Clarissa, Or, the History of a Young Lady

by Samuel Richardson

  Well do your sex contrive to bring us up fools and idiots in order to make us bear the yoke you lay upon our shoulders; and that we may not despise you from our hearts (as we certainly should if we were brought up as you are) for your ignorance, as much as you often make us do (as it is) for your insolence.

  These, sir, are some of my notions. And, with these notions, let me repeat my question, Do you think I ought to marry at all?

  Long did I stand out against all the offers made me, and against all the persuasions of my mother; and, to tell you the truth, the longer and with the more obstinacy, as the person my choice would have at first fallen upon was neither approved by my mother, nor by my dear friend. This riveted me to my pride, and to my opposition: for although I was convinced after a while that my choice would neither have been prudent nor happy; and that the specious wretch was not what he had made me believe he was; yet could I not easily think of any other man: and indeed from the detection of him took a settled aversion to the whole sex.

  At last Mr Hickman offered himself; a man worthy of a better choice. He had the good fortune (he thinks it so) to be agreeable (and to make his proposals agreeable) to my mother.

  As to myself; I own that were I to have chosen a brother, Mr Hickman should have been the man; virtuous, sober, sincere, friendly, as he is. But I wished not to marry: nor knew I the man in the world whom I could think deserving of my beloved friend. But neither of our parents would let us live single.

  The accursed Lovelace was proposed warmly to her at one time; and, while she was yet but indifferent to him, they by ungenerous usage of him (for then, sir, he was not known to be Beelzebub himself) and by endeavouring to force her inclinations in favour first of one worthless man, then of another, in antipathy to him, through her foolish brother’s caprice, turned that indifference (from the natural generosity of her soul) into a regard which she never otherwise would have had for a man of his character.

  Mr Hickman was proposed to me. I refused him again and again. He persisted: my mother his advocate. My mother made my beloved friend his advocate too. I told him my aversion to all men: to him: to matrimony. Still he persisted. I used him with tyranny: led indeed partly by my temper, partly by design; hoping thereby to get rid of him; till the poor man (his character unexceptionably uniform) still persisting, made himself a merit with me by his patience. This brought down my pride (I never, sir, was accounted very ungenerous, nor quite ungrateful) and gave me, at one time, an inferiority in my own opinion to him; which lasted just long enough for my friends to prevail upon me to promise him encouragement; and to receive his addresses.

  Having so done, when the weather-glass of my pride got up again, I found I had gone too far to recede. My mother and my friend both held me to it. Yet I tried him; I vexed him an hundred ways; and not so much neither with design to vex him, as to make him hate me and decline his suit.

  While my dear friend was in her unhappy uncertainty, I could not think of marriage: and now, what encouragement have I? She, my monitress, my guide, my counsel, gone, for ever gone!—by whose advice and instructions I hoped to acquit myself tolerably in the state into which I could not avoid entering. For, sir, my mother is so partially Mr Hickman’s friend, that I am sure, should any difference arise, she would always censure me, and acquit him; even were he ungenerous enough to remember me in his day.

  This, sir, being my situation, consider how difficult it is for me to think of marriage.

  And yet, engaged to enter into that state as I am, how can I help myself? My mother presses me; my friend, my beloved friend, writing as from the dead, presses me; and you and Mr Morden, as executors of her will, remind me; the man is not afraid of me (I am sure were I the man, I should not have half his courage); and I think I ought to conclude to punish him (the only effectual way I have to do it) for his perverse adherence and persecution, as many other persons are punished, with the grant of his own wishes.

  Let me then assure you, sir, that when I can find in the words of my charming friend in her will, writing of her cousin Hervey, that my grief for her is mellowed by time into a remembrance more sweet than painful, that I may not be utterly unworthy of the passion a man of some merit has for me, I will answer the request of my dear friend, so often repeated, and so earnestly pressed; and Mr Hickman shall find, if he continue to deserve my gratitude, that my endeavours shall not be wanting to make him amends for the patience he has had, and must still for a little while longer have, with me: and then will it be his own fault (I hope not mine) if our marriage answer not those happy prognostics, which filled her generous presaging mind, upon this view, as she once for my encouragement, and to induce me to encourage him, told me.

