Clarissa, Or, the History of a Young Lady

by Samuel Richardson

  I shall send this short letter (I am obliged to make it a short one) by young Rogers, as we call him; the fellow I sent to you to Hampstead; an innocent, though pragmatical rustic. Admit him, I pray you, into your presence, that he may report to me how you look, and how you are.

  Mr Hickman should attend you; but I apprehend that all his motions, and my own too, are watched by the execrable wretch: as indeed his are by an agent of mine; for I own that I am so apprehensive of his plots and revenge, now I know that he has intercepted my vehement letters against him, that he is the subject of my dreams, as well as of my waking fears.

  • • •

  My mother, at my earnest importunity, has just given me leave to write, and to receive your letters—but fastened this condition upon the concession, that yours must be under cover to Mr Hickman (this with a view, I suppose, to give him consideration with me); and upon this further condition, that she is to see all we write. ‘When girls are set upon a point,’ she told one, who told me again, ‘it is better for a mother, if possible, to make herself of their party, rather than to oppose them; since there will be then hopes that she will still hold the reins in her own hands.’

  Pray let me know what the people are with whom you lodge? Shall I send Mrs Townsend to direct you to lodgings, either more safe, or more convenient for you?

  Adieu, my dearest creature. Comfort yourself, as you would in the like unhappy circumstances comfort

  Your own

  ANNA HOWE

  Letter 320: MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE TO MISS HOWE

  Thursday, July 13

  I think I cannot be more private than where I am. I hope I am safe. All the risk I run is in going out and returning from morning prayers; which I have two or three times ventured to do; once at Lincoln’s Inn chapel, at eleven; once at St Dunstan’s, Fleet Street, at seven in the morning, in a chair both times; and twice at six in the morning, at the neighbouring church in Covent Garden. The wicked wretches I have escaped from will not, I hope, come to church to look for me; especially at so early prayers; and I have fixed upon the privatest pew in the latter church to hide myself in; and perhaps I may lay out a little matter in an ordinary gown, by way of disguise; my face half hid by my mob. I am very careless, my dear, of my appearance now. Neat and clean takes up the whole of my attention.

  The man’s name, at whose house I lodge, is Smith—a glove-maker, as well as seller. His wife is the shopkeeper. A dealer also in stockings, ribands, snuff and perfumes. A matron-like woman, plain-hearted, and prudent. The husband an honest, industrious man. And they live in good understanding with each other.

  Two neat rooms, with plain, but clean furniture, on the first floor, are mine; one they call the dining-room.

  There is, up another pair of stairs, a very worthy widow lodger, Mrs Lovick by name; who, although of low fortunes, is much respected, as Mrs Smith assures me, by people of condition of her acquaintance, for her piety, prudence, and understanding. With her I propose to be well acquainted.

  I thank you, my dear, for your kind, your seasonable advice and consolation. I hope I shall have more grace given me than to despond, in the religious sense of the word—especially as I can apply to myself the comfort you give me that neither my will nor my inconsiderateness has contributed to my calamity.

  At present my head is much disordered. I have not indeed enjoyed it with any degree of clearness since the violence done to that, and to my heart too, by the wicked arts of the abandoned creatures I was cast among.

  I must have more conflicts. At times I find myself not subdued enough to my condition. I will welcome those conflicts as they come, as probationary ones. But yet my father’s malediction—yet I hope even that may be made of so much use to me as to cause me to double my attention to render it ineffectual.

  All I will at present add are my thanks to your mother for her indulgence to us. Due compliments to Mr Hickman; and my request that you will believe me to be, to my last hour, and beyond it, if possible, my beloved friend, and my dearer self (for what is now my self?),

  Your obliged and affectionate

  CLARISSA HARLOWE

  Letter 321: MR LOVELACE TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.

  Friday, July 7

  I have three of thy letters at once before me to answer; in each of which thou complainest of my silence; and in one of them tellest me that thou canst not live without I scribble to thee every day, or every other day at least.

  Why then, die, Jack, if thou wilt. What heart, thinkest thou, can I have to write, when I have lost the only subject worth writing upon?

  Help me again to my angel, to my Clarissa; and thou shalt have a letter from me, or writing at least, part of a letter, every hour. All that the charmer of my heart shall say, that will I put down: every motion, every air of her beloved person, every look, will I try to describe; and when she is silent, I will endeavour to tell thee her thoughts, either what they are, or what I’d have them to be—so that, having her, I shall never want a subject. Having lost her, my whole soul is a blank: the whole creation round me, the elements above, beneath, and everything I behold (for nothing can I enjoy) is a blank without her!

  • • •

  Well but, Jack, ‘tis a surprising thing to me that the dear fugitive cannot be met with; cannot be heard of. She is so poor a plotter (for plotting is not her talent), that I am confident, had I been at liberty, I should have found her out before now; although the different emissaries I have employed about town, round the adjacent villages, and in Miss Howe’s vicinage, have hitherto failed of success. But my lord continues so weak and low-spirited, that there is no getting from him. I would not disoblige a man whom I think in danger still: for would his gout, now it has got him down, but give him, like a fair boxer, the rising blow, all would be over with him. And here (Pox of his fondness for me! it happens at a very bad time) he makes me sit hours together entertaining him with my rogueries (a pretty amusement for a sick man!): and yet, whenever he has the gout, he prays night and morning with his chaplain.

