DETAILED CONTENTS

LETTER I. II. Lovelace to Belford.—His conditional promise to Tomlinson in the lady’s favour. His pleas and arguments on their present situation, and on his darling and hitherto-baffled views. His whimsical contest with his conscience. His latest adieu to it. His strange levity, which he calls gravity, on the death of Belford’s uncle.

LETTER III. IV. From the same.—She favours him with a meeting in the garden. Her composure. Her conversation great and noble. But will not determine any thing in his favour. It is however evident, he says, that she has still some tenderness for him. His reasons. An affecting scene between them. Her ingenuousness and openness of heart. She resolves to go to church; but will not suffer him to accompany her thither. His whimsical debate with the God of Love, whom he introduced as pleading for the lady.

LETTER V. VI. VII. From the same.—He has got the wished-for letter from Miss Howe.—Informs him of the manner of obtaining it.—His remarks upon it. Observations on female friendships. Comparison between Clarissa and Miss Howe.

LETTER VIII. From the same.—Another conversation with the lady. His plausible arguments to re-obtain her favour ineffectual. His pride piqued. His revenge incited. New arguments in favour of his wicked prospects. His notice that a license is actually obtained.

LETTER IX. X. From the same.—Copy of the license; with his observations upon it. His scheme for annual marriages. He is preparing with Lady Betty and Miss Montague to wait upon Clarissa. Who these pretended ladies are. How dressed. They give themselves airs of quality. Humourously instructs them how to act up their assumed characters.

LETTER XI. XII. Lovelace to Belford.—Once more is the charmer of his soul in her old lodgings. Brief account of the horrid imposture. Steels his heart by revengeful recollections. Her agonizing apprehensions. Temporary distraction. Is ready to fall into fits. But all her distress, all her prayers, her innocence, her virtue, cannot save her from the most villanous outrage.

LETTER XIII. Belford to Lovelace.—Vehemently inveighs against him. Grieves for the lady. Is now convinced that there must be a world after this to do justice to injured merit. Beseeches him, if he be a man, and not a devil, to do all the poor justice now in his power.

LETTER XIV. Lovelace to Belford.—Regrets that he ever attempted her. Aims at extenuation. Does he not see that he has journeyed on to this stage, with one determined point in view from the first? She is at present stupified, he says.

LETTER XV. From the same.—The lady’s affecting behaviour in her delirium. He owns that art has been used to her. Begins to feel remorse.

LETTER XVI. From the same.—The lady writes upon scraps of paper, which she tears, and throws under the table. Copies of ten of these rambling papers; and of a letter to him most affectingly incoherent. He attempts farther to extenuate his villany. Tries to resume his usual levity; and forms a scheme to decoy the people at Hampstead to the infamous woman’s in town. The lady seems to be recovering.

LETTER XVII. From the same.—She attempts to get away in his absence. Is prevented by the odious Sinclair. He exults in the hope of looking her into confusion when he sees her. Is told by Dorcas that she is coming into the dining-room to find him out.

LETTER XVIII. From the same.—A high scene of her exalted, and of his depressed, behaviour. Offers to make her amends by matrimony. She treats his offer with contempt. Afraid Belford plays him false.

LETTER XIX. From the same.—Wishes he had never seen her. With all the women he had known till now, it was once subdued, and always subdued. His miserable dejection. His remorse. She attempts to escape. A mob raised. His quick invention to pacify it. Out of conceit with himself and his contrivances.

LETTER XX. XXI. Lovelace to Belford.—Lord M. very ill. His presence necessary at M. Hall. Puts Dorcas upon ingratiating herself with her lady.—He re-urges marriage to her. She absolutely, from the most noble motives, rejects him.

LETTER XXII. From the same.—Reflects upon himself. It costs, he says, more pain to be wicked than to be good. The lady’s solemn expostulation with him. Extols her greatness of soul. Dorcas coming into favour with her. He is alarmed by another attempt of the lady to get off. She is in agonies at being prevented. He tried to intimidate her. Dorcas pleads for her. On the point of drawing his sword against himself. The occasion.

LETTER XXIII. From the same.—Cannot yet persuade himself but the lady will be his. Reasons for his opinion. Opens his heart to Belford, as to his intentions by her. Mortified that she refuses his honest vows. Her violation but notional. Her triumph greater than her sufferings. Her will unviolated. He is a better man, he says, than most rakes; and why.

