LETTER 209: MR LOVELACE TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ
If, Belford, thou likest not my plot upon Miss
Howe, I have three or four more as good in my own opinion; better, perhaps,
they will be in thine; and so ‘tis but getting loose from thy present
engagement, and thou shall pick and choose.
But as for thy three brethren, they must do as I’ have them: and so,
indeed, must thou--else why am I your general?--But I will refer this subject to its proper season. Thou knowest
that I never absolutely conclude upon a project, till ‘tis time for execution:
and then lightning strikes not quicker than I.
And now to the subject next to my heart.
Wilt
thou believed me, when I tell thee that I have so many contrivances rising up
and crowding upon me for preference, with regard to my Gloriana, that I hardly
know which to choose?--I could tell thee of no less than six princely ones any
of which must do. But as the dear creature has not grudged giving me
trouble, I think I ought not, in gratitude, to spare combustibles for her; but,
on the contrary, to make her stare and stand aghast, by springing three or four
mines at once.
Then, I imagine thee interposing to qualify my impatience, as Ajax did to
Achilles:
Thou rememberest what Shakespeare, in his Troilus and Cressida, makes Hector, who however is
not used to boast, say to Achilles in an interview between them; and which,
applied to this watchful lady, and to the vexation she has given me, and to the
certainty I now think I have of subduing her; will run thus-supposing the
charmer before me; and I meditating her sweet person from head to foot:
--And let these threats alone,
Till
accident or purpose bring thee to it.1
That thou art a cursed fellow, if--
If! No if's--But I shall be very sick tomorrow. I shall, 'faith.
Sick!--Why sick?--What a devil shouldst thou be sick for?
For more good reasons than one, Belford.
I should be glad to hear but one--Sick, quotha! Of all thy roguish
inventions,
I
should not have thought of this.
Perhaps thou thinkest my view to be, to draw the lady to my bedside: that’s a
trick of three or four thousand years old; and I should find it much more to my
(PAGE 673)
purpose,
if I could get to hers. However, I’ll
condescend to make thee as wise as myself.
I am
excessively disturbed about this smuggling scheme of Miss Howe. I have no doubt that my fair one will fly
from me, if she can, were I to make an attempt, and miscarry. I once believed she loved me: but now I
doubt whether she does or not: at least, that it is with such an ardour,
as Miss Howe calls it, as will make her overlook a premeditated fault, should I
be quilty of one.
And
what will being sick do for thee?
Have patience, I don’t intend to be so very bad as Dorcas shall represent me to be. But yet I know I shall retch confoundedly, and bring up some clotted blood. To be sure, I shall break a vessel: there’s no doubt of that; and a bottle of Eaton’s Styptic shall be sent for; but no doctor. If she has humanity, she will be concerned. But if she has love, let it have been pushed ever so far back, it will, on this occasion, come forward, and show itself; not only in her eye, but in every line of her sweet face.I will be very intrepid. I will not fear death, or anything else, I will be sure of being well in an hour or two, having formerly found great benefit by this balsamic medicine, on occasion of an inward bruise by a fall from my horse in hunting, of which, perhaps, this malady may be the remains. And this will show her, that though those about me may make the most of it, I don't; and so can have no design in it.
Well, methinks thou sayest, I begin to think tolerably of this device.
I knew thou wouldst, when I explained myself. Another time prepare to wonder; and banish doubt.
Now, Belford, if she be not much concerned at the broken vessel, which, in one so fiery in his temper as I have the reputation to be thought, may be very dangerous; a malady that I shall calmly attribute to the harasses and doubts that I have laboured under for some time past; which will be a further proof of my love, and will demand a grateful return--
What then, thou egregious contriver?
Why then I shall have the less remorse, if I am to use a little violence: for can she deserve compassion, who shows none?
And what if she show a great deal of concern? Then shall I be in hope of building on a good foundation. Love hides a multitude of faults, and diminishes those it cannot hide. Love, when found out or acknowledged, authorizes freedom; and freedom begets freedom; and I shall then see how far I can go.
Well but, Lovelace, how the deuce wilt thou, with
that full health and vigour of constitution and with that bloom in thy face,
make anybody believe thou art sick?
How!--Why take a few grains of ipecacuanha; enough to make me retch like a fury.
Good!--But how wilt thou manage to bring a blood, and not hurt thyself?
Foolish fellow! Are there not pigeons and chickens in every poulterer's shop?
Cry thy mercy.
