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

by Samuel Richardson

  LETTER XXXI

  MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWETUESDAY, MAY 16.

  I think once more we seem to be in a kind of train; but through a storm.I will give you the particulars.

  I heard him in the dining-room at five in the morning. I had rested veryill, and was up too. But opened not my door till six: when Dorcasbrought me his request for my company.

  He approached me, and taking my hand, as I entered the dining-room, Iwent not to bed, Madam, till two, said he; yet slept not a wink. ForGod's sake, torment me not, as you have done for a week past.

  He paused. I was silent.

  At first, proceeded he, I thought your resentment of a curiosity, inwhich I had been disappointed, could not be deep; and that it would gooff of itself: But, when I found it was to be kept up till you knew thesuccess of some new overtures which you had made, and which, compliedwith, might have deprived me of you for ever, how, Madam, could I supportmyself under the thoughts of having, with such an union of interests,made so little impression upon your mind in my favour?

  He paused again. I was still silent. He went on.

  I acknowledge that I have a proud heart, Madam. I cannot but hope forsome instances of previous and preferable favour from the lady I amambitious to call mine; and that her choice of me should not appear, notflagrantly appear, directed by the perverseness of her selfishpersecutors, who are my irreconcilable enemies.

  More to the same purpose he said. You know, my dear, the room he hadgiven me to recriminate upon him in twenty instances. I did not sparehim.

  Every one of these instances, said I, (after I had enumerated them)convinces me of your pride indeed, Sir, but not of your merit. Iconfess, that I have as much pride as you can have, although I hope it isof another kind than that you so readily avow. But if, Sir, you have theleast mixture in yours of that pride which may be expected, and thoughtlaudable, in a man of your birth, alliances, and fortune, you shouldrather wish, I will presume to say, to promote what you call my pride,than either to suppress it, or to regret that I have it. It is this myacknowledged pride, proceeded I, that induces me to tell you, Sir, that Ithink it beneath me to disown what have been my motives for declining,for some days past, any conversation with you, or visit from Mr. Mennell,that might lead to points out of my power to determine upon, until Iheard from my uncle Harlowe; whom, I confess, I have caused to besounded, whether I might be favoured with his interest to obtain for mea reconciliation with my friends, upon terms which I had caused to beproposed.

  I know not, said he, and suppose must not presume to ask, what thoseterms were. But I can but too well guess at them; and that I was to havebeen the preliminary sacrifice. But you must allow me, Madam, to say,That as much as I admire the nobleness of your sentiments in general, andin particular that laudable pride which you have spoken of, I wish that Icould compliment you with such an uniformity in it, as had set you asmuch above all submission to minds implacable and unreasonable, (I hope Imay, without offence, say, that your brother's and sister's are such,) asit has above all favour and condescension to me.

  Duty and nature, Sir, call upon me to make the submissions you speak of:there is a father, there is a mother, there are uncles in the one case,to justify and demand those submissions. What, pray, Sir, can be pleadedfor the condescension, as you call it? Will you say, your merits, eitherwith regard to them, or to myself, may?

  This, Madam, to be said, after the persecutions of those relations!After what you have suffered! After what you have made me hope! Let me,my dearest creature, ask you, (we have been talking of pride,) What sortof pride must his be, which can dispense with inclination and preferencein the lady whom he adores?--What must that love--

  Love, Sir! who talks of love?--Was not merit the thing we were talkingof?--Have I ever professed, have I ever required of you professions of apassion of that nature?--But there is no end of these debatings; each sofaultless, each so full of self--

  I do not think myself faultless, Madam:--but--

  But what, Sir!--Would you ever more argue with me, as if you were achild?--Seeking palliations, and making promises?--Promises of what, Sir?Of being in future the man it is a shame a gentleman is not?--Of beingthe man--

  Good God! interrupted he, with eyes lifted up, if thou wert to be thussevere--

  Well, well, Sir! [impatiently] I need only to observe, that all thisvast difference in sentiment shows how unpaired our minds are--so letus--

  Let us what, Madam?--My soul is rising into tumults! And he looked sowildly, that I was a good deal terrified--Let us what, Madam?----

  I was, however, resolved not to desert myself--Why, Sir! let us resolveto quit every regard for each other.--Nay, flame not out--I am a poorweak-minded creature in some things: but where what I should be, or notdeserve to live, if I am not is in the question, I have a great andinvincible spirit, or my own conceit betrays me--let us resolve to quitevery regard for each other that is more than civil. This you may dependupon: I will never marry any other man. I have seen enough of your sex;at least of you.--A single life shall ever be my choice: while I willleave you at liberty to pursue your own.

  Indifference, worse than indifference! said he, in a passion--

  Interrupting him--Indifference let it be--you have not (in my opinion atleast) deserved that it should be other: if you have in your own, youhave cause (at least your pride has) to hate me for misjudging you.

