LETTER XXIII
MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.UPPER-FLASK, HAMPSTEAD.FRI. MORN. 7 O'CLOCK. (JUNE 9.)
I am now here, and here have been this hour and half.--What anindustrious spirit have I!--Nobody can say that I eat the bread ofidleness. I take true pains for all the pleasure I enjoy. I cannotbut admire myself strangely; for certainly, with this active soul, Ishould have made a very great figure in whatever station I had filled.But had I been a prince, (to be sure I should have made a most nobleprince!) I should have led up a military dance equal to that of the greatMacedonian. I should have added kingdom to kingdom, and despoiled allmy neighbour sovereigns, in order to have obtained the name of Robert theGreat! And I would have gone to war with the Great Turk, and thePersian, and Mogul, for the seraglios; for not one of those easternmonarchs should have had a pretty woman to bless himself with till I haddone with her.
And now I have so much leisure upon my hands, that, after having informedmyself of all necessary particulars, I am set to my short-hand writing inorder to keep up with time as well as I can; for the subject is nowbecome worthy of me; and it is yet too soon, I doubt, to pay mycompliments to my charmer, after all her fatigues for two or three dayspast. And, moreover, I have abundance of matters preparative to myfuture proceedings to recount, in order to connect and render allintelligible.
I parted with the Captain at the foot of the hill, trebly instructed;that is to say, as to the fact, to the probable, and to the possible. Ifmy beloved and I can meet, and make up without the mediating of thisworthy gentleman, it will be so much the better. As little foreign aidas possible in my amorous conflicts has always been a rule with me;though here I have been obliged to call in so much. And who knows but itmay be the better for the lady the less she makes necessary? I cannotbear that she should sit so indifferent to me as to be in earnest to partwith me for ever upon so slight, or even upon any occasion. If I findshe is--but no more threatenings till she is in my power--thou knowestwhat I have vowed.
All Will.'s account, from the lady's flight to his finding her again, allthe accounts of the people of the house, the coachman's information toWill., and so forth, collected together, stand thus:
'The Hampstead coach, when the dear fugitive came to it, had but twopassengers in it. But she made the fellow to go off directly, paying forthe vacant places.
'The two passengers directing the coachman to set them down at the UpperFlask, she bid him set her down there also.
'They took leave of her, [very respectfully, no doubt,] and she went intothe house, and asked, if she could not have a dish of tea, and a room toherself for half an hour.
'They showed her up to the very room where I now am. She sat at the verytable I now write upon; and, I believe, the chair I sit in was her's.' OBelford, if thou knowest what love is, thou wilt be able to account forthese minutiae.
'She seemed spiritless and fatigued. The gentlewoman herself chose toattend so genteel and lovely a guest. She asked her if she would havebread and butter with her tea?
'No. She could not eat.
'They had very good biscuits.
'As she pleased.
'The gentlewoman stept out for some, and returning on a sudden, sheobserved the sweet little fugitive endeavouring to restrain a violentburst of grief to which she had given way in the little interval.
'However, when the tea came, she made the landlady sit down with her,and asked her abundance of questions, about the villages and roads inthe neighbourhood.
'The gentlewoman took notice to her, that she seemed to be troubled inmind.
'Tender spirits, she replied, could not part with dear friends withoutconcern.'
She meant me, no doubt.
'She made no inquiry about a lodging, though by the sequel, thou'ltobserve, that she seemed to intend to go no farther that night thanHampstead. But after she had drank two dishes, and put a biscuit inher pocket, [sweet soul! to serve for her supper, perhaps,] she laiddown half-a-crown; and refusing change, sighing, took leave, saying shewould proceed towards Hendon; the distance to which had been one of herquestions.
'They offered to send to know if a Hampstead coach were not to go toHendon that evening.
'No matter, she said--perhaps she might meet the chariot.'
Another of her feints, I suppose: for how, or with whom, could any thingof this sort have been concerted since yesterday morning?
