful things have I to tell you! But yet I cannot +tell you neither. But say, are you really ill, as a vile, vile +creature informs me you are? + +But he never yet told me truth, and I hope has not in this: and yet, if +it were not true, surely I should have heard from you before now!--But +what have I to do to upbraid?--You may well be tired of me!--And if you +are, I can forgive you; for I am tired of myself: and all my own +relations were tired of me long before you were. + +How good you have always been to me, mine own dear Anna Howe!--But how +I ramble! + +I sat down to say a great deal--my heart was full--I did not know what +to say first--and thought, and grief, and confusion, and (O my poor +head) I cannot tell what--and thought, and grief and confusion, came +crowding so thick upon me; one would be first; another would be first; +all would be first; so I can write nothing at all.--Only that, whatever +they have done to me, I cannot tell; but I am no longer what I was-in +any one thing did I say? Yes, but I am; for I am still, and I ever +will be, + +Your true---- + + +Plague on it! I can write no more of this eloquent nonsense myself; +which rather shows a raised, than a quenched, imagination: but Dorcas +shall transcribe the others in separate papers, as written by the +whimsical charmer: and some time hence when all is over, and I can +better bear to read them, I may ask thee for a sight of them. Preserve +them, therefore; for we often look back with pleasure even upon the +heaviest griefs, when the cause of them is removed. + + +PAPER II +(Scratch'd through, and thrown under the table.) + + +--And can you, my dear, honoured Papa, resolve for ever to reprobate +your poor child?--But I am sure you would not, if you knew what she has +suffered since her unhappy--And will nobody plead for your poor suffering +girl?--No one good body?--Why then, dearest Sir, let it be an act of your +own innate goodness, which I have so much experienced, and so much +abused. I don't presume to think you should receive me--No, indeed!--My +name is--I don't know what my name is!--I never dare to wish to come into +your family again!--But your heavy curse, my Papa--Yes, I will call you +Papa, and help yourself as you can--for you are my own dear Papa, whether +you will or not--and though I am an unworthy child--yet I am your child-- + + +PAPER III + + +A Lady took a great fancy to a young lion, or a bear, I forget +which--but a bear, or a tiger, I believe it was. It was made her a +present of when a whelp. She fed it with her own hand: she nursed up +the wicked cub with great tenderness; and would play with it without +fear or apprehension of danger: and it was obedient to all her commands: +and its tameness, as she used to boast, increased with its growth; so +that, like a lap-dog, it would follow her all over the house. But mind +what followed: at last, some how, neglecting to satisfy its hungry maw, +or having otherwise disobliged it on some occasion, it resumed its +nature; and on a sudden fell upon her, and tore her in pieces.--And who +was most to blame, I pray? The brute, or the lady? The lady, surely!-- +For what she did was out of nature, out of character, at least: what it +did was in its own nature. + + +PAPER IV + + +How art thou now humbled in the dust, thou proud Clarissa Harlowe! +Thou that never steppedst out of thy father's house but to be admired! +Who wert wont to turn thine eye, sparkling with healthful life, and +self-assurance, to different objects at once as thou passedst, as if +(for so thy penetrating sister used to say) to plume thyself upon the +expected applauses of all that beheld thee! Thou that usedst to go to +rest satisfied with the adulations paid thee in the past day, and couldst +put off every thing but thy vanity!--- + + +PAPER V + + +Rejoice not now, my Bella, my Sister, my Friend; but pity the humbled +creature, whose foolish heart you used to say you beheld through the thin +veil of humility which covered it. + +It must have been so! My fall had not else been permitted-- + +You penetrated my proud heart with the jealousy of an elder sister's +searching eye. + +You knew me better than I knew myself. + +Hence your upbraidings and your chidings, when I began to totter. + +But forgive now those vain triumphs of my heart. + +I thought, poor, proud wretch that I was, that what you said was owing to +your envy. + +I thought I could acquit my intention of any such vanity. + +I was too secure in the knowledge I thought I had of my own heart. + +My supposed advantages became a snare to me. + +And what now is the end of all?-- + + +PAPER VI + + +What now is become of the prospects of a happy life, which once I thought +opening before me?--Who now shall assist in the solemn preparations? Who +now shall provide the nuptial ornaments, which soften and divert the +apprehensions of the fearful virgin? No court now to be paid to my +smiles! No encouraging compliments to inspire thee with hope of laying a +mind not unworthy of thee under obligation! No elevation now for +conscious merit, and applauded purity, to look down from on a prostrate +adorer, and an admiring world, and up to pleased and rejoicing parents +and relations! + + +PAPER VII + + +Thou pernicious caterpillar, that preyest upon the fair leaf of virgin +fame, and poisonest those leaves which thou canst not devour! + +Thou fell blight, thou eastern blast, thou overspreading mildew, that +destroyest the early promises of the shining year! that mockest the +laborious toil, and blastest the joyful hopes, of the painful husbandman! + +Thou fretting moth, that corruptest the fairest garment! + +Thou eating canker-worm, that preyest upon the opening bud, and turnest +the damask-rose into livid yellowness! + +If, as religion teaches us, God will judge us, in a great measure, by our +benevolent or evil actions to one another--O wretch! bethink thee, in +time bethink thee, how great must be thy condemnation! + + +PAPER VIIII + + +At first, I saw something in your air and person that displeased me +not. Your birth and fortunes were no small advantages to you.--You +acted not ignobly by my passionate brother. Every body said you were +brave: every body said you were generous: a brave man, I thought, could +not be a base man: a generous man, could not, I believed, be ungenerous, +where he acknowledged obligation. Thus prepossessed, all the rest that +my soul loved and wished for in your reformation I hoped!--I knew not, +but by report, any flagrant instances of your vileness. You seemed +frank, as well as generous: frankness and generosity ever attracted me: +whoever kept up those appearances, I judged of their hearts by my own; +and whatever qualities I wished to find in them, I was ready to find; +and, when found, I believed them to be natives of the soil. + +My fortunes, my rank, my character, I thought a further security. I +was in none of those respects unworthy of being the niece of Lord M. +and of his two noble sisters.--Your vows, your imprecations--But, Oh! +you have barbarously and basely conspired against that honour, which +you ought to have protected: and now you have made me--What is it of +vile that you have not made me?-- + +Yet, God knows my heart, I had no culpable inclinations!--I honoured +virtue!--I hated vice!--But I knew not, that you were vice itself! + + +PAPER IX + + +Had the happiness of any of the poorest outcast in the world, whom I +had neveer seen, never known, never before heard of, lain as much in my +power, as my happiness did in your's, my benevolent heart would have +made me fly to the succour of such a poor distressed--with what pleasure +would I have raised the dejected head, and comforted the desponding +heart!--But who now shall pity the poor wretch, who has increased, +instead of diminished, the number of the miserable! + + +PAPER X + + +Lead me, where my own thoughts themselves may lose me; +Where I may dose out what I've left of life, +Forget myself, and that day's guile!---- +Cruel remembrance!----how shall I appease thee? + +[Death only can be dreadful to the bad;* +To innocence 'tis like a bugbear dress'd +To frighten children. Pull but off the mask, +And he'll appear a friend.] + + +* Transcriber's note: Portions set off in square brackets [ ] are written +at angles to the majority of the text, as if squeezed into margins. + + +----Oh! you have done an act +That blots the face and blush of modesty; + Takes off the rose + From the fair forehead of an innocent love, +And makes a blister there! + + Then down I laid my head, +Down on cold earth, and for a while was dead; +And my freed soul to a strange somewhere fled! + Ah! sottish soul! said I, +When back to its cage again I saw it fly; + Fool! to resume her broken chain, +And row the galley here again! + Fool! to that body to return, +Where it condemn'd and destin'd is to mourn! + +[I could a tale unfold---- + Would harrow up thy soul----] + +O my Miss Howe! if thou hast friendship, help me, +And speak the words of peace to my divided soul, + That wars within me, +And raises ev'ry sense to my confusion. + I'm tott'ring on the brink +Of peace; an thou art all the hold I've left! +Assist me----in the pangs of my affliction! + +When honour's lost, 'tis a relief to die: +Death's but a sure retreat from infamy. + +[By swift misfortunes + How I am pursu'd! +Which on each other + Are, like waves, renew'd!] + +The farewell, youth, + And all the joys that dwell +With youth and life! + And life itself, farewell! + +For life can never be sincerely blest. +Heav'n punishes the bad, and proves the best. + + +*** + + +After all, Belford, I have just skimmed over these transcriptions of +Dorcas: and I see there are method and good sense in some of them, wild +as others of them are; and that her memory, which serves her so well +for these poetical flights, is far from being impaired. And this gives +me hope, that she will soon recover her charming intellects--though I +shall be the sufferer by their restoration, I make no doubt. + +But, in the letter she wrote to me, there are yet greater extravagancies; +and though I said it was too affecting to give thee a copy of it, yet, +after I have let thee see the loose papers enclosed, I think I may throw +in a transcript of that. Dorcas therefore shall here transcribe it. I +cannot. The reading of it affected me ten times more than the severest +reproaches of a regular mind could do. + + +TO MR. LOVELACE + +I never intended to write another line to you. I would not see you, if I +could help it--O that I never had! + +But tell me, of a truth, is Miss Howe really and truly ill?--Very ill?- +And is not her illness poison? And don't you know who gave it to her? + +What you, or Mrs. Sinclair, or somebody (I cannot tell who) have done to +my poor head, you best know: but I shall never be what I was. My head is +gone. I have wept away all my brain, I believe; for I can weep no more. +Indeed I have had my full share; so it is no matter. + +But, good now, Lovelace, don't set Mrs. Sinclair upon me again.--I never +did her any harm. She so affrights me, when I see her!--Ever since--when +was it? I cannot tell. You can, I suppose. She may be a good woman, as +far as I know. She was the wife of a man of honour--very likely--though +forced to let lodgings for a livelihood. Poor gentlewoman! Let her know +I pity her: but don't let her come near me again--pray don't! + +Yet she may be a very good woman-- + +What would I say!--I forget what I was going to say. + +O Lovelace, you are Satan himself; or he helps you out in every thing; +and that's as bad! + +But have you really and truly sold yourself to him? And for how long? +What duration is your reign to have? + +Poor man! The contract will be out: and then what will be your fate! + +O Lovelace! if you could be sorry for yourself, I would be sorry too--but +when all my doors are fast, and nothing but the key-hole open, and the +key of late put into that, to be where you are, in a manner without +opening any of them--O wretched, wretched Clarissa Harlowe! + +For I never will be Lovelace--let my uncle take it as he pleases. + +Well, but now I remember what I was going to say--it is for your good-- +not mine--for nothing can do me good now!--O thou villanous man! thou +hated Lovelace! + +But Mrs. Sinclair may be a good woman--if you love me--but that you don't +--but don't let her bluster up with her worse than mannish airs to me +again! O she is a frightful woman! If she be a woman! She needed not +to put on that fearful mask to scare me out of my poor wits. But don't +tell her what I say--I have no hatred to her--it is only fright, and +foolish fear, that's all.--She may not be a bad woman--but neither are +all men, any more than all women alike--God forbid they should be like +you! + +Alas! you have killed my head among you--I don't say who did it!--God +forgive you all!--But had it not been better to have put me out of all +your ways at once? You might safely have done it! For nobody would +require me at your hands--no, not a soul--except, indeed, Miss Howe would +have said, when she should see you, What, Lovelace, have you done with +Clarissa Harlowe?--And then you could have given any slight, gay answer-- +sent her beyond sea; or, she has run away from me, as she did from her +parents. And this would have been easily credited; for you know, +Lovelace, she that could run away from them, might very well run away +from you. + +But this is nothing to what I wanted to say. Now I have it. + +I have lost it again--This foolish wench comes teasing me--for what +purpose should I eat? For what end should I wish to live?--I tell thee, +Dorcas, I will neither eat nor drink. I cannot be worse than I am. + +I will do as you'd have me--good Dorcas, look not upon me so fiercely-- +but thou canst not look so bad as I have seen somebody look. + +Mr. Lovelace, now that I remember what I took pen in hand to say, let me +hurry off my thoughts, lest I lose them again--here I am sensible--and +yet I am hardly sensible neither--but I know my head is not as it should +be, for all that--therefore let me propose one thing to you: it is for +your good--not mine; and this is it: + +I must needs be both a trouble and an expense to you. And here my uncle +Harlowe, when he knows how I am, will never wish any man to have me: no, +not even you, who have been the occasion of it--barbarous and ungrateful! +--A less complicated villany cost a Tarquin--but I forget what I would +say again-- + +Then this is it--I never shall be myself again: I have been a very wicked +creature--a vain, proud, poor creature, full of secret pride--which I +carried off under an humble guise, and deceived every body--my sister +says so--and now I am punished--so let me be carried out of this house, +and out of your sight; and let me be put into that Bedlam privately, +which once I saw: but it was a sad sight to me then! Little as I thought +what I should come to myself!--That is all I would say: this is all I +have to wish for--then I shall be out of all your ways; and I shall be +taken care of; and bread and water without your tormentings, will be +dainties: and my straw-bed the easiest I have lain in--for--I cannot tell +how long! + +My clothes will sell for what will keep me there, perhaps as long as I +shall live. But, Lovelace, dear Lovelace, I will call you; for you have +cost me enough, I'm sure!--don't let me be made a show of, for my +family's sake; nay, for your own sake, don't do that--for when I know all +I have suffered, which yet I do not, and no matter if I never do--I may +be apt to rave against you by name, and tell of all your baseness to a +poor humbled creature, that once was as proud as any body--but of what I +can't tell--except of my own folly and vanity--but let that pass--since +I am punished enough for it-- + +So, suppose, instead of Bedlam, it were a private mad-house, where nobody +comes!--That will be better a great deal. + +But, another thing, Lovelace: don't let them use me cruelly when I am +there--you have used me cruelly enough, you know!--Don't let them use me +cruelly; for I will be very tractable; and do as any body would have me +to do--except what you would have me do--for that I never will.--Another +thing, Lovelace: don't let this good woman, I was going to say vile +woman; but don't tell her that--because she won't let you send me to this +happy refuge, perhaps, if she were to know it-- + +Another thing, Lovelace: and let me have pen, and ink, and paper, allowed +me--it will be all my amusement--but they need not send to any body I +shall write to, what I write, because it will but trouble them: and +somebody may do you a mischief, may be--I wish not that any body do any +body a mischief upon my account. + +You tell me, that Lady Betty Lawrance, and your cousin Montague, were +here to take leave of me; but that I was asleep, and could not be waked. +So you told me at first I was married, you know, and that you were my +husband--Ah! Lovelace! look to what you say.--But let not them, (for they +will sport with my misery,) let not that Lady Betty, let not that Miss +Montague, whatever the real ones may do; nor Mrs. Sinclair neither, nor +any of her lodgers, nor her nieces, come to see me in my place--real +ones, I say; for, Lovelace, I shall find out all your villanies in time-- +indeed I shall--so put me there as soon as you can--it is for your good-- +then all will pass for ravings that I can say, as, I doubt no many poor +creatures' exclamations do pass, though there may be too much truth in +them for all that--and you know I began to be mad at Hampstead--so you +said.--Ah! villanous man! what have you not to answer for! + + +*** + + +A little interval seems to be lent me. I had begun to look over what I +have written. It is not fit for any one to see, so far as I have been +able to re-peruse it: but my head will not hold, I doubt, to go through +it all. If therefore I have not already mentioned my earnest desire, let +me tell you it is this: that I be sent out of this abominable house +without delay, and locked up in some private mad-house about this town; +for such, it seems, there are; never more to be seen, or to be produced +to any body, except in your own vindication, if you should be charged +with the murder of my person; a much lighter crime than that of +honour, which the greatest villain on earth has robbed me of. And deny +me not this my last request, I beseech you; and one other, and that is, +never to let me see you more! This surely may be granted to + +The miserably abused +CLARISSA HARLOWE. + + +*** + + +I will not bear thy heavy preachments, Belford, upon this affecting +letter. So, not a word of that sort! The paper, thou'lt see, is +blistered with the tears even of the hardened transcriber; which has +made her ink run here and there. + +Mrs. Sinclair is a true heroine, and, I think, shames us all. And she is +a woman too! Thou'lt say, the beset things corrupted become the worst. +But this is certain, that whatever the sex set their hearts upon, they +make thorough work of it. And hence it is, that a mischief which would +end in simple robbery among men rogues, becomes murder, if a woman be in +it. + +I know thou wilt blame me for having had recourse to art. But do not +physicians prescribe opiates in acute cases, where the violence of the +disorder would be apt to throw the patient into a fever or delirium? I +aver, that my motive for this expedient was mercy; nor could it be any +thing else. For a rape, thou knowest, to us rakes, is far from being an +undesirable thing. Nothing but the law stands in our way, upon that +account; and the opinion of what a modest woman will suffer rather than +become a viva voce accuser, lessens much an honest fellow's apprehensions +on that score. Then, if these somnivolencies [I hate the word opiates on +this occasion,] have turned her head, that is an effect they frequently +have upon some constitutions; and in this case was rather the fault of +the dose than the design of the giver. + +But is not wine itself an opiate in degree?--How many women have been +taken advantage of by wine, and other still more intoxicating viands?-- +Let me tell thee, Jack, that the experience of many of the passive sex, +and the consciences of many more of the active, appealed to, will testify +that thy Lovelace is not the worst of villains. Nor would I have thee +put me upon clearing myself by comparisons. + +If she escape a settled delirium when my plots unravel, I think it is all +I ought to be concerned about. What therefore I desire of thee, is, +that, if two constructions may be made of my actions, thou wilt afford me +the most favourable. For this, not only friendship, but my own +ingenuousness, which has furnished thee with the knowledge of the facts +against which thou art so ready to inveigh, require of thee. + + +*** + + +Will. is just returned from an errand to Hampstead; and acquaints me, +that Mrs. Townsend was yesterday at Mrs. Moore's, accompanied by three or +four rough fellows; a greater number (as supposed) at a distance. She +was strangely surprised at the news that my spouse and I are entirely +reconciled; and that two fine ladies, my relations, came to visit her, +and went to town with her: where she is very happy with me. She was sure +we were not married, she said, unless it was while we were at Hampstead: +and they were sure the ceremony was not performed there. But that the +lady is happy and easy, is unquestionable: and a fling was thrown out by +Mrs. Moore and Mrs. Bevis at mischief-makers, as they knew Mrs. Townsend +to be acquainted with Miss Howe. + +Now, since my fair-one can neither receive, nor send away letters, I am +pretty easy as to this Mrs. Townsend and her employer. And I fancy Miss +Howe will be puzzled to know what to think of the matter, and afraid of +sending by Wilson's conveyance; and perhaps suppose that her friend +slights her; or has changed her mind in my favour, and is ashamed to own +it; as she has not had an answer to what she wrote; and will believe that +the rustic delivered her last letter into her own hand. + +Mean time I have a little project come into my head, of a new kind; just +for amusement-sake, that's all: variety has irresistible charms. I +cannot live without intrigue. My charmer has no passions; that is to +say, none of the passions that I want her to have. She engages all my +reverence. I am at present more inclined to regret what I have done, +than to proceed to new offences: and shall regret it till I see how she +takes it when recovered. + +Shall I tell thee my project? 'Tis not a high one.--'Tis this--to get +hither to Mrs. Moore, Miss Rawlins, and my widow Bevis; for they are +desirous to make a visit to my spouse, now we are so happy together. +And, if I can order it right, Belton, Mowbray, Tourville, and I, will +show them a little more of the ways of this wicked town, than they at +present know. Why should they be acquainted with a man of my character, +and not be the better and wiser for it?--I would have every body rail +against rakes with judgment and knowledge, if they will rail. Two of +these women gave me a great deal of trouble: and the third, I am +confident, will forgive a merry evening. + +Thou wilt be curious to know what the persons of these women are, to whom +I intend so much distinction. I think I have not heretofore mentioned +any thing characteristic of their persons. + +Mrs. Moore is a widow of about thirty-eight; a little mortified by +misfortunes; but those are often the merriest folks, when warmed. She +has good features still; and is what they call much of a gentlewoman, and +very neat in her person and dress. She has given over, I believe, all +thoughts of our sex: but when the dying embers are raked up about the +half-consumed stump, there will be fuel enough left, I dare say, to blaze +out, and give a comfortable warmth to a half-starved by-stander. + +Mrs. Bevis is comely; that is to say, plump; a lover of mirth, and one +whom no grief ever dwelt with, I dare say, for a week together; about +twenty-five years of age: Mowbray will have very little difficulty with +her, I believe; for one cannot do every thing one's self. And yet +sometimes women of this free cast, when it comes to the point, answer not +the promises their cheerful forwardness gives a man who has a view upon +them. + +Miss Rawlins is an agreeable young lady enough; but not beautiful. She +has sense, and would be thought to know the world, as it is called; but, +for her knowledge, is more indebted to theory than experience. A mere +whipt-syllabub knowledge this, Jack, that always fails the person who +trusts to it, when it should hold to do her service. For such young +ladies have so much dependence upon their own understanding and wariness, +are so much above the cautions that the less opinionative may be +benefited by, that their presumption is generally their overthrow, when +attempted by a man of experience, who knows how to flatter their vanity, +and to magnify their wisdom, in order to take advantage of their folly. +But, for Miss Rawlins, if I can add experience to her theory, what an +accomplished person will she be!--And how much will she be obliged to me; +and not only she, but all those who may be the better for the precepts +she thinks herself already so well qualified to give! Dearly, Jack, do +I love to engage with these precept-givers, and example-setters. + +Now, Belford, although there is nothing striking in any of these +characters; yet may we, at a pinch, make a good frolicky half-day with +them, if, after we have softened their wax at table by encouraging +viands, we can set our women and them into dancing: dancing, which all +women love, and all men should therefore promote, for both their sakes. + +And thus, when Tourville sings, Belton fiddles, Mowbray makes rough love, +and I smooth; and thou, Jack, wilt be by that time well enough to join in +the chorus; the devil's in't if we don't mould them into what shape we +please--our own women, by their laughing freedoms, encouraging them to +break through all their customary reserves. For women to women, thou +knowest, are great darers and incentives: not one of them loving to be +outdone or outdared, when their hearts are thoroughly warmed. + +I know, at first, the difficulty will be the accidental absence of my +dear Mrs. Lovelace, to whom principally they will design their visit: but +if we can exhilarate them, they won't then wish to see her; and I can +form twenty accidents and excuses, from one hour to another, for her +absence, till each shall have a subject to take up all her thoughts. + +I am really sick at heart for a frolic, and have no doubt but this will +be an agreeable one. These women already think me a wild fellow; nor do +they like me the less for it, as I can perceive; and I shall take care, +that they shall be treated with so much freedom before one another's +faces, that in policy they shall keep each other's counsel. And won't +this be doing a kind thing by them? since it will knit an indissoluble +band of union and friendship between three women who are neighbours, and +at present have only common obligations to one another: for thou wantest +not to be told, that secrets of love, and secrets of this nature, are +generally the strongest cement of female friendships. + +But, after all, if my beloved should be happily restored to her +intellects, we may have scenes arise between us that will be sufficiently +busy to employ all the faculties of thy friend, without looking out for +new occasions. Already, as I have often observed, has she been the means +of saving scores of her sex, yet without her own knowledge. + + +SATURDAY NIGHT. + +By Dorcas's account of her lady's behaviour, the dear creature seems to +be recovering. I shall give the earliest notice of this to the worthy +Capt. Tomlinson, that he may apprize uncle John of it. I must be +properly enabled, from that quarter, to pacify her, or, at least, to +rebate her first violence. + + + +LETTER XVII + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +SUNDAY AFTERNOON, SIX O'CLOCK, (JUNE 18.) + + +I went out early this morning, and returned not till just now; when I was +informed that my beloved, in my absence, had taken it into her head to +attempt to get away. + +She tripped down, with a parcel tied up in a handkerchief, her hood on; +and was actually in the entry, when Mrs. Sinclair saw her. + +Pray, Madam, whipping between her and the street-door, be pleased to let +me know where you are going? + +Who has a right to controul me? was the word. + +I have, Madam, by order of your spouse: and, kemboing her arms, as she +owned, I desire you will be pleased to walk up again. + +She would have spoken; but could not: and, bursting into tears, turned +back, and went up to her chamber: and Dorcas was taken to task for +suffering her to be in the passage before she was seen. + +This shows, as we hoped last night, that she is recovering her charming +intellects. + +Dorcas says, she was visible to her but once before the whole day; and +then she seemed very solemn and sedate. + +I will endeavour to see her. It must be in her own chamber, I suppose; +for she will hardly meet me in the dining-room. What advantage will the +confidence of our sex give me over the modesty of her's, if she be +recovered!--I, the most confident of men: she, the most delicate of +women. Sweet soul! methinks I have her before me: her face averted: +speech lost in sighs--abashed--conscious--what a triumphant aspect will +this give me, when I gaze on her downcast countenance! + + +*** + + +This moment Dorcas tells me she believes she is coming to find me out. +She asked her after me: and Dorcas left her, drying her red-swoln eyes at +her glass; [no design of moving me by tears!] sighing too sensibly for my +courage. But to what purpose have I gone thus far, if I pursue not my +principal end? Niceness must be a little abated. She knows the worst. +That she cannot fly me; that she must see me; and that I can look her +into a sweet confusion; are circumstances greatly in my favour. What can +she do but rave and exclaim? I am used to raving and exclaiming--but, if +recovered, I shall see how she behaves upon this our first sensible +interview after what she has suffered. + +Here she comes. + + + +LETTER XVIII + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +SUNDAY NIGHT. + + +Never blame me for giving way to have art used with this admirable +creature. All the princes of the air, or beneath it, joining with me, +could never have subdued her while she had her senses. + +I will not anticipate--only to tell thee, that I am too much awakened by +her to think of sleep, were I to go to bed; and so shall have nothing to +do but to write an account of our odd conversation, while it is so strong +upon my mind that I can think of nothing else. + +She was dressed in a white damask night-gown, with less negligence than +for some days past. I was sitting with my pen in my fingers; and stood +up when I first saw her, with great complaisance, as if the day were +still her own. And so indeed it is. + +She entered with such dignity in her manner as struck me with great awe, +and prepared me for the poor figure I made in the subsequent +conversation. A poor figure indeed!--But I will do her justice. + +She came up with quick steps, pretty close to me; a white handkerchief +in her hand; her eyes neither fierce nor mild, but very earnest; and a +fixed sedateness in her whole aspect, which seemed to be the effect of +deep contemplation: and thus she accosted me, with an air and action that +I never saw equalled. + +You see before you, Sir, the wretch, whose preference of you to all your +sex you have rewarded--as it indeed deserved to be rewarded. My father's +dreadful curse has already operated upon me in the very letter of it, as +to this life; and it seems to me too evident that it will not be your +fault that it is not entirely completed in the loss of my soul, as well +as of my honour--which you, villanous man! have robbed me of, with a +baseness so unnatural, so inhuman, that it seems you, even you, had not +the heart to attempt it, till my senses were made the previous sacrifice. + +Here I made an hesitating effort to speak, laying down my pen: but she +proceeded!--Hear me out, guilty wretch!--abandoned man!--Man, did I say? +--Yet what name else can I? since the mortal worryings of the fiercest +beast would have been more natural, and infinitely more welcome, that +what you have acted by me; and that with a premeditation and contrivance +worthy only of that single heart which now, base as well as ungrateful as +thou art, seems to quake within thee.--And well may'st thou quake; well +may'st thou tremble, and falter, and hesitate, as thou dost, when thou +reflectest upon what I have suffered for thy sake, and upon the returns +thou hast made me! + +By my soul, Belford, my whole frame was shaken: for not only her looks +and her action, but her voice, so solemn, was inexpressibly affecting: +and then my cursed guilt, and her innocence, and merit, and rank, and +superiority of talents, all stared me at that instant in the face so +formidably, that my present account, to which she unexpectedly called me, +seemed, as I then thought, to resemble that general one, to which we are +told we shall be summoned, when our conscience shall be our accuser. + +But she had had time to collect all the powers of her eloquence. The +whole day probably in her intellects. And then I was the more +disappointed, as I had thought I could have gazed the dear creature into +confusion--but it is plain, that the sense she has of her wrongs sets +this matchless woman above all lesser, all weaker considerations. + +My dear--my love--I--I--I never--no never--lips trembling, limbs quaking, +voice inward, hesitating, broken--never surely did miscreant look so like +a miscreant! while thus she proceeded, waving her snowy hand, with all +the graces of moving oratory. + +I have no pride in the confusion visible in thy whole person. I have +been all the day praying for a composure, if I could not escape from this +vile house, that should once more enable me to look up to my destroyer +with the consciousness of an innocent sufferer. Thou seest me, since my +wrongs are beyond the power of words to express, thou seest me, calm +enough to wish, that thou may'st continue harassed by the workings of thy +own conscience, till effectual repentance take hold of thee, that so thou +may'st not forfeit all title to that mercy which thou hast not shown to +the poor creature now before thee, who had so well deserved to meet with +a faithful friend where she met with the worst of enemies. + +But tell me, (for no doubt thou hast some scheme to pursue,) tell me, +since I am a prisoner, as I find, in the vilest of houses, and have not a +friend to protect or save me, what thou intendest shall become of the +remnant of a life not worth the keeping!--Tell me, if yet there are more +evils reserved for me; and whether thou hast entered into a compact with +the grand deceiver, in the person of his horrid agent in this house; and +if the ruin of my soul, that my father's curse may be fulfilled, is to +complete the triumphs of so vile a confederacy?--Answer me!--Say, if thou +hast courage to speak out to her whom thou hast ruined, tell me what +farther I am to suffer from thy barbarity? + +She stopped here, and, sighing, turned her sweet face from me, drying up +with her handkerchief those tears which she endeavoured to restrain; and, +when she could not, to conceal from my sight. + +As I told thee, I had prepared myself for high passions, raving, flying, +tearing execration; these transient violences, the workings of sudden +grief, and shame, and vengeance, would have set us upon a par with each +other, and quitted scores. These have I been accustomed to; and as +nothing violent is lasting, with these I could have wished to encounter. +But such a majestic composure--seeking me--whom, yet it is plain, by her +attempt to get away, she would have avoided seeking--no Lucretia-like +vengeance upon herself in her thought--yet swallowed up, her whole mind +swallowed up, as I may say, by a grief so heavy, as, in her own words, to +be beyond the power of speech to express--and to be able, discomposed as +she was, to the very morning, to put such a home-question to me, as if +she had penetrated my future view--how could I avoid looking like a fool, +and answering, as before, in broken sentences and confusion? + +What--what-a--what has been done--I, I, I--cannot but say--must own--must +confess--hem--hem----is not right--is not what should have been--but-a-- +but--but--I am truly--truly--sorry for it--upon my soul I am--and--and-- +will do all--do every thing--do what--whatever is incumbent upon me--all +that you--that you--that you shall require, to make you amends!---- + +O Belford! Belford! whose the triumph now! HER'S, or MINE? + +Amends! O thou truly despicable wretch! Then lifting up her eyes--Good +Heaven! who shall pity the creature who could fall by so base a mind!-- +Yet--[and then she looked indignantly upon me!] yet, I hate thee not +(base and low-souled as thou art!) half so much as I hate myself, that I +saw thee not sooner in thy proper colours! That I hoped either morality, +gratitude, or humanity, from a libertine, who, to be a libertine, must +have got over and defied all moral sanctions.* + + +* Her cousin Morden's words to her in his letter from Florence. See Vol. +IV. Letter XIX. + + +She then called upon her cousin Morden's name, as if he had warned her +against a man of free principles; and walked towards the window; her +handkerchief at her eyes. But, turning short towards me, with an air of +mingled scorn and majesty, [what, at the moment, would I have given never +to have injured her!] What amends hast thou to propose! What amends can +such a one as thou make to a person of spirit, or common sense, for the +evils thou hast so inhumanely made me suffer? + +As soon, Madam--as soon--as--as soon as your uncle--or--not waiting---- + +Thou wouldest tell me, I suppose--I know what thou wouldest tell me--But +thinkest thou, that marriage will satisfy for a guilt like thine? +Destitute as thou hast made me both of friends and fortune, I too much +despise the wretch, who could rob himself of his wife's virtue, to endure +the thoughts of thee in the light thou seemest to hope I will accept thee +in!-- + +I hesitated an interruption; but my meaning died away upon my trembling +lips. I could only pronounce the word marriage--and thus she proceeded: + +Let me, therefore, know whether I am to be controuled in the future +disposal of myself? Whether, in a country of liberty, as this, where the +sovereign of it must not be guilty of your wickedness, and where you +neither durst have attempted it, had I one friend or relation to look +upon me, I am to be kept here a prisoner, to sustain fresh injuries? +Whether, in a word, you intend to hinder me from going where my destiny +shall lead me? + +After a pause--for I was still silent: + +Can you not answer me this plain question?--I quit all claim, all +expectation, upon you--what right have you to detain me here? + +I could not speak. What could I say to such a question? + +O wretch! wringing her uplifted hands, had I not been robbed of my +senses, and that in the basest manner--you best know how--had I been able +to account for myself, and your proceedings, or to have known but how the +days passed--a whole week should not have gone over my head, as I find it +has done, before I had told you, what I now tell you--That the man who +has been the villain to me you have been, shall never make me his wife.-- +I will write to my uncle, to lay aside his kind intentions in my favour-- +all my prospects are shut in--I give myself up for a lost creature as to +this world--hinder me not from entering upon a life of severe penitence, +for corresponding, after prohibition, with a wretch who has too well +justified all their warnings and inveteracy; and for throwing myself into +the power of your vile artifices. Let me try to secure the only hope I +have left. This is all the amends I ask of you. I repeat, therefore, Am +I now at liberty to dispose of myself as I please? + +Now comes the fool, the miscreant again, hesitating his broken answer: My +dearest love, I am confounded, quite confounded, at the thought of what-- +of what has been done; and at the thought of--to whom. I see, I see, +there is no withstanding your eloquence!--Such irresistible proofs of the +love of virtue, for its own sake, did I never hear of, nor meet with, in +all my reading. And if you can forgive a repentant villain, who thus on +his knees implores your forgiveness, [then down I dropt, absolutely in +earnest in all I said,] I vow by all that's sacred and just, (and may a +thunderbolt strike me dead at your feet, if I am not sincere!) that I +will by marriage before to-morrow noon, without waiting for your uncle, +or any body, do you all the justice I now can do you. And you shall ever +after controul and direct me as you please, till you have made me more +worthy of your angelic purity than now I am: nor will I presume so much +as to touch your garment, till I have the honour to call so great a +blessing lawfully mine. + +O thou guileful betrayer! there is a just God, whom thou invokest: yet +the thunderbolt descends not; and thou livest to imprecate and deceive! + +My dearest life! rising; for I hoped she was relenting---- + +Hadst thou not sinned beyond the possibility of forgiveness, interrupted +she; and this had been the first time that thus thou solemnly promisest +and invokest the vengeance thou hast as often defied; the desperateness +of my condition might have induced me to think of taking a wretched +chance with a man so profligate. But, after what I have suffered by +thee, it would be criminal in me to wish to bind my soul in covenant to +a man so nearly allied to perdition. + +Good God!--how uncharitable!--I offer not to defend--would to Heaven that +I could recall--so nearly allied to perdition, Madam!--So profligate a +man, Madam!---- + +O how short is expression of thy crimes, and of my sufferings! Such +premeditation is thy baseness! To prostitute the characters of persons +of honour of thy own family--and all to delude a poor creature, whom thou +oughtest--But why talk I to thee? Be thy crimes upon thy head! Once +more I ask thee, Am I, or am I not, at my own liberty now? + +I offered to speak in defence of the women, declaring that they really +were the very persons---- + +Presume not, interrupted she, base as thou art, to say one word in thine +own vindication. I have been contemplating their behaviour, their +conversation, their over-ready acquiescences, to my declarations in thy +disfavour; their free, yet affectedly-reserved light manners: and now +that the sad event has opened my eyes, and I have compared facts and +passages together, in the little interval that has been lent me, I wonder +I could not distinguish the behaviour of the unmatron-like jilt, whom +thou broughtest to betray me, from the worthy lady whom thou hast the +honour to call thy aunt: and that I could not detect the superficial +creature whom thou passedst upon me for the virtuous Miss Montague. + +Amazing uncharitableness in a lady so good herself!--That the high +spirits those ladies were in to see you, should subject them to such +censures!--I do must solemnly vow, Madam---- + +That they were, interrupting me, verily and indeed Lady Betty Lawrance +and thy cousin Montague!--O wretch! I see by thy solemn averment [I had +not yet averred it,] what credit ought to be given to all the rest. Had +I no other proof---- + +Interrupting her, I besought her patient ear. 'I had found myself, I +told her, almost avowedly despised and hated. I had no hope of gaining +her love, or her confidence. The letter she had left behind her, on her +removal to Hampstead, sufficiently convinced me that she was entirely +under Miss Howe's influence, and waited but the return of a letter from +her to enter upon measures that would deprive me of her for ever: Miss +Howe had ever been my enemy: more so then, no doubt, from the contents of +the letter she had written to her on her first coming to Hampstead; that +I dared not to stand the event of such a letter; and was glad of an +opportunity, by Lady Betty's and my cousin's means (though they knew not +my motive) to get her back to town; far, at the time, from intending the +outrage which my despair, and her want of confidence in me, put me so +vilely upon'-- + +I would have proceeded; and particularly would have said something of +Captain Tomlinson and her uncle; but she would not hear me further. And +indeed it was with visible indignation, and not without several angry +interruptions, that she heard me say so much. + +Would I dare, she asked me, to offer at a palliation of my baseness? The +two women, she was convinced, were impostors. She knew not but Captain +Tomlinson and Mr. Mennell were so too. But whether they were so or not, +I was. And she insisted upon being at her own disposal for the remainder +of her short life--for indeed she abhorred me in every light; and more +particularly in that in which I offered myself to her acceptance. + +And, saying this, she flung from me; leaving me absolutely shocked and +confounded at her part of a conversation which she began with such +uncommon, however severe, composure, and concluded with so much sincere +and unaffected indignation. + +And now, Jack, I must address one serious paragraph particularly to thee. + +I have not yet touched upon cohabitation--her uncle's mediation she does +not absolutely discredit, as I had the pleasure to find by one hint in +this conversation--yet she suspects my future views, and has doubt about +Mennell and Tomlinson. + +I do say, if she come fairly at her lights, at her clues, or what shall I +call them? her penetration is wonderful. + +But if she do not come at them fairly, then is her incredulity, then is +her antipathy to me evidently accounted for. + +I will speak out--thou couldst not, surely, play me booty, Jack?--Surely +thou couldst not let thy weak pity for her lead thee to an unpardonable +breach of trust to thy friend, who has been so unreserved in his +communications to thee? + +I cannot believe thee capable of such a baseness. Satisfy me, however, +upon this head. I must make a cursed figure in her eye, vowing and +protesting, as I shall not scruple occasionally to vow and protest, if +all the time she has had unquestionable informations of my perfidy. I +know thou as little fearest me, as I do thee, if any point of manhood; +and wilt scorn to deny it, if thou hast done it, when thus home-pressed. + +And here I have a good mind to stop, and write no farther, till I have +thy answer. + +And so I will. + +MONDAY MORN. PAST THREE. + + + +LETTER XIX + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +MONDAY MORN. FIVE O'CLOCK (JUNE 19.) + + +I must write on. Nothing else can divert me: and I think thou canst not +have been a dog to me. + +I would fain have closed my eyes: but sleep flies me. Well says Horace, +as translated by Cowley: + + The halcyon sleep will never build his nest + In any stormy breast. + 'Tis not enough that he does find + Clouds and darkness in the mind: + Darkness but half his work will do. + 'Tis not enough: he must find quiet too. + +Now indeed do I from my heart wish that I had never known this lady. But +who would have thought there had been such a woman in the world? Of all +the sex I have hitherto known, or heard, or read of, it was once subdued, +and always subdued. The first struggle was generally the last; or, at +least, the subsequent struggles were so much fainter and fainter, that a +man would rather have them than be without them. But how know I yet---- + + +*** + + +It is now near six--the sun for two hours past has been illuminating +every thing about me: for that impartial orb shines upon Mother +Sinclair's house as well as upon any other: but nothing within me can it +illuminate. + +At day-dawn I looked through the key-hole of my beloved's door. She had +declared she would not put off her clothes any more in this house. There +I beheld her in a sweet slumber, which I hope will prove refreshing to +her disturbed senses; sitting in her elbow-chair, her apron over her +head; her head supported by one sweet hand, the other hand hanging down +upon her side, in a sleepy lifelessness; half of one pretty foot only +visible. + +See the difference in our cases! thought I: she, the charming injured, +can sweetly sleep, while the varlet injurer cannot close his eyes; and +has been trying, to no purpose, the whole night to divert his melancholy, +and to fly from himself! + +As every vice generally brings on its own punishment, even in this life; +if any thing were to tempt me to doubt of future punishment, it would be, +that there can hardly be a greater than that in which I at this instant +experience in my own remorse. + +I hope it will go off. If not, well will the dear creature be avenged; +for I shall be the most miserable of men. + + +*** + + +SIX O'CLOCK. + +Just now Dorcas tells me, that her lady is preparing openly, and without +disguise, to be gone. Very probable. The humour she flew away from me +in last night has given me expectation of such an enterprize. + +Now, Jack, to be thus hated and despised!--And if I have sinned beyond +forgiveness---- + +But she has sent me a message by Dorcas, that she will meet me in the +dining-room; and desires [odd enough] that the wretch may be present at +the conversation that shall pass between us. This message gives me hope. + + +NINE O'CLOCK. + +Confounded art, cunning villany!--By my soul, she had like to have +slipped through my fingers! She meant nothing by her message but to get +Dorcas out of the way, and a clear coast. Is a fancied distress, +sufficient to justify this lady for dispensing with her principles? Does +she not show me that she can wilfully deceive, as well as I? + +Had she been in the fore-house, and no passage to go through to get at +the street-door, she had certainly been gone. But her haste betrayed +her: for Sally Martin happening to be in the fore-parlour, and hearing a +swifter motion than usual, and a rustling of silks, as if from somebody +in a hurry, looked out; and seeing who it was, stept between her and the +door, and set her back against it. + +You must not go, Madam. Indeed you must not. + +By what right?--And how dare you?--And such-like imperious airs the dear +creature gave herself.--While Sally called out for her aunt; and half a +dozen voiced joined instantly in the cry, for me to hasten down, to +hasten down in a moment. + +I was gravely instructing Dorcas above stairs, and wondering what would +be the subject of the conversation to which the wench was to be a +witness, when these outcries reached my ears. And down I flew.--And +there was the charming creature, the sweet deceiver, panting for breath, +her back against the partition, a parcel in her hand, [women make no +excursions without their parcels,] Sally, Polly, (but Polly obligingly +pleaded for her,) the mother, Mabell, and Peter, (the footman of the +house,) about her; all, however, keeping their distance; the mother and +Sally between her and the door--in her soft rage the dear soul repeating, +I will go--nobody has a right--I will go--if you kill me, women, I won't +go up again! + +As soon as she saw me, she stept a pace or two towards me; Mr. Lovelace, +I will go! said she--do you authorize these women--what right have they, +or you either, to stop me? + +Is this, my dear, preparative to the conversation you led me to expect in +the dining-room? And do you thing [sic] I can part with you thus?--Do +you think I will. + +And am I, Sir, to be thus beset?--Surrounded thus?--What have these women +to do with me? + +I desired them to leave us, all but Dorcas, who was down as soon as I. I +then thought it right to assume an air of resolution, having found my +tameness so greatly triumphed over. And now, my dear, said I, (urging +her reluctant feet,) be pleased to walk into the fore-parlour. Here, +since you will not go up stairs, here we may hold our parley; and Dorcas +will be witness to it. And now, Madam, seating her, and sticking my +hands in my sides, your pleasure! + +Insolent villain! said the furious lady. And rising, ran to the window, +and threw up the sash, [she knew not, I suppose, that there were iron +rails before the windows.] And, when she found she could not get out +into the street, clasping her uplifted hands together, having dropt her +parcel--For the love of God, good honest man!--For the love of God, +mistress--[to two passers by,] a poor, a poor creature, said she, ruined! +---- + +I clasped her in my arms, people beginning to gather about the window: +and then she cried out Murder! help! help! and carried her up to the +dining-room, in spite of her little plotting heart, (as I may now call +it,) although she violently struggled, catching hold of the banisters +here and there, as she could. I would have seated her there; but she +sunk down half-motionless, pale as ashes. And a violent burst of tears +happily relieved her. + +Dorcas wept over her. The wench was actually moved for her! + +Violent hysterics succeeded. I left her to Mabell, Dorcas, and Polly; +the latter the most supportable to her of the sisterhood. + +This attempt, so resolutely made, alarmed me not a little. + +Mrs. Sinclair and her nymphs, are much more concerned; because of the +reputation of their house as they call it, having received some insults +(broken windows threatened) to make them produce the young creature who +cried out. + +While the mobbish inquisitors were in the height of their office, the +women came running up to me, to know what they should do; a constable +being actually fetched. + +Get the constable into the parlour, said I, with three or four of the +forwardest of the mob, and produce one of the nymphs, onion-eyed, in a +moment, with disordered head-dress and handkerchief, and let her own +herself the person: the occasion, a female skirmish: but satisfied with +the justice done her. Then give a dram or two to each fellow, and all +will be well. + + +ELEVEN O'CLOCK. + +All done as I advised; and all is well. + +Mrs. Sinclair wishes she had never seen the face of so skittish a lady; +and she and Sally are extremely pressing with me, to leave the perverse +beauty to their breaking, as they call it, for four or five days. But I +cursed them into silence; only ordering double precaution for the future. + +Polly, though she consoled the dear perverse one all she could, when with +her, insists upon it to me, that nothing but terror will procure me +tolerable usage. + +Dorcas was challenged by the women upon her tears. She owned them real. +Said she was ashamed of herself: but could not help it. So sincere, so +unyielding a grief, in so sweet a lady!-- + +The women laughed at her; but I bid her make no apologies for her tears, +nor mind their laughing. I was glad to see them so ready. Good use +might be made of such strangers. In short, I would not have her indulge +them often, and try if it were not possible to gain her lady's confidence +by her concern for her. + +She said that her lady did take kind notice of them to her; and was glad +to see such tokens of humanity in her. + +Well then, said I, your part, whether any thing come of it or not, is to +be tender-hearted. It can do no harm, if no good. But take care you are +not too suddenly, or too officiously compassionate. + +So Dorcas will be a humane, good sort of creature, I believe, very +quickly with her lady. And as it becomes women to be so, and as my +beloved is willing to think highly of her own sex; it will the more +readily pass with her. + +I thought to have had one trial (having gone so far) for cohabitation. +But what hope can there be of succeeding?--She is invincible!--Against +all my motions, against all my conceptions, (thinking of her as a woman, +and in the very bloom of her charms,) she is absolutely invincible. My +whole view, at the present, is to do her legal justice, if I can but once +more get her out of her altitudes. + +The consent of such a woman must make her ever new, ever charming. But +astonishing! Can the want of a church-ceremony make such a difference! + +She owes me her consent; for hitherto I have had nothing to boast of. +All of my side, has been deep remorse, anguish of mind, and love +increased rather than abated. + +How her proud rejection stings me!--And yet I hope still to get her to +listen to my stories of the family-reconciliation, and of her uncle and +Capt. Tomlinson--and as she has given me a pretence to detain her against +her will, she must see me, whether in temper or not.--She cannot help it. +And if love will not do, terror, as the women advise, must be tried. + +A nice part, after all, has my beloved to act. If she forgive me easily, +I resume perhaps my projects:--if she carry her rejection into violence, +that violence may make me desperate, and occasion fresh violence. She +ought, since she thinks she has found the women out, to consider where +she is. + +I am confoundedly out of conceit with myself. If I give up my +contrivances, my joy in stratagem, and plot, and invention, I shall be +but a common man; such another dull heavy creature as thyself. Yet what +does even my success in my machinations bring me but regret, disgrace, +repentance? But I am overmatched, egregiously overmatched, by this +woman. What to do with her, or without her, I know not. + + + +LETTER XX + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. + + +I have this moment intelligence from Simon Parsons, one of Lord M.'s +stewards, that his Lordship is very ill. Simon, who is my obsequious +servant, in virtue of my presumptive heirship, gives me a hint in his +letter, that my presence at M. Hall will not be amiss. So I must +accelerate, whatever be the course I shall be allowed or compelled to +take. + +No bad prospects for this charming creature, if the old peer would be so +kind as to surrender; and many a summons has this gout given him. A good +8000. a-year, and perhaps the title reversionary, or a still higher, +would help me up with her. + +Proudly as this lady pretends to be above all pride, grandeur will have +its charms with her; for grandeur always makes a man's face shine in a +woman's eye. I have a pretty good, because a clear, estate, as it is. +But what a noble variety of mischief will 8000. a-year, enable a man to +do? + +Perhaps thou'lt say, I do already all that comes into my head; but that's +a mistake--not one half I will assure thee. And even good folks, as I +have heard, love to have the power of doing mischief, whether they make +use of it or not. The late Queen Anne, who was a very good woman, was +always fond of prerogative. And her ministers, in her name, in more +instances than one, made a ministerial use of this her foible. + + +*** + + +But now, at last, am I to be admitted to the presence of my angry +fair-one; after three denials, nevertheless; and a peremptory from me, by +Dorcas, that I must see her in her chamber, if I cannot see her in the +dining-room. + +Dorcas, however, tells me that she says, if she were at her own liberty, +she would never see me more; and that she had been asking after the +characters and conditions of the neighbours. I suppose, now she has +found her voice, to call out for help from them, if there were any to +hear her. + +She will have it now, it seems, that I had the wickedness from the very +beginning, to contrive, for her ruin, a house so convenient for dreadful +mischief. + +Dorcas begs of her to be pacified--entreats her to see me with patience-- +tells her that I am one of the most determined of men, as she has heard +say. That gentleness may do with me; but that nothing else will, she +believes. And what, as her ladyship (as she always styles her,) is +married, if I had broken my oath, or intended to break it!-- + +She hinted plain enough to the honest wench, that she was not married. +But Dorcas would not understand her. + +This shows she is resolved to keep no measures. And now is to be a trial +of skill, whether she shall or not. + +Dorcas has hinted to her my Lord's illness, as a piece of intelligence +that dropt in conversation from me. + +But here I stop. My beloved, pursuant to my peremptory message, is just +gone up into the dining-room. + + + +LETTER XXI + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +MONDAY AFTERNOON. + + +Pity me, Jack, for pity's sake; since, if thou dost not, nobody else +will: and yet never was there a man of my genius and lively temper that +wanted it more. We are apt to attribute to the devil every thing happens +to us, which we would not have happen: but here, being, (as perhaps +thou'lt say,) the devil myself, my plagues arise from an angel. I +suppose all mankind is to be plagued by its contrary. + +She began with me like a true woman, [she in the fault, I to be blamed,] +the moment I entered the dining-room: not the least apology, not the +least excuse, for the uproar she had made, and the trouble she had given +me. + +I come, said she, into thy detested presence, because I cannot help it. +But why am I to be imprisoned here?--Although to no purpose, I cannot +help---- + +Dearest Madam, interrupted I, give not way to so much violence. You must +know, that your detention is entirely owing to the desire I have to make +you all the amends that is in my power to make you. And this, as well for +your sake as my own. Surely there is still one way left to repair +the wrongs you have suffered---- + +Canst thou blot out the past week! Several weeks past, I should say; +ever since I have been with thee? Canst thou call back time?--If thou +canst---- + +Surely, Madam, again interrupting her, if I may be permitted to call you +legally mine, I might have but anticip---- + +Wretch, that thou art! Say not another word upon this subject. When +thou vowedst, when thou promisedst at Hampstead, I had begun to think +that I must be thine. If I had consented, at the request of those I +thought thy relations, this would have been a principal inducement, that +I could then have brought thee, what was most wanted, an unsullied honour +in dowry, to a wretch destitute of all honour; and could have met the +gratulations of a family to which thy life has been one continued +disgrace, with a consciousness of deserving their gratulations. But +thinkest thou, that I will give a harlot niece to thy honourable uncle, +and to thy real aunts; and a cousin to thy cousins from a brothel? for +such, in my opinion, is this detested house!--Then, lifting up her +clasped hands, 'Great and good God of Heaven,' said she, 'give me +patience to support myself under the weight of those afflictions, which +thou, for wise and good ends, though at present impenetrable by me, hast +permitted!' + +Then, turning towards me, who knew neither what to say to her, nor for +myself, I renounce thee for ever, Lovelace!--Abhorred of my soul! for +ever I renounce thee!--Seek thy fortunes wheresoever thou wilt!--only +now, that thou hast already ruined me!-- + +Ruined you, Madam--the world need not--I knew not what to say. + +Ruined me in my own eyes; and that is the same to me as if all the world +knew it--hinder me not from going whither my mysterious destiny shall +lead me. + +Why hesitate you, Sir? What right have you to stop me, as you lately +did; and to bring me up by force, my hands and arms bruised by your +violence? What right have you to detain me here? + +I am cut to the heart, Madam, with invectives so violent. I am but too +sensible of the wrong I have done you, or I could not bear your +reproaches. The man who perpetrates a villany, and resolves to go on +with it, shows not the compunction I show. Yet, if you think yourself +in my power, I would caution you, Madam, not to make me desperate. For +you shall be mine, or my life shall be the forfeit! Nor is life worth +having without you!-- + +Be thine!--I be thine!--said the passionate beauty. O how lovely in her +violence! + +Yes, Madam, be mine! I repeat you shall be mine! My very crime is your +glory. My love, my admiration of you is increased by what has passed-- +and so it ought. I am willing, Madam, to court your returning favour; +but let me tell you, were the house beset by a thousand armed men, +resolved to take you from me, they should not effect their purpose, while +I had life. + +I never, never will be your's, said she, clasping her hands together, and +lifting up her eyes!--I never will be your's! + +We may yet see many happy years, Madam. All your friends may be +reconciled to you. The treaty for that purpose is in greater forwardness +than you imagine. You know better than to think the worse of yourself +for suffering what you could not help. Enjoin but the terms I can make +my peace with you upon, and I will instantly comply. + +Never, never, repeated she, will I be your's! + +Only forgive me, my dearest life, this one time!--A virtue so invincible! +what further view can I have against you?--Have I attempted any further +outrage?--If you will be mine, your injuries will be injuries done to +myself. You have too well guessed at the unnatural arts that have been +used. But can a greater testimony be given of your virtue?--And now I +have only to hope, that although I cannot make you complete amends, yet +you will permit me to make you all the amends that can possibly be made. + +Here [sic] me out, I beseech you, Madam; for she was going to speak with +an aspect unpacifiedly angry: the God, whom you serve, requires but +repentance and amendment. Imitate him, my dearest love, and bless me +with the means of reforming a course of life that begins to be hateful to +me. That was once your favourite point. Resume it, dearest creature, in +charity to a soul, as well as body, which once, as I flattered myself, +was more than indifferent to you, resume it. And let to-morrow's sun +witness to our espousals. + +I cannot judge thee, said she; but the GOD to whom thou so boldly +referrest can, and, assure thyself, He will. But, if compunction has +really taken hold of thee--if, indeed, thou art touched for thy +ungrateful baseness, and meanest any thing by this pleading the holy +example thou recommendest to my imitation; in this thy pretended +repentant moment, let me sift thee thoroughly, and by thy answer I shall +judge of the sincerity of thy pretended declarations. + +Tell me, then, is there any reality in the treaty thou has pretended to +be on foot between my uncle and Capt. Tomlinson, and thyself?--Say, and +hesitate not, is there any truth in that story?--But, remember, if there +be not, and thou avowest that there is, what further condemnation attends +to thy averment, if it be as solemn as I require it to be! + +This was a cursed thrust! What could I say!--Surely this merciless lady +is resolved to d--n me, thought I, and yet accuses me of a design against +her soul!--But was I not obliged to proceed as I had begun? + +In short, I solemnly averred that there was!--How one crime, as the good +folks say, brings on another! + +I added, that the Captain had been in town, and would have waited on her, +had she not been indisposed; that he went down much afflicted, as well on +her account, as on that of her uncle; though I had not acquainted him +either with the nature of her disorder, or the ever-to-be-regretted +occasion of it, having told him that it was a violent fever; That he had +twice since, by her uncle's desire, sent up to inquire after her health; +and that I had already dispatched a man and horse with a letter, to +acquaint him, (and her uncle through him,) with her recovery; making it +my earnest request, that he would renew his application to her uncle for +the favour of his presence at the private celebrations of our nuptials; +and that I expected an answer, if not this night, as to-morrow. + +Let me ask thee next, said she, (thou knowest the opinion I have of the +women thou broughtest to me at Hampstead; and who have seduced me hither +to my ruin; let me ask thee,) If, really and truly, they were Lady Betty +Lawrance and thy cousin Montague?--What sayest thou--hesitate not--what +sayest thou to this question? + +Astonishing, my dear, that you should suspect them!--But, knowing your +strange opinion of them, what can I say to be believed? + +And is this the answer thou returnest me? Dost thou thus evade my +question? But let me know, for I am trying thy sincerity now, and all +shall judge of thy new professions by thy answer to this question; let me +know, I repeat, whether those women be really Lady Betty Lawrance and thy +cousin Montague? + +Let me, my dearest love, be enabled to-morrow to call you lawfully mine, +and we will set out the next day, if you please, to Berkshire to my Lord +M.'s, where they both are at this time; and you shall convince yourself +by your own eyes, and by your own ears; which you will believe sooner +than all I can say or swear. + +Now, Belford, I had really some apprehension of treachery from thee; +which made me so miserably evade; for else, I could as safely have sworn +to the truth of this, as to that of the former: but she pressing me still +for a categorical answer, I ventured plumb; and swore to it, [lover's +oaths, Jack!] that they were really and truly Lady Betty Lawrance and my +cousin Montague. + +She lifted up her hands and eyes--What can I think!--what can I think! + +You think me a devil, Madam; a very devil! or you could not after you +have put these questions to me, seem to doubt the truth of answers so +solemnly sworn to. + +And if I do think thee so, have I not cause? Is there another man in the +world, (I hope for the sake of human nature, there is not,) who could act +by any poor friendless creature as thou hast acted by me, whom thou hast +made friendless--and who, before I knew thee, had for a friend every one +who knew me? + +I told you, Madam, before that Lady Betty and my cousin were actually +here, in order to take leave of you, before they set out for Berkshire: +but the effects of my ungrateful crime, (such, with shame and remorse, I +own it to be,) were the reason you could not see them. Nor could I be +fond that they should see you; since they never would have forgiven me, +had they known what had passed--and what reason had I to expect your +silence on the subject, had you been recovered? + +It signifies nothing now, that the cause of their appearance has been +answered in my ruin, who or what they are: but if thou hast averred thus +solemnly to two falsehoods, what a wretch do I see before me! + +I thought she had now reason to be satisfied; and I begged her to allow +me to talk to her of to-morrow, as of the happiest day of my life. We +have the license, Madam--and you must excuse me, that I cannot let you go +hence till I have tried every way I can to obtain your forgiveness. + +And am I then, [with a kind of frantic wildness,] to be detained a +prisoner in this horrid house--am I, Sir?--Take care! take care! holding +up her hand, menacing, how you make me desperate! If I fall, though by +my own hand, inquisition will be made for my blood; and be not out in thy +plot, Lovelace, if it should be so--make sure work, I charge thee--dig a +hole deep enough to cram in and conceal this unhappy body; for, depend +upon it, that some of those who will not stir to protect me living, will +move heaven and earth to avenge me dead! + +A horrid dear creature!--By my soul she made me shudder! She had need +indeed to talk of her unhappiness in falling into the hands of the only +man in the world, who could have used her as I have used her--she is the +only woman in the world, who could have shocked and disturbed me as she +has done. So we are upon a foot in that respect. And I think I have the +worst of it by much: since very little has been my joy--very much my +trouble. And her punishment, as she calls it, is over: but when mine +will, or what it may be, who can tell? + +Here, only recapitulating, (think, then, how I must be affected at the +time,) I was forced to leave off, and sing a song to myself. I aimed at +a lively air; but I croaked rather than sung. And fell into the old +dismal thirtieth of January strain; I hemmed up for a sprightlier note; +but it would not do; and at last I ended, like a malefactor, in a dead +psalm melody. + +Heigh-ho!--I gape like an unfledged kite in its nest, wanting to swallow +a chicken, bobbed at its mouth by its marauding dam!-- + +What a-devil ails me?--I can neither think nor write! + +Lie down, pen, for a moment! + + + +LETTER XXII + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. + + +There is certainly a good deal in the observation, that it costs a man +ten times more pains to be wicked, than it would cost him to be good. What +a confounded number of contrivances have I had recourse to, in order +to carry my point with this charming creature; and yet after all, how +have I puzzled myself by it; and yet am near tumbling into the pit which +it was the end of all my plots to shun! What a happy man had I been with +such an excellence, could I have brought my mind to marry when I first +prevailed upon her to quit her father's house! But then, as I have often +reflected, how had I known, that a but blossoming beauty, who could carry +on a private correspondence, and run such risques with a notorious wild +fellow, was not prompted by inclination, which one day might give such a +free-liver as myself as much pain to reflect upon, as, at the time it +gave me pleasure? Thou rememberest the host's tale in Ariosto. And thy +experience, as well as mine, can furnish out twenty Fiametta's in proof +of the imbecility of the sex. + +But to proceed with my narrative. + +The dear creature resumed the topic her heart was so firmly fixed upon; +and insisted upon quitting the odious house, and that in very high terms. + +I urged her to meet me the next day at the altar in either of the two +churches mentioned in the license. And I besought her, whatever was her +resolution, to let me debate this matter calmly with her. + +If, she said, I would have her give what I desired the least moment's +consideration, I must not hinder her from being her own mistress. To +what purpose did I ask her consent, if she had not a power over either +her own person or actions? + +Will you give me your honour, Madam, if I consent to your quitting a +house so disagreeable to you?-- + +My honour, Sir! said the dear creature--Alas!--And turned weeping from +me with inimitable grace--as if she had said--Alas!--you have robbed me +of my honour! + +I hoped then, that her angry passions were subsiding; but I was mistaken; +for, urging her warmly for the day; and that for the sake of our mutual +honour, and the honour of both our families; in this high-flown and +high-souled strain she answered me: + +And canst thou, Lovelace, be so mean--as to wish to make a wife of the +creature thou hast insulted, dishonoured, and abused, as thou hast me? +Was it necessary to humble me down to the low level of thy baseness, +before I could be a wife meet for thee? Thou hadst a father, who was a +man of honour: a mother, who deserved a better son. Thou hast an uncle, +who is no dishonour to the Peerage of a kingdom, whose peers are more +respectable than the nobility of any other country. Thou hast other +relations also, who may be thy boast, though thou canst not be theirs-- +and canst thou not imagine, that thou hearest them calling upon thee; the +dead from their monuments; the living from their laudable pride; not to +dishonour thy ancient and splendid house, by entering into wedlock with a +creature whom thou hast levelled with the dirt of the street, and classed +with the vilest of her sex? + +I extolled her greatness of soul, and her virtue. I execrated myself for +my guilt: and told her, how grateful to the manes of my ancestors, as +well as to the wishes of the living, the honour I supplicated for would +be. + +But still she insisted upon being a free agent; of seeing herself in +other lodgings before she would give what I urged the least +consideration. Nor would she promise me favour even then, or to permit +my visits. How then, as I asked her, could I comply, without resolving +to lose her for ever? + +She put her hand to her forehead often as she talked; and at last, +pleading disorder in her head, retired; neither of us satisfied with the +other. But she ten times more dissatisfied with me, than I with her. + +Dorcas seems to be coming into favour with her-- + +What now!--What now! + + +MONDAY NIGHT. + +How determined is this lady!--Again had she like to have escaped us!-- +What a fixed resentment!--She only, I find, assumed a little calm, in +order to quiet suspicion. She was got down, and actually had unbolted +the street-door, before I could get to her; alarmed as I was by Mrs. +Sinclair's cookmaid, who was the only one that saw her fly through the +passage: yet lightning was not quicker than I. + +Again I brought her back to the dining-room, with infinite reluctance on +her part. And, before her face, ordered a servant to be placed +constantly at the bottom of the stairs for the future. + +She seemed even choked with grief and disappointment. + +Dorcas was exceedingly assiduous about her; and confidently gave it as +her own opinion, that her dear lady should be permitted to go to another +lodging, since this was so disagreeable to her: were she to be killed for +saying so, she would say it. And was good Dorcas for this afterwards. + +But for some time the dear creature was all passion and violence-- + +I see, I see, said she, when I had brought her up, what I am to expect +from your new professions, O vilest of men!-- + +Have I offered t you, my beloved creature, any thing that can justify +this impatience after a more hopeful calm? + +She wrung her hands. She disordered her head-dress. She tore her +ruffles. She was in a perfect phrensy. + +I dreaded her returning malady: but, entreaty rather exasperating, I +affected an angry air.--I bid her expect the worst she had to fear--and +was menacing on, in hopes to intimidate her; when, dropping to my feet, + +'Twill be a mercy, said she, the highest act of mercy you can do, to kill +me outright upon this spot--this happy spot, as I will, in my last +moments, call it!--Then, baring, with a still more frantic violence, part +of her enchanting neck--Here, here, said the soul-harrowing beauty, let +thy pointed mercy enter! and I will thank thee, and forgive thee for all +the dreadful past!--With my latest gasp will I forgive and thank thee!-- +Or help me to the means, and I will myself put out of the way so +miserable a wretch! And bless thee for those means! + +Why all this extravagant passion? Why all these exclamations? Have I +offered any new injury to you, my dearest life? What a phrensy is this! +Am I not ready to make you all the reparation that I can make you? Had I +not reason to hope-- + +No, no, no, no, as before, shaking her head with wild impatience, as +resolved not to attend to what I said. + +My resolutions are so honourable, if you will permit them to take effect, +that I need not be solicitous where you go, if you will but permit my +visits, and receive my vows.--And God is my witness, that I bring you not +back from the door with any view to your dishonour, but the contrary: and +this moment I will send for a minister to put an end to all your doubts +and fears. + +Say this, and say a thousand times more, and bind every word with a +solemn appeal to that God whom thou art accustomed to invoke to the truth +of the vilest falsehoods, and all will still be short of what thou has +vowed and promised to me. And, were not my heart to abhor thee, and to +rise against thee, for thy perjuries, as it does, I would not, I tell +thee once more, I would not, bind my soul in covenant with such a man, +for a thousand worlds! + +Compose yourself, however, Madam; for your own sake, compose yourself. +Permit me to raise you up; abhorred as I am of your soul! + +Nay, if I must not touch you; for she wildly slapt my hands; but with +such a sweet passionate air, her bosom heaving and throbbing as she +looked up to me, that although I was most sincerely enraged, I could with +transport have pressed her to mine. + +If I must not touch you, I will not.--But depend upon it, [and I assumed +the sternest air I could assume, to try what it would do,] depend upon +it, Madam, that this is not the way to avoid the evils you dread. Let me +do what I will, I cannot be used worse--Dorcas, begone! + +She arose, Dorcas being about to withdraw; and wildly caught hold of her +arm: O Dorcas! If thou art of mine own sex, leave me not, I charge thee! +--Then quitting Dorcas, down she threw herself upon her knees, in the +furthermost corner of the room, clasping a chair with her face laid upon +the bottom of it!--O where can I be safe?--Where, where can I be safe, +from this man of violence?-- + +This gave Dorcas an opportunity to confirm herself in her lady's +confidence: the wench threw herself at my feet, while I seemed in violent +wrath; and embracing my knees, Kill me, Sir, kill me, Sir, if you please! +--I must throw myself in your way, to save my lady. I beg your pardon, +Sir--but you must be set on!--God forgive the mischief-makers!--But your +own heart, if left to itself, would not permit these things--spare, +however, Sir! spare my lady, I beseech you!--bustling on her knees about +me, as if I were intending to approach her lady, had I not been +restrained by her. + +This, humoured by me, Begone, devil!--Officious devil, begone!--startled +the dear creature: who, snatching up hastily her head from the chair, and +as hastily popping it down again in terror, hit her nose, I suppose, +against the edge of the chair; and it gushed out with blood, running in a +stream down her bosom; she herself was too much frighted to heed it! + +Never was mortal man in such terror and agitation as I; for I instantly +concluded, that she had stabbed herself with some concealed instrument. + +I ran to her in a wild agony--for Dorcas was frighted out of all her mock +interposition---- + +What have you done!--O what have you done!--Look up to me, my dearest +life!--Sweet injured innocence, look up to me! What have you done!--Long +will I not survive you!--And I was upon the point of drawing my sword to +dispatch myself, when I discovered--[What an unmanly blockhead does this +charming creature make me at her pleasure!] that all I apprehended was +but a bloody nose, which, as far as I know (for it could not be stopped +in a quarter of an hour) may have saved her head and her intellects. + +But I see by this scene, that the sweet creature is but a pretty coward +at bottom; and that I can terrify her out of her virulence against me, +whenever I put on sternness and anger. But then, as a qualifier to the +advantage this gives me over her, I find myself to be a coward too, which +I had not before suspected, since I was capable of being so easily +terrified by the apprehensions of her offering violence to herself. + + + +LETTER XXIII + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. + + +But with all this dear creature's resentment against me, I cannot, for my +heart, think but she will get all over, and consent to enter the pale +with me. Were she even to die to-morrow, and to know she should, would +not a woman of her sense, of her punctilio, and in her situation, and of +so proud a family, rather die married, than otherwise?--No doubt but she +would; although she were to hate the man ever so heartily. If so, there +is now but one man in the world whom she can have--and that is me. + +Now I talk [familiar writing is but talking, Jack] thus glibly of +entering the pale, thou wilt be ready to question me, I know, as to my +intentions on this head. + +As much of my heart, as I know of it myself, will I tell thee.--When I am +from her, I cannot still help hesitating about marriage; and I even +frequently resolve against it, and determine to press my favourite scheme +for cohabitation. But when I am with her, I am ready to say, to swear, +and to do, whatever I think will be the most acceptable to her, and were +a parson at hand, I should plunge at once, no doubt of it, into the +state. + +I have frequently thought, in common cases, that it is happy for many +giddy fellows [there are giddy fellows, as well as giddy girls, Jack; and +perhaps those are as often drawn in, as these] that ceremony and parade +are necessary to the irrevocable solemnity; and that there is generally +time for a man to recollect himself in the space between the heated +over-night, and the cooler next morning; or I know not who could escape +the sweet gypsies, whose fascinating powers are so much aided by our own +raised imaginations. + +A wife at any time, I used to say. I had ever confidence and vanity +enough to think that no woman breathing could deny her hand when I held +out mine. I am confoundedly mortified to find that this lady is able to +hold me at bay, and to refuse all my honest vows. + +What force [allow me a serious reflection, Jack: it will be put down! +What force] have evil habits upon the human mind! When we enter upon a +devious course, we think we shall have it in our power when we will +return to the right path. But it is not so, I plainly see: For, who can +acknowledge with more justice this dear creature's merits, and his own +errors, than I? Whose regret, at times, can be deeper than mine, for the +injuries I have done her? Whose resolutions to repair those injuries +stronger?--Yet how transitory is my penitence!--How am I hurried away-- +Canst thou tell by what?--O devil of youth, and devil of intrigue, how do +you mislead me!--How often do we end in occasions for the deepest +remorse, what we begin in wantonness!-- + +At the present writing, however, the turn of the scale is in behalf of +matrimony--for I despair of carrying with her my favourite point. + +The lady tells Dorcas, that her heart is broken: and that she shall live +but a little while. I think nothing of that, if we marry. In the first +place, she knows not what a mind unapprehensive will do for her, in a +state to which all the sex look forwards with high satisfaction. How +often have the whole of the sacred conclave been thus deceived in their +choice of a pope; not considering that the new dignity is of itself +sufficient to give new life! A few months' heart's ease will give my +charmer a quite different notion of things: and I dare say, as I have +heretofore said,* once married, and I am married for life. + + +* See Letter IX. of this volume. + + +I will allow that her pride, in one sense, has suffered abasement: but +her triumph is the greater in every other. And while I can think that +all her trials are but additions to her honour, and that I have laid the +foundations of her glory in my own shame, can I be called cruel, if I am +not affected with her grief as some men would be? + +And for what should her heart be broken? Her will is unviolated;--at +present, however, her will is unviolated. The destroying of good habits, +and the introducing of bad, to the corrupting of the whole heart, is the +violation. That her will is not to be corrupted, that her mind is not to +be debased, she has hitherto unquestionably proved. And if she give +cause for farther trials, and hold fast her integrity, what ideas will +she have to dwell upon, that will be able to corrupt her morals? What +vestigia, what remembrances, but such as will inspire abhorrence of the +attempter? + +What nonsense then to suppose that such a mere notional violation as she +has suffered should be able to cut asunder the strings of life? + +Her religion, married, or not married, will set her above making such a +trifling accident, such an involuntary suffering fatal to her. + +Such considerations as these they are that support me against all +apprehensions of bugbear consequences; and I would have them have weight +with thee; who are such a doughty advocate for her. And yet I allow thee +this; that she really makes too much of it; takes it too much to heart. +To be sure she ought to have forgot it by this time, except the charming, +charming consequence happen, that still I am in hopes will happen, were I +to proceed no farther. And, if she apprehended this herself, then has +the dear over-nice soul some reason for taking it so much to heart; and +yet would not, I think, refuse to legitimate. + +O Jack! had I am imperial diadem, I swear to thee, that I would give it +up, even to my enemy, to have one charming boy by this lady. And should +she escape me, and no such effect follow, my revenge on her family, and, +in such a case, on herself, would be incomplete, and I should reproach +myself as long as I lived. + +Were I to be sure that this foundation is laid [And why may I not hope it +is?] I should not doubt to have her still (should she withstand her day +of grace) on my own conditions; nor should I, if it were so, question +that revived affection in her, which a woman seldom fails to have for the +father of her first child, whether born in wedlock, or out of it. + +And pr'ythee, Jack, see in this my ardent hope, a distinction in my +favour from other rakes; who, almost to a man, follow their inclinations +without troubling themselves about consequences. In imitation, as one +would think, of the strutting villain of a bird, which from feathered +lady to feathered lady pursues his imperial pleasures, leaving it to his +sleek paramours to hatch the genial product in holes and corners of their +own finding out. + + + +LETTER XXIV + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +TUESDAY MORN. JUNE 20. + + +Well, Jack, now are we upon another footing together. This dear creature +will not let me be good. She is now authorizing all my plots by her own +example. + +Thou must be partial in the highest degree, if now thou blamest me for +resuming my former schemes, since in that case I shall but follow her +cue. No forced construction of her actions do I make on this occasion, +in order to justify a bad cause or a worse intention. A slight pretence, +indeed, served the wolf when he had a mind to quarrel with the lamb; but +this is not now my case. + +For here (wouldst thou have thought it?) taking advantage of Dorcas's +compassionate temper, and of some warm expressions which the +tender-hearted wench let fall against the cruelty of men, and wishing to +have it in her power to serve her, has she given her the following note, +signed by her maiden name: for she has thought fit, in positive and plain +words, to own to the pitying Dorcas that she is not married. + + +MONDAY, JUNE 19. + +I then underwritten do hereby promise, that, on my coming into possession +of my own estate, I will provide for Dorcas Martindale in a gentlewoman- +like manner, in my own house: or, if I do not soon obtain that +possession, or should first die, I do hereby bind myself, my executors, +and administrators, to pay to her, or her order, during the term of her +natural life, the sum of five pounds on each of the four usual quarterly +days in the year; on condition that she faithfully assist me in my escape +from an illegal confinement under which I now labour. The first +quarterly payment to commence and be payable at the end of three months +immediately following the day of my deliverance. And I do also promise +to give her, as a testimony of my honour in the rest, a diamond ring, +which I have showed her. Witness my hand this nineteenth day of June, in +the year above written. + +CLARISSA HARLOWE. + + +Now, Jack, what terms wouldst thou have me to keep with such a sweet +corruptress? Seest thou not how she hates me? Seest thou not that she +is resolved never to forgive me? Seest thou not, however, that she must +disgrace herself in the eye of the world, if she actually should escape? +That she must be subjected to infinite distress and hazard! For whom has +she to receive and protect her? Yet to determine to risque all these +evils! and furthermore to stoop to artifice, to be guilty of the reigning +vice of the times, of bribery and corruption! O Jack, Jack! say not, +write not another word in her favour! + +Thou hast blamed me for bringing her to this house: but had I carried her +to any other in England, where there would have been one servant or +inmate capable either of compassion or corruption, what must have been +the consequence? + +But seest thou not, however, that in this flimsy contrivance, the dear +implacable, like a drowning man, catches at a straw to save herself!--A +straw shall she find to be the refuge she has resorted to. + + + +LETTER XXV + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +TUES. MORN. TEN O'CLOCK + + +Very ill--exceedingly ill--as Dorcas tells me, in order to avoid seeing +me--and yet the dear soul may be so in her mind. But is not that +equivocation? Some one passion predominating in every human breast, +breaks through principle, and controuls us all. Mine is love and revenge +taking turns. Her's is hatred.--But this is my consolation, that hatred +appeased is love begun; or love renewed, I may rather say, if love ever +had footing here. + +But reflectioning apart, thou seest, Jack, that her plot is beginning to +work. To-morrow is to break out. + +I have been abroad, to set on foot a plot of circumvention. All fair +now, Belford! + +I insisted upon visiting my indisposed fair-one. Dorcas made officious +excuses for her. I cursed the wench in her hearing for her impertinence; +and stamped and made a clutter; which was improved into an apprehension +to the lady that I would have flung her faithful confidante from the top +of the stairs to the bottom. + +He is a violent wretch!--But, Dorcas, [dear Dorcas, now it is,] thou +shalt have a friend in me to the last day of my life. + +And what now, Jack, dost think the name of her good angel is!--Why Dorcas +Martindale, christian and super (no more Wykes) as in the promissory note +in my former--and the dear creature has bound her to her by the most +solemn obligations, besides the tie of interest. + +Whither, Madam, do you design to go when you get out of this house? + +I will throw myself into the first open house I can find; and beg +protection till I can get a coach, or a lodging in some honest family. + +What will you do for clothes, Madam? I doubt you'll be able to take any +away with you, but what you'll have on. + +O, no matter for clothes, if I can but get out of this house. + +What will you do for money, Madam? I have heard his honour express his +concern, that he could not prevail upon you to be obliged to him, though +he apprehended that you must be short of money. + +O, I have rings and other valuables. Indeed I have but four guineas, and +two of them I found lately wrapt up in a bit of lace, designed for a +charitable use. But now, alas! charity begins at home!--But I have one +dear friend left, if she be living, as I hope in God she is! to whom I +can be obliged, if I want. O Dorcas! I must ere now have heard from her, +if I had had fair play. + +Well, Madam, your's is a hard lot. I pity you at my heart! + +Thank you, Dorcas!--I am unhappy, that I did not think before, that I might +have confided in thy pity, and in thy sex! + +I pitied you, Madam, often and often: but you were always, as I thought, +diffident of me. And then I doubted not but you were married; and I +thought his honour was unkindly used by you. So that I thought it my +duty to wish well to his honour, rather than to what I thought to be your +humours, Madam. Would to Heaven that I had known before that you were +not married!--Such a lady! such a fortune! to be so sadly betrayed;---- + +Ah, Dorcas! I was basely drawn in! My youth--my ignorance of the world +--and I have some things to reproach myself with when I look back. + +Lord, Madam, what deceitful creatures are these men!--Neither oaths, nor +vows--I am sure! I am sure! [and then with her apron she gave her eyes +half a dozen hearty rubs] I may curse the time that I came into this +house! + +Here was accounting for her bold eyes! And was it not better for Dorcas +to give up a house which her lady could not think worse of than she did, +in order to gain the reputation of sincerity, than by offering to +vindicate it, to make her proffered services suspected. + +Poor Dorcas!--Bless me! how little do we, who have lived all our time in +the country, know of this wicked town! + +Had I been able to write, cried the veteran wench, I should certainly +have given some other near relations I have in Wales a little inkling of +matters; and they would have saved me from----from----from---- + +Her sobs were enough. The apprehensions of women on such subjects are +ever aforehand with speech. + +And then, sobbing on, she lifted her apron to her face again. She showed +me how. + +Poor Dorcas!--Again wiping her own charming eyes. + +All love, all compassion, is this dear creature to every one in +affliction but me. + +And would not an aunt protect her kinswoman?--Abominable wretch! + +I can't--I can't--I can't--say, my aunt was privy to it. She gave me +good advice. She knew not for a great while that I was--that I was--that +I was--ugh!--ugh!--ugh!-- + +No more, no more, good Dorcas--What a world do we live in!--What a house +am I in!--But come, don't weep, (though she herself could not forbear:) +my being betrayed into it, though to my own ruin, may be a happy event +for thee: and, if I live, it shall. + +I thank you, my good lady, blubbering. I am sorry, very sorry, you have +had so hard a lot. But it may be the saving of my soul, if I can get to +your ladyship's house. Had I but known that your ladyship was not +married, I would have eat my own flesh, before----before----before---- + +Dorcas sobbed and wept. The lady sighed and wept also. + +But now, Jack, for a serious reflection upon the premises. + +How will the good folks account for it, that Satan has such faithful +instruments, and that the bond of wickedness is a stronger bond than the +ties of virtue; as if it were the nature of the human mind to be villanous? +For here, had Dorcas been good, and been tempted as she was tempted to any +thing evil, I make no doubt but she would have yielded to the temptation. + +And cannot our fraternity in an hundred instances give proof of the like +predominance of vice over virtue? And that we have risked more to serve +and promote the interests of the former, than ever a good man did to +serve a good man or a good cause? For have we not been prodigal of life +and fortune? have we not defied the civil magistrate upon occasion? and +have we not attempted rescues, and dared all things, only to extricate a +pounded profligate? + +Whence, Jack, can this be? + +O! I have it, I believe. The vicious are as bad as they can be; and do +the Devil's work without looking after; while he is continually spreading +snares for the others; and, like a skilful angler, suiting his baits to +the fish he angles for. + +Nor let even honest people, so called, blame poor Dorcas for her fidelity +in a bad cause. For does not the general, who implicitly serves an +ambitious prince in his unjust designs upon his neighbours, or upon his +own oppressed subjects; and even the lawyer, who, for the sake of a +paltry fee, undertakes to whiten a black cause, and to defend it against +one he knows to be good, do the very same thing as Dorcas? And are they +not both every whit as culpable? Yet the one shall be dubbed a hero, the +other called an admirable fellow, and be contended for by every client, +and his double-tongued abilities shall carry him through all the high +preferments of the law with reputation and applause. + +Well, but what shall be done, since the lady is so much determined on +removing!--Is there no way to oblige her, and yet to make the very act +subservient to my other views? I fancy such a way may be found out. + +I will study for it---- + +Suppose I suffer her to make an escape? Her heart is in it. If she +effect it, the triumph she will have over me upon it will be a +counterbalance for all she has suffered. + +I will oblige her if I can. + + + +LETTER XXVI + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. + + +Tired with a succession of fatiguing days and sleepless nights, and with +contemplating the precarious situation I stand in with my beloved, I fell +into a profound reverie; which brought on sleep; and that produced a +dream; a fortunate dream; which, as I imagine, will afford my working +mind the means to effect the obliging double purpose my heart is now once +more set upon. + +What, as I have often contemplated, is the enjoyment of the finest woman +in the world, to the contrivance, the bustle, the surprises, and at last +the happy conclusion of a well-laid plot!--The charming round-abouts, to +come to the nearest way home;--the doubts; the apprehensions; the +heart-achings; the meditated triumphs--these are the joys that make the +blessing dear.--For all the rest, what is it?--What but to find an angel +in imagination dwindled down to a woman in fact?----But to my dream---- + +Methought it was about nine on Wednesday morning that a chariot, with a +dowager's arms upon the doors, and in it a grave matronly lady [not +unlike mother H. in the face; but, in her heart, Oh! how unlike!] stopped +at a grocer's shop, about ten doors on the other side of the way, in +order to buy some groceries: and methought Dorcas, having been out to see +if the coast were clear for her lady's flight, and if a coach were to be +got near the place, espied the chariot with the dowager's arms, and this +matronly lady: and what, methought, did Dorcas, that subtle traitress, +do, but whip up to the old matronly lady, and lifting up her voice, say, +Good my Lady, permit me one word with your Ladyship! + +What thou hast to say to me, say on, quoth the old lady; the grocer +retiring, and standing aloof, to give Dorcas leave to speak; who, +methought, in words like these accosted the lady: + +'You seem, Madam, to be a very good lady; and here, in this +neighbourhood, at a house of no high repute, is an innocent lady of rank +and fortune, beautiful as a May morning, and youthful as a rose-bud, and +full as sweet and lovely, who has been tricked thither by a wicked +gentleman, practised in the ways of the town, and this very night will +she be ruined if she get not out of his hands. Now, O Lady! if you will +extend your compassionate goodness to this fair young lady, in whom, the +moment you behold her, you will see cause to believe all I say, and let +her but have a place in your chariot, and remain in your protection for +one day only, till she can send a man and horse to her rich and powerful +friends, you may save from ruin a lady who has no equal for virtue as +well as beauty.' + +Methought the old lady, moved with Dorcas's story, answered and said, +'Hasten, O damsel, who in a happy moment art come to put it in my power +to serve the innocent and virtuous, which it has always been my delight +to do: hasten to this young lady, and bid her hie hither to me with all +speed; and tell her, that my chariot shall be her asylum: and if I find +all that thou sayest true, my house shall be her sanctuary, and I will +protect her from all her oppressors.' + +Hereupon, methought, this traitress Dorcas hied back to the lady, and +made report of what she had done. And, methought, the lady highly +approved of Dorcas's proceeding and blessed her for her good thought. + +And I lifted up mine eyes, and behold the lady issued out of the house, +and without looking back, ran to the chariot with the dowager's coat upon +it; and was received by the matronly lady with open arms, and 'Welcome, +welcome, welcome, fair young lady, who so well answer the description of +the faithful damsel: and I will carry you instantly to my house, where +you shall meet with all the good usage your heart can wish for, till you +can apprize your rich and powerful friends of your past dangers, and +present escape.' + +'Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, worthy, thrice worthy lady, +who afford so kindly your protection to a most unhappy young creature, +who has been basely seduced and betrayed, and brought to the very brink +of destruction.' + +Methought, then, the matronly lady, who had, by the time the young lady +came to her, bought and paid for the goods she wanted, ordered her +coachman to drive home with all speed; who stopped not till he had +arrived in a certain street not far from Lincoln's-inn-fields, where the +matronly lady lived in a sumptuous dwelling, replete with damsels who +wrought curiously in muslins, cambrics, and fine linen, and in every good +work that industrious damsels love to be employed about, except the loom +and the spinning-wheel. + +And, methought, all the way the young lady and the old lady rode, and +after they came in, till dinner was ready, the young lady filled up the +time with the dismal account of her wrongs and her sufferings, the like +of which was never heard by mortal ear; and this in so moving a manner, +that the good old lady did nothing but weep, and sigh, and sob, and +inveigh against the arts of wicked men, and against that abominable +'Squire Lovelace, who was a plotting villain, methought she said; and +more than that, an unchained Beelzebub. + +Methought I was in a dreadful agony, when I found the lady had escaped, +and in my wrath had like to have slain Dorcas, and our mother, and every +one I met. But, by some quick transition, and strange metamorphosis, +which dreams do not usually account for, methought, all of a sudden, this +matronly lady turned into the famous mother H. herself; and, being an old +acquaintance of mother Sinclair, was prevailed upon to assist in my plot +upon the young lady. + +Then, methought, followed a strange scene; for mother H. longing to hear +more of the young lady's story, and night being come, besought her to +accept of a place in her own bed, in order to have all the talk to +themselves. For, methought, two young nieces of her's had broken in upon +them, in the middle of the dismal tale. + +Accordingly, going early to bed, and the sad story being resumed, with as +great earnestness on one side as attention on the other, before the young +lady had gone far in it, mother H. methought was taken with a fit of the +colic; and her tortures increasing, was obliged to rise to get a cordial +she used to find specific in this disorder, to which she was unhappily +subject. + +Having thus risen, and stept to her closet, methought she let fall the +wax taper in her return; and then [O metamorphosis still stranger than +the former! what unaccountable things are dreams!] coming to bed again in +the dark, the young lady, to her infinite astonishment, grief, and +surprise, found mother H. turned into a young person of the other sex; +and although Lovelace was the abhorred of her soul, yet, fearing it was +some other person, it was matter of consolation to her, when she found it +was no other than himself, and that she had been still the bed-fellow of +but one and the same man. + +A strange promiscuous huddle of adventures followed, scenes perpetually +shifting; now nothing heard from the lady, but sighs, groans, +exclamations, faintings, dyings--From the gentleman, but vows, promises, +protestations, disclaimers of purposes pursued, and all the gentle and +ungentle pressures of the lover's warfare. + +Then, as quick as thought (for dreams, thou knowest confine not +themselves to the rules of the drama) ensued recoveries, lyings-in, +christenings, the smiling boy, amply, even in her own opinion, rewarding +the suffering mother. + +Then the grandfather's estate yielded up, possession taken of it: living +very happily upon it: her beloved Norton her companion; Miss Howe her +visiter; and (admirable! thrice admirable!) enabled to compare notes with +her; a charming girl, by the same father, to her friend's charming boy; +who, as they grow up, in order to consolidate their mamma's friendships, +(for neither have dreams regard to consanguinity,) intermarry; change +names by act of parliament, to enjoy my estate--and I know not what of +the like incongruous stuff. + +I awoke, as thou mayest believe, in great disorder, and rejoiced to find +my charmer in the next room, and Dorcas honest. + +Now thou wilt say this was a very odd dream. And yet, (for I am a +strange dreamer,) it is not altogether improbable that something like it +may happen; as the pretty simpleton has the weakness to confide in +Dorcas, whom till now she disliked. + +But I forgot to tell thee one part of my dream; and that was, that, the +next morning, the lady gave way to such transports of grief and +resentment, that she was with difficulty diverted from making an attempt +upon her own life. But, however, at last was prevailed upon to resolve +to live, and make the best of the matter: a letter, methought, from +Captain Tomlinson helping to pacify her, written to apprize me, that her +uncle Harlowe would certainly be at Kentish-town on Wednesday night, June +28, the following day (the 29th) being his birth-day; and be doubly +desirous, on that account, that our nuptials should be then privately +solemnized in his presence. + +But is Thursday, the 29th, her uncle's anniversary, methinks thou askest? +--It is; or else the day of celebration should have been earlier still. +Three weeks ago I heard her say it was: and I have down the birthday of +every one in the family, and the wedding-day of her father and mother. +The minutest circumstances are often of great service in matters of the +last importance. + +And what sayest thou now to my dream? + +Who says that, sleeping and waking, I have not fine helps from somebody, +some spirit rather, as thou'lt be apt to say? But no wonder that a +Beelzebub has his devilkins to attend his call. + +I can have no manner of doubt of succeeding in mother H.'s part of the +scheme; for will the lady (who resolves to throw herself into the first +house she can enter, or to bespeak the protection of the first person she +meets, and who thinks there can be no danger out of this house, equal to +what she apprehends from me in it) scruple to accept of the chariot of a +dowager, accidentally offered? and the lady's protection engaged by her +faithful Dorcas, so highly bribed to promote her escape?--And then Mrs. +H. has the air and appearance of a venerable matron, and is not such a +forbidding devil as Mrs. Sinclair. + +The pretty simpleton knows nothing in the world; nor that people who have +money never want assistants in their views, be they what they will. How +else could the princes of the earth be so implicitly served as they are, +change they hands every so often, and be their purposes ever so wicked. + +If I can but get her to go on with me till Wednesday next week, we shall +be settled together pretty quietly by that time. And indeed if she has +any gratitude, and has in her the least of her sex's foibles, she must +think I deserve her favour, by the pains she has cost me. For dearly do +they all love that men should take pains about them and for them. + +And here, for the present, I will lay down my pen, and congratulate +myself upon my happy invention (since her obstinacy puts me once more +upon exercising it.)--But with this resolution, I think, that, if the +present contrivance fail me, I will exert all the faculties of my mind, +all my talents, to procure for myself a regal right to her favour and +that in defiance of all my antipathies to the married state; and of the +suggestions of the great devil out of the house, and of his secret agents +in it.--Since, if now she is not to be prevailed upon, or drawn in, it +will be in vain to attempt her further. + + + +LETTER XXVII + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +TUESDAY NIGHT, JUNE 20. + + +No admittance yet to my charmer! she is very ill--in a violent fever, +Dorcas thinks. Yet will have no advice. + +Dorcas tells her how much I am concerned at it. + +But again let me ask, Does this lady do right to make herself ill, when +she is not ill? For my own part, libertine as people think me, when I +had occasion to be sick, I took a dose of ipecacuanha, that I might not +be guilty of a falsehood; and most heartily sick was I; as she, who +then pitied me, full well knew. But here to pretend to be very ill, +only to get an opportunity to run away, in order to avoid forgiving a +man who has offended her, how unchristian!--If good folks allow +themselves in these breaches of a known duty, and in these presumptuous +contrivances to deceive, who, Belford, shall blame us? + +I have a strange notion that the matronly lady will be certainly at the +grocer's shop at the hour of nine tomorrow morning: for Dorcas heard me +tell Mrs. Sinclair, that I should go out at eight precisely; and then +she is to try for a coach: and if the dowager's chariot should happen +to be there, how lucky will it be for my charmer! how strangely will my +dream be made out! + + +*** + + +I have just received a letter from Captain Tomlinson. Is it not +wonderful? for that was part of my dream. + +I shall always have a prodigious regard to dreams henceforward. I know +not but I may write a book upon that subject; for my own experience +will furnish out a great part of it. 'Glanville of Witches,' 'Baxter's +History of Spirits and Apparitions,' and the 'Royal Pedant's Demonology,' +will be nothing at all to Lovelace's Reveries. + +The letter is just what I dreamed it to be. I am only concerned that +uncle John's anniversary did not happen three or four days sooner; for +should any new misfortune befal my charmer, she may not be able to +support her spirits so long as till Thursday in the next week. Yet it +will give me the more time for new expedients, should my present +contrivance fail; which I cannot however suppose. + + +TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. +MONDAY, JUNE 19. + +Dear Sir, + +I can now return your joy, for the joy you have given me, as well as my +dear friend Mr. Harlowe, in the news of his beloved niece's happy +recovery; for he is determined to comply with her wishes and your's, +and to give her to you with his own hand. + +As the ceremony has been necessarily delayed by reason of her illness, +and as Mr. Harlowe's birth-day is on Thursday the 29th of this instant +June, when he enters into the seventy-fourth year of his age; and as +time may be wanted to complete the dear lady's recovery; he is very +desirous that the marriage shall be solemnized upon it; that he may +afterwards have double joy on that day to the end of his life. + +For this purpose he intends to set out privately, so as to be at +Kentish-town on Wednesday se'nnight in the evening. + +All the family used, he says, to meet to celebrate it with him; but as +they are at present in too unhappy a situation for that, he will give +out, that, not being able to bear the day at home, he has resolved to +be absent for two or three days. + +He will set out on horseback, attended only with one trusty servant, +for the greater privacy. He will be at the most creditable-looking +public house there, expecting you both next morning, if he hear nothing +from me to prevent him. And he will go to town with you after the +ceremony is performed, in the coach he supposes you will come in. + +He is very desirous that I should be present on the occasion. But this +I have promised him, at his request, that I will be up before the day, +in order to see the settlements executed, and every thing properly +prepared. + +He is very glad you have the license ready. + +He speaks very kindly of you, Mr. Lovelace; and says, that, if any of +the family stand out after he has seen the ceremony performed, he will +separate from them, and unite himself to his dear niece and her +interests. + +I owned to you, when in town last, that I took slight notice to my dear +friend of the misunderstanding between you and his niece; and that I +did this, for fear the lady should have shown any little discontent in +his presence, had I been able to prevail upon him to go up in person, +as then was doubtful. But I hope nothing of that discontent remains +now. + +My absence, when your messenger came, must excuse me for not writing by +him. + +Be pleased to make my most respectful compliments acceptable to the +admirable lady, and believe me to be + +Your most faithful and obedient servant, +ANTONY TOMLINSON. + + +*** + + +This letter I sealed, and broke open. It was brought, thou mayest +suppose, by a particular messenger; the seal such a one as the writer +need be ashamed of. I took care to inquire after the Captain's health, +in my beloved's hearing; and it is now ready to be produced as a +pacifier, according as she shall take on or resent, if the two +metamorphoses happen pursuant to my wonderful dream; as, having great +faith in dreams, I dare say they will.--I think it will not be amiss, +in changing my clothes, to have this letter of the worthy Captain lie +in my beloved's way. + + + +LETTER XXVIII + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +WEDN. NOON, JUNE 21. + + +What shall I say now!--I, who but a few hours ago had such faith in +dreams, and had proposed out of hand to begin my treatise of dreams +sleeping and dreams waking, and was pleasing myself with the dialogues +between the old matronal lady and the young lady, and with the +metamorphoses, (absolutely assured that every thing would happen as my +dream chalked it out,) shall never more depend upon those flying follies, +those illusions of a fancy depraved, and run mad. + +Thus confoundedly have matters happened. + +I went out at eight o'clock in high good humour with myself, in order +to give the sought-for opportunity to the plotting mistress and corrupted +maid; only ordering Will. to keep a good look-out for fear his lady +should mistrust my plot, or mistake a hackney-coach for the +dowager-lady's chariot. But first I sent to know how she did; and +receiving for answer, Very ill: had a very bad night: which latter was but +too probable; since this I know, that people who have plots in their heads +as seldom have as deserve good ones. + +I desired a physician might be called in; but was refused. + +I took a walk in St. James's Park, congratulating myself all the way on +my rare inventions: then, impatient, I took coach, with one of the +windows quite up, the other almost up, playing at bo-peep in every +chariot I saw pass in my way to Lincoln's-inn-fields: and when arrived +there I sent the coachman to desire any one of Mother H.'s family to +come to me to the coach-side, not doubting but I should have +intelligence of my fair fugitive there; it being then half an hour +after ten. + +A servant came, who gave me to understand that the matronly lady was +just returned by herself in the chariot. + +Frighted out of my wits, I alighted, and heard from the mother's own +mouth, that Dorcas had engaged her to protect the lady; but came to +tell her afterwards, that she had changed her mind, and would not quit +the house. + +Quite astonished, not knowing what might have happened, I ordered the +coachman to lash away to our mother's. + +Arriving here in an instant, the first word I asked, was, If the lady +was safe? + +[Mr. Lovelace here gives a very circumstantial relation of all that + passed between the Lady and Dorcas. But as he could only guess at her + motives for refusing to go off, when Dorcas told her that she had + engaged for her the protection of the dowager-lady, it is thought + proper to omit this relation, and to supply it by some memoranda of + the Lady's. But it is first necessary to account for the occasion on + which those memoranda were made. + +The reader may remember, that in the letter written to Miss Howe, on + her escape to Hampstead,* she promises to give her the particulars of + her flight at leisure. She had indeed thoughts of continuing her + account of every thing that had passed between her and Mr. Lovelace + since her last narrative letter. But the uncertainty she was in from + that time, with the execrable treatment she met with on her being + deluded back again, followed by a week's delirium, had hitherto + hindered her from prosecuting her intention. But, nevertheless, + having it still in her view to perform her promise as soon as she had + opportunity, she made minutes of every thing as it passed, in order to + help her memory:--'Which,' as she observes in one place, 'she could + less trust to since her late disorders than before.' In these + minutes, or book of memoranda, she observes, 'That having + apprehensions that Dorcas might be a traitress, she would have got + away while she was gone out to see for a coach; and actually slid down + stairs with that intent. But that, seeing Mrs. Sinclair in the entry, + (whom Dorcas had planted there while she went out,) she speeded up + again unseen.' + + +* See Vol. V. Letter XXI. + + +She then went up to the dining-room, and saw the letter of Captain + Tomlinson: on which she observes in her memorandum-book as follows:] + +'How am I puzzled now!--He might leave this letter on purpose: none of +the other papers left with it being of any consequence: What is the +alternative?--To stay, and be the wife of the vilest of men--how my +heart resists that!--To attempt to get off, and fail, ruin inevitable!-- +Dorcas may betray me!--I doubt she is still his implement!--At his going +out, he whispered her, as I saw, unobserved--in a very familiar manner +too--Never fear, Sir, with a courtesy. + +'In her agreeing to connive at my escape, she provided not for her own +safety, if I got away: yet had reason, in that case, to expect his +vengeance. And wants not forethought.--To have taken her with me, was +to be in the power of her intelligence, if a faithless creature.--Let +me, however, though I part not with my caution, keep my charity!--Can +there be any woman so vile to a woman?--O yes!--Mrs. Sinclair: her +aunt.--The Lord deliver me!--But, alas!--I have put myself out of the +course of his protection by the natural means--and am already ruined! +A father's curse likewise against me! Having made vain all my friends' +cautions and solicitudes, I must not hope for miracles in my favour! + +'If I do escape, what may become of me, a poor, helpless, deserted +creature!--Helpless from sex!--from circumstances!--Exposed to every +danger!--Lord protect me! + +'His vile man not gone with him!--Lurking hereabouts, no doubt, to +watch my steps!--I will not go away by the chariot, however.---- + +'That the chariot should come so opportunely! So like his many +opportunities!--That Dorcas should have the sudden thought!--Should +have the courage with the thought, to address a lady in behalf of an +absolute stranger to that lady! That the lady should so readily +consent! Yet the transaction between them to take up so much time, +their distance in degree considered: for, arduous as the case was, and +precious as the time, Dorcas was gone above half an hour! Yet the +chariot was said to be ready at a grocer's not many doors off! + +'Indeed some elderly ladies are talkative: and there are, no doubt, +some good people in the world.---- + +'But that it should chance to be a widow lady, who could do what she +pleased! That Dorcas should know her to be so by the lozenge! Persons +in her station are not usually so knowing, I believe, in heraldry. + +'Yet some may! for servants are fond of deriving collateral honours and +distinctions, as I may call them, from the quality, or people of rank, +whom they serve. But this sly servant not gone with him! Then this +letter of Tomlinson!---- + +'Although I am resolved never to have this wretch, yet, may I not throw +myself into my uncle's protection at Kentish-town, or Highgate, if I +cannot escape before: and so get clear of him? May not the evil I know +be less than what I may fall into, if I can avoid farther villany? +Farther villany he has not yet threatened; freely and justly as I have +treated him!--I will not go, I think. At least, unless I can send this +fellow away.*---- + + +* She tried to do this; but was prevented by the fellow's pretending to +put his ankle out, by a slip down stairs--A trick, says his contriving +master, in his omitted relation, I had taught him, on a like occasion, +at Amiens. + + +'The fellow a villain! The wench, I doubt, a vile wench. At last +concerned for her own safety. Plays off and on about a coach. + +'All my hopes of getting off at present over!