LETTER XIX
MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE
I thank you and Mr. Hickman for his letter, sent me with such kindexpedition; and proceed to obey my dear menacing tyranness.
[She then gives the particulars of what passed between herself and Mr. Lovelace on Tuesday morning, in relation to his four friends, and to Miss Partington, pretty much to the same effect as in Mr. Lovelace's Letter, No. XIII. And then proceeds:]
He is constantly accusing me of over-scrupulousness. He says, 'I amalways out of humour with him: that I could not have behaved morereservedly to Mr. Solmes: and that it is contrary to all his hopes andnotions, that he should not, in so long a time, find himself able toinspire the person, whom he hoped so soon to have the honour to call his,with the least distinguishing tenderness for him before-hand.'
Silly and partial encroacher! not to know to what to attribute thereserve I am forced to treat him with! But his pride has eaten up hisprudence. It is indeed a dirty low pride, that has swallowed up the truepride which should have set him above the vanity that has overrun him.
Yet he pretends that he has no pride but in obliging me: and is alwaystalking of his reverence and humility, and such sort of stuff: but ofthis I am sure that he has, as I observed the first time I saw him,* toomuch regard to his own person, greatly to value that of his wife, marryhe whom he will: and I must be blind, if I did not see that he isexceedingly vain of his external advantages, and of that address, which,if it has any merit in it to an outward eye, is perhaps owing more to hisconfidence that [sic] to any thing else.
* See Vol. I. Letter III.
Have you not beheld the man, when I was your happy guest, as he walked tohis chariot, looking about him, as if to observe what eyes his speciousperson and air had attracted?
But indeed we had some homely coxcombs as proud as if they had persons tobe proud of; at the same time that it was apparent, that the pains theytook about themselves but the more exposed their defects.
The man who is fond of being thought more or better than he is, as I haveoften observed, but provokes a scrutiny into his pretensions; and thatgenerally produces contempt. For pride, as I believe I have heretoforesaid, is an infallible sign of weakness; of something wrong in the heador in both. He that exalts himself insults his neighbour; who isprovoked to question in him even that merit, which, were he modest, wouldperhaps be allowed to be his due.
You will say that I am very grave: and so I am. Mr. Lovelace isextremely sunk in my opinion since Monday night: nor see I before me anything that can afford me a pleasing hope. For what, with a mind sounequal as his, can be my best hope?
I think I mentioned to you, in my former, that my clothes were broughtme. You fluttered me so, that I am not sure I did. But I know Idesigned to mention that they were. They were brought me on Thursday;but neither my few guineas with them, nor any of my books, except aDrexelius on Eternity, the good old Practice of Piety, and a FrancisSpira. My brother's wit, I suppose. He thinks he does well to point outdeath and despair to me. I wish for the one, and every now-and-then amon the brink of the other.
You will the less wonder at my being so very solemn, when, added to theabove, and to my uncertain situation, I tell you, that they have sent mewith these books a letter form my cousin Morden. It has set my heartagainst Mr. Lovelace. Against myself too. I send it enclosed. If youplease, my dear, you may read it here:
COL. MORDEN, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE
Florence, April 13.
I am extremely concerned to hear of a difference betwixt the rest of afamily so near and dear to me, and you still dearer to than any of therest.
My cousin James has acquainted me with the offers you have had, and withyour refusals. I wonder not at either. Such charming promises at soearly an age as when I left England; and those promises, as I have oftenheard, so greatly exceeded, as well in your person as mind; how much mustyou be admired! how few must there be worthy of you!
Your parents, the most indulgent in the world, to a child the mostdeserving, have given way it seems to your refusal of several gentlemen.They have contented themselves at last to name one with earnestness toyou, because of the address of another whom they cannot approve.
They had not reason, it seems, from your behaviour, to think you greatlyaverse: so they proceeded: perhaps too hastily for a delicacy likeyour's. But when all was fixed on their parts, and most extraordinaryterms concluded in your favour; terms, which abundantly show thegentleman's just value for you; you flew off with a warmth and vehemencelittle suited to that sweetness which gave grace to all your actions.
I know very little of either of the gentlemen: but of Mr. Lovelace I knowmore than of Mr. Solmes. I wish I could say more to his advantage than Ican. As to every qualification but one, your brother owns there is nocomparison. But that one outweighs all the rest together. It cannot bethought that Miss Clarissa Harlowe will dispense with MORALS in ahusband.
