LETTER XIII
MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ.TUESDAY, JUNE 6.
Unsuccessful as hitherto my application to you has been, I cannot for theheart of me forbear writing once more in behalf of this admirable woman:and yet am unable to account for the zeal which impels me to take herpart with an earnestness so sincere.
But all her merit thou acknowledgest; all thy own vileness thouconfessest, and even gloriest in it: What hope then of moving so hardeneda man?--Yet, as it is not too late, and thou art nevertheless upon thecrisis, I am resolved to try what another letter will do. It is but mywriting in vain, if it do no good; and if thou wilt let me prevail, Iknowthou wilt hereafter think me richly entitled to thy thanks.
To argue with thee would be folly. The case cannot require it. I willonly entreat thee, therefore, that thou wilt not let such an excellencelose the reward of her vigilant virtue.
I believe there never were libertines so vile, but purposed, at somefuture period of their lives, to set about reforming: and let me beg ofthee, that thou wilt, in this great article, make thy future repentanceas easy, as some time hence thou wilt wish thou hadst made it.
If thou proceedest, I have no doubt that this affair will end tragically,one way or another. It must. Such a woman must interest both gods andmen in her cause. But what I most apprehend is, that with her own hand,in resentment of the perpetrated outrage, she (like another Lucretia)will assert the purity of her heart: or, if her piety preserve her fromthis violence, that wasting grief will soon put a period to her days.And, in either case, will not the remembrance of thy ever-during guilt,and transitory triumph, be a torment of torments to thee?
'Tis a seriously sad thing, after all, that so fine a creature shouldhave fallen into such vile and remorseless hands: for, from thy cradle,as I have heard thee own, thou ever delightedst to sport with and tormentthe animal, whether bird or beast, that thou lovedst, and hadst a powerover.
How different is the case of this fine woman from that of any other whomthou hast seduced!--I need not mention to thee, nor insist upon thestriking difference: justice, gratitude, thy interest, thy vows, allengaging thee; and thou certainly loving her, as far as thou art capableof love, above all her sex. She not to be drawn aside by art, or to bemade to suffer from credulity, nor for want of wit and discernment, (thatwill be another cutting reflection to so fine a mind as her's:) thecontention between you only unequal, as it is between naked innocence andarmed guilt. In every thing else, as thou ownest, her talents greatlysuperior to thine!--What a fate will her's be, if thou art not at lastovercome by thy reiterated remorses!
At first, indeed, when I was admitted into her presence,* (and till Iobserved her meaning air, and heard her speak,) I supposed that she hadno very uncommon judgment to boast of: for I made, as I thought, but justallowances for her blossoming youth, and for that loveliness of person,and for that ease and elegance in her dress, which I imagined must havetaken up half her time and study to cultivate; and yet I had beenprepared by thee to entertain a very high opinion of her sense and herreading. Her choice of this gay fellow, upon such hazardous terms,(thought I,) is a confirmation that her wit wants that maturity whichonly years and experience can give it. Her knowledge (argued I tomyself) must be all theory; and the complaisance ever consorting with anage so green and so gay, will make so inexperienced a lady at leastforbear to show herself disgusted at freedoms of discourse in which thosepresent of her own sex, and some of ours, (so learned, so well read, andso travelled,) allow themselves.
* See Vol. IV. Letter VII.
In this presumption I ran on; and having the advantage, as I conceited,of all the company but you, and being desirous to appear in her eyes amighty clever fellow, I thought I showed away, when I said any foolishthings that had more sound than sense in them; and when I made sillyjests, which attracted the smiles of thy Sinclair, and the speciousPartington: and that Miss Harlowe did not smile too, I thought was owingto her youth or affectation, or to a mixture of both, perhaps to agreater command of her features.--Little dreamt I, that I was incurringher contempt all the time.
