MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE [In continuation of the subject in Letter XXXVIII.]
I will now, though midnight (for I have no sleep in my eyes) resume
the subject I was forced so abruptly to quit, and will obey yours,
Miss Lloyd's, Miss Campion's, and Miss Biddulph's call, with as much
temper as my divided thought will admit. The dead stillness of this
solemn hour will, I hope, contribute to calm my disturbed mind.
In order to acquit myself of so heavy a charge as that of having
reserves to so dear a friend, I will acknowledge (and I thought I had
over-and-over) that it is owing to my particular situation, if Mr.
Lovelace appears to me in a tolerable light: and I take upon me to
say, that had they opposed to him a man of sense, of virtue, of
generosity; one who enjoyed his fortune with credit, who had a
tenderness in his nature for the calamities of others, which would
have given a moral assurance, that he would have been still less
wanting in grateful returns to an obliging spirit:--had they opposed
such a man as this to Mr. Lovelace, and been as earnest to have me
married, as now they are, I do not know myself, if they would have had
reason to tax me with that invincible obstinacy which they lay to my
charge: and this whatever had been the figure of the man; since the
heart is what we women should judge by in the choice we make, as the
best security for the party's good behaviour in every relation of
life.
But, situated as I am, thus persecuted and driven, I own to you, that
I have now-and-then had a little more difficulty than I wished for, in
passing by Mr. Lovelace's tolerable qualities, to keep up my dislike
to him for his others.
You say, I must have argued with myself in his favour, and in his
disfavour, on a supposition, that I might possibly be one day his. I
own that I have: and thus called upon by my dearest friend, I will set
before you both parts of the argument.
And first, what occurred to me in his favour.
At his introduction into our family, his negative virtues were
insisted upon:--He was no gamester; no horse-racer; no fox-hunter; no
drinker: my poor aunt Hervey had, in confidence, given us to apprehend
much disagreeable evil (especially to a wife of the least delicacy)
from a wine-lover: and common sense instructed us, that sobriety in a
man is no small point to be secured, when so many mischiefs happen
daily from excess. I remember, that my sister made the most of this
favourable circumstance in his character while she had any hopes of
him.
He was never thought to be a niggard; not even ungenerous: nor when
his conduct came to be inquired into, an extravagant, a squanderer:
his pride [so far was it a laudable pride] secured him from that.
Then he was ever ready to own his errors. He was no jester upon
sacred things: poor Mr. Wyerley's fault; who seemed to think there was
wit in saying bold things, which would shock a serious mind. His
conversation with us was always unexceptionable, even chastely so;
which, be his actions what they would, shewed him capable of being
influenced by decent company; and that he might probably therefore be
a led man, rather than a leader, in other company. And one late
instance, so late as last Saturday evening, has raised him not a
little in my opinion, with regard to this point of good (and at the
same time, of manly) behaviour.
As to the advantage of birth, that is of his side, above any man who
has been found out for me. If we may judge by that expression of his,
which you were pleased with at the time; 'That upon true quality, and
hereditary distinction, if good sense were not wanting, humour sat as
easy as his glove;' that, with as familiar an air, was his familiar
expression; 'while none but the prosperous upstart, MUSHROOMED into
rank, (another of his peculiars,) was arrogantly proud of it.'--If, I
say, we may judge of him by this, we shall conclude in his favour,
that he knows what sort of behaviour is to be expected from persons of
birth, whether he act up to it or not. Conviction is half way to
amendment.
His fortunes in possession are handsome; in expectation, splendid: so
nothing need be said on that subject.
But it is impossible, say some, that he should make a tender or kind
husband. Those who are for imposing upon me such a man as Mr. Solmes,
and by methods so violent, are not entitled to make this objection.
But now, on this subject, let me tell you how I have argued with
myself--for still you must remember, that I am upon the extenuating
part of his character.
A great deal of the treatment a wife may expect from him, will
possibly depend upon herself. Perhaps she must practise as well as
promise obedience, to a man so little used to controul; and must be
careful to oblige. And what husband expects not this?--The more
perhaps if he had not reason to assure himself of the preferable love
of his wife before she became such. And how much easier and
pleasanter to obey the man of her choice, if he should be even more
unreasonable sometimes, than one she would not have had, could she
have avoided it? Then, I think, as the men were the framers of the
matrimonial office, and made obedience a part of the woman's vow, she
ought not, even in policy, to shew him, that she can break through her
part of the contract, (however lightly she may think of the instance,)
lest he should take it into his head (himself is judge) to think as
lightly of other points, which she may hold more important--but,
indeed, no point so solemnly vowed can be slight.
