Clarissa, Or, the History of a Young Lady

  My uncle Hervey has a young gentleman entrusted to his care, whom he has thoughts of sending abroad a year or two hence, to make the Grand Tour, as it is called; and finding Mr Lovelace could give a good account of everything necessary for a young traveller to observe upon such an occasion, he desired him to write down a description of the courts and countries he had visited, and what was most worthy of curiosity in them.

  He consented, on condition that I would direct his subjects, as he called it: and as everyone had heard his manner of writing commended, and thought his relations might be agreeable amusements in winter evenings; and that he could have no opportunity particularly to address me in them, since they were to be read in full assembly before they were to be given to the young gentleman, I made the less scruple to write, and to make observations and put questions for our further information. Still the less, perhaps, as I love writing; and those who do are fond, you know, of occasions to use the pen: and then, having everyone’s consent, and my uncle Hervey’s desire that I would, I thought that if I had been the only scrupulous person, it would have shown a particularity that a vain man would construe to his advantage, and which my sister would not fail to animadvert upon.

  Thus was a kind of correspondence begun between him and me with general approbation; while everyone wondered at, and was pleased with, his patient veneration of me, for so they called it. However, it was not doubted that he would soon be more importunate, since his visits were more frequent and he acknowledged to my aunt Hervey a passion for me, accompanied with an awe that he had never known before; to which he attributed what he called his but seeming acquiescence with my papa’s pleasure and the distance I kept him at. And yet, my dear, this may be his usual manner of behaviour to our sex; for had not my sister, at first, all his reverences?

  Meantime, my father, expecting this importunity, kept in readiness the reports he had heard in his disfavour, to charge them upon him then, as so many objections to his address. And it was highly agreeable to me, that he did so: it would have been strange, if it were not, since the person who could reject Mr Wyerley’s address for the sake of his free opinions must have been inexcusable had she not rejected another’s for his freer practices.

  But I should own that in the letters he sent me upon the general subject, he more than once enclosed a particular one declaring his passionate regards for me, and complaining with fervour enough of my reserves: but of these I took not the least notice; for as I had not written to him at all, but upon a subject so general, I thought it was but right to let what he wrote upon one so particular pass off as if I never had seen it; and the rather as I was not then at liberty, from the approbation his letters met with, to break off the correspondence without assigning the true reason for doing so. Besides, with all his respectful assiduities, it was easy to observe (if it had not been his general character) that his temper is naturally haughty and violent; and I had seen of that untractable spirit in my brother to like it in one who hoped to be still nearer related to me.

  I had a little specimen of this temper of his upon the very occasion I have mentioned; for after he had sent me a third particular letter with the general one, he asked me the next time he came to Harlowe Place if I had not received such a one from him? I told him I should never answer one so sent, and that I had waited for such an occasion as he had now given me to tell him so. I desired him therefore not to write again on the subject, assuring him that if he did, I would return both, and never write another line to him.

  You cannot imagine how saucily the man looked; as if, in short, he was disappointed that he had not made a more sensible impression upon me; and when he recollected himself (as he did immediately), what a visible struggle it cost him to change his haughty airs for more placid ones! But I took no notice of either, for I thought it best to convince him by the coolness and indifference with which I repulsed his forward hopes (at the same time intending to avoid the affection of pride or vanity) that he was not considerable enough in my eyes to make me take over-ready offence at what he said, or how he looked: in other words, that I had not value enough for him to treat him with peculiarity either by smiles or frowns. Indeed, he had cunning enough to give me, undesignedly, a piece of instruction which taught me this caution; for he had said in conversation once, ‘That if a man could not make a lady in courtship own herself pleased with him, it was as much and oftentimes more to his purpose to make her angry with him.’

  I must break off here. But will continue the subject the very first opportunity. Meantime, I am,

  Your most affectionate friend and servant,

  CL. HARLOWE

  Letter 4: MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE TO MISS HOWE

  Jan. 15

  This, my dear, was the situation Mr Lovelace and I were in when my brother arrived from Scotland.

  The moment Mr Lovelace’s visits were mentioned to him, he, without either hesitation or apology, expressed his disapprobation of them. He found great flaws in his character, and took the liberty to say in so many words that he wondered how it came into the hearts of his uncles to encourage such a man for either of his sisters; at the same time returning his thanks to my father for declining his consent till he arrived, in such a manner, I thought, as a superior would do when he commended an inferior for having well performed his duty in his absence.

  He justified his avowed inveteracy by common fame, and by what he had known of him at college; declaring that he had ever hated him; ever should hate him; and would never own him for a brother, or me for a sister, if I married him.

  That college-begun antipathy I have heard accounted for in this manner:

  Mr Lovelace was always noted for his vivacity and courage; and no less, it seems, for the swift and surprising progress he made in all parts of literature; for diligence in his studies, in the hours of study, he had hardly his equal. This, it seems, was his general character at the university, and it gained him many friends among the more learned youth; while those who did not love him feared him by reason of the offence his vivacity made him too ready to give, and of the courage he showed in supporting the offence when given, which procured him as many followers as he pleased among the mischievous sort. No very amiable character, you’ll say, upon the whole.