But when, as I said, I heard her speak, which she did not till she hadfathomed us all; when I heard her sentiments on two or three subjects,and took notice of the searching eye, darting into the very inmost cellsof our frothy brains; by my faith, it made me look about me; and I beganto recollect, and be ashamed of all I had said before; in short, wasresolved to sit silent, till every one had talked round, to keep my follyin countenance. And then I raised the subjects that she could join in,and which she did join in, so much to the confusion and surprise of everyone of us!--For even thou, Lovelace, so noted for smart wit, repartee,and a vein of raillery, that delighteth all who come near thee, sattestin palpable darkness, and lookedst about thee, as well as we.
One instance only of this shall I remind thee of.
We talked of wit, and of it, and aimed at it, bandying it like a ballfrom one to another, and resting it chiefly with thee, who wert alwaysproud enough and vain enough of the attribute; and then more especiallyas thou hadst assembled us, as far as I know, principally to show thelady thy superiority over us; and us thy triumph over her. And thenTourville (who is always satisfied with wit at second-hand; wit uponmemory: other men's wit) repeated some verses, as applicable to thesubject; which two of us applauded, though full of double entendre.Thou, seeing the lady's serious air on one of those repetitions,appliedst thyself to her, desiring her notions of wit: a quality, thousaidst, which every one prized, whether flowing from himself, or found inanother.
Then it was that she took all our attention. It was a quality muchtalked of, she said, but, she believed, very little understood. Atleast, if she might be so free as to give her judgment of it from whathad passed in the present conversation, she must say, that wit with menwas one thing; with women another.
This startled us all:--How the women looked!--How they pursed theirmouths; a broad smile the moment before upon each, from the verses theyhad heard repeated, so well understood, as we saw, by their looks! WhileI besought her to let us know, for our instruction, what wit with women:for such I was sure it ought to be with men.
Cowley, she said, had defined it prettily by negatives. Thou desiredsther to repeat his definition.
She did; and with so much graceful ease, and beauty, and propriety ofaccent, as would have made bad poetry delightful.
A thousand diff'rent shapes it bears; Comely in thousand shapes appears. 'Tis not a tale, 'tis not a jest, Admir'd with laughter at a feast, Nor florid talk, which must this title gain: The proofs of wit for ever must remain. Much less can that have any place At which a virgin hides her face. Such dross the fire must purge away:--'Tis just The author blush there, where the reader must.
Here she stopt, looking round upon her upon us all with conscioussuperiority, as I thought. Lord, how we stared! Thou attemptedst togive us thy definition of wit, that thou mightest have something to say,and not seem to be surprised into silent modesty.
But as if she cared not to trust thee with the subject, referring to thesame author as for his more positive decision, she thus, with the sameharmony of voice and accent, emphatically decided upon it.
Wit, like a luxurious vine, Unless to virtue's prop it join, Firm and erect, tow'rd heaven bound,Tho' it with beauteous leaves and pleasant fruit be crown'd,It lies deform'd, and rotting on the ground.
If thou recollectest this part of the conversation, and how like fools welooked at one another; how much it put us out of conceit with ourselves,and made us fear her, when we found our conversation thus excluded fromthe very character which our vanity had made us think unquestionablyours; and if thou profitest properly by the recollection; thou wilt be ofmy mind, that there is not so much wit in wickedness as we had flatteredourselves there was.
And after all, I have been of opinion ever since that conversation, thatthe wit of all the rakes and libertines
down to little Johnny Hartop thepunster, consists mostly in saying bold and shocking things, with suchcourage as shall make the modest blush, the impudent laugh, and theignorant stare.
And why dost thou think I mention these things, so mal-a-propos, as itmay seem!--Only, let me tell thee, as an instance (among many that mightbe given from the same evening's conversation) of this fine woman'ssuperiority in those talents which ennoble nature, and dignify hersex--evidenced not only to each of us, as we offended, but to theflippant Partington, and the grosser, but egregiously hypocriticalSinclair, in the correcting eye, the discouraging blush, in which wasmixed as much displeasure as modesty, and sometimes, as the occasioncalled for it, (for we were some of us hardened above the sense offeeling delicate reproof,) by the sovereign contempt, mingled with adisdainful kind of pity, that showed at once her own conscious worth, andour despicable worthlessness.
