LETTER XLIV.
Miss Clarissa Harlowe, To Miss Howe.
[In answer to Letter xlii.]
Sunday Morning, April 9.
Do not think, my beloved friend, altho' you have given me in yours of yesterday a severer instance of what, nevertheless, I must call your impartial
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Love, than ever yet I received from you, that I will be displeased with you for it. That would be to put myself into the inconvenient situation of Royalty: That is to say, Out of the way of ever being told of my faults; of ever mending them; and In the way of making the sincerest and warmest friendship useless to me.
And then how brightly, how nobly glows in your bosom the sacred flame of friendship; since it can make you ready to impute to the unhappy sufferer a less degree of warmth in her own cause, than you have for her, because she endeavours to divest herself of Self so far as to leave others to the option which they have a right to make!---Ought I, my dear, to blame, ought I not rather to admire you for this ardor?
But nevertheless, lest you should think that there is any foundation for a surmise which (altho' it owe its rise to your friendship) would, if there were, leave me utterly inexcuseable; I must, in justice to myself, declare, That I know not my own heart, if I have any of that latent or un-owned inclination, which you would impute to any other but me. Nor does the important alternative sit lightly on my mind. And yet I must excuse your Mother, were it but on this single consideration, That I could not presume to reckon upon her favour, as I could upon her Daughter's, so as to make the claim of friendship upon her, to whom, as the Mother of my dearest friend, a veneration is owing, which can hardly be compatible with that sweet familiarity which is one of the indispensable requisites of the Sacred Tie by which your heart and mine are bound in one.
What therefore I might expect from my Anna Howe, I ought not from her Mother; for would it not be very strange, that a person of her experience should be reflected upon because she gave not up her own judgment, where the consequence of her doing so would be to embroil herself, as she apprehends,
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with a family she has lived well with, and in behalf of a child against her parents?---As she has moreover a Daughter of her own:---A Daughter too, give me leave to say, of whose vivacity and charming spirits she is more apprehensive than she need to be, because her truly maternal cares make her fear more from her youth, than she hopes from her prudence; which nevertheless she and all the world know to be beyond her years.
And here let me add, That whatever you may generously, and as the result of an ardent affection for your unhappy friend, urge on this head, in my behalf, or harshly against any one who may refuse me protection in the extraordinary circumstances I find myself in; I have some pleasure, in being able to curb undue expectations upon my indulgent friends, whatever were to befal myself from those circumstances; for I should be extremely mortified, were I by my selfish forwardness to give occasion for such a check, as to be told, that I had encouraged an unreasonable hope; or, according to the phrase you mention, wished to take a Thorn out of my own foot, and to put it into that of my friend. Nor should I be better pleased with myself, if, having been taught by my good Mrs. Norton, that the best of schools is That of affliction, I should rather learn impatience than the contrary, by the lessons I am obliged to get by heart in it; and if I should judge of the merits of others, as they were kind to me; and that at the expence of their own convenience or peace of mind. For is not This to suppose myself ever in the right; and all who do not act as I would have them act, perpetually in the wrong? In short, to make my sake, God's sake, in the sense of Mr. Solmes's pitiful plea to me?
How often, my dear, have You and I endeavoured to detect and censure this partial spirit in others?
But I know you do not always content yourself with saying what you think may justly be said; but, in order
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to shew the extent of a penetration which can go to the bottom of any subject, delight to say or to write all that can be said or written, or even thought, on the particular occasion; and this partly perhaps from being desirous [Pardon me, my dear!] to be thought mistress of a sagacity that is aforehand with events. But who would wish to drain off or dry up a refreshing current, because it now-and-then puts us to some little inconvenience by its overflowings? In other words, who would not allow for the liveliness of a spirit which for one painful sensibility gives an hundred pleasurable ones? And the one in consequence of the other?
But now I come to the two points in your Letter, which most sensibly concern me: Thus you put them:
'Whether I chuse not rather to go off [shocking words!] with one of my own Sex; with my ANNA HOWE---than with one of the other; with Mr. LOVELACE?'
And if not,
'Whether I should not marry him as soon as possible?'
You know, my dear, my reasons for rejecting your proposal, and even for being earnest that you should not be known to be assisting to me in an enterprize in which a cruel necessity induced me to think of engageing; and for which you have not the same plea. At this rate, well might your Mother be uneasy at our correspondence, not knowing to what inconveniencies it might subject her and you!---If I am hardly excuseable to think of withdrawing from my unkind friends, what could you have to say for yourself, were you to abandon a Mother so indulgent? Does she suspect that your fervent friendship may lead you to a small indiscretion? and does this suspicion offend you?
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And would you, in resentment, shew her and the world, that you can voluntarily rush into the highest error that any of our Sex can be guilty of?
And it is worthy of your generosity [I ask you, my dear, is it?] to think of taking so undutiful a step, because you believe your Mother would be glad to receive you again?
I do assure you, that were I to take this step myself, I would run all risques rather than you should accompany me in it. Have I, do you think, a desire to double and treble my own fault in the eye of the world? In the eye of that world, which, cruelly as I am used (not knowing all) would not acquit me?
