Clarissa, Volume 1 (of 9)

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To this in his last, among other things, he replies, 'That if I am
actually determined to break off all correspondence with him, he must
conclude, that it is with a view to become the wife of a man, whom no
woman of honour and fortune can think tolerable. And in that case, I
must excuse him for saying, that he shall neither be able to bear the
thoughts of losing for ever a person in whom all his present and all
his future hopes are centred; nor support himself with patience under
the insolent triumphs of my brother upon it. But that nevertheless he
will not threaten either his own life, or that of any other man. He
must take his resolutions as such a dreaded event shall impel him at
the time. If he shall know that it will have my consent, he must
endeavour to resign to his destiny: but if it be brought about by
compulsion, he shall not be able to answer for the consequence.'

I will send you these letters for your perusal in a few days. I would
enclose them; but that it is possible something may happen, which may
make my mother require to re-peruse them. When you see them, you will
observe how he endeavours to hold me to this correspondence.

***

In about an hour my mother returned. Take your letters, Clary: I have
nothing, she was pleased to say, to tax your discretion with, as to
the wording of yours to him: you have even kept up a proper dignity,
as well as observed all the rules of decorum; and you have resented,
as you ought to resent, his menacing invectives. In a word, I see
not, that he can form the least expectations, from what you have
written, that you will encourage the passion he avows for you. But
does he not avow his passion? Have you the least doubt about what
must be the issue of this correspondence, if continued? And do you
yourself think, when you know the avowed hatred of one side, and he
declared defiances of the other, that this can be, that it ought to be
a match?

By no means it can, Madam; you will be pleased to observed, that I
have said as much to him. But now, Madam, that the whole
correspondence is before you, I beg your commands what to do in a
situation so very disagreeable.

One thing I will tell you, Clary--but I charge you, as you would not
have me question the generosity of your spirit, to take no advantage
of it, either mentally or verbally; that I am so much pleased with the
offer of your keys to me, made in so cheerful and unreserved a manner,
and in the prudence you have shewn in your letters, that were it
practicable to bring every one, or your father only, into my opinion,
I should readily leave all the rest to your discretion, reserving only
to myself the direction or approbation of your future letters; and to
see, that you broke off the correspondence as soon as possible. But
as it is not, and as I know your father would have no patience with
you, should it be acknowledged that you correspond with Mr. Lovelace,
or that you have corresponded with him since the time he prohibited
you to do so; I forbid you to continue such a liberty--Yet, as the
case is difficult, let me ask you, What you yourself can propose?
Your heart, you say, is free. Your own, that you cannot think, as
matters circumstanced, that a match with a man so obnoxious as he now
is to us all, is proper to be thought of: What do you propose to do?--
What, Clary, are your own thoughts of the matter?

Without hesitation thus I answered--What I humbly propose is this:--
'That I will write to Mr. Lovelace (for I have not answered his last)
that he has nothing to do between my father and me: that I neither ask
his advice nor need it: but that since he thinks he has some pretence
for interfering, because of my brother's avowal of the interest of Mr.
Solmes in displeasure to him, I will assure him (without giving him
any reason to impute the assurance to be in the least favourable to
himself) that I will never be that man's.' And if, proceeded I, I may
never be permitted to give him this assurance; and Mr. Solmes, in
consequence of it, be discouraged from prosecuting his address; let
Mr. Lovelace be satisfied or dissatisfied, I will go no farther; nor
write another line to him; nor ever see him more, if I can avoid it:
and I shall have a good excuse for it, without bringing in any of my
family.

Ah! my love!--But what shall we do about the terms Mr. Solmes offers?
Those are the inducements with every body. He has even given hopes to
your brother that he will make exchanges of estates; or, at least,
that he will purchase the northern one; for you know it must be
entirely consistent with the family-views, that we increase our
interest in this country. Your brother, in short, has given a plan
that captivates us all. And a family so rich in all its branches, and
that has its views to honour, must be pleased to see a very great
probability of taking rank one day among the principal in the kingdom.

And for the sake of these views, for the sake of this plan of my
brother's, am I, Madam, to be given in marriage to a man I can never
endure!--O my dear Mamma, save me, save me, if you can, from this
heavy evil.--I had rather be buried alive, indeed I had, than have
that man!

