LETTER XXXVII
MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.FRIDAY NIGHT, MAY 19.
When I have opened my view to thee so amply as I have done in my formerletters; and have told thee, that my principal design is but to bringvirtue to a trial, that, if virtue, it need not be afraid of; and thatthe reward of it will be marriage (that is to say, if, after I havecarried my point, I cannot prevail upon her to live with me the life ofhonour;* for that thou knowest is the wish of my heart); I am amazed atthe repetition of thy wambling nonsense.
* See Vol. III. Letter XVIII.
I am of opinion with thee, that some time hence, when I am grown wiser, Ishall conclude, that there is nothing but vanity, conceit, and nonsense,in my present wild schemes. But what is this saying, but that I mustbe first wiser?
I do not intend to let this matchless creature slide through my fingers.
Art thou able to say half the things in her praise, that I have said, andam continually saying or writing?
Her gloomy father cursed the sweet creature, because she put it out ofhis wicked power to compel her to have the man she hated. Thou knowesthow little merit she has with me on this score.--And shall I not try thevirtue I intended, upon full proof, to reward, because her father is atyrant?--Why art thou thus eternally reflecting upon so excellent awoman, as if thou wert assured she would fail in the trial?--Nay, thoudeclarest, every time thou writest on the subject, that she will, thatshe must yield, entangled as she is: and yet makest her virtue thepretence of thy solicitude for her.
An instrument of the vile James Harlowe, dost thou call me?--O Jack! howcould I curse thee!--I am instrument of that brother! of that sister!But mark the end--and thou shalt see what will become of that brother,and of that sister!
Play not against me my own acknowledged sensibilities, I desire thee.Sensibilities, which at the same time that they contradict thy charge ofan adamantine heart in thy friend, thou hadst known nothing of, had I notcommunicated them to thee.
If I ruin such a virtue, sayest thou!--Eternal monotonist!--Again; themost immaculate virtue may be ruined by men who have no regard to theirhonour, and who make a jest of the most solemn oaths, &c. What must bethe virtue that will be ruined without oaths? Is not the world full ofthese deceptions? And are not lovers' oaths a jest of hundreds of years'standing? And are not cautions against the perfidy of our sex anecessary part of the female education?
I do intend to endeavour to overcome myself; but I must first try, if Icannot overcome this lady. Have I not said, that the honour of her sexis concerned that I should try?
Whenever thou meetest with a woman of but half her perfections, thou wiltmarry--Do, Jack.
Can a girl be degraded by trials, who is not overcome?
I am glad that thou takest crime to thyself, for not endeavouring toconvert the poor wretches whom others have ruined. I will notrecriminate upon thee, Belford, as I might, when thou flatterest thyselfthat thou never ruinedst the morals of any young creature, who otherwisewould not have been corrupted--the palliating consolation of an Hottentotheart, determined rather to gluttonize on the garbage of other foulfeeders than to reform.--But tell me, Jack, wouldst thou have spared sucha girl as my Rosebud, had I not, by my example, engaged thy generosity?Nor was my Rosebud the only girl I spared:--When my power wasacknowledged, who more merciful than thy friend?
It is resistance that inflames desire, Sharpens the darts of love, and blows its fire. Love is disarm'd that meets with too much ease; He languishes, and does not care to please.
The women know this as well as the men. They love to be addressed withspirit:
And therefore 'tis their golden fruit they guard With so much care, to make profession hard.
Whence, for a by-reflection, the ardent, the complaisant gallant is sooften preferred to the cold, the unadoring husband. And yet the sex donot consider, that variety and novelty give the ardour and theobsequiousness; and that, were the rake as much used to them as thehusband is, he would be [and is to his own wife, if married] asindifferent to their favours, as their husbands are; and the husband, inhis turn, would, to another woman, be the rake. Let the women, upon thewhole, take this lesson from a Lovelace--'Always to endeavour to makethemselves as new to a husband, and to appear as elegant and as obligingto him, as they are desirous to appear to a lover, and actually were tohim as such; and then the rake, which all women love, will last longer inthe husband, than it generally does.'
But to return:--If I have not sufficiently cleared my conduct to thee inthe above; I refer thee once more to mine of the 13th of last month.*And pr'ythee, Jack, lay me not under a necessity to repeat the samethings so often. I hope thou readest what I write more than once.
* See Vol. II. Letter XIV.
I am not displeased that thou art so apprehensive of my resentment, thatI cannot miss a day without making thee uneasy. Thy conscience, 'tisplain, tells thee, that thou has deserved my displeasure: and if it hasconvinced thee of that, it will make thee afraid of repeating thy fault.See that this be the consequence. Else, now that thou hast told me how Ican punish thee, it is very likely that I do punish thee by my silence,although I have as much pleasure in writing on this charming subject, asthou canst have in reading what I write.
When a boy, if a dog ran away from me through fear, I generally lookedabout for a stone, or a stick; and if neither offered to my hand, Iskinned my hat after him to make him afraid for something. Whatsignifies power, if we do not exert it?
