Clarissa, Volume 1 (of 9)

S >> Samuel Richardson >> Clarissa, Volume 1 (of 9)

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24

This, Clary, is owing to your prepossession. Let me not have cause to
regret that noble firmness of mind in so young a creature which I
thought your glory, and which was my boast in your character. In this
instance it would be obstinacy, and want of duty.--Have you not made
objections to several--

That was to their minds, to their principles, Madam.--But this man--

Is an honest man, Clary Harlowe. He has a good mind. He is a
virtuous man.

He an honest man? His a good mind, Madam? He a virtuous man?--

Nobody denies these qualities.

Can he be an honest man who offers terms that will rob all his own
relations of their just expectations?--Can his mind be good--

You, Clary Harlowe, for whose sake he offers so much, are the last
person who should make this observation.

Give me leave to say, Madam, that a person preferring happiness to
fortune, as I do; that want not even what I have, and can give up the
use of that, as an instance of duty--

No more, no more of your merits!--You know you will be a gainer by
that cheerful instance of your duty; not a loser. You know you have
but cast your bread upon the waters--so no more of that!--For it is
not understood as a merit by every body, I assure you; though I think
it a high one; and so did your father and uncles at the time--

At the time, Madam!--How unworthily do my brother and sister, who are
afraid that the favour I was so lately in--

I hear nothing against your brother and sister--What family feuds have
I in prospect, at a time when I hoped to have most comfort from you
all!

God bless my brother and sister in all their worthy views! You shall
have no family feuds if I can prevent them. You yourself, Madam,
shall tell me what I shall bear from them, and I will bear it: but let
my actions, not their misrepresentations (as I am sure by the
disgraceful prohibitions I have met with has been the case) speak for
me.

Just then, up came my father, with a sternness in his looks that made
me tremble.--He took two or three turns about my chamber, though
pained by his gout; and then said to my mother, who was silent as soon
as she saw him--

My dear, you are long absent.--Dinner is near ready. What you had to
say, lay in a very little compass. Surely, you have nothing to do but
to declare your will, and my will--But perhaps you may be talking of
the preparations--Let us have you soon down--Your daughter in your
hand, if worthy of the name.

And down he went, casting his eye upon me with a look so stern, that I
was unable to say one word to him, or even for a few minutes to my
mother.

Was not this very intimidating, my dear?

My mother, seeing my concern, seemed to pity me. She called me her
good child, and kissed me; and told me that my father should not know
I had made such opposition. He has kindly furnished us with an excuse
for being so long together, said she.--Come, my dear--dinner will be
upon table presently--Shall we go down?--And took my hand.

This made me start: What, Madam, go down to let it be supposed we were
talking of preparations!--O my beloved Mamma, command me not down upon
such a supposition.

You see, child, that to stay longer together, will be owning that you
are debating about an absolute duty; and that will not be borne. Did
not your father himself some days ago tell you, he would be obeyed? I
will a third time leave you. I must say something by way of excuse
for you: and that you desire not to go down to dinner--that your
modesty on the occasion--

O Madam! say not my modesty on such an occasion: for that will be to
give hope--

And design you not to give hope?--Perverse girl!--Rising and flinging
from me; take more time for consideration!--Since it is necessary,
take more time--and when I see you next, let me know what blame I have
to cast upon myself, or to bear from your father, for my indulgence to
you.

She made, however, a little stop at the chamber-door; and seemed to
expect that I would have besought her to make the gentlest
construction for me; for, hesitating, she was pleased to say, I
suppose you would not have me make a report--

O Madam, interrupted I, whose favour can I hope for if I lose my
mamma's?

To have desired a favourable report, you know, my dear, would have
been qualifying upon a point that I was too much determined upon, to
give room for any of my friends to think I have the least hesitation
about it. And so my mother went down stairs.

I will deposit thus far; and, as I know you will not think me too
minute in the relation of particulars so very interesting to one you
honour with your love, proceed in the same way. As matters stand, I
don't care to have papers, so freely written, about me.

Pray let Robert call every day, if you can spare him, whether I have
any thing ready or not.

