Clarissa, Volume 7 by Samuel Richardson

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I am, my dearest, kindest friend, the sweet companion of my happy hours,
the friend ever dearest and nearest to my fond heart,

Your equally obliged and faithful,
CLARISSA HARLOWE.

LETTER XLIII

MRS. NORTON, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE
MONDAY, JULY 24.

Excuse, my dearest young lady, my long silence. I have been extremely
ill. My poor boy has also been at death's door; and, when I hoped that
he was better, he has relapsed. Alas! my dear, he is very dangerously
ill. Let us both have your prayers!

Very angry letters have passed between your sister and Miss Howe. Every
one of your family is incensed against that young lady. I wish you would
remonstrate against her warmth; since it can do no good; for they will
not believe but that her interposition had your connivance; nor that you
are so ill as Miss Howe assures them you are.

Before she wrote, they were going to send up young Mr. Brand, the
clergyman, to make private inquiries of your health, and way of life.--
But now they are so exasperated that they have laid aside their
intention.

We have flying reports here, and at Harlowe-place, of some fresh insults
which you have undergone: and that you are about to put yourself into
Lady Betty Lawrance's protection. I believe they would not be glad (as I
should be) that you would do so; and this, perhaps, will make them
suspend, for the present, any determination in your favour.

How unhappy am I, that the dangerous way my son is in prevents my
attendance on you! Let me beg of you to write to me word how you are,
both as to person and mind. A servant of Sir Robert Beachcroft, who
rides post on his master's business to town, will present you with this;
and, perhaps, will bring me the favour of a few lines in return. He will
be obliged to stay in town several hours for an answer to his dispatches.

This is the anniversary that used to give joy to as many as had the
pleasure and honour of knowing you. May the Almighty bless you, and
grant that it may be the only unhappy one that may ever be known by you,
my dearest young lady, and by

Your ever affectionate
JUDITH NORTON.

LETTER XLIV

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MRS. NORTON
MONDAY NIGHT, JULY 24.

MY DEAR MRS. NORTON,

Had I not fallen into fresh troubles, which disabled me for several days
from holding a pen, I should not have forborne inquiring after your
health, and that of your son; for I should have been but too ready to
impute your silence to the cause to which, to my very great concern, I
find it was owing. I pray to Heaven, my dear good friend, to give you
comfort in the way most desirable to yourself.

I am exceedingly concerned at Miss Howe's writing about me to my friends.
I do assure you, that I was as ignorant of her intention so to do as of
the contents of her letter. Nor has she yet let me know (discouraged, I
suppose, by her ill success) that she did write. It is impossible to
share the delight which such charming spirits give, without the
inconvenience that will attend their volatility.--So mixed are our best
enjoyments!

It was but yesterday that I wrote to chide the dear creature for freedoms
of that nature, which her unseasonably-expressed love for me had made her
take, as you wrote me word in your former. I was afraid that all such
freedoms would be attributed to me. And I am sure that nothing but my
own application to my friends, and a full conviction of my contrition,
will procure me favour. Least of all can I expect that either your
mediation or her's (both of whose fond and partial love of me is so well
known) will avail me.

[She then gives a brief account of the arrest: of her dejection under it:
of her apprehensions of being carried to her former lodgings: of
Mr. Lovelace's avowed innocence as to that insult: of her release
by Mr. Belford: of Mr. Lovelace's promise not to molest her: of her
clothes being sent her: of the earnest desire of all his friends,
and of himself, to marry her: of Miss Howe's advice to comply with
their requests: and of her declared resolution rather to die than
be his, sent to Miss Howe, to be given to his relations, but as the
day before. After which she thus proceeds:]

Now, my dear Mrs. Norton, you will be surprised, perhaps, that I should
have returned such an answer: but when you have every thing before you,
you, who know me so well, will not think me wrong. And, besides, I am
upon a better preparation than for an earthly husband.

Nor let it be imagined, my dear and ever venerable friend, that my
present turn of mind proceeds from gloominess or melancholy; for although
it was brought on by disappointment, (the world showing me early, even at
my first rushing into it, its true and ugly face,) yet I hope that it has
obtained a better root, and will every day more and more, by its fruits,
demonstrate to me, and to all my friends, that it has.