O Lovelace! what then was the triumph, even in my eye, and what is itstill upon reflection, of true jest, laughing impertinence, and anobscenity so shameful, even to the guilty, that they cannot hint at itbut under a double meaning!
Then, as thou hast somewhere observed,* all her correctives avowed by hereye. Not poorly, like the generality of her sex, affecting ignorance ofmeanings too obvious to be concealed; but so resenting, as to show eachimpudent laugher the offence given to, and taken by a purity, that hadmistaken its way, when it fell into such company.
* See Vol. IV. Letter XLVIII.
Such is the woman, such is the angel, whom thou hast betrayed into thypower, and wouldst deceive and ruin.---Sweet creature! did she but knowhow she is surrounded, (as I then thought, as well as now think,) andwhat is intended, how much sooner would death be her choice, than sodreadful a situation!--'And how effectually would her story, were itgenerally known, warn all the sex against throwing themselves into thepower of ours, let our vows, oaths, and protestations, be what theywill!'
But let me beg of thee, once more, my dear Lovelace, if thou hast anyregard for thine own honour, for the honour of thy family, for thy futurepeace, or for my opinion of thee, (who yet pretend not to be so muchmoved by principle, as by that dazzling merit which ought still more toattract thee,) to be prevailed upon--to be--to be humane, that's all--only, that thou wouldst not disgrace our common humanity!
Hardened as thou art, I know that they are the abandoned people in thehouse who keep thee up to a resolution against her. O that the sagaciousfair-one (with so much innocent charity in her own heart) had not soresolutely held those women at distance!--that as she boarded there, shehad oftener tabled with them! Specious as they are, in a week's time,she would have seen through them; they could not have been always soguarded, as they were when they saw her but seldom, and when theyprepared themselves to see her; and she would have fled their house as aplace infected. And yet, perhaps, with so determined an enterprizer,this discovery might have accelerated her ruin.
I know that thou art nice in thy loves. But are there not hundreds ofwomen, who, though not utterly abandoned, would be taken with thee formere personal regards! Make a toy, if thou wilt, of principle, withrespect to such of the sex as regard it as a toy; but rob not an angel ofthose purities, which, in her own opinion, constitute the differencebetween angelic and brutal qualities.
With regard to the passion itself, the less of soul in either man orwoman, the more sensual are they. Thou, Lovelace, hast a soul, though acorrupted one; and art more intent (as thou even gloriest) upon thepreparative stratagem, that upon the end of conquering.
See we not the natural bent of idiots and the crazed? The very appetiteis body; and when we ourselves are most fools, and crazed, then are wemost eager in these pursuits. See what fools this passion makes thewisest men! What snivellers, what dotards, when they suffer themselvesto be run away with by it!--An unpermanent passion! Since, if (ashamedof its more proper name) we must call it love, love gratified, is lovesatisfied--and where consent on one side adds to the obligation on theother. What then but remorse can follow a forcible attempt?
Do not even chaste lovers choose to be alone in their courtshippreparations, ashamed to have even a child to witness to their foolishactions, and more foolish expressions? Is this deified passion, in itsgreatest altitudes, fitted to stand the day? Do not the lovers, whenmutual consent awaits their wills, retire to coverts, and to darkness, tocomplete their wishes? And shall such a sneaking passion as this, whichcan be so easily gratified by viler objects, be permitted to debase thenoblest?
Were not the delays of thy vile purposes owing more to the awe which hermajestic virtue has inspired thee with, than to thy want of adroitness invillany? [I must write my free sentiments in this case; for have I notseen the angel?] I should be ready to censure some of thy contrivancesand pretences to suspend the expected day, as trite, stale, and (to me,who know thy intention) poor; and too often resorted to, as nothing comesof them to be gloried in; particularly that of Mennell, the vapourishlady, and the ready-furnished house.
