Remarks on Clarissa (1749) Part 2

Had not _Clarissa_ seen _Lovelace_, said Miss _Gibson_, her Triumph could never have been so compleat; and as I think the Impossibility of her Escape at that time, from Mrs. _Sinclair's_, is very apparent, had she not sought him, the true Lovers of _Clarissa_ must have mourned the Loss of seeing her Behaviour in such an uncommon Situation.

_Bellario_ gave these Sentiments a Sanction by his Approbation, and the rest of the Company either concurr'd with his Opinion, or at least did not contradict him; and the next Day Miss _Gibson_ received the following Letter from _Bellario_.

~_MADAM_~,

You seem'd so pleased last Night with my Conversion, if I may be allowed the Expression, to your Favourite _Clarissa_, that I could not seek any Repose till I had thrown together my Thoughts on that Head, in order to address them to you; nor am I ashamed to confess, that the Author's Design is more n.o.ble, and his Execution of it much happier, than I even suspected till I had seen the whole.

In a Series of familiar Letters to relate a compleat Story, where there is such a Variety of Characters, every one conducing to the forming the necessary Incidents to the Completion of that Story, is a Method so intirely new, so much an Original manner of Writing, that the Author seems to have a Right to make his own Laws; the painting Nature is indeed his Aim, but the Vehicle by which he conveys his lively Portraits to the Mind is so much his own Invention, that he may guide and direct it according to his own Will and Pleasure. _Aristotle_ drew his Rules of Epic Poetry from _Homer_, and not _Homer_ from _Aristotle_; tho' had they been Cotemporaries, perhaps that had been a Point much disputed.

As to the Length of the Story, I fancy that Complaint arises from the great Earnestness the Characters inspire the Reader with to know the Event; and on a second Reading may vanish. _Clarissa_ is not intended as a Dramatic, but as a real Picture of human Life, where Story can move but slowly, where the Characters must open by degrees, and the Reader's own Judgment form them from different Parts, as they display themselves according to the Incidents that arise. As for Example; the Behaviour of _Lovelace_ to his Rosebud must strike every one, at first View, with Admiration and Esteem for him; but when his Character comes to blaze in its full Light, it is very apparent that his Pride preserved his Rosebud, as well as it destroyed _Clarissa_; like _Milton's Satan_, he could for a Time cloath himself like an Angel of Light, even to the Deception of _Uriel_.

_For neither Man, nor Angel can discern Hypocrisie; the only Evil that walks Invisible, except to G.o.d alone, By his permissive Will, through Heaven and Earth: And oft, though Wisdom wake, Suspicion sleeps At Wisdom's Gate, and to Simplicity Resigns her Charge; while Goodness thinks no ill Where no Ill seems; which now, for once, beguiled_ Uriel, _though Regent of the Sun, and held The sharpest-sighted Spirit of all in Heaven._

Proud Spirits, such as _Satan's_ and _Lovelace's_, require Objects of their Envy, as Food for their Malice, to compleat their Triumph and applaud their own Wickedness. From this Incident of the Rosebud, and the subsequent Behaviour of _Lovelace_, arises a Moral which can never be too often inculcated; namely, that Pride has the Art of putting on the Mask of Virtue in so many Forms, that we must judge of a Man upon the whole, and not from any one single Action.

A celebrated _French_ Critick says, that

'An indifferent Wit may form a vast Design in his Imagination; but it must be an EXTRAORDINARY GENIUS that can work his Design, and fas.h.i.+on it according to Justness and Proportion: For 'tis necessary that the same Spirit _reign throughout_; that all contribute to the same _End_; and that all the _Parts_ bear a secret _Relation_ to each other; all depend on this Relation and Alliance.'

Let the nicest Critick examine the Story of _Clarissa_, and see if in any Point it fails of coming up exactly to the before-mentioned Rule.

The Author had all Nature before him, and he has beautifully made use of every Labyrinth, in the several Minds of his Characters, to lead him to his purposed End.

