Clarissa Harlowe, Volume 9 (of 9) by Samuel Richardson

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LETTER XLIII

MR. BELFORD, TO COLONEL MORDEN
THURSDAY, SEPT. 21.

Give me leave, dear Sir, to address myself to you in a very serious and
solemn manner, on a subject that I must not, cannot, dispense with; as I
promised the divine lady that I would do every thing in my power to
prevent that further mischief of which she was so very apprehensive.

I will not content myself with distant hints. It is with very great
concern that I have just now heard of a declaration which you are said to
have made to your relations at Harlowe-place, that you will not rest till
you have avenged your cousin's wrongs upon Mr. Lovelace.

Far be it from me to offer to defend the unhappy man, or even unduly to
extenuate his crime! But yet I must say, that the family, by their
persecutions of the dear lady at first, and by their implacableness
afterwards, ought, at least, to share the blame with him. There is even
great reason to believe, that a lady of such a religious turn, her virtue
neither to be surprised nor corrupted, her will inviolate, would have got
over a mere personal injury; especially as he would have done all that
was in his power to repair it; and as, from the application of all his
family in his favour, and other circumstances attending his sincere and
voluntary offer, the lady might have condescended, with greater glory to
herself, than if he had never offended.

When I have the pleasure of seeing you next, I will acquaint you, Sir,
with all the circumstances of this melancholy story; from which you will
see that Mr. Lovelace was extremely ill treated at first, by the whole
family, this admirable lady excepted. This exception, I know, heightens
his crime: but as his principal intention was but to try her virtue; and
that he became so earnest a suppliant to her for marriage; and as he has
suffered so deplorably in the loss of his reason, for not having it in
his power to repair her wrongs; I presume to hope that much is to be
pleaded against such a resolution as you are said to have made. I will
read to you, at the same time, some passages from letters of his; two of
which (one but this moment received) will convince you that the unhappy
man, who is but now recovering his intellects, needs no greater
punishment than what he has from his own reflections.

I have just now read over the copies of the dear lady's posthumous
letters. I send them all to you, except that directed for Mr. Lovelace;
which I reserve till I have the pleasure of seeing you. Let me entreat
you to read once more that written to yourself; and that to her brother;*
which latter I now send you; as they are in point to the present subject.

* See Letter XVI. of this volume.

I think, Sir, they are unanswerable. Such, at least, is the effect they
have upon me, that I hope I shall never be provoked to draw my sword
again in a private quarrel.

To the weight these must needs have upon you, let me add, that the
unhappy man has given no new occasion of offence, since your visit to him
at Lord M.'s, when you were so well satisfied of his intention to atone
for his crimes, that you yourself urged to your dear cousin her
forgiveness of him.

Let me also (though I presume to hope there is no need, when you coolly
consider every thing) remind you of your own promise to your departing
cousin; relying upon which, her last moments were the easier.

Reflect, my dear Colonel Morden, that the highest injury was to her: her
family all have a share in the cause: she forgives it: Why should we not
endeavour to imitate what we admire?

You asked me, Sir, when in town, if a brave man could be a premeditatedly
base one?--Generally speaking, I believe bravery and baseness are
incompatible. But Mr. Lovelace's character, in the instance before us,
affords a proof of the truth of the common observation, that there is no
general rule but has its exceptions: for England, I believe, as gallant a
nation as it is deemed to be, has not in it a braver spirit than his; nor
a man who has a greater skill at his weapons; nor more calmness with his
skill.

I mention not this with a thought that it can affect Col. Morden; who, if
he be not withheld by SUPERIOR MOTIVES, as well as influenced by those I
have reminded him of, will tell me, that this skill, and this bravery,
will make him the more worthy of being called upon by him.

To these SUPERIOR MOTIVES then I refer myself: and with the greater
confidence; as a pursuit ending in blood would not, at this time, have
the plea lie for it with any body, which sudden passion might have with
some: but would be construed by all to be a cool and deliberate act of
revenge for an evil absolutely irretrievable: an act of which a brave and
noble spirit (such as is the gentleman's to whom I now write) is not
capable.

Excuse me, Sir, for the sake of my executorial duty and promise, keeping
in eye the dear lady's personal injunctions, as well as written will,
enforced by letters posthumous. Every article of which (solicitous as we
both are to see it duly performed) she would have dispensed with, rather
than farther mischief should happen on her account. I am, dear Sir,

Your affectionate and faithful friend,
J. BELFORD.

LETTER XLIV

[THIS IS THE POSTHUMOUS LETTER TO COL. MORDEN, REFERRED TO IN THE ABOVE.]

