All my relations are met. They are at breakfast together. Mr. Solmes is expected. I am excessively uneasy. I must lay down my pen.
They are all going to church together. Grievously disordered they appear to be, as Hannah tells me. She believes something is resolved upon.
Sunday Noon.
What a cruel thing is suspense!—I will ask leave to go to church this afternoon. I expect to be denied. But, if I do not ask, they may allege, that my not going is owing to myself.
I desired to speak with Shorey. Shorey came. I directed her to carry to my mother my request for permission to go to church this afternoon. What think you was the return? Tell her, that she must direct herself to her brother for any favour she has to ask.—So, my dear, I am to be delivered up to my brother!
I was resolved, however, to ask of him this favour. Accordingly, when they sent me up my solitary dinner, I gave the messenger a billet, in which I made it my humble request through him to my father, to be permitted to go to church this afternoon.
This was the contemptuous answer: “Tell her, that her request will be taken into consideration tomorrow.” My request to go to church today to be taken into consideration tomorrow!
Patience will be the fittest return I can make to such an insult. But this method will not do with me; indeed it will not! And yet it is but the beginning, I suppose, of what I am to expect from my brother, now I am delivered up to him.
On recollection, I thought it best to renew my request. I did. The following is a copy of what I wrote, and what follows that, of the answer sent me.
Sir,
I know not what to make of the answer brought to my request of being permitted to go to church this afternoon. If you designed to show your pleasantry by it, I hope that will continue; and then my request will be granted.
You know, that I never absented myself, when well, and at home, till the two last Sundays; when I was advised not to go. My present situation is such, that I never more wanted the benefit of the public prayers.
I will solemnly engage only to go thither, and back again.
I hope it cannot be thought that I would do otherwise.
My dejection of spirits will give a too just excuse on the score of indisposition for avoiding visits. Nor will I, but by distant civilities, return the compliments of any of my acquaintances. My disgraces, if they are to have an end, need not be proclaimed to the whole world. I ask this favour, therefore, for my reputation’s sake, that I may be able to hold up my head in the neighbourhood, if I live to see an end of the unmerited severities which seem to be designed for
To Miss Clarissa Harlowe
For a girl to lay so much stress upon going to church, and yet resolve to defy her parents, in an article of the greatest consequence to them, and to the whole family, is an absurdity. You are recommended, Miss, to the practice of your private devotions. May they be efficacious upon the mind of one of the most pervicacious young creatures that ever was heard of! The intention is, I tell you plainly, to mortify you into a sense of your duty. The neighbours you are so solicitous to appear well with, already know, that you defy that. So, Miss, if you have a real value for your reputation, show it as you ought. It is yet in your own power to establish or impair it.
Thus, my dear Miss Howe, has my brother got me into his snares; and I, like a poor silly bird, the more I struggle, am the more entangled.
Letter 23
Miss Clarissa Harlowe, to Miss Howe
Monday Morning,
They are resolved to break my heart. My poor Hannah is discharged—disgracefully discharged!—Thus it was.
Within half an hour after I had sent the poor girl down for my breakfast, that bold creature Betty Barnes, my sister’s confidant and servant, (if a favourite maid and confidant can be deemed a servant), came up.
What, Miss, will you please to have for breakfast?
I was surprised. What will I have for breakfast, Betty!—How!—What!—How comes it!—Then I named Hannah. I could not tell what to say.
Don’t be surprised, Miss:—but you’ll see Hannah no more in this house.
God forbid!—Is any harm come to Hannah?—What! What is the matter with Hannah?
Why, Miss, the short and the long is this: Your papa and mamma think Hannah has stayed long enough in the house to do mischief; and so she is ordered to troop (that was the confident creature’s word); and I am directed to wait upon you in her stead.
I burst into tears. I have no service for you, Betty Barnes; none at all. But where is Hannah? Cannot I speak with the poor girl? I owe her half a year’s wages. May I not see the honest creature, and pay her her wages? I may never see her again perhaps; for they are resolved to break my heart.
And they think you are resolved to break theirs: so tit for tat, Miss.
Impertinent I called her; and asked her, if it were upon such confident terms that her service was to begin.
I was so very earnest to see the poor maid, that (to oblige me, as she said) she went down with my request.
The worthy creature was as earnest to see me; and the favour was granted in presence of Shorey and Betty.
I thanked her, when she came up, for her past service to me.
Her heart was ready to break.