Thus principled, and acting accordingly, what a wretch must that
husband be, who could treat such a wife brutally!--Will Lovelace's
wife be the only person to whom he will not pay the grateful debt of
civility and good manners? He is allowed to be brave: Who ever knew a
brave man, if a brave man of sense, an universally base man? And how
much the gentleness of our sex, and the manner of our training up and
education, make us need the protection of the brave, and the
countenance of the generous, let the general approbation, which we are
all so naturally inclined to give to men of that character, testify.
At worst, will he confine me prisoner to my chamber? Will he deny me
the visits of my dearest friend, and forbid me to correspond with her?
Will he take from me the mistressly management, which I had not
faultily discharged? Will he set a servant over me, with license to
insult me? Will he, as he has not a sister, permit his cousins
Montague, or would either of those ladies accept of a permission, to
insult and tyrannize over me?--It cannot be.--Why then, think I often,
do you tempt me, O my cruel friends, to try the difference?
And then has the secret pleasure intruded itself, to be able to
reclaim such a man to the paths of virtue and honour: to be a
secondary means, if I were to be his, of saving him, and preventing
the mischiefs so enterprising a creature might otherwise be guilty of,
if he be such a one.
When I have thought of him in these lights, (and that as a man of
sense he will sooner see his errors, than another,) I own to you, that
I have had some difficulty to avoid taking the path they so violently
endeavour to make me shun: and all that command of my passions which
has been attributed to me as my greatest praise, and, in so young a
creature, as my distinction, has hardly been sufficient for me.
And let me add, that the favour of his relations (all but himself
unexceptionable) has made a good deal of additional weight, thrown in
the same scale.
But now, in his disfavour. When I have reflected upon the prohibition
of my parents; the giddy appearance, disgraceful to our sex, that such
a preference would have: that there is no manner of likelihood,
enflamed by the rencounter, and upheld by art and ambition on my
brother's side, that ever the animosity will be got over: that I must
therefore be at perpetual variance with all my own family: that I must
go to him, and to his, as an obliged and half-fortuned person: that
his aversion to them all is as strong as theirs to him: that his whole
family are hated for his sake; they hating ours in return: that he has
a very immoral character as to women: that knowing this, it is a high
degree of impurity to think of joining in wedlock with such a man:
that he is young, unbroken, his passions unsubdued: that he is violent
in his temper, yet artful; I am afraid vindictive too: that such a
husband might unsettle me in all my own principles, and hazard my
future hopes: that his own relations, two excellent aunts, and an
uncle, from whom he has such large expectations, have no influence
upon him: that what tolerable qualities he has, are founded more in
pride than in virtue: that allowing, as he does, the excellency of
moral precepts, and believing the doctrine of future rewards and
punishments, he can live as if he despised the one, and defied the
other: the probability that the taint arising from such free
principles, may go down into the manners of posterity: that I knowing
these things, and the importance of them, should be more inexcusable
than one who knows them not; since an error against judgment is worse,
infinitely worse, than an error in judgment. Reflecting upon these
things, I cannot help conjuring you, my dear, to pray with me, and to
pray for me, that I may not be pushed upon such indiscreet measures,
as will render me inexcusable to myself: for that is the test, after
all. The world's opinion ought to be but a secondary consideration.
I have said in his praise, that he is extremely ready to own his
errors: but I have sometimes made a great drawback upon this article,
in his disfavour; having been ready to apprehend, that this
ingenuousness may possibly be attributable to two causes, neither of
them, by any means, creditable to him. The one, that his vices are so
much his masters, that he attempts not to conquer them; the other,
that he may think it policy, to give up one half of his character to
save the other, when the whole may be blamable: by this means,
silencing by acknowledgment the objections he cannot answer; which may
give him the praise of ingenuousness, when he can obtain no other, and
when the challenged proof might bring out, upon discussion, other
evils. These, you will allow, are severe constructions; but every
thing his enemies say of him cannot be false.
I will proceed by-and-by.
***
Sometimes we have both thought him one of the most undesigning merely
witty men we ever knew; at other times one of the deepest creatures we
ever conversed with. So that when in one visit we have imagined we
fathomed him, in the next he has made us ready to give him up as
impenetrable. This impenetrableness, my dear, is to be put among the
shades in his character. Yet, upon the whole, you have been so far of
his party, that you have contested that his principal fault is over- frankness, and too much regardlessness of appearances, and that he is
too giddy to be very artful: you would have it, that at the time he
says any thing good, he means what he speaks; that his variableness
and levity are constitutional, owing to sound health, and to a soul
and body [that was your observation] fitted for and pleased with each
other. And hence you concluded, that could this consentaneousness [as
you call it] of corporal and animal faculties be pointed by
discretion; that is to say, could his vivacity be confined within the
pale of but moral obligations, he would be far from being rejectable
as a companion for life.
