LETTER XXIV
MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE FRIDAY, APR. 14.
I will now give you the particulars of a conversation that has justpassed between Mr. Lovelace and me, which I must call agreeable.
It began with his telling me, that he had just received intelligencethat my friends were on a sudden come to a resolution to lay aside allthoughts of pursuing me, or of getting me back: and that therefore heattended me to know of my pleasure; and what I would do, or have him do?
I told him, that I would have him leave me directly; and that, when itwas known to every body that I was absolutely independent of him, itwould pass, that I had left my father's house because of my brother'sill usage of me: which was a plea that I might make with justice, and tothe excuse of my father, as well as of myself.
He mildly replied, that if we could be certain that my relations wouldadhere to this their new resolution, he could have no objection, sincesuch was my pleasure; but, as he was well assured that they had taken itonly from apprehensions, that a more active one might involve my brother(who had breathed nothing but revenge) in some fatal misfortune, therewas too much reason to believe that they would resume their formerpurpose the moment they should think they safely might.
This, Madam, said he, is a risque I cannot run. You would think itstrange if I could. And yet, as soon as I knew they had so given out, Ithought it proper to apprize you of it, and take your commands upon it.
Let me hear, said I, (willing to try if he had any particular view,)what you think most advisable?
'Tis very easy to say that, if I durst--if I might not offend you--if itwere not to break conditions that shall be inviolable with me.
Say then, Sir, what you would say. I can approve or disapprove, as Ithink fit.
Had not the man a fine opportunity here to speak out?--He had. And thushe used it.
To wave, Madam, what I would say till I have more courage to speakout [More courage,--Mr. Lovelace more courage, my dear!]--I will onlypropose what I think will be most agreeable to you--suppose, if youchoose not to go to Lady Betty's, that you take a turn cross the countryto Windsor?
Why to Windsor?
Because it is a pleasant place: because it lies in the way either toBerkshire, to Oxford, or to London: Berkshire, where Lord M. is atpresent: Oxford, in the neighbourhood of which lives Lady Betty: London,whither you may retire at your pleasure: or, if you will have it so,whither I may go, you staying at Windsor; and yet be within an easydistance of you, if any thing should happen, or if your friends shouldchange their new-taken resolution.
This proposal, however, displeased me not. But I said, my only objectionwas, the distance of Windsor from Miss Howe, of whom I should be glad tobe always within two or three hours reach of by messenger, if possible.
If I had thoughts of any other place than Windsor, or nearer toMiss Howe, he wanted but my commands, and would seek for properaccommodations: but, fix as I pleased, farther or nearer, he hadservants, and they had nothing else to do but to obey me.
A grateful thing then he named to me--To send for my Hannah, as soon asI shall be fixed;* unless I would choose one of the young gentlewomenhere to attend me; both of whom, as I had acknowledged, were veryobliging; and he knew I had generosity enough to make it worth theirwhile.
* See his reasons for proposing Windsor, Letter XXV.--and her Hannah,Letter XXVI.
This of Hannah, he might see, I took very well. I said I had thoughtsof sending for her, as soon as I got to more convenient lodgings. As tothese young gentlewomen, it were pity to break in upon that usefulnesswhich the whole family were of to each other; each having her properpart, and performing it with an agreeable alacrity: insomuch, that Iliked them all so well, that I could even pass my days among them, werehe to leave me; by which means the lodgings would be more convenient tome than now they were.
He need not repeat his objections to this place, he said: but as togoing to Windsor, or wherever else I thought fit, or as to his personalattendance, or leaving me, he would assure me (he very agreeably said)that I could propose nothing in which I thought my reputation, and evenmy punctilio, concerned, that he would not cheerfully come into. Andsince I was so much taken up with my pen, he would instantly order hishorse to be got ready, and would set out.
Not to be off my caution. Have you any acquaintance at Windsor? saidI.--Know you of any convenient lodgings there?
Except the forest, replied he, where I have often hunted, I know theleast of Windsor of any place so noted and so pleasant. Indeed I havenot a single acquaintance there.
Upon the whole, I told him, that I thought his proposal of Windsor, notamiss; and that I would remove thither, if I could get a lodging onlyfor myself, and an upper chamber for Hannah; for that my stock of moneywas but small, as was easy to be conceived and I should be very loth tobe obliged to any body. I added, that the sooner I removed the better;for that then he could have no objection to go to London, or Berkshire,as he pleased: and I should let every body know my independence.
He again proposed himself, in very polite terms, for my banker. But I,as civilly, declined his offer.
This conversation was to be, all of it, in the main, agreeable. He askedwhether I would choose to lodge in the town of Windsor, or out of it?
As near the castle, I said, as possible, for the convenience of goingconstantly to the public worship; an opportunity I had been very longdeprived of.