--Unhappy creature! to what +farther evils art thou reserved! Oh! how my heart rises at the necessity +I must still be under to see and converse with so very vile a man!' + + + +LETTER XXIX + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON. + + +Disappointed in her meditated escape; obliged, against her will, to +meet me in the dining-room; and perhaps apprehensive of being upbraided +for her art in feigning herself ill; I expected that the dear perverse +would begin with me with spirit and indignation. But I was in hopes, +from the gentleness of her natural disposition; from the consideration +which I expected from her on her situation; from the contents of the +letter of Captain Tomlinson, which Dorcas told me she had seen; and +from the time she had had to cool and reflect since she last admitted +me to her presence, that she would not have carried it so strongly +through as she did. + +As I entered the dining-room, I congratulated her and myself upon her +sudden recovery. And would have taken her hand, with an air of +respectful tenderness; but she was resolved to begin where she left +off. + +She turned from me, drawing in her hand, with a repulsing and indignant +aspect--I meet you once more, said she, because I cannot help it. What +have you to say to me? Why am I to be thus detained against my will? + +With the utmost solemnity of speech and behaviour, I urged the ceremony. +I saw I had nothing else for it. I had a letter in my pocket I said, +[feeling for it, although I had not taken it from the table where I left +it in the same room,] the contents of which, if attended to, would make +us both happy. I had been loth to show it to her before, because I hoped +to prevail upon her to be mine sooner than the day mentioned in it. + +I felt for it in all my pockets, watching her eye mean time, which I saw +glance towards the table where it lay. + +I was uneasy that I could not find it--at last, directed again by her sly +eye, I spied it on the table at the farther end of the room. + +With joy I fetched it. Be pleased to read that letter, Madam; with an +air of satisfied assurance. + +She took it, and cast her eye over it, in such a careless way, as made it +evident, that she had read it before: and then unthankfully tossed it +into the window-seat before her. + +I urged her to bless me to-morrow, or Friday morning; at least, that she +would not render vain her uncle's journey, and kind endeavours to bring +about a reconciliation among us all. + +Among us all! repeated she, with an air equally disdainful and +incredulous. O Lovelace, thou art surely nearly allied to the grand +deceiver, in thy endeavour to suit temptations to inclinations?--But what +honour, what faith, what veracity, were it possible that I could enter +into parley with thee on this subject, (which it is not,) may I expect +from such a man as thou hast shown thyself to be? + +I was touched to the quick. A lady of your perfect character, Madam, who +has feigned herself sick, on purpose to avoid seeing the man who adored +her, should not-- + +I know what thou wouldst say, interrupted she--Twenty and twenty low +things, that my soul would have been above being guilty of, and which I +have despised myself for, have I been brought into by the infection of +thy company, and by the necessity thou hadst laid me under, of appearing +mean. But, I thank God, destitute as I am, that I am not, however, sunk +so low, as to wish to be thine. + +I, Madam, as the injurer, ought to have patience. It is for the injured +to reproach. But your uncle is not in a plot against you, it is to be +hoped. There are circumstances in the letter you cast your eyes over---- + +Again she interrupted me, Why, once more I ask you, am I detained in this +house?--Do I not see myself surrounded by wretches, who, though they wear +the habit of my sex, may yet, as far as I know, lie in wait for my +perdition? + +She would be very loth, I said, that Mrs. Sinclair and her nieces should +be called up to vindicate themselves and their house. + +Would but they kill me, let them come, and welcome, I will bless the hand +that will strike the blow! Indeed I will. + +'Tis idle, very idle, to talk of dying. Mere young-lady talk, when +controuled by those they hate. But let me beseech you, dearest creature +---- + +Beseech me nothing. Let me not be detained thus against my will!-- +Unhappy creature that I am, said she, in a kind of phrensy, wringing her +hands at the same time, and turning from me, her eyes lifted up! 'Thy +curse, O my cruel father, seems to be now in the height of its operation! +--My weakened mind is full of forebodings, that I am in the way of being +a lost creature as to both worlds! Blessed, blessed God, said she, +falling on her knees, save me, O save me, from myself and from this man!' + +I sunk down on my knees by her, excessively affecting--O that I could +recall yesterday!--Forgive me, my dearest creature, forgive what is past, +as it cannot now, but by one way, be retrieved. Forgive me only on this +condition--That my future faith and honour-- + +She interrupted me, rising--If you mean to beg of me never to seek to +avenge myself by law, or by an appeal to my relations, to my cousin +Morden in particular, when he comes to England---- + +D--n the law, rising also, [she started,] and all those to whom you talk +of appealing!--I defy both the one and the other--All I beg is YOUR +forgiveness; and that you will, on my unfeigned contrition, re-establish +me in your favour---- + +O no, no, no! lifting up her clasped hands, I never never will, never, +never can forgive you!--and it is a punishment worse than death to me, +that I am obliged to meet you, or to see you. + +This is the last time, my dearest life, that you will ever see me in this +posture, on this occasion: and again I kneeled to her. Let me hope, that +you will be mine next Thursday, your uncle's birth-day, if not before. +Would to Heaven I had never been a villain! Your indignation is not, +cannot be greater, than my remorse--and I took hold of her gown for she +was going from me. + +Be remorse thy portion!--For thine own sake, be remorse thy portion!--I +never, never will forgive thee!--I never, never will be thine!--Let me +retire!--Why kneelest thou to the wretch whom thou hast so vilely humbled? + +Say but, dearest creature, you will consider--say but you will take time +to reflect upon what the honour of both our families requires of you. I +will not rise. I will not permit you to withdraw [still holding her +gown] till you tell me you will consider.--Take this letter. Weigh well +your situation, and mine. Say you will withdraw to consider; and then I +will not presume to withold [sic] you. + +Compulsion shall do nothing with me. Though a slave, a prisoner, in +circumstance, I am no slave in my will!--Nothing will I promise thee!-- +Withheld, compelled--nothing will I promise thee! + +Noble creature! but not implacable, I hope!--Promise me but to return in +an hour! + +Nothing will I promise thee! + +Say but that you will see me again this evening! + +O that I could say--that it were in my power to say--I never will see +thee more!--Would to Heaven I never were to see thee more! + +Passionate beauty!--still holding her-- + +I speak, though with vehemence, the deliberate wish of my heart.--O that +I could avoid looking down upon thee, mean groveler, and abject as +insulting--Let me withdraw! My soul is in tumults! Let we [sic] +withdraw! + +I quitted my hold to clasp my hands together--Withdraw, O sovereign of my +fate!--Withdraw, if you will withdraw! My destiny is in your power!--It +depends upon your breath!--Your scorn but augments my love! Your +resentment is but too well founded!--But, dearest creature, return, +return, return, with a resolution to bless with pardon and peace your +faithful adorer! + +She flew from me. The angel, as soon as she found her wings, flew from +me. I, the reptile kneeler, the despicable slave, no more the proud +victor, arose; and, retiring, tried to comfort myself, that, +circumstanced as she is, destitute of friends and fortune; her uncle +moreover, who is to reconcile all so soon, (as I thank my stars she still +believes,) expected. + +O that she would forgive me!--Would she but generously forgive me, and +receive my vows at the altar, at the instant of her forgiving me, that I +might not have time to relapse into my old prejudices! By my soul, +Belford, this dear girl gives the lie to all our rakish maxims. There +must be something more than a name in virtue!--I now see that there is!-- +Once subdued, always subdued--'Tis an egregious falsehood!--But, O Jack, +she never was subdued. What have I obtained but an increase of shame and +confusion!--While her glory has been established by her sufferings! + +This one merit is, however, left me, that I have laid all her sex under +obligation to me, by putting this noble creature to trials, which, so +gloriously supported, have done honour to them all. + +However--But no more will I add--What a force have evil habits!--I will +take an airing, and try to fly from myself!--Do not thou upbraid me on my +weak fits--on my contradictory purposes--on my irresolution--and all will +be well. + + + +LETTER XXX + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +WEDNESDAY NIGHT. + + +A man is just now arrived from M. Hall, who tells me, that my Lord is in +a very dangerous way. The gout in his stomach to an extreme degree, +occasioned by drinking a great quantity of lemonade. + +A man of 8000. a year to prefer his appetite to his health!--He deserves +to die!--But we have all of us our inordinate passions to gratify: and +they generally bring their punishment along with them--so +witnesses the nephew, as well as the uncle. + +The fellow was sent upon other business; but stretched his orders a +little, to make his court to a successor. + +I am glad I was not at M. Hall, at the time my Lord took the grateful +dose: [it was certainly grateful to him at the time:] there are people +in the world, who would have had the wickedness to say, that I had +persuaded him to drink. + +The man says, that his Lordship was so bad when he came away, that the +family began to talk of sending for me in post haste. As I know the +old peer has a good deal of cash by him, of which he seldom keeps +account, it behoves me to go down as soon as I can. But what shall I +do with this dear creature the while?--To-morrow over, I shall, perhaps, +be able to answer my own question. I am afraid she will make +me desperate. + +For here have I sent to implore her company, and am denied with scorn. + + +*** + + +I have been so happy as to receive, this moment, a third letter from +the dear correspondent Miss Howe. A little severe devil!--It would +have broken the heart of my beloved, had it fallen into her hands. I +will enclose a copy of it. Read it here. + + +TUESDAY, JUNE 20. + +MY DEAREST MISS HARLOWE, + +Again I venture to you, (almost against inclination;) and that by your +former conveyance, little as I like it. + +I know not how it is with you. It may be bad; and then it would be hard +to upbraid you, for a silence you may not be able to help. But if not, +what shall I say severe enough, that you have not answered either of my +last letters? the first* of which [and I think it imported you too much +to be silent upon it] you owned the receipt of. The other which was +delivered into your own hands,** was so pressing for the favour of a line +from you, that I am amazed I could not be obliged; and still more, that I +have not heard from you since. + + +* See Vol. V. Letter XX. +** See Vol. VI. Letter VII. + + +The fellow made so strange a story of the condition he saw you in, and +of your speech to him, that I know not what to conclude from it: only, +that he is a simple, blundering, and yet conceited fellow, who, aiming +at description, and the rustic wonderful, gives an air of bumkinly +romance to all he tells. That this is his character, you will believe, +when you are informed that he described you in grief excessive,* yet so +improved in your person and features, and so rosy, that was his word, +in your face, and so flush-coloured, and so plump in your arms, that +one would conclude you were labouring under the operation of some +malignant poison; and so much the rather, as he was introduced to you, +when you were upon a couch, from which you offered not to rise, or sit +up. + + +* See Vol. VI. Letter VI. + + +Upon my word, Miss Harlowe, I am greatly distressed upon your account; +for I must be so free as to say, that in your ready return with your +deceiver, you have not at all answered my expectations, nor acted up to +your own character; for Mrs. Townsend tells me, from the women at +Hampstead, how cheerfully you put yourself into his hands again: yet, at +the time, it was impossible you should be married!-- + +Lord, my dear, what pity it is, that you took much pains to get from +the man!--But you know best!--Sometimes I think it could not be you to +whom the rustic delivered my letter. But it must too: yet, it is strange +I could not have one line by him:--not one:--and you so soon well enough +to go with the wretch back again! + +I am not sure that the letter I am now writing will come to your hands: +so shall not say half that I have upon my mind to say. But, if you +think it worth your while to write to me, pray let me know what fine +ladies his relations those were who visited you at Hampstead, and carried +you back again so joyfully to a place that I had so fully warned you.-- +But I will say no more: at least till I know more: for I can do nothing +but wonder and stand amazed. + +Notwithstanding all the man's baseness, 'tis plain there was more than +a lurking love--Good Heaven!--But I have done!--Yet I know not how to +have done neither!--Yet I must--I will. + +Only account to me, my dear, for what I cannot at all account for: and +inform me, whether you are really married, or not.--And then I shall +know whether there must or must not, be a period shorter than that of +one of our lives, to a friendship which has hitherto been the pride and +boast of + +Your +ANNA HOWE. + + +*** + + +Dorcas tells me, that she has just now had a searching conversation, as +she calls it, with her lady. She is willing, she tells the wench, still +to place her confidence in her. Dorcas hopes she has re-assured her: but +wishes me not to depend upon it. Yet Captain Tomlinson's letter must +assuredly weigh with her. + +I sent it in just now by Dorcas, desiring her to re-peruse it. And it +was not returned me, as I feared it would be. And that's a good sign, +I think. + +I say I think, and I think; for this charming creature, entangled as I +am in my own inventions, puzzles me ten thousand times more than I her. + + + +LETTER XXXI + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +THURSDAY NOON, JUNE 22. + + +Let me perish if I know what to make either of myself or of this +surprising creature--now calm, now tempestuous.--But I know thou lovest +not anticipation any more than I. + +At my repeated requests, she met me at six this morning. + +She was ready dressed; for she had not her clothes off every since she +declared, that they never more should be off in this house. And +charmingly she looked, with all the disadvantages of a three-hours +violent stomach-ache--(for Dorcas told me that she had been really ill)-- +no rest, and eyes red and swelled with weeping. Strange to me that those +charming fountains have not been so long ago exhausted! But she is a +woman. And I believe anatomists allow, that women have more watry heads +than men. + +Well, my dearest creature, I hope you have now thoroughly considered of +the contents of Captain Tomlinson's letter. But as we are thus early +met, let me beseech you to make this my happy day. + +She looked not favourably upon me. A cloud hung upon her brow at her +entrance: but as she was going to answer me, a still greater solemnity +took possession of her charming features. + +Your air, and your countenance, my beloved creature, are not propitious +to me. Let me beg of you, before you speak, to forbear all further +recriminations: for already I have such a sense of my vileness to you, +that I know not how to bear the reproaches of my own mind. + +I have been endeavouring, said she, since I am not permitted to avoid +you, to obtain a composure which I never more expected to see you in. +How long I may enjoy it, I cannot tell. But I hope I shall be enabled +to speak to you without that vehemence which I expressed yesterday, and +could not help it.* + + +* The Lady, in her minutes, says, 'I fear Dorcas is a false one. May I +not be able to prevail upon him to leave me at my liberty? Better to +try than to trust to her. If I cannot prevail, but must meet him and +my uncle, I hope I shall have fortitude enough to renounce him then. +But I would fain avoid qualifying with the wretch, or to give him an +expectation which I intend not to answer. If I am mistress of my own +resolutions, my uncle himself shall not prevail with me to bind my soul +in covenant with so vile a man.' + + +After a pause (for I was all attention) thus she proceeded: + +It is easy for me, Mr. Lovelace, to see that further violences are +intended me, if I comply not with your purposes, whatever they are, I +will suppose them to be what you solemnly profess they are. But I have +told you as solemnly my mind, that I never will, that I never can be +your's; nor, if so, any man's upon earth. All vengeance, nevertheless, +for the wrongs you have done me, I disclaim. I want but to slide into +some obscure corner, to hide myself from you and from every one who +once loved me. The desire lately so near my heart, of a reconciliation +with my friends, is much abated. They shall not receive me now, if they +would. Sunk in mine own eyes, I now think myself unworthy of their +favour. In the anguish of my soul, therefore, I conjure you, Lovelace, +[tears in her eyes,] to leave me to my fate. In doing so, you will give +me a pleasure the highest I now can know. + +Where, my dearest life---- + +No matter where. I will leave to Providence, when I am out of this +house, the direction of my future steps. I am sensible enough of my +destitute condition. I know that I have not now a friend in the world. +Even Miss Howe has given me up--or you are--But I would fain keep my +temper!--By your means I have lost them all--and you have been a +barbarous enemy to me. You know you have. + +She paused. + +I could not speak. + +The evils I have suffered, proceeded she, [turning from me,] however +irreparable, are but temporarily evils. Leave me to my hopes of being +enabled to obtain the Divine forgiveness for the offence I have been +drawn in to give to my parents and to virtue; that so I may avoid the +evils that are more than temporary. This is now all I have to wish +for. And what is it that I demand, that I have not a right to, and +from which it is an illegal violence to withhold me? + +It was impossible for me, I told her plainly, to comply. + +I besought her to give me her hand as this very day. I could not live +without her. I communicated to her my Lord's illness, as a reason why +I wished not to stay for her uncle's anniversary. I besought her to +bless me with her consent; and, after the ceremony was passed, to +accompany me down to Berks. And thus, my dearest life, said I, will +you be freed from a house, to which you have conceived so great an +antipathy. + +This, thou wilt own, was a princely offer. And I was resolved to be as +good as my word. I thought I had killed my conscience, as I told thee, +Belford, some time ago. But conscience, I find, though it may be +temporarily stifled, cannot die, and, when it dare not speak aloud, will +whisper. And at this instant I thought I felt the revived varletess (on +but a slight retrograde motion) writhing round my pericardium like a +serpent; and in the action of a dying one, (collecting all its force into +its head,) fix its plaguy fangs into my heart. + +She hesitated, and looked down, as if irresolute. And this set my +heart up at my mouth. And, believe me, I had instantly popt in upon +me, in imagination, an old spectacled parson, with a white surplice +thrown over a black habit, [a fit emblem of the halcyon office, which, +under a benign appearance, often introduced a life of storms and +tempests,] whining and snuffling through his nose the irrevocable +ceremony. + +I hope now, my dearest life, said I, snatching her hand, and pressing +it to my lips, that your silence bodes me good. Let me, my beloved +creature, have but your tacit consent; and this moment I will step out +and engage a minister. And then I promised how much my whole future +life should be devoted to her commands, and that I would make her the +best and tenderest of husbands. + +At last, turning to me, I have told you my mind, Mr. Lovelace, said she. +Think you, that I could thus solemnly--There she stopt--I am too much in +your power, proceeded she; your prisoner, rather than a person free to +choose for myself, or to say what I will do or be. But as a testimony +that you mean me well, let me instantly quit this house; and I will then +give you such an answer in writing, as best befits my unhappy +circumstances. + +And imaginest thou, fairest, thought I, that this will go down with a +Lovelace? Thou oughtest to have known that free-livers, like ministers +of state, never part with a power put into their hands, without an +equivalent of twice the value. + +I pleaded, that if we joined hands this morning, (if not, to-morrow; if +not, on Thursday, her uncle's birth-day, and in his presence); and +afterwards, as I had proposed, set out for Berks; we should, of course, +quit this house; and, on our return to town, should have in readiness +the house I was in treaty for. + +She answered me not, but with tears and sighs; fond of believing what I +hoped I imputed her silence to the modesty of her sex. The dear +creature, (thought I,) solemnly as she began with me, is ruminating, in +a sweet suspence, how to put into fit words the gentle purposes of her +condescending heart. But, looking in her averted face with a soothing +gentleness, I plainly perceived, that it was resentment, and not +bashfulness, that was struggling in her bosom.* + + +* The Lady, in her minutes, owns the difficulty she lay under to keep +her temper in this conference. 'But when I found,' says she, 'that all +my entreaties were ineffectual, and that he was resolved to detain me, +I could no longer withhold my impatience.' + + +At last she broke silence--I have no patience, said she, to find myself +a slave, a prisoner, in a vile house--Tell me, Sir, in so many words +tell me, whether it be, or be not, your intention to permit me to quit +it?--To permit me the freedom which is my birthright as an English +subject? + +Will not the consequence of your departure hence be that I shall lose +you for ever, Madam?--And can I bear the thoughts of that? + +She flung from me--My soul disdains to hold parley with thee! were her +violent words.--But I threw myself at her feet, and took hold of her +reluctant hand, and began to imprecate, avow, to promise--But thus the +passionate beauty, interrupting me, went on: + +I am sick of thee, MAN!--One continued string of vows, oaths, and +protestations, varied only by time and place, fills thy mouth!--Why +detainest thou me? My heart rises against thee, O thou cruel implement +of my brother's causeless vengeance.--All I beg of thee is, that thou +wilt remit me the future part of my father's dreadful curse! the +temporary part, base and ungrateful as thou art! thou hast completed! + +I was speechless!--Well I might!--Her brother's implement!--James +Harlowe's implement!--Zounds, Jack! what words were these! + +I let go her struggling hand. She took two or three turns cross the +room, her whole haughty soul in her air. Then approaching me, but in +silence, turning from me, and again to me, in a milder voice--I see thy +confusion, Lovelace. Or is it thy remorse?--I have but one request to +make thee--the request so often repeated--That thou wilt this moment +permit me to quit this house. Adieu, then, let me say, for ever adieu! +And mayest thou enjoy that happiness in this world, which thou hast +robbed me of; as thou hast of every friend I have in it! + +And saying this, away she flung, leaving me in a confusion so great, that +I knew not what to think, say, or do! + +But Dorcas soon roused me--Do you know, Sir, running in hastily, that my +lady is gone down stairs! + +No, sure!--And down I flew, and found her once more at the street-door, +contending with Polly Horton to get out. + +She rushed by me into the fore parlour, and flew to the window, and +attempted once more to throw up the sash--Good people! good people! cried +she. + +I caught her in my arms, and lifted her from the window. But being +afraid of hurting the charming creature, (charming in her very rage,) +she slid through my arms on the floor.--Let me die here! let me die here! +were her words; remaining jointless and immovable, till Sally and Mrs. +Sinclair hurried in. + +She was visibly terrified at the sight of the old wretch; while I +(sincerely affected) appealed, Bear witness, Mrs. Sinclair!--bear +witness, Miss Martin!--Miss Horton!--Every one bear witness, that I +offer not violence to this beloved creature! + +She then found her feet--O house [look towards the windows, and all round +her, O house,] contrived on purpose for my ruin! said she--but let not +that woman come into my presence--not that Miss Horton neither, who would +not have dared to controul me, had she not been a base one!-- + +Hoh, Sir! Hoh, Madam! vociferated the old dragon, her armed kemboed, and +flourishing with one foot to the extent of her petticoats--What's ado +here about nothing! I never knew such work in my life, between a chicken +of a gentleman and a tiger of a lady!-- + +She was visibly affrighted: and up stairs she hastened. A bad woman is +certainly, Jack, more terrible to her own sex than even a bad man. + +I followed her up. She rushed by her own apartment into the dining-room: +no terror can make her forget her punctilio. + +To recite what passed there of invective, exclamations, threatenings, +even of her own life, on one side; of expostulations, supplications, and +sometimes menaces, on the other; would be too affecting; and, after my +particularity in like scenes, these things may as well be imagined as +expressed. + +I will therefore only mention, that, at length, I extorted a concession +from her. She had reason* to think it would have been worse for her on +the spot, if she had not made it. It was, That she would endeavour to +make herself easy till she saw what next Thursday, her uncle's birth-day, +would produce. But Oh! that it were not a sin, she passionately +exclaimed on making this poor concession, to put and end to her own life, +rather than yield to give me but that assurance! + + +* The Lady mentions, in her memorandum-book, that she had no other way, +as is apprehended, to save herself from instant dishonour, but by making +this concession. Her only hope, now, she says, if she cannot escape by +Dorcas's connivance, (whom, nevertheless she suspects,) is to find a way +to engage the protection of her uncle, and even of the civil magistrate, +on Thursday next, if necessary. 'He shall see,' says she, 'tame and +timid as he thought me, what I dare to do, to avoid so hated a +compulsion, and a man capable of a baseness so premeditatedly vile and +inhuman.' + + +This, however, shows me, that she is aware that the reluctantly-given +assurance may be fairly construed into a matrimonial expectation on my +side. And if she will now, even now, look forward, I think, from my +heart, that I will put on her livery, and wear it for life. + +What a situation am I in, with all my cursed inventions! I am puzzled, +confounded, and ashamed of myself, upon the whole. To take such pains to +be a villain!--But (for the fiftieth time) let me ask thee, Who would +have thought that there had been such a woman in the world?-- +Nevertheless, she had best take care that she carries not her obstinacy +much farther. She knows not what revenge for slighted love will make me +do. + +The busy scenes I have just passed through have given emotions to my +heart, which will not be quieted one while. My heart, I see, +(on re-perusing what I have written,) has communicated its tremors to my +fingers; and in some places the characters are so indistinct and +unformed, that thou'lt hardly be able to make them out. But if one half +of them is only intelligible, that will be enough to expose me to thy +contempt, for the wretched hand I have made of my plots and contrivances. +--But surely, Jack, I have gained some ground by this promise. + +And now, one word to the assurances thou sendest me, that thou hast not +betrayed my secrets in relation to this charming creature. Thou mightest +have spared them, Belford. My suspicions held no longer than while I +wrote about them.* For well I knew, when I allowed myself time to think, +that thou hadst no principles, no virtue, to be misled by. A great deal +of strong envy, and a little of weak pity, I knew to be thy motives. +Thou couldst not provoke my anger, and my compassion thou ever hadst; and +art now more especially entitled to it; because thou art a pityful +fellow. + +All thy new expostulations in my beloved's behalf I will answer when I +see thee. + + + +LETTER XXXII + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +THURSDAY NIGHT. + + +Confoundedly out of humour with this perverse woman!--Nor wilt thou blame +me, if thou art my friend. She regards the concession she made, as a +concession extorted from her: and we are but just where we were before +she made it. + +With great difficulty I prevailed upon her to favour me with her company +for one half hour this evening. The necessity I was under to go down to +M. Hall was the subject I wanted to talk upon. + +I told her, that as she had been so good as to promise that she would +endeavour to make herself easy till she saw the Thursday in next week +over, I hoped that she would not scruple to oblige me with her word, that +I should find her here at my return from M. Hall. + +Indeed she would make no such promise. Nothing of this house was +mentioned to me, said she: you know it was not. And do you think that I +would have given my consent to my imprisonment in it? + +I was plaguily nettled, and disappointed too. If I go not down to Mr. +Hall, Madam, you'll have no scruple to stay here, I suppose, till +Thursday is over? + +If I cannot help myself I must--but I insist upon being permitted to go +out of this house, whether you leave it or not. + +Well, Madam, then I will comply with your commands. And I will go out +this very evening in quest of lodgings that you shall have no objections +to. + +I will have no lodgings of your providing, Sir--I will go to Mrs. +Moore's, at Hampstead. + +Mrs. Moore's, Madam!--I have no objection to Mrs. Moore's--but will you +give me your promise, to admit me there to your presence? + +As I do here--when I cannot help it. + +Very well, Madam--Will you be so good as to let me know what you intend +by your promise to make yourself easy. + +To endeavour, Sir, to make myself easy--were the words---- + +Till you saw what next Thursday would produce? + +Ask me no questions that may ensnare me. I am too sincere for the +company I am in. + +Let me ask you, Madam, What meant you, when you said, 'that, were it +not a sin, you would die before you gave me that assurance?' + +She was indignantly silent. + +You thought, Madam, you had given me room to hope your pardon by it? + +When I think I ought to answer you with patience I will speak. + +Do you think yourself in my power, Madam? + +If I were not--And there she stopt---- + +Dearest creature, speak out--I beseech you, dearest creature, speak out +---- + +She was silent; her charming face all in a glow. + +Have you, Madam, any reliance upon my honour? + +Still silent. + +You hate me, Madam! You despise me more than you do the most odious of +God's creatures! + +You ought to despise me, if I did not. + +You say, Madam, you are in a bad house. You have no reliance upon my +honour--you believe you cannot avoid me---- + +She arose. I beseech you, let me withdraw. + +I snatched her hand, rising, and pressed it first to my lips, and then to +my heart, in wild disorder. She might have felt the bounding mischief +ready to burst its bars--You shall go--to your own apartment, if you +please--But, by the great God of Heaven, I will accompany you thither! + +She trembled--Pray, pray, Mr. Lovelace, don't terrify me so! + +Be seated, Madam! I beseech you, be seated!---- + +I will sit down---- + +Do then--All my soul is in my eyes, and my heart's blood throbbing at my +fingers' ends. + +I will--I will--You hurt me--Pray, Mr. Lovelace, don't--don't frighten me +so--And down she sat, trembling; my hand still grasping her's. + +I hung over her throbbing bosom, and putting my other arm round her waist +--And you say, you hate me, Madam--and you say, you despise me--and you +say, you promise me nothing---- + +Yes, yes, I did promise you--let me not be held down thus--you see I sat +down when you bid me--Why [struggling] need you hold me down thus?--I did +promise to endeavour to be easy till Thursday was over! But you won't +let me!--How can I be easy?--Pray, let me not be thus terrified. + +And what, Madam, meant you by your promise? Did you mean any thing in my +favour?--You designed that I should, at that time, think you did. Did +you mean any thing in my favour, Madam?--Did you intend that I should +think you did? + +Let go my hand, Sir--Take away your arm from about me, [struggling, yet +trembling,]--Why do you gaze upon me so? + +Answer me, Madam--Did you mean any thing in my favour by your promise? + +Let me be not thus constrained to answer. + +Then pausing, and gaining more spirit, Let me go, said she: I am but a +woman--but a weak woman. + +But my life is in my own power, though my person is not--I will not be +thus constrained. + +You shall not, Madam, quitting her hand, bowing; but my heart is at my +mouth, and hoping farther provocation. + +She arose, and was hurrying away. + +I pursue you not, Madam--I will try your generosity. Stop--return--this +moment stop, return, if, Madam, you would not make me desperate. + +She stopt at the door; burst into tears--O Lovelace!--How, how, have I +deserved---- + +Be pleased, dearest angel, to return. + +She came back--but with declared reluctance; and imputing her compliance +to terror. + +Terror, Jack, as I have heretofore found out, though I have so little +benefited by the discovery, must be my resort, if she make it necessary-- +nothing else will do with the inflexible charmer. + +She seated herself over-against me; extremely discomposed--but +indignation had a visible predominance in her features. + +I was going towards her, with a countenance intendedly changed to love +and softness: Sweetest, dearest angel, were my words, in the tenderest +accent:--But, rising up, she insisted upon my being seated at a distance +from her. + +I obeyed, and begged her hand over the table, to my extended hand; +to see, if in any thing she would oblige me. But nothing gentle, soft, +or affectionate, would do. She refused me her hand!--Was she wise, Jack, +to confirm to me, that nothing but terror would do? + +Let me only know, Madam, if your promise to endeavour to wait with +patience the event of next Thursday meant me favour? + +Do you expect any voluntary favour from one to whom you give not a free +choice? + +Do you intend, Madam, to honour me with your hand, in your uncle's +presence, or do you not? + +My heart and my hand shall never be separated. Why, think you, did I +stand in opposition to the will of my best, my natural friends. + +I know what you mean, Madam--Am I then as hateful to you as the vile +Solmes? + +Ask me not such a question, Mr. Lovelace. + +I must be answered. Am I as hateful to you as the vile Solmes? + +Why do you call Mr. Solmes vile? + +Don't you think him so, Madam? + +Why should I? Did Mr. Solmes ever do vilely by me? + +Dearest creature! don't distract me by hateful comparisons! and perhaps +by a more hateful preference. + +Don't you, Sir, put questions to me that you know I will answer truly, +though my answer were ever so much to enrage you. + +My heart, Madam, my soul is all your's at present. But you must give me +hope, that your promise, in your own construction, binds you, no new +cause to the contrary, to be mine on Thursday. How else can I leave you? + +Let me go to Hampstead; and trust to my favour. + +May I trust to it?--Say only may I trust to it? + +How will you trust to it, if you extort an answer to this question? + +Say only, dearest creature, say only, may I trust to your favour, if you +go to Hampstead? + +How dare you, Sir, if I must speak out, expect a promise of favour from +me?--What a mean creature must you think me, after the ungrateful +baseness to me, were I to give you such a promise? + +Then standing up, Thou hast made me, O vilest of men! [her hands clasped, +and a face crimsoned with indignation,] an inmate of the vilest of houses +--nevertheless, while I am in it, I shall have a heart incapable of any +thing but abhorrence of that and of thee! + +And round her looked the angel, and upon me, with fear in her sweet +aspect of the consequence of her free declaration--But what a devil must +I have been, I who love bravery in a man, had I not been more struck with +admiration of her fortitude at the instant, than stimulated by revenge? + +Noblest of creatures!--And do you think I can leave you, and my interest +in such an excellence, precarious? No promise!--no hope!--If you make me +not desperate, may lightning blast me, if I do you not all the justice +'tis in my power to do you! + +If you have any intention to oblige me, leave me at my own liberty, and +let me not be detained in this abominable house. To be constrained as I +have been constrained! to be stopt by your vile agents! to be brought up +by force, and be bruised in my own defence against such illegal violence! +--I dare to die, Lovelace--and she who fears not death, is not to be +intimidated into a meanness unworthy of her heart and principles! + +Wonderful creature! But why, Madam, did you lead me to hope for +something favourable for next Thursday?--Once more, make me not desperate +--With all your magnanimity, glorious creature! [I was more than half +frantic, Belford,] you may, you may--but do not, do not make me brutally +threaten you--do not, do not make me desperate! + +My aspect, I believe, threatened still more than my words. I was rising +--She rose--Mr. Lovelace, be pacified--you are even more dreadful than +the Lovelace I have long dreaded--let me retire--I ask your leave to +retire--you really frighten me--yet I give you no hope--from my heart I +ab---- + +Say not, Madam, you abhor me. You must, for your own sake, conceal your +hatred--at least not avow it. I seized her hand. + +Let me retire--let me, retire, said she, in a manner out of breath. + +I will only say, Madam, that I refer myself to your generosity. My heart +is not to be trusted at this instant. As a mark of my submission to your +will, you shall, if you please, withdraw--but I will not go to M. Hall-- +live or die my Lord M. I will not go to M. Hall--but will attend the +effect of your promise. Remember, Madam, you have promised to endeavour +to make yourself easy till you see the event of next Thursday--next +Thursday, remember, your uncle comes up, to see us married--that's the +event.--You think ill of your Lovelace--do not, Madam, suffer your own +morals to be degraded by the infection, as you called it, of his example. + +Away flew the charmer with this half permission--and no doubt thought that +she had an escape--nor without reason. + +I knew not for half an hour what to do with myself. Vexed at the heart, +nevertheless, (now she was from me, and when I reflected upon her hatred +of me, and her defiances,) that I suffered myself to be so overawed, +checked, restrained---- + +And now I have written thus far, (have of course recollected the whole of +our conversation,) I am more and more incensed against myself. + +But I will go down to these women--and perhaps suffer myself to be +laughed at by them. + +Devil fetch them, they pretend to know their own sex. Sally was a woman +well educated--Polly also--both have read--both have sense--of parentage +not mean--once modest both--still, they say, had been modest, but for me +--not entirely indelicate now; though too little nice for my personal +intimacy, loth as they both are to have me think so--the old one, too, a +woman of family, though thus (from bad inclination as well as at first +from low circumstances) miserably sunk:--and hence they all pretend to +remember what once they were; and vouch for the inclinations and +hypocrisy of the whole sex, and wish for nothing so ardently, as that I +will leave the perverse lady to their management while I am gone to +Berkshire; undertaking absolutely for her humility and passiveness on my +return; and continually boasting of the many perverse creatures whom they +have obliged to draw in their traces. + + +*** + + +I am just come from the sorceresses. + +I was forced to take the mother down; for she began with her Hoh, Sir! +with me; and to catechize and upbraid me, with as much insolence as if I +owed her money. + +I made her fly the pit at last. Strange wishes wished we against each +other at her quitting it----What were they?--I'll tell thee----She wished +me married, and to be jealous of my wife; and my heir-apparent the child +of another man. I was even with her with a vengeance. And yet thou wilt +think that could not well be.--As how?--As how, Jack!--Why, I wished for +her conscience come to life! And I know, by the gripes mine gives me +every half-hour, that she would then have a cursed time of it. + +Sally and Polly gave themselves high airs too. Their first favours were +thrown at me, [women to boast of those favours which they were as willing +to impart, first forms all the difficulty with them! as I to receive!] I +was upbraided with ingratitude, dastardice and all my difficulties with +my angel charged upon myself, for want of following my blows; and for +leaving the proud lady mistress of her own will, and nothing to reproach +herself with. And all agreed, that the arts used against her on a +certain occasion, had too high an operation for them or me to judge what +her will would have been in the arduous trial. And then they blamed one +another; as I cursed them all. + +They concluded, that I should certainly marry, and be a lost man. And +Sally, on this occasion, with an affected and malicious laugh, snapt her +fingers at me, and pointing two of each hand forkedly at me, bid me +remember the lines I once showed her of my favourite Jack Dryden, as she +always familiarly calls that celebrated poet: + + We women to new joys unseen may move: + There are no prints left in the paths of love. + All goods besides by public marks are known: + But those men most desire to keep, have none. + +This infernal implement had the confidence further to hint, that when a +wife, some other man would not find half the difficulty with my angel +that I had found. Confidence indeed! But yet, I must say, if a man +gives himself up to the company of these devils, they never let him rest +till he either suspects or hate his wife. + +But a word or two of other matters, if possible. + +Methinks I long to know how causes go at M. Hall. I have another private +intimation, that the old peer is in the greatest danger. + +I must go down. Yet what to do with this lady the mean while! These +cursed women are full of cruelty and enterprise. She will never be easy +with them in my absence. They will have provocation and pretence +therefore. But woe be to them, if---- + +Yet what will vengeance do, after an insult committed? The two nymphs +will have jealous rage to goad them on. And what will withhold a jealous +and already-ruined woman? + +To let her go elsewhere; that cannot be done. I am still too resolved to +be honest, if she'll give me hope: if yet she'll let me be honest. But +I'll see how she'll be after the contention she will certainly have +between her resentment and the terror she has reason for from our last +conversation. So let this subject rest till the morning. And to the old +peer once more. + +I shall have a good deal of trouble, I reckon, though no sordid man, to +be decent on the expected occasion. Then how to act (I who am no +hypocrite) in the days of condolement! What farces have I to go through; +and to be the principal actor in them! I'll try to think of my own +latter end; a gray beard, and a graceless heir; in order to make me +serious. + +Thou, Belford, knowest a good deal of this sort of grimace; and canst +help a gay heart to a little of the dismal. But then every feature of +thy face is cut out for it. My heart may be touched, perhaps, sooner +than thine; for, believe me or not, I have a very tender one. But then, +no man looking into my face, be the occasion for grief ever so great, +will believe that heart to be deeply distressed. + +All is placid, easy, serene, in my countenance. Sorrow cannot sit half +an hour together upon it. Nay, I believe, that Lord M.'s recovery, +should it happen, would not affect me above a quarter of an hour. Only +the new scenery, (and the pleasure of aping an Heraclitus to the family, +while I am a Democritus among my private friends,) or I want nothing that +the old peer can leave me. Wherefore then should grief sadden and +distort such blythe, such jocund, features as mine? + +But as for thine, were there murder committed in the street, and thou +wert but passing by, the murderer even in sight, the pursuers would +quit him, and lay hold of thee: and thy very looks would hang, as well +as apprehend thee. + +But one word to business, Jack. Whom dealest thou with for thy blacks?-- +Wert thou well used?--I shall want a plaguy parcel of them. For I intend +to make every soul of the family mourn--outside, if not in. + + + +LETTER XXXIII + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +JUNE 23, FRIDAY MORNING. + + +I went out early this morning, on a design that I know not yet whether +I shall or shall not pursue; and on my return found Simon Parsons, my +Lord's Berkshire bailiff, (just before arrived,) waiting for me with a +message in form, sent by all the family, to press me to go down, and +that at my Lord's particular desire, who wants to see me before he +dies. + +Simon has brought my Lord's chariot-and-six [perhaps my own by this +time,] to carry me down. I have ordered it to be in readiness by four +to-morrow morning. The cattle shall smoke for the delay; and by the +rest they'll have in the interim, will be better able to bear it. + +I am still resolved upon matrimony, if my fair perverse will accept of +me. But, if she will not----why then I must give an uninterrupted +hearing, not to my conscience, but to these women below. + +Dorcas had acquainted her lady with Simon's arrival and errand. My +beloved had desired to see him. But my coming in prevented his +attendance on her, just as Dorcas was instructing him what questions he +should not answer to, that might be asked of him. + +I am to be admitted to her presence immediately, at my repeated +request. Surely the acquisition in view will help me to make up all +with her. She is just gone up to the dining-room. + + +*** + + +Nothing will do, Jack!--I can procure no favour from her, though she +has obtained from me the point which she had set her heart upon. + +I will give thee a brief account of what passed between us. + +I first proposed instant marriage; and this in the most fervent manner: +but was denied as fervently. + +Would she be pleased to assure me that she would stay here only till +Tuesday morning? I would but just go down to see how my Lord was--to +know whether he had any thing particular to say, or enjoin me, while yet +he was sensible, as he was very earnest to see me: perhaps I might be up +on Sunday.--Concede in something!--I beseech you, Madam, show me some +little consideration. + +Why, Mr. Lovelace, must I be determined by your motions?--Think you that +I will voluntarily give a sanction to the imprisonment of my person? Of +what importance to me ought to be your stay or your return. + +Give a sanction to the imprisonment of your person! Do you think, Madam, +that I fear the law? + +I might have spared this foolish question of defiance: but my pride would +not let me. I thought she threatened me, Jack. + +I don't think you fear the law, Sir.--You are too brave to have any +regard either to moral or divine sanctions. + +'Tis well, Madam! But ask me any thing I can do to oblige you; and I +will oblige you, though in nothing will you oblige me. + +Then I ask you, then I request of you, to let me go to Hampstead. + +I paused--And at last--By my soul you shall--this very moment I will +wait upon you, and see you fixed there, if you'll promise me your hand +on Thursday, in presence of your uncle. + +I want not you to see me fixed. I will promise nothing. + +Take care, Madam, that you don't let me see that I can have no reliance +upon your future favour. + +I have been used to be threatened by you, Sir--but I will accept of your +company to Hampstead--I will be ready to go in a quarter of an hour--my +clothes may be sent after me. + +You know the condition, Madam--Next Thursday. + +You dare not trust---- + +My infinite demerits tell me, that I ought not--nevertheless I will +confide in your generosity.--To-morrow morning (no new cause arising to +give reason to the contrary) as early as you please you may go to +Hampstead. + +This seemed to oblige her. But yet she looked with a face of doubt. + +I will go down to the women, Belford. And having no better judges at +hand, will hear what they say upon my critical situation with this +proud beauty, who has so insolently rejected a Lovelace kneeling at her +feet, though making an earnest tender of himself for a husband, in spite +of all his prejudices to the state of shackles. + + + +LETTER XXXIV + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. + + +Just come from the women. + +'Have I gone so far, and am I afraid to go farther?--Have I not already, +as it is evident by her behaviour, sinned beyond forgiveness?--A woman's +tears used to be to me but as water sprinkled on a glowing fire, which +gives it a fiercer and brighter blaze: What defence has this lady but her +tears and her eloquence? She was before taken at no weak advantage. She +was insensible in her moments of trial. Had she been sensible, she must +have been sensible. So they say. The methods taken with her have +augmented her glory and her pride. She has now a tale to tell, that she +may tell with honour to herself. No accomplice-inclination. She can +look me into confusion, without being conscious of so much as a thought +which she need to be ashamed of.' + +This, Jack, is the substance of the women's reasonings with me. + +To which let me add, that the dear creature now sees the necessity I am +in to leave her. Detecting me is in her head. My contrivances are of +such a nature, that I must appear to be the most odious of men if I am +detected on this side matrimony. And yet I have promised, as thou seest, +that she shall set out to Hampstead as soon as she pleases in the +morning, and that without condition on her side. + +Dost thou ask, What I meant by this promise? + +No new cause arising, was the proviso on my side, thou'lt remember. +But there will be a new cause. + +Suppose Dorcas should drop the promissory note given her by her lady? +Servants, especially those who cannot read or write, are the most +careless people in the world of written papers. Suppose I take it up?-- +at a time, too, that I was determined that the dear creature should be +her own mistress?--Will not this detection be a new cause?--A cause that +will carry with it against her the appearance of ingratitude! + +That she designed it a secret to me, argues a fear of detection, and +indirectly a sense of guilt. I wanted a pretence. Can I have a better? +--If I am in a violent passion upon the detection, is not passion an +universally-allowed extenuator of violence? Is not every man and woman +obliged to excuse that fault in another, which at times they find +attended with such ungovernable effects in themselves? + +The mother and sisterhood, suppose, brought to sit in judgment upon the +vile corrupted--the least benefit that must accrue from the accidental +discovery, if not a pretence for perpetration, [which, however, may be +the case,] an excuse for renewing my orders for her detention till my +return from M. Hall, [the fault her own,] and for keeping a stricter +watch over her than before; with direction to send me any letters that +may be written by her or to her.--And when I return, the devil's in it +if I find not a way to make her choose lodgings for herself, (since +these are so hateful to her,) that shall answer all my purposes; and +yet I no more appear to direct her choice, than I did before in these. + +Thou wilt curse me when thou comest to this place. I know thou wilt. +But thinkest thou that, after such a series of contrivance, I will lose +this inimitable woman for want of a little more? A rake's a rake, Jack! +--And what rake is withheld by principle from the perpetration of any +evil his heart is set upon, and in which he thinks he can succeed?-- +Besides, am I not in earnest as to marriage?--Will not the generality of +the world acquit me, if I do marry? And what is that injury which a +church-rite will not at any time repair? Is not the catastrophe of every +story that ends in wedlock accounted happy, be the difficulties in the +progress of it ever so great. + +But here, how am I engrossed by this lady, while poor Lord M. as Simon +tells me, lies groaning in the most dreadful agonies!--What must he +suffer!--Heaven relieve him!--I have a too compassionate heart. And so +would the dear creature have found, could I have thought that the worst +of her sufferings is equal to the lightest of his. I mean as to fact; +for as to that part of her's, which arises from extreme sensibility, I +know nothing of that; and cannot therefore be answerable for it. + + + +LETTER XXXV + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. + + +Just come from my charmer. She will not suffer me to say half the +obliging, the tender things, which my honest heart is ready to overflow +with. A confounded situation that, when a man finds himself in humour +to be eloquent, and pathetic at the same time, yet cannot engage the +mistress of his fate to lend an ear to his fine speeches. + +I can account now how it comes about that lovers, when their mistresses +are cruel, run into solitude, and disburthen their minds to stocks and +stones: For am I not forced to make my complaints to thee? + +She claimed the performance of my promise, the moment she saw me, of +permitting her [haughtily she spoke the word] to go to Hampstead as soon +as I was gone to Berks. + +Most cheerfully I renewed it. + +She desired me to give orders in her hearing. + +I sent for Dorcas and Will. They came.--Do you both take notice, (but, +perhaps, Sir, I may take you with me,) that your lady is to be obeyed in +all her commands. She purposes to return to Hampstead as soon as I am +gone--My dear, will you not have a servant to attend you? + +I shall want no servant there. + +Will you take Dorcas? + +If I should want Dorcas, I can send for her. + +Dorcas could not but say, She should be very proud-- + +Well, well, that may be at my return, if your lady permit.--Shall I, my +dear, call up Mrs. Sinclair, and give her orders, to the same effect, in +your hearing? + +I desire not to see Mrs. Sinclair; nor any that belong to her. + +As you please, Madam. + +And then (the servants being withdrawn) I urged her again for the +assurance, that she would meet me at the altar on Thursday next. But to +no purpose.--May she not thank herself for all that may follow? + +One favour, however, I would not be denied, to be admitted to pass the +evening with her. + +All sweetness and obsequiousness will I be on this occasion. My whole +soul shall be poured out to move her to forgive me. If she will not, and +if the promissory note should fall in my way, my revenge will doubtless +take total possession of me. + +All the house in my interest, and every one in it not only engaging to +intimidate and assist, as occasion shall offer, but staking all their +experience upon my success, if it be not my own fault, what must be the +consequence? + +This, Jack, however, shall be her last trial; and if she behave as nobly +in and after this second attempt (all her senses about her) as she has +done after the first, she will come out an angel upon full proof, in +spite of man, woman, and devil: then shall there be an end of all her +sufferings. I will then renounce that vanquished devil, and reform. And +if any vile machination start up, presuming to mislead me, I will sooner +stab it in my heart, as it rises, than give way to it. + +A few hours will now decide all. But whatever be the event, I shall be +too busy to write again, till I get to M. Hall. + +Mean time, I am in strange agitations. I must suppress them, if +possible, before I venture into her presence.--My heart bounces my bosom +from the table. I will lay down my pen, and wholly resign to its +impulses. + + + +LETTER XXXVI + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +FRIDAY NIGHT, OR RATHER SAT. MORN. ONE O'CLOCK. + + +I thought I should not have had either time or inclination to write +another line before I got to M. Hall. But, having the first, must find +the last; since I can neither sleep, nor do any thing but write, if I can +do that. I am most confoundedly out of humour. The reason let it +follow; if it will follow--nor preparation for it from me. + +I tried by gentleness and love to soften--What?--Marble. A heart +incapable either of love or gentleness. Her past injuries for ever in +her head. Ready to receive a favour; the permission to go to +Hampstead: but neither to deserve it, nor return any. So my scheme of +the gentle kind was soon given over. + +I then wanted to provoke her: like a coward boy, who waits for the first +blow before he can persuade himself to fight, I half challenged her to +challenge or defy me. She seemed aware of her danger; and would not +directly brave my resentment: but kept such a middle course, that I +neither could find a pretence to offend, nor reason to hope: yet she +believed my tale, that her uncle would come to Kentish-town, and seemed +not to apprehend that Tomlinson was an impostor. + +She was very uneasy, upon the whole, in my company: wanted often to +break from me: yet so held me to my purpose of permitting her to go to +Hampstead, that I knew not how to get off it; although it was impossible, +in my precarious situation with her, to think of performing +it. + +In this situation; the women ready to assist; and, if I proceeded not, +as ready to ridicule me; what had I left me, but to pursue the concerted +scheme, and to seek a pretence to quarrel with her, in order to revoke my +promised permission, and to convince her that I would not be upbraided as +the most brutal of ravishers for nothing? + +I had agreed with the women, that if I could not find a pretence in her +presence to begin my operations, the note should lie in my way, and I was +to pick it up, soon after her retiring from me. But I began to doubt at +near ten o'clock, (so earnest was she to leave me, suspecting my +over-warm behaviour to her, and eager grasping of her hand two or three +times, with eye-strings, as I felt, on the strain, while her eyes showed +uneasiness and apprehension,) that if she actually retired for the night, +it might be a chance whether it would be easy to come at her again. Loth, +therefore, to run such a risk, I stept out a little after ten, with intent +to alter the preconcerted disposition a little; saying I would attend her +again instantly. But as I returned I met her at the door, intending to +withdraw for the night. I could not persuade her to go back: nor had I +presence of mind (so full of complaisance as I was to her just before) to +stay her by force: so she slid through my hands into her own apartment. I +had nothing to do, therefore, but to let my former concert take place. + +I should have promised (but care not for order of time, connection, or +any thing else) that, between eight and nine in the evening, another +servant of Lord M. on horseback came, to desire me to carry down with me +Dr. S., the old peer having been once (in extremis, as they judge he is +now) relieved and reprieved by him. I sent and engaged the doctor to +accompany me down: and am to call upon him by four this morning: or the +devil should have both my Lord and the Doctor, if I'd stir till I got all +made up. + +Poke thy damn'd nose forward into the event, if thou wilt--Curse me if +thou shalt have it till its proper time and place. And too soon then. + +She had hardly got into her chamber, but I found a little paper, as I was +going into mine, which I took up; and opening it, (for it was carefully +pinned in another paper,) what should it be but a promissory note, given +as a bribe, with a further promise of a diamond ring, to induce Dorcas to +favour her mistress's escape? + +How my temper changed in a moment!--Ring, ring, ring, ring, I my bell, +with a violence enough to break the string, and as if the house were on +fire. + +Every devil frighted into active life: the whole house in an uproar. Up +runs Will.--Sir--Sir--Sir!--Eyes goggling, mouth distended--Bid the +damn'd toad Dorcas come hither, (as I stood at the stair-head,) in a +horrible rage, and out of breath, cried I. + +In sight came the trembling devil--but standing aloof, from the report +made her by Will. of the passion I was in, as well as from what she had +heard. + +Flash came out my sword immediately; for I had it ready on--Cursed, +confounded, villanous bribery and corruption---- + +Up runs she to her lady's door, screaming out for safety and protection. + +Good your honour, interposed Will., for God's sake!--O Lord, O Lord!-- +receiving a good cuff.-- + +Take that, varlet, for saving the ungrateful wretch from my vengeance. + +Wretch! I intended to say; but if it were some other word of like +ending, passion must be my excuse. + +Up ran two or three of the sisterhood, What's the matter! What's the +matter! + +The matter! (for still my beloved opened not the door; on the contrary, +drew another bolt,) This abominable Dorcas!--(call her aunt up!--let her +see what a traitress she has placed about me!--and let her bring the toad +to answer for herself)--has taken a bribe, a provision for life, to +betray her trust; by that means to perpetuate a quarrel between a man and +his wife, and frustrate for ever all hopes of reconciliation between us! + +Let me perish, Belford, if I have patience to proceed with the farce! + + +*** + + +If I must resume, I must---- + +Up came the aunt, puffing and blowing--As she hoped for mercy, she was +not privy to it! She never knew such a plotting, perverse lady in her +life!--Well might servants be at the pass they were, when such ladies as +Mrs. Lovelace made no conscience of corrupting them. For her part she +desired no mercy for the wretch; no niece of her's, if she were not +faithful to her trust!--But what was the proof?---- + +She was shown the paper---- + +But too evident!--Cursed, cursed toad, devil, jade, passed from each +mouth:--and the vileness of the corrupted, and the unworthiness of the +corruptress, were inveighed against. + +Up we all went, passing the lady's door into the dining-room, to proceed +to trial.---- + +Stamp, stamp, stamp up, each on her heels; rave, rave, rave, every tongue +---- + +Bring up the creature before us all this instant!---- + +And would she have got out of the house, say you?-- + +These the noises and the speeches as we clattered by the door of the fair +bribress. + +Up was brought Dorcas (whimpering) between two, both bawling out--You +must go--You shall go--'Tis fit you should answer for yourself--You are a +discredit to all worthy servants--as they pulled and pushed her up +stairs.--She whining, I cannot see his honour--I cannot look so good and +so generous a gentleman in the face--O how shall I bear my aunt's +ravings?---- + +Come up, and be d--n'd--Bring her forward, her imperial judge--What a +plague, it is the detection, not the crime, that confounds you. You +could be quiet enough for days together, as I see by the date, under the +villany. Tell me, ungrateful devil, tell me who made the first advances? + +Ay, disgrace to my family and blood, cried the old one--tell his honour-- +tell the truth!--Who made the first advances?---- + +Ay, cursed creature, cried Sally, who made the first advances? + +I have betrayed one trust already!--O let me not betray another!--My lady +is a good lady!--O let not her suffer!-- + +Tell all you know. Tell the whole truth, Dorcas, cried Polly Horton.-- +His honour loves his lady too well to make her suffer much: little as she +requites his love!---- + +Every body sees that, cried Sally--too well, indeed, for his honour, I +was going to say. + +Till now, I thought she deserved my love--But to bribe a servant thus, +who she supposed had orders to watch her steps, for fear of another +elopement; and to impute that precaution to me as a crime!--Yet I must +love her--Ladies, forgive my weakness!---- + +Curse upon my grimaces!--if I have patience to repeat them!--But thou +shalt have it all--thou canst not despise me more than I despise myself! + + +*** + + +But suppose, Sir, said Sally, you have my lady and the wench face to +face! You see she cares not to confess. + +O my carelessness! cried Dorcas--Don't let my poor lady suffer!--Indeed, +if you all knew what I know, you would say her ladyship has been cruelly +treated-- + +See, see, see, see!--repeatedly, every one at once--Only sorry for the +detection, as your honour said--not for the fault. + +Cursed creature, and devilish creature, from every mouth. + +Your lady won't, she dare not come out to save you, cried Sally; though +it is more his honour's mercy, than your desert, if he does not cut your +vile throat this instant. + +Say, repeated Polly, was it your lady that made the first advances, or +was it you, you creature---- + +If the lady had so much honour, bawled the mother, excuse me, so--Excuse +me, Sir, [confound the old wretch! she had like to have said son!]--If +the lady has so much honour, as we have supposed, she will appear to +vindicate a poor servant, misled, as she has been, by such large +promises!--But I hope, Sir, you will do them both justice: I hope you +will!--Good lack!--Good lack! clapping her hands together, to grant her +every thing she could ask--to indulge her in her unworthy hatred to my +poor innocent house!--to let her go to Hampstead, though your honour told +us, you could get no condescension from her; no, not the least--O Sir, O +Sir--I hope--I hope--if your lady will not come out--I hope you will find +a way to hear this cause in her presence. I value not my doors on such +an occasion as this. Justice I ever loved. I desire you will come to +the bottom of it in clearance to me. I'll be sworn I had no privity in +this black corruption. + +Just then we heard the lady's door, unbar, unlock, unbolt---- + +Now, Sir! + +Now, Mr. Lovelace! + +Now, Sir! from every encouraging mouth!---- + +But, O Jack! Jack! Jack! I can write no more! + + +*** + + +If you must have it all, you must! + +Now, Belford, see us all sitting in judgment, resolved to punish the fair +bribress--I, and the mother, the hitherto dreaded mother, the nieces +Sally, Polly, the traitress Dorcas, and Mabell, a guard, as it were, over +Dorcas, that she might not run away, and hide herself:--all +pre-determined, and of necessity pre-determined, from the journey I was +going to take, and my precarious situation with her--and hear her unbolt, +unlock, unbar, the door; then, as it proved afterwards, put the key into +the lock on the outside, lock the door, and put it in her pocket--Will. I +knew, below, who would give me notice, if, while we were all above, she +should mistake her way, and go down stairs, instead of coming into the +dining-room: the street-door also doubly secured, and every shutter to the +windows round the house fastened, that no noise or screaming should be +heard--[such was the brutal preparation]--and then hear her step towards +us, and instantly see her enter among us, confiding in her own innocence; +and with a majesty in her person and manner, that is natural to her; but +which then shone out in all its glory!--Every tongue silent, every eye +awed, every heart quaking, mine, in a particular manner sunk, throbless, +and twice below its usual region, to once at my throat:--a shameful +recreant:--She silent too, looking round her, first on me; then on the +mother, no longer fearing her; then on Sally, Polly, and the culprit +Dorcas!--such the glorious power of innocence exerted at that awful +moment! + +She would have spoken, but could not, looking down my guilt into +confusion. A mouse might have been heard passing over the floor: her own +light feet and rustling silks could not have prevented it; for she seemed +to tread air, and to be all soul. She passed backwards and forwards, now +towards me, now towards the door several times, before speech could get +the better of indignation; and at last, after twice or thrice hemming to +recover her articulate voice--'O thou contemptible and abandoned +Lovelace, thinkest thou that I see not through this poor villanous plot +of thine, and of these thy wicked accomplices? + +'Thou, woman, [looking at the mother] once my terror! always my dislike! +but now my detestation! shouldst once more (for thine perhaps was the +preparation) have provided for me intoxicating potions, to rob me of my +senses---- + +'And then, thus, wretch, [turning to me,] mightest thou more securely +have depended upon such a low contrivance as this! + +'And ye, vile women, who perhaps have been the ruin, body and soul, of +hundreds of innocents, (you show me how, in full assembly,) know, that I +am not married--ruined as I am, by your help, I bless God, I am not +married to this miscreant--and I have friends that will demand my honour +at your hands!--and to whose authority I will apply; for none has this +man over me. Look to it then, what farther insults you offer me, or +incite him to offer me. I am a person, though thus vilely betrayed, of +rank and fortune. I never will be his; and, to your utter ruin, will +find friends to pursue you: and now I have this full proof of your +detestable wickedness, and have heard your base incitements, will have +no mercy upon you!' + +They could not laugh at the poor figure I made.--Lord! how every devil, +conscience-shaken, trembled!-- + +What a dejection must ever fall to the lot of guilt, were it given to +innocence always thus to exert itself! + +'And as for thee, thou vile Dorcas! Thou double deceiver!--whining out +thy pretended love for me!--Begone, wretch!--Nobody will hurt thee!-- +Begone, I say!--thou has too well acted thy part to be blamed by any here +but myself--thou art safe: thy guilt is thy security in such a house as +this!--thy shameful, thy poor part, thou hast as well acted as the low +farce could give thee to act!--as well as they each of them (thy +superiors, though not thy betters), thou seest, can act theirs.--Steal +away into darkness! No inquiry after this will be made, whose the first +advances, thine or mine.' + +And, as I hope to live, the wench, confoundedly frightened, slunk away; +so did her sentinel Mabell; though I, endeavouring to rally, cried out +for Dorcas to stay--but I believe the devil could not have stopt her, +when an angel bid her begone. + +Madam, said I, let me tell you; and was advancing towards her with a +fierce aspect, most cursedly vexed, and ashamed too---- + +But she turned to me: 'Stop where thou art, O vilest and most abandoned +of men!--Stop where thou art!--nor, with that determined face, offer to +touch me, if thou wouldst not that I should be a corps at thy feet!' + +To my astonishment, she held forth a penknife in her hand, the point to +her own bosom, grasping resolutely the whole handle, so that there was no +offering to take it from her. + +'I offer not mischief to any body but myself. You, Sir, and ye women, +are safe from every violence of mine. The LAW shall be all my resource: +the LAW,' and she spoke the word with emphasis, the LAW! that to such +people carries natural terror with it, and now struck a panic into them. + +No wonder, since those who will damn themselves to procure ease and +plenty in this world, will tremble at every thing that seems to threaten +their methods of obtaining that ease and plenty.---- + +'The LAW only shall be my refuge!'---- + +The infamous mother whispered me, that it were better to make terms with +this strange lady, and let her go. + +Sally, notwithstanding all her impudent bravery at other times, said, If +Mr. Lovelace had told them what was not true, of her being his wife---- + +And Polly Horton, That she must needs say, the lady, if she were not my +wife, had been very much injured; that was all. + +That is not now a matter to be disputed, cried I: you and I know, Madam +---- + +'We do, said she; and I thank God, I am not thine--once more I thank God +for it--I have no doubt of the farther baseness that thou hast intended +me, by this vile and low trick: but I have my SENSES, Lovelace: and from +my heart I despise thee, thou very poor Lovelace!--How canst thou stand +in my presence!--Thou, that'---- + +Madam, Madam, Madam--these are insults not to be borne--and was +approaching her. + +She withdrew to the door, and set her back against it, holding the +pointed knife to her heaving bosom; while the women held me, beseeching +me not to provoke the violent lady--for their house sake, and be curs'd +to them, they besought me--and all three hung upon me--while the truly +heroic lady braved me at that distance: + +'Approach me, Lovelace, with resentment, if thou wilt. I dare die. It +is in defence of my honour. God will be merciful to my poor soul! I +expect no more mercy from thee! I have gained this distance, and two +steps nearer me, and thou shalt see what I dare do!'---- + +Leave me, women, to myself, and to my angel!--[They retired at a +distance.]--O my beloved creature, how you terrify me! Holding out my +arms, and kneeling on one knee--not a step, not a step farther, except to +receive my death at that injured hand which is thus held up against a +life far dearer to me than my own! I am a villain! the blackest of +villains!--Say you will sheath your knife in the injurer's, not the +injured's heart, and then will I indeed approach you, but not else. + +The mother twanged her d--n'd nose; and Sally and Polly pulled out their +handkerchiefs, and turned from us. They never in their lives, they told +me afterwards, beheld such a scene---- + +Innocence so triumphant: villany so debased, they must mean! + +Unawares to myself, I had moved onward to my angel--'And dost thou, dost +thou, still disclaiming, still advancing--dost thou, dost thou, still +insidiously move towards me?'--[And her hand was extended] 'I dare--I +dare--not rashly neither--my heart from principle abhors the act, which +thou makest necessary!--God, in thy mercy! [lifting up her eyes and +hands] God, in thy mercy!' + +I threw myself to the farther end of the room. An ejaculation, a silent +ejaculation, employing her thoughts that moment; Polly says the whites of +her lovely eyes were only visible: and, in the instant that she extended +her hand, assuredly to strike the fatal blow, [how the very recital +terrifies me!] she cast her eye towards me, and saw me at the utmost +distance the room would allow, and heard my broken voice--my voice was +utterly broken; nor knew I what I said, or whether to the purpose or not +--and her charming cheeks, that were all in a glow before, turned pale, +as if terrified at her own purpose; and lifting up her eyes--'Thank God! +--thank God! said the angel--delivered for the present; for the present +delivered--from myself--keep, Sir, that distance;' [looking down towards +me, who was prostrate on the floor, my heart pierced, as with an hundred +daggers;] 'that distance has saved a life; to what reserved, the Almighty +only knows!'-- + +To be happy, Madam; and to make happy!--And, O let me hope for your +favour for to-morrow--I will put off my journey till then--and may God-- + +Swear not, Sir!--with an awful and piercing aspect--you have too often +sworn!--God's eye is upon us!--His more immediate eye; and looked wildly. +--But the women looked up to the ceiling, as if afraid of God's eye, and +trembled. And well they might, and I too, who so very lately had each of +us the devil in our hearts. + +If not to-morrow, Madam, say but next Thursday, your uncle's birth-day; +say but next Thursday! + +'This I say, of this you may assure yourself, I never, never will be +your's.--And let me hope, that I may be entitled to the performance of +your promise, to be permitted to leave this innocent house, as one called +it, (but long have my ears been accustomed to such inversions of words), +as soon as the day breaks.' + +Did my perdition depend upon it, that you cannot, Madam, but upon terms. +And I hope you will not terrify me--still dreading the accursed knife. + +'Nothing less than an attempt upon my honour shall make me desperate. I +have no view but to defend my honour: with such a view only I entered +into treaty with your infamous agent below. The resolution you have +seen, I trust, God will give me again, upon the same occasion. But for a +less, I wish not for it.--Only take notice, women, that I am no wife of +this man: basely as he has used me, I am not his wife. He has no +authority over me. If he go away by-and-by, and you act by his authority +to detain me, look to it.' + +Then, taking one of the lights, she turned from us; and away she went, +unmolested.--Not a soul was able to molest her. + +Mabell saw her, tremblingly, and in a hurry, take the key of her +chamber-door out of her pocket, and unlock it; and, as soon as she +entered, heard her double-lock, bar, and bolt it. + +By her taking out her key, when she came out of her chamber to us, she no +doubt suspected my design: which was, to have carried her in my arms +thither, if she made such force necessary, after I had intimidated her; and +to have been her companion for that night. + +She was to have had several bedchamber-women to assist to undress her +upon occasion: but from the moment she entered the dining-room with so +much intrepidity, it was absolutely impossible to think of prosecuting my +villanous designs against her. + + +*** + + +This, this, Belford, was the hand I made of a contrivance from which I +expected so much!--And now I am ten times worse off than before. + +Thou never sawest people in thy life look so like fools upon one another, +as the mother, her partners, and I, did, for a few minutes. And at last, +the two devilish nymphs broke out into insulting ridicule upon me; while +the old wretch was concerned for her house, the reputation of her house. +I cursed them all together; and, retiring to my chamber, locked myself +in. + +And now it is time to set out: all I have gained, detection, disgrace, +fresh guilt by repeated perjuries, and to be despised by her I doat upon; +and, what is still worse to a proud heart, by myself. + +Success, success in projects, is every thing. What an admirable +contriver did I think myself till now! Even for this scheme among the +rest! But how pitifully foolish does it now appear to me!--Scratch out, +erase, never to be read, every part of my preceding letters, where I have +boastingly mentioned it. And never presume to rally me upon the cursed +subject: for I cannot bear it. + +But for the lady, by my soul, I love her. I admire her more than ever! +I must have her. I will have her still--with honour or without, as I +have often vowed. My cursed fright at her accidental bloody nose, so +lately, put her upon improving upon me thus. Had she threatened ME, I +should have soon been master of one arm, and in both! But for so sincere +a virtue to threaten herself, and not to offer to intimidate any other, +and with so much presence of mind, as to distinguish, in the very +passionate intention, the necessity of the act, defence of her honour, +and so fairly to disavow lesser occasions: showed such a deliberation, +such a choice, such a principle; and then keeping me so watchfully at a +distance that I could not seize her hand, so soon as she could have given +the fatal blow; how impossible not to be subdued by so true and so +discreet a magnanimity! + +But she is not gone. She shall not go. I will press her with letters +for the Thursday. She shall yet be mine, legally mine. For, as to +cohabitation, there is no such thing to be thought of. + +The Captain shall give her away, as proxy for her uncle. My Lord will +die. My fortune will help my will, and set me above every thing and +every body. + +But here is the curse--she despises me, Jack!--What man, as I have +heretofore said, can bear to be despised--especially by his wife!--O +Lord!--O Lord! What a hand, what a cursed hand, have I made of this +plot!--And here ends + +The history of the lady and the penknife!--The devil take the penknife! +--It goes against me to say, + +God bless the lady! + +NEAR 5, SAT. MORN. + + + +LETTER XXXVII + +MR. LOVELACE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE +[SUPERSCRIBED TO MRS. LOVELACE.] +M. HALL, SAT. NIGHT, JUNE 24. + + +MY DEAREST LIFE, + +If you do not impute to live, and to terror raised by love, the poor +figure I made before you last night, you will not do me justice. I +thought I would try to the very last moment, if, by complying with you in +every thing, I could prevail upon you to promise to be mine on Thursday +next, since you refused me an earlier day. Could I have been so happy, +you had not been hindered going to Hampstead, or wherever else you +pleased. But when I could not prevail upon you to give me this +assurance, what room had I, (my demerit so great,) to suppose, that your +going thither would not be to lose you for ever? + +I will own to you, Madam, that yesterday afternoon I picked up the paper +dropt by Dorcas; who has confessed that she would have assisted you in +getting away, if she had had opportunity so to do; and undoubtedly +dropped it by accident. And could I have prevailed upon you as to +Thursday next, I would have made no use of it; secure as I should have +been in your word given, to be mine. But when I found you inflexible, +I was resolved to try, if, by resenting Dorcas's treachery, I could not +make your pardon of me the condition of mine to her: and if not, to make +a handle of it to revoke my consent to your going away from Mrs. +Sinclair's; since the consequence of that must have been so fatal to me. + +So far, indeed, was my proceeding low and artful: and when I was +challenged with it, as such, in so high and noble a manner, I could not +avoid taking shame to myself upon it. + +But you must permit me, Madam, to hope, that you will not punish me too +heavily for so poor a contrivance, since no dishonour was meant you: and +since, in the moment of its execution, you had as great an instance of my +incapacity to defend a wrong, a low measure, and, at the same time, in +your power over me, as mortal man could give--in a word, since you must +have seen, that I was absolutely under the controul both of conscience +and of love. + +I will not offer to defend myself, for wishing you to remain where you +are, till either you give me your word to meet me at the altar on +Thursday; or till I have the honour of attending you, preparative to the +solemnity which will make that day the happiest of my life. + +I am but too sensible, that this kind of treatment may appear to you with +the face of an arbitrary and illegal imposition: but as the consequences, +not only to ourselves, but to both our families, may be fatal, if you +cannot be moved in my favour; let me beseech you to forgive this act of +compulsion, on the score of the necessity you your dear self have laid me +under to be guilty of it; and to permit the solemnity of next Thursday to +include an act of oblivion for all past offences. + +The orders I have given to the people of the house are: 'That you shall +be obeyed in every particular that is consistent with my expectations of +finding you there on my return on Wednesday next: that Mrs. Sinclair and +her nieces, having incurred your just displeasure, shall not, without +your orders, come into your presence: that neither shall Dorcas, till she +has fully cleared her conduct to your satisfaction, be permitted to +attend you: but Mabell, in her place; of whom you seemed some time ago to +express some liking. Will. I have left behind me to attend your +commands. If he be either negligent or impertinent, your dismission +shall be a dismission of him from my service for ever. But, as to +letters which may be sent you, or any which you may have to send, I must +humbly entreat, that none such pass from or to you, for the few days that +I shall be absent.' But I do assure you, madam, that the seals of both +sorts shall be sacred: and the letters, if such be sent, shall be given +into your own hands the moment the ceremony is performed, or before, if +you require it. + +Mean time I will inquire, and send you word, how Miss Howe does; and to +what, if I can be informed, her long silence is owing. + +Dr. Perkins I found here, attending my Lord, when I arrived with Dr. S. +He acquaints me that your father, mother, uncles, and the still less +worthy persons of your family, are well; and intend to be all at your +uncle Harlowe's next week; I presume, with intent to keep his +anniversary. This can make no alteration, but a happy one, as to +persons, on Thursday; because Mr. Tomlinson assured me, that if any thing +fell out to hinder your uncle's coming up in person, (which, however, he +did not then expect,) he would be satisfied if his friend the Captain +were proxy for him. I shall send a man and horse to-morrow to the +Captain, to be at greater certainty. + +I send this by a special messenger, who will wait your pleasure in +relation to the impatiently-wished-for Thursday: which I humbly hope will +be signified by a line. + +My Lord, though hardly sensible, and unmindful of every thing but of your +felicity, desires his most affectionate compliments to you. He has in +readiness to present to you a very valuable set of jewels, which he hopes +will be acceptable, whether he lives to see you adorn them or not. + +Lady Sarah and Lady Betty have also their tokens of respect ready to +court your acceptance: but may Heaven incline you to give the opportunity +of receiving their personal compliments, and those of my cousins +Montague, before the next week be out! + +His Lordship is exceeding ill. Dr. S. has no hopes of him. The only +consolation I can have for the death of a relation who loves me so well, +if he do die, must arise from the additional power it will put into my +hands of showing how much I am, + +My dearest life, +Your ever-affectionate, faithful, +LOVELACE. + + + +LETTER XXXVIII + +MR. LOVELACE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE +[SUPERSCRIBED TO MRS. LOVELACE.] +M. HALL, SUNDAY NIGHT, JUNE 25. + + +MY DEAREST LOVE, + +I cannot find words to express how much I am mortified at the return of +my messenger without a line from you. + +Thursday is so near, that I will send messenger after messenger every +four hours, till I have a favourable answer; the one to meet the other, +till its eve arrives, to know if I may venture to appear in your presence +with the hope of having my wishes answered on that day. + +Your love, Madam, I neither expect, nor ask for; nor will, till my future +behaviour gives you cause to think I deserve it. All I at present +presume to wish is, to have it in my power to do you all the justice I +can now do you: and to your generosity will I leave it, to reward me, as +I shall merit, with your affection. + +At present, revolving my poor behaviour of Friday night before you, I +think I should sooner choose to go to my last audit, unprepared for it as +I am, than to appear in your presence, unless you give me some hope, that +I shall be received as your elected husband, rather than, (however +deserved,) as a detested criminal. + +Let me, therefore, propose an expedient, in order to spare my own +confusion; and to spare you the necessity for that soul-harrowing +recrimination, which I cannot stand, and which must be disagreeable to +yourself--to name the church, and I will have every thing in readiness; +so that our next interview will be, in a manner, at the very altar; and +then you will have the kind husband to forgive for the faults of the +ungrateful lover. If your resentment be still too high to write more, +let it only be in your own dear hand, these words, St. Martin's church, +Thursday--or these, St. Giles's church, Thursday; nor will I insist upon +any inscription or subscription, or so much as the initials of your name. +This shall be all the favour I will expect, till the dear hand itself is +given to mine, in presence of that Being whom I invoke as a witness of +the inviolable faith and honour of + +Your adoring +LOVELACE. + + + +LETTER XXXIX + +MR. LOVELACE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE +[SUPERSCRIBED TO MRS. LOVELACE.] +M. HALL, MONDAY, JUNE 26. + + +Once more, my dearest love, do I conjure you to send me the four +requested words. There is no time to be lost. And I would not have next +Thursday go over, without being entitled to call you mine, for the world; +and that as well for your sake as for my own. Hitherto all that has +passed is between you and me only; but, after Thursday, if my wishes are +unanswered, the whole will be before the world. + +My Lord is extremely ill, and endures not to have me out of his sight for +one half hour. But this shall not have the least weight with me, if you +be pleased to hold out the olive-branch to me in the four requested +words. + +I have the following intelligence from Captain Tomlinson. + +'All your family are at your uncle Harlowe's. Your uncle finds he cannot +go up; and names Captain Tomlinson for his proxy. He proposes to keep +all your family with him till the Captain assures him that the ceremony +is over. + +'Already he has begun, with hope of success, to try to reconcile your +mother to you.' + +My Lord M. but just now has told me how happy he should think himself to +have an opportunity, before he dies, to salute you as his niece. I have +put him in hopes that he shall see you; and have told him that I will go +to town on Wednesday, in order to prevail upon you to accompany me down +on Thursday or Friday. I have ordered a set to be in readiness to carry +me up; and, were not my Lord so very ill, my cousin Montague tells me +that she would offer her attendance on you. If you please, therefore, we +can set out for this place the moment the solemnity is performed. + +Do not, dearest creature, dissipate all those promising appearances, and +by refusing to save your own and your family's reputation in the eye of +the world, use yourself worse than the ungratefullest wretch on earth has +used you. For if we were married, all the disgrace you imagine you have +suffered while a single lady, will be my own, and only known to +ourselves. + +Once more, then, consider well the situation we are both in; and +remember, my dearest life, that Thursday will be soon here; and that you +have no time to lose. + +In a letter sent by the messenger whom I dispatch with this, I have +desired that my friend, Mr. Belford, who is your very great admirer, and +who knows all the secrets of my heart, will wait upon you, to know what I +am to depend upon as to the chosen day. + +Surely, my dear, you never could, at any time, suffer half so much from +cruel suspense, as I do. + +If I have not an answer to this, either from your own goodness, or +through Mr. Belford's intercession, it will be too late for me to set +out: and Captain Tomlinson will be disappointed, who goes to town on +purpose to attend your pleasure. + +One motive for the gentle resistance I have presumed to lay you under is, +to prevent the mischiefs that might ensue (as probably to the more +innocent, as to the less) were you to write to any body while your +passions were so much raised and inflamed against me. Having apprized +you of my direction to the women in town on this head, I wonder you +should have endeavoured to send a letter to Miss Howe, although in a +cover directed to that young lady's* servant; as you must think it would +be likely to fall into my hands. + + +* The lady had made an attempt to send away a letter. + + +The just sense of what I have deserved the contents should be, leaves me +no room to doubt what they are. Nevertheless, I return it you enclosed, +with the seal, as you will see, unbroken. + +Relieve, I beseech you, dearest Madam, by the four requested words, or by +Mr. Belford, the anxiety of + +Your ever-affectionate and obliged +LOVELACE. + +Remember, there will not, there cannot be time for further writing, and +for coming up by Thursday, your uncle's birth-day. + + + +LETTER XL + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +MONDAY, JUNE 26. + + +Thou wilt see the situation I am in with Miss Harlowe by the enclosed +copies of three letters; to two of which I am so much scorned as not to +have one word given me in answer; and of the third (now sent by the +messenger who brings thee this) I am afraid as little notice will be +taken--and if so, her day of grace is absolutely over. + +One would imagine (so long used to constraint too as she has been) that +she might have been satisfied with the triumph she had over us all on +Friday night! a triumph that to this hour has sunk my pride and my vanity +so much, that I almost hate the words, plot, contrivance, scheme; and +shall mistrust myself in future for every one that rises to my inventive +head. + +But seest thou not that I am under a necessity to continue her at +Sinclair's and to prohibit all her correspondencies? + +Now, Belford, as I really, in my present mood, think of nothing less +than marrying her, if she let not Thursday slip, I would have thee attend +her, in pursuance of the intimation I have given her in my letter of this +date; and vow for me, swear for me, bind thy soul to her for my honour, +and use what arguments thy friendly heart can suggest, in order to +procure me an answer from her; which, as thou wilt see, she may give in +four words only. And then I purpose to leave Lord M. (dangerously ill as +he is,) and meet her at her appointed church, in order to solemnize. If +she will but sign Cl. H. to thy writing the four words, that shall do: +for I would not come up to be made a fool of in the face of all my family +and friends. + +If she should let the day go off, I shall be desperate. I am entangled +in my own devices, and cannot bear that she should detect me. + +O that I had been honest!--What a devil are all my plots come to! What +do they end in, but one grand plot upon myself, and a title to eternal +infamy and disgrace! But, depending on thy friendly offices, I will say +no more of this.--Let her send me but one line!--But one line!--To treat +me as unworthy of her notice;--yet be altogether in my power--I cannot--I +will not bear that. + +My Lord, as I said, is extremely ill. The doctors give him over. He +gives himself over. Those who would not have him die, are afraid he will +die. But as to myself, I am doubtful: for these long and violent +struggles between the constitution and the disease (though the latter has +three physicians and an apothecary to help it forward, and all three, as +to their prescriptions, of different opinions too) indicate a plaguy +habit, and savour more of recovery than death: and the more so, as he has +no sharp or acute mental organs to whet out his bodily ones, and to raise +his fever above the sympathetic helpful one. + +Thou wilt see in the enclosed what pains I am at to dispatch messengers; +who are constantly on the road to meet each other, and one of them to +link in the chain with the fourth, whose station is in London, and five +miles onwards, or till met. But in truth I have some other matters for +them to perform at the same time, with my Lord's banker and his lawyer; +which will enable me, if his Lordship is so good as to die this bout, to +be an over match for some of my other relations. I don't mean Charlotte +and Patty; for they are noble girls: but others, who have been scratching +and clawing under-ground like so many moles in my absence; and whose +workings I have discovered since I have been down, by the little heaps of +dirt they have thrown up. + +A speedy account of thy commission, dear Jack! The letter travels all +night. + + + +LETTER XLI + +MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. +LONDON, JUNE 27. TUESDAY. + + +You must excuse me, Lovelace, from engaging in the office you would have +me undertake, till I can be better assured you really intend honourably +at last by this much-injured lady. + +I believe you know your friend Belford too well to think he would be easy +with you, or with any man alive, who should seek to make him promise for +him what he never intended to perform. And let me tell thee, that I have +not much confidence in the honour of a man, why by imitation of hands (I +will only call it) has shown so little regard to the honour of his own +relations. + +Only that thou hast such jesuitical qualifyings, or I should think thee +at last touched with remorse, and brought within view of being ashamed +of thy cursed inventions by the ill success of thy last: which I heartily +congratulate thee upon. + +O the divine lady!--But I will not aggravate! + +Nevertheless, when thou writest that, in thy present mood, thou thinkest +of marrying, and yet canst so easily change thy mood; when I know thy +heart is against the state: that the four words thou courtest from the +lady are as much to thy purpose, as if she wrote forty; since it will +show she can forgive the highest injury that can be offered to woman; and +when I recollect how easily thou canst find excuses to postpone; thou +must be more explicit a good deal, as to thy real intentions, and future +honour, than thou art: for I cannot trust to temporary remorse; which +brought on by disappointment too, and not by principle, and the like of +which thou hast so often got over. + +If thou canst convince me time enough for the day, that thou meanest to +do honourably by her, in her own sense of the word; or, if not time +enough, wilt fix some other day, (which thou oughtest to leave to her +option, and not bind her down for the Thursday; and the rather, as thy +pretence for so doing is founded on an absolute fiction;) I will then +most cheerfully undertake thy cause; by person, if she will admit me to +her presence; if she will not, by pen. But, in this case, thou must +allow me to be guarantee for thy family. And, if so, so much as I value +thee, and respect thy skill in all the qualifications of a gentleman, +thou mayest depend upon it, that I will act up to the character of a +guarantee, with more honour than the princes of our day usually do----to +their shame be it spoken. + +Mean time let me tell thee, that my heart bleeds for the wrong this +angelic lady has received: and if thou dost not marry her, if she will +have thee, and, when married, make her the best and tenderest of +husbands, I would rather be a dog, a monkey, a bear, a viper, or a toad, +than thee. + +Command me with honour, and thou shalt find none readier to oblige thee +than + +Thy sincere friend, +JOHN BELFORD. + + + +LETTER XLII + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +M. HALL, JUNE 27. TUESDAY NIGHT, NEAR 12. + + +Your's reached me this moment, by an extraordinary push in the +messengers. + +What a man of honour thou of a sudden!---- + +And so, in the imaginary shape of a guarantee, thou threatenest me! + +Had I not been in earnest as to the lady, I should not have offered to +employ thee in the affair. But, let me say, that hadst thou undertaken +the task, and I hadst afterwards thought fit to change my mind, I should +have contented myself to tell thee, that that was my mind when thou +engagedst for me, and to have given thee the reasons for the change, and +then left thee to thy own discretion: for never knew I what fear of man +was--nor fear of woman neither, till I became acquainted with Miss +Clarissa Harlowe, nay, what is most surprising, till I came to have her +in my power. + +And so thou wilt not wait upon the charmer of my heart, but upon terms +and conditions!--Let it alone and be curs'd; I care not.--But so much +credit did I give to the value thou expressedst for her, that I thought +the office would have been acceptable to thee, as serviceable to me; +for what was it, but to endeavour to persuade her to consent to the +reparation of her own honour? For what have I done but disgraced myself, +and been a thief to my own joys?--And if there be a union of hearts, and +an intention to solemnize, what is there wanting but the foolish +ceremony?--and that I still offer. But, if she will keep back her hand, +if she will make me hold out mine in vain, how can I help it? + +I write her one more letter; and if, after she has received that, she +keeps sullen silence, she must thank herself for what is to follow. + +But, after all,, my heart is not wholly her's. I love her beyond +expression; and cannot help it. I hope therefore she will receive this +last tender as I wish. I hope she intends not, like a true woman, to +plague, and vex, and tease me, now she has found her power. If she will +take me to mercy now these remorses are upon me, (though I scorn to +condition with thee for my sincerity,) all her trials, as I have +heretofore declared, shall be over, and she shall be as happy as I can +make her: for, ruminating upon all that has passed between us, from the +first hour of our acquaintance till the present, I must pronounce, That +she is virtue itself and once more I say, has no equal. + +As to what you hint, of leaving to her choice another day, do you +consider, that it will be impossible that my contrivances and stratagems +should be much longer concealed?--This makes me press that day, though so +near; and the more, as I have made so much ado about her uncle's +anniversary. If she send me the four words, I will spare no fatigue to +be in time, if not for the canonical hour at church, for some other hour +of the day in her own apartment, or any other: for money will do every +thing: and that I have never spared in this affair. + +To show thee, that I am not at enmity with thee, I enclose the copies of +two letters--one to her: it is the fourth, and must be the last on the +subject----The other to Captain Tomlinson; calculated, as thou wilt see, +for him to show her. + +And now, Jack, interfere; in this case or not, thou knowest the mind of + +R. LOVELACE. + + + +LETTER XLIII + +MR. LOVELACE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE +[SUPERSCRIBED TO MRS. LOVELACE.] +M. HALL, WED. MORNING, ONE O'CLOCK, JUNE 28. + + +Not one line, my dearest life, not one word, in answer to three letters +I have written! The time is now so short, that this must be the last +letter that can reach you on this side the important hour that might make +us legally one. + +My friend, Mr. Belford, is apprehensive, that he cannot wait upon you in +time, by reason of some urgent affairs of his own. + +I the less regret the disappointment, because I have procured a more +acceptable person, as I hope, to attend you; Captain Tomlinson I mean: +to whom I had applied for this purpose, before I had Mr. Belford's +answer. + +I was the more solicitous to obtain his favour form him, because of the +office he is to take upon him, as I humbly presume to hope, to-morrow. +That office obliged him to be in town as this day: and I acquainted him +with my unhappy situation with you; and desired that he would show me, +on this occasion, that I had as much of his favour and friendship as your +uncle had; since the whole treaty must be broken off, if he could not +prevail upon you in my behalf. + +He will dispatch the messenger directly; whom I propose to meet in person +at Slough; either to proceed onward to London with a joyful heart, or to +return back to M. Hall with a broken one. + +I ought not (but cannot help it) to anticipate the pleasure Mr. Tomlinson +proposes to himself, in acquainting you with the likelihood there is of +your mother's seconding your uncle's views. For, it seems, he has +privately communicated to her his laudable intentions: and her resolution +depends, as well as his, upon what to-morrow will produce. + +Disappoint not then, I beseech you, for an hundred persons' sakes, as +well as for mine, that uncle and that mother, whose displeasure I have +heard you so often deplore. + +You may think it impossible for me to reach London by the canonical hour. +If it should, the ceremony may be performed in your own apartments, at +any time in the day, or at night: so that Captain Tomlinson may have it +to aver to your uncle, that it was performed on his anniversary. + +Tell but the Captain, that you forbid me not to attend you: and that +shall be sufficient for bringing to you, on the wings of love, + +Your ever-grateful and affectionate +LOVELACE. + + + +LETTER XLIV + +TO MR. PATRICK M'DONALD, +AT HIS LODGINGS, AT MR. BROWN'S, PERUKE-MAKER, IN ST. MARTIN'S LANE, + WESTMINSTER +M. HALL, WEDN. MORNING, TWO O'CLOCK. + +DEAR M'DONALD, + +The bearer of this has a letter to carry to the lady.* I have been at +the trouble of writing a copy of it: which I enclose, that you may not +mistake your cue. + + +* See the preceding Letter. + + +You will judge of my reasons for ante-dating the enclosed sealed one,* +directed to you by the name of Tomlinson; which you are to show to the +lady, as in confidence. You will open it of course. + + +* See the next Letter. + + +I doubt not your dexterity and management, dear M'Donald; nor your zeal; +especially as the hope of cohabitation must now be given up. Impossible +to be carried is that scheme. I might break her heart, but not incline +her will--am in earnest therefore to marry her, if she let not the day +slip. + +Improve upon the hint of her mother. That may touch her. But John +Harlowe, remember, has privately engaged that lady--privately, I say; +else, (not to mention the reason for her uncle Harlowe's former +expedient,) you know, she might find means to get a letter away to the +one or to the other, to know the truth; or to Miss Howe, to engage her +to inquire into it: and, if she should, the word privately will account +for the uncle's and mother's denying it. + +However, fail not, as from me, to charge our mother and her nymphs to +redouble their vigilance both as to her person and letters. All's upon a +crisis now. But she must not be treated ill neither. + +Thursday over, I shall know what to resolve upon. + +If necessary, you must assume authority. The devil's in't, if such a +girl as this shall awe a man of your years and experience. You are not +in love with her as I am. Fly out, if she doubt your honour. Spirits +naturally soft may be beat out of their play and borne down (though ever +so much raised) by higher anger. All women are cowards at bottom; only +violent where they may. I have often stormed a girl out of her mistrust, +and made her yield (before she knew where she was) to the point +indignantly mistrusted; and that to make up with me, though I was the +aggressor. + +If this matter succeed as I'd have it, (or if not, and do not fail by +your fault,) I will take you off the necessity of pursuing your cursed +smuggling; which otherwise may one day end fatally for you. + +We are none of us perfect, M'Donald. This sweet lady makes me serious +sometimes in spite of my heart. But as private vices are less blamable +than public; an as I think smuggling (as it is called) a national evil; +I have no doubt to pronounce you a much worse man than myself, and as +such shall take pleasure in reforming you. + +I send you enclosed ten guineas, as a small earnest of further favours. +Hitherto you have been a very clever fellow. + +As to clothes for Thursday, Monmouth-street will afford a ready supply. +Clothes quite new would make your condition suspected. But you may +defer that care, till you see if she can be prevailed upon. Your +riding-dress will do for the first visit. Nor let your boots be over +clean. I have always told you the consequence of attending to the +minutiae, where art (or imposture, as the ill-mannered would call it) is +designed--your linen rumpled and soily, when you wait upon her--easy terms +these--just come to town--remember (as formerly) to loll, to throw out +your legs, to stroke and grasp down your ruffles, as if of significance +enough to be careless. What though the presence of a fine lady would +require a different behaviour, are you not of years to dispense with +politeness? You can have no design upon her, you know. You are a father +yourself of daughters as old as she. Evermore is parade and +obsequiousness suspectable: it must show either a foolish head, or a +knavish heart. Assume airs of consequence therefore; and you will be +treated as a man of consequence. I have often more than half ruined +myself by my complaisance; and, being afraid of controul, have brought +controul upon myself. + +I think I have no more to say at present. I intend to be at Slough, or +on the way to it, as by mine to the lady. Adieu, honest M'Donald. + +R.L. + + + +LETTER XLV + +TO CAPTAIN TOMLINSON +[ENCLOSED IN THE PRECEDING; TO BE SHOWN TO THE LADY AS IN CONFIDENCE.] +M. HALL, TUESDAY MORN., JUNE 27. + + +DEAR CAPTAIN TOMLINSON, + +An unhappy misunderstanding has arisen between the dearest lady in the +world and me (the particulars of which she perhaps may give you, but I +will not, because I might be thought partial to myself;) and she refusing +to answer my most pressing and respectful letters; I am at a most +perplexing uncertainty whether she will meet us or not next Thursday to +solemnize. + +My Lord is so extremely ill, that if I thought she would not oblige me, +I would defer going up to town for two or three days. He cares not to +have me out of his sight: yet is impatient to salute my beloved as his +neice [sic] before he dies. This I have promised to give him an +opportunity to do: intending, if the dear creature will make me happy, +to set out with her for this place directly from church. + +With regret I speak it of the charmer of my soul, that irreconcilableness +is her family-fault--the less excusable indeed for her, as she herself +suffers by it in so high a degree from her own relations. + +Now, Sir, as you intended to be in town some time before Thursday, if +it be not too great an inconvenience to you, I could be glad you would +go up as soon as possible, for my sake: and this I the more boldly +request, as I presume that a man who has so many great affairs of his +own in hand as you have, would be glad to be at a certainty as to the +day. + +You, Sir, can so pathetically and justly set before her the unhappy +consequences that will follow if the day be postponed, as well with +regard to her uncle's disappointment, as to the part you have assured +me her mother is willing to take in the wished-for reconciliation, that +I have great hopes she will suffer herself to be prevailed upon. And a +man and horse shall be in waiting to take your dispatches and bring them +to me. + +But if you cannot prevail in my favour, you will be pleased to satisfy +your friend, Mr. John Harlowe, that it is not my fault that he is not +obliged. I am, dear Sir, + +Your extremely obliged +and faithful servant, +R. LOVELACE. + + + +LETTER XLVI + +TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. +WEDN. JUNE 28, NEAR TWELVE O'CLOCK. + + +HONOURED SIR, + +I received your's, as your servant desired me to acquaint you, by ten +this morning. Horse and man were in a foam. + +I instantly equipped myself, as if come off from a journey, and posted +away to the lady, intending to plead great affairs that I came not +before, in order to favour your antedate; and likewise to be in a hurry, +to have a pretence to hurry her ladyship, and to take no denial for her +giving a satisfactory return to your messenger. But, upon my entering +Mrs. Sinclair's house, I found all in the greatest consternation. + +You must not, Sir, be surprised. It is a trouble to me to be the +relater of the bad news; but so it is--The lady is gone off! She was +missed but half an hour before I came. + +Her waiting-maid is run away, or hitherto is not to be found: so that +they conclude it was by her connivance. + +They had sent, before I came, to my honoured masters Mr. Belton, Mr. +Mowbray, and Mr. Belford. Mr. Tourville is out of town. + +High words are passing between Madam Sinclair, and Madam Horton, and +Madam Martin; as also with Dorcas. And your servant William threatens +to hang or drown himself. + +They have sent to know if they can hear of Mabell, the waiting-maid, at +her mother's, who it seems lives in Chick-lane, West-Smithfield; and to +an uncle of her's also, who keeps an alehouse at Cow-cross, had by, and +with whom she lived last. + +Your messenger having just changed his horse, is come back: so I will +not detain him longer than to add, that I am, with great concern for this +misfortune, and thanks for your seasonable favour and kind intentions +towards me--I am sure this was not my fault-- + +Honoured Sir, +Your most obliged, humble servant, +PATRICK M'DONALD. + + + +LETTER XLVII + +MR. MOWBRAY, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. +WEDNESDAY, TWELVE O'CLOCK. + + +DEAR LOVELACE, + +I have plaguy news to acquaint thee with. Miss Harlowe is gone off!-- +Quite gone, by soul!--I have no time for particulars, your servant being +gone off. But if I had, we are not yet come to the bottom of the matter. +The ladies here are all blubbering like devills, accusing one another +most confoundedly: whilst Belton and I damn them all together in thy +name. + +If thou shouldst hear that thy fellow Will. is taken dead out of some +horse-pond, and Dorcas cut down from her bed's teaster, from dangling +in her own garters, be not surprised. Here's the devil to pay. Nobody +serene but Jack Belford, who is taking minutes of examinations, +accusations, and confessions, with the significant air of a Middlesex +Justice; and intends to write at large all particulars, I suppose. + +I heartily condole with thee: so does Belton. But it may turn out for +the best: for she is gone away with thy marks, I understand. A foolish +little devill! Where will she mend herself? for nobody will look upon +her. And they tell me that thou wouldst certainly have married her, had +she staid. But I know thee better. + +Dear Bobby, adieu. If Lord M. will die now, to comfort thee for this +loss, what a seasonable exit would he make! Let's have a letter from +thee. Pr'ythee do. Thou can'st write devill-like to Belford, who shews +us nothing at all. Thine heartily, + +RD. MOWBRAY. + + + +LETTER XLVIII + +MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. +THURSDAY, JUNE 29. + + +Thou hast heard from M'Donald and Mowbray the news. Bad or good, I know +not which thou'lt deem it. I only wish I could have given thee joy upon +the same account, before the unhappy lady was seduced from Hampstead; for +then of what an ungrateful villany hadst thou been spared the +perpetration, which now thou hast to answer for! + +I came to town purely to serve thee with her, expecting that thy next +would satisfy me that I might endeavour it without dishonour. And at +first when I found her gone, I half pitied thee; for now wilt thou be +inevitably blown up: and in what an execrable light wilt thou appear to +all the world!--Poor Lovelace! caught in thy own snares! thy punishment +is but beginning. + +But to my narrative: for I suppose thou expectest all particulars from +me, since Mowbray has informed thee that I have been collecting them. + +'The noble exertion of spirit she has made on Friday night, had, it +seems, greatly disordered her; insomuch that she was not visible till +Saturday evening; when Mabell saw her; and she seemed to be very ill: +but on Sunday morning, having dressed herself, as if designing to go to +church, she ordered Mabell to get her a coach to the door. + +'The wench told her, She was to obey her in every thing but the calling +of a coach or chair, or in relation to letters. + +'She sent for Will. and gave him the same command. + +'He pleaded his master's orders to the contrary, and desired to be +excused. + +'Upon this, down she went, herself, and would have gone out without +observation; but finding the street-door double-locked, and the key not +in the lock, she stept into the street-parlour, and would have thrown up +the sash to call out to the people passing by, as they doubted not: but +that, since her last attempt of the same nature, had been fastened down. + +'Hereupon she resolutely stept into Mrs. Sinclair's parlour in the +back-house; where were the old devil and her two partners; and demanded +the key of the street-door, or to have it opened for her. + +'They were all surprised; but desired to be excused, and pleaded your +orders. + +'She asserted, that you had no authority over her; and never should have +any: that their present refusal was their own act and deed: she saw the +intent of their back house, and the reason of putting her there: she +pleaded her condition and fortune; and said, they had no way to avoid +utter ruin, but by opening their doors to her, or by murdering her, and +burying her in their garden or cellar, too deep for detection: that +already what had been done to her was punishable by death: and bid them +at their peril detain her.' + +What a noble, what a right spirit has this charming creature, in cases +that will justify an exertion of spirit!-- + +'They answered that Mr. Lovelace could prove his marriage, and would +indemnify them. And they all would have vindicated their behaviour on +Friday night, and the reputation of their house. But refusing to hear +them on that topic, she flung from them threatening. + +'She then went up half a dozen stairs in her way to her own apartment: +but, as if she had bethought herself, down she stept again, and proceeded +towards the street-parlour; saying, as she passed by the infamous Dorcas, +I'll make myself protectors, though the windows suffer. But that wench, +of her own head, on the lady's going out of that parlour to Mrs. +Sinclair's, had locked the door, and taken out the key: so that finding +herself disappointed, she burst into tears, and went sobbing and menacing +up stairs again. + +'She made no other attempt till the effectual one. Your letters and +messages, they suppose, coming so fast upon one another (though she would +not answer one of them) gave her some amusement, and an assurance to +them, that she would at last forgive you; and that then all would end as +you wished. + +'The women, in pursuance of your orders, offered not to obtrude +themselves upon her; and Dorcas also kept out of her sight all the rest +of Sunday; also on Monday and Tuesday. But by the lady's condescension, +(even to familiarity) to Mabell, they imagined, that she must be working +in her mind all that time to get away. They therefore redoubled their +cautions to the wench; who told them so faithfully all that passed +between her lady and her, that they had no doubt of her fidelity to her +wicked trust. + +''Tis probable she might have been contriving something all this time; +but saw no room for perfecting any scheme. The contrivance by which she +effected her escape seems to me not to have been fallen upon till the +very day; since it depended partly upon the weather, as it proved. But +it is evident she hoped something from Mabell's simplicity, or gratitude, +or compassion, by cultivating all the time her civility to her. + +'Polly waited on her early on Wednesday morning; and met with a better +reception than she had reason to expect. She complained however, with +warmth, of her confinement. Polly said there would be an happy end to it +(if it were a confinement,) next day, she presumed. She absolutely +declared to the contrary, in the way Polly meant it; and said, That Mr. +Lovelace, on his return [which looked as if she intended to wait for it] +should have reason to repent the orders he had given, as they all should +their observance of them: let him send twenty letters, she would not +answer one, be the consequence what it would; nor give him hope of the +least favour, while she was in that house. She had given Mrs. Sinclair +and themselves fair warning, she said: no orders of another ought to make +them detain a free person: but having made an open attempt to go, and +been detained by them, she was the calmer, she told Polly; let them look +to the consequence. + +'But yet she spoke this with temper; and Polly gave it as her opinion, +(with apprehension for their own safety,) that having so good a handle to +punish them all, she would not go away if she might. And what, inferred +Polly, is the indemnity of a man who has committed the vilest of rapes on +a person of condition; and must himself, if prosecuted for it, either +fly, or be hanged? + +'Sinclair, [so I will still call her,] upon this representation of Polly, +foresaw, she said, the ruin of her poor house in the issue of this +strange business; and the infamous Sally and Dorcas bore their parts in +the apprehension: and this put them upon thinking it advisable for the +future, that the street-door should generally in the day-time be only +left upon a bolt-latch, as they called it, which any body might open on +the inside; and that the key should be kept in the door; that their +numerous comers and goers, as they called their guests, should be able to +give evidence, that she might have gone out if she would: not forgetting, +however, to renew their orders to Will. to Dorcas, to Mabell, and the +rest, to redouble their vigilance on this occasion, to prevent her +escape: none of them doubting, at the same time, that her love of a man +so considerable in their eyes, and the prospect of what was to happen, as +she had reason to believe, on Thursday, her uncle's birth-day, would +(though perhaps not till the last hour, for her pride sake, was their +word) engage her to change her temper. + +'They believe, that she discovered the key to be left in the door; for +she was down more than once to walk in the little garden, and seemed to +cast her eye each time to the street-door. + +'About eight yesterday morning, an hour after Polly had left her, she +told Mabell, she was sure she should not live long; and having a good +many suits of apparel, which after her death would be of no use to any +body she valued, she would give her a brown lustring gown, which, with +some alterations to make it more suitable to her degree, would a great +while serve her for a Sunday wear; for that she (Mabell) was the only +person in that house of whom she could think without terror or antipathy. + +'Mabell expressing her gratitude upon the occasion, the lady said, she +had nothing to employ herself about, and if she could get a workwoman +directly, she would look over her things then, and give her what she +intended for her. + +'Her mistress's mantua-maker, the maid replied, lived but a little way +off: and she doubted not that she could procure her, or one of the +journey-women to alter the gown out of hand. + +'I will give you also, said she, a quilted coat, which will require but +little alteration, if any; for you are much about my stature: but the +gown I will give directions about, because the sleeves and the robings +and facings must be altered for your wear, being, I believe, above your +station: and try, said she, if you can get the workwoman, and we'll +advise about it. If she cannot come now, let her come in the afternoon; +but I had rather now, because it will amuse me to give you a lift. + +'Then stepping to the window, it rains, said she, [and so it had done all +the morning:] slip on the hood and short cloak I have seen you wear, and +come to me when you are ready to go out, because you shall bring me in +something that I want. + +'Mabell equipped herself accordingly, and received her commands to buy +her some trifles, and then left her; but in her way out, stept into the +back parlour, where Dorcas was with Mrs. Sinclair, telling her where she +was going, and on what account, bidding Dorcas look out till she came +back. So faithful as the wench to the trust reposed in her, and so +little had the lady's generosity wrought upon her. + +'Mrs. Sinclair commended her; Dorcas envied her, and took her cue: and +Mabell soon returned with the mantua-maker's journey-woman; (she +resolved, she said, but she would not come without her); and then Dorcas +went off guard. + +'The lady looked out the gown and petticoat, and before the workwoman +caused Mabell to try it on; and, that it might fit the better, made the +willing wench pull off her upper-petticoat, and put on that she gave her. +Then she bid them go into Mr. Lovelace's apartment, and contrive about it +before the pier-glass there, and stay till she came to them, to give them +her opinion. + +'Mabell would have taken her own clothes, and hood, and short cloak with +her: but her lady said, No matter; you may put them on again here, when +we have considered about the alterations: there's no occasion to litter +the other room. + +'They went; and instantly, as it is supposed, she slipt on Mabell's gown +and petticoat over her own, which was white damask, and put on the +wench's hood, short cloak, and ordinary apron, and down she went. + +'Hearing somebody tripping along the passage, both Will. and Dorcas whipt +to the inner-hall door, and saw her; but, taking her for Mabell, Are you +going far, Mabell? cried Will. + +'Without turning her face, or answering, she held out her hand, pointing +to the stairs; which they construed as a caution for them to look out in +her absence; and supposing she would not be long gone, as she had not in +form, repeated her caution to them, up went Will, tarrying at the +stairs-head in expectation of the supposed Mabell's return. + +'Mabell and the workwoman waited a good while, amusing themselves not +disagreeably, the one with contriving in the way of her business, the +other delighting herself with her fine gown and coat. But at last, +wondering the lady did not come in to them, Mabell tiptoed it to her +door, and tapping, and not being answered, stept into the chamber. + +'Will. at that instant, from his station at the stairs-head, seeing +Mabell in her lady's clothes; for he had been told of the present, [gifts +to servants fly from servant to servant in a minute,] was very much +surprised, having, as he thought, just seen her go out in her own; and +stepping up, met her at the door. How the devil can this be? said he: +just now you went out in your own dress! How came you here in this? and +how could you pass me unseen? but nevertheless, kissing her, said, he +would now brag he had kissed his lady, or one in her clothes. + +'I am glad, Mr. William, cried Mabell, to see you here so diligently. +But know you where my lady is? + +'In my master's apartment, answered Will. Is she not? Was she not +talking with you this moment? + +'No, that's Mrs. Dolins's journey-woman. + +'They both stood aghast, as they said; Will, again recollecting he had +seen Mabell, as he thought, go out in her own clothes. And while they +were debating and wondering, up comes Dorcas with your fourth letter, +just then brought for the lady, and seeing Mabell dressed out, (whom she +had likewise beheld a little before), as she supposed, in her common +clothes; she joined in the wonder; till Mabell, re-entering the lady's +apartment, missed her own clothes; and then suspecting what had happened, +and letting the others into the ground of the suspicion, they all agreed +that she had certainly escaped. And then followed such an uproar of +mutual accusation, and you should have done this, and you have done that, +as alarmed the whole house; every apartment in both houses giving up its +devil, to the number of fourteen or fifteen, including the mother and her +partners. + +'Will. told them his story; and then ran out, as on the like occasion +formerly, to make inquiry whether the lady was seen by any of the +coachmen, chairmen, or porters, plying in that neighbourhood: while +Dorcas cleared herself immediately, and that at the poor Mabell's +expense, who made a figure as guilty as awkward, having on the suspected +price of her treachery; which Dorcas, out of envy, was ready to tear from +her back. + +'Hereupon all the pack opened at the poor wench, while the mother foamed +at the mouth, bellowed out her orders for seizing the suspected offender; +who could neither be heard in her own defence, nor had she been heard, +would have been believed. + +'That such a perfidious wretch should ever disgrace her house, was the +mother's cry; good people might be corrupted; but it was a fine thing if +such a house as her's could not be faithfully served by cursed creatures +who were hired knowing the business they were to be employed in, and who +had no pretence to principle!