Clarissa, Volume 2 (of 9)

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I will here give you the substance of Mr. Lovelace's letter. The letter
itself I will send, when I have answered it; but that I will defer doing
as long as I can, in hopes of finding reason to retract an appointment on
which so much depends. And yet it is necessary you should have all
before you as I go along, that you may be the better able to advise me in
this dreadful crisis.

'He begs my pardon for writing with so much assurance; attributing it to
his unbounded transport; and entirely acquiesces to me in my will. He is
full of alternatives and proposals. He offers to attend me directly to
Lady Betty's; or, if I had rather, to my own estate; and that my Lord M.
shall protect me there.' [He knows not, my dear, my reasons for
rejecting this inconsiderate advice.] 'In either case, as soon as he
sees me safe, he will go up to London, or whither I please; and not come
near me, but by my own permission; and till I am satisfied in every thing
I am doubtful of, as well with regard to his reformation, as to
settlements, &c.

'To conduct me to you, my dear, is another of his proposals, not
doubting, he says, but your mother will receive me:* or, if that be not
agreeable to you, or to your mother, or to me, he will put me into Mr.
Hickman's protection; whom, no doubt he says, you can influence; and that
it may be given out, that I have gone to Bath, or Bristol, or abroad;
wherever I please.

* See Note in Letter V. of this Volume.

'Again, if it be more agreeable, he proposes to attend me privately to
London, where he will procure handsome lodgings for me, and both his
cousins Montague to receive me in them, and to accompany me till all
shall be adjusted to my mind; and till a reconciliation shall be
effected; which he assures me nothing shall be wanting in him to
facilitate, greatly as he has been insulted by all my family.

'These several measures he proposes to my choice; as it was unlikely, he
says, that he could procure, in the time, a letter from Lady Betty, under
her own hand, to invite me in form to her house, unless he had been
himself to go to that lady for it; which, at this critical juncture,
while he is attending my commands, is impossible.

'He conjures me, in the most solemn manner, if I would not throw him into
utter despair, to keep to my appointment.

'However, instead of threatening my relations, or Solmes, if I recede, he
respectfully says, that he doubts not, but that, if I do, it will be upon
the reason, as he ought to be satisfied with; upon no slighter, he hopes,
than their leaving me at full liberty to pursue my own inclinations: in
which (whatever they shall be) he will entirely acquiesce; only
endeavouring to make his future good behaviour the sole ground for his
expectation of my favour.

'In short, he solemnly vows, that his whole view, at present, is to free
me from my imprisonment; and to restore me to my future happiness. He
declares, that neither the hopes he has of my future favour, nor the
consideration of his own and his family's honour, will permit him to
propose any thing that shall be inconsistent with my own most scrupulous
notions: and, for my mind's sake, should choose to have the proposed end
obtained by my friends declining to compel me. But that nevertheless, as
to the world's opinion, it is impossible to imagine that the behaviour of
my relations to me has not already brought upon my family those free
censures which they deserve, and caused the step which I am so scrupulous
about taking, to be no other than the natural and expected consequence of
their treatment of me.'

Indeed, I am afraid all this is true: and it is owing to some little
degree of politeness, that Mr. Lovelace does not say all he might on this
subject: for I have no doubt that I am the talk, and perhaps the bye-word
of half the county. If so, I am afraid I can now do nothing that will
give me more disgrace than I have already so causelessly received by
their indiscreet persecutions: and let me be whose I will, and do what I
will, I shall never wipe off the stain which my confinement, and the
rigorous usage I have received, have fixed upon me; at least in my own
opinion.

I wish, if ever I am to be considered as one of the eminent family this
man is allied to, some of them do not think the worse of me for the
disgrace I have received. In that case, perhaps, I shall be obliged to
him, if he do not. You see how much this harsh, this cruel treatment
from my own family has humbled me! But perhaps I was too much exalted
before.

Mr. Lovelace concludes, 'with repeatedly begging an interview with me;
and that, this night, if possible: an hour, he says, he is the more
encouraged to solicit for, as I had twice before made him hope for it.
But whether he obtain it or not, he beseeches me to choose one of the
alternatives he offers to my acceptance; and not to depart from my
resolution of escaping on Monday, unless the reason ceases on which I
had taken it up; and that I have a prospect of being restored to the
favour of my friends; at least to my own liberty, and freedom of choice.'