  There, Jack!—wilt thou, or wilt thou not, take this for a letter? And if thou canst think tolerably of such execrable stuff, I will soon send thee another.

  Letter 327: MISS HOWE TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE

  Thursday night, July 13

  I am to acquaint you that I have been favoured with a visit from Miss Montague and her sister, in Lord M.’s chariot and six. My lord’s gentleman rode here yesterday with a request that I would receive a visit from the two young ladies, on a very particular occasion; the greater favour if it might be the next day.

  As I had so little personal knowledge of either, I doubted not but it must be in relation to the interests of my dear friend; and so consulting with my mother, I sent them an invitation to favour me (because of the distance) with their company at dinner; which they kindly accepted.

  I hope, my dear, since things have been so very bad, that their errand to me will be as agreeable to you as anything that can now happen. They came in the name of Lord M. and his two sisters, to desire my interest to engage you to put yourself into the protection of Lady Betty Lawrance; who will not part with you till she sees all the justice done you that now can be done.

  He [Lovelace] promises by them to make the best of husbands; and my lord and his two sisters are both to be guarantees that he will be so. Noble settlements, noble presents, they talked of: they say they left Lord M. and his two sisters talking of nothing else but of those presents and settlements, how most to do you honour, the greater in proportion for the indignities you have suffered; and of changing of names by Act of Parliament, preparative to the interest they will all join to make to get the titles to go where the bulk of the estate must go at my lord’s death, which they apprehend to be nearer than they wish. Nor doubt they of a thorough reformation in his morals from your example and influence over him.

  I made a great many objections for you—all, I believe, t
hat you could have made yourself, had you been present. But I have no doubt to advise you, my dear (and so does my mother), instantly to put yourself into Lady Betty’s protection, with a resolution to take the wretch for your husband: all his future grandeur (he wants not pride) depends upon his sincerity to you; and the young ladies vouch for the depth of his concern for the wrongs he has done you.

  Indeed, my dear, you must not hesitate: you must oblige them: the alliance is splendid and honourable. Very few will know anything of his brutal baseness to you. All must end in a little while in a genteel reconciliation; and you will be able to resume your course of doing the good to every deserving object, which procured you blessings wherever you set your foot.

  You have now happy prospects opening to you: a family, already noble, ready to receive and embrace you with open arms and joyful hearts; and who, by their love to you, will teach another family (who know not what an excellence they have confederated to persecute) how to value you.

  Like a traveller who has been put out of his way by the overflowing of some rapid stream, you have only had the fore-right path you were in overwhelmed. A few miles about, a day or two only lost, as I may say, and you are in a way to recover it; and, by quickening your speed, will get up the lost time. The hurry upon your spirits, meantime, will be all your inconvenience; for it was not your fault you were stopped in your progress.

  I shall impatiently expect your next letter. The young ladies proposed that you should put yourself, if in town, or near it, into the Reading stage-coach, which inns somewhere in Fleet Street: and if you give notice of the day, you will be met on the road, and that pretty early in your journey, by some of both sexes; one of whom you won’t be sorry to see.

  Mr Hickman shall attend you at Slough; and Lady Betty herself, and one of the Misses Montague, with proper equipages, will be at Reading to receive you; and carry you directly to the seat of the former: for I have expressly stipulated that the wretch himself shall not come into your presence till your nuptials are to be solemnized, unless you give leave.

  Adieu, my dearest friend: be happy: and hundreds will then be happy of consequence. Inexpressibly so, I am sure, will then be

  Your ever-affectionate

  ANNA HOWE

  Letter 329: MISS HOWE TO MISS CHARLOTTE MONTAGUE

  Tuesday morning, July 18

  Madam,

  I take the liberty to write to you, by this special messenger: in the frenzy of my soul I write to you, to demand of you, and of any of your family who can tell, news of my beloved friend; who, I doubt, has been spirited away by the base arts of one of the blackest—Oh help me to a name bad enough to call him by! Her piety is proof against self-attempts: it must, it must be him, the only him who could injure such an innocent; and now—who knows what he has done with her!

  If I have patience, I will give you the occasion of this distracted vehemence.

  I wrote to her the very moment you and your sister left me. But being unable to procure a special messenger, as I intended, was forced to send by the post. I urged her (you know, I promised, that I would), I urged her with earnestness, to comply with the desires of all your family. Having no answer, I wrote again on Sunday night; and sent it by a particular hand, who travelled all night; chiding her for keeping a heart so impatient as mine in such cruel suspense upon a matter of so much importance to her; and therefore to me. And very angry I was with her in my mind.

  But, judge my astonishment, my distraction, when last night, the messenger, returning post-haste, brought me word that she had not been heard of since Friday morning! And that a letter lay for her at her lodgings, which came by the post; and must be mine.

  She went out about six that morning; only intending, as they believe, to go to morning prayers at Covent Garden church, just by her lodgings, as she had done divers times before. Went on foot! Left word she should be back in an hour—Very poorly in health!

