Our family has indeed been strangely discomposed.—Discomposed!—It has been in tumults, ever since the unhappy transaction; and I have borne all the blame; yet should have had too much concern from myself, had I been more justly spared by every one else.
For, whether it be owing to a faulty impatience, having been too indulgently treated to be inured to blame, or to the regret I have to hear those censured on my account, whom it is my duty to vindicate; I have sometimes wished, that it had pleased God to have taken me in my last fever, when I had every body’s love and good opinion; but oftener that I had never been distinguished by my grandfather as I was: since that distinction has estranged from me my brother’s and sister’s affections; at least, has raised a jealousy with regard to the apprehended favour of my two uncles, that now-and-then overshadows their love. . . .
I will begin, as you command, with Mr. Lovelace’s address to my sister; and be as brief as possible. I will recite facts only; and leave you to judge of the truth of the report raised, that the younger sister has robbed the elder. , , ,
My sister made me a visit there the day after Mr. Lovelace had been introduced; and seemed highly pleased with the gentleman. His birth, his fortune in possession, a clear 2000L. a year, as Lord M. had assured my uncle; presumptive heir to that nobleman’s large estate: his great expectations from Lady Sarah Sadleir and Lady Betty Lawrence; who with his uncle interested themselves very warmly (he being the last of his line) to see him married.
‘So handsome a man!—O her beloved Clary!’ (for then she was ready to love me dearly, from the overflowings of her good humour on his account!) ‘He was but too handsome a man for her!—Were she but as amiable as somebody, there would be a probability of holding his affections!—For he was wild, she heard; very wild, very gay; loved intrigue—but he was young; a man of sense: would see his error, could she but have patience with his faults, if his faults were not cured by marriage!’
Thus she ran on; and then wanted me ‘to see the charming man,’ as she called him.—Again concerned, ‘that she was not handsome enough for him;’ with, ‘a sad thing, that the man should have the advantage of the woman in that particular!’—But then, stepping to the glass, she complimented herself, ‘That she was very well: that there were many women deemed passable who were inferior to herself: that she was always thought comely; and comeliness, let her tell me, having not so much to lose as beauty had, would hold, when that would evaporate or fly off:—nay, for that matter,’ [and again she turned to the glass] ‘her features were not irregular; her eyes not at all amiss.’ And I remember they were more than usually brilliant at that time.—’Nothing, in short, to be found fault with, though nothing very engaging she doubted—was there, Clary.’
Excuse me, my dear, I never was thus particular before; no, not to you. Nor would I now have written thus freely of a sister, but that she makes a merit to my brother of disowning that she ever liked him; as I shall mention hereafter: and then you will always have me give you minute descriptions, nor suffer me to pass by the air and manner in which things are spoken that are to be taken notice of; rightly observing, that air and manner often express more than the accompanying words.
I congratulated her upon her prospects. She received my compliments with a great deal of self-complacency.
She liked the gentleman still more at his next visit; and yet he made no particular address to her, although an opportunity was given him for it. . . . . But as we are ever ready to make excuses when in good humour with ourselves for the perhaps not unwilful slights of those whose approbation we wish to engage; so my sister found out a reason much to Mr. Lovelace’s advantage for his not improving the opportunity that was given him.—It was bashfulness, truly, in him. [Bashfulness in Mr. Lovelace, my dear!]—Indeed, gay and lively as he is, he has not the look of an impudent man. But, I fancy, it is many, many years ago since he was bashful.
Thus, however, could my sister make it out—’Upon her word, she believed Mr. Lovelace deserved not the bad character he had as to women.—He was really, to her thinking, a modest man. He would have spoken out, she believed; but once or twice as he seemed to intend to do so, he was under so agreeable a confusion! Such a profound respect he seemed to shew her! . . . . .
In his third visit, Bella governed herself by this kind and considerate principle: so that, according to her own account of the matter, the man might have spoken out.—But he was still bashful: he was not able to overcome this unseasonable reverence. So this visit went off as the former.
But now she began to be dissatisfied with him. She compared his general character with this his particular behaviour to her; and having never been courted before, owned herself puzzled how to deal with so odd a lover. ‘What did the man mean, she wondered? Had not her uncle brought him declaredly as a suitor to her?—It could not be bashfulness (now she thought of it) since he might have opened his mind to her uncle, if he wanted courage to speak directly to her. . . . .
I was not of her council. I was still absent. And it was agreed upon between my aunt Hervey and her, that she was to be quite solemn and shy in his next visit, if there were not a peculiarity in his address to her. . . .
How they managed it in their next conversation I know not. One would be tempted to think by the issue, that Mr. Lovelace was ungenerous enough to seek the occasion given,* and to improve it. Yet he thought fit to put the question too:—But, she says, it was not till, by some means or other (she knew not how) he had wrought her up to such a pitch of displeasure with him, that it was impossible for her to recover herself at the instant. Nevertheless he re-urged his question, as expecting a definitive answer, without waiting for the return of her temper, or endeavouring to mollify her; so that she was under a necessity of persisting in her denial: yet gave him reason to think she did not dislike his address, only the manner of it; his court being rather made to her mother than to herself, as if he was sure of her consent at any time.
