Clarissa, Volume 2 (of 9)

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I hope he will not go to Mr. Solmes.--I hope he will not come hither.--If
he do either, I will break with him for ever.

What have I to do with these headstrong spirits? I wish I had never--but
what signifies wishing?--I am strangely perplexed: but I need not have
told you this, after such a representation of my situation.

LETTER XVII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE
TUESDAY MORNING, 7 O'CLOCK

My uncle has vouchsafed to answer me. These that follow are the contents
of his letter; but just now brought me, although written last night--late
I suppose.

MONDAY NIGHT.

MISS CLARY,

Since you are grown such a bold challenger, and teach us all our duty,
though you will not practise your own, I must answer you. Nobody wants
you estate from you. Are you, who refuse ever body's advice, to
prescribe a husband to your sister? Your letter to Mr. Solmes is
inexcusable. I blamed you for it before. Your parents will be obeyed.
It is fit they should. Your mother has nevertheless prevailed to have
your going to your uncle Antony's put off till Thursday: yet owns you
deserve not that, or any other favour from her. I will receive no more
of your letters. You are too artful for me. You are an ungrateful and
unreasonable child: Must you have your way paramount to every body's?
How are you altered.

Your displeased uncle,
JOHN HARLOWE.

***

To be carried away on Thursday--To the moated house--To the chapel--To
Solmes! How can I think of this!--They will make me desperate.

TUESDAY MORNING, 8 O'CLOCK.

I have another letter from Mr. Lovelace. I opened it with the
expectation of its being filled with bold and free complaints, on my not
writing to prevent his two nights watching, in weather not extremely
agreeable. But, instead of complaints, he is 'full of tender concern
lest I may have been prevented by indisposition, or by the closer
confinement which he has frequently cautioned me that I may expect.'

He says, 'He had been in different disguises loitering about our garden
and park wall, all the day on Sunday last; and all Sunday night was
wandering about the coppice, and near the back door. It rained; and he
has got a great cold, attended with feverishness, and so hoarse, that he
has almost lost his voice.'

Why did he not flame out in his letter?--Treated as I am treated by my
friends, it is dangerous to be laid under the sense of an obligation to
an addresser's patience; especially when such a one suffers in health for
my sake.

'He had no shelter, he says, but under the great overgrown ivy, which
spreads wildly round the heads of two or three oaklings; and that was
soon wet through.'

You remember the spot. You and I, my dear, once thought ourselves
obliged to the natural shade which those ivy-covered oaklings afforded
us, in a sultry day.

I can't help saying, I am sorry he has suffered for my sake; but 'tis his
own seeking.

His letter is dated last night at eight: 'And, indisposed as he is, he
tells me that he will watch till ten, in hopes of my giving him the
meeting he so earnestly request. And after that, he has a mile to walk
to his horse and servant; and four miles then to ride to his inn.'

He owns, 'That he has an intelligencer in our family; who has failed him
for a day or two past: and not knowing how I do, or how I may be treated,
his anxiety is increased.'

This circumstance gives me to guess who this intelligencer is: Joseph
Leman: the very creature employed and confided in, more than any other,
by my brother.

This is not an honourable way of proceeding in Mr. Lovelace. Did he
learn this infamous practice of corrupting the servants of other families
at the French court, where he resided a good while?

I have been often jealous of this Leman in my little airings and poultry-
visits. Doubly obsequious as he was always to me, I have thought him my
brother's spy upon me; and although he obliged me by his hastening out of
the garden and poultry-yard, whenever I came into either, have wondered,
that from his reports my liberties of those kinds have not been
abridged.* So, possibly, this man may be bribed by both, yet betray
both. Worthy views want not such obliquities as these on either side.
An honest mind must rise into indignation both at the traitor-maker and
the traitor.

* Mr. Lovelace accounts for this, Vol. I, Letter XXXV.

'He presses with the utmost earnestness for an interview. He would not
presume, he says, to disobey my last personal commands, that he should
not endeavour to attend me again in the wood-house. But says, he can
give me such reasons for my permitting him to wait upon my father or
uncles, as he hopes will be approved by me: for he cannot help observing,
that it is no more suitable to my own spirit than to his, that he, a man
of fortune and family, should be obliged to pursue such a clandestine
address, as would only become a vile fortune-hunter. But, if I will give
my consent for his visiting me like a man, and a gentleman, no ill
treatment shall provoke him to forfeit his temper.

