Fate is weaving a whimsical web for thy friend; and I see not but I
shall be inevitably manacled.
Here have I been at work, dig, dig, dig, like a cunning miner, at one
time, and spreading my snares, like an artful fowler, at another, and
exulting in my contrivances to get this inimitable creature, absolutely
into my power. Every thing made for me. Her brother and uncles were but
my pioneers: her father stormed as I directed him to storm: Mrs. Howe
was acted by the springs I set at work; her daughter was moving for me,
yet imagined herself plumb against me: and the dear creature herself
had already run her stubborn neck into my gin, and knew not that she was
caught, for I had not drawn my springs close about her--And just as
all this was completed, wouldst thou believe, that I should be my own
enemy, and her friend? That I should be so totally diverted from all my
favourite purposes, as to propose to marry her before I went to town, in
order to put it out of my own power to resume them.
When thou knowest this, wilt thou not think that my black angel plays me
booty, and has taken it into his head to urge me on to the indissoluble
tie, that he might be more sure of me (from the complex transgressions
to which he will certainly stimulate me, when wedded) than perhaps
he thought he could be from the simple sins, in which I have so long
allowed myself, that they seem to have the plea of habit?
Thou wilt be still the more surprised, when I tell thee, that there
seems to be a coalition going forward between the black angels and the
white ones; for here has her's induced her, in one hour, and by one
retrograde accident, to acknowledge what the charming creature never
before acknowledged, a preferable favour for me. She even avows an
intention to be mine.--Mine! without reformation-conditions!--She
permits me to talk of love to her!--of the irrevocable ceremony!--Yet,
another extraordinary! postpones that ceremony; chooses to set out for
London; and even to go to the widow's in town.
Well, but how comes all this about? methinks thou askest.--Thou,
Lovelace, dealest in wonders, yet aimest not at the marvellous!--How did
all this come about?
I will tell thee--I was in danger of losing my charmer for ever! She was
soaring upward to her native skies! She was got above earth, by means
too, of the earth-born! And something extraordinary was to be done to
keep her with us sublunaries. And what so effectually as the soothing
voice of Love, and the attracting offer of matrimony from a man
not hated, can fix the attention of the maiden heart, aching with
uncertainty, and before impatient of the questionable question?
This, in short, was the case: while she was refusing all manner of
obligation to me, keeping me at haughty distance, in hopes that her
cousin Morden's arrival would soon fix her in a full and absolute
independence of me--disgusted, likewise, at her adorer, for holding
himself the reins of his own passions, instead of giving them up to her
controul--she writes a letter, urging an answer to a letter before sent,
for her apparel, her jewels, and some gold, which she had left behind
her; all which was to save her pride from obligation, and to promote the
independence her heart was set upon. And what followed but a shocking
answer, made still more shocking by the communication of a father's
curse, upon a daughter deserving only blessings?--A curse upon the
curser's heart, and a double one upon the transmitter's, the spiteful
the envious Arabella!
Absent when it came--on my return I found her recovering from fits,
again to fall into stronger fits; and nobody expecting her life; half a
dozen messengers dispatched to find me out. Nor wonder at her being so
affected; she, whose filial piety gave her dreadful faith in a father's
curses; and the curse of this gloomy tyrant extending (to use her own
words, when she could speak) to both worlds--O that it had turned, in
the moment of its utterance, to a mortal quinsy, and, sticking in his
gullet, had choked the old execrator, as a warning to all such unnatural
fathers!
What a miscreant had I been, not to have endeavoured to bring her back,
by all the endearments, by all the vows, by all the offers, that I could
make her!
I did bring her back. More than a father to her: for I have given her a
life her unnatural father had well-nigh taken away: Shall I not cherish
the fruits of my own benefaction? I was earnest in my vows to marry,
and my ardour to urge the present time was a real ardour. But extreme
dejection, with a mingled delicacy, that in her dying moments I doubt
not she will preserve, have caused her to refuse me the time, though not
the solemnity; for she has told me, that now she must be wholly in my
protection [being destitute of every other!] More indebted, still, thy
friend, as thou seest, to her cruel relations, than to herself, for her
favour!
She has written to Miss Howe an account of their barbarity! but has not
acquainted her how very ill she was.
