LETTER X
MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE FEB. 27
What odd heads some people have!--Miss Clarissa Harlowe to be sacrificedin marriage to Mr. Roger Solmes!--Astonishing!
I must not, you say, give my advice in favour of this man!--You nowconvince me, my dear, that you are nearer of kin than I thought you,to the family that could think of so preposterous a match, or you wouldnever have had the least notion of my advising in his favour.
Ask for his picture. You know I have a good hand at drawing an uglylikeness. But I'll see a little further first: for who knows what mayhappen, since matters are in such a train; and since you have not thecourage to oppose so overwhelming a torrent?
You ask me to help you to a little of my spirit. Are you in earnest?But it will not now, I doubt, do you service.--It will not sit naturallyupon you. You are your mother's girl, think what you will; and haveviolent spirits to contend with. Alas! my dear, you should have borrowedsome of mine a little sooner;--that is to say, before you had given themanagement of your estate into the hands of those who think they have aprior claim to it. What though a father's!--Has not the father two elderchildren?--And do they not both bear more of his stamp and image thanyou do?--Pray, my dear, call me not to account for this free question;lest your application of my meaning, on examination, prove to be assevere as that.
Now I have launched out a little, indulge me one word more in the samestrain--I will be decent, I promise you. I think you might have know,that Avarice and Envy are two passions that are not to be satisfied, theone by giving, the other by the envied person's continuing to deserveand excel.--Fuel, fuel both, all the world over, to flames insatiate anddevouring.
But since you ask for my opinion, you must tell me all you know orsurmise of their inducements. And if you will not forbid me to makeextracts from your letters for the entertainment of my aunt and cousinin the little island, who long to hear more of your affairs, it will bevery obliging.
But you are so tender of some people who have no tenderness for any bodybut themselves, that I must conjure you to speak out. Remember, thata friendship like ours admits of no reserves. You may trust myimpartiality. It would be an affront to your own judgment, if you didnot: For do you not ask my advice? And have you not taught me thatfriendship should never give a bias against justice?--Justify them,therefore, if you can. Let us see if there be any sense, whethersufficient reason or not in their choice. At present I cannot (and yetI know a good deal of your family) have any conception how all of them,your mother and your aunt Hervey in particular, can join with the restagainst judgments given. As to some of the others, I cannot wonder atany thing they do, or attempt to do, where self is concerned.
You ask, Why may not your brother be first engaged in wedlock? I'll tellyou why: His temper and his arrogance are too well known to induce womenhe would aspire to, to receive his addresses, notwithstanding his greatindependent acquisitions, and still greater prospects. Let me tell you,my dear, those acquisitions have given him more pride than reputation.To me he is the most intolerable creature that I ever conversed with.The treatment you blame, he merited from one whom he addressed with theair of a person who presumes that he is about to confer a favour, ratherthan to receive one. I ever loved to mortify proud and insolent spirits.What, think you, makes me bear Hickman near me, but that the man ishumble, and knows and keeps his distance?
As to your question, Why your elder sister may not be first providedfor? I answer, Because she must have no man, but one who has a great andclear estate; that's one thing. Another is, Because she has a youngersister. Pray, my dear, be so good as to tell me, What man of a great andclear estate would think of that eldest sister, while the younger weresingle?
You are all too rich to be happy, child. For must not each of you, bythe constitutions of your family, marry to be still richer? People whoknow in what their main excellence consists, are not to be blamed (arethey) for cultivating and improving what they think most valuable?--Istrue happiness any part of your family view?--So far from it, that noneof your family but yourself could be happy were they not rich. So letthem fret on, grumble and grudge, and accumulate; and wondering whatails them that they have not happiness when they have riches, think thecause is want of more; and so go on heaping up, till Death, as greedy anaccumulator as themselves, gathers them into his garner.
Well then once more I say, do you, my dear, tell me what you know oftheir avowed and general motives; and I will tell you more than you willtell me of their failings! Your aunt Hervey, you say,* has told you: Whymust I ask you to let me know them, when you condescend to ask my adviceon the occasion?
* See Letter VIII.
That they prohibit your corresponding with me, is a wisdom I neitherwonder at, nor blame them for: since it is an evidence to me, that theyknow their own folly: And if they do, is it strange that they should beafraid to trust one another's judgment upon it?
I am glad you have found out a way to correspond with me. I approveit much. I shall more, if this first trial of it prove successful. Butshould it not, and should it fall into their hands, it would not concernme but for your sake.
