Clarissa Harlowe; or the history of a young lady — Volume 7

by Samuel Richardson

  LETTER XLIX

  MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWETHURSDAY, JULY 25.*

  * Text error: should be Tuesday.

  Your two affecting letters were brought to me (as I had directed anyletter from you should be) to the Colonel's, about an hour before webroke up. I could not forbear dipping into them there; and sheddingmore tears over them than I will tell you of; although I dried my eyesas well as I could, that the company I was obliged to return to, and mymother, should see as little of my concern as possible.

  I am yet (and was then still more) excessively fluttered. The occasionI will communicate to you by-and-by: for nothing but the flutters givenby the stroke of death could divert my first attention from the sad andsolemn contents of your last favour. These therefore I must begin with.

  How can I bear the thoughts of losing so dear a friend! I will not somuch as suppose it. Indeed I cannot! such a mind as your's was notvested in humanity to be snatched away from us so soon. There must stillbe a great deal for you to do for the good of all who have the happinessto know you.

  You enumerate in your letter of Thursday last,* the particulars in whichyour situation is already mended: let me see by effects that you are inearnest in that enumeration; and that you really have the courage toresolve to get above the sense of injuries you could not avoid; and thenwill I trust to Providence and my humble prayers for your perfectrecovery: and glad at my heart shall I be, on my return from the littleisland, to find you well enough to be near us according to the proposalMr. Hickman has to make to you.

  * See Vol. VII. Letter XXV.

  You chide me in your's of Sunday on the freedom I take with yourfriends.*

  * Ibid. Letter XLII.

  I may be warm. I know I am--too warm. Yet warmth in friendship, surely,cannot be a crime; especially when our friend has great merit, laboursunder oppression, and is struggling with undeserved calamity.

  I have no opinion of coolness in friendship, be it dignified ordistinguished by the name of prudence, or what it will.

  You may excuse your relations. It was ever your way to do so. But, mydear, other people must be allowed to judge as they please. I am nottheir daughter, nor the sister of your brother and sister--I thankHeaven, I am not.

  But if you are displeased with me for the freedoms I took so long ago asyou mention, I am afraid, if you knew what passed upon an application Imade to your sister very lately, (in hopes to procure you the absolutionyour heart is so much set upon,) that you would be still more concerned.But they have been even with me--but I must not tell you all. I hope,however, that these unforgivers [my mother is among them] were alwaysgood, dutiful, passive children to their parents.

  Once more forgive me. I owned I was too warm. But I have no example tothe contrary but from you: and the treatment you meet with is very littleencouragement to me to endeavour to imitate you in your dutiful meekness.

  You leave it to me to give a negative to the hopes of the noble family,whose only disgrace is, that so very vile a man is so nearly related tothem. But yet--alas! my dear, I am so fearful of consequences, soselfishly fearful, if this negative must be given--I don't know what Ishould say--but give me leave to suspend, however, this negative till Ihear from you again.

  This earnest courtship of you into their splendid family is so veryhonourable to you--they so justly admire you--you must have had such anoble triumph over the base man--he is so much in earnest--the worldknows so much of the unhappy affair--you may do still so much good--yourwill is so inviolate--your relations are so implacable--think, my dear,and re-think.

  And let me leave you to do so, while I give you the occasion of theflutter I mentioned at the beginning of this letter; in the conclusionof which you will find the obligation I have consented to lay myselfunder, to refer this important point once more to your discussion, beforeI give, in your name, the negative that cannot, when given, be withhonour to yourself repented of or recalled.

  Know, then, my dear, that I accompanied my mother to Colonel Ambrose's onthe occasion I mentioned to you in my former. Many ladies and gentlemenwere there whom you know; particularly Miss Kitty D'Oily, Miss Lloyd,Miss Biddy D'Ollyffe, Miss Biddulph, and their respective admirers, withthe Colonel's two nieces; fine women both; besides many whom you knownot; for they were strangers to me but by name. A splendid company, andall pleased with one another, till Colonel Ambrose introduced one, who,the moment he was brought into the great hall, set the whole assemblyinto a kind of agitation.

