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

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The ways of Providence are unsearchable. Various are the means made use
of by it, to bring poor sinners to a sense of their duty. Some are drawn
by love, others are driven by terrors, to their divine refuge. I had for
eighteen years out of nineteen, rejoiced in the favour and affection of
every one. No trouble came near to my heart, I seemed to be one of those
designed to be drawn by the silken cords of love.--But, perhaps, I was
too apt to value myself upon the love and favour of every one: the merit
of the good I delighted to do, and of the inclinations which were given
me, and which I could not help having, I was, perhaps, too ready to
attribute to myself; and now, being led to account for the cause of my
temporary calamities, find I had a secret pride to be punished for, which
I had not fathomed: and it was necessary, perhaps, that some sore and
terrible misfortunes should befall me, in order to mortify that my pride,
and that my vanity.

Temptations were accordingly sent. I shrunk in the day of trial. My
discretion, which had been so cried up, was found wanting when it came to
be weighed in an equal balance. I was betrayed, fell, and became the
by-word of my companions, and a disgrace to my family, which had prided
itself in me perhaps too much. But as my fault was not that of a
culpable will, when my pride was sufficiently mortified, I was not
suffered (although surrounded by dangers, and entangled in snares) to be
totally lost: but, purified by sufferings, I was fitted for the change I
have NOW, at the time you will receive this, so newly, and, as I humbly
hope, so happily experienced.

Rejoice with me, then, dear Sirs, that I have weathered so great a storm.
Nor let it be matter of concern, that I am cut off in the bloom of youth.
'There is no inquisition in the grave,' says the wise man, 'whether we
lived ten or a hundred years; and the day of death is better than the day
of our birth.'

Once more, dear Sirs, accept my grateful thanks for all your goodness to
me, from my early childhood to the day, the unhappy day, of my error!
Forgive that error!--And God give us a happy meeting in a blessed
eternity; prays

Your most dutiful and obliged kinswoman,
CLARISSA HARLOWE.

Mr. Belford gives the Lady's posthumous letters to Mrs. Hervey, Miss
Howe, and Mrs. Norton, at length likewise: but, although every
letter varies in style as well as matter from the others; yet, as
they are written on the same subject, and are pretty long, it is
thought proper to abstract them.

That to her aunt Hervey is written in the same pious and generous strain
with those preceding, seeking to give comfort rather than distress. 'The
Almighty, I hope,' says she, 'has received and blessed my penitence, and
I am happy. Could I have been more than so at the end of what is called
a happy life of twenty, or thirty, or forty years to come? And what are
twenty, or thirty, or forty years to look back upon? In half of any of
these periods, what friends might not I have mourned for? what
temptations from worldly prosperity might I not have encountered with?
And in such a case, immersed in earthly pleasures, how little likelihood,
that, in my last stage, I should have been blessed with such a
preparation and resignation as I have now been blessed with?'

She proceeds as follows: 'Thus much, Madam, of comfort to you and to
myself from this dispensation. As to my dear parents, I hope they will
console themselves that they have still many blessings left, which ought
to balance the troubles my error has given them: that, unhappy as I have
been to be the interrupter of their felicities, they never, till this my
fault, know any heavy evil: that afflictions patiently borne may be
turned into blessings: that uninterrupted happiness is not to be expected
in this life: that, after all, they have not, as I humbly presume to
hope, the probability of the everlasting perdition of their child to
deplore: and that, in short, when my story comes to be fully known, they
will have the comfort to find that my sufferings redound more to my
honour than to my disgrace.

'These considerations will, I hope, make their temporary loss of but one
child out of three (unhappily circumstances too as she was) matter of
greater consolation than affliction. And the rather, as we may hope for
a happy meeting once more, never to be separated either by time or
offences.'

She concludes this letter with an address to her cousin Dolly Hervey,
whom she calls her amiable cousin; and thankfully remembers for the part
she took in her afflictions.--'O my dear Cousin, let your worthy heart be
guarded against those delusions which have been fatal to my worldly
happiness!--That pity, which you bestowed upon me, demonstrates a
gentleness of nature, which may possibly subject you to misfortunes, if
your eye be permitted to mislead your judgment.--But a strict observance
of your filial duty, my dearest Cousin, and the precepts of so prudent a
mother as you have the happiness to have (enforced by so sad an example
in your own family as I have set) will, I make no doubt, with the Divine
assistance, be your guard and security.'

