Clarissa, Volume 2 (of 9)

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He knew my principles, and adored me for them. He doubted not, that it
was in his power to make me happy: and he was sure I would not want the
will to be so.

I assured him, that were I to be carried to my uncle's, it should answer
no end; for I would never see him; nor receive a line from him; nor hear
a word in his favour, whoever were the person who should mention him to
me.

He was sorry for it. He must be miserable, were I to hold in that mind.
But he doubted not, that I might be induced by my father and uncles to
change it--

Never, never, he might depend upon it.

It was richly worth his patience, and the trial.

At my expense?--At the price of all my happiness, Sir?

He hoped I should be induced to think otherwise.

And then would he have run into his fortune, his settlements, his
affection--vowing, that never man loved a woman with so sincere a passion
as he loved me.

I stopped him, as to the first part of his speech: and to the second, of
the sincerity of his passion, What then, Sir, said I, is your love to
one, who must assure you, that never young creature looked upon man with
a more sincere disapprobation, than I look upon you? And tell me, what
argument can you urge, that this true declaration answers not before-
hand?

Dearest Madam, what can I say?--On my knees I beg--

And down the ungraceful wretch dropped on his knees.

Let me not kneel in vain, Madam: let me not be thus despised.--And he
looked most odiously sorrowful.

I have kneeled too, Mr. Solmes: often have I kneeled: and I will kneel
again--even to you, Sir, will I kneel, if there be so much merit in
kneeling; provided you will not be the implement of my cruel brother's
undeserved persecution.

If all the services, even to worship you, during my whole life--You,
Madam, invoke and expect mercy; yet shew none--

Am I to be cruel to myself, to shew mercy to you; take my estate, Sir,
with all my heart, since you are such a favourite in this house!--only
leave me myself--the mercy you ask for, do you shew to others.

If you mean to my relations, Madam--unworthy as they are, all shall be
done that you shall prescribe.

Who, I, Sir, to find you bowels you naturally have not? I to purchase
their happiness by the forfeiture of my own? What I ask you for, is
mercy to myself: that, since you seem to have some power over my
relations, you will use it in my behalf. Tell them, that you see I
cannot conquer my aversion to you: tell them, if you are a wise man, that
you too much value your own happiness, to risk it against such a
determined antipathy: tell them that I am unworthy of your offers: and
that in mercy to yourself, as well as to me, you will not prosecute a
suit so impossible to be granted.

I will risque all consequences, said the fell wretch, rising, with a
countenance whitened over, as if with malice, his hollow eyes flashing
fire, and biting his under lip, to shew he could be manly. Your hatred,
Madam, shall be no objection with me: and I doubt not in a few days to
have it in my power to shew you--

You have it in your power, Sir--

He came well off--To shew you more generosity than, noble as you are said
to be to others, you shew to me.

The man's face became his anger: it seems formed to express the passion.

At that instant, again in came my brother--Sister, Sister, Sister, said
he, with his teeth set, act on the termagant part you have so newly
assumed--most wonderfully well does it become you. It is but a short
one, however. Tyraness in your turn, accuse others of your own guilt--
But leave her, leaver her, Mr. Solmes: her time is short. You'll find
her humble and mortified enough very quickly. Then, how like a little
tame fool will she look, with her conscience upbraiding her, and begging
of you [with a whining voice, the barbarous brother spoke] to forgive and
forget!

More he said, as he flew out, with a glowing face, upon Shorey's coming
in to recall him on his violence.

I removed from chair to chair, excessively frighted and disturbed at this
brutal treatment.

The man attempted to excuse himself, as being sorry for my brother's
passion.

Leave me, leave me, Sir, fanning--or I shall faint. And indeed I thought
I should.

He recommended himself to my favour with an air of assurance; augmented,
as I thought, by a distress so visible in me; for he even snatched my
trembling, my struggling hand; and ravished it to his odious mouth.

I flung from him with high disdain: and he withdrew, bowing and cringing;
self-gratified, and enjoying, as I thought, the confusion he saw me in.

The wretch is now, methinks, before me; and now I see him awkwardly
striding backward, as he retired, till the edge of the opened door, which
he ran against, remembered him to turn his welcome back upon me.

Upon his withdrawing, Betty brought me word, that I was permitted to go
up to my own chamber: and was bid to consider of every thing: for my time
was short. Nevertheless, she believed I might be permitted to stay till
Saturday.

