LETTER VI
MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.SUNDAY NIGHT.
This Captain Tomlinson is one of the happiest as well as one of the bestmen in the world. What would I give to stand as high in my beloved'sopinion as he does! but yet I am as good a man as he, were I to tell myown story, and have equal credit given to it. But the devil should havehad him before I had seen him on the account he came upon, had I thoughtI should not have answered my principal end in it. I hinted to thee inmy last what that was.
But to the particulars of the conference between my fair-one and me, onher hasty messages; which I was loth to come to, because she has had anhalf triumph over me in it.
After I had attended the Captain down to the very passage, I returned tothe dining-room, and put on a joyful air, on my beloved's entrance intoit--O my dearest creature, said I, let me congratulate you on a prospectso agreeable to your wishes! And I snatched her hand, and smothered itwith kisses.
I was going on; when interrupting me, You see, Mr. Lovelace, said she,how you have embarrassed yourself by your obliquities! You see, that youhave not been able to return a direct answer to a plain and honestquestion, though upon it depends all the happiness, on the prospect ofwhich you congratulate me!
You know, my best love, what my prudent, and I will say, my kind motiveswere, for giving out that we were married. You see that I have taken noadvantage of it; and that no inconvenience has followed it. You see thatyour uncle wants only to be assured from ourselves that it is so--
Not another word on this subject, Mr. Lovelace. I will not only risk,but I will forfeit, the reconciliation so near my heart, rather than Iwill go on to countenance a story so untrue!
My dearest soul--Would you have me appear--
I would have you appear, Sir, as you are! I am resolved that I willappear to my uncle's friend, and to my uncle, as I am.
For one week, my dearest life! cannot you for one week--only till thesettlements--
Not for one hour, with my own consent. You don't know, Sir, how much Ihave been afflicted, that I have appeared to the people below what I amnot. But my uncle, Sir, shall never have it to upbraid me, nor will I toupbraid myself, that I have wilfully passed upon him in false lights.
What, my dear, would you have me say to the Captain to-morrow morning? Ihave given him room to think--
Then put him right, Mr. Lovelace. Tell the truth. Tell him what youplease of the favour of your relations to me: tell him what you willabout the settlements: and if, when drawn, you will submit them to hisperusal and approbation, it will show him how much you are in earnest.
My dearest life!--Do you think that he would disapprove of the terms Ihave offered?
No.
Then may I be accursed, if I willingly submit to be trampled under footby my enemies!
And may I, Mr. Lovelace, never be happy in this life, if I submit tothe passing upon my uncle Harlowe a wilful and premeditated falshood fortruth! I have too long laboured under the affliction which the rejectionof all my friends has given me, to purchase my reconciliation with themnow at so dear a price as this of my veracity.
The women below, my dear--
What are the women below to me?--I want not to establish myself withthem. Need they know all that passes between my relations and you andme?
Neither are they any thing to me, Madam. Only, that when, for the sakeof preventing the fatal mischiefs which might have attended yourbrother's projects, I have made them think us married, I would not appearto them in a light which you yourself think so shocking. By my soul,Madam, I had rather die, than contradict myself so flagrantly, after Ihave related to them so many circumstances of our marriage.
Well, Sir, the women may believe what they please. That I have givencountenance to what you told them is my error. The many circumstanceswhich you own one untruth has drawn you in to relate, is a justificationof my refusal in the present case.
Don't you see, Madam, that your uncle wishes to find that we are married?May not the ceremony be privately over, before his mediation can takeplace?
Urge this point no further, Mr. Lovelace. If you will not tell thetruth, I will to-morrow morning (if I see Captain Tomlinson) tell itmyself. Indeed I will.
Will you, Madam, consent that things pass as before with the peoplebelow? This mediation of Tomlinson may come to nothing. Your brother'sschemes may be pursued; the rather, that now he will know (perhaps fromyour uncle) that you are not under a legal protection.--You will, atleast, consent that things pass here as before?--
To permit this, is to go on in an error, Mr. Lovelace. But as theoccasion for so doing (if there can be in your opinion an occasion thatwill warrant an untruth) will, as I presume, soon be over, I shall theless dispute that point with you. But a new error I will not be guiltyof, if I can avoid it.
