MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE [HER PRECEDING NOT AT THAT TIME
RECEIVED.] FRIDAY, MARCH 3.
O my dear friend, I have had a sad conflict! Trial upon trial;
conference upon conference!--But what law, what ceremony, can give a
man a right to a heart which abhors him more than it does any living
creature?
I hope my mother will be able to prevail for me.--But I will recount it
all, though I sit up the whole night to do it; for I have a vast deal to
write, and will be as minute as you wish me to be.
I concluded my last in a fright. It was occasioned by a conversation
that passed between my mother and my aunt, part of which Hannah
overheard. I need not give you the particulars; since what I have to
relate to you from different conversations that have passed between my
mother and me, in the space of a very few hours, will include them all.
I will begin then.
I went down this morning when breakfast was ready with a very uneasy
heart, from what Hannah had informed me of yesterday afternoon; wishing
for an opportunity, however, to appeal to my mother, in hopes to engage
her interest in my behalf, and purposing to try to find one when she
retired to her own apartment after breakfast: but, unluckily, there was
the odious Solmes, sitting asquat between my mother and sister, with so
much assurance in his looks!--But you know, my dear, that those we love
not, cannot do any thing to please us.
Had the wretch kept his seat, it might have been well enough: but the
bend and broad-shouldered creature must needs rise, and stalk towards a
chair, which was just by that which was set for me.
I removed it to a distance, as if to make way to my own: and down I sat,
abruptly I believe; what I had heard all in my head.
But this was not enough to daunt him. The man is a very confident, he is
a very bold, staring man!--Indeed, my dear, the man is very confident.
He took the removed chair, and drew it so near mine, squatting in it
with his ugly weight, that he pressed upon my hoop.--I was so offended
(all I had heard, as I said, in my head) that I removed to another
chair. I own I had too little command of myself. It gave my brother
and sister too much advantage. I day say they took it. But I did it
involuntarily, I think. I could not help it.--I knew not what I did.
I saw that my father was excessively displeased. When angry, no man's
countenance ever shews it so much as my father's. Clarissa Harlowe! said
he with a big voice--and there he stopped. Sir! said I, trembling and
courtesying (for I had not then sat down again); and put my chair nearer
the wretch, and sat down--my face, as I could feel, all in a glow.
Make tea, child, said my kind mamma; sit by me, love, and make tea.
I removed with pleasure to the seat the man had quitted; and being
thus indulgently put into employment, soon recovered myself; and in the
course of the breakfasting officiously asked two or three questions
of Mr. Solmes, which I would not have done, but to make up with my
father.--Proud spirits may be brought to! Whisperingly spoke my sister
to me, over her shoulder, with an air of triumph and scorn: but I did
not mind her.
My mother was all kindness and condescension. I asked her once, if she
were pleased with the tea? She said, softly, (and again called me dear,)
she was pleased with all I did. I was very proud of this encouraging
goodness: and all blew over, as I hoped, between my father and me; for
he also spoke kindly to me two or three times.
Small accidents these, my dear, to trouble you with; only as they lead
to greater, as you shall hear.
Before the usual breakfast-time was over, my father withdrew with my
mother, telling her he wanted to speak with her. Then my sister and next
my aunt (who was with us) dropt away.
My brother gave himself some airs of insult, which I understood well
enough; but which Mr. Solmes could make nothing of: and at last he arose
from his seat--Sister, said he, I have a curiosity to shew you. I will
fetch it. And away he went shutting the door close after him.
I saw what all this was for. I arose; the man hemming up for a speech,
rising, and beginning to set his splay-feet [indeed, my dear, the man in
all his ways is hateful to me] in an approaching posture.--I will
save my brother the trouble of bringing to me his curiosity, said I. I
courtesied--Your servant, sir--The man cried, Madam, Madam, twice, and
looked like a fool.--But away I went--to find my brother, to save my
word.--But my brother, indifferent as the weather was, was gone to
walk in the garden with my sister. A plain case, that he had left his
curiosity with me, and designed to shew me no other.
I had but just got into my own apartment, and began to think of sending
Hannah to beg an audience of my mother (the more encouraged by her
condescending goodness at breakfast) when Shorey, her woman, brought me
her commands to attend me in her closet.
My father, Hannah told me, was just gone out of it with a positive angry
countenance. Then I as much dreaded the audience as I had wished for it
before.
I went down however; but, apprehending the subject she intended to
talk to me upon, approached her trembling, and my heart in visible
palpitations.
She saw my concern. Holding out her kind arms, as she sat, Come kiss
me, my dear, said she, with a smile like a sun-beam breaking through
the cloud that overshadowed her naturally benign aspect--Why flutters my
jewel so?
This preparative sweetness, with her goodness just before, confirmed my
apprehensions. My mother saw the bitter pill wanted gilding.
O my Mamma! was all I could say; and I clasped my arms round her neck,
and my face sunk into her bosom.
My child! my child! restrain, said she, your powers of moving! I dare
not else trust myself with you.--And my tears trickled down her bosom,
as hers bedewed my neck.