I have written to my sister. Last Friday I wrote. So the die is thrown.
I hope for a gentle answer. But, perhaps, they will not vouchsafe me
any. It is my first direct application, you know. I wish Miss Howe had
left me to my own workings in this tender point.

It will be a great satisfaction to me to hear of your perfect recovery;
and that my foster-brother is out of danger. But why, said I, out of
danger?--When can this be justly said of creatures, who hold by so
uncertain a tenure? This is one of those forms of common speech, that
proves the frailty and the presumption of poor mortal at the same time.

Don't be uneasy, you cannot answer your wishes to be with me. I am
happier than I could have expected to be among mere strangers. It was
grievous at first; but use reconciles every thing to us. The people of
the house where I am are courteous and honest. There is a widow who
lodges in it [have I not said so formerly?] a good woman; who is the
better for having been a proficient in the school of affliction.

An excellent school! my dear Mrs. Norton, in which we are taught to know
ourselves, to be able to compassionate and bear with one another, and to
look up to a better hope.

I have as humane a physician, (whose fees are his least regard,) and as
worthy an apothecary, as ever patient was visited by. My nurse is
diligent, obliging, silent, and sober. So I am not unhappy without: and
within--I hope, my dear Mrs. Norton, that I shall be every day more and
more happy within.

No doubt it would be one of the greatest comforts I could know to have
you with me: you, who love me so dearly: who have been the watchful
sustainer of my helpless infancy: you, by whose precepts I have been so
much benefited!--In your dear bosom could I repose all my griefs: and by
your piety and experience in the ways of Heaven, should I be strengthened
in what I am still to go through.

But, as it must not be, I will acquiesce; and so, I hope, will you: for
you see in what respects I am not unhappy; and in those that I am, they
lie not in your power to remedy.

Then as I have told you, I have all my clothes in my own possession. So
I am rich enough, as to this world, in common conveniencies.

You see, my venerable and dear friend, that I am not always turning the
dark side of my prospects, in order to move compassion; a trick imputed
to me, too often, by my hard-hearted sister; when, if I know my own
heart, it is above all trick or artifice. Yet I hope at last I shall be
so happy as to receive benefit rather than reproach from this talent, if
it be my talent. At last, I say; for whose heart have I hitherto moved?
--Not one, I am sure, that was not predetermined in my favour.

As to the day--I have passed it, as I ought to pass it. It has been a
very heavy day to me!--More for my friends sake, too, than for my own!--
How did they use to pass it!--What a festivity!--How have they now passed
it?--To imagine it, how grievous!--Say not that those are cruel, who
suffer so much for my fault; and who, for eighteen years together,
rejoiced in me, and rejoiced me by their indulgent goodness!--But I will
think the rest!--Adieu, my dearest Mrs. Norton!--

Adieu!

LETTER XLV

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS ARABELLA HARLOWE
FRIDAY, JULY 21.

If, my dearest Sister, I did not think the state of my health very
precarious, and that it was my duty to take this step, I should hardly
have dared to approach you, although but with my pen, after having found
your censures so dreadfully justified as they have been.

I have not the courage to write to my father himself, nor yet to my
mother. And it is with trembling that I address myself to you, to beg of
you to intercede for me, that my father will have the goodness to revoke
that heaviest part of the very heavy curse he laid upon me, which relates
to HEREAFTER; for, as to the HERE, I have indeed met with my punishment
from the very wretch in whom I was supposed to place my confidence.

As I hope not for restoration to favour, I may be allowed to be very
earnest on this head: yet will I not use any arguments in support of my
request, because I am sure my father, were it in his power, would not
have his poor child miserable for ever.

I have the most grateful sense of my mother's goodness in sending me up
my clothes. I would have acknowledged the favour the moment I received
them, with the most thankful duty, but that I feared any line from me
would be unacceptable.

I would not give fresh offence: so will decline all other commendations
of duty and love: appealing to my heart for both, where both are flaming
with an ardour that nothing but death can extinguish: therefore only
subscribe myself, without so much as a name,

My dear and happy Sister,
Your afflicted servant.

A letter directed for me, at Mr. Smith's, a glover, in King-street,
Covent-garden, will come to hand.

LETTER XLVI

MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ.
[IN ANSWER TO LETTERS XXIX. XXXII. OF THIS VOLUME.]
EDGWARE, MONDAY, JULY 24.