  It was your villain.

  I thought I should have sunk as soon as I set my eyes upon him. Mymother was also affected; and, coming to me, Nancy, whispered she, canyou bear the sight of that wretch without too much emotion?--If not,withdraw into the next apartment.

  I could not remove. Every body's eyes were glanced from him to me. Isat down and fanned myself, and was forced to order a glass of water.Oh! that I had the eye the basilisk is reported to have, thought I, andthat his life were within the power of it!--directly would I kill him.

  He entered with an air so hateful to me, but so agreeable to every othereye, that I could have looked him dead for that too.

  After the general salutations he singled out Mr. Hickman, and told him hehad recollected some parts of his behaviour to him, when he saw him last,which had made him think himself under obligation to his patience andpoliteness.

  And so, indeed, he was.

  Miss D'Oily, upon his complimenting her, among a knot of ladies, askedhim, in their hearing, how Miss Clarissa Harlowe did?

  He heard, he said, you were not so well as he wished you to be, and asyou deserved to be.

  O Mr. Lovelace, said she, what have you to answer for on that younglady's account, if all be true that I have heard.

  I have a great deal to answer for, said the unblushing villain: but thatdear lady has so many excellencies, and so much delicacy, that littlesins are great ones in her eye.

  Little sins! replied Miss D'Oily: Mr. Lovelace's character is so wellknown, that nobody believes he can commit little sins.

  You are very good to me, Miss D'Oily.

  Indeed I am not.

  Then I am the only person to whom you are not very good: and so I am theless obliged to you.

  He turned, with an unconcerned air, to Miss Playford, and made her somegenteel compliments. I believe you know her not. She visits his cousinsMontague. Indeed he had something in his specious manner to say to everybody: and this too soon quieted the disgust each person had at hisentrance.

  I still kept my seat, and he either saw me not, or would not yet see me;and addressing himself to my mother, taking her unwilling hand, with anair of high assurance, I am glad to see you here, Madam, I hope Miss Howeis well. I have reason to complain greatly of her: but hope to owe toher the highest obligation that can be laid on man.

  My daughter, Sir, is accustomed to be too warm and too zealous in herfriendships for either my tranquility or her own.

  There had indeed been some late occasion given for mutual displeasurebetween my mother and me: but I think she might have spared this to him;though nobody heard it, I believe, but the person to whom it was spoken,and the lady who told it me; for my mother spoke it low.

  We are not wholly, Madam, to live for ourselves, said the vile hypocrite:it is not every one who had a soul capable of friendship: and what aheart must that be, which can be insensible to the interests of asuffering friend?

  This sentiment from Mr. Lovelace's mouth! said my mother--forgive me,Sir; but you can have no end, surely, in endeavouring to make me think aswell of you as some innocent creatures have thought of you to their cost.

  She would have flung from him. But, detaining her hand--Less severe,dear Madam, said he, be less severe in this place, I beseech you. Youwill allow, that a very faulty person may see his errors; and when hedoes, and owns them, and repents, should he not be treated mercifully?

  Your air, Sir, seems not to be that of a penitent. But the place may asproperly excuse this subject, as
what you call my severity.

  But, dearest Madam, permit me to say, that I hope for your interest withyour charming daughter (was his syncophant word) to have it put in mypower to convince all the world that there never was a truer penitent.And why, why this anger, dear Madam, (for she struggled to get her handout of his,) these violent airs--so maidenly! [impudent fellow!]--May Inot ask, if Miss Howe be here?

  She would not have been here, replied my mother, had she known whom shehad been to see.

  And is she here, then?--Thank Heaven!--he disengaged her hand, and steptforward into company.

