LETTER LXVI
MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWETHURSDAY, JULY 6.
Few young persons have been able to give more convincing proofs thanmyself how little true happiness lies in the enjoyment of our own wishes.
To produce one instance only of the truth of this observation; what wouldI have given for weeks past, for the favour of a letter from my dear MissHowe, in whose friendship I placed all my remaining comfort! Little didI think, that the next letter she would honour me with, should be in sucha style, as should make me look more than once at the subscription, thatI might be sure (the name not being written at length) that it was notsigned by another A.H. For surely, thought I, this is my sisterArabella's style: surely Miss Howe (blame me as she pleases in otherpoints) could never repeat so sharply upon her friend, words written inthe bitterness of spirit, and in the disorder of head; nor remind her,with asperity, and with mingled strokes of wit, of an argument held inthe gaiety of a heart elated with prosperous fortunes, (as mine thenwas,) and very little apprehensive of the severe turn that argument wouldone day take against herself.
But what have I, sink in my fortunes; my character forfeited; my honourlost, [while I know it, I care not who knows it;] destitute of friends,and even of hope; what have I to do to show a spirit of repining andexpostulation to a dear friend, because she is not more kind than asister?----
You have till now, my dear, treated me with great indulgence. If it waswith greater than I had deserved, I may be to blame to have built uponit, on the consciousness that I deserve it now as much as ever. But Ifind, by the rising bitterness which will mingle with the gall in my ink,that I am not yet subdued enough to my condition.--I lay down my pen forone moment.
***
Pardon me, my Miss Howe. I have recollected myself: and will endeavourto give a particular answer to your letter; although it will take me uptoo much time to think of sending it by your messenger to-morrow: he canput off his journey, he says, till Saturday. I will endeavour to havethe whole narrative ready for you by Saturday.
But how to defend myself in every thing that has happened, I cannot tell:since in some part of the time, in which my conduct appears to have beencensurable, I was not myself; and to this hour know not all the methodstaken to deceive and ruin me.
You tell me, that in your first letter you gave me such an account of thevile house I was in, and such cautions about that Tomlinson, as made youwonder how I could think of going back.
Alas, my dear! I was tricked, most vilely tricked back, as you shallhear in its place.
Without knowing the house was so very vile a house from your intendedinformation, I disliked the people too much, ever voluntarily to havereturned to it. But had you really written such cautions aboutTomlinson, and the house, as you seem to have purposed to do, they must,had they come in time, have been of infinite service to me. But not oneword of either, whatever was your intention, did you mention to me, inthat first of the three letters you so warmly TELL me you did send me. Iwill enclose it to convince you.*
* The letter she encloses was Mr. Lovelace's forged one. See Vol. V.Letter XXX.
But your account of your messenger's delivering to me your secondletter, and the description he gives of me, as lying upon a couch, in astrange way, bloated, and flush-coloured; you don't know how, absolutelypuzzles and confounds me.
Lord have mercy upon the poor Clarissa Harlowe! What can this mean!--Whowas the messenger you sent? Was he one of Lovelace's creatures too!--Could nobody come near me but that man's confederates, either setting outso, or made so? I know not what to make of any one syllable of this!Indeed I don't.
Let me see. You say, this was before I went from Hampstead! Myintellects had not then been touched!--nor had I ever been surprised bywine, [strange if I had!]: How then could I be found in such a strangeway, bloated and flush-coloured; you don't know how!--Yet what a vile,what a hateful figure has your messenger represented me to have made!
But indeed I know nothing of any messenger from you.
Believing myself secure at Hampstead, I staid longer there than I wouldhave done, in hopes of the letter promised me in your short one of the9th, brought me by my own messenger, in which you undertake to send forand engage Mrs. Townsend in my favour.*
* See Vol. V. Letter XXIX.
I wondered I had not heard from you: and was told you were sick; and, atanother time, that your mother and you had had words on my account, andthat you had refused to admit Mr. Hickman's visits upon it: so that Isupposed, at one time, that you were not able to write; at another, thatyour mother's prohibition had its due force with you. But now I have nodoubt that the wicked man must have intercepted your letter; and I wishhe found not means to corrupt your messenger to tell you so strange astory.
It was on Sunday, June 11, you say, that the man gave it me. I was atchurch twice that day with Mrs. Moore. Mr. Lovelace was at her house thewhile, where he boarded, and wanted to have lodged; but I would notpermit that, though I could not help the other. In one of these spacesit must be that he had time to work upon the man. You'll easily, mydear, find that out, by inquiring the time of his arrival at Mrs. Moore'sand other circumstances of the strange way he pretended to see me in, ona couch, and the rest.
Had any body seen me afterwards, when I was betrayed back to the vilehouse, struggling under the operation of wicked potions, and robbedindeed of my intellects (for this, as you shall hear, was my dreadfulcase,) I might then, perhaps, have appeared bloated and flush-coloured,and I know not how myself. But were you to see your poor Clarissa, now(or even to have seen her at Hampstead before she suffered the vilest ofall outrages,) you would not think her bloated or flush-coloured: indeedyou would not.
In a word, it could not be me your messenger saw; nor (if any body) whoit was can I divine.
I will now, as briefly as the subject will permit, enter into the darkerpart of my sad story: and yet I must be somewhat circumstantial, that youmay not think me capable of reserve or palliation. The latter I am notconscious that I need. I should be utterly inexcusable were I guilty ofthe former to you. And yet, if you know how my heart sinks under thethoughts of a recollection so painful, you would pity me.
As I shall not be able, perhaps, to conclude what I have to write in eventwo or three letters, I will begin a new one with my story; and send thewhole of it together, although written at different periods, as I amable.
Allow me a little pause, my dear, at this place; and to subscribe myself
Your ever affectionate and obliged,CLARISSA HARLOWE.