Clarissa, Volume 5 (of 9) - Samuel Richardson
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CLARISSA HARLOWE
or the
HISTORY OF A YOUNG LADY
Nine Volumes
Volume V.
CONTENTS OF VOLUME V
LETTER I. Lovelace to Belford.--
An agreeable airing with the lady. Delightfully easy she. Obsequiously
respectful he. Miss Howe's plot now no longer his terror. Gives the
particulars of their agreeable conversation while abroad.
LETTER II. From the same.--
An account of his ipecacuanha plot. Instructs Dorcas how to act surprise
and terror. Monosyllables and trisyllables to what likened. Politeness
lives not in a storm. Proclamation criers. The lady now sees she loves
him. Her generous tenderness for him. He has now credit for a new
score. Defies Mrs. Townsend.
LETTER III. Clarissa to Miss Howe.--
Acknowledged tenderness for Lovelace. Love for a man of errors
punishable.
LETTER IV. Lovelace to Belford.--
Suspicious inquiry after him and the lady by a servant in livery from one
Captain Tomlinson. Her terrors on the occasion. His alarming
management. She resolves not to stir abroad. He exults upon her not
being willing to leave him.
LETTER V. VI. From the same.--
Arrival of Captain Tomlinson, with a pretended commission from Mr. John
Harlowe to set on food a general reconciliation, provided he can be
convinced that they are actually married. Different conversations on this
occasion.--The lady insists that the truth be told to Tomlinson. She
carries her point through to the disappointment of one of his private
views. He forms great hopes of success from the effects of his
ipecacuanha contrivance.
LETTER VII. Lovelace to Belford.--
He makes such a fair representation to Tomlinson of the situation between
him and the lady, behaves so plausibly, and makes an overture so
generous, that she is all kindness and unreserved to him. Her affecting
exultation on her amended prospects. His unusual sensibility upon it.
Reflection on the good effects of education. Pride an excellent
substitute to virtue.
LETTER VIII. From the same.--
Who Tomlinson is. Again makes Belford object, in order to explain his
designs by answering the objections. John Harlowe a sly sinner. Hard-
hearted reasons for giving the lady a gleam of joy. Illustrated by a
story of two sovereigns at war.
Extracts from Clarissa's letter to Miss Howe. She rejoices in her
present agreeable prospects. Attributes much to Mr. Hickman. Describes
Captain Tomlinson. Gives a character of Lovelace, [which is necessary to
be attended to: especially by those who have thought favourably of him
for some of his liberal actions, and hardly of her for the distance she
at first kept him at.]
LETTER IX. Lovelace to Belford.--
Letter from Lord M. His further arts and precautions. His happy day
promised to be soon. His opinion of the clergy, and of going to church.
She pities every body who wants pity. Loves every body. He owns he
should be the happiest of men, could he get over his prejudices against
matrimony. Draughts of settlements. Ludicrously accounts for the reason
why she refuses to hear them read to her. Law and gospel two different
things. Sally flings her handkerchief in his face.
LETTER X. From the same.--
Has made the lady more than once look about her. She owns that he is
more than indifferent to her. Checks him with sweetness of temper for
his encroaching freedoms. Her proof of true love. He ridicules marriage
purity. Severely reflects upon public freedoms between men and their
wives. Advantage he once made upon such an occasion. Has been after a
license. Difficulty in procuring one. Great faults and great virtues
often in the same person. He is willing to believe that women have no
souls. His whimsical reasons.
LETTER XI. Lovelace to Belford.--
Almost despairs of succeeding (as he had hoped) by love and gentleness.
Praises her modesty. His encroaching freedoms resented by her. The
woman, he observes, who resents not initiatory freedoms, must be lost.
He reasons, in his free way, upon her delicacy. Art of the Eastern
monarchs.
LETTER XII. From the same.--
A letter from Captain Tomlinson makes all up. Her uncle Harlowe's
pretended proposal big with art and plausible delusion. She acquiesces
in it. He writes to the pretended Tomlinson, on an affecting hint of
her's, requesting that her uncle Harlowe would, in person, give his niece
to him; or permit Tomlinson to be his proxy on the occasion.--And now for
a little of mine, he says, which he has ready to spring.
LETTER XIII. Belford to Lovelace.--
Again earnestly expostulates with him in the lady's favour. Remembers
and applauds the part she bore in the conversation at his collation. The
frothy wit of libertines how despicable. Censures the folly, the
weakness, the grossness, the unpermanency of sensual love. Calls some of
his contrivances trite, stale, and poor. Beseeches him to remove her
from the vile house. How many dreadful stories could the horrid Sinclair
tell the sex! Serious reflections on the dying state of his uncle.