She tells me, that although my brother and sister were blamed for being
so hasty with me, yet when they made their report, and my uncle Antony
his, of my provocations, they were all more determined than ever in Mr.
Solmes's favour.

The wretch himself, she tells me, pretends to be more in love with me
than before; and to be rather delighted than discouraged with the
conversation that passed between us. He ran on, she says, in raptures,
about the grace wherewith I should dignify his board; and the like sort
of stuff, either of his saying, or of her making.

She closed all with a Now is your time, Miss, to submit with a grace, and
to make your own terms with him:--else, I can tell you, were I Mr.
Solmes, it should be worse for you: And who, Miss, of our sex, proceeded
the saucy creature, would admire a rakish gentleman, when she might be
admired by a sober one to the end of the chapter?

She made this further speech to me on quitting my chamber--You have had
amazing good luck, Miss. I must tell you, to keep your writings
concealed so cunningly. You must needs think I know that you are always
at your pen: and as you endeavour to hide that knowledge from me, I do
not think myself obliged to keep your secret. But I love not to
aggravate. I had rather reconcile by much. Peace-making is my talent,
and ever was. And had I been as much your foe, as you imagine, you had
not perhaps been here now. But this, however, I do not say to make a
merit with you, Miss: for, truly, it will be the better for you the
sooner every thing is over with you. And better for me, and for every
one else; that's certain. Yet one hint I must conclude with; that your
pen and ink (soon as you are to go away) will not be long in your power,
I do assure you, Miss. And then, having lost that amusement, it will be
seen, how a mind so active as yours will be able to employ itself.

This hint alarms me so much, that I shall instantly begin to conceal, in
different places, pens, inks, and paper; and to deposit some in the ivy
summer-house, if I can find a safe place there; and, at the worst, I have
got a pencil of black, and another of red lead, which I use in my
drawings; and my patterns shall serve for paper, if I have no other.

How lucky it was, that I had got away my papers! They made a strict
search for them; that I can see, by the disorderly manner they have left
all things in: for you know that I am such an observer of method, that I
can go to a bit of ribband, or lace, or edging, blindfold. The same in
my books; which they have strangely disordered and mismatched; to look
behind them, and in some of them, I suppose. My clothes too are rumpled
not a little. No place has escaped them. To your hint, I thank you, are
they indebted for their disappointment.

The pen, through heaviness and fatigue, dropt out of my fingers, at the
word indebted. I resumed it, to finish the sentence; and to tell you,
that I am,

Your for ever obliged and affectionate
CL. HARLOWE.

LETTER XXXV

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE
WEDNESDAY, ELEVEN O'CLOCK, APRIL 5.

I must write as I have opportunity; making use of my concealed stores:
for my pens and ink (all of each that they could find) are taken from
me; as I shall tell you about more particularly by and by.

About an hour ago, I deposited my long letter to you; as also, in the
usual place, a billet to Mr. Lovelace, lest his impatience should put him
upon some rashness; signifying, in four lines, 'That the interview was
over; and that I hoped my steady refusal of Mr. Solmes would discourage
any further applications to me in his favour.'

Although I was unable (through the fatigue I had undergone, and by reason
of sitting up all night, to write to you, which made me lie longer than
ordinary this morning) to deposit my letter to you sooner, yet I hope you
will have it in such good time, as that you will be able to send me an
answer to it this night, or in the morning early; which, if ever so
short, will inform me, whether I may depend upon your mother's indulgence
or not. This it behoves me to know as soon as possible; for they are
resolved to hurry me away on Saturday next at farthest; perhaps to-morrow.

I will now inform you of all that has happened previous to their taking
away my pen and ink, as well as of the manner in which that act of
violence was committed; and this as briefly as I can.

My aunt, who (as well as Mr. Solmes, and my two uncles) lives here, I
think, came up to me, and said, she would fain have me hear what Mr.
Solmes had to say of Mr. Lovelace--only that I may be apprized of some
things, that would convince me what a vile man he is, and what a wretched
husband he must make. I might give them what degree of credit I pleased;
and take them with abatement for Mr. Solmes's interestedness, if I
thought fit. But it might be of use to me, were it but to question Mr.
Lovelace indirectly upon some of them, that related to myself.

I was indifferent, I said, about what he could say of me; and I was sure
it could not be to my disadvantage; and as he had no reason to impute to
me the forwardness which my unkind friends had so causelessly taxed me
with.

