Clarissa, Volume 1 (of 9)

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He appealed to me, whether ever I knew my father recede from any
resolution he had once fixed; especially, if he thought either his
prerogative, or his authority concerned in the question. His
acquaintance with our family, he said, enabled him to give several
instances (but they would be too grating to me) of an arbitrariness
that had few examples even in the families of princes: an
arbitrariness, which the most excellent of women, my mother, too
severely experienced. He was proceeding, as I thought, with
reflections of this sort; and I angrily told him, I would not permit
my father to be reflected upon; adding, that his severity to me,
however unmerited, was not a warrant for me to dispense with my duty
to him.

He had no pleasure, he said, in urging any thing that could be so
construed; for, however well warranted he was to make such reflections
from the provocations they were continually giving him, he knew how
offensive to me any liberties of this sort would be. And yet he must
own, that it was painful to him, who had youth and passions to be
allowed for, as well as others, and who had always valued himself
under speaking his mind, to curb himself, under such treatment.
Nevertheless, his consideration for me would make him confine himself,
in his observations, to facts that were too flagrant, and too openly
avowed, to be disputed. It could not therefore justly displease, he
would venture to say, if he made this natural inference from the
premises, That if such were my father's behaviour to a wife, who
disputed not the imaginary prerogatives he was so unprecedently fond
of asserting, what room had a daughter to hope, that he would depart
from an authority he was so earnest, and so much more concerned, to
maintain?--Family-interests at the same time engaging; an aversion,
however causelessly conceived, stimulating my brother's and sister's
resentments and selfish views cooperating; and my banishment from
their presence depriving me of all personal plea or entreaty in my own
favour.

How unhappy, my dear, that there is but too much reason for these
observations, and for this inference; made, likewise, with more
coolness and respect to my family than one would have apprehended from
a man so much provoked, and of passions so high, and generally thought
uncontroulable!

Will you not question me about throbs and glows, if from such
instances of a command over his fiery temper, for my sake, I am ready
to infer, that were my friends capable of a reconciliation with him,
he might be affected by arguments apparently calculated for his
present and future good! Nor is it a very bad indication, that he has
such moderate notions of that very high prerogative in husbands, of
which we in our family have been accustomed to hear so much.

He represented to me, that my present disgraceful confinement was
known to all the world: that neither my sister nor my brother scrupled
to represent me as an obliged and favoured child in a state of actual
rebellion. That, nevertheless, every body who knew me was ready to
justify me for an aversion to a man whom every body thought utterly
unworthy of me, and more fit for my sister: that unhappy as he was, in
not having been able to make any greater impression upon me in his
favour, all the world gave me to him. Nor was there but one objection
made to him by his very enemies (his birth, his prospects all very
unexceptionable, and the latter splendid); and that objection, he
thanked God, and my example, was in a fair way of being removed for
ever: since he had seen his error, and was heartily sick of the
courses he had followed; which, however, were far less enormous than
malice and envy had represented them to be. But of this he should say
the less, as it were much better to justify himself by his actions,
than by the most solemn asseverations and promises. And then,
complimenting my person, he assured me (for that he always loved
virtue, although he had not followed its rules as he ought) that he
was still more captivated with the graces of my mind: and would
frankly own, that till he had the honour to know me, he had never met
with an inducement sufficient to enable him to overcome an unhappy
kind of prejudice to matrimony; which had made him before impenetrable
to the wishes and recommendations of all his relations.

You see, my dear, he scruples not to speak of himself, as his enemies
speak of him. I can't say, but his openness in these particulars
gives a credit to his other professions. I should easily, I think,
detect an hypocrite: and this man particularly, who is said to have
allowed himself in great liberties, were he to pretend to instantaneous
lights and convictions--at this time of life too. Habits, I am sensible,
are not so easily changed. You have always joined with me in remarking,
that he will speak his mind with freedom, even to a degree of
unpoliteness sometimes; and that his very treatment of my family is a
proof that he cannot make a mean court to any body for interest sake--
What pity, where there are such laudable traces, that they should have
been so mired, and choaked up, as I may say!--We have heard, that the
man's head is better than his heart: But do you really think Mr.
Lovelace can have a very bad heart? Why should not there be something
in blood in the human creature, as well as in the ignobler animals?
None of his family are exceptionable--but himself, indeed. The
characters of the ladies are admirable. But I shall incur the
imputation I wish to avoid. Yet what a look of censoriousness does
it carry in an unsparing friend, to take one to task for doing that
justice, and making those which one ought without scruple to do, and
to make, in the behalf of any other man living?

