Clarissa Harlowe; or the history of a young lady — Volume 8

Of her own accord she mentioned you; which, till then, she had avoided to do. She asked, with great serenity, where you were?

I told her where, and your motives for being so near; and read to her a few lines of your's of this morning, in which you mention your wishes to see her, your sincere affliction, and your resolution not to approach her without her consent.

I would have read more; but she said, Enough, Mr. Belford, enough!—Poor man, does his conscience begin to find him!—Then need not any body to wish him a greater punishment!—May it work upon him to an happy purpose!

I took the liberty to say, that as she was in such a frame that nothing now seemed capable of discomposing her, I could wish that you might have the benefit of her exhortations, which, I dared to say, while you were so seriously affected, would have a greater force upon you than a thousand sermons; and how happy you would think yourself, if you could but receive her forgiveness on your knees.

How can you think of such a thing, Mr. Belford? said she, with some emotion; my composure is owing, next to the Divine goodness blessing my earnest supplications for it, to the not seeing him. Yet let him know that I now again repeat, that I forgive him.—And may God Almighty, clasping her fingers, and lifting up her eyes, forgive him too; and perfect repentance, and sanctify it to him!—Tell him I say so! And tell him, that if I could not say so with my whole heart, I should be very uneasy, and think that my hopes of mercy were but weakly founded; and that I had still, in my harboured resentment, some hankerings after a life which he has been the cause of shortening.

The divine creature then turning aside her head—Poor man, said she! I once could have loved him. This is saying more than ever I could say of any other man out of my own family! Would he have permitted me to have been an humble instrument to have made him good, I think I could have made him happy! But tell him not this if he be really penitent—it may too much affect him!—There she paused.—

Admirable creature!—Heavenly forgiver!—Then resuming—but pray tell him, that if I could know that my death might be a mean to reclaim and save him, it would be an inexpressible satisfaction to me!

But let me not, however, be made uneasy with the apprehension of seeing him. I cannot bear to see him!

Just as she had done speaking, the minister, who had so often attended her, sent up his name; and was admitted.

Being apprehensive that it would be with difficulty that you could prevail upon that impetuous spirit of your's not to invade her in her dying hours, and of the agonies into which a surprise of this nature would throw her, I thought this gentleman's visit afforded a proper opportunity to renew the subject; and, (having asked her leave,) acquainted him with the topic we had been upon.

The good man urged that some condescensions were usually expected, on these solemn occasions, from pious souls like her's, however satisfied with themselves, for the sake of showing the world, and for example-sake, that all resentments against those who had most injured them were subdued; and if she would vouchsafe to a heart so truly penitent, as I had represented Mr. Lovelace's to be, that personal pardon, which I had been pleading for there would be no room to suppose the least lurking resentment remained; and it might have very happy effects upon the gentleman.

I have no lurking resentment, Sir, said she—this is not a time for resentment: and you will be the readier to believe me, when I can assure you, (looking at me,) that even what I have most rejoiced in, the truly friendly love that has so long subsisted between my Miss Howe and her Clarissa, although to my last gasp it will be the dearest to me of all that is dear in this life, has already abated of its fervour; has already given place to supremer fervours; and shall the remembrance of Mr. Lovelace's personal insults, which I bless God never corrupted that mind which her friendship so much delighted, be stronger in these hours with me, then the remembrance of a love as pure as the human heart ever boasted? Tell, therefore, the world, if you please, and (if, Mr. Belford, you think what I said to you before not strong enough,) tell the poor man, that I not only forgive him, but have such earnest wishes for the good of his soul, and that from consideration of its immortality, that could my penitence avail for more sins than my own, my last tear should fall for him by whom I die!

Our eyes and hands expressed to us both what our lips could not utter.

Say not, then, proceeded she, nor let it be said, that my resentments are unsubdued!—And yet these eyes, lifted up to Heaven as witness to the truth of what I have said, shall never, if I can help it, behold him more!—For do you not consider, Sirs, how short my time is; what much more important subjects I have to employ it upon; and how unable I should be, (so weak as I am,) to contend even with the avowed penitence of a person in strong health, governed by passions unabated, and always violent?—And now I hope you will never urge me more on this subject?

The minister said, it were pity ever to urge this plea again.

You see, Lovelace, that I did not forget the office of a friend, in endeavouring to prevail upon her to give you her last forgiveness personally. And I hope, as she is so near her end, you will not invade her in her last hours; since she must be extremely discomposed at such an interview; and it might make her leave the world the sooner for it.