--D--n her, the wretch proceeded!--She had +no patience with her! call the cook, and call the scullion! + +'They were at hand. + +'See, that guilty pyeball devil, was her word--(her lady's gown upon her +back)--but I'll punish her for a warning to all betrayers of their trust. +Put on the great gridiron this moment, [an oath or a curse at every +word:] make up a roaring fire--the cleaver bring me this instant--I'll +cut her into quarters with my own hands; and carbonade and broil the +traitress for a feast to all the dogs and cats in the neighbourhood, and +eat the first slice of the toad myself, without salt or pepper. + +'The poor Mabell, frighted out of her wits, expected every moment to be +torn in pieces, having half a score open-clawed paws upon her all at +once. She promised to confess all. But that all, when she had obtained +a hearing, was nothing: for nothing had she to confess. + +'Sally, hereupon with a curse of mercy, ordered her to retire; +undertaking that she and Polly would examine her themselves, that they +might be able to write all particulars to his honour; and then, if she +could not clear herself, or, if guilty, give some account of the lady, +(who had been so wicked as to give them all this trouble,) so as they +might get her again, then the cleaver and gridiron might go to work with +all their heart. + +'The wench, glad of this reprieve, went up stairs; and while Sally was +laying out the law, and prating away in her usual dictorial manner, whipt +on another gown, and sliding down the stairs, escaped to her relations. +And this flight, which was certainly more owing to terror than guilt, +was, in the true Old Bailey construction, made a confirmation of the +latter.' + + +*** + + +These are the particulars of Miss Harlowe's flight. Thou'lt hardly think +me too minute.--How I long to triumph over thy impatience and fury on the +occasion! + +Let me beseech thee, my dear Lovelace, in thy next letter, to rave most +gloriously!--I shall be grievously disappointed if thou dost not. + + +*** + + +Where, Lovelace, can the poor lady be gone? And who can describe the +distress she must be in? + +By thy former letters, it may be supposed, that she can have very little +money: nor, by the suddenness of her flight, more clothes than those she +has on. And thou knowest who once said,* 'Her parents will not receive +her. Her uncles will not entertain her. Her Norton is in their +direction, and cannot. Miss Howe dare not. She has not one friend or +intimate in town--entirely a stranger to it.' And, let me add, has been +despoiled of her honour by the man for whom she had made all these +sacrifices; and who stood bound to her by a thousand oaths and vows, to +be her husband, her protector, and friend! + + +* See Vol. IV. Letter XXI. + + +How strong must be her resentment of the barbarous treatment she has +received! how worthy of herself, that it has made her hate the man she +once loved! and, rather than marry him, choose to expose her disgrace to +the whole world: to forego the reconciliation with her friends which her +heart was so set upon: and to hazard a thousand evils to which her youth +and her sex may too probably expose an indigent and friendly beauty! + +Rememberest thou not that home push upon thee, in one of the papers +written in her delirium; of which, however it savours not?---- + +I will assure thee, that I have very often since most seriously reflected +upon it: and as thy intended second outrage convinces me that it made no +impression upon thee then, and perhaps thou hast never thought of it +since, I will transcribe the sentence. + +'If, as religion teaches us, God will judge us, in a great measure! by +our benevolent or evil actions to one another--O wretch! bethink thee, in +time bethink thee, how great must be thy condemnation.'* + + +* See Vol. VI. Letter XVI. + + +And is this amiable doctrine the sum of religion? Upon my faith, +believe it is. For, to indulge a serious thought, since we are not +atheists, except in practice, does God, the BEING of Beings, want any +thing of us for HIMSELF! And does he not enjoin us works of mercy to one +another, as the means to obtain his mercy? A sublime principle, and +worthy of the SUPREME SUPERINTENDENT and FATHER of all things!--But if we +are to be judged by this noble principle, what, indeed, must be thy +condemnation on the score of this lady only? and what mine, and what all +our confraternity's, on the score of other women: though we are none of +us half so bad as thou art, as well for want of inclination, I hope, as +of opportunity! + +I must add, that, as well for thy own sake, as for the lady's, I wish ye +were yet to be married to each other. It is the only medium that can be +hit upon to salve the honour of both. All that's past may yet be +concealed from the world, and from all her sufferings, if thou resolvest +to be a tender and kind husband to her. + +And if this really be thy intention, I will accept with pleasure of a +commission from thee that shall tend to promote so good an end, whenever +she can be found; that is to say, if she will admit to her presence a man +who professes friendship to thee. Nor can I give a greater +demonstration, that I am + +Thy sincere friend, +J. BELFORD. + +P.S. Mabell's clothes were thrown into the passage this morning: nobody +knows by whom. + + + +LETTER XLIX + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +FRIDAY, JUNE 30. + + +I am ruined, undone, blown up, destroyed, and worse than annihilated, +that's certain!--But was not the news shocking enough, dost thou think, +without thy throwing into the too-weighty scale reproaches, which thou +couldst have had no opportunity to make but for my own voluntary +communications? at a time too, when, as it falls out, I have another very +sensible disappointment to struggle with? + +I imagine, if there be such a thing as future punishment, it must be none +of the smallest mortifications, that a new devil shall be punished by a +worse old one. And, take that! And, take that! to have the old satyr +cry to the screaming sufferer, laying on with a cat-o'-nine-tails, with a +star of burning brass at the end of each: and, for what! for what!---Why, +if the truth may be fairly told, for not being so bad a devil as myself. + +Thou art, surely, casuist good enough to know, (what I have insisted +upon* heretofore,) that the sin of seducing a credulous and easy girl, is +as great as that of bringing to your lure an incredulous and watchful +one. + + +* See Vol. IV. Letter XVII. + + +However ungenerous an appearance what I am going to say may have from my +pen, let me tell thee, that if such a woman as Miss Harlowe chose to +enter into the matrimonial state, [I am resolved to disappoint thee in +thy meditated triumph over my rage and despair!] and, according to the +old patriarchal system, to go on contributing to get sons and daughters, +with no other view than to bring them up piously, and to be good and +useful members of the commonwealth, what a devil had she to do, to let +her fancy run a gadding after a rake? one whom she knew to be a rake? + +Oh! but truly she hoped to have the merit of reclaiming him. She had +formed pretty notions how charming it would look to have a penitent of +her own making dangling at her side at church, through an applauding +neighbourhood: and, as their family increased, marching with her thither, +at the head of their boys and girls, processionally, as it were, boasting +of the fruits of their honest desires, as my good lord bishop has it in +his license. And then, what a comely sight, all kneeling down together +in one pew, according to eldership as we have seen in effigy, a whole +family upon some old monument, where the honest chevalier in armour is +presented kneeling, with up-lifted hands, and half a dozen jolter-headed +crop-eared boys behind him, ranged gradatim, or step-fashion according to +age and size, all in the same posture--facing his pious dame, with a ruff +about her neck, and as many whey-faced girls all kneeling behind her: an +altar between them, and an open book upon it: over their heads +semiluminary rays darting from gilded clouds, surrounding an achievement- +motto, IN COELO SALUS--or QUIES--perhaps, if they have happened to live +the usual married life of brawl and contradiction. + +It is certainly as much my misfortune to have fallen in with Miss +Clarissa Harlowe, were I to have valued my reputation or ease, as it is +that of Miss Harlowe to have been acquainted with me. And, after all, +what have I done more than prosecute the maxim, by which thou and I and +every rake are governed, and which, before I knew this lady, we have +pursued from pretty girl to pretty girl, as fast as we have set one down, +taking another up;--just as the fellows do with their flying coaches and +flying horses at a country fair----with a Who rides next! Who rides +next! + +But here in the present case, to carry on the volant metaphor, (for I +must either be merry, or mad,) is a pretty little miss just come out of +her hanging-sleeve-coat, brought to buy a pretty little fairing; for the +world, Jack, is but a great fair, thou knowest; and, to give thee serious +reflection for serious, all its joys but tinselled hobby-horses, gilt +gingerbread, squeaking trumpets, painted drums, and so forth. + +Now behold this pretty little miss skimming from booth to booth, in a +very pretty manner. One pretty little fellow called Wyerley, perhaps; +another jiggeting rascal called Biron, a third simpering varlet of the +name of Symmes, and a more hideous villain than any of the reset, with a +long bag under his arm, and parchment settlements tagged to his heels, +yelped Solmes: pursue her from raree-show to raree-show, shouldering upon +one another at every turn, stopping when she stops, and set a spinning +again when she moves. And thus dangled after, but still in the eye of +her watchful guardians, traverses the pretty little miss through the +whole fair, equally delighted and delighting: till at last, taken with +the invitation of the laced-hat orator, and seeing several pretty little +bib-wearers stuck together in the flying-coaches, cutting safely the +yielding air, in the one-go-up the other go-down picture-of-the-world +vehicle, and all with as little fear as wit, is tempted to ride next. + +In then suppose she slily pops, when none of her friends are near her: +And if, after two or three ups and downs, her pretty head turns giddy, +and she throws herself out of the coach when at its elevation, and so +dashes out her pretty little brains, who can help it?--And would you hang +the poor fellow, whose professed trade it was to set the pretty little +creature a flying? + +'Tis true, this pretty little miss, being a very pretty little miss, +being a very much-admired little miss, being a very good little miss, who +always minded her book, and had passed through her sampler-doctrine with +high applause; had even stitched out, in gaudy propriety of colors, an +Abraham offering up Isaac, a Sampson and the Philistines; and flowers, +and knots, and trees, and the sun and the moon, and the seven stars, all +hung up in frames with glasses before them, for the admiration of her +future grand children: who likewise was entitled to a very pretty little +estate: who was descended from a pretty little family upwards of one +hundred years gentility; which lived in a very pretty little manner, +respected a very little on their own accounts, a great deal on her's:---- + +For such a pretty little miss as this to come to so great a misfortune, +must be a very sad thing: But, tell me, would not the losing of any +ordinary child, of any other less considerable family, or less shining or +amiable qualities, have been as great and heavy a loss to that family, as +the losing this pretty little miss could be to her's? + +To descend to a very low instance, and that only as to personality; hast +thou any doubt, that thy strong-muscled bony-faced was as much admired by +thy mother, as if it had been the face of a Lovelace, or any other +handsome fellow? And had thy picture been drawn, would she have forgiven +the painter, had he not expressed so exactly thy lineaments, as that +every one should have discerned the likeness? The handsome likeness is +all that is wished for. Ugliness made familiar to us, with the +partiality natural to fond parents, will be beauty all the world over.-- +Do thou apply. + +But, alas! Jack, all this is but a copy of my countenance, drawn to evade +thy malice!--Though it answer thy unfriendly purpose to own it, I cannot +forbear to own it, that I am stung to the very soul with this unhappy-- +accident, must I call it!--Have I nobody, whose throat, either for +carelessness or treachery, I ought to cut, in order to pacify my +vengeance? + +When I reflect upon my last iniquitous intention, the first outrage so +nobly resented, as well as, so far as she was able, so nobly resisted, I +cannot but conclude, that I was under the power of fascination from these +accursed Circes; who, pretending to know their own sex, would have it, +that there is in every woman a yielding, or a weak-resisting moment to be +met with: and that yet, and yet, and yet, I had not tried enough; but +that, if neither love nor terror should enable me to hit that lucky +moment, when, by help of their cursed arts, she was once overcome, she +would be for ever overcome:--appealing to all my experience, to all my +knowledge of the sex, for justification of their assertion. + +My appeal to experience, I own, was but too favourable to their argument: +For dost thou think I could have held my purpose against such an angel as +this, had I ever before met with a woman so much in earnest to defend her +honour against the unwearied artifices and perseverance of the man she +loved? Why then were there not more examples of a virtue so immovable? +Or, why was this singular one to fall to my lot? except indeed to double +my guilt; and at the same time to convince all that should hear her +story, that there are angels as well as devils in the flesh? + +So much for confession; and for the sake of humouring my conscience; with +a view likewise to disarm thy malice by acknowledgement: since no one shall +say worse of me, than I will of myself on this occasion. + +One thing I will nevertheless add, to show the sincerity of my contrition +--'Tis this, that if thou canst by any means find her out within these +three days, or any time before she has discovered the stories relating to +Captain Tomlinson and her uncle to be what they are; and if thou canst +prevail upon her to consent, I will actually, in thy presence and his, +(he to represent her uncle,) marry her. + +I am still in hopes it may be so--she cannot be long concealed--I have +already set all engines at work to find her out! and if I do, what +indifferent persons, [and no one of her friends, as thou observest, will +look upon her,] will care to embroil themselves with a man of my figure, +fortune, and resolution? Show her this part, then, or any other part of +this letter, as thy own discretion, if thou canst find her: for, after +all, methinks, I would be glad that this affair, which is bad enough in +itself, should go off without worse personal consequences to any body +else: and yet it runs in my mind, I know not why, that, sooner or later +it will draw a few drops of blood after it; except she and I can make it +up between ourselves. And this may be another reason why she should not +carry her resentment too far--not that such an affair would give me much +concern neither, were I to choose any man of men, for I heartily hate all +her family, but herself; and ever shall. + + +*** + + +Let me add, that the lady's plot to escape appears to me no extraordinary +one. There was much more luck than probability that it should do: since, +to make it succeed, it was necessary that Dorcas and Will., and Sinclair +and her nymphs, should be all deceived, or off their guard. It belongs +to me, when I see them, to give them my hearty thanks that they were; and +that their selfish care to provide for their own future security, should +induce them to leave their outward door upon their bolt-latch, and be +curs'd to them. + +Mabell deserves a pitch suit and a bonfire, rather than the lustring; and +as her clothes are returned, le the lady's be put to her others, to be +sent to her when it can be told whither--but not till I give the word +neither; for we must get the dear fugitive back again if possible. + +I suppose that my stupid villain, who knew not such a goddess-shaped lady +with a mien so noble, from the awkward and bent-shouldered Mabell, has +been at Hampstead to see after her. And yet I hardly think she would go +thither. He ought to go through every street where bills for lodgings +are up, to inquire after a new-comer. The houses of such as deal in +women's matters, and tea, coffee, and such-like, are those to be inquired +at for her. If some tidings be not quickly heard of her, I would not +have either Dorcas, Will., or Mabell, appear in my sight, whatever their +superiors think fit to do. + +This, though written in character, is a very long letter, considering it +is not a narrative one, or a journal of proceedings, like most of my +former; for such will unavoidably and naturally, as I may say, run into +length. But I have so used myself to write a great deal of late, that I +know not how to help it. Yet I must add to its length, in order to +explain myself on a hint I gave at the beginning of it; which was, that I +have another disappointment, besides this of Miss Harlowe's escape, to +bemoan. + +And what dost thou think it is? Why, the old Peer, pox of his tough +constitution, (for that malady would have helped him on,) has made shift +by fire and brimstone, and the devil knows what, to force the gout to +quit the counterscarp of his stomach, just as it had collected all its +strength, in order to storm the citadel of his heart. In short, they +have, by the mere force of stink-pots, hand-granades, and pop-guns, +driven the slow-working pioneer quite out of the trunk into the +extremities; and there it lies nibbling and gnawing upon his great toe; +when I had a fair end of the distemper and the distempered. + +But I, who could write to thee of laudanum, and the wet cloth, formerly, +yet let 8000. a year slip through my fingers, when I had entered upon it +more than in imagination, [for I had begun to ask the stewards questions, +and to hear them talk of fines and renewals, and such sort of stuff,] +deserve to be mortified. + +Thou canst not imagine how differently the servants, and even my cousins, +look upon me, since yesterday, to what they did before. Neither the one +nor the other bow or courtesy half so low--nor am I a quarter so often +his honour and your honour, as I was within these few hours, with the +former: and as to the latter--it is cousin Bobby again, with the usual +familiarity, instead of Sir, and Sir, and If you please, Mr. Lovelace. +And now they have the insolence to congratulate me on the recovery of the +best of uncles; while I am forced to seem as much delighted as they, +when, would it do me good, I could sit down and cry my eyes out. + +I had bespoke my mourning in imagination, after the example of a certain +foreign minister, who, before the death, or even last illness of Charles +II., as honest White Kennet tells us, had half exhausted Blackwell-hall +of its sables--an indication, as the historian would insinuate, that the +monarch was to be poisoned, and the ambassador in the secret.--And yet, +fool that I was, I could not take the hint--What the devil does a man +read history for, if he cannot profit by the examples he find in it? + +But thus, Jack, is an observation of the old Peer's verified, that one +misfortune seldom comes alone: and so concludes + +Thy doubly mortified +LOVELACE. + + + +LETTER L + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE +WEDNESDAY NIGHT, JUNE 28. + + +O MY DEAREST MISS HOWE! + +Once more have I escaped--But, alas! I, my best self, have not escaped! +--Oh! your poor Clarissa Harlowe! you also will hate me, I fear!---- + +Yet you won't, when you know all! + +But no more of my self! my lost self. You that can rise in a morning to +be blest, and to bless; and go to rest delighted with your own +reflections, and in your unbroken, unstarting slumbers, conversing with +saints and angels, the former only more pure than yourself, as they have +shaken off the incumbrance of body; you shall be my subject, as you have +long, long, been my only pleasure. And let me, at awful distance, revere +my beloved Anna Howe, and in her reflect upon what her Clarissa Harlowe +once was! + + +*** + + +Forgive, O forgive my rambling. My peace is destroyed. My intellects +are touched. And what flighty nonsense must you read, if you now will +vouchsafe to correspond with me, as formerly! + +O my best, my dearest, my only friend! what a tale have I to unfold!-- +But still upon self, this vile, this hated self!--I will shake it off, if +possible; and why should I not, since I think, except one wretch, I hate +nothing so much? Self, then, be banished from self one moment (for I +doubt it will be for no longer) to inquire after a dearer object, my +beloved Anna Howe!--whose mind, all robed in spotless white, charms and +irradiates--But what would I say?---- + + +*** + + +And how, my dearest friend, after this rhapsody, which on re-perusal, I +would not let go, but to show you what a distracted mind dictates to my +trembling pen! How do you? You have been very ill, it seems. That you +are recovered, my dear, let me hear. That your mother is well, pray let +me hear, and hear quickly. This comfort surely is owing to me; for if +life is no worse than chequer-work, I must now have a little white to +come, having seen nothing but black, all unchequered dismal black, for a +great, great while. + + +*** + + +And what is all this wild incoherence for? It is only to beg to know how +you have been, and how you do now, by a line directed for Mrs. Rachel +Clark, at Mr. Smith's, a glove-shop, in King-street, Covent-garden; which +(although my abode is secret to every body else) will reach the hands of +--your unhappy--but that's not enough---- + +Your miserable +CLARISSA HARLOWE. + + + +LETTER LI + +MRS. HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE +[SUPERSCRIBED AS DIRECTED IN THE PRECEDING.] +FRIDAY, JUNE 30. + + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, + +You will wonder to receive a letter from me. I am sorry for the great +distress you seem to be in. Such a hopeful young lady as you were! But +see what comes of disobedience to parents! + +For my part; although I pity you, yet I much more pity your poor father +and mother. Such education as they gave you! such improvement as you +made! and such delight as they took in you!--And all come to this!-- + +But pray, Miss, don't make my Nancy guilt of your fault; which is that of +disobedience. I have charged her over and over not to correspond with +one who had made such a giddy step. It is not to her reputation, I am +sure. You know that I so charged her; yet you go on corresponding +together, to my very great vexation; for she has been very perverse upon +it more than once. Evil communication, Miss--you know the rest. + +Here, people cannot be unhappy by themselves, but they must invoke their +friends and acquaintance whose discretion has kept them clear of their +errors, into near as much unhappiness as if they had run into the like +of their own heads! Thus my poor daughter is always in tears and grief. +And she has postponed her own felicity, truly, because you are unhappy. + +If people, who seek their own ruin, could be the only sufferers by their +headstrong doings, it were something: But, O Miss, Miss! what have you to +answer for, who have made as many grieved hearts as have known you! The +whole sex is indeed wounded by you: For, who but Miss Clarissa Harlowe +was proposed by every father and mother for a pattern for their +daughters? + +I write a long letter, where I proposed to say but a few words; and those +to forbid your writing to my Nancy: and this as well because of the false +step you have made, as because it will grieve her poor heart, and do you +no good. If you love her, therefore, write not to her. Your sad letter +came into my hands, Nancy being abroad: and I shall not show it her: for +there would be no comfort for her, if she saw it, nor for me, whose +delight she is--as you once was to your parents.-- + +But you seem to be sensible enough of your errors now.--So are all giddy +girls, when it is too late: and what a crest-fallen figure then do the +consequences of their self-willed obstinacy and headstrongness compel +them to make! + +I may say too much: only as I think it proper to bear that testimony +against your rashness which it behoves every careful parent to bear: and +none more than + +Your compassionating, well-wishing +ANNABELLA HOWE. + +I send this by a special messenger, who has business only so far as + Barnet, because you shall have no need to write again; knowing how + you love writing: and knowing, likewise, that misfortune makes people + plaintive. + + + +LETTER LII + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MRS. HOWE. +SATURDAY, JULY 1. + + +Permit me, Madam, to trouble you with a few lines, were it only to thank +you for your reproofs; which have nevertheless drawn fresh streams of +blood from a bleeding heart. + +My story is a dismal story. It has circumstances in it that would engage +pity, and possibly a judgment not altogether unfavourable, were those +circumstances known. But it is my business, and shall be all my +business, to repent of my failings, and not endeavour to extenuate them. + +Nor will I seek to distress your worthy mind. If I cannot suffer alone, +I will make as few parties as I can in my sufferings. And, indeed, I +took up my pen with this resolution when I wrote the letter which has +fallen into your hands. It was only to know, and that for a very +particular reason, as well as for affection unbounded, if my dear Miss +Howe, from whom I had not heard of a long time, were ill; as I had been +told she was; and if so, how she now does. But my injuries being recent, +and my distresses having been exceeding great, self would crowd into my +letter. When distressed, the human mind is apt to turn itself to every +one, in whom it imagined or wished an interest, for pity and consolation. +--Or, to express myself better, and more concisely, in your own words, +misfortune makes people plaintive: And to whom, if not to a friend, can +the afflicted complain? + +Miss Howe being abroad when my letter came, I flatter myself that she is +recovered. But it would be some satisfaction to me to be informed if she +has been ill. Another line from your hand would be too great a favour: +but if you will be pleased to direct any servant to answer yes, or no, to +that question, I will not be farther troublesome. + +Nevertheless, I must declare, that my Miss Howe's friendship was all the +comfort I had, or expected to have in this world; and a line from her +would have been a cordial to my fainting heart. Judge then, dearest +Madam, how reluctantly I must obey your prohibition--but yet I will +endeavour to obey it; although I should have hoped, as well from the +tenor of all that has passed between Miss Howe and me, as from her +established virtue, that she could not be tainted by evil communication, +had one or two letters been permitted. This, however, I ask not for, +since I think I have nothing to do but to beg of God (who, I hope, has +not yet withdrawn his grace from me, although he has pleaded to let loose +his justice upon my faults) to give me a truly broken spirit, if it be +not already broken enough, and then to take to his mercy + +The unhappy +CLARISSA HARLOWE. + +Two favours, good Madam, I have to beg of you.--The first,--that you will + not let any of my relations know that you have heard from me. The + other,--that no living creature be apprized where I am to be heard of, + or directed to. This is a point that concerns me more than I can + express.--In short, my preservation from further evils may depend upon + it. + + + +LETTER LIII + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO HANNAH BURTON +THURSDAY, JUNE 29. + + +MY GOOD HANNAH, + +Strange things have happened to me, since you were dismissed my service +(so sorely against my will) and your pert fellow servant set over me. +But that must all be forgotten now-- + +How do you, my Hannah? Are you recovered of your illness? If you are, +do you choose to come and be with me? Or can you conveniently? + +I am a very unhappy creature, and, being among all strangers, should be +very glad to have you with me, of whose fidelity and love I have had so +many acceptable instances. + +Living or dying, I will endeavour to make it worth your while, my Hannah. + +If you are recovered, as I hope, and if you have a good place, it may be +they would bear with your absence, and suffer somebody in your room for a +month or so: and, by that time, I hope to be provided for, and you may +then return to your place. + +Don't let any of my friends know of this my desire: whether you can come +or not. + +I am at Mr. Smith's, a hosier's and glove shop, in King-street, +Covent-garden. + +You must direct to me by the name of Rachel Clark. + +Do, my good Hannah, come if you can to your poor young mistress, who +always valued you, and always will whether you come or not. + +I send this to your mother at St. Alban's, not knowing where to direct +to you. Return me a line, that I may know what to depend upon: and I +shall see you have not forgotten the pretty hand you were taught, in +happy days, by + +Your true friend, +CLARISSA HARLOWE. + + + +LETTER LIV + +HANNAH BURTON +[IN ANSWER.] +MONDAY, JULY 3. + + +HONORED MADDAM, + +I have not forgot to write, and never will forget any thing you, my dear +young lady, was so good as to larn me. I am very sorrowful for your +misfortens, my dearest young lady; so sorrowfull, I do not know what to +do. Gladd at harte would I be to be able to come to you. But indeed I +have not been able to stir out of my rome here at my mother's ever since +I was forsed to leave my plase with a roomatise, which has made me quite +and clene helpless. I will pray for you night and day, my dearest, my +kindest, my goodest young lady, who have been so badly used; and I am +very sorry I cannot come to do you love and sarvice; which will ever be +in the harte of mee to do, if it was in my power: who am + +Your most dutiful servant to command, +HANNAH BURTON. + + + +LETTER LV + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MRS. JUDITH NORTON +THURSDAY, JUNE 29. + + +MY DEAR MRS. NORTON, + +I address myself to you, after a very long silence, (which, however, was +not owing either to want of love or duty,) principally to desire you to +satisfy me in two or three points, which it behoves me to know. + +My father, and all the family, I am informed, are to be at my uncle +Harlowe's this day, as usual. Pray acquaint me, if they have been there? +And if they were cheerful on the anniversary occasion? And also, if you +have heard of any journey, or intended journey, of my brother, in company +with Captain Singleton and Mr. Solmes? + +Strange things have happened to me, my dear, worthy and maternal friend-- +very strange things!--Mr. Lovelace has proved a very barbarous and +ungrateful man to me. But, God be praised, I have escaped from him. +Being among absolute strangers (though I think worthy folks) I have +written to Hannah Burton to come and be with me. If the good creature +fall in your way, pray encourage her to come to me. I always intended +to have her, she knows: but hoped to be in happier circumstances. + +Say nothing to any of my friends that you have heard from me. + +Pray, do you think my father would be prevailed upon, if I were to +supplicate him by letter, to take off the heavy curse he laid upon me at +my going from Harlowe-place? I can expect no other favour from him. But +that being literally fulfilled as to my prospects in this life, I hope it +will be thought to have operated far enough; and my heart is so weak!--it +is very weak!--But for my father's own sake--what should I say!--Indeed I +hardly know how I ought to express myself on this sad subject!--but it +will give ease to my mind to be released from it. + +I am afraid my Poor, as I used to call the good creatures to whose +necessities I was wont to administer by your faithful hands, have missed +me of late. But now, alas! I am poor myself. It is not the least +aggravation of my fault, nor of my regrets, that with such inclinations +as God has given me, I have put it our of my power to do the good I once +pleased myself to think I was born to do. It is a sad thing, my dearest +Mrs. Nortin, to render useless to ourselves and the world, by our own +rashness, the talents which Providence has intrusted to us, for the +service of both. + +But these reflections are now too late; and perhaps I ought to have kept +them to myself. Let me, however, hope that you love me still. Pray let +me hope that you do. And then, notwithstanding my misfortunes, which +have made me seem ungrateful to the kind and truly maternal pains you +have taken with me from my cradle, I shall have the happiness to think +that there is one worthy person, who hates not + +The unfortunate +CLARISSA HARLOWE. + +Pray remember me to my foster-brother. I hope he continues dutiful and + good to you. +Be pleased to direct for Rachel Clark, at Mr. Smith's, in King-street, + Covent-garden. But keep the direction an absolute secret. + + + +LETTER LVI + +MRS. NORTON +[IN ANSWER.] +SATURDAY, JULY 1. + + +Your letter, my dearest young lady, cuts me to the heart! Why will you +not let me know all your distresses?--Yet you have said enough! + +My son is very good to me. A few hours ago he was taken with a feverish +disorder. But I hope it will go off happily, if his ardour for business +will give him the recess from it which his good master is willing to +allow him. He presents his duty to you, and shed tears at hearing your +sad letter read. + +You have been misinformed as to your family's being at your uncle +Harlowe's. They did not intend to be there. Nor was the day kept at +all. Indeed, they have not stirred out, but to church (and that but +three times) ever since the day you went away.--Unhappy day for them, and +for all who know you!--To me, I am sure, most particularly so!--My heart +now bleeds more and more for you. + +I have not heard a syllable of such a journey as you mentioned of your +brother, Captain Singleton, and Mr. Solmes. There has been some talk +indeed of your brother's setting out for his northern estates: but I have +not heard of it lately. + +I am afraid no letter will be received from you. It grieves me to tell +you so, my dearest young lady. No evil can have happened to you, which +they do not expect to hear of; so great is their antipathy to the wicked +man, and so bad is his character. + +I cannot but think hardly of their unforgiveness: but there is no judging +for others by one's self. Nevertheless I will add, that, if you had had +as gentle spirits as mine, these evils had never happened either to them +or to you. I knew your virtue, and your love of virtue, from your very +cradle; and I doubted not but that, with God's grace, would always be +your guard. But you could never be driven; nor was there occasion to +drive you--so generous, so noble, so discreet.--But how does my love of +your amiable qualities increase my affliction; as these recollections +must do your's! + +You are escaped, my dearest Miss--happily, I hope--that is to say, with +your honour--else, how great must be your distress!--Yet, from your +letter, I dread the worst. + +I am very seldom at Harlowe-place. The house is not the house it used to +be, since you went from it. Then they are so relentless! And, as I +cannot say harsh things of the beloved child of my heart, as well as +bosom, they do not take it amiss that I stay away. + +Your Hannah left her place ill some time ago! and, as she is still at her +mother's at St. Alban's, I am afraid she continues ill. If so, as you +are among strangers, and I cannot encourage you at present to come into +these parts, I shall think it my duty to attend you (let it be taken as +it will) as soon as my Tommy's indisposition will permit; which I hope +will be soon. + +I have a little money by me. You say you are poor yourself.--How +grievous are those words from one entitled and accustomed to affluence!-- +Will you be so good to command it, my beloved young lady?--It is most of +it your own bounty to me. And I should take a pride to restore it to its +original owner. + +Your Poor bless you, and pray for you continually. I have so managed +your last benevolence, and they have been so healthy, and have had such +constant employ, that it has held out; and will hold out till the happier +times return, which I continually pray for. + +Let me beg of you, my dearest young lady, to take to yourself all those +aids which good persons, like you, draw from RELIGION, in support of +their calamities. Let your sufferings be what they will, I am sure you +have been innocent in your intention. So do not despond. None are made +to suffer above what they can, and therefore ought to bear. + +We know not the methods of Providence, nor what wise ends it may have to +serve in its seemingly-severe dispensations to its poor creatures. + +Few persons have greater reason to say this than myself. And since we +are apt in calamities to draw more comfort from example than precept, you +will permit me to remind you of my own lot: For who has had a greater +share of afflictions than myself? + +To say nothing of the loss of an excellent mother, at a time of life when +motherly care is most wanted; the death of a dear father, who was an +ornament to his cloth, (and who had qualified me to be his scribe and +amanuensis,) just as he came within view of a preferment which would have +made his family easy, threw me friendless into the wide world; threw me +upon a very careless, and, which was much worse, a very unkind husband. +Poor man!--but he was spared long enough, thank God, in a tedious +illness, to repent of his neglected opportunities, and his light +principles; which I have always thought of with pleasure, although I was +left the more destitute for his chargeable illness, and ready to be +brought to bed, when he died, of my Tommy. + +But this very circumstance, which I thought the unhappiest that I could +have been left in, (so short-sighted is human prudence!) became the happy +means of recommending me to your mother, who, in regard to my character, +and in compassion to my very destitute circumstances, permitted me, as I +made a conscience of not parting with my poor boy, to nurse both you and +him, born within a few days of each other. And I have never since wanted +any of the humble blessings which God has made me contented with. + + +Nor have I known what a very great grief was, from the day of my poor +husband's death till the day that your parents told me how much they were +determined that you should have Mr. Solmes; when I was apprized not only +of your aversion to him, but how unworthy he was of you: for then I began +to dread the consequences of forcing so generous a spirit; and, till +then, I never feared Mr. Lovelace, attracting as was his person, and +specious his manners and address. For I was sure you would never have +him, if he gave you not good reason to be convinced of his reformation: +nor till your friends were as well satisfied in it as yourself. But that +unhappy misunderstanding between your brother and Mr. Lovelace, and their +joining so violently to force you upon Mr. Solmes, did all that mischief, +which has cost you and them so dear, and poor me all my peace! Oh! what +has not this ungrateful, this double-guilty man to answer for! + +Nevertheless, you know not what God has in store for you yet!--But if you +are to be punished all your days here, for example sake, in a case of +such importance, for your one false step, be pleased to consider, that +this life is but a state of probation; and if you have your purification +in it, you will be the more happy. Nor doubt I, that you will have the +higher reward hereafter for submitting to the will of Providence here +with patience and resignation. + +You see, my dearest Miss Clary, that I make no scruple to call the step +you took a false one. In you it was less excusable than it would have +been in any other young lady; not only because of your superior talents, +but because of the opposition between your character and his: so that, if +you had been provoked to quit your father's house, it need not to have +been with him. Nor needed I, indeed, but as an instance of my impartial +love, to have written this to you.* + + +* Mrs. Norton, having only the family representation and invectives to +form her judgment upon, knew not that Clarissa had determined against +going off with Mr. Lovelace; nor how solicitous she had been to procure +for herself any other protection than his, when she apprehended that, if +she staid, she had no way to avoid being married to Mr. Solmes. + + +After this, it will have an unkind, and perhaps at this time an +unseasonable appearance, to express my concern that you have not before +favoured me with a line. Yet if you can account to yourself for your +silence, I dare say I ought to be satisfied; for I am sure you love me: +as I both love and honour you, and ever will, and the more for your +misfortunes. + +One consolation, methinks, I have, even when I am sorrowing for your +calamities; and that is, that I know not any young person so qualified to +shine the brighter for the trials she may be exercised with: and yet it +is a consolation that ends in adding to my regrets for your afflictions, +because you are blessed with a mind so well able to bear prosperity, and +to make every body round you the better for it!--But I will forbear till +I know more. + +Ruminating on every thing your melancholy letter suggests, and +apprehending, from the gentleness of your mind, the amiableness of your +person, and your youth, the farther misfortunes and inconveniencies to +which you may possibly be subjected, I cannot conclude without asking for +your leave to attend you, and that in a very earnest manner--and I beg of +you not to deny me, on any consideration relating to myself, or even to +the indisposition of my other beloved child, if I can be either of use or +of comfort to you. Were it, my dearest young lady, but for two or three +days, permit me to attend you, although my son's illness should increase, +and compel me to come down again at the end of those two or three days.-- +I repeat my request, likewise, that you will command from me the little +sum remaining in the hands of your bounty to your Poor, as well as that +dispensed to + +Your ever-affectionate and faithful servant, +JUDITH NORTON. + + + +LETTER LVII + +MISS CL. HARLOWE, TO LADY BETTY LAWRANCE +THURSDAY, JUNE 29. + + +MADAM, + +I hope you'll excuse the freedom of this address, from one who has not +the honour to be personally known to you, although you must have heard +much of Clarissa Harlowe. It is only to beg the favour of a line from +your Ladyship's hand, (by the next post, if convenient,) in answer to the +following questions: + +1. Whether you wrote a letter, dated, as I have a memorandum, Wedn. June + 7, congratulating your nephew Lovelace on his supposed nuptials, as + reported to you by Mr. Spurrier, your Ladyship's steward, as from one + Captain Tomlinson:--and in it reproaching Mr. Lovelace, as guilty of + slight, &c. in not having acquainted your Ladyship and the family + with his marriage? + +2. Whether your ladyship wrote to Miss Montague to meet you at Reading, + in order to attend you to your cousin Leeson's, in Albemarle-street; + on your being obliged to be in town on your old chancery affair, I + remember are the words? and whether you bespoke your nephew's + attendance there on Sunday night the 11th? + +3. Whether your Ladyship and Miss Montague did come to town at that + time; and whether you went to Hampstead, on Monday, in a hired coach + and four, your own being repairing, and took from thence to town with + the young creature whom you visited there? + +Your Ladyship will probably guess, that the questions are not asked for +reasons favourable to your nephew Lovelace. But be the answer what it +will, it can do him no hurt, nor me any good; only that I think I owe it +to my former hopes, (however deceived in them,) and even to charity, that +a person, of whom I was once willing to think better, should not prove so +egregiously abandoned, as to be wanting, in every instance, to that +veracity which is indispensable in the character of a gentleman. + +Be pleased, Madam, to direct to me, (keeping the direction a secret for +the present,) to be left at the Belle-Savage, on Ludgate hill, till +called for. I am + +Your Ladyship's most humble servant, +CLARISSA HARLOWE. + + + +LETTER LVIII + +LADY BETTY LAWRANCE, TO MISS CL. HARLOWE +SATURDAY, JULY 1. + + +DEAR MADAM, + +I find that all is not as it should be between you and my nephew +Lovelace. It will very much afflict me, and all his friends, if he has +been guilty of any designed baseness to a lady of your character and +merit. + +We have been long in expectation of an opportunity to congratulate you +and ourselves upon an event most earnestly wished for by us all; since +our hopes of him are built upon the power you have over him: for if ever +man adored a woman, he is that man, and you, Madam, are that woman. + +Miss Montague, in her last letter to me, in answer to one of mine, +inquiring if she knew from him whether he could call you his, or was +likely soon to have that honour, has these words: 'I know not what to +make of my cousin Lovelace, as to the point your Ladyship is so earnest +about. He sometimes says he is actually married to Miss Cl. Harlowe: at +other times, that it is her own fault if he be not.--He speaks of her not +only with love but with reverence: yet owns, that there is a +misunderstanding between them; but confesses that she is wholly +faultless. An angel, and not a woman, he says she is: and that no man +living can be worthy of her.'-- + +This is what my niece Montague writes. + +God grant, my dearest young lady, that he may not have so heinously +offended you that you cannot forgive him! If you are not already +married, and refuse to be his, I shall lose all hopes that he ever will +marry, or be the man I wish him to be. So will Lord M. So will Lady +Sarah Sadleir. + +I will now answer your questions: but indeed I hardly know what to write, +for fear of widening still more the unhappy difference between you. But +yet such a young lady must command every thing from me. This then is my +answer: + +I wrote not any letter to him on or about the 7th of June. + +Neither I nor my steward know any such man as Captain Tomlinson. + +I wrote not to my niece to meet me at Reading, nor to accompany me to my + cousin Leeson's in town. + +My chancery affair, though, like most chancery affairs, it be of long + standing, is, nevertheless, now in so good a way, that it cannot + give me occasion to go to town. + +Nor have I been in town these six months: nor at Hampstead for + years. + +Neither shall I have any temptation to go to town, except to pay my + congratulatory compliments to Mrs. Lovelace. On which occasion I + should go with the greatest pleasure; and should hope for the + favour of your accompanying me to Glenham-hall, for a month at + least. + +Be what will the reason of your inquiry, let me entreat you, my dear +young lady, for Lord M.'s sake; for my sake; for this giddy man's sake, +soul as well as body; and for all our family's sakes; not to suffer this +answer to widen differences so far as to make you refuse him, if he +already has not the honour of calling you his; as I am apprehensive he +has not, by your signing by your family-name. + +And here let me offer to you my mediation to compose the difference +between you, be it what it will. Your cause, my dear young lady, cannot +be put into the hands of any body living more devoted to your service, +than into those of + +Your sincere admirer, and humble servant, +ELIZ. LAWRANCE. + + + +LETTER LIX + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MRS. HODGES +ENFIELD, JUNE 22. + + +MRS. HODGES, + +I am under a kind of necessity to write to you, having no one among my +relations to whom I dare write, or hope a line from if I did. It is but +to answer a question. It is this: + +Whether you know any such man as Captain Tomlinson? and, if you do, +whether he be very intimate with my uncle Harlowe? + +I will describe his person lest, possibly, he should go by another name +among you; although I know not why he should. + +'He is a thin, tallish man, a little pock-fretten, of a sallowish +complexion. Fifty years of age, or more. Of good aspect when he looks +up. He seems to be a serious man, and one who knows the world. He +stoops a little in the shoulders. Is of Berkshire. His wife of +Oxfordshire; and has several children. He removed lately into your parts +form Northamptonshire.' + +I must desire you, Mrs. Hodges, that you will not let my uncle, nor any +of my relations, know that I write to you. + +You used to say, that you would be glad to have it in your power to serve +me. That, indeed, was in my prosperity. But, I dare say, you will not +refuse me in a particular that will oblige me, without hurting yourself. + +I understand that my father, mother, and sister, and I presume, my +brother, and my uncle Antony, are to be at my uncle Harlowe's this day. +God preserve them all, and may they rejoice in many happy birth-days! +You will write six words to me concerning their healths. + +Direct, for a particular reason, to Mrs. Dorothy Salcombe, to be left +till called for, at the Four Swans Inn, Bishopsgate-street. + +You know my hand-writing well enough, were not the contents of the letter +sufficient to excuse my name, or any other subscription, than that of + +Your friend. + + + +LETTER LX + +MRS. HODGES +[IN ANSWER.] +SAT. JULY 2. + + +MADDAM, + +I return you an anser, as you wish me to doe. Master is acquented with +no sitch man. I am shure no sitch ever came to our house. And master +sturs very little out. He has no harte to stur out. For why? Your +obstinacy makes um not care to see one another. Master's birth-day never +was kept soe before: for not a sole heere: and nothing but sikeing and +sorrowin from master to think how it yused to bee. + +I axed master, if soe bee he knowed sitch a man as one Captain Tomlinson? +but said not whirfor I axed. He sed, No, not he. + +Shure this is no trix nor forgery bruing against master by one Tomlinson +--Won knows not what company you may have been forsed to keep, sen you +went away, you knoe, Maddam; but Lundon is a pestilent plase; and that +'Squire Luvless is a devil (for all he is sitch a like gentleman to look +to) as I hev herd every boddy say; and think as how you have found by +thiss. + +I truste, Maddam, you wulde not let master cum to harme, if you knoed it, +by any body who may pretend to be acquented with him: but for fere, I +querid with myself if I shulde not tell him. But I was willin to show +you, that I wulde plessure you in advarsity, if advarsity be your lott, +as well as prosperity; for I am none of those that woulde doe otherwiss. +Soe no more from + +Your humble sarvent, to wish you well, +SARAH HODGES. + + + +LETTER LXI + +MISS CL. HARLOWE, TO LADY BETTY LAWRANCE. +MONDAY, JULY 3. + + +MADAM, + +I cannot excuse myself from giving your Ladyship this one trouble more; +to thank you, as I most heartily do, for your kind letter. + +I must own to you, Madam, that the honour of being related to ladies as +eminent for their virtue as for their descent, was at first no small +inducement with me to lend an ear to Mr. Lovelace's address. And the +rather, as I was determined, had it come to effect, to do every thing in +my power to deserve your favourable opinion. + +I had another motive, which I knew would of itself give me merit with +your whole family; a presumptuous one, (a punishably presumptuous one, as +it has proved,) in the hope that I might be an humble mean in the hand of +Providence to reclaim a man, who had, as I thought, good sense enough to +acknowledge the intended obligation, whether the generous hope were to +succeed or not. + +But I have been most egregiously mistaken in Mr. Lovelace; the only man, +I persuade myself, pretending to be a gentleman, in whom I could have +been so much mistaken: for while I was endeavouring to save a drowning +wretch, I have been, not accidentally, but premeditatedly, and of set +purpose, drawn in after him. And he has had the glory to add to the list +of those he has ruined, a name, that, I will be bold to say, would not +have disparaged his own. And this, Madam, by means that would shock +humanity to be made acquainted with. + +My whole end is served by your Ladyship's answer to the questions I took +the liberty to put to you in writing. Nor have I a wish to make the +unhappy man more odious to you than is necessary to excuse myself for +absolutely declining your offered mediation. + +When your Ladyship shall be informed of the following particulars: + +That after he had compulsorily, as I may say, tricked me into the act of +going off with him, he could carry me to one of the vilest houses, as it +proved, in London: + +That he could be guilty of a wicked attempt, in resentment of which, I +found means to escape from him to Hampstead: + +That, after he had found me out there (I know not how) he could procure +two women, dressed out richly, to personate your Ladyship and Miss +Montague; who, under pretence of engaging me to make a visit in town to +your cousin Leeson, (promising to return with me that evening to +Hampstead,) betrayed me back again to the vile house: where, again made a +prisoner, I was first robbed of my senses; and then of my honour. Why +should I seek to conceal that disgrace from others which I cannot hide +from myself? + +When your Ladyship shall know, that, in the shocking progress to this +ruin, wilful falsehoods, repeated forgeries, (particularly of one letter +from your Ladyship, another from Miss Montague, and a third from Lord M.) +and numberless perjuries, were not the least of his crimes: you will +judge, that I can have no principles that will make me worthy of an +alliance with ladies of your's and your noble sister's character, if I +could not from my soul declare, that such an alliance can never now take +place. + +I will not offer to clear myself entirely of blame: but, as to him, I +have no fault to accuse myself of: my crime was, the corresponding with +him at first, when prohibited so to do by those who had a right to my +obedience; made still more inexcusable, by giving him a clandestine +meeting, which put me into the power of his arts. And for this I am +content to be punished: thankful, that at last I have escaped from him; +and have it in my power to reject so wicked a man for my husband: and +glad, if I may be a warning, since I cannot be an example: which once +(very vain, and very conceited, as I was) I proposed to myself to be. + +All the ill I wish him is, that he may reform; and that I may be the last +victim to his baseness. Perhaps this desirable wish may be obtained, +when he shall see how his wickedness, his unmerited wickedness! to a poor +creature, made friendless by his cruel arts, will end. + +I conclude with my humble thanks to your Ladyship for your favourable +opinion of me; and with the assurance that I will be, while life is lent +me, + +Your Ladyship's grateful and obliged servant, +CLARISSA HARLOWE. + + + +LETTER LXII + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MRS. NORTON +SUNDAY EVENING, JULY 2. + + +How kindly, my beloved Mrs. Norton, do you soothe the anguish of a +bleeding heart! Surely you are mine own mother; and, by some +unaccountable mistake, I must have been laid to a family that, having +newly found out, or at least suspected, the imposture, cast me from their +hearts, with the indignation that such a discovery will warrant. + +Oh! that I had been indeed your own child, born to partake of your humble +fortunes, an heiress only to that content in which you are so happy! then +should I have had a truly gentle spirit to have guided my ductile heart, +which force and ungenerous usage sit so ill upon: and nothing of what has +happened would have been. + +But let me take heed that I enlarge not, by impatience, the breach +already made in my duty by my rashness! since, had I not erred, my +mother, at least, could never have been thought hard-hearted and +unforgiving. Am I not then answerable, not only for my own faults, but +for the consequences of them; which tend to depreciate and bring disgrace +upon a maternal character never before called in question? + +It is kind, however, in you to endeavour to extenuate the faults of one +so greatly sensible of it: and could it be wiped off entirely, it would +render me more worthy of the pains you have taken in my education: for it +must add to your grief, as it does to my confusion, that, after such +promising beginnings, I should have so behaved as to be a disgrace +instead of a credit to you and my other friends. + +But that I may not make you think me more guilty than I am, give me leave +briefly to assure you, that, when my story is known, I shall be +to more compassion than blame, even on the score of going away with Mr. +Lovelace. + +As to all that happened afterwards, let me only say, that although I must +call myself a lost creature as to this world, yet have I this consolation +left me, that I have not suffered either for want of circumspection, or +through careful credulity or weakness. Not one moment was I off my +guard, or unmindful of your early precepts. But (having been enabled to +baffle many base contrivances) I was at last ruined by arts the most +inhuman. But had I not been rejected by every friend, this low-hearted +man had not dared, nor would have had opportunity, to treat me as he has +treated me. + +More I cannot, at this time, nor need I say: and this I desire you to +keep to yourself, lest resentments should be taken up when I am gone, +that may spread the evil which I hope will end with me. + +I have been misinformed, you say, as to my principal relations being at +my uncle Harlowe's. The day, you say, was not kept. Nor have my brother +and Mr. Solmes--Astonishing!--What complicated wickedness has this +wretched man to answer for!--Were I to tell you, you would hardly believe +that there could have been such a heart in man.-- + +But one day you may know the whole story!--At present I have neither +inclination nor words--O my bursting heart!--Yet a happy, a wished +relief!--Were you present my tears would supply the rest! + + +*** + + +I resume my pen! + +And so you fear no letter will be received from me. But DON'T grieve to +tell me so! I expect every thing bad--and such is my distress, that had +you not bid me hope for mercy from the throne of mercy, I should have +been afraid that my father's dreadful curse would be completed with +regard to both worlds. + +For here, an additional misfortune!--In a fit of phrensical heedlessness, +I sent a letter to my beloved Miss Howe, without recollecting her private +address; and it has fallen into her angry mother's hands: and so that +dear friend perhaps has anew incurred displeasure on my account. And +here too your worthy son is ill; and my poor Hannah, you think, cannot +come to me--O my dear Mrs. Norton, will you, can you censure those whose +resentments against me Heaven seems to approve of? and will you acquit +her whom that condemns? + +Yet you bid me not despond.--I will not, if I can help it. And, indeed, +most seasonable consolation has your kind letter afforded me.--Yet to God +Almighty do I appeal, to avenge my wrongs, and vindicate my inno---- + +But hushed be my stormy passions!--Have I not but this moment said that +your letter gave me consolation?--May those be forgiven who hinder my +father from forgiving me!--and this, as to them, shall be the harshest +thing that shall drop from my pen. + +But although your son should recover, I charge you, my dear Mrs. Norton, +that you do not think of coming to me. I don't know still but your +mediation with my mother (although at present your interposition would be +so little attended to) may be of use to procure me the revocation of that +most dreadful part of my father's curse, which only remains to be +fulfilled. The voice of Nature must at last be heard in my favour, +surely. It will only plead at first to my friends in the still conscious +plaintiveness of a young and unhardened beggar. But it will grow more +clamorous when I have the courage to be so, and shall demand, perhaps, +the paternal protection from farther ruin; and that forgiveness, which +those will be little entitled to expect, for their own faults, who shall +interpose to have it refused to me, for an accidental, not a premeditated +error: and which, but for them, I had never fallen into. + +But again, impatiency, founded perhaps on self-partiality, that strange +misleader! prevails. + +Let me briefly say, that it is necessary to my present and future hopes +that you keep well with my family. And moreover, should you come, I may +be traced out by that means by the most abandoned of men. Say not then +that you think you ought to come up to me, let it be taken as it will:-- +For my sake, let me repeat, (were my foster-brother recovered, as I hope +he is,) you must not come. Nor can I want your advice, while I can +write, and you can answer me. And write I will as often as I stand in +need of your counsel. + +Then the people I am now with seem to be both honest and humane: and +there is in the same house a widow-lodger, of low fortunes, but of great +merit:--almost such another serious and good woman as the dear one to +whom I am now writing; who has, as she says, given over all other +thoughts of the world but such as should assist her to leave it happily. +--How suitable to my own views!--There seems to be a comfortable +providence in this at least--so that at present there is nothing of +exigence; nothing that can require, or even excuse, your coming, when so +many better ends may be answered by your staying where you are. A time +may come, when I shall want your last and best assistance: and then, my +dear Mrs. Norton--and then, I will speak it, and embrace it with all my +whole heart--and then, will it not be denied me by any body. + +You are very obliging in your offer of money. But although I was forced +to leave my clothes behind me, yet I took several things of value with +me, which will keep me from present want. You'll say, I have made a +miserable hand of it--so indeed I have--and, to look backwards, in a very +little while too. + +But what shall I do, if my father cannot be prevailed upon to recall his +malediction? O my dear Mrs. Norton, what a weight must a father's curse +have upon a heart so appreciative as mine!--Did I think I should ever +have a father's curse to deprecate? And yet, only that the temporary +part of it is so terribly fulfilled, or I should be as earnest for its +recall, for my father's sake, as for my own! + +You must not be angry with me that I wrote not to you before. You are +very right and very kind to say you are sure I love you. Indeed I do. +And what a generosity, [so like yourself!] is there in your praise, to +attribute to me more than I merit, in order to raise an emulation to me +to deserve your praises!--you tell me what you expect from me in the +calamities I am called upon to bear. May I behave answerably! + +I can a little account to myself for my silence to you, my kind, my dear +maternal friend! How equally sweetly and politely do you express +yourself on this occasion! I was very desirous, for your sake, as well +as for my own, that you should have it to say that we did not correspond: +had they thought we did, every word you could have dropt in my favour +would have been rejected; and my mother would have been forbid to see +you, or pay any regard to what you should say. + +Then I had sometimes better and sometimes worse prospects before me. My +worst would only have troubled you to know: my better made me frequently +hope, that, by the next post, or the next, and so on for weeks, I should +have the best news to impart to you that then could happen: cold as the +wretch had made my heart to that best.--For how could I think to write to +you, with a confession that I was not married, yet lived in the house +(for I could not help it) with such a man?--Who likewise had given it out +to several, that we were actually married, although with restrictions +that depended on the reconciliation with my friends? And to disguise the +truth, or be guilty of a falsehood, either direct or equivocal, that was +what you had never taught me. + +But I might have written to you for advice, in my precarious situation, +perhaps you will think. But, indeed, my dear Mrs. Norton, I was not lost +for want of advice. And this will appear clear to you from what I have +already hinted, were I to explain myself no further:--For what need had +the cruel spoiler to have recourse to unprecedented arts--I will speak +out plainer still, (but you must not at present report it,) to stupifying +potions, and to the most brutal and outrageous force, had I been wanting +in my duty? + +A few words more upon this grievous subject-- + +When I reflect upon all that has happened to me, it is apparent, that +this generally-supposed thoughtless seducer has acted by me upon a +regular and preconcerted plan of villany. + +In order to set all his vile plots in motion, nothing was wanting, from +the first, but to prevail upon me, either by force or fraud, to throw +myself into his power: and when this was effected, nothing less than the +intervention of the paternal authority, (which I had not deserved to be +exerted in my behalf,) could have saved me from the effect of his deep +machinations. Opposition from any other quarter would but too probably +have precipitated his barbarous and ungrateful violence: and had you +yourself been with me, I have reason now to think, that somehow or other +you would have suffered in endeavouring to save me: for never was there, +as now I see, a plan of wickedness more steadily and uniformly pursued +than his has been, against an unhappy creature who merited better of him: +but the Almighty has thought fit, according to the general course of His +providence, to make the fault bring on its own punishment: but surely not +in consequence of my father's dreadful imprecation, 'That I might be +punished here,' [O my mamma Norton, pray with me, if so, that here it +stop!] 'by the very wretch in whom I had placed my wicked confidence!' + +I am sorry, for your sake, to leave off so heavily. Yet the rest must be +brief. + +Let me desire you to be secret in what I have communicated to you; at +least till you have my consent to divulge it. + +God preserve to you your more faultless child! + +I will hope for His mercy, although I should not obtain that of any +earthly person. + +And I repeat my prohibition:--You must not think of coming up to + +Your ever dutiful +CL. HARLOWE. + +The obliging person, who left your's for me this day, promised to call + to-morrow, to see if I should have any thing to return. I would + not lose so good an opportunity. + + + +LETTER LXIII + +MRS. NORTON, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE +MONDAY NIGHT, JULY 3. + + +O the barbarous villany of this detestable man! And is there a man in +the world who could offer violence to so sweet a creature! + +And are you sure you are now out of his reach? + +You command me to keep secret the particulars of the vile treatment you +have met with; or else, upon an unexpected visit which Miss Harlowe +favoured me with, soon after I had received your melancholy letter, I +should have been tempted to own I had heard from you, and to have +communicated to her such parts of your two letters as would have +demonstrated your penitence, and your earnestness to obtain the +revocation of your father's malediction, as well as his protection from +outrages that may still be offered to you. But then your sister would +probably have expected a sight of the letters, and even to have been +permitted to take them with her to the family. + +Yet they must one day be acquainted with the sad story:--and it is +impossible but they must pity you, and forgive you, when they know your +early penitence, and your unprecedented sufferings; and that you have +fallen by the brutal force of a barbarous ravisher, and not by the vile +arts of a seducing lover. + +The wicked man gives it out at Lord M.'s, as Miss Harlowe tells me, that +he is actually married to you--yet she believes it not: nor had I the +heart to let her know the truth. + +She put it close to me, Whether I had not corresponded with you from the +time of your going away? I could safely tell her, (as I did,) that I had +not: but I said, that I was well informed, that you took extremely to +heart your father's imprecation; and that, if she would excuse me, I +would say it would be a kind and sisterly part, if she would use her +interest to get you discharged from it. + +Among other severe things, she told me, that my partial fondness for you +made me very little consider the honour of the rest of the family: but, +if I had not heard this from you, she supposed I was set on by Miss Howe. + +She expressed herself with a good deal of bitterness against that young +lady: who, it seems, every where, and to every body, (for you must think +that your story is the subject of all conversations,) rails against your +family; treating them, as your sister says, with contempt, and even with +ridicule. + +I am sorry such angry freedoms are taken, for two reasons; first, because +such liberties never do any good. I have heard you own, that Miss Howe +has a satirical vein; but I should hope that a young lady of her sense, +and right cast of mind, must know that the end of satire is not to +exasperate, but amend; and should never be personal. If it be, as my +good father used to say, it may make an impartial person suspect that the +satirist has a natural spleen to gratify; which may be as great a fault +in him, as any of those which he pretends to censure and expose in +others. + +Perhaps a hint of this from you will not be thrown away. + +My second reason is, That these freedoms, from so warm a friend to you as +Miss Howe is known to be, are most likely to be charged to your account. + +My resentments are so strong against this vilest of men, that I dare not +touch upon the shocking particulars which you mention of his baseness. +What defence, indeed, could there be against so determined a wretch, +after you was in his power? I will only repeat my earnest supplication +to you, that, black as appearances are, you will not despair. Your +calamities are exceeding great; but then you have talents proportioned to +your trials. This every body allows. + +Suppose the worst, and that your family will not be moved in your favour, +your cousin Morden will soon arrive, as Miss Harlowe told me. If he +should even be got over to their side, he will however see justice done +you; and then may you live an exemplary life, making hundreds happy, and +teaching young ladies to shun the snares in which you have been so +dreadfully entangled. + +As to the man you have lost, is an union with such a perjured heart as +his, with such an admirable one as your's, to be wished for? A base, +low-hearted wretch, as you justly call him, with all his pride of +ancestry; and more an enemy to himself with regard to his present and +future happiness than to you, in the barbarous and ungrateful wrongs he +has done you: I need not, I am sure, exhort you to despise such a man as +this, since not to be able to do so, would be a reflection upon a sex to +which you have always been an honour. + +Your moral character is untainted: the very nature of your sufferings, as +you will observe, demonstrates that. Cheer up, therefore, your dear +heart, and do not despair; for is it not GOD who governs the world, and +permits some things, and directs others, as He pleases? and will He not +reward temporary sufferings, innocently incurred, and piously supported, +with eternal felicity?--And what, my dear, is this poor needle's point of +NOW to a boundless eternity? + +My heart, however, labours under a double affliction: For my poor boy is +very, very bad--a violent fever--nor can it be brought to intermit.--Pray +for him, my dearest Miss--for his recovery, if God see fit.--I hope God +will see fit--if not (how can I bear to suppose that!) Pray for me, that +he will give me that patience and resignation which I have been wishing +to you. I am, my dearest young lady, + +Your ever affectionate +JUDITH NORTON. + + + +LETTER LXIV + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MRS. JUDITH NORTON +THURSDAY, JULY 6. + + +I ought not, especially at this time, to add to your afflictions--but yet +I cannot help communicating to you (who now are my only soothing friend) +a new trouble that has befallen me. + +I had but one friend in the world, beside you; and she is utterly +displeased with me.* It is grievous, but for one moment, to lie under a +beloved person's censure; and this through imputations that affect one's +honour and prudence. There are points so delicate, you know, my dear +Mrs. Norton, that it is a degree of dishonour to have a vindication of +one's self from them appear to be necessary. In the present case, my +misfortune is, that I know not how to account, but by guess (so subtle +have been the workings of the dark spirit I have been unhappily entangled +by) for some of the facts that I am called upon to explain. + +Miss Howe, in short, supposes she has found a flaw in my character. I +have just now received her severe letter--but I shall answer it, perhaps, +in better temper, if I first consider your's: for indeed my patience is +almost at an end. And yet I ought to consider, that faithful are the +wounds of a friend. But so many things at once! O my dear Mrs. Norton, +how shall so young a scholar in the school of affliction be able to bear +such heavy and such various evils! + +But to leave this subject for a while, and turn to your letter. + +I am very sorry Miss Howe is so lively in her resentments on my account. +I have always blamed her very freely for her liberties of this sort with +my friends. I once had a good deal of influence over her kind heart, and +she made all I said a law to her. But people in calamity have little +weight in any thing, or with any body. Prosperity and independence are +charming things on this account, that they give force to the counsels of +a friendly heart; while it is thought insolence in the miserable to +advise, or so much as to remonstrate. + +Yet is Miss Howe an invaluable person: And is it to be expected that she +should preserve the same regard for my judgment that she had before I +forfeited all title to discretion? With what face can I take upon me to +reproach a want of prudence in her? But if I can be so happy as to +re-establish myself in her ever-valued opinion, I shall endeavour to +enforce upon her your just observation on this head. + +You need not, you say, exhort me to despise such a man as him, by whom I +have suffered--indeed you need not: for I would choose the cruellest +death rather than to be his. And yet, my dear Mrs. Norton, I will own to +you, that once I could have loved him.--Ungrateful man!--had he permitted +me to love him, I once could have loved him. Yet he never deserved +love. And was not this a fault?--But now, if I can but keep out of his +hands, and obtain a last forgiveness, and that as well for the sake of my +dear friends' future reflections, as for my own present comfort, it is +all I wish for. + +Reconciliation with my friends I do not expect; nor pardon from them; at +least, till in extremity, and as a viaticum. + +O my beloved Mrs. Norton, you cannot imagine what I have suffered!--But +indeed my heart is broken!--I am sure I shall not live to take possession +of that independence, which you think would enable me to atone, in some +measure, for my past conduct. + +While this is my opinion, you may believe I shall not be easy till I can +obtain a last forgiveness. + +I wish to be left to take my own course in endeavouring to procure this +grace. Yet know I not, at present, what that course shall be. + +I will write. But to whom is my doubt. Calamity has not yet given me +the assurance to address myself to my FATHER. My UNCLES (well as they +once loved me) are hard hearted. They never had their masculine passions +humanized by the tender name of FATHER. Of my BROTHER I have no hope. I +have then but my MOTHER, and my SISTER, to whom I can apply.--'And may I +not, my dearest Mamma, be permitted to lift up my trembling eye to your +all-cheering, and your once more than indulgent, your fond eye, in hopes +of seasonable mercy to the poor sick heart that yet beats with life drawn +from your own dearer heart?--Especially when pardon only, and not +restoration, is implored?' + +Yet were I able to engage my mother's pity, would it not be a mean to +make her still more unhappy than I have already made her, by the +opposition she would meet with, were she to try to give force to that +pity? + +To my SISTER, then, I think, I will apply--Yet how hard-hearted has my +sister been!--But I will not ask for protection; and yet I am in hourly +dread that I shall want protection.--All I will ask for at present +(preparative to the last forgiveness I will implore) shall be only to be +freed from the heavy curse that seems to have operated as far is it can +operate as to this life--and, surely, it was passion, and not intention, +that carried it so far as to the other! + +But why do I thus add to your distresses?--It is not, my dear Mrs. +Norton, that I have so much feeling for my own calamity that I have none +for your's: since your's is indeed an addition to my own. But you have +one consolation (a very great one) which I have not:--That your +afflictions, whether respecting your more or your less deserving child, +rise not from any fault of your own. + +But what can I do for you more than pray?--Assure yourself, that in every +supplication I put up for myself, I will with equal fervour remember both +you and your son. For I am and ever will be + +Your truly sympathising and dutiful +CLARISSA HARLOWE. + + + +LETTER LXV + +MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE +[SUPERSCRIBED FOR MRS. RACHEL CLARK, &c.] +WEDNESDAY, JULY 5. + + +MY DEAR CLARISSA, + +I have at last heard from you from a quarter I little expected. + +From my mother! + +She had for some time seen me uneasy and grieving; and justly supposed it +was about you: and this morning dropt a hint, which made me conjecture +that she must have heard something of you more than I knew. And when she +found that this added to my uneasiness, she owned she had a letter in her +hands of your's, dated the 29th of June, directed for me. + +You may guess, that this occasioned a little warmth, that could not be +wished for by either. + +[It is surprising, my dear, mighty surprising! that knowing the +prohibition I lay under of corresponding with you, you could send a +letter for me to our own house: since it must be fifty to one that it +would fall into my mother's hands, as you find it did.] + +In short, she resented that I should disobey her: I was as much concerned +that she should open and withhold from me my letters: and at last she was +pleased to compromise the matter with me by giving up the letter, and +permitting me to write to you once or twice: she to see the contents of +what I wrote. For, besides the value she has for you, she could not but +have greater curiosity to know the occasion of so sad a situation as your +melancholy letter shows you to be in. + +[But I shall get her to be satisfied with hearing me read what I write; +putting in between hooks, thus [], what I intend not to read to her.] + +Need I to remind you, Miss Clarissa Harlowe, of three letters I wrote to +you, to none of which I had any answer; except to the first, and that of +a few lines only, promising a letter at large, though you were well +enough, the day after you received my second, to go joyfully back again +with him to the vile house? But more of these by-and-by. I must hasten +to take notice of your letter of Wednesday last week; which you could +contrive should fall into my mother's hands. + +Let me tell you, that that letter has almost broken my heart. Good God! +--What have you brought yourself to, Miss Clarissa Harlowe?--Could I have +believed, that after you had escaped from the miscreant, (with such +mighty pains and earnestness escaped,) and after such an attempt as he +had made, you would have been prevailed upon not only to forgive him, but +(without being married too) to return with him to that horrid house!--A +house I had given you such an account of!--Surprising!----What an +intoxicating thing is this love?--I always feared, that you, even you, +were not proof against its inconsistent effects. + +You your best self have not escaped!--Indeed I see not how you could +expect to escape. + +What a tale have you to unfold!--You need not unfold it, my dear: I would +have engaged to prognosticate all that has happened, had you but told me +that you would once more have put yourself in his power, after you had +taken such pains to get out of it. + +Your peace is destroyed!--I wonder not at it: since now you must reproach +yourself for a credulity so ill-placed. + +Your intellect is touched!--I am sure my heart bleeds for you! But, +excuse me, my dear, I doubt your intellect was touched before you left +Hampstead: or you would never have let him find you out there; or, when +he did, suffer him to prevail upon you to return to the horrid brothel. + +I tell you, I sent you three letters: The first of which, dated the 7th +and 8th of June* (for it was written at twice) came safely to your hands, +as you sent me word by a few lines dated the 9th: had it not, I should +have doubted my own safety; since in it I give you such an account of the +abominable house, and threw such cautions in your way, in relation to +that Tomlinson, as the more surprised me that you could think of going +back to it again, after you had escaped from it, and from Lovelace.--O +my dear--but nothing now will I ever wonder at! + + +* See Vol. V. Letter XX. + + +The second, dated June 10,* was given into your own hand at Hampstead, on +Sunday the 11th, as you was lying upon a couch, in a strange way, +according to my messenger's account of you, bloated, and flush-coloured; +I don't know how. + + +* See Letter VII. of this volume. + + +The third was dated the 20th of June.* Having not heard one word from +you since the promising billet of the 9th, I own I did not spare you in +it. I ventured it by the usual conveyance, by that Wilson's, having no +other: so cannot be sure you received it. Indeed I rather think you +might not; because in your's, which fell into my mother's hands, you make +no mention of it: and if you had had it, I believe it would have touched +you too much to have been passed by unnoticed. + + +* See Letter XXX. of this volume. + + +You have heard, that I have been ill, you say. I had a cold, indeed; but +it was so slight a one that it confined me not an hour. But I doubt not +that strange things you have heard, and been told, to induce you to take +the step you took. And, till you did take that step (the going back with +this villain, I mean,) I knew not a more pitiable case than your's: since +every body must have excused you before, who knew how you were used at +home, and was acquainted with your prudence and vigilance. But, alas! my +dear, we see that the wisest people are not to be depended upon, when +love, like an ignis fatuus, holds up its misleading lights before their +eyes. + +My mother tells me, she sent you an answer, desiring you not to write to +me, because it would grieve me. To be sure I am grieved; exceedingly +grieved; and, disappointed too, you must permit me to say. For I had +always thought that there never was such a woman, at your years, in the +world. + +But I remember once an argument you held, on occasion of a censure passed +in company upon an excellent preacher, who was not a very excellent +liver: preaching and practising, you said, required very different +talents:* which, when united in the same person, made the man a saint; as +wit and judgment, going together, constituted a genius. + + +* See Vol. II. Letter IV. + + +You made it out, I remember, very prettily: but you never made it out, +excuse me, my dear, more convincingly, than by that part of your late +conduct, which I complain of. + +My love for you, and my concern for your honour, may possibly have made +me a little of the severest. If you think so, place it to its proper +account; to that love, and to that concern: which will but do justice +to + +Your afflicted and faithful +A.H. + +P.S. My mother would not be satisfied without reading my letter herself; + and that before I had fixed all the proposed hooks. She knows, by + this means, and has excused, our former correspondence. + +She indeed suspected it before: and so she very well might; knowing my + love of you. + +She has so much real concern for your misfortunes, that, thinking it will + be a consolation to you, and that it will oblige me, she consents + that you shall write to me the particulars at large of your say + story. But it is on condition that I show her all that has passed + between us, relating to yourself and the vilest of men. I have the + more cheerfully complied, as the communication cannot be to your + disadvantage. + +You may therefore write freely, and direct to our own house. + +My mother promises to show me the copy of her letter to you, and your + reply to it; which latter she has but just told me of. She already + apologizes for the severity of her's: and thinks the sight of your + reply will affect me too much. But, having her promise, I will not + dispense with it. + +I doubt her's is severe enough. So I fear you will think mine: but you + have taught me never to spare the fault for the friend's sake; and + that a great error ought rather to be the more inexcusable in the + person we value, than in one we are indifferent to; because it is a + reflection upon our choice of that person, and tends to a breach of + the love of mind, and to expose us to the world for our partiality. + To the love of mind, I repeat; since it is impossible but the + errors of the dearest friend must weaken our inward opinion of that + friend; and thereby lay a foundation for future distance, and + perhaps disgust. + +God grant that you may be able to clear your conduct after you had + escaped from Hampstead; as all before that time was noble, + generous, and prudent; the man a devil and you a saint!----Yet I + hope you can; and therefore expect it from you. + +I send by a particular hand. He will call for your answer at your own + appointment. + +I am afraid this horrid wretch will trace out by the post-offices where + you are, if not careful. + +To have money, and will, and head, to be a villain, is too much for the + rest of the world, when they meet in one man. + + + +LETTER LXVI + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE +THURSDAY, JULY 6. + + +Few young persons have been able to give more convincing proofs than +myself how little true happiness lies in the enjoyment of our own wishes. + +To produce one instance only of the truth of this observation; what would +I have given for weeks past, for the favour of a letter from my dear Miss +Howe, in whose friendship I placed all my remaining comfort! Little did +I think, that the next letter she would honour me with, should be in such +a style, as should make me look more than once at the subscription, that +I might be sure (the name not being written at length) that it was not +signed by another A.H. For surely, thought I, this is my sister +Arabella's style: surely Miss Howe (blame me as she pleases in other +points) could never repeat so sharply upon her friend, words written in +the bitterness of spirit, and in the disorder of head; nor remind her, +with asperity, and with mingled strokes of wit, of an argument held in +the gaiety of a heart elated with prosperous fortunes, (as mine then +was,) and very little apprehensive of the severe turn that argument would +one day take against herself. + +But what have I, sink in my fortunes; my character forfeited; my honour +lost, [while I know it, I care not who knows it;] destitute of friends, +and even of hope; what have I to do to show a spirit of repining and +expostulation to a dear friend, because she is not more kind than a +sister?---- + +You have till now, my dear, treated me with great indulgence. If it was +with greater than I had deserved, I may be to blame to have built upon +it, on the consciousness that I deserve it now as much as ever. But I +find, by the rising bitterness which will mingle with the gall in my ink, +that I am not yet subdued enough to my condition.--I lay down my pen for +one moment. + + +*** + + +Pardon me, my Miss Howe. I have recollected myself: and will endeavour +to give a particular answer to your letter; although it will take me up +too much time to think of sending it by your messenger to-morrow: he can +put off his journey, he says, till Saturday. I will endeavour to have +the whole narrative ready for you by Saturday. + +But how to defend myself in every thing that has happened, I cannot tell: +since in some part of the time, in which my conduct appears to have been +censurable, I was not myself; and to this hour know not all the methods +taken to deceive and ruin me. + +You tell me, that in your first letter you gave me such an account of the +vile house I was in, and such cautions about that Tomlinson, as made you +wonder how I could think of going back. + +Alas, my dear! I was tricked, most vilely tricked back, as you shall +hear in its place. + +Without knowing the house was so very vile a house from your intended +information, I disliked the people too much, ever voluntarily to have +returned to it. But had you really written such cautions about +Tomlinson, and the house, as you seem to have purposed to do, they must, +had they come in time, have been of infinite service to me. But not one +word of either, whatever was your intention, did you mention to me, in +that first of the three letters you so warmly TELL me you did send me. I +will enclose it to convince you.* + + +* The letter she encloses was Mr. Lovelace's forged one. See Vol. V. +Letter XXX. + + +But your account of your messenger's delivering to me your second +letter, and the description he gives of me, as lying upon a couch, in a +strange way, bloated, and flush-coloured; you don't know how, absolutely +puzzles and confounds me. + +Lord have mercy upon the poor Clarissa Harlowe! What can this mean!--Who +was the messenger you sent? Was he one of Lovelace's creatures too!-- +Could nobody come near me but that man's confederates, either setting out +so, or made so? I know not what to make of any one syllable of this! +Indeed I don't. + +Let me see. You say, this was before I went from Hampstead! My +intellects had not then been touched!--nor had I ever been surprised by +wine, [strange if I had!]: How then could I be found in such a strange +way, bloated and flush-coloured; you don't know how!--Yet what a vile, +what a hateful figure has your messenger represented me to have made! + +But indeed I know nothing of any messenger from you. + +Believing myself secure at Hampstead, I staid longer there than I would +have done, in hopes of the letter promised me in your short one of the +9th, brought me by my own messenger, in which you undertake to send for +and engage Mrs. Townsend in my favour.* + + +* See Vol. V. Letter XXIX. + + +I wondered I had not heard from you: and was told you were sick; and, at +another time, that your mother and you had had words on my account, and +that you had refused to admit Mr. Hickman's visits upon it: so that I +supposed, at one time, that you were not able to write; at another, that +your mother's prohibition had its due force with you. But now I have no +doubt that the wicked man must have intercepted your letter; and I wish +he found not means to corrupt your messenger to tell you so strange a +story. + +It was on Sunday, June 11, you say, that the man gave it me. I was at +church twice that day with Mrs. Moore. Mr. Lovelace was at her house the +while, where he boarded, and wanted to have lodged; but I would not +permit that, though I could not help the other. In one of these spaces +it must be that he had time to work upon the man. You'll easily, my +dear, find that out, by inquiring the time of his arrival at Mrs. Moore's +and other circumstances of the strange way he pretended to see me in, on +a couch, and the rest. + +Had any body seen me afterwards, when I was betrayed back to the vile +house, struggling under the operation of wicked potions, and robbed +indeed of my intellects (for this, as you shall hear, was my dreadful +case,) I might then, perhaps, have appeared bloated and flush-coloured, +and I know not how myself. But were you to see your poor Clarissa, now +(or even to have seen her at Hampstead before she suffered the vilest of +all outrages,) you would not think her bloated or flush-coloured: indeed +you would not. + +In a word, it could not be me your messenger saw; nor (if any body) who +it was can I divine. + +I will now, as briefly as the subject will permit, enter into the darker +part of my sad story: and yet I must be somewhat circumstantial, that you +may not think me capable of reserve or palliation. The latter I am not +conscious that I need. I should be utterly inexcusable were I guilty of +the former to you. And yet, if you know how my heart sinks under the +thoughts of a recollection so painful, you would pity me. + +As I shall not be able, perhaps, to conclude what I have to write in even +two or three letters, I will begin a new one with my story; and send the +whole of it together, although written at different periods, as I am +able. + +Allow me a little pause, my dear, at this place; and to subscribe myself + +Your ever affectionate and obliged, +CLARISSA HARLOWE. + + + +LETTER LXVII + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE +[REFERRED TO IN LETTER XII.] +THURSDAY NIGHT. + + +He had found me out at Hampstead: strangely found me out; for I am still +at a loss to know by what means. + +I was loth, in my billet of the 6th,* to tell you so, for fear of giving +you apprehensions for me; and besides, I hoped then to have a shorter and +happier issue to account to you for, through your assistance, than I met +with. + + +* See Vol. V. Letter XXXI. + + +[She then gives a narrative of all that passed at Hampstead between + herself, Mr. Lovelace, Capt. Tomlinson, and the women there, to the + same effect with that so amply given by Mr. Lovelace.] + +Mr. Lovelace, finding all he could say, and all Captain Tomlinson could +urge, ineffectual, to prevail upon me to forgive an outrage so flagrantly +premeditated; rested all his hopes on a visit which was to be paid me by +Lady Betty Lawrance and Miss Montague. + +In my uncertain situation, my prospects all so dark, I knew not to whom I +might be obliged to have recourse in the last resort: and as those ladies +had the best of characters, insomuch that I had reason to regret that I +had not from the first thrown myself upon their protection, (when I had +forfeited that of my own friends,) I thought I would not shun an +interview with them, though I was too indifferent to their kinsman to +seek it, as I doubted not that one end of their visit would be to +reconcile me to him. + +On Monday, the 12th of June, these pretended ladies came to Hampstead; +and I was presented to them, and they to me by their kinsman. + +They were richly dressed, and stuck out with jewels; the pretended Lady +Betty's were particularly very fine. + +They came in a coach-and-four, hired, as was confessed, while their own +was repairing in town: a pretence made, I now perceive, that I should not +guess at the imposture by the want of the real lady's arms upon it. Lady +Betty was attended by her woman, who she called Morrison; a modest +country-looking person. + +I had heard, that Lady Betty was a fine woman, and that Miss Montague was +a beautiful young lady, genteel, and graceful, and full of vivacity.-- +Such were these impostors: and having never seen either of them, I had +not the least suspicion, that they were not the ladies they personated; +and being put a little out of countenance by the richness of their +dresses, I could not help, (fool that I was!) to apologize for my own. + +The pretended Lady Betty then told me, that her nephew had acquainted +them with the situation of affairs between us. And although she could +not but say, that she was very glad that she had not put such a slight +upon his Lordship and them, as report had given them cause to apprehend, +(the reasons for which report, however, she must have approved of;) yet +it had been matter of great concern to her, and to her niece Montague, +and would to the whole family, to find so great a misunderstanding +subsisting between us, as, if not made up, might distance all their +hopes. + +She could easily tell who was in fault, she said. And gave him a look +both of anger and disdain; asking him, How it was possible for him to +give an offence of such a nature to so charming a lady, [so she called +me,] as should occasion a resentment so strong? + +He pretended to be awed into shame and silence. + +My dearest niece, said she, and took my hand, (I must call you niece, as +well from love, as to humour your uncle's laudable expedient,) permit me +to be, not an advocate, but a mediatrix for him; and not for his sake, so +much as for my own, my Charlotte's, and all our family's. The indignity +he has offered to you, may be of too tender a nature to be inquired into. +But as he declares, that it was not a premeditated offence; whether, my +dear, [for I was going to rise upon it in my temper,] it were or not; and +as he declares his sorrows for it, (and never did creature express a +deeper sorrow for any offence than he); and as it is a repairable one; let +us, for this one time, forgive him; and thereby lay an obligation upon +this man of errors--Let US, I say, my dear: for, Sir, [turning to him,] +an offence against such a peerless lady as this, must be an offence +against me, against your cousin here, and against all the virtuous of our +sex. + +See, my dear, what a creature he had picked out! Could you have thought +there was a woman in the world who could thus express herself, and yet be +vile? But she had her principal instructions from him, and those written +down too, as I have reason to think: for I have recollected since, that I +once saw this Lady Betty, (who often rose from her seat, and took a turn +to the other end of the room with such an emotion, as if the joy of her +heart would not let her sit still) take out a paper from her stays, and +look into it, and put it there again. She might oftener, and I not +observe it; for I little thought that there could be such impostors in +the world. + +I could not forbear paying great attention to what she said. I found my +tears ready to start; I drew out my handkerchief, and was silent. I had +not been so indulgently treated a great while by a person of character +and distinction, [such I thought her;] and durst not trust to the accent +of my voice. + +The pretended Miss Montague joined in on this occasion: and drawing her +chair close to me, took my other hand, and besought me to forgive her +cousin; and consent to rank myself as one of the principals of a family +that had long, very long, coveted the honour of my alliance. + +I am ashamed to repeat to you, my dear, now I know what wretches they +are, the tender, the obliging, and the respectful things I said to them. + +The wretch himself then came forward. He threw himself at my feet. How +was I beset!--The women grasping, one my right hand, the other my left: +the pretended Miss Montague pressing to her lips more than once the hand +she held: the wicked man on his knees, imploring my forgiveness; and +setting before me my happy and my unhappy prospects, as I should forgive +and not forgive him. All that he thought would affect me in former +pleas, and those of Capt. Tomlinson, he repeated. He vowed, he promised, +he bespoke the pretended ladies to answer for him; and they engaged their +honours in his behalf. + +Indeed, my dear, I was distressed, perfectly distressed. I was sorry +that I had given way to this visit. For I knew not how, in tenderness to +relations, (as I thought them,) so worthy, to treat so freely as he +deserved, a man nearly allied to them: so that my arguments and my +resolutions were deprived of their greatest force. + +I pleaded, however, my application to you. I expected every hour, I told +them, an answer from you to a letter I had written, which would decide my +future destiny. + +They offered to apply to you themselves in person, in their own behalf, +as they politely termed it. They besought me to write to you to hasten +your answer. + +I said, I was sure that you would write the moment that the event of an +application to be made to a third person enabled you to write. But as to +the success of their request in behalf of their kinsman, that depended +not upon the expected answer; for that, I begged their pardon, was out of +the question. I wished him well. I wished him happy. But I was +convinced, that I neither could make him so, nor he me. + +Then! how the wretch promised!--How he vowed!--How he entreated!--And how +the women pleaded!--And they engaged themselves, and the honour of their +whole family, for his just, his kind, his tender behaviour to me. + +In short, my dear, I was so hard set, that I was obliged to come to a +more favourable compromise with them than I had intended. I would wait +for your answer to my letter, I said: and if that made doubtful or +difficult the change of measures I had resolved upon, and the scheme of +life I had formed, I would then consider of the matter; and, if they +would permit me, lay all before them, and take their advice upon it, in +conjunction with your's, as if the one were my own aunt, and the other +were my own cousin. + +They shed tears upon this--of joy they called them:--But since, I +believe, to their credit, bad as they are, that they were tears of +temporary remorse; for, the pretended Miss Montague turned about, and, as +I remember, said, There was no standing it. + +But Mr. Lovelace was not so easily satisfied. He was fixed upon his +villanous measures perhaps; and so might not be sorry to have a pretence +against me. He bit his lip--he had been but too much used, he said, to +such indifference, such coldness, in the very midst of his happiest +prospects. I had on twenty occasions shown him, to his infinite regret, +that any favour I was to confer upon him was to be the result of--there +he stopt--and not of my choice. + +This had like to have set all back again. I was exceedingly offended. +But the pretended ladies interposed. The elder severely took him to +task. He ought, she told him, to be satisfied with what I had said. She +desired no other condition. And what, Sir, said she, with an air of +authority, would you commit errors, and expect to be rewarded for them? + +They then engaged me in a more agreeable conversation--the pretended lady +declared, that she, Lord M. and Lady Sarah, would directly and personally +interest themselves to bring about a general reconciliation between the +two families, and this either in open or private concert with my uncle +Harlowe, as should be thought fit. Animosities on one side had been +carried a great way, she said; and too little care had been shown on the +other to mollify or heal. My father should see that they could treat him +as a brother and a friend; and my brother and sister should be convinced +that there was no room either for the jealously [sic] or envy they had +conceived from motives too unworthy to be avowed. + +Could I help, my dear, being pleased with them?-- + +Permit me here to break off. The task grows too heavy, at present, for +the heart of + +Your +CLARISSA HARLOWE. + + + +LETTER LXVIII + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE +[IN CONTINUATION.] + + +I was very ill, and obliged to lay down my pen. I thought I should have +fainted. But am better now--so will proceed. + +The pretended ladies, the more we talked, the fonder they seemed to be of +me. And the Lady Betty had Mrs. Moore called up; and asked her, If she +had accommodations for her niece and self, her woman, and two men +servants, for three or four days? + +Mr. Lovelace answered for her that she had. + +She would not ask her dear niece Lovelace, [Permit me, my dear, whispered +she, this charming style before strangers! I will keep your uncle's +secret,] whether she should be welcome or not to be so near her. But for +the time she should stay in these parts, she would come up every night-- +What say you, niece Charlotte? + +The pretended Charlotte answered, she should like to do so, of all +things. + +The Lady Betty called her an obliging girl. She liked the place, she +said. Her cousin Leeson would excuse her. The air, and my company, +would do her good. She never chose to lie in the smoky town, if she +could help it. In short, my dear, said she to me, I will stay with you +till you hear from Miss Howe; and till I have your consent to go with me +to Glenham-hall. Not one moment will I be out of your company, when I +can have it. Stedman, my solicitor, as the distance from town is so +small, may attend me here for instructions. Niece Charlotte, one word +with you, child. + +They retired to the further end of the room, and talked about their +night-dresses. + +The Miss Charlotte said, Morrison might be dispatched for them. + +True, said the other--but I have some letters in my private box, which +I must have up. And you know, Charlotte, that I trust nobody with the +keys of that. + +Could not Morrison bring up the box? + +No. She thought it safest where it was. She had heard of a robbery +committed but two days ago at the food of Hampstead-hill; and she should +be ruined in she lost her box. + +Well, then, it was but going to town to undress, and she would leave her +jewels behind her, and return; and should be easier a great deal on all +accounts. + +For my part, I wondered they came up with them. But that was to be taken +as a respect paid to me. And then they hinted at another visit of +ceremony which they had thought to make, had they not found me so +inexpressibly engaging. + +They talked loud enough for me to hear them; on purpose, no doubt, though +in affected whispers; and concluded with high praises of me. + +I was not fool enough to believe, or to be puffed up with their +encomiums; yet not suspecting them, I was not displeased at so favourable +a beginning of acquaintance with Ladies (whether I were to be related to +them or not) of whom I had always heard honourable mention. And yet at +the time, I thought, highly as they exalted me, that in some respects +(though I hardly know in what) they fell short of what I expected them to +be. + +The grand deluder was at the farther end of the room, another way; +probably to give me an opportunity to hear these preconcerted praises-- +looking into a book, which had there not been a preconcert, would not +have taken his attention for one moment. It was Taylor's Holy Living and +Dying. + +When the pretended ladies joined me, he approached me with it in his hand +--a smart book, this, my dear!--this old divine affects, I see, a mighty +flowery style of an ordinary country funeral, where, the young women, in +honour of a defunct companion, especially if she were a virgin, or passed +for such, make a flower-bed of her coffin. + +And then, laying down the book, turning upon his heel, with one of his +usual airs of gaiety, And are you determined, Ladies, to take up your +lodgings with my charming creature? + +Indeed they were. + +Never were there more cunning, more artful impostors, than these women. +Practised creatures, to be sure: yet genteel; and they must have been +well-educated--once, perhaps, as much the delight of their parents, as I +was of mine: and who knows by what arts ruined, body and mind--O my dear! +how pregnant is this reflection! + +But the man!--Never was there a man so deep. Never so consummate a +deceiver; except that detested Tomlinson; whose years and seriousness, +joined with a solidity of sense and judgment that seemed uncommon, gave +him, one would have thought, advantages in villany, the other had not +time for. Hard, very hard, that I should fall into the knowledge of two +such wretches; when two more such I hope are not to be met with in the +world!--both so determined to carry on the most barbarous and perfidious +projects against a poor young creature, who never did or wished harm to +either. + +Take the following slight account of these women's and of this man's +behaviour to each other before me. + +Mr. Lovelace carried himself to his pretended aunt with high respect, +and paid a great deference to all she said. He permitted her to have all +the advantage over him in the repartees and retorts that passed between +them. I could, indeed, easily see, that it was permitted; and that he +forbore that vivacity, that quickness, which he never spared showing to +his pretended Miss Montague; and which a man of wit seldom knows how to +spare showing, when an opportunity offers to display his wit. + +The pretended Miss Montague was still more respectful in her behaviour to +her pretended aunt. While the aunt kept up the dignity of the character +she had assumed, rallying both of them with the air of a person who +depends upon the superiority which years and fortune give over younger +persons, who might have a view to be obliged to her, either in her life, +or at her death. + +The severity of her raillery, however, was turned upon Mr. Lovelace, on +occasion of the character of the people who kept the lodgings, which, she +said, I had thought myself so well warranted to leave privately. + +This startled me. For having then no suspicion of the vile Tomlinson, I +concluded (and your letter of the 7th* favoured my conclusion) that if +the house were notorious, either he, or Mr. Mennell, would have given me +or him some hints of it--nor, although I liked not the people, did I +observe any thing in them very culpable, till the Wednesday night before, +that they offered not to come to my assistance, although within hearing +of my distress, (as I am sure they were,) and having as much reason as I +to be frighted at the fire, had it been real. + + +* His forged letter. See Vol. V. Letter XXX. + + +I looked with indignation upon Mr. Lovelace, at this hint. + +He seemed abashed. I have not patience, but to recollect the specious +looks of this vile deceiver. But how was it possible, that even that +florid countenance of his should enable him to command a blush at his +pleasure? for blush he did, more than once: and the blush, on this +occasion, was a deep-dyed crimson, unstrained for, and natural, as I +thought--but he is so much of the actor, that he seems able to enter into +any character; and his muscles and features appear entirely under +obedience to his wicked will.* + + +* It is proper to observe, that there was a more natural reason than this +that the Lady gives for Mr. Lovelace's blushing. It was a blush of +indignation, as he owned afterwards to his friend Belford, in +conversation; for the pretended Lady Betty had mistaken her cue, in +condemning the house; and he had much ado to recover the blunder; being +obliged to follow her lead, and vary from his first design; which was to +have the people of the house spoken well of, in order to induce her to +return to it, were it but on pretence to direct her clothes to be carried +to Hampstead. + + +The pretended lady went on, saying, she had taken upon herself to inquire +after the people, on hearing that I had left the house in disgust; and +though she heard not any thing much amiss, yet she heard enough to make +her wonder that he could carry his spouse, a person of so much delicacy, +to a house, that, if it had not a bad fame, had not a good one. + +You must think, my dear, that I liked the pretended Lady Betty the better +for this. I suppose it was designed that I should. + +He was surprised, he said, that her Ladyship should hear a bad character +of the people. It was what he had never before heard that they deserved. +It was easy, indeed, to see, that they had not very great delicacy, +though they were not indelicate. The nature of their livelihood, letting +lodgings, and taking people to board, (and yet he had understood that +they were nice in these particulars,) led them to aim at being free and +obliging: and it was difficult, he said, for persons of cheerful +dispositions, so to behave as to avoid censure: openness of heart and +countenance in the sex (more was the pity) too often subjected good +people, whose fortunes did not set them above the world, to uncharitable +censure. + +He wished, however, that her Ladyship would tell what she had heard: +although now it signified but little, because he would never ask me to +set foot within their doors again: and he begged she would not mince the +matter. + +Nay, no great matter, she said. But she had been informed, that there +were more women-lodgers in the house than men: yet that their visiters +were more men than women. And this had been hinted to her (perhaps by +ill-wishers, she could not answer for that) in such a way, as if somewhat +further were meant by it than was spoken. + +This, he said, was the true innuendo-way of characterizing, used by +detractors. Every body and every thing had a black and a white side, of +which well wishers and ill wishers may make their advantage. He had +observed that the front house was well let, and he believed more to the +one sex than to the other; for he had seen, occasionally passing to or +fro, several genteel modest looking women; and who, it was very probable, +were not so ill-beloved, but they might have visiters and relations of +both sexes: but they were none of them any thing to us, or we to them: we +were not once in any of their companies: but in the genteelest and most +retired house of the two, which we had in a manner to ourselves, with the +use of a parlour to the street, to serve us for a servants' hall, or to +receive common visiters, or our traders only, whom we admitted not up +stairs. + +He always loved to speak as he found. No man in the world had suffered +more from calumny than he himself had done. + +Women, he owned, ought to be more scrupulous than men needed to be where +they lodged. Nevertheless he wished that fact, rather than surmise, were +to be the foundation of their judgments, especially when they spoke of +one another. + +He meant no reflection upon her Ladyship's informants, or rather +surmisants, (as he might call them,) be they who they would: nor did he +think himself obliged to defend characters impeached, or not thought well +of, by women of virtue and honour. Neither were these people of +importance enough to have so much said about them. + +The pretended Lady Betty said, all who knew her, would clear her of +censoriousness: that it gave her some opinion, she must needs say, of the +people, that he had continued there so long with me; that I had rather +negative than positive reasons of dislike to them; and that so shrewd a +man as she heard Captain Tomlinson was had not objected to them. + +I think, niece Charlotte, proceeded she, as my nephew had not parted with +these lodgings, you and I, (for, as my dear Miss Harlowe dislikes the +people, I would not ask her for her company) will take a dish of tea with +my nephew there, before we go out of town; and then we shall see what +sort of people they are. I have heard that Mrs. Sinclair is a mighty +forbidding creature. + +With all my heart, Madam. In your Ladyship's company I shall make no +scruple of going any where. + +It was Ladyship at every word; and as she seemed proud of her title, and +of her dress too, I might have guessed that she was not used to either. + +What say you, cousin Lovelace? Lady Sarah, though a melancholy woman, is +very inquisitive about all your affairs. I must acquaint her with every +particular circumstance when I go down. + +With all his heart. He would attend her whenever she pleased. She would +see very handsome apartments, and very civil people. + +The deuce is in them, said the Miss Montague, if they appear other to us. + +She then fell into family talk; family happiness on my hoped-for +accession into it. They mentioned Lord M.'s and Lady Sarah's great +desire to see me: how many friends and admirers, with uplift hands, I +should have! [Oh! my dear, what a triumph must these creatures, and he, +have over the poor devoted all the time!]--What a happy man he would be! +--They would not, the Lady Betty said, give themselves the mortification +but to suppose that I should not be one of them! + +Presents were hinted at. She resolved that I should go with her to +Glenham-hall. She would not be refused, although she were to stay a week +beyond her time for me. + +She longed for the expected letter from you. I must write to hasten it, +and to let Miss Howe know how every thing stood since I wrote last. That +might dispose me absolutely in her favour and in her nephew's; and then +she hoped there would be no occasion for me to think of entering upon any +new measures. + +Indeed, my dear, I did at the time intend, if I heard not from you by +morning, to dispatch a man and horse to you, with the particulars of all, +that you might (if you thought proper) at least put off Mrs. Townsend's +coming up to another day.--But I was miserably prevented. + +She made me promise that I would write to you upon this subject, whether +I heard from you or not. One of her servants should ride post with my +letter, and wait for Miss Howe's answer. + +She then launched out in deserved praises of you, my dear. How fond she +should be of the honour of your acquaintance. + +The pretended Miss Montague joined in with her, as well for herself as +for her sister. + +Abominably well instructed were they both! + +O my dear! what risks may poor giddy girls run, when they throw +themselves out of the protection of their natural friends, and into the +wide world! + +The then talked again of reconciliation and intimacy with every one of my +friends; with my mother particularly; and gave the dear good lady the +praises that every one gives her, who has the happiness to know her. + +Ah, my dear Miss Howe! I had almost forgot my resentments against the +pretended nephew!--So many agreeable things said, made me think, that, if +you should advise it, and if I could bring my mind to forgive the wretch +for an outrage so premeditatedly vile, and could forbear despising him +for that and his other ungrateful and wicked ways, I might not be unhappy +in an alliance with such a family. Yet, thought I at the time, with what +intermixture does every thing come to me that had the appearance of good! +----However, as my lucid hopes made me see fewer faults in the behaviour +of these pretended ladies, than recollection and abhorrence have helped +me since to see, I began to reproach myself, that I had not at first +thrown myself into their protection. + +But amidst all these delightful prospects, I must not, said the Lady +Betty, forget that I am to go to town. + +She then ordered her coach to be got to the door.--We will all go to town +together, said she, and return together. Morrison shall stay here, and +see every thing as I am used to have it, in relation to my apartment, and +my bed; for I am very particular in some respects. My cousin Leeson's +servants can do all I want to be done with regard to my night-dresses, +and the like. And it will be a little airing for you, my dear, and a +want of your apparel to be sent from your former lodgings to Mrs. +Leeson's; and we can bring it up with us from thence. + +I had no intention to comply. But as I did not imagine that she would +insist upon my going to town with them, I made no answer to that part of +her speech. + +I must here lay down my tired pen! + +Recollection! heart-affecting recollection! how it pains me! + + + +LETTER LXIX + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE + + +In the midst of this agreeableness, the coach came to the door. The +pretended Lady Betty besought me to give them my company to their cousin +Leeson's. I desired to be excused: yet suspected nothing. She would not +be denied. How happy would a visit so condescending make her cousin +Leeson!----Her cousin Leeson was not unworthy of my acquaintance: and +would take it for the greatest favour in the world. + +I objected my dress. But the objection was not admitted. She bespoke a +supper of Mrs. Moore to be ready at nine. + +Mr. Lovelace, vile hypocrite, and wicked deceiver! seeing, as he said, my +dislike to go, desired his Ladyship not to insist upon it. + +Fondness for my company was pleaded. She begged me to oblige her: made a +motion to help me to my fan herself: and, in short, was so very urgent, +that my feet complied against my speech and my mind: and being, in a +manner, led to the coach by her, and made to step in first, she followed +me: and her pretended niece, and the wretch, followed her: and away it +drove. + +Nothing but the height of affectionate complaisance passed all the way: +over and over, what a joy would this unexpected visit give her cousin +Leeson! What a pleasure must it be to such a mind as mine, to be able +to give so much joy to every body I came near! + +The cruel, the savage seducer (as I have since recollected) was in a +rapture all the way; but yet such a sort of rapture, as he took visible +pains to check. + +Hateful villain! how I abhor him!--What mischief must be then in his +plotting heart!--What a devoted victim must I be in all their eyes! + +Though not pleased, I was nevertheless just then thoughtless of danger; +they endeavouring thus to lift me up above all apprehensions of that, and +above myself too. + +But think, my dear, what a dreadful turn all had upon me, when, through +several streets and ways I knew nothing of, the coach slackening its +pace, came within sight of the dreadful house of the dreadfullest woman +in the world; as she proved to me. + +Lord be good unto me! cried the poor fool, looking out of the coach--Mr. +Lovelace!