I have your kind letter of yesterday. He knows I have. And I shall
expect, that he will be inquisitive next time I see him after your
opinions of his proposals. I doubted not your approbation of them, and
had written an answer on that presumption; which is ready for him. He
must study for occasions of procrastination, and to disoblige me, if now
any thing happens to set us at variance again.
He is very importunate to see me. He has desired to attend me to church.
He is angry that I have declined to breakfast with him. I am sure that I
should not have been at my own liberty if I had. I bid Dorcas tell him,
that I desired to have this day to myself. I would see him in the
morning as early as he pleased. She says, she knows not what ails him,
but that he is out of humour with every body.
He has sent again in a peremptory manner. He warns me of Singleton. I
sent him word, that if he was not afraid of Singleton at the playhouse
last night, I need not at church to-day: so many churches to one
playhouse. I have accepted of his servant's proposed attendance. But he
is quite displeased, it seems. I don't care. I will not be perpetually
at his insolent beck.--Adieu my dear, till I return. The chair waits.
He won't stop me, sure, as I go down to it.
***
I did not see him as I went down. He is, it seems, excessively out of
humour. Dorcas says, not with me neither, she believes: but something
has vexed him. This is perhaps to make me dine with him. But I will
not, if I can help it. I shan't get rid of him for the rest of the day,
if I do.
***
He was very earnest to dine with me. But I was resolved to carry this
one small point; and so denied to dine myself. And indeed I was
endeavouring to write to my cousin Morden; and had begun three different
times, without being able to please myself.
He was very busy in writing, Dorcas says; and pursued it without dining,
because I denied him my company.
He afterwards demanded, as I may say, to be admitted to afternoon-tea with
me: and appealed by Dorcas to his behaviour to me last night; as if I
sent him word by her, he thought he had a merit in being unexceptionable.
However, I repeated my promise to meet him as early as he pleased in the
morning, or to breakfast with him.
Dorcas says, he raved: I heard him loud, and I heard his servant fly from
him, as I thought. You, my dearest friend, say, in one of yours,* that
you must have somebody to be angry at, when your mother sets you up. I
should be very loth to draw comparisons; but the workings of passion,
when indulged, are but too much alike, whether in man or woman.
* See Letter X. of this volume, Parag. 2.
***
He has just sent me word, that he insists upon supping with me. As we
had been in a good train for several days past, I thought it not prudent
to break with him for little matters. Yet, to be, in a manner,
threatened into his will, I know not how to bear that.
While I was considering, he came up, and, tapping at my door, told me, in
a very angry tone, he must see me this night. He could not rest, till he
had been told what he had done to deserve the treatment I gave him.
Treatment I gave him! a wretch! Yet perhaps he has nothing new to say to
me. I shall be very angry with him.
***
[As the Lady could not know what Mr. Lovelace's designs were, nor the
cause of his ill humour, it will not be improper to pursue the subject
from his letter.
Having described his angry manner of demanding, in person, her company at
supper, he proceeds as follows:]
''Tis hard, answered the fair perverse, that I am to be so little my own
mistress. I will meet you in the dining-room half an hour hence.
'I went down to wait the half hour. All the women set me hard to give
her cause for this tyranny. They demonstrated, as well from the nature
of the sex, as of the case, that I had nothing to hope for from my
tameness, and could meet with no worse treatment, were I to be guilty of
the last offence. They urge me vehemently to try at least what effect
some greater familiarities than I had ever taken with her would have: and
their arguments being strengthened by my just resentments on the
discoveries I had made, I was resolved to take some liberties, as they
were received, to take still greater, and lay all the fault upon her
tyranny. In this humour I went up, and never had paralytic so little
command of his joints, as I had, while I walked about the dining-room,
attending her motions.
'With an erect mien she entered, her face averted, her lovely bosom
swelling, and the more charmingly protuberant for the erectness of her
mien. O Jack! that sullenness and reserve should add to the charms of
this haughty maid! but in every attitude, in every humour, in every
gesture, is beauty beautiful. By her averted face, and indignant aspect,
I saw the dear insolent was disposed to be angry--but by the fierceness
of mine, as my trembling hand seized hers, I soon made fear her
predominant passion. And yet the moment I beheld her, my heart was
dastardized; and my reverence for the virgin purity, so visible in her
whole deportment, again took place. Surely, Belford, this is an angel.
And yet, had she not been known to be a female, they would not from
babyhood have dressed her as such, nor would she, but upon that
conviction, have continued the dress.
'Let me ask you, Madam, I beseech you tell me, what I have done to
deserve this distant treatment?
'And let me ask you, Mr. Lovelace, why are my retirements to be thus
invaded?--What can you have to say to me since last night, that I went
with you so much against my will to the play? and after sitting up with
you, equally against my will, till a very late hour?
'This I have to say, Madam, that I cannot bear to be kept at this
distance from you under the same roof.
