LETTER XLI
MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWESUNDAY, JULY 23.
What pain, my dearest friend, does your kind solicitude for my welfaregive me! How much more binding and tender are the ties of purefriendship, and the union of like minds, than the ties of nature! Wellmight the sweet-singer of Israel, when he was carrying to the utmostextent the praises of the friendship between him and his beloved friend,say, that the love of Jonathan to him was wonderful; that it surpassedthe love of women! What an exalted idea does it give of the soul ofJonathan, sweetly attempered for the sacred band, if we may suppose itbut equal to that of my Anna Howe for her fallen Clarissa?--But, althoughI can glory in your kind love for me, think, my dear, what concern mustfill a mind, not ungenerous, when the obligation lies all on one side.And when, at the same time that your light is the brighter for mydarkness, I must give pain to a dear friend, to whom I delighted to givepleasure; and not pain only, but discredit, for supporting my blightedfame against the busy tongues of uncharitable censures!
This is that makes me, in the words of my admired exclaimer, very littlealtered, often repeat: 'Oh! that I were as in months past! as in the dayswhen God preserved me! when his candle shined upon my head, and when byhis light I walked through darkness! As I was in the days of mychildhood--when the Almighty was yet with me: when I was in my father'shouse: when I washed my steps with butter, and the rock poured me outrivers of oil.'
You set before me your reasons, enforced by the opinion of your honouredmother, why I should think of Mr. Lovelace for a husband.*
* See the preceding Letter.
And I have before me your letter of the 13th,* containing the account ofthe visit and proposals, and kind interposition of the two MissesMontague, in the names of the good Ladies Sadleir and Betty Lawrance, andin that of my Lord M.
* See Letter IX. of this vol.
Also your's of the 18th,* demanding me, as I may say, of those ladies,and of that family, when I was so infamously and cruelly arrested, andyou knew not what was become of me.
* See Letter XI. ibid.
The answer likewise of those ladies, signed in so full and generous amanner by themselves,* and by that nobleman, and those two venerableladies; and, in his light way, by the wretch himself.
* See Letter XIV. ibid.
Thse, my dearest Miss Howe; and your letter of the 16th,* which came whenI was under arrest, and which I received not till some days after; areall before me.
* See Letter X. of this volume.
And I have as well weighed the whole matter, and your arguments insupport of your advice, as at present my head and my heart will let meweigh them.
I am, moreover, willing to believe, not only from your own opinion, butfrom the assurances of one of Mr. Lovelace's friends, Mr. Belford, agood-natured and humane man, who spares not to censure the author of mycalamities (I think, with undissembled and undesigning sincerity) thatthat man is innocent of the disgraceful arrest.
And even, if you please, in sincere compliment to your opinion, and tothat of Mr. Hickman, that (over-persuaded by his friends, and ashamed ofhis unmerited baseness to me) he would in earnest marry me, if I wouldhave him.
'*Well, and now, what is the result of all?--It is this--that I mustabide by what I have already declared--and that is, [don't be angry atme, 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 Icannot [forgive me, if I say, I will not] ever be his.
* Those parts of this letter which are marked with an inverted comma[thus ' ] were afterwards transcribed by Miss Howe in Letter LV. writtento the Ladies of Mr. Lovelace's family; and are thus distinguished toavoid the necessity of repeating them in that letter.
'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 thosewould be sad imputations, if just, to be laid to the charge of a personwho thinks and talks of dying. And yet, to say that resentment anddisappointment have no part in my determination, would be saying a thinghardly to be credited. For I own I have resentment, strong resentment,but not unreasonable ones, as you will be convinced, if already you arenot so, when you know all my story--if ever you do know it--for I beginto fear (so many things more necessary to be thought of than either thisman, or my own vindication, have I to do) that I shall not have time tocompass what I have intended, and, in a manner, promised you.*
* See Vol. VI. Letter LXXIII.
'I have one reason to give in support of my resolution, that, I believe,yourself will allow of: but having owned that I have resentments, I willbegin with those considerations in which anger and disappointment havetoo great a share; in hopes that, having once disburdened my mind uponpaper, and to my Anna Howe, of those corroding uneasy passions, I shallprevent them for ever from returning to my heart, and to have their placesupplied by better, milder, and more agreeable ones.