I should be glad you would not send him empty handed. What a
generosity will it be in you, to write as frequently from friendship,
as I am forced to do from misfortune! The letters being taken away
will be an assurance that you have them. As I shall write and deposit
as I have opportunity, the formality of super and sub-scription will
be excused. For I need not say how much I am

Your sincere and ever affectionate,
CL. HARLOWE.

LETTER XVII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE

My mother, on her return, which was as soon as she had dined, was
pleased to inform me, that she told my father, on his questioning her
about my cheerul compliance (for, it seems, the cheerful was all that
was doubted) that she was willing, on so material a point, to give a
child whom she had so much reason to love (as she condescended to
acknowledge were her words) liberty to say all that was in her heart
to say, that her compliance might be the freer: letting him know, that
when he came up, she was attending to my pleas; for that she found I
had rather not marry at all.

She told me, that to this my father angrily said, let her take care--
let her take care--that she give me not ground to suspect her of a
preference somewhere else. But, if it be to ease her heart, and not
to dispute my will, you may hear her out.

So, Clary, said my mother, I am returned in a temper accordingly: and
I hope you will not again, by your peremptoriness, shew me how I ought
to treat you.

Indeed, Madam, you did me justice to say, I have no inclination to
marry at all. I have not, I hope, made myself so very unuseful in my
papa's family, as--

No more of your merits, Clary! You have been a good child. You have
eased me of all the family cares: but do not now give more than ever
you relieved me from. You have been amply repaid in the reputation
your skill and management have given you: but now there is soon to be
a period to all those assistances from you. If you marry, there will
be a natural, and, if to please us, a desirable period; because your
own family will employ all your talents in that way: if you do not,
there will be a period likewise, but not a natural one--you understand
me, child.

I wept.

I have made inquiry already after a housekeeper. I would have had
your good Norton; but I suppose you will yourself wish to have the
worthy woman with you. If you desire it, that shall be agreed upon
for you.

But, why, dearest Madam, why am I, the youngest, to be precipitated
into a state, that I am very far from wishing to enter into with any
body?

You are going to question me, I suppose, why your sister is not
thought of for Mr. Solmes?

I hope, Madam, it will not displease you if I were.

I might refer you for an answer to your father.--Mr. Solmes has
reasons for preferring you--

And I have reasons, Madam, for disliking him. And why I am--

This quickness upon me, interrupted my mother, is not to be borne! I
am gone, and your father comes, if I can do no good with you.

O Madam, I would rather die, than--

She put her hand to my mouth--No peremptoriness, Clary Harlowe: once
you declare yourself inflexible, I have done.

I wept for vexation. This is all, all, my brother's doings--his
grasping views--

No reflections upon your brother: he has entirely the honour of the
family at heart.

I would no more dishonour my family, Madam, than my brother would.

I believe it: but I hope you will allow your father, and me, and your
uncles, to judge what will do it honour, what dishonour.

I then offered to live single; never to marry at all; or never but
with their full approbation.

If you mean to shew your duty, and your obedience, Clary, you must
shew it in our way, not in your own.

I hope, Madam, that I have not so behaved hitherto, as to render such
a trial of my obedience necessary.

Yes, Clary, I cannot but say that you have hitherto behaved extremely
well: but you have had no trials till now: and I hope, that now you
are called to one, you will not fail in it. Parents, proceeded she,
when children are young, are pleased with every thing they do. You
have been a good child upon the whole: but we have hitherto rather
complied with you, than you with us. Now that you are grown up to
marriageable years, is the test; especially as your grandfather has
made you independent, as we may say, in preference to those who had
prior expectations upon that estate.

Madam, my grandfather knew, and expressly mentioned in his will his
desire, that my father will more than make it up to my sister. I did
nothing but what I thought my duty to procure his favour. It was
rather a mark of his affection, than any advantage to me: For, do I
either seek or wish to be independent? Were I to be queen of the
universe, that dignity should not absolve me from my duty to you and
to my father. I would kneel for your blessings, were it in the
presence of millions--so that--

I am loth to interrupt you, Clary; though you could more than once
break in upon me. You are young and unbroken: but, with all this
ostentation of your duty, I desire you to shew a little more deference
to me when I am speaking.

