LETTER XXVII
MISS HOWE, TO MRS. JUDITH NORTONSATURDAY EVENING, MAY 13.
DEAR, GOOD WOMAN,
Your beloved's honour is inviolate!--Must be inviolate! and will be so,in spite of men and devils. Could I have had hope of a reconciliation,all my view was, that she should not have had this man.--All that can besaid now, is, she must run the risk of a bad husband: she of whom no manliving is worthy!
You pity her mother--so do not I! I pity no mother that puts it out ofher power to show maternal love, and humanity, in order to patch up forherself a precarious and sorry quiet, which every blast of wind shalldisturb.
I hate tyrants in ever form and shape: but paternal and maternal tyrantsare the worst of all: for they can have no bowels.
I repeat, that I pity none of them. Our beloved friend only deservespity. She had never been in the hands of this man, but for them. She isquite blameless. You don't know all her story. Were I to tell you thatshe had no intention to go off with this man, it would avail her nothing.It would only deserve to condemn, with those who drove her toextremities, him who now must be her refuge. I am
Your sincere friend and servant,ANNA HOWE.
LETTER XXVIII
MRS. HARLOWE, TO MRS. NORTON[NOT COMMUNICATED TILL THE LETTERS CAME TO BE COLLECTED.]SATURDAY, MAY 13.
I return an answer in writing, as I promised, to your communication. Buttake no notice either to my Bella's Betty, (who I understand sometimesvisits you,) or to the poor wretch herself, nor to any body, that I dowrite. I charge you don't. My heart is full: writing may give some ventto my griefs, and perhaps I may write what lies most upon my heart,without confining myself strictly to the present subject.
You know how dear this ungrateful creature ever was to us all. You knowhow sincerely we joined with every one of those who ever had seen her, orconversed with her, to praise and admire her; and exceeded in our praiseeven the bounds of that modesty, which, because she was our own, shouldhave restrained us; being of opinion, that to have been silent in thepraise of so apparent a merit must rather have argued blindness oraffectation in us, than that we should incur the censure of vainpartiality to our own.
When therefore any body congratulated us on such a daughter, we receivedtheir congratulations without any diminution. If it was said, you arehappy in this child! we owned, that no parents ever were happier in achild. If, more particularly, they praised her dutiful behaviour to us,we said, she knew not how to offend. If it were said, Miss ClarissaHarlowe has a wit and penetration beyond her years; we, instead ofdisallowing it, would add--and a judgment no less extraordinary than herwit. If her prudence was praised, and a forethought, which every one sawsupplied what only years and experience gave to others--nobody need toscruple taking lessons from Clarissa Harlowe, was our proud answer.
Forgive me, O forgive me, my dear Norton--But I know you will; for yours,when good, was this child, and your glory as well as mine.
But have you not heard strangers, as she passed to and from church, stopto praise the angel of a creature, as they called her; when it was enoughfor those who knew who she was, to cry, Why, it is Miss Clarissa Harlowe!--as if every body were obliged to know, or to have heard of ClarissaHarlowe, and of her excellencies. While, accustomed to praise, it wastoo familiar to her, to cause her to alter either her look or her pace.
For my own part, I could not stifle a pleasure that had perhaps a faultyvanity for its foundation, whenever I was spoken of, or addressed to, asthe mother of so sweet a child: Mr. Harlowe and I, all the time, lovingeach other the better for the share each had in such a daughter.
Still, still indulge the fond, the overflowing heart of a mother! Icould dwell for ever upon the remembrance of what she was, would but thatremembrance banish from my mind what she is!
In her bosom, young as she was, could I repose all my griefs--sure ofreceiving from her prudence and advice as well as comfort; and bothinsinuated in so dutiful a manner, that it was impossible to take thoseexceptions which the distance of years and character between a mother anda daughter would have made one apprehensive of from any other daughter.She was our glory when abroad, our delight when at home. Every body waseven covetous of her company; and we grudged her to our brothers Harlowe,and to our sister and brother Hervey. No other contention among us,then, but who should be next favoured by her. No chiding ever knew shefrom us, but the chiding of lovers, when she was for shutting herself uptoo long together from us, in pursuit of those charming amusements anduseful employments, for which, however, the whole family was the better.
