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

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I see here no face that is the same I saw at my first arrival. Proud and
haughty every countenance then, unyielding to entreaty; now, how greatly
are they humbled!--The utmost distress is apparent in every protracted
feature, and in every bursting muscle, of each disconsolate mourner.
Their eyes, which so lately flashed anger and resentment, now are turned
to every one that approaches them, as if imploring pity!--Could ever
wilful hard-heartedness be more severely punished?

The following lines of Juvenal are, upon the whole applicable to this
house and family; and I have revolved them many times since Sunday
evening:

Humani generis mores tibi nosse volenti
Sufficit una domus: paucos consumere dies, &
Dicere te miserum, postquam illinc veneris, aude.

Let me add, that Mrs. Norton has communicated to the family the
posthumous letter sent her. This letter affords a foundation for future
consolation to them; but at present it has new pointed their grief, by
making them reflect on their cruelty to so excellent a daughter, niece,
and sister.* I am, dear Sir,

Your faithful, humble servant,
WM. MORDEN.

* This letter contains in substance--her thanks to the good woman for her
care of her in her infancy; for her good instructions, and the excellent
example she had set her; with self-accusations of a vanity and
presumption, which lay lurking in her heart unknown to herself, till her
calamities (obliging her to look into herself) brought them to light.

She expatiates upon the benefit of afflictions to a mind modest, fearful,
and diffident.

She comforts her on her early death; having finished, as she says, her
probatory course, at so early a time of life, when many are not ripened
by the sunshine of Divine Grace for a better, till they are fifty, sixty,
or seventy years of age.

I hope, she says, that my father will grant the request I have made to
him in my last will, to let you pass the remainder of your days at my
Dairy-house, as it used to be called, where once I promised myself to be
happy in you. Your discretion, prudence, and economy, my dear, good
woman, proceeds she, will male your presiding over the concerns of that
house as beneficial to them as it can be convenient to you. For your
sake, my dear Mrs. Norton, I hope they will make you this offer. And if
they do, I hope you will accept it for theirs.

She remembers herself to her foster-brother in a very kind manner; and
charges her, for his sake, that she will not take too much to heart what
has befallen her.

She concludes as follows:

Remember me, in the last place, to all my kind well-wishers of your
acquaintance; and to those I used to call My Poor. They will be God's
poor, if they trust in Him. I have taken such care, that I hope they
will not be losers by my death. Bid them, therefore, rejoice; and do you
also, my reverend comforter and sustainer, (as well in my darker as in my
fairer days,) likewise rejoice, that I am so soon delivered from the
evils that were before me; and that I am NOW, when this comes to your
hands, as I humbly trust, exulting in the mercies of a gracious God, who
has conducted an end to all my temptations and distresses; and who, I
most humbly trust, will, in his own good time, give us a joyful meeting
in the regions of eternal blessedness.

LETTER XXX

COLONEL MORDEN
[IN CONTINUATION.]
THURSDAY NIGHT, SEPT. 14.

We are just returned from the solemnization of the last mournful rite.
My cousin James and his sister, Mr. and Mrs. Hervey, and their daughter,
a young lady whose affection for my departed cousin shall ever bind me to
her, my cousins John and Antony Harlowe, myself, and some other more
distant relations of the names of Fuller and Allinson, (who, to testify
their respect to the memory of the dear deceased, had put themselves in
mourning,) self-invited, attended it.

The father and mother would have joined in these last honours, had they
been able; but they were both very much indisposed; and continue to be
so.

The inconsolable mother told Mrs. Norton, that the two mothers of the
sweetest child in the world ought not, on this occasion, to be separated.
She therefore desired her to stay with her.

The whole solemnity was performed with great decency and order. The
distance from Harlowe-place to the church is about half a mile. All the
way the corpse was attended by great numbers of people of all conditions.

It was nine when it entered the church; every corner of which was
crowded. Such a profound, such a silent respect did I never see paid at
the funeral of princes. An attentive sadness overspread the face of all.

The eulogy pronounced by Mr. Melvill was a very pathetic one. He wiped
his own eyes often, and made every body present still oftener wipe
theirs.

The auditors were most particularly affected, when he told them, that the
solemn text was her own choice.

He enumerated her fine qualities, naming with honour their late worthy
pastor for his authority.