But then I will be persuaded by Mrs Sinclair, that I have of late confined
myself too much; and so will have a chair called, and be carried to the park,
where I will try to walk half the length of the Mall, or so; and in my return,
amuse myself at White’s or the Cocoa.
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674)
And
what will this do?
Questioning again?--I am afraid thou'rt an infidel, Belford--Why then shall I not
see know if my beloved offers to go out in my absence?--And shall I not
see whether she receives me with tenderness at my return? But this is
not all: I have a foreboding that something affecting will happen while I am
out. But of this more in its place.
And now, Belford, wilt thou, or wilt thou not, allow that it is a right
thing to be sick?--Lord, Jack, so much delight do I take in my contrivances,
that I shall be half sorry when the occasion for them is over; for never, never
shall I again have such charming exercise for my invention.
Meantime these plaguy women are so impertinent, so full of reproaches,
that I know not how to do anything but curse them. And then, truly, they are
for helping me out with some of their trite and vulgar artifices--Sally
particularly, who pretends to be a mighty contriver, has just now in an
insolent manner told me, on my rejecting her proffered aids, that I had no mind
to conquer; and that I was so wicked as to intend to marry, though I
would not own it to her.
Because this little devil made her first sacrifice at my
altar, she thinks she may take any liberty with me: and what makes her
outrageous at times, is, that I have for a long time studiously, as she
says, slighted her too readily offered favour: is it not very impudent in her
to think that I will be any man's successor? It is not come to that, neither.
This, thou knowest, was always my rule--Once any other man's, and I
know it, and never more mine. It is for such as thou, and thy
brethren to take up with harlots. I have been always aiming at the merit
of a first discoverer.
The more devil I, perhaps thou'lt
say, to endeavour to corrupt the uncorrupted.
But I say, not; since, hence, I have but very few adulteries to answer
for.
One affair, indeed, at Paris, with a married lady (I
believe I never told thee of it) touched my conscience a little: yet brought on
by the spirit of intrigue, more than by sheer wickedness. I'll give it thee in
brief:
'A French marquis, somewhat in years, employed by his court
in a public function at that of Madrid, had put his charming, young,
new-married wife under the control and wardship, as I may say, of his
insolent sister, an old prude.
`I saw the lady at the opera. I liked her at first sight,
and better at second, when I knew the situation she was in. So, pretending to
make my addresses to the prude, got admittance to both.
`The first thing I had to do, was to compliment my prude
into shyness, by complaints of shyness: next to take advantage of the
marquise's situation, between her husband's jealousy and her sister's
arrogance, to inspire her with resentment and, as I hoped, with a regard to my person.
The French ladies have no dislike to intrigue.
`The sister began to suspect me: the lady had no mind to part with the
company of the only man who had been permitted to visit there; and told me of
her sister’s suspicions--I put her upon concealing the prude, as if unknown to
me, in a closet in one of her own apartments, locking her in, and putting the
key in her own pocket: and she was to question me on the sincerity of my
professions to her sister, in her sister’s hearing.
'She complied. My mistress was locked up. The lady and I took our
seats. I owned fervent love, and made high professions: for the marqui put it
home to me. The prude was delighted with what she heard.
‘And how dost think it ended?--I took my advantage of
the lady herself, who darest not for her life cry out: drew her after me to the
next apartment, on pretence of going to seek her sister, who all the time was
locked up in the closet.
`No woman ever gave me a private
meeting for nothing; my dearest Miss Harlowe excepted.
‘My ingenuity obtained my pardon: the lady being unable to
forbear laughing through the whole affair, to find both so uncommonly tricked;
her gaoleress her prisoner, safe locked up, and as much pleased as either of
us.
‘The English, Jack, do not often
outwit the French.
‘We had contrivances afterwards equally ingenious, in which
the lady, the ice once broken (once subdued, always subdued), co-operated--But
a more tender tell-tale revealed the secret--revealed it, before the marquis
could come to cover the disgrace. The sister was inveterate; the husband
irreconcilable; in every respect unfit for a husband, even for a French one--made,
perhaps, more delicate to these particulars by the customs of a people among
whom he was then resident, so contrary to those of his own countrymen. She was
obliged to throw herself into my protection--nor thought herself unhappy in it,
till childbed pangs seized her: then penitence, and death, overtook her in the
same hour!'
Excuse a tear, Belford!--She deserved a better fate! What
has such a vile inexorable husband to answer for!--The sister was punished
effectually! That pleases me on reflection! The sister was punished
effectually!--But perhaps I have told thee this story before.
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