Our other children had reason (good children as they always were) tothink themselves neglected. But they likewise were so sensible of theirsister's superiority, and of the honour she reflected upon the wholefamily, that they confessed themselves eclipsed, without envying theeclipser. Indeed, there was not any body so equal with her, in their ownopinions, as to envy what all aspired but to emulate. The dear creature,you know, my Norton, gave an eminence to us all!
Then her acquirements. Her skill in music, her fine needle-works, herelegance in dress; for which she was so much admired, that theneighbouring ladies used to say, that they need not fetch fashions fromLondon; since whatever Miss Clarissa Harlowe wore was the best fashion,because her choice of natural beauties set those of art far behind them.Her genteel ease, and fine turn of person; her deep reading, and these,joined to her open manners, and her cheerful modesty--O my good Norton,what a sweet child was once my Clary Harlowe!
This, and more, you knew her to be: for many of her excellencies wereowing to yourself; and with the milk you gave her, you gave her what noother nurse in the world could give her.
And do you think, my worthy woman, do you think, that the wilful lapse ofsuch a child is to be forgiven? Can she herself think that she deservesnot the severest punishment for the abuse of such talents as wereintrusted to her?
Her fault was a fault of premeditation, of cunning, of contrivance. Shehad deceived every body's expectations. Her whole sex, as well as thefamily she sprung from, is disgraced by it.
Would any body ever have believed that such a young creature as this, whohad by her advice saved even her over-lively friend from marrying a fop,and a libertine, would herself have gone off with one of the vilest andmost notorious of libertines? A man whose character she knew; and knewit to be worse than the character of him from whom she saved her friend;a man against whom she was warned: one who had her brother's life in herhands; and who constantly set our whole family at defiance.
Think for me, my good Norton; think what my unhappiness must be both as awife and a mother. What restless days, what sleepless nights; yet my ownrankling anguish endeavoured to be smoothed over, to soften the anguishof fiercer spirits, and to keep them from blazing out to furthermischief! O this naughty, naughty girl, who knew so well what she did;and who could look so far into consequences, that we thought she wouldhave died rather than have done as she had done!
Her known character for prudence leaves her absolutely without excuse.How then can I offer to plead for her, if, through motherly indulgence,I would forgive her myself?--And have we not moreover suffered all thedisgrace that can befall us? Has not she?
If now she has so little liking to his morals, has she not reason beforeto have as little? Or has she suffered by them in her own person?--O mygood woman, I doubt--I doubt--Will not the character of the man make onedoubt an angel, if once in his power? The world will think the worst. Iam told it does. So likewise her father fears; her brother hears; andwhat can I do?
Our antipathy to him she knew before, as well as his character. Thesetherefore cannot be new motives without a new reason.--O my dear Mrs.Norton, how shall I, how can you, support ourselves under theapprehensions to which these thoughts lead!
He continually pressing her, you say, to marry him: his friends likewise.She has reason, no doubt she has reason, for this application to us: andher crime is glossed over, to bring her to us with new disgrace!Whither, whi
ther, does one guilty step lead the misguided heart!--Andnow, truly, to save a stubborn spirit, we are only to be sounded, thatthe application may be occasionally retracted or denied!
Upon the whole: were I inclined to plead for her, it is now the mostimproper of all times. Now that my brother Harlowe has discouraged (ashe last night came hither on purpose to tell us) Mr. Hickman's insinuatedapplication; and been applauded for it. Now, that my brother Antony isintending to carry his great fortune, through her fault, into anotherfamily:--she expecting, no doubt, herself to be put into hergrandfather's estate, in consequence of a reconciliation, and as a rewardfor her fault: and insisting still upon the same terms which she offeredbefore, and which were rejected--Not through my fault, I am sure,rejected!
From all these things you will return such an answer as the caserequires. It might cost me the peace of my whole life, at this time, tomove for her. God forgive her! If I do, nobody else will. And let it,for your own sake, as well as mine, be a secret that you and I haveentered upon this subject. And I desire you not to touch upon it againbut by particular permission: for, O my dear, good woman, it sets myheart a bleeding in as many streams as there are veins in it!
Yet think me not impenetrable by a proper contrition and remorse--Butwhat a torment is it to have a will without a power!
Adieu! adieu! God give us both comfort; and to the once dear--the ever-dear creature (for can a mother forget her child?) repentance, deeprepentance! and as little suffering as may befit his blessed will, andher grievous fault, prays
Your real friend,CHARLOTTE HARLOWE.
Clarissa Harlowe; or the history of a young lady — Volume 4 Page 29