Why, indeed, the people did not prove so good as they should be. What farther have you heard?
I have heard, sir, that the lady had strange advantages taken of her, very unfair ones; but what I cannot say.
And cannot you say? Cannot you guess? Then I’ll tell you, sir. Perhaps some liberty was taken with her, when she was asleep. Do you think no lady ever was taken at such an advantage? You know, Mr Hickman, that ladies are very shy of trusting themselves with the modestest of our sex, when they are disposed to sleep; and why so, if they did not expect that advantages would be taken of them at such times?
But, sir, had not the lady something given her to make her sleep?
Ay, Mr Hickman, that’s the question: I want to know if the lady says she had?
I have not seen all she has written; but by what I have heard, it is a very black affair—excuse me, sir.
I do excuse you, Mr Hickman: but, supposing it were so, do you think a lady was never imposed upon by wine, or so? Do you think the most cautious woman in the world might not be cheated by a stronger liquor for a smaller, when she was thirsty, after a fatigue in this very warm weather? And do you think if she was thus thrown into a profound sleep, that she is the only lady that was ever taken at such advantage?
Even as you make it, Mr Lovelace, this matter is not a light one. But I fear it is a great deal heavier than as you put it.
What reasons have you to fear this, sir? What has the lady said? Pray, let me know. I have reason to be so earnest.
Why, sir, Miss Howe herself knows not the whole. The lady promises to give her all the particulars at a proper time, if she lives; but has said enough to make it out to be a very bad affair.
I am glad Miss Harlowe has not yet given all the particulars. And, since she has not, you may tell Miss Howe from me that neither she, nor any lady in the world, can be more virtuous than Miss Harlowe is to this hour, as to her own mind. Tell her that I hope she never will know the particulars; but that she has been unworthily used: tell her, that though I know not what she has said, yet I have such an opinion of her veracity that I would blindly subscribe to the truth of every tittle of it, though it make me ever so black. Will this, Mr Hickman, answer any part of the intention of this visit?
Why, sir, this is talking like a man of honour, I own.
No age, from the first to the present, ever produced, nor will the future to the end of the world, I dare aver, ever produce, a young blooming lady, tried as she has been tried, who has stood all trials as she has done. Let me tell you, sir, that you never saw, never knew, never heard of, such another lady as Miss Harlowe.
Far be it from me to question the lady. You have not heard me say a word, that could be so construed. I have the utmost honour for her. Miss Howe loves her, as she loves her own soul; and that she would not do if she were not sure she were as virtuous as herself.
As herself, sir! I have a high opinion of Miss Howe, sir—but, I dare say—
What, sir, dare you say of Miss Howe? I hope, sir, you will not presume to say anything to the disparagement of Miss Howe!
Presume, Mr Hickman! That is presuming language, let me tell you, Mr Hickman!
The occasion for it, Mr Lovelace, if designed, is presuming, if you please. I am not a man ready to take offence, sir—especially where I am employed as a mediator. But no man breathing shall say disparaging things of Miss Howe, in my hearing, without observation.
Well said, Mr Hickman. I dislike not your spirit, on such a supposed occasion. But what I was going to say is this, that there is not, in my opinion, a woman in the world who ought to compare herself with Miss Clarissa Harlowe, till she has stood her trials, and has behaved under them, and after them, as she has done. You see, sir, I speak against myself. You see I do. For, libertine as I am thought to be, I never will attempt to bring down the measures of right and wrong to the standard of my actions.
But you may gather from what I have said, that I prefer Miss Harlowe, and that upon the justest grounds, to all the women in the world. And I wonder that there should be any difficulty to believe, from what I have signed, and from what I have promised to my relations, and enabled them to promise for me, that I should be glad to marry that excellent lady upon her own terms. I acknowledge to you, Mr Hickman, that I have basely injured her. If she will honour me with her hand, I declare that it is my intention to make her the best of husbands. But nevertheless, I must say that, if she goes on appealing her case, and exposing us both, as she does, it is impossible to think the knot can be knit with reputation to either. And although, Mr Hickman, I have delivered my apprehensions under so ludicrous a figure, I am afraid that she will ruin her constitution; and by seeking death when she may shun him, will not be able to avoid him when she would be glad to do so.
This cool and honest speech let down his stiffened muscles into complacency. He was my very obedient and faithful humble servant several times over, as I waited on him to his chariot: and I was his almost as often.
And so exit Hickman.
Letter 351: MISS HOWE TO MISS ARABELLA HARLOWE
Thursday, July 20
Miss Harlowe,
I cannot help acquainting you, however it may be received as coming from me, that your poor sister is dangerously ill at the house of one Smith, who keeps a glover’s and perfume shop, in King Street, Covent Garden. She knows not that I write. Some violent words, in the nature of an imprecation, from her father, afflict her greatly in her weak state. I presume not to direct to you what to do in this case. You are her sister. I therefore could not help writing to you, not only for her sake, but for your own.
