Clarissa, Volume 2 (of 9)

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He saw me rising in my temper--Nay, my dear, interrupting himself, if you
cannot be all resignation, I would not have you think of it.

My heart, struggling between duty and warmth of temper, was full. You
know, my dear, I never could bear to be dealt meanly with!--How--how can
you, Sir! you my Papa-uncle--How can you, Sir!--The poor girl!--for I
could not speak with connexion.

Nay, my dear, if you cannot be all duty, all resignation--better stay
where you are.--But after the instance you have given--

Instance I have given!--What instance, Sir?

Well, well, Child, better stay where you are, if your past confinement
hangs so heavy upon you--but now there will be a sudden end to it--Adieu,
my dear!--Three words only--Let your compliance be sincere!--and love me,
as you used to love me--your Grandfather did not do so much for you, as I
will do for you.

Without suffering me to reply, he hurried away, as I thought, like one
who has been employed to act a part against his will, and was glad it was
over.

Don't you see, my dear Miss Howe, how they are all determined?--Have I
not reason to dread next Tuesday?

Up presently after came my sister:--to observe, I suppose, the way I was
in.

She found me in tears.

Have you not a Thomas a Kempis, Sister? with a stiff air.

I have, Madam.

Madam!--How long are we to be at this distance, Clary?

No longer, my dear Bella, if you allow me to call you sister. And I took
her hand.

No fawning neither, Girl!

I withdrew my hand as hastily, as you may believe I should have done, had
I, in feeling for one of your parcels under the wood, been bitten by a
viper.

I beg pardon, said I,--Too-too ready to make advances, I am always
subjecting myself to contempts.

People who know not how to keep a middle behaviour, said she, must ever
do so.

I will fetch you the Kempis, Sister. I did. Here it is. You will find
excellent things, Bella, in that little book.

I wish, retorted she, you had profited by them.

I wish you may, said I. Example from a sister older than one's self is a
fine thing.

Older! saucy little fool!--And away she flung.

What a captious old woman will my sister make, if she lives to be one!--
demanding the reverence, perhaps, yet not aiming at the merit; and
ashamed of the years that can only entitle her to the reverence.

It is plain, from what I have related, that they think they have got me
at some advantage by obtaining my consent to the interview: but if it
were not, Betty's impertinence just now would make it evident. She has
been complimenting me upon it; and upon the visit of my uncle Harlowe.
She says, the difficulty now is more than half over with me. She is sure
I would not see Mr. Solmes, but to have him. Now shall she be soon
better employed than of late she has been. All hands will be at work.
She loves dearly to have weddings go forward!--Who knows, whose turn will
be next?

I found in the afternoon a reply to my answer to Mr. Lovelace's letter.
It is full of promises, full of vows of gratitude, of eternal gratitude,
is his word, among others still more hyperbolic. Yet Mr. Lovelace, the
least of any man whose letters I have seen, runs into those elevated
absurdities. I should be apt to despise him for it, if he did. Such
language looks always to me, as if the flatterer thought to find a woman
a fool, or hoped to make her one.

'He regrets my indifference to him; which puts all the hope he has in my
favour upon the shocking usage I receive from my friends.

'As to my charge upon him of unpoliteness and uncontroulableness--What
[he asks] can he say? since being unable absolutely to vindicate himself,
he has too much ingenuousness to attempt to do so: yet is struck dumb by
my harsh construction, that his acknowledging temper is owing more to his
carelessness to defend himself, than to his inclination to amend. He had
never before met with the objections against his morals which I had
raised, justly raised: and he was resolved to obviate them. What is it,
he asks, that he has promised, but reformation by my example? And what
occasion for the promise, if he had not faults, and those very great
ones, to reform? He hopes acknowledgement of an error is no bad sign;
although my severe virtue has interpreted it into one.

'He believes I may be right (severely right, he calls it) in my judgment
against making reprisals in the case of the intelligence he receives from
my family: he cannot charge himself to be of a temper that leads him to
be inquisitive into any body's private affairs; but hopes, that the
circumstances of the case, and the strange conduct of my friends, will
excuse him; especially when so much depends upon his knowing the
movements of a family so violently bent, by measures right or wrong, to
carry their point against me, in malice to him. People, he says, who act
like angels, ought to have angels to deal with. For his part, he has not
yet learned the difficult lesson of returning good for evil: and shall
think himself the less encouraged to learn it by the treatment I have met
with from the very persons who would trample upon him, as they do upon
me, were he to lay himself under their feet.

