First performed at the Princess's Theatre, London, on Monday, September 28, 1846; at the City Theatre (under the management of Mr. J. Donner) on Monday, October 5, 1846, A New Tragic Drama, in Four Acts (from the French), founded on Richardson's celebrated novel, and entitled CLARISSA HARLOWE.
The Music by Mr. MINGAYE. The Scenery by Mr. ROBERTS, Mr. MORELLI, and Assistants. The Machinery by Mr. T. CAWDERY. The Dresses by Mr. CANTOR. The Properties and Appointments by Mr. PURVIS.
The Servant’s Integrity—the Secret Door and Duplicate Keys—How to balance an Account honestly and keep a clear conscience.
THE FAMILY INTERVIEW.
DISCOVERY OF FORMER LOVE.
The Proposal —Clarissa's Rejection—The Suppliant Lover—Pride, Love, and Duty—The Unwilling Consent—Force of Passion—Success of the Rake's Design—The Victim ensnared.
FASHIONABLE APARTMENTS IN THE HOUSE OF MRS. SINCLAIR, HIRED FOR THE RECEPTION OF CLARISSA.
The Rake’s Confession—London Life—A Man suited to any office—Instructions for the course of an Honourable Man—Further Plot upon the Honour of Clarissa—The Foster Sister—The Rencontre.
Conflagration of a Portion of the House by the Villainy of Lovelace.
The Attempted Escape—Peril of Clarissa— The Strength of Virtue—Clarissa's Restive—The Sentence—The Sleeping Draught—The Somnambulist—The Libertine’s Triumph.
Philanthropy and Philosophy—The Friend in Need—The Invalid, Cousin Smith—The Value of a Laugh—The Reformed Roue—The Story.
MEETING WITH HER PROTECTOR. THE RAKE's PURSUIT.
Loss of Reason—Arrival of the Family—Forgiveness too Late.
The Hand of Death upon the Betrayed and the Betrayer.
That's right, take the right hand path, through the park, then down the poplar walk yonder,
turn to the left, and you'll see the little door in the wall, just under your nose. 'Tis
scarce daylight yet, there's little fear of your meeting anybody—eh ? what ? yes! I forgot
the principal part of the business. Here's the key. interesting side of the question,
I see you obeyed my orders, Jacob, and have passed the night in the parlour here.
True to my word, Captain. You told me not to quit it, and here I am.
That's well. You see, Jacob, I have very little confidence in locks; to break open doors, and fabricate false keys, would be a mere bagatelle with the scoundrel against whose designs I am guarding the honour of our family.
Therefore, when my father willed that this lone pavilion, at the extremity of the park here, should serve as a place of confinement for her I will not even name, I deemed it best to have a guard posted here, both day and night. I chose you, Jacob, for that office, and I think I have chosen well.
Any news ?
None, sir.
Have you made your rounds about the park ?
Yes, sir, all right.
And nobody ?
Nobody.
Did you look into the hollow tree where they deposit their loving correspondence ?
Into every crevice, and not even the shadow of a letter.
Did you reconnoitre carefully without the park wall ?
I took a circuitous circuit twice round, sir.
Good.
I know it; still, he has, doubtless, left some secret agent behind, some villain in his
interest.
Here it is, sir.
What key is this, sir ?
Why, captain, to confess the fact—but, I'm afraid you'll be angry—
Speak!
So, there,
Eh ? nothing, sir, I thought I heard——
A step ?
No, it was only an echo!
I don't pay you, sir, for asking questions, but for answering
questions.
do pay.
Father, be seated!
My son ! You have seen her ?
here?
I have just sent to tell her, sir; she will be down soon. It was your opinion, father, that confinement within her room would put an end to her obstinate resistance. For the last fifteen days she has been a prisoner in this pavilion, and I can safely affirm that during that time no ill counsel, or encouragement to disobedience has reached her ears.
The step we have taken has already been of service, for I learn that the man has quitted the country.
He may yet return, father. Here is a letter I have received this morning,
You hear, father, everything conspires to urge matters to a speedy issue.
The marriage shall take place, my daughter.
Your daughter, sir.
My father ! look upon me, hear me ! oh, do not frown thus, look upon your child. Let memory revert to the happy hours of childhood, each playful, joyous moment; then think that for now fifteen days you have nor smiled, nor given your blessing to your daughter.
Mother! dear mother!
'Tis to your father you must reply, my child— 'tis him alone you must obey,
Clarissa, one word from you will put an end to this unhappy separation, but 'tis only as the wife of Mr. Solmes that we can grant your forgiveness.
Oh ! in mercy—for pity's sake, do not insist on
dead at the altar's foot, at the touch of
that man's hand ?
But, wherefore all this hatred and contempt for the husband whom I have chosen for you ?
No sister. An implacable, and heartless usurer!
Lovelace!
Nothing, mother, nothing.
Oh ! be the day accursed, in which Richard Lovelace crossed the threshold of my dwelling, for misery entered with him!
But not shame, father.