Superscribed,

TO MY BELOVED COUSIN WILLIAM MORDEN, ESQ.
TO BE DELIVERED AFTER MY DEATH.

MY DEAREST COUSIN,

As it is uncertain, from my present weak state, whether, if living, I may
be in a condition to receive as I ought the favour you intend me of a
visit, when you come to London, I take this opportunity to return you,
while able, the humble acknowledgments of a grateful heart, for all your
goodness to me from childhood till now: and more particularly for your
present kind interposition in my favour--God Almighty for ever bless you,
dear Sir, for the kindness you endeavoured to procure for me!

One principal end of my writing to you, in this solemn manner, is, to beg
of you, which I do with the utmost earnestness, that when you come to
hear the particulars of my story, you will not suffer active resentment
to take place in your generous breast on my account.

Remember, my dear Cousin, that vengeance is God's province, and he has
undertaken to repay it; nor will you, I hope, invade that province:--
especially as there is no necessity for you to attempt to vindicate my
fame; since the offender himself (before he is called upon) has stood
forth, and offered to do me all the justice that you could have extorted
from him, had I lived: and when your own person may be endangered by
running an equal risque with a guilty man.

Duelling, Sir, I need not tell you, who have adorned a public character,
is not only an usurpation of the Divine prerogative; but it is an insult
upon magistracy and good government. 'Tis an impious act. 'Tis an
attempt to take away a life that ought not to depend upon a private
sword; an act, the consequence of which is to hurry a soul (all its sins
upon its had) into perdition; endangering that of the poor triumpher--
since neither intend to give to the other that chance, as I may call it,
for the Divine mercy, in an opportunity for repentance, which each
presumes to hope for himself.

Seek not then, I beseech you, Sir, to aggravate my fault, by a pursuit of
blood, which must necessarily be deemed a consequence of that fault.
Give not the unhappy man the merit (were you assuredly to be the victor)
of falling by your hand. At present he is the perfidious, the ungrateful
deceiver; but will not the forfeiture of his life, and the probable loss
of his soul, be a dreadful expiation for having made me miserable for a
few months only, and through that misery, by the Divine favour, happy to
all eternity?

In such a case, my Cousin, where shall the evil stop?--And who shall
avenge on you?--And who on your avenger?

Let the poor man's conscience, then, dear Sir, avenge me. He will one
day find punishment more than enough from that. Leave him to the chance
of repentance. If the Almighty will give him time for it, who should you
deny it him?--Let him still be the guilty aggressor; and let no one say,
Clarissa Harlowe is now amply revenged in his fall; or, in the case of
your's, (which Heaven avert!) that her fault, instead of being buried in
her grave, is perpetuated, and aggravated, by a loss far greater than
that of herself.

Often, Sir, has the more guilty been the vanquisher of the less. An Earl
of Shrewsbury, in the reign of Charles II. as I have read, endeavouring
to revenge the greatest injury that man can do to man, met with his death
at Barn-Elms, from the hand of the ignoble Duke who had vilely
dishonoured him. Nor can it be thought an unequal dispensation, were it
generally to happen that the usurper of the Divine prerogative should be
punished for his presumption by the man whom he sought to destroy, and
who, however previously criminal, is put, in this case, upon a necessary
act of self-defence.

May Heaven protect you, Sir, in all your ways; and, once more, I pray,
reward you for all your kindness to me! A kindness so worthy of your
heart, and so exceedingly grateful to mine: that of seeking to make
peace, and to reconcile parents to a once-beloved child; uncles to a
niece late their favourite; and a brother and sister to a sister whom
once they thought not unworthy of that tender relation. A kindness so
greatly preferable to the vengeance of a murdering sword.

Be a comforter, dear Sir, to my honoured parents, as you have been to me;
and may we, through the Divine goodness to us both, meet in that blessed
eternity, into which, as I humbly trust, I shall have entered when you
will read this.

So prays, and to her latest hour will pray, my dear Cousin Morden, my
friend, my guardian, but not my avenger--[dear Sir! remember that!--]

Your ever-affectionate and obliged
CLARISSA HARLOWE.

LETTER XLV

COLONEL MORDEN, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.
SATURDAY, SEPT. 23.

DEAR SIR,

I am very sorry that any thing you have heard I have said should give you
uneasiness.

I am obliged to you for the letters you have communicated to me; and
still further for your promise to favour me with others occasionally.

All that relates to my dear cousin I shall be glad to see, be it from
whom it will.

I leave to your own discretion, what may or may not be proper for Miss
Howe to see from a pen so free as mine.

