LETTER 19: [Commentary]
MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE
[IN ANSWER TO LETTER 15]
Saturday, March 4
Hannah has just now brought me from the usual place your favour of yesterday.
The contents of it have made me very thoughtful, and you will have an answer in
my gravest style--I to have that Mr. Solmes!--No indeed!--I will sooner--But I
will write first to those passages in your letter which are less concerning,
that I may touch upon this part with more patience.
As to what you mention of my sister's value for Mr. Lovelace, I am not very much
surprised at it. She takes such officious pains, and it is so much her subject,
to have it thought that she never did, and never could like him, that she gives
but too much room to suspect her. She never tells the story of their parting,
and of her refusal of him, but her colour rises, she looks with disdain upon me,
and mingles anger with the airs she gives herself-- both anger and airs at least
demonstrating, that she refused a man whom she thought worth accepting; where
else is the reason either for anger or boast?--Poor Bella! She is to be
pitied--she cannot either like or dislike with temper! --Would to heaven she had
been mistress of all her wishes!--Would to heaven she had!--
As to the article of giving up to my father's control the estate bequeathed
me, my motives at the time, as you acknowledge, were not blameable. Your advice
to me on the subject was grounded, as I remember, on your good opinion of me;
believing that I should not make a bad use of the power willed me. Neither you
nor I, my dear, although you now assume the air of a diviner, (pardon me) could
have believed that would have happened which has happened, as to my father's
part particularly. You were indeed jealous of my brother's views against me; or
rather of his predominant love of himself; but I did not think so hardly of my
brother and sister as you always did. You never loved them, and ill-will has
eyes always open to the faulty side; as good-will or love is blind even to real
imperfections. I will briefly recollect my motives.
I found jealousies and uneasiness rising in every breast, where all before was
unity and love. The honoured testator was reflected upon: a second childhood was
attributed to him; and I was censured, as having taken advantage of it. All
young creatures, thought I, more or less, covet independency; but those who wish
most for it, are seldom the fittest to be trusted either with the government of
themselves, or with power over others. This is certainly a very high and unusual
bequest to so young a creature. We should not aim at all we have power to do. To
take all that good-nature, or indulgence, or good opinion
confers, shews a want of moderation, and a graspingness that is unworthy of that
indulgence; and are bad indications of the use that may be made of the power
bequeathed. It is true, thought I, that I have formed agreeable schemes of
making others as happy as myself, by the proper discharge of the stewardship intrusted to me
(are not all estates stewardships, my dear?) But let me examine
myself: is not vanity, or secret love of praise, a principal motive with me at
the bottom?--Ought I not to suspect my own heart? If I set up for myself, puffed
up with every one's good opinion, may I not be left to myself?--Every one's eyes
are upon the conduct, upon the visits, upon the visit-ors, of a young creature
of our sex, made independent; and are not such, moreover, the subjects of the
attempts of the worst of the other? And then, left to myself, should I take a
wrong step, though with ever so good an intention, how many should I have to
triumph over me, how few to pity?--the more of the one, and the fewer of the
other, for having aimed at excelling.
These were some of my reflections at the time: and I have no doubt but that in
the same situation I should do the very same thing; and that upon the maturest
deliberation. Who can command or foresee events? To act up to our best judgments
at the time, is all we can do. If I have erred, 'tis to worldly wisdom only that
I have erred. If we suffer by an act of duty, or even by an act of generosity,
is it not pleasurable on reflection, that the fault is in others, rather than in
ourselves?--I had rather, a vast deal, have reason to think others unkind, than that they
should have any to think me undutiful. And so, my dear, I am sure had you.
And now for the most concerning part of your letter.
You think I must of necessity be Mr Solmes's wife, as matters are circumstanced. I will not be very rash, my dear, in protesting to the contrary. But I think it never, never can, nor ought to be!--My temper, I know, is depended upon; but I have heretofore said, that I have something in me of my father's family, as well as of my mother's. And have I any encouragement to follow too implicitly the example which my mamma sets of meekness and resignedness to the wills of others? --Is she not for ever obliged to be, as she was pleased to hint to me, of the forbearing side? In my mamma’s case, your observation is verified, that those who will bear much shall have much to bear-- What is it, as she says, that she has not sacrificed to peace?--Yet, has she by her sacrifices always found the peace she has deserved to find? Indeed, No!--I am afraid the very contrary. And often and often have I had reason on her account to reflect, that we poor mortals, by our over-solicitude to preserve undisturbed the qualities we are constitutionally fond of, frequently lose the benefits we propose to ourselves from them; since the designing and encroaching, finding out what we most fear to forfeit, direct their batteries against these our weaker places, and, making an artillery, if I may so phrase it, of our hopes and fears, play it upon us at their pleasure.
