***
A confounded long one, though not a narrative one--Once more in behalf of
this lady?--Lie thee down, oddity! What canst thou write that can have
force upon me at this crisis?--And have I not, as I went along, made thee
to say all that was necessary for thee to say?
***
Yet once more I will take thee up.
Trite, stale, poor, (sayest thou,) are some of my contrivances; that of
the widow particularly!--I have no patience with thee. Had not that
contrivance its effect at that time, for a procrastination? and had I not
then reason to fear, that the lady would find enough to make her dislike
this house? and was it not right (intending what I intended) to lead her
on from time to time with a notion that a house of her own would be ready
for her soon, in order to induce her to continue here till it was?
Trite, stale, and poor!--Thou art a silly fellow, and no judge, when thou
sayest this. Had I not, like a blockhead, revealed to thee, as I went
along, the secret purposes of my heart, but had kept all in till the event
had explained my mysteries, I would have defied thee to have been able,
any more than the lady, to have guessed at what was to befall her, till
it had actually come to pass. Nor doubt I, in this case, that, instead
of presuming to reflect upon her for credulity, as loving me to her
misfortune, and for hoping against probability, thou wouldest have been
readier, by far, to censure her for nicety and over-scrupulousness. And,
let me tell thee, that had she loved me as I wished her to love me, she
could not possibly have been so very apprehensive of my designs, nor so
ready to be influenced by Miss Howe's precautions, as she has always
been, although my general character made not for me with her.
But, in thy opinion, I suffer for that simplicity in my contrivances,
which is their principal excellence. No machinery make I necessary. No
unnatural flights aim I at. All pure nature, taking advantage of nature,
as nature tends; and so simple my devices, that when they are known,
thou, even thou, imaginest thou couldest have thought of the same. And
indeed thou seemest to own, that the slight thou puttest upon them is
owing to my letting thee into them before-hand--undistingushing as well
as ungrateful as thou art!
Yet, after all, I would not have thee think that I do not know my weak
places. I have formerly told thee, that it is difficult for the ablest
general to say what he will do, or what he can do, when he is obliged to
regulate his motions by those of a watchful enemy.* If thou givest due
weight to this consideration, thou wilt not wonder that I should make
many marches and countermarches, some of which may appear, to a slight
observer, unnecessary.
* See Vol. III. Letter XXXIX.
But let me cursorily enter into debate with thee on this subject, now I
am within sight of my journey's end.
Abundance of impertinent things thou tellest me in this letter; some of
which thou hadst from myself; others that I knew before.
All that thou sayest in this charming creature's praise is short of what
I have said and written on the inexhaustible subject.
Her virtue, her resistance, which are her merits, are my stimulatives.
have I not told thee so twenty times over?
Devil, as these girls between them call me, what of devil am I, but in my
contrivances? I am not more a devil than others in the end I aim at; for
when I have carried my point, it is still but one seduction. And I have
perhaps been spared the guilt of many seductions in the time.
What of uncommon would there be in this case, but for her
watchfulness!--As well as I love intrigue and stratagem, dost think that
I had not rather have gained my end with less trouble and less guilt?
The man, let me tell thee, who is as wicked as he can be, is a worse man
than I am. Let me ask any rake in England, if, resolving to carry his
point, he would have been so long about it? or have had so much
compunction as I have had?
Were every rake, nay, were every man, to sit down, as I do, and write all
that enters into his head, or into his heart, and to accuse himself with
equal freedom and truth, what an army of miscreants should I have to keep
me in countenance!
It is a maxim with some, that if they are left alone with a woman, and
make not an attempt upon her, she will think herself affronted--Are not
such men as these worse than I am? What an opinion must they have of the
whole sex!
