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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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