Clarissa Harlowe; or the history of a young lady — Volume 8

by Samuel Richardson

  LETTER XXXVII

  MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ.MONDAY NIGHT, AUG. 28.

  I doubt you will be all impatience that you have not heard from me sincemine of Thursday last. You would be still more so, if you knew that Ihad by me a letter ready written.

  I went early yesterday morning to Epsom; and found every thing disposedaccording to the directions I had left on Friday; and at night the solemnoffice was performed. Tourville was there; and behaved very decently,and with greater concern than I thought he would every have expressed forany body.

  Thomasine, they told me, in a kind of disguise, was in an obscure pew,out of curiosity (for it seems she was far from showing any tokens ofgrief) to see the last office performed for the man whose heart she hadso largely contributed to break.

  I was obliged to stay till this afternoon, to settle several necessarymatters, and to direct inventories to be taken, in order forappraisement; for every thing is to be turned into money, by his will.I presented his sister with the hundred guineas the poor man left me ashis executor, and desired her to continue in the house, and take thedirection of every thing, till I could hear from his nephew at Antigua,who is heir at law. He had left her but fifty pounds, although he knewher indigence; and that it was owing to a vile husband, and not toherself, that she was indigent.

  The poor man left about two hundred pounds in money, and two hundredpounds in two East-India bonds; and I will contrive, if I can, to makeup the poor woman's fifty pounds, and my hundred guineas, two hundredpounds to her; and then she will have some little matter coming incertain, which I will oblige her to keep out of the hands of a son, whohas completed that ruin which his father had very nearly effected.

  I gave Tourville his twenty pounds, and will send you and Mowbray your'sby the first order.

  And so much for poor Belton's affairs till I see you.

  I got to town in the evening, and went directly to Smith's. I found Mrs.Lovick and Mrs. Smith in the back shop, and I saw they had been both intears. They rejoiced to see me, however; and told me, that the Doctorand Mr. Goddard were but just gone; as was also the worthy clergyman, whooften comes to pray by her; and all three were of opinion, that she wouldhardly live to see the entrance of another week. I was not so muchsurprised as grieved; for I had feared as much when I left her onSaturday.

  I sent up my compliments; and she returned, that she would take it for afavour if I would call upon her in the morning by eight o'clock. Mrs.Lovick told me that she had fainted away on Saturday, while she waswriting, as she had done likewise the day before; and having receivedbenefit then by a little turn in a chair, she was carried abroad again.She returned somewhat better; and wrote till late; yet had a pretty goodnight: and went to Covent-garden church in the morning; but came home soill that she was obliged to lie down.

  When she arose, seeing how much grieved Mrs. Lovick and Mrs. Smith werefor her, she made apologies for the trouble she gave them--You werehappy, said she, before I came hither. It was a cruel thing in me tocome amongst honest strangers, and to be sick, and die with you.

  When they touched upon the irreconcileableness of her friends, I have hadill offices done me to them, said she, and they do not know how ill I am;nor will they believe any thing I should write. But yet I cannotsometimes forbear thinking it a little hard, that out of so many near anddear friends as I have living, not one of them will vouchsafe to lookupon me. No old servant, no old friend, proceeded she, to be permittedto come near me, without being sure of incurring displeasure! And tohave such a great work to go through by myself, a young creature as I am,and to have every thing to think of as to my temporal matters, and toorder, to my very interment! No dear mother, said the sweet sufferer, topray by me and bless me!--No kind sister to sooth and comfort me!--Butcome, recollected she, how do I know but all is for the best--if I canbut make a right use of my discomforts?--Pray for me, Mrs. Lovick--prayfor me, Mrs. Smith, that I may--I have great need of your prayers.--Thiscruel man has discomposed me. His persecutions have given mea pain justhere, [putting her hand to her heart.] What a step has he made me taketo avoid him!--Who can touch pitch, and not be defiled? He had made abad spirit take possession of me, I think--broken in upon all my duties--and will not yet, I doubt, let me be at rest. Indeed he is very cruel--but this is one of my trials, I believe. By God's grace, I shall beeasier to-morrow, and especially if I have no more of his tormentings,and if I can get a tolerable night. And I will sit up till eleven, thatI may.

  She said, that though this was so heavy a day with her, she was at othertimes, within these few days past especially, blessed with bright hours;and particularly that she had now and then such joyful assurances, (whichshe hoped were not presumptuous ones,) that God would receive her to hismercy, that she could hardly contain herself, and was ready to thinkherself above this earth while she was in it: And what, inferred she toMrs. Lovick, must be the state itself, the very aspirations after whichhave often cast a beamy light through the thickest darkness, and, when Ihave been at the lowest ebb, have dispelled the black clouds ofdespondency?--As I hope they soon will this spirit of repining.