Yet, husband, how foresee what might chance ? He came here as a man of name and honourable
family, to ask the hand of our other daughter, Arabella,
A plot—an infamous plot! and heaven only knows what disgrace and degradation might have
fallen on us
And, in requital for having done so, Miss Clarissa, your brother's blood has already been shed by the hand of your lover.
Sister! Arabella!
My child !
Father! mother ! condemn me if you will, but besides yourselves, I will permit none here to insult me.
You see, madam, her indignation when this man is accused ?
What is this man to me ? What matters it to me what he is, be he even that which you
represent him ? Is it my fault that he could not appreciate the honour of a
Do you defy me, then?
No, no, I implore your pity.
You must—shall marry him !
Mr. Solmes has arrived, sir, and wishes to know if he can be admitted.
No, no, no! Oh, let him not come in !
Who is master here ?
Oh, mother, mother!
Oh, mother, dear mother, defend me, protect me with the authority which you have a right to exercise. I have no longer a brother—oh, shame!—no longer a sister—but a mother, surely, will never abandon her child ? Mother, save me—save your daughter!
Save you ! I would give my life, with joy, to spare you a single tear. But think, Clarissa, the step which your father proposes may, after all, not turn out so unhappily. Think, can there be a misery so great as a continued struggle between a father and his child ?
I have, till this, obeyed you, mother—but to wed him—this Solmes—oh, 'tis death!
No, no, mother, I think no more of him than of Mr. Solmes. My life, hitherto, has passed near you—that it may be so in future is all I ask.
My poor girl, thou'rt ignorant of the sacrifices demanded of our sex. We must submit, Clarissa, 'tis the destiny of woman. Obey your father's orders, I implore you, and He who sees all things in Heaven will bless you.
Speak!
Mr. Lovelace, who we thought had returned to London, has never quitted the neighbourhood.
Oh, heaven!
He is even now but two miles distant, at Hampton, at the tavern kept by Mathew Baker.
Yes, this virtuous anchorite, who prefers the fresh breeze of Hampton to the tumult of London, has found a new companion with whom to pass his leisure hours, in one of the prettiest girls in the county, the hope of an honest family——
In short, a real rosebud, for that's the name by which the girl has long been known.
One too, whom you know well, the daughter of Mathew Baker, your foster-sister.
Yes, the gentleman has found a very pleasant mode of wiling away a leisure hour, I must say.
I confess it, mother ; I am indignant—shocked —on the poor girl's account, but for him, Mr.
Lovelace, what is his conduct, madam, to me ? But Lucy, her honest family—honest! they could
not see the crime this man was meditating. Young, handsome is she ? True beauty exists not
with shamelessness, and he calls her his rosebud, too
At last!
Mr. Harlowe's inquiring for you, sir, and for you too, miss,
Go, go, James, tell him I will bring my daughter shortly, and with her, her reply.
Come, sister.
Still, I have not deceived you. No ! I swear it! I was myself ignorant of my heart's true
state, for that heart had not then suffered through him, but now— now—they are no longer here
to enjoy their triumph; I will tell you all, I now know what it is to love!
Unhappy girl!
Oh, mother ! save me, save me! snatch me from him, a hundred times rather give me Mr.
Solmes, than that I should wed depravity and shame ?
Nay, my child, this proves that you have both power and energy. Come, kiss me; you will yet
be happy !
Bless me! What mysterious mysteries and precautions !
This to your foster sister ? Why, in mercy, do you look upon and speak to me thus ? What have I done ?
Torture upon torture.
I was so overjoyed when Jacob came for me, and to think, too, that I could say, that, at last, I was going to be married.
Married?
Yes, married; and it is Mr. Lovelace——
Hold! mention not that name again in my presence.
No, no, no! I won't, indeed I won't. I see I have offended you, but don't know how.
Wilkins!
Yes, Sam Wilkins—but, if you don't like me to marry Sam, I won't, though I love him dearly, and he loves me, too, and I'm sure he'll make a very good husband—but I won't.
Lucy, attempt not to deceive me, tell me not a falsehood.
Why should I tell you a falsehood ? You shall hear the exact truth, depend on't. My father, you know, wouldn't let me marry Sam, because he was so poor; well, I was half broken-hearted about it, when one morning, about—no, just fifteen days ago—a young gentleman, wrapped in a beautiful brown cloak, came to lodge at our house—the gentleman you——
Mr. Lovelace?
Yes, miss. Oh ! he is such a good young man ! but so melancholy—every night, he puts on his great brown cloak, and hail, rain, or snow, walks up and down, up and down, by your park walls. At daylight he comes back, looking more melancholy than ever—I have seen him weeping. Well, one day he was alone with me, and I was telling him, though I was crying myself, not to make himself miserable. "Pretty little rosebud," said he—that was the first time he ever called me so—"pretty little rosebud," said he, " so much purity has won my heart, and this shall be the first triumph which I will gain over myself." What did he mean by that, miss ?
Then Mr.— but you said I was not to mention his name.
Yes, yes, you may now!
