LETTER 8: MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE [Commentary]
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!
Oh, 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 joined 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 rally me, and not to believe it possible that one so dutiful and so descreet as his sister Clary can resolve to disoblige all her friends.
Indead, I tremble at the prospect before me, for it is evident that they are strangely determined.
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 nobody. 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 theree of this man’s particular visits, besides my share in his more general ones, and find it 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 to cruelly with me that I have not spirit enough to assert my own negative.
My good Mrs Norton they had endeavoured, 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 al the world, next to my mamma, the most likely to prevail upon me were the measures they are engaged 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 tol ike Mr Solmes has been obliged to learn another lesson.
I am to have a visit from her tomorrow. And since I have refused so much as to hear from my brother and sister what the noble settlements are to be, she 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.
Meantime it has been signified to me that it will e acceptable if I do not think of going to church next Sunday.
The same signification was made me for last Sunday, and I obeyed. 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 anything 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 al my family entitled 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 loath to mention how equally unjust it is for him to make such offers, or for those I am bound to reverene to respect of them. I have him more than before. One great estate is already obtained at the expense of the relations to it, though distant relations, my brother’s, I mean, by his godmother; had 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 remembered against relationship forgot?
But here, upon my absolute refusal of him upon any temrs, 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 come or till licence obtained correspond with anybody out of the house.
My brother, upon my aunt’s report (made, however, as I am informed, in the gentlest manner and even giving remote hopes which she had no commission from me to give), brough me in authoritative terms the prohibition.
Not to Miss Howe? Said I.
No, not to Miss Howe, madam, tauntingly: for have you not acknowledged that Lovelace is a favourite there?
See, my dear Miss Howe!—
And do you think, brother, this is the way?—
Do you look to that—but your letters will be stopped, I can tell you—and waay he flung.
My sister came to me soon after—Sister Clary, you are going on in a fine way, I understand. But, as there are people who are supposed to harden you against your duty, I am to tell you that it will be taken well if you avoid visits or visitings for a week or two, till further order.
Can this be from those who have authority—
Ask them, ask them, child, with a twirl of her finger—I have delivered my message. Your papa will be obeyed. He is willing to hope you to be all obedience, and would prevent all incitements to refractoriness.
I knew my duty, I said; and hoped I should not find impossible conditions annexed to it.
A pert young creature vain and conceited, she called me. I was the only judge, in my own wise opinion, of what was right and fit. She, for her part, had long seen through my specious ways; and now I show everybody what I was a bottom.
Dear Bella, said I! hands and eyes lifted up—why all this?—Dear, dear Bella, why—
None of your dear, dear Bella’s to me—I tell you I see through your witchcrafts—that was her strange word; and away she flung, adding as she went-and so will everybody else very quickly, I dare say.
Bless me, said I to myself, what a sister have I!—How have I deserved this? Then I again regretted my grandfather’s too distinguishing goodness to me.
Feb. 25 in the evening
What my brother and sister have said against me I cannot tell-but I am in heavy disgrace with my papa.
I was sent for down to tea. I went with a very cheerful aspect, but had occasion soon to change it.
Such a solemnity in everybody’s countenance!—My mamma’s eyes were fixed upon the tea-cups; and when she looked up it was heavily, as if her eyelids had weights upon them, and then not to me. My papa sat half-aside in his elbow-chair, that his head might be turned from me; his hands folded, and waving, as it were, up and sown; his fingers, poor dear gentleman! In motion, as if angry to the very ends of them. My sister sat swelling. My brother looked at me with scorn, having measured me, as I may say, with his eyes, as I entered, from heat to foot. My aunt was there and looked upon me as if with kindness restrained, bending coldly to my compliment to her as she sat; and then cast an eye first on my brother, and then on my sister, as if to give the reason (so I am willing to construe it) of her unusual stiffness—bless me, my dear! That they should choose to intimidate rather than invite a mind till now not thought either unpersuadable or ungenerous!—
I took my seat. Shall I make tea; madam, to my mamma?—I always used, you know, my dear, to make tea.
No! a very short sentence in one very short world was the expressive answer; and the she was pleased to take the canister in her own hand.
My sister’s Betty attending, my brother bid her go—he would fill the water.
My heart was up at my mouth. I did not know what to do with myself. What is to follow? Thought I.
Just after the second dish out stepped my mamma—a word with you, sister Hervey! Taking her in her hand. Presently my sister dropped away. Then my brother. So I was left alone with my papa.
He looked so very sternly that my heart failed me, as twice or thrice I would have addressed myself to him: nothing but solemn silence on all hands having passed before.
A last, I asked, if it were his pleasure that I should pour him out another dish?
He answered me with the same angry monosyllable which I had received from my mamma before, and then arose ands walked about the room. I arose too, with intent to throw myself at his feet, but was too much over-awed by his sternness even to make such an expression of my duty to him as my heart overflowed with.
At last, as he supported himself because of his gout on the back of a chair, I took a little more courage, and approaching him, besought him to acquaint me in what I had offended him?
He turned from me and, in a strong voice, Clarissa Harlowe, said he, know that I will be obeyed.
God forbid, sir, that you should not!—I have never yet opposed your will—
Nor I your whimsies, Clarissa Harlowe, interrupted he—Don’t let me run the fate of all wo show indulgence to your sex, to be the more contradicted for mine to you.
My papa, you know, my dear, has not (any more than my brother) a kind opinion of our sex, although there is not a more condescending wife in the world than my mamma.
I was going to make protestations of duty—no protestation, girl!—No words—I will not be prated to !—I will be obeyed!—I have no child—I will have no child, but an obedient one.
Sir, you never had read, I hope—
Tell me not what I never had, but what I have, and what I shall have—
Good sir, be pleased to hear me—my brother and my sister I fear—
Your brother and your sister shall not be spoken against, girl!—They have a just concern for he honour of my family.
And I hope, sir,--
Hope nothing—tell me not of hopes, but of facts. I ask nothing of you but what is in your power to comply with, and what is in your duty to comply with.
Then, sir, I will comply with it—but yet I hope from your goodness—
No expostulations!—No but’s, girl!—No qualifyings!—I will be obeyed, I tell you!—and cheerfully too!—our you are no child of mine!—
I wept.
Let me beseech you, my dear and ever-honoured papa (and I dropped down on my knees), that I may have only your’s and my mamma’s will, and not my brother’s, to obey—I was going on, but he was please to withdraw, leaving me on the floor, saying that he would not hear me thus by subtlety and cunning aiming to distinguish away my duty, repeating that he would be obeyed.
My heart is too full—so full that it may endanger my duty were I to unburden it to you on this occasion; so I will lay down my pen—but can—yet, positively, I will lay down my pen!--