Clarissa Harlowe; or the history of a young lady — Volume 4
Page 19
LETTER XVII
MR. LOVELACE[IN CONTINUATION.]
Well sayest thou, that mine is the most plotting heart in the world.Thou dost me honour; and I thank thee heartily. Thou art no bad judge.How like Boileau's parson I strut behind my double chin! Am I notobliged to deserve thy compliment? And wouldst thou have me repent of amurder before I have committed it?
'The Virtues and Graces are this Lady's handmaids. She was certainlyborn to adorn the age she was given to.'--Well said, Jack--'And would bean ornament to the first dignity.' But what praise is that, unless thefirst dignity were adorned with the first merit?--Dignity! gew-gaw!--First dignity! thou idiot!--Art thou, who knowest me, so taken withermine and tinsel?--I, who have won the gold, am only fit to wear it.For the future therefore correct thy style, and proclaim her the ornamentof the happiest man, and (respecting herself and sex) the greatestconqueror in the world.
Then, that she loves me, as thou imaginest, by no means appears clear tome. Her conditional offers to renounce me; the little confidence sheplaces in me; entitle me to ask, What merit can she have with a man, whowon her in spite of herself; and who fairly, in set and obstinate battle,took her prisoner?
As to what thou inferrest from her eye when with us, thou knowest nothingof her heart from that, if thou imaginest there was one glance of loveshot from it. Well did I note her eye, and plainly did I see, that itwas all but just civil disgust to me and to the company I had brought herinto. Her early retiring that night, against all entreaty, might haveconvinced thee, that there was very little of the gentle in her heart forme. And her eye never knew what it was to contradict her heart.
She is, thou sayest, all mind. So say I. But why shouldst thou imaginethat such a mind as hers, meeting with such a one as mine, and, to dwellupon the word, meeting with an inclination in hers, should not propagateminds like her own?
Were I to take thy stupid advice, and marry; what a figure should I makein rakish annals! The lady in my power: yet not have intended to putherself in my power: declaring against love, and a rebel to it: so muchopen-eyed caution: no confidence in my honour: her family expecting theworst hath passed: herself seeming to expect that the worst will beattempted: [Priscilla Partington for that!] What! wouldst thou not haveme act in character?
But why callest thou the lady innocent? And why sayest thou she lovesme?
By innocent, with regard to me, and not taken as a general character, Imust insist upon it she is not innocent. Can she be innocent, who, bywishing to shackle me in the prime and glory of my youth, with such acapacity as I have for noble mischief,* would make my perdition morecertain, were I to break, as I doubt I should, the most solemn vow Icould make? I say no man ought to take even a common oath, who thinks hecannot keep it. This is conscience! This is honour!--And when I think Ican keep the marriage-vow, then will it be time to marry.
* See Vol. III. Letter XXIII. Paragr. 4.
No doubt of it, as thou sayest, the devils would rejoice in the fall ofsuch a woman. But this is my confidence, that I shall have it in mypower to marry when I will. And if I do her this justice, shall I nothave a claim of her gratitude? And will she not think herself theobliged, rather than the obliger? Then let me tell thee, Belford, it isimpossible so far to hurt the morals of this lady, as thou and thybrother varlets have hurt others of the sex, who now are casting aboutthe town firebrands and double death. Take ye that thistle to mumbleupon.
***
A short interruption. I now resume.
That the morals of this lady cannot fail, is a consideration that willlessen the guilt on both sides. And if, when subdued, she knows but howto middle the matter between virtue and love, then will she be a wife forme: for already I am convinced that there is not a woman in the worldthat is love-proof and plot-proof, if she be not the person.
And now imagine (the charmer overcome) thou seest me sitting supinelycross-kneed, reclining on my sofa, the god of love dancing in my eyes,and rejoicing in every mantling feature; the sweet rogue, late such aproud rogue, wholly in my power, moving up slowly to me, at my beck, withheaving sighs, half-pronounced upbraidings from murmuring lips, herfinger in her eye, and quickening her pace at my Come hither, dearest!
One hand stuck in my side, the other extended to encourage her bashfulapproach--Kiss me, love!--sweet, as Jack Belford says, are the joys thatcome with willingness.
She tenders her purple mouth [her coral lips will be purple then, Jack!]:sigh not so deeply, my beloved!--Happier hours await thy humble love,than did thy proud resistance.
Once more bent to my ardent lips the swanny glossiness of a neck late sostately.--
There's my precious!
Again!
Obliging loveliness!
O my ever-blooming glory! I have tried thee enough. To-morrow's sun--
Then I rise, and fold to my almost-talking heart the throbbing-bosom'dcharmer.
