MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.
[IN ANSWER TO HIS LETTERS XXIII. XXXVII. OF THIS VOLUME.]
THURSDAY, AUG. 31.
I cannot but own that I am cut to the heart by this Miss Harlowe's
interpretation of her letter. She ought never to be forgiven. She, a
meek person, and a penitent, and innocent, and pious, and I know not
what, who can deceive with a foot in the grave!--
'Tis evident, that she sat down to write this letter with a design to
mislead and deceive. And if she be capable of that, at such a crisis,
she has as much need of Heaven's forgiveness, as I have of her's: and,
with all her cant of charity and charity, if she be not more sure of it
than I am of her real pardon, and if she take the thing in the light she
ought to take it in, she will have a few darker moments yet to come than
she seems to expect.
Lord M. himself, who is not one of those (to speak in his own phrase) who
can penetrate a millstone, sees the deceit, and thinks it unworthy of
her; though my cousins Montague vindicate her. And no wonder this cursed
partial sex [I hate 'em all--by my soul, I hate 'em all!] will never
allow any thing against an individual of it, where our's is concerned.
And why? Because, if they censure deceit in another, they must condemn
their own hearts.
She is to send me a letter after she is in Heaven, is she? The devil
take such allegories, and the devil take thee for calling this absurdity
an innocent artifice!
I insist upon it, that if a woman of her character, at such a critical
time, is to be justified in such a deception, a man in full health and
vigour of body and mind, as I am, may be excused for all his stratagems
and attempts against her. And, thank my stars, I can now sit me down
with a quiet conscience on that score. By my soul, I can, Jack. Nor has
any body, who can acquit her, a right to blame me. But with some,
indeed, every thing she does must be good, every thing I do must be bad--
And why? Because she has always taken care to coax the stupid misjudging
world, like a woman: while I have constantly defied and despised its
censures, like a man.
But, notwithstanding all, you may let her know from me that I will not
molest her, since my visits would be so shocking to her: and I hope she
will take this into her consideration as a piece of generosity which she
could hardly expect after the deception she has put upon me. And let her
farther know, that if there be any thing in my power, that will
contribute either to her ease or honour, I will obey her, at the very
first intimation, however disgraceful or detrimental to myself. All
this, to make her unapprehensive, and that she may have nothing to pull
her back.
If her cursed relations could be brought as cheerfully to perform their
parts, I'd answer life for life for her recovery.
But who, that has so many ludicrous images raised in his mind by the
awkward penitence, can forbear laughing at thee? Spare, I beseech thee,
dear Belford, for the future, all thine own aspirations, if thou wouldst
not dishonour those of an angel indeed.
When I came to that passage, where thou sayest that thou considerest her*
as one sent from Heaven to draw thee after her--for the heart of me I
could not for an hour put thee out of my head, in the attitude of dame
Elizabeth Carteret, on her monument in Westminster Abbey. If thou never
observedst it, go thither on purpose: and there wilt thou see this dame
in effigy, with uplifted head and hand, the latter taken hold of by a
cupid every inch of stone, one clumsy foot lifted up also, aiming, as the
sculptor designed it, to ascend; but so executed, as would rather make
one imagine that the figure (without shoe or stocking, as it is, though
the rest of the body is robed) was looking up to its corn-cutter: the
other riveted to its native earth, bemired, like thee (immersed thou
callest it) beyond the possibility of unsticking itself. Both figures,
thou wilt find, seem to be in a contention, the bigger, whether it should
pull down the lesser about its ears--the lesser (a chubby fat little
varlet, of a fourth part of the other's bigness, with wings not much
larger than those of a butterfly) whether it should raise the larger to a
Heaven it points to, hardly big enough to contain the great toes of
either.
* See Letter XXXVII. of this volume.
Thou wilt say, perhaps, that the dame's figure in stone may do credit, in
the comparison, to thine, both in grain and shape, wooden as thou art all
over: but that the lady, who, in every thing but in the trick she has
played me so lately, is truly an angel, is but sorrily represented by the
fat-flanked cupid. This I allow thee. But yet there is enough in thy
aspirations to strike my mind with a resemblance of thee and the lady to
the figures on the wretched monument; for thou oughtest to remember,
that, prepared as she may be to mount to her native skies, it is
impossible for her to draw after her a heavy fellow who has so much to
repent of as thou hast.
But now, to be serious once more, let me tell you, Belford, that, if the
lady be really so ill as you write she is, it will become you [no Roman
style here!] in a case so very affecting, to be a little less pointed and
sarcastic in your reflections. For, upon my soul, the matter begins to
grate me most confoundedly.
I am now so impatient to hear oftener of her, that I take the hint
accidentally given me by our two fellows meeting at Slough, and resolve
to go to our friend Doleman's at Uxbridge; whose wife and sister, as well
as he, have so frequently pressed me to give them my company for a week
or two. There shall I be within two hours' ride, if any thing should
happen to induce her to see me: for it will well become her piety, and
avowed charity, should the worst happen, [the Lord of Heaven and Earth,
however, avert that worst!] to give me that pardon from her lips, which
she has not denied to me by pen and ink. And as she wishes my
reformation, she knows not what good effects such an interview may have
upon me.
I shall accordingly be at Doleman's to-morrow morning, by eleven at
farthest. My fellow will find me there at his return from you (with a
letter, I hope). I shall have Joel with me likewise, that I may send
the oftener, as matters fall out. Were I to be still nearer, or in town,
it would be impossible to withhold myself from seeing her.
But, if the worst happen!--as, by your continual knelling, I know not
what to think of it!--[Yet, once more, Heaven avert that worst!--How
natural it is to pray, when once cannot help one's self!]--THEN say not,
in so many dreadful words, what the event is--Only, that you advise me to
take a trip to Paris--And that will stab me to the heart.
***
I so well approve of your generosity to poor Belton's sister, that I have
made Mowbray give up his legacy, as I do mine, towards her India bonds.
When I come to town, Tourville shall do the like; and we will buy each a
ring to wear in memory of the honest fellow, with our own money, that we
may perform his will, as well as our own.
My fellow rides the rest of the night. I charge you, Jack, if you would
save his life, that you send him not back empty-handed.