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Clarissa. Or, The History of a Young Lady: Comprehending The most Important Concerns of Private Life. And particularly shewing, The Distresses that may attend the Misconduct Both of Parents and Children, In Relation to Marriage. Published by the Editor of Pamela.
The following History is given in a Series of Letters, written principally in a double, yet separate, Correspondence;
Between Two young Ladies of Virtue and Honour, bearing an inviolable Friendship for each other, and writing upon the most interesting Subjects: And
Between Two Gentlemen of free Lives; one of them glorying in his Talents for Stratagem and Invention, and communicating to the other, in Confidence, all the secret Purposes of an intriguing Head, and resolute Heart.
But it is not amiss to premise, for the sake of such as may apprehend Hurt to the Morals of Youth from the more freely-written Letters, That the Gentlemen, tho' professed Libertines as to the Fair Sex, and making it one of their wicked Maxims, to keep no Faith with any of the Individuals of it who throw themselves into their Power, are not, however, either Infidels or Scoffers: Nor yet such as think themselves freed from the Observance of other moral Obligations.
On the contrary, it will be found, in the Progress of the Collection, that they very often make such Reflections upon each other, and each upon himself, and upon his Actions, as reasonable Beings, who disbelieve not a future State of Rewards and Punishments (and who one day propose to reform) must sometimes make: —One of them actually reforming, and antidoting the Poison which some might otherwise apprehend would be spread by the gayer Pen, and lighter Heart, of the other.
And yet that other, [altho' in unbosoming himself to a select Friend, he discover Wickedness enough to intitle him to general Hatred] preserves a Decency, as well in his Images, as in his Language, which is not always to be found in the Works of some of the most celebrated modern Writers, whose Subjects and Characters have less warranted the Liberties they have taken.
Length will be naturally expected, not only from what has been said, but from the following Considerations:
That the Letters on both Sides are written while the Hearts of the Writers must be supposed to be wholly engaged in their Subjects: The Events at the Time generally dubious: — So that they abound, not only with critical Situations; but with what may be called instantaneous Descriptions and Reflections; which may be brought home to the Breast of the youthful Reader: —As also, with affecting Conversations; many of them written in the Dialogue or Dramatic Way.
To which may be added, that the Collection contains not only the History of the excellent Person whose Name it bears, but includes The Lives, Characters, and Catastrophes, of several others, either principally or incidentally concerned in the Story.
But yet the Editor [to whom it was referred to publish the Whole in such a Way as he should think would be most acceptable to the Public] was so diffident in relation to this Article of Length, that he thought proper to submit the Letters to the Perusal of several judicious Friends; whose Opinion he desired of what might be best spared.
One Gentleman, in particular, of whose Knowlege, Judgment, and Experience, as well as Candor, the Editor has the highest Opinion, advised him to give a Narrative Turn to the Letters; and to publish only what concerned the principal Heroine;—striking off the collateral Incidents, and all that related to the Second Characters; tho' he allowed the Parts which would have been by this means excluded, to be both instructive and entertaining. But being extremely fond of the affecting Story, he was desirous to have every-thing parted with, which he thought retarded its Progress.
This Advice was not relished by other Gentlemen. They insisted, that the Story could not be reduced to a Dramatic Unity, nor thrown into the Narrative Way, without divesting it of its Warmth; and of a great Part of its Efficacy; as very few of the Reflections and Observations, which they looked upon as the most useful Part of the Collection, would, then, find a Place.
They were of Opinion, That in all Works of This, and of the Dramatic Kind, Story, or Amusement, should be considered as little more than the Vehicle to the more necessary Instruction: That many of the Scenes would be render'd languid, were they to be made less busy: And that the Whole would be thereby deprived of that Variety, which is deemed the Soul of a Feast, whether mensal or mental.
They were also of Opinion, That the Parts and Characters, which must be omitted, if this Advice were followed, were some of the most natural in the whole Collection: And no less instructive; especially to Youth. Which might be a Consideration perhaps overlooked by a Gentleman of the Adviser's great Knowlege and Experience: For, as they observed, there is a Period in human Life, in which, youthful Activity ceasing, and Hope contenting itself to look from its own domestic Wicket upon bounded Prospects, the half-tired Mind aims at little more than Amusement. —And with Reason; for what, in the instructive Way, can appear either new or needful to one who has happily got over those dangerous Situations which call for Advice and Cautions, and who has fill'd up his Measures of Knowlege to the Top?
Others, likewise gave their Opinions. But no Two being of the same Mind, as to the Parts which could be omitted, it was resolved to present to the World, the Two First Volumes, by way of Specimen; and to be determined with regard to the rest by the Reception those should meet with.
If that be favourable, Two others may soon follow; the whole Collection being ready for the Press: That is to say, If it be not found necessary to abstract or omit some of the Letters, in order to reduce the Bulk of the Whole.
Thus much in general. But it may not be amiss to add, in particular, that in the great Variety of Subjects which this Collection contains, it is one of the principal Views of the Publication,
But as the Characters will not all appear in the Two First Volumes, it has been thought advisable, in order to give the Reader some further Idea of Them, and of the Work, to prefix
Miss Clarissa Harlowe, a young Lady of great Delicacy; Mistress of all the Accomplishments, natural and acquired, that adorn the Sex; having the strictest Notions of filial Duty.
Robert Lovelace, Esq; a Man of Birth and Fortune: Haughty, vindictive, humourously vain; equally intrepid and indefatigable in the Pursuit of his Pleasures— Making his Addresses to Miss Clarissa Harlowe.
James Harlowe, Esq; the Father of Miss Clarissa, Miss Arabella, and Mr. James Harlowe: Despotic, absolute; and, when offended, not easily forgiving.
Lady Charlotte Harlowe, his Wife, Mistress of fine Qualities; but greatly under the Influence not only of her arbitrary Husband, but of her Son.
James Harlowe, jun. proud, fierce, uncontroulable, and ambitious; jealous of the Favour his Sister Clarissa stood in with the Principals of the Family; and a bitter and irreconcileable Enemy to Mr. Lovelace.
Miss Arabella Harlowe, elder Sister of Miss Clarissa; ill-natured, overbearing, and petulant; envying her Sister; and the more, as Mr. Lovelace was first brought to make his Addresses to herself.
John Harlowe, Esq; elder Brother of Mr. James Harlowe, sen. an unmarried Gentleman; good-natured, and humane; but easily carried away by more boistrous Spirits.
Antony Harlowe, Third Brother, who had acquired a great Fortune in the Indies; positive, rough, opinionated.
Mr. Roger Solmes, a Man of sordid Manners; disagreeable in his Person and Address: Immensely rich: Proposed with an high hand for an Husband to Miss Clarissa Harlowe.
Mrs. Hervey, Half-Sister of Lady Charlotte Harlowe; a Lady of good Sense, and Virtue: In her Heart against the Measures taken to drive her Niece to Extremities; but not having Courage to oppose herself to so strong a Stream, sailing with it.
Miss Dolly Hervey, her Daughter; good-natured, gentle, sincere; and a great Admirer of her Cousin Clarissa.
Mrs. Norton, a Gentlewoman of Piety, and good Understanding; the Daughter of an unpreferred Clergyman of great Merit, whose Amanuensis she was: —Married unhappily (and left a Widow), engaged to nurse Miss Clarissa Harlowe: In whose Education likewise she had a principal Share.
Colonel Morden, a Man of Fortune, Generosity, and Courage, nearly related to the Harlowe-Family: For some time past residing at Florence.
Miss Howe, the most intimate Friend, Companion, and Correspondent of Miss Clarissa Harlowe: Of great Vivacity, Fire, and Fervency in her Friendships and Enmities.
Mrs. Howe, Mother of Miss Howe; a Widow Lady of high Spirit; a notable Manager: Having high Notions of the Parental Authority.
Mr. Hickman, a Man of Family, Fortune, Sobriety, and Virtue: Encouraged by Mrs. Howe in his Addresses to her Daughter.
Lord M. Uncle to Mr. Lovelace; a Nobleman of middle Genius; and a great Proverbialist.
Lady Sarah Sadleir, Lady Betty Lawrance, Half-Sisters of Lord M. Widow-Ladies of Honour and Fortune.
Miss Charlotte and Patty Montague, Maiden Ladies of Character; Nieces of the same Nobleman.
Dr. Lewin, a Divine of great Piety and Learning; to whom Miss Clarissa Harlowe owed much of her Improvement.
Dr. H. a Physician of Humanity, Generosity, and Politeness.
Mr. Elias Brand, a pedantic young Clergyman, fond of Latin Scraps, and Classical Quotations.
Richard Mowbray, Thomas Doleman, James Tourville, Thomas Belton, Libertine Gentlemen, Companions of Mr. Lovelace.
John Belford, Esq; a Fifth Friend and Companion of Mr. Lovelace; and his principal Intimate and Confident.
Mrs. Sinclair, the pretended Name of a private Brothel-keeper in London.
Capt. Tomlinson, the assumed Name of a vile and artful Pander of the Debaucheries of Mr. Lovelace.
Mrs. Moore, a Widow-Gentlewoman, keeping a Lodging-house at Hampstead.
