applauded all the material Parts of it; that the various distressful
Situations in which you had placed your Heroine, were noble beyond
Expression; that these three last Volumes contained many Scenes, each
singly arising to as high a Tragedy as can possibly be wrote; that the
Tears you had drawn from his Eyes were such Tears as flow'd from a Heart
at once filled with Admiration and Compassion, and labouring under
Sensations too strong for any Utterance in Words; and that for the Sake
of _Clarissa_, he would never form any Judgment of a Work again till the
whole was lain before him. This was noble! this was candid! this was
like _Bellario_! and Miss _Gibson_ could not forbear saying, that she
rejoyced in the Tears _he_ had shed for _Clarissa_. And, Sir, (continued
she) 'I am convinced, that those whose Eyes melt not at Scenes of
well-wrought Distress, cannot properly be said to laugh, from a liberal
and chearful Spirit, at the true Scenes of comic Humour.'
'The Beginning of this Season I went with a Lady, whose Acquaintance I
accidentally fell into, to _Drury-Lane_ Play-house, where Mr. _Garrick_
performed the Part of King _Lear_. I should have thought (tho' altered
and defaced as it is by Mr. _Tate_) that even Butchers must have wept;
but to my great Astonishment, my Companion sat unmoved: Silent indeed
she was, only now and then said, _she did not love Tragedy_; that, for
her part, _she had rather laugh than cry_, and liked a Comedy best. I
had a Curiosity to see in what manner comic Scenes would affect her; and
therefore proposed going to _Covent-Garden_ Play-house the next Night,
when Mr. _Quin_ was to play the Part of Sir _John Falstaff_, in _Harry_
the Fourth. Accordingly we went. The Lady did, indeed, now and then
catch the Laugh of those around her, enough to move about her Features a
little; but upon the whole, was pretty near as unmov'd as she had been
the Night before; and at last she confessed, that the Humours of Sir
_John Falstaff_ was not the Sort of Comedy that pleased her Fancy; but
that the merry Dialogues between _Tom_ and _Phillis_ in the _Conscious
Lovers_, and the comical Humours of _Ben_ and Miss _Prue_ in _Love for
Love_, were more suited to her Taste. I was not much surprised, because
I before suspected, that whoever could sit the Play of King _Lear_
without weeping, would see Sir _John Falstaff_ without laughing.'
Mr. _Dellincourt_ now raised a new Objection to _Clarissa_, in that she
talked so much of Religion, which he call'd Canting. Nay, Sir, said
_Bellario_, 'I cannot see how she can be said to cant; for her religious
Reflections are neither nonsensical or affected, but such as naturally
arise from a pious Mind in her several Situations; and if you are a
Christian, Sir, I am sure you cannot, on Consideration, dislike that
Part of her Character.' Mr. _Dellincourt_ said, 'Yes, he was a
Christian, and he did not dislike some of her Reflections, at least when
she was near Death; but he thought she talked too much of Religion at
the Beginning; for it was unnatural for a young Beauty to have such
grave Thoughts.' _Bellario_ smiled and said,
'You put me in mind, Sir, of Dame _Quickly_, who when Sir _John
Falstaff_, in his Illness, calls upon God, told him, to comfort him, she
hoped there was no Occasion yet to think of any such Matters; supposing,
that to think of God, except he was quite dying, was very unnecessary.
And, indeed, I have often known a professed Christian excuse introducing
a Word of Religion into Company, as if it would be indecent to mention
any such matters; but as to _Clarissa_, I think the Principles she had
imbibed from her Infancy from the good and pious Mrs. _Norton_, and
which were afterwards strengthned by her Conversation with Doctor
_Lewin_, renders it very natural for her to be early and steadily
religious.' Mr. _Dellincourt_ made no Answer, but dropped his Objection;
and Mr. _Barker_ said, 'that he thought there was one great Fault in the
Conduct of your Story; and that was, the Indelicacy of making _Clarissa_
seek _Lovelace_ after the Outrage; for that he was strongly of Opinion,
that she had better have escaped from Mrs. _Sinclair's_ and have avoided
the Sight of _Lovelace_.' 'Indeed, Sir, said Miss _Gibson_, I believe
she would have been very thankful for your Advice, if you could at the
same time have found out any Expedient to have put it in Execution; but
if you will please to recollect, you may remember the Difficulty she had
to escape once before, even when she was not suspected; and _Lovelace_
now could have no manner of doubt, but that she would fly that House, if
not prevented, as soon as her Strength would permit her to leave her
Bed.