He should be very glad, he told me, if he could procure meaccommodations in any one of the canon's houses; which he imagined wouldbe more agreeable to me than any other, on many accounts. And as hecould depend upon my promise, Never to have any other man but himself,on the condition to which he had so cheerfully subscribed, he should beeasy; since it was now his part, in earnest, to set about recommendinghimself to my favour, by the only way he knew it would be done. Adding,with a very serious air--I am but a young man, Madam; but I have run along course: let not your purity of mind incline you to despise me forthe acknowledgement. It is high time to be weary of it, and to reform;since, like Solomon, I can say, There is nothing new under the sun: butthat it is my belief, that a life of virtue can afford such pleasures,on reflection, as will be for ever blooming, for ever new!
I was agreeably surprised. I looked at him, I believe, as if I doubtedmy ears and my eyes. His aspect however became his words.
I expressed my satisfaction in terms so agreeable to him, that he said,he found a delight in this early dawning of a better day to him, and inmy approbation, which he had never received from the success of the mostfavoured of his pursuits.
Surely, my dear, the man must be in earnest. He could not have saidthis; he could not have thought it, had he not. What followed made mestill readier to believe him.
In the midst of my wild vagaries, said he, I have ever preserved areverence for religion, and for religious men. I always called anothercause, when any of my libertine companions, in pursuance of LordShaftesbury's test (which is a part of the rake's creed, and what Imay call the whetstone of infidelity,) endeavoured to turn the sacredsubject into ridicule. On this very account I have been called by goodmen of the clergy, who nevertheless would have it that I was a practicalrake, the decent rake: and indeed I had too much pride in my shame, todisown the name of rake.
This, Madam, I am the readier to confess, as it may give you hope, thatthe generous task of my reformation, which I flatter myself you willhave the goodness to undertake, will not be so difficult a one as youmay have imagined; for it has afforded me some pleasure in my retiredhours, when a temporary remorse has struck me for any thing I have doneamiss, that I should one day delight in another course of life: for,unless we can, I dare say, no durable good is to be expected from theendeavour. Your example, Madam, must do all, must confirm all.*
* That he proposes one day to reform, and that he has sometimes goodmotions, see Vol.I. Letter XXXIV.
The divine grace, or favour, Mr. Lovelace, must do all, and confirmall. You know not how much you pl
ease me, that I can talk to you in thisdialect.
And I then thought of his generosity to his pretty rustic; and of hiskindness to his tenants.
Yet, Madam, be pleased to remember one thing; reformation cannot be asudden work. I have infinite vivacity: it is that which runs away withme. Judge, dearest Madam, by what I am going to confess, that I havea prodigious way to journey on, before a good person will think metolerable; since though I have read in some of our perfectionists enoughto make a better man than myself either run into madness or despairabout the grace you mention, yet I cannot enter into the meaning of theword, nor into the modus of its operation. Let me not then be checked,when I mention your example for my visible reliance; and instead ofusing such words, till I can better understand them, suppose all therest included in the profession of that reliance.
I told him, that, although I was somewhat concerned at his expression,and surprised at so much darkness, as (for want of another word) I wouldcall it, in a man of his talents and learning, yet I was pleased withhis ingenuousness. I wished him to encourage this way of thinking. Itold him, that his observation, that no durable good was to be expectedfrom any new course, where there was not a delight taken in it, was just;but that the delight would follow by use.
And twenty things of this sort I even preached to him; taking care,however, not to be tedious, nor to let my expanded heart give him acontracted or impatient blow. And, indeed, he took visible pleasure inwhat I said, and even hung upon the subject, when I, to try him, onceor twice, seemed ready to drop it: and proceeded to give me a mostagreeable instance, that he could at times think both deeply andseriously.--Thus it was.
He was once, he said, dangerously wounded in a duel, in the left arm,baring it, to shew me the scar: that this (notwithstanding a greateffusion of blood, it being upon an artery) was followed by a violentfever, which at last fixed upon his spirits; and that so obstinately,that neither did he desire life, nor his friends expect it: that, for amonth together, his heart, as he thought, was so totally changed, thathe despised his former courses, and particularly that rashness which hadbrought him to the state he was in, and his antagonist (who, however,was the aggressor) into a much worse: that in this space he had thoughtwhich at times still gave him pleasure to reflect upon: and althoughthese promising prospects changed, as he recovered health and spirits,yet he parted with them with so much reluctance, that he could not helpshewing it in a copy of verses, truly blank ones, he said; some of whichhe repeated, and (advantaged by the grace which he gives to every thinghe repeats) I thought them very tolerable ones; the sentiments, however,much graver than I expected from him.
He has promised me a copy of the lines; and then I shall judge betterof their merit; and so shall you. The tendency of them was, 'That, sincesickness only gave him a proper train of thinking, and that his restoredhealth brought with it a return to his evil habits, he was ready torenounce those gifts of nature for those of contemplation.'
He farther declared, that although these good motions went off (ashe had owned) on his recovery, yet he had better hopes now, fromthe influence of my example, and from the reward before him, if hepersevered: and that he was the more hopeful that he should, as hispresent resolution was made in a full tide of health and spirits; andwhen he had nothing to wish for but perseverance, to entitle himself tomy favour.
