O thou savage-hearted monster! What work hast thou made in one guilty
hour, for a whole age of repentance!
I am inexpressibly concerned at the fate of this matchless lady! She
could not have fallen into the hands of any other man breathing, and
suffered as she has done with thee.
I had written a great part of another long letter to try to soften thy
flinty heart in her favour; for I thought it but too likely that thou
shouldst succeed in getting her back again to the accursed woman’s. But
I find it would have been too late, had I finished it, and sent it
away. Yet cannot I forbear writing, to urge thee to make the only
amends thou now canst make her, by a proper use of the license thou
hast obtained.
Poor, poor lady! It is a pain to me that I ever saw her. Such an adorer
of virtue to be sacrificed to the vilest of her sex; and thou their
implement in the devil’s hand, for a purpose so base, so ungenerous, so
inhumane!—Pride thyself, O cruellest of men! in this reflection; and
that thy triumph over a woman, who for thy sake was abandoned of every
friend she had in the world, was effected; not by advantages taken of
her weakness and credulity; but by the blackest artifice; after a long
course of studied deceits had been tried to no purpose.
I can tell thee, it is well either for thee or for me, that I am not
the brother of the lady. Had I been her brother, her violation must
have been followed by the blood of one of us.
Excuse me, Lovelace; and let not the lady fare the worse for my concern
for her. And yet I have but one other motive to ask thy excuse; and
that is, because I owe to thy own communicative pen the knowledge I
have of thy barbarous villany, since thou mightest, if thou wouldst,
have passed it upon me for a common seduction.
CLARISSA LIVES, thou sayest. That she does is my wonder: and these
words show that thou thyself (though thou couldst, nevertheless,
proceed) hardly expectedst she would have survived the outrage. What
must have been the poor lady’s distress (watchful as she had been over
her honour) when dreadful certainty took place of cruel
apprehension!—And yet a man may guess what must have been, by that
which thou paintest, when she suspected herself tricked, deserted, and
betrayed, by the pretended ladies.
That thou couldst behold her phrensy on this occasion, and her
half-speechless, half-fainting prostration at thy feet, and yet retain
thy evil purposes, will hardly be thought credible, even by those who
know thee, if they have seen her.
Poor, poor lady! With such noble qualities as would have adorned the
most exalted married life, to fall into the hands of the only man in
the world, who could have treated her as thou hast treated her!—And to
let loose the old dragon, as thou properly callest her, upon the
before-affrighted innocent, what a barbarity was that! What a poor
piece of barbarity! in order to obtain by terror, what thou dispairedst
to gain by love, though supported by stratagems the most insidious!
O LOVELACE! LOVELACE! had I doubted it before, I should now be
convinced, that there must be a WORLD AFTER THIS, to do justice to
injured merit, and to punish barbarous perfidy! Could the divine
SOCRATES, and the divine CLARISSA, otherwise have suffered?
But let me, if possible, for one moment, try to forget this villanous
outrage on the most excellent of women.
I have business here which will hold me yet a few days; and then
perhaps I shall quit this house for ever.
I have had a solemn and tedious time of it. I should never have known
that I had half the respect I really find I had for the old gentleman,
had I not so closely, at his earnest desire, attended him, and been a
witness of the tortures he underwent.
This melancholy occasion may possibly have contributed to humanize me:
but surely I never could have been so remorseless a caitiff as thou
hast been, to a woman of half this lady’s excellence.
But pr’ythee, dear Lovelace, if thou’rt a man, and not a devil,
resolve, out of hand, to repair thy sin of ingratitude, by conferring
upon thyself the highest honour thou canst receive, in making her
lawfully thine.
But if thou canst not prevail upon thyself to do her this justice, I
think I should not scruple a tilt with thee, [an everlasting rupture at
least must follow] if thou sacrificest her to the accursed women.
Thou art desirous to know what advantage I reap by my uncle’s demise. I
do not certainly know; for I have not been so greedily solicitous on
this subject as some of the kindred have been, who ought to have shown
more decency, as I have told them, and suffered the corpse to have been
cold before they had begun their hungry inquiries. But, by what I
gathered from the poor man’s talk to me, who oftener than I wished
touched upon the subject, I deem it will be upwards of 5000£. in cash,
and in the funds, after all legacies paid, besides the real estate,
which is a clear 1000£. a-year.
I wish, from my heart, thou wert a money-lover! Were the estate to be
of double the value, thou shouldst have it every shilling; only upon
one condition [for my circumstances before were as easy as I wish them
to be while I am single]—that thou wouldst permit me the honour of
being this fatherless lady’s father, as it is called, at the altar.
Think of this! my dear Lovelace! be honest: and let me present thee
with the brightest jewel that man ever possessed; and then, body and
soul, wilt thou bind to thee for ever thy