***
Sometimes we have both thought him one of the most undesigning merely
witty men we ever knew; at other times one of the deepest creatures
we ever conversed with. So that when in one visit we have imagined
we fathomed him, in the next he has made us ready to give him up as
impenetrable. This impenetrableness, my dear, is to be put among the
shades in his character. Yet, upon the whole, you have been so far
of his party, that you have contested that his principal fault is
over-frankness, and too much regardlessness of appearances, and that he
is too giddy to be very artful: you would have it, that at the time he
says any thing good, he means what he speaks; that his variableness and
levity are constitutional, owing to sound health, and to a soul and body
[that was your observation] fitted for and pleased with each other. And
hence you concluded, that could this consentaneousness [as you call it]
of corporal and animal faculties be pointed by discretion; that is
to say, could his vivacity be confined within the pale of but moral
obligations, he would be far from being rejectable as a companion for
life.
But I used then to say, and I still am of opinion, that he wants
a heart: and if he does, he wants every thing. A wrong head may be
convinced, may have a right turn given it: but who is able to give a
heart, if a heart be wanting? Divine Grace, working a miracle, or next
to a miracle, can only change a bad heart. Should not one fly the man
who is but suspected of such a one? What, O what, do parents do, when
they endeavour to force a child's inclination, but make her think better
than otherwise she would think of a man obnoxious to themselves, and
perhaps whose character will not stand examination?
I have said, that I think Mr. Lovelace a vindictive man: upon my word, I
have sometimes doubted, whether his perseverance in his addresses to
me has not been the more obstinate, since he has found himself so
disagreeable to my friends. From that time I verily think he has
been the more fervent in them; yet courts them not, but sets them at
defiance. For this indeed he pleads disinterestedness [I am sure he
cannot politeness]; and the more plausibly, as he is apprized of the
ability they have to make it worth his while to court them. 'Tis true
he has declared, and with too much reason, (or there would be no bearing
him,) that the lowest submissions on his part would not be accepted; and
to oblige me, has offered to seek a reconciliation with them, if I would
give him hope of success.
As to his behaviour at church, the Sunday before last, I lay no stress
upon that, because I doubt there was too much outward pride in his
intentional humility, or Shorey, who is not his enemy, could not have
mistaken it.
I do not think him so deeply learned in human nature, or in ethics, as
some have thought him. Don't you remember how he stared at the following
trite observations, which every moralist could have furnished him with?
Complaining as he did, in a half-menacing strain, of the obloquies
raised against him--'That if he were innocent, he should despise the
obloquy: if not, revenge would not wipe off his guilt.' 'That nobody
ever thought of turning a sword into a sponge!' 'That it was in his own
power by reformation of an error laid to his charge by an enemy, to make
that enemy one of his best friends; and (which was the noblest revenge
in the world) against his will; since an enemy would not wish him to be
without the faults he taxed him with.'
But the intention, he said, was the wound.
How so, I asked him, when that cannot wound without the application?
'That the adversary only held the sword: he himself pointed it to his
breast:--And why should he mortally resent that malice, which he might
be the better for as long as he lived?'--What could be the reading
he has been said to be master of, to wonder, as he did, at these
observations?
But, indeed, he must take pleasure in revenge; and yet holds others to
be inexcusable for the same fault. He is not, however, the only one
who can see how truly blamable those errors are in another, which they
hardly think such in themselves.
From these considerations, from these over-balances, it was, that I
said, in a former, that I would not be in love with this man for the
world: and it was going further than prudence would warrant, when I was
for compounding with you, by the words conditional liking, which you so
humourously rally.
Well but, methinks you say, what is all this to the purpose? This is
still but reasoning: but, if you are in love, you are: and love,
like the vapours, is the deeper rooted for having no sufficient cause
assignable for its hold. And so you call upon me again to have no
reserves, and so-forth.
Why then, my dear, if you will have it, I think, that, with all his
preponderating faults, I like him better than I ever thought I should
like him; and, those faults considered, better perhaps than I ought to
like him. And I believe, it is possible for the persecution I labour
under to induce me to like him still more--especially while I can
recollect to his advantage our last interview, and as every day produces
stronger instances of tyranny, I will call it, on the other side.--In
a word, I will frankly own (since you cannot think any thing I say too
explicit) that were he now but a moral man, I would prefer him to all
the men I ever saw.
So that this is but conditional liking still, you'll say: nor, I hope,
is it more. I never was in love as it is called; and whether this be it,
or not, I must submit to you. But will venture to think it, if it be,
no such mighty monarch, no such unconquerable power, as I have heard
it represented; and it must have met with greater encouragement than
I think I have given it, to be absolutely unconquerable--since I am
persuaded, that I could yet, without a throb, most willingly give up the
one man to get rid of the other.