  Thus, sir, have I, in a very free manner accounted to you, as to the executor of my beloved friend, for all that relates to you, as such, to know; and even for more than I needed to do, against myself: only that you will find as much against me in some of her letters; and so, losing nothing, I gain the character of ingenuity with you.

  And now let me remind you of one great article relating to yourself, while you are admonishing me on this subject: it is furnished me by her posthumous letter to you. I hope you will not forget that the most benevolent of her sex expresses herself as earnestly concerned for your thorough reformation, as she does for my marrying. You’ll see to it then that her wishes are as completely answered in that particular, as you are desirous they should be in all others.

  I have, I own, disobeyed the dear creature in one article; and that is where she desires that I will not put myself into mourning. I could not help it.

  Your obliged servant,

  A. HOWE

  Letter 525: LORD M. TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.

  M. Hall, Friday, Sept. 29

  Dear sir,

  My kinsman Lovelace is now setting out for London; proposing to see you, and then to go to Dover and so embark. God send him well out of the kingdom!

  On Monday he will be with you, I believe. Pray let me be favoured with an account of all your conversations; for Mr Mowbray and Mr Tourville are to be there too; and whether you think he is grown quite his own man again. What I mostly write for, is to wish you to keep Colonel Morden and him asunder, and so to give you notice of his going to town. I should be very loath there should be any mischief between them, as you gave me notice that the colonel threatened my nephew. But my kinsman would not bear that; so nobody let him know that he did. But I hope there is no fear: for the colonel does not, as I hear, threaten now. For his own sake, I am glad of that; for there is not such a man in the world as my kinsman is said to be, at all the weapons—as well he was not; he would not be so daring.

  We shall all here miss the wild fellow. To be sure there is no man better company when he pleases.

  Pray, do you never travel thirty or forty mile? I should be glad to see you here at M. Hall. It will be charity, when my kinsman is gone; for we suppose you will be his chief correspondent: although he has promised to write to my nieces often. But he is very apt to forget his promises; to us his relations particularly. God preserve us all; Amen! prays

  Your very humble servant,

  M.

  Letter 526: MR BELFORD TO LORD M.

  London, Tuesday night, Oct. 3

  My lord,

  I obey your lordship’s commands with great pleasure.

  Yesterday in the afternoon Mr Lovelace made me a visit at my lodgings. As I was in expectation of one from Colonel Morden about the same time, I thought proper to carry him to a tavern which neither of us frequented (on pretence of an half-appointment); ordering notice to be sent me thither, if the colonel came: And Mr Lovelace sent to Mowbray, and Tourville, and Mr Doleman of Uxbridge (who came to town to take leave of him), to let them know where to find us.

  Mr Lovelace is too well recovered, I was going to say. I never saw him more gay, lively, and handsome. We had a good deal of bluster about some parts of the trus
t I have engaged in; and upon freedoms I had treated him with; in which, he would have it, that I had exceeded our agreed-on limits: but on the arrival of our three old companions, and a nephew of Mr Doleman’s (who had a good while been desirous to pass an hour with Mr Lovelace), it blew off for the present.

  I can deal tolerably with him at my pen; but in conversation he has no equal. In short, it was his day. He was glad, he said, to find himself alive; and his two friends clapping and rubbing their hands twenty times in an hour, declared, that now once more he was all himself; the charmingest fellow in the world; and they would follow him to the furthest part of the globe.

  Mr Doleman and his nephew took leave of us by twelve. Mowbray and Tourville grew very noisy by one; and were carried off by two.

  The clock struck three before I could get him into any serious or attentive way—so natural to him is gaiety of heart; and such strong hold had the liveliness of the evening taken of him. His conversation you know, my lord, when his heart is free, runs off to the bottom without any dregs.

