MRS. NORTON, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE
[IN ANSWER TO HER'S OF THURSDAY, AUGUST 24. SEE LETTER XXX. OF THIS
VOLUME.]
THURSDAY, AUG. 31.
I had written sooner, my dearest young lady, but that I have been
endeavouring, ever since the receipt of your last letter, to obtain a
private audience of your mother, in hopes of leave to communicate it to
her. But last night I was surprised by an invitation to breakfast at
Harlowe-place this morning; and the chariot came early to fetch me--an
honour I did not expect.
When I came, I found there was to be a meeting of all your family with
Col. Morden, at Harlowe-place; and it was proposed by your mother, and
consented to, that I should be present. Your cousin, I understand, had
with difficulty brought this meeting to bear; for your brother had before
industriously avoided all conversation with him on the affecting subject;
urging that it was not necessary to talk to Mr. Morden upon it, who,
being a remoter relation than themselves, had no business to make himself
a judge of their conduct to their daughter, their niece, and their
sister; especially as he had declared himself in her favour; adding, that
he should hardly have patience to be questioned by Mr. Morden on that
head.
I was in hopes that your mother would have given me an opportunity of
talking with her alone before the company met; but she seemed studiously
to avoid it; I dare say, however, not with her inclination.
I was ordered in just before Mr. Morden came; and was bid to sit down--
which I did in the window.
The Colonel, when he came, began the discourse, by renewing, as he called
it, his solicitations in your favour. He set before them your penitence;
your ill health; your virtue, though once betrayed, and basely used; he
then read to them Mr. Lovelace's letter, a most contrite one indeed,* and
your high-souled answer;** for that was what he justly called it; and he
treated as it deserved Mr. Brand's officious information, (of which I had
before heard he had made them ashamed,) by representations founded upon
inquiries made by Mr. Alston,*** whom he had procured to go up on purpose
to acquaint himself with your manner of life, and what was meant by the
visits of that Mr. Belford.
* See Vol. VII. LXXIX.
** Ibid. Letter LXXXIII.
*** See Vol. VIII. Letter XXIII.
He then told them, that he had the day before waited upon Miss Howe, and
had been shown a letter from you to her,* and permitted to take some
memorandums from it, in which you appeared, both by handwriting, and the
contents, to be so very ill, that it seemed doubtful to him, if it were
possible for you to get over it. And when he read to them that passage,
where you ask Miss Howe, 'What can be done for you now, were your friends
to be ever so favourable? and wish for their sakes, more than for your
own, that they would still relent;' and then say, 'You are very ill--you
must drop your pen--and ask excuse for your crooked writing; and take, as
it were, a last farewell of Miss Howe;--adieu, my dear, adieu,' are your
words--
* Ibid. Letter XXXIII.
O my child! my child! said you mamma, weeping, and clasping her hands.
Dear Madam, said your brother, be so good as to think you have more
children than this ungrateful one.
Yet your sister seemed affected.
Your uncle Harlowe, wiping his eyes, O cousin, said he, if one thought
the poor girl was really so ill--
She must, said your uncle Antony. This is written to her private friend.
God forbid she should be quite lost!
Your uncle Harlowe wished they did not carry their resentments too far.
I begged for God's sake, wringing my hands, and with a bended knee, that
they would permit me to go up to you; engaging to give them a faithful
account of the way you were in. But I was chidden by your brother; and
this occasioned some angry words between him and Mr. Morden.
I believe, Sir, I believe, Madam, said your sister to her father and
mother, we need not trouble my cousin to read any more. It does but
grieve and disturb you. My sister Clary seems to be ill: I think, if
Mrs. Norton were permitted to go up to her, it would be right; wickedly
as she has acted, if she be truly penitent--
Here she stopt; and every one being silent, I stood up once more, and
besought them to let me go; and then I offered to read a passage or two
in your letter to me of the 24th. But I was taken up again by your
brother, and this occasioned still higher words between the Colonel and
him.
Your mother, hoping to gain upon your inflexible brother, and to divert
the anger of the two gentlemen from each other, proposed that the Colonel
should proceed in reading the minutes he had taken from your letter.
He accordingly read, 'of your resuming your pen; that you thought you had
taken your last farewell; and the rest of that very affecting passage, in
which you are obliged to break off more than once, and afterwards to take
an airing in a chair.' Your brother and sister were affected at this;
and he had recourse to his snuff-box. And where you comfort Miss Howe,
and say, 'You shall be happy;' It is more, said he, than she will let any
body else be.
Your sister called you sweet soul! but with a low voice: then grew
hard-hearted again; set said [sic], Nobody could help being affected by
your pathetic grief--but that it was your talent.
The Colonel then went on to the good effect your airing had upon you; to
your good wishes to Miss Howe and Mr. Hickman; and to your concluding
sentence, that when the happy life you wished to her comes to be wound
up, she may be as calm and as easy at quitting it, as you hope in God you
shall be. Your mother could not stand this; but retired to a corner of
the room, and sobbed, and wept. Your father for a few minutes could not
speak, though he seemed inclined to say something.
Your uncles were also both affected; but your brother went round to each,
and again reminded your mother that she had other children.--What was
there, he said, in what was read, but the result of the talent you had of
moving the passions? And he blamed them for choosing to hear read what
they knew their abused indulgence could not be a proof against.
This set Mr. Morden up again--Fie upon you, Cousin Harlowe, said he, I
see plainly to whom it is owing that all relationship and ties of blood,
with regard to this sweet sufferer, are laid aside. Such rigours as
these make it difficult for a sliding virtue ever to recover itself.
Your brother pretended the honour of the family; and declared, that no
child ought to be forgiven who abandoned the most indulgent of parents
against warning, against the light of knowledge, as you had done.
But, Sir, and Ladies, said I, rising from the seat in the window, and
humbly turning round to each, if I may be permitted to speak, my dear
Miss asks only for a blessing. She does not beg to be received to
favour; she is very ill, and asks only for a last blessing.
Come, come, good Norton, [I need not tell you who said this,] you are
up again with your lamentables!--A good woman, as you are, to forgive
so readily a crime, that has been as disgraceful to your part in her
education as to her family, is a weakness that would induce one to
suspect your virtue, if you were to be encountered by a temptation
properly adapted.
By some such charitable logic, said Mr. Morden, as this, is my cousin
Arabella captivated, I doubt not. If virtue, you, Mr. James Harlowe,
are the most virtuous young man in the world.
I knew how it would be, replied your brother, in a passion, if I met Mr.
Morden upon this business. I would have declined it; but you, Sir, to
his father, would not permit me to do so.