LETTER XXIII
MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ.SAT. AUG. 26.
On Thursday afternoon I assisted at the opening of poor Belton's will, inwhich he has left me his sole executor, and bequeathed me a legacy of anhundred guineas; which I shall present to his unfortunate sister, to whomhe has not been so kind as I think he ought to have been. He has alsoleft twenty pounds a-piece to Mowbray, Tourville, thyself, and me, for aring to be worn in remembrance of him.
After I had given some particular orders about the preparations to bemade for his funeral, I went to town; but having made it late before Igot in on Thursday night, and being fatigued for want of rest severalnights before, and now in my spirits, [I could not help it, Lovelace!] Icontented myself to send my compliments to the innocent sufferer, toinquire after her health.
My servant saw Mrs. Smith, who told him, she was very glad I was come totown; for that lady was worse than she had yet been.
It is impossible to account for the contents of her letter to you; or toreconcile those contents to the facts I have to communicate.
I was at Smith's by seven yesterday (Friday) morning; and found that thelady was just gone in a chair to St. Dunstan's to prayers: she was tooill to get out by six to Covent-garden church; and was forced to besupported to her chair by Mrs. Lovick. They would have persuaded heragainst going; but she said she knew not but it would be her lastopportunity. Mrs. Lovick, dreading that she would be taken worse atchurch, walked thither before her.
Mrs. Smith told me she was so ill on Wednesday night, that she haddesired to receive the sacrament; and accordingly it was administered toher, by the parson of the parish: whom she besought to take allopportunities of assisting her in her solemn preparation.
This the gentleman promised: and called in the morning to inquire afterher health; and was admitted at the first word. He staid with her abouthalf an hour; and when he came down, with his face turned aside, and afaltering accent, 'Mrs. Smith,' said he, 'you have an angel in yourhouse.--I will attend her again in the evening, as she desires, and asoften as I think it will be agreeable to her.'
Her increased weakness she attributed to the fatigues she had undergoneby your means; and to a letter she had received from her sister, whichshe answered the same day.
Mrs. Smith told me that two different persons had called there, one onThursday morning, one in the evening, to inquire after her state ofhealth; and seemed as if commissioned from her relations for thatpurpose; but asked not to see her, only were very inquisitive after hervisiters: (particularly, it seems, after me: What could they mean bythat?) after her way of life, and expenses; and one of them inquiredafter her manner of supporting them; to the latter of which, Mrs. Smithsaid, she had answered, as the truth was, that she had been obliged tosell some of her clothes, and was actually about parting with more; atwhich the inquirist (a grave old farmer-looking man) held up his hands,and said, Good God!--this will be sad, sad news to somebody! I believeI must not mention it. But Mrs. Smith says she desired he would, let himcome from whom he would. He shook his head, and said if she died, theflower of the world would be gone, and the family she belonged to wouldbe no more than a common family.* I was pleased with the man'sexpression.
* This man came from her cousin Morden; as will be seen hereafter,Letters LII. and LVI. of this volume.
You may be curious to know how she passed her time, when she was obligedto leave her lodging to avoid you.
Mrs. Smith tells me 'that she was very ill when she went out on Mondaymorning, and sighed as if her heart would break as she came down stairs,and as she went through the shop into the coach, her nurse with her, asyou had informed me before: that she ordered the coachman (whom she hiredfor the day) to drive any where, so it was into the air: he accordinglydrove her to Hampstead, and thence to Highgate. There at theBowling-green House, she alighted, extremely ill, and having breakfasted,ordered the coachman to drive very slowly any where. He crept along toMuswell-hill, and put up at a public house there; where she employedherself two hours in writing, though exceedingly weak and low, till thedinner she had ordered was brought in: she endeavoured to eat, but couldnot: her appetite was gone, quite gone, she said. And then she wrote onfor three hours more: after which, being heavy, she dozed a little in anelbow-chair. When she awoke, she ordered the coachman to drive her veryslowly to town, to the house of a friend of Mrs. Lovick; whom, as agreedupon, she met there: but, being extremely ill, she would venture home ata late hour, although she heard from the widow that you had been there;and had reason to be shocked at your behaviour. She said she found therewas no avoiding you: she was apprehensive she should not live many hours,and it was not impossible but the shock the sight of you must give herwould determine her fate in your presence.
