I will go ask, if I may show a gentleman the apartment, sir; and, as you are a married gentleman, and not over-young, she’ll perhaps make the less scruple.
I appeared, upon the whole, so indifferent about seeing the room, or the lady, that the good woman was the more eager I should see both.
To be brief, she went in; and after a little while came out again. The lady, sir, is retired to her closet, so you may go in and look at the room.
Then how my heart began again to play its pug’s tricks!
I hobbled in, and stumped about, and liked it very much; and was sure my wife would. But we would not turn the lady out of her lodging for the world. The other two apartments will do for us at the present.
Then stumping towards the closet, over the door of which hung a picture—What picture is that? Oh! I see: A St Cecilia!
A common print, sir.
Pretty well, pretty well! It is after an Italian master. I would not for the world turn the lady out of her apartment. We can make shift with the other two, repeated I, louder still: but yet mumblingly hoarse; for I had as great regard to uniformity in accent, as to my words.
I was resolved to fetch her out, if possible: and pretending to be going—You can’t agree as to any time, Mrs Moore, when we can have this third room, can you? Not that (whispered I, loud enough to be heard in the next room); not that I would incommode the lady: but I would tell my wife whenabouts—and women, you know, Mrs Moore, love to have everything before them of this nature.
Mrs Moore, says my charmer (and never did her voice sound so harmonious to me. Oh how my heart bounded again! It even talked to me, in a manner; for I thought I heard, as well as felt, its unruly flutters; and every vein about me seemed a pulse): Mrs Moore, you may acquaint the gentleman that I shall stay here only for two or three days, at most, till I receive an answer to a letter I have written into the country; and rather than be your hindrance, I will take up with any apartment a pair of stairs higher.
She opened not the door yet; and I said, But since you have so much goodness, madam, if I could but just look into the closet, as I stand, I could tell my wife whether it is large enough to hold a cabinet she much values, and will have with her wherever she goes.
Then my charmer opened the door, and blazed upon me, as it were in a flood of light, like what one might imagine would strike a man who, born blind, had by some propitious power been blessed with his sight, all at once, in a meridian sun.
Upon my soul, I never was so strangely affected before. I had much ado to forbear discovering myself that instant: but, hesitatingly, and in great disorder, I said, looking into the closet, and around it, There is room, I see, for my wife’s cabinet; and it has many jewels in it of high price; but, upon my soul (for I could not forbear swearing, like a puppy: habit is a cursed thing, Jack)—nothing so valuable as the lady I see, can be brought into it!
She started, and looked at me with terror. The truth of the compliment, as far as I know, had taken dissimulation from my accent.
I saw it was impossible to conceal myself longer from her, any more than (from the violent impulses of my passion) to forbear manifesting myself. I unbuttoned therefore my cape, I pulled off my flapped, slouched hat; I threw open my great-coat and, like the devil in Milton (an odd comparison though!),
I started up in my own form divine,
Touched by the beam of her celestial eye,
More potent than Ithuriel’s spear!
Now, Belford, for a similitude—now for a likeness to illustrate the surprising scene, and the effect it had upon my charmer and the gentlewoman! But nothing was like it, or equal to it. The plain fact can only describe it, and set it off. Thus then take it.
She no sooner saw who it was, than she gave three violent screams; and, before I could catch her in my arms (as I was about to do the moment I discovered myself), down she sunk at my feet in a fit; which made me curse my indiscretion for so suddenly, and with so much emotion, revealing myself.
The gentlewoman, seeing so strange an alteration in my person, and features, and voice, and dress, cried out, Murder, help! Murder, help! by turns, for half a dozen times running. This alarmed the house, and up ran two servant-maids, and my servant after them. I cried out for water and hartshorn, and everyone flew a different way, one of the maids as fast down as she came up; while the gentlewoman ran out of one room into another, and by turns up and down the apartment we were in, without meaning or end, wringing her foolish hands, and not knowing what she did.
