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

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***

Indeed, indeed, Belford, I am, and shall be, to my latest hour, the most
miserable of beings. Such exalted generosity!--Why didst thou put into
my craving hands the copy of her will? Why sentest thou to me the
posthumous letter?--What thou I was earnest to see the will? thou knewest
what they both were [I did not]; and that it would be cruel to oblige me.

The meeting of twenty Colonel Mordens, were there twenty to meet in turn,
would be nothing to me, would not give me a moment's concern, as to my
own safety: but my reflections upon my vile ingratitude to so superior an
excellence will ever be my curse.

Had she been a Miss Howe to me, and treated me as if I were a Hickman, I
had had a call for revenge; and policy (when I had intended to be an
husband) might have justified my attempts to humble her. But a meek and
gentle temper was her's, though a true heroine, whenever honour or virtue
called for an exertion of spirit.

Nothing but my cursed devices stood in the way of my happiness.
Remembrest thou not how repeatedly, from the first, I poured cold water
upon her rising flame, by meanly and ungratefully turning upon her the
injunctions, which virgin delicacy, and filial duty, induced her to lay
me under before I got her into my power?*

* See Vol. III. Letter XV. See also Letters XVII. XLV. XLVI. of that
volume, and many other places.

Did she not tell me, and did I not know it, if she had not told me, that
she could not be guilty of affectation or tyranny to the man whom she
intended to marry?* I knew, as she once upbraided me, that from the time
I had got her from her father's house, I had a plain path before me.**
True did she say, and I triumphed in the discovery, that from that time
I held her soul in suspense an hundred times.*** My ipecacuanha trial
alone was enough to convince an infidel that she had a mind in which love
and tenderness would have presided, had I permitted the charming buds to
put forth and blow.****

* See Vol. V. Letter XXXIV.--It may be observed further, that all
Clarissa's occasional lectures to Miss Howe, on that young lady's
treatment of Mr. Hickman, prove that she was herself above affectation
and tyranny.--See, more particularly, the advice she gives to that
friend of her heart, Letter XXXII. of Vol. VIII.--'O my dear,' says she,
in that Letter, 'that it had been my lot (as I was not permitted to live
single) to have met with a man by whom I could have acted generously and
unreservedly!' &c. &c.
** See Vol. V. Letters XXVI. and XXXIV.
*** Ibid. Letter XXXIV.
**** See Vol. V. Letters II. III.

She would have had no reserve, as once she told me, had I given her cause
of doubt.* And did she not own to thee, that once she could have loved
me; and, could she have made me good, would have made me happy?** O,
Belford! here was love; a love of the noblest kind! A love, as she hints
in her posthumous letter,*** that extended to the soul; and which she not
only avowed in her dying hours, but contrived to let me know it after
death, in that letter filled with warnings and exhortations, which had
for their sole end my eternal welfare!

* Ibid. Letter XXXVI.
** See Vol. VIII. Letter LXIV.
*** See Letter XXXVI. of this volume.

The cursed women, indeed, endeavoured to excite my vengeance, and my
pride, by preaching to me of me. And my pride was, at times, too much
excited by their vile insinuations. But had it even been as they said;
well might she, who had been used to be courted and admired by every
desiring eye, and worshipped by every respectful heart--well might such
a woman be allowed to draw back, when she found herself kept in suspense,
as to the great question of all, by a designing and intriguing spirit;
pretending awe and distance, as reasons for reining-in a fervour, which,
if real, cannot be reined-in--Divine creature! Her very doubts, her
reserves, (so justly doubting,) would have been my assurance, and my
glory!--And what other trial needed her virtue! What other needed a
purity so angelic, (blessed with such a command in her passions in the
bloom of youth,) had I not been a villain--and a wanton, a conceited, a
proud fool, as well as a villain?

These reflections sharpened, rather than their edge by time abated,
accompany me in whatever I do, and wherever I go; and mingle with all
my diversions and amusements. And yet I go into gay and splendid
company. I have made new acquaintance in the different courts I have
visited. I am both esteemed and sought after, by persons of rank and
merit. I visit the colleges, the churches, the palaces. I frequent
the theatre: am present at every public exhibition; and see all that is
worth seeing, that I had not see before, in the cabinets of the curious:
am sometimes admitted to the toilette of an eminent toast, and make one
with distinction at the assemblies of others--yet can think of nothing,
nor of any body, with delight, but of my CLARISSA. Nor have I seen one
woman with advantage to herself, but as she resembles, in stature, air,
complexion, voice, or in some feature, that charmer, that only charmer
of my soul.

