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

by Samuel Richardson

  LETTER XLIII

  MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE SAT. AFTERNOON.

  By your last date of ten o'clock in your letter of this day, you couldnot long have deposited it before Robin took it. He rode hard, andbrought it to be just as I had risen from table.

  You may justly blame me for sending my messenger empty-handed, yoursituation considered; and yet that very situation (so critical!) ispartly the reason for it: for indeed I knew not what to write, fit tosend you.

  I have been inquiring privately, how to procure you a conveyance fromHarlowe-place, and yet not appear in it; knowing, that to oblige inthe fact, and to disoblige in the manner, is but obliging by halves: mymother being moreover very suspicious, and very uneasy; made more so bydaily visits from your uncle Antony; who tells her, that every thingis now upon the point of being determined; and hopes, that her daughterwill not so interfere, as to discourage your compliance with theirwills. This I came at by a way that I cannot take notice of, or bothshould hear of it in a manner neither would like: and, without that, mymother and I have had almost hourly bickerings.

  I found more difficulty than I expected (as the time was confined, andsecrecy required, and as you so earnestly forbid me to accompany you inyour enterprise) in procuring you a vehicle. Had you not obliged me tokeep measures with my mother, I could have managed it with ease. I couldeven have taken our own chariot, on one pretence or other, and put twohorses extraordinary to it, if I had thought fit; and I could, when wehad got to London, have sent it back, and nobody the wiser as to thelodgings we might have taken.

  I wish to the Lord you had permitted this. Indeed I think you are toopunctilious a great deal for you situation. Would you expect to enjoyyourself with your usual placidness, and not to be ruffled, in anhurricane which every moment threatens to blow your house down?

  Had your distress sprung from yourself, that would have been anotherthing. But when all the world knows where to lay the fault, this altersthe case.

  How can you say I am happy, when my mother, to her power, is as much anabettor of their wickedness to my dearest friend, as your aunt, or anybody else?--and this through the instigation of that odd-headed andfoolish uncle of yours, who [sorry creature that he is!] keeps her upto resolutions which are unworthy of her, for an example to me, if itplease you. Is not this cause enough for me to ground a resentment upon,sufficient to justify me for accompanying you; the friendship between usso well known?

  Indeed, my dear, the importance of the case considered, I must repeat,that you are too nice. Don't they already think that your non-compliancewith their odious measures is owing a good deal to my advice? Have theynot prohibited our correspondence upon that very surmise? And have I,but on your account, reason to value what they think?

  Besides, What discredit have I to fear by such a step? What detriment?Would Hickman, do you believe, refuse me upon it?--If he did, shouldI be sorry for that?--Who is it, that has a soul, who would not beaffected by such an instance of female friendship?

  But I should vex and disorder my mother!--Well, that is something: butnot more than she vexes and disorders me, on her being made an implementby such a sorry creature, who ambles hither every day in spite to mydearest friend--Woe be to both, if it be for a double end!--Chide me, ifyou will: I don't care.

  I say, and I insist upon it, such a step would ennoble your friend: andif still you will permit it, I will take the office out of Lovelace'shands; and, to-morrow evening, or on Monday before his time ofappointment takes place, will come in a chariot, or chaise: and then,my dear, if we get off as I wish, will we make terms (and what terms weplease) with them all. My mother will be glad to receive her daughteragain, I warrant: and Hickman will cry for joy on my return; or he shallfor sorrow.

  But you are so very earnestly angry with me for proposing such a step,and have always so much to say for your side of any question, that I amafraid to urge it farther.--Only be so good (let me add) as to encourageme to resume it, if, upon farther consideration, and upon weighingmatters well, (and in this light, whether best to go off with me,or with Lovelace,) you can get over your punctilious regard for myreputation. A woman going away with a woman is not so discreditable athing, surely! and with no view, but to avoid the fellows!--I say, onlyto be so good, as to consider this point; and if you can get over yourscruples on my account, do. And so I will have done with this argumentfor the present; and apply myself to some of the passages in yours.

  A time, I hope, will come, that I shall be able to read your affectingnarratives without the impatient bitterness which now boils over in myheart, and would flow to my pen, were I to enter into the particulars ofwhat you write. And indeed I am afraid of giving you my advice at all,or telling you what I should do in your case (supposing you will stillrefuse my offer; finding too what you have been brought or rather drivento without it); lest any evil should follow it: in which case, Ishould never forgive myself. And this consideration has added to mydifficulties in writing to you now you are upon such a crisis, and yetrefuse the only method--but I said, I would not for the present touchany more that string. Yet, one word more, chide me if you please: If anyharm betide you, I shall for ever blame my mother--indeed I shall--andperhaps yourself, if you do not accept my offer.

