LETTER XLV
MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE. [IN ANSWER TO LETTER XLIII.] SUNDAYMORNING, APRIL 9.
Do not think, my beloved friend, although you have given me in yoursof yesterday a severer instance of what, nevertheless, I must call yourimpartial love, than ever yet I received from you, that I would bedispleased with you for it. That would be to put myself into theinconvenient situation of royalty: that is to say, out of the way ofever being told of my faults; of ever mending them: and in the way ofmaking the sincerest and warmest friendship useless to me.
And then how brightly, how nobly glows in your bosom the sacred flameof friendship; since it can make you ready to impute to the unhappysufferer a less degree of warmth in her own cause, than you have forher, because of the endeavours to divest herself of self so far as toleave others to the option which they have a right to make!--Ought I, mydear, to blame, ought I not rather to admire you for this ardor?
But nevertheless, lest you should think that there is any foundation fora surmise which (although it owe its rise to your friendship) would, ifthere were, leave me utterly inexcusable, I must, in justice to myself,declare, that I know not my own heart if I have any of that latent orunowned inclination, which you would impute to any other but me. Nordoes the important alternative sit lightly on my mind. And yet I mustexcuse your mother, were it but on this single consideration, thatI could not presume to reckon upon her favour, as I could upon herdaughter's, so as to make the claim of friendship upon her, to whom, asthe mother of my dearest friend, a veneration is owing, which canhardly be compatible with that sweet familiarity which is one of theindispensable requisites of the sacred tie by which your heart and mineare bound in one.
What therefore I might expect from my Anna Howe, I ought not fromher mother; for would it not be very strange, that a person of herexperience should be reflected upon because she gave not up her ownjudgment, where the consequence of her doing so would be to embroilherself, as she apprehends, with a family she has lived well with,and in behalf of a child against her parents?--as she has moreover adaughter of her own:--a daughter too, give me leave to say, of whosevivacity and charming spirits she is more apprehensive than she need tobe, because her truly maternal cares make her fear more from her youth,than she hopes for her prudence; which, nevertheless, she and all theworld know to be beyond her years.
And here let me add, that whatever you may generously, and as the resultof an ardent affection for your unhappy friend, urge on this head, in mybehalf, or harshly against any one who may refuse me protection in theextraordinary circumstances I find myself in, I have some pleasurein being able to curb undue expectations upon my indulgent friends,whatever were to befal myself from those circumstances, for I should beextremely mortified, were I by my selfish forwardness to give occasionfor such a check, as to be told, that I had encouraged an unreasonablehope, or, according to the phrase you mention, wished to take a thornout of my own foot, and to put in to that of my friend. Nor should Ibe better pleased with myself, if, having been taught by my good Mrs.Norton, that the best of schools is that of affliction, I should ratherlearn impatience than the contrary, by the lessons I am obliged to getby heart in it; and if I should judge of the merits of others, as theywere kind to me; and that at the expense of their own convenience orpeace of mind. For is not this to suppose myself ever in the right; andall who do not act as I would have them act, perpetually in the wrong?In short, to make my sake God's sake, in the sense of Mr. Solmes'spitiful plea to me?
How often, my dear, have you and I endeavoured to detect and censurethis partial spirit in others?
But I know you do not always content yourself with saying what you thinkmay justly be said; but, in order the shew the extent of a penetrationwhich can go to the bottom of any subject, delight to say or to writeall that can be said or written, or even thought, on the particularoccasion; and this partly perhaps from being desirous [pardon me, mydear!] to be thought mistress of a sagacity that is aforehand withevents. But who would wish to drain off or dry up a refreshing current,because it now-and-then puts us to some little inconvenience by itsover-flowings? In other words, who would not allow for the liveliness ofa spirit which for one painful sensibility gives an hundred pleasurableones; and the one in consequence of the other?
But now I come to the two points in your letter, which most sensiblyconcern me: Thus you put them:
'Whether I choose not rather to go off [shocking words!] with one ofmy own sex; with my ANNA HOWE--than with one of the other; with Mr.LOVELACE?'
And if not,
'Whether I should not marry him as soon as possible?'
You know, my dear, my reasons for rejecting your proposal, and evenfor being earnest that you should not be known to be assisting me in anenterprise in which a cruel necessity induced me to think of engaging;and for which you have not the same plea. At this rate, well mightyour mother be uneasy at our correspondence, not knowing to whatinconveniencies it might subject her and you!--If I am hardly excusableto think of withdrawing from my unkind friends, what could you have tosay for yourself, were you to abandon a mother so indulgent? Doesshe suspect that your fervent friendship may lead you to a smallindiscretion? and does this suspicion offend you? And would you, inresentment, shew her and the world, that you can voluntarily rush intothe highest error that any of our sex can be guilty of?
And is it worthy of your generosity [I ask you, my dear, is it?] tothink of taking so undutiful a step, because you believe your motherwould be glad to receive you again?
I do assure you, that were I to take this step myself, I would run allrisks rather than you should accompany me in it. Have I, do you think, adesire to double and treble my own fault in the eye of the world? in theeye of that world which, cruelly as I am used, (not knowing all,) wouldnot acquit me?
But, my dearest, kindest friend, let me tell you, that we will neitherof us take such a step. The manner of putting your questions abundantlyconvinces me, that I ought not, in your opinion, to attempt it. You nodoubt intend that I shall so take it; and I thank you for the equallypolite and forcible conviction.
It is some satisfaction to me (taking the matter in this light) that Ihad begun to waver before I received your last. And now I tell you, thatit has absolutely determined me not to go off; at least not to-morrow.
