LETTER 100 [commentary]
MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE
WEDNESDAY NIGHT, APRIL 12.
I have your narrative, my dear. You are the
same noble creature you ever were. Above disguise, above art, above attempting
to extenuate a failing.
The only family in the world, yours, surely, that could have driven such a
daughter upon such extremities.
But you must not be so very much too good for them, and for the case.
You lay the blame so properly and so unsparingly upon your meeting him, that
nothing can be added to that subject by your worst enemies, were they to see
what you have written.
I am not surprised, now I have read your narrative, that so bold and so
contriving a man--I am forced to break off----
You stood it out much better and longer--Here again comes my bustling, jealous
mother!
Don't be angry at yourself. Did you not do for the best at the time? As to your
first fault, the answering his letters; it was always incumbent upon you to
assume the guardianship of such a family, when the bravo of it had run riot, as
he did, and brought himself into danger.
Except your mamma, who has no will of her own, have any of them common sense?
Forgive me, my dear--Here is that stupid uncle Antony of yours. A pragmatical,
conceited positive.--He came yesterday, in a fearful pucker, and puffed, and
blowed, and stumped about our hall and parlour, while his message was carried
up.
My mamma was dressing. These widows are as starched as the old bachelors. She
would not see him in a dishabille for the world--What can she mean by it?
His errand was to set her against you, and to shew her their determined rage on
your going away. The issue proved too evidently that this was the principal end
of his visit.
The odd creature desired to speak with her alone. I am not used to such
exceptions whenever any visits are made to my mamma.
When she was primed out, down she came to him. They locked themselves in. The
two positive heads were put together--close together I suppose; for I listened,
but could hear nothing distinctly, though they both seemed full of their
subject.
I had a good mind, once or twice, to have made them open the door. Could I have
been sure of keeping but tolerably my temper, I would have demanded admittance.
But I was afraid, if I had obtained it, that I should have forgot it was my
mamma's house, and been for turning him out of it. To come to rave against and
abuse my dearest, dearest, faultless friend! and the ravings to be encouraged,
and perhaps joined in, in order to justify themselves; the one for contributing
to drive that dear friend out of her father's house; the other for refusing her
a temporary asylum, till the reconciliation could have been effected, which her
dutiful heart was set upon; and which it would have become the love which my
mamma had ever pretended for you, to have mediated for--Could I have had
patience!
The issue, as I said, showed what the errand was--Its fusty appearance, after
the old fusty fellow was marched off, [you must excuse me, my dear,] was in a
kind of gloomy, Harlowe-like reservedness in my mamma; which upon a few
resenting flirts of mine, was followed by a rigorous prohibition of
correspondence.
This put us, you may suppose, upon terms not the most agreeable, I desired to
know, if I were prohibited dreaming of you?--For, my dear, you have all my
sleeping as well as waking hours.
I can easily allow for your correspondence with your wretch at first (and yet
your notions were excellent) by the effect this prohibition has upon me; since,
if possible, it has made me love you better than before; and I am more desirous
than ever of corresponding with you.
But I have nevertheless a much more laudable motive--I should think myself the
unworthiest of creatures, could I be brought to slight a dear friend, and such a
meritorious one, in her distress. I would die first-- And so I told my mamma.
And I have desired her not to watch me in my retired hours; nor to insist upon
my lying with her constantly, which she now does more earnestly than ever. 'Twere
better, I told her, that the Harlowe-Betty were borrowed to be set over me.
Mr. Hickman, who so greatly honours you, has, unknown to me, interposed so
warmly in your favour with my mother, that it makes for him no small merit with
me.
I cannot, at present, write to every particular, unless I would be in set
defiance. Tease, tease, tease, for ever! The same thing, though
answered fifty times over, in every hour to be repeated--Lord bless me! what a
life must my poor father--But let me remember to whom I am writing.
If this ever-active, ever-mischievous monkey of a man, this Lovelace, contrived
as you suspect--But here comes my mamma again--Ay, stay a little longer, my
Mamma, if you please--I can but be suspected! I can but be chidden for making
you wait; and chidden I am sure to be, whether I do or not, in the way you are
Antony'd into. Bless me—how impatient!—I must break off—
A charming dialogue—but I am sent for down in a very premptory manner, I assure
you—What an incoherent letter will you have, when I can get it to you! Butnow I
know where to send it, Mr Hickman shall find me a messenger. Yet , if he be
detected, poor soul, he will be Harlowed off, as well as his meek mistress!—
THURSDAY, APRIL 13.
I have this moment your continuation-letter. And am favoured, at present, with
the absence of my Argus-eyes mother.--
Dear creature! I can account for all your difficulties. A young lady of your
delicacy!--And with such a man!--I must be brief----
The man's a fool, my dear, with all his pride, and with all his complaisance,
and affected regards to your injunctions. Yet his ready
inventions----
Sometimes I think you should go to Lady Betty's. I know not what to advise you
to do.--I should, if you were not so intent upon reconciling yourself to your
relations. Yet they are implacable. You can have no hopes of them. Your uncle's
errand to my mother may convince you of that; ad if you have an answer to your
letter to your sister, that will confirm you, I dare say.