  Dear Miss Lloyd, said he, with an air, (taking her hand as he quitted mymother's,) tell me, tell me, is Miss Arabella Harlowe here? Or will shebe here? I was informed she would--and this, and the opportunity ofpaying my compliments to your friend Miss Howe, were great inducementswith me to attend the Colonel.

  Superlative assurance! was it not, my dear?

  Miss Arabella Harlowe, excuse me, Sir, said Miss Lloyd, would be verylittle inclined to meet you here, or any where else.

  Perhaps so, my dear Miss Lloyd: but, perhaps, for that very reason, I ammore desirous to see her.

  Miss Harlowe, Sir, and Miss Biddulph, with a threatening air, will hardlybe here without her brother. I imagine, if one comes, both will come.

  Heaven grant they both may! said the wretch. Nothing, Miss Biddulph,shall begin from me to disturb this assembly, I assure you, if they do.One calm half-hour's conversation with that brother and sister, would bea most fortunate opportunity to me, in presence of the Colonel and hislady, or whom else they should choose.

  Then, turning round, as if desirous to find out the one or the other, he'spied me, and with a very low bow, approached me.

  I was all in a flutter, you may suppose. He would have taken my hand. Irefused it, all glowing with indignation: every body's eyes upon us.

  I went down from him to the other end of the room, and sat down, as Ithought, out of his hated sight; but presently I heard his odious voice,whispering, behind my chair, (he leaning upon the back of it, withimpudent unconcern,) Charming Miss Howe! looking over my shoulder: onerequest--[I started up from my seat; but could hardly stand neither, forvery indignation]--O this sweet, but becoming disdain! whispered on theinsufferable creature--I am sorry to give you all this emotion: buteither here, or at your own house, let me entreat from you one quarter ofan hour's audience.--I beseech you, Madam, but one quarter of an hour, inany of the adjoining apartments.

  Not for a kingdom, fluttering my fan. I knew not what I did.--But Icould have killed him.

  We are so much observed--else on my knees, my dear Miss Howe, would I begyour interest with your charming friend.

  She'll have nothing to say to you.

  (I had not then your letters, my dear.)

  Killing words!--But indeed I have deserved them, and a dagger in my heartbesides. I am so conscious of my demerits, that I have no hope, but inyour interposition--could I owe that favour to Miss Howe's mediationwhich I cannot hope for on any other account--

  My mediation, vilest of men!--My mediation!--I abhor you!--From my soul,I abhor you, vilest of men!--Three or four times I repeated these words,stammering too.--I was excessively fluttered.

  You can tell me nothing, Madam, so bad as I will call myself. I havebeen, indeed, the vilest of men; but now I am not so. Permit me--everybody's eyes are upon us!--but one moment's audience--to exchange but tenwords with you, dearest Miss Howe--in whose presence you please--for yourdear friend's sake--but ten words with you in the next apartment.

  It is an insult upon me to presume that I would exchange with you, if Icould help it!--Out of my way! Out of my sight--fellow!

  And away I would have flung: but he took my hand. I was excessivelydisordered--every body's eyes more and more intent upon us.

  Mr. Hickman, whom my mother had drawn on one side, to enjoin him apatience, which perhaps needed not to have been enforced, came up justthen, with my mother who had him by his leading-strings--by his sleeveI should say.

  Mr. Hickman, said the bold wretch, be my advocate but for ten words inthe next apartment with Miss Howe, in your presence; and in your's,Madam, to my mother.

  Hear, Nancy, what he has to say to you. To get rid of him, hear his tenwords.

  Excuse me, Madam! his very breath--Unhand me, Sir!

  He sighed and looked--O how the practised villain sighed and looked! Hethen let go my hand, with such a reverence in his manner, as broughtblame upon me from some, that I would not hear him.--And this incensed methe more. O my dear, this man is a devil! This man is indeed a devil!--So much patience when he pleases! So much gentleness!--Yet so resolute,so persisting, so audacious!

  I was going out of the assembly in great disorder. He was at the door assoon as I.