As to the Indelicacy of _Clarissa's_ seeking _Lovelace_, said
_Bellario_, 'I confess I do not see it; however, I will leave that
matter to be decided by the Ladies', who all agreed, that they thought
it no Breach of the strictest Modesty to declare it was their Opinion,
that the whole Scene, as it now stands, is what it _should be_, and
would have admited of no Alteration, but for the worse; that the
picturesque Manner in which a young Woman, without Fear or Confusion,
beholds the Man who dared imagine his Guilt could baffle all her
Resolutions, and sink her Soul to Cowardice, most beautifully displays
the Power of conscious Innocence; and, on the other hand, that the
confused Mind, the flattering Speech, unavoidable even by a _Lovelace_
when his guilty Soul was awed by the Presence of an Object injured
beyond the Power of Reparation, displays the Deformity of Wickedness in
all its Force. In short, this Scene was allowed to be Virtue's Triumph,
and _Clarissa's_ Conduct to be a direct Opposition to that of all those
whining Women, who blubber out an humble Petition to be joined for Life
to the Men who have betrayed them.
Had not _Clarissa_ seen _Lovelace_, said Miss _Gibson_, her Triumph
could never have been so compleat; and as I think the Impossibility of
her Escape at that time, from Mrs. _Sinclair's_, is very apparent, had
she not sought him, the true Lovers of _Clarissa_ must have mourned the
Loss of seeing her Behaviour in such an uncommon Situation.
_Bellario_ gave these Sentiments a Sanction by his Approbation, and the
rest of the Company either concurr'd with his Opinion, or at least did
not contradict him; and the next Day Miss _Gibson_ received the
following Letter from _Bellario_.
~_MADAM_~,
You seem'd so pleased last Night with my Conversion, if I may be allowed
the Expression, to your Favourite _Clarissa_, that I could not seek any
Repose till I had thrown together my Thoughts on that Head, in order to
address them to you; nor am I ashamed to confess, that the Author's
Design is more noble, and his Execution of it much happier, than I even
suspected till I had seen the whole.
In a Series of familiar Letters to relate a compleat Story, where there
is such a Variety of Characters, every one conducing to the forming the
necessary Incidents to the Completion of that Story, is a Method so
intirely new, so much an Original manner of Writing, that the Author
seems to have a Right to make his own Laws; the painting Nature is
indeed his Aim, but the Vehicle by which he conveys his lively Portraits
to the Mind is so much his own Invention, that he may guide and direct
it according to his own Will and Pleasure. _Aristotle_ drew his Rules of
Epic Poetry from _Homer_, and not _Homer_ from _Aristotle_; tho' had
they been Cotemporaries, perhaps that had been a Point much disputed.
As to the Length of the Story, I fancy that Complaint arises from the
great Earnestness the Characters inspire the Reader with to know the
Event; and on a second Reading may vanish. _Clarissa_ is not intended as
a Dramatic, but as a real Picture of human Life, where Story can move
but slowly, where the Characters must open by degrees, and the Reader's
own Judgment form them from different Parts, as they display themselves
according to the Incidents that arise. As for Example; the Behaviour of
_Lovelace_ to his Rosebud must strike every one, at first View, with
Admiration and Esteem for him; but when his Character comes to blaze in
its full Light, it is very apparent that his Pride preserved his
Rosebud, as well as it destroyed _Clarissa_; like _Milton's Satan_, he
could for a Time cloath himself like an Angel of Light, even to the
Deception of _Uriel_.
_For neither Man, nor Angel can discern
Hypocrisie; the only Evil that walks
Invisible, except to God alone,
By his permissive Will, through Heaven and Earth:
And oft, though Wisdom wake, Suspicion sleeps
At Wisdom's Gate, and to Simplicity
Resigns her Charge; while Goodness thinks no ill
Where no Ill seems; which now, for once, beguiled_
Uriel, _though Regent of the Sun, and held
The sharpest-sighted Spirit of all in Heaven._
Proud Spirits, such as _Satan's_ and _Lovelace's_, require Objects of
their Envy, as Food for their Malice, to compleat their Triumph and
applaud their own Wickedness. From this Incident of the Rosebud, and the
subsequent Behaviour of _Lovelace_, arises a Moral which can never be
too often inculcated; namely, that Pride has the Art of putting on the
Mask of Virtue in so many Forms, that we must judge of a Man upon the
whole, and not from any one single Action.