Miss Rawlins, a notable young Gentlewoman in that Neighbourhood.
Mrs. Bevis, a lively Widow of the same Place.
Sally Martin, Polly Horton, Assistants of, and Partners with, the infamous Mrs. Sinclair.
Joseph Leman, William Summers, Hannah Burton, Betty Barnes, Dorcas Wykes, and others, Servants to the principal Persons.
Miss Anna Howe, To Miss Clarissa Harlowe.
Jan. 10.
I am extremely concerned, my dearest friend, for the disturbances that have happened in your family. I know how it must hurt you, to become the subject of the public talk: And yet, upon an occasion so generally known, it is impossible but that whatever relates to a young lady, whose distinguished merits have made her the public care, should engage every-body's attention. I long to have the particulars from yourself; and of the usage I am told you receive upon an accident you could not help; and in which, as far as I can learn, the sufferer was the aggressor.
Mr. Diggs , whom I sent for at the first hearing of the rencounter, to inquire, for your sake, how your brother was, told me, That there was no danger from the wound, if there were none from the fever; which, it seems, has been increased by the perturbation of his spirits.
Mr. Wyerley drank tea with us yesterday; and tho' he is far from being partial to Mr. Lovelace, as it may be well supposed, yet both he and Mr. Symmes blame your family for the treatment they gave him, when he went in person to inquire after your brother's health, and to express his concern for what had happened.
They say, That Mr. Lovelace could not avoid drawing his sword: And that either your brother's unskilfulness or violence left him, from the very first pass, intirely in his power. This, I am told, was what Mr. Lovelace said upon it; retreating as he spoke: 'Have a care, Mr. Harlowe—Your violence puts you out of your defence. You give me too much advantage! For your sister's sake, I will pass by everything; —if—'
But this the more provoked his rashness, to lay himself open to the advantage of his adversary—Who, after a slight wound in the arm, took away his sword.
There are people who love not your brother, because of his natural imperiousness, and fierce and uncontroulable temper: These say, That the young gentleman's passion was abated; on seeing his blood gush plentifully down his arm; and that he received the generous offices of his adversary, who help'd him off with his coat and waistcoat, and bound up his arm, till the surgeon could come, with such patience, as was far from making a visit afterwards from that adversary to inquire after his health, appear either insulting, or improper.
Be this as it may, every-body pities you. So steady, so uniform in your conduct: So desirous, as you always said, of sliding through life to the end of it unnoted; and, as I may add, not wishing to be observed even for your silent benevolence; sufficiently happy in the noble consciousness which rewards it: Rather useful, than glaring, your deserved motto; though now push'd into blaze, as we see, to your regret; and yet blamed at home for the faults of others;—How must such a virtue suffer on every hand! —Yet it must be allowed, that your present trial is but proportion'd to your prudence!—
As all your friends without doors are apprehensive, that some other unhappy event may result from so violent a contention, in which, it seems, the families on both sides are now engaged, I must desire you to enable me, on the authority of your own information, to do you occasional justice.
My mamma, and all of us, like the rest of the world, talk of nobody but you, on this occasion, and of the consequences which may follow, from the resentments of a man of Mr. Lovelace's spirit; who, as he gives out, has been treated with high indignity by your uncles. My mamma will have it, that you cannot now, with any decency, either see him, or correspond with him. She is a good deal prepossessed by your uncle Antony; who occasionally calls upon us, as you know; and, on this rencounter, has represented to her the crime, which it would be in a fitter, to encourage a man, who is to wade into her favour, (this was his expression) thro' the blood of her brother.
Write to me therefore, my dear, the whole of your story, from the time that Mr. Lovelace was first introduced into your family; and particularly an account of all that passed between him and your sister; about which there are different reports; some people supposing that the younger sister (at least by her uncommon merit) has stolen a lover from the elder: And pray write in so full a manner, as may gratify those, who know not so much of your affairs, as I do. If any thing unhappy should fall out from the violence of such spirits as you have to deal with, your account of all things previous to it, will be your justification.
You see what you draw upon yourself, by excelling all your sex: Every individual of it, who knows you, or has heard of you, seems to think you answerable to her for your conduct in points so very delicate and concerning.
Every eye, in short, is upon you, with the expectation of an example. I wish to heaven you were at liberty to pursue your own methods: And would then, I dare say, be easy, and honourably ended. But I dread your directors and directresses: for your mamma, admirably well qualified as she is to lead, must submit to be led. Your sister and brother will certainly put you out of your course.
But this is a point you will not permit me to expatiate upon: Pardon me therefore, and I have done. —Yet, why should I say, Pardon me? When your concerns are my concerns? When your honour is my honour? When I love you, as never woman loved another? And when you have allowed of that concern and of that love; and have for years, which in persons so young, may be called many, ranked in the first class of your friends,
Your ever-grateful and affectionate
Anna Howe.
Miss Clarissa Harlowe, To Miss Howe.
Harlowe-Place, Jan. 13.
How you oppress me, my dearest friend, with your politeness! I cannot doubt your sincerity; but you should take care, that you give me not reason, from your kind partiality, to call in question your judgment. You do not distinguish, that I take many admirable hints from you, and have the art to pass them upon you for my own: For in all you do, in all you say, nay, in your very looks (so animated!), you give lessons, to one who loves you and observes you, as I love and observe you, without knowing that you do: —So, pray, my dear, be more sparing of your praise for the future, lest, after this confession, we should suspect, that you secretly intend to praise yourself, while you would be thought only to commend another.
Our family has indeed been strangely discomposed. —Discomposed ! —It has been in tumults, ever since the unhappy transaction; and I have borne all the blame; yet should have had too much concern, from myself, had I been more justly spared by every one else.
For, whether it be owing to a faulty impatience, having been too indulgently treated to be inured to blame, or to the regret I have to hear those censured on my account, whom it is my duty to vindicate; I have sometimes wished, that it had pleased God to have taken me in my last fever, when I had everybody's love, and good opinion; but oftener, that I had never been distinguished by my grandpapa as I was: Which has estranged from me, I doubt, my brother's and sister's affections; at least, has raised a jealousy, with regard to the apprehended favour of my two uncle, that now and-then overshadows their love.
My brother being happily recover'd of his fever, and his wound in a hopeful way, altho' he has not yet ventured abroad, I will be as particular as you desire in the little history you demand of me. But heaven forbid, that any thing should ever happen, which may require it to be produced for the purpose you so kindly mention!
I will begin, as you command, with Mr. Lovelace's address to my sister; and be as brief as possible. I will recite facts only; and leave you to judge of the truth of the report raised, that the younger sister has robbed the elder.
It was in pursuance of a conference between Lord M. and my uncle Antony, that Mr. Lovelace (my papa and mamma not forbidding) paid his respects to my sister Arabella. My brother was then in Scotland, busying himself in viewing the condition of the considerable estate which was left him there by his generous godmother, together with one as considerable in Yorkshire. I was also absent at my Dairy-house, as it is called , busied in the accounts relating to the estate which my grandfather had the goodness to bequeath me; and which once a year are left to my inspection, altho' I have given the whole into my papa's power.
My sister made me a visit there the day after Mr. Lovelace had been introduced; and seemed highly pleased with the gentleman. His birth, his fortune in possession, a clear 2000l. per annum, as Lord M. had assured my uncle; presumptive heir to that nobleman's large estate: His great expectations from Lady Sarah Sadleir, and Lady Betty Lawrance; who, with his uncle, interested themselves very warmly (he being the last of his line) to see him married.
'So handsome a man!—O her beloved Clary!' (for then she was ready to love me dearly, from the overflowings of her good humour on his account!) 'He was but too handsome a man for her! —Were she but as amiable as somebody, there would be a probability of holding his affections! —For he was wild, she heard; very wild, very gay; loved intrigue— But he was young; a man of sense: Would see his error; could she but have patience with his faults, if his faults were not cured by marriage.'
Thus she ran on; and then wanted me 'to see the charming man,' as she called him. —Again concerned, 'that she was not handsome enough for him:' With, 'A sad thing, that the man should have the advantage of the woman in that particular.' —But then, stepping to the glass, she complimented herself, 'That she was very well: That there were many women deemed passable, who were inferior to herself: That she was always thought comely: and, let her tell me, that comeliness having not so much to lose as beauty had, would hold, when that would evaporate and fly off: —Nay, for that matter,' (and again she turn'd to the glass), 'her features were not irregular; her eyes not at all amiss.' And I remember they were more than usually brilliant at that time. —'Nothing, in short, to be found fault with, tho' nothing very engaging, she doubted—Was there, Clary?'
Excuse me, my dear, I never was thus particular before; no, not to you. Nor would I now have written thus freely of a sister; but that she makes a merit to my brother, of disowning that she ever liked him: as I shall mention hereafter: And then you will always have me give you minute descriptions, nor suffer me to pass by the air and manner in which things are spoken, that are to be taken notice of; rightly observing, that air and manner often express more than the accompanying words.
I congratulated her upon her prospects. She received my compliments with a great deal of self-complacency.