'He excuses himself for the liberties he owns he has heretofore taken in
ridiculing the marriage-state. It is a subject, he says, that he has not
of late treated so lightly. He owns it to be so trite, so beaten a topic
with all libertines and witlings; so frothy, so empty, so nothing
meaning, so worn-out a theme, that he is heartily ashamed of himself,
ever to have made it his. He condemns it as a stupid reflection upon the
laws and good order of society, and upon a man's own ancestors: and in
himself, who has some reason to value himself upon his descent and
alliances, more censurable, than in those who have not the same
advantages to boast of. He promises to be more circumspect than ever,
both in his words and actions, that he may be more and more worthy of my
approbation; and that he may give an assurance before hand, that a
foundation is laid in his mind for my example to work upon with equal
reputation and effect to us both;--if he may be so happy to call me his.

'He gives me up, as absolutely lost, if I go to my uncle Antony's; the
close confinement; the moated house; the chapel; the implacableness of
my brother and sister; and their power over the rest of the family, he
sets forth in strong lights; and plainly says, that he must have a
struggle to prevent my being carried thither.'

Your kind, your generous endeavours to interest your mother in my behalf,
will, I hope, prevent those harsher extremities to which I might be
otherwise driven. And to you I will fly, if permitted, and keep all my
promises, of not corresponding with any body, not seeing any body, but by
your mother's direction and yours.

I will close and deposit at this place. It is not necessary to say, how
much I am

Your ever affectionate and obliged
CL. HARLOWE.

LETTER XXXII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE

I am glad my papers are safe in your hands. I will make it my endeavour
to deserve your good opinion, that I may not at once disgrace your
judgment, and my own heart.

I have another letter from Mr. Lovelace. He is extremely apprehensive of
the meeting I am to have with Mr. Solmes to-morrow. He says, 'that the
airs that wretch gives himself on the occasion add to his concern; and it
is with infinite difficulty that he prevails upon himself not to make him
a visit to let him know what he may expect, if compulsion be used towards
me in his favour. He assures me, that Solmes has actually talked with
tradesmen of new equipages, and names the people in town with whom he has
treated: that he has even' [Was there ever such a horrid wretch!]
'allotted this and that apartment in his house, for a nursery, and other
offices.'

How shall I bear to hear such a creature talk of love to me? I shall be
out of all patience with him. Besides, I thought that he did not dare to
make or talk of these impudent preparations.--So inconsistent as such are
with my brother's views--but I fly the subject.

Upon this confidence of Solmes, you will less wonder at that of Lovelace,
'in pressing me in the name of all his family, to escape from so
determined a violence as is intended to be offered to me at my uncle's:
that the forward contriver should propose Lord M.'s chariot and six to be
at the stile that leads up to the lonely coppice adjoining to our
paddock. You will see how audaciously he mentions settlements ready
drawn; horsemen ready to mount; and one of his cousins Montague to be in
the chariot, or at the George in the neighbouring village, waiting to
accompany me to Lord M.'s, or to Lady Betty's or Lady Sarah's, or to
town, as I please; and upon such orders, or conditions, and under such
restrictions, as to himself, as I shall prescribe.'

You will see how he threatens, 'To watch and waylay them, and to rescue
me as he calls it, by an armed force of friends and servants, if they
attempt to carry me against my will to my uncle's; and this, whether I
give my consent to the enterprise, or not:--since he shall have no hopes
if I am once there.'

O my dear friend! Who can think of these things, and not be extremely
miserable in her apprehensions!

This mischievous sex! What had I to do with any of them; or they with
me?--I had deserved this, were it by my own seeking, by my own giddiness,
that I had brought myself into this situation--I wish with all my heart
--but how foolish we are apt to wish when we find ourselves unhappy, and
know not how to help ourselves!

On your mother's goodness, however, is my reliance. If I can but avoid
being precipitated on either hand, till my cousin Morden arrives, a
reconciliation must follow; and all will be happy.

I have deposited a letter for Mr. Lovelace; in which 'I charge him, as he
would not disoblige me for ever, to avoid any rash step, any visit to Mr.
Solmes, which may be followed by acts of violence.'

I re-assure him, 'That I will sooner die than be that man's wife.

