Clarissa Harlowe; or the history of a young lady — Volume 2

by Samuel Richardson

  LETTER XIV

  MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE SAT. MARCH 25.

  I follow my last of this date by command. I mentioned in my former mymother's opinion of the merit you would have, if you could oblige yourfriends against your own inclination. Our conference upon this subjectwas introduced by the conversation we had had with Sir Harry Downeton;and my mother thinks it of so much importance, that she enjoins me togive you the particulars of it. I the rather comply, as I was unable inmy last to tell what to advise you to; and as you will in this recitalhave my mother's opinion at least, and, perhaps, in hers what theworld's would be, were it only to know what she knows, and not so muchas I know.

  My mother argues upon this case in a most discouraging manner for allsuch of our sex as look forward for happiness in marriage with the manof their choice.

  Only, that I know, she has a side-view of her daughter; who, at thesame time that she now prefers no one to another, values not the man hermother most regards, of one farthing; or I should lay it more to heart.

  What is there in it, says she, that all this bustle is about? Is it sucha mighty matter for a young woman to give up her inclinations to obligeher friends?

  Very well, my mamma, thought I! Now, may you ask this--at FORTY, youmay. But what would you have said at EIGHTEEN, is the question?

  Either, said she, the lady must be thought to have very violentinclinations [And what nice young creature would have that supposed?]which she could not give up; or a very stubborn will, which she wouldnot; or, thirdly, have parents she was indifferent about obliging.

  You know my mother now-and-then argues very notably; always very warmlyat least. I happen often to differ from her; and we both think so wellof our own arguments, that we very seldom are so happy as to convinceone another. A pretty common case, I believe, in all vehement debatings.She says, I am too witty; Angelice, too pert: I, That she is too wise;that is to say, being likewise put into English, not so young as she hasbeen: in short, is grown so much into mother, that she has forgottenshe ever was a daughter. So, generally, we call another cause byconsent--yet fall into the old one half a dozen times over, withoutconsent--quitting and resuming, with half-angry faces, forced into asmile, that there might be some room to piece together again: but goa-bed, if bedtime, a little sullen nevertheless: or, if we speak, hersilence is broken with an Ah! Nancy! You are so lively! so quick! I wishyou were less like your papa, child!

  I pay it off with thinking, that my mother has no reason to disclaim hershare in her Nancy: and if the matter go off with greater severity onher side than I wish for, then her favourite Hickman fares the worse forit next day.

  I know I am a saucy creature. I know, if I do not say so, you will thinkso. So no more of this just now. What I mention it for, is to tell you,that on this serious occasion I will omit, if I can, all that passedbetween us, that had an air of flippancy on my part, or quickness on mymother's, to let you into the cool and cogent of the conversation.

  'Look through the families, said she, which we both know, where the manand the woman have been said to marry for love; which (at the time itis so called) is perhaps no more than a passion begun in folly orthoughtlessness, and carried on from a spirit of perverseness andopposition [here we had a parenthetical debate, which I omit]; and see,if they appear to be happier than those whose principal inducement tomarry has been convenience, or to oblige their friends; or ever whetherthey are generally so happy: for convenience and duty, where observed,will afford a permanent and even an increasing satisfaction (as wellat the time, as upon the reflection) which seldom fail to rewardthemselves: while love, if love be the motive, is an idle passion' [idlein ONE SENSE my mother cannot say; for love is as busy as a monkey, andas mischievous as a school-boy]--'it is a fervour, that, like all otherfervours, lasts but a little while after marriage; a bow overstrained,that soon returns to its natural bent.

  'As it is founded generally upon mere notional excellencies, whichwere unknown to the persons themselves till attributed to either by theother; one, two, or three months, usually sets all right on both sides;and then with opened eyes they think of each other--just as every bodyelse thought of them before.

  'The lovers imaginaries [her own notable word!] are by that time goneoff; nature and old habits (painfully dispensed with or concealed)return: disguises thrown aside, all the moles, freckles, and defects inthe minds of each discover themselves; and 'tis well if each do not sinkin the opinion of the other, as much below the common standard, as theblinded imagination of both had set them above it. And now, said she,the fond pair, who knew no felicity out of each other's company, areso far from finding the never-ending variety each had proposed inan unrestrained conversation with the other (when they seldom weretogether; and always parted with something to say; or, on recollection,when parted, wishing they had said); that they are continually on thewing in pursuit of amusements out of themselves; and those, concluded mysage mamma, [Did you think her wisdom so very modern?] will perhaps bethe livelier to each, in which the other has no share.'