LETTER XXIV. XXV. From the same.—The lady gives a promissory note to Dorcas, to induce her to further her escape.—A fair trial of skill now, he says. A conversation between the vile Dorcas and her lady: in which she engages her lady’s pity. The bonds of wickedness stronger than the ties of virtue. Observations on that subject.

LETTER XXVI. XXVII. XXVIII. From the same.—A new contrivance to advantage of the lady’s intended escape.—A letter from Tomlinson. Intent of it.—He goes out to give opportunity for the lady to attempt an escape. His designs frustrated.

LETTER XXIX. From the same.—An interesting conversation between the lady and him. No concession in his favour. By his soul, he swears, this dear girl gives the lie to all their rakish maxims. He has laid all the sex under obligation to him; and why.

LETTER XXX. Lovelace to Belford.—Lord M. in extreme danger. The family desire his presence. He intercepts a severe letter from Miss Howe to her friend. Copy of it.

LETTER XXXI. From the same.—The lady, suspecting Dorcas, tries to prevail upon him to give her her liberty. She disclaims vengeance, and affectingly tells him all her future views. Denied, she once more attempts an escape. Prevented, and terrified with apprehensions of instant dishonour, she is obliged to make some concession.

LETTER XXXII. From the same.—Accuses her of explaining away her concession. Made desperate, he seeks occasion to quarrel with her. She exerts a spirit which overawes him. He is ridiculed by the infamous copartnership. Calls to Belford to help a gay heart to a little of his dismal, on the expected death of Lord M.

LETTER XXXIII. From the same.—Another message from M. Hall, to engage him to go down the next morning.

LETTER XXXIV. XXXV. From the same.—The women’s instigations. His farther schemes against the lady. What, he asks, is the injury which a church-rite will not at any time repair?

LETTER XXXVI. From the same.—Himself, the mother, her nymphs, all assembled with intent to execute his detestable purposes. Her glorious behaviour on the occasion. He execrates, detests, despises himself; and admires her more than ever. Obliged to set out early that morning for M. Hall, he will press her with letters to meet him next Thursday, her uncle’s birthday, at the altar.

LETTER XXXVII. XXXVIII. XXXIX. Lovelace to Clarissa, from M. Hall.—Urging her accordingly, (the license in her hands,) by the most engaging pleas and arguments.

LETTER XL. Lovelace to Belford.—Begs he will wait on the lady, and induce her to write but four words to him, signifying the church and the day. Is now resolved on wedlock. Curses his plots and contrivances; which all end, he says, in one grand plot upon himself.

LETTER XLI. Belford to Lovelace. In answer.—Refuses to undertake for him, unless he can be sure of his honour. Why he doubts it.

LETTER XLII. Lovelace. In reply.—Curses him for scrupulousness. Is in earnest to marry. After one more letter of entreaty to her, if she keep sullen silence, she must take the consequence.

LETTER XLIII. Lovelace to Clarissa.—Once more earnestly entreats her to meet him at the altar. Not to be forbidden coming, he will take for leave to come.

LETTER XLIV. Lovelace to Patrick M’Donald.—Ordering him to visit the lady, and instructing him what to say, and how to behave to her.

LETTER XLV. To the same, as Captain Tomlinson.—Calculated to be shown to the lady, as in confidence.

LETTER XLVI. M’Donald to Lovelace.—Goes to attend the lady according to direction. Finds the house in an uproar; and the lady escaped.

LETTER XLVII. Mowbray to Lovelace.—With the same news.

LETTER XLVIII. Belford to Lovelace.—Ample particulars of the lady’s escape. Makes serious reflections on the distress she must be in; and on his (Lovelace’s) ungrateful usage of her. What he takes the sum of religion.

LETTER XLIX. Lovelace to Belford.—Runs into affected levity and ridicule, yet at last owns all his gayety but counterfeit. Regrets his baseness to the lady. Inveighs against the women for their instigations. Will still marry her, if she can be found out. One misfortune seldom comes alone; Lord M. is recovering. He had bespoken mourning for him.

LETTER L. Clarissa to Miss Howe.—Writes with incoherence, to inquire after her health. Lets her know whither to direct to her. But forgets, in her rambling, her private address. By which means her letter falls into the hands of Miss Howe’s mother.

LETTER LI. Mrs. Howe to Clarissa.—Reproaches her for making all her friends unhappy. Forbids her to write any more to her daughter.

