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

by Samuel Richardson

  LETTER XXIX

  MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE SATURDAY, APRIL 1.

  Hasty censures do indeed subject themselves to the charge ofvariableness and inconsistency in judgment: and so they ought; for,if you, even you, my dear, were so loth to own a mistake, as in theinstance before us you pretend you were, I believe I should not haveloved you so well as I really do love you. Nor could you, in that case,have so frankly thrown the reflection I hint at upon yourself, have notyour mind been one of the most ingenuous that ever woman boasted.

  Mr. Lovelace has faults enow to deserve very severe censure, althoughhe be not guilty of this. If I were upon such terms with him as he couldwish me to be, I should give him such a hint, that this treacherousJoseph Leman cannot be so much attached to him, as perhaps he thinkshim to be. If it were, he would not have been so ready to report to hisdisadvantage (and to Betty Barnes too) this slight affair of the prettyrustic. Joseph has engaged Betty to secrecy; promising to let her, andher young master, to know more, when he knows the whole of the matter:and this hinders her from mentioning it, as she is nevertheless agog todo, to my sister or brother. And then she does not choose to disobligeJoseph; for although she pretends to look above him, she listens, Ibelieve, to some love-stories he tells her.

  Women having it not in their power to begin a courtship, some of themvery frequently, I believe, lend an ear where their hearts incline not.

  But to say no more of these low people, neither of whom I thinktolerably of; I must needs own, that as I should for ever have despisedthis man, had he been capable of such a vile intrigue in his way toHarlowe-place, and as I believe he was capable of it, it has indeed [Iown it has] proportionably engaged my generosity, as you call it, in hisfavour: perhaps more than I may have reason to wish it had. And, rallyme as you will, pray tell me fairly, my dear, would it not have had suchan effect upon you?

  Then the real generosity of the act.--I protest, my beloved friend,if he would be good for the rest of his life from this time, I wouldforgive him a great many of his past errors, were it only for thedemonstration he has given in this, that he is capable of so good andbountiful a manner of thinking.

  You may believe I made no scruple to open his letter, after the receiptof your second on this subject: nor shall I of answering it, as I haveno reason to find fault with it: an article in his favour, procuredhim, however, so much the easier, (I must own,) by way of amends for theundue displeasure I took against him; though he knows it not.

  Is it lucky enough that this matter was cleared up to me by yourfriendly diligence so soon: for had I written before it was, it wouldhave been to reinforce my dismission of him; and perhaps I should havementioned the very motive; for it affected me more than I think itought: and then, what an advantage would that have given him, when hecould have cleared up the matter so happily for himself!

  When I send you this letter of his, you will see how very humble he is:what acknowledgements of natural impatience: what confession of faults,as you prognosticated.

  A very different appearance, I must own, all these make, now the storyof the pretty rustic is cleared up, to what they would have made, had itnot.

  You will see how he accounts to me, 'That he could not, by reason ofindisposition, come for my letter in person: and the forward creaturelabours the point, as if he thought I should be uneasy that he did not.'I am indeed sorry he should be ill on my account; and I will allow, thatthe suspense he has been in for some time past, must have been vexatiousenough to so impatient a spirit. But all is owing originally to himself.

  You will find him (in the presumption of being forgiven) 'full ofcontrivances and expedients for my escaping my threatened compulsion.'

  I have always said, that next to being without fault, is theacknowledgement of a fault; since no amendment can be expected where anerror is defended: but you will see in this very letter, an haughtinesseven in his submissions. 'Tis true, I know not where to find fault asto the expression; yet cannot I be satisfied, that his humility ishumility; or even an humility upon such conviction as one should bepleased with.

  To be sure, he is far from being a polite man: yet is not directly andcharacteristically, as I may say, unpolite. But his is such a sort ofpoliteness, as has, by a carelessness founded on very early indulgence,and perhaps on too much success in riper years, and an arrogance builtupon both, grown into assuredness, and, of course, I may say, intoindelicacy.

  The distance you recommend at which to keep these men, is certainlyright in the main: familiarity destroys reverence: But with whom?--Notwith those, surely, who are prudent, grateful, and generous.

  But it is very difficult for persons, who would avoid running into oneextreme, to keep clear of another. Hence Mr. Lovelace, perhaps, thinksit the mark of a great spirit to humour his pride, though at the expenseof his politeness: but can the man be a deep man, who knows not how tomake such distinctions as a person of but moderate parts cannot miss?

  He complains heavily of my 'readiness to take mortal offence at him, andto dismiss him for ever: it is a high conduct, he says, he must be frankenough to tell me; a conduct that must be very far from contributing toallay his apprehensions of the possibility that I may be prosecuted intomy relations' measures in behalf of Mr. Solmes.'

  You will see how he puts his present and his future happiness, 'withregard to both worlds, entirely upon me.' The ardour with which he vowsand promises, I think the heart only can dictate: how else can one guessat a man's heart?

  You will also see, 'that he has already heard of the interview I am tohave with Mr. Solmes;' and with what vehemence and anguish he expresseshimself on the occasion. I intend to take proper notice of the ignoblemeans he stoops to, to come at his early intelligence of our family.If persons pretending to principle, bear not their testimony againstunprincipled actions, what check can they have?