She must have thought so too, at times, and in her heart despised theefor them, or love thee (ungrateful as thou art!) to her misfortune; aswell as entertain hope against probability. But this would affordanother warning to the sex, were they to know her story; 'as it wouldshow them what poor pretences they must seem to be satisfied with, ifonce they put themselves into the power of a designing man.'
If trial only was thy end, as once was thy pretence,* enough surely hastthou tried this paragon of virtue and vigilance. But I knew thee toowell, to expect, at the time, that thou wouldest stop there. 'Men of ourcast put no other bound to their views upon any of the sex, than what wantof power compels them to put.' I knew that from one advantage gained,thou wouldest proceed to attempt another. Thy habitual aversion towedlock too well I knew; and indeed thou avowest thy hope to bring her tocohabitation, in that very letter in which thou pretendest trial to bethy principal view.**
* See Vol. III. Letter XVIII.** Ibid. See also Letters XVI. and XVII. of that volume.
But do not even thy own frequent and involuntary remorses, when thou hasttime, place, company, and every other circumstance, to favour thee in thywicked design, convince thee, that there can be no room for a hope sopresumptuous?--Why then, since thou wouldest choose to marry her ratherthan lose her, wilt thou make her hate thee for ever?
But if thou darest to meditate personal trial, and art sincere in thyresolution to reward her, as she behaves in it, let me beseech thee toremove her from this vile house. That will be to give her and thyconscience fair play. So entirely now does the sweet deluded excellencedepend upon her supposed happier prospects, that thou needest not to fearthat she will fly from thee, or that she will wish to have recourse tothat scheme of Miss Howe, which has put thee upon what thou callest thymaster-strokes.
But whatever be thy determination on this head; and if I write not intime, but that thou hast actually pulled off the mask; let it not be oneof the devices, if thou wouldest avoid the curses of every heart, andhereafter of thy own, to give her, no not for one hour, (be herresentment ever so great,) into the power of that villanous woman, whohas, if possible, less remorse than thyself; and whose trade it is tobreak the resisting spirit, and utterly to ruin the heart unpractised inevil.--O Lovelace, Lovelace, how many dreadful stories could this horridwoman tell the sex! And shall that of a Clarissa swell the guilty list?
But this I might have spared. Of this, devil as thou art, thou canst notbe capable. Thou couldst not enjoy a triumph so disgraceful to thywicked pride, as well as to humanity.
Shouldest thou think, that the melancholy spectacle hourly before me hasmade me more serious than usual, perhaps thou wilt not be mistaken. Butnothing more is to be inferred from hence (were I even to return to myformer courses) but that whenever the time of cool reflection comes,whether brought on by our own disasters, or by those of others, we shallundoubtedly, if capable of thought, and if we have time for it, think inthe same manner.
We neither of us are such fools as to disbeli
eve a futurity, or to think,whatever be our practice, that we came hither by chance, and for no endbut to do all the mischief we have it in our power to do. Nor am Iashamed to own, that in the prayers which my poor uncle makes me read tohim, in the absence of a very good clergyman who regularly attends him, Ido not forget to put in a word or two for myself.
If, Lovelace, thou laughest at me, thy ridicule will be more conformableto thy actions than to thy belief.--Devils believe and tremble. Canstthou be more abandoned than they?
And here let me add, with regard to my poor old man, that I often wishthee present but for one half hour in a day, to see the dregs of a gaylife running off in the most excruciating tortures that the cholic, thestone, and the surgeon's knife can unitedly inflict, and to hear himbewail the dissoluteness of his past life, in the bitterest anguish of aspirit every hour expecting to be called to its last account.--Yet, byall his confessions, he has not to accuse himself, in sixty-seven yearsof life, of half the very vile enormities which you and I have committedin the last seven only.
I conclude with recommending to your serious consideration all I havewritten, as proceeding from the heart and soul of
Your assured friend,JOHN BELFORD