LETTER XXXVIII
MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ.WEDNESDAY, AUG. 30.
I have a conversation to give you that passed between this admirable ladyand Dr. H. which will furnish a new instance of the calmness and serenitywith which she can talk of death, and prepare for it, as if it were anoccurrence as familiar to her as dressing and undressing.
As soon as I had dispatched my servant to you with my letters of the26th, 28th, and yesterday the 29th, I went to pay my duty to her, and hadthe pleasure to find her, after a tolerable night, pretty lively andcheerful. She was but just returned from her usual devotions; and DoctorH. alighted as she entered the door.
After inquiring how she did, and hearing her complaints of shortness ofbreath, (which she attributed to inward decay, precipitated by her lateharasses, as well from her friends as from you,) he was for advising herto go into the air.
What will that do for me? said she: tell me truly, good Sir, with acheerful aspect, (you know you cannot disturb me by it,) whether now youdo not put on the true physician; and despairing that any thing inmedicine will help me, advise me to the air, as the last resource?--Canyou think the air will avail in such a malady as mine?
He was silent.
I ask, said she, because my friends (who will possibly some time henceinquire after the means I used for my recovery) may be satisfied that Iomitted nothing which so worthy and skilful a physician prescribed?
The air, Madam, may possibly help the difficulty of breathing, which hasso lately attacked you.
But, Sir, you see how weak I am. You must see that I have been consumingfrom day to day; and now, if I can judge by what I feel in myself,putting her hand to her heart, I cannot continue long. If the air wouldvery probably add to my days, though I am far from being desirous to havethem lengthened, I would go into it; and the rather, as I know Mrs.Lovick would kindly accompany me. But if I were to be at the trouble ofremoving into new lodgings, (a trouble which I think now would be toomuch for me,) and this only to die in the country, I had rather the scenewere to shut up here. For here have I meditated the spot, and themanner, and every thing, as well of the minutest as of the highestconsequence, that can attend the solemn moments. So, Doctor, tell metruly, may I stay here, and be clear of any imputations of curtailing,through wilfulness or impatiency, or through resentments which I hope Iam got above, a life that might otherwise be prolonged?--Tell me, Sir;you are not talking to a coward in this respect; indeed you are not!--Unaffectedly smiling.
The doctor, turning to me, was at a loss what to say, lifting up his eyesonly in admiration of her.
Never had any patient, said she, a more indulgent and more humanephysician. But since you are loth to answer my question directly, I willput it in other words--You don't enjoin me to go into the air, Doctor, doyou?
I do not, Madam. Nor do I now visit you as a physician; but as a personwhose conversation I admire, and whose sufferings I condole. And, toexplain myself more directly, as to the occasion of this day's visit inparticular, I must tell you, Madam, that, understanding how much yousuffer by the displeasure of your friends; and having no doubt but that,if they knew the way you are in, they would alter their conduct to you;and believing it must cut them to the heart, when too late, they shall beinformed of every thing; I have resolved to apprize them by letter(stranger as I am to their persons) how necessary it is for some of themto attend you very speedily. For their sakes, Madam, let me press foryour approbation of this measure.
She paused; and at last said, This is kind, very kind, in you, Sir. ButI hope that you do not think me so perverse, and so obstinate, as to haveleft till now any means unessayed which I thought likely to move myfriends in my favour. But now, Doctor, said she, I should be too muchdisturbed at their grief, if they were any of them to come or to send tome: and perhaps, if I found they still loved me, wish to live; and soshould quit unwillingly that life, which I am now really fond ofquitting, and hope to quit as becomes a person who has had such aweaning-time as I have been favoured with.
I hope, Madam, said I, we are not so near as you apprehend to thatdeplorable catastrophe you hint at with such an amazing presence of mind.And therefore I presume to second the doctor's motion, if it were onlyfor the sake of your father and mother, that they may have thesatisfaction, if they must lose you, to think they were first reconciledto you.
It is very kindly, very humanely considered, said she. But, if you thinkme not so very near my last hour, let me desire this may be postponedtill I see what effect my cousin Morden's mediation may have. Perhaps hemay vouchsafe to make me a visit yet, after his intended interview withMr. Lovelace is over; of which, who knows, Mr. Belford, but your nextletters may give an account? I hope it will not be a fatal one to anybody. Will you promise me, Doctor, to forbear writing for two days only,and I will communicate to you any thing that occurs in that time; and thenyou shall take your own way? Mean time, I repeat my thanks for yourgoodness to me.--Nay, dear Doctor, hurry not away from me soprecipitately [for he was going, for fear of an offered fee]: I will nomore affront you with tenders that have pained you for some time past:and since I must now, from this kindly-offered favour, look upon you onlyas a friend, I will assure you henceforth that I will give you no moreuneasiness on that head: and now, Sir, I know I shall have the pleasureof seeing you oftener than heretofore.
The worthy gentleman was pleased with this assurance, telling her that hehad always come to see her with great pleasure, but parted with her, onthe account she hinted at, with as much pain; and that he should not haveforborne to double his visits, could he have had this kind assurance asearly as he wished for it.
There are few instances of like disinterestedness, I doubt, in thistribe. Till now I always held it for gospel, that friendship andphysician were incompatible things; and little imagined that a man ofmedicine, when he had given over his patient to death, would think of anyvisits but those of ceremony, that he might stand well with the family,against it came to their turns to go through his turnpike.
After the doctor was gone, she fell into a very serious discourse of thevanity of life, and the wisdom of preparing for death, while health andstrength remained, and before the infirmities of body impaired thefaculties of the mind, and disabled them from acting with the necessaryefficacy and clearness: the whole calculated for every one's meridian,but particularly, as it was easy to observe, for thine and mine.
She was very curious to know farther particulars of the behaviour of poorBelton in his last moments. You must not wonder at my inquiries, Mr.Belford, said she; For who is it, that is to undertake a journey into acountry they never travelled to before, that inquires not into thedifficulties of the road, and what accommodations are to be expected inthe way?
I gave her a brief account of the poor man's terrors, and unwillingnessto die: and, when I had done, Thus, Mr. Belford, said she, must it alwaysbe with poor souls who have never thought of their long voyage till themoment they are to embark for it.
She made other such observations upon this subject as, coming from themouth of a person who will so soon be a companion for angels, I shallnever forget. And indeed, when I went home, that I might engraft themthe better on my memory, I entered them down in writing: but I will notlet you see them until you are in a frame more proper to benefit by themthan you are likely to be in one while.
Thus far had I written, when the unexpected early return of my servantwith your packet (your's and he meeting at Slough, and exchangingletters) obliged me to leave off to give its contents a reading.--Here,therefore, I close this letter.
Clarissa Harlowe; or the history of a young lady — Volume 8 Page 39