He then again pressed me to receive a letter of offered protection
from Lady Betty. He said, that people of birth stood a little too
much upon punctilio; as people of value also did (but indeed birth,
worthily lived up to, was virtue: virtue, birth; the inducements to a
decent punctilio the same; the origin of both one): [how came this
notion from him!] else, Lady Betty would write to me: but she would be
willing to be first apprized that her offer will be well received--as
it would have the appearance of being made against the liking of one
part of my family; and which nothing would induce her to make, but the
degree of unworthy persecution which I actually laboured under, and
had reason further to apprehend.

I told him, that, however greatly I thought myself obliged to Lady
Betty Lawrance, if this offer came from herself; yet it was easy to
see to what it led. It might look like vanity in me perhaps to say,
that this urgency in him, on this occasion, wore the face of art, in
order to engage me into measures from which I might not easily
extricate myself. I said, that I should not be affected by the
splendour of even a royal title. Goodness, I thought, was greatness.
That the excellent characters of the ladies of his family weighed more
with me, than the consideration that they were half-sisters to Lord M.
and daughters of an earl: that he would not have found encouragement
from me, had my friends been consenting to his address, if he had only
a mere relative merit to those ladies: since, in that case, the very
reasons that made me admire them, would have been so many objections
to their kinsman.

I then assured him, that it was with infinite concern, that I had
found myself drawn into an epistolary correspondence with him;
especially since that correspondence had been prohibited: and the only
agreeable use I could think of making of this unexpected and undesired
interview, was, to let him know, that I should from henceforth think
myself obliged to discontinue it. And I hoped, that he would not have
the thought of engaging me to carry it on by menacing my relations.

There was light enough to distinguish, that he looked very grave upon
this. He so much valued my free choice, he said, and my unbiassed
favour, (scorning to set himself upon a footing with Solmes in the
compulsory methods used in that man's behalf,) that he should hate
himself, were he capable of a view of intimidating me by so very poor
a method. But, nevertheless, there were two things to be considered:
First, that the continual outrages he was treated with; the spies set
over him, one of which he had detected; the indignities all his family
were likewise treated with;--as also, myself; avowedly in malice to
him, or he should not presume to take upon himself to resent for me,
without my leave [the artful wretch saw he would have lain open here,
had he not thus guarded]--all these considerations called upon him to
shew a proper resentment: and he would leave it to me to judge,
whether it would be reasonable for him, as a man of spirit, to bear
such insults, if it were not for my sake. I would be pleased to
consider, in the next place, whether the situation I was in, (a
prisoner in my father's house, and my whole family determined to
compel me to marry a man unworthy of me, and that speedily, and
whether I consented or not,) admitted of delay in the preventive
measures he was desirous to put me upon, in the last resort only. Nor
was there a necessity, he said, if I were actually in Lady Betty's
protection, that I should be his, if, afterwards, I should see any
thing objectionable in his conduct.

But what would the world conclude would be the end, I demanded, were
I, in the last resort, as he proposed, to throw myself into the
protection of his friends, but that it was with such a view?

And what less did the world think of me now, he asked, than that I was
confined that I might not? You are to consider, Madam, you have not
now an option; and to whom is it owing that you have not; and that you
are in the power of those (parents, why should I call them?) who are
determined, that you shall not have an option. All I propose is, that
you will embrace such a protection--but not till you have tried every
way, to avoid the necessity for it.

