I have now a calmer moment. Envy, ambition, high and selfish resentment,
and all the violent passions, are now, most probably, asleep all around
me; and shall now my own angry ones give way to the silent hour, and
subside likewise?--They have given way to it; and I have made use of
the gentler space to re-peruse your last letters. I will touch upon
some passages in them. And that I may the less endanger the but-just
recovered calm, I will begin with what you write about Mr. Hickman.
Give me leave to say, That I am sorry you cannot yet persuade yourself
to think better, that is to say, more justly, of that gentleman, than
your whimsical picture of him shews you so; or, at least, than the
humourousness of your natural vein would make one think you do.
I do not imagine, that you yourself will say, he sat for the picture
you have drawn. And yet, upon the whole, it is not greatly to his
disadvantage. Were I at ease in my mind, I would venture to draw a much
more amiable and just likeness.
If Mr. Hickman has not that assurance which some men have, he has that
humility and gentleness which many want: and which, with the infinite
value he has for you, will make him one of the fittest husbands in the
world for a person of your vivacity and spirit.
Although you say I would not like him myself, I do assure you, if Mr.
Solmes were such a man as Mr. Hickman, in person, mind, and behaviour,
my friends and I had never disagreed about him, if they would not have
permitted me to live single; Mr. Lovelace (having such a character as
he has) would have stood no chance with me. This I can the more boldly
aver, because I plainly perceive, that of the two passions, love
and fear, this man will be able to inspire one with a much greater
proportion of the latter, than I imagine is compatible with the former,
to make a happy marriage.
I am glad you own, that you like no one better than Mr. Hickman. In a
little while, I make no doubt, you will be able, if you challenge
your heart upon it, to acknowledge, that you like not any man so well:
especially, when you come to consider, that the very faults you find in
Mr. Hickman, admirably fit him to make you happy: that is to say, if it
be necessary to your happiness, that you should have your own will in
every thing.
But let me add one thing: and that is this:--You have such a sprightly
turn, that, with your admirable talents, you would make any man in the
world, who loved you, look like a fool, except he were such a one as
Lovelace.
Forgive me, my dear, for my frankness: and forgive me, also, for so soon
returning to subject so immediately relative to myself, as those I now
must touch upon.
You again insist (strengthened by Mr. Lovelace's opinion) upon my
assuming my own estate [I cannot call it resuming, having never been
in possession of it]: and I have given you room to expect, that I will
consider this subject more closely than I have done before. I must
however own, that the reasons which I had to offer against taking
your advice were so obvious, that I thought you would have seen
them yourself, and been determined by them, against your own hastier
counsel.--But since this has not been so, and that both you and Mr.
Lovelace call upon me to assume my own estate, I will enter briefly into
the subject.
In the first place, let me ask you, my dear, supposing I were inclined
to follow your advice, Whom have I to support me in my demand? My uncle
Harlowe is one of my trustees--he is against me. My cousin Morden is the
other--he is in Italy, and very probably may be set against me too.
My brother has declared, that they are resolved to carry their points
before he arrives: so that, as they drive on, all will probably be
decided before I can have an answer from him, were I to write: and,
confined as I am, were the answer to come in time, and they did not like
it, they would keep it from me.
In the next place, parents have great advantages in every eye over the
child, if she dispute their pleasure in the disposing of her: and so
they ought; since out of twenty instances, perhaps two could not be
produced, when they were not in the right, the child in the wrong.
You would not, I am sure, have me accept of Mr. Lovelace's offered
assistance in such a claim. If I would embrace any other person's, who
else would care to appear for a child against parents, ever, till of
late, so affectionate?==But were such a protector to be found, what a
length of time would it take up in a course of litigation! The will and
the deeds have flaws in them, they say. My brother sometimes talks
of going to reside at The Grove: I suppose, with a design to make
ejectments necessary, were I to offer at assuming; or, were I to marry
Mr. Lovelace, in order to give him all the opposition and difficulty the
law would help him to give.
These cases I have put to myself, for argument-sake: but they are
all out of the question, although any body were to be found who would
espouse my cause: for I do assure you, I would sooner beg my bread, than
litigate for my right with my father: since I am convinced, that whether
the parent do his duty by the child or not, the child cannot be excused
from doing hers to him. And to go to law with my father, what a
sound has that! You will see, that I have mentioned my wish (as an
alternative, and as a favour) to be permitted, if I must be put out of
his house, to go thither: but not one step further can I go. And you see
how this is resented.
