Dear friends,
“Lost, unhappy wretch, I forgive you! and may God bless you! — This is all! Let me on a blessed scrap of paper but see one sentence to this effect, under your dear hand, that I may hold it to my heart in my most trying struggles, and I shall think it a passport to Heaven.”
The last two weeks have seen Clarissa desperately try to set things right with her family. Her wishes are modest. She does not ask to be accepted back into the fold, nor even to be called daughter, but merely seeks their forgiveness. There’s a case to be made that their replies are some of the book’s most shocking. Not least because they refuse to believe that Clarissa is really ill. Much of this antipathy is blamed on Anna Howe, whose provocative letters to Arabella have stoked resentment further. And yet I can’t help thinking that nothing would have changed the Harlowe family’s resolve.
In these letters we see a return to earlier themes in which the family, who are jealous and resentful of Clarissa’s talent for articulating herself in writing, accuse her of trying to manipulate them. Arabella chooses to see the worst in Clarissa, believing that she willingly became Lovelace’s mistress. She claims that Clarissa is only remorseful because Lovelace has forsaken her for another woman. The language itself is particularly unkind: “had not your feather-headed villain abandoned you, we should have heard nothing of these moving supplications: nor of anything but defiances from him, and a guilt gloried in from you.” In one heartbreaking reflection, Arabella reveals that Clarissa’s birthday has passed unnoticed by everyone.
Anyone who speaks on Clarissa’s behalf is immediately damned for their partiality; believed to be hopelessly prejudiced and outwitted; believed to be hoodwinked. Mrs Norton is seen as one such victim. Clarissa’s mother writes to Norton:
“Your partiality to this rash favourite is likewise known. And we are no less acquainted with the unhappy body’s painting her distresses so as to pierce a stone.”
Clarissa is well aware of their attitude. She writes that her mother is, “afraid to open her lips (were she willing) in my favour, lest it should be thought she has any bias in her own mind to failings that never otherwise could have been suspected in her.” Too often it is the novel’s women who are accused of emotional weakness, reflecting contemporary attitudes. To look upon the Harlowe family charitably, Clarissa’s story is perhaps an unlikely one. The inner strength needed to resist marriage in the face of such societal pressure would be immense:
“That he would now marry her, or that she would refuse him if she believed him in earnest, as she has circumstanced herself is not at all probable; and were I inclined to believe it, nobody else here would.”
This comes from Clarissa’s own mother. Mrs Harlowe’s letter does at least give us some room for hope. Clarissa’s father has taken back his curse, and she believes Clarissa will still have access to her inheritance, “her father will be a faithful steward for her— but it will be in his own way, and in his own time.” Meanwhile, Mrs Norton supports Clarissa, offers to visit her, and to provide financial assistance. She even tries to act as a mediator, writing to Clarissa’s mother to suggest that with the family’s guidance Clarissa could be encouraged to marry Lovelace. Mrs Norton no doubt believes this would save Clarissa’s reputation and her family’s, and perhaps even save her life. In another cutting letter, Clarissa’s uncle presses her for an answer to a very delicate question: is she pregnant?
The Harlowes are evidently curious about Clarissa and her ill health. Mrs Norton warns that they have sent a clergyman to London to double check her story. As he is employed by the Harlowes, Clarissa is resigned to the fact that, “he will be but a languid acquitter.” She continues to conduct herself with dignity and poise. To Arabella she writes that, “the reproaches of my own heart are stronger than any other person’s reproaches can be; although I am not half so culpable as I am imagined to be.” To her mother, she asserts that, “I am actually entitled to the blessing I sue for; since my humble prayer is founded upon a true and unfeigned repentance.” She appoints Belford as her executor and asks to read Lovelace’s letters to him so that she may better understand the schemes that have been enacted upon her.
Finally Lovelace’s plots are unravelling. He once believed that Clarissa’s continued rejections would cause his family to turn against her, but now he finds himself on the outside. Clarissa fears this will make him more desperate. She might be right. Lovelace rages over Clarissa’s rejection which he blames on passion not principle. Even now he fails to empathise: “were her death to follow a week after the knot is tied, by the Lord of Heaven, it shall be tied, and she shall die a Lovelace… the ceremony shall be performed, let what will be the consequences.” When his family turn against him, and Belford gives over his private letters, Lovelace spits out threats to visit Clarissa and to, “do some noble mischief to the vixen girl whom she most loves,” her treasured Miss Anna Howe. What’s most chilling is that Lovelace suppresses these emotions in his very next letter, to Clarissa herself. Once again, he turns on the charm.
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Featured image is Julia Hasell (1749), by Allan Ramsay (1713–1784). Courtesy of Abbot Hall and Lakeland Arts.