I admire her spirit. Were she a man, do you think, Sir, she, at this
time, would have your advice to take upon such a subject as that upon
which you write?

Fear not, however, that your communications shall put me upon any
measures that otherwise I should not have taken. The wickedness, Sir, is
of such a nature, as admits not of aggravation.

Yet I do assure you, that I have not made any resolutions that will be a
tie upon me.

I have indeed expressed myself with vehemence upon the occasion. Who
could forbear to do so? But it is not my way to resolve in matters of
moment, till opportunity brings the execution of my purposes within my
reach. We shall see by what manner of spirit this young man will be
actuated on his recovery. If he continue to brave and defy a family,
which he has so irreparably injured--if--but resolutions depending upon
future contingencies are best left to future determination, as I just
now hinted.

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.

That, disgrace as he is to his name, and to the character of a gentleman,
the man would not want merit, who, in vindication of the
dishonoured distincion, should expunge and blot him out of the
worthy list.

That the injured family has a son, who, however unworthy of such a
sister, is of a temper vehement, unbridled, fierce; unequal,
therefore, (as he has once indeed been found,) to a contention
with this man: the loss of which son, by a violent death on such
an occasion, and by a hand so justly hated, would complete the
misery of the whole family; and who, nevertheless, resolves to
call him to account, if I do not; his very misbehaviour, perhaps,
to such a sister, stimulating his perverse heart to do her memory
the more signal justice; though the attempt might be fatal to
himself.

Then, Sir, to be a witness, as I am every hour, to the calamity and
distress of a family to which I am related; every one of whom,
however averse to an alliance with him while it had not place,
would no doubt have been soon reconciled to the admirable
creature, had the man (to whom, for his family and fortunes, it
was not a disgrace to be allied) done her but common justice!

To see them hang their pensive heads; mope about, shunning one another;
though formerly never used to meet but to rejoice in each other;
afflicting themselves with reflections, that the last time they
respectively saw the dear creature, it was here or there, at such
a place, in such an attitude; and could they have thought that it
would have been the last?--Every one of them reviving instances of
her excellencies that will for a long time make their very
blessings a curse to them!

Her closet, her chamber, her cabinet, given up to me to disfurnish, in
order to answer (now too late obliging!) the legacies bequeathed;
unable themselves to enter them; and even making use of less
convenient back stairs, that they may avoid passing by the doors
of her apartment!

Her parlour locked up; the walks, the retirements, the summer-house in
which she delighted, and in which she used to pursue her charming
works; that in particular, from which she went to the fatal
interview, shunned, or hurried by, or over!

Her perfections, nevertheless, called up to remembrance, and enumerated;
incidents and graces, unheeded before, or passed over in the group
of her numberless perfections, now brought back into notice, and
dwelt upon!

The very servants allowed to expatiate upon these praiseful topics to
their principals! Even eloquent in their praises! The distressed
principals listening and weeping! Then to see them break in upon
the zealous applauders, by their impatience and remorse, and throw
abroad their helpless hands, and exclaim; then again to see them
listen to hear more of her praises, and weep again--they even
encouraging the servants to repeat how they used to be stopt by
strangers to ask after her, and by those who knew her, to be told
of some new instances to her honour--how aggravating all this!

In dreams they see her, and desire to see her; always an angle, and
accompanied by angels; always clad in robes of light; always
endeavouring to comfort them, who declare, that they shall never
more know comfort!

What an example she set! How she indited! How she drew! How she
wrought! How she talked! How she sung! How she played! Her
voice music! Her accent harmony!

Her conversation how instructive! how sought after! The delight of
persons of all ages, of both sexes, of all ranks! Yet how humble,
how condescending! Never were dignity and humility so
illustriously mingled!

At other times, how generous, how noble, how charitable, how judicious in
her charities! In every action laudable! In every attitude
attractive! In every appearance, whether full-dressed, or in the
housewife's more humble garb, equally elegant, and equally lovely!
Like, or resembling, Miss Clarissa Harlowe, they now remember to
be a praise denoting the highest degree of excellence, with every
one, whatever person, action, or rank, spoken of.--The desirable
daughter; the obliging kinswoman; the affectionate sister, (all
envy now subsided!) the faithful, the warm friend; the affable,
the kind, the benevolent mistress!--Not one fault remembered! All
their severities called cruelties: mutually accusing each other;
each him and herself; and all to raise her character, and torment
themselves.