For my part, I was so intent upon restoring my angel that I regarded nobody else. And at last, she slowly recovering motion, with bitter sighs and sobs (only the whites of her eyes however appearing for some moments), I called upon her in the tenderest accent, as I kneeled by her, my arm supporting her head; My angel! My charmer! My Clarissa! look upon me, my dearest life! I am not angry with you! I will forgive you, my best beloved!
I threw up the closet-sash for air, and then left her to the care of the young gentlewoman, the same notable Miss Rawlins, whom I had heard of at the Flask; and to that of Mrs Moore; who by this time had recovered herself; and then retiring to one corner of the room, I made my servant pull off my gouty stockings, brush my hat, and loop it up into the usual smart cock.
I then stepped to the closet to Mr Rawlins, whom, in the general confusion, I had not much minded before. Sir, said I, you have an uncommon scene before you. The lady is my wife, and no gentleman’s presence is necessary here but my own.
I beg pardon, sir: If the lady is your wife, I have no business here. But, sir, by her concern at seeing you—
The ladies only are proper to be present on this occasion, added I; and I think myself obliged to them for their care and kind assistance.
‘Tis well he made not another word: for I found my choler begin to rise. I could not bear that the finest neck, and arms, and foot, in the world, should be exposed to the eyes of any man living but mine.
I withdrew once more from the closet, finding her beginning to recover, lest the sight of me too soon should throw her back again.
The first words she said, looking round her with great emotion, were, Oh hide me! hide me! Is he gone! Oh hide me! Is he gone!
Sir, said Miss Rawlins, coming to me with an air somewhat peremptory and assured, this is some surprising case. The lady cannot bear the sight of you. What you have done is best known to yourself. But another such fit will probably be her last. It would be but kind, therefore, for you to retire.
The dear creature, said I, may well be concerned to see me. If you, madam, had a husband who loved you, as I love her, you would not, I am confident, fly from him and expose yourself to hazards, as she does whenever she has not all her way—and yet with a mind not capable of intentional evil. But, mother-spoilt!
You speak like a gentleman; you look like a gentleman, said Miss Rawlins. But, sir, this is a strange case; the lady seems to dread the sight of you.
No wonder, madam; taking her a little on one side, nearer to Mrs Moore. I have three times already forgiven the dear creature. But this jealousy—there is a spice of that in it—and of frenzy too (whispered I, that it might have the face of a secret, and of consequence the more engage their attention)—but our story is too long.
I then made a motion to go to the lady. But they desired that I would walk into the next room; and they would endeavour to prevail upon her to lie down.
I begged that they would not suffer her to talk; for that she was accustomed to fits and would, when in this way, talk of anything that came uppermost; and the more she was suffered to run on, the worse she was; and if not kept quiet would fall into ravings; which might possibly hold her a week.
They promised to keep her quiet; and I withdrew into the next room; ordering everyone down but Mrs Moore and Miss Rawlins.
By this time, I hoped that she was enough recovered to bear a presence, that it behoved me to
make her bear; and fearing she would throw out something in her exclamations that would still more disconcert me, I went into the room again.
Oh! there he is! said she, and threw her apron over her face. I cannot see him! I cannot look upon him! Begone! begone! touch me not!
For I took her struggling hand, beseeching her to be pacified; and assuring her that I would make all up with her, upon her own terms and wishes.
Base man! said the violent lady, I have no wishes, but never to behold you more! Why must I be thus pursued and haunted? Have you not made me miserable enough already? Despoiled of all succour and help, and of every friend, I am contented to be poor, low, and miserable, so I may be free from your persecutions!
Miss Rawlins stared at me (a confident slut this Miss Rawlins, thought I!): so did Mrs Moore. I told you so! whisperingly said I, turning to the women; shaking my head with a face of great concern and pity; and then to my charmer, My dear creature, how you rave! You will not easily recover from the effects of this violence! Have patience, my love! Be pacified! These ladies will certainly think you have fallen among robbers; and that I am the chief of them.
