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Файл:Clarissa V. The history of a young lady
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CLARISSA • V
tences to the title of a gentleman; and who deserved to be
even the public care.
He most severely censures himself for his false notions of
honour to his friend, on this head; and recollects what the divine lady, as he calls her, said to him on this very subject, as
related by himself in his letter to Lovelace No. XXI. Vol. VII., to
which Lovelace also (both instigator and accuser) refers,
and to his own regret and shame on the occasion. He distinguishes, however, between an irreparable injury intended to
a CLARISSA, and one designed to such of the sex, as contribute by their weakness and indiscretion to their own fall, and
thereby entitle themselves to a large share of the guilt which
accompanies the crime.
He offers not, he says, to palliate or extenuate the crimes
he himself has been guilty of: but laments, for Mr. Lovelace’s
own sake, that he gives him, with so ludicrous and unconcerned an air, such solemn and useful lessons and warnings.
Nevertheless, he resolves to make it his whole endeavour, he
tells him, to render them effi cacious to himself: and should
think himself but too happy, if he shall be enabled to set him
such an example as may be a mean to bring about the reformation of a man so dear to him as he has always been, from
the fi rst of their acquaintance; and who is capable of thinking
so rightly and deeply; though at present to such little purpose,
as make his very knowledge add to his condemnation.
LETTER XLIII
Mr. Belford, to Colonel Morden
Thursday, Sept. 21.
Give me leave, dear Sir, to address myself to you in a very
serious and solemn manner, on a subject that I must not, cannot, dispense with; as I promised the divine lady that I would
do every thing in my power to prevent that further mischief of
which she was so very apprehensive.
I will not content myself with distant hints. It is with very
great concern that I have just now heard of a declaration
which you are said to have made to your relations at Harloweplace, that you will not rest till you have avenged your cousin’s
wrongs upon Mr. Lovelace.
Far be it from me to offer to defend the unhappy man, or
even unduly to extenuate his crime! But yet I must say, that
the family, by their persecutions of the dear lady at fi rst,
and by their implacableness afterwards, ought, at least, to
share the blame with him. There is even great reason to believe, that a lady of such a religious turn, her virtue neither to
be surprised nor corrupted, her will inviolate, would have got
over a mere personal injury; especially as he would have done
all that was in his power to repair it; and as, from the applica-
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CLARISSA • V
tion of all his family in his favour, and other circumstances
attending his sincere and voluntary offer, the lady might have
condescended, with greater glory to herself, than if he had
never offended.
When I have the pleasure of seeing you next, I will acquaint you, Sir, with all the circumstances of this melancholy
story; from which you will see that Mr. Lovelace was extremely
ill treated at fi rst, by the whole family, this admirable lady excepted. This exception, I know, heightens his crime: but as his
principal intention was but to try her virtue; and that he became so earnest a suppliant to her for marriage; and as he has
suffered so deplorably in the loss of his reason, for not having it in his power to repair her wrongs; I presume to hope
that much is to be pleaded against such a resolution as you are
said to have made. I will read to you, at the same time, some
passages from letters of his; two of which (one but this moment received) will convince you that the unhappy man, who
is but now recovering his intellects, needs no greater punishment than what he has from his own refl ections.
I have just now read over the copies of the dear lady’s posthumous letters. I send them all to you, except that directed for
Mr. Lovelace; which I reserve till I have the pleasure of seeing you. Let me entreat you to read once more that written to
yourself; and that to her brother;
24
which latter I now send
you; as they are in point to the present subject.
I think, Sir, they are unanswerable. Such, at least, is the effect they have upon me, that I hope I shall never be provoked to
draw my sword again in a private quarrel.
24
See Letter XVI. of this volume.
223
SAMUEL RICHARDSON
To the weight these must needs have upon you, let me add,
that the unhappy man has given no new occasion of offence,
since your visit to him at Lord M.“s, when you were so well satisfi ed of his intention to atone for his crimes, that you yourself
urged to your dear cousin her forgiveness of him.
Let me also (though I presume to hope there is no need,
when you coolly consider every thing) remind you of your
own promise to your departing cousin; relying upon which,
her last moments were the easier.
Refl ect, my dear Colonel Morden, that the highest injury
was to her: her family all have a share in the cause: she forgives
it: Why should we not endeavour to imitate what we admire?
You asked me, Sir, when in town, if a brave man could be
a premeditatedly base one? – Generally speaking, I believe
bravery and baseness are incompatible. But Mr. Lovelace’s
character, in the instance before us, affords a proof of
the truth of the common observation, that there is no general
rule but has its exceptions: for England, I believe, as gallant
a nation as it is deemed to be, has not in it a braver spirit than
his; nor a man who has a greater skill at his weapons; nor
more calmness with his skill.
I mention not this with a thought that it can affect Col.
Morden; who, if he be not withheld by SUPERIOR MOTIVES,
as well as infl uenced by those I have reminded him of, will tell
me, that this skill, and this bravery, will make him the more
worthy of being called upon by him.
To these SUPERIOR MOTIVES then I refer myself: and
with the greater confi dence; as a pursuit ending in blood
would not, at this time, have the plea lie for it with any body,
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CLARISSA • V
which sudden passion might have with some: but would be
construed by all to be a cool and deliberate act of revenge for
an evil absolutely irretrievable: an act of which a brave and
noble spirit (such as is the gentleman’s to whom I now write)
is not capable.