  How kind this is, said the wretch; and, ready to follow me, opened thedoor for me.

  I turned back upon this: and, not knowing what I did, snapped my fan justin his face, as he turned short upon me; and the powder flew from hishair.

  Every body seemed as much pleased as I was vexed.

  He turned to Mr. Hickman, nettled at the powder flying, and at the smilesof the company upon him; Mr. Hickman, you will be one of the happiest menin the world, because you are a good man, and will do nothing to provokethis passionate lady; and because she has too much good sense to beprovoked without reason: but else the Lord have mercy upon you!

  This man, this Mr. Hickman, my dear, is too meek for a man. Indeed heis.--But my patient mother twits me, that her passionate daughter oughtto like him the better for that. But meek men abroad are not always meekat home. I have observed that in more instances than one: and if theywere, I should not, I verily think, like them the better for being so.

  He then turned to my mother, resolved to be even with her too: Where,good Madam, could Miss Howe get all this spirit?

  The company around smiled; for I need not tell you that my mother's highspiritedness is pretty well known; and she, sadly vexed, said, Sir, youtreat me, as you do the rest of the world--but--

  I beg pardon, Madam, interrupted he: I might have spared my question--andinstantly (I retiring to the other end of the hall) he turned to MissPlayford; What would I give, Madam, to hear you sing that song youobliged us with at Lord M.'s!

  He then, as if nothing had happened, fell into a conversation with herand Miss D'Ollyffe, upon music; and whisperingly sung to Miss Playford;holding her two hands, with such airs of genteel unconcern, that it vexedme not a little to look round, and see how pleased half the giddy foolsof our sex were with him, notwithstanding his notorious wicked character.To this it is that such vile fellows owe much of their vileness: whereas,if they found themselves shunned, and despised, and treated as beasts ofprey, as they are, they would run to their caverns; there howl bythemselves; and none but such as sad accident, or unpitiable presumption,threw in their way, would suffer by them.

  He afterwards talked very seriously, at times, to Mr. Hickman: at times,I say; for it was with such breaks and starts of gaiety, turning to thislady, and to that, and then to Mr. Hickman again, resuming a serious ora gay air at pleasure, that he took every body's eye, the women'sespecially; who were full of their whispering admirations of him,qualified with if's and but's, and what pity's, and such sort of stuff,that showed in their very dispraises too much liking.

  Well may our sex be the sport and ridicule of such libertines!Unthinking eye-governed creatures!--Would not a little reflection teachus, that a man of merit must be a man of modesty, because a diffidentone? and that such a wretch as this must have taken his degrees inwickedness, and gone through a course of vileness, before he could arriveat this impenetrable effrontery? an effrontery which can produce onlyfrom the light opinion he has of us, and the high one of himself.

  But our sex are generally modest and bashful themselves, and are too aptto consider that which in the main is their principal grace, as a defect:and finely do they judge, when they think of supplying that defect byc
hoosing a man that cannot be ashamed.

  His discourse to Mr. Hickman turned upon you, and his acknowledgedinjuries of you: though he could so lightly start from the subject, andreturn to it.

  I have no patience with such a devil--man he cannot be called. To besure he would behave in the same manner any where, or in any presence,even at the altar itself, if a woman were with him there.

  It shall ever be a rule with me, that he who does not regard a woman withsome degree of reverence, will look upon her and occasionally treat herwith contempt.

  He had the confidence to offer to take me out; but I absolutely refusedhim, and shunned him all I could, putting on the most contemptuous airs;but nothing could mortify him.

  I wished twenty times I had not been there.

  The gentlemen were as ready as I to wish he had broken his neck, ratherthan been present, I believe: for nobody was regarded but he. So littleof the fop; yet so elegant and rich in his dress: his person so specious:his air so intrepid: so much meaning and penetration in his face: so muchgaiety, yet so little affectation; no mere toupet-man; but all manly; andhis courage and wit, the one so known, the other so dreaded, you mustthink the petits-maitres (of which there were four or five present) weremost deplorably off in his company; and one grave gentleman observed tome, (pleased to see me shun him as I did,) that the poet's observationwas too true, that the generality of ladies were rakes in their hearts,or they could not be so much taken with a man who had so notorious acharacter.