He renews all his vows and promises on this head in so earnest and so
solemn a manner, that (his own interest, and his family's honour, and
their favour for me, co-operating) I can have no room to doubt of his
sincerity.

LETTER XLII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE
SAT. MORN., EIGHT O'CLOCK, APRIL 8.

Whether you will blame me or not, I cannot tell, but I have deposited a
letter confirming my resolution to leave this house on Monday next,
within the hour mentioned in my former, if possible. I have not kept a
copy of it. But this is the substance:

I tell him, 'That I have no way to avoid the determined resolution of my
friends in behalf of Mr. Solmes, but by abandoning this house by his
assistance.'

I have not pretended to make a merit with him on this score; for I
plainly tell him, 'That could I, without an unpardonable sin, die when I
would, I would sooner make death my choice, than take a step, which all
the world, if not my own heart, would condemn me for taking.'

I tell him, 'That I shall not try to bring any other clothes with me than
those I shall have on; and those but my common wearing-apparel; lest I
should be suspected. That I must expect to be denied the possession of
my estate: but that I am determined never to consent to a litigation with
my father, were I to be reduced to ever so low a state: so that the
protection I am to be obliged for to any one, must be alone for the
distress sake. That, therefore, he will have nothing to hope for from
this step that he had not before: and that in ever light I reserve to
myself to accept or refuse his address, as his behaviour and
circumspection shall appear to me to deserve.'

I tell him, 'That I think it best to go into a private lodging in the
neighbourhood of Lady Betty Lawrance; and not to her ladyship's house;
that it may not appear to the world that I have refuged myself in his
family; and that a reconciliation with my friends may not, on that
account, be made impracticable: that I will send for thither my faithful
Hannah; and apprize only Miss Howe where I am: that he shall instantly
leave me, and go to London, or to one of Lord M.'s seats; and as he had
promised not to come near me, but by my leave; contenting himself with
a correspondence by letter only.

'That if I find myself in danger of being discovered, and carried back by
violence, I will then throw myself directly into the protection either of
Lady Betty or Lady Sarah: but this only in case of absolute necessity;
for that it will be more to my reputation, for me, by the best means I
can, (taking advantage of my privacy,) to enter by a second or third hand
into a treaty of reconciliation with my friends.

'That I must, however, plainly tell him, 'That if, in this treaty, my
friends insist upon my resolving against marrying him, I will engage to
comply with them; provided they will allow me to promise him, that I will
never be the wife of any other man while he remains single, or is living:
that this is a compliment I am willing to pay him, in return for the
trouble and pains he has taken, and the usage he has met with on my
account: although I intimate, that he may, in a great measure, thank
himself (by reason of the little regard he has paid to his reputation)
for the slights he has met with.'

I tell him, 'That I may, in this privacy, write to my cousin Morden, and,
if possible, interest him in my cause.

'I take some brief notice then of his alternatives.'

You must think, my dear, that this unhappy force upon me, and this
projected flight, make it necessary for me to account to him much sooner
than I should otherwise choose to do, for every part of my conduct.

'It is not to be expected, I tell him, that your mother will embroil
herself, or suffer you or Mr. Hickman to be embroiled, on my account: and
as to his proposal of my going to London, I am such an absolute stranger
to every body there, and have such a bad opinion of the place, that I
cannot by any means think of going thither; except I should be induced,
some time hence, by the ladies of his family to attend them.

'As to the meeting he is desirous of, I think it by no means proper;
especially as it is so likely that I may soon see him. But that if any
thing occurs to induce me to change my mind, as to withdrawing, I will
then take the first opportunity to see him, and give him my reasons for
that change.

This, my dear, I the less scrupled to write, as it might qualify him to
bear such a disappointment, should I give it him; he having, besides,
behaved so very unexceptionably when he surprised me some time ago in the
lonely wood-house.