Every enumerated excellence was witnessed to in different parts of the
church in respectful whispers by different persons, as of their own
knowledge, as I have been since informed.

When he pointed to the pew where (doing credit to religion by her
example) she used to sit or kneel, the whole auditory, as one person,
turned to the pew with the most respectful solemnity, as if she had been
herself there.

When the gentleman attributed condescension and mingled dignity to her,
a buzzing approbation was given to the attribute throughout the church;
and a poor, neat woman under my pew added, 'That she was indeed all
graciousness, and would speak to any body.'

Many eyes ran over when he mentioned her charities, her well-judged
charities. And her reward was decreed from every mouth with sighs and
sobs from some, and these words from others, 'The poor will dearly miss
her.'

The cheerful giver whom God is said to love, was allowed to be her: and
a young lady, I am told, said, It was Miss Clarissa Harlowe's care to
find out the unhappy, upon a sudden distress, before the sighing heart
was overwhelmed by it.

She had a set of poor people, chosen for their remarkable honesty and
ineffectual industry. These voluntarily paid their last attendance on
their benefactress; and mingling in the church as they could crowd near
the aisle where the corpse was on stands, it was the less wonder that her
praises from the preacher met with such general and such grateful
whispers of approbation.

Some, it seems there were, who, knowing her unhappy story, remarked upon
the dejected looks of the brother, and the drowned eyes of the sister!
'O what would they now give, they'd warrant, had they not been so
hard-hearted!'--Others pursued, as I may say, the severe father and
unhappy mother into their chambers at home--'They answered for their
relenting, now that it was too late!--What must be their grief!--No
wonder they could not be present!'

Several expressed their astonishment, as people do every hour, 'that a
man could live whom such perfections could not engage to be just to her;'
--to be humane I may say. And who, her rank and fortune considered,
could be so disregardful of his own interest, had he had no other motive
to be just!--

The good divine, led by his text, just touched upon the unhappy step that
was the cause of her untimely fate. He attributed it to the state of
things below, in which there could not be absolute perfection. He very
politely touched upon the noble disdain she showed (though earnestly
solicited by a whole splendid family) to join interests with a man whom
she found unworthy of her esteem and confidence: and who courted her with
the utmost earnestness to accept of him.

What he most insisted upon was, the happy end she made; and thence drew
consolation to her relations, and instruction to the auditory.

In a word, his performance was such as heightened the reputation which he
had before in a very eminent degree obtained.

When the corpse was to be carried down into the vault, (a very spacious
one, within the church,) there was great crowding to see the coffin-lid,
and the devices upon it. Particularly two gentlemen, muffled up in
clokes, pressed forward. These, it seems, were Mr. Mullins and Mr.
Wyerley; both of them professed admirers of my dear cousin.

When they came near the coffin, and cast their eyes upon the lid, 'In
that little space,' said Mr. Mullins, 'is included all human excellence!'
--And then Mr. Wyerley, unable to contain himself, was forced to quit the
church, and we hear is very ill.

It is said that Mr. Solmes was in a remote part of the church, wrapped
round in a horseman's coat; and that he shed tears several times. But I
saw him not.

Another gentleman was there incognito, in a pew near the entrance of the
vault, who had not been taken notice of, but for his great emotion when
he looked over his pew, at the time the coffin was carried down to its
last place. This was Miss Howe's worthy Mr. Hickman.

My cousins John and Antony and their nephew James chose not to descend
into the vault among their departed ancestors.

Miss Harlowe was extremely affected. Her conscience, as well as her
love, was concerned on the occasion. She would go down with the corpse
of her dear, her only sister, she said; but her brother would not permit
it. And her overwhelmed eye pursued the coffin till she could see no
more of it; and then she threw herself on the seat, and was near fainting
away.

I accompanied it down, that I might not only satisfy myself, but you,
Sir, her executor, that it was deposited, as she had directed, at the
feet of her grandfather.

Mr. Melvill came down, contemplated the lid, and shed a few tears over
it. I was so well satisfied with his discourse and behaviour, that I
presented him on the solemn spot with a ring of some value; and thanked
him for his performance.

And here I left the remains of my beloved cousin; having bespoken my own
place by the side of her coffin.