What, my dearest cousin, shall I plead first to you on this occasion?Your duty, your interest, your temporal and your eternal welfare, do, andmay all, depend upon this single point, the morality of a husband. Awoman who hath a wicked husband may find it difficult to be good, and outof her power to do good; and is therefore in a worse situation than theman can be in, who hath a bad wife. You preserve all your religiousregards, I understand. I wonder not that you do. I should have wonderedhad you not. But what can you promise youself, as to perseverance inthem, with an immoral husband?
If your parents and you differ in sentiment on this important occasion,let me ask you, my dear cousin, who ought to give way? I own to you,that I should have thought there could not any where have been a moresuitable match for you than Mr. Lovelace, had he been a moral man. Ishould have very little to say against a man, of whose actions I am notto set up myself as a judge, did he not address my cousin. But, on thisoccasion, let me tell you, my dear Clarissa, that Mr. Lovelace cannotpossibly deserve you. He may reform, you'll say: but he may not. Habitis not soon or easily shaken off. Libertines, who are libertines indefiance of talents, of superior lights, of conviction, hardly everreform but by miracle, or by incapacity. Well do I know mine own sex.Well am I able to judge of the probability of the reformation of alicentious young man, who has not been fastened upon by sickness, byaffliction, by calamity: who has a prosperous run of fortune before him:his spirits high: his will uncontroulable: the company he keeps, perhapssuch as himself, confirming him in all his courses, assisting him inall his enterprises.
As to the other gentleman, suppose, my dear cousin, you do not like himat present, it is far from being unlikely that you will hereafter:perhaps the more for not liking him now. He can hardly sink lower inyour opinion: he may rise. Very seldom is it that high expectations areso much as tolerably answered. How indeed can they, when a fine andextensive imagination carries its expectation infinitely beyond reality,in the highest of our sublunary enjoyments? A woman adorned with such animagination sees no defect in a favoured object, (the less, if she be notconscious of any wilful fault in herself,) till it is too late to rectifythe mistakes occasioned by her generous credulity.
But suppose a person of your talents were to marry a man of inferiortalents; Who, in this case, can be so happy in herself as Miss ClarissaHarlowe? What delight do you take in doing good! How happily do youdevote the several portions of the day to your own improvement, and tothe advantage of all that move within your sphere!--And then, such isyour taste, such are your acquirements in the politer studies, and in thepoliter amusements; such your excellence in all the different parts ofeconomy fit for a young lady's inspection and practice, that your friendswould wish you to be taken off as little as possible by regards that maybe called merely personal.
But as to what may be the consequence respecting yourself, respecting ayoung lady of your talents, from the preference you are suspected to giveto a libertine, I would have you, my dear cousin, consider what that maybe. A mind so pure, to mingle with a
mind impure! And will not such aman as this engross all your solitudes? Will he not perpetually fill youwith anxieties for him and for yourself?--The divine and civil powersdefied, and their sanctions broken through by him, on every not merelyaccidental but meditated occasion. To be agreeable to him, and to hopeto preserve an interest in his affections, you must probably be obligedto abandon all your own laudable pursuits. You must enter into hispleasures and distastes. You must give up your virtuous companions forhis profligate ones--perhaps be forsaken by your's, because of thescandal he daily gives. Can you hope, cousin, with such a man as this tobe long so good as you now are? If not, consider which of your presentlaudable delights you would choose to give up! which of his culpable onesto follow him in! How could you brook to go backward, instead offorward, in those duties which you now so exemplarily perform? and how doyou know, if you once give way, where you shall be suffered, where youshall be able, to stop?
Your brother acknowledges that Mr. Solmes is not near so agreeable inperson as Mr. Lovelace. But what is person with such a lady as I havethe honour to be now writing to? He owns likewise that he has not theaddress of Mr. Lovelace: but what a mere personal advantage is aplausible address, without morals? A woman had better take a husbandwhose manners she were to fashion, than to find them ready-fashioned toher hand, at the price of her morality; a price that is often paid fortravelling accomplishments. O my dear cousin, were you but with us hereat Florence, or at Rome, or at Paris, (where also I resided for manymonths,) to see the gentlemen whose supposed rough English manners atsetting out are to be polished, and what their improvement are in theirreturn through the same places, you would infinitely prefer the man inhis first stage to the same man in his last. You find the difference ontheir return--a fondness for foreign fashions, an attachment to foreignvices, a supercilious contempt of his own country and countrymen;(himself more despicable than the most despicable of those he despises;)these, with an unblushing effrontery, are too generally the attainmentsthat concur to finish the travelled gentleman!