'Lord M. will accompany him, if I please: or Lady Betty Lawrance will
first make the visit to my mother, or to my aunt Hervey, or even to my
uncles, if I choose it. And such terms shall be offered, as shall have
weight upon them.

'He begs, that I will not deny him making a visit to Mr. Solmes. By all
that's good, he vows, that it shall not be with the least intention
either to hurt or affront him; but only to set before him, calmly and
rationally, the consequences that may possibly flow from so fruitless a
perseverance, as well as the ungenerous folly of it, to a mind as noble
as mine. He repeats his own resolution to attend my pleasure, and Mr.
Morden's arrival and advice, for the reward of his own patience.

'It is impossible, he says, but one of these methods must do. Presence,
he observes, even of a disliked person, takes off the edge of resentments
which absence whets, and makes keen.

'He therefore most earnestly repeats his importunities for the
supplicated interview.' He says, 'He has business of consequence in
London: but cannot stir from the inconvenient spot where he has for some
time resided, in disguises unworthy of himself, until he can be
absolutely certain, that I shall not be prevailed upon, either by force
or otherwise; and until he finds me delivered from the insults of my
brother. Nor ought this to be an indifferent point to one, for whose
sake all the world reports me to be used unworthily. But one remark, he
says, he cannot help making: that did my friends know the little favour I
shew him, and the very great distance I keep him at, they would have no
reason to confine me on his account. And another, that they themselves
seem to think him entitled to a different usage, and expect that he
receives it; when, in truth, what he meets with from me is exactly what
they wish him to meet with, excepting in the favour of my correspondence
I honour him with; upon which, he says, he puts the highest value, and
for the sake of which he has submitted to a thousand indignities.

'He renews his professions of reformation. He is convinced, he says,
that he has already run a long and dangerous course; and that it is high
time to think of returning. It must be from proper conviction, he says,
that a person who has lived too gay a life, resolves to reclaim, before
age or sufferings come upon him.

'All generous spirits, he observes, hate compulsion. Upon this
observation he dwells; but regrets, that he is likely to owe all his
hopes to this compulsion; this injudicious compulsion, he justly calls
it; and none to my esteem for him. Although he presumes upon some merit
--in this implicit regard to my will--in the bearing the daily
indignities offered not only to him, but to his relations, by my brother
--in the nightly watchings, his present indisposition makes him mention,
or he had not debased the nobleness of his passion for me, by such a
selfish instance.'

I cannot but say, I am sorry the man is not well.

I am afraid to ask you, my dear, what you would have done, thus situated.
But what I have done, I have done. In a word, I wrote, 'That I would, if
possible, give him a meeting to-morrow night, between the hours of nine
and twelve, by the ivy summer-house, or in it, or near the great cascade,
at the bottom of the garden; and would unbolt the door, that he might
come in by his own key. But that, if I found the meeting impracticable,
or should change my mind, I would signify as much by another line; which
he must wait for until it were dark.'

TUESDAY, ELEVEN O'CLOCK.

I am just returned from depositing my billet. How diligent is this man!
It is plain he was in waiting: for I had walked but a few paces, after I
had deposited it, when, my heart misgiving me, I returned, to have taken
it back, in order to reconsider it as I walked, and whether I should or
should not let it go. But I found it gone.

In all probability, there was but a brick wall, of a few inches thick,
between Mr. Lovelace and me, at the very time I put the letter under the
brick!

I am come back dissatisfied with myself. But I think, my dear, there can
be no harm in meeting him. If I do not, he may take some violent
measures. What he knows of the treatment I meet with in malice to him,
and with the view to frustrate all his hopes, may make him desperate.
His behaviour last time I saw him, under the disadvantages of time and
place, and surprised as I was, gives me no apprehension of any thing but
discovery. What he requires is not unreasonable, and cannot affect my
future choice and determination: it is only to assure him from my own
lips, that I never will be the wife of a man I hate. If I have not an
opportunity to meet without hazard or detection, he must once more bear
the disappointment. All his trouble, and mine too, is owing to his
faulty character. This, although I hate tyranny and arrogance in all
shapes, makes me think less of the risques he runs, and the fatigues he
undergoes, than otherwise I should do; and still less, as my sufferings
(derived from the same source) are greater than his.

Betty confirms this intimation, that I must go to my uncle's on Thursday.
She was sent on purpose to direct me to prepare myself for going, and to
help me to get every thing up in order for my removal.

LETTER XIX

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE
THURSDAY, THREE O'CLOCK, MARCH 28.

