LETTER XXXVIII
MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE THURSDAY, APRIL 6.
I thank you, my dearest friend, for the pains you have taken inaccounting so affectionately for my papers not being taken awayyesterday; and for the kind protection you would have procured for me,if you could.
This kind protection was what I wished for: but my wishes, raised atfirst by your love, were rather governed by my despair of other refuge[having before cast about, and not being able to determine, what Iought to do, and what I could do, in a situation so unhappy] than by areasonable hope: For why indeed should any body embroil themselves forothers, when they can avoid it?
All my consolation is, as I have frequently said, that I have not, by myown inadvertence or folly, brought myself into this sad situation. If Ihad, I should not have dared to look up to any body with the expectationof protection or assistance, nor to you for excuse of the trouble I giveyou. But nevertheless we should not be angry at a person's not doingthat for ourselves, or for our friend, which she thinks she ought not todo; and which she has it in her option either to do, or to let it alone.Much less have you a right to be displeased with so prudent a mother,for not engaging herself so warmly in my favour, as you wished shewould. If my own aunt can give me up, and that against her judgment, asI may presume to say; and if my father and mother, and uncles, who onceloved me so well, can join so strenuously against me; can I expect, orought you, the protection of your mother, in opposition to them?
Indeed, my dear love, [permit me to be very serious,] I am afraid I amsingled out (either for my own faults, or for the faults of myfamily, or perhaps for the faults of both) to be a very unhappycreature!--signally unhappy! For see you not how irresistible the wavesof affliction come tumbling down upon me?
We have been till within these few weeks, every one of us, too happy. Nocrosses, no vexations, but what we gave ourselves from the pamperedness,as I may call it, of our own wills. Surrounded by our heaps and stores,hoarded up as fast as acquired, we have seemed to think ourselves outof the reach of the bolts of adverse fate. I was the pride of all myfriends, proud myself of their pride, and glorying in my standing. Whoknows what the justice of Heaven may inflict, in order to convince us,that we are not out of the reach of misfortune; and to reduce us to abetter reliance, than what we have hitherto presumptuously made?
I should have been very little the better for the conversation-visitswith the good Dr. Lewen used to honour me with, and for the principleswrought (as I may say) into my earliest mind by my pious Mrs. Norton,founded on her reverend father's experience, as well as on her own, ifI could not thus retrospect and argue, in such a strange situation as weare in. Strange, I may well call it; for don't you see, my dear, that weseem all to be impelled, as it were, by a perverse fate, which none ofus are able to resist?--and yet all arising (with a strong appearanceof self-punishment) from ourselves? Do not my parents see the hopefulchildren, from whom they expected a perpetuity of worldly happinessto their branching family, now grown up to answer the till now distanthope, setting their angry faces against each other, pulling up by theroots, as I may say, that hope which was ready to be carried into aprobable certainty?
Your partial love will be ready to acquit me of capital and intentionalfaults:--but oh, my dear! my calamities have humbled me enough to makeme turn my gaudy eye inward; to make me look into myself.--And what haveI discovered there?--Why, my dear friend, more secret pride and vanitythan I could have thought had lain in my unexamined heart.
If I am to be singled out to be the punisher of myself and family, whoso lately was the pride of it, pray for me, my dear, that I may notbe left wholly to myself; and that I may be enabled to support mycharacter, so as to be justly acquitted of wilful and premeditatedfaults. The will of Providence be resigned to in the rest: as thatleads, let me patiently and unrepiningly follow!--I shall not livealways!--May but my closing scene be happy!
But I will not oppress you, my dearest friend, with further reflectionsof this sort. I will take them all into myself. Surely I have a mindthat has room for them. My afflictions are too sharp to last long. Thecrisis is at hand. Happier times you bid me hope for. I will hope.