This reminds me of an expression which she used on your barbarous hunting of her at Smith's, on her return to her lodgings; and that with a serenity unexampled, (as Mrs. Lovick told me, considering the occasion, and the trouble given her by it, and her indisposition at the time;) he will not let me die decently, said the angelic sufferer!—He will not let me enter into my Maker's presence with the composure that is required in entering into the drawing-room of an earthly prince!

I cannot, however, forbear to wish, that the heavenly creature could have prevailed upon herself, in these her last hours, to see you; and that for my sake, as well as yours; for although I am determined never to be guilty of the crimes, which, till within these few past weeks have blackened my former life; and for which, at present, I most heartily hate myself; yet should I be less apprehensive of such a relapse, if wrought upon by the solemnity which such an interview must have been attended with, you had become a reformed man: for no devil do I fear, but one in your shape.

***

It is now eleven o'clock at night. The lady who retired to rest an hour ago, is, as Mrs. Lovick tells me, in a sweet slumber.

I will close here. I hope I shall find her the better for it in the morning. Yet, alas! how frail is hope—How frail is life; when we are apt to build so much on every shadowy relief; although in such a desperate case as this, sitting down to reflect, we must know, that it is but shadowy!

I will enclose Brand's horrid pedantry. And for once am aforehand with thy ravenous impatience.

LETTER LXV

MR. BRAND, TO MR. JOHN WALTON SAT. NIGHT, SEPT. 2.

DEAR MR. WALTON,

I am obliged to you for the very 'handsomely penned', (and 'elegantly written,') letter which you have sent me on purpose to do 'justice' to the 'character' of the 'younger' Miss Harlowe; and yet I must tell you that I had reason, 'before that came,' to 'think,' (and to 'know' indeed,) that we were 'all wrong.' And so I had employed the 'greatest part' of this 'week,' in drawing up an 'apologetical letter' to my worthy 'patron,' Mr. John Harlowe, in order to set all 'matters right' between 'me and them,' and, ('as far as I could,') between 'them' and 'Miss.' So it required little more than 'connection' and 'transcribing,' when I received 'your's'; and it will be with Mr. Harlowe aforesaid, 'to-morrow morning'; and this, and the copy of that, will be with you on 'Monday morning.'

You cannot imagine how sorry I am that 'you' and Mrs. Walton, and Mrs. Barker, and 'I myself,' should have taken matters up so lightly, (judging, alas-a-day! by appearance and conjecture,) where 'character' and 'reputation' are concerned. Horace says truly,

'Et semel emissum volat irrevocabile verbum.'

That is, 'Words one spoken cannot be recalled.' But, Mr. Walton, they may be 'contradicted' by 'other' words; and we may confess ourselves guilty of a 'mistake,' and express our 'concern' for being 'mistaken'; and resolve to make our 'mistake' a 'warning' to us for the 'future': and this is all that 'can be done,' and what every 'worthy mind will do'; and what nobody can be 'readier to do' than 'we four undesigning offenders,' (as I see by 'your letter,' on 'your part,' and as you will see by the 'enclosed copy,' on 'mine';) which, if it be received as I 'think it ought,' (and as I 'believe it will,') must give me a 'speedy' opportunity to see you when I 'visit the lady'; to whom, (as you will see in it,) I expect to be sent up with the 'olive-branch.'

The matter in which we all 'erred,' must be owned to be 'very nice'; and (Mr. Belford's 'character considered') 'appearances' ran very strong 'against the lady.' But all that this serveth to show is, 'that in doubtful matters, the wisest people may be mistaken'; for so saith the 'Poet,'

'Fallitur in dubiis hominum solertia rebus.'

If you have an 'opportunity,' you may (as if 'from yourself,' and 'unknown to me') show the enclosed to Mr. Belford, who (you tell me) 'resenteth' the matter very heinously; but not to let him 'see' or 'hear read,' those words 'that relate to him,' in the paragraph at the 'bottom of the second page,' beginning, ['But yet I do insist upon it,] to the 'end' of that paragraph; for one would not make one's self 'enemies,' you know; and I have 'reason to think,' that this Mr. 'Belford' is as 'passionate' and 'fierce' a man as Mr. Lovelace. What pity it is the lady could find no 'worthier a protector!' You may paste those lines over with 'blue' or 'black paper,' before he seeth it: and if he insisteth upon taking a copy of my letter, (for he, or any body that 'seeth it,' or 'heareth it read,' will, no doubt, be glad to have by them the copy of a letter so full of the 'sentiments' of the 'noblest writers' of 'antiquity,' and 'so well adapted,' as I will be bold to say they are, to the 'point in hand'; I say, if he insisteth upon taking a copy,) let him give you the 'strongest assurances' not to suffer it to be 'printed' on 'any account'; and I make the same request to you, that 'you' will not; for if any thing be to be made of a 'man's works,' who, but the 'author,' should have the 'advantage'? And if the 'Spectators,' the 'Tatlers,' the 'Examiners,' the 'Guardians,' and other of our polite papers, make such a 'strutting' with a 'single verse,' or so by way of 'motto,' in the 'front' of 'each day's' paper; and if other 'authors' pride themselves in 'finding out' and 'embellishing' the 'title-pages' of their 'books' with a 'verse' or 'adage' from the 'classical writers'; what a figure would 'such a letter as the enclosed make,' so full fraught with 'admirable precepts,' and 'à-propos quotations,' from the 'best authority'?

