Clarissa, Volume 1 (of 9)
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Samuel Richardson >> Clarissa, Volume 1 (of 9)
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This communication being as voluntarily made, as dutifully intended, I
humbly presume to hope, that I shall not be required to produce the
letter itself. I cannot either in honour or prudence do that, because
of the vehemence of his style; for having heard [not, I assure you, by
my means, or through Hannah's] of some part of the harsh treatment I
have met with; he thinks himself entitled to place it to his own
account, by reason of speeches thrown out by some of my relations,
equally vehement.
If I do not answer him, he will be made desperate, and think himself
justified (thought I shall not think him so) in resenting the
treatment he complains of: if I do, and if, in compliment to me, he
forbears to resent what he thinks himself entitled to resent; be
pleased, Madam, to consider the obligation he will suppose he lays me
under.
If I were as strongly prepossessed in his favour as is supposed, I
should not have wished this to be considered by you. And permit me,
as a still further proof that I am not prepossessed, to beg of you to
consider, Whether, upon the whole, the proposal I made, of declaring
for the single life (which I will religiously adhere to) is not the
best way to get rid of his pretensions with honour. To renounce him,
and not be allowed to aver, that I will never be the other man's, will
make him conclude (driven as I am driven) that I am determined in that
other man's favour.
If this has not its due weight, my brother's strange schemes must be
tried, and I will resign myself to my destiny with all the
acquiescence that shall be granted to my prayers. And so leaving the
whole to your own wisdom, and whether you choose to consult my papa
and uncles upon this humble application, or not; or whether I shall be
allowed to write an answer to Mr. Lovelace, or not [and if allowed to
do so, I beg your direction by whom to send it]; I remain,
Honoured Madam,
Your unhappy, but ever dutiful daughter,
CL. HARLOWE.
WEDNESDAY MORNING.
I have just received an answer to the enclosed letter. My mother, you
will observe, has ordered me to burn it: but, as you will have it in
your safekeeping, and nobody else will see it, her end will be equally
answered, as if it were burnt. It has neither date nor
superscription.
CLARISSA,
Say not all the blame and all the punishment is yours. I am as much
blamed, and as much punished, as you are; yet am more innocent. When
your obstinacy is equal to any other person's passion, blame not your
brother. We judged right, that Hannah carried on your
correspondencies. Now she is gone, and you cannot write [we think you
cannot] to Miss Howe, nor she to you, without our knowledge, one cause
of uneasiness and jealousy is over.
I had no dislike of Hannah. I did not tell her so; because somebody
was within hearing when she desired to pay her duty to me at going. I
gave her a caution, in a raised voice, To take care, wherever she went
to live next, if there were any young ladies, how she made parties,
and assisted in clandestine correspondencies. But I slid two guineas
into her hand: nor was I angry to hear that you were still more
bountiful to her. So much for Hannah.
I don't know what to write, about your answering that man of violence.
What can you think of it, that such a family as ours, should have such
a rod held over it?--For my part, I have not owned that I know you
have corresponded. By your last boldness to me [an astonishing one it
was, to pursue before Mr. Solmes the subject I was forced to break
from above-stairs!] you may, as far as I know, plead, that you had my
countenance for your correspondence with him; and so add to the
uneasiness between your father and me. You were once my comfort,
Clarissa; you made all my hardships tolerable:--But now!--However,
nothing, it is plain, can move you; and I will say no more on that
head: for you are under your father's discipline now; and he will
neither be prescribed to, nor entreated.
I should have been glad to see the letter you tell me of, as I saw the
rest. You say, both honour and prudence forbid you to shew it to me.
--O Clarissa! what think you of receiving letters that honour and
prudence forbid you to shew to a mother!--But it is not for me to see
it, if you would choose to shew it me. I will not be in your secret.
I will not know that you did correspond. And, as to an answer, take
your own methods. But let him know it will be the last you will
write. And, if you do write, I won't see it: so seal it up (if you
do) and give it to Shorey; and she--Yet do not think I give you
license to write.
We will be upon no conditions with him, nor will you be allowed to be
upon any. Your father and uncles would have no patience were he to
come. What have you to do to oblige him with your refusal of Mr.