I have mentioned several times the pertness of Mrs. Betty to me; and now,
having a little time upon my hands, I will give you a short dialogue that
passed just now between us. It may, perhaps, be a little relief to you
from the dull subjects with which I am perpetually teasing you.

As she attended me at dinner, she took notice, That Nature is satisfied
with a very little nourishment: and thus she complimentally proved it--
For, Miss, said she, you eat nothing; yet never looked more charmingly in
your life.

As to the former part of your speech, Betty, said I, you observe well;
and I have often thought, when I have seen how healthy the children of
the labouring poor look, and are, with empty stomachs, and hardly a good
meal in a week, that God Almighty is very kind to his creatures, in this
respect, as well as in all others in making much not necessary to the
support of life; when three parts in four of His creatures, if it were,
would not know how to obtain it. It puts me in mind of two proverbial
sentences which are full of admirable meaning.

What, pray, Miss, are they? I love to hear you talk, when you are so
sedate as you seem now to be.

The one is to the purpose we are speaking of: Poverty is the mother of
health. And let me tell you, Betty, if I had a better appetite, and were
to encourage it, with so little rest, and so much distress and
persecution, I don't think I should be able to preserve my reason.

There's no inconvenience but has its convenience, said Betty, giving me
proverb for proverb. But what is the other, Madam?

That the pleasures of the mighty are not obtained by the tears of the
poor. It is but reasonable, therefore, methinks, that the plenty of the
one should be followed by distempers; and that the indigence of the other
should be attended with that health, which makes all its other
discomforts light on the comparison. And hence a third proverb, Betty,
since you are an admirer of proverbs: Better a hare-foot than none at
all; that is to say, than not to be able to walk.

She was mightily taken with what I said: See, returned she, what a fine
thing scholarship is!--I, said she, had always, from a girl, a taste for
reading, though it were but in Mother Goose, and concerning the fairies
[and then she took genteelly a pinch of snuff]: could but my parents have
let go as fast as I pulled, I should have been a very happy creature.

Very likely, you would have made great improvements, Betty: but as it is,
I cannot say, but since I had the favour of your attendance in this
intimate manner, I have heard smarter things from you, than I have heard
at table from some of my brother's fellow-collegians.

Your servant, dear Miss; dropping me one of her best courtesies: so fine
a judge as you are!--It is enough to make one very proud. Then with
another pinch--I cannot indeed but say, bridling upon it, that I have
heard famous scholars often and often say very silly things: things I
should be ashamed myself to say; but I thought they did it out of
humility, and in condescension to those who had not their learning.

That she might not be too proud, I told her, I would observe, that the
liveliness or quickness she so happily discovered in herself, was not so
much an honour to her, as what she owed to her sex; which, as I had
observed in many instances, had great advantages over the other, in all
the powers that related to imagination. And hence, Mrs. Betty, you'll
take notice, as I have of late had opportunity to do, that your own
talent at repartee and smartness, when it has something to work upon,
displays itself to more advantage, than could well be expected from one
whose friends, to speak in your own phrase, could not let go so fast as
you pulled.

The wench gave me a proof of the truth of my observation, in a manner
still more alert than I had expected: If, said she, our sex had so much
advantage in smartness, it is the less to be wondered at, that you, Miss,
who have had such an education, should outdo all the men and women too,
that come near you.

Bless me, Betty, said I, what a proof do you give me of your wit and your
courage at the same time! This is outdoing yourself. It would make
young ladies less proud, and more apprehensive, were they generally
attended by such smart servants, and their mouths permitted to be
unlocked upon them as yours has been lately upon me.--But, take away,
Mrs. Betty.

Why, Miss, you have eat nothing at all--I hope you are not displeased
with your dinner for any thing I have said.

No, Mrs. Betty, I am pretty well used to your freedoms now, you know.
--I am not displeased in the main, to observe, that, were the succession
of modern fine ladies to be extinct, it might be supplied from those whom
they place in the next rank to themselves, their chamber-maids and
confidants. Your young mistress has contributed a great deal to this
quickness of yours. She always preferred your company to mine. As you
pulled, she let go; and so, Mrs. Betty, you have gained by her
conversation what I have lost.

Why, Miss, if you come to that, nobody says better things than Miss
Harlowe. I could tell you one, if I pleased, upon my observing to her,
that you lived of late upon the air, and had no stomach to any thing; yet
looked as charmingly as ever.

I dare say, it was a very good-natured one, Mrs. Betty! Do you then
please that I shall hear it?