A good encouraging denial, I must own: as was the rest of her plea; to wit, ‘A disinclination to change her state. Exceedingly happy as she was: she never could be happier!’ And such-like consenting negatives, as I may call them, and yet not intend a reflection upon my sister: for what can any young creature in the like circumstances say, when she is not sure but a too-ready consent may subject her to the slights of a sex that generally values a blessing either more or less as it is obtained with difficulty or ease? Miss Biddulph’s answer to a copy of verse from a gentleman, reproaching our sex as acting in disguise, is not a bad one, although you may perhaps think it too acknowledging for the female character.. . .
Here I am obliged to lay down my pen. I will soon resume it.
"I will begin, as you command, with Mr. Lovelace's address to my sister; and be as brief as possible. I will recite facts only; and leave you to judge of the truth of the report raised, that the younger sister has robbed the elder."What does Clarissa mean by "facts only"? And how is the story "as brief as possible"? How would you characterize Clarissa as a writer? In what ways are her letters rhetorical?
What do you make of the asterick at the end of the letter, leading us to Letter XXXI. How should a reader of Clarissa (as a novel) procede?
"'So handsome a man!—O her beloved Clary!' (for then she was ready to love me dearly, from the overflowings of her good humour on his account!) 'He was but too handsome a man for her!—Were she but as amiable as somebody, there would be a probability of holding his affections!—For he was wild, she heard; very wild, very gay; loved intrigue—but he was young; a man of sense: would see his error, could she but have patience with his faults, if his faults were not cured by marriage!' Thus she ran on; and then wanted me 'to see the charming man,' as she called him.—Again concerned, 'that she was not handsome enough for him;' with, 'a sad thing, that the man should have the advantage of the woman in that particular!'—But then, stepping to the glass, she complimented herself, 'That she was very well: that there were many women deemed passable who were inferior to herself: that she was always thought comely; and comeliness, let her tell me, having not so much to lose as beauty had, would hold, when that would evaporate or fly off:—nay, for that matter,' [and again she turned to the glass] 'her features were not irregular; her eyes not at all amiss.' And I remember they were more than usually brilliant at that time.—'Nothing, in short, to be found fault with, though nothing very engaging she doubted—was there, Clary.'"Clarissa really knows how to skewer someone with dialogue. Bakhtin and the dialogic comes to mind here for me. Are there other places you noticed where Clarissa frames her sister as vain or otherwise?
While reading this passage about her sister, I was unsure how to interpret it. On one hand, she seems to be demonstrating the kind of character that Anna incessantly praises her for. This passage stood out to me: "Excuse me, my dear, I never was thus particular before; no, not to you. Nor would I now have written thus freely of a sister, but that she makes a merit to my brother of disowning that she ever liked him." I take Clarissa to mean that she would never bad-mouth her own sister to Anna, but she feels the strong need to now, knowing that her sister is not being truthful about her relationship with Lovelace. But is Clarissa being coy here? I can't tell yet. Perhaps she's saying "You know me, I would never bad-mouth my own sister" as a cover for all the bad-mouthing she does?
Can we really trust Clarissa as a factual writer? Like you point out, she claims she will be writing "facts only," but in the next few paragraphs she explains that her sisters "seemed highly pleased" with Mr. Lovelace and that two women "interested themselves very warmly" with her uncle. Neither of these are necessarily false, but Clarissa is clearly writing from a specific point of view. She only knows her side of the story and what she has witnessed and noticed. We certainly do not have all the facts at this point, and she is adding commentary to events that is based on her perceptions, not facts.
I find it interesting too that Clarissa claims she will "recite facts only" when she includes additional information and her own interpretations of the actions she recalls in her response to Anna Howe. But I think that her failing to adhere to her initial promise to Anna falls in line with the changing of her character's identity and the evolution of her thoughts, and especially reinforces the work's epistolary nature that is episodic and constantly changing. On a side note, following the form of the novel and tracking Clarissa's character and the information she reveals require the reader to have more agency when reading because of the fluidity of her character and the evolving relationship between Clarissa and Anna. In addition, I think that Clarissa's inclusion of other information rather than simple facts is actually more genuine since she is writing to her friend – a friend who has requested the information from Clarissa herself and seems to inquire for more information than simple facts. Anna requests this information not just because she wants to either confirm or deny the public account of these events, but because she has a genuine interest in the well-being of her friend.
As much as I wanted to jump ahead, I stopped myself in order to 'maintain the mystery,' I suppose.I found myself more likely, as I read, to reference past letters when they were footnoted (albeit briefly), only if I didn't really remember the point. But I'm not sure why I did it: was I expecting Richardson to be wrong?!