Volume IV Part 18 (1/2)
Norton, how shall I, how can you, support ourselves under the apprehensions to which these thoughts lead!
He continually pressing her, you say, to marry him: his friends likewise.
She has reason, no doubt she has reason, for this application to us: and her crime is glossed over, to bring her to us with new disgrace!
Whither, whither, does one guilty step lead the misguided heart!--And now, truly, to save a stubborn spirit, we are only to be sounded, that the application may be occasionally retracted or denied!
Upon the whole: were I inclined to plead for her, it is now the most improper of all times. Now that my brother Harlowe has discouraged (as he last night came hither on purpose to tell us) Mr. Hickman's insinuated application; and been applauded for it. Now, that my brother Antony is intending to carry his great fortune, through her fault, into another family:--she expecting, no doubt, herself to be put into her grandfather's estate, in consequence of a reconciliation, and as a reward for her fault: and insisting still upon the same terms which she offered before, and which were rejected--Not through my fault, I am sure, rejected!
From all these things you will return such an answer as the case requires. It might cost me the peace of my whole life, at this time, to move for her. G.o.d forgive her! If I do, n.o.body else will. And let it, for your own sake, as well as mine, be a secret that you and I have entered upon this subject. And I desire you not to touch upon it again but by particular permission: for, O my dear, good woman, it sets my heart a bleeding in as many streams as there are veins in it!
Yet think me not impenetrable by a proper contrition and remorse--But what a torment is it to have a will without a power!
Adieu! adieu! G.o.d give us both comfort; and to the once dear--the ever- dear creature (for can a mother forget her child?) repentance, deep repentance! and as little suffering as may befit his blessed will, and her grievous fault, prays
Your real friend, CHARLOTTE HARLOWE.
LETTER XXIX
MISS HOWE, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE SUNDAY, MAY 14.
How it is now, my dear, between you and Mr. Lovelace, I cannot tell.
But, wicked as the man is, I am afraid he must be your lord and master.
I called him by several very hard names in my last. I had but just heard of some of his vilenesses, when I sat down to write; so my indignation was raised. But on inquiry, and recollection, I find that the facts laid to his charge were all of them committed some time ago--not since he has had strong hopes of your favour.
This is saying something for him. His generous behaviour to the innkeeper's daughter is a more recent instance to his credit; to say nothing of the universal good character he has as a kind landlord. And then I approve much of the motion he made to put you in possession of Mrs. Fretchville's house, while he continues at the other widow's, till you agree that one house shall hold you. I wish this were done. Be sure you embrace this offer, (if you do not soon meet at the altar,) and get one of his cousins with you.
Were you once married, I should think you cannot be very unhappy, though you may not be so happy with him as you deserve to be. The stake he has in his country, and his reversions; the care he takes of his affairs; his freedom from obligation; nay, his pride, with your merit, must be a tolerable security for you, I should think. Though particulars of his wickedness, as they come to my knowledge, hurt and incense me; yet, after all, when I give myself time to reflect, all that I have heard of him to his disadvantage was comprehended in the general character given of him long ago, by Lord M.'s and his own dismissed bailiff,* and which was confirmed to me by Mrs. Fortescue, as I heretofore told you,** and to you by Mrs. Greme.***
* See Vol. I. Letter IV.
** Ibid. Letter XII.
*** See Vol. III. Letter VI.
You can have nothing, therefore, I think, to be deeply concerned about, but his future good, and the bad example he may hereafter set to his own family. These indeed are very just concerns: but were you to leave him now, either with or without his consent, his fortunes and alliances so considerable, his person and address so engaging, (every one excusing you now on those accounts, and because of your relations' follies,) it would have a very ill appearance for your reputation. I cannot, therefore, on the most deliberate consideration, advise you to think of that, while you have no reason to doubt his honour. May eternal vengeance pursue the villain, if he give room for an apprehension of this nature!
Yet his teasing ways are intolerable; his acquiescence with your slight delays, and his resignedness to the distance you now keep him at, (for a fault so much slighter, as he must think, than the punishment,) are unaccountable: He doubts your love of him, that is very probable; but you have reason to be surprised at his want of ardour; a blessing so great within his reach, as I may say.
By the time you have read to this place, you will have no doubt of what has been the issue of the conference between the two gentlemen. I am equally shocked, and enraged against them all. Against them all, I say; for I have tried your good Norton's weight with your mother, (though at first I did not intend to tell you so,) to the same purpose as the gentleman sounded your uncle. Never were there such determined brutes in the world! Why should I mince the matter? Yet would I fain, methinks, make an exception for your mother.
Your uncle will have it that you are ruined. 'He can believe every thing bad of a creature, he says, who could run away with a man; with such a one especially as Lovelace. They expected applications from you, when some heavy distress had fallen upon you. But they are all resolved not to stir an inch in your favour; no, not to save your life!'
My dearest soul, resolve to a.s.sert your right. Claim your own, and go and live upon it, as you ought. Then, if you marry not, how will the wretches creep to you for your reversionary dispositions!
You were accused (as in your aunt's letter) 'of premeditation and contrivance in your escape.' Instead of pitying you, the mediating person was called upon 'to pity them; who once, your uncle said, doated upon you: who took no joy but in your presence: who devoured your words as you spoke them: who trod over again your footsteps, as you walked before them.'--And I know not what of this sort.
Upon the whole, it is now evident to me, and so it must be to you, when you read this letter, that you must be his. And the sooner you are so the better. Shall we suppose that marriage is not in your power?--I cannot have patience to suppose that.