We have heard before you wrote, that all was not right between yourrelations and you at your coming home: that Mr. Solmes visited you, andthat with a prospect of success. But I concluded the mistake lay in theperson; and that his address was to Miss Arabella. And indeed had shebeen as good-natured as your plump ones generally are, I should havethought her too good for him by half. This must certainly be the thing,thought I; and my beloved friend is sent for to advise and assist in hernuptial preparations. Who knows, said I to my mother, but that whenthe man has thrown aside his yellow full-buckled peruke, and hisbroad-brimmed beaver (both of which I suppose were Sir Oliver's bestof long standing) he may cut a tolerable figure dangling to churchwith Miss Bell!--The woman, as she observes, should excel the man infeatures: and where can she match so well for a foil?
I indulged this surmise against rumour, because I could not believe thatthe absurdest people in England could be so very absurd as to think ofthis man for you.
We heard, moreover, that you received no visiters. I could assign noreason for this, except that the preparations for your sister were to beprivate, and the ceremony sudden, for fear this man should, as anotherman did, change his mind. Miss Lloyd and Miss Biddulph were with me toinquire what I knew of this; and of your not being in church, eithermorning or afternoon, the Sunday after your return from us; to thedisappointment of a little hundred of your admirers, to use their words.It was easy for me to guess the reason to be what you confirm--theirapprehensions that Lovelace would be there, and attempt to wait on youhome.
My mother takes very kindly your compliments in your letter to her. Herwords upon reading it were, 'Miss Clarissa Harlowe is an admirable younglady: wherever she goes, she confers a favour: whomever she leaves, shefills with regret.'--And then a little comparative reflection--'O myNancy, that you had a little of her sweet obligingness!'
No matter. The praise was yours. You are me; and I enjoyed it. The moreenjoyed it, because--Shall I tell you the truth?--Because I think myselfas well as I am--were it but for this reason, that had I twenty brotherJames's, and twenty sister Bell's, not one of them, nor all of themjoined together, would dare to treat me as yours presume to treat you.The person who will bear much shall have much to bear all the worldthrough; it is your own sentiment,* grounded upon the strongest instancethat can be given in your own family; though you have so little improvedby it.
* Letter V.
The result is this, that I am fitter for this world than you; you forthe next than me:--that is the difference.--But long, long, for my sake,and for hundreds of sakes, may it be before you quit us for company morecongenial to you and more worthy of you!
I communicated to my mother the account you give of your strangereception; also what a horrid wretch they have found out for you; andthe compulsory treatment they give you. It only set her on magnifyingher lenity to me, on
my tyrannical behaviour, as she will call it[mothers must have their way, you know, my dear] to the man whom she sowarmly recommends, against whom it seems there can be no just exception;and expatiating upon the complaisance I owe her for her indulgence. So Ibelieve I must communicate to her nothing farther--especially as I knowshe would condemn the correspondence between us, and that between youand Lovelace, as clandestine and undutiful proceedings, and divulge oursecret besides; for duty implicit is her cry. And moreover she lendsa pretty open ear to the preachments of that starch old bachelor youruncle Antony; and for an example to her daughter would be more carefulhow she takes your part, be the cause ever so just.
Yet is this not the right policy neither. For people who allow nothingwill be granted nothing: in other words, those who aim at carrying toomany points will not be able to carry any.
But can you divine, my dear, what the old preachment-making,plump-hearted soul, your uncle Antony, means by his frequent amblingshither?--There is such smirking and smiling between my mother and him!Such mutual praises of economy; and 'that is my way!'--and 'this Ido!'--and 'I am glad it has your approbation, Sir!'--and 'you look intoevery thing, Madam!'--'Nothing would be done, if I did not!'--
Such exclamations against servants! Such exaltings of self! Anddear heart, and good lack!--and 'las a-day!--And now-and-then theirconversation sinking into a whispering accent, if I come acrossthem!--I'll tell you, my dear, I don't above half like it.
Only that these old bachelors usually take as many years to resolve uponmatrimony as they can reasonably expect to live, or I should be readyto fire upon his visits; and to recommend Mr. Hickman to my mother'sacceptance, as a much more eligible man: for what he wants in years,he makes up in gravity; and if you will not chide me, I will say, thatthere is a primness in both (especially when the man has presumed toomuch with me upon my mother's favour for him, and is under discipline onthat account) as make them seem near of kin: and then in contemplationof my sauciness, and what they both fear from it, they sigh away! andseem so mightily to compassionate each other, that if pity be but oneremove from love, I am in no danger, while they are both in a greatdeal, and don't know it.