Let me defend the sex I so dearly love. If these elder brethren of ours
think they have general reason for their assertion, they must have kept
very bad company, or must judge of women's hearts by their own. She must
be an abandoned woman, who will not shrink as a snail into its shell at a
gross and sudden attempt. A modest woman must be naturally cold,
reserved, and shy. She cannot be so much and so soon affected as
libertines are apt to imagine. She must, at least, have some confidence
in the honour and silence of a man, before desire can possibly put forth
in her, to encourage and meet his flame. For my own part, I have been
always decent in the company of women, till I was sure of them. Nor have
I ever offered a great offence, till I have found little ones passed
over; and that they shunned me not, when they knew my character.
My divine Clarissa has puzzled me, and beat me out of my play: at one
time, I hope to overcome by intimidating her; at another, by love; by the
amorous see-saw, as I have called it.* And I have only now to join
surprise to the other two, and see what can be done by all three.
* See Vol. III. Letter XVI.
And whose property, I pray thee, shall I invade, if I pursue my schemes
of love and vengeance? Have not those who have a right to her renounced
that right? Have they not wilfully exposed her to dangers? Yet must
know, that such a woman would be considered as lawful prize by as many as
could have the opportunity to attempt her?--And had they not thus cruelly
exposed her, is she not a single woman? And need I tell thee, Jack, that
men of our cast, the best of them [the worst stick at nothing] think it a
great grace and favour done to the married men, if they leave them their
wives to themselves; and compound for their sisters, daughters, wards
and nieces? Shocking as these principles must be to a reflecting mind,
yet such thou knowest are the principles of thousands (who would not act
so generously as I have acted by almost all of the sex, over whom I have
obtained a power); and as often carried into practice, as their
opportunities or courage will permit.--Such therefore have no right to
blame me.
Thou repeatedly pleadest her sufferings from her family. But I have too
often answered this plea, to need to say any more now, than that she has
not suffered for my sake. For has she not been made the victim of the
malice of her rapacious brother and envious sister, who only waited for
an occasion to ruin her with her other relations; and took this as the
first to drive her out of the house; and, as it happened, into my arms?--
Thou knowest how much against her inclination.
As for her own sins, how many has the dear creature to answer for to love
and to me!--Twenty times, and twenty times twenty, has she not told me,
that she refused not the odious Solmes in favour to me? And as often has
she not offered to renounce me for the single life, if the implacables
would have received her on that condition?--Of what repetitions does thy
weak pity make me guilty?
To look a litter farther back: Canst thou forget what my sufferings were
from this haughty beauty in the whole time of my attendance upon her
proud motions, in the purlieus of Harlowe-place, and at the little White
Hart, at Neale, as we called it?--Did I not threaten vengeance upon her
then (and had I not reason?) for disappointing me of a promised
interview?
O Jack! what a night had I in the bleak coppice adjoining to her father's
paddock! My linen and wig frozen; my limbs absolutely numbed; my fingers
only sensible of so much warmth as enabled me to hold a pen; and that
obtained by rubbing the skin off, and by beating with my hands my
shivering sides! Kneeling on the hoar moss on one knee, writing on the
other, if the stiff scrawl could be called writing! My feet, by the time
I had done, seeming to have taken root, and actually unable to support me
for some minutes!--Love and rage then kept my heart in motion, [and only
love and rage could do it,] or how much more than I did suffer must I
have suffered!
I told thee, at my melancholy return, what were the contents of the
letter I wrote.* And I showed thee afterwards her tyrannical answer to
it.** Thou, then, Jack, lovedst thy friend; and pitiedst thy poor
suffering Lovelace. Even the affronted God of Love approved then of my
threatened vengeance against the fair promiser; though of the night of my
sufferings, he is become an advocate for her.
* See Vol. II. Letter XX.
** Ibid.
Nay, was it not he himself that brought to me my adorable Nemesis; and
both together put me upon this very vow, 'That I would never rest till I
had drawn in this goddess-daughter of the Harlowes to cohabit with me;
and that in the face of all their proud family?'
Nor canst thou forget this vow. At this instant I have thee before me,
as then thou sorrowfully lookedst. Thy strong features glowing with
compassion for me; thy lips twisted; thy forehead furrowed; thy whole
face drawn out from the stupid round into the ghastly oval; every muscle
contributing its power to complete the aspect grievous; and not one word
couldst thou utter, but Amen! to my vow.