On my return to Harlowe-place, I contented myself with sending my
compliments to the sorrowing parents, and retired to my chamber. Nor am
I ashamed to own, that I could not help giving way to a repeated fit of
humanity, as soon as I entered it. I am, Sir,

Your most faithful and obedient servant,
WM. MORDEN.

P.S. You will have a letter from my cousin James, who hopes to prevail
upon you to relinquish the executorship. It has not my
encouragement.

LETTER XXXI

MR. BELFORD, TO WILLIAM MORDEN, ESQ.
SATURDAY, SEPT. 16.

DEAR SIR,

I once had thoughts to go down privately, in order, disguised, to see the
last solemnity performed. But there was no need to give myself this
melancholy trouble, since your last letter so naturally describes all
that passed, that I have every scene before my eyes.

You crowd me, Sir, methinks, into the silent slow procession--now with
the sacred bier, do I enter the awful porch; now measure I, with solemn
paces, the venerable aisle; now, ambitious of a relationship to her,
placed in a pew near to the eye-attracting coffin, do I listen to the
moving eulogy; now, through the buz of gaping, eye-swoln crowds, do I
descend into the clammy vault, as a true executor, to see that part of
her will performed with my own eyes. There, with a soul filled with
musing, do I number the surrounding monuments of mortality, and
contemplate the present stillness of so many once busy vanities, crowded
all into one poor vaulted nook, as if the living grudged room for the
corpse of those for which, when animated, the earth, the air, and the
waters, could hardly find room. Then seeing her placed at the feet of
him whose earthly delight she was; and who, as I find, ascribes to the
pleasure she gave him the prolongation of his own life;* sighing, and
with averted face, I quit the solemn mansion, the symbolic coffin, and,
for ever, the glory of her sex; and ascend with those, who, in a few
years, after a very short blaze of life, will fill up other spaces of the
same vault, which now (while they mourn only for her, whom they jointly
persecuted) they press with their feet.

* See Vol. I. Letter V.

Nor do your affecting descriptions permit me here to stop; but, ascended,
I mingle my tears and my praises with those of the numerous spectators.
I accompany the afflicted mourners back to their uncomfortable mansion;
and make one in the general concert of unavailing woe; till retiring as I
imagine, as they retire, like them, in reality, I give up to new scenes
of solitary and sleepless grief; reflecting upon the perfections I have
seen the end of; and having no relief but from an indignation, which
makes me approve of the resentments of others against the unhappy man,
and those equally unhappy relations of her's, to whom the irreparable
loss is owing.

Forgive me, Sir, these reflections, and permit me, with this, to send you
what you declined receiving till the funeral was over.

[He gives him then an account of the money and effects, which he sends
him down by this opportunity, for the legatees at Harlowe-place,
and in its neighbourhood; which he desires him to dispose of
according to the will.

He also sends him an account of other steps he has taken in pursuance of
the will; and desires to know if Mr. Harlowe expects the discharge
of the funeral-expenses from the effects in his hands; and the
re-imbursement of the sums advanced to the testatrix since her
grandfather's death.]

These expeditious proceedings, says he, will convince Mr. James Harlowe
that I am resolved to see the will completely executed; and yet, by my
manner of doing it, that I desire not to give unnecessary mortification
to the family, since every thing that relates to them shall pass through
your hands.

LETTER XXXII

MR. JAMES HARLOWE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.
HARLOWE-PLACE, FRIDAY NIGHT, SEPT. 15.

SIR,

I hope, from the character my worthy cousin Morden gives you, that you
will excuse the application I make to you, to oblige a whole family in
an affair that much concerns their peace, and cannot equally concern any
body else. You will immediately judge, Sir, that this is the
executorship of which my sister has given you the trouble by her last
will.

We shall all think ourselves extremely obliged to you, if you please to
relinquish this trust to our own family; the reasons which follow
pleading for our own expectation of this favour from you:

First, because she never would have had the thought of troubling you,
Sir, if she had believed any of her near relations would have taken it
upon themselves.

Secondly, I understand that she recommends to you in the will to trust
to the honour of any of our family, for the performance of such of the
articles as are of a domestic nature. We are, any of us, and all of us,
if you request it, willing to stake our honours upon this occasion; and
all you can desire, as a man of honour, is, that the trust be executed.

