Clarissa Harlowe; or the history of a young lady — Volume 8

by Samuel Richardson

  LETTER XV

  MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.

  Curse upon my stars!--Disappointed again! It was about eight when Iarrived at Smith's.--The woman was in the shop.

  So, old acquaintance, how do you now? I know my love is above.--Let herbe acquainted that I am here, waiting for admission to her presence, andcan take no denial. Tell her, that I will approach her with the mostrespectful duty, and in whose company she pleases; and I will not touchthe hem of her garment, without her leave.

  Indeed, Sir, you are mistaken. The lady is not in this house, nor nearit.

  I'll see that.--Will.! beckoning him to me, and whispering, see if thoucanst any way find out (without losing sight of the door, lest she shouldbe below stairs) if she be in the neighbourhood, if not within.

  Will. bowed, and went off. Up went I, without further ceremony; attendednow only by the good woman.

  I went into each apartment, except that which was locked before, and wasnow also locked: and I called to my Clarissa in the voice of love; but,by the still silence, was convinced she was not there. Yet, on thestrength of my intelligence, I doubted not but she was in the house.

  I then went up two pairs of stairs, and looked round the first room: butno Miss Harlowe.

  And who, pray, is in this room? stopping at the door of another.

  A widow gentlewoman, Sir.--Mrs. Lovick.

  O my dear Mrs. Lovick! said I.--I am intimately acquainted with Mrs.Lovick's character, from my cousin John Belford. I must see Mrs. Lovickby all means.--Good Mrs. Lovick, open the door.

  She did.

  Your servant, Madam. Be so good as to excuse me.--You have heard mystory. You are an admirer of the most excellent woman in the world.Dear Mrs. Lovick, tell me what is become of her?

  The poor lady, Sir, went out yesterday, on purpose to avoid you.

  How so? she knew not that I would be here.

  She was afraid you would come, when she heard you were recovered fromyour illness. Ah! Sir, what pity it is that so fine a gentleman shouldmake such ill returns for God's goodness to him!

  You are an excellent woman, Mrs. Lovick: I know that, by my cousin JohnBelford's account of you: and Miss Clarissa Harlowe is an angel.

  Miss Harlowe is indeed an angel, replied she; and soon will be companyfor angels.

  No jesting with such a woman as this, Jack.

  Tell me of a truth, good Mrs. Lovick, where I may see this dear lady.Upon my soul, I will neither fright for offend her. I will only beg ofher to hear me speak for one half-quarter of an hour; and, if she willhave it so, I will never trouble her more.

  Sir, said the widow, it would be death for her to see you. She was athome last night; I'll tell you truth: but fitter to be in bed all day.She came home, she said, to die; and, if she could not avoid your visit,she was unable to fly from you; and believed she should die in yourpresence.

  And yet go out again this morning early? How can that be, widow?

  Why, Sir, she rested not two hours, for fear of you. Her fear gave herstrength, which she'll suffer for, when that fear is over. And findingherself, the more she thought of your visit, the less able to stay toreceive it, she took chair, and is gone nobody knows whither. But, Ibelieve, she intended to be carried to the waterside, in order to takeboat; for she cannot bear a coach. It extremely incommoded heryesterday.

  But before we talk any further, said I, if she be gone abroad, you canhave no objection to my looking into every apartment above and below;because I am told she is actually in the house.

  Indeed, Sir, she is not. You may satisfy yourself, if you please: butMrs. Smith and I waited on her to her chair. We were forced to supporther, she was so weak. She said, Whither can I go, Mrs. Lovick? whithercan I go, Mrs. Smith?--Cruel, cruel man!--tell him I called him so, if hecome again!--God give him that peace which he denies me!

  Sweet creature! cried I; and looked down, and took out my handkerchief.

  The widow wept. I wish, said she, I had never known so excellent a lady,and so great a sufferer! I love her as my own child!

  Mrs. Smith wept.

  I then gave over the hope of seeing her for this time, I was extremelychagrined at my disappointment, and at the account they gave of her illhealth.