Finally, 'I commend myself, as a person in distress, and merely as such,
to his honour, and to the protection of the ladies of his family. I
repeat [most cordially, I am sure!] my deep concern for being forced to
take a step so disagreeable, and so derogatory to my honour. And having
told him, that I will endeavour to obtain leave to dine in the Ivy
Summer-house,* and to send Betty of some errand, when there, I leave the
rest to him; but imagine, that about four o'clock will be a proper time
for him to contrive some signal to let me know he is at hand, and for me
to unbolt the garden-door.'

* The Ivy Summer-house (or Ivy Bower, as it was sometimes called in the
family) was a place, that from a girl, this young lady delighted in. She
used, in the summer months, frequently to sit and work, and read, and
write, and draw, and (when permitted) to breakfast, and dine, and
sometimes to sup, in it; especially when Miss Howe, who had an equal
liking to it, was her visiter and guest.

She describes it, in another letter (which appears not) as 'pointing to a
pretty variegated landscape of wood, water, and hilly country; which had
pleased her so much, that she had drawn it; the piece hanging up, in her
parlous, among some of her other drawings.'

I added, by way of postscript, 'That their suspicions seeming to
increase, I advise him to contrive to send or some to the usual place, as
frequently as possible, in the interval of time till Monday morning ten
or eleven o'clock; as something may possibly happen to make me alter my
mind.'

O my dear Miss Howe!--what a sad, sad thing is the necessity, forced upon
me, for all this preparation and contrivance!--But it is now too late!--
But how!--Too late, did I say?--What a word is that!--What a dreadful
thing, were I to repent, to find it to be too late to remedy the
apprehended evil!

SATURDAY, TEN O'CLOCK.

Mr. Solmes is here. He is to dine with his new relations, as Betty tells
me he already calls them.

He would have thrown himself in my way once more: but I hurried up to my
prison, in my return from my garden-walk, to avoid him.

I had, when in the garden, the curiosity to see if my letter were gone: I
cannot say with an intention to take it back again if it were not,
because I see not how I could do otherwise than I have done; yet, what a
caprice! when I found it gone, I began (as yesterday morning) to wish it
had not: for no other reason, I believe, than because it was out of my
power.

A strange diligence in this man!--He says, he almost lives upon the
place; and I think so too.

He mentions, as you will see in his letter, four several disguises, which
he puts on in one day. It is a wonder, nevertheless, that he has not
been seen by some of our tenants: for it is impossible that any disguise
can hide the gracefulness of his figure. But this is to be said, that
the adjoining grounds being all in our own hands, and no common foot-
paths near that part of the garden, and through the park and coppice,
nothing can be more bye and unfrequented.

Then they are less watchful, I believe, over my garden-walks, and my
poultry-visits, depending, as my aunt hinted, upon the bad character they
have taken so much pains to fasten upon Mr. Lovelace. This, they think,
(and justly think,) must fill me with doubts. And then the regard I have
hitherto had for my reputation is another of their securities. Were it
not for these two, they would not surely have used me as they have done;
and at the same time left me the opportunities which I have several times
had, to get away, had I been disposed to do so:* and, indeed, their
dependence on both these motives would have been well founded, had they
kept but tolerable measures with me.

* They might, no doubt, make a dependence upon the reasons she gives: but
their chief reliance was upon the vigilance of their Joseph Leman; little
imagining what an implement he was of Mr. Lovelace.

Then, perhaps, they have no notion of the back-door; as it is seldom
opened, and leads to a place so pathless and lonesome.* If not, there
can be no other way to escape (if one would) unless by the plashy lane,
so full of springs, by which your servant reaches the solitary wood
house; to which lane one must descend from a high bank, that bounds the
poultry yard. For, as to the front-way, you know, one must pass through
the house to that, and in sight of the parlours, and the servants' hall;
and then have the open courtyard to go through, and, by means of the
iron-gate, be full in view, as one passes over the lawn, for a quarter of
a mile together; the young plantations of elms and limes affording yet
but little shade or covert.

* This, in another of her letters, (which neither is inserted,) is thus
described:--'A piece of ruins upon it, the remains of an old chapel, now
standing in the midst of the coppice; here and there an over-grown oak,
surrounded with ivy and mistletoe, starting up, to sanctify, as it were,
the awful solemnness of the place: a spot, too, where a man having been
found hanging some years ago, it was used to be thought of by us when
children, and by the maid-servants, with a degree of terror, (it being
actually the habitation of owls, ravens, and other ominous birds,) as
haunted by ghosts, goblins, specters: the genuine result of the country
loneliness and ignorance: notions which, early propagated, are apt to
leave impressions even upon minds grown strong enough at the same time to
despise the like credulous follies in others.'