  Lord, have mercy upon me! What shall I do! I was a distracted creature all last night!

  Oh madam! You know not how I love her! She was my earthly saviour, as I may say! My own soul is not dearer to me than my Clarissa Harlowe! Nay, she is my soul!—for I now have none!—only a miserable one, however!—for she was the joy, the stay, the prop of my life! Never woman loved woman as we love one another! It is impossible to tell you half her excellencies. It was my glory and my pride that I was capable of so fervent a love of so pure and matchless a creature! But now! Who knows whether the dear injured has not all her woes, her undeserved woes! completed in death; or is not reserved for a worse fate! This I leave to your inquiry—for—your—(shall I call the man—your) relation, I understand, is still with you.

  Surely, my good ladies, you were well authorized in the proposals you made me in presence of my mother! Surely he dare not abuse your confidence, and the confidence of your noble relations. I make no apology for giving you this trouble, nor for desiring you to favour with a line by this messenger

  Your almost distracted

  ANNA HOWE

  Letter 330: MR LOVELACE TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.

  M. Hall, Sat. night, July 15

  All undone, undone, by Jupiter! Zounds, Jack, what shall I do now! A curse upon all my plots and contrivances!

  Thy assistance I bespeak: the moment thou receivest this, I bespeak thy assistance. This messenger rides for life and death!—and I hope he’ll find you at your town lodgings; if he meet not with you at Edgware; where, being Sunday, he will call first.

  This cursed, cursed woman [Mrs Sinclair] on Friday dispatched man and horse with the joyful news, as she thought it would be to me, in an exulting letter from Sally Martin, that she had found out my angel as on Wednesday last; and on Friday morning, after she had been at prayers at Covent Garden church—praying for my reformation, perhaps!—got her arrested by two sheriff’s officers as she was returning to her lodgings, who put her into a chair they had in readiness, and carried her to one of the cursed fellows’ houses.

  She has arrested her for 150 pretendedly due for board and lodgings: a sum, besides the low villainy of the proceeding, which the dear soul could not possibly raise; all her clothes and effects, except what she had on and with her when she went away, being at the old devil’s!

  And here, for an aggravation, has the dear creature lain already two days; for I must be gallanting my two aunts and my two cousins, and giving Lord M. an airing after his lying-in: pox upon the whole family of us!—and returned not till within this hour: and now returned to my distraction, on receiving the cursed tidings, and the exulting letter.

  Hasten, hasten, dear Jack; for the love of God, hasten to the injured charmer! My heart bleeds for her! She deserved not this! I dare not stir! It will be thought done by my contrivance—and if I am absent from this place, that will confirm the suspicion.

  Damnation seize quick this accursed woman! Yet she thinks she has made no small merit with me! Unhappy, thrice unhappy circumstance! At a time too, when better prospects were opening for the sweet creature!

  Hasten to her! Clear me of this cursed job. Most sincerely, by all that’s sacred, I swear you may.

  Set her free the moment you see her: without conditioning, free! On your knees, for me, beg her pardon: and assure her that, wherever she goes, I will not molest her: no, nor come near her without her leave: and be sure allow not any of the damned crew to go near her. Only, let her permit you to receive her commands from time to time: you have always been her friend and advocate. What would I now give, had I permitted you to have been a successful one!

  Let her have all her clothes and effects sent her instantly, as a small proof of my sincerity. And force upon the dear creature, who must be moneyless, what sums you can get her to take. Let me know how she has been treated: if roughly, woe be to the guilty!

  The great devil fly away with them all, one by one, through the roof of their own cursed house, and dash them to pieces agai
nst the tops of chimneys, as he flies; and let the lesser devils collect their scattered scraps, and bag them up, in order to put them together again in their allotted place, in the element of fire, with cements of molten lead.

  A line! a line! a kingdom for a line! with tolerable news, the first moment thou canst write! This fellow waits to bring it.

  Letter 333: MR BELFORD TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ.

  Sunday night, July 16

  What a cursed piece of work hast thou made of it, with the most excellent of women! Thou mayest be in earnest, or in jest, as thou wilt; but the poor lady will not be long either thy sport, or the sport of fortune!

  I will give thee an account of a scene that wants but her affecting pen to represent it justly; and it would wring all the black blood out of thy callous heart.

  Thy villain [Will] it was, that set the poor lady, and had the impudence to appear and abet the sheriff’s officers in the cursed transaction. He thought, no doubt, that he was doing the most acceptable service to his blessed master. They had got a chair; the head ready up, as soon as service was over. And as she came out of the church, at the door fronting Bedford Street, the officers stepping to her, whispered that they had an action against her.

  She was terrified, trembled, and turned pale.

  Action! said she. What is that? I have committed no bad action! Lord bless me! Men, what mean you?

  That you are our prisoner, madam.

  Prisoner, sirs! What—How—Why—What have I done?

  You must go with us. Be pleased, madam, to step into this chair.

  With you! With men! Must go with men! I am not used to go with strange men! Indeed you must excuse me!

  We can’t excuse you: we are sheriff’s officers. We have a writ against you. You must go with us, and you shall know at whose suit.