'She accordingly went home. She heard the relation of your astonishingvagaries, with hands and eyes often lifted up; and with these wordsintermingled, Shocking creature! incorrigible wretch! And will nothingmake him serious? And not being able to bear the thoughts of aninterview with a man so hardened, she took to her usual chair early inthe morning, and was carried to the Temple-stairs, where she had orderedher nurse before her, to get a pair of oars in readiness (for herfatigues the day before made her unable to bear a coach;) and then shewas rowed to Chelsea, where she breakfasted; and after rowing about, putin at the Swan at Brentford-ait, where she dined; and would have written,but had no conveniency either of tolerable pens, or ink, or private room;and then proceeding to Richmond, they rowed her back to Mort-lake; whereshe put in, and drank tea at a house her waterman recommended to her.She wrote there for an hour; and returned to the Temple; and, when shelanded, made one of the watermen get her a chair, and so was carried tothe widow's friend, as the night before; where she again met the widow,who informed her that you had been after her twice that day.
'Mrs. Lovick gave her there her sister's letter;* and she was so muchaffected with the contents of it, that she was twice very nigh faintingaway; and wept bitterly, as Mrs. Lovick told Mrs. Smith; dropping somewarmer expressions than ever they had heard proceed from her lips, inrelation to her friends; calling them cruel, and complaining of illoffices done her, and of vile reports raised against her.
* See Letter XXVI. of this volume.
'While she was thus disturbed, Mrs. Smith came to her, and told her, thatyou had been there a third time, and was just gone, (at half an hourafter nine,) having left word how civil and respectful you would be; butthat you was determined to see her at all events.
'She said it was hard she could not be permitted to die in peace: thather lot was a severe one: that she began to be afraid she should notforbear repining, and to think her punishment greater than her fault:but, recalling herself immediately, she comforted herself, that her lifewould be short, and with the assurance of a better.'
By what I have mentioned, you will conclude with me, that the letterbrought her by Mrs. Lovick (the superscription of which you saw to bewritten in her sister's hand) could not be the letter on the contents ofwhich she grounded that she wrote to you, on her return home. And yetneither Mrs. Lovick, nor Mrs. Smith, nor the servant of the latter, knowof any other brought her. But as the women assured me, that she actuallydid write to you, I was eased of a suspicion which I had begun toentertain, that you (for some purpose I could not guess at) had forgedthe letter from her of which you sent me a copy.
On Wednesday morning, when she received your letter, in answer to her's,she said, Necessity may well be called the mother of invention--butcalamity is the test of integrity.--I hope I have not taken aninexcusable step--And there she stopt a minute or two; and then said, Ishall now, perhaps, be allowed to die in peace.
I staid till she came in. She was glad to see me; but, being very weak,said, she must sit down before she could go up stairs: and so went intothe back-shop; leaning upon Mrs. Lovick: and when she had sat down, 'I amglad to see you, Mr. Belford, said she; I must say so--let mis-reporterssay what they will.'
I wondered at this
expression;* but would not interrupt her.
* Explained in Letter XXVIII. of this volume.
O Sir, said she, I have been grievously harassed. Your friend, who wouldnot let me live with reputation, will not permit me to die in peace. Yousee how I am. Is there not a great alteration in me within this week!but 'tis all for the better. Yet were I to wish for life, I must saythat your friend, your barbarous friend, has hurt me greatly.
She was so weak, so short breathed, and her words and actions so verymoving, that I was forced to walk from her; the two women and her nurseturning away their faces also, weeping.
I have had, Madam, said I, since I saw you, a most shocking scene beforemy eyes for days together. My poor friend Belton is no more. He quittedthe world yesterday morning in such dreadful agonies, that the impressionthey have left upon me have so weakened my mind--
I was loth to have her think that my grief was owing to the weak state Isaw her in, for fear of dispiriting her.