Low, very low, she remains; yet, dreading her stupid brother's
enterprise, she wants to be in London, where, but for this accident, and
(wouldst thou have believed it?) for my persuasions, seeing her so very
ill, she would have been this night; and we shall actually set out on
Wednesday morning, if she be not worse.
And now for a few words with thee, on the heavy preachment of Saturday
last.
Thou art apprehensive, that the lady is now truly in danger; and it is a
miracle, thou tellest me, if she withstand such an attempter!--'Knowing
what we know of the sex, thou sayest, thou shouldst dread, wert thou
me, to make further trial, lest thou shouldst succeed.' And, in another
place, tellest me, 'That thou pleadest not for the state for any favour
thou hast for it.'
What an advocate art thou for matrimony--!
Thou wert ever an unhappy fellow at argument. Does the trite stuff with
which the rest of thy letter abounds, in favour of wedlock, strike with
the force that this which I have transcribed does against it?
Thou takest great pains to convince me, and that from the distresses
the lady is reduced to (chiefly by her friend's persecutions and
implacableness, I hope thou wilt own, and not from me, as yet) that the
proposed trial will not be a fair trial. But let me ask thee, Is not
calamity the test of virtue? And wouldst thou not have me value this
charming creature upon proof of her merits?--Do I not intend to reward
her by marriage, if she stand that proof?
But why repeat I what I have said before?--Turn back, thou egregious
arguer, turn back to my long letter of the 13th,* and thou wilt there
find every syllable of what thou hast written either answered or
invalidated.
* See Letter XVIII. of this volume.
But I am not angry with thee, Jack. I love opposition. As gold is tried
by fire, and virtue by temptation, so is sterling wit by opposition.
Have I not, before thou settest out as an advocate for my fair-one,
often brought thee in, as making objections to my proceedings, for no
other reason than to exalt myself by proving thee a man of straw? As
Homer raises up many of his champions, and gives them terrible names,
only to have them knocked on the head by his heroes.
However, take to thee this one piece of advice--Evermore be sure of
being in the right, when thou presumest to sit down to correct thy
master.
And another, if thou wilt--Never offer to invalidate the force which
a virtuous education ought to have in the sex, by endeavouring to find
excuses for their frailty from the frailty of ours. For, are we not
devils to each other?--They tempt us--we tempt them. Because we men
cannot resist temptation, is that a reason that women ought not,
when the whole of their education is caution and warning against our
attempts? Do not their grandmothers give them one easy rule--Men are to
ask--Women are to deny?
Well, but to return to my principal subject; let me observe, that, be my
future resolutions what they will, as to this lady, the contents of the
violent letter she has received have set me at least a month forward
with her. I can now, as I hinted, talk of love and marriage, without
controul or restriction; her injunctions no more my terror.
In this sweetly familiar way shall we set out together for London.
Mrs. Sorlings's eldest daughter, at my motion, is to attend her in the
chaise, while I ride by way of escort: for she is extremely apprehensive
of the Singleton plot; and has engaged me to be all patience, if any
thing should happen on the road. But nothing I am sure will happen:
for, by a letter received just now from Joseph, I understand, that
James Harlowe has already laid aside his stupid project: and this by the
earnest desire of all those of his friends to whom he had communicated
it; who were afraid of the consequences that might attend it. But it is
not over with me, however; although I am not determined at present as to
the uses I may make of it.
My beloved tells me, she shall have her clothes sent her. She hopes also
her jewels, and some gold, which she left behind her: but Joseph says,
clothes only will be sent. I will not, however, tell her that: on the
contrary, I say, there is no doubt but they will send all she wrote
for. The greater her disappointment from them, the greater must be her
dependence on me.
But, after all, I hope I shall be enabled to be honest to a merit so
transcendent. The devil take thee, though, for thy opinion, given so
mal-a-propos, that she may be overcome.
If thou designest to be honest, methinkst thou sayest, Why should not
Singleton's plot be over with thee, as it is with her brother?
Because (if I must answer thee) where people are so modestly doubtful of
what they are able to do, it is good to leave a loop-hole. And, let me
add, that when a man's heart is set upon a point, and any thing occurs
to beat him off, he will find it very difficult, when the suspending
reason ceases, to forbear resuming it.