And give me leave to say, proceeded he, that if a correspondence, on
which I have founded all my hopes, is, at this critical conjuncture,
to be broken off; and if you are resolved not to be provided against
the worst; it must be plain to me, that you will at last yield to that
worst--worst to me only--it cannot be to you--and then! [and he put
his hand clenched to his forehead] How shall I bear this supposition?
--Then will you be that Solmes's!--But, by all that's sacred, neither
he, nor your brother, nor your uncles, shall enjoy their triumph--
Perdition seize my soul, if they shall!

The man's vehemence frightened me: yet, in resentment, I would have
left him; but, throwing himself at my feet again, Leave me not thus--
I beseech you, dearest Madam, leave me not thus, in despair! I kneel
not, repenting of what I have vowed in such a case as that I have
supposed. I re-vow it, at your feet!--and so he did. But think not
it is by way of menace, or to intimidate you to favour me. If your
heart inclines you [and then he arose] to obey your father (your
brother rather) and to have Solmes; although I shall avenge myself on
those who have insulted me, for their insults to myself and family,
yet will I tear out my heart from this bosom (if possible with my own
hands) were it to scruple to give up its ardours to a woman capable of
such a preference.

I told him, that he talked to me in very high language; but he might
assure himself that I never would have Mr. Solmes, (yet that this I
said not in favour to him,) and I had declared as much to my
relations, were there not such a man as himself in the world.

Would I declare, that I would still honour him with my
correspondence?--He could not bear, that, hoping to obtain greater
instances of my favour, he should forfeit the only one he had to boast
of.

I bid him forbear rashness or resentment to any of my family, and I
would, for some time at least, till I saw what issue my present trials
were likely to have, proceed with a correspondence, which,
nevertheless, my heart condemned--

And his spirit him, the impatient creature said, interrupting me, for
bearing what he did; when he considered, that the necessity of it was
imposed upon him, not by my will, (for then he would bear it
cheerfully, and a thousand times more,) but by creatures--And there he
stopt.

I told him plainly that he might thank himself (whose indifferent
character, as to morals, had given such a handle against him) for all.
It was but just, that a man should be spoken evil of, who set no value
upon his reputation.

He offered to vindicate himself. But I told him, I would judge him by
his own rule--by his actions, not by his professions.

Were not his enemies, he said, so powerful, and so determined; and had
they not already shewn their intentions in such high acts of even
cruel compulsion; but would leave me to my choice, or to my desire of
living single; he would have been content to undergo a twelvemonth's
probation, or more: but he was confident, that one month would either
complete all their purposes, or render them abortive: and I best knew
what hopes I had of my father's receding--he did not know him, if I
had any.

I said, I would try every method, that either my duty or my influence
upon any of them should suggest, before I would put myself into any
other protection: and, if nothing else would do, would resign the
envied estate; and that I dared to say would.

He was contented, he said, to abide that issue. He should be far from
wishing me to embrace any other protection, but, as he had frequently
said, in the last necessity. But dearest creature, said he, catching
my hand with ardour, and pressing it to his lips, if the yielding up
of that estate will do--resign it--and be mine--and I will
corroborate, with all my soul, your resignation!

This was not ungenerously said: But what will not these men say to
obtain belief, and a power over one?

I made many efforts to go; and now it was so dark, that I began to
have great apprehensions. I cannot say from his behaviour: indeed, he
has a good deal raised himself in my opinion by the personal respect,
even to reverence, which he paid me during the whole conference: for,
although he flamed out once, upon a supposition that Solmes might
succeed, it was upon a supposition that would excuse passion, if any
thing could, you know, in a man pretending to love with fervour;
although it was so levelled, that I could not avoid resenting it.

He recommended himself to my favour at parting, with great
earnestness, yet with as great submission; not offering to condition
any thing with me; although he hinted his wishes for another meeting:
which I forbad him ever attempting again in the same place. And I
will own to you, from whom I should be really blamable to conceal any
thing, that his arguments (drawn from the disgraceful treatment I meet
with) of what I am to expect, make me begin to apprehend that I shall
be under an obligation to be either the one man's or the other's--and,
if so, I fancy I shall not incur your blame, were I to say which of
the two it must be: you have said, which it must not be. But, O my
dear, the single life is by far the most eligible to me: indeed it is.
And I hope yet to be permitted to make that option.