What pains thou takest to persuade thyself, that the lady's ill health
is owing to the vile arrest, and to the implacableness of her friends.
Both primarily (if they were) to be laid at thy door. What poor excuses
will good hearts make for the evils they are put upon by bad hearts!--But
'tis no wonder that he who can sit down premeditatedly to do a bad
action, will content himself with a bad excuse: and yet what fools must
he suppose the rest of the world to be, if he imagines them as easy to be
imposed upon as he can impose upon himself?

In vain dost thou impute to pride or wilfulness the necessity to which
thou hast reduced this lady of parting with her clothes; For can she do
otherwise, and be the noble-minded creature she is?

Her implacable friends have refused her the current cash she left behind
her; and wished, as her sister wrote to her, to see her reduced to want:
probably therefore they will not be sorry that she is reduced to such
straights; and will take it for a justification from Heaven of their
wicked hard heartedness. Thou canst not suppose she would take supplies
from thee: to take them from me would, in her opinion, be taking them
from thee. Miss Howe's mother is an avaricious woman; and, perhaps, the
daughter can do nothing of that sort unknown to her; and, if she could,
is too noble a girl to deny it, if charged. And then Miss Harlowe is
firmly of opinion, that she shall never want nor wear the think she
disposes of.

Having heard nothing from town that obliges me to go thither, I shall
gratify poor Belton with my company till to-morrow, or perhaps till
Wednesday. For the unhappy man is more and more loth to part with me.
I shall soon set out for Epsom, to endeavour to serve him there, and
re-instate him in his own house. Poor fellow! he is most horribly low
spirited; mopes about; and nothing diverts him. I pity him at my heart;
but can do him no good.--What consolation can I give him, either from his
past life, or from his future prospects?

Our friendships and intimacies, Lovelace, are only calculated for strong
life and health. When sickness comes, we look round us, and upon one
another, like frighted birds, at the sight of a kite ready to souse upon
them. Then, with all our bravery, what miserable wretches are we!

Thou tallest me that thou seest reformation is coming swiftly upon me. I
hope it is. I see so much difference in the behaviour of this admirable
woman in her illness, and that of poor Belton in his, that it is plain to
me the sinner is the real coward, and the saint the true hero; and,
sooner or later, we shall all find it to be so, if we are not cut off
suddenly.

The lady shut herself up at six o'clock yesterday afternoon; and intends
not to see company till seven or eight this; not even her nurse--imposing
upon herself a severe fast. And why? It is her BIRTH-DAY!--Every
birth-day till this, no doubt, happy!--What must be her reflections!--
What ought to be thine!

What sport dost thou make with my aspirations, and my prostrations, as
thou callest them; and with my dropping of the banknote behind her chair!
I had too much awe of her at the time, to make it with the grace that
would better have become my intention. But the action, if awkward, was
modest. Indeed, the fitter subject for ridicule with thee; who canst no
more taste the beauty and delicacy of modest obligingness than of modest
love. For the same may be said of inviolable respect, that the poet says
of unfeigned affection,

I speak! I know not what!--
Speak ever so: and if I answer you
I know not what, it shows the more of love.
Love is a child that talks in broken language;
Yet then it speaks most plain.

The like may be pleaded in behalf of that modest respect which made the
humble offerer afraid to invade the awful eye, or the revered hand; but
awkwardly to drop its incense behind the altar it should have been laid
upon. But how should that soul, which could treat delicacy itself
brutally, know any thing of this!

But I am still more amazed at thy courage, to think of throwing thyself
in the way of Miss Howe, and Miss Arabella Harlowe!--Thou wilt not dare,
surely, to carry this thought into execution!

As to my dress, and thy dress, I have only to say, that the sum total of
thy observation is this: that my outside is the worst of me; and thine
the best of thee: and what gettest thou by the comparison? Do thou
reform the one, I'll try to mend the other. I challenge thee to begin.

Mrs. Lovick gave me, at my request, the copy of a meditation she showed
me, which was extracted by the lady from the scriptures, while under
arrest at Rowland's, as appears by the date. The lady is not to know
that I have taken a copy.

You and I always admired the noble simplicity, and natural ease and
dignity of style, which are the distinguishing characteristics of these
books, whenever any passages from them, by way of quotation in the works
of other authors, popt upon us. And once I remember you, even you,
observed, that those passages always appeared to you like a rich vein of
golden ore, which runs through baser metals; embellishing the work they
were brought to authenticate.