Can I, do you think, Madam, have any dishonourable view in the step Isupposed you would not scruple to take towards a reconciliation with yourown family? Not for my own sake, you know, did I wish you to take it;for what is it to me, if I am never reconciled to your family? I want nofavours from them.
I hope, Mr. Lovelace, there is no occasion, in our present notdisagreeable situation, to answer such a question. And let me say, thatI shall think my prospects still more agreeable, if, to-morrow morningyou will not only own the very truth, but give my uncle's friend such anaccount of the steps you have taken, and are taking, as may keep up myuncle's favourable intentions towards me. This you may do under whatrestrictions of secrecy you please. Captain Tomlinson is a prudent man;a promoter of family-peace, you find; and, I dare say, may be made afriend.
I saw there was no help. I saw that the inflexible Harlowe spirit wasall up in her.--A little witch!--A little--Forgive me, Love, for callingher names! And so I said, with an air, We have had too manymisunderstandings, Madam, for me to wish for new ones: I will obey youwithout reserve. Had I not thought I should have obliged you by theother method, (especially as the ceremony might have been over before anything could have operated from your uncle's intentions, and ofconsequence no untruth persisted in,) I would not have proposed it. Butthink not, my beloved creature, that you shall enjoy, without condition,this triumph over my judgment.
And then, clasping my arms about her, I gave her averted cheek (hercharming lip designed) a fervent kiss.--And your forgiveness of thissweet freedom [bowing] is that condition.
She was not mortally offended. And now must I make out the rest as wellas I can. But this I will tell thee, that although her triumph has notdiminished my love for her, yet it has stimulated me more than ever torevenge, as thou wilt be apt to call it. But victory, or conquest, isthe more proper word.
There is a pleasure, 'tis true, in subduing one of these watchfulbeauties. But by my soul, Belford, men of our cast take twenty times thepains to be rogues than it would cost them to be honest; and dearly, withthe sweat of our brows, and to the puzzlement of our brains, (to saynothing of the hazards we run,) do we earn our purchase; and ought nottherefore to be grudged our success when we meet with it--especially as,when we have obtained our end, satiety soon follows; and leaves us littleor nothing to show for it. But this, indeed, may be said of all worldlydelights.--And is not that a grave reflection from me?
I was willing to write up to the time. Although I have not carried myprincipal point, I shall make something turn out in my favour fromCaptain Tomlinson's errand. But let me give thee this caution; that thoudo not pretend to judge of my devices by parts; but have patience tillthou seest the whole. But once more I swear, that I will not beout-Norris'd by a pair of novices. And yet I am very apprehensive, attimes, of the consequences of Miss Howe's smuggling scheme.
My conscience, I should think, ought not to reproach me for acontrivance, which is justified by the contrivances of two such girls asthese: one of whom (the more excellent of the two) I have always, withher own approbation, as I imagine, proposed for my imitation.
But here, Jack, is the thing that conclude
s me, and cases my heart withadamant: I find, by Miss Howe's letters, that it is owing to her, that Ihave made no greater progress with my blooming fair-one. She loves me.The ipecacuanha contrivance convinces me that she loves me. Where thereis love there must be confidence, or a desire of having reason toconfide. Generosity, founded on my supposed generosity, has taken holdof her heart. Shall I not now see (since I must forever be unhappy, if Imarry her, and leave any trial unessayed) what I can make of her love,and her newly-raised confidence?--Will it not be to my glory to succeed?And to her's and to the honour of her sex, if I cannot?--Where then willbe the hurt to either, to make the trial? And cannot I, as I have oftensaid,reward her when I will by marriage?
'Tis late, or rather early; for the day begins to dawn upon me. I amplaguy heavy. Perhaps I need not to have told thee that. But will onlyindulge a doze in my chair for an hour; then shake myself, wash andrefresh. At my time of life, with such a constitution as I am blessedwith, that's all that's wanted.
Good night to me!--It cannot be broad day till I amawake.--Aw-w-w-whaugh--pox of this yawning!
Is not thy uncle dead yet?
What's come to mine, that he writes not to my last?--Hunting after morewisdom of nations, I suppose!--Yaw-yaw-yawning again!--Pen, begone!