Mr. Lovelace, I know, deserves to have an exception made in his favour;for he really is a man of parts and learning: he was esteemed so bothhere and at Rome; and a fine person, and a generous turn of mind, gavehim great advantages. But you need not be told that a libertine man ofsense does infinitely more mischief than a libertine of weak parts isable to do. And this I will tell you further, that it was Mr. Lovelace'sown fault that he was not still more respected than he was among theliterati here. There were, in short, some liberties in which heindulged himself, that endangered his person and his liberty; and madethe best and most worthy of those who honoured him with their noticegive him up, and his stay both at Florence and at Rome shorter than hedesigned.
This is all I choose to say of Mr. Lovelace. I had much rather have hadreason to give him a quite contrary character. But as to rakes orlibertines in general, I, who know them well, must be allowed, because ofthe mischiefs they have always in their hearts, and too often in theirpower, to do your sex, to add still a few more words upon this topic.
A libertine, my dear cousin, a plotting, an intriguing libertine, must begenerally remorseless--unjust he must always be. The noble rule of doingto others what he would have done to himself is the first rule he breaks;and every day he breaks it; the oftener, the greater his triumph. He hasgreat contempt for your sex. He believes no woman chaste, because he isa profligate. Every woman who favours him confirms him in his wickedincredulity. He is always plotting to extend the mischiefs he delightsin. If a woman loves such a man, how can she bear the thought ofdividing her interest in his affections with half the town, and thatperhaps the dregs of it? Then so sensual!--How will a young lady of yourdelicacy bear with so sensual a man? a man who makes a jest of his vows?and who perhaps will break your spirit by the most unmanly insults. Tobe a libertine, is to continue to be every thing vile and inhuman.Prayers, tears, and the most abject submission, are but fuel to hispride: wagering perhaps with lewd companions, and, not improbably, withlewder women, upon instances which he boasts of to them of your patientsufferings, and broken spirit, and bringing them home to witness to both.
I write what I know has been.
I mention not fortunes squandered, estates mortgaged or sold, andposterity robbed--nor yet a multitude of other evils, too gross, tooshocking, to be mentioned to a person of your delicacy.
All these, my dear cousin, to be shunned, all the evils I have named tobe avoided; the power of doing all the good you have been accustomed to,preserved, nay, increased, by the separate provision that will be madefor you: your charming diversions, and exemplary employments, allmaintained; and every good habit perpetuated: and all by one sacrifice,the fading pleasure of the eye! who would not, (since every thing is notto be met with in one man, who would not,) to preserve so manyessentials, give up to light, so unpermanent a pleasure!
Weigh all these things, which I might insist upon to more advantage, didI think it needful to one of your prudence--weigh them well, my belovedcousin; and if it be not the will of your parents that you shouldcontinue single, resolve to oblige them; and let it not be said that thepowers of fancy shall (as in many others of your sex) be too hard foryour duty and your prudence. The less agreeable the man, the moreobliging the compliance. Remember, that he is a sober man--a man who hasreputation to lose, and whose reputation therefore is a security for hisgood behaviour to you.
You have an opportunity offered you to give the highest instance that canbe given of filial duty. Embrace it. It is worthy of you. It isexpected from you; however, for your inclination-sake, we may be sorrythat you are called upon to give it. Let it be said that you have beenable to lay an obligation upon your parents, (a proud word, my cousin!)which you could not do, were it not laid against your inclination!--uponparents who have laid a thousand upon you: who are set upon this point:who will not give it up: who have given up many points to you, even ofthis very nature: and in their turn, for the sake of their own authority,as well as judgment, expect to be obliged.
I hope I shall soon, in person, congratulate you upon this yourmeritorious compliance. To settle and give up my trusteeship is one ofthe principal motives of my leaving these parts. I shall be glad tosettle it to every one's satisfaction; to yours particularly.
If on my arrival I find a happy union, as formerly, reign in a family sodear to me, it will be an unspeakable pleasure to me; and I shall perhapsso dispose my affairs, as to be near you for ever.
I have written a very long letter, and will add no more, than that I am,with the greatest respect, my dearest cousin,
Your most affectionate and faithful servant,WM. MORDEN.
***
I will suppose, my dear Miss Howe, that you have read my cousin's letter.It is now in vain to wish it had come sooner. But if it had, I mightperhaps have been so rash as to give Mr. Lovelace the fatal meeting, as Ilittle thought of going away with him.
But I should hardly have given him the expectation of so doing, previousto the meeting, which made him come prepared; and the revocation of whichhe so artfully made ineffectual.