'Whatever be my usage, whatever shall be the result of the apprehended
interview, I insist upon it that he presume not to offer violence to any
of my friends: and express myself highly displeased, that he should
presume upon such an interest in my esteem, as to think himself entitled
to dispute my father's authority in my removal to my uncle's; although I
tell him, that I will omit neither prayers nor contrivance, even to the
making myself ill, to avoid going.'

To-morrow is Tuesday! How soon comes upon us the day we dread!--Oh that
a deep sleep of twenty four hours would seize my faculties!--But then the
next day would be Tuesday, as to all the effects and purposes for which I
so much dread it. If this reach you before the event of the so much
apprehended interview can be known, pray for

Your
CLARISSA HARLOWE.

LETTER XXXIII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE
TUESDAY MORNING, SIX O'CLOCK.

The day is come!--I wish it were happily over. I have had a wretched
night. Hardly a wink have I slept, ruminating upon the approaching
interview. The very distance of time to which they consented, has added
solemnity to the meeting, which otherwise it would not have had.

A thoughtful mind is not a blessing to be coveted, unless it had such a
happy vivacity with it as yours: a vivacity, which enables a person to
enjoy the present, without being over-anxious about the future.

TUESDAY, ELEVEN O'CLOCK.

I have had a visit from my aunt Hervey. Betty, in her alarming way, told
me, I should have a lady to breakfast with me, whom I little expected;
giving me to believe it was my mother. This fluttered me so much, on
hearing a lady coming up-stairs, supposing it was she, (and not knowing
how to account for her motives in such a visit, after I had been so long
banished from her presence,) that my aunt, at her entrance, took notice
of my disorder; and, after her first salutation,

Why, Miss, said she, you seem surprised.--Upon my word, you thoughtful
young ladies have strange apprehensions about nothing at all. What,
taking my hand, can be the matter with you?--Why, my dear, tremble,
tremble, tremble, at this rate? You'll not be fit to be seen by any
body. Come, my love, kissing my cheek, pluck up a courage. By this
needless flutter on the approaching interview, when it is over you will
judge of your other antipathies, and laugh at yourself for giving way to
so apprehensive an imagination.

I said, that whatever we strongly imagined, was in its effect at the time
more than imaginary, although to others it might not appear so: that I
had not rested one hour all night: that the impertinent set over me, by
giving me room to think my mother was coming up, had so much disconcerted
me, that I should be very little qualified to see any body I disliked to
see.

There was no accounting for these things, she said. Mr. Solmes last
night supposed he should be under as much agitation as I could be.

Who is it, then, Madam, that so reluctant an interview on both sides, is
to please?

Both of you, my dear, I hope, after the first flurries are over. The
most apprehensive beginnings, I have often known, make the happiest
conclusions.

There can be but one happy conclusion to the intended visit; and that is,
That both sides may be satisfied it will be the last.

She then represented how unhappy it would be for me, if I did not suffer
myself to be prevailed upon: she pressed me to receive Mr. Solmes as
became my education: and declared, that his apprehensions on the
expectation he had of seeing me, were owing to his love and his awe;
intimating, That true love is ever accompanied by fear and reverence; and
that no blustering, braving lover could deserve encouragement.

To this I answered, That constitution was to be considered: that a man of
spirit would act like one, and could do nothing meanly: that a creeping
mind would creep into every thing, where it had a view to obtain a
benefit by it; and insult, where it had power, and nothing to expect:
that this was not a point now to be determined with me: that I had said
as much as I could possibly say on the subject: that this interview was
imposed upon me: by those, indeed, who had a right to impose it: but that
it was sorely against my will complied with: and for this reason, that
there was aversion, not wilfulness, in the case; and so nothing could
come of it, but a pretence, as I much apprehended, to use me still more
severely than I had been used.

She was then pleased to charge me with prepossession and prejudice. She
expatiated upon the duty of a child. She imputed to me abundance of fine
qualities; but told me, that, in this case, that of persuadableness was
wanting to crown all. She insisted upon the merit of obedience, although
my will were not in it. From a little hint I gave of my still greater
dislike to see Mr. Solmes, on account of the freedom I had treated him
with, she talked to me of his forgiving disposition; of his infinite
respect for me; and I cannot tell what of this sort.

