Clarissa, Volume 1 (of 9)

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Wonder not, however, at your Bell's unsisterly behaviour in this
affair: I have a particular to add to the inducements your insolent
brother is governed by, which will account for all her driving. You
have already owned, that her outward eye was from the first struck
with the figure and address of the man whom she pretends to despise,
and who, 'tis certain, thoroughly despises her: but you have not told
me, that still she loves him of all men. Bell has a meanness in her
very pride; that meanness rises with her pride, and goes hand in hand
with it; and no one is so proud as Bell. She has owned her love, her
uneasy days, and sleepless nights, and her revenge grafted upon her
love, to her favourite Betty Barnes--To lay herself in the power of a
servant's tongue! Poor creature!--But LIKE little souls will find one
another out, and mingle, as well as LIKE great ones. This, however,
she told the wench in strict confidence: and thus, by way of the
female round-about, as Lovelace had the sauciness on such another
occasion, in ridicule of our sex, to call it, Betty (pleased to be
thought worthy of a secret, and to have an opportunity of inveighing
against Lovelace's perfidy, as she would have it to be) told it to one
of her confidants: that confidant, with like injunctions of secrecy,
to Miss Lloyd's Harriot--Harriot to Miss Lloyd--Miss Lloyd to me--I to
you--with leave to make what you please of it.

And now you will not wonder to find Miss Bell an implacable rival,
rather than an affectionate sister; and will be able to account for
the words witchcraft, syren, and such like, thrown out against you;
and for her driving on for a fixed day for sacrificing you to Solmes:
in short, for her rudeness and violence of every kind.

What a sweet revenge will she take, as well upon Lovelace as upon you,
if she can procure her rival sister to be married to the man that
sister hates; and so prevent her having the man whom she herself loves
(whether she have hope of him or not), and whom she suspects her
sister loves!

Poisons and poniard have often been set to work by minds inflamed by
disappointed love, and actuated by revenge.--Will you wonder, then,
that the ties of relationship in such a case have no force, and that a
sister forgets to be a sister?

Now I know this to be her secret motive, (the more grating to her, as
her pride is concerned to make her disavow it), and can consider it
joined with her former envy, and as strengthened by a brother, who has
such an ascendant over the whole family; and whose interest (slave to
it as he always was) engaged him to ruin you with every one: both
possessed of the ears of all your family, and having it as much in
their power as in their will to misrepresent all you say, all you do;
such subject also as to the rencounter, and Lovelace's want of morals,
to expatiate upon: your whole family likewise avowedly attached to the
odious man by means of the captivating proposals he has made them;--
when I consider all these things, I am full of apprehensions for you.
--O my dear, how will you be able to maintain your ground;--I am sure,
(alas! I am too sure) that they will subdue such a fine spirit as
yours, unused to opposition; and (tell it not in Gath) you must be
Mrs. Solmes!

Mean time, it is now easy, as you will observe, to guess from what
quarter the report I mentioned to you in one of my former, came, That
the younger sister has robbed the elder of her lover:* for Betty
whispered it, at the time she whispered the rest, that neither
Lovelace nor you had done honourably by her young mistress.--How
cruel, my dear, in you, to rob the poor Bella of the only lover she
only had!--At the instant too that she was priding herself, that now
at last she should have it in her power not only to gratify her own
susceptibilities, but to give an example to the flirts of her sex**
(my worship's self in her eye) how to govern their man with a silken
rein, and without a curb-bridle!

* Letter I.
** Letter II.

Upon the whole, I have now no doubt of their persevering in favour of
the despicable Solmes; and of their dependence upon the gentleness of
your temper, and the regard you have for their favour, and for your
own reputation. And now I am more than ever convinced of the
propriety of the advice I formerly gave you, to keep in your own hands
the estate bequeathed to you by your grandfather.--Had you done so, it
would have procured you at least an outward respect from your brother
and sister, which would have made them conceal the envy and ill-will
that now are bursting upon you from hearts so narrow.

I must harp a little more upon this string--Do not you observe, how
much your brother's influence has overtopped yours, since he has got
into fortunes so considerable, and since you have given some of them
an appetite to continue in themselves the possession of your estate,
unless you comply with their terms?