The posthumous letter to Miss Howe is extremely tender and affectionate.
She pathetically calls upon her 'to rejoice that all her Clarissa's
troubles are now at an end; that the state of temptation and trial, of
doubt and uncertainty, is now over with her; and that she has happily
escaped the snares that were laid for her soul; the rather to rejoice,
as that her misfortunes were of such a nature, that it was impossible
she could be tolerably happy in this life.'

She 'thankfully acknowledges the favours she had received from Mrs. Howe
and Mr. Hickman; and expresses her concern for the trouble she has
occasioned to the former, as well as to her; and prays that all the
earthly blessings they used to wish to each other, may singly devolve
upon her.'

She beseeches her, 'that she will not suspend the day which shall supply
to herself the friend she will have lost in her, and give to herself a
still nearer and dearer relation.'

She tells her, 'That her choice (a choice made with the approbation of
all her friends) has fallen upon a sincere, an honest, a virtuous, and,
what is more than all, a pious man; a man who, although he admires her
person, is still more in love with the graces of her mind. And as those
graces are improvable with every added year of life, which will impair
the transitory ones of person, what a firm basis, infers she, has Mr.
Hickman chosen to build his love upon!'

She prays, 'That God will bless them together; and that the remembrance
of her, and of what she has suffered, may not interrupt their mutual
happiness; she desires them to think of nothing but what she now is; and
that a time will come when they shall meet again, never to be divided.

'To the Divine protection, mean time, she commits her; and charges her,
by the love that has always subsisted between them, that she will not
mourn too heavily for her; and again calls upon her, after a gentle tear,
which she will allow her to let fall in memory of their uninterrupted
friendship, to rejoice that she is so early released; and that she is
purified by her sufferings, and is made, as she assuredly trusts, by
God's goodness, eternally happy.'

The posthumous letters to Mr. LOVELACE and Mr. MORDEN will be inserted
hereafter: as will also the substance of that written to Mrs.
Norton.

LETTER XIX

MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ.
SAT. AFTERNOON, SEPT. 9.

I understand, that thou breathest nothing but revenge against me, for
treating thee with so much freedom; and against the cursed woman and her
infernal crew. I am not at all concerned for thy menaces against myself.
It is my design to make thee feel. It gives me pleasure to find my
intention answered. And I congratulate thee, that thou hast not lost
that sense.

As to the cursed crew, well do they deserve the fire here, that thou
threatenest them with, and the fire hereafter, that seems to await them.
But I have this moment received news which will, in all likelihood, save
thee the guilt of punishing the old wretch for her share of wickedness as
thy agent. But if that happens to her which is likely to happen, wilt
thou not tremble for what may befal the principal?

Not to keep thee longer in suspense; last night, it seems, the infamous
woman got so heartily intoxicated with her beloved liquor, arrack punch,
at the expense of Colonel Salter, that, mistaking her way, she fell down
a pair of stairs, and broke her leg: and now, after a dreadful night, she
lies foaming, raving, roaring, in a burning fever, that wants not any
other fire to scorch her into a feeling more exquisite and durable than
any thy vengeance could give her.

The wretch has requested me to come to her; and lest I should refuse a
common messenger, sent her vile associate, Sally Martin; who not finding
me at Soho, came hither; another part of her business being to procure
the divine lady's pardon for the old creature's wickedness to her.

This devil incarnate, Sally, declares that she never was so shocked in
her life, as when I told her the lady was dead.

She took out her salts to keep from fainting; and when a little recovered
she accused herself for her part of the injuries the lady had sustained;
as she said Polly Horton would do for her's; and shedding tears,
declared, that the world never produced such another woman. She called
her the ornament and glory of her sex; acknowledged, that her ruin was
owing more to their instigations, than even (savage as thou art) to thy
own vileness; since thou wert inclined to have done her justice more than
once, had they not kept up thy profligate spirit to its height.

This wretch would fain have been admitted to a sight of the corpse; but I
refused the request with execrations.

She could forgive herself, she said, for every thing but her insults upon
the admirable lady at Rowland's, since all the rest was but in pursuit of
a livelihood, to which she had been reduced, as she boasted, from better
expectations, and which hundred follow as well as she. I did not ask
her, by whom reduced?

