LETTER XVII
MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE
My mother, on her return, which was as soon as she had dined, waspleased to inform me, that she told my father, on his questioning herabout my cheerul compliance (for, it seems, the cheerful was all thatwas doubted) that she was willing, on so material a point, to givea child whom she had so much reason to love (as she condescended toacknowledge were her words) liberty to say all that was in her heart tosay, that her compliance might be the freer: letting him know, thatwhen he came up, she was attending to my pleas; for that she found I hadrather not marry at all.
She told me, that to this my father angrily said, let her takecare--let her take care--that she give me not ground to suspect her ofa preference somewhere else. But, if it be to ease her heart, and not todispute my will, you may hear her out.
So, Clary, said my mother, I am returned in a temper accordingly: and Ihope you will not again, by your peremptoriness, shew me how I ought totreat you.
Indeed, Madam, you did me justice to say, I have no inclination to marryat all. I have not, I hope, made myself so very unuseful in my papa'sfamily, as--
No more of your merits, Clary! You have been a good child. You haveeased me of all the family cares: but do not now give more than everyou relieved me from. You have been amply repaid in the reputationyour skill and management have given you: but now there is soon to be aperiod to all those assistances from you. If you marry, there will bea natural, and, if to please us, a desirable period; because your ownfamily will employ all your talents in that way: if you do not, therewill be a period likewise, but not a natural one--you understand me,child.
I wept.
I have made inquiry already after a housekeeper. I would have had yourgood Norton; but I suppose you will yourself wish to have the worthywoman with you. If you desire it, that shall be agreed upon for you.
But, why, dearest Madam, why am I, the youngest, to be precipitated intoa state, that I am very far from wishing to enter into with any body?
You are going to question me, I suppose, why your sister is not thoughtof for Mr. Solmes?
I hope, Madam, it will not displease you if I were.
I might refer you for an answer to your father.--Mr. Solmes has reasonsfor preferring you--
And I have reasons, Madam, for disliking him. And why I am--
This quickness upon me, interrupted my mother, is not to be borne! I amgone, and your father comes, if I can do no good with you.
O Madam, I would rather die, than--
She put her hand to my mouth--No peremptoriness, Clary Harlowe: once youdeclare yourself inflexible, I have done.
I wept for vexation. This is all, all, my brother's doings--his graspingviews--
No reflections upon your brother: he has entirely the honour of thefamily at heart.
I would no more dishonour my family, Madam, than my brother would.
I believe it: but I hope you will allow your father, and me, and youruncles, to judge what will do it honour, what dishonour.
I then offered to live single; never to marry at all; or never but withtheir full approbation.
If you mean to shew your duty, and your obedience, Clary, you must shewit in our way, not in your own.
I hope, Madam, that I have not so behaved hitherto, as to render such atrial of my obedience necessary.
Yes, Clary, I cannot but say that you have hitherto behaved extremelywell: but you have had no trials till now: and I hope, that now you arecalled to one, you will not fail in it. Parents, proceeded she, whenchildren are young, are pleased with every thing they do. You have beena good child upon the whole: but we have hitherto rather complied withyou, than you with us. Now that you are grown up to marriageable years,is the test; especially as your grandfather has made you independent, aswe may say, in preference to those who had prior expectations upon thatestate.
Madam, my grandfather knew, and expressly mentioned in his will hisdesire, that my father will more than make it up to my sister. I didnothing but what I thought my duty to procure his favour. It was rathera mark of his affection, than any advantage to me: For, do I eitherseek or wish to be independent? Were I to be queen of the universe, thatdignity should not absolve me from my duty to you and to my father. Iwould kneel for your blessings, were it in the presence of millions--sothat--
I am loth to interrupt you, Clary; though you could more than once breakin upon me. You are young and unbroken: but, with all this ostentationof your duty, I desire you to shew a little more deference to me when Iam speaking.
I beg your pardon, dear Madam, and your patience with me on such anoccasion as this. If I did not speak with earnestness upon it, I shouldbe supposed to have only maidenly objections against a man I never canendure.
Clary Harlowe--!
Dearest, dearest Madam, permit me to speak what I have to say, thisonce--It is hard, it is very hard, to be forbidden to enter intothe cause of all these misunderstandings, because I must not speakdisrespectfully of one who supposes me in the way of his ambition, andtreats me like a slave--
Whither, whither, Clary--
My dearest Mamma!--My duty will not permit me so far to suppose myfather arbitrary, as to make a plea of that arbitrariness to you--
How now, Clary!--O girl!