I beg your pardon, dear Madam, and your patience with me on such an
occasion as this. If I did not speak with earnestness upon it, I
should be supposed to have only maidenly objections against a man I
never can endure.

Clary Harlowe!--

Dearest, dearest Madam, permit me to speak what I have to say, this
once--It is hard, it is very hard, to be forbidden to enter into the
cause of all these misunderstandings, because I must not speak
disrespectfully of one who supposes me in the way of his ambition, and
treats me like a slave--

Whither, whither, Clary--

My dearest Mamma!--My duty will not permit me so far to suppose my
father arbitrary, as to make a plea of that arbitrariness to you--

How now, Clary!--O girl!

Your patience, my dearest Mamma:--you were pleased to say, you would
hear me with patience.--PERSON in a man is nothing, because I am
supposed to be prudent: so my eye is to be disgusted, and my reason
not convinced--

Girl, girl!

Thus are my imputed good qualities to be made my punishment; and I am
to wedded to a monster--

[Astonishing!--Can this, Clarissa, be from you?

The man, Madam, person and mind, is a monster in my eye.]--And that I
may be induced to bear this treatment, I am to be complimented with
being indifferent to all men: yet, at other times, and to serve other
purposes, be thought prepossessed in favour of a man against whose
moral character lie just objections.--Confined, as if, like the
giddiest of creatures, I would run away with this man, and disgrace my
whole family! O my dearest Mamma! who can be patient under such
treatment?

Now, Clary, I suppose you will allow me to speak. I think I have had
patience indeed with you.--Could I have thought--but I will put all
upon a short issue. Your mother, Clarissa, shall shew you an example
of that patience you so boldly claim from her, without having any
yourself.

O my dear, how my mother's condescension distressed me at the time!--
Infinitely more distressed me, than rigour could have done. But she
knew, she was to be sure aware, that she was put upon a harsh, upon an
unreasonable service, let me say, or she would not, she could not,
have had so much patience with me.

Let me tell you then, proceeded she, that all lies in a small compass,
as your father said.--You have been hitherto, as you are pretty ready
to plead, a dutiful child. You have indeed had no cause to be
otherwise. No child was ever more favoured. Whether you will
discredit all your past behaviour; whether, at a time and upon an
occasion, that the highest instance of duty is expected from you (an
instance that is to crown all); and when you declare that your heart
is free--you will give that instance; or whether, having a view to the
independence you may claim, (for so, Clary, whatever be your motive,
it will be judged,) and which any man you favour, can assert for you
against us all; or rather for himself in spite of us--whether, I say,
you will break with us all; and stand in defiance of a jealous father,
needlessly jealous, I will venture to say, of the prerogatives of his
sex, as to me, and still ten times more jealous of the authority of a
father;--this is now the point with us. You know your father has made
it a point; and did he ever give up one he thought he had a right to
carry?

Too true, thought I to myself! And now my brother has engaged my
father, his fine scheme will walk alone, without needing his leading-
strings; and it is become my father's will that I oppose; not my
brother's grasping views.

I was silent. To say the truth, I was just then sullenly silent. My
heart was too big. I thought it was hard to be thus given up by my
mother; and that she should make a will so uncontroulable as my
brother's, her will.--My mother, my dear, though I must not say so,
was not obliged to marry against her liking. My mother loved my
father.

My silence availed me still less.

I see, my dear, said she, that you are convinced. Now, my good child
--now, my Clary, do I love you! It shall not be known, that you have
argued with me at all. All shall be imputed to that modesty which has
ever so much distinguished you. You shall have the full merit of your
resignation.

I wept.

She tenderly wiped the tears from my eyes, and kissed my cheek--Your
father expects you down with a cheerful countenance--but I will excuse
your going. All your scruples, you see, have met with an indulgence
truly maternal from me. I rejoice in the hope that you are convinced.
This indeed seems to be a proof of the truth of your agreeable
declaration, that your heart is free.

Did not this seem to border upon cruelty, my dear, in so indulgent a
mother?--It would be wicked [would it not] to suppose my mother
capable of art?--But she is put upon it, and obliged to take methods
to which her heart is naturally above stooping; and all intended for
my good, because she sees that no arguing will be admitted any where
else!