Solmes?--Will not that refusal be to give him hope? And while he has
any, can we be easy or free from his insults? Were even your brother
in fault, as that fault cannot be conquered, is a sister to carry on a
correspondence that shall endanger her brother? But your father has
given his sanction to your brother's dislikes, your uncles', and every
body's!--No matter to whom owing.
As to the rest, you have by your obstinacy put it out of my power to
do any thing for you. Your father takes it upon himself to be
answerable for all consequences. You must not therefore apply to me
for favour. I shall endeavour to be only an observer: Happy, if I
could be an unconcerned one!--While I had power, you would not let me
use it as I would have used it. Your aunt has been forced to engage
not to interfere but by your father's direction. You'll have severe
trials. If you have any favour to hope for, it must be from the
mediation of your uncles. And yet, I believe, they are equally
determined: for they make it a principle, [alas! they never had
children!] that that child, who in marriage is not governed by her
parents, is to be given up as a lost creature!
I charge you, let not this letter be found. Burn it. There is too
much of the mother in it, to a daughter so unaccountably obstinate.
Write not another letter to me. I can do nothing for you. But you
can do every thing for yourself.
***
Now, my dear, to proceed with my melancholy narrative.
After this letter, you will believe, that I could have very little
hopes, that an application directly to my father would stand me in any
stead: but I thought it became me to write, were it but to acquit
myself to myself, that I have left nothing unattempted that has the
least likelihood to restore me to his favour. Accordingly I wrote to
the following effect:
I presume not, I say, to argue with my Papa; I only beg his mercy and
indulgence in this one point, on which depends my present, and perhaps
my future, happiness; and beseech him not to reprobate his child for
an aversion which it is not in her power to conquer. I beg, that I
may not be sacrificed to projects, and remote contingencies. I
complain of the disgraces I suffer in this banishment from his
presence, and in being confined to my chamber. In every thing but
this one point, I promise implicit duty and resignation to his will.
I repeat my offers of a single life; and appeal to him, whether I have
ever given him cause to doubt my word. I beg to be admitted to his,
and to my mamma's, presence, and that my conduct may be under their
own eye: and this with the more earnestness, as I have too much reason
to believe that snares are laid for me; and tauntings and revilings
used on purpose to make a handle of my words against me, when I am not
permitted to speak in my own defence. I conclude with hoping, that my
brother's instigations may not rob an unhappy child of her father.
***
This is the answer, sent without superscription, and unsealed,
although by Betty Barnes, who delivered it with an air, as if she knew
the contents.
WEDNESDAY.
I write, perverse girl; but with all the indignation that your
disobedience deserves. To desire to be forgiven a fault you own, and
yet resolve to persevere in, is a boldness, no more to be equaled,
than passed over. It is my authority you defy. Your reflections upon
a brother, that is an honour to us all, deserve my utmost resentment.
I see how light all relationship sits upon you. The cause I guess at,
too. I cannot bear the reflections that naturally arise from this
consideration. Your behaviour to your too-indulgent and too-fond
mother----But, I have no patience--Continue banished from my presence,
undutiful as you are, till you know how to conform to my will.
Ingrateful creature! Your letter but upbraid me for my past
indulgence. Write no more to me, till you can distinguish better; and
till you are convinced of your duty to
A JUSTLY INCENSED FATHER.
***
This angry letter was accompanied by one from my mother, unsealed, and
unsuperscribed also. Those who take so much pains to confederate
every one against me, I make no doubt, obliged her to bear her
testimony against the poor girl.
My mother's letter being a repetition of some of the severe things
that passed between herself and me, of which I have already informed
you, I shall not need to give you the contents--only thus far, that
she also praises my brother, and blames me for my freedoms with him.
LETTER XXVI
MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE
THURSDAY MORN., MARCH 9.
I have another letter from Mr. Lovelace, although I had not answered
his former.
This man, somehow or other, knows every thing that passes in our
family. My confinement; Hanna's dismission; and more of the
resentments and resolutions of my father, uncles, and brother, than I
can possibly know, and almost as soon as the things happen, which he
tells me of. He cannot come at these intelligencies fairly.