What greater punishment, than to have these astonishing perfections,
which she was mistress of, strike my remembrance with such force, when I
have nothing left me but the remorse of having deprived myself and the
world of such a blessing? Now and then, indeed, am I capable of a gleam
of comfort, arising (not ungenerously) from the moral certainty which I
have of her everlasting happiness, in spite of all the machinations and
devices which I set on foot to ensnare her virtue, and to bring down so
pure a mind to my own level.

For can I be, at worst, [avert that worst,
O thou SUPREME, who only canst avert it!]
So much a wretch, so very far abandon'd,
But that I must, even in the horrid's gloom,
Reap intervenient joy, at least some respite,
From pain and anguish, in her bliss.--

***

If I find myself thus miserable abroad, I will soon return to England,
and follow your example, I think--turn hermit, or some plaguy thing or
other, and see what a constant course of penitence and mortification will
do for me. There is no living at this rate--d--n me if there be!

If any mishap should befal me, you'll have the particulars of it from De
la Tour. He indeed knows but little English; but every modern tongue is
your's. He is a trusty and ingenious fellow; and, if any thing happen,
will have some other papers, which I have already sealed up, for you to
transmit to Lord M. And since thou art so expert and so ready at
executorships, pr'ythee, Belford, accept of the office for me, as well as
for my Clarissa--CLARISSA LOVELACE let me call her.

By all that's good, I am bewitched to her memory. Her very name, with
mine joined to it, ravishes my soul, and is more delightful to me than
the sweetest music.

Had I carried her [I must still recriminate] to any other place than that
accursed woman's--for the potion was her invention and mixture; and all
the persisted-in violence was at her instigation, and at that of her
wretched daughters, who have now amply revenged upon me their own ruin,
which they lay at my door--

But this looks so like the confession of a thief at the gallows, that
possibly thou wilt be apt to think I am intimidated in prospect of the
approaching interview. But far otherwise. On the contrary, most
cheerfully do I go to meet the Colonel; and I would tear my heart out
of my breast with my own hands, were it capable of fear or concern on
that account.

Thus much only I know, that if I should kill him, [which I will not do,
if I can help it,] I shall be far from being easy in my mind; that shall
I never more be. But as the meeting is evidently of his own seeking,
against an option fairly given to the contrary, and I cannot avoid it,
I'll think of that hereafter. It is but repenting and mortifying for all
at once; for I am sure of victory, as I am that I now live, let him be
ever so skillful a swordsman; since, besides that I am no unfleshed
novice, this is a sport that, when provoked to it, I love as well as my
food. And, moreover, I shall be as calm and undisturbed as the bishop at
his prayers; while he, as is evident by his letter, must be actuated by
revenge and passion.

Doubt not, therefore, Jack, that I shall give a good account of this
affair. Mean time, I remain,

Your's most affectionately, &c.
LOVELACE.

LETTER LXII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.
TRENT, DEC. 3--14.

To-morrow is to be the day, that will, in all probability, send either
one or two ghosts to attend the manes of my CLARISSA.

I arrived here yesterday; and inquiring for an English gentleman of the
name of Morden, soon found out the Colonel's lodgings. He had been in
town two days; and left his name at every probable place.

He was gone to ride out; and I left my name, and where to be found; and
in the evening he made me a visit.

He was plaguy gloomy. That was not I. But yet he told me that I had
acted like a man of true spirit in my first letter; and with honour, in
giving him so readily this meeting. He wished I had in other respects;
and then we might have seen each other upon better terms than now we did.

I said there was no recalling what was passed; and that I wished some
things had not been done, as well as he.

To recriminate now, he said, would be as exasperating as unavailable.
And as I had so cheerfully given him this opportunity, words should give
place to business.--Your choice, Mr. Lovelace, of time, of place, of
weapon, shall be my choice.

The two latter be your's, Mr. Morden. The time to-morrow, or next day,
as you please.

Next day, then, Mr. Lovelace; and we'll ride out to-morrow, to fix the
place.

Agreed, Sir.

Well: now, Mr. Lovelace, do you choose the weapon.

I said I believed we might be upon an equal footing with the single
rapier; but, if he thought otherwise, I had no objection to a pistol.

I will only say, replied he, that the chances may be more equal by the
sword, because we can neither of us be to seek in that; and you would
stand, says he, a worse chance, as I apprehend, with a pistol; and yet
I have brought two, that you may take your choice of either; for, added
he, I have never missed a mark at pistol-distance, since I knew how to
hold a pistol.

