You have a worse opinion of your invention than you ought to have.
I must praise it again. Of a plain man's head, I have not known many
better than yours. How often have your forecast and discretion answered
my wishes in cases which I could not foresee, not knowing how my general
directions would succeed, or what might happen in the execution of them!
You are too doubtful of your own abilities, honest Joseph; that's your
fault.--But it being a fault that is owing to natural modesty, you ought
rather to be pitied for it than blamed.
The affair of Miss Betterton was a youthful frolic. I love dearly to
exercise my invention. I do assure you, Joseph, that I have ever had
more pleasure in my contrivances, than in the end of them. I am no
sensual man: but a man of spirit--one woman is like another--you
understand me, Joseph.--In coursing, all the sport is made by the
winding hare--a barn-door chick is better eating--now you take me,
Joseph.
Miss Betterton was but a tradesman's daughter. The family, indeed, was
grown rich, and aimed at a new line of gentry; and were unreasonable
enough to expect a man of my family would marry her. I was honest.
I gave the young lady no hope of that; for she put it to me. She
resented--kept up, and was kept up. A little innocent contrivance was
necessary to get her out. But no rape in the case, I assure you, Joseph.
She loved me--I loved her. Indeed, when I got her to the inn, I asked
her no question. It is cruel to ask a modest woman for her consent. It
is creating difficulties to both. Had not her friends been officious, I
had been constant and faithful to her to this day, as far as I know--for
then I had not known my angel.
I went not abroad upon her account. She loved me too well to have
appeared against me; she refused to sign a paper they had drawn up for
her, to found a prosecution upon; and the brutal creatures would not
permit the mid-wife's assistance, till her life was in danger; and, I
believe, to this her death was owing.
I went into mourning for her, though abroad at the time. A distinction I
have ever paid to those worthy creatures who dies in childbed by me.
I was ever nice in my loves.--These were the rules I laid down to myself
on my entrance into active life:--To set the mother above want, if her
friends were cruel, and if I could not get her a husband worthy of her:
to shun common women--a piece of justice I owed to innocent ladies, as
well as to myself: to marry off a former mistress, if possible, before
I took to a new one: to maintain a lady handsomely in her lying-in: to
provide for the little-one, if it lived, according to the degree of its
mother: to go into mourning for the mother, if she died. And the promise
of this was a great comfort to the pretty dears, as they grew near their
times.
All my errors, all my expenses, have been with and upon women. So I
could acquit my conscience (acting thus honourably by them) as well as
my discretion as to point of fortune.
All men love women--and find me a man of more honour, in these points,
if you can, Joseph.
No wonder the sex love me as they do!
But now I am strictly virtuous. I am reformed. So I have been for a
long time, resolving to marry as soon as I can prevail upon the most
admirable of women to have me. I think of nobody else--it is impossible
I should. I have spared very pretty girls for her sake. Very true,
Joseph! So set your honest heart at rest--You see the pains I take to
satisfy your qualms.
But, as to Miss Betterton--no rape in the case, I repeat: rapes are
unnatural things, and more are than are imagined, Joseph. I should be
loth to be put to such a streight; I never was. Miss Betterton was taken
from me against her own will. In that case her friends, not I, committed
the rape.
I have contrived to see the boy twice, unknown to the aunt who
takes care of him; loves him; and would not now part with him on any
consideration. The boy is a fine boy I thank God. No father need be
ashamed of him. He will be well provided for. If not, I would take
care of him. He will have his mother's fortune. They curse the father,
ungrateful wretches! but bless the boy--Upon the whole, there is nothing
vile in this matter on my side--a great deal on the Bettertons.
Wherefore, Joseph, be not thou in pain, either for my head, or for thy
own neck; nor for the Blue Boar; nor for the pretty Sow.
I love your jesting. Jesting better becomes a poor man than qualms.
I love to have you jest. All we say, all we do, all we wish for, is
a jest. He that makes life itself not so is a sad fellow, and has the
worst of it.
I doubt not, Joseph, but you have had your joys, as you say, as well
as your betters. May you have more and more, honest Joseph!--He
that grudges a poor man joy, ought to have none himself. Jest on,
therefore.--Jesting, I repeat, better becomes thee than qualms.
