Clarissa, Volume 6 - The History Of A Young Lady

Clarissa, Volume 6 - The History Of A Young Lady Clarissa, Volume 6 - The History Of A Young Lady

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Clarissa, Volume 6 − The History Of A Young Lady 72 human mind! When we enter upon a devious course, we think we shall have it in our power when we will return to the right path. But it is not so, I plainly see: For, who can acknowledge with more justice this dear creature's merits, and his own errors, than I? Whose regret, at times, can be deeper than mine, for the injuries I have done her? Whose resolutions to repair those injuries stronger?−−Yet how transitory is my penitence!−−How am I hurried away−− Canst thou tell by what?−−O devil of youth, and devil of intrigue, how do you mislead me!−−How often do we end in occasions for the deepest remorse, what we begin in wantonness!−− At the present writing, however, the turn of the scale is in behalf of matrimony−−for I despair of carrying with her my favourite point. The lady tells Dorcas, that her heart is broken: and that she shall live but a little while. I think nothing of that, if we marry. In the first place, she knows not what a mind unapprehensive will do for her, in a state to which all the sex look forwards with high satisfaction. How often have the whole of the sacred conclave been thus deceived in their choice of a pope; not considering that the new dignity is of itself sufficient to give new life! A few months' heart's ease will give my charmer a quite different notion of things: and I dare say, as I have heretofore said,* once married, and I am married for life. * See Letter IX. of this volume. I will allow that her pride, in one sense, has suffered abasement: but her triumph is the greater in every other. And while I can think that all her trials are but additions to her honour, and that I have laid the foundations of her glory in my own shame, can I be called cruel, if I am not affected with her grief as some men would be? And for what should her heart be broken? Her will is unviolated;−−at present, however, her will is unviolated. The destroying of good habits, and the introducing of bad, to the corrupting of the whole heart, is the violation. That her will is not to be corrupted, that her mind is not to be debased, she has hitherto unquestionably proved. And if she give cause for farther trials, and hold fast her integrity, what ideas will she have to dwell upon, that will be able to corrupt her morals? What vestigia, what remembrances, but such as will inspire abhorrence of the attempter? What nonsense then to suppose that such a mere notional violation as she has suffered should be able to cut asunder the strings of life? Her religion, married, or not married, will set her above making such a trifling accident, such an involuntary suffering fatal to her. Such considerations as these they are that support me against all apprehensions of bugbear consequences; and I would have them have weight with thee; who are such a doughty advocate for her. And yet I allow thee this; that she really makes too much of it; takes it too much to heart. To be sure she ought to have forgot it by this time, except the charming, charming consequence happen, that still I am in hopes will happen, were I to proceed no farther. And, if she apprehended this herself, then has the dear over−nice soul some reason for taking it so much to heart; and yet would not, I think, refuse to legitimate. O Jack! had I am imperial diadem, I swear to thee, that I would give it up, even to my enemy, to have one charming boy by this lady. And should she escape me, and no such effect follow, my revenge on her family, and, in such a case, on herself, would be incomplete, and I should reproach myself as long as I lived. Were I to be sure that this foundation is laid [And why may I not hope it is?] I should not doubt to have her still (should she withstand her day of grace) on my own conditions; nor should I, if it were so, question that revived affection in her, which a woman seldom fails to have for the father of her first child, whether born in wedlock, or out of it.

Clarissa, Volume 6 − The History Of A Young Lady 73 And pr'ythee, Jack, see in this my ardent hope, a distinction in my favour from other rakes; who, almost to a man, follow their inclinations without troubling themselves about consequences. In imitation, as one would think, of the strutting villain of a bird, which from feathered lady to feathered lady pursues his imperial pleasures, leaving it to his sleek paramours to hatch the genial product in holes and corners of their own finding out. LETTER XXIV MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. TUESDAY MORN. JUNE 20. Well, Jack, now are we upon another footing together. This dear creature will not let me be good. She is now authorizing all my plots by her own example. Thou must be partial in the highest degree, if now thou blamest me for resuming my former schemes, since in that case I shall but follow her cue. No forced construction of her actions do I make on this occasion, in order to justify a bad cause or a worse intention. A slight pretence, indeed, served the wolf when he had a mind to quarrel with the lamb; but this is not now my case. For here (wouldst thou have thought it?) taking advantage of Dorcas's compassionate temper, and of some warm expressions which the tender−hearted wench let fall against the cruelty of men, and wishing to have it in her power to serve her, has she given her the following note, signed by her maiden name: for she has thought fit, in positive and plain words, to own to the pitying Dorcas that she is not married. MONDAY, JUNE 19. I then underwritten do hereby promise, that, on my coming into possession of my own estate, I will provide for Dorcas Martindale in a gentlewoman− like manner, in my own house: or, if I do not soon obtain that possession, or should first die, I do hereby bind myself, my executors, and administrators, to pay to her, or her order, during the term of her natural life, the sum of five pounds on each of the four usual quarterly days in the year; on condition that she faithfully assist me in my escape from an illegal confinement under which I now labour. The first quarterly payment to commence and be payable at the end of three months immediately following the day of my deliverance. And I do also promise to give her, as a testimony of my honour in the rest, a diamond ring, which I have showed her. Witness my hand this nineteenth day of June, in the year above written. CLARISSA HARLOWE. Now, Jack, what terms wouldst thou have me to keep with such a sweet corruptress? Seest thou not how she hates me? Seest thou not that she is resolved never to forgive me? Seest thou not, however, that she must disgrace herself in the eye of the world, if she actually should escape? That she must be subjected to infinite distress and hazard! For whom has she to receive and protect her? Yet to determine to risque all these evils! and furthermore to stoop to artifice, to be guilty of the reigning vice of the times, of bribery and corruption! O Jack, Jack! say not, write not another word in her favour! Thou hast blamed me for bringing her to this house: but had I carried her to any other in England, where there would have been one servant or inmate capable either of compassion or corruption, what must have been the consequence? But seest thou not, however, that in this flimsy contrivance, the dear implacable, like a drowning man, catches at a straw to save herself!−−A straw shall she find to be the refuge she has resorted to. LETTER XXV

