LETTER LII
MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.FRIDAY, JULY 28.
I have three letters of thine to take notice of:* but am divided in mymind, whether to quarrel with thee on thy unmerciful reflections, or tothank thee for thy acceptable particularity and diligence. But severalof my sweet dears have I, indeed, in my time, made to cry and laughbefore the cry could go off the other: Why may I not, therefore, curseand applaud thee in the same moment? So take both in one: and whatfollows, as it shall rise from my pen.
* Letters XLVI. XLVII. and XLVIII. of this volume.
How often have I ingenuously confessed my sins against this excellentcreature?--Yet thou never sparest me, although as bad a man as myself.Since then I get so little by my confessions, I had a good mind to try todefend myself; and that not only from antient and modern story, but fromcommon practice; and yet avoid repeating any thing I have suggestedbefore in my own behalf.
I am in a humour to play the fool with my pen: briefly then, from antientstory first:--Dost thou not think that I am as much entitled toforgiveness on Miss Harlowe's account, as Virgil's hero was on QueenDido's? For what an ungrateful varlet was that vagabond to thehospitable princess, who had willingly conferred upon him the lastfavour?--Stealing away, (whence, I suppose, the ironical phrase of trustyTrojan to this day,) like a thief--pretendedly indeed at the command ofthe gods; but could that be, when the errand he went upon was to robother princes, not only of their dominions, but of their lives?--Yet thisfellow is, at every word, the pious AEneas, with the immortal bard whocelebrates him.
Should Miss Harlowe even break her heart, (which Heaven forbid!) for theusage she has received, (to say nothing of her disappointed pride, towhich her death would be attributable, more than to reason,) whatcomparison will her fate hold to Queen Dido's? And have I half theobligation to her, that AEneas had to the Queen of Carthage? The latterplacing a confidence, the former none, in her man?--Then, whom else haveI robbed? Whom else have I injured? Her brother's worthless life I gavehim, instead of taking any man's; while the Trojan vagabond destroyed histhousands. Why then should it not be the pious Lovelace, as well as thepious AEneas? For, dost thou think, had a conflagration happened, and hadit been in my power, that I would not have saved my old Anchises, (as hedid his from the Ilion bonfire,) even at the expense of my Creuesa, had Ia wife of that name?
But for a more modern instance in my favour--Have I used Miss Harlowe, asour famous Maiden Queen, as she was called, used one of her own blood, asister-queen, who threw herself into her protection from herrebel-subjects, and whom she detained prisoner eighteen years, and atlast cut off her head? Yet do not honest protestants pronounce her pioustoo?--And call her particularly their Queen?
As to common practice--Who, let me ask, that has it in his power togratify a predominant passion, be it what it will, denies himself thegratification?--Leaving it to cooler deliberation, (and, if he be a greatman, to his flatterers,) to find a reason for it afterwards?
Then, as to the worst part of my treatment of this lady, How many men arethere, who, as well as I, have sought, by intoxicating liquors, first toinebriate, then to subdue? What signifies what the potations were, whenthe same end was in view?
Let me tell thee, upon the whole, that neither the Queen of Carthage, northe Queen of Scots, would have thought they had any reason to complain ofcruelty, had they been used no worse than I have used the queen of myheart: And then do I not aspire with my whole soul to repair by marriage?Would the pious AEneas, thinkest thou, have done such a piece of justiceby Dido, had she lived?
Come, come, Belford, let people run away with notions as they will, I amcomparatively a very innocent man. And if by these, and other likereasonings, I have quieted my own conscience, a great end is answered.What have I to do with the world?
And now I sit me peaceably down to consider thy letters.
