Well, Niece, said my aunt, we must wave this subject, I find. We will now proceed to another, which will require your utmost attention. It will give you the reason why Mr. Solmes’s presence is requisite—
Ay, said my uncle, and shew you what sort of a man somebody is. Mr. Solmes, pray favour us, in the first place, with the letter you received from your anonymous friend.
I will, Sir. And out he pulled a letter-case, and taking out a letter, it is written in answer to one, sent to the person. It is superscribed, To Roger Solmes, Esq. It begins thus: Honoured Sir—
I beg your pardon, Sir, said I: but what, pray, is the intent of reading this letter to me?
To let you know what a vile man you are thought to have set your heart upon, said my uncle, in an audible whisper.
If, Sir, it be suspected, that I have set my heart upon any other, why is Mr. Solmes to give himself any further trouble about me?
Only hear, Niece, said my aunt; only hear what Mr. Solmes has to read and to say to you on this head.
If, Madam, Mr. Solmes will be pleased to declare, that he has no view to serve, no end to promote, for himself, I will hear any thing he shall read. But if the contrary, you must allow me to say, that it will abate with me a great deal of the weight of whatever he shall produce.
Hear it but read, Niece, said my aunt—
Hear it read, said my uncle. You are so ready to take part with—
With any body, Sir, that is accused anonymously, and from interested motives.
He began to read; and there seemed to be a heavy load of charges in this letter against the poor criminal: but I stopped the reading of it, and said, It will not be my fault, if this vilified man be not as indifferent to me, as one whom I never saw. If he be otherwise at present, which I neither own, nor deny, it proceed from the strange methods taken to prevent it. Do not let one cause unite him and me, and we shall not be united. If my offer to live single be accepted, he shall be no more to me than this gentleman.
Still—Proceed, Mr. Solmes—Hear it out, Niece, was my uncle’s cry.
But to what purpose, Sir! said I—Had not Mr. Solmes a view in this? And, besides, can any thing worse be said of Mr. Lovelace, than I have heard said for several months past?
But this, said my uncle, and what Mr. Solmes can tell you besides, amounts to the fullest proof—
Was the unhappy man, then, so freely treated in his character before, without full proof? I beseech you, Sir, give me not too good an opinion of Mr. Lovelace; as I may have, if such pains be taken to make him guilty, by one who means not his reformation by it; nor to do good, if I may presume to say so in this case, to any body but himself.
I see very plainly, girl, said my uncle, your prepossession, your fond prepossession, for the person of a man without morals.
Indeed, my dear, said my aunt, you too much justify all your apprehension. Surprising! that a young creature of virtue and honour should thus esteem a man of a quite opposite character!
Dear Madam, do not conclude against me too hastily. I believe Mr. Lovelace is far from being so good as he ought to be: but if every man’s private life was searched into by prejudiced people, set on for that purpose, I know not whose reputation would be safe. I love a virtuous character, as much in man as in woman. I think it is requisite, and as meritorious, in the one as in the other. And, if left to myself, I would prefer a person of such a character to royalty without it.
Why then, said my uncle—
Give me leave, Sir—but I may venture to say, that many of those who have escaped censure, have not merited applause.
Permit me to observe further, That Mr. Solmes himself may not be absolutely faultless. I never head of his virtues. Some vices I have heard of—Excuse me, Mr. Solmes, I speak to your face—The text about casting the first stone affords an excellent lesson.
He looked down; but was silent.
Mr. Lovelace may have vices you have not. You may have others, which he has not. I speak not this to defend him, or to accuse you. No man is bad, no one is good, in every thing. Mr. Lovelace, for example, is said to be implacable, and to hate my friends: that does not make me value him the more: but give me leave to say, that they hate him as much. Mr. Solmes has his antipathies, likewise; very strong ones, and those to his own relations; which I don’t find to be the other’s fault; for he lives well with his—yet he may have as bad:—worse, pardon me, he cannot have, in my poor opinion: for what must be the man, who hates his own flesh?
You know not, Madam; You know not, Niece; all in one breath. You know not, Clary;
I may not, nor do I desire to know Mr. Solmes’s reasons. It concerns not me to know them: but the world, even the impartial part of it, accuses him. If the world is unjust or rash, in one man’s case, why may it not be so in another’s? That’s all I mean by it. Nor can there by a greater sign of want of merit, than where a man seeks to pull down another’s character, in order to build up his own.
Speaking of implacable, this isn't the first time Clarissa has refused to hear things she didn't want to know…this is mostly here as a way to trace that action through a few different letters. There are some earlier letters where she does the same thing, and a great many letters where people refuse to hear her or read her letters. What's the threat here?
If we relate this 'threat' of writing to the notions of reputation in the novel, there are interesting questions to be posed about _when_ exactly Clarissa tries to control the act of writing/speaking. I feel like there's a group dynamic/power issue going on here, with the dissemination of writing and/or speaking. She's very concerned about people seeing her reaction in a group–moreso than just in a one-on-one situation.And just as she claims that she feels she could've persuaded Solmes if it had been just him in the room–minus her uncle or brother–there is a sense that her family knows that Clarissa can exercise power over them when they're one-on-one (with her mother, for example). The one-to-one dynamic becomes more threatening, then, than 'strength in numbers' approach they have to take with her in an us vs. them scenario. This applies in writing, too, so much so that they reject her letters, fearing that the one-to-one correspondence will fracture the consensus of the group.
Tactically, Clarissa gains nothing by listening to Solmes report Lovelace's bad acts. To do so, would give him a kind of authority she has completely denied him up to this point. She cannot get into a situation where she refutes Solmes (that would imply too much knowledge of Lovelace) and to not refute Solmes would leave too many unaswered complaints about Lovelace on the table. Clarissa is very canny about what she is doing. This doesn't mean (to take up Fielding's point) that she isn't being truthful. But it is to say that she has to control the discourse to the extent that she is able. Nothing in this novel so far has happened that is not a speech act. Even the marriage depends on Clarissa signing her name on the settlements.
Up until this point, Clarissa has been confined for imagined feelings and it's so great to see her exert some authority in this scene. She refuses to hear Solmes out and refuses to be silent when her relatives tell her to just listen. I also found it interesting that the Harlowe's assume to know Clarissa's mind. Throughout the whole letter, Clarissa clearly has the entire family outclassed not just in intelligence but also morals and etiquette — telling them that she would not listen to Solmes because there can be no “greater sign of want of merit, than where a man seeks to pull down another's character, in order to build up his own.” Could this also have been a subtle criticism directed towards her family?