'My pride, then, my dearest friend, although a great deal mortified, isnot sufficiently mortified, if it be necessary for me to submit to makethat man my choice, whose actions are, and ought to be, my abhorrence!--What!--Shall I, who have been treated with such premeditated andperfidious barbarity, as is painful to be thought of, and cannot, withmodesty be described, think of taking the violator to my heart? Can Ivow duty to one so wicked, and hazard my salvation by joining myself toso great a profligate, now I know him to be so? Do you think yourClarissa Harlowe so lost, so sunk, at least, as that she could, for thesake of patching up, in the world's eye, a broken reputation, meanlyappear indebted to the generosity, or perhaps compassion, of a man, whohas, by means so inhuman, robbed her of it? Indeed, my dear, I shouldnot think my penitence for the rash step I took, any thing better than aspecious delusion, if I had not got above the least wish to have Mr.Lovelace for my husband.
'Yes, I warrant, I must creep to the violator, and be thankful to him fordoing me poor justice!
'Do you not already see me (pursuing the advice you give) with a downcasteye, appear before his friends, and before my own, (supposing the latterwould at last condescend to own me,) divested of that noble confidencewhich arises from a mind unconscious of having deserved reproach?
'Do you not see me creep about mine own house, preferring all my honestmaidens to myself--as if afraid, too, to open my lips, either by way ofreproof or admonition, lest their bolder eyes should bid me look inward,and not expect perfection from them?
'And shall I entitle the wretch to upbraid me with his generosity, andhis pity; and perhaps to reproach me for having been capable of forgivingcrimes of such a nature?
'I once indeed hoped, little thinking him so premeditatedly vile a man,that I might have the happiness to reclaim him: I vainly believed that heloved me well enough to suffer my advice for his good, and the example Ihumbly presumed I should be enabled to set him, to have weight with him;and the rather, as he had no mean opinion of my morals and understanding:But now what hope is there left for this my prime hope?--Were I to marryhim, what a figure should I make, preaching virtue and morality to a manwhom I had trusted with opportunities to seduce me from all my ownduties!--And then, supposing I were to have children by such a husband,must it not, think you, cut a thoughtful person to the heart; to lookround upon her little family, and think she had given them a fatherdestined, without a miracle, to perdition; and whose immoralities,propagated among them by his vile example, might, too probably, bringdown a curse upon them? And, after all, who knows but that my own sinfulcompliances with a man, who might think himself entitled to my obedience,might taint my own morals, and make me, instead of a reformer, animitator of him?--For who can touch pitch, and not be defiled?
'Let me then repeat, that I truly despise this man! If I know my ownheart, indeed I do!--I pity him! beneath my very pity as he is, Inevertheless pity him!--But this I could not do, if I still loved him:for, my dear, one must be greatly sensible of the baseness andingratitude of those we love. I love him not, therefore! my souldisdai
ns communion with him.
'But, although thus much is due to resentment, yet have I not been sofar carried away by its angry effects as to be rendered incapable ofcasting about what I ought to do, and what could be done, if theAlmighty, in order to lengthen the time of my penitence, were to bidme to live.
'The single life, at such times, has offered to me, as the life, theonly life, to be chosen. But in that, must I not now sit brooding overmy past afflictions, and mourning my faults till the hour of my release?And would not every one be able to assign the reason why Clarissa Harlowechose solitude, and to sequester herself from the world? Would not thelook of every creature, who beheld me, appear as a reproach to me? Andwould not my conscious eye confess my fault, whether the eyes of othersaccused me or not? One of my delights was, to enter the cots of my poorneighbours, to leave lessons to the boys, and cautions to the eldergirls: and how should I be able, unconscious, and without pain, to sayto the latter, fly the delusions of men, who had been supposed to haverun away with one?
'What then, my dear and only friend, can I wish for but death?--And what,after all, is death? 'Tis but a cessation from mortal life: 'tis but thefinishing of an appointed course: the refreshing inn after a fatiguingjourney; the end of a life of cares and troubles; and, if happy, thebeginning of a life of immortal happiness.