She liked the gentleman still more at his next visit: And yet he made no particular address to her; altho' an opportunity was given him for it. This was wonder'd at, as my uncle had introduced him into our family, declaredly as a visitor to my sister. But as we are ever ready to make excuses, when in good humour with ourselves, for the supposed slights of those whose approbation we wish to engage; so my sister found out a reason, much to Mr. Lovelace's advantage, for his not improving the opportunity that was given him. — It was bashfulness, truly, in him. (Bashfulness in Mr. Lovelace, my dear!)—Indeed, gay and lively as he is, he has not the look of an impudent man. But, I fancy, it is many, many years ago, since he was bashful.
Thus, however, could my sister make it out— 'Upon her word, she believed Mr. Lovelace deserved not the bad character he had as to women. He was really, to her thinking, a modest man. He would have spoken out, she believed: But once or twice, as he seemed to intend to do so, he was under so aggre-able a confusion! Such a profound respect he seemed to shew her: A perfect reverence, she thought: She lov'd dearly, that a gentleman in courtship should shew a reverence to his mistress.' —So indeed we all do, I believe: And with reason; since, if I may judge from what I have seen in many families, there is little enough of it shewn afterwards. —And she told my aunt Hervey, that she would be a little less upon the reserve next time he came: 'She was not one of those flirts, not she, who would give pain to a person that deserved to be well-treated; and the more for the greatness of his value for her.' —I wish, she had not Somebody whom I love in her eye. Yet is not her censure unjust, I believe: —Is it, my dear? —Excepting in one undue and harsh word?
In his third visit, Bella govern'd herself by this kind and considerate principle: So that, according to her, own account of the matter, the man might have spoken out. —But he was still bashful: He was not able to overcome this unseasonable reverence . So this visit went off, as the former.
But now she began to be dissatisfied with him: She compared his general character, with This his particular behaviour to her; and, having never been courted before, own'd herself puzzled, how to deal with so odd a lover. 'What did the man mean! — Had not her uncle brought him declaredly as a suiter to her? —It could not be bashfulness (now she thought of it), since he might have open'd his mind to her uncle, if he wanted courage to speak directly to her. —Not that she cared much for the man neither: But it was right, surely, that a woman should be put out of doubt, early, as to a man's intentions, in such a case as This, from his own mouth. —But, truly, she had begun to think, that he was more solicitous to cultivate her mamma's good opinion, than hers! —Every-body, she own'd, admired her mamma's conversation. —But he was mistaken, if he thought that would do with her. And then, for his own sake, surely, he should put it into her power to be complaisant to him, if he gave her cause of approbation. This distant behaviour, she must take upon her to say, was the more extraordinary, as he continued his visits, and declared himself extremely desirous to cultivate a friendship with the whole family; and as he could have no doubt about her sense, if she might take upon her to join her own with the general opinion; he having taken great notice of, and admired many of her good things, as they fell from her lips. —Reserves were painful, she must needs say, to open and free spirits, like hers: And yet she must tell my aunt' (to whom all this was directed) 'that she should never forget what she ow'd to her sex, and to herself, were Mr. Lovelace as unexceptionable in his morals, as in his figure, and were he to urge his suit ever so warmly.'
I was not of her council. I was still absent. And it was agreed between my aunt Hervey and her, that she was to be quite solemn and shy in his next visit, if there were not a peculiarity in his address to her.
But my sister, it seems, had not consider'd the matter well. This was not the way, as it proved, to be taken with a man of Mr. Lovelace's penetration, for matters of mere omission: —Nor with any man; since if love has not taken root deep enough to cause it to shoot out into declaration, if an opportunity be fairly given for it, there is little room to expect, that the blighting winds of anger or resentment will bring it forward. Then my poor sister is not naturally good-humour'd. This is too well known a truth for me to endeavour to conceal it, especially from you. She must therefore, I doubt, have appear'd to great disadvantage, when she aim'd to be worse-temper'd than ordinary.
How they managed it in this conversation I know not: One would be tempted to think by the issue, that Mr. Lovelace was ungenerous enough to seek the occasion given , and to improve it. Yet he thought fit to put the question too: —But, she says, it was not till by some means or other (she knew not how) he had wrought her up to such a pitch of displeasure with him, that it was impossible for her to recover herself, at the instant: Nevertheless he re-urged his question, as expecting a definitive answer, without waiting for the return of her temper, or endeavouring to mollify her: so that she was under a necessity of persisting in her denial: Yet gave him reason to think, that she did not dislike his address, only the manner of it; his court being rather made to her mamma than to herself, as if he were sure of her consent at any time.
A good encouraging denial, I must own: —As was the rest of her plea; to wit, 'A disinclination to change her state. —Exceedingly happy as she was: She never could be happier!' And such-like consenting negatives, as I may call them; and yet not intend a reflection upon my sister: For what can any young creature, in the like circumstances, say, which she is not sure, but a too ready consent may subject her to the slights of a sex, that generally values a blessing, either more or less, as it is obtained with difficulty or ease? Miss Biddulph's answer to a copy of verses from a gentleman, reproaching our sex, as acting in disguise, is not a bad one, altho' you perhaps may think it too acknowleging for the female character.
Here I am obliged to lay down my pen. I will soon resume it.
Miss Clarissa Harlowe, To Miss Howe.
Jan. 13, 14.
And thus, as Mr. Lovelace thought fit to take it, had he his answer from my sister. It was with very great regret, as he pretended (I doubt the man is an hypocrite, my dear!), that he acquiesced in it. 'So much determinedness; such a noble firmness in my sister; that there was no hope of prevailing upon her to alter sentiments she had adopted on full consideration.' 'He sigh'd, as Bella told us, when he took his leave of her: Profoundly sigh'd: Grasp'd her hand, and kissed it with such an ardor. —Withdrew with such an air of solemn respect. —She had him then before her. —She could almost find in her heart, altho' he had vex'd her, to pity him.' A good intentional preparative, this pity; since, at the time, she little thought that he would not renew his offer.
He waited on my mamma, after he had taken leave of Bella, and reported his ill success, in so respectful a manner, both with regard to my sister, and to the whole family, and with so much concern that he was not accepted as a relation to it, that it left upon them all (my brother being then, as I have said, in Scotland) impressions in his favour; and a belief, that this matter would certainly be brought on again. But Mr. Lovelace going up directly to town, where he stay'd a whole fortnight; and meeting there with my uncle Antony, to whom he regretted his niece's unhappy resolution not to change her state; it was seen that there was a total end put to the affair.
My sister was not wanting to herself on this occasion; but made a virtue of necessity; and the man was quite another man with her. 'A vain creature! too well knowing his advantages: Yet those, not what she had conceived them to be! —Cool and warm by fits and starts: An ague-like lover: A steady man, a man of virtue, a man of morals, was worth a thousand of such gay flutterers. Her sister Clary might think it worth her while perhaps, to try to engage such a man: She had patience: She was mistress of persuasion; and indeed, to do the girl justice, had something of a person: But as for her, she would not have a man, of whose heart she could not be sure for one moment; no, not for the world: And most sincerely glad was she, that she had rejected him.'
But when Mr. Lovelace return'd into the country, he thought fit to visit my papa and mamma; hoping, as he told them, that, however unhappy he had been in the rejection of the wish'd-for alliance; he might be allowed to keep up an acquaintance and friendship with a family which he should always respect. And then, unhappily, as I may say, was I at home, and present.
It was immediately observed, that his attention was fixed on me. My sister, as soon as he was gone, in a spirit of bravery, seem'd desirous to promote his address, should it be tendered.
My aunt Hervey was there; and was pleased to say, We should make the finest couple in England; if my sister had no objection. —No, indeed, with a haughty toss, was my sister's reply! —It would be strange if she had, after the denial she had given him upon full deliberation.
My mamma declared, That her only dislike of his alliance with either daughter, was on account of his faulty morals.
My uncle Harlowe, That his daughter Clary, as he delighted to call me from childhood, would reform him, if any woman in the world could.
My uncle Antony gave his approbation in high terms: But referr'd, as my aunt had done, to my sister.
She repeated her contempt of him; and declar'd, that were there not another man in England, she would not have him. She was ready, on the contrary, she could assure them, to resign her pretensions under hand and seal, if Miss Clary were taken with his tinsel; and if every one else approved of his address to the girl.
My papa, indeed, after a long silence, being urged to speak his mind, by my uncle Antony, said, That he had a letter from his son James, on his hearing of Mr. Lovelace's visits to his daughter Arabella; which he had not shewn to any-body but my mamma; that treaty being at an end when he received it: That in this letter he expressed great dislikes to an alliance with Mr. Lovelace, on the score of his immoralities: That he knew, indeed, there was an old grudge between them: That, being desirous to prevent all occasions of disunion and animosity in his family, he would suspend the declaration of his own mind, till his son arrived, and till he had heard his further objections: That he was the more inclined to make his son this compliment, as Mr. Lovelace's general character gave but too much ground for his son's dislike of him; adding, That he had heard, (So, he supposed, had every-one) that he was a very extravagant man: that he had contracted debts in his travels: And, indeed, he was pleased to say, he had the air of a spendthrift.