And now shall thy humble pride confess its obligation to me!
To-morrow's sun--and then I disengage myself from the bashful passive,and stalk about the room--to-morrow's sun shall gild the altar at whichmy vows shall be paid thee!
Then, Jack, the rapture! then the darted sun-beams from her gladdenedeye, drinking up, at one sip, the precious distillation from the pearl-dropt cheek! Then hands ardently folded, eyes seeming to pronounce, Godbless my Lovelace! to supply the joy-locked tongue: her transports toostrong, and expression too weak, to give utterance to her gratefulmeanings!--All--all the studies--all the studies of her future life vowedand devoted (when she can speak) to acknowledge and return the perpetualobligation!
If I could bring my charmer to this, would it not be the eligible ofeligibles?--Is it not worth trying for?--As I said, I can marry her whenI will. She can be nobody's but mine, neither for shame, nor by choice,nor yet by address: for who, that knows my character, believes that theworst she dreads is now to be dreaded?
I have the highest opinion that man can have (thou knowest I have) of themerit and perfections of this admirable woman; of her virtue and honourtoo, although thou, in a former, art of opinion that she may beovercome.* Am I not therefore obliged to go further, in order tocontradict thee, and, as I have often urged, to be sure that she is whatI really think her to be, and, if I am ever to marry her, hope to findher?
* See Vol. III. Letter LI. Paragr. 9.
Then this lady is a mistress of our passions: no one ever had to so muchperfection the art of moving. This all her family know, and have equallyfeared and revered her for it. This I know too; and doubt not more andmore to experience. How charmingly must this divine creature warbleforth (if a proper occasion be given) her melodious elegiacs!--Infinitebeauties are there in a weeping eye. I first taught the two nymphs belowto distinguish the several accents of the lamentable in a new subject,and how admirably some, more than others, become their distresses.
But to return to thy objections--Thou wilt perhaps tell me, in the namesof thy brethren, as well as in thy own name, that, among all the objectsof your respective attempts, there was not one of the rank and merit ofmy charming Miss Harlowe.
But let me ask, Has it not been a constant maxim with us, that thegreater the merit on the woman's side, the nobler the victory on theman's? And as to rank, sense of honour, sense of shame, pride of family,may make rifled rank get up, and shake itself to rights: and if any thingcome of it, such a one may suffer only in her pride, by being obliged totake up with a second-rate match instead of a first; and, as it may fallout, be the happier, as well as the more useful, for the misadventure;since (taken off of her public gaddings, and domesticated by herdisgrace) she will have reason to think herself obliged to the man whohas saved her from further reproach; while her fortune and alliance willlay an obligation upon him; and her past fall, if she have prudence andconsciousness, will be his present and future security.
But a poor girl [such a one as my Rosebud for instance] having no recallsfrom education; being driven out of every family that pretends toreput
ation; persecuted most perhaps by such as have only kept theirsecret better; and having no refuge to fly to--the common, the stews, thestreet, is the fate of such a poor wretch; penury, want, and disease, hersure attendants; and an untimely end perhaps closes the miserable scene.
And will you not now all join to say, that it is more manly to attach alion than a sheep?--Thou knowest, that I always illustrated my eagleship,by aiming at the noblest quarries; and by disdaining to make a stoop atwrens, phyl-tits,* and wag-tails.
* Phyl-tits, q. d. Phyllis-tits, in opposition to Tom-tits. It needs notnow be observed, that Mr. Lovelace, in this wanton gaiety of his heart,often takes liberties of coining words and phrases in his letters to thishis familiar friend. See his ludicrous reason for it in Vol. III. LetterXXV. Paragr. antepenult.
The worst respecting myself, in the case before me, is that my triumph,when completed, will be so glorious a one, that I shall never be able tokeep up to it. All my future attempts must be poor to this. I shall beas unhappy, after a while, from my reflections upon this conquest, as DonJuan of Austria was in his, on the renowned victory of Lepanto, when hefound that none of future achievements could keep pace with his earlyglory.
I am sensible that my pleas and my reasoning may be easily answered, andperhaps justly censured; But by whom censured? Not by any of theconfraternity, whose constant course of life, even long before I becameyour general, to this hour, has justified what ye now in a fit ofsqueamishness, and through envy, condemn. Having, therefore, vindicatedmyself and my intentions to YOU, that is all I am at present concernedfor.
Be convinced, then, that I (according to our principles) am right, thouwrong; or, at least, be silent. But I command thee to be convinced. Andin thy next be sure to tell me that thou art.