Mean time, I will own that I think my cousin's arguments unanswerable. No good man but must be influenced by them.—But, alas! Sir, who is good?
As to your arguments; I hope you will believe me, when I assure you, as I now do, that your opinion and your reasonings have, and will always have, great and deserved weight with me; and that I respect you still more than I did, if possible, for your expostulations in support of my cousin's pious injunctions to me. They come from you, Sir, with the greatest propriety, as her executor and representative; and likewise as you are a man of humanity, and a well-wisher to both parties.
I am not exempt from violent passions, Sir, any more than your friend; but then I hope they are only capable of being raised by other people's insolence, and not by my own arrogance. If ever I am stimulated by my imperfections and my resentments to act against my judgment and my cousin's injunctions, some such reflections as these that follow will run away with my reason. Indeed they are always present with me.
In the first place; my own disappointment: who came over with the hope of
passing the remainder of my days in the conversation of a kinswoman
so beloved; and to whom I have a double relation as her cousin and
trustee.
Then I reflect, too, too often perhaps for my engagements to her in her
last hours, that the dear creature could only forgive for herself.
She, no doubt, is happy: but who shall forgive for a whole family,
in all its branches made miserable for their lives?
That the more faulty her friends were as to her, the more enormous his
ingratitude, and the more inexcusable—What! Sir, was it not enough
that she suffered what she did for him, but the barbarian must make
her suffer for her sufferings for his sake?—Passion makes me
express this weakly; passion refuses the aid of expression
sometimes, where the propriety of a resentment prima facie declares
expression to be needless. I leave it to you, Sir, to give this
reflection its due force.
That the author of this diffusive mischief perpetuated it premeditatedly,
wantonly, in the gaiety of his heart. To try my cousin, say you,
Sir! To try the virtue of a Clarissa, Sir!—Has she then given him
any cause to doubt her virtue?—It could not be.—If he avers that
she did, I am indeed called upon—but I will have patience.
That he carried her, as now appears, to a vile brothel, purposely to put
her out of all human resource; himself out of the reach of all
human remorse: and that, finding her proof against all the common
arts of delusion, base and unmanly arts were there used to effect
his wicked purposes. Once dead, the injured saint, in her will,
says, he has seen her.
That I could not know this, when I saw him at M. Hall: that, the object
of his attempts considered, I could not suppose there was such a
monster breathing as he: that it was natural for me to impute her
refusal of him rather to transitory resentment, to consciousness of
human frailty, and mingled doubts of the sincerity of his offers,
than to villanies, which had given the irreversible blow, and had
at that instant brought her down to the gates of death, which in a
very few days enclosed her.
That he is a man of defiance: a man who thinks to awe every one by his
insolent darings, and by his pretensions to superior courage and
skill.