She said, That he gave himself high airs on account of his family; and
spoke as despicably of ours as if an alliance with us were beneath him.

I replied, That he was a very unworthy man, if it were true, to speak
slightingly of a family, which was as good as his own, 'bating that it
was not allied to the peerage: that the dignity itself, I thought,
conveyed more shame than honour to descendants, who had not merit to
adorn, as well as to be adorned by it: that my brother's absurd pride,
indeed, which made him every where declare, he would never marry but to
quality, gave a disgraceful preference against ours: but that were I to
be assured, that Mr. Lovelace was capable of so mean a pride as to insult
us or value himself on such an accidental advantage, I should think as
despicably of his sense, as every body else did of his morals.

She insisted upon it, that he had taken such liberties, it would be but
common justice (so much hated as he was by all our family, and so much
inveighed against in all companies by them) to inquire into the
provocation he had to say what was imputed to him; and whether the value
some of my friends put upon the riches they possess (throwing perhaps
contempt upon every other advantage, and even discrediting their own
pretensions to family, in order to depreciate his) might not provoke him
to like contempts. Upon the whole, Madam, said I, can you say, that the
inveteracy lies not as much on our side, as on his? Can he say any thing
of us more disrespectful than we say of him?--And as to the suggestion,
so often repeated, that he will make a bad husband, Is it possible for
him to use a wife worse than I am used; particularly by my brother and
sister?

Ah, Niece! Ah, my dear! how firmly has this wicked man attached you!

Perhaps not, Madam. But really great care should be taken by fathers and
mothers, when they would have their daughters of their minds in these
particulars, not to say things that shall necessitate the child, in
honour and generosity, to take part with the man her friends are averse
to. But, waving all this, as I have offered to renounce him for ever, I
see now why he should be mentioned to me, nor why I should be wished to
hear any thing about him.

Well, but still, my dear, there can be no harm to let Mr. Solmes tell you
what Mr. Lovelace has said of you. Severely as you have treated Mr.
Solmes, he is fond of attending you once more: he begs to be heard on
this head.

If it be proper for me to hear it, Madam--

It is, eagerly interrupted she, very proper.

Has what he has said of me, Madam, convinced you of Mr. Lovelace's
baseness?

It has, my dear: and that you ought to abhor him for it.

Then, dear Madam, be pleased to let me hear it from your mouth: there is
no need that I should see Mr. Solmes, when it will have double the weight
from you. What, Madam, has the man dared to say of me?

My aunt was quite at a loss.

At last, Well, said she, I see how you are attached. I am sorry for it,
Miss. For I do assure you, it will signify nothing. You must be Mrs.
Solmes; and that in a very few days.

If consent of heart, and assent of voice, be necessary to a marriage, I
am sure I never can, nor ever will, be married to Mr. Solmes. And what
will any of my relations be answerable for, if they force my hand into
his, and hold it there till the service be read; I perhaps insensible,
and in fits, all the time!

What a romantic picture of a forced marriage have you drawn, Niece! Some
people would say, you have given a fine description of your own
obstinacy, child.

My brother and sister would: but you, Madam, distinguish, I am sure,
between obstinacy and aversion.

Supposed aversion may owe its rise to real obstinacy, my dear.

I know my own heart, Madam. I wish you did.

Well, but see Mr. Solmes once more, Niece. It will oblige and make for
you more than you imagine.

What should I see him for, Madam?--Is the man fond of hearing me declare
my aversion to him?--Is he desirous of having me more and more incense my
friends against myself?--O my cunning, my ambitious brother!

Ah, my dear! with a look of pity, as if she understood the meaning of my
exclamation--But must that necessarily be the case?

It must, Madam, if they will take offence at me for declaring my
steadfast detestation of Mr. Solmes, as a husband.

Mr. Solmes is to be pitied, said she. He adores you. He longs to see
you once more. He loves you the better for your cruel usage of him
yesterday. He is in raptures about you.

Ugly creature, thought I!--He in raptures!

What a cruel wretch must he be, said I, who can enjoy the distress to
which he so largely contributes!--But I see, I see, Madam, that I am
considered as an animal to be baited, to make sport for my brother and
sister, and Mr. Solmes. They are all, all of them, wanton in their
cruelty.--I, Madam, see the man! the man so incapable of pity!--Indeed I
will not see him, if I can help it--indeed I will not.