Well, then, Mr. Lovelace made me tell him my whole history, and when he heard that I loved Sam, he had him sent for to the tavern, and taking him by the hand —" Mathew Baker," said he, " I beg to present you your future son-in-law, " and when father began to stare with all his eyes—" I'll give him a hundred guineas as a wedding portion," said he, " and I'll give your Rosebud two hundred more, so get everything ready, and let them be married as soon as they please.
Oh, I am so happy to have seen you once again.
And I you, for lately I have suffered much, but I love you dearly ; I love you more than
ever, my dear, sweet, charming little Rosebud,
Well, I declare this is droll! I am so happy, and yet the tears are rolling down my cheeks like anything.
My good girl!
Well, now I must go, and make my dear Sammy as happy as I am myself.
You'll come often, and tell me about yourself, and your husband ?
Yes, that I will. I'll come, and tell you how we got on; and how Sammy behaves himself. You know it's a very responsible situation, that of a husband. I'll come to you every day. Good bye, miss.
Good bye, Lucy; goodbye!
Great Heaven!
I would save you!
No ! leave me!
Oh, no more! no more!
Nor, above all, can I renounce the happiness of saving you from the misery that must attend
this marriage,
Oh, never—never !
Never ! Ah ! this the only word that should find issue from lips pure as thine. Never !
Yes, this was the only reply of the venerable relative, whom I made the confidant of my
suffering.
Ha! Proceed.
" Lovelace," said she, "this poor girl must be rescued from the violence of her friends,
and the misery attendant on such a union. It must be effected.
" She must find refuge in the bosom of an honest and trustworthy family," and as I bathed her hand, with tears of thankfulness, "my nephew," continued she, "I comprehend you, and I myself will rescue her."
In less than one hour, she had quitted her mansion, with her daughter, my cousin, Miss Montague—and this morning she arrived here.
Lady Lawrence!
Yes; the best, even as she is the noblest of women. She comes to rescue you, and I, madam,
leave you—I go hence, and you will see me no more, until the day when I shall receive from
you these words: " Lovelace, return—Clarissa waits for you at the altar's foot,
Great Heaven!
Threatened, affrighted, deceived—I have promised my mother to wed Mr. Solmes.
Then we are lost, if you do not fly!
But they are already assembled in the drawing room. The clergyman has arrived—hark! even now they come to seek you.
Let them come. I am ready.
Let them enter, I am prepared.
Oh, mercy !
Here lies slavery and disgrace—there happiness and liberty.
My brother !
Ah ! my—my—mother!
Bravo! my friends, here I am at home, surrounded by my brother rakes, the finest fellows, and fastest goers that all London can boast of.
But come, finish the adventure you were speaking of. We have seen how the gallant Lovelace was reduced to become a sighing, timid, and most respectful lover.
And we have heard the cries and wailings of that capital actor, Jacob—I admire that fellow, without knowing him.
Oh, he's a great actor, gentlemen. Only imagine him representing the whole family of the
Harlowe's—old Solmes included, in his own proper person, and by his cries and feigned alarm
forcing the frightened dove to fly out of her cage, find take a refuge in the carriage, where
my venerable aunt, and my cousin, sweet Miss Montague, were
No, no, we can guess all that!
Well, my boys, we started off in full gallop for my aunt's country seat, who still was
Capital! excellent!
And now, this proud, virtuous lady, the daughter of those insolent Harlowe's, by whom I
have been treated
Here ?
This door of which I have not yet the entree— this staircase, the steps of which I hare not yet ascended, conducts to the apartments, which have been placed at the disposal of our amiable hostess.
But who are these hostesses ?
The elder—the mother—is Mrs. Sinclair.
What,
Yes; the widow of Colonel Sinclair, gentlemen. A colonel of my own promotion—the younger is her daughter.
Bravo ! capital! ha ! ha ! ha !
I need not tell you of a certain Dorcas, who possesses a marvellous talent for counterfeiting handwritings, converted, for the time being, into a lady's maid.
Egad! you have chosen your agents well.
But I've kept the best—the prime of the whole machine to the last—he is to bring about the climax. I scarcely knew where to hunt for the fellow, but getting out of my carriage last night in the Strand, I saw a man fast asleep upon the pavement, just outside the door of a low tavern. 'Twas the very fellow. I had the rascal brought to me, placed him under widow Sinclair's care. They have sobered, and brushed him up a bit, and to-night, I set to work the most honourable sharper, Patrick Macdonald.
Macdonald!
The king of London rogues, who, for half a guinea, and a bottle of port, would set fire to
St. Paul's. So far, so well. Harkye, this is the night on which we meet for our weekly
supper. I'll give it to you here, in this room at midnight, and if by that time, I give not
proof of my triumph—say Lovelace is a milksop and a bungler.
Till then, adieu!
Adieu; adieu!
Ha! here comes my man!
Everything to your hand, you must be the devil, Lovelace.
Perhaps I am, who knows!
May a man come in !
Certainly, master Patrick.
Nothing more ? Oh, you flatter me !
Are you free and willing to serve me ?
Quite.
And you'll execute my orders faithfully?