Try, Lovelace, if thou canst relish a Divine beauty. I think it must
strike transient (if not permanent) remorse into thy heart. Thou
boastest of thy ingenuousness: let this be the test of it; and whether
thou canst be serious on a subject too deep, the occasion of it resulting
from thyself.

MEDITATION
Saturday, July 15.

O that my grief were thoroughly weighed, and my calamity laid in the
balance together!

For now it would be heavier than the sand of the sea: therefore my words
are swallowed up!

For the arrows of the Almighty are within me; the poison whereof drinketh
up my spirit. The terrors of God do set themselves in array against me.

When I lie down, I say, When shall I arise? When will the night be gone?
And I am full of tossings to and fro, unto the dawning of the day.

My days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle, and are spent without hope--
mine eye shall no more see good.

Wherefore is light given to her that is in misery; and life unto the
bitter in soul?

Who longeth for death; but it cometh not; and diggeth for it more than
for hid treasures?

Why is light given to one whose way is hid; and whom God hath hedged in?

For the thing which I greatly feared is come upon me!

I was not in safety; neither had I rest; neither was I quiet; yet trouble
came.

But behold God is mighty, and despiseth not any.

He giveth right to the poor--and if they be found in fetters, and holden
in cords of affliction, then he showeth them their works and their
transgressions.

I have a little leisure, and am in a scribbing vein: indulge me,
Lovelace, a few reflections on these sacred books.

We are taught to read the Bible, when children, as a rudiment only; and,
as far as I know, this may be the reason why we think ourselves above it
when at a maturer age. For you know that our parents, as well as we,
wisely rate our proficiency by the books we are advanced to, and not by
our understanding of those we have passed through. But, in my uncle's
illness, I had the curiosity, in some of my dull hours, (lighting upon
one in his closet,) to dip into it: and then I found, wherever I turned,
that there were admirable things in it. I have borrowed one, on
receiving from Mrs. Lovick the above meditation; for I had a mind to
compare the passages contained in it by the book, hardly believing they
could be so exceedingly apposite as I find they are. And one time or
another, it is very likely, that I shall make a resolution to give the
whole Bible a perusal, by way of course, as I may say.

This, meantime, I will venture to repeat, is certain, that the style is
that truly easy, simple, and natural one, which we should admire in each
other authors excessively. Then all the world join in an opinion of the
antiquity, and authenticity too, of the book; and the learned are fond of
strengthening their different arguments by its sanctions. Indeed, I was
so much taken with it at my uncle's, that I was half ashamed that it
appeared so new to me. And yet, I cannot but say, that I have some of
the Old Testament history, as it is called, in my head: but, perhaps, am
more obliged for it to Josephus than to the Bible itself.

Odd enough, with all our pride of learning, that we choose to derive the
little we know from the under currents, perhaps muddy ones too, when the
clear, the pellucid fountain-head, is much nearer at hand, and easier to
be come at--slighted the more, possibly, for that very reason!

But man is a pragmatical, foolish creature; and the more we look into
him, the more we must despise him--Lords of the creation!--Who can
forbear indignant laughter! When we see not one of the individuals of
that creation (his perpetually-eccentric self excepted) but acts within
its own natural and original appointment: is of fancied and
self-dependent excellence, he is obliged not only for the ornaments, but
for the necessaries of life, (that is to say, for food as well as
raiment,) to all the other creatures; strutting with their blood and
spirits in his veins, and with their plumage on his back: for what has he
of his own, but a very mischievous, monkey-like, bad nature! Yet thinks
himself at liberty to kick, and cuff, and elbow out every worthier
creature: and when he has none of the animal creation to hunt down and
abuse, will make use of his power, his strength, or his wealth, to
oppress the less powerful and weaker of his own species!

When you and I meet next, let us enter more largely into this subject:
and, I dare say, we shall take it by turns, in imitation of the two sages
of antiquity, to laugh and to weep at the thoughts of what miserable, yet
conceited beings, men in general, but we libertines in particular, are.

I fell upon a piece at Dorrell's, this very evening, intituled, The
Sacred Classics, written by one Blackwell.