But, my dearest kindest friend, let me tell you, That we will neither of us take such a step. The manner of putting your questions abundantly convinces me, that I ought not, in your opinion, to attempt it. You no doubt intend that I shall so take it; and I thank you for the equally polite and forcible conviction.
It is some satisfaction to me (taking the matter in this light) that I had begun to waver before I received your last. And now I tell you, that it has absolutely determined me not to go off; at least, not to-morrow.
If You, my dear, think the issue of the alternative (to use your own words) sits so lightly upon my mind; in short, that my inclination is faulty; the World would treat me much less scrupulously. When therefore you represent, that all punctilio must be at an end the moment I am out of my Father's house; and hint, that I must submit it to Mr. Lovelace to judge when he can leave me with safety; that is to say, give him the option whether he will leave me, or not; Who can bear these reflections, who can resolve to incur these inconveniences, that has the question still in her own power to decide upon?
While I thought only of an escape from This house as an escape from Mr. Solmes; that already my reputation
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suffered by my confinement; and that it would be still in my own option, either to marry Mr. Lovelace, or wholly to renounce him; bold as the step was, I thought, treated as I am treated, something was to be said in excuse of it---If not to the world, to myself: And to be self-acquitted, is a blessing to be preferred to the opinion of all the world. But, after I have censured most severely, as I have ever done, those giddy girls, who have in the same hour, as I may say, that they have fled from their chamber, presented themselves at the Altar that is to witness to their undutiful rashness; after I have stipulated with Mr. Lovelace for time, and for an ultimate option whether to accept or refuse him; and for his leaving me, as soon as I am in a place of safety (which, as you observe, he must be the judge of); and after he has signified to me his compliance with these terms; so that I cannot, if I would, recall them, and suddenly marry;---You see, my dear, that I have nothing left me, but to resolve not to go away with him.
But, how, on this revocation of my appointment, shall I be able to pacify him?
How!---Why assert the privilege of my Sex!---Surely, on This side of the Solemnity he has no right to be displeased. Besides, did I not reserve a power of receding, if I saw fit? To what purpose, as I asked in the case between your Mother and you, has anybody an option, if the making use of it shall give the refused a right to be disgusted?
Far, very far, would Those, who, according to the Old Law, have a right of absolving or confirming a child's promise, be from ratifying mine, had it been ever so solemn a one (a) [Footnote a: 2Kb]. But This was rather an appointment,
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than a promise: And suppose it had been the latter; and that I had not reserved to myself a liberty of revoking it; was it to preclude better or maturer consideration?---If so, how unfit to be given!---How ungenerous to be insisted upon!---And how unfitter still, to be kept!---Is there a man living who ought to be angry that a woman whom he hopes one day to call his, shall refuse to keep a rash promise, when, on the maturest deliberation, she is convinced that it was a rash one?
I resolve then, upon the whole, to stand This one trial of Wednesday next---or, perhaps, I should rather say, of Tuesday evening, if my Father hold his purpose of endeavouring, in person, to make me read, or hear read, and then sign, the Settlements.---That, That must be the greatest trial of all.
If I am compelled to sign them over-night---Then (the Lord bless me!) must All I dread, follow, as of course, on Wednesday. If I can prevail upon them by my prayers [Perhaps I shall fall into fits; for the very first appearance of my Father, after having been so
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long banished his presence, will greatly affect me---If, I say, I can prevail upon them by my prayers] to lay aside their views; or to suspend the day, if but for one week; if not, but for two or three days; still Wednesday will be a lighter day of trial. They will surely give me time to consider; to argue with myself. This will not be promising. As I have made no effort to get away, they have no reason to suspect me; so I may have an opportunity, in the last resort, to withdraw. Mrs. Norton is to be with me: She, altho' she should be chidden for it, will, in my extremity, plead for me. My Aunt Hervey may, in such an extremity, join with her. Perhaps my Mother may be brought over. I will kneel to each, one by one, to make a friend. Some of them have been afraid to see me, lest they should be moved in my favour: Does not This give me a reasonable hope, that I may move them? My Brother's counsel, heretofore given, to turn me out of doors to my evil destiny, may again be repeated, and may prevail: Then shall I be in no worse case than now, as to the displeasure of my friends; and thus far better, that it will not be my fault that I seek another protection: Which even then ought to be my Cousin Morden's, rather than Mr. Lovelace's, or any other person's.
My heart, in short, misgives me less, when I resolve This way, than when I think of the other: And in so strong and involuntary a byass, the heart is, as I may say, Conscience. And well cautions the wise man: 'Let the counsel of thine own heart stand; for there is no man more faithful to thee, than It: For a man's mind is sometimes wont to tell him more than seven watchmen, that sit above in a high tower (a) [Footnote a: 1Kb].'
Forgive these indigested self-reasonings. I will close here: And instantly set about a Letter of Revocation to Mr. Lovelace; take it as he will. It
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will only be another trial of temper to him. To me of infinite importance. And has he not promised temper and acquiescence, on the supposition of a change in my mind?