--Madam! turning to the pretended Lady Betty!--Madam! turning to +the niece, my hands and eyes lifted up--Lord be good unto me! + +What! What! What! my dear. + +He pulled the string--What need to have come this way? said he--But since +we are, I will but ask a question--My dearest life, why this +apprehension? + +The coachman stopped: his servant, who, with one of her's was behind, +alighted--Ask, said he, if I have any letters? Who knows, my dearest +creature, turning to me, but we may already have one from the Captain?-- +We will not go out of the coach!--Fear nothing--Why so apprehensive?--Oh! +these fine spirits!--cried the execrable insulter. + +Dreadfully did my heart then misgive me: I was ready to faint. Why this +terror, my life? you shall not stir out of the coach but one question, +now the fellow has drove us this way. + +Your lady will faint, cried the execrable Lady Betty, turning to him--My +dearest Niece! (niece I will call you, taking my hand)--we must alight, +if you are so ill.--Let us alight--only for a glass of water and +hartshorn--indeed we must alight. + +No, no, no--I am well--quite well--Won't the man drive on?--I am well-- +quite well--indeed I am.--Man, drive on, putting my head out of the coach +--Man, drive on!--though my voice was too low to be heard. + +The coach stopt at the door. How I trembled! + +Dorcas came to the door, on its stopping. + +My dearest creature, said the vile man, gasping, as it were for breath, +you shall not alight--Any letters for me, Dorcas? + +There are two, Sir. And here is a gentleman, Mr. Belton, Sir, waits for +your honour; and has done so above an hour. + +I'll just speak to him. Open the door--You sha'n't step out, my dear--A +letter perhaps from Captain already!--You sha'n't step out, my dear. + +I sighed as if my heart would burst. + +But we must step out, Nephew: your lady will faint. Maid, a glass of +hartshorn and water!--My dear you must step out--You will faint, child-- +We must cut your laces.--[I believe my complexion was all manner of +colours by turns]--Indeed, you must step out, my dear. + +He knew, said I, I should be well, the moment the coach drove from the +door. I should not alight. By his soul, I should not. + +Lord, Lord, Nephew, Lord, Lord, Cousin, both women in a breath, what ado +you make about nothing! You persuade your lady to be afraid of +alighting.--See you not that she is just fainting? + +Indeed, Madam, said the vile seducer, my dearest love must not be moved +in this point against her will. I beg it may not be insisted upon. + +Fiddle-faddle, foolish man--What a pother is here! I guess how it is: +you are ashamed to let us see what sort of people you carried your lady +among--but do you go out, and speak to your friend, and take your +letters. + +He stept out; but shut the coach-door after him, to oblige me. + +The coach may go on, Madam, said I. + +The coach shall go on, my dear life, said he.--But he gave not, nor +intended to give, orders that it should. + +Let the coach go on! said I--Mr. Lovelace may come after us. + +Indeed, my dear, you are ill!--Indeed you must alight--alight but for one +quarter of an hour.--Alight but to give orders yourself about your +things. Whom can you be afraid of in my company, and my niece's; these +people must have behaved shockingly to you! Please the Lord, I'll +inquire into it!--I'll see what sort of people they are! + +Immediately came the old creature to the door. A thousand pardons, dear +Madam, stepping to the coach-side, if we have any way offended you--Be +pleased, Ladies, [to the other two] to alight. + +Well, my dear, whispered the Lady Betty, I now find that an hideous +description of a person we never saw is an advantage to them. I thought +the woman was a monster--but, really, she seems tolerable. + +I was afraid I should have fallen into fits: but still refused to go out +--Man!--Man!--Man!--cried I, gaspingly, my head out of the coach and in, +by turns, half a dozen times running, drive on!--Let us go! + +My heart misgave me beyond the power of my own accounting for it; for +still I did not suspect these women. But the antipathy I had taken to +the vile house, and to find myself so near it, when I expected no such +matter, with the sight of the old creature, all together made me behave +like a distracted person. + +The hartshorn and water was brought. The pretended Lady Betty made me +drink it. Heaven knows if there was any thing else in it! + +Besides, said she, whisperingly, I must see what sort of creatures the +nieces are. Want of delicacy cannot be hid from me. You could not +surely, my dear, have this aversion to re-enter a house, for a few +minutes, in our company, in which you lodged and boarded several weeks, +unless these women could be so presumptuously vile, as my nephew ought +not to know. + +Out stept the pretended lady; the servant, at her command, having opened +the door. + +Dearest Madam, said the other to me, let me follow you, [for I was next +the door.] Fear nothing: I will not stir from your presence. + +Come, my dear, said the pretended lady, give me your hand; holding out +her's. Oblige me this once. + +I will bless your footsteps, said the old creature, if once more you +honour my house with your presence. + +A crowd by this time was gathered about us; but I was too much affected +to mind that. + +Again the pretended Miss Montague urged me; standing up as ready to go +out if I would give her room.--Lord, my dear, said she, who can bear this +crowd?--What will people think? + +The pretended Lady again pressed me, with both her hands held out--Only, +my dear, to give orders about your things. + +And thus pressed, and gazed at, (for then I looked about me,) the women +so richly dressed, people whispering; in an evil moment, out stepped I, +trembling, forced to lean with both my hands (frighted too much for +ceremony) on the pretended Lady Betty's arm--Oh! that I had dropped down +dead upon the guilty threshold! + +We shall stay but a few minutes, my dear!--but a few minutes! said the +same specious jilt--out of breath with her joy, as I have since thought, +that they had thus triumphed over the unhappy victim! + +Come, Mrs. Sinclair, I think your name is, show us the way----following +her, and leading me. I am very thirsty. You have frighted me, my dear, +with your strange fears. I must have tea made, if it can be done in a +moment. We have farther to go, Mrs. Sinclair, and must return to +Hampstead this night. + +It shall be ready in a moment, cried the wretch. We have water boiling. + +Hasten, then--Come, my dear, to me, as she led me through the passage to +the fatal inner house--lean upon me--how you tremble!--how you falter in +your steps!--Dearest niece Lovelace, [the old wretch being in hearing,] +why these hurries upon your spirits?--We'll be gone in a minute. + +And thus she led the poor sacrifice into the old wretch's too-well-known +parlour. + +Never was any body so gentle, so meek, so low voiced, as the odious +woman; drawling out, in a puling accent, all the obliging things she +could say: awed, I then thought, by the conscious dignity of a woman of +quality; glittering with jewels. + +The called-for tea was ready presently. + +There was no Mr. Belton, I believe: for the wretch went not to any body, +unless it were while we were parlying in the coach. No such person +however, appeared at the tea-table. + +I was made to drink two dishes, with milk, complaisantly urged by the +pretended ladies helping me each to one. I was stupid to their hands; +and, when I took the tea, almost choked with vapours; and could hardly +swallow. + +I thought, transiently thought, that the tea, the last dish particularly, +had an odd taste. They, on my palating it, observed, that the milk was +London-milk; far short in goodness of what they were accustomed to from +their own dairies. + +I have no doubt that my two dishes, and perhaps my hartshorn, were +prepared for me; in which case it was more proper for their purpose, that +they should help me, than that I should help myself. Ill before, I found +myself still more and more disordered in my head; a heavy torpid pain +increasing fast upon me. But I imputed it to my terror. + +Nevertheless, at the pretended Lady's motion, I went up stairs, attended +by Dorcas; who affected to weep for joy, that she once more saw my +blessed face; that was the vile creature's word: and immediately I set +about taking out some of my clothes, ordering what should be put up, and +what sent after me. + +While I was thus employed, up came the pretended Lady Betty, in a +hurrying way----My dear, you won't be long before you are ready. My +nephew is very busy in writing answers to his letters: so, I'll just whip +away, and change my dress, and call upon you in an instant. + +O Madam!--I am ready! I am now ready!--You must not leave me here. And +down I sunk, affrighted, into a chair. + +This instant, this instant, I will return--before you can be ready-- +before you can have packed up your things--we would not be late--the +robbers we have heard of may be out--don't let us be late. + +And away she hurried before I could say another word. Her pretended +niece went with her, without taking notice to me of her going. + +I had no suspicion yet that these women were not indeed the ladies +they personated; and I blamed myself for my weak fears.--It cannot be, +thought I, that such ladies will abet treachery against a poor creature +they are so fond of. They must undoubtedly be the persons they appear to +be--what folly to doubt it! The air, the dress, the dignity of women of +quality. How unworthy of them, and of my charity, concluded I, is this +ungenerous shadow of suspicion! + +So, recovering my stupefied spirits, as well as they could be recovered, +(for I was heavier and heavier! and wondered to Dorcas what ailed me, +rubbing my eyes, and taking some of her snuff, pinch after pinch, to very +little purpose,) I pursued my employment: but when that was over, all +packed up that I designed to be packed up; and I had nothing to do but to +think; and found them tarry so long; I thought I should have gone +distracted. I shut myself into the chamber that had been mine; I +kneeled, I prayed; yet knew not what I prayed for: then ran out again: it +was almost dark night, I said: where, where, where was Mr. Lovelace? + +He came to me, taking no notice at first of my consternation and +wildness, [what they had given me made me incoherent and wild:] All goes +well, said he, my dear!--A line from Capt. Tomlinson! + +All indeed did go well for the villanous project of the most cruel and +most villanous of men! + +I demanded his aunt!--I demanded his cousin!--The evening, I said, was +closing!--My head was very, very bad, I remember I said--and it grew +worse and worse.-- + +Terror, however, as yet kept up my spirits; and I insisted upon his going +himself to hasten them. + +He called his servant. He raved at the sex for their delay: 'twas well +that business of consequence seldom depended upon such parading, +unpunctual triflers! + +His servant came. + +He ordered him to fly to his cousin Leeson's, and to let Lady Betty and +his cousin know how uneasy we both were at their delay: adding, of his +own accord, desire them, if they don't come instantly, to send their +coach, and we will go without them. Tell them I wonder they'll serve me +so! + +I thought this was considerately and fairly put. But now, indifferent as +my head was, I had a little time to consider the man and his behaviour. +He terrified me with his looks, and with his violent emotions, as he +gazed upon me. Evident joy-suppressed emotions, as I have since +recollected. His sentences short, and pronounced as if his breath were +touched. Never saw I his abominable eyes look as then they looked-- +Triumph in them!--fierce and wild; and more disagreeable than the women's +at the vile house appeared to me when I first saw them: and at times, +such a leering, mischief-boding cast!--I would have given the world to +have been an hundred miles from him. Yet his behaviour was decent--a +decency, however, that I might have seen to be struggled for--for he +snatched my hand two or three times, with a vehemence in his grasp that +hurt me; speaking words of tenderness through his shut teeth, as it +seemed; and let it go with a beggar-voiced humbled accent, like the vile +woman's just before; half-inward; yet his words and manner carrying the +appearance of strong and almost convulsed passion!--O my dear! what +mischief was he not then meditating! + +I complained once or twice of thirst. My mouth seemed parched. At the +time, I supposed that it was my terror (gasping often as I did for +breath) that parched up the roof of my mouth. I called for water: some +table-beer was brought me: beer, I suppose, was a better vehicle for +their potions. I told the maid, that she knew I seldom tasted malt +liquor: yet, suspecting nothing of this nature, being extremely thirsty, +I drank it, as what came next: and instantly, as it were, found myself +much worse than before: as if inebriated, I should fancy: I know not how. + +His servant was gone twice as long as he needed: and, just before his +return, came one of the pretended Lady Betty's with a letter for Mr. +Lovelace. + +He sent it up to me. I read it: and then it was that I thought myself a +lost creature; it being to put off her going to Hampstead that night, on +account of violent fits which Miss Montague was pretended to be seized +with; for then immediately came into my head his vile attempt upon me in +this house; the revenge that my flight might too probably inspire him +with on that occasion, and because of the difficulty I made to forgive +him, and to be reconciled to him; his very looks wild and dreadful to me; +and the women of the house such as I had more reason than ever, even from +the pretended Lady Betty's hint, to be afraid of: all these crowding +together in my apprehensive mind, I fell into a kind of phrensy. + +I have no remembrance how I was for this time it lasted: but I know that, +in my first agitations, I pulled off my head-dress, and tore my ruffles +in twenty tatters, and ran to find him out. + +When a little recovered, I insisted upon the hint he had given me of +their coach. But the messenger, he said, had told him, that it was sent +to fetch a physician, lest his chariot should be put up, or not ready. + +I then insisted upon going directly to Lady Betty's lodgings. + +Mrs. Leeson's was now a crowded house, he said: and as my earnestness +could be owing to nothing but groundless apprehensions, [and Oh! what +vows, what protestations of his honour, did he then make!] he hoped I +would not add to their present concern. Charlotte, indeed, was used to +fits, he said, upon any great surprises, whether of joy or grief; and +they would hold her for one week together, if not got off in a few hours. + +You are an observer of eyes, my dear, said the villain; perhaps in secret +insult: Saw you not in Miss Montague's, now-and-then at Hampstead, +something wildish? I was afraid for her then. Silence and quiet only do +her good: your concern for her, and her love for you, will but augment +the poor girl's disorder, if you should go. + +All impatient with grief and apprehension, I still declared myself +resolved not to stay in that house till morning. All I had in the world, +my rings, my watch, my little money, for a coach; or, if one were not to +be got, I would go on foot to Hampstead that night, though I walked it by +myself. + +A coach was hereupon sent for, or pretended to be sent for. Any price, +he said, he would give to oblige me, late as it was; and he would attend +me with all his soul. But no coach was to be got. + +Let me cut short the rest. I grew worse and worse in my head! now +stupid, now raving, now senseless. The vilest of vile women was brought +to frighten me. Never was there so horrible a creature as she +appreared to me at this time. + +I remember I pleaded for mercy. I remember that I said I would be his-- +indeed I would be his--to obtain his mercy. But no mercy found I! My +strength, my intellects failed me--And then such scenes followed--O my +dear, such dreadful scenes!--fits upon fits, (faintly indeed and +imperfectly remembered,) procuring me no compassion--But death was +withheld from me. That would have been too great a mercy! + + +*** + + +Thus was I tricked and deluded back by blacker hearts of my own sex than +I thought there were in the world; who appeared to me to be persons of +honour; and, when in his power, thus barbarously was I treated by this +villanous man! + +I was so senseless, that I dare not aver, that the horrid creatures of +the house were personally aiding and abetting: but some visionary +remembrances I have of female figures, flitting, as I may say, before my +sight; the wretched woman's particularly. But as these confused ideas +might be owing to the terror I had conceived of the worse than masculine +violence she had been permitted to assume to me, for expressing my +abhorrence of her house; and as what I suffered from his barbarity wants +not that aggravation; I will say no more on a subject so shocking as this +must ever be to my remembrance. + +I never saw the personating wretches afterwards. He persisted to the +last, (dreadfully invoking Heaven as a witness to the truth of his +assertion) that they were really and truly the ladies they pretended to +be; declaring, that they could not take leave of me, when they left town, +because of the state of senselessness and phrensy I was in. For their +intoxicating, or rather stupefying, potions had almost deleterious +effects upon my intellects, as I have hinted; insomuch that, for several +days together, I was under a strange delirium; now moping, now dozing, +now weeping, now raving, now scribbling, tearing what I scribbled as fast +as I wrote it: most miserable when now-and-then a ray of reason brought +confusedly to my remembrance what I had suffered. + + + +LETTER LXX + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE +[IN CONTINUATION.] + + +[The lady next gives an account, + +Of her recovery from her delirium and sleepy disorder: + +Of her attempt to get away in his absence: + +Of the conversations that followed, at his return, between them: + +Of the guilty figure he made: + +Of her resolution not to have him: + +Of her several efforts to escape: + +Of her treaty with Dorcas to assist her in it: + +Of Dorcas's dropping the promissory note, undoubtedly, as she says, on + purpose to betray her: + +Of her triumph over all the creatures of the house, assembled to terrify + her; and perhaps to commit fresh outrages upon her: + +Of his setting out for M. Hall: + +Of his repeated letters to induce her to meet him at the altar, on her + uncle's anniversary: + +Of her determined silence to them all: + +Of her second escape, effected, as she says, contrary to her own + expectation: the attempt being at first but the intended prelude to + a more promising one, which she had formed in her mind: + +And of other particulars; which being to be found in Mr. Lovelace's + letters preceding, and the letter of his friend Belford, are + omitted. She then proceeds:] + + +The very hour that I found myself in a place of safety, I took pen to +write to you. When I began, I designed only to write six or eight lines, +to inquire after your health: for, having heard nothing from you, I +feared indeed, that you had been, and still were, too ill to write. But +no sooner did my pen begin to blot the paper, but my sad heart hurried it +into length. The apprehensions I had lain under, that I should not be +able to get away; the fatigue I had in effecting my escape: the +difficulty of procuring a lodging for myself; having disliked the people +of two houses, and those of a third disliking me; for you must think I +made a frighted appearance--these, together with the recollection of what +I had suffered from him, and my farther apprehensions of my insecurity, +and my desolate circumstances, had so disordered me, that I remember I +rambled strangely in that letter. + +In short, I thought it, on re-perusal, a half-distracted one: but I then +despaired, (were I to begin again,) of writing better: so I let it go: +and can have no excuse for directing it as I did, if the cause of the +incoherence in it will not furnish me with a very pitiable one. + +The letter I received from your mother was a dreadful blow to me. But +nevertheless it had the good effect upon me (labouring, as I did just +then, under a violent fit of vapourish despondency, and almost yielding +to it) which profuse bleeding and blisterings have in paralytic or +apoplectical strokes; reviving my attention, and restoring me to spirits +to combat the evils I was surrounded by--sluicing off, and diverting into +a new channel, (if I may be allowed another metaphor,) the overcharging +woes which threatened once more to overwhelm my intellects. + +But yet I most sincerely lamented, (and still lament,) in your mother's +words, That I cannot be unhappy by myself: and was grieved, not only for +the trouble I had given you before; but for the new one I had brought +upon you by my inattention. + + +[She then gives the substance of the letters she wrote to Mrs. Norton, to + Lady Betty Lawrance, and to Mrs. Hodges; as also of their answers; + whereby she detected all Mr. Lovelace's impostures. She proceeds + as follows:] + + +I cannot, however, forbear to wonder how the vile Tomlinson could come at +the knowledge of several of the things he told me of, and which +contributed to give me confidence in him.* + + +* The attentive reader need not be referred back for what the Lady +nevertheless could not account for, as she knew not that Mr. Lovelace had +come at Miss Howe's letters; particularly that in Vol. IV. Letter XXIX. +which he comments upon in Letter XLIV. of the same volume. + + +I doubt not that the stories of Mrs. Fretchville and her house would be +found as vile as any of the rest, were I to inquire; and had I not +enough, and too much, already against the perjured man. + +How have I been led on!--What will be the end of such a false and +perjured creature! Heaven not less profaned and defied by him than +myself deceived and abused! This, however, against myself I must say, +That if what I have suffered be the natural consequence of my first +error, I never can forgive myself, although you are so partial in my +favour, as to say, that I was not censurable for what passed before my +first escape. + +And now, honoured Madam, and my dearest Miss Howe, who are to sit in +judgment upon my case, permit me to lay down my pen with one request, +which, with the greatest earnestness, I make to you both: and that is, +That you will neither of you open your lips in relation to the potions +and the violences I have hinted at.--Not that I am solicitous, that my +disgrace should be hidden from the world, or that it should not be +generally known, that the man has proved a villain to me: for this, it +seems, every body but myself expected from his character. But suppose, +as his actions by me are really of a capital nature, it were insisted +upon that I should appear to prosecute him and his accomplices in a court +of justice, how do you think I could bear that? + +But since my character, before the capital enormity, was lost in the eye +of the world; and that from the very hour I left my father's house; and +since all my own hopes of worldly happiness are entirely over; let me +slide quietly into my grave; and let it be not remembered, except by one +friendly tear, and no more, dropt from your gentle eye, mine own dear +Anna Howe, on the happy day that shall shut up all my sorrows, that there +was such a creature as + +CLARISSA HARLOWE + +SATURDAY, JULY 8. + + + +LETTER LXXI + +MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE +SUNDAY, JULY 9. + + +May Heaven signalize its vengeance, in the face of all the world, upon +the most abandoned and profligate of men!--And in its own time, I doubt +not but it will.--And we must look to a WORLD BEYOND THIS for the reward +of your sufferings! + +Another shocking detection, my dear!--How have you been deluded!--Very +watchful I have thought you; very sagacious:--but, alas! not watchful, +not sagacious enough, for the horrid villain you have had to deal with! +---- + +The letter you sent me enclosed as mine, of the 7th of June, is a +villanous forgery.* + + +* See Vol. V. Letter XXX. + + +The hand, indeed, is astonishingly like mine; and the cover, I see, is +actually my cover: but yet the letter is not so exactly imitated, but +that, (had you had any suspicions about his vileness at the time,) you, +who so well know my hand, might have detected it. + +In short, this vile, forged letter, though a long one, contains but a +few extracts from mine. Mine was a very long one. He has omitted every +thing, I see, in it that could have shown you what a detestable house the +house is; and given you suspicions of the vile Tomlinson.--You will see +this, and how he has turned Miss Lardner's information, and my advices to +you, [execrable villain!] to his own horrid ends, by the rough draught of +the genuine letter, which I shall enclose.* + + +* See Vol. V. Letter XX. + + +Apprehensive for both our safeties from the villany of such a daring and +profligate contriver, I must call upon you, my dear, to resolve upon +taking legal vengeance of the infernal wretch. And this not only for our +own sakes, but for the sakes of innocents who otherwise may yet be +deluded and outraged by him. + + +[She then gives the particulars of the report made by the young fellow + whom she sent to Hampstead with her letter; and who supposed he had + delivered it into her own hand;* and then proceeds:] + + +* See Vol. VI. Letter VI. + + +I am astonished, that the vile wretch, who could know nothing of the time +my messenger, (whose honesty I can vouch for) would come, could have a +creature ready to personate you! Strange, that the man should happen to +arrive just as you were gone to church, (as I find was the fact, on +comparing what he says with your hint that you were at church twice that +day,) when he might have got to Mrs. Moore's two hours before!--But had +you told me, my dear, that the villain had found you out, and was about +you!--You should have done that--yet I blame you upon a judgment founded +on the event only! + +I never had any faith in the stories that go current among country girls, +of specters, familiars, and demons; yet I see not any other way to +account for this wretch's successful villany, and for his means of +working up his specious delusions, but by supposing, (if he be not the +devil himself,) that he has a familiar constantly at his elbow. +Sometimes it seems to me that this familiar assumes the shape of that +solemn villain Tomlinson: sometimes that of the execrable Sinclair, as he +calls her: sometimes it is permitted to take that of Lady Betty Lawrance +--but, when it would assume the angelic shape and mien of my beloved +friend, see what a bloated figure it made! + +'Tis my opinion, my dear, that you will be no longer safe where you are, +than while the V. is in the country. Words are poor!--or how could I +execrate him! I have hardly any doubt that he has sold himself for a +time. Oh! may the time be short!--or may his infernal prompter no more +keep covenant with him than he does with others! + +I enclose not only the rough draught of my long letter mentioned above, +but the heads of that which the young fellow thought he delivered into +your own hands at Hampstead. And when you have perused them, I will +leave to you to judge how much reason I had to be surprised that you +wrote me not an answer to either of those letters; one of which you owned +you had received, (though it proved to be his forged one,) the other +delivered into your own hands, as I was assured; and both of them of so +much concern to your honour; and still now much more surprised I must be, +when I received a letter from Mrs. Townsend, dated June 15, from +Hampstead, importing, 'That Mr. Lovelace, who had been with you several +days, had, on the Monday before, brought Lady Betty and his cousin, +richly dressed, and in a coach-and-four, to visit you: who, with your own +consent, had carried you to town with them--to your former lodgings; +where you still were: that the Hampstead women believed you to be +married; and reflected upon me as a fomenter of differences between man +and wife: that he himself was at Hampstead the day before; viz. Wednesday +the 14th; and boasted of his happiness with you; inviting Mrs. Moore, +Mrs. Bevis, and Miss Rawlins, to go to town, to visit his spouse; which +they promised to do: that he declared that you were entirely reconciled +to your former lodgings:--and that, finally, the women at Hampstead told +Mrs. Townsend, that he had very handsomely discharged theirs.' + +I own to you, my dear, that I was so much surprised and disgusted at +these appearances against a conduct till then unexceptionable, that I was +resolved to make myself as easy as I could, and wait till you should +think fit to write to me. But I could rein-in my impatience but for a +few days; and on the 20th of June I wrote a sharp letter to you; which I +find you did not receive. + +What a fatality, my dear, has appeared in your case, from the very +beginning till this hour! Had my mother permitted---- + +But can I blame her; when you have a father and mother living, who have +so much to answer for?--So much!--as no father and mother, considering +the child they have driven, persecuted, exposed, renounced, ever had to +answer for! + +But again I must execrate the abandoned villain--yet, as I said before, +all words are poor, and beneath the occasion. + +But see we not, in the horrid perjuries and treachery of this man, what +rakes and libertines will do, when they get a young creature into their +power! It is probable that he might have the intolerable presumption to +hope an easier conquest: but, when your unexampled vigilance and exalted +virtue made potions, and rapes, and the utmost violences, necessary to +the attainment of his detestable end, we see that he never boggled at +them. I have no doubt that the same or equal wickedness would be oftener +committed by men of his villanous cast, if the folly and credulity of the +poor inconsiderates who throw themselves into their hands, did not give +them an easier triumph. + +With what comfort must those parents reflect upon these things who have +happily disposed of their daughters in marriage to a virtuous man! And +how happy the young women who find themselves safe in a worthy +protection!--If such a person as Miss Clarissa Harlowe could not escape, +who can be secure?--Since, though every rake is not a LOVELACE, neither +is every woman a CLARISSA: and his attempts were but proportioned to your +resistance and vigilance. + +My mother has commanded me to let you know her thoughts upon the whole of +your sad story. I will do it in another letter; and send it to you with +this, by a special messenger. + +But, for the future, if you approve of it, I will send my letters by the +usual hand, (Collins's,) to be left at the Saracen's Head, on Snow-hill: +whither you may send your's, (as we both used to do, to Wilson's,) except +such as we shall think fit to transmit by the post: which I am afraid, +after my next, must be directed to Mr. Hickman, as before: since my +mother is fixing a condition to our correspondence, which, I doubt, you +will not comply with, though I wish you would. This condition I shall +acquaint you with by-and-by. + +Mean time, begging excuse for all the harsh things in my last, of which +your sweet meekness and superior greatness of soul have now made me most +heartily ashamed, I beseech you, my dearest creature, to believe me to be + +Your truly sympathising, +and unalterable friend, +ANNA HOWE. + + + +LETTER LXXII + +MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE +MONDAY, JULY 10. + + +I now, my dearest friend, resume my pen, to obey my mother, in giving you +her opinion upon your unhappy story. + +She still harps upon the old string, and will have it that all your +calamities are owing to your first fatal step; for she believes, (what I +cannot,) that your relations had intended after one general trial more, +to comply with your aversion, if they had found it to be as riveted a +one, as, let me say, it was a folly to suppose it would not be found to +be, after so many ridiculously-repeated experiments. + +As to your latter sufferings from that vilest of miscreants, she is +unalterably of opinion that if all be as you have related (which she +doubts not) with regard to the potions, and to the violences you have +sustained, you ought by all means to set on foot a prosecution against +him, and against his devilish accomplices. + +She asks, What murderers, what ravishers, would be brought to justice, if +modesty were to be a general plea, and allowable, against appearing in a +court to prosecute? + +She says, that the good of society requires, that such a beast of prey +should be hunted out of it: and, if you do not prosecute him, she thinks +you will be answerable for all the mischiefs he may do in the course of +his future villanous life. + +Will it be thought, Nancy, said she, that Miss Clarissa Harlowe can be in +earnest, when she says, she is not solicitous to have her disgraces +concealed from the world, if she be afraid or ashamed to appear in court, +to do justice to herself and her sex against him? Will it not be rather +surmised, that she may be apprehensive that some weakness, or lurking +love, will appear upon the trial of the strange cause? If, inferred she, +such complicated villany as this (where perjury, potions, forgery, +subornation, are all combined to effect the ruin of an innocent creature, +and to dishonour a family of eminence, and where the very crimes, as may +be supposed, are proofs of her innocence) is to go off with impunity, +what case will deserve to be brought into judgment? or what malefactor +ought to be hanged? + +Then she thinks, and so do I, that the vile creatures, his accomplices, +ought, by all means, to be brought to condign punishment, as they must +and will be upon bringing him to trial: and this may be a mean to blow up +and root out a whole nest of vipers, and save many innocent creatures. + +She added, that if Miss Clarissa Harlowe could be so indifferent about +having this public justice done upon such a wretch for her own sake, she +ought to overcome her scruples out of regard to her family, her +acquaintance, and her sex, which are all highly injured and scandalized +by his villany to her. + +For her own part, she declares, that were she your mother, she would +forgive you upon no other terms: and, upon your compliance with these, +she herself will undertake to reconcile all your family to you. + +These, my dear, are my mother's sentiments upon your sad story. + +I cannot say but there are reason and justice in them: and it is my +opinion, that it would be very right for the law to oblige an injured +woman to prosecute, and to make seduction on the man's part capital, +where his studied baseness, and no fault in her will, appeared. + +To this purpose the custom in the Isle of Man is a very good one---- + +'If a single woman there prosecutes a single man for a rape, the +ecclesiastical judges impannel a jury; and, if this jury find him guilty, +he is returned guilty to the temporal courts: where if he be convicted, +the deemster, or judge, delivers to the woman a rope, a sword, and a +ring; and she has it in her choice to have him hanged, beheaded, or to +marry him.' + +One of the two former, I think, should always be her option. + +I long for the particulars of your story. You must have too much time +upon your hands for a mind so active as your's, if tolerable health and +spirits be afforded you. + +The villany of the worst of men, and the virtue of the most excellent of +women, I expect will be exemplified in it, were it to be written in the +same connected and particular manner in which you used to write to me. + +Try for it, my dearest friend; and since you cannot give the example +without the warning, give both, for the sakes of all those who shall hear +of your unhappy fate; beginning from your's of June 5, your prospects +then not disagreeable. I pity you for the task; though I cannot +willingly exempt you from it. + + +*** + + +My mother will have me add, that she must insist upon your prosecuting +the villain. She repeats, that she makes that a condition on which she +permits our future correspondence. Let me therefore know your thoughts +upon it. I asked her, if she would be willing that I should appear to +support you in court, if you complied?--By all means, she said, if that +would induce you to begin with him, and with the horrid women. I think I +could probably attend you, I am sure I could, were there but a +probability of bringing the monster to his deserved end. + +Once more your thoughts of it, supposing it were to meet with the +approbation of your relations. + +But whatever be your determination on this head, it shall be my constant +prayer, that God will give you patience to bear your heavy afflictions, +as a person ought to do who has not brought them upon herself by a faulty +will: that He will speak peace and comfort to your wounded mind; and give +you many happy years. I am, and ever will be, + +Your affectionate and faithful +ANNA HOWE. + + +*** + + +[The two preceding letters were sent by a special messenger: in the cover + were written the following lines:] + +MONDAY, JULY 10. + +I cannot, my dearest friend, suffer the enclosed to go unaccompanied by a +few lines, to signify to you that they are both less tender in some +places than I would have written, had they not been to pass my mother's +inspection. The principal reason, however, of my writing thus separately +is, to beg of you to permit me to send you money and necessaries, which +you must needs want; and that you will let me know, if either I, or any +body I can influence, can be of service to you. I am excessively +apprehensive that you are not enough out of the villain's reach where you +are. Yet London, I am persuaded, is the place, of all others, to be +private in. + +I could tear my hair for vexation, that I have it not in my power to +afford you personal protection!--I am + +Your ever devoted +ANNA HOWE. + + +Once more forgive me, my dearest creature, for my barbarous taunting in +mine of the 5th! Yet I can hardly forgive myself. I to be so cruel, yet +to know you so well!--Whence, whence, had I this vile impatiency of +spirit!-- + + + +LETTER LXXIII + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE +TUESDAY, JULY 11. + + +Forgive you, my dear!--Most cordially do I forgive you--Will you forgive +me for some sharp things I wrote in return to your's of the 5th? You +could not have loved me as you do, nor had the concern you have always +shown for my honour, if you had not been utterly displeased with me, on +the appearance which my conduct wore to you when you wrote that letter. +I most heartily thank you, my best and only love, for the opportunity you +gave me of clearing it up; and for being generously ready to acquit me of +intentional blame, the moment you had read my melancholy narrative. + +As you are so earnest to have all the particulars of my sad story before +you, I will, if life and spirits be lent me, give you an ample account of +all that has befallen me, from the time you mention. But this, it is +very probable, you will not see, till after the close of my last scene: +and as I shall write with a view to that, I hope no other voucher will be +wanted for the veracity of the writer, be who will the reader. + +I am far from thinking myself out of the reach of this man's further +violence. But what can I do? Whither can I fly?--Perhaps my bad state +of health (which must grow worse, as recollection of the past evils, and +reflections upon them, grow heavier and heavier upon me) may be my +protection. Once, indeed, I thought of going abroad; and, had I the +prospect of many years before me, I would go.--But, my dear, the blow is +given.--Nor have you reason now, circumstanced as I am, to be concerned +that it is. What a heart must I have, if it be not broken--and indeed, +my dear friend, I do so earnestly wish for the last closing scene, and +with so much comfort find myself in a declining way, that I even +sometimes ungratefully regret that naturally-healthy constitution, which +used to double upon me all my enjoyments. + +As to the earnestly-recommended prosecution, I may possibly touch upon it +more largely hereafter, if ever I shall have better spirits; for they are +at present extremely sunk and low. But just now, I will only say, that I +would sooner suffer every evil (the repetition of the capital one +excepted) than appear publicly in a court to do myself justice.* And I +am heartily grieved that your mother prescribes such a measure as the +condition of our future correspondence: for the continuance of your +friendship, my dear, and the desire I had to correspond with you to my +life's end, were all my remaining hopes and consolation. Nevertheless, +as that friendship is in the power of the heart, not of the hand only, I +hope I shall not forfeit that. + + +* Dr. Lewen, in Letter XXIV. of Vol. VIII. presses her to this public +prosecution, by arguments worthy of his character; which she answers in a +manner worthy of her's. See Letter XXV. of that volume. + + +O my dear! what would I give to obtain a revocation of my father's +malediction! a reconciliation is not to be hoped for. You, who never +loved my father, may think my solicitude on this head a weakness: but the +motive for it, sunk as my spirits at times are, is not always weak. + + +*** + + +I approve of the method you prescribe for the conveyance of our letters; +and have already caused the porter of the inn to be engaged to bring to +me your's, the moment that Collins arrives with them. And the servant of +the house where I am will be permitted to carry mine to Collins for you. + +I have written a letter to Miss Rawlins, of Hampstead; the answer to +which, just now received, has helped me to the knowledge of the vile +contrivance, by which the wicked man got your letter of June the 10th. I +will give you the contents of both. + +In mine to her, I briefly acquainted her 'with what had befallen me, +through the vileness of the women who had passed upon me as the aunt and +cousin of the wickedest of men; and own, that I never was married to him. +I desire her to make particular inquiry, and to let me know, who it was +at Mrs. Moore's that, on Sunday afternoon, June 11, while I was at +church, received a letter from Miss Howe, pretending to be me, and lying +on a couch:--which letter, had it come to my hands, would have saved me +from ruin. I excuse myself (on the score of the delirium, which the +horrid usage I had received threw me into, and from a confinement as +barbarous as illegal) that I had not before applied to Mrs. Moore for an +account of what I was indebted to her: which account I now desired. And, +for fear of being traced by Mr. Lovelace, I directed her to superscribe +her answer, To Mrs. Mary Atkins; to be left till called for, at the Belle +Savage Inn, on Ludgate-hill.' + +In her answer, she tells me, 'that the vile wretch prevailed upon Mrs. +Bevis to personate me, [a sudden motion of his, it seems, on the +appearance of your messenger,] and persuaded her to lie along a couch: +a handkerchief over her neck and face; pretending to be ill; the +credulous woman drawn in by false notions of your ill offices to keep up +a variance between a man and his wife--and so taking the letter from your +messenger as me. + +'Miss Rawlins takes pains to excuse Mrs. Bevis's intention. She +expresses their astonishment, and concern at what I communicate: but is +glad, however, and so they are all, that they know in time the vileness +of the base man; the two widows and herself having, at his earnest +invitation, designed me a visit at Mrs. Sinclair's: supposing all to be +happy between him and me; as he assured them was the case. Mr. Lovelace, +she informs me, had handsomely satisfied Mrs. Moore. And Miss Rawlins +concludes with wishing to be favoured with the particulars of so +extraordinary a story, as these particulars may be of use, to let her see +what wicked creatures (women as well as men) there are in the world.' + +I thank you, my dear, for the draughts of your two letters which were +intercepted by this horrid man. I see the great advantage they were of +to him, in the prosecution of his villanous designs against the poor +wretch whom he had so long made the sport of his abhorred inventions. + +Let me repeat, that I am quite sick of life; and of an earth, in which +innocent and benevolent spirits are sure to be considered as aliens, and +to be made sufferers by the genuine sons and daughters of that earth. + +How unhappy, that those letters only which could have acquainted me with +his horrid views, and armed me against them, and against the vileness of +the base women, should fall into his hands!--Unhappier still, in that my +very escape to Hampstead gave him the opportunity of receiving them. + +Nevertheless, I cannot but still wonder, how it was possible for that +Tomlinson to know what passed between Mr. Hickman and my uncle Harlowe:* +a circumstance which gave the vile impostor most of his credit with me. + + +* See the note in Letter LXX. of this volume. + + +How the wicked wretch himself could find me out at Hampstead, must also +remain wholly a mystery to me. He may glory in his contrivances--he, who +has more wickedness than wit, may glory in his contrivances!--But, after +all, I shall, I humbly presume to hope, be happy, when he, poor wretch, +will be--alas!--who can say what!---- + +Adieu, my dearest friend!--May you be happy!--And then your Clarissa +cannot be wholly miserable! + +END OF VOL. 6. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Clarissa, Volume 6 (of 9), by Samuel Richardson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CLARISSA, VOLUME 6 (OF 9) *** + +***** This file should be named 11364-8.txt or 11364-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/1/3/6/11364/ + +Produced by Produced by Julie C. 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For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: + https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + + diff --git a/old/old/11364-8.zip b/old/old/11364-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c870435 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/old/11364-8.zip diff --git a/old/old/11364.txt b/old/old/11364.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..06b9e15 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/old/11364.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12510 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Clarissa, Volume 6 (of 9), by Samuel Richardson + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Clarissa, Volume 6 (of 9) + The History Of A Young Lady + +Author: Samuel Richardson + +Release Date: February 28, 2004 [EBook #11364] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CLARISSA, VOLUME 6 (OF 9) *** + + + + +Produced by Produced by Julie C. Sparks. + + + + +CLARISSA HARLOWE + +or the + +HISTORY OF A YOUNG LADY + +Nine Volumes +Volume VI. + + + +CONTENTS OF VOLUME VI + + +LETTER I. II. Lovelace to Belford.-- +His conditional promise to Tomlinson in the lady's favour. His pleas +and arguments on their present situation, and on his darling and +hitherto-baffled views. His whimsical contest with his conscience. His +latest adieu to it. His strange levity, which he calls gravity, on the +death of Belford's uncle. + +LETTER III. IV. From the same.-- +She favours him with a meeting in the garden. Her composure. Her +conversation great and noble. But will not determine any thing in his +favour. It is however evident, he says, that she has still some +tenderness for him. His reasons. An affecting scene between them. Her +ingenuousness and openness of heart. She resolves to go to church; but +will not suffer him to accompany her thither. His whimsical debate with +the God of Love, whom he introduced as pleading for the lady. + +LETTER V. VI. VII. From the same.-- +He has got the wished-for letter from Miss Howe.--Informs him of the +manner of obtaining it.--His remarks upon it. Observations on female +friendships. Comparison between Clarissa and Miss Howe. + +LETTER VIII. From the same.-- +Another conversation with the lady. His plausible arguments to re-obtain +her favour ineffectual. His pride piqued. His revenge incited. New +arguments in favour of his wicked prospects. His notice that a license +is actually obtained. + +LETTER IX. X. From the same.-- +Copy of the license; with his observations upon it. His scheme for +annual marriages. He is preparing with Lady Betty and Miss Montague to +wait upon Clarissa. Who these pretended ladies are. How dressed. They +give themselves airs of quality. Humourously instructs them how to act +up their assumed characters. + +LETTER XI. XII. Lovelace to Belford.-- +Once more is the charmer of his soul in her old lodgings. Brief account +of the horrid imposture. Steels his heart by revengeful recollections. +Her agonizing apprehensions. Temporary distraction. Is ready to fall +into fits. But all her distress, all her prayers, her innocence, her +virtue, cannot save her from the most villanous outrage. + +LETTER XIII. Belford to Lovelace.-- +Vehemently inveighs against him. Grieves for the lady. Is now convinced +that there must be a world after this to do justice to injured merit. +Beseeches him, if he be a man, and not a devil, to do all the poor +justice now in his power. + +LETTER XIV. Lovelace to Belford.-- +Regrets that he ever attempted her. Aims at extenuation. Does he not +see that he has journeyed on to this stage, with one determined point in +view from the first? She is at present stupified, he says. + +LETTER XV. From the same.-- +The lady's affecting behaviour in her delirium. He owns that art has +been used to her. Begins to feel remorse. + +LETTER XVI. From the same.-- +The lady writes upon scraps of paper, which she tears, and throws under +the table. Copies of ten of these rambling papers; and of a letter to +him most affectingly incoherent. He attempts farther to extenuate his +villany. Tries to resume his usual levity; and forms a scheme to decoy +the people at Hampstead to the infamous woman's in town. The lady seems +to be recovering. + +LETTER XVII. From the same.-- +She attempts to get away in his absence. Is prevented by the odious +Sinclair. He exults in the hope of looking her into confusion when he +sees her. Is told by Dorcas that she is coming into the dining-room to +find him out. + +LETTER XVIII. From the same.-- +A high scene of her exalted, and of his depressed, behaviour. Offers to +make her amends by matrimony. She treats his offer with contempt. +Afraid Belford plays him false. + +LETTER XIX. From the same.-- +Wishes he had never seen her. With all the women he had known till now, +it was once subdued, and always subdued. His miserable dejection. His +remorse. She attempts to escape. A mob raised. His quick invention to +pacify it. Out of conceit with himself and his contrivances. + +LETTER XX. XXI. Lovelace to Belford.-- +Lord M. very ill. His presence necessary at M. Hall. Puts Dorcas upon +ingratiating herself with her lady.--He re-urges marriage to her. She +absolutely, from the most noble motives, rejects him. + +LETTER XXII. From the same.-- +Reflects upon himself. It costs, he says, more pain to be wicked than to +be good. The lady's solemn expostulation with him. Extols her greatness +of soul. Dorcas coming into favour with her. He is alarmed by another +attempt of the lady to get off. She is in agonies at being prevented. +He tried to intimidate her. Dorcas pleads for her. On the point of +drawing his sword against himself. The occasion. + +LETTER XXIII. From the same.-- +Cannot yet persuade himself but the lady will be his. Reasons for his +opinion. Opens his heart to Belford, as to his intentions by her. +Mortified that she refuses his honest vows. Her violation but notional. +Her triumph greater than her sufferings. Her will unviolated. He is a +better man, he says, than most rakes; and why. + +LETTER XXIV. XXV. From the same.-- +The lady gives a promissory note to Dorcas, to induce her to further her +escape.--A fair trial of skill now, he says. A conversation between the +vile Dorcas and her lady: in which she engages her lady's pity. The +bonds of wickedness stronger than the ties of virtue. Observations on +that subject. + +LETTER XXVI. XXVII. XXVIII. From the same.-- +A new contrivance to advantage of the lady's intended escape.--A letter +from Tomlinson. Intent of it.--He goes out to give opportunity for the +lady to attempt an escape. His designs frustrated. + +LETTER XXIX. From the same.-- +An interesting conversation between the lady and him. No concession in +his favour. By his soul, he swears, this dear girl gives the lie to all +their rakish maxims. He has laid all the sex under obligation to him; +and why. + +LETTER XXX. Lovelace to Belford.-- +Lord M. in extreme danger. The family desire his presence. He +intercepts a severe letter from Miss Howe to her friend. Copy of it. + +LETTER XXXI. From the same.-- +The lady, suspecting Dorcas, tries to prevail upon him to give her her +liberty. She disclaims vengeance, and affectingly tells him all her +future views. Denied, she once more attempts an escape. Prevented, and +terrified with apprehensions of instant dishonour, she is obliged to make +some concession. + +LETTER XXXII. From the same.-- +Accuses her of explaining away her concession. Made desperate, he seeks +occasion to quarrel with her. She exerts a spirit which overawes him. +He is ridiculed by the infamous copartnership. Calls to Belford to help +a gay heart to a little of his dismal, on the expected death of Lord M. + +LETTER XXXIII. From the same.-- +Another message from M. Hall, to engage him to go down the next morning. + +LETTER XXXIV. XXXV. From the same.-- +The women's instigations. His farther schemes against the lady. What, +he asks, is the injury which a church-rite will not at any time repair? + +LETTER XXXVI. From the same.-- +Himself, the mother, her nymphs, all assembled with intent to execute his +detestable purposes. Her glorious behaviour on the occasion. He +execrates, detests, despises himself; and admires her more than ever. +Obliged to set out early that morning for M. Hall, he will press her with +letters to meet him next Thursday, her uncle's birthday, at the altar. + +LETTER XXXVII. XXXVIII. XXXIX. Lovelace to Clarissa, from M. Hall.-- +Urging her accordingly, (the license in her hands,) by the most engaging +pleas and arguments. + +LETTER XL. Lovelace to Belford.-- +Begs he will wait on the lady, and induce her to write but four words to +him, signifying the church and the day. Is now resolved on wedlock. +Curses his plots and contrivances; which all end, he says, in one grand +plot upon himself. + +LETTER XLI. Belford to Lovelace. In answer.-- +Refuses to undertake for him, unless he can be sure of his honour. Why +he doubts it. + +LETTER XLII. Lovelace. In reply.-- +Curses him for scrupulousness. Is in earnest to marry. After one more +letter of entreaty to her, if she keep sullen silence, she must take the +consequence. + +LETTER XLIII. Lovelace to Clarissa.-- +Once more earnestly entreats her to meet him at the altar. Not to be +forbidden coming, he will take for leave to come. + +LETTER XLIV. Lovelace to Patrick M'Donald.-- +Ordering him to visit the lady, and instructing him what to say, and how +to behave to her. + +LETTER XLV. To the same, as Captain Tomlinson.-- +Calculated to be shown to the lady, as in confidence. + +LETTER XLVI. M'Donald to Lovelace.-- +Goes to attend the lady according to direction. Finds the house in an +uproar; and the lady escaped. + +LETTER XLVII. Mowbray to Lovelace.-- +With the same news. + +LETTER XLVIII. Belford to Lovelace.-- +Ample particulars of the lady's escape. Makes serious reflections on the +distress she must be in; and on his (Lovelace's) ungrateful usage of her. +What he takes the sum of religion. + +LETTER XLIX. Lovelace to Belford.-- +Runs into affected levity and ridicule, yet at last owns all his gayety +but counterfeit. Regrets his baseness to the lady. Inveighs against the +women for their instigations. Will still marry her, if she can be found +out. One misfortune seldom comes alone; Lord M. is recovering. He had +bespoken mourning for him. + +LETTER L. Clarissa to Miss Howe.-- +Writes with incoherence, to inquire after her health. Lets her know +whither to direct to her. But forgets, in her rambling, her private +address. By which means her letter falls into the hands of Miss Howe's +mother. + +LETTER LI. Mrs. Howe to Clarissa.-- +Reproaches her for making all her friends unhappy. Forbids her to write +any more to her daughter. + +LETTER LII. Clarissa's meek reply. + +LETTER LIII. Clarissa to Hannah Burton. + +LETTER LIV. Hannah Burton. In answer. + +LETTER LV. Clarissa to Miss Norton.-- +Excuses her long silence. Asks her a question, with a view to detect +Lovelace. Hints at his ungrateful villany. Self-recrimination. + +LETTER LVI. Mrs. Norton to Clarissa.-- +Answers her question. Inveighs against Lovelace. Hopes she has escaped +with her honour. Consoles her by a brief relation of her own case, and +from motives truly pious. + +LETTER LVII. Clarissa to Lady Betty Lawrance.-- +Requests an answer to three questions, with a view farther to detect +Lovelace. + +LETTER LVIII. Lady Betty to Clarissa.-- +Answers her questions. In the kindest manner offers to mediate between +her nephew and her. + +LETTER LIX. LX. Clarissa to Mrs. Hodges, +her uncle Harlowe's housekeeper; with a view of still farther detecting +Lovelace. --- Mrs. Hodges's answer. + +LETTER LXI. Clarissa to Lady Betty Lawrance.-- +Acquaints her with her nephew's baseness. Charitably wishes his +reformation; but utterly, and from principle, rejects him. + +LETTER LXII. Clarissa to Mrs. Norton.-- +Is comforted by her kind soothings. Wishes she had been her child. Will +not allow her to come up to her; why. Some account of the people she is +with; and of a worthy woman, Mrs. Lovick, who lodges in the house. +Briefly hints to her the vile usage she has received from Lovelace. + +LETTER LXIII. Mrs. Norton to Clarissa.-- +Inveighs against Lovelace. Wishes Miss Howe might be induced to refrain +from freedoms that do hurt, and can do no good. Farther piously consoles +her. + +LETTER LXIV. Clarissa to Mrs. Norton.-- +A new trouble. An angry letter from Miss Howe. The occasion. Her heart +is broken. Shall be uneasy, till she can get her father's curse revoked. +Casts about to whom she can apply for this purpose. At last resolves to +write to her sister to beg her mediation. + +LETTER LXV. Miss Howe to Clarissa.-- +Her angry and reproachful letter above-mentioned; demands from her the +clearing up of her conduct. + +LETTER LXVI. Clarissa to Miss Howe.-- +Gently remonstrates upon her severity. To this hour knows not all the +methods taken to deceive and ruin her. But will briefly, yet +circumstantially, enter into the darker part of her sad story, though her +heart sinks under the thoughts of a recollection so painful. + +LETTER LXVII. LXVIII. LXIX. LXX. From the same.-- +She gives the promised particulars of her story. Begs that the blackest +parts of it may be kept secret; and why. Desires one friendly tear, and +no more, may be dropt from her gentle eye, on the happy day that shall +shut up all her sorrows. + +LETTER LXXI. LXXII. Miss Howe to Clarissa.-- +Execrates the abandoned profligate. She must, she tells her, look to the +world beyond this for her reward. Unravels some of Lovelace's plots; and +detects his forgeries. Is apprehensive for her own as well as Clarissa's +safety. Advises her to pursue a legal vengeance. Laudable custom in the +Isle of Man. Offers personally to attend her in a court of justice. + +LETTER LXXIII. Clarissa to Miss Howe.-- +Cannot consent to a prosecution. Discovers who it was that personated +her at Hampstead. She is quite sick of life, and of an earth in which +innocent and benevolent spirits are sure to be considered as aliens. + + + + +THE HISTORY + +OF + +CLARISSA HARLOWE + + + +LETTER I + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +SAT. MIDNIGHT. + + +No rest, says a text that I once heard preached upon, to the wicked--and +I cannot close my eyes (yet only wanted to compound for half an hour in +an elbow-chair)--so must scribble on. + +I parted with the Captain after another strong debate with him in +relation to what is to be the fate of this lady. As the fellow has an +excellent head, and would have made an eminent figure in any station of +life, had not his early days been tainted with a deep crime, and he +detected in it; and as he had the right side of the argument; I had a +good deal of difficulty with him; and at last brought myself to promise, +that if I could prevail upon her generously to forgive me, and to +reinstate me in her favour, I would make it my whole endeavour to get off +of my contrivances, as happily as I could; (only that Lady Betty and +Charlotte must come;) and then substituting him for her uncle's proxy, +take shame to myself, and marry. + +But if I should, Jack, (with the strongest antipathy to the state that +ever man had,) what a figure shall I make in rakish annals? And can I +have taken all this pains for nothing? Or for a wife only, that, however +excellent, [and any woman, do I think I could make good, because I could +make any woman fear as well as love me,] might have been obtained without +the plague I have been at, and much more reputably than with it? And +hast thou not seen, that this haughty woman [forgive me that I call her +haughty! and a woman! Yet is she not haughty?] knows not how to forgive +with graciousness? Indeed has not at all forgiven me? But holds my soul +in a suspense which has been so grievous to her own. + +At this silent moment, I think, that if I were to pursue my former +scheme, and resolve to try whether I cannot make a greater fault serve as +a sponge to wipe out the less; and then be forgiven for that; I can +justify myself to myself; and that, as the fair invincible would say, is +all in all. + +As it is my intention, in all my reflections, to avoid repeating, at +least dwelling upon, what I have before written to thee, though the state +of the case may not have varied; so I would have thee to re-consider the +old reasonings (particularly those contained in my answer to thy last* +expostulatory nonsense); and add the new as they fall from my pen; and +then I shall think myself invincible;--at least, as arguing rake to rake. + + +* See Vol. V. Letter XIV. + + +I take the gaining of this lady to be essential to my happiness: and is +it not natural for all men to aim at obtaining whatever they think will +make them happy, be the object more or less considerable in the eyes of +others? + +As to the manner of endeavouring to obtain her, by falsification of +oaths, vows, and the like--do not the poets of two thousand years and +upwards tell us, that Jupiter laughs at the perjuries of lovers? And let +me add, to what I have heretofore mentioned on that head, a question or +two. + +Do not the mothers, the aunts, the grandmothers, the governesses of the +pretty innocents, always, from their very cradles to riper years, preach +to them the deceitfulness of men?--That they are not to regard their +oaths, vows, promises?--What a parcel of fibbers would all these reverend +matrons be, if there were not now and then a pretty credulous rogue taken +in for a justification of their preachments, and to serve as a beacon +lighted up for the benefit of the rest? + +Do we not then see, that an honest prowling fellow is a necessary evil on +many accounts? Do we not see that it is highly requisite that a sweet +girl should be now-and-then drawn aside by him?--And the more eminent the +girl, in the graces of person, mind, and fortune, is not the example +likely to be the more efficacious? + +If these postulata be granted me, who, I pray, can equal my charmer in +all these? Who therefore so fit for an example to the rest of her sex? +--At worst, I am entirely within my worthy friend Mandeville's assertion, +that private vices are public benefits. + +Well, then, if this sweet creature must fall, as it is called, for the +benefit of all the pretty fools of the sex, she must; and there's an end +of the matter. And what would there have been in it of uncommon or rare, +had I not been so long about it?--And so I dismiss all further +argumentation and debate upon the question: and I impose upon thee, when +thou writest to me, an eternal silence on this head. + + +Wafer'd on, as an after-written introduction to the paragraphs which +follow, marked with turned commas, [thus, ']: + +Lord, Jack, what shall I do now! How one evil brings on another! +Dreadful news to tell thee! While I was meditating a simple robbery, +here have I (in my own defence indeed) been guilty of murder!--A bl--y +murder! So I believe it will prove. At her last gasp!--Poor impertinent +opposer!--Eternally resisting!--Eternally contradicting! There she lies +weltering in her blood! her death's wound have I given her!--But she was +a thief, an impostor, as well as a tormentor. She had stolen my pen. +While I was sullenly meditating, doubting, as to my future measures, she +stole it; and thus she wrote with it in a hand exactly like my own; and +would have faced me down, that it was really my own hand-writing. + +'But let me reflect before it is too late. On the manifold perfections +of this ever-amiable creature let me reflect. The hand yet is only held +up. The blow is not struck. Miss Howe's next letter may blow thee up. +In policy thou shouldest be now at least honest. Thou canst not live +without her. Thou wouldest rather marry her than lose her absolutely. +Thou mayest undoubtedly prevail upon her, inflexible as she seems to be, +for marriage. But if now she finds thee a villain, thou mayest never +more engage her attention, and she perhaps will refuse and abhor thee. + +'Yet already have I not gone too far? Like a repentant thief, afraid of +his gang, and obliged to go on, in fear of hanging till he comes to be +hanged, I am afraid of the gang of my cursed contrivances. + +'As I hope to live, I am sorry, (at the present writing,) that I have +been such a foolish plotter, as to put it, as I fear I have done, out of +my own power to be honest. I hate compulsion in all forms; and cannot +bear, even to be compelled to be the wretch my choice has made me! So +now, Belford, as thou hast said, I am a machine at last, and no free +agent. + +'Upon my soul, Jack, it is a very foolish thing for a man of spirit to +have brought himself to such a height of iniquity, that he must proceed, +and cannot help himself, and yet to be next to certain, that this very +victory will undo him. + +'Why was such a woman as this thrown into my way, whose very fall will +be her glory, and, perhaps, not only my shame but my destruction? + +'What a happiness must that man know, who moves regularly to some +laudable end, and has nothing to reproach himself with in his progress +to do it! When, by honest means, he attains his end, how great and +unmixed must be his enjoyments! What a happy man, in this particular +case, had I been, had it been given me to be only what I wished to appear +to be!' + +Thus far had my conscience written with my pen; and see what a recreant +she had made of me!--I seized her by the throat--There!--There, said I, +thou vile impertinent!--take that, and that!--How often have I gave thee +warning!--and now, I hope, thou intruding varletess, have I done thy +business! + +Puling and low-voiced, rearing up thy detested head, in vain implorest +thou my mercy, who, in thy day hast showed me so little!--Take that, for +a rising blow!--And now will thy pain, and my pain for thee, soon be +over. Lie there!--Welter on!--Had I not given thee thy death's wound, +thou wouldest have robbed me of all my joys. Thou couldest not have +mended me, 'tis plain. Thou couldest only have thrown me into despair. +Didst thou not see, that I had gone too far to recede?--Welter on, once +more I bid thee!--Gasp on!--That thy last gasp, surely!--How hard diest +thou! + +ADIEU!--Unhappy man! ADIEU! + +'Tis kind in thee, however, to bid me, Adieu! + +Adieu, Adieu, Adieu, to thee, O thou inflexible, and, till now, +unconquerable bosom intruder!--Adieu to thee for ever! + + + +LETTER II + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +SUNDAY MORN. (JUNE 11). FOUR O'CLOCK. + + +A few words to the verbal information thou sentest me last night +concerning thy poor old man; and then I rise from my seat, shake myself, +refresh, new-dress, and so to my charmer, whom, notwithstanding her +reserves, I hope to prevail upon to walk out with me on the Heath this +warm and fine morning. + +The birds must have awakened her before now. They are in full song. She +always gloried in accustoming herself to behold the sun rise--one of +God's natural wonders, as once she called it. + +Her window salutes the east. The valleys must be gilded by his rays, by +the time I am with her; for already have they made the up-lands smile, and +the face of nature cheerful. + +How unsuitable will thou find this gay preface to a subject so gloomy as +that I am now turning to! + +I am glad to hear thy tedious expectations are at last answered. + +Thy servant tells me that thou are plaguily grieved at the old fellow's +departure. + +I can't say, but thou mayest look as if thou wert; harassed as thou hast +been for a number of days and nights with a close attendance upon a dying +man, beholding his drawing-on hour--pretending, for decency's sake, to +whine over his excruciating pangs; to be in the way to answer a thousand +impertinent inquiries after the health of a man thou wishedest to die--to +pray by him--for so once thou wrotest to me!--To read by him--to be +forced to join in consultation with a crew of solemn and parading +doctors, and their officious zanies, the apothecaries, joined with the +butcherly tribe of scarficators; all combined to carry on the physical +farce, and to cut out thongs both from his flesh and his estate--to have +the superadded apprehension of dividing thy interest in what he shall +leave with a crew of eager-hoping, never-to-be-satisfied relations, +legatees, and the devil knows who, of private gratifiers of passions +laudable and illaudable--in these circumstances, I wonder not that thou +lookest before servants, (as little grieved as thou after heirship,) as +if thou indeed wert grieved; and as if the most wry-fac'd woe had +befallen thee. + +Then, as I have often thought, the reflection that must naturally arise +from such mortifying objects, as the death of one with whom we have been +familiar, must afford, when we are obliged to attend it in its slow +approaches, and in its face-twisting pangs, that it will one day be our +own case, goes a great way to credit the appearance of grief. + +And that it is this, seriously reflected upon, may temporally give a fine +air of sincerity to the wailings of lively widows, heart-exulting heirs, +and residuary legatees of all denominations; since, by keeping down the +inward joy, those interesting reflections must sadden the aspect, and add +an appearance of real concern to the assumed sables. + +Well, but, now thou art come to the reward of all thy watchings, +anxieties, and close attendances, tell me what it is; tell me if it +compensate thy trouble, and answer thy hope? + +As to myself, thou seest, by the gravity of my style, how the subject has +helped to mortify me. But the necessity I am under of committing either +speedy matrimony, or a rape, has saddened over my gayer prospects, and, +more than the case itself, contributed to make me sympathize with the +present joyful-sorrow. + +Adieu, Jack, I must be soon out of my pain; and my Clarissa shall be soon +out of her's--for so does the arduousness of the case require. + + + +LETTER III + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +SUNDAY MORNING. + + +I have had the honour of my charmer's company for two complete hours. We +met before six in Mrs. Moore's garden. A walk on the Heath refused me. + +The sedateness of her aspect and her kind compliance in this meeting gave +me hopes. And all that either the Captain and I had urged yesterday to +obtain a full and free pardon, that re-urged I; and I told her, besides, +that Captain Tomlinson was gone down with hopes to prevail upon her uncle +Harlowe to come up in person, in order to present to me the greatest +blessing that man ever received. + +But the utmost I could obtain was, that she would take no resolution in +my favour till she received Miss Howe's next letter. + +I will not repeat the arguments I used; but I will give thee the +substance of what she said in answer to them. + +She had considered of every thing, she told me. My whole conduct was +before her. The house I carried her to must be a vile house. The people +early showed what they were capable of, in the earnest attempt made to +fasten Miss Partington upon her; as she doubted not, with my approbation. +[Surely, thought I, she has not received a duplicate of Miss Howe's +letter of detection!] They heard her cries. My insult was undoubtedly +premeditated. By my whole recollected behaviour to her, previous to it, +it must be so. I had the vilest of views, no question. And my treatment +of her put it out of all doubt. + +Soul over all, Belford! She seems sensible of liberties that my passion +made me insensible of having taken, or she could not so deeply resent. + +She besought me to give over all thoughts of her. Sometimes, she said, +she thought herself cruelly treated by her nearest and dearest relations; +at such times, a spirit of repining and even of resentment took place; +and the reconciliation, at other times so desirable, was not then so much +the favourite wish of her heart, as was the scheme she had formerly +planned--of taking her good Norton for her directress and guide, and +living upon her own estate in the manner her grandfather had intended she +should live. + +This scheme she doubted not that her cousin Morden, who was one of her +trustees for that estate, would enable her, (and that, as she hoped, +without litigation,) to pursue. And if he can, and does, what, Sir, let +me ask you, said she, have I seen in your conduct, that should make me +prefer to it an union of interest, where there is such a disunion in +minds? + +So thou seest, Jack, there is reason, as well as resentment, in the +preference she makes against me!--Thou seest, that she presumes to think +that she can be happy without me; and that she must be unhappy with me! + +I had besought her, in the conclusion of my re-urged arguments, to write +to Miss Howe before Miss Howe's answer could come, in order to lay before +her the present state of things; and if she would pay a deference to her +judgment, to let her have an opportunity to give it, on the full knowledge +of the case-- + +So I would, Mr. Lovelace, was the answer, if I were in doubt myself, +which I would prefer--marriage, or the scheme I have mentioned. You +cannot think, Sir, but the latter must be my choice. I wish to part with +you with temper--don't put me upon repeating-- + +Part with me, Madam! interrupted I--I cannot bear those words!--But let +me beseech you, however, to write to Miss Howe. I hope, if Miss Howe is +not my enemy-- + +She is not the enemy of your person, Sir;--as you would be convinced, if +you saw her last letter* to me. But were she not an enemy to your +actions, she would not be my friend, nor the friend of virtue. Why will +you provoke from me, Mr. Lovelace, the harshness of expression, which, +however, which, however deserved by you, I am unwilling just now to use, +having suffered enough in the two past days from my own vehemence? + + +* The lady innocently means Mr. Lovelace's forged one. See Vol. V. +Letter XXX. + + +I bit my lip for vexation. And was silent. + +Miss Howe, proceeded she, knows the full state of matters already, Sir. +The answer I expect from her respects myself, not you. Her heart is too +warm in the cause of friendship, to leave me in suspense one moment +longer than is necessary as to what I want to know. Nor does her answer +absolutely depend upon herself. She must see a person first, and that +person perhaps see others. + +The cursed smuggler-woman, Jack!--Miss Howe's Townsend, I doubt not-- +Plot, contrivance, intrigue, stratagem!--Underground-moles these women-- +but let the earth cover me!--let me be a mole too, thought I, if they +carry their point!--and if this lady escape me now! + +She frankly owned that she had once thought of embarking out of all our +ways for some one of our American colonies. But now that she had been +compelled to see me, (which had been her greatest dread), and which she +might be happiest in the resumption of her former favourite scheme, if +Miss Howe could find her a reputable and private asylum, till her cousin +Morden could come.--But if he came not soon, and if she had a difficulty +to get to a place of refuge, whether from her brother or from any body +else, [meaning me, I suppose,] she might yet perhaps go abroad; for, to +say the truth, she could not think of returning to her father's house, +since her brother's rage, her sister's upbraidings, her father's anger, +her mother's still-more-affecting sorrowings, and her own consciousness +under them all, would be unsupportable to her. + +O Jack! I am sick to death, I pine, I die, for Miss Howe's next letter! +I would bind, gag, strip, rob, and do any thing but murder, to intercept +it. + +But, determined as she seems to be, it was evident to me, nevertheless, +that she had still some tenderness for me. + +She often wept as she talked, and much oftener sighed. She looked at me +twice with an eye of undoubted gentleness, and three times with an eye +tending to compassion and softness; but its benign rays were as often +snatched back, as I may say, and her face averted, as if her sweet eyes +were not to be trusted, and could not stand against my eager eyes; +seeking, as they did, for a lost heart in her's, and endeavouring to +penetrate to her very soul. + +More than once I took her hand. She struggled not much against the +freedom. I pressed it once with my lips--she was not very angry. A +frown indeed--but a frown that had more distress in it than indignation. + +How came the dear soul, (clothed as it is with such a silken vesture,) by +all its steadiness?* Was it necessary that the active gloom of such a +tyrant of a father, should commix with such a passive sweetness of a +will-less mother, to produce a constancy, an equanimity, a steadiness, in +the daughter, which never woman before could boast of? If so, she is +more obliged to that despotic father than I could have imagined a +creature to be, who gave distinction to every one related to her beyond +what the crown itself can confer. + + +* See Vol. I. Letters IX. XIV. and XIX. for what she herself says on that +steadiness which Mr. Lovelace, though a deserved sufferer by it, cannot +help admiring. + + +I hoped, I said, that she would admit of the intended visit, which I had +so often mentioned, of the two ladies. + +She was here. She had seen me. She could not help herself at present. +She even had the highest regard for the ladies of my family, because of +their worthy characters. There she turned away her sweet face, and +vanquished an half-risen sigh. + +I kneeled to her then. It was upon a verdant cushion; for we were upon +the grass walk. I caught her hand. I besought her with an earnestness +that called up, as I could feel, my heart to my eyes, to make me, by her +forgiveness and example, more worthy of them, and of her own kind and +generous wishes. By my soul, Madam, said I, you stab me with your +goodness--your undeserved goodness! and I cannot bear it! + +Why, why, thought I, as I did several times in this conversation, will +she not generously forgive me? Why will she make it necessary for me to +bring Lady Betty and my cousin to my assistance? Can the fortress expect +the same advantageous capitulation, which yields not to the summons of a +resistless conqueror, as if it gave not the trouble of bringing up and +raising its heavy artillery against it? + +What sensibilities, said the divine creature, withdrawing her hand, must +thou have suppressed! What a dreadful, what a judicial hardness of heart +must thine be! who canst be capable of such emotions, as sometimes thou +hast shown; and of such sentiments, as sometimes have flowed from thy +lips; yet canst have so far overcome them all as to be able to act as +thou hast acted, and that from settled purpose and premeditation; and +this, as it is said, throughout the whole of thy life, from infancy to +this time! + +I told her, that I had hoped, from the generous concern she had expressed +for me, when I was so suddenly and dangerously taken ill--[the +ipecacuanha experiment, Jack!] + +She interrupted me--Well have you rewarded me for the concern you speak +of!--However, I will frankly own, now that I am determined to think no +more of you, that you might, (unsatisfied as I nevertheless was with +you,) have made an interest-- + +She paused. I besought her to proceed. + +Do you suppose, Sir, and turned away her sweet face as we walked,--Do you +suppose that I had not thought of laying down a plan to govern myself by, +when I found myself so unhappily over-reached and cheated, as I may say, +out of myself--When I found, that I could not be, and do, what I wished +to be, and to do, do you imagine that I had not cast about, what was the +next proper course to take?--And do you believe that this next course has +not caused me some pain to be obliged to-- + +There again she stopt. + +But let us break off discourse, resumed she. The subject grows too--She +sighed--Let us break off discourse--I will go in--I will prepare for +church--[The devil! thought I.] Well, as I can appear in those +every-day-worn clothes--looking upon herself--I will go to church. + +She then turned from me to go into the house. + +Bless me, my beloved creature, bless me with the continuance of this +affecting conversation.--Remorse has seized my heart!--I have been +excessively wrong--give me farther cause to curse my heedless folly, by +the continuance of this calm but soul-penetrating conversation. + +No, no, Mr. Lovelace: I have said too much. Impatience begins to break +in upon me. If you can excuse me to the ladies, it will be better for +my mind's sake, and for your credit's sake, that I do not see them. Call +me to them over-nice, petulant, prudish--what you please call me to them. +Nobody but Miss Howe, to whom, next to the Almighty, and my own mother, I +wish to stand acquitted of wilful error, shall know the whole of what has +passed. Be happy, as you may!--Deserve to be happy, and happy you will +be, in your own reflection at least, were you to be ever so unhappy in +other respects. For myself, if I ever shall be enabled, on due +reflection, to look back upon my own conduct, without the great reproach +of having wilfully, and against the light of my own judgment, erred, I +shall be more happy than if I had all that the world accounts desirable. + +The noble creature proceeded; for I could not speak. + +This self-acquittal, when spirits are lent me to dispel the darkness +which at present too often over-clouds my mind, will, I hope, make me +superior to all the calamities that can befal me. + +Her whole person was informed by her sentiments. She seemed to be taller +than before. How the God within her exalted her, not only above me, but +above herself! + +Divine creature! (as I thought her,) I called her. I acknowledged the +superiority of her mind; and was proceeding--but she interrupted me--All +human excellence, said she, is comparative only. My mind, I believe, is +indeed superior to your's, debased as your's is by evil habits: but I had +not known it to be so, if you had not taken pains to convince me of the +inferiority of your's. + +How great, how sublimely great, this creature!--By my soul I cannot +forgive her for her virtues! There is no bearing the consciousness of +the infinite inferiority she charged me with.--But why will she break +from me, when good resolutions are taking place? The red-hot iron she +refuses to strike--O why will she suffer the yielding wax to harden? + +We had gone but a few paces towards the house, when we were met by the +impertinent women, with notice, that breakfast was ready. I could only, +with uplifted hands, beseech her to give me hope of a renewed +conversation after breakfast. + +No--she would go to church. + +And into the house she went, and up stairs directly. Nor would she +oblige me with her company at the tea-table. + +I offered, by Mrs. Moore, to quit both the table and the parlour, rather +than she should exclude herself, or deprive the two widows of the favour +of her company. + +That was not all the matter, she told Mrs. Moore. She had been +struggling to keep down her temper. It had cost her some pains to do it. +She was desirous to compose herself, in hopes to receive benefit by the +divine worship she was going to join in. + +Mrs. Moore hoped for her presence at dinner. + +She had rather be excused. Yet, if she could obtain the frame of mind +she hoped for, she might not be averse to show, that she had got above +those sensibilities, which gave consideration to a man who deserved not +to be to her what he had been. + +This said, no doubt, to let Mrs. Moore know, that the garden-conversation +had not been a reconciling one. + +Mrs. Moore seemed to wonder that we were not upon a better foot of +understanding, after so long a conference; and the more, as she believed +that the lady had given in to the proposal for the repetition of the +ceremony, which I had told them was insisted upon by her uncle Harlowe.-- +But I accounted for this, by telling both widows that she was resolved to +keep on the reserve till she heard from Captain Tomlinson, whether her +uncle would be present in person at the solemnity, or would name that +worthy gentleman for his proxy. + +Again I enjoined strict secresy, as to this particular; which was +promised by the widows, as well as for themselves, as for Miss Rawlins; +of whose taciturnity they gave me such an account, as showed me, that she +was secret-keeper-general to all the women of fashion at Hampstead. + +The Lord, Jack! What a world of mischief, at this rate, must Miss +Rawlins know!--What a Pandora's box must her bosom be!--Yet, had I +nothing that was more worthy of my attention to regard, I would engage to +open it, and make my uses of the discovery. + +And now, Belford, thou perceivest, that all my reliance is upon the +mediation of Lady Betty and Miss Montague, and upon the hope of +intercepting Miss Howe's next letter. + + + +LETTER IV + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. + + +This fair inexorable is actually gone to church with Mrs. Moore and Mrs. +Bevis; but Will. closely attends her motions; and I am in the way to +receive any occasional intelligence from him. + +She did not choose, [a mighty word with the sex! as if they were always +to have their own wills!] that I should wait upon her. I did not much +press it, that she might not apprehend that I thought I had reason to +doubt her voluntary return. + +I once had it in my head to have found the widow Bevis other employment. +And I believe she would have been as well pleased with my company as to +go to church; for she seemed irresolute when I told her that two out of +a family were enough to go to church for one day. But having her things +on, (as the women call every thing,) and her aunt Moore expecting her +company, she thought it best to go--lest it should look oddly, you know, +whispered she, to one who was above regarding how it looked. + +So here am I in my dining-room; and have nothing to do but to write till +they return. + +And what will be my subject thinkest thou? Why, the old beaten one to be +sure; self-debate--through temporary remorse: for the blow being not +struck, her guardian angel is redoubling his efforts to save her. + +If it be not that, [and yet what power should her guardian angel have +over me?] I don't know what it is that gives a check to my revenge, +whenever I meditate treason against so sovereign a virtue. Conscience is +dead and gone, as I told thee; so it cannot be that. A young conscience +growing up, like the phoenix, from the ashes of the old one, it cannot +be, surely. But if it were, it would be hard, if I could not overlay a +young conscience. + +Well, then, it must be LOVE, I fancy. LOVE itself, inspiring love of an +object so adorable--some little attention possibly paid likewise to thy +whining arguments in her favour. + +Let LOVE then be allowed to be the moving principle; and the rather, as +LOVE naturally makes the lover loth to disoblige the object of its flame; +and knowing, that to an offence of the meditated kind will be a mortal +offence to her, cannot bear that I should think of giving it. + +Let LOVE and me talk together a little on this subject--be it a young +conscience, or love, or thyself, Jack, thou seest that I am for giving +every whiffler audience. But this must be the last debate on this +subject; for is not her fate in a manner at its crisis? And must not my +next step be an irretrievable one, tend it which way it will? + + +*** + + +And now the debate is over. + +A thousand charming things, (for LOVE is gentler than CONSCIENCE,) has +this little urchin suggested in her favour. He pretended to know both +our hearts: and he would have it, that though my love was a prodigious +strong and potent love; and though it has the merit of many months, +faithful service to plead, and has had infinite difficulties to struggle +with; yet that it is not THE RIGHT SORT OF LOVE. + +Right sort of love!--A puppy!--But, with due regard to your deityship, +said I, what merits has she with YOU, that you should be of her party? +Is her's, I pray you, a right sort of love? Is it love at all? She +don't pretend that it is. She owns not your sovereignty. What a d---l +I moves you, to plead thus earnestly for a rebel, who despises your +power? + +And then he came with his If's and And's--and it would have been, and +still, as he believed, would be, love, and a love of the exalted kind, if +I would encourage it by the right sort of love he talked of: and, in +justification of his opinion, pleaded her own confessions, as well those +of yesterday, as of this morning: and even went so far back as to my +ipecacuanha illness. + +I never talked so familiarly with his godship before: thou mayest think, +therefore, that his dialect sounded oddly in my ears. And then he told +me, how often I had thrown cold water upon the most charming flame that +ever warmed a lady's bosom, while but young and rising. + +I required a definition of this right sort of love, he tried at it: but +made a sorry hand of it: nor could I, for the soul of me, be convinced, +that what he meant to extol was LOVE. + +Upon the whole, we had a noble controversy upon this subject, in which +he insisted upon the unprecedented merit of the lady. Nevertheless I got +the better of him; for he was struck absolutely dumb, when (waving her +present perverseness, which yet was a sufficient answer to all his pleas) +I asserted, and offered to prove it, by a thousand instances impromptu, +that love was not governed by merit, nor could be under the dominion of +prudence, or any other reasoning power: and if the lady were capable of +love, it was of such a sort as he had nothing to do with, and which never +before reigned in a female heart. + +I asked him, what he thought of her flight from me, at a time when I was +more than half overcome by the right sort of love he talked of?--And then +I showed him the letter she wrote, and left behind her for me, with an +intention, no doubt, absolutely to break my heart, or to provoke me to +hang, drown, or shoot myself; to say nothing of a multitude of +declarations from her, defying his power, and imputing all that looked +like love in her behaviour to me, to the persecution and rejection of her +friends; which made her think of me but as a last resort. + +LOVE then gave her up. The letter, he said, deserved neither pardon nor +excuse. He did not think he had been pleading for such a declared rebel. +And as to the rest, he should be a betrayer of the rights of his own +sovereignty, if what I had alleged were true, and he were still to plead +for her. + +I swore to the truth of all. And truly I swore: which perhaps I do not +always do. + +And now what thinkest thou must become of the lady, whom LOVE itself +gives up, and CONSCIENCE cannot plead for? + + + +LETTER V + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +SUNDAY AFTERNOON. + + +O Belford! what a hair's-breadth escape have I had!--Such a one, that I +tremble between terror and joy, at the thought of what might have +happened, and did not. + +What a perverse girl is this, to contend with her fate; yet has reason +to think, that her very stars fight against her! I am the luckiest of +me!--But my breath almost fails me, when I reflect upon what a slender +thread my destiny hung. + +But not to keep thee in suspense; I have, within this half-hour, obtained +possession of the expected letter from Miss Howe--and by such an +accident! But here, with the former, I dispatch this; thy messenger +waiting. + + + +LETTER VI + +MR. LOVELACE +[IN CONTINUATION.] + + +Thus it was--My charmer accompanied Mrs. Moore again to church this +afternoon. I had been in very earnest, in the first place, to obtain her +company at dinner: but in vain. According to what she had said to Mrs. +Moore,* I was too considerable to her to be allowed that favour. In the +next place, I besought her to favour me, after dinner, with another +garden-walk. But she would again go to church. And what reason have I +to rejoice that she did! + + +* See Letter III. of this volume. + + +My worthy friend, Mrs. Bevis, thought one sermon a day, well observed, +enough; so staid at home to bear me company. + +The lady and Mrs. Moore had not been gone a quarter of an hour, when a +young country-fellow on horseback came to the door, and inquired for Mrs. +Harriot Lucas. The widow and I (undetermined how we were to entertain +each other) were in the parlour next the door; and hearing the fellow's +inquiry, O my dear Mrs. Bevis, said I, I am undone, undone for ever, if +you don't help me out!--Since here, in all probability, is a messenger +from that implacable Miss Howe with a letter; which, if delivered to Mrs. +Lovelace, may undo all we have been doing. + +What, said she, would you have me do? + +Call the maid in this moment, that I may give her her lesson; and if it +be as I imagined, I'll tell you what you shall do. + +Wid. Margaret!--Margaret! come in this minute. + +Lovel. What answer, Mrs. Margaret, did you give the man, upon his +asking for Mrs. Harriot Lucas? + +Peggy. I only asked, What was his business, and who he came from? (for, +Sir, your honour's servant had told me how things stood): and I came at +your call, Madam, before he answered me. + +Lovel. Well, child, if ever you wish to be happy in wedlock yourself, +and would have people disappointed who want to make mischief between you +and your husband, get out of him his message, or letter if he has one, +and bring it to me, and say nothing to Mrs. Lovelace, when she comes in; +and here is a guinea for you. + +Peggy. I will do all I can to serve your honour's worship for nothing: +[nevertheless, with a ready hand, taking the guinea:] for Mr. William +tells me what a good gentleman you be. + +Away went Peggy to the fellow at the door. + +Peggy. What is your business, friend, with Mrs. Harry Lucas? + +Fellow. I must speak to her her own self. + +Lovel. My dearest widow, do you personate Mrs. Lovelace--for Heaven's +sake do you personate Mrs. Lovelace. + +Wid. I personate Mrs. Lovelace, Sir! How can I do that?--She is fair; +I am brown. She is slender: I am plump-- + +Lovel. No matter, no matter--The fellow may be a new-come servant: he +is not in livery, I see. He may not know her person. You can but be +bloated and in a dropsy. + +Wid. Dropsical people look not so fresh and ruddy as I do. + +Lovel. True--but the clown may not know that. 'Tis but for a present +deception. Peggy, Peggy, call'd I, in a female tone, softly at the door. +Madam, answer'd Peggy; and came up to me to the parlour-door. + +Lovel. Tell him the lady is ill; and has lain down upon the couch. And +get his business from him, whatever you do. + +Away went Peggy. + +Lovel. Now, my dear widow, lie along the settee, and put your +handkerchief over your face, that, if he will speak to you himself, he +may not see your eyes and your hair.--So--that's right.--I'll step into +the closet by you. + +I did so. + +Peggy. [Returning.] He won't deliver his business to me. He will +speak to Mrs. Harriot Lucas her own self. + +Lovel. [Holding the door in my hand.] Tell him that this is Mrs. +Harriot Lucas; and let him come in. Whisper him (if he doubts) that she +is bloated, dropsical, and not the woman she was. + +Away went Margery. + +Lovel. And now, my dear widow, let me see what a charming Mrs. Lovelace +you'll make!--Ask if he comes from Miss Howe. Ask if he lives with her. +Ask how she does. Call her, at every word, your dear Miss Howe. Offer +him money--take this half-guinea for him--complain of your head, to have +a pretence to hold it down; and cover your forehead and eyes with your +hand, where your handkerchief hides not your face.--That's right--and +dismiss the rascal--[here he comes]--as soon as you can. + +In came the fellow, bowing and scraping, his hat poked out before him +with both his hands. + +Fellow. I am sorry, Madam, an't please you, to find you ben't well. + +Widow. What is your business with me, friend? + +Fellow. You are Mrs. Harriot Lucas, I suppose, Madam? + +Widow. Yes. Do you come from Miss Howe? + +Fellow. I do, Madam. + +Widow. Dost thou know my right name, friend? + +Fellow. I can give a shrewd guess. But that is none of my business. + +Widow. What is thy business? I hope Miss Howe is well? + +Fellow. Yes, Madam; pure well, I thank God. I wish you were so too. + +Widow. I am too full of grief to be well. + +Fellow. So belike I have hard to say. + +Widow. My head aches so dreadfully, I cannot hold it up. I must beg +of you to let me know your business. + +Fellow. Nay, and that be all, my business is soon known. It is but to +give this letter into your own partiklar hands--here it is. + +Widow. [Taking it.] From my dear friend Miss Howe?--Ah, my head! + +Fellow. Yes, Madam: but I am sorry you are so bad. + +Widow. Do you live with Miss Howe? + +Fellow. No, Madam: I am one of her tenants' sons. Her lady-mother must +not know as how I came of this errand. But the letter, I suppose, will +tell you all. + +Widow. How shall I satisfy you for this kind trouble? + +Fellow. No how at all. What I do is for love of Miss Howe. She will +satisfy me more than enough. But, may-hap, you can send no answer, you +are so ill. + +Widow. Was you ordered to wait for an answer? + +Fellow. No, I cannot say as that I was. But I was bidden to observe +how you looked, and how you was; and if you did write a line or two, to +take care of it, and give it only to our young landlady in secret. + +Widow. You see I look strangely. Not so well as I used to do. + +Fellow. Nay, I don't know that I ever saw you but once before; and that +was at a stile, where I met you and my young landlady; but knew better +than to stare a gentlewoman in the face; especially at a stile. + +Widow. Will you eat, or drink, friend? + +Fellow. A cup of small ale, I don't care if I do. + +Widow. Margaret, take the young man down, and treat him with what the +house affords. + +Fellow. Your servant, Madam. But I staid to eat as I come along, just +upon the Heath yonder; or else, to say the truth, I had been here sooner. +[Thank my stars, thought I, thou didst.] A piece of powdered beef was +upon the table, at the sign of the Castle, where I stopt to inquire for +this house: and so, thoff I only intended to wet my whistle, I could not +help eating. So shall only taste of your ale; for the beef was woundily +corned. + +Prating dog! Pox on thee! thought I. + +He withdrew, bowing and scraping. + +Margaret, whispered I, in a female voice [whispering out of the closet, +and holding the parlour-door in my hand] get him out of the house as fast +as you can, lest they come from church, and catch him here. + +Peggy. Never fear, Sir. + +The fellow went down, and it seems, drank a large draught of ale; and +Margaret finding him very talkative, told him, she begged his pardon, but +she had a sweetheart just come from sea, whom she was forced to hide in +the pantry; so was sure he would excuse her from staying with him. + +Ay, ay, to be sure, the clown said: for if he could not make sport, he +would spoil none. But he whispered her, that one 'Squire Lovelace was a +damnation rogue, if the truth might be told. + +For what? said Margaret. And could have given him, she told the widow +(who related to me all this) a good dowse of the chaps. + +For kissing all the women he came near. + +At the same time, the dog wrapped himself round Margery, and gave her a +smack, that, she told Mrs. Bevis afterwards, she might have heard into +the parlour. + +Such, Jack, is human nature: thus does it operate in all degrees; and so +does the clown, as well as his practises! Yet this sly dog knew not but +the wench had a sweetheart locked up in the pantry! If the truth were +known, some of the ruddy-faced dairy wenches might perhaps call him a +damnation rogue, as justly as their betters of the same sex might 'Squire +Lovelace. + +The fellow told the maid, that, by what he discovered of the young lady's +face, it looked very rosy to what he took it to be; and he thought her a +good deal fatter, as she lay, and not so tall. + +All women are born to intrigue, Jack; and practise it more or less, as +fathers, guardians, governesses, from dear experience, can tell; and in +love affairs are naturally expert, and quicker in their wits by half than +men. This ready, though raw wench, gave an instance of this, and +improved on the dropsical hint I had given her. The lady's seeming +plumpness was owing to a dropsical disorder, and to the round posture she +lay in--very likely, truly. Her appearing to him to be shorter, he might +have observed, was owing to her drawing her feet up from pain, and +because the couch was too short, she supposed--Adso, he did not think of +that. Her rosy colour was owing to her grief and head-ache.--Ay, that +might very well be--but he was highly pleased that he had given the +letter into Mrs. Harriot's own hand, as he should tell Miss Howe. + +He desired once more to see the lady at his going away, and would not be +denied. The widow therefore sat up, with her handkerchief over her face, +leaning her head against the wainscot. + +He asked if she had any partiklar message? + +No: she was so ill she could not write; which was a great grief to her. + +Should he call the next day? for he was going to London, now he was so +near; and should stay at a cousin's that night, who lived in a street +called Fetter-Lane. + +No: she would write as soon as able, and send by the post. + +Well, then, if she had nothing to send by him, mayhap he might stay in +town a day or two; for he had never seen the lions in the Tower, nor +Bedlam, nor the tombs; and he would make a holiday or two, as he had +leave to do, if she had no business or message that required his posting +down next day. + +She had not. + +She offered him the half-guinea I had given her for him; but he refused +it with great professions of disinterestedness, and love, as he called +it, to Miss Howe; to serve whom, he would ride to the world's-end, or +even to Jericho. + +And so the shocking rascal went away: and glad at my heart was I when he +was gone; for I feared nothing so much as that he would have staid till +they came from church. + +Thus, Jack, got I my heart's ease, the letter of Miss Howe; ad through +such a train of accidents, as makes me say, that the lady's stars fight +against her. But yet I must attribute a good deal to my own precaution, +in having taken right measures. For had I not secured the widow by my +stories, and the maid by my servant, all would have signified nothing. +And so heartily were they secured, the one by a single guinea, the other +by half a dozen warm kisses, and the aversion they both had to such +wicked creatures as delighted in making mischief between man and wife, +that they promised, that neither Mrs. Moore, Miss Rawlins, Mrs. Lovelace, +nor any body living, should know any thing of the matter. + +The widow rejoiced that I had got the mischief-maker's letter. I excused +myself to her, and instantly withdrew with it; and, after I had read it, +fell to my short-hand, to acquaint thee with my good luck: and they not +returning so soon as church was done, (stepping, as it proved, into Miss +Rawlins's, and tarrying there awhile, to bring that busy girl with them +to drink tea,) I wrote thus far to thee, that thou mightest, when thou +camest to this place, rejoice with me upon the occasion. + +They are all three just come in. + +I hasten to them. + + + +LETTER VII + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. + + +I have begun another letter to thee, in continuation of my narrative: but +I believe I shall send thee this before I shall finish that. By the +enclosed thou wilt see, that neither of the correspondents deserve mercy +from me: and I am resolved to make the ending with one the beginning with +the other. + +If thou sayest that the provocations I have given to one of them will +justify her freedoms; I answer, so they will, to any other person but +myself. But he that is capable of giving those provocations, and has the +power to punish those who abuse him for giving them, will show his +resentment; and the more remorselessly, perhaps, as he has deserved the +freedoms. + +If thou sayest, it is, however, wrong to do so; I reply, that it is +nevertheless human nature:--And wouldst thou not have me to be a man, +Jack? + +Here read the letter, if thou wilt. But thou art not my friend, if thou +offerest to plead for either of the saucy creatures, after thou hast read +it. + + +TO MRS. HARRIOT LUCAS, + +AT MRS. MOORE'S, AT HAMPSTEAD. +JUNE 10. + +After the discoveries I had made of the villanous machinations of the +most abandoned of men, particularized in my long letter of Wednesday* +last, you will believe, my dearest friend, that my surprise upon perusing +your's of Thursday evening from Hampstead** was not so great as my +indignation. Had the villain attempted to fire a city instead of a +house, I should not have wondered at it. All that I am amazed at is, +that he (whose boast, as I am told, it is, that no woman shall keep him +out of her bed-chamber, when he has made a resolution to be in it) did +not discover his foot before. And it is as strange to me, that, having +got you at such a shocking advantage, and in such a horrid house, you +could, at the time, escape dishonour, and afterwards get from such a set +of infernals. + + +* See Vol. V. Letter XX. +** Ibid. See Letter XXI. + + +I gave you, in my long letter of Wednesday and Thursday last, reasons why +you ought to mistrust that specious Tomlinson. That man, my dear, must +be a solemn villain. May lightning from Heaven blast the wretch, who has +set him and the rest of his REMORSELESS GANG at work, to endeavour to +destroy the most consummate virtue!--Heaven be praised! you have escaped +from all their snares, and now are out of danger.--So I will not trouble +you at present with the particulars I have further collected relating to +this abominable imposture. + +For the same reason, I forbear to communicate to you some new stories of +the abhorred wretch himself which have come to my ears. One, in +particular, of so shocking a nature!--Indeed, my dear, the man's a devil. + +The whole story of Mrs. Fretchville, and her house, I have no doubt to +pronounce, likewise, an absolute fiction.--Fellow!--How my soul spurns +the villain! + +Your thought of going abroad, and your reasons for so doing, most +sensibly affect me. But be comforted, my dear; I hope you will not be +under a necessity of quitting your native country. Were I sure that that +must be the cruel case, I would abandon all my better prospects, and soon +be with you. And I would accompany you whithersoever you went, and share +fortunes with you: for it is impossible that I should be happy, if I knew +that you were exposed not only to the perils of the sea, but to the +attempts of other vile men; your personal graces attracting every eye; +and exposing you to those hourly dangers, which others, less +distinguished by the gifts of nature, might avoid.--All that I know that +beauty (so greatly coveted, and so greatly admired) is good for. + +O my dear, were I ever to marry, and to be the mother of a CLARISSA, +[Clarissa must be the name, if promisingly lovely,] how often would my +heart ache for the dear creature, as she grew up, when I reflected that a +prudence and discretion, unexampled in woman, had not, in you, been a +sufficient protection to that beauty, which had drawn after it as many +admirers as beholders!--How little should I regret the attacks of that +cruel distemper, as it is called, which frequently makes the greatest +ravages in the finest faces! + + +SAT. AFTERNOON. + +I have just parted with Mrs. Townsend.* I thought you had once seen her +with me; but she says she never had the honour to be personally known to +you. She has a manlike spirit. She knows the world. And her two +brothers being in town, she is sure she can engage them in so good a +cause, and (if there should be occasion) both their ships' crews, in your +service. + + +* For the account of Mrs. Townsend, &c. see Vol. IV. Letter XLII. + + +Give your consent, my dear; and the horrid villain shall be repaid with +broken bones, at least, for all his vileness! + +The misfortune is, Mrs. Townsend cannot be with you till Thursday next, +or Wednesday, at soonest: Are you sure you can be safe where you are till +then? I think you are too near London; and perhaps you had better be in +it. If you remove, let me, the very moment, know whither. + +How my heart is torn, to think of the necessity so dear a creature is +driven to of hiding herself! Devilish fellow! He must have been +sportive and wanton in his inventions--yet that cruel, that savage +sportiveness has saved you from the sudden violence to which he has had +recourse in the violation of others, of names and families not +contemptible. For such the villain always gloried to spread his snares. + +The vileness of this specious monster has done more, than any other +consideration could do, to bring Mr. Hickman into credit with me. Mr. +Hickman alone knows (from me) of your flight, and the reason of it. Had +I not given him the reason, he might have thought still worse of the vile +attempt. I communicated it to him by showing him your letter from +Hampstead. When he had read it, [and he trembled and reddened, as he +read,] he threw himself at my feet, and besought me to permit him to +attend you, and to give you the protection of his house. The +good-natured man had tears in his eyes, and was repeatedly earnest on this +subject; proposing to take his chariot-and-four, or a set, and in person, +in the face of all the world, give himself the glory of protecting such +an oppressed innocent. + +I could not but be pleased with him. And I let him know that I was. I +hardly expected so much spirit from him. But a man's passiveness to a +beloved object of our sex may not, perhaps, argue want of courage on +proper occasions. + +I thought I ought, in return, to have some consideration for his safety, +as such an open step would draw upon him the vengeance of the most +villanous enterpriser in the world, who has always a gang of fellows, +such as himself, at his call, ready to support one another in the vilest +outrages. But yet, as Mr. Hickman might have strengthened his hands by +legal recourses, I should not have stood upon it, had I not known your +delicacy, [since such a step must have made a great noise, and given +occasion for scandal, as if some advantage had been gained over you,] and +were there not the greatest probability that all might be more silently, +and more effectually, managed, by Mrs. Townsend's means. + +Mrs. Townsend will in person attend you--she hopes, on Wednesday--her +brothers, and some of their people, will scatteringly, and as if they +knew nothing of you, [so we have contrived,] see you safe not only to +London, but to her house at Deptford. + +She has a kinswoman, who will take your commands there, if she herself +be obliged to leave you. And there you may stay, till the wretch's fury, +on losing you, and his search, are over. + +He will very soon, 'tis likely, enter upon some new villany, which may +engross him: and it may be given out, that you are gone to lay claim to +the protection of your cousin Morden at Florence. + +Possibly, if he can be made to believe it, he will go over, in hopes to +find you there. + +After a while, I can procure you a lodging in one of our neighbouring +villages, where I may have the happiness to be your daily visiter. And +if this Hickman be not silly and apish, and if my mother do not do +unaccountable things, I may the sooner think of marrying, that I may, +without controul, receive and entertain the darling of my heart. + +Many, very many, happy days do I hope we shall yet see together; and as +this is my hope, I expect that it will be your consolation. + +As to your estate, since you are resolved not to litigate for it, we will +be patient, either till Colonel Morden arrives, or till shame compels +some people to be just. + +Upon the whole, I cannot but think your prospects now much happier than +they could have been, had you been actually married to such a man as +this. I must therefore congratulate you upon your escape, not only from +a horrid libertine, but from so vile a husband, as he must have made to +any woman; but more especially to a person of your virtue and delicacy. + +You hate him, heartily hate him, I hope, my dear--I am sure you do. It +would be strange, if so much purity of life and manners were not to abhor +what is so repugnant to itself. + +In your letter before me, you mention one written to me for a feint.* I +have not received any such. Depend upon it, therefore, that he must have +it. And if he has, it is a wonder that he did not likewise get my long +one of the 7th. Heaven be praised that he did not; and that it came safe +to your hands! + + +* See Vol. V. Letters XXI. and XXII. + + +I send this by a young fellow, whose father is one of our tenants, with +command to deliver it to no other hands but your's. He is to return +directly, if you give him any letter. If not, he will proceed to London +upon his own pleasures. He is a simple fellow; but very honest. So you +may say anything to him. If you write not by him, I desire a line or +two, as soon as possible. + +My mother knows nothing of his going to you; nor yet of your abandoning +the fellow. Forgive me! But he is not entitled to good manners. + +I shall long to hear how you and Mrs. Townsend order matters. I wish +she could have been with you sooner. But I have lost no time in engaging +her, as you will suppose. I refer to her, what I have further to say and +advise. So shall conclude with my prayers, that Heaven will direct and +protect my dearest creature, and make your future days happy! + +ANNA HOWE. + + +And now, Jack, I will suppose that thou hast read this cursed letter. +Allow me to make a few observations upon some of its contents. + + +It is strange to Miss Howe, that having got her friend at such a shocking +advantage, &c. And it is strange to me, too. If ever I have such +another opportunity given to me, the cause of both our wonder, I believe, +will cease. + +So thou seest Tomlinson is further detected.--No such person as Mrs. +Fretchville.--May lightning from Heaven--O Lord, O Lord, O Lord!--What a +horrid vixen is this!--My gang, my remorseless gang, too, is brought in-- +and thou wilt plead for these girls again; wilt thou? heaven be praised, +she says, that her friend is out of danger--Miss Howe should be sure of +that, and that she herself is safe.--But for this termagant, (as I often +said,) I must surely have made a better hand of it.-- + +New stories of me, Jack!--What can they be?--I have not found that my +generosity to my Rose-bud ever did me due credit with this pair of +friends. Very hard, Belford, that credits cannot be set against debits, +and a balance struck in a rake's favour, as well as in that of every +common man!--But he, from whom no good is expected, is not allowed the +merit of the good he does. + +I ought to have been a little more attentive to character than I have +been. For, notwithstanding that the measures of right and wrong are said +to be so manifest, let me tell thee, that character biases and runs away +with all mankind. Let a man or woman once establish themselves in the +world's opinion, and all that either of them do will be sanctified. Nay, +in the very courts of justice, does not character acquit or condemn as +often as facts, and sometimes even in spite of facts?--Yet, [impolitic +that I have been and am!] to be so careless of mine!--And now, I doubt, +it is irretrievable.--But to leave moralizing. + +Thou, Jack, knowest almost all my enterprises worth remembering. Can +this particular story, which this girl hints at, be that of Lucy Villars? +--Or can she have heard of my intrigue with the pretty gipsey, who met me +in Norwood, and of the trap I caught her cruel husband in, [a fellow as +gloomy and tyrannical as old Harlowe,] when he pursued a wife, who would +not have deserved ill of him, if he had deserved well of her!--But he was +not quite drowned. The man is alive at this day, and Miss Howe mentions +the story as a very shocking one. Besides, both these are a twelve-month +old, or more. + +But evil fame and scandal are always new. When the offender has forgot a +vile fact, it is often told to one and to another, who, having never +heard of it before, trumpet it about as a novelty to others. But well +said the honest corregidor at Madrid, [a saying with which I encroached +Lord M.'s collection,]--Good actions are remembered but for a day: bad +ones for many years after the life of the guilty. Such is the relish +that the world has for scandal. In other words, such is the desire which +every one has to exculpate himself by blackening his neighbour. You and +I, Belford, have been very kind to the world, in furnishing it with +opportunities to gratify its devil. + +[Miss Howe will abandon her own better prospects, and share fortunes with +her, were she to go abroad.]--Charming romancer!--I must set about this +girl, Jack. I have always had hopes of a woman whose passions carry her +to such altitudes.--Had I attacked Miss Howe first, her passions, +(inflamed and guided as I could have managed them,) would have brought +her into my lure in a fortnight. + +But thinkest thou, [and yet I think thou dost,] that there is any thing +in these high flights among the sex?--Verily, Jack, these vehement +friendships are nothing but chaff and stubble, liable to be blown away by +the very wind that raises them. Apes, mere apes of us! they think the +word friendship has a pretty sound with it; and it is much talked of--a +fashionable word. And so, truly, a single woman, who thinks she has a +soul, and knows that she wants something, would be thought to have found +a fellow-soul for it in her own sex. But I repeat, that the word is a +mere word, the thing a mere name with them; a cork-bottomed shuttle-cock, +which they are fond of striking to and fro, to make one another glow in +the frosty weather of a single-state; but which, when a man comes in +between the pretended inseparables, is given up, like their music and +other maidenly amusements; which, nevertheless, may be necessary to keep +the pretty rogues out of active mischief. They then, in short, having +caught the fish, lay aside the net.* + + +* He alludes here to the story of a pope, who, (once a poor fisherman,) +through every preferment he rose to, even to that of the cardinalate, +hung up in view of all his guests his net, as a token of humility. But, +when he arrived at the pontificate, he took it down, saying, that there +was no need of the net, when he had caught the fish. + + +Thou hast a mind, perhaps, to make an exception for these two ladies.-- +With all my heart. My Clarissa has, if woman has, a soul capable of +friendship. Her flame is bright and steady. But Miss Howe's, were it +not kept up by her mother's opposition, is too vehement to endure. How +often have I known opposition not only cement friendship, but create +love? I doubt not but poor Hickman would fare the better with this +vixen, if her mother were as heartily against him, as she is for him. + +Thus much, indeed, as to these two ladies, I will grant thee, that the +active spirit of the one, and the meek disposition of the other, may make +their friendship more durable than it would otherwise be; for this is +certain, that in every friendship, whether male or female, there must be +a man and a woman spirit, (that is to say, one of them must be a +forbearing one,) to make it permanent. + +But this I pronounce, as a truth, which all experience confirms, that +friendship between women never holds to the sacrifice of capital +gratifications, or to the endangering of life, limb, or estate, as it +often does in our nobler sex. + +Well, but next comes an indictment against poor beauty! What has beauty +done that Miss Howe should be offended at it?--Miss Howe, Jack, is a +charming girl. She has no reason to quarrel with beauty!--Didst ever see +her?--Too much fire and spirit in her eye, indeed, for a girl!--But +that's no fault with a man that can lower that fire and spirit at +pleasure; and I know I am the man that can. + +For my own part, when I was first introduced to this lady, which was by +my goddess when she herself was a visiter at Mrs. Howe's, I had not been +half an hour with her, but I even hungered and thirsted after a romping +'bout with the lively rogue; and, in the second or third visit, was more +deterred by the delicacy of her friend, than by what I apprehended from +her own. This charming creature's presence, thought I, awes us both. +And I wished her absence, though any other woman were present, that I +might try the differences in Miss Howe's behaviour before her friend's +face, or behind her back. + +Delicate women make delicate women, as well as decent men. With all Miss +Howe's fire and spirit, it was easy to see, by her very eye, that she +watched for lessons and feared reproof from the penetrating eye of her +milder dispositioned friend;* and yet it was as easy to observe, in the +candour and sweet manners of the other, that the fear which Miss Howe +stood in of her, was more owing to her own generous apprehension that she +fell short of her excellencies, than to Miss Harlowe's consciousness of +excellence over her. I have often since I came at Miss Howe's letters, +revolved this just and fine praise contained in one of them:** 'Every one +saw that the preference they gave you to themselves exalted you not into +any visible triumph over them; for you had always something to say, on +every point you carried, that raised the yielding heart, and left every +one pleased and satisfied with themselves, though they carried not off +the palm.' + + +* Miss Howe, in Vol. III. Letter XIX. says, That she was always more +afraid of Clarissa than of her mother; and, in Vol. III. Letter XLIV. +That she fears her almost as much as she loves her; and in many other +places, in her letters, verifies this observation of Lovelace. +** See Vol. IV. Letter XXXI. + + +As I propose, in a more advanced life, to endeavour to atone for my +useful freedoms with individuals of the sex, by giving cautions and +instructions to the whole, I have made a memorandum to enlarge upon this +doctrine;--to wit, that it is full as necessary to direct daughters in +the choice of their female companions, as it is to guard them against the +designs of men. + +I say not this, however, to the disparagement of Miss Howe. She has from +pride, what her friend has from principle. [The Lord help the sex, if +they had not pride!] But yet I am confident, that Miss Howe is indebted +to the conversation and correspondence of Miss Harlowe for her highest +improvements. But, both these ladies out of the question, I make no +scruple to aver, [and I, Jack, should know something of the matter,] that +there have been more girls ruined, at least prepared for ruin, by their +own sex, (taking in servants, as well as companions,) than directly by +the attempts and delusions of men. + +But it is time enough when I am old and joyless, to enlarge upon this +topic. + +As to the comparison between the two ladies, I will expatiate more on +that subject, (for I like it,) when I have had them both. Which this +letter of the vixen girl's, I hope thou wilt allow, warrants me to try +for. + +I return to the consideration of a few more of its contents, to justify +my vengeances so nearly now in view. + +As to Mrs. Townsend,--her manlike spirit--her two brothers--and the +ships' crews--I say nothing but this to the insolent threatening--Let 'em +come!