  But after that hour, and when we thought of parting, he became a little more serious: and then he told me his designs, and gave me a plan of his intended tour; wishing heartily that I could have accompanied him.

  We parted about four; he not a little dissatisfied with me; for we had some talk about subjects which, he said, he loved not to think of; to wit, Miss Harlowe’s will; my executorship; papers I had in confidence communicated to that admirable lady (with no unfriendly design, I assure your lordship); and he insisting upon, and I refusing, the return of the letters he had written to me from the time that he had made his first addresses to her.

  He would see me once again, he said; and it would be upon very ill terms if I complied not with his request. Which I bid him not expect. But, that I might not deny him everything, I told him that I would give him a copy of the will; though I was sure, I said, when he read it, he would wish he had never seen it.

  I had a message from him about eleven this morning, desiring me to name a place at which to dine with him, and Mowbray, and Tourville, for the last time: and soon after another from Colonel Morden, inviting me to pass the evening with him at the Bedford Head in Covent Garden. And, that I might keep them at distance from one another, I appointed Mr Lovelace at the Eagle in Suffolk Street.

  There I met him, and the two others. We began where we left off at our last parting; and were very high with each other. But, at last, all was made up, and he offered to forget and forgive everything, on condition that I would correspond with him while abroad, and continue the series which had been broken through by his illness; and particularly give him, as I had offered, a copy of the lady’s will.

  I promised him: and he then fell to rallying me on my gravity, and on my reformation schemes, as he called them.

  In our conversation at dinner, he was balancing whether he should set out the next morning, or the morning after. But finding he had nothing to do, and Colonel Morden being in town (which, however, I told him not of), I turned the scale; and he agreed upon setting out tomorrow morning; they to see him embark; and I promised to accompany them for a morning’s ride (as they proposed their horses); but said that I must return in the afternoon.

  With much reluctance they let me go to my evening’s appointment: they little thought with whom.

  I found the colonel in a very solemn way. We had a good deal of discourse upon the subject of letters which had passed between us in relation to Miss Harlowe’s will, and to her family.

  He has some accounts to settle with his banker; which, he says, will be adjusted tomorrow; and on Thursday he proposes to go down again to take leave of his friends; and then intends to set out directly for Italy.

  I wish Mr Lovelace could have been prevailed upon to take any other tour than that of France and Italy. I did propose Madrid to him: but he laughed at me, and told me that the proposal was in character from a mule; and from one who was become as grave as a Spaniard of the old cut, at ninety.

  I expressed to the colonel my apprehensions that his cousin’s dying injunctions would not have the force upon him that were to be wished.

  They have great force upon me, Mr Belford, said he; or one world would not have held Mr Lovelace and me thus long. But my intention is to go to Florence; not to lay my bones there, as upon my cousin’s death I told you I thought to do; but to settle all my affairs in those parts, and then to come over and reside upon a little paternal estate in Kent, which is strangely gone to ruin in my absence. Indeed, were I to meet Mr Lovelace, either here or abroad, I might not be answerable for the consequence.

  He would have engaged me for tomorrow. But having promised to attend Mr Lovelace on his journey, as I have mentioned, I said I was obliged to go out of town, and was uncertain as to the time of my return in the evening.

  I will do myself the honour to write again to your lordship tomorrow night. Meantime, I am, my lord,

  Your lordship’s, etc.

  Letter 527: MR BELFORD TO LORD M.

  Wed. night, Oct. 4

  My lord,

  I am just returned from attending Mr Lovelace as far as Gads Hill near Rochester. He was exceeding gay all the way. Mowbray and Tourville are gone on with him. They will see him embark, and under sail; and promise to follow him in a month or two; for they say, there is no living without him, now he is once more himself.

  He and I parted with great and even solemn tokens of affection; but yet not without gay intermixtures, as I will acquaint your lordship.