So you are! so you are! stamping, her face still covered (she thought of Wednesday night, no doubt); and, sighing as if her heart were breaking, she put her hand to her forehead. I shall be quite distracted!
And I would have pressed her hand, as I held it, with my lips; but she drew it from me with indignation.
Unhand me, sir, said she. I will not be touched by you. Leave me to my fate. What right, what title have you to persecute me thus?
I touched a delicate string, on purpose to set her in such a passion before the women as might confirm the intimation I had given of a frenzical disorder.
What a turn is here! Lately so happy! Nothing wanting but a reconciliation between you and your friends!—that reconciliation in such a happy train!—shall so slight, so accidental an occasion be suffered to overturn all our happiness?
Now, said she, that thou darest to call the occasion slight and accidental, and that I am happily out of thy vile hands, and out of a house I have reason to believe as vile, traitor and wretch that thou art, I will venture to cast an eye upon thee—and Oh that it were in my power, in mercy to my sex, to look thee first into shame and remorse, and then into death!
This violent tragedy speech, and the high manner in which she uttered it, had its desired effect. I looked upon the women, and upon her, by turns, with a pitying eye; and they shook their wise heads, and besought me to retire, and her to lie down to compose herself.
This hurricane, like other hurricanes, was presently allayed by a shower. She threw herself once more into her armed chair—and begged pardon of the women for her passionate excess; but not of me: yet I was in hopes that when compliments were stirring, I should have come in for a share.
Indeed, ladies, said I (with assurance enough, thou’lt say), this violence is not natural to my beloved’s temper—misapprehension—
Begone! Begone! With a face so unblushing, how darest thou my presence?
I will only say, before these two gentlewomen, that since it must be so, and since your former esteem for me is turned into so riveted an aversion, I will soon, very soon, make you entirely easy. I will be gone. I will leave you to your own fate, as you call it; and may that be happy!
Ever since I knew you, said she, I have been in a wilderness of doubt and error. I bless God that I am out of your hands. I will transact for myself what relates to myself. I dismiss all your solicitude for me. Am I not my own mistress! Am I not—
It was high time to stop her here. I raised my voice to drown hers. You used, my dearest creature, to have a tender and apprehensive heart. You never had so much reason for such a one as now.
Let me judge for myself upon what I shall see, not upon what I shall hear. Do you think I shall ever—
I dreaded her going on—I must be heard, madam, raising my voice still higher.
Begone from me, man!
Still louder raised I my voice. She was overborne. Sweet soul! It would be hard, thought I (and yet I was very angry with her), if such a spirit as thine cannot be brought to yield to such a one as mine!
I lowered my voice on her silence. All gentle, all intreative, my accent: my head bowed; one hand held out; the other on my honest heart. Lady Betty will be in town with my cousin Montague in a day or two. They will be your visitors. I beseech you do not carry this misunderstanding so far, as that Lord M. and Lady Betty, and Lady Sarah, may know it. (How considerable this made me look to the women!) Lady Betty will not let you rest till you consent to accompany her to her own seat—and to that lady may you safely entrust your cause.
Again, upon my pausing a moment, she was going to break out. I liked not the turn of her countenance, nor the tone of her voice. ‘And thinkest thou, base wretch,’ were the words she did utter. I again raised my voice, and drowned hers. Base wretch, madam! Words so opprobrious from a mind so gentle—but this treatment is from you, madam!—from you, whom I love more than my own soul. By that soul, I swear that I do. (The women looked upon each other. They seemed pleased with my ardour. Women, whether wives, maids, or widows, love ardours. Even Miss Howe, thou knowest, speaks up for ardours.)
If we are to separate for ever, in a strong and solemn voice, proceeded I, this island shall not long be troubled with me. Anything will I come into (renounce me if you will), that shall make for your peace, and for the reconciliation your heart was so lately set upon.