--But as to her sordid menace--To repay the horrid villain, as she +calls me, for all my vileness by BROKEN BONES!--Broken bones, Belford!-- +Who can bear this porterly threatening!--Broken bones, Jack!--D--n the +little vulgar!--Give me a name for her--but I banish all furious +resentment. If I get these two girls into my power, Heaven forbid that I +should be a second Phalaris, who turned his bull upon the artist!--No +bones of their's will I break--They shall come off with me upon much +lighter terms!-- + +But these fellows are smugglers, it seems. And am not I a smuggler too? +--I am--and have not the least doubt but I shall have secured my goods +before Thursday, or Wednesday either. + +But did I want a plot, what a charming new one does this letter of Miss +Howe strike me out! I am almost sorry, that I have fixed upon one.--For +here, how easy would it be for me to assemble a crew of swabbers, and to +create a Mrs. Townsend (whose person, thou seest, my beloved knows not) +to come on Tuesday, at Miss Howe's repeated solicitations, in order to +carry my beloved to a warehouse of my own providing? + +This, however, is my triumphant hope, that at the very time that these +ragamuffins will be at Hampstead (looking for us) my dear Miss Harlowe +and I [so the Fates I imagine have ordained] shall be fast asleep in +each other's arms in town.--Lie still, villain, till the time comes.-- +My heart, Jack! my heart!--It is always thumping away on the remotest +prospects of this nature. + +But it seems that the vileness of this specious monster [meaning me, +Jack!] has brought Hickman into credit with her. So I have done some +good! But to whom I cannot tell: for this poor fellow, should I permit +him to have this termagant, will be punished, as many times we all are, +by the enjoyment of his own wishes--nor can she be happy, as I take it, +with him, were he to govern himself by her will, and have none of his +own; since never was there a directing wife who knew where to stop: power +makes such a one wanton--she despises the man she can govern. Like +Alexander, who wept, that he had no more worlds to conquer, she will be +looking out for new exercises for her power, till she grow uneasy to +herself, a discredit to her husband, and a plague to all about her. + +But this honest fellow, it seems, with tears in his eyes, and with humble +prostration, besought the vixen to permit him to set out in his +chariot-and-four, in order to give himself the glory of protecting such an +oppressed innocent, in the face of the whole world. Nay, he reddened, it +seems: and trembled too! as he read the fair complainant's letter.--How +valiant is all this!--Women love brave men; and no wonder that his tears, +his trembling, and his prostration, gave him high reputation with the meek +Miss Howe. + +But dost think, Jack, that I in the like case (and equally affected with +the distress) should have acted thus? Dost think, that I should not +first have rescued the lady, and then, if needful, have asked excuse for +it, the lady in my hand?--Wouldst not thou have done thus, as well as I? + +But, 'tis best as it is. Honest Hickman may now sleep in a whole skin. +And yet that is more perhaps than he would have done (the lady's +deliverance unattempted) had I come at this requested permission of his +any other way than by a letter that it must not be known that I have +intercepted. + +Miss Howe thinks I may be diverted from pursuing my charmer, by some +new-started villany. Villany is a word that she is extremely fond of. +But I can tell her, that it is impossible I should, till the end of this +villany be obtained. Difficulty is a stimulus with such a spirit as mine. +I thought Miss Howe knew me better. Were she to offer herself, person for +person, in the romancing zeal of her friendship, to save her friend, it +should not do, while the dear creature is on this side the moon. + +She thanks Heaven, that her friend has received her letter of the 7th. +We are all glad of it. She ought to thank me too. But I will not at +present claim her thanks. + +But when she rejoices that the letter went safe, does she not, in effect, +call out for vengeance, and expect it!--All in good time, Miss Howe. +When settest thou out for the Isle of Wight, love? + +I will close at this time with desiring thee to make a list of the +virulent terms with which the enclosed letter abounds: and then, if thou +supposest that I have made such another, and have added to it all the +flowers of the same blow, in the former letters of the same saucy +creature, and those in that of Miss Harlowe, which she left for me on her +elopement, thou wilt certainly think, that I have provocations sufficient +to justify me in all that I shall do to either. + +Return the enclosed the moment thou hast perused it. + + + +LETTER VIII + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +SUNDAY NIGHT--MONDAY MORNING. + + +I went down with revenge in my heart, the contents of Miss Howe's letter +almost engrossing me, the moment that Miss Harlowe and Mrs. Moore +(accompanied by Miss Rawlins) came in: but in my countenance all the +gentle, the placid, the serene, that the glass could teach; and in my +behaviour all the polite, that such an unpolite creature, as she has +often told me I am, could put on. + +Miss Rawlins was sent for home almost as soon as she came in, to +entertain an unexpected visiter; to her great regret, as well as to the +disappointment of my fair-one, as I could perceive from the looks of +both: for they had agreed, it seems, if I went to town, as I said I +intended to do, to take a walk upon the Heath, at least in Mrs. Moore's +garden; and who knows, what might have been the issue, had the spirit of +curiosity in the one met with the spirit of communication in the other? + +Miss Rawlins promised to return, if possible: but sent to excuse herself: +her visiter intending to stay with her all night. + +I rejoiced in my heart at her message; and, after much supplication, +obtained the favour of my beloved's company for another walk in the +garden, having, as I told her, abundance of things to say, to propose, +and to be informed of, in order ultimately to govern myself in my future +steps. + +She had vouchsafed, I should have told thee, with eyes turned from me, +and in a half-aside attitude, to sip two dishes of tea in my company-- +Dear soul!--How anger unpolishes the most polite! for I never saw Miss +Harlowe behave so awkwardly. I imagined she knew not how to be awkward. + +When we were in the garden, I poured my whole soul into her attentive +ear; and besought her returning favour. + +She told me, that she had formed her scheme for her future life: that, +vile as the treatment was which she had received from me, that was not +all the reason she had for rejecting my suit: but that, on the maturest +deliberation, she was convinced that she could neither be happy with me, +nor make me happy; and she injoined me, for both our sakes, to think no +more of her. + +The Captain, I told her, was rid down post, in a manner, to forward my +wishes with her uncle.--Lady Betty and Miss Montague were undoubtedly +arrived in town by this time. I would set out early in the morning to +attend them. They adored her. They longed to see her. They would see +her.--They would not be denied her company in Oxfordshire. Whither could +she better go, to be free from her brother's insults?--Whither, to be +absolutely made unapprehensive of any body else?--Might I have any hopes +of her returning favour, if Miss Howe could be prevailed upon to +intercede for me? + +Miss Howe prevailed upon to intercede for you! repeated she, with a +scornful bridle, but a very pretty one.--And there she stopt. + +I repeated the concern it would be to me to be under a necessity of +mentioning the misunderstanding to Lady Betty and my cousin, as a +misunderstanding still to be made up; and as if I were of very little +consequence to a dear creature who was of so much to me; urging, that +these circumstances would extremely lower me not only in my own opinion, +but in that of my relations. + +But still she referred to Miss Howe's next letter; and all the concession +I could bring her to in this whole conference, was, that she would wait +the arrival and visit of the two ladies, if they came in a day or two, or +before she received the expected letter from Miss Howe. + +Thank Heaven for this! thought I. And now may I go to town with hopes at +my return to find thee, dearest, where I shall leave thee. + +But yet, as she may find reasons to change her mind in my absence, I +shall not entirely trust to this. My fellow, therefore, who is in the +house, and who, by Mrs. Bevis's kind intelligence, will know every step +she can take, shall have Andrew and a horse ready, to give me immediate +notice of her motions; and moreover, go whither she will, he shall be one +of her retinue, though unknown to herself, if possible. + +This was all I could make of the fair inexorable. Should I be glad of +it, or sorry for it?-- + +Glad I believe: and yet my pride is confoundedly abated, to think that I +had so little hold in the affections of this daughter of the Harlowes. + +Don't tell me that virtue and principle are her guides on this occasion! +--'Tis pride, a greater pride than my own, that governs her. Love, she +has none, thou seest; nor ever had; at least not in a superior degree. +Love, that deserves the name, never was under the dominion of prudence, +or of any reasoning power. She cannot bear to be thought a woman, I +warrant! And if, in the last attempt, I find her not one, what will she +be the worse for the trial?--No one is to blame for suffering an evil he +cannot shun or avoid. + +Were a general to be overpowered, and robbed by a highwayman, would he be +less fit for the command of an army on that account?--If indeed the +general, pretending great valour, and having boasted that he never would +be robbed, were to make but faint resistance when he was brought to the +test, and to yield his purse when he was master of his own sword, then +indeed will the highwayman who robs him be thought the braver man. + +But from these last conferences am I furnished with one argument in +defence of my favourite purpose, which I never yet pleaded. + +O Jack! what a difficulty must a man be allowed to have to conquer a +predominant passion, be it what it will, when the gratifying of it is in +his power, however wrong he knows it to be to resolve to gratify it! +Reflect upon this; and then wilt thou be able to account for, if not to +excuse, a projected crime, which has habit to plead for it, in a breast +as stormy as uncontroulable! + +This that follows is my new argument-- + +Should she fail in the trial; should I succeed; and should she refuse to +go on with me; and even resolve not to marry me (of which I can have no +notion); and should she disdain to be obliged to me for the handsome +provision I should be proud to make for her, even to the half of my +estate; yet cannot she be altogether unhappy--Is she not entitled to an +independent fortune? Will not Col. Morden, as her trustee, put her in +possession of it? And did she not in our former conference point out the +way of life, that she always preferred to the married life--to wit, 'To +take her good Norton for her directress and guide, and to live upon her +own estate in the manner her grandfather desired she should live?'* + + +* See Letter III. of this volume. + + +It is moreover to be considered that she cannot, according to her own +notions, recover above one half of her fame, were we not to intermarry; +so much does she think she has suffered by her going off with me. And +will she not be always repining and mourning for the loss of the other +half?--And if she must live a life of such uneasiness and regret for +half, may she not as well repine and mourn for the whole? + +Nor, let me tell thee, will her own scheme or penitence, in this case, be +half so perfect, if she do not fall, as if she does: for what a foolish +penitent will she make, who has nothing to repent of!--She piques +herself, thou knowest, and makes it matter of reproach to me, that she +went not off with me by her own consent; but was tricked out of herself. + +Nor upbraid thou me upon the meditated breach of vows so repeatedly made. +She will not, thou seest, permit me to fulfil them. And if she would, +this I have to say, that, at the time I made the most solemn of them, I +was fully determined to keep them. But what prince thinks himself +obliged any longer to observe the articles of treaties, the most sacredly +sworn to, than suits with his interest or inclination; although the +consequence of the infraction must be, as he knows, the destruction of +thousands. + +Is not this then the result of all, that Miss Clarissa Harlowe, if it be +not her own fault, may be as virtuous after she has lost her honour, as +it is called, as she was before? She may be a more eminent example to +her sex; and if she yield (a little yield) in the trial, may be a +completer penitent. Nor can she, but by her own wilfulness, be reduced +to low fortunes. + +And thus may her old nurse and she; an old coachman; and a pair of old +coach-horses; and two or three old maid-servants, and perhaps a very old +footman or two, (for every thing will be old and penitential about her,) +live very comfortably together; reading old sermons, and old +prayer-books; and relieving old men and old women; and giving old lessons, +and old warnings, upon new subjects, as well as old ones, to the young +ladies of her neighbourhood; and so pass on to a good old age, doing a +great deal of good both by precept and example in her generation. + +And is a woman who can live thus prettily without controul; who ever did +prefer, and who still prefers, the single to the married life; and who +will be enabled to do every thing that the plan she had formed will +direct her to do; to be said to be ruined, undone, and such sort of +stuff?--I have no patience with the pretty fools, who use those strong +words, to describe a transitory evil; an evil which a mere church-form +makes none? + +At this rate of romancing, how many flourishing ruins dost thou, as well +as I, know? Let us but look about us, and we shall see some of the +haughtiest and most censorious spirits among out acquaintance of that sex +now passing for chaste wives, of whom strange stories might be told; and +others, whose husbands' hearts have been made to ache for their gaieties, +both before and after marriage; and yet know not half so much of them, as +some of us honest fellows could tell them. + +But, having thus satisfied myself in relation to the worst that can +happen to this charming creature; and that it will be her own fault, if +she be unhappy; I have not at all reflected upon what is likely to be my +own lot. + +This has always been my notion, though Miss Howe grudges us rakes the +best of the sex, and says, that the worst is too good for us,* that the +wife of a libertine ought to be pure, spotless, uncontaminated. To what +purpose has such a one lived a free life, but to know the world, and to +make his advantages of it!--And, to be very serious, it would be a +misfortune to the public for two persons, heads of a family, to be both +bad; since, between two such, a race of varlets might be propagated +(Lovelaces and Belfords, if thou wilt) who might do great mischief in the +world. + +Thou seest at bottom that I am not an abandoned fellow; and that there is +a mixture of gravity in me. This, as I grow older, may increase; and +when my active capacity begins to abate, I may sit down with the +preacher, and resolve all my past life into vanity and vexation of +spirit. + +This is certain, that I shall never find a woman so well suited to my +taste as Miss Clarissa Harlowe. I only wish that I may have such a lady +as her to comfort and adorn my setting sun. I have often thought it very +unhappy for us both, that so excellent a creature sprang up a little too +late for my setting out, and a little too early in my progress, before I +can think of returning. And yet, as I have picked up the sweet traveller +in my way, I cannot help wishing that she would bear me company in the +rest of my journey, although she were stepping out of her own path to +oblige me. And then, perhaps, we could put up in the evening at the same +inn; and be very happy in each other's conversation; recounting the +difficulties and dangers we had passed in our way to it. + +I imagine that thou wilt be apt to suspect that some passages in this +letter were written in town. Why, Jack, I cannot but say that the +Westminster air is a little grosser than that at Hampstead; and the +conversation of Mrs. Sinclair and the nymphs less innocent than Mrs. +Moore's and Miss Rawlins's. And I think in my heart I can say and write +those things at one place which I cannot at the other, nor indeed any +where else. + +I came to town about seven this morning--all necessary directions and +precautions remembered to be given. + +I besought the favour of an audience before I set out. I was desirous +to see which of her lovely faces she was pleased to put on, after another +night had passed. But she was resolved, I found, to leave our quarrel +open. She would not give me an opportunity so much as to entreat her +again to close it, before the arrival of Lady Betty and my cousin. + +I had notice from my proctor, by a few lines brought by a man and horse, +just before I set out, that all difficulties had been for two days past +surmounted; and that I might have the license for fetching. + +I sent up the letter to my beloved, by Mrs. Bevis, with a repeated +request for admittance to her presence upon it; but neither did this +stand me in stead. I suppose she thought it would be allowing of the +consequences that were naturally to be expected to follow the obtaining +of this instrument, if she had consented to see me on the contents of +this letter, having refused me that honour before I sent it up to her.-- +No surprising her.--No advantage to be taken of her inattention to the +nicest circumstances. + +And now, Belford, I set out upon business. + + + +LETTER IX + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +MONDAY, JUNE 12. + + +Durst ever see a license, Jack? + +'Edmund, by divine permission, Lord Bishop of London, to our well-beloved +in Christ, Robert Lovelace, [your servant, my good Lord! What have I +done to merit so much goodness, who never saw your Lordship in my life?] +of the parish of St. Martin's in the Fields, bachelor, and Clarissa +Harlowe, of the same parish, spinster, sendeth greeting.--WHEREAS ye are, +as is alleged, determined to enter into the holy state of Matrimony [this +is only alleged, thou observest] by and with the consent of, &c. &c. &c. +and are very desirous of obtaining your marriage to be solemnized in the +face of the church: We are willing that your honest desires [honest +desires, Jack!] may more speedily have their due effect: and therefore, +that ye may be able to procure such Marriage to be freely and lawfully +solemnized in the parish church of St. Martin's in the Fields, or St. +Giles's in the Fields, in the county of Middlesex, by the Rector, Vicar, +or Curate thereof, at any time of the year, [at ANY time of the year, +Jack!] without publication of bans: Provided, that by reason of any +pre-contract, [I verily think that I have had three or four pre-contracts +in my time; but the good girls have not claimed upon them of a long +while,] consanguinity, affinity, or any other lawful cause whatsoever, +there be no lawful impediment on this behalf; and that there be not at +this time any action, suit, plaint, quarrel, or demand, moved or depending +before any judge ecclesiastical or temporal, for or concerning any +marriage contracted by or with either of you; and that the said marriage +be openly solemnized in the church above-mentioned, between the hours of +eight and twelve in the forenoon; and without prejudice to the minister of +the place where the said woman is a parishioner: We do hereby, for good +causes, [it cost me--let me see, Jack--what did it cost me?] give and +grant our License, as well to you as to the parties contracting, as to the +Rector, Vicar, or Curate of the said church, where the said marriage is +intended to be solemnized, to solemnize the same, in manner and form above +specified, according to the rites and ceremonies prescribed in the Book of +Common Prayer in that behalf published by authority of Parliament. +Provided always, that if hereafter any fraud shall appear to have been +committed, at the time of granting this License, either by false +suggestions, or concealment of the truth, [now this, Belford, is a little +hard upon us; for I cannot say that every one of our suggestions is +literally true:--so, in good conscience, I ought not to marry under this +License;] the License shall be void to all intents and purposes, as if the +same had not been granted. And in that case we do inhibit all ministers +whatsoever, if any thing of the premises shall come to their knowledge, +from proceeding to the celebration of the said Marriage; without first +consulting Us, or our Vicar-general. Given,' &c. + +Then follow the register's name, and a large pendent seal, with these +words round it--SEAL OF THE VICAR-GENERAL AND OFFICIAL PRINCIPAL OF THE +DIOCESE OF LONDON. + +A good whimsical instrument, take it altogether! But what, thinkest +thou, are the arms to this matrimonial harbinger?--Why, in the first +place, two crossed swords; to show that marriage is a state of offence +as well as defence; three lions; to denote that those who enter into the +state ought to have a triple proportion of courage. And [couldst thou +have imagined that these priestly fellows, in so solemn a case, would cut +their jokes upon poor souls who came to have their honest desires put in +a way to be gratified;] there are three crooked horns, smartly +top-knotted with ribands; which being the ladies' wear, seem to indicate +that they may very probably adorn, as well as bestow, the bull's feather. + +To describe it according to heraldry art, if I am not mistaken--gules, +two swords, saltire-wise, or; second coat, a chevron sable between three +bugle-horns, OR [so it ought to be]: on a chief of the second, three +lions rampant of the first--but the devil take them for their +hieroglyphics, should I say, if I were determined in good earnest to +marry! + +And determined to marry I would be, were it not for this consideration, +that once married, and I am married for life. + +That's the plague of it!--Could a man do as the birds do, change every +Valentine's day, [a natural appointment! for birds have not the sense, +forsooth, to fetter themselves, as we wiseacre men take great and solemn +pains to do,] there would be nothing at all in it. And what a glorious +time would the lawyers have, on the one hand, with their noverini +universi's, and suits commenceable on restitution of goods and chattels; +and the parsons, on the other, with their indulgencies [renewable +annually, as other licenses] to the honest desires of their clients? + +Then, were a stated mullet, according to rank or fortune, to be paid on +every change, towards the exigencies of the state [but none on renewals +with the old lives, for the sake of encouraging constancy, especially +among the minores] the change would be made sufficiently difficult, and +the whole public would be the better for it; while those children, which +the parents could not agree about maintaining, might be considered as the +children of the public, and provided for like the children of the antient +Spartans; who were (as ours would in this case be) a nation of heroes. +How, Jack, could I have improved upon Lycurgus's institutions had I been +a lawgiver! + +Did I never show thee a scheme which I drew up on such a notion as this? +--In which I demonstrated the conveniencies, and obviated the +inconveniencies, of changing the present mode to this? I believe I never +did. + +I remember I proved to a demonstration, that such a change would be a +mean of annihilating, absolutely annihilating, four or five very +atrocious and capital sins.--Rapes, vulgarly so called; adultery, and +fornication; nor would polygamy be panted after. Frequently would it +prevent murders and duelling; hardly any such thing as jealousy (the +cause of shocking violences) would be heard of: and hypocrisy between man +and wife be banished the bosoms of each. Nor, probably, would the +reproach of barrenness rest, as it now too often does, where it is least +deserved.--Nor would there possibly be such a person as a barren woman. + +Moreover, what a multitude of domestic quarrels would be avoided, where +such a scheme carried into execution? Since both sexes would bear with +each other, in the view that they could help themselves in a few months. + +And then what a charming subject for conversation would be the gallant +and generous last partings between man and wife! Each, perhaps, a new +mate in eye, and rejoicing secretly in the manumission, could afford to +be complaisantly sorrowful in appearance. 'He presented her with this +jewel, it will be said by the reporter, for example sake: she him with +that. How he wept! How she sobb'd! How they looked after one another!' +Yet, that's the jest of it, neither of them wishing to stand another +twelvemonth's trial. + +And if giddy fellows, or giddy girls, misbehave in a first marriage, +whether from noviceship, having expected to find more in the matter than +can be found; or from perverseness on her part, or positiveness on his, +each being mistaken in the other [a mighty difference, Jack, in the same +person, an inmate or a visiter]; what a fine opportunity will each have, +by this scheme, of recovering a lost character, and of setting all right +in the next adventure? + +And, O Jack! with what joy, with what rapture, would the changelings (or +changeables, if thou like that word better) number the weeks, the days, +the hours, as the annual obligation approached to its desirable period! + +As for the spleen or vapours, no such malady would be known or heard of. +The physical tribe would, indeed, be the sufferers, and the only +sufferers; since fresh health and fresh spirits, the consequences of +sweet blood and sweet humours (the mind and body continually pleased with +each other) would perpetually flow in; and the joys of expectation, the +highest of all our joys, would invigorate and keep all alive. + +But, that no body of men might suffer, the physicians, I thought, might +turn parsons, as there would be a great demand for parsons. Besides, as +they would be partakers in the general benefit, they must be sorry +fellows indeed if they preferred themselves to the public. + +Every one would be married a dozen times at least. Both men and women +would be careful of their characters and polite in their behaviour, as +well as delicate in their persons, and elegant in their dress, [a great +matte each of these, let me tell thee, to keep passion alive,] either to +induce a renewal with the old love, or to recommend themselves to a new. +While the newspapers would be crowded with paragraphs; all the world +their readers, as all the world would be concerned to see who and who's +together-- + +'Yesterday, for instance, entered into the holy state of matrimony,' [we +should all speak reverently of matrimony, then,] 'the right Honourable +Robert Earl Lovelace' [I shall be an earl by that time,] 'with her Grace +the Duchess Dowager of Fifty-manors; his Lordship's one-and-thirtieth +wife.'--I shall then be contented, perhaps, to take up, as it is called, +with a widow. But she must not have had more than one husband neither. +Thou knowest that I am nice in these particulars. + +I know, Jack, that thou for thy part, wilt approve of my scheme. + +As Lord M. and I, between us, have three or four boroughs at command, I +think I will get into parliament, in order to bring in a bill for this +good purpose. + +Neither will the house of parliament, nor the houses of convocation, have +reason to object it. And all the courts, whether spiritual or sensual, +civil or uncivil, will find their account in it when passed into a law. + +By my soul, Jack, I should be apprehensive of a general insurrection, and +that incited by the women, were such a bill to be thrown out.--For here +is the excellency of the scheme: the women will have equal reason with +the men to be pleased with it. + +Dost think, that old prerogative Harlowe, for example, must not, if such +a law were in being, have pulled in his horns?--So excellent a wife as he +has, would never else have renewed with such a gloomy tyrant: who, as +well as all other married tyrants, must have been upon good behaviour +from year to year. + +A termagant wife, if such a law were to pass, would be a phoenix. + +The churches would be the only market-place for the fair sex; and +domestic excellence the capital recommendation. + +Nor would there be an old maid in Great Britain, and all its territories. +For what an odd soul must she be who could not have her twelvemonth's +trial? + +In short, a total alteration for the better, in the morals and way of +life in both sexes, must, in a very few years, be the consequence of such +a salutary law. + +Who would have expected such a one from me! I wish the devil owe me not +a spite for it. + +The would not the distinction be very pretty, Jack? as in flowers;--such +a gentleman, or such a lady, is an ANNUAL--such a one is a PERENNIAL. + +One difficulty, however, as I remember, occurred to me, upon the +probability that a wife might be enceinte, as the lawyers call it. But +thus I obviated it-- + +That no man should be allowed to marry another woman without his then +wife's consent, till she were brought-to-bed, and he had defrayed all +incident charges; and till it was agreed upon between them whether the +child should be his, her's, or the public's. The women in this case to +have what I call the coercive option; for I would not have it in the +man's power to be a dog neither. + +And, indeed, I gave the turn of the scale in every part of my scheme in +the women's favour: for dearly do I love the sweet rogues. + +How infinitely more preferable this my scheme to the polygamy one of the +old patriarchs; who had wives and concubines without number!--I believe +David and Solomon had their hundreds at a time. Had they not, Jack? + +Let me add, that annual parliaments, and annual marriages, are the +projects next my heart. How could I expatiate upon the benefits that +would arise from both! + + + +LETTER X + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. + + +Well, but now my plots thicken; and my employment of writing to thee on +this subject will soon come to a conclusion. For now, having got the +license; and Mrs. Townsend with her tars, being to come to Hampstead next +Wednesday or Thursday; and another letter possibly, or message from Miss +Howe, to inquire how Miss Harlowe does, upon the rustic's report of her +ill health, and to express her wonder that she has not heard form her in +answer to her's on her escape; I must soon blow up the lady, or be blown +up myself. And so I am preparing, with Lady Betty and my cousin +Montague, to wait upon my beloved with a coach-and-four, or a sett; for +Lady Betty will not stir out with a pair for the world; though but for +two or three miles. And this is a well-known part of her character. + +But as to the arms and crest upon the coach and trappings? + +Dost thou not know that a Blunt's must supply her, while her own is new +lining and repairing? An opportunity she is willing to take now she is +in town. Nothing of this kind can be done to her mind in the country. +Liveries nearly Lady Betty's. + +Thou hast seen Lady Betty Lawrance several times--hast thou not, Belford? + +No, never in my life. + +But thou hast--and lain with her too; or fame does thee more credit than +thou deservest--Why, Jack, knowest thou not Lady Betty's other name? + +Other name!--Has she two? + +She has. And what thinkest thou of Lady Bab. Wallis? + +O the devil! + +Now thou hast it. Lady Barbara thou knowest, lifted up in circumstances, +and by pride, never appears or produces herself, but on occasions special +--to pass to men of quality or price, for a duchess, or countess, at +least. She has always been admired for a grandeur in her air, that few +women of quality can come up to; and never was supposed to be other than +what she passed for; though often and often a paramour for lords. + +And who, thinkest thou, is my cousin Montague? + +Nay, how should I know? + +How indeed! Why, my little Johanetta Golding, a lively, yet +modest-looking girl, is my cousin Montague. + +There, Belford, is an aunt!--There's a cousin!--Both have wit at will. +Both are accustomed to ape quality.--Both are genteelly descended. +Mistresses of themselves, and well educated--yet past pity.--True Spartan +dames; ashamed of nothing but detection--always, therefore, upon their +guard against that. And in their own conceit, when assuming top parts, +the very quality they ape. + +And how dost think I dress them out?--I'll tell thee. + +Lady Betty in a rich gold tissue, adorned with jewels of high price. + +My cousin Montague in a pale pink, standing on end with silver flowers of +her own working. Charlotte as well as my beloved is admirable at her +needle. Not quite so richly jewell'd out as Lady Betty; but ear-rings +and solitaire very valuable, and infinitely becoming. + +Johanetta, thou knowest, has a good complexion, a fine neck, and ears +remarkably fine--so has Charlotte. She is nearly of Charlotte's stature +too. + +Laces both, the richest that could be procured. + +Thou canst not imagine what a sum the loan of the jewels cost me, though +but for three days. + +This sweet girl will half ruin me. But seest thou not, by this time, +that her reign is short!--It must be so. And Mrs. Sinclair has already +prepared every thing for her reception once more. + + +*** + + +Here come the ladies--attended by Susan Morrison, a tenant-farmer's +daughter, as Lady Betty's woman; with her hands before her, and +thoroughly instructed. + +How dress advantages women!--especially those who have naturally a +genteel air and turn, and have had education. + +Hadst thou seen how they paraded it--Cousin, and Cousin, and Nephew, at +every word; Lady Betty bridling and looking haughtily-condescending.-- +Charlotte galanting her fan, and swimming over the floor without touching +it. + +How I long to see my niece-elect! cries one--for they are told that we +are not married; and are pleased that I have not put the slight upon them +that they had apprehended from me. + +How I long to see my dear cousin that is to be, the other! + +Your La'ship, and your La'ship, and an awkward courtesy at every address +--prim Susan Morrison. + +Top your parts, ye villains!--You know how nicely I distinguish. There +will be no passion in this case to blind the judgment, and to help on +meditated delusion, as when you engage with titled sinners. My charmer +is as cool and as distinguishing, though not quite so learned in her own +sex, as I am. Your commonly-assumed dignity won't do for me now. Airs +of superiority, as if born to rank.--But no over-do!--Doubting nothing. +Let not your faces arraign your hearts. + +Easy and unaffected!--Your very dresses will give you pride enough. + +A little graver, Lady Betty.--More significance, less bridling in your +dignity. + +That's the air! Charmingly hit----Again----You have it. + +Devil take you!--Less arrogance. You are got into airs of young quality. +Be less sensible of your new condition. People born to dignity command +respect without needing to require it. + +Now for your part, Cousin Charlotte!-- + +Pretty well. But a little too frolicky that air.--Yet have I prepared my +beloved to expect in you both great vivacity and quality-freedom. + +Curse those eyes!--Those glancings will never do. A down-cast bashful +turn, if you can command it. Look upon me. Suppose me now to be my +beloved. + +Devil take that leer. Too significantly arch!--Once I knew you the girl +I would now have you to be. + +Sprightly, but not confident, cousin Charlotte!--Be sure forget not to +look down, or aside, when looked at. When eyes meet eyes, be your's the +retreating ones. Your face will bear examination. + +O Lord! Lord! that so young a creature can so soon forget the innocent +appearance she first charmed by; and which I thought born with you all!-- +Five years to ruin what twenty had been building up! How natural the +latter lesson! How difficult to regain the former! + +A stranger, as I hope to be saved, to the principal arts of your sex!-- +Once more, what a devil has your heart to do in your eyes? + +Have I not told you, that my beloved is a great observer of the eyes? +She once quoted upon me a text,* which showed me how she came by her +knowledge--Dorcas's were found guilty of treason the first moment she +saw her. + + +* Eccles. xxvi. The whoredom of a woman may be known in her haughty +looks and eye-lids. Watch over an impudent eye, and marvel not if it +trespass against thee. + + +Once more, suppose me to be my charmer.--Now you are to encounter my +examining eye, and my doubting heart-- + +That's my dear! + +Study that air in the pier-glass!-- + +Charmingly!--Perfectly right! + +Your honours, now, devils!-- + +Pretty well, Cousin Charlotte, for a young country lady! Till form +yields to familiarity, you may courtesy low. You must not be supposed +to have forgot your boarding-school airs. + +But too low, too low Lady Betty, for your years and your quality. The +common fault of your sex will be your danger: aiming to be young too +long!--The devil's in you all, when you judge of yourselves by your +wishes, and by your vanity! Fifty, in that case, is never more than +fifteen. + +Graceful ease, conscious dignity, like that of my charmer, Oh! how hard +to hit! + +Both together now-- + +Charming!--That's the air, Lady Betty!--That's the cue, Cousin Charlotte, +suited to the character of each!--But, once more, be sure to have a guard +upon your eyes. + +Never fear, Nephew!-- + +Never fear, Cousin. + +A dram of Barbadoes each-- + +And now we are gone-- + + + +LETTER XI + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +AT MRS. SINCLAIR'S, MONDAY AFTERNOON. + + +All's right, as heart can wish!--In spite of all objection--in spite of a +reluctance next to faintings--in spite of all foresight, vigilance, +suspicion--once more is the charmer of my soul in her old lodgings! + +Now throbs away every pulse! Now thump, thump, thumps my bounding heart +for something! + +But I have not time for the particulars of our management. + +My beloved is now directing some of her clothes to be packed up--never +more to enter this house! Nor ever more will she, I dare say, when once +again out of it! + +Yet not so much as a condition of forgiveness!--The Harlowe-spirited +fair-one will not deserve my mercy!--She will wait for Miss Howe's next +letter; and then, if she find a difficulty in her new schemes, [Thank her +for nothing,]--will--will what? Why even then will take time to +consider, whether I am to be forgiven, or for ever rejected. An +indifference that revives in my heart the remembrance of a thousand of +the like nature.--And yet Lady Betty and Miss Montague, [a man would be +tempted to think, Jack, that they wish her to provoke my vengeance,] +declare, that I ought to be satisfied with such a proud suspension! + +They are entirely attached to her. Whatever she says, is, must be, +gospel! They are guarantees for her return to Hampstead this night. +They are to go back with her. A supper bespoken by Lady Betty at Mrs. +Moore's. All the vacant apartments there, by my permission, (for I had +engaged them for a month certain,) to be filled with them and their +attendants, for a week at least, or till they can prevail upon the dear +perverse, as they hope they shall, to restore me to her favour, and to +accompany Lady Betty to Oxfordshire. + +The dear creature has thus far condescended--that she will write to Miss +Howe and acquaint her with the present situation of things. + +If she write, I shall see what she writes. But I believe she will have +other employment soon. + +Lady Betty is sure, she tells her, that she shall prevail upon her to +forgive me; though she dares say, that I deserve not forgiveness. Lady +Betty is too delicate to inquire strictly into the nature of my offence. +But it must be an offence against herself, against Miss Montague, against +the virtuous of the whole sex, or it could not be so highly resented. +Yet she will not leave her till she forgive me, and till she see our +nuptials privately celebrated. Mean time, as she approves of her uncle's +expedient, she will address her as already my wife before strangers. + +Stedman, her solicitor, may attend her for orders in relation to her +chancery affair, at Hampstead. Not one hour they can be favoured with, +will they lose from the company and conversation of so dear, so charming +a new relation. + +Hard then if she had not obliged them with her company in their +coach-and-four, to and from their cousin Leeson's, who longed, (as they +themselves had done,) to see a lady so justly celebrated. + +'How will Lord M. be raptured when he sees her, and can salute her as his +niece! + +'How will Lady Sarah bless herself!--She will now think her loss of the +dear daughter she mourns for happily supplied!' + +Miss Montague dwells upon every word that falls from her lips. She +perfectly adores her new cousin--'For her cousin she must be. And her +cousin will she call her! She answers for equal admiration in her sister +Patty. + +'Ay, cry I, (whispering loud enough for her to hear,) how will my cousin +Patty's dove's eyes glisten and run over, on the very first interview!-- +So gracious, so noble, so unaffected a dear creature!' + +'What a happy family,' chorus we all, 'will our's be!' + +These and such like congratulatory admirations every hour repeated. Her +modesty hurt by the ecstatic praises:--'Her graces are too natural to +herself for her to be proud of them: but she must be content to be +punished for excellencies that cast a shade upon the most excellent!' + +In short, we are here, as at Hampstead, all joy and rapture--all of us +except my beloved; in whose sweet face, [her almost fainting reluctance +to re-enter these doors not overcome,] reigns a kind of anxious serenity! +--But how will even that be changed in a few hours! + +Methinks I begin to pity the half-apprehensive beauty!--But avaunt, thou +unseasonably-intruding pity! Thou hast more than once already well nigh +undone me! And, adieu, reflection! Begone, consideration! and +commiseration! I dismiss ye all, for at least a week to come!--But +remembered her broken word! Her flight, when my fond soul was meditating +mercy to her!--Be remembered her treatment of me in her letter on her +escape to Hampstead! Her Hampstead virulence! What is it she ought not +to expect from an unchained Beelzebub, and a plotting villain? + +Be her preference of the single life to me also remembered!--That she +despises me!--That she even refuses to be my WIFE!--A proud Lovelace to +be denied a wife!--To be more proudly rejected by a daughter of the +Harlowes!--The ladies of my own family, [she thinks them the ladies of +my family,] supplicating in vain for her returning favour to their +despised kinsman, and taking laws from her still prouder punctilio! + +Be the execrations of her vixen friend likewise remembered, poured out +upon me from her representations, and thereby made her own execrations! + +Be remembered still more particularly the Townsend plot, set on foot +between them, and now, in a day or two, ready to break out; and the +sordid threatening thrown out against me by that little fury! + +Is not this the crisis for which I have been long waiting? Shall +Tomlinson, shall these women be engaged; shall so many engines be set +at work, at an immense expense, with infinite contrivance; and all to +no purpose? + +Is not this the hour of her trial--and in her, of the trial of the virtue +of her whole sex, so long premeditated, so long threatened?--Whether her +frost be frost indeed? Whether her virtue be principle? Whether, if +once subdued, she will not be always subdued? And will she not want the +crown of her glory, the proof of her till now all-surpassing excellence, +if I stop short of the ultimate trial? + +Now is the end of purposes long over-awed, often suspended, at hand. And +need I go throw the sins of her cursed family into the too-weighty scale? + +[Abhorred be force!--be the thoughts of force!--There's no triumph over +the will in force!] This I know I have said.* But would I not have +avoided it, if I could? Have I not tried every other method? And have I +any other resource left me? Can she resent the last outrage more than +she has resented a fainter effort?--And if her resentments run ever so +high, cannot I repair by matrimony?--She will not refuse me, I know, +Jack: the haughty beauty will not refuse me, when her pride of being +corporally inviolate is brought down; when she can tell no tales, but +when, (be her resistance what it will,) even her own sex will suspect a +yielding in resistance; and when that modesty, which may fill her bosom +with resentment, will lock up her speech. + + +* Vol. IV. Letter XLVIII. + + +But how know I, that I have not made my own difficulties? Is she not a +woman! What redress lies for a perpetuated evil? Must she not live? +Her piety will secure her life.--And will not time be my friend! What, +in a word, will be her behaviour afterwards?--She cannot fly me!--She +must forgive me--and as I have often said, once forgiven, will be for +ever forgiven. + +Why then should this enervating pity unsteel my foolish heart? + +It shall not. All these things will I remember; and think of nothing +else, in order to keep up a resolution, which the women about me will +have it I shall be still unable to hold. + +I'll teach the dear, charming creature to emulate me in contrivance; I'll +teach her to weave webs and plots against her conqueror! I'll show her, +that in her smuggling schemes she is but a spider compared to me, and +that she has all this time been spinning only a cobweb! + + +*** + + +What shall we do now! we are immersed in the depth of grief and +apprehension! How ill do women bear disappointment!--Set upon going to +Hampstead, and upon quitting for ever a house she re-entered with +infinite reluctance; what things she intended to take with her ready +packed up, herself on tiptoe to be gone, and I prepared to attend her +thither; she begins to be afraid that she shall not go this night; and in +grief and despair has flung herself into her old apartment; locked +herself in; and through the key-hole Dorcas sees her on her knees, +praying, I suppose, for a safe deliverance. + +And from what? and wherefore these agonizing apprehensions? + +Why, here, this unkind Lady Betty, with the dear creature's knowledge, +though to her concern, and this mad-headed cousin Montague without it, +while she was employed in directing her package, have hurried away in the +coach to their own lodgings, [only, indeed, to put up some night-clothes, +and so forth, in order to attend their sweet cousin to Hampstead;] and, +no less to my surprise than her's, are not yet returned. + +I have sent to know the meaning of it. + +In a great hurry of spirits, she would have had me to go myself. Hardly +any pacifying her! The girl, God bless her! is wild with her own idle +apprehensions! What is she afraid of? + +I curse them both for their delay. My tardy villain, how he stays! +Devil fetch them! let them send their coach, and we'll go without them. +In her hearing I bid the fellow tell them so. Perhaps he stays to bring +the coach, if any thing happens to hinder the ladies from attending my +beloved this night. + + +*** + + +Devil take them, again say I! They promised too they would not stay, +because it was but two nights ago that a chariot was robbed at the foot +of Hampstead-hill, which alarmed my fair-one when told of it! + +Oh! here's Lady Betty's servant, with a billet. + + +TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. +MONDAY NIGHT. + +Excuse us, my dear Nephew, I beseech you, to my dearest kinswoman. One +night cannot break squares: for here Miss Montague has been taken +violently ill with three fainting fits, one after another. The hurry of +her joy, I believe, to find your dear lady so much surpass all +expectations, [never did family love, you know, reign so strong as among +us,] and the too eager desire she had to attend her, have occasioned it! +For she has but weak spirits, poor girl! well as she looks. + +If she be better, we will certainly go with you tomorrow morning, after +we have breakfasted with her, at your lodgings. But whether she be, or +not, I will do myself the pleasure to attend your lady to Hampstead; and +will be with you for that purpose about nine in the morning. With due +compliments to your most worthily beloved, I am + +Your's affectionately, +ELIZAB. LAWRANCE. + + +*** + + +Faith and troth, Jack, I know not what to do with myself; for here, just +now having sent in the above note by Dorcas, out came my beloved with it +in her hand, in a fit of phrensy!--true, by my soul! + +She had indeed complained of her head all the evening. + +Dorcas ran to me, out of breath, to tell me, that her lady was coming in +some strange way; but she followed her so quick, that the frighted wench +had not time to say in what way. + +It seems, when she read the billet--Now indeed, said she, am I a lost +creature! O the poor Clarissa Harlowe! + +She tore off her head-clothes; inquired where I was; and in she came, her +shining tresses flowing about her neck; her ruffles torn, and hanging in +tatters about her snowy hands, with her arms spread out--her eyes wildly +turned, as if starting from their orbits--down sunk she at my feet, as +soon as she approached me; her charming bosom heaving to her uplifted +face; and clasping her arms about my knees, Dear Lovelace, said she, if +ever--if ever--if ever--and, unable to speak another word, quitting her +clasping hold--down--prostrate on the floor sunk she, neither in a fit +nor out of one. + +I was quite astonished.--All my purposes suspended for a few moments, I +knew neither what to say, nor what to do. But, recollecting myself, am I +again, thought I, in a way to be overcome, and made a fool of!--If I now +recede, I am gone for ever. + +I raised her; but down she sunk, as if quite disjointed--her limbs +failing her--yet not in a fit neither. I never heard of or saw such a +dear unaccountable; almost lifeless, and speechless too for a few +moments; what must her apprehensions be at that moment?--And for what?-- +An high-notioned dear soul!--Pretty ignorance!--thought I. + +Never having met with so sincere, so unquestionable a repugnance, I was +staggered--I was confounded--yet how should I know that it would be so +till I tried?--And how, having proceeded thus far, could I stop, were I +not to have had the women to goad me on, and to make light of +circumstances, which they pretended to be better judges of than I? + +I lifted her, however, into a chair, and in words of disordered passion, +told her, all her fears were needless--wondered at them--begged of her to +be pacified--besought her reliance on my faith and honour--and revowed +all my old vows, and poured forth new ones. + +At last, with a heart-breaking sob, I see, I see, Mr. Lovelace, in broken +sentences she spoke--I see, I see--that at last--I am ruined!--Ruined, if +your pity--let me implore your pity!--and down on her bosom, like a +half-broken-stalked lily top-heavy with the overcharging dews of the +morning, sunk her head, with a sigh that went to my heart. + +All I could think of to re-assure her, when a little recovered, I said. + +Why did I not send for their coach, as I had intimated? It might return +in the morning for the ladies. + +I had actually done so, I told her, on seeing her strange uneasiness. +But it was then gone to fetch a doctor for Miss Montague, lest his +chariot should not be so ready. + +Ah! Lovelace! said she, with a doubting face; anguish in her imploring +eye. + +Lady Betty would think it very strange, I told her, if she were to know +it was so disagreeable to her to stay one night for her company in the +house where she had passed so many. + +She called me names upon this--she had called me names before.--I was +patient. + +Let her go to Lady Betty's lodgings then; directly go; if the person I +called Lady Betty was really Lady Betty. + +If, my dear! Good Heaven! What a villain does that IF show you believe +me to be! + +I cannot help it--I beseech you once more, let me go to Mrs. Leeson's, if +that IF ought not to be said. + +Then assuming a more resolute spirit--I will go! I will inquire my way! +--I will go by myself!--and would have rushed by me. + +I folded my arms about her to detain her; pleading the bad way I heard +poor Charlotte was in; and what a farther concern her impatience, if she +went, would give to poor Charlotte. + +She would believe nothing I said, unless I would instantly order a coach, +(since she was not to have Lady Betty's, nor was permitted to go to Mrs. +Leeson's,) and let her go in it to Hampstead, late as it was, and all +alone, so much the better; for in the house of people of whom Lady Betty, +upon inquiry, had heard a bad character, [Dropt foolishly this, by my +prating new relation, in order to do credit to herself, by depreciating +others,] every thing, and every face, looking with so much meaning +vileness, as well as my own, [thou art still too sensible, thought I, my +charmer!] she was resolved not to stay another night. + +Dreading what might happen as to her intellects, and being very +apprehensive that she might possibly go through a great deal before +morning, (though more violent she could not well be with the worst she +dreaded,) I humoured her, and ordered Will. to endeavour to get a coach +directly, to carry us to Hampstead; I cared not at what price. + +Robbers, with whom I would have terrified her, she feared not--I was all +her fear, I found; and this house her terror: for I saw plainly that she +now believed that Lady Betty and Miss Montague were both impostors. + +But her mistrust is a little of the latest to do her service! + +And, O Jack, the rage of love, the rage of revenge is upon me! by turns +they tear me! The progress already made--the women's instigations--the +power I shall have to try her to the utmost, and still to marry her, if +she be not to be brought to cohabitation--let me perish, Belford, if she +escape me now! + + +*** + + +Will. is not yet come back. Near eleven. + + +*** + + +Will. is this moment returned. No coach to be got, either for love or +money. + +Once more she urges--to Mrs. Leeson's, let me go, Lovelace! Good +Lovelace, let me go to Mrs. Leeson's? What is Miss Montague's illness +to my terror?---For the Almighty's sake, Mr. Lovelace!--her hands +clasped. + +O my angel! What a wildness is this! Do you know, do you see, my +dearest life, what appearances your causeless apprehensions have given +you?--Do you know it is past eleven o'clock? + +Twelve, one, two, three, four--any hour, I care not--If you mean me +honourably, let me go out of this hated house! + +Thou'lt observe, Belford, that though this was written afterwards, yet, +(as in other places,) I write it as it was spoken and happened, as if I +had retired to put down every sentence spoken. I know thou likest this +lively present-tense manner, as it is one of my peculiars. + +Just as she had repeated the last words, If you mean me honourably, let +me go out of this hated house, in came Mrs. Sinclair, in a great ferment +--And what, pray, Madam, has this house done to you? Mr. Lovelace, you +have known me some time; and, if I have not the niceness of this lady, I +hope I do not deserve to be treated thus! + +She set her huge arms akimbo: Hoh! Madam, let me tell you that I am +amazed at your freedoms with my character! And, Mr. Lovelace, [holding +up, and violently shaking her head,] if you are a gentleman, and a man of +honour---- + +Having never before seen any thing but obsequiousness in this woman, +little as she liked her, she was frighted at her masculine air, and +fierce look--God help me! cried she--what will become of me now! Then, +turning her head hither and thither, in a wild kind of amaze. Whom have +I for a protector! What will become of me now! + +I will be your protector, my dearest love!--But indeed you are +uncharitably severe upon poor Mrs. Sinclair! Indeed you are!--She is a +gentlewoman born, and the relict of a man of honour; and though left in +such circumstance as to oblige her to let lodgings, yet would she scorn +to be guilty of a wilful baseness. + +I hope so--it may be so--I may be mistaken--but--but there is no crime, I +presume, no treason, to say I don't like her house. + +The old dragon straddled up to her, with her arms kemboed again--her +eye-brows erect, like the bristles upon a hog's back, and, scouling over +her shortened nose, more than half-hid her ferret eyes. Her mouth was +distorted. She pouted out her blubber-lips, as if to bellows up wind and +sputter into her horse-nostrils; and her chin was curdled, and more than +usually prominent with passion. + +With two Hoh-Madams she accosted the frighted fair-one; who, terrified, +caught hold of my sleeve. + +I feared she would fall into fits; and, with a look of indignation, told +Mrs. Sinclair that these apartments were mine; and I could not imagine +what she meant, either by listening to what passed between me and my +spouse, or to come in uninvited; and still more I wondered at her giving +herself these strange liberties. + +I may be to blame, Jack, for suffering this wretch to give herself these +airs; but her coming in was without my orders. + +The old beldam, throwing herself into a chair, fell a blubbering and +exclaiming. And the pacifying of her, and endeavouring to reconcile the +lady to her, took up till near one o'clock. + +And thus, between terror, and the late hour, and what followed, she was +diverted from the thoughts of getting out of the house to Mrs. Leeson's, +or any where else. + + + +LETTER XII + + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +TUESDAY MORNING, JUNE 13. + + +And now, Belford, I can go no farther. The affair is over. Clarissa +lives. And I am + +Your humble servant, +R. LOVELACE. + + +[The whole of this black transaction is given by the injured lady to Miss +Howe, in her subsequent letters, dated Thursday, July 6. See Letters +LXVII. LXVIII. LXIX.] + + + +LETTER XIII + +MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. +WATFORD, WEDN. JAN. 14. + + +O thou savage-hearted monster! What work hast thou made in one guilty +hour, for a whole age of repentance! + +I am inexpressibly concerned at the fate of this matchless lady! She +could not have fallen into the hands of any other man breathing, and +suffered as she has done with thee. + +I had written a great part of another long letter to try to soften thy +flinty heart in her favour; for I thought it but too likely that thou +shouldst succeed in getting her back again to the accursed woman's. But +I find it would have been too late, had I finished it, and sent it away. +Yet cannot I forbear writing, to urge thee to make the only amends thou +now canst make her, by a proper use of the license thou hast obtained. + +Poor, poor lady! It is a pain to me that I ever saw her. Such an adorer +of virtue to be sacrificed to the vilest of her sex; and thou their +implement in the devil's hand, for a purpose so base, so ungenerous, so +inhumane!--Pride thyself, O cruellest of men! in this reflection; and +that thy triumph over a woman, who for thy sake was abandoned of every +friend she had in the world, was effected; not by advantages taken of her +weakness and credulity; but by the blackest artifice; after a long course +of studied deceits had been tried to no purpose. + +I can tell thee, it is well either for thee or for me, that I am not the +brother of the lady. Had I been her brother, her violation must have +been followed by the blood of one of us. + +Excuse me, Lovelace; and let not the lady fare the worse for my concern +for her. And yet I have but one other motive to ask thy excuse; and that +is, because I owe to thy own communicative pen the knowledge I have of +thy barbarous villany, since thou mightest, if thou wouldst, have passed +it upon me for a common seduction. + +CLARISSA LIVES, thou sayest. That she does is my wonder: and these words +show that thou thyself (though thou couldst, nevertheless, proceed) +hardly expectedst she would have survived the outrage. What must have +been the poor lady's distress (watchful as she had been over her honour) +when dreadful certainty took place of cruel apprehension!--And yet a man +may guess what must have been, by that which thou paintest, when she +suspected herself tricked, deserted, and betrayed, by the pretended +ladies. + +That thou couldst behold her phrensy on this occasion, and her +half-speechless, half-fainting prostration at thy feet, and yet retain thy +evil purposes, will hardly be thought credible, even by those who know +thee, if they have seen her. + +Poor, poor lady! With such noble qualities as would have adorned the +most exalted married life, to fall into the hands of the only man in the +world, who could have treated her as thou hast treated her!--And to let +loose the old dragon, as thou properly callest her, upon the +before-affrighted innocent, what a barbarity was that! What a poor piece +of barbarity! in order to obtain by terror, what thou dispairedst to gain +by love, though supported by stratagems the most insidious! + +O LOVELACE! LOVELACE! had I doubted it before, I should now be +convinced, that there must be a WORLD AFTER THIS, to do justice to +injured merit, and to punish barbarous perfidy! Could the divine +SOCRATES, and the divine CLARISSA, otherwise have suffered? + +But let me, if possible, for one moment, try to forget this villanous +outrage on the most excellent of women. + +I have business here which will hold me yet a few days; and then perhaps +I shall quit this house for ever. + +I have had a solemn and tedious time of it. I should never have known +that I had half the respect I really find I had for the old gentleman, +had I not so closely, at his earnest desire, attended him, and been a +witness of the tortures he underwent. + +This melancholy occasion may possibly have contributed to humanize me: +but surely I never could have been so remorseless a caitiff as thou hast +been, to a woman of half this lady's excellence. + +But pr'ythee, dear Lovelace, if thou'rt a man, and not a devil, resolve, +out of hand, to repair thy sin of ingratitude, by conferring upon thyself +the highest honour thou canst receive, in making her lawfully thine. + +But if thou canst not prevail upon thyself to do her this justice, I +think I should not scruple a tilt with thee, [an everlasting rupture at +least must follow] if thou sacrificest her to the accursed women. + +Thou art desirous to know what advantage I reap by my uncle's demise. I +do not certainly know; for I have not been so greedily solicitous on this +subject as some of the kindred have been, who ought to have shown more +decency, as I have told them, and suffered the corpse to have been cold +before they had begun their hungry inquiries. But, by what I gathered +from the poor man's talk to me, who oftener than I wished touched upon +the subject, I deem it will be upwards of 5000L. in cash, and in the +funds, after all legacies paid, besides the real estate, which is a clear +1000L. a-year. + +I wish, from my heart, thou wert a money-lover! Were the estate to be of +double the value, thou shouldst have it every shilling; only upon one +condition [for my circumstances before were as easy as I wish them to be +while I am single]--that thou wouldst permit me the honour of being this +fatherless lady's father, as it is called, at the altar. + +Think of this! my dear Lovelace! be honest: and let me present thee with +the brightest jewel that man ever possessed; and then, body and soul, +wilt thou bind to thee for ever thy + +BELFORD. + + + +LETTER XIV + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +THURSDAY, JUNE 15. + + +Let me alone, you great dog, you!--let me alone!--have I heard a lesser +boy, his coward arms held over his head and face, say to a bigger, who +was pommeling him, for having run away with his apple, his orange, or his +ginger-bread. + +So say I to thee, on occasion of thy severity to thy poor friend, who, as +thou ownest, has furnished thee (ungenerous as thou art!) with the +weapons thou brandishest so fearfully against him.--And to what purpose, +when the mischief is done? when, of consequence, the affair is +irretrievable? and when a CLARISSA could not move me? + +Well, but, after all, I must own, that there is something very singular +in this lady's case: and, at times, I cannot help regretting that ever I +attempted her; since not one power either of body or soul could be moved +in my favour; and since, to use the expression of the philosopher, on a +much graver occasion, there is no difference to be found between the +skull of King Philip and that of another man. + +But people's extravagant notions of things alter not facts, Belford: and, +when all's done, Miss Clarissa Harlowe has but run the fate of a thousand +others of her sex--only that they did not set such a romantic value upon +what they call their honour; that's all. + +And yet I will allow thee this--that if a person sets a high value upon +any thing, be it ever such a trifle in itself, or in the eye of others, +the robbing of that person of it is not a trifle to him. Take the matter +in this light, I own I have done wrong, great wrong, to this admirable +creature. + +But have I not known twenty and twenty of the sex, who have seemed to +carry their notions of virtue high; yet, when brought to the test, have +abated of their severity? And how should we be convinced that any of +them are proof till they are tried? + +A thousand times have I said, that I never yet met with such a woman as +this. If I had, I hardly ever should have attempted Miss Clarissa +Harlowe. Hitherto she is all angel: and was not that the point which at +setting out I proposed to try?* And was not cohabitation ever my darling +view? And am I not now, at last, in the high road to it?--It is true, +that I have nothing to boast of as to her will. The very contrary. But +now are we come to the test, whether she cannot be brought to make the +best of an irreparable evil. If she exclaim, [she has reason to exclaim, +and I will sit down with patience by the hour together to hear her +exclamations, till she is tired of them,] she will then descend to +expostulation perhaps: expostulation will give me hope: expostulation +will show that she hates me not. And, if she hate me not, she will +forgive: and, if she now forgive, then will all be over; and she will be +mine upon my own terms: and it shall then be the whole study of my future +life to make her happy. + + +* See Vol. III. Letter XVIII. + + +So, Belford, thou seest that I have journeyed on to this stage [indeed, +through infinite mazes, and as infinite remorses] with one determined +point in view from the first. To thy urgent supplication then, that I +will do her grateful justice by marriage, let me answer in Matt. Prior's +two lines on his hoped-for auditorship; as put into the mouths of his St. +John and Harley; + + ---Let that be done, which Matt. doth say. + YEA, quoth the Earl--BUT NOT TO-DAY. + +Thou seest, Jack, that I make no resolutions, however, against doing her, +one time or other, the wished-for justice, even were I to succeed in my +principal view, cohabitation. And of this I do assure thee, that, if I +ever marry, it must, it shall be Miss Clarissa Harlowe.--Nor is her +honour at all impaired with me, by what she has so far suffered: but the +contrary. She must only take care that, if she be at last brought to +forgive me, she show me that her Lovelace is the only man on earth whom +she could have forgiven on the like occasion. + +But ah, Jack! what, in the mean time, shall I do with this admirable +creature? At present--[I am loth to say it--but, at present] she is +quite stupified. + +I had rather, methinks, she should have retained all her active powers, +though I had suffered by her nails and her teeth, than that she should be +sunk into such a state of absolute--insensibility (shall I call it?) as +she has been in every since Tuesday morning. Yet, as she begins a little +to revive, and now-and-then to call names, and to exclaim, I dread almost +to engage with the anguish of a spirit that owes its extraordinary +agitations to a niceness that has no example either in ancient or modern +story. For, after all, what is there in her case that should stupify +such a glowing, such a blooming charmer?--Excess of grief, excess of +terror, have made a person's hair stand on end, and even (as we have +read) changed the colour of it. But that it should so stupify, as to +make a person, at times, insensible to those imaginary wrongs, which +would raise others from stupifaction, is very surprising! + +But I will leave this subject, least it should make me too grave. + +I was yesterday at Hampstead, and discharged all obligations there, with +no small applause. I told them that the lady was now as happy as myself: +and that is no great untruth; for I am not altogether so, when I allow +myself to think. + +Mrs. Townsend, with her tars, had not been then there. I told them what +I would have them say to her, if she came. + +Well, but, after all [how many after-all's have I?] I could be very +grave, were I to give way to it.--The devil take me for a fool! What's +the matte with me, I wonder!--I must breathe a fresher air for a few +days. + +But what shall I do with this admirable creature the while?--Hang me, if +I know!--For, if I stir, the venomous spider of this habitation will want +to set upon the charming fly, whose silken wings are already so entangled +in my enormous web, that she cannot move hand or foot: for so much has +grief stupified her, that she is at present destitute of will, as she +always seemed to be of desire. I must not therefore think of leaving her +yet for two days together. + + + +LETTER XV + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. + + +I have just now had a specimen of what the resentment of this dear +creature will be when quite recovered: an affecting one!--For entering +her apartment after Dorcas; and endeavouring to soothe and pacify her +disordered mind; in the midst of my blandishments, she held up to Heaven, +in a speechless agony, the innocent license (which she has in her own +power); as the poor distressed Catalans held up their English treaty, +on an occasion that keeps the worst of my actions in countenance. + +She seemed about to call down vengeance upon me; when, happily the leaden +god, in pity to her trembling Lovelace, waved over her half-drowned eyes +his somniferous want, and laid asleep the fair exclaimer, before she +could go half through with her intended imprecation. + +Thou wilt guess, by what I have written, that some little art has been +made use of: but it was with a generous design (if thou'lt allow me the +word on such an occasion) in order to lessen the too-quick sense she was +likely to have of what she was to suffer. A contrivance I never had +occasion for before, and had not thought of now, if Mrs. Sinclair had not +proposed it to me: to whom I left the management of it: and I have done +nothing but curse her ever since, lest the quantity should have for ever +dampened her charming intellects. + +Hence my concern--for I think the poor lady ought not to have been so +treated. Poor lady, did I say?--What have I to do with thy creeping +style?--But have not I the worst of it; since her insensibility has made +me but a thief to my own joys? + +I did not intend to tell thee of this little innocent trick; for such I +designed it to be; but that I hate disingenuousness: to thee, especially: +and as I cannot help writing in a more serious vein than usual, thou +wouldst perhaps, had I not hinted the true cause, have imagined that I +was sorry for the fact itself: and this would have given thee a good deal +of trouble in scribbling dull persuasives to repair by matrimony; and me +in reading thy cruel nonsense. Besides, one day or other, thou mightest, +had I not confessed it, have heard of it in an aggravated manner; and I +know thou hast such an high opinion of this lady's virtue, that thou +wouldst be disappointed, if thou hadst reason to think that she was +subdued by her own consent, or any the least yielding in her will. And +so is she beholden to me in some measure, that, at the expense of my +honour, she may so justly form a plea, which will entirely salve her's. + +And now is the whole secret out. + +Thou wilt say I am a horrid fellow!--As the lady does, that I am the +unchained Beelzebub, and a plotting villain: and as this is what you both +said beforehand, and nothing worse can be said, I desire, if thou wouldst +not have me quite serious with thee, and that I should think thou meanest +more by thy tilting hint than I am willing to believe thou dost, that +thou wilt forbear thy invectives: For is not the thing done?--Can it be +helped?--And must I not now try to make the best of it?--And the rather +do I enjoin to make thee this, and inviolable secrecy; because I begin +to think that my punishment will be greater than the fault, were it to be +only from my own reflection. + + + +LETTER XVI + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +FRIDAY, JUNE 16. + + +I am sorry to hear of thy misfortune; but hope thou wilt not long lie by +it. Thy servant tells me what narrow escape thou hadst with thy neck, I +wish it may not be ominous: but I think thou seemest not to be in so +enterprising a way as formerly; and yet, merry or sad, thou seest a +rake's neck is always in danger, if not from the hangman, from his own +horse. But, 'tis a vicious toad, it seems; and I think thou shouldst +never venture upon his back again; for 'tis a plaguy thing for rider and +horse both to be vicious. + +The fellow tells me, thou desirest me to continue to write to thee in +order to divert thy chagrin on thy forced confinement: but how can I +think it in my power to divert, when my subject is not pleasing to +myself? + +Caesar never knew what it was to be hipped, I will call it, till he +came to be what Pompey was; that is to say, till he arrived at the +height of his ambition: nor did thy Lovelace know what it was to be +gloomy, till he had completed his wishes upon the most charming +creature in the world. + +And yet why say I completed? when the will, the consent, is +wanting--and I have still views before me of obtaining that? + +Yet I could almost join with thee in the wish, which thou sendest me up +by thy servant, unfriendly as it is, that I had had thy misfortune +before Monday night last: for here, the poor lady has run into a +contrary extreme to that I told thee of in my last: for now is she as +much too lively, as before she was too stupid; and 'bating that she has +pretty frequent lucid intervals, would be deemed raving mad, and I +should be obliged to confine her. + +I am most confoundedly disturbed about it: for I begin to fear that her +intellects are irreparably hurt. + +Who the devil could have expected such strange effects from a cause so +common and so slight? + +But these high-souled and high-sensed girls, who had set up for shining +lights and examples to the rest of the sex, are with such difficulty +brought down to the common standard, that a wise man, who prefers his +peace of mind to his glory, in subduing one of that exalted class, +would have nothing to say to them. + +I do all in my power to quiet her spirits, when I force myself into her +presence. + +I go on, begging pardon one minute; and vowing truth and honour another. + +I would at first have persuaded her, and offered to call witnesses to +the truth of it, that we were actually married. Though the license was +in her hands, I thought the assertion might go down in her disorder; +and charming consequences I hoped would follow. But this would not +do.-- + +I therefore gave up that hope: and now I declare to her, that it is my +resolution to marry her, the moment her uncle Harlowe informs me that +he will grace the ceremony with his presence. + +But she believes nothing I say; nor, (whether in her senses, or not) +bears me with patience in her sight. + +I pity her with all my soul; and I curse myself, when she is in her +wailing fits, and when I apprehend that intellects, so charming, are +for ever damped. + +But more I curse these women, who put me upon such an expedient! Lord! +Lord! what a hand have I made of it!--And all for what? + +Last night, for the first time since Monday night, she got to her pen +and ink; but she pursues her writing with such eagerness and hurry, as +show too evidently her discomposure. + +I hope, however, that this employment will help to calm her spirits. + + +*** + + +Just now Dorcas tells me, that what she writes she tears, and throws +the paper in fragments under the table, either as not knowing what she +does, or disliking it: then gets up, wrings her hands, weeps, and +shifts her seat all round the room: then returns to her table, sits +down, and writes again. + + +*** + + +One odd letter, as I may call it, Dorcas has this moment given me from +her--Carry this, said she, to the vilest of men. Dorcas, a toad, +brought it, without any further direction to me. I sat down, intending +(though 'tis pretty long) to give thee a copy of it: but, for my life, +I cannot; 'tis so extravagant. And the original is too much an +original to let it go out of my hands. + +But some of the scraps and fragments, as either torn through, or flung +aside, I will copy, for the novelty of the thing, and to show thee how +her mind works now she is in the whimsical way. Yet I know I am still +furnishing thee with new weapons against myself. But spare thy comments. +My own reflections render them needless. Dorcas thinks her lady will +ask for them: so wishes to have them to lay again under the table. + +By the first thou'lt guess that I have told her that Miss Howe is very +ill, and can't write; that she may account the better for not having +received the letter designed for her. + + +PAPER I +(Torn in two pieces.) + + +MY DEAREST MISS HOWE, + +O what dreadful, dreadful things have I to tell you! But yet I cannot +tell you neither. But say, are you really ill, as a vile, vile +creature informs me you are? + +But he never yet told me truth, and I hope has not in this: and yet, if +it were not true, surely I should have heard from you before now!--But +what have I to do to upbraid?--You may well be tired of me!--And if you +are, I can forgive you; for I am tired of myself: and all my own +relations were tired of me long before you were. + +How good you have always been to me, mine own dear Anna Howe!--But how +I ramble! + +I sat down to say a great deal--my heart was full--I did not know what +to say first--and thought, and grief, and confusion, and (O my poor +head) I cannot tell what--and thought, and grief and confusion, came +crowding so thick upon me; one would be first; another would be first; +all would be first; so I can write nothing at all.--Only that, whatever +they have done to me, I cannot tell; but I am no longer what I was-in +any one thing did I say? Yes, but I am; for I am still, and I ever +will be, + +Your true---- + + +Plague on it! I can write no more of this eloquent nonsense myself; +which rather shows a raised, than a quenched, imagination: but Dorcas +shall transcribe the others in separate papers, as written by the +whimsical charmer: and some time hence when all is over, and I can +better bear to read them, I may ask thee for a sight of them. Preserve +them, therefore; for we often look back with pleasure even upon the +heaviest griefs, when the cause of them is removed. + + +PAPER II +(Scratch'd through, and thrown under the table.) + + +--And can you, my dear, honoured Papa, resolve for ever to reprobate +your poor child?--But I am sure you would not, if you knew what she has +suffered since her unhappy--And will nobody plead for your poor suffering +girl?--No one good body?--Why then, dearest Sir, let it be an act of your +own innate goodness, which I have so much experienced, and so much +abused. I don't presume to think you should receive me--No, indeed!--My +name is--I don't know what my name is!--I never dare to wish to come into +your family again!--But your heavy curse, my Papa--Yes, I will call you +Papa, and help yourself as you can--for you are my own dear Papa, whether +you will or not--and though I am an unworthy child--yet I am your child-- + + +PAPER III + + +A Lady took a great fancy to a young lion, or a bear, I forget +which--but a bear, or a tiger, I believe it was. It was made her a +present of when a whelp. She fed it with her own hand: she nursed up +the wicked cub with great tenderness; and would play with it without +fear or apprehension of danger: and it was obedient to all her commands: +and its tameness, as she used to boast, increased with its growth; so +that, like a lap-dog, it would follow her all over the house. But mind +what followed: at last, some how, neglecting to satisfy its hungry maw, +or having otherwise disobliged it on some occasion, it resumed its +nature; and on a sudden fell upon her, and tore her in pieces.--And who +was most to blame, I pray? The brute, or the lady? The lady, surely!-- +For what she did was out of nature, out of character, at least: what it +did was in its own nature. + + +PAPER IV + + +How art thou now humbled in the dust, thou proud Clarissa Harlowe! +Thou that never steppedst out of thy father's house but to be admired! +Who wert wont to turn thine eye, sparkling with healthful life, and +self-assurance, to different objects at once as thou passedst, as if +(for so thy penetrating sister used to say) to plume thyself upon the +expected applauses of all that beheld thee! Thou that usedst to go to +rest satisfied with the adulations paid thee in the past day, and couldst +put off every thing but thy vanity!--- + + +PAPER V + + +Rejoice not now, my Bella, my Sister, my Friend; but pity the humbled +creature, whose foolish heart you used to say you beheld through the thin +veil of humility which covered it. + +It must have been so! My fall had not else been permitted-- + +You penetrated my proud heart with the jealousy of an elder sister's +searching eye. + +You knew me better than I knew myself. + +Hence your upbraidings and your chidings, when I began to totter. + +But forgive now those vain triumphs of my heart. + +I thought, poor, proud wretch that I was, that what you said was owing to +your envy. + +I thought I could acquit my intention of any such vanity. + +I was too secure in the knowledge I thought I had of my own heart. + +My supposed advantages became a snare to me. + +And what now is the end of all?-- + + +PAPER VI + + +What now is become of the prospects of a happy life, which once I thought +opening before me?--Who now shall assist in the solemn preparations? Who +now shall provide the nuptial ornaments, which soften and divert the +apprehensions of the fearful virgin? No court now to be paid to my +smiles! No encouraging compliments to inspire thee with hope of laying a +mind not unworthy of thee under obligation! No elevation now for +conscious merit, and applauded purity, to look down from on a prostrate +adorer, and an admiring world, and up to pleased and rejoicing parents +and relations! + + +PAPER VII + + +Thou pernicious caterpillar, that preyest upon the fair leaf of virgin +fame, and poisonest those leaves which thou canst not devour! + +Thou fell blight, thou eastern blast, thou overspreading mildew, that +destroyest the early promises of the shining year! that mockest the +laborious toil, and blastest the joyful hopes, of the painful husbandman! + +Thou fretting moth, that corruptest the fairest garment! + +Thou eating canker-worm, that preyest upon the opening bud, and turnest +the damask-rose into livid yellowness! + +If, as religion teaches us, God will judge us, in a great measure, by our +benevolent or evil actions to one another--O wretch! bethink thee, in +time bethink thee, how great must be thy condemnation! + + +PAPER VIIII + + +At first, I saw something in your air and person that displeased me +not. Your birth and fortunes were no small advantages to you.--You +acted not ignobly by my passionate brother. Every body said you were +brave: every body said you were generous: a brave man, I thought, could +not be a base man: a generous man, could not, I believed, be ungenerous, +where he acknowledged obligation. Thus prepossessed, all the rest that +my soul loved and wished for in your reformation I hoped!--I knew not, +but by report, any flagrant instances of your vileness. You seemed +frank, as well as generous: frankness and generosity ever attracted me: +whoever kept up those appearances, I judged of their hearts by my own; +and whatever qualities I wished to find in them, I was ready to find; +and, when found, I believed them to be natives of the soil. + +My fortunes, my rank, my character, I thought a further security. I +was in none of those respects unworthy of being the niece of Lord M. +and of his two noble sisters.--Your vows, your imprecations--But, Oh! +you have barbarously and basely conspired against that honour, which +you ought to have protected: and now you have made me--What is it of +vile that you have not made me?-- + +Yet, God knows my heart, I had no culpable inclinations!--I honoured +virtue!--I hated vice!--But I knew not, that you were vice itself! + + +PAPER IX + + +Had the happiness of any of the poorest outcast in the world, whom I +had neveer seen, never known, never before heard of, lain as much in my +power, as my happiness did in your's, my benevolent heart would have +made me fly to the succour of such a poor distressed--with what pleasure +would I have raised the dejected head, and comforted the desponding +heart!--But who now shall pity the poor wretch, who has increased, +instead of diminished, the number of the miserable! + + +PAPER X + + +Lead me, where my own thoughts themselves may lose me; +Where I may dose out what I've left of life, +Forget myself, and that day's guile!---- +Cruel remembrance!----how shall I appease thee? + +[Death only can be dreadful to the bad;* +To innocence 'tis like a bugbear dress'd +To frighten children. Pull but off the mask, +And he'll appear a friend.] + + +* Transcriber's note: Portions set off in square brackets [ ] are written +at angles to the majority of the text, as if squeezed into margins. + + +----Oh! you have done an act +That blots the face and blush of modesty; + Takes off the rose + From the fair forehead of an innocent love, +And makes a blister there! + + Then down I laid my head, +Down on cold earth, and for a while was dead; +And my freed soul to a strange somewhere fled! + Ah! sottish soul! said I, +When back to its cage again I saw it fly; + Fool! to resume her broken chain, +And row the galley here again! + Fool! to that body to return, +Where it condemn'd and destin'd is to mourn! + +[I could a tale unfold---- + Would harrow up thy soul----] + +O my Miss Howe! if thou hast friendship, help me, +And speak the words of peace to my divided soul, + That wars within me, +And raises ev'ry sense to my confusion. + I'm tott'ring on the brink +Of peace; an thou art all the hold I've left! +Assist me----in the pangs of my affliction! + +When honour's lost, 'tis a relief to die: +Death's but a sure retreat from infamy. + +[By swift misfortunes + How I am pursu'd! +Which on each other + Are, like waves, renew'd!] + +The farewell, youth, + And all the joys that dwell +With youth and life! + And life itself, farewell! + +For life can never be sincerely blest. +Heav'n punishes the bad, and proves the best. + + +*** + + +After all, Belford, I have just skimmed over these transcriptions of +Dorcas: and I see there are method and good sense in some of them, wild +as others of them are; and that her memory, which serves her so well +for these poetical flights, is far from being impaired. And this gives +me hope, that she will soon recover her charming intellects--though I +shall be the sufferer by their restoration, I make no doubt. + +But, in the letter she wrote to me, there are yet greater extravagancies; +and though I said it was too affecting to give thee a copy of it, yet, +after I have let thee see the loose papers enclosed, I think I may throw +in a transcript of that. Dorcas therefore shall here transcribe it. I +cannot. The reading of it affected me ten times more than the severest +reproaches of a regular mind could do. + + +TO MR. LOVELACE + +I never intended to write another line to you. I would not see you, if I +could help it--O that I never had! + +But tell me, of a truth, is Miss Howe really and truly ill?--Very ill?- +And is not her illness poison? And don't you know who gave it to her? + +What you, or Mrs. Sinclair, or somebody (I cannot tell who) have done to +my poor head, you best know: but I shall never be what I was. My head is +gone. I have wept away all my brain, I believe; for I can weep no more. +Indeed I have had my full share; so it is no matter. + +But, good now, Lovelace, don't set Mrs. Sinclair upon me again.--I never +did her any harm. She so affrights me, when I see her!--Ever since--when +was it? I cannot tell. You can, I suppose. She may be a good woman, as +far as I know. She was the wife of a man of honour--very likely--though +forced to let lodgings for a livelihood. Poor gentlewoman! Let her know +I pity her: but don't let her come near me again--pray don't! + +Yet she may be a very good woman-- + +What would I say!--I forget what I was going to say. + +O Lovelace, you are Satan himself; or he helps you out in every thing; +and that's as bad! + +But have you really and truly sold yourself to him? And for how long? +What duration is your reign to have? + +Poor man! The contract will be out: and then what will be your fate! + +O Lovelace! if you could be sorry for yourself, I would be sorry too--but +when all my doors are fast, and nothing but the key-hole open, and the +key of late put into that, to be where you are, in a manner without +opening any of them--O wretched, wretched Clarissa Harlowe! + +For I never will be Lovelace--let my uncle take it as he pleases. + +Well, but now I remember what I was going to say--it is for your good-- +not mine--for nothing can do me good now!--O thou villanous man! thou +hated Lovelace! + +But Mrs. Sinclair may be a good woman--if you love me--but that you don't +--but don't let her bluster up with her worse than mannish airs to me +again! O she is a frightful woman! If she be a woman! She needed not +to put on that fearful mask to scare me out of my poor wits. But don't +tell her what I say--I have no hatred to her--it is only fright, and +foolish fear, that's all.--She may not be a bad woman--but neither are +all men, any more than all women alike--God forbid they should be like +you! + +Alas! you have killed my head among you--I don't say who did it!--God +forgive you all!--But had it not been better to have put me out of all +your ways at once? You might safely have done it! For nobody would +require me at your hands--no, not a soul--except, indeed, Miss Howe would +have said, when she should see you, What, Lovelace, have you done with +Clarissa Harlowe?--And then you could have given any slight, gay answer-- +sent her beyond sea; or, she has run away from me, as she did from her +parents. And this would have been easily credited; for you know, +Lovelace, she that could run away from them, might very well run away +from you. + +But this is nothing to what I wanted to say. Now I have it. + +I have lost it again--This foolish wench comes teasing me--for what +purpose should I eat? For what end should I wish to live?--I tell thee, +Dorcas, I will neither eat nor drink. I cannot be worse than I am. + +I will do as you'd have me--good Dorcas, look not upon me so fiercely-- +but thou canst not look so bad as I have seen somebody look. + +Mr. Lovelace, now that I remember what I took pen in hand to say, let me +hurry off my thoughts, lest I lose them again--here I am sensible--and +yet I am hardly sensible neither--but I know my head is not as it should +be, for all that--therefore let me propose one thing to you: it is for +your good--not mine; and this is it: + +I must needs be both a trouble and an expense to you. And here my uncle +Harlowe, when he knows how I am, will never wish any man to have me: no, +not even you, who have been the occasion of it--barbarous and ungrateful! +--A less complicated villany cost a Tarquin--but I forget what I would +say again-- + +Then this is it--I never shall be myself again: I have been a very wicked +creature--a vain, proud, poor creature, full of secret pride--which I +carried off under an humble guise, and deceived every body--my sister +says so--and now I am punished--so let me be carried out of this house, +and out of your sight; and let me be put into that Bedlam privately, +which once I saw: but it was a sad sight to me then! Little as I thought +what I should come to myself!--That is all I would say: this is all I +have to wish for--then I shall be out of all your ways; and I shall be +taken care of; and bread and water without your tormentings, will be +dainties: and my straw-bed the easiest I have lain in--for--I cannot tell +how long! + +My clothes will sell for what will keep me there, perhaps as long as I +shall live. But, Lovelace, dear Lovelace, I will call you; for you have +cost me enough, I'm sure!--don't let me be made a show of, for my +family's sake; nay, for your own sake, don't do that--for when I know all +I have suffered, which yet I do not, and no matter if I never do--I may +be apt to rave against you by name, and tell of all your baseness to a +poor humbled creature, that once was as proud as any body--but of what I +can't tell--except of my own folly and vanity--but let that pass--since +I am punished enough for it-- + +So, suppose, instead of Bedlam, it were a private mad-house, where nobody +comes!--That will be better a great deal. + +But, another thing, Lovelace: don't let them use me cruelly when I am +there--you have used me cruelly enough, you know!--Don't let them use me +cruelly; for I will be very tractable; and do as any body would have me +to do--except what you would have me do--for that I never will.--Another +thing, Lovelace: don't let this good woman, I was going to say vile +woman; but don't tell her that--because she won't let you send me to this +happy refuge, perhaps, if she were to know it-- + +Another thing, Lovelace: and let me have pen, and ink, and paper, allowed +me--it will be all my amusement--but they need not send to any body I +shall write to, what I write, because it will but trouble them: and +somebody may do you a mischief, may be--I wish not that any body do any +body a mischief upon my account. + +You tell me, that Lady Betty Lawrance, and your cousin Montague, were +here to take leave of me; but that I was asleep, and could not be waked. +So you told me at first I was married, you know, and that you were my +husband--Ah! Lovelace! look to what you say.--But let not them, (for they +will sport with my misery,) let not that Lady Betty, let not that Miss +Montague, whatever the real ones may do; nor Mrs. Sinclair neither, nor +any of her lodgers, nor her nieces, come to see me in my place--real +ones, I say; for, Lovelace, I shall find out all your villanies in time-- +indeed I shall--so put me there as soon as you can--it is for your good-- +then all will pass for ravings that I can say, as, I doubt no many poor +creatures' exclamations do pass, though there may be too much truth in +them for all that--and you know I began to be mad at Hampstead--so you +said.--Ah! villanous man! what have you not to answer for! + + +*** + + +A little interval seems to be lent me. I had begun to look over what I +have written. It is not fit for any one to see, so far as I have been +able to re-peruse it: but my head will not hold, I doubt, to go through +it all. If therefore I have not already mentioned my earnest desire, let +me tell you it is this: that I be sent out of this abominable house +without delay, and locked up in some private mad-house about this town; +for such, it seems, there are; never more to be seen, or to be produced +to any body, except in your own vindication, if you should be charged +with the murder of my person; a much lighter crime than that of +honour, which the greatest villain on earth has robbed me of. And deny +me not this my last request, I beseech you; and one other, and that is, +never to let me see you more! This surely may be granted to + +The miserably abused +CLARISSA HARLOWE. + + +*** + + +I will not bear thy heavy preachments, Belford, upon this affecting +letter. So, not a word of that sort! The paper, thou'lt see, is +blistered with the tears even of the hardened transcriber; which has +made her ink run here and there. + +Mrs. Sinclair is a true heroine, and, I think, shames us all. And she is +a woman too! Thou'lt say, the beset things corrupted become the worst. +But this is certain, that whatever the sex set their hearts upon, they +make thorough work of it. And hence it is, that a mischief which would +end in simple robbery among men rogues, becomes murder, if a woman be in +it. + +I know thou wilt blame me for having had recourse to art. But do not +physicians prescribe opiates in acute cases, where the violence of the +disorder would be apt to throw the patient into a fever or delirium? I +aver, that my motive for this expedient was mercy; nor could it be any +thing else. For a rape, thou knowest, to us rakes, is far from being an +undesirable thing. Nothing but the law stands in our way, upon that +account; and the opinion of what a modest woman will suffer rather than +become a viva voce accuser, lessens much an honest fellow's apprehensions +on that score. Then, if these somnivolencies [I hate the word opiates on +this occasion,] have turned her head, that is an effect they frequently +have upon some constitutions; and in this case was rather the fault of +the dose than the design of the giver. + +But is not wine itself an opiate in degree?--How many women have been +taken advantage of by wine, and other still more intoxicating viands?-- +Let me tell thee, Jack, that the experience of many of the passive sex, +and the consciences of many more of the active, appealed to, will testify +that thy Lovelace is not the worst of villains. Nor would I have thee +put me upon clearing myself by comparisons. + +If she escape a settled delirium when my plots unravel, I think it is all +I ought to be concerned about. What therefore I desire of thee, is, +that, if two constructions may be made of my actions, thou wilt afford me +the most favourable. For this, not only friendship, but my own +ingenuousness, which has furnished thee with the knowledge of the facts +against which thou art so ready to inveigh, require of thee. + + +*** + + +Will. is just returned from an errand to Hampstead; and acquaints me, +that Mrs. Townsend was yesterday at Mrs. Moore's, accompanied by three or +four rough fellows; a greater number (as supposed) at a distance. She +was strangely surprised at the news that my spouse and I are entirely +reconciled; and that two fine ladies, my relations, came to visit her, +and went to town with her: where she is very happy with me. She was sure +we were not married, she said, unless it was while we were at Hampstead: +and they were sure the ceremony was not performed there. But that the +lady is happy and easy, is unquestionable: and a fling was thrown out by +Mrs. Moore and Mrs. Bevis at mischief-makers, as they knew Mrs. Townsend +to be acquainted with Miss Howe. + +Now, since my fair-one can neither receive, nor send away letters, I am +pretty easy as to this Mrs. Townsend and her employer. And I fancy Miss +Howe will be puzzled to know what to think of the matter, and afraid of +sending by Wilson's conveyance; and perhaps suppose that her friend +slights her; or has changed her mind in my favour, and is ashamed to own +it; as she has not had an answer to what she wrote; and will believe that +the rustic delivered her last letter into her own hand. + +Mean time I have a little project come into my head, of a new kind; just +for amusement-sake, that's all: variety has irresistible charms. I +cannot live without intrigue. My charmer has no passions; that is to +say, none of the passions that I want her to have. She engages all my +reverence. I am at present more inclined to regret what I have done, +than to proceed to new offences: and shall regret it till I see how she +takes it when recovered. + +Shall I tell thee my project? 'Tis not a high one.--'Tis this--to get +hither to Mrs. Moore, Miss Rawlins, and my widow Bevis; for they are +desirous to make a visit to my spouse, now we are so happy together. +And, if I can order it right, Belton, Mowbray, Tourville, and I, will +show them a little more of the ways of this wicked town, than they at +present know. Why should they be acquainted with a man of my character, +and not be the better and wiser for it?--I would have every body rail +against rakes with judgment and knowledge, if they will rail. Two of +these women gave me a great deal of trouble: and the third, I am +confident, will forgive a merry evening. + +Thou wilt be curious to know what the persons of these women are, to whom +I intend so much distinction. I think I have not heretofore mentioned +any thing characteristic of their persons. + +Mrs. Moore is a widow of about thirty-eight; a little mortified by +misfortunes; but those are often the merriest folks, when warmed. She +has good features still; and is what they call much of a gentlewoman, and +very neat in her person and dress. She has given over, I believe, all +thoughts of our sex: but when the dying embers are raked up about the +half-consumed stump, there will be fuel enough left, I dare say, to blaze +out, and give a comfortable warmth to a half-starved by-stander. + +Mrs. Bevis is comely; that is to say, plump; a lover of mirth, and one +whom no grief ever dwelt with, I dare say, for a week together; about +twenty-five years of age: Mowbray will have very little difficulty with +her, I believe; for one cannot do every thing one's self. And yet +sometimes women of this free cast, when it comes to the point, answer not +the promises their cheerful forwardness gives a man who has a view upon +them. + +Miss Rawlins is an agreeable young lady enough; but not beautiful. She +has sense, and would be thought to know the world, as it is called; but, +for her knowledge, is more indebted to theory than experience. A mere +whipt-syllabub knowledge this, Jack, that always fails the person who +trusts to it, when it should hold to do her service. For such young +ladies have so much dependence upon their own understanding and wariness, +are so much above the cautions that the less opinionative may be +benefited by, that their presumption is generally their overthrow, when +attempted by a man of experience, who knows how to flatter their vanity, +and to magnify their wisdom, in order to take advantage of their folly. +But, for Miss Rawlins, if I can add experience to her theory, what an +accomplished person will she be!--And how much will she be obliged to me; +and not only she, but all those who may be the better for the precepts +she thinks herself already so well qualified to give! Dearly, Jack, do +I love to engage with these precept-givers, and example-setters. + +Now, Belford, although there is nothing striking in any of these +characters; yet may we, at a pinch, make a good frolicky half-day with +them, if, after we have softened their wax at table by encouraging +viands, we can set our women and them into dancing: dancing, which all +women love, and all men should therefore promote, for both their sakes. + +And thus, when Tourville sings, Belton fiddles, Mowbray makes rough love, +and I smooth; and thou, Jack, wilt be by that time well enough to join in +the chorus; the devil's in't if we don't mould them into what shape we +please--our own women, by their laughing freedoms, encouraging them to +break through all their customary reserves. For women to women, thou +knowest, are great darers and incentives: not one of them loving to be +outdone or outdared, when their hearts are thoroughly warmed. + +I know, at first, the difficulty will be the accidental absence of my +dear Mrs. Lovelace, to whom principally they will design their visit: but +if we can exhilarate them, they won't then wish to see her; and I can +form twenty accidents and excuses, from one hour to another, for her +absence, till each shall have a subject to take up all her thoughts. + +I am really sick at heart for a frolic, and have no doubt but this will +be an agreeable one. These women already think me a wild fellow; nor do +they like me the less for it, as I can perceive; and I shall take care, +that they shall be treated with so much freedom before one another's +faces, that in policy they shall keep each other's counsel. And won't +this be doing a kind thing by them? since it will knit an indissoluble +band of union and friendship between three women who are neighbours, and +at present have only common obligations to one another: for thou wantest +not to be told, that secrets of love, and secrets of this nature, are +generally the strongest cement of female friendships. + +But, after all, if my beloved should be happily restored to her +intellects, we may have scenes arise between us that will be sufficiently +busy to employ all the faculties of thy friend, without looking out for +new occasions. Already, as I have often observed, has she been the means +of saving scores of her sex, yet without her own knowledge. + + +SATURDAY NIGHT. + +By Dorcas's account of her lady's behaviour, the dear creature seems to +be recovering. I shall give the earliest notice of this to the worthy +Capt. Tomlinson, that he may apprize uncle John of it. I must be +properly enabled, from that quarter, to pacify her, or, at least, to +rebate her first violence. + + + +LETTER XVII + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +SUNDAY AFTERNOON, SIX O'CLOCK, (JUNE 18.) + + +I went out early this morning, and returned not till just now; when I was +informed that my beloved, in my absence, had taken it into her head to +attempt to get away. + +She tripped down, with a parcel tied up in a handkerchief, her hood on; +and was actually in the entry, when Mrs. Sinclair saw her. + +Pray, Madam, whipping between her and the street-door, be pleased to let +me know where you are going? + +Who has a right to controul me? was the word. + +I have, Madam, by order of your spouse: and, kemboing her arms, as she +owned, I desire you will be pleased to walk up again. + +She would have spoken; but could not: and, bursting into tears, turned +back, and went up to her chamber: and Dorcas was taken to task for +suffering her to be in the passage before she was seen. + +This shows, as we hoped last night, that she is recovering her charming +intellects. + +Dorcas says, she was visible to her but once before the whole day; and +then she seemed very solemn and sedate. + +I will endeavour to see her. It must be in her own chamber, I suppose; +for she will hardly meet me in the dining-room. What advantage will the +confidence of our sex give me over the modesty of her's, if she be +recovered!--I, the most confident of men: she, the most delicate of +women. Sweet soul! methinks I have her before me: her face averted: +speech lost in sighs--abashed--conscious--what a triumphant aspect will +this give me, when I gaze on her downcast countenance! + + +*** + + +This moment Dorcas tells me she believes she is coming to find me out. +She asked her after me: and Dorcas left her, drying her red-swoln eyes at +her glass; [no design of moving me by tears!] sighing too sensibly for my +courage. But to what purpose have I gone thus far, if I pursue not my +principal end? Niceness must be a little abated. She knows the worst. +That she cannot fly me; that she must see me; and that I can look her +into a sweet confusion; are circumstances greatly in my favour. What can +she do but rave and exclaim? I am used to raving and exclaiming--but, if +recovered, I shall see how she behaves upon this our first sensible +interview after what she has suffered. + +Here she comes. + + + +LETTER XVIII + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +SUNDAY NIGHT. + + +Never blame me for giving way to have art used with this admirable +creature. All the princes of the air, or beneath it, joining with me, +could never have subdued her while she had her senses. + +I will not anticipate--only to tell thee, that I am too much awakened by +her to think of sleep, were I to go to bed; and so shall have nothing to +do but to write an account of our odd conversation, while it is so strong +upon my mind that I can think of nothing else. + +She was dressed in a white damask night-gown, with less negligence than +for some days past. I was sitting with my pen in my fingers; and stood +up when I first saw her, with great complaisance, as if the day were +still her own. And so indeed it is. + +She entered with such dignity in her manner as struck me with great awe, +and prepared me for the poor figure I made in the subsequent +conversation. A poor figure indeed!--But I will do her justice. + +She came up with quick steps, pretty close to me; a white handkerchief +in her hand; her eyes neither fierce nor mild, but very earnest; and a +fixed sedateness in her whole aspect, which seemed to be the effect of +deep contemplation: and thus she accosted me, with an air and action that +I never saw equalled. + +You see before you, Sir, the wretch, whose preference of you to all your +sex you have rewarded--as it indeed deserved to be rewarded. My father's +dreadful curse has already operated upon me in the very letter of it, as +to this life; and it seems to me too evident that it will not be your +fault that it is not entirely completed in the loss of my soul, as well +as of my honour--which you, villanous man! have robbed me of, with a +baseness so unnatural, so inhuman, that it seems you, even you, had not +the heart to attempt it, till my senses were made the previous sacrifice. + +Here I made an hesitating effort to speak, laying down my pen: but she +proceeded!--Hear me out, guilty wretch!--abandoned man!--Man, did I say? +--Yet what name else can I? since the mortal worryings of the fiercest +beast would have been more natural, and infinitely more welcome, that +what you have acted by me; and that with a premeditation and contrivance +worthy only of that single heart which now, base as well as ungrateful as +thou art, seems to quake within thee.--And well may'st thou quake; well +may'st thou tremble, and falter, and hesitate, as thou dost, when thou +reflectest upon what I have suffered for thy sake, and upon the returns +thou hast made me! + +By my soul, Belford, my whole frame was shaken: for not only her looks +and her action, but her voice, so solemn, was inexpressibly affecting: +and then my cursed guilt, and her innocence, and merit, and rank, and +superiority of talents, all stared me at that instant in the face so +formidably, that my present account, to which she unexpectedly called me, +seemed, as I then thought, to resemble that general one, to which we are +told we shall be summoned, when our conscience shall be our accuser. + +But she had had time to collect all the powers of her eloquence. The +whole day probably in her intellects. And then I was the more +disappointed, as I had thought I could have gazed the dear creature into +confusion--but it is plain, that the sense she has of her wrongs sets +this matchless woman above all lesser, all weaker considerations. + +My dear--my love--I--I--I never--no never--lips trembling, limbs quaking, +voice inward, hesitating, broken--never surely did miscreant look so like +a miscreant! while thus she proceeded, waving her snowy hand, with all +the graces of moving oratory. + +I have no pride in the confusion visible in thy whole person. I have +been all the day praying for a composure, if I could not escape from this +vile house, that should once more enable me to look up to my destroyer +with the consciousness of an innocent sufferer. Thou seest me, since my +wrongs are beyond the power of words to express, thou seest me, calm +enough to wish, that thou may'st continue harassed by the workings of thy +own conscience, till effectual repentance take hold of thee, that so thou +may'st not forfeit all title to that mercy which thou hast not shown to +the poor creature now before thee, who had so well deserved to meet with +a faithful friend where she met with the worst of enemies. + +But tell me, (for no doubt thou hast some scheme to pursue,) tell me, +since I am a prisoner, as I find, in the vilest of houses, and have not a +friend to protect or save me, what thou intendest shall become of the +remnant of a life not worth the keeping!--Tell me, if yet there are more +evils reserved for me; and whether thou hast entered into a compact with +the grand deceiver, in the person of his horrid agent in this house; and +if the ruin of my soul, that my father's curse may be fulfilled, is to +complete the triumphs of so vile a confederacy?--Answer me!--Say, if thou +hast courage to speak out to her whom thou hast ruined, tell me what +farther I am to suffer from thy barbarity? + +She stopped here, and, sighing, turned her sweet face from me, drying up +with her handkerchief those tears which she endeavoured to restrain; and, +when she could not, to conceal from my sight. + +As I told thee, I had prepared myself for high passions, raving, flying, +tearing execration; these transient violences, the workings of sudden +grief, and shame, and vengeance, would have set us upon a par with each +other, and quitted scores. These have I been accustomed to; and as +nothing violent is lasting, with these I could have wished to encounter. +But such a majestic composure--seeking me--whom, yet it is plain, by her +attempt to get away, she would have avoided seeking--no Lucretia-like +vengeance upon herself in her thought--yet swallowed up, her whole mind +swallowed up, as I may say, by a grief so heavy, as, in her own words, to +be beyond the power of speech to express--and to be able, discomposed as +she was, to the very morning, to put such a home-question to me, as if +she had penetrated my future view--how could I avoid looking like a fool, +and answering, as before, in broken sentences and confusion? + +What--what-a--what has been done--I, I, I--cannot but say--must own--must +confess--hem--hem----is not right--is not what should have been--but-a-- +but--but--I am truly--truly--sorry for it--upon my soul I am--and--and-- +will do all--do every thing--do what--whatever is incumbent upon me--all +that you--that you--that you shall require, to make you amends!---- + +O Belford! Belford! whose the triumph now! HER'S, or MINE? + +Amends! O thou truly despicable wretch! Then lifting up her eyes--Good +Heaven! who shall pity the creature who could fall by so base a mind!-- +Yet--[and then she looked indignantly upon me!] yet, I hate thee not +(base and low-souled as thou art!) half so much as I hate myself, that I +saw thee not sooner in thy proper colours! That I hoped either morality, +gratitude, or humanity, from a libertine, who, to be a libertine, must +have got over and defied all moral sanctions.* + + +* Her cousin Morden's words to her in his letter from Florence. See Vol. +IV. Letter XIX. + + +She then called upon her cousin Morden's name, as if he had warned her +against a man of free principles; and walked towards the window; her +handkerchief at her eyes. But, turning short towards me, with an air of +mingled scorn and majesty, [what, at the moment, would I have given never +to have injured her!] What amends hast thou to propose! What amends can +such a one as thou make to a person of spirit, or common sense, for the +evils thou hast so inhumanely made me suffer? + +As soon, Madam--as soon--as--as soon as your uncle--or--not waiting---- + +Thou wouldest tell me, I suppose--I know what thou wouldest tell me--But +thinkest thou, that marriage will satisfy for a guilt like thine? +Destitute as thou hast made me both of friends and fortune, I too much +despise the wretch, who could rob himself of his wife's virtue, to endure +the thoughts of thee in the light thou seemest to hope I will accept thee +in!-- + +I hesitated an interruption; but my meaning died away upon my trembling +lips. I could only pronounce the word marriage--and thus she proceeded: + +Let me, therefore, know whether I am to be controuled in the future +disposal of myself? Whether, in a country of liberty, as this, where the +sovereign of it must not be guilty of your wickedness, and where you +neither durst have attempted it, had I one friend or relation to look +upon me, I am to be kept here a prisoner, to sustain fresh injuries? +Whether, in a word, you intend to hinder me from going where my destiny +shall lead me? + +After a pause--for I was still silent: + +Can you not answer me this plain question?--I quit all claim, all +expectation, upon you--what right have you to detain me here? + +I could not speak. What could I say to such a question? + +O wretch! wringing her uplifted hands, had I not been robbed of my +senses, and that in the basest manner--you best know how--had I been able +to account for myself, and your proceedings, or to have known but how the +days passed--a whole week should not have gone over my head, as I find it +has done, before I had told you, what I now tell you--That the man who +has been the villain to me you have been, shall never make me his wife.-- +I will write to my uncle, to lay aside his kind intentions in my favour-- +all my prospects are shut in--I give myself up for a lost creature as to +this world--hinder me not from entering upon a life of severe penitence, +for corresponding, after prohibition, with a wretch who has too well +justified all their warnings and inveteracy; and for throwing myself into +the power of your vile artifices. Let me try to secure the only hope I +have left. This is all the amends I ask of you. I repeat, therefore, Am +I now at liberty to dispose of myself as I please? + +Now comes the fool, the miscreant again, hesitating his broken answer: My +dearest love, I am confounded, quite confounded, at the thought of what-- +of what has been done; and at the thought of--to whom. I see, I see, +there is no withstanding your eloquence!--Such irresistible proofs of the +love of virtue, for its own sake, did I never hear of, nor meet with, in +all my reading. And if you can forgive a repentant villain, who thus on +his knees implores your forgiveness, [then down I dropt, absolutely in +earnest in all I said,] I vow by all that's sacred and just, (and may a +thunderbolt strike me dead at your feet, if I am not sincere!) that I +will by marriage before to-morrow noon, without waiting for your uncle, +or any body, do you all the justice I now can do you. And you shall ever +after controul and direct me as you please, till you have made me more +worthy of your angelic purity than now I am: nor will I presume so much +as to touch your garment, till I have the honour to call so great a +blessing lawfully mine. + +O thou guileful betrayer! there is a just God, whom thou invokest: yet +the thunderbolt descends not; and thou livest to imprecate and deceive! + +My dearest life! rising; for I hoped she was relenting---- + +Hadst thou not sinned beyond the possibility of forgiveness, interrupted +she; and this had been the first time that thus thou solemnly promisest +and invokest the vengeance thou hast as often defied; the desperateness +of my condition might have induced me to think of taking a wretched +chance with a man so profligate. But, after what I have suffered by +thee, it would be criminal in me to wish to bind my soul in covenant to +a man so nearly allied to perdition. + +Good God!--how uncharitable!--I offer not to defend--would to Heaven that +I could recall--so nearly allied to perdition, Madam!--So profligate a +man, Madam!---- + +O how short is expression of thy crimes, and of my sufferings! Such +premeditation is thy baseness! To prostitute the characters of persons +of honour of thy own family--and all to delude a poor creature, whom thou +oughtest--But why talk I to thee? Be thy crimes upon thy head! Once +more I ask thee, Am I, or am I not, at my own liberty now? + +I offered to speak in defence of the women, declaring that they really +were the very persons---- + +Presume not, interrupted she, base as thou art, to say one word in thine +own vindication. I have been contemplating their behaviour, their +conversation, their over-ready acquiescences, to my declarations in thy +disfavour; their free, yet affectedly-reserved light manners: and now +that the sad event has opened my eyes, and I have compared facts and +passages together, in the little interval that has been lent me, I wonder +I could not distinguish the behaviour of the unmatron-like jilt, whom +thou broughtest to betray me, from the worthy lady whom thou hast the +honour to call thy aunt: and that I could not detect the superficial +creature whom thou passedst upon me for the virtuous Miss Montague. + +Amazing uncharitableness in a lady so good herself!--That the high +spirits those ladies were in to see you, should subject them to such +censures!--I do must solemnly vow, Madam---- + +That they were, interrupting me, verily and indeed Lady Betty Lawrance +and thy cousin Montague!--O wretch! I see by thy solemn averment [I had +not yet averred it,] what credit ought to be given to all the rest. Had +I no other proof---- + +Interrupting her, I besought her patient ear. 'I had found myself, I +told her, almost avowedly despised and hated. I had no hope of gaining +her love, or her confidence. The letter she had left behind her, on her +removal to Hampstead, sufficiently convinced me that she was entirely +under Miss Howe's influence, and waited but the return of a letter from +her to enter upon measures that would deprive me of her for ever: Miss +Howe had ever been my enemy: more so then, no doubt, from the contents of +the letter she had written to her on her first coming to Hampstead; that +I dared not to stand the event of such a letter; and was glad of an +opportunity, by Lady Betty's and my cousin's means (though they knew not +my motive) to get her back to town; far, at the time, from intending the +outrage which my despair, and her want of confidence in me, put me so +vilely upon'-- + +I would have proceeded; and particularly would have said something of +Captain Tomlinson and her uncle; but she would not hear me further. And +indeed it was with visible indignation, and not without several angry +interruptions, that she heard me say so much. + +Would I dare, she asked me, to offer at a palliation of my baseness? The +two women, she was convinced, were impostors. She knew not but Captain +Tomlinson and Mr. Mennell were so too. But whether they were so or not, +I was. And she insisted upon being at her own disposal for the remainder +of her short life--for indeed she abhorred me in every light; and more +particularly in that in which I offered myself to her acceptance. + +And, saying this, she flung from me; leaving me absolutely shocked and +confounded at her part of a conversation which she began with such +uncommon, however severe, composure, and concluded with so much sincere +and unaffected indignation. + +And now, Jack, I must address one serious paragraph particularly to thee. + +I have not yet touched upon cohabitation--her uncle's mediation she does +not absolutely discredit, as I had the pleasure to find by one hint in +this conversation--yet she suspects my future views, and has doubt about +Mennell and Tomlinson. + +I do say, if she come fairly at her lights, at her clues, or what shall I +call them? her penetration is wonderful. + +But if she do not come at them fairly, then is her incredulity, then is +her antipathy to me evidently accounted for. + +I will speak out--thou couldst not, surely, play me booty, Jack?