LETTER XIV. Lovelace to Belford.--
Cannot yet procure a license. Has secured a retreat, if not victory.
Defends in anger the simplicity of his inventive contrivances. Enters
upon his general defence, compared with the principles and practices of
other libertines. Heroes and warlike kings worse men than he. Epitome
of his and the lady's story after ten years' cohabitation. Caution to
those who would censure him. Had the sex made virtue a recommendation to
their favour, he says, he should have had a greater regard to his morals
than he has had.
LETTER XV. From the same.--
Preparative to his little mine, as he calls it. Loves to write to the
moment. Alarm begins. Affectedly terrified.
LETTER XVI. From the same.--
The lady frighted out of her bed by dreadful cries of fire. She awes him
into decency. On an extorted promise of forgiveness, he leaves her.
Repenting, he returns; but finds her door fastened. What a triumph has
her sex obtained by her virtue! But how will she see him next morning,
as he has given her.
LETTER XVII. Lovelace to Belford.--
Dialogue with Clarissa, the door between them. Her letter to him. She
will not see him for a week.
LETTER XVIII. From the same.--
Copies of letters that pass between them. Goes to the commons to try to
get the license. She shall see him, he declares, on his return. Love
and compassion hard to be separated. Her fluctuating reasons on their
present situation. Is jealous of her superior qualities. Does justice
to her immovable virtue.
LETTER XIX. From the same.--
The lady escaped. His rage. Makes a solemn vow of revenge, if once more
he gets her into his power. His man Will. is gone in search of her. His
hopes; on what grounded. He will advertise her. Describes her dress.
Letter left behind her. Accuses her (that is to say, LOVELACE accuses
her,) of niceness, prudery, affectation.
LETTER XX. From the same.--
A letter from Miss Howe to Clarissa falls into his hands; which, had it
come to her's, would have laid open and detected all his designs. In it
she acquits Clarissa of prudery, coquetry, and undue reserve. Admires,
applauds, blesses her for the example she has set for her sex, and for
the credit she has done it, by her conduct in the most difficult
situations.
[This letter may be considered as a kind of summary of Clarissa's trials,
her persecutions, and exemplary conduct hitherto; and of Mr. Lovelace's
intrigues, plots, and views, so far as Miss Howe could be supposed to
know them, or to guess at them.]
A letter from Lovelace, which farther shows the fertility of his
contriving genius.
LETTER XXI. Clarissa to Miss Howe.--
Informs her of Lovelace's villany, and of her escape. Her only concern,
what. The course she intends to pursue.
LETTER XXII. Lovelace to Belford.--
Exults on hearing, from his man Will., that the lady has refuged herself
at Hampstead. Observations in a style of levity on some passages in the
letter she left behind her. Intimates that Tomlinson is arrived to aid
his purposes. The chariot is come; and now, dressed like a bridegroom,
attended by a footman she never saw, he is already, he says, at
Hampstead.
LETTER XXIII. XXIV. Lovelace to Belford.--
Exults on his contrivances.--By what means he gets into the lady's
presence at Mrs. Moore's. Her terrors, fits, exclamations. His
plausible tales to Mrs. Moore and Miss Rawlins. His intrepid behaviour
to the lady. Copies of letters from Tomlinson, and of pretended ones
from his own relations, calculated to pacify and delude her.
LETTER XXV. XXVI. From the same.--
His farther arts, inventions, and intrepidity. She puts home questions
to him. 'Ungenerous and ungrateful she calls him. He knows not the
value of the heart he had insulted. He had a plain path before him,
after he had tricked her out of her father's house! But that now her
mind was raised above fortune, and above him.' His precautionary
contrivances.
LETTER XXVII. XXVIII. XXX. XXXI. XXXII. From the same.--
Character of widow Bevis. Prepossesses the women against Miss Howe.
Leads them to think she is in love with him. Apt himself to think so;
and why. Women like not novices; and why. Their vulgar aphorism
animadverted on. Tomlinson arrives. Artful conversation between them.
Miss Rawlins's prudery. His forged letter in imitation of Miss Howe's,
No. IV. Other contrivances to delude the lady, and attach the women to
his party.