A celebrated _French_ Critick says, that
'An indifferent Wit may form a vast Design in his Imagination; but it
must be an EXTRAORDINARY GENIUS that can work his Design, and fashion it
according to Justness and Proportion: For 'tis necessary that the same
Spirit _reign throughout_; that all contribute to the same _End_; and
that all the _Parts_ bear a secret _Relation_ to each other; all depend
on this Relation and Alliance.'
Let the nicest Critick examine the Story of _Clarissa_, and see if in
any Point it fails of coming up exactly to the before-mentioned Rule.
The Author had all Nature before him, and he has beautifully made use of
every Labyrinth, in the several Minds of his Characters, to lead him to
his purposed End.
The Obstinacy of old _Harlowe_, who never gave up a Point, unaccustomed
to Contradiction, and mad with the Thoughts of his own Authority; the
Pride of the two old Batchelors, who had lived single, in order to
aggrandize their Family; the overbearing impetuous _James Harlowe's_
Envy, arising from Ambition; the two-fold Envy of _Arabella Harlowe_,
springing from Rivalship in general Admiration, as well as in particular
liking; the former more rough, the latter more sly, tho' full as keen in
her Reproaches; the constant Submission of Mrs. _Harlowe_, and the mad
Vanity of _Lovelace_, all conspire to the grand End of distressing and
destroying the poor _Clarissa_; whose Misfortune it was to be placed
amongst a Set of Wretches, who were every one following the Bent of
their own peculiar Madness, without any Consideration for the innocent
Victim who was to fall a Sacrifice to their ungovernable Passions. And
here I must observe, how artfully the Author has conducted the opening
of his different Characters, as they became more interested in his
Story. The Correspondence between Miss _Howe_ and _Clarissa_, with some
characteristical Letters of each of the _Harlowes_, as these were then
his principal Actors, chiefly compose the two first Volumes.
In the third, fourth and fifth Volumes, _Lovelace_ comes prancing before
the Reader's Eye; gives an unrestrained Loose to his uncurbed
Imagination, and ripens into full-blown Baseness that Blackness of Mind,
which had hitherto only shot forth in Buds but barely visible. The
strong and lively Pen of _Lovelace_ was most proper to relate the most
active Scenes. But when his mischievous Heart and plotting Head had left
him no farther use for his wild Fancies, than to rave and curse his own
Folly, _Belford_ takes up the Pen, and carries on the Story; and in the
sixth and seventh Volumes, Colonel _Morden_ (who has hitherto made but a
small Appearance) is brought upon the Stage, and his Character, as he is
to be the Instrument of the Death of _Lovelace_, is as strongly painted,
and as necessary to the Completion of the Story, as are any of the
others. It is astonishing to me how much the different Stile of each
Writer is in every Particular preserved; indeed so characteristically
preserved, that when I read _Clarissa's_ Letters, where every Line
speaks the considerate and the pious Mind, I could almost think the
Author had studied nothing but her Character. When Miss _Howe's_ lively
Vein and flowing Wit entertains me, She appears to have been the
principal Person in his Thoughts. When Mrs. _Harlowe_ writes, her broken
half-utter'd Sentences are so many Pictures of the broken timorous
Spirit of Meekness tyrannised over, that dictates to her Pen. When Mr.
_Harlowe_ condescends to sign his much valued Name, the dictatorial
Spirit of an indulged tyrannic Disposition indites every arbitrary
Command. When _John Harlowe_ writes, the Desire of proving himself of
Consequence from his Fortune, and being infected with the Idea of his
Niece's Disobedience, (a Word which continually resounded through his
Family) plainly appear to be the only two Causes that make him insist on
her Compliance. In _Anthony Harlowe's_ Roughness and Reproaches, 'The
Sea prosper'd Gentleman, (as _Clarissa_ says) not used to any but
elemental Controul, and even ready to buffet that, blusters as violently
as the Winds he was accustomed to be angry at.' In _James Harlowe's_
Letters, we see how the Mind infected with the complicated Distemper of
Envy, Insolence and Malice, can blot the fair Paper, and poison it with
its Venom. In _Arabella Harlowe_, the sly Insinuations of feminine Envy
break forth in every taunting Word, and she could "speak Daggers, tho'
she dared not use them." But, to imitate our Author, in turning suddenly
from this detestable Picture, how does every Line of the good Mrs.
