LETTER XII
MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE THURSDAY MORNING, MARCH 2.
Indeed you would not be in love with him for the world!--Your servant,my dear. Nor would I have you. For, I think, with all the advantages ofperson, fortune, and family, he is not by any means worthy of you. Andthis opinion I give as well from the reasons you mention (which I cannotbut confirm) as from what I have heard of him but a few hours agofrom Mrs. Fortescue, a favourite of Lady Betty Lawrance, who knows himwell--but let me congratulate you, however, on your being the first ofour sex that ever I heard of, who has been able to turn that lion, Love,at her own pleasure, into a lap-dog.
Well but, if you have not the throbs and the glows, you have not: andare not in love; good reason why--because you would not be in love; andthere's no more to be said.--Only, my dear, I shall keep a good look-outupon you; and so I hope you will be upon yourself; for it is no mannerof argument that because you would not be in love, you therefore arenot.--But before I part entirely with this subject, a word in your ear,my charming friend--'tis only by way of caution, and in pursuance of thegeneral observation, that a stander-by is often a better judge of thegame than those that play.--May it not be, that you have had, andhave, such cross creatures and such odd heads to deal with, as have notallowed you to attend to the throbs?--Or, if you had them a little nowand then, whether, having had two accounts to place them to, you havenot by mistake put them to the wrong one?
But whether you have a value for Lovelace or not, I know you will beimpatient to hear what Mrs. Fortescue has said of him. Nor will I keepyou longer in suspense.
An hundred wild stories she tells of him from childhood to manhood:for, as she observed, having never been subject to contradiction, hewas always as mischievous as a monkey. But I shall pass over these wholehundred of his puerile rogueries (although indicative ones, as I maysay) to take notice as well of some things you are not quite ignorantof, as of others you know not, and to make a few observations upon himand his ways.
Mrs. Fortescue owns, what every body knows, 'that he is notoriously,nay, avowedly, a man of pleasure; yet says, that in any thing he setshis heart upon or undertakes, he is the most industrious and perseveringmortal under the sun. He rests it seems not above six hours in thetwenty-four--any more than you. He delights in writing. Whether at LordM.'s, or at Lady Betty's, or Lady Sarah's, he has always a pen in hisfingers when he retires. One of his companions (confirming his love ofwriting) has told her, that his thoughts flow rapidly to his pen:' Andyou and I, my dear, have observed, on more occasions than one, thatthough he writes even a fine hand, he is one of the readiest andquickest of writers. He must indeed have had early a very docile genius;since a person of his pleasurable turn and active spirit, couldnever have submitted to take long or great pains in attaining thequalifications he is master of; qualifications so seldom attained byyouth of quality and fortune; by such especially of those of either,who, like him, have never known what it was to be controuled.
'He had once it seems the vanity, upon being complimented on thesetalents (and on his surprising diligence, for a man of pleasure) tocompare himself to Julius Caesar; who performed great actions by day,and wrote them down at night; and valued himself, that he only wantedCaesar's out-setting, to make a figure among his contemporaries.
'He spoke of this indeed, she says, with an air of pleasantry: forshe observed, and so have we, that he has the art of acknowledging hisvanity with so much humour, that it sets him above the contempt whichis due to vanity and self-opinion; and at the same time half persuadesthose who hear him, that he really deserves the exultation he giveshimself.'
But supposing it to be true that all his vacant nightly hours areemployed in writing, what can be his subjects? If, like Caesar, his ownactions, he must undoubtedly be a very enterprising and very wicked man;since nobody suspects him to have a serious turn; and, decent as he isin his conversation with us, his writings are not probably such as wouldredound either to his own honour, or to the benefit of others, were theyto be read. He must be conscious of this, since Mrs. Fortescue says,'that in the great correspondence by letters which he holds, he isas secret and as careful as if it were of a treasonable nature;--yettroubles not his head with politics, though nobody knows the interestsof princes and courts better than he is said to do.'
That you and I, my dear, should love to write, is no wonder. We havealways, from the time each could hold a pen, delighted in epistolarycorrespondencies. Our employments are domestic and sedentary; and we canscribble upon twenty innocent subjects, and take delight in them becausethey are innocent; though were they to be seen, they might not muchprofit or please others. But that such a gay, lively young fellow asthis, who rides, hunts, travels, frequents the public entertainments,and has means to pursue his pleasures, should be able to set himselfdown to write for hours together, as you and I have heard him say hefrequently does, that is the strange thing.