Persecuted as I was, and little expecting so much condescension, as myaunt, to my great mortification, has told me (and you confirm) I shouldhave met with, it is, however, hard to say what I should or should nothave done as to meeting him, had it come in time: but this effect Iverily believe it would have had--to have made me insist with all mymight on going over, out of all their ways, to the kind writer of theinstructive letter, and on making a father (a protector, as well as afriend) of a kinsman, who is one of my trustees. This, circumstanced asI was, would have been a natural, at least an unexceptionable protection!--But I was to be unhappy! and how it cuts me to the heart to think, thatI can already subscribe to my cousin's character of a libertine, so welldrawn in the letter which I suppose you now to have read!
That a man of a character which ever was my abhorrence should fall to mylot!--But, depending on my own strength; having no reason to appre
henddanger from headstrong and disgraceful impulses; I too little perhapscast up my eyes to the Supreme Director: in whom, mistrusting myself, Iought to have placed my whole confidence--and the more, when I saw myselfso perserveringly addressed by a man of this character.
Inexperience and presumption, with the help of a brother and sister whohave low ends to answer in my disgrace, have been my ruin!--A hard word,my dear! but I repeat it upon deliberation: since, let the best happenwhich now can happen, my reputation is destroyed; a rake is my portion:and what that portion is my cousin Morden's letter has acquainted you.
Pray keep it by you till called for. I saw it not myself (having not theheart to inspect my trunks) till this morning. I would not for the worldthis man should see it; because it might occasion mischief between themost violent spirit, and the most settled brave one in the world, as mycousin's is said to be.
This letter was enclosed (opened) in a blank cover. Scorn and detest meas they will, I wonder that one line was not sent with it--were it but tohave more particularly pointed the design of it, in the same generousspirit that sent me the spira.
The sealing of the cover was with black wax. I hope there is no newoccasion in the family to give reason for black wax. But if there were,it would, to be sure, have been mentioned, and laid at my door--perhapstoo justly!
I had begun a letter to my cousin; but laid it by, because of theuncertainty of my situation, and expecting every day for several dayspast to be at a greater certainty. You bid me write to him some timeago, you know. Then it was I began it: for I have great pleasure inobeying you in all I may. So I ought to have; for you are the onlyfriend left me. And, moreover, you generally honour me with your ownobservance of the advice I take the liberty to offer you: for I pretendto say, I give better advice than I have taken. And so I had need. For,I know not how it comes about, but I am, in my own opinion, a poor lostcreature: and yet cannot charge myself with one criminal or faultyinclination. Do you know, my dear, how this can be?
Yet I can tell you how, I believe--one devious step at setting out!--that must be it:--which pursued, has led me so far out of my path, that Iam in a wilderness of doubt and error; and never, never, shall find myway out of it: for, although but one pace awry at first, it has led mehundreds and hundreds of miles out of my path: and the poor estray hasnot one kind friend, nor has met with one direct passenger, to help herto recover it.
But I, presumptuous creature! must rely so much upon my own knowledge ofthe right path!--little apprehending that an ignus fatuus with its falsefires (and ye I had heard enough of such) would arise to mislead me! Andnow, in the midst of fens and quagmires, it plays around me, and aroundme, throwing me back again, whenever I think myself in the right track.But there is one common point, in which all shall meet, err widely asthey may. In that I shall be laid quietly down at last: and then willall my calamities be at an end.
But how I stray again; stray from my intention! I would only have said,that I had begun a letter to my cousin Morden some time ago: but that nowI can never end it. You will believe I cannot: for how shall I tell himthat all his compliments are misbestowed? that all his advice is thrownaway? all his warnings vain? and that even my highest expectation is tobe the wife of that free-liver, whom he so pathetically warns me to shun?
Let me own, however, have your prayers joined with my own, (my fatedepending, as it seems, upon the lips of such a man) 'that, whatevershall be my destiny, that dreadful part of my father's malediction, thatI may be punished by the man in whom he supposes I put my confidence, maynot take place! that this for Mr. Lovelace's own sake, and for the sakeof human nature, may not be! or, if it be necessary, in support of theparental authority, that I should be punished by him, that it may not beby his premeditated or wilful baseness; but that I may be able to acquithis intention, if not his action!' Otherwise, my fault will appear to bedoubled in the eye of the event-judging world. And yet, methinks, Iwould be glad that the unkindness of my father and uncles, whose heartshave already been too much wounded by my error, may be justified in everyarticle, excepting in this heavy curse: and that my father will bepleased to withdraw that before it be generally known: at least the mostdreadful part of it which regards futurity!
I must lay down my pen. I must brood over these reflections. Once more,before I close my cousin's letter, I will peruse it. And then I shallhave it by heart.
Clarissa Harlowe; or the history of a young lady — Volume 4 Page 21