LETTER XXXIII. XXXIV. XXXV. XXXVI. From the same.--
Particulars of several interesting conversations between himself,
Tomlinson, and the lady. Artful management of the two former. Her noble
spirit. He tells Tomlinson before her that he never had any proof of
affection from her. She frankly owns the regard she once had for him.
'He had brought her,' she tells Tomlinson and him, 'more than once to own
it to him. Nor did his own vanity, she was sure, permit him to doubt of
it. He had kept her soul in suspense an hundred times.' Both men
affected in turn by her noble behaviour, and great sentiments. Their
pleas, prayers, prostrations, to move her to relent. Her distress.
THE HISTORY
OF
CLARISSA HARLOWE
LETTER I
MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.
FRIDAY EVENING.
Just returned from an airing with my charmer, complied with after great
importunity. She was attended by the two nymphs. They both topt their
parts; kept their eyes within bounds; made moral reflections now-and-
then. O Jack! what devils are women, when all tests are got over, and we
have completely ruined them!
The coach carried us to Hampstead, to Highgate, to Muswell-hill; back to
Hampstead to the Upper-Flask: there, in compliment to the nymphs, my
beloved consented to alight, and take a little repast. Then home early
by Kentish-town.
Delightfully easy she, and so respectful and obliging I, all the way, and
as we walked out upon the heath, to view the variegated prospects which
that agreeable elevation affords, that she promised to take now-and-then
a little excursion with me. I think, Miss Howe, I think, said I to
myself, every now-and-then as we walked, that thy wicked devices are
superceded.
But let me give thee a few particulars of our conversation in the
circumrotation we took, while in the coach--She had received a letter
from Miss Howe yesterday, I presumed?
She made no answer. How happy should I think myself to be admitted into
their correspondence? I would joyfully make an exchange of
communications.
So, though I hoped not to succeed by her consent, [and little did she
think I had so happily in part succeeded without it,] I thought it not
amiss to urge for it, for several reasons: among others, that I might
account to her for my constant employment at my pen; in order to take off
her jealousy, that she was the subject of thy correspondence and mine:
and that I might justify my secrecy and uncommunicativeness by her own.
I proceeded therefore--That I loved familiar-letter-writing, as I had
more than once told her, above all the species of writing: it was writing
from the heart, (without the fetters prescribed by method or study,) as
the very word cor-respondence implied. Not the heart only; the soul was
in it. Nothing of body, when friend writes to friend; the mind impelling
sovereignly the vassal-fingers. It was, in short, friendship recorded;
friendship given under hand and seal; demonstrating that the parties were
under no apprehension of changing from time or accident, when they so
liberally gave testimonies, which would always be ready, on failure or
infidelity, to be turned against them.--For my own part, it was the
principal diversion I had in her absence; but for this innocent
amusement, the distance she so frequently kept me at would have been
intolerable.
Sally knew my drift; and said, She had had the honour to see two or three
of my letters, and of Mr. Belford's; and she thought them the most
entertaining that she had ever read.
My friend Belford, I said, had a happy talent in the letter-writing way;
and upon all subjects.
I expected my beloved would have been inquisitive after our subject: but
(lying perdue, as I saw) not a word said she. So I touched upon this
article myself.
Our topics were various and diffuse: sometimes upon literary articles
[she was very attentive upon this]; sometimes upon the public
entertainments; sometimes amusing each other with the fruits of the
different correspondencies we held with persons abroad, with whom we
had contracted friendships; sometimes upon the foibles and perfections
of our particular friends; sometimes upon our own present and future
hopes; sometimes aiming at humour and raillery upon each other.--It might
indeed appear to savour of vanity, to suppose my letters would entertain
a lady of her delicacy and judgment: but yet I could not but say, that
perhaps she would be far from thinking so hardly of me as sometimes she
had seemed to do, if she were to see the letters which generally passed
between Mr. Belford and me [I hope, Jack, thou hast more manners, than to
give me the lie, though but in thy heart].
She then spoke: after declining my compliment in such a manner, as only a
person can do, who deserved it, she said, For her part, she had always
thought me a man of sense [a man of sense, Jack! What a niggardly
praise!],--and should therefore hope, that, when I wrote, it exceeded
even my speech: for that it was impossible, be the letters written in as
easy and familiar a style as they would, but that they must have that
advantage from sitting down to write them which prompt speech could not
always have. She should think it very strange therefore, if my letters
were barren of sentiment; and as strange, if I gave myself liberties upon
premeditation, which could have no excuse at all, but from a
thoughtlessness, which itself wanted excuse.--But if Mr. Belford's
letters and mine were upon subjects so general, and some of them equally
(she presumed) instructive and entertaining, she could not but say, that
she should be glad to see any of them; and particularly those which Miss
Martin had seen and praised.