At going away, she told me, that the old monster's bruises are of more
dangerous consequence than the fracture; that a mortification is
apprehended, and that the vile wretch has so much compunction of heart,
on recollecting her treatment of Miss Harlowe, and is so much set upon
procuring her forgiveness, that she is sure the news she is to carry her
will hasten her end.

All these things I leave upon thy reflection.

LETTER XX

MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ.
SAT. NIGHT.

Your servant gives me a dreadful account of your raving unmanageableness.
I wonder not at it. But as nothing violent is lasting, I dare say that
your habitual gaiety of heart will quickly get the better of your
phrensy; and the rather do I judge so, as your fits are of the raving
kind, (suitable to your natural impetuosity,) and not of that melancholy
species which seizes slower souls.

For this reason I will proceed in writing to you, that my narrative may
not be broken by your discomposure; and that the contents of it may find
you, and help you to reflection, when you shall be restored.

Harry is returned from carrying the posthumous letters to the family, and
to Miss Howe; and that of the Colonel, which acquaints James Harlowe with
his sister's death, and with her desire to be interred near her
grandfather.

Harry was not admitted into the presence of any of the family. They were
all assembled together, it seems, at Harlowe-place, on occasion of the
Colonel's letter, which informed them of the lady's dangerous way;* and
were comforting themselves, as Harry was told, with hopes that Mr. Morden
had made the worst of her state, in order to quicken their resolutions.

* See the beginning of Letter II.

It is easy to judge what must be their grief and surprise on receiving
the fatal news which the letters Harry sent in to them communicated.

He staid there long enough to find the whole house in confusion; the
servants running different ways; lamenting and wringing their hands as
they ran; the female servants particularly; as if somebody (poor Mrs.
Harlowe, no doubt; and perhaps Mrs. Hervey too) were in fits.

Every one was in such disorder, that he could get no commands, nor obtain
any notice of himself. The servants seemed more inclined to execrate
than welcome him--O master!--O young man! cried three or four together,
what dismal tidings have you brought?--They helped him, at the very first
word, to his horse; which, with great civility, they had put up on his
arrival; and he went to an inn, and pursued on foot his way to Mrs.
Norton's; and finding her come to town, left the letter he carried don
for her with her son, (a fine youth,) who, when he heard the fatal news,
burst out into a flood of tears--first lamenting the lady's death, and
then crying out, What--what would become of his poor mother!--How would
she support herself, when she should find, on her arrival in town, that
the dear lady, who was so deservedly the darling of her heart, was no
more!

He proceeded to Miss Howe's with the letter for her. That lady, he was
told, had just given orders for a young man, a tenant's son, to post to
London, and bring her news of her dear friend's condition, and whether
she should herself be encouraged, by an account of her being still alive,
to make her a visit; every thing being ordered to be in readiness for her
going up on his return with the news she wished and prayed for with the
utmost impatience. And Harry was just in time to prevent the man's
setting out.

He had the precaution to desire to speak with Miss Howe's woman or maid,
and communicated to her the fatal tidings, that she might break them to
her young lady. The maid herself was so affected, that her old lady
(who, Harry said, seemed to be every where at once) came to see what
ailed her! and was herself so struck with the communication, that she
was forced to sit down in a chair.--O the sweet creature! said she, and
is it come to this?--O my poor Nancy!--How shall I be able to break the
matter to my Nancy?

Mr. Hickman was in the house. He hastened in to comfort the old lady--
but he could not restrain his own tears. He feared, he said, when he was
last in town, that this sad event would soon happen; but little thought
it would be so very soon!--But she is happy, I am sure, said the good
gentleman.

Mrs. Howe, when a little recovered, went up, in order to break the news
to her daughter. She took the letter, and her salts in her hand. And
they had occasion for the latter. For the housekeeper soon came hurrying
down into the kitchen, her face overspread with tears--her young mistress
had fainted away, she said--nor did she wonder at it--never did there
live a lady more deserving of general admiration and lamentation, than
Miss Clarissa Harlowe! and never was there a stronger friendship
dissolved by death than between her young lady and her.

She hurried, with a lighted wax candle, and with feathers, to burn under
the nose of her young mistress; which showed that she continued in fits.