*****
But yet, I cannot be but impatient at times, to find myself thus driven,and my character so depreciated and sunk, that were all the future to behappy, I should be ashamed to shew my face in public, or to look up. Andall by the instigation of a selfish brother, and envious sister--
But let me stop: let me reflect!--Are not these suggestions thesuggestions of the secret pride I have been censuring? Then, alreadyso impatient! but this moment so resigned, so much better disposedfor reflection! yet 'tis hard, 'tis very hard, to subdue an embitteredspirit!--in the instant of its trial too!--O my cruel brother!--butnow it rises again.--I will lay down a pen I am so little ableto govern.--And I will try to subdue an impatience, which (if myafflictions are sent me for corrective ends) may otherwise lead me intostill more punishable errors.--
*****
I will return to a subject, which I cannot fly from for ten minutestogether--called upon especially, as I am, by your three alternativesstated in the conclusion of your last.
As to the first; to wit, your advice for me to escape to London--let metell you, that the other hint or proposal which accompanies it perfectlyfrightens me--surely, my dear, (happy as you are, and indulgentlytreated as your mother treats you,) you cannot mean what you propose!What a wretch must I be, if, for one moment only, I could lend an earto such a proposal as this!--I, to be the occasion of making sucha mother's (perhaps shortened) life unhappy to the last hour ofit!--Ennoble you, my dear creature! How must such an enterprise (therashness public, the motives, were they excusable, private) debaseyou!--but I will not dwell upon the subject--for your own sake I willnot.
As to your second alternative, to put myself into the protection of LordM. and of the ladies of that family, I own to you, (as I believe I haveowned before,) that although to do this would be the same thing in theeye of the world as putting myself into Mr. Lovelace's protection, yetI think I would do it rather than be Mr. Solmes's wife, if there wereevidently no other way to avoid being so.
Mr. Lovelace, you have seen, proposes to contrive a way to put me intopossession of my own house; and he tells me, that he will soon fillit with the ladies of his family, as my visiters;--upon my invitation,however, to them. A very inconsiderate proposal I think it to be,and upon which I cannot explain myself to him. What an exertion ofindependency does it chalk out for me! How, were I to attend to him,(and not to the natural consequences to which the following of hisadvice would lead me,) might I be drawn by gentle words into thepenetration of the most violent acts!--For how could I gain possession,but either by legal litigation, which, were I inclined to have recourseto it, (as I never can be,) must take up time; or by forcibly turningout the persons whom my father has placed there, to look after thegardens, the house, and the furniture--persons entirely attached tohimself, and who, as I know, have been lately instructed by my brother?
Your third alternative, to meet and marry Mr. Lovelace directly; a manwith whose morals I am far from being satisfied--a step, that couldnot be taken with the least hope of ever obtaining pardon from orreconciliation with any of my friends; and against which a thousandobjections rise in my mind--that is not to be thought of.
What appears to me, upon the fullest deliberation, the most eligible,if I must be thus driven, is the escaping to London. But I would forfeitall my hopes of happiness in this life, rather than you should go awaywith me, as you rashly, though with the kindest intentions, propose.If I could get safely thither, and be private, methinks I might remainabsolutely independent of Mr. Lovelace, and at liberty either to makeproposals to my friends, or, should they renounce me, (and I had noother or better way,) to make terms with him; supposing my cousinMorden, on his arrival, were to join with my other relations. But theywould then perhaps indulge me in my choice of a single life, on givinghim up: the renewing to them this off
er, when at my own liberty, willat least convince them, that I was in earnest when I made it first: and,upon my word, I would stand to it, dear as you seem to think, when youare disposed to rally me, it would cost me, to stand to it.
If, my dear, you can procure a vehicle for us both, you can perhapsprocure one for me singly: but can it be done without embroilingyourself with your mother, or her with our family?--Be it coach,chariot, chaise, wagon, or horse, I matter not, provided you appear notto have a hand in my withdrawing. Only, in case it be one of the twolatter, I believe I must desire you to get me an ordinary gown and coat,or habit, of some servant; having no concert with any of our own: themore ordinary the better. They must be thrust on in the wood-house;where I can put them on; and then slide down from the bank, thatseparates the wood-yard from the green lane.
But, alas! my dear, this, even this alternative, is not withoutdifficulties, which, to a spirit so little enterprising as mine, seem ina manner insuperable. These are my reflections upon it.
I am afraid, in the first place, that I shall not have time for therequisite preparations for an escape.
