MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.
UPPER-FLASK, HAMPSTEAD.
FRI. MORN. 7 O'CLOCK. (JUNE 9.)
I am now here, and here have been this hour and half.--What an
industrious spirit have I!--Nobody can say that I eat the bread of
idleness. I take true pains for all the pleasure I enjoy. I cannot
but admire myself strangely; for certainly, with this active soul, I
should have made a very great figure in whatever station I had filled.
But had I been a prince, (to be sure I should have made a most noble
prince!) I should have led up a military dance equal to that of the great
Macedonian. I should have added kingdom to kingdom, and despoiled all
my neighbour sovereigns, in order to have obtained the name of Robert the
Great! And I would have gone to war with the Great Turk, and the
Persian, and Mogul, for the seraglios; for not one of those eastern
monarchs should have had a pretty woman to bless himself with till I had
done with her.
And now I have so much leisure upon my hands, that, after having informed
myself of all necessary particulars, I am set to my short-hand writing in
order to keep up with time as well as I can; for the subject is now
become worthy of me; and it is yet too soon, I doubt, to pay my
compliments to my charmer, after all her fatigues for two or three days
past. And, moreover, I have abundance of matters preparative to my
future proceedings to recount, in order to connect and render all
intelligible.
I parted with the Captain at the foot of the hill, trebly instructed;
that is to say, as to the fact, to the probable, and to the possible. If
my beloved and I can meet, and make up without the mediating of this
worthy gentleman, it will be so much the better. As little foreign aid
as possible in my amorous conflicts has always been a rule with me;
though here I have been obliged to call in so much. And who knows but it
may be the better for the lady the less she makes necessary? I cannot
bear that she should sit so indifferent to me as to be in earnest to part
with me for ever upon so slight, or even upon any occasion. If I find
she is--but no more threatenings till she is in my power--thou knowest
what I have vowed.
All Will.'s account, from the lady's flight to his finding her again, all
the accounts of the people of the house, the coachman's information to
Will., and so forth, collected together, stand thus:
'The Hampstead coach, when the dear fugitive came to it, had but two
passengers in it. But she made the fellow to go off directly, paying for
the vacant places.
'The two passengers directing the coachman to set them down at the Upper
Flask, she bid him set her down there also.
'They took leave of her, [very respectfully, no doubt,] and she went into
the house, and asked, if she could not have a dish of tea, and a room to
herself for half an hour.
'They showed her up to the very room where I now am. She sat at the very
table I now write upon; and, I believe, the chair I sit in was her's.' O
Belford, if thou knowest what love is, thou wilt be able to account for
these minutiae.
'She seemed spiritless and fatigued. The gentlewoman herself chose to
attend so genteel and lovely a guest. She asked her if she would have
bread and butter with her tea?
'No. She could not eat.
'They had very good biscuits.
'As she pleased.
'The gentlewoman stept out for some, and returning on a sudden, she
observed the sweet little fugitive endeavouring to restrain a violent
burst of grief to which she had given way in the little interval.
'However, when the tea came, she made the landlady sit down with her,
and asked her abundance of questions, about the villages and roads in
the neighbourhood.
'The gentlewoman took notice to her, that she seemed to be troubled in
mind.
'Tender spirits, she replied, could not part with dear friends without
concern.'
She meant me, no doubt.
'She made no inquiry about a lodging, though by the sequel, thou'lt
observe, that she seemed to intend to go no farther that night than
Hampstead. But after she had drank two dishes, and put a biscuit in
her pocket, [sweet soul! to serve for her supper, perhaps,] she laid
down half-a-crown; and refusing change, sighing, took leave, saying she
would proceed towards Hendon; the distance to which had been one of her
questions.
'They offered to send to know if a Hampstead coach were not to go to
Hendon that evening.
'No matter, she said--perhaps she might meet the chariot.'
Another of her feints, I suppose: for how, or with whom, could any thing
of this sort have been concerted since yesterday morning?
'She had, as the people took notice to one another, something so
uncommonly noble in her air, and in her person and behaviour, that they
were sure she was of quality. And having no servant with her of either
sex, her eyes, [her fine eyes, the gentlewoman called them, stranger as
she was, and a woman!] being swelled and red, they were sure there was an
elopement in the case, either from parents or guardians; for they
supposed her too young and too maidenly to be a married lady; and were
she married, no husband would let such a fine young creature to be
unattended and alone; nor give her cause for so much grief, as seemed to
be settled in her countenance. Then at times she seemed to be so
bewildered, they said, that they were afraid she had it in her head to
make away with herself.
'All these things put together, excited their curiosity; and they engaged
a peery servant, as they called a footman who was drinking with Kit. the
hostler, at the tap-house, to watch all her motions. This fellow
reported the following particulars, as they re-reported to me:
'She indeed went towards Hendon, passing by the sign of the Castle on the
Heath; then, stopping, looked about her, and down into the valley before
her. Then, turning her face towards London, she seemed, by the motion of
her handkerchief to her eyes, to weep; repenting [who knows?] the rash
step she had taken, and wishing herself back again.'
Better for her, if she do, Jack, once more I say!--Woe be to the girl who
could think of marrying me, yet to be able to run away from me, and
renounce me for ever!
'Then, continuing on a few paces, she stopt again--and, as if disliking
her road, again seeming to weep, directed her course back towards
Hampstead.'
I am glad she wept so much, because no heart bursts, (be the occasion for
the sorrow what it will,) which has that kindly relief. Hence I hardly
ever am moved at the sight of these pellucid fugitives in a fine woman.
