CLARISSA HARLOWE
Letter 121: MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE TO MISS HOWE
Saturday evening
Mr Lovelace has seen divers apartments at Windsor; but not one, he says, that he thought fit for me, or in any manner answering my description.
He had been very solicitous to keep to the letter of my instructions: which looks well: and the better I liked him, as, although he proposed that town, he came back dissuading me from it: for he said that, in his journey from thence, he had thought Windsor, although of his own proposal, a wrong choice; because I coveted privacy and that was a place generally visited and admired.
I told him that if Mrs Sorlings thought me not an encumbrance, I would be willing to stay there a little longer; provided he would leave me, and go to Lord M.’s or to London, which ever he thought best.
He hoped, he said, that he might suppose me absolutely safe from the insults or attempts of my brother; and therefore, if it would make me easier, he would obey, for a few days at least.
He hinted to me that he had received a letter from Lady Betty, and another, as I understood him, from one of the Miss Montagues. If they take notice of me in them, I wonder that he did not acquaint me with the contents. I am afraid, my dear, that his relations are among those who think I have taken a rash and inexcusable step.
• • •
Sunday morning
Why did not the man show them [the letters] to me last night? Was he afraid of giving me too much pleasure?
Lady Betty in hers, expresses herself in the most obliging manner, in relation to me. ‘She wishes him so to behave, as to encourage me to make him soon happy. She desires her compliments to me; and expresses her impatience to see, as her niece, so celebrated a lady (those are her high words). She shall take it for an honour, she says, to be put into a way to oblige me. She hopes I will not too long delay the ceremony; because that performed, will be to her, and to Lord M. and Lady Sarah, a sure pledge of her nephew’s merits and good behaviour.’
She says, ‘She was always sorry to hear of the hardships I had met with on his account. That he will be the most ungrateful of men, if he make not all up to me: and that she thinks it incumbent upon all their family to supply to me the lost favour of my own: and, for her part, nothing of that kind, she bids him assure me, shall be wanting.’
But her ladyship gives me no direct invitation to attend her before marriage. Which I might have expected from what he had told me.
Letter 123: MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE TO MISS HOWE
(In continuation)
You may believe, my dear, that these letters put me in good humour with him. He saw it in my countenance, and congratulated himself upon it. But yet I wondered that I could not have the contents of them communicated to me last night.
He then urged me to go directly to Lady Betty’s, on the strength of her letter.
But how, said I, can I do that, were I out of all hope of a reconciliation with my friends (which yet, however improbable to be brought about, is my duty to attempt), as her ladyship has given me no particular invitation.
That, he was sure, was owing to her doubt that it would be accepted: else she had done it with the greatest pleasure in the world.
That doubt itself, I said, was enough to deter me: since her ladyship, who knew so well the boundaries of the fit and the unfit, by her not expecting I would accept of an invitation, had she given it, would have reason to think me very forward if I had accepted it; and much more forward to go without it. Then, said I, I thank you, sir, I have no clothes fit to go anywhere, or to be seen by anybody.
Would I choose to go to London, for a few days only, in order to furnish myself with clothes?
Not at his expense. I was not prepared to wear his livery yet.
He wished he knew but my mind—that should direct him in his proposals, and it would be his delight to observe it, whatever it was.
My mind was, that he should leave me out of hand. How often must I tell him so?
Upon his soul, the wretch swore, he did not think it safe, for the reasons he had before given, to leave me here. He hoped I would think of some place, to which I should like to go. But he must take the liberty to say, that he hoped his behaviour had not been so exceptionable as to make me so very earnest for his absence in the interim: and the less, surely, as I was almost eternally shutting up myself from him; although he presumed, he said, to assure me that he never went from me, but with a corrected heart and with strengthened resolutions of improving by my example.
Eternally shutting myself up from you! repeated I. I hope, sir, that you will not pretend to take it amiss, that I expect to be uninvaded in my retirements. I hope you do not think me so weak a creature (novice as you have found me in a very capital instance) as to be fond of occasions to hear your fine speeches, especially as no differing circumstances require your over-frequent visits; nor that I am to be addressed to as if I thought hourly professions needful to assure me of your honour.
He seemed a little disconcerted.
You know, Mr Lovelace, proceeded I, why I am so earnest for your absence. It is that I may appear to the world independent of you; and in hopes, by that means, to find it less difficult to set on foot a reconciliation with my friends. They know that I have a power given me by my grandfather’s will, to bequeath the estate he left me, together with my share of the effects, in a way that may affect them, though not absolutely from them: this consideration, I hope, will procure me some from them, when their passion subsides, and they know I am independent of you.
Charming reasoning! And let him tell me, that the assurance I had given him was all he wished for. It was more than he could ask. What a happiness to have a woman of honour and generosity to depend upon! Had he, on his first entrance into the world, met with such a one, he had never been other than a man of strict virtue.