Such, Sir, was the angel, of whom the vilest of men has deprived the
world! You, Sir, who know more of the barbarous machinations and
practices of this strange man, can help me to still more inflaming
reasons, were they needed, why a man, not perfect, may stand excused to
the generality of the world, if he should pursue his vengeance; and the
rather, as through an absence of six years, (high as just report, and the
promises of her early youth from childhood, had raised her in his
esteem,) he could not till now know one half of her excellencies--till
now! that we have lost, for ever lost, the admirable creature!--

But I will force myself from the subject, after I have repeated that I
have not yet made any resolutions that can bind me. Whenever I do, I
shall be glad they may be such as may merit the honour of your
approbation.

I send you back the copies of the posthumous letters. I see the humanity
of your purpose, in the transmission of them to me; and I thank you most
heartily for it. I presume, that it is owing to the same laudable
consideration, that you kept back the copy of that to the wicked man
himself.

I intend to wait upon Miss Howe in person with the diamond ring, and such
other of the effects bequeathed to her as are here. I am, Sir,

Your most faithful and obliged servant,
WM. MORDEN.

[Mr. Belford, in his answer to this letter, farther enforces the lady's
dying injunctions; and rejoices that the Colonel has made no
vindictive resolutions; and hopes every thing from his prudence
and consideration, and from his promise given to the dying lady.

He refers to the seeing him in town on account of the dreadful ends of
two of the greatest criminals in his cousin's affair. 'This, says
he, together with Mr. Lovelace's disorder of mind, looks as if
Providence had already taken the punishment of these unhappy
wretches into its own hands.'

He desires the Colonel will give him a day's notice of his coming to
town, lest otherwise he may be absent at the time--this he does,
though he tells him not the reason, with a view to prevent a
meeting between him and Mr. Lovelace; who might be in town (as he
apprehends,) about the same time, in his way to go abroad.]

LETTER XLVI

COLONEL MORDEN, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.
TUESDAY, SEPT. 26.

DEAR SIR,

I cannot help congratulating myself as well as you that we have already
got through with the family every article of the will where they have any
concern.

You left me a discretional power in many instances; and, in pursuance of
it, I have had my dear cousin's personal jewels, and will account to you
for them, at the highest price, when I come to town, as well as for other
matters that you were pleased to intrust to my management.

These jewels I have presented to my cousin Dolly Hervey, in
acknowledgement of her love to the dear departed. I have told Miss Howe
of this; and she is as well pleased with what I have done as if she had
been the purchaser of them herself. As that young lady has jewels of her
own, she could only have wished to purchase these because they were her
beloved friend's.--The grandmother's jewels are also valued; and the
money will be paid me for you, to be carried to the uses of the will.

Mrs. Norton is preparing, by general consent, to enter upon her office as
housekeeper at The Grove. But it is my opinion that she will not be long
on this side Heaven.

I waited upon Miss Howe myself, as I told you I would, with what was
bequeathed to her and her mother. You will not be displeased, perhaps,
if I make a few observations with regard to that young lady, so dear to
my beloved cousin, as you have not a personal acquaintance with her.

There never was a firmer or nobler friendship in women, than between my
dear cousin and Miss Howe, to which this wretched man had given a period.

Friendship, generally speaking, Mr. Belford, is too fervent a flame for
female minds to manage: a light that but in few of their hands burns
steady, and often hurries the sex into flight and absurdity. Like other
extremes, it is hardly ever durable. Marriage, which is the highest
state of friendship, generally absorbs the most vehement friendships of
female to female; and that whether the wedlock be happy, or not.

What female mind is capable of two fervent female friendships at the same
time?--This I mention as a general observation; but the friendship that
subsisted between these two ladies affords a remarkable exception to it:
which I account for from those qualities and attainments in both, which,
were they more common, would furnish more exceptions still in favour of
the sex.

Both had an enlarged, and even a liberal education: both had minds
thirsting after virtuous knowledge; great readers both; great writers--
[and early familiar writing I take to be one of the greatest openers and
improvers of the mind that man or woman can be employed in.] Both
generous. High in fortune, therefore above that dependence each on the
other that frequently destroys that familiarity which is the cement of
friendship. Both excelling in different ways, in which neither sought
to envy the other. Both blessed with clear and distinguishing faculties;
with solid sense; and, from their first intimacy, [I have many of my
lights, Sir, from Mrs. Norton,] each seeing something in the other to
fear, as well as to love; yet making it an indispensable condition of
their friendship, each to tell the other of her failings; and to be
thankful for the freedom taken. One by nature gentle; the other made so
by her love and admiration of her exalted friend--impossible that there
could be a friendship better calculated for duration.

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