  Dearest, dearest creature! snatching my hand with fierceness, let mebeseech you to be uniformly noble! Civil regards, Madam!--Civil regards!--Can you so expect to narrow and confine such a passion as mine?

  Such a passion as yours, Mr. Lovelace, deserves to be narrowed andconfined. It is either the passion you do not think it, or I do not. Iquestion whether your mind is capable of being so narrowed and sowidened, as is necessary to make it be what I wish it to be. Lift upyour hands and your eyes, Sir, in silent wonder, if you please; but whatdoes that wonder express, what does it convince me of, but that we arenot born for one another.

  By my soul, said he, and grasped my hand with an eagerness that hurt it,we were born for one another: you must be mine--you shall be mine [andput his other hand round me] although my damnation were to be thepurchase!

  I was still more terrified--let me leave you, Mr. Lovelace, said I; or doyou be gone from me. Is the passion you boast of to be thus shockinglydemonstrated?

  You must not go, Madam!--You must not leave me in anger--

  I will return--I will return--when you can be less violent--lessshocking.

  And he let me go.

  The man quite frighted me; insomuch, that when I got into my chamber, Ifound a sudden flow of tears a great relief to me.

  In half an hour, he sent a little billet, expressing his concern for thevehemence of his behaviour, and prayed to see me.

  I went. Because I could not help myself, I went.

  He was full of excuses--O my dear, what would you, even you, do with sucha man as this; and in my situation?

  It was very possible for him now, he said, to account for the workings ofa beginning phrensy. For his part, he was near distraction. All lastweek to suffer as he had suffered; and now to talk of civil regards only,when he had hoped, from the nobleness of my mind--

  Hope what you will, interrupted I, I must insist upon it, that our mindsare by no means suited to each other. You have brought me intodifficulties. I am deserted by every friend but Miss Howe. My truesentiments I will not conceal--it is against my will that I must submitto owe protection from a brother's projects, which Miss Howe thinks arenot given over, to you, who have brought me into these straights: notwith my own concurrence brought me into them; remember that--

  I do remember that, Madam!--So often reminded, how can I forget it?--

  Yet I will owe to you this protection, if it be necessary, in the earnesthope that you will shun, rather than seek mischief, if any furtherinquiry after me be made. But what hinders you from leaving me?--CannotI send to you? The widow
Fretchville, it is plain, knows not her ownmind: the people here are more civil to me every day than other: but Ihad rather have lodgings more agreeable to my circumstances. I best knowwhat will suit them; and am resolved not to be obliged to any body. Ifyou leave me, I will privately retire to some one of the neighbouringvillages, and there wait my cousin Morden's arrival with patience.

  I presume, Madam, replied he, from what you have said, that yourapplication to Harlowe-place has proved unsuccessful: I therefore hopethat you will now give me leave to mention the terms in the nature ofsettlements, which I have long intended to propose to you; and whichhaving till now delayed to do, through accidents not proceeding frommyself, I had thoughts of urging to you the moment you entered upon yournew house; and upon your finding yourself as independent in appearanceas you are in fact. Permit me, Madam, to propose these matters to you--not with an expectation of your immediate answer; but for yourconsideration.

  Were not hesitation, a self-felt glow, a downcast eye, encouragement morethan enough? and yet you will observe (as I now do on recollection) thathe was in no great hurry to solicit for a day; since he had no thoughtsof proposing settlements till I had got into my new house; and now, inhis great complaisance to me, he desired leave to propose his terms, notwith an expectation of my immediate answer; but for my consideration only--Yet, my dear, your advice was too much in my head at this time. Ihesitated.

  He urged on upon my silence; he would call God to witness to the justice,nay to the generosity of his intentions to me, if I would be so good asto hear what he had to propose to me, as to settlements.

  Could not the man have fallen into the subject without this parade? Manya point, you know, is refused, and ought to be refused, if leave be askedto introduce it; and when once refused, the refusal must in honour beadhered to--whereas, had it been slid in upon one, as I may say, it mighthave merited further consideration. If such a man as Mr. Lovelace knowsnot this, who should?

  But he seemed to think it enough that he had asked my leave to proposehis settlements. He took no advantage of my silence, as I presume men asmodest as Mr. Lovelace would have done in a like case: yet, gazing in myface very confidently, and seeming to expect my answer, I thought myselfobliged to give the subject a more diffuse turn, in order to save myselfthe mortification of appearing too ready in my compliance, after such adistance as had been between us; and yet (in pursuance of your advice) Iwas willing to avoid the necessity of giving him such a repulse as mightagain throw us out of the course--a cruel alternative to be reduced to!