Should I be either detected in those preparations, or pursued andovertaken in my flight, and so brought back, then would they thinkthemselves doubly warranted to compel me to have their Solmes: and,conscious of an intended fault, perhaps, I should be the less able tocontend with them.
But were I even to get safely to London, I know nobody there but byname; and those the tradesmen to our family; who, no doubt, would bethe first written to and engaged to find me out. And should Mr. Lovelacediscover where I was, and he and my brother meet, what mischiefsmight ensue between them, whether I were willing or not to return toHarlowe-place!
But supposing I could remain there concealed, to what might my youth, mysex, and unacquaintedness of the ways of that great, wicked town, exposeme!--I should hardly dare to go to church for fear of being discovered.People would wonder how I lived. Who knows but I might pass for a keptmistress; and that, although nobody came to me, yet, that every time Iwent out, it might be imagined to be in pursuance of some assignation?
You, my dear, who alone would know where to direct to me, would bewatched in all your steps, and in all your messages; and your mother,at present not highly pleased with our correspondence, would then havereason to be more displeased: And might not differences follow betweenher and you, that would make me very unhappy, were I to know them? Andthis the more likely, as you take it so unaccountably (and, give meleave to say, so ungenerously) into your head, to revenge yourself uponthe innocent Mr. Hickman, for all the displeasure your mother gives you.
Were Lovelace to find out my place of abode, that would be the samething in the eye of the world as if I had actually gone off with him:For would he, do you think, be prevailed upon to forbear visiting me?And then his unhappy character (a foolish man!) would be no credit toany young creature desirous of concealment. Indeed the world, let meescape whither, and to whomsoever I could, would conclude him to be thecontriver of it.
These are the difficulties which arise to me on revolving this scheme;which, nevertheless, might appear surmountable to a more enterprisingspirit in my circumstances. If you, my dear, think them surmountable inany one of the cases put, [and to be sure I can take no course, but whatmust have some difficulty in it,] be pleased to let me know your freeand full thoughts upon it.
Had you, my dear friend, been married, then should I have had no doubtbut that you and Mr. Hickman would have afforded an asylum to a poorcreature more than half lost in her own apprehension for want of onekind protecting friend!
You say I should have written to my cousin Morden the moment I wastreated disgracefully: But could I have believed that my friends wouldnot have softened by degrees when they saw my antipathy to their Solmes?
I had thoughts indeed several times of writing to my cousin: but by thetime an answer could have come, I imagined all would have been over, asif it had never been: so from day to day, from week to week, I hoped on:and, after all, I might as reasonably fear (as I have heretofore said)that my cousin would be brought to side against me, as that some ofthose I have named would.
And then to appeal a cousin [I must have written with warmth to engagehim] against a father; this was not a desirable thing to set about. ThenI had not, you know, one soul on my side; my mother herself against me.To be sure my cousin would have suspended his judgment till he couldhave arrived. He might not have been in haste to come, hoping the maladywould cure itself: but had he written, his letters probably would haverun in the qualifying style; to persuade me to submit, or them only torelax. Had his letters been more on my side than on theirs, they wouldnot have regarded them: nor perhaps himself, had he come and been anadvocate for me: for you see how strangely determined they are; how theyhave over-awed or got in every body; so that no one dare open their lipsin my behalf. And you have heard that my brother pushes his measureswith the more violence, that all may be over with me before my cousin'sexpected arrival.
But you tell me, that, in order to gain time, I must palliate; that Imust seem to compromise with my friends: But how palliate? How seem tocompromise? You would not have me endeavour to make them believe, that Iwill consent to what I never intended to consent to! You would not haveme to gain time, with a view to deceive!
To do evil, that good may come of it, is forbidden: And shall I do evil,yet know not whether good may come of it or not?
Forbid it, heaven! that Clarissa Harlowe should have it in her thoughtto serve, or even to save herself at the expense of her sincerity, andby a studied deceit!
And is there, after all, no way to escape one great evil, but byplunging myself into another?--What an ill-fated creature am I!--Prayfor me, my dearest Nancy!--my mind is at present so much disturbed, thatI can hardly pray for myself.