--Surely +thou couldst not let thy weak pity for her lead thee to an unpardonable +breach of trust to thy friend, who has been so unreserved in his +communications to thee? + +I cannot believe thee capable of such a baseness. Satisfy me, however, +upon this head. I must make a cursed figure in her eye, vowing and +protesting, as I shall not scruple occasionally to vow and protest, if +all the time she has had unquestionable informations of my perfidy. I +know thou as little fearest me, as I do thee, if any point of manhood; +and wilt scorn to deny it, if thou hast done it, when thus home-pressed. + +And here I have a good mind to stop, and write no farther, till I have +thy answer. + +And so I will. + +MONDAY MORN. PAST THREE. + + + +LETTER XIX + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +MONDAY MORN. FIVE O'CLOCK (JUNE 19.) + + +I must write on. Nothing else can divert me: and I think thou canst not +have been a dog to me. + +I would fain have closed my eyes: but sleep flies me. Well says Horace, +as translated by Cowley: + + The halcyon sleep will never build his nest + In any stormy breast. + 'Tis not enough that he does find + Clouds and darkness in the mind: + Darkness but half his work will do. + 'Tis not enough: he must find quiet too. + +Now indeed do I from my heart wish that I had never known this lady. But +who would have thought there had been such a woman in the world? Of all +the sex I have hitherto known, or heard, or read of, it was once subdued, +and always subdued. The first struggle was generally the last; or, at +least, the subsequent struggles were so much fainter and fainter, that a +man would rather have them than be without them. But how know I yet---- + + +*** + + +It is now near six--the sun for two hours past has been illuminating +every thing about me: for that impartial orb shines upon Mother +Sinclair's house as well as upon any other: but nothing within me can it +illuminate. + +At day-dawn I looked through the key-hole of my beloved's door. She had +declared she would not put off her clothes any more in this house. There +I beheld her in a sweet slumber, which I hope will prove refreshing to +her disturbed senses; sitting in her elbow-chair, her apron over her +head; her head supported by one sweet hand, the other hand hanging down +upon her side, in a sleepy lifelessness; half of one pretty foot only +visible. + +See the difference in our cases! thought I: she, the charming injured, +can sweetly sleep, while the varlet injurer cannot close his eyes; and +has been trying, to no purpose, the whole night to divert his melancholy, +and to fly from himself! + +As every vice generally brings on its own punishment, even in this life; +if any thing were to tempt me to doubt of future punishment, it would be, +that there can hardly be a greater than that in which I at this instant +experience in my own remorse. + +I hope it will go off. If not, well will the dear creature be avenged; +for I shall be the most miserable of men. + + +*** + + +SIX O'CLOCK. + +Just now Dorcas tells me, that her lady is preparing openly, and without +disguise, to be gone. Very probable. The humour she flew away from me +in last night has given me expectation of such an enterprize. + +Now, Jack, to be thus hated and despised!--And if I have sinned beyond +forgiveness---- + +But she has sent me a message by Dorcas, that she will meet me in the +dining-room; and desires [odd enough] that the wretch may be present at +the conversation that shall pass between us. This message gives me hope. + + +NINE O'CLOCK. + +Confounded art, cunning villany!--By my soul, she had like to have +slipped through my fingers! She meant nothing by her message but to get +Dorcas out of the way, and a clear coast. Is a fancied distress, +sufficient to justify this lady for dispensing with her principles? Does +she not show me that she can wilfully deceive, as well as I? + +Had she been in the fore-house, and no passage to go through to get at +the street-door, she had certainly been gone. But her haste betrayed +her: for Sally Martin happening to be in the fore-parlour, and hearing a +swifter motion than usual, and a rustling of silks, as if from somebody +in a hurry, looked out; and seeing who it was, stept between her and the +door, and set her back against it. + +You must not go, Madam. Indeed you must not. + +By what right?--And how dare you?--And such-like imperious airs the dear +creature gave herself.--While Sally called out for her aunt; and half a +dozen voiced joined instantly in the cry, for me to hasten down, to +hasten down in a moment. + +I was gravely instructing Dorcas above stairs, and wondering what would +be the subject of the conversation to which the wench was to be a +witness, when these outcries reached my ears. And down I flew.--And +there was the charming creature, the sweet deceiver, panting for breath, +her back against the partition, a parcel in her hand, [women make no +excursions without their parcels,] Sally, Polly, (but Polly obligingly +pleaded for her,) the mother, Mabell, and Peter, (the footman of the +house,) about her; all, however, keeping their distance; the mother and +Sally between her and the door--in her soft rage the dear soul repeating, +I will go--nobody has a right--I will go--if you kill me, women, I won't +go up again! + +As soon as she saw me, she stept a pace or two towards me; Mr. Lovelace, +I will go! said she--do you authorize these women--what right have they, +or you either, to stop me? + +Is this, my dear, preparative to the conversation you led me to expect in +the dining-room? And do you thing [sic] I can part with you thus?--Do +you think I will. + +And am I, Sir, to be thus beset?--Surrounded thus?--What have these women +to do with me? + +I desired them to leave us, all but Dorcas, who was down as soon as I. I +then thought it right to assume an air of resolution, having found my +tameness so greatly triumphed over. And now, my dear, said I, (urging +her reluctant feet,) be pleased to walk into the fore-parlour. Here, +since you will not go up stairs, here we may hold our parley; and Dorcas +will be witness to it. And now, Madam, seating her, and sticking my +hands in my sides, your pleasure! + +Insolent villain! said the furious lady. And rising, ran to the window, +and threw up the sash, [she knew not, I suppose, that there were iron +rails before the windows.] And, when she found she could not get out +into the street, clasping her uplifted hands together, having dropt her +parcel--For the love of God, good honest man!--For the love of God, +mistress--[to two passers by,] a poor, a poor creature, said she, ruined! +---- + +I clasped her in my arms, people beginning to gather about the window: +and then she cried out Murder! help! help! and carried her up to the +dining-room, in spite of her little plotting heart, (as I may now call +it,) although she violently struggled, catching hold of the banisters +here and there, as she could. I would have seated her there; but she +sunk down half-motionless, pale as ashes. And a violent burst of tears +happily relieved her. + +Dorcas wept over her. The wench was actually moved for her! + +Violent hysterics succeeded. I left her to Mabell, Dorcas, and Polly; +the latter the most supportable to her of the sisterhood. + +This attempt, so resolutely made, alarmed me not a little. + +Mrs. Sinclair and her nymphs, are much more concerned; because of the +reputation of their house as they call it, having received some insults +(broken windows threatened) to make them produce the young creature who +cried out. + +While the mobbish inquisitors were in the height of their office, the +women came running up to me, to know what they should do; a constable +being actually fetched. + +Get the constable into the parlour, said I, with three or four of the +forwardest of the mob, and produce one of the nymphs, onion-eyed, in a +moment, with disordered head-dress and handkerchief, and let her own +herself the person: the occasion, a female skirmish: but satisfied with +the justice done her. Then give a dram or two to each fellow, and all +will be well. + + +ELEVEN O'CLOCK. + +All done as I advised; and all is well. + +Mrs. Sinclair wishes she had never seen the face of so skittish a lady; +and she and Sally are extremely pressing with me, to leave the perverse +beauty to their breaking, as they call it, for four or five days. But I +cursed them into silence; only ordering double precaution for the future. + +Polly, though she consoled the dear perverse one all she could, when with +her, insists upon it to me, that nothing but terror will procure me +tolerable usage. + +Dorcas was challenged by the women upon her tears. She owned them real. +Said she was ashamed of herself: but could not help it. So sincere, so +unyielding a grief, in so sweet a lady!-- + +The women laughed at her; but I bid her make no apologies for her tears, +nor mind their laughing. I was glad to see them so ready. Good use +might be made of such strangers. In short, I would not have her indulge +them often, and try if it were not possible to gain her lady's confidence +by her concern for her. + +She said that her lady did take kind notice of them to her; and was glad +to see such tokens of humanity in her. + +Well then, said I, your part, whether any thing come of it or not, is to +be tender-hearted. It can do no harm, if no good. But take care you are +not too suddenly, or too officiously compassionate. + +So Dorcas will be a humane, good sort of creature, I believe, very +quickly with her lady. And as it becomes women to be so, and as my +beloved is willing to think highly of her own sex; it will the more +readily pass with her. + +I thought to have had one trial (having gone so far) for cohabitation. +But what hope can there be of succeeding?--She is invincible!--Against +all my motions, against all my conceptions, (thinking of her as a woman, +and in the very bloom of her charms,) she is absolutely invincible. My +whole view, at the present, is to do her legal justice, if I can but once +more get her out of her altitudes. + +The consent of such a woman must make her ever new, ever charming. But +astonishing! Can the want of a church-ceremony make such a difference! + +She owes me her consent; for hitherto I have had nothing to boast of. +All of my side, has been deep remorse, anguish of mind, and love +increased rather than abated. + +How her proud rejection stings me!--And yet I hope still to get her to +listen to my stories of the family-reconciliation, and of her uncle and +Capt. Tomlinson--and as she has given me a pretence to detain her against +her will, she must see me, whether in temper or not.--She cannot help it. +And if love will not do, terror, as the women advise, must be tried. + +A nice part, after all, has my beloved to act. If she forgive me easily, +I resume perhaps my projects:--if she carry her rejection into violence, +that violence may make me desperate, and occasion fresh violence. She +ought, since she thinks she has found the women out, to consider where +she is. + +I am confoundedly out of conceit with myself. If I give up my +contrivances, my joy in stratagem, and plot, and invention, I shall be +but a common man; such another dull heavy creature as thyself. Yet what +does even my success in my machinations bring me but regret, disgrace, +repentance? But I am overmatched, egregiously overmatched, by this +woman. What to do with her, or without her, I know not. + + + +LETTER XX + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. + + +I have this moment intelligence from Simon Parsons, one of Lord M.'s +stewards, that his Lordship is very ill. Simon, who is my obsequious +servant, in virtue of my presumptive heirship, gives me a hint in his +letter, that my presence at M. Hall will not be amiss. So I must +accelerate, whatever be the course I shall be allowed or compelled to +take. + +No bad prospects for this charming creature, if the old peer would be so +kind as to surrender; and many a summons has this gout given him. A good +8000L. a-year, and perhaps the title reversionary, or a still higher, +would help me up with her. + +Proudly as this lady pretends to be above all pride, grandeur will have +its charms with her; for grandeur always makes a man's face shine in a +woman's eye. I have a pretty good, because a clear, estate, as it is. +But what a noble variety of mischief will 8000L. a-year, enable a man to +do? + +Perhaps thou'lt say, I do already all that comes into my head; but that's +a mistake--not one half I will assure thee. And even good folks, as I +have heard, love to have the power of doing mischief, whether they make +use of it or not. The late Queen Anne, who was a very good woman, was +always fond of prerogative. And her ministers, in her name, in more +instances than one, made a ministerial use of this her foible. + + +*** + + +But now, at last, am I to be admitted to the presence of my angry +fair-one; after three denials, nevertheless; and a peremptory from me, by +Dorcas, that I must see her in her chamber, if I cannot see her in the +dining-room. + +Dorcas, however, tells me that she says, if she were at her own liberty, +she would never see me more; and that she had been asking after the +characters and conditions of the neighbours. I suppose, now she has +found her voice, to call out for help from them, if there were any to +hear her. + +She will have it now, it seems, that I had the wickedness from the very +beginning, to contrive, for her ruin, a house so convenient for dreadful +mischief. + +Dorcas begs of her to be pacified--entreats her to see me with patience-- +tells her that I am one of the most determined of men, as she has heard +say. That gentleness may do with me; but that nothing else will, she +believes. And what, as her ladyship (as she always styles her,) is +married, if I had broken my oath, or intended to break it!-- + +She hinted plain enough to the honest wench, that she was not married. +But Dorcas would not understand her. + +This shows she is resolved to keep no measures. And now is to be a trial +of skill, whether she shall or not. + +Dorcas has hinted to her my Lord's illness, as a piece of intelligence +that dropt in conversation from me. + +But here I stop. My beloved, pursuant to my peremptory message, is just +gone up into the dining-room. + + + +LETTER XXI + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +MONDAY AFTERNOON. + + +Pity me, Jack, for pity's sake; since, if thou dost not, nobody else +will: and yet never was there a man of my genius and lively temper that +wanted it more. We are apt to attribute to the devil every thing happens +to us, which we would not have happen: but here, being, (as perhaps +thou'lt say,) the devil myself, my plagues arise from an angel. I +suppose all mankind is to be plagued by its contrary. + +She began with me like a true woman, [she in the fault, I to be blamed,] +the moment I entered the dining-room: not the least apology, not the +least excuse, for the uproar she had made, and the trouble she had given +me. + +I come, said she, into thy detested presence, because I cannot help it. +But why am I to be imprisoned here?--Although to no purpose, I cannot +help---- + +Dearest Madam, interrupted I, give not way to so much violence. You must +know, that your detention is entirely owing to the desire I have to make +you all the amends that is in my power to make you. And this, as well for +your sake as my own. Surely there is still one way left to repair +the wrongs you have suffered---- + +Canst thou blot out the past week! Several weeks past, I should say; +ever since I have been with thee? Canst thou call back time?--If thou +canst---- + +Surely, Madam, again interrupting her, if I may be permitted to call you +legally mine, I might have but anticip---- + +Wretch, that thou art! Say not another word upon this subject. When +thou vowedst, when thou promisedst at Hampstead, I had begun to think +that I must be thine. If I had consented, at the request of those I +thought thy relations, this would have been a principal inducement, that +I could then have brought thee, what was most wanted, an unsullied honour +in dowry, to a wretch destitute of all honour; and could have met the +gratulations of a family to which thy life has been one continued +disgrace, with a consciousness of deserving their gratulations. But +thinkest thou, that I will give a harlot niece to thy honourable uncle, +and to thy real aunts; and a cousin to thy cousins from a brothel? for +such, in my opinion, is this detested house!--Then, lifting up her +clasped hands, 'Great and good God of Heaven,' said she, 'give me +patience to support myself under the weight of those afflictions, which +thou, for wise and good ends, though at present impenetrable by me, hast +permitted!' + +Then, turning towards me, who knew neither what to say to her, nor for +myself, I renounce thee for ever, Lovelace!--Abhorred of my soul! for +ever I renounce thee!--Seek thy fortunes wheresoever thou wilt!--only +now, that thou hast already ruined me!-- + +Ruined you, Madam--the world need not--I knew not what to say. + +Ruined me in my own eyes; and that is the same to me as if all the world +knew it--hinder me not from going whither my mysterious destiny shall +lead me. + +Why hesitate you, Sir? What right have you to stop me, as you lately +did; and to bring me up by force, my hands and arms bruised by your +violence? What right have you to detain me here? + +I am cut to the heart, Madam, with invectives so violent. I am but too +sensible of the wrong I have done you, or I could not bear your +reproaches. The man who perpetrates a villany, and resolves to go on +with it, shows not the compunction I show. Yet, if you think yourself +in my power, I would caution you, Madam, not to make me desperate. For +you shall be mine, or my life shall be the forfeit! Nor is life worth +having without you!-- + +Be thine!--I be thine!--said the passionate beauty. O how lovely in her +violence! + +Yes, Madam, be mine! I repeat you shall be mine! My very crime is your +glory. My love, my admiration of you is increased by what has passed-- +and so it ought. I am willing, Madam, to court your returning favour; +but let me tell you, were the house beset by a thousand armed men, +resolved to take you from me, they should not effect their purpose, while +I had life. + +I never, never will be your's, said she, clasping her hands together, and +lifting up her eyes!--I never will be your's! + +We may yet see many happy years, Madam. All your friends may be +reconciled to you. The treaty for that purpose is in greater forwardness +than you imagine. You know better than to think the worse of yourself +for suffering what you could not help. Enjoin but the terms I can make +my peace with you upon, and I will instantly comply. + +Never, never, repeated she, will I be your's! + +Only forgive me, my dearest life, this one time!--A virtue so invincible! +what further view can I have against you?--Have I attempted any further +outrage?--If you will be mine, your injuries will be injuries done to +myself. You have too well guessed at the unnatural arts that have been +used. But can a greater testimony be given of your virtue?--And now I +have only to hope, that although I cannot make you complete amends, yet +you will permit me to make you all the amends that can possibly be made. + +Here [sic] me out, I beseech you, Madam; for she was going to speak with +an aspect unpacifiedly angry: the God, whom you serve, requires but +repentance and amendment. Imitate him, my dearest love, and bless me +with the means of reforming a course of life that begins to be hateful to +me. That was once your favourite point. Resume it, dearest creature, in +charity to a soul, as well as body, which once, as I flattered myself, +was more than indifferent to you, resume it. And let to-morrow's sun +witness to our espousals. + +I cannot judge thee, said she; but the GOD to whom thou so boldly +referrest can, and, assure thyself, He will. But, if compunction has +really taken hold of thee--if, indeed, thou art touched for thy +ungrateful baseness, and meanest any thing by this pleading the holy +example thou recommendest to my imitation; in this thy pretended +repentant moment, let me sift thee thoroughly, and by thy answer I shall +judge of the sincerity of thy pretended declarations. + +Tell me, then, is there any reality in the treaty thou has pretended to +be on foot between my uncle and Capt. Tomlinson, and thyself?--Say, and +hesitate not, is there any truth in that story?--But, remember, if there +be not, and thou avowest that there is, what further condemnation attends +to thy averment, if it be as solemn as I require it to be! + +This was a cursed thrust! What could I say!--Surely this merciless lady +is resolved to d--n me, thought I, and yet accuses me of a design against +her soul!--But was I not obliged to proceed as I had begun? + +In short, I solemnly averred that there was!--How one crime, as the good +folks say, brings on another! + +I added, that the Captain had been in town, and would have waited on her, +had she not been indisposed; that he went down much afflicted, as well on +her account, as on that of her uncle; though I had not acquainted him +either with the nature of her disorder, or the ever-to-be-regretted +occasion of it, having told him that it was a violent fever; That he had +twice since, by her uncle's desire, sent up to inquire after her health; +and that I had already dispatched a man and horse with a letter, to +acquaint him, (and her uncle through him,) with her recovery; making it +my earnest request, that he would renew his application to her uncle for +the favour of his presence at the private celebrations of our nuptials; +and that I expected an answer, if not this night, as to-morrow. + +Let me ask thee next, said she, (thou knowest the opinion I have of the +women thou broughtest to me at Hampstead; and who have seduced me hither +to my ruin; let me ask thee,) If, really and truly, they were Lady Betty +Lawrance and thy cousin Montague?--What sayest thou--hesitate not--what +sayest thou to this question? + +Astonishing, my dear, that you should suspect them!--But, knowing your +strange opinion of them, what can I say to be believed? + +And is this the answer thou returnest me? Dost thou thus evade my +question? But let me know, for I am trying thy sincerity now, and all +shall judge of thy new professions by thy answer to this question; let me +know, I repeat, whether those women be really Lady Betty Lawrance and thy +cousin Montague? + +Let me, my dearest love, be enabled to-morrow to call you lawfully mine, +and we will set out the next day, if you please, to Berkshire to my Lord +M.'s, where they both are at this time; and you shall convince yourself +by your own eyes, and by your own ears; which you will believe sooner +than all I can say or swear. + +Now, Belford, I had really some apprehension of treachery from thee; +which made me so miserably evade; for else, I could as safely have sworn +to the truth of this, as to that of the former: but she pressing me still +for a categorical answer, I ventured plumb; and swore to it, [lover's +oaths, Jack!] that they were really and truly Lady Betty Lawrance and my +cousin Montague. + +She lifted up her hands and eyes--What can I think!--what can I think! + +You think me a devil, Madam; a very devil! or you could not after you +have put these questions to me, seem to doubt the truth of answers so +solemnly sworn to. + +And if I do think thee so, have I not cause? Is there another man in the +world, (I hope for the sake of human nature, there is not,) who could act +by any poor friendless creature as thou hast acted by me, whom thou hast +made friendless--and who, before I knew thee, had for a friend every one +who knew me? + +I told you, Madam, before that Lady Betty and my cousin were actually +here, in order to take leave of you, before they set out for Berkshire: +but the effects of my ungrateful crime, (such, with shame and remorse, I +own it to be,) were the reason you could not see them. Nor could I be +fond that they should see you; since they never would have forgiven me, +had they known what had passed--and what reason had I to expect your +silence on the subject, had you been recovered? + +It signifies nothing now, that the cause of their appearance has been +answered in my ruin, who or what they are: but if thou hast averred thus +solemnly to two falsehoods, what a wretch do I see before me! + +I thought she had now reason to be satisfied; and I begged her to allow +me to talk to her of to-morrow, as of the happiest day of my life. We +have the license, Madam--and you must excuse me, that I cannot let you go +hence till I have tried every way I can to obtain your forgiveness. + +And am I then, [with a kind of frantic wildness,] to be detained a +prisoner in this horrid house--am I, Sir?--Take care! take care! holding +up her hand, menacing, how you make me desperate! If I fall, though by +my own hand, inquisition will be made for my blood; and be not out in thy +plot, Lovelace, if it should be so--make sure work, I charge thee--dig a +hole deep enough to cram in and conceal this unhappy body; for, depend +upon it, that some of those who will not stir to protect me living, will +move heaven and earth to avenge me dead! + +A horrid dear creature!--By my soul she made me shudder! She had need +indeed to talk of her unhappiness in falling into the hands of the only +man in the world, who could have used her as I have used her--she is the +only woman in the world, who could have shocked and disturbed me as she +has done. So we are upon a foot in that respect. And I think I have the +worst of it by much: since very little has been my joy--very much my +trouble. And her punishment, as she calls it, is over: but when mine +will, or what it may be, who can tell? + +Here, only recapitulating, (think, then, how I must be affected at the +time,) I was forced to leave off, and sing a song to myself. I aimed at +a lively air; but I croaked rather than sung. And fell into the old +dismal thirtieth of January strain; I hemmed up for a sprightlier note; +but it would not do; and at last I ended, like a malefactor, in a dead +psalm melody. + +Heigh-ho!--I gape like an unfledged kite in its nest, wanting to swallow +a chicken, bobbed at its mouth by its marauding dam!-- + +What a-devil ails me?--I can neither think nor write! + +Lie down, pen, for a moment! + + + +LETTER XXII + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. + + +There is certainly a good deal in the observation, that it costs a man +ten times more pains to be wicked, than it would cost him to be good. What +a confounded number of contrivances have I had recourse to, in order +to carry my point with this charming creature; and yet after all, how +have I puzzled myself by it; and yet am near tumbling into the pit which +it was the end of all my plots to shun! What a happy man had I been with +such an excellence, could I have brought my mind to marry when I first +prevailed upon her to quit her father's house! But then, as I have often +reflected, how had I known, that a but blossoming beauty, who could carry +on a private correspondence, and run such risques with a notorious wild +fellow, was not prompted by inclination, which one day might give such a +free-liver as myself as much pain to reflect upon, as, at the time it +gave me pleasure? Thou rememberest the host's tale in Ariosto. And thy +experience, as well as mine, can furnish out twenty Fiametta's in proof +of the imbecility of the sex. + +But to proceed with my narrative. + +The dear creature resumed the topic her heart was so firmly fixed upon; +and insisted upon quitting the odious house, and that in very high terms. + +I urged her to meet me the next day at the altar in either of the two +churches mentioned in the license. And I besought her, whatever was her +resolution, to let me debate this matter calmly with her. + +If, she said, I would have her give what I desired the least moment's +consideration, I must not hinder her from being her own mistress. To +what purpose did I ask her consent, if she had not a power over either +her own person or actions? + +Will you give me your honour, Madam, if I consent to your quitting a +house so disagreeable to you?-- + +My honour, Sir! said the dear creature--Alas!--And turned weeping from +me with inimitable grace--as if she had said--Alas!--you have robbed me +of my honour! + +I hoped then, that her angry passions were subsiding; but I was mistaken; +for, urging her warmly for the day; and that for the sake of our mutual +honour, and the honour of both our families; in this high-flown and +high-souled strain she answered me: + +And canst thou, Lovelace, be so mean--as to wish to make a wife of the +creature thou hast insulted, dishonoured, and abused, as thou hast me? +Was it necessary to humble me down to the low level of thy baseness, +before I could be a wife meet for thee? Thou hadst a father, who was a +man of honour: a mother, who deserved a better son. Thou hast an uncle, +who is no dishonour to the Peerage of a kingdom, whose peers are more +respectable than the nobility of any other country. Thou hast other +relations also, who may be thy boast, though thou canst not be theirs-- +and canst thou not imagine, that thou hearest them calling upon thee; the +dead from their monuments; the living from their laudable pride; not to +dishonour thy ancient and splendid house, by entering into wedlock with a +creature whom thou hast levelled with the dirt of the street, and classed +with the vilest of her sex? + +I extolled her greatness of soul, and her virtue. I execrated myself for +my guilt: and told her, how grateful to the manes of my ancestors, as +well as to the wishes of the living, the honour I supplicated for would +be. + +But still she insisted upon being a free agent; of seeing herself in +other lodgings before she would give what I urged the least +consideration. Nor would she promise me favour even then, or to permit +my visits. How then, as I asked her, could I comply, without resolving +to lose her for ever? + +She put her hand to her forehead often as she talked; and at last, +pleading disorder in her head, retired; neither of us satisfied with the +other. But she ten times more dissatisfied with me, than I with her. + +Dorcas seems to be coming into favour with her-- + +What now!--What now! + + +MONDAY NIGHT. + +How determined is this lady!--Again had she like to have escaped us!-- +What a fixed resentment!--She only, I find, assumed a little calm, in +order to quiet suspicion. She was got down, and actually had unbolted +the street-door, before I could get to her; alarmed as I was by Mrs. +Sinclair's cookmaid, who was the only one that saw her fly through the +passage: yet lightning was not quicker than I. + +Again I brought her back to the dining-room, with infinite reluctance on +her part. And, before her face, ordered a servant to be placed +constantly at the bottom of the stairs for the future. + +She seemed even choked with grief and disappointment. + +Dorcas was exceedingly assiduous about her; and confidently gave it as +her own opinion, that her dear lady should be permitted to go to another +lodging, since this was so disagreeable to her: were she to be killed for +saying so, she would say it. And was good Dorcas for this afterwards. + +But for some time the dear creature was all passion and violence-- + +I see, I see, said she, when I had brought her up, what I am to expect +from your new professions, O vilest of men!-- + +Have I offered t you, my beloved creature, any thing that can justify +this impatience after a more hopeful calm? + +She wrung her hands. She disordered her head-dress. She tore her +ruffles. She was in a perfect phrensy. + +I dreaded her returning malady: but, entreaty rather exasperating, I +affected an angry air.--I bid her expect the worst she had to fear--and +was menacing on, in hopes to intimidate her; when, dropping to my feet, + +'Twill be a mercy, said she, the highest act of mercy you can do, to kill +me outright upon this spot--this happy spot, as I will, in my last +moments, call it!--Then, baring, with a still more frantic violence, part +of her enchanting neck--Here, here, said the soul-harrowing beauty, let +thy pointed mercy enter! and I will thank thee, and forgive thee for all +the dreadful past!--With my latest gasp will I forgive and thank thee!-- +Or help me to the means, and I will myself put out of the way so +miserable a wretch! And bless thee for those means! + +Why all this extravagant passion? Why all these exclamations? Have I +offered any new injury to you, my dearest life? What a phrensy is this! +Am I not ready to make you all the reparation that I can make you? Had I +not reason to hope-- + +No, no, no, no, as before, shaking her head with wild impatience, as +resolved not to attend to what I said. + +My resolutions are so honourable, if you will permit them to take effect, +that I need not be solicitous where you go, if you will but permit my +visits, and receive my vows.--And God is my witness, that I bring you not +back from the door with any view to your dishonour, but the contrary: and +this moment I will send for a minister to put an end to all your doubts +and fears. + +Say this, and say a thousand times more, and bind every word with a +solemn appeal to that God whom thou art accustomed to invoke to the truth +of the vilest falsehoods, and all will still be short of what thou has +vowed and promised to me. And, were not my heart to abhor thee, and to +rise against thee, for thy perjuries, as it does, I would not, I tell +thee once more, I would not, bind my soul in covenant with such a man, +for a thousand worlds! + +Compose yourself, however, Madam; for your own sake, compose yourself. +Permit me to raise you up; abhorred as I am of your soul! + +Nay, if I must not touch you; for she wildly slapt my hands; but with +such a sweet passionate air, her bosom heaving and throbbing as she +looked up to me, that although I was most sincerely enraged, I could with +transport have pressed her to mine. + +If I must not touch you, I will not.--But depend upon it, [and I assumed +the sternest air I could assume, to try what it would do,] depend upon +it, Madam, that this is not the way to avoid the evils you dread. Let me +do what I will, I cannot be used worse--Dorcas, begone! + +She arose, Dorcas being about to withdraw; and wildly caught hold of her +arm: O Dorcas! If thou art of mine own sex, leave me not, I charge thee! +--Then quitting Dorcas, down she threw herself upon her knees, in the +furthermost corner of the room, clasping a chair with her face laid upon +the bottom of it!--O where can I be safe?--Where, where can I be safe, +from this man of violence?-- + +This gave Dorcas an opportunity to confirm herself in her lady's +confidence: the wench threw herself at my feet, while I seemed in violent +wrath; and embracing my knees, Kill me, Sir, kill me, Sir, if you please! +--I must throw myself in your way, to save my lady. I beg your pardon, +Sir--but you must be set on!--God forgive the mischief-makers!--But your +own heart, if left to itself, would not permit these things--spare, +however, Sir! spare my lady, I beseech you!--bustling on her knees about +me, as if I were intending to approach her lady, had I not been +restrained by her. + +This, humoured by me, Begone, devil!--Officious devil, begone!--startled +the dear creature: who, snatching up hastily her head from the chair, and +as hastily popping it down again in terror, hit her nose, I suppose, +against the edge of the chair; and it gushed out with blood, running in a +stream down her bosom; she herself was too much frighted to heed it! + +Never was mortal man in such terror and agitation as I; for I instantly +concluded, that she had stabbed herself with some concealed instrument. + +I ran to her in a wild agony--for Dorcas was frighted out of all her mock +interposition---- + +What have you done!--O what have you done!--Look up to me, my dearest +life!--Sweet injured innocence, look up to me! What have you done!--Long +will I not survive you!--And I was upon the point of drawing my sword to +dispatch myself, when I discovered--[What an unmanly blockhead does this +charming creature make me at her pleasure!] that all I apprehended was +but a bloody nose, which, as far as I know (for it could not be stopped +in a quarter of an hour) may have saved her head and her intellects. + +But I see by this scene, that the sweet creature is but a pretty coward +at bottom; and that I can terrify her out of her virulence against me, +whenever I put on sternness and anger. But then, as a qualifier to the +advantage this gives me over her, I find myself to be a coward too, which +I had not before suspected, since I was capable of being so easily +terrified by the apprehensions of her offering violence to herself. + + + +LETTER XXIII + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. + + +But with all this dear creature's resentment against me, I cannot, for my +heart, think but she will get all over, and consent to enter the pale +with me. Were she even to die to-morrow, and to know she should, would +not a woman of her sense, of her punctilio, and in her situation, and of +so proud a family, rather die married, than otherwise?--No doubt but she +would; although she were to hate the man ever so heartily. If so, there +is now but one man in the world whom she can have--and that is me. + +Now I talk [familiar writing is but talking, Jack] thus glibly of +entering the pale, thou wilt be ready to question me, I know, as to my +intentions on this head. + +As much of my heart, as I know of it myself, will I tell thee.--When I am +from her, I cannot still help hesitating about marriage; and I even +frequently resolve against it, and determine to press my favourite scheme +for cohabitation. But when I am with her, I am ready to say, to swear, +and to do, whatever I think will be the most acceptable to her, and were +a parson at hand, I should plunge at once, no doubt of it, into the +state. + +I have frequently thought, in common cases, that it is happy for many +giddy fellows [there are giddy fellows, as well as giddy girls, Jack; and +perhaps those are as often drawn in, as these] that ceremony and parade +are necessary to the irrevocable solemnity; and that there is generally +time for a man to recollect himself in the space between the heated +over-night, and the cooler next morning; or I know not who could escape +the sweet gypsies, whose fascinating powers are so much aided by our own +raised imaginations. + +A wife at any time, I used to say. I had ever confidence and vanity +enough to think that no woman breathing could deny her hand when I held +out mine. I am confoundedly mortified to find that this lady is able to +hold me at bay, and to refuse all my honest vows. + +What force [allow me a serious reflection, Jack: it will be put down! +What force] have evil habits upon the human mind! When we enter upon a +devious course, we think we shall have it in our power when we will +return to the right path. But it is not so, I plainly see: For, who can +acknowledge with more justice this dear creature's merits, and his own +errors, than I? Whose regret, at times, can be deeper than mine, for the +injuries I have done her? Whose resolutions to repair those injuries +stronger?--Yet how transitory is my penitence!--How am I hurried away-- +Canst thou tell by what?--O devil of youth, and devil of intrigue, how do +you mislead me!--How often do we end in occasions for the deepest +remorse, what we begin in wantonness!-- + +At the present writing, however, the turn of the scale is in behalf of +matrimony--for I despair of carrying with her my favourite point. + +The lady tells Dorcas, that her heart is broken: and that she shall live +but a little while. I think nothing of that, if we marry. In the first +place, she knows not what a mind unapprehensive will do for her, in a +state to which all the sex look forwards with high satisfaction. How +often have the whole of the sacred conclave been thus deceived in their +choice of a pope; not considering that the new dignity is of itself +sufficient to give new life! A few months' heart's ease will give my +charmer a quite different notion of things: and I dare say, as I have +heretofore said,* once married, and I am married for life. + + +* See Letter IX. of this volume. + + +I will allow that her pride, in one sense, has suffered abasement: but +her triumph is the greater in every other. And while I can think that +all her trials are but additions to her honour, and that I have laid the +foundations of her glory in my own shame, can I be called cruel, if I am +not affected with her grief as some men would be? + +And for what should her heart be broken? Her will is unviolated;--at +present, however, her will is unviolated. The destroying of good habits, +and the introducing of bad, to the corrupting of the whole heart, is the +violation. That her will is not to be corrupted, that her mind is not to +be debased, she has hitherto unquestionably proved. And if she give +cause for farther trials, and hold fast her integrity, what ideas will +she have to dwell upon, that will be able to corrupt her morals? What +vestigia, what remembrances, but such as will inspire abhorrence of the +attempter? + +What nonsense then to suppose that such a mere notional violation as she +has suffered should be able to cut asunder the strings of life? + +Her religion, married, or not married, will set her above making such a +trifling accident, such an involuntary suffering fatal to her. + +Such considerations as these they are that support me against all +apprehensions of bugbear consequences; and I would have them have weight +with thee; who are such a doughty advocate for her. And yet I allow thee +this; that she really makes too much of it; takes it too much to heart. +To be sure she ought to have forgot it by this time, except the charming, +charming consequence happen, that still I am in hopes will happen, were I +to proceed no farther. And, if she apprehended this herself, then has +the dear over-nice soul some reason for taking it so much to heart; and +yet would not, I think, refuse to legitimate. + +O Jack! had I am imperial diadem, I swear to thee, that I would give it +up, even to my enemy, to have one charming boy by this lady. And should +she escape me, and no such effect follow, my revenge on her family, and, +in such a case, on herself, would be incomplete, and I should reproach +myself as long as I lived. + +Were I to be sure that this foundation is laid [And why may I not hope it +is?] I should not doubt to have her still (should she withstand her day +of grace) on my own conditions; nor should I, if it were so, question +that revived affection in her, which a woman seldom fails to have for the +father of her first child, whether born in wedlock, or out of it. + +And pr'ythee, Jack, see in this my ardent hope, a distinction in my +favour from other rakes; who, almost to a man, follow their inclinations +without troubling themselves about consequences. In imitation, as one +would think, of the strutting villain of a bird, which from feathered +lady to feathered lady pursues his imperial pleasures, leaving it to his +sleek paramours to hatch the genial product in holes and corners of their +own finding out. + + + +LETTER XXIV + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +TUESDAY MORN. JUNE 20. + + +Well, Jack, now are we upon another footing together. This dear creature +will not let me be good. She is now authorizing all my plots by her own +example. + +Thou must be partial in the highest degree, if now thou blamest me for +resuming my former schemes, since in that case I shall but follow her +cue. No forced construction of her actions do I make on this occasion, +in order to justify a bad cause or a worse intention. A slight pretence, +indeed, served the wolf when he had a mind to quarrel with the lamb; but +this is not now my case. + +For here (wouldst thou have thought it?) taking advantage of Dorcas's +compassionate temper, and of some warm expressions which the +tender-hearted wench let fall against the cruelty of men, and wishing to +have it in her power to serve her, has she given her the following note, +signed by her maiden name: for she has thought fit, in positive and plain +words, to own to the pitying Dorcas that she is not married. + + +MONDAY, JUNE 19. + +I then underwritten do hereby promise, that, on my coming into possession +of my own estate, I will provide for Dorcas Martindale in a gentlewoman- +like manner, in my own house: or, if I do not soon obtain that +possession, or should first die, I do hereby bind myself, my executors, +and administrators, to pay to her, or her order, during the term of her +natural life, the sum of five pounds on each of the four usual quarterly +days in the year; on condition that she faithfully assist me in my escape +from an illegal confinement under which I now labour. The first +quarterly payment to commence and be payable at the end of three months +immediately following the day of my deliverance. And I do also promise +to give her, as a testimony of my honour in the rest, a diamond ring, +which I have showed her. Witness my hand this nineteenth day of June, in +the year above written. + +CLARISSA HARLOWE. + + +Now, Jack, what terms wouldst thou have me to keep with such a sweet +corruptress? Seest thou not how she hates me? Seest thou not that she +is resolved never to forgive me? Seest thou not, however, that she must +disgrace herself in the eye of the world, if she actually should escape? +That she must be subjected to infinite distress and hazard! For whom has +she to receive and protect her? Yet to determine to risque all these +evils! and furthermore to stoop to artifice, to be guilty of the reigning +vice of the times, of bribery and corruption! O Jack, Jack! say not, +write not another word in her favour! + +Thou hast blamed me for bringing her to this house: but had I carried her +to any other in England, where there would have been one servant or +inmate capable either of compassion or corruption, what must have been +the consequence? + +But seest thou not, however, that in this flimsy contrivance, the dear +implacable, like a drowning man, catches at a straw to save herself!--A +straw shall she find to be the refuge she has resorted to. + + + +LETTER XXV + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +TUES. MORN. TEN O'CLOCK + + +Very ill--exceedingly ill--as Dorcas tells me, in order to avoid seeing +me--and yet the dear soul may be so in her mind. But is not that +equivocation? Some one passion predominating in every human breast, +breaks through principle, and controuls us all. Mine is love and revenge +taking turns. Her's is hatred.--But this is my consolation, that hatred +appeased is love begun; or love renewed, I may rather say, if love ever +had footing here. + +But reflectioning apart, thou seest, Jack, that her plot is beginning to +work. To-morrow is to break out. + +I have been abroad, to set on foot a plot of circumvention. All fair +now, Belford! + +I insisted upon visiting my indisposed fair-one. Dorcas made officious +excuses for her. I cursed the wench in her hearing for her impertinence; +and stamped and made a clutter; which was improved into an apprehension +to the lady that I would have flung her faithful confidante from the top +of the stairs to the bottom. + +He is a violent wretch!--But, Dorcas, [dear Dorcas, now it is,] thou +shalt have a friend in me to the last day of my life. + +And what now, Jack, dost think the name of her good angel is!--Why Dorcas +Martindale, christian and super (no more Wykes) as in the promissory note +in my former--and the dear creature has bound her to her by the most +solemn obligations, besides the tie of interest. + +Whither, Madam, do you design to go when you get out of this house? + +I will throw myself into the first open house I can find; and beg +protection till I can get a coach, or a lodging in some honest family. + +What will you do for clothes, Madam? I doubt you'll be able to take any +away with you, but what you'll have on. + +O, no matter for clothes, if I can but get out of this house. + +What will you do for money, Madam? I have heard his honour express his +concern, that he could not prevail upon you to be obliged to him, though +he apprehended that you must be short of money. + +O, I have rings and other valuables. Indeed I have but four guineas, and +two of them I found lately wrapt up in a bit of lace, designed for a +charitable use. But now, alas! charity begins at home!--But I have one +dear friend left, if she be living, as I hope in God she is! to whom I +can be obliged, if I want. O Dorcas! I must ere now have heard from her, +if I had had fair play. + +Well, Madam, your's is a hard lot. I pity you at my heart! + +Thank you, Dorcas!--I am unhappy, that I did not think before, that I might +have confided in thy pity, and in thy sex! + +I pitied you, Madam, often and often: but you were always, as I thought, +diffident of me. And then I doubted not but you were married; and I +thought his honour was unkindly used by you. So that I thought it my +duty to wish well to his honour, rather than to what I thought to be your +humours, Madam. Would to Heaven that I had known before that you were +not married!--Such a lady! such a fortune! to be so sadly betrayed;---- + +Ah, Dorcas! I was basely drawn in! My youth--my ignorance of the world +--and I have some things to reproach myself with when I look back. + +Lord, Madam, what deceitful creatures are these men!--Neither oaths, nor +vows--I am sure! I am sure! [and then with her apron she gave her eyes +half a dozen hearty rubs] I may curse the time that I came into this +house! + +Here was accounting for her bold eyes! And was it not better for Dorcas +to give up a house which her lady could not think worse of than she did, +in order to gain the reputation of sincerity, than by offering to +vindicate it, to make her proffered services suspected. + +Poor Dorcas!--Bless me! how little do we, who have lived all our time in +the country, know of this wicked town! + +Had I been able to write, cried the veteran wench, I should certainly +have given some other near relations I have in Wales a little inkling of +matters; and they would have saved me from----from----from---- + +Her sobs were enough. The apprehensions of women on such subjects are +ever aforehand with speech. + +And then, sobbing on, she lifted her apron to her face again. She showed +me how. + +Poor Dorcas!--Again wiping her own charming eyes. + +All love, all compassion, is this dear creature to every one in +affliction but me. + +And would not an aunt protect her kinswoman?--Abominable wretch! + +I can't--I can't--I can't--say, my aunt was privy to it. She gave me +good advice. She knew not for a great while that I was--that I was--that +I was--ugh!--ugh!--ugh!-- + +No more, no more, good Dorcas--What a world do we live in!--What a house +am I in!--But come, don't weep, (though she herself could not forbear:) +my being betrayed into it, though to my own ruin, may be a happy event +for thee: and, if I live, it shall. + +I thank you, my good lady, blubbering. I am sorry, very sorry, you have +had so hard a lot. But it may be the saving of my soul, if I can get to +your ladyship's house. Had I but known that your ladyship was not +married, I would have eat my own flesh, before----before----before---- + +Dorcas sobbed and wept. The lady sighed and wept also. + +But now, Jack, for a serious reflection upon the premises. + +How will the good folks account for it, that Satan has such faithful +instruments, and that the bond of wickedness is a stronger bond than the +ties of virtue; as if it were the nature of the human mind to be villanous? +For here, had Dorcas been good, and been tempted as she was tempted to any +thing evil, I make no doubt but she would have yielded to the temptation. + +And cannot our fraternity in an hundred instances give proof of the like +predominance of vice over virtue? And that we have risked more to serve +and promote the interests of the former, than ever a good man did to +serve a good man or a good cause? For have we not been prodigal of life +and fortune? have we not defied the civil magistrate upon occasion? and +have we not attempted rescues, and dared all things, only to extricate a +pounded profligate? + +Whence, Jack, can this be? + +O! I have it, I believe. The vicious are as bad as they can be; and do +the Devil's work without looking after; while he is continually spreading +snares for the others; and, like a skilful angler, suiting his baits to +the fish he angles for. + +Nor let even honest people, so called, blame poor Dorcas for her fidelity +in a bad cause. For does not the general, who implicitly serves an +ambitious prince in his unjust designs upon his neighbours, or upon his +own oppressed subjects; and even the lawyer, who, for the sake of a +paltry fee, undertakes to whiten a black cause, and to defend it against +one he knows to be good, do the very same thing as Dorcas? And are they +not both every whit as culpable? Yet the one shall be dubbed a hero, the +other called an admirable fellow, and be contended for by every client, +and his double-tongued abilities shall carry him through all the high +preferments of the law with reputation and applause. + +Well, but what shall be done, since the lady is so much determined on +removing!--Is there no way to oblige her, and yet to make the very act +subservient to my other views? I fancy such a way may be found out. + +I will study for it---- + +Suppose I suffer her to make an escape? Her heart is in it. If she +effect it, the triumph she will have over me upon it will be a +counterbalance for all she has suffered. + +I will oblige her if I can. + + + +LETTER XXVI + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. + + +Tired with a succession of fatiguing days and sleepless nights, and with +contemplating the precarious situation I stand in with my beloved, I fell +into a profound reverie; which brought on sleep; and that produced a +dream; a fortunate dream; which, as I imagine, will afford my working +mind the means to effect the obliging double purpose my heart is now once +more set upon. + +What, as I have often contemplated, is the enjoyment of the finest woman +in the world, to the contrivance, the bustle, the surprises, and at last +the happy conclusion of a well-laid plot!--The charming round-abouts, to +come to the nearest way home;--the doubts; the apprehensions; the +heart-achings; the meditated triumphs--these are the joys that make the +blessing dear.--For all the rest, what is it?--What but to find an angel +in imagination dwindled down to a woman in fact?----But to my dream---- + +Methought it was about nine on Wednesday morning that a chariot, with a +dowager's arms upon the doors, and in it a grave matronly lady [not +unlike mother H. in the face; but, in her heart, Oh! how unlike!] stopped +at a grocer's shop, about ten doors on the other side of the way, in +order to buy some groceries: and methought Dorcas, having been out to see +if the coast were clear for her lady's flight, and if a coach were to be +got near the place, espied the chariot with the dowager's arms, and this +matronly lady: and what, methought, did Dorcas, that subtle traitress, +do, but whip up to the old matronly lady, and lifting up her voice, say, +Good my Lady, permit me one word with your Ladyship! + +What thou hast to say to me, say on, quoth the old lady; the grocer +retiring, and standing aloof, to give Dorcas leave to speak; who, +methought, in words like these accosted the lady: + +'You seem, Madam, to be a very good lady; and here, in this +neighbourhood, at a house of no high repute, is an innocent lady of rank +and fortune, beautiful as a May morning, and youthful as a rose-bud, and +full as sweet and lovely, who has been tricked thither by a wicked +gentleman, practised in the ways of the town, and this very night will +she be ruined if she get not out of his hands. Now, O Lady! if you will +extend your compassionate goodness to this fair young lady, in whom, the +moment you behold her, you will see cause to believe all I say, and let +her but have a place in your chariot, and remain in your protection for +one day only, till she can send a man and horse to her rich and powerful +friends, you may save from ruin a lady who has no equal for virtue as +well as beauty.' + +Methought the old lady, moved with Dorcas's story, answered and said, +'Hasten, O damsel, who in a happy moment art come to put it in my power +to serve the innocent and virtuous, which it has always been my delight +to do: hasten to this young lady, and bid her hie hither to me with all +speed; and tell her, that my chariot shall be her asylum: and if I find +all that thou sayest true, my house shall be her sanctuary, and I will +protect her from all her oppressors.' + +Hereupon, methought, this traitress Dorcas hied back to the lady, and +made report of what she had done. And, methought, the lady highly +approved of Dorcas's proceeding and blessed her for her good thought. + +And I lifted up mine eyes, and behold the lady issued out of the house, +and without looking back, ran to the chariot with the dowager's coat upon +it; and was received by the matronly lady with open arms, and 'Welcome, +welcome, welcome, fair young lady, who so well answer the description of +the faithful damsel: and I will carry you instantly to my house, where +you shall meet with all the good usage your heart can wish for, till you +can apprize your rich and powerful friends of your past dangers, and +present escape.' + +'Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, worthy, thrice worthy lady, +who afford so kindly your protection to a most unhappy young creature, +who has been basely seduced and betrayed, and brought to the very brink +of destruction.' + +Methought, then, the matronly lady, who had, by the time the young lady +came to her, bought and paid for the goods she wanted, ordered her +coachman to drive home with all speed; who stopped not till he had +arrived in a certain street not far from Lincoln's-inn-fields, where the +matronly lady lived in a sumptuous dwelling, replete with damsels who +wrought curiously in muslins, cambrics, and fine linen, and in every good +work that industrious damsels love to be employed about, except the loom +and the spinning-wheel. + +And, methought, all the way the young lady and the old lady rode, and +after they came in, till dinner was ready, the young lady filled up the +time with the dismal account of her wrongs and her sufferings, the like +of which was never heard by mortal ear; and this in so moving a manner, +that the good old lady did nothing but weep, and sigh, and sob, and +inveigh against the arts of wicked men, and against that abominable +'Squire Lovelace, who was a plotting villain, methought she said; and +more than that, an unchained Beelzebub. + +Methought I was in a dreadful agony, when I found the lady had escaped, +and in my wrath had like to have slain Dorcas, and our mother, and every +one I met. But, by some quick transition, and strange metamorphosis, +which dreams do not usually account for, methought, all of a sudden, this +matronly lady turned into the famous mother H. herself; and, being an old +acquaintance of mother Sinclair, was prevailed upon to assist in my plot +upon the young lady. + +Then, methought, followed a strange scene; for mother H. longing to hear +more of the young lady's story, and night being come, besought her to +accept of a place in her own bed, in order to have all the talk to +themselves. For, methought, two young nieces of her's had broken in upon +them, in the middle of the dismal tale. + +Accordingly, going early to bed, and the sad story being resumed, with as +great earnestness on one side as attention on the other, before the young +lady had gone far in it, mother H. methought was taken with a fit of the +colic; and her tortures increasing, was obliged to rise to get a cordial +she used to find specific in this disorder, to which she was unhappily +subject. + +Having thus risen, and stept to her closet, methought she let fall the +wax taper in her return; and then [O metamorphosis still stranger than +the former! what unaccountable things are dreams!] coming to bed again in +the dark, the young lady, to her infinite astonishment, grief, and +surprise, found mother H. turned into a young person of the other sex; +and although Lovelace was the abhorred of her soul, yet, fearing it was +some other person, it was matter of consolation to her, when she found it +was no other than himself, and that she had been still the bed-fellow of +but one and the same man. + +A strange promiscuous huddle of adventures followed, scenes perpetually +shifting; now nothing heard from the lady, but sighs, groans, +exclamations, faintings, dyings--From the gentleman, but vows, promises, +protestations, disclaimers of purposes pursued, and all the gentle and +ungentle pressures of the lover's warfare. + +Then, as quick as thought (for dreams, thou knowest confine not +themselves to the rules of the drama) ensued recoveries, lyings-in, +christenings, the smiling boy, amply, even in her own opinion, rewarding +the suffering mother. + +Then the grandfather's estate yielded up, possession taken of it: living +very happily upon it: her beloved Norton her companion; Miss Howe her +visiter; and (admirable! thrice admirable!) enabled to compare notes with +her; a charming girl, by the same father, to her friend's charming boy; +who, as they grow up, in order to consolidate their mamma's friendships, +(for neither have dreams regard to consanguinity,) intermarry; change +names by act of parliament, to enjoy my estate--and I know not what of +the like incongruous stuff. + +I awoke, as thou mayest believe, in great disorder, and rejoiced to find +my charmer in the next room, and Dorcas honest. + +Now thou wilt say this was a very odd dream. And yet, (for I am a +strange dreamer,) it is not altogether improbable that something like it +may happen; as the pretty simpleton has the weakness to confide in +Dorcas, whom till now she disliked. + +But I forgot to tell thee one part of my dream; and that was, that, the +next morning, the lady gave way to such transports of grief and +resentment, that she was with difficulty diverted from making an attempt +upon her own life. But, however, at last was prevailed upon to resolve +to live, and make the best of the matter: a letter, methought, from +Captain Tomlinson helping to pacify her, written to apprize me, that her +uncle Harlowe would certainly be at Kentish-town on Wednesday night, June +28, the following day (the 29th) being his birth-day; and be doubly +desirous, on that account, that our nuptials should be then privately +solemnized in his presence. + +But is Thursday, the 29th, her uncle's anniversary, methinks thou askest? +--It is; or else the day of celebration should have been earlier still. +Three weeks ago I heard her say it was: and I have down the birthday of +every one in the family, and the wedding-day of her father and mother. +The minutest circumstances are often of great service in matters of the +last importance. + +And what sayest thou now to my dream? + +Who says that, sleeping and waking, I have not fine helps from somebody, +some spirit rather, as thou'lt be apt to say? But no wonder that a +Beelzebub has his devilkins to attend his call. + +I can have no manner of doubt of succeeding in mother H.'s part of the +scheme; for will the lady (who resolves to throw herself into the first +house she can enter, or to bespeak the protection of the first person she +meets, and who thinks there can be no danger out of this house, equal to +what she apprehends from me in it) scruple to accept of the chariot of a +dowager, accidentally offered? and the lady's protection engaged by her +faithful Dorcas, so highly bribed to promote her escape?--And then Mrs. +H. has the air and appearance of a venerable matron, and is not such a +forbidding devil as Mrs. Sinclair. + +The pretty simpleton knows nothing in the world; nor that people who have +money never want assistants in their views, be they what they will. How +else could the princes of the earth be so implicitly served as they are, +change they hands every so often, and be their purposes ever so wicked. + +If I can but get her to go on with me till Wednesday next week, we shall +be settled together pretty quietly by that time. And indeed if she has +any gratitude, and has in her the least of her sex's foibles, she must +think I deserve her favour, by the pains she has cost me. For dearly do +they all love that men should take pains about them and for them. + +And here, for the present, I will lay down my pen, and congratulate +myself upon my happy invention (since her obstinacy puts me once more +upon exercising it.)--But with this resolution, I think, that, if the +present contrivance fail me, I will exert all the faculties of my mind, +all my talents, to procure for myself a regal right to her favour and +that in defiance of all my antipathies to the married state; and of the +suggestions of the great devil out of the house, and of his secret agents +in it.--Since, if now she is not to be prevailed upon, or drawn in, it +will be in vain to attempt her further. + + + +LETTER XXVII + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +TUESDAY NIGHT, JUNE 20. + + +No admittance yet to my charmer! she is very ill--in a violent fever, +Dorcas thinks. Yet will have no advice. + +Dorcas tells her how much I am concerned at it. + +But again let me ask, Does this lady do right to make herself ill, when +she is not ill? For my own part, libertine as people think me, when I +had occasion to be sick, I took a dose of ipecacuanha, that I might not +be guilty of a falsehood; and most heartily sick was I; as she, who +then pitied me, full well knew. But here to pretend to be very ill, +only to get an opportunity to run away, in order to avoid forgiving a +man who has offended her, how unchristian!--If good folks allow +themselves in these breaches of a known duty, and in these presumptuous +contrivances to deceive, who, Belford, shall blame us? + +I have a strange notion that the matronly lady will be certainly at the +grocer's shop at the hour of nine tomorrow morning: for Dorcas heard me +tell Mrs. Sinclair, that I should go out at eight precisely; and then +she is to try for a coach: and if the dowager's chariot should happen +to be there, how lucky will it be for my charmer! how strangely will my +dream be made out! + + +*** + + +I have just received a letter from Captain Tomlinson. Is it not +wonderful? for that was part of my dream. + +I shall always have a prodigious regard to dreams henceforward. I know +not but I may write a book upon that subject; for my own experience +will furnish out a great part of it. 'Glanville of Witches,' 'Baxter's +History of Spirits and Apparitions,' and the 'Royal Pedant's Demonology,' +will be nothing at all to Lovelace's Reveries. + +The letter is just what I dreamed it to be. I am only concerned that +uncle John's anniversary did not happen three or four days sooner; for +should any new misfortune befal my charmer, she may not be able to +support her spirits so long as till Thursday in the next week. Yet it +will give me the more time for new expedients, should my present +contrivance fail; which I cannot however suppose. + + +TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. +MONDAY, JUNE 19. + +Dear Sir, + +I can now return your joy, for the joy you have given me, as well as my +dear friend Mr. Harlowe, in the news of his beloved niece's happy +recovery; for he is determined to comply with her wishes and your's, +and to give her to you with his own hand. + +As the ceremony has been necessarily delayed by reason of her illness, +and as Mr. Harlowe's birth-day is on Thursday the 29th of this instant +June, when he enters into the seventy-fourth year of his age; and as +time may be wanted to complete the dear lady's recovery; he is very +desirous that the marriage shall be solemnized upon it; that he may +afterwards have double joy on that day to the end of his life. + +For this purpose he intends to set out privately, so as to be at +Kentish-town on Wednesday se'nnight in the evening. + +All the family used, he says, to meet to celebrate it with him; but as +they are at present in too unhappy a situation for that, he will give +out, that, not being able to bear the day at home, he has resolved to +be absent for two or three days. + +He will set out on horseback, attended only with one trusty servant, +for the greater privacy. He will be at the most creditable-looking +public house there, expecting you both next morning, if he hear nothing +from me to prevent him. And he will go to town with you after the +ceremony is performed, in the coach he supposes you will come in. + +He is very desirous that I should be present on the occasion. But this +I have promised him, at his request, that I will be up before the day, +in order to see the settlements executed, and every thing properly +prepared. + +He is very glad you have the license ready. + +He speaks very kindly of you, Mr. Lovelace; and says, that, if any of +the family stand out after he has seen the ceremony performed, he will +separate from them, and unite himself to his dear niece and her +interests. + +I owned to you, when in town last, that I took slight notice to my dear +friend of the misunderstanding between you and his niece; and that I +did this, for fear the lady should have shown any little discontent in +his presence, had I been able to prevail upon him to go up in person, +as then was doubtful. But I hope nothing of that discontent remains +now. + +My absence, when your messenger came, must excuse me for not writing by +him. + +Be pleased to make my most respectful compliments acceptable to the +admirable lady, and believe me to be + +Your most faithful and obedient servant, +ANTONY TOMLINSON. + + +*** + + +This letter I sealed, and broke open. It was brought, thou mayest +suppose, by a particular messenger; the seal such a one as the writer +need be ashamed of. I took care to inquire after the Captain's health, +in my beloved's hearing; and it is now ready to be produced as a +pacifier, according as she shall take on or resent, if the two +metamorphoses happen pursuant to my wonderful dream; as, having great +faith in dreams, I dare say they will.--I think it will not be amiss, +in changing my clothes, to have this letter of the worthy Captain lie +in my beloved's way. + + + +LETTER XXVIII + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +WEDN. NOON, JUNE 21. + + +What shall I say now!--I, who but a few hours ago had such faith in +dreams, and had proposed out of hand to begin my treatise of dreams +sleeping and dreams waking, and was pleasing myself with the dialogues +between the old matronal lady and the young lady, and with the +metamorphoses, (absolutely assured that every thing would happen as my +dream chalked it out,) shall never more depend upon those flying follies, +those illusions of a fancy depraved, and run mad. + +Thus confoundedly have matters happened. + +I went out at eight o'clock in high good humour with myself, in order +to give the sought-for opportunity to the plotting mistress and corrupted +maid; only ordering Will. to keep a good look-out for fear his lady +should mistrust my plot, or mistake a hackney-coach for the +dowager-lady's chariot. But first I sent to know how she did; and +receiving for answer, Very ill: had a very bad night: which latter was but +too probable; since this I know, that people who have plots in their heads +as seldom have as deserve good ones. + +I desired a physician might be called in; but was refused. + +I took a walk in St. James's Park, congratulating myself all the way on +my rare inventions: then, impatient, I took coach, with one of the +windows quite up, the other almost up, playing at bo-peep in every +chariot I saw pass in my way to Lincoln's-inn-fields: and when arrived +there I sent the coachman to desire any one of Mother H.'s family to +come to me to the coach-side, not doubting but I should have +intelligence of my fair fugitive there; it being then half an hour +after ten. + +A servant came, who gave me to understand that the matronly lady was +just returned by herself in the chariot. + +Frighted out of my wits, I alighted, and heard from the mother's own +mouth, that Dorcas had engaged her to protect the lady; but came to +tell her afterwards, that she had changed her mind, and would not quit +the house. + +Quite astonished, not knowing what might have happened, I ordered the +coachman to lash away to our mother's. + +Arriving here in an instant, the first word I asked, was, If the lady +was safe? + +[Mr. Lovelace here gives a very circumstantial relation of all that + passed between the Lady and Dorcas. But as he could only guess at her + motives for refusing to go off, when Dorcas told her that she had + engaged for her the protection of the dowager-lady, it is thought + proper to omit this relation, and to supply it by some memoranda of + the Lady's. But it is first necessary to account for the occasion on + which those memoranda were made. + +The reader may remember, that in the letter written to Miss Howe, on + her escape to Hampstead,* she promises to give her the particulars of + her flight at leisure. She had indeed thoughts of continuing her + account of every thing that had passed between her and Mr. Lovelace + since her last narrative letter. But the uncertainty she was in from + that time, with the execrable treatment she met with on her being + deluded back again, followed by a week's delirium, had hitherto + hindered her from prosecuting her intention. But, nevertheless, + having it still in her view to perform her promise as soon as she had + opportunity, she made minutes of every thing as it passed, in order to + help her memory:--'Which,' as she observes in one place, 'she could + less trust to since her late disorders than before.' In these + minutes, or book of memoranda, she observes, 'That having + apprehensions that Dorcas might be a traitress, she would have got + away while she was gone out to see for a coach; and actually slid down + stairs with that intent. But that, seeing Mrs. Sinclair in the entry, + (whom Dorcas had planted there while she went out,) she speeded up + again unseen.' + + +* See Vol. V. Letter XXI. + + +She then went up to the dining-room, and saw the letter of Captain + Tomlinson: on which she observes in her memorandum-book as follows:] + +'How am I puzzled now!--He might leave this letter on purpose: none of +the other papers left with it being of any consequence: What is the +alternative?--To stay, and be the wife of the vilest of men--how my +heart resists that!--To attempt to get off, and fail, ruin inevitable!-- +Dorcas may betray me!--I doubt she is still his implement!--At his going +out, he whispered her, as I saw, unobserved--in a very familiar manner +too--Never fear, Sir, with a courtesy. + +'In her agreeing to connive at my escape, she provided not for her own +safety, if I got away: yet had reason, in that case, to expect his +vengeance. And wants not forethought.--To have taken her with me, was +to be in the power of her intelligence, if a faithless creature.--Let +me, however, though I part not with my caution, keep my charity!--Can +there be any woman so vile to a woman?--O yes!--Mrs. Sinclair: her +aunt.--The Lord deliver me!--But, alas!--I have put myself out of the +course of his protection by the natural means--and am already ruined! +A father's curse likewise against me! Having made vain all my friends' +cautions and solicitudes, I must not hope for miracles in my favour! + +'If I do escape, what may become of me, a poor, helpless, deserted +creature!--Helpless from sex!--from circumstances!--Exposed to every +danger!--Lord protect me! + +'His vile man not gone with him!--Lurking hereabouts, no doubt, to +watch my steps!--I will not go away by the chariot, however.---- + +'That the chariot should come so opportunely! So like his many +opportunities!--That Dorcas should have the sudden thought!--Should +have the courage with the thought, to address a lady in behalf of an +absolute stranger to that lady! That the lady should so readily +consent! Yet the transaction between them to take up so much time, +their distance in degree considered: for, arduous as the case was, and +precious as the time, Dorcas was gone above half an hour! Yet the +chariot was said to be ready at a grocer's not many doors off! + +'Indeed some elderly ladies are talkative: and there are, no doubt, +some good people in the world.---- + +'But that it should chance to be a widow lady, who could do what she +pleased! That Dorcas should know her to be so by the lozenge! Persons +in her station are not usually so knowing, I believe, in heraldry. + +'Yet some may! for servants are fond of deriving collateral honours and +distinctions, as I may call them, from the quality, or people of rank, +whom they serve. But this sly servant not gone with him! Then this +letter of Tomlinson!---- + +'Although I am resolved never to have this wretch, yet, may I not throw +myself into my uncle's protection at Kentish-town, or Highgate, if I +cannot escape before: and so get clear of him? May not the evil I know +be less than what I may fall into, if I can avoid farther villany? +Farther villany he has not yet threatened; freely and justly as I have +treated him!--I will not go, I think. At least, unless I can send this +fellow away.*---- + + +* She tried to do this; but was prevented by the fellow's pretending to +put his ankle out, by a slip down stairs--A trick, says his contriving +master, in his omitted relation, I had taught him, on a like occasion, +at Amiens. + + +'The fellow a villain! The wench, I doubt, a vile wench. At last +concerned for her own safety. Plays off and on about a coach. + +'All my hopes of getting off at present over!--Unhappy creature! to what +farther evils art thou reserved! Oh! how my heart rises at the necessity +I must still be under to see and converse with so very vile a man!' + + + +LETTER XXIX + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON. + + +Disappointed in her meditated escape; obliged, against her will, to +meet me in the dining-room; and perhaps apprehensive of being upbraided +for her art in feigning herself ill; I expected that the dear perverse +would begin with me with spirit and indignation. But I was in hopes, +from the gentleness of her natural disposition; from the consideration +which I expected from her on her situation; from the contents of the +letter of Captain Tomlinson, which Dorcas told me she had seen; and +from the time she had had to cool and reflect since she last admitted +me to her presence, that she would not have carried it so strongly +through as she did. + +As I entered the dining-room, I congratulated her and myself upon her +sudden recovery. And would have taken her hand, with an air of +respectful tenderness; but she was resolved to begin where she left +off. + +She turned from me, drawing in her hand, with a repulsing and indignant +aspect--I meet you once more, said she, because I cannot help it. What +have you to say to me? Why am I to be thus detained against my will? + +With the utmost solemnity of speech and behaviour, I urged the ceremony. +I saw I had nothing else for it. I had a letter in my pocket I said, +[feeling for it, although I had not taken it from the table where I left +it in the same room,] the contents of which, if attended to, would make +us both happy. I had been loth to show it to her before, because I hoped +to prevail upon her to be mine sooner than the day mentioned in it. + +I felt for it in all my pockets, watching her eye mean time, which I saw +glance towards the table where it lay. + +I was uneasy that I could not find it--at last, directed again by her sly +eye, I spied it on the table at the farther end of the room. + +With joy I fetched it. Be pleased to read that letter, Madam; with an +air of satisfied assurance. + +She took it, and cast her eye over it, in such a careless way, as made it +evident, that she had read it before: and then unthankfully tossed it +into the window-seat before her. + +I urged her to bless me to-morrow, or Friday morning; at least, that she +would not render vain her uncle's journey, and kind endeavours to bring +about a reconciliation among us all. + +Among us all! repeated she, with an air equally disdainful and +incredulous. O Lovelace, thou art surely nearly allied to the grand +deceiver, in thy endeavour to suit temptations to inclinations?--But what +honour, what faith, what veracity, were it possible that I could enter +into parley with thee on this subject, (which it is not,) may I expect +from such a man as thou hast shown thyself to be? + +I was touched to the quick. A lady of your perfect character, Madam, who +has feigned herself sick, on purpose to avoid seeing the man who adored +her, should not-- + +I know what thou wouldst say, interrupted she--Twenty and twenty low +things, that my soul would have been above being guilty of, and which I +have despised myself for, have I been brought into by the infection of +thy company, and by the necessity thou hadst laid me under, of appearing +mean. But, I thank God, destitute as I am, that I am not, however, sunk +so low, as to wish to be thine. + +I, Madam, as the injurer, ought to have patience. It is for the injured +to reproach. But your uncle is not in a plot against you, it is to be +hoped. There are circumstances in the letter you cast your eyes over---- + +Again she interrupted me, Why, once more I ask you, am I detained in this +house?--Do I not see myself surrounded by wretches, who, though they wear +the habit of my sex, may yet, as far as I know, lie in wait for my +perdition? + +She would be very loth, I said, that Mrs. Sinclair and her nieces should +be called up to vindicate themselves and their house. + +Would but they kill me, let them come, and welcome, I will bless the hand +that will strike the blow! Indeed I will. + +'Tis idle, very idle, to talk of dying. Mere young-lady talk, when +controuled by those they hate. But let me beseech you, dearest creature +---- + +Beseech me nothing. Let me not be detained thus against my will!-- +Unhappy creature that I am, said she, in a kind of phrensy, wringing her +hands at the same time, and turning from me, her eyes lifted up! 'Thy +curse, O my cruel father, seems to be now in the height of its operation! +--My weakened mind is full of forebodings, that I am in the way of being +a lost creature as to both worlds! Blessed, blessed God, said she, +falling on her knees, save me, O save me, from myself and from this man!' + +I sunk down on my knees by her, excessively affecting--O that I could +recall yesterday!--Forgive me, my dearest creature, forgive what is past, +as it cannot now, but by one way, be retrieved. Forgive me only on this +condition--That my future faith and honour-- + +She interrupted me, rising--If you mean to beg of me never to seek to +avenge myself by law, or by an appeal to my relations, to my cousin +Morden in particular, when he comes to England---- + +D--n the law, rising also, [she started,] and all those to whom you talk +of appealing!--I defy both the one and the other--All I beg is YOUR +forgiveness; and that you will, on my unfeigned contrition, re-establish +me in your favour---- + +O no, no, no! lifting up her clasped hands, I never never will, never, +never can forgive you!--and it is a punishment worse than death to me, +that I am obliged to meet you, or to see you. + +This is the last time, my dearest life, that you will ever see me in this +posture, on this occasion: and again I kneeled to her. Let me hope, that +you will be mine next Thursday, your uncle's birth-day, if not before. +Would to Heaven I had never been a villain! Your indignation is not, +cannot be greater, than my remorse--and I took hold of her gown for she +was going from me. + +Be remorse thy portion!--For thine own sake, be remorse thy portion!--I +never, never will forgive thee!--I never, never will be thine!--Let me +retire!--Why kneelest thou to the wretch whom thou hast so vilely humbled? + +Say but, dearest creature, you will consider--say but you will take time +to reflect upon what the honour of both our families requires of you. I +will not rise. I will not permit you to withdraw [still holding her +gown] till you tell me you will consider.--Take this letter. Weigh well +your situation, and mine. Say you will withdraw to consider; and then I +will not presume to withold [sic] you. + +Compulsion shall do nothing with me. Though a slave, a prisoner, in +circumstance, I am no slave in my will!--Nothing will I promise thee!-- +Withheld, compelled--nothing will I promise thee! + +Noble creature! but not implacable, I hope!--Promise me but to return in +an hour! + +Nothing will I promise thee! + +Say but that you will see me again this evening! + +O that I could say--that it were in my power to say--I never will see +thee more!--Would to Heaven I never were to see thee more! + +Passionate beauty!--still holding her-- + +I speak, though with vehemence, the deliberate wish of my heart.--O that +I could avoid looking down upon thee, mean groveler, and abject as +insulting--Let me withdraw! My soul is in tumults! Let we [sic] +withdraw! + +I quitted my hold to clasp my hands together--Withdraw, O sovereign of my +fate!--Withdraw, if you will withdraw! My destiny is in your power!--It +depends upon your breath!--Your scorn but augments my love! Your +resentment is but too well founded!--But, dearest creature, return, +return, return, with a resolution to bless with pardon and peace your +faithful adorer! + +She flew from me. The angel, as soon as she found her wings, flew from +me. I, the reptile kneeler, the despicable slave, no more the proud +victor, arose; and, retiring, tried to comfort myself, that, +circumstanced as she is, destitute of friends and fortune; her uncle +moreover, who is to reconcile all so soon, (as I thank my stars she still +believes,) expected. + +O that she would forgive me!--Would she but generously forgive me, and +receive my vows at the altar, at the instant of her forgiving me, that I +might not have time to relapse into my old prejudices! By my soul, +Belford, this dear girl gives the lie to all our rakish maxims. There +must be something more than a name in virtue!--I now see that there is!-- +Once subdued, always subdued--'Tis an egregious falsehood!--But, O Jack, +she never was subdued. What have I obtained but an increase of shame and +confusion!--While her glory has been established by her sufferings! + +This one merit is, however, left me, that I have laid all her sex under +obligation to me, by putting this noble creature to trials, which, so +gloriously supported, have done honour to them all. + +However--But no more will I add--What a force have evil habits!--I will +take an airing, and try to fly from myself!--Do not thou upbraid me on my +weak fits--on my contradictory purposes--on my irresolution--and all will +be well. + + + +LETTER XXX + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +WEDNESDAY NIGHT. + + +A man is just now arrived from M. Hall, who tells me, that my Lord is in +a very dangerous way. The gout in his stomach to an extreme degree, +occasioned by drinking a great quantity of lemonade. + +A man of 8000L. a year to prefer his appetite to his health!--He deserves +to die!--But we have all of us our inordinate passions to gratify: and +they generally bring their punishment along with them--so +witnesses the nephew, as well as the uncle. + +The fellow was sent upon other business; but stretched his orders a +little, to make his court to a successor. + +I am glad I was not at M. Hall, at the time my Lord took the grateful +dose: [it was certainly grateful to him at the time:] there are people +in the world, who would have had the wickedness to say, that I had +persuaded him to drink. + +The man says, that his Lordship was so bad when he came away, that the +family began to talk of sending for me in post haste. As I know the +old peer has a good deal of cash by him, of which he seldom keeps +account, it behoves me to go down as soon as I can. But what shall I +do with this dear creature the while?--To-morrow over, I shall, perhaps, +be able to answer my own question. I am afraid she will make +me desperate. + +For here have I sent to implore her company, and am denied with scorn. + + +*** + + +I have been so happy as to receive, this moment, a third letter from +the dear correspondent Miss Howe. A little severe devil!--It would +have broken the heart of my beloved, had it fallen into her hands. I +will enclose a copy of it. Read it here. + + +TUESDAY, JUNE 20. + +MY DEAREST MISS HARLOWE, + +Again I venture to you, (almost against inclination;) and that by your +former conveyance, little as I like it. + +I know not how it is with you. It may be bad; and then it would be hard +to upbraid you, for a silence you may not be able to help. But if not, +what shall I say severe enough, that you have not answered either of my +last letters? the first* of which [and I think it imported you too much +to be silent upon it] you owned the receipt of. The other which was +delivered into your own hands,** was so pressing for the favour of a line +from you, that I am amazed I could not be obliged; and still more, that I +have not heard from you since. + + +* See Vol. V. Letter XX. +** See Vol. VI. Letter VII. + + +The fellow made so strange a story of the condition he saw you in, and +of your speech to him, that I know not what to conclude from it: only, +that he is a simple, blundering, and yet conceited fellow, who, aiming +at description, and the rustic wonderful, gives an air of bumkinly +romance to all he tells. That this is his character, you will believe, +when you are informed that he described you in grief excessive,* yet so +improved in your person and features, and so rosy, that was his word, +in your face, and so flush-coloured, and so plump in your arms, that +one would conclude you were labouring under the operation of some +malignant poison; and so much the rather, as he was introduced to you, +when you were upon a couch, from which you offered not to rise, or sit +up. + + +* See Vol. VI. Letter VI. + + +Upon my word, Miss Harlowe, I am greatly distressed upon your account; +for I must be so free as to say, that in your ready return with your +deceiver, you have not at all answered my expectations, nor acted up to +your own character; for Mrs. Townsend tells me, from the women at +Hampstead, how cheerfully you put yourself into his hands again: yet, at +the time, it was impossible you should be married!-- + +Lord, my dear, what pity it is, that you took much pains to get from +the man!--But you know best!--Sometimes I think it could not be you to +whom the rustic delivered my letter. But it must too: yet, it is strange +I could not have one line by him:--not one:--and you so soon well enough +to go with the wretch back again! + +I am not sure that the letter I am now writing will come to your hands: +so shall not say half that I have upon my mind to say. But, if you +think it worth your while to write to me, pray let me know what fine +ladies his relations those were who visited you at Hampstead, and carried +you back again so joyfully to a place that I had so fully warned you.-- +But I will say no more: at least till I know more: for I can do nothing +but wonder and stand amazed. + +Notwithstanding all the man's baseness, 'tis plain there was more than +a lurking love--Good Heaven!--But I have done!--Yet I know not how to +have done neither!--Yet I must--I will. + +Only account to me, my dear, for what I cannot at all account for: and +inform me, whether you are really married, or not.--And then I shall +know whether there must or must not, be a period shorter than that of +one of our lives, to a friendship which has hitherto been the pride and +boast of + +Your +ANNA HOWE. + + +*** + + +Dorcas tells me, that she has just now had a searching conversation, as +she calls it, with her lady. She is willing, she tells the wench, still +to place her confidence in her. Dorcas hopes she has re-assured her: but +wishes me not to depend upon it. Yet Captain Tomlinson's letter must +assuredly weigh with her. + +I sent it in just now by Dorcas, desiring her to re-peruse it. And it +was not returned me, as I feared it would be. And that's a good sign, +I think. + +I say I think, and I think; for this charming creature, entangled as I +am in my own inventions, puzzles me ten thousand times more than I her. + + + +LETTER XXXI + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +THURSDAY NOON, JUNE 22. + + +Let me perish if I know what to make either of myself or of this +surprising creature--now calm, now tempestuous.--But I know thou lovest +not anticipation any more than I. + +At my repeated requests, she met me at six this morning. + +She was ready dressed; for she had not her clothes off every since she +declared, that they never more should be off in this house. And +charmingly she looked, with all the disadvantages of a three-hours +violent stomach-ache--(for Dorcas told me that she had been really ill)-- +no rest, and eyes red and swelled with weeping. Strange to me that those +charming fountains have not been so long ago exhausted! But she is a +woman. And I believe anatomists allow, that women have more watry heads +than men. + +Well, my dearest creature, I hope you have now thoroughly considered of +the contents of Captain Tomlinson's letter. But as we are thus early +met, let me beseech you to make this my happy day. + +She looked not favourably upon me. A cloud hung upon her brow at her +entrance: but as she was going to answer me, a still greater solemnity +took possession of her charming features. + +Your air, and your countenance, my beloved creature, are not propitious +to me. Let me beg of you, before you speak, to forbear all further +recriminations: for already I have such a sense of my vileness to you, +that I know not how to bear the reproaches of my own mind. + +I have been endeavouring, said she, since I am not permitted to avoid +you, to obtain a composure which I never more expected to see you in. +How long I may enjoy it, I cannot tell. But I hope I shall be enabled +to speak to you without that vehemence which I expressed yesterday, and +could not help it.* + + +* The Lady, in her minutes, says, 'I fear Dorcas is a false one. May I +not be able to prevail upon him to leave me at my liberty? Better to +try than to trust to her. If I cannot prevail, but must meet him and +my uncle, I hope I shall have fortitude enough to renounce him then. +But I would fain avoid qualifying with the wretch, or to give him an +expectation which I intend not to answer. If I am mistress of my own +resolutions, my uncle himself shall not prevail with me to bind my soul +in covenant with so vile a man.' + + +After a pause (for I was all attention) thus she proceeded: + +It is easy for me, Mr. Lovelace, to see that further violences are +intended me, if I comply not with your purposes, whatever they are, I +will suppose them to be what you solemnly profess they are. But I have +told you as solemnly my mind, that I never will, that I never can be +your's; nor, if so, any man's upon earth. All vengeance, nevertheless, +for the wrongs you have done me, I disclaim. I want but to slide into +some obscure corner, to hide myself from you and from every one who +once loved me. The desire lately so near my heart, of a reconciliation +with my friends, is much abated. They shall not receive me now, if they +would. Sunk in mine own eyes, I now think myself unworthy of their +favour. In the anguish of my soul, therefore, I conjure you, Lovelace, +[tears in her eyes,] to leave me to my fate. In doing so, you will give +me a pleasure the highest I now can know. + +Where, my dearest life---- + +No matter where. I will leave to Providence, when I am out of this +house, the direction of my future steps. I am sensible enough of my +destitute condition. I know that I have not now a friend in the world. +Even Miss Howe has given me up--or you are--But I would fain keep my +temper!--By your means I have lost them all--and you have been a +barbarous enemy to me. You know you have. + +She paused. + +I could not speak. + +The evils I have suffered, proceeded she, [turning from me,] however +irreparable, are but temporarily evils. Leave me to my hopes of being +enabled to obtain the Divine forgiveness for the offence I have been +drawn in to give to my parents and to virtue; that so I may avoid the +evils that are more than temporary. This is now all I have to wish +for. And what is it that I demand, that I have not a right to, and +from which it is an illegal violence to withhold me? + +It was impossible for me, I told her plainly, to comply. + +I besought her to give me her hand as this very day. I could not live +without her. I communicated to her my Lord's illness, as a reason why +I wished not to stay for her uncle's anniversary. I besought her to +bless me with her consent; and, after the ceremony was passed, to +accompany me down to Berks. And thus, my dearest life, said I, will +you be freed from a house, to which you have conceived so great an +antipathy. + +This, thou wilt own, was a princely offer. And I was resolved to be as +good as my word. I thought I had killed my conscience, as I told thee, +Belford, some time ago. But conscience, I find, though it may be +temporarily stifled, cannot die, and, when it dare not speak aloud, will +whisper. And at this instant I thought I felt the revived varletess (on +but a slight retrograde motion) writhing round my pericardium like a +serpent; and in the action of a dying one, (collecting all its force into +its head,) fix its plaguy fangs into my heart. + +She hesitated, and looked down, as if irresolute. And this set my +heart up at my mouth. And, believe me, I had instantly popt in upon +me, in imagination, an old spectacled parson, with a white surplice +thrown over a black habit, [a fit emblem of the halcyon office, which, +under a benign appearance, often introduced a life of storms and +tempests,] whining and snuffling through his nose the irrevocable +ceremony. + +I hope now, my dearest life, said I, snatching her hand, and pressing +it to my lips, that your silence bodes me good. Let me, my beloved +creature, have but your tacit consent; and this moment I will step out +and engage a minister. And then I promised how much my whole future +life should be devoted to her commands, and that I would make her the +best and tenderest of husbands. + +At last, turning to me, I have told you my mind, Mr. Lovelace, said she. +Think you, that I could thus solemnly--There she stopt--I am too much in +your power, proceeded she; your prisoner, rather than a person free to +choose for myself, or to say what I will do or be. But as a testimony +that you mean me well, let me instantly quit this house; and I will then +give you such an answer in writing, as best befits my unhappy +circumstances. + +And imaginest thou, fairest, thought I, that this will go down with a +Lovelace? Thou oughtest to have known that free-livers, like ministers +of state, never part with a power put into their hands, without an +equivalent of twice the value. + +I pleaded, that if we joined hands this morning, (if not, to-morrow; if +not, on Thursday, her uncle's birth-day, and in his presence); and +afterwards, as I had proposed, set out for Berks; we should, of course, +quit this house; and, on our return to town, should have in readiness +the house I was in treaty for. + +She answered me not, but with tears and sighs; fond of believing what I +hoped I imputed her silence to the modesty of her sex. The dear +creature, (thought I,) solemnly as she began with me, is ruminating, in +a sweet suspence, how to put into fit words the gentle purposes of her +condescending heart. But, looking in her averted face with a soothing +gentleness, I plainly perceived, that it was resentment, and not +bashfulness, that was struggling in her bosom.* + + +* The Lady, in her minutes, owns the difficulty she lay under to keep +her temper in this conference. 'But when I found,' says she, 'that all +my entreaties were ineffectual, and that he was resolved to detain me, +I could no longer withhold my impatience.' + + +At last she broke silence--I have no patience, said she, to find myself +a slave, a prisoner, in a vile house--Tell me, Sir, in so many words +tell me, whether it be, or be not, your intention to permit me to quit +it?--To permit me the freedom which is my birthright as an English +subject? + +Will not the consequence of your departure hence be that I shall lose +you for ever, Madam?--And can I bear the thoughts of that? + +She flung from me--My soul disdains to hold parley with thee! were her +violent words.--But I threw myself at her feet, and took hold of her +reluctant hand, and began to imprecate, avow, to promise--But thus the +passionate beauty, interrupting me, went on: + +I am sick of thee, MAN!--One continued string of vows, oaths, and +protestations, varied only by time and place, fills thy mouth!--Why +detainest thou me? My heart rises against thee, O thou cruel implement +of my brother's causeless vengeance.--All I beg of thee is, that thou +wilt remit me the future part of my father's dreadful curse! the +temporary part, base and ungrateful as thou art! thou hast completed! + +I was speechless!--Well I might!--Her brother's implement!--James +Harlowe's implement!--Zounds, Jack! what words were these! + +I let go her struggling hand. She took two or three turns cross the +room, her whole haughty soul in her air. Then approaching me, but in +silence, turning from me, and again to me, in a milder voice--I see thy +confusion, Lovelace. Or is it thy remorse?--I have but one request to +make thee--the request so often repeated--That thou wilt this moment +permit me to quit this house. Adieu, then, let me say, for ever adieu! +And mayest thou enjoy that happiness in this world, which thou hast +robbed me of; as thou hast of every friend I have in it! + +And saying this, away she flung, leaving me in a confusion so great, that +I knew not what to think, say, or do! + +But Dorcas soon roused me--Do you know, Sir, running in hastily, that my +lady is gone down stairs! + +No, sure!--And down I flew, and found her once more at the street-door, +contending with Polly Horton to get out. + +She rushed by me into the fore parlour, and flew to the window, and +attempted once more to throw up the sash--Good people! good people! cried +she. + +I caught her in my arms, and lifted her from the window. But being +afraid of hurting the charming creature, (charming in her very rage,) +she slid through my arms on the floor.--Let me die here! let me die here! +were her words; remaining jointless and immovable, till Sally and Mrs. +Sinclair hurried in. + +She was visibly terrified at the sight of the old wretch; while I +(sincerely affected) appealed, Bear witness, Mrs. Sinclair!--bear +witness, Miss Martin!--Miss Horton!--Every one bear witness, that I +offer not violence to this beloved creature! + +She then found her feet--O house [look towards the windows, and all round +her, O house,] contrived on purpose for my ruin! said she--but let not +that woman come into my presence--not that Miss Horton neither, who would +not have dared to controul me, had she not been a base one!-- + +Hoh, Sir! Hoh, Madam! vociferated the old dragon, her armed kemboed, and +flourishing with one foot to the extent of her petticoats--What's ado +here about nothing! I never knew such work in my life, between a chicken +of a gentleman and a tiger of a lady!-- + +She was visibly affrighted: and up stairs she hastened. A bad woman is +certainly, Jack, more terrible to her own sex than even a bad man. + +I followed her up. She rushed by her own apartment into the dining-room: +no terror can make her forget her punctilio. + +To recite what passed there of invective, exclamations, threatenings, +even of her own life, on one side; of expostulations, supplications, and +sometimes menaces, on the other; would be too affecting; and, after my +particularity in like scenes, these things may as well be imagined as +expressed. + +I will therefore only mention, that, at length, I extorted a concession +from her. She had reason* to think it would have been worse for her on +the spot, if she had not made it. It was, That she would endeavour to +make herself easy till she saw what next Thursday, her uncle's birth-day, +would produce. But Oh! that it were not a sin, she passionately +exclaimed on making this poor concession, to put and end to her own life, +rather than yield to give me but that assurance! + + +* The Lady mentions, in her memorandum-book, that she had no other way, +as is apprehended, to save herself from instant dishonour, but by making +this concession. Her only hope, now, she says, if she cannot escape by +Dorcas's connivance, (whom, nevertheless she suspects,) is to find a way +to engage the protection of her uncle, and even of the civil magistrate, +on Thursday next, if necessary. 'He shall see,' says she, 'tame and +timid as he thought me, what I dare to do, to avoid so hated a +compulsion, and a man capable of a baseness so premeditatedly vile and +inhuman.' + + +This, however, shows me, that she is aware that the reluctantly-given +assurance may be fairly construed into a matrimonial expectation on my +side. And if she will now, even now, look forward, I think, from my +heart, that I will put on her livery, and wear it for life. + +What a situation am I in, with all my cursed inventions! I am puzzled, +confounded, and ashamed of myself, upon the whole. To take such pains to +be a villain!--But (for the fiftieth time) let me ask thee, Who would +have thought that there had been such a woman in the world?-- +Nevertheless, she had best take care that she carries not her obstinacy +much farther. She knows not what revenge for slighted love will make me +do. + +The busy scenes I have just passed through have given emotions to my +heart, which will not be quieted one while. My heart, I see, +(on re-perusing what I have written,) has communicated its tremors to my +fingers; and in some places the characters are so indistinct and +unformed, that thou'lt hardly be able to make them out. But if one half +of them is only intelligible, that will be enough to expose me to thy +contempt, for the wretched hand I have made of my plots and contrivances. +--But surely, Jack, I have gained some ground by this promise. + +And now, one word to the assurances thou sendest me, that thou hast not +betrayed my secrets in relation to this charming creature. Thou mightest +have spared them, Belford. My suspicions held no longer than while I +wrote about them.* For well I knew, when I allowed myself time to think, +that thou hadst no principles, no virtue, to be misled by. A great deal +of strong envy, and a little of weak pity, I knew to be thy motives. +Thou couldst not provoke my anger, and my compassion thou ever hadst; and +art now more especially entitled to it; because thou art a pityful +fellow. + +All thy new expostulations in my beloved's behalf I will answer when I +see thee. + + + +LETTER XXXII + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +THURSDAY NIGHT. + + +Confoundedly out of humour with this perverse woman!--Nor wilt thou blame +me, if thou art my friend. She regards the concession she made, as a +concession extorted from her: and we are but just where we were before +she made it. + +With great difficulty I prevailed upon her to favour me with her company +for one half hour this evening. The necessity I was under to go down to +M. Hall was the subject I wanted to talk upon. + +I told her, that as she had been so good as to promise that she would +endeavour to make herself easy till she saw the Thursday in next week +over, I hoped that she would not scruple to oblige me with her word, that +I should find her here at my return from M. Hall. + +Indeed she would make no such promise. Nothing of this house was +mentioned to me, said she: you know it was not. And do you think that I +would have given my consent to my imprisonment in it? + +I was plaguily nettled, and disappointed too. If I go not down to Mr. +Hall, Madam, you'll have no scruple to stay here, I suppose, till +Thursday is over? + +If I cannot help myself I must--but I insist upon being permitted to go +out of this house, whether you leave it or not. + +Well, Madam, then I will comply with your commands. And I will go out +this very evening in quest of lodgings that you shall have no objections +to. + +I will have no lodgings of your providing, Sir--I will go to Mrs. +Moore's, at Hampstead. + +Mrs. Moore's, Madam!--I have no objection to Mrs. Moore's--but will you +give me your promise, to admit me there to your presence? + +As I do here--when I cannot help it. + +Very well, Madam--Will you be so good as to let me know what you intend +by your promise to make yourself easy. + +To endeavour, Sir, to make myself easy--were the words---- + +Till you saw what next Thursday would produce? + +Ask me no questions that may ensnare me. I am too sincere for the +company I am in. + +Let me ask you, Madam, What meant you, when you said, 'that, were it +not a sin, you would die before you gave me that assurance?' + +She was indignantly silent. + +You thought, Madam, you had given me room to hope your pardon by it? + +When I think I ought to answer you with patience I will speak. + +Do you think yourself in my power, Madam? + +If I were not--And there she stopt---- + +Dearest creature, speak out--I beseech you, dearest creature, speak out +---- + +She was silent; her charming face all in a glow. + +Have you, Madam, any reliance upon my honour? + +Still silent. + +You hate me, Madam! You despise me more than you do the most odious of +God's creatures! + +You ought to despise me, if I did not. + +You say, Madam, you are in a bad house. You have no reliance upon my +honour--you believe you cannot avoid me---- + +She arose. I beseech you, let me withdraw. + +I snatched her hand, rising, and pressed it first to my lips, and then to +my heart, in wild disorder. She might have felt the bounding mischief +ready to burst its bars--You shall go--to your own apartment, if you +please--But, by the great God of Heaven, I will accompany you thither! + +She trembled--Pray, pray, Mr. Lovelace, don't terrify me so! + +Be seated, Madam! I beseech you, be seated!---- + +I will sit down---- + +Do then--All my soul is in my eyes, and my heart's blood throbbing at my +fingers' ends. + +I will--I will--You hurt me--Pray, Mr. Lovelace, don't--don't frighten me +so--And down she sat, trembling; my hand still grasping her's. + +I hung over her throbbing bosom, and putting my other arm round her waist +--And you say, you hate me, Madam--and you say, you despise me--and you +say, you promise me nothing---- + +Yes, yes, I did promise you--let me not be held down thus--you see I sat +down when you bid me--Why [struggling] need you hold me down thus?--I did +promise to endeavour to be easy till Thursday was over! But you won't +let me!--How can I be easy?--Pray, let me not be thus terrified. + +And what, Madam, meant you by your promise? Did you mean any thing in my +favour?--You designed that I should, at that time, think you did. Did +you mean any thing in my favour, Madam?--Did you intend that I should +think you did? + +Let go my hand, Sir--Take away your arm from about me, [struggling, yet +trembling,]--Why do you gaze upon me so? + +Answer me, Madam--Did you mean any thing in my favour by your promise? + +Let me be not thus constrained to answer. + +Then pausing, and gaining more spirit, Let me go, said she: I am but a +woman--but a weak woman. + +But my life is in my own power, though my person is not--I will not be +thus constrained. + +You shall not, Madam, quitting her hand, bowing; but my heart is at my +mouth, and hoping farther provocation. + +She arose, and was hurrying away. + +I pursue you not, Madam--I will try your generosity. Stop--return--this +moment stop, return, if, Madam, you would not make me desperate. + +She stopt at the door; burst into tears--O Lovelace!--How, how, have I +deserved---- + +Be pleased, dearest angel, to return. + +She came back--but with declared reluctance; and imputing her compliance +to terror. + +Terror, Jack, as I have heretofore found out, though I have so little +benefited by the discovery, must be my resort, if she make it necessary-- +nothing else will do with the inflexible charmer. + +She seated herself over-against me; extremely discomposed--but +indignation had a visible predominance in her features. + +I was going towards her, with a countenance intendedly changed to love +and softness: Sweetest, dearest angel, were my words, in the tenderest +accent:--But, rising up, she insisted upon my being seated at a distance +from her. + +I obeyed, and begged her hand over the table, to my extended hand; +to see, if in any thing she would oblige me. But nothing gentle, soft, +or affectionate, would do. She refused me her hand!--Was she wise, Jack, +to confirm to me, that nothing but terror would do? + +Let me only know, Madam, if your promise to endeavour to wait with +patience the event of next Thursday meant me favour? + +Do you expect any voluntary favour from one to whom you give not a free +choice? + +Do you intend, Madam, to honour me with your hand, in your uncle's +presence, or do you not? + +My heart and my hand shall never be separated. Why, think you, did I +stand in opposition to the will of my best, my natural friends. + +I know what you mean, Madam--Am I then as hateful to you as the vile +Solmes? + +Ask me not such a question, Mr. Lovelace. + +I must be answered. Am I as hateful to you as the vile Solmes? + +Why do you call Mr. Solmes vile? + +Don't you think him so, Madam? + +Why should I? Did Mr. Solmes ever do vilely by me? + +Dearest creature! don't distract me by hateful comparisons! and perhaps +by a more hateful preference. + +Don't you, Sir, put questions to me that you know I will answer truly, +though my answer were ever so much to enrage you. + +My heart, Madam, my soul is all your's at present. But you must give me +hope, that your promise, in your own construction, binds you, no new +cause to the contrary, to be mine on Thursday. How else can I leave you? + +Let me go to Hampstead; and trust to my favour. + +May I trust to it?--Say only may I trust to it? + +How will you trust to it, if you extort an answer to this question? + +Say only, dearest creature, say only, may I trust to your favour, if you +go to Hampstead? + +How dare you, Sir, if I must speak out, expect a promise of favour from +me?--What a mean creature must you think me, after the ungrateful +baseness to me, were I to give you such a promise? + +Then standing up, Thou hast made me, O vilest of men! [her hands clasped, +and a face crimsoned with indignation,] an inmate of the vilest of houses +--nevertheless, while I am in it, I shall have a heart incapable of any +thing but abhorrence of that and of thee! + +And round her looked the angel, and upon me, with fear in her sweet +aspect of the consequence of her free declaration--But what a devil must +I have been, I who love bravery in a man, had I not been more struck with +admiration of her fortitude at the instant, than stimulated by revenge? + +Noblest of creatures!--And do you think I can leave you, and my interest +in such an excellence, precarious? No promise!--no hope!--If you make me +not desperate, may lightning blast me, if I do you not all the justice +'tis in my power to do you! + +If you have any intention to oblige me, leave me at my own liberty, and +let me not be detained in this abominable house. To be constrained as I +have been constrained! to be stopt by your vile agents! to be brought up +by force, and be bruised in my own defence against such illegal violence! +--I dare to die, Lovelace--and she who fears not death, is not to be +intimidated into a meanness unworthy of her heart and principles! + +Wonderful creature! But why, Madam, did you lead me to hope for +something favourable for next Thursday?--Once more, make me not desperate +--With all your magnanimity, glorious creature! [I was more than half +frantic, Belford,] you may, you may--but do not, do not make me brutally +threaten you--do not, do not make me desperate! + +My aspect, I believe, threatened still more than my words. I was rising +--She rose--Mr. Lovelace, be pacified--you are even more dreadful than +the Lovelace I have long dreaded--let me retire--I ask your leave to +retire--you really frighten me--yet I give you no hope--from my heart I +ab---- + +Say not, Madam, you abhor me. You must, for your own sake, conceal your +hatred--at least not avow it. I seized her hand. + +Let me retire--let me, retire, said she, in a manner out of breath. + +I will only say, Madam, that I refer myself to your generosity. My heart +is not to be trusted at this instant. As a mark of my submission to your +will, you shall, if you please, withdraw--but I will not go to M. Hall-- +live or die my Lord M. I will not go to M. Hall--but will attend the +effect of your promise. Remember, Madam, you have promised to endeavour +to make yourself easy till you see the event of next Thursday--next +Thursday, remember, your uncle comes up, to see us married--that's the +event.--You think ill of your Lovelace--do not, Madam, suffer your own +morals to be degraded by the infection, as you called it, of his example. + +Away flew the charmer with this half permission--and no doubt thought that +she had an escape--nor without reason. + +I knew not for half an hour what to do with myself. Vexed at the heart, +nevertheless, (now she was from me, and when I reflected upon her hatred +of me, and her defiances,) that I suffered myself to be so overawed, +checked, restrained---- + +And now I have written thus far, (have of course recollected the whole of +our conversation,) I am more and more incensed against myself. + +But I will go down to these women--and perhaps suffer myself to be +laughed at by them. + +Devil fetch them, they pretend to know their own sex. Sally was a woman +well educated--Polly also--both have read--both have sense--of parentage +not mean--once modest both--still, they say, had been modest, but for me +--not entirely indelicate now; though too little nice for my personal +intimacy, loth as they both are to have me think so--the old one, too, a +woman of family, though thus (from bad inclination as well as at first +from low circumstances) miserably sunk:--and hence they all pretend to +remember what once they were; and vouch for the inclinations and +hypocrisy of the whole sex, and wish for nothing so ardently, as that I +will leave the perverse lady to their management while I am gone to +Berkshire; undertaking absolutely for her humility and passiveness on my +return; and continually boasting of the many perverse creatures whom they +have obliged to draw in their traces. + + +*** + + +I am just come from the sorceresses. + +I was forced to take the mother down; for she began with her Hoh, Sir! +with me; and to catechize and upbraid me, with as much insolence as if I +owed her money. + +I made her fly the pit at last. Strange wishes wished we against each +other at her quitting it----What were they?--I'll tell thee----She wished +me married, and to be jealous of my wife; and my heir-apparent the child +of another man. I was even with her with a vengeance. And yet thou wilt +think that could not well be.--As how?--As how, Jack!--Why, I wished for +her conscience come to life! And I know, by the gripes mine gives me +every half-hour, that she would then have a cursed time of it. + +Sally and Polly gave themselves high airs too. Their first favours were +thrown at me, [women to boast of those favours which they were as willing +to impart, first forms all the difficulty with them! as I to receive!] I +was upbraided with ingratitude, dastardice and all my difficulties with +my angel charged upon myself, for want of following my blows; and for +leaving the proud lady mistress of her own will, and nothing to reproach +herself with. And all agreed, that the arts used against her on a +certain occasion, had too high an operation for them or me to judge what +her will would have been in the arduous trial. And then they blamed one +another; as I cursed them all. + +They concluded, that I should certainly marry, and be a lost man. And +Sally, on this occasion, with an affected and malicious laugh, snapt her +fingers at me, and pointing two of each hand forkedly at me, bid me +remember the lines I once showed her of my favourite Jack Dryden, as she +always familiarly calls that celebrated poet: + + We women to new joys unseen may move: + There are no prints left in the paths of love. + All goods besides by public marks are known: + But those men most desire to keep, have none. + +This infernal implement had the confidence further to hint, that when a +wife, some other man would not find half the difficulty with my angel +that I had found. Confidence indeed! But yet, I must say, if a man +gives himself up to the company of these devils, they never let him rest +till he either suspects or hate his wife. + +But a word or two of other matters, if possible. + +Methinks I long to know how causes go at M. Hall. I have another private +intimation, that the old peer is in the greatest danger. + +I must go down. Yet what to do with this lady the mean while! These +cursed women are full of cruelty and enterprise. She will never be easy +with them in my absence. They will have provocation and pretence +therefore. But woe be to them, if---- + +Yet what will vengeance do, after an insult committed? The two nymphs +will have jealous rage to goad them on. And what will withhold a jealous +and already-ruined woman? + +To let her go elsewhere; that cannot be done. I am still too resolved to +be honest, if she'll give me hope: if yet she'll let me be honest. But +I'll see how she'll be after the contention she will certainly have +between her resentment and the terror she has reason for from our last +conversation. So let this subject rest till the morning. And to the old +peer once more. + +I shall have a good deal of trouble, I reckon, though no sordid man, to +be decent on the expected occasion. Then how to act (I who am no +hypocrite) in the days of condolement! What farces have I to go through; +and to be the principal actor in them! I'll try to think of my own +latter end; a gray beard, and a graceless heir; in order to make me +serious. + +Thou, Belford, knowest a good deal of this sort of grimace; and canst +help a gay heart to a little of the dismal. But then every feature of +thy face is cut out for it. My heart may be touched, perhaps, sooner +than thine; for, believe me or not, I have a very tender one. But then, +no man looking into my face, be the occasion for grief ever so great, +will believe that heart to be deeply distressed. + +All is placid, easy, serene, in my countenance. Sorrow cannot sit half +an hour together upon it. Nay, I believe, that Lord M.'s recovery, +should it happen, would not affect me above a quarter of an hour. Only +the new scenery, (and the pleasure of aping an Heraclitus to the family, +while I am a Democritus among my private friends,) or I want nothing that +the old peer can leave me. Wherefore then should grief sadden and +distort such blythe, such jocund, features as mine? + +But as for thine, were there murder committed in the street, and thou +wert but passing by, the murderer even in sight, the pursuers would +quit him, and lay hold of thee: and thy very looks would hang, as well +as apprehend thee. + +But one word to business, Jack. Whom dealest thou with for thy blacks?-- +Wert thou well used?--I shall want a plaguy parcel of them. For I intend +to make every soul of the family mourn--outside, if not in. + + + +LETTER XXXIII + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +JUNE 23, FRIDAY MORNING. + + +I went out early this morning, on a design that I know not yet whether +I shall or shall not pursue; and on my return found Simon Parsons, my +Lord's Berkshire bailiff, (just before arrived,) waiting for me with a +message in form, sent by all the family, to press me to go down, and +that at my Lord's particular desire, who wants to see me before he +dies. + +Simon has brought my Lord's chariot-and-six [perhaps my own by this +time,] to carry me down. I have ordered it to be in readiness by four +to-morrow morning. The cattle shall smoke for the delay; and by the +rest they'll have in the interim, will be better able to bear it. + +I am still resolved upon matrimony, if my fair perverse will accept of +me. But, if she will not----why then I must give an uninterrupted +hearing, not to my conscience, but to these women below. + +Dorcas had acquainted her lady with Simon's arrival and errand. My +beloved had desired to see him. But my coming in prevented his +attendance on her, just as Dorcas was instructing him what questions he +should not answer to, that might be asked of him. + +I am to be admitted to her presence immediately, at my repeated +request. Surely the acquisition in view will help me to make up all +with her. She is just gone up to the dining-room. + + +*** + + +Nothing will do, Jack!