'She had, as the people took notice to one another, something souncommonly noble in her air, and in her person and behaviour, that theywere sure she was of quality. And having no servant with her of eithersex, her eyes, [her fine eyes, the gentlewoman called them, stranger asshe was, and a woman!] being swelled and red, they were sure there was anelopement in the case, either from parents or guardians; for theysupposed her too young and too maidenly to be a married lady; and wereshe married, no husband would let such a fine young creature to beunattended and alone; nor give her cause for so much grief, as seemed tobe settled in her countenance. Then at times she seemed to be sobewildered, they said, that they were afraid she had it in her head tomake away with herself.
'All these things put together, excited their curiosity; and they engageda peery servant, as they called a footman who was drinking with Kit. thehostler, at the tap-house, to watch all her motions. This fellowreported the following particulars, as they re-reported to me:
'She indeed went towards Hendon, passing by the sign of the Castle on theHeath; then, stopping, looked about her, and down into the valley beforeher. Then, turning her face towards London, she seemed, by the motion ofher handkerchief to her eyes, to weep; repenting [who knows?] the rashstep she had taken, and wishing herself back again.'
Better for her, if she do, Jack, once more I say!--Woe be to the girl whocould think of marrying me, yet to be able to run away from me, andrenounce me for ever!
'Then, continuing on a few paces, she stopt again--and, as if dislikingher road, again seeming to weep, directed her course back towardsHampstead.'
I am glad she wept so much, because no heart bursts, (be the occasion forthe sorrow what it will,) which has that kindly relief. Hence I hardlyever am moved at the sight of these pellucid fugitives in a fine woman.How often, in the past twelve hours, have I wished that I could cry mostconfoundedly?
'She then saw a coach-and-four driving towards her empty. She crossedthe path she was in, as if to meet it, and seemed to intend to speak tothe coachman, had he stopt or spoken first. He as earnestly looked ather.--Every one did so who passed her, (so the man who dogged her was theless suspected.')--Happy rogue of a coachman, hadst thou known whosenotice thou didst engage, and whom thou mightest have obliged!--It wasthe divine Clarissa Harlowe at whom thou gazest!--Mine own ClarissaHarlowe!--But it was well for me that thou wert as undistinguishing asthe beasts thou drovest; otherwise, what a wild-goose chace had I beenled?
'The lady, as well as the coachman, in short, seemed to want resolution;--the horses kept on--[the fellow's head and eyes, no doubt, turnedbehind him,] and the distance soon lengthened beyond recall. With awistful eye she looked after him; sighed and wept again; as the servantwho then slyly passed her, observed.
'By this time she had reached the houses. She looked up at every one asshe passed; now and then breathing upon her bared hand, and applying itto her swelled eyes, to abate the redness, and dry the tears. At last,seeing a bill up for letting lodgings, she walked backwards and forwardshalf a dozen times, as if unable to determine what to do. And then wentfarther into the town, and there the fellow, being spoken to by one ofhis familiars, lost her for a few minutes: but he soon saw her come outof a linen-drapery shop, attended with a servant-maid, having, as itproved, got that maid-servant to go with her to the house she is now at.*
* See Letter XXI. of this volume.
'The fellow, after waiting about an hour, and not seeing her come out,returned, concluding that she had taken lodgings there.'
And here, supposing my narrative of the dramatic kind, ends A
ct thefirst. And now begins
ACT IISCENE.--Hampstead Heath continued.ENTER MY RASCAL.
Will. having got at all these particulars, by exchanging others asfrankly against them, with which I had formerly prepared him bothverbally and in writing.--I found the people already of my party, andfull of good wishes for my success, repeating to me all they told him.
But he had first acquainted me with the accounts he had given them of hislady and me. It is necessary that I give thee the particulars of histale, and I have a little time upon my hands: for the maid of the house,who had been out of an errand, tells us, that she saw Mrs. Moore, [withwhom must be my first business,] go into the house of a young gentleman,within a few doors of her, who has a maiden sister, Miss Rawlins by name,so notified for prudence, that none of her acquaintance undertake anything of consequence without consulting her.