I'll not give the lie, or do dishonour to my glorious reputation. What you have known me, that shall you find me still; I'm a man of fixed principles, sir, every one knows it, and I've too much regard for my character to become a weathercock, as I see other men doing daily around me.
Good. Very good.
Give your commands. Is a girl to be carried off from her father ? the name, the street, and I enter on the campaign. I care little for the malediction of relations. Is an honest woman to be abstracted from an honest husband ? I like that better still, you picked me up off the pavement in the Strand; which was an extremely delicate attention. There are three things that I adore. Good eating, good drinking, and good sleeping. You have given me all. Capital bed ! capital wine ! capital breakfast, and dinner! and I can see you are going to give a capital supper. Speak, then, be plain ; I place at your command, my head, my arm, my sword, and even my purse, that is when I have one.
There is mine.
I shall be at your service. Now, the title of the drama I am to perform in ? A young girl, and her money, e
Who told you that!
The Sinclair, she let out the secret last night. Name the principal actor in the piece.
Myself—Robert Lovelace, Esquire.
Talent and wardrobe quite up to the mark. Now name the principal agent, or heavy villian.
The Right Honourable Comedian, Patrick Macdonald.
Talent quite up to the mark. Wardrobe
The aforesaid Macdonald—by us now created and transformed into Captain Tomlinson.
A Captain ! in what regiment ?
In the sharpshooters.
Thankye, Colonel, but who am I ?
The intimate friend of our uncle, Mr. Harlowe.
That's easy. I'm not known to him.
Now recollect, you are a respectable and virtuous man.
That's rather more difficult.
A very strong player at bowls—the father of a family—ten children.
Humph ! I've just the number; but they are too much scattered about to collect 'em in a hurry.
Sent by Uncle Anthony after his niece, to compel her to marry the infamous wretch who has ran away with her.
A marriage! That's not in my way.
Thickhead!
Oh, I see—sham parson—that won't be a bad part; I'll act that, if you like.
I shall want you for one of the witnesses, the other can be Brereton, my valet.
Very well.
And remember, when you enter upon the scene, be bold and firm—be brusque—insolent!
I can do that sort of thing to a T—anything more?
You must be guided by incidents as they arise. You have a sharp wit ?
I flatter myself I have.
Any new clothes ?
Not a stitch ; you must dress the comedy, as far as I'm concerned.
Well, Sinclair has a uniform below for you, so prepare—and when you have made yourself respectable in appearance, then, with all the emotion, and energy of a virtuous friend and devoted uncle of a deceived maiden, enter Captain Tomlinson.
I can grind out a few tears, if the situation requires it; a good red onion in your
handkerchief, does the business in a jiffy,
Stay ! I had forgotten ! You may as well have the freedom of my little private
staircase—
Very well, now to turn a rogue into a gentleman, by a military coat, and etceteras.
Useful rascal, that; but 'tis time I put another part of my scheme in train,
Shew that young person in, you understand.
Always here ! continually in this house, sir! Is it thus that you keep the promise you made me on arriving in London ?
I shall very shortly have my own ready for my reception; but allow me, in turn, to ask Miss Harlowe, why you so still persist in keeping so studiously alone ? You might condescend to take tea with the ladies.
I have to write to a friend—the only one now left me—Miss Howe,
Again, hear me; do you not think that your mode of passing your time in this house must appear singular to these ladies ?
Then, sir, I must beg you to inform these ladies of my
Her impatience at having been obliged to wait so long.
Could the virtuous Lady Lawrence be surprised at the struggles of a daughter about to fly
from a mother's protection ? Then, again, the asylum I was to have at her country seat, and
afterwards, at her house in London; but which, ultimately, could only be obtained from
Always this air of suspicion, and defiance so wounding ! You must be aware that the duties of the Court detain Lady Lawrence at Windsor at present, but to-morrow—to-night, perhaps,
Mr. Lovelace, I feel disquieted in this house.
Wherefore ? These ladies could not have shown you more attention. Only this morning did they not ask if Mrs. Lovelace—
Mrs Lovelace !
Pray hear me, Miss Harlowe. Lady Lawrence concealed from them our true position, for they are so scrupulous—too rigidly so, perhaps—that had they known that we were not married, they might have hesitated. It was therefore said that you were my wife, and——
No, no, I am not yet your wife sir, and I beg, desire, I command you, go instantly and inform them of the truth, or I will not remain another moment within these walls.
I was to blame, doubtless, but having led them to believe it, how can I——
These ladies themselves, who are they ?
The simplicity of their habits.
This Dorcas, too, whom you placed as my servant—a simple girl, as you said, not even knowing how to read—well, sir, I yesterday surprised her perusing one of Miss Howe's letters.
And these ladies were informed of it, who discharged her on the instant,
I will have no one, sir.
An innocent child, who has just arrived in London. She comes from your own neighbourhood.
I will not have her.
At least have the complaisance to see her, and if her manners,
No, sir, I ——
My dear, dear mistress!
My foster-sister! Oh, thanks—thanks, Mr. Lovelace, this is kind indeed!
I have quitted everything to come to you.
Lucy, dear sister, now I feel indeed secure—now I am indeed no longer alone.