That is only, Mr. Belford, interrupted she, in order to strengthen it, ifa proper use be made of the impression. But I should be glad, since youare so humanely affected with the solemn circumstance, that you couldhave written an account of it to your gay friend, in the style and manneryou are master of. Who knows, as it would have come from an associate,and of an associate, it might have affected him?
That I had done, I told her, in such a manner as had, I believed, someeffect upon you.
His behaviour in this honest family so lately, said she, and his cruelpursuit of me, give me but little hope that any thing serious or solemnwill affect him.
We had some talk about Belton's dying behaviour, and I gave her severalparticulars of the poor man's impatience and despair; to which she wasvery attentive; and made fine observations upon the subject ofprocrastination.
A letter and packet were brought her by a man on horseback from MissHowe, while we were talking. She retired up stairs to read it; and whileI was in discourse with Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Lovick, the doctor andapothecary both came in together. They confirmed to me my fears, as tothe dangerous way she is in. They had both been apprized of the newinstances of implacableness in her friends, and of your persecutions: andthe doctor said he would not for the world be either the unforgivingfather of that lady, or the man who had brought her to this distress.Her heart's broken: she'll die, said he: there is no saving her. Buthow, were I either the one or the other of the people I have named, Ishould support myself afterwards, I cannot tell.
When she was told we were all three together, she desired us to walk up.She arose to receive us, and after answering two or three generalquestions relating to her health, she addressed herself to us, to thefollowing effect:
As I may not, said she, see you three gentlemen together again, let metake this opportunity to acknowledge my obligations to you all. I aminexpressibly obliged to you, Sir, and to you, Sir, [courtesying to thedoctor and to Mr. Goddard] for your more than friendly, your paternalcare and concern for me. Humanity in your profession, I dare say, is farfrom being a rare qualification, because you are gentlemen by yourprofession: but so much kindness, so much humanity, did never desolatecreature meet with, as I have met with from you both. But indeed I havealways observed, that where a person relies upon Providence, it neverfails to raise up a new friend for every old one that falls off.
This gentleman, [bowing to me,] who, some people think, should have beenone of the last I should have thought of for my executor--is,nevertheless, (such is the strange turn that things have taken!) the onlyone I can choose; and therefore I have chosen him for that charitableoffice, and he has been so good as to accept of it: for, rich as I mayboast myself to be, I am rather so in right than in fact, at thispresent. I repeat, therefore, my humble thanks to you all three, and begof God to return to you and yours [looking to each] an hundred-fold, thekindness and favour you have shown me; and that it may be in the power ofyou and of yours, to the end of time, to confer benefits, rather than tobe obliged to receive them. This is a godlike power, gentlemen: I oncerejoiced in it some little degree; and much more in the prospect I had ofits being enlarged to me; though I have had the mortification toexperience the reverse, and to be obliged almost to every body I haveseen or met with: but all, originally, through my own fault; so I oughtto bear the punishment without repining: and I hope I do. Forgive theseimpertinencies: a grateful heart, that wants the power it wishes for, toexpress itself suitably to its own impulses, will be at a loss whatproperly to dictate to the tongue; and yet, unable to restrain itsoverflowings, will force the tongue to say weak and silly things, ratherthan appear ungratefully silent. Once more, then, I thank ye all threefor your kindness to me: and God Almighty make you that amends which atpresent I cannot!
She retired from us to her closet with her eyes full; and left us lookingupon one another.
We had hardly recovered ourselves, when she, quite easy, cheerful, andsmiling, returned to us: Doctor, said she (seeing we had been moved) youwill excuse me for the concern I give you; and so will you, Mr. Goddard,and you, Mr. Belford; for 'tis a concern that only generous natures canshow: and to such natures sweet is the pain, if I may say so, thatattends such a concern. But as I have some few preparations still tomake, and would not (though in ease of Mr. Belford's future cares, whichis, and ought to be, part of my study) undertake more than it is likely Ishall have time lent me to perform, I would beg of you to give me youropinions [you see my way of living, and you may be assured that I will donothing wilfully to shorten my life] how long it may possibly be, beforeI may hope to be released from all my troubles.