What a construction does your lively wit put upon the admiration Mr.
Solmes expresses of you!--Passionate as you were yesterday, and
contemptuously as you treated him, he dotes upon you for the very
severity by which he suffers. He is not so ungenerous a man as you think
him: nor has he an unfeeling heart.--Let me prevail upon you, my dear,
(as your father and mother expect it of you,) to see him once more, and
hear what he has to say to you.

How can I consent to see him again, when yesterday's interview was
interpreted by you, Madam, as well as by every other, as an encouragement
to him? when I myself declared, that if I saw him a second time by my own
consent, it might be so taken? and when I am determined never to
encourage him?

You might spare your reflections upon me, Miss. I have no thanks either
from one side or the other.

And away she flung.

Dearest Madam! said I, following her to the door--

But she would not hear me further; and her sudden breaking from me
occasioned a hurry to some mean listener; as the slipping of a foot
from the landing-place on the stairs discovered to me.

I had scarcely recovered myself from this attack, when up came Betty--
Miss, said she, your company is desired below-stairs in your own parlour.

By whom, Betty?

How can I tell, Miss?--perhaps by your sister, perhaps by your brother--I
know they wont' come up stairs to your apartment again.

Is Mr. Solmes gone, Betty?

I believe he is, Miss--Would you have him sent for back? said the bold
creature.

Down I went: and to whom should I be sent for, but to my brother and Mr.
Solmes! the latter standing sneaking behind the door, so that I saw him
not, till I was mockingly led by the hand into the room by my brother.
And then I started as if I had beheld a ghost.

You are to sit down, Clary.

And what then, Brother?

Why then, you are to put off that scornful look, and hear what Mr. Solmes
has to say to you.

Sent down for to be baited again, thought I!

Madam, said Mr. Solmes, as if in haste to speak, lest he should not have
an opportunity given him, [and indeed he judged right,] Mr. Lovelace is a
declared marriage hater, and has a design upon your honour, if ever--

Base accuser! said I, in a passion, snatching my hand from my brother,
who was insolently motioning to give it to Mr. Solmes; he has not!--he
dares not!--But you have, if endeavouring to force a free mind be to
dishonour it!

O thou violent creature! said my brother--but not gone yet--for I was
rushing away.

What mean you, Sir, [struggling vehemently to get away,] to detain me
thus against my will?

You shall not go, Violence; clasping his unbrotherly arms about me.

Then let not Mr. Solmes stay.--Why hold you me thus? he shall not for
your own sake, if I can help it, see how barbarously a brother can treat
a sister who deserves not evil treatment.

And I struggled so vehemently to get from him, that he was forced to quit
my hand; which he did with these words--Begone then, Fury!--how strong is
will!--there is no holding her.

And up I flew to my chamber, and locked myself in, trembling and out of
breath.

In less than a quarter of an hour, up came Betty. I let her in upon her
tapping, and asking (half out of breath too) for admittance.

The Lord have mercy upon us! said she.--What a confusion of a house is
this! [hurrying up and down, fanning herself with her handkerchief,]
Such angry masters and mistresses!--such an obstinate young lady!--such
a humble lover!--such enraged uncles!--such--O dear!--dear! what a topsy-
turvy house is this!--And all for what, trow?--only because a young lady
may be happy, and will not?--only because a young lady will have a
husband, and will not have a husband? What hurlyburlies are here, where
all used to be peace and quietness!

Thus she ran on to herself; while I sat as patiently as I could (being
assured that her errand was not designed to be a welcome one to me) to
observe when her soliloquy would end.

At last, turning to me--I must do as I am bid. I can't help it--don't be
angry with me, Miss. But I must carry down your pen and ink: and that
this moment.

By whose order?

By your papa's and mamma's.

How shall I know that?

She offered to go to my closet: I stept in before her: touch it, if you
dare.

Up came my cousin Dolly--Madam!--Madam! said the poor weeping, good
natured creature, in broken sentences--you must--indeed you must--deliver
to Betty--or to me--your pen and ink.

Must I, my sweet Cousin? then I will to you; but not to this bold body.
And so I gave my standish to her.

I am sorry, very sorry, said she, Miss, to be the messenger: but your
papa will not have you in the same house with him: he is resolved you
shall be carried away to-morrow, or Saturday at farthest. And therefore
your pen and ink are taken away, that you may give nobody notice of it.

And away went the dear girl, very sorrowful, carrying down with her my
standish, and all its furniture, and a little parcel of pens beside,
which having been seen when the great search was made, she was bid to ask
for.