She chid me for my vehemence; but was so good as to tell me, That she
would sound my uncle Harlowe, who was then below; and if he encouraged
her (or would engage to second her) she would venture to talk to my
father herself; and I should hear further in the morning.

She went down to tea, and kindly undertook to excuse my attendance at
supper.

But is it not a sad thing, I repeat, to be obliged to stand in
opposition to the will of such a mother? Why, as I often say to
myself, was such a man as this Solmes fixed upon? The only man in the
world, surely, that could offer so much, and deserve so little!

Little indeed does he deserve!--Why, my dear, the man has the most
indifferent of characters. Every mouth is opened against him for his
sordid ways--A foolish man, to be so base-minded!--When the difference
between the obtaining of a fame for generosity, and incurring the
censure of being a miser, will not, prudently managed, cost fifty
pounds a year.

What a name have you got, at a less expense? And what an opportunity
had he of obtaining credit at a very small one, succeeding such a
wretched creature as Sir Oliver, in fortunes so vast?--Yet has he so
behaved, that the common phrase is applied to him, That Sir Oliver
will never be dead while Mr. Solmes lives.

The world, as I have often thought, ill-natured as it is said to be,
is generally more just in characters (speaking by what it feels) than
is usually apprehended: and those who complain most of its
censoriousness, perhaps should look inwardly for the occasion oftener
than they do.

My heart is a little at ease, on the hopes that my mother will be able
to procure favour for me, and a deliverance from this man; and so I
have leisure to moralize. But if I had not, I should not forbear to
intermingle occasionally these sorts of remarks, because you command
me never to omit them when they occur to my mind: and not to be able
to make them, even in a more affecting situation, when one sits down
to write, would shew one's self more engaged to self, and to one's own
concerns, than attentive to the wishes of a friend. If it be said,
that it is natural so to be, what makes that nature, on occasions
where a friend may be obliged, or reminded of a piece of instruction,
which (writing down) one's self may be the better for, but a fault;
which it would set a person above nature to subdue?

LETTER XVIII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE
SAT. MAR. 4.

Would you not have thought something might have been obtained in my
favour, from an offer so reasonable, from an expedient so proper, as I
imagine, to put a tolerable end, as from myself, to a correspondence I
hardly know how otherwise, with safety to some of my family, to get
rid of?--But my brother's plan, (which my mother spoke of, and of
which I have in vain endeavoured to procure a copy, with a design to
take it to pieces, and expose it, as I question not there is room to
do,) joined with my father's impatience of contradiction, are
irresistible.

I have not been in bed all night; nor am I in the least drowsy.
Expectation, and hope, and doubt, (an uneasy state!) kept me
sufficiently wakeful. I stept down at my usual time, that it might
not be known I had not been in bed; and gave directions in the family
way.

About eight o'clock, Shorey came to me from my mother with orders to
attend her in her chamber.

My mother had been weeping, I saw by her eyes: but her aspect seemed
to be less tender, and less affectionate, than the day before; and
this, as soon as I entered into her presence, struck me with an awe,
which gave a great damp to my spirits.

Sit down, Clary Harlowe; I shall talk to you by-and-by: and continued
looking into a drawer among laces and linens, in a way neither busy
nor unbusy.

I believe it was a quarter of an hour before she spoke to me (my heart
throbbing with the suspense all the time); and then she asked me
coldly, What directions I had given for the day?

I shewed her the bill of fare for this day, and to-morrow, if, I said,
it pleased her to approve of it.

She made a small alteration in it; but with an air so cold and so
solemn, as added to my emotions.

Mr. Harlowe talks of dining out to-day, I think, at my brother
Antony's--

Mr. Harlowe!--Not my father!--Have I not then a father!--thought I.

Sit down when I bid you.

I sat down.

You look very sullen, Clary.

I hope not, Madam.

If children would always be children--parents--And there she stopt.

She then went to her toilette, and looked into the glass, and gave
half a sigh--the other half, as if she would not have sighed if she
could have helped it, she gently hem'd away.

I don't love to see the girl look so sullen.

Indeed, Madam, I am not sullen.--And I arose, and, turning from her,
drew out my handkerchief; for the tears ran down my cheeks.

