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Файл:Clarissa V. The history of a young lady
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CLARISSA • V
And in these:
Let Fortune empty her whole quiver on me,
I have a soul, that, like an ample shield,
Can take in all, and verge enough for more.
Fate was not mine: nor am I Fate’s –
Souls know no conquerors. –
But in the fi rst quoted lines, considering them closely, there is nothing but blustering absurdity; in the other,
the poet says not truth; for CONSCIENCE is the conqueror of souls; at least it is the conqueror of mine; and who ever
thought it a narrow one? – But this is occasioned partly by
poring over the affecting will, and posthumous letter. What
an army of texts has she drawn up in array against me in
the letter! – But yet, Jack, do they not show me, that, two or
three thousand years ago, there were as wicked fellows as myself? – They do – and that’s some consolation.
But the generosity of her mind displayed in both, is what
stings me most. And the more still, as it is now out of my power
any way in the world to be even with her.
I ought to have written to you sooner; but I loitered two
days at Calais, for an answer to a letter I wrote to engage my
former travelling valet, De la Tour; an ingenious, ready fellow, as you have heard me say. I have engaged him, and he is
now with me.
I shall make no stay here; but intend for some of the Electoral Courts. That of Bavaria, I think, will engage me longest.
Perhaps I may step out of my way (if I can be out of my way any
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SAMUEL RICHARDSON
where) to those of Dresden and Berlin; and it is not impossible
that you may have one letter from me at Vienna. And then,
perhaps, I may fall down into Italy by the Tyrol; and so, taking
Turin in my way, return to Paris; where I hope to see Mowbray
and Tourville; nor do I despair of you.
This a good deal differs from the plan I gave you. But you
may expect to hear from me as I move; and whether I shall
pursue this route or the other.
I have my former lodgings in the Rue St. Antoine, which
I shall hold, notwithstanding my tour; so they will be ready to
accommodate any two of you, if you come hither before my
return; and for this I have conditioned.
I write to Charlotte; and that is writing to all my relations at once.
Do thou, Jack, inform me duly of every thing that passes. – Particularly, how thou proceededst in thy reformationscheme; how Mowbray and Tourville go on in my absence;
whether thou hast any chance for a wife; [I am the more solicitous on this head, because thou seemest to think that thy mortifi cation will not be complete, nor thy reformation secure, till
thou art shackled;] how the Harlowes proceed in their penitentials; if Miss Howe be married, or near being so; how honest
Doleman goes on with his empiric, now he has dismissed his
regulars, or they him; and if any likelihood of his perfect recovery. Be sure be very minute; for every trifl ing occurrence relating to those we value, becomes interesting, when we are at
a distance from them. Finally, prepare thou to piece thy broken thread, if thou wouldst oblige
Thy LOVELACE.

LETTER LVII
Mr. Belford, to Robert Lovelace, Esq.
London, Oct. 25.
I write to show you that I am incapable of slighting even
the minutest requests of an absent and distant friend. Yet
you may believe that there cannot be any great alterations in
the little time that you have been out of England, with respect to the subjects of your inquiry. Nevertheless I will answer to each, for the reason above given; and for the reason
you mention, that even trifl es, and chit-chat, are agreeable
from friend to friend, and of friends, and even of those to
whom we give the importance of deeming them our foes,
when we are abroad.
First, then, as to my reformation-scheme, as you call it, I hope
I go on very well. I wish you had entered upon the like, and
could say so too. You would then fi nd infi nitely more peace of
mind, than you are likely ever otherwise to be acquainted with.
When I look back upon the sweep that has been made among
us in the two or three past years, and forward upon what may
still happen, I hardly think myself secure; though of late I have
been guided by other lights than those of sense and appetite,
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SAMUEL RICHARDSON
which have hurried so many of our confraternity into worldly
ruin, if not into eternal perdition.
I am very earnest in my wishes to be admitted into the nuptial state. But I think I ought to pass some time as a probationary, till, by steadiness in my good resolutions, I can convince
some woman, whom I could love and honour, and whose worthy example might confi rm my morals, that there is one libertine who had the grace to reform, before age or disease put it
out of his power to sin on.