These particulars I had partly from my aunt Hervey, and partly from my sister; for I was called out, as soon as the subject was entered upon. And, when I returned, my uncle Antony asked me, How I should like Mr. Lovelace? Every-body saw, he was pleased to say, that I had made a conquest.
I immediately answered, Not at all: He seemed to have too good an opinion both of his person and parts, to have any great regard to his wife, let him marry whom he would.
My sister, particularly, was pleased with this answer, and confirmed it to be just; with a compliment to my judgment: —For it was hers .
But the very next day Lord M. came to Harlowe-Place: I was then absent: And, in his nephew's name, made a proposal in form; declaring, That it was the ambition of all his family to be related to ours: And he hoped his kinsman would not have such an answer on the part of the younger sister, as he had had on that of the elder.
In short, Mr. Lovelace's visits were admitted, as those of a man who had not deserved disrespect from our family; but, as to his address to me, with a reservation, as above, on my papa's part, that he would determine nothing without his son. My discretion, as to the rest, was confided in: For still I had the same objections as to the man: Nor would I, when we were better acquainted, hear any-thing but general talk from him; giving him no opportunity of conversing with me in private.
He bore this with a resignation little expected from his natural temper, which is generally reported to be quick and hasty; unused, it seems, from childhood, to check or controul: A case too common in considerable families, where there is an only son: And his mother never had any other child. But, as I have heretofore told you, I could perceive, notwithstanding this resignation, that he had so good an opinion of himself, as not to doubt, that his person and accomplishments would insensibly engage me: And could That be once done, he told my aunt Hervey, he should hope from so steady a temper, that his hold in my affections would be durable: While my sister accounted for his patience in another manner, which would perhaps have had more force, if it had come from a person less prejudiced: 'That the man was not fond of marrying at all: That he might perhaps have half-a-score mistresses; and that delay might be as convenient for his roving, as for my well-acted indifference.' —That was her kind expression.
Whatever were his motive for a patience so generally believed to be out of his usual character, and where the object of his address was supposed to be of fortune considerable enough to engage his warmest attention, he certainly escaped many mortifications by it: For while my papa suspended his approbation till my brother's arrival, he received from every-one those civilities which were due to his birth: And altho' we heard, from time to time, reports to his disadvantage with regard to morals; yet could we not question him upon them, without giving him greater advantages, than the situation he was in with us would justify to prudence; since it was much more likely, that his address would not be allowed of, than that it would.
And thus was he admitted to converse with our family, almost upon his own terms; for while my friends saw nothing in his behaviour but what was extremely respectful, and observed in him no violent importunity, they seemed to have taken a great liking to his conversation: While I considered him only as a a common guest, when he came; and thought myself no more concerned in his visits, nor at his entrance or departure, than any other of the family.
But this indifference of my side was the means of procuring him one very great advantage; for upon it was grounded that correspondence by letters, which succeeded;—and which, had it been to be begun, when the family animosity broke out, would never have been entered into on my part. The occasion was this:
My uncle Hervey has a young gentleman intrusted to his care, whom he has thoughts of sending abroad, a year or two hence, to make the Grand Tour, as it is called; and, finding Mr. Lovelace could give a good account of every-thing necessary for a young traveller to observe upon such an occasion, he desired him to write down a description of the courts and countries he had visited; and what was most worthy of curiosity in them.
He consented, on condition that I would direct his subjects, as he called it: And, as every-one had heard his manner of writing commended; and thought his relations might be agreeable amusements in winter evenings; and that he could have no opportunity particularly to address me in them, since they were to be read in full assembly, before they were to be given to the young gentleman; I made the less scruple to write, and to make observations, and put questions, for our further information—Still the less, perhaps, as I love writing; and those who do, are fond, you know, of occasions to use the pen: And then, having every one's consent, and my uncle Hervey's desire that I would, I thought, that if I had been the only scrupulous person, it would have shewn a particularity, that a vain man would construe to his advantage; and which my sister would not fail to animadvert upon.
You have seen some of these letters; and have been pleased with his account of persons, places, and things; and we have both agreed, that he was no common observer upon what he had seen.
My sister herself allowed, that the man had a tolerable knack of writing and describing: And my papa, who had been abroad in his youth, said, That his remarks were curious, and shewed him to be a person of reading, judgment, and taste.
Thus was a kind of correspondence begun between him and me, with general approbation; while everyone wonder'd at, and was pleased with, his patient veneration of me; for so they called it. However, it was not doubted, that he would soon be more importunate; since his visits were more frequent, and he acknowleged to my aunt Hervey a passion for me, accompany'd with an awe, that he had never known before; to which he attributed what he called his but seeming acquiescence with my papa's pleasure, and the distance I kept him at. And yet, my dear, this may be his usual manner of behaviour to our sex; for had not my sister, at first, all his reverences?
Mean time, my father, expecting this importunity, kept in readiness the reports he had heard in his disfavour, to charge them upon him then, as so many objections to his address. And it was highly agreeable to me, that he did so: It would have been strange, if it were not; since the person who could reject Mr. Wyerley's address for the sake of his free opinions, must have been inexcusable, had she not rejected another's for his freer practices.
But I should own, that in the letters he sent me, upon the general subject, he more than once inclosed a particular one, declaring his passionate regards for me, and complaining, with fervour enough, of my reserves: But of these I took not the least notice; for as I had not written to him at all, but upon a subject so general, I thought it was but right, to let what he wrote upon one so particular, pass off as if I never had seen it; and the rather, as I was not then at liberty, from the approbation his letters met with, to break off the correspondence, without assigning the true reason for doing so. Besides, with all his respectful assiduities, it was easy to observe, (if it had not been his general character) that his temper is naturally haughty and violent; and I had seen enough of that untractable spirit in my brother, to like it in one who hoped to be still nearer related to me.
I had a little specimen of this temper of his, upon the very occasion I have mentioned: For, after he had sent me a third particular letter with the general one, he asked me, the next time he came to Harlowe-Place, If I had not received such a one from him? —I told him, I should never answer one, so sent; and, that I had waited for such an occasion as he had now given me, to tell him so: I desired him therefore not to write again on the subject; assuring him, that if he did, I would return both, and never write another line to him.
You cannot imagine how saucily the man looked; as if, in short, he was disappointed, that he had not made a more sensible impression upon me: And when he recollected himself (as he did immediately), what a visible Struggle it cost him to change his haughty airs for more placid ones. But I took no notice of either; for I thought it best to convince him, by the coolness and indifference, with which I repulsed his forward hopes (at the same time intending to avoid the affectation of pride or vanity), that he was not considerable enough in my eyes to make me take over-ready offence at what he said, or how he looked: In other words, that I had not value enough for him, to treat him with peculiarity either by smiles or frowns. Indeed, he had cunning enough to give me, undesignedly, a piece of instruction which taught me this caution; for he had said in conversation once, 'That if a man could not make a lady in courtship own herself pleased with him, it was as much, and oftentimes more, to his purpose, to make her angry with him.'
I must break off here. But will continue the subject the very first opportunity. Mean time, I am,
Your most affectionate friend and servant,
Cl. Harlowe.
Miss Clarissa Harlowe, To Miss Howe.
This, my dear, was the situation Mr. Lovelace and I were in, when my brother arrived from Scotland.
The moment Mr. Lovelace's visits were mentioned to him, he, without either hesitation or apology, expressed his disapprobation of them. He found great flaws in his character; and took the liberty to say, in so many words, That he wondered, how it came into the hearts of his uncles to encourage such a man for either of his sisters: At the same time returning his thanks to my father for declining his consent till he arrived, in such a manner, I thought, as a superior would do, when he commended an inferior, for having well performed his duty in his absence.
He justified his avowed inveteracy, by common fame, and by what he had known of him at college; declaring, That he had ever hated him; ever should hate him; and would never own him for a brother, nor me for a sister; if I married him.
That college-begun antipathy I have heard accounted for in this manner:
Mr. Lovelace was always noted for his vivacity and courage; and no less, it seems, for the swift and surprising progress he made in all parts of literature: For diligence in his studies, in the hours of study, he had hardly his equal. This, it seems, was his general character at the university; and it gained him many friends among the more learned youth; while those who did not love him, feared him, by reason of the offence his vivacity made him too ready to give, and of the courage he shewed in supporting the offence when given; which procured him as many followers as he pleased among the mischievous sort. —No very amiable character, you'll say, upon the whole.
But my brother's temper was not happier. His native haughtiness could not bear a superiority so visible; and whom we fear more than love, we are not far from hating: And, having less command of his passions, than the other, was evermore the subject of his, perhaps indecent, ridicule: So that they never met without quarreling: And every-body, either from love or fear, siding with his antagonist, he had a most uneasy time of it, while both continued in the same college. — It was the less wonder, therefore, that a young man, who is not noted for the gentleness of his temper, should resume an antipathy early begun, and so deeply-rooted.
He found my sister, who waited but for the occasion, ready to join him in his resentments against the man he hated. She utterly disclaimed all manner of regard for him: 'Never liked him at all: —His estate was certainly much incumber'd: It was impossible it should be otherwise; so intirely devoted as he was to his pleasures. He kept no house; had no equipage: Nobody pretended that he wanted pride: The reason therefore was easy to be guessed at.' And then did she boast of, and my brother praise her for, refusing him: And both joined on all occasions to depreciate him, and not seldom made the occasions; their displeasure against him causing every subject to run into this, if it began not with it.