Your patience, my dearest Mamma:--you were pleased to say, you wouldhear me with patience.--PERSON in a man is nothing, because I amsupposed to be prudent: so my eye is to be disgusted, and my reason notconvinced--
Girl, girl!
Thus are my imputed good qualities to be made my punishment; and I am towedded to a monster--
[Astonishing!--Can this, Clarissa, be from you?
The man, Madam, person and mind, is a monster in my eye.]--And thatI may be induced to bear this treatment, I am to be complimented withbeing indifferent to all men: yet, at other times, and to serve otherpurposes, be thought prepossessed in favour of a man against whose moralcharacter lie just objections.--Confined, as if, like the giddiest ofcreatures, I would run away with this man, and disgrace my whole family!O my dearest Mamma! who can be patient under such treatment?
Now, Clary, I suppose you will allow me to speak. I think I have hadpatience indeed with you.--Could I have thought--but I will put all upona short issue. Your mother, Clarissa, shall shew you an example of thatpatience you so boldly claim from her, without having any yourself.
O my dear, how my mother's condescension distressed me at thetime!--Infinitely more distressed me, than rigour could have done. Butshe knew, she was to be sure aware, that she was put upon a harsh, uponan unreasonable service, let me say, or she would not, she could not,have had so much patience with me.
Let me tell you then, proceeded she, that all lies in a small compass,as your father said.--You have been hitherto, as you are pretty ready toplead, a dutiful child. You have indeed had no cause to be otherwise. Nochild was ever more favoured. Whether you will discredit all your pastbehaviour; whether, at a time and upon an occasion, that the highestinstance of duty is expected from you (an instance that is to crownall); and when you declare that your heart is free--you will give thatinstance; or whether, having a view to the independence you may claim,(for so, Clary, whatever be your motive, it will be judged,) and whichany man you favour, can assert for you against us all; or rather forhimself in spite of us--whether, I say, you will break with us all;and stand in defiance of a jealous father, needlessly jealous, I willventure to say, of the prerogatives of his sex, as to me, and still tentimes more jealous of the authority of a father;--this is now the pointwith us. You know your father has made it a point; and did he ever giveup one he thought he had a right to carry?
Too true, thought I to myself! And now my brother has engaged my father,his fine scheme will walk alone, without needing his leading-strings;and it is become my father's will that I oppose; not my brother'sgrasping views.
I was silent. To say the truth, I was just then sullenly silent. Myheart was too big. I thought it was hard to be thus given u
p bymy mother; and that she should make a will so uncontroulable as mybrother's, her will.--My mother, my dear, though I must not say so, wasnot obliged to marry against her liking. My mother loved my father.
My silence availed me still less.
I see, my dear, said she, that you are convinced. Now, my goodchild--now, my Clary, do I love you! It shall not be known, that youhave argued with me at all. All shall be imputed to that modesty whichhas ever so much distinguished you. You shall have the full merit ofyour resignation.
I wept.
She tenderly wiped the tears from my eyes, and kissed my cheek--Yourfather expects you down with a cheerful countenance--but I will excuseyour going. All your scruples, you see, have met with an indulgencetruly maternal from me. I rejoice in the hope that you are convinced.This indeed seems to be a proof of the truth of your agreeabledeclaration, that your heart is free.
Did not this seem to border upon cruelty, my dear, in so indulgent amother?--It would be wicked [would it not] to suppose my mother capableof art?--But she is put upon it, and obliged to take methods to whichher heart is naturally above stooping; and all intended for my good,because she sees that no arguing will be admitted any where else!
I will go down, proceeded she, and excuse your attendance at afternoontea, as I did to dinner: for I know you will have some littlereluctances to subdue. I will allow you those; and also some littlenatural shynesses--and so you shall not come down, if you chuse not tocome down. Only, my dear, do not disgrace my report when you come tosupper. And be sure behave as you used to do to your brother and sister;for your behaviour to them will be one test of your cheerful obedienceto us. I advise as a friend, you see, rather than command as amother--So adieu, my love. And again she kissed me; and was going.
O my dear Mamma, said I, forgive me!--But surely you cannot believe, Ican ever think of having that man!
She was very angry, and seemed to be greatly disappointed. Shethreatened to turn me over to my father and uncles:--she however bidme (generously bid me) consider, what a handle I gave to my brotherand sister, if I thought they had views to serve by making my unclesdissatisfied with me.