'If I die not now, it may possibly happen that I may be taken when I amless prepared. Had I escaped the evils I labour under, it might havebeen in the midst of some gay promising hope; when my heart had beat highwith the desire of life; and when the vanity of this earth had taken holdof me.
'But now, my dear, for your satisfaction let me say that, although I wishnot for life, yet would I not, like a poor coward, desert my post when Ican maintain it, and when it is my duty to maintain it.
'More than once, indeed, was I urged by thoughts so sinful: but then itwas in the height of my distress: and once, particularly, I have reasonto believe, I saved myself by my desperation from the most shockingpersonal insults; from a repetition, as far as I know, of his vileness;the base women (with so much reason dreaded by me) present, to intimidateme, if not to assist him!--O my dear, you know not what I suffered onthat occasion!--Nor do I what I escaped at the time, if the wicked manhad approached me to execute the horrid purposes of his vile heart.'
As I am of opinion, that it would have manifested more of revenge anddespair than of principle, had I committed a violence upon myself, whenthe villany was perpetrated; so I should think it equally criminal, wereI now wilfully to neglect myself; were I purposely to run into the armsof death, (as that man supposes I shall do,) when I might avoid it.
Nor, my dear, whatever are the suppositions of such a short-sighted, sucha low-souled man, must you impute to gloom, to melancholy, todespondency, nor yet to a spirit of faulty pride, or still more faultyrevenge, the resolution I have taken never to marry this: and if notthis, any man. So far from deserving this imputation, I do assure you,(my dear and only love,) that I will do every thing I can to prolong mylife, till God, in mercy to me, shall be pleased to call for it. I havereason to think my punishment is but the due consequence of my fault, andI will not run away from it; but beg of Heaven to sanctify it to me.When appetite serves, I will eat and drink what is sufficient to supportnature. A very little, you know, will do for that. And whatever myphysicians shall think fit to prescribe, I will take, though ever sodisagreeable. In short, I will do every thing I can do to convince allmy friends, who hereafter may think it worth their while to inquire aftermy last behaviour, that I possessed my soul with tolerable patience; andendeavoured to bear with a lot of my own drawing; for thus, in humbleimitation of the sublimest exemplar, I often say:--Lord, it is thy will;and it shall be mine. Thou art just in all thy dealings with thechildren of men; and I know thou wilt not afflict me beyond what I canbear: and, if I can bear it, I ought to bear it; and (thy grace assistingme) I will bear it.
'But here, my dear, is another reason; a reason that will convince youyourself that I ought not to think of wedlock; but of a preparation for aquite different event. I am persuaded, as much as that I am now alive,that I shall not long live. The strong sense I have ever had of myfault, the loss of my reputation, my disappointments, the determinedresentment of my friends, aiding the barbarous usage I have met withwhere I least deserved it, have seized upon my heart: seized upon it,before it was so well fortified by religious considerations as I hope itnow is. Don't be concerned, my dear--But I am sure, if I may say it withas little presumption as grief, That God will soon dissolve my substance;and bring me to death, and to the house appointed for all living.'
And now, my dearest friend, you know all my mind. And you will bepleased to write to the ladies of Mr. Lovelace's family, that I thinkmyself infinitely obliged to them for their good opinion of me; and thatit has given me greater pleasure than I thought I had to come in thislife, that, upon the little knowledge they have of me, and that notpersonal, I was thought worthy (after the ill usage I have received) ofan alliance with their honourable family: but that I can by no meansthink of their kinsman for a husband: and do you, my dear, extract fromthe above such reasons as you think have any weight with them.
I would write myself to acknowledge their favour, had I not moreemployment for my head, my heart, and my fingers, than I doubt they willbe able to go through.
I should be glad to know when you set out on your journey; as also yourlittle stages; and your time of stay at your aunt Harman's; that myprayers may locally attend you whithersoever you go, and wherever youare.
CLARISSA HARLOWE.
Clarissa Harlowe; or the history of a young lady — Volume 7 Page 40