'Under the same roof, Sir!--How came you----
'Hear me out, Madam--[letting go her trembling hands, and snatching them
back again with an eagerness that made her start]--I have a thousand
things to say, to talk of, relating to our present and future prospects;
but when I want to open my whole soul to you, you are always contriving
to keep me at a distance. You make me inconsistent with myself. Your
heart is set upon delays. You must have views that you will not own.
Tell me, Madam, I conjure you to tell me, this moment, without subterfuge
or reserve, in what light am I to appear to you in future? I cannot bear
this distance. The suspense you hold me in I cannot bear.
'In what light, Mr. Lovelace! [visibly terrified.] In no bad light, I
hope.--Pray, Mr. Lovelace, do not grasp my hands so hard [endeavouring to
withdraw them.] Pray let me go.--
'You hate me, Madam--
'I hate nobody, Sir--
'You hate me, Madam, repeated I.
'Instigated and resolved, as I came up, I wanted some new provocation.
The devil indeed, as soon as my angel made her appearance, crept out of
my heart; but he had left the door open, and was no farther off than my
elbow.
'You come up in no good temper, I see, Mr. Lovelace.--But pray be not
violent--I have done you no hurt.--Pray be not violent--
'Sweet creature! and I clasped one arm about her, holding one hand in my
other.--You have done me no hurt.--I could have devoured her--but
restraining myself--You have done me the greatest hurt!--In what have I
deserved the distance you keep me at?--I knew not what to say.
'She struggled to disengage herself.--Pray, Mr. Lovelace, let me
withdraw. I know not why this is. I know not what I have done to offend
you. I see you are come with a design to quarrel with me. If you would
not terrify me by the ill humour you are in, permit me to withdraw. I
will hear all you have to say another time--to-morrow morning, as I sent
you word.--But indeed you frighten me--I beseech you, if you have any
value for me, permit me to withdraw.
'Night, mid-night, is necessary, Belford. Surprise, terror, must be
necessary to the ultimate trial of this charming creature, say the women
below what they will. I could not hold my purposes. This was not the
first time that I had intended to try if she could forgive.
'I kissed her hand with a fervour, as if I would have left my lips upon
it.--Withdraw, then, dearest, and ever-dear creature. Indeed I entered
in a very ill humour. I cannot bear the distance at which you so
causelessly keep me. Withdraw, Madam, since it is your will to withdraw;
and judge me generously; judge me but as I deserve to be judged; and let
me hope to meet you to-morrow morning early in such a temper as becomes
our present situation, and my future hopes.
'And so saying, I conducted her to the door, and left her there. But,
instead of going down to the women, I went into my own chamber, and
locked myself in; ashamed of being awed by her majestic loveliness, and
apprehensive virtue, into so great a change of purpose, notwithstanding I
had such just provocations from the letters of her saucy friend, formed
on her own representations of facts and situations between herself and
me.
***
[The Lady (dated Sunday night) thus describes her terrors, and Mr.
Lovelace's behaviour, on the occasion.]
On my entering the dining-room, he took my hand in his, in such a humour,
I saw plainly he was resolved to quarrel with me--And for what?--What had
I done to him?--I never in my life beheld in any body such wild, such
angry, such impatient airs. I was terrified; and instead of being as
angry as I intended to be, I was forced to be all mildness. I can hardly
remember what were his first words, I was so frighted. But you hate me,
Madam! you hate me, Madam! were some of them--with such a fierceness--I
wished myself a thousand miles distant from him. I hate nobody, said I:
I thank God I hate nobody--You terrify me, Mr. Lovelace--let me leave
you.--The man, my dear, looked quite ugly--I never saw a man look so ugly
as passion made him look--and for what?--And so he grasped my hands!--
fierce creature;--he so grasped my hands! In short, he seemed by his
looks, and by his words (once putting his arms about me) to wish me to
provoke him. So that I had nothing to do but to beg of him (which I did
repeatedly) to permit me to withdraw: and to promise to meet him at his
own time in the morning.
It was with a very ill grace that he complied, on that condition; and at
parting he kissed my hand with such a savageness, that a redness remains
upon it still.
Do you not think, my dear, that I have reason to be incensed at him, my
situation considered? Am I not under a necessity, as it were, of
quarrelling with him; at least every other time I see him? No prudery,
no coquetry, no tyranny in my heart, or in my behaviour to him, that I
know of. No affected procrastination. Aiming at nothing but decorum.
He as much concerned, and so he ought to think, as I, to have that
observed. Too much in his power: cast upon him by the cruelty of my
relations. No other protection to fly to but his. One plain path before
us; yet such embarrasses, such difficulties, such subjects for doubt, for
cavil, for uneasiness; as fast as one is obviated, another to be
introduced, and not by myself--know not how introduced--What pleasure can
I propose to myself in meeting such a wretch?