--I can procure no favour from her, though she +has obtained from me the point which she had set her heart upon. + +I will give thee a brief account of what passed between us. + +I first proposed instant marriage; and this in the most fervent manner: +but was denied as fervently. + +Would she be pleased to assure me that she would stay here only till +Tuesday morning? I would but just go down to see how my Lord was--to +know whether he had any thing particular to say, or enjoin me, while yet +he was sensible, as he was very earnest to see me: perhaps I might be up +on Sunday.--Concede in something!--I beseech you, Madam, show me some +little consideration. + +Why, Mr. Lovelace, must I be determined by your motions?--Think you that +I will voluntarily give a sanction to the imprisonment of my person? Of +what importance to me ought to be your stay or your return. + +Give a sanction to the imprisonment of your person! Do you think, Madam, +that I fear the law? + +I might have spared this foolish question of defiance: but my pride would +not let me. I thought she threatened me, Jack. + +I don't think you fear the law, Sir.--You are too brave to have any +regard either to moral or divine sanctions. + +'Tis well, Madam! But ask me any thing I can do to oblige you; and I +will oblige you, though in nothing will you oblige me. + +Then I ask you, then I request of you, to let me go to Hampstead. + +I paused--And at last--By my soul you shall--this very moment I will +wait upon you, and see you fixed there, if you'll promise me your hand +on Thursday, in presence of your uncle. + +I want not you to see me fixed. I will promise nothing. + +Take care, Madam, that you don't let me see that I can have no reliance +upon your future favour. + +I have been used to be threatened by you, Sir--but I will accept of your +company to Hampstead--I will be ready to go in a quarter of an hour--my +clothes may be sent after me. + +You know the condition, Madam--Next Thursday. + +You dare not trust---- + +My infinite demerits tell me, that I ought not--nevertheless I will +confide in your generosity.--To-morrow morning (no new cause arising to +give reason to the contrary) as early as you please you may go to +Hampstead. + +This seemed to oblige her. But yet she looked with a face of doubt. + +I will go down to the women, Belford. And having no better judges at +hand, will hear what they say upon my critical situation with this +proud beauty, who has so insolently rejected a Lovelace kneeling at her +feet, though making an earnest tender of himself for a husband, in spite +of all his prejudices to the state of shackles. + + + +LETTER XXXIV + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. + + +Just come from the women. + +'Have I gone so far, and am I afraid to go farther?--Have I not already, +as it is evident by her behaviour, sinned beyond forgiveness?--A woman's +tears used to be to me but as water sprinkled on a glowing fire, which +gives it a fiercer and brighter blaze: What defence has this lady but her +tears and her eloquence? She was before taken at no weak advantage. She +was insensible in her moments of trial. Had she been sensible, she must +have been sensible. So they say. The methods taken with her have +augmented her glory and her pride. She has now a tale to tell, that she +may tell with honour to herself. No accomplice-inclination. She can +look me into confusion, without being conscious of so much as a thought +which she need to be ashamed of.' + +This, Jack, is the substance of the women's reasonings with me. + +To which let me add, that the dear creature now sees the necessity I am +in to leave her. Detecting me is in her head. My contrivances are of +such a nature, that I must appear to be the most odious of men if I am +detected on this side matrimony. And yet I have promised, as thou seest, +that she shall set out to Hampstead as soon as she pleases in the +morning, and that without condition on her side. + +Dost thou ask, What I meant by this promise? + +No new cause arising, was the proviso on my side, thou'lt remember. +But there will be a new cause. + +Suppose Dorcas should drop the promissory note given her by her lady? +Servants, especially those who cannot read or write, are the most +careless people in the world of written papers. Suppose I take it up?-- +at a time, too, that I was determined that the dear creature should be +her own mistress?--Will not this detection be a new cause?--A cause that +will carry with it against her the appearance of ingratitude! + +That she designed it a secret to me, argues a fear of detection, and +indirectly a sense of guilt. I wanted a pretence. Can I have a better? +--If I am in a violent passion upon the detection, is not passion an +universally-allowed extenuator of violence? Is not every man and woman +obliged to excuse that fault in another, which at times they find +attended with such ungovernable effects in themselves? + +The mother and sisterhood, suppose, brought to sit in judgment upon the +vile corrupted--the least benefit that must accrue from the accidental +discovery, if not a pretence for perpetration, [which, however, may be +the case,] an excuse for renewing my orders for her detention till my +return from M. Hall, [the fault her own,] and for keeping a stricter +watch over her than before; with direction to send me any letters that +may be written by her or to her.--And when I return, the devil's in it +if I find not a way to make her choose lodgings for herself, (since +these are so hateful to her,) that shall answer all my purposes; and +yet I no more appear to direct her choice, than I did before in these. + +Thou wilt curse me when thou comest to this place. I know thou wilt. +But thinkest thou that, after such a series of contrivance, I will lose +this inimitable woman for want of a little more? A rake's a rake, Jack! +--And what rake is withheld by principle from the perpetration of any +evil his heart is set upon, and in which he thinks he can succeed?-- +Besides, am I not in earnest as to marriage?--Will not the generality of +the world acquit me, if I do marry? And what is that injury which a +church-rite will not at any time repair? Is not the catastrophe of every +story that ends in wedlock accounted happy, be the difficulties in the +progress of it ever so great. + +But here, how am I engrossed by this lady, while poor Lord M. as Simon +tells me, lies groaning in the most dreadful agonies!--What must he +suffer!--Heaven relieve him!--I have a too compassionate heart. And so +would the dear creature have found, could I have thought that the worst +of her sufferings is equal to the lightest of his. I mean as to fact; +for as to that part of her's, which arises from extreme sensibility, I +know nothing of that; and cannot therefore be answerable for it. + + + +LETTER XXXV + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. + + +Just come from my charmer. She will not suffer me to say half the +obliging, the tender things, which my honest heart is ready to overflow +with. A confounded situation that, when a man finds himself in humour +to be eloquent, and pathetic at the same time, yet cannot engage the +mistress of his fate to lend an ear to his fine speeches. + +I can account now how it comes about that lovers, when their mistresses +are cruel, run into solitude, and disburthen their minds to stocks and +stones: For am I not forced to make my complaints to thee? + +She claimed the performance of my promise, the moment she saw me, of +permitting her [haughtily she spoke the word] to go to Hampstead as soon +as I was gone to Berks. + +Most cheerfully I renewed it. + +She desired me to give orders in her hearing. + +I sent for Dorcas and Will. They came.--Do you both take notice, (but, +perhaps, Sir, I may take you with me,) that your lady is to be obeyed in +all her commands. She purposes to return to Hampstead as soon as I am +gone--My dear, will you not have a servant to attend you? + +I shall want no servant there. + +Will you take Dorcas? + +If I should want Dorcas, I can send for her. + +Dorcas could not but say, She should be very proud-- + +Well, well, that may be at my return, if your lady permit.--Shall I, my +dear, call up Mrs. Sinclair, and give her orders, to the same effect, in +your hearing? + +I desire not to see Mrs. Sinclair; nor any that belong to her. + +As you please, Madam. + +And then (the servants being withdrawn) I urged her again for the +assurance, that she would meet me at the altar on Thursday next. But to +no purpose.--May she not thank herself for all that may follow? + +One favour, however, I would not be denied, to be admitted to pass the +evening with her. + +All sweetness and obsequiousness will I be on this occasion. My whole +soul shall be poured out to move her to forgive me. If she will not, and +if the promissory note should fall in my way, my revenge will doubtless +take total possession of me. + +All the house in my interest, and every one in it not only engaging to +intimidate and assist, as occasion shall offer, but staking all their +experience upon my success, if it be not my own fault, what must be the +consequence? + +This, Jack, however, shall be her last trial; and if she behave as nobly +in and after this second attempt (all her senses about her) as she has +done after the first, she will come out an angel upon full proof, in +spite of man, woman, and devil: then shall there be an end of all her +sufferings. I will then renounce that vanquished devil, and reform. And +if any vile machination start up, presuming to mislead me, I will sooner +stab it in my heart, as it rises, than give way to it. + +A few hours will now decide all. But whatever be the event, I shall be +too busy to write again, till I get to M. Hall. + +Mean time, I am in strange agitations. I must suppress them, if +possible, before I venture into her presence.--My heart bounces my bosom +from the table. I will lay down my pen, and wholly resign to its +impulses. + + + +LETTER XXXVI + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +FRIDAY NIGHT, OR RATHER SAT. MORN. ONE O'CLOCK. + + +I thought I should not have had either time or inclination to write +another line before I got to M. Hall. But, having the first, must find +the last; since I can neither sleep, nor do any thing but write, if I can +do that. I am most confoundedly out of humour. The reason let it +follow; if it will follow--nor preparation for it from me. + +I tried by gentleness and love to soften--What?--Marble. A heart +incapable either of love or gentleness. Her past injuries for ever in +her head. Ready to receive a favour; the permission to go to +Hampstead: but neither to deserve it, nor return any. So my scheme of +the gentle kind was soon given over. + +I then wanted to provoke her: like a coward boy, who waits for the first +blow before he can persuade himself to fight, I half challenged her to +challenge or defy me. She seemed aware of her danger; and would not +directly brave my resentment: but kept such a middle course, that I +neither could find a pretence to offend, nor reason to hope: yet she +believed my tale, that her uncle would come to Kentish-town, and seemed +not to apprehend that Tomlinson was an impostor. + +She was very uneasy, upon the whole, in my company: wanted often to +break from me: yet so held me to my purpose of permitting her to go to +Hampstead, that I knew not how to get off it; although it was impossible, +in my precarious situation with her, to think of performing +it. + +In this situation; the women ready to assist; and, if I proceeded not, +as ready to ridicule me; what had I left me, but to pursue the concerted +scheme, and to seek a pretence to quarrel with her, in order to revoke my +promised permission, and to convince her that I would not be upbraided as +the most brutal of ravishers for nothing? + +I had agreed with the women, that if I could not find a pretence in her +presence to begin my operations, the note should lie in my way, and I was +to pick it up, soon after her retiring from me. But I began to doubt at +near ten o'clock, (so earnest was she to leave me, suspecting my +over-warm behaviour to her, and eager grasping of her hand two or three +times, with eye-strings, as I felt, on the strain, while her eyes showed +uneasiness and apprehension,) that if she actually retired for the night, +it might be a chance whether it would be easy to come at her again. Loth, +therefore, to run such a risk, I stept out a little after ten, with intent +to alter the preconcerted disposition a little; saying I would attend her +again instantly. But as I returned I met her at the door, intending to +withdraw for the night. I could not persuade her to go back: nor had I +presence of mind (so full of complaisance as I was to her just before) to +stay her by force: so she slid through my hands into her own apartment. I +had nothing to do, therefore, but to let my former concert take place. + +I should have promised (but care not for order of time, connection, or +any thing else) that, between eight and nine in the evening, another +servant of Lord M. on horseback came, to desire me to carry down with me +Dr. S., the old peer having been once (in extremis, as they judge he is +now) relieved and reprieved by him. I sent and engaged the doctor to +accompany me down: and am to call upon him by four this morning: or the +devil should have both my Lord and the Doctor, if I'd stir till I got all +made up. + +Poke thy damn'd nose forward into the event, if thou wilt--Curse me if +thou shalt have it till its proper time and place. And too soon then. + +She had hardly got into her chamber, but I found a little paper, as I was +going into mine, which I took up; and opening it, (for it was carefully +pinned in another paper,) what should it be but a promissory note, given +as a bribe, with a further promise of a diamond ring, to induce Dorcas to +favour her mistress's escape? + +How my temper changed in a moment!--Ring, ring, ring, ring, I my bell, +with a violence enough to break the string, and as if the house were on +fire. + +Every devil frighted into active life: the whole house in an uproar. Up +runs Will.--Sir--Sir--Sir!--Eyes goggling, mouth distended--Bid the +damn'd toad Dorcas come hither, (as I stood at the stair-head,) in a +horrible rage, and out of breath, cried I. + +In sight came the trembling devil--but standing aloof, from the report +made her by Will. of the passion I was in, as well as from what she had +heard. + +Flash came out my sword immediately; for I had it ready on--Cursed, +confounded, villanous bribery and corruption---- + +Up runs she to her lady's door, screaming out for safety and protection. + +Good your honour, interposed Will., for God's sake!--O Lord, O Lord!-- +receiving a good cuff.-- + +Take that, varlet, for saving the ungrateful wretch from my vengeance. + +Wretch! I intended to say; but if it were some other word of like +ending, passion must be my excuse. + +Up ran two or three of the sisterhood, What's the matter! What's the +matter! + +The matter! (for still my beloved opened not the door; on the contrary, +drew another bolt,) This abominable Dorcas!--(call her aunt up!--let her +see what a traitress she has placed about me!--and let her bring the toad +to answer for herself)--has taken a bribe, a provision for life, to +betray her trust; by that means to perpetuate a quarrel between a man and +his wife, and frustrate for ever all hopes of reconciliation between us! + +Let me perish, Belford, if I have patience to proceed with the farce! + + +*** + + +If I must resume, I must---- + +Up came the aunt, puffing and blowing--As she hoped for mercy, she was +not privy to it! She never knew such a plotting, perverse lady in her +life!--Well might servants be at the pass they were, when such ladies as +Mrs. Lovelace made no conscience of corrupting them. For her part she +desired no mercy for the wretch; no niece of her's, if she were not +faithful to her trust!--But what was the proof?---- + +She was shown the paper---- + +But too evident!--Cursed, cursed toad, devil, jade, passed from each +mouth:--and the vileness of the corrupted, and the unworthiness of the +corruptress, were inveighed against. + +Up we all went, passing the lady's door into the dining-room, to proceed +to trial.---- + +Stamp, stamp, stamp up, each on her heels; rave, rave, rave, every tongue +---- + +Bring up the creature before us all this instant!---- + +And would she have got out of the house, say you?-- + +These the noises and the speeches as we clattered by the door of the fair +bribress. + +Up was brought Dorcas (whimpering) between two, both bawling out--You +must go--You shall go--'Tis fit you should answer for yourself--You are a +discredit to all worthy servants--as they pulled and pushed her up +stairs.--She whining, I cannot see his honour--I cannot look so good and +so generous a gentleman in the face--O how shall I bear my aunt's +ravings?---- + +Come up, and be d--n'd--Bring her forward, her imperial judge--What a +plague, it is the detection, not the crime, that confounds you. You +could be quiet enough for days together, as I see by the date, under the +villany. Tell me, ungrateful devil, tell me who made the first advances? + +Ay, disgrace to my family and blood, cried the old one--tell his honour-- +tell the truth!--Who made the first advances?---- + +Ay, cursed creature, cried Sally, who made the first advances? + +I have betrayed one trust already!--O let me not betray another!--My lady +is a good lady!--O let not her suffer!-- + +Tell all you know. Tell the whole truth, Dorcas, cried Polly Horton.-- +His honour loves his lady too well to make her suffer much: little as she +requites his love!---- + +Every body sees that, cried Sally--too well, indeed, for his honour, I +was going to say. + +Till now, I thought she deserved my love--But to bribe a servant thus, +who she supposed had orders to watch her steps, for fear of another +elopement; and to impute that precaution to me as a crime!--Yet I must +love her--Ladies, forgive my weakness!---- + +Curse upon my grimaces!--if I have patience to repeat them!--But thou +shalt have it all--thou canst not despise me more than I despise myself! + + +*** + + +But suppose, Sir, said Sally, you have my lady and the wench face to +face! You see she cares not to confess. + +O my carelessness! cried Dorcas--Don't let my poor lady suffer!--Indeed, +if you all knew what I know, you would say her ladyship has been cruelly +treated-- + +See, see, see, see!--repeatedly, every one at once--Only sorry for the +detection, as your honour said--not for the fault. + +Cursed creature, and devilish creature, from every mouth. + +Your lady won't, she dare not come out to save you, cried Sally; though +it is more his honour's mercy, than your desert, if he does not cut your +vile throat this instant. + +Say, repeated Polly, was it your lady that made the first advances, or +was it you, you creature---- + +If the lady had so much honour, bawled the mother, excuse me, so--Excuse +me, Sir, [confound the old wretch! she had like to have said son!]--If +the lady has so much honour, as we have supposed, she will appear to +vindicate a poor servant, misled, as she has been, by such large +promises!--But I hope, Sir, you will do them both justice: I hope you +will!--Good lack!--Good lack! clapping her hands together, to grant her +every thing she could ask--to indulge her in her unworthy hatred to my +poor innocent house!--to let her go to Hampstead, though your honour told +us, you could get no condescension from her; no, not the least--O Sir, O +Sir--I hope--I hope--if your lady will not come out--I hope you will find +a way to hear this cause in her presence. I value not my doors on such +an occasion as this. Justice I ever loved. I desire you will come to +the bottom of it in clearance to me. I'll be sworn I had no privity in +this black corruption. + +Just then we heard the lady's door, unbar, unlock, unbolt---- + +Now, Sir! + +Now, Mr. Lovelace! + +Now, Sir! from every encouraging mouth!---- + +But, O Jack! Jack! Jack! I can write no more! + + +*** + + +If you must have it all, you must! + +Now, Belford, see us all sitting in judgment, resolved to punish the fair +bribress--I, and the mother, the hitherto dreaded mother, the nieces +Sally, Polly, the traitress Dorcas, and Mabell, a guard, as it were, over +Dorcas, that she might not run away, and hide herself:--all +pre-determined, and of necessity pre-determined, from the journey I was +going to take, and my precarious situation with her--and hear her unbolt, +unlock, unbar, the door; then, as it proved afterwards, put the key into +the lock on the outside, lock the door, and put it in her pocket--Will. I +knew, below, who would give me notice, if, while we were all above, she +should mistake her way, and go down stairs, instead of coming into the +dining-room: the street-door also doubly secured, and every shutter to the +windows round the house fastened, that no noise or screaming should be +heard--[such was the brutal preparation]--and then hear her step towards +us, and instantly see her enter among us, confiding in her own innocence; +and with a majesty in her person and manner, that is natural to her; but +which then shone out in all its glory!--Every tongue silent, every eye +awed, every heart quaking, mine, in a particular manner sunk, throbless, +and twice below its usual region, to once at my throat:--a shameful +recreant:--She silent too, looking round her, first on me; then on the +mother, no longer fearing her; then on Sally, Polly, and the culprit +Dorcas!--such the glorious power of innocence exerted at that awful +moment! + +She would have spoken, but could not, looking down my guilt into +confusion. A mouse might have been heard passing over the floor: her own +light feet and rustling silks could not have prevented it; for she seemed +to tread air, and to be all soul. She passed backwards and forwards, now +towards me, now towards the door several times, before speech could get +the better of indignation; and at last, after twice or thrice hemming to +recover her articulate voice--'O thou contemptible and abandoned +Lovelace, thinkest thou that I see not through this poor villanous plot +of thine, and of these thy wicked accomplices? + +'Thou, woman, [looking at the mother] once my terror! always my dislike! +but now my detestation! shouldst once more (for thine perhaps was the +preparation) have provided for me intoxicating potions, to rob me of my +senses---- + +'And then, thus, wretch, [turning to me,] mightest thou more securely +have depended upon such a low contrivance as this! + +'And ye, vile women, who perhaps have been the ruin, body and soul, of +hundreds of innocents, (you show me how, in full assembly,) know, that I +am not married--ruined as I am, by your help, I bless God, I am not +married to this miscreant--and I have friends that will demand my honour +at your hands!--and to whose authority I will apply; for none has this +man over me. Look to it then, what farther insults you offer me, or +incite him to offer me. I am a person, though thus vilely betrayed, of +rank and fortune. I never will be his; and, to your utter ruin, will +find friends to pursue you: and now I have this full proof of your +detestable wickedness, and have heard your base incitements, will have +no mercy upon you!' + +They could not laugh at the poor figure I made.--Lord! how every devil, +conscience-shaken, trembled!-- + +What a dejection must ever fall to the lot of guilt, were it given to +innocence always thus to exert itself! + +'And as for thee, thou vile Dorcas! Thou double deceiver!--whining out +thy pretended love for me!--Begone, wretch!--Nobody will hurt thee!-- +Begone, I say!--thou has too well acted thy part to be blamed by any here +but myself--thou art safe: thy guilt is thy security in such a house as +this!--thy shameful, thy poor part, thou hast as well acted as the low +farce could give thee to act!--as well as they each of them (thy +superiors, though not thy betters), thou seest, can act theirs.--Steal +away into darkness! No inquiry after this will be made, whose the first +advances, thine or mine.' + +And, as I hope to live, the wench, confoundedly frightened, slunk away; +so did her sentinel Mabell; though I, endeavouring to rally, cried out +for Dorcas to stay--but I believe the devil could not have stopt her, +when an angel bid her begone. + +Madam, said I, let me tell you; and was advancing towards her with a +fierce aspect, most cursedly vexed, and ashamed too---- + +But she turned to me: 'Stop where thou art, O vilest and most abandoned +of men!--Stop where thou art!--nor, with that determined face, offer to +touch me, if thou wouldst not that I should be a corps at thy feet!' + +To my astonishment, she held forth a penknife in her hand, the point to +her own bosom, grasping resolutely the whole handle, so that there was no +offering to take it from her. + +'I offer not mischief to any body but myself. You, Sir, and ye women, +are safe from every violence of mine. The LAW shall be all my resource: +the LAW,' and she spoke the word with emphasis, the LAW! that to such +people carries natural terror with it, and now struck a panic into them. + +No wonder, since those who will damn themselves to procure ease and +plenty in this world, will tremble at every thing that seems to threaten +their methods of obtaining that ease and plenty.---- + +'The LAW only shall be my refuge!'---- + +The infamous mother whispered me, that it were better to make terms with +this strange lady, and let her go. + +Sally, notwithstanding all her impudent bravery at other times, said, If +Mr. Lovelace had told them what was not true, of her being his wife---- + +And Polly Horton, That she must needs say, the lady, if she were not my +wife, had been very much injured; that was all. + +That is not now a matter to be disputed, cried I: you and I know, Madam +---- + +'We do, said she; and I thank God, I am not thine--once more I thank God +for it--I have no doubt of the farther baseness that thou hast intended +me, by this vile and low trick: but I have my SENSES, Lovelace: and from +my heart I despise thee, thou very poor Lovelace!--How canst thou stand +in my presence!--Thou, that'---- + +Madam, Madam, Madam--these are insults not to be borne--and was +approaching her. + +She withdrew to the door, and set her back against it, holding the +pointed knife to her heaving bosom; while the women held me, beseeching +me not to provoke the violent lady--for their house sake, and be curs'd +to them, they besought me--and all three hung upon me--while the truly +heroic lady braved me at that distance: + +'Approach me, Lovelace, with resentment, if thou wilt. I dare die. It +is in defence of my honour. God will be merciful to my poor soul! I +expect no more mercy from thee! I have gained this distance, and two +steps nearer me, and thou shalt see what I dare do!'---- + +Leave me, women, to myself, and to my angel!--[They retired at a +distance.]--O my beloved creature, how you terrify me! Holding out my +arms, and kneeling on one knee--not a step, not a step farther, except to +receive my death at that injured hand which is thus held up against a +life far dearer to me than my own! I am a villain! the blackest of +villains!--Say you will sheath your knife in the injurer's, not the +injured's heart, and then will I indeed approach you, but not else. + +The mother twanged her d--n'd nose; and Sally and Polly pulled out their +handkerchiefs, and turned from us. They never in their lives, they told +me afterwards, beheld such a scene---- + +Innocence so triumphant: villany so debased, they must mean! + +Unawares to myself, I had moved onward to my angel--'And dost thou, dost +thou, still disclaiming, still advancing--dost thou, dost thou, still +insidiously move towards me?'--[And her hand was extended] 'I dare--I +dare--not rashly neither--my heart from principle abhors the act, which +thou makest necessary!--God, in thy mercy! [lifting up her eyes and +hands] God, in thy mercy!' + +I threw myself to the farther end of the room. An ejaculation, a silent +ejaculation, employing her thoughts that moment; Polly says the whites of +her lovely eyes were only visible: and, in the instant that she extended +her hand, assuredly to strike the fatal blow, [how the very recital +terrifies me!] she cast her eye towards me, and saw me at the utmost +distance the room would allow, and heard my broken voice--my voice was +utterly broken; nor knew I what I said, or whether to the purpose or not +--and her charming cheeks, that were all in a glow before, turned pale, +as if terrified at her own purpose; and lifting up her eyes--'Thank God! +--thank God! said the angel--delivered for the present; for the present +delivered--from myself--keep, Sir, that distance;' [looking down towards +me, who was prostrate on the floor, my heart pierced, as with an hundred +daggers;] 'that distance has saved a life; to what reserved, the Almighty +only knows!'-- + +To be happy, Madam; and to make happy!--And, O let me hope for your +favour for to-morrow--I will put off my journey till then--and may God-- + +Swear not, Sir!--with an awful and piercing aspect--you have too often +sworn!--God's eye is upon us!--His more immediate eye; and looked wildly. +--But the women looked up to the ceiling, as if afraid of God's eye, and +trembled. And well they might, and I too, who so very lately had each of +us the devil in our hearts. + +If not to-morrow, Madam, say but next Thursday, your uncle's birth-day; +say but next Thursday! + +'This I say, of this you may assure yourself, I never, never will be +your's.--And let me hope, that I may be entitled to the performance of +your promise, to be permitted to leave this innocent house, as one called +it, (but long have my ears been accustomed to such inversions of words), +as soon as the day breaks.' + +Did my perdition depend upon it, that you cannot, Madam, but upon terms. +And I hope you will not terrify me--still dreading the accursed knife. + +'Nothing less than an attempt upon my honour shall make me desperate. I +have no view but to defend my honour: with such a view only I entered +into treaty with your infamous agent below. The resolution you have +seen, I trust, God will give me again, upon the same occasion. But for a +less, I wish not for it.--Only take notice, women, that I am no wife of +this man: basely as he has used me, I am not his wife. He has no +authority over me. If he go away by-and-by, and you act by his authority +to detain me, look to it.' + +Then, taking one of the lights, she turned from us; and away she went, +unmolested.--Not a soul was able to molest her. + +Mabell saw her, tremblingly, and in a hurry, take the key of her +chamber-door out of her pocket, and unlock it; and, as soon as she +entered, heard her double-lock, bar, and bolt it. + +By her taking out her key, when she came out of her chamber to us, she no +doubt suspected my design: which was, to have carried her in my arms +thither, if she made such force necessary, after I had intimidated her; and +to have been her companion for that night. + +She was to have had several bedchamber-women to assist to undress her +upon occasion: but from the moment she entered the dining-room with so +much intrepidity, it was absolutely impossible to think of prosecuting my +villanous designs against her. + + +*** + + +This, this, Belford, was the hand I made of a contrivance from which I +expected so much!--And now I am ten times worse off than before. + +Thou never sawest people in thy life look so like fools upon one another, +as the mother, her partners, and I, did, for a few minutes. And at last, +the two devilish nymphs broke out into insulting ridicule upon me; while +the old wretch was concerned for her house, the reputation of her house. +I cursed them all together; and, retiring to my chamber, locked myself +in. + +And now it is time to set out: all I have gained, detection, disgrace, +fresh guilt by repeated perjuries, and to be despised by her I doat upon; +and, what is still worse to a proud heart, by myself. + +Success, success in projects, is every thing. What an admirable +contriver did I think myself till now! Even for this scheme among the +rest! But how pitifully foolish does it now appear to me!--Scratch out, +erase, never to be read, every part of my preceding letters, where I have +boastingly mentioned it. And never presume to rally me upon the cursed +subject: for I cannot bear it. + +But for the lady, by my soul, I love her. I admire her more than ever! +I must have her. I will have her still--with honour or without, as I +have often vowed. My cursed fright at her accidental bloody nose, so +lately, put her upon improving upon me thus. Had she threatened ME, I +should have soon been master of one arm, and in both! But for so sincere +a virtue to threaten herself, and not to offer to intimidate any other, +and with so much presence of mind, as to distinguish, in the very +passionate intention, the necessity of the act, defence of her honour, +and so fairly to disavow lesser occasions: showed such a deliberation, +such a choice, such a principle; and then keeping me so watchfully at a +distance that I could not seize her hand, so soon as she could have given +the fatal blow; how impossible not to be subdued by so true and so +discreet a magnanimity! + +But she is not gone. She shall not go. I will press her with letters +for the Thursday. She shall yet be mine, legally mine. For, as to +cohabitation, there is no such thing to be thought of. + +The Captain shall give her away, as proxy for her uncle. My Lord will +die. My fortune will help my will, and set me above every thing and +every body. + +But here is the curse--she despises me, Jack!--What man, as I have +heretofore said, can bear to be despised--especially by his wife!--O +Lord!--O Lord! What a hand, what a cursed hand, have I made of this +plot!--And here ends + +The history of the lady and the penknife!--The devil take the penknife! +--It goes against me to say, + +God bless the lady! + +NEAR 5, SAT. MORN. + + + +LETTER XXXVII + +MR. LOVELACE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE +[SUPERSCRIBED TO MRS. LOVELACE.] +M. HALL, SAT. NIGHT, JUNE 24. + + +MY DEAREST LIFE, + +If you do not impute to live, and to terror raised by love, the poor +figure I made before you last night, you will not do me justice. I +thought I would try to the very last moment, if, by complying with you in +every thing, I could prevail upon you to promise to be mine on Thursday +next, since you refused me an earlier day. Could I have been so happy, +you had not been hindered going to Hampstead, or wherever else you +pleased. But when I could not prevail upon you to give me this +assurance, what room had I, (my demerit so great,) to suppose, that your +going thither would not be to lose you for ever? + +I will own to you, Madam, that yesterday afternoon I picked up the paper +dropt by Dorcas; who has confessed that she would have assisted you in +getting away, if she had had opportunity so to do; and undoubtedly +dropped it by accident. And could I have prevailed upon you as to +Thursday next, I would have made no use of it; secure as I should have +been in your word given, to be mine. But when I found you inflexible, +I was resolved to try, if, by resenting Dorcas's treachery, I could not +make your pardon of me the condition of mine to her: and if not, to make +a handle of it to revoke my consent to your going away from Mrs. +Sinclair's; since the consequence of that must have been so fatal to me. + +So far, indeed, was my proceeding low and artful: and when I was +challenged with it, as such, in so high and noble a manner, I could not +avoid taking shame to myself upon it. + +But you must permit me, Madam, to hope, that you will not punish me too +heavily for so poor a contrivance, since no dishonour was meant you: and +since, in the moment of its execution, you had as great an instance of my +incapacity to defend a wrong, a low measure, and, at the same time, in +your power over me, as mortal man could give--in a word, since you must +have seen, that I was absolutely under the controul both of conscience +and of love. + +I will not offer to defend myself, for wishing you to remain where you +are, till either you give me your word to meet me at the altar on +Thursday; or till I have the honour of attending you, preparative to the +solemnity which will make that day the happiest of my life. + +I am but too sensible, that this kind of treatment may appear to you with +the face of an arbitrary and illegal imposition: but as the consequences, +not only to ourselves, but to both our families, may be fatal, if you +cannot be moved in my favour; let me beseech you to forgive this act of +compulsion, on the score of the necessity you your dear self have laid me +under to be guilty of it; and to permit the solemnity of next Thursday to +include an act of oblivion for all past offences. + +The orders I have given to the people of the house are: 'That you shall +be obeyed in every particular that is consistent with my expectations of +finding you there on my return on Wednesday next: that Mrs. Sinclair and +her nieces, having incurred your just displeasure, shall not, without +your orders, come into your presence: that neither shall Dorcas, till she +has fully cleared her conduct to your satisfaction, be permitted to +attend you: but Mabell, in her place; of whom you seemed some time ago to +express some liking. Will. I have left behind me to attend your +commands. If he be either negligent or impertinent, your dismission +shall be a dismission of him from my service for ever. But, as to +letters which may be sent you, or any which you may have to send, I must +humbly entreat, that none such pass from or to you, for the few days that +I shall be absent.' But I do assure you, madam, that the seals of both +sorts shall be sacred: and the letters, if such be sent, shall be given +into your own hands the moment the ceremony is performed, or before, if +you require it. + +Mean time I will inquire, and send you word, how Miss Howe does; and to +what, if I can be informed, her long silence is owing. + +Dr. Perkins I found here, attending my Lord, when I arrived with Dr. S. +He acquaints me that your father, mother, uncles, and the still less +worthy persons of your family, are well; and intend to be all at your +uncle Harlowe's next week; I presume, with intent to keep his +anniversary. This can make no alteration, but a happy one, as to +persons, on Thursday; because Mr. Tomlinson assured me, that if any thing +fell out to hinder your uncle's coming up in person, (which, however, he +did not then expect,) he would be satisfied if his friend the Captain +were proxy for him. I shall send a man and horse to-morrow to the +Captain, to be at greater certainty. + +I send this by a special messenger, who will wait your pleasure in +relation to the impatiently-wished-for Thursday: which I humbly hope will +be signified by a line. + +My Lord, though hardly sensible, and unmindful of every thing but of your +felicity, desires his most affectionate compliments to you. He has in +readiness to present to you a very valuable set of jewels, which he hopes +will be acceptable, whether he lives to see you adorn them or not. + +Lady Sarah and Lady Betty have also their tokens of respect ready to +court your acceptance: but may Heaven incline you to give the opportunity +of receiving their personal compliments, and those of my cousins +Montague, before the next week be out! + +His Lordship is exceeding ill. Dr. S. has no hopes of him. The only +consolation I can have for the death of a relation who loves me so well, +if he do die, must arise from the additional power it will put into my +hands of showing how much I am, + +My dearest life, +Your ever-affectionate, faithful, +LOVELACE. + + + +LETTER XXXVIII + +MR. LOVELACE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE +[SUPERSCRIBED TO MRS. LOVELACE.] +M. HALL, SUNDAY NIGHT, JUNE 25. + + +MY DEAREST LOVE, + +I cannot find words to express how much I am mortified at the return of +my messenger without a line from you. + +Thursday is so near, that I will send messenger after messenger every +four hours, till I have a favourable answer; the one to meet the other, +till its eve arrives, to know if I may venture to appear in your presence +with the hope of having my wishes answered on that day. + +Your love, Madam, I neither expect, nor ask for; nor will, till my future +behaviour gives you cause to think I deserve it. All I at present +presume to wish is, to have it in my power to do you all the justice I +can now do you: and to your generosity will I leave it, to reward me, as +I shall merit, with your affection. + +At present, revolving my poor behaviour of Friday night before you, I +think I should sooner choose to go to my last audit, unprepared for it as +I am, than to appear in your presence, unless you give me some hope, that +I shall be received as your elected husband, rather than, (however +deserved,) as a detested criminal. + +Let me, therefore, propose an expedient, in order to spare my own +confusion; and to spare you the necessity for that soul-harrowing +recrimination, which I cannot stand, and which must be disagreeable to +yourself--to name the church, and I will have every thing in readiness; +so that our next interview will be, in a manner, at the very altar; and +then you will have the kind husband to forgive for the faults of the +ungrateful lover. If your resentment be still too high to write more, +let it only be in your own dear hand, these words, St. Martin's church, +Thursday--or these, St. Giles's church, Thursday; nor will I insist upon +any inscription or subscription, or so much as the initials of your name. +This shall be all the favour I will expect, till the dear hand itself is +given to mine, in presence of that Being whom I invoke as a witness of +the inviolable faith and honour of + +Your adoring +LOVELACE. + + + +LETTER XXXIX + +MR. LOVELACE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE +[SUPERSCRIBED TO MRS. LOVELACE.] +M. HALL, MONDAY, JUNE 26. + + +Once more, my dearest love, do I conjure you to send me the four +requested words. There is no time to be lost. And I would not have next +Thursday go over, without being entitled to call you mine, for the world; +and that as well for your sake as for my own. Hitherto all that has +passed is between you and me only; but, after Thursday, if my wishes are +unanswered, the whole will be before the world. + +My Lord is extremely ill, and endures not to have me out of his sight for +one half hour. But this shall not have the least weight with me, if you +be pleased to hold out the olive-branch to me in the four requested +words. + +I have the following intelligence from Captain Tomlinson. + +'All your family are at your uncle Harlowe's. Your uncle finds he cannot +go up; and names Captain Tomlinson for his proxy. He proposes to keep +all your family with him till the Captain assures him that the ceremony +is over. + +'Already he has begun, with hope of success, to try to reconcile your +mother to you.' + +My Lord M. but just now has told me how happy he should think himself to +have an opportunity, before he dies, to salute you as his niece. I have +put him in hopes that he shall see you; and have told him that I will go +to town on Wednesday, in order to prevail upon you to accompany me down +on Thursday or Friday. I have ordered a set to be in readiness to carry +me up; and, were not my Lord so very ill, my cousin Montague tells me +that she would offer her attendance on you. If you please, therefore, we +can set out for this place the moment the solemnity is performed. + +Do not, dearest creature, dissipate all those promising appearances, and +by refusing to save your own and your family's reputation in the eye of +the world, use yourself worse than the ungratefullest wretch on earth has +used you. For if we were married, all the disgrace you imagine you have +suffered while a single lady, will be my own, and only known to +ourselves. + +Once more, then, consider well the situation we are both in; and +remember, my dearest life, that Thursday will be soon here; and that you +have no time to lose. + +In a letter sent by the messenger whom I dispatch with this, I have +desired that my friend, Mr. Belford, who is your very great admirer, and +who knows all the secrets of my heart, will wait upon you, to know what I +am to depend upon as to the chosen day. + +Surely, my dear, you never could, at any time, suffer half so much from +cruel suspense, as I do. + +If I have not an answer to this, either from your own goodness, or +through Mr. Belford's intercession, it will be too late for me to set +out: and Captain Tomlinson will be disappointed, who goes to town on +purpose to attend your pleasure. + +One motive for the gentle resistance I have presumed to lay you under is, +to prevent the mischiefs that might ensue (as probably to the more +innocent, as to the less) were you to write to any body while your +passions were so much raised and inflamed against me. Having apprized +you of my direction to the women in town on this head, I wonder you +should have endeavoured to send a letter to Miss Howe, although in a +cover directed to that young lady's* servant; as you must think it would +be likely to fall into my hands. + + +* The lady had made an attempt to send away a letter. + + +The just sense of what I have deserved the contents should be, leaves me +no room to doubt what they are. Nevertheless, I return it you enclosed, +with the seal, as you will see, unbroken. + +Relieve, I beseech you, dearest Madam, by the four requested words, or by +Mr. Belford, the anxiety of + +Your ever-affectionate and obliged +LOVELACE. + +Remember, there will not, there cannot be time for further writing, and +for coming up by Thursday, your uncle's birth-day. + + + +LETTER XL + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +MONDAY, JUNE 26. + + +Thou wilt see the situation I am in with Miss Harlowe by the enclosed +copies of three letters; to two of which I am so much scorned as not to +have one word given me in answer; and of the third (now sent by the +messenger who brings thee this) I am afraid as little notice will be +taken--and if so, her day of grace is absolutely over. + +One would imagine (so long used to constraint too as she has been) that +she might have been satisfied with the triumph she had over us all on +Friday night! a triumph that to this hour has sunk my pride and my vanity +so much, that I almost hate the words, plot, contrivance, scheme; and +shall mistrust myself in future for every one that rises to my inventive +head. + +But seest thou not that I am under a necessity to continue her at +Sinclair's and to prohibit all her correspondencies? + +Now, Belford, as I really, in my present mood, think of nothing less +than marrying her, if she let not Thursday slip, I would have thee attend +her, in pursuance of the intimation I have given her in my letter of this +date; and vow for me, swear for me, bind thy soul to her for my honour, +and use what arguments thy friendly heart can suggest, in order to +procure me an answer from her; which, as thou wilt see, she may give in +four words only. And then I purpose to leave Lord M. (dangerously ill as +he is,) and meet her at her appointed church, in order to solemnize. If +she will but sign Cl. H. to thy writing the four words, that shall do: +for I would not come up to be made a fool of in the face of all my family +and friends. + +If she should let the day go off, I shall be desperate. I am entangled +in my own devices, and cannot bear that she should detect me. + +O that I had been honest!--What a devil are all my plots come to! What +do they end in, but one grand plot upon myself, and a title to eternal +infamy and disgrace! But, depending on thy friendly offices, I will say +no more of this.--Let her send me but one line!--But one line!--To treat +me as unworthy of her notice;--yet be altogether in my power--I cannot--I +will not bear that. + +My Lord, as I said, is extremely ill. The doctors give him over. He +gives himself over. Those who would not have him die, are afraid he will +die. But as to myself, I am doubtful: for these long and violent +struggles between the constitution and the disease (though the latter has +three physicians and an apothecary to help it forward, and all three, as +to their prescriptions, of different opinions too) indicate a plaguy +habit, and savour more of recovery than death: and the more so, as he has +no sharp or acute mental organs to whet out his bodily ones, and to raise +his fever above the sympathetic helpful one. + +Thou wilt see in the enclosed what pains I am at to dispatch messengers; +who are constantly on the road to meet each other, and one of them to +link in the chain with the fourth, whose station is in London, and five +miles onwards, or till met. But in truth I have some other matters for +them to perform at the same time, with my Lord's banker and his lawyer; +which will enable me, if his Lordship is so good as to die this bout, to +be an over match for some of my other relations. I don't mean Charlotte +and Patty; for they are noble girls: but others, who have been scratching +and clawing under-ground like so many moles in my absence; and whose +workings I have discovered since I have been down, by the little heaps of +dirt they have thrown up. + +A speedy account of thy commission, dear Jack! The letter travels all +night. + + + +LETTER XLI + +MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. +LONDON, JUNE 27. TUESDAY. + + +You must excuse me, Lovelace, from engaging in the office you would have +me undertake, till I can be better assured you really intend honourably +at last by this much-injured lady. + +I believe you know your friend Belford too well to think he would be easy +with you, or with any man alive, who should seek to make him promise for +him what he never intended to perform. And let me tell thee, that I have +not much confidence in the honour of a man, why by imitation of hands (I +will only call it) has shown so little regard to the honour of his own +relations. + +Only that thou hast such jesuitical qualifyings, or I should think thee +at last touched with remorse, and brought within view of being ashamed +of thy cursed inventions by the ill success of thy last: which I heartily +congratulate thee upon. + +O the divine lady!--But I will not aggravate! + +Nevertheless, when thou writest that, in thy present mood, thou thinkest +of marrying, and yet canst so easily change thy mood; when I know thy +heart is against the state: that the four words thou courtest from the +lady are as much to thy purpose, as if she wrote forty; since it will +show she can forgive the highest injury that can be offered to woman; and +when I recollect how easily thou canst find excuses to postpone; thou +must be more explicit a good deal, as to thy real intentions, and future +honour, than thou art: for I cannot trust to temporary remorse; which +brought on by disappointment too, and not by principle, and the like of +which thou hast so often got over. + +If thou canst convince me time enough for the day, that thou meanest to +do honourably by her, in her own sense of the word; or, if not time +enough, wilt fix some other day, (which thou oughtest to leave to her +option, and not bind her down for the Thursday; and the rather, as thy +pretence for so doing is founded on an absolute fiction;) I will then +most cheerfully undertake thy cause; by person, if she will admit me to +her presence; if she will not, by pen. But, in this case, thou must +allow me to be guarantee for thy family. And, if so, so much as I value +thee, and respect thy skill in all the qualifications of a gentleman, +thou mayest depend upon it, that I will act up to the character of a +guarantee, with more honour than the princes of our day usually do----to +their shame be it spoken. + +Mean time let me tell thee, that my heart bleeds for the wrong this +angelic lady has received: and if thou dost not marry her, if she will +have thee, and, when married, make her the best and tenderest of +husbands, I would rather be a dog, a monkey, a bear, a viper, or a toad, +than thee. + +Command me with honour, and thou shalt find none readier to oblige thee +than + +Thy sincere friend, +JOHN BELFORD. + + + +LETTER XLII + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +M. HALL, JUNE 27. TUESDAY NIGHT, NEAR 12. + + +Your's reached me this moment, by an extraordinary push in the +messengers. + +What a man of honour thou of a sudden!---- + +And so, in the imaginary shape of a guarantee, thou threatenest me! + +Had I not been in earnest as to the lady, I should not have offered to +employ thee in the affair. But, let me say, that hadst thou undertaken +the task, and I hadst afterwards thought fit to change my mind, I should +have contented myself to tell thee, that that was my mind when thou +engagedst for me, and to have given thee the reasons for the change, and +then left thee to thy own discretion: for never knew I what fear of man +was--nor fear of woman neither, till I became acquainted with Miss +Clarissa Harlowe, nay, what is most surprising, till I came to have her +in my power. + +And so thou wilt not wait upon the charmer of my heart, but upon terms +and conditions!--Let it alone and be curs'd; I care not.--But so much +credit did I give to the value thou expressedst for her, that I thought +the office would have been acceptable to thee, as serviceable to me; +for what was it, but to endeavour to persuade her to consent to the +reparation of her own honour? For what have I done but disgraced myself, +and been a thief to my own joys?--And if there be a union of hearts, and +an intention to solemnize, what is there wanting but the foolish +ceremony?--and that I still offer. But, if she will keep back her hand, +if she will make me hold out mine in vain, how can I help it? + +I write her one more letter; and if, after she has received that, she +keeps sullen silence, she must thank herself for what is to follow. + +But, after all,, my heart is not wholly her's. I love her beyond +expression; and cannot help it. I hope therefore she will receive this +last tender as I wish. I hope she intends not, like a true woman, to +plague, and vex, and tease me, now she has found her power. If she will +take me to mercy now these remorses are upon me, (though I scorn to +condition with thee for my sincerity,) all her trials, as I have +heretofore declared, shall be over, and she shall be as happy as I can +make her: for, ruminating upon all that has passed between us, from the +first hour of our acquaintance till the present, I must pronounce, That +she is virtue itself and once more I say, has no equal. + +As to what you hint, of leaving to her choice another day, do you +consider, that it will be impossible that my contrivances and stratagems +should be much longer concealed?--This makes me press that day, though so +near; and the more, as I have made so much ado about her uncle's +anniversary. If she send me the four words, I will spare no fatigue to +be in time, if not for the canonical hour at church, for some other hour +of the day in her own apartment, or any other: for money will do every +thing: and that I have never spared in this affair. + +To show thee, that I am not at enmity with thee, I enclose the copies of +two letters--one to her: it is the fourth, and must be the last on the +subject----The other to Captain Tomlinson; calculated, as thou wilt see, +for him to show her. + +And now, Jack, interfere; in this case or not, thou knowest the mind of + +R. LOVELACE. + + + +LETTER XLIII + +MR. LOVELACE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE +[SUPERSCRIBED TO MRS. LOVELACE.] +M. HALL, WED. MORNING, ONE O'CLOCK, JUNE 28. + + +Not one line, my dearest life, not one word, in answer to three letters +I have written! The time is now so short, that this must be the last +letter that can reach you on this side the important hour that might make +us legally one. + +My friend, Mr. Belford, is apprehensive, that he cannot wait upon you in +time, by reason of some urgent affairs of his own. + +I the less regret the disappointment, because I have procured a more +acceptable person, as I hope, to attend you; Captain Tomlinson I mean: +to whom I had applied for this purpose, before I had Mr. Belford's +answer. + +I was the more solicitous to obtain his favour form him, because of the +office he is to take upon him, as I humbly presume to hope, to-morrow. +That office obliged him to be in town as this day: and I acquainted him +with my unhappy situation with you; and desired that he would show me, +on this occasion, that I had as much of his favour and friendship as your +uncle had; since the whole treaty must be broken off, if he could not +prevail upon you in my behalf. + +He will dispatch the messenger directly; whom I propose to meet in person +at Slough; either to proceed onward to London with a joyful heart, or to +return back to M. Hall with a broken one. + +I ought not (but cannot help it) to anticipate the pleasure Mr. Tomlinson +proposes to himself, in acquainting you with the likelihood there is of +your mother's seconding your uncle's views. For, it seems, he has +privately communicated to her his laudable intentions: and her resolution +depends, as well as his, upon what to-morrow will produce. + +Disappoint not then, I beseech you, for an hundred persons' sakes, as +well as for mine, that uncle and that mother, whose displeasure I have +heard you so often deplore. + +You may think it impossible for me to reach London by the canonical hour. +If it should, the ceremony may be performed in your own apartments, at +any time in the day, or at night: so that Captain Tomlinson may have it +to aver to your uncle, that it was performed on his anniversary. + +Tell but the Captain, that you forbid me not to attend you: and that +shall be sufficient for bringing to you, on the wings of love, + +Your ever-grateful and affectionate +LOVELACE. + + + +LETTER XLIV + +TO MR. PATRICK M'DONALD, +AT HIS LODGINGS, AT MR. BROWN'S, PERUKE-MAKER, IN ST. MARTIN'S LANE, + WESTMINSTER +M. HALL, WEDN. MORNING, TWO O'CLOCK. + +DEAR M'DONALD, + +The bearer of this has a letter to carry to the lady.* I have been at +the trouble of writing a copy of it: which I enclose, that you may not +mistake your cue. + + +* See the preceding Letter. + + +You will judge of my reasons for ante-dating the enclosed sealed one,* +directed to you by the name of Tomlinson; which you are to show to the +lady, as in confidence. You will open it of course. + + +* See the next Letter. + + +I doubt not your dexterity and management, dear M'Donald; nor your zeal; +especially as the hope of cohabitation must now be given up. Impossible +to be carried is that scheme. I might break her heart, but not incline +her will--am in earnest therefore to marry her, if she let not the day +slip. + +Improve upon the hint of her mother. That may touch her. But John +Harlowe, remember, has privately engaged that lady--privately, I say; +else, (not to mention the reason for her uncle Harlowe's former +expedient,) you know, she might find means to get a letter away to the +one or to the other, to know the truth; or to Miss Howe, to engage her +to inquire into it: and, if she should, the word privately will account +for the uncle's and mother's denying it. + +However, fail not, as from me, to charge our mother and her nymphs to +redouble their vigilance both as to her person and letters. All's upon a +crisis now. But she must not be treated ill neither. + +Thursday over, I shall know what to resolve upon. + +If necessary, you must assume authority. The devil's in't, if such a +girl as this shall awe a man of your years and experience. You are not +in love with her as I am. Fly out, if she doubt your honour. Spirits +naturally soft may be beat out of their play and borne down (though ever +so much raised) by higher anger. All women are cowards at bottom; only +violent where they may. I have often stormed a girl out of her mistrust, +and made her yield (before she knew where she was) to the point +indignantly mistrusted; and that to make up with me, though I was the +aggressor. + +If this matter succeed as I'd have it, (or if not, and do not fail by +your fault,) I will take you off the necessity of pursuing your cursed +smuggling; which otherwise may one day end fatally for you. + +We are none of us perfect, M'Donald. This sweet lady makes me serious +sometimes in spite of my heart. But as private vices are less blamable +than public; an as I think smuggling (as it is called) a national evil; +I have no doubt to pronounce you a much worse man than myself, and as +such shall take pleasure in reforming you. + +I send you enclosed ten guineas, as a small earnest of further favours. +Hitherto you have been a very clever fellow. + +As to clothes for Thursday, Monmouth-street will afford a ready supply. +Clothes quite new would make your condition suspected. But you may +defer that care, till you see if she can be prevailed upon. Your +riding-dress will do for the first visit. Nor let your boots be over +clean. I have always told you the consequence of attending to the +minutiae, where art (or imposture, as the ill-mannered would call it) is +designed--your linen rumpled and soily, when you wait upon her--easy terms +these--just come to town--remember (as formerly) to loll, to throw out +your legs, to stroke and grasp down your ruffles, as if of significance +enough to be careless. What though the presence of a fine lady would +require a different behaviour, are you not of years to dispense with +politeness? You can have no design upon her, you know. You are a father +yourself of daughters as old as she. Evermore is parade and +obsequiousness suspectable: it must show either a foolish head, or a +knavish heart. Assume airs of consequence therefore; and you will be +treated as a man of consequence. I have often more than half ruined +myself by my complaisance; and, being afraid of controul, have brought +controul upon myself. + +I think I have no more to say at present. I intend to be at Slough, or +on the way to it, as by mine to the lady. Adieu, honest M'Donald. + +R.L. + + + +LETTER XLV + +TO CAPTAIN TOMLINSON +[ENCLOSED IN THE PRECEDING; TO BE SHOWN TO THE LADY AS IN CONFIDENCE.] +M. HALL, TUESDAY MORN., JUNE 27. + + +DEAR CAPTAIN TOMLINSON, + +An unhappy misunderstanding has arisen between the dearest lady in the +world and me (the particulars of which she perhaps may give you, but I +will not, because I might be thought partial to myself;) and she refusing +to answer my most pressing and respectful letters; I am at a most +perplexing uncertainty whether she will meet us or not next Thursday to +solemnize. + +My Lord is so extremely ill, that if I thought she would not oblige me, +I would defer going up to town for two or three days. He cares not to +have me out of his sight: yet is impatient to salute my beloved as his +neice [sic] before he dies. This I have promised to give him an +opportunity to do: intending, if the dear creature will make me happy, +to set out with her for this place directly from church. + +With regret I speak it of the charmer of my soul, that irreconcilableness +is her family-fault--the less excusable indeed for her, as she herself +suffers by it in so high a degree from her own relations. + +Now, Sir, as you intended to be in town some time before Thursday, if +it be not too great an inconvenience to you, I could be glad you would +go up as soon as possible, for my sake: and this I the more boldly +request, as I presume that a man who has so many great affairs of his +own in hand as you have, would be glad to be at a certainty as to the +day. + +You, Sir, can so pathetically and justly set before her the unhappy +consequences that will follow if the day be postponed, as well with +regard to her uncle's disappointment, as to the part you have assured +me her mother is willing to take in the wished-for reconciliation, that +I have great hopes she will suffer herself to be prevailed upon. And a +man and horse shall be in waiting to take your dispatches and bring them +to me. + +But if you cannot prevail in my favour, you will be pleased to satisfy +your friend, Mr. John Harlowe, that it is not my fault that he is not +obliged. I am, dear Sir, + +Your extremely obliged +and faithful servant, +R. LOVELACE. + + + +LETTER XLVI + +TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. +WEDN. JUNE 28, NEAR TWELVE O'CLOCK. + + +HONOURED SIR, + +I received your's, as your servant desired me to acquaint you, by ten +this morning. Horse and man were in a foam. + +I instantly equipped myself, as if come off from a journey, and posted +away to the lady, intending to plead great affairs that I came not +before, in order to favour your antedate; and likewise to be in a hurry, +to have a pretence to hurry her ladyship, and to take no denial for her +giving a satisfactory return to your messenger. But, upon my entering +Mrs. Sinclair's house, I found all in the greatest consternation. + +You must not, Sir, be surprised. It is a trouble to me to be the +relater of the bad news; but so it is--The lady is gone off! She was +missed but half an hour before I came. + +Her waiting-maid is run away, or hitherto is not to be found: so that +they conclude it was by her connivance. + +They had sent, before I came, to my honoured masters Mr. Belton, Mr. +Mowbray, and Mr. Belford. Mr. Tourville is out of town. + +High words are passing between Madam Sinclair, and Madam Horton, and +Madam Martin; as also with Dorcas. And your servant William threatens +to hang or drown himself. + +They have sent to know if they can hear of Mabell, the waiting-maid, at +her mother's, who it seems lives in Chick-lane, West-Smithfield; and to +an uncle of her's also, who keeps an alehouse at Cow-cross, had by, and +with whom she lived last. + +Your messenger having just changed his horse, is come back: so I will +not detain him longer than to add, that I am, with great concern for this +misfortune, and thanks for your seasonable favour and kind intentions +towards me--I am sure this was not my fault-- + +Honoured Sir, +Your most obliged, humble servant, +PATRICK M'DONALD. + + + +LETTER XLVII + +MR. MOWBRAY, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. +WEDNESDAY, TWELVE O'CLOCK. + + +DEAR LOVELACE, + +I have plaguy news to acquaint thee with. Miss Harlowe is gone off!-- +Quite gone, by soul!--I have no time for particulars, your servant being +gone off. But if I had, we are not yet come to the bottom of the matter. +The ladies here are all blubbering like devills, accusing one another +most confoundedly: whilst Belton and I damn them all together in thy +name. + +If thou shouldst hear that thy fellow Will. is taken dead out of some +horse-pond, and Dorcas cut down from her bed's teaster, from dangling +in her own garters, be not surprised. Here's the devil to pay. Nobody +serene but Jack Belford, who is taking minutes of examinations, +accusations, and confessions, with the significant air of a Middlesex +Justice; and intends to write at large all particulars, I suppose. + +I heartily condole with thee: so does Belton. But it may turn out for +the best: for she is gone away with thy marks, I understand. A foolish +little devill! Where will she mend herself? for nobody will look upon +her. And they tell me that thou wouldst certainly have married her, had +she staid. But I know thee better. + +Dear Bobby, adieu. If Lord M. will die now, to comfort thee for this +loss, what a seasonable exit would he make! Let's have a letter from +thee. Pr'ythee do. Thou can'st write devill-like to Belford, who shews +us nothing at all. Thine heartily, + +RD. MOWBRAY. + + + +LETTER XLVIII + +MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. +THURSDAY, JUNE 29. + + +Thou hast heard from M'Donald and Mowbray the news. Bad or good, I know +not which thou'lt deem it. I only wish I could have given thee joy upon +the same account, before the unhappy lady was seduced from Hampstead; for +then of what an ungrateful villany hadst thou been spared the +perpetration, which now thou hast to answer for! + +I came to town purely to serve thee with her, expecting that thy next +would satisfy me that I might endeavour it without dishonour. And at +first when I found her gone, I half pitied thee; for now wilt thou be +inevitably blown up: and in what an execrable light wilt thou appear to +all the world!--Poor Lovelace! caught in thy own snares! thy punishment +is but beginning. + +But to my narrative: for I suppose thou expectest all particulars from +me, since Mowbray has informed thee that I have been collecting them. + +'The noble exertion of spirit she has made on Friday night, had, it +seems, greatly disordered her; insomuch that she was not visible till +Saturday evening; when Mabell saw her; and she seemed to be very ill: +but on Sunday morning, having dressed herself, as if designing to go to +church, she ordered Mabell to get her a coach to the door. + +'The wench told her, She was to obey her in every thing but the calling +of a coach or chair, or in relation to letters. + +'She sent for Will. and gave him the same command. + +'He pleaded his master's orders to the contrary, and desired to be +excused. + +'Upon this, down she went, herself, and would have gone out without +observation; but finding the street-door double-locked, and the key not +in the lock, she stept into the street-parlour, and would have thrown up +the sash to call out to the people passing by, as they doubted not: but +that, since her last attempt of the same nature, had been fastened down. + +'Hereupon she resolutely stept into Mrs. Sinclair's parlour in the +back-house; where were the old devil and her two partners; and demanded +the key of the street-door, or to have it opened for her. + +'They were all surprised; but desired to be excused, and pleaded your +orders. + +'She asserted, that you had no authority over her; and never should have +any: that their present refusal was their own act and deed: she saw the +intent of their back house, and the reason of putting her there: she +pleaded her condition and fortune; and said, they had no way to avoid +utter ruin, but by opening their doors to her, or by murdering her, and +burying her in their garden or cellar, too deep for detection: that +already what had been done to her was punishable by death: and bid them +at their peril detain her.' + +What a noble, what a right spirit has this charming creature, in cases +that will justify an exertion of spirit!-- + +'They answered that Mr. Lovelace could prove his marriage, and would +indemnify them. And they all would have vindicated their behaviour on +Friday night, and the reputation of their house. But refusing to hear +them on that topic, she flung from them threatening. + +'She then went up half a dozen stairs in her way to her own apartment: +but, as if she had bethought herself, down she stept again, and proceeded +towards the street-parlour; saying, as she passed by the infamous Dorcas, +I'll make myself protectors, though the windows suffer. But that wench, +of her own head, on the lady's going out of that parlour to Mrs. +Sinclair's, had locked the door, and taken out the key: so that finding +herself disappointed, she burst into tears, and went sobbing and menacing +up stairs again. + +'She made no other attempt till the effectual one. Your letters and +messages, they suppose, coming so fast upon one another (though she would +not answer one of them) gave her some amusement, and an assurance to +them, that she would at last forgive you; and that then all would end as +you wished. + +'The women, in pursuance of your orders, offered not to obtrude +themselves upon her; and Dorcas also kept out of her sight all the rest +of Sunday; also on Monday and Tuesday. But by the lady's condescension, +(even to familiarity) to Mabell, they imagined, that she must be working +in her mind all that time to get away. They therefore redoubled their +cautions to the wench; who told them so faithfully all that passed +between her lady and her, that they had no doubt of her fidelity to her +wicked trust. + +''Tis probable she might have been contriving something all this time; +but saw no room for perfecting any scheme. The contrivance by which she +effected her escape seems to me not to have been fallen upon till the +very day; since it depended partly upon the weather, as it proved. But +it is evident she hoped something from Mabell's simplicity, or gratitude, +or compassion, by cultivating all the time her civility to her. + +'Polly waited on her early on Wednesday morning; and met with a better +reception than she had reason to expect. She complained however, with +warmth, of her confinement. Polly said there would be an happy end to it +(if it were a confinement,) next day, she presumed. She absolutely +declared to the contrary, in the way Polly meant it; and said, That Mr. +Lovelace, on his return [which looked as if she intended to wait for it] +should have reason to repent the orders he had given, as they all should +their observance of them: let him send twenty letters, she would not +answer one, be the consequence what it would; nor give him hope of the +least favour, while she was in that house. She had given Mrs. Sinclair +and themselves fair warning, she said: no orders of another ought to make +them detain a free person: but having made an open attempt to go, and +been detained by them, she was the calmer, she told Polly; let them look +to the consequence. + +'But yet she spoke this with temper; and Polly gave it as her opinion, +(with apprehension for their own safety,) that having so good a handle to +punish them all, she would not go away if she might. And what, inferred +Polly, is the indemnity of a man who has committed the vilest of rapes on +a person of condition; and must himself, if prosecuted for it, either +fly, or be hanged? + +'Sinclair, [so I will still call her,] upon this representation of Polly, +foresaw, she said, the ruin of her poor house in the issue of this +strange business; and the infamous Sally and Dorcas bore their parts in +the apprehension: and this put them upon thinking it advisable for the +future, that the street-door should generally in the day-time be only +left upon a bolt-latch, as they called it, which any body might open on +the inside; and that the key should be kept in the door; that their +numerous comers and goers, as they called their guests, should be able to +give evidence, that she might have gone out if she would: not forgetting, +however, to renew their orders to Will. to Dorcas, to Mabell, and the +rest, to redouble their vigilance on this occasion, to prevent her +escape: none of them doubting, at the same time, that her love of a man +so considerable in their eyes, and the prospect of what was to happen, as +she had reason to believe, on Thursday, her uncle's birth-day, would +(though perhaps not till the last hour, for her pride sake, was their +word) engage her to change her temper. + +'They believe, that she discovered the key to be left in the door; for +she was down more than once to walk in the little garden, and seemed to +cast her eye each time to the street-door. + +'About eight yesterday morning, an hour after Polly had left her, she +told Mabell, she was sure she should not live long; and having a good +many suits of apparel, which after her death would be of no use to any +body she valued, she would give her a brown lustring gown, which, with +some alterations to make it more suitable to her degree, would a great +while serve her for a Sunday wear; for that she (Mabell) was the only +person in that house of whom she could think without terror or antipathy. + +'Mabell expressing her gratitude upon the occasion, the lady said, she +had nothing to employ herself about, and if she could get a workwoman +directly, she would look over her things then, and give her what she +intended for her. + +'Her mistress's mantua-maker, the maid replied, lived but a little way +off: and she doubted not that she could procure her, or one of the +journey-women to alter the gown out of hand. + +'I will give you also, said she, a quilted coat, which will require but +little alteration, if any; for you are much about my stature: but the +gown I will give directions about, because the sleeves and the robings +and facings must be altered for your wear, being, I believe, above your +station: and try, said she, if you can get the workwoman, and we'll +advise about it. If she cannot come now, let her come in the afternoon; +but I had rather now, because it will amuse me to give you a lift. + +'Then stepping to the window, it rains, said she, [and so it had done all +the morning:] slip on the hood and short cloak I have seen you wear, and +come to me when you are ready to go out, because you shall bring me in +something that I want. + +'Mabell equipped herself accordingly, and received her commands to buy +her some trifles, and then left her; but in her way out, stept into the +back parlour, where Dorcas was with Mrs. Sinclair, telling her where she +was going, and on what account, bidding Dorcas look out till she came +back. So faithful as the wench to the trust reposed in her, and so +little had the lady's generosity wrought upon her. + +'Mrs. Sinclair commended her; Dorcas envied her, and took her cue: and +Mabell soon returned with the mantua-maker's journey-woman; (she +resolved, she said, but she would not come without her); and then Dorcas +went off guard. + +'The lady looked out the gown and petticoat, and before the workwoman +caused Mabell to try it on; and, that it might fit the better, made the +willing wench pull off her upper-petticoat, and put on that she gave her. +Then she bid them go into Mr. Lovelace's apartment, and contrive about it +before the pier-glass there, and stay till she came to them, to give them +her opinion. + +'Mabell would have taken her own clothes, and hood, and short cloak with +her: but her lady said, No matter; you may put them on again here, when +we have considered about the alterations: there's no occasion to litter +the other room. + +'They went; and instantly, as it is supposed, she slipt on Mabell's gown +and petticoat over her own, which was white damask, and put on the +wench's hood, short cloak, and ordinary apron, and down she went. + +'Hearing somebody tripping along the passage, both Will. and Dorcas whipt +to the inner-hall door, and saw her; but, taking her for Mabell, Are you +going far, Mabell? cried Will. + +'Without turning her face, or answering, she held out her hand, pointing +to the stairs; which they construed as a caution for them to look out in +her absence; and supposing she would not be long gone, as she had not in +form, repeated her caution to them, up went Will, tarrying at the +stairs-head in expectation of the supposed Mabell's return. + +'Mabell and the workwoman waited a good while, amusing themselves not +disagreeably, the one with contriving in the way of her business, the +other delighting herself with her fine gown and coat. But at last, +wondering the lady did not come in to them, Mabell tiptoed it to her +door, and tapping, and not being answered, stept into the chamber. + +'Will. at that instant, from his station at the stairs-head, seeing +Mabell in her lady's clothes; for he had been told of the present, [gifts +to servants fly from servant to servant in a minute,] was very much +surprised, having, as he thought, just seen her go out in her own; and +stepping up, met her at the door. How the devil can this be? said he: +just now you went out in your own dress! How came you here in this? and +how could you pass me unseen? but nevertheless, kissing her, said, he +would now brag he had kissed his lady, or one in her clothes. + +'I am glad, Mr. William, cried Mabell, to see you here so diligently. +But know you where my lady is? + +'In my master's apartment, answered Will. Is she not? Was she not +talking with you this moment? + +'No, that's Mrs. Dolins's journey-woman. + +'They both stood aghast, as they said; Will, again recollecting he had +seen Mabell, as he thought, go out in her own clothes. And while they +were debating and wondering, up comes Dorcas with your fourth letter, +just then brought for the lady, and seeing Mabell dressed out, (whom she +had likewise beheld a little before), as she supposed, in her common +clothes; she joined in the wonder; till Mabell, re-entering the lady's +apartment, missed her own clothes; and then suspecting what had happened, +and letting the others into the ground of the suspicion, they all agreed +that she had certainly escaped. And then followed such an uproar of +mutual accusation, and you should have done this, and you have done that, +as alarmed the whole house; every apartment in both houses giving up its +devil, to the number of fourteen or fifteen, including the mother and her +partners. + +'Will. told them his story; and then ran out, as on the like occasion +formerly, to make inquiry whether the lady was seen by any of the +coachmen, chairmen, or porters, plying in that neighbourhood: while +Dorcas cleared herself immediately, and that at the poor Mabell's +expense, who made a figure as guilty as awkward, having on the suspected +price of her treachery; which Dorcas, out of envy, was ready to tear from +her back. + +'Hereupon all the pack opened at the poor wench, while the mother foamed +at the mouth, bellowed out her orders for seizing the suspected offender; +who could neither be heard in her own defence, nor had she been heard, +would have been believed. + +'That such a perfidious wretch should ever disgrace her house, was the +mother's cry; good people might be corrupted; but it was a fine thing if +such a house as her's could not be faithfully served by cursed creatures +who were hired knowing the business they were to be employed in, and who +had no pretence to principle!--D--n her, the wretch proceeded!--She had +no patience with her! call the cook, and call the scullion! + +'They were at hand. + +'See, that guilty pyeball devil, was her word--(her lady's gown upon her +back)--but I'll punish her for a warning to all betrayers of their trust. +Put on the great gridiron this moment, [an oath or a curse at every +word:] make up a roaring fire--the cleaver bring me this instant--I'll +cut her into quarters with my own hands; and carbonade and broil the +traitress for a feast to all the dogs and cats in the neighbourhood, and +eat the first slice of the toad myself, without salt or pepper. + +'The poor Mabell, frighted out of her wits, expected every moment to be +torn in pieces, having half a score open-clawed paws upon her all at +once. She promised to confess all. But that all, when she had obtained +a hearing, was nothing: for nothing had she to confess. + +'Sally, hereupon with a curse of mercy, ordered her to retire; +undertaking that she and Polly would examine her themselves, that they +might be able to write all particulars to his honour; and then, if she +could not clear herself, or, if guilty, give some account of the lady, +(who had been so wicked as to give them all this trouble,) so as they +might get her again, then the cleaver and gridiron might go to work with +all their heart. + +'The wench, glad of this reprieve, went up stairs; and while Sally was +laying out the law, and prating away in her usual dictorial manner, whipt +on another gown, and sliding down the stairs, escaped to her relations. +And this flight, which was certainly more owing to terror than guilt, +was, in the true Old Bailey construction, made a confirmation of the +latter.' + + +*** + + +These are the particulars of Miss Harlowe's flight. Thou'lt hardly think +me too minute.--How I long to triumph over thy impatience and fury on the +occasion! + +Let me beseech thee, my dear Lovelace, in thy next letter, to rave most +gloriously!--I shall be grievously disappointed if thou dost not. + + +*** + + +Where, Lovelace, can the poor lady be gone? And who can describe the +distress she must be in? + +By thy former letters, it may be supposed, that she can have very little +money: nor, by the suddenness of her flight, more clothes than those she +has on. And thou knowest who once said,* 'Her parents will not receive +her. Her uncles will not entertain her. Her Norton is in their +direction, and cannot. Miss Howe dare not. She has not one friend or +intimate in town--entirely a stranger to it.' And, let me add, has been +despoiled of her honour by the man for whom she had made all these +sacrifices; and who stood bound to her by a thousand oaths and vows, to +be her husband, her protector, and friend! + + +* See Vol. IV. Letter XXI. + + +How strong must be her resentment of the barbarous treatment she has +received! how worthy of herself, that it has made her hate the man she +once loved! and, rather than marry him, choose to expose her disgrace to +the whole world: to forego the reconciliation with her friends which her +heart was so set upon: and to hazard a thousand evils to which her youth +and her sex may too probably expose an indigent and friendly beauty! + +Rememberest thou not that home push upon thee, in one of the papers +written in her delirium; of which, however it savours not?---- + +I will assure thee, that I have very often since most seriously reflected +upon it: and as thy intended second outrage convinces me that it made no +impression upon thee then, and perhaps thou hast never thought of it +since, I will transcribe the sentence. + +'If, as religion teaches us, God will judge us, in a great measure! by +our benevolent or evil actions to one another--O wretch! bethink thee, in +time bethink thee, how great must be thy condemnation.'* + + +* See Vol. VI. Letter XVI. + + +And is this amiable doctrine the sum of religion? Upon my faith, +believe it is. For, to indulge a serious thought, since we are not +atheists, except in practice, does God, the BEING of Beings, want any +thing of us for HIMSELF! And does he not enjoin us works of mercy to one +another, as the means to obtain his mercy? A sublime principle, and +worthy of the SUPREME SUPERINTENDENT and FATHER of all things!--But if we +are to be judged by this noble principle, what, indeed, must be thy +condemnation on the score of this lady only? and what mine, and what all +our confraternity's, on the score of other women: though we are none of +us half so bad as thou art, as well for want of inclination, I hope, as +of opportunity! + +I must add, that, as well for thy own sake, as for the lady's, I wish ye +were yet to be married to each other. It is the only medium that can be +hit upon to salve the honour of both. All that's past may yet be +concealed from the world, and from all her sufferings, if thou resolvest +to be a tender and kind husband to her. + +And if this really be thy intention, I will accept with pleasure of a +commission from thee that shall tend to promote so good an end, whenever +she can be found; that is to say, if she will admit to her presence a man +who professes friendship to thee. Nor can I give a greater +demonstration, that I am + +Thy sincere friend, +J. BELFORD. + +P.S. Mabell's clothes were thrown into the passage this morning: nobody +knows by whom. + + + +LETTER XLIX + +MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. +FRIDAY, JUNE 30. + + +I am ruined, undone, blown up, destroyed, and worse than annihilated, +that's certain!--But was not the news shocking enough, dost thou think, +without thy throwing into the too-weighty scale reproaches, which thou +couldst have had no opportunity to make but for my own voluntary +communications? at a time too, when, as it falls out, I have another very +sensible disappointment to struggle with? + +I imagine, if there be such a thing as future punishment, it must be none +of the smallest mortifications, that a new devil shall be punished by a +worse old one. And, take that! And, take that! to have the old satyr +cry to the screaming sufferer, laying on with a cat-o'-nine-tails, with a +star of burning brass at the end of each: and, for what! for what!---Why, +if the truth may be fairly told, for not being so bad a devil as myself. + +Thou art, surely, casuist good enough to know, (what I have insisted +upon* heretofore,) that the sin of seducing a credulous and easy girl, is +as great as that of bringing to your lure an incredulous and watchful +one. + + +* See Vol. IV. Letter XVII. + + +However ungenerous an appearance what I am going to say may have from my +pen, let me tell thee, that if such a woman as Miss Harlowe chose to +enter into the matrimonial state, [I am resolved to disappoint thee in +thy meditated triumph over my rage and despair!] and, according to the +old patriarchal system, to go on contributing to get sons and daughters, +with no other view than to bring them up piously, and to be good and +useful members of the commonwealth, what a devil had she to do, to let +her fancy run a gadding after a rake? one whom she knew to be a rake? + +Oh! but truly she hoped to have the merit of reclaiming him. She had +formed pretty notions how charming it would look to have a penitent of +her own making dangling at her side at church, through an applauding +neighbourhood: and, as their family increased, marching with her thither, +at the head of their boys and girls, processionally, as it were, boasting +of the fruits of their honest desires, as my good lord bishop has it in +his license. And then, what a comely sight, all kneeling down together +in one pew, according to eldership as we have seen in effigy, a whole +family upon some old monument, where the honest chevalier in armour is +presented kneeling, with up-lifted hands, and half a dozen jolter-headed +crop-eared boys behind him, ranged gradatim, or step-fashion according to +age and size, all in the same posture--facing his pious dame, with a ruff +about her neck, and as many whey-faced girls all kneeling behind her: an +altar between them, and an open book upon it: over their heads +semiluminary rays darting from gilded clouds, surrounding an achievement- +motto, IN COELO SALUS--or QUIES--perhaps, if they have happened to live +the usual married life of brawl and contradiction. + +It is certainly as much my misfortune to have fallen in with Miss +Clarissa Harlowe, were I to have valued my reputation or ease, as it is +that of Miss Harlowe to have been acquainted with me. And, after all, +what have I done more than prosecute the maxim, by which thou and I and +every rake are governed, and which, before I knew this lady, we have +pursued from pretty girl to pretty girl, as fast as we have set one down, +taking another up;--just as the fellows do with their flying coaches and +flying horses at a country fair----with a Who rides next! Who rides +next! + +But here in the present case, to carry on the volant metaphor, (for I +must either be merry, or mad,) is a pretty little miss just come out of +her hanging-sleeve-coat, brought to buy a pretty little fairing; for the +world, Jack, is but a great fair, thou knowest; and, to give thee serious +reflection for serious, all its joys but tinselled hobby-horses, gilt +gingerbread, squeaking trumpets, painted drums, and so forth. + +Now behold this pretty little miss skimming from booth to booth, in a +very pretty manner. One pretty little fellow called Wyerley, perhaps; +another jiggeting rascal called Biron, a third simpering varlet of the +name of Symmes, and a more hideous villain than any of the reset, with a +long bag under his arm, and parchment settlements tagged to his heels, +yelped Solmes: pursue her from raree-show to raree-show, shouldering upon +one another at every turn, stopping when she stops, and set a spinning +again when she moves. And thus dangled after, but still in the eye of +her watchful guardians, traverses the pretty little miss through the +whole fair, equally delighted and delighting: till at last, taken with +the invitation of the laced-hat orator, and seeing several pretty little +bib-wearers stuck together in the flying-coaches, cutting safely the +yielding air, in the one-go-up the other go-down picture-of-the-world +vehicle, and all with as little fear as wit, is tempted to ride next. + +In then suppose she slily pops, when none of her friends are near her: +And if, after two or three ups and downs, her pretty head turns giddy, +and she throws herself out of the coach when at its elevation, and so +dashes out her pretty little brains, who can help it?--And would you hang +the poor fellow, whose professed trade it was to set the pretty little +creature a flying? + +'Tis true, this pretty little miss, being a very pretty little miss, +being a very much-admired little miss, being a very good little miss, who +always minded her book, and had passed through her sampler-doctrine with +high applause; had even stitched out, in gaudy propriety of colors, an +Abraham offering up Isaac, a Sampson and the Philistines; and flowers, +and knots, and trees, and the sun and the moon, and the seven stars, all +hung up in frames with glasses before them, for the admiration of her +future grand children: who likewise was entitled to a very pretty little +estate: who was descended from a pretty little family upwards of one +hundred years gentility; which lived in a very pretty little manner, +respected a very little on their own accounts, a great deal on her's:---- + +For such a pretty little miss as this to come to so great a misfortune, +must be a very sad thing: But, tell me, would not the losing of any +ordinary child, of any other less considerable family, or less shining or +amiable qualities, have been as great and heavy a loss to that family, as +the losing this pretty little miss could be to her's? + +To descend to a very low instance, and that only as to personality; hast +thou any doubt, that thy strong-muscled bony-faced was as much admired by +thy mother, as if it had been the face of a Lovelace, or any other +handsome fellow? And had thy picture been drawn, would she have forgiven +the painter, had he not expressed so exactly thy lineaments, as that +every one should have discerned the likeness? The handsome likeness is +all that is wished for. Ugliness made familiar to us, with the +partiality natural to fond parents, will be beauty all the world over.-- +Do thou apply. + +But, alas! Jack, all this is but a copy of my countenance, drawn to evade +thy malice!--Though it answer thy unfriendly purpose to own it, I cannot +forbear to own it, that I am stung to the very soul with this unhappy-- +accident, must I call it!--Have I nobody, whose throat, either for +carelessness or treachery, I ought to cut, in order to pacify my +vengeance? + +When I reflect upon my last iniquitous intention, the first outrage so +nobly resented, as well as, so far as she was able, so nobly resisted, I +cannot but conclude, that I was under the power of fascination from these +accursed Circes; who, pretending to know their own sex, would have it, +that there is in every woman a yielding, or a weak-resisting moment to be +met with: and that yet, and yet, and yet, I had not tried enough; but +that, if neither love nor terror should enable me to hit that lucky +moment, when, by help of their cursed arts, she was once overcome, she +would be for ever overcome:--appealing to all my experience, to all my +knowledge of the sex, for justification of their assertion. + +My appeal to experience, I own, was but too favourable to their argument: +For dost thou think I could have held my purpose against such an angel as +this, had I ever before met with a woman so much in earnest to defend her +honour against the unwearied artifices and perseverance of the man she +loved? Why then were there not more examples of a virtue so immovable? +Or, why was this singular one to fall to my lot? except indeed to double +my guilt; and at the same time to convince all that should hear her +story, that there are angels as well as devils in the flesh? + +So much for confession; and for the sake of humouring my conscience; with +a view likewise to disarm thy malice by acknowledgement: since no one shall +say worse of me, than I will of myself on this occasion. + +One thing I will nevertheless add, to show the sincerity of my contrition +--'Tis this, that if thou canst by any means find her out within these +three days, or any time before she has discovered the stories relating to +Captain Tomlinson and her uncle to be what they are; and if thou canst +prevail upon her to consent, I will actually, in thy presence and his, +(he to represent her uncle,) marry her. + +I am still in hopes it may be so--she cannot be long concealed--I have +already set all engines at work to find her out! and if I do, what +indifferent persons, [and no one of her friends, as thou observest, will +look upon her,] will care to embroil themselves with a man of my figure, +fortune, and resolution? Show her this part, then, or any other part of +this letter, as thy own discretion, if thou canst find her: for, after +all, methinks, I would be glad that this affair, which is bad enough in +itself, should go off without worse personal consequences to any body +else: and yet it runs in my mind, I know not why, that, sooner or later +it will draw a few drops of blood after it; except she and I can make it +up between ourselves. And this may be another reason why she should not +carry her resentment too far--not that such an affair would give me much +concern neither, were I to choose any man of men, for I heartily hate all +her family, but herself; and ever shall. + + +*** + + +Let me add, that the lady's plot to escape appears to me no extraordinary +one. There was much more luck than probability that it should do: since, +to make it succeed, it was necessary that Dorcas and Will., and Sinclair +and her nymphs, should be all deceived, or off their guard. It belongs +to me, when I see them, to give them my hearty thanks that they were; and +that their selfish care to provide for their own future security, should +induce them to leave their outward door upon their bolt-latch, and be +curs'd to them. + +Mabell deserves a pitch suit and a bonfire, rather than the lustring; and +as her clothes are returned, le the lady's be put to her others, to be +sent to her when it can be told whither--but not till I give the word +neither; for we must get the dear fugitive back again if possible. + +I suppose that my stupid villain, who knew not such a goddess-shaped lady +with a mien so noble, from the awkward and bent-shouldered Mabell, has +been at Hampstead to see after her. And yet I hardly think she would go +thither. He ought to go through every street where bills for lodgings +are up, to inquire after a new-comer. The houses of such as deal in +women's matters, and tea, coffee, and such-like, are those to be inquired +at for her. If some tidings be not quickly heard of her, I would not +have either Dorcas, Will., or Mabell, appear in my sight, whatever their +superiors think fit to do. + +This, though written in character, is a very long letter, considering it +is not a narrative one, or a journal of proceedings, like most of my +former; for such will unavoidably and naturally, as I may say, run into +length. But I have so used myself to write a great deal of late, that I +know not how to help it. Yet I must add to its length, in order to +explain myself on a hint I gave at the beginning of it; which was, that I +have another disappointment, besides this of Miss Harlowe's escape, to +bemoan. + +And what dost thou think it is? Why, the old Peer, pox of his tough +constitution, (for that malady would have helped him on,) has made shift +by fire and brimstone, and the devil knows what, to force the gout to +quit the counterscarp of his stomach, just as it had collected all its +strength, in order to storm the citadel of his heart. In short, they +have, by the mere force of stink-pots, hand-granades, and pop-guns, +driven the slow-working pioneer quite out of the trunk into the +extremities; and there it lies nibbling and gnawing upon his great toe; +when I had a fair end of the distemper and the distempered. + +But I, who could write to thee of laudanum, and the wet cloth, formerly, +yet let 8000L. a year slip through my fingers, when I had entered upon it +more than in imagination, [for I had begun to ask the stewards questions, +and to hear them talk of fines and renewals, and such sort of stuff,] +deserve to be mortified. + +Thou canst not imagine how differently the servants, and even my cousins, +look upon me, since yesterday, to what they did before. Neither the one +nor the other bow or courtesy half so low--nor am I a quarter so often +his honour and your honour, as I was within these few hours, with the +former: and as to the latter--it is cousin Bobby again, with the usual +familiarity, instead of Sir, and Sir, and If you please, Mr. Lovelace. +And now they have the insolence to congratulate me on the recovery of the +best of uncles; while I am forced to seem as much delighted as they, +when, would it do me good, I could sit down and cry my eyes out. + +I had bespoke my mourning in imagination, after the example of a certain +foreign minister, who, before the death, or even last illness of Charles +II., as honest White Kennet tells us, had half exhausted Blackwell-hall +of its sables--an indication, as the historian would insinuate, that the +monarch was to be poisoned, and the ambassador in the secret.--And yet, +fool that I was, I could not take the hint--What the devil does a man +read history for, if he cannot profit by the examples he find in it? + +But thus, Jack, is an observation of the old Peer's verified, that one +misfortune seldom comes alone: and so concludes + +Thy doubly mortified +LOVELACE. + + + +LETTER L + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE +WEDNESDAY NIGHT, JUNE 28. + + +O MY DEAREST MISS HOWE! + +Once more have I escaped--But, alas! I, my best self, have not escaped! +--Oh! your poor Clarissa Harlowe! you also will hate me, I fear!---- + +Yet you won't, when you know all! + +But no more of my self! my lost self. You that can rise in a morning to +be blest, and to bless; and go to rest delighted with your own +reflections, and in your unbroken, unstarting slumbers, conversing with +saints and angels, the former only more pure than yourself, as they have +shaken off the incumbrance of body; you shall be my subject, as you have +long, long, been my only pleasure. And let me, at awful distance, revere +my beloved Anna Howe, and in her reflect upon what her Clarissa Harlowe +once was! + + +*** + + +Forgive, O forgive my rambling. My peace is destroyed. My intellects +are touched. And what flighty nonsense must you read, if you now will +vouchsafe to correspond with me, as formerly! + +O my best, my dearest, my only friend! what a tale have I to unfold!-- +But still upon self, this vile, this hated self!--I will shake it off, if +possible; and why should I not, since I think, except one wretch, I hate +nothing so much? Self, then, be banished from self one moment (for I +doubt it will be for no longer) to inquire after a dearer object, my +beloved Anna Howe!--whose mind, all robed in spotless white, charms and +irradiates--But what would I say?---- + + +*** + + +And how, my dearest friend, after this rhapsody, which on re-perusal, I +would not let go, but to show you what a distracted mind dictates to my +trembling pen! How do you? You have been very ill, it seems. That you +are recovered, my dear, let me hear. That your mother is well, pray let +me hear, and hear quickly. This comfort surely is owing to me; for if +life is no worse than chequer-work, I must now have a little white to +come, having seen nothing but black, all unchequered dismal black, for a +great, great while. + + +*** + + +And what is all this wild incoherence for? It is only to beg to know how +you have been, and how you do now, by a line directed for Mrs. Rachel +Clark, at Mr. Smith's, a glove-shop, in King-street, Covent-garden; which +(although my abode is secret to every body else) will reach the hands of +--your unhappy--but that's not enough---- + +Your miserable +CLARISSA HARLOWE. + + + +LETTER LI + +MRS. HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE +[SUPERSCRIBED AS DIRECTED IN THE PRECEDING.] +FRIDAY, JUNE 30. + + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, + +You will wonder to receive a letter from me. I am sorry for the great +distress you seem to be in. Such a hopeful young lady as you were! But +see what comes of disobedience to parents! + +For my part; although I pity you, yet I much more pity your poor father +and mother. Such education as they gave you! such improvement as you +made! and such delight as they took in you!--And all come to this!-- + +But pray, Miss, don't make my Nancy guilt of your fault; which is that of +disobedience. I have charged her over and over not to correspond with +one who had made such a giddy step. It is not to her reputation, I am +sure. You know that I so charged her; yet you go on corresponding +together, to my very great vexation; for she has been very perverse upon +it more than once. Evil communication, Miss--you know the rest. + +Here, people cannot be unhappy by themselves, but they must invoke their +friends and acquaintance whose discretion has kept them clear of their +errors, into near as much unhappiness as if they had run into the like +of their own heads! Thus my poor daughter is always in tears and grief. +And she has postponed her own felicity, truly, because you are unhappy. + +If people, who seek their own ruin, could be the only sufferers by their +headstrong doings, it were something: But, O Miss, Miss! what have you to +answer for, who have made as many grieved hearts as have known you! The +whole sex is indeed wounded by you: For, who but Miss Clarissa Harlowe +was proposed by every father and mother for a pattern for their +daughters? + +I write a long letter, where I proposed to say but a few words; and those +to forbid your writing to my Nancy: and this as well because of the false +step you have made, as because it will grieve her poor heart, and do you +no good. If you love her, therefore, write not to her. Your sad letter +came into my hands, Nancy being abroad: and I shall not show it her: for +there would be no comfort for her, if she saw it, nor for me, whose +delight she is--as you once was to your parents.-- + +But you seem to be sensible enough of your errors now.--So are all giddy +girls, when it is too late: and what a crest-fallen figure then do the +consequences of their self-willed obstinacy and headstrongness compel +them to make! + +I may say too much: only as I think it proper to bear that testimony +against your rashness which it behoves every careful parent to bear: and +none more than + +Your compassionating, well-wishing +ANNABELLA HOWE. + +I send this by a special messenger, who has business only so far as + Barnet, because you shall have no need to write again; knowing how + you love writing: and knowing, likewise, that misfortune makes people + plaintive. + + + +LETTER LII + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MRS. HOWE. +SATURDAY, JULY 1. + + +Permit me, Madam, to trouble you with a few lines, were it only to thank +you for your reproofs; which have nevertheless drawn fresh streams of +blood from a bleeding heart. + +My story is a dismal story. It has circumstances in it that would engage +pity, and possibly a judgment not altogether unfavourable, were those +circumstances known. But it is my business, and shall be all my +business, to repent of my failings, and not endeavour to extenuate them. + +Nor will I seek to distress your worthy mind. If I cannot suffer alone, +I will make as few parties as I can in my sufferings. And, indeed, I +took up my pen with this resolution when I wrote the letter which has +fallen into your hands. It was only to know, and that for a very +particular reason, as well as for affection unbounded, if my dear Miss +Howe, from whom I had not heard of a long time, were ill; as I had been +told she was; and if so, how she now does. But my injuries being recent, +and my distresses having been exceeding great, self would crowd into my +letter. When distressed, the human mind is apt to turn itself to every +one, in whom it imagined or wished an interest, for pity and consolation. +--Or, to express myself better, and more concisely, in your own words, +misfortune makes people plaintive: And to whom, if not to a friend, can +the afflicted complain? + +Miss Howe being abroad when my letter came, I flatter myself that she is +recovered. But it would be some satisfaction to me to be informed if she +has been ill. Another line from your hand would be too great a favour: +but if you will be pleased to direct any servant to answer yes, or no, to +that question, I will not be farther troublesome. + +Nevertheless, I must declare, that my Miss Howe's friendship was all the +comfort I had, or expected to have in this world; and a line from her +would have been a cordial to my fainting heart. Judge then, dearest +Madam, how reluctantly I must obey your prohibition--but yet I will +endeavour to obey it; although I should have hoped, as well from the +tenor of all that has passed between Miss Howe and me, as from her +established virtue, that she could not be tainted by evil communication, +had one or two letters been permitted. This, however, I ask not for, +since I think I have nothing to do but to beg of God (who, I hope, has +not yet withdrawn his grace from me, although he has pleaded to let loose +his justice upon my faults) to give me a truly broken spirit, if it be +not already broken enough, and then to take to his mercy + +The unhappy +CLARISSA HARLOWE. + +Two favours, good Madam, I have to beg of you.--The first,--that you will + not let any of my relations know that you have heard from me. The + other,--that no living creature be apprized where I am to be heard of, + or directed to. This is a point that concerns me more than I can + express.--In short, my preservation from further evils may depend upon + it. + + + +LETTER LIII + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO HANNAH BURTON +THURSDAY, JUNE 29. + + +MY GOOD HANNAH, + +Strange things have happened to me, since you were dismissed my service +(so sorely against my will) and your pert fellow servant set over me. +But that must all be forgotten now-- + +How do you, my Hannah? Are you recovered of your illness? If you are, +do you choose to come and be with me? Or can you conveniently? + +I am a very unhappy creature, and, being among all strangers, should be +very glad to have you with me, of whose fidelity and love I have had so +many acceptable instances. + +Living or dying, I will endeavour to make it worth your while, my Hannah. + +If you are recovered, as I hope, and if you have a good place, it may be +they would bear with your absence, and suffer somebody in your room for a +month or so: and, by that time, I hope to be provided for, and you may +then return to your place. + +Don't let any of my friends know of this my desire: whether you can come +or not. + +I am at Mr. Smith's, a hosier's and glove shop, in King-street, +Covent-garden. + +You must direct to me by the name of Rachel Clark. + +Do, my good Hannah, come if you can to your poor young mistress, who +always valued you, and always will whether you come or not. + +I send this to your mother at St. Alban's, not knowing where to direct +to you. Return me a line, that I may know what to depend upon: and I +shall see you have not forgotten the pretty hand you were taught, in +happy days, by + +Your true friend, +CLARISSA HARLOWE. + + + +LETTER LIV + +HANNAH BURTON +[IN ANSWER.] +MONDAY, JULY 3. + + +HONORED MADDAM, + +I have not forgot to write, and never will forget any thing you, my dear +young lady, was so good as to larn me. I am very sorrowful for your +misfortens, my dearest young lady; so sorrowfull, I do not know what to +do. Gladd at harte would I be to be able to come to you. But indeed I +have not been able to stir out of my rome here at my mother's ever since +I was forsed to leave my plase with a roomatise, which has made me quite +and clene helpless. I will pray for you night and day, my dearest, my +kindest, my goodest young lady, who have been so badly used; and I am +very sorry I cannot come to do you love and sarvice; which will ever be +in the harte of mee to do, if it was in my power: who am + +Your most dutiful servant to command, +HANNAH BURTON. + + + +LETTER LV + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MRS. JUDITH NORTON +THURSDAY, JUNE 29. + + +MY DEAR MRS. NORTON, + +I address myself to you, after a very long silence, (which, however, was +not owing either to want of love or duty,) principally to desire you to +satisfy me in two or three points, which it behoves me to know. + +My father, and all the family, I am informed, are to be at my uncle +Harlowe's this day, as usual. Pray acquaint me, if they have been there? +And if they were cheerful on the anniversary occasion? And also, if you +have heard of any journey, or intended journey, of my brother, in company +with Captain Singleton and Mr. Solmes? + +Strange things have happened to me, my dear, worthy and maternal friend-- +very strange things!--Mr. Lovelace has proved a very barbarous and +ungrateful man to me. But, God be praised, I have escaped from him. +Being among absolute strangers (though I think worthy folks) I have +written to Hannah Burton to come and be with me. If the good creature +fall in your way, pray encourage her to come to me. I always intended +to have her, she knows: but hoped to be in happier circumstances. + +Say nothing to any of my friends that you have heard from me. + +Pray, do you think my father would be prevailed upon, if I were to +supplicate him by letter, to take off the heavy curse he laid upon me at +my going from Harlowe-place? I can expect no other favour from him. But +that being literally fulfilled as to my prospects in this life, I hope it +will be thought to have operated far enough; and my heart is so weak!--it +is very weak!--But for my father's own sake--what should I say!--Indeed I +hardly know how I ought to express myself on this sad subject!--but it +will give ease to my mind to be released from it. + +I am afraid my Poor, as I used to call the good creatures to whose +necessities I was wont to administer by your faithful hands, have missed +me of late. But now, alas! I am poor myself. It is not the least +aggravation of my fault, nor of my regrets, that with such inclinations +as God has given me, I have put it our of my power to do the good I once +pleased myself to think I was born to do. It is a sad thing, my dearest +Mrs. Nortin, to render useless to ourselves and the world, by our own +rashness, the talents which Providence has intrusted to us, for the +service of both. + +But these reflections are now too late; and perhaps I ought to have kept +them to myself. Let me, however, hope that you love me still. Pray let +me hope that you do. And then, notwithstanding my misfortunes, which +have made me seem ungrateful to the kind and truly maternal pains you +have taken with me from my cradle, I shall have the happiness to think +that there is one worthy person, who hates not + +The unfortunate +CLARISSA HARLOWE. + +Pray remember me to my foster-brother. I hope he continues dutiful and + good to you. +Be pleased to direct for Rachel Clark, at Mr. Smith's, in King-street, + Covent-garden. But keep the direction an absolute secret. + + + +LETTER LVI + +MRS. NORTON +[IN ANSWER.] +SATURDAY, JULY 1. + + +Your letter, my dearest young lady, cuts me to the heart! Why will you +not let me know all your distresses?--Yet you have said enough! + +My son is very good to me. A few hours ago he was taken with a feverish +disorder. But I hope it will go off happily, if his ardour for business +will give him the recess from it which his good master is willing to +allow him. He presents his duty to you, and shed tears at hearing your +sad letter read. + +You have been misinformed as to your family's being at your uncle +Harlowe's. They did not intend to be there. Nor was the day kept at +all. Indeed, they have not stirred out, but to church (and that but +three times) ever since the day you went away.--Unhappy day for them, and +for all who know you!--To me, I am sure, most particularly so!--My heart +now bleeds more and more for you. + +I have not heard a syllable of such a journey as you mentioned of your +brother, Captain Singleton, and Mr. Solmes. There has been some talk +indeed of your brother's setting out for his northern estates: but I have +not heard of it lately. + +I am afraid no letter will be received from you. It grieves me to tell +you so, my dearest young lady. No evil can have happened to you, which +they do not expect to hear of; so great is their antipathy to the wicked +man, and so bad is his character. + +I cannot but think hardly of their unforgiveness: but there is no judging +for others by one's self. Nevertheless I will add, that, if you had had +as gentle spirits as mine, these evils had never happened either to them +or to you. I knew your virtue, and your love of virtue, from your very +cradle; and I doubted not but that, with God's grace, would always be +your guard. But you could never be driven; nor was there occasion to +drive you--so generous, so noble, so discreet.--But how does my love of +your amiable qualities increase my affliction; as these recollections +must do your's! + +You are escaped, my dearest Miss--happily, I hope--that is to say, with +your honour--else, how great must be your distress!--Yet, from your +letter, I dread the worst. + +I am very seldom at Harlowe-place. The house is not the house it used to +be, since you went from it. Then they are so relentless! And, as I +cannot say harsh things of the beloved child of my heart, as well as +bosom, they do not take it amiss that I stay away. + +Your Hannah left her place ill some time ago! and, as she is still at her +mother's at St. Alban's, I am afraid she continues ill. If so, as you +are among strangers, and I cannot encourage you at present to come into +these parts, I shall think it my duty to attend you (let it be taken as +it will) as soon as my Tommy's indisposition will permit; which I hope +will be soon. + +I have a little money by me. You say you are poor yourself.--How +grievous are those words from one entitled and accustomed to affluence!-- +Will you be so good to command it, my beloved young lady?--It is most of +it your own bounty to me. And I should take a pride to restore it to its +original owner. + +Your Poor bless you, and pray for you continually. I have so managed +your last benevolence, and they have been so healthy, and have had such +constant employ, that it has held out; and will hold out till the happier +times return, which I continually pray for. + +Let me beg of you, my dearest young lady, to take to yourself all those +aids which good persons, like you, draw from RELIGION, in support of +their calamities. Let your sufferings be what they will, I am sure you +have been innocent in your intention. So do not despond. None are made +to suffer above what they can, and therefore ought to bear. + +We know not the methods of Providence, nor what wise ends it may have to +serve in its seemingly-severe dispensations to its poor creatures. + +Few persons have greater reason to say this than myself. And since we +are apt in calamities to draw more comfort from example than precept, you +will permit me to remind you of my own lot: For who has had a greater +share of afflictions than myself? + +To say nothing of the loss of an excellent mother, at a time of life when +motherly care is most wanted; the death of a dear father, who was an +ornament to his cloth, (and who had qualified me to be his scribe and +amanuensis,) just as he came within view of a preferment which would have +made his family easy, threw me friendless into the wide world; threw me +upon a very careless, and, which was much worse, a very unkind husband. +Poor man!--but he was spared long enough, thank God, in a tedious +illness, to repent of his neglected opportunities, and his light +principles; which I have always thought of with pleasure, although I was +left the more destitute for his chargeable illness, and ready to be +brought to bed, when he died, of my Tommy. + +But this very circumstance, which I thought the unhappiest that I could +have been left in, (so short-sighted is human prudence!) became the happy +means of recommending me to your mother, who, in regard to my character, +and in compassion to my very destitute circumstances, permitted me, as I +made a conscience of not parting with my poor boy, to nurse both you and +him, born within a few days of each other. And I have never since wanted +any of the humble blessings which God has made me contented with. + + +Nor have I known what a very great grief was, from the day of my poor +husband's death till the day that your parents told me how much they were +determined that you should have Mr. Solmes; when I was apprized not only +of your aversion to him, but how unworthy he was of you: for then I began +to dread the consequences of forcing so generous a spirit; and, till +then, I never feared Mr. Lovelace, attracting as was his person, and +specious his manners and address. For I was sure you would never have +him, if he gave you not good reason to be convinced of his reformation: +nor till your friends were as well satisfied in it as yourself. But that +unhappy misunderstanding between your brother and Mr. Lovelace, and their +joining so violently to force you upon Mr. Solmes, did all that mischief, +which has cost you and them so dear, and poor me all my peace! Oh! what +has not this ungrateful, this double-guilty man to answer for! + +Nevertheless, you know not what God has in store for you yet!--But if you +are to be punished all your days here, for example sake, in a case of +such importance, for your one false step, be pleased to consider, that +this life is but a state of probation; and if you have your purification +in it, you will be the more happy. Nor doubt I, that you will have the +higher reward hereafter for submitting to the will of Providence here +with patience and resignation. + +You see, my dearest Miss Clary, that I make no scruple to call the step +you took a false one. In you it was less excusable than it would have +been in any other young lady; not only because of your superior talents, +but because of the opposition between your character and his: so that, if +you had been provoked to quit your father's house, it need not to have +been with him. Nor needed I, indeed, but as an instance of my impartial +love, to have written this to you.* + + +* Mrs. Norton, having only the family representation and invectives to +form her judgment upon, knew not that Clarissa had determined against +going off with Mr. Lovelace; nor how solicitous she had been to procure +for herself any other protection than his, when she apprehended that, if +she staid, she had no way to avoid being married to Mr. Solmes. + + +After this, it will have an unkind, and perhaps at this time an +unseasonable appearance, to express my concern that you have not before +favoured me with a line. Yet if you can account to yourself for your +silence, I dare say I ought to be satisfied; for I am sure you love me: +as I both love and honour you, and ever will, and the more for your +misfortunes. + +One consolation, methinks, I have, even when I am sorrowing for your +calamities; and that is, that I know not any young person so qualified to +shine the brighter for the trials she may be exercised with: and yet it +is a consolation that ends in adding to my regrets for your afflictions, +because you are blessed with a mind so well able to bear prosperity, and +to make every body round you the better for it!--But I will forbear till +I know more. + +Ruminating on every thing your melancholy letter suggests, and +apprehending, from the gentleness of your mind, the amiableness of your +person, and your youth, the farther misfortunes and inconveniencies to +which you may possibly be subjected, I cannot conclude without asking for +your leave to attend you, and that in a very earnest manner--and I beg of +you not to deny me, on any consideration relating to myself, or even to +the indisposition of my other beloved child, if I can be either of use or +of comfort to you. Were it, my dearest young lady, but for two or three +days, permit me to attend you, although my son's illness should increase, +and compel me to come down again at the end of those two or three days.