Only this, Miss, That your stomachfulness had swallowed up your stomach;
and, That obstinacy was meat, drink, and clothes to you.

Ay, Mrs. Betty; and did she say this?--I hope she laughed when she said
it, as she does at all her good things, as she calls them. It was very
smart, and very witty. I wish my mind were so much at ease, as to aim at
being witty too. But if you admire such sententious sayings, I'll help
you to another; and that is, Encouragement and approbation make people
show talents they were never suspected to have; and this will do both for
mistress and maid. And another I'll furnish you with, the contrary of
the former, that will do only for me: That persecution and discouragement
depress ingenuous minds, and blunt the edge of lively imaginations. And
hence may my sister's brilliancy and my stupidity be both accounted for.
Ingenuous, you must know, Mrs. Betty, and ingenious, are two things; and
I would not arrogate the latter to myself.

Lord, Miss, said the foolish girl, you know a great deal for your years.
--You are a very learned young lady!--What pity--

None of your pitties, Mrs. Betty, I know what you'd say. But tell me, if
you can, Is it resolved that I shall be carried to my uncle Antony's on
Thursday?

I was willing to reward myself for the patience she had made me exercise,
by getting at what intelligence I could from her.

Why, Miss, seating herself at a little distance (excuse my sitting down)
with the snuff-box tapped very smartly, the lid opened, and a pinch taken
with a dainty finger and thumb, the other three fingers distendedly bent,
and with a fine flourish--I cannot but say, that it is my opinion, you
will certainly go on Thursday; and this noless foless, as I have heard my
young lady say in FRENCH.

Whether I am willing or not willing, you mean, I suppose, Mrs. Betty?

You have it, Miss.

Well but, Betty, I have no mind to be turned out of doors so suddenly.
Do you think I could not be permitted to tarry one week longer?

How can I tell, Miss?

O Mrs. Betty, you can tell a great deal, if you please. But here I am
forbid writing to any one of my family; none of it now will come near me;
nor will any of it permit me to see them: How shall I do to make known my
request, to stay here a week or fortnight longer?

Why, Miss, I fancy, if you were to shew a compliable temper, your friends
would shew a compliable one too. But would you expect favours, and grant
none?

Smartly put, Betty! But who knows what may be the result of my being
carried to my uncle Antony's?

Who knows, Miss!--Why any body will guess what may be the result.

As how, Betty?

As how! repeated the pert wench, Why, Miss, you will stand in your own
light, as you have hitherto done: and your parents, as such good parents
ought, will be obeyed.

If, Mrs. Betty, I had not been used to your oughts, and to have my duty
laid down to me by your oraculous wisdom I should be apt to stare at the
liberty of you speech.

You seem angry, Miss. I hope I take no unbecoming liberty.

If thou really thinkest thou dost not, thy ignorance is more to be
pitied, than thy pertness resented. I wish thou wouldst leave me to
myself.

When young ladies fall out with their own duty, it is not much to be
wondered at, that they are angry at any body who do theirs.

That's a very pretty saying, Mrs. Betty!--I see plainly what thy duty is
in thy notion, and am obliged to those who taught it thee.

Every body takes notice, Miss, that you can say very cutting words in a
cool manner, and yet not call names, as I have known some gentlefolks as
well as others do when in a passion. But I wish you had permitted
'Squire Solmes to see you: he would have told you such stories of 'Squire
Lovelace, as you would have turned your heart against him for ever.

And know you any of the particulars of those sad stories?

Indeed I don't; but you'll hear all at your uncle Antony's, I suppose;
and a great deal more perhaps than you will like to hear.

Let me hear what I will, I am determined against Mr. Solmes, were it to
cost me my life.

If you are, Miss, the Lord have mercy on you! For what with this letter
of yours to 'Squire Solmes, whom they so much value, and what with their
antipathy to 'Squire Lovelace, whom they hate, they will have no patience
with you.

What will they do, Betty? They won't kill me? What will they do?

Kill you! No!--But you will not be suffered to stir from thence, till
you have complied with your duty. And no pen and ink will be allowed you
as here; where they are of opinion you make no good use of it: nor would
it be allowed here, only as they intend so soon to send you away to your
uncle's. No-body will be permitted to see you, or to correspond with
you. What farther will be done, I can't say; and, if I could, it may not
be proper. But you may prevent all, by one word: and I wish you would,
Miss. All then would be easy and happy. And, if I may speak my mind, I
see not why one man is not as good as another: why, especially, a sober
man is not as good as a rake.