Mrs. Fortescue says, 'that he is a complete master of short-handwriting.' By the way, what inducements could a swift writer as he haveto learn short-hand!
She says (and we know it as well as she) 'that he has a surprisingmemory, and a very lively imagination.'
Whatever his other vices are, all the world, as well as Mrs. Fortescue,says, 'he is a sober man. And among all his bad qualities, gaming, thatgreat waster of time as well as fortune, is not his vice:' So that hemust have his head as cool, and his reason as clear, as the prime ofyouth and his natural gaiety will permit; and by his early morninghours, a great portion of time upon his hands to employ in writing, orworse.
Mrs. Fortescue says, 'he has one gentleman who is more his intimate andcorrespondent than any of the rest.' You remember what his dismissedbailiff said of him and of his associates.* I don't find but that Mrs.Fortescue confirms this part of it, 'that all his relations are afraidof him; and that his pride sets him above owing obligations to them.She believes he is clear of the world; and that he will continue so;'No doubt from the same motive that makes him avoid being obliged to hisrelations.
* Letter IV.
A person willing to think favourably of him would hope, that a brave, alearned, and a diligent, man, cannot be naturally a bad man.--But if hebe better than his enemies say he is (and if worse he is bad indeed) heis guilty of an inexcusable fault in being so careless as he is of hisreputation. I think a man can be so but from one of these two reasons:either that he is conscious he deserves the ill spoken of him; or, thathe takes a pride in being thought worse than he is. Both very bad andthreatening indications; since the first must shew him to be utterlyabandoned; and it is but natural to conclude from the other, that whata man is not ashamed to have imputed to him, he will not scruple to beguilty of whenever he has an opportunity.
Upon the whole, and upon all I could gather from Mrs. Fortescue, Mr.Lovelace is a very faulty man. You and I have thought him too gay, tooinconsiderate, too rash, too little an hypocrite, to be deep. You seehe never would disguise his natural temper (haughty as it certainlyis) with respect to your brother's behaviour to him. Where he thinksa contempt due, he pays it to the uttermost. Nor has he complaisanceenough to spare your uncles.
But were he deep, and ever so deep, you would soon penetrate him, ifthey would leave you to yourself. His vanity would be your clue. Neverman had more: Yet, as Mrs. Fortescue observed, 'never did man carryit off so happily.' There is a strange mixture in it of humourousvivacity:--Since but for one half of what he says of himself, when he isin the vein, any other man would be insufferable.
***
Talk of the devil, is an old saying. The lively wretch has made me avisit, and is but just gone away. He is all impatience and resentmentat the treatment you meet with, and full of apprehensions too, that theywill carry their point with you.
I told him my opinion, that you will never be brought to think of such aman as Solmes; but that it will probably end in a composition, never tohave either.
No man, he said, whose fortunes and alliances are so considerable, ev
erhad so little favour from a woman for whose sake he had borne so much.
I told him my mind as freely as I used to do. But whoever was in fault,self being judge? He complained of spies set upon his conduct, and topry into his life and morals, and this by your brother and uncles.
I told him, that this was very hard upon him; and the more so, asneither his life nor morals perhaps would stand a fair inquiry.
He smiled, and called himself my servant.--The occasion was too fair,he said, for Miss Howe, who never spared him, to let it pass.--But, Lordhelp the shallow souls of the Harlowes! Would I believe it! they werefor turning plotters upon him. They had best take care he did not paythem in their own coin. Their hearts were better turned for such worksthan their heads.
I asked him, If he valued himself upon having a head better turned thantheirs for such works, as he called them?
He drew off: and then ran into the highest professions of reverence andaffection for you.
The object so meritorious, who can doubt the reality of his professions?
Adieu, my dearest, my noble friend!--I love and admire you for thegenerous conclusion of your last more than I can express. Though I beganthis letter with impertinent raillery, knowing that you always loved toindulge my mad vein; yet never was there a heart that more glowed withfriendly love, than that of
Your own ANNA HOWE.