He is excessively uneasy upon what he hears; and his expressions, both
of love to me, and resentment to them, are very fervent. He solicits
me, 'To engage my honour to him never to have Mr. Solmes.'
I think I may fairly promise him that I will not.
He begs, 'That I will not think he is endeavouring to make to himself
a merit at any man's expense, since he hopes to obtain my favour on
the foot of his own; nor that he seeks to intimidate me into a
consideration for him. But declares, that the treatment he meets with
from my family is of such a nature, that he is perpetually reproached
for not resenting it; and that as well by Lord M. and Lady Sarah, and
Lady Betty, as by all his other friends: and if he must have no hope
from me, he cannot answer for what his despair will make him do.'
Indeed, he says, 'his relations, the ladies particularly, advise him
to have recourse to a legal remedy: But how, he asks, can a man of
honour go to law for verbal abuses given by people entitled to wear
swords?'
You see, my dear, that my mother seems as apprehensive of mischief as
myself; and has indirectly offered to let Shorey carry my answer to
the letter he sent me before.
He is full of the favours of the ladies of his family to me: to whom,
nevertheless, I am personally a stranger; except, that I once saw Miss
Patty Montague at Mrs. Knolly's.
It is natural, I believe, for a person to be the more desirous of
making new friends, in proportion as she loses the favour of old ones.
Yet had I rather appear amiable in the eyes of my own relations, and
in your eyes, than in those of all the world besides--but these four
ladies of his family have such excellent characters, that one cannot
but wish to be thought well of by them. Cannot there be a way to find
out, by Mrs. Fortescue's means, or by Mr. Hickman, who has some
knowledge of Lord M. [covertly, however,] what their opinions are of
the present situation of things in our family; and of the little
likelihood there is, that ever the alliance once approved of by them,
can take effect?
I cannot, for my own part, think so well of myself, as to imagine,
that they can wish their kinsman to persevere in his views with regard
to me, through such contempts and discouragements.--Not that it would
concern me, should they advise him to the contrary. By my Lord's
signing Mr. Lovelace's former letter; by Mr. Lovelace's assurances of
the continued favour of all his relations; and by the report of
others; I seem still to stand high in their favour. But, methinks, I
should be glad to have this confirmed to me, as from themselves, by the
lips of an indifferent person; and the rather, because of their
fortunes and family; and take it amiss (as they have reason) to be
included by ours in the contempt thrown upon their kinsman.
Curiosity at present is all my motive: nor will there ever, I hope, be
a stronger, notwithstanding your questionable throbs--even were the
merits of Mr. Lovelace much greater than they are.
***
I have answered his letters. If he takes me at my word, I shall need
to be less solicitous for the opinions of his relations in my favour:
and yet one would be glad to be well thought of by the worthy.
This is the substance of my letter:
'I express my surprise at his knowing (and so early) all that passes
here.'
I assure him, 'That were there not such a man in the world as himself,
I would not have Mr. Solmes.'
I tell him, 'That to return, as I understand he does, defiances for
defiances, to my relations, is far from being a proof with me, either
of his politeness, or of the consideration he pretends to have for me.
'That the moment I hear he visits any of my friends without their
consent, I will make a resolution never to see him more, if I can help
it.'
I apprize him, 'That I am connived at in sending this letter (although
no one has seen the contents) provided it shall be the last I will
ever write to him: that I had more than once told him, that the single
life was my choice; and this before Mr. Solmes was introduced as a
visitor in our family: that Mr. Wyerley, and other gentlemen, knew it
to be my choice, before himself was acquainted with any of us: that I
had never been induced to receive a line from him on the subject, but
that I thought he had not acted ungenerously by my brother; and yet
had not been so handsomely treated by my friends, as he might have
expected: but that had he even my friends on his side, I should have
very great objections to him, were I to get over my choice of a single
life, so really preferable to me as it is; and that I should have
declared as much to him, had I not regarded him as more than a common
visiter. On all these accounts, I desire, that the one more letter,
which I will allow him to deposit in the usual place, may be the very
last; and that only, to acquaint me with his acquiescence that it
shall be so; at least till happier times.'
This last I put in that he may not be quite desperate. But, if he
take me at my word, I shall be rid of one of my tormentors.