I had no need to tell you of Miss Betterton. Did I not furnish you with
stories enough, without hers, against myself, to augment your credit
with your cunning masters? Besides, I was loth to mention Miss
Betterton, her friends being all living, and in credit. I loved her
too--for she was taken from me by her cruel friends, while our joys were
young.
But enough of dear Miss Betterton.--Dear, I say; for death
endears.--Rest to her worthy soul!--There, Joseph, off went a deep sigh
to the memory of Miss Betterton!
As to the journey of little Titus, (I now recollect the fellow by his
name) let that take its course: a lady dying in childbed eighteen
months ago; no process begun in her life-time; refusing herself to give
evidence against me while she lived--pretty circumstances to found an
indictment for a rape upon!
As to your young lady, the ever-admirable Miss Clarissa Harlowe, I
always courted her for a wife. Others rather expected marriage from
the vanity of their own hearts, than from my promises; for I was always
careful of what I promised. You know, Joseph, that I have gone beyond my
promises to you. I do to every body; and why? because it is the best
way of showing that I have no grudging or narrow spirit. A promise is
an obligation. A just man will keep his promise, a generous man will go
beyond it.--This is my rule.
If you doubt my honour to your young lady, it is more than she does. She
would not stay with me an hour if she did. Mine is the steadiest
heart in the world. Hast thou not reason to think it so? Why this
squeamishness then, honest Joseph?
But it is because thou art honest--so I forgive thee. Whoever loves my
divine Clarissa, loves me.
Let James Harlowe call me what names he will, for his sister's sake I
will bear them. Do not be concerned for me; her favour will make me rich
amends; his own vilely malicious heart will make his blood boil over
at any time; and when it does, thinkest thou that I will let it touch
thine? Ah! Joseph, Joseph! what a foolish teaser is thy conscience! Such
a conscience as gives a plain man trouble, when he intends to do for the
best, is weakness, not conscience.
But say what thou wilt, write all thou knowest or hearest of to me, I'll
have patience with every body. Why should I not, when it is as much the
desire of my heart, as it is of thine, to prevent mischief?
So now, Joseph, having taken all this pains to satisfy thy conscience,
and answer all thy doubts, and to banish all thy fears, let me come to a
new point.
Your endeavours and mine, which were designed, by round-about ways, to
reconcile all, even against the wills of the most obstinate, have
not, we see answered the end we hoped they would answer; but, on the
contrary, have widened the differences between our families. But this
has not been either your fault or mine: it is owing to the black,
pitch-like blood of your venomous-hearted young master, boiling over, as
he owns, that our honest wishes have hitherto been frustrated.
Yet we must proceed in the same course. We shall tire them out in time,
and they will propose terms; and when they do, they shall find out how
reasonable mine shall be, little as they deserve from me.
Persevere, therefore, Joseph, honest Joseph, persevere; and unlikely as
you may imagine the means, our desires will at last be obtained.
We have nothing for it now, but to go through with our work in the way
we have begun. For since (as I told you in my last) my beloved mistrusts
you, she will blow you up, if she be not mine; if she be, I can, and
will, protect you; and as, if there will be any fault, in her opinion,
it will be rather mine than yours, she must forgive you, and keep her
husband's secrets, for the sake of his reputation; else she will be
guilty of a great failure in her duty. So now you have set your hand to
the plough, Joseph, there is no looking back.
And what is the consequence of all this: one labour more, and that will
be all that will fall to your lot; at least, of consequence.
My beloved is resolved not to think of marriage till she has tried
to move her friends to a reconciliation with her. You know they are
determined not to be reconciled. She has it in her head, I doubt not,
to make me submit to the people I hate; and if I did, they would rather
insult me, than receive my condescension as they ought. She even owns,
that she will renounce me, if they insist upon it, provided they will
give up Solmes: so, to all appearance, I am still as far as ever from
the happiness of calling her mine; Indeed I am more likely than ever to
lose her, (if I cannot contrive some way to avail myself of the present
critical situation;) and then, Joseph, all I have been studying, and all
you have been doing, will signify nothing.