  She had a pretty good night, it seems; and this morning went in a chairto St. Dunstan's church.

  The chairmen told Mrs. Smith, that after prayers (for she did not returntill between nine and ten) they carried her to a house in Fleet-street,whither they never waited on her before. And where dost think this was?--Why to an undertaker's! Good Heaven! what a woman is this! She wentinto the back shop, and talked with the master of it about half an hour,and came from him with great serenity; he waiting upon her to her chairwith a respectful countenance, but full of curiosity and seriousness.

  'Tis evident that she went to bespeak her house that she talked of*--Assoon as you can, Sir, were her words to him as she got into the chair.Mrs. Smith told me this with the same surprise and grief that I heard it.

  * See Letter XXIII. of this volume.

  She was very ill in the afternoon, having got cold either at St.Dunstan's, or at chapel, and sent for the clergyman to pray by her; andthe women, unknown to her, sent both for Dr. H. and Mr. Goddard: who werejust gone, as I told you, when I came to pay my respects to her thisevening.

  And thus have I recounted from the good women what passed to this nightsince my absence.

  I long for to-morrow, that I may see her: and yet it is such a melancholylonging as I never experienced, and know not how to describe.

  TUESDAY, AUG. 29.

  I was at Smith's at half an hour after seven. They told me that the ladywas gone in a chair to St. Dunstan's: but was better than she had been ineither of the two preceding days; and that she said she to Mrs. Lovickand Mrs. Smith, as she went into the chair, I have a good deal to answerfor to you, my good friends, for my vapourish conversation of last night.

  If, Mrs. Lovick, said she, smiling, I have no new matters to discomposeme, I believe my spirits will hold out purely.

  She returned immediately after prayers.

  Mr. Belford, said she, as she entered the back shop where I was, (andupon my approaching her,) I am very glad to see you. You have beenperforming for your poor friend a kind last office. 'Tis not long agosince you did the same for a near relation. Is it not a little hard uponyou, that these troubles should fall so thick to your lot? But they arecharitable offices: and it is a praise to your humanity, that poor dyingpeople know not where to choose so well.

  I told her I was sorry to hear she had been so ill since I had the honourto attend her; but rejoiced to find that now she seemed a good dealbetter.

  It will be sometimes better, and sometimes worse, replied she, with poorcreatures, when they are balancing between life and death. But no moreof these matters just now. I hope, Sir, you'll breakfast with me. I wasquite vapourish yesterday. I had a very bad spirit upon me. Had I not,Mrs. Smith? But I hope I shall be no more so. And to-day I am perfectlyserene. This day rises upon me as if it would be a bright one.

  She desired me to walk
up, and invited Mr. Smith and his wife, and Mrs.Lovick also, to breakfast with her. I was better pleased with herliveliness than with her looks.

  The good people retiring after breakfast, the following conversationpassed between us:

  Pray, Sir, let me ask you, if you think I may promise myself that I shallbe no more molested by your friend?

  I hesitated: For how could I answer for such a man?

  What shall I do, if he comes again?--You see how I am.--I cannot fly fromhim now--If he has any pity left for the poor creature whom he has thusreduced, let him not come.--But have you heard from him lately? And willhe come?

  I hope not, Madam. I have not heard from him since Thursday last, thathe went out of town, rejoicing in the hopes your letter gave him of areconciliation between your friends and you, and that he might in goodtime see you at your father's; and he is gone down to give all hisfriends joy of the news, and is in high spirits upon it.

  Alas! for me: I shall then surely have him come up to persecute me again!As soon as he discovers that that was only a stratagem to keep him away,he will come up, and who knows but even now he is upon the road? Ithought I was so bad that I should have been out of his and every body'sway before now; for I expected not that this contrivance would serve meabove two or three days; and by this time he must have found out that Iam not so happy as to have any hope of a reconciliation with my family;and then he will come, if it be only in revenge for what he will think adeceit, but is not, I hope, a wicked one.

  I believe I looked surprised to hear her confess that her letter was astratagem only; for she said, You wonder, Mr. Belford, I observe, that Icould be guilty of such an artifice. I doubt it is not right: it wasdone in a hurry of spirits. How could I see a man who had so mortallyinjured me; yet pretending a sorrow for his crimes, (and wanting to seeme,) could behave with so much shocking levity, as he did to the honestpeople of the house? Yet, 'tis strange too, that neither you nor hefound out my meaning on perusal of my letter. You have seen what Iwrote, no doubt?

  I have, Madam. And then I began to account for it, as an innocentartifice.

