I will not content myself with distant hints. It is with very great concern that I have just now heard of a declaration which you are said to have made to your relations at Harlowe Place, that you will not rest till you have avenged your cousin’s wrongs upon Mr Lovelace.
Far be it from me to offer to defend the unhappy man, or even unduly to extenuate his crime: but yet I must say, that the family, by their persecutions of the dear lady at first, and by their implacableness afterwards, ought at least to share the blame with him. There is even great reason to believe that a lady of such a religious turn, her virtue neither to be surprised nor corrupted, her will inviolate, would have got over a mere personal injury; especially as he would have done all that was in his power to repair it; and as, from the application of all his family in his favour, and other circumstances attending his sincere and voluntary offer, the lady might have condescended, with greater glory to herself than if he had never offended.
When I have the pleasure of seeing you next, I will acquaint you, sir, with all the circumstances of this melancholy story; from which you will see that Mr Lovelace was extremely ill-treated at first by the whole family, this admirable lady excepted. This exception, I know, heightens his crime: but as his principal intention was but to try her virtue; and that he became so earnest a suppliant to her for marriage; and as he has suffered so deplorably in the loss of his reason for not having it in his power to repair her wrongs; I presume to hope that much is to be pleaded against such a resolution as you are said to have made.
My dear Colonel Morden, the highest injury was to her: her family all have a share in the cause: she forgives it: why should we not endeavour to imitate what we admire?
You asked me, sir, when in town, if a brave man could be a premeditatedly base one? Generally speaking, I believe bravery and baseness are incompatible. But Mr Lovelace’s character, in the instance before us, affords a proof of the truth of the common observation that there is no general rule but has its exceptions: for England, I believe, as gallant a nation as it is deemed to be, has not in it a braver spirit than his; nor a man who has greater skill at his weapons; nor more calmness with his skill.
Excuse me, sir, for the sake of my executorial duty and promise, keeping in eye the dear lady’s personal injunctions as well as written will, enforced by letters posthumous. Every article of which (solicitous as we both are to see it duly performed) she would have dispensed with, rather than farther mischief should happen on her account. I am,
Dear sir, Your affectionate and faithful servant,
JOHN BELFORD
Letter 519: COLONEL MORDEN TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.
Sat. Sept. 23
Dear sir,
I have indeed expressed myself with vehemence upon the occasion. Who could forbear to do so? But it is not my way to resolve in matters of moment till opportunity brings the execution of my purposes within my reach. We shall see what manner of spirit this young man will be acted by, on his recovery. If he continue to brave and defy a family which he has so irreparably injured—if—But resolutions depending upon future contingencies are best left to future determination, as I just now hinted.
As to your arguments; I hope you will believe me when I assure you as I now do, that your opinion and your reasonings have, and will always have, great and deserved weight with me: and that I respect you still more than I did, if possible, for your expostulations in favour of the end of my cousin’s pious injunctions to me. They come from you, sir, with the greatest propriety, as her executor and representative; and likewise as you are a man of humanity, and a well-wisher to both parties.
I am not exempt from violent passions, sir, any more than your friend; but then I hope they are only capable of being raised by other people’s insolence, and not by my own arrogance.
• • •
You, sir, who know more of the barbarous machinations and practices of this strange man can help me to still more inflaming reasons, were they needed, why a man not perfect may stand excused to the generality of the world, if he should pursue his vengeance.
I intend to wait upon Miss Howe in person with the diamond ring, and such other of the effects bequeathed to her as are here. I am, sir,
Your most faithful and obliged servant,
WM. MORDEN
Letter 520: COLONEL MORDEN TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.
Tuesday, Sept. 26
Dear sir,
I waited upon Miss Howe myself, as I told you I would, with what was bequeathed to her and her mother. If I make a few observations with regard to that young lady, so dear to my beloved cousin, you will not be displeased perhaps, as you have not a personal acquaintance with her.
There never was a firmer and nobler friendship in women than that which the wretched man has put an end to between my dear cousin and Miss Howe.
Friendship, generally speaking, Mr Belford, is too fervent a flame for female minds to manage: a light that but in few of their hands burns steady, and often hurries the sex into flight and absurdity. Like other extremes, it is hardly ever durable. Marriage, which is the highest state of friendship, generally absorbs the most vehement friendships of female to female; and that whether the wedlock be happy or not.
• • •
What female mind is capable of two fervent friendships at the same time?
This I mention as a general observation: but the friendship that subsisted between these two ladies affords a remarkable exception to it: which I account for from those qualities and attainments in both, which, were they more common, would furnish more exceptions still in favour of the sex. Both had an enlarged, and even a liberal education: both had minds thirsting after virtuous knowledge. Great readers both: great writers (and early familiar writing I take to be one of the greatest openers and improvers of the mind that man or woman can be employed in). Both generous. High in fortune; therefore above that dependence each on the other that frequently destroys the familiarity which is the cement of friendship. Both excelling in different ways, in which neither sought to emulate the other. Both blessed with clear and distinguishing faculties; with solid sense; and from their first intimacy (I have many of my lights, sir, from Mrs Norton) each seeing something in the other to fear, as well as love; yet making it an indispensable condition of their friendship each to tell the other of her failings; and to be thankful for the freedom taken. One by nature gentle; the other made so by her love and admiration of her exalted friend—impossible that there could be a friendship better calculated for duration.