Miss Harlowe
Alone ! oh no, not while I and Mr. Lovelace are here, and when you are married, as me and Sam are going to be. But I forgot to give you this letter, which I have brought for you.
'Tis from Miss Howe !
You recognise the handwriting ?
Oh, yes, among a thousand!
Bravo, Dorcas, she writes like a fairy
I have a great favor to ask of you, Mr. Lovelace.
What is it ?
That when we are married you will take my husband, Sam, into your service, then, you know, I shall be with my dear sister, and——
Yes, yes, of course; but leave us now. This letter seems to make your mistress uneasy. Go!
Yes, sir! Oh, how happy I am, to have got into so good and so honest a house !
Mr. Lovelace, my brother is plotting to carry me off, hear what my friend writes to me.
And yet, Miss Harlowe, when all have forsaken you but me, you reward my devotion with
nothing but suspicion and disdain,
Rascals ! Villains !
Oh, sir! I'm all in such a tremble, such a flutter !
What is the matter ?
There's a great big gentleman who insists on
From my uncle ?
He's blustering and bawling, and calls himself Captain Tomlinson, miss
Some emissary of your family, but I'll put an end at once to these odious persecutions. My
sword shall ——
Oh, heaven ! Stay!
What else may be done ?
He sits himself down yonder, and says he won't go.
Then I must force him.
No, no ! You shall not go; see him here.
But will you leave us here, alone ?
Alone !
Would it look well that you were found here with me, by an agent of your family ? I think
but for your reputation—here—retire to this boudoir,
You will be calm, promise me that!
On one condition, that you do not listen to our conversation,
Here he comes !
Go, go! Quick!
Oh, this way ! very well.
So you, sir, are Mr. Robert Lovelace ?
I am, sir. Your business with me ?
I come to you on the part of a friend, I come to ask, sir, as from one gallant man to another gallant man, whether it is your intention to do justice to a young lady who bears the name of my most honourable friend, Mr. Anthony Harlowe.
Mr. Anthony Harlowe ?
Yes, sir. A most excellent man, and an extraordinary strong player at bowls.
Sir!
Excuse me, sir, if I cut you short— but, before I go any further, are you, or are you not, Miss Harlowe's husband? I, sir, am the father of a family, ten children ; and, sir, I stand up for propriety of conduct before everything in the world.
Stop, captain !
Just as you please, sir.
Then draw, sir.
Follow me, sir.
Mr. Lovelace ! Sir, my mistress wants to speak to you, directly—this moment.
Tell the gentleman that I will come presently.
But, sir, it's my mistress.
Give him the answer I have told you. Go!
You are hasty, sir, 'tis fortunate that I have coolness enough for both of us! but, sir, the father of a family—twelve children.
Ten.
For I treat, as my own dear babes, two orphans, whom I have received from a poor widowed
mother,
If you continue to speak in that tone, captain, we may soon come to an understanding. In reply, I beg leave to say that it is impossible to give you the proof you require.
What do you mean to say, sir ?
That I am not the husband of Miss Harlowe.
Merciful powers ! Thunder and lightning—a stain
'Tis not my fault, sir. Even on the day the young lady was compelled to fly from her father's house, she should, if my will had been obeyed, have borne no other name than mine, but she hesitated, she still hesitates, she refuses to consent to the union until she is reconciled to her friends.
They'll never pardon her, till after the marriage has taken place.
To convince you of my sincerity, please to cast your eye over this marriage deed of
settlement, which I have now prepared.
What ? you take Miss Harlowe without a dowry ?
I desire nought but herself alone; wish for nothing but to secure her happiness.
This is good, sir, this is noble, this is truly generous, sir. It isn't often that I pay
compliments, but really, this
Oh, sir! Mr. Lovelace !
You here? I, really, —after your promise.
Oh, sir, forgive me, but—
This young lady is, then
Miss Harlowe, permit me to introduce you to Captain Tomlinson, a brave and worthy gentleman, who has children of his own.
Ten lovely babes, miss.
Would willingly aid us in bringing about the reconciliation, that you have so much at heart.
Ah! that would be the happiest day of my life!
Oh, thank you, thank you, sir. Oh, when I think that my father will no longer frown on
me—that I shall again meet my mother, be encircled in
Well, ye-yes
My wife! my friend!
You hear, Mr. Lovelace. This is an engagement, recollect, and now I'll go and submit this deed to the inspection of my lawyer.
What, suspicious again ? Really, captain !—
I'm the father of a family—ten children. I do nothing lightly or carelessly. Have you a witness, sir? I of course, shall be the one on Miss Harlowe's part—choose yours, an honest man, and above all, the father of a family if possible. We'll get the licence, and then, to-night——
To-night, to-night, captain!
Certainly, in a few hours. Why not ?
My uncle is in London, then ?
He won't arrive till after the ceremony, but I have full power to give you his blessing, just as if he were here.
He will not be present, you say, and to-night? What ceremony is this which you propose—a secret marriage ?
The witnesses will be present.
