Clarissa, Or, the History of a Young Lady by Samuel Richardson
May this marriage be crowned with a great many fine boys (I desire no girls) to build up again a family so antient! The first boy shall take my surname by Act of Parliament. That is in my will.
Lady Betty and niece Charlotte will be in town about business before you know where you are. They long to pay their compliments to your fair bride. I suppose you will hardly be at The Lawn when they get to town; because Greme informs me you have sent no orders there for your lady’s accommodation.
Pritchard has all things in readiness for signing. I will take no advantage of your slights. Indeed I am too much used to them—more praise to my patience than to your complaisance, however.
One reason for Lady Betty’s going up, as I may tell you under the rose, is, to buy some suitable presents for Lady Sarah and all of us to make on this agreeable occasion.
We would have blazed it away, could we have had timely notice, and thought it would have been agreeable to all round. The like occasions don’t happen every day.
My most affectionate compliments and congratulations to my new niece; conclude me, for the present, in violent pains that with all your heroicalness would make you mad,
Your truly affectionate uncle,
M.
Letter 234: MR LOVELACE TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.
I cannot but stop here for one minute to remark, though against myself, upon that security which innocence gives, that nevertheless had better have in it a greater mixture of the serpent with the dove. For here, heedless of all I could say behind her back, because she was satisfied with her own worthiness, she permitted me to go on with my own story without interruption, to persons as great strangers to her as to me; and who, as strangers to both, might be supposed to lean to the side most injured: and that, as I managed it, was to mine. A dear silly soul! thought I, at the time, to depend upon the goodness of her own heart, when the heart cannot be seen into but by its actions; and she, to appearance, a runaway, an eloper, from a tender, a most indulgent husband!—to neglect to cultivate the opinion of individuals, when the whole world is governed by appearance!
• • •
Yet, what can be expected of an angel under twenty? She has a world of knowledge; knowledge speculative, as I may say; but no experience! How should she? Knowledge by theory only is a vague uncertain light: a will o’ the wisp, which as often misleads the doubting mind as puts it right.
There are many things in the world, could a moraliser say, that would afford inexpressible pleasure to a reflecting mind, were it not for the mixture they come to us with. I am half sorry to say that I find a pleasure in playing the tyrant over what I love. Call it an ungenerous pleasure, if thou wilt: softer hearts than mine know it. The women to a woman know it, and show it too, whenever they are trusted with power. And why should it be thought strange that I, who love them so dearly, and study them so much, should catch the infection of them?
Letter 236: MR LOVELACE TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.
(In continuation)
We had at dinner, besides Miss Rawlins, a young widow-niece of Mrs Moore, who is come to stay a month with her aunt—Bevis her name; very forward, very lively, and a great admirer of me, I assure you—hanging smirkingly upon all I said; and prepared to approve of every word before I spoke: and who, by the time we had half-dined (by the help of what she had collected before), was as much acquainted with our story as either of the other two.
As it behoved me to prepare them in my favour against whatever might come from Miss Howe, I improved upon the hint I had thrown out above-stairs against that mischief-making lady. I represented her to be an arrogant creature, revengeful, artful, enterprising, and one who, had she been a man, would have sworn and cursed, and committed rapes, and played the devil, as far as I knew (and I have no doubt of it, Jack): but who, nevertheless, by advantage of a female education, and pride, and insolence, I believed was personally virtuous.
However, I declared that Miss Howe was a subtle contriver of mischief; one who had always been my enemy: her motives I knew not: but despising the man whom her mother was desirous she should have, one Hickman; although I did not directly aver, that she would rather have had me; yet they all immediately imagined that that was the ground of her animosity to me, and of her envy to my beloved; and it was pity, they said, that so fine a young lady did not see through such a pretended friend.
And, truly, I must needs say they have almost persuaded even me myself, that Miss Howe is actually in love with me. I have often been willing to hope this. And who knows but she may? And what’s thy opinion, Jack? She certainly hates Hickman: and girls who are disengaged seldom hate, though they may not love: and if she had rather have another, why not that other ME? For am I not a smart fellow, and a rake? And do not your sprightly ladies love your smart fellows, and your rakes? And where is the wonder that the man who could engage the affections of Miss Harlowe should engage those of a lady (with her Alas’s) who would be honoured in being deemed her second?
But now I have appealed this matter to thee, let me use another argument in favour of my observation that the ladies generally prefer a rake to a sober man; and of my presumption upon it that Miss Howe is in love with me: It is this—Common fame says that Hickman is a very virtuous, a very innocent fellow—a male-virgin, I warrant! An odd dog I always thought him. Now women, Jack, like not novices. They are pleased with a love of the sex that is founded in the knowledge of it. Novices expect more than they can possibly find in the commerce with them. The man who knows them yet has ardours for them, to borrow a word from Miss Howe, though those ardours are generally owing more to the devil within him than to the witch without him, is the man who makes them the highest and most grateful compliment. He knows what to expect, and with what to be satisfied.