The Obstinacy of old _Harlowe_, who never gave up a Point, unaccustomed to Contradiction, and mad with the Thoughts of his own Authority; the Pride of the two old Batchelors, who had lived single, in order to aggrandize their Family; the overbearing impetuous _James Harlowe's_ Envy, arising from Ambition; the two-fold Envy of _Arabella Harlowe_, springing from Rivals.h.i.+p in general Admiration, as well as in particular liking; the former more rough, the latter more sly, tho' full as keen in her Reproaches; the constant Submission of Mrs. _Harlowe_, and the mad Vanity of _Lovelace_, all conspire to the grand End of distressing and destroying the poor _Clarissa_; whose Misfortune it was to be placed amongst a Set of Wretches, who were every one following the Bent of their own peculiar Madness, without any Consideration for the innocent Victim who was to fall a Sacrifice to their ungovernable Pa.s.sions. And here I must observe, how artfully the Author has conducted the opening of his different Characters, as they became more interested in his Story. The Correspondence between Miss _Howe_ and _Clarissa_, with some characteristical Letters of each of the _Harlowes_, as these were then his princ.i.p.al Actors, chiefly compose the two first Volumes.

In the third, fourth and fifth Volumes, _Lovelace_ comes prancing before the Reader's Eye; gives an unrestrained Loose to his uncurbed Imagination, and ripens into full-blown Baseness that Blackness of Mind, which had hitherto only shot forth in Buds but barely visible. The strong and lively Pen of _Lovelace_ was most proper to relate the most active Scenes. But when his mischievous Heart and plotting Head had left him no farther use for his wild Fancies, than to rave and curse his own Folly, _Belford_ takes up the Pen, and carries on the Story; and in the sixth and seventh Volumes, Colonel _Morden_ (who has. .h.i.therto made but a small Appearance) is brought upon the Stage, and his Character, as he is to be the Instrument of the Death of _Lovelace_, is as strongly painted, and as necessary to the Completion of the Story, as are any of the others. It is astonis.h.i.+ng to me how much the different Stile of each Writer is in every Particular preserved; indeed so characteristically preserved, that when I read _Clarissa's_ Letters, where every Line speaks the considerate and the pious Mind, I could almost think the Author had studied nothing but her Character. When Miss _Howe's_ lively Vein and flowing Wit entertains me, She appears to have been the princ.i.p.al Person in his Thoughts. When Mrs. _Harlowe_ writes, her broken half-utter'd Sentences are so many Pictures of the broken timorous Spirit of Meekness tyrannised over, that dictates to her Pen. When Mr.

_Harlowe_ condescends to sign his much valued Name, the dictatorial Spirit of an indulged tyrannic Disposition indites every arbitrary Command. When _John Harlowe_ writes, the Desire of proving himself of Consequence from his Fortune, and being infected with the Idea of his Niece's Disobedience, (a Word which continually resounded through his Family) plainly appear to be the only two Causes that make him insist on her Compliance. In _Anthony Harlowe's_ Roughness and Reproaches, 'The Sea prosper'd Gentleman, (as _Clarissa_ says) not used to any but elemental Controul, and even ready to buffet that, bl.u.s.ters as violently as the Winds he was accustomed to be angry at.' In _James Harlowe's_ Letters, we see how the Mind infected with the complicated Distemper of Envy, Insolence and Malice, can blot the fair Paper, and poison it with its Venom. In _Arabella Harlowe_, the sly Insinuations of feminine Envy break forth in every taunting Word, and she could "speak Daggers, tho'

she dared not use them." But, to imitate our Author, in turning suddenly from this detestable Picture, how does every Line of the good Mrs.

_Norton_ shew us a Mind inured to, and patiently submitting to Adversity, looking on Contempt as the unavoidable Consequence of Poverty, and fixed in a firm and pious Resolution of going through all the Vicissitudes of this transitory Life without repining.

Nor does the Author fail more in the preserving the characteristical Difference of Stile in the Writings of _Mowbray_, _Belford_ and _Lovelace_.

_Mowbray_, tho' he writes but two Letters in the whole, yet do those two so strongly fix his Character, that every Reader may see of what Consequence he made himself to Society; namely, to act the bl.u.s.tring Part in a Club of Rakes, to fill a Seat at the Table, and a.s.sist in keeping up the Roar and Noise necessary to make the Life of such a.s.semblies.