How often, in the past twelve hours, have I wished that I could cry most
confoundedly?
'She then saw a coach-and-four driving towards her empty. She crossed
the path she was in, as if to meet it, and seemed to intend to speak to
the coachman, had he stopt or spoken first. He as earnestly looked at
her.--Every one did so who passed her, (so the man who dogged her was the
less suspected.')--Happy rogue of a coachman, hadst thou known whose
notice thou didst engage, and whom thou mightest have obliged!--It was
the divine Clarissa Harlowe at whom thou gazest!--Mine own Clarissa
Harlowe!--But it was well for me that thou wert as undistinguishing as
the beasts thou drovest; otherwise, what a wild-goose chace had I been
led?
'The lady, as well as the coachman, in short, seemed to want resolution;
--the horses kept on--[the fellow's head and eyes, no doubt, turned
behind him,] and the distance soon lengthened beyond recall. With a
wistful eye she looked after him; sighed and wept again; as the servant
who then slyly passed her, observed.
'By this time she had reached the houses. She looked up at every one as
she passed; now and then breathing upon her bared hand, and applying it
to her swelled eyes, to abate the redness, and dry the tears. At last,
seeing a bill up for letting lodgings, she walked backwards and forwards
half a dozen times, as if unable to determine what to do. And then went
farther into the town, and there the fellow, being spoken to by one of
his familiars, lost her for a few minutes: but he soon saw her come out
of a linen-drapery shop, attended with a servant-maid, having, as it
proved, got that maid-servant to go with her to the house she is now at.*
* See Letter XXI. of this volume.
'The fellow, after waiting about an hour, and not seeing her come out,
returned, concluding that she had taken lodgings there.'
And here, supposing my narrative of the dramatic kind, ends Act the
first. And now begins
ACT II
SCENE.--Hampstead Heath continued.
ENTER MY RASCAL.
Will. having got at all these particulars, by exchanging others as
frankly against them, with which I had formerly prepared him both
verbally and in writing.--I found the people already of my party, and
full of good wishes for my success, repeating to me all they told him.
But he had first acquainted me with the accounts he had given them of his
lady and me. It is necessary that I give thee the particulars of his
tale, and I have a little time upon my hands: for the maid of the house,
who had been out of an errand, tells us, that she saw Mrs. Moore, [with
whom must be my first business,] go into the house of a young gentleman,
within a few doors of her, who has a maiden sister, Miss Rawlins by name,
so notified for prudence, that none of her acquaintance undertake any
thing of consequence without consulting her.
Meanwhile my honest coachman is walking about Miss Rawlin's door, in
order to bring me notice of Mrs. Moore's return to her own house. I hope
her gossip's-tale will be as soon told as mine--which take as follows:--
Will. told them, before I came, 'That his lady was but lately married to
one of the finest gentlemen in the world. But that he, being very gay
and lively, she was mortal jealous of him; and, in a fit of that sort,
had eloped from him. For although she loved him dearly, and he doated
upon her, (as well he might, since, as they had seen, she was the finest
creature that ever the sun shone upon,) yet she was apt to be very wilful
and sullen, if he might take liberty to say so--but truth was truth;--and
if she could not have her own way in every thing, would be for leaving
him. That she had three or four times played his master such tricks; but
with all the virtue and innocence in the world; running away to an
intimate friend of her's, who, though a young lady of honour, was but too
indulgent to her in this only failing; for which reason his master has
brought her to London lodgings; their usual residence being in the
country: and that, on his refusing to satisfy her about a lady he had
been seen with in St. James's Park, she had, for the first time since she
came to town, served his master thus, whom he had left half-distracted on
this account.'
And truly well he might, poor gentleman! cried the honest folks, pitying
me before they saw me.
'He told them how he came by his intelligence of her; and made himself
such an interest with them, that they helped him to a change of clothes
for himself; and the landlord, at his request, privately inquired, if the
lady actually remained at Mrs. Moore's, and for how long she had taken
the lodgings?--which he found only to be for a week certain; but she had
said, that she believed she should hardly stay so long. And then it was
that he wrote his letter, and sent it by honest Peter Patrick, as thou
hast heard.'
When I came, my person and dress having answered Will.'s description, the
people were ready to worship me. I now-and-then sighed, now-and-then put
on a lighter air; which, however, I designed should show more of vexation
ill-disguised, than of real cheerfulness; and they told Will. it was such
a thousand pities so fine a lady should have such skittish tricks;
adding, that she might expose herself to great dangers by them; for that
there were rakes every where--[Lovelaces in every corner, Jack!] and many
about that town, who would leave nothing unattempted to get into her
company; and although they might not prevail upon her, yet might they
nevertheless hurt her reputation; and, in time, estrange the affections
of so fine a gentleman from her.
Good sensible people these!--Hey, Jack!
Here, Landlord, one word with you.--My servant, I find, has acquainted
you with the reason of my coming this way.--An unhappy affair, Landlord!
--A very unhappy affair!--But never was there a more virtuous woman.
So, Sir, she seems to be. A thousand pities her ladyship has such ways--
and to so good-humoured a gentleman as you seem to be, Sir.
Mother-spoilt, Landlord!--Mother-spoilt!--that's the thing!--But
[sighing] I must make the best of it. What I want you to do for me is to
lend me a great-coat.--I care not what it is. If my spouse should see me
at a distance, she would make it very difficult for me to get at her
speech. A great-coat with a cape, if you have one. I must come upon her
before she is aware.