But now to be a little more serious with you: if, my dear, my
particularly-unhappy situation had driven (or led me, if you please)
into a liking of the man; and if that liking had, in your opinion,
inclined me to love him, should you, whose mind is susceptible of the
most friendly impressions, who have such high notions of the delicacy
which ought to be observed by our sex in these matters, and who actually
do enter so deeply into the distresses of one you love--should you
have pushed so far that unhappy friend on so very nice a
subject?--Especially, when I aimed not (as you could prove by fifty
instances, it seems) to guard against being found out. Had you rallied
me by word of mouth in the manner you do, it might have been more in
character; especially, if your friend's distresses had been surmounted,
and if she had affected prudish airs in revolving the subject: but to
sit down to write it, as methinks I see you, with a gladdened eye, and
with all the archness of exultation--indeed, my dear, (and I take notice
of it, rather for the sake of your own generosity, than for my sake,
for, as I have said, I love your raillery,) it is not so very pretty;
the delicacy of the subject, and the delicacy of your own mind,
considered.
I lay down my pen here, that you may consider of it a little, if you
please.
***
I resume, to give you my opinion of the force which figure or person
ought to have upon our sex: and this I shall do both generally as to the
other sex, and particularly as to this man; whence you will be able to
collect how far my friends are in the right, or in the wrong, when
they attribute a good deal of prejudice in favour of one man, and in
disfavour of the other, on the score of figure. But, first, let me
observe, that they see abundant reason, on comparing Mr. Lovelace and
Mr. Solmes together, to believe that this may be a consideration with
me; and therefore they believe it is.
There is certainly something very plausible and attractive, as well
as creditable to a woman's choice, in figure. It gives a favourable
impression at first sight, in which we wish to be confirmed: and if,
upon further acquaintance, we find reason to be so, we are pleased with
our judgment, and like the person the better, for having given us cause
to compliment our own sagacity, in our first-sighted impressions. But,
nevertheless, it has been generally a rule with me, to suspect a fine
figure, both in man and woman; and I have had a good deal of reason
to approve my rule;--with regard to men especially, who ought to value
themselves rather upon their intellectual than personal qualities.
For, as to our sex, if a fine woman should be led by the opinion of the
world, to be vain and conceited upon her form and features; and that to
such a degree, as to have neglected the more material and more durable
recommendations, the world will be ready to excuse her; since a pretty
fool, in all she says, and in all she does, will please, we know not
why.
But who would grudge this pretty fool her short day! Since, with her
summer's sun, when her butterfly flutters are over, and the winter
of age and furrows arrives, she will feel the just effects of having
neglected to cultivate her better faculties: for then, lie another
Helen, she will be unable to bear the reflection even of her own glass,
and being sunk into the insignificance of a mere old woman, she will
be entitled to the contempts which follow that character. While the
discreet matron, who carries up [we will not, in such a one's case,
say down] into advanced life, the ever-amiable character of virtuous
prudence and useful experience, finds solid veneration take place of
airy admiration, and more than supply the want of it.
But for a man to be vain of his person, how effeminate! If such a
one happens to have genius, it seldom strikes deep into intellectual
subjects. His outside usually runs away with him. To adorn, and perhaps,
intending to adorn, to render ridiculous that person, takes up all his
attention. All he does is personal; that is to say, for himself: all he
admires, is himself: and in spite of the correction of the stage, which
so often and so justly exposes a coxcomb, he usually dwindles down, and
sinks into that character; and, of consequence, becomes the scorn of one
sex, and the jest of the other.
This is generally the case of your fine figures of men, and of those who
value themselves on dress and outward appearance: whence it is, that I
repeat, that mere person in a man is a despicable consideration. But
if a man, besides figure, has learning, and such talents as would have
distinguished him, whatever were his form, then indeed person is an
addition: and if he has not run too egregiously into self-admiration,
and if he has preserved his morals, he is truly a valuable being.
Mr. Lovelace has certainly taste; and, as far as I am able to determine,
he has judgment in most of the politer arts. But although he has a
humourous way of carrying it off, yet one may see that he values himself
not a little, both on his person and his parts, and even upon his dress;
and yet he has so happy an ease in the latter, that it seems to be the
least part of his study. And as to the former, I should hold myself
inexcusable, if I were to add to his vanity by shewing the least regard
for what is too evidently so much his.
And now, my dear, let me ask you, Have I come up to your expectation? If
I have not, when my mind is more at ease, I will endeavour to please
you better. For, methinks, my sentences drag, my style creeps, my
imagination is sunk, my spirits serve me not, only to tell you, that
whether I have more or less, I am wholly devoted to the commands of my
dear Miss Howe.
P.S. The insolent Betty Barnes has just now fired me anew, by reporting
to me the following expressions of the hideous creature, Solmes--'That
he is sure of the coy girl; and that with little labour to himself. That
be I ever so averse to him beforehand, he can depend upon my principles;
and it will be a pleasure to him to see by what pretty degrees I shall
come to.' [Horrid wretch!] 'That it was Sir Oliver's observation, who
knew the world perfectly well, that fear was a better security than
love, for a woman's good behaviour to her husband; although, for his
part, to such a fine creature [truly] he would try what love would do,
for a few weeks at least; being unwilling to believe what the old knight
used to aver, that fondness spoils more wives than it makes good.'
What think you, my dear, of such a wretch as this! tutored, too, by that
old surly misogynist, as he was deemed, Sir Oliver?--