This was put close.
I looked at her, to see if I could discover any tincture of jealousy in
this hint; that Miss Martin had seen what I had not shown to her. But
she did not look it: so I only said, I should be very proud to show her
not only those, but all that passed between Mr. Belford and me; but I
must remind her, that she knew the condition.
No, indeed! with a sweet lip pouted out, as saucy as pretty; implying a
lovely scorn, that yet can only be lovely in youth so blooming, and
beauty so divinely distinguished.
How I long to see such a motion again! Her mouth only can give it.
But I am mad with love--yet eternal will be the distance, at the rate I
go on: now fire, now ice, my soul is continually upon the hiss, as I may
say. In vain, however, is the trial to quench--what, after all, is
unquenchable.
Pr'ythee, Belford, forgive my nonsense, and my Vulcan-like metaphors--Did
I not tell thee, not that I am sick of love, but that I am mad with it?
Why brought I such an angel into such a house? into such company?--And
why do I not stop my ears to the sirens, who, knowing my aversion to
wedlock, are perpetually touching that string?
I was not willing to be answered so easily: I was sure, that what passed
between two such young ladies (friends so dear) might be seen by every
body: I had more reason than any body to wish to see the letters that
passed between her and Miss Howe; because I was sure they must be full of
admirable instruction, and one of the dear correspondents had deigned to
wish my entire reformation.
She looked at me as if she would look me through: I thought I felt eye-
beam, after eye-beam, penetrate my shivering reins.--But she was silent.
Nor needed her eyes the assistance of speech.
Nevertheless, a little recovering myself, I hoped that nothing unhappy
had befallen either Miss Howe or her mother. The letter of yesterday
sent by a particular hand: she opening it with great emotion--seeming to
have expected it sooner--were the reasons for my apprehensions.
We were then at Muswell-hill: a pretty country within the eye, to Polly,
was the remark, instead of replying to me.
But I was not so to be answered--I should expect some charming subjects
and characters from two such pens: I hoped every thing went on well
between Mr. Hickman and Miss Howe. Her mother's heart, I said, was set
upon that match: Mr. Hickman was not without his merits: he was what the
ladies called a SOBER man: but I must needs say, that I thought Miss Howe
deserved a husband of a very different cast!
This, I supposed, would have engaged her into a subject from which I
could have wiredrawn something:--for Hickman is one of her favourites--
why, I can't divine, except for the sake of opposition of character to
that of thy honest friend.
But she cut me short by a look of disapprobation, and another cool remark
upon a distant view; and, How far off, Miss Horton, do you think that
clump of trees may be? pointing out of the coach.--So I had done.
Here endeth all I have to write concerning our conversation on this our
agreeable airing.
We have both been writing ever since we came home. I am to be favoured
with her company for an hour, before she retires to rest.
All that obsequious love can suggest, in order to engage her tenderest
sentiments for me against tomorrow's sickness, will I aim at when we
meet. But at parting will complain of a disorder in my stomach.
***
We have met. All was love and unexceptionable respect on my part. Ease
and complaisance on her's. She was concerned for my disorder. So
sudden!--Just as we parted! But it was nothing. I should be quite well
by the morning.
Faith, Jack, I think I am sick already. Is it possible for such a giddy
fellow as me to persuade myself to be ill! I am a better mimic at this
rate than I wish to be. But every nerve and fibre of me is always ready
to contribute its aid, whether by health or by ailment, to carry a
resolved-on roguery into execution.
Dorcas has transcribed for me the whole letter of Miss Howe, dated
Sunday, May 14,* of which before I had only extracts. She found no other
letter added to that parcel: but this, and that which I copied myself in
character last Sunday whilst she was at church, relating to the smuggling
scheme,** are enough for me.
* See Vol. IV. Letter XXIX.
** Ibid. Letter XLII.
***
Dorcas tells me, that her lady has been removing her papers from the
mahogany chest into a wainscot box, which held her linen, and which she
put into her dark closet. We have no key of that at present. No doubt
but all her letters, previous to those I have come at, are in that box.
Dorcas is uneasy upon it: yet hopes that her lady does not suspect her;
for she is sure that she laid in every thing as she found it.
LETTER II
MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.
COCOA-TREE, SATURDAY, MAY 27.