I told him, that he spoke like himself; that I was expert enough that
way, to embrace it, if he chose it; though not so sure of my mark as
he pretended to be. Yet the devil's in it, Colonel, if I, who have slit
a bullet in two upon a knife's edge, hit not my man. So I have no
objection to a pistol, if it be your choice. No man, I'll venture to
say, has a steadier hand or eye than I have.

They may both be of use to you, Sir, at the sword, as well as at the
pistol: the sword, therefore, be the thing, if you please.

With all my heart.

We parted with a solemn sort of ceremonious civility: and this day I
called upon him; and we rode out together to fix upon the place: and
both being of one mind, and hating to put off for the morrow what could
be done to-day, would have decided it then: but De la Tour, and the
Colonel's valet, who attended us, being unavoidably let into the secret,
joined to beg we would have with us a surgeon from Brixen, whom La Tour
had fallen in with there, and who had told him he was to ride next
morning to bleed a person in a fever, at a lone cottage, which, by the
surgeon's description, was not far from the place where we then were, if
it were not that very cottage within sight of us.

They overtook so to manage it, that the surgeon should know nothing of
the matter till his assistance was called in. And La Tour, being, as I
assured the Colonel, a ready contriving fellow, [whom I ordered to obey
him as myself, were the chance to be in his favour,] we both agreed to
defer the decision till to-morrow, and to leave the whole about the
surgeon to the management of our two valets; enjoining them absolute
secrecy: and so rode back again by different ways.

We fixed upon a little lone valley for the spot--ten to-morrow morning
the time--and single rapier the word. Yet I repeatedly told him, that I
valued myself so much upon my skill in that weapon, that I would wish him
to choose any other.

He said it was a gentleman's weapon; and he who understood it not, wanted
a qualification that he ought to suffer for not having: but that, as to
him, one weapon was as good as another, throughout all the instruments of
offence.

So, Jack, you see I take no advantage of him: but my devil must deceive
me, if he take not his life or his death at my hands before eleven
to-morrow morning.

His valet and mine are to be present; but both strictly enjoined to be
impartial and inactive: and, in return for my civility of the like
nature, he commanded his to be assisting me, if he fell.

We are to ride thither, and to dismount when at the place; and his
footman and mine are to wait at an appointed distance, with a chaise to
carry off to the borders of the Venetian territories the survivor, if one
drop; or to assist either or both, as occasion may demand.

And thus, Belford, is the matter settled.

A shower of rain has left me nothing else to do; and therefore I write
this letter; though I might as well have deferred it till to-morrow
twelve o'clock, when I doubt not to be able to write again, to assure you
much I am

Yours, &c.
LOVELACE.

LETTER LXIV

TRANSLATION OF A LETTER FROM F.J. DE LA TOUR.

TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.
NEAR SOHO-SQUARE, LONDON.
TRENT, DEC. 18, N.S.

SIR,

I have melancholy news to inform you of, by order of the Chevalier
Lovelace. He showed me his letter to you before he sealed it;
signifying, that he was to meet the Chevalier Morden on the 15th.
Wherefore, as the occasion of the meeting is so well known to you, I
shall say nothing of it here.

I had taken care to have ready, within a little distance, a surgeon and
his assistant, to whom, under an oath of secrecy, I had revealed the
matter, (though I did not own it to the two gentlemen;) so that they were
prepared with bandages, and all things proper. For well was I acquainted
with the bravery and skill of my chevalier; and had heard the character
of the other; and knew the animosity of both. A post-chaise was ready,
with each of their footmen, at a little distance.

The two chevaliers came exactly at their time: they were attended by
Monsieur Margate, (the Colonel's gentleman,) and myself. They had given
orders over night, and now repeated them in each other's presence, that
we should observe a strict impartiality between them: and that, if one
fell, each of us should look upon himself, as to any needful help or
retreat, as the servant of the survivor, and take his commands
accordingly.

After a few compliments, both the gentlemen, with the greatest presence
of mind that I ever beheld in men, stript to their shirts, and drew.

They parried with equal judgment several passes. My chevalier drew the
first blood, making a desperate push, which, by a sudden turn of his
antagonist, missed going clear through him, and wounded him on the fleshy
part of the ribs of his right side; which part the sword tore out, being
on the extremity of the body; but, before my chevalier could recover
himself, the Colonel, in return, pushed him into the inside of the left
arm, near the shoulder; and the sword (raking his breast as it passed,)
being followed by a great effusion of blood, the Colonel said, Sir, I
believe you have enough.