I have been told that a 'certain noble Lord,' who once sat himself down to write a 'pamphlet' in behalf of a 'great minister,' after taking 'infinite pains' to 'no purpose' to find a 'Latin motto,' gave commission to a friend of 'his' to offer to 'any one,' who could help him to a 'suitable one,' but of one or two lines, a 'hamper of claret.' Accordingly, his lordship had a 'motto found him' from 'Juvenal,' which he 'unhappily mistaking,' (not knowing 'Juvenal' was a 'poet,') printed as a prose 'sentence' in his 'title-page.'

If, then, 'one' or 'two' lines were of so much worth, (A 'hamper of claret'! No 'less'!) of what 'inestimable value' would 'such a letter as mine' be deemed?—And who knoweth but that this noble P—r, (who is now* living,) if he should happen to see 'this letter' shining with such a 'glorious string of jewels,' might give the 'writer a scarf,' in order to have him 'always at hand,' or be a 'mean' (some way or other) to bring him into 'notice'? And I would be bold to say ('bad' as the 'world' is) a man of 'sound learning' wanteth nothing but an 'initiation' to make his 'fortune.'

* i.e. At the time this Letter was written.

I hope, my good friend, that the lady will not 'die': I shall be much 'grieved,' if she doth; and the more because of mine 'unhappy misrepresentation': so will 'you' for the 'same cause'; so will her 'parents' and 'friends.' They are very 'rich' and 'very worthy' gentlefolks.

But let me tell you, 'by-the-by,' that they had carried the matter against her 'so far,' that I believe in my heart they were glad to 'justify themselves' by 'my report'; and would have been 'less pleased,' had I made a 'more favourable one.' And yet in 'their hearts' they 'dote' upon her. But now they are all (as I hear) inclined to be 'friends with her,' and 'forgive her'; her 'brother,' as well as 'the rest.'

But their 'cousin,' Col. Morden, 'a very fine gentleman,' had had such 'high words' with them, and they with him, that they know not how to 'stoop,' lest it should look like being frighted into an 'accommodation.' Hence it is, that 'I' have taken the greater liberty to 'press the reconciliation'; and I hope in 'such good season,' that they will all be 'pleased' with it: for can they have a 'better handle' to save their 'pride' all round, than by my 'mediation'? And let me tell you, (inter nos, 'betwixt ourselves,') 'very proud they all are.'

By this 'honest means,' (for by 'dishonest ones' I would not be 'Archbishop of Canterbury,') I hope to please every body; to be 'forgiven,' in the 'first place,' by 'the lady,' (whom, being a 'lover of learning' and 'learned men,' I shall have great 'opportunities' of 'obliging'; for, when she departed from her father's house, I had but just the honour of her 'notice,' and she seemed 'highly pleased' with my 'conversation';) and, 'next' to be 'thanked' and 'respected' by her 'parents,' and 'all her family'; as I am (I bless God for it) by my 'dear friend' Mr. John Harlowe: who indeed is a man that professeth a 'great esteem' for 'men of erudition'; and who (with 'singular delight,' I know) will run over with me the 'authorities' I have 'quoted,' and 'wonder' at my 'memory,' and the 'happy knack' I have of recommending 'mine own sense of things' in the words of the 'greatest sages of antiquity.'

Excuse me, my good friend, for this 'seeming vanity.' The great Cicero (you must have heard, I suppose) had a 'much greater' spice of it, and wrote a 'long letter begging' and 'praying' to be 'flattered.' But if I say 'less of myself' than other people (who know me) 'say of me,' I think I keep a 'medium' between 'vanity' and 'false modesty'; the latter of which oftentimes gives itself the 'lie,' when it is 'declaring of' the 'compliments,' that 'every body' gives it as its due: an hypocrisy, as well as folly, that, (I hope,) I shall for ever scorn to be guilty of.