The Harlowes continue inconsolable; and I dare say will to
the end of their lives.
Miss Howe is not yet married; but I have reason to think
will soon. I have the honour of corresponding with her; and
the more I know of her, the more I admire the nobleness of her
mind. She must be conscious, that she is superior to half our
sex, and to most of her own; which may make her give way to
a temper naturally hasty and impatient; but, if she meet with
condescension in her man, [and who would not veil to a superiority so visible, if it be not exacted with arrogance?] I dare say
she will make an excellent wife.
As to Doleman, the poor man goes on trying and hoping
with his empiric. I cannot but say that as the latter is a sensible
and judicious man, and not rash, opinionative, or over-sanguine, I have great hopes (little as I think of quacks and nostrum-mongers in general) that he will do him good, if his case
will admit of it. My reasons are – That the man pays a regular
and constant attendance upon him; watches, with his own eye,
every change and new symptom of his patient’s malady; varies
his applications as the indications vary; fetters not himself to
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CLARISSA • V
rules laid down by the fathers of the art, who lived many hundred years ago, when diseases, and the causes of them, were
different, as the modes of living were different from what they
are now, as well as climates and accidents; that he is to have
his reward, not in daily fees; but (after the fi rst fi ve guineas
for medicines) in proportion as the patient himself shall fi nd
amendment.
As to Mowbray and Tourville; what novelties can be expected, in so short a time, from men, who have not sense
enough to strike out or pursue new lights, either good or bad;
now, especially, that you are gone, who were the soul of all
enterprise, and in particular their soul. Besides, I see them but
seldom. I suppose they’ll be at Paris before you can return from
Germany; for they cannot live without you; and you gave them
such a specimen of your recovered volatility, in the last evening’s conversation, as delighted them, and concerned me.
I wish, with all my heart, that thou wouldst bend thy
course toward the Pyraneans. I should then (if thou writest to
thy cousin Montague an account of what is most observable in
thy tour) put in for a copy of thy letters. I wonder thou wilt
not; since then thy subjects would be as new to thyself, as to
Thy BELFORD.

LETTER LVIII
Mr. Lovelace, to John Belford, Esq.
Paris, Oct. 16 – 27.
I follow my last of the 14/25th, on occasion of a letter
just now come to hand from Joseph Leman. The fellow is
conscience ridden, Jack; and tells me, “That he cannot rest
either day or night for the mischiefs which he fears he has
been, or may still further be the means of doing.” He wishes, “if it please God, and if it please me, that he had never
seen my Honour’s face.”And what is the cause of his present concern, as to his own particular? What, but “the slights
and contempts which he receives from every one of the Harlowes; from those particularly, he says, whom he has endeavoured to serve as faithfully as his engagements to me would
let him serve them? And I always made him believe, he tells
me, (poor weak soul as he was from his cradle!) that serving me, was serving both, in the long run. – But this, and
the death of his dear young lady, is a grief, he declares, that
he shall never claw off, were he to love to the age of Matthew
Salem; althoff, and howsomever, he is sure, that he shall not
live a month to an end: being strangely pined, and his stomach nothing like what it was; and Mrs. Betty being also (now
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CLARISSA • V
she has got his love) very cross and slighting. But, thank his
God for punishing her! – She is in a poor way hersell.
“But the chief occasion of troubling my Honour now, is not
his own griefs only, althoff they are very great; but to prevent
further mischiefs to me; for he can assure me, that Colonel
Morden has set out from them all, with a full resolution to
have his will of me; and he is well assured, that he said, and
swore to it, as how he was resolved that he would either have
my Honour’s heart’s-blood, or I should have his; or some suchlike sad threatenings: and that all the family rejoice in it, and
hope I shall come short home.
This is the substance of Joseph’s letter; and I have one from
Mowbray, which has a hint to the same effect. And I recollect now
that you were very importunate with me to go to Madrid, rather
than to France and Italy, the last evening we passed together.
What I desire of you, is, by the fi rst dispatch, to let me faithfully know all that you know on this head.