I will have none other but my father, or my uncle ; I will have no secret ceremony. Captain, return to my uncle, let him come, and then—and then alone!
But these conditions will render everything impossible.
I cannot, ought not, will not hear more, and, until the arrival of my uncle, I will see none but Lucy. Sir, this door will remain closed to every one, and I leave not my apartment until I hear my uncle's voice, telling me to give him entrance.
But——
Captain I wait your return.
What am I to say to our uncle Harlowe ?
Go to the devil.
I'll go down stairs to your friends, the Sinclairs, then.
Umph ! She has gone, locked herself in, and I dare not follow her. Shall I then submit to
be foiled ? Never! She is in my power, what hinders me from forcing the door, and ——but, no,
no, that would be infamy too deep. No, it must be the opiate which Sinclair advised me to try
Help ! help! fire!
'Tis Lucy's voice,
Miss Clarissa! sister ! sister !
Turn the corner of the wall. Call under her window. Yes, there, my girl, there !
Sister ! sister! see you not the fire ? Save yourself! quick, quick !
Does she come? Oh, my heart, my heart! Ha !
This house is on fire, whither shall I fly ?
Be calm, I will save you !
You—at this hour—in this house—at such a moment!
That you would grant me your love.
Hence—hence ! Away!
Still this insult.
No, no—entreaty—prayer. Lovelace, my defender, my friend—I have none but you in the world,
save me—save me—save me from yourself! My honour now is yours !
My Clarissa!
Oh, the wretch, who would insult the honour of his wife.
Your tears, your prayers, your imprecations all charm me but the more, I love you—I love you, even for your hate. Your beauty, pride, your virtue but increase my passion—Clarissa, with all my heart I love you!
With all my heart I despise you.
Ha!
Oh, pity ! mercy ! Kill me with your sword, and not with looks like these. Leave me! Oh, mercy, mercy! Oh, mother—mercy !
Come to my heart!
Kneel, kneel, base renegade to the honour of man. Kneel, and ask forgiveness of her you
have thus dared to insult!
Is this woman or angel ?
Help ! help!
Ah! it's a woman, after all.
Help! help!
Your cries are vain—every door is barred, and no soul can enter here.
May a man come in?
Oh, save me! save me ! I have been shamefully outraged. Sir, if you have children of your
own,
Miss Harlowe ! sir, wh-what is the matter ?
I would never see that man again—I would leave this house—come, come,
Great Heaven ! she has fainted !
Who sent for you, rascal ? What brought you here ?
Open! open the door, sir! the fire is extinguished.
Open, and the triumph which I have announced—oh, now, at whatever risk!
Mr. Lovelace ! Miss Clarissa!
Yes, it shall be so. There is no other means left to me.
She told me that I was an honest man!
They've got the fire under, sir ; and I've —
'Tis nothing, her agitation, her fright! Captain, help this young girl to conduct Miss
Harlowe to her apartment,
But a doctor had better be sent for.
No, no, there is no occasion; she is better already you see.
Here, Lucy,
Only two drops ?
That is all; and do not forget to return the phial to me.
Very well, sir.
Again, again she has vanquished me! but I have resolved, and will triumph. 'Tis near
midnight, they will presently be here, I could not endure to be the butt of their derision.
Oh, Lovelace ! I feel it impossible to play my part any longer, in this infernal comedy.
What!
The plot you've marked out, is so damnably disgraceful and odious, that it becomes dishonouring, even to a man like me.
Captain !
I'm Captain Tomlinson no longer, I'm nothing more for the future than Patrick Macdonald, whom you picked up off the pavement in the Strand. But I'd rather never have any other bed than play such a villain's part any longer. Good bye to you, sir, I've already done too much for my repose.
And is it to me that you dare address such a homily ? You, the most degraded scamp that all London can boast of ?
Yes, I am degraded, and I am a scamp, a villain, whom you have hired to minister to your
vicious pleasures. I've seen, and I've practised evil enough, I know it. You needn't recall
it to my remembrance ! But this poor girl, who implored me to save her, who called me her
friend; who told me I was an honest man! Ah! there is some little feeling left yet at the
bottom of the heart, I find, 'tis not all stone, and I had rather give you back your gold.
Do you remember you are but a menial ?
A menial! so be it ; but if this menial, if this degraded scamp has one good thought, if one decent throb of feeling happen to cross his mind; condescend to listen to him, without too much anger and disdain. Sir—Mr. Lovelace! let it not be said, that you had less heart than even Patrick Macdonald.
Upon my word, you are a pretty sort of fellow taking upon yourself to sermonize, in this
fashion ! There, go, go. I can find twenty fellows, with a thousand times your talent, who
will not be so squeamish,
You mean to pursne her still, then ?
Yes. Hence!
So innocent, so virtuous a lady !
Away!
And you a
Leave me !
An
What hoa, there ! who waits ?
Drive this fellow from my door.
Drive me from your door, eh? Ah! well, it is but just. The instrument is becoming
dangerous. The buffoon no longer excites
Fear ! fear, did you say? What, tremble at Patrick Macdonald ? Ha! ha! ha ! Now you become
the buffoon again—I couldn't think of depriving the friends I expect, of your edifying
sermon, so remain— remain, I beseech you.