They both hesitated, and looked upon each other. Don't be afraid toanswer me, said she, each sweet hand pressing upon the arm of eachgentleman, with that mingled freedom and reserve, which virgin modesty,mixed with conscious dignity, can only express, and with a look serenelyearnest, tell me how long you think I may hold it! and believe me,gentlemen, the shorter you tell me my time is likely to be, the morecomfort you will give me.
With what pleasing woe, said the Doctor, do you fill the minds of thosewho have the happiness to converse with you, and see the happy frame youare in! what you have undergone within a few days past has much hurt you:and should you have fresh troubles of those kinds, I could not beanswerable for your holding it--And there he paused.
How long, Doctor?--I believe I shall have a little more ruffling--I amafraid I shall--but there can happen only one thing that I shall not betolerably easy under--How long then, Sir?--
He was silent.
A fortnight, Sir?
He was still silent.
Ten days?--A week?--How long, Sir? with smiling earnestness.
If I must speak, Madam, if you have not better treatment than you havelately met with, I am afraid--There again he stopt.
Afraid of what, Doctor? don't be afraid--How long, Sir?
That a fortnight or three weeks may deprive the world of the finestflower in it.
A fortnight or three weeks yet, Doctor?--But God's will be done! Ishall, however, by this means, have full time, if I have but strengthand intellect, to do all that is now upon my mind to do. And so, Sirs,I can but once more thank you [turning to each of us] for all yourgoodness to me; and, having letters to write, will take up no more ofyour time--Only, Doctor, be pleased to order me some more of those drops:they cheer me a little, when I am low; and putting a fee into hisunwilling hand--You know the terms, Sir!--Then, turning to Mr. Goddard,you'll be so good, Sir, as to look in upon me to-night or to-morrow, asyou have opportunity: and you, Mr. Belford, I know, will be desirous toset out to prepare for the last office for your late friend: so I wishyou a good journey, and hope to see you when that is performed.
She then retired with a cheerful and serene air. The two gentlemenwent away together. I went down to the women, and, inquiring, found,that Mrs. Lovick was this day to bring her twenty guineas more, for someother of her apparel.
The widow told me that she had taken the liberty to expostulate with herupon
the occasion she had for raising this money, to such greatdisadvantage; and it produced the following short and affectingconversation between them.
None of my friends will wear any thing of mine, said she. I shall leavea great many good things behind me.--And as to what I want the money for--don't be surprised:--But suppose I want it to purchase a house?
You are all mystery, Madam. I don't comprehend you.
Why, then, Mrs. Lovick, I will explain myself.--I have a man, not awoman, for my executor: and think you that I will leave to his care anything that concerns my own person?--Now, Mrs. Lovick, smiling, do youcomprehend me?
Mrs. Lovick wept.
O fie! proceeded the Lady, drying up her tears with her own handkerchief,and giving her a kiss--Why this kind weakness for one with whom you havebeen so little while acquainted? Dear, good Mrs. Lovick, don't beconcerned for me on a prospect with which I have occasion to be pleased;but go to-morrow to your friends, and bring me the money they have agreedto give you.
Thus, Lovelace, it is plain she means to bespeak her last house! Here'spresence of mind; here's tranquillity of heart, on the most affectingoccasion--This is magnanimity indeed!--Couldst thou, or could I, with allour boisterous bravery, and offensive false courage, act thus?--PoorBelton! how unlike was thy behaviour!
Mrs. Lovick tells me that the lady spoke of a letter she had receivedfrom her favourite divine Dr. Lewen, in the time of my absence; and of anletter she had returned to it. But Mrs. Lovick knows not the contents ofeither.
When thou receivest the letter I am now writing, thou wilt see what willsoon be the end of all thy injuries to this divine lady. I say when thoureceivest it; for I will delay it for some little time, lest thoushouldest take it into thy head (under pretence of resenting thedisappointment her letter must give thee) to molest her again.
This letter having detained me by its length, I shall not now set out forEpsom till to-morrow.
I should have mentioned that the lady explained to me what the one thingwas that she was afraid might happen to ruffle her. It was theapprehension of what may result from a visit which Col. Morden, as she isinformed, designs to make you.
Clarissa Harlowe; or the history of a young lady — Volume 8 Page 24