  You will see, 'how passionately he presses me to oblige him with a fewlines, before the interview between Mr. Solmes and me takes place, (if,as he says, it must take place,) to confirm his hope, that I have noview, in my present displeasure against him, to give encouragement toSolmes. An apprehension, he says, that he must be excused for repeating;especially as the interview is a favour granted to that man, whichI have refused to him; since, as he infers, were it not with such anexpectation, why should my friends press it?'

  *****

  I have written; and to this effect: 'That I had never intended to writeanother line to a man, who could take upon himself to reflect upon mysex and myself, for having thought fit to make use of my own judgment.

  'I tell him, that I have submitted to the interview with Mr. Solmes,purely as an act of duty, to shew my friends, that I will comply withtheir commands as far as I can; and that I hope, when Mr. Solmes himselfshall see how determined I am, he will cease to prosecute a suit, inwhich it is impossible he should succeed with my consent.

  'I assure him, that my aversion to Mr. Solmes is too sincere to permitme to doubt myself on this occasion. But, nevertheless, he must notimagine, that my rejecting of Mr. Solmes is in favour to him. That Ivalue my freedom and independency too much, if my friends will but leaveme to my own judgment, to give them up to a man so uncontroulable, andwho shews me beforehand what I have to expect from him, were I in hispower.

  'I express my high disapprobation of the methods he takes to comeat what passes in a private family. The pretence of corrupting otherpeople's servants, by way of reprisal for the spies they have set uponhim, I tell him, is a very poor excuse; and no more than an attempt tojustify one meanness by another.

  'There is, I observe to him, a right and a wrong in every thing, letpeople put what glosses they please upon their action. To condemn adeviation, and to follow it by as great a one, what, I ask him, is this,but propagating a general corruption?--A stand must be made somebody,turn round the evil as many as may, or virtue will be lost: And shall itnot be I, a worthy mind would ask, that shall make this stand?

  'I leave him to judge, whether his be a worthy one, tr
ied by this rule:And whether, knowing the impetuosity of his own disposition, and theimprobability there is that my father and family will ever be reconciledto him, I ought to encourage his hopes?

  'These spots and blemishes, I further tell him, give me not earnestnessenough for any sake but his own, to wish him in a juster and noblertrain of thinking and acting; for that I truly despised many of the wayshe allows himself in: our minds are therefore infinitely different:and as to his professions of reformation, I must tell him, thatprofuse acknowledgements, without amendment, are but to me as so manyanticipating concessions, which he may find much easier to make, thaneeither to defend himself, or amend his errors.

  'I inform him, that I have been lately made acquainted' [and so I haveby Betty, and she by my brother] 'with the weak and wanton airs he giveshimself of declaiming against matrimony. I severely reprehend him onthis occasion: and ask him, with what view he can take so witless, sodespicable a liberty, in which only the most abandoned of men allowthemselves, and yet presume to address me?

  'I tell him, that if I am obliged to go to my uncle Antony's, it is notto be inferred, that I must therefore necessarily be Mr. Solmes's wife:since I must therefore so sure perhaps that the same exceptions lieso strongly against my quitting a house to which I shall be forciblycarried, as if I left my father's house: and, at the worst, I may beable to keep them in suspense till my cousin Morden comes, who will havea right to put me in possession of my grandfather's estate, if I insistupon it.'

  This, I doubt, is somewhat of an artifice; which can only be excusable,as it is principally designed to keep him out of mischief. For I havebut little hope, if carried thither, whether sensible or senseless,absolutely if I am left to the mercy of my brother and sister, but theywill endeavour to force the solemn obligation upon me. Otherwise, werethere but any prospect of avoiding this, by delaying (or even by takingthings to make me ill, if nothing else would do,) till my cousin comes,I hope I should not think of leaving even my uncle's house. For I shouldnot know how to square it to my own principles, to dispense with theduty I owe to my father, wherever it shall be his will to place me.

  But while you give me the charming hope, that, in order to avoid oneman, I shall not be under the necessity of throwing myself upon thefriends of the other; I think my case not desperate.

  *****

  I see not any of my family, nor hear from them in any way of kindness.This looks as if they themselves expected no great matters from theTuesday's conference which makes my heart flutter every time I think ofit.

  My uncle Antony's presence on the occasion I do not much like: but Ihad rather meet him than my brother or sister: yet my uncle is veryimpetuous. I can't think Mr. Lovelace can be much more so; at least hecannot look angry, as my uncle, with his harder features, can. Thesesea-prospered gentlemen, as my uncle has often made me think, not usedto any but elemental controul, and even ready to buffet that, blusteroften as violently as the winds they are accustomed to be angry at.

  I believe Mr. Solmes will look as much like a fool as I shall do, if itbe true, as my uncle Harlowe writes, and as Betty often tells me, thathe is as much afraid of seeing me, as I am of seeing him.

  Adieu, my happy, thrice-happy Miss Howe, who have no hard terms fixedto your duty!--Who have nothing to do, but to fall in with a choice yourmother has made for you, to which you have not, nor can have, a justobjection: except the frowardness of our sex, as our free censurerswould perhaps take the liberty to say, makes it one, that the choice wasyour mother's, at first hand. Perverse nature, we know, loves not tobe prescribed to; although youth is not so well qualified, either bysedateness or experience, to choose for itself.

  To know your own happiness, and that it is now, nor to leave it to afterreflection to look back upon the preferable past with a heavy and selfaccusing heart, that you did not choose it when you might have chosenit, is all that is necessary to complete your felicity!--And this poweris wished you by

  Your CLARISSA HARLOWE.