I took it home with me, and had not read a dozen pages, when I was
convinced that I ought to be ashamed of myself to think how greatly I
have admired less noble and less natural beauties in Pagan authors; while
I have known nothing of this all-exciting collection of beauties, the
Bible! By my faith, Lovelace, I shall for the future have a better
opinion of the good sense and taste of half a score of parsons, whom I
have fallen in with in my time, and despised for magnifying, as I thought
they did, the language and the sentiments to be found in it, in
preference to all the ancient poets and philosophers. And this is now a
convincing proof to me, and shames as much an infidel's presumption as
his ignorance, that those who know least are the greatest scoffers. A
pretty pack of would-be wits of us, who censure without knowledge, laugh
without reason, and are most noisy and loud against things we know least
of!

LETTER XLVII

MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ.
WEDNESDAY, JULY 26.

I came not to town till this morning early: poor Belton clinging to me,
as a man destitute of all other hold.

I hastened to Smith's, and had but a very indifferent account of the
lady's health. I sent up my compliments; and she desired to see me in
the afternoon.

Mrs. Lovick told me, that after I went away on Saturday, she actually
parted with one of her best suits of clothes to a gentlewoman who is her
[Mrs. Lovick's] benefactress, and who bought them for a niece who is very
speedily to be married, and whom she fits out and portions as her
intended heiress. The lady was so jealous that the money might come from
you or me, that she would see the purchaser: who owned to Mrs. Lovick
that she bought them for half their worth: but yet, though her conscience
permitted her to take them at such an under rate, the widow says her
friend admired the lady, as one of the loveliest of her sex: and having
been let into a little of her story, could not help shedding tears at
taking away her purchase.

She may be a good sort of woman: Mrs. Lovick says she is: but SELF is an
odious devil, that reconciles to some people the most cruel and dishonest
actions. But, nevertheless, it is my opinion, that those who can suffer
themselves to take advantage of the necessities of their
fellow-creatures, in order to buy any thing at a less rate than would
allow them the legal interest of their purchase-money (supposing they
purchase before they want) are no better than robbers for the difference.
--To plunder a wreck, and to rob at a fire, are indeed higher degrees of
wickedness: but do not those, as well as these, heighten the distresses
of the distressed, and heap misery on the miserable, whom it is the duty
of every one to relieve?

About three o'clock I went again to Smith's. The lady was writing when I
sent up my name; but admitted of my visit. I saw a miserable alteration
in her countenance for the worse; and Mrs. Lovick respectfully accusing
her of too great assiduity to her pen, early and late, and of her
abstinence the day before, I took notice of the alteration; and told her,
that her physician had greater hopes of her than she had of herself; and
I would take the liberty to say, that despair of recovery allowed not
room for cure.

She said she neither despaired nor hoped. Then stepping to the glass,
with great composure, My countenance, said she, is indeed an honest
picture of my heart. But the mind will run away with the body at any
time.

Writing is all my diversion, continued she: and I have subjects that
cannot be dispensed with. As to my hours, I have always been an early
riser: but now rest is less in my power than ever. Sleep has a long time
ago quarreled with me, and will not be friends, although I have made the
first advances. What will be, must.

She then stept to her closet, and brought me a parcel sealed up with
three seals: Be so kind, said she, as to give this to your friend. A
very grateful present it ought to be to him: for, Sir, this packet
contains such letters of his to me, as, compared with his actions, would
reflect dishonour upon all his sex, were they to fall into other hands.

As to my letters to him, they are not many. He may either keep or
destroy them, as he pleases.

I thought, Lovelace, I ought not to forego this opportunity to plead for
you: I therefore, with the packet in my hand, urged all the arguments I
could think of in your favour.

She heard me out with more attention than I could have promised myself,
considering her determined resolution.

I would not interrupt you, Mr. Belford, said she, though I am far from
being pleased with the subject of your discourse. The motives for your
pleas in his favour are generous. I love to see instances of generous
friendship in either sex. But I have written my full mind on this
subject to Miss Howe, who will communicate it to the ladies of his
family. No more, therefore, I pray you, upon a topic that may lead to
disagreeable recrimination.

Her apothecary came in. He advised her to the air, and blamed her for so
great an application, as he was told she made to her pen; and he gave it
as the doctor's opinion, as well as his own, that she would recover, if
she herself desired to recover, and would use the means.

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