And what of distinguishing love, or favour, or confidence, have I had
from her since, to make me forego this vow!
I renewed it not, indeed, afterwards; and actually, for a long season,
was willing to forget it; till repetitions of the same faults revived the
remembrance of the former. And now adding to those the contents of some
of Miss Howe's virulent letters, so lately come at, what canst thou say
for the rebel, consistent with thy loyalty to thy friend?
Every man to his genius and constitution. Hannibal was called The father
of warlike stratagems. Had Hannibal been a private man, and turned his
plotting head against the other sex; or had I been a general, and, turned
mine against such of my fellow-creatures of my own, as I thought myself
entitled to consider as my enemies, because they were born and lived in a
different climate; Hannibal would have done less mischief; Lovelace
more.--That would have been the difference.
Not a sovereign on earth, if he be not a good man, and if he be of a
warlike temper, but must do a thousand times more mischief than I. And
why? Because he has it in his power to do more.
An honest man, perhaps thou'lt say, will not wish to have it in his power
to do hurt. He ought not, let me tell him: for, if he have it, a
thousand to one but it makes him both wanton and wicked.
In what, then, am I so singularly vile?
In my contrivances thou wilt say, (for thou art my echo,) if not in my
proposed end of them.
How difficult does every man find it, as well as I, to forego a
predominant passion! I have three passions that sway me by turns; all
imperial ones--love, revenge, ambition or a desire of conquest.
As to this particular contrivance of Tomlinson and the uncle, which
perhaps thou wilt think a black one; that had been spared, had not these
innocent ladies put me upon finding a husband for their Mrs. Townsend:
that device, therefore, is but a preventive one. Thinkest thou that I
could bear to be outwitted? And may not this very contrivance save a
world of mischief? for dost thou think I would have tamely given up the
lady to Townsend's tars?
What meanest thou, except to overthrow thy own plea, when thou sayest,
that men of our cast know no other bound to their wickedness, but want of
power; yet knowest this lady to be in mine?
Enough, sayest thou, have I tried this paragon of virtue. Not so; for I
have not tried her at all--all I have been doing is but preparation to a
trial.
But thou art concerned for the means that I may have recourse to in the
trial, and for my veracity.
Silly fellow!--Did ever any man, thinkest thou, deceive a woman, but at
the expense of his veracity; how, otherwise, can he be said to deceive?
As to the means, thou dost not imagine that I expect a direct consent.
My main hope is but in a yielding reluctance; without which I will be
sworn, whatever rapes have been attempted, none ever were committed, one
person to one person. And good Queen Bess of England, had she been
living, and appealed to, would have declared herself of my mind.
It would not be amiss for the sex to know what our opinions are upon this
subject. I love to warn them. I wish no man to succeed with them but
myself. I told thee once, that though a rake, I am not a rake's friend.*
* See Vol. III. Letter XVIII.
Thou sayest, that I ever hated wedlock. And true thou sayest. And yet
as true, when thou tellest me, that I would rather marry than lose this
lady. And will she detest me for ever, thinkest thou, if I try her, and
succeed not?--Take care--take care, Jack!--Seest thou not that thou
warnest me that I do not try without resolving to conquer?
I must add, that I have for some time been convinced that I have done
wrong to scribble to thee so freely as I have done (and the more so, if I
make the lady legally mine); for has not every letter I have written to
thee been a bill of indictment against myself? I may partly curse my
vanity for it; and I think I will refrain for the future; for thou art
really very impertinent.
A good man, I own, might urge many of the things thou urgest; but, by my
soul, they come very awkwardly from thee. And thou must be sensible,
that I can answer every tittle of what you writest, upon the foot of the
maxims we have long held and pursued.--By the specimen above, thou wilt
see that I can.
And pr'ythee tell me, Jack, what but this that follows would have been
the epitome of mine and my beloved's story, after ten years'
cohabitation, had I never written to thee upon the subject, and had I not
been my own accuser?
