Mr. Lovelace, in continuation of his last letter, (No. VII.)
gives an account to his friend (pretty much to the same
effect with the lady's) of all that passed between them at
the inns, in the journey, and till their fixing at Mrs.
Sorling's; to avoid repetition, those passages in his
narrative are extracted, which will serve to embellish
her's; to open his views; or to display the humourous talent
he was noted for.
At their alighting at the inn at St. Alban's on Monday
night, thus he writes:
The people who came about us, as we alighted, seemed by their jaw-fallen
faces, and goggling eyes, to wonder at beholding a charming young lady,
majesty in her air and aspect, so composedly dressed, yet with features
so discomposed, come off a journey which made the cattle smoke, and the
servants sweat. I read their curiosity in their faces, and my beloved's
uneasiness in her's. She cast a conscious glance, as she alighted, upon
her habit, which was no habit; and repulsively, as I may say, quitting
my assisting hand, hurried into the house.*****
Ovid was not a greater master of metamorphoses than thy friend. To the
mistress of the house I instantly changed her into a sister, brought off
by surprise from a near relation's, (where she had wintered,) to prevent
her marrying a confounded rake, [I love always to go as near the truth
as I can,] whom her father and mother, her elder sister, and all her
loving uncles, aunts, and cousins abhorred. This accounted for my
charmer's expected sullens; for her displeasure when she was to join me
again, were it to hold; for her unsuitable dress upon the road; and,
at the same time, gave her a proper and seasonable assurance of my
honourable views.
Upon the debate between the lady and him, and particularly upon that
part where she upbraids him with putting a young creature upon making a
sacrifice of her duty and conscience, he write:
All these, and still more mortifying things, she said.
I heard her in silence. But when it came to my turn, I pleaded, I
argued, I answered her, as well as I could.--And when humility would
not do, I raised my voice, and suffered my eyes to sparkle with anger;
hoping to take advantage of that sweet cowardice which is so amiable in
the sex, and to which my victory over this proud beauty is principally
owing.
She was not intimidated, however, and was going to rise upon me in her
temper; and would have broken in upon my defence. But when a man talks
to a woman upon such subjects, let her be ever so much in alt, 'tis
strange, if he cannot throw out a tub to the whale;--that is to say, if
he cannot divert her from resenting one bold thing, by uttering two or
three full as bold; but for which more favourable interpretations will
lie.
To that part, where she tells him of the difficulty she made
to correspond with him at first, thus he writes:
Very true, my precious!--And innumerable have been the difficulties
thou hast made me struggle with. But one day thou mayest wish, that thou
hadst spared this boast; as well as those other pretty haughtinesses,
'That thou didst not reject Solmes for my sake: that my glory, if I
valued myself upon carrying thee off, was thy shame: that I have more
merit with myself than with thee, or any body else: [what a coxcomb she
makes me, Jack!] that thou wishest thyself in thy father's house again,
whatever were to be the consequence.'--If I forgive thee, charmer,
for these hints, for these reflections, for these wishes, for these
contempts, I am not the Lovelace I have been reputed to be; and that thy
treatment of me shews that thou thinkest I am.
In short, her whole air throughout this debate expressed a majestic kind
of indignation, which implied a believed superiority of talents over the
person to whom she spoke.
Thou hast heard me often expatiate upon the pitiful figure a man must
make, whose wife has, or believes she has, more sense than himself. A
thousand reasons could I give why I ought not to think of marrying Miss
Clarissa Harlowe; at least till I can be sure, that she loves me with
the preference I must expect from a wife.
I begin to stagger in my resolutions. Ever averse as I was to the
hymeneal shackles, how easily will prejudices recur! Heaven give me the
heart to be honest to my Clarissa!--There's a prayer, Jack! If I should
not be heard, what a sad thing would that be, for the most admirable of
women!--Yet, as I do no often trouble Heaven with my prayers, who knows
but this may be granted?
But there lie before me such charming difficulties, such scenery for
intrigue, for stratagem, for enterprize. What a horrible thing, that my
talents point all that way!--When I know what is honourable and just;
and would almost wish to be honest?--Almost, I say; for such a varlet am
I, that I cannot altogether wish it, for the soul of me!--Such a triumph
over the whole sex, if I can subdue this lady! My maiden vow, as I may
call it!--For did not the sex begin with me? And does this lady spare
me? Thinkest thou, Jack, that I should have spared my Rosebud, had I
been set at defiance thus?--Her grandmother besought me, at first, to
spare her Rosebud: and when a girl is put, or puts herself into a
man's power, what can he wish for further? while I always considered
opposition and resistance as a challenge to do my worst.*
* See Vol. I. Letter XXXIV.
Why, why, will the dear creature take such pains to appear all ice to
me?--Why will she, by her pride, awaken mine?--Hast thou not seen, in
the above, how contemptibly she treats me?--What have I not suffered
for her, and even from her!--Ought I to bear being told, that she will
despise me, if I value myself above that odious Solmes?
Then she cuts me short in all my ardours. To vow fidelity, is by a
cursed turn upon me, to shew, that there is reason, in my own opinion,
for doubt of it. The very same reflection upon me once before.*
* See Vol. II. Letter XIII.