I will not throw cold water, Mr. Lovelace, said I, on a rising flame:but look to it! for I shall endeavour to keep you up to this spirit. Ishall measure your value of me by this test: and I would have you bearthose charming lines of Mr. Rowe for ever in your mind; you, who have,by your own confession, so much to repent of; and as the scar, indeed,you shewed me, will, in one instance, remind you to your dying day.
The lines, my dear, are from the poet's Ulysses; you have heard me oftenadmire them; and I repeated them to him:
Habitual evils change not on a sudden: But many days must pass, and many sorrows; Conscious remorse and anguish must be felt, To curb desire, to break the stubborn will, And work a second nature in the soul, Ere Virtue can resume the place she lost: 'Tis else dissimulation--
He had often read these lines, he said; but never tasted thembefore.--By his soul, (the unmortified creature swore,) and as he hopedto be saved, he was now in earnest in his good resolutions. He had said,before I repeated those lines from Rowe, that habitual evils couldnot be changed on a sudden: but he hoped he should not be thought adissembler, if he were not enabled to hold his good purposes; sinceingratitude and dissimulation were vices that of all others he abhorred.
May you ever abhor them, said I. They are the most odious of all vices.
I hope, my dear Miss Howe, I shall not have occasion, in my futureletters, to contradict these promising appearances. Should I havenothing on his side to combat with, I shall be very far from beinghappy, from the sense of my fault, and the indignation of all myrelations. So shall not fail of condign punishment for it, from myinward remorse on account of my forfeited character. But the least rayof hope could not dart in upon me, without my being willing to lay holdof the very first opportunity to communicate it to you, who take sogenerous a share in all my concerns.
Nevertheless, you may depend upon it, my dear, that these agreeableassurances, and hopes of his begun reformation, shall not make me forgetmy caution. Not that I think, at worst, any more than you, that he dareto harbour a thought injurious to my honour: but he is very various,and there is an apparent, and even an acknowledged unfixedness in histemper, which at times gives me uneasiness. I am resolved therefore tokeep him at a distance from my person and my thoughts, as much as I can:for whether all men are or are not encroachers, I am sure Mr. Lovelaceis one.
Hence it is that I have always cast about, and will continue to castabout, what ends he may have in view from this proposal, or from thatreport. In a word, though hopeful of the best, I will always be fearfulof the worst, in every thing that admits of doubt. For it is better, insuch a situation as mine, to apprehend without cause, than to subjectmyself to surprise for want of forethought.
Mr. Lovelace is gone to Windsor, having left two servants to attend me.He purposes to be back to-morrow.
I have written to my aunt Hervey, to supplicate her interest in mybehalf, for my clothes, books, and money; signifying to her, 'That, if Imay be restored to the favour of my family, and allowed a negative only,as to any man who may be proposed to me, and be used like a daughter,a niece, and a sister, I will stand by my offer to live single,and submit, as I ought, to a negative from my father.' Intimating,nevertheless, 'That it were perhaps better, after the usage I havereceived from my brother and sister, that I may be allowed to be distantfrom them, as well for their sakes as for my own,' (meaning, as Isuppose it will be taken, at my Dairy-house)--offering, 'to take myfather's directions as to the manner I shall live in, the servants Ishall have, and in every thing that shall shew the dutiful subordinationto which I am willing to conform.'
My aunt will know by my letter to my sister how to direct to me, if shebe permitted to favour me with a line.
I am equally earnest with her in this letter, as I was with my sisterin that I wrote to her, to obtain for me a speedy reconciliation, that Inot be further precipitated; intimating, 'That, by a timely lenity, allmay pass for a misunderstanding only, which, otherwise, will be thoughtequally disgraceful to them, and to me; appealing to her for thenecessity I was under to do what I did.'--
Had I owned that I was overreached, and forced away against myintention, might they not, as a proof of the truth of my assertion, haveinsisted upon my immediate return to them? And, if I did not return,would they not have reason to suppose, that I had now altered my mind(if such were my mind) or had not the power to return?--Then were Ito have gone back, must it not have been upon their own terms? Noconditioning with a father! is a maxim with my father, and with myuncles. If I would have gone, Mr. Lovelace would have opposed it. So Imust have been under his controul, or have run away from him, as it issupposed I did t
o him, from Harlowe-place. In what a giddy light wouldthis have made me appear!--Had he constrained me, could I haveappealed to my friends for their protection, without risking the veryconsequences, to prevent which (setting up myself presumptuously, as amiddle person between flaming spirits,) I have run into such terribleinconveniencies.
But, after all, must it not give me great anguish of mind, to be forcedto sanctify, as I may say, by my seeming after-approbation, a measureI was so artfully tricked into, and which I was so much resolved not totake?
How one evil brings on another, is sorrowfully witnessed to by
Your ever-obliged and affectionate, CL. HARLOWE.