_Norton_ shew us a Mind inured to, and patiently submitting to
Adversity, looking on Contempt as the unavoidable Consequence of
Poverty, and fixed in a firm and pious Resolution of going through all
the Vicissitudes of this transitory Life without repining.
Nor does the Author fail more in the preserving the characteristical
Difference of Stile in the Writings of _Mowbray_, _Belford_ and
_Lovelace_.
_Mowbray_, tho' he writes but two Letters in the whole, yet do those two
so strongly fix his Character, that every Reader may see of what
Consequence he made himself to Society; namely, to act the blustring
Part in a Club of Rakes, to fill a Seat at the Table, and assist in
keeping up the Roar and Noise necessary to make the Life of such
Assemblies.
Mr. _Belford's_ Letters prove, that he acts the second Part under Mr.
_Lovelace_; he follows the Paths the other beats through the thorny
Labyrinths of wild Libertinism; he has not the lively Humour of
_Lovelace_, altho' in Understanding I think he has rather the Advantage;
and his not being quite so lively, is owing to his not giving such a
loose to every unbridled Fancy; but he has less Pride, and consequently
more Humanity: this appears in the many Arguments he makes use of to his
Friend in favour of _Clarissa_; but these Arguments, as they are only
the Produce of sudden Starts of Compassion, and have no fixed Principle
for their Basis, could have no Weight with _Lovelace_; and the
fluctuating of a Mind sometimes intruded upon by the Force of
Good-nature, and then again actuated by the Principles of Libertinism,
is finely set before us by _Belford's_ Writings. And as there is a great
Beauty throughout the whole of _Clarissa_, in the specific Difference of
Stile preserved by every Writer, so is there an inimitable Beauty in
_Belford_ differing from himself, when he changes the State of his Mind;
his Stile accompanies that Change, and he appears another Man. He was
always more of the true Gentleman in his Stile than _Lovelace_, because
his Will was not enough overbearing to break through all Bounds; but
when his Mind is softned by the many different Deaths he is witness of,
and he becomes animated by _Clarissa's_ Example to think in earned of
reforming his Life, the Gentleman and the Christian increase together,
till he becomes at once the Executor of _Clarissa's_ Will, and, if I may
be allowed the Expression, the Heir to her Principles.
In _Lovelace's_ Stile, his Humour, his Parts, his Pride, his wild Desire
of throwing Difficulties in his own way, in order to conquer them, and
exercise his own intriguing Spirit, break forth in every Line. His
impetuous Will, unrestrained from his Infancy, as he himself complains,
by his Mother, and long accustomed to bear down all before it, destroys
the Gentleman, and equally every other amiable Qualification: For tho' a
Knowledge of the Customs of the World may make a Man in Company, where
he stays but a little while, appear polite; yet when that Man indulges
himself in gratifying continually his own wild Humour, those who are
intimate with him, must often have Cause to complain of his
Unpoliteness; as _Clarissa_ does of _Lovelace_. And by such Complaints
of _Clarissa_, I think it is very apparent, that the Author designed
_Lovelace_ should be unpolite, notwithstanding his Station, in order to
prove that indulged overbearing Passions will trample under Foot every
Bar that would stop them in their raging Course. But now I am upon the
Subject of the different Stiles in _Clarissa_, I must observe how
strictly the Author has kept up in all the Writings of his Rakes to what
he says of _Lovelace_ in his Preface.
'That they preserve a Decency, as well in their Images, as in their
Language, which is not always to be found in the Works of some of
the most celebrated modern Writers, whose Subjects and Characters
have less warranted the Liberties they have taken.'
The various Stiles adapted to the many different Characters in
_Clarissa_ make so great a Variety, as would, it attended to, in a great
Measure, answer any Objection that might otherwise fairly be raised to
the Length of the Story.
There is one Thing has almost astonished me in the Criticisms I have
heard on _Clarissa's_ Character; namely, that they are in a Manner a
Counterpart to the Reproaches cast on her in her Lifetime.
She has been called perverse and obstinate by many of her Readers;
_James Harlowe_ called her so before them. Some say she was romantic; so
said _Bella_; disobedient; all the _Harlowes_ agree in that; a Prude; so
said _Salley Martin_; had a Mind incapable of Love; Mr. _Lovelace's_
Accusation; for he must found his Brutality on some Shadow of a
Pretence, tho' he confesses at last it was but a Shadow, for that he
knew the contrary the whole Time. Others say, she was artful and
cunning, had the Talent only to move the Passions; the haughty Brother
and spiteful Sister's Plea to banish her from her Parents Presence. I
verily think I have not heard _Clarissa_ condemned for any one Fault,
but the Author has made some of the _Harlowes_, or some of Mrs.