At the place where we are, we cannot long be private. The lodgings
are inconvenient for us, while both together, and while she refuses
to marry. She wants to get me at a distance from her; there are
extraordinary convenient lodgings, in my eye, in London, where we
could be private, and all mischief avoided. When there, (if I get
her thither,) she will insist that I leave her. Miss Howe is for ever
putting her upon contrivances. That, you know, is the reason I have been
obliged, by your means, to play the family off at Harlowe-place upon
Mrs. Howe, and Mrs. Howe upon her daughter--Ah, Joseph! Little need for
your fears for my angel! I only am in danger: but were I the free-liver
I am reported to be, all this could I get over with a wet finger, as the
saying is.
But, by the help of one of your hints, I have thought of an expedient
which will do ever thing, and raise your reputation, though already
so high, higher still. This Singleton, I hear, is a fellow who loves
enterprising: the view he has to get James Harlowe to be his principal
owner in a large vessel which he wants to be put into the command of,
may be the subject of their present close conversation. But since he
is taught to have so good an opinion of you, Joseph, cannot you (still
pretending an abhorrence of me, and of my contrivances) propose to
Singleton to propose to James Harlowe (who so much thirsts for revenge
upon me) to assist him, with his whole ship's crew, upon occasion, to
carry off his sister to Leith, where both have houses, or elsewhere?
You may tell them, that if this can be effected, it will make me raving
mad; and bring your young lady into all their measures.
You can inform them, as from my servant, of the distance she keeps me
at, in hopes of procuring her father's forgiveness, by cruelly giving me
up, if insisted upon.
You can tell them, that as the only secret my servant has kept from you
is the place we are in, you make no doubt, that a two-guinea bribe will
bring that out, and also an information when I shall be at a distance
from her, that the enterprise may be conducted with safety.
You may tell them, (still as from my servant,) that we are about to
remove from inconvenient lodgings to others more convenient, (which is
true,) and that I must be often absent from her.
If they listen to your proposal, you will promote your interest with
Betty, by telling it to her as a secret. Betty will tell Arabella of
it; Arabella will be overjoyed at any thing that will help forward her
revenge upon me; and will reveal it (if her brother do not) to her uncle
Antony; he probably will whisper it to Mrs. Howe; she can keep nothing
from her daughter, though they are always jangling. Her daughter will
acquaint my beloved with it. And if it will not, or if it will, come to
my ears from some of those, you can write it to me, as in confidence, by
way of preventing msicheif; which is the study of us both.
I can then show it to my beloved; then will she be for placing a greater
confidence in me--that will convince me of her love, which I am now
sometimes ready to doubt. She will be for hastening to the safer
lodgings. I shall have a pretence to stay about her person, as a guard.
She will be convinced that there is no expectation to be had of a
reconciliation. You can give James Harlowe and Singleton continual false
scents, as I shall direct you; so that no mischief can possibly happen.
And what will be the happy, happy, thrice happy consequence?--The lady
will be mine in an honourable way, we shall all be friends in good time.
The two guineas will be an agreeable addition to the many gratuities I
have helped you to, by the like contrivances, from this stingy family.
Your reputation, both for head and heart, as I hinted before, will be
heightened. The Blue Boar also will be yours; nor shall you have the
least difficulty about raising money to buy the stock, if it be worth
your while to have it.
Betty will likewise then be yours. You have both saved money, it seems.
The whole Harlowe family, whom you have so faithfully served, ['tis
serving them, surely, to prevent the mischief which their violent
son would have brought upon them,] will throw you in somewhat towards
housekeeping. I will still add to your store--so nothing but happiness
before you!
Crow, Joseph, crow!--a dunghill of thy own in view; servants to snub at
thy pleasure; a wife to quarrel with, or to love, as thy humour leads
thee; Landlord and Landlady at every word; to be paid, instead of
paying, for thy eating and drinking. But not thus happy only in thyself:
happy in promoting peace and reconciliation between two good families,
in the long run, without hurting any christian soul. O Joseph, honest
Joseph! what envy wilt thou raise, and who would be squeamish with such
prospects before him.
This one labour, I repeat, crowns the work. If you can get but such a
design entertained by them, whether they prosecute it or not, it will be
equally to the purpose of
Your loving friend, R. LOVELACE.