On Monday we shall set out on our journey; and I hope to be back in a fortnight, and on my return will have one pull more with my mother for a London journey: and, if the pretence must be the buying of clothes, the principal motive will be that of seeing once more my dear friend, while I can say I have not finally given consent to the change of a visitor into a relation; and so can call myself MY OWN, as well as
Your
ANNA HOWE
Letter 379: MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE TO MISS HOWE
Sunday, July 30
You have given me great pleasure, my dearest friend, by your approbation of my reasonings, and of my resolution founded upon them, never to have Mr Lovelace. This approbation is so right a thing, give me leave to say, from the nature of the case, and from the strict honour and true dignity of mind which I always admired in my Anna Howe, that I could hardly tell to what but to my evil destiny, that of late would not let me please anybody, to attribute the advice you gave me to the contrary.
But let not the ill state of my health, and what that may naturally tend to, sadden you. I have told you that I will not run away from life, nor avoid the means that may continue it, if God see fit: and if he do not, who shall repine at his will?
If it shall be found that I have not acted unworthy of your love and of my own character in my greater trials, that will be a happiness to both on reflection.
The shock which you so earnestly advise me to try to get over, was a shock, the greatest that I could receive. But, my dear, as it was not incurred by my fault, I hope I am already got above it. I hope I am!
I am more grieved (at times however) for others, than for myself. And so I ought. For as to myself, I cannot but reflect that I have had an escape, rather than a loss, in missing Mr Lovelace for a husband: even had he not committed the vilest of all outrages.
Let anyone who knows my story collect his character from his behaviour to me, before that outrage; and then judge whether it was in the least probable for such a man to make me happy. But to collect his character from his principles with regard to the sex in general, and from his enterprises upon many of them, and to consider the cruelty of his nature and the sportiveness of his invention, together with the high opinion he has of himself, it will not be doubted that a wife of his must have been miserable; and more miserable if she loved him, than if she could have been indifferent to him.
Have I not reason, these things considered, to think myself happier without Mr Lovelace than with him? My will too unviolated; and very little, nay, not anything as to him, to reproach myself with?
• • •
If anything could give me a relish for life, after what I have suffered, it would be the hopes of the continuance of the more than sisterly love which has for years uninterruptedly bound us together as one mind.
I am glad you have sent my letter to Miss Montague. I hope I shall hear no more of this unhappy man.
I had begun the particulars of my tragical story: but it is so painful a task, and I have so many more important things to do and as I apprehend so little time to do them in, that could I avoid it, I would go no farther in it.
Then, to this hour, I know not by what means several of his machinations to ruin me were brought about; so that some material parts of my sad story must be defective if I were to sit down to write it. But I have been thinking of a way that will answer the end wished for by your mother and you full as well; perhaps better.
Mr Lovelace, it seems, has communicated to his friend Mr Belford all that has passed between himself and me, as he went on. Mr Belford has not been able to deny it. So that (as we may observe by the way) a poor young creature whose indiscretion has given a libertine power over her, has a reason she little thinks of to regret her folly; since these wretches, who have no more honour in one point than in another, scruple not to make her weakness a part of their triumph to their brother libertines.
I have nothing to apprehend of this sort, if I have the justice done me in his letters which Mr Belford assures me that I have: and therefore the particulars of my story, and the base arts of this vile man will, I think, be best collected from those very letters of his (if Mr Belford can be prevailed upon to communicate them).
There is one way which may be fallen upon to induce Mr Belford to communicate these letters; since he seems to have (and declares he always had) a sincere abhorrence of his friend’s baseness to me: but that, you’ll say when you hear it, is a strange one. Nevertheless, I am very earnest upon it, at present.
It is no other than this:
I think to make Mr Belford the executor of my last will (don’t be surprised!): and with this view I permit his visits with the less scruple: and every time I see him, from his concern for me am more and more inclined to do so. If I hold in the same mind, and if he accept the trust and will communicate the materials in his power, those, joined with what you can furnish, will answer the whole end.
Then he exceedingly presses for some occasion to show his readiness to serve me: and he would be able to manage his violent friend, over whom he has more influence than any other person.
But, after all, I know not if it were not more eligible by far, that my story should be forgotten as soon as possible; and myself too. And of this I shall have the less doubt, if the character of my parents cannot be guarded (you will forgive me, my dear) from the unqualified bitterness which, from your affectionate zeal for me, has sometimes mingled with your ink.
My father has been so good as to take off from me the heavy malediction he laid me under. I must be now solicitous for a last blessing; and that is all I shall presume to ask.
If you set out tomorrow, this letter cannot reach you till you get to your aunt Harman’s. I shall therefore direct it thither, as Mr Hickman instructed me.
I hope you will have met with no inconveniencies in your little journey and voyage; and that you will have found in good health all whom you wish to see well.