O the words of kindness, all to be expressed in vain, that flowed from
her lips!
Lift up your sweet face, my best child, my own Clarissa Harlowe!--O my
daughter, best beloved of my heart, lift up a face so ever amiable to
me!--Why these sobs?--Is an apprehended duty so affecting a thing, that
before I can speak--But I am glad, my love, you can guess at what I have
to say to you. I am spared the pains of breaking to you what was a task
upon me reluctantly enough undertaken to break to you. Then rising, she
drew a chair near her own, and made me sit down by her, overwhelmed as I
was with tears of apprehension of what she had to say, and of gratitude
for her truly maternal goodness to me--sobs still my only language.
And drawing her chair still nearer to mine, she put her arms round my
neck, and my glowing cheek wet with my tears, close to her own: Let me
talk to you, my child. Since silence is your choice, hearken to me, and
be silent.
You know, my dear, what I every day forego, and undergo, for the sake of
peace. Your papa is a very good man, and means well; but he will not
be controuled; nor yet persuaded. You have sometimes seemed to pity me,
that I am obliged to give up every point. Poor man! his reputation the
less for it; mine the greater: yet would I not have this credit, if
I could help it, at so dear a rate to him and to myself. You are a
dutiful, a prudent, and a wise child, she was pleased to say, in hope,
no doubt, to make me so: you would not add, I am sure, to my trouble:
you would not wilfully break that peace which costs your mother so much
to preserve. Obedience is better than sacrifice. O my Clary Harlowe,
rejoice my heart, by telling me that I have apprehended too much!--I see
your concern! I see your perplexity! I see your conflict! [loosing
her arm, and rising, not willing I should see how much she herself
was affected]. I will leave you a moment.--Answer me not--[for I was
essaying to speak, and had, as soon as she took her dear cheek from
mine, dropt down on my knees, my hands clasped, and lifted up in
a supplicating manner]--I am not prepared for your irresistible
expostulation, she was pleased to say. I will leave you to recollection:
and I charge you, on my blessing, that all this my truly maternal
tenderness be not thrown away upon you.
And then she withdrew into the next apartment; wiping her eyes as she
went from me; as mine overflowed; my heart taking in the whole compass
of her meaning.
She soon returned, having recovered more steadiness.
Still on my knees, I had thrown my face across the chair she had sat in.
Look up to me, my Clary Harlowe--No sullenness, I hope!
No, indeed, my ever-to-be-revered Mamma.--And I arose. I bent my knee.
She raised me. No kneeling to me, but with knees of duty and compliance.
Your heart, not your knees, must bend. It is absolutely determined.
Prepare yourself therefore to receive your father, when he visits you
by-and-by, as he would wish to receive you. But on this one quarter of
an hour depends the peace of my future life, the satisfaction of all the
family, and your own security from a man of violence: and I charge you
besides, on my blessing, that you think of being Mrs. Solmes.
There went the dagger to my heart, and down I sunk: and when I
recovered, found myself in the arms of my Hannah, my sister's Betty
holding open my reluctantly-opened palm, my laces cut, my linen scented
with hartshorn; and my mother gone. Had I been less kindly treated, the
hated name still forborne to be mentioned, or mentioned with a little
more preparation and reserve, I had stood the horrid sound with less
visible emotion--But to be bid, on the blessing of a mother so dearly
beloved, so truly reverenced, to think of being MRS. SOLMES--what a
denunciation was that!
Shorey came in with a message (delivered in her solemn way): Your mamma,
Miss, is concerned for your disorder: she expects you down again in an
hour; and bid me say, that she then hopes every thing from your duty.
I made no reply; for what could I say? And leaning upon my Hannah's arm,
withdrew to my own apartment. There you will guess how the greatest part
of the hour was employed.
Within that time, my mother came up to me.
I love, she was pleased to say, to come into this apartment.--No
emotions, child! No flutters!--Am I not your mother?--Do not discompose
me by discomposing yourself! Do not occasion me uneasiness, when I
would give you nothing but pleasure. Come, my dear, we will go into your
closet.
She took my hand, led the way, and made me sit down by her: and after
she had inquired how I did, she began in a strain as if she supposed I
had made use of the intervening space to overcome all my objections.
She was pleased to tell me, that my father and she, in order to spare my
natural modesty, had taken the whole affair upon themselves--
Hear me out; and then speak.--He is not indeed every thing I wish him to
be: but he is a man of probity, and has no vices--
No vices, Madam--!
Hear me out, child.--You have not behaved much amiss to him: we have
seen with pleasure that you have not--
O Madam, must I not now speak!
I shall have done presently.--A young creature of your virtuous and
pious turn, she was pleased to say, cannot surely love a profligate: you
love your brother too well, to wish to marry one who had like to have
killed him, and who threatened your uncles, and defies us all. You have
had your own way six or seven times: we want to secure you against a man
so vile. Tell me (I have a right to know) whether you prefer this man
to all others?--Yet God forbid that I should know you do; for such
a declaration would make us all miserable. Yet tell me, are your
affections engaged to this man?