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Файл:Clarissa V. The history of a young lady
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CLARISSA • V
person, man or woman, than in her, to those who put it in
her power to oblige them: insomuch that the benefi tted has
sometimes not known which to prefer – the grace bestowed,
or the manner in which it was conferred.
It has been observed, that what was said of Henry IV. of
France, might be said of her manner of refusing a request:
That she generally sent from her presence the person refused
nearly as well satisfi ed as if she had granted it.
Then she had such a sacred regard to truth. – You cannot, Sir, expatiate too much upon this topic. I dare say, that in
all her letters, in all the letters of the wretch, her veracity
will not once be found impeachable, although her calamities were so heavy, the horrid man’s wiles so subtle, and her
struggles to free herself from them so active.
Her charity was so great, that she always chose to defend
or acquit where the fault was not so fl agrant that it became
a piece of justice to condemn it; and was always an advocate
for an absent person, whose discretion was called in question, without having given manifest proofs of indiscretion.
Once I remember, in a large circle of ladies, every one of
which [I among the rest] having censured a generally-reported indiscretion in a young lady – Come, my Miss Howe, said
she, [for we had agreed to take each other to task when either
thought the other gave occasion for it; and when by blaming each other we intended a general reprehension, which,
as she used to say, it would appear arrogant or assuming to
level more properly,] let me be Miss Fanny Darlington. Then
removing out of the circle, and standing up, Here I stand,
unworthy of a seat with the rest of the company, till I have
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SAMUEL RICHARDSON
cleared myself. And now, suppose me to be her, let me hear
you charge, and do you hear what the poor culprit can say to
it in her own defence. And then answering the conjectural
and unproved circumstances, by circumstances as fairly to be
supposed favourable, she brought off triumphantly the censured lady; and so much to every one’s satisfaction, that she
was led to her chair, and voted a double rank in the circle, as
the reinstated Miss Fanny Darlington, and as Miss Clarissa
Harlowe.
Very few persons, she used to say, would be condemned,
or even accused, in the circles of ladies, were they present;
it is generous, therefore, nay, it is but just, said she, to take
the part of the absent, if not fl agrantly culpable.
But though wisdom was her birthright, as I may say, yet
she had not lived years enow to pretend to so much experience as to exempt her from the necessity of sometimes altering her opinion both of persons and things; but, when she
found herself obliged to do this, she took care that the particular instance of mistaken worthiness in the person should
not narrow or contract her almost universal charity into
general doubt or jealousy. An instance of what I mean occurs to my memory.
Being upbraided, by a severe censure, with a person’s
proving base, whom she had frequently defended, and by
whose baseness my beloved friend was a sufferer; “You,
Madam,” said she, “had more penetration than such a young
creature as I can pretend to have. But although human depravity may, I doubt, oftener justify those who judge harshly,
than human rectitude can those who judge favourably, yet
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will I not part with my charity. Nevertheless, for the future,
I will endeavour, in cases where the judgment of my elders
is against me, to make mine consistent with caution and
prudence.”Indeed, when she was convinced of any error or
mistake, (however seemingly derogatory to her judgment
and sagacity,) no one was ever so acknowledging, so ingenuous, as she. “It was a merit,” she used to say, “next in degree to
that of having avoided error, frankly to own an error. And
that the offering at an excuse in a blameable manner, was
the undoubted mark of a disingenuous, if not of a perverse
mind.”But I ought to add, on this head, [of her great charity
where character was concerned, and where there was room
for charity,] that she was always deservedly severe in her reprehensions of a wilful and studied vileness. How could she
then forgive the wretch by whose premeditated villany she
was entangled?
You must every where insist upon it, that had it not been
for the stupid persecutions of her relations, she never would
have been in the power of that horrid Lovelace. And yet, on
several occasions, she acknowledged frankly, that were person, and address, and alliance, to be allowedly the principal
attractives in the choice of a lover, it would not have been
diffi cult for her eye to mislead her heart.
When she was last with me, (three happy weeks together!) in every visit the wretch made her, he left her more dissatisfi ed with him than in the former. And yet his behaviour
before her was too specious to have been very exceptionable to a woman who had a less share of that charming deli-
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cacy, and of that penetration, which so much distinguished
her.
In obedience to the commands of her gloomy father, on
his allowing her to be my guest, for that last time, [as it most
unhappily proved!] she never would see him out of my company; and would often say, when he was gone, “O my Nancy!
this is not THE man!” – At other times, “Gay, giddy creature!
he has always something to be forgiven for!” – At others,
“This man will much sooner excite one’s fears than attract
one’s love.” And then would she repeat, “This is not THE
man. All that the world says of him cannot be untrue. But
what title have I to call him to account, who intend not to
have him?”In short had she been left to a judgment and discretion, which nobody ever questioned who had either, she
would soon have discovered enough of him to cause her to
discard him for ever.