Well, Betty, said I, sighing, all thy impertinence goes for nothing. But
I see I am destined to be a very unhappy creature. Yet I will venture
upon one request more to them.

And so, quite sick of the pert creature and of myself, I retired to my
closet, and wrote a few lines to my uncle Harlowe, notwithstanding his
prohibition; in order to get a reprieve from being carried away so soon
as Thursday next, if I must go. And this, that I might, if complied
with, suspend the appointment I have made with Mr. Lovelace; for my heart
misgives me as to meeting him; and that more and more; I know not why.
Under the superscription of the letter, I wrote these words: 'Pray, dear
Sir, be pleased to give this a reading.'

This is a copy of what I wrote:

TUESDAY AFTERNOON.

HONOURED SIR,

Let me this once be heard with patience, and have my petition granted. It
is only, that I may not be hurried away so soon as next Thursday.

Why should the poor girl be turned out of doors so suddenly, so
disgracefully? Procure for me, Sir, one fortnight's respite. In that
space of time, I hope you will all relent. My mamma shall not need to
shut her door in apprehension of seeing her disgraceful child. I will
not presume to think of entering her presence, or my papa's without
leave. One fortnight's respite is but a small favour for them to grant,
except I am to be refused every thing I ask; but it is of the highest
import to my peace of mind. Procure it for me, therefore, dearest Sir;
and you will exceedingly oblige

Your dutiful, though greatly afflicted niece,
CL. HARLOWE.

I sent this down: my uncle was not gone: and he now stays to know the
result of the question put to me in the enclosed answer which he has
given to mind.

Your going to your uncle's was absolutely concluded upon for next
Thursday. Nevertheless, your mother, seconded by Mr. Solmes, pleaded so
strongly to have you indulged, that your request for a delay will be
complied with, upon one condition; and whether for a fortnight, or a
shorter time, that will depend upon yourself. If you refuse the
condition, your mother declares she will give over all further
intercession for you.--Nor do you deserve this favour, as you put it upon
our yielding to you, not you to us.

This condition is, that you admit of a visit from Mr. Solmes, for one
hour, in company of your brother, your sister, or your uncle Antony,
choose who you will.

If you comply not, go next Thursday to a house which is become strangely
odious to you of late, whether you get ready to go or not. Answer
therefore directly to the point. No evasion. Name your day and hour.
Mr. Solmes will neither eat you, nor drink you. Let us see, whether we
are to be complied with in any thing, or not.

JOHN HARLOWE.

***

After a very little deliberation, I resolved to comply with this
condition. All I fear is, that Mr. Lovelace's intelligencer may inform
him of it; and that his apprehensions upon it may make him take some
desperate resolution: especially as now (having more time given me here)
I think to write to him to suspend the interview he is possibly so sure
of. I sent down the following to my uncle:

HONOURED SIR,

Although I see not what end the proposed condition can answer, I comply
with it. I wish I could with every thing expected of me. If I must name
one, in whose company I am to see the gentleman, and that one not my
mamma, whose presence I could wish to be honoured by on the occasion, let
my uncle, if he pleases, be the person. If I must name the day, (a long
day, I doubt, will not be permitted me,) let it be next Tuesday.

The hour, four in the afternoon. The place either the ivy summer-house,
or in the little parlour I used to be permitted to call mine.

Be pleased, Sir, nevertheless, to prevail upon my mamma, to vouchsafe me
her presence on the occasion.

I am, Sir, your ever-dutiful
CL. HARLOWE.

A reply is just sent me. I thought it became my averseness to this
meeting, to name a distant day: but I did not expect they would have
complied with it. So here is one week gained!

This is the reply:

You have done well to comply. We are willing to think the best of every
slight instance of duty from you. Yet have you seemed to consider the
day as an evil day, and so put if far off. This nevertheless is granted
you, as no time need to be lost, if you are as generous after the day, as
we are condescending before it. Let me advise you, not to harden your
mind; nor take up your resolution beforehand. Mr. Solmes has more awe,
and even terror, at the thought of seeing you, than you can have at the
thoughts of seeing him. His motive is love; let not yours be hatred. My
brother Antony will be present, in hopes you will deserve well of him, by
behaving well to the friend of the family. See you use him as such.
Your mother had permission to be there, if she thought fit: but says, she
would not for a thousand pound, unless you would encourage her beforehand
as she wishes to be encouraged. One hint I am to give you mean time. It
is this: To make a discreet use of your pen and ink. Methinks a young
creature of niceness should be less ready to write to one man, when she
is designed to be another's.

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