LETTER 246: MR LOVELACE TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.

Sat. midnight

NO rest , says a text that I once heard preached upon, to the wicked —and I cannot close my eyes; yet wanted only to compound for half an hour in an elbow-chair. So must scribble on.

I parted with the captain after another strong debate with him in relation to what is to be the fate of this lady. As the fellow has an excellent head, and would have made an eminent figure in any station of life, had not his early days been tainted with a deep crime, and he detected in it; and as he had the right side of the argument; I had a good deal of difficulty with him; and at last brought myself to promise that if I could prevail upon her generously to forgive me, and to reinstate me in her favour, I would make it my whole endeavour to get off of my contrivances as happily as I could (only that Lady Betty and Charlotte must come); and then, substituting him for her uncle’s proxy, take shame to myself, and marry.

But if I should, Jack (with the strongest antipathy to the state that ever man had), what a figure shall I make in rakish annals? And can I have taken all this

pains for nothing? Or for a wife only, that, however excellent (and any woman, do I think, I could make good, because I could make any woman fearas well as love me), might have been obtained without the plague I have been at, and much more reputably than with it? And hast thou not seen that this haughty lady knows not how to forgive with graciousness? Indeed has not at all forgiven me? But holds my soul in a suspense , which has been so grievous to her own.

At this silent moment I think that if I were to pursue my former scheme, and resolve to try whether I cannot make a greater fault serve as a sponge to wipe out a less; and then be forgiven for that; I can justify myself to myself ; and that, as the fair implacable would say, is all in all.

It is my intention in all my reflections to avoid repeating, at least dwelling upon, what I have before written to thee, though the state of the case may not have varied; so I would have thee reconsider the old reasonings (particularly those contained in my answer to thy last expostulatory nonsense275 ); and add the new as they fall from my pen; and then I shall think myself invincible—at least, as arguing rake to rake.

I take the gaining of this lady to be essential to my happiness: and is it not natural for all men to aim at obtaining whatever they think will make them happy, be the object more or less considerable in the eyes of others?

As to the manner of endeavouring to obtain her, by falsification of oaths, vows, and the like—do not the poets of two thousand years and upwards tell us that Jupiter laughs at the perjuries of lovers? And let me add to what I have heretofore mentioned on that head a question or two.

Do not the mothers, the aunts, the grandmothers, the governesses of the pretty innocents, always, from their very cradles to riper years, preach to them the deceitfulness of men?—That they are not to regard their oaths, vows, promises?—What a parcel of fibbers would all these reverend matrons be, if there were not now and then a pretty credulous rogue taken in for a justification of their preachments, and to serve as a beacon lighted up for the benefit of the rest?

Do we not then see that an honest prowling fellow is a necessary evil on many accounts? Do we not see that it is highly requisite that a sweet girl should be now and then drawn aside by him?—And the more eminent the lady, in the graces of person, mind, and fortune, is not the example likely to be the more efficacious?

If these postulata be granted me, who I pray, can equal my charmer in all these? Who therefore so fit for an example to the rest of the sex?—At worst, I am entirely within my worthy friend Mande ville’s rule, That private vices are public benefits.

Well then, if this sweet creature must fall , as it is called, for the benefit of all the pretty fools of the sex, she must ; and there’s an end of the matter. And what would there have been in it of uncommon or rare, had I not been so long about it?—And so I dismiss all further argumentation and debate upon the question: and I impose upon thee, when thou writest to me, an eternal silence on this head.

 

Wafered on, as an after-written introduction to the paragraphs which follow .)LORD, Jack, what shall I do now!—How one evil brings on another!—Dreadful news to tell thee!—While I was meditating a simple robbery, here have I (in my own defence indeed) been guilty of murder! A bloody murder!—so I believe it will

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prove—At her last gasp!—Poor impertinent opposer! Eternally resisting!—Eternally contradicting! There she lies, weltering in her blood! Her death’s wound have I given her!—But she was a thief, an impostor, as well as a tormentor. She had stolen my pen. While I was sullenly meditating, doubting as to my future measures, she stole it; and thus she wrote with it, in a hand exactly like my own; and would have faced me down, that it was really my own handwriting.

‘But let me reflect, before it be too late. On the manifold perfections of this ever-admirable creature, let me reflect. The hand yet is only held up. The blow is not struck. Miss Howe’s next letter may blow thee up. In policy thou shouldest be now at least honest. Thou canst not live without her. Thou wouldst rather marry her than lose her absolutely. Thou mayest undoubtedly prevail upon her, inflexible as she seems to be, for marriage. But if now she find thee a villain, thou mayest never more engage her attention, and she perhaps will refuse and abhor thee.

‘Yet already have I not gone too far? Like a repentant thief, afraid of his gang and obliged to go on in fear of hanging till he comes to be hanged, I am afraid of the gang of my cursed contrivances.

‘As I hope to live, I am sorry at the present writing, that I have been such a foolish plotter as to put it, as I fear I have done, out of my own power to be honest. I hate compulsion in all forms; and cannot bear, even to be compelled to be the wretch my choice has made me!—So now, Belford, as thou hast said, I am a machine at last, and no free agent.

‘Upon my soul, Jack, it is a very foolish thing for a man of spirit to have brought himself to such a height of iniquity, that he must proceed, and cannot help himself; and yet to be next to certain that his very victory will undo him.

‘Why was such a woman as this thrown in my way, whose very fall will be her glory, and perhaps not only my shame, but my destruction?

‘What a happiness must that man know, who moves regularly to some laudable end, and has nothing to reproach himself with in his progress to it! When by honest means he attains this end, how great and unmixed must be his enjoyments! What a happy man, in this particular case had I been, had it been given me to be only what I wished to appear to be!’

Thus far had my conscience written with my pen; and see what a recreant she had made me!—I seized her by the throat— There !— There , said I, thou vile impertinent!—Take that , and that ! —How often have I given thee warning!—And now, I hope, thou intruding varletess, have I done thy business!

Puling, and in-voiced , rearing up thy detested head, in vain implorest thou my mercy, who, in thy day, hast showed me so little!—Take that , for a rising blow!—And now will thy pain, and my pain from thee , soon be over!—Lie there!—Welter on!—Had I not given thee thy death’s wound, thou wouldst have robbed me of all my joys. Thou couldst not have mended me, ’tis plain. Thou couldst only have thrown me into despair. Didst thou not see that I had gone too far to recede?—Welter on, once more I bid thee!—Gasp on!— That thy last gasp, surely!—How hard diest thou!—ADIEU!—‘Tis kind in thee, however, to bid me Adieu ! —Adieu, Adieu, Adieu, to thee, Oh thou inflexible and, till now, unconquerable bosom-intruder—Adieu to thee for ever!

 

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