But I used then to say, and I still am of opinion, that he wants a
heart: and if he does, he wants every thing. A wrong head may be
convinced, may have a right turn given it: but who is able to give a
heart, if a heart be wanting? Divine Grace, working a miracle, or
next to a miracle, can only change a bad heart. Should not one fly the
man who is but suspected of such a one? What, O what, do parents do,
when they endeavour to force a child's inclination, but make her think
better than otherwise she would think of a man obnoxious to
themselves, and perhaps whose character will not stand examination?
I have said, that I think Mr. Lovelace a vindictive man: upon my word,
I have sometimes doubted, whether his perseverance in his addresses to
me has not been the more obstinate, since he has found himself so
disagreeable to my friends. From that time I verily think he has been
the more fervent in them; yet courts them not, but sets them at
defiance. For this indeed he pleads disinterestedness [I am sure he
cannot politeness]; and the more plausibly, as he is apprized of the
ability they have to make it worth his while to court them. 'Tis true
he has declared, and with too much reason, (or there would be no
bearing him,) that the lowest submissions on his part would not be
accepted; and to oblige me, has offered to seek a reconciliation with
them, if I would give him hope of success.
As to his behaviour at church, the Sunday before last, I lay no stress
upon that, because I doubt there was too much outward pride in his
intentional humility, or Shorey, who is not his enemy, could not have
mistaken it.
I do not think him so deeply learned in human nature, or in ethics, as
some have thought him. Don't you remember how he stared at the
following trite observations, which every moralist could have
furnished him with? Complaining as he did, in a half-menacing strain,
of the obloquies raised against him--'That if he were innocent, he
should despise the obloquy: if not, revenge would not wipe off his
guilt.' 'That nobody ever thought of turning a sword into a sponge!'
'That it was in his own power by reformation of an error laid to his
charge by an enemy, to make that enemy one of his best friends; and
(which was the noblest revenge in the world) against his will; since
an enemy would not wish him to be without the faults he taxed him
with.'
But the intention, he said, was the wound.
How so, I asked him, when that cannot wound without the application?
'That the adversary only held the sword: he himself pointed it to his
breast:--And why should he mortally resent that malice, which he might
be the better for as long as he lived?'--What could be the reading he
has been said to be master of, to wonder, as he did, at these
observations?
But, indeed, he must take pleasure in revenge; and yet holds others to
be inexcusable for the same fault. He is not, however, the only one
who can see how truly blamable those errors are in another, which they
hardly think such in themselves.
From these considerations, from these over-balances, it was, that I
said, in a former, that I would not be in love with this man for the
world: and it was going further than prudence would warrant, when I
was for compounding with you, by the words conditional liking, which
you so humourously rally.
Well but, methinks you say, what is all this to the purpose? This is
still but reasoning: but, if you are in love, you are: and love, like
the vapours, is the deeper rooted for having no sufficient cause
assignable for its hold. And so you call upon me again to have no
reserves, and so-forth.
Why then, my dear, if you will have it, I think, that, with all his
preponderating faults, I like him better than I ever thought I should
like him; and, those faults considered, better perhaps than I ought to
like him. And I believe, it is possible for the persecution I labour
under to induce me to like him still more--especially while I can
recollect to his advantage our last interview, and as every day
produces stronger instances of tyranny, I will call it, on the other
side.--In a word, I will frankly own (since you cannot think any thing
I say too explicit) that were he now but a moral man, I would prefer
him to all the men I ever saw.
So that this is but conditional liking still, you'll say: nor, I hope,
is it more. I never was in love as it is called; and whether this be
it, or not, I must submit to you. But will venture to think it, if it
be, no such mighty monarch, no such unconquerable power, as I have
heard it represented; and it must have met with greater encouragement
than I think I have given it, to be absolutely unconquerable--since I
am persuaded, that I could yet, without a throb, most willingly give
up the one man to get rid of the other.
But now to be a little more serious with you: if, my dear, my
particularly-unhappy situation had driven (or led me, if you please)
into a liking of the man; and if that liking had, in your opinion,
inclined me to love him, should you, whose mind is susceptible of the
most friendly impressions, who have such high notions of the delicacy
which ought to be observed by our sex in these matters, and who
actually do enter so deeply into the distresses of one you love-- should you have pushed so far that unhappy friend on so very nice a
subject?--Especially, when I aimed not (as you could prove by fifty
instances, it seems) to guard against being found out. Had you
rallied me by word of mouth in the manner you do, it might have been
more in character; especially, if your friend's distresses had been
surmounted, and if she had affected prudish airs in revolving the
subject: but to sit down to write it, as methinks I see you, with a
gladdened eye, and with all the archness of exultation--indeed, my
dear, (and I take notice of it, rather for the sake of your own
generosity, than for my sake, for, as I have said, I love your
raillery,) it is not so very pretty; the delicacy of the subject, and
the delicacy of your own mind, considered.