I thought, by the glass before me, I saw the mother in her softened
eye cast towards me. But her words confirmed not the hoped-for
tenderness.

One of the most provoking things in this world is, to have people cry
for what they can help!

I wish to heaven I could, Madam!--And I sobbed again.

Tears of penitence and sobs of perverseness are mighty well suited!--
You may go up to your chamber. I shall talk with you by-and-by.

I courtesied with reverence.

Mock me not with outward gestures of respect. The heart, Clary, is
what I want.

Indeed, Madam, you have it. It is not so much mine as my Mamma's!

Fine talking!--As somebody says, If words were to pass for duty,
Clarissa Harlowe would be the dutifulest child breathing.

God bless that somebody!--Be it whom it will, God bless that
somebody!--And I courtesied, and, pursuant to her last command, was
going.

She seemed struck; but was to be angry with me.

So turning from me, she spoke with quickness, Whither now, Clary
Harlowe?

You commanded me, Madam, to go to my chamber.

I see you are very ready to go out of my presence.--Is your compliance
the effect of sullenness, or obedience?--You are very ready to leave
me.

I could hold no longer; but threw myself at her feet: O my dearest
Mamma! Let me know all I am to suffer! Let me know what I am to be!
--I will bear it, if I can bear it: but your displeasure I cannot
bear!

Leave me, leave me, Clary Harlowe!--No kneeling!--Limbs so supple!
Will so stubborn!--Rise, I tell you.

I cannot rise! I will disobey my Mamma, when she bids me leave her
without being reconciled to me! No sullens, my Mamma: no
perverseness: but, worse than either: this is direct disobedience!--
Yet tear not yourself from me! [wrapping my arms about her as I
kneeled; she struggling to get from me; my face lifted up to hers,
with eyes running over, that spoke not my heart if they were not all
humility and reverence] You must not, must not, tear yourself from me!
[for still the dear lady struggled, and looked this way and that, all
in a sweet disorder, as if she knew not what to do].--I will neither
rise, nor leave you, nor let you go, till you say you are not angry
with me.

O thou ever-moving child of my heart! [folding her dear arms about my
neck, as mine embraced her knees] Why was this task--But leave me!--
You have discomposed me beyond expression! Leave me, my dear!--I
won't be angry with you--if I can help it--if you'll be good.

I arose trembling, and, hardly knowing what I did, or how I stood or
walked, withdrew to my chamber. My Hannah followed me as soon as she
heard me quit my mother's presence, and with salts and spring-water
just kept me from fainting; and that was as much as she could do. It
was near two hours before I could so far recover myself as to take up
my pen, to write to you how unhappily my hopes have ended.

My mother went down to breakfast. I was not fit to appear: but if I
had been better, I suppose I should not have been sent for; since the
permission for my attending her down, was given by my father (when in
my chamber) only on condition that she found me worthy of the name of
daughter. That, I doubt, I shall never be in his opinion, if he be
not brought to change his mind as to this Mr. Solmes.

LETTER XIX

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE
[IN ANSWER TO LETTER XV.]
SAT. MARCH 4, 12 O'CLOCK.

Hannah has just now brought me from the usual place your favour of
yesterday. The contents of it have made me very thoughtful; and you
will have an answer in my gravest style.--I to have that Mr. Solmes!--
No indeed!--I will sooner--But I will write first to those passages in
your letter which are less concerning, that I may touch upon this part
with more patience.

As to what you mention of my sister's value for Mr. Lovelace, I am not
very much surprised at it. She takes such officious pains, and it is
so much her subject, to have it thought that she never did, and never
could like him, that she gives but too much room to suspect that she
does. She never tells the story of their parting, and of her refusal
of him, but her colour rises, she looks with disdain upon me, and
mingles anger with the airs she gives herself:--anger as well as airs,
demonstrating, that she refused a man whom she thought worth
accepting: Where else is the reason either for anger or boast?--Poor
Bella! She is to be pitied--she cannot either like or dislike with
temper! Would to heaven she had been mistress of all her wishes!--
Would to heaven she had!