I got back without observation; but the apprehension that I should
not, gave me great uneasiness; and made me begin a letter in a greater
flutter than he gave me cause to be in, except at the first seeing him;
for then indeed my spirits failed me; and it was a particular
felicity, that, in such a place, in such a fright, and alone with him,
I fainted not away.

I should add, that having reproached him with his behaviour the last
Sunday at church, he solemnly assured me, that it was not what had
been represented to me: that he did not expect to see me there: but
hoped to have an opportunity to address himself to my father, and to
be permitted to attend him home. But that the good Dr. Lewen had
persuaded him not to attempt speaking to any of the family, at that
time; observing to him the emotions into which his presence had put
every body. He intended no pride, or haughtiness of behaviour, he
assured me; and that the attributing such to him was the effect of
that ill-will which he had the mortification to find insuperable:
adding, that when he bowed to my mother, it was a compliment he
intended generally to every one in the pew, as well as to her, whom he
sincerely venerated.

If he may be believed, (and I should think he would not have come
purposely to defy my family, yet expect favour from me,) one may see,
my dear, the force of hatred, which misrepresents all things. Yet why
should Shorey (except officiously to please her principals) make a
report in his disfavour? He told me, that he would appeal to Dr.
Lewen for his justification on this head; adding, that the whole
conversation between the Doctor and him turned upon his desire to
attempt to reconcile himself to us all, in the face of the church; and
upon the Doctor's endeavouring to dissuade him from making such a
public overture, till he knew how it would be accepted. But to what
purpose his appeal, when I am debarred from seeing that good man, or
any one who would advise me what to do in my present difficult
situation!

I fancy, my dear, however, that there would hardly be a guilty person
in the world, were each suspected or accused person to tell his or her
own story, and be allowed any degree of credit.

I have written a very long letter.

To be so particular as you require in subjects of conversation, it is
impossible to be short.

I will add to it only the assurance, That I am, and ever will be,

Your affectionate and faithful
friend and servant,
CLARISSA HARLOWE.

You'll be so good, my dear, as to remember, that the date of your last
letter to me was the 9th.

LETTER XXXVII

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE.
SUNDAY, MARCH 19.

I beg your pardon, my dearest friend, for having given you occasion to
remind me of the date of my last. I was willing to have before me as
much of the workings of your wise relations as possible; being verily
persuaded, that one side or the other would have yielded by this time:
and then I should have had some degree of certainty to found my
observations upon. And indeed what can I write that I have not
already written?--You know, that I can do nothing but rave at your
stupid persecutors: and that you don't like. I have advised you to
resume your own estate: that you won't do. You cannot bear the
thoughts of having their Solmes: and Lovelace is resolved you shall be
his, let who will say to the contrary. I think you must be either the
one man's or the other's. Let us see what their next step will be.

As to Lovelace, while he tells his own story (having also behaved so
handsomely on his intrusion in the wood-house, and intended so well at
church) who can say, that the man is in the least blameworthy?--Wicked
people! to combine against so innocent a man!--But, as I said, let us
see what their next step will be, and what course you will take upon
it; and then we may be the more enlightened.

As to your change of style to your uncles, and brother and sister,
since they were so fond of attributing to you a regard for Lovelace,
and would not be persuaded to the contrary; and since you only
strengthened their arguments against yourself by denying it; you did
but just as I would have done, in giving way to their suspicions, and
trying what that would do--But if--but if--Pray, my dear, indulge me a
little--you yourself think it was necessary to apologize to me for
that change of style to them--and till you will speak out like a
friend to her unquestionable friend, I must tease you a little--let it
run therefore; for it will run--

If, then, there be not a reason for this change of style, which you
have not thought fit to give me, be so good as to watch, as I once
before advised you, how the cause for it will come on--Why should it
be permitted to steal upon you, and you know nothing of the matter?