Upon the whole, then, what have I to hope for, but a change in my
father's resolution?--And is there any probability of that; such an
ascendancy as my brother and sister have obtained over every body;
and such an interest to pursue the enmity they have now openly avowed
against me?
As to Mr. Lovelace's approbation of your assumption-scheme, I wonder not
at. He very probably penetrates the difficulties I should have to bring
it to effect, without his assistance. Were I to find myself as free as I
would wish myself to be, perhaps Mr. Lovelace would stand a worse chance
with me than his vanity may permit him to imagine; notwithstanding the
pleasure you take in rallying me on his account. How know you, but
all that appears to be specious and reasonable in his offers; such as,
standing his chance for my favour, after I became independent, as I may
call it [by which I mean no more, than to have the liberty of refusing
for my husband a man whom it hurts me but to think of in that light];
and such as his not visiting me but by my leave; and till Mr. Morden
come; and till I am satisfied of his reformation;--How know you, I say,
that he gives not himself these airs purely to stand better in your
graces as well as mine, by offering of his own accord conditions which
he must needs think would be insisted on, were the case to happen?
Then am I utterly displeased with him. To threaten as he threatens; yet
to pretend, that it is not to intimidate me; and to beg of you not to
tell me, when he must know you would, and no doubt intended that you
should, is so meanly artful!--The man must think he has a frightened
fool to deal with.--I, to join hands with such a man of violence! my
own brother the man whom he threatens!--And what has Mr. Solmes done to
him?--Is he to be blamed, if he thinks a person would make a wife worth
having, to endeavour to obtain her?--Oh that my friends would but
leave me to my own way in this one point! For have I given the man
encouragement sufficient to ground these threats upon? Were Mr. Solmes a
man to whom I could but be indifferent, it might be found, that to have
spirit, would very little answer the views of that spirit. It is my
fortune to be treated as a fool by my brother: but Mr. Lovelace shall
find--Yet I will let him know my mind; and then it will come with a
better grace to your knowledge.
Mean time, give me leave to tell you, that it goes against me, in my
cooler moments, unnatural as my brother is to me, to have you, my dear,
who are my other self, write such very severe reflections upon him, in
relation to the advantage Lovelace had over him. He is not indeed your
brother: but remember, that you write to his sister.--Upon my word, my
dear Miss Howe, you dip your pen in gall whenever you are offended: and
I am almost ready to question, whether I read some of your expressions
against others of my relations as well as him, (although in my favour,)
whether you are so thoroughly warranted to call other people to account
for their warmth. Should we not be particularly careful to keep clear
of the faults we censure?--And yet I am so angry both at my brother and
sister, that I should not have taken this liberty with my dear friend,
notwithstanding I know you never loved them, had you not made so light
of so shocking a transaction where a brother's life was at stake: when
his credit in the eye of the mischievous sex has received a still deeper
wound than he personally sustained; and when a revival of the same
wicked resentments (which may end more fatally) is threatened.
His credit, I say, in the eye of the mischievous sex: Who is not
warranted to call it so; when it is re (as the two libertines his
companions gloried) to resolve never to give a challenge; and among whom
duelling is so fashionable a part of brutal bravery, that the man of
temper, who is, mostly, I believe, the truly brave man, is often at
a loss so to behave as to avoid incurring either a mortal guilt, or a
general contempt?
To enlarge a little upon this subject, May we not infer, that those who
would be guilty of throwing these contempts upon a man of temper, who
would rather pass by a verbal injury, than to imbrue his hands in blood,
know not the measure of true magnanimity? nor how much nobler it is to
forgive, and even how much more manly to despise, than to resent, an
injury? Were I a man, methinks, I should have too much scorn for a
person, who could wilfully do me a mean wrong, to put a value upon his
life, equal to what I put upon my own. What an absurdity, because a man
had done me a small injury, that I should put it in his power (at least,
to an equal risque) to do me, and those who love me, an irreparable
one!--Were it not a wilful injury, nor avowed to be so, there could not
be room for resentment.
How willingly would I run away from myself, and what most concerns
myself, if I could! This digression brings me back again to the occasion
of it--and that to the impatience I was in, when I ended my last
letter, for my situation is not altered. I renew, therefore, my former
earnestness, as the new day approaches, and will bring with it perhaps
new trials, that you will (as undivestedly as possible of favour or
resentment) tell me what you would have me do:--for, if I am obliged to
go to my uncle Antony's, all, I doubt, will be over with me. Yet how to
avoid it--that's the difficulty!
I shall deposit this the first thing. When you have it, lose no time, I
pray you, to advise (lest it be too late)
Your ever obliged CL. HARLOWE.