I never found myself so fretful in my life: and so I told my aunt; and
begged her pardon for it. But she said, it was well disguised then; for
she saw nothing but little tremors, which were usual with young ladies
when they were to see their admirers for the first time; and this might
be called so, with respect to me; since it was the first time I had
consented to see Mr. Solmes in that light--but that the next--

How, Madam, interrupted I--Is it then imagined, that I give this meeting
on that footing?

To be sure it is, Child.

To be sure it is, Madam! Then I do yet desire to decline it.--I will
not, I cannot, see him, if he expects me to see him upon those terms.

Niceness, punctilio, mere punctilio, Niece!--Can you think that your
appointment, (day, place, hour,) and knowing what the intent of it was,
is to be interpreted away as a mere ceremony, and to mean nothing?--Let
me tell you, my dear, your father, mother, uncles, every body, respect
this appointment as the first act of your compliance with their wills:
and therefore recede not, I desire you; but make a merit of what cannot
be avoided.

O the hideous wretch!--Pardon me, Madam.--I to be supposed to meet such
a man as that, with such a view! and he to be armed with such an
expectation!--But it cannot be that he expects it, whatever others may
do.--It is plain he cannot, by the fears he tell you all he shall have to
see me. If his hope were so audacious, he could not fear so much.

Indeed, he has this hope; and justly founded too. But his fear arises
from his reverence, as I told you before.

His reverence!--his unworthiness!--'Tis so apparent, that even he himself
sees it, as well as every body else. Hence his offers to purchase me!
Hence it is, that settlements are to make up for acknowledged want of
merit!

His unworthiness, say you!--Not so fast, my dear. Does not this look
like setting a high value upon yourself?--We all have exalted notions of
your merit, Niece; but nevertheless, it would not be wrong, if you were
to arrogate less to yourself; though more were to be your due than your
friends attribute to you.

I am sorry, Madam, it should be thought arrogance in me, to suppose I am
not worthy of a better man than Mr. Solmes, both as to person and mind:
and as to fortune, I thank God I despise all that can be insisted upon in
his favour from so poor a plea.

She told me, It signified nothing to talk: I knew the expectation of
every one.

Indeed I did not. It was impossible I could think of such a strange
expectation, upon a compliance made only to shew I would comply in all
that was in my power to comply with.

I might easily, she said, have supposed, that every one thought I was
beginning to oblige them all, by the kind behaviour of my brother and
sister to me in the garden, last Sunday; by my sister's visit to me
afterwards in my chamber (although both more stiffly received by me, than
were either wished or expected); by my uncle Harlowe's affectionate visit
to me the same afternoon, not indeed so very gratefully received as I
used to receive his favours:--but this he kindly imputed to the
displeasure I had conceived at my confinement, and to my intention to
come off by degrees, that I might keep myself in countenance for my past
opposition.

See, my dear, the low cunning of that Sunday-management, which then so
much surprised me! And see the reason why Dr. Lewen was admitted to
visit me, yet forbore to enter upon a subject about which I thought he
came to talk to me!--For it seems there was no occasion to dispute with
me on the point I was to be supposed to have conceded to.--See, also, how
unfairly my brother and sister must have represented their pretended
kindness, when (though the had an end to answer by appearing kind) their
antipathy to me seems to have been so strong, that they could not help
insulting me by their arm-in-arm lover-like behaviour to each other; as
my sister afterwards likewise did, when she came to borrow my Kempis.

I lifted up my hands and eyes! I cannot, said I, give this treatment a
name! The end so unlikely to be answered by means so low! I know whose
the whole is! He that could get my uncle Harlowe to contribute his part,
and to procure the acquiescence of the rest of my friends to it, must
have the power to do any thing with them against me.

Again my aunt told me, that talking and invective, now I had given the
expectation, would signify nothing. She hoped I would not shew every
one, that they had been too forward in their constructions of my desire
to oblige them. She could assure me, that it would be worse for me, if
now I receded, than if I had never advanced.

Advanced, Madam! How can you say advanced? Why, this is a trick upon
me! A poor low trick! Pardon me, Madam, I don't say you have a hand in
it.--But, my dearest Aunt, tell me, Will not my mother be present at this
dreaded interview? Will she not so far favour me? Were it but to
qualify--

Qualify, my dear, interrupted she--your mother, and your uncle Harlowe
would not be present on this occasion for the world--

O then, Madam, how can they look upon my consent to this interview as an
advance?