We are the more concerned, Sir, to wish you to decline this office,
because of your short and accidental knowledge of the dear testatrix, and
long and intimate acquaintance with the man to whom she owed her ruin,
and we the greatest loss and disappointment (her manifold excellencies
considered) that ever befell a family.

You will allow due weight, I dare say, to this plea, if you make our case
your own; and so much the readier, when I assure you, that your
interfering in this matter, so much against our inclinations, (excuse,
Sir, my plain dealing,) will very probably occasion an opposition in some
points, where otherwise there might be none.

What, therefore, I propose is, not that my father should assume this
trust; he is too much afflicted to undertake it--nor yet myself--I might
be thought too much concerned in interest; but that it might be allowed
to devolve upon my two uncles; whose known honour, and whose affection to
the dear deceased, nobody every doubted; and they will treat with you,
Sir, through my cousin Morden, as to the points they will undertake to
perform.

The trouble you have already had will well entitle you to the legacy she
bequeaths you, together with the re-imbursement of all the charges you
have been at, and allowance of the legacies you have discharged, although
you should not have qualified yourself to act as an executor, as I
presume you have not yet done, nor will now do.

Your compliance, Sir, will oblige a family, (who have already distress
enough upon them,) in the circumstance that occasions this application to
you, and more particularly, Sir,

Your most humble servant,
JAMES HARLOWE, JUN.

I send this by one of my servants, who will attend your dispatch.

LETTER XXXIII

MR. BELFORD, TO MR. JAMES HARLOWE, JUN. ESQ.
SATURDAY, SEPT. 16.

SIR,

You will excuse my plain-dealing in turn: for I must observe, that if I
had not the just opinion I have of the sacred nature of this office I
have undertaken, some passages in the letter you have favoured me with
would convince me that I ought not to excuse myself from acting in it.

I need only name one of them. You are pleased to say, that your uncles,
if the trust be relinquished to them, will treat with me, through Colonel
Morden, as to the points they will undertake to perform.

Permit me, Sir, to say, that it is the duty of an executor to see every
point performed, that can be performed.--Nor will I leave the performance
of mine to any other persons, especially where a qualifying is so
directly intimated, and where all the branches of your family have shown
themselves, with respect to the incomparable lady, to have but one mind.

You are pleased to urge, that she recommends to me the leaving to the
honour of any of your family such of the articles as are of a domestic
nature. But, admitting this to be so, does it not imply that the other
articles are still to obtain my care?--But even these, you will find by
the will, she gives not up; and to that I refer you.

I am sorry for the hints you give of an opposition, where, as you say,
there might be none, if I did not interfere. I see not, Sir, why your
animosity against a man who cannot be defended, should be carried to such
a height against one who never gave you offence; and this only, because
he is acquainted with that man. I will not say all I might say on this
occasion.

As to the legacy to myself, I assure you, Sir, that neither my
circumstances nor my temper will put me upon being a gainer by the
executorship. I shall take pleasure to tread in the steps of the
admirable testatrix in all I may; and rather will increase than diminish
her poor's fund.

With regard to the trouble that may attend the execution of the trust, I
shall not, in honour to her memory, value ten times more than this can
give me. I have, indeed two other executorships on my hands; but they
sit light upon me. And survivors cannot better or more charitably bestow
their time.

I conceive that every article, but that relating to the poor's fund,
(such is the excellence of the disposition of the most excellent of
women,) may be performed in two months' time, at farthest.

Occasions of litigation or offence shall not proceed from me. You need
only apply to Colonel Morden who shall command me in every thing that the
will allows me to oblige your family in. I do assure you, that I am as
unwilling to obtrude myself upon it, as any of it can wish.

I own that I have not yet proved the will; nor shall I do it till next
week at soonest, that you may have time for amicable objections, if such
you think fit to make through the Colonel's mediation. But let me
observe to you, Sir, 'That an executor's power, in such instances as I
have exercised it, is the same before the probate as after it. He can
even, without taking that out, commence an action, although he cannot
declare upon it: and these acts of administration make him liable to
actions himself.' I am therefore very proper in the steps I shall have
taken in part of the execution of this sacred trust; and want not
allowance on the occasion.