I can’t bear to be threatened, Jack. Nor shall any man, unquestioned, give himself airs in my absence, if I know it, that
shall make me look mean in any body’s eyes; that shall give
friends pain for me; that shall put them upon wishing me to
change my intentions, or my plan, to avoid him. Upon such
despicable terms as these, think you that I could bear to live?
But why, if such were his purpose, did he not let me know
it before I left England? Was he unable to work himself up to
a resolution, till he knew me to be out of the kingdom?
As soon as I can inform myself where to direct to him, I will
write to know his purpose; for I cannot bear suspense in such
a case as this; that solemn act, were it even to be marriage or
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SAMUEL RICHARDSON
hanging, which must be done tomorrow, I had rather should
be done today. My mind tires and sickens with impatience on
ruminating upon scenes that can afford neither variety nor
certainty. To dwell twenty days in expectation of an even that
may be decided in a quarter of an hour is grievous.
If he come to Paris, although I should be on my tour, he
will very easily fi nd out my lodgings. For I every day see some
one or other of my countrymen, and divers of them have I entertained here. I go frequently to the opera and to the play,
and appear at court, and at all public places. And, on my quitting this city, will leave a direction whither my letters from
England, or elsewhere, shall from time to time be forwarded.
Were I sure that his intention is what Joseph Leman tells me
it is, I would stay here, or shorten his course to me, let him be
where he would.
I cannot get off my regrets on account of this dear lady for
the blood of me. If the Colonel and I are to meet, as he has
done me no injury, and loves the memory of his cousin, we
shall engage with the same sentiments, as to the object of our
dispute; and that, you know, is no very common case.
In short, I am as much convinced that I have done wrong,
as he can be; and regret it as much. But I will not bear to be
threatened by any man in the world, however conscious I may
be of having deserved blame.
Adieu, Belford! Be sincere with me. No palliation, as thou
valuest
Thy LOVELACE.

LETTER LIX
Mr. Belford, to Robert Lovelace, Esq.
London, Oct. 26.
I cannot think, my dear Lovelace, that Colonel Morden
has either threatened you in those gross terms mentioned by
the vile Joseph Leman, or intends to follow you. They are
the words of people of that fellow’s class, and not of a gentleman – not of Colonel Morden, I am sure. You’ll observe that
Joseph pretends not to say that he heard him speak them.
I have been very solicitous to sound the Colonel, for your
sake, and for his own, and for the sake of the injunctions of
the excellent lady to me, as well as to him, on that subject.
He is (and you will not wonder that he should be) extremely
affected; and owns that he has expressed himself in terms of
resentment on the occasion. Once he said to me, that had his
beloved cousin’s case been that of a common seduction, her
own credulity or weakness contributing to her fall, he could
have forgiven you. But, in so many words, he assured me,
that he had not taken any resolutions; nor had he declared
himself to the family in such a way as should bind him to resent: on the contrary, he has owned, that his cousin’s injunc-
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SAMUEL RICHARDSON
tions have hitherto had the force upon him which I could wish
they should have.
He went abroad in a week after you. When he took his
leave of me, he told me, that his design was to go to Florence;
and that he would settle his affairs there; and then return to
England, and here pass the remainder of his days.
I was indeed apprehensive that, if you and he were to
meet, something unhappy might fall out; and as I knew that
you proposed to take Italy, and very likely Florence, in your
return to France, I was very solicitous to prevail upon you to
take the court of Spain into your plan. I am still so. And if
you are not to be prevailed upon to do that, let me entreat
you to avoid Florence or Leghorn in your return, since you
have visited both heretofore. At least, let not the proposal of
a meeting come from you.
It would be matter of serious refl ection to me, if the very
fellow, this Joseph Leman, who gave you such an opportunity to turn all the artillery of his masters against themselves,
and to play them upon one another to favour your plotting
purposes, should be the instrument, in the devil’s hand, (unwittingly too,) to avenge them all upon you; for should you
even get the better of the Colonel, would the mischief end
there? – It would but add remorse to your present remorse;
since the interview must end in death; for he would not, I am
confi dent, take his life at your hand. The Harlowes would,
moreover, prosecute you in a legal way. You hate them; and
they would be gainers by his death; rejoicers in your’s – And
have you not done mischief enough already?
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