As to what you say of my giving up to my father's controul the estate
devised me, my motives at the time, as you acknowledge, were not
blamable. Your advice to me on the subject was grounded, as I
remember, on your good opinion of me; believing that I should not make
a bad use of the power willed me. Neither you nor I, my dear,
although you now assume the air of a diviner, [pardon me] could have
believed that would have happened which has happened, as to my
father's part particularly. You were indeed jealous of my brother's
views against me; or rather of his predominant love of himself; but I
did not think so hardly of my brother and sister as you always did.
You never loved them; and ill-will has eyes ever open to the faulty
side; as good-will or love is blind even to real imperfections. I
will briefly recollect my motives.

I found jealousies and uneasiness rising in every breast, where all
before was unity and love. The honoured testator was reflected upon:
a second childhood was attributed to him; and I was censured, as
having taken advantage of it. All young creatures, thought I, more or
less, covet independency; but those who wish most for it, are seldom
the fittest to be trusted either with the government of themselves, or
with power over others. This is certainly a very high and unusual
devise to so young a creature. We should not aim at all we have power
to do. To take all that good-nature, or indulgence, or good opinion
confers, shews a want of moderation, and a graspingness that is
unworthy of that indulgence; and are bad indications of the use that
may be made of the power bequeathed. It is true, thought I, that I
have formed agreeable schemes of making others as happy as myself, by
the proper discharge of the stewardship intrusted to me. [Are not all
estates stewardships, my dear?] But let me examine myself: Is not
vanity, or secret love of praise, a principal motive with me at the
bottom?--Ought I not to suspect my own heart? If I set up for myself,
puffed up with every one's good opinion, may I not be left to myself?
--Every one's eyes are upon the conduct, upon the visits, upon the
visiters, of a young creature of our sex, made independent: And are
not such subjected, more than any others, to the attempts of
enterprisers and fortune-seekers?--And then, left to myself, should I
take a wrong step, though with ever so good an intention, how many
should I have to triumph over me, how few to pity me!--The more of the
one, and the fewer of the other, for having aimed at excelling.

These were some of my reflections at the time: and I have no doubt,
but that in the same situation I should do the very same thing; and
that upon the maturest deliberation. Who can command or foresee
events? To act up to our best judgments at the time, is all we can
do. If I have erred, 'tis to worldly wisdom only that I have erred.
If we suffer by an act of duty, or even by an act of generosity, is it
not pleasurable on reflection, that the fault is in others, rather
than in ourselves?--I had much rather have reason to think others
unkind, than that they should have any to think me undutiful.

And so, my dear, I am sure had you.

And now for the most concerning part of your letter.

You think I must of necessity, as matters are circumstanced, be
Solmes's wife. I will not be very rash, my dear, in protesting to the
contrary: but I think it never can, and, what is still more, never
ought to be!--My temper, I know, is depended upon. But I have
heretofore said,* that I have something in me of my father's family,
as well as of my mother's. And have I any encouragement to follow too
implicitly the example which my mother sets of meekness, and
resignedness to the wills of others? Is she not for ever obliged (as
she was pleased to hint to me) to be of the forbearing side? In my
mother's case, your observation I must own is verified, that those who
will bear much, shall have much to bear.** What is it, as she says,
that she has not sacrificed to peace?--Yet, has she by her sacrifices
always found the peace she has deserved to find? Indeed, no!--I am
afraid the very contrary. And often and often have I had reason (on
her account) to reflect, that we poor mortals, by our over-solicitude
to preserve undisturbed the qualities we are constitutionally fond of,
frequently lose the benefits we propose to ourselves from them: since
the designing and encroaching (finding out what we most fear to
forfeit) direct their batteries against these our weaker places, and,
making an artillery (if I may so phrase it) of our hopes and fears,
play upon us at their pleasure.

* See Letter IX.
** See Letter X.

Steadiness of mind, (a quality which the ill-bred and censorious deny
to any of our sex) when we are absolutely convinced of being in the
right [otherwise it is not steadiness, but obstinacy] and when it is
exerted in material cases, is a quality, which, as my good Dr. Lewen
was wont to say, brings great credit to the possessor of it; at the
same time that it usually, when tried and known, raises such above the
attempts of the meanly machinating. He used therefore to inculcate
upon me this steadiness, upon laudable convictions. And why may I not
think that I am now put upon a proper exercise of it?