Hush! hush! speak lower, I pray you, sir.
Well, how is she ?
Oh, if you had but seen her ! She cried, and sobbed, and raved so, that I feared she had lost her senses. Indeed, sir, I don't know that she hasn't. When I implored her to take some repose, " Sleep! " said she, "sleep in this house ! Under the same roof with such a wretch ? No ! never—never ! " At last, when she was overwhelmed, seemingly suffocating. I prevailed on her to drink a glass of water into which I had, as you directed, placed that soothing medicine. Here is the phial.
What is it she is saying ?
And now ?
She has fallen into a sleep, which will, I think, do her a deal of good.
You were a sensible girl to leave her to herself. Let her remain so. If she requires your services, you shall be called.
Thank you, sir. I shall be in my own room.
Yes, yes.
The scoundrel! if I had hold of his hair, I'd shake the senses out him, young as I am.
Hark ! Mowbray's voice, and Tourville, too. They come, exact as creditors, to their time.
Serve the supper in this room, and see that we lack not wine. Patrick,
My place is here,
Ha! ha! ha! A sentinel at Clarissa's door! Capital! Innocence will sleep this night under the safeguard of Virtue!
She will sleep, at all events, under the protection of my sword.
The sword of Sir Patrick Macdonald! Ha ! ha ! ha! Excellent, upon my honour,
Well, Lovelace, what news ?
One moment, and I am yours,
Perfectly, sir.
But you are alone, eh ? Lovelace is alone, gentlemen.
Come to table—to table,
What, without waiting for the lady, my gallant Lovelace ?
To table, gentlemen!
But isn't she coming to join us ?
Perhaps.
Ha! ha! ha! I see, Lovelace has been beaten.
Vanquishe'd by virtue!
Laugh, gentlemen, laugh oh !
But do tell us, Why this seat is vacant?
Why
Hal ha! ha! what, really, Pat Macdonald!
Yes, transformed into a protector of virtue.
All hail to the virtuous Sir Patrick !
Come, gentlemen, fill your glasses.
I won't drink.
Not drink! Macdonald, not drink ! Oh, I see— dolt that I am—this is not the sort of
wine—the French vintage is too weak—fit only for women and boys, Here, Hickman.
No, I won't drink, I tell you. The dog doesn't choose to allow himself to be muzzled.
Nay, nay. What refuse your friend, Lovelace, and your old acquaintance, Madeira ? Come,
I'll give you a toast, captain, here's to your protege, Miss Harlowe, and the
triumph of her virtue !
Eh! well I will drink that—but only one glass.
Only half a glass if you like. Come, gentlemen, fill. To Miss Harlowe—
To Miss Harlowe! Ha! ha ! ha !
Great heaven!
'Tis she !
Silence, all! Not a word—not a movement.
Lucy—come —come. Danger—shame—sin—dwells here, let us—let us fly.
My poor girl,
I told you, Patrick Macdonald, that neither your presence nor your sword, would prove much hindrance to Lovelace.
'Pon my life, I don't know what to make of all this. I never was in such a fever in my life; here's a poor girl, of whom we know nothing, snugly ensconced in our best bed room, and likely to quit this blessed world, leaving me to bury her. There's the doctor sent for—who the deuce is to pay him, I wonder ?
Well, wife, how is she ?
Poor thing ! still as silent as ever.
A most extraordinary specimen of the softer sex, certainly.
Why so ?
Won't talk ! a silent woman—a wonder in natural history—must be suffering under some malady unheard of among the faculty. What did the doctor say?
He shook his head as he went out.
Poor girl! poor girl! Hark ye, wife, you have a good heart—I know it—but if we get into any unpleasant scrape about this business mind it's all your fault.
Mr. Smith, husband, I'm really ashamed of you. Would you have the poor thing die, without holding out a hand to relieve her ? Ah, if you had seen her three weeks since, as I did, when I found her fainting and senseless at the step of our door—I am very sure, John, that you would have acted just as I did.
Well, well, I daresay I should; but you have such a soft heart.
And you have such a soft head.
I had rather be celebrated for soft substances about my head, than hard ones, you may depend. I must confess, the poor girl has a winning way with her ; but then you know, appearances, wife, are sometimes deceitful.
But not with her, my dear, depend upon it.
I'm sure I hope not; but when people have done nothing to be ashamed of they generally tell who they are, and where they come from, and what they are going to do—and then you know, this terrible illness, from which there's little hope of her recovery.
Oh, don't say that!
Well, but the doctor shook his head, you say, and that's a very bad sign ; they generally tell you you are all right, to encourage you on to some more doses, while there's a chance left. Then, you know, she was quite delirious last night. Now, altogether, wife, it makes me quite melancholy to think of it. I haven't had a laugh these three weeks, and you know how fond I am of laughing—why, I am so dying for a laugh, I should even be glad if cousin Patrick were to drop in, and entertain us a bit with one of his droll stories. I should, upon my word.
What!
