You tell me, my dear, that my clothes and the little sum of money I left
behind me, will not be sent me.--But I will still hope. It is yet early
days. When their passions subside, they will better consider of the
matter; and especially as I have my ever dear and excellent mother for
my friend in this request! O the sweet indulgence! How has my heart
bled, and how does it still bleed for her!
You advise me not to depend upon a reconciliation. I do not, I cannot
depend upon it. But nevertheless, it is the wish next my heart. And as
to this man, what can I do? You see, that marriage is not absolutely in
my own power, if I were inclined to prefer it to the trial which I think
I ought to have principally in view to make for a reconciliation.
You say, he is proud and insolent--indeed he is. But can it be your
opinion, that he intends to humble me down to the level of his mean
pride?
And what mean you, my dear friend, when you say, that I must throw off
a little more of the veil?--Indeed I never knew that I wore one. Let
me assure you, that if I never see any thing in Mr. Lovelace that looks
like a design to humble me, his insolence shall never make me discover a
weakness unworthy of a person distinguished by your friendship; that is
to say, unworthy either of my sex, or of my former self.
But I hope, as I am out of all other protection, that he is not capable
of mean or low resentments. If he has had any extraordinary trouble on
my account, may he not thank himself for it? He may; and lay it, if he
pleases, to his character; which, as I have told him, gave at least a
pretence to my brother against him. And then, did I ever make him any
promises? Did I ever profess a love for him? Did I ever wish for the
continuance of his address? Had not my brother's violence precipitated
matters, would not my indifference to him in all likelihood (as I
designed it should) have tired out his proud spirit,* and make him set
out for London, where he used chiefly to reside? And if he had, would
not there have been an end of all his pretensions and hopes? For no
encouragement had I given him; nor did I then correspond with him.
Nor, believe me, should I have begun to do so--the fatal rencounter
not having then happened; which drew me in afterwards for others' sakes
(fool that I was!) and not for my own. And can you think, or can he,
that even this but temporarily-intended correspondence (which, by the
way, my mother* connived at) would have ended thus, had I not been
driven on one hand, and teased on the other, to continue it, the
occasion which had at first induced it continuing? What pretence then
has he, were I to be absolutely in his power, to avenge himself on me
for the faults of others, and through which I have suffered more than
he? It cannot, cannot be, that I should have cause to apprehend him to
be so ungenerous, so bad a man.
* See Vol.I. Letter IV.
You bid me not to be concerned at the bickerings between your mother and
you. Can I avoid concern, when those bickerings are on my account? That
they are raised (instigated shall I say?) by my uncle, and my other
relations, surely must add to my concern.
But I must observe, perhaps too critically for the state my mind is in
at present, that the very sentences you give from your mother, as in so
many imperatives, which you take amiss, are very severe reflections upon
yourself. For instance--You shall, I tell you, Nancy, implies that you
had disputed her will--and so of the rest.
And further let me observe, with respect to what you say, that there
cannot be the same reason for a prohibition of correspondence with me,
as there was of mine with Mr. Lovelace; that I thought as little of bad
consequences from my correspondence with him at the time, as you can do
from yours with me now. But, if obedience be a duty, the breach of it is
a fault, however circumstances may differ. Surely there is no merit in
setting up our own judgment against the judgments of our parents. And
if it is punishable so to do, I have been severely punished; and that is
what I warned you of from my own dear experience.
Yet, God forgive me! I advise thus against myself with very great
reluctance: and, to say truth, have not strength of mind, at present, to
decline it myself. But, if my occasion go not off, I will take it into
further consideration.
You give me very good advice in relation to this man; and I thank you
for it. When you bid me be more upon the reserve with him in expressing
my displeasure, perhaps I may try for it: but to palliate, as you call
it, that, my dearest Miss Howe, cannot be done, by
Your own, CLARISSA HARLOWE.