Mr. Hickman, afterwards, with his usual humanity, directed that Harry
should be taken care of all night; it being then the close of day. He
asked him after my health. He expressed himself excessively afflicted,
as well for the death of the most excellent of women, as for the just
grief of the lady whom he so passionately loves. But he called the
departed lady an Angel of Light. We dreaded, said he, (tell your
master,) to read the letter sent--but we needed not--'tis a blessed
letter! written by a blessed hand!--But the consolation she aims to give,
will for the present heighten the sense we all shall have of the loss of
so excellent a creature! Tell Mr. Belford, that I thank God I am not the
man who had the unmerited honour to call himself her brother.

I know how terribly this great catastrophe (as I may call it, since so
many persons are interested in it) affects thee. I should have been glad
to have had particulars of the distress which the first communication of
it must have given to the Harlowes. Yet who but must pity the unhappy
mother?

The answer which James Harlowe returned to Colonel Morden's letter of
notification of his sister's death, and to her request as to her
interment, will give a faint idea of what their concern must be. Here
follows a copy of it:

TO WILLIAM MORDEN, ESQ.
SATURDAY, SEPT. 9.

DEAR COUSIN,

I cannot find words to express what we all suffer on the most mournful
news that ever was communicated to us.

My sister Arabella (but, alas! I have now no other sister) was preparing
to follow Mrs. Norton up, and I had resolved to escort her, and to have
looked in upon the dear creature.

God be merciful to us all! To what purpose did the doctor write, if she
was so near her end?--Why, as every body says, did he not send sooner?--
Or, Why at all?

The most admirable young creature that ever swerved! Not one friend to
be with her!--Alas! Sir, I fear my mother will never get over this shock.
--She has been in hourly fits ever since she received the fatal news. My
poor father has the gout thrown into his stomach; and Heaven knows--O
Cousin!--O Sir!--I meant nothing but the honour of the family; yet have I
all the weight thrown upon me--[O this cursed Lovelace!--may I perish if
he escape the deserved vengeance!]*

* The words thus enclosed [] were omitted in the transcript to Mr.
Lovelace.

We had begun to please ourselves that we should soon see her here--Good
Heaven! that her next entrance into this house, after she abandoned us so
precipitately, should be in a coffin.

We can have nothing to do with her executor, (another strange step of the
dear creature's!)--He cannot expect we will--nor, if he be a gentleman,
will he think of acting. Do you, therefore, be pleased, Sir, to order an
undertaker to convey the body down to us. My mother says she shall be
for ever unhappy, if she may not in death see the dear creature whom she
could not see in life. Be so kind, therefore, as to direct the lid to be
only half-screwed down--that (if my poor mother cannot be prevailed upon
to dispense with so shocking a spectacle) she may be obliged--she was the
darling of her heart!

If we know her well in relation to the funeral, it shall be punctually
complied with; as shall every thing in it that is fit or reasonable to be
performed; and this without the intervention of strangers.

Will you not, dear Sir, favour us with your presence at this melancholy
time? Pray do--and pity and excuse, with the generosity which is natural
to the brave and the wise, what passed at our last meeting. Every one's
respects attend you. And I am, Sir,

Your inexpressibly afflicted cousin and servant,
JA. HARLOWE, JUN.

Every thing that's fit or reasonable to be performed! [repeated I to the
Colonel from the above letter on his reading it to me;] that is every
thing which she has directed, that can be performed. I hope, Colonel,
that I shall have no contention with them. I wish no more for their
acquaintance than they do for mine. But you, Sir, must be the mediator
between them and me; for I shall insist upon a literal performance in
every article.

The Colonel was so kind as to declare that he would support me in my
resolution.

LETTER XXI

MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ.
SUNDAY MORN. EIGHT O'CLOCK, SEPT. 10.

I staid at Smith's till I saw the last of all that is mortal of the
divine lady.

As she has directed rings by her will to several persons, with her hair
to be set in crystal, the afflicted Mrs. Norton cut off, before the
coffin was closed four charming ringlets; one of which the Colonel took
for a locket, which, he says, he will cause to be made, and wear next his
heart in memory of his beloved cousin.

Between four and five in the morning, the corpse was put into the hearse;
the coffin before being filled, as intended, with flowers and aromatic
herbs, and proper care taken to prevent the corpse suffering (to the eye)
from the jolting of the hearse.