This ipecacuanha is a most disagreeable medicine. That these cursed
physical folks can find out nothing to do us good, but what would poison
the devil! In the other world, were they only to take physic, it would
be punishable enough of itself for a mis-spent life. A doctor at one
elbow, and an apothecary at the other, and the poor soul labouring under
their prescribed operations, he need no worse tormentors.
But now this was to take down my countenance. It has done it: for, with
violent reachings, having taken enough to make me sick, and not enough
water to carry it off, I presently looked as if I had kept my bed a
fortnight. Ill jesting, as I thought in the midst of the exercise, with
edge tools, and worse with physical ones.
Two hours it held me. I had forbid Dorcas to let her lady know any thing
of the matter; out of tenderness to her; being willing, when she knew my
prohibition, to let her see that I expected her to be concerned for me.--
Well, but Dorcas was nevertheless a woman, and she can whisper to her
lady the secret she is enjoined to keep!
Come hither, toad, [sick as the devil at the instant]; let me see what a
mixture of grief and surprize may be beat up together in thy puden-face.
That won't do. That dropt jaw, and mouth distended into the long oval,
is more upon the horrible than the grievous.
Nor that pinking and winking with thy odious eyes, as my charmer once
called them.
A little better that; yet not quite right: but keep your mouth closer.
You have a muscle or two which you have no command of, between your
cheek-bone and your lips, that should carry one corner of your mouth
up towards your crow's-foot, and that down to meet it.
There! Begone! Be in a plaguy hurry running up stair and down, to fetch
from the dining-room what you carry up on purpose to fetch, till motion
extraordinary put you out of breath, and give you the sigh natural.
What's the matter, Dorcas?
Nothing, Madam.
My beloved wonders she has not seen me this morning, no doubt; but is too
shy to say she wonders. Repeated What's the matter, however, as Dorcas
runs up and down stairs by her door, bring on, O Madam! my master! my
poor master!
What! How! When!--and all the monosyllables of surprize.
[Within parentheses let me tell thee, that I have often thought, that the
little words in the republic of letters, like the little folks in a nation,
are the most significant. The trisyllables, and the rumblers of syllables
more than three, are but the good-for-little magnates.]
I must not tell you, Madam--My master ordered me not to tell you--but he
is in a worse way than he thinks for!--But he would not have you
frighted.
High concern took possession of every sweet feature. She pitied me!--by
my soul, she pitied me!
Where is he?
Too much in a hurry for good manners, [another parenthesis, Jack! Good
manners are so little natural, that we ought to be composed to observe
them: politeness will not live in a storm]. I cannot stay to answer
questions, cries the wench--though desirous to answer [a third
parenthesis--Like the people crying proclamations, running away from the
customers they want to sell to]. This hurry puts the lady in a hurry to
ask, [a fourth, by way of establishing the third!] as the other does the
people in a hurry to buy. And I have in my eye now a whole street
raised, and running after a proclamation or express-crier, as if the
first was a thief, the other his pursuers.
At last, O Lord! let Mrs. Lovelace know!--There is danger, to be sure!
whispered from one nymph to another; but at the door, and so loud, that
my listening fair-one might hear.
Out she darts--As how! as how, Dorcas!
O Madam--A vomiting of blood! A vessel broke, to be sure!
Down she hastens; finds every one as busy over my blood in the entry,
as if it were that of the Neapolitan saint.
In steps my charmer, with a face of sweet concern.
How do you, Mr. Lovelace?
O my best love!--Very well!--Very well!--Nothing at all! nothing of
consequence!--I shall be well in an instant!--Straining again! for I was
indeed plaguy sick, though no more blood came.
In short, Belford, I have gained my end. I see the dear soul loves me.
I see she forgives me all that's past. I see I have credit for a new
score.
Miss Howe, I defy thee, my dear--Mrs. Townsend!--Who the devil are you?--
Troop away with your contrabands. No smuggling! nor smuggler, but
myself! Nor will the choicest of my fair-one's favours be long
prohibited goods to me!
***
Every one is now sure that she loves me. Tears were in her eyes more
than once for me. She suffered me to take her hand, and kiss it as often
as I pleased. On Mrs. Sinclair's mentioning, that I too much confined
myself, she pressed me to take an airing; but obligingly desired me to be
careful of myself. Wished I would advise with a physician. God made
physicians, she said.
I did not think that, Jack. God indeed made us all. But I fancy she
meant physic instead of physicians; and then the phrase might mean what
the vulgar phrase means;--God sends meat, the Devil cooks.