I said I took it for granted that he assented to the reasoning he seemed to approve, and would leave me. And then I asked him what he really, and in his most deliberate mind, would advise me to, in my present situation? He must needs see, I said, that I was at a great loss what to resolve upon; entirely a stranger to London, having no adviser, no protector, at present—himself, he must give me leave to tell him, greatly deficient in practice, if not in the knowledge, of those decorums which, I had apprehended, were indispensable in the character of a man of birth, fortune and education.
Letter 125: MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE TO MISS HOWE
(In continuation)
We are both great watchers of each other’s eyes; and indeed seem to be more than half afraid of each other.
He then made a grateful proposal to me; that I would send for my [nurse] Mrs Norton to attend me.
How could this man, with such powers of right thinking, be so far depraved by evil habits as to disgrace his talents by wrong acting?
Is there not room, after all, thought I at the time, for hope (as he so lately led me to hope) that the example it will behove me, for both our sakes, to endeavour to set him, may influence him to a change of manners in which both may find their account?
Give me leave, sir, said I, to tell you there is a strange mixture in your mind. You must have taken pains to suppress many good motions and reflections as they arose, or levity must have been surprisingly predominant in it.
Well, madam, I can only say I would find out some expedient, if I could, that should be agreeable to you. But since I cannot, will you be so good as to tell me what you would wish to have done? Nothing in the world but I will comply with, excepting leaving you here, at such a distance from the place I shall be in, if anything should happen; and in a place where my gossiping rascals have made me in a manner public, for want of proper cautions at first.
I am quite at a loss, said I, what to do, or whither to go. Would you, Mr Lovelace, in earnest, advise me to think of going to London?
And I looked at him with stead
fastness. But nothing could I gather from his looks.
At first, madam, said he, I was for proposing London, as I was then more apprehensive of pursuit. But as your relations seem cooler on that head, I am the more indifferent about the place you go to. So as you are pleased—So as you are easy, I shall be happy.
This indifference of his to London, I cannot but say, made me like going thither the better. I asked him (to hear what he would say) if he could recommend me to any particular place in London?
No, he said: none that was fit for me, or that I should like. His friend Belford indeed had very handsome lodgings near Soho Square, at a relation’s, a lady of virtue and honour. These, as Mr Belford was generally in the country, he could borrow till I were better accommodated.
I was resolved to refuse these at the first mention, as I should any other he had named. Nevertheless, I will see, thought I, if he has really thoughts of these for me. If I break off the talk here, and he resume this proposal with earnestness in the morning, I shall apprehend that he is less indifferent than he seems to be about my going to London; and that he has already a lodging in his eye for me. And then I won’t go at all.
But after such generous motions from him, I really think it a little barbarous to act and behave as if I thought him capable of the blackest and most ungrateful baseness. But his character, his principles, are so faulty! He is so light, so vain, so various, that there is no certainty that he will be next hour what he is this. Then, my dear, I have no guardian now; no father, no mother! Nothing but God and my vigilance to depend upon. And I have no reason to expect a miracle in my favour.
Well, sir, said I, rising to leave him, something must be resolved upon: but I will postpone this subject till tomorrow morning.
He would fain have engaged me longer; but I said I would see him as early as he pleased in the morning. He might think of any convenient place in London, or near it, meantime.
And so I retired from him. As I do from my pen; hoping for better rest for the few hours that will remain for that desirable refreshment, than I have had of a long time.
CL. HARLOWE
Letter 126: MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE TO MISS HOWE
(In continuation)
Monday morning, April 17
Late as I went to bed, I have had very little rest. Sleep and I have quarrelled; and although I court it, it will not be friends. I hope its fellow-irreconcilables at Harlowe Place enjoy its balmy comforts. Else that will be an aggravation of my fault. My brother and sister, I dare say, want it not.
Mr Lovelace, who is an early riser as well as I, joined me in the garden about six; and after the usual salutations, asked me to resume our last night’s subject. It was upon lodgings at London, he said.
I think you mentioned one to me, sir—did you not?
Yes, madam, but (watching the turn of my countenance) rather as what you’d be welcome to, than perhaps approve of.
I believe so too. To go to town upon an uncertainty, I own, is not agreeable; but to be obliged to any gentleman of your acquaintance, when I want to be thought independent of you; and to a gentleman especially, to whom my friends are to direct to me, if they vouchsafe to take notice of me at all, is an absurd thing to mention.
We had a good deal of discourse upon the same topic. But, at last, the result of all was this—He wrote a letter to one Mr Doleman, a married man of fortune and character (I excepting to Mr Belford), desiring him to provide decent apartments ready furnished (for I had told him what they should be) for a single woman; consisting of a bedchamber; another for a maidservant, with the use of a dining-room or parlour. This he gave me to peruse; and then sealed it up and dispatched it away in my presence by one of his own servants, who having business in town is to bring back an answer.
I attend the issue of it; holding myself in readiness to set out for London, unless you advise the contrary. I will only add, that I am
Your ever-affectionate
CL. HARLOWE
Letter 127: MR LOVELACE TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.
Sat., Sunday, Monday
Thou seest, Belford, that my charmer has no notion that Miss Howe herself is but a puppet danced upon my wires, at second or third hand. To outwit and impel, as one pleases, two such girls as these, who think they know everything; and by taking advantage of the pride and ill-nature of the old ones of both families, to play them off likewise at the very time that they think they are doing me spiteful displeasure; what charming revenge!