  Would to Heaven, said I, she would put it in my power to repair herwrongs! I have been an ungrateful wretch to her. I need not tell you,Mrs. Lovick, how much I have injured her, nor how much she suffers by herrelations' implacableness, Mrs. Smith, that cuts her to the heart. Herfamily is the most implacable family on earth; and the dear creature, inrefusing to see me, and to be reconciled to me, shows her relation tothem a little too plainly.

  O Sir, said the widow, not one syllable of what you say belongs to thislady. I never saw so sweet a temper! she is always accusing herself, andexcusing her relations. And, as to you, Sir, she forgives you: shewishes you well; and happier than you will let her die in peace? 'tis allshe wishes for. You don't look like a hard-hearted gentleman!--How canyou thus hunt and persecute a poor lady, whom none of her relations willlook upon? It makes my heart bleed for her.

  And then she wept again. Mrs. Smith wept also. My seat grew uneasy tome. I shifted to another several times; and what Mrs. Lovick farthersaid, and showed me, made me still more uneasy.

  Bad as the poor lady was last night, said she, she transcribed into herbook a meditation on your persecuting her thus. I have a copy of it. IfI thought it would have any effect, I would read it to you.

  Let me read it myself, Mrs. Lovick.

  She gave it to me. It has an Harlowe-spirited title: and, from aforgiving spirit, intolerable. I desired to take it with me. Sheconsented, on condition that I showed it to 'Squire Belford. So here,Mr. 'Squire Belford, thou mayest read it, if thou wilt.

  ON BEING HUNTED AFTER BY THE ENEMY OF MY SOUL.

  MONDAY, AUG. 21.

  Deliver me, O Lord, from the evil man.

  Preserve me from the violent man.

  Who imagines mischief in his heart.

  He hath sharpened his tongue like a serpent. Adders' poison is under hislips.

  Keep me, O Lord, from the hands of the wicked. Preserve me from theviolent man, who hath purposed to overthrow my goings.

  He hath hid a snare for me. He hath spread a net by the way-side. Hehath set gins for me in the way wherein I walked.

  Keep me from the snares which he hath laid for me, and the gins of thisworker of iniquity.

  The enemy hath persecuted my soul. He hath smitten my life down to theground. He hath made me dwell in darkness, as those that have been longdead.

  Therefore is my spirit overwhelmed within me. My heart within me isdesolate.

  Hide not thy face from me in the day when I am in trouble.

  For my days are consumed like smoke: and my bones are burnt as thehearth.

  My heart is smitten and withered like grass: so that I forget to eat mybread.

  By reason of the voice of my groaning, my bones cleave to my skin.

  I am like a pelican of the wilderness. I am like an owl of the desart.

  I watch; and am as a sparrow alone upon the house-top.

  I have eaten ashes like bread; and mingled my drink with weeping:

  Because of thine indignation, and thy wrath: for thou hast lifted me up,and cast me down.

  My days are like a shadow that declineth, and I am withered like grass.

  Grant not, O Lord, the desires of the wicked: further not his devices,lest he exalt himself.

  Why now, Mrs. Lovick, said I, when I had read this meditation, as shecalled it, I think I am very severely treated by the lady, if she mean mein all this. For how is it that I am the enemy of her soul, when I loveher both soul and body?

  She says, that I am a violent man, and a wicked man.--That I have beenso, I own: but I repent, and only wish to have it in my power to repairthe injuries I have done her.

  The gin, the snare, the net, mean matrimony, I suppose--But is it a crimein me to wish to
marry her? Would any other woman think it so? andchoose to become a pelican in the wilderness, or a lonely sparrow on thehouse-top, rather than have a mate that would chirp about her all day andall night?

  She says, she has eaten ashes like bread--A sad mistake to be sure!--Andmingled her drink with weeping--Sweet maudlin soul! should I say of anybody confessing this, but Miss Harlowe.

