LETTER LVI
MRS. NORTON[IN ANSWER.]SATURDAY, JULY 1.
Your letter, my dearest young lady, cuts me to the heart! Why will younot let me know all your distresses?--Yet you have said enough!
My son is very good to me. A few hours ago he was taken with a feverishdisorder. But I hope it will go off happily, if his ardour for businesswill give him the recess from it which his good master is willing toallow him. He presents his duty to you, and shed tears at hearing yoursad letter read.
You have been misinformed as to your family's being at your uncleHarlowe's. They did not intend to be there. Nor was the day kept atall. Indeed, they have not stirred out, but to church (and that butthree times) ever since the day you went away.--Unhappy day for them, andfor all who know you!--To me, I am sure, most particularly so!--My heartnow bleeds more and more for you.
I have not heard a syllable of such a journey as you mentioned of yourbrother, Captain Singleton, and Mr. Solmes. There has been some talkindeed of your brother's setting out for his northern estates: but I havenot heard of it lately.
I am afraid no letter will be received from you. It grieves me to tellyou so, my dearest young lady. No evil can have happened to you, whichthey do not expect to hear of; so great is their antipathy to the wickedman, and so bad is his character.
I cannot but think hardly of their unforgiveness: but there is no judgingfor others by one's self. Nevertheless I will add, that, if you had hadas gentle spirits as mine, these evils had never happened either to themor to you. I knew your virtue, and your love of virtue, from your verycradle; and I doubted not but that, with God's grace, would always beyour guard. But you could never be driven; nor was there occasion todrive you--so generous, so noble, so discreet.--But how does my love ofyour amiable qualities increase my affliction; as these recollectionsmust do your's!
You are escaped, my dearest Miss--happily, I hope--that is to say, withyour honour--else, how great must be your distress!--Yet, from yourletter, I dread the worst.
I am very seldom at Harlowe-place. The house is not the house it used tobe, since you went from it. Then they are so relentless! And, as Icannot say harsh things of the beloved child of my heart, as well asbosom, they do not take it amiss that I stay away.
Your Hannah left her place ill some time ago! and, as she is still at hermother's at St. Alban's, I am afraid she continues ill. If so, as youare among strangers, and I cannot encourage you at present to come intothese parts, I shall think it my duty to attend you (let it be taken asit will) as soon as my Tommy's indisposition will permit; which I hopewill be soon.
I have a little money by me. You say you are poor yourself.--Howgrievous are those words from one entitled and accustomed to affluence!--Will you be so good to command it, my beloved young lady?--It is most ofit your own bounty to me. And I should take a pride to restore it to itsoriginal owner.
Your Poor bless you, and pray for you continually. I have so managedyour last benevolence, and they have been so healthy, and have had suchconstant employ, that it has held out; and will hold out till the happiertimes return, which I continually pray for.
Let me beg of you, my dearest young lady, to take to yourself all thoseaids which good persons, like you, draw from RELIGION, in support oftheir calamities. Let your sufferings be what they will, I am sure youhave been innocent in your intention. So do not despond. None are madeto suffer above what they can, and therefore ought to bear.
We know not the methods of Providence, nor what wise ends it may have toserve in its seemingly-severe dispensations to its poor creatures.
Few persons have greater reason to say this than myself. And since weare apt in calamities to draw more comfort from example than precept, youwill permit me to remind you of my own lot: For who has had a greatershare of afflictions than myself?
To say nothing of the loss of an excellent mother, at a time of life whenmotherly care is most wanted; the death of a dear father, who was anornament to his cloth, (and who had qualified me to be his scribe andamanuensis,) just as he came within view of a preferment which would havemade his family easy, threw me friendless into the wide world; threw meupon a very careless, and, which was much worse, a very unkind husband.Poor man!--but he was spared long enough, thank God, in a tediousillness, to repent of his neglected opportunities, and his lightprinciples; which I have always thought of with pleasure, although I wasleft the more destitute for his chargeable illness, and ready to bebrought to bed, when he died, of my Tommy.
But this very circumstance, which I thought the unhappiest that I couldhave been left in, (so short-sighted is human prudence!) became the happymeans of recommending me to your mother, who, in regard to my character,and in compassion to my very destitute circumstances, permitted me, as Imade a conscience of not parting with my poor boy, to nurse both you andhim, born within a few days of each other. And I have never since wantedany of the humble blessings which God has made me contented with.
Nor have I known what a very great grief was, from the day of my poorhusband's death till the day that your parents told me how much they weredetermined that you should have Mr. Solmes; when I was apprized not onlyof your aversion to him, but how unworthy he was of you: for then I beganto dread the consequences of forcing so generous a spirit; and, tillthen, I never feared Mr. Lovelace, attracting as was his person, andspecious his manners and address. For I was sure you would never havehim, if he gave you not good reason to be convinced of his reformation:nor till your friends were as well satisfied in it as yourself. But thatunhappy misunderstanding between your brother and Mr. Lovelace, and theirjoining so violently to force you upon Mr. Solmes, did all that mischief,which has cost you and them so dear, and poor me all my peace! Oh! whathas not this ungrateful, this double-guilty man to answer for!
Nevertheless, you know not what God has in store for you yet!--But if youare to be punished all your days here, for example sake, in a case ofsuch importance, for your one false step, be pleased to consider, thatthis life is but a state of probation; and if you have your purificationin it, you will be the more happy. Nor doubt I, that you will have thehigher reward hereafter for submitting to the will of Providence herewith patience and resignation.
You see, my dearest Miss Clary, that I make no scruple to call the stepyou took a false one. In you it was less excusable than it would havebeen in any other young lady; not only because of your superior talents,but because of the opposition between your character and his: so that, ifyou had been provoked to quit your father's house, it need not to havebeen with him. Nor needed I, indeed, but as an instance of my impartiallove, to have written this to you.*
* Mrs. Norton, having only the family representation and invectives toform her judgment upon, knew not that Clarissa had determined againstgoing off with Mr. Lovelace; nor how solicitous she had been to procurefor herself any other protection than his, when she apprehended that, ifshe staid, she had no way to avoid being married to Mr. Solmes.
After this, it will have an unkind, and perhaps at this time anunseasonable appearance, to express my concern that you have not beforefavoured me with a line. Yet if you can account to yourself for yoursilence, I dare say I ought to be satisfied; for I am sure you love me:as I both love and honour you, and ever will, and the more for yourmisfortunes.
One consolation, methinks, I have, even when I am sorrowing for yourcalamities; and that is, that I know not any young person so qualified toshine the brighter for the trials she may be exercised with: and yet itis a consolation that ends in adding to my regrets for your afflictions,because you are blessed with a mind so well able to bear prosperity, andto make every body round you the better for it!--But I will forbear tillI know more.
Ruminating on every thing your melancholy letter suggests, andapprehending, from the gentleness of your mind, the amiableness of yourperson, and your youth, the farther misfortunes and inconveniencies towhich you may possibly be subjected, I cannot conclude without asking foryour leave to attend you
, and that in a very earnest manner--and I beg ofyou not to deny me, on any consideration relating to myself, or even tothe indisposition of my other beloved child, if I can be either of use orof comfort to you. Were it, my dearest young lady, but for two or threedays, permit me to attend you, although my son's illness should increase,and compel me to come down again at the end of those two or three days.--I repeat my request, likewise, that you will command from me the littlesum remaining in the hands of your bounty to your Poor, as well as thatdispensed to
Your ever-affectionate and faithful servant,JUDITH NORTON.