I have 'another reason' (as I may tell to you, my 'old school-fellow') to make me wish for this 'fine lady's recovery' and 'health'; and that is, (by some distant intimations,) I have heard from Mr. John Harlowe, that it is 'very likely' (because of the 'slur' she hath received) that she will choose to 'live privately' and 'penitently'—and will probably (when she cometh into her 'estate') keep a 'chaplain' to direct her in her 'devotions' and 'penitence'—If she doth, who can stand a 'better chance' than 'myself'?—And as I find (by 'your' account, as well as by 'every body's') that she is innocent as to 'intention,' and is resolved never to think of Mr. 'Lovelace more,' who knoweth 'what' (in time) 'may happen'? —And yet it must be after Mr. 'Lovelace's death,' (which may possibly sooner happen than he 'thinketh' of, by means of his 'detestable courses':) for, after all, a man who is of 'public utility,' ought not (for the 'finest woman' in the world) to lay his 'throat' at the 'mercy' of a man who boggleth at nothing.

I beseech you, let not this hint 'go farther' than to 'yourself,' your 'spouse,' and Mrs. 'Barker.' I know I may trust my 'life' in 'your hands' and 'theirs.' There have been (let me tell ye) 'unlikelier' things come to pass, and that with 'rich widows,' (some of 'quality' truly!) whose choice, in their 'first marriages' hath (perhaps) been guided by 'motives of convenience,' or 'mere corporalities,' as I may say; but who by their 'second' have had for their view the 'corporal' and 'spiritual' mingled; which is the most eligible (no doubt) to 'substance' composed 'of both,' as 'men' and 'women' are.

Nor think (Sir) that, should such a thing come to pass, 'either' would be 'disgraced,' since 'the lady' in 'me' would marry a 'gentleman' and a 'scholar': and as to 'mine own honour,' as the 'slur' would bring her 'high fortunes' down to an 'equivalence' with my 'mean ones,' (if 'fortune' only, and not 'merit,' be considered,) so hath not the 'life' of 'this lady' been 'so tainted,' (either by 'length of time,' or 'naughtiness of practice,') as to put her on a 'foot' with the 'cast Abigails,' that too, too often, (God knoweth,) are thought good enough for a 'young clergyman,' who, perhaps, is drawn in by a 'poor benefice'; and (if the 'wicked one' be not 'quite worn out') groweth poorer and poorer upon it, by an 'increase of family' he knoweth not whether 'is most his,' or his 'noble,' ('ignoble,' I should say,) 'patrons.'

But, all this 'apart,' and 'in confidence.'

I know you made at school but a small progress in 'languages.' So I have restrained myself from 'many illustrations' from the 'classics,' that I could have filled this letter with, (as I have done the enclosed one:) and, being at a 'distance,' I cannot 'explain' them to you, as I 'do to my friend,' Mr. John Harlowe; and who, (after all,) is obliged to 'me' for pointing out to 'him' many 'beauties' of the 'authors I quote,' which otherwise would lie concealed from 'him,' as they must from every 'common observer.'—But this (too) 'inter nos'—for he would not take it well to 'have it known'—'Jays' (you know, old school-fellow, 'jays,' you know) 'will strut in peacocks' feathers.'

But whither am I running? I never know where to end, when I get upon 'learned topics.' And albeit I cannot compliment 'you' with the 'name of a learned man,' yet are you 'a sensible man'; and ('as such') must have 'pleasure' in 'learned men,' and in 'their writings.'

In this confidence, (Mr. Walton,) with my 'kind respects' to the good ladies, (your 'spouse' and 'sister,') and in hopes, for the 'young lady's sake,' soon to follow this long, long epistle, in 'person,' I conclude myself,

Your loving and faithful friend, ELIAS BRAND.

You will perhaps, Mr. Walton, wonder at the meaning of the 'lines drawn under many of the words and sentences,' (UNDERSCORING we call it;)

and were my letters to be printed, those would be put in a 'different character.'  Now, you must know, Sir, that 'we learned men' do this to point out to the readers, who are not 'so learned,' where the 'jet of our arguments lieth,' and the 'emphasis' they are to lay upon 'those words'; whereby they will take in readily our 'sense' and 'cogency.'  Some 'pragmatical' people have said, that an author who doth a 'great deal of this,' either calleth his readers 'fools,' or tacitly condemneth 'his own style,' as supposing his meaning would be 'dark' without it, or that all of his 'force' lay in 'words.'  But all of those with whom I have conversed in a learned way, 'think as I think.'  And to give a very 'pretty,' though 'familiar illustration,' I have considered a page distinguished by 'different characters,' as a 'verdant field' overspread with 'butter-flowers' and 'daisies,' and other summer-flowers.  These the poets liken to 'enamelling'—have you not read in the poets of 'enamelled meads,' and so forth?