  I told him the reflection both of the poet and applier was much toogeneral, and made with more ill-nature than good manners.

  When the wretch saw how industriously I avoided him, (shifting from onepart of the hall to another,) he at last boldly stept up to me, as mymother and Mr. Hickman were talking to me; and thus before them accostedme:

  I beg your pardon, Madam; but by your mother's leave, I must have a fewmoments' conversation with you, either here, or at your own house; and Ibeg you will give me the opportunity.

  Nancy, said my mother, hear what he has to say to you. In my presenceyou may: and better in the adjoining apartment, if it must be, than tocome to you at our own house.

  I retired to one corner of the hall, my mother following me, and he,taking Mr. Hickman under his arm, following her--Well, Sir, said I, whathave you to say?--Tell me here.

  I have been telling Mr. Hickman, said he, how much I am concerned for theinjuries I have done to the most excellent woman in the world: and yet,that she obtained such a glorious triumph over me the last time I had thehonour to see her, as, with my penitence, ought to have abated her formerresentments: but that I will, with all my soul, enter into any measuresto obtain her forgiveness of me. My cousins Montague have told you this.Lady Betty and Lady Sarah and my Lord M. are engaged for my honour. Iknow your power with the dear creature. My cousins told me you gave themhopes you would use it in my behalf. My Lord M. and his two sisters areimpatiently expecting the fruits of it. You must have heard from herbefore now: I hope you have. And will you be so good as to tell me, if Imay have any hopes?

  If I must speak on this subject, let me tell you that you have broken herheart. You know not the value of the lady you have injured. You deserveher not. And she despises you, as she ought.

  Dear Miss Howe, mingle not passion with denunciations so severe. I mustknow my fate. I will go abroad once more, if I find her absolutelyirreconcileable. But I hope she will give me leave to attend upon her,to know my doom from her own mouth.

  It would be death immediate for her to see you. And what must you be, tobe able to look her in the face?

  I then reproached him (with vehemence enough you may believe) on hisbaseness, and the evils he had made you suffer: the distress he hadreduced you to; all your friends made your enemies: the vile house he hadcarried you to; hinted at his villanous arts; the dreadful arrest: andtold him of your present deplorable illness, and resolution to die ratherthan to have him.

  He vindicated not any part of his conduct, but that of the arrest; and sosolemnly protested his sorrow for his usage of you, accusing himself inthe freest manner, and by deserved appellations, that I promised to laybefore you this part of our conversation. And now you have it.

  My mother, as well as Mr. Hickman, believes, from what passed on thisoccasion, that he is touched in conscience for the wrongs he has doneyou: but, by his whole behaviour, I must own, it seems to me that nothingcan touch him for half an hour together. Yet I have no doubt that hewould willingly marry you; and it piques his pride, I could see, that heshould be denied; as it did mine, that such a wretch had dared to thinkit in his power to have such a woman whenever he pleased; and that itmust be accounted a condescension, and matter of obligation (by all hisown family at least) that he would vouchsafe to think of marriage.

  Now, my dear, you have before you the reason why I suspend the decisivenegative to the ladies of his family. My mother, Miss Lloyd, and MissBiddulph, who were inquisitive after the subject of our retiredconversation, and whose curiosity I thought it was right, in some degree,to gratify, (especially as these young ladies are of our selectacquaintance,) are all of opinion that you should be his.

  You will let Mr. Hickman know your whole mind; and when he acquaint mewith it, I will tell you all my own.

  Mean time, may the news he will bring me of the state of your health befavourable! prays, with the utmost fervency,

  Your ever faithful and affectionateANNA HOWE.