I have promised to lay before you all his letters, and my answers: I
repeat that promise: and am the less solicitous, for that reason, to
amplify upon the contents of either. But I cannot too often express
my vexation, to be driven to such streights and difficulties, here at
home, as oblige me to answer letters, (from a man I had not absolutely
intended to encourage, and to whom I had really great objections,)
filled as his are with such warm protestations, and written to me with
a spirit of expectation.
For, my dear, you never knew so bold a supposer. As commentators find
beauties in an author, to which the author perhaps was a stranger; so
he sometimes compliments me in high strains of gratitude for favours,
and for a consideration, which I never designed him; insomuch that I
am frequently under a necessity of explaining away the attributed
goodness to him, which, if I shewed, I should have the less opinion of
myself.
In short, my dear, like a restiff horse, (as I have heard described by
sportsmen,) he pains one's hands, and half disjoints one's arms, to
rein him in. And, when you see his letters, you must form no judgment
upon them, till you have read my answers. If you do, you will indeed
think you have cause to attribute self-deceit, and throbs, and glows,
to your friend: and yet, at other times, the contradictory nature
complains, that I shew him as little favour, and my friends as much
inveteracy, as if, in the rencontre betwixt my brother and him, he had
been the aggressor; and as if the catastrophe had been as fatal, as it
might have been.
If he has a design by this conduct (sometimes complaining of my
shyness, at others exalting in my imaginary favours) to induce me at
one time to acquiesce with his compliments; at another to be more
complaisant for his complaints; and if the contradiction be not the
effect of his inattention and giddiness; I shall think him as deep and
as artful (too probably, as practised) a creature, as ever lived; and
were I to be sure of it, should hate him, if possible, worse than I do
Solmes.
But enough for the present of a creature so very various.
LETTER XXVII
MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE
THURSDAY NIGHT, MARCH 9.
I have not patience with any of the people you are with. I know not
what to advise you to do. How do you know that you are not punishable
for being the cause, though to your own loss, that the will of your
grandfather is not complied with?--Wills are sacred things, child.
You see, that they, even they, think so, who imagine they suffer by a
will, through the distinction paid you in it.
I allow of all your noble reasonings for what you did at the time:
But, since such a charming, such a generous instance of filial duty is
to go thus unrewarded, why should you not resume?
Your grandfather knew the family-failing. He knew what a noble spirit
you had to do good. He himself, perhaps, [excuse me, my dear,] had
done too little in his life-time; and therefore he put it in your
power to make up for the defects of the whole family. Were it to me,
I would resume it. Indeed I would.
You will say, you cannot do it, while you are with them. I don't know
that. Do you think they can use you worse than they do? And is it
not your right? And do they not make use of your own generosity to
oppress you? Your uncle Harlowe is one trustee; your cousin Morden is
the other: insist upon your right to your uncle; and write to your
cousin Morden about it. This, I dare say, will make them alter their
behaviour to you.
Your insolent brother--what has he to do to controul you?--Were it me
[I wish it were for one month, and no more] I'd shew him the
difference. I would be in my own mansion, pursuing my charming
schemes, and making all around me happy. I would set up my own
chariot. I would visit them when they deserved it. But when my
brother and sister gave themselves airs, I would let them know, that I
was their sister, and not their servant: and, if that did not do, I
would shut my gates against them; and bid them go and be company for
each other.
It must be confessed, however, that this brother and sister of yours,
judging as such narrow spirits will ever judge, have some reason for
treating you as they do. It must have long been a mortification to
them (set disappointed love on her side, and avarice on his, out of
the question) to be so much eclipsed by a younger sister. Such a sun
in a family, where there are none but faint twinklers, how could they
bear it! Why, my dear, they must look upon you as a prodigy among
them: and prodigies, you know, though they obtain our admiration,
never attract our love. The distance between you and them is immense.
Their eyes ache to look up at you. What shades does your full day of
merit cast upon them! Can you wonder, then, that they should embrace
the first opportunity that offered, to endeavour to bring you down to
their level?
Depend upon it, my dear, you will have more of it, and more still, as
you bear it.
As to this odious Solmes, I wonder not at your aversion to him. It is
needless to say any thing to you, who have so sincere any antipathy to
him, to strengthen your dislike: Yet, who can resist her own talents?