I must however take the liberty to blame Miss Howe for her behaviour to Mr Hickman. And I infer from it, that even women of sense are not to be trusted with power.
By the way, I am sure I need not desire you not to communicate to this fervent young lady the liberties I take with her character.
I dare say my cousin could not approve of Miss Howe’s behaviour to this gentleman: a behaviour which is talked of by as many as know Mr Hickman and her. Can a wise young lady be easy under such censure? She must know it.
Mr Hickman is really a very worthy man. Everybody speaks well of him. But he is gentle-dispositioned, and he adores Miss Howe; and love admits not of an air of even due dignity to the object of it. Yet will he hardly ever get back the reins he has yielded up; unless she, by carrying too far the power she seems at present too sensible of, should, when she has no favours to confer which he has not a right to demand, provoke him to throw off the too heavy yoke. And should he do so, and then treat her with negligence, Miss Howe of all the women I know will be the least able to support herself under it. She will then be more unhappy than she ever made him: for a man who is uneasy at home can divert himself abroad; which a woman cannot so easily do without scandal.
Permit me to take further notice as to Miss Howe, that it is very obvious to me that she has, by her haughty behaviour to this worthy man, involved herself in one difficulty from which she knows not how to ex
tricate herself with that grace which accompanies all her actions. She intends to have Mr Hickman. I believe she does not dislike him. And it will cost her no small pains to descend from the elevation she has climbed to.
Another inconveniency, she will suffer from her having taught everybody (for she is above disguise) to think by her treatment of Mr Hickman much more meanly of him than he deserves to be thought of. And must she not suffer dishonour in his dishonour?
Mrs Howe is much disturbed at her daughter’s behaviour to the gentleman. He is very deservedly a favourite of hers. But (another failing in Miss Howe!) her mother has not all the authority with her that her daughter’s good sense ought to permit her to have. It is very difficult, Mr Belford, for people of different or contrary dispositions (though no bad people neither) to mingle REVERENCE with their love for each other; even where nature has called for love in the relationship.
Miss Howe is open, generous, noble. The mother has not any of these fine qualities. Parents, in order to preserve their children’s veneration for them, should take great care not to let them see anything in their conduct or behaviour, or principles, which they themselves would not approve of in others.
But, after all, I see that there is something so charmingly brilliant and frank in Miss Howe’s disposition, although at present visibly overclouded by grief, that it is impossible not to love her even for her failings. She may, and I hope she will, make Mr Hickman an obliging wife. And if she do, she will have an additional merit with me; since she cannot be apprehensive of check or control; and may therefore by her generosity and prudence lay an obligation upon her husband by the performance of what is no more than her duty.
Her mother both loves and fears her.
Yet once she praised her daughter to me for the generosity of her spirit, with so much warmth that had I not known the old lady’s character, I should have thought her generous herself. And yet I have always observed that people even of narrow tempers are ready to praise generous ones—and thus have I accounted for it, that such persons generally find it to their purpose, that all the world should be open-minded but themselves.
The old lady applied herself to me to urge to the young one the contents of the will, in order to hasten her to fix a day for her marriage: but desired that I would not let Miss Howe know that she did.
I took the liberty upon it to tell the young lady that I hoped that her part of a will, so soon and so punctually in almost all its other articles fulfilled, would not be the only one that would be slighted.
Her answer was she would consider of it: and made me a curtsy with such an air as showed me that she thought me more out of my sphere than I could allow her to think me had I been permitted to argue the point with her.
I found both Miss Howe and her own servant-maid in deep mourning. This, it seems, had occasioned a great debate at first between her mother and her. Her mother had the words of the will on her side; and Mr Hickman’s interest in her view; as her daughter had said that she would wear it for six months at least. But the young lady carried her point—’Strange, said she, if I who shall mourn the heavy, the irreparable loss to the last hour of my life should not show my concern to the world for a few months.’
Mr Hickman for his part was so far from uttering an opposing word on this occasion, that on the very day that Miss Howe put on hers, he waited on her in a new suit of mourning as for a near relation. His servants and equipage made the same respectful appearance.
Whether the mother was consulted by him in it, I cannot say; but the daughter knew nothing of it till she saw him in it. She looked at him with surprise, and asked him for whom he mourned?
The dear, and ever-dear Miss Harlowe, he said.
She was at a loss, it seems. At last—All the world ought to mourn for my Clarissa, said she; but who, man (that was her address to him), thinkest thou to oblige by this appearance?