  Thus far indeed, Sir, it is an innocent, that I meant him no hurt, andhad a right to the effect I hoped for from it; and he had none to invademe. But have you, Sir, that letter of his in which he gives you (as Isuppose he does) the copy of mine?

  I have, Madam. And pulled it out of my letter-case. But hesitating--Nay, Sir, said she, be pleased to read my letter to yourself--I desirenot to see his--and see if you can be longer a stranger to a meaning soobvious.

  I read it to myself--Indeed, Madam, I can find nothing but that you aregoing down to Harlowe-place to be reconciled to your father and otherfriends: and Mr. Lovelace presumed that a letter from your sister, whichhe saw brought when he was at Mr. Smith's, gave you the welcome news ofit.

  She then explained all to me, and that, as I may say, in six words--Areligious meaning is couched under it, and that's the reason that neitheryou nor I could find it out.

  'Read but for my father's house, Heaven, said she, and for theinterposition of my dear blessed friend, suppose the mediation of mySaviour (which I humbly rely upon); and all the rest of the letter willbe accounted for.' I hope (repeated she) that it is a pardonableartifice. But I am afraid it is not strictly right.

  I read it so, and stood astonished for a minute at her invention, herpiety, her charity, and at thine and mine own stupidity to be thus takenin.

  And now, thou vile Lovelace, what hast thou to do (the lady allconsistent with herself, and no hopes left for thee) but to hang, drown,or shoot thyself, for an outwitted boaster?

  My surprise being a little over, she proceeded: As to the letter thatcame from my sister while your friend was here, you will soon see, Sir,that it is the cruellest letter she ever wrote me.

  And then she expressed a deep concern for what might be the consequenceof Colonel Morden's intended visit to you; and besought me, that if now,or at any time hereafter, I had opportunity to prevent any furthermischief, without detriment or danger to myself, I would do it.

  I assured her of the most particular attention to this and to all hercommands; and that in a manner so agreeable to her, that she invoked ablessing upon me for my goodness, as she called it, to a desolatecreature who suffered under the worst of orphanage; those were her words.

  She then went back to her first subject, her uneasiness for fear of yourmolesting her again; and said, If you have any influence over him, Mr.Belford, prevail upon him that he will give me the assurance that theshort remainder of my time shall be all my own. I have need of it.Indeed I have. Why will he wish to interrupt me in my duty? Has he notpunished me enough for my preference of him to all his sex? Has he notdestroyed my fame and my fortune? And will not his causeless vengeanceupon me be complete, unless he ruin my soul too?--Excuse me, Sir, forthis vehemence! But indeed it greatly imports me to know that I shall beno more disturbed by him. And yet, with all this aversion, I wouldsooner give way to his visit, though I were to expire the moment I sawhim, than to be the cause of any fatal misunderstanding between you andhim.

  I assured her that I would make such a representation of the matter toyou, and of the state of her health, that I would undertake to answer foryou, that you would not attempt to come near her.

  And for this reason, Lovelace, do I lay the whole matter before you, anddesire you will authorize me, as soon as this and mine of Saturday lastcome to your hands, to dissipate her fears.

  This gave her a little satisfaction; and then she said that had I nottold her that I could promise for you, she was determined, ill as she is,to remove somewhere out of my knowledge as well as out of your's. Andyet, to have been obliged to leave people I am but just got acquaintedwith, said the poor lady, and to have died among perfect strangers, wouldhave completed my hardships.

  This conversation, I found, as well from the length as the nature of it,had fatigued her; and seeing her change colour once or twice, I made thatmy excuse, and took leave of her: desiring her permission, however, toattend her in the evening; and as often as possible; for I could not helptelling her that, every time I saw her, I more and more considered her asa beatified spirit; and as one sent from Heaven to draw me after her outof the miry gulf in which I had been so long immersed.

  And laugh at me if thou wilt; but it is true that, every time I approachher, I cannot but look upon her as one just entering into a companionshipwith saints and angels. This thought so wholly possessed me, that Icould not help begging, as I went away, her prayers and her blessing,with the reverence due to an angel.

  In the evening, she was so low and weak, that I took my leave of her inless than a quarter of an hour. I went directly home. Where, to thepleasure and wonder of my cousin and her family, I now pass many honestevenings: which they impute to your being out of town.

  I shall dispatch my packet to-morrow morning early by my own servant, tomake thee amends for the suspense I must have kept thee in: thou'lt thankme for that, I hope; but wilt not, I am sure, for sending thy servantback without a letter.

  I long for the particulars of the conversation between you and Mr.Morden; the lady, as I have hinted, is full of apprehensions about it.Send me back this packet when perused; for I have not had either time orpatience to take a copy of it. And I beseech you enable me to make goodmy engagements to the poor lady that you will not invade her again.