Clarissa Harlowe, Samuel Richardson [black authors fiction .txt] 📗
- Author: Samuel Richardson
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But I was very young.—But here let me watch over myself again: for in those four words, I was very young, is there not a palliation couched, that were enough to take all efficacy from the discovery and confession?
What strange imperfect beings!—but self here, which is at the bottom of all we do, and of all we wish, is the grand misleader.
I will not apologize to you, my dear, for these grave reflections. Is it not enough to make the unhappy creature look into herself, and endeavour to detect herself, who, from such a high reputation, left to proud and presumptuous self, should by one thoughtless step, be brought to the dreadful situation I am in?
Let me, however, look forward: to despond would be to add sin to sin. And whom have I to raise me up, whom to comfort me, if I desert myself?—Thou, O Father, who, I hope, hast not yet deserted, hast not yet cursed me!—For I am thine!—It is fit that mediation should supply the rest.—
I was so disgusted with him, as well as frighted by him, that on my return to my chamber, in a fit of passionate despair, I tore almost in two the answer I had written to his proposals.
I will see him in the morning, because I promised I would. But I will go out, and that without him, or any attendant. If he account not tolerably for his sudden change of behaviour, and a proper opportunity offer of a private lodging in some creditable house, I will not any more return to this:—at present I think so.—And there will I either attend the perfecting of your scheme; or, by your epistolary mediation, make my own terms with the wretch; since it is your opinion, that I must be his, and cannot help myself: or, perhaps, take a resolution to throw myself at once into Lady Betty’s protection; and this will hinder him from making his insolently-threatened visit to Harlowe-place.
[The Lady writes again on Monday evening; and gives her friend an account of all that passed between herself and Mr. Lovelace that day; and of her being terrified out of her purpose, of going out: but Mr. Lovelace’s next letters giving a more ample account of all, hers are omitted.
It is proper, however, to mention, that she re-urges Miss Howe (from the dissatisfaction she has reason for from what passed between Mr. Lovelace and herself) to perfect her scheme in relation to Mrs. Townsend. She concludes this letter in these words:]
I should say something of your last favour (but a few hours ago received) and of your dialogue with your mother—Are you not very whimsical, my dear? I have but two things to wish for on this occasion.—The one, that your charming pleasantry had a better subject than that you find for it in this dialogue—the other, that my situation were not such, as must too often damp that pleasantry in you, and will not permit me to enjoy it, as I used to do. Be, however, happy in yourself, though you cannot in
Your
Clarissa Harlowe.
Letter 201 Mr. Lovelace, to John Belford, Esq.Monday Morning, May 22
No generosity in this lady. None at all. Wouldst thou not have thought, that after I had permitted her to withdraw, primed for mischief as I was, she would meet me next morning early; and that with a smile; making me one of her best courtesies?
I was in the dining-room before six, expecting her. She opened not her door. I went upstairs and down; and hemm’d; and called Will; called Dorcas; threw the doors hard to; but still she opened not her door. Thus till half an hour after eight, fooled I away my time; and then (breakfast ready) I sent Dorcas to request her company.
But I was astonished, when (following the wench, as she did at the first invitation) I saw her enter dressed, all but her gloves, and those and her fan in her hand; in the same moment bidding Dorcas direct Will to get her a chair to the door.
Cruel creature, thought I, to expose me thus to the derision of the women below!
Going abroad, Madam!
I am, Sir.
I looked cursed silly, I am sure. You will breakfast first, I hope, Madam; and a very humble strain; yet with an hundred tender looks in my heart.
Had she given me more notice of her intention, I had perhaps wrought myself up to the frame I was in the day before, and begun my vengeance. And immediately came into my head all the virulence that had been transcribed for me from Miss Howe’s letters, and in that letter which I had transcribed myself.
Yes, she would drink one dish; and then laid her gloves and fan in the window just by.
I was perfectly disconcerted. I hemm’d, and was going to speak several times; but I knew not in what key. Who’s modest now! thought I. Who’s insolent now!—How a tyrant of a woman confounds a bashful man! She was acting Miss Howe, I thought; and I the spiritless Hickman.
At last, I will begin, thought I.
She a dish—I a dish.
Sip, her eyes her own, she; like a haughty and imperious sovereign, conscious of dignity, every look a favour.
Sip, like her vassal, I; lips and hands trembling, and not knowing that I sipp’d or tasted.
I was—I was—I sipp’d—(drawing in my breath and the liquor together, though I scalded my mouth with it) I was in hopes, Madam—
Dorcas came in just then.—Dorcas, said she, is a chair gone for?
Damn’d impertinence, thought I, thus to put me out in my speech! And I was forced to wait for the servant’s answer to the insolent mistress’s question.
William is gone for one, Madam.
This cost me a minute’s silence before I could begin again. And then it was with my hopes, and my hopes, and my hopes, that
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