I will go down, proceeded she, and excuse your attendance at afternoon
tea, as I did to dinner: for I know you will have some little
reluctances to subdue. I will allow you those; and also some little
natural shynesses--and so you shall not come down, if you chuse not to
come down. Only, my dear, do not disgrace my report when you come to
supper. And be sure behave as you used to do to your brother and
sister; for your behaviour to them will be one test of your cheerful
obedience to us. I advise as a friend, you see, rather than command
as a mother--So adieu, my love. And again she kissed me; and was
going.

O my dear Mamma, said I, forgive me!--But surely you cannot believe, I
can ever think of having that man!

She was very angry, and seemed to be greatly disappointed. She
threatened to turn me over to my father and uncles:--she however bid
me (generously bid me) consider, what a handle I gave to my brother
and sister, if I thought they had views to serve by making my uncles
dissatisfied with me.

I, said she, in a milder accent, have early said all that I thought
could be said against the present proposal, on a supposition, that
you, who have refused several other (whom I own to be preferable as to
person) would not approve of it; and could I have succeeded, you,
Clary, had never heard of it. But if I could not, how can you expect
to prevail? My great ends in the task I have undertaken, are the
preservation of the family peace so likely to be overturned; to
reinstate you in the affections of your father and uncles: and to
preserve you from a man of violence.--Your father, you must needs
think will flame out upon your refusal to comply: your uncles are so

thoroughly convinced of the consistency of the measure with their
favourite views of aggrandizing the family, that they are as much
determined as your father: your aunt Hervey and your uncle Hervey are
of the same party. And it is hard, if a father and mother, and
uncles, and aunt, all conjoined, cannot be allowed to direct your
choice--surely, my dear girl, proceeded she [for I was silent all this
time], it cannot be that you are the more averse, because the family
views will be promoted by the match--this, I assure you, is what every
body must think, if you comply not. Nor, while the man, so obnoxious
to us all, remains unmarried, and buzzes about you, will the strongest
wishes to live single, be in the least regarded. And well you know,
that were Mr. Lovelace an angel, and your father had made it a point
that you should not have him, it would be in vain to dispute his will.
As to the prohibition laid upon you (much as I will own against my
liking), that is owing to the belief that you corresponded by Miss
Howe's means with that man; nor do I doubt that you did so.

I answered to every article, in such a manner, as I am sure would have
satisfied her, could she have been permitted to judge for herself; and
I then inveighed with bitterness against the disgraceful prohibitions
laid upon me.

They would serve to shew me, she was pleased to say, how much in
earnest my father was. They might be taken off, whenever I thought
fit, and no harm done, nor disgrace received. But if I were to be
contumacious, I might thank myself for all that would follow.

I sighed. I wept. I was silent.

Shall I, Clary, said she, shall I tell your father that these
prohibitions are as unnecessary as I hoped they would be? That you
know your duty, and will not offer to controvert his will? What say
you, my love?

O Madam, what can I say to questions so indulgently put? I do indeed
know my duty: no creature in the world is more willing to practise it:
but, pardon me, dearest Madam, if I say, that I must bear these
prohibitions, if I am to pay so dear to have them taken off.

Determined and perverse, my dear mamma called me: and after walking
twice or thrice in anger about the room, she turned to me: Your heart
free, Clarissa! How can you tell me your heart is free? Such
extraordinary prepossessions to a particular person must be owing to
extraordinary prepossessions in another's favour! Tell me, Clary, and
tell me truly--Do you not continue to correspond with Mr. Lovelace?

Dearest Madam, replied I, you know my motives: to prevent mischief, I
answered his letters. The reasons for our apprehensions of this sort
are not over.

I own to you, Clary, (although now I would not have it known,) that I
once thought a little qualifying among such violent spirits was not
amiss. I did not know but all things would come round again by the
mediation of Lord M. and his two sisters: but as they all three think
proper to resent for their nephew; and as their nephew thinks fit to
defy us all; and as terms are offered, on the other hand, that could
not be asked, which will very probably prevent your grandfather's
estate going out of the family, and may be a means to bring still
greater into it; I see not, that the continuance of your
correspondence with him either can or ought to be permitted. I
therefore now forbid it to you, as you value my favour.