My chevalier swore by G--d he was not hurt; 'twas a pin's point; and so
made another pass at his antagonist; which he, with a surprising
dexterity, received under his arm, and run my dear chevalier into the
body; who immediately fell; saying, The luck is your's, Sir--O my beloved
Clarissa!--Now art thou--inwardly he spoke three or four words more. His
sword dropt from his hand. Mr. Morden threw his down, and ran to him,
saying in French--Ah, Monsieur! you are a dead man!----Call to God for
mercy!

We gave the signal agreed upon to the footmen; and they to the surgeons;
who instantly came up.

Colonel Morden, I found, was too well used to the bloody work; for he was
as cool as if nothing extraordinary had happened, assisting the surgeons,
though his own wound bled much. But my dear chevalier fainted away two
or three times running, and vomited blood besides.

However, they stopped the bleeding for the present; and we helped him
into the voiture; and then the Colonel suffered his own wound to be
dressed; and appeared concerned that my chevalier was between whiles
(when he could speak, and struggle,) extremely outrageous.--Poor
gentleman! he had made quite sure of victory!

The Colonel, against the surgeons' advice, would mount on horseback to
pass into the Venetian territories; and generously gave me a purse of
gold to pay the surgeons; desiring me to make a present to the footman;
and to accept of the remainder, as a mark of his satisfaction in my
conduct, and in my care and tenderness of my master.

The surgeons told him that my chevalier could not live over the day.

When the Colonel took leave of him, Mr. Lovelace said, You have well
revenged the dear creature.

I have, Sir, said Mr. Morden; and perhaps shall be sorry that you called
upon me to this work, while I was balancing whether to obey, or disobey,
the dear angel.

There is a fate in it! replied my chevalier--a cursed fate!--or this
could not have been!--But be ye all witnesses, that I have provoked my
destiny, and acknowledge that I fall by a man of honour.

Sir, said the Colonel, with the piety of a confessor, (wringing Mr.
Lovelace's hand,) snatch these few fleeting moments, and commend yourself
to God.

And so he rode off.

The voiture proceeded slowly with my chevalier; yet the motion set both
his wounds bleeding afresh; and it was with difficulty they again stopped
the blood.

We brought him alive to the nearest cottage; and he gave orders to me to
dispatch to you the packet I herewith send sealed up; and bid me write to
you the particulars of this most unhappy affair: and give you thanks, in
his name, for all your favours and friendship to him.

Contrary to all expectation, he lived over the night: but suffered much,
as well from his impatience and disappointment, as from his wounds; for
he seemed very unwilling to die.

He was delirious, at times, in the two last hours: and then several times
cried out, as if he had seen some frightful spectre, Take her away! Take
her away! but named nobody. And sometimes praised some lady, (that
Clarissa, I suppose, whom he had invoked when he received his death's
wound,) calling her Sweet Excellence! Divine Creature! Fair Sufferer!--
And once he said, Look down, Blessed Spirit, look down!--And there stopt;
--his lips, however, moving.

At nine in the morning he was seized with convulsions, and fainted away;
and it was a quarter of an hour before he came out of them.

His few last words I must not omit, as they show an ultimate composure;
which may administer some consolation to his honourable friends.

Blessed--said he, addressing himself no doubt to Heaven; for his dying
eyes were lifted up--a strong convulsion prevented him for a few moments
saying more--but recovering, he again, with great fervour, (lifting up
his eyes, and his spread hands,) pronounced the word blessed: Then, in a
seeming ejaculation, he spoke inwardly, so as not to be understood: at
last, he distinctly pronounced these three words,

LET THIS EXPIATE!

And then, his head sinking on his pillow, he expired, at about half an
hour after ten.

He little thought, poor gentleman! his end so near: so had given no
direction about his body. I have caused it to be embowelled, and
deposited in a vault, till I have orders from England.

This is a favour that was procured with difficulty; and would have been
refused, had he not been an Englishman of rank: a nation with reason
respected in every Austrian government--for he had refused ghostly
attendance, and the sacraments in the Catholic way.--May his soul be
happy, I pray God!

I have had some trouble also, on account of the manner of his death, from
the magistracy here: who have taken the requisite informations in the
affair. And it has cost some money. Of which, and of the dear
chevalier's effects, I will give you a faithful account in my next. And
so, waiting at this place your commands, I am, Sir,

Your most faithful and obedient servant,
F.J. DE LA TOUR.