My aunt was displeased at this home-push. Miss Clary, said she, there is
no dealing with you. It would be happy for you, and for every body else,
were your obedience as ready as your wit. I will leave you--

Not in anger, I hope, Madam, interrupted I--all I meant was, to observe,
that let the meeting issue as it may, and as it must issue, it cannot be
a disappointment to any body.

O Miss! you seem to be a very determined young creature. Mr. Solmes will
be here at your time: and remember once more, that upon the coming
afternoon depend upon the peace of your whole family, and your own
happiness.

And so saying, down she hurried.

Here I will stop. In what way I shall resume, or when, is not left to me
to conjecture; much less determine. I am excessively uneasy!--No good
news from your mother, I doubt!--I will deposit thus far, for fear of the
worst.

Adieu, my best, rather, my only friend!
CL. HARLOWE.

LETTER XXXIV

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE
TUESDAY EVENING; AND CONTINUED THROUGH THE NIGHT.

Well, my dear, I am alive, and here! but how long I shall be either here,
or alive, I cannot say. I have a vast deal to write; and perhaps shall
have little time for it. Nevertheless, I must tell you how the saucy
Betty again discomposed me, when she came up with this Solmes's message;
although, as you will remember from my last, I was in a way before that
wanted no additional surprises/

Miss! Miss! Miss! cried she, as fast as she could speak, with her arms
spread abroad, and all her fingers distended, and held up, will you be
pleased to walk down into your own parlour?--There is every body, I will
assure you in full congregation!--And there is Mr. Solmes, as fine as a
lord, with a charming white peruke, fine laced shirt and ruffles, coat
trimmed with silver, and a waistcoat standing on end with lace!--Quite
handsome, believe me!--You never saw such an alteration!--Ah! Miss,
shaking her head, 'tis pity you have said so much against him! but you
will know how to come off for all that!--I hope it will not be too late!

Impertinence! said I--Wert thou bid to come up in this fluttering way?--
and I took up my fan, and fanned myself.

Bless me! said she, how soon these fine young ladies will be put into
flusterations!--I mean not either to offend or frighten you, I am sure.--

Every body there, do you say?--Who do you call every body?

Why, Miss, holding out her left palm opened, and with a flourish, and a
saucy leer, patting it with the fore finger of the other, at every
mentioned person, there is your papa!--there is your mamma!--there is
your uncle Harlowe!--there is your uncle Antony!--your aunt Hervey!--my
young lady!--and my young master!--and Mr. Solmes, with the air of a
great courtier, standing up, because he named you:--Mrs. Betty, said he,
[then the ape of a wench bowed and scraped, as awkwardly as I suppose the
person did whom she endeavoured to imitate,] pray give my humble service
to Miss, and tell her, I wait her commands.

Was not this a wicked wench?--I trembled so, I could hardly stand. I was
spiteful enough to say, that her young mistress, I supposed, bid her put
on these airs, to frighten me out of a capacity of behaving so calmly as
should procure me my uncles' compassion.

What a way do you put yourself in, Miss, said the insolent!--Come, dear
Madam, taking up my fan, which I had laid down, and approaching me with
it, fanning, shall I--

None of thy impertinence!--But say you, all my friends are below with
him? And am I to appear before them all?

I can't tell if they'll stay when you come. I think they seemed to be
moving when Mr. Solmes gave me his orders.--But what answer shall I carry
to the 'squire?

Say, I can't go!--but yet when 'tis over, 'tis over!--Say, I'll wait upon
--I'll attend--I'll come presently--say anything; I care not what--but
give me my fan, and fetch me a glass of water--

She went, and I fanned myself all the time; for I was in a flame; and
hemmed, and struggled with myself all I could; and, when she returned,
drank my water; and finding no hope presently of a quieter heart, I sent
her down, and followed her with precipitation; trembling so, that, had I
not hurried, I question if I could have got down at all.--Oh my dear,
what a poor, passive machine is the body when the mind is disordered!

There are two doors to my parlour, as I used to call it. As I entered
one, my friends hurried out the other. I just saw the gown of my sister,
the last who slid away. My uncle Antony went out with them: but he staid
not long, as you shall hear; and they all remained in the next parlour, a
wainscot partition only parting the two. I remember them both in one:
but they were separated in favour of us girls, for each to receive her
visitors in at her pleasure.

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