I said above, that I never can be, that I never ought to be, Mrs.
Solmes.--I repeat, that I ought not: for surely, my dear, I should not
give up to my brother's ambition the happiness of my future life.
Surely I ought not to be the instrument of depriving Mr. Solmes's
relations of their natural rights and reversionary prospects, for the
sake of further aggrandizing a family (although that I am of) which
already lives in great affluence and splendour; and which might be as
justly dissatisfied, were all that some of it aim at to be obtained,
that they were not princes, as now they are that they are not peers
[For when ever was an ambitious mind, as you observe in the case of
avarice,* satisfied by acquisition?]. The less, surely, ought I to
give into these grasping views of my brother, as I myself heartily
despise the end aimed at; as I wish not either to change my state, or
better my fortunes; and as I am fully persuaded, that happiness and
riches are two things, and very seldom meet together.

* See Letter X.

Yet I dread, I exceedingly dread, the conflicts I know I must
encounter with. It is possible, that I may be more unhappy from the
due observation of the good doctor's general precept, than were I to
yield the point; since what I call steadiness is deemed stubbornness,
obstinacy, prepossession, by those who have a right to put what
interpretation they please upon my conduct.

So, my dear, were we perfect (which no one can be) we could not be
happy in this life, unless those with whom we have to deal (those more
especially who have any controul upon us) were governed by the same
principles. But then does not the good Doctor's conclusion recur,--
That we have nothing to do, but to chuse what is right; to be steady
in the pursuit of it; and to leave the issue to Providence?

This, if you approve of my motives, (and if you don't, pray inform me)
must be my aim in the present case.

But what then can I plead for a palliation to myself of my mother's
sufferings on my account? Perhaps this consideration will carry some
force with it--That her difficulties cannot last long; only till this
great struggle shall be one way or other determined--Whereas my
unhappiness, if I comply, will (from an aversion not to be overcome)
be for life. To which let me add, That as I have reason to think that
the present measures are not entered upon with her own natural liking,
she will have the less pain, should they want the success which I
think in my heart they ought to want.

I have run a great length in a very little time. The subject touched
me to the quick. My reflections upon it will give you reason to
expect from me a perhaps too steady behaviour in a new conference,
which, I find, I must have with my mother. My father and brother, as
she was pleased to tell me, dine at my uncle Antony's; and that, as I
have reason to believe, on purpose to give an opportunity for it.

Hannah informs me, that she heard my father high and angry with my
mother, at taking leave of her: I suppose for being to favourable to
me; for Hannah heard her say, as in tears, 'Indeed, Mr. Harlowe, you
greatly distress me!--The poor girl does not deserve--' Hannah heard
no more, but that he said, he would break somebody's heart--Mine, I
suppose--Not my mother's, I hope.

As only my sister dines with my mother, I thought I should have been
commanded down: but she sent me up a plate from her table. I
continued my writing. I could not touch a morsel. I ordered Hannah
however to eat of it, that I might not be thought sullen.

Before I conclude this, I will see whether any thing offers from
either of my private correspondencies, that will make it proper to add
to it; and will take a turn in the wood-yard and garden for that
purpose.

***

I am stopped. Hannah shall deposit this. She was ordered by my
mother (who asked where I was) to tell me, that she would come up and
talk with me in my own closet.--She is coming! Adieu, my dear.

LETTER XX

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE
SAT. AFTERNOON.

The expected conference is over: but my difficulties are increased.
This, as my mother was pleased to tell me, being the last persuasory
effort that is to be attempted, I will be particular in the account of
it as my head and my heart will allow it to be.

I have made, said she, as she entered my room, a short as well as
early dinner, on purpose to confer with you: and I do assure you, that
it will be the last conference I shall either be permitted or inclined
to hold with you on the subject, if you should prove as refractory as
it is imagined you will prove by some, who are of opinion, that I have
not the weight with you which my indulgence deserves. But I hope you
will convince as well them as me of the contrary.

Your father both dines and sups at your uncle's, on purpose to give us
this opportunity; and, according to the report I shall make on his
return, (which I have promised shall be a very faithful one,) he will
take his measures with you.

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