  I told my mother, that if you were to take any rash step, it would beowing to the indiscreet violence of your friends. I was afraid, I said,that these reflection upon the conduct of people in the married state,who might set out with better hopes, were but too well grounded: butthat this must be allowed me, that if children weighed not these mattersso thoroughly as they ought, neither did parents make those allowancesfor youth, inclination, and inexperience, which had been found necessaryto be made for themselves at their children's time of life.

  I remembered a letter, I told her, hereupon, which you wrote a fewmonths ago, personating an anonymous elderly lady (in Mr. Wyerley'sday of plaguing you) to Miss Drayton's mother, who, by her severity andrestraints, had like to have driven the young lady into the very faultagainst which her mother was most solicitous to guard her. And I daredto say, she would be pleased with it.

  I fetched the first draught of it, which at my request you obliged meat the time; and read the whole letter to my mother. But the followingpassage she made me read twice. I think you once told me you had not acopy of this letter.

  'Permit me, Madam, [says the personated grave writer,] to observe, Thatif persons of your experience would have young people look forward, inorder to be wiser and better by their advice, it would be kind in themto look backward, and allow for their children's youth, and naturalvivacity; in other words, for their lively hopes, unabated by time,unaccompanied by reflection, and unchecked by disappointment. Thingsappear to us all in a very different light at our entrance upona favourite party, or tour; when, with golden prospects, and highexpectations, we rise vigorous and fresh like the sun beginning itsmorning course; from what they do, when we sit down at the end of ourviews, tired, and preparing for our journey homeward: for then we takeinto our reflection, what we had left out in prospect, the fatigues,the checks, the hazards, we had met with; and make a true estimate ofpleasures, which from our raised expectations must necessarily havefallen miserably short of what we had promised ourselves at setting out.Nothing but experience can give us a strong and efficacious convictionof this difference: and when we would inculcate the fruits of that uponthe minds of those we love, who have not lived long enough to find thosefruits; and would hope, that our advice should have as much force uponthem, as experience has upon us; and which, perhaps, our parents' advicehad not upon ourselves, at our daughter' time of life; should we notproceed by patient reasoning and gentleness, that we may not harden,where we would convince? For, Madam, the tenderest and most generousminds, when harshly treated, become generally the most inflexible. Ifthe young lady knows her heart to be right, however defective herhead may be for want of age and experience, she will be apt to be verytenacious. And if she believes her friends to be wrong, although perhapsthey may be only so in their methods of treating her, how much willevery unkind circumstance on the parent's part, or heedless one on thechild's, though ever so slight in itself, widen the difference! Theparent's prejudice in disfavour,
will confirm the daughter's in favour,of the same person; and the best reasonings in the world on either side,will be attributed to that prejudice. In short, neither of them will beconvinced: a perpetual opposition ensues: the parent grows impatient;the child desperate: and, as a too natural consequence, that fallsout which the mother was most afraid of, and which possibly had nothappened, if the child's passions had been only led, not driven.'

  My mother was pleased with the whole letter; and said, It deserved tohave the success it met with. But asked me what excuse could be offeredfor a young lady capable of making such reflections (and who at her timeof life could so well assume the character of one of riper years) if sheshould rush into any fatal mistake herself?

  She then touched upon the moral character of Mr. Lovelace; and howreasonable the aversion of your reflections is to a man who giveshimself the liberties he is said to take; and who indeed himself deniesnot the accusation; having been heard to declare, that he will do allthe mischief he can to the sex, in revenge for the ill usage andbroken vows of his first love, at a time when he was too young [his ownexpression it seems] to be insincere.

  I replied, that I had heard every one say, that the lady meant reallyused him ill; that it affected him so much at the time, that he wasforced to travel upon it; and to drive her out of his heart, ran intocourses which he had ingenuousness enough himself to condemn: that,however, he had denied that he had thrown out such menaces against thesex when charged with them by me in your presence; and declared himselfincapable of so unjust and ungenerous a resentment against all, for theperfidy of one.

  You remember this, my dear, as I do your innocent observation upon it,that you could believe his solemn asseveration and denial: 'For surely,said you, the man who would resent, as the highest indignity that couldbe offered to a gentleman, the imputation of a wilful falsehood, wouldnot be guilty of one.'