Permit me to add, that when you have perused the will, and coolly
considered every thing, it is my hope, that you will yourself be of
opinion that there can be no room for dispute or opposition; and that if
your family will join to expedite the execution, it will be the most
natural and easy way of shutting up the whole affair, and to have done
with a man so causelessly, as to his own particular, the object of your
dislike, as is, Sir,

Your very humble servant, (notwithstanding,)
JOHN BELFORD.

THE WILL

To which the following preamble, written on a separate paper, was
Stitched in black silk.

TO MY EXECUTOR

'I hope I may be excused for expatiating, in divers parts of this solemn
last act, upon subjects of importance. For I have heard of so many
instances of confusion and disagreement in families, and so much doubt
and difficulty, for want of absolute clearness in the testaments of
departed persons, that I have often concluded, (were there to be no other
reasons but those which respect the peace of surviving friends,) that
this last act, as to its designation and operation, ought not to be the
last in its composition or making; but should be the result of cool
deliberation, and (as is more frequently than justly said) of a sound
mind and memory; which too seldom are to be met with but in sound health.
All pretences of insanity of mind are likewise prevented, when a testator
gives reasons for what he wills; all cavils about words are obviated; the
obliged are assured; and they enjoy the benefit for whom the benefit was
intended. Hence have I, for some time past, employed myself in penning
down heads of such a disposition; which, as reasons offered, I have
altered and added to, so that I was never absolutely destitute of a will,
had I been taken off ever so suddenly. These minutes and imperfect
sketches enabled me, as God has graciously given me time and sedateness,
to digest them into the form in which they appear.'

I, CLARISSA HARLOWE, now, by strange melancholy accidents, lodging in the
parish of St. Paul, Covent-garden, being of sound and perfect mind and
memory, as I hope these presents, drawn up by myself, and written with my
own hand, will testify, do, [this second day of September,*] in the year
of our Lord ----,** make and publish this my last will and testament, in
manner and form following:

* A blank, at the writing, was left for this date, and filled up on this
day. See Vol. VIII. Letter LI.
** The date of the year is left blank for particular reasons.

In the first place, I desire that my body may lie unburied three days
after my decease, or till the pleasure of my father be known concerning
it. But the occasion of my death not admitting of doubt, I will not, on
any account that it be opened; and it is my desire, that it shall not be
touched but by those of my own sex.

I have always earnestly requested, that my body might be deposited in the
family vault with those of my ancestors. If it might be granted, I could
now wish, that it might be placed at the feet of my dear and honoured
grandfather. But as I have, by one very unhappy step, been thought to
disgrace my whole lineage, and therefore this last honour may be refused
to my corpse; in this case my desire is, that it may be interred in the
churchyard belonging to the parish in which I shall die; and that in the
most private manner, between the hours of eleven and twelve at night;
attended only by Mrs. Lovick, and Mr. and Mrs. Smith, and their maid
servant.

But it is my desire, that the same fees and dues may be paid which are
usually paid for those who are laid in the best ground, as it is called,
or even in the chancel.--And I bequeath five pounds to be given, at the
discretion of the church-wardens, to twenty poor people, the Sunday after
my interment; and this whether I shall be buried here or elsewhere.

I have already given verbal directions, that, after I am dead, (and laid
out in the manner I have ordered,) I may be put into my coffin as soon as
possible: it is my desire, that I may not be unnecessarily exposed to the
view of any body; except any of my relations should vouchsafe, for the
last time, to look upon me.

And I could wish, if it might be avoided without making ill will between
Mr. Lovelace and my executor, that the former might not be permitted to
see my corpse. But if, as he is a man very uncontroulable, and as I am
nobody's, he insist upon viewing her dead, whom he ONCE before saw in a
manner dead, let his gay curiosity be gratified. Let him behold, and
triumph over the wretched remains of one who has been made a victim to
his barbarous perfidy: but let some good person, as by my desire, give
him a paper, whist he is viewing the ghastly spectacle, containing these
few words only,--'Gay, cruel heart! behold here the remains of the once
ruined, yet now happy, Clarissa Harlowe!--See what thou thyself must
quickly be;--and REPENT!--'

Yet, to show that I die in perfect charity with all the world, I do most
sincerely forgive Mr. Lovelace the wrongs he has done me.

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