MRS. HARLOWE, TO MRS. JUDITH NORTON
SUNDAY, JULY 30.
We all know your virtuous prudence, worthy woman: we all do. But your
partiality to this your rash favourite is likewise known. And we are no
less acquainted with the unhappy body's power of painting her distresses
so as to pierce a stone.
Every one is of opinion that the dear naughty creature is working about
to be forgiven and received: and for this reason it is that Betty has
been forbidden, [not by me, you may be assured!] to mention any more of
her letters; for she did speak to my Bella of some moving passages you
read to her.
This will convince you that nothing will be heard in her favour. To what
purpose then should I mention any thing about her?--But you may be sure
that I will, if I can have but one second. However, that is not at all
likely, until we see what the consequences of her crime will be: And who
can tell that?--She may--How can I speak it, and my once darling daughter
unmarried?--She may be with child!--This would perpetuate her stain. Her
brother may come to some harm; which God forbid!--One child's ruin, I
hope, will not be followed by another's murder!
As to her grief, and her present misery, whatever it be, she must bear
with it; and it must be short of what I hourly bear for her! Indeed I am
afraid nothing but her being at the last extremity of all will make her
father, and her uncles, and her other friends, forgive her.
The easy pardon perverse children meet with, when they have done the
rashest and most rebellious thing they can do, is the reason (as is
pleaded to us every day) that so may follow their example. They depend
upon the indulgent weakness of their parents' tempers, and, in that
dependence, harden their own hearts: and a little humiliation, when they
have brought themselves into the foretold misery, is to be a sufficient
atonement for the greatest perverseness.
But for such a child as this [I mention what others hourly say, but what
I must sorrowfully subscribe to] to lay plots and stratagems to deceive
her parents as well as herself! and to run away with a libertine! Can
there be any atonement for her crime? And is she not answerable to God,
to us, to you, and to all the world who knew her, for the abuse of such
talents as she has abused?
You say her heart is half-broken: Is it to be wondered at? Was not her
sin committed equally against warning and the light of her own knowledge?
That he would now marry her, or that she would refuse him, if she
believed him in earnest, as she has circumstanced herself, is not at all
probable; and were I inclined to believe it, nobody else here would. He
values not his relations; and would deceive them as soon as any others:
his aversion to marriage he has always openly declared; and still
occasionally declares it. But, if he be now in earnest, which every one
who knows him must doubt, which do you think (hating us too as he
professes to hate and despise us all) would be most eligible here, To
hear of her death, or of her marriage to such a vile man?
To all of us, yet, I cannot say! For, O my good Mrs. Norton, you know
what a mother's tenderness for the child of her heart would make her
choose, notwithstanding all that child's faults, rather than lose her
for ever!
But I must sail with the tide; my own judgment also joining with the
general resentment; or I should make the unhappiness of the more worthy
still greater, [my dear Mr. Harlowe's particularly;] which is already
more than enough to make them unhappy for the remainder of their days.
This I know; if I were to oppose the rest, our son would fly out to find
this libertine; and who could tell what would be the issue of that with
such a man of violence and blood as that Lovelace is known to be?
All I can expect to prevail for her is, that in a week, or so, Mr. Brand
may be sent up to inquire privately about her present state and way of
life, and to see she is not altogether destitute: for nothing she writes
herself will be regarded.
Her father indeed has, at her earnest request, withdrawn the curse,
which, in a passion, he laid upon her, at her first wicked flight from
us. But Miss Howe, [it is a sad thing, Mrs. Norton, to suffer so many
ways at once,] had made matters so difficult by her undue liberties with
us all, as well by speech in all companies, as by letters written to my
Bella, that we could hardly prevail upon him to hear her letter read.
These liberties of Miss Howe with us; the general cry against us abroad
wherever we are spoken of; and the visible, and not seldom audible,
disrespectfulness, which high and low treat us with to our faces, as we
go to and from church, and even at church, (for no where else have we the
heart to go,) as if none of us had been regarded but upon her account;
and as if she were innocent, we all in fault; are constant aggravations,
you must needs think, to the whole family.
She has made my lot heavy, I am sure, that was far from being light
before!--To tell you truth, I am enjoined not to receive any thing of
her's, from any hand, without leave. Should I therefore gratify my
yearnings after her, so far as to receive privately the letter you
mention, what would the case be, but to torment myself, without being
able to do her good?--And were it to be known--Mr. Harlowe is so
passionate--And should it throw his gout into his stomach, as her rash
flight did--Indeed, indeed, I am very unhappy!--For, O my good woman,
she is my child still!--But unless it were more in my power--Yet do I
long to see the letter--you say it tells of her present way and
circumstances. The poor child, who ought to be in possession of
thousands!--And will!--For her father will be a faithful steward for
her.--But it must be in his own way, and at his own time.
And is she really ill?--so very ill?--But she ought to sorrow--she has
given a double measure of it.
But does she really believe she shall not long trouble us?--But, O my
Norton!--She must, she will, long trouble us--For can she think her
death, if we should be deprived of her, will put an end to our
afflictions?--Can it be thought that the fall of such a child will not
be regretted by us to the last hour of our lives?
But, in the letter you have, does she, without reserve, express her
contrition? Has she in it no reflecting hints? Does she not aim at
extenuations?--If I were to see it, will it not shock me so much, that
my apparent grief may expose me to harshnesses?--Can it be contrived--
But to what purpose?--Don't send it--I charge you don't--I dare not see
it--