I was not solicitous to vindicate him, when I was not joined in their reflections. I told them, I did not value him enough to make a difference in the family on his account: And as he was supposed to have given too much cause for their ill opinion of him, I thought he ought to take the consequence of his own faults.
Now-and-then, indeed, when I observed, that their vehemence carried them beyond all bounds of probability, I thought it but justice to put in a word for him. But this only subjected me to reproach, as having a prepossession in his favour that I would not own. —So that when I could not change the subject, I used to retire either to my music, or to my closet.
Their behaviour to him, when they could not help seeing him, was very cold and disobliging; but, as yet, not directly affrontive: For they were in hopes of prevailing upon my papa to forbid his visits. But, as there was nothing in his behaviour, that might warrant such a treatment of a man of his birth and fortune, they succeeded not: And then they were very earnest with me to forbid them. I ask'd, What authority I had to take such a step in my father's house; and when my behaviour to him was so distant, that he seemed to be as much the guest of any other person of the family, themselves excepted, as mine? —In revenge, they told me, That it was cunning management between us; and that we both understood one another better than we pretended to do. And at last, they gave such a loose to their passions, all of a sudden , as I may say, that instead of withdrawing, as they used to do when he came, they threw themselves in his way, purposely to affront him.
Mr. Lovelace, you may believe, very ill brooked this: But, nevertheless, contented himself to complain of it to me: In high terms, however; telling me, that, but for my sake, my brother's treatment of him was not to be borne.
I was sorry for the merit this gave him, in his own opinion, with me: And the more as some of the affronts he received, were too flagrant to be excused: But I told him, That I was determin'd not to fall out with my brother, if I could help it, whatever were his faults: And, since they could not see one another with temper, should be glad, that he would not throw himself in my brother's way; and I was sure my brother would not seek him.
He was very much nettled at this answer: But said, He must bear his affronts, if I would have it so. He had been accused himself of violence in his temper: But he hoped to shew on this occasion, that he had a command of his passions, which few young men, so provoked, would be able to shew; and doubted not, but it would be attributed to a proper motive by a person of my generosity and penetration.
My brother had just before, with the approbation of my uncles, employ'd a person related to a discharged bailiff or steward of Lord M. who had had the management of some part of Mr. Lovelace's affairs (from which he was also dismissed by him), to inquire into his debts; after his companions; into his amours; and the like.
My aunt Hervey, in confidence, gave me the following particulars of what the man said of him.
'That he was a generous landlord: That he spared nothing for solid and lasting improvements upon his estate: And that he looked into his own affairs, and understood them: That he had, when abroad, been very expensive; and contracted a large debt (for he made no secret of his affairs); yet chose to limit himself to an annual sum, and to decline equipage, in order to avoid being obliged to his uncle and aunts; from whom he might have what money he pleased; but that he was very jealous of their controul; had often quarrels with them, and treated them so freely, that they were all afraid of him. However, that his estate was never mortgaged, as my brother had heard it was; his credit was always high; and, he believed, he was by this time, near upon, if not quite, clear of the world.
'He was a sad gentleman, he said, as to women: — If his tenants had pretty daughters, they chose to keep them out of his sight. He believed, he kept no particular mistress; for he had heard newelty, that was the man's word, was every-thing with him. But for his uncle's and aunts teazings, fansy'd he would not think of marriage: Was never known to be disguised with liquor: But was a great plotter, and a great writer: That he lived a wild life in town, by what he had heard: Had six or seven companions as bad as himself; whom now-and-then he brought down with him; and the country was always glad when they went up again. He would have it, that, altho' passionate, he was good-humour'd; loved as well to take a jest, as to give one, and would railly himself, upon occasion, the freest of any man he ever knew.'
This was his character from an enemy; for, as my aunt observed, every thing the man said commendably of him, came grudgingly, with a Must needs say—To do him justice, &c. while the contrary was delivered with a free good-will. And this character, as a worse was expected, tho' This was bad enough, not answering the end of inquiring after it, my brother and sister were more apprehensive than before, that his address would be encouraged: since the worst part of it was known, or supposed, when he was first introduced to my sister.
But, with regard to myself, I must observe in his disfavour, that, notwithstanding the merit he wanted to make with me, for his patience upon my brother's ill-treatment of him, I owed him no compliments for trying to conciliate with him. Not that I believe it would have signified any thing, if he had made ever such court, either to him, or to my sister: Yet one might have expected, from a man of his politeness, and from his pretensions, you know, that he would have been willing to try. Instead of which, such a hearty contempt he shew'd of them both, of my brother especially, that I ever heard of it with aggravations. And for me to have hinted at an alteration in his behaviour to my brother, was an advantage I knew he would have been proud of; and which therefore I had no mind to give him. —But I doubted not, that having so very little encouragement from any -body, his pride would soon take fire, and he would of himself discontinue his visits, or go to town; where, till he came acquainted with our family, he used chiefly to reside: And in this latter case he had no reason to expect, that I would receive, much less answer, his letters; the occasion, which had led me to receive any of his, being by this time over.
But my brother's antipathy would not permit him to wait for such an event; and after several excesses, which Mr. Lovelace still return'd with contempt, and a haughtiness too much like that of the aggressor, my brother took upon himself to fill up the door-way, once, when he came, as if to oppose his entrance: and, upon his asking for me, demanded, What his business were with his sister?
The other, with a challenging air, as my brother says, told him, He would answer a gentleman any question: But he wished, that Mr. James Harlowe, who had of late given himself high airs, would remember, that he was not now at college.
Just then the good Dr. Lewin, who frequently honours me with a visit of conversation, as he is pleased to call it, and had parted with me in my own parlour, came to the door; and, hearing the words, interposed; both having their hands upon their swords: And telling Mr. Lovelace where I was, he burst by my brother, to come to me; leaving him chasing, he said, like a hunted boar at bay.
This alarm'd us all. My father was pleased to hint to Mr. Lovelace; and I, by his command, spoke a great deal plainer; that he wish'd he would discontinue his visits, for the peace-sake of the family.
But Mr. Lovelace is not a man to be easily brought to give up his purpose, in a point, especially, wherein he pretends his heart is so much engag'd: And an absolute prohibition not having been given, things went on for a little while as before: For I saw plainly, that to have deny'd myself to his visits (which, however, I declin'd receiving, as often as I could) was to bring forward some desperate issue between the two; since the offence so readily given on one side, was only brooked by the other, out of consideration to me. And thus did my brother's rashness lay me under an obligation where I would least have ow'd it.
The intermediate proposals of Mr. Symmes and Mr. Mullins, both (in turn) encouraged by my brother, were inducements for him to be more patient for a while; he being in hopes, as no-body thought me over-forward in Mr. Lovelace's favour, that he should engage my father and uncles to espouse the one or the other in opposition to him. But when he found, that I had interest enough to disengage myself from their addresses, as I had (before he went to Scotland, and, before Mr. Lovelace visited here) of Mr. Wyerley's, he then kept no measures: And first set himself to upbraid me for a supposed prepossession; which he treated, as if it were criminal: And then to insult Mr. Lovelace in person. And it being at Mr. Edward Symmes's, the brother of the other Symmes, two miles off, and no good Dr. Lewin again to interpose, the unhappy rencounter follow'd. My brother was disarm'd in it, as you have heard; and on being brought home, and giving us ground to suppose he was much worse hurt than he really was, and a fever ensuing, every-one flam'd out; and all was laid at my door.
Mr. Lovelace, for three days together, sent twice each day to inquire after my brother's health; and, altho' he received rude, and even shocking returns, he thought fit, on the fourth day, to make in person the fame inquiries; and received still greater incivilities from my two uncles, who happen'd to be both there. My papa also was held by force from going to him with his sword in his hand, altho' he had the gout upon him.
I fainted away with terror, seeing every-one so violent; and hearing his voice, swearing he would not depart without seeing me, or making my uncles ask his pardon for the indignities he had received at their hands: A door being also held fast lock'd between them; my mamma struggling with my papa; and my sister, after treating him with virulence, insulting me, as fast as I recover'd. But, when he was told how ill I was, he departed, vowing revenge.
He was ever a favourite with our domestics. His bounty to them, and having always something facetious to say to each, had made them all of his party: And on this occasion they privately blamed every-body else, and reported his patience and gentlemanly behaviour (till the provocations given him ran very high) in such favourable terms, that those reports, and my apprehensions of the consequence of this treatment, induced me to read a letter he sent me that night; and, it being written in the most respectful terms, offering to submit the whole to my decision, and to govern himself intirely by my will, to answer it some days after.
To this unhappy necessity was owing our renewed correspondence, as I may call it: Yet I did not write, till I had inform'd myself from Mr. Symmes's brother, that he was really insulted into the act of drawing his sword, by my brother's repeatedly threatening, upon his excusing himself out of regard to me, to brand him if he did not; and, by all the inquiry I could make, that he was again the sufferer from my uncles, in a more violent manner than I have related.