  I insisted upon the extraordinary circumstances in your case;particularizing them. I took notice, that Mr. Lovelace's morals were atone time no objection with your relations for Arabella: that then muchwas built upon his family, and more upon his part and learning, whichmade it out of doubt, that he might be reclaimed by a woman of virtueand prudence: and [pray forgive me for mentioning it] I ventured toadd, that although your family might be good sort of folks, as the worldwent, yet no body but you imputed to any of them a very punctiliousconcern for religion or piety--therefore were they the less entitled toobject to defect of that kind in others. Then, what an odious man, saidI, have they picked out, to supplant in a lady's affections one of thefinest figures of a man, and one noted for his brilliant parts, andother accomplishments, whatever his morals may be!

  Still my mother insisted, that there was the greater merit in yourobedience on that account; and urged, that there hardly ever was a veryhandsome and a very sprightly man who made a tender and affectionatehusband: for that they were generally such Narcissus's, as to imagineevery woman ought to think as highly of them, as they did of themselves.

  There was no danger from that consideration here, I said, because thelady still had greater advantages of person and mind, than the man;graceful and elegant, as he must be allowed to be, beyond most of hissex.

  She cannot endure to hear me praise any man but her favourite Hickman;upon whom, nevertheless, she generally brings a degree of contempt whichhe would escape, did she not lessen the little merit he has, by givinghim, on all occasions, more than I think he can deserve, and enteringhim into comparisons in which it is impossible but he must be asufferer. And now [preposterous partiality!] she thought for her part,that Mr. Hickman, bating that his face indeed was not so smooth, nor hiscomplexion quite so good, and saving that he was not so presuming andso bold (which ought to be no fault with a modest woman) equaled Mr.Lovelace at any hour of the day.

  To avoid entering further into such an incomparable comparison, I said,I did not believe, had they left you to your own way, and treated yougenerously, that you would have had the thought of encouraging any manwhom they disliked--

  Then, Nancy, catching me up, the excuse is less--for if so, must therenot be more of contradiction, than love, in the case?

  Not so, neither, Madam: for I know Miss Clarissa Harlowe would preferMr. Lovelace to all men, if morals--

  IF, Nancy!--That if is every thing.--Do you really think she loves Mr.Lovelace?

  What would you have had me say, my dear?--I won't tell you what I didsay: But had I not said what I did, who would have believed me?

  Besides, I know you love him!--Excuse me, my dear: Yet, if you deny it,what do you but reflect upon yourself, as if you thought you ought notto allow yourself in what you cannot help doing?

  Indeed, Madam, said I, the man is worthy of any woman's love [if, again,I could say]--But her parents--

  Her parents, Nancy--[You know, my dear, how my mother, who accuses herdaughter of quickness, is evermore interrupting one!]

  May take wrong measures, said I--

  Cannot do wrong--they have reason, I'll warrant, said she--

  By which they may provoke a young woman, said I, to do rash things,which otherwise she would not do.

  But, if it be a rash thing, [returned she,] should she do it? A prudentdaughter will not wilfully err, because her parents err, if they were toerr: if she do, the world which blames the parents, will not acquit thechild. All that can be said, in extenuation of a daughter's error inthis case, arises from a kind consideration, which Miss Clary's letterto Lady Drayton pleads for, to be paid to her daughter's youth andinexperience. And will such an admirable young person as Miss ClarissaHarlowe, whose prudence, as we see, qualifies her to be an advisor ofpersons much older than herself, take shelter under so poor a covert?

  Let her know, Nancy, out of hand, what I say; and I charge you torepresent farther to her, That let he dislike one man and approveof another ever so much, it will be expected of a young lady of herunbounded generosity and greatness of mind, that she should deny herselfwhen she can oblige all her family by so doing--no less than ten or adozen perhaps the nearest and dearest to her of all the persons in theworld, an indulgent father and mother at the head of them. It may befancy only on her side; but parents look deeper: And will not MissClarissa Harlowe give up her fancy to her parents' judgment?

  I said a great deal upon this judgment subject: all that you could wishI should say; and all that your extraordinary case allowed me to say.And my mother was so sensible of the force of it, that she charged menot to write to you any part of my answer to what she said; but onlywhat she herself had advanced; lest, in so critical a case, it shouldinduce you to take measures which might give us both reason (me forgiving it, you for following it) to repent it as long as we lived.

  And thus, my dear, have I set my mother's arguments before you. And therather, as I cannot myself tell what to advise you to do--you know bestyour own heart; and what that will let you do.

  Robin undertakes to deposit this very early, that you may have anopportunity to receive it by your first morning airing.

  Heaven guide and direct you for the best, is the incessant prayer of

  Your ever affectionate ANNA HOWE.