Let me recommend to you, my dear, that if your friends and relations in the little island join their solicitations with your mother’s commands to have your nuptials celebrated before you leave them, you do not refuse to oblige them. How grateful will the notification that you have done so, be to
Your ever-faithful and affectionate
CLARISSA HARLOWE!
Letter 391: MR BELFORD TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ.
Friday night, Aug. 4
The lady is extremely uneasy at the thoughts of your attempting to visit her. For Heaven’s sake (your word being given), and for pity’s sake (for she is really in a very weak and languishing way), let me beg of you not to think of it.
Yesterday afternoon she received a cruel letter, as Mrs Lovick supposes it to be by the effect it had upon her, from her sister, in answer to one written last Saturday entreating a blessing and forgiveness from her parents.
But what thinkest thou is the second request she had to make to me? No other than that I would be her executor! Her motives will appear before thee in proper time; and then, I dare answer for them, will be satisfactory.
You cannot imagine how proud I am of this trust. I am afraid I shall too soon come into the execution of it.
• • •
Saturday morning, Aug. 5
I am just returned from visiting the lady and thanking her in person for the honour she has done me; and assuring her, if called to the sacred trust, of the utmost fidelity and exactness. I found her very ill. I took notice of it. She said she had received a second hard-hearted letter from her sister; and she had been writing a letter (and that on her knees) directly to her mother; which before she had not the courage to do. It was for a last blessing and forgiveness. No wonder, she said, that I saw her affected. Now that I had accepted of the last charitable office for her (for which, as well as for complying with her other request, she thanked me), I should one day have all these letters before me: and could she have a kind one in retu
rn to that she had been now writing, to counterbalance the unkind one she had from her sister, she might be induced to show me both together.
I let her know that I was going out of town till Monday: she wished me pleasure; and said she should be glad to see me on my return.
Adieu!
Letter 395: MR LOVELACE TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.
Sat. Aug. 5
Thou runnest on with thy cursed nonsensical reformado rote, of dying, dying, dying! and, having once got the word by the end, canst not help foisting it in at every period! The devil take me, if I don’t think thou wouldst give her poison with thy own hands, rather than she should recover and rob thee of the merit of being a conjurer!
But no more of thy cursed knell; thy changes upon death’s candlestick turned bottom-upwards: she’ll live to bury me; I see that: for, by my soul, I can neither eat, drink, nor sleep; nor, what’s still worse, love any woman in the world but her. Nor care I to look upon a woman now; on the contrary, I turn my head from every one I meet; except by chance an eye, an air, a feature, strikes me resembling hers in some glancing-by face; and then I cannot forbear looking again; though the second look recovers me; for there can be nobody like her.
I have one half of the house to myself; and that the best; for the great enjoy that least, which costs them most: grandeur and use are two things: the common part is theirs; the state part is mine: and here I lord it, and will lord it, as long as I please; while the two pursy sisters, the old gouty brother, and the two musty nieces, are stived up in the other half, and dare not stir for fear of meeting me: whom (that’s the jest of it) they have forbidden coming into their apartments, as I have them into mine. And so I have them all prisoners while I range about as I please. Pretty dogs and doggesses, to quarrel and bark at me, and yet, whenever I appear, afraid to pop out of their kennels; or if out before they see me, at the sight of me run growling in again, with their flapped ears, their sweeping dewlaps, and their quivering tails curling inwards.
And thou art a pretty fellow, art thou not? to engage to transcribe for her some parts of my letters written to thee in confidence? Letters that thou shouldst sooner have parted with thy cursed tongue than have owned thou ever hadst received such: yet these are now to be communicated to her! But I charge thee, and woe be to thee if it be too late! that thou do not oblige her with a line of mine.
If thou hast done it, the least vengeance I will take is to break through my honour given to thee not to visit her, as thou wilt have broken through thine to me in communicating letters written under the seal of friendship.
I am now convinced, too sadly for my hopes, by her letter to my cousin Charlotte, that she is determined never to have me.
Unprecedented wickedness, she calls mine to her. But how does she know what the ardour of flaming love will stimulate?
But what a whirlwind does she raise in my soul by her proud contempts of me! Never, never, was mortal man’s pride so mortified. How does she sink me, even in my own eyes!
She might have done this with some show of justice had the last intended violation been perpetrated—but to go away conqueress and triumphant in every light! Well may she despise me for suffering her to do so.
I will venture one more letter to her, however; and if that don’t do, or procure me an answer, then will I endeavour to see her, let what will be the consequence. If she get out of my way, I will do some noble mischief to the vixen girl whom she most loves, and then quit the kingdom for ever.
And now, Jack, since thy hand is in at communicating the contents of private letters, tell her this if thou wilt. And add to it, that if SHE abandon me, GOD will; and it is no matter then what becomes of
Her
LOVELACE!