<strong>Clarissa</strong>, <strong>Volume</strong> 6 − <strong>The</strong> <strong>History</strong> <strong>Of</strong> A <strong>Young</strong> <strong>Lady</strong> 72<br />

human mind! When we enter upon a devious course, we think we shall have it in our power when we will<br />

return to the right path. But it is not so, I plainly see: For, who can acknowledge with more justice this dear<br />

creature's merits, and his own errors, than I? Whose regret, at times, can be deeper than mine, for the injuries I<br />

have done her? Whose resolutions to repair those injuries stronger?−−Yet how transitory is my<br />

penitence!−−How am I hurried away−− Canst thou tell by what?−−O devil of youth, and devil of intrigue,<br />

how do you mislead me!−−How often do we end in occasions for the deepest remorse, what we begin in<br />

wantonness!−−<br />

At the present writing, however, the turn of the scale is in behalf of matrimony−−for I despair of carrying with<br />

her my favourite point.<br />

<strong>The</strong> lady tells Dorcas, that her heart is broken: and that she shall live but a little while. I think nothing of that,<br />

if we marry. In the first place, she knows not what a mind unapprehensive will do for her, in a state to which<br />

all the sex look forwards with high satisfaction. How often have the whole of the sacred conclave been thus<br />

deceived in their choice of a pope; not considering that the new dignity is of itself sufficient to give new life!<br />

A few months' heart's ease will give my charmer a quite different notion of things: and I dare say, as I have<br />

heretofore said,* once married, and I am married for life.<br />

* See Letter IX. of this volume.<br />

I will allow that her pride, in one sense, has suffered abasement: but her triumph is the greater in every other.<br />

And while I can think that all her trials are but additions to her honour, and that I have laid the foundations of<br />

her glory in my own shame, can I be called cruel, if I am not affected with her grief as some men would be?<br />

And for what should her heart be broken? Her will is unviolated;−−at present, however, her will is unviolated.<br />

<strong>The</strong> destroying of good habits, and the introducing of bad, to the corrupting of the whole heart, is the<br />

violation. That her will is not to be corrupted, that her mind is not to be debased, she has hitherto<br />

unquestionably proved. And if she give cause for farther trials, and hold fast her integrity, what ideas will she<br />

have to dwell upon, that will be able to corrupt her morals? What vestigia, what remembrances, but such as<br />

will inspire abhorrence of the attempter?<br />

What nonsense then to suppose that such a mere notional violation as she has suffered should be able to cut<br />

asunder the strings of life?<br />

Her religion, married, or not married, will set her above making such a trifling accident, such an involuntary<br />

suffering fatal to her.<br />

Such considerations as these they are that support me against all apprehensions of bugbear consequences; and<br />

I would have them have weight with thee; who are such a doughty advocate for her. And yet I allow thee this;<br />

that she really makes too much of it; takes it too much to heart. To be sure she ought to have forgot it by this<br />

time, except the charming, charming consequence happen, that still I am in hopes will happen, were I to<br />

proceed no farther. And, if she apprehended this herself, then has the dear over−nice soul some reason for<br />

taking it so much to heart; and yet would not, I think, refuse to legitimate.<br />

O Jack! had I am imperial diadem, I swear to thee, that I would give it up, even to my enemy, to have one<br />

charming boy by this lady. And should she escape me, and no such effect follow, my revenge on her family,<br />

and, in such a case, on herself, would be incomplete, and I should reproach myself as long as I lived.<br />

Were I to be sure that this foundation is laid [And why may I not hope it is?] I should not doubt to have her<br />

still (should she withstand her day of grace) on my own conditions; nor should I, if it were so, question that<br />

revived affection in her, which a woman seldom fails to have for the father of her first child, whether born in<br />

wedlock, or out of it.

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