The Ivy Summer-house is the most convenient for this heart-affecting
purpose of any spot in the garden, as it is not far from the back-door,
and yet in another alley, as you may remember. Then it is seldom
resorted to by any body else, except in the summer-months, because it is
cool. When they loved me, they would often, for this reason, object to
my long continuance in it:--but now, it is no matter what becomes of me.
Besides, cold is a bracer, as my brother said yesterday.

Here I will deposit what I have written. Let me have your prayers, my
dear; and your approbation, or your censure, of the steps I have taken:
for yet it may not be quite too late to revoke the appointment. I am

Your most affectionate and faithful
CL. HARLOWE.

Why will you send your servant empty-handed?

LETTER XLIII

MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE
SAT. AFTERNOON.

By your last date of ten o'clock in your letter of this day, you could
not long have deposited it before Robin took it. He rode hard, and
brought it to be just as I had risen from table.

You may justly blame me for sending my messenger empty-handed, your
situation considered; and yet that very situation (so critical!) is
partly the reason for it: for indeed I knew not what to write, fit to
send you.

I have been inquiring privately, how to procure you a conveyance from
Harlowe-place, and yet not appear in it; knowing, that to oblige in the
fact, and to disoblige in the manner, is but obliging by halves: my
mother being moreover very suspicious, and very uneasy; made more so by
daily visits from your uncle Antony; who tells her, that every thing is
now upon the point of being determined; and hopes, that her daughter will
not so interfere, as to discourage your compliance with their wills.
This I came at by a way that I cannot take notice of, or both should hear
of it in a manner neither would like: and, without that, my mother and I
have had almost hourly bickerings.

I found more difficulty than I expected (as the time was confined, and
secrecy required, and as you so earnestly forbid me to accompany you in
your enterprise) in procuring you a vehicle. Had you not obliged me to
keep measures with my mother, I could have managed it with ease. I could
even have taken our own chariot, on one pretence or other, and put two
horses extraordinary to it, if I had thought fit; and I could, when we
had got to London, have sent it back, and nobody the wiser as to the
lodgings we might have taken.

I wish to the Lord you had permitted this. Indeed I think you are too
punctilious a great deal for you situation. Would you expect to enjoy
yourself with your usual placidness, and not to be ruffled, in an
hurricane which every moment threatens to blow your house down?

Had your distress sprung from yourself, that would have been another
thing. But when all the world knows where to lay the fault, this alters
the case.

How can you say I am happy, when my mother, to her power, is as much an
abettor of their wickedness to my dearest friend, as your aunt, or any
body else?--and this through the instigation of that odd-headed and
foolish uncle of yours, who [sorry creature that he is!] keeps her up to
resolutions which are unworthy of her, for an example to me, if it please
you. Is not this cause enough for me to ground a resentment upon,
sufficient to justify me for accompanying you; the friendship between us
so well known?

Indeed, my dear, the importance of the case considered, I must repeat,
that you are too nice. Don't they already think that your non-compliance
with their odious measures is owing a good deal to my advice? Have they
not prohibited our correspondence upon that very surmise? And have I,
but on your account, reason to value what they think?

Besides, What discredit have I to fear by such a step? What detriment?
Would Hickman, do you believe, refuse me upon it?--If he did, should I be
sorry for that?--Who is it, that has a soul, who would not be affected by
such an instance of female friendship?

But I should vex and disorder my mother!--Well, that is something: but
not more than she vexes and disorders me, on her being made an implement
by such a sorry creature, who ambles hither every day in spite to my
dearest friend--Woe be to both, if it be for a double end!--Chide me, if
you will: I don't care.

I say, and I insist upon it, such a step would ennoble your friend: and
if still you will permit it, I will take the office out of Lovelace's
hands; and, to-morrow evening, or on Monday before his time of
appointment takes place, will come in a chariot, or chaise: and then, my
dear, if we get off as I wish, will we make terms (and what terms we
please) with them all. My mother will be glad to receive her daughter
again, I warrant: and Hickman will cry for joy on my return; or he shall
for sorrow.