I hope thy pleas in my favour,* when she gave thee, (so generously gavethee,) for me my letters, were urged with an honest energy. But Isuspect thee much for being too ready to give up thy client. Then thouhast such a misgiving aspect, an aspect rather inviting rejection thancarrying persuasion with it; and art such an hesitating, such a hummingand hawing caitiff; that I shall attribute my failure, if I do fail,rather to the inability and ill looks of my advocate, than to my cause.Again, thou art deprived of the force men of our cast give to arguments;for she won't let thee swear!-Art, moreover, a very heavy, thoughtlessfellow; tolerable only at a second rebound; a horrid dunce at theimpromptu. These, encountering with such a lady, are greatdisadvantages.--And still a greater is thy balancing, (as thou dost atpresent,) between old rakery and new reformation; since this puts theeinto the same situation with her, as they told me, at Leipsick, MartinLuther was in, at the first public dispute which he held in defence ofhis supposed new doctrines with Eckius. For Martin was then but alinsey-wolsey reformer. He retained some dogmas, which, by naturalconsequence, made others, that he held, untenable. So that Eckius, insome points, had the better of him. But, from that time, he made clearwork, renouncing all that stood in his way: and then his doctrines ranupon all fours. He was never puzzled afterwards; and could boldlydeclare that he would defend them in the face of angels and men; and tohis friends, who would have dissuaded him from venturing to appear beforethe Emperor Charles at Spires, That, were there as many devils at Spires,as tiles upon the houses, he would go. An answer that is admired byevery protestant Saxon to this day.
* See Letter XLVII. of this volume.
Since then thy unhappy awkwardness destroys the force of thy arguments, Ithink thou hadst better (for the present, however) forbear to urge her onthe subject of accepting the reparation I offer; lest the continualteasing of her to forgive me should but strengthen her in her denials offorgiveness; till, for consistency sake, she'll be forced to adhere to aresolution so often avowed--Whereas, if left to herself, a little time,and better health, which will bring on better spirits, will give herquicker resentments; those quicker resentments will lead her intovehemence; that vehemence will subside, and turn into expostulation andparley: my friends will then interpose, and guaranty for me: and all ourtrouble on both sides will be over.--Such is the natural course ofthings.
I cannot endure thee for thy hopelessness in the lady's recovery;* andthat in contradiction to the doctor and apothecary.
* See Letter XLVII. of this volume.
Time, in the words of Congreve, thou sayest, will give increase to herafflictions. But why so? Knowest thou not that those words (so contraryto common experience) were applied to the case of a person, while passionwas in its full vigour?--At such a time, every one in a heavy griefthinks the same: but as enthusiasts do by Scripture, so dost thou by thepoets thou hast read: any thing that carries the most distant allusionfrom either to the case in hand, is put down by both for gospel, howeverincongruous to the general scope of either, and to that case. So once,in a pulpit, I heard one of the former very vehemently declare himself tobe a dead dog; when every man, woman, and child, were convinced to thecontrary by his howling.
I can tell thee that, if nothing else will do, I am determined, in spiteof thy buskin-airs, and of thy engagements for me to the contrary, to seeher myself.
Face to face have I known many a quarrel made up, which distance wouldhave kept alive, and widened. Thou wilt be a madder Jack than he in thetale of a Tub, if thou givest an active opposition to this interview.
In short, I cannot bear the thought, that a woman whom once I had boundto me in the silken cords of love, should slip through my fingers, and beable, while my heart flames out with a violent passion for her, todespise me, and to set both love and me at defiance. Thou canst notimagine how much I envy thee, and her doctor, and her apothecary, andevery one who I hear are admitted to her presence and conversation; andwish to be the one or the other in turn.
Wherefore, if nothing else will do, I will see her. I'll tell thee of anadmirable expedient, just come cross me, to save thy promise, and my own.
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Mrs. Lovick, you say, is a good woman: if the lady be worse, you shalladvise her to send for a parson to pray by her: unknown to her, unknownto the lady, unknown to thee, (for so it may pass,) I will contrive to bethe man, petticoated out, and vested in a gown and cassock. I once, fora certain purpose, did assume the canonicals; and I was thought to make afine sleek appearance; my broad rose-bound beaver became me mightily; andI was much admired upon the whole by all who saw me.
Methinks it must be charmingly a propos to see me kneeling down by herbed-side, (I am sure I shall pray heartily,) beginning out of thecommon-prayer book the sick-office for the restoration of the languishinglady, and concluding with an exhortation to charity and forgiveness formyself.