I then... retired into the next apartment with a low bow, and a very solemn air.
I was soon followed by the two women.
I excused myself to Mrs Moore for the disguise I had appeared in at first, and for the story I had invented. I told her that I held myself obliged to satisfy her for the whole floor we were upon; and for an upper room for my servant; and that for a month certain.
She made many scruples, and begged she might not be urged on this head till she had consulted Miss Rawlins.
I consented; but told her that she had taken my earnest; and I hoped there was no room for dispute.
I said that ours was a very particular case: that were I to acquaint them with it, some part of it would hardly appear credible.
I told them the condition my spouse had made me swear to; and which she held me to, in order, I said, to induce me the sooner to be reconciled to her relations.
I owned that this restraint made me sometimes ready to fly out. And Mrs Moore was so good as to declare that she did not much wonder at it.
A foundation here, thought I, to procure these women’s help to get back the fugitive, or their connivance at least at my doing so; as well as for anticipating any future information from Miss Howe.
I gave them a character of that virago: and intimated, ‘that for a head to contrive mischief, and a heart to execute it, she had hardly her equal in her sex.’
To this Miss Howe it was, Mrs Moore said she supposed, that my spouse was so desirous to dispatch a man and horse, by day-dawn, with a letter she wrote before she went to bed last night; proposing to stay no longer than till she had received an answer to it.
The very same, said I. I knew she would have immediate recourse to her. I should have been but too happy, could I have prevented such a letter from passing, or so to have managed as to have it given into Mrs Howe’s hands instead of her daughter’s. Women who had lived some time in the world, knew better than to encourage such skittish pranks in young wives.
I told the women, ‘That I despaired it would ever be better with us while Miss Howe had so strange a predominance over my spouse, and remained herself unmarried; and until the reconciliation with her friends could be effected; or a still happier event—as I should think it, who am the last male of my family; and which my foolish vow, and her rigour, had hitherto’—
Here I stopped, and looked modest, turning my diamond ring round my fi
nger: while goody Moore looked mighty significant, calling it a very particular case; and the maiden lady fanned away, and primmed and pursed, to show that what I said needed no farther explanation.
I told them the occasion of our present difference: avowed the reality of the fire: but owned that I would have made no scruple of breaking the unnatural oath she had bound me in (having a husband’s right of my side), when she was so accidentally frighted into my arms: and I blamed myself excessively that I did not; since she thought fit to carry her resentment so high, and had the injustice to suppose the fire to be a contrivance of mine.
Nay, for that matter, Mrs Moore said—as we were married, and madam was so odd—every gentleman would not—and there stopped Mrs Moore.
A most extraordinary case, truly! the maiden lady: fanning, yet coming in with her Well but’s, and her sifting Pray, sir’s! And her restraining Enough, sir’s!—flying from the question to the question; her seat now and then uneasy, for fear my want of delicacy should hurt her abundant modesty; and yet it was difficult to satisfy her super-abundant curiosity.
Excuse me, ladies; traversing the room. And having rubbed my eyes till I supposed them red, I turned to the women; and pulling out my letter-case, I will show you one letter—here it is—read it, Miss Rawlins, if you please.
• • •
to Robert Lovelace, Esq.
M. Hall, Wed. June 7
Cousin Lovelace,
I think you might have found time to let us know of your nuptials being actually solemnized. I might have expected this piece of civility from you. But perhaps the ceremony was performed at the very time that you asked me to be your lady’s father—but I shall be angry if I proceed in my guesses—and little said is soon amended.
But I can tell you that Lady Betty Lawrance, whatever Lady Sarah does, will not so soon forgive you as I have done. Women resent slights longer than men. You that know so much of the sex (I speak it not however to your praise) might have known that. But never was you before acquainted with a lady of such an amiable character. I hope there will be but one soul between you. I have before now said that I will disinherit you, and settle all I can upon her, if you prove not a good husband to her.
Clarissa--Or the History of a Young Lady Page 35