Clarissa Harlowe; or the history of a young lady — Volume 4

by Samuel Richardson

  LETTER XXIX

  MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWESUNDAY, MAY 14.

  How it is now, my dear, between you and Mr. Lovelace, I cannot tell.But, wicked as the man is, I am afraid he must be your lord and master.

  I called him by several very hard names in my last. I had but just heardof some of his vilenesses, when I sat down to write; so my indignationwas raised. But on inquiry, and recollection, I find that the facts laidto his charge were all of them committed some time ago--not since he hashad strong hopes of your favour.

  This is saying something for him. His generous behaviour to theinnkeeper's daughter is a more recent instance to his credit; to saynothing of the universal good character he has as a kind landlord. Andthen I approve much of the motion he made to put you in possession ofMrs. Fretchville's house, while he continues at the other widow's, tillyou agree that one house shall hold you. I wish this were done. Be sureyou embrace this offer, (if you do not soon meet at the altar,) and getone of his cousins with you.

  Were you once married, I should think you cannot be very unhappy, thoughyou may not be so happy with him as you deserve to be. The stake he hasin his country, and his reversions; the care he takes of his affairs; hisfreedom from obligation; nay, his pride, with your merit, must be atolerable security for you, I should think. Though particulars of hiswickedness, as they come to my knowledge, hurt and incense me; yet, afterall, when I give myself time to reflect, all that I have heard of him tohis disadvantage was comprehended in the general character given of himlong ago, by Lord M.'s and his own dismissed bailiff,* and which wasconfirmed to me by Mrs. Fortescue, as I heretofore told you,** and to youby Mrs. Greme.***

  * See Vol. I. Letter IV.** Ibid. Letter XII.*** See Vol. III. Letter VI.

  You can have nothing, therefore, I think, to be deeply concerned about,but his future good, and the bad example he may hereafter set to his ownfamily. These indeed are very just concerns: but were you to leave himnow, either with or without his consent, his fortunes and alliances soconsiderable, his person and address so engaging, (every one excusing younow on those accounts, and because of your relations' follies,) it wouldhave a very ill appearance for your reputation. I cannot, therefore, onthe most deliberate consideration, advise you to think of that, while youhave no reason to doubt his honour. May eternal vengeance pursue thevillain, if he give room for an apprehension of this nature!

  Yet his teasing ways are intolerable; his acquiescence with your slightdelays, and his resignedness to the distance you now keep him at, (for afault so much slighter, as he must think, than the punishment,) areunaccountable: He doubts your love of him, that is very probable; but youhave reason to be surprised at his want of ardour; a blessing so greatwithin his reach, as I may say.

  By the time you have read to this place, you will have no doubt of whathas been the issue of the conference between the two gentlemen. I amequally shocked, and enraged against them all. Against them all, I say;for I have tried your good Norton's weight with your mother, (though atfirst I did not intend to tell you so,) to the same purpose as thegentleman sounded your uncle. Never were there such determined brutes inthe world! Why should I mince the matter? Yet would I fain, methinks,make an exception for your mother.

  Your uncle will have it that you are ruined. 'He can believe every thingbad of a creature, he says, who could run away with a man; with such aone especially as Lovelace. They expected applications from you, whensome heavy distress had fallen upon you. But they are all resolved notto stir an inch in your favour; no, not to save your life!'

  My dearest soul, resolve to assert your right. Claim your own, and goand live upon it, as you ought. Then, if you marry not, how will thewretches creep to you for your reversionary dispositions!

  You were accused (as in your aunt's letter) 'of premeditation andcontrivance in your escape.' Instead of pitying you, the mediatingperson was called upon 'to pity them; who once, your uncle said, doatedupon you: who took no joy but in your presence: who devoured your wordsas you spoke them: who trod over again your footsteps, as you walkedbefore them.'--And I know not what of this sort.

  Upon the whole, it is now evident to me, and so it must be to you, whenyou read this letter, that you must be his. And the sooner you are sothe better. Shall we suppose that marriage is not in your power?--Icannot have patience to suppose that.

  I am concerned, methinks, to know how you will do to condescend, (now yousee you must be his,) after you have kept him at such a distance; and forthe revenge his pride may put him upon taking for it. But let me tellyou, that if my going up, and sharing fortunes with you, will preventsuch a noble creature from stooping too low; much more, were it likely toprevent your ruin, I would not hesitate a moment about it. What is thewhole world to me, weighed against such a friend as you are? Think you,that any of the enjoyments of this life could be enjoyments to me, wereyou involved in calamities, from which I could either alleviate orrelieve you, by giving up those enjoyments? And what in saying this, andacting up to it, do I offer you, but the frits of a friendship your worthhas created?

  Excuse my warmth of expression. The warmth of my heart wants none. I amenraged at your relations; for, bad as what I have mentioned is, I havenot told you all; nor now, perhaps, ever will. I am angry at my ownmother's narrowness of mind, and at her indiscriminate adherence to oldnotions. And I am exasperated against your foolish, your low-vanity'dLovelace. But let us stoop to take the wretch as he is, and make thebest of him, since you are destined to stoop, to keep grovellers andworldlings in countenance. He had not been guilty of a direct indecencyto you. Nor dare he--not so much of a devil as that comes to neither.Had he such villainous intentions, so much in his power as you are, theywould have shewn themselves before now to such a penetrating and vigilanteye, and to such a pure heart as yours. Let us save the wretch then, ifwe can, though we soil our fingers in lifting him up his dirt.