-- +I repeat my request, likewise, that you will command from me the little +sum remaining in the hands of your bounty to your Poor, as well as that +dispensed to + +Your ever-affectionate and faithful servant, +JUDITH NORTON. + + + +LETTER LVII + +MISS CL. HARLOWE, TO LADY BETTY LAWRANCE +THURSDAY, JUNE 29. + + +MADAM, + +I hope you'll excuse the freedom of this address, from one who has not +the honour to be personally known to you, although you must have heard +much of Clarissa Harlowe. It is only to beg the favour of a line from +your Ladyship's hand, (by the next post, if convenient,) in answer to the +following questions: + +1. Whether you wrote a letter, dated, as I have a memorandum, Wedn. June + 7, congratulating your nephew Lovelace on his supposed nuptials, as + reported to you by Mr. Spurrier, your Ladyship's steward, as from one + Captain Tomlinson:--and in it reproaching Mr. Lovelace, as guilty of + slight, &c. in not having acquainted your Ladyship and the family + with his marriage? + +2. Whether your ladyship wrote to Miss Montague to meet you at Reading, + in order to attend you to your cousin Leeson's, in Albemarle-street; + on your being obliged to be in town on your old chancery affair, I + remember are the words? and whether you bespoke your nephew's + attendance there on Sunday night the 11th? + +3. Whether your Ladyship and Miss Montague did come to town at that + time; and whether you went to Hampstead, on Monday, in a hired coach + and four, your own being repairing, and took from thence to town with + the young creature whom you visited there? + +Your Ladyship will probably guess, that the questions are not asked for +reasons favourable to your nephew Lovelace. But be the answer what it +will, it can do him no hurt, nor me any good; only that I think I owe it +to my former hopes, (however deceived in them,) and even to charity, that +a person, of whom I was once willing to think better, should not prove so +egregiously abandoned, as to be wanting, in every instance, to that +veracity which is indispensable in the character of a gentleman. + +Be pleased, Madam, to direct to me, (keeping the direction a secret for +the present,) to be left at the Belle-Savage, on Ludgate hill, till +called for. I am + +Your Ladyship's most humble servant, +CLARISSA HARLOWE. + + + +LETTER LVIII + +LADY BETTY LAWRANCE, TO MISS CL. HARLOWE +SATURDAY, JULY 1. + + +DEAR MADAM, + +I find that all is not as it should be between you and my nephew +Lovelace. It will very much afflict me, and all his friends, if he has +been guilty of any designed baseness to a lady of your character and +merit. + +We have been long in expectation of an opportunity to congratulate you +and ourselves upon an event most earnestly wished for by us all; since +our hopes of him are built upon the power you have over him: for if ever +man adored a woman, he is that man, and you, Madam, are that woman. + +Miss Montague, in her last letter to me, in answer to one of mine, +inquiring if she knew from him whether he could call you his, or was +likely soon to have that honour, has these words: 'I know not what to +make of my cousin Lovelace, as to the point your Ladyship is so earnest +about. He sometimes says he is actually married to Miss Cl. Harlowe: at +other times, that it is her own fault if he be not.--He speaks of her not +only with love but with reverence: yet owns, that there is a +misunderstanding between them; but confesses that she is wholly +faultless. An angel, and not a woman, he says she is: and that no man +living can be worthy of her.'-- + +This is what my niece Montague writes. + +God grant, my dearest young lady, that he may not have so heinously +offended you that you cannot forgive him! If you are not already +married, and refuse to be his, I shall lose all hopes that he ever will +marry, or be the man I wish him to be. So will Lord M. So will Lady +Sarah Sadleir. + +I will now answer your questions: but indeed I hardly know what to write, +for fear of widening still more the unhappy difference between you. But +yet such a young lady must command every thing from me. This then is my +answer: + +I wrote not any letter to him on or about the 7th of June. + +Neither I nor my steward know any such man as Captain Tomlinson. + +I wrote not to my niece to meet me at Reading, nor to accompany me to my + cousin Leeson's in town. + +My chancery affair, though, like most chancery affairs, it be of long + standing, is, nevertheless, now in so good a way, that it cannot + give me occasion to go to town. + +Nor have I been in town these six months: nor at Hampstead for + years. + +Neither shall I have any temptation to go to town, except to pay my + congratulatory compliments to Mrs. Lovelace. On which occasion I + should go with the greatest pleasure; and should hope for the + favour of your accompanying me to Glenham-hall, for a month at + least. + +Be what will the reason of your inquiry, let me entreat you, my dear +young lady, for Lord M.'s sake; for my sake; for this giddy man's sake, +soul as well as body; and for all our family's sakes; not to suffer this +answer to widen differences so far as to make you refuse him, if he +already has not the honour of calling you his; as I am apprehensive he +has not, by your signing by your family-name. + +And here let me offer to you my mediation to compose the difference +between you, be it what it will. Your cause, my dear young lady, cannot +be put into the hands of any body living more devoted to your service, +than into those of + +Your sincere admirer, and humble servant, +ELIZ. LAWRANCE. + + + +LETTER LIX + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MRS. HODGES +ENFIELD, JUNE 22. + + +MRS. HODGES, + +I am under a kind of necessity to write to you, having no one among my +relations to whom I dare write, or hope a line from if I did. It is but +to answer a question. It is this: + +Whether you know any such man as Captain Tomlinson? and, if you do, +whether he be very intimate with my uncle Harlowe? + +I will describe his person lest, possibly, he should go by another name +among you; although I know not why he should. + +'He is a thin, tallish man, a little pock-fretten, of a sallowish +complexion. Fifty years of age, or more. Of good aspect when he looks +up. He seems to be a serious man, and one who knows the world. He +stoops a little in the shoulders. Is of Berkshire. His wife of +Oxfordshire; and has several children. He removed lately into your parts +form Northamptonshire.' + +I must desire you, Mrs. Hodges, that you will not let my uncle, nor any +of my relations, know that I write to you. + +You used to say, that you would be glad to have it in your power to serve +me. That, indeed, was in my prosperity. But, I dare say, you will not +refuse me in a particular that will oblige me, without hurting yourself. + +I understand that my father, mother, and sister, and I presume, my +brother, and my uncle Antony, are to be at my uncle Harlowe's this day. +God preserve them all, and may they rejoice in many happy birth-days! +You will write six words to me concerning their healths. + +Direct, for a particular reason, to Mrs. Dorothy Salcombe, to be left +till called for, at the Four Swans Inn, Bishopsgate-street. + +You know my hand-writing well enough, were not the contents of the letter +sufficient to excuse my name, or any other subscription, than that of + +Your friend. + + + +LETTER LX + +MRS. HODGES +[IN ANSWER.] +SAT. JULY 2. + + +MADDAM, + +I return you an anser, as you wish me to doe. Master is acquented with +no sitch man. I am shure no sitch ever came to our house. And master +sturs very little out. He has no harte to stur out. For why? Your +obstinacy makes um not care to see one another. Master's birth-day never +was kept soe before: for not a sole heere: and nothing but sikeing and +sorrowin from master to think how it yused to bee. + +I axed master, if soe bee he knowed sitch a man as one Captain Tomlinson? +but said not whirfor I axed. He sed, No, not he. + +Shure this is no trix nor forgery bruing against master by one Tomlinson +--Won knows not what company you may have been forsed to keep, sen you +went away, you knoe, Maddam; but Lundon is a pestilent plase; and that +'Squire Luvless is a devil (for all he is sitch a like gentleman to look +to) as I hev herd every boddy say; and think as how you have found by +thiss. + +I truste, Maddam, you wulde not let master cum to harme, if you knoed it, +by any body who may pretend to be acquented with him: but for fere, I +querid with myself if I shulde not tell him. But I was willin to show +you, that I wulde plessure you in advarsity, if advarsity be your lott, +as well as prosperity; for I am none of those that woulde doe otherwiss. +Soe no more from + +Your humble sarvent, to wish you well, +SARAH HODGES. + + + +LETTER LXI + +MISS CL. HARLOWE, TO LADY BETTY LAWRANCE. +MONDAY, JULY 3. + + +MADAM, + +I cannot excuse myself from giving your Ladyship this one trouble more; +to thank you, as I most heartily do, for your kind letter. + +I must own to you, Madam, that the honour of being related to ladies as +eminent for their virtue as for their descent, was at first no small +inducement with me to lend an ear to Mr. Lovelace's address. And the +rather, as I was determined, had it come to effect, to do every thing in +my power to deserve your favourable opinion. + +I had another motive, which I knew would of itself give me merit with +your whole family; a presumptuous one, (a punishably presumptuous one, as +it has proved,) in the hope that I might be an humble mean in the hand of +Providence to reclaim a man, who had, as I thought, good sense enough to +acknowledge the intended obligation, whether the generous hope were to +succeed or not. + +But I have been most egregiously mistaken in Mr. Lovelace; the only man, +I persuade myself, pretending to be a gentleman, in whom I could have +been so much mistaken: for while I was endeavouring to save a drowning +wretch, I have been, not accidentally, but premeditatedly, and of set +purpose, drawn in after him. And he has had the glory to add to the list +of those he has ruined, a name, that, I will be bold to say, would not +have disparaged his own. And this, Madam, by means that would shock +humanity to be made acquainted with. + +My whole end is served by your Ladyship's answer to the questions I took +the liberty to put to you in writing. Nor have I a wish to make the +unhappy man more odious to you than is necessary to excuse myself for +absolutely declining your offered mediation. + +When your Ladyship shall be informed of the following particulars: + +That after he had compulsorily, as I may say, tricked me into the act of +going off with him, he could carry me to one of the vilest houses, as it +proved, in London: + +That he could be guilty of a wicked attempt, in resentment of which, I +found means to escape from him to Hampstead: + +That, after he had found me out there (I know not how) he could procure +two women, dressed out richly, to personate your Ladyship and Miss +Montague; who, under pretence of engaging me to make a visit in town to +your cousin Leeson, (promising to return with me that evening to +Hampstead,) betrayed me back again to the vile house: where, again made a +prisoner, I was first robbed of my senses; and then of my honour. Why +should I seek to conceal that disgrace from others which I cannot hide +from myself? + +When your Ladyship shall know, that, in the shocking progress to this +ruin, wilful falsehoods, repeated forgeries, (particularly of one letter +from your Ladyship, another from Miss Montague, and a third from Lord M.) +and numberless perjuries, were not the least of his crimes: you will +judge, that I can have no principles that will make me worthy of an +alliance with ladies of your's and your noble sister's character, if I +could not from my soul declare, that such an alliance can never now take +place. + +I will not offer to clear myself entirely of blame: but, as to him, I +have no fault to accuse myself of: my crime was, the corresponding with +him at first, when prohibited so to do by those who had a right to my +obedience; made still more inexcusable, by giving him a clandestine +meeting, which put me into the power of his arts. And for this I am +content to be punished: thankful, that at last I have escaped from him; +and have it in my power to reject so wicked a man for my husband: and +glad, if I may be a warning, since I cannot be an example: which once +(very vain, and very conceited, as I was) I proposed to myself to be. + +All the ill I wish him is, that he may reform; and that I may be the last +victim to his baseness. Perhaps this desirable wish may be obtained, +when he shall see how his wickedness, his unmerited wickedness! to a poor +creature, made friendless by his cruel arts, will end. + +I conclude with my humble thanks to your Ladyship for your favourable +opinion of me; and with the assurance that I will be, while life is lent +me, + +Your Ladyship's grateful and obliged servant, +CLARISSA HARLOWE. + + + +LETTER LXII + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MRS. NORTON +SUNDAY EVENING, JULY 2. + + +How kindly, my beloved Mrs. Norton, do you soothe the anguish of a +bleeding heart! Surely you are mine own mother; and, by some +unaccountable mistake, I must have been laid to a family that, having +newly found out, or at least suspected, the imposture, cast me from their +hearts, with the indignation that such a discovery will warrant. + +Oh! that I had been indeed your own child, born to partake of your humble +fortunes, an heiress only to that content in which you are so happy! then +should I have had a truly gentle spirit to have guided my ductile heart, +which force and ungenerous usage sit so ill upon: and nothing of what has +happened would have been. + +But let me take heed that I enlarge not, by impatience, the breach +already made in my duty by my rashness! since, had I not erred, my +mother, at least, could never have been thought hard-hearted and +unforgiving. Am I not then answerable, not only for my own faults, but +for the consequences of them; which tend to depreciate and bring disgrace +upon a maternal character never before called in question? + +It is kind, however, in you to endeavour to extenuate the faults of one +so greatly sensible of it: and could it be wiped off entirely, it would +render me more worthy of the pains you have taken in my education: for it +must add to your grief, as it does to my confusion, that, after such +promising beginnings, I should have so behaved as to be a disgrace +instead of a credit to you and my other friends. + +But that I may not make you think me more guilty than I am, give me leave +briefly to assure you, that, when my story is known, I shall be +to more compassion than blame, even on the score of going away with Mr. +Lovelace. + +As to all that happened afterwards, let me only say, that although I must +call myself a lost creature as to this world, yet have I this consolation +left me, that I have not suffered either for want of circumspection, or +through careful credulity or weakness. Not one moment was I off my +guard, or unmindful of your early precepts. But (having been enabled to +baffle many base contrivances) I was at last ruined by arts the most +inhuman. But had I not been rejected by every friend, this low-hearted +man had not dared, nor would have had opportunity, to treat me as he has +treated me. + +More I cannot, at this time, nor need I say: and this I desire you to +keep to yourself, lest resentments should be taken up when I am gone, +that may spread the evil which I hope will end with me. + +I have been misinformed, you say, as to my principal relations being at +my uncle Harlowe's. The day, you say, was not kept. Nor have my brother +and Mr. Solmes--Astonishing!--What complicated wickedness has this +wretched man to answer for!--Were I to tell you, you would hardly believe +that there could have been such a heart in man.-- + +But one day you may know the whole story!--At present I have neither +inclination nor words--O my bursting heart!--Yet a happy, a wished +relief!--Were you present my tears would supply the rest! + + +*** + + +I resume my pen! + +And so you fear no letter will be received from me. But DON'T grieve to +tell me so! I expect every thing bad--and such is my distress, that had +you not bid me hope for mercy from the throne of mercy, I should have +been afraid that my father's dreadful curse would be completed with +regard to both worlds. + +For here, an additional misfortune!--In a fit of phrensical heedlessness, +I sent a letter to my beloved Miss Howe, without recollecting her private +address; and it has fallen into her angry mother's hands: and so that +dear friend perhaps has anew incurred displeasure on my account. And +here too your worthy son is ill; and my poor Hannah, you think, cannot +come to me--O my dear Mrs. Norton, will you, can you censure those whose +resentments against me Heaven seems to approve of? and will you acquit +her whom that condemns? + +Yet you bid me not despond.--I will not, if I can help it. And, indeed, +most seasonable consolation has your kind letter afforded me.--Yet to God +Almighty do I appeal, to avenge my wrongs, and vindicate my inno---- + +But hushed be my stormy passions!--Have I not but this moment said that +your letter gave me consolation?--May those be forgiven who hinder my +father from forgiving me!--and this, as to them, shall be the harshest +thing that shall drop from my pen. + +But although your son should recover, I charge you, my dear Mrs. Norton, +that you do not think of coming to me. I don't know still but your +mediation with my mother (although at present your interposition would be +so little attended to) may be of use to procure me the revocation of that +most dreadful part of my father's curse, which only remains to be +fulfilled. The voice of Nature must at last be heard in my favour, +surely. It will only plead at first to my friends in the still conscious +plaintiveness of a young and unhardened beggar. But it will grow more +clamorous when I have the courage to be so, and shall demand, perhaps, +the paternal protection from farther ruin; and that forgiveness, which +those will be little entitled to expect, for their own faults, who shall +interpose to have it refused to me, for an accidental, not a premeditated +error: and which, but for them, I had never fallen into. + +But again, impatiency, founded perhaps on self-partiality, that strange +misleader! prevails. + +Let me briefly say, that it is necessary to my present and future hopes +that you keep well with my family. And moreover, should you come, I may +be traced out by that means by the most abandoned of men. Say not then +that you think you ought to come up to me, let it be taken as it will:-- +For my sake, let me repeat, (were my foster-brother recovered, as I hope +he is,) you must not come. Nor can I want your advice, while I can +write, and you can answer me. And write I will as often as I stand in +need of your counsel. + +Then the people I am now with seem to be both honest and humane: and +there is in the same house a widow-lodger, of low fortunes, but of great +merit:--almost such another serious and good woman as the dear one to +whom I am now writing; who has, as she says, given over all other +thoughts of the world but such as should assist her to leave it happily. +--How suitable to my own views!--There seems to be a comfortable +providence in this at least--so that at present there is nothing of +exigence; nothing that can require, or even excuse, your coming, when so +many better ends may be answered by your staying where you are. A time +may come, when I shall want your last and best assistance: and then, my +dear Mrs. Norton--and then, I will speak it, and embrace it with all my +whole heart--and then, will it not be denied me by any body. + +You are very obliging in your offer of money. But although I was forced +to leave my clothes behind me, yet I took several things of value with +me, which will keep me from present want. You'll say, I have made a +miserable hand of it--so indeed I have--and, to look backwards, in a very +little while too. + +But what shall I do, if my father cannot be prevailed upon to recall his +malediction? O my dear Mrs. Norton, what a weight must a father's curse +have upon a heart so appreciative as mine!--Did I think I should ever +have a father's curse to deprecate? And yet, only that the temporary +part of it is so terribly fulfilled, or I should be as earnest for its +recall, for my father's sake, as for my own! + +You must not be angry with me that I wrote not to you before. You are +very right and very kind to say you are sure I love you. Indeed I do. +And what a generosity, [so like yourself!] is there in your praise, to +attribute to me more than I merit, in order to raise an emulation to me +to deserve your praises!--you tell me what you expect from me in the +calamities I am called upon to bear. May I behave answerably! + +I can a little account to myself for my silence to you, my kind, my dear +maternal friend! How equally sweetly and politely do you express +yourself on this occasion! I was very desirous, for your sake, as well +as for my own, that you should have it to say that we did not correspond: +had they thought we did, every word you could have dropt in my favour +would have been rejected; and my mother would have been forbid to see +you, or pay any regard to what you should say. + +Then I had sometimes better and sometimes worse prospects before me. My +worst would only have troubled you to know: my better made me frequently +hope, that, by the next post, or the next, and so on for weeks, I should +have the best news to impart to you that then could happen: cold as the +wretch had made my heart to that best.--For how could I think to write to +you, with a confession that I was not married, yet lived in the house +(for I could not help it) with such a man?--Who likewise had given it out +to several, that we were actually married, although with restrictions +that depended on the reconciliation with my friends? And to disguise the +truth, or be guilty of a falsehood, either direct or equivocal, that was +what you had never taught me. + +But I might have written to you for advice, in my precarious situation, +perhaps you will think. But, indeed, my dear Mrs. Norton, I was not lost +for want of advice. And this will appear clear to you from what I have +already hinted, were I to explain myself no further:--For what need had +the cruel spoiler to have recourse to unprecedented arts--I will speak +out plainer still, (but you must not at present report it,) to stupifying +potions, and to the most brutal and outrageous force, had I been wanting +in my duty? + +A few words more upon this grievous subject-- + +When I reflect upon all that has happened to me, it is apparent, that +this generally-supposed thoughtless seducer has acted by me upon a +regular and preconcerted plan of villany. + +In order to set all his vile plots in motion, nothing was wanting, from +the first, but to prevail upon me, either by force or fraud, to throw +myself into his power: and when this was effected, nothing less than the +intervention of the paternal authority, (which I had not deserved to be +exerted in my behalf,) could have saved me from the effect of his deep +machinations. Opposition from any other quarter would but too probably +have precipitated his barbarous and ungrateful violence: and had you +yourself been with me, I have reason now to think, that somehow or other +you would have suffered in endeavouring to save me: for never was there, +as now I see, a plan of wickedness more steadily and uniformly pursued +than his has been, against an unhappy creature who merited better of him: +but the Almighty has thought fit, according to the general course of His +providence, to make the fault bring on its own punishment: but surely not +in consequence of my father's dreadful imprecation, 'That I might be +punished here,' [O my mamma Norton, pray with me, if so, that here it +stop!] 'by the very wretch in whom I had placed my wicked confidence!' + +I am sorry, for your sake, to leave off so heavily. Yet the rest must be +brief. + +Let me desire you to be secret in what I have communicated to you; at +least till you have my consent to divulge it. + +God preserve to you your more faultless child! + +I will hope for His mercy, although I should not obtain that of any +earthly person. + +And I repeat my prohibition:--You must not think of coming up to + +Your ever dutiful +CL. HARLOWE. + +The obliging person, who left your's for me this day, promised to call + to-morrow, to see if I should have any thing to return. I would + not lose so good an opportunity. + + + +LETTER LXIII + +MRS. NORTON, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE +MONDAY NIGHT, JULY 3. + + +O the barbarous villany of this detestable man! And is there a man in +the world who could offer violence to so sweet a creature! + +And are you sure you are now out of his reach? + +You command me to keep secret the particulars of the vile treatment you +have met with; or else, upon an unexpected visit which Miss Harlowe +favoured me with, soon after I had received your melancholy letter, I +should have been tempted to own I had heard from you, and to have +communicated to her such parts of your two letters as would have +demonstrated your penitence, and your earnestness to obtain the +revocation of your father's malediction, as well as his protection from +outrages that may still be offered to you. But then your sister would +probably have expected a sight of the letters, and even to have been +permitted to take them with her to the family. + +Yet they must one day be acquainted with the sad story:--and it is +impossible but they must pity you, and forgive you, when they know your +early penitence, and your unprecedented sufferings; and that you have +fallen by the brutal force of a barbarous ravisher, and not by the vile +arts of a seducing lover. + +The wicked man gives it out at Lord M.'s, as Miss Harlowe tells me, that +he is actually married to you--yet she believes it not: nor had I the +heart to let her know the truth. + +She put it close to me, Whether I had not corresponded with you from the +time of your going away? I could safely tell her, (as I did,) that I had +not: but I said, that I was well informed, that you took extremely to +heart your father's imprecation; and that, if she would excuse me, I +would say it would be a kind and sisterly part, if she would use her +interest to get you discharged from it. + +Among other severe things, she told me, that my partial fondness for you +made me very little consider the honour of the rest of the family: but, +if I had not heard this from you, she supposed I was set on by Miss Howe. + +She expressed herself with a good deal of bitterness against that young +lady: who, it seems, every where, and to every body, (for you must think +that your story is the subject of all conversations,) rails against your +family; treating them, as your sister says, with contempt, and even with +ridicule. + +I am sorry such angry freedoms are taken, for two reasons; first, because +such liberties never do any good. I have heard you own, that Miss Howe +has a satirical vein; but I should hope that a young lady of her sense, +and right cast of mind, must know that the end of satire is not to +exasperate, but amend; and should never be personal. If it be, as my +good father used to say, it may make an impartial person suspect that the +satirist has a natural spleen to gratify; which may be as great a fault +in him, as any of those which he pretends to censure and expose in +others. + +Perhaps a hint of this from you will not be thrown away. + +My second reason is, That these freedoms, from so warm a friend to you as +Miss Howe is known to be, are most likely to be charged to your account. + +My resentments are so strong against this vilest of men, that I dare not +touch upon the shocking particulars which you mention of his baseness. +What defence, indeed, could there be against so determined a wretch, +after you was in his power? I will only repeat my earnest supplication +to you, that, black as appearances are, you will not despair. Your +calamities are exceeding great; but then you have talents proportioned to +your trials. This every body allows. + +Suppose the worst, and that your family will not be moved in your favour, +your cousin Morden will soon arrive, as Miss Harlowe told me. If he +should even be got over to their side, he will however see justice done +you; and then may you live an exemplary life, making hundreds happy, and +teaching young ladies to shun the snares in which you have been so +dreadfully entangled. + +As to the man you have lost, is an union with such a perjured heart as +his, with such an admirable one as your's, to be wished for? A base, +low-hearted wretch, as you justly call him, with all his pride of +ancestry; and more an enemy to himself with regard to his present and +future happiness than to you, in the barbarous and ungrateful wrongs he +has done you: I need not, I am sure, exhort you to despise such a man as +this, since not to be able to do so, would be a reflection upon a sex to +which you have always been an honour. + +Your moral character is untainted: the very nature of your sufferings, as +you will observe, demonstrates that. Cheer up, therefore, your dear +heart, and do not despair; for is it not GOD who governs the world, and +permits some things, and directs others, as He pleases? and will He not +reward temporary sufferings, innocently incurred, and piously supported, +with eternal felicity?--And what, my dear, is this poor needle's point of +NOW to a boundless eternity? + +My heart, however, labours under a double affliction: For my poor boy is +very, very bad--a violent fever--nor can it be brought to intermit.--Pray +for him, my dearest Miss--for his recovery, if God see fit.--I hope God +will see fit--if not (how can I bear to suppose that!) Pray for me, that +he will give me that patience and resignation which I have been wishing +to you. I am, my dearest young lady, + +Your ever affectionate +JUDITH NORTON. + + + +LETTER LXIV + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MRS. JUDITH NORTON +THURSDAY, JULY 6. + + +I ought not, especially at this time, to add to your afflictions--but yet +I cannot help communicating to you (who now are my only soothing friend) +a new trouble that has befallen me. + +I had but one friend in the world, beside you; and she is utterly +displeased with me.* It is grievous, but for one moment, to lie under a +beloved person's censure; and this through imputations that affect one's +honour and prudence. There are points so delicate, you know, my dear +Mrs. Norton, that it is a degree of dishonour to have a vindication of +one's self from them appear to be necessary. In the present case, my +misfortune is, that I know not how to account, but by guess (so subtle +have been the workings of the dark spirit I have been unhappily entangled +by) for some of the facts that I am called upon to explain. + +Miss Howe, in short, supposes she has found a flaw in my character. I +have just now received her severe letter--but I shall answer it, perhaps, +in better temper, if I first consider your's: for indeed my patience is +almost at an end. And yet I ought to consider, that faithful are the +wounds of a friend. But so many things at once! O my dear Mrs. Norton, +how shall so young a scholar in the school of affliction be able to bear +such heavy and such various evils! + +But to leave this subject for a while, and turn to your letter. + +I am very sorry Miss Howe is so lively in her resentments on my account. +I have always blamed her very freely for her liberties of this sort with +my friends. I once had a good deal of influence over her kind heart, and +she made all I said a law to her. But people in calamity have little +weight in any thing, or with any body. Prosperity and independence are +charming things on this account, that they give force to the counsels of +a friendly heart; while it is thought insolence in the miserable to +advise, or so much as to remonstrate. + +Yet is Miss Howe an invaluable person: And is it to be expected that she +should preserve the same regard for my judgment that she had before I +forfeited all title to discretion? With what face can I take upon me to +reproach a want of prudence in her? But if I can be so happy as to +re-establish myself in her ever-valued opinion, I shall endeavour to +enforce upon her your just observation on this head. + +You need not, you say, exhort me to despise such a man as him, by whom I +have suffered--indeed you need not: for I would choose the cruellest +death rather than to be his. And yet, my dear Mrs. Norton, I will own to +you, that once I could have loved him.--Ungrateful man!--had he permitted +me to love him, I once could have loved him. Yet he never deserved +love. And was not this a fault?--But now, if I can but keep out of his +hands, and obtain a last forgiveness, and that as well for the sake of my +dear friends' future reflections, as for my own present comfort, it is +all I wish for. + +Reconciliation with my friends I do not expect; nor pardon from them; at +least, till in extremity, and as a viaticum. + +O my beloved Mrs. Norton, you cannot imagine what I have suffered!--But +indeed my heart is broken!--I am sure I shall not live to take possession +of that independence, which you think would enable me to atone, in some +measure, for my past conduct. + +While this is my opinion, you may believe I shall not be easy till I can +obtain a last forgiveness. + +I wish to be left to take my own course in endeavouring to procure this +grace. Yet know I not, at present, what that course shall be. + +I will write. But to whom is my doubt. Calamity has not yet given me +the assurance to address myself to my FATHER. My UNCLES (well as they +once loved me) are hard hearted. They never had their masculine passions +humanized by the tender name of FATHER. Of my BROTHER I have no hope. I +have then but my MOTHER, and my SISTER, to whom I can apply.--'And may I +not, my dearest Mamma, be permitted to lift up my trembling eye to your +all-cheering, and your once more than indulgent, your fond eye, in hopes +of seasonable mercy to the poor sick heart that yet beats with life drawn +from your own dearer heart?--Especially when pardon only, and not +restoration, is implored?' + +Yet were I able to engage my mother's pity, would it not be a mean to +make her still more unhappy than I have already made her, by the +opposition she would meet with, were she to try to give force to that +pity? + +To my SISTER, then, I think, I will apply--Yet how hard-hearted has my +sister been!--But I will not ask for protection; and yet I am in hourly +dread that I shall want protection.--All I will ask for at present +(preparative to the last forgiveness I will implore) shall be only to be +freed from the heavy curse that seems to have operated as far is it can +operate as to this life--and, surely, it was passion, and not intention, +that carried it so far as to the other! + +But why do I thus add to your distresses?--It is not, my dear Mrs. +Norton, that I have so much feeling for my own calamity that I have none +for your's: since your's is indeed an addition to my own. But you have +one consolation (a very great one) which I have not:--That your +afflictions, whether respecting your more or your less deserving child, +rise not from any fault of your own. + +But what can I do for you more than pray?--Assure yourself, that in every +supplication I put up for myself, I will with equal fervour remember both +you and your son. For I am and ever will be + +Your truly sympathising and dutiful +CLARISSA HARLOWE. + + + +LETTER LXV + +MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE +[SUPERSCRIBED FOR MRS. RACHEL CLARK, &c.] +WEDNESDAY, JULY 5. + + +MY DEAR CLARISSA, + +I have at last heard from you from a quarter I little expected. + +From my mother! + +She had for some time seen me uneasy and grieving; and justly supposed it +was about you: and this morning dropt a hint, which made me conjecture +that she must have heard something of you more than I knew. And when she +found that this added to my uneasiness, she owned she had a letter in her +hands of your's, dated the 29th of June, directed for me. + +You may guess, that this occasioned a little warmth, that could not be +wished for by either. + +[It is surprising, my dear, mighty surprising! that knowing the +prohibition I lay under of corresponding with you, you could send a +letter for me to our own house: since it must be fifty to one that it +would fall into my mother's hands, as you find it did.] + +In short, she resented that I should disobey her: I was as much concerned +that she should open and withhold from me my letters: and at last she was +pleased to compromise the matter with me by giving up the letter, and +permitting me to write to you once or twice: she to see the contents of +what I wrote. For, besides the value she has for you, she could not but +have greater curiosity to know the occasion of so sad a situation as your +melancholy letter shows you to be in. + +[But I shall get her to be satisfied with hearing me read what I write; +putting in between hooks, thus [], what I intend not to read to her.] + +Need I to remind you, Miss Clarissa Harlowe, of three letters I wrote to +you, to none of which I had any answer; except to the first, and that of +a few lines only, promising a letter at large, though you were well +enough, the day after you received my second, to go joyfully back again +with him to the vile house? But more of these by-and-by. I must hasten +to take notice of your letter of Wednesday last week; which you could +contrive should fall into my mother's hands. + +Let me tell you, that that letter has almost broken my heart. Good God! +--What have you brought yourself to, Miss Clarissa Harlowe?--Could I have +believed, that after you had escaped from the miscreant, (with such +mighty pains and earnestness escaped,) and after such an attempt as he +had made, you would have been prevailed upon not only to forgive him, but +(without being married too) to return with him to that horrid house!--A +house I had given you such an account of!--Surprising!----What an +intoxicating thing is this love?--I always feared, that you, even you, +were not proof against its inconsistent effects. + +You your best self have not escaped!--Indeed I see not how you could +expect to escape. + +What a tale have you to unfold!--You need not unfold it, my dear: I would +have engaged to prognosticate all that has happened, had you but told me +that you would once more have put yourself in his power, after you had +taken such pains to get out of it. + +Your peace is destroyed!--I wonder not at it: since now you must reproach +yourself for a credulity so ill-placed. + +Your intellect is touched!--I am sure my heart bleeds for you! But, +excuse me, my dear, I doubt your intellect was touched before you left +Hampstead: or you would never have let him find you out there; or, when +he did, suffer him to prevail upon you to return to the horrid brothel. + +I tell you, I sent you three letters: The first of which, dated the 7th +and 8th of June* (for it was written at twice) came safely to your hands, +as you sent me word by a few lines dated the 9th: had it not, I should +have doubted my own safety; since in it I give you such an account of the +abominable house, and threw such cautions in your way, in relation to +that Tomlinson, as the more surprised me that you could think of going +back to it again, after you had escaped from it, and from Lovelace.--O +my dear--but nothing now will I ever wonder at! + + +* See Vol. V. Letter XX. + + +The second, dated June 10,* was given into your own hand at Hampstead, on +Sunday the 11th, as you was lying upon a couch, in a strange way, +according to my messenger's account of you, bloated, and flush-coloured; +I don't know how. + + +* See Letter VII. of this volume. + + +The third was dated the 20th of June.* Having not heard one word from +you since the promising billet of the 9th, I own I did not spare you in +it. I ventured it by the usual conveyance, by that Wilson's, having no +other: so cannot be sure you received it. Indeed I rather think you +might not; because in your's, which fell into my mother's hands, you make +no mention of it: and if you had had it, I believe it would have touched +you too much to have been passed by unnoticed. + + +* See Letter XXX. of this volume. + + +You have heard, that I have been ill, you say. I had a cold, indeed; but +it was so slight a one that it confined me not an hour. But I doubt not +that strange things you have heard, and been told, to induce you to take +the step you took. And, till you did take that step (the going back with +this villain, I mean,) I knew not a more pitiable case than your's: since +every body must have excused you before, who knew how you were used at +home, and was acquainted with your prudence and vigilance. But, alas! my +dear, we see that the wisest people are not to be depended upon, when +love, like an ignis fatuus, holds up its misleading lights before their +eyes. + +My mother tells me, she sent you an answer, desiring you not to write to +me, because it would grieve me. To be sure I am grieved; exceedingly +grieved; and, disappointed too, you must permit me to say. For I had +always thought that there never was such a woman, at your years, in the +world. + +But I remember once an argument you held, on occasion of a censure passed +in company upon an excellent preacher, who was not a very excellent +liver: preaching and practising, you said, required very different +talents:* which, when united in the same person, made the man a saint; as +wit and judgment, going together, constituted a genius. + + +* See Vol. II. Letter IV. + + +You made it out, I remember, very prettily: but you never made it out, +excuse me, my dear, more convincingly, than by that part of your late +conduct, which I complain of. + +My love for you, and my concern for your honour, may possibly have made +me a little of the severest. If you think so, place it to its proper +account; to that love, and to that concern: which will but do justice +to + +Your afflicted and faithful +A.H. + +P.S. My mother would not be satisfied without reading my letter herself; + and that before I had fixed all the proposed hooks. She knows, by + this means, and has excused, our former correspondence. + +She indeed suspected it before: and so she very well might; knowing my + love of you. + +She has so much real concern for your misfortunes, that, thinking it will + be a consolation to you, and that it will oblige me, she consents + that you shall write to me the particulars at large of your say + story. But it is on condition that I show her all that has passed + between us, relating to yourself and the vilest of men. I have the + more cheerfully complied, as the communication cannot be to your + disadvantage. + +You may therefore write freely, and direct to our own house. + +My mother promises to show me the copy of her letter to you, and your + reply to it; which latter she has but just told me of. She already + apologizes for the severity of her's: and thinks the sight of your + reply will affect me too much. But, having her promise, I will not + dispense with it. + +I doubt her's is severe enough. So I fear you will think mine: but you + have taught me never to spare the fault for the friend's sake; and + that a great error ought rather to be the more inexcusable in the + person we value, than in one we are indifferent to; because it is a + reflection upon our choice of that person, and tends to a breach of + the love of mind, and to expose us to the world for our partiality. + To the love of mind, I repeat; since it is impossible but the + errors of the dearest friend must weaken our inward opinion of that + friend; and thereby lay a foundation for future distance, and + perhaps disgust. + +God grant that you may be able to clear your conduct after you had + escaped from Hampstead; as all before that time was noble, + generous, and prudent; the man a devil and you a saint!----Yet I + hope you can; and therefore expect it from you. + +I send by a particular hand. He will call for your answer at your own + appointment. + +I am afraid this horrid wretch will trace out by the post-offices where + you are, if not careful. + +To have money, and will, and head, to be a villain, is too much for the + rest of the world, when they meet in one man. + + + +LETTER LXVI + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE +THURSDAY, JULY 6. + + +Few young persons have been able to give more convincing proofs than +myself how little true happiness lies in the enjoyment of our own wishes. + +To produce one instance only of the truth of this observation; what would +I have given for weeks past, for the favour of a letter from my dear Miss +Howe, in whose friendship I placed all my remaining comfort! Little did +I think, that the next letter she would honour me with, should be in such +a style, as should make me look more than once at the subscription, that +I might be sure (the name not being written at length) that it was not +signed by another A.H. For surely, thought I, this is my sister +Arabella's style: surely Miss Howe (blame me as she pleases in other +points) could never repeat so sharply upon her friend, words written in +the bitterness of spirit, and in the disorder of head; nor remind her, +with asperity, and with mingled strokes of wit, of an argument held in +the gaiety of a heart elated with prosperous fortunes, (as mine then +was,) and very little apprehensive of the severe turn that argument would +one day take against herself. + +But what have I, sink in my fortunes; my character forfeited; my honour +lost, [while I know it, I care not who knows it;] destitute of friends, +and even of hope; what have I to do to show a spirit of repining and +expostulation to a dear friend, because she is not more kind than a +sister?---- + +You have till now, my dear, treated me with great indulgence. If it was +with greater than I had deserved, I may be to blame to have built upon +it, on the consciousness that I deserve it now as much as ever. But I +find, by the rising bitterness which will mingle with the gall in my ink, +that I am not yet subdued enough to my condition.--I lay down my pen for +one moment. + + +*** + + +Pardon me, my Miss Howe. I have recollected myself: and will endeavour +to give a particular answer to your letter; although it will take me up +too much time to think of sending it by your messenger to-morrow: he can +put off his journey, he says, till Saturday. I will endeavour to have +the whole narrative ready for you by Saturday. + +But how to defend myself in every thing that has happened, I cannot tell: +since in some part of the time, in which my conduct appears to have been +censurable, I was not myself; and to this hour know not all the methods +taken to deceive and ruin me. + +You tell me, that in your first letter you gave me such an account of the +vile house I was in, and such cautions about that Tomlinson, as made you +wonder how I could think of going back. + +Alas, my dear! I was tricked, most vilely tricked back, as you shall +hear in its place. + +Without knowing the house was so very vile a house from your intended +information, I disliked the people too much, ever voluntarily to have +returned to it. But had you really written such cautions about +Tomlinson, and the house, as you seem to have purposed to do, they must, +had they come in time, have been of infinite service to me. But not one +word of either, whatever was your intention, did you mention to me, in +that first of the three letters you so warmly TELL me you did send me. I +will enclose it to convince you.* + + +* The letter she encloses was Mr. Lovelace's forged one. See Vol. V. +Letter XXX. + + +But your account of your messenger's delivering to me your second +letter, and the description he gives of me, as lying upon a couch, in a +strange way, bloated, and flush-coloured; you don't know how, absolutely +puzzles and confounds me. + +Lord have mercy upon the poor Clarissa Harlowe! What can this mean!--Who +was the messenger you sent? Was he one of Lovelace's creatures too!-- +Could nobody come near me but that man's confederates, either setting out +so, or made so? I know not what to make of any one syllable of this! +Indeed I don't. + +Let me see. You say, this was before I went from Hampstead! My +intellects had not then been touched!--nor had I ever been surprised by +wine, [strange if I had!]: How then could I be found in such a strange +way, bloated and flush-coloured; you don't know how!--Yet what a vile, +what a hateful figure has your messenger represented me to have made! + +But indeed I know nothing of any messenger from you. + +Believing myself secure at Hampstead, I staid longer there than I would +have done, in hopes of the letter promised me in your short one of the +9th, brought me by my own messenger, in which you undertake to send for +and engage Mrs. Townsend in my favour.* + + +* See Vol. V. Letter XXIX. + + +I wondered I had not heard from you: and was told you were sick; and, at +another time, that your mother and you had had words on my account, and +that you had refused to admit Mr. Hickman's visits upon it: so that I +supposed, at one time, that you were not able to write; at another, that +your mother's prohibition had its due force with you. But now I have no +doubt that the wicked man must have intercepted your letter; and I wish +he found not means to corrupt your messenger to tell you so strange a +story. + +It was on Sunday, June 11, you say, that the man gave it me. I was at +church twice that day with Mrs. Moore. Mr. Lovelace was at her house the +while, where he boarded, and wanted to have lodged; but I would not +permit that, though I could not help the other. In one of these spaces +it must be that he had time to work upon the man. You'll easily, my +dear, find that out, by inquiring the time of his arrival at Mrs. Moore's +and other circumstances of the strange way he pretended to see me in, on +a couch, and the rest. + +Had any body seen me afterwards, when I was betrayed back to the vile +house, struggling under the operation of wicked potions, and robbed +indeed of my intellects (for this, as you shall hear, was my dreadful +case,) I might then, perhaps, have appeared bloated and flush-coloured, +and I know not how myself. But were you to see your poor Clarissa, now +(or even to have seen her at Hampstead before she suffered the vilest of +all outrages,) you would not think her bloated or flush-coloured: indeed +you would not. + +In a word, it could not be me your messenger saw; nor (if any body) who +it was can I divine. + +I will now, as briefly as the subject will permit, enter into the darker +part of my sad story: and yet I must be somewhat circumstantial, that you +may not think me capable of reserve or palliation. The latter I am not +conscious that I need. I should be utterly inexcusable were I guilty of +the former to you. And yet, if you know how my heart sinks under the +thoughts of a recollection so painful, you would pity me. + +As I shall not be able, perhaps, to conclude what I have to write in even +two or three letters, I will begin a new one with my story; and send the +whole of it together, although written at different periods, as I am +able. + +Allow me a little pause, my dear, at this place; and to subscribe myself + +Your ever affectionate and obliged, +CLARISSA HARLOWE. + + + +LETTER LXVII + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE +[REFERRED TO IN LETTER XII.] +THURSDAY NIGHT. + + +He had found me out at Hampstead: strangely found me out; for I am still +at a loss to know by what means. + +I was loth, in my billet of the 6th,* to tell you so, for fear of giving +you apprehensions for me; and besides, I hoped then to have a shorter and +happier issue to account to you for, through your assistance, than I met +with. + + +* See Vol. V. Letter XXXI. + + +[She then gives a narrative of all that passed at Hampstead between + herself, Mr. Lovelace, Capt. Tomlinson, and the women there, to the + same effect with that so amply given by Mr. Lovelace.] + +Mr. Lovelace, finding all he could say, and all Captain Tomlinson could +urge, ineffectual, to prevail upon me to forgive an outrage so flagrantly +premeditated; rested all his hopes on a visit which was to be paid me by +Lady Betty Lawrance and Miss Montague. + +In my uncertain situation, my prospects all so dark, I knew not to whom I +might be obliged to have recourse in the last resort: and as those ladies +had the best of characters, insomuch that I had reason to regret that I +had not from the first thrown myself upon their protection, (when I had +forfeited that of my own friends,) I thought I would not shun an +interview with them, though I was too indifferent to their kinsman to +seek it, as I doubted not that one end of their visit would be to +reconcile me to him. + +On Monday, the 12th of June, these pretended ladies came to Hampstead; +and I was presented to them, and they to me by their kinsman. + +They were richly dressed, and stuck out with jewels; the pretended Lady +Betty's were particularly very fine. + +They came in a coach-and-four, hired, as was confessed, while their own +was repairing in town: a pretence made, I now perceive, that I should not +guess at the imposture by the want of the real lady's arms upon it. Lady +Betty was attended by her woman, who she called Morrison; a modest +country-looking person. + +I had heard, that Lady Betty was a fine woman, and that Miss Montague was +a beautiful young lady, genteel, and graceful, and full of vivacity.-- +Such were these impostors: and having never seen either of them, I had +not the least suspicion, that they were not the ladies they personated; +and being put a little out of countenance by the richness of their +dresses, I could not help, (fool that I was!) to apologize for my own. + +The pretended Lady Betty then told me, that her nephew had acquainted +them with the situation of affairs between us. And although she could +not but say, that she was very glad that she had not put such a slight +upon his Lordship and them, as report had given them cause to apprehend, +(the reasons for which report, however, she must have approved of;) yet +it had been matter of great concern to her, and to her niece Montague, +and would to the whole family, to find so great a misunderstanding +subsisting between us, as, if not made up, might distance all their +hopes. + +She could easily tell who was in fault, she said. And gave him a look +both of anger and disdain; asking him, How it was possible for him to +give an offence of such a nature to so charming a lady, [so she called +me,] as should occasion a resentment so strong? + +He pretended to be awed into shame and silence. + +My dearest niece, said she, and took my hand, (I must call you niece, as +well from love, as to humour your uncle's laudable expedient,) permit me +to be, not an advocate, but a mediatrix for him; and not for his sake, so +much as for my own, my Charlotte's, and all our family's. The indignity +he has offered to you, may be of too tender a nature to be inquired into. +But as he declares, that it was not a premeditated offence; whether, my +dear, [for I was going to rise upon it in my temper,] it were or not; and +as he declares his sorrows for it, (and never did creature express a +deeper sorrow for any offence than he); and as it is a repairable one; let +us, for this one time, forgive him; and thereby lay an obligation upon +this man of errors--Let US, I say, my dear: for, Sir, [turning to him,] +an offence against such a peerless lady as this, must be an offence +against me, against your cousin here, and against all the virtuous of our +sex. + +See, my dear, what a creature he had picked out! Could you have thought +there was a woman in the world who could thus express herself, and yet be +vile? But she had her principal instructions from him, and those written +down too, as I have reason to think: for I have recollected since, that I +once saw this Lady Betty, (who often rose from her seat, and took a turn +to the other end of the room with such an emotion, as if the joy of her +heart would not let her sit still) take out a paper from her stays, and +look into it, and put it there again. She might oftener, and I not +observe it; for I little thought that there could be such impostors in +the world. + +I could not forbear paying great attention to what she said. I found my +tears ready to start; I drew out my handkerchief, and was silent. I had +not been so indulgently treated a great while by a person of character +and distinction, [such I thought her;] and durst not trust to the accent +of my voice. + +The pretended Miss Montague joined in on this occasion: and drawing her +chair close to me, took my other hand, and besought me to forgive her +cousin; and consent to rank myself as one of the principals of a family +that had long, very long, coveted the honour of my alliance. + +I am ashamed to repeat to you, my dear, now I know what wretches they +are, the tender, the obliging, and the respectful things I said to them. + +The wretch himself then came forward. He threw himself at my feet. How +was I beset!--The women grasping, one my right hand, the other my left: +the pretended Miss Montague pressing to her lips more than once the hand +she held: the wicked man on his knees, imploring my forgiveness; and +setting before me my happy and my unhappy prospects, as I should forgive +and not forgive him. All that he thought would affect me in former +pleas, and those of Capt. Tomlinson, he repeated. He vowed, he promised, +he bespoke the pretended ladies to answer for him; and they engaged their +honours in his behalf. + +Indeed, my dear, I was distressed, perfectly distressed. I was sorry +that I had given way to this visit. For I knew not how, in tenderness to +relations, (as I thought them,) so worthy, to treat so freely as he +deserved, a man nearly allied to them: so that my arguments and my +resolutions were deprived of their greatest force. + +I pleaded, however, my application to you. I expected every hour, I told +them, an answer from you to a letter I had written, which would decide my +future destiny. + +They offered to apply to you themselves in person, in their own behalf, +as they politely termed it. They besought me to write to you to hasten +your answer. + +I said, I was sure that you would write the moment that the event of an +application to be made to a third person enabled you to write. But as to +the success of their request in behalf of their kinsman, that depended +not upon the expected answer; for that, I begged their pardon, was out of +the question. I wished him well. I wished him happy. But I was +convinced, that I neither could make him so, nor he me. + +Then! how the wretch promised!--How he vowed!--How he entreated!--And how +the women pleaded!--And they engaged themselves, and the honour of their +whole family, for his just, his kind, his tender behaviour to me. + +In short, my dear, I was so hard set, that I was obliged to come to a +more favourable compromise with them than I had intended. I would wait +for your answer to my letter, I said: and if that made doubtful or +difficult the change of measures I had resolved upon, and the scheme of +life I had formed, I would then consider of the matter; and, if they +would permit me, lay all before them, and take their advice upon it, in +conjunction with your's, as if the one were my own aunt, and the other +were my own cousin. + +They shed tears upon this--of joy they called them:--But since, I +believe, to their credit, bad as they are, that they were tears of +temporary remorse; for, the pretended Miss Montague turned about, and, as +I remember, said, There was no standing it. + +But Mr. Lovelace was not so easily satisfied. He was fixed upon his +villanous measures perhaps; and so might not be sorry to have a pretence +against me. He bit his lip--he had been but too much used, he said, to +such indifference, such coldness, in the very midst of his happiest +prospects. I had on twenty occasions shown him, to his infinite regret, +that any favour I was to confer upon him was to be the result of--there +he stopt--and not of my choice. + +This had like to have set all back again. I was exceedingly offended. +But the pretended ladies interposed. The elder severely took him to +task. He ought, she told him, to be satisfied with what I had said. She +desired no other condition. And what, Sir, said she, with an air of +authority, would you commit errors, and expect to be rewarded for them? + +They then engaged me in a more agreeable conversation--the pretended lady +declared, that she, Lord M. and Lady Sarah, would directly and personally +interest themselves to bring about a general reconciliation between the +two families, and this either in open or private concert with my uncle +Harlowe, as should be thought fit. Animosities on one side had been +carried a great way, she said; and too little care had been shown on the +other to mollify or heal. My father should see that they could treat him +as a brother and a friend; and my brother and sister should be convinced +that there was no room either for the jealously [sic] or envy they had +conceived from motives too unworthy to be avowed. + +Could I help, my dear, being pleased with them?-- + +Permit me here to break off. The task grows too heavy, at present, for +the heart of + +Your +CLARISSA HARLOWE. + + + +LETTER LXVIII + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE +[IN CONTINUATION.] + + +I was very ill, and obliged to lay down my pen. I thought I should have +fainted. But am better now--so will proceed. + +The pretended ladies, the more we talked, the fonder they seemed to be of +me. And the Lady Betty had Mrs. Moore called up; and asked her, If she +had accommodations for her niece and self, her woman, and two men +servants, for three or four days? + +Mr. Lovelace answered for her that she had. + +She would not ask her dear niece Lovelace, [Permit me, my dear, whispered +she, this charming style before strangers! I will keep your uncle's +secret,] whether she should be welcome or not to be so near her. But for +the time she should stay in these parts, she would come up every night-- +What say you, niece Charlotte? + +The pretended Charlotte answered, she should like to do so, of all +things. + +The Lady Betty called her an obliging girl. She liked the place, she +said. Her cousin Leeson would excuse her. The air, and my company, +would do her good. She never chose to lie in the smoky town, if she +could help it. In short, my dear, said she to me, I will stay with you +till you hear from Miss Howe; and till I have your consent to go with me +to Glenham-hall. Not one moment will I be out of your company, when I +can have it. Stedman, my solicitor, as the distance from town is so +small, may attend me here for instructions. Niece Charlotte, one word +with you, child. + +They retired to the further end of the room, and talked about their +night-dresses. + +The Miss Charlotte said, Morrison might be dispatched for them. + +True, said the other--but I have some letters in my private box, which +I must have up. And you know, Charlotte, that I trust nobody with the +keys of that. + +Could not Morrison bring up the box? + +No. She thought it safest where it was. She had heard of a robbery +committed but two days ago at the food of Hampstead-hill; and she should +be ruined in she lost her box. + +Well, then, it was but going to town to undress, and she would leave her +jewels behind her, and return; and should be easier a great deal on all +accounts. + +For my part, I wondered they came up with them. But that was to be taken +as a respect paid to me. And then they hinted at another visit of +ceremony which they had thought to make, had they not found me so +inexpressibly engaging. + +They talked loud enough for me to hear them; on purpose, no doubt, though +in affected whispers; and concluded with high praises of me. + +I was not fool enough to believe, or to be puffed up with their +encomiums; yet not suspecting them, I was not displeased at so favourable +a beginning of acquaintance with Ladies (whether I were to be related to +them or not) of whom I had always heard honourable mention. And yet at +the time, I thought, highly as they exalted me, that in some respects +(though I hardly know in what) they fell short of what I expected them to +be. + +The grand deluder was at the farther end of the room, another way; +probably to give me an opportunity to hear these preconcerted praises-- +looking into a book, which had there not been a preconcert, would not +have taken his attention for one moment. It was Taylor's Holy Living and +Dying. + +When the pretended ladies joined me, he approached me with it in his hand +--a smart book, this, my dear!--this old divine affects, I see, a mighty +flowery style of an ordinary country funeral, where, the young women, in +honour of a defunct companion, especially if she were a virgin, or passed +for such, make a flower-bed of her coffin. + +And then, laying down the book, turning upon his heel, with one of his +usual airs of gaiety, And are you determined, Ladies, to take up your +lodgings with my charming creature? + +Indeed they were. + +Never were there more cunning, more artful impostors, than these women. +Practised creatures, to be sure: yet genteel; and they must have been +well-educated--once, perhaps, as much the delight of their parents, as I +was of mine: and who knows by what arts ruined, body and mind--O my dear! +how pregnant is this reflection! + +But the man!--Never was there a man so deep. Never so consummate a +deceiver; except that detested Tomlinson; whose years and seriousness, +joined with a solidity of sense and judgment that seemed uncommon, gave +him, one would have thought, advantages in villany, the other had not +time for. Hard, very hard, that I should fall into the knowledge of two +such wretches; when two more such I hope are not to be met with in the +world!--both so determined to carry on the most barbarous and perfidious +projects against a poor young creature, who never did or wished harm to +either. + +Take the following slight account of these women's and of this man's +behaviour to each other before me. + +Mr. Lovelace carried himself to his pretended aunt with high respect, +and paid a great deference to all she said. He permitted her to have all +the advantage over him in the repartees and retorts that passed between +them. I could, indeed, easily see, that it was permitted; and that he +forbore that vivacity, that quickness, which he never spared showing to +his pretended Miss Montague; and which a man of wit seldom knows how to +spare showing, when an opportunity offers to display his wit. + +The pretended Miss Montague was still more respectful in her behaviour to +her pretended aunt. While the aunt kept up the dignity of the character +she had assumed, rallying both of them with the air of a person who +depends upon the superiority which years and fortune give over younger +persons, who might have a view to be obliged to her, either in her life, +or at her death. + +The severity of her raillery, however, was turned upon Mr. Lovelace, on +occasion of the character of the people who kept the lodgings, which, she +said, I had thought myself so well warranted to leave privately. + +This startled me. For having then no suspicion of the vile Tomlinson, I +concluded (and your letter of the 7th* favoured my conclusion) that if +the house were notorious, either he, or Mr. Mennell, would have given me +or him some hints of it--nor, although I liked not the people, did I +observe any thing in them very culpable, till the Wednesday night before, +that they offered not to come to my assistance, although within hearing +of my distress, (as I am sure they were,) and having as much reason as I +to be frighted at the fire, had it been real. + + +* His forged letter. See Vol. V. Letter XXX. + + +I looked with indignation upon Mr. Lovelace, at this hint. + +He seemed abashed. I have not patience, but to recollect the specious +looks of this vile deceiver. But how was it possible, that even that +florid countenance of his should enable him to command a blush at his +pleasure? for blush he did, more than once: and the blush, on this +occasion, was a deep-dyed crimson, unstrained for, and natural, as I +thought--but he is so much of the actor, that he seems able to enter into +any character; and his muscles and features appear entirely under +obedience to his wicked will.* + + +* It is proper to observe, that there was a more natural reason than this +that the Lady gives for Mr. Lovelace's blushing. It was a blush of +indignation, as he owned afterwards to his friend Belford, in +conversation; for the pretended Lady Betty had mistaken her cue, in +condemning the house; and he had much ado to recover the blunder; being +obliged to follow her lead, and vary from his first design; which was to +have the people of the house spoken well of, in order to induce her to +return to it, were it but on pretence to direct her clothes to be carried +to Hampstead. + + +The pretended lady went on, saying, she had taken upon herself to inquire +after the people, on hearing that I had left the house in disgust; and +though she heard not any thing much amiss, yet she heard enough to make +her wonder that he could carry his spouse, a person of so much delicacy, +to a house, that, if it had not a bad fame, had not a good one. + +You must think, my dear, that I liked the pretended Lady Betty the better +for this. I suppose it was designed that I should. + +He was surprised, he said, that her Ladyship should hear a bad character +of the people. It was what he had never before heard that they deserved. +It was easy, indeed, to see, that they had not very great delicacy, +though they were not indelicate. The nature of their livelihood, letting +lodgings, and taking people to board, (and yet he had understood that +they were nice in these particulars,) led them to aim at being free and +obliging: and it was difficult, he said, for persons of cheerful +dispositions, so to behave as to avoid censure: openness of heart and +countenance in the sex (more was the pity) too often subjected good +people, whose fortunes did not set them above the world, to uncharitable +censure. + +He wished, however, that her Ladyship would tell what she had heard: +although now it signified but little, because he would never ask me to +set foot within their doors again: and he begged she would not mince the +matter. + +Nay, no great matter, she said. But she had been informed, that there +were more women-lodgers in the house than men: yet that their visiters +were more men than women. And this had been hinted to her (perhaps by +ill-wishers, she could not answer for that) in such a way, as if somewhat +further were meant by it than was spoken. + +This, he said, was the true innuendo-way of characterizing, used by +detractors. Every body and every thing had a black and a white side, of +which well wishers and ill wishers may make their advantage. He had +observed that the front house was well let, and he believed more to the +one sex than to the other; for he had seen, occasionally passing to or +fro, several genteel modest looking women; and who, it was very probable, +were not so ill-beloved, but they might have visiters and relations of +both sexes: but they were none of them any thing to us, or we to them: we +were not once in any of their companies: but in the genteelest and most +retired house of the two, which we had in a manner to ourselves, with the +use of a parlour to the street, to serve us for a servants' hall, or to +receive common visiters, or our traders only, whom we admitted not up +stairs. + +He always loved to speak as he found. No man in the world had suffered +more from calumny than he himself had done. + +Women, he owned, ought to be more scrupulous than men needed to be where +they lodged. Nevertheless he wished that fact, rather than surmise, were +to be the foundation of their judgments, especially when they spoke of +one another. + +He meant no reflection upon her Ladyship's informants, or rather +surmisants, (as he might call them,) be they who they would: nor did he +think himself obliged to defend characters impeached, or not thought well +of, by women of virtue and honour. Neither were these people of +importance enough to have so much said about them. + +The pretended Lady Betty said, all who knew her, would clear her of +censoriousness: that it gave her some opinion, she must needs say, of the +people, that he had continued there so long with me; that I had rather +negative than positive reasons of dislike to them; and that so shrewd a +man as she heard Captain Tomlinson was had not objected to them. + +I think, niece Charlotte, proceeded she, as my nephew had not parted with +these lodgings, you and I, (for, as my dear Miss Harlowe dislikes the +people, I would not ask her for her company) will take a dish of tea with +my nephew there, before we go out of town; and then we shall see what +sort of people they are. I have heard that Mrs. Sinclair is a mighty +forbidding creature. + +With all my heart, Madam. In your Ladyship's company I shall make no +scruple of going any where. + +It was Ladyship at every word; and as she seemed proud of her title, and +of her dress too, I might have guessed that she was not used to either. + +What say you, cousin Lovelace? Lady Sarah, though a melancholy woman, is +very inquisitive about all your affairs. I must acquaint her with every +particular circumstance when I go down. + +With all his heart. He would attend her whenever she pleased. She would +see very handsome apartments, and very civil people. + +The deuce is in them, said the Miss Montague, if they appear other to us. + +She then fell into family talk; family happiness on my hoped-for +accession into it. They mentioned Lord M.'s and Lady Sarah's great +desire to see me: how many friends and admirers, with uplift hands, I +should have! [Oh! my dear, what a triumph must these creatures, and he, +have over the poor devoted all the time!]--What a happy man he would be! +--They would not, the Lady Betty said, give themselves the mortification +but to suppose that I should not be one of them! + +Presents were hinted at. She resolved that I should go with her to +Glenham-hall. She would not be refused, although she were to stay a week +beyond her time for me. + +She longed for the expected letter from you. I must write to hasten it, +and to let Miss Howe know how every thing stood since I wrote last. That +might dispose me absolutely in her favour and in her nephew's; and then +she hoped there would be no occasion for me to think of entering upon any +new measures. + +Indeed, my dear, I did at the time intend, if I heard not from you by +morning, to dispatch a man and horse to you, with the particulars of all, +that you might (if you thought proper) at least put off Mrs. Townsend's +coming up to another day.--But I was miserably prevented. + +She made me promise that I would write to you upon this subject, whether +I heard from you or not. One of her servants should ride post with my +letter, and wait for Miss Howe's answer. + +She then launched out in deserved praises of you, my dear. How fond she +should be of the honour of your acquaintance. + +The pretended Miss Montague joined in with her, as well for herself as +for her sister. + +Abominably well instructed were they both! + +O my dear! what risks may poor giddy girls run, when they throw +themselves out of the protection of their natural friends, and into the +wide world! + +The then talked again of reconciliation and intimacy with every one of my +friends; with my mother particularly; and gave the dear good lady the +praises that every one gives her, who has the happiness to know her. + +Ah, my dear Miss Howe! I had almost forgot my resentments against the +pretended nephew!--So many agreeable things said, made me think, that, if +you should advise it, and if I could bring my mind to forgive the wretch +for an outrage so premeditatedly vile, and could forbear despising him +for that and his other ungrateful and wicked ways, I might not be unhappy +in an alliance with such a family. Yet, thought I at the time, with what +intermixture does every thing come to me that had the appearance of good! +----However, as my lucid hopes made me see fewer faults in the behaviour +of these pretended ladies, than recollection and abhorrence have helped +me since to see, I began to reproach myself, that I had not at first +thrown myself into their protection. + +But amidst all these delightful prospects, I must not, said the Lady +Betty, forget that I am to go to town. + +She then ordered her coach to be got to the door.--We will all go to town +together, said she, and return together. Morrison shall stay here, and +see every thing as I am used to have it, in relation to my apartment, and +my bed; for I am very particular in some respects. My cousin Leeson's +servants can do all I want to be done with regard to my night-dresses, +and the like. And it will be a little airing for you, my dear, and a +want of your apparel to be sent from your former lodgings to Mrs. +Leeson's; and we can bring it up with us from thence. + +I had no intention to comply. But as I did not imagine that she would +insist upon my going to town with them, I made no answer to that part of +her speech. + +I must here lay down my tired pen! + +Recollection! heart-affecting recollection! how it pains me! + + + +LETTER LXIX + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE + + +In the midst of this agreeableness, the coach came to the door. The +pretended Lady Betty besought me to give them my company to their cousin +Leeson's. I desired to be excused: yet suspected nothing. She would not +be denied. How happy would a visit so condescending make her cousin +Leeson!----Her cousin Leeson was not unworthy of my acquaintance: and +would take it for the greatest favour in the world. + +I objected my dress. But the objection was not admitted. She bespoke a +supper of Mrs. Moore to be ready at nine. + +Mr. Lovelace, vile hypocrite, and wicked deceiver! seeing, as he said, my +dislike to go, desired his Ladyship not to insist upon it. + +Fondness for my company was pleaded. She begged me to oblige her: made a +motion to help me to my fan herself: and, in short, was so very urgent, +that my feet complied against my speech and my mind: and being, in a +manner, led to the coach by her, and made to step in first, she followed +me: and her pretended niece, and the wretch, followed her: and away it +drove. + +Nothing but the height of affectionate complaisance passed all the way: +over and over, what a joy would this unexpected visit give her cousin +Leeson! What a pleasure must it be to such a mind as mine, to be able +to give so much joy to every body I came near! + +The cruel, the savage seducer (as I have since recollected) was in a +rapture all the way; but yet such a sort of rapture, as he took visible +pains to check. + +Hateful villain! how I abhor him!--What mischief must be then in his +plotting heart!--What a devoted victim must I be in all their eyes! + +Though not pleased, I was nevertheless just then thoughtless of danger; +they endeavouring thus to lift me up above all apprehensions of that, and +above myself too. + +But think, my dear, what a dreadful turn all had upon me, when, through +several streets and ways I knew nothing of, the coach slackening its +pace, came within sight of the dreadful house of the dreadfullest woman +in the world; as she proved to me. + +Lord be good unto me! cried the poor fool, looking out of the coach--Mr. +Lovelace!--Madam! turning to the pretended Lady Betty!--Madam! turning to +the niece, my hands and eyes lifted up--Lord be good unto me! + +What! What! What! my dear. + +He pulled the string--What need to have come this way? said he--But since +we are, I will but ask a question--My dearest life, why this +apprehension? + +The coachman stopped: his servant, who, with one of her's was behind, +alighted--Ask, said he, if I have any letters? Who knows, my dearest +creature, turning to me, but we may already have one from the Captain?-- +We will not go out of the coach!--Fear nothing--Why so apprehensive?--Oh! +these fine spirits!--cried the execrable insulter. + +Dreadfully did my heart then misgive me: I was ready to faint. Why this +terror, my life? you shall not stir out of the coach but one question, +now the fellow has drove us this way. + +Your lady will faint, cried the execrable Lady Betty, turning to him--My +dearest Niece! (niece I will call you, taking my hand)--we must alight, +if you are so ill.--Let us alight--only for a glass of water and +hartshorn--indeed we must alight. + +No, no, no--I am well--quite well--Won't the man drive on?--I am well-- +quite well--indeed I am.--Man, drive on, putting my head out of the coach +--Man, drive on!--though my voice was too low to be heard. + +The coach stopt at the door. How I trembled! + +Dorcas came to the door, on its stopping. + +My dearest creature, said the vile man, gasping, as it were for breath, +you shall not alight--Any letters for me, Dorcas? + +There are two, Sir. And here is a gentleman, Mr. Belton, Sir, waits for +your honour; and has done so above an hour. + +I'll just speak to him. Open the door--You sha'n't step out, my dear--A +letter perhaps from Captain already!--You sha'n't step out, my dear. + +I sighed as if my heart would burst. + +But we must step out, Nephew: your lady will faint. Maid, a glass of +hartshorn and water!--My dear you must step out--You will faint, child-- +We must cut your laces.--[I believe my complexion was all manner of +colours by turns]--Indeed, you must step out, my dear. + +He knew, said I, I should be well, the moment the coach drove from the +door. I should not alight. By his soul, I should not. + +Lord, Lord, Nephew, Lord, Lord, Cousin, both women in a breath, what ado +you make about nothing! You persuade your lady to be afraid of +alighting.--See you not that she is just fainting? + +Indeed, Madam, said the vile seducer, my dearest love must not be moved +in this point against her will. I beg it may not be insisted upon. + +Fiddle-faddle, foolish man--What a pother is here! I guess how it is: +you are ashamed to let us see what sort of people you carried your lady +among--but do you go out, and speak to your friend, and take your +letters. + +He stept out; but shut the coach-door after him, to oblige me. + +The coach may go on, Madam, said I. + +The coach shall go on, my dear life, said he.--But he gave not, nor +intended to give, orders that it should. + +Let the coach go on! said I--Mr. Lovelace may come after us. + +Indeed, my dear, you are ill!--Indeed you must alight--alight but for one +quarter of an hour.--Alight but to give orders yourself about your +things. Whom can you be afraid of in my company, and my niece's; these +people must have behaved shockingly to you! Please the Lord, I'll +inquire into it!--I'll see what sort of people they are! + +Immediately came the old creature to the door. A thousand pardons, dear +Madam, stepping to the coach-side, if we have any way offended you--Be +pleased, Ladies, [to the other two] to alight. + +Well, my dear, whispered the Lady Betty, I now find that an hideous +description of a person we never saw is an advantage to them. I thought +the woman was a monster--but, really, she seems tolerable. + +I was afraid I should have fallen into fits: but still refused to go out +--Man!--Man!--Man!--cried I, gaspingly, my head out of the coach and in, +by turns, half a dozen times running, drive on!--Let us go! + +My heart misgave me beyond the power of my own accounting for it; for +still I did not suspect these women. But the antipathy I had taken to +the vile house, and to find myself so near it, when I expected no such +matter, with the sight of the old creature, all together made me behave +like a distracted person. + +The hartshorn and water was brought. The pretended Lady Betty made me +drink it. Heaven knows if there was any thing else in it! + +Besides, said she, whisperingly, I must see what sort of creatures the +nieces are. Want of delicacy cannot be hid from me. You could not +surely, my dear, have this aversion to re-enter a house, for a few +minutes, in our company, in which you lodged and boarded several weeks, +unless these women could be so presumptuously vile, as my nephew ought +not to know. + +Out stept the pretended lady; the servant, at her command, having opened +the door. + +Dearest Madam, said the other to me, let me follow you, [for I was next +the door.] Fear nothing: I will not stir from your presence. + +Come, my dear, said the pretended lady, give me your hand; holding out +her's. Oblige me this once. + +I will bless your footsteps, said the old creature, if once more you +honour my house with your presence. + +A crowd by this time was gathered about us; but I was too much affected +to mind that. + +Again the pretended Miss Montague urged me; standing up as ready to go +out if I would give her room.--Lord, my dear, said she, who can bear this +crowd?--What will people think? + +The pretended Lady again pressed me, with both her hands held out--Only, +my dear, to give orders about your things. + +And thus pressed, and gazed at, (for then I looked about me,) the women +so richly dressed, people whispering; in an evil moment, out stepped I, +trembling, forced to lean with both my hands (frighted too much for +ceremony) on the pretended Lady Betty's arm--Oh! that I had dropped down +dead upon the guilty threshold! + +We shall stay but a few minutes, my dear!--but a few minutes! said the +same specious jilt--out of breath with her joy, as I have since thought, +that they had thus triumphed over the unhappy victim! + +Come, Mrs. Sinclair, I think your name is, show us the way----following +her, and leading me. I am very thirsty. You have frighted me, my dear, +with your strange fears. I must have tea made, if it can be done in a +moment. We have farther to go, Mrs. Sinclair, and must return to +Hampstead this night. + +It shall be ready in a moment, cried the wretch. We have water boiling. + +Hasten, then--Come, my dear, to me, as she led me through the passage to +the fatal inner house--lean upon me--how you tremble!--how you falter in +your steps!--Dearest niece Lovelace, [the old wretch being in hearing,] +why these hurries upon your spirits?--We'll be gone in a minute. + +And thus she led the poor sacrifice into the old wretch's too-well-known +parlour. + +Never was any body so gentle, so meek, so low voiced, as the odious +woman; drawling out, in a puling accent, all the obliging things she +could say: awed, I then thought, by the conscious dignity of a woman of +quality; glittering with jewels. + +The called-for tea was ready presently. + +There was no Mr. Belton, I believe: for the wretch went not to any body, +unless it were while we were parlying in the coach. No such person +however, appeared at the tea-table. + +I was made to drink two dishes, with milk, complaisantly urged by the +pretended ladies helping me each to one. I was stupid to their hands; +and, when I took the tea, almost choked with vapours; and could hardly +swallow. + +I thought, transiently thought, that the tea, the last dish particularly, +had an odd taste. They, on my palating it, observed, that the milk was +London-milk; far short in goodness of what they were accustomed to from +their own dairies. + +I have no doubt that my two dishes, and perhaps my hartshorn, were +prepared for me; in which case it was more proper for their purpose, that +they should help me, than that I should help myself. Ill before, I found +myself still more and more disordered in my head; a heavy torpid pain +increasing fast upon me. But I imputed it to my terror. + +Nevertheless, at the pretended Lady's motion, I went up stairs, attended +by Dorcas; who affected to weep for joy, that she once more saw my +blessed face; that was the vile creature's word: and immediately I set +about taking out some of my clothes, ordering what should be put up, and +what sent after me. + +While I was thus employed, up came the pretended Lady Betty, in a +hurrying way----My dear, you won't be long before you are ready. My +nephew is very busy in writing answers to his letters: so, I'll just whip +away, and change my dress, and call upon you in an instant. + +O Madam!--I am ready! I am now ready!--You must not leave me here. And +down I sunk, affrighted, into a chair. + +This instant, this instant, I will return--before you can be ready-- +before you can have packed up your things--we would not be late--the +robbers we have heard of may be out--don't let us be late. + +And away she hurried before I could say another word. Her pretended +niece went with her, without taking notice to me of her going. + +I had no suspicion yet that these women were not indeed the ladies +they personated; and I blamed myself for my weak fears.--It cannot be, +thought I, that such ladies will abet treachery against a poor creature +they are so fond of. They must undoubtedly be the persons they appear to +be--what folly to doubt it! The air, the dress, the dignity of women of +quality. How unworthy of them, and of my charity, concluded I, is this +ungenerous shadow of suspicion! + +So, recovering my stupefied spirits, as well as they could be recovered, +(for I was heavier and heavier! and wondered to Dorcas what ailed me, +rubbing my eyes, and taking some of her snuff, pinch after pinch, to very +little purpose,) I pursued my employment: but when that was over, all +packed up that I designed to be packed up; and I had nothing to do but to +think; and found them tarry so long; I thought I should have gone +distracted. I shut myself into the chamber that had been mine; I +kneeled, I prayed; yet knew not what I prayed for: then ran out again: it +was almost dark night, I said: where, where, where was Mr. Lovelace? + +He came to me, taking no notice at first of my consternation and +wildness, [what they had given me made me incoherent and wild:] All goes +well, said he, my dear!--A line from Capt. Tomlinson! + +All indeed did go well for the villanous project of the most cruel and +most villanous of men! + +I demanded his aunt!--I demanded his cousin!--The evening, I said, was +closing!--My head was very, very bad, I remember I said--and it grew +worse and worse.-- + +Terror, however, as yet kept up my spirits; and I insisted upon his going +himself to hasten them. + +He called his servant. He raved at the sex for their delay: 'twas well +that business of consequence seldom depended upon such parading, +unpunctual triflers! + +His servant came. + +He ordered him to fly to his cousin Leeson's, and to let Lady Betty and +his cousin know how uneasy we both were at their delay: adding, of his +own accord, desire them, if they don't come instantly, to send their +coach, and we will go without them. Tell them I wonder they'll serve me +so! + +I thought this was considerately and fairly put. But now, indifferent as +my head was, I had a little time to consider the man and his behaviour. +He terrified me with his looks, and with his violent emotions, as he +gazed upon me. Evident joy-suppressed emotions, as I have since +recollected. His sentences short, and pronounced as if his breath were +touched. Never saw I his abominable eyes look as then they looked-- +Triumph in them!--fierce and wild; and more disagreeable than the women's +at the vile house appeared to me when I first saw them: and at times, +such a leering, mischief-boding cast!--I would have given the world to +have been an hundred miles from him. Yet his behaviour was decent--a +decency, however, that I might have seen to be struggled for--for he +snatched my hand two or three times, with a vehemence in his grasp that +hurt me; speaking words of tenderness through his shut teeth, as it +seemed; and let it go with a beggar-voiced humbled accent, like the vile +woman's just before; half-inward; yet his words and manner carrying the +appearance of strong and almost convulsed passion!--O my dear! what +mischief was he not then meditating! + +I complained once or twice of thirst. My mouth seemed parched. At the +time, I supposed that it was my terror (gasping often as I did for +breath) that parched up the roof of my mouth. I called for water: some +table-beer was brought me: beer, I suppose, was a better vehicle for +their potions. I told the maid, that she knew I seldom tasted malt +liquor: yet, suspecting nothing of this nature, being extremely thirsty, +I drank it, as what came next: and instantly, as it were, found myself +much worse than before: as if inebriated, I should fancy: I know not how. + +His servant was gone twice as long as he needed: and, just before his +return, came one of the pretended Lady Betty's with a letter for Mr. +Lovelace. + +He sent it up to me. I read it: and then it was that I thought myself a +lost creature; it being to put off her going to Hampstead that night, on +account of violent fits which Miss Montague was pretended to be seized +with; for then immediately came into my head his vile attempt upon me in +this house; the revenge that my flight might too probably inspire him +with on that occasion, and because of the difficulty I made to forgive +him, and to be reconciled to him; his very looks wild and dreadful to me; +and the women of the house such as I had more reason than ever, even from +the pretended Lady Betty's hint, to be afraid of: all these crowding +together in my apprehensive mind, I fell into a kind of phrensy. + +I have no remembrance how I was for this time it lasted: but I know that, +in my first agitations, I pulled off my head-dress, and tore my ruffles +in twenty tatters, and ran to find him out. + +When a little recovered, I insisted upon the hint he had given me of +their coach. But the messenger, he said, had told him, that it was sent +to fetch a physician, lest his chariot should be put up, or not ready. + +I then insisted upon going directly to Lady Betty's lodgings. + +Mrs. Leeson's was now a crowded house, he said: and as my earnestness +could be owing to nothing but groundless apprehensions, [and Oh! what +vows, what protestations of his honour, did he then make!] he hoped I +would not add to their present concern. Charlotte, indeed, was used to +fits, he said, upon any great surprises, whether of joy or grief; and +they would hold her for one week together, if not got off in a few hours. + +You are an observer of eyes, my dear, said the villain; perhaps in secret +insult: Saw you not in Miss Montague's, now-and-then at Hampstead, +something wildish? I was afraid for her then. Silence and quiet only do +her good: your concern for her, and her love for you, will but augment +the poor girl's disorder, if you should go. + +All impatient with grief and apprehension, I still declared myself +resolved not to stay in that house till morning. All I had in the world, +my rings, my watch, my little money, for a coach; or, if one were not to +be got, I would go on foot to Hampstead that night, though I walked it by +myself. + +A coach was hereupon sent for, or pretended to be sent for. Any price, +he said, he would give to oblige me, late as it was; and he would attend +me with all his soul. But no coach was to be got. + +Let me cut short the rest. I grew worse and worse in my head! now +stupid, now raving, now senseless. The vilest of vile women was brought +to frighten me. Never was there so horrible a creature as she +appreared to me at this time. + +I remember I pleaded for mercy. I remember that I said I would be his-- +indeed I would be his--to obtain his mercy. But no mercy found I! My +strength, my intellects failed me--And then such scenes followed--O my +dear, such dreadful scenes!--fits upon fits, (faintly indeed and +imperfectly remembered,) procuring me no compassion--But death was +withheld from me. That would have been too great a mercy! + + +*** + + +Thus was I tricked and deluded back by blacker hearts of my own sex than +I thought there were in the world; who appeared to me to be persons of +honour; and, when in his power, thus barbarously was I treated by this +villanous man! + +I was so senseless, that I dare not aver, that the horrid creatures of +the house were personally aiding and abetting: but some visionary +remembrances I have of female figures, flitting, as I may say, before my +sight; the wretched woman's particularly. But as these confused ideas +might be owing to the terror I had conceived of the worse than masculine +violence she had been permitted to assume to me, for expressing my +abhorrence of her house; and as what I suffered from his barbarity wants +not that aggravation; I will say no more on a subject so shocking as this +must ever be to my remembrance. + +I never saw the personating wretches afterwards. He persisted to the +last, (dreadfully invoking Heaven as a witness to the truth of his +assertion) that they were really and truly the ladies they pretended to +be; declaring, that they could not take leave of me, when they left town, +because of the state of senselessness and phrensy I was in. For their +intoxicating, or rather stupefying, potions had almost deleterious +effects upon my intellects, as I have hinted; insomuch that, for several +days together, I was under a strange delirium; now moping, now dozing, +now weeping, now raving, now scribbling, tearing what I scribbled as fast +as I wrote it: most miserable when now-and-then a ray of reason brought +confusedly to my remembrance what I had suffered. + + + +LETTER LXX + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE +[IN CONTINUATION.] + + +[The lady next gives an account, + +Of her recovery from her delirium and sleepy disorder: + +Of her attempt to get away in his absence: + +Of the conversations that followed, at his return, between them: + +Of the guilty figure he made: + +Of her resolution not to have him: + +Of her several efforts to escape: + +Of her treaty with Dorcas to assist her in it: + +Of Dorcas's dropping the promissory note, undoubtedly, as she says, on + purpose to betray her: + +Of her triumph over all the creatures of the house, assembled to terrify + her; and perhaps to commit fresh outrages upon her: + +Of his setting out for M. Hall: + +Of his repeated letters to induce her to meet him at the altar, on her + uncle's anniversary: + +Of her determined silence to them all: + +Of her second escape, effected, as she says, contrary to her own + expectation: the attempt being at first but the intended prelude to + a more promising one, which she had formed in her mind: + +And of other particulars; which being to be found in Mr. Lovelace's + letters preceding, and the letter of his friend Belford, are + omitted. She then proceeds:] + + +The very hour that I found myself in a place of safety, I took pen to +write to you. When I began, I designed only to write six or eight lines, +to inquire after your health: for, having heard nothing from you, I +feared indeed, that you had been, and still were, too ill to write. But +no sooner did my pen begin to blot the paper, but my sad heart hurried it +into length. The apprehensions I had lain under, that I should not be +able to get away; the fatigue I had in effecting my escape: the +difficulty of procuring a lodging for myself; having disliked the people +of two houses, and those of a third disliking me; for you must think I +made a frighted appearance--these, together with the recollection of what +I had suffered from him, and my farther apprehensions of my insecurity, +and my desolate circumstances, had so disordered me, that I remember I +rambled strangely in that letter. + +In short, I thought it, on re-perusal, a half-distracted one: but I then +despaired, (were I to begin again,) of writing better: so I let it go: +and can have no excuse for directing it as I did, if the cause of the +incoherence in it will not furnish me with a very pitiable one. + +The letter I received from your mother was a dreadful blow to me. But +nevertheless it had the good effect upon me (labouring, as I did just +then, under a violent fit of vapourish despondency, and almost yielding +to it) which profuse bleeding and blisterings have in paralytic or +apoplectical strokes; reviving my attention, and restoring me to spirits +to combat the evils I was surrounded by--sluicing off, and diverting into +a new channel, (if I may be allowed another metaphor,) the overcharging +woes which threatened once more to overwhelm my intellects. + +But yet I most sincerely lamented, (and still lament,) in your mother's +words, That I cannot be unhappy by myself: and was grieved, not only for +the trouble I had given you before; but for the new one I had brought +upon you by my inattention. + + +[She then gives the substance of the letters she wrote to Mrs. Norton, to + Lady Betty Lawrance, and to Mrs. Hodges; as also of their answers; + whereby she detected all Mr. Lovelace's impostures. She proceeds + as follows:] + + +I cannot, however, forbear to wonder how the vile Tomlinson could come at +the knowledge of several of the things he told me of, and which +contributed to give me confidence in him.* + + +* The attentive reader need not be referred back for what the Lady +nevertheless could not account for, as she knew not that Mr. Lovelace had +come at Miss Howe's letters; particularly that in Vol. IV. Letter XXIX. +which he comments upon in Letter XLIV. of the same volume. + + +I doubt not that the stories of Mrs. Fretchville and her house would be +found as vile as any of the rest, were I to inquire; and had I not +enough, and too much, already against the perjured man. + +How have I been led on!--What will be the end of such a false and +perjured creature! Heaven not less profaned and defied by him than +myself deceived and abused! This, however, against myself I must say, +That if what I have suffered be the natural consequence of my first +error, I never can forgive myself, although you are so partial in my +favour, as to say, that I was not censurable for what passed before my +first escape. + +And now, honoured Madam, and my dearest Miss Howe, who are to sit in +judgment upon my case, permit me to lay down my pen with one request, +which, with the greatest earnestness, I make to you both: and that is, +That you will neither of you open your lips in relation to the potions +and the violences I have hinted at.--Not that I am solicitous, that my +disgrace should be hidden from the world, or that it should not be +generally known, that the man has proved a villain to me: for this, it +seems, every body but myself expected from his character. But suppose, +as his actions by me are really of a capital nature, it were insisted +upon that I should appear to prosecute him and his accomplices in a court +of justice, how do you think I could bear that? + +But since my character, before the capital enormity, was lost in the eye +of the world; and that from the very hour I left my father's house; and +since all my own hopes of worldly happiness are entirely over; let me +slide quietly into my grave; and let it be not remembered, except by one +friendly tear, and no more, dropt from your gentle eye, mine own dear +Anna Howe, on the happy day that shall shut up all my sorrows, that there +was such a creature as + +CLARISSA HARLOWE + +SATURDAY, JULY 8. + + + +LETTER LXXI + +MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE +SUNDAY, JULY 9. + + +May Heaven signalize its vengeance, in the face of all the world, upon +the most abandoned and profligate of men!--And in its own time, I doubt +not but it will.--And we must look to a WORLD BEYOND THIS for the reward +of your sufferings! + +Another shocking detection, my dear!--How have you been deluded!--Very +watchful I have thought you; very sagacious:--but, alas! not watchful, +not sagacious enough, for the horrid villain you have had to deal with! +---- + +The letter you sent me enclosed as mine, of the 7th of June, is a +villanous forgery.* + + +* See Vol. V. Letter XXX. + + +The hand, indeed, is astonishingly like mine; and the cover, I see, is +actually my cover: but yet the letter is not so exactly imitated, but +that, (had you had any suspicions about his vileness at the time,) you, +who so well know my hand, might have detected it. + +In short, this vile, forged letter, though a long one, contains but a +few extracts from mine. Mine was a very long one. He has omitted every +thing, I see, in it that could have shown you what a detestable house the +house is; and given you suspicions of the vile Tomlinson.--You will see +this, and how he has turned Miss Lardner's information, and my advices to +you, [execrable villain!] to his own horrid ends, by the rough draught of +the genuine letter, which I shall enclose.* + + +* See Vol. V. Letter XX. + + +Apprehensive for both our safeties from the villany of such a daring and +profligate contriver, I must call upon you, my dear, to resolve upon +taking legal vengeance of the infernal wretch. And this not only for our +own sakes, but for the sakes of innocents who otherwise may yet be +deluded and outraged by him. + + +[She then gives the particulars of the report made by the young fellow + whom she sent to Hampstead with her letter; and who supposed he had + delivered it into her own hand;* and then proceeds:] + + +* See Vol. VI. Letter VI. + + +I am astonished, that the vile wretch, who could know nothing of the time +my messenger, (whose honesty I can vouch for) would come, could have a +creature ready to personate you! Strange, that the man should happen to +arrive just as you were gone to church, (as I find was the fact, on +comparing what he says with your hint that you were at church twice that +day,) when he might have got to Mrs. Moore's two hours before!--But had +you told me, my dear, that the villain had found you out, and was about +you!--You should have done that--yet I blame you upon a judgment founded +on the event only! + +I never had any faith in the stories that go current among country girls, +of specters, familiars, and demons; yet I see not any other way to +account for this wretch's successful villany, and for his means of +working up his specious delusions, but by supposing, (if he be not the +devil himself,) that he has a familiar constantly at his elbow. +Sometimes it seems to me that this familiar assumes the shape of that +solemn villain Tomlinson: sometimes that of the execrable Sinclair, as he +calls her: sometimes it is permitted to take that of Lady Betty Lawrance +--but, when it would assume the angelic shape and mien of my beloved +friend, see what a bloated figure it made! + +'Tis my opinion, my dear, that you will be no longer safe where you are, +than while the V. is in the country. Words are poor!--or how could I +execrate him! I have hardly any doubt that he has sold himself for a +time. Oh! may the time be short!--or may his infernal prompter no more +keep covenant with him than he does with others! + +I enclose not only the rough draught of my long letter mentioned above, +but the heads of that which the young fellow thought he delivered into +your own hands at Hampstead. And when you have perused them, I will +leave to you to judge how much reason I had to be surprised that you +wrote me not an answer to either of those letters; one of which you owned +you had received, (though it proved to be his forged one,) the other +delivered into your own hands, as I was assured; and both of them of so +much concern to your honour; and still now much more surprised I must be, +when I received a letter from Mrs. Townsend, dated June 15, from +Hampstead, importing, 'That Mr. Lovelace, who had been with you several +days, had, on the Monday before, brought Lady Betty and his cousin, +richly dressed, and in a coach-and-four, to visit you: who, with your own +consent, had carried you to town with them--to your former lodgings; +where you still were: that the Hampstead women believed you to be +married; and reflected upon me as a fomenter of differences between man +and wife: that he himself was at Hampstead the day before; viz. Wednesday +the 14th; and boasted of his happiness with you; inviting Mrs. Moore, +Mrs. Bevis, and Miss Rawlins, to go to town, to visit his spouse; which +they promised to do: that he declared that you were entirely reconciled +to your former lodgings:--and that, finally, the women at Hampstead told +Mrs. Townsend, that he had very handsomely discharged theirs.' + +I own to you, my dear, that I was so much surprised and disgusted at +these appearances against a conduct till then unexceptionable, that I was +resolved to make myself as easy as I could, and wait till you should +think fit to write to me. But I could rein-in my impatience but for a +few days; and on the 20th of June I wrote a sharp letter to you; which I +find you did not receive. + +What a fatality, my dear, has appeared in your case, from the very +beginning till this hour! Had my mother permitted---- + +But can I blame her; when you have a father and mother living, who have +so much to answer for?--So much!--as no father and mother, considering +the child they have driven, persecuted, exposed, renounced, ever had to +answer for! + +But again I must execrate the abandoned villain--yet, as I said before, +all words are poor, and beneath the occasion. + +But see we not, in the horrid perjuries and treachery of this man, what +rakes and libertines will do, when they get a young creature into their +power! It is probable that he might have the intolerable presumption to +hope an easier conquest: but, when your unexampled vigilance and exalted +virtue made potions, and rapes, and the utmost violences, necessary to +the attainment of his detestable end, we see that he never boggled at +them. I have no doubt that the same or equal wickedness would be oftener +committed by men of his villanous cast, if the folly and credulity of the +poor inconsiderates who throw themselves into their hands, did not give +them an easier triumph. + +With what comfort must those parents reflect upon these things who have +happily disposed of their daughters in marriage to a virtuous man! And +how happy the young women who find themselves safe in a worthy +protection!--If such a person as Miss Clarissa Harlowe could not escape, +who can be secure?--Since, though every rake is not a LOVELACE, neither +is every woman a CLARISSA: and his attempts were but proportioned to your +resistance and vigilance. + +My mother has commanded me to let you know her thoughts upon the whole of +your sad story. I will do it in another letter; and send it to you with +this, by a special messenger. + +But, for the future, if you approve of it, I will send my letters by the +usual hand, (Collins's,) to be left at the Saracen's Head, on Snow-hill: +whither you may send your's, (as we both used to do, to Wilson's,) except +such as we shall think fit to transmit by the post: which I am afraid, +after my next, must be directed to Mr. Hickman, as before: since my +mother is fixing a condition to our correspondence, which, I doubt, you +will not comply with, though I wish you would. This condition I shall +acquaint you with by-and-by. + +Mean time, begging excuse for all the harsh things in my last, of which +your sweet meekness and superior greatness of soul have now made me most +heartily ashamed, I beseech you, my dearest creature, to believe me to be + +Your truly sympathising, +and unalterable friend, +ANNA HOWE. + + + +LETTER LXXII + +MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE +MONDAY, JULY 10. + + +I now, my dearest friend, resume my pen, to obey my mother, in giving you +her opinion upon your unhappy story. + +She still harps upon the old string, and will have it that all your +calamities are owing to your first fatal step; for she believes, (what I +cannot,) that your relations had intended after one general trial more, +to comply with your aversion, if they had found it to be as riveted a +one, as, let me say, it was a folly to suppose it would not be found to +be, after so many ridiculously-repeated experiments. + +As to your latter sufferings from that vilest of miscreants, she is +unalterably of opinion that if all be as you have related (which she +doubts not) with regard to the potions, and to the violences you have +sustained, you ought by all means to set on foot a prosecution against +him, and against his devilish accomplices. + +She asks, What murderers, what ravishers, would be brought to justice, if +modesty were to be a general plea, and allowable, against appearing in a +court to prosecute? + +She says, that the good of society requires, that such a beast of prey +should be hunted out of it: and, if you do not prosecute him, she thinks +you will be answerable for all the mischiefs he may do in the course of +his future villanous life. + +Will it be thought, Nancy, said she, that Miss Clarissa Harlowe can be in +earnest, when she says, she is not solicitous to have her disgraces +concealed from the world, if she be afraid or ashamed to appear in court, +to do justice to herself and her sex against him? Will it not be rather +surmised, that she may be apprehensive that some weakness, or lurking +love, will appear upon the trial of the strange cause? If, inferred she, +such complicated villany as this (where perjury, potions, forgery, +subornation, are all combined to effect the ruin of an innocent creature, +and to dishonour a family of eminence, and where the very crimes, as may +be supposed, are proofs of her innocence) is to go off with impunity, +what case will deserve to be brought into judgment? or what malefactor +ought to be hanged? + +Then she thinks, and so do I, that the vile creatures, his accomplices, +ought, by all means, to be brought to condign punishment, as they must +and will be upon bringing him to trial: and this may be a mean to blow up +and root out a whole nest of vipers, and save many innocent creatures. + +She added, that if Miss Clarissa Harlowe could be so indifferent about +having this public justice done upon such a wretch for her own sake, she +ought to overcome her scruples out of regard to her family, her +acquaintance, and her sex, which are all highly injured and scandalized +by his villany to her. + +For her own part, she declares, that were she your mother, she would +forgive you upon no other terms: and, upon your compliance with these, +she herself will undertake to reconcile all your family to you. + +These, my dear, are my mother's sentiments upon your sad story. + +I cannot say but there are reason and justice in them: and it is my +opinion, that it would be very right for the law to oblige an injured +woman to prosecute, and to make seduction on the man's part capital, +where his studied baseness, and no fault in her will, appeared. + +To this purpose the custom in the Isle of Man is a very good one---- + +'If a single woman there prosecutes a single man for a rape, the +ecclesiastical judges impannel a jury; and, if this jury find him guilty, +he is returned guilty to the temporal courts: where if he be convicted, +the deemster, or judge, delivers to the woman a rope, a sword, and a +ring; and she has it in her choice to have him hanged, beheaded, or to +marry him.' + +One of the two former, I think, should always be her option. + +I long for the particulars of your story. You must have too much time +upon your hands for a mind so active as your's, if tolerable health and +spirits be afforded you. + +The villany of the worst of men, and the virtue of the most excellent of +women, I expect will be exemplified in it, were it to be written in the +same connected and particular manner in which you used to write to me. + +Try for it, my dearest friend; and since you cannot give the example +without the warning, give both, for the sakes of all those who shall hear +of your unhappy fate; beginning from your's of June 5, your prospects +then not disagreeable. I pity you for the task; though I cannot +willingly exempt you from it. + + +*** + + +My mother will have me add, that she must insist upon your prosecuting +the villain. She repeats, that she makes that a condition on which she +permits our future correspondence. Let me therefore know your thoughts +upon it. I asked her, if she would be willing that I should appear to +support you in court, if you complied?--By all means, she said, if that +would induce you to begin with him, and with the horrid women. I think I +could probably attend you, I am sure I could, were there but a +probability of bringing the monster to his deserved end. + +Once more your thoughts of it, supposing it were to meet with the +approbation of your relations. + +But whatever be your determination on this head, it shall be my constant +prayer, that God will give you patience to bear your heavy afflictions, +as a person ought to do who has not brought them upon herself by a faulty +will: that He will speak peace and comfort to your wounded mind; and give +you many happy years. I am, and ever will be, + +Your affectionate and faithful +ANNA HOWE. + + +*** + + +[The two preceding letters were sent by a special messenger: in the cover + were written the following lines:] + +MONDAY, JULY 10. + +I cannot, my dearest friend, suffer the enclosed to go unaccompanied by a +few lines, to signify to you that they are both less tender in some +places than I would have written, had they not been to pass my mother's +inspection. The principal reason, however, of my writing thus separately +is, to beg of you to permit me to send you money and necessaries, which +you must needs want; and that you will let me know, if either I, or any +body I can influence, can be of service to you. I am excessively +apprehensive that you are not enough out of the villain's reach where you +are. Yet London, I am persuaded, is the place, of all others, to be +private in. + +I could tear my hair for vexation, that I have it not in my power to +afford you personal protection!--I am + +Your ever devoted +ANNA HOWE. + + +Once more forgive me, my dearest creature, for my barbarous taunting in +mine of the 5th! Yet I can hardly forgive myself. I to be so cruel, yet +to know you so well!--Whence, whence, had I this vile impatiency of +spirit!-- + + + +LETTER LXXIII + +MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE +TUESDAY, JULY 11. + + +Forgive you, my dear!--Most cordially do I forgive you--Will you forgive +me for some sharp things I wrote in return to your's of the 5th? You +could not have loved me as you do, nor had the concern you have always +shown for my honour, if you had not been utterly displeased with me, on +the appearance which my conduct wore to you when you wrote that letter. +I most heartily thank you, my best and only love, for the opportunity you +gave me of clearing it up; and for being generously ready to acquit me of +intentional blame, the moment you had read my melancholy narrative. + +As you are so earnest to have all the particulars of my sad story before +you, I will, if life and spirits be lent me, give you an ample account of +all that has befallen me, from the time you mention. But this, it is +very probable, you will not see, till after the close of my last scene: +and as I shall write with a view to that, I hope no other voucher will be +wanted for the veracity of the writer, be who will the reader. + +I am far from thinking myself out of the reach of this man's further +violence. But what can I do? Whither can I fly?--Perhaps my bad state +of health (which must grow worse, as recollection of the past evils, and +reflections upon them, grow heavier and heavier upon me) may be my +protection. Once, indeed, I thought of going abroad; and, had I the +prospect of many years before me, I would go.--But, my dear, the blow is +given.--Nor have you reason now, circumstanced as I am, to be concerned +that it is. What a heart must I have, if it be not broken--and indeed, +my dear friend, I do so earnestly wish for the last closing scene, and +with so much comfort find myself in a declining way, that I even +sometimes ungratefully regret that naturally-healthy constitution, which +used to double upon me all my enjoyments. + +As to the earnestly-recommended prosecution, I may possibly touch upon it +more largely hereafter, if ever I shall have better spirits; for they are +at present extremely sunk and low. But just now, I will only say, that I +would sooner suffer every evil (the repetition of the capital one +excepted) than appear publicly in a court to do myself justice.* And I +am heartily grieved that your mother prescribes such a measure as the +condition of our future correspondence: for the continuance of your +friendship, my dear, and the desire I had to correspond with you to my +life's end, were all my remaining hopes and consolation. Nevertheless, +as that friendship is in the power of the heart, not of the hand only, I +hope I shall not forfeit that. + + +* Dr. Lewen, in Letter XXIV. of Vol. VIII. presses her to this public +prosecution, by arguments worthy of his character; which she answers in a +manner worthy of her's. See Letter XXV. of that volume. + + +O my dear! what would I give to obtain a revocation of my father's +malediction! a reconciliation is not to be hoped for. You, who never +loved my father, may think my solicitude on this head a weakness: but the +motive for it, sunk as my spirits at times are, is not always weak. + + +*** + + +I approve of the method you prescribe for the conveyance of our letters; +and have already caused the porter of the inn to be engaged to bring to +me your's, the moment that Collins arrives with them. And the servant of +the house where I am will be permitted to carry mine to Collins for you. + +I have written a letter to Miss Rawlins, of Hampstead; the answer to +which, just now received, has helped me to the knowledge of the vile +contrivance, by which the wicked man got your letter of June the 10th. I +will give you the contents of both. + +In mine to her, I briefly acquainted her 'with what had befallen me, +through the vileness of the women who had passed upon me as the aunt and +cousin of the wickedest of men; and own, that I never was married to him. +I desire her to make particular inquiry, and to let me know, who it was +at Mrs. Moore's that, on Sunday afternoon, June 11, while I was at +church, received a letter from Miss Howe, pretending to be me, and lying +on a couch:--which letter, had it come to my hands, would have saved me +from ruin. I excuse myself (on the score of the delirium, which the +horrid usage I had received threw me into, and from a confinement as +barbarous as illegal) that I had not before applied to Mrs. Moore for an +account of what I was indebted to her: which account I now desired. And, +for fear of being traced by Mr. Lovelace, I directed her to superscribe +her answer, To Mrs. Mary Atkins; to be left till called for, at the Belle +Savage Inn, on Ludgate-hill.' + +In her answer, she tells me, 'that the vile wretch prevailed upon Mrs. +Bevis to personate me, [a sudden motion of his, it seems, on the +appearance of your messenger,] and persuaded her to lie along a couch: +a handkerchief over her neck and face; pretending to be ill; the +credulous woman drawn in by false notions of your ill offices to keep up +a variance between a man and his wife--and so taking the letter from your +messenger as me. + +'Miss Rawlins takes pains to excuse Mrs. Bevis's intention. She +expresses their astonishment, and concern at what I communicate: but is +glad, however, and so they are all, that they know in time the vileness +of the base man; the two widows and herself having, at his earnest +invitation, designed me a visit at Mrs. Sinclair's: supposing all to be +happy between him and me; as he assured them was the case. Mr. Lovelace, +she informs me, had handsomely satisfied Mrs. Moore. And Miss Rawlins +concludes with wishing to be favoured with the particulars of so +extraordinary a story, as these particulars may be of use, to let her see +what wicked creatures (women as well as men) there are in the world.' + +I thank you, my dear, for the draughts of your two letters which were +intercepted by this horrid man. I see the great advantage they were of +to him, in the prosecution of his villanous designs against the poor +wretch whom he had so long made the sport of his abhorred inventions. + +Let me repeat, that I am quite sick of life; and of an earth, in which +innocent and benevolent spirits are sure to be considered as aliens, and +to be made sufferers by the genuine sons and daughters of that earth. + +How unhappy, that those letters only which could have acquainted me with +his horrid views, and armed me against them, and against the vileness of +the base women, should fall into his hands!--Unhappier still, in that my +very escape to Hampstead gave him the opportunity of receiving them. + +Nevertheless, I cannot but still wonder, how it was possible for that +Tomlinson to know what passed between Mr. Hickman and my uncle Harlowe:* +a circumstance which gave the vile impostor most of his credit with me. + + +* See the note in Letter LXX. of this volume. + + +How the wicked wretch himself could find me out at Hampstead, must also +remain wholly a mystery to me. He may glory in his contrivances--he, who +has more wickedness than wit, may glory in his contrivances!--But, after +all, I shall, I humbly presume to hope, be happy, when he, poor wretch, +will be--alas!--who can say what!---- + +Adieu, my dearest friend!--May you be happy!--And then your Clarissa +cannot be wholly miserable! + +END OF VOL. 6. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Clarissa, Volume 6 (of 9), by Samuel Richardson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CLARISSA, VOLUME 6 (OF 9) *** + +***** This file should be named 11364.txt or 11364.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/1/3/6/11364/ + +Produced by Produced by Julie C. 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