  Taking me aside, and clasping his arms about me, ‘Adieu, dear Belford! said he: may you proceed in the course you have entered upon! Whatever airs I give myself, this charming creature has fast hold of me here (clapping his hand upon his heart); and I must either appear what you see me, or be what I so lately was.

  ‘But if I live to come to England, and you remain fixed in your present way and can give me encouragement, I hope rather to follow your example than to ridicule you for it. This will (for I had given him a copy of it) I will make the companion of my solitary hours. You have told me part of its melancholy contents; and that, and her posthumous letter, shall be my study; and they will prepare me for being your disciple, if you hold on.

  ‘You, Jack, may marry, continued he; and I have a wife in my eye for you. Only thou’rt such an awkward mortal.

  ‘And for me, I never will, I never can, marry. That I will not take a few liberties, and that I will not try to start some of my former game, I won’t promise. Habits are not easily shaken off. But they shall be by way of weaning. So return and reform shall go together.

  ‘And now, thou sorrowful monkey, what aileth thee?’ I do love him, my lord.

  ‘Adieu! And once more adieu!—embracing me. And when thou thinkest thou hast made thyself an interest out yonder (looking up) then put in a word for thy Lovelace.’

  Joining company, he recommended to me to write often; and promised to let me quickly hear from him; and that he would write to your lordship, and to all his family round; for he said that you had all been more kind to him than he had deserved.

  And so we parted.

  Your most faithful and obedient servant,

  J. BELFORD

  Letter 533: MR BELFORD TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ.

  London, October 26

  I cannot think, my dear Lovelace, that Colonel Morden has either threatened you in those gross terms mentioned by the vile, hypocritical, and ignorant Joseph Leman, or intends to follow you. They are the words of people of that fellow’s class; and not of a gentleman: not of Colonel Morden, I am sure. You’ll observe that Joseph pretends not to say that he heard him speak them.

  I have been very solicitous to sound the colonel, for your sake and for his own, and for the sake of the injunctions of the excellent lady to me, as well as to him, on that subject. But, in so many words, he assured me that he had not taken any resolutions; nor had he dec
lared himself to the family in such a way as should bind him to resent: on the contrary, he has owned that his cousin’s injunctions have hitherto had the force upon him which I could wish they should have.

  He went abroad in a week after you. When he took his leave of me, he told me that his design was to go to Florence; and that he would settle his affairs there; and then return to England, and here pass the remainder of his days.

  I have, as you required, been very candid and sincere with you. I have not aimed at palliation. If you seek not Colonel Morden, it is my opinion he will not seek you: for he is a man of principle. But if you seek him, I believe he will not shun you.

  Adieu therefore! Mayest thou repent of the past: and may no new violences add to thy heavy reflections, and overwhelm thy future hopes, is the wish of

  Thy true friend,

  JOHN BELFORD

  Letter 534: MR LOVELACE TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.

  Munich, Nov. 11-22

  And so you own that he has threatened me; but not in gross and ungentlemanly terms, you say. If he has threatened me like a gentleman, I will resent his threats like a gentleman. But he has not done as a man of honour, if he has threatened me at all behind my back. I would scorn to threaten any man to whom I knew how to address myself either personally or by pen and ink.

  He had not taken any resolutions, you say, when you saw him. He must and will take resolutions, one way or other, very quickly; for I wrote to him yesterday, without waiting for this your answer to my last. I could not avoid it. I could not (as I told you in that) live in suspense. I have directed my letter to Florence. Nor could I suffer my friends to live in suspense as to my safety or otherwise. But I have couched it in such moderate terms, that he has fairly his option. He will be the challenger, if he take it in the sense in which he may so handsomely avoid taking it. Yet, if we are to meet (for I know what my option would be, in his case, on such a letter, complaisant as it is), I wish he had a worse, I a better cause. It would be sweet revenge to him, were I to fall by his hand. But what should I be the better for killing him?