She was an admirable mistress of all the graces of elocution. The hand she wrote, for the neat and free cut of her
letters, (like her mind, solid, and above all fl ourish,) for its
fairness, evenness, and swiftness, distinguished her as much
as the correctness of her orthography, and even punctuation,
from the generality of her own sex; and left her none, among
the most accurate of the other, who excelled her.
And here you may, if you please, take occasion to throw in
one hint for the benefi t of such of our sex as are too careless in their orthography, [a consciousness of a defect which
generally keeps them from writing.] – She was used to say,
“It was a proof that a woman understood the derivation as
well as sense of the words she used, and that she stopt not at
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sound, when she spelt accurately.”On this head you may
take notice, that it was always matter of surprise to her, that
the sex are generally so averse as they are to writing; since
the pen, next to the needle, of all employments, is the most
proper, and best adapted to their geniuses; and this, as well
for improvement as amusement: “Who sees not,” would she
say, “that those women who take delight in writing excel
the men in all the graces of the familiar style? The gentleness of their minds, the delicacy of their sentiments, (improved by the manner of their education, and the liveliness of their imaginations, qualify them to a high degree of
preference for this employment;) while men of learning, as
they are called, (that is to say, of mere learning,) aiming to get
above that natural ease and freedom which distinguish this,
(and indeed every other kind of writing,) when they think
they have best succeeded, are got above, or rather beneath,
all natural beauty.”Then, stiffened and starched [let me add]
into dry and indelectable affectation, one sort of these scholars assume a style as rough as frequently are their manners;
they spangle over their productions with metaphors; they
tumble into bombast: the sublime, with them, lying in words,
and not in sentiment, they fancy themselves most exalted
when least understood; and down they sit, fully satisfi ed with
their own performances, and call them MASCULINE. While
a second sort, aiming at wit, that wicked misleader, forfeit
all title to judgment. And a third, sinking into the classical
pits, there poke and scramble about, never seeking to show
genius of their own; all their lives spent in common-place
quotation; fi t only to write notes and comments upon other
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people’s texts; all their pride, that they know those beauties of two thousand years old in another tongue, which they
can only admire, but not imitate, in their own.
And these, truly, must be learned men, and despisers of
our insipid sex!
But I need not mention the exceptions which my beloved
friend always made [and to which I subscribe] in favour of
men of sound learning, true taste, and extensive abilities;
nor, in particular, her respect even to reverence for gentlemen of the cloath; which, I dare say, will appear in every
paragraph of her letters wherever any of the clergy are mentioned. Indeed the pious Dr. Lewen, the worthy Dr. Blome,
the ingenious Mr. Arnold, and Mr. Tompkins, gentlemen
whom she names, in one article of her will, as learned divines
with whom she held an early correspondence, well deserved
her respect; since to their conversation and correspondence
she owed many of her valuable acquirements.
Nor were the little slights she would now-and-then (following, as I must own, my lead) put upon such mere scholars
[and her stupid and pedantic brother was one of those who
deserved those slights] as despised not only our sex, but all
such as had not had their opportunities of being acquainted with the parts of speech, [I cannot speak low enough of
such,] and with the dead languages, owing to that contempt
which some affect for what they have not been able to master; for she had an admirable facility for learning languages,
and read with great ease both in Italian and French. She had
begun to apply herself to Latin; and having such a critical
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CLARISSA • V
knowledge of her own tongue, and such a foundation from
the two others, would soon have made herself an adept in it.
But, notwithstanding all her acquirements, she was an excellent ECONOMIST and HOUSEWIFE. And those qualifi cations, you must take notice, she was particularly fond of
inculcating upon all her reading and writing companions of
the sex: for it was a maxim with her, “That a woman who neglects the useful and the elegant, which distinguish her own
sex, for the sake of obtaining the learning which is supposed
more peculiar to the other, incurs more contempt by what
she foregoes, than she gains credit by what she acquires.”“All
that a woman can learn,” she used to say, [expatiating on
this maxim,] “above the useful knowledge proper to her sex,
let her learn. This will show that she is a good housewife of
her time, and that she has not a narrow or confi ned genius.