Perfect for me, my dearest Miss Howe, perfect for me, I beseech you, your
kind scheme with Mrs. Townsend; and I will then leave this man.
My temper, I believe, is changed. No wonder if it be. I question
whether ever it will be what it was. But I cannot make him half so
uneasy by the change, as I am myself. See you not how, from step to
step, he grows upon me?--I tremble to look back upon his encroachments.
And now to give me cause to apprehend more evil from him, than
indignation will permit me to express!--O my dear, perfect your scheme,
and let me fly from so strange a wretch!
Yet, to be first an eloper from my friends to him, as the world supposes;
and now to be so from him [to whom I know not!] how hard to one who ever
endeavoured to shun intricate paths! But he must certainly have views in
quarrelling with me thus, which he dare not own!--Yet what can they be?--
I am terrified but to think of what they may be!
Let me but get from him!--As to my reputation, if I leave him--that is
already too much wounded for me, now, to be careful about any thing, but
how to act so as that my own heart shall not reproach me. As to the
world's censure, I must be content to suffer that--an unhappy
composition, however.--What a wreck have my fortunes suffered, to be
obliged to throw overboard so many valuables, to preserve, indeed, the
only valuable!--A composition that once it would have half broken my
heart to think there would have been the least danger that I should be
obliged to submit to.
You, my dear, could not be a stranger to my most secret failings,
although you would not tell me of them. What a pride did I take in the
applause of every one!--What a pride even in supposing I had not that
pride!--Which concealed itself from my unexamining heart under the
specious veil of humility, doubling the merit to myself by the supposed,
and indeed imputed, gracefulness in the manner of conferring benefits,
when I had not a single merit in what I did, vastly overpaid by the
pleasure of doing some little good, and impelled, as I may say, by
talents given me--for what!--Not to be proud of.
So, desirous, in short, to be considered as an example! A vanity which
my partial admirers put into my head!--And so secure in my own virtue!
I am punished enough, enough mortified, for this my vanity--I hope,
enough, if it so please the all-gracious inflictor: since now, I verily
think, I more despise myself for my presumptuous self-security, as well
as vanity, than ever I secretly vaunted myself on my good inclinations:
secretly, I say, however; for, indeed, I had not given myself leisure to
reflect, till I was thus mortified, how very imperfect I was; nor how
much truth there is in what divines tell us, that we sin in our best
performances.
But I was very young.--But here let me watch over myself again: for in
those four words, I was very young, is there not a palliation couched,
that were enough to take all efficacy from the discovery and confession?
What strange imperfect beings!--but self here, which is at the bottom of
all we do, and of all we wish, is the grand misleader.
I will not apologize to you, my dear, for these grave reflections. Is it
not enough to make the unhappy creature look into herself, and endeavour
to detect herself, who, from such a high reputation, left to proud and
presumptuous self, should by one thoughtless step, be brought to the
dreadful situation I am in?
Let me, however, look forward: to despond would be to add sin to sin.
And whom have I to raise me up, whom to comfort me, if I desert myself?--
Thou, O Father, who, I hope, hast not yet deserted, hast not yet cursed
me!--For I am thine!--It is fit that mediation should supply the rest.--
***
I was so disgusted with him, as well as frighted by him, that on my
return to my chamber, in a fit of passionate despair, I tore almost in
two the answer I had written to his proposals.
I will see him in the morning, because I promised I would. But I will go
out, and that without him, or any attendant. If he account not tolerably
for his sudden change of behaviour, and a proper opportunity offer of a
private lodging in some creditable house, I will not any more return to
this:--at present I think so.--And there will I either attend the
perfecting of your scheme; or, by your epistolary mediation, make my own
terms with the wretch; since it is your opinion, that I must be his, and
cannot help myself: or, perhaps, take a resolution to throw myself at
once into Lady Betty's protection; and this will hinder him from making
his insolently-threatened visit to Harlowe-place.
[The Lady writes again on Monday evening; and gives her friend an account
of all that passed between herself and Mr. Lovelace that day; and of
her being terrified out of her purpose, of going out: but Mr.
Lovelace's next letters giving a more ample account of all, hers are
omitted.
It is proper, however, to mention, that she re-urges Miss Howe (from the
dissatisfaction she has reason for from what passed between Mr.
Lovelace and herself) to perfect her scheme in relation to Mrs.
Townsend. She concludes this letter in these words:]
I should say something of your last favour (but a few hours ago received)
and of your dialogue with your mother--Are you not very whimsical, my
dear? I have but two things to wish for on this occasion.--The one, that
your charming pleasantry had a better subject than that you find for it
in this dialogue--the other, that my situation were not such, as must too
often damp that pleasantry in you, and will not permit me to enjoy it, as
I used to do. Be, however, happy in yourself, though you cannot in
Your
CLARISSA HARLOWE.