I am, madam, Your humble servant,
ANNA HOWE
Letter 352: MISS ARABELLA HARLOWE TO MISS ANNA HOWE
Thursday, July 20
Miss Howe,
I have yours of this morning. All that has happened to the unhappy body you mention is what we foretold and expected. Let him for whose sake she abandoned us be her comfort. We are told he has remorse, and would marry her. We don’t believe it, indeed. She may be very ill. Her disappointment may make her so, or ought. Yet is she the only one I know, who is disappointed.
I cannot say, miss, that the notification from you is the more welcome for the liberties you have been pleased to take with our whole family, for resenting a conduct that it is a shame any young lady should justify. Excuse this freedom, occasioned by greater.
I am, miss, Your humble servant,
ARABELLA HARLOWE
Letter 358: MISS HOWE TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE
Sat. July 22
My dearest friend,
We are busy in preparing for our little journey and voyage but I will be ill, I will be very ill, if I cannot hear you are better before I go.
Rogers greatly afflicted me by telling me the bad way you are in. But now you have been able to hold a pen, and as your sense is strong and clear, I hope that the amusement you will receive from writing will make you better.
I dispatch this by an extraordinary way, that it may reach you time enough to move you to consider well before you absolutely decide upon the contents of mine of the 13th, on the subject of the two Misses Montague’s visit to me; since, according to what you write, must I answer them.
In your last, you conclude very positively that you will not be his. To be sure, he rather deserves an infamous death than such a wife. But, as I really believe him innocent of the arrest, and as all his family are such earnest pleaders, and will be guarantees for him, I think the compliance with their entreaties, and his own, will be now the best step you can take; your own family remaining implacable, as I can assure you they do. He is a man of sense; and it is not impossible but he may make you a good husband, and in time may become no bad man.
My mother is entirely of my opinion: and on Friday, pursuant to a hint I gave you in my last, Mr Hickman had a conference with the strange wretch. And th
ough he liked not, by any means, his behaviour to himself; nor, indeed, had reason to do so; yet he is of opinion that he is sincerely determined to marry you, if you will condescend to have him.
So, my dearest friend, I charge you, if you can, to get over your aversion to this vile man. You may yet live to see many happy days, and be once more the delight of all your friends, neighbours, and acquaintance, as well as a stay, a comfort, and a blessing, to your Anna Howe.
I long to have your answer to mine of the 13th. Pray keep the messenger till it be ready. If he return on Monday night, it will be time enough for his affairs, and to find me come back from Colonel Ambrose’s; who gives a ball on the anniversary of Mrs Ambrose’s birth and marriage, both in one.
My mother promised the colonel for me and herself, in my absence. I would fain have excused myself to her; and the rather, as I had exceptions on account of the day: but she is almost as young as her daughter; and thinking it not so well to go without me, she told me she could propose nothing that was agreeable to me. And having had a few sparring blows with each other very lately, I think I must comply.
Oh my dear, how many things happen in this life to give us displeasure! how few to give us joy! I am sure I shall have none on this occasion; since the true partner of my heart, the principal half of the one soul that, it used to be said, animated the pair of friends, as we were called; You, my dear (who used to irradiate every circle you set your foot into, and to give me real significance, in a second place to yourself), cannot be there! Adieu, my dear!
A. HOWE
Letter 359: MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE TO MISS HOWE
Sunday, July 23
What pain, my dearest friend, does your kind solicitude for my welfare give me! How much more binding and tender are the ties of pure friendship, and the union of like minds, than the ties of nature!
You set before me your reasons, enforced by the opinion of your honoured mother, why I should think of Mr Lovelace for a husband.
And I have before me your letter of the 13th, containing the account of the visit and proposals, and kind interposition, of the two Misses Montague, in the names of the good Ladies Sarah Sadleir and Betty Lawrance, and that of Lord M.
And I have as well weighed the whole matter, and your arguments in support of your advice, as at present my head and my heart will let me weigh them.
I am, moreover, willing to believe, not only from your own opinion, but from the assurances of one of Mr Lovelace’s friends, Mr Belford, a good-natured and humane man, who spares not to censure the author of my calamities (I think, with undissembled and undesigning sincerity), that that man is innocent of the disgraceful arrest:
And even, if you please, in sincere compliment to your opinion, and to that of Mr Hickman, that (over-persuaded by his friends, and ashamed of his unmerited baseness to me) he, in earnest, would marry me if I would have him.
‘Well, and now, what is the result of all? It is this—that I must abide by what I have already declared—and that is (don’t be angry at me, my best friend) that I have much more pleasure in thinking of death, than of such a husband. In short, as I declared in my last, that I cannot—forgive me, if I say I will not—ever be his.
‘But you will expect my reasons: I know you will: and if I give them not, will conclude me either obstinate, or implacable, or both: and those would be sad imputations, if just, to be laid to the charge of a person who thinks and talks of dying. And yet, to say that resentment and disappointment have no part in my determination would be saying a thing hardly to be credited. For I own I have resentments, strong resentments, but not unreasonable ones, as you will be convinced if already you are not so, when you know all my story—if ever you do know it. For I begin to fear (so many things more necessary to be thought of, than either this man, or my own vindication, have I to do) that I shall not have time to compass what I have intended, and, in a manner, promised you.