You need not to have been afraid of asking me, Whether upon reading your
narrative, I thought any extenuation could lie for what you have done! I have,
as above, before I had your question, told you my mind as to that. And I repeat,
I think, your provocations and inducements considered, that ever young creature
was who took such a step.
But you took it not--You were driven on one side, and, possibly, tricked on the
other.--If any woman on earth shall be circumstanced as you were, and shall hold
out so long as you did, against her persecutors on one hand, and her seducer on
the other, I will forgive her for all the rest of her conduct, be it what it
will. All your acquaintance, you may suppose, talk of nobody but you. Some
indeed bring your admirable character for a plea against you: but nobody does,
or can, acquit your father and uncles.
Every body seems apprized of your brother's and sister's motives. Your flight
is, no doubt, the very thing they aimed to drive you to, by the various attacks
they made upon you; unhoping (as they must do all the time) the success of their
schemes in Solmes's behalf. They knew, that if once you were restored to favour,
the suspended love of your father and uncles, like a river breaking down a
temporary obstruction, would return with double force; and that then you would
expose, and triumph over all their arts.--And now, I hear they enjoy their
successful malice.
Your father is all rage and violence. He ought, I am sure, to turn his rage
inward. All your family accuse you of acting with deep art; and are put upon
supposing that you are actually every hour exulting over them, with your man, in
the success of it.
They all pretend now, that your trial of Wednesday was to be the last.
Advantage would indeed, my mother owns, have been taken of your yielding, if you
had yielded. But had you not been prevailed upon, they would have given up their
scheme, and taken your promise for renouncing Lovelace-- Believe them who will!
They own, however, that a minister was to be present--Mr. Solmes was to be at
hand--And your father was previously to try his authority over you, in order to
make you sign the settlements--All of it a romantic contrivance of your
wild-headed foolish brother, I make no doubt. It is likely that he and Bell
would have given way to your restoration to favour, supposing it in their power
to hinder it, on any other terms than those their hearts had been so long set
upon?
How they took your flight, when they found it out, may be better supposed than
described.
Your aunt Hervey, it seems, was the first that went down to the ivy
summer-house, in order to acquaint you that their search was over. Betty
followed her; and they not finding you there, went on towards the cascade,
according to a hint of yours.
Returning by the garden-door, they met a servant [they don't say, it was Joseph
Leman; but it is very likely that it was he] running, as he said, from pursuing
Mr. Lovelace (a great hedge-stake in his hand, and out of breath) to alarm the
family.
If it were this fellow, and if he were employed in the double agency of cheating
them, and cheating you, what shall we think of the wretch you are with? Run away
from him, my dear, if so--no matter to whom--or marry him, if you cannot.
Your aunt and all your family were accordingly alarmed by this fellow--evidently
when too late for pursuit. They got together, and when a posse, ran to the place
of interview; and some of them as far as to the tracks of the chariot wheels,
without stopping. And having heard the man's tale upon the spot, a general
lamentation, a mutual upbraiding, and rage, and grief, were echoed from the
different persons, according to their different tempers and conceptions. And
they returned like fools as they went.
Your brother, at first, ordered horses and armed men to be got ready for a
pursuit. Solmes and your uncle Tony were to be of the party. But your mother and
your aunt Hervey dissuaded them from it, for fear of adding evil to evil; not
doubting but Lovelace had taken measures to support himself in what he had done;
and especially when the servant declared, that he saw you run with him as fast
as you could set foot to the ground; and that there were several armed men on
horseback at a small distance off.
My mamma's absence was owing to her suspicion, that the Knolly's were to assist
in our correspondence. She made them a visit upon it. She does every thing at
once. And they have promised, that no more letters shall be left there, without
her knowledge.
But Mr. Hickman has engaged one Filmer, a husbandman in the lane we call
Finch-lane, near us, to receive them. Thither you will be pleased to direct
yours, under cover, to Mr. John Soberton; and Mr. Hickman himself will call for
them there; and there shall leave mine. It goes against me too, to make him so
useful to me. He looks already so proud upon it! I shall have him [Who knows?]
give himself airs--He had best consider, that the favour he has been long aiming
at, may put him into a very dangerous, a very ticklish situation. He that can
oblige, may disoblige--Happy for some people not to have it in their power to
offend!
I will have patience, if I can, for a while, to see if these bustlings in my
mother will subside--but upon my word, I will not long bear this usage.
Sometimes I am ready to think, that my mother carries it thus on purpose to tire
me out, and to make me the sooner marry. If I find it to be so, and that
Hickman, in order to make a merit with me, is in the low plot, I will never bear
him in my sight.