Be pleased, Madam, only to advise me how to break it off with safety
to my brother and uncles; and it is all I wish for. Would to heaven,
the man so hated had not the pretence to make of having been too
violently treated, when he meant peace and reconciliation! It would
always have been in my own power to have broke with him. His reputed
immoralities would have given me a just pretence at any time to do so.
But, Madam, as my uncles and my brother will keep no measures; as he
has heard what the view is; and his regard for me from resenting their
violent treatment of him and his family; what can I do? Would you
have me, Madam, make him desperate?

The law will protect us, child! offended magistracy will assert
itself--

But, Madam, may not some dreadful mischief first happen?--The law
asserts not itself, till it is offended.

You have made offers, Clary, if you might be obliged in the point in
question--Are you really in earnest, were you to be complied with, to
break off all correspondence with Mr. Lovelace?--Let me know this.

Indeed I am; and I will. You, Madam, shall see all the letters that
have passed between us. You shall see I have given him no
encouragement independent of my duty. And when you have seen them,
you will be better able to direct me how, on the condition I have
offered, to break entirely with him.

I take you at your word, Clarissa--Give me his letters; and the copies
of yours.

I am sure, Madam, you will keep the knowledge that I write, and what I
write--

No conditions with your mother--surely my prudence may be trusted to.

I begged her pardon; and besought her to take the key of the private
drawer in my escritoire, where they lay, that she herself might see
that I had no reserves to my mother.

She did; and took all his letters, and the copies of mine.--
Unconditioned with, she was pleased to say, they shall be yours again,
unseen by any body else.

I thanked her; and she withdrew to read them; saying, she would return
them, when she had.

***

You, my dear, have seen all the letters that passed between Mr.
Lovelace and me, till my last return from you. You have acknowledged,
that he has nothing to boast of from them. Three others I have
received since, by the private conveyance I told you of: the last I
have not yet answered.

In these three, as in those you have seen, after having besought my
favour, and, in the most earnest manner, professed the ardour of his
passion for me; and set forth the indignities done him; the defiances
my brother throws out against him in all companies; the menaces, and
hostile appearance of my uncles wherever they go; and the methods they
take to defame him; he declares, 'That neither his own honour, nor the
honour of his family, (involved as that is in the undistinguishing
reflection cast upon him for an unhappy affair which he would have
shunned, but could not) permit him to bear these confirmed
indignities: that as my inclinations, if not favourable to him, cannot
be, nor are, to such a man as the newly-introduced Solmes, he is
interested the more to resent my brother's behaviour; who to every
body avows his rancour and malice; and glories in the probability he
has, through the address of this Solmes, of mortifying me, and
avenging himself on him: that it is impossible he should not think
himself concerned to frustrate a measure so directly levelled at him,
had he not a still higher motive for hoping to frustrate it: that I
must forgive him, if he enter into conference with Solmes upon it. He
earnestly insists (upon what he has so often proposed) that I will
give him leave, in company with Lord M. to wait upon my uncles, and
even upon my father--and he promises patience, if new provocations,
absolutely beneath a man to bear, be not given:' which by the way I am
far from being able to engage for.

In my answer, I absolutely declare, as I tell him I have often done,
'That he is to expect no favour from me against the approbation of my
friends: that I am sure their consents for his visiting any of them
will never be obtained: that I will not be either so undutiful, or so
indiscreet, as to suffer my interests to be separated from the
interests of my family, for any man upon earth: that I do not think
myself obliged to him for the forbearance I desire one flaming spirit
to have with others: that in this desire I require nothing of him, but
what prudence, justice, and the laws of his country require: that if
he has any expectations of favour from me, on that account, he
deceives himself: that I have no inclination, as I have often told
him, to change my condition: that I cannot allow myself to correspond
with him any longer in this clandestine manner: it is mean, low,
undutiful, I tell him; and has a giddy appearance, which cannot be
excused: that therefore he is not to expect that I will continue it.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24