_Sinclair's_ Family accuse her of it before.
As I have, as concisely as I could, pointed out the Difference in the
chief Characters of _Clarissa_, all necessary to the same End; in the
same Manner could I go through the Scenes all as essentially different,
and rising in due Proportion one after another, till all the vast
Building centers in the pointed View of the Author's grand Design. Of
all the lively well-painted Scenes in the four first Volumes, and all
those in the fifth previous to the Night before the Outrage, mention but
any of the most trifling Circumstances, such as _Clarissa's_ torn
Rufles, and Remembrance places her before us in all the Agonies of the
strongest Distress; insulted over by the vilest of Women, and prostrate
on her Knees imploring Mercy at the Feet of her Destroyer. Her Madness
equals, (I had almost said exceeds) any Thing of the Kind that ever was
written: That hitherto so peculiar Beauty in King _Lear_, of preserving
the Character even in Madness, appears strongly in _Clarissa_: the same
self-accusing Spirit, the same humble Heart, the same pious Mind
breathes in her scattered Scrapes of Paper in the midst of her Frenzy;
and the Irregularity and sudden broken Starts of her Expressions alone
can prove that her Senses are disordered. Her Letter to _Lovelace_,
where, even in Madness, _galling_ Reproach drops not from her Pen, and
which contains only Supplications that she may not be farther
persecuted, speaks the very Soul of _Clarissa_, and by the Author of her
Story could have been wrote for no one but herself. Whoever can read her
earnest Request to _Lovelace_, that she may not be exposed in a public
Mad-house, on the Consideration that it might injure _him_, without
being overwhelmed in Tears, I am certain has not in himself the Concord
of sweet Sounds, and, must, as _Shakespear_ says, be fit for Treasons,
Stratagems and Spoils. And to close at once, all I will say of the
Author's Conduct in regard to the managing (what seems most
unmanageable) the Mind even when overcome by Madness, he has no where
made a stronger Contrast between _Clarissa_ and _Lovelace_, or kept the
Characters more distinct than in their Madness. I have already mentioned
how much _Clarissa's_ Thoughts in her Frenzy apparently flow from the
same Channel, tho' more disturbed and less clear than when her
uninterrupted Reason kept on its steady Course. _Lovelace's_ Character
is not less preserved: his Pen or Tongue indeed seldom uttered the Words
of Reason, but the same overbearing Passions, the same Pride of Heart
that had accustomed him to strut in his fancy'd Superiority, makes him
condemn all the World but himself; and rave that _Bedlam_ might be
enlarged, imagining, that a general Madness had seized Mankind, and he
alone was exempt from the dreadful Catastrophy.
In the Penknife Scene _Clarissa_ is firmly brave; her Soul abhorred
Self-murder, nor would she, as she told Miss _Howe_, willingly like a
Coward quit her Post; but in this Case, could she not have awed
_Lovelace_ into Distance, tho' _her_ Hand had pointed the Knife, yet
might _he_ properly have been said to have struck the Blow. The
picturesque Attitude of all present, when _Clarissa_ suddenly cries out,
'God's Eye is upon us' has an Effect upon the Mind that can only be
felt; and that it would be a weak and vain Effort for Language to
attempt to utter.
In the Prison Scene _Clarissa_ exerts a different kind of Bravery.
Insult and Distress, Cold and Hardships, to what she was accustomed to,
she bears almost in silence; and by her Suffering without repining,
without Fear of any thing but _Lovelace_, she is the strongest Proof of
what _Shakespear_ says, that
_----where the greater Malady is fixt
The Lesser is scarce felt----_
And let those who have accused _Clarissa_ of having a suspicious Temper,
from her being apt to suspect _Lovelace_, here confess, that it must be
the Person's Fault at whom her Suspicion is level'd, when she wants that
Companion of a great Mind, a generous Confidence; for how soon does
_Belford's_ honest Intentions breaking forth in the Manner in which he
addresses her, make her rely on the known Friend of her Destroyer, and
the publick Companion of all his Rakeries. Nor can I here pass by in
perfect Silence, the noble Simplicity with which _Clarissa_ sums up her
Story to Mrs. _Smith_ and Mrs. _Lovick_; for I think 'tis the strongest
Pattern that can be imagined of that Simplicity which strikes to the
Heart, and melts the Soul with all the softer Passions.