Plotting wretch, as I doubt your man is, I wish to heaven that you were married,
that you might brave them all, and not be forced to hide yourself, and be
hurried from one inconvenient place to another. I charge you, omit not to lay
hold on any handsome opportunity that may offer for that purpose.
Here again comes my mamma--
We look mighty glum upon each other, I can tell you. She had not best Harlowe me
at this rate--I won't bear it!
I have a vast deal to write. I know not what to write first. Yet my mind is
full, and ready to run over.
I am got into a private corner of the garden, to be out of her way.—Lord help
these mothers!--Do they think they can prevent a daughter's writing, or doing
any thing she has a mind to do, by suspicion, watchfulness, and scolding?--They
had better place a confidence in one by half--A generous mind scorns to abuse a
generous confidence.
You have a nice, a very nice part to act with this wretch--who yet has, I think,
but one plain path before him. I pity you--but you must make the best of the lot
you have been forced to draw. Yet I see your difficulties.--But, if he do not
offer to abuse your confidence, I would have you seem at least to place some in
him.
If you think not of marrying soon, I approve of your resolution to fix somewhere
out of his reach. And if he know not where to find you, so much the better. Yet
I verily believe, they would force you back, could they but come at you, if they
were not afraid of him.
I think, by all means, you should demand of both your trustees to be put in
possession of your own estate. Mean time I have sixty guineas at your service. I
beg you will command them. Before they are gone, I'll take care you shall be
further supplied. I don't think you'll have a shilling or a shilling's worth of
your own from your relations, unless you extort it from them.
As they believe you went away by your own consent, they are, it seems, equally
surprised and glad that you have left your jewels and money behind you, and have
contrived for clothes so ill. Very little likelihood this shews of their
answering your requests.
Indeed every one who knows not what I now know, must be at a loss to account for
your flight, as they will call it. And how, my dear, can one report it with any
tolerable advantage to you?--To say, you did not intend it when you met him, who
will believe it?--To say, that a person of your known steadiness and punctilio
was over-persuaded when you gave him the meeting, how will that sound?--To say,
you were tricked out of yourself, and people were given credit to it, how
disreputable!--And while unmarried, and yet with him, the man a man of such a
character, what would it not lead a censuring world to think?
I want to see how you put it in your letter for your clothes.
You may depend, I repeat, upon all the little spiteful things they can offer,
instead of sending what you write for. So pray accept the sum that I tender.
What will seen guineas do?--And I will find a way to send you also any of my
clothes and linen for present supply. I beg, my dear Clarissa, that you will not
put your Anna Howe upon a footing with Lovelace, in refusing to accept of my
offer. If you do not oblige me, I shall be apt to think you rather incline to be
obliged to him, than to favour me. And if I find this, I shall not know how to
reconcile it with your delicacy in other respects.
Pray inform me of every thing that passes between you and him. My cares for you
(however needless, from your own prudence) make me wish you to continue to be
every minute. If any thing occur that you would tell me of if I were present,
fail not to put it down in writing, although from your natural diffidence, it
should not appear to you altogether so worthy of your pen, or my knowing. A
stander-by may see more of the game than one that plays. Great consequences,
like great folks, generally owe their greatness to small causes, and little
incidents.
Upon the whole, I do not now think it is in your power to dismiss him when you
please. I apprized you beforehand, that it would not. I repeat, therefore, that
were I you, I would at least seem to place some confidence in him. So long as he
is decent, you may. Very visibly observable, to such delicacy as yours, must be
that behaviour in him, which will make him unworthy of some confidence.
Your relations, according to what old Antony says to my mother, and she to me,
(by way of threatening, that you will not gain your supposed ends upon them by
your flight,) seem to expect that you will throw yourself into Lady Betty's
protection; and that she will offer to mediate for you. And they vow, that they
will never hearken to any terms of accommodation that shall come from that
quarter; for I dare aver, that your brother and sister will not let them
cool--at least, till their uncles have made such dispositions, and perhaps your
father too, as they would have them make.
As this letter will apprize you of an alteration in the place to which you must
direct your next, I send it by a friend of Mr. Hickman, who may be depended
upon. He has business in the neighbourhood of Mrs. Sorlings; and he knows her.
He will return to Mr. Hickman this night; and bring back any letter you shall
have ready to send, or can get ready. It is moon-light. He'll not mind waiting
for you. I choose not to send by any of Mr. Hickman's servants--at present,
however. Every hour is now, or may be, important; and may make an alteration in
your resolutions necessary.
I hear at this instant, my mamma calling about her, and putting every body into
motion. She will soon, I suppose, make me and my employment the subjects of her
inquiry.
Adieu, my dear. May heaven preserve you, and restore you with honour as
unsullied as your mind to
Your ever affectionate
ANNA HOWE.