The same circumstances were related to my papa, and other friends, by Mr. Symmes; but they had gone too far, in making themselves parties to the quarrel, either to retract or forgive; and I was forbid corresponding with him, or to be seen a moment in his company.
But one thing I can say, but that in confidence, because my mamma commanded me not to mention it: —That, expressing her apprehension of the consequences of the indignities offered to Mr. Lovelace, she told me, She would leave it to my prudence, to prevent, all I could, the impending mischief on one side.
I am obliged to break off. But, I believe, I have written enough to answer very fully all that you have commanded from me. It is not for a child to seek to clear her own character, or to justify her actions, at the expence of the most revered ones: Yet, as I know, that the account of all those further proceedings, by which I may be affected, will be interesting to so dear a friend (who will communicate to others no more than what is fitting), I will continue to write as I have opportunity, as minutely as we are used to write to each other. Indeed I have no delight, as I have often told you, equal to that which I take in conversing with you: —By letter, when I cannot in person .
Mean time, I can't help saying, that I am exceedingly concerned to find, that I am become so much the public talk, as you tell me, and as every-body tells me, I am. Your kind, your precautionary regard for my fame, and the opportunity you have given me to tell my own story, previous to any new accident, which heaven avert! is so like the warm friend I have ever found my dear Miss Howe, that, with redoubled obligation, you bind me to be
Your ever-grateful and affectionate
Clarissa Harlowe.
As the particular estate I have mentioned and described above is principally of my own raising. As my three sons have been uncommonly prosperous; and are very rich: The eldest by means of the unexpected benefits he reaps from his new-found mines: The second, by what has, as unexpectedly, fallen in to him, on the deaths of several relations of his present wife, the worthy daughter by both sides of very honourable families; over and above the very large portion which he received with her in marriage: My son Antony, by his East-India traffick, and successful voyages: As furthermore my grandson James will be sufficiently provided for by his godmother Lovell's kindness to him; who, having no near relations, assures me, that she has, as well by deed of gift, as by will, left him both her Scotish and English estates: For never (blessed be God therefore!) was there a family more prosperous in all its branches: And as my second son James will very probably make it up to my grandson, and also to my grand-daughter Arabella; to whom I intend no disrespect; nor have reason; for she is a very hopeful and dutiful child: And as my sons John and Antony seem not inclined to a marry'd life; so that my son James is the only one who has children, or is likely to have any: —For all these reasons; and because my dearest and beloved grand-daughter Clarissa Harlowe has been from infancy a matchless young creature in her duty to me, and admired by all who knew her, as a very extraordinary child; I must therefore take the pleasure of considering her, as my own peculiar child; and this, without intending offence; and I hope it will not be taken as any, since my son James can bestow his favours accordingly, and in greater proportion, upon Miss Arabella, and Master James: —These, I say, are the reasons which move me to dispose of the above-described estate in the precious child's favour; who is the delight of my old age; and, I verily think, has contributed, by her amiable duty, and kind and tender regards, to prolong my life.
Wherefore it is my express will and commandment, and I injoin my three sons John, James, and Antony, and my grandson James, and my grand-daughter Arabella, as they value my blessing, and my memory, and would wish their own last wills and desires to be fulfilled by their survivors, that they will not impugn or contest the following bequests and dispositions in favour of my said grand-daughter Clarissa, altho' they should not be strictly conformable to law, or the forms thereof; nor suffer them to be controverted or disputed on any pretence whatsoever.
And in this confidence, &c. &c. &c.
Miss Clarissa Harlowe, To Miss Howe.
Jan. 20.
I have been hinder'd from prosecuting my intention. Neither nights nor mornings have been my own. My mamma has been very ill; and would have no other nurse but me. I have not stirr'd from her bedside; for she kept her bed; and two nights I had the honour of sharing it with her.
Her disorder was a very violent colic. The contentions of these fierce, these masculine spirits, and the apprehension of mischiefs that may arise from the increasing animosity which all here have against Mr. Lovelace, and his too-well known resentful and intrepid character, she cannot bear. Then the foundations laid, as she dreads, for jealousy and heart-burnings in her own family, late so happy and so united, afflict exceedingly a gentle and sensible mind, which has from the beginning, on all occasions, sacrificed its own inward satisfaction to outward peace. My brother and sister, who used very often to jar, are now so much one, and are so much together (caballing was the word that dropped from her, as if at unawares), that she is full of fears of consequences that may follow; —to my prejudice, perhaps, is her kind concern; since she sees that they behave to me every hour with more and more shyness and reserve: Yet, would she but exert that authority, which the superiority of her fine talents gives her, all these family-feuds might perhaps be crush'd in their but-yet beginnings; especially as she may be assured, that all fitting concessions shall be made by me, not only as they are my elders, but for the sake of so excellent and so indulgent a mother.
For, if I may say to you, my dear, what I would not to any other person living, it is my opinion, that, had she been of a temper that would have borne less, she would have had ten times less to bear than she has had. No commendation, you'll say, of the generosity of those spirits, which can turn to its own disquiet so much condescending goodness.
Upon my word, I am sometimes tempted to think, that we may make the world allow for and respect us as we please, if we can but be sturdy in our wills, and set out accordingly. It is but being the less beloved for it, that's all: And, if we have power to oblige those we have to do with, it will not appear to us, that we are. Our flatterers will tell us any thing sooner than our faults.
Were there not truth in this observation, is it possible, that my brother and sister could make their very failings, their vehemences, of such importance to all the family? 'How will my son, how will my nephew, take this or that measure? What will he say to it? Let us consult him about it;' are references always previous to every resolution taken by his superiors, whose will ought to be his. Well may he expect to be treated with this deference by every other person, when my papa himself, generally so absolute, constantly pays it to him; and the more since his god-mother's bounty has given independence to a spirit that was before under too little restraint. —But whither may these reflections lead me? —I know you do not love any of us, but my mamma and me; and, being above all disguises, make me sensible that you do not, oftener than I wish you did. —Ought I then to add force to your dislikes of those whom I wish you more to like?—my father, especially; for he, poor gentleman! has some excuse for his impatience of contradiction. He is not naturally an ill-temper'd man; and in his person and air, and in his conversation too, when not under the torture of a gouty paroxysm, every-body distinguishes the gentleman born and educated.
Our sex, perhaps, must expect to bear a little uncourtliness, shall I call it?—from the husband, whom, as the lover, they let know the preference their hearts gave him to all other men. —Say what they will of generosity being a manly virtue; but, upon my word, my dear, I have ever yet observed, that it is not to be met with in that sex one time in ten, that it is to be found in ours. —But my father was sour'd by the cruel distemper I have named; which seized him all at once in the very prime of life, in so violent a manner, as to take from the most active of minds, as his was, all power of activity, and that, in all appearance, for life: —It imprison'd, as I may say, his lively spirits in himself, and turned the edge of them against his own peace; his extraordinary prosperity adding but to his impatiency: For those, I believe, who want the fewest earthly blessings, most regret that they want any.
But my brother! what excuse can be made for his haughty and morose temper? He is really, my dear, I am sorry to have occasion to say it, an ill-temper'd young man; and treats my mamma sometimes—Indeed he is not dutiful. —But, possessing every-thing, he has the vice of age, mingled with the ambition of youth, and enjoys nothing—but his own haughtiness and ill-temper, I was going to say. —Yet again am I adding force to your dislikes of some of us. —Once, my dear, it was, perhaps, in your power to have moulded him as you pleased. —Could you have been my sister! —Then had I had a friend in a sister. —But no wonder that he don't love you now; who could nip in the bud, and that with a disdain, let me say, too much of kin to his haughtiness, a passion, that would not have wanted a fervor worthy of the object; and which possibly would have made him so.—
But no more of this. I will prosecute my former intention in my next; which I will sit down to as soon as breakfast is over; dispatching this by the messenger whom you have so kindly sent to inquire after us, on my silence. Mean time, I am,
Your most affectionate and obliged
friend and servant,
Cl. Harlowe.
Miss Clarissa Harlowe, To Miss Howe.
Harlowe-Place, Jan. 20.
I will now resume my narrative of proceedings here. —My brother being in a good way, altho' you may be sure, that his resentments are rather heighten'd than abated by the galling disgrace he has received, my friends (my papa and uncles, however, if not my brother and sister) begin to think, that I have been treated unkindly. My mamma has been so good as to tell me this, since I sent away my last.
Nevertheless, I believe they all think that I receive letters from Mr. Lovelace. But Lord M. being inclin'd rather to support than to blame his nephew, they seem to be so much afraid of him, that they do not put it to me, whether I do, or not; conniving on the contrary, as it should seem, at the only method left to allay the vehemence of a spirit, which they have so much provoked: For he still insists upon satisfaction from my uncles; and this, possibly (for he wants not art) as the best way to be introduced again, with some advantage, into our family. And indeed my aunt Hervey has put it to my mamma, whether it were not best to prevail upon my brother to take a turn to his Yorkshire estate, which he was intending to do before; and to tarry there till all is blown over.