I should, I give you my honour—I know he's a horrible scamp, and I never could bear to see
him enter my door, but the rascal has the knack of making me laugh
Eh! why, as I live, that's his voice! Talk of the devil, they say—ah! I'm so glad.
But he had better not come up here,
Egad, that's true. When he laughs, its like the roar of a mad bull—he would disturb her—but here he is.
Don't say a word to him about it.
I understand.
Now for a hearty laugh to crack my sides with. Ha, my dear fellow, how do you find yourself, eh ? Ha, ha, ha !
What's the matter, cousin. How solemn you look!
He's thirsty. Cousin's always thirsty,
I drink no more.
Do you want to poison me, to ?
Villain !
What the deuce does he say ? My dear fellow, it isn't poison, its brandy—capital brandy.
Very well, very well—don't get into a rage—I only thought
What, and who, the devil he's talking about ?
Why, cousin Patrick, can this be really you? You, always so gay and joyous ?
You who always had so many droll tales, and histories to tell us !
'Tis now about three weeks, or a month since, that a plot was laid by one of our London men
of fashion, for the ruin of a young girl. By series of deceptions, she was lured to his bouse
in town, and, during a Bacchanalian midnight revel with his friends, the foul act was to have
been consummated. Well, this young girl—oh ! had you seen her ! She was so good, lovely,
virtuous—that even I—Patrick Macdonald—I, one of the veriest rascals that this city of giant
crime produces—could but pity her. 'Tis true, and though hired as agent in the accursed work,
I stood alone her defender against five, and drew my sword in her defence; but what avails
woman's virtue or man's strength amongst the profligates of the present day, who adopt other
and more powerful weapons, to rob their pure victims of all that gives them worth.
Go on. Proceed.
I was there, on guard before her door. She descended, overcome and powerless, utterly unable to think or act. She turned to me for support—she called me "friend "— her enemies were hovering round her, and he, the ravenous kite, about to fix his talons on his powerless victim. Nature descended at once into my heart—I drew my sword in her defence—would have borne her from the house, or lost my life in the attempt. When suddenly my senses failed me—my limbs refused their office—drugged as she had been, by some powerful narcotic; placed in a glass of wine they had tempted me to drink, I fell senseless to the ground.
Oh, heaven! And the poor girl
When I recovered, all were gone, the house was empty, but it had been the scene of a most odious crime, a most infamous outrage.
Eh, what ? That poor girl ?
Oh, that I knew what had become of her, that I could but see her once again.
I cannot be mistaken, it must be the voice of him who defended me.
Clarissa Harlowe, your unhappy friend.
Oh ! how my heart bounds to see you once again. Let me—let me bathe your hand with suffering tears of grateful thanks !
What! is this the poor young lady of whom you were just talking ?
It is, she stands before you. How did you escape their fiendish hands ?
Explain to you—I cannot ; delirium had possessed me—when, when I recovered my senses, it was to find myself flying madly through the streets of London. Oh! 'twas a dreadful night, and the cold, the wind, the rain ! my agitation and fevered mind— all I had undergone, utterly took from me each particle of remaining energy. I wandered through the night—sick— chill, to death. Oh! what a night of lengthened watching! Day at last did come, I had wandered I knew not whither; I sank fainting at this door—where I must have perished, had it not been for the ministering, charitable hands of this good lady.
Thanks, cousin! thanks !
You went ?
I did.
You saw my mother ?
I did, and she was the only one who shed a single tear.
She alone ! My dear mother !
When I had related your story, a young man, your brother I think, rose from his chair, and said, " I wish for no other proof of Clarissa's guilt than this man's presence. He is no other than Captain Macdonald, the accomplice and agent of Lovelace." At his words, your father and sister rose with indignation. My fatal presence seemed to revive their hatred, and I was driven from their door, without the means of explanation.
Still then, inexorable ! But do not weep for me; and you, sir, you see I have found that asylum with your kind cousin, denied me by my own kindred. But my friends, I would profit by my present freedom from pain, to write a few lines.
We will leave you here, miss.
Aye; here's plenty of writing materials, and then, we can have a funny story down stairs !
eh, cousin ?
Thanks !
Come, Mr. Smith.
I'm here my dear Mrs. Smith, I'm coming. Poor dear girl! What a hard-hearted beast I must have been to have suspected her !
You'll suspect me next, I suppose ?
You? never! You are a true specimen of worldly wisdom, and connubial responsibility.
In this writing, shall they truly recognise Clarissa, in this last adieu to a family which
repulses me, that I still love, and shall love until my last sigh !
Merciful powers ! that voice !
Him again!
Go to the devil,
All powerful heaven ! Is it her spirit that thus appears before me ?
Ah ! it is you! Come, hasten, for more than an hour the whole family have been waiting your
arrival. Yonder, near the end of the great avenue—my mother, too ! oh ! if you but knew how
proud she was of her son-in-law ! Oh ! indeed, 'tis true, that now everybody loves you !
Who has spoken to me ? What voice was that ? What man is this ?
And thou, atrocious villain ! shalt not survive her!
You say truly, but not by your hand will I perish.