MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE
SUNDAY NIGHT, MAY 7.
When you reflect upon my unhappy situation, which is attended with so
many indelicate and even shocking circumstances, some of which my pride
will not let me think of with patience; all aggravated by the contents of
my cousin's affecting letter; you will not wonder that the vapourishness
which has laid hold of my heart should rise to my pen. And yet it would
be more kind, more friendly in me, to conceal from you, who take such a
generous interest in my concerns, that worst part of my griefs, which
communication and complaint cannot relieve.
But to whom can I unbosom myself but to you: when the man who ought to be
my protector, as he has brought upon me all my distresses, adds to my
apprehensions; when I have not even a servant on whose fidelity I can
rely, or to whom I can break my griefs as they arise; and when his
bountiful temper and gay heart attach every one to him; and I am but a
cipher, to give him significance, and myself pain!--These griefs,
therefore, do what I can, will sometimes burst into tears; and these
mingling with my ink, will blot my paper. And I know you will not grudge
me the temporary relief.
But I shall go on in the strain I left off with in my last, when I
intended rather to apologize for my melancholy. But let what I have
above written, once for all, be my apology. My misfortunes have given
you a call to discharge the noblest offices of the friendship we have
vowed to each other, in advice and consolation; and it would be an injury
to it, and to you, to suppose it needed even that call.
[She then tells Miss Howe, that now her clothes are come, Mr. Lovelace is
continually teasing her to go abroad with him in a coach, attended by
whom she pleases of her own sex, either for the air, or to the public
diversions.
She gives the particulars of a conversation that has passed between them
on that subject, and his several proposals. But takes notice, that he
says not the least word of the solemnity which he so much pressed for
before they came to town; and which, as she observes, was necessary to
give propriety to his proposals.]
Now, my dear, she says, I cannot bear the life I live. I would be glad
at my heart to be out of his reach. If I were, he should soon find the
difference. If I must be humbled, it had better be by those to whom I
owe duty, than by him. My aunt writes in her letter,* that SHE dare not
propose any thing in my favour. You tell me, that upon inquiry, you
find,* that, had I not been unhappily seduced away, a change of measures
was actually resolved upon; and that my mother, particularly, was
determined to exert herself for the restoration of the family peace; and,
in order to succeed the better, had thoughts of trying to engage my uncle
Harlowe in her party.
* See Vol. III. Letter LII.
** Ibid. Letter VIII.
Let me build on these foundations. I can but try, my dear. It is my
duty to try all probable methods to restore the poor outcast to favour.
And who knows but that once indulgent uncle, who has very great weight in
the family, may be induced to interpose in my behalf? I will give up all
right and title to my grandfather's devises and bequests, with all my
heart and soul, to whom they please, in order to make my proposal
palatable to my brother. And that my surrender may be effectual, I will
engage never to marry.
What think you, my dear, of this expedient? Surely, they cannot resolve
to renounce me for ever. If they look with impartial eyes upon what has
happened, they will have something to blame themselves for, as well as
me.
I presume, that you will be of opinion that this expedient is worth
trying. But here is my difficulty: If I should write, my hard-hearted
brother has so strongly confederated them all against me, that my letter
would be handed about from one to another, till he had hardened every one
to refuse my request; whereas could my uncle be engaged to espouse my
cause, as from himself, I should have some hope, as I presume to think he
would soon have my mother and my aunt of his party.
What, therefore, I am thinking of, is this--'Suppose Mr. Hickman, whose
good character has gained him every body's respect, should put himself in
my uncle Harlowe's way? And (as if from your knowledge of the state of
things between Mr. Lovelace and me) assure him not only of the above
particulars, but that I am under no obligations that shall hinder me from
taking his directions?'
I submit the whole to your consideration, whether to pursue it at all, or
in what manner. But if it be pursued, and if my uncle refuses to
interest himself in my favour upon Mr. Hickman's application as from you,
(for so, for obvious reasons, it must be put,) I can then have no hope;
and my next step, in the mind I am in, shall be to throw myself into the
protection of the ladies of his family.
It were an impiety to adopt the following lines, because it would be
throwing upon the decrees of Providence a fault too much my own. But
often do I revolve them, for the sake of the general similitude which
they bear to my unhappy, yet undersigned error.
To you, great gods! I make my last appeal:
Or clear my virtue, or my crimes reveal.
If wand'ring in the maze of life I run,
And backward tread the steps I sought to shun,
Impute my error to your own decree:
My FEET are guilty: but my HEART is free.
[The Lady dates again on Monday, to let Miss Howe know, that Mr.
Lovelace, on observing her uneasiness, had introduced to her Mr.
Mennell, Mrs. Fretchville's kinsman, who managed all her affairs. She
calls him a young officer of sense and politeness, who gave her an
account of the house and furniture, to the same effect that Mr.
Lovelace had done before;* as also of the melancholy way Mrs.
Fretchville is in.
* See Letter IV. of this volume.
She tells Miss Howe how extremely urgent Mr. Lovelace was with the
gentleman, to get his spouse (as he now always calls her before
company) a sight of the house: and that Mr. Mennell undertook that
very afternoon to show her all of it, except the apartment Mrs.
Fretchville should be in when she went. But that she chose not to
take another step till she knew how she approved of her scheme to have
her uncle sounded, and with what success, if tried, it would be
attended.
Mr. Lovelace, in his humourous way, gives his friend an account of the
Lady's peevishness and dejection, on receiving a letter with her
clothes. He regrets that he has lost her confidence; which he
attributes to his bringing her into the company of his four
companions. Yet he thinks he must excuse them, and censure her for
over-niceness; for that he never saw men behave better, at least not
them.