  But one thing, in your present situation and prospects, let me advise:It is this, that if you do go off with Mr. Lovelace, you take the firstopportunity to marry. Why should you not, when every body will know bywhose assistance, and in whose company, you leave your father's house,go whithersoever you will?--You may indeed keep him at a distance, untilsettlements are drawn, and such like matters are adjusted to your mind:but even these are matters of less consideration in your particularcase, than they would be in that of most others: and first, because, behis other faults what they will, nobody thinks him an ungenerous man:next, because the possession of your estate must be given up to youas soon as your cousin Morden comes; who, as your trustee, will seeit done; and done upon proper terms: 3dly, because there is no want offortune on his side: 4thly, because all his family value you, and areextremely desirous that you should be their relation: 5thly, because hemakes no scruple of accepting you without conditions. You see how he hasalways defied your relations: [I, for my own part, can forgive him forthe fault: nor know I, if it be not a noble one:] and I dare say, hehad rather call you his, without a shilling, than be under obligationto those whom he has full as little reason to love, as they have to lovehim. You have heard, that his own relations cannot make his proud spiritsubmit to owe any favour to them.

  For all these reasons, I think, you may the less stand upon previoussettlements. It is therefore my absolute opinion, that, if you dowithdraw with him, (and in that case you must let him be judge when hecan leave you with safety, you'll observe that,) you should not postponethe ceremony.

  Give this matter your most serious consideration. Punctilio is out ofdoors the moment you are out of your father's house. I know how justlysevere you have been upon those inexcusable creatures, whose giddinessand even want of decency have made them, in the same hour as I maysay, leap from a parent's window to a husband's bed--but consideringLovelace's character, I repeat my opinion, that your reputation in theeye of the world requires no delay be made in this point, when once youare in his power.

  I need not, I am sure, make a stronger plea to you.

  You say, in excuse for my mother, (what my fervent love for my friendvery ill brooks,) that we ought not to blame any one for not doing whatshe has an opinion to do, or to let alone. This, in cases of friendship,would admit of very strict discussion. If the thing requested be ofgreater consequence, or even of equal, to the person sought to, and itwere, as the old phrase has it, to take a thorn out of one's friend'sfoot to put in into one's own, something might be said.--Nay, it wouldbe, I will venture to say, a selfish thing in us to ask a favour ofa friend which would subject that friend to the same or equalinconvenience as that from which we wanted to be relieved, The requestedwould, in this case, teach his friend, by his
own selfish example, withmuch better reason, to deny him, and despise a friendship so merelynominal. But if, by a less inconvenience to ourselves, we could relieveour friend from a greater, the refusal of such a favour makes therefuser unworthy of the name of friend: nor would I admit such a one,not even into the outermost fold of my heart.

  I am well aware that this is your opinion of friendship, as well asmine: for I owe the distinction to you, upon a certain occasion; and itsaved me from a very great inconvenience, as you must needs remember.But you were always for making excuses for other people, in caseswherein you would not have allowed of one for yourself.

  I must own, that were these excuses for a friend's indifference, ordenial, made by any body but you, in a case of such vast importance toherself, and of so comparative a small one to those for whose protectionshe would be thought to wish; I, who am for ever, as you have oftenremarked, endeavouring to trace effects to their causes, should beready to suspect that there was a latent, unowned inclination, whichbalancing, or preponderating rather, made the issue of the alternative(however important) sit more lightly upon the excuser's mind than shecared to own.

  You will understand me, my dear. But if you do not, it may be well forme; for I am afraid I shall have it from you for but starting such anotion, or giving a hint, which perhaps, as you did once in anothercase, you will reprimandingly call, 'Not being able to forego theostentation of sagacity, though at the expense of that tenderness whichis due to friendship and charity.'

  What signifies owning a fault without mending it, you'll say?--Verytrue, my dear. But you know I ever was a saucy creature--ever stood inneed of great allowances.--And I remember, likewise, that I ever hadthem from my dear Clarissa. Nor do I doubt them now: for you know howmuch I love you--if it be possible, more than myself I love you! Believeme, my dear: and, in consequence of that belief, you will be able tojudge how much I am affected by your present distressful and criticalsituation; which will not suffer me to pass by without a censure eventhat philosophy of temper in your own cause, which you have not inanother's, and which all that know you ever admired you for.

  From this critical and distressful situation, it shall be my hourlyprayers that you may be delivered without blemish to that fair famewhich has hitherto, like your heart, been unspotted.

  With this prayer, twenty times repeated, concludes Your everaffectionate, ANNA HOWE.

  I hurried myself in writing this; and I hurry Robin away with it, that,in a situation so very critical, you may have all the time possible toconsider what I have written, upon two points so very important. I willrepeat them in a very few words:

  'Whether you choose not rather to go off with one of your own sex; withyour ANNA HOWE--than with one of the other; with Mr. LOVELACE?'

  And if not,

  'Whether you should not marry him as soon as possible?'