  But my brother’s temper was not happier. His native haughtiness could not bear a superiority so visible; and whom we fear more than love, we are not far from hating: and having less command of his passions than the other, was evermore the subject of his, perhaps indecent, ridicule: so that they never met without quarrelling. And everybody, either from love or fear, siding with his antagonist, he had a most uneasy time of it, while both continued in the same college. It was the less wonder, therefore, that a young man who is not noted for the gentleness of his temper should resume an antipathy early begun, and so deeply-rooted.

  He found my sister, who waited but for the occasion, ready to join him in his resentments against the man he hated. She utterly disclaimed all manner of regard for him: ‘Never liked him at all. His estate was certainly much encumbered: it was impossible it should be otherwise, so entirely devoted as he was to his pleasures. He kept no house; had no equipage: nobody pretended that he wanted pride: the reason therefore was easy to be guessed at’: And then did she boast of, and my brother praise her for, refusing him; and both joined on all occasions to depreciate him, and not seldom made the occasions; their displeasure against him causing every subject to run into this, if it began not with it.

  Now and then, indeed, when I observed that their vehemence carried them beyond all bounds of probability, I thought it but justice to put in a word for him. But this only subjected me to reproach, as having a prepossession in his favour that I would not own. So that when I could not change the subject, I used to retire either to my music or to my closet [small study].

  Their behaviour to him when they could not help seeing him was very cold and disobliging; but as yet not directly affrontive; for they were
in hopes of prevailing upon my papa to forbid his visits. But as there was nothing in his behaviour that might warrant such a treatment of a man of his birth and fortune, they succeeded not; and then they were very earnest with me to forbid them. I asked what authority I had to take such a step in my father’s house; and when my behaviour to him was so distant, that he seemed to be as much the guest of any other person of the family, themselves excepted, as mine? In revenge, they told me that it was cunning management between us; and that we both understood one another better than we pretended to do. And at last they gave such a loose to their passions all of a sudden, as I may say, that instead of withdrawing as they used to do when he came, they threw themselves in his way purposely to affront him.

  Mr Lovelace, you may believe, very ill brooked this; but nevertheless contented himself to complain of it to me, in high terms, however, telling me that but for my sake my brother’s treatment of him was not to be borne.

  I was sorry for the merit this gave him, in his own opinion, with me; and the more as some of the affronts he received were too flagrant to be excused. But I told him that I was determined not to fall out with my brother, if I could help it, whatever were his faults; and since they could not see one another with temper, should be glad that he would not throw himself in my brother’s way, and I was sure my brother would not seek him.

  He was very much nettled at this answer; but said he must bear his affronts if I would have it so. He had been accused himself of violence in his temper, but he hoped to show on this occasion that he had a command of his passions which few young men, so provoked, would be able to show; and doubted not but it would be attributed to a proper motive by a person of my generosity and penetration.

  I am obliged to break off. But I believe I have written enough to answer very fully all that you have commanded from me. It is not for a child to seek to clear her own character, or to justify her actions, at the expense of the most revered ones; yet, as I know that the account of all those further proceedings by which I may be affected will be interesting to so dear a friend (who will communicate to others no more than what is fitting), I will continue to write as I have opportunity, as minutely as we are used to write to each other. Indeed I have no delight, as I have often told you, equal to that which I take in conversing with you—by letter, when I cannot in person.

  Meantime, I can’t help saying that I am exceedingly concerned to find, that I am become so much the public talk, as you tell me, and as everybody tells me, I am. Your kind, your precautionary regard for my fame, and the opportunity you have given me to tell my own story, previous to any new accident (which heaven avert!), is so like the warm friend I have ever found my dear Miss Howe, that with redoubled obligation you bind me to be

  Your ever-grateful and affectionate

  CLARISSA HARLOWE

  Letter 5: MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE TO MISS HOWE

  Jan. 20

  I have been hindered from prosecuting my intention. Neither nights nor mornings have been my own. My mamma has been very ill and would have no other nurse but me. I have not stirred from her bedside, for she kept her bed, and two nights I had the honour of sharing it with her.

  Her disorder was a very violent colic. The contentions of these fierce, these masculine spirits, and the apprehension of mischiefs that may arise from the increasing animosity which all here have against Mr Lovelace, and his too-well-known resentful and intrepid character, she cannot bear. Then the foundations laid, as she dreads, for jealousy and heart-burnings in her own family, late so happy and so united, afflict exceedingly a gentle and sensible mind, which has from the beginning on all occasions sacrificed its own inward satisfaction to outward peace. My brother and sister, who used very often to jar, are now so much one and are so much together (caballing was the word that dropped from her, as if at unawares) that she is full of fears of consequences that may follow—to my prejudice, perhaps, is her kind concern, since she sees that they behave to me every hour with more and more shyness and reserve; yet would she but exert that authority which the superiority of her fine talents gives her, all these family feuds might perhaps be crushed in their but yet beginnings; especially as she may be assured that all fitting concessions shall be made by me, not only as they are my elders, but for the sake of so excellent and so indulgent a mother.