  There is yet, to a person of your fortune and independence, a good dealto do, if you enter upon those terms which ought to be entered upon. Idon't find that he has once talked of settlements; nor yet of thelicense. A foolish wretch!--But as your evil destiny has thrown you outof all other protection and mediation, you must be father, mother, uncle,to yourself; and enter upon the requisite points for yourself. It ishard upon you; but indeed you must. Your situation requires it. Whatroom for delicacy now?--Or would you have me write to him? yet that wouldbe the same thing as if you were to write yourself. Yet write youshould, I think, if you cannot speak. But speaking is certainly best:for words leave no traces; they pass as breath; and mingle with air; andmay be explained with latitude. But the pen is a witness on record.

  I know the gentleness of your spirit; I know the laudable pride of yourheart; and the just notion you have of the dignity of our sex in thesedelicate points. But once more, all this in nothing now: your honour isconcerned that the dignity I speak of should not be stood upon.

  'Mr. Lovelace,' would I say; yet hate the foolish fellow for his low, hisstupid pride, in wishing to triumph over the dignity of his own wife;--'I am by your means deprived of every friend I have in the world. Inwhat light am I to look upon you? I have well considered every thing.You have made some people, much against my liking, think me a wife:others know I am not married; nor do I desire any body should believe Iam: Do you think your being here in the same house with me can be to myreputation? You talked to me of Mrs. Fretchville's house.' This willbring him to renew his last discourse on the subject, if he does notrevive it of himlsef. 'If Mrs. Fretchville knows not her own mind, whatis her house to me? You talked of bringing up your cousin Montague tobear me company: if my brother's schemes be your pretence for not goingyourself to fetch her, you can write to her. I insist upon bringingthese two points to an issue: off or on ought to be indifferent to me, ifso to them.'

  Such a declaration must bring all forward. There are twenty ways, my dear,that you would find out for another in your circumstances. He willdisdain, from h
is native insolence, to have it thought he has any body toconsult. Well then, will he not be obliged to declare himself? And ifhe does, no delays on your side, I beseech you. Give him the day. Letit be a short one. It would be derogating from your own merit, not to beso explicit as he ought to be, to seem but to doubt his meaning; and towait for that explanation for which I should ever despise him, if hemakes it necessary. Twice already have you, my dear, if not oftenermodesty'd away such opportunities as you ought not to have slipped. Asto settlements, if they come not in naturally, e'en leave them to his ownjustice, and to the justice of his family, And there's an end of thematter.

  This is my advice: mend it as circumstances offer, and follow your own.But indeed, my dear, this, or something like it, would I do. And let himtell me afterwards, if he dared or would, that he humbled down to hisshoe-buckles the person it would have been his glory to exalt.

  Support yourself, mean time, with reflections worthy of yourself. Thoughtricked into this man's power, you are not meanly subjugated to it. Allhis reverence you command, or rather, as I may say, inspire; since it wasnever known, that he had any reverence for aught that was good, till youwas with him: and he professes now and then to be so awed and charmed byyour example, as that the force of it shall reclaim him.

  I believe you will have a difficult task to keep him to it; but the morewill be your honour, if you effect his reformation: and it is my belief,that if you can reclaim this great, this specious deceiver, who has,morally speaking, such a number of years before him, you will save fromruin a multitude of innocents; for those seem to me to have been the preyfor which he has spread his wicked snares. And who knows but, for thisvery purpose, principally, a person may have been permitted to swerve,whose heart or will never was in her error, and who has so much remorseupon her for having, as she thinks, erred at all? Adieu, my dearestfriend.

  ANNA HOWE.

  ENCLOSED IN THE ABOVE.

  I must trouble you with my concerns, though your own are so heavy uponyou. A piece of news I have to tell you. Your uncle Antony is disposedto marry. With whom, think you? with my mother. True indeed. Yourfamily knows it. All is laid with redoubled malice at your door. Andthere the old soul himself lays it.

  Take no notice of this intelligence, not so much as in your letters tome, for fear of accidents.

  I think it can't do. But were I to provoke my mother, that might afforda pretence. Else, I should have been with you before now, I fancy.

  The first likelihood that appears to me of encouragement, I dismissHickman, that's certain. If my mother disoblige me in so important anarticle, I shan't think of obliging her in such another. It isimpossible, surely, that the desire of popping me off to that honest mancan be with such a view.

  I repeat, that it cannot come to any thing. But these widows--Then sucha love in us all, both old and young, of being courted and admired!--andso irresistible to their elderships to be flattered, that all power isnot over with them; but that they may still class and prank it with theirdaughters.--It vexed me heartily to have her tell me of this proposalwith self-complaisant simperings; and yet she affected to speak of it asif she had no intention to encourage it.

  These antiquated bachelors (old before they believe themselves to be so)imagine that when they have once persuaded themselves to think of thestate, they have nothing more to do than to make their minds known to thewoman.

  Your uncle's overgrown fortune is indeed a bait; a tempting one. A saucydaughter to be got rid of! The memory of the father of that daughter notprecious enough to weigh much!--But let him advance if he dare--let herencourage--but I hope she won't.

  Excuse me, my dear. I am nettled. They have fearfully rumpled mygorget. You'll think me faulty. So, I won't put my name to thisseparate paper. Other hands may resemble mine. You did not see me writeit.