Steadiness of mind, (a quality which the ill-bred and censorious
deny to any of our sex), when we are absolutely convinced of being in the right
(otherwise it is not steadiness, but obstinacy) and in material cases, is a
quality, my good Dr. Lewen was wont to say, that brings great credit to the
possessor of it; at the same time that it usually, when tried and known, raises
such above the attempts of the meanly machinating. He used therefore to
inculcate upon me this steadiness upon laudable convictions. And why may I not
think that I am now put upon a proper exercise of it?—I have said that I never
can be, that I never ought to be, Mrs Solmes--I repeat, that I ought not: for
surely, my dear, I should not give up to my brother's ambition the happiness of
my future life--Surely I ought not to be the instrument to deprive Mr Solmes's
relations of their natural rights and reversionary prospects, for the sake of
further aggrandizing a family (although that I am of) which already lives in
great affluence and splendour; and who might be as justly dissatisfied, were all
that some of it aim at to be obtained, that they were not princes, as now they
are that they are not peers (for when ever was an ambitious mind, as you observe
in the case of avarice, satisfied by acquisition?). The less, surely, ought I to
give into these grasping views of my brother, as I myself heartily despise the
end aimed at; as I wish not either to change my state, or better my fortunes;
and as I am fully persuaded, that happiness and riches are two things, and very
seldom meet together.
Yet I dread, I exceedingly dread, the conflicts I know I must encounter with. It
is possible, that I may be more unhappy from the due observation of the good
doctor's general precept, than were I to yield the point; since what I call
steadiness is attributed to stubbornness, to obstinacy, to prepossession, by
those who have a right to put what interpretation they please upon my conduct.
So, my dear, were we perfect, which no one can be, we could not be happy in this life, unless those with whom we have to deal (those, more especially, who have any control upon us) were governed by the same principles. What have we then to do, but, as I have hinted above, to choose right, and pursue it steadily; and to leave the issue to Providence?
This, if you approve of my motives, (and if you don't, pray inform me) must be my aim in the present case.
But what then can I plead for a
palliation to myself of my mamma’s sufferings on my account? Perhaps this
consideration will carry some force with it--That her difficulties cannot last
long; only till this great struggle shall be one way or other
determined. Whereas my unhappiness, if I comply, will (from an aversion not to
be overcome) be for life. To which let me add, as I have reason to think that
the present measures are not entered upon with her own natural liking, she will
have the less pain, should they want the success which I think in my heart they
ought to want.
I have run a great length in a very little time. The subject touched me to the
quick. My reflections upon it will give you reason to expect from me a perhaps
too steady behaviour in a new conference, which I find, I must have with my
mamma. My father and brother, as she was pleased to tell me, dine at my uncle Antony's,
on purpose, as I have reason to believe, to give an
opportunity for it.
Hannah informs me, that she heard my papa high and angry with my mother, at taking leave of her: I suppose for being too favourable to me; for Hannah heard her say, as in tears, 'Indeed, Mr. Harlowe, you greatly distress me!--The poor girl does not deserve--' Hannah heard no more, but that he said, he would break somebody's heart--Mine, I suppose--Not my mother's, I hope.
As
only my sister dines with my mamma, I thought I should have been commanded down:
but she sent me up a plate from her table. I wrote on. I could not touch a
morsel. I ordered Hannah, however, to eat of it, that I might not be thought
sullen.
I will see, before I conclude this, I will see whether any thing offers from
either of my private correspondencies, that will make it proper to add to it;
and will take a turn in the wood-yard and garden for that purpose.
I am stopped. Hannah shall deposit this. She was ordered by my Mamma, who asked
where I was, to tell me, that she would come up and talk with me in my own
closet.--She is coming! Adieu, my dear.