But this is very far from being his intention: For he has already begun to hint again, that he shall never be easy or satisfy'd, till I am marry'd; and, finding neither Mr. Symmes nor Mr. Mullins will be accepted, has proposed Mr. Wyerley once more, on the score of his great passion for me. This I have again rejected; and but yesterday he mention'd one who has apply'd to him by letter, making high offers. This is Mr. Solmes; rich Solmes, you know they call him. But this has not met with the attention of one single soul.
If none of his schemes of marrying me take effect, he has thoughts, I am told, of proposing to me to go to Scotland, in order, as the compliment is, to put his house there in such order as our own is in. But this my mamma intends to oppose for her own sake; because, having relieved her, as she is pleased to say, of the houshold cares (for which, my sister, you know, has no turn), they must again devolve upon her, if I go. And if she did not oppose it, I should; for, believe me, I have no mind to be his house-keeper; and, I am sure, were I to go with him, I should be treated rather as a servant than a sister: — Perhaps, not the better because I am his sister. And, if Mr. Lovelace should follow me, things might be worse than they are now.
But I have besought my mamma, who is apprehensive of Mr. Lovelace's visits, and for fear of whom my uncles never stir out without arms and armed servants, (my brother also being near well enough to go abroad again), to procure me permission to be your guest for a fortnight, or so. —Will your mamma, think you, my dear, give me leave?
I dare not ask to go to my dairy-house, as my good grandfather would call it: For I am now afraid of being thought to have a wish to enjoy that independence to which his will has intitled me: And, as matters are situated, such a wish would be imputed to my favour to the man whom they have now so great an antipathy to. And, indeed, could I be as easy and happy here, as I used to be, I would defy that man, and all his sex; and never repent, that I have given the power of my fortune into my papa's hands.
Just now, my mamma has rejoiced me, with the news, that my requested permission is granted. Everyone thinks it best, that I should go to you, except my brother. But he was told, that he must not expect to rule in every thing. I am to be sent for into the great parlour, where are my two uncles and my aunt Hervey, and to be acquainted with this concession in form.
You know, my dear, that there is a good deal of solemnity among us. But never was there a family more united, in its different branches, than ours. Our uncles consider us as their own children; and declare, that it is for our sakes they live single. So that they are advised with upon every article relating to, or that may affect, us. It is therefore the less wonder, at a time when they understand, that Mr. Lovelace is determin'd to pay us an amicable visit, as he calls it (but which I am sure cannot end so) that they should both be consulted upon the permission I had desired to attend you.
I will acquaint you with what passed at the general leave given me to be your guest. And yet I know, that you will not love my brother the better for my communication. But I am angry with him myself, and cannot help it. And, besides, it is proper to let you know the terms I go upon, and their motives for permitting me to go.
Clary, said my mamma, as soon as I enter'd the great parlour, your request, to go to Miss Howe's for a few days, has been taken into consideration, and granted—
Much against my liking, I assure you, said my brother, rudely interrupting her.
Son James! said my father, and knit his brows.
He was not daunted. His arm is in a sling. He often has the mean art to look upon that, when any thing is hinted, that may be supposed to lead towards the least favour to, or reconciliation with, Mr. Lovelace. —Let the girl then (I am often the girl with him!) be prohibited seeing that vile libertine.
No-body spoke.
Do you hear, sister Clary? taking their silence for approbation of what he had dictated; you are not to receive visits from Lord M's nephew.
Every-one still remained silent.
Do you so understand the licence you have, Miss? interrogated he.
I would be glad, Sir, said I, to understand that you are my brother;—and that you would understand, that you are only my brother.
O the fond, fond heart! with a sneer of insult, lifting up his hands.
Sir, said I to my papa, to your justice I appeal: If I have deserved reflection, let me not be spar'd. But if I am to be answerable, for the rashness—
No more! —No more, of either side, said my papa. You are not to receive the visits of that Lovelace, tho': —Nor are you, son James, to reflect upon your sister: She is a worthy child.
Sir, I have done, reply'd he;—and yet I have her honour at heart, as much as the honour of the rest of the family.
And hence, Sir, retorted I, your unbrotherly reflections upon me!
Well, but, you observe, Miss, said he, that it is not I, but your papa, that tells you, that you are not to receive the visits of that Lovelace.
Cousin Harlowe, said my aunt Hervey, allow me to say, That my cousin Clary's prudence may be confided in.
I am convinc'd it may, join'd my mamma.
But, Aunt, but, Madam (put in my sister) there is no hurt, I presume, in letting my sister know the condition she goes to Miss Howe upon; since, if he gets a knack of visiting her there—
You may be sure, interrupted my uncle Harlowe, he will endeavour to see her there.
So would such an impudent man here, said my uncle Antony: And 'tis better there than here.
Better no-where, said my papa. —I command you, turning to me, on pain of my displeasure, that you see him not at all.
I will not, Sir, in any way of encouragement, I do assure you: Nor at all, if I can decently avoid it.
You know with what indifference, said my mamma, she has hitherto seen him. —Her prudence may be trusted to, as my sister Hervey says.
With what ap-pa-rent indifference, drolled my brother—
Son James! said my father, sternly—
I have done, Sir, said he. —But again, in a provoking manner, reminded me of the prohibition.
Thus ended this conference.
Will you engage, my dear, that the hated man shall not come near your house? —But what an inconsistence is this, when they consent to my going, thinking his visits here no otherwise to be avoided! —But, if he does come, I charge you, never leave us alone together.
As I have no reason to doubt a welcome from your mamma, I will put every-thing in order here, and be with you in two or three days.
Mean time, I am
Your most affectionate and obliged
Clarissa Harlowe.
Miss Clarissa Harlowe, To Miss Howe.
(After her return from her.)
Harlowe-Place, Feb. 20.
I beg your excuse for not writing sooner. Alas, my dear, I have sad prospects before me! My brother and sister have succeeded in all their views. They have found out another lover for me; an hideous one: —Yet he is encouraged by every-body.— No wonder that I was order'd home so suddenly! — At an hour's warning! —No other notice, you know, than what was brought with the chariot that was to carry me back. —It was for fear, as I have been inform'd (an unworthy fear!), that I should have enter'd into any concert with Mr. Lovelace, had I known their motive for commanding me home; apprehending, 'tis evident, that I should dislike the man.
And well might they apprehend so: —For who do you think he is? —No other than that Solmes! — Could you have believed it? —And they are all determined too; my mamma with the rest! —Dear, dear excellence! how could she be thus brought over!— when I am assured, that, on his first being proposed, she was pleased to say, That, had Mr. Solmes the Indies in possession, and would endow me with them, she should not think him deserving of her Clarissa Harlowe.
The reception I met with at my return, so different from what I used to meet with on every little absence (and now I had been from them three weeks), convinced me, that I was to suffer for the happiness I had had in your company and conversation for that most agreeable period. I will give you an account of it.
My brother met me at the door, and gave me his hand, when I stepp'd out of the chariot. He bow'd very low: Pray, Miss, favour me. —I thought it in good humour; but found it afterwards mock respect: And so he led me, in great form, I prattling all the way, inquiring of every-body's health (altho' I was so soon to see them, and there was hardly time for answers), into the great parlour; where were my father, mother, my two uncles, and my sister.
I was struck all of a heap as soon as I enter'd, to see a solemnity which I had been so little used to on the like occasions, in the countenance of every dear relation. They all kept their seats. I ran to my papa, and kneeled: Then to my mamma: And met from both a cold salute: From my papa, a blessing but half-pronounced: My mamma, indeed, called me, Child; but embraced me not with her usual indulgent ardor.
After I had paid my duty to my uncles, and my compliments to my sister, which she received with solemn and stiff form, I was bid to sit down. But my heart was full: And I said it became me to stand, if I could stand a reception so awful and unusual. I was forced to turn my face from them, and pull out my handkerchief.
My unbrotherly accuser hereupon stood forth, and charg'd me with having received no less than five or six visits at Miss Howe's from the man they had all so much reason to hate (that was the expression); notwithstanding the commands I had received to the contrary. And he bid me deny it, if I could.
I had never been used, I said, to deny the truth; nor would I now. I owned I had, in the passed three weeks, seen the person I presumed he meant oftener than five or six times (Pray hear me out, brother, said I; for he was going to flame). —But he always came and asked for Mrs. or Miss Howe.
I proceeded, That I had reason to believe, that both Mrs. Howe and Miss, as matters stood, would much rather have excused his visits; but they had more than once apologiz'd, that, having not the same reason my papa had, to forbid him their house, his rank and fortune intitled him to civility.
You see, my dear, I made not the pleas I might have made.
My brother seem'd ready to give a loose to his passion: My papa put on the countenance, which always portends a gathering storm: My uncles mutteringly whisper'd: And my sister aggravatingly held up her hands. While I begg'd to be heard out;—and my mamma said, Let the child, that was her kind word, be heard.—
I hoped, I said, there was no harm done: That I became not me to prescribe to Mrs. or Miss Howe who should be their visitors: That Mrs. Howe was always diverted with the raillery that passed between Miss and him: That I had no reason to challenge her guest for my visitor; as I should seem to have done, had I refused to go into their company, when he was with them: That I had never seen him out of the presence of one or both of those ladies; and had signify'd to him, once, on his urging for a few moments private conversation with me, that, unless a reconciliation were effected between my family and his, he must not expect, that I would countenance his visits; much less give him an opportunity of that sort.