When we get a great cold, we are apt to puzzle ourselves to find out
when it began, or how we got it; and when that is accounted for, down
we sit contented, and let it have its course; or, if it be very
troublesome, take a sweat, or use other means to get rid of it. So my
dear, before the malady you wot of, yet wot not of, grows so
importunate, as that you must be obliged to sweat it out, let me
advise you to mind how it comes on. For I am persuaded, as surely as
that I am now writing to you, that the indiscreet violence of your
friends on the one hand, and the insinuating address of Lovelace on
the other, (if the man be not a greater fool than any body thinks
him,) will effectually bring it to this, and do all his work for him.

But let it--if it must be Lovelace or Solmes, the choice cannot admit
of debate. Yet if all be true that is reported, I should prefer
almost any of your other lovers to either; unworthy as they also are.
But who can be worthy of a Clarissa?

I wish you are not indeed angry with me for harping so much on one
string. I must own, that I should think myself inexcusable so to do,
(the rather, as I am bold enough imagine it a point out of all doubt
from fifty places in your letters, were I to labour the proof,) if you
would ingenuously own--

Own what? you'll say. Why, my Anna Howe, I hope you don't think that
I am already in love!--

No, to be sure! How can your Anna Howe have such a thought?--What
then shall we call it? You might have helped me to a phrase--A
conditional kind of liking!--that's it.--O my friend! did I not know
how much you despise prudery; and that you are too young, and too
lovely, to be a prude--

But, avoiding such hard names, let me tell you one thing, my dear
(which nevertheless I have told you before); and that is this: that I
shall think I have reason to be highly displeased with you, if, when
you write to me, you endeavour to keep from me any secret of your
heart.

Let me add, that if you would clearly and explicitly tell me, how far
Lovelace has, or has not, a hold in your affections, I could better
advise you what to do, than at present I can. You, who are so famed
for prescience, as I may call it; and than whom no young lady ever had
stronger pretensions to a share of it; have had, no doubt, reasonings
in your heart about him, supposing you were to be one day his: [no
doubt but you have had the same in Solmes's case: whence the ground for
the hatred of the one; and for the conditional liking of the other.]
Will you tell me, my dear, what you have thought of Lovelace's best
and of his worst?--How far eligible for the first; how far rejectable
for the last?--Then weighing both parts in opposite scales, we shall
see which is likely to preponderate; or rather which does
preponderate. Nothing less than the knowledge of the inmost recesses
of your heart, can satisfy my love and my friendship. Surely, you are
not afraid to trust yourself with a secret of this nature: if you are,
then you may the more allowably doubt me. But, I dare say, you will
not own either--nor is there, I hope, cause for either.

Be pleased to observe one thing, my dear, that whenever I have given
myself any of those airs of raillery, which have seemed to make you
look about you, (when, likewise, your case may call for a more serious
turn from a sympathizing friend,) it has not been upon those passages
which are written, though, perhaps not intended, with such
explicitness [don't be alarmed, my dear!] as leaves little cause of
doubt: but only when you affect reserve; when you give new words for
common things; when you come with your curiosities, with your
conditional likings, and with your PRUDE-encies [mind how I spell the
word] in a case that with every other person defies all prudence--
over-acts of treason all these, against the sovereign friendship we
have avowed to each other.

Remember, that you found me out in a moment. You challenged me. I
owned directly, that there was only my pride between the man and me;
for I could not endure, I told you, to think of any fellow living to
give me a moment's uneasiness. And then my man, as I have elsewhere
said, was not such a one as yours: so I had reason to impute full as
much as to my own inconsideration, as to his power over me: nay, more:
but still more to yours. For you reasoned me out of the curiosity
first; and when the liking was brought to be conditional--why then,
you know, I throbbed no more about him.

O! pray now, as you say, now I have mentioned that my fellow was not
such a charming fellow as yours, let Miss Biddulph, Miss Lloyd, Miss
Campion, and me, have your opinion, how far figure ought to engage us:
with a view to your own case, however--mind that--as Mr. Tony says--
and whether at all, if the man be vain of it; since, as you observe in
a former, that vanity is a stop-short pride in such a one, that would
make one justly doubt the worthiness of his interior. You, our
pattern, so lovely in feature, so graceful in person, have none of it;
and have therefore with the best grace always held, that it is not
excusable even in a woman.

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