Now, my dear, I know you will be upon me with your grave airs: so in forthe lamb, as the saying is, in for the sheep; and do you yourself lookabout you; for I'll have a pull with you by way of being aforehand.Hannibal, we read, always advised to attack the Romans upon their ownterritories.
You are pleased to say, and upon your word too! that your regards (amighty quaint word for affections) are not so much engaged, as someof your friends suppose, to another person. What need you give one toimagine, my dear, that the last month or two has been a period extremelyfavourable to that other person, whom it has made an obliger of theniece for his patience with the uncles.
But, to pass that by--so much engaged!--How much, my dear?--Shall Iinfer? Some of your friends suppose a great deal. You seem to own alittle.
Don't be angry. It is all fair: because you have not acknowledged tome that little. People I have heard you say, who affect secrets, alwaysexcite curiosity.
But you proceed with a kind of drawback upon your averment, as ifrecollection had given you a doubt--you know not yourself, if they be[so much engaged]. Was it necessary to say this to me?--and to sayit upon your word too?--But you know best.--Yet you don't neither,I believe. For a beginning love is acted by a subtle spirit; andoftentimes discovers itself to a by-stander, when the person possessed(why should I not call it possessed?) knows not it has such a demon.
But further you say, what preferable favour you may have for him to anyother person, is owing more to the usage he has received, and for yoursake borne, than to any personal consideration.
This is generously said. It is in character. But, O my friend, dependupon it, you are in danger. Depend upon it, whether you know it or not,you are a little in for't. Your native generosity and greatness of mindendanger you: all your friends, by fighting against him withimpolitic violence, fight for him. And Lovelace, my life for yours,notwithstanding all his veneration and assiduities, has seen furtherthan that veneration and those assiduities (so well calculated to yourmeridian) will let him own he has seen--has seen, in short, that hiswork is doing for him more effectually than he could do it for himself.And have you not before now said, that nothing is so penetrating as theeye of a lover who has vanity? And who says Lovelace wants vanity?
In short, my dear, it is my opinion, and that from the easiness of hisheart and behaviour, that he has seen more than I have seen; more thanyou think could be seen--more than I believe you yourself know, or elseyou would let me know it.
Already, in order to restrain him from resenting the indignities he hasreceived, and which are daily offered him, he has prevailed upon you tocorrespond with him privately. I know he has nothing to boast of fromwhat you have written: but is not his inducing you to receive hisletters, and to answer them, a great point gained? By your insistingthat he should keep the correspondence private, it appears there is onesecret which you do not wish the world should know: and he is master ofthat secret. He is indeed himself, as I may say, that secret! What anintimacy does this beget for the lover! How is it distancing the parent!
Yet who, as things are situated, can blame you?--Your condescension hasno doubt hitherto prevented great mischiefs. It must be continued,for the same reasons, while the cause remains. You are drawn in bya perverse fate against inclination: but custom, with suchlaudable purposes, will reconcile the inconveniency, and make aninclination.--And I would advise you (as you would wish to manage on anoccasion so critical with that prudence which governs all your actions)not to be afraid of entering upon a close examination into the truesprings and grounds of this your generosity to that happy man.
It is my humble opinion, I tell you frankly, that on inquiry it willcome out to be LOVE--don't start, my dear!--Has not your man himself hadnatural philosophy enough to observe already to your aunt Hervey, thatlove takes the deepest root in the steadiest minds? The deuce take hissly penetration, I was going to say; for this was six or seven weeksago.
I have been tinctured, you know. Nor on the coolest reflection, couldI account how and when the jaundice began: but had been over head andears, as the saying is, but for some of that advice from you, which Inow return you. Yet my man was not half so--so what, my dear--to be sureLovelace is a charming fellow. And were he only--but I will not makeyou glow, as you read--upon my word I will not.--Yet, my dear, don't youfind at your heart somewhat unusual make it go throb, throb, throb, asyou read just here?--If you do, don't be ashamed to own it--it is yourgenerosity, my love, that's all.--But as the Roman augur said, Caesar,beware of the Ides of March!
Adieu, my dearest friend.--Forgive, and very speedily, by the new foundexpedient, tell me that you forgive,
Your ever-affectionate, ANNA HOWE.
Clarissa Harlowe; or the history of a young lady — Volume 1 Page 13