Mr. _Belford's_ Letters prove, that he acts the second Part under Mr.

_Lovelace_; he follows the Paths the other beats through the th.o.r.n.y Labyrinths of wild Libertinism; he has not the lively Humour of _Lovelace_, altho' in Understanding I think he has rather the Advantage; and his not being quite so lively, is owing to his not giving such a loose to every unbridled Fancy; but he has less Pride, and consequently more Humanity: this appears in the many Arguments he makes use of to his Friend in favour of _Clarissa_; but these Arguments, as they are only the Produce of sudden Starts of Compa.s.sion, and have no fixed Principle for their Basis, could have no Weight with _Lovelace_; and the fluctuating of a Mind sometimes intruded upon by the Force of Good-nature, and then again actuated by the Principles of Libertinism, is finely set before us by _Belford's_ Writings. And as there is a great Beauty throughout the whole of _Clarissa_, in the specific Difference of Stile preserved by every Writer, so is there an inimitable Beauty in _Belford_ differing from himself, when he changes the State of his Mind; his Stile accompanies that Change, and he appears another Man. He was always more of the true Gentleman in his Stile than _Lovelace_, because his Will was not enough overbearing to break through all Bounds; but when his Mind is softned by the many different Deaths he is witness of, and he becomes animated by _Clarissa's_ Example to think in earned of reforming his Life, the Gentleman and the Christian increase together, till he becomes at once the Executor of _Clarissa's_ Will, and, if I may be allowed the Expression, the Heir to her Principles.

In _Lovelace's_ Stile, his Humour, his Parts, his Pride, his wild Desire of throwing Difficulties in his own way, in order to conquer them, and exercise his own intriguing Spirit, break forth in every Line. His impetuous Will, unrestrained from his Infancy, as he himself complains, by his Mother, and long accustomed to bear down all before it, destroys the Gentleman, and equally every other amiable Qualification: For tho' a Knowledge of the Customs of the World may make a Man in Company, where he stays but a little while, appear polite; yet when that Man indulges himself in gratifying continually his own wild Humour, those who are intimate with him, must often have Cause to complain of his Unpoliteness; as _Clarissa_ does of _Lovelace_. And by such Complaints of _Clarissa_, I think it is very apparent, that the Author designed _Lovelace_ should be unpolite, notwithstanding his Station, in order to prove that indulged overbearing Pa.s.sions will trample under Foot every Bar that would stop them in their raging Course. But now I am upon the Subject of the different Stiles in _Clarissa_, I must observe how strictly the Author has kept up in all the Writings of his Rakes to what he says of _Lovelace_ in his Preface.

'That they preserve a Decency, as well in their Images, as in their Language, which is not always to be found in the Works of some of the most celebrated modern Writers, whose Subjects and Characters have less warranted the Liberties they have taken.'

The various Stiles adapted to the many different Characters in _Clarissa_ make so great a Variety, as would, it attended to, in a great Measure, answer any Objection that might otherwise fairly be raised to the Length of the Story.

There is one Thing has almost astonished me in the Criticisms I have heard on _Clarissa's_ Character; namely, that they are in a Manner a Counterpart to the Reproaches cast on her in her Lifetime.

She has been called perverse and obstinate by many of her Readers; _James Harlowe_ called her so before them. Some say she was romantic; so said _Bella_; disobedient; all the _Harlowes_ agree in that; a Prude; so said _Salley Martin_; had a Mind incapable of Love; Mr. _Lovelace's_ Accusation; for he must found his Brutality on some Shadow of a Pretence, tho' he confesses at last it was but a Shadow, for that he knew the contrary the whole Time. Others say, she was artful and cunning, had the Talent only to move the Pa.s.sions; the haughty Brother and spiteful Sister's Plea to banish her from her Parents Presence. I verily think I have not heard _Clarissa_ condemned for any one Fault, but the Author has made some of the _Harlowes_, or some of Mrs.

_Sinclair's_ Family accuse her of it before.