It is more than appearance, madam. I love not my own sister, worthy as she is, better than I loved Miss Clarissa Harlowe. I oblige myself by it. And if I disoblige not you, that is all I have to wish.
But let me add, Mr Belford, that if this compliment of Mr Hickman (or this more than compliment as I may well call it, since the worthy man speaks not of my dear cousin without emotion) does not produce a short day, I shall think Miss Howe has less generosity in her temper than I am willing to allow her.
You will excuse me, Mr Belford, I dare say, for the particularities which you have invited and encouraged.
I hope soon to pay my respects to you in town. Meantime, I am, with great respect, dear sir,
Your faithful and affectionate humble servant,
WM. MORDEN
Letter 521: MR BELFORD TO MISS HOWE
Thursday, Sept. 28
Madam,
I do myself the honour to send you with this, according to my promise, copies of the posthumous letters written by your exalted friend.
These will be accompanied with other letters.
One of the letters of Colonel Morden’s which I enclose, you will observe, madam, is only a copy. The true reason for which, as I will ingenuously acknowledge is some free but respectful observations which the colonel has made upon you, madam, for declining to carry into execution your part of your dear friend’s last requests. I have therefore, in respect to that worthy gentleman (having a caution from him on that head) omitted those parts.
Will you allow me, madam, however, to tell you that I myself could not have believed that my inimitable testatrix’s own Miss Howe would have been the most backward in performing such a part of her dear friend’s last will as is entirely in her own power to perform—especially when that performance would make one of the most deserving men in England happy; and whom, I presume, she proposes to honour with her hand?
Excuse me, madam. I have a most sincere veneration for you; and would not disoblige you for the world.
I am, madam, with the greatest respect and gratitude,
Your most obliged and faithful humble servant,
J. BELFORD
Letter 523: MISS HOWE TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.
Monday, Oct. 2
When you question me, sir, as you do and on a subject so affecting to me, in the character of the representative of my best-beloved friend, and have in every particular hitherto acted up to that character, you are entitled to my regard: especially as in your questioning of me you are joined by a gentleman whom I look upon as the dearest and nearest (because worthiest) relation of my dear friend: and who, it seems, has been so severe a censurer of my conduct, that your politeness will not permit you to send me his letter, with others of his; but a copy only, in which the passages reflecting upon me are omitted.
I presume, however, that what is meant by this alarming freedom of the colonel’s is no more than what you both have already hinted to me; as if you thought I were not inclined to pay so much regard to my beloved creature’s last will in my own case, as I would have others pay to it. A charge that I ought not to be quite silent under.
You have observed, no doubt, that I have seemed to value myself upon the freedom I take in declaring my sentiments without reserve upon every subject that I pretend to touch upon: and I can hardly question that I have, or shall, in your opinion, by my unceremonious treatment of you upon so short an acquaintance, run into the error of those who, wanting to be thought above hypocrisy and flattery, fall into rusticity, if not ill-manners; a common fault with such who, not caring to correct constitutional failings, seek to gloss them over by some nominal virtue; when all the time perhaps it is native arrogance; or at least a contracted rust, that they will not, because it would give them pain, submit to have filed off.
You see, sir, that I can, however, be as free with myself as with you: and, by what I am going to write, you will find me still more free: and yet I am aware that such of my sex as will not assume some little dignity, and exact respect from yours, will render t
hemselves cheap; and perhaps, for their modesty and diffidence, be repaid with scorn and insult.
But the scorn I will endeavour not to deserve; and the insult I will not bear.
In some of the dear creature’s papers, which you have had in your possession, and must again have for transcription, you will find several friendly but severe reprehensions of me, on account of a natural, or at least an habitual, warmth of temper which she was pleased to impute to me.
I was thinking to give you her charge against me in her own words, from one of her letters delivered to me with her own hands, on taking leave of me, on the last visit she honoured me with. But I will supply that charge by confession of more than it imports; to wit, ‘That I am haughty, uncontrollable, and violent in my temper’; this I say: ‘Impatient of contradiction,’ was my beloved’s charge (from anybody but her dear self, she should have said); ‘and aim not at that affability, that gentleness next to meekness, which in the letter I was going to communicate she tells me are the peculiar and indispensable characteristics of a real fine lady; who, she is pleased to say, should appear to be gall-less as a dove; and never should know what warmth or high spirit is, but in the cause of religion or virtue; or in cases where her own honour, the honour of a friend, or that of an innocent person, is concerned.’
Now, sir, as I must needs plead guilty to this indictment, do you think I ought not to resolve upon a single life? I, who have such an opinion of your sex, that I think there is not one man in an hundred whom a woman of sense and spirit can either honour or obey, though you make us promise both, in that solemn form of words which unites or rather binds us to you in marriage?
When I look round upon all the married people of my acquaintance, and see how they live, and what they bear, who live best, I am confirmed in my dislike to the state.
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