Poor Mrs. Norton is extremely ill. I gave particular directions to Mrs.
Smith's maid (whom I have ordered to attend the good woman in a mourning
chariot) to take care of her. The Colonel, who rides with his servants
within view of the hearse, says that he will see my orders in relation to
her enforced.

When the hearse moved off, and was out of sight, I locked up the lady's
chamber, into which all that had belonged to her was removed.

I expect to hear from the Colonel as soon as he is got down, by a servant
of his own.

LETTER XXII

MR. MOWBRAY, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.
UXBRIDGE, SUNDAY MORN. NINE O'CLOCK.

DEAR JACK,

I send you enclosed a letter from Mr. Lovelace; which, though written in
the cursed Algebra, I know to be such a one as will show what a queer way
he is in; for he read it to us with the air of a tragedian. You will see
by it what the mad fellow had intended to do, if we had not all of us
interposed. He was actually setting out with a surgeon of this place, to
have the lady opened and embalmed.--Rot me if it be not my full
persuasion that, if he had, her heart would have been found to be either
iron or marble.

We have got Lord M. to him. His Lordship is also much afflicted at the
lady's death. His sisters and nieces, he says, will be ready to break
their hearts. What a rout's here about a woman! For after all she was
no more.

We have taken a pailful of black bull's blood from him; and this has
lowered him a little. But he threatens Col. Morden, he threatens you for
your cursed reflections, [cursed reflections indeed, Jack!] and curses
all the world and himself still.

Last night his mourning (which is full as deep as for a wife) was brought
home, and his fellows' mourning too. And, though eight o'clock, he would
put it on, and make them attend him in theirs.

Every body blames him on this lady's account. But I see not for why.
She was a vixen in her virtue. What a pretty fellow she has ruined--Hey,
Jack!--and her relations are ten times more to blame than he. I will
prove this to the teeth of them all. If they could use her ill, why
should they expect him to use her well?--You, or I, or Tourville, in his
shoes, would have done as he has done. Are not all the girls forewarned?
--'Has he done by her as that caitiff Miles did to the farmer's daughter,
whom he tricked up to town, (a pretty girl also, just such another as
Bob.'s Rosebud,) under a notion of waiting on a lady?--Drilled her on,
pretending the lady was abroad. Drank her light-hearted--then carried
her to a play--then it was too late, you know, to see the pretended lady
--then to a bagnio--ruined her, as they call it, and all this the same
day. Kept her on (an ugly dog, too!) a fortnight or three weeks, then
left her to the mercy of the people of the bagnio, (never paying for any
thing,) who stript her of all her clothes, and because she would not take
on, threw her into prison; where she died in want and despair!'--A true
story, thou knowest, Jack.--This fellow deserved to be d----d. But has
our Bob. been such a villain as this?--And would he not have married this
flinty-hearted lady?--So he is justified very evidently.

Why, then, should such cursed qualms take him?--Who would have thought he
had been such poor blood? Now [rot the puppy!] to see him sit silent in a
corner, when he has tired himself with his mock majesty, and with his
argumentation, (Who so fond of arguing as he?) and teaching his shadow to
make mouths against the wainscot--The devil fetch me if I have patience
with him!

But he has had no rest for these ten days--that's the thing!--You must
write to him; and pr'ythee coax him, Jack, and send him what he writes
for, and give him all his way--there will be no bearing him else. And
get the lady buried as fast as you can; and don't let him know where.

This letter should have gone yesterday. We told him it did. But were in
hopes he would have inquired after it again. But he raves as he has not
any answer.

What he vouchsafed to read of other of your letters has given my Lord
such a curiosity as makes him desire you to continue your accounts. Pray
do; but not in your hellish Arabic; and we will let the poor fellow only
into what we think fitting for his present way.

I live a cursed dull poking life here. What with I so lately saw of poor
Belton, and what I now see of this charming fellow, I shall be as crazy
as he soon, or as dull as thou, Jack; so must seek for better company in
town than either of you. I have been forced to read sometimes to divert
me; and you know I hate reading. It presently sets me into a fit of
drowsiness; and then I yawn and stretch like a devil.

Yet in Dryden's Palemon and Arcite have I just now met with a passage,
that has in it much of our Bob.'s case. These are some of the lines.

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