I know your dutiful, your laudable motives; and one would have
thought, that you might have trusted to a father who so dearly loved
you. But had you been actually in possession of that estate, and
living up to it, and upon it, (your youth protected from blighting
tongues by the company of your prudent Norton, as you had proposed,)
do you think that your brother, grudging it to you at the time as he
did, and looking upon it as his right as an only son, would have been
practising about it, and aiming at it? I told you some time ago, that
I thought your trials but proportioned to your prudence:* but you will
be more than woman, if you can extricate yourself with honour, having
such violent spirits and sordid minds in some, and such tyrannical and
despotic wills in others, to deal with. Indeed, all may be done, and
the world be taught further to admire you for your blind duty and
will-less resignation, if you can persuade yourself to be Mrs. Solmes.

* Letter I.

I am pleased with the instances you give me of Mr. Lovelace's
benevolence to his own tenants, and with his little gift to your
uncle's. Mrs. Fortescue allows him to be the best of landlords: I
might have told you that, had I thought it necessary to put you into
some little conceit of him. He has qualities, in short, that may make
him a tolerable creature on the other side of fifty: but God help the
poor woman to whose lot he shall fall till then! women, I should say,
perhaps; since he may break half-a-dozen hearts before that time.--But
to the point I was upon--Shall we not have reason to commend the
tenant's grateful honesty, if we are told, that with joy the poor man
called out your uncle, and on the spot paid him in part of his debt
those two guineas?--But what shall we say of that landlord, who,
though he knew the poor man to be quite destitute, could take it; and,
saying nothing while Mr. Lovelace staid, as soon as he was gone, tell
of it in praise of the poor fellow's honesty?--Were this so, and were
not that landlord related to my dearest friend, how should I despise
such a wretch?--But, perhaps, the story is aggravated. Covetous
people have every one's ill word: and so indeed they ought; because
they are only solicitous to keep that which they prefer to every one's
good one.--Covetous indeed would they be, who deserved neither, yet
expected both!

I long for your next letter. Continue to be as particular as
possible. I can think of no other subject but what relates to you and
to your affairs: for I am, and ever will be, most affectionately,

Your own,
ANNA HOWE.

LETTER XVI

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE
[HER PRECEDING NOT AT THAT TIME RECEIVED.]
FRIDAY, MARCH 3.

O my dear friend, I have had a sad conflict! Trial upon trial;
conference upon conference!--But what law, what ceremony, can give a
man a right to a heart which abhors him more than it does any living
creature?

I hope my mother will be able to prevail for me.--But I will recount
it all, though I sit up the whole night to do it; for I have a vast
deal to write, and will be as minute as you wish me to be.

I concluded my last in a fright. It was occasioned by a conversation
that passed between my mother and my aunt, part of which Hannah
overheard. I need not give you the particulars; since what I have to
relate to you from different conversations that have passed between my
mother and me, in the space of a very few hours, will include them
all. I will begin then.

I went down this morning when breakfast was ready with a very uneasy
heart, from what Hannah had informed me of yesterday afternoon;
wishing for an opportunity, however, to appeal to my mother, in hopes
to engage her interest in my behalf, and purposing to try to find one
when she retired to her own apartment after breakfast: but, unluckily,
there was the odious Solmes, sitting asquat between my mother and
sister, with so much assurance in his looks!--But you know, my dear,
that those we love not, cannot do any thing to please us.

Had the wretch kept his seat, it might have been well enough: but the
bend and broad-shouldered creature must needs rise, and stalk towards
a chair, which was just by that which was set for me.

I removed it to a distance, as if to make way to my own: and down I
sat, abruptly I believe; what I had heard all in my head.

But this was not enough to daunt him. The man is a very confident, he
is a very bold, staring man!--Indeed, my dear, the man is very
confident.

He took the removed chair, and drew it so near mine, squatting in it
with his ugly weight, that he pressed upon my hoop.--I was so offended
(all I had heard, as I said, in my head) that I removed to another
chair. I own I had too little command of myself. It gave my brother
and sister too much advantage. I day say they took it. But I did it
involuntarily, I think. I could not help it.--I knew not what I did.

I saw that my father was excessively displeased. When angry, no man's
countenance ever shews it so much as my father's. Clarissa Harlowe!
said he with a big voice--and there he stopped. Sir! said I,
trembling and courtesying (for I had not then sat down again); and put
my chair nearer the wretch, and sat down--my face, as I could feel,
all in a glow.