But then let her not give up for these those more necessary,
and, therefore, not meaner, employments, which will qualify
her to be a good mistress of a family, a good wife, and a good
mother; for what can be more disgraceful to a woman than either, through negligence of dress, to be found a learned slattern; or, through ignorance of household-management, to
be known to be a stranger to domestic economy?”She would
have it indeed, sometimes, from the frequent ill use learned
women make of that respectable acquirement, that it was
no great matter whether the sex aimed at any thing but excelling in the knowledge of the beauties and graces of their
mother-tongue; and once she said, that this was fi eld enough
for a woman; and an ampler was but endangering her family
usefulness. But I, who think our sex inferior in nothing to
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SAMUEL RICHARDSON
the other, but in want of opportunities, of which the narrow-minded mortals industriously seek to deprive us, lest
we should surpass them as much in what they chiefl y value
themselves upon, as we do in all the graces of a fi ne imagination, could never agree with her in that. And yet I was entirely of her opinion, that those women, who were solicitous to
obtain that knowledge of learning which they supposed
would add to their signifi cance in sensible company, and in
their attainment of it imagined themselves above all domestic usefulness, deservedly incurred the contempt which they
hardly ever failed to meet with.
Perhaps you will not think it amiss further to observe on
this head, as it will now show that precept and example always went hand and hand with her, that her dairy at her
grandfather’s was the delight of every one who saw it; and
she of all who saw her in it.
Her grandfather, in honour of her dexterity and of her
skill in all the parts of the dairy management, as well as of
the elegance of the offi ces allotted for that use, would have
his seat, before known by the name of The Grove, to be called
The Dairy-house.
ful habit made on purpose, which she put on when she employed herself in these works; and it was noted of her, that in
the same hour that she appeared to be a most elegant dairymaid, she was, when called to a change of dress, the fi nest
lady that ever graced a circle.
Her grandfather, father, mother, uncles, aunt, and even
her brother and sister, made her frequent visits there, and
32
She had an easy, convenient, and grace-
32
See Vol. I. Letter II.
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CLARISSA • V
were delighted with her silent ease and unaffected behaviour in her works; for she always, out of modesty, chose rather the operative than the directive part, that she might not
discourage the servant whose proper business it was.
Each was fond of a regale from her hands in her Dairyhouse. Her mother and aunt Hervey generally admired
her in silence, that they might not give uneasiness to her
sister; a spiteful, perverse, unimitating thing, who usually
looked upon her all the time with speechless envy. Now-andthen, however, the pouting creature would suffer extorted
and sparing praise to burst open her lips; though looking at
the same time like Saul meditating the pointed javelin at
the heart of David, the glory of his kingdom. And now, methinks, I see my angel-friend, (too superior to take notice of
her gloom,) courting her acceptance of the milk-white curd,
from hands more pure than that.
Her skill and dexterity in every branch of family management seem to be the only excellence of her innumerable ones
which she owed to her family; whose narrowness, immensely rich, and immensely carking, put them upon indulging
her in the turn she took to this part of knowledge; while her
elder sister affected dress without being graceful in it; and
the fi ne lady, which she could never be; and which her sister
was without studying for it, or seeming to know she was so.
It was usual with the one sister, when company was expected, to be half the morning dressing; while the other
would give directions for the whole business and entertainment of the day; and then go up to her dressing-room, and,
before she could well be missed, [having all her things in ad-
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mirable order,] come down fi t to receive company, and with
all that graceful ease and tranquillity as if she had nothing
else to think of.
Long after her, [hours, perhaps, of previous preparation
having passed,] down would come rustling and bustling
the tawdry and awkward Bella, disordering more her native
disorderliness at the sight of her serene sister, by her sullen
envy, to see herself so much surpassed with such little pains,
and in a sixth part of the time.
Yet was this admirable creature mistress of all these domestic qualifi cations, without the least intermixture of narrowness. She knew how to distinguish between frugality, a necessary virtue, and niggardliness, an odious vice; and used to
say, “That to defi ne generosity, it must be called the happy
medium betwixt parsimony and profusion.”She was the most
graceful reader I ever knew. She added, by her melodious
voice, graces to those she found in the parts of books she read
out to her friends; and gave grace and signifi cance to others where they were not. She had no tone, no whine. Her accent was always admirably placed. The emphasis she always
forcibly laid as the subject required. No buskin elevation, no
tragedy pomp, could mislead her; and yet poetry was poetry
indeed, when she read it.
But if her voice was melodious when she read, it was
all harmony when she sung. And the delight she gave by
that, and by her skill and great compass, was heightened by
the ease and gracefulness of her air and manner, and by
the alacrity with which she obliged.
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