As I have, as concisely as I could, pointed out the Difference in the chief Characters of _Clarissa_, all necessary to the same End; in the same Manner could I go through the Scenes all as essentially different, and rising in due Proportion one after another, till all the vast Building centers in the pointed View of the Author's grand Design. Of all the lively well-painted Scenes in the four first Volumes, and all those in the fifth previous to the Night before the Outrage, mention but any of the most trifling Circ.u.mstances, such as _Clarissa's_ torn Rufles, and Remembrance places her before us in all the Agonies of the strongest Distress; insulted over by the vilest of Women, and prostrate on her Knees imploring Mercy at the Feet of her Destroyer. Her Madness equals, (I had almost said exceeds) any Thing of the Kind that ever was written: That hitherto so peculiar Beauty in King _Lear_, of preserving the Character even in Madness, appears strongly in _Clarissa_: the same self-accusing Spirit, the same humble Heart, the same pious Mind breathes in her scattered Sc.r.a.pes of Paper in the midst of her Frenzy; and the Irregularity and sudden broken Starts of her Expressions alone can prove that her Senses are disordered. Her Letter to _Lovelace_, where, even in Madness, _galling_ Reproach drops not from her Pen, and which contains only Supplications that she may not be farther persecuted, speaks the very Soul of _Clarissa_, and by the Author of her Story could have been wrote for no one but herself. Whoever can read her earnest Request to _Lovelace_, that she may not be exposed in a public Mad-house, on the Consideration that it might injure _him_, without being overwhelmed in Tears, I am certain has not in himself the Concord of sweet Sounds, and, must, as _Shakespear_ says, be fit for Treasons, Stratagems and Spoils. And to close at once, all I will say of the Author's Conduct in regard to the managing (what seems most unmanageable) the Mind even when overcome by Madness, he has no where made a stronger Contrast between _Clarissa_ and _Lovelace_, or kept the Characters more distinct than in their Madness. I have already mentioned how much _Clarissa's_ Thoughts in her Frenzy apparently flow from the same Channel, tho' more disturbed and less clear than when her uninterrupted Reason kept on its steady Course. _Lovelace's_ Character is not less preserved: his Pen or Tongue indeed seldom uttered the Words of Reason, but the same overbearing Pa.s.sions, the same Pride of Heart that had accustomed him to strut in his fancy'd Superiority, makes him condemn all the World but himself; and rave that _Bedlam_ might be enlarged, imagining, that a general Madness had seized Mankind, and he alone was exempt from the dreadful Catastrophy.

In the Penknife Scene _Clarissa_ is firmly brave; her Soul abhorred Self-murder, nor would she, as she told Miss _Howe_, willingly like a Coward quit her Post; but in this Case, could she not have awed _Lovelace_ into Distance, tho' _her_ Hand had pointed the Knife, yet might _he_ properly have been said to have struck the Blow. The picturesque Att.i.tude of all present, when _Clarissa_ suddenly cries out, 'G.o.d's Eye is upon us' has an Effect upon the Mind that can only be felt; and that it would be a weak and vain Effort for Language to attempt to utter.

In the Prison Scene _Clarissa_ exerts a different kind of Bravery.

Insult and Distress, Cold and Hards.h.i.+ps, to what she was accustomed to, she bears almost in silence; and by her Suffering without repining, without Fear of any thing but _Lovelace_, she is the strongest Proof of what _Shakespear_ says, that

_----where the greater Malady is fixt The Lesser is scarce felt----_

And let those who have accused _Clarissa_ of having a suspicious Temper, from her being apt to suspect _Lovelace_, here confess, that it must be the Person's Fault at whom her Suspicion is level'd, when she wants that Companion of a great Mind, a generous Confidence; for how soon does _Belford's_ honest Intentions breaking forth in the Manner in which he addresses her, make her rely on the known Friend of her Destroyer, and the publick Companion of all his Rakeries. Nor can I here pa.s.s by in perfect Silence, the n.o.ble Simplicity with which _Clarissa_ sums up her Story to Mrs. _Smith_ and Mrs. _Lovick_; for I think 'tis the strongest Pattern that can be imagined of that Simplicity which strikes to the Heart, and melts the Soul with all the softer Pa.s.sions.