Make tea, child, said my kind mamma; sit by me, love, and make tea.

I removed with pleasure to the seat the man had quitted; and being
thus indulgently put into employment, soon recovered myself; and in
the course of the breakfasting officiously asked two or three
questions of Mr. Solmes, which I would not have done, but to make up
with my father.--Proud spirits may be brought to! Whisperingly spoke
my sister to me, over her shoulder, with an air of triumph and scorn:
but I did not mind her.

My mother was all kindness and condescension. I asked her once, if
she were pleased with the tea? She said, softly, (and again called me
dear,) she was pleased with all I did. I was very proud of this
encouraging goodness: and all blew over, as I hoped, between my father
and me; for he also spoke kindly to me two or three times.

Small accidents these, my dear, to trouble you with; only as they lead
to greater, as you shall hear.

Before the usual breakfast-time was over, my father withdrew with my
mother, telling her he wanted to speak with her. Then my sister and
next my aunt (who was with us) dropt away.

My brother gave himself some airs of insult, which I understood well
enough; but which Mr. Solmes could make nothing of: and at last he
arose from his seat--Sister, said he, I have a curiosity to shew you.
I will fetch it. And away he went shutting the door close after him.

I saw what all this was for. I arose; the man hemming up for a
speech, rising, and beginning to set his splay-feet [indeed, my dear,
the man in all his ways is hateful to me] in an approaching posture.--
I will save my brother the trouble of bringing to me his curiosity,
said I. I courtesied--Your servant, sir--The man cried, Madam, Madam,
twice, and looked like a fool.--But away I went--to find my brother,
to save my word.--But my brother, indifferent as the weather was, was
gone to walk in the garden with my sister. A plain case, that he had
left his curiosity with me, and designed to shew me no other.

I had but just got into my own apartment, and began to think of
sending Hannah to beg an audience of my mother (the more encouraged by
her condescending goodness at breakfast) when Shorey, her woman,
brought me her commands to attend me in her closet.

My father, Hannah told me, was just gone out of it with a positive
angry countenance. Then I as much dreaded the audience as I had
wished for it before.

I went down however; but, apprehending the subject she intended to
talk to me upon, approached her trembling, and my heart in visible
palpitations.

She saw my concern. Holding out her kind arms, as she sat, Come kiss
me, my dear, said she, with a smile like a sun-beam breaking through
the cloud that overshadowed her naturally benign aspect--Why flutters
my jewel so?

This preparative sweetness, with her goodness just before, confirmed
my apprehensions. My mother saw the bitter pill wanted gilding.

O my Mamma! was all I could say; and I clasped my arms round her neck,
and my face sunk into her bosom.

My child! my child! restrain, said she, your powers of moving! I dare
not else trust myself with you.--And my tears trickled down her bosom,
as hers bedewed my neck.

O the words of kindness, all to be expressed in vain, that flowed from
her lips!

Lift up your sweet face, my best child, my own Clarissa Harlowe!--O my
daughter, best beloved of my heart, lift up a face so ever amiable to
me!--Why these sobs?--Is an apprehended duty so affecting a thing,
that before I can speak--But I am glad, my love, you can guess at what
I have to say to you. I am spared the pains of breaking to you what
was a task upon me reluctantly enough undertaken to break to you.
Then rising, she drew a chair near her own, and made me sit down by
her, overwhelmed as I was with tears of apprehension of what she had
to say, and of gratitude for her truly maternal goodness to me--sobs
still my only language.

And drawing her chair still nearer to mine, she put her arms round my
neck, and my glowing cheek wet with my tears, close to her own: Let me
talk to you, my child. Since silence is your choice, hearken to me,
and be silent.