I, said she, in a milder accent, have early said all that I thoughtcould be said against the present proposal, on a supposition, thatyou, who have refused several other (whom I own to be preferable as toperson) would not approve of it; and could I have succeeded, you,Clary, had never heard of it. But if I could not, how can you expectto prevail? My great ends in the task I have undertaken, are thepreservation of the family peace so likely to be overturned; toreinstate you in the affections of your father and uncles: and topreserve you from a man of violence.--Your father, you must needs thinkwill flame out upon your refusal to comply: your uncles are so
thoroughly convinced of the consistency of the measure with theirfavourite views of aggrandizing the family, that they are as muchdetermined as your father: your aunt Hervey and your uncle Hervey are ofthe same party. And it is hard, if a father and mother, and uncles, andaunt, all conjoined, cannot be allowed to direct your choice--surely, mydear girl, proceeded she [for I was silent all this time], it cannot bethat you are the more averse, because the family views will be promotedby the match--this, I assure you, is what every body must think, ifyou comply not. Nor, while the man, so obnoxious to us all, remainsunmarried, and buzzes about you, will the strongest wishes to livesingle, be in the least regarded. And well you know, that were Mr.Lovelace an angel, and your father had made it a point that you shouldnot have him, it would be in vain to dispute his will. As to theprohibition laid upon you (much as I will own against my liking), thatis owing to the belief that you corresponded by Miss Howe's means withthat man; nor do I doubt that you did so.
I answered to every article, in such a manner, as I am sure would havesatisfied her, could she have been permitted to judge for herself; and Ithen inveighed with bitterness against the disgraceful prohibitions laidupon me.
They would serve to shew me, she was pleased to say, how much in earnestmy father was. They might be taken off, whenever I thought fit, and noharm done, nor disgrace received. But if I were to be contumacious, Imight thank myself for all that would follow.
I sighed. I wept. I was silent.
Shall I, Clary, said she, shall I tell your father that theseprohibitions are as unnecessary as I hoped they would be? That you knowyour duty, and will not offer to controvert his will? What say you, mylove?
O Madam, what can I say to questions so indulgently put? I do indeedknow my duty: no creature in the world is more willing to practiseit: but, pardon me, dearest Madam, if I say, that I must bear theseprohibitions, if I am to pay so dear to have them taken off.
Determined and perverse, my dear mamma called me: and after walkingtwice or thrice in anger about the room, she turned to me: Yourheart free, Clarissa! How can you tell me your heart is free? Suchextraordinary prepossessions to a particular person must be owing toextraordinary prepossessions in another's favour! Tell me, Clary, andtell me truly--Do you not continue to correspond with Mr. Lovelace?
Dearest Madam, replied I, you know my motives: to prevent mischief, Ianswered his letters. The reasons for our apprehensions of this sort arenot over.
I own to you, Clary, (although now I would not have it known,) thatI once thought a little qualifying among such violent spirits was notamiss. I did not know but all things would come round again by themediation of Lord M. and his two sisters: but as they all three thinkproper to resent for their nephew; and as their nephew thinks fit todefy us all; and as terms are offered, on the other hand, that couldnot be asked, which will very probably prevent your grandfather's estategoing out of the family, and may be a means to bring still greater intoit; I see not, that the continuance of your correspondence with himeither can or ought to be permitted. I therefore now forbid it to you,as you value my favour.
Be pleased, Madam, only to advise me how to break it off with safety tomy brother and uncles; and it is all I wish for. Would to heaven, theman so hated had not the pretence to make of having been too violentlytreated, when he meant peace and reconciliation! It would always havebeen in my own power to have broke with him. His reputed immoralitieswould have given me a just pretence at any time to do so. But, Madam, asmy uncles and my brother will keep no measures; as he has heard what theview is; and his regard for me from resenting their violent treatmentof him and his family; what can I do? Would you have me, Madam, make himdesperate?
The law will protect us, child! offended magistracy will assert itself--
But, Madam, may not some dreadful mischief first happen?--The lawasserts not itself, till it is offended.
You have made offers, Clary, if you might be obliged in the point inquestion--Are you really in earnest, were you to be complied with, tobreak off all correspondence with Mr. Lovelace?--Let me know this.
Indeed I am; and I will. You, Madam, shall see all the letters thathave passed between us. You shall see I have given him no encouragementindependent of my duty. And when you have seen them, you will bebetter able to direct me how, on the condition I have offered, to breakentirely with him.
I take you at your word, Clarissa--Give me his letters; and the copiesof yours.