I will consider of this matter. But, in whatever shape I shall choose toappear, of this thou mayest assure thyself, I will apprize theebeforehand of my visit, that thou mayst contrive to be out of the way,and to know nothing of the matter. This will save thy word; and, as tomine, can she think worse of me than she does at present?
An indispensable of true love and profound respect, in thy wise opinion,*is absurdity or awkwardness.--'Tis surprising that thou shouldst be oneof those partial mortals who take their measures of right and wrong fromwhat they find themselves to be, and cannot help being!--So awkwardnessis a perfection in the awkward!--At this rate, no man ever can be in thewrong. But I insist upon it, that an awkward fellow will do every thingawkwardly: and, if he be like thee, will, when he has done foolishly,rack his unmeaning brain for excuses as awkward as his first fault.Respectful love is an inspirer of actions worthy of itself; and he whocannot show it, where he most means it, manifests that he is an unpoliterough creature, a perfect Belford, and has it not in him.
* See Letter XLVI. of this volume.
But here thou'lt throw out that notable witticism, that my outside is thebest of me, thine the worst of thee; and that, if I set about mending mymind, thou wilt mend thy appearance.
But, pr'ythee, Jack, don't stay for that; but set about thy amendment indress when thou leavest off thy mourning; for why shouldst thouprepossess in thy disfavour all those who never saw thee before?--It ishard to remove early-taken prejudices, whether of liking or distaste.People will hunt, as I may say, for reasons to confirm first impressions,in compliment to their own sagacity: nor is it every mind that has theingenuousness to confess itself half mistaken, when it finds itself to bewrong. Thou thyself art an adept in the pretended science of readingmen; and, whenever thou art out, wilt study to find some reasons why itwas more probable that thou shouldst have been right; and wilt watchevery motion and action, and every word and sentiment, in the person thouhast once censured, for proofs, in order to help thee to revive andmaintain thy first opinion. And, indeed, as thou seldom errest on thefavourable side, human nature is so vile a thing that thou art likely tobe right five times in six on what thou findest in thine own heart, tohave reason to compliment thyself on thy penetration.
Here is preachment for thy preachment: and I hope, if thou likest thyown, thou wilt thank me for mine; the rather, as thou mayest be thebetter for it, if thou wilt: since it is calculated for thy own meridian.
Well, but the lady refers my destiny to the letter she has written,actually written, to Miss Howe; to whom it seems she has given herreasons why she will not have me. I long to know the contents of thisletter: but am in great hopes that she has so expressed her denials, asshall give room to think she only wants to be persuaded to the contrary,in order to reconcile herself to herself.
I could make some pretty observations upon one or two places of thelady's mediation: but, wicked as I am thought to be, I never was soabandoned as to turn into ridicule, or even to treat with levity, thingssacred. I think it the highest degree of ill manners to jest upon thosesubjects which the world in general look upon with veneration, and calldivine. I would not even treat the mythology of the heathen to aheathen, with the ridicule that perhaps would fairly lie from some of theabsurdities that strike every common observer. Nor, when at Rome, and inother popish countries, did I ever behave indecently at those ceremonieswhich I thought very extraordinary: for I saw some people affected, andseemingly edified, by them; and I contented myself to think, though theywere any good end to the many, there was religion enough in them, orcivil policy at least, to exempt them from the ridicule of even a bad manwho had common sense and good manners.
For the like reason I have never given noisy or tumultuous instances ofdislike to a new play, if I thought it ever so indifferent: for Iconcluded, first, that every one was entitled to see quietly what he paidfor: and, next, as the theatre (the epitome of the world) consisted ofpit, boxes, and gallery, it was hard, I thought, if there could be such aperformance exhibited as would not please somebody in that mixedmultitude: and, if it did, those somebodies had as much right to enjoytheir own judgments, undisturbedly, as I had to enjoy mine.
This was my way of showing my disapprobation; I never went again. And asa man is at his option, whether he will go to a play or not, he has notthe same excuse for expressing his dislike clamorously as if he werecompelled to see it.
