Clarissa Harlowe; or the history of a young lady — Volume 7
Page 57
LETTER LVIII
MRS. HARLOWE, TO MRS. JUDITH NORTONSUNDAY, JULY 30.
We all know your virtuous prudence, worthy woman: we all do. But yourpartiality to this your rash favourite is likewise known. And we are noless acquainted with the unhappy body's power of painting her distressesso as to pierce a stone.
Every one is of opinion that the dear naughty creature is working aboutto be forgiven and received: and for this reason it is that Betty hasbeen forbidden, [not by me, you may be assured!] to mention any more ofher letters; for she did speak to my Bella of some moving passages youread to her.
This will convince you that nothing will be heard in her favour. To whatpurpose then should I mention any thing about her?--But you may be surethat I will, if I can have but one second. However, that is not at alllikely, until we see what the consequences of her crime will be: And whocan tell that?--She may--How can I speak it, and my once darling daughterunmarried?--She may be with child!--This would perpetuate her stain. Herbrother may come to some harm; which God forbid!--One child's ruin, Ihope, will not be followed by another's murder!
As to her grief, and her present misery, whatever it be, she must bearwith it; and it must be short of what I hourly bear for her! Indeed I amafraid nothing but her being at the last extremity of all will make herfather, and her uncles, and her other friends, forgive her.
The easy pardon perverse children meet with, when they have done therashest and most rebellious thing they can do, is the reason (as ispleaded to us every day) that so may follow their example. They dependupon the indulgent weakness of their parents' tempers, and, in thatdependence, harden their own hearts: and a little humiliation, when theyhave brought themselves into the foretold misery, is to be a sufficientatonement for the greatest perverseness.
But for such a child as this [I mention what others hourly say, but whatI must sorrowfully subscribe to] to lay plots and stratagems to deceiveher parents as well as herself! and to run away with a libertine! Canthere be any atonement for her crime? And is she not answerable to God,to us, to you, and to all the world who knew her, for the abuse of suchtalents as she has abused?
You say her heart is half-broken: Is it to be wondered at? Was not hersin committed equally against warning and the light of her own knowledge?
That he would now marry her, or that she would refuse him, if shebelieved him in earnest, as she has circumstanced herself, is not at allprobable; and were I inclined to believe it, nobody else here would. Hevalues not his relations; and would deceive them as soon as any others:his aversion to marriage he has always openly declared; and stilloccasionally declares it. But, if he be now in earnest, which every onewho knows him must doubt, which do you think (hating us too as heprofesses to hate and despise us all) would be most eligible here, Tohear of her death, or of her marriage to such a vile man?
To all of us, yet, I cannot say! For, O my good Mrs. Norton, you knowwhat a mother's tenderness for the child of her heart would make herchoose, notwithstanding all that child's faults, rather than lose herfor ever!
But I must sail with the tide; my own judgment also joining with thegeneral resentment; or I should make the unhappiness of the more worthystill greater, [my dear Mr. Harlowe's particularly;] which is alreadymore than enough to make them unhappy for the remainder of their days.This I know; if I were to oppose the rest, our son would fly out to findthis libertine; and who could tell what would be the issue of that withsuch a man of violence and blood as that Lovelace is known to be?
All I can expect to prevail for her is, that in a week, or so, Mr. Brandmay be sent up to inquire privately about her present state and way oflife, and to see she is not altogether destitute: for nothing she writesherself will be regarded.
Her father indeed has, at her earnest request, withdrawn the curse,which, in a passion, he laid upon her, at her first wicked flight fromus. But Miss Howe, [it is a sad thing, Mrs. Norton, to suffer so manyways at once,] had made matters so difficult by her undue liberties withus all, as well by speech in all companies, as by letters written to myBella, that we could hardly prevail upon him to hear her letter read.
These liberties of Miss Howe with us; the general cry against us abroadwherever we are spoken of; and the visible, and not seldom audible,disrespectfulness, which high and low treat us with to our faces, as wego to and from church, and even at church, (for no where else have we theheart to go,) as if none of us had been regarded but upon her account;and as if she were innocent, we all in fault; are constant aggravations,you must needs think, to the whole family.
She has made my lot heavy, I am sure, that was far from being lightbefore!--To tell you truth, I am enjoined not to receive any thing ofher's, from any hand, without leave. Should I therefore gratify myyearnings after her, so far as to receive privately the letter youmention, what would the case be, but to torment myself, without beingable to do her good?--And were it to be known--Mr. Harlowe is sopassionate--And should it throw his gout into his stomach, as her rashflight did--Indeed, indeed, I am very unhappy!--For, O my good woman,she is my child still!--But unless it were more in my power--Yet do Ilong to see the letter--you say it tells of her present way andcircumstances. The poor child, who ought to be in possession ofthousands!--And will!--For her father will be a faithful steward forher.--But it must be in his own way, and at his own time.
And is she really ill?--so very ill?--But she ought to sorrow--she hasgiven a double measure of it.
But does she really believe she shall not long trouble us?--But, O myNorton!--She must, she will, long trouble us--For can she think herdeath, if we should be deprived of her, will put an end to ourafflictions?--Can it be thought that the fall of such a child will notbe regretted by us to the last hour of our lives?
But, in the letter you have, does she, without reserve, express hercontrition? Has she in it no reflecting hints? Does she not aim atextenuations?--If I were to see it, will it not shock me so much, thatmy apparent grief may expose me to harshnesses?--Can it be contrived--
But to what purpose?--Don't send it--I charge you don't--I dare not seeit--
Yet--
But alas!--
Oh! forgive the almost distracted mother! You can.--You know how toallow for all this--so I will let it go.--I will not write over againthis part of my letter.
But I choose not to know more of her than is communicated to us all--no more than I dare own I have seen--and what some of them may rathercommunicate to me, than receive from me: and this for the sake of myoutward quiet: although my inward peace suffers more and more by thecompelled reserve.
***
I was forced to break off. But I will now try to conclude my longletter.
I am sorry you are ill. But if you were well, I could not, for your ownsake, wish you to go up, as Betty tells us you long to do. If you went,nothing would be minded that came from you. As they already think youtoo partial in her favour, your going up would confirm it, and doyourself prejudice, and her no good. And as every body values you here,I advise you not to interest yourself too warmly in her favour,especially before my Bella's Betty, till I can let you know a propertime. Yet to forbid you to love the dear naughty creature, who can? Omy Norton! you must love her!--And so must I!
I send you five guineas, to help you in your present illness, and yourson's; for it must have lain heavy upon you. What a sad, sad thing, mydear good woman, that all your pains, and all my pains, for eighteen ornineteen years together, have, in so few months, been rendered thusdeplorably vain! Yet I must be always your friend, and pity you, for thevery reason that I myself deserve every one's pity.
Perhaps I may find an opportunity to pay you a visit, as in your illness;and then may weep over the letter you mention with you. But, for thefuture, write nothing to me about the poor girl that you think may not becommunicated to us all.
And I charge you, as you value my friendship, as you wish my peace, notto say any thing of a letter you have from me, either to the naughty one,or to any body
else. It was with some little relief (the occasion given)to write to you, who must, in so particular a manner, share myaffliction. A mother, Mrs. Norton, cannot forget her child, though thatchild could abandon her mother; and, in so doing, run away with all hermother's comforts!--As I truly say is the case of
Your unhappy friend,CHARLOTTE HARLOWE.