I am sure, Madam, you will keep the knowledge that I write, and what Iwrite--
No conditions with your mother--surely my prudence may be trusted to.
I begged her pardon; and besought her to take the key of the privatedrawer in my escritoire, where they lay, that she herself might see thatI had no reserves to my mother.
She did; and took all his letters, and the copies ofmine.--Unconditioned with, she was pleased to say, they shall be yoursagain, unseen by any body else.
I thanked her; and she withdrew to read them; saying, she would returnthem, when she had.
***
You, my dear, have seen all the letters that passed between Mr. Lovelaceand me, till my last return from you. You have acknowledged, that he hasnothing to boast of from them. Three others I have received since, bythe
private conveyance I told you of: the last I have not yet answered.
In these three, as in those you have seen, after having besought myfavour, and, in the most earnest manner, professed the ardour of hispassion for me; and set forth the indignities done him; the defiancesmy brother throws out against him in all companies; the menaces, andhostile appearance of my uncles wherever they go; and the methods theytake to defame him; he declares, 'That neither his own honour, northe honour of his family, (involved as that is in the undistinguishingreflection cast upon him for an unhappy affair which he would haveshunned, but could not) permit him to bear these confirmed indignities:that as my inclinations, if not favourable to him, cannot be, nor are,to such a man as the newly-introduced Solmes, he is interested the moreto resent my brother's behaviour; who to every body avows his rancourand malice; and glories in the probability he has, through the addressof this Solmes, of mortifying me, and avenging himself on him: thatit is impossible he should not think himself concerned to frustrate ameasure so directly levelled at him, had he not a still higher motivefor hoping to frustrate it: that I must forgive him, if he enter intoconference with Solmes upon it. He earnestly insists (upon what he hasso often proposed) that I will give him leave, in company with LordM. to wait upon my uncles, and even upon my father--and he promisespatience, if new provocations, absolutely beneath a man to bear, be notgiven:' which by the way I am far from being able to engage for.
In my answer, I absolutely declare, as I tell him I have often done,'That he is to expect no favour from me against the approbation of myfriends: that I am sure their consents for his visiting any of themwill never be obtained: that I will not be either so undutiful, or soindiscreet, as to suffer my interests to be separated from the interestsof my family, for any man upon earth: that I do not think myself obligedto him for the forbearance I desire one flaming spirit to have withothers: that in this desire I require nothing of him, but what prudence,justice, and the laws of his country require: that if he has anyexpectations of favour from me, on that account, he deceives himself:that I have no inclination, as I have often told him, to change mycondition: that I cannot allow myself to correspond with him any longerin this clandestine manner: it is mean, low, undutiful, I tell him; andhas a giddy appearance, which cannot be excused: that therefore he isnot to expect that I will continue it.
To this in his last, among other things, he replies, 'That if I amactually determined to break off all correspondence with him, he mustconclude, that it is with a view to become the wife of a man, whom nowoman of honour and fortune can think tolerable. And in that case, Imust excuse him for saying, that he shall neither be able to bear thethoughts of losing for ever a person in whom all his present and all hisfuture hopes are centred; nor support himself with patience under theinsolent triumphs of my brother upon it. But that nevertheless he willnot threaten either his own life, or that of any other man. He must takehis resolutions as such a dreaded event shall impel him at the time. Ifhe shall know that it will have my consent, he must endeavour to resignto his destiny: but if it be brought about by compulsion, he shall notbe able to answer for the consequence.'
I will send you these letters for your perusal in a few days. I wouldenclose them; but that it is possible something may happen, which maymake my mother require to re-peruse them. When you see them, you willobserve how he endeavours to hold me to this correspondence.
***
In about an hour my mother returned. Take your letters, Clary: I havenothing, she was pleased to say, to tax your discretion with, as to thewording of yours to him: you have even kept up a proper dignity, aswell as observed all the rules of decorum; and you have resented, as youought to resent, his menacing invectives. In a word, I see not, that hecan form the least expectations, from what you have written, that youwill encourage the passion he avows for you. But does he not avow hispassion? Have you the least doubt about what must be the issue of thiscorrespondence, if continued? And do you yourself think, when you knowthe avowed hatred of one side, and he declared defiances of the other,that this can be, that it ought to be a match?
By no means it can, Madam; you will be pleased to observed, that I havesaid as much to him. But now, Madam, that the whole correspondenceis before you, I beg your commands what to do in a situation so verydisagreeable.