If you, my dear, think the issue of the alternative (to use your ownwords) sits so lightly upon my mind, in short, that my inclination isfaulty; the world would treat me much less scrupulously. When thereforeyou represent, that all punctilio must be at an end the moment I am outof my father's house; and hint, that I must submit it to Mr. Lovelaceto judge when he can leave me with safety; that is to say, give him theoption whether he will leave me, or not; who can bear these reflections,who can resolve to incur these inconveniencies, that has the questionstill in her own power to decide upon?
While I thought only of an escape from this house as an escape from Mr.Solmes; that already my reputation suffered by my confinement; and thatit would be in my own option either to marry Mr. Lovelace, or wholly torenounce him; bold as the step was, I thought, treated as I am treated,something was to be said in excuse of it--if not to the world, tomyself: and to be self-acquitted, is a blessing to be preferred to theoption of all the world. But, after I have censured most severely, as Ihave ever done, those giddy girls, who have in the same hour, as I maysay, that they have fled from their chamber, presented themselves atthe altar that is witness to their undutiful rashness; after I havestipulated with Mr. Lovelace for time, and for an ultimate optionwhether to accept or refuse him; and for his leaving me, as soon as I amin a place of safety (which, as you observe, he must be the judge of);and after he has signified to me his compliance with these terms; sothat I cannot, if I would, recall them, and suddenly marry;--you see,my dear, that I have nothing left me but to resolve not to go away withhim!
But, how, on this revocation of my appointment, shall I be able topacify him?
How!--Why assert the privilege of my s
ex!--Surely, on this side of thesolemnity he has no right to be displeased. Besides, did I not reserve apower of receding, as I saw fit? To what purpose, as I asked in the casebetween your mother and you, has any body an option, if the making useof it shall give the refused a right to be disgusted?
Far, very far, would those, who, according to the old law, have a rightof absolving or confirming a child's promise, be from ratifying mine,had it been ever so solemn a one.* But this was rather an appointmentthan a promise: and suppose it had been the latter; and that I had notreserved to myself a liberty of revoking it; was it to preclude betteror maturer consideration?--If so, how unfit to be given!--how ungenerousto be insisted upon!--And how unfitter still to be kept!--Is there a manliving who ought to be angry that a woman whom he hopes one day tocall his, shall refuse to keep a rash promise, when, on the maturestdeliberation, she is convinced that it was a rash one?
* See Numb. XXX. Where it is declared, whose vows shall be binding, and whose not. The vows of a man, or of a widow, are there pronounced to be indispensable; because they are sole, and subject to no other domestic authority. But the vows of a single woman, or of a wife, if the father of the one, or the husband of the other, disallow of them as soon as they know them, are to be of no force.
A matter highly necessary to be known; by all young ladies especially, whose designing addressers too often endeavour to engage them by vows; and then plead conscience and honour to them to hold them down to the performance.
It cannot be amiss to recite the very words.
Ver. 3 If a woman vow a vow unto the Lord, and bind herself by a bond, being in her father's house in her youth;
4. And her father hear her vow, and her bond wherewith she hath bound her soul, and her father shall hold his peace at her; then all her vows shall stand, and every bond wherewith she hath bound her soul shall stand.
5. But if her father disallow her in the day that he heareth; not any of her vows or of her bonds wherewith she hath bound her soul shall stand: and the Lord shall forgive her, because her father disallowed her.
The same in the case of a wife, as said above. See ver. 6, 7, 8, &c.--All is thus solemnly closed:
Ver. 16. These are the statutes which the Lord commanded Moses between a man and his wife, between the father and his daughter, being yet in her youth in her father's house.
I resolve then, upon the whole, to stand this one trial of Wednesdaynext--or, perhaps, I should rather say, of Tuesday evening, if my fatherhold his purpose of endeavouring, in person, to make me read, or hearread, and then sign, the settlements.--That, that must be the greatesttrial of all.
If I am compelled to sign them over-night--then (the Lord bless me!)must all I dread follow, as of course, on Wednesday. If I can prevailupon them by my prayers [perhaps I shall fall into fits; for the veryfirst appearance of my father, after having been so long banished hispresence, will greatly affect me--if, I say, I can prevail upon them bymy prayers] to lay aside their views; or to suspend the day, if but forone week; but if not, but for two or three days; still Wednesday willbe a lighter day of trial. They will surely give me time to consider: toargue with myself. This will not be promising. As I have made noeffort to get away, they have no reason to suspect me; so I may have anopportunity, in the last resort, to withdraw. Mrs. Norton is to be withme: she, although she should be chidden for it, will, in my extremity,plead for me. My aunt Hervey may, in such an extremity, join with her.Perhaps my mother may be brought over. I will kneel to each, one by one,to make a friend. Some of them have been afraid to see me, lest theyshould be moved in my favour: does not this give a reasonable hope thatI may move them? My brother's counsel, heretofore given, to turn me outof doors to my evil destiny, may again be repeated, and may prevail;then shall I be in no worse case than now, as to the displeasure of myfriends; and thus far better, that it will not be my fault that I seekanother protection: which even then ought to be my cousin Morden's,rather than Mr. Lovelace's, or any other person's.
My heart, in short, misgives me less, when I resolve this way, than whenI think of the other: and in so strong and involuntary a bias, the heartis, as I may say, conscience. And well cautions the wise man: 'Let thecounsel of thine own heart stand; for there is no man more faithful tothee than it: for a man's mind is sometimes wont to tell him more thanseven watchmen, that sit above in a high tower.'*
* Ecclus. xxxvii. 13, 14.
Forgive these indigested self-reasonings. I will close here: andinstantly set about a letter of revocation to Mr. Lovelace; take itas he will. It will only be another trial of temper to him. To me ofinfinite importance. And has he not promised temper and acquiescence, onthe supposition of a change in my mind?