Meanwhile my honest coachman is walking about Miss Rawlin's door, inorder to bring me notice of Mrs. Moore's return to her own house. I hopeher gossip's-tale will be as soon told as mine--which take as follows:--
Will. told them, before I came, 'That his lady was but lately married toone of the finest gentlemen in the world. But that he, being very gayand lively, she was mortal jealous of him; and, in a fit of that sort,had eloped from him. For although she loved him dearly, and he doatedupon her, (as well he might, since, as they had seen, she was the finestcreature that ever the sun shone upon,) yet she was apt to be very wilfuland sullen, if he might take liberty to say so--but truth was truth;--andif she could not have her own way in every thing, would be for leavinghim. That she had three or four times played his master such tricks; butwith all the virtue and innocence in the world; running away to anintimate friend of her's, who, though a young lady of honour, was but tooindulgent to her in this only failing; for which reason his master hasbrought her to London lodgings; their usual residence being in thecountry: and that, on his refusing to satisfy her about a lady he hadbeen seen with in St. James's Park, she had, for the first time since shecame to town, served his master thus, whom he had left half-distracted onthis account.'
And truly well he might, poor gentleman! cried the honest folks, pityingme before they saw me.
'He told them how he came by his intelligence of her; and made himselfsuch an interest with them, that they helped him to a change of clothesfor himself; and the landlord, at his request, privately inquired, if thelady actually remained at Mrs. Moore's, and for how long she had takenthe lodgings?--which he found only to be for a week certain; but she hadsaid, that she believed she should hardly stay so long. And then it wasthat he wrote his letter, and sent it by honest Peter Patrick, as thouhast heard.'
When I came, my person and dress having answered Will.'s description, thepeople were ready to worship me. I now-and-then sighed, now-and-then puton a lighter air; which, however, I designed should show more of vexationill-disguised, than of real cheerfulness; and they told Will. it was sucha thousand pities so fine a lady should have such skittish tricks;adding, that she might expose herself to great dangers by them; for thatthere were rakes every where--[Lovelaces in every corner, Jack!] and manyabout that town, who would leave nothing unattempted to get into hercompany; and although they might not prevail upon her, yet might theynevertheless hurt her reputation; and, in time, estrange the affectionsof so fine a gentleman from her.
Good sensible people these!--Hey, Jack!
Here, Landlord, one word with you.--My servant, I find, has acquaintedyou with the reason of my coming this way.--An unhappy affair, Landlord!--A very unhappy affair!--But never was there a more virtuous woman.
So, Sir, she seems to be. A thousand pities her ladyship has such ways--and to so good-humoured a gentleman as you seem to be, Sir.
Mother-spoilt, Landlord!--Mother-spoilt!--that's the thing!--But[sighing] I must make the best of it. What I want you to do for me is tolend me a great-coat.--I care not what it is. If my spouse should see meat a distance, she would make it very difficult for me to get at herspeech. A great-coat with a cape, if you have one. I must come upon herbefore she is aware.
I am afraid, Sir, I have none fit for such a gentleman as you.
O, any thing will do!--The worse the better.
Exit Landlord.--Re-enter with two great-coats.
Ay, Landlord, this will be best; for I can button the cape over the lowerpart of my face. Don't I look devilishly down and concerned, Landlord?
I never saw a gentleman with a better-natured look.--'Tis pity you shouldhave such trials, Sir.
I must be very unhappy, no doubt of it, Landlord.--And yet I am a littlepleased, you must needs think, that I have found her out before any greatinconvenience has arisen to her. However, if I cannot break her of thesefreaks, she'll break my heart; for I do love her with all her failings.
The good woman, who was within hearing of all this, pitied me much.
Pray, your Honour, said she, if I may be so bold, was madam ever a mamma?
No--[and I sighed.]--We have been but a little while married; and as Imay say to you, it is her own fault that she is not in that way. [Not aword of a lie in this, Jack.] But to tell you truth, Madam, she may becompared to the dog in the manger--
I understand you, Sir, [simpering,] she is but young, Sir. I have heardof one or two such skittish young ladies, in my time, Sir.--But whenmadam is in that way, I dare say, as she loves you, (and it would bestrange if she did not!) all this will be over, and she may make the bestof wives.