LETTER LII. Clarissa’s meek reply.

LETTER LIII. Clarissa to Hannah Burton.

LETTER LIV. Hannah Burton. In answer.

LETTER LV. Clarissa to Miss Norton.—Excuses her long silence. Asks her a question, with a view to detect Lovelace. Hints at his ungrateful villany. Self-recrimination.

LETTER LVI. Mrs. Norton to Clarissa.—Answers her question. Inveighs against Lovelace. Hopes she has escaped with her honour. Consoles her by a brief relation of her own case, and from motives truly pious.

LETTER LVII. Clarissa to Lady Betty Lawrance.—Requests an answer to three questions, with a view farther to detect Lovelace.

LETTER LVIII. Lady Betty to Clarissa.—Answers her questions. In the kindest manner offers to mediate between her nephew and her.

LETTER LIX. LX. Clarissa to Mrs. Hodges, her uncle Harlowe’s housekeeper; with a view of still farther detecting Lovelace.—Mrs. Hodges’s answer.

LETTER LXI. Clarissa to Lady Betty Lawrance.—Acquaints her with her nephew’s baseness. Charitably wishes his reformation; but utterly, and from principle, rejects him.

LETTER LXII. Clarissa to Mrs. Norton.—Is comforted by her kind soothings. Wishes she had been her child. Will not allow her to come up to her; why. Some account of the people she is with; and of a worthy woman, Mrs. Lovick, who lodges in the house. Briefly hints to her the vile usage she has received from Lovelace.

LETTER LXIII. Mrs. Norton to Clarissa.—Inveighs against Lovelace. Wishes Miss Howe might be induced to refrain from freedoms that do hurt, and can do no good. Farther piously consoles her.

LETTER LXIV. Clarissa to Mrs. Norton.—A new trouble. An angry letter from Miss Howe. The occasion. Her heart is broken. Shall be uneasy, till she can get her father’s curse revoked. Casts about to whom she can apply for this purpose. At last resolves to write to her sister to beg her mediation.

LETTER LXV. Miss Howe to Clarissa.—Her angry and reproachful letter above-mentioned; demands from her the clearing up of her conduct.

LETTER LXVI. Clarissa to Miss Howe.—Gently remonstrates upon her severity. To this hour knows not all the methods taken to deceive and ruin her. But will briefly, yet circumstantially, enter into the darker part of her sad story, though her heart sinks under the thoughts of a recollection so painful.

LETTER LXVII. LXVIII. LXIX. LXX. From the same.—She gives the promised particulars of her story. Begs that the blackest parts of it may be kept secret; and why. Desires one friendly tear, and no more, may be dropt from her gentle eye, on the happy day that shall shut up all her sorrows.

LETTER LXXI. LXXII. Miss Howe to Clarissa.—Execrates the abandoned profligate. She must, she tells her, look to the world beyond this for her reward. Unravels some of Lovelace’s plots; and detects his forgeries. Is apprehensive for her own as well as Clarissa’s safety. Advises her to pursue a legal vengeance. Laudable custom in the Isle of Man. Offers personally to attend her in a court of justice.

LETTER LXXIII. Clarissa to Miss Howe.—Cannot consent to a prosecution. Discovers who it was that personated her at Hampstead. She is quite sick of life, and of an earth in which innocent and benevolent spirits are sure to be considered as aliens.

LETTER I

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 only wanted 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 fear as 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 woman [forgive me that I call her haughty! and a woman! Yet is she not haughty?] 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 the less; and then be forgiven for that; I can justify myself to myself; and that, as the fair invincible would say, is all in all.

As 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 to re-consider the old reasonings (particularly those contained in my answer to thy last* expostulatory nonsense); and add the new as they fall from my pen; and then I shall think myself invincible;—at least, as arguing rake to rake.

* See Vol. V. Letter XIV.

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 girl, 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 her sex?—At worst, I am entirely within my worthy friend Mandeville’s assertion, 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.

Wafer’d on, as an after-written introduction to the paragraphs which follow, marked with turned commas, [thus, “]:

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 bl—y murder! So I believe it will 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 hand-writing.

“But let me reflect before it is too late. On the manifold perfections of this ever-amiable 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 wouldest 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 finds 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 this very victory will undo him.

“Why was such a woman as this thrown into 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 do it! When, by honest means, he attains his 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!”