As it happened, I had not diminished it, having hid half a dozen crow
quills in as many different places. It was lucky; for I doubt not they
had numbered how many were in the parcel.

Betty ran on, telling me, that my mother was now as much incensed against
me as any body--that my doom was fixed--that my violent behaviour had not
left one to plead for me--that Mr. Solmes bit his lip, and muttered, and
seemed to have more in his head, than could come out at his mouth; that
was her phrase.

And yet she also hinted to me, that the cruel wretch took pleasure in
seeing me; although so much to my disgust--and so wanted to see me again.
--Must he not be a savage, my dear?

The wench went on--that my uncle Harlowe said, That now he gave me up--
that he pitied Mr. Solmes--yet hoped he would not think of this to my
detriment hereafter: that my uncle Antony was of opinion, that I ought to
smart for it: and, for her part--and then, as one of the family, she gave
her opinion of the same side.

As I have no other way of hearing any thing that is said or intended
below, I bear sometimes more patiently than I otherwise should do with
her impertinence. And indeed she seems to be in all my brother's and
sister's counsels.

Miss Hervey came up again, and demanded an half-pint ink-bottle which
they had seen in my closet.

I gave it her without hesitation.

If they have no suspicion of my being able to write, they will perhaps
let me stay longer than otherwise they would.

This, my dear, is now my situation.

All my dependence, all my hopes, are in your mother's favour. But for
that, I know not what I might do: For who can tell what will come next?

LETTER XXXVI

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE
WEDNESDAY, FOUR O'CLOCK IN THE AFTERNOON

I am just returned from depositing the letter I so lately finished, and
such of Mr. Lovelace's letters as I had not sent you. My long letter I
found remaining there--so you will have both together.

I am convinced, methinks, it is not with you.--But your servant cannot
always be at leisure. However, I will deposit as fast as I write. I
must keep nothing by me now; and when I write, lock myself in, that I may
not be surprised now they think I have no pen and ink.

I found in the usual place another letter from this diligent man: and, by
its contents, a confirmation that nothing passes in this house but he
knows it; and that almost as soon as it passes. For this letter must
have been written before he could have received my billet; and deposited,
I suppose, when that was taken away; yet he compliments me in it upon
asserting myself (as he calls it) on that occasion to my uncle and to Mr.
Solmes.

'He assures me, however, that they are more and more determined to subdue
me.

'He sends me the compliments of his family; and acquaints me with their
earnest desire to see me amongst them. Most vehemently does he press for
my quitting this house, while it is in my power to get away: and again
craves leave to order his uncle's chariot-and-six to attend my commands
at the stile leading to the coppice adjoining to the paddock.

'Settlements to my own will he again offers. Lord M. and Lady Sarah and
Lady Betty to be guarantees of his honour and justice. But, if I choose
not to go to either of those ladies, nor yet to make him the happiest of
men so soon as it is nevertheless his hope that I will, he urges me to
withdraw to my own house, and to accept of Lord M. for my guardian and
protector till my cousin Morden arrives. He can contrive, he says, to
give me easy possession of it, and will fill it with his female relations
on the first invitation from me; and Mrs. Norton, or Miss Howe, may be
undoubtedly prevailed upon to be with me for a time. There can be no
pretence for litigation, he says, when I am once in it. Nor, if I choose
to have it so, will he appear to visit me; nor presume to mention
marriage to me till all is quiet and easy; till every method I shall
prescribe for a reconciliation with my friends is tried; till my cousin
comes; till such settlements are drawn as he shall approve of for me; and
that I have unexceptionable proofs of his own good behaviour.'

As to the disgrace a person of my character may be apprehensive of upon
quitting my father's house, he observes (too truly I doubt) 'That the
treatment I meet with is in every one's mouth: yet, he says, that the
public voice is in my favour. My friends themselves, he says, expect
that I will do myself what he calls, this justice: why else do they
confine me? He urges, that, thus treated, the independence I have a
right to will be my sufficient excuse, going but from their house to my
own, if I choose that measure; or in order to take possession of my own,
if I do not: that all the disgrace I can receive, they have already given
me: that his concern and his family's concern in my honour, will be equal
to my own, if he may be so happy ever to call me his: and he presumes, he
says, to aver, that no family can better supply the loss of my own
friends to me than his, in whatever way I shall do them the honour to
accept of his and their protection.

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