  You talk of generosity, Mr. Lovelace, said I; and you talk of justice;perhaps, without having considered the force of the words, in the senseyou use them on this occasion.--Let me tell you what generosity is, in mysense of the word--TRUE GENEROSITY is not confined to pecuniaryinstances: it is more than politeness: it is more than good faith: it ismore than honour; it is more than justice; since all of these are butduties, and what a worthy mind cannot dispense with. But TRUE GENEROSITYis greatness of soul. It incites us to do more by a fellow-creature thancan be strictly required of us. It obliges us to hasten to the relief ofan object that wants relief; anticipating even such a one's hope orexpectation. Generosity, Sir, will not surely permit a worthy mind todoubt of its honourable and beneficent intentions: much less will itallow itself to shock, to offend any one; and, least of all, a personthrown by adversity, mishap, or accident, into its protection.

  What an opportunity had he to clear his intentions had he been sodisposed, from the latter part of this home observation!--but he ran awaywith the first, and kept to that.

  Admirably defined! he said--But who, at this rate, Madam, can be said tobe generous to you?--Your generosity I implore, while justice, as it mustbe my sole merit, shall be my aim. Never was there a woman of such niceand delicate sentiments!

  It is a reflection upon yourself, Sir, and upon the company you havekept, if you think these notions either nice or delicate. Thousands ofmy sex are more nice than I; for they would have avoided the devious pathI have been surprised into; the consequences of which surprise have laidme under the sad necessity of telling a man, who has not delicacy enoughto enter into those parts of the female character which are its glory anddistinction, what true generosity is.

  His divine monitress, he called me. He would endeavour to form hismanners (as he had often promised) by my example. But he hoped I wouldnow permit him to mention briefly the justice he proposed to do me, inthe terms of the settlements; a subject so proper, before now, to haveentered upon; and which would have been entered upon long ago, had notmy frequent displeasure [I am ever in fault, my dear!] taken from him theopportunity he had often wished for: but now, having ventured to lay holdof this, nothing should divert him from improving it.

  I have no spirits, just now, Sir, to attend such weighty points. Whatyou have a mind to propose, write to me: and I shall know what answer toreturn. Only one thing let me remind you of, that if you touch upon asubject, in which my father has a concern, I shall judge by yourtreatment of the father what value you have for the daughter.

  He looked as if he would choose rather to speak than write: but had hesaid so, I had a severe return to have made upon him; as possibly hemight see by my looks.

  ***

  In this way are we now: a sort of calm, as I said, succeeding a storm.What may happen next, whether a storm or a calm, with such a spirit as Ihave to deal with, who can tell?

  But, be that as it will, I think, my dear, I am not meanly off: and thatis a great point with me; and which I know you will be glad to hear: ifit were only, that I can see this man without losing any of that dignity[What other word can I use, speaking of myself, that betokens decency,and not arrogance?] which is so necessary to enable me to look up, orrather with the mind's eye, I may say, to look down upon a man of thisman's cast.

  Although circumstance have so offered, that I could not take your adviceas to the manner of dealing with him; yet you gave me so much courage byit, as has enabled me to conduct things to this issue; as well asdetermined me against leaving him: which, before, I was thinking to do,at all adventures. Whether, when it came to the point, I should havedone so, or not, I cannot say, because it would have depended upon hisbehaviour at the time.

  But let his behaviour be what it will, I am afraid, (with you,) thatshould any thing offer at last to oblige me to leave him, I shall notmend my situation in the world's eye; but the contrary. And yet I willnot be treated by him with indignity while I have any power to helpmyself.

  You, my dear, have accused me of having modesty'd away, as you phrase it,several opportunities of being--Being what, my dear?--Why, the wife of alibertine: and what a libertine and his wife are my cousin Morden'sletter tells us.--Let me here, once for all, endeavour to account for themotives of behavior to this man, and for the principles I have proceededupon, as they appear to me upon a close self-examination.

  Be pleased to allow me to think that my motives on this occasion rise notaltogether from maidenly niceness; nor yet from the apprehension of whatmy present tormenter, and future husband, may think of a precipitatecompliance, on such a disagreeable behaviour as his: but they ariseprincipally from what offers to my own heart; respecting, as I may say,its own rectitude, its own judgment of the fit and the unfit; as I would,without study, answer for myself to myself, in the first place; to him,and to the world, in the second only. Principles that are in my mind;that I found there; implanted, no doubt, by the first gracious Planter:which therefore impel me, as I may say, to act up to them, that therebyI may, to the best of my judgment, be enabled to comport myself worthilyin both states, (the single and the married), let others act as they willby me.

  I hope, my dear, I do not deceive myself, and, instead of setting aboutrectifying what is amiss in my heart, endeavour to find excuses for habitsand peculiarities, which I am unwilling to cast off or overcome.The heart is very deceitful: do you, my dear friend, lay mine open, [butsurely it is always open before you!] and spare me not, if y
ou think itculpable.

  This observation, once for all, as I said, I thought proper to make, toconvince you that, to the best of my judgment, my errors, in matters aswell of lesser moment as of greater, shall rather be the fault of myjudgment than of my will.

  I am, my dearest friend,Your ever obliged,CLARISSA HARLOWE.