But you are so very earnestly angry with me for proposing such a step,
and have always so much to say for your side of any question, that I am
afraid to urge it farther.--Only be so good (let me add) as to encourage
me to resume it, if, upon farther consideration, and upon weighing
matters well, (and in this light, whether best to go off with me, or with
Lovelace,) you can get over your punctilious regard for my reputation. A
woman going away with a woman is not so discreditable a thing, surely!
and with no view, but to avoid the fellows!--I say, only to be so good,
as to consider this point; and if you can get over your scruples on my
account, do. And so I will have done with this argument for the present;
and apply myself to some of the passages in yours.

A time, I hope, will come, that I shall be able to read your affecting
narratives without the impatient bitterness which now boils over in my
heart, and would flow to my pen, were I to enter into the particulars of
what you write. And indeed I am afraid of giving you my advice at all,
or telling you what I should do in your case (supposing you wills till
refuse my offer; finding too what you have been brought or rather driven
to without it); lest any evil should follow it: in which case, I should
never forgive myself. And this consideration has added to my
difficulties in writing to you now you are upon such a crisis, and yet
refuse the only method--but I said, I would not for the present touch any
more that string. Yet, one word more, chide me if you please: If any
harm betide you, I shall for ever blame my mother--indeed I shall--and
perhaps yourself, if you do not accept my offer.

But one thing, in your present situation and prospects, let me advise: It
is this, that if you do go off with Mr. Lovelace, you take the first
opportunity to marry. Why should you not, when every body will know by
whose assistance, and in whose company, you leave your father's house, go
whithersoever you will?--You may indeed keep him at a distance, until
settlements are drawn, and such like matters are adjusted to your mind:
but even these are matters of less consideration in your particular case,
than they would be in that of most others: and first, because, be his
other faults what they will, nobody thinks him an ungenerous man: next,
because the possession of your estate must be given up to you as soon as
your cousin Morden comes; who, as your trustee, will see it done; and
done upon proper terms: 3dly, because there is no want of fortune on his
side: 4thly, because all his family value you, and are extremely desirous
that you should be their relation: 5thly, because he makes no scruple of
accepting you without conditions. You see how he has always defied your
relations: [I, for my own part, can forgive him for the fault: nor know
I, if it be not a noble one:] and I dare say, he had rather call you his,
without a shilling, than be under obligation to those whom he has full as
little reason to love, as they have to love him. You have heard, that
his own relations cannot make his proud spirit submit to owe any favour
to them.

For all these reasons, I think, you may the less stand upon previous
settlements. It is therefore my absolute opinion, that, if you do
withdraw with him, (and in that case you must let him be judge when he
can leave you with safety, you'll observe that,) you should not postpone
the ceremony.

Give this matter your most serious consideration. Punctilio is out of
doors the moment you are out of your father's house. I know how justly
severe you have been upon those inexcusable creatures, whose giddiness
and even want of decency have made them, in the same hour as I may say,
leap from a parent's window to a husband's bed--but considering
Lovelace's character, I repeat my opinion, that your reputation in the
eye of the world requires no delay be made in this point, when once you
are in his power.

I need not, I am sure, make a stronger plea to you.

You say, in excuse for my mother, (what my fervent love for my friend
very ill brooks,) that we ought not to blame any one for not doing what
she has an opinion to do, or to let alone. This, in cases of friendship,
would admit of very strict discussion. If the thing requested be of
greater consequence, or even of equal, to the person sought to, and it
were, as the old phrase has it, to take a thorn out of one's friend's
foot to put in into one's own, something might be said.--Nay, it would
be, I will venture to say, a selfish thing in us to ask a favour of a
friend which would subject that friend to the same or equal inconvenience
as that from which we wanted to be relieved, The requested would, in this
case, teach his friend, by his own selfish example, with much better
reason, to deny him, and despise a friendship so merely nominal. But if,
by a less inconvenience to ourselves, we could relieve our friend from a
greater, the refusal of such a favour makes the refuser unworthy of the
name of friend: nor would I admit such a one, not even into the outermost
fold of my heart.

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