In Colonel _Morden's_ Account of the conveying the lifeless Remains of the Divine _Clarissa_ to be interred in the Vault of her Ancestors, his very Words keep solemn Pace with the Herse which incloses her once animated, now lifeless, Form. Step by Step we still attend her; turn with the Horses as they take the Bye-road to _Harlow-place_; start with the wretched, guilty Family, at the first Stroke of the mournful tolling Bell; are fixed in Amazement with the lumbering heavy Noise of the Herse up the paved inner Court-yard: But when the Servant comes in to acquaint the Family with its Arrival, and we read this Line, _He spoke not, he could not speak; he looked, he bowed, and withdrew_, we catch the Servant's silent Grief; our Words are choaked, and our Sensations grow too strong for Utterance. The awful Respect paid to _Clarissa's_ Memory by those Persons, who generally both rejoice and mourn in Noise and Clamour, is inimitably beautiful. But even in this solemn Scene the Author has not forgot the Characters of the princ.i.p.al Actors in it: For the barbarous Wretches who could drive _Clarissa_ from her native Home, and by their Cruelty hurl her to Destruction, could not shed Tears for her Loss, without mingled Bitterness, and sharp-cutting Recriminations on each other; every one striving to rid themselves of the painful Load, and to throw it doubly on their former Companions in Guilt. The Mother only, as she was the least guilty, deplores the heavy Loss with soft melting Tears, and lets Self-accusations flow from her trembling Lips.

On the Arrival of Miss _Howe_, we turn from the slow moving Herse, to the rapid Chariot-wheels that fly to bring the warm Friend, all glowing with the most poignant lively Grief, to mourn her lost _Clarissa_. Here again the Description equals the n.o.ble Subject. Miss _Howe_, at the first striking Sight of _Clarissa_ in her Coffin, could only by frantic Actions express the labouring Anguish that perturbed her Breast. And we accompany her in Horror, when she first impatiently pushes aside the Coffin Lid. In short, we sigh, we rave, and we weep with her.

What I felt at Colonel _Morden's_ Description at the Funeral, is exactly painted in the Letter wrote by Mr. _Belford_ in Answer to that Description, where he says,

'You croud me Sir, methinks, into the silent, slow Procession--Now with the sacred Bier do I enter the Porch--'[C]

[C] See Vol. VII. Letter 74. Page 292. in _Clarissa_.

But it would be endless to mention all the moving tragic Scenes, that are now crouding into my Mind, in _Clarissa_; all judiciously interspersed with Scenes of comic Humour; such as the Behaviour of _Lovelace_ at the Ball; the Meeting between him and Mr. _Hickman_; _Lovelace's_ Description of what he calls his Tryal before Lord M--and the Ladies; with some others equally calculated to relieve the Mind from fixing too long on mournful melancholy Ideas.

Finely has the Author of _Clarissa_ set forth what is true, and what is false Honour. When _Lovelace_ upbraids _Belford_ for not preserving _Clarissa_, by betraying his own villainous Plots and Machinations to destroy her; and says, 'I am sure now, that I would have thanked thee for it with all my Heart, and thought thee more a Father and a Friend, than my real Father and my best Friend.'

All false Shame has he exposed, by shewing the Beauties of an open and frank Heart in _Clarissa's_ charming Simplicity, when she tells Mrs.

_Smith_, in a publick Shop, that she had been in Prison; and when in a Letter to Lady _Betty Laurance_ she declares, that _the Disgrace she cannot hide from herself, she is not sollicitous to conceal from the World_.

True and false Friends.h.i.+p was never more beautifully displayed than in this Work; the firm, the steady Flame that burns in the fixed Affection between _Clarissa_ and Miss _Howe_, which, in _Clarissa's_ Words, _has Virtue for its Base_, is both well described and accounted for by Colonel _Morden_; and that Chaff and Stubble, as she well calls it, that _has not Virtue for its Base_, is inimitably painted by _Belford_, in his Account of _Mowbray's_ Behaviour to the dying _Belton_. 'It is such a horrid thing (says he) to think of, that a Man who had lived in such strict Terms of Amity with another (the Proof does not come out so as to say Friends.h.i.+p) who had pretended so much Love for him, could not bear to be out of his Company, would ride an hundred Miles an End to enjoy it, and would fight for him, be the Cause right or wrong; yet now could be so little moved to see him in such Misery of Body and Mind as to be able to rebuke him, and rather ridicule than pity him; because he was more affected by what he felt, than he had seen a Malefactor (hardened perhaps by Liquor, and not softened by previous Sickness) on his going to Execution.'