One thing I will tell you, Clary--but I charge you, as you would nothave me question the generosity of your spirit, to take no advantageof it, either mentally or verbally; that I am so much pleased with theoffer of your keys to me, made in so cheerful and unreserved a manner,and in the prudence you have shewn in your letters, that were itpracticable to bring every one, or your father only, into my opinion, Ishould readily leave all the rest to your discretion, reserving only tomyself the direction or approbation of your future letters; and to see,that you broke off the correspondence as soon as possible. But as it isnot, and as I know your father would have no patience with you, shouldit be acknowledged that you correspond with Mr. Lovelace, or that youhave corresponded with him since the time he prohibited you to do so;I forbid you to continue such a liberty--Yet, as the case is difficult,let me ask you, What you yourself can propose? Your heart, you say, isfree. Your own, that you cannot think, as matters circumstanced, thata match with a man so obnoxious as he now is to us all, is proper tobe thought of: What do you propose to do?--What, Clary, are your ownthoughts of the matter?
Without hesitation thus I answered--What I humbly propose isthis:--'That I will write to Mr. Lovelace (for I have not answered hislast) that he has nothing to do between my father and me: that Ineither ask his advice nor need it: but that since he thinks he has somepretence for interfering, because of my brother's avowal of the interestof Mr. Solmes in displeasure to him, I will assure him (without givinghim any reason to impute the assurance to be in the least favourable tohimself) that I will never be that man's.' And if, proceeded I, Imay never be permitted to give him this assurance; and Mr. Solmes, inconsequence of it, be discouraged from prosecuting his address; let Mr.Lovelace be satisfied or dissatisfied, I will go no farther; nor writeanother line to him; nor ever see him more, if I can avoid it: and Ishall have a good excuse for it, without bringing in any of my family.
Ah! my love!--But what shall we do about the terms Mr. Solmes offers?Those are the inducements with every body. He has even given hopes toyour brother that he will make exchanges of estates; or, at least, thathe will purchase the northern one; for you know it must be entirelyconsistent with the family-views, that we increase our interest in thiscountry. Your brother, in short, has given a plan that captivates usall. And a family so rich in all its branches, and that has its views tohonour, must be pleased to see a very great probability of taking rankone day among the principal in the kingdom.
And for the sake of these views, for the sake of this plan of mybrother's, am I, Madam, to be given in marriage to a man I can neverendure!--O my dear Mamma, save me, save me, if you can, from this heavyevil.--I had rather be buried alive, indeed I had, than have that man!
She chid me for my vehemence; but was so good as to tell me, That shewould sound my uncle Harlowe, who was then below; and if he encouragedher (or would engage to second her) she would venture to talk to myfather herself; and I should hear further in the morning.
She went down to tea, and kindly undertook to excuse my attendance atsupper.
But is it not a sad thing, I repeat, to be obliged to stand inopposition to the will of such a mother? Why, as I often say to myself,was such a man as this Solmes fixed upon? The only man in the world,surely, that could offer so much, and deserve so little!
Little indeed does he deserve!--Why, my dear, the man has the mostindifferent of characters. Every mouth is opened against him for hissordid ways--A foolish man, to be so base-minded!--When the differencebetween the obtaining of a fame for generosity, and incurring thecensure of being a miser, will not, prudently managed, cost fifty poundsa year.
What a name have you got, at a less expense? And what an opportunity hadhe of obtai
ning credit at a very small one, succeeding such a wretchedcreature as Sir Oliver, in fortunes so vast?--Yet has he so behaved,that the common phrase is applied to him, That Sir Oliver will never bedead while Mr. Solmes lives.
The world, as I have often thought, ill-natured as it is said to be, isgenerally more just in characters (speaking by what it feels) than isusually apprehended: and those who complain most of its censoriousness,perhaps should look inwardly for the occasion oftener than they do.
My heart is a little at ease, on the hopes that my mother will be ableto procure favour for me, and a deliverance from this man; and so Ihave leisure to moralize. But if I had not, I should not forbear tointermingle occasionally these sorts of remarks, because you commandme never to omit them when they occur to my mind: and not to be ableto make them, even in a more affecting situation, when one sits downto write, would shew one's self more engaged to self, and to one's ownconcerns, than attentive to the wishes of a friend. If it be said, thatit is natural so to be, what makes that nature, on occasions where afriend may be obliged, or reminded of a piece of instruction, which(writing down) one's self may be the better for, but a fault; which itwould set a person above nature to subdue?
Clarissa Harlowe; or the history of a young lady — Volume 1 Page 20