You know, my dear, what I every day forego, and undergo, for the sake
of peace. Your papa is a very good man, and means well; but he will
not be controuled; nor yet persuaded. You have sometimes seemed to
pity me, that I am obliged to give up every point. Poor man! his
reputation the less for it; mine the greater: yet would I not have
this credit, if I could help it, at so dear a rate to him and to
myself. You are a dutiful, a prudent, and a wise child, she was
pleased to say, in hope, no doubt, to make me so: you would not add, I
am sure, to my trouble: you would not wilfully break that peace which
costs your mother so much to preserve. Obedience is better than
sacrifice. O my Clary Harlowe, rejoice my heart, by telling me that I
have apprehended too much!--I see your concern! I see your
perplexity! I see your conflict! [loosing her arm, and rising, not
willing I should see how much she herself was affected]. I will leave
you a moment.--Answer me not--[for I was essaying to speak, and had,
as soon as she took her dear cheek from mine, dropt down on my knees,
my hands clasped, and lifted up in a supplicating manner]--I am not
prepared for your irresistible expostulation, she was pleased to say.
I will leave you to recollection: and I charge you, on my blessing,
that all this my truly maternal tenderness be not thrown away upon you.

And then she withdrew into the next apartment; wiping her eyes as she
went from me; as mine overflowed; my heart taking in the whole compass
of her meaning.

She soon returned, having recovered more steadiness.

Still on my knees, I had thrown my face across the chair she had sat
in.

Look up to me, my Clary Harlowe--No sullenness, I hope!

No, indeed, my ever-to-be-revered Mamma.--And I arose. I bent my
knee.

She raised me. No kneeling to me, but with knees of duty and
compliance. Your heart, not your knees, must bend. It is absolutely
determined. Prepare yourself therefore to receive your father, when
he visits you by-and-by, as he would wish to receive you. But on this
one quarter of an hour depends the peace of my future life, the
satisfaction of all the family, and your own security from a man of
violence: and I charge you besides, on my blessing, that you think of
being Mrs. Solmes.

There went the dagger to my heart, and down I sunk: and when I
recovered, found myself in the arms of my Hannah, my sister's Betty
holding open my reluctantly -opened palm, my laces cut, my linen
scented with hartshorn; and my mother gone. Had I been less kindly
treated, the hated name still forborne to be mentioned, or mentioned
with a little more preparation and reserve, I had stood the horrid
sound with less visible emotion--But to be bid, on the blessing of a
mother so dearly beloved, so truly reverenced, to think of being MRS.
SOLMES--what a denunciation was that!

Shorey came in with a message (delivered in her solemn way): Your
mamma, Miss, is concerned for your disorder: she expects you down
again in an hour; and bid me say, that she then hopes every thing from
your duty.

I made no reply; for what could I say? And leaning upon my Hannah's
arm, withdrew to my own apartment. There you will guess how the
greatest part of the hour was employed.

Within that time, my mother came up to me.

I love, she was pleased to say, to come into this apartment.--No
emotions, child! No flutters!--Am I not your mother?--Do not
discompose me by discomposing yourself! Do not occasion me
uneasiness, when I would give you nothing but pleasure. Come, my
dear, we will go into your closet.

She took my hand, led the way, and made me sit down by her: and after
she had inquired how I did, she began in a strain as if she supposed I
had made use of the intervening space to overcome all my objections.

She was pleased to tell me, that my father and she, in order to spare
my natural modesty, had taken the whole affair upon themselves--

Hear me out; and then speak.--He is not indeed every thing I wish him
to be: but he is a man of probity, and has no vices--

No vices, Madam!--

Hear me out, child.--You have not behaved much amiss to him: we have
seen with pleasure that you have not--

O Madam, must I not now speak!

I shall have done presently.--A young creature of your virtuous and
pious turn, she was pleased to say, cannot surely love a profligate:
you love your brother too well, to wish to marry one who had like to
have killed him, and who threatened your uncles, and defies us all.
You have had your own way six or seven times: we want to secure you
against a man so vile. Tell me (I have a right to know) whether you
prefer this man to all others?--Yet God forbid that I should know you
do; for such a declaration would make us all miserable. Yet tell me,
are your affections engaged to this man?

I knew not what the inference would be, if I said they were not.

You hesitate--You answer me not--You cannot answer me.--Rising--Never
more will I look upon you with an eye of favour--

O Madam, Madam! Kill me not with your displeasure--I would not, I
need not, hesitate one moment, did I not dread the inference, if I
answer you as you wish.--Yet be that inference what it will, your
threatened displeasure will make me speak. And I declare to you, that
I know not my own heart, if it not be absolutely free. And pray, let
me ask my dearest Mamma, in what has my conduct been faulty, that,
like a giddy creature, I must be forced to marry, to save me from--
From what? Let me beseech you, Madam, to be the guardian of my
reputation! Let not your Clarissa be precipitated into a state she
wishes not to enter into with any man! And this upon a supposition
that otherwise she shall marry herself, and disgrace her whole family.