I lay down my pen here, that you may consider of it a little, if you
please.
***
I resume, to give you my opinion of the force which figure or person
ought to have upon our sex: and this I shall do both generally as to
the other sex, and particularly as to this man; whence you will be
able to collect how far my friends are in the right, or in the wrong,
when they attribute a good deal of prejudice in favour of one man, and
in disfavour of the other, on the score of figure. But, first, let me
observe, that they see abundant reason, on comparing Mr. Lovelace and
Mr. Solmes together, to believe that this may be a consideration with
me; and therefore they believe it is.
There is certainly something very plausible and attractive, as well as
creditable to a woman's choice, in figure. It gives a favourable
impression at first sight, in which we wish to be confirmed: and if,
upon further acquaintance, we find reason to be so, we are pleased
with our judgment, and like the person the better, for having given us
cause to compliment our own sagacity, in our first-sighted
impressions. But, nevertheless, it has been generally a rule with me,
to suspect a fine figure, both in man and woman; and I have had a good
deal of reason to approve my rule;--with regard to men especially, who
ought to value themselves rather upon their intellectual than personal
qualities. For, as to our sex, if a fine woman should be led by the
opinion of the world, to be vain and conceited upon her form and
features; and that to such a degree, as to have neglected the more
material and more durable recommendations, the world will be ready to
excuse her; since a pretty fool, in all she says, and in all she does,
will please, we know not why.
But who would grudge this pretty fool her short day! Since, with her
summer's sun, when her butterfly flutters are over, and the winter of
age and furrows arrives, she will feel the just effects of having
neglected to cultivate her better faculties: for then, lie another
Helen, she will be unable to bear the reflection even of her own
glass, and being sunk into the insignificance of a mere old woman, she
will be entitled to the contempts which follow that character. While
the discreet matron, who carries up [we will not, in such a one's
case, say down] into advanced life, the ever-amiable character of
virtuous prudence and useful experience, finds solid veneration take
place of airy admiration, and more than supply the want of it.
But for a man to be vain of his person, how effeminate! If such a one
happens to have genius, it seldom strikes deep into intellectual
subjects. His outside usually runs away with him. To adorn, and
perhaps, intending to adorn, to render ridiculous that person, takes
up all his attention. All he does is personal; that is to say, for
himself: all he admires, is himself: and in spite of the correction of
the stage, which so often and so justly exposes a coxcomb, he usually
dwindles down, and sinks into that character; and, of consequence,
becomes the scorn of one sex, and the jest of the other.
This is generally the case of your fine figures of men, and of those
who value themselves on dress and outward appearance: whence it is,
that I repeat, that mere person in a man is a despicable
consideration. But if a man, besides figure, has learning, and such
talents as would have distinguished him, whatever were his form, then
indeed person is an addition: and if he has not run too egregiously
into self-admiration, and if he has preserved his morals, he is truly
a valuable being.
Mr. Lovelace has certainly taste; and, as far as I am able to
determine, he has judgment in most of the politer arts. But although
he has a humourous way of carrying it off, yet one may see that he
values himself not a little, both on his person and his parts, and
even upon his dress; and yet he has so happy an ease in the latter,
that it seems to be the least part of his study. And as to the
former, I should hold myself inexcusable, if I were to add to his
vanity by shewing the least regard for what is too evidently so much
his.
And now, my dear, let me ask you, Have I come up to your expectation?
If I have not, when my mind is more at ease, I will endeavour to
please you better. For, methinks, my sentences drag, my style creeps,
my imagination is sunk, my spirits serve me not, only to tell you,
that whether I have more or less, I am wholly devoted to the commands
of my dear Miss Howe.
P.S. The insolent Betty Barnes has just now fired me anew, by
reporting to me the following expressions of the hideous creature,
Solmes--'That he is sure of the coy girl; and that with little labour
to himself. That be I ever so averse to him beforehand, he can depend
upon my principles; and it will be a pleasure to him to see by what
pretty degrees I shall come to.' [Horrid wretch!] 'That it was Sir
Oliver's observation, who knew the world perfectly well, that fear was
a better security than love, for a woman's good behaviour to her
husband; although, for his part, to such a fine creature [truly] he
would try what love would do, for a few weeks at least; being
unwilling to believe what the old knight used to aver, that fondness
spoils more wives than it makes good.'
What think you, my dear, of such a wretch as this! tutored, too, by
that old surly misogynist, as he was deemed, Sir Oliver?--