  For, if I may say to you my dear, what I would not to any other person living, it is my opinion that had she been of a temper that would have borne less, she would have had ten times less to bear than she has had.

  But whither may these reflections lead me? I know you do not love any of us, but my mamma and me; and, being above all disguises, make me sensible that you do not, oftener than I wish you did. Ought I then to add force to your dislikes of those whom I wish you more to like—my father, especially; for he, poor gentleman! has some excuse for his impatience of contradiction. He is not naturally an ill-tempered man; and in his person and air and in his conversation too, when not under the torture of a gouty paroxysm, everybody distinguishes the gentleman born and educated.

  But my brother! what excuse can be made for his haughty and morose temper? He is really, my dear, I am sorry to have occasion to say it, an ill-tempered young man, and treats my mamma sometimes—indeed he is not dutiful. But possessing everything, he has the vice of age mingled with the ambition of youth, and enjoys nothing—but his own haughtiness and ill-temper, I was going to say. Yet again am I adding force to your dislikes of some of us. Once, my dear, it was perhaps in your power to have moulded him as you pleased. Could you have been my sister [sister-in-law]! Then had I had a friend in a sister.

  But no more of this. I will prosecute my former intention in my next, which I will sit down to as soon as breakfast is over, dispatching this by the messenger whom you have so kindly sent to inquire after us, on my silence. Meantime, I am

  Your most affectionate and obliged

  friend and servant,

  CL. HARLOWE

  Letter 6: MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE TO MISS HOWE

  Harlowe Place, Jan. 20

  I will now resume my narrative of proceedings here. My brother being in a good way, although you may be sure that his resentments are rather heightened than abated by the galling disgrace he has received, my friends (my papa and uncles, however, if not my brother and sister) begin to think that I have been treated unkindly. My mamma has been so good as to tell me this since I sent away my last.

  Nevertheless I believe they all think that I receive letters from Mr Lovelace. But Lord M. being inclined rather to support than to blame his nephew, they seem to be so much afraid of him that they do not put it to me whether I do or not, conniving on the contrary, as it should seem, at the only method left to allay the vehemence of a spirit which they have so much provoked, for he still insists upon satisfaction from my uncles, and this possibly (for he wants not art) as the best way to be introduced again with some advantage into our family. And indeed my aunt Hervey has put it to my mamma, whether it were not best to prevail upon my brother to take a turn to his Yorkshire estate, which he was intending to do before, and to tarry there till all is blown over.

  But this is very far from being his intention, for he has already begun to hint again that he shall never be easy or satisfied till I am married, and finding neither Mr Symmes nor Mr Mullins will be accepted, has proposed Mr Wyerley once more on the score of his great passion for me. This I have again rejected, and but yesterday he mentioned one who has applied to him by letter, making high offers. This is Mr Solmes; rich Solmes, you know they call him. But this has not met with the attention of one single soul.

  If none of his schemes of marrying me take effect, he has thoughts, I am told, of proposing to me to go to Scotland in order, as the compliment is, to put his house there in such order as our own is in. But this my mamma intends to oppose for her own sake; because, having relieved her, as she is pleased to say, of the household cares (for which my sister, you know, has no
turn) they must again devolve upon her if I go. And if she did not oppose it, I should; for, believe me, I have no mind to be his housekeeper; and I am sure, were I to go with him, I should be treated rather as a servant than a sister—perhaps not the better because I am his sister. And if Mr Lovelace should follow me, things might be worse than they are now.

  But I have besought my mamma, who is apprehensive of Mr Lovelace’s visits, and for fear of whom my uncles never stir out without arms and armed servants (my brother also being near well enough to go abroad again) to procure me permission to be your guest for a fortnight, or so. Will your mamma, think you, my dear, give me leave?

  I dare not ask to go to my dairy-house, as my good grandfather would call it; for I am now afraid of being thought to have a wish to enjoy that independence to which his will has entitled me: and as matters are situated, such a wish would be imputed to my favour to the man whom they have now so great an antipathy to. And, indeed, could I be as easy and happy here as I used to be, I would defy that man, and all his sex, and never repent that I have given the power of my fortune into my papa’s hands.

  • • •

  Just now, my mamma has rejoiced me with the news that my requested permission is granted. Everyone thinks it best that I should go to you, except my brother. But he was told that he must not expect to rule in everything. I am to be sent for into the great parlour, where are my two uncles and my aunt Hervey, and to be acquainted with this concession in form.

  • • •

  I will acquaint you with what passed at the general leave given me to be your guest. And yet I know that you will not love my brother the better for my communication. But I am angry with him myself, and cannot help it. And, besides, it is proper to let you know the terms I go upon, and their motives for permitting me to go.