  She concludes with praying, that the desires of the wicked (meaning poorme, I doubt) may not be granted; that my devices may not be furthered,lest I exalt myself. I should undoubtedly exalt myself, and with reason,could I have the honour and the blessing of such a wife. And if mydesires have so honourable an end, I know not why I should be calledwicked, and why I should not be allowed to hope, that my honest devicesmay be furthered, that I MAY exalt myself.

  But here, Mrs. Lovick, let me ask, as something is undoubtedly meant bythe lonely sparrow on the house-top, is not the dear creature at thisvery instant (tell me truly) concealed in Mrs. Smith's cockloft?--Whatsay you, Mrs. Lovick? What say you, Mrs. Smith, to this?

  They assured me to the contrary; and that shew as actually abroad, andthey knew not where.

  Thou seest, Jack, that I would fain have diverted the chagrin given menot only by the women's talk, but by this collection of Scripture-textsdrawn up in array against me. Several other whimsical and light things Isaid [all I had for it!] with the same view. But the widow would not letme come off so. She stuck to me; and gave me, as I told thee, a gooddeal of uneasiness, by her sensible and serious expostulations. Mrs.Smith put in now-and-then; and the two Jack-pudding fellows, John andJoseph, not being present, I had no provocation to turn the conversationinto a farce; and, at last, they both joined warmly to endeavour toprevail upon me to give up all thoughts of seeing the lady. But I couldnot hear of that. On the contrary, I besought Mrs. Smith to let me haveone of her rooms but till I could see her; and were it but for one, two,or three days, I would pay a year's rent for it; and quit it the momentthe interview was over. But they desired to be excused; and were surethe lady would not come to the house till I was gone, were it for amonth.

  This pleased me; for I found they did not think her so very ill as theywould have me believe her to be; but I took no notice of the slip,because I would not guard them against more of the like.

  In short, I told them, I must and would see her: but that it should bewith all the respect and veneration that heart could pay to excellencelike her's: and that I would go round to all the churches in London andWestminster, where there were prayers or service, from sun-rise tosun-set, and haunt their house like a ghost, till I had the opportunitymy soul panted after.

  This I bid them tell her. And thus ended our serious conversation.

  I took leave of them; and went down; and, stepping into my chair, causedmyself to be carried to Lincoln's-Inn; and walked in the gardens till thechapel was opened; and then I went in, and staid prayers, in hopes ofseeing the dear creature enter: but to no purpose; and yet I prayed mostdevoutly that she might be conducted thither, either by my good angel, orher own. And indeed I burn more than ever with impatience to be oncemore permitted to kneel at the feet of this adorable woman. And had Imet her, or espied her in the chapel, it is my firm belief that I shouldnot have been able (though it had been in the midst of the sacred office,and in the presence of thousands) to have forborne prostration to her,and even clamorous supplication for her forgiveness: a christian act; theexercise of it therefore worthy of the place.

  After service was over, I stept into my chair again, and once more wascarried to Smith's, in hopes I might have surprised her there: but nosuch happiness for thy friend. I staid in the back-shop an hour and anhalf, by my watch; and again underwent a good deal of preachment from thewomen. John was mainly civil to me now; won over a little by my serioustalk, and the honour I professed for the lady. They all three wishedmatters could be made up between us: but still insisted that she couldnever get over her illness; and that her heart was broken. A cue, Isuppose, they had from you.

  While I was there a letter was brought by a particular hand. They seemedvery solicitous to hide it from me; which made me suspect it was for her.I desired to be suffered to cast an eye upon the seal, and thesuperscription; promising to give it back to them unopened.

  Looking upon it, I told them I knew the hand and seal. It was from hersister.* And I hoped it would bring her news that she would be pleasedwith.

  * See Letter XXVI. of this volume.

  They joined most heartily in the same hope: and, giving the letter tothem again, I civilly took leave, and went away.

  But I will be there again presently; for I fancy my courteous behaviourto these women will, on their report of it, procure me the favour I soearnestly covet. And so I will leave my letter unsealed, to tell theethe event of my next visit at Smith's.

  ***

  Thy servant just calling, I sent thee this: and will soon follow it byanother. Mean time, I long to hear how poor Belton is: to whom my bestwishes.