In my power, or out of my power, all one to this lady.--So, Belford, my
poor vows are crammed down my throat, before they can well rise to my
lips. And what can a lover say to his mistress, if she will neither let
him lie nor swear?
One little piece of artifice I had recourse to: When she pushed so hard
for me to leave her, I made a request to her, upon a condition she could
not refuse; and pretended as much gratitude upon her granting it, as if
it were a favour of the last consequence.
And what was this? but to promise what she had before promised, 'Never
to marry any other man, while I am living, and single, unless I should
give her cause for high disgust against me.' This, you know, was
promising nothing, because she could be offended at any time, and was to
be the sole judge of the offence. But it shewed her how reasonable and
just my expectations were; and that I was no encroacher.
She consented; and asked what security I expected? Her word only.
She gave me her word: but I besought her excuse for sealing it: and in
the same moment (since to have waited for consent would have been asking
for a denial) saluted her. And, believe me, or not, but, as I hope to
live, it was the first time I had the courage to touch her charming lips
with mine. And this I tell thee, Belford, that that single pressure (as
modestly put too, as if I were as much a virgin as herself, that she
might not be afraid of me another time) delighted me more than ever I
was delighted by the ultimatum with any other woman.--So precious do
awe, reverence, and apprehended prohibition, make a favour!
And now, Belford, I am only afraid that I shall be too cunning; for she
does not at present talk enough for me. I hardly know what to make of
the dear creature yet.
I topt the brother's part on Monday night before the landlady at St.
Alban's; asking my sister's pardon for carrying her off so unprepared
for a journey; prated of the joy my father and mother, and all
our friends, would have in receiving her; and this with so many
circumstances, that I perceived, by a look she gave me, that went
through my very veins, that I had gone too far. I apologized for it
indeed when alone; but could not penetrate for the soul of me, whether I
made the matter better or worse by it.
But I am of too frank a nature: my success, and the joy I have because
of the jewel I am half in possession of, has not only unlocked my bosom,
but left the door quite open.
This is a confounded sly sex. Would she but speak out, as I do--but I
must learn reserves of her.
She must needs be unprovided of money: but has too much pride to accept
of any from me. I would have had her go to town [to town, if possible,
must I get her to consent to go] in order to provide herself with
the richest of silks which that can afford. But neither is this to be
assented to. And yet, as my intelligencer acquaints me, her implacable
relations are resolved to distress her all they can.
These wretches have been most gloriously raving, ever since her flight;
and still, thank Heaven, continue to rave; and will, I hope, for a
twelvemonth to come. Now, at last, it is my day!
Bitterly do they regret, that they permitted her poultry-visits, and
garden-walks, which gave her the opportunity to effect an escape which
they suppose preconcerted. For, as to her dining in the ivy-bower, they
had a cunning design to answer upon her in that permission, as Betty
told Joseph her lover.*
* Vol. II. Letter XLVII. paragr. 37, 38.
They lost, they say, and excellent pretence for confining her more
closely on my threatening to rescue her, if they offered to carry her
against her will to old Antony's moated house.* For this, as I told thee
at the Hart, and as I once hinted to the dear creature herself,** they
had it in deliberation to do; apprehending, that I might attempt to
carry her off, either with or without her consent, on some one of those
connived-at excursions.
* Ibid. Let. XXXVI. and Let. XXXIX. par. I.
** Ibid. Let. XXXVI. par. 4. See also Let. XV. par. 3.
But here my honest Joseph, who gave me the information, was of admirable
service to me. I had taught him to make the Harlowes believe, that I was
as communicative to my servants, as their stupid James was to Joseph:*
Joseph, as they supposed, by tampering with Will,** got all my secrets,
and was acquainted with all my motions: and having also undertaken to
watch all those of his young lady,***** the wise family were secure; and
so was my beloved; and so was I.
* Ibid. Letter XLVII. par. 6, and 39.
** This will be farther explained in Letter XXI. of this volume. *****
See Vol. I. Letters XXXI. and XXXIV.
I once had it in my head (and I hinted it to thee* in a former) in case
such a step should be necessary, to attempt to carry her off by surprise
from the wood-house; as it is remote from the dwelling-house. This,
had I attempted, I should have certainly effected, by the help of the
confraternity: and it would have been an action worthy of us all.--But
Joseph's conscience, as he called it, stood in my way; for he thought it
must have been known to be done by his connivance. I could, I dare say,
have overcome this scruple, as easily as I did many of the others, had
I not depended at one time upon her meeting me at midnight or late hour
[and, if she had, she never would have gone back]; at other times,
upon the cunning family's doing my work for me, equally against their
knowledge or their wills.
* See Vol. I. Letter XXXV.
For well I knew, that James and Arabella were determined never to leave
off their foolish trials and provocations, till, by tiring her out, they
had either made her Solmes's wife, or guilty of some such rashness as
should throw her for ever out of the favour of both her uncles; though
they had too much malice in their heads to intend service to me by their
persecutions of her.