That's all my hope.
She is a fine lady as I ever beheld.--I hope, Sir, you won't be toosevere. She'll get over all these freaks, if once she be a mamma, Iwarrant.
I can't be severe to her--she knows that. The moment I see her, allresentment is over with me, if she gives me but one kind look.
All this time I was adjusting the horseman's coat, and Will. was puttingin the ties of my wig,* and buttoning the cape over my chin.
* The fashionable wigs at that time.
I asked the gentlewoman for a little powder. She brought me a powder-box, and I slightly shook the puff over my hat, and flapt one side of it,though the lace looked a little too gay for my covering; and, slouchingit over my eyes, Shall I be known, think you, Madam?
Your Honour is so expert, Sir!--I wish, if I may be so bold, your ladyhas not some cause to be jealous. But it will be impossible, if you keepyour laced clothes covered, that any body should know you in that dressto be the same gentleman--except they find you out by your clockedstockings.
Well observed--Can't you, Landlord, lend or sell me a pair of stockings,that will draw over these? I can cut off the feet, if they won't go intomy shoes.
He could let me have a pair of coarse, but clean, stirrup stockings, if Ipleased.
The best in the world for the purpose.
He fetch'd them. Will. drew them on; and my legs then made a good goutyappearance.
The good woman smiling, wished me success; and so did the landlord. Andas thou knowest that I am not a bad mimic, I took a cane, which Iborrowed of the landlord, and stooped in the shoulders to a quarter of afoot less height, and stumped away cross to the bowling-green, topractise a little the hobbling gait of a gouty man.--The landladywhispered her husband, as Will. tells me, He's a good one, I warrant him--I dare say the fault lies not at all of one side. While mine hostreplied, That I was so lively and so good-natured a gentleman, that hedid not know who could be angry with me, do what I would. A sensiblefellow!--I wish my charmer were of the same opinion.
And now I am going to try if I can't agree with goody Moore for lodgingsand other conveniencies for my sick wife.
'Wife, Lovelace?' methinks thou interrogatest.
Yes, wife, for who knows what cautions the dear fugitive may have givenin apprehension of me?
'But has goody Moore any other lodgings to let?'
Yes, yes; I have taken care of that; and find that she has just suchconveniencies as I want. And I know that my wife will like them. For,although married, I can do
every thing I please; and that's a bold word,you know. But had she only a garret to let, I would have liked it; andbeen a poor author afraid of arrests, and made that my place of refuge;yet would have made shift to pay beforehand for what I had. I can suitmyself to any condition, that's my comfort.
***
The widow Moore returned! say you?--Down, down, flutterer!--Thisimpertinent heart is more troublesome to me than my conscience, I think.--I shall be obliged to hoarsen my voice, and roughen my character, tokeep up with its puppily dancings.
But let me see, shall I be angry or pleased when I am admitted to mybeloved's presence?
Angry to be sure.--Has she not broken her word with me?--At a time toowhen I was meditating to do her grateful justice?--And is not breach ofword a dreadful crime in good folks?--I have ever been for forming myjudgment of the nature of things and actions, not so much from what theyare in themselves, as from the character of the actors. Thus it would beas odd a thing in such as we to keep our words with a woman, as it wouldbe wicked in her to break her's to us.
Seest thou not that this unseasonable gravity is admitted to quell thepalpitations of this unmanageable heart? But still it will go on withits boundings. I'll try as I ride in my chariot to tranquilize.
'Ride, Bob! so little a way?'
Yes, ride, Jack; for am I not lame? And will it not look well to have alodger who keeps his chariot? What widow, what servant, asks questionsof a man with an equipage?
My coachman, as well as my other servant, is under Will.'s tuition.
Never was there such a hideous rascal as he has made himself. The devilonly and his other master can know him. They both have set their marksupon him. As to my honour's mark, it will never be out of his dam'd widemothe, as he calls it. For the dog will be hanged before he can lose therest of his teeth by age.
I am gone.