But don’t think me the cause neither of her family’s malice and resentment. It is all in their hearts. I work but with their materials. They, if left to their own wicked direction, would perhaps express their revenge by fire and faggot; that is to say, by the private dagger, or by Lord Chief Justice’s warrants, by law, and so forth: I only point the lightning and teach it where to dart, without the thunder: in other words, I only guide the effects: the cause is in their malignant hearts: and, while I am doing a little mischief, I prevent a great deal.
• • •
I wanted her to propose London herself. This made me again mention Windsor. If you would have a woman do one thing, you must always propose another! The sex! the very sex! as I hope to be saved! Why, they lay one under a necessity to deal doubly with them: and when they find themselves outwitted, they cry out upon an honest fellow who has been too hard for them at their own weapons.
I could hardly contain myself. My heart was at my throat. Down, down, said I to myself, exuberant exultation! A sudden cough befriended me: I again turned to her, all as indifferenced over as a girl at the first long-expected question who waits for two more. I heard out the rest of her speech: and when she had done, instead of saying anything of London, I proposed to her to send for her Mrs Norton.
As I knew she would be afraid of lying under obligations had she accepted of my offer, I could have proposed to do so much for the good woman and her son as would have made her resolve that I should do nothing. This, however, not merely to avoid expense: but there was no such thing as allowing of the presence of Mrs Norton. I might as well have had her mother or aunt Hervey with her.
How unequal is a modest woman to the adventure when she throws herself into the power of a rake! Punctilio will, at any time, stand for reasons with such a one. She cannot break through a well-tested modesty.
• • •
I am in the right train now. Every hour, I doubt not, will give me an increasing interest in the affections of this proud beauty! I have just carried un-politeness far enough to make her afraid of me; and to show her that I am no whiner. Every instance of politeness, now, will give me double credit with her! My next point will be to make her acknowledge a lambent flame, a preference of me to all other men at least: and then my happy hour is not far off. And acknowledged love sanctifies every freedom: and one freedom begets another. And if she call me ungenerous, I can call her cruel. The sex love to be called cruel. Many a time have I complained of cruelty, even in the act of yielding, because I knew it gratified their pride.
Letter 128: MISS HOWE TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE
Tuesday, April 18
But you ask me if I would treat Mr Lovelace, were he to be in Mr Hickman’s place, as I do Mr Hickman? Why really, my dear, I believe I should not. I have been very sagely considering this point of behaviour, in general, on both sides in courtship; and I will very candidly tell you the result. I have concluded that politeness, even to excess, is necessary on the men’s part, to bring us to listen to their first address, in order to induce us to bow our necks to a yoke so unequal. But upon my conscience, I very much doubt whether a little intermingled insolence is not requisite from them, to keep up that interest, when once it has got footing. Men must not let us see that we can make fools of them. And I think that smooth love, that is to say, a passion without rubs; in other words, a passion without passion, is like a sleepy stream that is hardly seen to give motion to a straw. So that, s
ometimes to make us fear, and even, for a short space, to hate the wretch, is productive of the contrary extreme.
If this be so, Lovelace, than whom no man was ever more polite and obsequious at the beginning, has hit the very point. For his turbulence since, his readiness to offend and his equal readiness to humble himself, as he is known to be a man of sense, and of courage too, must keep a woman’s passion alive; and at last tire her into a non-resistance that shall make her as passive as a tyrant husband would wish her to be.
I verily think that the different behaviour of our two heroes to their heroines makes out this doctrine to demonstration. I am so much accustomed, for my own part, to Hickman’s whining, creeping, submissive courtship that I now expect nothing but whine and cringe from him; and am so little moved with his nonsense that I am frequently forced to go to my harpsichord to keep me awake and to silence his humdrum. Whereas Lovelace keeps up the ball with a witness, and all his address and conversation is one continual game at racquet.
Your frequent quarrels and reconciliations verify this observation: and I really believe that could Hickman have kept my attention alive after the Lovelace manner, only that he had preserved his morals, I should have married the man by this time. But then he must have set out accordingly. For now, he can never, never recover himself; that’s certain: but must be a dangler to the end of the courtship chapter; and what is still worse for him, a passive to the end of his life.
Poor Hickman! perhaps you’ll say. I have been called your echo. Poor Hickman! say I.
You wonder, my dear, that Mr Lovelace took not notice to you of his aunt’s and cousin’s letters to him, overnight. I don’t like his keeping such a material and relative circumstance, as I may call it, one moment from you. By his communicating the contents of them to you next day, when you was angry with him, it looks as if he withheld them for occasional pacifiers; and if so, must he not have had a forethought that he might give you cause for anger? Of all the circumstances that have happened since you have been with him, I think I like this the least. This alone, my dear, small as it might look to an indifferent eye, in mine warrants all your cautions. Yet the foolish man, to let you know overnight that he had such letters! I can’t tell what to make of him.
Clarissa, Or, the History of a Young Lady Page 21