Clarissa Harlowe; or the history of a young lady — Volume 2

by Samuel Richardson

  LETTER I

  MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE

  My heart fluttered with the hope and the fear of seeing my mother, andwith the shame and grief of having given her so much uneasiness. But itneeded not: she was not permitted to come. But my aunt was so good as toreturn, yet not without my sister; and, taking my hand, made me sit downby her.

  She came, she must own, officiously, she said, this once more,though against the opinion of my father: but knowing and dreading theconsequence of my opposition, she could not but come.

  She then set forth to my friends' expectation from me; Mr. Solmes'sriches (three times as rich he came out to be, as any body had thoughthim); the settlements proposed; Mr. Lovelace's bad character; theiraversions to him; all in a very strong light; not in a stronger thanmy mother had before placed them in. My mother, surely, could not havegiven the particulars of what had passed between herself and me: if shehad, my aunt would not have repeated many of the same sentiments, asyou will find she did, that had been still more strongly urged, withouteffect by her venerable sister.

  She said it would break the heart of my father to have it imagined thathe had not a power over his own child; and that, as he thought, formy own good: a child too, whom they had always doated upon!--Dearest,dearest Miss, concluded she, clasping her fingers, with the mostcondescending earnestness, let me beg of you, for my sake, for your ownsake, for a hundred sakes, to get over this averseness, to give up yourprejudices, and make every one happy and easy once more.--I would kneelto you, my dearest Niece--nay, I will kneel to you--!

  And down she dropt, and I with her, kneeling to her, and beseeching hernot to kneel; clasping my arms about her, and bathing her worthy bosomwith my tears.

  O rise! rise! my beloved Aunt, said I: you cut me to the heart with thiscondescending goodness.

  Say then, my dearest Niece, say then, that you will oblige all yourfriends!--If you love us, I beseech you do--

  How can I perform what I can sooner choose to die than to perform--!

  Say then, my dear, that you will consider of it. Say you will butreason with yourself. Give us but hopes. Don't let me entreat, and thusentreat, in vain--[for still she kneeled, and I by her].

  What a hard case is mine!--Could I but doubt, I know I couldconquer.--That which is an inducement to my friends, is none at all tome--How often, my dearest Aunt, must I repeat the same thing?--Let mebut be single--Cannot I live single? Let me be sent, as I have proposed,to Scotland, to Florence, any where: let me be sent a slave to theIndies, any where--any of these I will consent to. But I cannot, cannotthink of giving my vows to man I cannot endure!

  Well then, rising, (Bella silently, with uplifted hands, reproaching mysupposed perverseness,) I see nothing can prevail with you to oblige us.

  What can I do, my dearest Aunt Hervey? What can I do? Were I capable ofgiving a hope I meant not to enlarge, then could I say, I would considerof your kind advice. But I would rather be thought perverse thaninsincere. Is there, however, no medium? Can nothing be thought of? Willnothing do, but to have a man who is the more disgustful to me, becausehe is unjust in the very articles he offers?

  Whom now, Clary, said my sister, do you reflect upon? Consider that.

  Make not invidious applications of what I say, Bella. It may not belooked upon in the same light by every one. The giver and the accepterare principally answerable in an unjust donation. While I think of it inthis light, I should be inexcusable to be the latter. But why do I enterupon a supposition of this nature?--My heart, as I have often, oftensaid, recoils, at the thought of the man, in every light.--Whose father,but mine, agrees upon articles where there is no prospect of a liking?Where the direct contrary is avowed, all along avowed, without theleast variation, or shadow of a change of sentiment?--But it is not myfather's doing originally. O my cruel, cruel brother, to cause a measureto be forced upon me, which he would not behave tolerably under, werethe like to be offered to him!

  The girl is got into her altitudes, Aunt Hervey, said my sister. Yousee, Madam, she spares nobody. Be pleased to let her know what she hasto trust to. Nothing is to be done with her. Pray, Madam, pronounce herdoom.

  My aunt retired to the window, weeping, with my sister in her hand:I cannot, indeed I cannot, Miss Harlowe, said she, softly, (but yet Iheard every word she said): there is great hardship in her case. Sheis a noble child after all. What pity things are gone so far!--But Mr.Solmes ought to be told to desist.