Let my Lord know, that thou hast scribbled to me. But give him not thecontents of thy epistle. Though a parcel of crude stuff, he would thinkthere was something in it. Poor arguments will do, when brought infavour of what we like. But the stupid peer little thinks that this ladyis a rebel to Love. On the contrary, not only he, but all the worldbelieve her to be a volunteer in his service.--So I shall incur blame,and she will be pitied, if any thing happen amiss.
Since my Lord's heart is set upon this match, I have written already tolet him know, 'That my unhappy character had given my beloved anungenerous diffidence of me. That she is so mother-sick and father-fond,that she had rather return to Harlowe-place than marry. That she is evenapprehensive that the step she has taken of going off with me will makethe ladies of a family of such rank and honour as ours think slightly ofher. That therefore I desire his Lordship (though this hint, I tell him,must be very delicately touched) to write me such a letter as I can shewher; (let him treat me in it ever so freely, I shall not take it amiss, Itell him, because I know his Lordship takes pleasure in writing to me ina corrective style). That he may make what offers he pleases on themarriage. That I desire his presence at the ceremony; that I may takefrom his hand the greatest blessing that mortal man can give me.'
I have not absolutely told the lady that I would write to his Lordship tothis effect; yet have given her reason to think I will. So that withoutthe last necessity I shall not produce the answer I expect from him: forI am very loth, I own, to make use of any of my family's names for thefurthering of my designs. And yet I must make all secure, before I pulloff the mask. Was not this my motive for bringing her hither?
Thus thou seest that the old peer's letter came very seasonably. I thankthee for that. But as to his sentences, they cannot possibly do me good.I was early suffocated with his wisdom of nations. When a boy, I neverasked anything of him, but out flew a proverb; and if the tendency ofthat was to deny me, I never could obtain the least favour. This gave meso great an aversion to the very word, that, when a child, I made it acondition with my tutor, who was an honest parson, that I would not readmy Bible at all, if he would not excuse me one of the wisest books in it:to which, however, I had no other objection, than that it was called TheProverbs. And as for Solomon, he was then a hated character with me, notbecause of his polygamy, but because I had conceived him to be suchanother musty old fellow as my uncle.
Well, but let us leave old saws to old me. What signifies thy tediouswhining over
thy departing relation? Is it not generally agreed that hecannot recover? Will it not be kind in thee to put him out of hismisery? I hear that he is pestered still with visits from doctors, andapothecaries, and surgeons; that they cannot cut so deep as themortification has gone; and that in every visit, in every scarification,inevitable death is pronounced upon him. Why then do they keeptormenting him? Is it not to take away more of his living fleece than ofhis dead flesh?--When a man is given over, the fee should surely berefused. Are they not now robbing his heirs?--What has thou to do, ifthe will be as thou'dst have it?--He sent for thee [did he not?] to closehis eyes. He is but an uncle, is he?
Let me see, if I mistake not, it is in the Bible, or some other goodbook: can it be in Herodotus?--O I believe it is in Josephus, a half-sacred, and half-profane author. He tells us of a king of Syria put outof his pain by his prime minister, or one who deserved to be so for hiscontrivance. The story says, if I am right, that he spread a wet clothover his face, which killing him, he reigned in his place. A notablefellow! Perhaps this wet cloth in the original, is what we now calllaudanum; a potion that overspreads the faculties, as the wet cloth didthe face of the royal patient; and the translator knew not how to renderit.
But how like forlorn varlet thou subscribest, 'Thy melancholy friend, J.BELFORD!' Melancholy! For what? To stand by, and see fair play betweenan old man and death? I thought thou hadst been more of a man; that thouart not afraid of an acute death, a sword's point, to be so plaugilyhip'd at the consequences of a chronical one!--What though thescarificators work upon him day by day? It's only upon a caput mortuum:and pr'ythee go to, to use the stylum veterum, and learn of the royalbutchers; who, for sport, (an hundred times worse men than thy Lovelace,)widow ten thousand at a brush, and make twice as many fatherless--learnof them, I say, how to support a single death.
But art thou sure, Jack, it is a mortification?--My uncle once gavepromises of such a root-and-branch distemper: but, alas! it turned to asmart gout-fit; and I had the mortification instead of him.--I have heardthat bark, in proper doses, will arrest a mortification in its progress,and at last cure it. Let thy uncle's surgeon know, that it is worth morethan his ears, if he prescribe one grain of the bark.
I wish my uncle had given me the opportunity of setting thee a betterexample: thou shouldst have seen what a brave fellow I had been. And hadI had occasion to write, my conclusion would have been this: 'I hope theold Trojan's happy. In that hope, I am so; and
'Thy rejoicing friend,'R. LOVELACE.'
Dwell not always, Jack, upon one subject. Let me have poor Belton's story. The sooner the better. If I can be of service to him, tell him he may command me either in purse or person. Yet the former with a freer will than the latter; for how can I leave my goddess? But I'll issue my commands to my other vassals to attend thy summons.
If ye want head, let me know. If not, my quota, on this occasion, is money.
Clarissa Harlowe; or the history of a young lady — Volume 4 Page 39