I have ever, thou knowest, declared against those shallow libertines, whocould not make out their pretensions to wit, but on two subjects, towhich every man of true wit will scorn to be beholden: PROFANENESS andOBSCENITY, I mean; which must shock the ears of every man or woman ofsense, without answering any end, but of showing a very low and abandonednature. And, till I came acquainted with the brutal Mowbray, [no greatpraise to myself from such a tutor,] I was far from making so free as Ido now, with oaths and curses; for then I was forced to out-swear himsometimes in order to keep him in his allegiance to me his general: nay,I often check myself to myself, for this empty unprofitable liberty ofspeech; in which we are outdone by the sons of the common-sewer.
All my vice is women, and the love of plots and intrigues; and I cannotbut wonder how I fell into those shocking freedoms of speech; since,generally speaking, they are far from helping forward my main end: only,now-and-then, indeed, a little novice rises to one's notice, who seems tothink dress, and oaths, and curses, the diagnostics of the rakish spiritshe is inclined to favour: and indeed they are the only qualificationsthat some who are called rakes and pretty fellows have to boast of. Butwhat must the women be, who can be attracted by such empty-souledprofligates!--since wickedness with wit is hardly tolerable; but, withoutit, is equally shocking and contemptible.
There again is preachment for thy preachment; and thou wilt be apt tothink that I am reforming too: but no such matter. If this were newlight darting in upon me, as thy morality seems to be to thee, somethingof this kind might be apprehended: but this was always my way ofthinking; and I defy thee, or any of thy brethren, to name a time when Ihave either ridiculed religion, or talked obscenely. On the contrary,thou knowest how often I have checked that bear, in love-matters,Mowbray, and the finical Tourville, and thyself too, for what ye havecalled the double-entendre. In love, as in points that required amanly-resentment, it has always been my maxim, to act, rather than totalk; and I do assure thee, as to the first, the women themselves willexcuse the one sooner than the other.
As to the admiration thou expressest for the books of scripture, thou artcertainly right in it. But 'tis strange to me, that thou wert ignorantof their beauty, and noble simplicity, till now. Their antiquity alwaysmade me reverence them: And how was it possible that thou couldest not,for that reason, if for no other, give them a perusal?
I'll tell thee a short story, which I had from my tutor, admonishing meagainst exposing myself by ignorant wonder, when I should quit college,to go to town, or travel.
'The first time Dryden's Alexander's Feast fell into his hands, he toldme, he was prodigiously charmed with it: and, having never heard any bodyspeak of it before, thought, as thou dost of the Bible, that he had madea new discovery.
'He hastened to an appointment which he had with several wits, (for hewas then in town,) one of whom was a noted critic, who, acc
ording to him,had more merit than good fortune; for all the little nibblers in wit,whose writings would not stand the test of criticism, made it, he said, acommon cause to run him down, as men would a mad dog.
'The young gentleman (for young he then was) set forth magnificently inthe praises of that inimitable performance; and gave himself airs ofsecond-hand merit, for finding out its beauties.
'The old bard heard him out with a smile, which the collegian took forapprobation, till he spoke; and then it was in these mortifying words:'Sdeath, Sir, where have you lived till now, or with what sort of companyhave you conversed, young as you are, that you have never before heard ofthe finest piece in the English language?'
This story had such an effect upon me, who had ever a proud heart, andwanted to be thought a clever fellow, that, in order to avoid the likedisgrace, I laid down two rules to myself. The first, whenever I wentinto company where there were strangers, to hear every one of them speak,before I gave myself liberty to prate: The other, if I found any of themabove my match, to give up all title to new discoveries, contentingmyself to praise what they praised, as beauties familiar to me, though Ihad never heard of them before. And so, by degrees, I got the reputationof a wit myself: and when I threw off all restraint, and books, andlearned conversation, and fell in with some of our brethren who are nowwandering in Erebus, and with such others as Belton, Mowbray, Tourville,and thyself, I set up on my own stock; and, like what we have been toldof Sir Richard, in his latter days, valued myself on being the emperor ofthe company; for, having fathomed the depth of them all, and afraid of norival but thee, whom also I had got a little under, (by my gaiety andpromptitude at least) I proudly, like Addison's Cato, delighted to givelaws to my little senate.
Proceed with thee by-and-by.