  O Madam, said my sister, in a kind of loud whisper, are you caught tooby the little siren?--My mother did well not to come up!--I questionwhether my father himself, after his first indignation, would not beturned round by her. Nobody but my brother can do any thing with her, Iam sure.

  Don't think of your brother's coming up, said my aunt, still in a lowvoice--He is too furious. I see no obstinacy, no perverseness, inher manner! If your brother comes, I will not be answerable for theconsequences: for I thought twice or thrice she would have gone intofits.

  O Madam, she has a strong heart!--And you see there is no prevailingwith her, though you were upon your knees to her.

  My sister left my aunt musing at the window, with her back towards us,and took that opportunity to insult me still more barbarously; for,stepping to my closet, she took up the patterns which my mother had sentme up, and bringing them to me, she spread them upon the chair by me;and offering one, and then another, upon her sleeve and shoulder, thusshe ran on, with great seeming tranquility, but whisperingly, that myaunt might not hear her. This, Clary, is a pretty pattern enough: butthis is quite charming! I would advise you to make your appearance init. And this, were I you, should be my wedding night-gown--And thismy second dressed suit! Won't you give orders, love, to have yourgrandmother's jewels new set?--Or will you thing to shew away in the newones Mr. Solmes intends to present to you? He talks of laying out twoor three thousand pounds in presents, child! Dear heart!--How gorgeouslywill you be array'd! What! silent still?--But, Clary, won't you have avelvet suit? It would cut a great figure in a country church, you know:and the weather may bear it for a month yet to come. Crimson velvet,suppose! Such a fine complexion as yours, how it would be set off by it!What an agreeable blush would it give you!--Heigh-ho! (mocking me, for Isighed to be thus fooled with,) and do you sigh, love?--Well then, as itwill be a solemn wedding, what think you of black velvet, child?--Silentstill, Clary?--Black velvet, so fair as you are, with those charmingeyes, gleaming through a wintry cloud, like an April sun!--Does notLovelace tell you they are charming eyes?--How lovely will you appear toevery one!--What! silent still, love?--But about your laces, Clary?--

  She would have gone on still further, had not my aunt advance towardsme, wiping her eyes--What! whispering ladies! You seem so easy and sopleased, Miss Harlowe, with your private conference, that I hope I shallcarry down good news.

  I am only giving her my opinion of her patterns, here.--Unasked indeed;but she seems, by her silence, to approve of my judgment.

  O Bella! said I, that Mr. Lovelace had not taken you at your word!--Youhad before now been exercising your judgment on your own account: and Ihad been happy as well as you! Was it my fault, I pray you, that it wasnot so?--

  O how she raved!

  To be so ready to give, Bella, and so loth to take, is not very fair inyou.

  The poor Bella descended to call names.

  Why, Sister, said I, you are as angry, as if there were more in thehint than possibly might be designed. My wish is sincere, for both oursakes!--for the whole family's sake!--And what (good now) is there init?--Do not, do not, dear Bella, give me cause to suspect, that I havefound a reason for your behaviour to me, and which till now was whollyunaccountable from sister to sister--

  Fie, fie, Clary! said my aunt.

  My sister was more and more outrageous.

  O how much fitter, said I, to be a jest, than a jester!--But now, Bella,turn the glass to you, and see how poorly sits the robe upon your ownshoulders, which you have been so unmercifully fixing upon mine! />
  Fie, fie, Miss Clary! repeated my aunt.

  And fie, fie, likewise, good Madam, to Miss Harlowe, you would say, wereyou to have heard her barbarous insults!

  Let us go, Madam, said my sister, with great violence; let us leave thecreature to swell till she bursts with her own poison.--The last time Iwill ever come near her, in the mind I am in!

  It is so easy a thing, returned I, were I to be mean enough to followan example that is so censurable in the setter of it, to vanquish sucha teasing spirit as your's with its own blunt weapons, that I am amazedyou will provoke me!--Yet, Bella, since you will go, (for she hadhurried to the door,) forgive me. I forgive you. And you have a doublereason to do so, both from eldership and from the offence so studiouslygiven to one in affliction. But may you be happy, though I never shall!May you never have half the trials I have had! Be this your comfort,that you cannot have a sister to treat you as you have treated me!--Andso God bless you!

  O thou art a--And down she flung without saying what.