Well then, Clary [passing over the force of my plea] if your heart be
free--

O my beloved Mamma, let the usual generosity of your dear heart
operate in my favour. Urge not upon me the inference that made me
hesitate.

I won't be interrupted, Clary--You have seen in my behaviour to you,
on this occasion, a truly maternal tenderness; you have observed that
I have undertaken the task with some reluctance, because the man is
not every thing; and because I know you carry your notions of
perfection in a man too high--

Dearest Madam, this one time excuse me!--Is there then any danger that
I should be guilty of an imprudent thing for the man's sake you hint
at?

Again interrupted!--Am I to be questioned, and argued with? You know
this won't do somewhere else. You know it won't. What reason then,
ungenerous girl, can you have for arguing with me thus, but because
you think from my indulgence to you, you may?

What can I say? What can I do? What must that cause be that will not
bear being argued upon?

Again! Clary Harlowe!

Dearest Madam, forgive me: it was always my pride and my pleasure to
obey you. But look upon that man--see but the disagreeableness of his
person--

Now, Clary, do I see whose person you have in your eye!--Now is Mr.
Solmes, I see, but comparatively disagreeable; disagreeable only as
another man has a much more specious person

But, Madam, are not his manners equally so?--Is not his person the
true representative of his mind?--That other man is not, shall not be,
any thing to me, release me but from this one man, whom my heart,
unbidden, resists.

Condition thus with your father. Will he bear, do you think, to be
thus dialogued with? Have I not conjured you, as you value my peace--
What is it that I do not give up?--This very task, because I
apprehended you would not be easily persuaded, is a task indeed upon
me. And will you give up nothing? Have you not refused as many as
have been offered to you? If you would not have us guess for whom,
comply; for comply you must, or be looked upon as in a state of
defiance with your whole family.

And saying this, she arose and went from me. But at the chamber-door
stopt; and turned back: I will not say below in what a disposition I
leave you. Consider of every thing. The matter is resolved upon. As
you value your father's blessing and mine, and the satisfaction of all
the family, resolve to comply. I will leave you for a few moments. I
will come up to you again. See that I find you as I wish to find you;
and since your heart is free, let your duty govern it.

In about half an hour, my mother returned. She found me in tears.
She took my hand: It is my part evermore, said she, to be of the
acknowledging side. I believe I have needlessly exposed myself to
your opposition, by the method I have taken with you. I first began
as if I expected a denial, and by my indulgence brought it upon
myself.

Do not, my dearest Mamma! do not say so!

Were the occasion for this debate, proceeded she, to have risen from
myself; were it in my power to dispense with your compliance; you too
well know what you can do with me.

Would any body, my dear Miss Howe, wish to marry, who sees a wife of
such a temper, and blessed with such an understanding as my mother is
noted for, not only deprived of all power, but obliged to be even
active in bringing to bear a point of high importance, which she thinks
ought not to be insisted upon?

When I came to you a second time, proceeded she, knowing that your
opposition would avail you nothing, I refused to hear your reasons:
and in this I was wrong too, because a young creature who loves to
reason, and used to love to be convinced by reason, ought to have all
her objections heard: I now therefore, this third time, see you; and
am come resolved to hear all you have to say: and let me, my dear, by
my patience engage your gratitude; your generosity, I will call it,
because it is to you I speak, who used to have a mind wholly
generous.--Let me, if your heart be really free, let me see what it
will induce you to do to oblige me: and so as you permit your usual
discretion to govern you, I will hear all you have to say; but with
this intimation, that say what you will, it will be of no avail
elsewhere.

What a dreadful saying is that! But could I engage your pity, Madam,
it would be somewhat.

You have as much of my pity as of my love. But what is person, Clary,
with one of your prudence, and your heart disengaged?

Should the eye be disgusted, when the heart is to be engaged?--O
Madam, who can think of marrying when the heart is shocked at the
first appearance, and where the disgust must be confirmed by every
conversation afterwards?

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