‘But now, my dear, for your satisfaction let me say, that although I wish not for life, yet would I not like a poor coward desert my post, when I can maintain it, and when it is my duty to maintain it.
‘Oh my dear, you know not what I suffered on that occasion! Nor do I what I escaped at the time, if the wicked man had approached me to execute the horrid purposes of his vile heart. High resolution, a courage I never knew before; a settled, not a rash courage; and such a command of my passions—I can only say I know not how I came by such an uncommon elevation of mind, if it were not given me in answer to my earnest prayers to Heaven for such a command of myself, before I entered into the horrid company.’
When appetite serves, I will eat and drink what is sufficient to support nature. A very little, you know, will do for that. And whatever my physicians shall think fit to prescribe, I will take, though ever so disagreeable.
And now, my dearest friend, you know all my mind. And you will be pleased to write to the ladies of Mr Lovelace’s family, that I think myself infinitely obliged to them for their good opinion of me; and that it has given me greater pleasure than I thought I had to come in this life, that upon the little knowledge they have of me, and that not personal, I was thought worthy (after the ill usage I have received) of an alliance with their honourable family: but that I can by no means think of their kinsman for a husband: and do you, my dear, extract from the above, such reasons as you think have any weight in them.
I should be glad to know when you set out on your journey; as also your little stages; and your time of stay at your aunt Harman’s; that my prayers may locally attend you, whithersoever you go, and wherever you are.
CLARISSA HARLOWE
Letter 365: MR BELFORD TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ.
Wednesday, July 26
About three o’clock I went again to Smith’s. The lady was writing when I sent up my name; but admitted of my visit. I saw a visible alteration in her countenance for the worse; and Mrs Lovick respectfully accusing her of too great assiduity to her pen, early and late, and of her abstinence the day before. I took notice of the alteration; and told her that her physician had greater hopes of her than she had of herself; and I would take the liberty to say that despair of recovery allowed not room for cure.
She said she neither despaired nor hoped. Then stepping to the glass, with great composure, My countenance, says she, is indeed an honest picture of my heart. But the mind will run away with the body at any time.
Writing is all my diversion, continued she; and I have subjects that cannot be dispensed with. As to my hours, I have always been an early riser: but now rest is less in my power than ever: sleep has a long time ago quarrelled with me, and will not be friends, although I have made the first advances. What will be, must.
She then stepped to her closet, and brought to me a parcel sealed up with three seals. Be so kind, said she, as to give this to your friend. A very grateful present it ought to be to him: for, sir, this packet contains all his letters to me. Such letters they are, as, compared with his actions, would reflect dishonour upon all his sex, were they to fall into other hands.
As to my letters to him, they are not many. He may either keep or destroy them as he pleases.
I thought I ought not to forgo this opportunity to plead for you: I therefore, with the packet in my hand, urged all the arguments I could think of in your favour.
She heard me out with more attention than I could have promised myself, considering her determined resolution.
I would not interrupt you, Mr Belford, said she, though I am far from being pleased with the subject of your discourse. The motives for your pleas in his favour are generous. I love to see instances of generous friendship in either sex. But I have written my full mind on this subject to Miss Howe, who will communicate it to the ladies of his family. No more, therefore, I pray you, upon a topic that may lead to disagreeable recriminations.
Her apothecary came in. He advised her to the air, and blamed her for so great an application
as he was told she made to her pen; and he gave it as the doctor’s opinion, as well as his own, that she would recover if she herself desired to recover, and would use the means.
The lady may indeed write too much for her health, perhaps; but I have observed on several occasions, that when the physical men are at a loss what to prescribe, they forbid their patients what they best like, and are most diverted with.
Mr Goddard took his leave; and I was going to do so too, when the maid came up and told her a gentleman was below, who very earnestly inquired after her health, and desired to see her: his name Hickman.
She was overjoyed; and bid the maid desire the gentleman to walk up.
I would have withdrawn; but I suppose she thought it was likely I should have met him upon the stairs, and so she forbid it.
She shot to the stairs-head to receive him, and, taking his hand, asked half a dozen questions (without waiting for any answer) in relation to Miss Howe’s health; acknowledging, in high terms, her goodness in sending him to see her before she set out upon her little journey.
He gave her a letter from that young lady; which she put into her bosom, saying she would read it by and by.
Letter 367: MISS HOWE TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE
Tuesday, July 25
Your two affecting letters were brought to me (as I had directed any letter from you should be), to the colonel’s, about an hour before we broke up. I could not forbear dipping into them there; and shedding more tears over them than I will tell you of; although I dried my eyes, as well as I could, that the company I was obliged to return to, and my mamma, should see as little of my concern as possible.
How can I bear the thoughts of losing so dear a friend! I will not so much as suppose it. Indeed I cannot! Such a mind as yours was not vested in humanity to be snatched away from us so soon. There must be still a great deal for you to do, for the good of all who have the happiness to know you.
Clarissa, Or, the History of a Young Lady Page 47