  Permit me, Madam, said I to my aunt, sinking down, and clasping herknees with my arms, to detain you one moment--not to say any thing aboutmy poor sister--she is her own punisher--only to thank you for allyour condescending goodness to me. I only beg of you not to impute toobstinacy the immovableness I have shown to so tender a friend; and toforgive me every thing I have said or done amiss in your presence, forit has not proceeded from inward rancour to the poor Bella. But I willbe bold to say, that neither she, nor my brother, nor even my fatherhimself, knows what a heart they have set a bleeding.

  I saw, to my comfort, what effect my sister's absence wrought forme.--Rise, my noble-minded Niece!--Charming creature! [those were herkind words] kneel not to me!--Keep to yourself what I now say to you.--Iadmire you more than I can express--and if you can forbear claiming yourestate, and can resolve to avoid Lovelace, you will continue to be thegreatest miracle I ever knew at your years--but I must hasten down afteryour sister.--These are my last words to you: 'Conform to your father'swill, if you possibly can. How meritorious will it be in you if you doso! Pray to God to enable you to conform. You don't know what may bedone.'

  Only, my dear Aunt, one word, one word more (for she was going)--Speakall you can for my dear Mrs. Norton. She is but low in the world: shouldill health overtake her, she may not know how to live without my mamma'sfavour. I shall have no means to help her; for I will want necessariesbefore I will assert my right: and I do assure you, she has said so manythings to me in behalf of my submitting to my father's will, that herarguments have not a little contributed to make me resolve to avoid theextremities, which nevertheless I pray to God they do not at last forceme upon. And yet they deprive me of her advice, and think unjustly ofone of the most excellent of women.

  I am glad to hear you say this: and take this, and this, and this, mycharming Niece! (for so she called me almost at every word, kissing meearnestly, and clasping her arms about my neck:) and God protect you,and direct you! But you must submit: indeed you must. Some one day in amonth from this is all the choice that is left you.

  And this, I suppose, was the doom my sister called for; and yet no worsethan what had been pronounced upon me before.

  She repeated these last sentences louder than the former. 'And remember,Miss,' added she, 'it is your duty to comply.'--And down she went,leaving me with my heart full, and my eyes running over.

  The very repetition of this fills me with almost equal concern to thatwhich I felt at the time.

  I must lay down my pen. Mistiness, which give to the deluged eye theappearance of all the colours in the rainbow, will not permit me towrite on.

  WEDNESDAY, FIVE O'CLOCK

  I will now add a few lines--My aunt, as she went down from me, was metat the foot of the stairs by my sister, who seemed to think she hadstaid a good while after her; and hearing her last words prescribingto me implicit duty, praised her for it, and exclaimed against myobstinacy. Did you ever hear of such perverseness, Madam? said she:Could you have thought that your Clarissa and every body's Clarissa, wassuch a girl?--And who, as you said, is to submit, her father or she?

  My aunt said something in answer to her, compassionating me, as Ithought, by her accent: but I heard not the words.

  Such a strange perseverance in a measure so unreasonable!--But mybrother and sister are continually misrepresenting all I say and do; andI am deprived of the opportunity of defending myself!--My sister says,*that had they thought me such a championess, they you not have engagedwith me: and now, not knowing how to reconcile my supposed obstinacywith my general character and natural temper, they seem to hope to tireme out, and resolve to vary their measures accordingly. My brother, yousee,** is determined to carry this point, or to abandon Harlowe-place,and never to see it more. So they are to lose a son, or to conquera daughter--the perversest and most ungrateful that ever parentshad!--This is the light he places things in: and has undertaken, itseems, to subdue me, if his advice should be followed. It will befarther tried; of that I am convinced; and what will be their nextmeasure, who can divine?

  * See Letter XLII. of Vol. I.

  ** Ibid.

  I shall dispatch, with this, my answer to your's of Sunday last, begunon Monday;* but which is not yet quite finished. It is too long to copy:I have not time for it. In it I have been very free with you, my dear,in more places than one. I cannot say that I am pleased with all I havewritten--yet will not now alter it. My mind is not at ease enough forthe subject. Don't be angry with me. Yet, if you can excuse one or twopassages, it will be because they were written by

  Your CLARISSA HARLOWE.

  * See Letter XL, ibid.