Excuse me, Sir, for the sake of my executorial duty and
promise, keeping in eye the dear lady’s personal injunctions,
as well as written will, enforced by letters posthumous. Every
article of which (solicitous as we both are to see it duly performed) she would have dispensed with, rather than farther
mischief should happen on her account. I am, dear Sir,
Your affectionate and faithful friend, J. BELFORD.
LETTER XLIV
[This is the Posthumous Letter to Col. Morden,
Referred to in the Above.]
Superscribed,
TO MY BELOVED COUSIN WILLIAM MORDEN, ESQ.
TO BE DELIVERED AFTER MY DEATH.
MY DEAREST COUSIN,
As it is uncertain, from my present weak state, whether, if
living, I may be in a condition to receive as I ought the favour
you intend me of a visit, when you come to London, I take
this opportunity to return you, while able, the humble acknowledgments of a grateful heart, for all your goodness to
me from childhood till now: and more particularly for your
present kind interposition in my favour – God Almighty for
ever bless you, dear Sir, for the kindness you endeavoured to
procure for me!
One principal end of my writing to you, in this solemn
manner, is, to beg of you, which I do with the utmost earnestness, that when you come to hear the particulars of my story,
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CLARISSA • V
you will not suffer active resentment to take place in your generous breast on my account.
Remember, my dear Cousin, that vengeance is God’s province, and he has undertaken to repay it; nor will you, I hope,
invade that province: – especially as there is no necessity for
you to attempt to vindicate my fame; since the offender himself (before he is called upon) has stood forth, and offered to
do me all the justice that you could have extorted from him,
had I lived: and when your own person may be endangered by
running an equal risque with a guilty man.
Duelling, Sir, I need not tell you, who have adorned a public character, is not only an usurpation of the Divine prerogative; but it is an insult upon magistracy and good government.
’Tis an impious act. ’Tis an attempt to take away a life that ought
not to depend upon a private sword; an act, the consequence of
which is to hurry a soul (all its sins upon its had) into perdition; endangering that of the poor triumpher – since neither
intend to give to the other that chance, as I may call it, for
the Divine mercy, in an opportunity for repentance, which
each presumes to hope for himself.
Seek not then, I beseech you, Sir, to aggravate my fault, by
a pursuit of blood, which must necessarily be deemed a consequence of that fault. Give not the unhappy man the merit
(were you assuredly to be the victor) of falling by your hand.
At present he is the perfi dious, the ungrateful deceiver; but
will not the forfeiture of his life, and the probable loss of his
soul, be a dreadful expiation for having made me miserable
for a few months only, and through that misery, by the Divine
favour, happy to all eternity?
227
SAMUEL RICHARDSON
In such a case, my Cousin, where shall the evil stop? – And
who shall avenge on you? – And who on your avenger?
Let the poor man’s conscience, then, dear Sir, avenge me.
He will one day fi nd punishment more than enough from
that. Leave him to the chance of repentance. If the Almighty
will give him time for it, who should you deny it him? – Let
him still be the guilty aggressor; and let no one say, Clarissa
Harlowe is now amply revenged in his fall; or, in the case of
your’s, (which Heaven avert!) that her fault, instead of being
buried in her grave, is perpetuated, and aggravated, by a loss
far greater than that of herself.
Often, Sir, has the more guilty been the vanquisher of
the less. An Earl of Shrewsbury, in the reign of Charles II. as
I have read, endeavouring to revenge the greatest injury that
man can do to man, met with his death at Barn-Elms, from
the hand of the ignoble Duke who had vilely dishonoured
him. Nor can it be thought an unequal dispensation, were it
generally to happen that the usurper of the Divine prerogative
should be punished for his presumption by the man whom he
sought to destroy, and who, however previously criminal, is
put, in this case, upon a necessary act of self-defence.
May Heaven protect you, Sir, in all your ways; and, once
more, I pray, reward you for all your kindness to me! A kindness so worthy of your heart, and so exceedingly grateful to
mine: that of seeking to make peace, and to reconcile parents to
a once-beloved child; uncles to a niece late their favourite; and
a brother and sister to a sister whom once they thought not
unworthy of that tender relation. A kindness so greatly preferable to the vengeance of a murdering sword.
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CLARISSA • V
Be a comforter, dear Sir, to my honoured parents, as you
have been to me; and may we, through the Divine goodness to
us both, meet in that blessed eternity, into which, as I humbly
trust, I shall have entered when you will read this.
So prays, and to her latest hour will pray, my dear Cousin
Morden, my friend, my guardian, but not my avenger – [dear
Sir! remember that! – ]
Your ever-affectionate and obliged CLARISSA HARLOWE.
LETTER XLV
Colonel Morden, to John Belford, Esq.
Saturday, Sept. 23.
DEAR SIR,
I am very sorry that any thing you have heard I have said
should give you uneasiness.
I am obliged to you for the letters you have communicated to me; and still further for your promise to favour me with
others occasionally.
All that relates to my dear cousin I shall be glad to see, be
it from whom it will.
I leave to your own discretion, what may or may not be
proper for Miss Howe to see from a pen so free as mine.
I admire her spirit. Were she a man, do you think, Sir, she, at
this time, would have your advice to take upon such a subject
as that upon which you write?
Fear not, however, that your communications shall put
me upon any measures that otherwise I should not have taken. The wickedness, Sir, is of such a nature, as admits not of
aggravation.
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