Letter 396: MR LOVELACE TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.
Monday, Aug. 7
And so you have actually delivered to the fair implacable extracts of letters written in the confidence of friendship! Take care—take care, Belford—I do indeed love you better than I love any man in the world: but this is a very delicate point. The matter is grown very serious to me. My heart is bent upon having her. And have her I will, though I marry her in the agonies of death.
She is very earnest, you say, that I will not offer to molest her. That, let me tell her, will absolutely depend upon herself and the answer she returns, whether by pen and ink, or the contemptuous one of silence which she bestowed upon my last four to her: and I will write it in such humble and in such reasonable terms, that if she is not a true Harlowe she shall forgive me. But as to the executorship she is for conferring upon thee—thou shalt not be her executor. Let me perish if thou shalt. Nor shall she die. Nobody shall be anything, nobody shall dare to be anything to her, but me. Thy happiness is already too great, to be admitted daily to her presence; to look upon her, to talk to her, to hear her talk, while I am forbid to come within view of her window. What a reprobation is this, of the man who was once more dear to her than all the men in the world! And now to be able to look down upon me, while her exalted head is hid from me among the stars, sometimes with low scorn, at other times with abject pity, I cannot bear it.
This I tell thee, that if I have not success in my effort by letter, I will overcome the creeping folly that has found its way to my heart, or I will tear it out in her presence and throw it at hers, that she may see how much more tender than her own that organ is, which she and you and everyone else have taken the liberty to call callous.
Letter 401: MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ.
Friday, Aug. 11
‘Tis a cruel alternative to be either forced to see you or to write to you. But a will of my own has been long denied me; and to avoid a greater evil, nay, now I may say the greatest, I write.
Were I capable of disguising or concealing my real sentiments, I might safely I dare say give you the remote hope you request, and yet keep all my resolutions. But I must tell you, sir; it becomes my character to tell you; that were I to live more years than perhaps I may weeks, and there were not another man in the world, I could not, I would not, be yours.
There is no merit in performing a duty.
Religion enjoins me not only to forgive injuries, but to return good for evil. It is all my consolation, and I bless God for giving me that, that I am now in such a state of mind with regard to you, that I can cheerfully obey its dictates. And accordingly I tell you that wherever you go, I wish you happy.
And now having, with great reluctance I own, complied with one of your compulsatory alternatives, I expect the fruits of it.
CLARISSA HARLOWE
Letter 409: MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE TO MRS NORTON
Thursday, Aug. 17
You give me a kind caution, which seems to imply more than you express, when you advise me against countenancing of visitors that may discredit me. You should, in so tender a point, my dear Mrs Norton, have spoken quite out. Surely, I have had afflictions enow to make my mind fitted to bear anything. But I will not puzzle myself by conjectural evils. I might, if I had not enow that were certain. And I shall hear all when it is thought proper that I should. Meantime, let me say for your satisfaction, that I know not that I have anything criminal or disreputable to answer for either in word or deed, since the fatal 10th of April last.
You desire an account of what passes between me and my friends; and also particulars or brief heads of my sad story, in order to serve me as occasions shall offer. My dear good Mrs Norton, you shall have a whole packet of papers which I have sent to my Miss Howe, when she returns them; and you shall have, besides, another packet (and that with this letter), which I cannot at present think of sending to that dear friend, for the sake of my own relations; whom she is already but too eager to censure heavily. From these you will be able to collect a great deal of my story. But for what is previous to these papers, and which more particularly relates to what I have suffered from Mr Lovelace, you must have patience; for at present I hav
e neither head nor heart for such subjects.
By the letters I have sent to Miss Howe, you will see when you have them before you, that Lord M. and the ladies of his family, jealous as they are of the honour of their house (to express myself in their language), think better of me than my own relations do.
Some of the letters in the same packet will also let you into the knowledge of a strange step which I have taken (strange you will think it); and, at the same time, give you my reasons for it.
It must be expected that situations uncommonly difficult will make necessary some extraordinary steps, which but for those situations would be hardly excusable. It will be very happy indeed, and somewhat wonderful, if all the measures I have been driven to take should be right. A pure intention, void of all undutiful resentment, is what must be my consolation, whatever others may think of those measures when they come to know them: which, however, will hardly be till it is out of my power to justify them or to answer for myself.
I am glad to hear of my cousin Morden’s safe arrival. I should wish to see him methinks: but I am afraid that he will sail with the stream; as it must be expected that he will hear what they have to say first. But what I most fear is that he will take upon himself to avenge me. Rather than this should happen, I would have him look upon me as a creature utterly unworthy of his concern; at least of his vindictive concern.
How soothing to the wounded heart of your Clarissa, how balmy, are the assurances of your continued love and favour! Love me, my dear mamma Norton, continue to love me to the end! I now think that I may, without presumption, promise to deserve your love to the end.