'Robert Lovelace, a notorious woman-eater, makes his addresses in an
honourable way to Miss Clarissa Harlowe; a young lady of the highest
merit--fortunes on both sides out of the question.
'After encouragement given, he is insulted by her violent brother; who
thinks it his interest to discountenance the match; and who at last
challenging him, is obliged to take his worthless life at his hands.
'The family, as much enraged, as if he had taken the life he gave, insult
him personally, and find out an odious lover for the young lady.
'To avoid a forced marriage, she is prevailed upon to take a step which
throws her into Mr. Lovelace's protection.
'Yet, disclaiming any passion for him, she repeatedly offers to renounce
him for ever, if, on that condition, her relations will receive her, and
free her from the address of the man she hates.
'Mr. Lovelace, a man of strong passions, and, as some say, of great
pride, thinks himself under very little obligation to her on this
account; and not being naturally fond of marriage, and having so much
reason to hate her relations, endeavours to prevail upon her to live with
him what he calls the life of honour; and at last, by stratagem, art, and
contrivance, prevails.
'He resolves never to marry any other woman: takes a pride to have her
called by his name: a church-rite all the difference between them: treats
her with deserved tenderness. Nobody questions their marriage but those
proud relations of her's, whom he wishes to question it. Every year a
charming boy. Fortunes to support the increasing family with splendor.
A tender father. Always a warm friend; a generous landlord; and a
punctual paymaster. Now-and-then however, perhaps, indulging with a new
object, in order to bring him back with greater delight to his charming
Clarissa--his only fault, love of the sex--which, nevertheless, the women
say, will cure itself--defensible thus far, that he breaks no contracts
by his rovings.'--
And what is there so very greatly amiss, AS THE WORLD GOES, in all this?
Let me aver, that there are thousands and ten thousands, who have worse
stories to tell than this would appear to be, had I not interested thee
in the progress to my great end. And besides, thou knowest that the
character I gave myself to Joseph Leman, as to my treatment of my
mistress, is pretty near the truth.*
* See Vol. III. Letter XLVIII.
Were I to be as much in earnest in my defence, as thou art warm in my
arraignment, I could convince thee, by other arguments, observations, and
comparisons, [Is not all human good and evil comparative?] that though
from my ingenuous temper (writing only to thee, who art master of every
secret of my heart) I am so ready to accuse myself in my narrations, yet
I have something to say for myself to myself, as I go along; though no
one else, perhaps, that was not a rake, would allow any weight to it.--
And this caution might I give to thousands, who would stoop for a stone
to throw at me: 'See that your own predominant passions, whatever they
be, hurry you not into as much wickedness as mine do me. See, if ye
happen to be better than I in some things, that ye are not worse in
others; and in points too, that may be of more extensive bad consequence,
than that of seducing a girl, (and taking care of her afterwards,) who,
from her cradle, is armed with cautions against the delusions of men.'
And yet I am not so partial to my own follies as to think lightly of this
fault, when I allow myself to think.
Another grave thing I will add, now my hand is in: 'So dearly do I love
the sex, that had I found that a character for virtue had been generally
necessary to recommend me to them, I should have had a much greater
regard to my morals, as to the sex, than I have had.'
To sum all up--I am sufficiently apprized, that men of worthy and honest
hearts, who never allowed themselves in premeditated evil, and who take
into the account the excellencies of this fine creature, will and must
not only condemn, but abhor me, were they to know as much of me as thou
dost. But, methinks, I would be glad to escape the censure of those men,
and of those women too, who have never known what capital trials and
temptations are; of those who have no genius for enterprise; of those who
want rather courage than will; and most particularly of those who have
only kept their secret better than I have kept, or wish to keep, mine.
Were those exceptions to take place, perhaps, Jack, I should have ten to
acquit to one that should condemn me. Have I not often said, that human
nature is a rogue?
***
I threatened above to refrain writing to thee. But take it not to heart,
Jack--I must write on, and cannot help it.