One of mine, as I have heretofore said, is to give an ugly likeness.
Shall I indulge it?--I will. And the rather, as, in doing so, you
will have my opinion in justification of your aversion to him, and in
approbation of a steadiness that I ever admired, and must for ever
approve of, in your temper.
'I was twice in this wretch's company. At one of the times your
Lovelace was there. I need not mention to you, who have such a pretty
curiosity, (though at present, only a curiosity, you know,) the
unspeakable difference.
'Lovelace entertained the company in his lively gay way, and made
every body laugh at one of his stories. It was before this creature
was thought of for you. Solmes laughed too. It was, however, his
laugh: for his first three years, at least, I imagine, must have been
one continual fit of crying; and his muscles have never yet been able
to recover a risible tone. His very smile [you never saw him smile, I
believe; never at least gave him cause to smile] is so little natural
to his features, that it appears to him as hideous as the grin of a
man in malice.
'I took great notice of him, as I do of all the noble lords of the
creation, in their peculiarities; and was disgusted, nay, shocked at
him, even then. I was glad, I remember, on that particular occasion,
to see his strange features recovering their natural gloominess;
though they did this but slowly, as if the muscles which contributed
to his distortions, had turned upon rusty springs.
'What a dreadful thing must even the love of such a husband be! For
my part, were I his wife! (But what have I done to myself, to make
such a supposition?) I should never have comfort but in his absence,
or when I was quarreling with him. A splenetic woman, who must have
somebody to find fault with, might indeed be brought to endure such a
wretch: the sight of him would always furnish out the occasion, and
all her servants, for that reason, and for that only, would have cause
to blame their master. But how grievous and apprehensive a thing it
must be for his wife, had she the least degree of delicacy, to catch
herself in having done something to oblige him?
'So much for his person. As to the other half of him, he is said to
be an insinuating, creeping mortal to any body he hopes to be a gainer
by: an insolent, overbearing one, where he has no such views: And is
not this the genuine spirit of meanness? He is reported to be
spiteful and malicious, even to the whole family of any single person
who has once disobliged him; and to his own relations most of all. I
am told, that they are none of them such wretches as himself. This
may be one reason why he is for disinheriting them.
'My Kitty, from one of his domestics, tells me, that his tenants hate
him: and that he never had a servant who spoke well of him. Vilely
suspicious of their wronging him (probably from the badness of his own
heart) he is always changing.
'His pockets, they say, are continually crammed with keys: so that,
when he would treat a guest, (a friend he has not out of your family),
he is half as long puzzling which is which, as his niggardly treat
might be concluded in. And if it be wine, he always fetches it
himself. Nor has he much trouble in doing so; for he has very few
visiters--only those, whom business or necessity brings: for a
gentleman who can help it, would rather be benighted, than put up at
his house.'
Yet this is the man they have found out (for considerations as sordid
as those he is governed by) for a husband, that is to say, for a lord
and master, for Miss Clarissa Harlowe!
But, perhaps, he may not be quite so miserable as he is represented.
Characters extremely good, or extremely bad, are seldom justly given.
Favour for a person will exalt the one, as disfavour will sink the
other. But your uncle Antony has told my mother, who objected to his
covetousness, that it was intended to tie him up, as he called it, to
your own terms; which would be with a hempen, rather than a
matrimonial, cord, I dare say. But, is not this a plain indication,
that even his own recommenders think him a mean creature; and that he
must be articled with--perhaps for necessaries? But enough, and too
much, of such a wretch as this!--You must not have him, my dear,--that
I am clear in--though not so clear, how you will be able to avoid it,
except you assert the independence to which your estate gives you a
title.
***
Here my mother broke in upon me. She wanted to see what I had
written. I was silly enough to read Solmes's character to her.
She owned, that the man was not the most desirable of men; and that he
had not the happiest appearance: But what, said she, is person in a
man? And I was chidden for setting you against complying with your
father's will. Then followed a lecture on the preference to be given
in favour of a man who took care to discharge all his obligations to
the world, and to keep all together, in opposition to a spendthrift or
profligate. A fruitful subject you know, whether any particular
person be meant by it, or not.
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