I told them further, That Miss Howe so well understood my mind, that she never left me a moment, while he was there: That, when he came, if I was not below in the parlour, I would not suffer myself to be called to him: Altho' I thought it would be an affectation, which would give him advantage rather than the contrary, if I had left company when he came in; or refused to enter into it, when I found he would stay any time.
My brother heard me out with such a kind of impatience, as shew'd he was resolved to be dissatisfy'd with me, say what I would. The rest, as the event has proved, behav'd as if they would have been satisfy'd, had they not further points to carry, by intimidating me. All this made it evident, as I mention'd above, that they themselves expected not my voluntary compliance; and was a tacit confession of the disagreeableness of the person they had to propose.
I was no sooner silent, than my brother swore, altho' in my papa's presence (swore, uncheck'd either by eye or countenance), That, for his part, he would never be reconciled to that libertine: And that he would renounce me for a sister, if I encouraged the addresses of a man so obnoxious to them all.
A man who had like to have been my brother's murderer, my sister said, with a face even bursting with restraint of passion.
The poor Bella has, you know, a plump, high-fed face, if I may be allow'd the expression. —You, I know, will forgive me for this liberty of speech, sooner than I can myself: Yet, how can one be such a reptile, as not to turn when trampled upon!—
My papa, with vehemence both of action and voice (my father has, you know, a terrible voice, when he is angry!), told me, that I had met with too much indulgence, in being allow'd to refuse this gentleman, and the other gentleman; and it was now his turn to be obey'd.
Very true, my mamma said: —And hoped his will would not now be disputed by a child so favour'd.
To shew they were all of a sentiment, my uncle Harlowe said, He hoped his beloved niece only wanted to know her papa's will, to obey it.
And my uncle Antony, in his rougher manner, That I would not give them reason to apprehend, that I thought my grandfather's favour to me had made me independent of them all. —If I did, he could tell me, the will could be set aside, and should.
I was astonish'd, you must needs think. —Whose addresses now, thought I, is this treatment preparative to! —Mr. Wyerley's again!—or whose? —And then, as high comparisons, where self is concern'd, sooner than low, come into young peoples heads; be it for whom it will, this is wooing as the English did for the heiress of Scotland in the time of Edward the sixth. —But that it could be for Solmes, how should it enter into my head?
I did not know, I said, that I had given occasion for this harshness: I hoped I should always have a just sense of their favour to me, superadded to the duty I ow'd as a daughter and a niece: But that I was so much surprised at a reception so unusual and unexpected, that I hoped my papa and mamma would give me leave to retire, in order to recollect myself.
No one gainsaying, I made my silent compliments, and withdrew;—leaving my brother and sister, as I thought, pleased; and as if they wanted to congratulate each other on having occasioned so severe a beginning to be made with me.
I went up to my chamber, and there, with my faithful Hannah, deplor'd the determin'd face which the new proposal, it was plain they had to make me, wore.
I had not recover'd myself when I was sent for down to tea. I begg'd, by my maid, to be excus'd attending: But, on the repeated command, went down, with as much chearfulness as I could assume; and had a new fault to clear myself of: For my brother, so pregnant a thing is determin'd ill-will, by intimations equally rude and intelligible, charg'd my desire of being excus'd coming down, to sullens, because a certain person had been spoken against, upon whom, as he supposed, my fancy ran.
I could easily answer you, Sir, said I, as such a reflection deserves: But I forbear. If I do not find a brother in you, you shall have a sister in me.
Pretty meekness! Bella whisperingly said; looking at my brother, and lifting up her lip in contempt.
He, with an imperious air, bid me deserve his love, and I should be sure to have it.
As we sat, my mamma, in her admirable manner, expatiated upon brotherly and sisterly love; indulgently blam'd my brother and sister upon having taken up displeasure too lightly against me; and politically, if I may so say, answer'd for my obedience to my papa's will. —Then it would be all well, my papa was pleas'd to say: Then they should dote upon me, was my brother's expression: Love me as well as ever, was my sister's: And my uncles, That I should then be the pride of their hearts. —But, alas! what a forfeiture of all these must I make!
This was the reception I had on my return from you!
Mr. Solmes came in before we had done tea. My uncle Antony presented him to me, as a gentleman he had a particular friendship for. My uncle Harlowe in terms equally favourable for him. My father said, Mr. Solmes is my friend, Clarissa Harlowe. My mamma look'd at him, and look'd at me, now-and-then, as he sat near me, I thought with concern. —I at her, with eyes appealing for pity. —At him, when I could glance at him, with disgust, little short of affrightment. While my brother and sister Mr. Solmes'd-him, and Sirr'd-him up, with high favour. So caress'd, in short, by all;—yet such a wretch! —But I will at present only add, My humble thanks and duty to your honour'd mamma (to whom I will particularly write, to express the grateful sense I have of her goodness to me); and that I am,
Your ever obliged
Cl. Harlowe.
Miss Clarissa Harlowe, To Miss Howe.
Feb. 24.
They drive on here at a furious rate. The man lives here, I think. He courts them, and is more and more a favourite. Such terms, such settlements! That's the cry!
O, my dear, that I had not reason to deplore the family fault, immensely rich as they all are! But this I may the more unreservedly say to you, as we have often join'd in the same concern: I, for a father and uncles; you, for a mother; in every other respect faultless.
Hitherto, I seem to be delivered over to my brother, who pretends as great love to me as ever.
You may believe, I have been very sincere with him. But he affects to railly me, and not to believe it possible, that one, so dutiful and so discreet as his sister Clary, can resolve to disoblige all her friends.
Indeed, I tremble at the prospect before me; for it is evident, that they are strangely determin'd.
My father and mother industriously avoid giving me opportunity of speaking to them alone. They ask not for my approbation, intending, as it should seem, to suppose me into their will. And with them I shall hope to prevail, or with no-body. They have not the interest in compelling me, as my brother and sister have: I say less therefore to them, reserving my whole force for an audience with my father, if he will permit me a patient ear. How difficult is it, my dear, to give a negative, where both duty and inclination join to make one wish to oblige!—
I have already stood the shock of three of this man's particular visits, besides my share in his more general ones; and find it is impossible I should ever endure him. He has but a very ordinary share of understanding; is very illiterate; knows nothing but the value of estates, and how to improve them; and what belongs to land-jobbing, and husbandry. Yet am I as one stupid, I think. They have begun so cruelly with me, that I have not spirit enough to assert my own negative.
My good Mrs. Norton they had endeavour'd, it seems, to influence, before I came home: So intent are they to carry their point: And her opinion not being to their liking, she has been told, that she would do well to decline visiting here for the present: Yet she is the person of all the world, next to my mamma, the most likely to prevail upon me, were the measures they are engag'd in, reasonable measures; or such as she could think so.
My aunt likewise having said, that she did not think her niece could ever be brought to like Mr. Solmes, has been obliged to learn another lesson.
I am to have a visit from her to-morrow. And, since I have refused so much as to hear from my brother and sister what the noble settlements are to be, he is to acquaint me with the particulars; and to receive from me my determination: For my father, I am told, will not have patience but to suppose, that I shall stand in opposition to his will.
Mean time it has been signify'd to me, that it will be acceptable, if I do not think of going to church next Sunday.
The same signification was made me for last Sunday; and I obey'd. They are apprehensive, that Mr. Lovelace will be there, with design to come home with me.
Help me, dear Miss Howe, to a little of your charming spirit: I never more wanted it.
The man, you may suppose, has no reason to boast of his progress with me. He has not the sense to say any thing to the purpose. His courtship, indeed, is to them; and my brother pretends to court me as his proxy, truly! I utterly to my brother refuse his application; but thinking a person so well received, and recommended, by all my family, intitled to good manners, all I say against him is affectedly attributed to coyness: And he, not being sensible of his own imperfections, believes that my avoiding him when I can, and the reserves I express, are owing to nothing else: —For, as I said, all his courtship is to them; and I have no opportunity of saying No, to one who asks me not the question. And so, with an air of mannish superiority, he seems rather to pity the bashful girl, than apprehend that he shall not succeed.
February 25.
I have had the expected conference with my aunt.
I have been obliged to hear the man's proposals from her; and all their motives for espousing him as they do. I am even loth to mention, how equally unjust it is for him to make such offers, or for those I am bound to reverence to accept of them. I hate him more than before. One great estate is already obtained at the expence of the relations to it, tho' distant relations; my brother's, I mean, by his godmother: And this has given the hope, however chimerical that hope, of procuring others; and that my own, at least, may revert to the family: And yet, in my opinion, the world is but one great family: originally it was so: What then is this narrow selfishness that reigns in us, but relationship remembred against relationship forgot?
But here, upon my absolute refusal of him upon any terms, have I had a signification made me, that wounds me to the heart. How can I tell it you? Yet I must. It is, my dear, that I must not, for a month to come, or till licence obtained, correspond with any -body out of the house.
My brother, upon my aunt's rep