Then the merit of a woman, in some cases, must be ignorance, whether real or pretended. The man, in these cases, must be an adept. Will it then be wondered at that a woman prefers a libertine to a novice? While she expects in the one the confidence she wants; she considers the other and herself as two parallel lines; which, though they run side by side, can never meet.
But to proceed with my narrative:
Having thus prepared everyone against any letter should come from Miss Howe, and against my beloved’s messenger returns, I thought it proper to conclude that subject with a hint that my spouse could not bear to have anything said that reflected upon Miss Howe; and, with a deep sigh, added that I had been made very unhappy more than once by the ill-will of ladies whom I had never offended.
The widow Bevis believed that might very easily be.
Letter 241: MR LOVELACE TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.
Eight o’clock, Sat. morn. June 10
I am come back from Mrs Moore’s, whither I went in order to attend my charmer’s commands. But no admittance. A very bad night.
Doubtless she must be as much concerned, that she has carried her resentments so very far, as I have reason to be that I made such a poor use of the opportunity I had on Wednesday night.
But now, Jack, for a brief review of my present situation; and a slight hint or two of my precautions.
I have seen the women this morning, and find them half right, half doubting.
Mrs Moore can do nothing without Miss Rawlins.
Though not permitted to lodge there myself, I have engaged all the rooms she has to spare, to the very garrets; and that as I have told thee before, for a month certain, and at her own price, board included; my spouse’s and all: but she must not, at present, know it. So I hope I have Mrs Moore fast by the interest.
This, devil-like, is suiting temptations to inclinations.
Miss Rawlins fluctuates as she hears the lady’s story, or as she hears mine. Somewhat of an infidel, I doubt, is this Miss Rawlins. I have not yet considered her foible. The next time I see her, I will take particular notice of all the moles and freckles in her mind; and then infer and apply.
The Wid
My man Will lies in the house. My other new fellow attends upon me; and cannot therefore be quite stupid.
Already is Will over head and ears in love with one of Mrs Moore’s maids. He was struck with her the moment he set his eyes upon her. A raw country wench too. But all women, from the countess to the cookmaid, are put into high good humour with themselves, when a man is taken with them at first sight.
The post, general and penny, will be strictly watched likewise.
Miss Howe’s Collins is remembered to be described. Miss Howe’s and Hickman’s liveries also.
I am to be acquainted with any inquiry that shall happen to be made after my spouse, whether by her married or maiden name, before she shall be told of it—and this that I may have it in my power to prevent mischief.
As to my spouse herself, has she not reason to be pleased with me for having permitted her to receive Miss Howe’s letter from Wilson’s? A plain case, either that I am no deep plotter, or that I have no further views but to make my peace with her for an offence so slight, and so accidental.
But I return to the scene of action. I must keep the women steady.
Letter 246: 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 wanted only to compound for half an hour in an elbow-chair. So must scribble on.
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 lady 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 a less; and then be forgiven for that; I can justify myself to myself; and that, as the fair implacable would say, is all in all.
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.
• • •
She [Conscience] had stolen my pen. While I was thus 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 handwriting.
‘But let me reflect, before it be too late. On the manifold perfections of this ever-admirable 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 wouldst 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 find 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.’
Thus far had my conscience written with my pen; and see what a recreant she had made me! I seized her by the throat. There! There, said I, thou vile impertinent! Take that, and that!
How hard diest thou! Adieu! Adieu to thee for ever!
Letter 248: 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.
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 used by me: but I will give thee the substance of what she said in answer to them.
She had considered of everything, she told me. My whole conduct was before her. The house I carried her to must be a vile house. 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 all over, Belford! She seems sensible of liberties that my passion made me insensible of having taken.
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 interests, 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.
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 depend absolutely upon herself. She must see a person first; and that person perhaps must see others.
The cursed smuggler-woman, Jack! Miss Howe’s Townsend, I doubt not! Plot, contrivance, intrigue, stratagem! Underground moles these ladies. 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.
Oh Jack! I am sick to death, I pine, I die, for Miss Howe’s next letter! I would bind, gag, strip, rob, and do anything 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 eye were not to be trusted, and could not stand against my eager eyes; seeking, as they did, for a lost heart in hers, 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 vest
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!
She paused. I besought her to proceed.
But let us break off discourse, resumed she. I have said too much. 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.
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 upstairs directly. Nor would she oblige me with her company at the tea-table.
Letter 250: MR LOVELACE TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.