CONCLUSION

SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY MR. BELFORD

What remains to be mentioned for the satisfaction of such of the readers
as may be presumed to have interested themselves in the fortunes of those
other principals in the story, who survived Mr. Lovelace, will be found
summarily related as follows:

The news of Mr. LOVELACE's unhappy end was received with as much grief by
his own relations, as it was with exultation by the Harlowe family, and
by Miss Howe. His own family were most to be pitied, because, being
sincere admirers of the inimitable lady, they were greatly grieved for
the injustice done her; and now had the additional mortification of
losing the only male of it, by a violent death.

That his fate was deserved, was still a heightening of their calamity, as
they had, for that very reason, and his unpreparedness for it, but too
much ground for apprehension with regard to his future happiness. While
the other family, from their unforgiving spirit, and even the noble young
lady above mentioned, from her lively resentments, found his death some
little, some temporary, alleviation of the heavy loss they had sustained,
principally through his means.

Temporary alleviation, we repeat, as to the Harlowe family; for THEY were
far from being happy or easy in their reflections upon their own conduct.
--And still the less, as the inconsolable mother rested not till she had
procured, by means of Colonel Morden, large extracts from some of the
letters that compose this history, which convinced them all that the very
correspondence which Clarissa, while with them, renewed with Mr.
Lovelace, was renewed for their sakes, more than for her own: that she
had given him no encouragement contrary to her duty and to that prudence
for which she was so early noted: that had they trusted to a discretion
which they owned she had never brought into question, she would have
extricated them and herself (as she once proposed* to her mother) from
all difficulties as to Lovelace: that she, if any woman ever could, would
have given a glorious instance of a passion conquered, or at least kept
under by reason and by piety; the man being too immoral to be implicitly
beloved.

* See Vol. I. Letter XVII.

The unhappy parents and uncles, from the perusal of these extracts, too
evidently for their peace, saw that it was entirely owing to the avarice,
the ambition, the envy, of her implacable brother and sister, and to the
senseless confederacy entered into by the whole family, to compel her to
give her hand to a man she must despise, or she had not been a CLARISSA,
and to their consequent persecution of her, that she ever thought of
quitting her father's house: and that even when she first entertained
such a thought, it was with intent, if possible, to procure for herself a
private asylum with Mrs. Howe, or at some other place of safety, (but not
with Mr. Lovelace, nor with any of the ladies of his family, though
invited by the latter,) from whence she might propose terms which ought
to have been complied with, and which were entirely consistent with her
duty--that though she found herself disappointed of the hoped-for refuge
and protection, she intended not, by meeting Mr. Lovelace, to put herself
into his power; all that she aimed at by taking that step being to
endeavour to pacify so fierce a spirit, lest he should (as he indeed was
determined to do) pay a visit to her friends, which might have been
attended with fatal consequences; but was spirited away by him in such a
manner, as made her an object of pity rather than of blame.

These extracts further convinced them all that it was to her unaffected
regret that she found that marriage was not in her power afterwards for a
long time; and at last, but on one occasion, when their unnatural cruelty
to her (on a new application she had made to her aunt Hervey, to procure
mercy and pardon) rendered her incapable of receiving his proffered hand;
and so obliged her to suspend the day: intending only to suspend it till
recovered.

They saw with equal abhorrence of Lovelace, and of their own cruelty, and
with the highest admiration of her, that the majesty of her virtue had
awed the most daring spirit in the world, so that he durst not attempt to
carry his base designs into execution, till, by wicked potions, he had
made her senses the previous sacrifice.

But how did they in a manner adore her memory! How did they recriminate
upon each other! when they found, that she had not only preserved herself
from repeated outrage, by the most glorious and intrepid behaviour, in
defiance, and to the utter confusion of all his libertine notions, but
had the fortitude, constantly, and with a noble disdain, to reject him.--
Whom?--Why, the man she once could have loved, kneeling for pardon, and
begging to be permitted to make her the best reparation then in his power
to make her; that is to say, by marriage. His fortunes high and
unbroken. She his prisoner at the time in a vile house: rejected by all
her friends; upon repeated application to them, for mercy and
forgiveness, rejected--mercy and forgiveness, and a last blessing,
afterwards imploring; and that as much to lighten their future remorses,
as for the comfort of her own pious heart--yet, though savagely refused,
on a supposition that she was not so near her end as she was represented
departed, forgiving and blessing them all!

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