LETTER LXVI

MR. BRAND, TO JOHN HARLOWE, ESQ. SAT. NIGHT, SEPT. 2.

WORTHY SIR,

I am under no 'small concern,' that I should (unhappily) be the 'occasion' (I am sure I 'intended' nothing like it) of 'widening differences' by 'light misreport,' when it is the 'duty' of one of 'my function' (and no less consisting with my 'inclination') to 'heal' and 'reconcile.'

I have received two letter to set me 'right': one from a 'particular acquaintance,' (whom I set to inquire of Mr. Belford's character); and that came on Tuesday last, informing me, that your 'unhappy niece' was greatly injured in the account I had had of her; (for I had told 'him' of it, and that with very 'great concern,' I am sure, apprehending it to be 'true.') So I 'then' set about writing to you, to 'acknowledge' the 'error.' And had gone a good way in it, when the second letter came (a very 'handsome one' it is, both in 'style' and 'penmanship') from my friend Mr. Walton, (though I am sure it cannot be 'his inditing,') expressing his sorrow, and his wife's, and his sister-in-law's likewise, for having been the cause of 'misleading me,' in the account I gave of the said 'young lady'; whom they 'now' say (upon 'further inquiry') they find to be the 'most unblameable,' and 'most prudent,' and (it seems) the most 'pious' young lady, that ever (once) committed a 'great error'; as (to be sure) 'her's was,' in leaving such 'worthy parents' and 'relations' for so 'vile a man' as Mr. Lovelace; but what shall we say?— Why, the divine Virgil tells us,

'Improbe amor, quid non mortalia pectora cogis?'

For 'my part,' I was but too much afraid (for we have 'great opportunities),' you are sensible, Sir, at the 'University,' of knowing 'human nature' from 'books,' the 'calm result' of the 'wise man's wisdom,' as I may say,

'(Haurit aquam cribro, qui discere vult sine libro)'

'uninterrupted' by the 'noise' and 'vanities' that will mingle with 'personal conversation,' which (in the 'turbulent world') is not to be enjoyed but over a 'bottle,' where you have an 'hundred foolish things' pass to 'one that deserveth to be remembered'; I was but too much afraid 'I say', that so 'great a slip' might be attended with 'still greater' and 'worse': for 'your' Horace, and 'my' Horace, the most charming writer that ever lived among the 'Pagans' (for the 'lyric kind of poetry,' I mean; for, the be sure, 'Homer' and 'Virgil' would 'otherwise' be 'first' named 'in their way') well observeth (and who understood 'human nature' better than he?)

      'Nec vera virtus, cum semel excidit,       Curat reponi deterioribus.'

And 'Ovid' no less wisely observeth:

      'Et mala sunt vicina bonis.  Errore sub illo          Pro vitio virtus crimina sæpe tulit.'

Who, that can draw 'knowledge' from its 'fountain-head,' the works of the 'sages of antiquity,' (improved by the 'comments' of the 'moderns,') but would 'prefer' to all others the 'silent quiet life,' which 'contemplative men' lead in the 'seats of learning,' were they not called out (according to their 'dedication') to the 'service' and 'instruction' of the world?

Now, Sir, 'another' favourite poet of mine (and not the 'less a favourite' for being a 'Christian') telleth us, that ill is the custom of 'some,' when in a 'fault,' to throw the blame upon the backs of 'others,'

      '——Hominum quoque mos est,       Quæ nos cunque premunt, alieno imponere tergo.'                                          MANT.

But I, though (in this case) 'misled,' ('well intendedly,' nevertheless, both in the 'misleaders' and 'misled,' and therefore entitled to lay hold of that plea, if 'any body' is so entitled,) will not however, be classed among such 'extenuators'; but (contrarily) will always keep in mind that verse, which 'comforteth in mistake,' as well as 'instructeth'; and which I quoted in my last letter;

      'Errare est hominis, sed non persistere——'

And will own, that I was very 'rash' to take up with 'conjectures' and 'consequences' drawn from 'probabilites,' where (especially) the 'character' of so 'fine a lady' was concerned.