What Merit has _Clarissa_ in breaking up and dispersing this profligate Knot of Friends, that, in the first Volume, are represented so formidable as to terrify all the honest People in the Neighbourhood, who rejoice when they go up to Town again. _She_ was to revenge on _Lovelace_ his Miss _Betterton_, his _French_ Devotee, his _French_ Countess, the whole Hecatomb which he boasts that he had in different Climes sacrificed to his _Nemesis_, and all this by the natural Effects of his own vile Actions, and her honest n.o.ble Simplicity; whilst she steadily pursues the bright Path of Innocence, and proposes to herself no other End, no not even in Thought, but to preserve untainted her spotless Mind, and diffuse Happiness to all around her.

I confess I was against the Story's ending unhappily, till I saw the Conclusion; but I now think the different Deaths of the many Persons (for in this Point also the Difference is as essentially preserved, as in the Characters or Scenes) who fall in the winding up the Catastrophy in the seventh Volume, produce as n.o.ble a Moral as can be invented by the Wit of Man.

The broken Spirit, the dejected Heart that pursue poor _Belton_ through his last Stage of Life (brought on by a lingering Illness, and ill Usage from an artful Woman to whom Vice had attached him, and increased by his Soul's being startled and awaked from that thoughtless Lethargy in which Vice had so long lulled him) naturally break forth in those fearful Tremors, those agonizing pannic Terrors of the Mind, which follow him to the End, and make a strong and lively Picture of the Terrors of Death first thought on, when Life was flying, and could no longer supply the flowing Blood and vital Heat that animates the mortal Frame.

Mrs. _Sinclair's_ Death is very different; the Suddenness of her Departure had not given Time for a regular Decay of her Strength, and the same animal Spirits which used to support her in the noisy Roar of a profligate Life, now like so many Vultures preyed on her own Bosom, and a.s.sisted to express the dreadful Horrors of an unexpected Death.

_Lovelace_, when he comes to die, is full of Rage and Disappointment; his uncontrouled Spirit, unused to be baffled, cannot quietly submit to the great and universal Conqueror Death himself. On his Death-bed he is a lively Picture of the End of that worldly Wisdom which is Foolishness with G.o.d. His strong Imagination that a.s.sisted him to form and carry on those _cunning_ Plots which he pursued to his own Destruction, now a.s.sisted his Conscience to torment his Soul, and set before his Eyes the injured Innocent who would have contributed to the utmost of her Power that he might have spent all his Days in Peace and Joy. In short, he fluttered like a gay b.u.t.terfly in the Suns.h.i.+ne of Prosperity; he wandered from the Path that leads to Happiness: In the Bloom of Youth he fell a Sacrifice to his own Folly: his Life was a Life of Violence, and his Death was a Death of Rage.

Whilst the gentle _Clarissa's_ Death is the natural Consequence of her innocent Life; her calm and prepared Spirit, like a soft smooth Stream, flows gently on, till it slides from her Misfortunes, and she leaves the World free from Fear, and animated only by a lively Hope.

She wished her closing Scene might be happy. _She had her Wish_, (says the Author in his Postscript) _it was happy._

Nothing ever made so strong a Contrast as the Deaths of _Lovelace_ and _Clarissa_. Wild was the Life of _Lovelace_, rapid was his Death; gentle was _Clarissa's_ Life, softly flowed her latest Hours; the very Word _Death_ seems too harsh to describe her leaving Life, and her last Breath was like the soft playing of a western Breeze, all calm! all Peace! all Quiet!

The true Difference between the Virtuous and the Vicious lies in the Mind, where the Author of _Clarissa_ has placed it; _Lovelace_ says well, when he views the persecuted _Clarissa_ a-sleep.